#this is to pair with my “false halo” piece

[evenlyevi]

By the lake

[leggerefiore]

Pursuit

cw: hinting at maybe an unhealthy relationship but it's volo so, sexual implications but nothing graphic

summary: Your feelings for Volo were both complicated and simple. His were much the same towards you. You both yearn for something.

pairing: Volo/Reader

Minors DNI

He was addicting, you believed.

Hating him would have been easier. It should have been easier.

Volo was an awful man, you wanted to convince yourself of that so desperately. He manipulated you; used you. He planned to kill you to achieve his goals when you dared defy him. The kindness he showed you was false. His interest in you only incurred by the fact Arceus had sent you to stop him; an interest in who Arceus would choose over him, a descendant of his true worshippers.

You laid your head on his exposed chest, listening to his heartbeat. The night air was chilly in the isolated hole the blond had taken refuge in after his failure to usurp the very deity he both hated and obsessed over. His curiosity unquenched and ever swelling. It would not be long until some other plan arose from him. You would likely have to be the one to stop him once again whenever it happened. For now, however, you wanted to enjoy these moments of just you and him. The rest of the world could be forgotten.

His pulse was calming. A reminder to both you and himself that he was just a man. He wished to be something greater, but he was nothing but another among Arceus's many creations. You dared a glance at his face. He stared up at the tent ceiling with distant, stormy eyes. His mind was elsewhere. A golden halo of his hair surrounded him on the pillow. He was memorising.

You could already hear the panic and horror from the clans and Galaxy Team should they figure out where you had been sneaking off to. Irida might daringly state, if you were that desperate for a lover, she's sure a few men would be more than willing. Adaman might be shocked into silence, while you're certain Kamado would kick you out of Jubilife again. You sighed. They could not understand your complicated feelings.

Volo was the only one who had been “truly” kind to you when you landed in this odd world. Offering you kind words, aid, and concerns. Even if they were only to stop you from further intervening in his plans, it still felt real enough. You wanted to be with him despite everything.

“Do you want to be worshipped, Volo?” you ask quietly. His distant gaze shifts onto you, hyperfocused on your words suddenly, “Or were you that desperate for any kind of attention?” Those grey eyes were a cool steel at those words.

“… I could ask you the same thing,” he snarled, “Who's to say I'm not planning on ending you here and running off with the plates and Azure Flute?” You wondered that. He could have done that many times over at this point. What stopped him? Love, you wanted to believe. Obsession more likely. The idea that he has Arceus's chosen one wrapped around his finger and coming to him whenever he called out for them. You were not stupid.

“I am,” you admitted to him plainly, “Of course, you're not my only option. Adaman would probably be honoured if I asked him out and there's always there's Ingo, he's just like me in a strange a land.” You watched as his brows furrowed together. Volo could not bear the idea of some small piece of Arceus rejecting him further. You brought a hand to his cheek. “I want you, Volo. Only you.” His eye closed.

The cold feeling of his hand grabbing your own resting on his face was startling. His eyes opened with a strange look in them. The grip on your hand was tight as he shifted your positions to him hovering above you. His hair strands tickled your face as they fell over his shoulders, hiding the rest of the world from your sight.

“I'll take all of you and leave nothing left for anyone else,” he hissed, “I'll never forgive Arceus for choosing you, and I'll leave you corrupted from what you once were.” You shuddered at his words and stared at his beautiful face. He truly was addicting. Volo was not the only with an obsession.

“I won't let you,” you challenged him. He maniacal laugh came from him as your wrists were pinned above your head. You gazed at the hickies and bite marks you had marred his perfect skin with. He had his own number on you. It was so easy to yourself in him, just as he did you. His warm body pressed against your own, the warmth of his skin flooding all your senses, alongside a distant smell of something like cologne.

All your conflicted feelings about Volo melted in the pleasure that you could only feel with him. The fears of what your allies and friends might say to you, vanquished with his simple touch; no, even just a glance at him. It was why you begged Cogita to truly tell you where he had gone. In vain, but it was not long until you felt eyes boring into you during your research tasks and a shadow haunting you at night.

Neither of you could truly stay away from each other; you existed as each other's folly.

Perhaps that was Arceus's intended plan all along.

[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

happy 200! i’m so glad to see your blog grow, it’s one of my favorites and i adore all your writing. i’ve never cried so much and i love the kind of unsettling feeling you write in your fics, it’s perfect in the category of yandere and dark content. in particular, i loved your drabble about shigaraki mourning over a dead reader and i’ve reread that one too many times to count haha! as for asks for headcannons and drabbles, it would be amazing to see that with bully!eren especially since he was such an awful person to the reader. i’d love to see him suffer honestly, but if you don’t want to write it, that’s completely fine! once again, i’m so proud of you for hitting 200! that’s such a huge milestone and hopefully, there will be many more in the future! :)

SYNOPSIS: bully!Eren has to navigate the world without you.

Pairing: Bully!Eren x Fem!Reader

A/N: I can't even explain in words how much I CHEESED at this message like my grin was ear to ear. can't explain how many times I read this. It singlehandedly made my day anon, and to repay you for my happiness....here is some angst. this is a slightly different route than the shiggy one but I hope it still suits you <3

TW: mentions of death, past dubcon/noncon, mentions of trauma, bullying, alcohol addiction, drunk driving, abusive behavior, revenge porn, nonconsensual photography/videography, mentions of infidelity, angst, so much of angst, violent behavior

WC: 2.5k

It's not like Eren had been doing a lot of soul-searching. He's not delusional enough to label his half-assed epiphany of "maybe I'm a shitty person" as soul searching.

It's just the conversation with his very sick mother burned holes through the back of his mind. Carla had asked about you and why you don't come by the house anymore. How she missed baking with you in the kitchen, and how you sweetly smiled whenever you would see soft creamy peaks form in the meringue.

Eren felt like he was swallowing needles as he assured his mother with false truths, that nothing was going on and distance between childhood friends is natural, and if it means so much--ok ok he'll bring you over.

He stays until he sees her chest slowly rising and falling into a gentle asleep. He touches the tip of his ears, unsurprised by how hot it was.

Eren, when you tell a lie, the tips of your ears turn red.

You're not at school the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that.

Guilt is not an emotion he feels often but the events of the past weekend replay in his mind. It was just a dumb party that Floch threw, and he was surprised to find you cornered by a trio of thee dunderheads. Like a distorted fairytale, he swept you away from the bad guys like a knight in shining armor, to only shove you in an empty room and demand compensation for playing hero.

Fuck, with that big mouth, you would think that you'd know how to suck cock.

Use your tongue stupid slut. If you use teeth, I'll shove this dick in your ass without any prep.

No, I don't care, you're taking all of it.

There's a video on his camera roll. How could he not record it? You're sobbing, mascara running down your cheeks, looking so beautiful and ruined with jizz smeared at the corner of your mouth. He was brutally fucking your mouth, making you take all of his length.

Breathe through your nose dumb whore. Or else you're gonna run out of air.

You were pleading with whatever garbled sounds you were constricted into producing.

Breathe through your fucking nose. This is for your sake. Otherwise, I don't mind face fucking your lifeless body. You'd be more useful that way anyways.

Eren is conflicted with muting the video because he can't stand to hear himself like that. But he didn't want to miss out on your pitiful whines.

He remembers the distraught expression on your face when he was finally done with you. He tucked himself inside, and sneered, "I've got a girl coming here. Get lost." You looked so fucking distraught. Why? All he did was make you suck his dick. He didn't even fuck you.

He should have. Eren thinks grimly when he stares at your empty desk on the first day you didn't show up to school. He's gotten off to the video more than enough times than he can count over the weekend, and he was aching to see your pretty face twisted into a terrorized expression when he flipped up your skirt to grope your ass.

Kindly, Eren decides he'd allow you to have a rest day. But the second day, Eren pays a visit to your house finding it dark and locked, like no one was home and hadn't been there for a while.

On the third day, you're declared missing.

Your incompetent workaholic mother who finally came home and decided to give a damn reported you missing to the authorities who had scratched their heads because as far as they knew, the pivotal 72 hours were up.

Paradis was surrounded by forests. No one wanted to say it, but they were all thinking it. If you got lost in there, chances are you wouldn't make it out.

Eren wasn't always this admired and fawned over. He had his fair share of behavioral issues that frightened people (not you though, not then at least, not when you were children, and you still came back every day to play).

But when he channeled that anger into sports, there was somewhat of a star in the making, especially for some small-town boy. He was becoming extremely popular, and that's nice and all, but at the end of the day, he has a mother whose health was taking a sharp decline. He was constantly under stress, stress that he took out on you.

Where did his favorite stress-ball go?

It's all fucking surreal. Having detectives in the school. Not that there were many students to question (because christ, did you even have any friends after Eren turned everyone against you?).

Eren was questioned. He can't help but mirthfully chuckle. Maybe this was your grand plan, maybe you were able to finally sort out a mountain of evidence against him. If you were going to fuck him over, didn't you want to see it happen with your own two eyes?

The dark-haired boy wishes that was true. If you had gotten your revenge, would you be here? No, revenge isn't the right word. If you got any justice for what he made you suffer, would you come back?

Hi, I'm Detective Hange. I would like to ask you some questions today. You're Eren Yeager, right?

Yes, that's me.

How do you know ___?

We were childhood friends. We're uh, we're not as close anymore.

When was the last time you saw her?

Friday night at Floch's party-

-Floch Forster right? There were a number of kids there from your school.

Yeah. It was a big party. She uh, doesn't usually come to parties but she was there that night.

You were the last person to be seen with her. Other kids have said that they saw you and her entering a room together, and then only her leaving the said room.

[Sigh] Yeah we sorta...hooked up.

I thought you said you guys weren't close anymore.

You can be not close to someone and still hook up with them.

But you guys were close once right?

Yeah. Once.

The dark-haired boy asks if he was under any suspicion. The detective waves their hand in a dismissive gesture, “If her diary tells us anything, it’s only that she really liked you.”

Were detectives even allowed to divulge that sort of information? Eren doesn’t know but the stray detail that they offered off-handedly made him feel like he was swallowing needles.

At that point, Eren honestly still doesn't believe you're gone. You had a habit of running away, even when you were little kids, but you always came back.

Still, he participates in the search parties with a renewed vigor, even going alone in the forest with a flashlight on most nights.

And he's just so fucking tired. The darkest crevice of his mind almost wishes you were dead because this ignorance was just agony. Almost. Because he still clings to the feeling that one day, he’ll stroll into class and find you in your seat in the back of the class, looking out the window like some cliche shojo manga protagonist.

There are folders and folders on his phone. Albums. The most recent one is dedicated to your crying face as you were choking on his dick. Earlier albums are composed of creepshots of your panties, of that obscene o-face, of your skirt flipped up and your ass cheeks, pictures of your cleavage, videos of you thrashing as he dunked your head into toilets like a villainous middle school bully.

Pictures of your neck covered in hickeys, your naked breasts, ass cheeks striped with red after getting spanked, your leaking cunt, just endless and endless media dedicated to pieces and pieces of your body like you were never a whole person.

The earliest ones though tell a different tale, from off-guards to your drooling face as you napped in the middle of the day.

He has a favorite picture. Your eyes are watery from the cold, snowflakes stuck between lashes, nose and cheeks flushed red, and you're smiling. Smiling right to the camera. Right at him.

"Eren, are you taking a picture?" You asked, bouncing in place, giddy that it was finally snowing.

"Not of you, shut up. Get out of the way." His voice is gruff but not harsh.

You laughed and jumped into frame anyway, and the bright streetlamp behind you made you seem like you were wearing a halo.

He wishes he had more pictures of you being...yourself. Because now your crying face displayed over countless pixels haunt him. But like a fucking degenerate, he still jerks off to all the nudes he coerced from you. Sometimes he cries when he's jerking off which is probably the most pathetic thing he's ever done. This is what you've reduced him to.

He hates the sound of his own voice.

Breathe through your fucking nose. This is for your sake. Otherwise, I don't mind face fucking your lifeless body. You'd be more useful that way anyways.

Eren goes through the motions of life without really feeling like he's in the moment. Seasons change and time flies. His mother dies, and his withdrawn father dies a year later. He proposes to Mikasa because it's something he was always supposed to do. She loves him unconditionally, so even when he doesn't put any effort into the relationship but proposes, she says yes hoping he'll change and be a good husband.

He doesn't go to his parents' funerals because they're already dead. What's the point. He doesn't visit the candlelight vigils in your honor either. After tearing his ACL again and a somewhat traumatic injury, he kisses his pro-football career goodbye. To be totally honest, he's relieved. Because he had gotten quite bored, and maybe he was looking for excuses to quit the entire time. It's not like you'd be cheering on the bleachers anyways.

Mikasa has an affair, more out of a desire to see her fiancé feel something for her as opposed to any burning lust. But when she asks him if he's ever cared at all, with tears springing out of her eyes, he's just calmly drinking his fifth of whisky.

The dark-haired man doesn't even look up, "Let's break up."

"Is this about her, huh? Fucking get over it already Eren. She's GONE. And you have some big fucking audacity moping about her death like you weren't making her cry in the bathroom stalls every fucking day you piece of shit."

"Get out."

"You know what, I bet she killed herse-"

SMASH

The dark-haired woman doesn't finish her rant because the whiskey bottle smashes on the wall next to her head, sending glass everywhere and staining the carpet amber. She's unharmed, knowing it wasn't Eren's intention to hit her but Jesus Christ, what a monster.

She packs her bags and leaves the town like she should have a long time ago. All her friends had left years before and she stayed behind because that's where Eren was. She thanks her lucky stars that they didn't marry.

It's funny because he had always imagined himself being the first to move out of their small town, but he's the one staying. He can't leave this place. feels too tethered to ever leave. Every diner and liquor store is saturated with memories of you. He remembers buying cigarettes and exhaling the smoke to your face to piss you off in empty parking lots.

Maybe he stays in case you'll come back.

Eren's days consist of alcohol-fueled hazes. He doesn't know how his liver is still functioning. He doesn't know he's still alive after crashing his car into a tree when he was drunk out of his mind. He was on his way to get some more vodka.

He barely recognizes himself in the mirror anymore, not that he looks at himself much. His hair is long, nestled around his shoulder because he couldn't be bothered to cut it, dark circles under viridian eyes, and a perpetual stubble on his jaw.

His parents had left quite a sizable inheritance so there's no need to work but he's good with his hands. Likes crafting up birdhouses and cabinets, and occasionally does odd jobs around the neighborhood, never charging the elderly.

He's under the sink, tinkering with a wrench against the pipes when he hears the old lady coo at him.

"We're so lucky to have you Eren. I'm surprised a handsome young man like yourself doesn't have a special lady. The girls must be lining up at your door!"

The dark-haired man winces, and offers no comment, knowing that that the older lady was susceptible to long tangents.

"You know, we're getting a new neighbor." Eren grunts as a response. "They're young, I've heard. Isn't that exciting? Oh my, Eren! I think they're gonna be living in the house right next to yours..."

He tunes out the rest of the conversation because doesn't really care. He just hopes his new neighbors are quiet.

It's Sunday noon when obnoxious noises of moving trucks and people wake him up from his deep slumber. Eren's annoyed to wake up despite the fact he's probably been sleeping over 15 hours. He oscillates between getting too much sleep and getting none, his sleeping habits completely dependent on his dreams.

His nightmares are too visceral, visions of your corpse asking him if he'd enjoyed hollowing your soul with his teeth.

His dreams are achingly sweet. You in your prom gown, shining so iridescently like diamonds were sewn into the silk. He's dancing with you, holding you close, and then after you guys go to your favorite diner and gorge on burgers and milkshakes.

There's a peal of distinctly feminine laughter that stirs up Eren's senses. He's so pathetic, was the mere sound of a woman laughing getting him excited?

He sighs. He thinks of the whore he's frequently visited because of her resemblance to you. Hair color, skin color, face shape--with enough alcohol, he could really convince the person beneath him, was you. Maybe it's time to give her a call, but she's gotten so fucking needy and he hated how her voice didn't match yours.

The green-eyed man peers from the lace curtains, irritated by the brats playing on his lawn. A full family next door? Great, just what he needs.

The friendly knock on his door breaks him out of his daze. He contemplates whether he should answer but on the second more muted knock, he lets his feet guide him.

He turns the knob.

And Eren Yeager completely shatters.

Because it's you isn't it? You're the person standing in front of him? He can hear what you're saying but he doesn't really register it, soaking in the cadence of a voice he had long forgotten because all he had were pleading whimpers and frenzied moans stored on his cell.

He's shaking. Is he dreaming? He's dreaming, right? He knows it's you. You're older, far more beautiful than he's ever seen you. You have a different hairstyle, wearing clothes he would have mocked you for, and there's this joyfulness within you that makes you glow.

There's a mess of emotions electrifying in the pits of his stomach from euphoria, anger, and dread. He could feel his skin growing clammy like he was about to vomit at any second.

"Hey, are you all right?"

Doe eyes full of concern peer up at him. He voices out the syllables of your name like a desperate prayer.

You tilt your head to the side, "How do you know my name?"

[betweenthetimeandsound]

--prompt from @flashfictionfridayofficial

The soldiers bantered across their camp, with a scent of equal parts pine and flesh. They unwrapped their meager rations and took in the dough as if it was enough to keep them until the next battle. After lighting a fire with the mass amount of undergrowth underneath, they warmed themselves up and took out a few vials.

