#the urge to know so strongly that i know it will be my downfall every time but being fully aware of it

[the-witchy-sideblog]

Y'know what. Maybe I WILL become the freak professor obsessed with research and eye motifs. Maybe I WILL be on my avatar bullshit with my own work

[emotionaldepravity]

Your yandere Obito had my heart thumping and my face completely red from embarrassment. (I may or may not have been smiling the whole time reading it, huehuehue.) May I please request more yandere Obito[from Naruto.] once again? Anything, even a sliver of Obito to get me through my day? NSFW, or not, either is completely fine. Thank you, so, so much, you wonderful skeleton covered in flesh. :3

YES I CAN HELP! I'm actually going to be a bit wacky... this builds off the stuff from last time mostly the "feeding his delusion" route for the nsfw stuff. Link here to part 1/context! I'm so excited that I get to write more for this!

-Maybe he was just being stubborn, but Obito was denying how he really felt. So many thoughts ran through his head as he did his best to play his role as Madara.

-Yet no matter how much Zetsu urged him, he just kept going back to your apartment. He had lost count how many "keepsakes" he had "borrowed" from your home. If he wasn't careful, he might end up taking everything. You might move to a less convenient location or not sleep so soundly and sweetly when he made his nightly visit. It was growing more difficult to keep himself from you.

-Why should he? No, why should he deny you of him? There was plenty of time before the Eye of the Moon plan was finalized. The board was running slow, but as long as the pieces kept moving in order, he could spend a little time with you. Not realizing he had to capture the tailed beasts in order showed him how impatient he really was.

-His conflicted heart made his path blurry. It was extremely risky to see you, and the moment he was set on the Uchiha clan's downfall, he knew that he was going to have to make his choice. To take you with him the night before he was set to meet with Itachi or cut himself off from you completely.

-That would have either been the last night you noticed you "lost" random things or the night he revealed himself to you. He never regrets the choice he makes even if it leads to unhappiness. He might long to see your face as he rereads your diary, but he knows you only have to suffer his death not suffer the man he is now. On the other hand, he might see how miserable you are at his side, but he strongly believes you'd be even worse off without knowing that he is alive.

-Living as a member of the Akatsuki, willingly or not, forces you to lie at every turn. You have to feign knowing that Tobi is anything but a silly rookie. Unfortunately, he doesn't let you ignore him either. He pairs you up with himself and has you run missions with him.

-If you enjoy playing with him as Tobi, he gets even deeper into his role for you when alone. Though, he knows its a mockery of him as a child in some ways, he'd happily be that idiot for you as long as you keep smiling for him.

-Just the sight of you keeps him from being lost as the ten tails tries to rip his mind apart. He has a goal he must fulfill for you, sorry I mean you, sorry I mean you, sorry I mean Rin. The lies swim in his head, but he knows he just wants you to be with a version of him that isn't so horrible.

NSFW Warning/ Dub-con Warning

-If he wasn't so deep in denial, he'd actually realize that all his dirty fantasies involved you. He can't think of Rin in such a way so his body desires you, craves you. It might be under layers and layers of "this is what you want to do with him."

-The first time Obito masturbated with your panties wrapped around his cock, he rubbed it raw. He didn't really know what he was doing, but the thought that under different circumstances you could catch him like this, drove him wild. He gets caught up in the loop of using something so intimate to you for his own pleasure that he wouldn't realize that he is ruining the material or hurting himself. The pain makes his cock twitch just as much as the soft material around his sensitive skin does. It makes him drool a bit at the thought of you masturbating to him like this.

-If you end up on the path where you are on his side and feeding into his delusion that its actually you who is obsessed with him, he will eventually succumb to his lust. Without pretense and once you were alone with him in the Kamui dimension, he'd toss his mask away and kiss you without restraint. He'd bring you close to him letting you feel just how hard he is knowing what he planned to do.

"I know I'm spoiling you for the other me, but I don't think you'll mind that much. You've wanted me for so long after all. Let me reward you for your loyalty."

-If he strips you down and you are wet at all, he is going to feel so validated in his actions and so very attractive. Even this version of him that he considered worthless is enough for you to want him. To him that's equally beautiful and tragic.

-This would have been his first time with anyone so he is extremely inexperienced. He'd probably come the instant he was inside you, but he would be very much ready to keep going.

-You being a virgin as well would drive him insane.

"You saved yourself for me? Oh [Y/N], I shouldn't have made you wait so long!"

-He is very vocal switching between growls and whines as he ruts into you. His position preference would be for you be looking up at him. Nothing else really matters to him as long as his dick is inside you. In a different situation he'd have you on all fours and unable to see his scarred face, but you love him right? It would be too cruel for him not to see you looking into his eye with an expression of pure pleasure and too cruel for you not to get to enjoy "the man you love" as he is intimate with you.

-By virtue of being a virgin or a miracle, if you somehow come around his cock, he will take it as permission to take you like this again. Its addicting for him to make you shudder and call his name out like that. Who would have thought being your savior would feel so good for him?

-Depending on how bad his performance was for you, he would be willing to learn how to please you better. Over time he will improve as he explores your body more, but he would only ask how to do better on the chance you complain. He might be a bit embarrassed, but what can he say, he knows he isn't the version you'll be with for the rest of eternity.

-He'd be overly regretful over his actions if he ever saw you cry after sex. It almost hurts him as much as it hurts you. He is just doing what he thinks you want. He is trying to make it easier for you to be around him and easier for him to keep himself in his delusion.

-While he starts off very vanilla, he finds out he has a praise kink and a roleplay kink. He likes to hear you tell him his handsome. Though he'd probably refute the

He wants to hear you say the things that he believes you are thinking. Craving that validation of his delusion, he might have you recite certain entries from your diary while he eats you out. Yes, he figured out where your clit is. It just took him a second.

-Whether its Hokage-personal anbu guard roleplay or him fulling putting himself in the Tobi or Madara roles, he really enjoys imagining that the man he is now isn't the one fucking you senseless in the Kamui dimension. It helps him feel a little less guilty for enjoying himself in a way that's not possible in the Infinite Tsukiyomi. If he is willing to be a little less selfish he might even ask you what sort of scenario you'd enjoy.

-Cumming on your face is where he likes to finish the most. It feels so wrong to see you, a proud shinobi, covered in his fluids, and oh so arousing. He often burns the image into his brain by turning on his sharingan. If he is feeling particularly cruel, he might work on learning genjutsu just so he can make you see yourself.

[mudskip-drabbles]

@dragcns-den wanted more Gay Shit

"You are an asshole!" Yelled as the front door was literally kicked open, that poor lock not having a single hope when matched against Giovanni Potage!

Still, despite his strong entrance, it was clear by Gio's tone that he was anything but angry, the shouting being solely for dramatic affect, which was always important. "How dare you start a war of affections with me while I was enacting my most evil of plans!" (IE: Stealing a bear plushie for Molly out of a claw machine that would spurn him no longer!) "There is no room for love in the midst of such vile atrocities!" That didn't stop him from returning the warm feeling of love across their bond though, it seemingly having become one of Rick's favorite pastimes as of late, to bombard his friends whenever he got the urge to let them know just how much he cared for them. Gio still remembers the first time he'd felt it, the sudden feeling of pure, unrestrained affection literally knocking him to his knees as it took his breath from his lungs. It hadn't taken long to put two and two together after that, Rick quickly turning from loving to fearful so suddenly that it too could be felt across their bond, there being no way it could all be chalked up to coincidence.

Rick was mostly unphased, having to push down the initial fear of the sudden entrance despite knowing it was only Giovanni. He met the dramatic shouting with an evil laugh in turn, dark wisps of miasma emitting from his upturned palms most menacingly.

"Fool! You believed yourself free from my grasp simply because you were busy!? The downfall is of your own making!" It didn't matter where any of his friends were or what they were doing, he was going to send them love whenever he pleased! He needed them to know at any given moment when his mind grew cruel, it making him twitchy and unnerved whenever he'd tried to suppress the urge at first.

"You will never know peace so long as we are bound heart and soul! Such is the consequences of-" He cut himself off at the sight of the stuffed bear in Gio's hand, his eyes now shining as a hand came up to his mouth as if to hide a gasp. "Oooooo! What is that adorable little creature? Will it require sustenance? What does such a mighty being endeavor to consume?" Rapid fire questions didn't give Gio a chance to answer until Rick was nose to nose with the stuffed animal that had been held up for him to see more clearly.

"Oh this?" He sounded way too smug about a plushie. "It's a stuffed animal! One that Bear Trap and I tried for hours to win. But I emerged victorious in the end!!" A pause, the theatrics being toned down within the span of a blink. "Oh uh, I'm not allowed at the arcade in the mall anymore. Like that's gonna stop me. Stupid mall cop thinks he can control me."

Setting the bear onto the dining table so Molly would see it upon coming home from school, Rick stayed near nose to nose with the fluffy thing with that shine never dulling for even a moment.

"Fascinating! What is the purpose of these 'stuffed animals'? Is it customary to gift the deceased to a loved one?" A genuine question, one that pulled a laugh from Gio as he settled the little bear to sit up against a couple school books Molly had left there. It wasn't out of malice though, something Gio made sure to tell Rick every now and then so he didn't get the wrong idea. He thought such questions were cute, that puppy dog look of excitement Rick got enough to inadvertently shoot affection across their bond, Gio always felt it so strongly upon seeing it.

"It's just fabric, dude. Made into a little friend! Kinda like...THIS!" Pulled dramatically from his inner coat pocket was another plushie, this one being a stuffed chameleon that was purple and red in color. "I actually paid for this one, saw it while they were escorting me out of the mall. Had to sneak back in to buy it, but I had to! It was too perfect!!"

Those puppy dog eyes quickly switched their excitement to this new reveal, Rick growing so giddy he began to rapidly clap his hands as he bounced in place.

"I LOVE IT!!" Loud, but Gio hardly minded. "Who is this fabric friend for?" A question Giovanni knew to be genuine by the curiosity that skipped across their bond, it bringing a fond smile to his face.

"It's for you, ya goof!" A dramatic gasp at the new new reveal, Rick lighting up like a firework as he nearly plowed into Gio's chest for a tight hug. One that had Gio lifted a good couple inches off the ground, something that had a blush warming up his face with a feeling he didn't quite know how to place.

"I LOVE IT!!!" Somehow even louder than before, Gio was set down in favor of hugging the plushie to his chest, Rick being filled with joy one might expect of a child or a man who hadn't received a gift like this in years.

"Where is your fabric friend?" Asked with that same eager grin as he smooshed his cheek against the plushie, it quickly turned into a loud gasp as Gio shrugged his shoulders.

"UNACCEPTABLE!!" Shouted before Gio could get even a breath into his lungs, Rick hugged the toy to his chest while he pulled a smiling Giovanni towards the door by the hand.

"Uh, I'm kinda banned from the mall, remember?" Not that he would abide by such a thing, but he was curious as to where Rick would go with this.

"Unimportant!! We must procure you a fabric friend as well!!" He didn't want Giovanni to be left out.

Gio could only give a fond laugh as he shook his head, picking up his pace so he was the one pulling rick along.

"Well then what are we waiting for? Pick up the pace Shades, we gotta get home before Bear Trap so we can see her face when we give her that bear!! I bet she's gonna flip and I don't wanna miss it!!"

