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beefrobeefcal · 3 months ago

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The Mouse Turned Little Bird feat. Frankie Morales, Ezra & f!reader

Summary: The lead up to dinner was stressful - but are you ready to take it further? Part 3 of There are Other Fish in the Sea

Pairing: Frankie, Ezra & Mouse | Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 2,052

Content Warnings: Kissing, mentions of food, overcooked salmon, unseasoned quinoa, wine, playing hooky from work, deep thoughts, deep feelings, Ezra being a patient wonderful human being, Ezra also has two arms (sorry for not mentioning that previously)

Author's Notes: Mouse is trying, y'all... she really wants to move on and get better, but as we all know, healing isn't linear.

Thank you to @strang3lov3 and @noxturnalpascal for brainstorming this with me, and to @bitchesuntitled, @mothandpidgeon and @neverwheremoonchildfor their eyes and love.

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You couldn’t sleep.

Despite the initial joy you got from rebuffing Frankie and getting a yes from Ezra, you weren’t able to settle. The day’s events, while not enough to move mountains, had moved you a little farther on your path to…

Fuck.

You had no idea where this path was leading you or if there even was a path. Maybe you were lumbering through dense forest towards a chasm, or wandering aimlessly through a desert. Or maybe there was a path, but it was the wrong one and you were trudging to certain doom and not self discovery.

The room was so quiet as you laid back and blinked in the dark, thoughts and worries swirling in your head as your heartbeat thrummed loudly in your ears. You felt guilty on top of the uncertainty. The guilt gnawed at you; Benny had opened up his home and put the relationship with his brother and his best friends below you and you felt that there was nothing you could do to repay him or even let him know how much you appreciated it.

But there was something else, under that guilt, picking away the last bit of shrunken-in-the-night confidence you had left - regret.

Regret for denying Frankie the chance to show you he was a better man now and regret for perhaps moving on to Ezra too soon. What if Frankie was truly sorry? What if Ezra was no better? What if you still loved Frankie and you could never love Ezra?

Why the fuck am I thinking about loving Ezra? I wonder how big his dick is.

Your face skewed in shock at yourself.

“I didn’t mean that.”, you hissed out in urgency, as if that would atone for the alleged sin of thinking about Ezra’s manhood. You paused, waiting to see if someone would answer then you furrowed your brow.

“Who the fuck am I talking to?”

*****

You’d taken a sick day since you got so little sleep, opting to stay in bed and mull over the irony of a sick day while you had a work-from-home job. After texting Benny to let him know, you tossed your phone down and rolled over.

There was a knock at your door, then it opened and cats came in, wailing their morning song, followed by Benny carrying two cups of coffee.

“So you’re moping.”

“M’not moping.”, you groaned into your pillow.

“Hey, man - I am all for taking advantage of sick days, but you’re not sick. You’re moping.”

Benny places the coffee cups on your bedside table and sat on the end of the bed, then laid back, his head on your blanketed calf.

You shifted your leg in irritation and huffed, and he in turn grabbed your ankle from under the blanket and tugged gently.

“Tell me again why I should go away and abandon you for a weekend?”

“Benny…”, you sighed.

“Just say the word, Mouse. I’ll stay.”

You said nothing because you knew your silence was enough of an answer.

You both laid there quietly for a period of time, the cats both joining you on the bed, and you were just about to lull off to the sound of Bagels purring as he rolled up in the crook of your neck when Benny spoke, the shit eating grin on his face apparent in his tone.

“You’ve got a fuckin’ date tonight.”

*****

Benny left for work, taking his packed bag with him and said he would see you Sunday night, and you spent the day tidying up the apartment. Grocery shopping 2.0 was far more successful and you got the items you needed for making dinner.

You knew Ezra was not a vegan or vegetarian - based on his declared love of trying exotic meats on his travels, and you knew he did not like mashed potatoes, given the face he made when another patron at the bistro mentioned them and he responded with, “Solanum tuberosum was meant for roasting and nothing else, friend, Saying otherwise is an affront to nature herself.”

The memory made you smile, recalling how Ezra smirked and winked at you after you googled what a slolanim toobera som was and mouthed Potato? at him.

*****

You buzzed Ezra up to the apartment and nervously fixed your dress. You heard his footsteps in the hallway and preemptively opened the door. His hand was up, ready to knock, and his eyebrows were raised. You both look at each other, nervous excitement charged between you.

