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katyawriteswhump · 8 months ago

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the power of love, part 14

Sorry about Sunday's empty post ☹️ I must've accidentally put a draft template in my queue because I am basically tired and rubbish and life isn’t the greatest right now. Anyhow.... Whoops and really sorry again!

Alternate ending S4: Steve has a habit of surviving near death experiences then getting sick for no reason. And Eddie and those fatal bat bites? After an impossible feat of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation from Steve, he’s mysteriously fixed. So, Eddie’s back to being banished, this time with Steve and Robin in tow. Eddie’s healing, but Steve isn’t… and life gets even more confusing, when Eddie develops feelings for Steve, which aren’t entirely unrequited.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 15

(also on AO3 here and as part of my steve whump fic series)

Eddie POV

When neither Steve nor Robin show up after ten minutes, Eddie begins to freak out.

He, Hopper and El are still waiting for the car, out of sight among some ferns. Hopper’s getting antsy, muttering beneath his breath, while Eddie’s wriggling like he’s got ants in his pants. Which he genuinely might have, though that’s not what’s bugging him:

“Uuuuh, shall I see what’s taking them so long?”

“You do that,” says Hopper. “What’s going on with that guy? He could barely stand! How the hell could he…”

Eddie tunes out, retracing their journey into the trees, calling Robin’s name then Steve’s. Maybe Steve passed out, and Robin got lost searching? Somehow, he doesn’t buy it. A heaviness slows his feet, and his guts twist sourly.

They wouldn’t just ditch him. Surely? Surely!?!

Fifteen minutes later, he winds up where he started: “They’re not back?”

“What do you reckon?” Hopper’s breathing hard and red in the face. Evidently, he’s been running in circles like Eddie has.

“This is for you.” El nudges Eddie and presses a scrap of paper into his hand. “I think Steve left it.”

“What? Where?” Eddie’s stomach clamps tight again.

Her eyes stretch very wide. “Fell out of your pack.”

Turning the note over in his hands, his fingers stiffen, as if shrinking from the task, bracing for… something. In the event, he gets a literal slap around the face.

“You make me sick,” Steve wrote.

Eddie’s skin burns with the blow. Wow! This is why I never have and never freakin’ will write love songs.

“What does he say?” demands Hopper.

Eddie scans the note one more time, scrunches it in his fist. “I’d hazard a guess he’s gone back to Hawkins.”

“Goddammit! Robin’s gone with him?”

“I think that’s a safe bet.” A wobble in the back of Eddie’s throat finds its way into his voice. Because, boy, is he still processing.

You make me sick.

What does that even mean? To be fair, Eddie did make Steve sick. More than once. But why the heck write… that. Would suck less to be dumped without a word.

Thanks for the overkill, man.

“Don’t you even think about scooting off,” growls Hopper. “Your uncle would never forgive me.”

Oh yeah. Wayne. The only person who ever actually cared about him.

Eddie plonks his butt down on the ground and waits for the car.

…

Steve POV

“C’mon, giddy up,” says Steve. He and Robin make their way along the muddy bank of the stream towards home.

“Is this some kind of race?” she asks. “While I’d forgotten your former life as a douchebag jock, you’re doing a stunning job of reminding me, and… Uuuuugh!”

“Jesus Christ, what’s wrong this time?” He spirals about, plants his hands on his hips—he’d ditched the sling a while ago.

She scrubs madly at her lips. “I swallowed a bug! Ugh, ugh, ugh, mega-gross. Eeeeurgh!”

“Maybe if you weren’t complaining, like, constantly, there’d be less opportunities for bugs to get in.”

“You shut up, shit-bird! I could die of malaria.” She spits into the stream. “Ew! EEEEEEEW!”

“Ssssh! Hop said the military will be crawling everywhere soon, or—”

“Eddie might hear?” His heart heaves a loaded thud. She looks back sharply, purses her lips. “You know, he could be lost in the wilderness, all alone. Being hunted by evil army thugs. Or bears! Did you think of that when you sauntered off?”

“I did, yeah. I left him a message saying not to follow.” He shades his face from the afternoon sunlight, which shafts between the trees. Also, he can’t look her straight on and say this: “It was kinda brutal, I guess. It was for his own good, right?”

“Oh. Riiiight.”

“You done spewing insects?” he snaps.

“Still heavily grossed-out here. Gimme a minute, ’kay?” She plonks herself on a rock, crumpling forward.

He mops his brow, strips his sweater, and takes the opportunity to check in on his bat bites. They’re still sore, the bandages a bit bloody. Nothing too fresh, though. For the billionth time, his thoughts fly back to Eddie. He hopes Eddie doesn’t get hurt and need healing while they’re apart, and… Holy shit, will he ever see him again? He ties his sweater around his hips, trying to make fumbling hands look casual.

“Steve? You okay?”

“Other than the fact I’m modelling a ‘shoot-me-now-why don’t-you?’ Hellfire Club t-shirt,”—and that I want to punch myself in the face about that moronic note—“I’m good, Robin.”

“You know what? I don’t doubt it.” She brushes her flyaway hair from suspicious eyes. “You’ve gone from death’s door to super-human speed in, oh, I don’t know—feels to me that we’ve been marching for a week. I think it’s been barely an hour.”

“Yeah? We got a long way to go then.” He starts off along the stream’s edge, forcibly slowing his pace. He senses her puffing, panting, then following on his heels.

“Look, Steve, this water goddess who’s pulling you back, whispering in your ear—”

“I can’t actually tell if they’re male or female. Does that matter?”

“Not in the slightest. So, your water… deity. Have they, by any chance, enlightened you as to some kind of divine plan? Or told you exactly where you’re heading?”

“I got an idea where I’m going, yeah.” To the second place he died, swept away on that blood-red tide—even now, he sees it in his head, like a few frames of a horror VHS stuck on eternal repeat. “Where’s the best place for army generals with dodgy agendas to hang out in Hawkins? There’s never been an army base, apart from—”

“You’re kidding me?” She grabs his elbow, jerking him back. “The Soviet tunnels?” He nods, and her obvious dread has her dropping him like a stone. “No way! I don’t think I can go anywhere near without a major panic attack."

“I’m not gonna march straight in.” He’s already wandering on. Trouble is, now he’s said the idea out loud, it’s become real and terrible. And he’s gotta pretend like his blood’s not congealing to ice. “I don’t know how I’m gonna get in anyhow. I mean, the Starcourt lift is buried under a ton of rubble. I think Hop might’ve know other ways—”

“Oooh, I got a great idea. Let’s go back and ask him.”

“Yeah, real subtle.”

“Steve!” She seizes him again, twisting him around with a furious force. “I know you want to help El, but what can you ACTUALLY DO?” He shrugs before he can stop himself. “Rain? Lightning? How does that benefit us—especially in underground tunnels? Plus you’ve had literally zero time for practice. If we don’t slow down and come up with a decent plan, this is tantamount to suicide.”

“We? Seriously, Robin, I…” His teeth clamp his lower lip. Any moment now, he’ll tell her how terrified he is, how he really, really doesn’t want to get tortured again, let alone die; how the idea of anything bad happening to her is as frightening as any of it. “I don’t think I have much choice.”

“Steve,” she says, gentler now, though her grip gouges into his flesh. “It’s screamingly obvious you’re not thinking straight. You’ve been ill for days and now you’re in a funk, beating yourself up over Eddie.”

He yanks himself free, glares. “That doesn’t make any dif—"

“Bullshit! Trust me, however ‘mean boy’ your literary masterpiece got, Eddie won’t want you to do anything this dumb. Oh, and your resident gender-fluid angel saved your life. They’re not gonna want you to sacrifice it pointlessly.”

He opens his mouth to argue, then shuts it again. He laughs—not a particularly happy laugh, but not totally miserable either. “You win,” he says, kinda sagging with relief. “You got a plan, smarty-pants?”

She laughs with him, equally edgy. “I say we go to Lover’s Lake, wait till it’s dark. If that’s too dangerous, we find some hidden pool where you can practise whatever badass moves you think you got. Hopefully without the puking. It’ll be a bit like Band Camp. But for Magic. Magic Camp. Okay?”

“You really aren’t gonna be happy until I’m a bigger nerd that any of… Shit!”

He’s been considering hugging her. Instead, he seizes her sleeve, dragging her down into a deep, wet gully. They land with a splash, crouching low, close. She doesn’t complain, because she’s heard what he has.

The distant sound of barking dogs. Likely, army search dogs.

“Dog barks travel for miles, huh?” he whispers.

“Possibly.” She sucks in a scared breath. “One thing for sure—those sniffy wet snouts can pick up a human scent from the next county.”

“We’re in a stream, Robin. They can’t pick up our scent here, right?”

She crinkles her nose, dubious. “Dogs’ sense of smell is pretty amazing.”

“Yeah? Let’s hope this bunch caught colds or something.”

He’s now the one clutching her way too tight, and he half-wishes he’d ditched her with a bitchy note too. Though, not quite. She smart; he needs her, and she’s really has gotten him thinking clearer:

“We head for Lover’s Lake. C’mon.”

…

Eddie POV

When the sound of the car engine finally reaches his hearing, Eddie feels almost nothing.

“Don’t move.” Hopper pitches Eddie a forbidding look and grabs El, keeping them low behind the ferns.

An owl hoots. Despite the hollowness in his chest, Eddie silently cracks up. Seriously? Top secret government goons can’t think of a better signal than me and Robin?

Hopper’s grip slides to the firearm at his side. He rises slowly. “Over here.”

Peeping between the foliage, Eddie can make out a limo-style saloon with blacked-out windows. A severe-faced woman in lethal stilettos climbs out. “Chief Hopper, I presume? I apologise for the delay. O’Sullivan’s got men everywhere. We must leave right away.”

Hopper, nevertheless, remains stood well off the road with Eleven, not rushing for the car. And Eddie?

You make me sick.

Steve’s made it simple for him. He should cut his losses and take this chance of escape. Wayne would want him to. Apart from… Eddie literally can’t. What was it that Steve said? Oh yeah. That he was being stretched in the wrong direction. Or something along those lines.

Yeah, I’m feelin’ it, Stevie.

Nothing supernatural, nothing hinky. You kill me that bad, Babe—even after you turned meanie-King-Steve and dumped me. Oh, and went back to goddamn Mordor without me!

Gonna trust you had your reasons, and I’m coming anyway.

He turns on his dirt-clotted heels and flees as fast as he can.

Part 15

...

tags: @estrellami-1 @kal-ology @finntheehumaneater (thank you, thank you, thank you!) If anybody else would like to be tagged on this fic or any of my writing, please let me know :) Reblogs, comments and likes also very much appreciated :) Thank you for reading so far :)

(also part of my steve whump fic series on AO3)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 15

#steddie #steve harrington #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve harrington whump #steddie fanfic #eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfiction #stobin #platonic stobin #stobin friendship

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thevioletcaptain · 4 years ago

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Coals Aglow

11.4k | Explicit | DeanCas

A years-delayed 13.21 coda, in which Cas uses his grace in ways that it is probably not supposed to be used, and gentle-doms Dean into asking for what he wants.

{i}

It’s been several hours since the rebels split off into groups—half retiring to their sleeping quarters while the others walked with purpose to keep sentry around the camp’s perimeter—and Castiel has made a point to visit every one, speaking with each of them until he understands as much of this place as he possibly can. Just in case.

Castiel supposes that he could have just asked Jack, but despite Sam’s unexpected return he’s been quiet all evening. Almost withdrawn. It makes sense, considering how Sam came to be here and who he’d been forced to bring with him, but it still makes Castiel uneasy. Even after all these years, after his slip-slide into feeling, the emotional discomfort is something he’s not quite accustomed to.

Close to one in the morning, he spots Dean sitting on a log by the remains of a fire at the center of camp, picking idly at the bag of Skittles he’d packed for the trip and referred to as “trail mix” to irritate his brother. Sam is nowhere to be seen now. Dean appears to be doing little more than quietly passing the time.

After what happened this afternoon, Sam’s absence from Dean’s side is noteworthy enough to make Castiel apprehensive about joining him, but he pushes past his reservations and powers ahead. He’d rather sit with Dean in silence than go anywhere else, and though Dean has never said so, he knows that he’s not alone in his preference for spending what little downtime they have together.

Up close, he can see that the fire has burned down to little more than coals and ash. Dean prods at the sole remaining log with a stick, disrupting sparks and dark plumes of smoke that curl up into the night.

As Castiel sits beside him, the log shifts, pressing down into the loamy earth. Dean glances over to look at him. The weak light of the embers casts him in its deep orange glow, reflecting in his eyes, bright as the long-gone sunset. Something in Castiel’s chest settles at the sight.

“You doing okay?” Dean asks, offering the bag of Skittles. Castiel can only shrug as he takes a few and pops them into his mouth.

Almost as soon as he starts chewing, they dissolve into their component parts—citric acid splitting into carbon and hydrogen and oxygen; sucrose molecules breaking down into fructose and glucose. With effort, he focuses on all of them at once and captures a glimpse of the intended taste, just for a moment, before an unfathomable number of branched chain starch molecules unravel on his tongue, overwhelming the bright flavor he’d briefly enjoyed.

He’s been working on this. Testing things, training himself to taste the sum and not the parts. It’s a work in progress, but it’s one that he’s resolved to see through until it’s an automatic process.

“Relatively,” he says, and swallows the candy before he has to taste it any longer. “How are you?”

“Relatively,” Dean parrots, folding the bag up and poking it into his jacket pocket. “What a day, huh?”

“Mm.”

“Where’s Sam?”

“With Mom and Jack. Sleeping. Don’t think he wanted to be alone while he’s in the camp.”

Dean doesn’t gesture toward the place they designated to hold Lucifer overnight, but Castiel looks toward it anyway. He imagines he can feel his brother’s cold, prickling energy down to the tips of his fingers. Like frostbite. He frowns and turns back to Dean; tries to soak in his warmth instead.

“You should get some rest, too,” he says.

“Yeah, probably. Tomorrow’s gonna be a bitch.”

“Even by our standards,” Castiel agrees.

Dean huffs, his mouth ticking up to the right, and scuffs his heel in the dirt. Castiel watches as he picks idly at the log they sit upon; the twitch in his cheek as he hisses and inspects his index finger before raising it to his mouth. The shape of his lips as he tries to suck a splinter loose from where it's buried itself beneath his fingernail.

“Damnit,” Dean mutters, pulling his hand back to look at it with a frown.

“Here.”

Reaching out, Castiel catches Dean’s wrist in one hand and his fingers in the other, expending a shimmering wisp of grace to work the splinter free. He’s not sure what compels him to make such a show of it — he could have healed the minuscule injury from where he’s sitting without touching Dean at all — but he can’t help himself.

At some point, years ago, his duty to help Dean and his desire to be close to him got all tangled up. He can no longer recall when he’d started healing him through unnecessary touch, but it’s the singular selfish thing that he does, and he’s not planning on stopping unless Dean tells him to.

The splinter falls silently to the dirt at their feet. Castiel curls the tip of his index finger against the tiny puncture in Dean’s skin, directing his grace as it knits back together.

Beside him, Dean lets out an unsteady breath, and a pulse of love stretches out from his soul to brush against Castiel’s true form. If he’s being truly honest with himself, this is another major reason why Castiel allows himself to touch him in moments like this; he knows that Dean enjoys it as much as he does.

Despite all his half-hearted blustering about personal space, Dean is a tactile person, and the moments when Castiel heals him are the moments when his heart is the most open. When he lets himself feel the way he feels without holding back, just for a breath or two. It’s enough. It’s always been enough.

But now—the feeling draws out longer than usual, shifting to something closer to hunger, to desire, and Dean’s fingers flex a little in Castiel’s hand. When Castiel starts to pull away they turn to gently grip him back. And this…

This is new.

Not the feeling—that has been there for years, poorly concealed and just below the surface—but the action that echoes it. Dean has never done something like this, and Castiel has never been brave enough to try it himself. He’s still not, he realizes as he looks down at their hands tangled together and tries to strategize a safe response.

He’s got no ideas, so he doesn’t move. Couldn’t move if he tried.

“Y’know,” Dean says, interrupting his thoughts with his voice pitched low, and Castiel glances back up to see that his pupils are blown wide. Apprehensive. Tense. Aroused, Castiel’s mind supplies, and he pushes the thought away just in time for Dean to make him wonder if he’d been too hasty in rejecting it. “I don’t think I can stand to be alone tonight, either.”

There’s a clear, deliberate weight to Dean’s words, and although Castiel recognizes it for what it is almost immediately, he hasn’t got the slightest clue how he’s expected to address it. How could he? They’ve kept such a delicate balance for so long that even this one sentence feels monumental. It’s as though Dean has casually dropped an anchor onto a scale that would have been thrown off kilter by a feather, and now he’s just sitting here, acting as though he hasn’t just thrown out the entire rule book of their relationship.

Castiel is afraid to respond at all. He wishes he wasn’t, but fear compounded by habit is hard to shake.

“I could watch over you,” he offers eventually, hating himself for taking the easy way out even as he says it, and waiting for the inevitable refusal. Dean exhales as he slowly pulls his hand away and shifts his gaze back to the glowing embers.

“Aren’t you tired, Cas?”

“I’m running a little low on grace, but—”

“No, I mean—aren’t you tired of… of this.” He waves between them with an open hand, the movement far too casual to be anything but calculated, and glances back to meet Castiel’s eyes. “We could die tomorrow.”

“You could say that about every day, for us.”

“Yeah, but,” Dean huffs. “Look, can we just—”

Pushing to his feet, Dean takes a few steps away before turning back to look at Castiel, his hands tense at his sides, clenching into fists and releasing, over and over as though he needs the movement to keep from… something. Castiel isn’t sure what. But his eyes are pleading. Begging Castiel to meet him halfway.

Castiel wants to. He’s just trying to figure out how.

“Can we skip this part?” Dean asks.

“What do you—”

“The—” Dean briefly lifts his hands, then lets them fall helplessly back to his sides. “The… I don’t know, man. The freakin’ confessions. The discussion. The… the whole what now thing. All that bullshit.” He looks up at Castiel. “Can we just skip it?”

Castiel blinks, slow.

“You mean—”

“I mean I’ve had enough, Cas. I’m tired, and I don’t— I don’t see the point in ignoring this anymore. I haven’t really seen the point in a while. Didn’t want to rock the boat, I guess, but now…”

“But now you’re tired.”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re rocking the boat.”

Dean doesn’t respond to the question directly; just looks at Castiel with a determination in his eyes that leaves no room for misunderstanding, and says, “I’m going to bed. You should come with me.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply. Doesn’t even pause to see if his assumption that Castiel understands his meaning is correct.

Castiel is surprised at his confidence. Not because he’s wrong to have it, but because even though this thing that’s been growing between them for near on a decade has been more difficult to deny with every passing year, even though Castiel has been able to feel Dean’s longing for him as sharply as he’s been able to feel his own, Dean has still never acknowledged it in any concrete way.

For his own part, Castiel has given him more openings than his pride would like him to admit, but Dean’s played things so close to his chest the entire time that Castiel has always assumed he didn’t want to deal with it at all.

He just didn’t think they’d ever get here.

There’s always been something in the way. An apocalypse, a near death, an actual death. Something. When he came back from the Empty, miraculously alive again against all odds, he’d thought to himself, it’s now or never, and Dean had barreled into him, fingers pressed to the back of his neck as they’d embraced in a dimly lit alleyway, and Castiel had felt love radiating from him like light from a star, and still nothing had changed.

So, never, he’d thought. He’d made his peace with it. Being near Dean was enough, if being with Dean was not an option.