[engagedtobefree]

I just sent this message through the Tumblr Help Center since @staff doesn’t care about actually reading comments on their posts. I refuse to go down without a fight.

I strongly urge staff to reconsider their new censorship route. I, and literally every single other user on this site, feel like this situation is not being competently handled. Your entire user platform is being punished because you do not want to properly handle the actual issues on this site. Allow me to explain in further detail below, because it seems that no one over at Tumblr headquarters seems to be able to grasp why this new censorship is wrong.

People have formed friendships, built communities, created safe spaces, and now you’re going to take all of that away from them because you think all sex and nudity is bad? Tumblr is not addressing the actual issues here. Instead, loyal users who have been on here for years are being punished. Instead of targeting the porn bots, nazis, pedophiles, rapists, etc, you are punishing innocent people who come on here for self-expression. Do you think any of us care when we have to scroll past a gif of people having sex? No, we don't. We care about the porn bots in the comments, or being followed by a blog with links like "Hook up with 18 year old girls here."

Listen, I've had to scroll past some furry and My Little Pony porn that I hope I never have to see again, but I, like most users, scroll past these posts and then are done with them. Who exactly are those things hurting anyway? At most, someone may be uncomfortable for a few seconds, but then they continuing scrolling and see other stuff and all is well again. I can say with 100% confidence that I am more bothered by the Republican blogs I see all the damn time making degrading posts about women than seeing someone's naked body. Posts degrading women = harmful. Human with a body ≠ harmful.

For anything and anyone to be successful, they must listen to feedback. This is crucial to their survival. None of us here are being listened to. We were ignored when we constantly complained about the porn bots, and then months later Tumblr said they didn't know about it. YOU WERE TOLD. YOU WERE TOLD 1000S OF TIMES. Then the situation got so bad where the app was taken off of the Apple store, then you were forced to stop ignoring the problem. If the situation had been addressed early on, you wouldn't be about to witness the downfall of your website, a downfall that in the end you will only have yourself to blame for. A majority of users are already planning on abandoning Tumblr once this goes into full-effect. Pretty much all of us have posted or reblogged something at some point that you now deem "inappropriate". And I must add that as a woman and as someone with an Art degree, I am completely appalled at the use of "female presenting nipples." People are not allowed to sexually express themselves but Tumblr staff is allowed to be sexist? You walk into the religious section of any museum and I can guarantee you that you will see Jesus's mother Mary's breasts and nipples. If in the 1500's this was perfectly okay, why in 2018 are we saying women's breasts are bad and inappropriate? We are supposed to be advancing, not taking steps back.

In Jeff's statement, he said that "Our actions are out of love and hope for our community." I think it's pretty obvious that this statement is untrue. If anyone over at Tumblr Headquarters actually cared about this community, they would not be going to these extremes. Once again, I urge you to do something else, something more productive, something that targets the actual issues instead of hurting every user on this site. Listen to what your users are saying, or witness your site become a desolate wasteland. The choice is yours.

[thehandmaidstalehulu]

“She’s just a teenager,” Sydney Sweeney impressed upon me when we spoke over the phone. 

Sweeney was talking about Eden, the 15-year-old Gileadean wife she played on this season of “The Handmaid’s Tale.” The 20-year-old actress was unprepared for the strongly negative reactions that Eden, a rural teenager who is “given” to 30-something Nick as a wife, elicited from the show’s fans. She expected people to resent her character for separating Nick and June, one of the series’ central couples, but she was taken aback by the extreme suspicion Eden brought out in viewers. Fans surmised that she was Serena Joy’s spy, that she was truly meant to be with the brutal and abusive Commander Fred Waterford. My co-worker and I wondered whether she would be Nick’s downfall.

“Never underestimate a zealous teen,” I wrote.

“Nick’s New Wife Is Definitely Going to Be Trouble,” declared a Vanity Fair headline.

As of the penultimate episode of the season, we know that Eden wasn’t trouble at all. She was, as Sweeney said, just a teenager ― albeit a teenager raised with little access to peers or education in an oppressively theocratic society. A teenager who was married off to a 30-something man without having a choice in the matter. A teenager who was taught that her only duty in life was to build a household and bear children and who rarely experienced any empathy or affection.

So why were so many of us hellbent on mistrusting her? Perhaps because she’s a teen girl.

Of course, audiences were primed to question Eden’s intentions from the start. Not only was she an impediment to a popular romantic subplot, but also she was framed as one of Gilead’s true believers. Eden questioned whether Nick was a “gender traitor” when he wouldn’t sleep with her. She gaped at the handmaids when they whispered their real names to each other in the supermarket. She found the contraband letters intended for resistance group Mayday. At every turn, she could have upended the lives of the other people who live in the Waterfords’ home. And yet … she didn’t.

Instead, she wondered what it might be like to have the opportunity “for love and a baby.” After June urged her to grab love wherever she could find it, Eden tried to do just that. She unexpectedly ran off with a young guardian named Isaac ― the person who gave her her very first kiss ― with the sole hope of making “a real family.”

And for that “sin,” Eden and her young lover paid the ultimate price.

She and Isaac were sentenced to death for the crime of adultery. They were taken into a gymnasium filled with spectators, their families and the entire Waterford household; they were escorted to the top of a very high diving platform; and they were pushed off it with weights tied to their hands and ankles. It’s an end almost no fan saw coming and one that will set into motion the major arcs of the season’s finale. The death of a character that few understood — or even bothered to take notice of — will have a ripple effect that could bleed into the already anticipated third season of the show.

“The Handmaid’s Tale” showrunner Bruce Miller teased this pivotal scene when we spoke before the first episode of Season 2 was released. He explained that the drowning was an updated version of dunking, a method of execution historically reserved for women suspected to be witches.

Sweeney said she found herself screaming at Eden (and crying) while reading the scripts for her final scenes. Ultimately, she found empathy for her character ― a 15-year-old who wants to find God and love and makes choices according to those guiding principles. In Eden’s final moments alive, the camera is right in Sweeney’s face. Eden’s eyes water, full of fear and confusion and horror and resolution.

“There was definitely a lot of thought behind Eden’s eyes during all those moments,” Sweeney said. “Is she doing the right thing? Will God save her? Is love enough? But she chose love.”

It would be easy to believe that Eden is a pious idiot for giving up her future in favor of staying true to her values and desires. But as I was watching Eden make her heart-wrenching exit, all I could think about was how much I had underestimated her ― how the confused reactions of fans and even the characters surrounding her in the show mirrored the way we see teen girls in real life.

In both Gilead and our world, teen girls are alternately dismissed and feared. They are silly fangirls, lovestruck fools, narcissistic selfie takers too young to be truly listened to. And yet, despite the fact that teen girls are constantly belittled and condescended to, they are still considered a threat. Their knees and shoulders can destroy entire school days for their male peers. They can take down behemoth brands with their fickle preferences. They can tempt older men into falling in love with and assaulting them. And if one deigns to explore her sexuality, she is labeled, as the commander labels Eden, a “slut,” a woman “swept up in her own selfish lust.”

“I gave her the opportunity to elevate herself. To be a wife, a mother, to associate herself with the Waterford name,” the commander rages before Eden’s execution, worrying what her actions will mean for him and his power. Until this point, she was below his notice. She barely mattered until her quest for love and a baby — exactly what she believed Gilead demanded from her — conflicted with his veneer of control. 

In Gilead, teen girls are terrifying precisely because they might call into question the motives of powerful men and act in ways that run counter to the narrative Gilead tries so hard to push. The autocratic regime claims to care about nothing more than children, then turns around and murders two of them in a swimming pool.

It’s difficult to believe that the commander’s attempts to punish Eden into submission on Gilead’s behalf will prove fruitful. So much is conveyed in the various characters’ silent reactions to the pool scene. It is one thing to watch adults be tortured but quite another to watch a child. Given that there is now a baby girl in the house, Serena, Nick, June and Rita ― all of whom have an investment in the child’s future ― will have to decide how they will protect her from a society that offers so little to and takes so much from girls.

When I asked Sweeney how her character’s death might affect the others, she paused and then answered forcefully:

“They will never be the same.”

[rapeculturerealities]

Warning: This post contains spoilers about “The Handmaid’s Tale,” Season 2.

“She’s just a teenager,” Sydney Sweeney impressed upon me when we spoke over the phone.

Sweeney was talking about Eden, the 15-year-old Gileadean wife she played on this season of “The Handmaid’s Tale.” The 20-year-old actress was unprepared for the strongly negative reactions that Eden, a rural teenager who is “given” to 30-something Nick as a wife, elicited from the show’s fans. She expected people to resent her character for separating Nick and June, one of the series’ central couples, but she was taken aback by the extreme suspicion Eden brought out in viewers. Fans surmised that she was Serena Joy’s spy, that she was truly meant to be with the brutal and abusive Commander Fred Waterford. My co-worker and I wondered whether she would be Nick’s downfall.

“Never underestimate a zealous teen,” I wrote.

“Nick’s New Wife Is Definitely Going to Be Trouble,” declared a Vanity Fair headline.

As of the penultimate episode of the season, we know that Eden wasn’t trouble at all. She was, as Sweeney said, just a teenager ― albeit a teenager raised with little access to peers or education in an oppressively theocratic society. A teenager who was married off to a 30-something man without having a choice in the matter. A teenager who was taught that her only duty in life was to build a household and bear children and who rarely experienced any empathy or affection.

So why were so many of us hellbent on mistrusting her? Perhaps because she’s a teen girl.

Of course, audiences were primed to question Eden’s intentions from the start. Not only was she an impediment to a popular romantic subplot, but also she was framed as one of Gilead’s true believers. Eden questioned whether Nick was a “gender traitor” when he wouldn’t sleep with her. She gaped at the handmaids when they whispered their real names to each other in the supermarket. She found the contraband letters intended for resistance group Mayday. At every turn, she could have upended the lives of the other people who live in the Waterfords’ home. And yet … she didn’t.

Instead, she wondered what it might be like to have the opportunity “for love and a baby.” After June urged her to grab love wherever she could find it, Eden tried to do just that. She unexpectedly ran off with a young guardian named Isaac ― the person who gave her her very first kiss ― with the sole hope of making “a real family.”

And for that “sin,” Eden and her young lover paid the ultimate price.

She and Isaac were sentenced to death for the crime of adultery. They were taken into a gymnasium filled with spectators, their families and the entire Waterford household; they were escorted to the top of a very high diving platform; and they were pushed off it with weights tied to their hands and ankles. It’s an end almost no fan saw coming and one that will set into motion the major arcs of the season’s finale. The death of a character that few understood — or even bothered to take notice of — will have a ripple effect that could bleed into the already anticipated third season of the show.

“The Handmaid’s Tale” showrunner Bruce Miller teased this pivotal scene when we spoke before the first episode of Season 2 was released. He explained that the drowning was an updated version of dunking, a method of execution historically reserved for women suspected to be witches.

Sweeney said she found herself screaming at Eden (and crying) while reading the scripts for her final scenes. Ultimately, she found empathy for her character ― a 15-year-old who wants to find God and love and makes choices according to those guiding principles. In Eden’s final moments alive, the camera is right in Sweeney’s face. Eden’s eyes water, full of fear and confusion and horror and resolution.

“There was definitely a lot of thought behind Eden’s eyes during all those moments,” Sweeney said. “Is she doing the right thing? Will God save her? Is love enough? But she chose love.”

