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lucyintheskywithxanax · 3 years

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Different Kinds of Falls

Request : autumn themed + underwear store with Wilhemina

A/N: @blacksmokieee25 since you’re probably not going to bed until the sun rises, I’m posting this now. Happy birthday lovely ^^ I tried lacing together your two requests and came up with this weird, vignette fic that I hope you’ll like. I hope your 23rd year will bring you love and happiness. I’m very glad I know you xx

Warnings: a tiny little bit of smut and a lot of bad English

Word count: ≃ 4 600

She was like a princess in a fairytale, trapped in a tower and waiting for someone to save her from isolation. Except no one had come. She would have to do the saving herself.

But she was too tired, she protested. She couldn’t do the saving. She said, Because to save someone, you have to think they are worthy, you have to love them at least a little. And the dragon keeping me prisoner – that dragon is me. I cannot save myself for I do not think I’m worthy.

All this of course she didn’t say. You thought it yourself, as you lay in bed watching her, the sheet pulled up high so she could hide herself – she wouldn’t say she’s hiding, she would say she’s cold. You had been reading The Island of Doctor Moreau next to her, a little appalled, a little sleepy, until you had come upon one sentence and stopped. Now you stood watching her as the sentence played in your head like a record spinning again and again.

The Thing that bled and ran screaming and sobbing – that is dead, too.

Wilhemina felt your gaze on her and glanced at you, looking as if she couldn’t quite believe she had allowed you to lie half naked in her bed like that. She looked a little fierce, you thought, a little too mean for a lover. She looked like she didn’t quite know how to let herself be loved.

You gave her a smile and ran one finger down her cheek, along her jaw to her chin, down her neck. Wilhemina’s brow furrowed, shoulders tensing as your finger reached the collar of her nightdress.

Will you let me see you naked? you wanted to ask, just a whisper so as not to scare her.

Of course you didn’t.

You wouldn’t make a good hero, you thought. You would make a terrible knight. The one who always runs away first, who says bad jokes to make up for her cowardice and her overwhelming fear of love.

You would take one look at the dragon and leave the princess in her tower.

The Thing that bled and ran screaming and sobbing – that is thriving, too.

But consider, you thought, as Wilhemina, still frowning, leaned in to plant a kiss on your lips: what if you saw the princess before you saw the dragon. What if the princess saw you. Doesn’t love make the lovers brave?

Wilhemina’s kisses were often clumsy. They were always terrified, that this kiss would be the last, that after it would only come the bite of her own teeth and the burn of her tears. Her fingers slid behind your neck and clutched your hair. She pressed herself against you.

As you guided her head to your neck and closed your eyes, you slipped your hand under her nightdress to feel the skin of her shoulder. Brave? Or stupid? Wilhemina’s breath hitched.

She pressed herself deeper into you.

The Thing that bled and ran screaming and sobbing – that is dying, too.

“It’s alright,” you tried, both hands held up, wide eyes quickly shifting from Wilhemina’s face to the fragments of glass on the floor and her bare feet. “Be careful, I can take care of it.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” she snapped. Her hand was pressed against her chest, fingers clutching the towel wrapped around her body as if it were the last remaining piece of her broken armor.

You winced.

“It’s alright,” you tried again. “I –”

“Get out!”

You met her eyes again, wide with fear and fury because you had walked into the bedroom as she was getting dressed, and you had almost seen her, and in her hurry to hide from you she had knocked over the vase with the flowers that she had bought for you three days ago.

“Mina – ”

“Y/N if you do not get out of my sight in the next two seconds I will hurt you.” Voice breaking, hands shaking.

Still you hesitated.

Wilhemina grabbed a pillow – the beside lamp was nearer – and threw it at you.

“GET OUT!”

She never screamed. It was that scream that made you obey.

You stood behind the closed door and listened as she cried.

She didn’t believe that you could love her. And yet she felt it, in the way you kissed her, and she saw it shining in your eyes, and in your smile, and she heard it in your voice too. So she tried to find an explanation. You were lonely, in need of company, and a good actress. You were smitten and infatuation blinded you but it wouldn’t last. You were an angel. You had taken pity on her.

She couldn’t find a reason. Some nights it made her so angry she felt like smashing all your things or – even better – destroying herself. She wanted to hurt you and to pull the truth out of your throat so she would understand why and how you were smiling at her like that.

She didn’t believe that you would stay and she didn’t understand why you were here in the first place, but she found that she rather liked your presence. Loved. So she fought against her impulse to be mean and agreed to sometimes share a few things with you; things that lived at the surface, not the big, the dark, the important things that lived deep within her – there was no point sharing those. She hid those and she hid her shame so maybe you would stay a little longer than you had planned.

It was selfish, she knew it. But she was way past selfishness.

You met her on a Saturday afternoon. It was the fall and outside the leaves were falling.

You were scrolling on your phone as you sat, bored, on a chair by the fitting rooms, waiting for your roommate who was trying on the new sexy underwear she’d need in case she successfully seduced the boy who had just moved in next door.

You were distracted by an unfamiliar sound, and looked up just as a woman walked in, supporting herself on a cane and looking as if she owned the whole world. It seemed to you even her nostrils flared a little, in outrage that some servant hadn’t sprayed myrrh or sandal wood in the air to celebrate her arrival.

You eyed her as she passed you, and quickly lowered your gaze as hers met yours. Her eyes were dark. Cold. Glazed.

This woman is scared, you thought, without knowing where the thought came from. She’s terrified.

Just as you were glancing up at her again, your roommate burst out from her fitting room with her arms thrown up in triumph and crashed right into the woman.

The shock sent her stumbling backwards, until her legs bumped into your knees and she fell onto your lap.

Instinctively your hands fell on either side of her waist to steady her, and you felt her flinch and tense up.

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped.

And already she was pushing herself up onto her feet, and you sat as if petrified on your chair, your cheeks flushed, your hands still held up, the reminder of how she had felt burning low right under your skin.

Your roommate immediately walked up to the woman with an apologetic expression on her face and one hand raised as if to touch her shoulder, but she was stopped by the loud, threatening noise of her cane hitting the ground.

The sudden noise broke the trance you had fallen into. You jumped, remembered where you were, became aware that your roommate was wearing a low-cut black lace nightdress that barely hid her body. And the woman was staring at her with anger burning like a low fire in her eyes, but the rest of her face was completely blank, unreadable, terrible.

Your roommate cleared her throat, and decided her safest option was to ignore her. She turned to you, opened her arms and asked in a voice which, to her credit, barely shook at all: “How do I look?”

“Horrendous,” the woman said, her voice quiet and low but laced with contempt and mockery.

What happened next you saw as a movie on a big screen. It felt unreal, somehow, but most of all it felt scripted; part of you already knew exactly what your role would be. It didn’t ask for your approval. It just happened.

Your roommate turned back towards the woman, fists clenching and eyes shining. “Excuse me?” she said, not quiet as the woman had, but loud, and angry.

The woman smirked. “I said,” she answered, still as slowly, “you look horrendous.”

“Then why don’t you try it on and we’ll see if you look any better!” your roommate nearly screamed.

Your gaze was riveted on the woman’s face, and you saw something uneasy flicker in her eyes.

Your roommate saw it, too. Her confidence flared up.

“Come on,” she laughed, taking one step forward. “Go get one your size and put it on I dare you.”

At that exact moment a vendor walked in, alerted by the noise, to peer curiously at the scene. The woman quickly scanned his face, assessing danger.

“Do you ladies need anything?” the vendor asked.

“Yes,” your roommate roared, “another nightdress and then stay with us, you can be our judge, you can decide if she looks any better than me wearing it.”

“I think you look very good,” the vendor said to your roommate politely.

“Ah!” your roommate exulted, turning to the woman again, her eyes burning their way down to rest on her cane, and then up again to sneer, her face shining with the certainty of her triumph.

That was when, as was scripted, you stood up. You didn’t become aware of your action until your roommate glanced curiously at you. And then you heard yourself speak, something about decency, about kindness, about you leaving if your roommate was going to be such an ass.

You didn’t know what you were saying. Your roommate’s expressions were your only guide. You saw surprise, and then anger. Her eyes narrowed a little. They told you it would take time for her to forgive such a betrayal.

Later, you would say that surely it had been fate pulling the strings. But back then, all that you knew was your body’s vibrating, burning, coming to life with the reminder of how the woman had felt.

“I didn’t need your help,” Wilhemina – Ms Venable? Wilhemina – snapped a few minutes later, as you walked out of the store together. The air was cold and already smelt of winter.

“Would you like to get a drink?” you heard yourself say.

She let out an incredulous laugh. “Certainly not.” Another laugh, eyes falling on your face, briefly, as if to make sure you were real.

“Does that mean I’ll never see you again?” was what you said next, and you would have blushed at the plea in your voice if you hadn’t been so intent on making her stay.

“We’ve barely talked,” Wilhemina said, face hardening, “why are you so interested in me?”

She was suspicious, wary, ready to jump at your throat. You didn’t know how to explain what was happening to you – the vibrating, the coming to life – without sounding like a complete fool.

“Let me walk you to your car,” you offered.

Wilhemina hesitated. Nodded.

When you reached her car, she stood with her back to the door and you laughed nervously and started rambling about the weather because you didn’t want to see her go just yet. You said how autumn was your favorite season because of all the colors and of all the smells. You said you wanted a life full of falls. You said, Falls as in the season, but also as in falling in love. Here you averted your eyes and felt yourself blush.

It wasn’t you talking. It couldn’t be. It was too bold.

You looked up again and said, Why don’t we go on a walk? and don’t stop, until we’ve found a leaf the exact same color as your hair.

At this very moment the breeze blew into Wilhemina’s eyes a strand of hair that had escaped her impeccable ponytail, and she raised her hand to brush it away, fingers gracefully grazing her skin with just a touch of annoyance, and you thought - Dear Lord, you thought, as one thinks who has just fallen in love.

But you didn’t believe in love at first sight, you reminded yourself. What was it, then? You had seen the dragon and you had seen the princess and they were the same.

But you were no hero. Curiosity? Or your soul whispering to her soul?

But wasn’t that love?

You took a peek. There was inside you the irresistible desire to know everything about her.

You insisted you gave her your number and she accepted it “to get rid of you.”

On the third day after that, she called you.

The full moon had risen a few minutes ago and the night shadows had retreated into the corners, where they lurked. You shifted closer to Wilhemina and nuzzled her neck with your nose.

“I’m sorry about the vase,” she whispered. You hummed. Her hand fell on your head. I’m sorry I snapped at you.

You pulled away to meet her eyes, and traced her brow with your thumb. The moonlight painted her in black and silver.

You trailed your finger over her shoulder and stopped at the collar of her nightdress.

“Will you let me see you?” you asked.

You were not sure you were brave enough to watch. But you asked anyway.

Her eyes met yours again. “Don’t forget the story of Lot’s wife,” she answered. “Orpheus and Eurydice. Medusa.”

You planted a kiss on her cheek.

“What these stories teach me is that everyone looks.”

“And they all die.”

“No. They all turn into something else.”

“Eurydice dies,” Wilhemina insisted.

“Are you afraid I’ll die if I see you?”

She shook her head. She let go of you. “It’s not the one who sees that dies. It’s the one who is seen.”

“Are you afraid I’ll hurt you?”

You propped yourself up on one elbow to watch her as she got up and crossed the room to the window. She closed it against the cold.

“Are you afraid I’ll leave you?” you insisted.

“I like you blind,” she said.

“But I’d love to see you.”

She turned, gave you a smile that shone a little defiantly. “When Oedipus finally saw, he stabbed himself in the eyes.”

You fell back on the bed with a groan. “Enough with mythology. We aren’t gods. We aren’t heroes.” You opened your arms to hold her close as she slowly made her way back to bed.

“Do we even know what we’re looking for?” you asked, bending to avoid a branch full of golden and red leaves.

“I do,” Wilhemina answered. “I spent yesterday evening reading about mushrooms.”

You grinned at her.

“One of us had to make sure we won’t die intoxicated,” she said, a little coldly.

“That’s very noble of you,” you teased.

This was about a month after you two had first met. You now spent most of your spare time together. Wilhemina had even stopped doing extra hours at work to spend them with you instead. Your roommate barely saw you anymore. She had complained about your absence and asked whether she should look for someone else.

You had always craved a strong connection with someone, and it seemed you had finally found it. You didn’t need words to communicate with Wilhemina, as if your soul and her soul were made of the same stuff. You could point at a star in the night sky and knew she felt the same about it. Knew you were understood.

You wanted to spend every second of every day with her.

Two nights ago, you had kissed her. You hadn’t expected it of yourself. It was too brave, too bold. That’s how you knew that you loved her.

She had frozen with her hand on your thigh, eyes wide open, breath caught in her throat, until suddenly something had changed and she had turned ravenous. She had kissed you back as if you were the ghost of a long-lost lover she was about to lose again, and the desperation she had poured into your mouth had made you fear that this was too much for one person to bear; too much need, too much anger, too much love required to fill the gaping, sucking black hole inside her. You had broken the kiss, panting, and almost run away. But the way she had held on to your wrist, the way she had looked at you, the feel of her on your lips – you had stayed.

None of you had mentioned the kiss since then. She seemed to be waiting for you to make the next move, and you weren’t sure you wanted to. Weren’t sure you were brave enough.

“Look here,” Wilhemina said, pointing at a small cluster of brown mushrooms half hidden under dead leaves.

You crouched down to examine them. “Yes,” you smiled, “these look like penny buns.”

You picked one for Wilhemina to look at.

“Butter, garlic and parsley,” you grinned, watching her as she inspected the mushroom, held delicately between two fingers. “One or two potatoes.”

Wilhemina hummed and cautiously put the mushroom in the basket she was holding.

You took the basket from her so you could hold her hand as you walked slowly down the path. Wilhemina glanced sideways at you, as if to make sure ill intent wasn’t shining in your eyes, before she pushed her palm against yours and laced her fingers with yours.

After a few minutes you stopped looking for mushrooms and gazed up at the beautiful leaves instead. The air was cold and crisp, and smelt of damp earth and decaying leaves. Every so often the sound of something falling – a dead branch, an acorn – reached your ears.

Wilhemina’s heart was drumming against your palm. Was it your touch, you wondered, that made it beat so fast?

She wasn’t looking at the ground either. She kept glancing at you. You knew this, because you kept glancing at her, too, and more than once you found her gaze already on your face. The first time your eyes met, you both blushed, and if Wilhemina quickly looked away, you found it impossible not to gaze at the dusting of pink on her cheeks.

“Look,” you breathed.

On your left between two oak trees was a small, round, dark pond. Its surface was half covered with leaves and you wouldn’t have noticed it at all if the wind hadn’t blown the branches above and sunlight hadn’t caught it. Wilhemina and you paused at the edge of it, hand in hand, to look at your reflections in the dark water.

“It looks like a fairy pond,” you whispered.

Wilhemina hummed her assent. You stroked your thumb over hers as you stared at her reflection, fully clothed, tall but with the edges trembling.

“If we stay here long enough maybe we’ll see a doe.”

“You’d never have the patience,” Wilhemina teased.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, “I would if we had something to do to keep each other busy.”

Something, very close, fell from a tree.

It felt like dissolving into the golden light – like becoming part of something beautiful – when Wilhemina gently pressed her lips to yours. The basket stood between you two, so she hastily set it down on the ground before she captured your lips again, shyly, so very delicately it made you tremble. As if you were something precious. Something to be treasured.

It was this gentleness that made you kiss her back.

When you broke the kiss, Wilhemina squinted in the sunlight that fell through the branches and directly into her eyes. Dear you, she looked so scared. You wanted to push her, to make her fall so she would know you would always catch her. You wanted her to do the same to you.

You started walking again. You were both so focused on the other that you forgot the basket. You remembered it five minutes later. You found it funny; Wilhemina’s jaw tightened with anger. It had never happened to her before, she assured you. She didn’t forget things. The implication made her shiver.

You walked back to the pond and found the basket on the moss where you had left it.

From where you were lying between her legs, you slipped your hand under her shirt to feel the warm softness of her tummy.

“Don’t you sometimes wish you didn’t have a body?” she asked.

You glanced up at her sleepily. She was reading your book, the one you had finished just a few days ago – you wondered if it was the same sentence that had caused her to stop.

You dropped a kiss on her hip. “I rather like having a body,” you answered. “And I love that you have one yourself. How would I kiss you otherwise?”

“Without a body, you wouldn’t need or want to kiss me.”

You considered, hand absentmindedly stroking her tummy.

“I don’t know,” Wilhemina went on. She was thumbing the book nervously, her eyes a little glazed. “It seems to me the body only brings its owner pain.”

“But I love your body,” you retorted.

“I am sick of it,” she said. “I am sick of the competition that comes with it. The pain, the probing, the examination.”

You watched her in silence. How could you tell her that some days when you woke up before dawn you would spend long minutes delighting in the sight of her body? And that you would press your lips on her skin to kiss, not who she was, but the body that you loved.

You took the book from her (you were starting to think that giving it to her in the first place hadn’t been the brightest of ideas. She had never told you the kind of surgeries she had undergone, the kind of names she had been called. You didn’t like the look on her face now) and put your arms around her waist. You pressed your cheek against her thigh and closed your eyes.

“I don’t like my body (she knew this already. You’d told her before). I think it’s too flat. And yet you find it beautiful. Maybe that’s mankind’s curse. Maybe that’s beauty’s curse. The beautiful doesn’t know it’s beautiful until someone comes along and tells it so.”

She started running her fingers through your hair, and you opened your eyes to find her gazing at you with a fond and thoughtful smile. She checked herself when your eyes met. Her face hardened a little.

“No need,” you smiled.

And then you were crawling up the bed, planting kisses on the strip of skin between her panties and her shirt, and then up her cleavage, smiling when she pushed her head back to give you better access to her neck. You twisted a strand of her hair around your finger – hair let down, only for you – and slid your other hand down to cup her center, determined to take her mind off the horrors she had read, or been reminded of.

You had made love before, but never entirely exposed, never entirely seen. Part of you loved it. Another part of you hated that you loved it. That part wanted you to stop being cowardly and to take the jump. To fall. Tear off the sheet, tear down the tower’s walls.

What terrified you the most was, there would be no going back, the day she would show you her back.

Your fingers started massaging her clit over her panties.

“How would you be able to feel me if you didn’t have a body?” you breathed, lips planting open-mouthed kisses up her neck.

Wilhemina’s only answer was a small, breathy whimper. She lifted her hips to push against your hand.

You followed the sound of her voice to her bedroom. She sounded afraid. You hurried.

“Y/N?”

“I’m right here,” you called, as your hand closed around the door handle. “Is today the day I’m going to,learn you’re terribly scared of spiders?” you joked, to try and curb the worry in you.

You pushed the door open, walked in and stopped as if suddenly turned into stone.

Wilhemina was standing with her back to you, facing the mirror on the wall. She was wearing the low-cut nightdress your roommate had dared her to try on all those months ago at the store. She was trembling.

You held her gaze in the mirror, unable to breathe, heart speeding up until all you could hear was its mad, terrified, elated gallop.

For a moment you stood completely still, not daring to look at her back, until the fear in Wilhemina’s eyes threatened to spill over, and you took a step forward.

Gently you gathered her hair in one hand and pushed it over her shoulder. Wilhemina’s gaze in the mirror glazed over, looked through you and at a place where she was safe and numb.

You took a deep breath. You watched.

A shiver ran through you as your gaze followed the diverted course of her spine, skin pulled taut over the bones. For a moment you watched with the awe-stricken eyes of one who is shown a terrible thing, terrible yet fascinating, for the watcher is safe from it. Then you swallowed, and forced your attention back on the importance of the moment.

You were still not breathing as you trailed your fingertips down her back to the black lace hugging her waist, and then back up again, lingering this time, stroking every scar.

Wilhemina’s breath hitched when you pressed your lips on her spine. Grazing her skin, planting a kiss. You rested your chin on her shoulder and waited for her to come back to you, pressing your front against her back to show her you were not disgusted, not disappointed, not running away.

When her gaze turned clear enough for her to see you again, you offered her a tender smile, and stroked up and down her arms.

Wilhemina drew in air through her teeth. “This kind of nightdress wasn’t made for people like me,” she breathed out.

“Nonsense,” you cut her off. “You look beautiful.”

And dear you, she did, with her eyes barely guarded now and the lace barely hiding the swell of her breasts, nipples peaking under the delicate fabric. Your arms wrapped around her waist to pull her closer against you.

“Thank you,” you breathed into her hair.

She nodded, but didn’t speak. She was still trembling against you.

“How are you feeling?”

She let out a self-deprecatory laugh. “Like I don’t want to be here.” She took hold of one of your hands. Her eyes glossed over.

“Does it terrify you,” you breathed, trailing your lips down her neck, “to know that I have seen you and found you beautiful?” A pause. Your heart was beating too fast. “That I have seen you and decided to stay?”

In the silence that followed you heard your words echo all around you. You had expected each one of them to sow a grain of fear inside you. That wasn’t what happened. Instead each one of them pulled up a fear sprout that had already been sown inside you.

Wilhemina’s eyes met yours in the mirror to share her surprise. For she was – okay? There had been no harsh landing? She let her body relax and she realized that, even though her mind was still very anxiously expecting danger, she wasn’t hurting. She was okay.

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#sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #wilhemina venable x reader #wilhemina venable #ahs #ahs imagines #fics

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opossumanonymous · 3 years

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How did things get so messed up?

Warnings: Talk of murder, a single swear, Inko just sometimes thinks about murder, uh vigilante Izuku

Black Widow Inko! Part 2 featuring Dad Might vs Dad for One! This is honestly just Crack with a plot...

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It seemed like yesterday he was in that hospital room meeting his son for the first time. Inko holding their sons tiny body, tears welling in her eyes as she beckoned him closer.

He walked over with no hesitation fully ready to meet Izuku (The name chosen by Inko who got to pick after winning a bet).

Sitting down next to his tired wife he stared down at the infant in wonder. The tiny human they'd waited 9 months for was finally here. Hizashi almost didn't know how to act for a second, so caught up in looking at the tufts of green hair and freckles covering small cheeks.

Reaching out Hizashi gently caressed Izuku's little face with a single finger causing the baby to let out a coo. He grabbed his father's finger in his little fist nearly bringing the 200 year old man to tears.

If asked that's how that day went to Hizashi of course Inko remembers him nearly flooding the hospital room but Hizashi would never admit that.

Tears or not that day Hizashi knew he would protect them with his life so how....how did things get so messed up?!

How did he end up sitting across from his arch nemesis?!

How did Izuku out of everyone in Japan end up with one for all?!

And most importantly how did All Might end up seducing his goddess Inko?!?!

Seriously Hizashi just couldn't understand how she could be with such a lowlife, she must not know who he is.

Never before had Hizashi felt such a deep burning hatred for anyone.

Currently he was sitting on the couch in his and Inko's apartment while she and All Might sat on the adjacent couch. No one spoke until Inko finally cleared her throat.

"Toshi this is my ex hus-"

"Current Husband."

She looked at him with eyes full of fire and a voice full of venom as she spoke. "You forfeited that title the second you thought not calling for 12 years was a good idea."

"...."

She always knew what to say to shut him up especially when she was angry. One of the things that interested him in Inko at first was how unlike most she got incredibly smart when angry.

She also got more sadistic, he could practically hear the gears turning in her head as she calculated all the ways she could kill him.

In this house he was not the devil no, the cute green haired woman sitting across from him was. In fact the murderous aura around her was very concerning, not that he feared for his life with witnesses around. He knew she'd be angry but he'd hoped him getting on his knees and begging for forgiveness would work like last time.

Meanwhile Toshinori was on the verge of having a mental breakdown. At first when he walked into the apartment after a date night he was shocked to find none other than All for One standing in his living room. He quickly pushed Inko behind him ready to defend her against Japan's greatest villain.

While he no longer held one for all that wouldn't stop him from protecting his wife with all he had. How did All for One break out of tartarus anyway?

And just how did he look like this?

All for one looked the way he did before their battle where he smashed his upper face in. All for one, who last they spoke had no eyes, hair and barely a nose now had all of that back and even looked a few years younger.

Each and every person in this room was plotting how to kill someone. Thankfully this day they'd all walk away unscathed.

Mainly because they all had a secret to hide from eachother.

Inko didn't want Toshinori to know about her past, Toshinori didn't want Inko to know who her ex was, and Hizashi didn't want to anger his wife further by revealing any of her secrets. (He may have been criminally insane but he wasn't stupid)

After all one does not rat out their ex-assassin wife's past to her new husband who is also the ex-symbol of peace. Lest they both team up, beat your ass and throw you back in prison or just straight up murder you.

"Anyway Toshi this is my ex husband Hizashi, Izukus father, he left about 12 years ago with no contact or information."

"Oh come now darling those divorce papers weren't serious. I understand you're mad but I'm back and I promise nothing will keep me away this time."

The utter nerve of this guy he really wants to die today! He's lucky he stopped wearing ties years ago or else Inko would've been choked him to death!

"Tea. I'm going to go make some tea I'll be back soon." She said with a strained smile resisting the urge to rip out Hizashi's teeth.

After she left to the kitchen the atmosphere got even darker the two mortal enemies now left alone.

"So it wasn't enough that you destroyed my face and took my son as your successor, you just had to go and seduce my wife too!"

"Your wife! Did you not just hear her she divorced you?!"

"Yeah all because of you and your meddling if you hadn't destroyed my face putting me in comatose I would've been there for her and Izuku!"

All Might paused for a second realization hitting him like cold bucket of water. Before he got his composer back not wanting the enemy to get the upper hand.

"If you hadn't have been quirk smuggling and stealing classified documents I wouldn't have had to!"

"Oh so it's all entirely my fault?!" Hizashi scoffed "I bet she doesn't even know what you did to me does she?"

Toshinori stayed silent it was true she may have known who he was but she didn't know about his hand in her ex husband's absence.

He had no idea how lucky he was she didn't know or there would be two dead men walking instead of one.

"I take your silence as a yes then?" Hizashi was a little smug now.

"Not like you've told her who you really are." Hizashi frowned at this causing Toshinori to smile "I see I'm right as well."

Well he was only half right he never out right told Inko she figured it out on her own. But All Might didn't need to know that, after all no use making Inko even more upset then she already was.

Meanwhile in the kitchen Inko was trying to figure out how to shoot her ex from the kitchen without Toshinori noticing.

While she knew it was impossible without blowing her secret a woman could dream.

As the tea finally came to a boil she noted the distinct sound of her sons bedroom window opening and closing. Knowing her son was back from his nightly vigilantism only done on weekend nights per their agreement. She briefly considered pouring rat poison in Hizashi's serving but decided against it.

Not that the good for nothing scumbag didn't deserve it. But just scaring him would do for now unless Izuku didn't want him in his life. After all he was Izuku's father and Izuku deserved to choose whether he wanted him in his life or not.

Bringing back a tray with the tea she sat the cups down with an eerie look on her face. "Here you go Hizashi I made yours just how you like it!~" She said sweetly.

Yeah Hizashi isn't drinking that, no way she definitely must have done something to it. He hasn't survived the past 200 years to die like that, thankfully his lovely queen isn't good at holding her emotions in.

"Thankyou darling you're too kind." He said taking a cup but not drinking from it.

Toshinori on the other hand called her buff he knew she wouldn't do anything. As he drunk his own cup he remarked on how good it was, well atleast he didn't have to worry about no real or imaginary poison.

Toshinori really didn't know what to do he was having a mental crisis. Should he tell Inko and young Midoriya the truth about All for one or not say anything? The boy would be devastated and would he really want to fight his own father when the time came? He would never forgive himself if it caused Izuku mental pain.

But if he turned Hizashi in to the hero commission they wouldn't know it was him. But he'd still have to deal with them being distraught and possibly hating him for not telling them sooner. Plus everything might become public and there's no telling how many enemies All for one has made that would be out for blood.

This was bad, both his morals and heart clashed at the thought of hurting Izuku and Inko they both quickly became the family he never got to have.

Izuku even started calling him dad for crying out loud! What would he call him if he found out his idol and mentor was the one who separated him from his biological father?!

"We need to settle this once and for all." Inko finally said still annoyed and just wanting Hizashi out.

"Yes you're right we should Inko darling. I won't make this hard, I promise I only want to see my son. Perhaps he can sleepover at my place on the weekends?"

Toshinori paled at that, if he got young Midoriya alone there's no telling what that monster would do to the boy. He could kidnap him, take one for all, and lock him away forever. Toshinori couldn't let that happen deciding he'd rather tell both Inko and Izuku who 'Hizashi' really was.

"Yeah no I don't think so you can have supervised visits and you can take him somewhere if I'm available to go with."

Yeah Inko wasn't buying what her ex was selling she knew he'd have Izuku quirkless and vaulted if she left them alone.