But now—

Dean is already nearing the dilapidated mess hall he’s been set up in for the night—the camp only has so much space for sleeping quarters—and Castiel hurries to catch up. He slips through the door behind him and into the dark.

Inside, the main room is cluttered and overfull with folding tables.

A dozen or so chairs are stacked along the walls, and the faint scent of instant coffee lingers in the air. Ahead, Dean maneuvers through a tight gap between tables toward a dark red door. When they make their way inside, it’s to find a cramped storeroom, where a thin bedroll and blanket has been set out for Dean on the floor alongside several unlabelled boxes and a shelf of cleaning supplies. His backpack sits at one end like a makeshift pillow.

Near the ceiling, there’s a single narrow window, and the moonlight that filters through its dusty pane catches on the buttons on Dean’s jacket, reflects bright in his eyes as he turns to look back at Castiel.

Years ago, in a similarly cramped storeroom in the Rexford Gas n Sip, Castiel had knelt on the floor to gather his things while Dean waited outside in the Impala, and wondered if perhaps one of them would be brave enough to ask for a single room at the motel they were headed toward.

He’d known already, even then, that what they felt for each other was far beyond the limits of friendship. Had felt it for a long time before that night, too, though it had taken an abrupt fall from Heaven and a brand new soul grown under the worst possible circumstances for him to truly understand what it meant.

But just for a few minutes, kneeling in that storeroom, he’d thought that perhaps this was the night. That Dean would make his move. That he’d summon the courage to make a move himself.

The way Dean had looked at him earlier that night had him feeling recklessly hopeful, and he’d been halfway convinced that they’d arrive at the Rexford Motor Inn, and their hands would touch as they walked to the room, and some understanding would pass between them.

That they’d fall into one another before they even managed to get through the door.

He’d thought about it in sharp detail. Imagined confessing to Dean, telling him how the first thing he’d felt when the angels stopped falling was the overwhelming desire to hear Dean’s voice. To see him. To hold him. To breathe him in.

How his fledgling soul ached every day that they’d been apart; how he’d realized, finally, that this thing between them was love.

He’d imagined it countless different ways as he pushed to his feet with a plastic bag in his hand, as he left the building and locked the door behind him, as he’d gripped the cool metal of the Impala’s door handle. As Dean’s hand had settled on the back of his seat while they reversed out of the parking space, fingers brushing carelessly against the back of Castiel’s neck.

He’s lost in the memory, still trying to wrap his head around what they’re doing here when Dean laughs aloud. Castiel meets his eyes, and feels the soul tangled up with his grace sing at the sight.

“Sorry,” Dean says, and there’s a touch of wild hysteria in his voice. “Just…” He gestures loosely around them. “Kinda hilarious that this is… we’re basically in a goddamn closet.”

Castiel can’t help but huff out a laugh himself, and Dean’s gaze drops to his mouth. It’s not the first time that’s happened. It’s not even the first time Castiel has noticed. It’s different now, though.

Because this time, Dean doesn’t immediately look away. He doesn’t step back or crack a joke or lash out or deflect. He looks at Castiel’s mouth, and he keeps on looking. And looking. And looking. Castiel feels as though he might buzz right out of his body if he doesn’t just—

“Dean.”

Dean’s eyes lift to meet Castiel’s, and there’s a shade of reckless humor in them. Something devious and endlessly irritating that makes Castiel want to throttle him for making him wait, even now, when they’re supposedly not doing that anymore.

“Yeah?”

“What are you waiting for?”

The answer, as it turns out, is nothing. Dean grins, and crowds into his space, and kisses him. Just like that.

As though it’s always been this easy. Maybe it has been.

Raising one palm to rest against Castiel’s chest, Dean slides the other into his hair, thumb dragging soft against the back of his ear as he moves him into place, and Castiel lets himself be directed. Lets Dean push him back until he’s pressed firmly against the door. Lets Dean tilt his chin just so, and deepen their kiss.

The memory of Dean’s fingers accidentally brushing against his neck that night in the Impala comes rushing back full force now that Dean is holding him there so purposefully. Kissing him with a hunger that Castiel had resigned himself to thinking would never be sated.

Even now, he’s still not sure it will be. Dean is kissing him, but Castiel still longs for him as though they aren’t pressed flush together.

Castiel isn’t sure if his perception is skewed by love, but as Dean’s lips part, he decides that despite the molecules, Skittles taste better on Dean’s tongue, and it suddenly feels incredibly important that Dean knows. Not about the Skittles, but the rest. Everything.

Can we skip it? Dean had asked, but now that they’re here, Castiel realizes that doesn’t want to.

They’ve avoided talking for years, and as Dean put it—Castiel is tired.

With his hands on Dean’s waist, working under his jacket to pull him closer still even as he breaks their kiss, Castiel does what he hadn’t been brave enough to do in Rexford. He tells Dean the truth.

[keep reading on ao3]

#deancas fic #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #cass writes fic #here have some smut

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the-lady-writes-what · 4 years ago

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Nightclub, Hero Edition

—080—

Post-break-up partying isn’t really your style, but when your friends drag you out to the nightclub, you don’t really have much of a say. You’re standing in line waiting to get in when a shiny sports car pulls up. Who should get out but Ground Zero and Mind Jack. The underground hero, Mind Jack (Hitoshi Shinsou), spots you in the crowd and keeps his eye on you all night. Evidently, so does his friend, Katsuki Bakugo. After a surprise run in with your ex, Neito Monoma, Hitoshi and Katsuki show off to Monoma how the two of them together can please you better than he ever could.

Katsuki Bakugo and Hitoshi Shinsou x Reader

All minor characters are aged up. I do not write minor x adult fiction.

—080—

Contents: public sex, voyeurism, threesome, fingering, light hair pulling, praise kink, double penetration, overstimulation

“The hell you mean, you can’t go?” Katsuki glared at his friend.

His fists clenched at his sides. One day out of the week out of the entire month. He had one night to blow off some steam, and there was nobody who could back him up. Eijiro nervously rubbed the back of his neck.

“Look, man, I’d love to, but I already made plans. Maybe you could find another wingman?”

“What’d you say? You think I’m gonna take some shitty extra with me on my one night off? I bust my balls every damn day for this freakin’ city, and I can’t even get my best wingman with me?”

Pro-hero work wasn’t what he expected it to be. Sure, he had the money, the clout, and the entourage of girls (and sometimes dudes) who fought each other for a millisecond of his time.

“Mina’s been planin’ this thing for weeks now. I can’t just back out now,” said Eijiro.

Katsuki’s eyes flitted to someone else in the group. Denki felt the immediate power of Katsuki’s anger in one glance. Denki threw his hands up in that universal sign of surrender.

“Don’t look at me, dude. I’m on duty that night. Besides, maybe if you weren’t into kinky shit—”

Katsuki slammed his palm on the table. A silent threat to blow it up. His face screwed up into that gremlin mask he wore when he was extra obnoxious. But at a closer look, one could barely see the tinge of red in his cheeks.

“When I need your opinion, Spark Plug, I’ll ask for it!” Katsuki grabbed his drink and started angrily draining it as he slouched in his chair.

“What if I called Shinsou?” Denki offered.

“Why’d I do a stupid thing like that?”

“Because you’d be surprised about how much you and Shinsou have in common?” Denki was already scrolling through his phone as if looking for something. “He doesn’t patrol on Saturdays, and he’s single. What’s the worse thing that could happen?”

Katsuki growled while Denki texted. Denki’s phone pinged every time Shinsou sent a response. Denki put his phone into Katsuki’s face.

“See? Looks like he’s down for it!”

Katsuki swatted Denki’s hand away. Chewing on his straw, he was forced to choke down his pride. He had only a few words with Shinsou, and he didn’t like the guy. He didn’t like many people either, but did he have much a choice if everybody else was bailing on him? It wasn’t as much fun all by oneself.

“J-Just, tell him to meet me at Supernova. Nine o’clock sharp, and he better not show up in a shitty outfit either.”

This outfit wasn’t your idea. Your friends put you in those skimpy little jean shorts and a pink midriff-baring top just as they put you up to come out tonight. You’d rather watch Netflix in bed wearing a comfy hoodie. Would you be stuffing your face with your favorite ice cream? Yes. Going out to nightclubs with your girlfriends and drinking away, your sorrows wasn’t usually how to get over a break-up. You are a fully grown woman and wanted to decide how best to get over a two-year-long relationship. You really should have thought of that before you got friends.

Two of the four girls dragging out into the night after dollying you up were already tipsy. Pre-game partying, they call it. You’d literally rather be anywhere but out tonight.

The five of you wait in line for fifteen minutes waiting to get in. A flashy red car pulls up and parks. You watch with scrutinizing eyes who steps out. Camera phones are flashing in the vehicle’s direction as soon as the passengers exit. You recognized the blonde by his scowl. Ground Zero. But the other one? You have no idea. He looks like the underground hero, Mind Jack, but since there were so few pictures of him on the internet, you couldn’t be sure. Fangirls screamed and pressed against the velvet ropes as the gentlemen sauntered up to the front of the line. You craned your next in time to see Bakugo flash a VIP pass, which permitted him and his friend early entrance into the nightclub. Just before they went in, Mind Jack looked down the line of those waiting before his eyes landed on you. You flush red as he glanced at you and gave you a knowing smirk. Mind Jack quickly followed behind Bakugo into the nightclub.

Your friends stared and asked incessant questions. They had less of an idea who Bakugo was bringing with him, but they all seemed to agree that he was hot. You couldn’t deny the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. There was something about his penetrating glance that made your insides warm and fuzzy.

You were to wait another twenty minutes before even getting inside to find out why you caught his attention. Half your friends went to the bar while the other half tried to drag you out onto the dance floor. You barely managed to escape and find your own secluded spot at the bar where your other friends couldn’t see you. Your only drink for the night was going to be that bottle of beer, and that was it. Exciting, no, but you planned to arrive home mostly sober enough to binge watch that new romantic comedy until daybreak and avoid going home with a complete stranger. Anonymous sex just wasn’t your type of post-break-up healing routine.

You stood against the wall watching other people have their fun. The music was something you could probably dance to, but maybe after you finished sipping your beer. As you scrolled through your social media after becoming bored with people-watching, you suddenly looked up. You could not escape the sensation of someone watching you. You glanced around the nightclub in a panic then settled on the cause of your anxiety. Indigo eyes were eating you up from across the dance floor. He was seated in a VIP lounge with Bakugo. His friend seemed more interested in talking than he was, which suited him just fine as it allowed him to stare at you.

A shiver ran down your spine. Mind Jack couldn’t want anything from you, could he? You thought about all the girls your ex-boyfriend compared you to. You were too prudish, and when you did have sex, you weren’t all that adventurous. You wanted to like sex just like everybody else did. Whether it was you or your partners, you couldn’t tell. You sipped your beer, chiding yourself.

This is a mistake. I should just check out and go home.

You almost turned to find one of your friends when Mind Jack caught your eye again. You glanced up at him to see Mind Jack whispering something to Bakugo. He had his hand cupping his mouth so you couldn’t tell what he was saying. Not that it made a difference at any rate with the club’s pulsing, beating music thrumming in your ears. To your shock, Bakugo turned his red eyes towards you.

You couldn’t help swallowing hard and downed the rest of your drink. You thought it best to sneak away and grab one of your friends before you did something silly and out of character. You tiptoed unto the dance floor, brushing past gyrating, sweating bodies. Two of your friends joined the others dancing and didn’t even hear you calling out to them. A pair of strong hands reached out and touched your waist.

“At least let me talk to you before you start running for the hills.” A voice said next to your ears.

You gulped again. You never heard this voice before but felt its timber shoot pleasure all the way down your spine. You felt the warmth of his body pressing against you.

“Um,” you licked your lips. “I’ve never done this before. I-I don’t really go out to clubs.”

“Relax. I’m not going to bite.” The stranger spun you around to face him.

You faced those indigo eyes up close and personal. This close, you could see the dark shadows beneath his eyes. He was pale beneath the strobe lights.

“Unless you’re into that sort of thing,” he chuckled.

“Are you, are you at least going to give me a name before you try to dance with me?” You stammered.

“Mind Jack, but you can call me Hitoshi.”

“Is it safe for you to give me your real name? Being an underground hero and all?” You asked.

“Let’s just say I’m very comfortable getting to you. How about you give me your name, or else I’ll start calling you kitty.”

Your face turned beet red, and it wasn’t because of the alcohol you just finished off. Shinsou pulled you close to him so that your bodies pressed together.

“Y-Y/N L/N. I’m Y/N L/N.”

“Well, L/N, can I have this dance?”

“S-Sure,” you answered.

Hitoshi lowered his hands to your hips and looked for permission. You laced your arms on his shoulders and nodded. Throughout the first song, you apologized for not knowing how to dance and stepping on his toes. Hitoshi squeezed your hips, and you couldn’t deny how his hand felt on you. Your lower belly was full of butterflies at this point. You wondered if a single bottle was all it took to make you lose all inhibitions. You were lost in your own thoughts as well as Shinsou’s burning gaze when a voice pulled you out of your reverie.

“Mind if I cut in?”

You knew that voice. It couldn’t be. Could it?

You were spun around landed in the chest of none other than Katsuki Bakugo, Ground Zero himself. Your face turned a brighter shade of red. Your body moved parallel to his as the music pulsed in your ears. Katsuki’s hands wandered to your lower back and hip as he pulled you close. He leaned his head towards your neck. His warm breath ghosted over your skin, giving rise to goosebumps. Your heart fluttered in your chest. Your nails dug into his shoulders as if begging him to stop or continue; you could no longer tell at this point.

Another set of hands pulled you away or tried to. Katsuki’s hold on you was too strong to remove you entirely away from him. Hitoshi appeared behind you. His hand reached behind the back of your neck and turned your face towards his. Katsuki kissed the juncture of where your shoulder met your neck while Hitoshi claimed your lips. You moaned at the dual sensation of two men kissing different parts of you at the same time. Your legs instantly turned into Jell-O. If not for the set of hands holding you up, it would be easy for your legs to give out from beneath you and make you collapse on the floor. Alcohol officially had nothing to do with you making out with one pro-hero while another kissed your neck. Hitoshi ran his tongue along your bottom lip, silently asking for permission for entrance. Slowly, you opened your mouth to permit him. Hands ran up and down your torso and the top of your thighs. Between them, you were gripped, groped, and caressed in ways at your ex would have never. You became lost in the flavor of Hitoshi when you heard a deriding laugh even above the pounding music.

You didn’t realize that you closed your eyes the moment Hitoshi started kissing you. When you opened them again, standing before you with a sneer on his face was your ex-boyfriend, Neito Monoma. His arms were crossed over his chest as he looked at you stuck between two men.

“It’s been less than what? A week? Couldn’t decide which one, so you decide to be a slut with both of them?” Said Neito.

“Hey, Monoma,” said Hitoshi.

“Wh—”

He stupidly fell right into Hitoshi’s trap. Neito stood there dumbly in the middle of the dance floor with that vacant stare.

“Monoma, stand there and watch us please your former girlfriend better than you could.”

Katsuki chuckled against your skin. “Yeah, ya damn extra. Stand over there with that dumb, shitty look on your face.”

Katsuki’s hand slipped into your shorts. With everyone drunk and dancing and the lights pulsating, the dimly lit nightclub gave him plenty of coverage. His fingers quickly found your clit. You shivered when Katsuki began to work you into a fit. Your back arched forward, but Hitoshi’s arm snaked around your stomach to keep you close to him. Hitoshi’s lips graced your neck, kissing and sucking at your skin. Katsuki picked up the pace of his fingers to match the fast beat of the music drumming in your ears. Your gaze fixed on Monoma, who could do nothing.

Katsuki slammed his mouth on yours while the rough pace of his fingers never faltered. You moaned against him as his tongue viciously, hungrily explored your mouth. Hitoshi secreted his hand beneath your shirt and cupped your breast through your bra. The sensations made you forget that you were in the middle of a nightclub dance floor. Your back arched like a bow. Your eyes closed and screwed tight as Katsuki brought you over the edge. You moaned into his mouth with your hands, reaching for his hair and pulling hard. Your hips bucked against him as the waves of pleasure crashed into you. When you finally came down from your high, Hitoshi helped support you against his firm chest. Katsuki slowly pulled away. He and Hitoshi quickly rearranged your clothes to make you look as inconspicuous as possible. That was a little easier said than done with your completely blissed out face and the thin sheen of sweat covering your body.

“Hey, Kitty,” said Hitoshi. He whispered next to your ear. “Wanna take this party elsewhere?”

You glanced at Monoma. He was set free from Hitoshi’s quirk, but he still stood there. His face was red. Looking down, evidence of his arousal embarrassingly stood out like a sore thumb. Monoma gave you one final sneer before running off.

Whether to hide his hard-on or take care of it, you didn’t care to know.

“Who’s place?” You asked hoarsely.

You had your arm on Hitoshi’s back, and he put his hand on your shoulder. You walked out of the club like that with Katsuki leading the way. You quickly sent a text to your friends that you met somebody. Judging by how many people were staring at your exit, it was safe to say that they would have figured out who you were going out within no time at all.

Hitoshi rode in the back with you while Katsuki drove. Five minutes into the car ride, Hitoshi worked the button off your shorts and wriggled his hand inside. He kissed you fiercely, occasionally looking into the rearview mirror to glance at Katsuki. What was he doing egging Katsuki on? Katsuki shifted in the driver’s seat with each passing glance at you and Hitoshi fooling around in the back of his car.

Hitoshi’s fingers weren’t as thick and calloused as Katsuki’s, but the slim fingers felt too damn good. You were moaning into Hitoshi’s kiss. You reached up and pulled his hair as he slipped his fingers into your panties and between your slick folds. He pumped his fingers slowly, at first, inside of your slit. One finger, then two, and as soon as you were a proper mess for him, Hitoshi added a third. He broke away from the kiss to watch you ride his fingers.

Your sensitive body jolted with every thrust of his fingers. Your hips bucked into his hand, and you rode him until you saw stars. Katsuki pulled into the driveway of his miniature mansion, opened the garage door, and pulled in. The car was secured, and the door closed. He turned off the radio. The wet squelching your cunt made taking three of Hitoshi’s fingers filled the car. You hadn’t even realized that the car had been turned off. Katsuki shifted in the driver’s seat to get a good look at you.

“Come for me.” Hitoshi kissed your ear.

You obeyed. It didn’t take much to have you coming again. Drool seeped out of the corner of your mouth as your inner walls clenched around his fingers. Hitoshi pulled out slowly. He gave his index finger a long suck, humming as he enjoyed the taste of you.

“How does she taste?” Asked Katsuki.

“So good. I can’t wait to taste the rest of her.”

Hitoshi helped you out of the car and carried you up to Katsuki’s bedroom. Even in your delirium, Katsuki’s bed appeared bigger than it needed to be. He laid you out on the pillows, hair fanning the silk and goose feathers. Your shoes were taken off but not the rest of your attire. You sat up a little as Katsuki and Hitoshi slowly pulled off their clothes. They climbed in bed with you completely naked.

Just like before, you were pressed between them. Hot hands and nimble fingers worked under your clothes, caressed your skin, and gave you goosebumps. Katsuki and Hitoshi took turns kissing your lips until you couldn’t tell whose tongue was shoved down your throat. Your outfit was simple enough and easy to remove. Piece by piece, it was all taken away and thrown into some unknown corner of the room. Your nipples were pinched until they looked more like rosebuds. On your breasts, neck, and shoulders bloomed dark bruises. You sighed into their touches, kisses, and love bites.

Hitoshi slipped his slender fingers back into you and teased your hot, wet slit. Warmth pooled inside your lower belly. He pumped his fingers slowly in and out.