Enes, on the other hand, hesitated as he ate a few crumbs of his bread, and then sought out for a bottle. Contrast to the spare burek he would have back home, along with the rock-hard loaves he'd struggle for on the ship, this was particularly fluffy, as if it were charmed with a rough pair of hands, but a warm heart to sweeten it. After tearing at a few more pieces, he barely missed the campfire before lunging out on the flask. Along with it, he suddenly met with Mehmet's hand.

"From those above, Enes!" Mehmet laughed, handing the rectangular bottle to him before dusting himself off. "Are you that desperate for a drink, my friend?"

Swishing the contents inside, Enes grimaced on the little liquid it has left. There's enough to keep him content for the night, but not enough to keep him from wandering out to the forest and puncturing the trees for the hopes of anymore. Opening it up, he took in a couple of drops to get a sense of the flavor--a fiery aftertaste accompanied the mellow, almost caramel taste to it. He smiled.

But only then did the throbbing return to his head; he sauntered away from the camp in a wobbly haze. Navigating through the trees, colored with a cobalt glow because of the night, he collapsed against the bark and heard a voice in his head.

"There is no rest for the wicked! No rest for those who want to torment you; why must you let them?"

Enes crawled in a ball, prostrating to the night in a muddled frenzy. He grasped onto the broken branches like they could save his life, but they only relished in his agony. His heart rate accelerated, and he could barely contain a scream from exploding and alerting his comrades to a false alarm.

A pair of ghostly hands went through his hair, rustling across his forehead in a gentle motion. Despite it, his flesh went cold, his body rendered moot as he acted like a deer, hoping he would not get hunted. The sensation ran through his chest and arms, he wavered as the flask emptied from his hand.

"I gave you this chance to fight for something special, but it requires your obedience. You volunteered for this opportunity, but you must commit yourself to it. Do not be a bird."

Enes froze, but the cold indifference melted away. He was still on his knees, but his spine was erect; his gaze focused on the darkness in front of him. He blinked a few times to assure that the figure remained in front of him; all he could make out was a halo.

"Your freedom can lead you to terrible things; an arrow cannot go too many ways. Stay your course, and you'll find redemption once again."

When Enes reached out for the figure, she disappeared, and he fell back in a mix of ecstasy and shock.

[memer-the-miner]

Dont Lie Dont Cry - a fanfiction by Memer-the-Miner

“‘Don’t lie dear, if you lie then the trickster will come take you for his games’

I thought it was some sort of hypocrisy. A trick; a lie parents tell their kids to make them tell the truth. But that was until I saw it happen.

I was 14 at the time, I remember the day vividly. Actually the day was normal. Me and my brother were messing around the farm. Just playing around as kids do and then…

It’s just…. He dared me to do it… if I hadn’t done it…. what did I do you ask… that doesn’t matter. The fallout is what matters.

Lets just say it ends with me breaking a window. Needless to say our dad was not pleased. He came out yelling asking who did it. There was a fury in his eyes, one associated with staying outside for the night. So my brother he said he did, with enough of a false proudness that our dad didn’t bother to check with me. A part of me was worried but I thought to myself it’s just one night outside for a lie. That he’ll be fine. Hell I even had a whole plan to bring food to him. And I did… he just didn’t get to eat it.

It was late and our dad was asleep, so it was time to enact my plan. I got a plate of leftovers from dinner and snuck out the back. My brother was sitting next to a shed. I was about to call out to him but then I was hit with an unease. At first I thought it was because a part of me knew our dad might wake up if I called out but I think I sensed… them. All I know is that I’m more than glad, hell, ecstatic even that I didn’t call out to my brother. Yeah that might have been selfish, but you would’ve done it too… anyone would’ve done it.

Anyway I stood to the side waiting for my brother to notice me and then there was this glimmer. As soon as I noticed it I ducked close to the house. Turns out I was right to do so…

Where the glimmer was, there was this man. He looked… valuable. Weird description I know. But he did. His face had diamonds for freckles, and his jewels… well let’s just say a tiny piece from his pinkie ring would set me for life. But I think most importantly we’re his eyes. The iris they weren’t irises… I mean they were but… look they were diamonds okay. And yet I could see the mischief in them. And at the same time there was no emotion in those eyes.

Anyway, the man looked at my brother gliding in place in front of him. He looked at him and said.

“You told a lie, but you have chance, chance to win millions and help everyone you know, so how about you turn this punishment into a profit.”

My brother didn’t say anything. Just stared. But he wasn’t staring at the man, but at the thing behind him. See the man didn’t appear alone. He had a demon, with long elongated arms and teeth. Pure white eyes and a halo that hurt to look at. But its claws were so sharp, its feet bent like an animals and it carried a pair of powerful wings on its back. The worst part is that it was staring at my house. Never moving just staring. And a part of me prayed to the gods that it wouldn’t hurt us.

The man sighed and touched the ground. Kneeling in front of my brother he breathed into his ears words I couldn’t hear. But I know they were bad because my brother paled. He finally turned to look at the diamond clad man and shakily nodded his head. And with a snap of his fingers the man and my brother disappeared. But just them.

That demon thing stayed and after they disappeared it lumbered into our house, I didn’t follow it…. But I heard it. I heard as it scraped through our house I heard it as it shoved something into our dad’s throat. And then it lumbered out side again. But it didn’t leave. It came back to the shed and sniffed. I don’t know at what point I realized, but that thing was looking for me.

As it neared my hiding spot I ducked into a barrel with a hole. I watched through the hole as the creature sniffed at my dropped plate. As it got closer to the barrel it stopped. It slowly went to open the top when… a snap. The man was there again.

“We have enough let’s go-“

“But Sk-“

“Let’s go Bad”

Another snap and they were both gone.

I didn’t leave the barrel until the morning hit. Even then I don’t known how long I sat there until I got out. When I did my dad was calling for me. In front of the house in tears there stood my dad… my dad who was alive. At the time I didn’t question anything and I ran to him. I buried my face into his chest as we both cried. He tried to ask where I was but I interrupted him. I said

“Dad they took him, they took him” I told him over and over that those things took my brother. And then my father’s next words practically killed me.

“Dear, you don’t have a brother, is that why you were out.. you were with an imaginary friend?”

He said he didn’t exist. Our dad said he didn’t exist. My brother who I watched get stolen away. I asked everybody in town, nobody remembered him. How could they all forget. He was my BROTHER. He was-is alive HE WAS REAL….

I don’t know what to do anymore. It’s been years but it still haunts me.

Please help me.”

The man who sat across from me adorned a dark hood and a pair of clean spectacles. He brushes his fluffy brown hair to the side and says, “wow what a story, I’d love to help you.”

I become elated, this hunter would help me catch the things that took my brother. “Really!?”

The man nods. “Of course- oh, also would you like a muffin.” He pulls up a basket that sat on the floor next to him. From inside he pulls out a blueberry muffin, the blueberries were especially shiny. I don’t really like muffins but I want to stay on this man’s good side.

So I grab it and take a bite of the muffin. Jeez my head feels a bit fuzzy maybe I should go home and rest. Wait what was I doing here? I look around at the hunter guild. Hunter guild? Our village doesn’t have a hunter guild. I don’t remember being here. There is a man in front of me.

“So you say your lost,” he says cheerily.

I snap back. I’m having a conversation with this man, I’m lost, he’ll take me home, to my dad whom is my only family.

“Yes can you help me go home?”

He smiles brightly, “of course you muffin head!”

[arazialotis]

Tortured Souls

“I lost count of how many souls.” He said with tears in his eyes. “The things I did to them…”

Word Count: Around 2500

Summary: Years after Dean escaped Hell, the past comes back to haunt him.

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence and torture 

This is purely for a hobby and my enjoyment. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I am by no means a writer so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors. I appreciate any feedback or suggestions!

Beta’d and influenced by the beautiful mind of @misguidedconqueress​

----

“I lost count of how many souls.” He said with tears in his eyes. “The things I did to them…”

*** 5 Years Later ***

Sam and Dean had finished a run-of-the-mill hunt. As they ate at an unremarkable bar with mediocre food and lukewarm beer, they sat in silence. They had nothing noteworthy to say and having known each other for so long, any small talk at this point was redundant. The waves of gray skies rolled into dark clouds. Thunder rattled the wooden floors. 

Sam cleared his throat and nodded his head in the direction behind Dean. A woman had been intently staring at them for the past 15 minutes or so. Dean took the cue. After finishing a bite and wiping his mouth, he made his way up to the bar for more drinks. While waiting for the beers to be served, he casually let his eyes roam the area where she was sitting.

She was the only thing unordinary in this dull place. Her lips were painted the color of mulled wine and a long gold chain plunged below her deep neckline. The few drops of rain caught in her hair made the false appearance of a glimmering halo. But it was her eyes that haunted Dean the most. The same look he saw every time he glanced in the mirror. Something deeper swimming behind flesh. 

She never broke eye contact with him. If the warning tugging at him was familiarity, he couldn’t place it. Almost as if nature magnetically repelled him, he headed back to his table instead of making a pass at her. He handed Sam his drink and shrugged his shoulders. 

By the time they had satisfied themselves, the storm was winding down; the rolls of thunder already faded out. Dean fished out a few twenties and laid them on the table before taking a final scan of the room. The girl was nowhere in sight. With nothing else on the agenda, it was time to move on. 

Dean met Sam in the car. He started her up, but before pulling out onto the open road. He scanned the channels filled with static until something caught his mood. Dean didn’t know if they were headed home or to another case, so he simply started driving down the main road until Sam would undoubtedly come in hot with an opinion. The wipers streaked across the windshield, making a noise comparable to nails on a chalkboard. It was time for new ones. 

Sam was browsing the web on his phone but was distracted when Dean nudged him to look towards his right. The girl from the bar was stranded on the shoulder of the road, helplessly looking into the hood of a smoking car. Sam sighed his discontent but Dean ignored it, pulling over to offer their assistance. 

The car door on Dean’s side creaked open and then slammed shut. His words were muffled from the inside of the car as Sam patiently loaded his gun, keeping an eye on his brother. He went to join them. As his door clicked shut, a surreal force threw him against the hood of the car. His head collided against metal. His hand grabbed the side of the door, but his weight dragged him down. Something sharp and warm grew at the top of his scalp. While he fought to keep his eyes open, the light began to dim before he dipped into unconsciousness. 

Dean was quick to the draw, you his target. But before he could shout demands or orders, his gun flew from his hand and his feet were swept out from under him. The breath left his lungs. Immediately, you were there, pinning him as a lioness would her prey. 

As Dean struggled you purred. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember your first?” Your eyes flashed a thick, inky black. Dean’s brow furrowed. “I’m here to repay the favor.” Your eyes cleared, and seeing them up close the truth was unavoidable. 

***

Hell. The place that was indescribable. To call it grimy, muggy, dark, or grim was useless. Any adjective was futile. Any hope was futile. But that was where Dean had once found himself. For thirty years. Tortured, impaled, left to a bloody heaping mess of nothing. And he resisted any escape from the pain. Until now. 

In his cell resembling a coal mine, too dark to see the blood and rot on the floor. His arms were stretched so far apart it felt like one more twist of the metal rack would rip his body in two. His chest heaved, hearing wails from nearby cells. Any clink, clang, or shuffle outside his cell caused his heart to race, tears to form in his eyes, and beads of blood-filled sweat to trickle out of his shirtless back. 

The door creaked open and in walked the man he knew so well. Although he was no man. He was the monster of monsters. Alastair. 

“Well, well, well Dean.” Alastair mocked as he snapped on latex gloves. “Looks like we’ve got quite the agenda for you today.”

Dean’s lip trembled. 

“Shall we being with the molars or the plantar tendon?” He asked. “I always love giving choices.” He gleamed. 

A single tear slid down Dean’s cheek as he uttered the next words. “I’ll do it.” He shook. 

Alastair dropped a shiny metallic device, attempting to not look surprised. 

“Whatever you want.” Dean continued. “Please.”

Alastair chuckled. “My, isn’t this a happy day. A student becomes a teacher.”

Dean hung his head low. 

“I should warn you though, once you get off the rack, there is no getting back on. Or should I say, you’ll never choose to do so.”  

Dean felt the chains lax. 

Alastair’s finger tapped on his chin. “Now who should I pair you with…” He paused to think. “It’s not like we’re short on new arrivals. But I find for beginners, compatibility is important.” 

With the chains no longer holding his weight, Dean fell to the floor. 

“Rest for now Dean,” Alastair instructed. “I’ll be back soon with your first assignment.” 

Dean curled up into a ball, his knees to his chest. He shook. For once not from fear or pain. But relief. For a few precious moments of peace. But as Alastair promised, it did not last for long. 

By the time he had returned, Dean had pulled his way up from the floor and onto a stone bench carved out from the matching dark wall. He had been allowed to wash, to have fresh clothes. He sat with his elbows to his knees, his hands folded in between. He couldn’t think. He had to turn it off. For what he was about to do… His hands went to his head, pulling at his hair to escape the thought. 

Keys clanked at Dean’s cell. His heart raced, and sweat began to pour as if it was all a joke. But Alastair entered, smiling as a proud father would. Two men with a bull ring where eyes should be entered with a starved little thing in between. She was blindfolded and dressed in little else but a sack. She dragged her feet in protest. She must be new, Dean thought, to still have some fight left in her. The men threw her to the ground where she scrambled into a corner and started to shiver. 

“Tie her up Dean,” Alastair instructed. 

Bile rose up in Dean’s throat. He saw himself walking over but his body refused to budge. 

“Oh, and Dean?” Alastair commented. “If I sense any hesitation or pity, I’ll ensure to walk you through the procedure step by step.” He paused. “With twice the force.” 

Dean had no choice. He told himself he was doing this girl a favor. If Alastair had his way with her, it’d be much worse. He closed his eyes, turning it off once more. He walked over to the corner and grabbed your wrist, dragging you to the rack, drowning out your pleas for help. One by one, he secured each limb into the chain bearings before straightening up. He curled his fist. 

Alastair spoke up, relaxed against the wall, watching what was to become his protégé.  “I want you to see her eyes.” 

Dean gulped but did not disobey. He reached the top of the blindfold and pulled down to gaze upon the most beautiful and innocent eyes he had ever seen. Still filled with life. Sparkling like a pool of fresh-water drowning out the fire around him. And for a moment Dean had forgotten he was in hell. 

“Please.” You begged. “There’s been a mistake. I don’t belong here. Help me.” 

Dean closed his eyes and pinched his lips. Alastair’s patience was wavering and almost intervened until he noticed Dean’s fist tighten. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered so lowly you could barely read the words from his lips. Dean met your eyes again and loud enough for Alastair to hear, he resentfully grunted. “That’s what we all say.” Before striking a devastating blow to your ribs. 

***

Months, years had passed. There was no way to tell. And the man you had known as Dean had grown harder, crueler, and more heartless. With each visit, the black void in his eyes grew. In the beginning, pain had been fast and swift. Resetting each day. But recently he favored the pain to be longer, more drawn out. He’d infect wounds, the intensity growing each passing day. Or the times he pretended to let you escape. You finally stopped trying after the seventh attempt. But by far the worst was when he got sick of your screams and let the starved rats finish the job. You hated the rats.

Holding onto whatever humanity you had left in you was just as painful. Your memory faltered. What you once remembered was almost all but lost. You mumbled to yourself while he was away or if you were permitted to rest, what you could see in your mind.

He came in with a single razor blade one session, interrupting your babbling. You quickly shut your mouth as he grabbed your chin, eyeing you with disgust. 

“You know I hate it when your hair gets too long.” He spat at you before forcing your head down. 

Your eyes teared as strings of hair landed by your bare feet. Each stroke was finished with the slice of the razor until blood began to cover the pieces of fallen hair. His hand left your body, and you heard the clink of the razor being set down.

You thought he had left, that was your mistake. You continued your pattern. Your mother’s name, your father’s name, your brother’s. 

A fist came harshly against your jaw. You hung low from the blow, only being supported by the chains. You spit out a tooth and let the blood drain down your chin. He grabbed your entire face in the palm of his hand, forcing you to meet his eyes. Out of all your time in hell, you’d never seen such fire. 

“Who told you to say that!?” He demanded. 

Your brows furrowed, confused by what could he have meant. His patience was thin. He grabbed hold of your ear, forcing your head to follow. If he had the strength, he might as well rip it off with his bare hands. “Are you hard of hearing me, bitch? Answer me!” He let go. 

“Nobody!” You screamed back. 

He wasn’t satisfied. “Where the fuck did you get those names?” 

You began to cry, fearing how he might use them against you. It was the only thing you had left. Another blow came to your cheek. You caved too easily but it was only a matter of time. Time that he had endless amounts of.

Your lips trembled as you spoke their names. “My mother… Mary. My father… John.” You wailed. “And my little brother Sam.” You choked. He was speechless. “Do you have family Dean? Do you remember your family? My Sammy. My little Sam. When I last saw him, I tried to cut his hair… he always wore it too long… Just like you think of me.” 

He shook his head. “Liar!” 

“I swear! What else do I have to lose?” You pitifully reasoned. 

He went to the wall of tools. “You have no idea…” He muttered, picking up a golden fish hook and securing black wire to the loop at the end. 