Not to mention that would force her to try rescuing him leading to her being vaulted as well.

But together they could defeat him after all he couldn't fight them both at once.

Hizashi was about to open his mouth when all of a sudden a voice called from the hall.

"Dad?"

"Yes son?" Both men said in unison before looking at eachother with a glare.

Izuku just stood there frozen in shock as his step dad and biological father glared at eachother. He couldn't believe his eyes, even though he heard his father's voice he just thought his mom finally got him on the phone. But this is unreal he never thought in his wildest dreams his father would be in front of him again.

He gripped his plan shirt that had "shirt" written on it in big white letters. His heart felt like it would beat out of his chest at any moment, a million questions going through his mind.

He was so deep in thought he didn't hear his mom get up from the couch and approach him till he felt her hand on his shoulder.

"Sweetie are you okay?" His mom asked him worried.

The two men stopped glaring at eachother now focused on Izuku concerned for him.

Tears came to the greenettes eyes as his voice shook with joy. "Dad!"

Hizashi was then tackled by the boy, slight bits of green lighting appearing on him showing his small use of one for all. Despite Izukus small stature compared to his father's hulking one, Hizashi nearly doubled over feeling like he was punched.

His son was a strong boy, he lamented the years lost since his little green bean was no longer little.

Wrapping his arms around his son Japan's evilest villain patted Izukus head. Causing the ex-symbol of peace to go into a coughing fit, a waterfall of blood pouring from his mouth.

"Dad are you okay?!"

Pushing away from Hizashi Izuku went to check on Toshinori as Inko offered up a handkerchief. Taking it in gratitude Toshinori thanked his wife before reassuring Izuku he was okay. "Thankyou son I'm alright no need to worry." Giving his signature grin he ignored his enemies death glare.

All for One the demon emperor would never admit he's jealous of anyone especially his arch-nemesis. But seeing his son coddle that blonde theif made his blood boil.

"Well this will be a new experience I never thought you'd call someone else dad..." Hizashi said with a strained smile his mouth lighting up with fire for a second.

He could always burn the blonde homewreaker with his fire breath good thing that was the quirk he with.

"Oh I guess it will get really confusing calling you both dad. But what other alternative names for you both? Or I could just call one dad and the other something else...maybe papa could work?" Izuku muttered suddenly, scratching the back of his head.

Both men looked at eachother realizing this could be the deciding factor. They knew that whoever got papa would win, after all it was the cuter of the two choices.

"Alright it's decided then!" Izuku claped his hands together a wide grin growing on his face. Both men sitting in anticipation at the boys verdict. The two looking like they were on a high stakes game show as sweat trickled down their foreheads.

"I'll call you dad" Izuku pointed at Hizashi "and I'll call you papa!" He then pointed to Toshinori.

Toshinori felt like he could do a cheer, his crops were watered, his stomach was back, his scares gone, everything in the universe was right.

That was until he looked over at All for One who he was sure would definitely kill him now if he wasn't going to before. His aura now darker than before as Toshinori's own aura glowed bright with happiness knowing he was the superior father figure in Izukus life.

Meanwhile Izuku ever oblivious to his father's fued just gave his mom his best smile feeling happier to have them in his life. After all they were his family and he wouldn't change that for nothing in the world.

******************************************************

Sometime later

Yoichi: Leave brother we will not leave this host!

AFO: Oh I don't want your quirk little brother, no not anymore.

Yoichi: Then why are you here what else could you possibly want?!

AFO: WHAT I WANT IS FOR YOU TO MAKE YOUR GOLDEN BOY LEAVE MY WIFE AND SON ALONE! HE'S RUINING EVERYTHING!

Yoichi: I see so that's what this is about...yeah no this is what you get. Consider this karma goodbye brother.

AFO: OH NO DON'T YOU DARE HANG UP ON ME TELL ALL MI-

Yoichi: *disconnects AFO from Izukus conscious*

AFO: *Sitting in Izukus room while his son sleeps* I can't believe it he hung up on me.

******************************************************

AFO: I'll have you know I did alot of good things I'm not a good for nothing scumbag!

Inko: Oh really name one good deed you've done since we got married.

AFO:............Well umm..... Oh! I had Izuku our son!

Inko: Hehe yeah no I had Izuku you just stood there and cried in the corner for 11 hours.

AFO: WELL YOU TRY BEING SUPPORTIVE WHEN YOUR WIFE CALLS YOU A- Wait no actually I adopted a stray child off the streets! That definitely counts as one good deed!

Inko: WHAT!?

AFO: *realizing how bad he messed up* You what happened was....

#bnha dad for one #dad for one #inko midoriya #inko midoriya is a black widow #vigilante deku #dad might #inko midoriya just being a good mom #hizashi midoriya is all for one #battle of the dads

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equestrianwritingsstuff · 3 years

Note

I got major whumperflies reading Drowning parts one and two... are you planning on continuing it?

Drowning Part 3

Part 1, Part 2

@asrasmysoulmate

It's not much on the whump side, but lots and lots of care, comfort, and fluff with a sick supervillain in there.

Warnings: vomit, bathing, feverish whumpee, delirium, hallucinations

Hero gathered the wailing supervillain into her arms and held him like that for a long time. She should've watched her tongue. She should've... Hero sighed, there was no point in thinking about how she could've done better when the deed was already done.

Eventually, Supervillain's sobs ceased and were replaced by a vulgar motion. He was heaving, throat convulsing...

Hero shoved Supervillain's head to the side as his stomach's contents expelled themselves. After he finished vomiting onto the floor, he just laid there, head limp, and allowed the trails of puke to slid down his chin.

Hero was just standing there and staring at the scene infront of her. But, recovering from her shock, she lifted Supervillain up and carried him to the bathroom. Setting him lazily by the toilet, she grabbed an unused toothbrush and slapped some toothpaste on it.

Supervillain gagged again, pain coursing through his lungs and ribs. His stomach hurt, badly, and all he wanted to do was lie on the tempting cool floor...

"Hey, hey, hey, whoa. Are you okay?" Hero asked when she noticed Supervillain keeling over. Now, in the better light, he looked like pure trash. He skin was a ghastly shade of gray with vomit and spit still speared across his lips. Snot bubbled under his red nose and his eyes watered. Hero felt a twinge of pity- here was an insanely sick supervillain, most likely feverish out of his mind, trusting one of his sworn enemies. It was unnatural, but more importantly, unheard of.

"Wh... iturts," Supervillain slurred, quite frankly unable to form a complete sentence.

Hero furrowed her brow. She didn't understand what garbled nonsense made its way to her ears, but she hummed in response. Supervillain seem content with the miniscule answer he received and pressed his burning nose to the condensation build-up around the toilet bowl.

"Want to brush your teeth?" Hero asked, handing him the toothbrush. Supervillain clumsily took it only to drop it. Hero pursed her lips and prepared another. She couldn't risk more germs entering Supervillain's system.

She registered that Supervillain was way too weak and feverish to hold an one ounce toothbrush, so she pull him into her lap, allowed his wet head to relax against her chest, and started to brush his teeth.

He was so tired and fatigued that his lips loosely molded around the plastic brush, head nodding softly.

Hero tenderly brushed each tooth with dentist-like precision and motherly care- if that's not too ironic. All thoughts of their previous encounter vanished; he was in her care now and she would do anything to comfort him.

It was as if her already golden heart was fashioned with another serum of empathy. She didn't have to brush his teeth to get rid of the vile taste- it wouldn't kill him, so why would she?

She also didn't need to bathe him either, and certainly did not need to tip his head back so soap wouldn't get into his earthly eyes. She washed his face with a soft silk washcloth, gently so she wouldn't wake the now sleeping supervillain.

When her instinctual caring of the patient was done, and he was changed into a fresh pair of clothes, she laid him on her own bed.

Hero suddenly reeled backwards. What was she doing? It was like she was in a trance, caring for the villain as if he was an angel from heaven. Actually that might be an understatement...

Nevertheless, amongst doubts and courage, Hero continued to tend for his very needs. Right now, it was sleep; lots of rest and slumber to build up his strength.

Upon waiting for his awakening, Hero started to research about tending someone with pneumonia. Every single website practically screamed at her to take him to a hospital, but that couldn't be done. She couldn't risk other heroes finding and arresting him.

Supervillain stirred, muttering something sleepily. He blinked open his eyes and tried to roll over, but it caused a coughing fit to rack at his ribs.

"Hey, go back to sleep," Hero rubbed Supervillain's hair.

"Why t'robo... chasin'meh?" Supervillain said, scratchy and raspy. Hero followed his glassy gaze to the middle of her bedroom. There wasn't anything there.

"What do you see Supervillain?"

"Robo."

"Hmm," Hero replied, still stroking his hair. She did this until a feverish sleep took him under again. Then, she rushed into the kitchen, grabbed tylenol, a thermometer, and an ice pack wrapped in a washcloth. She returned to find Supervillain still unconscious, jerking with breaths as his sleeping body tried to draw precious air in.

Hero slipped the thermometer under Supervillain's tongue- it was easy now that his face was completely relaxed. When the thermometer barked at her the dreaded 103.5 degrees fahrenheit, she gently shook her ward awake and coaxed him into taking some tylenol.

She placed the icepack on his flushed forehead. The heat radiating off his body began to melt the ice in a short few minutes. Hero started to bit her lip, desperately trying to get this dangerously high temperature down. She thought of all the possible long-term effects...

No. She had to stay focused. Focused and collected. She propped Supervillain upwards to alleviate the mucus build up and went back to work at breaking the fever.

Whether or not Hero succeeded in the end, to draw the dragon away from the nest, didn't make the pleas from Supervillain any less concerning.

He would scream, ragged and fearful, whenever he would awake from a fitful doze. Sometimes, he would beg for mercy from the torture his delirious mind thought he was enduring.

"Stop it! Stop it please!" He sobbed, trying to curl up on himself- anything to escape his torturer's ruthless hand of strife.

"Relax, Supervillain," Hero mumured, her voice stern and firm due to the weary stress, but at the same time her usual chirp. The motherly chirp of a hen that usually brought Supervillain so much comfort.

At these moments, her voice would draw him into another unreality.

"Don' like," he mumbled. "Don' like panda."

Hero sighed, rubbing her tiring eyes.

"What's wrong with panda?" She asked, hoping he was talking about the plaid shirt he was wearing.

"Too warm," Supervillain earnestly explained- or to an extent. Really, to Hero, it sounded like he was trying to get a kitten off his lap. He wanted it, but his resolve was too kind to exactly remove the curled up furrball.

"Your blanket?"

"Fur bear," Supervillain chittered. "Yeh..." His voice trailed off as another wave of lethargic dizziness hit him. He whimpered, resting deep into the plushy pillow.

Hero smiled softly and cupped Supervillain's warm cheek. His fever was breaking, she could tell by the added tan to his blanched face.

It was nearly nighttime. The sun was setting, its rays hitting the pair. Hero sat with her legs crossed and examined his drooping face. He would fall alseep soon, whisked away to a land of darkness and dreams.

Hero left to take care of her own personal needs. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and showered. However, the shower was short-lived and the hero was still lathered in shampoo when she checked on the supervillain. She grinned and finished her shower.

Supervillain was just waking up again when Hero returned with her hair bound and wrapped in a towel on the top of her head. He weakly tried to touch the towel, failed miserably, but still grinned like a toddler and his train toy.

"Want to eat?" Hero asked, remembering the leftover soup in the fridge. Her patient nodded.

Hero fed the supervillain like she did in the morning, slow and coaxing. For the most part, her ward refused to allow the shiny metal to slide between his gums, but at last he consented.

Hero fed him- clutching the mattress to ensure her patience to not rush him. The friendly gesture of kindness ended with Supervillain back in Hero's arms as he dozed off. Hero almost nearly fell alseep too if it wasn't for the repetitive tapping on her door.

Knock, knock.

Hero's heart jumped and she quickly made sure Supervillain was covered. She locked her bedroom door and went to the frontdoor.

Knock, knock.

Maybe if Hero had a window or an eye-hole or something, she could've avoided the looming catastrophe.

Hero opened the door open, only to be thrown against the floor by blast of pure strength.

"Where is he!" Came the all too-familiar voice. It boomed throughout the house, focalizing on the entryway where Hero and the intruder were.

"I said," a dark figure stepped into the light, a hood obscuring the livid face underneath. "Where is Supervillain, Hero?"

The figure stripped off his hood to reveal none other than her fellow ex-prisoner, holding a sharp knife.

Villain.

#supervillain whumpee #hero caretaker #hero x supervillain #injured supervillain #feverish whumpee #sick whumpee #delirious whumpee #pneumonia #writing #heros and villains #comfort #fluff

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twdeadfanfic · 4 years

Text

Feral Pt. 8

Daryl Dixon x OC

Summary: Daryl is on a run with Rick when, in a warehouse, they find a woman who attacks them, and who reminds Daryl to a lioness…or a feral cat, and who doesn’t seem to trust anyone, including them, but Daryl finds himself going back to the warehouse, trying to get that feral to go with him to the prison, and to earn her trust.

Chapter 8/10

Last chapter...Daryl and Dana kissed!

You can find my other fics in my masterlist.

Back at the prison, Daryl felt all eyes on him and Dana, as if people knew what had happened between them, that they were now together as a couple, though probably it was all in his head, there was no way for them to know. It wasn’t that he wanted to keep it secret, not at all, but he couldn’t help but feel a bit shy about it, besides he was sure Rick was going to have the time of his life teasing him about it.

Dana, though, didn’t seem to mind at all that people looked at them or what they thought, or if they seemed to notice something different between them, or if it was all in Daryl’s head. On their way to the kitchen area to clean their hunted pieces, they walked near Kate, and when she looked at them, Dana held to Daryl’s arm and rubbed the side of her head against his arm like she had done the day before to “mark him as hers.”

Daryl blushed, couldn’t help it, getting flustered and shy, but he also couldn't help his snort. Was she really jealous? Daryl thought it was ridiculous, but at the same time, the idea sent something weird to his belly. He didn’t think anyone had been jealous over him ever before. She had no reason to feel like that, though, and Daryl hoped she knew. Dana looked at him and smiled, but she didn’t seem upset, if something she seemed amused, and she headbutted his shoulder softly once more.

“Come on, kitten,” Daryl said, couldn’t help his soft, silly smile as he looked at her, ignoring everyone around even if for a second. “Let’s clean this and get it ready to stew it.”

That evening, Daryl was torn between having dinner with Dana in any of their cells, like sometimes they did even if now Dana dealt better with people and sometimes dined in the canteen, or going with everyone else. It wasn’t strange for him to dine alone, everyone knew it by now, but sometimes during dinner he got the chance to catch up with the others, especially if it had been a busy day, and today, he and Dana had come back pretty later than usual. Yes, they had kind of gotten distracted here and there, Daryl still couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea of Dana kissing him, wanting to be with him, couldn’t help the weird things in his belly, and every time Dana caught him looking at her like that, in wonder and awe, she’d seem amused and she’d stop to kiss him again, which had proven to be pretty distracting. But still, they had managed to hunt quite a few pieces, and so Daryl didn’t feel too guilty.

Since it was later than usual while they cleaned their pieces, Daryl offered to get dinner ready too, letting the grateful guy on kitchen duty had some more free time, and Dana helped him to get everything ready to make stew in several big pots, so it’d last them for more than that night.

“So…what you wanna do, eat with everyone else or alone?” Daryl asked while they cleaned everything.

“Don’t care.” Dana shrugged. “Maggie and Glenn were planning runs.”

“Alright, we can go have dinner with everyone else, see if they have come up with somethin’?”

“Alright.” Dana shrugged again, and then, while Daryl was distracted putting a pot in its place, she suddenly tugged at him and pecked his lips, taking him by surprise, and Daryl couldn’t help the blush that tinted his cheeks. It seemed to be the reaction that Dana was looking for, as she smiled, seeming amused. They had just been together for a few hours, and she’d already proved that she liked to get him all flustered when he least expected it. It made him feel silly, and yet, Daryl couldn’t help his small, bashful smile. Chewing on his lip, he pushed past his shyness to wrap his arm around Dana, holding her to his side.

“Come on, kitten, let’s feed these people.”

While they had dinner sat down with the others, Daryl tried to pay attention to what Maggie and Glenn were saying, really tried, but sometimes it seemed as if his eyes wanted to wander to Dana, who was sat down near him, his mind still in awe at the idea of them being now together, that she wanted him like that, and even though it still made him nervous and maybe even a bit, just a bit, scared, whenever his eyes wandered to her, Dana would look at him too, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of her lip, and Daryl couldn’t stop his own, looking away quickly every time before he got too flustered.

He was afraid the others noticed that something was going on, though, he could already see Rick smirking and arching his eyebrows at him, and Daryl rolled his eyes, looking away from Rick and towards Glenn and Maggie, but they too seemed kind of amused, though Daryl hoped that it was his mind playing tricks on him. He’d teased and made fun of Glenn and Maggie sometimes getting caught up on each other, oblivious to everything else, and now it seemed as if he was doing the same, but he couldn’t help it, even if it was embarrassing.

“You think they know ‘bout us?” Daryl asked to Dana when they were in the corridor at the outside of their cells, and she smirked and nodded. “Oh…” He couldn’t help his shyness.

Dana frowned. “Don’t want them to?”

“No…just…I don’t care, just…” Daryl honestly didn’t care what the other thoughts, and still, his shyness was there. “Just…”

“Shy,” Dana smirked and Daryl was glad that she didn’t think he might be embarrassed about being with her or something stupid like that.

“Yeah…I guess…” Daryl admitted, looking down and fidgeting. “Ain’t lookin’ forward to them joking’and teasin’…” He guessed he’d have it coming for having messed like that with Maggie and Glenn…and yet… “Rick’s bein’ a prick and teasin’ me about you since you came here already.”

“Yeah?” Dana’s smirk went bigger. “About?”

“Nothing, he was just bein’ stupid on purpose…” Daryl shrugged, though now that he thought about it, maybe Rick hadn’t been so stupid after all. Dana didn’t say anything, but suddenly she was tugging at him to peck his lips, once more taking him by surprise.

“It’s fun,” she said. “Teasing you.”

Daryl scoffed, flustered, hating that once again he was blushing. “Pff…maybe you’re spendin’ too much time with Rick lately…”

Dana grinned. “It’s fun. ‘Cause you’re shy.”

“Yeah, whatever…” Daryl rolled his eyes, scoffing, but his burning cheeks betrayed him. “Let’s get some sleep.”

“Can I sleep here?” Dana nodded towards his cell.

“You uh…you wanna?”

Dana shrugged. “Only if you do.”

“Yeah…” Daryl nodded, swallowing hard.

He didn’t know what to do, and so he went directly to the unmade bed, sitting down on it as Dana walked behind him, and kicking off his boots before lying down on the bed without even thinking about changing clothes, his mind too busy at the idea of Dana joining him to sleep…The cot was small, and Daryl hoped she wouldn’t be uncomfortable, or that he’d push her or kick her while they slept, or something, and she’d decide to leave and go back to her cell… Maybe he should drag another mattress there like Maggie and Glenn had done…or maybe he had gotten ahead of himself…or maybe…

Daryl lost his train of thoughts when he realized that after taking off her boots, Dana was pulling off her trousers too, and Daryl didn’t know if she did it to sleep more comfortable or if she was just trying to mess with him and get him all flustered again, or both, but he tried his best not to look away, not to get flustered, failing only a tiny bit.

Dana looked at him and Daryl lied down on the bed, moving towards the wall to leave room for her on the bed. Dana lied down, propping herself on an elbow to look at him, smiling softly, and Daryl swallowed hard, feeling those butterflies in his belly again. She reached out her other hand to softly caress his face and hair, and Daryl’s eyes closed as a content sigh escaped his lips.

“Shy. But cute,” Dana whispered, and then she leaned to kiss his lips, and Daryl didn’t try to fight her words, too busy kissing her. Dana pulled back, smiling at him, before she lied down, resting her head on his chest and throwing an arm over him, and even one of her legs, snuggling to him as much as possible, and Daryl couldn’t help but love the feeling.

Daryl wrapped his arm around her, holding her to him, and when he began to stroke her arm softly, he swore he could almost hear her purr like an actual cat. “Night, kitten,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head, and Dana snuggled even more to him, holding to his shirt as if she didn’t want to let go of him, and…Daryl would be lying if he didn’t say that he loved it. It still might feel unreal and a bit scary, this having a relationship thing, but…it felt too good, being snuggled on bed with Dana, good enough for him to want to not overthink it and just enjoy it for once.

When Daryl woke up, Dana was still snuggled to him, lying over his chest, face almost buried on the crook of his shoulder, and Daryl couldn’t help how content he felt or the smile that spread across his face. He tightened his arm around her and nuzzled her hair, wondering if he’d ever felt like this before, so warm, and content and just…so good.

Maybe having a relationship didn’t have to be scary after all, maybe things would be the same between them, but now he could hold her to him, kiss her, and all the things that made him feel those bubbly butterflies in his belly, making him feel a bit silly, but at the same time, too good to care about it being silly or not.

He felt Dana pressing her lips against his neck and then she was looking up from his shoulder to give him a lazy smile. “Morning, kitten,” Daryl said quietly, reaching out to brush her knuckles across her cheek gently, a bit in awe about being waking up with her, about how it made him feel, but the gesture of affection seemed to come naturally to him somehow.

Dana nuzzled his neck again and she shifted to straddle his hips, looking down at him. She smiled again, reaching down to caress his face softly and then run her fingers through his hair, before she leaned to kiss his lips, and Daryl could swear that he felt himself melt. When their lips parted, Daryl had his eyes still closed, and he felt Dana placing kisses along his neck. He took a sharp breath when Dana sucked on his skin, and she pulled away to look at him.

“Okay?” She asked and Daryl nodded. Dana smiled and kissed his lips softly before going for his neck again. “Mine…” She murmured before she sucked on his neck again, and Daryl wondered if she was actually trying to mark him. He snorted but couldn’t help but get a bit flustered too, and he reached to cup her face, gently making Dana look at him.

“Hey…you ain’t really jealous are you,” he asked softly and Dana didn’t say anything. “You don’t gotta be…there’s…” Daryl chewed on his lip, trying to push past his shyness. Dana was sat down on his lap, without trousers, how in the world he was still shy, but talking about feelings had never been his forte. “There’s no one else I’d like to…to be like I’m with you, to have what we have.”

Dana smiled at that, caressing his face again before kissing his lips. “I’m yours,” she whispered, and Daryl couldn’t stop the butterflies in his belly even if he was flustered too. “Don’t want to be with anyone else.” Daryl’s heart was beating hard against his chest and he didn’t know what to say, and so he decided to just pull Dana even closer and kiss her lips again.

Eventually, Dana sat up, looking down at him, running her hands down his chest and Daryl chewed on his lip as she looked at her above him, swallowing hard when one of Dana’s hands found its way under his shirt, Dana smiled softly at him when she noticed it.

“Shy…” She whispered, pecking his lips before Daryl could try to negate it, no matter he was blushing. “Cute,” she whispered before pecking the tip of his nose, and somehow the gesture made Daryl feel like he was melting again. Dana sat up again and smiled at him softly before nodding towards the closed door of the cell. “Hunting?”

Despite the dark sheet that covered the door of his cell, Daryl could see light outside, filtering into the cell, and he knew it was later than usual. He could hear people’s voices around too, the prison waking up. “Yeah…” He nodded, he couldn’t spend all day lying in bed with Dana…Daryl didn’t think he had ever wanted to spend the day in bed, he’d drive himself crazy with the inactivity, but maybe that was before he had Dana in bed with him, snuggled to him and kissing him, and…and he really needed to start moving.

Daryl sat up, Dana still on his lap, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, kissing him again before he could do anything, and he let out a sound of surprise against her lips before he found himself melting into her again. Dana pulled back as suddenly as she had kissed him, and she got up from his lap, stepping out of the bed. She bent down and picked up her discarded trousers, walking to the door and lifting the curtain without bothering to put the trousers on.

“You’re gonna just go out with no trousers on?” Daryl snorted, but it didn’t surprise him.

Dana shrugged. “My cells next to yours.” She left his cell but reappeared a few minutes later, fully dressed, looking at him from the door while Daryl finished getting ready too, tying his boots.

“Let’s grab some breakfast and get going,” he told her and Dana nodded. As he stepped out of his cell, Daryl glanced towards hers and then at her, chewing on his lip. “You uh…if you wanna…if you wanna you can move your stuff to my cell?” Daryl couldn’t help his nerves as he looked at her, wondering if he was getting ahead of himself, if he shouldn’t have asked, he was a bit clueless in this having a relationship thing, but to his relief, Dana grinned and nodded, before suddenly pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

Daryl couldn’t help the blushing of his cheeks, and that his first instinct was to look around, see if someone had caught them kissing, and yet when Dana smiled softly at him and reached down to take his hand, lacing her fingers with his and tugging at him to walk with her, he found that he couldn’t really care about someone seeing them holding hands. They were together, and if it made him feel that good, then there was no point feeling embarrassed or anxious about it, when he could just let himself enjoy it for once.

Daryl woke up once again with Dana in his arms, and even after weeks together, it still made him smile and snuggle to her, content and warm. He found himself lazing in bed too often now, when before he usually jumped out of it to get things done, go out to the woods…but he couldn’t help himself with Dana there, lying next to him, curled up to him.

Dana was lying on her side and she seemed still asleep, her warm back pressed against his chest as Daryl curled up around her, tightening the arm that he had wrapped around her. Daryl kissed her shoulder and then nuzzled her hair, letting out a content sigh. He felt Dana waking up and then she turned around in his arms to give him a lazy smile before pecking his lips, and she burrowed her face on his chest, snuggling to him and wrapping her arms around him too.

“We have to go hunting,” Daryl murmured though he didn’t move a bit, and Dana hummed and nodded without moving either. “You make me lazy…” Daryl complained, chuckling.

Dana pulled back to look at him, arching an eyebrow, seeming amused. “Me?”

“Yeah, you…” Daryl nuzzled her neck, smiling when she laughed as he tickled her. “Being like this.”

“Like what?” Dana reached out to stroke his hair, brushing it away from his face but Daryl just shrugged, he didn’t know how to explain to her everything that she made him feel, and he felt too shy to try to say it aloud. He hoped she understood it without words, though. Dana smiled softly, kissing his lips before pulling back. “Come on. Hunt.”

Waking up with Dana in his arms, lying over his chest, was not strange or surprising for Daryl anymore, but it felt as good as the first day, and it made him as lazy as the first day, wanting to just snuggle on the bed with her, warm and content, for a little bit. It was early enough that he didn’t have to hurry out of the bed, early enough for him to allow himself to be lazy even if just for a moment…They had to go on a run, but the prison was still dark and silent. Daryl nuzzled Dana’s hair softly, wrapping his arm more tightly around her when he felt her waking up, snuggling to him even more.

Daryl was caressing her hair carefully and then he let his fingers brush over her shoulder and neck, moving over the scar that marked her skin down her neck and to her back without realizing it, until he felt Dana freezing in his arms. “Sorry…” He apologized in a whisper.

“They marked me like cattle,” she said bitterly.

Daryl kept stroking her shoulder as he chewed on his lip, unsure about asking her or not… “Who did this?”

“Assholes.”

“Yeah, I…I had figured that much…” Daryl didn’t press it, though, just kept stroking her skin softly, curled up with her, and he was about to tell her that they should stop being lazy and get to work, they had to go to a run, when Dana spoke.

“I was alone, had been for days, a group of men found me…thought they were going to help me, they said they would…they didn’t. Took me to their settlement, old campsite, big…there were two women there, they didn’t look at me, didn’t talk to me, seemed scared, I didn’t like it, I tried to walk away, they didn’t let me…then I saw cages, there were people in them…” Dana explained quietly, and Daryl had to wonder again how there were so many fucked up people in the world, now all teaming up, it seemed.

“They wanted me to clean the place with the other two women and have sex with them. I bit off the lip of the one who tried to kiss me…”

Daryl could almost see it, but he wished he could actually see it, see his feral kitten biting off the lip of an asshole who tried to force himself on her…he was boiling in anger but tried to keep it down, and he kissed the top of Dana’s hair.

“They were angry…held me and beat me…I thought they’d kill me but they didn’t, threw me in one of the cages. There were some men and women in them, some were hurt. Nobody spoke to me or looked at me. I didn’t know what was going on…” Dana kept going, and Daryl thought it was the longest he’d heard her speak, and so he stayed quiet, letting her do it, wanting to know and also wanting her to get it out of her system.