“Fuck, she’s soaked down here.” Hitoshi sucked your neck. “I don’t think she can take much more of this.”

You shook your head in agreement. Your brain was fuzzy with lust and anticipation. You came twice already and just with their fingers. How much better would it feel with their cocks? Those turgid members pressed against your lower back and your stomach. You felt the ridges of each, and the hard lengths made your wall clench. This felt wrong, taking two men at once, but so, so right.

“God, please fuck me. One or the other, both, I don’t care. I can’t pick, just please somebody fuck me!” You begged.

Katsuki kissed you hard. He stole your breath away, and only when it seemed that he took more than your breath, he released you, licking your lips.

“I love a girl who knows what she wants.”

He pulled away to settle down on the pillows and leaned against the headboard. Katsuki curled his finger towards you in a ‘come hither’ motion. You crawled on the bed up to him. Katsuki’s hands seized your hips and forced you to straddle his hips. His thick, rigid member protruded against the crack of your ass. Hitoshi wasn’t far behind. The mattress dipped under his weight as he crawled behind you. His hands reached in front of you and groped your breasts.

“Ever had two cocks at the same time?” Asked Katsuki.

Your mind was too focused on Hitoshi’s experienced hands playing with your breasts and pulling your nipples taut. All you could do was shake your head. You couldn’t help but feel a little naïve with the two men who obviously had more experience than you.

“Then you’re in for a treat. Come here, princess.”

Katsuki pushed you back slightly and lifted you up. You were placed over his cock before letting you sink slowly unto it. The ridges and veins of his cock brushed against your walls to create even more slick. The entrance was painless despite his size and his length almost brushing your cervix. You straddled Katsuki’s hips with his cock buried deep. Your cunt felt so full that you were left in awe and your jaw hitting the ground. Katsuki grabbed your arms to pull you flush on top of him, your soft breasts against his hard muscles.

He kissed you again, this time distracting you from Hitoshi pressing behind you. You squeaked when felt the blunt end of Hitoshi’s cock press against your already stuffed entrance. His fingers squeezed inside and pumped. You cried out as you were slowly spread open wider. Hitoshi pushed and pushed his cock inside of your walls until there was no more room for even a pinky finger.

You moaned into Katsuki’s chest. Unceasingly, your cries filled the room—pain mixed with the pleasure which made you drool. Hitoshi tried to pull out, but you groped behind you and found his hand.

“Gimme, gimme a minute. It feels…so good,” you whined.

Both of them allowed you several minutes to adjust to their cocks being inside of your cunt at the same time. Somewhere in the middle of waiting for you, one of them started petting your head like you were a cat. You couldn’t but mewl like one as you tried to move your hips stuffed full.

“You ready, princess? You sure about that? Because once I start, I’m not fucking finishing until I’ve got my cum spilling out of you.”

Katsuki bucked his hips upwards. You gasped, and your eyes flew wide open. Hitoshi moved forward. The tight fit of those two made you sit up slightly and grab the headboard. Your knuckles turned bone-white with how hard you gripped the carved wood. Hitoshi and Katsuki moved in tandem with each other. Katsuki’s rough hands palmed your breasts. His groping was harsher than Hitoshi’s, but you liked the feel of being so nicely abused like this. His teeth grated your stiff nipples. Katsuki pulled one into his mouth and sucked hard.

You tossed your head back. Hitoshi’s hands ran up and down your sides and all the way down your thighs. He grunted against your shoulder, murmuring how tight and wet you were for them. Grabbing some part of you, they began moving faster within you. Tears and sweat comingled on your face as you rode them both. Your ships could barely keep up with their powerful thrusts sending you into heaven. You clung to the headboard for dear life.

The sound of wet flesh slamming together resounded in your ears along with their compliments. Never had you heard such lewd things whispered or shouted at you in the heat of passion.

“There you go, Y/N. Just like that. Taking it like a pro,” said Hitoshi as he nibbled your ear. “Your first time too, I’m honored, kitty.”

Katsuki stopped suckling on your breasts long enough to groan himself. He played with your tits some more and pumped himself harder into you. His hot length reaches your cervix, making you scream.

“Oh, fuck, yeah. I love all those pretty sounds you make,” Katsuki grunted.

You couldn’t speak. At least, nothing that would be comprehensible. Words came out as a garbled mess. Your vocal cords were more preoccupied with moaning and screaming as you were rammed in both directions. Your hips moved faster. You were no longer in control of your own body, but it moved towards one goal without you. Hitoshi and Katsuki matched your speed then surpassed it. They both gripped your hips to pin them down and take full control.

“Be a good girl and let us finish you off, okay?” Said Hitoshi, and he pecked your cheek.

“Let us take care of you like a good slutty princess that you are,” said Katsuki, bruising your hips while Hitoshi grabbed your thighs.

You didn’t move but allowed them to do what they pleased. You were pressed, squeezed, and bounced on their cocks with more enthusiasm than you thought they could muster. An erratic pace was set until both of their cockheads brushed against that secret spot inside your body. You couldn’t tell which one came first, but the result was the same. As ropes of cum filled your insides, you basked the warmth of it. Searing white-hot pleasure speared down your back, reached down into your lower belly, and exploded. You could bare scream as your walls clenched around the two cocks.

Hitoshi kissed your shoulders as he pulled out with all gentleness in mind. “Very good. Yeah, just like that. Good job,” he praised.

Katsuki carefully did the same. You hissed at the emptiness after having been stretched so wide that your womb might burst. Slick cum seeped out of your cunt just like Katsuki promised. Hitoshi fetched a glass of water, and he and Katsuki helped you drink it without spilling it all over your front.

“Drink slowly, dumbass. You don’t want to make yourself sick, do you?” Katsuki griped.

After such rigorous activities, it was no wonder that all three of you landed in a sweaty yet sated pile on Katsuki’s enormous bed. Silken covers were pulled over you, while your eyelids drooped closed. Two sets of arms snaked around your waist. You were too tired to tell the boys to share. There was plenty of you to go around.

“In other news, pro-hero Ground Zero is once again under fire for yet another controversy. He was seen at the nightclub Supernova, arriving with underground hero Mind Jack. Ground Zero and Mind Jack were seen by witnesses dancing with a young woman. Some witnesses state that Ground Zero put his hand inside the woman’s clothing and performed an explicit act with her in the middle of the dance floor…”

Retired UA professor, Shouta Aizawa, stopped listening to the news report. He pinched the bridge of his nose while he wondered what he had done in a former life to deserve this.

“Goddamit,” he sighed.

—080—

EDIT: I realized just before posting there is one small continuity problem. Bakugo told Kaminari to tell Shinsou to meet him at the nightclub, but I wrote that they arrive together in Bakugo’s car. It’s going to stay like that because I’ve been trying to write this thing for hours and I’m too lazy to worry about something like that. Forgive me. Let’s just pretend that Shinsou has a car break down or something.Also, I wouldn’t necessarily label this as Bakugo x Reader x Shinsou, as that implies Bakugo x Shinsou. Not that there’s anything wrong with that ship, but I feel like they’re both Dom’s in the fan fiction canon. I’d have to see or write more interactions with them before labeling an entire chapter as previously stated. That being said, you can interpret it as polyamory anyway. I’m not going to be mad if you do.

Original found here

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tintentrinkerin · 4 years ago

Text

Cathartic Arrest

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester

Characters: Michael (Supernatural), Minor Characters

Additional Tags: Post-Hell Dean Winchester, Post-Lucifer’s Cage Sam Winchester, Dubious Consent, Caning, Codependent Winchesters (Supernatural), It’s all about inflicting and receiving punishment, Jealousy

Summary: ”Sam needs to cope with memories of Lucifer’s abuse. Dean is still trying to cope with this time as torture Master in Hell.

And he’s JEALOUS.”

Word Count 1,793

READ HERE OR ON AO3

Sam was still shaking when he got back to the bunker. He had taken his time before he came back home, but still. This time, it had all been different. She had to help him back into his pants, his shirt, even tuck his shirt in, help him ground himself; when he still didn’t come down from what just happened, she made him sit in her “calm room” as she called it.

She gave him food, good food. Fruits. Pineapple, strawberries, vanilla infused yoghurt. Juices of passion fruit and apples, bread with butter and some lean chicken tenders. He could choose whatever music he wanted, but all he ever would choose was hard rock – the music of his childhood, part of his youth and part of Dean. The music in his ears, usually is of a different, much more intense nature. He’d tried pop. One Direction. Too happy. He’d tried Nu Metal. He was too old to bounce back into his emo stage, also known as his years at Stanford. He had tried all kinds of metal. Trash, Death, Melodic, Symphonic. Nightwish. Later Aesthetic Perfection. All good music, quality wise. But nothing was ever louder than the noises in his head. The crying of baby Sam Winchester, inner-child Sam Winchester. Traumatized and angry and helpless.

Only the noise of a cane meeting his skin, his ass, his legs, even his feet, his own painful cries, the muffled grunts, the thank you’s and the yes'es, the reenactment of his shame, would silence the child. It’d been rough today. The wax on his chest left pink swollen spots, the cane beat him bloody this time.

“I can stop, aye?” she said.

“No, Mistress. Don’t. I want it to bleed.”

She’s not his Domme and he’s not her slave. He isn’t that twisted in his mind to reenact the power exchange, his own powerlessness. Michael watching. Michael. That god forsaken coward.

Sam was still shaking when he started Baby’s engine, slowly rolling away from the place he visits when pressing on his scar stops working. And it’s been working less and less and less. Until nothing else will help but being beaten up by someone to finally overcome the pain, the helplessness, the feeling of being weak and useless. Sam Winchester might be broken, but he still can take a beating without crying.

Dean hates liars. Which is kind of, let’s say hypocritical, given his nature, his past. He lied to Sam about hell, he lied about the deal, he constantly lies to the only person who will probably never leave him. Because even if Sam does leave, he always comes back. He won’t even die for good. Dean doesn’t, Sam doesn’t. They’re here, two moons in this earth’s gravitational pull, doomed to circle each other; the forces of nature keeping them in place but always keeping them apart.

It's one of those days when Sam says he’s about to go jogging, but since when does he have to drive fifty miles to some secluded forest area to jog when they're in the literal middle of nowhere? Dean has seen Sam in the showers. They have their privacy here, both want that or pretend to, but the showers are group showers, long lines of shower heads like in school gyms. They usually lock the doors, so why, this one time, does Sam not lock himself up like he used to? Dean knows about the nightmares, the triggers, the sudden flashbacks and the pressing of Sam’s thumb against the palm of his cut hand. He noticed cuts, deep cuts around Sam’s wrists, that never heal because he keeps on scratching off the scab. The bleeding never stops.

Dean decides that today, enough is enough. He knows this trauma, he was in Hell too. He tortured innocent people, he tortured Bela fucking Talbot. A woman he really respected in the end, though he sugar coated it with cunt-y behaviour. He’s seen so many faces twisted in pain and agony – and all they do in the end? – cry for mama. They cry for their fucking mother, and Sam? Dean wonders who he cried for in the Cage?

Sam is packed up in his “jogging outfit” and he’s about to leave, when Dean gets up from his armchair in the library.

“Where ya goin’, Sammy?”

He jumps.

“Jesus, don’t scare me, man. Really? I’m going jogging.”

“There’s a whole ass forest in front of the batcave, Sam. Why not go there?”

Sam looks down and Dean knows, he’s angry. He’s angry because Dean caught him in his damn lie and there’s no good way out of it.

“I have a jogging buddy over there,” Sam clears his throat, his whole body is tense. Ready to run. Wherever.

“Ah, jogging buddy, I see. Lemme guess, their name is Mistress Lana and he looks bomb in tracksuits.”

Sam is about to erupt and he grows, his posture straightens and he yells. “This is private Dean, you have no, absolutely NO right to spy after me like a--”

“Like a what?”

“Like a fucking jealous wife who caught me in an affair?”

Dean falls silent, but his body, pure, condensed power, anger, fear, slams his arm against Sam’s throat and presses him to the wall.

“It is exactly like that. You drive an hour to see a dominatrix, to what? You become a subby bootlicker all of a sudden? You like that?”

Sam’s nostrils flare and damn, now Dean is on freakin’ thin ice. He is so goddamn jealous of this woman giving Sam something that Dean would give him freely. And happily. He would give him the relief he needs.

“Don’t talk like that!” Sam hisses, trying to wind himself out of Dean’s grip but he’s still sore from the last time Lana tied him up like a Christmas present and hung him on the wall like a pig-half at the butcher’s. Sam loved the marks of the rough rope, loved the feeling of just hanging there, floating, the ground beneath him so far away, the rock bottom so far…“You have no idea how I feel!”

Dean’s head tilts to the side. “I tortured people in Hell, Sam. I know how to make you feel the worst pain of your life – but I can also give you the greatest relief. I can show you mercy, because that’s what you really want. Isn’t it?”

Sam finally breaks free and attacks Dean, one hit after another, breaks Dean’s nose, gives him a black eye, and it only stops when Dean lands a blow right over Sam’s kidney – he staggers back.

“I deserve the pain,” Sam wheezes. “I don’t rely on anyone’s mercy.”

Dean drags him up and brings Sam, who is suddenly so pliant, to his room. What no one has ever known about is the secret door. Dean’s not a witch, Sam would be a great one, but Dean managed to hide a tiny little torture chamber behind his room. Sam fights, he insults Dean. Dean knows, yes he knows, it’s Sam’s way of provoking him and, kind of, making Dean stop.

Sam knows that, when he came back from Hell, Dean fucked around even more than before he’d died –but no one ever saw him with the girls, the submissive ones, the broken little dolls he found. This is Deam’s coping. Reenacting Hell.

Sam clings on to Dean when he’s tied to the bench, naked. Sam is still black and blue, some of his bruises had turned green-yellowish already but no one should hurt him there again. These bruises would take ages to heal, if they’re lucky, without a doctor needed. Sam isn’t fighting anymore, he’s crying.

“Please Dean, take it off of me. Please… I can’t… Take it OFF!”

“I can’t”, Dean says, gently, brushing away Sam’s tears.“Does she fuck you?”

A gasp. “What? Why--?”

“Simple question, Sammy. Does. She. Fuck you?”

Sam nods, hiding his face in his hair and pressing his forehead against the padding.

“I can’t spank you in this condition. You have to heal. Why would you go to that woman when you’re still so roughed up?”

“Why do you care?”Sam’s voice is so thin. Little, scared Sammy, and there was no one in the Cage to save him from what happened.

“Sammy.” Is all Dean says.

“My Sammy.”

Dean is not like that. He loves Sammy, and he would do a lot, but he won’t do That.

Dean’s favorite is his cane. Rattan. Unpeeled. Sam endures several hard blows, in a staccato, a rhythm other people would faint from. But Sammy is strong, and he wants to be broken.

WANTS

BROKEN

And Dean is giving him that. He can think of the girls and boys in Hell while doing it, like he’s not the one inflicting this pain on Sam, but it feels so damn good. Purging. Sam’s cries and whimpers, his yells and finally, finally, when Dean is about to lose control and maul Sam alive – there’s the one Sammy would cry for.

“Dean.”

A gasp. The blows stop. Blood dripping down Sam’s legs.

“Dean.”

Again.

“Sammy..”

So gentle. So tender. So silent.

“Dean, I want to go home….” and that is truly when Sam is broken, the last bastion of his mind, his pride, his goddamn pride is stripped from him. He babbles, he cries, snot and tears and gulps, he even chokes on his cries. “I want to be home with Dean, please hold me, Dean, take me home, Dean…”

Dean dissolves. His own trauma resolves for a minute. He knows, it will never fully go away, he will never heal. But.

“Sammy. I’m here, Sammy. Come here. I’ll take you home, my baby brother. I’m here.”

“Dean, I love you”, Sam chokes out. It could be anything. It could be nothing.

“Sammy, I love you more.”

Dean leans onto Sam’s heaving, still tied up body, sweat and blood, tears, the sobs. When Dean releases Sam from the restraints and carries him to a sofa, he huddles up in Dean's lap. Like a newborn. Overwhelmed with the world outside, sobbing and crying for Dean. Dean is here, holding him tight. Offering him water and more blankets.

Lucifer has never been closer, but Dean has blown him away from Sam. He made Sam just forget for a while. It’s so fucked up, but he can live with fucked up. As long as it’s with Sam and Sam never, fucking never, goes to a whore again when he can have everything from Dean.

Dean will do anything for Sam.

“Dean…”

“I’m here. You’re home.”

»And I will never let you go.«

@laxe-chester67 @deanking @vulgar-library @writethelifeyouwant @itsabookishblog @schaefchenherde @sacrificialtendencies @cloudesworld @all-4-wincest @ohnoitsthebat @rpsocsandcanonohmy @stemroses @nightmarecait @lostmykiliel @alexa-alcantara @wincestismyheart @closetedshippers @dragonardhill @alex-is-a-gay-human

IF YOU WANT TO BE INCLUDED IN MY MAILING LISTS, SHOOT ME A MESSAGE <3

#wincest #sam and dean #hell trauma #cage trauma #sin is sinning

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mxvladdy · 4 years ago

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Shake On It

This is an older original work I wrote for a writing prompt given to me on a writing discord I’m on. I really liked it!

Ironically it also pertains to the Christian mythos and such, but is in no way affiliated with Obey Me lmao

Prompt: traveling bible salesman, death of a family member and bouns round- a time machine.

Hope y’all like! I might add to this later on. I got a lot of fanfics and original projects I’m working on as it lol.

Down on your luck? At the end of your rope? Sister's funeral not going as planned?

We've all been there.

Perhaps I can offer you a hand? Promise it's worth it.

Thin smiles and fake condolences. It was all really one could expect under the circumstances, really. You and your sister hadn’t-well- weren’t the most well-received individuals on your family tree. But she deserved better than this, some stale flowers and a note. You had stormed from the viewing room near tears, the only two relatives who had shown looking after you. They had been less than tactful in saying that no one else was coming. Not even your parents were there. So, instead of watching over your twin’s ashes, you sat crying next to the funeral home's rusty dumpster.

How fitting.

Did no one care that familial blood had been spilt? A cold body and no leads and they just shrug it off? You sniff, lips trembling around an unlit cigarette, numb and lost as to what to do next.

“Need a light?” Reedy fingers flick out beneath your nose and pluck the stick from your slack lips.

You jerk your chin up in shock, more surprised that you hadn’t heard them approaching. “Oi!” Your eyes squint as they snap up toward the setting sun. Your uninvited visitor is perfectly shadowed by the low light. They tisk, ignoring you in favor of sniffing your cheap smoke before flicking it to the ground as if it had personally offended them.

“I swear,” they scoff, fumbling in their pockets. Their soft accent is unrecognizable to your ear. “On a day like this. You deserve better, no?” Their hand stops at their chest with a soft gasp. “Ah! Here we are, here we are!” The stranger’s silhouette produces something from an unseen pocket with a grant flourish, offering it out to you.

“A lolli?” You take it from them in a daze, twirling the bright yellow candy between your fingers. You eye them quizzically. It seemed like an odd practice for a funeral home to do. You knew they hadn’t been at the wake. Their form was taller and lankier than the few guests or staff that had been milling about. Did they work in the back with the bodies, perhaps? Out on their 15? You eye their scuffed oxfords and old mud clinging to their khaki pants.

The stranger chuckles, an oddly deep one for their stature. “But of course! Better for you in the long run. Believe you me, lungs full of ash are quite unpleasant.” You stare blankly up at them. What? “Might I join you for a tick? You look like you could use some company.” They continue nodding their head toward the empty space beside you.

