#this extends past the descendants fandom too | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dubsxreader · 4 years ago

Text

worship the king //.o1 // shigaraki tomura x female!reader

summary: after the soul crushing realization that you're not meant to be the Hero you've spent your life training to be, you hunt down the most indiscriminate killer you know: Dabi. his man-child of a leader being there only makes the task easier, right? too bad Shigaraki has a knack for seeing things in others they don't see themselves. wc: 3,312 playlist: here!

rated: M for dark and mature themes; future lewd tw: suicidal ideation (seriously don't read if you're in a bad mindset this probs won't help), depression, toxic thoughts, manipulation, the start of a v dependent, idolizing relationship ie "worship" in all definitions of the word haha. Shigs taking advantage of a mentally vulnerable hero basically; dead dove do not eat for that reason.

a/n: this is something I wrote almost year ago now, when I first fell head over heels for Shigs and really felt like bnha was saving me from insanity haha. I have 15 pages of notes for this fic, but for now, for the King's birthday, this is my thank you to him and a year of loving Shigaraki Tomura <3 also to the xreader community for being my gateway into every fandom that takes over my life haha. will be posted to ao3 later

You stand on a cracked, littered rooftop, sullenly looking over the calamity you figured would be destroying the lives of every day, happily unaware citizens tonight. A slight sigh of relief leaves your chewed-to-hell lips, hidden to your own addled mind but glaringly apparent to any of your fellow heroes who’d commented on your state of mind the past few months.

You appreciated their care, you really did—for all the surface level care it could give, that is. It wasn’t their fault they couldn’t understand. They were simply more Heroic than you, official capital and all. More driven, stronger, faster… But you’ve been doing the absolute best you can, and you were sure of that. Days–weeks months?–of harshly honest self speculation assured you of your failures and of the fact that, simply put, you weren’t cut out for shouldering multitudes of lives every time you stepped out your door. Heroism didn’t just end when you took off your costume; no, it was an ideology that should be ingrained into the soul of the costume wearer, and you’d come to the jarring conclusion that, after all your special training, you just weren’t up to snuff.

You couldn’t even save yourself from your own demons. How the hell were you supposed to save those more deserving of life if you couldn’t cope with your own shit?

A small, condescending snort leaves your nostrils as you observe the blue flames engulfing the area below you. Fucking worthless. What was the point, then? Hours of support Hero's work on your items, costume—wasted. The countless words of love and support from friends and family. Ha. Your eyes track the small movements of the current chaos’ perpetrators with a keenness you've found twisted comfort in recently. A familiar, all encompassing fixation gears up that brings you out of the cloud of self-doubt, hate, and deprecation that was so, so wrong to feel as a Pro-Hero in today’s society. In this bubble there's a solution, so it's okay. You let out a numbing breath.

Maybe you could give the Villains +1 morality in the eyes of whatever twisted being rested on their laurels, idly watching as you drive yourself insane.

A swift gust of wind knocks the empty cans and bottles from their peaceful resting places as you leave your perch, descending into the empty alley below to begin your last stand against yourself. Resolute and heavy steps echo in the widened, deserted streets of the city you vowed to protect—a small, still aware part of you thankful it’s so late at night that most would be sleeping. Your targets (saviors?) usually moved when they would make the most social impact, but you’d been tracking a certain member that didn’t seem to adhere to their strict schedule.

Whoever they were behind the obvious moniker, they seemed to kill liberally. It should be easy. You take a numbing breath.

The stench of burning flesh and ash is suddenly all too pungent, assaulting your senses enough to kick your mind into another, more logical plane and question how stupid you’re being. How disappointed everyone who knew you would be. Izuku and Hitoshi, especially, had been trying their hardest to devote extra time to you recently, you knew that—fuck, how selfish were you to bring their attention away from a goal they’d fought so hard to achieve?

The flames are smoldering char on concrete when you arrive at the end of another alleyway, just as dirty as the one you’d come from… But the incineration just seemed to have cleansed the way of its trash. You nearly sigh again in morbid relief when you see two men still standing there in the aftermath. You can see from behind that the man you’ve been tracking, Dabi, still has his left arm extended, as if relishing the memory of his flames destroying the ones he deemed unworthy.

Hands in your hero costume’s pockets, you steel yourself in your usual Hero emotions: indignation, conviction, disgust at the idea of them feeling they had a right to do anything going against the grain of the society you were indoctrinated into. You clear your throat with the last of your practiced confidence, bringing the sights of the two Villains to your own frame shadowed by the bright street lamp at your back.

“You two aren’t planning on getting away with this, are you?”

Your simple, deadpan drawl has both men scoffing to themselves and sharing a look of exasperation and annoyance. They clearly want nothing more than to be done with whatever the hell they were doing; your gaze sharpens in acknowledgment while their own take note of your hero costume. This is it. This is really it. You’ve done it. Is it really what you want?

Your eyes ice over, hardening to protect your vulnerabilities when they meet those of the second man’s own carmine flecks, so unflinching and so, so bored from behind his trademark hand.

Yeah. This is it.

Resignation freezing the rest of your visage and nothing left to say, you dash forward with simple physical speed, locking onto the Villain you recognize as the leader of the League of Villains himself. Sure, Dabi was a proven relentless killer, but you figure if you go after the leader himself there would be even less hesitation or time to think on either side. They were both reportedly unflinching, ruthless, uncaring and absolutely evil, but Shigaraki’s devilishness was practically beaten into you at this point. He was the obvious candidate, the oddness of his presence meaningless yet welcome at this point.

Your eyes never leave his as you take those last three lunging leaps, your arm cocked back in a hopeful show of some impressive power you might possess, in a display grand enough to paint yourself as a threat if not at the very least an annoyance.

Blue flames lick at the back of your costume. You’d somehow been faster than Dabi’s flames, which made no sense at all—you weren’t fast in any capacity if you were to judge yourself. It must’ve been a misfire. Lucky you’ve targeted the faster acting Villain.

Something distinctly odd flashes in his previously disinterested eye as you rush him, your Quirk barely powered yet still reflecting in his observation as you aim for the mask. Your own, in contradictory spite, slows as your mind races, brushing the hand enough to feel the inexplicitly soft and leathery texture, knocking it clean off the face of the man you’d targeted. Maybe it's the adrenaline, maybe it's the anticipation of the end, but you don’t feel anything near what you thought you’d feel when his living hand grazes your outstretched arm. If anything, it feels like an angry wasp had come at your elbow in some sort of misguided revenge attempt. Bearable.

Fucking livable.

You skid to a shaky stop feet behind them, your glare going to the small hole in your costume’s arm where he’d made the briefest of contact. The skin had only begun to crack and decay from a central point; nothing near the scale and intensity you’d been warned about by your superiors and peers. What the fuck gives?

A desperate rage threatens to erupt at the lack of damage. You feel cheated. Your eyes shift from the minimal damage to the apprehensive yet notably curious eyes of your chosen euthanasist. Was he just not taking you seriously? You didn’t blame him, but…

“I thought the League was the best of the best?” The sting in your arm is mockingly there and you scoff, barely hiding your indignation at his unfulfillment of the role you’d forced upon him. You take it and use it to fuel the crumbling foundation of your resolve, ashing it to the ground yourself and focus on the slightly slumped figure topped with white-blue hair.

His eyes are now magnetized and piercing, never wavering from your own, adding to your rage and confusion. Just what is he getting at, looking straight at you in the fucked up state you’re in and just–just fucking seeing–?! You aren’t looking for pity, fuck all if it's from the person you’ve deemed would have the balls you didn’t to end this shitty nightmare you live in. With a primal, anguished and utterly guttural scream you dash forward once more towards Shigaraki Tomura, hand erupting in a more accurate show of your true power.

Once again, he simply guides your attack away from him into empty space, this time with a deft shove of his index finger. Silent and calculating. You stumble on your feet as you land, ignoring the insulting sting, and turn to face them at a pace you know isn’t up to Hero standards but unable to even fake it anymore. Your eyes, though.

They fucking call to him.

How could he dust you? A Pro-Hero, coming at him alone, a deadly ally at his side, with what he knew from his research to be nowhere near their quirk’s power and potential?

Nevermind the look in your eyes he’d recognized immediately—this Hero was asking to be killed. Cracked lips twitch to grin at the situation. His mind works at full throttle to balance the possibilities.

“Heh…” The small breath leaves him, a smirk winning out and pulling at already taught skin, “You’re looking to die, aren’t you, Hero?”

Your brows furrow in… Fuck, you can’t identify your feelings at this point–they shouldn’t matter–they’d become obsolete the moment you took a swing at the supposedly impulsive and irrational Villain in charge. All you can feel is the overwhelming sense of weight, of pressure, of absolute and total CHAOS destroying any semblance of unity you’d pulled together to end this.

“What the fuck does that matter to you, Villain?!” Your glare is full of a rawness you can’t recognize, let alone mask, “Fucking fight me or die!”

His smirk, now fully on display, stretches to the smuggest of smiles as he takes his experimental first steps forward, casually retrieving the hit hand and placing it safely in his trench coat pocket. You weren’t immediately attacking him—hell, you weren’t even defending yourself! You’d only be more obvious if you’d delivered yourself to his doorstep tied in a bright, blood-red ribbon labeled “do what you want, I don’t care anymore!” It made his blood simmer, his skin itch in excitement at all the optional routes opened up before him.

Quickly, too quickly to deploy your defense {even if you wanted to}, he’s in your face and encircling your neck in a four fingered grasp. Your eyes vaguely mark Dabi looking on with a detached interest, and you can’t help but mirror his lack of understanding—your emotions and thoughts unfortunately too far past controllable to be hidden behind the usual Heroics.

“You could still serve a purpose, you know.”

Narrowed (e/c) eyes meet piercing, analytical rubies set to freeze and crumble enemies. You have no answer to that, none at all—if you hadn’t come across another anything while you’d been searching in earnest, how could it be tossed into your lap from the hands of a Villain? Your clear disbelief doesn’t deter him in the slightest. It only gives him the subtle signals he needs to ensure a dedicated new member of his team. This situation could only go well for him and the League, if he plays it right, and he’s thankful Dabi knows when to shut the hell up and take the back seat when he truly should.

He’s never seen Shigaraki’s version of recruitment before. After Dabi's climate destroying display, he could use a lesson.

On the edge though this Hero is, the line is thin and the touch needed is delicate and calculated.

“You can make a real difference in this rotten world,” Shigaraki slowly lowers his defensive arm and loosens his grip on your neck, conveying his intentions to calm you. He notices this strikes an especially sore nerve that you’re too unhinged to recognize. You’re taken over by your emotions, unable to distinguish that you’ve offered your weaknesses to your enemy on a silver platter. Disgusted rage he’s now certain is self-focused meets him, only bringing him a step closer to your frozen and highly panicked figure. His free fingers fidgets on the clammy skin of your neck, tapping a pattern across your throbbing pulse, expectant and soft while the other stays loosely, carefully, against your clavicle.

It's constant.

It's… calming?

No, it's fucking overwhelming and uncomfortable and— As if your body’s acting on the last vestiges of your studies, you struggle in his grasp and pull your dominate arm back, channeling all your sadness and panic you’d been unable to expel into the attack you hoped would just fucking end this fucking end this it’s done—

Another four fingered grip captures your wrist, directing your power away from anything important and only ruffling Dabi’s clothes as he watches on. You choke on a cry, near your mask’s end with Shigaraki’s unexpected patience. You’d been told this was nothing more than a spoiled, raging, calloused young man entirely unable to connect with any feelings other than his own selfish need to destroy all Heroes he came in contact with. The only conclusion your racing mind can come to is that he doesn’t even view you as a Hero worth destroying. Thick and torrid tears rush from your eyes, betraying your need to be recognized and being denied that luxury in your final moments.

“I can’t even get what I need from you fuckfaces—!” Your cry rings out, eyes shutting tightly, shaking with the force of your emotions finally finding the breaking point they need to crash through into the real world, “What the fuck can I do to make a fucking difference?!”

Shigaraki pauses to assess your sobbing. You’ve all but folded into yourself; you would’ve disintegrated against his hold on your neck if he hadn’t been paying attention. No… he sees you. He sees you. His fingered grip on your neck slides up to force your head to follow, meeting his sure gaze. You’re lost. You’re anxiously grasping at anything you can to stop the burning, itching need to destroy your own mind… And he gets that. He knows what it took to hook him tightly into his own mindset. He knows of seeing a seemingly impossible goal set before him, of feeling unworthy and needing to prove himself to his peers and himself. If anyone could reshape you... it would be him. If anyone were to reshape you... it should be him.

“It isn’t fair, is it…?” He starts slowly, voice dripping with cooing understanding, gauging your expressions and body, “You work so hard to be what others want you to be… And never feel enough, even when you put your all into it.” Your whole being shudders at his words, breaking down and melting into the pressure of your expectations for yourself. You choke on another messy sob, tears blinding you, snot nearly reaching your lips, a trail of drool unknowingly slipping from the corner of your grimacing lips.

“We’d never expect more than you can give, you know,” He all but whispers into your ear, his words echoing with staying power. You miss the tiniest bit of excitement he lets slip into his tone at the thought of corrupting a fairly strong Hero to his cause with mere psychological one-upmanship. The power over your entire existence is an intoxicating prize and he’s not about to let go of it if he can help it.

A sad cross between a whimper and a cry escapes you as you crumble even more into a hold you’d only come to for annihilation. Why wasn’t he killing you? Why weren’t you dead? You’d wanted to die, needed to just stop everything and just—just STOP, finally, just stop. He was a hardened criminal with no need for heroes, what the hell kind of use did he see in you? You still the tiniest bit. You just need a use, a tangible use, is that what you’ve been missing? A clear direction set before you by an overwhelmingly liberating, intelligent, capable force… Could he see it through all the absolute shit you covered yourself in?

A tentative spark lights the furthest parts of you as you finally meet his confident and knowing gaze. Fuck if you don’t feel seen for the first time in your life, finally seen and accepted for the absolute mess you see yourself as. The conflicting, philosophical doubts you’ve had about Heroism, and your own heroics in the existential race you call a life, find a peaceful place in Shigaraki Tomura’s vision.

It's an alien calm, a powerful sedative on your mind, leading you to melt into his look—telling him all he needed to know and more. The grin he sports widens and his eyes shift to give a silent command to Dabi, still (surprisingly) observing quietly, before changing your life indefinitely, “Follow me, little hero. You'll never be lost again.”

A deep, swirling purple warp gate you’d only seen in footage appears at the entrance to the alleyway.

The loose grip on your neck finally leaves completely, giving you ample room to escape up and out across the rooftops. You’re frozen in your battling thoughts at the suddenly very real decision in front of you.

You knew you weren’t good enough to be a Hero. You’d been struggling with the core beliefs on what the word even meant, if the world you’d been taught was even so black and white. Did you even want to die or did you just need someone to come and give you a purpose, some great refocusing direction? Someone to swoop in, recognize and acknowledge your pain before wiping it away and giving you something definite to live for? You knew you couldn’t make it as a Hero. You were nothing in that world. But maybe you could make that nothing existence, doomed to the weaker, better…?

Eyes nearly blinded before blinking down more streams of tears, you sniffle and take a tentative step towards the man looming tall over you, an umbrella shielding you from a brightness you couldn’t stand to be seen in. You harshly wipe your falling tears to watch Dabi walk swiftly into the portal, an unlit cigarette of some sort dangling from his patterned lips. Shigaraki steps to it much slower. He stops before he reaches it, twisting subtly to look at you from over his shoulder. He shouldn’t have to say anything more for you to follow, if his assumptions are correct—

They are.

Your first steps are slow but pick up speed quickly, feet nearly throwing you into his right side, at the mouth of the portal to a place described by your thoughts as no return. His eyes widen in delight, a manic grin following as he places the fingers of his left hand onto your head in a semblance of comfort. More than he ever got. His right arm wraps confidently around your waist, absurdly consoling to your rapidly evolving morals and needs.

It allows you to let it all go, though. It tells you someone more capable, more prepared is there. That he sees you and is keeping you alive because you’re useful to him. You can’t seem to care why when the overwhelming realization that such a powerful man saw you as you were, truly were, and still found a profound use for you in a world you were dying in takes a strong hold. You’re practically weightless as he guides you into the inky blackness of his caretaker’s portal, mind clicking into place and recognizing the distinct choice you’re making with a calm acceptance of this development in your life.

You were a useless hero. Perhaps this is your chance to prove you could make a difference to someone as a villain.