“I found out at night. Each night, those assholes got bored and drunk, picked up two people from the cages, gave them knives, made them fight until one of them was dead. Someone told me that the ones who tried to resist it and didn’t fight, were shot and killed…so they killed you and your rival if you didn’t fight. They branded us with irons, made patterns and marks so they knew who we belonged to, would take bets to see whose fighter would win.” Daryl had seen a lot of shit both before walkers and after, but that was more than sick.

“Whenever they picked me, I’d fight…I killed people. I…I didn’t want to…I didn’t…but…a man pointed the gun to my head, told me to finish the job or he’d kill me and then the other person…so I…I…I did it…every night they picked me…I’d kill the other person before they, or the men, killed me…but I didn’t want to…I didn’t…”

Dana looked up from his chest, tears falling down her eyes as she swallowed hard, and Daryl didn’t think he’d ever seen her looking like that. He hated it, it hurt, it was a dart to the heart, and he hated that she’d gone through something like that. He couldn’t imagine it. “I know, kitten, I know…” He whispered, trying to comfort her, to reassure her, wishing that he knew how to make it better, hating that he didn’t know what to do or say. He kissed her lips, tasting her tears, before Dana snuggled to him again, tight, and Daryl wrapped his arms around her, holding her to his chest tightly, feeling her shaking.

“So I…I kept killing…until I was picked every night…until…until there was nobody else in the cages but me…” Dana swallowed hard. “I thought that they’d kill me now, I had murdered all those people just to be killed anyway. But they said they were going out to find more people…or walkers for me to fight, if they didn’t find anything else. Left a couple of men watching the place. Idiots. Called for one of them, took off my clothes, told him I was bored and to get in the cell with me. Idiot. He thought I was going to unzip his pants, I took the knife from his belt, slit his throat. Went for the other man, gutted him before he could shot me. The two women were scared, told them I’d help them but they…they seemed scared of me…wouldn’t let me close…they took some stuff and ran away…”

On one side, Daryl thought that those women were idiots, but on the other, he could understand them a bit, he’d seen how Dana could be when she got feral, and the women had seen her fighting and killing people every night, even if she was forced to do so, and Daryl could see her, maybe naked and bloodied after killing the two men. Still, probably those women would have been better off with her, safer and protected.

“I didn’t run. Went to the armory, took a riffle. Climbed on top of their lookout, waited for the other men to come back, shoot at them all. All the bullets. They didn’t see it coming. Then I left…was on my own until Rick and you found me.” Dana didn’t say anything else, and Daryl didn’t know what to say either, he was afraid of saying the wrong thing, but it felt wrong to just stay silent after Dana had told him everything.

“I…uh…I’m sorry…” Daryl muttered, it was lame but he didn’t know what else to say, and he felt Dana nodding. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.” If only he could take her pain and trauma from her…”I uh…”

Daryl hated that he didn’t know what to say, that he wasn’t good with words. Dana didn’t seem to mind, she sat up, stroking his cheek and leaning to kiss it before she pulled back again. “We got a run. Come on.”

“Wait…” Daryl sat up and wrapped his arms around Dana before she could pull back, and he kissed her forehead, feeling pleased when it made her smile. “Nothing like that it’s ever gonna happen to you again, alright? I ain’t gonna let that happen,” Daryl assured her and Dana nodded in silence. “Not that you need me, I’ve seen you fighting, you’re a lioness…” Daryl murmured shyly, but he meant it, when he saw Dana’s smirk,he didn’t care about shyness anymore. Still, even if she was badass and a fighter, a survivor, so strong and skilled, Daryl would do anything in his hand to keep her safe, to take care of her, to protect her life with his if needed. He had the feeling that Dana thought the same about him, though. “But…I ain’t letting anyone hurt you ever again.”

Dana gave him that small half-smile. “I know,” she whispered before leaning to kiss his lips, and when she pulled back, Daryl leaned to hold his forehead against hers.

“Thank you for telling me all that,” he told her quietly. “I know it ain’t easy…I appreciate it. Thank you.”

Dana nodded, her forehead nudging his. “I trust you,” she whispered, and somehow, her words alone made Daryl feel like he could melt as something twirled in his belly.

“And I trust you too,” he murmured.

Dana pulled back and smiled at him. “I’m not letting anyone hurt you either,” she said quietly before kissing his lips again. “Come on. We got a run.”

The run was as good as it could go. As always, they didn’t find as many stuff as they’d have wanted, but that was usual, everything was scarcer and scarcer each new run, and Daryl knew they were lucky they had the prison with orchards, farming and hunting their own food, building their own stuff, for when every place ran dry and there wouldn’t be a chance to find stuff on runs as often anymore. But nobody had been hurt, and that was the important thing.

There had been walkers around, and so Daryl had seen once more how Dana could go from the kitten that shared his bed and snuggled to him, to the feral cat that fought walkers ferociously, viciously sinking her knife into their heads. She was skillful but sometimes it worried Daryl how she just threw herself at walkers, no matter that she always came on top, dead bodies piling up around her. Whenever he told her, though, Dana just rolled her eyes and pecked his lips to shut him up and, Daryl was pretty sure, to get him flustered too.

It always came to his mind how Rick, Carol, and the others always told him to be careful when on runs he didn’t think it twice about throwing himself at walkers, putting them down before they could hurt any of his family, trusting his skill…now he was experiencing first hand how it was to worry about someone doing the same, though if he was honest, he still did it. But now, they had each other, Dana and him, fighting together, having each other’s back, protecting their family, making sure no walker or any threat could get to them, and even if he’d be embarrassed to say it aloud. Daryl sometimes, sometimes, allowed himself to think that maybe together, they could be unstoppable.

We got fluff, and Dana’s backstory, and more fluff. I hope you liked the chapter. If you did, please let me know your thoughts in a comment, and as always, reblogs are more tha welcome. We got back to action next chapter! (But, no, won’t follow the prison show plotline).

As always, excuse my English.

I’ll reblog this with the taglist in a second.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon/oc #daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon & oc #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fix

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ladyherenya · 3 years

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This was more-books-than-sometimes month, because rather than take the time to write about the books I'd finished, I just read more books! Also, I read a lot over the Easter break, including some shorter books and a very binge-able series.

Also read: Two-Step and Someone Like Me by Stephanie Fournet, Hooked by Cathy Yardley, “Cloudy with a Chance of Dropbears” and “All the Different Shades of Blue” by W.R. Gingell, and “Home: Habitat, Range, Niche, Territory” by Martha Wells.

Reread: A Curse So Dark and Lonely by Brigid Kemmerer.

Total: nineteen novels (including two audiobooks and one reread), one novella collection, two novellas, two novelettes and one short story.

Cover thoughts: Bellewether’s blue cover is (unsurprisingly) my favourite. I also really like The Ghosts of Sherwood.

Still reading: A Portrait of Loyalty by Roseanna M. White and Playing Hearts by W.R. Gingell.

Next up: Torch by R.J. Anderson.

My full reviews are on Dreamwidth and LibraryThing.

The Rose Code by Kate Quinn (narrated by Saskia Maarleveld): Historical mystery about three young women who worked at Bletchley Park during WWII.

My favourite out of the books I’ve read so far this year. Most of the narrative is set during the war, but interspersed with sections set in 1947 -- when Beth, in a sanitarium after a breakdown, has sent her two estranged friends a coded message begging for help. I loved this, but at times found it stressful and heartbreaking! The writing is so lively and effective and emotional. 4½ ★

Castle Charming by Tansy Raynor Roberts: Fairytale retellings, collection of novellas.

A very entertaining and a somewhat different take on fairytales, focusing on the reporters, Royal Hounds and royalty at Castle Charming. Some of the character dynamics felt similar to those in Roberts’ Unreal Alchemy although I didn’t feel quite as attached to these characters. I’ll read the sequel. 3 ★

Bellewether by Susanna Kearsley: Historical and contemporary fiction, set in Long Island during the so-called Seven Years War in 1759 and the present day.

Alternates between a curator overseeing turning a house in a museum and some of the house’s previous occupants, including a French-Canadian Lieutenant awaiting hostage exchange. Despite the various tensions the characters face, there’s something slow and ultimately gentle about this story. Which is lovely -- I enjoyed the picturesque sense of place and astute observations of people -- but it is less dramatic than I was expecting. 3½ ★

Happy Trail by Daisy Prescott: Contemporary romance, set on the Appalachian Trail.

A park ranger and a hiker shelter together during a storm. I was fascinated by the insight into hiking the Appalachian Trail and enjoyed some of the characters’ interactions, although I thought the way the romance unfolded was somewhat anticlimactic. Not always what I wanted, but I don't regret reading it.

Legacy by Stephanie Fournet: Contemporary enemies-to-roommates-to-lovers.

Wes offers to move in with his late-best friend’s girlfriend to help her out financially. This sort of hurt/comfort appeals to me. I liked how seriously this story takes Corinne’s messy, consuming grief. I don’t really want to spend any more time with the characters, but I was very invested in seeing them reach a better place in their lives.

Two-Step by Stephanie Fournet: Contemporary romance between an actress and a dance instructor. I enjoyed reading this. I particularly enjoyed how Beau helps Iris with her anxiety about dancing and with her controlling mother/manager. He’s very supportive and understanding! But I finished this with a niggling feeling of dissatisfaction -- Iris needed more opportunity to support Beau in turn.

Someone Like Me by Stephanie Fournet: Contemporary romance between a yoga instructor and her new neighbour, who has just got out of prison.

This one didn’t particularly appeal to me. Although interesting to see the experiences of someone recently released from prison, the romance developed too quickly.

(No, I didn’t read all three of these back-to-back!)

Hooked by Cathy Yardley: Contemporary fandom-y romance novella, set near Seattle. Takes place during Level Up and is about two of Tessa’s colleagues.

I enjoyed the characters' interactions and would have liked this more if it hadn't felt rushed.

The Ghosts of Sherwood by Carrie Vaughn: Historical Robin Hood retelling, novella.

Exactly what I wanted! It alternates between Robin and Marian’s eldest daughter, Mary, and Marian herself. I liked seeing Robin and Marian as a long-married couple, who still love each other and still have disagreements. And the dynamic between their children gave me a zing of recognition, reminding me of my siblings. 3½ ★

The City Between by W.R. Gingell: Australian YA urban fantasy (murder) mysteries. Set in Hobart.

I ended up enjoying this series so much more than I’d expected to!

Between Jobs: After a neighbour is murdered, our seventeen-year-old orphaned narrator acquires some unexpected housemates -- two fae, one vampire. Once I got past the opening, with its tales of murder, the worldbuilding intrigued me. I still wasn’t sure what I thought about her housemates or the fact that they call her “Pet”, but was willing to reserve judgement until I’d read more. 3 ★

Between Shifts: About supermarket shifts and shapeshifters. Pet and JinYeong go undercover at the local grocery store. This is a reasonable murder mystery. I was initially disappointed with how something played out (but in retrospect can see how that was actually a positive development for Pet). It ended on a cliffhanger, so I was extra motivated to start the next book. 2½ ★

Between Floors: This is where the series took off, because things suddenly get personal! One of her fae housemates has been captured and the closest any of them get to finding Athelas is Pet contacting him in her dreams.This raises a lot of interesting questions, not just about Pet’s abilities, but about her relationship with her housemates. How much does she trust them and how much do they value Pet’s personhood? 3½ ★

Between Frames: Pet’s housemates are hired to investigate a series of fae deaths around Hobart, which involves scrutinising some baffling security footage. Another solid murder mystery. The final pages felt like one step forward, two steps back, but yet again, in retrospect, this was a positive development. I’m glad I could dive immediately into the next book. 3 ★

Between Homes: Pet has moved in with some friends. Hurray for Pet having friends! I think this was the point where I started to feel comfortable with Pet calling herself Pet -- when it's the name used by people she likes and trusts and who don’t view her as a pet at all. 3½ ★

“Cloudy with a Chance of Dropbears” (novelette): An awesome title and an entertaining opportunity to see Pet from someone else’s perspective -- moreover, someone who doesn’t know her or what she’s capable of. 3 ★

Between Walls: Pet’s friend Morgana is worried about an online friends and asks Pet and co to investigate his disappearance. Along the way, they discover that there are human groups who actually know a lot about Behindkind. I am also becoming increasingly entertained by the Korean vampire. 3 ★

“All the Different Shades of Blue” (novelette): A great cover and it explains who that guy at the cafe is, but otherwise didn’t really do anything Cloudy with a Chance of Dropbears hadn’t already done -- ie., show us Pet from someone else’s perspective. Most of the time, I have enjoyed this series all the more for binging it, but I suspect this particular story would have worked better if I had read it after a period of absence. 2½ ★

Between Cases: My favourite of these have been the ones where things get personal, and this involves a lot of revelations about who Pet is -- from a fae perspective -- and why her parents were murdered. I enjoyed this one a lot. 3½ ★

The Duke of Olympia Meets His Match by Juliana Gray: Historical espionage romance novella, set in 1893 onboard an ocean liner travelling to England. Apparently not the Duke’s first appearance in Gray’s fiction.

I liked the idea here much better than the execution. I liked Penelope, a fifty-year-old widow dependent upon her position as a governess, and I enjoyed her interactions with the older Duke of Olympia. But parts of the spy plot were rushed or confusing, and the resolution was almost-but-not-entirely satisfying. 2½ ★

A Vow So Bold and Deadly by Brigid Kemmerer: Fantasy. Follows on from the fairytale-retelling A Curse So Dark and Lonely and its sequel, A Heart So Fierce and Broken.

If this is meant as a conclusion to a trilogy, then the ending was a bit too anticlimactic, with a few too many loose ends, to be really satisfying. But I reached the end feeling positive about the story, because I really enjoyed the characters’ interactions. All of the protagonists have to deal with conflict in relationships. I loved the times when they each navigate these conflicts by acting fairly and communicating honestly, when doing so is often difficult and complicated. That’s realistic and satisfying. 3½ ★

“Home: Habitat, Range, Niche, Territory” by Martha Wells: Science-fiction short story. Part of The Murderbot Diaries series, set after Exit Strategy.

Very, very short but I really liked seeing things from Dr Ayda Mensah’s (third person) perspective. 3½ ★

Emily of Deep Valley by Maud Hart Lovelace: Historical coming-of-age fiction, set in Minnesota in 1912-3.

I am very glad to finally have read this! It’s delightful, a fascinating insight into community life in a Minnesotan town, and it effectively captures the emotional experience of navigating a period of transition. After high school, Emily’s friends leave for college, but Emily has to find her own path to purposefully fill her time, build connections and further her education. 4 ★

On Wings of Devotion by Roseanna M. White (narrated by Susan Lyons): Romantic historical mystery, set in London during 1918. Christian fiction. Features characters from The Number of Love.

Arabelle Denler is a nurse working in a London hospital; Phillip Camden is an airman now working for British Intelligence. I enjoyed their interactions, especially once they start to get to know each other. I didn’t like the antagonist’s contribution to this narrative -- between the dangers of wartime and the protagonists’ respective issues, there’s enough tension without her. But what I enjoyed about this story outweighed what I didn’t. 3½ ★

Our Darkest Night by Jennifer Robson: Historical fiction set during the Nazi occupation of Italy in WWII.

Nina, a young Jewish woman from Venice, goes into hiding by pretending she’s married to Nico, a Catholic farmer. Robson’s strength lies in pairing details of daily life with likeable characters, realistic dialogue and a sweet romance. I read this quickly and eagerly. But if the characters had been more nuanced, more complex, or if their emotions had been conveyed more vividly, I likely would have found reading this a more emotional experience. 3½ ★

#Herenya reviews books

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alittlewhump · 3 years

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Unbidden - Act 4, chapter 5

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Content warnings: fantasy violence, injury, burning (cauterization), flashback/unreality

There was a strange sort of beauty in the Chaos sanctuary. Its entrance was lined with metal statues of what looked like demon knights, armoured and armed with a variety of weapons, each one sculpted in such detail that Morgan was half afraid they would turn out to be alive. The golems didn't perceive them as threats, but it still felt uncomfortably as though they were being watched by dozens of pairs of unmoving eyes. Twisted spires jutted down from the ceiling like reaching claws. It was unsettling, but also oddly compelling. There was little time to appreciate the sights, though, with Diablo and Baal so close ahead.

Although the entrance of the sanctuary was imposing, the facade crumbled as they made their way further in. Time or some other force had caused a great deal of damage that worsened as they advanced. There were chunks missing from nearly everything - the floor, the walls, the ceiling, even the statuary. Pieces of the walls and ceiling had fallen in, piling up around the bases of the statues. There had to be hundreds of them. Most were missing at least one body part, some reduced to as little as the feet on their pedestals, others toppled entirely. The metal was often pitted, corroded by some great heat. It was almost sad to see the destruction that had been wrought upon them. They had been impressive, once.

A massive form floated at the centre of a large runic circle at the heart of the sanctuary. It was curled in on itself, jagged spikes following the line of its spine from the tip of a long tail all the way up to what looked like powerful shoulders. Its head was facing the other direction. Most likely Diablo, based on descriptions from Cain and Tyrael. There was no sign of Baal anywhere. That was a potential stroke of luck; it would be easier to face them one at a time.

Morgan urged his golems in closer. There was no reaction from the demon as they approached. One at a time, they began warning him of unfamiliar magic. Probably something to do with the circle. Diablo was supposed to be rejuvenating, after all. Morgan reached out through the ground experimentally, sending a ripple of will to disrupt the circle. The golems ceased their alerts as the demon began to stir.

One clawed foot descended slowly to the ground, then the other. The tail unfurled as Diablo stretched languorously, apparently unbothered by the intruders. Blaise began firing, but her arrows glanced off the thick scales of the demon's back and shoulders. He paid no notice to the golems, either, as they closed in to begin striking at whatever body parts were within their reach. Diablo turned almost lazily to regard his attackers with a calculating gaze. He took a ponderous step toward them, then another. Then, in the blink of an eye, he crouched onto all fours and launched himself toward Morgan.

Oh, he was very fast. Morgan started to back away, but he was much too slow. The demon lord seized him, wrapping an enormous hand around his midsection and lifting him easily. He saw stars briefly as Diablo squeezed, claws piercing through his light armour. His sword crushed up against his side, useless. Despite knowing it would do no good, he struggled in the demon's grip. The nearest golem lashed out with a strong blow to the potentially vulnerable ankle joint. Diablo didn't even flinch as he crushed it underfoot. There was no way Morgan would be able to incapacitate him before he met a similar fate. He raised another golem anyway. This was going very poorly, he needed to think of something-

"Arrogant mortal." Diablo's breath was hot and dry as desert air. It smelled of brimstone. "You are a fool to think you can defeat me. How does it feel to know I will destroy you, like all the others that have come before?"

Talking, gloating. That was promising; it gave him time. "O mighty Lord of Terror," Morgan rasped. If he liked to talk, the honourific address would probably appeal to him. The demon's head tilted fractionally, claws relaxing just enough for Morgan to suck in a lungful of air. A good start. Now he just had to think. Keep talking. "You - do you know... my deepest fear?" An idea was starting to form. He began to relax his body, letting his grip on the crushing claws slip a little. The newest golem faded back down into the ground. Feign weakness.

He had assumed the demon lord would just have access to this knowledge by virtue of what he was, so it surprised him to feel the weight of another mind crushing into his own, searching. He winced at the violation. He could feel Diablo flicking through his thoughts until he found what he was looking for, dragging it out from where Morgan kept it buried, examining it with relish.

"Yes," came the answer in a scorching breath, "I know your terror, little one." Morgan sagged in relief as he felt the demon lord withdrawing from his mind. The fear of his hastily conceived plan being discovered was not on the top of the list, but it had been a concern. He just had to keep up the ruse a little longer, nudge the final pieces into place.

"Good," he wheezed, letting his head loll to the side as the other golem gave up its shape as well. He wasn't going to be able to spare the energy to maintain it in a moment. "Then... you know..." His voice dropped to a whisper. Arrows were bouncing off the demon's thick hide, ignored. Blaise didn't have a good angle on him, and he was turning slowly to keep his front away from her as she tried to circle around. Morgan had the bulk of Diablo's attention, but he needed to be closer if this was going to work. He put a little more into the act, moving his lips soundlessly and letting his eyes flutter closed for a moment.

The demon lord raised his fist up to his face, glaring at Morgan from mere inches away with suspicious yellow eyes. From this close, he could see the striations in the irises. "What do you presume I know, mortal? I see your darkest fear and it is tiny and pitiful, like you."

"You know..." Morgan raised his golem arm to push weakly at the massive face before him. Diablo didn't budge. Perfect. "... it isn't you." As expected, the demon's eyes widened in surprise. Morgan braced himself and flexed his will. The golem reacted instantly, dredging up what remained of the dagger and pushing it to the exterior, shaping itself into something longer and thinner and more like a blade. He lunged forward as much as he was able, putting his meagre weight into the thrust as best he could. The blade-arm sunk home into the dark sclera of Diablo's right eye. He gave a roar of surprise and pain, flinging Morgan away and clutching at his face.

Morgan managed to land more or less on his feet, ignoring the insistent pain that bloomed up his legs at the impact as he regained his footing. His arm had already snapped back into its usual shape as soon as he'd stopped telling it to be a blade, but it was aching too, and the effort had made the world spin dizzyingly around him. There was no time to nurse these minor annoyances. He had to act quickly, while the enemy was still off balance.

At his urging, the ground beneath Diablo's feet burst upward, ensnaring the demon's legs in a prison of earth and bone. Next he twisted and pulled, spinning his captive to give Blaise a better angle on his vulnerable eyes and mouth. The demon lord snarled, steadying himself with a claw on the ground. A mistake. The earth claimed that limb as well, snapping up to immobilize it. Judging by the sound of things, Blaise was finally able to start landing some effective shots.

Morgan redoubled his efforts, struggling to hold the earth together against Diablo's attempts to break free. A grasp like this was much simpler than a golem, but changing the shape of his arm had been costly. And even in his weakened state, the demon lord was still formidably strong. He wrenched and thrashed, whipping his tail furiously back and forth. Morgan ducked under the first swipe. The next one caught him hard in the side and sent him flying. The impact knocked the breath out of him, pain stabbing through his other side as he landed hard against a pile of rubble. He gritted his teeth and pushed through it, trying not to lose his focus. It could have been worse; although the bony spikes on the demon's tail were much smaller than the ones on his back, his armour had still saved him a nasty puncture.

Diablo had managed to free his arm now, and the tail would be impossible to trap the same way. At this distance, it was getting harder to maintain control. Eyes locked on the demon lord, starting to sweat from the effort, Morgan found he couldn't move closer. The debris had probably gotten hooked on his equipment. He wasn't strong enough to wrench himself free and he didn't have the time to spare on assessing the problem in any more detail. He'd just have to do what he could from here.

One massive foot broke free of its prison. Diablo hesitated for just a second, probably knowing it would be trapped again as soon as he set it down. It was enough. Morgan grunted with effort as he hauled sideways on the remaining construct, sending the demon lord sprawling onto the ground. He poured the dregs of his energy into the earth, reaching out with a shaking hand to help focus the magic. New growth crawled swiftly up over the demon's shoulders, immobilizing him where he lay. It was all Morgan could manage. The effort of using all that energy was making black flecks float lazily across his vision. Blaise would have to take care of the rest.

She did so with impressive speed. It was less than a minute before Diablo's body lay unmoving, the soulstone containing his essence unceremoniously pried from his forehead and resting safely in her capable hands.

"That was amazing," she crowed, the elation of battle clear in her voice. "I thought you were done for! I can't believe you just stabbed him like that! Come take a look at what you did to his ugly face. It's an improvement!"

Morgan had been trying to catch his breath. It was proving elusive. The dark flecks wouldn't quite clear from his vision, and the tremors of magical exertion refused to still. The pains from being tossed around were also being irritatingly persistent. He continued trying to ignore them. There would be time to attend to whatever injuries he'd sustained later, after their return.

"Hold on, I'm stuck..." He trailed off as he craned his neck to see what had caught on his gear, trying to blink away the visual noise. Whatever it was, it was effectively pinning him in place. There was nothing obviously snared. He'd landed against one of the many demon statues lining the halls. This one was missing its face, and part of its weapon was gone as well. The stub of its spear was what had been digging into his right side. The strange corrosion had altered the colour of the metal, making it look almost bloodied.

Blaise swore, with feeling. Morgan looked up to see why. She was running toward him now, looking very serious. "Shit. All right, just stay calm. We'll get you back to Jamella, I have a scroll right here. You're gonna be fine."

He frowned, confused, following her gaze downward to... oh. The slender head of the statue's spear was jutting out from the front of his armour, slightly to the right of centre. So it hadn't been broken, it was just... well, that explained a lot. Perhaps he should have paid attention to the pain after all. Blaise looked around behind him and swore again.

"There's no way I can work this loose with you - fuck." Her voice was rising in pitch, and she ran a hand through her hair. "Think."

Morgan was already trying to do that. He could reach the head of the spear easily enough, maybe break it off somehow. No, that wouldn't do. Removing it - or removing himself from it, more accurately - would leave him bleeding freely, probably enough to be fatal. But if he could manage to break off the spear where it had entered, he could probably make it back to Jamella without losing too much more blood. He reached for the spear's shaft with his left arm, but aborted the movement with a bitten-off yelp as the twisting motion sent fresh pain jolting through his abdomen. The positioning was unfortunate. It had entered at such an angle that he couldn't quite grasp it by reaching around his front. He tried around the back instead, stifling a grunt of pain. The stretching was not much more pleasant, but his fingertips grazed the metal. Close, but not quite.

"Blaise," he panted, holding out his other hand, "can you, ah - can you brace me?" She moved in to support him, stooping so he could put his right arm across her shoulders. It gave him enough leverage to grasp around the spear shaft with the golem arm. First he tried to change its shape again, hoping to shear through the metal, but the other material was more durable and would not give.

Morgan closed his eyes briefly. There was another option, there had to be, just flirting around the edge of his mind. Perhaps if - well, he hadn't thought to test the incorporation of non-enchanted items any further. Not when enchanted ones yielded such useful results in comparison. It would be a risk, but he didn't have the luxury of time to consider many more options. He concentrated on just the small sliver of the shaft he was grasping around, and told his arm to take.

It did, obediently. The sensation of the metal becoming part of the golem was deeply unpleasant, as though it was composed of hundreds of tiny hooks twisting and burrowing into the rest of the construct. Morgan groaned, staggering as the spear was separated. Apparently it had been supporting his weight more than he'd realized. Blaise caught him easily, already reading the scroll of town portal in her free hand. She half-dragged him through, calling for Jamella as soon as the ground changed to tiles under their feet.

"What is it?" came the answer. She was engrossed in a tome, her back to the portal.

"I've been impaled," Morgan supplied helpfully. That spurred Jamella into action, quickly clearing one of the work tables and ushering him over. The foreign object made it impossible for him to sit, but he leaned back against the table. After a quick examination, she grasped the spear's head with one hand, bracing the other against the front of his armour.

"I'm going to count down from five and pull this out, all right? Ready?" Morgan nodded, trying to force himself to relax. Tensing his muscles would only make this more difficult. "Five, four-" She gave a sharp pull. Morgan's breath froze in his throat as the uneven surface of the metal caught on his skin, dragging as it slid through him. He made a quiet, choked sound of protest at the unwelcome familiarity of the sensation.

Jamella worked quickly now, unbuckling his cuirass with deft fingers and pressing a folded cloth against his side to staunch the flow of blood. She held another cloth to his stomach. "Hold this here," she told him. He obliged. "Firm pressure. Halbu, potion, please."

Morgan recoiled as much as he could. It wasn't much. "I don't-"

"I need you to try it." Halbu handed a glass bottle to Jamella, which she uncorked and pressed into Morgan's free hand. "It's your best chance."

Rationally, logically, there was no reason not to take the potion. There was a chance that it would work, that it had been long enough for his tolerance to fade. That it wouldn't dredge up the memories he'd been trying to keep buried ever since it happened. No, there was no chance of that last one. Not with the way the work table felt like an unforgiving stone slab at his back, not with the way his heartbeat echoed so loudly in his ears. He tried to push back the fear. That ordeal was over, he reminded himself. He was a priest of Rathma, trained to subdue these inappropriate emotions. He could do this. He closed his eyes and raised the bottle to his lips.

The taste was exactly as Morgan remembered. He gagged on the first swallow, tightening his grip on the bottle against the trembling of his hand. Closing his eyes had been a poor decision, he realized as he choked down the potion. He opened them again as he set the empty bottle aside, but he could feel the pit of memories yawning open, threatening to swallow him. He clenched his jaw and tried to focus on anything other than the too-sweet taste in his mouth, the heavy feeling of the liquid sitting in his stomach where it didn't belong, the coppery smell of blood, the sharp ache of damaged muscle. It wasn't working. He tried to take a few deep breaths to steady himself, but his shaking refused to be stilled.