“You are an eager host, little bird.”

Even though you forgot the salt in the quinoa and the salmon was over cooked, Ezra never let on that there was anything wrong. He talked at length about him and his life, and repeatedly gave you the chance to step in and share, which you did albeit cautiously. His eyes never carried judgment - just curiosity, like the kind you might find in the eyes of someone trying to solve a riddle. And he didn’t prod too deeply, but rewarded you with his smile when you did share.

“Any more family beyond Benny?”, he queried as he took a bite of very well done salmon.

“Benny has a brother, but he and I are… we’re not close.”

Ezra nods. “I, too, have family that I find associating with beyond my mother’s annual yule note to be grating.” He took a sip of wine. “Which is why I firmly believe in the family you make.”

You nodded and watched him. You wanted to know why he took such an interest with you. You’d wondered aloud to Benny once, asking if certain people were drawn to broken things and if so, was it because they wanted to take advantage of someone in a vulnerable state. Benny had smiled and responded with, “Some people are just tinkerers and want to help fix broken things.”

Benny’s words had reminded you of Frankie and his innate need to pull apart engines and electronics and rebuild them in a way he thought was better - like he wanted to control the make-up of the things around him and make them work better for him. Maybe even you fell under that banner.

Ezra didn’t seem like that. Less concerned with control, he was more of a poet: he watched and observed and made commentary. He seemed to be more along the lines of ‘let the pieces fall where they may’ and that is what drew you to him. But what was it about you?

“How long have you lived with Ben - “

“What’s the catch?”

He raised his brows at you and put his wine glass down, huffing a chuckle. “Catch?”

You nodded, grinning slightly and leaning in. “You said yes to coming for dinner after I left you in a panic. I’m just curious.”

He sucked his teeth a bit and sat back, crossing his arms.

“You looked lost when you darkened my doorway the first time.” Looking you over, he seemed to be contemplating how to answer. “You seemed to find yourself a little more each time you sat across the bartop from me. And the more I saw of that little bird, the more I wanted to know why she could not fly.”

Your question was answered.

*****

After the table was cleared, you stood in front of the kitchen sink, rinsing the dishes before loading them into the dishwasher.

“Mouse.”, he murmured softly.

You looked up at him, but he wasn’t looking at you. He was looking at a picture on the fridge - the one that was torn in half, its partner probably thrown out or burned. It was you and Benny from a few years ago, both wearing shirts with your names crudely spray painted across them. The other side of the picture that held Will, Santi, Hannah and Frankie was left behind in your old home.

Ezra kept his eyes trained on you in the photo, leaning in, and his index finger gently grazed the torn, ragged edge. You swallowed, wondering if his mind was trying to imagine what the missing piece held that rendered it unwanted, and solve another riddle you had set out for him. The longer he stayed quiet, the more fidgety and anxious you felt.

“I assumed Mouse was a pet name reserved only for those in your inner circle.”, he mused softly, taking one last look at the photo before turning to you with a lopsided smile. “You prefer Mouse or…”

You let go of the breath you were holding with a nod, relief washing over you. You moved toward him in a few small, slow steps. “Uh - Mouse was a nickname from when I was a kid that stuck. I- uh, didn’t really have a say. I… I kinda like Little Bird - but you can call me Mouse. Whatever you want.”

The nervous, forced titter of a laugh that you ended with made his eyes soften. Ezra nodded, turning his body towards you. He grinned, giving you a flash of his gold tooth. “Then I dub thee Little Bird.”

****

“... and I made Benny swear that he’d go to his grave with it, but I’m sure my mom knew something was up - how could she not?”

Ezra’s eyes creased as he laughed. “You are as devious as you are beautiful.”

As you sat on the couch, turned towards one another, both nursing a second glass of red wine. God, you wanted to kiss him. That freckle on his neck, the dimple on his cheek… you imagined kissing him and running your tongue over the golden tooth in his mouth. His fingers played the sleeve of your shirt and his eyes softened and darted to your lips and back up. His jaw ticked as if he were weighing his options and deciding on his next move, seemingly thinking the same thing as you were.

“A conundrum you are, Little Bird.” His voice was so soft, yet it held so much power. “Sublime, soft, sweet, vexxed - but wounded.”

Your face heated up and you looked down at your glass of wine, clutched in your hand. You mulled over how much to share with him; you didn’t want to scare Ezra away, but you felt he deserved to know at least something about where you had come from.