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

a/n: thanks so much for reading!! :) hope you enjoyed~ happy birthday, Shigster! maann I wish he'd take me away ;w; drop of a hat, I'm gone lol. the ultimate escapism... yandere!Shigaraki! xD annyway, I hope you have a wonderful day~ <3

#shigaraki tomura x femaie!reader #shigaraki x reader #tw sucidal ideation #tw depression #tw manipulation

69 notes · View notes

firelxdykatara · 4 years ago

Note

not gonna lie I would love to hear more about the drama and infighting that went on in The Vampire Diaries fandom if you have the time (and also want to use that time to give your experience with the fandom, which from the snippets you've told sounds Not Fun so I get it if you don't want to lol)

oh god, there was like, SO MUCH, i just

i really feel like tvd is one of those fandoms that is so hard to describe without a lot of ‘you’d have to have been there’, but it really felt like this huge and all-consuming beast for about five years until the show finally imploded and the fandom basically turned on it en masse. (you ever see that post going around that’s like ‘if you ever want to know what true regret feels like, ask someone who once called tvd their favorite show’? still a mood, all these years later. basically the entire fandom thought the show should have just bowed out with whatever shreds of dignity it had left at the end of season 6, and became more of a hatedom than a fandom for the last two seasons. when you have an entire fandom cheering news of your show’s cancellation, i think that’s a sign you done fucked up, julie.)

first and most infamous, of course, are the ship wars. which are pretty much inevitable in any teen-centered drama, and i really think the CW fucking thrives on them, but it was particularly egregious in TVD’s case because not only was the base premise of the show a love triangle, but the two main romantic leads were brothers that the show constantly pit against one another--in pursuit of elena’s affections, but also because it kept up this insistence on the ‘good brother/bad brother’ dichotomy which stopped making sense after about season 2 (by which time we have found out that the good brother was never as good as he appeared, and the bad brother has been growing and isn’t nearly as bad as he pretends to be)--and the question of which brother ‘deserved’ elena (and no, what elena wanted very rarely factored into these discussions, especially in the team stefan camp because they turned on her when what she wanted was no longer The Good Brother, but i’ll get to that in a bit) was hotly contested.

i’m not kidding when i say the shipping wars were vicious. i started watching tvd shortly after it began to air, which was late 2009, and kept up with it fairly sporadically over the years. i didn’t come onto tumblr until 2011/2012, and by then, the fandom was already pretty much a garbagefire. there were anti ship and anti character blogs, any time something bad happened for one ship the rival ship would invade the tags to gloat about it (seasons 3 and 4 were especially rough, and i’m not gonna pretend delena fans weren’t just as bad about tag invasion and shit, but as that was my side of the road i saw a lot more of the stelena shippers being assholes, which soured my opinion on the ship a long time before i started rewatching and realized the red flags were there from the start), confessions blogs were popular also toxic as fuck (so much fighting happened in the notes of those posts, good gods), and this was right around when twitter’s popularity was on the rise and the line between Celebrity and Fan was thinning, so the fandom was absolutely atrocious to much of the tvd cast and crew.

(some of them deserved a lot of the later backlash, but in the early years a lot of it was ‘how dare you write the story in a way i dont like, you terrible fucking person’, and gods don’t get me started on the dobsley vs nian Thing)

i think what really encapsulates my feelings on the tvd fandom as a whole, though, is the way they (to this DAY) treated elena gilbert, which can be summed up in one meme that gained a lot of traction around season 3 if i remember right: that gif of pam from true blood, with the text altered to read “i’m so OVER elena and her precious doppelganger vagina!”

i swear at one time i had over half the active tvd fan accounts on tumblr blocked, because i got to a point where i would no longer tolerate elena hate, and she was (and still is, in what remains of the fandom; you’ll see a lot of ‘elena was one of the worst things about the show’ takes from ex-fans, too) one of the most widely despised characters in the entire fandom. because she -checks smudged writing on hand- was a traumatized teenage girl who -reads off a crumpled notecard- couldn’t always perfectly sort out her own feelings and -squints at the ceiling- sometimes made mistakes or bad decisions. (except a lot of the fandom also insisted that she was a mary sue who had no character traits or flaws or faults and it was like....make up your fucking minds???? is she a calculating conniving bitch whose somehow manipulating these centuries old vampires to tie them around her little finger or is she a boring flat character with no depth and no flaws??? jfc)

there was this massive double standard, too--like, stefan and damon could fuck whoever they wanted and that was fine, but elena was constantly raked over the coals for the crime of developing romantic feelings for the two men who had become constants in her life and whom she cared for deeply, and oh my GOD the slut shaming that happened when elena slept with damon was fucking wild. (and also happened in canon lmfao. like the show had one of elena’s best friends basically call her diseased on screen for falling in love with someone other than stefan. it was gross and ridiculous and the friend in question was also being a giant hypocrite at the time since she was happily flirting with someone who was directly responsible for the deaths of like four of elena’s loved ones and her own boyfriend’s mother but that’s beside the point) but like elena was called a slut and a bitch and a whore for ‘cheating’ on stefan (she hadn’t, and she had in fact broken up with him on screen the episode earlier) and ‘immediately’ jumping into bed with damon, even though none of them said fucking boo when stefan had one night stands or damon had fuckbuddies or whatever.

shit, caroline didn’t get any of this treatment when she started falling for tyler while dating matt! which isn’t to say i think she should have, just that i think it’s fucking ridiculous that elena was absolutely demonized by the fandom for daring to have feelings for two guys at once and eventually acting on them--despite the fact that the entire premise of the show was a love triangle. it’s not a love triangle if both sides don’t eventually get explored, and the crew had been pretty explicit about the fact that delena was going to happen at some point--but when it did, a huge chunk of the fandom absolutely threw a fit.

and a lot of these elena haters were alleged stelena stans, and i say alleged because they hated her so much for not wanting stefan’s dick anymore that it was clear they were really stefan stans and only wanted stelena to be endgame because they wanted stefan to ‘win’ at the end of the day, because ‘he’s the good brother’ so he deserved elena more.

it was all very gross and very misogynistic and very sex shaming (apparently delena was a ‘shallow’ and ‘superficial’ relationship because they had sex after two years of unrequited feelings slowly becoming requited and then pining for ages on both sides, and because they had a lot of on screen chemistry that the show capitalized on for years so of course they did a lot of making out and shit but it’s not like stelena didn’t have its fair share of making out and sex scenes, stefan was just too much of a coward to let elena top i’d apologize for that joke but i’m really not sorry because it’s true), and when i say it was egged on by the crew, that’s because they refused to let the love triangle die back in season 4 when it should have.

they insisted on stringing stelena fans along, dropping little bread crumbs to keep them invested, like dreams of a future where they were married and revealing that stefan was also a doppelganger and he and elena were descended from a pair of star-crossed lovers (a plot that ultimately went nowhere, to no one’s great surprise), and then fucking like. julie plec turned around and threw nina under the bus after she chose not to extend her contract and pretended that stelena might have happened again if she hadn’t left the show, which....i mean frankly i wouldn’t put it past her, but it would have been shitty writing. then again, she thought having a vampire pregnancy where a uterus was magically transplanted from a witch into a vampire that could somehow......carry the babies to term.... made sense and was a good way to accomodate candice’s RL pregnancy rather than like literally ANYTHING else, soooooo. but anyway julie saying that around like, end of s6 sparked off a new wave of nina hate and elena hate and ship wars bc they SEers took it as ‘confirmation’ that stelena was REALLY meant to be endgame and it was all just a hot fucking mess

another thing is that, while tvd was in its prime before the anti/purity culture shit started picking up any real steam, there was still this pervasive attitude throughout the fandom that if you liked Damon, you were A Bad Person. liking damon was apparently grounds for insults and harassment, and apparently he was The Worst Person on the Show even though literally nothing he does on screen is any worse than shit we know stefan has done (and frankly every other vampire too, but i mention stefan specifically because he was always held up--in the show but especially in the fandom--as the Good Brother while damon was the Bad One, and if you liked damon more then that had to mean your morals were dodgy and you clearly couldn’t appreciate what a heroic and saintly figure dear stefan was and....oops, i’m sorry, my salt keeps leaking -cough-).

meanwhile klaus quickly became a fandom darling despite not even really having much of a redemption arc (on tvd anyway, he just became more ‘affably evil’ as the show went on and more inclined to work with the main characters rather than try to kill them; i have no idea what went on over on his show, though), and like i can 100% appreciate liking villains and not caring that they do dodgy villainous shit, even just liking them bc they’re hot and wanting them to kiss a main character bc they have insanely good chemistry (yes i ship klaroline, no i won’t apologize for it, they could have been Really Great), it’s just really the double standard that gets me.

and all of this, incidentally, required ignoring some truly gross shit stefan was responsible for wrt his relationship with elena, that frankly it has always bothered me never really got addressed in the show. i get why elena herself would never be able to actually call him on it, but the fact is that he stalked her for months after he first saw her and thought she was katherine (meanwhile it only took damon .5 seconds to realize she was someone else entirely, but that’s another topic entirely), and then he deliberately inserted himself into her life because, in his words, ‘i have to know her’. he never gave a thought to how his presence in her life might affect her (or rather, he did, and tormented himself about it in his internal monologue, but never let this actually dissuade him from disrupting her life), and elena would wind up blaming herself for every tragedy that befell her friends and loved ones as a result of getting mixed up in vampire bullshit even though none of it was her fault--she literally blamed herself for existing but most of the fandom didn’t give a fuck about that lmfao--and stefan did shit like find out that she was adopted and then withhold this information from her until she got pissed about another secret he was keeping (her resemblence to katherine) and drop it on her to try and distract her from her very reasonable anger, and like... i should stop before this becomes a whole rant about how much i hate stefan fucking salvatore, but the point is, he did a lot of really sketchy shit he never answered for and elena never really took him to task for, and the fandom just kept eating up his insistence that he was the Good Brother and therefore he deserved to have elena, and if she didn’t want him anymore it was because she was a heinous bitch who didn’t deserve him.

uh.....i think i got off track there. and there’s probably a lot of shit i missed, like i think i was incandescent with rage for most of seasons 5 and 6 so i missed a lot of the interfandom shit cause i was too busy being increasingly pissed off at the show itself, but if nothing else this should give you an idea of how much of a goddamn cesspit the fandom was while the show as in its prime. there’s a reason both the show and the fandom have such a lousy reputation lmfao.

#the vampire diaries #tvd #tvd fandom salt #anti stefan #anti stelena #salt for ts #asked #Anonymous

78 notes · View notes

thecagedsong · 3 years ago

Text

Tldr; skip if you don’t care about my religious opinions, I respect you for that, but someone took my effort to share a part of my testimony, reblogged it, and tagged it in a way that feels both demeaning and attacks my beliefs. God and His Church have done too much for me to not defend Him, so I’m going to do that now.

Also updated a chapter of Forgotten Light. Read it here, if that’s what you follow me for.

I’ve posted Christian memes, religious quotes, and general uplifting commentary on my blog for a while now. I didn’t want to hide my belief in Jesus Christ and the beauty and complexity of his plan, but after a tumblr user I really admired posted a “here’s how to escape the evil cult that is the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints”, I decided to keep my specific religion private and only share things that were common ground between most Christians. I didn’t want something precious to me, my faith and testimony, to be mocked and discarded because people didn’t take the time to actually understand me and my beliefs. Been there, done that, hurts. Tumblr is my fandom space.

Then I saw a moment to share a beautiful memory of mine. A story about the resurrection that involved easter eggs, and the perfect post to add it to, so I hesitantly shared it.

Some responded by welcoming my story. Another user meant well, maybe, but her tags were only:

“#as an ex cult member: if you need to talk to me about leaving i can help#a lot of mormons feel they can't leave. i was in a cult that overlapped a LOT#(storyteller is mormon now)#religion cw”

(I use desktop, so copy and paste is easier than screenshot)

And I don’t know the user’s experience, but congrats, the only thing worse than my fear of my testimony being discarded or mocked is my testimony being used in a post that demonizes my religion by calling it a cult and offers help when I have given no indication of being unhappy with my faith. I feel as though I am being treated as someone brainwashed and too scared to leave a big scary organization and not an independent lawyer who shared her beliefs in Jesus Christ because, surprise, I actually believe in the teachings of my church that I am sharing publicly.

That might be a “me” problem that I need to work on. People who are trying to leave a bad place but feel like they can’t do need help and aren’t weak when they reach out for it. But that’s the point. The tone of the post was that my beliefs were precious to me, and, whatever hell this person has gone through, it is not appropriate to use my post to demonize my beliefs because you believe differently. Wait to be asked for help.

Now that the worst has happened, I could either do nothing, let them call my faith evil and not interact, or I could own up and testify to what I believe. Learning from Peter’s mistake when he denied Christ, I choose to share my testimony.

Let me assure anyone who is concerned about my religious affiliation actually being a cult that I am trapped in, my religion is not a cult and I am actively clinging to my faith as hard as I can in order to feel God’s love and support.

I believe in the teachings of Jesus Christ. I believe that in the Garden of Gethsemane he atoned for my sins specifically, as well as the sins of everyone who has ever lived or will ever live on this earth (including actual cult leaders). I believe that it is only through accepting the atonement of Jesus Christ and repenting of our sins that we can be saved and eventually return to live with Heavenly Father. That Heaven isn’t about being a beautiful place, it’s about being with good people.

I believe that all of God’s Children will have the opportunity to hear the gospel, understand it, and make the choice if they want to repent of their sins. It is easier to do while we are alive, and certain covenants, such as baptism and confirmation, can only be made on earth. But these opportunities are extended to the deceased. People can hear the truth after they have died, their descendants can make the covenants for them while they are living on this earth, and they can choose to rejoice in heaven with God and Jesus Christ. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the only church I have come across that holds that belief and that power to bind things on earth so that they are bound in heaven, and I love it.

I believe that God hears my prayers when I make them daily, and only through the power of Jesus Christ. No other intermediary is necessary, Jesus Christ’s atonement bridges the gap between God and God’s children infinitely and eternally. I have experienced miracles through prayer.

I believe in the bible. I have studied and found God in the Old Testament and learned how to follow Jesus Christ’s example from the New Testament. I believe the Book of Mormon, a record of the descendants of Joseph/Epharim of the twelve tribes, is the book prophesied of in Ezekiel 37: 16-17.

The Catholic Church claims priesthood authority as derived from Peter. I believe that Joseph Smith received the Priesthood authority in its fullness from Peter as an angel visiting him. I believe that when all the apostles died, the truth of the gospel was taken from the earth, and was only restored completely when Joseph Smith was chosen as a prophet of God to restore it. That with the assistance of the Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ, the doctrines found in the bible were clarified in preparation for the second coming of Jesus Christ.

I believe that Brigham Young was chosen as the next prophet to follow in Joseph Smith’s footsteps, leading the Church of Jesus Christ through a different period of history, and every prophet of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints has likewise been chosen by God., up until Russel M. Nelson today. I believe that God speaks through his prophets today to give instructions and warnings and prepare His Church and His people for the second coming of Christ. I believe he does not do anything on this earth that he does not first reveal it unto his prophets.

I testify that I have never been asked by my church to do something that I have not also found evidence of being practiced throughout the scriptures. Yes, I have gone through the temple. No, I will not answer any questions about what sacred covenants I performed there. (This privacy regarding sacred things is demonstrated, for example, by the High Priests who went into the holy of holies, and had things revealed to them that they couldn’t speak to others without God’s permission).

My religion is not a cult, unless you define a cult as a religion that people believe in to the point of making them behave differently than the rest of the world. Webster defines a cult as an unorthodox religion. I will accept that, because God has always moved in peculiar and mysterious ways according to His plan, not anyone else’s. If you mean cult to be a group of people brainwashed by a charismatic leader beyond reason, then I reject that completely.

My beliefs have stood the test of time and life. The more I lean on the Gospel of Jesus Christ, the better I am able to handle life. The teachings of the Church of Jesus Christ have withstood every logical test I push against it, and I have put plenty. I’m a lawyer, it’s literally my job to find weaknesses in arguments. And I have found no imperfection (though there are several) that overcomes the truths of this church. I believe that all conflicts and misunderstandings will become clear and be revealed as I, and the Church, draw closer to God and Jesus Christ and are prepared to understand them.

Unfollow me if you want. I hope this isn’t a breaking point for anyone, that you can respect me and my beliefs. I will answer questions about the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints gladly, unless the topic is too sacred and I have been instructed by God’s prophets not to reveal them (your curiosity isn’t worth my soul for breaking a covenant I have made with God. See Exodus 34-35.).

And I hope the next time you see someone nervous about sharing their beliefs, your instinct is to look for context clues about whether or not they are actually suffering or unhappy before offering to save them from their faith.

#the church of jesus christ of latter day saints #personal #skip if you want #unfollow if you want #I predict i'm going to have to unfollow/block some people soon #my content isn't going to change fyi #but i will not lie and I will defend Jesus Christ and His church as he has defended me

3 notes · View notes

thewritingginger · 4 years ago

Text

Valentine’s Day In

This is a bit late to say the least, I was hoping to post this on Valentine’s Day but school work had my ass occupied so for the past week I was going back and forth between school work and writing 😒

Also I know I have a bajillion wips todo, a few of which are Valentine’s Day prompts

bUt

I got a super cute fluffy idea for Valentine’s Day and the motivation came to me so I hope we can let it slide for now. Right? 😅

Anyways I hope you enjoy ~ Also I wrote this while listening to THIS, so if you want you can listen to it while you read as well :3

Fandom: Obey Me! Pairing: Satan x GN! Reader Word Count: 2,866 words Warning(s): Cheesy, kinda rom-com-y, probably not perfect lol

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

The forecast was said to be sunny with slight cloudiness. When you opened the window this morning the sky was indeed cloudy, but instead of sun it was matched with a downpour.

You and Satan had planned the whole day together.

Starting with a relaxing morning of talking and reading in eachothers arms. Then to go for a walk around town, window shopping till dinner time. But since it was stormy outside and you weren’t really in the mood to get dressed up to then get soaked.

But although going out wasn’t really an option anymore, you were still going to spend your day relaxing with Satan as you’ve already planned.

The agenda was already in motion as you and Satan started your day having breakfast together, followed by hanging out in his room reading and cuddling. When it came to be around noon you went to take a shower. Once you were out, your hair still damp, you headed back to Satan’s room. But when you knocked on his door and opened it, the room was empty.

“Hmm.” Since he wasn’t in his room, you went to the study. But came to find he wasn’t there either, infact, he wasn’t anywhere in the house. ‘Where the hell is he?’ Letting out a sigh, you headed back to your room and texted him.

Y/n: “Hey, where are you?”

Satan: “Sorry, something came up and I didn’t get a chance to tell you. I should be home in a couple hours. 💚

Closing your messages you sigh, falling onto the plush mattress of your bed.

Since Satan wouldn't be around for a while you spent your time doing some work. In the time waiting for him you finished up an assignment for class and tidied up your room a bit. Nothing too exciting but it beat just sitting around. While scrolling through Devilgram you got another message from the awaited demon.