Jamella peeled back the cloth she was holding, then quickly pressed it back into place. "It's not working fast enough. I have to cauterize this. Halbu, prepare the tools. Blaise, help me get him on the table. Get that shirt out of the way."

Fear washed over Morgan in a suffocating wave as the women lifted him easily, laying him on his back. This had happened too many times before. He was so small, so easy to move around and manipulate however his captors saw fit. No, these were allies. They were helping him, not tormenting him. Blaise gently lifted the hand holding the cloth to his front so she could hike up his shirt, quickly pressing it back into place afterward. Her hands were strong and sure. The demons' claws had been strong and sure as well. Morgan realized he was taking heaving, panicky gasps instead of measured breaths. He found he couldn't stop, couldn't control his breathing. Tears welled in his eyes as the memories threatened to swallow him whole. He knew he needed to stay calm, to keep still so Jamella could do her work. He didn't know if he could manage it.

Jamella had turned around to slip on a glove and retrieve a red-hot metal tool from Halbu's forge. Morgan quailed. "Wait," he pleaded. He just needed a few minutes to gather himself. With a little time, he could calm himself enough to slip into a meditative space without falling into the abyss of terrible memories. The spear had entered at a shallow enough angle to miss the truly vulnerable organs. He was only bleeding, really. He'd bled plenty before and recovered. That was precisely what he was trying not to think about right now. He needed something else to focus on. Someone was speaking. It was Jamella. With some effort, he pushed through his mounting distress to listen to her.

"There's no time," she was saying. "If I don't stop this bleeding, you will die." Morgan forced himself to nod his consent. There was no way around this. Death would come at its own time, but he wouldn't rush to meet it by refusing help. Not when there was still work to do, he thought miserably, grasping at the importance of his Order as a handhold against the rising tide of fear. He had to see to it that the Balance was not disrupted by the remaining Prime Evil, had to let Jamella do her work so he could do his. It was important work.

"This is going to hurt," Jamella said flatly. "Try not to move too much. Blaise, hold his arms out of the way, here. Halbu, legs." She positioned his right arm above his head. The golem arm followed suit, fist clenched. He'd just used that arm as a weapon, and could not afford to do it again now that he was surrounded by allies. These were allies. He had to remember that. Blaise stroked the pad of her thumb across his knuckles in silent reassurance before taking a firm grip around his wrists. Halbu took up a place lower down, securing Morgan's ankles with gentle, heavy hands. "Here it comes," Jamella warned.

Morgan screwed his eyes shut. Don't move, he told himself, don't move, don't-- The cautery pressed into the wound and at once he was back beneath the sands of the desert, helpless, hopeless. He clenched his jaw, fighting back the urge to scream his pain aloud. It was useless to strain against the weight pinning him but his body jerked anyway, a weak effort that won him no respite from the sizzling heat of metal against his abdomen. His breath came in fast, shallow bursts as he bared his teeth in a grimace, swallowing down a pained whimper when the tool pulled away from the fresh burn. He would at least deny his captors the pleasure of hearing his full-throated anguish. He was still whole enough for that.

"Look at me," a voice suggested, low and soft in a parody of compassion.

"No," Morgan growled. He would not look at the twisted delight on their faces, the reverent joy they took in his pain. Resistance was all he had. His refusal was almost reflex, an unthinking denial of whatever it was they wanted. He would make himself combative until they bled the fight out of him. He wasn't there yet, not this time.

"One more now," said another voice. A firm hand on his hip kept him from twisting away as the hot metal seared into his side. He made a choked sound of pain despite himself, hissing through gritted teeth. "That should do it," said the same voice. "Do you want to try the potion again?"

Morgan wasn't often this coherent when they were asking their mocking questions. They usually waited longer, to see if they could get him to beg. This time he still had the energy for defiance instead. "You can take your fucking potion," he snarled, cracking open his eyes to glare balefully at his captors, "and choke on-" The suggestion died on his lips as he registered what he was seeing, where he was. The tension left his body all at once and he slumped back against the table as Blaise and Halbu stopped holding him. It felt like he was waking from a dream, only he hadn't been asleep. He groaned and rubbed at his face with both hands. The blood loss, he thought fuzzily, was not doing anything to lessen his disorientation. At least the oppressive fear had eased with his return to reality.

"Fine, no more right now. I'll get a poultice on there instead," Jamella said, unfazed. She turned away to start preparing the mixture.

"I didn't think you knew how to swear," Blaise said, patting Morgan on the shoulder. "Nice work." She sounded relieved, but she looked pained.

"Oh," Morgan said. That vitriol hadn't been intended for the healer. "I'm sorry, Jamella. I didn't-"

"I've heard much worse, trust me. You really ought to be more careful," she admonished, not even glancing up from her task. "Each day you have to spend recovering is another day for the Prime Evils to gather their strength."

"I wouldn't be too concerned about that," Blaise said with a grin, digging the soulstone out of her bag. "Not Diablo, anyway. Baal wasn't home." The healer's eyes went wide.

"Is that-" She drew a hasty sigil in the air. "Why didn't you say something earlier?"

Blaise looked like she was about to say something extremely rude, but at that moment Tyrael materialized in front of her.

"Well done, mortals," he boomed, stepping closer to inspect the stone. "You have triumphed this day. Come, we must destroy this stone at the hellforge immediately." Blaise hesitated briefly, staring at Jamella until she looked up.

"Immediately means now," she clarified coldly. "You do your job and I'll do mine, champion."

Blaise didn't seem thrilled about that assurance, but she took Tyrael's hand anyway. The pair disappeared with a flash of light. Morgan closed his eyes and concentrated on not being sick. His abdominal muscles didn't need the extra strain right now.

#my writing #story: unbidden #fantasy violence tw #injury tw #unreality tw #burn tw #flashback tw #whump writing #listen i'm feeling a little self conscious about the dramatic flashback at the moment #with the post that's (rightly) been making the rounds #please consider that the flashback in question was magically induced #and probably could have been avoided if our boy had just opened his gd eyes for a second like Blaise asked him to

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atlascas · 4 years

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DEANCAS FIC REC

(last updated 7/1)

FINALLY. this is like. just a place for me to rec and write excessively abt the fics i've been reading lately. it won't be organized but it WILL be very earnest and i'll keep it updated as i find/remember more. also i have obnoxiously high standards when it comes to fic so these ARE the cream of the crop, if u will. the god tier. the s tier.

very loosely organized into "newer fic" and "classics." these are subjective categories. do what you will

✨ = new fic on the list

💖 = in my brain rent free!

CURRENTLY READING

these are the fics that i’m currently reading! may or may not get recced. usually i read the first couple paragraphs/lines and if i like the writing it gets bookmarked and put on this list.

lazarus needs a robe of scarlet thread by herrosesneverfall, 90k, canonverse au. dean starts getting stigmata. when i was getting back into spn there were a LOT of religious fics flying around bc that was the Hot Topic of Discussion. this was one of them

Three weeks ago, Dean woke up in a pine box. He thought dealing with the nightmares was going to be the most difficult part of his new life after Hell, but at least they were something he could understand. Something he could deal with. Something he deserved.

Then he began having agonizing visions of crucifixion. Wounds appeared on his body out of nowhere. Wounds that refused to heal and coated his skin with the sickly sweet smell of roses.

Stigmata are said to be the marks of saints, but Dean is not a saint and the wounds are only the beginning.

kingdom come by ahurston, 8.7k, coda to 15x18. cas gets to go home. im gathering all the s15 fix-its to my heart and holding them close

Cas wakes up on the coast of Maine. He makes his way home.

hunger by ellispark, 10.8k, s13 au. dean grieves cas, post s12 finale. perfect writing perfect awful heartwrenching characterization so far on dean’s end especially towards jack. nuanced emotional writing

Dean takes his meal and throws it away, plate and all. He's not hungry. How can he even begin to eat, knowing what he kept from Cas — what he kept from both of them?

They could have had something, and now all Dean has is this gaping, empty hole in his stomach, in his chest, and he has to learn to breathe and eat and move around it.

the law of equivalent exchange by awed_frog, 60.8k, canonverse. cas loving dean in all permutations of humanity, throughout time.

“And what’s the point of it?”

“Of love? There isn’t one. Loving is its own purpose.”

NEWER FIC

“newer” just means “i discovered it in 2020/2021 after coming back to spn fandom” so it very well could have been published before 2015 but really who’s checking. not me that’s for sure.

💖 so says the sword by komodobits, 85k, s4 au. cas guards the michael sword in the beautiful room. this is easily the MOST obvious rec on this entire list but it was the first fic i read when i got back into spn this year and jesus christ it set the bar sky fucking high. the way they create a coherent mythology out of the mess that is spn canon is incredible.

The briefing was simple: ‘Stand guard over the Michael Sword until the battle is ready to commence. Await further instructions.’

Castiel doesn’t mind working security duty; he was briefed shortly after the initial salvation of the Sword from the pit, and again before taking up his position. He knows what to do. However, it’s easy to forget that the green room isn’t real. Time moves differently there, the space ever-changing to make a prison of mountains, cathedrals, salt flats, orchards, and whatever Castiel was led to believe about Heaven’s greatest weapon—Dean Winchester is something entirely unexpected.

assimilation by komodobits, 5.6k, coda to 12x01. mary meets dean and cas and they go to find sam. such good character studies of all three of them. the best mary pov fic i’ve read

Mary always thought you were supposed to be able to tell. That you could just look at someone and know they were – you know. One of that sort. It’s not supposed to happen to her son.

cuckoo and nest by komodobits, 10k, ambiguously canonverse. dean and cas navigate relationship anxiety. cute, in character, and their relationship is realistic and the conflict well-written and emotionally nuanced and really really really good.

For a long time, Castiel thought that every earthly possession other than the immediately necessary was excess to requirement. But Dean – Dean who named his car, who keeps a photograph of his mother in his wallet, some thirty-plus years after her death, who still has the crumpled ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign with a sleeping pelican emblazoned on it from the Microtel outside of Roanoke where he first kissed Castiel, clumsy and unsure, under the unsteady fluorescence of an exhausted bathroom bulb – is sentimental.

It puzzles Castiel, where Dean draws the line between what is meaningful and what it is worthless.

💖 one white lie by komodobits, 11k, au. cas panics when trying to ask dean out and has to fake being a jehovah’s witness. it’s adorable and hilarious and it’s been ages since i actually got butterflies at a kiss in a fic but this did it. it did it. it felt like someone swaddled my soul in a cashmere blanket and kissed me on the forehead

Castiel takes a deep breath and rings the doorbell. He doesn’t need to run through what he’s going to say – he’s already planned and edited and rehearsed it a thousand times. He is going to ask Dean Winchester out to dinner. If it’s not too forward, he’ll say, perfectly charming. You see, I’ve seen you around the neighbourhood and you always seem so earnest and I’d really like to get to know you bette— The door swings open, and Castiel panics.

He intends to excuse himself. He means to apologise and come back some other time. However, in a moment of blind fear, what comes out of his mouth instead are the words, “Could you spare a moment for Jesus Christ?”

a crash course in someone else’s history by annie d (scaramouche), 11.5k, set during s6. cas comes to as his s4 self without any memories of the past two years and has to figure out what the fuck is going on. it’s kind of like so says the sword. you’ll know it when you get to it.

Castiel is captured inside a trapping circle of holy oil set by Dean and Sam Winchester. The brothers call him "Cas", claiming that he has amnesia and that he is obligated to help them take down Crowley to atone for his betrayal of them. It's the strangest story Castiel's ever heard, and one he doesn't have time for because he's only just raised Dean from Hell and has work to get back to.

💖 cas and dean’s adventures in gardening by ahurston, 19k, post-canon au. a series featuring dean and cas living in the bunker, human. cas is very into plants. i read this yesterday actually and it made me smile SO much it’s just so lovely and sweet. i’m also a sucker for any fic where cas has a garden. he deserves a fucking garden okay

In this post-God world, everything is different. A little quieter, a little softer. Cas grows a garden, Dean cooks, and they take care of each other.

tall grass by aeli_kindara, 57k, post-s12. dean and cas live in the bunker on their own, and cas grows a garden. i did say i love fics where cas has a garden. plus domesticity, plus some good case fic, PLUS dean and cas’ relationship is so gentle and good

“I think we should have a garden,” Cas says.

Dean looks up from his beer. He hasn’t had that much to drink, but Cas still has a vague look of unreality about him, a splash of living color that doesn’t fit in the bunker’s echoing stillness. Dean didn’t hear him coming. A lot of the time, Cas is so unobtrusive it feels like Dean has the bunker to himself, with Sam away.

Dean shakes his head to clear it. “A — garden?” he repeats.

in a week by renrub, 2.3k, post 15x18. cas is in the empty. dean saves him. this is genuinely the best “dean pulls cas out of the empty” fic i’ve read so far like conceptually this entire thing just fucks. when cas is cycling through the barn scene. god. SO well written

Castiel is outside a barn covered in sigils. He frowns. This isn’t right. This has never been something he repented for.

i won’t even wish for snow by annie d (scaramouche), 5.6k, college au. cas goes to the winchesters’ for christmas. honestly scaramouche fics belong in the classics section bc she’s like an og deancas writer but whatever. mistletoe! banter! good in-character au! this fic’s got it all

It’s the third year that Castiel’s spending Christmas with his best friend’s family, and he expects it to be much like the previous two. Then mistletoe happens.

convenient husbands by annie d (scaramouche), 39k, canonverse au. cas is a phoenix, dean is a hunter. they get married and have a sick psychic bond. unexpectedly fluffy considering how the fic starts and i love the banter so much and dean/cas’ relationship gets fleshed out and organically developed it’s very cute

"It's only temporary, right?" Dean says. "Just until you're healed up, and then we'll never have to see each other again. So what do you say, Castiel, do you want to marry me or not?"

cinderwings by bendingsignpost, 181k, cinderella au. cas goes to a masquerade ball to save his people from an eternity trapped in a void. he meets prince dean. i can’t tell u how much this fic drew me in - thru good worldbuilding, but mostly thru cas’ social awkwardness. like it works PERFECTLY to his advantage in this fic and reading how expertly he manipulates social situations w/o any fucking idea what he’s doing is both hilarious and inspiring

Under the cover of a masquerade ball, Castiel has five nights to recover the key to his people's freedom. The world has changed greatly in the six centuries since their banishment into the void, but the task isn't impossible. Unfortunately for Castiel, this is going to involve talking to people - especially the Knight Prince who has taken an interest in Castiel and his "costume" wings.

as the crow flies by bendingsignpost, 3.4k, au. dean and cas go on a roadtrip. cas has wings! it’s so dreamlike and meandering and the slowburn is so good. honestly it reminds me of stevebucky/stevesam post tws era roadtrip fics if ur hip LMAO

Cross country road trips with Cas are the best.

long-term relationship by bendingsignpost, 2.7k, au. dean and cas have a Serious Conversation about their relationship.

Castiel says, budging over to make room for Dean on the couch, “I thought we should have a serious talk about our relationship.”

Reflexively, Dean laughs.

Castiel does not.

“Uh, Cas... you know we’re not dating, right?”

all this and heaven too by ftmsteverogers, 7k, ambiguously canonverse. dean is trans. dean and cas are fucking and lowkey hiding it from sam. perfect character study PERFECT trans dean fic it’s so fucking well-written

“Hey,” Dean said. “I’m not ashamed of you, okay?”

Cas raised skeptical eyes to meet his.

“I mean it,” Dean insisted.

“I understand you mean it,” Cas said. “But I don’t think it’s any better if you’re only ashamed of yourself.”

💖 the love story of the runner up by margo_kim, 4.7k, ambiguously canonverse. cas tries dating other men. bear with me here. this is an outside pov fic from an oc named miguel who is WONDERFULLY characterized and very endearing like i find outsider/oc pov to be on Thin Fucking Ice bc it always ends up as fandom/author self-insert but miguel is his OWN MAN. he gets his own lil arc and everything. dean and cas are concentrated perfectly crystallized versions of themselves and the little glimpses we get of them are amazing. ALSO i wrote like 9k of an spn vent fic (basically the same premise but w an oc named marcus) back in like. freshman yr of hs. so when i first opened this fic i was like what the fuck someone’s been in my google docs. very weird experience 10/10 regardless

“So you saw a white man in a trench coat pop out in an alley,” Paul says, “and you thought, what, ‘I want to see where this is going’?”

“If you get hung up on details like that,” Miguel says, “it will take a very long time to get through this story.”

For a very weird era in his life, Miguel dates an angel who is in love with another man.

sunshine by northernsparrow, 8k, set during s13. dean and cas have a long conversation about their Profound Bond. the description left me off-balance (it really. really truly says “dean is straight in this fic” like okay bro WEIRD hill to die on) but it pulled through w the relationship study and reassurance and snuggles. a sweet fic

One-shot with a single conversation between Dean and Castiel, set in a late-S13-ish world. Gabriel, Cas, Sam & Dean are all living in the bunker together, Gabe's been cracking certain jokes, Sam's found a certain book, Cas is injured and isn’t healing... and it's all making Dean wonder if his angel friend might have some sort of a "bond" with... somebody? Whatever that means.

Maybe it's time for a talk.

💖 still life by catchclaw, 16.5k, post-s8. cas, newly human, goes to live on his own for a while. he and dean maintain a relationship thru the phone. this is LITERALLY the only first person fic i fucking respect okay like i was skeptical! i really was! but the pov is PERFECT and also my man kevin tran is in this fic and i love him and miss him very much. oh and cas going off to explore humanity on his own..............perfect arc. very much in character we love that for him

Dean'd always thought that falling in love was a capital letter kind of thing, an Important Event you carved into the calendar of your life and never, ever forgot. But with he and Cas, it wasn't that simple.

it’s mostly cowardice, and bad timing by ferritin4, 1.6k, pre-canon. actually this one is just a dean study it’s not deancas but i spent an entire night looking for it and i need someone else to read it too. dean is smart!!! SAY THAT

Dean gets his GED.

a list of reasons the bunker shouldn’t get a sofa by lizbobjones, 5.6k, set during s12. sam and dean and mary and cas haul a sofa back to the bunker. cute domesticity and fluff

Let me count the ways that this is a terrible idea.

no kingdom to come by domesticadventures, 16.8k, canonverse. dean and cas deal with being stuck in quarantine in different ways. this is the one and only quarantine fic i’ve read and it’s really good lmao. dean and cas’ relationship is so organic and tentative in this one

“We should fuck,” Dean says.

Cas looks up from where he sits on his bed, hair still damp from the shower, frowning as he places a finger on the page of his book to mark where he left off.

There are a million things Cas could say here; Dean has rehearsed them. After lunch, his restlessness had given way to a vague panic, a dread that matched his every step and crept along with him from room to room. Eventually, he had returned to his bedroom and spent the rest of the afternoon pacing back and forth, playing out all the possible scenarios. When Cas asks him Why? or Are you being serious? or when he sighs and says, in that way he has, Dean, he knows exactly what he’s going to do. He’s going to shrug casually, like he isn’t invested in the answer, like he isn’t desperate for an outlet, and say, Why not? He’s going to raise an eyebrow and say, What, are you not interested? He’s going to crowd into Cas’ personal space, he’s going to shove himself right up in there and whisper Cas against his ear.

Instead, Cas says, carefully, “Okay.”

till the juice runs by deathbanjo, 8.4k, canonverse. it’s like dean’s being cursed to have bad hookups with men. SUCH a funny fic and the deancas tension is so simple and sweet and GOOD. plus cas is so enjoyably characterized here he’s so human and worn in and experienced in his own unique way. perfect use of rowena too

Apparently whoever drew up the venn diagram of Dean’s sex life decided the circle labelled ‘good sex’ and the one labelled ‘sex with men’ should be kept far apart.

turn of the year by kototyph, 3.9k, canonverse au. sam and dean get stuck out in the middle of nowhere on the winter solstice. what i wouldn’t give for a full 80k of this verse actually. also i went on a kototyph binge after reading shut up put your money where your mouth is and they have a SOLID spn repertoire

Fifteen minutes later, Dean gets back in the car with empty hands and ice in his fucking eyebrows. “Get the map out,” he says through chattering teeth, sticking numb fingers under his arms.

Sam holds up the battered 1995 Rand MacNally they keep in the side pocket, turned to a page of uninterrupted green. “We’re going to die,” he announces.

💖 bullets in the gun by kototyph, 4.9k, canonverse au. cas is a cop (i know. still) who gets kidnapped by dean in an unfortunate turn of events. GOD this fic is SO FUNNY. cas’ canny and strategic escape attempts render him a very active VERY funny pov character plus the hate attraction to dean is PERFECTLY WRITTEN VERY BELIEVABLE. dean’s kindness also shines thru even as he literally holds cas hostage like!!!! PERFECT characterization. both of them are so LIKABLE here. if you read anything on this list read this

“Sorry, sweetheart, but I’m going to need to borrow your car.”

as you will by kototyph, 1.8k, victorian au. cas endures a proposal mishap. it’s cute it’s funny it’s sweet!

"No?" Castiel echoes, dumbly.

and if i was looking too? by kototyph, 2.6k, au. cas is undercover where dean works. this fic is just so cute like. bird angels.................

There are some things Castiel hasn't told Dean, and there are some things he doesn't need to.

the most important thing by northernsparrow, 94.5k, s10 au. amnesiac cas raising claire until he comes across someone familiar. claire is so well characterized here i really loved her arc thruout this fic. she just wants her dad back and u can’t even blame her the author rlly does an amazing job creating realistic and heartbreaking motivations for her. oh and dean and cas (esp cas characterization!) are sweet in this but honestly the highlight IS claire for me

Jimmy Novak remembers nothing of the last six years. Reunited with his troubled daughter Claire, he's struggling to raise her on his own. The most important thing is to make Claire happy. But why does he keep having these dreams of wings, and of two men in a black car? (Canon-divergent from S10E11, when we first met Claire again and Dean was still struggling with the Mark of Cain. Takes places several months later).

there’s only one sure thing that i know by blinkiesays, 20.3k, post-s5. dean goes to help cas out in ohio and they end up building a home together. i love the writing it’s rlly funny and sweet.

Dean doesn't even get halfway through explaining before Bobby starts laughing. When he lets himself think about it for more than five seconds, Dean can almost see Bobby's point: he's faced down demons, witches, vampires, werewolves, ghosts, angels, and Satan himself and now he's been defeated by the God damn Midwest.

💖 to an angel, love and worship are the same thing by geminisage, 10.3k, post s15 fix it. dean grieves cas - and then cas gets brought back back from the empty. i didn’t have this in my bookmarks so i MISSED it the first time around on this list but this was another one of the fics i came back to spn fandom to. it’s so fucking unique?? it actually reads like spn like i think fic tends to soften dean/cas up and makes them more emotional + emotionally intelligent than is ever shown in the show. here the dialogue/characterization adheres RIGOROUSLY to their communication in canon in that dean’s not overtly emotional, and cas is very reserved. they have to negotiate their relationship exactly like they would in the show. it’s all clipped conversation and anger and hurt and (warning btw) LOTS of internalized homophobia on dean’s end but it’s SO worth it. dean navigating his [GESTURES VAGUELY] everything is compellingly written, emotionally true, and PERFECTLY characterized. cas characterization also amazing like u rlly feel the quiet devoted bittersweet love. ok this was long clearly it’s a good fic go read it now

Just as Dean knew they would, the weeks do stretch into months, and then into a year. Grief never gets easier, Dean knows from experience, but you do get better at it. After all, you can get used to anything.

the violin house by teh_helenables, 8.5k, post-s5. dean and cas build a home after stull. so slow and lovely and sweet and gentle. i need to put this here so that i don’t forget it tbh. it’s very much dean as a war wife cas as the husband away on the front

The Apple Pie Life is a slow process, but Dean and Cas are getting there—until Cas is called for battle and Dean is forced to wait.

💖 muscle memory by komodobits, 18.9k, au. amnesiac cas wakes up three years in the future with dean in his kitchen. komodobits DOES NOT FUCKING MISS!!! i CRIED at the end of this i had NO INTENTION OF CRYING the rest of the fic isn’t even SAD i just had to sit there at the end of it w tears dribbling down my face. INSANE work of art

Dear Castiel,

Hello – it’s Castiel. This must all seem very confusing, and I’m sorry for that. Dean says to tell you that this isn’t some kind of ‘time-travel stunt’, although I’m sure that won’t be your first thought. I know it wasn’t mine. I’ve told Dean to leave now, as this is my notebook and I want everything in it to come from me – or rather, from you. I know you think it's the fifteenth of January, 2010, but it isn't. At the time of my writing this, the date is the fourth of October, 2013. Dean Winchester is your boyfriend of a year and a half, and you no longer work at the library, and in early 2010 you were hit by a car and hospitalised. I’m sorry.

a.k.a the 50 First Dates Dean/Cas AU where Castiel wakes up on a day just like any other, except that three years have passed without his knowing, and Dean Winchester is in the kitchen wanting to marry him.

don’t forget the experience points by annie d (scaramouche), 10.8k, au. cas is sam’s work friend, and he and dean get to know each other. genuinely an adorable fic. i adore cas’ characterization in this it’s snarky AND awkward AND confident in a way that i absolutely believe he would be if he had 30 yrs of human life under his belt

It's because Dean was an awesome brother than he took such an interest in Sam's new friend. No, really. What happened afterwards was mostly an accident.

actus fidei by manic_intent, 5.6k, canonverse au. dean’s a priest, cas is still his angel. i was HOOKED from the description alone like That’s Everything I Love in One Sentence. Cool!!!!!!!!!!!!

On the very first time that Castiel manifests in front of Father Dean Winchester, he gets as far as "Rejoice, for you are blessed-" before Dean shoots him with a salt-loaded shotgun.

not with a bang but a yelp by strange_estrangement, 1.4k, canonverse. team free will leave yelp reviews. this isn’t d/c actually it’s just a crack-ish fic but the formatting is cool and the references are SO funny and so well done

What happens when you visit dozens and dozens of motels every year? You leave Yelp reviews.

the courtship of combat by bendingsignpost, 18.2k, medieval a/b/o au. cas is politically coerced into fighting in a courtship melee for prince dean's hand, and he teams up with two unexpected allies to do it. I KNOW HOW THE ABO THING SOUNDS but i swear it's done well - it's by bendingsignpost so ofc he puts his own spin on the premise. im absurdly into it. PLUS jack is in it!!!!!!! it's technically an unfinished series but the first part is so good just on its own

When pressed upon to mate for a political alliance, Commander Castiel dares to refuse his king. As “I do not wish to mate at all” is clearly the wrong thing to say, Castiel takes the other path and lies. “You must know my affections lie elsewhere, my king.”

King Michael studies Castiel’s face long and hard. Then, with a nod, he snaps his fingers, pointing to Castiel. “The Winchester omega.”

“Yes,” Castiel says with no real recollection of who that is.

The ruse of an unavailable omega works well enough, right up until that omega is no longer unavailable. Then, with what seems to be his entire nation cheering him on toward victory, Castiel must enter the melee to win his mate. Backed by allies, training, and his own natural talents, the only question is how well he can contrive to fail.

four letter word for intercourse by bendingsignpost, 194.7k, au. dean calls a sex hotline. OH BOY solid characterization excellent plot/premise like bendingsignpost is so good at turning absurd premises into realistic, believable fiction. also sex hotline fic is usually a BIG turn-off bc of the power dynamics/one-sidedness of a relationship based on sex work but. BUT. bendingsignpost does it well! it’s not weird at ALL i started reading and was immediately reassured abt its intentions and its plot direction

As a grease monkey turned college freshman, Dean's constantly three seconds away from being stressed out of his mind. It hardly helps that he's finally figuring out his sexuality in his thirties.

What might help with that stress is a little phone number (and a big credit card bill). If he can't figure out how to be bisexual in person, he can at least give it a go over the phone, right?

(It's probably a bad idea, but he really can't help himself.)

the tunnel of love by xylodemon, 21.4k, post-canon. case fic! dean and cas have to kiss on a loveboat to solve a case >:)

"We might," Cas starts slowly, pausing like he's choosing his words. "We might have to kiss."

Dean just stares at him.

when you have a future. by firebog, 17.6k, post-s8. dean and sam and cas learning to be human post-apocalypse. reminds me of robotmango’s writing! it’s kind of eccentric and very very sweet and funny.

Sam closes Hell. Castiel closes Heaven. The heroes save the day. There's no Heaven or Hell waiting to cause the next big disaster. There's no more end of the world. There's only a squirmy feeling in his chest that feels a lot like freedom. So, now what?