“Can’t stop you.” You sigh popping the sickly yellow lolli into your mouth. The flavor catches you off guard. Hands flying up flap uselessly at your burning cheeks. You gag, only swallowing down your initial shock. Chili and lemon? Who the hell…

“Shock to the system huh?” They laugh at your teary-eyed glare. “I find a bit of contrast clears the mind.”

“I guess.” You cough as you thump your chest hard. Wiping at your teary eyes, you get a better look at them. You were correct in your assumption that you had never seen this person till now.

They smile at you patiently, knowing exactly what you were doing. They seemed normal enough. Unkempt hair and thick glasses. Gangly knees draw close to their chest. A rumpled white button-up tent like on their frame. Sleeves pushed up to show off their knobby elbows. Their tawny skin was spattered with freckles, crossing from high cheekbone to high cheekbone. The freckles were interrupted in their smooth transition across their face by a jagged edge on the wide bridge of their nose. From a distance, the crook of their nose wouldn’t have been noticeable. But this close, you recognize the look of a break long since healed. Its off-centered placement only emphasizes their lopsided grin. Their teeth, though, are surprisingly flawless. Their canines flash predatorily off of the security lights as the sun finally sets.

“My condolences.” They cut through your musing, popping a candy in their mouth as well. “I assume you are part of the party inside?” You follow their pointed finger to the door.

“Yes.” You nod and readjust your posture, mind back on your sorrows. They hum noncommittally, finger tapping their nose deep in thought. “It’s my sister- was- my sister.” You explain. “Her landlord found her last week in her bathroom. Coroner says the wounds were self-inflicted.”

“You don’t believe it?”

“Not in a million years.” You scowl. You were gonna make it big together, if for no other reason than to thumb your noses at the family that threw you aside. Didn’t know how yet, but you thought you had all the time in the world to figure it out. “We had a plan. Leaving all our work unfinished? It isn’t like her.” They nod, letting the silence draw out between you. The cicadas filling the emptiness.

“What are you planning now?” they ask. The words tickle in your ear, temping thoughts you had long since buried. You knew what you wanted. You wanted revenge, to find and destroy whoever took her away from you. To take your family to task and prove to them that you both had been worth a damn.

“Therapy and a potted plant.” You lie easily, resting your back on the chain link fence. They laugh loudly head thrown back from the power of it. It grates at you.

“Oh, my dear~” They wipe at their eyes, chortling. “I haven’t had a laugh like that in a millennium.” They clear their throat after a bit, brushing at some imaginary dust on their arm. “No need to lie to me. Such peace is not in human nature.” You bristle, wanting to argue, but something holds your tongue. “Perhaps I might have what you seek?” They pull an old briefcase out from behind them. You gape, brows threatening to disappear into your hairline.

It all clicks, as sudden as a blown light bulb. The clothes and glasses. The aversion to smoking. The pushiness. Unbelievable. “You aren’t-no. No!” It was your turn to laugh, the sound bouncing around the back alley. “A freakin’ Bible salesman!?” You lose it, slapping their knee while clutching your stomach and gasping in the sour air. “Oh my God! What, did you get lost on your way to a 60’s convention?”

“Yes, yes. It is quite out of vogue in these times, isn’t it? We had to take a more hands-on approach in recent years. The old lore just doesn’t hold up like it used to.” Their chuckle patting the case, thumbs popping the locks. “But I assure you my book is just what you need.” You stop laughing. A little nagging feeling in the back of your head finally starting to take over.

“Listen- with all due respect."

“Please,” they snap, their tone turning sharp and businesslike. “Lying just insults both of us here.” They hand you the case, nodding at you to open it. “Give it a look. I know you want to.” They lean close then, placing a hand on top of yours. The shadows of the overhead light elongate the digits. Candy sweet breath tickles the fine hairs on your face. “And if the book doesn’t entice you, perhaps a deal might?”

You pop the lid.

The sole occupant of the case lounges on an ornate cushion. The rich blue velvet is inlaid with silver thread and beads, the ornate geometric stitching painstakingly done by some poor sod years ago. Frankly, it looked like a lot of flash and theatrics for a rather ugly book. The leather bound cover is bereft of any discernible writing or art. Despite its apparent age, the paper within is crisp. It's bone white color contrasts harshly with the gold ink used on it.

“I can’t read this.” You look up confused by the random string of symbols and letters. The Bible salesman shrugs, picking at a cuticle.

“You sure? Try again.” Their nonchalant demeanor befuddles you.

“Yes, I’m sure. What kind of mor-'' You glance down at the book again, the leather warming in your palm despite the cool night air. The symbols are the same but it all seems so familiar to you now. Book of The Dawnstar.

“Is this a joke?” You already know the answer. The unnatural warmth and pulsing from the book bring the nerves in your stomach to a sickening curl, tipping you off. But, you don't want to say the word. Magic was a stupid fairy tale made for the big screen.

“Does it feel like a joke?” They ask, lips curling.

“What do you want?” You shut the book with a snap, placing it back in its case. You weren't liking where this was going, but were intrigued all the same.

“Well~ I thought it was self-explanatory.” They take the book back out, fingers going over the front’s cover in odd swirls and dips. Your eyes follow the trail left by their fingers. “Striking deals used to be so much easier, I swear.” They point at you, then at themselves. “I can feel the rage. It called me here. You want answers; more importantly to me, you want revenge. I can help. All you need to do is make a deal with me. You know the saying.”

“For-for real?” You can hardly believe it. This is a prank-or a fever dream. It’s the only explanation. No demon or devils, or stupid magic bullshit. Someone would find you soon, passed out from the stress back here.

“Dream or not, what would it hurt to try?”

“What would it hurt!” you laugh in disbelief. “You know in Bible school they say not to make deals with devils.”

“Pfft.” They wave off the comment. “I’m wounded! Half those fools get the language twisted anyway. Devil, Satan, and my name are not interchangeable . I’m not some low level sprite begging for souls.”

“Why come to me then?” you ask. They shrug, fingers slowing to a stop over their book. “Wouldn’t some--I don’t know--Christian soul be tastier or something?” You begin to panic. The look of exasperation you get in return stops you from losing it completely.

“Is that what they teach these days? Heh, Gabriel must be ringing his halo. But if those stupid little superstitions are whats stopping you from what we both know you desire, let me rectify that.” They rise to their feet, far more elegantly then their appearance would lead you to believe was possible. A haze covers them, the shadows around you seemingly clinging to their body as they turn. “A formal introduction then. Dawnstar, Lucifer. The light bringer, rebel, and protector of those under my eyes.” They bow, baggy clothes replaced with elegant robes of navy. All gangly awkwardness gone in the wake of sheer power. “And you are exactly the entertainment I’m looking for.”

“Entertainment?” You sputter, sinking back as far as you can into the fence behind you. You were sure if you should be insulted or not by the notion. “So you don’t want my soul?”

Lucifer rolls two of their many eyes. “I have bigger, quite frankly purer souls, for that. But they are all rather boring to follow around till they croak. Besides, despite what sweet old pastor Dale says, I am empathetic--to a certain degree. You are right in your assumption that your twin did not take her own life. So I’m offering you a chance to meddle.”

You ponder over the words, mind racing as your spirit soars. This was impossible. “So I can-- what, like wish her back? A soul for a soul?” You rise to your feet, knees shaking as the heavy gaze of the fallen angel bares into you.

“Ugh. Figured you’d say something like that,” Lucifer groans, rolling their neck. “And the answer is no.”

“What? Why!” you snap, heart seizing. You jab a finger at their chest. The cold radiating off of them stops you from getting any closer. “You said you would help!”

They step back, smirking as you rub at your frostbitten finger. “Live and learn, I guess?” Lucifer turns, looking up into the bug-infested sky. “You humans always try that martyr shtick. ‘Oh, trade me for them, please!’. Turns into a never ending headache I’m contractually obligated to help with. Plus, it’s rather boring.”

You sputter. “Excuse me?” Lucifer looks at you, blinking coyly.

“When you’ve been around as long as I have, such clichés get grating every couple of centuries. You, my girl, just have the misfortune of being in one of those centuries. Try something more creative. Make me work for it.”

“Seriously?” You throw your hands up exasperatedly.

“As serious as your great aunt's coming heart attack.” They reply deadpan.

“Fine!” You purse your lips, not evening wanting to think about that last statement. “Help me prevent it.” You fume, all the little thoughts and wishes since the day you got the call boiling over. “I wanna look that fucker in the eyes before they can get to her. I want them to pay for even thinking they could take her from me!”

Lucifer grins, cold dead eyes warming over like coals on an open flame. “Oh yes, now that I will do. Time distortion is such a pain to undo. By the time they catch on, Michael will be up to their necks in timelines to untangle to get to you.” They unfurl a long clawed hand from beneath their robes. You see a symbol glowing, hot and white, on the skeletal palm. “Is that what you truly want?”

“Yes.” You nod, your throat clicking dryly as you approach them again. You hand inches from theirs before stopping. “Can you do that?”

Their smile is all teeth. “With ease. I look forward to watching the mess you make.”

#Vladdy original works #be gentle with me #lol

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highgaarden · 4 years ago

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in the woods, somewhere; He doesn’t want to tell her that he is tired of haunting her, that years have passed and the world is creaking with the weight of them, and that he loves, he loves, he loves her—

written for @klaroline-events’ june kc bingo + ghost 2021 words, canon-divergence, romance

In another city in another country in another world, almost, a dead girl scrubs her dead lover from her skin in bubbles that smell of lavender and bergamot, eucalyptus and lemon oil. She wants new skin, a skin that has been taught to forget all things skins were sometimes sentimental about: silly things like the learned touches on her knees, the feeling of lips in the hollows of her, the cold of whispers in the swoop of her ribs.

She mourns the loss of her body, her heart, how they yearn to be covered by a man so burdened with age he should be ugly from it, but he is beautiful, beautiful, and she mourns him, too. Mourns the love she had planted in his chest like a garden grown from twigs and other broken things. Mourns his churlish grins, the quick of his fingers winding in her hair, mourns the ache in her teeth whenever he shows her his wrist like a quiet, quiet secret.

She mourns him, she buries him, and then she sinks lower into the water to drown in her pretty petal ocean.

As all fights go, Caroline could hurl a vicious one, with fists and kicks and screams and bloodshed, but Klaus can deflect and duck and appear and vanish. When he comes back she is always curled in a corner, throat hoarse and nails bleeding, and he is always sorry.

“I love you,” she’ll say.

“I want you to die,” she’ll say.

And he always says, “No you don’t. No you don’t.”

Somewhere dark and green, Klaus kisses her, a suffocating she has not felt since Katherine had pushed her last breath out of her. He holds her to a tree and curls his fists into her hair and fits himself against her so well, and there is an unravelling inside her.

She stumbles out of her stupor, dazed and blinking, and he looks back at her like he doesn’t quite know what’s happened either.

“That was a really stupid promise you just made,” she says breathlessly, for want of something to say—her lips are trembling, her knees.

“I know,” Klaus says, so brilliantly rueful. “Gods, do I know.

A story needs a beginning, a middle and an end, but the story of Caroline and Klaus, the dead girl and her dead lover, start in the moments in between. He already knows her name when he meets her on her second deathbed, and the sound of him already puts pinpricks in her heart.

“I know you,” she says.

“I’ll heal you,” he says.

“And then I’ll be yours, and then my friends will die, and then the world will end.” She’s stubborn, once-golden curls a flaccid yellow on coiled around cracked lips. “Leave the poison in me. I’m dead anyway.”

He sends her a gaze so intent and curious one could forget that he is the one who put her in this bed to begin with, who put fangs in her and veins around her best friend’s eyes and a knife in Elena’s chest. He hovers over her like a ghost, flicks the bell on her charm bracelet like he expects choirs to erupt. He looks at her fondly, like they’ve known each other for years.

“Stop that,” she snaps. “You don’t get to sit on my bedside on my freakin’ birthday and harp at me about roses and cities I’ll never see, about music I’ll never learn the names of, about food I can’t even enjoy because all I crave now is blood.” She coughs, probably spittles over him some, but whatever, she’s dying.

It resounds in her like a gong, and she claws desperately at her sheets, wants to call for her mother, doesn’t want Klaus’ face to be the last one she sees before she bites the dust, kicks the bucket. She wants the sooth of her mother’s fingers in her hair; instead she gets the apple-white of Klaus’s brandished wrist.

“Go ahead,” Klaus says invitingly. “It tastes just like wine, I’ll bet.”

“I hate you,” she says, she cries. She’s so close she can taste it festering in the gaping maw in her neck, the one that’s bubbling with the scent of poison and wolf. “I want to die.”

“No you don’t.” He props her up against him, cradled almost gently in his arms, and she feels his hands in her hair massaging, she smells his wrist like her last supper laid out before her, and her mouth waters. She parts her lips, her fangs push out, she’s so miserable and she’s so hungry. “No you don’t.”

In the woods, somewhere:

Klaus had told her about cities greater than God and cathedrals that swallowed you whole. She supposes one day she’ll see them with her own eyes, not in his mouth, always wondering which ones were made up truths and which ones were lies meant to lure her out of this town.

She looks at him, and she’s been told that it isn’t good to look at Klaus Mikaelson the wrong way, or the right way, or in any sort of way, but when Caroline looks she pierces, she wants, and she takes. She takes his heart and his teeth and his blood, collected in little vials in the grooves of rotten roots, and he tries not to look pleased.

It is a strange sort of understanding that they have, that the trees listen to. She is older now, but still young enough to know that nothing lasts forever, not really, and Klaus – Klaus just wants her to remember him when she leaves.

“Absconds,” he corrects himself after a fashion. “Like a lady in the night, gone forever.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” and it’s a promise as much as it is a confession to misery, “because somebody needs to keep Elena from you.”

Klaus looks thoughtful. “What if Elena doesn’t need keeping?”

“You mean: what if you killed her.”

And Klaus grins then, his eyes crinkling, his hair curling around his perked ears. “You are an absolute delight.”

“Flattery isn’t a ticket to massacre, buddy.” Caroline picks her way expertly through the dead roots in the forest floor, the muck of flattened leaves and jagged little stones. “She’s almost eighty, her birthday’s next week, and you are not writing her into your twisted little recipe book of Easy Make Hybrids, Holiday Edition.”

In this page of the book they are friends, somehow, and I’m sure you’re wondering how they end up the way they do—but as all good romances go, there is never a clear distinction when one crosses that threshold, is there? Caroline will wonder this herself, one day, in her perfumed tub in her smarting, raw skin.

“I do like you,” Klaus says, and Caroline wonders, too, if this is a step up from I fancy you. It’s a boyish admission, shy, almost – she peers at him sidelong, and scoffs.

“Flattery!” she announces to the woods. It rustles in agreement.

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true,” Klaus says reproachfully. “Why won’t you consider my offer?”

Caroline stops in her tracks, suddenly, and he almost bumps into her if not for the isms that make up the vampire parts of him. She turns now to properly look at him. Klaus looks at her the way he always does, like there is something stirring just underneath the stillness of him, the slow beat of his undead heart. And she asks, honestly, “Aren’t you tired of haunting me?”

“Not for a minute.” Klaus tilts his head. “What if I promised to stay away from Elena?”

“You’ve made this promise before.”

“What if I promised to stay away from you?”

And this, this catches Caroline’s attention. He looks like he means it, and there troubles the part of her that is always trying to catch him in a lie, the part that longs to just try him, to call his bluff. She is older now, she’s no longer a prey to disillusionment, but Klaus—he is older now, too, but the world no longer marvels at it. Everyone’s older now.

“What do you want?” Her eyes narrow. Her heart races.

Klaus hums, Klaus smiles, and Klaus says: “A kiss.”

When Caroline says Klaus is terrible at keeping promises, what she really means is that he keeps them.

She counts the vials of his blood, counts the different ways they catch sunlight.

She counts how many days have passed.

How many years.

Some twenty years later Elena dies, and she moves to a different city in another country in another world, almost, where the cathedrals swallowed you whole. Whether the sketch of rooftops around her were greater than God she doesn’t know, but one day Klaus finds her in a little café in the oldest part of the city and he sweeps her up and he kisses her the way he had in those woods so long ago, and this, if she had payed attention to anything other than the part of his teeth and the taste of his tongue, this is the beginning of their undoing.

“I love you,” she says, vicious like her temper, spiteful, because these are words that aren’t true and Klaus knows that.

“No you don’t,” he says, and he tries to shush her, tries to cover her mouth, but the words keep coming, and he pushes away.

He doesn’t want to tell her that he is tired of haunting her, that years have passed and the world is creaking with the weight of them, and that he loves, he loves, he loves her—

“And if you’ll stop being stubborn you would shut that pretty mouth of yours and just listen—” His hands shake and he stills them with a quick flex, “I did not kill Regina, I did not order anything on her—”

“I did not spend a hundred years in Mystic Falls to watch Elena’s great-granddaughter fall prey to the kind of shit she went through,” Caroline hisses through her teeth. “You knew. You knew about Regina and you didn’t tell me—”

“Because you would have gone back,” Klaus says, furious and miserable, and – and just listen, love, listen—

“And if I had, she wouldn’t be DEAD!” She roars, and these are words that Klaus doesn’t understand, tears she’s shedding not because she’s seen the face of her friend die for the umpteenth time, but this. This is proof that Klaus, no matter what he says, no matter what he does, he will always be the monster she’d met on her second deathbed, will always put pinpricks in her heart.

Klaus reaches for her but she slaps his hands away, the room spinning around her with names Klaus finally sheds: Tristan, Genevieve, Marcel, an old curse, a new prophecy, the weight of the full moon, Regina. Regina, the final doppelganger, the last of the Petrova legacy.

“You couldn’t just let it go,” she whispers.

“We’re the same, Caroline,” he whispers back, and her heart breaks.

This is not the ending, nor is this the beginning, but this is Klaus and Caroline sitting in the same room they had sat in so long ago, her second deathbed and his first lie. Only this time, she is holding a match.

Everyone they know is dead, after all.

“This way, we can start again.” She does not shake when she exhales.

Klaus says nothing, just breathes her in, eyes bright and wet and disbelieving - he loves her. The dead girl and her dead lover dance slowly in the middle of the room, the flame flickers between them, wavers, but never goes out. She could drop it any time, and the idea torments him as much as it tickles.

And then everything is on fire.

Caroline holds her hand out and he takes it, and she leads him out of there, tears drying on her face, the tail of his coat simmering and singed. She has new skin, she tells him, and he has new blood in his veins, and she’ll bet that it will not taste like wine.

#kcbingo2020 #klaroline #klaus x caroline #klarolineedit #loving klaroline #hannah writes things #hannah does kc bingo #anyway this is a breathless pieec of something because i've been majorly angsting over kc recently and needed some poetic clarity #but fret not it is not /that/ angsty - it's got an ending; a happy one - a hopeful one

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myherogroundzero · 5 years ago

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‘til we meet again (hawks x reader)

A/N: i literally DIED bc like idk school is stressful but im back and im in LOVE with Hawks. i’m gonna be writing more parts to saving grace, but i needed to show my birdy some love. and let me freakin tell y’all, there’s so much dialogue and it’s all written so bad but i hope you love me regardless LMAO i’m just a bad writer. also i’m so bad at writing like angst and shit bc my heart can’t handle it so it went from pain to not really wanting to talk about pain bc pain is bad and bad makes me sad and sad means not happy and thats not good. but anyway, hope you enjoy and i’m gonna try to be more consistent but,,, no promises. the summer tho? that’s gonna be my prime. have a great day!!!

word count: 1.1k

warnings: language, blood

•••••

the moon was rising and the stars were twinkling. the sky was such a beautiful ombré of blues and black. it was peaceful, quiet. though when you took a look down, there was chaos among the streets. the roof of the hospital building was where you went to unravel. after a long day of being second to an arrogant surgeon, it was the only way to relax.

though relaxation didn’t come easy when you knew that people were being attacked and heroes were risking their lives in the very town you call home. from the looks of it, it seemed you wouldn't be getting the rest of the night off. your eyes, however, went from the trainwreck of a town to the beautifully jeweled sky. it somehow still shone, even when bad things were happening. perhaps it was a sign that, although things got bad, there was still a light.

your thoughts had quickly disappeared when you heard a rather loud thud and a painful grunt come from behind you. you turned and immediately recognised the bright red wings of the number two hero, Hawks. he pushed himself up slightly, gripping his side as he tried to catch his breath. you rushed to his side to help him, though panic began to set in when you saw the blood that covered his entire left side, drenching his clothes.