It would be easy to believe that Eden is a pious idiot for giving up her future in favor of staying true to her values and desires. But as I was watching Eden make her heart-wrenching exit, all I could think about was how much I had underestimated her ― how the confused reactions of fans and even the characters surrounding her in the show mirrored the way we see teen girls in real life.

In both Gilead and our world, teen girls are alternately dismissed and feared. They are silly fangirls, lovestruck fools, narcissistic selfie takers too young to be truly listened to. And yet, despite the fact that teen girls are constantly belittled and condescended to, they are still considered a threat. Their knees and shoulders can destroy entire school days for their male peers. They can take down behemoth brands with their fickle preferences. They can tempt older men into falling in love with and assaulting them. And if one deigns to explore her sexuality, she is labeled, as the commander labels Eden, a “slut,” a woman “swept up in her own selfish lust.”

“I gave her the opportunity to elevate herself. To be a wife, a mother, to associate herself with the Waterford name,” the commander rages before Eden’s execution, worrying what her actions will mean for him and his power. Until this point, she was below his notice. She barely mattered until her quest for love and a baby — exactly what she believed Gilead demanded from her — conflicted with his veneer of control.

In Gilead, teen girls are terrifying precisely because they might call into question the motives of powerful men and act in ways that run counter to the narrative Gilead tries so hard to push. The autocratic regime claims to care about nothing more than children, then turns around and murders two of them in a swimming pool.

It’s difficult to believe that the commander’s attempts to punish Eden into submission on Gilead’s behalf will prove fruitful. So much is conveyed in the various characters’ silent reactions to the pool scene. It is one thing to watch adults be tortured but quite another to watch a child. Given that there is now a baby girl in the house, Serena, Nick, June and Rita ― all of whom have an investment in the child’s future ― will have to decide how they will protect her from a society that offers so little to and takes so much from girls.

When I asked Sweeney how her character’s death might affect the others, she paused and then answered forcefully:

“They will never be the same.”

[illeee-girl]

La La(chimolala) Land Chapter Six: Why Didn’t You Tell Me?

jimin x reader genre: fluff word count: 1.5k warnings: none

[Inspired by La La Land]

Read on Wattpad

Read on Ao3

The next thing you know, Jimin grabs your hand and forces you into a run, leading you down a side street, across a park, and through the courtyard of an apartment complex. You end up in an alleyway not far from Santa Monica Boulevard. You seem to have lost your pursuers; they had started chasing you, but gradually trickled off one by one. You just hope that no one had called the paparazzi—though you know that they probably did.

You manage to catch your breath and gather your thoughts, but you cannot overcome your shock. “What . . . what was that? You’re . . . you’re in BTS? Like, the international k-pop phenomenon?”

“Y-yeah,” he stammers. “Wait. You know who we are, but you didn’t recognize me?”

“I’ve focused so much of my efforts on trying to burrow my way into Hollywood that I don’t have time to keep up with the music industry,” you explain. “I’ve heard of you guys, but I haven’t really seen your faces. So when I met you all, I just assumed you were some random boy band.”

“Ouch.”

“But . . . Jimin, you’re in BTS? That’s . . . that’s a huge deal. This is a huge deal.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He kicks at a loose chunk of asphalt. “I . . . I liked the way things were. I liked being just some random guy who met you at the top of City Hall and offered to read your work. A simple nobody just trying to be helpful. But after I finished Red Writer, I figured I could invite you to spend some time with the band for research purposes, as a way of securing more time with you. I wasn’t thinking, really. I just . . . really, really wanted to see you again.”

When he says that, your feel your soul smile within you. Your mind turns to mud and your stomach to soup—but, strangely enough, it's a good feeling. Man, he’s good, you squirm. He sure knows how to flirt.

Suddenly, your roommate Jessenia’s words pop into your head: Don’t you let no cute butt distract you from the reason you came to LA.

Don’t worry, Jess, you think. Sweet talk won’t get me, either.

“Yeah, right,” you cross your arms in defiance. “Like you'd want to see me again. You’re an international pop star. I’ve seen you dance; I’ve heard you sing. I saw the way those girls screamed and ran after you. I’ll bet my life that you have girls all around the world that you mess with, and you just wanted to add me to the list.”

“No.” He shakes his head ferociously and launches himself towards you. His head is now just inches away from yours. You notice that he begins to take your hands in his, but decides against it. Always so careful about touching me. “I’m not like that, Y/N,” he asserts. “I can promise you. I actually . . . I often get too focused on one girl at a time. You can ask any of my hyungs.”

“And they’ll vouch for you, just as you’d do for them. I bet they’ve got swarms of women across the globe, too.”

Jimin shudders as your words pour across his ear, each one like lava scorching his skin. “No, no . . . no. No.” He runs a hand through his hair—a sort of nervous tick he has—and bites his lip. Sweat drips down his cheek, and you can’t tell if it’s from the heat, the running, or pure distress.

“Okay,” he says after a few moments of what you figure was intense deliberation. “I recognize that, at this point, your opinion of me has shifted significantly—and rightfully so. I should’ve told you about being in BTS—at least at our second meeting, if not the first. But, as I was saying before we were interrupted by that crowd, I just want to live a normal life. It's this . . . this wish I have, I guess. One that's been eating at me for the past year, preparing me—I believe—for that moment I met you on that clear day at the observation deck. It’s . . . it’s impossible to explain, Y/N. But that day, after we had finished shooting, I stayed behind because I had this feeling—this innate, inexplicable feeling of urgency. Of moving on in life, of letting the wind blow me onward, towards better days. That’s why I was so forward at our first meeting. It wasn’t just your adorable pantsuit—though, I’ll admit, that had a lot to do with it.” He smiles and blushes a shade of rosy pink. “You presented an opportunity for me to be a normal person again. It’s a ridiculously cliché thought, but . . . when I saw you, looking scared but determined, frightened but fierce, I knew that feeling had been pushing me towards you.”

You think back to that day, just a couple of weeks ago now. It was ridiculous, but you’d felt the same. That steady, insistent gush of wind from behind, urging you forward.

“I know I’m being a lot. I haven’t known you for very long at all, and it’s extremely unfair of me to wax poetic on my fourth time seeing you,” he smiles. “Trust me, Namjoon will be giving me a long lecture when he hears about this. But let me ask you this:

“What was your opinion of me before today?”

You hesitate. “You mean before I found out you were in BTS, or before you basically pushed me off the music video set?”

He shudders again, but smirks. “The latter, then.”

You’re in an alleyway in Santa Monica. The only objects of interest in sight are a few dumpsters and a discarded, beat-up bicycle. The ground is sprinkled with garbage and the brown-tinted glass of countless shattered beer bottles, and the smell is less than desirable. The heat is almost unbearable, and you’re both sweating up a storm. Your feet are aching from the running, and your back is in knots from your day at work.

But somehow, you realize, you’re happier than you’ve been in a long time.

So you decide to tell Park Jimin exactly what you think of him.

“You’re astounding, Jimin,” you begin. It takes you a while before your brain can conjure up its vocabulary, before your lips will form the words. “Naturally, the first thing I noticed about you was your beauty. Well, I guess I felt you before I actually saw you, since I grabbed onto you like I was dangling off a cliff and you were a sturdy rock on the edge. But you know what I mean; surely you’ve looked in a mirror.

“You’re very confident—very unapologetic about being yourself in any given situation. Yet you’re your worst critic. That’s human nature, I guess, though watching you belittle yourself frustrates me to no end. You get adorably chatty when you’re nervous. You pretty much wear your emotions on your sleeve. You’re the opposite of me that way.

“But it was . . . so refreshing to meet someone with a personality that expands beyond themselves. Almost everyone I’ve ever known is belligerently self-centered. This is a city of stars, after all—people whose life goal is to be placed on a pedestal. They fight and climb and thrash and scream until they get to the top, and then they find themselves empty and alone—all of their human connections torn and thrown to the wayside. I never want that to happen to me, even if I make it as a screenwriter. It’s a common downfall for the rich and famous.

“But you care for the well-being of others so strongly that it radiates. You radiate, Jimin. In every way imaginable.”

Wow, you gape.

Did I just say all that?

There are actual tears forming at the corners of Jimin’s dark eyes, and he looks at you as if you were a starry night sky, sparkling and endless.

“You . . . you do have a way with words after all, miss writer,” he’s beaming.

“I . . . guess so,” you stammer. “I honestly surprised myself there. I’m usually terrible at communicating my thoughts verbally.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He gently whispers, wrapping his arms around your waist and settling his forehead on yours.

“Tell you what?”

“That you have a big, fat crush on me!” He teases, his smile spreading as wide as you’ve ever seen it.

“You nerd.”

[sarah-bae-maas]

A Court of Hearts and Darkness Chapter Twenty Seven

It’s been over a century since the epic and bloody war against Hybern, but a new, unprecedented horror lies in wait to threaten everything the Inner Circle holds dear.

At a mere 17, it seems that the only one who can save them is the Heir to the Night Court, Feyre and Rhysand’s daughter Eleana, but as a creature so vile promises to kill everyone she loves, she must combat the urge to succumb to the darkness herself. The key to success lies hidden within her mate, the bastard born Kaden, who is as oblivious to the bond as her Court is oblivious to the war on the horizon.

With the help of her cousin and warrior Felix, the son of the famed Nesta and Cassian, they will try to save everything they hold dear, hopefully before the darkness takes them all.

(This fic was written pre-acowar, so please bear in mind there are some small differences but it can still hopefully be enjoyed!)

Link on Ao3 Masterlist

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***

-Chapter 27- 

She ran her hand down his hair, enjoying the feather like feel of his brunette locks. Her claws sometimes caught in it, blood making the brown strands stick together. His glassy, lifeless hazel eyes were stuck in the direction of the ceiling, and she was tempted to press the pads of her digits against them to make them look at her, but she didn’t want to accidently pierce them.

He was pretty – not as handsome as the gold one, and that had been his ultimate downfall. Not just that, but the heir just loved his so much.

His death would ruin her.

Which is what she’d wanted – what she needed.

_____

 Eleana felt like she was sinking.

Her heart rate had slowed and been overly rapid at unpredictable intervals since it had happened. Since she’d realised her cousin, brother, best friend, was never coming home. She forever felt like she was sinking. Her arms were swords being slid into their sheaths. Her legs were oaks being taken down from the swing of an axe. Her chest was a corset being bound a tight as it could go. Time has slowed from the beat of a hummingbird’s wings to the hesitant last gasp before someone drowned.

She was not ready to face the consequences of Felix not being here. She didn’t know how she would put her smashed, porcelain-self back together if he wasn’t there to pick up the pieces. As he had done so many times before.

And as she looked into the exhausted eyes of her mate, she couldn’t bring herself to say anything other than, “Where have you been?”

He swallowed hard, his hands twitching like he wanted to rest them on her, but didn’t have the courage to.

“It’s been nearly two days,” she continued.

He didn’t answer, so she turned away from him.

He had come to find her, he’d said. Used his magic to bring him to this cabin sequestered so very far away from everything else.

When he’d knocked on the door, Eleana was unsuccessfully trying to sleep. Her mother, wary it was something sinister, opened the door ready to attack, only to pull up short when she saw Kaden.

To give them privacy, she went to Velaris to help the High Lord with Cassian and Nesta, but not before laying wards strong enough to keep out an army.