(Things I promise you in this fic: dog poetry, rabbits, and fluff)

six inch heels by alitneroon, 2.3k, canonverse. dean does drag! excellent fucking character study. prose is fantastic

Dean does drag on a whim, and ends up in way over his head.

sharing is caring by gateskeeper, 2.5k, canonverse. five times dean and cas shared something and one time they didn’t. look. sometimes u just need some saccharine tropey fluff. it’s VERY well written

Sam knows that Dean and Cas have shared a lot together, but ever since Cas became human permanently, it seems like they've been sharing a lot more.

Or: five times Dean and Cas shared something special and one time Dean refused to.

💖 empty spaces by schmerzerling, 60k, au. dean has to take care of his dying father, and takes up running to cope. that’s just the beginning. HEAVY trigger warnings for ED (specifically anorexia) and suicidal thoughts. there is a happy ending, but dean has to fight to make it there. god. okay. this is a dark fic. it’s also one of the most well-characterized fics i’ve ever read. dean’s spiral is excruciatingly accurate and written with the kind of wry compassion that comes from either extensive research or extensive experience. it’s also completely immersed in dean’s perspective - dean’s relationship w his dad, dean’s relationship w food scarcity, etc. it’s incredible. it’s kinda scary. it’s deeply sad. cas is explicitly autistic and it’s ALSO incredibly accurate and loving, and makes cas so true to his canon self. ugh. and i burst into TEARS at some of the accompanying art, which is so sparse and lonely and beautiful. 100/10 experience one of the best fics i’ve read this year

Dean is fine. The way he sees it, things are simple. He had a house and a family and food in his stomach, and now he doesn't. And yeah, that's a downer, but he's not going to let that stop him from being fine, because he's in control of the situation. He definitely doesn't need anyone to save him. And it's not like the weird guy with the nice butt from down the road is the knight-in-shining-armor type, anyway.

broken road by thegeminisage, 109.6k, 14x13 au. dean makes a wish and gets more than he bargained for. a lot of “john comes back” fics are kinda short on nuance, which this author has talked about a lot - and oh MAN does this fic deliver on nuance. john’s abuse is absolutely present, but his pov makes him a complex character instead of a flat caricature for dean to reject. and the way this fic resolves really makes it clear that the priority is dean’s emotional well-being over all else!!! this isn’t about dean taking the path fandom thinks he should take w his abuser (killing john, punching john in the face, etc), this is abt dean coming to terms w his abuse and finding his own emotionally satisfying way of resolving it. also dean and cas are in an established relationship and it’s very slow and sweet.

A 14.13 Lebanon rewrite. When Dean uses a wish-granting pearl to try and kill the archangel Michael before he can escape the cage in Dean's head, they instead wind up with a newly-resurrected John Winchester.

It's been more than a decade since John died, and a lot has changed: Mary is alive, Sam and Dean have what passes for a proper home in the Men of Letters Bunker, and they're living with angels. John doesn't know angels are real, he doesn't know about the fragile new relationship between Dean and Castiel, and most of all, he doesn't know that Dean said yes to Michael, or that Dean's plan to defeat Michael would send him to a fate worse than death.

Now Dean must contend with both his father asking questions he can't answer, and his loved ones learning about the darker truths of his childhood, all while constantly battling the archangel trapped inside him. But Dean coming to terms with his history may be the difference between this being the beginning of a journey—or the end.

home is not a place by imogenbynight, 6.8k, post-s11. human cas struggles with belonging, and dean struggles with their relationship. this reads a lot like komodobits’ cuckoo and nest, but it’s its own sweet little thing. they watch movies!!! very cute

In which Dean is the oblivious one for a change.

love: a retrospective by xylodemon, 40.7k, post-s12. dean tries to deal w cas’ absence after s12 and reflects on their relationship thru the years. this was written before s13 aired, so - no spoilers - but jack plays a different role than he ends up playing in canon. it’s kinda fun seeing ppl’s theories pre-s13 tbh. makes me VERY glad that they took jack in the direction they did in show. anyway this is THEE definitive “they’ve been fucking all along” fic

Pretending Cas is just his friend has been the only thing keeping Dean's head on straight for years. He never realized how much doing that depended on him making himself scarce in the morning ─ not until Cas came back and moved into the bunker.

✨💖 if it all fell to pieces tomorrow by spocklee, 37k, post-s15 fix-it. cas gets broken out of the empty - and he immediately makes a break for it. new fave fix-it!!!! the writing is so understated and so straightforward - SO in character for cas tbh - that every single emotional beat feels like a PUNCH. and there are so many amazing character moments it made my chest seize the fuck up!!!!! perfect characterization perfect relationship moments perfect cas/jack parenting moments. the yearning over the phone is OFF THE CHARTS and spocklee makes the most of that tension!!!! PLUS old canon characters get to make fun appearances!!!!! i cannot recommend this shit enough

After the Empty, Cas has to spend some time alone. Orpheus tries to convince Eurydice over the phone that it’s okay to turn around now.

✨ before and after breakfast by spocklee, 10.5k, post-canon. dean and sam and cas tackle a monster of the week case with unexpected consequences. perfect pov perfect relationship moments SUCH GOOD TENSION. again this writing style just lets the tension dial up to 1000% every word is meaningful and it makes my chest hurt!!! spocklee SHOULD have blown up during the spn renaissance and i STAND by that

The monster of the week is a ghost who hates meat, alcohol, and feeling yourself. Guess who it is during the commercials.

CLASSICS

isn't it cool how every person has diff fics they consider "classics?" anyway these are required fucking reading. if u've been around these will prob be old news.

💖 asunder by rageprufrock, 23k, au. dean and cas go to sam's wedding. i reread this once a year like a religious ritual.

Wherefore they are no more twain, but one flesh. What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder. (Matthew 19:6)

💖 the girlfriend experience by rageprufrock, 15k, set during s5. dean teaches cas how to be human. mostly the sex part. literally the gold fucking standard of s4-5 era deancas fic and for deancas fic in general, personally

While it's not like Dean hasn't had a couple of truly regrettable hit-and-runs in his sexual history, this is probably the saddest fucking thing that has ever happened to him.

okay, cupid. by orange_crushed, 4.5k, au. dean tries to sign up for an ok cupid profile and has a revelation. as soon as i put this entry down i realized this entire fic rec was an exercise in futility, because if i could i'd literally just rec everything orange_crushed/robotmango has ever written. still one of THEE best authors in this fandom. go read all her fics. i’ll put the highlights here

"The dating thing?" Dean frowns. "Online dating is for weirdos. Robots. Dudes hanging out in their basements."

"You hang out in your basement."

"I have an air hockey table down there,” Dean says, icily.

💖 pwp: pie without plot by orange_crushed and majorenglishesquire, 82k, post-s8. sam and dean and cas quit hunting for a little bit to open a bakery. this is my comfort fic. i love it so so much.

he is in the kitchen with flour on his hands and an apron and there is flour on his forehead and cas leans across the counter and wipes it off with his thumb and dean says "thank you" and cas says "you’re welcome" very seriously and later dean makes apple turnovers and he only ruins them a little and sam realizes it’s not a real hunt like four days into it and he lets dean stay undercover for like a week and a half or longer maybe way longer because he is such a good everything

💖 la cucina by orange_crushed, 4k, post-s8. dean gets into cooking for a newly human cas. it's so gentle and loving and kind and makes me tear up every time. YES food is a comfort item and expression of love for dean. no i don't want to talk about it

Dean turns around and Castiel is picking through the jars, turning them over carefully to read the labels, totally engrossed. Dean watches him.

"Is there," Dean says, "uh, anything in there you like?" Castiel looks up at him and then back at the apples, sitting in a basket on the counter in their golden skins, ripe and pretty. Castiel smiles up at Dean.

"I don’t know yet," he says.

today, your barista verse by orange_crushed, 13.6k, coffeeshop au. a series of short sweet lovely fics where cas is a barista and dean is a smitten customer. literally the only coffeeshop au i respect

"Is that-"

"My number," says Dean, because he's a fucking champion, he's cool, he's collected, he's Captain Smooth of the USS Smoothtania, that's right. He is definitely not leaning against the counter for moral support. Cas doesn't looked seduced or impressed, though. He does not look like a dude who just met Captain Smooth and wants to ride the loveboat. He looks puzzled.

fata morgana. by orange_crushed, 6.6k, post-s9. dean is the king of hell. bela and cas team up to find him. bela pov. yeah you fucking heard that right BELA POV. BELA AND CAS!!!!!!!!!! makes me lose my mind i love everyone in this stupid desolate fucking hell wasteland.

The endless asphalt and broken road, the empty land and piles of human garbage, the unwanted ends of life, the cracked toys and broken screens and burning cars and gravel. Dean Winchester is the king of hell.

"Oh," says Bela.

That changes certain things.

💖 gran fury. by orange_crushed, 5k, pacific rim au. sam and cas pair up in a last ditch mission to save the world. permanently damaged me at age 15 and i've never recovered. major fucking angst warning.

They sit in silence and Castiel passes him the bottle. There’s not much left to say. Sam takes a gulp and it burns going down, like the cheap shit it is. He holds the bottle up against the light. He can see the Fury through it, distorted like a funhouse mirror. She’s a tomb but Sam loves her. Loves everything that’s left.

"To the end of the world," he says.

"To the end of the world," says Castiel.

💖 shut up (put your money where your mouth is) by kototyph, 24k, au. dean and cas get drunk married in vegas. dean renovates cas' house. this fic is SO MUCH BETTER than i remembered/expected and the entire series is fucking adorable go read it RIGHT now

Dean's done some pretty stupid things, but getting drunk-hitched in Vegas to a colleague he barely knows might just take the cake. His surprise husband, Castiel, is a little weird but likable despite that, and Dean figures they’ll go back to Boston, get a quiet annulment, and go their separate ways. Six weeks later, he’s still married to one of the strangest, most genuine and definitely most dangerously lov-- likable guys he's ever known. Dean doesn't know why or really even how it’s happening, but it’s getting harder and harder to remember that he has divorce papers to file.

not part of the plan by annie d (scaramouche), 338k, arranged marriage au. cas is slated to marry a noble from the winchester house. things spiral out of control. if you’re looking for an extensive well-developed political au, this is fucking it. i love reading about political machinations so this was FASCINATING to me.

Castiel's spent most of his adult life keeping his head down and staying out of trouble. This is a deliberate choice on his part, because as a cousin of the King, he'd rather stay unimportant and forgotten. This changes abruptly when King Michael decides that he has a better use for Castiel: he is to be wed to a noble member of the neighboring Republic, as part of an agreement between their two nations.

Castiel knows he has to obey, but that doesn't mean he won't rebel in what small ways he can. Unexpectedly, his actions end up having far-reaching consequences.

💖 all things shining by askance and standbyme, 142k, au. sam and dean and cas go on a hunt that's not really a hunt, and against all odds good things happen. it's beautifully written and has scenes that literally make my heart leap out of my chest with joy and awe it's just WONDERFUL it's a wonderful fic. incredible mythology too omg i found that the authors actually created the myth the entire story is based on - like they don’t pull a random one from history, they made one up THEMSELVES. they even self-published it on amazon if ur curious

Something in the world is waking up.

It isn’t long before it’s brought to the attention of the Winchesters and Castiel: miracles are spreading across the country, the paranormal seems to be shrinking back on itself—and it all has something to do with the missing prayer book of a traveling preacher who died over a century ago.

Dean is convinced it’s all the lead-up to another Apocalypse; Sam and Castiel aren’t so sure. Regardless, it sends them out on a less-than-typical road-trip, following the Mississippi and remnants of a very old story that seems increasingly to call to them. And along the way the trio learn much more about themselves—and the consequences and origins of love—than they’d ever have anticipated.

💖 broadway musical by griftings, 12.4k, crack. romcom where cas is supposed to play matchmaker to dean and jo and well. you know. it actually made me cackle out loud when i read it again so you know it's still good. absolutely one of the funniest fics i’ve read

This is the day that marked the Holy and Blessed Union of Dean Winchester and Jo Harvelle.

The merging of prominent bloodlines is always a grand occurrence, but breeding pedigree hunter families like Winchester and Harvelle is something to be rejoiced. It is also something to be meticulously planned, which thankfully the Host is very good at.

Or, the romantic comedy where Dean Winchester and Jo Harvelle are destined to get married, Castiel is given the task of playing matchmaker and fails terribly, the entire Heavenly Host becomes a sitcom audience, God warns against male pregnancy, and Jimmy Novak is incredibly unimpressed with angels in general.

the five people you meet in heaven by chevrolangels, 22k, ambiguously canonverse. dean dies and goes to heaven and meets five people from his life. NOT a post-finale fic but still horrifically sad. i remember sobbing hysterically when i first read this so

Heaven is white.

Well. Isn’t that fucking stereotypical.

Dean isn’t really sure how he got here. Or even why he’s here. And hell, for all the times the Winchesters have died, he thinks he ought to know the drill by now. But what he doesn’t know is when most folks go, they find something different.

There’s a system God put in place. That when you’re gone (for good), there are a couple things you gotta do first. There are five people waiting for you.

They are the five people you meet in heaven.

any port in a storm by microcomets, 53k, post-s8. dean and cas go on a haunted cruise for a case. you know what happens next. also the art is by anobviousaside and it's gorgeous

The angels have fallen, leaving Castiel graceless and Dean with, well, more of other people’s problems. When a string of couples goes missing on the east coast, Dean and Cas decide to investigate—and find themselves trapped and hunted on a couples’ counseling cruise. Although battling monsters at sea is dangerous enough, sorting through emotional baggage proves to be far more deadly. (And, in which Cas embarks to find his missing grace and Dean is put out. Not necessarily in that order.)

a turn of the earth by microcomets, 95k, pre-canon au. cas is on the run from the empty and crash lands in dean's life. at one point he punches john in the face. a fucking beautifully written character study of pre-canon dean, honestly.

Dean’s your typical half-orphaned, monster-killing 22-year-old until a trenchcoated stranger crashes into his back windshield one September night, claiming he’s an angel that knows him from the future and that he’s on the run.

Frigging fantastic.

(Or, in which Castiel gets stuck in Dean’s timeline preseries and Dean kind of hates it—until he doesn’t.)

unfinished duet by microcomets, 5.8k, canonverse. sam observes dean and cas throughout the years. i remember this breaking my heart back in 2013!

Sam watches Dean and Cas over the years and notices a few things. (Or, Dean and Cas unscripted.)

💖 ergative/absolutive by glassedplanets, 8k, college au. dean and cas are best friends who meet in an astronomy class. i'm never not thinking about this fic it's so sweet and the friends to lovers is so soft and believable

He really shouldn’t be thinking thoughts like this about his best friend who literally just broke up with his girlfriend, but he knows he’ll blame it on sleepiness in the morning. He always does.

a certain light by flightagain, 24k, au. cas works at the gas n sip. dean is a customer. this author’s writing style is so lonely and heavy but it’s very lovely

Castiel works at the Gas-n-Sip. There are half-price nachos and flickering lights, there are office-workers and werewolves stopping by for snacks. Dean is a frequent customer, and his office might be haunted.

the one thing you can’t lose by majorenglishesquire, 5k, ambiguously canonverse. dean can pull cas around and it’s adorable. character study-ish. very sweet.

You know what I like a lot? The thought that Dean can just tug Cas anywhere at any time and Cas, who can lift tons without effort, who can demolish things with the light of his grace, who has battled and gone to war, has defended and broken, will just let Dean do it.

brother lover by twentysomething, 4k, set during s4/s5. dean’s jealous of sam and cas’ budding relationship. this fic is so tropey but it does it well and it’s funny as fuck

However- and it doesn't happen a lot- they have to invoke 'I saw her first.’

his fucking kids by 8sword, 3k, canonverse au. dean and cas raise claire and emma together. yes, claire novak. yes, emma of 7x13 spice girls fame. this was the first kidfic i read for spn i think. obvs written before jack or claire actually came back into the picture but it was the TEMPLATE of kidfic for me for ages

Jesus, the school should just have a parking spot labeled, “Reserved for the Novak-Winchesters,” because Dean’s getting sick of having to cruise around the parking lot looking for a spot every time he gets a call from the principal about Emma.

💖 what has eight tentacles and isn’t allowed to eat pie? by annie d (scaramouche), 16k, post s8. dean gets turned into an octopus. another fic that was SO MUCH BETTER than i remembered i fucking love when that happens. it isn’t even about dean being an OCTOPUS like NO. NOT EVEN. it’s ACTUALLY about the bunker and building a home and a community and a family and about PHYSICAL COMFORT and you can actually feel the world expanding at the end of this fic like a gusty sigh of relief it’s SO WONDERFUL. kevin is in this fic. ellie is too and i had to look her up but THIS is her!!!! danay garcia u were too hot to stay on this show but i love you and miss u

Dean watched an anime porn about this once, but real life turns out to be way less interesting.

Or, the one where Dean gets turned into an octopus.

💖 a beginner’s guide to communing with the dead by suspiciousflashlight, 77k, canonverse au. dean is a cop who summons a powerful entity to help him solve a cold case. oh my god i can’t believe i didn’t put this on here i love this one so much. the writing bowls me over it’s so confident in its worldbuilding like you’re IMMEDIATELY plunged into dean’s pov (FLAWLESSLY executed throughout the fic btw) and you just learn about the world as you go!! and it’s such a fascinating world!!! i love the magic i love the typical bureaucratic red tape procedures i love normalizing the supernatural. i ESPECIALLY love monsters as normal people in a society. at one point there’s this exchange

“Monsters,” says Cas finally. “Beyond the Wall there are monsters.” “You mean, like, vampires and djinn and stuff?” Cas shakes his head. “Those aren’t monsters, those are just people.”

those lines have stayed with me for years. i think about them every time i rewatch an episode of spn.

Maybe it's the little girl whose disappearance turned into a murder, and whose murder turned into a cold case, and who has now apparently decided to move in with him. Maybe it's the unacceptable hole left in his life when his dumb best friend and partner in (the prevention of) crime decided to go and get himself killed. Maybe it's his brother, whose high-profile career and fantastic girlfriend and first-child-on-the-way are steadily leaving Dean in the dust. Pick one. Pick all of them. The why doesn't matter so much as the what, and the what is this: Dean is pretty sure he's going completely, certifiably insane. Sure, he hasn't started wearing all his clothes inside out, and he still showers on a regular basis (anyways, that's not crazy, just a little eccentric); but there's no getting around the fact that he just threw away his life, his career, and his reputation by dragging out his mom's old necromancy book and summoning a Class A Forbidden Entity to his attic. A cranky one, too. With horrendous bed-head.

dean’s list by almaasi, 3k, canonverse. dean makes a list. short and sweet. i read this so much in 2015 that it literally got engraved into my brain line by line and rereading it caused synapses to fire that havent felt anything in years

Dean writes out a list of men he would go gay for. Sam has a suggestion to make.

💖 the path of fireflies by museaway, 63.7k, post-s8. dean and cas open a charming bed and breakfast in vermont. no, literally. another CLASSIC. i think about the food in this fic all the time...........maple bacon baked french toast......the cinnamon rolls.....it literally sounds so good

After his humanity is restored, Dean wakes up in bed with Castiel, a wedding ring, and no memory of the past twelve years.

long nights in cold months by pyrebi, 2.3k, au. dean’s an insomniac and cas works at walmart. i forgot i had this fic ALSO basically memorized. holy shit. pineapple in the fruit aisle.....................anyway it’s short and sweet and the “plot” resolves in such a satisfying way

When you're an insomniac, you get used to the "what the hell are you doing up, man?" look. Dean just hopes the guy who's stocking the shelves will stop giving it to him long enough to help him find some damn pineapple.

incredibly single & ready to mingle by imogenbynight, 3.6k, au. dean and cas meet on facebook. short cute au!!!!!!

Sam uses Facebook like the social media junkie he is. He's befriended literally every person he's ever had a conversation with since he got an account, which means that approximately—Dean checks—eight hours ago, he shared this horrible photo with something in the vicinity of nine hundred people. The caption below the picture reads “incredibly single & ready to mingle ;)” and roughly half of them have liked it.

Dean has never been so embarrassed in his life.

💖 unknown quantities by xylodemon, 8.5k, post-s8. after a post-case tryst, dean has to figure out his and cas’ relationship. human cas fics hold a special place in my heart. funny AND good dean pov AND a misunderstanding that i actually think works!!!!!

No one ever tells Dean anything.

(or: Dean Winchester and the not-relationship crisis of 2014)

#spn fic #spn #dean x cas #this is horrifically long actually.

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slashedthroughtheheart · 3 years

Text

The boy behind the wall Pt. 1

f you're anything like me, you read/heard about Hillbilly's backstory and just wanted to give the poor baby a hug and felt remorse at not being able to do anything for him.

Well, this fic is a wish-fulfillment of doing just that. Hugging and saving the poor bean from his awful family.

I was going to set it a bit further back where he was like, 14 or 15, but I know myself and I know it'll get heated later on and I don't like dealing with timeskips, so in this, Max is 19 and my original character Layla May is 18.

There shall be sadness at first, but the fluff will come, I promise. I do angst well, but I promise I soothe the ache it leaves behind. I love Max too much to deprive him of any good things. He deserves all the love and softness, please just let me hug him.

A neighbor’s niece is sent to live with them during the summer to help with her illness. The farms are warm during the summer, leaving her in better constitution there than where she lives normally. She uses her newfound ability to be outdoors longer than a few minutes here and there to explore and get to know the area. And the neighbors to her aunt and uncle.

At first, she doesn’t notice the sharpness that follows Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, jovially introducing herself as Layla May, Mr. and Mrs. May’s niece. They don’t seem to abhor her presence on the farm, and don’t mind the odd question here and there she has about the farm animals or the equipment.

It’s one midday where Mrs. Thompson agrees to let her inside for a glass of lemonade after helping her in the home garden that Layla stumbles across the secret she was never supposed to know about.

Mrs. Thompson had grown used to the young girls presence, and left her to her own devices at the kitchen table sipping her lemonade and dabbing daintily at her forehead and neck after being out in the hot sun for the better part of an hour helping her weed. She’d gotten careless, and thought the girl was too polite or too slow to wander from the kitchen while she went back outside to finish off the gardening.

Layla however was ever the curious teenager, having been stuck inside with only books to keep her company since her father worked and her mother had passed just a year after her birth.

She wandered the home after finishing the lemonade quickly, having been rather parched. She admired the pretty wallpaper chosen, and the few trinkets placed just so. It was a very quaint looking home that Mrs. Thompson had cultivated.

That’s why when she wandered downstairs and found a very… crude wall of bricks that had no door, she was confused and even more curious.

She approached the wall unafraid and unaware of the poor soul behind it. She stared at it, then gently ran her fingers across the rough surface in thought.

A soft hum of thought left her, finally alerting Max inside to the new presence. Which confused him even more than the wall confused her.

He didn’t recognize the voice on the other side, and could almost convince himself he hadn’t heard anything until she spoke very softly from the other side.

“I wonder why this is here? Maybe it’s like… a sinkhole that’s been stopped up?” She’s theorizing now, trying to put some rhyme or reason to the wall being there. Trying to find an explanation with her own limited knowledge.

That’s why when she heard movement on the other side, she spooked a little. She hadn’t thought it would be keeping something in. And the moment it passed her mind, she realized it must be because whatever inside was dangerous.

She held her breath, unsure of why, but not wanting to be heard as she slowly moved back a little to look at the wall more closely.

Max had moved to the little hole, the single brick missing, to try and get a glimpse of whoever was outside his prison.

He didn’t know how to feel, he’d never seen anyone besides dad and mama, never laid eyes on anyone else.

That’s why when he managed to get a full look at a girl, small, smaller than mama by a lot, he gasped. Well, as much of one as he could.

He watched her jump at the noise he made, she looked… he wasn’t sure, but her eyes were big, looking around the wall quickly, flitting from spot to spot rapidly before they passed over his little missing brick spot.

She almost screamed, but her hands went to her mouth, muffling her startled gasp at seeing someone on the other side looking at her. Staring. Almost unblinking.

She took a moment to find her voice, to find the nerve within herself once more.

With a shaky hand over her collarbone, seeming to be the thing holding herself together, she managed out a very soft and questioning “Hello?” while making direct eye contact with whoever was staring at her.

She noticed when the eyes seemed to widen slightly at her words, but nothing else happened.

She had her full focus on the eyes behind the wall, the need to know who it was burning through her mind and making her fingers a little numb with the sensation arcing through her body too.

She took a tentative step towards the wall, hand still clutched to her chest, the action providing her a semblance of comfort and safety as she ventured into an unknown situation.

Max was surprised at the appearance of this girl, both in her being there and what she looked like.

She was in a sundress, a cute little blue gingham one with a bit of puff to the sleeves. She looked unreal to him, her face perfect and unblemished, unlike his. Her skin was so smooth, looked so soft and her hair looked really nice. He didn’t know who she was or why she was here, but he wanted to keep looking at her.

Her hair was in a side ponytail, not pulled tight, but only just enough to keep it out of her face.

He watched in anticipation as she took two more steps closer, before she leaned down ever so slightly to be just a bit closer to level with the opening. Still standing a good 4 or 5 feet away from the wall.

“Hello? Can you hear me in there?” She asked softly, a feeling in the back of her mind telling her to not be loud both so she isn’t found snooping and to not startle whoever is watching her in case they really are dangerous.

He tilts his head ever so slightly at her words, as much as his disfigured body allows.

She seems to see it, her own body unconsciously mimicking his movements, her head tilting ever so slightly to the side.

He doesn’t know why seeing that makes him smile, but he goes with it.

She lifts her hand, waving shyly. “Hi, can you… can you speak?” Her voice is soft, nice. Much nicer than mama’s. He leans closer, almost pressing himself against the rough brick to try and see more of her, even though she’s in full view already.

He understands what she’s saying, it’s not that his parents don’t speak around him, it’s that they don’t speak to him. Just at him, and usually angrily.

Her voice though, it’s nice. It doesn’t make him angry or scared like his parents do.

His hand comes up, fingers resting in the hole he’s peering out of, to steady himself as he leans so close.

She sees the fingers pop up and then rest on the brick, confirming to her that it is indeed a person back there.

The basement is lit, but lowly. She can’t get a real good look at who she’s talking to from where she is, and now that she knows it’s another person behind there, she’s less scared about getting closer to the wall.

She shuffles a few more steps forward, until she’s just a foot and a half from the wall and kneels down in front of the little opening, coming eye to eye with Max behind it.

At this movement, a small noise does actually escape him. He hadn’t known what to expect when she moved slowly forward, and it seemed like all he could see for the last moment was the skirt of her dress near her knees before her face came into view, much closer than before.

His eyes went wide, mouth open as he got a much better look at her.

She wasn’t making any of the faces his parents ever made when looking at him, and that made him feel at ease, like she was safe.

He knew she was different. He didn’t know how, but he just knew.

“Hi. I uh… I’m sorry for sneaking around? I was just curious.” She tails off at the end, worry on her face suddenly, wondering if she wasn’t supposed to be down here. Something in her gut told her she really shouldn’t. Why would a person be behind a brick wall in a basement?

A coldness dropped over her shoulders, a bunch of thoughts racing through her head at how someone would be in that situation.

She would be even more disgusted with the truth than any of the worrisome reasons she could think up.

He didn’t know what the last word she said was, but he didn’t get why she was sorry to him for anything. She hadn’t done anything to him. He wasn’t sure what ‘sneaking’ was either, but she hadn’t done anything so he made a small grunt at her.

He didn’t have words he could speak, not really. Whenever he tried to practice talking, he would always get yelled at by one or both of his parents. So he only mouthed some words to himself late at night.

His fingers moved just a bit further out of the hole, curing the tips just slightly on the outside.

She stared at the little opening, looking back to the person behind it, or at least, what she could see.

They looked… a bit off. Not the right proportions from what she could see. But her father had been adamant about treating people who looked ‘different’ as he put it just like anyone else. Most, if not all, couldn’t help whatever made them different. She wasn’t sure what made the skin over the person’s eyes like that, nor why their nose seemed almost squished down against their face like it was getting pressed on, but she overlooked it easily enough.

She had taken note of the grunt, wondering what exactly it meant. “So, you can’t talk then?” her head tilted slightly like it had when she copied him earlier.

He understood all of that, and gave the barest of affirmative grunts. It was almost a hum, but it seemed whatever made his eyes that way might also affect more than just his eyes.

She nodded then, a thoughtful look crossing her face.

“So, if I ask you yes or no questions, you can at least do that?” her head still cocked to the side ever so slightly.

The smile on her face that followed the same affirmative grunt and the smallest flex of his fingers lit something up inside of him. He’d never seen someone smile before.

He liked it. Or maybe he just liked her smile. He wasn’t sure, but what he was sure of is that he wanted her to keep smiling, so if she wanted to ask questions, he’d do his best to give her answers.

“Ok! That’s good!” Her excitement at there being intelligence and willingness to talk to her even though the other person couldn’t really talk carried out the almost praise easily.