“The last guy I was with… He and I had- well, we ended things at a low point… badly.”

He shook his head, hushing you. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re - “

“He had issues and I couldn’t- didn’t help. Communication was not his strong suit and eventually, it felt like I didn’t know him anymore. And… he hurt- we hurt each other. A lot. And he cheated on me.”

Raising your gaze, you looked at him, cautiously, waiting for the fallout. Instead you met with Ezra leaning in, taking your wine glass and putting it aside, and pressing a soft kiss to your lips. He lingered there for a moment. As he moved to pull away your hand came up to his face, silently begging him to not stop. He pushed in further, running his tongue along your bottom lip, and you opened your mouth. It was nothing like you imagined; for the last six years, you’d only ever kissed Frankie and his kiss was dominant and forceful, like a freight train. Ezra though - his unfolded like a slow, enchanting dance. There was nothing rushed and you felt as though you were falling hard for him.

It was too soon. Too fast. You barely knew him outside of the almost two months you’d spent sitting at the bar and tonight’s dinner. Your mind began to panic, racing with the thought of Frankie’s crestfallen face as you rejected him and now you were kissing another man so soon after.

You parted from him, clenching your eyes and you rested your forehead against his. His large hand held your jaw, his thumb soothing over your cheek and murmured, “Little Bird…”

Sitting back, you felt foolish and vulnerable, but you forced yourself to speak.

"I... I don't think I'm ready. Ezra, I - I'm sorry." He took your hand in his and rubbed his thumb along the grooves in your palm.

"You'll take flight again, Little Bird. And when you're ready, I'll be there to help open your cage."

Oh fuck me.

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales #triple frontier #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales fanfiction #🥩#the catfish & the mouse one shot #ezra fanfiction #ezra prospect

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rosanna-writer · 19 days ago

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we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (25/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~4k

This chapter contains some brief mentions of weight change/food insecurity/etc and animal slaughter, and some text is lifted directly from A Court of Mist and Fury.

Read on AO3 or you can find the twenty-fifth chapter below the readmore.

Cassian insisted on another family dinner. The Inner Circle tended to drift in and out of the townhouse at all hours, so they often ate with Rhys and me as they passed through. But since that second night back, we hadn't all shared a meal as a group.

Rhys told me privately that they hadn't done that fifty years ago. They'd gone out on the town together or traveled to Illyria—apparently there was a cabin somewhere in the mountains—but never intentionally planned quiet dinners at the House of Wind.

I knew what changed. And the shadows in Rhys's eyes told me he did, too.

But still, I'd snorted and asked if it wasn't merely because all of them were getting too old for late nights out. He'd grumbled something about teenagers and changed the subject.

Rhys flew us both up to the House, effortless grace on full display as one push from his powerful thighs launched us into the sky. He'd regained enough strength to move fluidly like his brothers did, more at ease in the air than on the ground.

He always looked beautiful. But the quiet joy sparking in his violet eyes every time he tasted the wind stole my breath.

Mor greeted us on the balcony, pulling me into a one-armed hug to avoid spilling the glass of wine in her other hand. The hem of her red silk gown fluttered in the breeze.

"Is there a dress code I didn't know about? I said, glancing down at my own attire, a pair of leggings flecked with paint and the undershirt I'd worn beneath my armor while training that morning.

"It's the same one as always," Mor said, kissing Rhys's cheek as she released me, "whatever we feel like."

I smiled, comfortable in my casual clothes even next to Rhys, who wore the immaculate black jacket and pants I'd come to think of as his uniform. Through the open door behind Mor, I spotted Cassian, still in leathers, his long hair an uncombed mess.

He caught my eye and grinned. "Take any seat you like, as long as it's not next to Rhys. He gets you all to himself enough as it is."

"Have you considered," Rhys drawled, looping an arm through mine as we headed into the dining room, "that Feyre spends so much time in my company for a reason?"

I hadn't noticed Azriel in the corner, preternaturally still and half-hidden in a shadow, until he said, "Living under the same roof isn't a particularly compelling reason to spend time with you, brother."

Cassian said, "And unfortunately, I've seen it, so I can tell you that neither is the size of his—"

Amren couldn't have chosen a better moment to come striding in from the hallway. "Enough. No one wants to hear you finish that sentence."