“oh my God! are you okay? wait, that’s a stupid question, you’re clearly not— let me help you, yeah?” you panicked. you did your best to help him stand, making him drape his arm around your shoulders while you gently held his torso. his quiet pants and pained expressions were making you uneasy.

“thank you,” he managed to breathe out, hugging his side tighter with his right arm.

“i should be thanking you. after all, you’ve saved so many people. but i suppose that’s to be expected from the number two hero, right?” you smiled softly at him, attempting to take his mind off the pain in his side.

“i guess so, but people like you save others as well. what do you do exactly?”

“i’m actually an intern. i’m going to school to be a surgeon, but that won’t be for awhile. take a seat in that room, okay? i’ll be in to help in just a moment.”

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

“i’m going to be honest with you, that blood is not going to come out of these clothes. would you mind if i just cut it open?”

“do what you need to,”

you nodded and cut through his stained clothes, revealing a rather large gash. your stomach turned at the sight. sure, you wanted to be a surgeon, but you weren’t quite used to the bleeding and gruesome looking cuts just yet.

“you okay there?”

“huh? oh, yeah! i’m just… not used to this yet,” you muttered.

“well, tell me the news, doc. am i gonna make it?”

you laughed quietly as you began cleaning the wound.

“i don’t know, sir. that’s a pretty nasty cut you got there,”

he chuckled before hissing at the sting from the disinfectant you used.

“sorry… gotta clean it. it would suck if this thing got infected. you’re gonna need stitches, too.”

he nodded as he watched your hands. it was amazing how still and gentle you were. though he was in searing pain, your softness made it easier. you were kind and you joked in order to make the situation more lighthearted even if you were panicking, he appreciated that. he leaned back gently when you went to grab the things you needed to start the stitches, his head spinning. he tried to focus on his breathing to make the pounding in his head dissipate.

“Hawks? are you alright? what hurts?”

“fuck… everything,”

“are you saying ‘fuck everything’ or ‘fuck, everything’?”

“my head is killing me.”

“i’m gonna guess you said the second one, then. hold on, i’ll get you some medicine.”

you grabbed some water and painkillers for him to take while you stitch up his side.

“here, maybe this will help with your side, too. what’s your favourite colour?”

“what does that matter?”

“just some small talk to get your mind off the fact i just pushed a needle into your skin to stitch up the gaping laceration on your side. ooh! winter of autumn?”

“autumn, easier to fly. what about you?”

you stood still for a moment as you thought.

“well, autumn is gorgeous, but the snow is too. hard to say, honestly. probably autumn, though. your turn to ask a question!”

your fingers worked quickly as you tried to ignore his soft groans. you felt bad putting him in more pain, and the sounds he made were making you more worried.

“what’s your name?” he asked quietly.

“that’s your question? pretty boring, if you ask me. but it’s l/n. l/n y/n. and we’re done! that wasn’t too bad, yeah?” you beamed at him as you put your tools back where they belong. it hit you hard when you realised he'd have to pay for everything you did tonight if anyone else found out. it’d be kind of hard to sneak someone with giant wings out of a building, not including the security tapes.

“do you think you can fly?” you asked.

“yeah, i think so. why?”

“i don’t want you to have to pay for this. if you fly off the roof to your house, it’d be like you were never here. but you need to rest when you get home, which means no flying unless absolutely necessary!”

he laughed lightly and nodded.

“yes, ma’am. thank you for all your help, l/n.”

you grinned as you put a sticker on his hand, giggling softly at yourself.

“no problem, mr. pro-hero! now go home so you can get better and keep kicking ass.”

you walked him up to the roof, the two of you talking about yourselves to fill the silence. it was going to take awhile for him to heal, and it’d likely take longer if he decided to disobey you.

“can i see you again?” he looked at you, waiting for your response.

you got a funny feeling in your stomach when he asked you that.

“i’d like it. you know, if we saw each other again. maybe under less… intense circumstances. like a drink, for example. if that’s alright with you,” his voice was soft and inviting, and it made your heart jump.

“yeah, i’d love to! i come up here every night. meet me here whenever you’d like. i can’t guarantee i’ll be free, but you’d still get to see me.”

“it’s a date, then. ‘til we meet again?”

you smiled softly as you watched him fly off the roof.

“‘til we meet again.”

#hawks x reader #hawks #bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #x reader #x you #reader insert #kinda angsty :(#keigo takami

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ladyscribbles · 4 years ago

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Crow: Chapter One

I was just walking down the street when I saw some kid my age thrust a knife into her forehead.

Now, isn’t that a hook? Really cuts through your short attention span and gets to the point. Alright, alright, I’ll stop with all these totally cleaver puns (but considering my ultra-writer-nerd-ness, can you really blame me for making them?).

Alright, so back to the crazy girl.

She was pretty lanky and had wild, unruly auburn hair. She also had a crooked nose that looked like it’d been broken several times. She was wearing a black cloak over a black dress with fishnet sleeves. Connecting the cloak was a bright red brooch, a stark contrast to the rest of her clothing. There were also weird, wire-thin horizontal stripes on her skin that I’d originally mistaken as part of her outfit.

Other than the knife sticking out of her head, the whole image made her look hot, not gonna lie.

“Oh, hello there,” she greeted nonchalantly as she thrust the blade out, black blood gushing out. Yeah, black blood.

“And I thought my middle school fanfiction was weird.”

“Yeah. You weren’t supposed to see that.”

I walked up and stopped a foot away. “So you gonna say I’m special or something and take me to some magical world to defeat some tyrant ruler?”

“That’s awfully optimistic.” She then placed her hand onto my forehead. “Especially when it comes from a corpse.”

“Wait, what-”

Then there was a flash of white, and the next thing I knew, I was on the ground, throwing up my lunch. Aw man, the old man’s gonna be worried, I thought dazedly. Then I noticed the black combat boots in front of me. I had the irrational thought that they were mine for a second before I realized they were too big. Plus, they were a hell of a lot more worn out than mine.

“Get up.”

I wiped my mouth with my sleeve and slowly rose to my feet. The girl was staring at me with narrowed eyes, her arms crossed. Well, actually, only one black eye was narrowed. The other was hidden under messy bangs swept over the left side of her face.

“What the hell was that?” she demanded, and she sounded angry.

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

The girl let out an aggravated sigh and placed her hand on a nearby bush. I watched in horror as each individual leaf shriveled up and died, leaving nothing but a wooden skeleton. “I kill with just one touch,” she growled, sounding much more intimidating than me (and I was the one with the deadpan, gravelly voice).

I then widened my eyes as the color drained from my face. “You...you were going to kill me.”

Holy shit.

“So why didn’t you die?”

I shook my head to snap myself out of my stunned daze. “You were going to kill me! What the hell?!” I yelled, my voice shaking. “Just who the hell are you?!”

“Crow,” she said after a few moments.

“No last name?”

“No.”

“Alright, then I’m Red. Now just what in the hell is going on here?”

Crow rolled her eyes and cracked her neck. “I’m dealing with another freak, it seems.”

“Don’t call me a freak when you freakin’ stabbed yourself in the head and tried to kill me!”

“Well, I’m not going to kill you now.”

“That’s reassuring,” I muttered. I then looked around. We were standing in the middle of a desert with black sand. As if that wasn’t strange enough, there wasn’t anything around for miles. “What the actual fuck.”

And to top it all off, I probably just made this beyond PG-13. Unless I’m allowed to have one more f-word up my sleeve.

I then took a deep breath and pulled out the tiny pad of paper I always kept in my sweater pocket. I checked my right ear for a pen and found one. I began to scribble furiously, letting my frustration pour out onto the white canvas in harsh, impulsive strokes.

“What the hell are you doing?” Crow questioned as I felt her gaze over my shoulder.

“Managing my emotions in a god-damn healthy manner.” I then closed the notebook and put it away, having released my feelings. “There. Now I’m better equipped to face shit.” She placed her hand on my shoulder. “Uh, what are you doing?”

“I was hoping that was only a fluke. But no. I still can’t kill you.”

I backed away from her, uneasy. I seriously didn’t like how she talked about death with such ease. In fact, it unnerved me to my very core. It was like being in the same room with a serial killer. You know what? She probably is. I shivered.

“Uh, so where are we?”

“The desert.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell.”

“If you must know, this lies just beyond the outskirts of Jakraut. Now come.” Crow walked several steps right, but I didn’t move. Why the hell would I? She turned around. “What are you waiting for?”

“Why would I go somewhere with someone who tried to kill me?”

“Suit yourself. I figured you wouldn’t want to deal with the sand lards on your own, but I don’t care either way.”

“Sand lards?”

“Farewell. Perhaps they won’t be able to kill you either.”

I bit my lip and ran to catch up with her. “Alright, fine! You win!”

She raised her brow. “I wasn’t aware I was in a competition.”

“So, um, how long will it take to get to this Jakraut place?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t?”

“I don’t pay attention to the time. It hardly matters. Minutes and hours are all the same to me.”

“Uh, okay. What is it like? Jakraut, I mean.”

“It’s a small village. The only thing of worth there is the poison shop.”

“Poison? Are you an assassin or something?”

“No. It’s for me.”

“You...you poison yourself?”

“Enough with the questions. They’re annoying and serve no purpose.”

“Sorry if I was curious about why someone would voluntarily poison herself.”

Crow ignored me and continued onward at her brisk pace. Her long legs covered much more ground than mine, making it nearly impossible to keep up with her. Plus, I wasn’t exactly in peak condition. Several minutes later, she stopped without warning, and I bumped into her.

A few seconds passed, and then she quickly jerked me out of the way right as a giant cloud of dust and sand rose up from the ground. When both cleared, I gaped at what had been hidden.

It was a giant - and I mean giant - blob of what looked like fat. Sand lard. Definitely a sand lard.

“Make sure not to touch it,” Crow warned.

Why the hell would I voluntarily touch a thing like that?

As if she thought I was dumb enough to do such a thing, she set out to prove her point. She reached her hand into the sand lard’s side and swiftly pulled it out. Her hand had been reduced to its skeleton, dripping with acid, and I had to bite back the bile that rose in my throat.

“I think I got the point,” I replied, unnerved by both the lard’s acidic effects and Crow’s complete lack of concern.

The lard then melted before my very eyes until it had been reduced to a mere puddle. Oh, yeah, death touch.

“I believe we’re close now,” Crow announced as she began walking again.

“Now hold on!” I cried as I grabbed her arm. “Are you just going to ignore-” I then stared at her hand. It had completely healed itself. “Oh, you have healing powers?” I think I wrote a story about a girl with healing powers once.

“Obviously,” she replied before wrenching her arm free from my grip. “Otherwise the stab wound from before would still be there.” Stab wound…? Oh, yeah, the knife in the forehead.

“Are you immortal?”

“Yes.”

“So nothing can kill you?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Uh, okay.”

“I’m tired of the delays. Let’s get going already,” Crow growled impatiently.

I nodded in agreement. After all, I figured it wouldn’t be wise to stick around and wait for more of those creatures to show up.

Maybe five minutes of awkward silence passed before I simply couldn’t bear it anymore. “So...where’d you get your powers?”

“I was born with them.”

“You were?”

“Yes,” she growled impatiently after cracking her neck.

“So you’re immortal. Do you feel pain?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

So that explained why she reacted so calmly when she stabbed herself and plunged her hand into an acidic substance. “Why is that?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.”

“Before, you said I was a freak like you. Does that mean people don’t usually have powers here?”

“As far as I know.”

“Could you maybe answer with more than just five words?”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass.”

“Well, that’s six, so I guess that’s an improvement.”

“I wasn’t aware my behavior was being critiqued by an annoying-ass earthling.” She then heaved a sigh and gestured in front of us. “Look, town. Get distracted.”

I turned away from her to gaze at Jakraut. Like she’d said, it was pretty small. There were only maybe ten houses in sight. Plus there was a store with a large sign that read in big, block letters: POISON! GET YOUR POISON HERE AT KILL-ONE, KILL-ALL! Then in smaller print underneath it, there was a little caption: Cyanide and belladonna half-off this week only. Get it while supplies last.

“You’re right. The only interesting thing here is the shop.” Though I’m sure as hell not interested in buying anything. Hell freakin’ no.

Crow slammed the door open, a little bell chiming at her entrance, and she hurried in. I followed her inside and stared at the shelves upon shelves of bottles that surrounded me. Whoa. That was a lot of poison.

I watched uneasily as Crow picked up a large bottle covered with danger labels all over. She peered at it closely before grabbing another one and placing both into a basket. I followed her around the store as she snatched several more poisons of different shapes and sizes. Crow didn’t stop until the basket was nearly full. I followed her to the counter and watched her plop the basket down, and several loud clinks sounded from the countless bottles.

“How much do I owe you?” Crow asked the man there.

He stared at her for a few moments before looking over each and every item. A few seconds passed as he ran the math through. “Th-that comes up to about twelve hundred.”

Crow dumped a large sack down. From the sound of it, that thing was filled to the brim with coins or some shit. “This should cover it.”

He nodded vigorously and snatched the bag away. “H-have a nice day!”

Crow rolled her eyes before taking off a backpack I hadn’t noticed until now and dumping the bottles into one of its compartments. All but one, anyway. As we walked out, I watched with dismay as she opened it and started chugging it.

“That really won’t affect you, will it?”

“Only if I’m optimistic,” she replied before returning to guzzling the liquid.

“Where are we heading now?”

“Away from Jakraut,” she replied between drinks.

“Where, exactly?”

“Does it really matter to you?”

“Well, I do appreciate knowing where I’m going whenever I travel with immortals who guzzle poison for fun.”

Crow rolled her eyes as she downed the last few drops of the bottle and reached inside her bag for another. “I am not forcing you to accompany me. You’re making the decision to follow me.”

“Because I don’t want to be left out in the middle of nowhere alone with no idea where I am or what’s going on!” I snapped. I pinched the bridge of my nose and took several deep breaths. “Look, if you were in my shoes-”

“Then I would have a higher chance of dying and this conversation would be over in an instant,” she replied before taking a shot. She then sighed. “If you must know, we’re heading to the station.”

“As in a train station?” Crow nodded in response. “Where is it going?”

“A town down south. I have a contract there.”

“Contract? It’s not a killing one, is it?” I asked worriedly, hoping that I wasn’t stuck with an assassin or something horrible like that.

“No.”

I waited, but she never added anything. “Are you going to clarify or what?”

“Why would I feel the need to clarify myself to a stranger I couldn’t give two shits about?”

I let out a groan. The one time I was sucked into a different world, and I got stuck with an apathetic asshole with no clear goal in mind. Where was the whimsical feeling of experiencing a whole new place full of fantasy and wonder? Where were the heroes that fought for truth and justice and defended the weak with their awesome power? Where were the vibrant, fantastical creatures that either helped or hindered the heroes on their quest? Speaking of which, where was the god-damn quest?!

“Damn it! If I was going to get dragged to a different world, it could’ve at least been better than this!” I took a deep breath. “Well, maybe I just need to experience it more,” I muttered to myself. “Surely, this isn’t all there is to it.”

And it could be worse. I could be alone. And though she’s a total asshole, Crow seems willing enough to protect me from stuff like those sand lards. Hmm, maybe she’s only an asshole because she has a dark past and/or hasn’t had anyone show her compassion or love. Considering her awful power, it fits. If I was gonna write a character with her kind of personality and abilities, I’d probably go either route or even both.

“Do you have a dark and tragic backstory?” I queried. Crow ignored me, instead taking several drinks. “Would you share it if we became closer?”

“I’ve heard drinking together is an activity that can bring people closer,” Crow commented drily as she held out the bottle.

I grinned nervously. “Uh...I think I’ll pass.”

“Then shut the hell up,” she replied before taking yet another swig.

I sighed. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I’d be better off alone after all.

My stomach then grumbled. “Can we stop somewhere to eat?” I asked, ignoring the learned instinct to just not ask at all.

Crow heaved an exasperated sigh. “Right. I forgot you have mortal needs. Luckily for you, my train isn’t scheduled to leave for a few days, so I can afford the delay to the nearest town.”

“Gee, thanks,” I muttered. I then stumbled and fell. A brief feeling of fatigue washed over me before I shoved it away and got back up again. I’m alright, I’m alright. “So how far away is the nearest town?” I asked after a few minutes of walking.

“A few miles.”

“Okay.”

Since Crow wasn’t exactly a conversationalist, I was left with my thoughts. I decided to think about the story I was working on - well, one of them, anyway.

So far, it was about this elven girl who leaves her village to explore the world, as well as learn more about the human race, which kind of dominated most places. The only reason she’d never come across them before was the fact that her village was in a very secluded, hidden area. Maybe some enchantment is involved too. She also has sacred tattoos that’d been passed down from generation to generation, but what she doesn’t know is that they also contain some hidden power. And that was all I had at the moment.

Maybe elves are on the brink of extinction, and part of her quest is to discover them. Maybe humans don’t know about the elves’ existence since there’s so few of them left. Maybe...

After becoming lost in my thoughts for maybe a good half hour, I collapsed. Just like before, fatigue washed over me, except much stronger. I shook my head and shakily rose to my feet. I can handle this. Surely, it isn’t too much farther. Once again, my weakened legs collapsed from underneath me. I tried to get up but couldn’t find the strength to do it.

Aw, shit, I’m going to pass out, aren’t….I…?

END OF CHAPTER ONE

#short story #dark fantasy #opposites attract #new world

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riverboundao3ff · 4 years ago

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Riverbound, Chapter 12

Your name is MARSTI HOUTEK and there is some dumb bitch climbing up the siren pole behind your hive.

Watching in utter disbelief, you take a sip of scalding leaf water as the tiny figure uses a rope to haul themself up, one determined pull at a time. If you were more awake you might be impressed; it’s obvious that they’re really going all out on this. They can’t be any bigger than a rustblood male, but despite their size they appear to be fairly strong. You wish it isn’t so cloudy so you could see who the hell this joker is.

It says a whole lot about your life that spying on some cullbait climbing a pole is the most interesting thing you’ve seen all perigee. You go places. You clean. You leave. Sometimes you even get paid, but that’s becoming less of a thing these nights for whatever reason. Some highblood tries to kill you and you get away in the nick of time. Somehow, you keep living.

The newly-healed scar on the back of your neck twinges.

You give a small hiss when the climber slips and almost falls, only for somebody else to dart out of the shadows, looking up towards the siren. The climber calls down to them but you can’t hear what they’re saying, due to the fact that the siren is up on a nearby hill. With renewed vigor, they tighten their hold on the rope and keep going.

“Not bad, squirt,” you mumble.

Another person detaches themself from the cover of a tree, taller than the other two, and joins the other troll on the ground. The first troll gives the newcomer the finger. The newcomer shrugs, their body language betraying no annoyance at the insult.

So these guys are a team, huh? This ought to be good.

Your attention snaps back to the climber when they finally reach the siren. They quickly fling their rope over the head of the machine and actually clamber up on top of the thing, like an actual freakin’ monkey.

This dude’s just asking to be culled. Wow.