Another thing he’d never heard before.

A pleased noise left him, softer than the ‘yes’ he had.

And then she did something he had definitely never heard before.

She giggled.

Hand coming up in front of her mouth ever so slightly, but not hiding it. Eyes closed, cheeks smiling. And the sound, it was soft. It felt nice to listen to. Made his whole body feel warm. Made him want to laugh for the first time in his life.

And that’s what he did, a noise leaving him that startled both him and the girl.

It didn’t take her more than a split second to realize the person had joined her in laughing, and that was all she needed for a grin to fill her face, happy that the person seemed to enjoy her company enough to laugh.

Max had at first thought he messed up when the noise from her stopped and her face went back to that one look she had, eyes wide and mouth just slightly open.

But then he saw the smile come back, and her eyes looked so nice. Warm. He wanted to be closer to her, his body demanding something from him that he didn’t understand. His arms felt like they itched. He didn’t know what was going on, but he gripped at the brick under his hand a little harder, pressing his face flush against the brick again, trying to just be as close as possible since his body was crawling with the new feeling.

Her smile changed, just a little. It was a bit smaller, but no less genuine as she saw the person push closer to the wall.

What she did next took him by surprise but he didn’t stop her, or pull away.

She reached forward with one hand steadying herself on the ground and with the other she brushed them against his own.

“Nice to meet you!” She hummed out cheerily, that softer smile gracing her features.

Her touch was electric to him, a gasp leaving him, before he desperately tried to touch her hand back, fingers fumbling through the little hole, trying to touch the soft skin of her hand.

She notices this, unperturbed by it. Instead, she moves to press her palm flat against the wall, lacing their fingers together where they could reach. “I’m Layla. The neighbors’ niece.”

His heart was hammering and also felt almost absent. The touch was something he’d not felt before. It was gentle, warm, and without malice.

He had no memories of either of his parents ever touching him, and definitely not as softly as this.

He gripped at her hand as best he could with his, seeking the contact like a drowning man clinging to a life preserver.

She had gotten a better look at the face of the person behind the wall, a small wiggling bit of worry in her chest. A dark thought swept through her, the solemn words of her father reaching her ears once more.

‘You must be nice to those who look different. So few ever experience hospitality or even love in their life from those around them. And others… others get locked away because their families are cruel to them, upset that they don’t fit in right. So always be kind, it’s what your mother would have wanted.’

That dark thought was a wondering of whether or not this person was one of the ones that got locked away.

Her eyes glanced along the wall briefly, worry settling into her stomach.

She looked back at him when his fingers flexed ever so slightly at her having been looking away for too long. He didn’t want her to look away, because then she might turn away, and if she turned away she might leave.

He didn’t want her to leave.

She took in a barely there shaky breath, making eye contact again and the urging from her father’s past words bringing another kind smile on her face.

He perked up at her smiling at him, his face doing it’s best to copy her. She saw the slight crinkle of his eyes, her own smile growing just a bit at the realization that he must be smiling too.

She scooted closer, so she didn’t have to hold herself steady to hold his hand.

She sat for a moment, contemplating what she should ask the person behind the wall.

“Do… do you live here with Mr. and Mrs. Thompson?” She finally settled on asking, curious if the Thompson’s knew there was a person here. She felt silly for that line of thought, of course they’d know there was a person in their basement behind the wall.

It took him a moment to understand who the people she was talking about were, but he gave a slightly gruffer affirmative, not liking the thought of his parents.

She had been getting little glimpses of more of the face than just the eyes through this whole time, and felt confident that the person behind the wall was a boy, maybe around her age. Granted, that meant he was an awful lot bigger than her, if the way it seemed he was hunched to see out the hole was anything to go by.

That, and she was small for her age due to her illness keeping her from growing much.

She’d barely graze 4’11” if measured, quite the slight thing.

Max however was nearing the 6’ mark even with how neglected he was behind the wall. Just a few inches shy of it currently.

He was really just basking in the good feelings that were coursing through him from the smallest amount of contact, and her smiles. Her laughter was replaying in his head over and over, he really liked that sound.

She gave a soft hum, thinking for another moment before asking another question.

“Do you stay in there all the time?” She was curious, even if she was sickeningly worried that she’d just get another ‘yes’ from him.

He gave a quieter grunt at this, almost shrinking in on himself a bit at that. What he wouldn’t give to be able to leave this hell of a room.

His eyes never left her though. And he noticed her noticing his slouch.

Her fingers moved against his then, rubbing very gently. There was a look on her face he couldn’t figure out again, but it made his chest almost hurt. He clutched at her hand tighter.

“That… that must be hard.” If it hadn’t been completely quiet save for her voice in the basement, he wouldn’t have heard what she said.

But he would take her leaning even closer. “Can you leave this room?” A very small bit of hope was inside her that maybe there was a door on some other wall she couldn’t see in his room, that he could leave out of if he wanted.

But that hope was snuffed out, leaving her heart aching like it had been cleaved in two when he made the first negative noise of the day.

She squeezed their fingers together a bit more at this, not able to stop the brief grimace of pain and sorrow from crossing her face.

“Do… do you want to leave this room?” an imperceptible tremor was in her voice now, that fear of what the truth could be hovering over her head like an axe.

At this he gave a much louder and enthusiastic grunt that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but ‘yes.’

Her heart clenched, seeing the excitement in his eyes, realizing what this poor boy has likely had to go through if he was this excited and at just the thought of leaving the room he was in.

That, and how desperately he was clinging to her hand, like it was the first time he’d ever been touched and he couldn’t get enough of it.

Then the thought that maybe it was the first time he’d ever been touched flitted through her head.

“Has uh… has anyone ever held your hand before like this?” She gestured with her free hand at their hands.

Another soul gripping grunt of ‘no’ rocked through her. At this, she pushed her hand up higher, locking their hands together even more securely, and letting her thumb rub over his pointer finger in a soft sign of affection that she was now more and more sure he’d never received before.

Especially with the way she saw his eyes light up at the deeper contact.

She fought herself inside, willing herself to not cry, it was not fair to cry in front of him. Even if her whole soul ached at the thought that someone would lock away a family member in such a way, she held out and kept her eyes from even getting misty.

Instead, she switched thoughts. “Do you know how to read?” She really didn’t expect a yes, and when she didn’t get one, she wasn’t surprised but was still feeling the stab to her heart at the thought. Not even taught to read. Or talk.

The thought of how that existence would feel made her feel so incredibly lonely. And with that single thought, fueled by all the other little ones that had passed through her mind, she came to a resolute decision. She would get him out of that room, and away from the Thompson’s.

She didn’t know how, but she’d figure it out. She’d get him out, and in a flare of self-assurance, she promised to herself that she’d do it even if it meant taking this brick wall down by hand.

A soft hum left her, mulling over her choices. “Would you like to hear a story then?”

She smiled almost sadly at the eager ‘yes’ that came through the hole, eyes bright with interest and wholly focused on her.

And that’s how she spent the next hour telling him about a children’s story she remembered from her childhood, about a boy that took a girl on an adventure, helping her learn how to fly.

She enjoyed the expressions that crossed his face as she told him such a simple story. He was eating up all the information, completely enthralled by her retelling like she was the most interesting person he’d ever heard.

She had almost lost herself to just talking to him, telling him little bits about herself after she finished the story. How she had been sick since she was little, about her father taking good care of her and always worrying about her, about all the books she’d read while being bedridden.

While she couldn’t sympathize with being purposefully locked up, she at least knew the feeling of being unable to leave somewhere. She’d been figuratively imprisoned by her own body to a bed for so long. Only barely being able to get up for changing clothes and using the washroom.

She told him about how nice being barefoot in the grass felt during that mid-morning time where it wasn’t dewy anymore, but the grass was still nice and cool while the sun was warm and felt like a hug.

He’d made an inquisitive noise at the end of that one, and she’d realized maybe he didn’t know what a hug was, so she explained that. And when she did, he realized that’s the feeling his body had been clamoring with. He wanted to hug her. To hold her close, as close as possible, to just feel another person being there and not be yelling at him. To just be holding him back. He craved it.

She gave his fingers a squeeze when she saw the look in his eyes.

Just as she was about to promise him a hug when she got him out, they were startled by a car horn honking.

Her eyes went wide, her free hand flying to her mouth to cover it while she gasped out.

“That’s my uncle! I have to go, I’m so sorry. I don’t… I don’t think I was supposed to come down here and find you. I don’t think the Thompson’s want anyone to know you’re here…” She couldn’t keep the sadness nor the distress from her voice now.

She felt him clench at her hand tightly, desperate for her to stay, but she had to gently pull her hand away. He made a pleading noise, fingers scrabbling and hand trying to push through now. He didn’t want her to leave, she was so nice, and made him feel so much… well, everything.

She quickly touched his hand, stopping him from pushing any more than his fingers through in worry that he’d hurt himself.

“Do you know what a promise is?” She quickly asked, looking at his eyes.

He grunted out a ‘no’, but stilled as she leaned in real close, face almost as close to the wall as his was as both of her much smaller hands came up to cup the fingers that had pushed through.

“A promise is something someone gives someone else, it means they will do everything they can to do what they said. Does that make sense?” She felt the deep fear of being found where she shouldn’t be eating at the back of her mind, her skin crawling with the sense of ‘you shouldn’t be here, they’re going to find you, you’re going to be in such big trouble.’

He gave a very small grunt of ‘yes’ at that, understanding what a promise meant now.

“Ok, so now that you know what a promise is, I promise you I’ll be back. I’m going to do everything I can to get you out of this room, but you have to act like I wasn’t here, like you don’t know me and that nothing happened. Okay?” Her eyes were frantic, worry making bile bubble away in her stomach and the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

He gave a faint ‘yes’ at this, not wanting to agree to her leaving, but feeling assured that she promised to be back.

With that, she gave one final squeeze to his fingers before standing up and moving towards the stairs back up, but paused for a moment at the bottom at hearing a soft whine come from behind the wall.

She looked over, leaning over to whisper loudly towards him “Remember my promise!” And with that she went up the steps as quickly as she could, her heart twisting just as much as her stomach was, only her heart was in pain at hearing his desperate whines grow fainter as she got further up, while her stomach was in fear that she’d come up and be caught while leaving.

#Max Thompson Jr x Original Character #Max Thompson Jr #Dead by Daylight #nsft #multi-chapter #canon-typical child abuse #fluff #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending #eventual smut

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jordanstrophe · 4 years

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This One is Mine, part 2

F L U F F

Previous Next

CW: Whump, Pet whump, Whole lotta fluff

Charles kept a tight, but gentle grip on the man’s shoulders as he guided him to the exit. There were small chairs stacked against the wall, he sat the man down next to him. He wasn’t sure if he was going to try and bolt for the exit, so he kept a heavy hand on both his shoulder, and forced the man to face him.

He was silent, with tears staining his face. His expressions were both empty, yet dazed, as he was too nervous to make eye contact.

“Look at me please, this is very important.” Charles said, tilting his head up with two fingers. His eyes took their time finding him, as he made his best effort to control his breathing.

“There you are.” He smiled, placing a gentle hand on his cheek, thumbing away a tear. “My name is Charles, do you have a name?” He asked. The man only took a shuttered breath, before his eyes darted around the room behind him.

“Look at me.” He gently reminded, as the man tensed, and immediately returned eye contact. “No one is going to hurt you, okay? Please try and talk to me, because I’m not taking you out of here unless you want me too. I need you to communicate with me here.” He said. The man closed his eyes and took a shaky deep breath.

“M-Michael.” He muttered under his breath, squeezing his eyes tighter, bracing himself.

“Hi Michael.” Charles smiled. He opened his eyes and looked up at him, eyes glossed over, as he tried to comprehend if he was in trouble or not. “Listen Michael, this is kind of a last second call, and I’m not really prepared for this, but I can take you out of here. I can take you home with me, and I promise I won’t hurt you, and I’ll do my best to make sure you’re taken care of.” He said. He tried to keep his tone hushed and soothing, like calming a scared animal.

The man’s eyes went wider, but he didn’t move. He didn’t say anything. Charles let go of his shoulders, and gently slid his hand under his to hold it. Michael immediately squeezed it as he began to tremble.

“Hey.” Charles soothed, placing his hand back on his shoulder. He hoped he wouldn’t have a panic attack here, as he wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. I won’t do anything you don’t want to do.” Charles reminded.

“I’m scared!” Michael cried out, hunching over and burying his face with his hand. “It’s alright.” He whispered, he placed an arm around his neck as Michael fell forwards onto his chest. His heart broke for the kid, he’s clearly been through too much if he’s questioning someone offering a safe place. This system was so messed up and twisted, but there was nothing he could do to end it, but maybe, he could save this one.

Charles wrapped his arms around him and cradled him as he cried, and gave him as much time as he needed. After a moment, he pulled himself out of Charles' grasp. “I’m s-sorry.” He muttered, wiping away his tears.

“You’re okay, just say yes, or no, and it will be done. But you have to make a decision now.” He said. “Yes!” He whimpered out, already immediately back to tears.

“P-please... I don’t know y-you... But a-anywhere is better then h-here. I-I’ll do my best to behave... Please, I p-promise I’ll behave, just t-take me away! please...” He stuttered out in a sob, holding himself defensively.

All Charles needed was the first word. He stood up and coaxed him onto his feet and over to a woman seated at the desk, who pretended she wasn’t just eavesdropping. He grabbed a tissue off the desk, and handed it to Michael, who was behind him clinging onto the back of his shirt. “Thank you...” He muttered.

“Give me the papers for this one.” He said to the women, who bowed her head before rooting through some files in the back.

After the papers were signed, the door slammed open, and in walked Malcolm, sweating, nervously clutching his arms with wide eyes.

“CHARLES! Please... Old friend! Any one of them! You can take any of them! We have the most gorgeous obedient ones! Absolutely stunning! Beautiful! Take two! TAKE THREE! But please! Don’t take that one!” He cried. Miles walked in behind him, looking quite confused. Or concerned? Both, probably.

“He’s.. He’s my favorite! I only get favorites like... Once a month! I’ve trained him! Kind of.. We were working on it, okay!? Just don’t take my baby!” He practically cried with a stomp, almost ripping what’s left of his greased hair out. Charles only responded by holding up the signed piece of paper. Malcolm shrieked in frustration, sounding like a gurgling animal.

“I’ll.. I’ll make you a deal! A business partnership! I’ll cut you a check! Anything!” He cried.

“I’ll make you this offer.” Charles signed, folding up the paper, and handing it to Miles. “You let me walk away with this kid without trouble, and I’ll give you a glowing review of this tour I took. No criticism, no shade, no mentioning you going back on your word over a Pet you didn’t even have personal ownership to. And I won't mention that deal you cut with Nimrah three months ago.” Charles smirked.

Malcolm’s face went white as a ghost. “How.. How do you know about that. Er, what deal? I don’t know who Nimrah is.. I-” He stuttered, then cleared his throat. Charles chuckled “I run a blackmail business, what do you think?” He beamed, clapping a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Cheer up friend! Remember? The takeaway is a glowing review!” He smiled. Michael made no attempt to follow Charles any closer to Malcolm.

“F-fine! I’ll take the review! I’ll just have to find a new favorite now...” He hissed, crossing his arms. He glanced over to Michael, he was still doing his best at remaining unnoticed. “Baby, don’t forget me!” He cried, doing his arm stretch towards him, that could be longing, or threatening. No one knows. Michael pretended not to hear, as he held himself uncomfortably.

“Charles! Dinner tomorrow, your place, at 5!” Malcolm hollered, as Charles pulled his coat off the rack.

“Busy tomorrow.” He responded.

“Dinner at 6, tomorrow!” He continued.

“Still Busy!”

DINNER AT 7?!” He shrieked. “Malcolm this isn’t going anywhere!” Charles exclaimed. He took his coat and draped it over Michael’s shoulders. He was shorter, about shoulder length, so the coat hung down to his knees. “Lets go sweetheart.” Charles muttered, steering Michael to face away from Malcolm, who was still trying to come up with an excuse.

Miles grabbed Charles shoulder and leaned in, whispering “What do you want me to do if the kid runs for it?” Charles took a moment to think about it, before looking down at Michael, who seemed quite content inside the coat, with his long bruised fingers clutching it around him.

“Do what it takes to get him back.” Charles muttered with a sad sigh. Part of him wanted to let the boy go, but he knew better. Letting him go would doom the entire business if word got out about their operation.

Miles struggled a bit to push the heavy door open for them, as Charles wrapped his arms around Michael’s shoulders. He tried his best to make it feel comforting, rather restricting. Michael was probably just as unsure how to feel, if he should run or not.

In an instant, the air was filled with a soft comforting warmth, warmer than it was inside. Michael gasped as he felt the warm sun touching his face. He squinted up at it as best he could. He didn’t remember when he saw the sun last, or felt it’s warm embrace. It was pretty. Even prettier than the glass chandeliers that haunted in what felt like his prison.

The parking lot was dreary, but was surrounded by several trees outlining it. He let out a desperate whimpering noise when he noticed them. He held onto the coat with one hand, and tugged Charles' sleeve with the other. “Look.” He muttered. “Mm? Charles motioned, leaning forward so he was level with him. “Trees.” He whispered, staring at them with sparkling eyes. “Yep, trees.” Charles chuckled, gently rubbing his shoulder. Michael’s direction began to change, as he was pulling at Charles trying to get closer to the lush green plants.

“Oop, easy there.” Charles beckoned, pulling him closer. He let out an embarrassed yelp, as he hunched his head down, and pressed his weight back onto Charles. “You want to go see?” He asked. He looked up at him nervously with the most pitiful expression as Charles nodded. He let Michael take the lead, as he picked which one he wanted to see. He wandered toward a dogwood tree that had small white flowers beginning to grow. He got more anxious the closer they got. Miles chuckled, as Charles tossed him the keys, as he left to start the car.

He gently held out his hand, and slowly touched a flower petal with his fingertips. He was afraid it was unreal, like it would disappear as soon as he got close, or some twisted trick of an illusion. He got more comfortable, as he held onto a delicate white flower with both hands.

For the first time, let himself give off a small, sweet smile. Charles got a glance of it, and couldn’t help but to let off a grin for himself. He knew at that moment, despite what all his morals told him, he did the right thing.

“I love it.” Michael whispered.

#whump #whumpee #whumper #hurt/comfort #comfort #caretaker #Creepy caretaker #caretaking #whumpee rescue #This is my first time posting anything #I hope somebody out there enjoys it #Whump fluff #rescued whumpee #whump scenario

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doflamingadonquixote · 4 years

Text

An Almost Perfect Life - 3/?

Summary: You are a young career woman at one of the bank in London and, at the same time, attending a PhD in Statistics. Your life was perfect until your apartment was invaded by two demons.

Pairing: Sebastian Michaelis x Fem!Reader x Claude Faustus

Previous Chap: Page 1 , Page 2

III. No place to hide

Finally Monday came. You couldn't believe your enormous luck. You could go out again, you were finally free from that unusual prison.

Still dressed in heavy pajamas, you stood by the window and watched the raindrops attack the glass. It was a gloomy day, but that wouldn’t have affected your cheerful and carefree mood.

“Young lady, breakfast is ready.”

You turned to look at Claude in the doorway and found him with a confused look. You had become accustomed to their constant presence but certainly, not yet in their ways.

“Still have to change?” he murmured as he approached your wardrobe. “I would have assumed that you were ready to set foot out of here even earlier than necessary.”

He pulled out a dark green skirt and one of the shirts you had attached to the crutches and laid them on the bed.

Then, as you watched him distractedly, you noticed that he was approaching the underwear drawer and blushed with a deep red tomato.

Sure you wouldn't reach him in time, you took the brush on the windowsill and pulled it against him.

The object circled for a few moments in the air but the demon, warning it to arrive, moved away at the last second and turned even more confused than when he entered.

“What the hell are you going to do, perverted demon!? Stay away from my clothes!”

“I assure you I have no interest-” he began but was interrupted by a flying radio alarm clock.

“So, you two are demons.”

The two nodded synchronously.

“Demons who enter into contracts with humans.”

Again a nod.

“And that they owe me gratitude for taking them off the street.”

You ran a hand through your hair as a severe headache started beating again.

“I already told you, you don't need to be grateful to me for anything.” You ran your fingers over the sides of the temples, pushing and hoping that the pain would go away with that simple pressure. “You were attacking each other, I didn't save you from anything.”

What escaped you as you stared at the surface of the kitchen table was the significant look that the two demons had exchanged silently.

“In any case, there is still a significant intrusion.” The amber-eyed demon added.

“Then do something, anything, that will make you disappear immediately.” You asked, desperate to conclude those terrible negotiations.

The two looked at each other again before turning to you again.

“For that, we need a contract.”

You opened your mouth and eyes wide at the same time, looking at them as if they had just drunk each other's brains.

“I will never sell my soul to the devil!” you exclaimed, crossing your arms over your chest.

Sebastian chuckled. “Well, there must definitely be something you want from us.” He answered flirtatiously but after seeing your dark and pissed expression he decided to fly over. “Wealth, fame, power ... revenge ...”

The last word seemed to tread with nostalgia, confusing you more than necessary.

“Do you think I will sell my soul for such useless things? I had a perfect life before you two came in to destroy it. I'll probably end up analyzing for this...” you sighed tired. “I will never make a contract with you.”

Claude shrugged, as if it were a matter of little consequence. “Then I guess nobody will leave here very soon.”

The path to work went smoothly like oil.

The subway was as crowded as ever. Men and women with their work bags and some crazy tourist who had ventured despite the day didn’t bode well.

You squeezed your briefcase against your stomach as you sat on a desk and looked around.

Nobody seemed to notice you for any reason and everyone seemed completely normal people, unaware of all the paranormal that surrounded them. For a moment, you prayed that time would flow back again to allow you to appreciate more that monotony that had invaded your days for years. The whole situation seemed so unreal.

But, to remind you that it was all real, was the strong feeling of being observed but soon, inside your office on the third floor, you would have been the most peaceful and safest person in the world.

You would have done your research, you would have investigated what could hurt them or some spell that could have sent them back to hell as quickly as possible.

When you got out of the vehicle, you continued on foot along the usual road and while passing in front of the alley of the days before, you cursed yourself for stopping.

The sliding doors of the bank continued to open and close as customers and associates entered and left the building.

When you approached them the sweet PUFF that emanated almost made you want to cry.

The lobby was huge, allowing people to wait and operate with serenity, privacy and comfort.

When you approached a counter, very close to the stairs area, a man with auburn hair and a sweet smile looked at you curiously.

“Good morning, Henry.” You anticipated, raising a hand in case he hadn't heard you from the operation he was carrying out with a customer.

“Good morning, (Y / N). You finally recovered.” He replied back, returning to give immediate attention to the person over the counter.

You nodded, albeit with a little hesitation, and you quickly advanced to the lift that would take you straight to your safe place.

You pressed the button and said goodbye to the two colleagues on the upper floor who were waiting for the transport with you.

Your bank had more than 50 floors so it was unlikely that you would get to know even half of those who worked there.

Moreover, relations with those on the lower or upper floors were seldom due to lack of time. And each floor was assigned a job.

Once you reached your floor, you found it packed with people, as usual. Your area made itself available to the customer so the relationship was in close contact with other people.

When you passed the office of your best colleague, you smiled.

“Good morning, Isy. How have these days gone without me?” you asked as you appeared just beyond the door.

The young woman seemed to light up at the sight of your figure and stretched out her small hands.

“(Y / N)! You left me alone to feed these vultures!” she moaned as you advanced and grabbed her hands in yours as if to share the sense of unease with her.

You smiled.

“Forgive me and thank you for replacing me.” You reached over the desk and put a hand on her shoulder. “Whatever you need, don't hesitate to ask.”

She nodded, convinced of your honesty and fairness and watched you leave her room to move towards yours.

When you stood in front of it and inserted the keys inside the classic glass door that recited your name and your job, a ringing voice reached you.

“Miss (S/N), good morning. How are you today?”

You warned the bank manager to join you as you untangled yourself with the lock without then looking up at her.

“Oh, beautifully, director. I think nothing can ruin this day.”

Finally the door opened and with a wide smile you entered, still turning your back on the woman and quickly advancing towards your desk.

“Well, that's a good thing. So our new intern will have the pleasure of getting to know your quiet side.” The woman chuckled.

You sat on the leather chair with a sigh of pleasure and finally your gaze turned in the direction of your superior.

Your fingers instinctively tightened on the two armrests as your head began to fill with steam, which you were sure would come out of your ears at one moment or another.

“I'm Sebastian Michaelis, the new intern. It will be a real pleasure to assist you.”

And he stretched his right hand over the desk as a purple flash shone in the depths of his red eyes.

The director was watching you morbidly, as if expecting the same friendliness and, although shocked, you let common sense guide you to shake the hand of the devil who had followed you to work.

“V-Very pleasure, Mr. Michaelis. Yes, I'm sure it will be an excellent experience.” And you tried to hold it with all the force that your human body was able to pull out. But he only smiled in response.

“Well. Sebastian ... I can call you Sebastian, can't I?” the director corrected immediately, touching the man's arm with an unnatural flirtatious air that you would never have expected from her.

“But of course, it's a privilege for me.” He replied making the bile rise in your throat. Had that bastard really used that kind of skills to get in there?

“(Y / N) will help you with all the paperwork and then you will depend a little on her decisions.” And the hand wandered on the demon's back in a clear caress. “And mine, of course.”

After another couple of exchanges, the manager convinced herself to leave your office and you followed her to close the door and quickly turn to the demon.

“Are you serious?” you hissed, to prevent anyone in the other rooms from hearing.

The apparent man ran a hand through his hair, pulling a lock in front of his eyes. At that moment he was wearing a classic suit with a jacket and tie and you tried not to think about how good he could be in those clothes.

“Well, you didn't really think I'd leave you unprotected, miss” The devil replied, with the most innocent air he managed to gather.

You clenched your skirt in a fist that could have penetrated even the flesh of your palms with tension.

“Protection? This is control. You also want to check me out of the house!”

You felt your breathing reach the limit as you entered hyperventilation. You couldn't believe it, you didn't have room. They were quickly closing you in a box.

You brought a hand to your throat, trying to recover the air that you hadn’t been able to collect to oxygenate your brain and think of a solution.

“Miss, are you all right?”

When his cadaveric hand reached your face panic gripped your mind and, before I realized it, a strong backhand hit the demon's cheek, taking him by surprise and causing him to withdraw his hand.

“Don’t touch me!”

Your voice rose a couple of octaves but you quickly regained control, looking around to notice that no one had seen or listened to your outburst.

You didn't know what was wrong with you but seeing that flash of freedom being ripped off made you uncontrollable for a couple of minutes.

“Why? Why are you doing this to me? I just helped you...” you couldn't understand that surreal situation. It wasn’t possible that your perfect life had been ruined by a single good gesture from you.

It wasn't fair, was it?

“You can't understand, miss.” Sebastian replied, still pushing one hand towards your shoulder and squeezing it slightly as if to comfort you.

Being close to the window, the demon's red eyes lit up as soon as he saw that unmistakable red helmet and black motorcycle suit under the building.

The figure seemed to be answering something on cell phone and after a last look around it resumed its journey, making the vehicle roar.

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spruce-button · 3 years

Text

A short little DreamSMP Headcanon conversation between Wilbur and George I made. It’s unedited and messy but I think it gets the point across.

TW// Manipulation, Unreality, Gaslighting, Mentions of Death

Length: 1140 words

George recognizes the man in front of him.

"Out of everyone, George, I am the most curious about you."

George picked up a stick and threw it. Nothing bent or wrinkled in his reality, he didn't see flecks of color he couldn't name and he didn't wake up in a random bed placed upon grass.

"You're not dead?" George tries. He's not entirely sure if he's dreaming or not, despite the fact everything seemed awake and real. His world was solid, it just didn't feel like it.

Wilbur tilts his head and taps George's forehead, "I don't know, am I?"

George scoffs at him because of the gesture, he's felt the same thing many times before and somehow he felt like he was months in the past when everything was just how it was. When there was no complicated history and he didn't wake up every few hours without the memories of going to bed.

"Why?" George asks again, tiredly.

Wilbur rolls his eyes, "Dream. He brought me back."

George scrunches up his face and shifts his weight, "Why?"

"Is that all you can ask? Why this, why that-- y'know you can ask something different. I know you have the words for that."

"Is Dream out?"

Wilbur scoffs, "No. There'd be mass panic if he was."

George hums and feels a slight exhaustion weigh on him.

“Do you still think the same of Dream?”

George sends him a quizzical look, the air rushes through their hair but Wilbur’s stands surprisingly stiff. The hair seems greasy and to George that made far too much sense.

“Is this a trick question?”

Wilbur shrugs, “Just want to see if our allegiances are any closer than they were. I miss when they were before then, even.”