Her hands were braced on a stained table, her face as limp as her unwashed hair. She observed him, since he wouldn’t speak. He had bathed at some point, his skin clean but wan. He was in a loose shirt and pants, his feet bare. And, trailing down his arms like vines encasing him, were Illyrian tattoos. On his arms, the swirls, flowers and ancient words were so extensive his fingers were even decorated. As severe as it was, it was not harsh – much like the male bearing them. She wondered what tattoos covered his chest.

She took a hesitant step toward him, his face blank. He hadn’t let her in his mind yet, had their bond blocked so strongly that she would have to invade him to see what he was thinking. But… she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to put her grief into him, or to take his away. She wanted them to share, but she didn’t know how she could possibly handle feeling twice as bad as she did now.

“Did you know,” she said to fill the silence, “that my mother can no longer paint her father? As much as she loves him, she can no longer remember his face. He is a blur, with no finer details or anything to distinguish him. She knows his eyes, but that’s all.”

She took another step towards her mate.

“I’m scared that one day I’ll wake up and I won’t be able to picture his face anymore. Or that I won’t remember the exact way his voice sounds.” One more step, and she was close enough to him that he could reach her if he wanted.

He lifted his arm, and trailed his thumb down her cheek, resting his hand on her neck. “Do you blame me for what happened?” he whispered.

She rested her hand over his. “No.”

He moved his hand to her waist, pulling her to him. He wrapped his arms around her, and she leant into his chest and breathed deeply – for the first time in days.

“Good. Because I’ll need your help to eviscerate those creatures and whatever is controlling them.”

_____

 “He’s safe, but I wouldn’t say he’s okay. But who of us is?”

Azriel hung onto every word, grateful that Kaden had made an appearance somewhere. Would he have preferred the young one come to him first? Yes. But at least now someone has seen him.

“And Eleana?” he asked Feyre.

“She’s not coping – at all. She hasn’t slept yet, changes between forms unwillingly and without notice, and is constantly either distressed or just… empty.”

“She’ll feel better once we’ve moved into action. The High Lords will be here in four days.” Four days for their family to be in control enough to tell the other courts what had happened, and to devise a plan to eradicate these creatures. Azriel, with all his wisdom and knowledge, didn’t know where to start.

“And the recon teams?”

“Enough survived to get us a specimen, but there are a lot of families who will be in mourning.”

Feyre nodded at his words.

They’re conversation ended with Feyre squeezing his shoulder, leaving the library of the House of Wind to join her sisters in the atrium.

Azriel wanted to help his brother and Nesta, desperately, but he didn’t know how. He himself could barely comprehend what had happened. It had yet to hit him. He had yet to have the breakdown that was expected of him, he hadn’t yet cried, he hadn’t yet stopped being surprised when he walked into a room without Felix in it.

Maybe if he’d had a body his grief would surface quicker, but right now he just felt nothing. Like he was a void. Resigned. Every few minutes, his chest would tighten and his breath would quicken and he’d think, okay now. Now I’m going to cry, get mad, scream. And then the feeling would pass, and he’d blink away the tears that never fell and would continue trying to find justice for his nephew.

He’d dealt with the fallout of the Bloodrite for Rhys. The Illyrians lords were horrified and furious, and had all fortified their camps and doubled patrols to be on alert for any creatures. They were not aware of Felix’s death – no one but the Inner Circle was, and it would remain that way for the time being. It would cause an uncontrollable panic not only among the Illyrians, but also the fae.

Because Felix was dead. Felix Warbringer, set to be the most powerful Illyrian ever born, had been killed by these creatures.

Azriel had been with Cassian when Rhys told their brother of the news. And it was devastating. Cass tried to go into the mountains to try and save his son, had begged his brothers to let him go – he had to go to his boy. He had to. He would be scared if he was alone in the dark. And he would be fine if his father was there with him. Cassian could find a way to bring him back.

He’d thought them tooth and nail until he had collapsed, no strength left in his body.

And then there was Nesta.

Azriel could count how many times he had seen her cry on one hand, and now she had cried more than the amount of leaves in a forest. The most pained, choked wails he had ever heard. She had beaten her fists bloody against the ground in anger and agony, all her fingers breaking at the impacts; the only thing that stopped her from imploding and destroying herself was the sound of Theodosia’s cries as the babe awoke. Nesta wiped the blood off her hands, let Elain heal her broken bones, then calmly walked to the nursey, picking up Thea and cradling her daughter to her chest. Her face had gone gaunt, and the colour had leaked out of her.

Maybe the reason Azriel struggled to show emotion was because even though he loved Felix with all his heart, the boy had come to detest him. Did Azriel have any right to grieve?

Azriel wished he could stay in the library and hide away, but he couldn’t. His family was relying on him.

He dragged his feet as he walked to join the rest of them, Mor summoning them all for lunch. None of them felt well enough to eat, but his wife would force feed them if she had to.

Azriel also needed to start preparing for the onslaught he would get at the High Lord’s meeting, namely, what do you mean you knew about this already? What do you mean you stopped looking for the creatures? How could you let this happen?

Azriel had no choice but to now accept everything his niece and nephews had presented to him about the creatures as fact – which meant they had also been working in other courts. Cauldron, Eleana had been taken by this ‘Colloden’ in another court.

Mor had brought sandwiches and tea on a cart, handing them out on china plates to the family. Quathryn, uninterested in the gourmet treats, had settled for sprinkles on buttered bread. The girl had no idea what was going on – only that everyone was far sadder than usual.

He let her be, not wanting the dark, ghastly shadows that had been haunting him since the death of his nephew to bother her.

He took a seat next to his brothers on a bench overlooking the window facing Velaris, matching their silence. Everyone was here, except Kaden and Eleana. He hoped they were sleeping, he doubted his boy would be able to without his mate there.

The thought of Kaden tore at him – the boy he had come to think of as a son. A boy who had finally gotten a brother that loved and cared for him the way a brother should, only for some sick, twisted turn of events to take him away.

“You’ve heard from Kaden?” Azriel overheard Nesta say in a whisper, the woman squeezing her fingers into Feyre’s arm.

“He’s with Eleana – he showed up out of nowhere,” Feyre replied, covering Nesta’s hand with her own.

“And Felix?” Nesta’s eyes were so wide with hope.

Feyre shook her head. “No, Nesta.”

Her face fell, fresh tears starting to line her cheeks.

Nesta had an insane hope when Kaden didn’t come back, that maybe it was because he had gone back into the mountain to revive Felix, the way he had Thea. Feyre, as soothingly as she could, said she didn’t know much about Kaden’s peculiar magic, but she doubted the circumstances were similar enough for it to happen again. Theodosia had been a stillborn – Felix was…

Mauled.

But that didn’t stop Nesta from hoping.

Cassian didn’t share her belief.

Azriel couldn’t bear to look at Nesta any longer, and turned his head away. Cassian also stayed quiet during the exchange.

He prayed for the moment when Elain and Lucien returned from the Spring Court, from explaining what had happened to Felix to Glaslane – the pair had been close for a time. Elain was still Nesta’s most effective form of comfort.

Azriel’s attention was caught by a tentative knock at the door – an overly loud noise in a room full of very quiet people.

“Who is it?” Rhys called, standing and positioning himself in front of Cassian.

“It’s me, Papa, and Kaden.” Eleana opened the door and peaked her head in.

Azriel flinched at the dark crescents under her eyes and the paleness to her face.

“We didn’t want to disturb anyone.”

Rhys waved her in, greeting her with a tight hug. Behind her, Kaden shuffled in, his head hanging low and his shoulders slumped.

Azriel got to his feet and moved towards him, stopping when he saw the Illyrian tattoos covering his arms.

Kaden noticed his gaze, and self-consciously rubbed at his skin.

Azriel shook his head, not caring that his boy got the tattoos he’d deserved, but he was saddened that the thought of Kaden going through such an emotionally tumultuous experience alone.

“Kaden? Hey, buddy. Want some food?” Azriel approached him with one hand one, gently patting him on the head.

“No, thank you,” he murmured. “I – I have something to tell you.”

“Do you want to go somewhere?”

“No, I – It’s for everyone.”

Azriel led him further inside, letting Kaden choose when to speak, the young man’s black eyes sweeping the room. His stare stopped on Quathryn, fingers stained like a rainbow from her sprinkles, mouth full of bread and books and toys scattered on the floor around her.

His face crumpled, and he strode towards the tot, leaning down and picking her up so he could hug her.

“Kaden!” she cheered, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck.

“Hi, Little One,” he sniffled.

Everyone in the room had stopped what they were doing to look at Kaden and Quathryn.

Quathryn leaned in and whispered something in his ear. It was so faint that Azriel could barely make out what she was saying, but he got the gist of it.

Do you know where Lis is?

Kaden said no, and hugged her closer to him. Quathryn seemed content to just have cuddle time, laying her head on him and not asking any further for her brother.

Cassian had tried to tell her, but Quathryn was too young to truly understand what he was saying – the permanence of Felix being gone.

“What was it you had to tell us?” Azriel prompted him.

Kaden kept a hold of Quathryn while he spoke, swaying her slightly. “I talked to Felix, and there are some things he wanted me to relay to you.”

Everyone flung out of their chairs, surrounding him with pressing questions.

What do you mean you talked to him?

I thought you weren’t there when he died?

What did he say?

How can that be?

Azriel’s family wasn’t as versed in Kaden’s magic as he was, with the exception of Eleana, and he could scarcely remember if he’d ever mentioned Kaden’s ability to connect with the dead.

Kaden recoiled away from there badgering questions, but before Azriel could ask them to give him some space, Eleana butted in, fury scorched in her expression.

“You spoke to Felix? For how long?” Her tone was so scathing the others quietened.

“Until dawn, the day after,” Kaden said nervously.

Eleana gritted her teeth, her voice a low growl when she said under her breath, “You mean to tell me you had hours with him, and didn’t think to summon anyone? To let anyone else say goodbye?”

“Eleana.” Kaden looked stricken.

“You could have told me to come and I would’ve been there in a second-”

“How-”

“You damn well know. You could’ve brought the wall down between the bond anytime you fucking pleased. You could have let me say goodbye to him. You could have let anyone here have their final peace with him. He was my best friend. Through you I could’ve seen him. I could have told him I loved him. You – you – I can’t believe you didn’t tell me to come.”

Azriel believed Kaden would’ve gone to her if he hadn’t been holding Quathryn, who was now alert and looking at Eleana with worry.

“You were in such a bad state-”

She snarled at him, a noise to low and feral that Cassian came forward and grabbed Quathryn from Kaden, scared Eleana might lose control and accidently hurt her. Which was valid, as while Eleana growled her skin changed its form and colour, her teeth elongating and her and her pupils widening.

It never took long for Eleana’s mood to change, and with her exhaustion and despair combined her mood was rapidly changing. Azriel stood back, not wanting to interfere with the mates.

“What did he have to say then, huh? That only you were privy to,” she spat.

“He said he loves you, and that no one here, especially you, is to blame for this.” Kaden turned to Cassian and Nesta. “You told me to tell you that he will forever be indebted to you for raising him with such strength, and for teaching him to be kind. His family is the most important thing to him, and his biggest regret is not being able to see Quathryn grow and become the sassiest little thing Velaris has seen since the High Lord’s last hissy fit.” Kaden turned to Rhys, a sheepish look on his face. “I’m quoting.”

Rhys bowed his head.