"Dean please!" You pleaded. "I see it in your eyes, you're not one of them yet. You have to fight back! What would you tell your family if they saw you now? Who was your family Dean? Remember!" 

His jaw was strained, clenching his teeth so hard you could almost hear them crack. He refused to answer you. He grabbed your bottom lip, pulling it outward and it became apparent what he was about to do. 

You pulled against your restraints. "Dean. Please. No. I'm sorry! Please! I won’t speak again." 

"This'll teach you about lies." He muttered piercing your bottom lip, numb to your cries, and pulled the string through, repeating the stitching fashion. 

***Present day***

You had waited so long for your revenge. Put up with more than he could begin to imagine. Climbing the ranks. Clawing your way out. And finally, his throat was in your hands. 

“Sam.” He gasped, calling for his brother, unbeknownst to you. 

“How dare you say that name to me!” You spat as if he was trying to find your humanity that had long since burned away. 

“Y/N.” He said, clawing at your grip. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

“I didn’t deserve this!” You shrieked back. Your free hand went to the sky, nails sharpened like razor claws ready to attack. 

“None of us did.” He whispered. 

You shook your head, faltering. He looked nothing now like the monster you had known.

Cold metal slapped down hard against your wrist. You twisted to meet your attacker. 

“Sam, no!” Dean yelled. 

He stopped with the angel blade, raised ready to strike. Sam looked to Dean in confusion. Dean scrambled up from underneath you. Sam instead pinned you against the car. You attempted to disapparate but were stuck inside the flesh. You tried, again and again with no use, screaming in frustration. Sam locked your other hand in place and from the corner of your eye, you saw Dean appearing with a black bag. 

You squirmed underneath Sam’s frame but whatever magic they had used on you rendered you completely powerless. 

Your world went black as fabric covered your eyes, but Dean’s voice rang in your ears. “I’m so sorry, I truly am.” 

You’d not go so easily, but without your abilities, they overpowered you. You wrestled as both men grabbed you and placed you in the truck of the car. It smelled of black licorice and gunpowder. As if your world hadn’t been dark enough, the closing of the trunk threw you into total blackness. You screamed and twisted, kicking at the hood of the trunk. You could barely hear the creaks of the doors or the roar of the engine over your own howls. 

Inside the cabin, Sam and Dean looked at each other, and then back to the trunk as the wails of profanity failed to cease. 

“You bring earplugs?” Dean joshed at Sam, hoping to avoid any further interrogation. 

“Mind filling me in?” Sam pressed. 

Dean started down the open road, his destination now clearly laid before him. The bunker. He bit the side of his cheek before answering. “Call it... repenting of past sins.” 

----

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[captainkippen]

I don't know where I'm going with this, it's just a piece of free writing because I felt inspired. Might keep going and turn it into a short story or something.

TW: Implied abuse.

1994.

The door clatters open like a twister is blowing through and I jerk up with such violence I almost slide right off my seat. There are a few bleary-eyed moments of confusion as my heart calms down before a takeaway cup of coffee is thrust under my nose and I'm forced to take it before it ends up decorating my shirt.

"Rise and shine, loser. You fall asleep at your desk again? You know you're gonna have permanent keyboard marks on your face if you keep doing that."

I bat Jay's hands away from my neck, saving myself from one of his terrible massages. He keeps telling me he has magic hands, but I'm pretty sure the crick in my neck only sticks more stubbornly when he tries to get rid of it. I give my shoulders a roll, sighing into the satisfaction of feeling my joints click, and swivel around to face him.

He's dressed in the same clothes he wore to mall yesterday and the heavy stench of too many cigarettes clings to him which means he probably spent the night at Ricky's - our local 24 hour diner - periodically ducking into the alley to burn through a new pack of Marlboroughs. A fresh smudge of dark purples and blues stains the skin around his eye. I hope he at least gave his brother a bruise back to match.

"What time is it?" I punctuate my question with a yawn just to make a point, but he just grins and holds up his watch.

7:15AM. Wonderful. At least he waited until he used the front door for once. My parents fret about him breaking his neck every time he leaves scuff marks on the window ledge to avoid waking them up.

"Did you actually get any sleep last night?"

"Did you?" He fires back with a raised eyebrow, shrugging off his jacket and flopping onto my bed to grab the latest issue of Rolling Stone from where he left it strewn across one of the pillows last time he crashed here. Comfortable silence falls as I admire the way his fingers bend the magazine back. There's this little crease that forms between his brows whenever he's concentrating, physical evidence of him trying to force his brain to focus on one thing at a time and not the myriad of random thoughts bouncing in there at any given time. I hide my smile in my coffee - he knows I'm not really annoyed, but I refuse to give up the illusion. It's a ageing routine, but one I never get bored of.

I count the minutes until the silence breaks. One. Two. Thr-

"So I was thinking," he says, the sighs like he's exasperated at his own inability to keep words in. It's one of the many things I like about Jay - he always speaks his mind. It makes it easier to understand him.

"Dangerous task for you."

An unimpressed middle finger greets my words before they're completely out. I hold back a snort.

"Sorry. Go on?"

We've known each other since we were seven. Across the street neighbours. He was the first person I met when I moved in with my foster parents. In a street full of unfamiliar tree and looming white houses he sat there on the curb pretending to fish with a stick and a piece of string. He'd called over as I got out of the car, asked if I liked trout. I didn't even know what trout was. That was okay. It was gross anyway, apparently.

I don't remember ever making friends so easily, like we just fell together and that was it. No fuss. Ten years on and the surprise hasn't waned.

"You guys want breakfast?" My mom pokes her head around the door with a tired smile, interrupting whatever train of thought Jay was hopping on.

I shake my head and lift my coffee, ignoring the disapproving look she gives me. Coffee is not food nor is it particularly good for you, but it's also not worth a battle over nutrition before eight o'clock.

"All good here, Mrs H." Jay smiles, all teeth and charm and twinkling eyes, then pats his stomach as if to confirm it. It's a smile that's impossible to disagree with when it's directed right at you.

"You sure? Alrighty then," Mom says, doubt creeping into her tone despite her fond look. She was forever trying to feed Jay, convinced he was too skinny. Worried he wasn't getting enough to eat. I can't say I blame her - some days Jay looks like he's auditioning to play Mike Teevee right after he got put through Willy Wonka's stretching machine, but it's all an illusion. I've watched him consume an entire box of donuts in one sitting more than once. His stomach might as well be a trash compactor for all the junk he eats. Plus he always has snacks tucked into the glove compartment of his car in case of emergencies, right alongside a sock full of laundromat destined quarters, a spare toothbrush and his shaving kit.

"Sawyer, honey, can you please clean up a bit in here? It looks like a bomb hit it. Guests don't want to sit in this."

"Half of this is his mess!" I splutter as my mom smiles and disappears back down the hall. "He's not even a real guest!"

Jay only laughs and ducks out of the way when I throw a balled up sock at his head. Asshole.

"So as I was saying..."

"As you were saying," I roll my eyes, gesturing for him to continue.

"I think we should do something."

"What, like go to the movies?" There's nothing good out at the moment, I'm pretty sure. We spent all last weekend debating whether or not to go see the latest Keanu Reeves movie only to spend all our cash on popcorn and get kicked out halfway through because Jay's running commentary made me laugh so hard I choked.

"No man, like... something interesting."

"...bowling?"

He shoots me an unimpressed look and I raise my hands in surrender. What else could he possibly have in mind? Our town only has three things to do; movies, bowling or the mall. We've been cycling through each option all summer. It's the same thing every year and it does get old after a while, but it beats sweating to death outside and spending all day playing video games sets my dad off on the perils of computer addiction. If I ever have to hear another lecture about technology rotting my brain it'll be too soon.

"For a writer you sure are lacking imagination."

"Well what do you suggest, then?" I huff.

There's a gleam in his eye and the warning lights start flashing in my brain just a beat too late. I know that look, it's the kind that got me put in detention three weeks in a row last semester for filling Roy Jackson's football helmet with food dye after he called spread a false rumour that Mary Harring blew him in his backseat. In my defence, it was all Jay. In his defence, I didn't stop him. Principle Ikener's never looked so disappointed. Roy Jackson's face was pink for a week. Scraping gum off the bleachers has never been so satisfying.

"Okay, hear me out first, alright," he says as I groan. We both know I'm already doomed to agree, but we play the part like he has to convince me anyway. Like I said, an ageing routine.

There's a pause in which I repress a sigh and let him dramatically drum roll his fists through the air and then he says, "Europe."

The word is emphasised with jazz hands and I can only stare at him for a moment, my brain trying to compute it. Did I mishear? Did he get part way through a sentence then forget the rest? He stares at me expectantly and it's all I can do to repeat the word slowly after him. His resulting nod is reminiscent of my aunt's excitable golden retriever.

"What about Europe...?"

"We should go."

"What?"

"To Europe," he insists. "We should go."

"You want us to go to Europe."

He looks at me like I'm being deliberately stupid. "That's what I said."

"But... why?"

Summers at home are dull. Three long months of sweltering heat and so many snow cones we make ourselves sick, and weeks on end of trying to think of new things to do, but it has never been so bad that we've resorted to leaving the country before. I'm confused.

"You're always talking about how much you want to travel! And we've got time. two and a half months before school. Think about it, we could be spending that time on the beaches in Spain, or looking at fancy architecture in Italy! I can drag you 'round some museums, you can force me on a tour of places famous English writers lived and we can get sick of each other in style."

Morning light spills through the window and highlights the dustmotes in the air. The bruises on his face seem darker with his face haloed in gold. I get another whiff of cigarettes and realise the smell is staler than usual.

"I don't know," I say. "My parents-"

I get a set of pursed lips in response. His expression is strained.

"Your dad is always saying we should broaden our horizons. He'll be thrilled. Besides, think of all the cute European girls we'll meet."

"How would we even afford it?"

It's a deflection. For a pair of teenage boys, we're both pretty good with money. Weekend jobs at Blockbuster and Baskin Robbins. I still have money saved from my Bar Mitvah, mostly because I've never really wanted anything enough to really splash out. My clunky computer works just fine and I'm content with books and notepads. Jay saves like his life depends on it, and maybe it does. Money for gas and food for the infinite hours spent avoiding his own home. Money for college. Money for escaping.

He stares me down.

One, two, three days since he left the Rolling Stone on my pillow only to pick it back up this morning. I'd noted his lengthy absence yesterday, but I'd just assumed he'd gone fishing. I should have known something was off.

"Please?" There's a desperate edge to his tone that rugs at my heartstrings and it's all I can do not to demand he tell me why he's suddenly so keen on visiting Europe when he's never expressed any such desire before. Instead I just sigh.

"Okay, but you get to convince my mom."

[theheartchoice]

Rock, Music & You 

dean/cas  |  teen  |  1.3k  |  au  |  ao3 

for @canadduh + @idaaeri  based on this prompt posted on the @profoundnet discord 

Geologist!Cas, Musician!Dean and an opportune moment for love. 

There was no guarantee it was a rock. 

A lot of times, when Cas wanted to show Dean something safely tucked away in the curl of his palm, it turned out to be something very different from a rock: a purple flower, an injured bee, a glowing mushroom; a nautilus shell, a piece of antler velvet, a black feather; a couple of aspirin, a lit candle, a mini pie. 

Not that those things aren't memorable in their own right, but there are a few that stand out a little more in his mind (for very different reasons): a bloody gash, a bottle of lube, a key. 

The guy never ceases to surprise him. 

Which is just one of many reasons Dean's planning on concealing a little surprise in his own palm, one of these days - and the sooner the better, because even though he's no rock collector himself he does have one currently sitting heavy in the hidden compartment of Baby's trunk. 

Two rocks, actually. 

Two different kinds of rock, technically: paired halos of sapphire and emerald encircling a silver band. 

The inscription was tough, but when Sammy asked him what immediately comes to mind when he thinks of Cas, the answer was obvious. 

He's just waiting for the right moment. But almost three weeks of searching, of willing the perfect moment into existence has been playing on his nerves, truth be told. 

It needs to be perfect. Cas deserves nothing less. 

At first, he'd carried the little black box around with him everywhere he went, tucked close against his heart, ever-ready for its moment in the sunshine - or starshine, depending. 

But after a few close calls - aborted attempts due to bad timing; heart-stopping panic at accidental, premature near-reveals - he'd decided to keep it out of harm's way in the safest place he knew. 

Thing is, he didn't wanna have to force the moment. He wanted it to be as natural as possible - nothing fancy, just one of those random times where everything slips into place against all odds. 

Kinda like him and Cas. 

And then, wouldn't ya know it, the opportune moment presents itself like a goddamned miracle - except being on a nature walk means Baby (and more crucially, the ring) is nowhere nearby. 

Cas has found a pebble by the bank of the creek-bed, one shaped like a guitar pick - an object he didn't know the purpose of when he'd encountered one for the first time in Dean's apartment. 

He saw it, and thought of Dean. And how perfect is that? Because every time Dean picks up one of his guitars, he thinks of Cas. 

Cas, and his endearing curiosity, his stone wall poker face, his dry sense of humour. Cas, and that voice speaking words no one else could possibly recreate. Cas, and those eyes that see more than anyone else ever has, see deeper into Dean than he’s ever allowed, ever wanted. Cas, and those hands holding little moments of wonder, holding a pebble in the shape of music, in the shape of Dean's heart. 

A heart which is right now beating out a rhythm that sounds exactly like: no more waiting. 

"Marry me." 

Cas' false stone wall shifts and remoulds, a look of wonder forming in its place. 

Dean takes the next step - should've been the first step, but since the moment's already rolling he's gonna remedy what he can. 

Closing the distance between them he drops a knee to the sodden ground. He may not have the ring, but he's got the words imprinted on his ribs thanks to his lungs breathing ‘em in and out that many times in the mirror. 

He draws a breath, and takes Cas' hand where the pebble resides. 

"I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I'm gonna do my damndest to be worthy of you, to keep you in my life for the rest of mine. To keep you happy, and safe, and to grow with you, not apart." He'd almost let that happen, and it was almost the worst mistake of his life. "I never thought a loser like me could be lucky enough to meet a guy like you, let alone be with you - someone I can no longer imagine living my life without. Someone crazy enough to love me, and stubborn enough not to run away." He has to pause a moment, blink away the hedging tears, deny the doubt trying to choke off his voice; he's not done yet. "You're my win, Cas." And he wishes he had the ring, but those words feel stronger out loud. "Will you be my husband, too?" 

Cas stares, lips fallen apart. 

Dean waits, lips pressed shut to hold back his fear in case it tries to manifest itself in words. He doesn't wanna screw this up. He can't. 

But.. what if he doesn't get what he wants? 

Hoping, but not knowing, feeling his love for this man singing in his veins, heart-strings thrumming out a tune just for Cas, composed of Cas, another kind of life-changing moment begins to rise up inside him - only this one's a dark contrast to the one he's trying to share with one Castiel Novak. 

A terrifying wave of dread swells within him, readying to crash down over his hopes and dreams should Cas refuse him. His veins would stop singing, his heart would stop strumming. If that happened, he'd never want to sing again. Never be able to pick up another guitar and not think of Cas, of the greatest loss he'd ever known. 

Dean thought he was a loser before they met, but that'd be nothing compared to the loser he'll be if Cas turns him down. 

So caught up in his spiralling thoughts Dean doesn't realise his gaze has slid from his boyfriend above to the mud below - surrounding him, soaking into his jeans, filthy, cold and isolating. He doesn't even notice that air is hard to come by.. until a hand is placed over his racing heart, moving in tandem with the quick rise and fall of his chest. 

Dean grabs hold for balance, for stability, as another hand comes to steady him by the shoulder. 

"You're alright, Dean," Cas soothes, "You're alright, you're not alone.. I'm here, I'm right here.." He's so right: Dean never feels alone with Cas, and Cas is always there when he needs him. His heart slows, calming from frantic. The vice around his lungs eases off. Cas' touch is warm, his presence comforting, his voice a familiar road guiding him home. "..I want to be here, Dean, with you, always.." 

His breaths even out. His heart settles, nestling against Cas' palm like it belongs, where it knows it's safe. 

"..with my husband." 

Husband. 

Dean follows that voice, lifts his head, finds Cas close: eyes concerned but immensely fond; Dean knows that look, has been intimate with it for years, knows it's born of love and care and the belief that Dean actually deserves those things. "That a 'yes'?" Because he needs to know he didn't pass out and this is just a nightmare about to land the fatal blow to his heart. 

"Yes." Sincerity swims in Cas' eyes, a tender smile curving his lips - and Dean wants to kiss it onto his own, to seal the deal. 

Cas beats him to it. 

The pebble in Cas' palm takes on a glow in Dean’s memory; this one's extra special. But the best surprise he's ever found in Cas' hands has been his own heart. 

This overcast Thursday in September isn't the first time Cas has cradled it with love - intimately, fiercely, unconditionally - Dean just never thought anyone would want it, let alone care for it as if it was something precious, something beautiful, something worthwhile. 

Now, with Cas' hand still spread over the pocket of his jacket where the phantom ring bears a lifelong promise, Dean knows he's in good hands, for better or worse, through good times and bad. 

And it'll be Dean's great honour to love this man, to have and to hold him, to cherish him, from this day until the end of their days. 