Satan: “I’m probably gonna be another hour or so.”

Sitting up in bed, feeling a bit defeated, you leave to go downstairs. On your way down you ran into Beel and Belphie. “Hey, Y/n.”

“Hey, Beel. Whatcha guys up to?”

“Nothing much, actually we wanted to see if you wanted to come hang out for a bit.”

Considering the request, you accept. “Sure, why not. Satan won't be home for a bit longer anyways.” You say, a bit sadder than you intended.

“Great! I got some new snacks I want you to try. Come on.” Beelzebub says with a smile, throwing his arm over your shoulder.

~~~

It had been awhile since you’ve entered the twins room. The time was spent eating different treats and chatting. Feeling ready to leave you stood up, “Well I think Imma head out. I had a lot of fun with you guys but I don’t want to intrude anymore.”

“Wait!” Beel says. Belphegor sighs at his brother's outburst.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong.” Belphegor corrects. “It’s just that we don’t get to spend much time with you it seems. With you dating Satan and all, Beel just thought we could have you around a bit longer.”

You frown a bit. “I’m sorry guys, I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just sit back down.”Belphie sighs, making you laugh.

~~~

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Door’s open.” Beel hollars, not looking up from the card game the three of you are playing. The door opens,

“There you are.” You turn towards the familiar voice to see the man you’ve been waiting for. “Sorry I kept you waiting.”

“You should be.” You sass.

“Mind if I take her from you guys?” Satan asks his brothers. They nod their heads, engrossed by their game. Putting your cards down you say your goodbyes to leave the room with Satan. Once the door is closed you smack his chest, causing him to laugh. “Woah, easy.”

“You know, you left me high and dry, right?” You cross your arms, brow raised.

“Yes, yes I did. Won’t you forgive me?” Placing his hands on your hips, he looks down at you with his gemstone eyes.

“Fine! But don’t think I’ll let it slide again.”

“I wouldn’t expect it.” He smiles, punctuating his sentence with a chased kiss.

Back at your bedroom, you walk in while Satan stays on the other side of the door. “Well, aren’t you gonna come in?” You say.

“Nope. That’s because I’m leaving you to get dressed.”

“Wait, why?” You asked, confused.

“You’ll just have to find out, won’t you.” He grins, “Now get dressed. I’ll wait for you downstairs.” Before you can say anything else, he closed the door. And with that you spent the next hour getting ready.

Stepping in front of a mirror you take a look at your work. Wearing your best outfit, admiring how the rich green fabric accentuates your body perfectly. Your hair styled. Face fresh. Brushing the invisible wrinkles from your front you head to the stairs. From the top you see Satan standing at the bottom, dressed in his finest suit. His eyes light up when they land on you, a smile accompanying the starlight gaze.

Descending the staircase you take your time letting your eyes wander down his frame. His hair is combed back, allowing a clear view of his shape features. His body’s adorned with a well fitted suit, the breast pocket housing a pocket square in his signature color. Trailing your vision down to where his hands join at his stomach. A bouquet of peonies resides between his palms.

Nearing the end of the staircase he extends his hand, guiding you down the last few steps. Standing before him he looks down at you, words yet to be spoken between you. Bringing your hand to his lips he places a kiss on your knuckles.

“You look perfect.” He confesses, almost in a whisper as if speaking to himself. “These are for you.” Offering your hands the flowers, he smiles.

Looking down at the bouquet you admire the layered petals in variants of blush pink. Taking a breath of the sweet smell you sigh. “They’re gorgeous, Satan. You didn’t have to get me any~.” You’re cut off by a strong arm taking yours.

“Of course I did. Every beautiful person deserves the small treasures of life.” His voice is like butter. The way each syllable rolls off his tongue effortlessly, always seeming to have an answer for everything.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see.” He says with a wink.

Reaching the back of the house you are led to a door that leads into another study of sorts.

Upon opening the door you hear soft jazz and the fireplace crackling in the air. Looking around you see candles lit and flowers everywhere. A few vases of the same pink flowers in your hands scattered around the room and petals trailing a path through double-doors that lead to a patio area that has a full view of the lush garden with a pond. Outside under the covering you see a table set for two with more candles littered about. A bottle of wine and two glasses reside there waiting for you. Breathing in the smell of the earth mixed with the rain you sigh.

You’re speechless. The music. The setting. Him. It’s all perfect.

“Oh, Satan. This is… amazing. How~ When?” Your mind is racing.

“I’ve been working on it all day. Since we couldn’t go out for Valentine’s Day, I thought I’d bring it to us. Do you like it?” He asks, worried he might have done too much.

Placing your bouquet on the table, you turn around to wrap your arms around his shoulders, drawing him in for a kiss.

Pulling back you gaze into his eyes, your fingers gently raking through his golden locks. “I love it.” Satan smiles, relieved. ”So, I’m guessing that’s why Beel and Belphie asked me to hang out. You just needed a distraction, and here I thought they actually missed me.”

“Well, truthfully, I did ask them to make sure you didn’t come downstairs. Though, what they did to accomplish that I had no part in. But enough about that, please ~.” Satan says, gesturing at the quaint table. “Would you like to sit down?” Satan asks, pulling out your chair. Accepting his invitation you sit down. His fingers linger awhile after pushing you in, as he makes his way to the other side of the table. Handing you a glass of wine he poured, your fingers hold his for a moment before separating once again. “You’re not cold are you?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m fine.” You were definitely more than fine, you actually began to feel a bit warm. The way his eyes look over you. Unable to read what he must be thinking. Your guesses and wishes of what those thoughts may be only made you warmer. Shaking yourself from those thoughts you relax into your chair.

Sitting in comfortable silence. The music playing, lulls you into a trance. Sipping your wine you sway to the mellow notes. You don't notice right away how Satan is watching you. His chin propped on his hand, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. When you see him eyeing you, you sit up straight and laugh a bit. You feel your cheeks heat up slightly.

Getting up, Satan offers you his hand once again.

“Won't you dance with me?”

“Of course.” You say, taking his hand.

Standing in the middle of the covered area, your left hand enclosed in his as your right rests on his shoulder. His strong arm wraps around your back holding you close. Swaying to the notes playing in the air, you rest your head on his chest. Breathing in the scent of his cologne mixed with his natural musk. His cheek rests upon your head, pressing a gentle kiss in your hair.

Looking up, your eyes meet, foreheads touching. His eyes alone are enough to speak a thousand words for him. They tell you everything he doesn’t.

They compliment you. Say how much they adore you. They say, ‘I need you!’

In this silent conversation your free hand moves to cup his cheek. The sweet touch makes him sigh into you. Reachin up he holds your wrist to kiss your palm. His eyes, never leaving yours. You can’t help the giggle that leaves your throat. The sweet yet sensual motion creates butterflies in your stomach.

Releasing you, allowing your hand to resume its place on his shoulder as his, goes to rest on your hip.

“You know I love you, right?” He says. A flirtatious glint in his eye.

“Well of course you do. It’s only natural.” You say playfully making him laugh. His toothy grin makes your heart flutter.

“Is that so? Then tell me Y/n, what else is ‘only natural’?”

Your breath gets caught in your throat for a moment. No matter how long you’ve been together he still somehow manages to make you flustered and giddy. Biting your lip in thought, you smile.

“Well, ignoring the fact you’re a demon and I’m a human.” You start. Pulling another low chuckle from the blonde. “I’d say, this moment and every other moment shared between us is. Being with you, whether in sweatpants on your bed or dressed up like we are now, every minute spent with you is perfect.”

“So you’re telling me I didn’t have to do all this then? I wished you told me sooner, it would’ve saved me a lot of time” He says with a chuckle and slapping his shoulder only made him laugh harder. But you couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

“You think you’re so funny, huh?”

“Well I’d like to think I’m quite humorous” He says, pulling your waist into his. Leaning down for a kiss but you pull away.

“Is that so? Then prove it.”

He studies your challenging eyes. Kissing his teeth he accepts your jab. “Ok. Then how do you suspect I’ll do that?”

“Hmm.” You look to the side, pondering the question. Then an idea popped in your head. “Ok Mr. Humorous, why don’t you prove to me just how fun you can be by jumping into the pond.” You say, holding back a smile. Seeing him process your request, you are about to laugh when you see him beginning to take off his blazer. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m doing as you asked.” He says with a smirk.

You watch him remove his blazer and button up, followed by his shoes and socks. Standing straight in all his shirtless glory you take a moment to appreciate his physique. His smooth skin stretched over toned muscles. The flexing of his arm as he moves to sweep his hair back to look at you.

“What are you waiting for? Take off your shoes, unless you want to get them dirty.” He says. You let out a hum as his words shake you from your thoughts. He laughs, as if knowing what had you distracted. “You didn’t really think I’d be walking out there alone did you? I expect you to help me out since you’re the reason I’m going to be in there.”

“Fine. But only if I get to push you in.” You say taking off your shoes. He smiles at your requirement.

“Fine by me.”

Holding your jacket over your head to shield yourself from the rain as much as possible you and Satan begin to walk across the grass.

At the pond Satan turns to you, “So are you gonna push me in or do I have to jump in?” Laughing at his question but mostly at his appearance. Already drenched without stepping a single foot into the water.

“Oh I’m gonna push you in.” You say. Inching to the edge of the pond, ready to push Satan in. When your hands make contact with his hot skin a hand wraps around your wrist and before you knew it you were going down with him.

Splashing into the water you come up gasping at the frigid temperature. “Satan!” You say splashing water in his face. All you can hear is the rain and the hearty laugh coming from the demon’s chest. Slicking your hair out of your face you look at the man still laughing. “It’s not funny!” Though despite your words you couldn’t suppress the laugh that comes out of your mouth as well.

“It’s pretty funny if you ask me.”

“That was not part of the deal.”

“Well actually, our deal was you get to push me in. Nowhere in that agreement did we state I couldn’t pull you in with me.” He says, stepping closer to you. His strong arms holding you close edging away the cold around you.

“Well remind me next time to cover all bases because that was cheap and you know it.”

“They don’t call me a demon for nothing.” He says. His voice low, a small smirk playing his lips. Droplets of water fall from the loose strands of hair around his face.

“You look like a wet dog.” You say, pushing his wet hair back.

“I think we both do but that doesn’t matter, right? What was it you said earlier? No matter where we are, as long as we are together, it's perfect? Well to that I couldn’t agree more.” His words make you smile, warmth fills your chest. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in. Once your lips touch the arms around your body tightens, lifting you up. Encircling your legs around his waist your kiss deepens. Your tongues dancing with one another. The taste and feeling of him sends electricity through you. Your fingers coil in his wet locks. Everything around you faded away. You couldn’t feel the rain or hear the music playing in the house anymore. Your senses are completely consumed by him. His touch. His smell. Everything. You wanted it all. You couldn’t care less where you were at this moment. You’d sooner let yourself drown in the water around you than let go of him. How can one person have such an affect on you?

Pulling away, both catching your breaths, your foreheads resting against each other. Though separated, the heat between you two is ever-present. His large hand cradles your cheek, keeping you close. His eyes shut for a moment to collect himself before looking back to you. His gaze is softer than before,

“I love you more than you know. Thank you for being mine.” Your chest swells. Stocking his cheek you kiss his lips once more.

“You don’t need to thank me, Satan. But I will ask you to warn me next time you decide to throw me in water.” You tease, but you both know you don’t really mind how things turned out.

“Let’s go back inside and warm up by the fire.” He smirks.

“I’d love that.”

Satan carried you back to the study where the rest of the night was spent by the fire where many more heated touches were shared. Maybe getting soaked in the rain wasn’t so bad after all.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------- Oh lord she can never post anything on time or in a timely manner huh? . . . Nope! :)

But I hope you enjoyed this somewhat. I know it’s not perfect but I still think it’s pretty cute. Cheesy ... but cute :3

I hope you had a good Valentines day with your 2D or 3D baes.

Till next post ~ 💛💛💛

#obey me!#shall we date obey me #shall we date #obey me satan #shall we date satan #satan #satan x reader #x gn reader #obey me x reader #fluff #valentines day

37 notes · View notes

of-elves-and-mad-hatters · 3 years ago

Text

“The Azure Sky” - Chapter 4 - Lego Elves

Shadows to the Brightest Flame: Series

- The legacy of Lumia’s influence is scarred eternally into the lands of Elvendale. Burdened by a prophecy foretelling her demise and need for a successor, she watches for one capable of such power. Yet her enemies are working steadily to undo all she’s labored so long for, and it is millenia too late to make peace.

Emily Jones, heir to Eimileen, is a bold girl dedicated to protecting Elvendale, but the world she has grown so fond of is not so black and white as it seems, and the titles of Guardian of Portal and Guardian of Light may hold darker legacies some ancient elves have worked tirelessly to hide.

In conjunction with the extended version of the Guardian of Light prophecy I wrote previously

Basically a rewrite of all of the Lego Elves & Secrets of Elvendale storylines with an additional arc beyond the Season 4: Into the Shadows. There will be a varying degree of deviation from canon.

Technically a crossover with Lord of the Rings/Hobbit/Silmarillion in terms of worldbuidling, as I set Elvendale as being north of Middle-Earth, cause this is fanfic and I can. So there will be mentions of the Noldor, Sindar, Silvan, and some Tolkien characters, but they will be mostly background. Definitely not an issue if you aren’t familiar with the Middle-Earth fandom; everything will still be easy to understand.

Book 1: The Azure Sky

Grieving over the unexpected death of her grandmother, Emily Jones is accidentally trapped in another world. Befriending a few young elves in an attempt to find her way home, Emily discovers many secrets about her grandmother’s past, but for every truth she learns two more questions take its place, leaving her vulnerable to darker force inhabiting this realm.

A rewrite of Unite the Magic

____________________________________________

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

____________________________________________

Chapter 4

Emily watches the golden light of early sunset reflects upon the surface of the ocean, changing shape and hue as the waves roll. The gentle rhythm is soothing, distancing her from the events of the past couple of weeks.

Peaceful, content.

She shifts her position on the wooden bench. She feels the edge of a splinter catch the hem of her shorts, sighs.

It’s all too real to be a dream.

The admittance is not as terrifying as it should be, being trapped in a strange world, but it certainly a beautiful one, vibrant, angelic. A part of her truly would rather stay here a thousand years than suffer another day on Earth, a voice that cares not whether they succeed in finding a way to return her home.

That wistful dream shatters when she thinks of her parents and her little sister, Sophie, wondering where she could be, having only gone to wander in her grandmother’s garden. They would never learn the truth, the mystery forever haunting them.

She leans her head over, watching the water, frowns. “Have we stopped?”

“No, Em,” Azari calls from above the cabin. “We’re just going so fast you can’t feel it.”

“Actually,” Naida corrects, “We’ve stopped. The wind’s died down.”

“Oh! I could build a windmill! Or some wings…” Aira bubbles.

“Someone’s desperate to build something,” smirks Azari.

Farran raises an eyebrow. “Aira, you control the wind.”

Aira pouts. “Fine.” She stands at the bow, raising her hands towards the sky. She starts to sing, or screach. The other elves clamps their hands over their ears as her voice raises in volume. A gale gathers above their heads and with the final note floods the sails. The boat begins to cut across the water.

Keeping her eyes on the map, Naida guides the water telekinetically. Azari makes her way down, sighing with boredom. “How much farther is it…” The boat stops.

Aira frowns. “That gale should have kept us going…”

“It’s alright,” Naida soothes. She strides over to let down the anchor. “We’re here.”

“But where is here, exactly? All I see is a bunch of ocean,” Azari questions, “No offense.”

“The map wouldn’t lead us astray.” As the water elf finishes, new runes appear on the righthand corner of the map.

“The deep shelters all things from curious eyes

Fates of those who should not have dared the sea

Graves graced with the memorials of strangers

Bones piled high and crowned with mermaid’s tears.” Naida reads aloud.

“Well that doesn’t sound foreboding,” Farran chuckles nervously.

The water elf ignores him and turns to the human girl. “Emily, what do you think of all of this?”

Emily shrugs, feeling once again as though she were being tested. “Well, I can barely believe I’m on a boat with elves and in a land with mermaids to begin with, but um, I remember my grandmother telling me that mermaid’s tears were pearls.”

Naida’s eyes shine with approval. “Well remembered.” She turns and bends down, lifting an ornamental rug to reveal a viewing port in the bottom of the boat. Through the glass a shipwreck can be seen. It is strangely arrayed, fully covered in coral and other sea plants, but the wood seems perfectly preserved, almost petrified. The reef extends up a rocky mound towering above the fragmented structure. Intermixed with the coral are hundreds of bones, separated and scattered but perfectly intact, even the skulls. Atop are nestled a group of large oysters, their shells muted in typically muddy greys and browns.

“So the key is inside an oyster?” Emily asks. “That’s kinda cool.”

Farran frowns. “Yeah, but how are we going to get it?”

“I can try,” Naida offers, but their is hesitancy in her voice.

“Wait, you’re going to try and walk down to the bottom of the ocean?” Azari looks incredulous. “Have you ever tried sustaining your magic that long?”

“I’ve come close,” Naida reassures, “And there aren’t a lot of other appealing options.”

“We could get help!” Azari argues.

“No, the fewer people who know what we’re doing, the better.”

“Why? Every elf in Elvendale would give their right hand to help the descendant of the fifth sister!”

“We still don’t know for certain that Emily is related to the fifth sister. The evidence favors that conclusion, but not to the satisfaction of every inhabitant of this continent. And even if we could prove it, the Sisters made enemies by making that portal. We could be endangering Emily’s life.”

“What enemies? Aside from some disgruntled elves on the southern border and a few skeptics, the portals weren’t really controversial.”