Mor took the opportunity to tug me away from Rhys and over to the open bottle of wine on the sideboard. I took a sip from the glass she handed me and rolled my eyes at Cassian made yet another dirty joke about wingspans. Amren's irritated hiss followed it, timed as if on cue.

Azriel pulled out a chair for me. I made a face—not even Rhys, with princely manners engrained since childhood, bothered with that. Az just glared and jerked his chin at the empty seat, a clear order to cut the crap and sit down.

I did, noting that Rhys's expression had gone soft as he sank into his own chair at the other end of the table. Not bothering to speak mind-to-mind, I raised my brows at him in a silent question. He just smiled as a flick of Mor's wrist sent the wine bottle floating through the air and landing gently in front of the seat she'd claimed at his left.

I knew what that look meant—it was good to be home. I felt the same way.

The cooks in the kitchens located deep in the belly of the House had outdone themselves—even for faerie food, everything smelled especially fragrant. As soon as it had all appeared with a snap of Rhys's fingers, I reached for a platter of pan-fried trout and scooped a generous portion onto my plate.

Nuala had made the same thing for dinner a few times; I'd asked her about it and learned that Velaris prided itself on dishes made from the river trout fished from the Sidra. So different from my landlocked village below the Wall, where seafood of any kind might as well have not existed. And even when we could afford it, fish had been a luxury reserved for the balls and dinner parties my mother ordered the nanny to keep me well away from.

Perhaps I'd feel differently after my first winter so far north, but for now, I didn't mind trading the forests and farmland of my village for Velaris's salt-tinged air and plentiful lobster.

All six of us around the table went quiet, more intent on filling our plates than making conversation. Simple fare for a casual dinner—garlicky rice, grilled vegetables sprinkled with goat cheese, bean soup. Or rather, five of us did. Amren sipped her goblet of blood, plate empty.

"Take more. I asked the cooks to make extra because it's your favorite," Cassian said eventually, passing the platter of trout back to me.

A lump formed in my throat. "Thank you," I managed to say.

I'd always had more than enough to eat in the Spring Court, but no one had taken note of which foods I'd liked the most. Not even in an attempt to woo me and break the curse. Perhaps they'd all assumed there was no need when even the most delicious food mortals had to offer paled in comparison to the blandest meal in Prythian.

But Cassian...Cassian had once probably needed the same urging to take another helping that I did, the same reminder that I could pick what I liked and not just worry about survival.

He knew better than to say any of that that aloud. With a wink, he added, "And it's good lean protein for clean bulking."

I was healthier than ever, but I'd still need to pack on several more pounds to get Cassian to stop calling me unacceptably scrawny. And even then, I'd still probably hear about it until I could properly string an Illyrian bow. But still, I scooped one of the larger pieces of trout onto my plate.

"Some of us have hobbies that aren't building up muscles to ogle in the mirror, you know," Mor said.

On my other side, Azriel sighed; we'd all heard this argument before. But predictably, Cassian said, gesturing with his fork, "It's all about functional fitness. And you can't talk—wine-tasting isn't a hobby, either."

"Dancing is," Mor said, flicking her golden hair over a shoulder, "and even after all those balance and spacial awareness drills in the ring, you nearly crushed my foot last time you tried. Functional, my ass."

At this rate, they'd bicker all night; I tuned it out and turned to Amren. "How is the blood?"

Her brows flicked up, and I took a bite of trout to cover my discomfort as the full weight of her strange silver stare fell on me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rhys still. Hopefully, I hadn't offended her.

"Fresh, hot, and well-spiced," Amren said. She smiled, letting the blood gleam on her teeth.

I hadn't realized the cooks seasoned it. Or that freshness mattered, though now that I thought about it, I supposed it made sense that she wouldn't want to drink a cupful of coagulated lumps.

In my years in the cabin, I'd butchered far more than my fair share of kills, always dumping the blood as a waste product. With something akin to professional curiosity, I asked, "Are the spices added to the salt they use to draw out the remaining blood?"

"Yes, though I also request that they save the blood that drains from the initial cut to the animal's neck."

"It's from livestock, then?" It would be impossible to save that much blood from a creature felled by an arrow, though I supposed it might be possible for a rabbit caught in a trap and slaughtered later.

Amren tilted her head, still staring at me as he ran her tongue over her canines. I tried not to shudder. "So many questions. Are you planning on obtaining some for me, girl?"