“He’s in prison.”

Wilbur laughs, “George-- that’s just a fact! Tell me how you feel.”

George stands still, no noise coming from him.

“Here let me tell you how I feel.” Wilbur starts, “Dream is my hero in my narrative, if he wasn’t in that prison, I would be.”

“I don’t think he's a hero.”

“You make me yawn, GeorgeNotFound, tell me something I haven't heard before.”

George sighs, “I think I miss him. No one else does, it seems.”

“I’ve heard all your friends want to kill him.”

George shudders and turns away from Wilbur. George wishes he was dreaming, this seemed a lot like a Dream he’s had before.

“Where’s the ghost you? He was nicer.”

“You never met him George, I remember that.”

“Okay-- I heard he was nicer, I had dreams of him being nicer than you are right now.”

Wilbur smiles in a pointed and dramatic curiosity. George felt like he was being threatened by the mocking gestures.

“Still sleeping away your day? Like a cat in a window? George, it has been thirteen years and you have not changed one bit.”

“It hasn’t been thirteen years. You died only a few months ago.”

Wilbur hums, “People keep telling me that, but how do you know you haven’t slept through it all? You very well might have. You very well might have less of a grip on reality as I do.”

“Fuck off, Wilbur.”

Wilbur hums, “I guess I’m right then. People should really stop letting me be right, it’ll go to my head.”

“It already has, maybe I should knock it out of you.”

“I think that’s reserved for Tommy.”

“And?”

“Don’t break that kid’s heart more than it already is. I’d come back all by myself to ruin you.”

They stand in silence for a bit, the sun quickly passes across the horizon and lets the night take over. The breeze from before has settled to a lonely night chill the George was often awake for.

“Time often goes faster in dreams, y’know. I bet even if it hasn’t actually been thirteen years, you’ve experienced just as much just like I have.”

“Gods, Wilbur, you are a piece of work. You really just want someone like you don’t you? You are so lonely.”

“Your best friend is in prison and the rest hate him.”

“You pushed away people and worked just to kill and destroy.”

“George, I love when you make me aware.”

George looks at Wilbur and deadpans, “Ew.”

“We are both aliens to the people around us. We could very well be better and not alienate ourselves yet we do anyway.”

“You are so full of yourself. You think you know everything,” George grumbles.

“Limbo is quite like learning everything in waves of different emotions. When I saw Dream conducting my train and bringing me back and had learned the final things I needed once more but for once it was in a fit of joy.”

George hates Wilbur in many ways. He hates the way he talks to George and he hates the way Wilbur walks around his space with the confidence that killed Dream.

Dream was dead wasn’t he? The Dream that George missed and held on to and pushed against his friends for the sake of. The Dream that started this all after George stumbled into this new inhabited world. That Dream was the one you could only see in dreams and not prison visits.

Maybe Wilbur was right, maybe they were similar in ways of maybe it’s George muddying the water in his own river trying to cling on to the people he once cared for.

George was never good at letting things go.

“I can hear you think, George. It is both distracting and admirable. I haven’t seen someone think as much as you do in a while.”

“Are you having fun playing with me like I’m just another card in your deck?”

“You’re more interesting than the rest, you’re more aware and instead of going to help them you sit here and help yourself.”

“I’m friends with Dream.” George says, like it explains it all, and in ways it does.

Wilbur eyebrows raise with his usual mock expression, “That implies that you’re still friends.”

George scoffs, “We were still friends during L’manburg days even though we were on opposite sides. This isn’t anything new.

Wilbur laughs, “Oh I know George. You’re a special case and I’d very well pin you for a centrist if I didn’t know you better.”

“I wish you didn’t know me at all.”

“I know that’s not true.”

“Yeah, I know you do.”

And maybe George was sleeping, he wakes up in the same spot days later with a flower in his hand and the mushrooms he’s so familiar with climbing up the sides of his clothes in large masses. Maybe George wasn’t because he can hear Wilbur in the air and the comforting smell of smoke and fireworks clouds his reality.

The next week they bump into each other and George acts surprised. Tommy yells at him to leave.

#tw unreality #tw manipulation #tw gaslighting #tw death #dsmp #writing #og post #if I forgot to tag any triggers lmk

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jihyuncompass · 4 years

Text

In A Dream

Jihyun Week 2020 Day Five

Dream

Jihyun Kim x MC

Word Count: 4.1k

Summary: In a delirium, V dreams about what he did, and what he wants.

The elixir did bad things to his head. V knew that. From the moment that bottle touched his lips he knew that there was nothing good that could come from it. What he couldn’t have expected was how immediate the effects of the drug were on his body.

Within seconds he had been in agony, dizzy and disoriented. His limbs felt like lead and every moment caused aching pain to spread throughout his whole body. His heart beat so hard he thought it was going to beat right out of his chest and shatter his ribs. The pain continued for a while, until for a moment he found less pain.

This must have been the temporary paradise that Saeran, no Ray. Had spoken of. Although his body still felt heavy he also felt calm, almost blissful. He laid on the floor of his prison and felt at ease. The calmest he’d been in the past six months.

Too quickly though, he came crashing back down. Then the pain was back, his head no longer felt light but now throbbed painfully. Every twitch every movement felt like lava in his blood vessels and caused agonizing pain in his muscles.

His brain felt fuzzy and confused when he was laying down on the floor of the basement of Magenta. In the few moments of clarity he could grasp he would try to think of how to get out, how to help them, and how to possibly even save Rika. But as quickly as those thoughts surfaced they would get muddled up in his confused state.

The only relief he could get, was in the moments where he was able to fall asleep. Even if only for a few moments just being able to sleep made it feel so much less painful.

He dreamt often when he was asleep,the dreams were often vivid. Only the slighted bits of unreality reminding him that he was dreaming.

In one of his dreams he was at the cathedral. The same one he’d go to with Rika regularly, after he’d decided to convert for her. Religion had never held a huge part of his heart, but seeing Rika’s love and her dedication to her faith? He wanted that too, and he wanted to make her happy.

He walked out of the altar and into the large courtyard garden. The flowers were expertly taken care of. Each one standing tall and bright. The sweet smells of the flowers surrounded V.

Wandering through the garden he came across the sight of a child sitting on the ground. Admiring the flowers, his bright red hair a stark contrast to the boy’s pale skin. His hands were close to his chest, like he was scared of touching anything.

“Saeran?” V asked, stepping towards the boy. Kneeling down to be at eye level with him. Saeran was staring at the flowers, seemingly in complete awe. “These ones are beautiful, they take really good care of their flowers here.” V continued. Saeran wasn’t often one for words, but V still kept talking. “Maybe if it’s alright I know of this beautiful botanical garden not too far from here. Maybe I could take you there?” V looked at the flowers again, taking in the individual flowers. He waited for Saeran to speak but when he didn’t get an answer he looked back to the boy’s face.

Except it wasn’t Saeran anymore, at least not the one he knew. Instead of the small redhead he was taller, though just as skinny. His once red hair now bleached a silver color with pink at the tips. He sat in the same position as before though now his hands were clenched together.

“Liar.” Saeran said. Or was it Ray? He wasn’t sure. He stared at the boy, eyes wide.

“Saeran-”

“Liar! Traitor!” Saeran screamed.

V’s hands shook as he tried to reach out to the boy. “Saeran, I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

“Liar!” Saeran screamed. “You abandoned me!” V shook his head trying more desperately to reach out to Saeran only for the boy to push him away. The realization hit V making him stutter.

“She wouldn't let me see you, please Saeran I would never abandon you. Rika told me you were at a school, that you were safe and happy I-”

“Stop lying!” Saeran screamed louder. “Stop lying to me!” Saeran stood up and ran, going into the cathedral. V quickly stood up and followed him calling after him.

V threw open the door to the Cathedral to instead be back in Saeran’s computer room at Magenta. As he looked down to himself he realized he was wearing the robes he had worn when he snuck in. At the end of the room was Saeran, holding desperately to you.

“Saeran please let them go!” V shouted. “Please, let’s just talk about this.”

“What if I don’t want to go?” You said. V stuttered for a moment, realizing that Saeran wasn’t holding you captive, in fact it seemed much closer than that. Much more intimate.

V stared at you trying to find words, after a moment he snapped out of his haze and reached out his hand. “Please, this place is dangerous.” V begged. “Come with me.” You stared him down but only stayed close to Saeran, taking a bottle of elixir into your hand.

“Dangerous? You must be mistaken, this place is paradise.” You said taking a swig of the elixir. His heart stopped at the sight. He wanted to run forward, get that bottle away from you, try and take you and run. Yet he felt stuck in his place. Unable to move an inch.

“And there’s no room for traitors in our paradise.” A new voice said, from behind you and Saeran there was Rika. She stood beside you looking at V with a look of utter disdain. Rika wrapped her arms around you pressing her front into your back.

V wanted to say something but he felt himself being pulled back. He looked back and saw two hooded figures pulling him back. Holding tightly to his arms, he looked back to you with begging eyes.

“Please.” He said one more time, but to no avail. The last thing he saw was Rika and Saeran guiding you away, while he continued to beg. He screamed, begging and pleading for them to come back. Apologizing endlessly to no one.

V woke up shaking. He was breathing heavily as he coughed. His chest spasming violently. His body ached from how badly he was coughing. He stared blankly into the darkness of the cell. He heard the sound of walking, seeing Saeran above him.

He couldn’t hear what Saeran said he could only hear what he had asked. “Please, let me see them.”

The next time he fell into a dream he wasn’t at Magenta anymore. He still wasn’t sure where he was. He just knew he was laying on a bed, and in a safe place with you and Luciel. He’d try to keep himself awake but with the effects of elixir still in his body he couldn’t keep himself awake.

In this dream he was sitting on a balcony looking over the city. The sky was dark and the moon high in the sky. The lights of the city lighting up his surroundings.

“V.” A voice said. V blinked, he tore his eyes away from the city skyline and to his friend next to him. Jumin had a glass of wine in his hand, staring at his friend. V looked down at the table between them, a glass of red wine on Jihyun’s side.

“I’m sorry Jumin. I think I spaced out for a moment.” His friend was giving him a strange look but moved on quickly looking back at the skyline. “What were you saying?”

“I was just telling you that I think you should consider the surgery again.” Jumin said. V sighed. Even in his dreams Jumin was trying to convince him to have his eyes operated on. V took a sip of his wine and looked away from Jumin.

“I don’t want that surgery, Jumin.” V said.

“Why not?” He said.

V sighed. He didn’t like talking about his reasons but he also couldn’t brush Jumin off. “I don’t deserve to have my eyes fixed, this is my punishment and I should take it.” He hadn’t meant to say so much, almost regretting what he said instantly.

“Don’t you find it ironic?” Jumin said. V turned to him.

“What do you mean?”

“Your mother was a deaf musician, and now you’re becoming a blind photographer.” Jumin said, taking a longer drink from his glass. Nearly draining it. “I only find it ironic.” He said. V looked away.

In real life, Jumin never mentioned V’s mother. Jumin is a reasonable man and he knows that V’s mother is a sensitive subject. In a dream though it seemed Jumin wasn’t so careful about the subject.

“I’m not refusing because of my mother.” V said.

“Then what’s the real reason?” Jumin asked him. The more Jumin asked the more uncomfortable V felt. He didn’t want to answer these questions.

V thought for a long time, he swirled his wine around his glass. He hated thinking on this question, he’d agonized over this for hours already, the last thing he needed was to think about it more.

“I should have been able to save her. I should have been able to help her, but I couldn’t. I failed her, I couldn’t protect her.” V said finally after a while. Jumin was silent, then said only a single word.

“Who?” V snapped his head up to look at his friend.

“What do you mean ‘who’?”

“Are you talking about Rika? Or are you talking about your mother?” V stared for a while. His mind suddenly felt very unclear. Who had he been talking about? Had he actually been talking about his mother or?

“I don’t understand.” V said. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Jumin spoke again, though V was hardly listening. “Your mother died protecting you did she not? You were trapped in that burning house, she got you out. Only to be consumed by the fire herself. You were her only son, so why couldn’t you have made sure she got out too?” V shook his head.

“I- You don’t mean that.” V held his head in his hands.

“Don’t I?” Jumin said, wait-

The voice was different this time. V looked up, sitting next to him now was himself. Only when he was a teenager. Wearing his old school uniform, holding a can of soda instead of a glass of wine.

“We never even told her we loved her.” Jihyun said. “She died thinking we hated her.” V shook his head more, he wanted to throw his wine glass. He wanted to cry, scream, anything to make this end. “And maybe we did. Her and her artist’s delusions.” Jihyun crushed the empty soda can in his hand.

“That’s not true.” V said. “I don’t hate her.” He cried to himself. His younger self was staring at him. “We couldn’t save mother. No matter how hard we could have tried.” V wiped his eyes, his fingers lingering on his eyelids. “But maybe, it’s not too late to save her.” Rika’s face came to him.

Maybe, if he went back. He could actually save someone.

That time he’d woken up to a stranger leaning over him. V didn’t recognize the person but he did recognize you next to them. You were looking into V’s eyes when he opened them. Although he was still delirious he stared at them, he kept his eyes on them. A single piece of clarity through the pain.

He wasn’t sure when the dream began this time. The first thing he became aware of was the sound of the wind rustling through the trees. When he could see clearly the first thing he saw was the open window. The green trees that swayed outside. Bringing in a breeze to the room V was standing in.

Slowly he became aware of the other things in the room. He noticed the furnishings, and then where he was standing against the wall. A paintbrush in one hand. A paint palette balanced on the table next to him, and a large canvas on an easel. The painting only half finished. In his dream he couldn’t make out the details of what he was seeing on the canvas. Looking at the brush in his hand he wondered what and why he was painting.

Standing in front of the canvas he stared at it, even if he couldn’t make out the details he knew that the painting was something of his own creation. He hadn’t painted since he was in highschool, why would he be painting now?

About the set down the brush he heard a knock coming from behind him. Turning around he saw the door open just a peek.

“You’re still painting? You’ve been working for hours.” You said, walking into the room. you looked over the painting, your eyes lighting up. “Oh that’s beautiful.” You said. V stared at you, struggling to come up with words to say. His mind was still trying to figure out where he was, and what exactly was happening in this dream.

“Thank you?” V said looking back to the painting. You walked to stand next to him. He glanced at you, then back at the painting. V set the paintbrush down carefully, looking closer at his hands he noticed the paint smeared on them. A variety of rainbow colors dried to his skin.

“Gosh your hands are filthy.” You laughed. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up a little.” You slipped her hand in his slowly guiding him towards the door and away from his mysterious painting, and the open window.

You led him down a hallway, they seemed to be in a house of some kind, but it wasn’t his home on the cliffside, or any other home he’d ever remembered being in. This place was entirely new to him.

You opened a door at the end of the hallway into a bathroom, You turned the knobs to turn the water on. Taking his hands they brought them under the faucet, rinsing them. You squirted some soap onto his hands. Setting the bottle of soap aside you rubbed their hands against his. Carefully scrubbing the paint off of his hands and his fingernails.

V glanced over at you, carefully washing his hands for him. He didn’t even know how to begin to process this, you were standing so close to him, acting so kindly to him. He thought he would have wanted to shrink away from your touch but he didn’t. He actually found himself reveling in it. Butterflies flew in his stomach every time you rubbed your hands against his.

When you turned the water off he was almost sad. you helped him wipe his hands dry on a towel and turned back to look at him. After a moment you started laughing.

“You have paint in your hair!” You said, reaching up to run your hands through his mint hair. “How did you even do something like that silly man?” V stared at you blankly. The way you were smiling at him, the softness in your expression was making his chest tighten with emotion.

“I’m sorry I’m not sure how I did that.” V said finally. You just laughed and put your hands on his shoulder.

“Aw, it’s alright. We’ll take care of it later, but you’re probably hungry right? You’ve been in your studio forever.” V didn’t even need to answer while you ushered him out of the bathroom and down the hallway again, into the kitchen.

You stood at a counter pulling out two bowls. You began to pile food into them. V watched you, his mind still reeling. He found himself walking closer to you wanting to be near you. You glanced over at you finding himself only inches away from YOUR face.

His hands shook as he held his arm out to you. You stepped forward and looked him in the eyes. V leaned forward closing his eyes slowly closing the gap between you.

“Jihyun-” You whispered. He stopped and opened his eyes. “V.” You said. V was staring at your eyes looking into his.

“Yes?” V asked you.

“V.” You said again, their face starting to contort into a look of fear. “V, V, V! Jihyun!”

V’s eyes shot open. His vision was blurred, he blinked trying to clear up his vision. Around him he heard distant voices, it almost sounded like he was underwater, everything sounded distant and distorted. He wasn’t in the safehouse anymore, was he in a car? Glancing around he realized he’s in Luciel’s car, but why?

“V? V, look at me.” He heard, he turned his head and saw You above him looking at him. He kept his eyes on you, slowly he started to realize that he was in pain. He tried to look down to see what was hurting but you started speaking to him again. “V just keep on your eyes on me, just focus on me.” You brushed some of their hair out of their eyes. His eyes focused on a spot on your hand. Was that blood on your hand? Why was there blood?

“We’re almost there!” V heard from the front seat of the car. Was that Luciel’s voice? V tried to look but stopped himself when he heard your voice again.

“You’re going to be okay V, just hold on a little longer.” You said. “We’re almost at the hospital. You’re going to be just fine.” Feeling your hand on his chest V took what little energy he had was to reach his hand up, resting it on top of yours. You gently clutched his hand and gave him a tight smile.

V’s eyes felt heavy, he wanted to close his eyes again he wanted to sleep again. Maybe he’d have another warm dream like the one before. While his eyes started to flutter closed You called to him again. His eyes slowly opened once again and looked back to you.

“Just keep your eyes open V, just stay awake a little longer.” V stared at you, he wanted to sleep desperately but looking at your eyes he couldn’t.

He felt confused and disoriented but looking at you, he wanted to stay awake just a little while longer.

So much of it was a blur, one minute he was in the car and then he was dragged away from the car and carried into a loud and bright hospital setting. The brightness hurt his eyes, his eyes burned and as much as he tried to keep himself awake his eyes kept closing.

The last thing he remembers is being brought into a room and hands quickly removing his shirt and holding a mask to his face. Within moments his eyes closed again and drifted away again.

“Jihyun.” A voice said. V opened his eyes up and looked around, He must be dreaming again.

Sitting up Jihyun was in his childhood home, more specifically he was in the annex of his childhood home. Where his mother lived.

He looked for the source of the voice, his search interrupted by the sound of violin music floating through the air. As he stood he glanced around to try and find the source of it, opening one of the doors to listen to where the music was coming from.

The music slowly grew louder in his ears, the notes being played becoming stronger, crisper. He stopped in front of a door, the one he knew led to his mother’s room. Waiting a moment he pushed the door open and walked inside.

His mother stood in the center of the room, her violin against her chin, a bow held carefully in her small hands. Her eyes were trained on the music stand in front of her, eyes skimming the page to read the upcoming notes. The music she played was beautiful, unlike anything he had ever heard outside of the videos he’d seen of her.

V stood in the doorway until she finished the song, ending on one long beautiful note. She removed the bow from the strings and took the violin away from her chin. Turning to the doorway to smile at him.

“Jihyun.” She said, “How long have you been standing there?” He listened to her in shock, he’d never heard her voice like that. Clear and natural, not the struggling muddled voice he knew as a teenager.

“Not long.” V said. He walked further into the room and closer to his mother. She turned around and set the violin down back into its case. She turned back towards him with a smile.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you Jihyun. You’re so big now.” V watched her and took a shaky breath. He’d seen his mother in his dreams but the sight of her made him emotional. “How are you Jihyun? You don’t look well.” She sat down on her bed, patting the spot next to her. He waited for a moment but did sit down next to her.

“I’m scared, if I’m being honest.” V said.

“And why’s that?” She asked.

“I feel so lost.” V said. His mother put a hand on his knee and looked at him with kind eyes.

“That’s okay Jihyun.” She said.

“How?”

“It’s normal to feel lost, Jihyun. We all feel lost at times.” She said. He looked at her, seeing her he felt a wave of thoughts, of feelings, of things he wished he could have said.

“I miss you.” He said. “I should have been kinder to you, I should have listened to you I should have-”

His mother put her hands on her shoulders. “Jihyun.” He forced himself to look at her, despite his emotional state. “That’s in the past now, you can’t keep holding onto all of this hurt forever.” He sniffled and wiped at his eyes.

“I love you, I’m sorry I never told you.” V said. His mother gave him the kindest of smiles. She reached towards him and didn't move, letting her pull him into an embrace. The feeling of being embraced brought tears to his eyes, he held onto her.

“I love you too Jihyun. You were the greatest gift I was ever given.” He held her as tight as he could. Only wishing that this moment wasn’t a dream. However, even if it was a dream he held onto the moment. “Please, take care of yourself. It breaks my heart to know you don’t treasure yourself.”

She moved away a bit, but V didn’t let her go. He wanted to hold her as long as possible. “I will. I promise.” He pressed his face into her shoulder, feeling the dream start to pull away. He tried to hold onto the dream for a little bit longer. The feeling of his mother’s embrace dissipated and left him in the dark again.

For a while V was in the dark, he felt like he was floating somewhere in between waking and sleep. He couldn’t open his eyes but he thought he could hear Jumin’s voice. He tried to listen but couldn’t figure out exactly what he was saying.

Other times there was just silence, a beeping of a monitor. At one point he thought he felt someone holding his hand. That small touch keeping him present and at least a little conscious.

His mother’s voice stayed in his head, asking him to care for himself, and then he remembered the feeling of being near You in that one dream. He remembered the feeling of holding a paintbrush in his hand, of feeling you close by.

That dream was so good, so comfortable. Being in that darkness he wondered, he thought and fantasized about what he wanted, who he wanted to become. The life he wanted to lead once he woke up.

He wanted to learn about himself, he wanted to learn to treasure himself, and he wanted to learn to love again, and he wanted that love to be shared with you.

V’s eyes opened slowly, taking a deep breath he looked around his surroundings. A hospital room, a bright window letting in some light.

“V! You’re awake!” A voice said. He turned his head slowly to see you smiling at him. And he smiled back.

#jihyunweek2020 #mystic messenger #mysme #jihyun kim #kim jihyun #mysme jihyun #mysme v #v x mc #jihyun x mc

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thebibliomancer · 4 years

Text

Essential Avengers: Avengers #230: THE LAST FAREWELL!

April, 1983

“Yellowjacket no more!”

Aw, dang! Hank got raptured!

Captain America, Thor, and Hawkeye is a weird collection of characters to be staring forlornly at the empty Yellowjacket uniform.

Thor hasn’t really expressed much about the Yellowjacket situation in comparison. You think they could squeeze Wasp into the shot. Just her ex-husband is all. She’s just the team leader is all.

Put Wasp on the cover, you cowards.

So last times on Avengers: Hank Pym got himself kicked out of the Avengers and out of his marriage and pretty much deserved it. He was tricked into committing treason by his arch-nemesis Egghead and sent to jail. He sat in jail for, like, a really long time. The wheels really spun on the arc.

He was kicked out of the Avengers/walked before he could be kicked out in #213. He was arrested at the end of issue #217. His trial was in issue #228.

He was kidnapped from his trial by the Masters of Evil. Then in #229, he turned the tables on them all in quite a satisfying manner and slugged Egghead in the egg head.

Then Hawkeye manslaughtered him. He’s dead.

Hawkeye arrowed the science gun to stop Egghead from shooting Hank in the back and then the science gun backfired and microwaved that egg.

This makes Hank’s victory a little bittersweet for him.

Hank Pym: “I defeated the Masters of Evil single-handed... but more than anything, I wanted to bring Egghead to justice. He was a thorn in my side for so many years. I was never able to defeat him for long, not when I was Ant-Man... and not even after I became Giant-Man! He bedeviled me in every identity I assumed. He did me the greatest wrong when I was Yellowjacket. I’d already ruined my Avengers career, when he tricked me into committing a federal crime!”

Hawkeye too is set to thinking by what happened. Maybe humming a bit of Bohemian Rhapsody to himself too.

Hawkeye: “This is unreal! I’ve never killed a man before! I never planned on anything like this happening! Yeah, but I can’t feel sorry for Egghead! If anyone deserved this, he did! My brother Barney bought the farm, stopping Egghead from killing the Avengers. And if I hadn’t acted when I did, Hank Pym would be dead! If I had to do it again... I would!”

Hawkeye: ‘Eh, fuck ‘em!’

hah.

But Hank laments that with Egghead dead, so goes his chance of proving his innocence by turning him over to the law.

Hank Pym: “Egghead was always getting away from me, Hawkeye. It’s almost as if he’s pulled the ultimate escape!”

Fun fact: There doesn’t seem to be an Ultimate Egghead! Why would there need to be? Even more than in the 616, Ultimate Hank Pym is by far his own worst enemy.

Hawkeye basically tells Hank to buck up and that there’s basically incriminating evidence lying all over the place.

He doesn’t say it but even Egghead’s dead deceased corpse is kind of like evidence. Evidence that he wasn’t dead until recently.

Captain Marvel shows up because someone finally came looking for Hawkeye.

Hank is surprised, much like others have been that this is Captain Marvel. He knew the old guy, the super saiyan. And I guess he didn’t hear there was a new one.

Hawkeye: “We’ve had a few changes since you went in the slammer, Hank. C.M. is an Avenger in training.”

Huh. Captain Marvel doesn’t even react to the dead body. Then again, there’s a lot of bodies lying all around the place.

And while Hawkeye is introducing the new Captain Marvel to Hank, one of those bodies stirs.

Moonstone has regained consciousness and assesses the situation. She could blast Hank, Captain Marvel, and Hawkeye with her coherent light pew pew but that’d just weaken her.

Like in the previous issue, Moonstone is one of the few supervillains who knows when to fold ‘em.

So she decides to skeedaddle while the getting is good but whoops.

Getting wasn’t good.

The rest of the Avengers have shown up and cornered her while she was pondering.

So Moonstone decides ‘eh fuck it’ and promises to spill all the beans if it gets her a lighter sentence.

So days later, the mostly off-screen trial of Hank Pym finally ends.

A loooot of new evidence suddenly popping up led the prosecution to withdraw all charges.

The lead prosecution witness, Trish Starr, suddenly reversing her testimony after putting on Tony Stark’s magical mental-scan helmet kind of tanked the case, really.

Wait, they really did just admit the use of the helmet in the trial when its new, unsubstantiated technology whose inventor disappeared?

Damn, I knew the Marvel legal system was wild (considering comic books as legal documents as explored in Dan Slott’s run on the character) but still!

Although it makes sense. Egghead got Trish to incriminate Hank by using the bionic arm to alter her memories. The helmet Tony invented undoes that kind of alteration. This connects the dots quite reasonably. Glad Stern was paying attention when preparing to finish this arc.

Moonstone and Beetle confirming that Egghead was using Hank as a tool also helps.

In fact, not only did the prosecution drop all their charges, the judge also dismissed all the charges. Which feels redundant? I dunno much about law, really. Just the She-Hulk version of law. Which, again, uses comic books as legal documents.

Apparently happening at around the same time, Hawkeye also had his day in court.

Literally a day.

It wasn’t a trial, just a hearing to investigate whether he was guilty of wrong-doing in the death of Egghead.

Newsman with a newsplan: “Though he was threatened with contempt-of-court charges a number of times -- Hawkeye was found innocent of any wrong-doing in the death of Dr. Elihas Starr -- the self-styled Egghead.”

Yeah, I bet Hawkeye was threatened with contempt-of-court a bunch. And I bet you anything that at least one of the times he rejoined with “No, you’re out of order! This whole damn courtroom is out of order!”

And then the judge probably just sighed.

I mean, look at that unbelievable Hawkeye in the bottom left panel.

Anyway, I think Stern must have felt a little pent up having to start his Avengers run finishing off someone else’s story, especially having to devote a recap issue to it since the plot had been interspersed with fill-ins.

Because in the middle of concluding this arc, he throws in two plot beats that I have to assume are to set up stuff of his own.

A day after the trial, the Beetle is being escorted to a cell in a Western Pennsylvanian federal maximum security prison when he bumps into another prisoner.

What neither the Beetle or the guard notices is that the bump to “Sam Smithers” has peeled off some skin on his arm and revealed THAT HE IS ACTUALLY MADE OF WOOD!

Suspect possibly a living puppet.

And elsewhere but samewhen, IN SPACE, specifically on Saturn’s moon Titan, Thanos’ brother Eros is basically complaining about being bored.

When Captain Mar-vell died of having a lot of cancer, he asked Eros to look after Mar-vell’s... uh... -google- robot girlfriend?? Elysius.

Eventual mom to Genis and Phyla-Vells.