Naida frowns. “I don’t actually know,” she confesses, “Only that was what Nuala said, that they made enemies of those who were once their allies. She never explained more than that.”

“Well, I for one don’t think you should risk your life over shadows and boogeymen,” Azari responds. “Farran?” she asks, assuming his support.

“Actually,” Farran nervously runs his hand through his hair, “I agree with Naida. We shouldn’t get anyone else involved.”

The fire elf looks shocked. “Aira?”

Aira laughs nervously, “I don’t know? In the end shouldn’t it be Naida’s choice what risk she takes?”

Azari’s face hardens to one of disbelief. Ever the rebel of the group, she never imagined a day would come when her friends approved of something she considered too dangerous. “I guess I’m outvoted then,” she mutters.

Feeling guilty, Emily opens her mouth to speak on Azari’s behalf, but Naida has already begun forming a tunnel in the water and stepped off the side of the boat. They hold their breath as she wanders down, the tunnel growing until in envelopes the tip of the coral mound covered in oysters. The largest of the group opens its lid, revealing a bed with two shiny white pearls and a blue metallic key.

Naida grasps the key, flinching as the oyster clamps its shell suddenly closed. Face beginning to strain with effort of maintaining the magic, the water elf hurries back to the surface. She nearly collapses onto the deck, but brushes off the other elves’ help. “I’m fine, just a little tired.”

“That was incredible,” Emily exclaims. Aira and Farran resound the praise.

Azari crosses her arms, but her frown cracks into a smile. “That was kinda awesome.” Naida returns the compliment with a hug, which the other elves quickly join. Emily stands awkwardly off to the side.

“So,” Azari’s voice travels from inside the group, “When are we gonna eat? I’m starving.”

#emily jones #lego elves #elvendale #unite the magic #azari firedancer #naida riverheart #farran leafshade #aira windwhistler #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

16 notes · View notes

hale-13 · 3 years ago

Text

Into the Atmosphere

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 13 - Sacrificed

The Infinity Gauntlet, lying harmlessly but ominously in his hands, pulsed with a preternatural warmth and feeling of power that seeped through the Iron Spider and his regular Spidey suit under it. It felt more like a siren’s call than Peter felt comfortable with and he could understand the inclination to slip it on and wield that power.

Words: 2674, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Teen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Pet er Parker, Tony Stark, Stephen Strange, Thanos

TW: Major Character Injury

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

As a native New Yorker, Peter was used to weird shit as a kid. Watching a wormhole open over the new Stark Industries building? Watching hoards of aliens and space whales filter through to invade Manhattan? No one was prepared for that, least of all a kid.

May and Ben, an ER nurse and a police officer respectively had both been held up at work and had not been home with Peter, leaving him completely alone. His heart had pounded in his chest, triggering multiple asthma attacks that were barely mitigated with his inhaler, as he watched and wondered if he would ever see his remaining family ever again. Seeing Iron Man fly a nuke launched by his over government into the wormhole and nearly die had probably affected him more than he cared to admit.

But that was then. Now, Peter had no problem throwing himself head first into danger at smallest provocation. But, that being said, even this was a bit much for him.

He didn’t stop though. He didn’t give in a slip on the glove or let anything close enough to take it from him, dodging another blast from one of the dog-alien-things and letting his suit’s nanotech appendages (Instant Kill activated and Karen in partial control) stab the creature through its chest and fling it into the distance. Finally reaching a mostly unoccupied area of the battlefield, Peter paused to catch his breath and made an aborted move to rub away the blood he could feeling pooling from his nose onto his upper lip.

A pointless move really. He was wearing a mask after all.

The blond woman who had descended from space (actual space what the hell) in a fiery halo had tried to reach him but was held up by a veritable flood of aliens all vying for her attention. From Peter’s perspective it didn’t look like any of them were really much of a challenge for her but they made up for weakness in sheer numbers; keeping her overwhelmed and unable to break free.

Peter stumbled on tired and weak legs (it had apparently been five years after all, he reserved the right to be tired), doing his best to continue to dodge and disarm as many enemies as he could while still protecting the gauntlet. The rest of the extended Avengers, the Wakandans, the Asgardians were too busy with their own adversaries to help him. In the distance, Iron Man was blasting through the opposition unreservedly, clearly headed in Peter’s direction but vastly too slow to make a difference.

“Hello child,” Thanos deep voice said from behind him, making Peter’s Spidey sense explode. The titan was calm and quiet compared to the battle raging around them. Peter turned and tripped as he tried to back away as quickly as possible. “You have something there that doesn’t belong to you.”

“You can’t have it,” Peter said, surprising himself at the strength and steadiness of his voice compared to the thrum of fear and anxiety sparking through his nerves like lightning.

Thanos tilted his head, inquisitive and regarding Peter with a small, indulgent almost fatherly grin on his face and Peter felt a shiver course down his spine in warning. “You are brave little one. Perhaps to the point of foolishness but brave nonetheless,” he reached out with a weathered hand to grab the gauntlet but the spider legs attached to Peter’s suit lashed out in offense, Peter’s own free hand shooting up to knock Thanos’ aside.

“No means no asshole,” Peter grunted, scuttling up a mound of rocks behind him so he wasn’t at such a height deficit. “Fuck off.”

Thanos just tsk’d and looked at Peter with disappointment like he was a misbehaving puppy or a child throwing a temper tantrum. “I would rather not have to kill you boy. Hand it over.”

Before Peter could open up his mouth to retort, planning on stalling, the glowing woman (Captain Marvel his brain corrected) smacked into the titan’s side and knocked him away from Peter, her glowing fists more than enough to take him on. His expression had changed from benevolent to murderous as he pulled himself to his feet and threw a return punch, eyes never straying from the Infinity Gauntlet in Peter’s hands. “Uh guys?” Peter squeaked into his comms, turning and running away as quickly as his tired body could take him – aiming for the shitty van Ant-Man had been working to repair. “We’ve got to get ride of this thing – anyone free to help?”

“I’m coming Queens,” Captain America panted. “Hang in there,” he said with a grunt, wading his way across the ruins using both his broken shield and Mjolnir to mow down everyone in his way with extreme prejudice. Watching from the corner of his eye Peter’s stomach dropped: there was no way Cap would reach him in time as tired and injured as he was. Mr. Stark was stuck in a similar position, his nanotech suit morphing around him like high tech water to compensate for all of the damage it had taken.

A cold spike of fear went through Peter: they were going to lose. They were going to lose to Thanos again and this time they had pissed him off enough that he would probably forgo the random chance aspect of his plan and kill all of them. He was going to kill all of the Avengers and May and Peter’s friends. He was going to kill everyone who had just been brought back after five years. They would all be gone again.

Peter guzzled air that never quite seemed to reach his lungs, panicking but not stopping in his mad rush to get the gauntlet as far away as possible (hopefully back to the past where the stones belonged), the sounds of the battle muffled and silent around him. As if by fate, he glanced up and locked eyes with Dr. Strange, stuck holding back a spout of water that would otherwise flood the field, but with his attention solely focused on Peter.

His face was sad and sympathetic as he grimaced and held up a single, shaking finger mouthing ‘there was no other way’ and Peter skidded to an abrupt stop.

Oh.

Peter looked down at the oversized gauntlet resting in his hands and let his mask slide off his face to merge with the neck of his suit. Taking a quick look around him, Peter gave one final sniff and looked back at Dr. Strange, giving a firm and sure nod of understanding.

He knew what he had to do.

The stones glittered across the knuckles of the modified Iron Man gauntlet prettier than any precious gem Peter had ever seen and it took considerably more effort than he cared to admit to not allow himself to just be mystified by them. Peter adjusted his grip to hold the glove more firmly and began to slip it on, the armor automatically shifting to mold to his smaller hand.

“NO!” Peter huffed and felt a single tear leak from the corner of his eye, tickling his nostril as he ignored the agonized scream of his mentor. The gauntlet was half on. “PETER STOP!”

“I’m so sorry Mr. Stark,” he whispered as his fingers slid into place, the glove fully conforming and tightening around his hand.

The immediate pain was stunning and all encompassing and Peter threw his head back, eyes closed, with a grunt. He knees and muscles, already tired and overworked, turned into jelly and he just let himself drop, breath coming in short pants, hearing ringing and vision blurring and darkening around the edges. The hair on the back of his neck was standing on end, his Spidey sense screaming its final death rattle and giving up under the untenable onslaught. His very atoms felt like they were being ripped apart, blowing him apart and remaking him in the Stones image. He wanted to scream but he didn’t have the lung capacity to do much more than endure.

Finally – a second, a minute, a year, an eternity later, everything stabilized just enough for sound to filter back into him: repulsers rushing toward him, angry and desperate yelling from Thanos – barreling toward Peter in a last ditch effort to take the gauntlet for himself – gasps and moans from his own team and silence. Silence as the battle around him stopped and everyone turned to look at him with bated breath.

Using more strength and effort than he ever had before, Peter lifted his shaking right hand up to show the glowing gauntlet to everyone and forced his numb mouth into a lopsided smile – his eyes focused on Tony and only Tony’s terrified face as he said “I’m sorry,” and snapped his fingers.

“Where…?” Peter asked, looking around over the sunset covered lake and then down at his hands – whole and undamaged. He was dressed in his favorite science pun t-shirt, the one Uncle Ben had gotten him their last holiday together and he felt good. No aches and pain from the battle, his arms strong again. He made loose fists with both hands, clenching and relaxing his fingers in absolute wonder at just how good he felt – better than before he had ditched the bus to MOMA that morning (five years ago?) even.

“Hey Petey.”

At the sound of his voicePeter whipped around, already crying streams of silent tears, and wasted no time in rushing the short distance to fling himself into his Uncle’s open arms. “Ben,” he sobbed, embracing the man tightly, afraid he would disappear.

“I’m so proud of you buddy,” Ben whispered, his own tears mingling with Peter’s and returning the hug with equal force. “You’re the kindest, bravest person I’ve ever had the honor to know.”

“Am I dead?” Peter asked, resigned but not sad – he had accepted the possibility the second he put on the Gauntlet.

“Not really,” Ben answered, cryptic. “Somewhere in between would be the best way to describe it.” He stepped back, releasing his hold on Peter to hold him at arms length and grip his shoulders tightly the warm and comforting smile that Peter knew from his childhood on his face. “If you weren’t enhanced you definitely would be but you are so…” Peter just nodded in understanding, furiously wiping at the streams of tears still pouring down his face. “Regardless we don’t have much time.”

“I’m so sorry Ben,” Peter blurted, reaching up a hand to grip tightly onto Ben’s forearm. “I’m so sorry I didn’t stop it. I had my powers, I could have taken the bullet. I could have stopped it.”

Ben’s eyes were soft and his smile lines deepened as his lips twitched up into a sad smile, moving his hands from Peter’s shoulders to cup his face as gently as if he were made of glass. As if he were something precious. “Oh Pete its not your fault, it was never your fault. You were fourteen and staring down the barrel of a gun for the first time, I would have been more concerned if you didn’t freeze.” Ben told him, leaning forward to push their foreheads together, his hand cupping the back of Peter’s neck. “You’re my kid – it doesn’t matter about enhancements or powers – I’ll always put myself between you and danger. I don’t regret anything.”

Peter let out a hoarse sob that shook his frame and pulled Ben back in for another hug. “I love you,” he said fervently, trying to put as much force and emotion into it as he could. “I love you and I miss you and so does May.”

“I love you both so much,” Ben said, squeezing Peter one last time before releasing him and stepping away, water lapping at his ankles and rippling out to the horizon. “As nice as this visit as been Pete, I really hope I don’t see you again any time soon.”

Peter’s answering chuckle was watery will unshed tears, his vision already fading as Ben disappeared followed by the serene lake and sunset; the dusty battlefield snapping back into focus.

His body was numb in the way that promised pain if he could feel anything, his heartbeat stuttering and aching in his chest as Peter collapsed back against a pile of rocks and broken pieces of building. His body was limp and unable to support itself and his head lolled to rest on his undamaged left shoulder.

“Peter!” Tony’s devastated voice creeped in and Peter tried to smile but he couldn’t really tell if his muscles were responding, his eyesight was so dark. Gentle hands pulled him to rest against a warm body, lying his head in a more comfortable position and cupping to undamaged side of his face in a calloused palm. The grip was as careful as if he were made of glass and maybe he was. “Stay with me Pete, just stay with me okay?”

“Tony,” Peter rasped out, his voice broken and so so quiet, but it carried – the battlefield was a silent as a tomb beyond the heavy breathing of the surrounding Avengers. Peter had done it apparently.

His mentor let out a sob that he didn’t bother to disguise and ran his hands through Peter’s sweaty curls – it felt nice. “I’m so proud of you,” Tony said earnestly, echoing Ben and making Peter’s heart clench and skip a beat, his voice absolutely mangled with emotion. “You’re the absolute best of us and I’m so beyond proud of you buddy but I just need you to stay awake okay kiddo?”

“I’m tired,” Peter croaked, his eyes sinking closed against his will and only reopening due to Tony’s panicked jostling.

“I know kiddo, I know,” Tony choked out. “I’ll let you rest soon I promise but just humor me a little longer alright? A few more minutes for your old mentor huh?”

“Love you,” Peter said, forcing his voice to be as strong as possible even as his body sagged further and his heart rate slowed. “Tell May… Love her.” He was ready to rest. Peter’s left hand, barely gripping Tony’s with the very last of his strength, loosened and fell against his chest. His eyesight failed.

The last thing he heard was Tony, crying and begging him to stay.

————————————————

Part of Peter expected to be back in the lake or with Ben but instead he was met with only darkness.

It worked for him though to be honest. He could relax in the dark, let his mind wander and rest in equal measure, his worries gone and – for the first time in a long time – feeling no pain.

On occasion he thought he could hear voices whispering in the distance or see something bright far away but neither stayed long enough for him to investigate further. He still felt tired down to his bones and, as the time passed, his right side began to feel more and more like static and less numb, bright sparks of something like pain flaring through him like lightening and soon forgotten.

The light flickered – sometimes brighter sometimes nearly dimmed out – but seemed to get closer to more Peter looked at it and memories filtered in. Space, melting into dust, fighting with his childhood heroes, snapping, Ben… Tony… wanting to give up so bad but not doing it.

“Please wake up,” a broken voice whispered in the distance. “Please don’t die when I just got you back.”

Seconds, minutes, days, years later Peter opened eyelids that weighed a ton each to look around with blurry vision at the white room around him and the dark human-shaped spot next to him, his lips turning up just the smallest amount.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump13 #Prompt: Sacrificed #irondad #spider man #Summer of Whump

9 notes · View notes

realfuurikuuri · 4 years ago

Link

Chapters: 18/? Fandom: Mao Mao: Heroes of Pure Heart (Cartoon) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Series: Part 1 of Mao Mao: The Hero Without an Arm Summary:

MissingArm!AU: When escaping the cave, it wasn't his tail that got crushed. In exchange for his innocence, he gained a sordid past. The Pure Heart Valley seemed like a good place to escape. To start a new life with a new family to forge a new identity. However, when the past rears its ugly head Mao Mao's forced to step up or be put down.

Jǐngti didn’t know what to do. Mom would be coming soon; he should be stayed back at his dad’s, so she could find him. It was the right thing to do. Maybe that was why he wasn’t doing it. The infinitely tall pines loomed overhead, blanketing the sky with green needles as they did the same to the floor. He wandered, unsure of what to do, or where to go. Its said that felines have some sort of homing instinct, canine too, out of all the things he could have inherited from either of his parents why wasn't it something useful? I would be more useful than his magic that was (just like everything else about him) half-baked.

What was he going to do?

Jǐngti stopped walking. He pulled back, crouching down low. Like a spring he shot into the air, latching onto the tree’s thick bark. He didn’t need to use his claws.The tiny crevices fit his fingers snugly. It was easy, almost second nature, to start climbing up and up and up. The pine brush above wasn’t as soft as the carpet below.

He crashed through the green shroud, his eyes stinging more than usual at the bright light. The sky was dark with hues of deep purple and orange painting the sun half-hidden over the horizon. Was it night? No, the air was too cold. The night was ending, and now it was warming thanks to the dawn.

At least it made it easy to tell directions. The sun rises in the east, so the distant town would be in the west, and the mountain where his father lived would be past that in the mountains. He knew where he was, now he just needed to know where to go. He waited, and waited, and waited, expecting the answer to come to him naturally, but everything seemed to flee.

All this freedom and no idea what to do with it.

He sighed. A deep disheartening feeling enclosed around his chest. He shoulda just sucked it up and stayed, or maybe he should’ve headed back to the junkyard. He grabbed onto the trunk and slid back down the upper brush of pines, siting on a thick branch. Moving over he grabbed onto the truck again, but when he looked towards the forest floor he realized that it was actually pretty far. Climbing up was easy enough, but who’s to say he wouldn’t make a mistake on the way down? Always landing on your feet didn’t matter when you'd break your legs anyway.

He sat back down on the branch, unable to find the will to try and get down.

Time blended together until the sun was dead overhead. It was now noon And there was no way to get back down. Until he heard something. It was weird. Kind of like a fwoosh-like thing. It kind of sounded like an aero-vehicle nearby. His first thought was it was his dad on the stupid motorcycle thing. Instead, he shielded his eyes from something flying overhead.

His eyes stung from the flyby alone, and it only got worse when it doubled back around. He shielded his eyes again and looked away from the break in the canopy; he didn’t notice the thing flying down towards him until it was right in his face. Despite looking right at it, it took a second for his vision to come back. His first reaction was to move back down the branch, pressing his back against the tree’s trunk.