[clansayeed]

Bound by Choice ― II.iii. The Beginning of the End

PAIRING: OC x OC x OC (Valdas x Isseya x Cynbel) RATING: Mature (reader discretion advised)

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Choice ⥽

Before there were Clans and Councils, before the fate of the world rested in certain hands, before the rise and fall of a Shadow King ― there was the Trinity. Three souls intertwined in the early hands of the universe who came to define the concept of eternity together. Because that was how they began and how they hoped to end; together. For over 2,000 years Valdas, Cynbel, and Isseya have walked through histories both mortal and supernatural. But in the early years of the 20th century something happened―something terrible. Their story has a beginning, and this is the end.

Bound by Choice and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Choice is the only book in the series not based on an existing Choices story. It is set in the Bloodbound universe and features many canon characters.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Choice/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

The Trinity’s enemies grow in number.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Three nights before…

Old wood and old metal and bones older still take refuge from the bitter night rain.

In the shadows Cynbel waits, watches. The smith brings down his hammer against white-hot metal clang. clang. clang. Hunting like a different kind of predator and oh he has been so many that this… this he barely feels in the shift of his skin.

Steam erupts into the air, filled with the foul smell of a burning port where the worker submerges his latest creation beneath the water’s surface. Ignorant; blissfully ignorant.

“One would think after a long day’s toiling away, any opportunity for respite would be welcomed.”

Surprise catches in the mortal’s bones. Makes him release his work from the grasp of rusted tongs. He spins around, looks this way and that, but is no better than a blind man in his efforts.

“Who goes there?” Then, once the young man catches himself, “We are closed for the night. Please, return tomorrow at dawn.”

Does he think he plays at manhood? But this new age of innovation demands it of such boys, does it not. He might feel pity for them — if he could.

“Alas,” and when he replies his voice wraps around the small hovel; an embrace from Winter herself, “I cannot.”

Still the boy persists. “I insist, monsieur.”

“Who are you to insist of me?”

It’s advantageous; the hesitation that follows. Gives Cynbel a chance to emerge from his not-so-hidden refuge beside a basket of ores. He A shine catches his eye and he plucks it from the dark and misshapen pile, raises it against the light of the furnace to marvel at the gemstone’s glossy sheen.

He pockets it with little thought. A token of affection for his darling girl — so recently bored of diadems and jewelry and smitten with such… imperfections.

“Hey, that doesn’t bel—”

“Sssh…” The vampire presses a finger to his lips and the human goes quiet. Good, he likes them obedient.

This part of the workshop, back and away from the street where the front room displays the prides of masters and apprentices alike, requires a bit of meandering. But he’s an opportunistic man and takes what is offered for his own uses. Sways his hips with every movement slow, seductive.

Every good hunter knows his prey.

And indeed — when Cynbel comes to tower over the young man’s figure he can see each bead of sweat that rolls down his temples. Not just from the room’s stifling heat. Watches one bead along a shaven chin and glisten over the lump in his throat.

Here, and now in the light, things are different. Aren’t they?

Here every pump of the mortal’s racing heart threatens to deafen him in the best of ways. Here he is illuminated in fire’s heavenly glow; and recognized.

Cynbel lets his finger fall in unspoken permission. Watches as he’s taken in rapturously and in ways he has only seen between the pious and their places of worship… in ways he, too, has found rapture from his own religion.

When the human finally speaks it is rushed; exhaled, “I-worried-you-would-not-come…”

“For you,” and he weaves his fingers through locks of mousy hair, uses it as a master to his hound to pull him forward; breathes his honey-drenched words against peeling lips, “always.”

Their kiss is desperate, fervent with inevitability. Smoke-stained hands smeared over his jaw and Cynbel resists the urge to bite out his inexperienced tongue as a second gift for his beloved. Lets himself be defiled with the touches of a young man craven for affection and so so alone… unable to give it.

He would call this creature pitiful but even that would be too kind. That the mortal is too obsessed with his own gratification to realize every drop of passion is entirely from his own cup, that Cynbel’s cup could not be more barren in his presence, is nothing short of pathetic.

He pulls back as he always does. Stops those dirty wandering fingers as he always does. Kisses the day’s work from trembling knuckles as he always does.

“What kept you away?” The mortal whimpers.

And as he always does Cynbel lies through his teeth. “It matters not — that you stand before me now is more than enough.”

The mortal beams with pride. Though that is not the only vice Cynbel has been able to impart on him.

Everything in the smithy is exactly the same as he had left it a fortnight ago — well, almost.

He doesn’t have to pretend in this. The way he (none too) gently urges the wayward man aside to cross the room in several strides. Among the hammers and horseshoes the work done here is for the meager rank and file of Paris. Nothing as flashy as settings for gems or swords for battle. Cynbel knows this because his time has been well-spent these last months. Because the thing that separates the hunters who fail from the ones who survive is found in the little things.

Surveying the prey. Entering its nest. Staking its claim over the carcass before it has even been devoured.

Knowing all that he does — it begs the question of the mannequin—freshly carved—and the armor—freshly polished—settled snug upon it.

“Is this your work?”

He looks back and hears the skip in the mortal’s heart as he nods. “Indeed. Are you taken with it?”

“As taken as I am with you,” he croons in response; and knows the flush in living cheeks is not from the heat.

“That is why I am still here, actually,” he remembers his work then, and plucks the now solid metal from the bucket to wipe it dry with his sleeve. Small, in comparison to the rest of the pieces, but Cynbel takes it when it is offered; lets their touch linger in a promise he does not intend to keep.

The fastening is crude; its finer points interrupted by Cynbel’s arrival. But the sigil would be difficult not to recognize — especially for his kind. The halo around the center meant to be the sun. The fleur de lis enshrined within it in need of a little more dedication to be perfect.

More likely than not his little apprentice smith knows not what he is being asked to make. The holy war he is urging forward in his own way. A suspicion confirmed as Cynbel offers the work back and allows the mortal to continue to hold his hand.

“This is the only thing left. The master had just arranged contract with the Duke who ordered it when he fell ill,” —he explains this like Cynbel doesn’t know, like he didn’t ensure it— “and as his eldest apprentice the duty fell to me. I don’t know what overcame me, my love… it was as though the muses of old inspired my every movement.

“I missed you terribly, Claude, but I was fortunate there was this work to help me pass the time.”

Should he never hear the false name given for this ruse again it would be too soon.

Cynbel gestures to the armor, a “may I?” whispered reverent on his lips. With the human’s permission he steps closer, ghosts his touch over the refined metal. Imagines all the ways he will go about tearing it from whatever unfortunate soul it is given to limb from bloody, gory limb.

“You have outdone yourself.”

“Truly?”

Is the first of his praises not enough? Disgusting whelp. “Truly and more. I dare say whomever commissioned this will command any battlefield.”

Warm arms encircle his waist. The tack of the human’s sweating forehead presses against his doublet and already Cynbel begins practicing the apologies he will give to his beloveds upon his return. No doubt his Lord and Love will banish him from the apartment for the stench.

It is torture, pure and simple.

“May I confess something to you, Claude?”

Cynbel swallows back his bile. “Anything, always.” And he doesn’t need to see the human’s face to hear his pathetic ‘secret.’

“The Duke has sent word he will arrive in Paris tomorrow — and he hopes to see how the piece is coming along. I hope to convince him of my skill… perhaps even take some of the spoils for myself.”

Greed. One of the few things that make his presence bearable against all his shortcomings.

Cynbel turns in his arms; feigns as though he could never imagine such a scandal. “And what of your master? Will he not cast you out for the gall of it?”

“Perhaps he may not be around long enough to do such.”

“Don’t sound so hopeful.”

“Why not, when you inspire in me such a wonderful hope?”

Their second kiss is far more chaste, entirely so on part of the vampire. The disappointment on the other’s face is impossible to miss.

“Something the matter?”

“I would not have your well-earned pride ruined for it. Pay me no mind.”

“Claude,” Cynbel’s cheeks are taken in grimy mortal hands and he shivers, lets him take it as he wishes, “there is no joy I can bask in without you. Let me ease the weight on your chest. Please.”

Let it be known that he does not give in to the mortal’s whims. But with demons of the night leaping from shadow to shadow among the rafters, with every horrendous and degrading sentiment forced through his teeth; then and there Cynbel has had enough. Enough pretending, enough disgust.

Enough with feeling somehow unworthy of the love bestowed upon him when he returns to the arms of the ones with whom he truly belongs. Oh they placate him dutifully but he sees the twitch of a sensitive nose — a touch moved elsewhere at the last moment. These things are their prey; no better than chattel.

He was amusing at first. But…

“You have simply outlived your usefulness to me.” With no risk comes no reward they say but there is no risk here. He might be inclined to entertain it further if there was.

And like a child the human seems only to hear the kindly things. Continues to hold him, to adore him. To sicken him.

So he continues. “There is no risk, here. Only the continued debasement of the Golden Son, of the first of Valdemaras’ blood. If, when all the ages wither, I find in my soul no love of self then I must at least continue to love the part of me that is my God. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Sure enough that rouses him. As if from a slumber. The masquerade finally coming to a close.

“I don’t understand.”

“Was I not speaking French?” Which could have been a possibility. As it is his muscles tense, predatory, in preparation of the first violent act that comes to mind.

“Yes, Claude, but — what you are saying makes little sense.”

So simpering, so pitiful that Cynbel actually stomachs the will to kiss him again. If only to whisper the insult to his lips; “I would expect nothing less of such a feeble mind.”

He’s seen heartbreak before. This is not it. This is a pantomime—what the inexperienced whelp believes heartbreak to be. Tries, so fleetingly, to wrench himself from Cynbel’s grasp but the charade is finally over. And with it the need to disguise his true strength.

“I had hoped you would have completed all of the armor in time, and maybe had I a stronger constitution one more night would have done the trick.” He looks back to the suit with true critique in his newfound eyes. Such a waste — talent like that in the hands of a worm. “But their sigil is clear enough that any member would recognize it as their own. I suppose there’s a poetic drama to the incomplete set.

“Isseya would know of such things better than I. She’s quite taken with the stage. She is the voice behind my tender affections towards you in fact.”

All the while the human tries to free himself to no avail. His workman’s hands are used to shaping manacles but have never been imprisoned by them after all.

Finally some sense comes about the man. All the telltale signs of a scream; flared nostrils, flushed pallor, the sour odor of fear near his knocking knees. Too late.

“HE—!”

Valdas would be proud how he silences any cry and practices for the upcoming ball in one swift movement. Pulling so hard he feels the joint come loose in a feeble shoulder and presses them close as lovers, back to front; molded against every vibrating measure of him and a hand tight over his lips.

“Ah ah ah…” He turns them both to face his work. Will give him that final gift of his life’s work burned behind his eyelids in the moments before death. “Don’t you want to know, my love? To understand?”

The fussy little fucker actually shakes his head. As though that will save him. As if he is held captive only until Cynbel has given him light where there was previously only darkness.

But that light is not for him. It belongs to them.

He belongs to them.

“If that is what you wish, fine. Throw away my gift, and your life with it.”

“Mmmph!”

“No no taking it back now. My mind is made up.”

“MMmnpm…” A needling heat pierces his skin. The sight of it makes the vampire laugh.

“A tear, really? And here I thought it was quite impossible for me to think less of you.”

He wrestles the human’s head to position; nearly breaks his neck several times in the process. Forces him to take in the splendor that will soon serve as a crafted casket for whatever heathen is suffered to wear it.

Unsympathetic, Cynbel places a final kiss to his temple. “Everything is in place now darling. I want you to know I could not have done it without you. Well—no—I just cannot help myself but lie to you it seems.” Another wave of muffled whimpers drowned in his laughter. “But you have made it easier on me. The Knights will collect your work and your corpse with it. One little life — that’s all it will take to earn their ire. Clever little hellions that they are… they’ll follow every crumb I’ve left. All. the way. to me.

“If my beloved is correct—if the Godmaker graces the evening with his vile presence—then I may finally have the opportunity to rid the world of two evils. Can you imagine? No longer looking over our shoulders… no longer fearing unholy wrath…” The very thought has him in near ecstasy. Actually—quite close to the real thing.

But thoughts of a life free of the Knights draw him, as they inevitably do, to a darker place.

To the cursed memories of Isseya prone, neck bare… to the taste of steel on his tongue and the delicious smell of roasted game—but he was the meal of bubbling blistering flesh and every tear he shed—she shed a fresh wave of agon—

“The events that will unfold will ensure their safety. No one will dare to take them from me ever again…” Cynbel surprises them both in that his voice breaks with unbridled fury, with withheld anguish.

“Lest they remember what befell the last to even try.”

Countless hours spend seducing the young smith who surely had a name that he hadn’t bothered to remember go to waste, then. Such a fragile neck in his grasp — the way it sounds when it snaps is like the first notes of a sonnet.

But there’s still one crucial crumb that needs leaving. One that will ensure the Holy Sacred Knights of the Rising Dawn know exactly who has courted them such.

One that will ensure they amass their armies beneath Paris in droves.

One fallen innocent is a message.

A slaughtered horde—that’s a warning.

He takes his leave of the workshop in much the same way as he entered; undetected by any soul living or dead. The mortal’s blood is tacky on his soaked hands the long walk back to their lodgings. He wants his lovers to taste of the wretched little cur so they know; so they understand.

Their sigil—the Brand of the Made-God Valdemaras—left to dry red on the breastplate. The unfinished clasp fastened neatly in the middle.

It was not unheard of for the vampires of Paris to think themselves important. Far more relevant than they actually are. Cynbel had gazed upon the half-masque of Serafine Dupont in the halls below and assumed her prestige nothing more than vanity; the hostess putting on airs for her guests.

But he’s a big enough man to admit when he’s wrong.

It takes a skill honed from centuries for the discipline she shows now. All of her remaining strength fixated on her injuries, on the effort to stand and set the bone to heal. A wound that would cripple a mortal—and even a younger vampire—rendered fruitless as muscle and flesh knit together in the tapestry of her dedication.

They watch the show of her impressed — but never intimidated. They will give credit where it is due.

With a vengeful cry she lunges forward and all credit is lost when her open palm meets his face.

Cynbel reaches up, feels the heat of the sting on his cheek with a shiver down his spine. Like all pain it fades too fast — but while there may be no more Knights in vain attempts to slay him Serafine still stands there and she looks positively craven for the excuse to strike again.

A look seen by more than just him. One that lands her pinned to a building exterior with splayed limbs and Valdas’ hand around her throat.

“Apologize.”

Yet even as his darling’s softer hands skirt feather-light touches over his healed skin Cynbel laughs. Laughs and laughs and adjusts his hair where the whore had sent it askew.

“No no, let her come for me. The Knights proved no real contest, maybe she’ll last a moment or two longer than they.”

“How dare you mock them,” seethes the woman with labored breaths; and because it isn’t the apology he asked for Valdas only tightens his grip, only strains her further in a wraithish rasp, “have you no grief for our brothers, our sisters who were slaughtered?!”

“They are no kin of ours.” Isseya answers for him. He snakes an arm around her waist and squeezes.

“Forgive her, my God,” he croons, would rather keep his lovers close than risk their already fractured good luck, “the poor thing seems to be under the impression we are on some equal standing.”

And he does, eventually, let her go. But only when it takes longer than a passing moment for the carvings of his nails at her neck to heal.

“A mistake she would do well not to make again.”

Serafine’s eyes are wild; a frightened animal that takes them in all at once. The way they were meant to be understood — the way they had always been understood. Her voiceless words aren’t worth the effort it would take to even try to comprehend her.

“The same blood runs through your veins that does mine, le tueur.” She snarls.

Isseya’s eyes narrow. “Not for long. Not with that foul tongue.”

“Now now, Iss’, let the little thing mourn.” Cynbel attempts to placate her with long, slow pets to her hair.

“She dare call you the killer when those sycophants live?”

She turns her face away from their accuser, tucked into the ridge of his shoulder and Cynbel holds her tighter for it. Knows that she, too, is plagued with memory. That if he coaxed her face up he would see the shine of unshed tears in her beautiful eyes.

“Less of them now,” he whispers, “thanks to us.” For now it is all he can offer her. And for now it is enough. They only have this thorn to deal with before he can comfort Isseya—both of his lovers—properly and as they deserve.

“And while the Knights posed an entertaining foe, I’ll admit there were far more of our kind in attendance tonight than I thought there would be. The cost should have dwarfed the rewards.”

“What rewards? What reward could there possibly be for the senseless murder of our kind?!”

“Victory over the Knights of course.”

The noise she makes; strangled and not quite fully alive before it died in her throat, only amuses the woman on his arm. Has her reaching out for their God like she wants to mock Serafine. And that may very well be the case.

Here is my salvation. Where is yours?

“How was this to be a victory? You speak like —”

“Like he tipped the scales of this war with a battlefield of his own choosing?” offers Valdas -- now comfortable against his surviving lovers. “A soldier ‘til the end, my golden boy.”

Here he thought the deaths of the Knights would not be the only victory this night — the next to come much later and wrapped in sheets of the finest imported silk. But here stands another much to his surprise, crept up out of the gutters like vermin.

It is with utter delight that Cynbel watches Serafine come to understand the truth of the matter; watches the horror and disgust twist upon her beautiful features somehow made better by all-consuming sorrow.

Fills him with an arousal usually reserved for carnage and lovemaking; but this works too.

“You— You… brought the Knights of the Dawn to the crypts?”