You can’t see exactly what’s going on, but they’re obviously messing with the thing. A bit of concern makes your brows furrow as you consider the situation-- that siren could mean the difference between people living or dying. Should you try and stop them?

… No. Even with Catmom around, you’re still outnumbered, and Catmom raised you to not start stupid fights.

“Mrraow?”

Speak of the devil. You reach down and stroke your lusus’s ears. “Get a load out of this. Maybe I should take up parkour, too. You’d be a great teacher.”

Catmom rears up on her hind legs and stares intently out the sliding glass door. She goes still for a moment, and then her long white tail starts whipping back and forth.

“What is it?” you demand.

She meows again, more urgently this time, and starts pawing at the door.

You hesitate. You don’t want her going out there. That wasn’t an I need to pee meow, that was a there’s something up meow.

And that’s when the moons shine through a gap in the clouds, lighting up the silhouette of the climber as they fiddle around with the insides of the siren.

Even before your thinkpan registers their strange-but-familiar pale skin, or their fluffy white-gold hair, you know who it is. The air whooshes out of your bellowsacs, and you set down your mug on the counter before tearing open the door and sprinting like your life depends on it, Catmom right on your heels.

The two trolls at the base of the pole are more than ready for you when you scramble up the hill, so you raise both of your hands even as Catmom arches her back and hisses. One is an oliveblood chick with a spiky mane of hair and even sharper claws, and the other is a tall jadeblood boy, which definitely isn’t something you see every day. Both of them look very strong and ready to tear your rustblood ass up like a napkin.

“I’m a friend,” you say quickly. “Their friend.”

The oliveblood stares you down, but before she can respond you hear a shout of surprise from above. “Marsti!”

You look up at the alien, moonlight twinkling in their wide eyes. Something in your worn-out bloodpusher softens. How they’re alive, you have no idea, but they’re really here.

“I thought you were dead,” you say, swallowing back something in your throat.

“Marsti, you can’t be here! There’s gonna be a drone raid!” they cry.

Any happiness you feel at seeing your long-lost friend evaporates like acid rain in the sunlight. At your side, Catmom arches her back and hisses. Your acid tract does a backflip and falls right out of your anus like a brick.

You just stare at them. “And how the fuck do you know that?”

“Because we do! That’s why we’re here, to trigger the siren early so people have a better chance of getting to safety sooner,” the oliveblood snaps, crossing her arms.

“Like you, for instance,” the jadeblood explains, much more calmly than either of his companions.

“Guys!” You look back up to your offworlder friend, who is gripping the sides of the pole between their surprisingly strong legs and holding onto something in the siren. “Once I touch these two wires it’s gonna go off.”

“Do it!” the jadeblood calls. He’s clearly more excited about this whole plan, even though he immediately covers his ears and braces for the deafening wail. You and the oliveblood do the same, and you wonder how the fresh hell any of this is actually happening.

Your disbelief about this entire situation doubles as you watch the alien simply… flash out of sight for a fraction of a second before reappearing on the ground beside the greenbloods. None of you say anything as the siren starts to wail, slowly rising in pitch and volume until all four of you are running away with your hands over your ears.

Catmom herds everybody inside your hive and shuts the door behind you. Both the oliveblood and the jadeblood are looking around warily, but your alien friend seems more interested in giving you a hug, which you return in your shell-shocked state.

“So, you can teleport,” you say instead of spilling your guts about how much you missed them.

“Yeah! Long story. I’m glad you’re okay.” They grin up at you and run a hand through their hair. You’re amazed at all the little details you’re seeing on them now, like all of the colors in their eyes and the barely-there layer of fur that covers their skin. Is it fur? You’re not certain.

You nod. “Yeah. Me too. I mean, I’m glad you’re okay too.”

The oliveblood comes up to gently pat the alien’s arm, fond but exasperated. “How many friends do you even have?”

“A lot.” They beam proudly and lean against her. “Marsti, this is Polypa, my moirail, and that’s Lanque. Thanks for letting us into your hive so we don’t go deaf.”

“That’s still up in the air,” Lanque groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looks like he’s in physical pain from the howling of the siren. You don’t blame him; every time that damn thing has gone off you end up in your recuperacoon with a pan-ache.

“Sorry babe, should have brought ear protection.”

“Hmph.”

Your friend looks hopefully up at you. “Look, we have fifteen minutes before the first bombs start to fall. Are you gonna come with us?”

“I might live in the shittiest neighborhood known to trollkind, but we do have bomb shelters,” you assure them. “This isn’t my first rodeo. Catmom and I will be fine.”

“... Alright.” They look reluctant, even as Polypa starts tugging them towards the door. “Once I get a palmhusk I’ll text you, okay? Stay safe.”

You give them a smile. When’s the last time you smiled? “I will.”

Lanque nods to you and follows the pair back out into whatever hell awaits them. You watch them go, feeling Catmom circling your legs as she urges you over to the basement door. It won’t be long before the drones show up.

“Alright, I’m coming, I’m coming,” you sigh as you grab your water bottle and your palmhusk off the counter. “What a fucking night, huh?”

She swats at your ankles for your language, but you can tell she’s feeling the same way.

Your name is DIEMEN XICALI and you think this might be it.

This isn’t totally unusual for you, given that you are hiveless and broke, but it’s the first time since you lost your lusus that you would be facing a drone raid alone. You can hear the sirens not too far away, accompanied by the occasional sound of somebody screeching and running for cover. The oblong meat product you ate for breakfast churns nervously in your acid tract.

You’re deciding against making a run for it, given that you have literally nowhere to run to, when you feel the ground shake beneath you as the first bomb hits. The shockwave blows out the windows of a nearby hive not long after. You wince and cover your ears.

Well, this sucks.

Beside you, your palmhusk starts ringing. It’s Mallek.

“You’re literally calling at the worst time ever, dude,” you whisper frantically, shutting it off as fast as you can. Everybody knows the drones can track a palmhusk. Given what you’ve been up to these last few perigees, you wouldn’t be surprised if that actually happens.

A wave of grief and guilt hits you as you think of what happened to your juggalo friend. Mazzot Sazzox had died saving your stupid self from another clown that had gone insane for whatever reason. In doing so, he gave you enough time to get away from the drones that decided to show up out of nowhere.

Maybe in another life, you two would have been together, as close friends or maybe even more, but you guess it just wasn’t meant to be.

A lot of things aren’t.

Another explosion lights up the night sky, closer this time. That’s when the screaming starts, and you pray to your dead friend’s Messiahs that it’s not the five-sweep old that lives just down the road. She deserves to live, they all deserve to live, and even if they don’t survive the next few hours you pray that they’ll make it to wherever they’re meant to go in whatever comes next.

Where would you go? The Dark Carnival? Probably not, you’re no purpleblood, but one time after Mazzot preached to you about his faith you had the strangest dream about a dazzling carousel and some butterfly-winged angels. Could that be it?

“Oh, oh fuck somebody HELP ME-!”

BOOM

You shriek and curl up into a tight ball as you feel another shockwave nearly blow out your eardrums. Whoever was screaming stops.

The roar of drone engines passes over your bush. You don’t breathe until you can’t hear them anymore and release a shaky exhale. Not too far away, a second siren joins the first.

“Yeah, I know, I know,” you groan, holding your ears for all they’re worth.

Something a random guy told you at a party once comes back to you. He was a bronzeblood, you think, with big anter-like horns.

“Do you ever think about how some people believe we’ll be hatched as a higher caste after we die? Like we’re supposed to wait our whole lives for something better, except it’s only better because society made it that way?”

You were extremely stoned, but you remember telling him, “Dude. That’s deep.”

“Thanks. Pass me the blunt?”

You pass him the blunt and watch some gold chick and her moirail have a psionic orgy in the corner with a couple of rustbloods and a cerulean. She asked if you wanted to join earlier, but you were way too high to even hold a bucket upright, much less bust a nut, so you passed. Maybe you should have said yes so you didn’t have to think about how fucked up everything is about the world you live in.

Everything is so fucked up.

The bombs start falling with greater frequency now. Underneath you, the ground rumbles, and the part of you that’s still a kid is scared that it’ll break and you’ll fall into the planet.

“Get the fuck up,” somebody says. You startle, and then you realize you’re the one who said it.

You stare at a candy wrapper lying in the dirt an arms-length away, and you repeat yourself. “Get the fuck up, Diemen. You’re gonna die under a bush if you don’t move now.”

Amazingly, your right arm moves, followed by your left. You push yourself upright. The world spins around you as the blood rushes from your head.

You grab your palmhusk and do the universe’s sloppiest youth roll out of the bush, taking off running like you’ve never run before. Smoke and fire is filling the air, into your bellowsacs, and you barely make it a block before you have to stop.

Death smiles and waves at you as you look back just in time to see your bush go up in flames as a bomb blows everything up. You dive behind a nearby tree to avoid the resulting blast, and once it passes you’re running again.

Up ahead, the hive of the five-sweep old is nothing but a hollow husk.

You stumble to a stop and stare.

Keep moving, you tell yourself, except what you do is charge and leap in through a hole in the wall like some kind of idiot.

Stuff is on fire, but you remember enough about the layout of your own hive to know where the bomb shelter is. You shimmy around the burning hole where the living room used to be and make your way into the kitchen. The Messiahs must have been listening, because the trap door is unscorched and intact from the bomb.

You tear it open. “HEY! Hey, kid! Can you hear me?”

“YEAH!”

You whoop for joy, and for a moment everything is okay. “We don’t have a lot of time before the drones come back for seconds! Can you walk?”

“Yeah! Sort of!”

It takes a few minutes for the girl to drag herself over to the ladder, but once she hauls herself up to the main floor you can see why. Her left leg is totally broken, and her left ankle is dislocated. Behind her comes her lusus, an elderly beaverrat, who chitters warily before reluctantly allowing you to carry her precious charge around the destroyed living room and out the hole in the wall.

“Everything hurts,” the girl tells you quietly as you carry her down the sidewalk.

“I know. Don’t worry, I have a cerulean friend with a medicalizer. He’s let me use it before,” you tell her.

“So… so I can walk again?”

“You’ll walk again.”

On the way out of the neighborhood, you pass Marti’s hive, which has been completely blown to pieces. You hope she’s okay.

Once you get this kid’s legs healed, you’d come back for her and Catmom. Something is different about tonight-- the stars are shining so brightly they hurt to look at, and there’s a fragile unease in the atmosphere, like all of Alternia is holding her breath. You keep walking and don’t look at the moons, which stare down at you like a pair of eyes.

Everything’s fucked up, but it suddenly hits you that maybe, just maybe, you have the power to change that.

#homestuck #hiveswap #hiveswap friendsim trolls #pesterquest #the guardian #mspa reader #c12 #rustbloods #riverbound

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lucysweatslove · 5 years ago

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Day 23 // No prize that could hold sway or justify my giving away my center

Title lyrics taken from “Jambi” by Tool.

So let’s just start with this: every single time I watch or read anything related to medicine, I’m inspired. They light fires under me- and in my heart.

I’m currently watching Pandemic (yes, amid the Wuhan coronavirus “scare”), and all I can think is I want to DO that. I want to do whatever I can to help heal the human suffering caused by disease, either pathogenic or idiopathic. If that means suiting up in excessive PPE to intubate- I want to do that.

A few nights ago, Rob asked me why I don’t start at his company as a consultant or get my CPA. I would be making so much more and right away- and I wouldn’t have to pay hundreds of thousands of dollars for additional education. Math is a huge strong suit of mine, but it’s not my passion. It’s not my center. Medicine is- and it’s not because of the money. No amount of money (or conversely, debt) would dissuade me away from it.

I live in Montana, which is what I would consider underserved. We don’t have a large number of specialty providers, and in some cases, specialities can take over a year for a referral (looking directly at you, rheumatology). Can you imagine- you get a referral to a speciality through your primary care, which is needed under Medicaid, but by the time they’re able to see you, that referral is no longer valid? Do I like Montana? Nope. It’s cold and miserable most of the year. Do I want to live here for the rest of my life? Yes, if it means I get to serve the people who live here.

I see these people each day, and I see the worry in their eyes, and this is only freakin’ dermatology. No offense to derm folk- I love derm too- but derm is literally the easiest freakin’ specialty I’ve witnessed. We don’t often deal with anything systemic or life-threatening; it’s rashes, psoriasis, hair loss, acne, itching, and most often non-invasive, easily controlled skin cancers.

But we’re accessible. The clinic does such a good job at patient access, and when an “emergency” comes in to triage, we all work around our days to fit them in. And while we aren’t other specialities and thus can’t treat a wide variety of diseases, we are still a doctor’s office.

And so we see the patients who struggle to get into other specialties.

And all I want is to help.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what my “next steps” should be. I tried reaching out to this MS program and to an old professor, but they’re all so busy and receive so many emails, my correspondence just gets lost. I’m too old to be traditional (almost 5 years out of undergrad, and I just don’t know what to do. It took me so long to decide what I wanted to do, and now I’m worried I’ve missed my opportunity. I had hoped to go directly into an MD or a PhD, but as I’ve been out for so long and my school record is average (for the programs), I think I should go for the MS.

Anyway.

Something that has hit me hard is that in order to treat and care for the unwell, I need to be well myself. My physical health needs to be as strong as I can get it so I have a better chance at fighting off whatever I might come in contact with while treating patients. It just makes me want to fight that much harder in workouts especially.

#journal #sorry for the love letter to medicine

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filmfanatic82 · 6 years ago

Photo

AO3 link (HERE)

Chapter 14: I Can't Say That I'm Sorry…

BANG.

Trini stumbles over her own two feet, trying to get some-- if not any-- sort of stability. But it’s no use. She face plants against the familiar beige shag carpeting with a mind-numbing thud.

“Fuck,” Trini groans. She rolls over onto her back and takes a moment to collect herself. The world spins out of control. Trini shuts her eyes hard and tries to remain as still as humanly possible. Anything to prevent the oncoming wave of nausea.

Teleportation.

God, how she’s forgotten what a bitch it can be.

Convenient as hell, but the freakin’ side effects…

BANG.

Trini senses the sudden presence of Kim, Jason, and Billy all materializing in various places around her. A chorus of groans and curses fill the room as they too are hit dead on with the notorious teleportation hangover.

“Jesus,” Jason mutters. “That felt way worse than before.”

“I think something might be messing with the--”

“Max!” Kim’s panicked-stricken shouts slice through Billy’s words like a white-hot knife, immediately setting Trini’s hairs on end. Her eyes pop back open and for the first time, gets a good look at the tattered remains of what used to be Mamaji and Bapu’s living room.

A sea of shattered glass and splintered wood blanket almost every inch of space, with the occasional pieces of larger broken furniture strewn throughout. It’s wrecked beyond recognition.

Trini’s gut starts to churn with sickening deja vu sensation. It’s all a little too eerie for her liking. Flashes of long forgotten memories pop, like flashbulbs in the forefront of Trini’s mind. She’s seen this scene before. Years ago. When a possessed Green Ranger up and kidnapped the person that mattered most to Trini.

Fuck.

“Max! Baby!” Kim cries out again choking back a hint of a sob.

“Tommi? Zack?” Billy chimes in. His voice echoes throughout the house but only the sounds of the storm pounding away respond.

Fuck.

This isn’t good. Why isn’t anyone responding?

Please someone-- anyone-- respond.

“Wait. Stop. Whatever did this might still be in the house,” Jason says in a whisper, slowly rising to his feet with a sudden heightened sense of alarm. He reaches out to touch Kim’s arm, but before he can make contact, she wrenches it away.

“Kim--” But Kim doesn’t wait for Trini to finish her sentence. She takes off at an accelerated rate towards the stair and disappears out of sight.

“Fuck! Kimberly wait,” Jason races after Kim, leaving Trini and Billy no choice but to follow suit.

Trini body screams out in agony as she flies up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Every single cut. Every scrape. They all ignite at once as if the invisible band-aids from their Ranger healing powers have been ripped right off.

Weak.

She feels weak.

Weaker than ever before.

Something’s wrong.

No. Scratch that. It’s beyond wrong. They passed wrong hours ago.

She can’t afford to be weak. Not now.

“Max!!!” Kim’s desperate screams for her son snap Trini out of her thoughts and straight back into the sheer horror of the present moment. She hits the top step of the stairs with an extra painful thud and then stops to look back at Billy.

“Go check the master bedroom,” Trini tells Billy and then heads straight to join Jason and Kim in her bedroom.

Just like the living room, Trini’s bedroom is nothing more than a massive tangled mess of broken debris. Her eyes lock in on the crater-sized holes that pepper the walls and she can’t help but reach up and trace the faint scars along her neck. The first of far too many souvenirs from similar type encounters.

Jason, Kim, and Trini stare at the carnage before them for a moment or two, paralyzed by the endless possibilities of what took place inside these walls, then suddenly--

A groan.

It's faint, but it's there. Originating from the very depths of a small mountain of debris.

“Max!” Kim starts to blindly dig, paying little to no regard to how the broken shards of glass slice through her skin as she does.

Wordlessly, Trini and Jason join in, clearing pieces of debris at a breakneck speed. The moans grow louder and more profound as they make their way through the pile clearly signifying that it isn't Max. Kim’s face falls with disappointment.

“Zack?!” Trini shouts. “Zack. Hang in there. We’re coming!”

Zack lets out another groan in response prompting them to move at an even more rapid rate.

“Here. Help me lift this,” Jason says as he grabs hold of the mangled remains of Trini’s wooden headboard. These words strike a chord with Trini.

Jason can’t lift it by himself.

She isn’t the only one who’s feeling off.

But why?

What the fuck is happening?

“Got it.” Trini takes hold, but Kim remains frozen in place, eyes combing the rest of the room for a sign-- any sign-- of Max.

“On three. 1… 2… 3…” Both Jason and Trini let out matching grunts as they lift up the headboard, revealing a bloody and battered Zack beneath it. One of his eyes is swollen shut from extreme bruising and thin red lines trail out of his nostrils. It’s bad but yet he still manages to flash a goofy grin at the sight of them.

“Hey… You cut your hair,” Zack says as he looks up at Trini and then falls into a slight coughing fit. He struggles for a moment to catch his breath as his lungs adjust to the fresh air.

Trini lets out a wet bark of a laugh and shakes her head in relief.

“Zack…” Jason goes to help him, but Zack raises his hand signaling to stop.

“I’m okay. Just needed a second,” Zack responds and then slowly pushes himself up, shaking off the rest of the debris as he does. He’s covered head to toe in an array of angry red gashes as if someone-- or something-- more than went to town on his body.

Shit.

She hasn’t seen Zack this bad in years…

Maybe not ever.

If he looks like this, then what about Tommi and Max?

“What happened? Where’s Max?” Kim starts in, unable to hide the panic in her voice. Trini’s eyes shoot over towards the raven-haired girl as the pang of pure guilt cuts deeper. She wants so desperately to reach out and comfort her. To tell her that everything will be alright. That they will find Max safe and alive and somehow return the world back to its regular order.

But Trini holds back. She knows better. Kim hasn’t said a single word to her-- let alone looked her in the eyes-- since the moment she revealed that she knew where the Epithymía stone was.

“Dunno. One minute Mad Max was kicking our asses at Monopoly and then the next… The next we were under attack. I can’t remember much. Just all the windows shattering and the house filling with this sick looking yellow fog. We couldn’t see shit… I told Tommi to take Max and run. Figured she was the better one to protect him. Me being one arm down and all… And then… Then I dunno. It’s all fuzzy. Like someone scrambled my memories or something,” Zack says as a look of confusion slowly takes over his face.

“Fuck,” Trini exhales.

“Where’s Tommi?” Kim asks Zack.