"I'd rather not process my own game again if I can avoid it, but you never know," I said with a shrug.

Amren muttered something to herself in a language I didn't understand, then took another sip of blood. She sounded…amused. But I couldn't be sure, not with her.

Rhys slipped into my mind and said, I've never worked up the courage to ask her about the blood.

Someone should have, if she consumes it like we consume food, I said.

Charmingly practical as ever. With an affectionate tug on the bond, he pulled back out of my mind before anyone could complain we were having a silent conversation.

I went quiet after that, turning my attention back to the food on my plate. Most of us did, though Cassian and Mor's bickering had faded into a sort of comfortable background noise.

There was a lull in the conversation eventually. And just as we'd all gone silent, Azriel quietly said, "Shit."

I glanced up to see his shadows writhing around him, more agitated than ever. They'd gone darker. More of them had gathered to speak to him, if I had to guess.

He'd locked eyes with Rhys, the two of them obviously speaking mind-to-mind. The mass of shadows was too thick to make out Azriel's face, but Rhys looked grave. As if whatever Azriel told him had just aged him a hundred years.

We waited. I tried to breathe through the panic that was already clawing its way up my throat.

"I think this is confirmation," Rhys said aloud, "that the King of Hybern intends to resurrect Jurian to launch a war."

"Then he's insane," Cassian said. "There's no way to resurrect the dead."

Mor frowned. "And even if there were, why Jurian? He was so odious. All he liked to do was talk about himself."

Right. They'd all fought in the War five hundred years ago. I'd known that, but the gravity of it hit me like a ton of bricks just then. Rhys and his Inner Circle hadn't just fought for my people's freedom, they'd known the most famous hero from our history books personally. Cauldron, they were ancient.

"That's what we need to find out," Rhys said. "Azriel just got word that Hybern sacked a third temple today. Thanks to the sentries we provided after the last two attacks, not a single priestess was harmed. I stand by the decision to prioritize preventing loss of life, but it left the trove unguarded. Hybern's soldiers looted it."

Perhaps this wouldn't be a war of brute armies and pure bloodshed, but one of dark magic and ancient spells. I could only imagine what sort of powerful artifacts the priestesses hid in a temple trove. And if Amarantha had been the beginning, if she'd been clearing a path for her king…

I breathed, "The ring and the finger bone vanished after Amarantha died. You didn't mist them?"

"I couldn't," Rhys said. "It would have taken time to unravel the protective spells she'd placed on them. And I…I didn't have the self-control to do it then, not with you injured. Nuala and Cerridwen couldn't get to them fast enough, either."

"They never caught the Attor, did they?”

Rhys said too quietly, “No. No, they didn’t.” The food in my stomach turned leaden. He said to Amren, “How does one take an eye and a finger bone and make it into a man again? And how do we stop it?”

Amren frowned at the remaining blood in her cup. “You already know how to find the answer. Go to the Prison. Talk to the Bone Carver.”

“Shit,” Mor and Cassian both said.

Rhys said calmly, “Perhaps you would be more effective, Amren.”

I was grateful for the table separating us as Amren hissed, “I will not set foot in the Prison, Rhysand, and you know it. So go yourself, or send one of these dogs to do it for you.”

Cassian grinned, showing his white, straight teeth—perfect for biting. Amren snapped hers once in return.

Azriel just shook his head. “I’ll go. The Prison sentries know me—what I am.”

Mor's fingers stilled on the stem of her wineglass; her eyes narrowed on Amren. It felt uncomfortably like a calm before a storm, and I was all-too-aware that their last big fight had apparently leveled the cabin in Illyria.

“If anyone’s going to the Prison,” Rhys said before Mor opened her mouth, “it’s me. And Feyre.”

“What?” Mor demanded, palms now flat on the table.

"He won’t talk to Rhys," Amren said to the others, “or to Azriel. Or to any of us. We’ve got nothing to offer him. But an immortal with a mortal soul…” She stared at my chest as if she could see the heart pounding beneath. "The Bone Carver might be willing indeed to talk to her."

If anything, the Bone Carver sounded less intimidating than the Weaver. And after the Bogge, the naga, the Attor, the Suriel, and the Middengard Wyrm…maybe I had reason to feel confident. I was still standing after facing them all.

"Your choice, Feyre," Rhys said, in that too-casual way that covered his anxiety. If he'd been standing, I was sure he would have slipped his hands into his pockets.