“I didn’t hold their hands, no, though I almost needed to. Fucking simpletons.”

The woman’s voice catches. “How?”

“The righteous are terribly predictable. A few bodies here, a few whispers there. If they think their cause to be one of justice they’re akin to a persistent plague.”

Serafine is less an annoyance now; more a festering wound. Really, must she take the fun out of it? As it is he has to reconcile with the Godmaker surviving — no doubt leagues from Paris by now with his Bloodqueen in tow. Can he not just have this?

“You orchestrated this… this culling?”

“Those who died did so because of their own weakness.”

“You willingly led our enemies straight to us!”

“And now they are an army fewer in number.”

The look he gives her — disinterest, boredom. If you seek to make me remorseful you seek in vain.

“Monsters,” Serafine finally chokes out; said to them all but Cynbel takes it just a tad personally, “monsters… the three of you. Les Trois Amants no more than old, cruel, mindless creatures of bloodshed.”

“Not quite,” Cynbel’s hand stays his Maker from attacking her, allows him to meet her gaze level and calm with a lover on each arm. United; permanent.

“Where they seek justice I gave vengeance. That I was able to lead them to us at all says all the things you wish to ignore—to put as blame upon my shoulders. The Knights would have eventually discovered the catacombs our refuge. If not tonight then tomorrow, or a fortnight from now. Would you rather that, mademoiselle? Would you rather they have had the time to plan, to cut off completely all means of escape?

“You should be thanking me that the living outnumber the dead. And that you may count yourself among them.” And with his victory inevitably wilted Cynbel has had enough of her accusations. “But yes — I would watch every vampire alive burn at the hands of the Knights themselves so long as my beloveds are by my side.”

With the last of her strength the vampiress snarls with fangs bared. Such a pitiful portrait she paints of herself; he knows it, all three of them do. It doesn’t even warrant Valdas’ reaction and isn’t that saying something.

“You will see justice at the hands of your enemies.”

“Four centuries and the bastards have yet to do any lasting damage.” An amusing thought, too.

“The Holy Knights are not your only enemy today.”

He can see it, too. A hotter, blinding flame burning inside of her far stronger than the ones that ravage underneath their feet. Give it a century or two, he thinks, and it will be snuffed out with the rest.

Two sets of hands try to keep him close but he gently coaxes them aside. Approaches the tempest before him with her wild eyes and wild hair and finds satisfaction in the flinch of her when his fingertips graze her silken chin.

“My victory is—has always been—inevitable, ma chérie. And I look forward to the prestige it will bring.”

[satangivemestrength]

Tired

'God, I am so tired,' Alex thought, nearly tipping forward on her walk back from the lab. Sleep fought for dominance over her mind, her eyes closing briefly before snapping open at her internal scolding. 'Only a few more minutes, just a few more minutes.'

It had been two weeks since Alex had slept, working day and night with Tony and Bruce and running off of sugar-infused caffeine. The two Avengers had tried to convince her to go back to her room and take a break but the woman refused to leave, stating the stacks of work she still had to do as evidence. Still, they wouldn't break.

The woman cringed at the memory of Bruce carrying her out of the lab, her arms too weak to fight back. Tony had told her in that signature dad voice of his to get some sleep or else pancake privileges would be revoked. She chose to leave in peace.

Alex was making more noise than she thought, using the wall to hold herself up. Also unbeknownst to her was the god listening to the stumbling steps outside his room, wondering who would be up at this hour of the night. Curiously, he stepped towards the door separating him and the mystery person and opened it, streaming light into the near-black hallway.

Alex's eyes slammed shut in pain, the bright glare stinging her cognac orbs. She's glared at the light a second later, cursing the person shadowed in its halo for bringing the unexpected pain before realizing who it was. That gorgeous raven black hair and those piercing emerald eyes could be recognized anywhere.

Loki looked on the smallest Avenger in confusion, not understanding why she'd be outside his door of all places in the middle of the night. Was she in trouble? Was she hurt? Worried eyes looked over her muscular frame, checking for anything that might indicate she was injured in any way. Fortunately, the only thing he found wrong was her bloodshot eyes.

When his gaze returned to her face, her eyebrow was raised in a silent question. His face burned red and he immediately tried to change the subject. "Um A-Alex, what-what are you doing here?"

Loki cursed himself for stuttering, hoping she didn't catch his anxiety at seeing her in front of him in such a vulnerable state. The god always Alex, whether from exhaustion or inability, didn't seem to hear and simply narrowed her eyes at him.

"Currently being blinded, you?" Alex asked, annoyance splayed across her features. Loki apologized and motioned for her to enter, stepping to the side hurriedly. He shut the door and subconsciously picked at his hand. The enchanting woman before him surveyed his fidgeting form, her eyes softening at the beautiful man before her.

Stepping forward and grasping his hands to stop him, Alex looked into Loki's eyes and saw they were slightly red and puffy around the edges. Disregarding her overwhelming need to sleep, she dragged Loki to his bed and sat with him, holding his hand a bit tighter. "What's wrong, Lokes?"

The god's eyes widened, his face being replaced by an expression of panic before taking on his usual demeanor of coolness. He scoffed and took his hands out of hers, immediately missing her warm touch. "My dear, I believe you are more tired than you're letting on."

Alex rolled her eyes and placed her hand beside his, careful not to set him off. "Loki, you only stutter when you're upset. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to but please don't shut me out, I want to be here for you in any way I can."

The Trickster's could only stare at the Avenger in shock, wondering why she would pay him enough attention to know what he did when something was wrong. No one had ever cared enough to take notice except his mother. Swallowing the warmth he felt in his heart, Loki merely waved her away.

"I am fine, mortal, I do not need your sympathy." Alex sighed and nodded, realizing she wasn't going to get anything out of him, and rested her head on his shoulder. She was honestly too tired to care where she slept at this point.

Loki's breath hitched, his heart stopping in his chest as he looked down at the beautiful woman leaning against him. Her eyes fluttered shut, content written over her features, seeming almost..... happy at being with him.

"Is it okay if I sleep here tonight? I don't think I could make it back to my room, honestly," Alex softly murmured, sleep clouding her words. She felt Loki nod and settled into his chest. His cool skin caressed her cheek, lulling her into a peaceful sleep she knew only his presence could bring.

Loki didn't know what to do. His heart was pounding against his chest with a strength he had never known before and all he wished was to wrap her in his arms and pull her tighter to him. All his instincts screamed at him to wake her up, to snap himself out of this false heaven he thought he didn't deserve and remember that an exquisite creature like her could never love a monster like him.

But all he could do was gaze at her beautiful brown skin and her gorgeous freckles he knew she hated and those perfect red lips he needed to claim as his own.

Loki had known of his feelings for Alex for a year and he had given up fighting them. When he had first found out, he couldn't have been more horrible to her. He found every single way to ruin her day: messing with her projects, hiding her books, embarrassing her, and insulting her. No matter what he did, though, Alex was still kind to him, trying to see the good in him despite all the awful things he did.

Turning to the woman cradled against his chest, Loki swept a piece of curly brown hair out of her eyes and she wrinkled her nose at the light touch. The god smiled softly, the kind of grin only she brought out, and lightly picked Alex up. Loki had decided that he wouldn't make her wake up to him and regret her decision to stay.

With an arm around her shoulders and another under her knees, Loki walked through the halls of the compound, navigating purely on memory as he didn't wish the sleeping woman to stir. The Trickster took the long way, cherishing Alex's warm skin against his, and unfortunately landed at her door. When he opened the door, his mouth dropped and he looked at Alex in exasperation.

Her room was spotless, the bed made with no clothes on the floor or meals half-eaten or notes splayed across the room in a system only Alex understood. It had been nearly a month since the soldier had pleaded with her to clean her room, which meant Alex hadn't slept in a month.

Sure, Loki had visited her and brought her food while she was in the lab but he thought she had returned to her room at the end of the day. His heart dropped, filling with pain at not realizing that she needed him sooner. His eyes found her form again, weighed down with exhaustion and stress, and he swiftly laid her down, careful to not disturb her. Loki ghosted a hand over her head and poured his magic into her, hoping it'll help bring her back to health.

After being completely sure that Alex would be okay, Loki stood up to leave, wishing to leave the overwhelming temptation to lay with her. Before he could, however, he heard her sweet voice.

"Loki, don't leave," Alex mumbled, barely awake. The god halted in his path and turned, half expecting to see her asleep. What he saw made him question if he was dreaming as well.

Alex's eyes were barely open, golden brown eyes staring up at him in a silent plea. How was Loki to refuse her when she looked at him like that?

Loki quickly flashed out of his leathers and into his sleepwear. He avoided Alex's eyes as he pulled back the clean linens, slipping under them in one graceful move.

"Loki?" Her small voice asked, laced with anxiety. His eyes found hers and she looked down. She was playing with her fingers, having found a new apprehension.

"Yes, my love?"

Her cheeks reddened with the name and Loki smiled, appreciating the new color. Her thumbs circled each other and they suddenly became very interesting.

"Thank you," the woman softly said, the sound barely reaching the god's ears. Loki's eyes softened and he pulled her hand out of her lap, holding it lightly in his. Alex looked up and into Loki's gorgeous emerald eyes, smiling when she saw that light only reserved for her.

"Always, my little witch." Alex rolled her eyes at the name he had given her upon their meeting, despite the growing warmth inside her chest.

"Who you calling witch, witch?"

"I am not a witch!"

"And I am?"

"Yes!"

"Takes one to know one," Alex sang, clearly celebrating in her childish retort. Loki sighed and dragged a hand over his tired face, eager to just feel the quiet embrace of sleep.

"Just go to sleep, darling," Loki grumbled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. His eyes widened once he realized what he did, going to pull away but being stopped by Alex's head hitting his chest, her arm snaking around his waist. She buried her face in his chest, listening to his pounding heartbeat and inhaling his smell of pure winter and leathers.

"Why do you sound like you just ran a marathon, frosty?" Alex questioned, unconsciously running a finger up and down his chest.

Loki couldn't breathe, to put it lightly. His face flushed brighter than a thousand Suns and he was suddenly glad she couldn't see his face.

When he finally answered, a high voice shadowed his own. "Go to sleep, love, you need it."

Alex didn't have any obligations, going to sleep almost instantly with the racing heart beneath her as a lullaby. She must have been dreaming when she felt the soft caress of a cool hand through her hair and a pair of lips pressing against her head with the serene voice of the god she loved whispering, "I love you."

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Femslash February day 23

Prompt: Glass Fandom: Voltron Pair: Acxa/Allura Summary: Cinderella AU with Acxa as Cinderella and Allura as the prince.  

Once upon a time in space a baby was born. A baby of half blood; one part human and one part Galran. The babe had delicate skin of a soft blue hue and a sweep of hair the color of sapphire. She peers at her parents with eyes as soft blue as her skin. Regardless of blood, the babe grew up loved and cherished. The child loved watching the stars twinkle and blink and would often sit under them with something to read. The child grew up kind and caring with a mother who was just as so.

It wasn’t until the child turned thirteen that her life seemed to shatter. For their house nestled in a hidden corner of Daibazaal had been found. For the crime of marrying a human and birthing a halfblood, the child’s mother was killed.

Only after serving ‘justice’ did the crowd leave. In their wake was left a grieving husband and a timid child. The man thought that he wouldn’t know happiness again. Desperate was he, enough to fall for a cruel, cold Galra woman who had no love for a lowly half-breed. In his anguish, the man was blind to the mistreatment of his daughter.

The man was a trader and as such he was prone to travel for extended periods of time. During his travels, his daughter grew lovelier still. She was small for a Galra but it suited her well. At thirteen years, her horns had grown in, elegant and cut like polished obsidian. Mostly they were buried under waist long locks of deep blue. Her eyes were as warm and kind as her complexion was cool. For it, her stepmother and sisters hated her twice over. When the girl’s father was gone, the last scraps of false kindness fell away. They dressed the girl in rags and exposed her to various cruelties and neglect.

Mostly, they made a slave of the girl. They shut her away from the stars that she loved so, confining her to the dark and dusty underbelly of their home where the life and hope in her eyes diminished. And where her health deteriorated.

It became a pass time for the eldest sister to fling one of her opulent rings or ornate necklaces into a particularly large pile of comet cinders and have the girl sift through them to find it. So she was nicknamed Cometcinder.

More often than not, her complexion was blotted out by splotches of comet dust. “You should thank her, Cometcinder, she helps you cover your halfbree’s skin.” Says her step mother.

But Cometcinder feels no such gratitude.

On a night where the cosmos were particularly spectacular, Cometcinder could bear no more. The constellations were enticing, beckoning her outside. So she answered their call. In the cool night air, her heart fluttered with the joy of finally having a serene night, free of demands and demeaning words.

The best night of her life was followed by the worst. For her misdeed of skipping chores could not go unpunished. Her step mother dragged her by the hair into the house where her step sisters waited, sneering. “Maybe we should make her sleep outside.” The youngest suggests. “Since she likes it out there so much.” That night, they took a pair of scissors to her long locks, chopping away at them until her hair was fashioned into a scraggly and uneven bob.

They kicked at her and spat on her and stole the compass from her pocket. She’d fought furiously to keep her cherished item--the one thing that truly belonged to her--but they had pried it from her fingers. They crushed it before her eyes, so taking from her, the last thing she had of her mother.

But they did not take without giving. That night they gave her the news that her father’s craft had been blasted by the ray of a weeblum.

Even still, the kindness didn’t flee her soul. Though terribly shrouded in sorrow and reduced to finding companionship with space mice, she maintained generosity and patience.

Days turned to weeks and weeks into months, before news came of a gala. A supposedly flashy ball to celebrate the auroras and the birthday of the young princess Allura.

Meek and quietly, the girl inquired if she could attend. “Looking like that?” her mother sneered.

“You can dress me nicely and…”

“You’ll embarrass us.” The younger daughter commented.

Cometcinder swallowed, her belly tingling with heartache and yearning. Just this one night, she only wants this one night. As her step family departed, their space pods the girl hugged her knees to her chest and fought back tears.

If only to occupy her mind, she took to polishing the houses metallic floors and upkeeping and managing the data on the house’s computer.

With most housetasks aside, the girl wandered out to view the night sky. It must have been an hour before a voice like an electrical hum sounded in her ear. “You’re going to be late.” It commented.

The girl tilted her head and tried to find the source.

“Over here.”

She turned to face the computer. It had taken to projecting a hologram. An image of a small, iridescent orb that flashed softly and occasionally shifted color. “I have run through various simulations of realities and have decided that it is most optimal that you meet the princess Allura.” The robotic voice declared. The orb drifted nearer and Cometcinder took a reflexive step back.

“I’m mean only to help. I will make sure that you will impress.” The orb made its staticy promise. It hovered over to a dressing pod. “Step in please.”  

Reluctantly she does so. The machine whirred to life a soft green light scanned her up and down, taking in her measurements before producing an outfit for her. Replacing the rags was a slee one piece suit of midnight blue latex, outlined in vivid neon blue. She barely had time to appreciate it before the orb said, “now let's do something about this.”  In a series of zippy motions, the orb singed off locks of her hair until it fell evenly. The orb halted before shedding small beads of electric blue light. It fixed them into her hair and accented her horns with them. At the ends of her hair they dangled like glow-worm threads. It completed her look by placing a glass helm over  her head.

Satisfied and having completed its task it buzzed, “follow me.”

The girl nodded and allowed it to lead her down the hall to where her family stored their spare parts and discarded devices and machines. “Do you prefer a V-style craft or would you like a more classic spherical model?”

“Something simple.” Cometcinder answered.

The orb grew in size and flitted about, moving pieces and parts until an elegant black craft shaped like a jagged triangle sat before her. “I implore you to enjoy your ball. But my power has its limits.” The orb paused. “The system will glitch and shut down at precisely midnight. For an optimal ending, I advise that you leave before then.”

The Galra stroked the craft’s steering wheel, still skeptical of its reality. She smiled to herself; she will meet the Altaen princess after all.

.oOo.

The ballroom was nothing like she had ever seen. Vast and made of black titanium, UV veins of purple streaked the walls and ceiling. The floor glimmered and sparkled with chips of amethyst. She saw all manners of dress from simple one piece jumpsuits like her own to elaborate gowns with glowing hems and tall collars lined with LED lights. Hues popped and flashed from all ends of the color spectrum.

But most eye catching of all was the princess herself. She stood in a tiered white gown. Each layer had a ring of magenta light outlining it, creating glowing halos on the layers below. Her hair was fashioned in an updo adorned with various crystals in shades of violet and pink.

For as much as Cometcinder was compelled to strike up conversation, she couldn’t bring herself. It had been years since she’d spoken to anyone save for a space mouse and she feared for her social competence and mannerisms. All in all, the setting and its extravagance overwhelmed her.

She met the princess’ eyes and she flushed. The noise in the room seemed to swell as Allura broke away from Cometcinder’s eldest sister. She found herself shaky with nerves and her nerves whisk her abruptly away from the jubilant chaos of the ballroom.

Palms still shaking, she sat beneath the silently enchanting bursts of the auroras. She wished that she weren’t so terribly shy.

“Hey!” A voice greeted. “I was hoping to catch you!”

Cometcinder took to staring intensely at the back of her hands.

“I’ve never seen you at any of my balls before.”