“I… I don’t know…” Zack looks around the room, still battling against a haze of confusion. But this isn’t the answer Kim’s looking for. She moves closer to Zack, eyes narrowing with a fierce determination that is more than unnerving.

“Think, Zack. What direction did she and Max go in? Towards the basement? The kitchen? The garage?”

“I… I…” Zack fumbles over his words as his mentally grasps at straws.

“Kim…” Jason steps in between Zack and Kim, creating a human barrier. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll find them.”

“You don’t know that!” Kim fires back.

“You’re right. I don’t, but this isn’t the time for us to--”

“Guys!!!” Billy’s voice slashes through the tension of the room, instantly causing all heads to turn towards the doorway. “Come quick! It’s Tommi!”

And that’s all any of them need to hear. Trini, Zack, Kim, and Jason take off out of the bedroom and race down the stairs towards the sound of Billy’s voice.

“Billy! Where are you?” Jason yells back as they make their way back into the living room and pause for a moment.

“In the basement. Hurry!”

“Hang on. We’re coming!” Jason leads the way as the four of them fly down the rickety wooden steps and descend upon the basement.

Unlike the rest of the house, the basement is untouched with no single piece of debris to be found anywhere. Everything looks exactly the way it did when they last left except for--

Tommi.

She lays virtually lifeless in the dead center of the concrete floor, surrounded by a pool of her own blood with Billy in the process of checking her vitals.

Trini stares at the sight before her, unable to breathe. It’s as if an invisible force has sucker-punched her straight in the chest, knocking out her ability to inhale even the slightest breath of air.

No.

NO.

Not Tommi.

She can’t be…

NO.

She can’t…

“Tommi!” Zack yells lunging towards them but is held back by Jason.

“Zack…”

“Let me go!”

“No,” Jason tightens his grip on his friend, momentarily ignoring his array of injuries. “Billy?”

“I was in the process of searching and found her laying here. Her pulse is faint, and breaths on the right side sound shallow. Think it might be punctured lung. Maybe from a broken rib, but I can’t tell. Not without the vitals scanner,” Billy rattles off, never once taking his attention off of Tommi.

“Where’s Max?... Max!” Kim starts to frantically scourge the basement, checking every possible hiding spot as if Max will magically appear if she just searches hard enough.

“Kim…” Jason says with a hint of a quiver to his voice, fighting to keep his emotions in check. “He’s not here.”

“You don’t know that!” Kim whips back around to face Jason again, now in full-blown mama bear mode.

“Kim, if he were here, he’d answer us.”

“Why isn’t she awake? She should’ve woken up by now. Right?” Zack asks, eyes fixated on Tommi and Tommi alone. He watches helplessly as Billy continues to assess Tommi’s wounds, growing more and more anxious by the second.

“Her coin,” Jason responds.

Billy instantly stops what he is doing and checks Tommi’s pockets. But there’s nothing… Nothing at all.

No coin.

Trini’s eyes grow wide with a sickening horror as Billy looks back at them empty-handed. “It’s not here.”

Fuck.

Where’s her coin?

The Green Power Coin.

It can’t be missing.

“What?” Zack blurts out in disbelief. “Where is it?”

“Oh god… It’s got the coin,” Kim quietly states. All color drains from her face as the horrific realization fully sinks in.

“What’re you talking about? Who’s got the coin?” Zack’s eyes dart wildly between the group, searching for answers. But there are none to be found.

“Billy, check again.” Jason vigorously rubbing the back of his neck now unable to hold back his emotions.

“But baby…”

“Check again.”

Billy moves to search Tommi again when suddenly her body starts to convulse, locked in the throes of a full-blown seizure. “No… No… No…”

“Do something!” Zack screams as tears freely flow down his face.

Fuck.

“I… I can’t… I don’t have anything here…” Billy stutters in response. He rolls Tommi to her side and trying to prevent any further self-inflicted damage. It’s feeble at best, but there’s nothing else Billy can do.

“We need to get her to the ship,” Jason says, matching Zack’s tears with fresh ones of his own.

“She doesn’t have her coin. The teleporter won’t work without one. We’ve tried. Remember what happened to Mr. Floppy? It needs our coins to activate the sequence.”

“We still have our coins. What if one of us teleports with her? That could work, right?”

“Wait. What happened to Mr. Floppy?” Kim asks with concern.

Fuck.

Billy continues to brace Tommi’s body as it uncontrollably bucks against him.“I… I guess, but… But there’s a chance that--”

“I’ll do it,” Zack interrupts Billy.

“No.” Jason shakes his head. “You’re in no shape to. I’ll do it.”

“Fuck you, Scott. She’s my fiancé. I’m doing it.”

“What the fuck happened to Mr. Floppy??” Kim forcefully asks again, desperate for an answer.

“He didn’t make it,” Jason responds.

Fuck.

“What’d you mean he didn’t make it?”

“Uh, guys…” Billy shouts, grabbing everyone’s attention. “She… She… She stopped breathing.”

FUCK!

And with those words, Trini suddenly unfreezes. She races over towards Billy and Tommi, and then, with a hard shove, pushes Billy out of the way.

“Trini! No!” Kim screams out, but it’s too late. There’s no other choice. Not for Trini.

“I’m sorry,” Trini whispers under her breath. She wraps her arms around Tommi’s body and without another moment’s hesitation, activates the button on her teleporter wristband.

#trimberly #trini x kimberly #trini #kimberly hart #jason scott #zack taylor #billy cranston #power ranger movie #power ranger 2017 #ao3 #wlw

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beccarooni · 6 years ago

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Thulk cuddles 3 - featuring Bruce!

AN: in this house we love both hulk and Bruce equally (and so does thor)

The thrumming of the Statesman's engines was an odd comfort to Bruce. So far away from home, but it honestly reminded him of Starks labs. The sound of machinery creaking and beeping provided the same calming ambience, although for once he was asleep in a bed instead of at a desk. The relief and exhaustion of coming back had knocked him into the bed almost as soon as he'd gotten there. He wasn't even sure if Hulk would let him back when he jumped out of that craft.

But Thor had needed him. Asgard had needed him.

The look on Brunhilde's face when he'd turned back had almost been worth all the worry anyway. She'd wanted a lengthy discussion about what in the hell she'd just witnessed, but Thor had insisted on Bruce getting some rest. Deals were made to continue the revelry at a later date, and soon enough everyone had retired to their rooms to gather their frazzled nerves.

Bruce was so close to sleep, his first good sleep in months. It seemed only on course for his luck that something would change that.

The thrum of the machinery beneath his pillow grew into a churning, shrill shriek that sent him sitting bolt upright from the bed. A loud crack echoed from somewhere down the corridor, and he felt Hulk's alarm in the back of his mind.

But it wasn't a gun that had made that noise.

It was a sound Bruce knew all too well, the same sound that had blasted through Asgard as it began to burn.

It was the sound of thunder.

It didn't take long for Bruce to be out of his bed, making a half asleep effort to pull on shoes while running down the hallway. Blue light reflected off of the paneled walls, the distant sound of cracking electricity growing closer with every turn. Bruce rounded a final corner, and his stomach clenched at what he found.

Thor was hunched in the center of the room, arcs of lightning ripping from his body. His whole form was taught, tight, clenched like a fist in the midst of a battle.

Bruce caught a whimper, and his feet moved forward before he could stop them.

"Thor? What's happening?" He tried to keep his voice gentle, to limit it to quiet, soothing tones. But he couldn't hide the slight tilt of panic beginning to creep into his voice. Fear, but not for him.

Thor's single eye flickered up towards where Bruce was standing, the look on his face like a stray animal that had been cornered by a hunter. He raised his hand towards Bruce in a warning, pain and terror cracking his voice.

"S-Stay back. Please. I can't-"

Thor was cut off as a particularly vicious arc of lightning tore through his body, and a cry of pain escaped his lips before he could muffle it.

Bruce swallowed nervously. He'd never seen Thor like this. There were faint memories from Hulk's side of the equation that clawed at his sleep addled mind, but nothing like this. That storm was an impressive feat of battle, a controlled force made to strike down droves of enemies.

It wasn't supposed to hurt.

"Just stay calm, alright?" He took a cautious step forward, arms extended out in front of him in a gesture he hoped was placating. "Tell me how to help you."

"I can't control it, Banner." Thor looked at his fists, and the arcs of light that darted in-between his fingertips like it was the product of a nightmare. "I can't..." His voice petered off into a sob, and Banner caught his knees shaking with strain.

"Easy..." Banner tried to take in a measured breath, careful and slow, hoping Thor would follow his example. He knew about losing control. He knew so much about it that he was shocked he hadn't achieved an 8th PhD on the subject. Even now he could hear Hulk's voice poking through the back of his consciousness, addled with sleep as it was.

'Friend hurt?' The gruff tones of his monster were tinged with worry. 'Hulk help?'

'No.' As much as their relationship had improved through the last couple of days, Bruce didn't fancy bringing Hulk out to deal with an out of control demigod. He was all for experiments, but mixing an aptly described Green Rage Monster with a bucket load of uncontrollable lightning wasn't a formula he was about to engage with.

He could deal with this on his own.

"What happened? Can you remember?" Specific things were usually the catalyst of Banner's worries, be that nightmares of destruction or real world dangers in the form of Thaddeus Ross.

There were any number of these things that could've set Thor off, and he cursed himself for not bringing these up sooner. Hiding emotions was practically the slogan of the Avengers. Thor was never going to be an exception, as good at it as he was.

The question seemed to still the panic at least for a moment as Thor focused on it. Bolts stopped ripping from his body, limiting themselves to the occasional spark and an eerie glow surrounding the demigod.

His breathing was ragged, loud against the silence left by the thunder.

"I... I don't remember..." Thor's voice sounded vacant, far away as he finally answered. His next few words dropped to a pained hiss, and his huge form was visibly shaking now. "Everything hurts, Banner. I don't know why."

Bruce nodded, taking another few steps forward. The storm seemed to be lulling, giving him a chance to get a proper look at the demigod. Still in the soot-stained armour he'd been wearing since...God, since Sakaar. The man himself didn't look like the picture of Asgardian elegance, either. His forehead shone with sweat, skin pale against the harsh lighting of the ships systems.

'Friend sick' came the discontented grumble of his Other. Bruce shushed him down, but it was a plausible theory. One that he didn't mind exploring.

He hadn't seen the bigger man see a medic for anything other than his eye. Originally he'd put it down to Thor being, well, Thor. But battling the goddess of death must have resulted in a lot of injuries. Ones, perhaps, he was hiding.

"You're not well, Thor." He was close now, and he could hear the faint wheezing as his friend took in breath. He saw the puncture wounds underneath the armour, angry and red, clotted with something sickeningly black. "You need to see a medic."

"No."

Well, at least that reply was immediate. If not the typical brand of irritating stubbornness that came from asking a member of the Avengers about their well-being.

"Look, your wounds are obviously infected. They're just gonna get worse if you don't get them at least cleaned up a little."

Thor shook his head, dragging his vision up to look Bruce in the eye, to summon what little authority he presumed he had as King. "My people need them more. They have suffered worse than I."

"Jesus, dude..." Bruce ran a hand over his face.

Maybe a long time ago the authoritative tone coming from the 6"3 actual God of Thunder would've worked, but he'd seen this guy in boardshorts. He wasn't going to take orders from his friend, who was sick, and needed help. Even if that meant being a little...harsher, with his bedside manner.

"They'll suffer even more if they wake up tomorrow and their freakin' King is dead. I know on earth you're the big, strong God of Thunder. But right now you're just my friend, and you're hurting. So are you going to go to the medic-bay walking with me, or do I have to ask hulk to carry you there?"

A moment of silence passed between them, with Thor's eyes finally losing the faint blue glow left behind by the lightning. Now they were filled with something close to shame, his gaze cast down to the floor as his hands nervously toyed with his nails.

For a moment, Bruce thought he had gone too far. Thor had been through a lot these past few days, and here he was, yelling at him. But then he looked back at the angry wounds on the gods arms, shoulders, back, seemingly everywhere. He couldn't let this go on. He cared about Thor too much to let him go down a path of self destruction that he himself was all too familiar with.

"I'm sorry." Thor finally replied in a voice that was quiet and timid, but he seemed to be relenting, at least.

Bruce's shoulders lost some of the tension he didn't realise he'd been carrying. "It's okay, w-"

"I'm sorry, because I can't go to the medics as you've asked." He drew his arms around himself, taking a steadying breath before continuing. "I have tried to avoid the throne for as long as I could, but now it's here and I can't run away from it. And if the first thing my people see of my reign is my weaknesses..."

He shut his single eye briefly, turning his face away to focus on the star-speckled space just outside of the viewing window.

"That can't happen. I will deal with this alone."

Thor turned away from Bruce, trying to burn the sight of the scientists pained expression out of his mind. He'd caused that. Bruce was stranded on a spaceship, thousands of miles from home. He'd turned back into the Hulk to save Asgard, a decision that he didn't know he'd come back from.

Bruce Banner had plenty to worry about, but now he was choosing to worry about him. His intention, for now, was to head down the corridor and deal with the wounds himself. He wasn't as skilled as the medics, or Loki, in healing magic, but he knew a thing or two. Enough to seal the wounds and hope for the best, at least. He'd retire to his chambers, and allow sleep to stitch him back together.

At least, that had been the plan.

Hulk's hand clamped around his arm faster than he could register, stopping him in his tracks and causing him to yelp at the jolt that ran through his injured shoulder.

"Thor go get help." Hulk's voice rumbled from somewhere above him as the green giant tugged Thor back along the corridor.

Thor dug his heels in as far as they could go, knowing that it was futile. At his strongest, fighting Hulk had been a challenge. Now he was weak, much weaker than Sakaar, and Hulk knew it.

His only hope was bargaining.

"Unhand me!" Thor grabbed onto a piece of piping sticking out of the wall, causing Hulk to turn around with a grunt of frustration.

"Thor being stupid!" Hulk turned around to face him, attempting to pry Thor's fingers away from the pipe. For a moment, Thor was anchored, and it seemed they had reached a stalemate. At least until a particularly harsh pull had the unfortunate side effect of ripping the pipe itself from the wall with a sickening clang, sending Thor careening into the Hulk's chest.

Hitting into the expanse of green muscle was what finally pulled the strength out of Thor's protests. The air was knocked from his lungs, and while he made to argue further, he instead collapsed to the floor with a pathetic wheeze.

Hulk looked down at him, heaving a soft sigh that sounded close to pity which only served to make Thor's stomach turn further.

"Come on, Blondie." The green figure stooped to the floor, scooping Thor into an uncomfortable bundle into his arms. "Thor done now."

"This is ridiculous." Thor turned, mumbling into Hulk's chest as they passed the viewing window.

"Hulk have to do everything here."

"I didn't ask you to do this."

"Said no to Banner." Hulk shifted Thor in his arms, making the position a little more bearable. "Baby arms make Hulk do this."

Thor sighed softly, finding his strength to argue quickly failing. It would have been a fruitless attempt anyway- and not just because of the toll of his injuries. If he was being honest with himself, and only to himself, it was a strangely welcome feeling passing through the halls, cradled in arms larger than his own. It may have been undignified, and certainly far from king-like behaviour, but it was comforting.

And after the events of the past few days, he needed some comfort. He felt Hulk's hold around him grow a little tighter, and he settled a little further into his grip, his eyes slipping shut, just for a moment. At least that's what he told himself.

In actuality Thor was asleep long before Hulk reached the med-bay, and thankfully stayed that way as he was dumped unceremoniously onto a bed. To his credit, Hulk had tried to be gentle, but it was difficult when the God was so puny.

Hulk felt Banner stir in the back of his mind as he turned to leave, but the feeling was what stopped him at the doorway. It was praise, at least it felt like it.

Banner was pleased with him. Not disgusted, not traumatised.

Pleased.

'Thank you, Hulk. I can take it from here.'

Hulk grunted in response as he felt Banner start to re-emerge.

'Banner welcome.'

#thulk #thunder science #thunderscience #thorbruce #hulk #bruce banner #thor odinson #writing #whump #gamma hammer #ragnarok spoilers #fanfic

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beatlejuice64 · 5 years ago

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Destiel: Season 10 - A catalog of Supernatural episodes

A catalog of each episode in Supernatural that features scenes related to Destiel. This includes scenes between Dean and Castiel, scenes with other characters that address their relationship with each other, and scenes that allude to Dean’s bisexuality.

Season 10 Summary Analysis

Dean becomes a demon and goes on an extended vacation with Crowley. Cas is dying because his temporary grace is waning, but he still does whatever he can to save Dean. Cas has a chance to connect with a fellow angel, Hannah, but he gives that up in favor of helping the Winchesters. Cas embraces his humanity more and more throughout the season, taking a particular interest in helping Claire Novak. Cas also works tirelessly with Sam to figure out a way to save Dean from the Mark of Cain. Dean has trouble forgiving himself for what he does while under the influence of the Mark, and his self-loathing grows over the course of the season. Dean resigns himself to his fate, and after Charlie’s death, he goes off the deep end, almost killing Cas.

My interpretation: Dean and Cas both have people who develop affection for them (Crowley and Hannah, respectively), but neither one of them reciprocate because they’re hung up on each other. Castiel’s experience being human the previous season helps him make space to more fully embrace his connection to humanity, and his desire to be there for Claire ties him to Earth more than ever before. Cas also grows continually more distant from heaven as the season progresses. Dean‘s self-hatred and resignation about the Mark of Cain close him off from the people who love him, but he is able to resist killing Cas because of the deep connection they share.

10.01 Black

While talking on the phone with Sam, Cas says he misses Dean.

Crowley has grown attached to Dean during their extended vacation, but Dean doesn’t reciprocate those feelings.

Cas demonstrates his love for humanity while speaking with Hannah: “Well, perhaps I’ve been down here with them for too long. There’s seemingly nothing but chaos, but not all bad comes from it—art, hope, love, dreams.” “But those are human things.” “Yes.”

10.02 Reichenbach

When Cas finds out that Dean is a demon, he drops everything to help, even though Hannah doesn’t think it’s a good idea: “Castiel, I think the Winchesters are a bad influence on you.” “Sam and Dean may be a bit rough around the edges, but they’re the best men I’ve ever known. And they’re my friends.”

Crowley makes a joke about the nature of his relationship with Dean: “It’s over. What can I say? Crazy ones, well, they’re good for a fling, but they’re just not relationship material.”

10.03 Soul Survivor

Cas explains his desire to help the Winchesters, looking forlorn as he speaks of Dean’s current state: “Sam is alone in this. He’s attempting to change Dean from demon to human with a cure of sanctified blood, but there’s no guarantee that will work. If it doesn’t, then Dean is gone, and the demon must be dealt with.”

Hannah has grown attached to Castiel as they’ve been traveling together, but Cas doesn’t reciprocate her feelings: “Um, Hannah, you know this road we’re on, it’s dangerous.” “Alright.” “Um, we can’t afford to lose our way.” “I know that. I’m sorry about the map.” “No detours of ANY kind.” “Castiel, if these are metaphors and you’re attempting another human communication, it isn’t working.” “I’m just trying to say that this mission is everything.” “I know that.” “Getting to Dean and hunting these rogues... I’m not at full capacity, so I... we need total focus.” “Like a laser. Got it.” “Just, I’ve been around humans for long enough to see how easily distractions occur.” “Distractions...” “Emotions, feelings, they’re dangerous temptations.” “How very biblical, Castiel.” “I don’t mean to be unkind.” “You don’t need to be kind.” “I just... I’m trying to keep our priorities clear.” “Not to worry, then. I’m very clear on my priorities, and yours.”