The first though to run through his mind was what was his father doing here? Then, he realized his mistake. It wasn’t his father. His face was a bit more angular, lies and wrinkles a bit sharper, and his fur greyed with age. Donning a suit of armor that was golden as his eyes, was a cat Jǐngti didn’t recognize. He looked down at him with the same way one might a pitiable, albeit disgusting stray.

Which, to be fair, Jǐngti was.

“Are you okay?” The stranger’s voice was deep and familiar like he heard it somewhere before.

Jǐngti kept quiet.

The stranger didn’t repeat his question. He titled his head, looking at him quizzically. “How old are you,” he asked.

Jǐngti still said nothing.

“Are you stuck,” he asked.

Jǐngti looked up and away from him.

The stranger didn’t ask another question. He grabbed onto Jǐngti and slowly descended to the forest floor where he let him go. Jǐngti knew he probably should have said thank you, instead he avoided looking at the stranger’s face some more. There was something wrong with this guy. Something he didn’t like. Sure, the golden armor was gauche, his voice sounded like a magistrate with infinitely better things to do that extend a child’s sentence, but there was something more he knew he just didn’t fucking like.

“Excuse me, but are you lost?”

Could he tell how old he was? Jǐngti shook his head.

“So you know your way around here?”

Jǐngti nodded his head.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where someone named Mao Mao lives, would you?”

His head snapped up, and he looked at the stranger again. Who was this? Who on earth would want to speak with him? “Who are you,” he asked.

“Me?” The stranger put his hands on his hips, striking a confident pose.”I’m Shin Mao.”

Jǐngti felt like he got punched in the stomach. He had to put his hands on his knees as he coughed and gasped for breath.

“Are you okay,” Shin Mao asked, although Jǐngti barely heard it.

“Okay, so you wouldn’t happen to be related to Mao Mao, right,” he asked.

“I am.”

“How!” Jǐngti cleared his throat and repeated in a more measured tone. “How?”

“I’m his father.”

Another punch to the gut. This was his grandfather! How weird was that? He couldn’t ever remember his dad speaking about. He kind of assumed Mao Mao was an orphan, but this… he could work with. He stood up and straightened himself out, running his hands across his face to wipe away his expression and put on something a bit more clean, appealing even. Something he imagined that fox Rufus would use when pulling a scam.

“You needed help finding Mao Mao, yes?”

“Yes,” Shin Mao said, despite the obvious apprehension.

“I was heading there anyway. You can come with me if you like.” It was phrased like a question, but Jǐngti had grabbed his grandfather’s hand to lead him away.

* * *

Evidently, Shin Mao could fly, but he didn’t. He walked behind with heavy, thumping, metallic footsteps. It wasn’t hard to find his way back to the town. A little before noon, and they were already at the fountain plaza. Despite the Sweetipies usual aloofness(maybe it would be better to say vapid) selves they took interest. They crowded in corners and shadows. There was a strange and unnatural silence to everything. They were looking a little too high for it to be him. They were looking at Shin Mao.

Even if they weren’t looking at him, he didn’t like it. Not one bit. Ominous eyes, watching them from the seemingly vacant streets. Staring. They were all just staring. It's why he stuck to the back roads and far away from the main streets. The way they so garish showed the whites of their eyes at him made him feel...

He just didn’t like the stares, even if he should be used to them.

Shin Mao leaned down over to him as they walked. “Are they uh… citizens okay?”

“They’re always fucking weird so...” Jǐngti shrugged to finish his sentence.

They continued walking for some time. Jǐngti pretended that he simply got turned around on the way (which ironically did happen halfway through) as he mulled a certain question over. Should he ask Shin about his father? He’d never even thought about his family past his parents. There were vague memories of questions. A curious child’s poking and prodding at his mother and his father. His mother glossed over the question telling him about the family in details he could no longer remember. He couldn’t remember what his father said either, but he distinctly remembered his reaction.

He was young, little more than a kitten who even Mao Mao managed to tower over, barely used to speaking in a voice he had no confidence with. They were by a river. His father was doing something while he splashed away in the river like a child. Inevitably, he got wet, cold, and worst of all, bored. He stopped splashing moving back to the bank where his father was washing clothes.

Maybe it was because he was washing clothes that he didn’t mind it when he hopped into his lap despite being soaking wet. He watched him do chores before getting bored of that, too. Eventually, he flipped over and looked his father in the eye before asking a single question.

“Do you have any family?” He wasn’t used to speaking. The words tumbled out, tripping over his lips.

“I have you and your mother,” he said.

“What about like, brothers, sisters, fathers?”

Jǐngti won’t forget the way his father stopped. Rigid, like a stone, he stared off into space without blinking. He watched a piece of clothing slipped from his hands and down the river. Still, his father didn’t move. He stayed like that for what seemed like forever, and right when Jǐngti was getting worried his father snapped back to reality.

“What was that,” he asked like the conversation didn’t grind to a halt.

“Nothing,” Jǐngti said.

He never asked his father that question again. Why would he when that was how he reacted? It made it oh so tempting to just go ahead and ask about it now. Jǐngti turned to Shin Mao who was still walking beside him.

“So, uh, you’re Mao Mao’s dad, right?”

Shin eyed him weirdly. “Yeah.”

“What was he like,” he added for clarification,” when he was younger, I mean.”

Shin frowned, eyes turning up, and he scratched his chin. “Well, he was… very quiet. One of those kids that was almost always seen and never heard. He was super reserved, too. Well together and composed. I don’t think he ever made a scene, not even a tantrum when he was a toddler.”

Jǐngti surprised the urge to laugh. The thought of Mao Mao -the walking, talking shit show of a person- not causing trouble seems like a bad joke. It wouldn’t have even been so funny if Shin wasn’t saying it with his whole chest. Jǐngti swallowed the laughter down, listening to Shin go on and on about someone Jǐngti had never met. It was funny at first, but quickly became significantly less so. Shin Mao described someone who was clam and levelheaded. An apathetic isolationist who you could forget even existed.

Jǐngti was able to entertain the idea that his father had somehow changed since he left home. It was a perfectly natural thing for people to do. However, as they crossed the crest of the foothill, Shin Mao said something that made him trip.

“I never expected him to leave home when he did,” Shin Mao said,” I remember when I heard nearly spitting out my drink when I heard Mao Mao left to be an adventurer He never partook in family trainings or anything. I never would’ve thought he wanted to become a hero.”

It reached a point where Jǐngti had to say something. “I think we might’ve gotten our wires crossed.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think we’re talking about two different people. I’m talking about Mao Mao. Short black cat, one arm, wears a stupid cape all the time.”

“So am I -wait, stupid cape, what does that- you know, what? Never mind. We’re talking about the same Mao Mao, and you’re still leading me to his home, right?”

Jǐngti didn’t know what would happen when Shin and Mao Mao finally met. Maybe they’d hug. Maybe they’d fight. Regardless, he knew it would be a shitshow.

* * *

They crossed the crest of the hill and home was right in front of him. The sky was gray and clouding over. He could smell the rain on his nose and feel the lightning in his fur. He’d have to find someplace to stay after this was over He stood back and watched Shin Mao clomp up to the building in that heavy metal suit. He stopped just short of the porch before turning around.

“I can’t do this,” he said.

“What?” Jǐngti protested,” Why not? You’re already here, so just go ahead and knock.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Yeah you can. Just make a fist, and punch the door.”

“You know damn well that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

Shin welled up, bringing up his shoulders and his chest, like he was going to shout something. Instead, the tension left him like someone had pulled the plug. H breathed out a heavy sigh and sat on the steps to his son’s home.

“It isn’t that simple,” he said.

“Why isn’t it?”

Shin was about to say something, but a pained sigh came out, instead of words. “It’s… we… aren’t exactly on the best terms. It's like every time we meet it just devolves into arguing.”

Jǐngti crossed his arms. “Why?”

“I don’t know!” Shin’s voice carried over the rolling hills. An echo that fell into the silence. He crumpled back down, holding his face in his hands. “I just don’t know. Things just go to shit every single time.”

“He doesn’t even want me to visit him in the hospital. Did you know he even attacked me once?”

“Did he ever tell you why he did that?”

“He said it was something like, not paying attention to him. That I knew nothing about my own son, but-”

“You don’t.”

Shin turned to Jǐngti. “What are you-”

“You don’t. You know nothing about him.”

“Yes I do!”

“You really don’t. The Mao Mao you described to me is nothing like the real one. Do you even know he’s missing an arm?”

“Of course.”

“Did you know that before or after you visited him the first time in his adult life?”

Shin Mao went quiet at that. Jǐngti threw his hands up in the air and turned around. Things were beginning to sound familiar. Too familiar for Jǐngti’s taste. Like it was a giant fucking joke. Puzzle pieces fit together to from one grotesque family picture.

He turned back around when he heard the door open. Not surprising considering they were yelling on the front porch. Badgerclops stood there. He had an uncharacteristic frown on his face that only deepened when saw Shin. Jǐngti thought he could hear someone ask,” what’s going on?” from inside but Badgeclops slammed the door shut behind him.

“What the hell are you doing here,” he asked.

“Me or him,” Jǐngti asked in return

“Both of you.”

“I don’t know about the gold motherfucker over there, but I was going to bring I’m to meet Mao Mao and enjoy the chaos, but goddamn even I’m above this .” Jǐngti turned around and started walking. “I wash my hands of this shit because I am fucking done.”

“Hang on.” Badgerclops hurried from the porch to scoop Jǐngti into his arms.

“Nope. Stop.” Jǐngti wiggled and wiggled but couldn’t break free.

“Relax,” Badgerclps said,” I’m only holding onto you until your mom comes to pick you up. Besides, you’re way too young to be on your own.”

“And you.” He turned to Shin,” you’re not welcome here. Leave before I arrest you for trespassing.” Badgerclops didn’t wait for Shin to say anything. He just slammed the door behind them.

Inside was dark enough for Jǐngti to see without light blinding him. The TV dimly glowed with some meaningless program. His father lied on the couch like an equally meaningless thing.

“What was that,” he asked.

“It was nothing,” Badgerclops said,” no one at all.”

#fanfic #MMHOPH #Mao Mao And The Heroes of Pure Heart #Badgerclops #Mao Mao #Jingti #Shin Mao

18 notes · View notes

langdxn · 4 years ago

Text

you all know i don’t get involved in fandom dramas, i’m way too old and tired for all that. i left high school 12 years ago and that was enough for one lifetime.

but sometimes drama doesn’t give you that choice, sometimes it descends on people whether they deserve it or not, sometimes it’s targeted at those who would quite happily go their entire lives without another harsh word or anon hate.

alex was the first person i properly met in this fandom and they physically couldn’t have been more welcoming if they tried. they welcomed me in with open arms, showed me around and made me feel like i belonged here. they’ve been there for me through absolutely everything, they’ve helped me when i’ve hit my lowest points, they’ve always been faultlessly supportive and attentive -- even when they were battling serious problems of their own.

when they were suffering the most, they still wouldn’t talk much about it -- even in their darkest times, they refused to talk ill of the people that were putting them through it. in fact, it seemed more like they couldn’t even bring themselves to put it into words. i felt helpless, i couldn’t even support the friend who supported me through everything because there was simply nothing i could do, they were incapacitated with worry. that was 7 months ago.

7-month-old drama should have subsided by now, but it’s far from over and alex is on the verge of going back to that shell of a friend i spoke to back at the height of this.

the fact that they are still suffering from persecution by individuals in this fandom breaks my heart. the fact that they live in fear of further repercussions from people with a vendetta, scared to converse with others in the fandom in case they’re trying to attack again, that’s despicable. i’ve felt that way myself in the past and i wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy, let alone my oldest friend in this fandom.

i still don’t know the ins and outs of the drama and frankly i don’t deserve to know, it’s not my business, it’s a very personal situation. but it’s my business to help my friend when they are visibly distressed and physically drained by issues that shouldn’t even have been dragged up again.

what would anybody accomplish by extending this drama? reducing more people to fear and deactivating?

please, let’s draw a line under all this and prevent any further hurt.

34 notes · View notes

fictionalnormalcy · 3 years ago

Text

TBWASN Ch. 30

The Boy with a Strange Name

Rating: Mature (Graphic Depictions of Violence)

Fandoms: Fusion of the How to Train Your Dragon books and animated franchise

Additional Tags: jaded protagonist, modern day AU, moving somewhere new, fitting in, making friends, additional DreamWorks characters, back to hometown

Summary: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III has lived nearly seventeen years of life. In the span of those years, he’s moved twelve times. Five of those years his mother was alive. Then a tragic accident left Hiccup in the sole care of his father, Stoick Haddock. Berk was where he had been born. That much he knew. Over every, single, move his father put him through, it wasn’t until he reached sixteen years old that Berk was the city in which the father finally decided to plant roots. At least, that was what he claimed. After years of being victimized at each school he attended, Hiccup was determined to keep a low profile at Berk High. His past is intent on preying upon him, deciding that Berk was perfect place to come back into the light. However, like all good things that came to him, there was always something to drag him back down into the pit of despair. A dormant secret, tied into his family history, was ultimately brought into the light when Hiccup settles on Berk. A secret tied with guilt and tears, and it all goes downhill from there. He discovered what his father truly did those long stretch of years, and finds he has a gift that had been nonexistent for centuries.

Ch. 30: Citrus and Scales

He was checking to see if the bag of lemons was properly sealed when his phone pinged with a message. He knew his ride would be arriving any minute, and here was the signal. He unlocked the device, seeing Hamish’s text that they were waiting outside. He switched chats, and texted his dad he was leaving and would text him when he was on his way back. Taking the tray carefully into his arms then tucking a bag onto a wrist, he headed toward the car.

Hamish opened the door for him, supporting the tray as he climbed into the vehicle and into the middle seat. He settled the tray on his lap and put the bag between his feet, glancing at the front seat. The driver was the man he remembered from a couple weeks ago who had glared at him.

“Hiccup this is the family driver Mr. Trevis.”

“Hello.”

“Ye better not spill that in the car.” He said, shifting the joystick to drive.

“Yes sir.” He adjusted his grip on the tray.

He had already sprinkled a few drops of lemon on the fruit so there was a chance of dripping. He’d also tried to ensure that he’d wrapped sufficient plastic over it.

“What did you guys bring?”

“I made fish ceviche.” Hamish pointed toward the back.

“My mom helped me make pecan tassies.”

“Well we have three courses right here. We could just go to my house and eat this,” Hamish joked.

“Yeah,” Orrick sighed, “but we’re expected.”

“Can you believe that though, we are being expected.”

“I’m still surprised you even got us invited. They never would’ve extended an invite had you not stepped in.”

“You guys are my friends. And I’m trying to get to know them too. I don’t exactly, get out much.” Hiccup said sheepishly.

“Trust me we don’t either. My father is especially strict.”

“And I really only feel comfortable with Hamish.”

“So it seems, we’re all stepping out of our comfort zones today.”

“May Thor keep a protective eye on us all.”

“We’re going to be in close quarters with Camicazi and the twins, something’s bound to happen.” Orrick grimaced.

The other two nodded in agreement. When they arrived, the other two had pushed Hiccup to the door, imploring him to knock. They each held their dishes, all three of them hesitant to cross the threshold even as the door lay open. Astrid had opened, smiling at the three of them, and within the house someone shouted that the party could begin.

When they set out the food, Hiccup’s dish was one of the first to be descended upon.

“It’s diced fruit.” Fishlegs said.

“But why are there lemons and chili powder?” Snotlout asked.

“And some of it looks slick. Who brought this one?” Ruffnut asked.

“I did.” Hiccup used a fork to point. “There’s cucumber, oranges, mango, pineapple, papaya, and cantaloupe. The lemon addition is something a neighbor introduced me and my dad too. Add some salt and lemon and it gives the fruit a delightful tangy taste. I did leave some without if you guys just want the regular fruit.”

Keep reading

1 note · View note

forestcathedral · 4 years ago

Text

‘Til I See Stars

Fandom: Obey Me! Shall We Date?

Pairing: Implied MC/Lucifer (feat. my MC Abel), mostly a genfic.

Rating: G+

Warnings: Difficult upbringing. Transphobia in the form of past (read: family) experiences, nothing graphic. Referenced drinking, referenced unsafe driving. (No one is hurt!)

A/N: This was something cathartic and therefore I didn’t edit it very much, so apologies if it’s a little everywhere. Might come back to fix it later. Maybe I’ll write more about my MC? He’s a delight.

— “I won’t accept this, this isn’t you.”

“It is me, it’s always been me!”

Abel had stormed from his house, boots thudding against the cracked board flooring as he descended the stairs while his parents had screamed behind him. Slammed the car door, gunned it out of the driveway. It was practically Hollywood worthy, if they ever made barely-relatable movies about people like him.

When Abel showed up at his friend’s home, dark eyes rimmed red, they had immediately taken him in. A cup of warm tea was in his hands within moments as he regaled them with his story. Loyalty he’d never been shown by his blood was given freely by friends. A few weeks later, at the tender age of seventeen, he had moved (or rather, was kicked out) in with his aunt who he had not spoken to since he was a child. Upon hearing her reasoning after he visited her when she reached out to him, and the way she seemed so loving when her mouth formed the phrase ‘other half’ as she looked at her supposed housemate, Abel understood immediately.

All of it moved in such a blur that Abel still cannot remember the exact details of the week his father spat out, “That’s your problem now.” over the speaker phone when his aunt said she was taking him in. The memories are patchy at best.

So much had changed in such a short amount of time, yet Abel still pressed forward with no other option in his mind. Celebrating graduation from college, working in his aunt’s greenhouse to help begin paying off his student loans, and not having spoken with his parents since a phone call three months ago that ended in yelling (something about ‘betraying god’s plan’), there was something on the horizon in a way that Abel didn’t think was possible five years prior.