“I don’t get out much.” She confessed. An understatement, considering that she hadn’t been beyond her yard in several years.

Allura laughed. “Well, welcome to the outside world! You picked a great time to see it.” She gestured to the sky and its drifting, dancing splendor.

“I’m more taken by you than the auroras.” Cometcinder admitted.

Allura smiled. “You have a name?”

She nodded. “I am Acxa.” It was weird on her lips, for it was the first time she had said her name since her mother died. Somehow, saying it made her feel less like an object.

:”That’s a pretty name.”

“Not as pretty as Allura.”

This time the princess blushes. “Hey, you’ve never gone to a ball before, does that mean that you’ve never danced?”

Acxa’s face grew hotter still. “I have not.” she confirmed.

“Can I teach you?”

“Yes please..” She paused. “Can we dance out here, away from everyone?” It would certainly make her feel less nervous.

“Dancing under the lights does sound nice.” Allura nodded. The princess walked her through the steps of The Weeblum’s Waltz and The Daibazaal Ditty.

As she did so she told Acxa of the bustling spacecraft travel center and of her favorite places to stray to when running a kingdom become too heavy a burden. In turn, Acxa spoke of her father’s ventures as a tradesman and of the cute space mice.

“Oh! You’ll have to show me one day.” The princess gushed. The way her eyes lit up almost caused Acdxa to forget the orb’s warning.

“I would love to show you them.” Acxa said as the half hour bell chimed.

“Can I?” Allura asked, her fingers traced over Acxa’s glass helm.

Acxa didn’t know what she was asking until she began lifting the helm. Acxxa curled her fingers around her slender wrists. The bell chimed again and that tiem Acxa jerked and sprung to her feet. Her sudden movement caused the glass helm to fall to the floor. She heard it crack but she had no time to be embarrassed, much less to mourn the semi-shatter of her beautiful helmet. She didn’t stop to pick it up.

“Wait!” Allura’s calls grew distant as she sought out her craft. “I’m sorry! I thought that you wouldn’t mind.”

Acxa’s mind spun, through her jumbled thoughts, she felt horrible for departing so hastily and without explanation. She couldn’t even say why she was so eager to get home when there had been a perfect chance to find freedom from it and from her tormentors. She took a moment of pause, considering letting the system shut down. But she couldn’t imagine that Allura would be captured by her scruffy and unkempt appearance. She wished that she hadn’t looked back. Allura stood in the vacant spot where Acxa’s craft had been, with her head hanging low.

By the time she made it home she was in rags again and her craft crumbled into trinkets and spare parts. There was no glamor in that house. It was empty and silent.

.oOo.

“She is smitten with you.” Acxa’s stepmother says to her eldest daughter. “You are going to be a royal”

It was all Acxa hard in the next several days.

“She’s smitten with a stranger.” The youngest scowled.

“Who abandoned her.” The stepmother reassured. “I can’t imagine she still has any love for the stranger.

Acxa’s eyes burned with tears for her lost opportunity and chance at love. Confined to her room for disopadiance and negligence of her duties, she was only able to get snippets of rumors regarding her rude departure. From them, she assumed that the princess must not think fondly of her anymore.

She thought it cruel that she had been given a taste of freedom, at what life could have been, only to have it so rudely yanked away from her.

“The princess is trying to find the stranger.” The youngest informed glumly.

“Then your sister shall try on the helm and insist that it is hers.

Acxa bunched her fists.

“She should be here soon, so get yourself ready, Ethnor.” Ethnor nodded. “Dress yourself well.” She turned to Acxa. “And you keep out of sight. We can’t have anything unsightly just prancing about.” Her demand came just shy of a knock at the door. The Galra woman cursed. “Stick to the kitchen she hissed. “And keep your ugly, half-breed mouth shut.”

Acxa sighed. “As you wish, mother. The word sat ill on her tongue.

The girl made her way to the kitchen as the door opened.

“Good evening princess!” Her stepmother greeted her with a false sweetness. It sickened and unsettled Acxa. She yearned to scowl and out the woman for the beast she was. And what was stopping her? Decidedly, she was a coward.

“Oh thank you, princess! I didn’t think that I’d find it again!” Ethnor exclaimed. She could practically see her fitting the helm over her bulbous head. A moment’s pause. Following it was a forced and gritted toothed, “I can’t get it on.”

“She is not my love.” Allura declared.

A warm tingle of hope swelled in Acxa’s chest.

“Give her a moment.” Her step mother hissed. And then, “are you sure that that’s not your sister’s? Give Ragna her helm back.”

Acxa couldn’t hold back a small snicker as she listened to the girl struggle. Her embarrassing predicament gave Acxa just enough courage to step forward. She lingered in the doorway fighting her brain for words. They didn’t come so she only stood there dumbly.

“Who is that?” Allura asks.

“Oh that’s just Cinder.” Ragna dismissed. “Our servant.”

Acxa bit her lip. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.” She said at last.

“Again?” Her step mother asked.

Acxa nodded and reached for the cracked helm. “May I?”

“Please.” Allura said as her stepmother cried, “absolutely not.”

Acxa closed her eyes and pulled the helm over her head.

Allura looked as cheery as her step family looked outraged. But that time they had no power to act on their simmering wrath. Acxa stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the small princess, taking comfort in her warmth. “I apologize for leaving so abruptly, I had to make it back home before they did.”

Allura nods. “It’s alright. But a goodbye would be nice next time.”

“If you will…” She stammered. “If you will have me back at the castle, you won't’ have to worry about a next time.”

[heyyyharry]

Halloween Special: Bugs and Hisses (Part 1)

(from the Flatmate!Harry Series)

…in which Harry and Y/N are invited to a Halloween party, but they don’t arrive together (first Halloween as flatmates).

This takes place somewhere after Hand in Hand, Harry and Y/N are not yet together. This chapter is a Halloween Special so it’s a bit long that’s why I split it into two parts! ;)

Warning: mention of smut and nothing else but fluff

So a bit of rambling here but I was watching Reign and there was this character called Olivia who had a sexual relationship with Queen Mary’s fiancé — Prince Francis. She came back after years away from him then plotted to break up him and Mary. I don’t know who wrote that tv series but we sure share a same piece of mind! Anyway, you may now proceed.

.

There’s only one week left until Halloween and Y/N has been waiting for that day from the first of October. Harry has been complaining about the creepy skeleton in their living room which an old neighbor left for them when she moved away. Y/N placed it there not only to give their flat some Halloween vibe but also to scare the kids who come trick-or-treating. However, all it’s done so far is scaring the shit out of Harry whenever he comes home late.

“I should carry around with me a piece of paper saying ‘Y/N did it’ in case I die from a heart attack someday,” he tells her as he walks out from the kitchen with his coffee mug and joins her on the sofa.

“How do you get scared every single time even though you know it’s fake?” She asks while scrolling through Netflix on her laptop.

Harry squints his eyes at her in response. “You know those Halloween movies where a character approaches a ghost thinking it’s either decoration or a man in a costume, only to find out it’s really a ghost? Yeah that’s not gonna be me.”

Y/N stares at her flatmate in disbelief for a couple seconds before shaking her head and telling him, “you know what? Sometimes you’re just weird.”

“Thank you, baby.” He grins and brings the mug to his lips. And despite knowing he’s only joking with the nickname, Y/N cannot help but smile to herself.

She’s had a crush on him for a while now. Ironically she used to think he would be the last person she would fall for, but here she is, heart-eyes for her annoying flatmate no matter what he does or says.

People may see Harry as a tough guy who’s hard to approach, she knows he cries watching The Notebook every single time. They assume he doesn’t care about anyone else but himself, she knows he keeps a photo of his mum and sister in his wallet. They think he’s all about parties and one-night-stands, she knows he likes candles and homemade meals and staying in with a book on a rainy day. But then again, she also knows, no matter how much she thinks she knows him, she’s never going to be the girl he ends up with.

“Have you heard of Alex’s Halloween party?” Harry asks, receiving a nod from Y/N.

“Yeah, I’ve been invited actually.”

“Wait, really?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, I didn’t know you were friends with Alex.”

“Why? Just because he’s popular?”

“No, because the guy’s a dick, and you’re—” Harry pauses then suddenly clears his throat and changes the subject, “anyway, are you coming?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Harry’s trying his best not to sound too disappointed, because he doesn’t want her to know he’s secretly wanting them to go together, not as a date, but kind of like a date.

“I promised Jamie I’d take him trick-or-treating that night.”

Harry raises an eyebrow at the girl. “Seriously? You’re going to babysit on Halloween? Where’s his mum?”

“She’s got a date.”

“You’re gonna sacrifice your night-out so our upstairs neighbor can go on a date?” He puts one hand on her shoulder and looking at her deep in the eyes, trying not to laugh. “Y/N, you’re not Halloween’s Santa Claus.”

Y/N shrugs his hand off her and rolls her eyes, resulting in a smirk on Harry’s face as he realizes she rolls her eyes at lot when talking to him. “I barely know anyone at the party. Alex only invited me because I helped him with his essay, and you don’t count because you never act like you know me in public.”

Harry breathes out a laugh as he hears her then rises from the sofa.

“Alright,” he says. “It’s your loss then.”

As Y/N shifts her attention back to her laptop screen, Harry brings his empty mug back to the kitchen, frowning when he turns away from her.

She wasn’t wrong when she said he never acted like he knew her, but that’s because he didn’t like her back then. Now, though he hates to admit it even to himself, he certainly likes her more than she may want him to.

...

Y/N suggests hiding their costumes from each other until Halloween night because she likes surprises. Harry doesn’t object to it but he hates that idea. He's dying to know what she’s going to wear because if she goes out wearing something too revealing, consider himself dead. It’s frustrating enough for him to get inappropriate thoughts about her once in a while, he doesn’t want to worry about others thinking about her the same way he does!

Well, lucky for him, Y/N chooses to stay true to who she is even on Halloween. When that night comes, she steps out from her bedroom in her costume, which is a long-sleeved, plain white dress, paired with a headband to which attached a halo made of feathers. Harry has never felt more relieved to see the safe length of the dress.

“Guess who I’m supposed to be!” She smiles cheerfully at him, putting her hands on her hips and playfully strikes a pose for her flatmate to get a better look of her appearance.

"A ghost?” Harry chuckles and Y/N huffs at his response. 

“An angel! There’s literally a fake halo above my head!”

“Then where are your wings?” 

“This is a low budget costume, I can’t afford a pair of wings.” 

The way Y/N’s squinting her eyes at Harry makes his smile grow a little too big. She’s so adorable, so precious that he wants to comment something cheesy like ‘with or without all this, you’re still an angel’, but since they’re barely friends, he can’t say weird stuff like that, can he?

“What are you supposed to be?” she finally asks, gawking at him from head to toes. 

He just looks so damn good in that white shirt with the suspenders and corduroy pants, and she also likes how his hair is all pushed back. It doesn’t matter who he’s dressed as, she’s already melting.

“Jack Dawson from Titanic,” Harry answers with a smug on his face. “I’ve been told I resemble young Leo.”

“How could they disrespect Leo like that?” Y/N scoffs, making Harry drop his jaw.

“Angels don’t mock their flatmates every chance they get! No wonder you’ve got no wings!”

“You deserved it for calling me a ghost!” Y/N flips her hair in a playful way, resulting a smirk upon Harry’s lips as she grabs her bag and heads to the door. “I gotta go now. Shouldn’t you already be on your way to the party?”

“I’m waiting for a friend.”

“Oh you’re going with Niall?”

“Uh...yeah, Niall.” He presses his lips into a small smile, already regretting agreeing to go with this girl Niall set him up with, but his flatmate does not need to know.

“Okay, have fun then!” Y/N opens the door and waves at him before she leaves. “And bring your key please! If you come home at 2AM and bang on the door, I’ll let you sleep in the hallway!”

“You will never get your wings with that attitude!” Harry shouts out, then quickly catches a glimpse of a secret smile on her face before the door is shut between them. That smile alone can keep him grinning at the entrance like an idiot, even a moment after she’s already gone.

...

“Thank you for looking after Jamie, Y/N.”

“No biggie.” Y/N smiles as she returns the little boy back to his mum then checks the watch on her wrist, it’s now 9PM, still too early for her to call it a night but already too late for her trick-or-treat companion. Jamie says goodbye to his babysitter then listens to his mum and goes to his room to change.

"How’s your date?” Y/N asks the young mum after his son’s left. She cannot help but stare at this woman’s sexy nurse costume, which is quite PG-13 for her six-year-old son, Y/N thinks to herself, but she won’t say that out loud of course.

“He was hot until he opened his mouth.” The woman rolls her eyes and leans a shoulder against the door. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?”

“The boy you brought here? The one you were handcuffed to?”

“Oh.” Y/N breathes out a laugh, and for some reason doesn’t bother to correct the lady’s false assumption. “He’s out with his friends.”

“And left you on your own on Halloween night when everyone out there is having sex?!”

Y/N immediately lowers her voice just in case Jamie can hear them. “Everyone’s having sex on Halloween night?”

“People tend to have lots of sex on special occasions, like New Year’s Eve, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, Easter...”

Y/N widens her eyes.

“Aaaanyway, go get your man if you don’t want him to stick his dick in a random hole like my ex-husband did! That son of a bitch!” The young mum looks at the ceiling and heaves a sigh before turning back to the girl. “But make sure you’ve got the key before using those handcuffs again. Safety first, young lady!”

Y/N has to hold back her laughter as she thanks her upstairs neighbor for the ‘useful’ advice before heading back to the lift. Suddenly, a soft little voice stops her immediately.

“Y/N! Wait!”

Jamie runs past his mother toward Y/N, carrying his trick-or-treat bag. The boy hands it to her with both hands with a lovely smile on his face as he says, “here, have some more of my sweets!” 

The offer catches Y/N by surprise, she shakes her head fast. “No, no, you keep them all, I’ve got a bunch already, remember?”

“These aren’t all for you. Share them with Harry!”

“You remember Harry?” Y/N giggles as she accepts the bag from the kid who nods his head.

“Yeah and I miss him. You should bring him here next time and we can play good cop, bad cop again!” Jamie bounces on his feet and swings his arms in excitement. So as not to disappoint the boy, Y/N gives him her word, that she’ll bring Harry the next time she comes over to babysit him. 

“Wait, wait, there’s a card inside too! Open it!”

“A card?” Y/N chuckles as she searches through the bag and finds a colorful Halloween card, inside of which are a few simple words written in a six-year-old’s messy handwriting.

Happy Halloween! 

Bugs and Hisses, Jamie.

“Aww, thank you, J! I love this a lot, and I’m sure Harry will too!” Y/N replies and bends down to kiss the boy on the forehead, telling him goodnight, and also goodbye.

Now Y/N hopes she can make it on time to see her flatmate before Halloween is over and before Harry ends up in the warm bed of another girl.

...

Y/N takes an Uber to Alex’s place, which is a bit far from where she lives. It takes more than a fourty-five-minute drive to get there, all for this boy she likes so much who probably doesn’t even consider her as his friend! Thinking about that makes Y/N feel so stupid. 

Does she regret it? Yes. 

Does she still want to go? Definitely!

Normally she never shows up alone at a loud and crowded place, to be surrounded by people she doesn’t know. Call her boring or whatsoever, but she would prefer to stay in her comfort zone. That is why the moment Y/N opens the door to Alex’s flat, and is greeted by the deafening music and a room packed with sweaty and drunk people, her whole body stiffens all at once. 

It’s still not too late to walk out and go home then finish her night curled up in her bed enjoying a horror movies marathon. However, that’s not the option she’s going for tonight. She chooses to enter instead, pushing her way through the crowd to search for a familiar face and figure.

Then, she finds him at last. 

He’s just not alone.

Harry’s standing in the corner, pressing up against a girl in a tiny leopard print dress. His mouth is attached to hers, his eyes are closed as he’s enjoying the heated kiss like nothing else matters. The way his fingers dance across the skin of the girl’s thighs make Y/N feel so uncomfortable. 

She turns away, but she doesn’t want to leave. She would just be sad on the quiet drive back home so she might as well just be sad now in a room surrounded by other people and plenty of alcohol.

Y/N marches the counter at the back of the room where they keep the liquor then pours herself a glass, then stands with her back against the wall, watching drunk people making out, dancing like lunatics, and doing things they’re sure gonna regret when the morning comes. Then she feels thankful she’s not one of them.

“Well, well, well, looks who’s here!”

It’s going to be a lie if she says she’s not happy to hear his voice, but considering what she’s seen back there, Y/N does not wish to look at Harry’s face at the moment.

“Came all the way here for trick-or-treating?” he jokes and comes to stand beside her, leaning his back against the wall as well.

She just scoffs without looking at him. “Why are you here talking to me?”

“Because you’re standing alone? I deserve a thank you.”

She doesn’t reply. Harry starts to feel something is off because there’s only one explanation for her to act so coldly toward him and that is — he must have done something wrong.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” he says to her.

“I thought you came with Niall.” She shrugs and turns to look at him at last. “Who’s your date?”

“I don’t have a date.”

“You were sucking on her tongue a minute ago?”

“What? Are you jealous or something?”

“You wish!” Y/N snorts and crosses her arms in front of her chest, the thing she always does whenever she gets defensive. “I came because you sounded like you wanted me to. But here I am, alone at the back of the room as I expected.”