“He hopes you’ll tell stories of him to Thea,” Kaden continued. “He doesn’t want to be a stranger to her, even if she’ll never remember any of the time she had with him.”

Cassian, holding Quathryn in one arm, reached the other out to Nesta, circling it around her and Thea. “How did he tell you these things?” His voice deathly quiet.

“I can confer with the dead. It’s how I helped Thea, kind of. That was different, but this I have been able to do my whole life.”

“Is he still there?” Nesta asked, the hope that had vanished reigniting in her eyes.

“No,” Kaden didn’t leave her hanging, not wanted to be a source of false hope.

“Are you sure?” she pleaded with him.

“Yes. I’m sorry. He’s moved on to a place where even I can’t find him.”

Nesta’s breath shook, and she motioned for Kaden to continue.

He told them all the things Felix had shared with him – only withholding the information meant for specific people. He said the funny stories and the melancholy ones. At one point, he looked at the High Lord and Lady apologetically and said, “When Eleana was four months old, Felix dropped her. He said it explains an awful lot.”

Rhys and Feyre had burst out laughing, which immediately turned to tears. At least Quathryn’s twinkling giggles joined in momentarily.

Eleana remained in half in her other form the entire conversation, not looking at Kaden, even when he tried to speak with her.

When he had finished, Nesta was sobbing again, and Cassian took her away to try and calm her, bringing the children with him. Quathryn waved to Kaden as she left, and it was the only thing that could have possibly made Kaden genuinely smile that day.

Mor approached Kaden and took him into her arms, tears of her own falling.

Azriel watched Eleana turn to steal as she watched Mor and Kaden and Feyre and Rhys. Her fists were clenched so tightly her knuckles were stark against her skin, and her face had flushed red in anger. The stories from Kaden had not thawed the sudden anger for her mate, and Azriel wished he was still in a position where she’d want his help.

But maybe it was on him to try harder – to show her more that he was sorry.

He proceeded cautiously towards her, but he wasn’t the only one to have the idea. Kaden separated from Mor, extending his tattooed hands towards Eleana.

Mid-step, Kaden faltered like he’d hit an invisible barrier. Trying again, he hit another wall, and put his hands up, resting them flat against an invisible shield. He banged his hand on the wall, trying to dismantle it.

“Eleana?”

The others watched as he called her name, unable to breach her shield.

“You once used my eyes to save someone we love; I would’ve expected you to grant me the same curtesy to say goodbye to a person I love. You should have called me. You should have let me hear these stories from him.”

Eleana stalked to the window, her wings flaring and preparing for flight.

Rhys and Feyre became immediately alarmed, and stood in her way to stop her.

“Laya, Butterfly where are you going?” Feyre asked, concern lacing her every word.

“Away from here. I can’t think; I can’t breathe – not here.”

Rhys blocked the window, keeping her inside. Azriel walked to his side, knowing it was a bad idea to try and trap her inside but also knowing if she left she would be a loose bomb ready to explode.

“Come with me, let’s go to the townhouse, or back to the cabin if you want.”

“Get out of my way.”

“Laya.”

She growled, a noise far more animal than fae, and disappeared.

Azriel baulked at where she had just been standing, shock palpitating from everyone in the room.

“Where did she go?” Kaden questioned.

“She… she winnowed away.” Feyre’s mouth was agape, her eyes wide.

“She does it all the time – no reason to be surprised. I’ll find her, it won’t take me long.”

“No, Kaden, the wards on the House of Wind mean no winnowing. It is physically, and magically impossible for her to do so.”

“She must have removed the wards.”

“She didn’t, I can still feel them here – intact,” Mor said.

Rhys turned to Feyre and sighed. “Looks like she’s more powerful than we thought. That’s okay, though, I always knew our little Butterfly would be something special. We better go find her.”

Kaden opened his mouth as if to offer his services, but Rhys shut him down with a glare. “You stay here. You’re not what she needs right now.”

The pair left, leaving Azriel with his wife and the closest thing to a son he’d ever had.

“Let’s go home,” Mor exhaled. “Cassian and Nesta need space, and we all need to sleep. The night will bring an unprecedented darkness tonight.”

____

 Night had fallen; Kaden had yet to sleep, and Eleana had yet to be found. Mor and Az joined the search for her, only going once Kaden convinced them too. They didn’t want to leave him, but he assured them that he would be okay. He thought he might sleep, but when he tried he felt too light without the weight of Eleana with him.

He had a notebook in front of him, and was trying to write out every word Felix had said to him. His hands were shaking, making his writing messy but decipherable. He would one day give this book to Quathryn and Thea – Felix would be no stranger to them.

As he was writing, there was a quiet knock at the door. Curious as to who it could be, Kaden heaved himself from his seat, padding to the foyer to meet whoever had come over. He opened the door, and was surprised to see Cassian with his two daughters, holding Quathryn by the hand and Thea in his arm.

“Hello, Kaden. Can you get Azriel for me?”

Kaden’s nose wrinkled; Cassian smelt like sweat and grot – like death.  

“He’s not here right now. They’re still looking for Eleana.” Which Kaden was bitter he wasn’t invited to. He could find her easily – it was the only thing his body seemed to want to do. Kaden had tried to reopen the bond with her, but now she was the one keeping him away – which he justly deserved. Eleana was right, he hadn’t thought to summon her so she could say goodbye to her cousin, and now he felt retched about it.

Cassian’s chest fell. “Okay.” He nodded, taking a step back.

That’s when Kaden noted the small bag he was wearing on his back. “Did you need something? I might be able to help.”

“I just needed Az for the night, it’s okay though,” Cassian said slowly.

The older male took a step back, Quathryn swaying with the movement, her little body drained of energy.

“Why don’t you come inside?” Kaden insisted. “I’ll make us some tea, and Quathryn can sleep in my bed if she’d like. And I’m sure I could also scrounge up a cot somewhere.”

Cassian looked thoughtful, then nodded his head.

Kaden let them in, picking Quathryn up and taking her to his room. She was asleep before they were even up the stairs, and he tucked her in nice and tight, wanting her to get as much rest as she could.

He couldn’t find a crib, so instead he emptied his biggest basket and made it into a makeshift bassinet. He went back for Thea, and Cassian reluctantly handed her over, the infant also asleep.  He made them tea, and it lived untouched from Cassian on the table in front of him.

Kaden didn’t know what to say to him – how could you possibly comfort a father grieving for his dead son?

Kaden sat across from him, averting his gaze from the haggard looking General. Cassian also stayed quiet, an awkward tension rising in the room from lack of words. Kaden wished he had the charm and tact of Eleana or Felix, then maybe he would know what to do. There was a many great thing he wished he had said to Felix before he’d said goodbye, and one of those things should’ve been a demand for Felix to tell him how he was supposed to survive in this damned world without him.

“Do you have any idea when Mor and Az will be back?” Cassian broke through the silence, his voice rough.

“No. Can I help at all?”

His shoulders were hunched, and his feet tapped against the chair leg. “I just-” Cassian cut himself off, shuddering a sigh. “I love my children more than I love anything, but Nesta and I… right now we’re not the best people to be around, and I’m starting to worry that it’ll effect the girls. One night. I swear, I was only going to ask him to care for them for a single night, so Nesta could sleep.”  Cassian blinked furiously, his teeth biting at his lip in an effort to hide his tears from Kaden.

Kaden wasn’t the only one feeling retched. It was easy to tell how guilty Cassian felt about giving his daughters to Azriel, even of it was for the best. And Kaden could see that it was. When he had seen Cassian and Nesta earlier, he had been genuinely afraid. Her clothes were frayed at the sleeves from where she had ripped them in her anxiety, and Cassian looked like he could barely stand upright.  But however they looked, Kaden could feel how the heartbreak and anger that beheld them had the power to strike through anyone. If turned in the wrong direction, as emotions often were in these times, it could be dangerous. It made him want to grab Eleana and run.

His mind and body yearned for the comfort of his Eleana. To know that she was safe with him – the only place he trusted her to be. Without her here, or knowing where she was, Kaden had an itch in his fingers that made his want to rip at flesh and destroy lives – especially the ones that had caused her so much pain.

“There is no weakness in asking for help, General Cassian.”

Kaden believed, wholeheartedly, that if they all knew how to better ask for help, then none of this would have happened.

____

 It took Eleana a while to find the familiar entrance, even though the image was burned in her retinas.

When she had first been here, her stomach had been twisting with nerves, making her more nauseous than she had ever been. She’d been digging into the earth with her feels – the tracks still there – and the only reason she hadn’t stormed inside the mountains themselves was because her parents were there and had forbade her to do so. Their arguments had been logical, so she had listened.

Eleana had come to realise that the moment Kaden had shut her out was the moment he first saw Felix. Before that, he had welcomed her in his mind, telling her he loved her, how much he wanted to see her again. When he’d slammed up the titanium wall between them her sternum felt like it was being crushed.

Then, he walked out unscathed, and she’d run to him. What else would she have done?

She’s wanted to thank her cousin profusely for saving her mate, but when she’d turned to speak to him he was not there.

Eleana stood directly in front of the entrance, not daring to look into its black abyss. Instead, she looked upwards at the stars, her hair scratching her face as the wind lightly blew.

The distant smell of pine blew through the air – jarringly pleasant in this place of nightmares.

With no small amount of courage, Eleana set her eyes on the darkness ahead, her throat tight and dry as she spoke.

“Felix?” she murmured. “Are you still here?”

She knew Kaden had said he was gone, but he had yet to master his magic – much like her. Even if the chance to see her cousin again was minimal, she would take it.

“I don’t expect to see you, I just… I miss you. If you’re here, and Cauldron I wish you are, just give me a sign. Anything.”

Her eyes started to string, and her darkness threatened to lash out again. She could feel it inside her like it was simmering just under her skin, pushing and prodding upwards trying to be free.

She lowered herself to the ground, fisting the dirt that surrounded her. Pulverizing it between her fingers, she lashed out and threw a handful of it at the cave entrance with a scream. She bit her lip to restrain herself, so hard that it drew blood, the red dripping down her chin.

She rubbed at her face, not caring if she smudged herself with dirt, trying to clear her scattered mind.

There were constant knocks in her direction, her parents and Kaden, but she didn’t feel like letting anyone in. In all her times of anguish her only true coping method had been Felix. She didn’t have that now, and all she craved was to hear his voice again –  to laugh with him – to get the goodbye that Kaden had.

Was she really mad that her mate hadn’t summoned her, or was she just mad at the world for doing such a horrid thing to such a pure person? She did not know, and she did not mind her fury. Her fury was fuelling her magic, and her magic would help end all this. Once the High Lords and Ladies had met and they formed a plan on how to eradicate these creatures, Eleana would be more than valuable.

That’s if they could ever find the creatures.

There were just so many unanswered questions. Who was doing this? These creatures didn’t just appear out of nowhere, and they acted with such intention that it was impossible to believe that they were anything but puppets to some string master. All attacks had occurred within the past few years, with more and more happening in recent times. What was truly petrifying was that if not for the Impeath attack on Felix so long ago, they never would have known about the creatures at all. Yes, Eleana may have been taken by the Colloden, but she never would have made the connections about the bed time tales.