There was still a fight within him, though. Always, there was this inescapable urge to let go. In high school, he sat diligently through his school work or after-school activities, trying to help his father work on the old, 1800s farmhouse they lived in, or tutor his brothers, or stay active in the church he tried to feel something in. Forgoing nights out with his friends and missing moments that later on in life, he would mourn. Anything and everything to avoid the guilt that followed him like a shadow in the form of his mother’s wistful comments about seeing him in a wedding dress. When he moved in with his extended family, the heaviness still bore down on him, miserable for the regret he felt despite knowing it was the right thing to do. Senior year he had scraped by, and college, while it helped him bloom into who he longed to be, still held a dissatisfaction he couldn’t place. As though something vital was missing.

He had been thankful when his group of friends invited him out to spend the night drinking and dancing. It was the most free he’d felt in years.

Abel could feel the dread melting from his shoulders, lost to him as he flung his arms above his head, feeling the midnight wind pulling at his sleeves and hair. In the other occupied car seats, his friends did the same through their laughter, crying out the song lyrics blaring through the stereo. Any tears he might have shed earlier in the evening were long forgotten, the sting of his mother’s words so many years ago gone from the splendor of the present moment. The cold air dried his tongue, but he screamed the songs through the wind anyway. It was perfect. It was everything he needed.

The memory was kept close to his chest, even when his friends moved away and lived their lives thousands of miles from him as the years rolled on. They kept contact, but Abel missed them through it. Even at twenty eight, having made new friendships and experienced new lovers while he learned his new ‘family’ craft to eventually inherit some day, the empty feeling in his gut never left. At first, he thought the hole was from the lack of social interaction, or emotional exhaustion of never letting himself really sit and feel. Even his ‘aunts’ expressed their concerns, gently forcing him on long weekend getaways when they could afford it, which he politely accepted out of gratitude for all they had done for him.

When that fateful application to a ‘unique’ exchange program crossed his desk amidst the stacks of grad school applications, Abel couldn’t have possibly guessed the direction his life would take.

. . .

“.. are you okay? Abel?” Lucifer’s voice broke through the reverie he’d been stuck in.

“What?”

Lucifer, who was kneeling in front of him now, had his face twisted in mild concern. Abel saw Satan and Mammon’s equally worried faces behind him as well. The stereo that they’d been listening to Earth-music on was turned down by Asmodeus, who also made his way over to sit next to Abel on the sofa. The other brothers seemed to be wandering over, too. Even Belphegor, whose relationship with Abel had been slightly strained since he came back, looked concerned.

“Oh, are you feeling homesick, listening to music from your human realm?” Asmodeus cooed softly, once he had cuddled up next to Abel, arm around his shoulder.

“Huh? I don’t-” Abel wiped at his cheek unconsciously, suddenly noticing the wetness there. “Oh, was I...was I crying? I’m sorry, I’m not sure what came over me.”

Of course, this was a lie. But they did not need to know about the way his fingers caressed the wind while he sat next to people who he no longer spoke to, singing over the radio and screaming into the night air in the back seat of a car, so long ago.

Lucifer took one of Abel’s hands into his larger ones, and something about the way his gaze settled made the human think the lie hadn’t gone over well.

“Yer joking, right?” Mammon scoffed, “This some kinda human thing to get mopey over songs?”

Satan immediately elbowed him in the ribcage, causing Mammon to slap him back, and before they could continue Lucifer turned around and shot both of them with a hard glare. Message received.

Beelzebub sat on the side Asmodeus wasn’t occupying, looking serious. “Do you want me to make you something? There’s some spiced lavender tea that you like in the kitchen still.”

For a reason that was beyond Abel, in that moment, he was dragged back to the age of seventeen, on his friend’s doorstep, looking for anywhere to go, feeling like the world was crumbling around him. Abel felt himself start to cry again.

“Ah, I didn’t mean to,” at the sharp exhale that left him, Lucifer squeezed his hand tighter, “Shit. It’s okay, I promise. It’s just…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Asmodeus said softly, rubbing circles along Abel’s shoulder blades.

“Y-yeah! Words ain’t always needed. Gotta do what ya gotta do. ” Mammon chimed in, albeit unsure of himself.

“Mhmm,” Satan agreed, although he looked just as dumbfounded as Mammon, “letting it out is good.”

Abel looked up at all of them, then. Fully, truly looked at each of them, even through his blurry, tear-filled vision. There was a surge of something he hadn’t been able to place until now. Even with their emotional goodbye after his first year at RAD, with everything they had all been through together, the entirety of what exactly each of them meant to Abel felt more raw now than he thought possible.

Mammon, for all his thinly hidden emotions and quiet, genuine integrity. Levi, for all of his drive and passion for what he loved. Satan, for all the struggle he overcame to find his own self, and in some ways Abel found him the most relatable if he thought about it. Asmodeus and all the sincerity behind the sensual bluster. Beelzebub, who would set aside even his strongest cravings to offer something tender and kind in return. Belphegor, while there was a tension between them, was desperate to make a connection beyond his own misdeeds. They all were.

And then there was Lucifer. Oh, Lucifer, who looked at him now so sweetly it made Abel’s heart ache. There was a special kind of affection he held for the eldest demon, to which the secret, doting kisses they shared in the dark held to the magnitude of their connection.

“Sorry if this is too human of me.” Abel laughed through the tears streaming down his face, wiping under his eyes with the hand Lucifer wasn’t gripping onto. “But I love you all so much.”

There were a few sighs and clicked tongues around him, but nothing patronizing or hurtful. Instead, they all seemed to move around him, quieter somehow, showering him with various sentiments of support and mutual affection. Abel heard all of them clearly, but so much of it melted together into a singular warm feeling within his chest. It had been a troubling journey, but his heart was full. At long last he understood what he had been missing for so long.

#my writing #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me!#mc x lucifer #obey me mc #tw transphobia #mc is trans but the brothers say fuck transphobia #IDK WHAT ELSE 2 TAG #this felt good to write

18 notes · View notes

iwrestlenow · 4 years ago

Text

Many More To Die (Chapter 3)

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 3)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: Roman is now king--and not in full control of his actions. Being kept alive by Logan's magic alone, he heads into the dungeons to see the necromancer for the first time in ten years.

Logan, a little out of control himself, uses his magic to bring the Green Man to his cell, not realizing he's compelling the new king of the Kingdoms. He discovers a strange, unknow power is still actively trying to kill him, uses his powers to try and regain some control over the situation...

And discovers something impossible.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), future Moceit (Patton/Janus) and Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: lots of death because necromancy, slash, and more to come as I figure it out ‘cause it’s late and I’m tired. CW in this chapter for some disturbing, vaguely graphic imagery involving blood, fluids (nothing sexual, YET), and a stylized version of a panic attack as well as touch starvation. I experience some mild symptoms myself, but I will admit I haven't done much in the way of research for more extreme samples, but this chapter does feature someone that has literally never experienced human contact doing so for the first time. Ergo, their reaction is a little extreme. Just be safe, mindful, and know that I am eager to learn anything that can help me treat issues like this with the respect and accuracy they deserve.

Also, no betas, we die like men.

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

“Your Majesty! You have to stop!”

Roman remained silent as the guards trailing him called out, relentless as he stalked through the palace halls. Even as the words made him visibly flinch, cutting into him like a knife, he pressed onwards.

Your Majesty.

Because he was the king now. King Thomas Roman II—with his father (his body, he's just a body now) laying in his rooms to prepare for internment.

He could still see Remus's face...

“Remus—I can't--”

“Roman? Roman, look at me.”

“Father is...he's...”

“Dead. Our father is dead, big brother—and this is why the gods invented necromancers. Go.”

He hadn't trusted it, when his first impulse sent him bolting from the guards that dragged him away from his father's body and into the palace, everything in him screaming to find the dungeon, straining towards the necromancer. It probably wasn't his own thought, he still wasn't in control of his own body, lungs full of cool fog, mind thick and clear and so soft, so light. It seemed wrong to feel that way, heavy morning mist and the air above the clouds, atop the mountain, where not a single speck of dust or vapor could impede his vision.

He needed that, Remus to tell him, to hear someone else that wasn't in the Necromata's thrall having the same idea.

Remus pushed him further into the palace. Roman hardly needed the prompting.

“Stand aside.” he instructed as he reached the gate leading down into the dungeons. Two fully armed guards flanked the relatively small door, and neither of them moved at his command.

“With all due respect, Highness--”

“It's--” Roman's throat clogged around the words, unable to let them out despite the fact that his hands still shook from the chill of his father's skin.

“Let him pass.”

Roman glanced over his shoulder, startled by the sight of the man approaching them. He was dressed in a gentleman's bowler hat, and the black and gold cloak of an assassin, its gleaming clasp a perfect compliment to the scales that graced his otherwise handsome features.

“Lord Janus, you know--”

“How dearly I adore being flouted? Yes, of course, nothing makes me happier than having my subordinates disobey a direct order in front of the king.” Janus managed to purr through the sibilance of every word. Distractedly, Roman swore he could hear the crack of ice forming in the wake of the assassin's frigid demeanor.

The word 'king,' however, seemed to do the job. The moment it was spoken, both guards flinched, shared a look, and the one on the left moved to open the gate.

Roman descended the stairs, slowing down for the first time since he'd left the balcony. As a boy, he'd been in the cell nearest to the stairs, and in the dreams it was the same...

He was nearly to the bottom when he saw him.

He was standing in front of the bars, hands wrapped around them...and totally absent. Behind his glasses, the eyes that Roman remembered being glittering chips of ice had been swallowed up by a soft blue light that reminded him of every terrifying story he'd ever heard about the Animator with his sightless eyes, white as bone and crackling with the fury of lightning.

There was no crackle to this glow—more like the sinuous curl of flame at the edges, sweeping back against his temples, barely tinted blue and pale as moonlight.

Stopping dead, he was so consumed by the otherworldly beauty of the image he cut that he almost didn't notice the much younger man beside him—only just reaching the necromancer's shoulder with a mop of brown curls and an expression fraught with worry as he focused entirely on the...

...on Logan.

Roman forced himself to take those last few steps down, drawing the attention of the younger man. When he turned to Roman, he saw that his eyes were blue as well—but dark, vivid as the first crop of wild blueberries at the edges of the village that sat in the valley just beneath the palace.

He squinted into the shadows that blanketed the area around the stairs, the same one Roman had hidden in so long ago—and gasped, choking audibly on his own breath.

“Oh...oh, it's—it's you.”

Taken aback, Roman stilled again. “You...know me?”

“The Green Man—well, sure! Logan's told me all about you! But...what are you doing here, kiddo?”

Taking a deep breath—deep as he could manage with magic still forcing his chest to expand and contract, Roman stepped forward into the light. Almost immediately, the boy's eyes widened.

“...oh, ohhhhh, sweet baby, he didn't tell me you were the...the...”

The boy looked half ready to cry as he realized who he was speaking to, catching Roman just a little off guard with the display of empathy. A sudden, irrational urge to reach through the bars and hug the poor kid gripped him so powerfully it hurt—to hide his face in Roman's chest and protect him, to hide his face in those curls so no one could see Roman's tears in turn.

The boy's overly shining eyes hardened just as abruptly as they filled. Turning away from Roman, he laid a solid hand on Logan's shoulder.

“Logan.”

Roman opened his mouth to ask what was happening, what he was doing to Roman...

Then Logan's hand lifted, fingers unwrapping from around the bars, arm extending, and only then did Roman realize he'd closed the distance and walked straight up to the bars with no memory or awareness of even moving.

Everything in him was well past straining, was now screaming for him to take that offered hand, to plow straight through the bars and into something--

“Go on, kiddo.”

“Patton.”

“It's okay, Janny...it's okay, Your Majesty. He won't hurt you.”

The voices—Lord Janus, the boy, Patton—they sounded like they were coming from the end of a long hall, underwater.

The world was growing so quiet. Early morning dawn, cold mist, thick as soup and light as cotton.

Hold on.

He watched, from the heart of the fog bank, as his hand drifted up to mesh with Logan's—just like the dreams. That hand, those fingers, long and lean and surprisingly powerful...as familiar to him as his own name.

Do not let go.

I never have. I never will.

Roman looked from their joined hands to stare into Logan's face—no longer that of a frightened boy in pain, but lean and angular and marked by his imprisonment. Skin just too pale, cheekbones just too prominent, eyes just too shadowed.

Roman decided, with the last of his free will, that it was the most beautiful face he'd ever seen.

He breathed in, clear and deep, a breath of his own volition.

This time, the world only went dark when he closed his eyes and let go his final breath.

**********

Logan was in agony, and he didn't understand why.

It happened suddenly as the Green Man approached, followed the compulsion he'd been pushing since the moment his power had taken over. Logan had only been able to regain his senses once he'd found it and grabbed on, caught the thread of power buried deep in the Green Man's blood and marrow and replaced it with his own magic.

He'd never done this before, not really—but his magic seemed to know the way, seemed to know that this one, this death, belonged to Logan alone.

There wasn't time to wonder before everything began to burn and scream within him, demanding that he turn and run for safety.

Logan didn't listen. He pushed through it, pushed towards the sound of Patton's voice, towards the Green Man, and leaned forward just in time to draw his last gasp deep into his own lungs.

Immediately, it burned. The power in there was foreign, alien and other, too hot and too bright. It was straining towards its target, terrified of its new prison within Logan's body. He could taste lightning on the back of his tongue, lightning and knives and thick, sweet-savory blood.

...and underneath, honey mead. Fresh grass and sweet roses, sunlight and the clash of swords. Loamy earth and the clean grit of damp stone. The Green Man.

He was in so much pain, he barely felt it as he bit the inside of his own cheek and sucked, replacing the savory-sweet of the alien magic with old pennies and sour larvae. Rolling the flavor of those three across his tongue, Logan breathed through his nose...and opened his mouth.

The blue-white light spilled from his lips and slithered past the Green Man's, returning his final breath to him with a fresh thread of power to combat the one that was trying to leech away his very essence. With an icy knot in his chest to clash against the fire ravaging his nerves, he blinked his vision clear, banishing the last of the spirit-blindness from his eyes and begged the gods for aid.

The Green Man stood, eyes shut, still as the grave—then tensed and came alive, greedily sucking air into his lungs.

Something inside Logan's chest relaxed...but everything, everything still hurt like hell.

Only then, dimly, did it register that the Green Man stood before him in the red, white, and gold of the royal family's military dress.

The Green Man...oh, Shadow's Balls, the Green Man was the king's son.

“Logan? Say something, please Logan...” Patton's voice, thin and vaguely panicked.

“Easy.”

The prince—the new king—gasping and coughing, those green eyes riveted to Logan's face.

“Berry.”

Janus—that was definitely Janus, somewhere beyond Logan's vision, which was starting to narrow. It hurt, it hurt, why did it hurt? He was in pain, he was dying...he was on fire. He was being consumed and crushed--

“Logan, stop pulling.”

Blinking, Logan's vision blurred and cleared. Tears? He was...

Was he weeping? He had to be, he was struggling to breathe.

Looking around, Logan realized Patton was crying (his fault, his fault he knew somehow it was his fault) and, standing beside the new king, Janus had a hand on each of their wrists.

The prince still held Logan's hand. Janus's fingers around Logan's wrist were a barely there buzzing awareness, not even that ghost of pressure because Logan couldn't feel anything beyond the fire consuming him, concentrated...

The prince tried to take his hand back. Logan's fingers convulsed around it.

“Don't let go.”

It took Logan a full minute to realize the broken sounding whine had come from his own throat.

“Logan!”

“Patton, easy. It's fine...Your Majesty, are you all right?”

“I...yes. I am unharmed, I'm...I'm back in control.”

“Back in control?”

“Whatever killed my f—whatever killed the king, it nearly killed me, too. I have reason to believe this man saved my life.”

“This man is Necromata, and he's clearly found a way to use magic on you.”

“Which, I repeat, he used to save my life, and if we're very lucky, may yet be able to use to save F...the rightful king. Logan.”

“Don't let go...please.” Logan's breath was coming in short, shallow gasps now. He was trying to take back his hand and begging to be restrained...

Logan was dying. Logan was electrified.

“Young man—Patton--what's wrong with him?”

“I don't know, Your Majesty...Logan? Can you take a breath for me, kiddo?”

Breath. Breathing. Logan could breathe. He shut his eyes...

...two...three...four...

...hold...

...three...five...six...

Logan drew in a breath.

Held it.

Let it out.

Again.

Logan drew in a breath. At some point, he stopped fighting the grip on his hand, drifted somewhere between the present and elsewhere, the core of his power...

Breath. Berry. Breath, br...other. Berry.

He opened his eyes when it started to hurt again. The Green Man was right there, both of his hands wrapped around Logan's one. He felt boneless, but when he looked to the side, he saw Patton pressed against him, one arm around his waist, the other holding Logan's arm across his shoulders so he could support his weight.

“Hey, kiddo. You back?”

Logan could only nod, turning back to stare at the hands engulfing his. Hesitantly, he tried to plant his feet, take his arm back from Patton, and reached out to touch one of the prince's hands.

His fingertips barely grazed his knuckle, and the pain intensified.

“Lo?”

Logan drew a shaky breath.

“Your Majesty...your hands are callused.”

The Green Man blinked, visibly confused. “I...thank...you?...”

“Your hands...are callused.”

“I don't understand...” The Green Man trailed off, then after a moment his eyes widened.

“Wait. You...”

Logan felt his hands tighten around his. It hurt worse, and somehow it was all that was stopping him from shattering into a million glittering pieces.

“Your hands are callused.” Logan repeated. “I can feel them...I can feel it. Your touch...I can feel it.”

6 notes · View notes

afewnovelideas · 3 years ago

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica, DCU (Comics), Batman (Comics), Young Justice (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Kyubey (PMMM) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Madoka Magica Fusion, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Kyubey is Awful, Meta, Metafiction, Worldbuilding Summary:

Kyubey has been creating Magicka Knights and harvesting Grief Seeds on Earth for centuries. They're influence has left marks on the DCU world.