“I’m here with you now, aren’t I?” He playfully nudges her with his elbow but her expression stays unpleasant. “She’s not my date, I don’t even know her name!”

“Hey Harry!” Niall suddenly approaches the flatmates and he looks so stunned to see Y/N as well. “Why is Y/N here? I thought you came with Clarissa?”

“Ooooh, right, her name is Clarissa! See? I can’t even remember her name!” Harry fakes a nervous laugh but Y/N is not very amused with his lie. She brings the glass to her lips and gulps down the alcohol like it’s the only thing that keeps her sane at the moment. Niall and Harry exchange looks, neither dares to say a single word.

Then comes another one of Harry’s friends whom Y/N does not know, but let’s be real, Harry is probably friends with most of the people here.

“Hey guys, the party’s getting boring, let’s go!” the guy says in delight as he rubs his palms together. “Trix is sick, she cannot join us now we need another person.”

“Louis, how about Harry’s girlfriend?” Niall speaks up as he grabs Y/N by the arms and pushes her forward, toward this Louis guy. The seemingly older boy stares at the girl then his friend Harry, his eyes full of doubt.

“This is your girlfriend, Harold?”

“No!” Harry and Y/N deny at the same time.

“Okay then...” Louis squints his eyes and looks at Niall who secretly gives him a nod to confirm Harry’s and Y/N’s non-existent romantic relationship, as a result receives a death glare from Harry.

“Alright so now there are six of you, perfect, let’s go!” Louis says and turns to leave but Y/N’s hesitation stops him.

“Wait, go where?!” Is everybody here high or something? She thinks to herself.

“Wait for us in the car, I’ll explain it to her,” Harry tells his two friends, who agree and walk away to leave him behind with his bewildered flatmate. 

“Harry, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, it’s just a fun Halloween tradition our group came up with for Halloween.”

“Oh my God!” Y/N covers her mouth to hold back a loud gasp as she gazes at him with cow eyes. “Are...Are you in a cult?!”

“What?” Harry laughs quietly. He has a love/hate relationship with Y/N’s worst assumptions whenever she freaks out. “No, Y/N, we’re not.”

The answer makes Y/N sigh in relief and Harry can only think about how much he wants to kiss her because she looks so cute under this lighting. Still he has to shake off that thought, now is the least appropriate.

“Last year Niall suggested that it would be fun to do something scary on Halloween, so he came up with the idea that one person would dare the rest of us to do a challenge and the winner or winners would receive a prize from the host. Last year Niall made us do a scavenger hunt in a cemetery. This year it’s Louis’ turn to come up with the challenge. Don’t worry, love, it’s all safe.”

“What is the challenge this year?”

“I don’t know, you have to get to the destination to find out.”

“Then how do you know it’s safe?!”

“It is! Trust me,” Harry chuckles and reaches out to grab her hand. “I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. You’ve got to trust me.”

His voice sounds so soothing, it makes her wonder if he really does care about her or he just wants her participation in this because they’re missing one member, either way, it works. She cannot say no when he’s giving her that look and holding her hand so gently.

Eventually, Y/N nods her head, receiving a smile from her flatmate in return.

“If I die tonight, I’ll become a ghost and haunt you for the rest of your life.”

Her warning leaves a grin on his face. “Good. You’re already dressed like a ghost.”

“You must think you’re funny but you’re not.” Y/N glares at him as they head to the front door. 

She’s too worried about this game with his group of friends to notice that he’s still holding her hand. Harry, on the other note, is well aware of that, still he’s very much enjoying it, and he just can’t wait to show her the real fun of Halloween.

PART 2

[spirantization]

Self promo fic meme

Rules:  Post the first line of your last 10 published fics, then tag 10 people. 

Tagged by @shinyopals like two weeks ago BUT I WAS BUSY THEN!!! So I’m doing it now.

In reverse chronological order:

1. 666 (Lucifer)- A 666-word fic in which Lucifer tells the truth as usual and Chloe overcompensates a bit.

Everything started out just fine — back to working cases together, trying to mend everything between them — but then someone just had to go and provoke him.

2. Recast Me, Burn Me Clean (Lucifer) - Part 5 of a series. Lucifer makes pancakes, Deckerstar fails spectacularly at dating but the sex is pretty good.

When Chloe awoke the morning after the shooting, the sun was coming through her blinds. She blinked slowly, taking the time to come to herself fully.

3. Ghosts Aren’t Allowed Eggnog (Lucifer) - I watched like one episode of Sabrina and thought it would be fun to put witches in the Lucifer universe. Chloe makes Lucifer wear an ugly Christmas sweater.

“What is this?” Lucifer asked, holding the piece of paper between the very tips of his thumb and index finger. It was red and green and glittery and covered in exclamation marks.

4. The Truth is a Beautiful Thing (Lucifer) - Part 4 of a series. You have no idea the grief this thing gave me BUT features Lucifer teaching Trixie to play the piano.

“Well, this is adorable,” said Ella, looking over Chloe’s shoulder into the conference room. She reached out for the handle and pushed the door open; Chloe twisted and looked to see what she was so intent on.

5. shine outside your halo (Lucifer) - Part 3 of a series. Chloe finds out she’s a miracle. ‘Characters sitting around and talking things out’ is like my default jam.

Lucifer showed up at her apartment one night with a bottle of red wine and a pair of very good steaks, which was her first clue that things were about to go horribly, horribly wrong.

6. Wild Women with Steak Knives (Lucifer) - Part 2 of a series. Group therapy with the devil and a demon.

“Funerals are absurd,” Lucifer proclaimed.

7. You said my name, but the devil came (Lucifer)  - Part 1 of a series. My baby “around the world” fic — large chunks of this were written in airports and the final penthouse scene was written on the floor of a temple.

Chloe had thought she’d had Lucifer Morningstar pretty well figured out.

8. the end came as a cold shock to a pocket full of rocks, to a mouthful of water (Harry Potter) - DARKEST TIMELINE FIC. What happened to everyone in the timeline in Harry Potter and the Cursed Child where Voldemort won. Not cheerful, but really interesting to write.

The end came in the false dawn on the second of May, 1998. Harry Potter, dead. Rubeus Hagrid, dead. Remus Lupin, dead. Minerva McGonagall, dead. Neville Longbottom, dead.

9. Chicken Soup for the Dark Wizard’s Soul (Doctor Who/Harry Potter) - The Tenth Doctor writes self-insert Dumbledore/Grindelwald fic. It is 100% crack but I posted it super seriously under a ff.net account I made specially for it, and I got lots of comments like “this really reminds me of Doctor Who, was it intentional”

The young soldier shuddered against the ground as a plethora of coloured lights streamed overhead, absurd and deathly fireworks against the night sky. He could feel the earth tremor as the spells made their mark and the deafening explosions that seemed to come from everywhere.

10. I don’t have anything else without a) logging into livejournal, or b) opening up some fic that I wrote when I was 15 that got ported to ao3 when that archive shut down, and I’m not about to do either of those things. So instead, here is what I’m working on (or to be more accurate, thinking about without actually writing anything down):

Lucifer - Ella finds out the truth. Ambiguously post-s4 and Boo Normal.

Lucifer - post-s4 continuation that I need to think about some more but: there’s some fighting in hell that forces Lucifer to wear some armour that Chloe is totally gonna be into when she sees it; Michael comes to town; Chloe tries to send love letters to hell

I haven’t been on tumblr much for the last few weeks so I don’t know who has/hasn’t done this. Feel free to do it if you’d like to and tag me so I see it. But why not @whopooh, @ariaadagio, @tarysande, @arlome and anyone else who’d like to join in!

[themoonandotherslikeit]

The Daughter of a Righteous Man- Chapter 16

*SEQUEL TO THE LOOK IN HER EYES*

After her husband is drug to Hell, Ava Winchester and her brother in law Sam try their best to do right by Dean and raise her daughter, only to find that good intentions aren’t always enough. Loving someone isnt always enough.

Chapter Sixteen, Give Me These Moments Back

Dean

"It's here," Bobby said, opening the book. "All the apparitions I've seen have had this mark. Did your pastor, Ava?" He pointed to the mark in the book.

"Yeah, Actually. On his forearm. I saw it when he reached for me,” she said, leaning over Bobby's shoulder to see the mark.

"It's the mark of the witness."

"Witness to what?" She asked, raising her eyebrow.

"The unnatural. They all died in unnatural ways... but they didn't choose to rise. Someone made them. Whenever did this had big plans. It's called the rising of the witnesses. It's to fulfill a prophecy."

"What book did you read this in?" I asked, eyeing him.

A smirk came to Bobby's lips. "Revelations."

"As in the Bible?" Lacey asked, sitting down her coffee.

"That's what I said." He showed the book. "According to this... this isn't good. It's a sign."

"A sign for what?" Sam asked.

"The apocalypse," Bobby replied.

We all looked between each other.

"I thought that ended with Yellow eyes?" I asked.

Bobby shrugged. "I don't have all the answers, Son. All I know is that this is one of the first signs of the biblical apocalypse."

"Like, What? Four horses? Plagues? Judgment day?" Ava asked, her eyebrows coming together.

"Yup," Bobby said, curtly. "The whole nine."

"This is why I don't believe in God. If there's no God, well then bad shit happens to good people and that sucks, but if there is one then what the fuck is he doing? Why do good people get torn apart?" I wanted to hit something, burn something down, curse the sky.

"Well it looks like someone cast the spell to raise them. They picked people that hunters couldn't save, to keep us busy. Fuck." Bobby shook his head.

"What? Damn it! So what do we do?"

Bobby rubbed his face. He looked tired. "There's a spell in here to send them back, and I've got all the stuff at my house. So I guess we have to send them back where they came from."

"Great," I groaned. "So we are going to have to leave the warded house and drive to your house."

"It'll be fine," Ava said, reaching for my hand.

I immediately felt better when her fingers were in mine. "Go ahead and gather up some weapons, I'll meet you at the car," I said nodding to Bobby and Sam. I turned to Ava. "You have to stay here," I whispered my voice low.

"What? The fuck I do." She tried to pull her hand away from mine, but I gripped her fingers tighter.

"Someone has to stay here to protect Nel. You're safe. Nothing should be able to get in, we have this place locked down."

She bit her lip, and looked down. "I don't like it. I just got you back, Dean."

"I know, baby," I whispered, pulling her close. "But we have a solution, and I'll be damned if I add your face to the ones I wasn't able to save."

I held her face in my hands and stared into her blue eyes, worried that she would try to argue, but instead she just kissed me with everything she had. I felt a shock roll down my body as I pulled her closer. "I love you." 

She opened her eyes and kissed me once more. "I'll love you forever. Come back to me, Dean Winchester, or I'll pull you back by your hair, and I promise you won't like that."

I winked at her. "I promise you that I will."

———————————-

Sam and I got in the car. Bobby had already headed to his place to start the spell. "Let's stop the goddamn apocalypse, again." I groaned trying to force a smile, but i was getting too old for this shit.

"They should really name a bench after us."

"At least." I put Baby in gear and started to drive. Bobby's wasn't far, and so I hoped we would be good to go without anymore visitors, but as per usual I was really fucking wrong.

"Hello, Winchesters,” a familiar voice said from the backseat.

I glanced in the rear view mirror to see Ruby. She had her classic long blonde hair, but she wasn't smirking. She didn't look snarky, she just looked disappointed and a little mad. "Ruby," I growled.

Sam looked genuinely surprised as he turned behind him.

"Wrong,” she whistled. "Ruby was the demon possessing me, but I guess you two never really thought about the girl whose skin she was wearing. Isn't that right, Sam?" Her eyes locked with Sams and he shifted uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry."

"That isn't good enough! You let her ride me. You let her use me. She wore my face. Do you know what that's like, Sam? Do you You know what it's like to watch yourself do horrible things and not be able to speak or move? I was screaming inside of my head and it didn't make a lick of difference."

"Sam, use the salt," I said between gritted teeth. I knew what she was doing, and fuck was it working. I felt like the piece of shit she knew I was.

"You both killed me, and even worse than that, is that you waited to kill me until after you let that demon violate me for months." She hissed, scooting closer and closer to Sam. He winced before taking the salt container and splashing it in her face, sending her away.

"Damn I'm going to have to vacuum the back seat now," I grumbled.

Sam sat, staring at the space her spirit used to posses with a tight jaw.

"Sam, there's no sense in dwelling on the past."

"I didn't even think about the woman she was possessing. How fucked up is that?"

"A lot that we deal with is fucked up, but hey man, if God thinks I'm worth saving then I promise you are. You're forgiven, deal with it."

Sam looked at me like I was full of shit, probably because I was.

"You don't even believe in God, Dean."

I shrugged. "So? You do. That's all that matters."

I pulled up to Bobby's place , and we got out of the car, guns loaded with salt rounds.

"Bobby?" I called, pushing through the front door.

"In the library!" He called out.

I took a step and the front door blew shut, Sam and I turned and we were face to face with Jess, Sam's dead fiancé. If this is what Sam's greatest hits brought him, then I was dreading seeing my own.

"Jess," Sam said, his voice shaking with pain.

"I wish I'd never talked to you in art history,” she hissed.

I only had met Jess the once. She was a pretty blonde. She seemed strong, and way out of Sammy's league. She kissed him like Ava kissed me, she loved him.

"Sammy this isn't real."

She appeared in front of him and touched his cheek, slicing it open with her fingernail. "You killed me. I fucking burned because of you. You're worthless."

"Yeah, I'm done with this," I said, shooting a round of rock salt into her stomach, sending her away. "Come on, Sammy. Let's shut the door on the past, shall we?"

He nodded, glumly, not even bothering to wipe the blood off his cheek.

When we got to the library, Bobby was working a spell and simultaneously fighting off a pair of ghostly twins, like the badass he is.

Sam and I brought up our shotguns and unloaded in the little girls, sending them away. "You looked like you could use a hand." I grinned.

"You boys have impeccable timing." He was holding his iron poker in one hand and a bowl of herbs in the other. "Shit." He said as one of the little girls appeared behind him, shoving her ghostly hand into his back.

"Sammy, the book!" I shouted, as I dove for the bowl.

Sam grabbed the book and with one glance he met my eyes. "Throw it into the fire!"

I nodded, and tossed the bowl into the flames. They shot up bright neon blue and Bobby fell to his knees holding his chest. The three of us were alone again. He eyed me. "Like I said. Impeccable timing,” he grumbled.

"I think the words you're looking for are thank you," I said, standing up.

"Idgits,” he said, shaking his head. "What? Is no one going to help me up, or are you two just going to stare?"

Sam snapped out of his trance like state to lean down and give Bobby a hand.

"So, what? Did we stop the apocalypse?" I asked with false hope.

"Not quite,” a voice said behind me. I groaned internally because I recognized it immediately. I turned behind me to see Castiel, still wearing the same dumb trench coat.

"Nice of you to join us," I grumbled.

"Good job with the witnesses."

"Yeah, about that. Where were you? We could've used some angelic assistance. There are a lot of dead hunters. They were good men and women, they didn't deserve this."

"I had other concerns," Castiel said. He almost sounded bored, and it honestly pissed me off.

"I thought you were supposed to be guardians! You know, halos and harps?"

"You haven't read the Bible, have you? We are soldiers, and you aren't the only one who has experienced loss, Dean. Six of my brothers died in battle today." Castiel walked toward me.

Bobby and Sam were shockingly quiet, but maybe it was knowing what he was that kept their traps shut for once.

"You could've at least given us a heads up, ya dick!"

"I pulled you from Hell, and I can put you right back! So you should show me some respect!" He raised his voice, his jaw tight. "I have other priorities. I am not here to perch on your shoulder."

"That's pretty obvious," I said, clasping my fists at my side.

"Lilith is breaking seals, rapidly. We had more than just this one to take care of."

"Seals?" Sam perked up from behind me.

"The sixty-six seals," Castiel said as if we should know what that means. "Think of them as locks. Lilith is trying to unlock them all. The rise of the witnesses were one."

"But we put them back," I said weakly.

"Yes, but they still rose. We will not win every seal. We lost this one. No sense in dwelling."

"And what happens if they're all broken?" Bobby asked.

Castiel stepped closer to me with a look that bore into my soul. "If all sixty-six seals are broken, then Lucifer will walk the earth."

Ava

I watched Dean drive away through the window.

"I can see your dilemma," Lacey said quietly. "He is dreamy."

"He is," I agreed, touching my lips from where he kissed me. I wanted to be with him. There wasn't anything else.

"You don't seem like the kind to stay behind."

"I'm not. Well I wasn't, until I had Nel," I sighed. "There was no time to argue."

"Did you two plan for her?"

"No." I laughed dryly. "There's no way I could've convinced Dean Winchester to have a baby with me."

"He's obviously in love with you, though."

"Yeah." I smiled. "He is. I know he is, but this life is dangerous. He never thought he could have love, let alone a family."

"You sound like you need a glass of wine."

"Try a bottle." I smiled at her.

"Got any in the kitchen?"

I nodded. "Yeah there's a wine rack on the end of the island."

"I'll pour us some,” she said with a smile before she went into the kitchen.

I sighed, happy that Nel was napping good in the back room.

I turned to go into the kitchen and was face to face with the pastor. "Hello detective."

He shouldn't have been able to get into the house, but there he was. I opened my mouth to speak when his first collided with my jaw. I fell backwards, holding it. "Well that wasn't nice."