“Felix,” she whispered to nothing, knowing he was gone, “I love you, and I would sell my soul to see you again. To have a chance to say goodbye.” Her voice broke on the last word, and the tears she had never been able to hold back swelled again. She was lost; she didn’t know where to turn. Her heart ached when she thought of Kaden, and she loved him so damn much but that didn’t mean she wasn’t furious with him for not thinking of her the way she would have him – for not giving her a goodbye.

“You told me to stay safe, Felix, but you were my unfaltering anchor, no matter how rough the seas were. I’ve never had a day where I couldn’t turn to you, since we were children you were my most trusted, most loyal friend.”

Deep in the pit of her stomach, she felt anxiety curling at the thought of forgetting a single detail about her brother. It gripped her like a choke hold, and her breath started faltering and her mind started wondering, her nerves sparking negatives thoughts that further stoked the fire that was her mind.

Eleana recognized to herself that sitting here at night was likely a terrible idea, but she made no effort to move. Rather, she lied down, resting her head on her hands facing the entrance.

Her eyelids drooped, and there was some sick joke in the fact that the only place she could finally sleep was when she was as close to Felix’s body as she could get.

She let her eyes close, only a small part nagging at her that this was dangerous. But a larger part, a part forged by fatigue and woe, told her to stay, because how could something worse possibly happen?

As Eleana drifted, the path into the entrance was eerily quiet. You could not hear the creatures that lurked in the mountains caverns, nor any animals that would usually take refuge in this area. There were no Illyrians, all guarding their homes and trusting the wards of the High Lord and Lady to lock the beasts inside.

Her tears subsided, hiding away for the time being, preserving themselves until her next panic attack or nightmare. She let her body sink into the ground, succumbing to the day, keeping her mind closed and quiet. The air smelt sweet from distant trees and flowers, and she detested how peaceful it was. The wind was a welcoming caress on her skin, and now maybe she would sleep.

And then the snap of a twig breaking, and Eleana’s eyes flew open as she skidded to her feet, watching as a dark figure glided out from the mountain. It was black and languid, claws to rival that of an Impeath. It had a gleaming smile on its face, its teeth like daggers piercing through its mouth. But the most frightening, the thing that made Eleana’s heart quicken and back sweat, was its bright, molten golden eyes.

“Eleana of the Night Court, I’ve been waiting for you. And I can give you what you want.”

[shingeki-no-scenarios]

Title: Good Night Kiss

Characters: Marco x Fem!OC

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Language

Summary:  “I never knew Jean has a sister, you know. I never knew that she’d be so beautiful, too.”

A/N: Based on this prompt :D I hope I gave you just what you asked for!!

"I’m home!”

The young man’s boisterous voice was more than enough to have his mother come running down the stairs and squeal in delight upon seeing that her beloved son had paid her a visit. In her excitement, she nearly jumped over the last step of the stairs and pulled her son into a tight, bone-crushing hug.

“Oh, Jean-bo! I missed you so much!” she exclaimed, breaking the hug to cup his face into her hands whilst noting how handsome and manly he has gotten as compared to the last time she saw him. “I thought you weren’t going to visit, you rotten child! I was starting to get jealous of Mrs. Wagner. Her son dropped by yesterday, you know. What a shame your father couldn’t be here! He left this morning to visit your uncle in Krovla and he won’t be back until tomorrow night.” she animatedly rambled, obviously excited by her son’s presence.

“I’m here now, mom. I’m spending the weekend here.” he muttered. As expected, he was embarrassed by his mother’s over-excitement, more so that Marco was present to witness everything. Rolling his eyes, he gently pried the woman’s hands off his face as he muttered apologies to his friend. “Mom, I’d like you to meet Marco. He’s a very good friend of mine. He’s planning to spend the night here, if you don’t mind” his tone lightened up as gave his friend a firm pat on the shoulder, urging him to step a bit closer.

In her excitement, she didn’t notice the young man awkwardly standing by Jean’s side. Almost immediately, she was filled with shame, thinking that she might have came off as rude for ignoring him. While she was offered a handshake, her excitement got the best of her and she moved to envelope the young man in a hug whilst muttering about how her son’s friends can stay as long as they want to.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs. Kirstein.” Marco grinned as he returned the hug. He knew that doing so would further embarrass Jean, who was currently flailing about in panic, but he decided to drop all his cares at the moment. The feeling of being welcomed and liked by someone he just met was definitely pleasant, after all. “I’m glad that I finally get to meet you! Jean has told me so much about you. Good things, of course.” he spoke, breaking the hug to flash a wide smile at the mother and son.

"Stop!” the elderly woman giggled and blushed, playfully slapping the well-mannered man on his shoulder as he chuckled out on how it was true. “Oh, where are my manners? Come in, boys! Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll just get you guys something to drink.” she hastily said before quickly making her way upstairs.

The pair made their way to the living room and flopped down on the sofa, finally feeling the exhaustion of their travel weigh down on them. Just when they started to enjoy the quiet serenity that filled the house, Mrs. Kirstein broke the silence as she offered them her freshly-made apple juice, urging them to drink up before making another run to the kitchen for some snacks, leaving the boys in silence once more.

“Ew, it’s you.” a feminine voice cut in, disrupting their quiet time once more. Before any of them could react, Jean’s glass was abruptly snatched out of his hands, leaving him to screw his eyes shut in hopes that the person he wanted to see the least would disappear if he did so. “Apple juice, huh? Delicious.” she commented, chugging the contents in one go before chucking the glass back to him.

“Marco... This is my... sister.” Jean muttered, feeling the heat on his cheeks intensify. Just when he thought that his mother was embarrassing enough, he remembered that his younger sister was just as bad– a hundred times worse, even. “I don’t talk about her... You can see why.” he gestured to the girl dressed in nothing but her chemise, wildly plowing through the bread box as if she were a raccoon digging through the trash.

“Hi there! I’m Marco, Jean’s friend.” Marco called out, flashing his signature smile once even if she wasn’t facing him. Upon hearing his voice, her eyes widened as she slowly craned her neck to face him. She was underdressed and overeating at the assumption that her family were the only people home, but to her dismay, they had a guest over. To make matters worse, he was drop-dead gorgeous and charming.

“Hi.” she greeted flatly, a piece of bread unattractively falling from her mouth as she spoke. A blush made it was to her cheeks, burning brighter upon hearing Jean comment on how much of a pig she is. “Bye.” she muttered as she made a run for her room, hoping that the incident will easily be forgotten and that she could redeem herself if she changed into more sightly clothes.

––

“Your turn.” Jean muttered, eyebrows furrowing as he thoroughly inspected the remaining cards he had. Currently, the boys were engaged in a rather intense game of poker, hoping that soon enough, their eyes will tire out and they would get some sleep. “Be nice.” he joked, making the other chuckle softly and playfully shrug.

Apprehensively, Marco put down his card of choice, immediately regretting it upon seeing that he had no good cards left after that. Thankfully, his opponent laid down a card that gave him a chance to make another move. With a triumphant smile, he laid down a straight flush and ended the game.

“Damn you!” Jean groaned and hung his head, feeling defeated and outsmarted. On the other hand, Marco basked in his victory and teasingly gloated. Shaking his head and offering a high-five, he commended the other for being so clever in the game and challenged him to another round.

Before they could even start preparing the cards, a soft knock followed by the creak of the door was heard. Jean assumed that it was his mother, making him slightly frown and wonder what was she still doing at this time of the night. To their surprise, his sister poked her head in, smiling brightly before entering the room. Thankfully, she was decently dressed this time.

“Midnight snack, anyone?” she asked in a sickly sweet voice. Ignoring Jean’s protests, she made herself comfortable on the empty spot beside Jean before laying down the tray of biscuits she brought in front of them. “Ooh, poker? Can I play? I’m really good at it.” she asked sheepishly, shooting a rather flirtatious grin at Marco. Upon having him smile back, she giggled coyly before looking away.

“Go away, freak.“ Jean grumbled, shifting the cards away from her and turning his back on her. Pouting slightly, she huffed and made an effort to squeeze herself in between them, making sure that she wasn’t getting too close to Marco.

In an attempt to establish a good image in front of her new-found crush, she snuggled closer to her brother and leaned her head on his shoulder, muttering about how much she missed him. Much to her dismay, she was harshly shrugged off as the elder man muttered something about not being able to concentrate when she was being annoying. Rolling her eyes, she scooted closer and leaned her chin on his shoulder, peeking at his cards as she whispered possible moves he could make.

“Fuck off! You’re so annoying!” he growled, shoving her harshly enough to knock her to the floor. In shock and humiliation, she lay frozen on the floor for a few minutes before she stood up. Cheeks burning red, she muttered her apologies to bewildered Marco, and gave Jean a harsh glare before making her exit.

––

“Hey.” his warm, gentle voice filled her ears as he joined her to sit on the window sill. Upon noting his presence, she harshly wiped the tears off her cheeks before rasping out a greeting. “Are you alright?” he asked softly, voice dripping with concern and worry. While he was aware that Jean was rather hot-headed and filter-less, he never knew that the same treatment extended to his own family members.

“Yeah.” she whispered, avoiding his gaze and averting her attention to the starry sky in front of her. As much as she was used to Jean’s brash attitude, she never thought that it would lead to her downfall one day. At that moment, she wished that her older brother was more gentle, especially in front of his cute friend.

“Jean’s softer than anyone would think, you know?” he started, smiling to himself at the thought of his friend’s vulnerability that he was able to witness. “He’s expressive and blunt, but not so much when it comes to people he truly and deeply cares for.” he added, making her turn to him with a puzzled look on her face. Memories of Jean’s attitude towards her and their parents as compared to other people came flooding back, and then it all made sense– Marco was right on that.

Sniffing, she only nodded in agreement and feel her mood slowly start to return to normal. Not only was Marco a handsome face, but he was great with his words and thoughts as well– he was perfect, and she felt herself falling with each passing second. Managing a small smile, she looked him in the eye and mumbled a sincere “thank you”, eliciting his angelic grin.

“It’s nothing, really. I’m glad I could help.” he responded, scooting closer to her. Once he was close enough, his hand reached out to brush against her cheek, gently wiping off a stray tear. “I never knew Jean has a sister, you know.” he muttered with his eyes fixed on her, drinking in each and every feature. “I never knew that she’d be so beautiful, too.” he added, grinning sheepishly as a tinge of pink made its way to his cheeks.

"Stooop.” she lightly poked him in the arm and giggled coyly, strongly reminding the man of how her mother acted earlier that day. “You’re pretty handsome yourself, mister.” was her cheeky response, bashfully looking away once she uttered those words. Grinning from ear to ear, he graciously accepted the compliment with butterflies flittering about in his stomach.

The pair sat in silence as the night grew deeper, absentmindedly gazing at the stars. Soon enough, they found themselves yawning and rubbing their eyes, making them chuckle at how they were fighting back their sleepiness. It was worth it, after all, as it gave them time to enjoy each other’s presence.

“We should head to bed.” he mumbled, stretching out before hopping off the window sill. Humming in agreement, she yawned before following suit, feeling sparks go off in her stomach at how his hand lightly brushed against her arm in an attempt to help her down.

“Good night then, Marco.” she greeted, smiling brightly as she slowly backed away. “I hope you and Jean can join mom and I for breakfast. I’ll be properly dressed by then.” she said in a jest, making him laugh heartily in response. As she turned on her heel and took a couple steps towards her room, she felt his hand wrap around her wrist and spin her around, making her eyes widen in shock upon noting how close they were to each other.