Cas understands Dean’s point of view more clearly than Sam does: “Even after I gave him all that blood, he still said he didn’t want to be cured, that he didn’t want to be human.” “Well, I see his point. You know, only humans can feel real joy, but also such profound pain. This is easier.”

Cas visits Dean’s room to check on him, and Dean appreciates his presence: “You look terrible.” “You know, it wouldn’t kill ya to lie every now and again.” “No, it wouldn’t kill me, I just... you...” “Forget it. Well you, on the other hand, you... lookin’ good. So, are you back?” “At least temporarily. Yeah, it’s a long story—Crowley, stolen grace, there’s a female outside in the car... another time.” “Well, thank you for, um, steppin’ in when you did.”

Cas helps make Dean feel better about how he treated Sam as a demon: “I’m glad you’re here, man.” “Hey, maybe you should, um, take some time before you get back to work—allow yourself to heal. It’s, uh, I don’t know... timing might be right. Heaven and hell, they seem reasonably back in order. It’s quiet out there.”

10.05 Fan Fiction

Destiel is mentioned when we find out that the musical actors playing Dean and Cas (Siobhan and Kristen) are a couple in real life. Sam is amused by it, even joking about a pairing of him and Cas, but it makes Dean uncomfortable.

10.07 Girls, Girls, Girls

Hannah flirts with Cas and makes him feel flustered.

Hannah kisses Cas in order to convince her vessel’s husband that she left him for another man, but then she decides to leave her vessel and return to heaven, explaining Castiel’s influence on her: “Being on Earth, working with you, I’ve felt things, human things—passions, hungers, to shower, feel water on my skin, to get closer to you. But all of that was nothing compared to what I get when I saw him, her husband—his anger and grief. And Caroline was inside of me, screaming out for him, for her life back. These feelings, they aren’t for me, for us. They belong to her. I know it’s time to step aside. Goodbye, Castiel.”

10.09 The Things We Left Behind

Inspired by Hannah’s choice to take responsibility for how her actions have affected her vessel, Cas seeks out Claire Novak. He explains that his worldview has changed: “Before, I was very self-assured. I was convinced I was on this righteous path. Now I realize that there is no righteous path, it’s just people trying to do their best in a world where it’s far to easy to do your worst.”

After Claire takes off, Cas calls Dean and Sam for help. Dean is reluctant at first, but agrees to help when he sees how important it is to Cas. When Dean gives Cas some advice, Cas demonstrates how much respect he has for Dean: “Alright, so spill. What’s with the family reunion?” “I dunno. Just been thinking about people. I’ve helped some, but I’ve hurt some.” “So you’re havin’ a mid-life crisis.” “Well, I’m extremely old. I think I’m entitled.” “Cas, listen to me. There’s some stuff you just gotta let go, k? The people you let down, the ones you can’t save, you gotta forget about ‘em, for your own good.” “That what you do?” “That’s the opposite of what I do, but I ain’t exactly a role model.” “That’s not true.”

Cas sees through Dean’s tough exterior: “How are you, Dean?” “Fine. I’m great.” “No, you’re not.” “Yeah, well, I’ve lost the black eyes, so that’s a plus, but I still have this.” “Is the Mark of Cain still affecting you? ...Dean?”

Dean confides in Cas and asks him to do what he knows Sam cannot do for him: “Cas, I need you to promise me something.” “Of course.” “If I do go darkside, you gotta take me out.” “What do you mean?” “Knife me, smite me, throw me into the freakin’ sun, whatever. And don’t let Sam get in the way, because he’ll try. I can’t go down that road again, man. I can’t be that thing again.”

10.10 The Hunter Games

Claire calls Cas out for defending Dean after his massacre: “Dean Winchester’s a monster.” “It’s possible there’s a little monster in all of us.” “You want me to trust you, and the fact that you’d even try to defend him just proves to me that I can’t.”

Dean expresses concern for Claire on Castiel’s behalf, and Cas asks him for help with her again: “Listen, man, if I could make it better, I would.” “That’s actually why I’m here. I was hoping you might reach out to her.” “Me?” “Yes.” “Seriously, I’m probably the last person she would wanna hear from.” “I thought there would be a connection. One extremely messed up human to another, you could explain why you murdered her only friend.” “Oh, well yeah, when you put it like that.” “All I know is she won’t talk to me. I thought if she understood the kind of man Randy was and the danger she was in, she might...” “What the hell? Why not? Long shots seem to be the theme around here.”

10.14 The Executioner’s Song

When Dean returns after defeating Cain, he entrusts the First Blade to Cas.

10.16 Paint it Black

Dean goes to confession and admits he doesn’t want to die, that he hasn’t experienced life to the fullest extent that he would like to: “Recent events, uh, make me think I might be closer to that than I really thought. And I don’t know, I mean, you know, there’s things, there’s people, feelings that I want to experience differently than I have before, or maybe even for the first time.”

10.17 Inside Man

Against the express wishes of Hannah and the other angels, Cas teams up with Sam to break Metatron out of Heaven, choosing Dean over heaven yet again.

10.18 Book of the Damned

Cas refuses to forgive Metatron for what he did to Dean: “I thought we were having a moment. Can’t we be besties?” “No. Because you killed my friend.” “Oh, Dean is fine, mostly. Can’t you get past that?” “Never.”

Dean is happy to see Cas when he returns to the bunker: “Good to have you back, pal.”

10.19 The Werther Project

While Dean is under a spell, his subconscious (in the form of Benny) tries to convince him to kill himself by bringing up the possibility of hurting those around him, naming Cas before Sam: “What, you just wanna wait for the Mark to reclaim you? Go out swingin’, die topside, then what? Maybe kill a few humans? Kill Cas? Kill your brother?” “You gonna get Sam and Cas to put you down? You really think they’re gonna keep that agreement? Come on. Dean, let’s say they do. Do you think that they will ever recover from that? It will ruin them.”

10.20 Angel Heart

When Cas calls the boys for help with Claire, Dean questions whether his presence is a good idea, and Cas insists he needs him there: “I need help from both of you. You were both troubled teens. You speak her language.”

Cas uses his stern dad voice on both Claire and Dean: “No fighting.” “Yeah, tell HER that.” “BOTH of you.”

Dean and Claire grow closer and become friends.

10.21 Dark Dynasty

Cas agrees to help Sam go behind Dean’s back to crack the Book of the Damned, saying he’ll do it “for Dean.”

10.22 The Prisoner

Rowena notices how rare Cas is for choosing humans over heaven: “You’re just fascinating. An angel that rejected heaven, that’s like a fish that wants to fly or a dog that thinks he’s people.” “Well, I’m a lot like people.” “Keep telling yourself that, dear.”

After Dean kills all the Stynes, Cas tries to stop him, explaining that his perspective on the situation is unique: “Maybe you could fight the Mark for years, maybe centuries, like Cain did, but you cannot fight it forever. And when you finally turn, and you will turn, Sam and everyone you know, everyone you love, they could be long dead. Everyone except me. I’m the one who will have to watch you murder the world, so if there’s even a small chance that we can save you, I won’t let you walk out of this room.” “Oh, you think you have a choice.” “I think the Mark is changing you.” “You’re wrong.” “Am I? Because the Dean Winchester I know would never have murdered that kid.”

When Cas tries to stop Dean from leaving, Dean beats him to a bloody pulp. Dean gets close to killing him, but resists the urge at the last second: “No, Dean. Please...”

#dean x castiel #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #supernatural #spn #deancas

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shreyamistry · 6 years ago

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Regrets And Tearful Goodbyes - (Kaitlyn Liao x MC)

Title: Regrets And Tearful Goodbyes (RATG)

Series: One Shot

Summary: Kaitlyn and Celeste reminisce about what was after the music video went live for Kaitlyn’s band. Celeste had moved on with Becca, and doesn’t know if she made the right choice anymore, and Kaitlyn has never stopped pining for the first girl she’s ever fallen in love... but reconciling isn’t as easy as it is in the movies.

Warnings: angsty, a little sad, and kaitlyn’s hella sad so if sad kaitlyn makes you sad then maybe this isn’t for you lmao

Pairings: past Kaitlyn x MC, present Becca x MC

Tagging: @kennaxval (my favorite Kaitlyn stan! hope you can enjoy this sad piece haha)

A/N: I wrote this when I finally read that one chapter it happened in, but i read it a week late and then it took me a week to finally write this bc life, but this is set during The Senior chapter 9 maybe idk anymore lmao

Kaitlyn stares over the railing, her elbows resting on the metal bar. All of her dreams were coming true, they finished their first music video and reviews were nothing short of positive. Yet why did her heart feel heavy in her chest looking at her ‘best friend’ standing beside her?

Celeste’s face was bright, Kaitlyn couldn’t remember a time she didn’t see the glow on Celeste’s skin. Scratch that she could. When they broke up. Even with everything going on freshman year, she could always remember the way her eyes fell to the floor, the glow that dulled because of her. Hindsight, Kaitlyn thinks to herself, if only she would have realized it sooner that she was going to lose Celeste.

She was a bad girlfriend and lost the only girl she’s ever loved. She tried it with Annisa, but that fizzled out and she was grateful, would be best for the band if they didn’t catch feelings for each other. But Annisa wasn’t Celeste, she didn’t smile the same way, laugh at her jokes the same way, or love her the same way. She wondered why love felt so hard? Was it because she was a lesbian or was love in general just dumb and hard? She looks at her hands resting on the railing, her fingertips slightly pink from practicing without a pick earlier. Bruised... She thinks to herself her mind instantly making her think of Celeste’s sobs as she broke up with her, she hates to think about the fact she left Celeste bruised and hurt.

She nudges Celeste with her shoulder looking over at her with a caring smile. “Hey...you over there. You just got awfully quiet.” Celeste nods in response letting out a sigh, her facial features transitioning into a pensive thoughtful look. Kaitlyn waits a few seconds before broaching the subject again. “Is something wrong?” Kaitlyn hates the pensive look on Celeste’s face. She loved her too much to stop worrying about her, to stop involving her in her life as though she still was, she just wanted to wrap her arms around Celeste, pepper her with kisses, and reassure her, but she can’t.

Becca does that now.

Becca does everything for her now, that Kaitlyn wished she still did for her.

“No, I mean not really. I got up in my head about Senior year when you wrote, ‘I’ll miss you, Hartfield.’” Kaitlyn notes the sadness in her voice, she couldn’t quite place why it felt more than just the end of Hartfield.

But even so, she wanted to comfort her. Senior Year isn’t over yet. “Oh… I meant while I’m on tour, but yeah, I’ll miss it when I graduate, too.” I’ll miss you more.

Celeste sighs wrapping an arm around Kaitlyn using her for support, letting her head fall on Kaitlyn’s shoulder. Kaitlyn holds her breath, you’re just friends, she reminds herself. “I just wonder is everyone drifting apart?”

And it finally made sense to her now, why Celeste was acting so out of the blue sad and broken down. The end of Hartfeld meant so much more, the place they fell in love they had to finally say goodbye to. The place she fell in love with Becca at as well. She never would’ve thought the first night in the suite was the beginning of the end, could she really lose everything her and her friends fought for and worked towards? What're four years of everything they’ve all been through if they stop talking. Kaitlyn didn’t think they’d fall apart, but all roses have their thorns.

“I mean, I don’t know.” And Kaitlyn didn’t know. Everyone was moving on with their life, it happens after college. Her smile falters, she finally has to let Celeste go sooner or later, there’s no way they can stay together when they’re just friends. “I wasn’t planning on going back to Austin, per se.”

“Yeah, but sooner or later, it happens to everyone. We all want to be next door neighbors, but I don’t know.” And the look crosses her face again and Kaitlyn’s heart skips a beat as she looks up to meet Kaitlyn’s eyes. An unspoken sadness settling between them for a moment before Celeste continues. “Becca’s thinking about going into criminal law, and transferring all the way to Howg University in California.”

Becca.

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Becca loves you.” The words leave Kaitlyn’s lips happily, but they sound even more bitter in her mouth to herself. She loves Becca and Becca loves her. And Kaitlyn loves her band… that’s how things were now, there was no more Kaitlyn loves Celeste and Celeste loves Kaitlyn. “That’s so freakin’ obvious.”

“Yeah,” Celeste says sadly, “Do you ever wonder…” Celeste stops herself before she can finish the statement. And Kaitlyn knows exactly what she means. How could she not? How do you tell someone you’ve never let go that every day you wake up and wonder what could’ve been… what might’ve been if she was a better person? She never would forgive herself for everything she put Celeste through, but god would she do everything in her power to be someone that Celeste could count on again if she ever wanted.

“Every day,” Kaitlyn answers staring straight ahead at the band and Abbie talking in the lounge eating the remainder of the pizza. “Every fucking day, Celeste.” Kaitlyn doesn’t know why she says it, why she admits… but she does it anyway.

“Sometimes... I wonder if I made the wrong choice.” Celeste admits, unwrapping herself from Kaitlyn’s arm. Kaitlyn misses the contact instantly, but doesn’t will herself to look at Celeste, she doesn’t want her to see the tears in her eyes. “That maybe… you were the one.”

Kaitlyn’s heart jumps into her throat.

“Don’t go saying things like that Celeste,” Kaitlyn whispers brushing the back of her hand against her eye. “You love Becca.”

“I love Becca,” Celeste repeats after her, the words sounding more forced than Kaitlyn has ever heard her say before. “You’re right. Becca helped me through everything you and I went through.”

She couldn’t deny that. “Yeah,” Kaitlyn whispers. Becca was everything Celeste needed, Kaitlyn knew that. She helped Becca, she changed Becca and herself. And Becca helped her. They were practically made for each other if Kaitlyn didn’t know the truth. The doubt. You never doubt the people you love, but then again… Celeste doubted her not that long ago.

“I should go… thank you, Kaitlyn.”

She didn’t want Celeste to go, but who was she to stop her? Becca won. At the end of the day, she made her choice and drove Celeste into Becca’s arms whether intentional or not, Kaitlyn knew she had to live with it. Her mouth and lips felt dry the feelings settling into her chest, threading through her heart like a vine. Wounds that should already be healed, still left her gutted knowing it was her fault and her fault alone. She never understood how people drove people away in movies or TV, but she did it. She drove Celeste so far away… She glances back to Celeste tears stinging her eyes as she takes a steady breath.

“For what it’s worth, Kait...” Celeste stops at the top of the stairs turning to look at her, brushing a strand of hair behind her own ear, a tinge of a blush decorating her cheeks as she ponders her words for a brief few seconds. “I really did love you, Kaitlyn, I honestly thought we’d be together forever. I know this is a shit closure, but it’s about time, right? Kaitlyn Liao you’re going to make a girl so happy one day, and she’s going to love you back and you deserve it.” Kaitlyn forced a sad smile waving goodbye to her ex-girlfriend and best friend. She watches her make her way to the exit and she never sees her turn around…

Closure is bullshit, Kaitlyn thinks to herself kicking over her drink in a huff of anger leaving the discarded cup on the floor speeding down the stairs with her hands shoved into her pocket, letting a forced smile take over her face approaching her bandmates. If only she had the courage to go after Celeste. She shakes her head falling down next to Abbie making herself laugh at the joke that Rachel makes to the group

#kaitlyn liao #kaitlyn x mc #mc x kaitlyn #playchoices #the senior #ts #becca davenport #becca x mc #kaitlyn x mc (celeste)#choices the senior #fic #yeah idk what to tag this for some reason lmao #regrets and tearful goobyes #sounds way more angsty than it really is by the title lmfao #kaitlyn fc is angelababy #as picked out by kate #bc she replied to my kaitlyn fc messages first lmao #so if you prefer ming xi blame peachesandjoonie #should i tag her to make sure she knows im blaming her? hmmm no we'll let her find out if she ever does lmafoajfio #not planning a part two #but if it does well enough i'd consider one definitely #also should i do christmas prompts? i saw the 12 christmas prompt list and some of them look fun #who would yall wanna see?#that doesn't mean ill do them im more picky about characters ill write for now

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tintentrinkerin · 4 years ago

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Cathartic Arrest

Part one of ‘the fortress that is your soul’

Rating: Mature Pairing: Sam/Dean [neither romantic nor sexual; yet] Tags: Jealousy, Post-Hell Dean Winchester, Post-Lucifer’s Cage Sam Winchester, Dubious Consent, Codependent Winchesters, Punishment, Caning Summary: Sam needs to cope with memories of Lucifer's abuse. Dean is still trying to cope with this time as torture Master in Hell. And he's JEALOUS. Word count: 1.7k

Read under the cut or on AO3

“I can stop, aye?” she said.

“No, Mistress. Don’t. I want it to bleed.”

She’s not his Domme and he’s not her Slave. It's all about pain. He isn’t that twisted in his mind to reenact the power exchange, his own powerlessness. Michael watching. Michael. That god forsaken coward.

Sam is packed up in his “jogging outfit” and he’s about to leave, when Dean gets up from his armchair in the library.

“Where ya goin’, Sammy?”

He jumps.

“Jesus, don’t scare me, man. Really? I’m going jogging.”

“There’s a whole ass forest in front of the batcave, Sam. Why not go there?”

Sam looks down and Dean knows, he’s angry. He’s angry because Dean caught him in his damn lie and there’s no good way out of it.

“I have a jogging buddy over there,” Sam clears his throat, his whole body is tense. Ready to run. Wherever.

“Ah, jogging buddy, I see. Lemme guess, their name is Mistress Lana and he looks bomb in tracksuits.”

Sam is about to erupt and he grows, his posture straightens and he yells. “This is private Dean, you have no, absolutely NO right to spy after me like a--”

“Like a what?”

“Like a fucking jealous wife who caught me in an affair?”

Dean falls silent, but his body, pure, condensed power, anger, fear, slams his arm against Sam’s throat and presses him to the wall.

“It is exactly like that. You drive an hour to see a dominatrix, to what? You become a subby bootlicker all of a sudden? You like that?”

Sam finally breaks free and attacks Dean, one hit after another, breaks Dean’s nose, gives him a black eye, and it only stops when Dean lands a blow right over Sam’s kidney – he staggers back.

“I deserve the pain,” Sam wheezes. “I don’t rely on anyone’s mercy.”

“Please Dean, take it off of me. Please… I can’t… Take it OFF!”

“I can’t”, Dean says, gently, brushing away Sam’s tears.“Does she fuck you?”

A gasp. “What? Why--?”

“Simple question, Sammy. Does. She. Fuck you?”

Sam nods, hiding his face in his hair and pressing his forehead against the padding. Dean is on fire, barely holding on. He let her. He really let her!

“I can’t spank you in this condition. You have to heal. Why would you go to that woman when you’re still so roughed up?”

“Why do you care?”Sam’s voice is so thin. Little, scared Sammy, and there was no one in the Cage to save him from what happened.

“Sammy.” Is all Dean says.

“My Sammy.”

Dean is not like that. He loves Sammy, and he would do a lot, but he won’t do That.

Dean’s favorite is his cane. Rattan. Unpeeled. Sam endures several hard blows, in a staccato, a rhythm other people would faint from. But Sammy is strong, and he wants to be broken.

WANTS

BROKEN

“Dean.”

A gasp. The blows stop. Blood dripping down Sam’s legs.

“Dean.”

Again.

“Sammy..”

So gentle. So tender. So silent.

Dean dissolves. His own trauma resolves for a minute. He knows, it will never fully go away, he will never heal. But.

“Sammy. I’m here, Sammy. Come here. I’ll take you home, my baby brother. I’m here.”

“Dean, I love you”, Sam chokes out. It could be anything. It could be nothing.

“Sammy, I love you more.”

Dean will do anything for Sam.

“Dean…”

“I’m here. You’re home.”

»And I will never let you go.«

#wincest #codependency #rating: mature #sin is sinning #punishment

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