Kyubey has been creating Magicka Knights and harvesting Grief Seeds on Earth for centuries. They're influence has left marks on the world.

Lazarus Pits were created using a wish from a past Magika Knight who was a friend/lover of Ra's al Ghul over 1000 years ago. The wish was for a Fountain of Youth that could heal all injuries, cure illnesses, and extend natural human life. The hidden curse of the wish was that the waters of the Lazarus Pits would also cause violent temporary madness as well.

Kyubey made a nest of Gotham City between the 1800s-1900s. It was an experiment in how many Witches and Labyrinths could fit in one area. They wanted to see if concentrating them together would increase the energy collected in the eventual harvested Grief Seeds. It was a partial success. True, the Grief Seeds harvested were higher in energy quality than those of secluded Witches in less populated areas without constant competition from other Witches. However, it got to a point where one Witch started cannibalizing other weaker Witches, consuming their Grief Seeds and became too powerful for any living Magika Knight of the era to defeat. Eventually, both weaker Witches and Knights would flat out avoid crossing paths with the Witch and her Labyrinth, which is located in Arkham Asylum.

This Witch's influence is the reason people who are sent to Arkham Asylum go even more insane if they spend too much time there. Kyubey was disappointed. If no Magika Knights are strong enough defeat the Arkham Witch, their very powerful collection of Grief Seeds can't be harvested and are out of Kyubey's reach. This Witch was also content to remain on her island with the physical asylum building and doesn't want to expand her borders beyond Gotham City. She is secure and content in her superiority over Gotham City's Witches and Knights.

Going forward, Kyubey made sure limit how many Witches were allowed to concentrate in an area, and they would direct their Magika Knights to immediately hunt any Witch who showed signs of cannibalism before they for too strong.

The appearance of "metahumans" is often a result of either the passive/active influence of a resident Witch's powers in the area that person was born in, or due to direct/indirect influence of a Magika Knight's wish. Metahumans, as long as they aren't directly descended from a Magika Knight, can contract with Kyubey.

If a Magika Knight survives long enough to bear children, those children and their descendents will often be natural-born magic users. (ex. Zatanna, Constantine, Klarion, Raven etc...) However, they can't become Knights themselves. Due to being born with magic, Kyubey can't touch their souls and can't contract with them. Also, because of their natural connection to magic, these men and women can, in theory, fight a Witch. If they were to collect even a single Grief Seed from a weak Witch, it would give then a boost to their powers. However, because they are using fragile human bodies and their souls aren't protected by Soul Gems, they are at high risk of being killed or worse in a battle with a Witch.

Read more about this world at the Kyubey Cursed Magicka Knights AU - Annotations page.

#au: kcmk #kyubey cursed magicka knights AU #fanfiction #crossover/fusion #pmmm au #dcu au #world building

5 notes · View notes

chillkingpenguin · 4 years ago

Text

Week 9 - Fandom

It was a little difficult for me to consider myself as a fan but that’s because I’m comparing myself to the super fans out there who would literally spend thousands or beyond just to collect items related to anything they are a fan of. So, I gave it some thought. What is it that I like and how much I like those things? I went back far to my childhood to figure things that I could’ve been a fan of or something that I had simply forgotten that I originally was a fan of.

Doraemon. Yes, that cat robot anime. For those who don’t know, Doraemon (the character and also the title of the show) is a blue cat robot that came from the future. Doraemon was sent to the past by Nobita’s (the protagonist) descendant using a time machine to help prevent him from making mistakes, to save him from his bleak future. Doraemon possesses a 4-dimensional pocket which contains cool gadgets from the 22nd century. It’s with these tools Doraemon tries to help Nobita in his daily life. The show normally consists of moral teachings with a touch of educational science (Rei, 2005). A famous show originated from Japan and was made available to many countries including Malaysia. A show loved by many, especially among the Japanese people (mokugyo, 2016).

This show basically made up most of my childhood and honestly, I was surprised that I had forgotten. This show sparked my love for manga, anime and also drawing. It was my root. I remember collecting and reading every Doraemon manga and watched every single episode and movies that was shown on the television back then. I would buy Doraemon piggy banks, plushies and toys. After remembering all these, I thought to myself, maybe I am like those fans after all.

Media Representation of Fans

Media represents fans as weird, overly emotional, obsessed and childlike. This hit close to home for me. I can remember many moments where people, my parents included, questioning me for still watching cartoons during my teenage years and basically implicating me to grow out of my anime fandom. The sight of me being immersed and invested in the story of an anime appeared weird to them. “They’re just cartoons, not real people”.

There are extremists sure, but that applies to everything in life. There’s always someone who takes things too far and that’s what people should be concern about. But someone enjoying a cartoon show is not all that different from the dramas that they watch on the television. They are not real too. They too, are characters.

A Study of Empathy

We are creatures with empathy. According to Finke (2015), there was a study that found people can generate empathy for people who are different than they are by watching movies and reading books. The study showed that the participants showed greater empathy for definable “outgroups” and helped for better understanding of other people’s perspective.

Isn’t it unfair to “classify” people who show greater ability to empathize with people, weird? I certainly think so. To a certain extend anyway. Some people do go too far afterall.

#MDA20009 #Week9

9 notes · View notes

katehuntington · 5 years ago

Text

Title: Ride With Me (part thirteen) Fandom: Supernatural AU Characters series: Reader, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Ellen Singer-Harvelle, Jo Singer (Harvelle), Benny Lafitte, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Ash Miller, Castiel Novek, and many more. Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±6350 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part thirteen: The six mile ride to find water is a long one, exhausting the wranglers. When they finally reach the river, Dean and Y/N find a lot more than just that. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: ‘I Will Carry You’ - Carter Burwell (opening scene), ‘All The Wild Horses’ - Ray LaMontagne (Dean & Y/N final scene). Check out ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Thank you @kittenofdoomage and @girl-with-a-fandom-fettishfor helping me. You girls are awesome betas. Thank you for your endless patience!

Ride With Me Masterlist

“Here.” A water flask moves into her peripheral vision, pulling Y/N back from a hazy daydream. It’s past five PM, but it’s at least 90 degrees, the high temperatures lingering. The heat is dry, not the kind that is oppressive and makes it hard to breathe, but more torrid. Crippling nonetheless, especially for someone who is used to chilly autumns and cold winters. Her fatigued body was aching when they were standing at the junction hours ago, but Y/N didn’t want to be the one to call it quits. She still feels the pressure to prove herself, to her dad, to Dean and Bobby, to herself. So she kept her mouth shut. Now it seems stupid, because she isn’t feeling well.

Heavy eyes glide up the arm extended to her, meeting Dean’s handsome face, shaded by his Western hat. It’s clear that he’s concerned for her. “That’s yours,” she objects. “I’ve got some left.” “No, you don’t. You emptied it over an hour ago,” he knows, motioning her to take the bottle. Y/N huffs; looks like someone has been keeping an eye on her. Dean isn’t going to take no for an answer. “You gotta to stay hydrated, or this heat will take you down,” the wrangler pressures. “You’re not used to these circumstances.” “I’ve been here for over a month, Dean. I think I’m used to the climate by now,” she counters stubborn, even though she knows better. The cowboy eyes her sternly, but can’t stop the corner of his mouth from twitching in a smile. Hardheaded? Y/N? Where did he ever get that idea? “Are you gonna drink it, or what?” he half asks, half tells her. Reluctant the cowgirl takes the water, but hesitates before she lifts it to her mouth. “What about you?” “I’m alright,” he assures. Before she has a sip, Y/N takes in the cowboy. Dust has covered his arms and his neck with a thin layer, the tiny particles sticking to his sweaty skin. His bandaged hand rests on the horn of the saddle, but other than the minor injury, nothing indicates that the long journey in extreme conditions is getting to him. He must be thirsty too, but he looks alert and healthy, which she surely does not.

Y/N quickly counts the number of hours she has been in the saddle; close to eleven. The long trail under the merciless sun is taking its toll. Dean knows it, even Joplin does, because the mare has reduced her pace significantly, getting her cargo safely across the land, while before she was hard to keep up with. Her rider is glad she slowed down and took the wheel, because she is not in the mood to repeatedly ask the dark little horse to ease. Every now and then, Y/N feels like she could faint, a wave of dizziness almost washing the female wrangler off her horse. Gosh, she wishes it was actual waves. She would do anything for a drop of rain right now. For a second she fantasizes about a nice bubble bath, or a shower even. She would do anything for a cool shower.

She swallows down the water, leaving some for the wrangler next to her. With worry puckered on his forehead, he observes her intently. It doesn’t go unnoticed, because a scoff erupts from her sore throat. “I’m fine,” she assures him. “I’m just tired and a little sore, that’s all.” But Dean isn’t convinced. Pondering he glances ahead, watching Benny and the other three riders. His Southern friend is making easy conversation and it seems like Macy and Brad are handling themselves, but Jon looks like he’s going on fumes. “We should’ve gone back,” he mumbles, second guessing his decision. “What? And return to the ranch without the horses?” she queries, resting her free hand on her thigh. “We had to make the jump, Dean. Rather on the second day than later. Plus, you said it yourself: find the water, find the herd.” Ted’s rider looks aside, the muscles of his jaw tensing as he averts his eyes again. He did tell her that, but he has trouble trusting his own words. Running low on water could have disastrous consequences in the desert. Having enough of it while on a trail is one of the first essentials. What if they get stranded? What if one of the horses suffers a more severe injury than Cash already did?

“How much longer?” Y/N didn’t mean the words to come out pleading, but when Dean returns her gaze sympathetically, she realizes how desperate she sounded. He then glances at the volcanic landscape around him, determining their position. With Battleship Mountain on his left and the entrance of Boulder Canyon straight up ahead, it can’t be more than a mile. “We’re almost there,” he reassures her. “I promise.” She nods, but her smile isn’t sincere. Everything other than ‘we’ll be there in five minutes’ is too long. Dean seems to be able to read her mind, however. “We can go for a swim once we get there,” he adds. Now Y/N does look up, her interest peaked. “A swim?” “Hm-hm. Where we’re headin’ isn’t just a little stream. There is water there the whole year round. So if you want, we can go for a swim.” He smiles at her. God, that sounds heavenly. She looks forward to it already, although a question rises almost instantly. She can’t go swimming in her jeans, so that means the cowboy is going to see her, all of her. Insecure she smiles back at him, trying not to let her self-consciousness stand in the way. “Don’t wait up for me; if you want to lead the group, go ahead. I’ll catch up.” She changes the subject, nodding at the six horses about forty yards up front. He shrugs, shaking his head lightly and dismissing her suggestion. “Benny will manage. I’d rather be riding next to you.”

And so he stays by her side as they descend into the narrow canyon, the trail getting steep. She lets Joplin choose the path, trusting the agile horse with bringing her down the slope. They drop several hundred feet in a short amount of time, Dean on her tail the entire time, making sure she will arrive at the river safely. Then the path evens out, a plateau hanging over a cliff seems to be the end of the line. The other wranglers halt at the edge, the moral lifting at the sight. Curious Y/N rides up to join them, when she spots it. In the middle of the dramatic landscape with intimidating rock formations, which cast long shadows over the land as the sun hangs low in the west, an oasis of green frames the riverbed. Crystal clear water runs through the La Barge Creek into Canyon Lake. Salt River snakes through the landscape to their east. They made it. They finally made it. After a long and stressful day in the saddle, they can finally recharge. “Boys and girls, welcome to Eagle’s Nest,” Benny announces, a wide grin on his face.

Y/N lets a deep sigh slip from her lips, just the image before her having her feel a little bit lighter already. She smiles at Dean, who mimics her expression, clearly relieved that it all worked out. The head wrangler is the first one to ride down the hill, the rest of the company in his wake. About a hundred yards from the water he stops Ted. “Set up camp here?” Benny assumes. Dean nods. “Let’s make it quick, before we run out of light.” He dismounts his horse, slightly stiffer than he did yesterday; even the experienced trail rider is feeling this one deep in his muscles. Y/N does the same and she lands on the rocky surface with a thud, her feet tingling. Walking seems almost foreign, the first few steps a little unsteady, a sensation similar to having sea legs. Her supervisor hands her Ted. “You can take the horses to drink first,” he lets his eyes glide from Y/N to Macy and Jon, who looks like he is in no shape to help set up camp. The women nod and get to it, taking over the other horses as well, figuring the sooner the evening chores are done, the sooner they can put their feet up.

All eight horses eagerly walk further down the slope and step into the creek while putting their lips to the surface. Joplin almost drains the lake, her ears ticking forward with each gulp. Y/N chuckles at her eagerness, as she takes her flask from her saddlebag and fills it up. Jon throws water into his face, a delighted sigh escaping him as he freshens up, Macy following his example. “I’ve never appreciated water so much,” he claims. “I will never take it for granted again.” “You and the water need a room?” Macy nags, splashing water at her friend, who returns the favor. Y/N watches them banter, taking a long swig from her bottle, emptying almost three quarters in one go. The cold water runs down her throat and for a moment she feels a little uneasy, but then the fluid settles in her stomach. God, she was thirsty. Maybe even dehydrated, in combination with the relentless heat. But after a few more sips, she feels a lot better. Refilling her flask again, she straightens her back, looking up at the plateau where Dean, Benny and Brad are setting up the tents in record time. She walks around Joplin to the head wrangler’s horse, taking his bottle and filling it up as well. Having done the same for the other two wranglers, she takes Joplin and Ted to the camp, giving out water.

“You’re a frickin’ lifesaver. Thanks, darlin’,” Benny compliments, taking his bottle gladly. After handing Brad’s flask back, she walks up to Dean, who is setting up a paddock for the horses. He doesn’t notice her until she’s right behind him; without thinking about it, she lays her hand on his strong biceps to get his attention. The wrangler turns around surprised, meeting her soft smile. She holds the water bottle up, his eyes bouncing from her to the refreshment, looking at it with the same want. Gratefully he takes the flask, his fingers brushing over hers in the exchange, before he twists the cap off and takes three, four, five swigs. He lets a contented ‘ahh’ slip from his lips, breathing out relieved. Y/N tries not to stare, but it’s like she’s under hypnosis. Those same lips were on hers last night, and she has to admit she wants that again. She needs to retain herself, though, because Brad and Benny are setting up the third tent next to them.

Dean lowers the bottle, catching her slightly lowered jaw and hungry eyes. He smirks, his emerald greens twinkling as he wets his dry lips. Then he tucks his chin down, looking deep into her eyes while his darken a little. It seems like it’s only then that she realizes she is gaping and the blood rushes to her face. She breaks eye contact, smiling at her feet sheepishly. Oh, he knows exactly what he is doing. After gathering her confidence, she looks up to meet his gaze, the playful smirk back on his lips. Something in the air has changed. The nerves have dissolved, together with the doubt. There is no question if they both feel attracted to each other, but rather when the pull between them grows too strong to resist. The silent moment of sexual tension lasts a couple of solid seconds, before Dean is called over by Brad to help him out. As he walks past Y/N, he holds her gaze and lets his fingertips brush her forearm. It leaves her skin sensitive, goosebumps running up, despite the fact that the temperature is nowhere near chilly.

Within ten minutes the camp is ready for occupation. The horses calmly chew on their hay and scavenge for grass and twigs in the makeshift paddock. Despite the long day, none of them are visibly tired. Not even Cash, who seems to have forgotten about the whole snake bite incident. “Who wants to go swimmin’?” Y/N puts down the last stone and closes the circle of the firepit, only looking up when she dusts off her hands. Benny has already shed his shirt, unzipping his pants now with no shame whatsoever. Stunned she stares at him, then quickly averts her eyes. “Hell yes! I’ve been looking forward to diving into that creek ever since I laid eyes on it,” Jon muses, his appreciation for water still not faltering.

The intern’s gaze lingers on Brad and Jon now; one kicking off his boots, the other unbuckling his belt. Even Macy follows without a second thought. The female guest notices Y/N’s hesitation, because she shrugs as she slips her denim jeans from her hips. “No different than a bikini, right?” she comments carefree. Macy has a point, it doesn’t ease Y/N’s nerves, though. Of course it’s not skinny dipping, but she still feels uncomfortable exposing so much skin. She glances at Dean, who leaves his hat on the corner pole of one of the tents. For a second she freezes as he unbuckles his belt, realizing there’s something else she hasn’t considered. Seeing Dean in nothing but his underwear might just be a bit too much for her to handle. “Last one down takes the night’s watch!” The broad shouldered farrier descends down the hill - only wearing his form fitting boxer briefs - with the guests in tow. Brad chases his sister, who squeals as she tries to stay out of reach, running into the water in her red bra and striped boy shorts. She doesn’t seem to care about how she looks. Y/N gulps as she watches her, wishing she had that kind of confidence. “You comin’ or do you need my help undressin’?” She jumps when she feels Dean’s hand on her hip and turns around. He stripped from his clothes, only wearing a pair of grey boxers. Dear Lord, he looks amazing. Last time she saw him shirtless, it was the morning of her first day on the job. He was freshly showered then, his hair fluffy. Now it is fixed with traces of gel, pushed up again when he ran his hand through it earlier, after his hat flattened the light brown strands. Dirt and dust have mixed with the sweat that the heat surfaced, adding to the tan lines on his arms and neck. She swallows with difficulty and tears her eyes from his toned chest up to his evergreen eyes. The wrangler senses her discomfort, because he narrows his eyes at her slightly, the trademark smirk dying down. She knows that he was joking about the undressing part, right? “You okay?” he checks. “Yeah, yeah. I’m - I’m fine,” she assures, faking a smile. “I’ll be down in a minute.” Dean holds her gaze for a second, trying to read her. Not sure if he made her feel uncomfortable, he lets his hand slip from her waist and decides against the quick kiss he was going to leave on her lips; he doesn’t want to push her. His expression is soft now, letting her know that it’s okay if she needs time. “Alright,” he returns, leaving it at that. He walks past her towards the water, the sounds of splashing and laughter welcoming him. Taking a deep breath, Y/N closes her eyes. She has to go down and join them and doing that clothed is both more conspicuous and impractical, since she’ll be wearing the same pair of jeans in the morning. Not taking a swim isn’t an option either, because this might be the only chance she gets to clean herself thoroughly, until they get back to the ranch. She has no choice, so why is she blowing this up in her mind? Why is she so self-conscious about her appearance? Because Jo told her once how Dean only goes for the pretty girls? Because she saw his former fling Casey, the beautiful brunette who could as well have been a model? Or is it because no one has ever looked at her like the head wrangler, and she doesn’t want him to see her differently after he witnesses all of her?