Soooooo, Eros has done as Mar-vell’s deathbed wish was and spent an agonizing several consecutive months hanging out in Titan’s beautiful inside forests and just having a real hard time caring about one thing for such a long period of time.

I’m not even being unfair to him.

Eros: “This is the first time in ages that I’ve spent so many consecutive months on Titan! I have ever been a wanderer! I’ve sought out adventure across the wide cosmos. Frankly, I have known romance on more worlds than most sentient beings could imagine. That’s part of the problem. Our friendship has been wonderful, but I’m having a hard time adjusting to it. My previous relationships have all been of a fleeting nature.”

‘Look its not you, its me’ except for attempting to dump someone as a friend, instead of romantically.

Not dump, even. He just kind of wants to ditch her and is asking in a roundabout way if she’s emotionally stable enough to ditch.

She goes, yeah sure, go off and have fun. And maybe she’s getting tired of his company too.

Elysius: “Look... you’ve been a great comfort to me these last few months, but now I need to be alone for a while with my thoughts.”

Geez, how clingy has he been this whole time while desperately wanting to be anywhere else?

Anyway, since she’s fine with him fucking off, he does fuck off. Right to the Hall of Science.

Where Eros’ dad is like ‘oh ffs’ when Eros tells him that he needs to use the LIVING COMPUTER Isaac to look up planets with the highest adventure potential.

Mentor of Titan is a man deeply disappointed in both of his sons for very different reasons.

Anyway, would you really be surprised if I told you that Earth was in the Top 3 planets in known space for adventure?

You wouldn’t, right?

Meanwhile, back at the plot, Hank Pym is on a boat with Trish Starr.

She wants to apologize for that time she incriminated him but Hank isn’t going to blame her for being as much a pawn in Egghead’s scheme as he was.

Trish: “Yes, uncle was like that all of his life. I think he really enjoyed using people.”

And she remembers the first time they met in Marvel Feature #5, where Egghead tried to drain her mind to power his machines. Because. Batteries hadn’t been invented? Because he’s just not happy unless he’s screwing over someone else?

Second one sounds likeliest.

She also remembers the time he car bombed her car but siphoned out most of the gas first.

Trish: “He didn’t want to kill me... only maim me. Nice guy, my uncle.”

Yeah. Its stories like that why its only Trish and Hank also Fred Sloan on a boat at Egghead’s funeral. Yeah, by the way, this is basically Egghead’s funeral.

Fred is only here for Trish.

Hank reacts to Fred so I wondered if he’s important in some way or if Hank recognized him but I checked the wiki and his main importance seems to be... this issue? So I don’t know why Hank reacts to the guy.

So Fred is just here for Trish. Trish is here out of duty, since she was Egghead’s only known family. And Hank is also only here out of duty but more archnemesis ‘can’t believe that asshole is dead and I don’t even get to feel good about it’ duty. I assume.

Hank even gets the honor (?) of laying Egghead to rest. By dumping his ashes into New York harbor.

Mostly because it doesn’t seem like Trish wants to?

So Hank quotes some Mark Twain and dumps the ashes.

Hank Pym: “‘Death... the only immortal who treats us all alike, whose pity and whose peace and whose refuge are for all -- the soiled and the pure, the rich and the poor, the loved and the unloved.’ Farewell, Egghead.”

Trish: “It’s awful to say this -- but I can’t find it in myself to be sorry. I think I’m glad he’s dead.”

And that’s Egghead’s legacy. Mourned by no one. And his death is only not cheered because the only people that cared feel shitty about feeling glad he’s dead.

ANYWAY, there’s some other loose ends to tie up.

So Hank takes a taxi to the Avengers Mansion and I guess finally explicitly explains why the mansion has seemed to change positions over time?

Hank Pym: “I never thought I’d be coming here again. The place has certainly changed since the day Jan and I met here with Iron Man, Thor, and the Hulk to draft the Avengers charter and by-laws. And I still recall the time Iron Man and Thor moved the mansion back from the street to give us more privacy. What a project that was!”

Sounds like a heck of a noodle incident, Hank.

... Why just Thor and Iron Man? Did they... did they literally just shove the mansion back from the street? ... There’s... basements and caves under there. How does that work? That seems like a massive architectural project.

Hank, pls, I need to know more details. You can’t just drop that information and casually stroll away. HANK!

Captain Marvel meets Hank at the door and escorts him inside, captain marveling at how calm Hank is despite everything he’s been through.

Hank shows up to the Avengers meeting and-

Oh god, She-Hulk looks like she wants to punch the suppressed emotions right out of Jan. She-Hulk, pls.

So, Wasp is super formal, calling Hank Dr. Pym and telling him that they want to use the mento-scan helmet to see if he was under outside influence when he did all the very bad things he did.

All of the Avengers are harboring their own concerns.

She-Hulk: “I’ve read legal briefs that were more informal! She’s cool on the surface, but inside -- ! Jannie, why are you doing this to yourself?!”

Are you guys already at the cute nickname stage of your friendship or is that just the way She-Hulk be?

Cap is worried that this is rough on Jan but that she’s doing what she needs to do as the Avengers chairwoman. But he’s more worried about the absence of Iron Man who is still missing and who ignored three calls to assemble.

Thor is just internally like ‘just do the helmet, my dude.’

Hawkeye is literally biting his lip at the tension.

Hawkeye: “Jan divorced Hank after his last breakdown. If we find out that he wasn’t to blame, what’s it gonna do to the both of ‘em? I hate this! That stupid court hearing was a breeze in comparison.”

Huh, Hawkeye has a point. Even if outside influence is proven, its not as straightforward as Jan and Hank instantly getting back together, no harm no foul. There was harm. And the problems with their relationship were deeper than one incident. But it would also create this possible expectation that they should get back together because the specific incident wasn’t Hank’s fault.

And Captain Marvel is still looking at this from an outsiders’ perspective.

Captain Marvel: “They’re really hurting over this... all of them! They all care so very, very much. If I ever become a fully active Avenger, I pray that I can live up to their example.”

So Hank very calmly agrees to use the helmet. But...

Hank Pym: “Sorry... no outside influences. It would have changed a lot of things if there had been, wouldn’t it? But no, I made my own mistakes... and I have to live with them.”

Thiiiiis was the best decision for the story arc. It may seem, in retrospect, the worst decision in the long run, but I can respect the story for standing by what it has done and standing by the growth Hank has had as a result of everything that happened.

I think a lot of more modern marvel comics have gone a little wild with letting the heroes do all kinds of dubious things and also die because it can be easily undone. It was a Skrull, they were being mind-controlled, it was an AU Nazi version of them created by a cosmic cube child. Or by giving the hero some big redemptive moment like Iron Man wiping his mind to make up for doing Civil War. Or Iron Man dying to make up for Civil War 2. You can explore whatever scenarios you want without worrying about dealing with the consequences long-term.

But in this era of Marvel, they were concerned with the long-term. Not to say that there weren’t cop-outs back in this day too. But since books were expected to keep going indefinitely instead of being cancelled and relaunched, there’s less of a sense of ‘this thing is only here to play with for a little while.’ If you wrote a thing, another writer was expected to follow up on it.

And I miss that a little.

So not giving a cop-out bullshit thing that undoes Hank’s actions was bad in the long run for his image as a character. But that’s a long way from now problem, exacerbated by writers like Chuck Austin and Mark Millar who wanted to wallow in it.

For an arc where Hank fell from grace and proved himself again, taking ownership of what a garbage fire his life can be was necessary.

One among many reasons I probably won’t like the Crossing when I get to it, haha.

With Hank’s actions proven as being Hank’s actions, Hank says there’s one more loose end that he wants to help tie off.

He wants to participate as witness when the Avengers hold a court of inquiry for Hawkeye killing Egghead.

This comes as an absolute surprise to Hawkeye, who I guess never read the bylaws. Which honestly, is very in-character for him.

But it being brought up, he insists that all he has to do is enter the findings of the state judge and be done with it.

Hank insists he participate though.

Hank Pym: “Hawkeye is faced with charges because he acted in my defense. It’s only right that I act in his.”

So, the Avengers go to the first floor library, which is apparently the court of inquiry room. I feel like we’re suddenly getting a lot of details about the layout of the Avengers Mansion in recent issues.

So Wasp convenes the court all formal style, so formal style that Hawkeye thinks that stickler Cap(tain America) couldn’t have done a better job. The purpose of the court of inquiry is to determine the validity of the charge of “unreasonable use of deadly force” and determine what if any proper disciplinary action should be taken.

I think Hawkeye is annoyed at having to go through with this (read the bylaws, my dude) because when Wasp asks if he has anything to add to his claim of innocence of the charge, he says he already gave the court copies of the court transcript that cleared him of the same charge, but also decides to speechify a little, because he wasn’t accused of contempt of court enough today.

Hawkeye: “I have already given the chair copies of the transcript of a hearing of the state courts... a hearing which found me not guilty of the same charge. And I have something else to say as well!”

“I don’t deny that my actions caused the death of Egghead. But in no way did I use undue force! I found Hank Pym in mortal danger, and I used the necessary means to save him... period. After all, we are supposed to be the Avengers, right?”

Luckily for Hawkeye, the Avengers are more willing to put up with him than a state court so Jan just goes ‘ok, noted.’

Captain Marvel also has a minor change of heart on Hawkeye. I don’t think we’ve gotten her in-depth feelings on him before (although he did get pissy about her joining the team, we didn’t see her response to that) but she’s impressed because she thought he had more wind than conviction but is seeing that isn’t so. And she’s also impressed by Serious Mode Jan who she thought was kind of flighty.

Captain Monica Marvel seeing all kinds of new sides of the Avengers lately.

Also, this isn’t important and you won’t be able to see what I mean unless I included more caps than I wanted to, but in the panel establishing the court of inquiry, Monica is just standing off to the side. But in the next panel she appears in, she’s moved over to sit on a couch instead.

I think its a framing thing but its still kind of funny to imagine her going ‘wait why am I standing up’ and heading for the comfy couch.

With Hawkeye’s statement given, Wasp invites Hank Pym to speak his piece.

And Hank gets up and gives an entirely unnecessary but probably appreciated defense of Hawkeye.

Hank Pym: “Ladies and gentlemen... I have not always been on the friendliest of terms with Hawkeye. Point of fact, we nearly came to blows a number of times... back in the days when I was an Avenger. But in all the time I’ve known him, Hawkeye has never used undue force.”

“I realize that this inquiry is little more than a formality. I have no doubt that you will find in his behalf. He did, as he said, act only in my defense. Unlike my own recent case before you, there is not the slightest hint of misconduct or negligence. The only thing Hawkeye is guilty of is being a good Avenger.”

“When I last spoke before this body, at my court-martial, I was not in a rational state of mind. I was unfit to be an Avenger. You wisely expelled me. I never expected to speak before you again. And now, I can think of no finer final statement than this... It has been my sincere honor to have known Hawkeye’s fellowship... as it has to have known yours.”

Okay. So. Half a defense of Hawkeye. And half... just a general good-bye and a demonstration that he actually does know how to deliver a defense at a court-martial. Cool.

I imagine if he had a mic, he would have dropped it.

Probably not, actually. Hank isn’t that exact blend of cool and inconsiderate for a mic drop.

Jarvis intercepts Hank on his way out and asks that he come with him to the second floor study. Jarvis has taken the liberty of gathering up the personal items Hank just kind of left in the mansion and packing them for him.

One suitcase has a bunch of Hank’s clothes that he had stashed in the mansion over the years. Including some wacky ties for wacky tie Fridays and a shirt that Hank had just plumb lost.

The other suitcase is a spare Yellowjacket outfit. In case Hank ever needs it.

Then Hank and Jarvis shake hands, Hank thanking Jarvis for everything that he’s done for him and the Avengers. He asks Jarvis to take care of himself because he knows he doesn’t have to ask him to take care of the Avengers.

This is a very touching scene. Its so touching that Jarvis excuses himself to go get misty eyed.

This is a Jarvis appreciation blog because I appreciate Jarvis as well.

Then, as Hank heads back down the staircase, he is intercepted by Thor, Captain America, and Hawkeye.

Yeah, the court of inquiry resolved off-screen because of how forgone a conclusion it was.

The three Avengers basically fall all over themselves to pat Hank on the back. Hank actually looks somewhat panicked by the positive affirmation.

That’s some mixture of funny and sad that I can’t identify.

Hawkeye tells Hank how much he appreciated his unnecessary defense. Thor clasps Hank’s shoulder and tells him he’s a class act, but in Thor-y words. And Cap extends an offer for whatever the Avengers can do to help Hank get back on his feet.

Hank thanks him for the offer but he’s already received an offer from a small research foundation in the Midwest.

Seems like getting exonerated of a treason charge is the best resume of all. That and Hank’s actual impressive resume.

But Cap has some stuff to work out re: Hank because he starts off on the stuff he put on the back burner back in that Ghost Rider issue.

Cap(tain America): “Hank... I know Iron Man would agree, if he were here, that we’re all sorry about the way things worked out. We should have realized the pressures you’d been under, prior to your breakdown. I was group leader at the time! I should have -- !”

Hank Pym: “Hold it right there, Cap! What I did, I did to myself! If I could have admitted that my problems existed... If I’d been willing to open up to you folks... Well, ‘if’ can be a big word sometimes. The fact of the matter is, I screwed up. And you did the only thing you could do! I don’t blame any of you.”

Hank has boarded the personal responsibility train and goddammit he’s riding it to the end of the line!

Good for him. Good clarity for the arc to have in its last issue.

But having started to slightly shout at the Avengers that he’s taking responsibility dammit! (he looks a bit pissed when he’s responding to Cap) Hank awkwardly excuses himself.

Cap tries to stop Hank from leaving because he has reached the bargaining stage of grief, I guess.

Cap: “Hank, wait! It doesn’t have to end like this! We could make a special amendment to the by-laws! We could reinstate you as an Avenger! You could be a special reservist -- !”

Hank: “Thanks, Cap. But no thanks. Trying to play super hero was the biggest mistake I ever made with my life! I was only fooling myself in ever thinking otherwise. But if you ever really think you might need a Yellowjacket again some day...”

He hands Cap the Yellowjacket suitcase.

Hank: “... Here! All you need is a good man and what’s in this case!”

I would hope, anyway. It’s going to be awkward if he opens it up later and its full of wacky ties.

The funny thing, although not really funny ha ha, is that Yellowjacket is the one codename of Hank’s that never really catches on outside of him.

You have multiple Ant-Men, a couple Goliaths, at least one other Giant-Man. There was a second Yellowjacket, eventually. But she didn’t make a big splash.

Despite Hank’s attempt here to pass the torch, Yellowjacket is a codename that remains inextricably tied to him. Which might be the problem. If there were another, more successful or at least more endearing Yellowjacket, Hank’s infamy in the role would not stand out so much.

Alas.

She-Hulk and Captain Marvel try next to intercept Hank. They don’t know him very well but they wanted to say their goodbyes too, despite not really knowing him that well.

Its the thought that definitely counts, probably.

But Hawkeye has some social awareness for a change and draws their attention to Wasp who is hanging back, but who clearly wants to talk to Hank.

So the rest of the Avengers quickly vacate to let Hank and Jan finally have closure. Or re-closure. “I want a divorce and to never see you again” is a kind of closure.

The situation has changed, however.

They both try to apologize to each other and then laugh at the awkwardness.

Hank: “Janet van Dyne, you are one in a million! After all that I put you through, you want to tell me that you’re sorry?”

Wasp: “I think we both made some mistakes along the way, but there were some good times... weren’t there?”

Hank: “Yes. But you can’t base a marriage on just a few good times. I fell for the young lady who reminded me of my first wife... and you thought you’d found the strong, silent hero. But I was never that strong, Jan. You know that now.”

Wasp: “Uh-huh.”

Damn, his prison time really did bring Hank a lot of clarity. That or the pile of therapists Tony kept throwing at him.

Hank also kind of talks over Jan here. Or at least steers the conversation. I don’t know what Jan would have said because Hank tells her that they both have other lives to lead and tells her to take care of herself.

Maybe its for the best, if, like Cap, she was going to try to shoulder all the blame for Hank’s bad decisions.

Hank walks out the door and finds Trish and Fred from the boat waiting to give him a ride to the airport. And then he is gone.

Like in the final image of the COURT-MARTIAL issue, Jan watches at the window.

“The last time Henry Pym left these walls, Janet felt like crying... but couldn’t find any tears. Today, at last, she has found the tears... for her former husband... for her team... for herself. Today, there is pain and remorse and release. There will be time enough for joy and hope tomorrow.”

Emotional catharsis can be like that.

In that the book kept going ‘Jan is really holding her emotions in and that’s probably not overall great for her’ its good that she can let it out now.

Kind of laughing at Captain Marvel and She-Hulk who only recently just met Jan being the ones going there there while the men she has known for years are just awkwardly standing in the background.

And that’s the fall and rise of Hank Pym. Apparently collected in trade as The Trial of Yellowjacket, which is a decent enough name too.

Overall, a good arc. That is kind of hampered by the need for filler and a writer change near the end. But honestly, Stern catches the ball and runs with it. He concludes the arc just as good as Shooter would’ve.

This arc is all kinds of iconic for Hank, although, unfortunately, most people are only aware of the beginning and maybe have a hazy understanding of what the ending does.

Although. This is a really good send-off for Hank. A really, really good send-off that would have worked best if he did like he said and quit superheroing forever.

That’s not to be, obviously, not in a perpetual narrative machine like Marvel. But it feels like it could have been and maybe should have been the last word on his character.

I enjoy Hank in Busiek’s Avengers and in Avengers Academy. And also, conceptually, Hank telling Reed “it’s on, bitch.” I very don’t enjoy Ultimate Hank Pym. So its a balancing act. The perfect exit for the character vs but I like some stuff when they brought him back.

Anyway.

After this, Stern gets to move on to his own material. Which he already planted the seeds for in this issue.

That’s a pun.

Follow @essential-avengers because of my bad puns. Also like and reblog, if you like to reblog.

#Avengers #Egghead #Masters of Evil #Hank Pym #Hawkeye #the Wasp #Captain America #Thor #She Hulk #Captain Marvel #Monica Rambeau #i did a lot of quoting because the comic has some good quotables here #essential avengers #essential marvel liveblogging

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equestrianwritingsstuff · 3 years

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Drowning 6 pretttttry please. Your writing is amazing, honest to god. Wish I had your talent. Keep writing!!!!

Thank you for the ask and lovely message ❤

Drowning Part 6

Masterlist

This one is a tad different that the other parts, some segments are in from Supervillain's POV which are very vague because they are meant have an altered state feel to them. You also learn a lot about Villain and Hero's past in this one.

@shydragonrider @asrasmysoulmate

Warnings: unreality, wheelchair, schizophrenia, elecric shocking, hallucinations, hate towards another, possessiveness, restraints, drugged whumpee, sick whumpee

Supervillain emerged from whatever fluid contraption held him in place. His body went numb, pins and needles filling every limb, every muscle like wildfire.

But, nearly as quick as he broke the surface, he fell back in...

Falling...

His body seized up, a ringing in his ears... then he hit solid ground, his body going slack. Nearly immediately, he felt conscious of the tubes and moniters embellishing him like ornaments and garland on a Christmas tree.

His lead-filled mouth yanked open on its own free will, trying to force a scream out, but his tongue only managed a hoarse whimper.

He jerked his head about, finding it laid nearly on a pillow, but another trap locked his head in. He clenched his hands, but his body was already falling back into the sea- all feeling washed away by the waves.

Sand. He felt sand in his body, dehydrating and numbing, as consciousness was snatched away from him once again. The tubes faded, as did the traps- leaving Supervillain with an empty void.

He had a sense, but couldn't remember what happened in brief moments of waking like this. He hardly recognized the difference between unconsciousness and consciousness and if he did, it wouldn't matter. He never could escape. Never could escape the agonizing water in and around his body.

All he could do was fall.

Fall back into the water.

《~~》

"Mistakes are always forgivable, if one has the courage to admit them," a voice spoke. Hero had given up on trying to tell apart the various differences between the countless heroes and doctors that spoke to her on a daily basis. Trying to just intoxicated her mind with a weird feeling of displeasure and annoyance that couldn't be placed. It was right in between her eyebrows, where she would have a unibrow if she didn't wax it all the time in highschool.

"Do you know who wrote that quote, Hero? Hmm?"

Hero didn't respond. Why would she? It gave her no clearance, no escape, no epic prison break that one may expect from such a person of stengths and wits. She just sat there, limbs tied to the ground by unrelenting steel, her head angled to watch the suffering man on the bed slowly fade away with persistent illness and everyday drugs.

"Bruce Lee," the speaker answered the question after quickly realizing that Hero wasn't going to.

Hero tuned out of the conversation, leaving it as background noise as she studied the scene in front of her. Supervillain was hooked up so many moniters, it was as if he was in a coma. Hero twitched her jaw. Maybe he was. The ventilation and feeding tube stuck all the way down his nose and mouth, opening it forcibly, definitely made that thought come alive.

Hero did this a lot, zoning out whenever someone tried to talk to her. Her once vibrant personality and optimism was dampered, replaced by a dull depression. Even Villain, who watched Hero daily, was getting nervous of this rapid decline in attitude- not that Hero knew of her betrayer's thoughts and emotions. To her, in this foggy hole of misery, Villain was an outcasted shadow, adding depth to the painting, but never a main topic. Heck, if she didn't concentrate, she didn't even see the light shade on the white surface.

There was only Supervillain.

But even that has changed, and not just in the extra moniters and tubes, but her whole aspect of him. He was the cause of her pain, he was the cause of the insufferable cloud that ascended over her.

There was no fondness in the way she viewed him anymore, just resentment. The deepest kind of resentment that could also be described as despising.

But even that was an understatement.

One day, a movement drew Hero out of her hate-filled thoughts and back into reality. It was Villain, playing with something by her wrist.

"Back off," she snarled, her voice sounding unnaturally deep and cracky.

"And so she speaks." The glint in his eyes revealed the sarcasm that his monotonous voice hid. "How are you Hero?"

Hero snarled, raising her lips in an animalistic manner, but didn't reply. Once her wrist was let go, the unused muscles allowed it to flop aimlessly against her equally thining thigh. She was fed yes, a vile piece of bland, moist garbage that gave her body its much needed vitamins, minerals, and nutrients, but lack of use degraded the once hefty muscle.

Villain worked on each of the restraints. Each arm fell limp as her legs splayed out, thankful for the break from the locked position they were kept in. When her head was let free, it flopped, her neck unable to keep it up.

Villain steadied her, putting his hand unceremoniously against the base of her neck. Hero squirmed, aware of her vulnerability.

"The door with the exit sign is unlocked," he whispered, so close to her ear that Hero cringed.

At first, her brain using its old habit, began to block out his words, but suddenly stopped and rewinded, shoving them back to the front of her mind.

Unlocked...

She could get out.

Villain helped her into a nearby wheelchair and was about to wheel her away when a strand of her empathetic nature fought against the newfound distant demeanor.

"What 'bout Supervillain?" She asked, her voice a weak whisper.

"This is for you," Villain replied casually grinning down at Hero, happy that she was back to somewhat normal.

Hero sunk into the plushy cushioning of the seat and looked at Supervillain's still figure and snarled. Ha, he didn't get to leave. She did. She got to escape the inhumane confines that kept her bound up like a trapped goat.

He didn't. He could now pay for his crimes.

Yet, as stubborn as this thoughts of retribution sounded, they weren't. That sympathizing portion of her protested against the new arrangement. And, being the stronger of the two opposites, it left her tongue in forms of coherent words.

"I won't leave him," she said, her heart bursting. Whether the internal explosion was due to anticipation or exaltation, it don't matter. It felt natural, like herself.

"You really don't have a choice."

"Why do you want me free?" Hero asked.

"This place is the definition of boring."

Hero was silent and contemplated Villain's statement. He really didn't care about her levels of bore and joy, never did. Any interaction or any relationship that the two once cherished was borne of platonic care of the other's well-being. Nothing too deep, and barely held any real intent. Are you alive? Are you dead? Were the only two questions that brought along any vowels of conversing.

It was weird, abnormal. Hero might've even went as far as to say suspicious.

But it was also promising. Very, very promising. It held the possibility of freedom that the chair did not.

But he was Villain. He did not have one ounce of good will or honesty in his cold veins. He was a liar, a cheat, and as much as she would've loved to call them friends, it was close to impossible. They couldn't build a relationship off of trickery as much as the two once wanted to.

This was a scheme, a lie, to get to Hero and make her mess up. Mess up and then she gets hurt.

Or worse, Supervillain does.

That thought stood out from the rush of others in her brain for it held an interesting style to it. As close as she was to the old Hero and away from the shadow that "choosing who gets hurt" made her into, she wasn't it yet.

Not yet.

"Boring, but I am alive," Hero retorted, rolling her eyes as well as the stiff rectus muscles in her eyes allowed.

"That is otherwise obvious." Villain placed a hand on the barred door that only purpose served as an aesthetic.

"Yeah, in a way I suppose, but Supervillain isn't."

"He's breathing."

"He sleeps all day and when he does manage to wake, he passes out almost immediately. I need to stay with him!"

"You do nothing but glare daggers at him. You are released dear."

"No, you are not helping me escape from this damn place!"

Villain was silent, paused in the motion of pushing the door open.

"Amidst your utter hate for him, you still have the decency to protect him; Hero there is nothing to protect. With one simple flick of a switch, he is dead," Villain pointed out, turning to Hero with tears in his icy blue eyes that Hero once found gloriously gorgeous. Ones that she used to gaze into as they fought, unable to tear herself away. She lost many fights that way by being too distracted to actually land a punch.

But the innocence of that gaze was really just hiding the fact that Villain was a scandalous bastard- only giving half-truths and fake emotions about everything.

"Then why do you give him the serum. You guys know that I won't hurt those civilians," Hero pointed out with a shrug.

Villaim remained silent and wheeled Hero out of the room.

《~~》

Supervillain seemed to always arouse when the nurses swarmed him to administer the vile liquid that plagued his veins with nauseating adrenaline. He felt the hot- not warm, but scorching hot- drug enter his veins.

But it wasn't the beginning, the actual pain of the procedure, that caused Supervillain his horrifying misery. It was afterwards and he wasn't thinking of the dizzying fatigue that usually pushed him into another deep sleep, but the memories it brought.

Some were nostalgic, others taut with grief. Others held regret while some even had remnants of agonizing torture he once endured.

Or gave.

But they were never happy, nor comforting to any degree.

So, when a reverie of kind touch swarmed Supervillain's sensations, his lethargic heart started to pump in rocket speed, motorizing the boat to accelerate...

"Go to sleep."

Hero's voice. One that brought him so much comfort. Hands scratched at his scalp and he felt his heavy eyelids drop.

"I'll be hear when you wake up," Hero lulled, humming softly as the sweet scent of vanilla hit Supervillain's scent receptors. He smiled, the tiniest of grins and nuzzled his nose into her warm, fleece sweater.

But, even delirous as he was, in the back of his head, Supervillain knew this was a vision. A hallucination. The model of schizophrenia that the drug brought upon his mind.

But it was just so real.

So he gave in, purposely allowing himself to be washed away by the unreality of the dream.

Because he loved it. He loved the touch as if it was actually real.

A warm figure slid next to his body wrapping its- her- arms around his shivering body. Phony yes, it gave stability as the fatigue pushed itself to its maximum.

As consciousness dripped away, Supervillain hummed slightly, happy with the feeling.

《~~》

Hero's hand buzzed over the door, considering the possibilities of opening it, but in the end, she blatantly refused.

"No," she said, her old self returning. "I am not going to leave Supervillain."

Villain's eyes widened, chin shaking.

"You care for him?" He asked, voice slightly elevated like a flute's pitch. Such a change from the droning audibles that usually slugged off his tongue. "Like actually."

Hero's brows crunched together as she read Villain's new face expressions. Blond hair draped down to his pointed eyebrows where it slightly curled. Tears seemed to well in his azure eyes.

"Are you crying?" Hero asked, scoffing, but in reality, she cared.

Cared a whole bunch.

"It's just," Villain stepped forward, leaning down and resting his hand on Hero's shoulder. His other hand balanced delicately against the holster of whatever weapon he carried.

Suddenly, without warning, his hand shot up and an bolt of electricity flashed through her body. Hero fell forward, screaming and withering on the floor.

Villain leaned forward, breath warm against her sweaty cheek. "You are mine Hero. I won't ever let you hold, or care for Supervillain again," he growled, bringing thr taser back to Hero's neck. "Goodnight, my love."

The electric shock came again, and the world descended into blackness.

#supervillain whumpee #hero whumpee #villain whumper #retrained #hero x supervillain #hero whumper #heros and villains #delirious whumpee #drugged whumpee #shizophrenia

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