He lifted his foot quickly, and it connected with my stomach. I fell onto my back, the air getting knocked out of me. When I finally was able to take another deep breath my eyes fluttered open, and I looked into the eyes of Megan, the witch that Dean had to kill. She was the case that tore us apart.

"Wish I could say it was nice to see you again, but..." She kicked my face, her shoe colliding with my teeth and nose. I could feel blood gushing down my face. My vision was growing black at the edges as they both wailed on me.

"Hey, sorry it took me forever to get the cork out. I guess I'm not as classy as you are. I only use screw tops."

I heard the bottle fall, crashing to the ground in an explosion of glass and wine.

"Lacey..." I gasped. "Get the fire poker... iron... salt..." I was struggling to keep conscious, but Lacey was a good cop. I had to believe that she would be okay. That she could tell Dean I loved him.

The blows stopped and Lacey leaned over me. "I hit them with the iron. What now?"

"Get Nel and run," I gasped.

"Don't be stupid,” she whispered.

I could barely see them flicker back in my field of vision. "Behind you," I whispered as they both held knives above Lacey's head.

Just as they were about to lower them they burst into flames, turning to dust in front of us.

"Okay, okay," Lacey said, pulling me into a hug. "Yeah, I definitely believe you."

Sam came through the door thirty minutes later. Lacey was working on cleaning my wounds, and had just went to the bathroom to get more ointment when he unlocked the front door.

"What happened?" He gasped, running to me. He pulled me into his arms. "Hey,” he whispered, his lips to my hair. "Hey you're okay. They're gone."

Something about the way his arms were wrapped around me protectively, like they had been for months, made me lose it. I gripped his shirt, and I sobbed.

Everything I lost came crashing down on me. The people I couldn't save. The part of me that I'd lost forever when I was raped, and again when Dean died. I mourned the girl I was building myself up to be. I cried, and it shook my body, my bruised or possibly broken ribs sending stabbing pains through me.

"Shh,” he whispered, kissing my hair. "I'm here."

I pulled back from him to look into his eyes. "I've lost so much," I whispered. This was the cry I never allowed myself to have. I let myself crack open and all I could hope is that I'd be able to put myself back together.

He held my face and looked at me like he had many times before. His eyes were shinning and his mouth was open slightly. He was breathing hard, and just as I thought he was about to kiss me I heard the door slam.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Sam turned, his hands still on my cheek as he made eye contact with his brother.

"Ava are you okay?" He glanced at me, and all I could do is nod. He rubbed his face and shook his head. "I should've known. I saw your room. Both sides of the bed had been slept on... when she breast fed you didn't bat an eye... the girl you were seeing... it was Ava wasn't it?"

Sam stood up quickly to diffuse the situation.

"Don't deny it, Sam," Dean said before Sam could get a word in.

"We... it was complicated."

Dean closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath before he pulled his arm back, sending his fist to connect with Sams jaw.

Sam fell backwards, and I stood up, gripping my side. "Dean stop!"

"I asked you to protect her! To watch out for her, and you fucked her!"

"It wasn't like that!" I cried out. I noticed Sam wasn't fighting, he just stood back up and let Dean hit him again. "We were a mess."

"I don't want to hear it," Dean snapped. I caught a glimpse of his green eyes, and I was surprised. They were wet, and dull. He wasn't angry. He was in agony. His hands were shaking, and his knuckles bleeding. We looked like a hell of a fucking group.

"I need some space," Dean said shaking his head. He grabbed his keys, and pushed through the door.

"Dean wait!" I took a few steps after him, but Laceys hand on my shoulder stopped me.

"Hey, Ave, let him have some space,” she said gently. "Give him some time to process."

I heard the Impala roar to life and skid away. He left, and again it was all my fucking fault.

—————

Chapter Seventeen, Anna

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[anneapocalypse]

RvB 17.01-17.06

I'm back.

Let's get into it.

Spoilers for episodes 1-6. Crossposted from dreamwidth.

First, why I decided to catch up sooner than expected: I had already decided I was going to need to catch up before RvB Rare Pair Week, which starts May 5 and wherein, no doubt, spoilers will abound. What prompted me to jump back in a few weeks early was one particularly spoiler I ran into on tumblr while checking in for the Rare Pair Week blog—something that made me go, "Huh. Maybe there's a chance they'll fix it." It ate at my curiosity for a few days, and I decided it was time.

I definitely was not ready to watch this season when it started at the beginning of March. I had barely digested season 16, and I couldn't muster much more than a sense of dread for a new season trying to wrap up this arc. I decided it would be better to wait and catch up later.

That was the right decision. Season 17 starts out... rough, and I can guarantee I would not have enjoyed sitting with those first few episodes week to week. But now, having had the opportunity to watch all six thus far at one go, here's where I am with it. I expect to have more thoughts, and probably shift on some things, after I've had time to watch them again and let them settle. These are first thoughts only.

Episode 1 is still terrible. It was very easy to remember why I noped out immediately on this premier and I found myself tensing up as I rewatched it, having to remind myself that it was probably at least uphill from here.

What is Chrovos? If they are an AI, how are they being held in a cage made out of time? What does a paradox even mean in this—no, you know what, fuck it. This plot is Dumb As Rocks and it is not going to make sense and I am accepting that going in.

All I can hope for is some kind of repair to the characterization disasters of last season, and that is what I'm going to be focusing on. I want two things:

I want Wash and Carolina's conflict resolved.

I want better treatment for Tucker.

So here's where we are.

Wash's introduction was painful to watch (I'm so tired of loopy!Wash) but once Donut snapped him out of it? I started to really like what was happening. Wash not only sounding like himself again, but being proactive! And am I actually getting Wash and Donut relationship development in 2019?? Are we going to actually address their history? And despite deep reservations in the first episode, I find I really like what this season is doing with Donut himself. I never thought I'd say this, but I am super on board with where this seems to be going.

I was definitely sitting on nails for the first few episodes where Wash is still angry at Carolina and his whole "I'm never speaking to her again" line physically hurt me. But the whole reason I decided to catch up now was a piece of dialogue I saw on tumblr, and I've never been so happy to be spoiled on anything. Knowing that was coming got me through the rough bits.

We got that resolution. Importantly, not only did Wash resolve things with Carolina, but we dug a little into where his (justified) anger came from. He was angry because he considers Carolina his best friend (STARS IN MY EYES), because he believed they were close enough for her to tell him anything. It felt like a betrayal of that connection to him. What brings him around is understanding where Carolina's mistake came from—how accustomed she is to being alone, having no one to lean on. And in that, he both finds it in his heart to forgive her, and realizes how much having her to lean on means to him.

It's good. It's really good. I feel like I can breathe again.

And Wash himself, once we get past the goofy Schrodinger's Wash, is better written this season than he has been in a very long time. It's so refreshing to see him being proactive, to see him exploring his own history and self-reflecting as he does so. "Is this how Donut feels all the time?" is the best Wash line since season 11.

Also it was a pleasure to see the Triplets again, and their role in helping Wash figure his shit out, brief though it was, was very charming.

For Personal Reasons, I really did not want this story to touch Carolina's lost years after Freelancer, so that is another point at which I was sitting on nails. But they did touch it, and... I don't hate it. After sitting with it for a day, I actually think I like it. Does it joss some headcanons and some things I haven't yet posted for Radio Silence... yeah. But perhaps not so severely as I initially felt. And given that Radio Silence has been my white whale of a fic for several years now, adding a fresh change to it might not be a bad thing. I can live with it. I think I can even work with it.

In fact, in the limitations of machinima that required Carolina to put on Halo 2 armor so that we could bring her to Blood Gulch, I find a headcanon that I love. Even as Carolina re-enlisted under a false identity, trying (probably in vain) to create a new life for herself, she kept her Freelancer armor in storage somewhere. Deep down she knew that Agent Carolina was who she was. That one day she would be Agent Carolina again.

I unequivocally love that and am keeping it.

So, Niner has a name now. It's fine. I'll miss my headcanon name for her a bit but Ash is a fine name and I think it suits her. In general, though, I am of the opinion that they really need to chill out with the Real Names, which have been heavily overused the past few seasons. It's gotten to the point where it feels like they're doing it just to do it, and to me it doesn't have the same impact when people are calling Wash "David" who have no reason to be calling him that. I mentioned last season that I have no problem with Carolina knowing and using Wash's real name, but it's weird for her to use it in front of everyone else when there's no reason any of them would even know it. It feels particularly strange for Donut to be using Wash's real name. And as for Ash... again, it's a fine name, it's just that we didn't need to know that and there isn't actually a good reason why Wash would know that, given that they never use Niner's real name in Freelancer.

My overall assessment of season 17 at the halfway point is... I don't hate it! I actually quite like parts of it. It does feel very much like a Fix-It season, like somebody trying to fix a previous writer's mess, and that much I think was inevitable. I think it also accounts for the exposition dumping in the first few episodes, as it was necessary to get us up to speed on the new rules of the plot so we could follow along (even though it is, again, DUMB AS ROCKS).

Seasons 15 and 16 can't be undone. Some of the damage to characters and relationships and the universe itself is irreparable. But this season is putting in a pretty valiant effort so far to give us resolution without retcon. I think ultimately Wash having his injury undone yet still retaining the memories of last season and choosing to forgive Carolina (rather than simply having the conflict erased) is the best outcome I could hope for. And it gives me hope for what may come.

We've seen little of Tucker so far, and he remains one of the few who hasn't yet remembered the future. I'm hoping that's not an accident, and that it's building to some good character moments and growth for Tucker. Not to erase last season, but to build something better on top of it, to give his character some decent treatment.

I do hope they manage to save Doc also, and maybe we even get some resolution with him as well.

I don't hate it.

Six episodes left, and I'm here for the ride.

[dropletsofink]

“This city will go down in flames”

[An Ace of Shades Fanfiction]

Gabrielle Dondelair’s footsteps thundered against the unevenly-paved streets, gulping ragged breaths as she looked over her shoulder. The flashing neon lights were near-blinding. The whiteboots were catching up fast, and she didn’t know if she could make if away from here in one piece.

Or, more appropriately, alive.

She turned a corner into a dark alleyway and scrambled over a low-lying brick wall, slipping as her hands shook from the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She streaked through the darkness, cradling her stomach, the faint wailing of the siren’s growing louder by the second. The bump wasn’t yet prominent, but it was enough. She knew she had to be careful, but with the thrill and sheer terror of the chase, that didn’t seem at all possible.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the capitol building. Flames licked up the sides, surrounding it in a fiery halo that stood stark against the cloudy night sky. The firefighters were doing their best to smother the blaze, but it just climbed higher and higher, red gold and amber dominating the New Reynes skyline. Good, she thought, that way, they won’t be able to hide it.

Why she’d done it, Gabrielle hadn’t told anyone. Not even Lourdes, who she trusted with her own life.

Lourdes. She felt a pang at the thought of her friend. By doing this, setting the fire, Gabrielle hadn’t only put herself and her baby at the mercy of the Phoenix Club, but Lourdes also. She’d be the first one they suspected, what with her background, and Gabrielle only hoped that one day Lourdes would have it in her heart to forgive her.

But it had to be done. There was no other way.

All other doubts were momentarily ripped away as she turned another street, and found the whiteboots blockading it. She cursed and slipped on some foul-smelling substance, before retreating from where she came from. But not before she heard a bark, and then a yell. “After her!” They cried.

Muck, was all she could think before she vaulted over a stack of crates onto a shaky roof. As nimbly as she could, she jumped across the washing lines connecting the square-shaped houses together, when a thought struck her. She was struck with a sudden thought.

Well, if they’re going to insist on being this way, I might as well have some fun.

A wicked grin slashed at her face as she jumped onto a particularly long line, bent her legs and braced her core, before somersaulting expertly onto a higher roof. No matter how scared or helpless she felt, she needed to keep a confident appearance. That was the first thing that she’d been taught.

More bounding than running now, she whooped and cheered as she leapt from house to house, ascending gradually, until she was almost eye level with the blaze.

It stopped her cold, and for a split-second she thought, There were people in there. They couldn’t have all gotten out. I-

Shaky rattling from behind her. Someone was trying to scale the pipes. Well, there was no time for guilt, not now. That would come later. When she survived.

If she survived.

Gabrielle continued her performance, swinging and twirling around the rusted pipework on the roof, executing perfect dives and leaps and landing neatly on her toes, just as she had learned. All the while, she was careful to keep the distance between herself and the whiteboots. She knew, even back then, that her talents would one day serve for something greater than just prancing around on a stage in front of half-conscious morons.

She even had the audacity to peer over a rooftop and call out at the whiteboot captain, waving out cheerfully as if she were simply greeting him on a fine day. Even from such a height, she could see his face contort, and suppressed a giggle before vanishing into the night.

I am a Dondelair, she chanted silently, I will not fall to the likes of those fools. I was built for the stage, and if they want a show, I’ll give them one they’ll never forget.

At this height, the whole of New Reynes was laid out before her. The lights were a blur as she continued to run, but it was all so beautiful. It was all hers. She could take it all if she wished, all while smiling sweetly at the faces of her supposed superiors. She’d dodged the law all her life, landed herself in one mess after another, always escaped with sheer devil’s luck and her own brilliant cunning, and now was being chased by practically all of the whiteboots in New Reynes. Soaring through the dark, she felt as if she could do anything. The sky wasn’t her limit; for she had almost reached the stars.

All too suddenly, she felt the rust crack and splinter beneath her fingertips. One moment she was poised in a handstand on a protruding metal frame, the next, she was free-falling, tumbling from the sky in a whirl of skirts and flowing, light hair.

She felt her body slam against a tilted roof, her right leg taking the brunt of the damage as she curled to protect her stomach. Her vision swam.

It took her moments to regain her focus, with the wind tearing through her eyes. Almost instinctively, she flung out an arm and caught a rogue metal beam, fifteen storeys above the ground, and swung around it until she let go and plummeted again, this time with more control.

Her feet glanced at the side of the apartment building, as if she was walking down it, before she suddenly pushed off with both her legs, tucking her body into a neat ball and landing with a flourish in yet another dark alley.

It wasn’t until Gabrielle moved again that she felt a lightning flash of pain up her right leg. She must have sprained it when she fell.

How am I going to run now?

As if in response, both sides of the alley suddenly flashed red, the whiteboot’s cars blocking her in from both sides. She saw the men approach her, guns drawn and aimed. She could have scaled the wall had her leg not have been broken, but now, the only ways out of here were sealed.

She was trapped.

“Well, well. Looks like the fairy’s wings have been clipped.” Malcolm Semper, Father of the Revolution, stepped out of the building’s shadow and stood in front of her. She felt her fists itch to punch that self-satisfied smile off his face.

Gabrielle gritted her teeth but grinned, “Are you going to kill me here? I expected more of a...public execution.”

The red lights cast garish shadows on his face, only intensified by the leer he wore. “Oh, no, my dear. We have much greater plans for you. You seem to think yourself invincible? Well, how about a chance to prove you’re not all just talk.”

She faltered, but said nothing. It couldn’t be-

“That’s right, Gabrielle Dondelair. The Shadow Game.” He said, voice dangerously soft, yet deafening against the sirens shrieking behind him.

She froze. The Shadow Game was impossible, unwinnable, anyone who played was crushed out of existence, eliminated by the Phoenix Club.

And yet, the capitol building was the most closely guarded in the whole of New Reynes. But now it was nothing more than a dying skeleton beneath the inferno of her making.

If there was anyone who could win the Shadow Game, it was Gabrielle Dondelair.

She forced down her rising panic and drew to her full height, folding her arms and planting her feet into the ground. Her smile grew feline, in a false show of confidence. The Chancellor couldn’t know she was scared. “Very well, Chancellor. I accept your challenge. If you win, you will kill me. If I win, you let me go free, and pardon all of my past, current and future actions.”

Semper’s leer receded. “You propose very high stakes.”

A sonorous laugh. “It’s New Reynes, Semper. Of course the stakes will be high. And besides, The Shadow Game is undefeatable. Surely you wouldn’t have a problem with my terms.” She replied with a mocking tone and a feigned undercurrent of steel.

“Very well.” He eventually replied, “If we win, justice will be served. And if you...win, we will let you walk out unharmed.”

“Deal.” She cut back.

Just as the whiteboots bound her hands behind her back and forced her to kneel, she looked up at him with her signature wicked smile. “And Chancellor?”

He turned to her, still sneering. She was sick of him, and of all of the power he’d taken for himself uncaring for those beneath him.

“By the time I’m done, New Reynes will be gone. This city will go down in flames, and you’ll burn along with it.”

Gabrielle was forced into an awaiting car, but not before she saw Semper’s sneer disappear, replaced by a look of pure and undiluted hatred.

…

Five months later

A figure slipped past the sleeping guards, silent as a wraith, and snuck through the empty halls. The prison was definitely built for secrecy, but with her contacts, it wasn’t the hardest to find. She just needed to find what she was looking for…

There it was. A moving bundle of cloth, next to a pair of worn leather boots.

No-one saw Lourdes’ cloaked figure as she slipped through the bars and snatched the crying, purple-eyed child. She lingered for a moment outside the prison, heavy with the shades of all the incarcerated criminals, and then looked down at the child in her arms. The child that was so innocent and unknowing of the corruption that seeped into the very bones of the city.

The child that she would protect, at any cost.