Frustrated, she takes off her hat and pulls the hairband from her braid, strapping it around her wrist. Internally she scolds herself for letting the insecurity get to her, all the while she unbuttons her plaid blouse and shrugs it off hastily. Before she changes her mind, she takes off one boot, then the other, leaving them by her tent, neatly placed next to each other with her socks inside. Finally she pushes her jeans down, folding them up and placing them on top of her Western boots. Again she inhales, because there she stands, in nothing but her black hipsters, a navy blue bra and a white tank top. Even though she had to pack light, she at least could have brought matching underwear. Not brave enough to take her undershirt off, she steps onto the path towards the water barefoot, running her fingers through her hair. The sight in front of her takes away some of her anxiety, because the wranglers, who were running low on moral an hour ago, are now enjoying their refreshing swim. Macy’s significant giggle echoes between the rocks at the river bed as Jon and Brad continue to tease her. Benny swims a slow lap, floating in the middle of the creek, while Dean washes his face in shallower waters. Thankfully, none of them are paying much attention as the intern approaches the waterline.

As she dips a toe in the water to test the temperature, Dean turns to look at her. His eyes shift from playful to mesmerized in a split second, because he has never seen her like this. For the first time since he met her, she’s wearing her hair down. The braid she left in for two days, leaves small waves in her locks, coming down like a waterfall. Her exposed legs haven’t seen much sun, due to her Northern origins, and probably her shyness as well. They seem strong, though, hours of horse riding and training leading to the muscles barely visibly moving under her soft skin, as she steps into the water. He smiles at the sight of the young woman, who sweeps him off his feet every time he lays eyes on her. “There you are.” She returns his expression, insecurity oozing through when she covers herself as much as she can. She has pulled her tank top down far enough to stretch over the little shorts she’s wearing. He is careful not to look at her differently, not wanting the self-conscious young woman to think that seeing her in less clothing changes his perspective, but deep down it hurts him. It hurts him that she apparently doesn’t feel like she’s beautiful, because God damn, she is. “Just take the plunge, Yankee,” he encourages, letting himself fall back smoothly, the water up to his shoulders now. “You know, for a place that is as hot as it is here, the water is pretty damn cold,” Y/N scoffs, collecting some of the water in her cupped hands and spreading it on her arms. Dean chuckles at that. She said ‘damn’, it’s about as close to a curse that he’s heard from her. “Once you’re in, it’s not so bad,” he promises.

Not having the heart to jump into the cool water, she puts one step into his direction, the surface at her knees now. This afternoon she would have committed a crime for a refreshing swim, but now that she is standing here, the cold licking at her ankles, she shivers. She still has her arms crossed, hugging herself in an attempt to feel warm and comforted. Movement of the water draws her attention and Y/N looks up at the head wrangler, who is moving towards her. Normally that wouldn’t strike her as alarming, but when she notices the mischievous grin adorning his handsome face, she holds her ground. “W-what are you doing?” she stammers. Dean doesn’t answer, but raises his eyebrows at her, fighting the fading resistance of the water with every stride. Oh boy, he is clearly up to no good. It causes her to step back and put out her hands in defense. “No - no - no! Dean, don’t you dare!” she warns, once she understands where this is going.

Y/N steps out of the creek now, trying to get away from him. But the cowboy is quick, and even when she sprints away, he manages to catch up. She lets out a scream when he grabs her by the waist, locking her to his chest with his strong arms. He then lifts her up without a strain and walks back to the creek. Not impressed with the fight she puts up as she tries to escape his grip, he steps into the cool water. “Dean, put me down! Put me --” Honoring her request, he jumps in, turning so that he is the first to dunk in the water and only then lets her go. They both go under, the cowboy coming up before her, shaking the water from his face. When Y/N breaks through the surface, he throws his head back while laughing out loud. The sheer horror on her face says it all; her mouth hanging open, her hair soaked and covering her eyes, her shoulders pulled up to her ears. She looks more like a cat who got dropped into the bath than a human being.

She wants to be mad at him, but the sound of his laughter melts her stone cold limbs. With a scoff she pushes the tangled strands from her face, glaring at the cowboy as she bites down on her lip in order to not break character. But then she chuckles, shaking her head. “You are such a jerk,” she utters. “You were taking forever,” he returns sniggering. Amused he watches her, moving a little closer. He’s about to apologize, when Y/N kicks her foot up, sending a big splash his way. He turns his head to avoid getting even wetter and counters with a good pitch, a handful of water sloshing at her as she protects her face. They continue to spatter like a bunch of kids, cackling as they do so, until Benny intervenes.

“Children!” he calls out, finally getting his friend’s attention. Both stop mid-action, glancing aside at the farrier who is watching the banter with his arms crossed and the water at his waist. “Permission to get the diving boards, Chief?” he requests. Dean nods, confirming, liking his Southern brother’s idea. Y/N studies him puzzled, however. “We didn’t bring diving boards, did we?” she double checks, not sure what Benny is up to. “Not the typical ones, no,” Dean returns mysteriously. “You’ll see.”

Benny returns from the camp not even a minute later, a horse by the halter in each hand. Stunned Y/N watches how he leads Ted Nugent and his own horse Ozzy Osbourne towards the riverbed, the large animals stepping in trustingly. He hands Dean Ted as he passes by, guiding the other chestnut to the center of the creek. When the water reaches to Ozzy’s shoulder, Benny pulls himself on top of the calm horse. Clearly it isn’t the first time that the wranglers have done this, because even when the farrier stands up on the gelding’s back, Ozzy waits patiently. “Bombs away!”

With a loud cheer Benny jumps from the ‘platform’, pulling his knees to his chest and breaking the surface with an impressive cannonball dive. He sends a tidal wave over the tourists, who rally him on. They swim towards Ozzy, who seems to love the cool down plus the attention. One by one they climb on his back, diving from his strong hindquarters. Dean watches the bunch with a contentment over him that Y/N hasn’t seen before. He leans against Ted, his arm resting over the arc of the horse’s spine. Of course this isn’t the first time she notices how relaxed he is, how at home he feels, and yet something is different about him. Like he reached a new level of happiness, of fulfillment. That couldn’t possibly have anything to do with her, now could it? But when he lets his eyes wander from the frolicking guests to Y/N, his smile grows wider, edging crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes. “Wanna go for a ride?” he asks. Without wasting words, she nods, holding his gaze until he takes Ted’s leadrope. Skillfully he swings his leg over the horse’s back, using the momentum to jump from the creek’s bottom and landing behind Ted’s withers. Once he’s seated, he extends his hand towards the woman beside him, grabbing her arm and interlocking it with his. With one swift pull he hoists her from the water, Y/N using the same technique to sway onto the horse, settling behind the head wrangler. As he steers Ted a little deeper into the water, his free hand comes to rest on Y/N’s thigh, not caring about the guests seeing them together.

The cowgirl’s balance on a horse is that of a gymnast on the beam, so holding on to Dean wouldn’t be necessary, but she puts her arms around his waist anyway. Comfortable and allowing herself to let this be, like he has encouraged her to, she rests her cheek against the hollow between his shoulder blades for a moment, closing her eyes. Her bare feet sweep through the water, her toes drawing ripples on the surface, the break catching the last light of the day. Despite that she is not holding the reins, bareback on a horse that she doesn’t know, she feels safe. She hasn’t felt this carefree since the early days of her horse riding career. Her grandfather would walk with her during those very first pony rides, teaching her about horses along the way. She trusted him fully, never once doubting his life lessons and knowledge. With Dean it’s a different kind of faith. It’s knowing he will be right there whenever she needs him, but also to give her the courage to take that leap. “You alright back there, Yankee?” he wonders, feeling her smile against his skin. “Yeah,” she acknowledges. “I am.” The corner of Dean’s mouth pulls upward, his hand holding the leadrope shifting from Ted’s mane to cover her hands on his stomach, fingers entwining, trapping the braided cord in between. The rope made of horsehair scratches his palm, a contrast to her soft skin. Grateful he breathes in, the smell of desert dust underlaid with a subtle, herbal, organic scent of the river fills his nose. Before, he never felt like he needed something more in life. He has never gone steady with a woman, not more than a couple of weeks at least. He was never looking for a relationship and appreciated the freedom that came with that. But now, having her pressed against his back, warm and comforting, he realizes what he’s been missing.

They approach the other wranglers, the rider exchanging a knowing look with Benny, who takes in the perfect picture delighted. Before the guests notice the intimacy, Y/N slips her arms from Dean’s strong torso, pulling up her feet. “What are you doin’?” the cowboy wonders, looking over his shoulder. She stands up on Ted’s back and stretches her legs, steadying herself by holding on to him until she finds her footing. Then she straightens up. “Taking the plunge,” she chuckles. The intern jumps then, squeezing her nose closed as she folds herself into a ball before she crashes through the surface. Macy is still cackling when Y/N comes up, unsuccessful at dodging the spatter that came her way. Meanwhile the others cheer her on, now that she has finally joined them. She has completely forgotten about her insecurities, or the cold water that washed all that away. All she can think of is how blessed she is to be here, to gain so much more than just work experience.

The crew takes several more dives from the horses, who allow the gambol calmly. Dean drops an impressive dive bomb right between the group, not outdoing his slightly heavier friend Benny, but creating quite a splash nonetheless. Time flies by way too quickly, and before they know it, the sun has disappeared behind the mountains, leaving only dark shades of red and purple to decorate the sky. The air cools quickly and everyone knows they should get ready for the night. Eventually it’s Benny who rattles up the company. “Alright, y’all. Time for Benny’s famous Southern soul soup. Get your butts to camp and start that fire. I’ve got some cookin’ to do.” He shoos the tourists out of the creek, following them with the two horses in tow. He looks over his shoulder at his best friend and the intern, who linger. A mischievous grin comes Dean’s way before the farrier straightens himself, walking away whistling. Y/N sniggers at the funny character; looks like he has been acting as the head wrangler’s wingman. “Smooth,” she comments, a knowing yet amused smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Yeah, he’s real subtle,” Dean chuckles, busted. “Got you alone again, though.” He comes closer, water moving between them, and suddenly nature goes quiet. His hands end up on her hips, pulling in the girl who is so willingly looking at him. His fingers trace the hem of her white tank top as he dips his head, his nose brushing against hers.

Before Y/N knows it, he’s kissing her again. She melts into him, her muscles going slack under his touch. Like the night before, the kiss is gentle and unhurried, giving her a moment to compare the two. His lips are a little more chapped, probably due to the long day in the sun while running low on water. A three day old stubble tickles her skin, the tough hairs slightly longer than yesterday. He’s clean now, fresh water having washed away the sweat and dirt. The first-time nerves aren’t there this evening, but she does feel that same fire rise up from her coil. That same desire to stay here forever, because no kiss has ever felt this good.

He parts from her, with his hands still splayed on her lower back, looking down on the cowgirl he has hopelessly fallen for. A few clouds reflect the little light that is coming from the horizon, but it’s enough for Dean to notice something. He grins widely, even though he tries to tone it down, as his hands leave her waist to run the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone, sweeping across the area under her eyes. For a second she wonders what he’s trying to brush away, but then it hits her. “Oh, Lord. I look like a Goth, don’t I?” she realizes, remembering how fond she was to still have a significant amount of mascara on her lashes this morning, helping her feel a little less naked. Now she regrets not washing it off completely. “More like a sad panda,” Dean chuckles, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth to stifle a laugh.

Awkwardly she looks down at the water, but the wrangler stops her, hooking his finger under her chin. “Don’t hide,” he says, his expression soft. Cupping her face, he wipes away the last black shades from her flushed cheeks, then drinks her in, his eyes flicking over her features. Embarrassment remains prominent in her stance, though. Dean feels his chest tighten a little, because if anything, he did not want to make her feel uneasy. “You know you don’t have to wear it, right?” he starts, his thumb caressing her soft skin. “The makeup?” She looks up at him again now, still insecure, but carefully hopeful. Where is he going with this? “I mean, if you want to and if it makes you feel better, don’t let me stop ya...” he adds, stammering a little bit. “I’m just saying that you don’t need it. You’re beautiful... With or without.”

A small smile forms on her lips. Again she’s blushing, not from shame, but from flattery this time. “You think I’m beautiful?” she asks, traces of slight disbelief in her voice. “Hell, yeah,” Dean assures smirking, half rolling his eyes at her doubt. “And as my lovely cousin told you in such detail, I have snooped around plenty, so I’d know. Those girls ain’t got nothing on you.” She laughs at the joke, casting her eyes down. “Hey…” Y/N glances up, the intensity of his eyes catching her off guard. “I mean it,” he whispers. Showing her exactly how amazing she is, he kisses her hard this time, leaving her breathless. Overwhelmed by the intensity she stiffens, but then opens up to him, allowing his tongue to slip past her lips. With her eyes closed she waits, letting him take the lead in their dance. Careful not to break the moment, Dean leans back, letting himself fall gently into the water, taking her with him. Floating away on waves of elation, he envelopes her in his arms, offering her the warmth of his body in the icy creek. He rises up then, searching for footing again on the floor of pebbles, the water at chest height now. For a second they part, breathing in each other’s air. The wrangler opens his eyes, looking down at the gorgeous woman who is slowly becoming his. Waiting for even the slightest hint of hesitation, he moves his fingers to trace down the hem of her top again, slipping underneath. She gazes back, her eyes piercing with nothing but want, nodding barely noticeable. Dean spots it, though. It’s like the lights on the track jumped to green, meeting her halfway in a kiss much more heated than the previous ones.

His hands hike up under her shirt, gliding over her delicate skin as his mouth never leaves hers. A hitching breath passes her lips when the pad of his thumb caresses the underside of her breast, featherlight, yet electrifying. Dean pushes her bra up slightly, almost tracing her nipple, which has hardened both from the cold and arousal. Completely in awe, she rolls her head back a little, exposing her neck. Gladly Dean ghosts over the junction to her shoulder, running his teeth towards her collarbone torturously slow, biting down a groan on the curve. Good Lord. His touch, his tongue, his mouth. Everything about this feels amazing. The freezing water is just the right temperature to cool her heated skin, the swell of the small waves identical to the one she feels in her lower abdomen. The cowboy can have her anyway he wants, she’s not going to fight him on it. In fact, she urges him to keep going, carding her nails through his damp hair and applying pressure once she closes her fingers around the brown locks, darkened by millions of droplets.

Dean’s right hand descends down her body again while his left remains to attend her soft breast. He follows the arch of her back, then lower, kneading and exploring her behind, firm from years in the saddle. Holy shit, this cannot possibly feel this good. The resolution to take things slow goes right out the window, as his fingers find space above the back of her thigh, following the edge of her underwear. Then he grips her tight there, his other hand sliding to cover the clasp of her bra, not freeing her from it just yet. He lifts her a little, pushing her flush against him. Hungry for the woman in his arms, he covers the top of her breasts with his mouth, the soaked fabric of her top between him and her hot skin. Dean knew it before, but this, this unbelievable display of chemistry only confirms it; she’s it.

His lips find hers again, even though she has to keep breaking away in order to get enough air. Her respiration has picked up, every breath coming out labored. She can feel the gentle vibration of a low moan coming from deep within his chest, only adding fuel to the wildfire that is spreading through her body fast. At first she is unaware of the noise of water rustling in the distance, but then Dean freezes. Not understanding why he has stopped, she nuzzles her nose against his cheek, drunk and thirsty for his affection, seeking his mouth, but the wrangler is focussed on something else. Confused Y/N opens her eyes, looking up at the handsome man, whose eyes are fixed on the estuary of La Barge Creek to Canyon Lake. “Dean?” “You hear that?” he whispers.

The sound of water moving and the fragile surface breaking dawns on her now and she follows his gaze into the dark. Then she hears a neigh and her heart skips a beat. That wasn’t one of theirs. “Find the water…” “Find the herd,” Dean finishes her sentence. Still in his embrace, she watches the mystical sight, able to make out the shapes now under a faint moon, once the clouds move away from blocking the light. The group of horses crosses the creek, some stopping to drink. Dean lets out a relieved laugh, turning to face Y/N again. “We found them,” she smiles. “We did,” he whispers. He kisses her briefly, knowing that he has to warn Benny, before the herd moves away. He drowns in her eyes a little longer, though, the ignited ecstasy still sparkling visibly in her pupils. His heart swells, his mind calms. He knows. He has found so much more than just the horses on this trail.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read part fourteen here

#Ride With Me #Cowboy!Dean #Dean Winchester x Reader #Dean x Reader #Cowboy!Dean x Reader #Dean reader insert #Dean Winchester reader insert #Dean Winchester #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Dean fanfiction #Dean Winchester series #Dean series #Cowboy!Dean series #Supernatural #SPN #Supernatural AU #Dean AU #SPN AU #Kate Huntington

223 notes · View notes