“Good night.” he greeted back, his deep voice as smooth as honey. Mustering all the courage he had in his system, he moved forward and pressed a tender kiss on her forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning.” he whispered against her skin before making his way to Jean’s room, leaving the girl stunned and in love. 

[iwantthedean]

Angel Among Us (Finale)

Sequel to The Demon’s Pet.

Part Ten: Choice

Word Count: 2385

Pairing: MoC!DeanxOFC

Summary: Dean and Zephaniah’s story continues as he fights against The Mark of Cain taking hold, and she avoids waging war with Heaven.

Warnings: Language, character death. Canon-typical violence. 

Masterlist

A/N: Another series down! This is the finale for Angels Among Us, but there will be another installment to this story! Thank you to everyone who has followed the first two installments; I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, this story is very near and dear to my heart. Your support means the world! 

In the hours since he had left the bunker, Dean had considered returning a handful of times. He knew that if he did return, it would be Zephaniah’s undoing. He could not let himself be the death of her, so, despite the urge to stay close to her, Dean left the picture on her pillow and left with the Impala.

His plan was sketchy at best. The way Dean figured it, he was the only being with The Mark on Earth anymore. No one could kill him; he would come back as a demon again. As freeing as that experience had been, it had carried a lot of awful things with it as well. His only option was to go to some place where no one could find him, and where he could no longer harm anyone, be it directly or indirectly. He was going to need some help with that.

Dean drove to a bar several hours outside of Lebanon. He set up the spell to summon Death on the trunk of the Impala, then went inside to wait.

 Zephaniah brought the picture to Sam as soon as she could move herself from the spot in Dean’s room where she had been frozen for several minutes as she tried to process that Dean had left them in the time they needed him the most.

“Where could he possibly have gone?” Zephaniah demanded. “We are about to be in the middle of a war with Heaven, and he bails!”

Sam set the picture on the table and crossed his arms over his chest. “When are you going to realize that everything Dean does – okay, most things Dean does, is because he thinks it’s what’s best for you? He has done the same for me since he was four years old, Zeph. Dean take a burden on himself and he won’t unshoulder it until he’s the one who has taken care of it. My guess is, he’s off trying to do exactly what you did when you lied and told him you weren’t safe for him, or went off to Israel.”

Zephaniah’s shoulders slumped. “Why now, Sam? Why now, when we need him more than ever to just be with us?”

Sam shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. All I know is that we have to be ready for this, with or without him, so when he does come back – and I know he will, he always does – we’re still standing.”

Zephaniah nodded. She picked up the picture and turned away from Sam, intent on taking the picture back to Dean’s room. Before she could get more than a few steps away, the walls of the bunker began to shake. The floor beneath her feet was still, so Zephaniah knew it wasn’t an earthquake. She shoved the picture in her pocket and, turning a deaf ear to Sam’s yells for her to come back, ran to Dean’s room for the Dies Irae.

She was going to need it.

The bartender refilled Dean’s drink and asked if he was sure the person he was waiting on was going to show.

“Don’t know why he wouldn’t,” Dean shrugged. “He always does.”

“Not this time.”

Dean turned towards the voice sitting next to him; it was familiar but he couldn’t place it until he laid eyes on the vessel sitting next to him.

“Gabriel?”

With a snap of Gabriel’s fingers, everyone else in the bar disappeared. “Long time no see, Dean. How’s tricks?”

“I might ask you the same damn thing,” Dean retorted. “And as much as I’m absolutely ecstatic about this little reunion, I’m waiting on someone. So you’ll have to forgive me if I take a raincheck.”

Gabriel tossed an empty peanut shell over the counter. “Right, Death. Not coming.”

“Excuse me?”

“Death is not coming to meet you today,” Gabriel said.

Dean raised his brow. “Any particular reason why?”

Gabriel turned on his barstool to face Dean. “Because today is not your day to die. It’s not your day to run away, either. I know what’s going on with Zephaniah and Nathaniel and the war that’s coming. Do you really think that extracting yourself from the equation will stop it?”

“I do, actually. Isn’t that what this war is about? Zephaniah refusing to help them stop me?”

Gabriel snorted. “If only it were that simple. Zephaniah killed three angels. She goes against the natural order of things at nearly every turn. I’m not saying I don’t agree with her for the most part, don’t get me wrong.”

“Then what are you saying?” Dean pressed.

Gabriel looked him directly in the eye. “I’m saying that this war isn’t just about you anymore. Nathaniel is a peacekeeper, and Zephaniah does not keep the peace. He wants to stop her. The only way to do that, is to take her down.”

“But if she’s killed, everyone around her dies, too.”

“That’s a risk Nathaniel is willing to take, for the greater good.” Gabriel rolled his eyes. “My brothers have good intentions, but they’re idiots in the way they go about things. Dad’s not around to keep them in control, so they take matters into their own hands.”

Dean finished off his drink. “You’re saying I should go back.”

Gabriel tilted his head. “I’m strongly encouraging it. We’ve got to account for free will here.”

Dean shook his head and let out a small chuckle. “So why you, Gabe? Why the trickster?”

“I wasn’t always a trickster,” Gabriel reminded. “I was once the Messenger of the Lord. This is important enough, Dean, I’ve been called to that again.”

“And what’s the message? Don’t give up?”

“Yeah, don’t give up,” Gabriel said, “because if you give up, Zephaniah is done for. She’s right when she tells you that the two of you aren’t soulmates – you’re something more than that. When God saw that the chain of human events would eventually lead to this, you were already in the plan. He knew that you would need someone to fight next to you, and that it needed to be someone more than Sam. It was then that he created Zephaniah.”

Dean’s brow fell into a quizzical expression. “She was made for me?”

“She was made for you. The pull between the two of you is not only The Mark. Yes, The Darkness wants Zephaniah’s soul, but the connection between the two of you was made the day you rescued her from that warehouse. You can walk away from Sam – you can, and you have. You’ve left him on his own, thinking it was what was better for him. Zephaniah on the other hand – you will always go back to her.”

Dean thought on all of that for a few moments before sliding off the barstool. “Thanks, Gabriel. Let’s just hope she believes me when she hears all of this.”

Gabriel gave him a single nod, calling Dean back before he reached the door. “I would hurry if I were you.”

The archangel didn’t have to go into detail for Dean to read the meaning in the statement. Dean hurried out to the Impala, fishtailing out of the parking lot and speeding down the highway towards the bunker.

 Castiel, Rowena, and Crowley had joined Sam by the time Zephaniah returned with her knife. They stood in a close circle, watching as the warding on the bunkers walls glowed before plaster and brick began to fall, breaking the sigils. Their glow faded out, and the door of the bunker fell with a loud thud.

A group of ten angels entered the bunker, and Zephaniah assumed that the one leading the group was Nathaniel. Her countenance portrayed strength and courage, but her heartbeat and rapid breath betrayed her.

“You can still give this up, Zephaniah. Your chance has not entirely passed. Heaven is still willing to take on your acceptance of the mission to stop The Darkness from being released,” Nathaniel told her.

Zephaniah shook her head. “When I told Josiah I would not betray Dean the first time I was dragged to Heaven about this matter, I meant it. That answer was not a rash decision, an initial reply while I thought things over. My answer is the same.”

“In that case,” Nathaniel began, his angel blade slipping into his hand, “you put the fate of your life into our hands.”

“So be it.”

There was a moment of calm before Nathaniel struck out at her, as there always was before a fight like this began. The angels accompanying Nathaniel spread out to take on her cohorts, leaving their leader to deal with the true problem.

She was able to dodge most of Nathaniel’s strikes. The ones he was able to land were painful but not fatal. Zephaniah couldn’t get close enough to him to use the Dies Irae, and her frustration with that fact was quickly turning to anger. True to form, her anger spurred her on and she was able to land one solid gash to Nathaniel’s arm.

“Not bad,” the angel chuckled, “for a human.”

He lunged at her again, and Zephaniah narrowly evaded the attack. Her instinct told her she needed help, but a quick glance around the room told her that the rest of those on her side were dealing with saving their own lives at the moment.

Zephaniah had to do something. Changing her grip on the knife, she ran at Nathaniel, tackling him to the ground. It was clear that the wound from the Dies Irae was draining his power, little by little, and Zephaniah could see that they were becoming more and more evenly matched as the blood continued to drip from Nathaniel’s arm.

She had the blade in her hand poised over the angel’s heart when her attention was momentarily stolen by the man coming down the stairs, running towards her and calling her name.

“Dean,” Zephaniah breathed, unable to control the smile tugging at her lips.

Her distraction would be her downfall. Nathaniel took advantage of her divided attentions and shoved his angel blade into her side. Her eyes went wide as she fell away, gripping the site of the new wound, and the world around them began to quake like never before.

Seeing that the majority of the other angels had been overtaken, Nathaniel ordered those remaining to retreat with him. Zephaniah was nearly dead anyway; their job here was done.

The pain began to fade and fingers of cold crept over Zephaniah’s entire body. She gurgled and coughed as blood welled up from her belly and dribbled out of her mouth.

“Zeph, look at me,” Dean said, rushing to her side and pulled her into a sitting position. “Hey, look at me. You’re going to be all right.”

“It’s over now,” Zephaniah said between struggling breaths. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

More bricks and plaster fell from the ceiling. Lamps crashed from tables and books tumbled off of shelves. No one could stand anymore, as the ground beneath them tossed and turned.

“I’m the one who couldn’t save you,” Dean said. “I’m so sorry. This is on me. It’s all on me.”

“You can’t stay here. You have to go,” Zephaniah ordered him. She was beginning to gasp for breaths between words, and the rafters from the ceiling were cracking apart, preparing to come down on them any second.

“I won’t leave you,” Dean promised, kissing her forehead and pushing the hair out of her face.

Zephaniah glanced at his arm and saw it – The Mark of Cain. The thing that had gotten them here today. She could let them all die, let Heaven win, or she could sacrifice herself to save them all.

It took the last of the energy Zephaniah had to reach out and grip Dean’s arm, her hand firm over The Mark.

“Yes,” she said.

Dean frowned, and Zephaniah knew he didn’t understand what was happening. That was all for the best, she decided, as reality began to fade, and Zephaniah slipped away into nothingness.

 By some sort of miracle, the bunker was restored nearly the same moment that Zephaniah had uttered her last word. Dean still wished he could have made out what she was saying, that he could have made some sense of that last moment with her.

Her body was laid out on his bed now. He had sat by her for hours, waiting for it all to be a horrible nightmare. No matter how hard Dean prayed, how long he waited, Zephaniah did not stir.

The argument with Sam and Castiel over burying her or burning her was perhaps the most intense Dean had had with his brother and best friend. He refused to give her a hunter’s funeral; burning her body meant that there was no bringing her back. Perhaps he would further damn himself in the process, but Dean knew that he could not go on without Zephaniah.

He returned to his room, prepared to carry her outside of the bunker where they had all agreed Zephaniah would be buried, but she was gone. Her limp body was no longer weighing on his mattress.

Panicked, Dean spun around to alert Sam and Castiel, but the very being of his concern stopped him in his tracks.

“Hello, Dean.”

Zephaniah’s smile was hers. Her voice was hers, and her hair and her body. The clothes were her own, the way she did her makeup. Dean’s heart relaxed, until his mind could process the two things Zephaniah now possessed that had not belonged to her before.

Reaching for that familiar spot on his arm, Dean realized The Mark was gone. It was now situated comfortably just below Zephaniah’s collar bone, given away by the low-cut shirt she was wearing.

Yes.

Dean replayed the moment just before Zephaniah died in his mind. Her grip on his arm, right where The Mark had been, and her last word.

Yes.

Zephaniah had said yes to The Mark, and then she had died – only for as long as The Mark would allow. She had come back, but the Zephaniah standing in front of Dean now was not the Zephaniah he knew. No, this was a new Zephaniah, one with The Mark of Cain burned into her chest and eyes Dean didn’t recognize staring back at him.

Those demonic, black eyes.

[chorusfm]

Death Cab For Cutie – Transatlanticism

Transatlanticism is my favorite album of all time. Death Cab For Cutie’s fourth album, released fifteen years ago today, is the band’s second concept album. Transatlanticism centers itself around long-distance love, with both its strengths and downfalls. Ben Gibbard, the band’s soft-sung lead vocalist, lyricist, and guitarist, penned the term “transatlanticism” to express the unfathomable emotional space between two young lovers. The distance Gibbard discusses feels impenetrable. Transatlanticism sees Death Cab For Cutie experimenting with soft-loud dynamics (“Transatlanticism”, “We Looked Like Giants”), perfecting the gorgeous quiet track (“Lightness”, “A Lack of Color”), and witnesses them pushing themselves to go all-out and produce the flawless pop song (“The Sound Of Settling”). Completing all of this is the efforts of guitarist, co-writer and producer Chris Walla. Walla’s lo-fi production is perfect for Transatlanticism. Fifteen years later, and Transatlanticism still sounds incredibly rich and indulgent, yet also warm and intimate. Album opener, “The New Year,” is the first of many tracks to achieve the band’s main goal while working on Transatlanticism. Prior to the release of the album, Gibbard had this to say: We’ve tried to construct it with transitions of songs going in and out of each other, and I think it’s a little bit more expansive than the last record. Immediately, “The New Year” catapults listeners into Transatlanticism’s sweeping world, beginning with a rumbling train; ascending before the arrival of crashing guitars coupled with glowing, bright drumming. In “The New Year”, Gibbard recalls the absurdity of things like “New Year’s resolutions”, admitting: “so this is the New Year / and I don’t feel any different” then, in the second verse: “so this is the New Year, and I have no resolutions”. He also reminisces for simpler times, the periods where “the world was flat like the old days,” so he and his partner could travel to see each other by “folding a map.” Gibbard desires to rebel against distance, but instead, he, unfortunately, comes across as defeated. Transatlanticism explores the agony and challenges of long-distance love further in its runtime, but why should I rush myself? After “The New Year” is the misleadingly beautiful “Lightness.” It’s the first track that encapsulates Death Cab For Cutie’s vision of having songs transition in and out of each other, as “Lightness” flows from “The New Year” in stunning fashion. You don’t even feel it. “Lightness” follows Gibbard as he attempts to create a convincing argument to remain faithful, but ultimately accepts that his thoughts of disloyalty go against what he feels is right. His voice quavers as he tries to strongly declare: “you shouldn’t think what you’re feeling.” It’s brutally honest, in turn making “Title And Registration,” the next track, increasingly heartbreaking. Fun story: I was a foolish teenager who downloaded Transatlanticism from good old Limewire. The download didn’t include “Title And Registration.” I embarrassingly listened for months, not realizing a track was missing, a track I came to love dearly… Anyway, “Title And Registration” finds Gibbard in the devastating aftermath of a significant relationship breakdown. He rummages through the (incorrectly named) glove compartment, just to find “souvenirs from better times” – the souvenirs can be perceived as various trinkets his ex forgot in the car, as well as some photos. “Title And Registration” becomes more desolate when Gibbard recognizes that “there’s no blame for how our love did slowly fade.” Ben Gibbard is a master of capturing the beauty and ugliness of human emotion, as well as the full depth held inside the spectrum of human emotion. Where Death Cab For Cutie seems to thrive the most is in the under-appreciated beauty, “Expo ‘86”. The track sees the band firing on all cylinders: a mellow start, an exciting chorus and bridge, descending piano, and a wonderful juxtaposition between melancholy lyrics paired with extremely catchy music. “Expo ‘86” delves into the toxicity of repeated cycles – “sometimes I think this cycle never ends / we slide from top to bottom then we slide and turn again”, and for listeners who struggle with anxiety as I have, Ben Gibbard captures the uneasy dread of our day to day lives: “I am waiting for something to go wrong / I am waiting for familiar resolve / I am waiting for another repeat / another diet fed by crippling defeat”. With “Expo ‘86”, Death Cab For Cutie assisted confused teenage-me in identifying issues I couldn’t voice yet. I’m not sure if the band knew that this song, as well as the rest of Transatlanticism, really, would be so very helpful for legions of fans years down the track. “Expo ‘86” gave me solace when I desperately needed it. For that, I am eternally grateful. “Expo ‘86” isn’t the only song that makes use of a superb contrast between saddening lyrics and catchy music. “The Sound Of Settling,” a track Ben Gibbard initially disliked but was urged to leave on the record by Chris Walla (thank you, Chris), does it again. It’s a song that quickly turns out to be layered and huge. Opening with a pressing guitar, “The Sound Of Settling” is joined by Nick Harmer’s groovy bass line and Jason McGerr’s urgent drumming. For the first time, Transatlanticism is actually quite amusing, but still so sad: “and I’ll sit and wonder of every love that could have been / if I’d only thought of something charming to say.” It’s a tragic view of what life could be like if we didn’t take any risks. However, “The Sound Of Settling” doesn’t even come close to what the one-two punch of “Tiny Vessels” and “Transatlanticism” make me feel. For a long time, I couldn’t listen to “Tiny Vessels.” It’s a song concerning unrequited love, but on the other side of things. It’s cruel. I do applaud Ben Gibbard for writing the song now; it’s gutsy and emotive, perhaps these stories need to be told, too. But, when Gibbard gently sings “this is the moment that you know / that you told her that you loved her, but you don’t,” I instantly lose it. I’m transported back to a specific, very painful time in my life where my first partner was unfaithful. I’m left wishing he could be as blunt as Gibbard is in this song. As hurtful as “and you are beautiful, but you don’t mean a thing to me” would be to hear, it’s better than the alternative I had to reckon with. Coupled with mournful, swelling guitars and an explosive climax, “Tiny Vessels” remains an emotional powerhouse to this day. Then, there’s the immaculate title track. “Transatlanticism,” to me, is Death Cab For Cutie’s musical and lyrical magnum opus. It opens on a tender note. For half the song, it’s just Ben Gibbard’s voice accompanied by the piano. It’s a tale of the woes of long-distance love – Gibbard is simply beaten here: “the distance is quite simply too far for me to row / it seems farther than ever before.” The overwhelmed nature of “Transatlanticism” isn’t here to stay, though. Before you even realize it, the track opens itself up, developing a romantic swirling experience of both catharsis and celebration. The percussion and piano combined are almost deafening – I can only imagine what it’s like when performed live. Simply and sadly, Gibbard murmurs, “I need you so much closer.” The despair takes over, and multiple voices join Gibbard, wailing, “so come on.” Since October 7, 2003, “Transatlanticism” has soundtracked countless long-distance relationships, including my own. Where “Tiny Vessels” breaks my heart, “Transatlanticism” encourages hope and the release of pent-up emotion. Things get pretty interesting late in Transatlanticism, as “Passenger Seat” is the first happy song on the album. It’s solely Gibbard and a piano, and like “Transatlanticism” before it, “Passenger Seat” is majestic. Gibbard takes us on a road trip where he explores unconditional love. I can’t say for sure whether the duos he speaks of are soul mates or parent and child; you decide how you’d like to interpret it. “Passenger Seat” finds Gibbard feeling utterly safe and deems this person trustworthy: “with my feet on the dash, the world doesn’t matter.” This is a song of deep love and security. When Gibbard resoundingly declares, “when you feel embarrassed, then I’ll be your pride / when you need directions, then I’ll be the guide,” I can’t help hoping I can be that person for my partner, “for all time.” Transatlanticism’s final two tracks keep up the honesty and continue dissecting stories of love. Although, they couldn’t be any further apart sonically or in subject matter. Transatlanticism is a mostly mellow album, until the exhilarating penultimate track, “We Looked Like Giants” begins. The song builds and builds, from opening with droning guitar to the blend of beautiful, melodic piano and steady drums, to all-out jamming. From the moment “We Looked Like Giants” bursts into gear, the band fight to keep the bombastic vibe of the track. “We Looked Like Giants” is incredibly sentimental, seeing Gibbard evoking memories of first love and first sexual experiences. He’s visibly infatuated, and can’t keep his excitement to himself as he croons, “I don’t know about you, but I swear on my name they could smell it on me.” Gibbard also reveals the wonderful feeling of sharing music you love with someone you’re smitten with, looking back with endearment: “do you remember the J.A.M.C. (The Jesus And Mary Chain, who Gibbard himself is a fan of), and reading aloud from magazines?” It’s almost a shame that Transatlanticism doesn’t end there. But, it wouldn’t be right to close Transatlanticism on any song that isn’t “A Lack Of Color.” The closing track, “A Lack Of Color,” has a calming quality about it. However, “A Lack Of Color” ends Transatlanticism on a solemn note. The hushed ballad surveys Gibbard deceiving himself, “and when I see you, I really see you upside down,” and studies opposites: heart vs. brain, “fact not fiction,” before reaching a shattering ending. “A Lack Of Color” is mournfully honest. It’s an acoustic ballad done right. It’s short and not so sweet – thematically, anyway, and transitions all the way back to “The New Year,” with the rumbling, ascending train making its return. My heart falters when Gibbard chants, “I should have given you a reason to stay.” By the end of Transatlanticism, Ben Gibbard accepts that he’s alone. “A Lack Of Color” doesn’t tie up the album with a pretty red bow, and thank goodness for that. Transatlanticism saw Death Cab For Cutie undertake a brave, large sonic leap by sticking to their instincts, resulting in an album that’s equally expansive and personally affecting. I first discovered Transatlanticism when I was 15 years old. Today, Transatlanticism turns fifteen. I can’t begin to explain how much I’ve grown and changed in the last seven years, but I can be assured that no matter what path I go down in my life, Transatlanticism will always provide an immense sense of comfort. It’s still my go-to album on a crisp autumn or winter’s day. Transatlanticism still invites nostalgia, motivates me to frequently remind my loved ones just how much I love them, and one day soon, the album art will be my first tattoo. It’s a journey, from the incoming train circling “The New Year,” making its way back to “A Lack Of Color.” The stories enclosed in this record are all stories we know, understand, but might not have articulated ourselves. As a result of that, Ben Gibbard comes across as an old friend. The instrumentation and production envelop listeners in warmth to this day. Death Cab For Cutie captured magic with Transatlanticism. Even now, its core concepts, transitions, fuzzy arrangements, and lofty ambitions are inspirational, to musicians and fans alike. Simplicity is beauty, less is more – I’ve always strongly believed in those statements, and that’s where Death Cab For Cutie find their biggest strength. Transatlanticism is supremely relatable, dramatic yet restrained, and its humble power will endure for many more years to come. --- Please consider supporting us so we can keep bringing you stories like this one. ◎ https://chorus.fm/review/retrospective/death-cab-for-cutie-transatlanticism/