I didn't hesitate. "I'll go."

"Then eat up. We'll leave after dinner."

I nodded. Better to get this over with and waste no time. I returned to my food, shoveling it into my mouth without really tasting it anymore. As I ate, I reached down the bond for Rhys, but my mental fingers only brushed reinforced walls of adamant. He didn't want to talk, then.

For all its opulence, the dining room in the House of Wind might as well have become a mess hall full of soldiers. We all finished the meal silently, efficiently, then dispersed to get work done.

Rhys and I armed ourselves and changed into Illyrian leathers. Beyond giving the rest of the Inner Circle a few terse orders, he still hadn't spoken at all. And even as he pulled me into his arms to fly above the House's wards, his face was blank. Unreadable.

When we emerged from the space between worlds, he set me down on a sharp grassy slope of the small mountain, where veils of mist wafted past. Behind us, the land swept away to brutal cliffs.

"This is it?" I said. This place was freezing, barren—nothing terrifying or monstrous, only rock and grass and mist and sea. It didn't seem like a trap, not like the Weaver's cottage had.

"That," Rhys said, pointing up at the mammoth mountain, "is the Prison."

"I don't see anything." No guards, no watchtowers, no inmates.

His lips twitched. "The rock is the Prison."

In other circumstances, he might have made a joke and flicked my nose. And his answer still didn't explain much of anything, so I just waited, crossing my arms.

Rhys added, "This place was made before High Lords existed. Before Prythian was Prythian. Some of the inmates remember those days. Remember a time when it was Mor’s family, not mine, that ruled the North.”

"Why won’t Amren go in here?"

"Because she was once a prisoner."

Amren served in Rhys's court, and even then, she still barely followed her High Lord's orders most days. I struggled to imagine her confined anywhere. I supposed it had been a long time ago, in a vastly different body, and the thought made me shiver.

We'd need to hike up the mountain ourselves—before we'd left, he'd explained that the wards prevented winnowing or flying inside the Prison. It might take a while, and we could talk more on the way. I started up the path.

Only to stop after a few yards when I realized Rhys hadn't followed.

I turned. He stood frozen at the base of the mountain, eyes wide and wild. Something about his gaze was…off. Unfocused.

My stomach lurched.

"Rhys?" I said, hurrying back to him. "Are you alright?"

"I—" he said, then stopped, as if he'd choked on something.

"What's wrong?"

"I— I can't. I can't fight another war and go under another mountain."

Without thinking, I launched myself at him. I had no idea how to stop the forces behind his panic, but I could pull him close. Hold him through it. I wrapped my arms around his too-rigid body and pressed myself against him.

"We got out," I said, repeating the words until they became a litany. We got out, we got out, we got out.

Rhys winnowed us home without warning. It felt like stumbling through the void between worlds, and I clung to him desperately. We landed on the roof of the townhouse, so unsteady on our feet we'd nearly toppled over.

Until this ran its course, I needed to give him whatever reassurance I could that the past was over. Something to ground him in the here-and-now in Velaris and pull him out of the memories.

"Rhys. Sit down," I said, hoping it sounded firm, but…kind.

Thank the Mother he obeyed, sinking down into the chair and draping his wings over the back. They drooped as he tipped his head forward and held it in his hands. He looked less like a High Lord than I'd ever seen him, and more like a dark, fallen prince.

To keep his view of the city unobstructed, I moved behind him and said, "Can I touch you?"

I relaxed when he nodded—it would be easier this way. He'd kept his wings hidden Under the Mountain, so I reached forward and skimmed my hands along them. Even though I avoided the most sensitive places, a shudder ripped through him.

"Eyes up," I whispered. "Look at the sky."

I avoided the soft caresses that were best left for touching his wings in the bedroom. Instead, I focused on the joints, the places that I knew often ached as he rebuilt the strength he'd lost. A groan rumbled from the back of his throat.

We were silent as I rubbed circles with my thumbs, pressing gently against the delicate bones. He couldn't reach any of these places, and he'd never let anyone but me touch them either. I took my time—it felt good, in some ways, to take care of him as only a mate could.

After a long while, he sighed and said, "I failed again today, and here you are picking up the pieces. I'm sorry." His guilt dripped down the bond—acrid and viscous, like some sort of noxious oil. I wanted to retch.

"None of that," I said. "I won't lie and tell you it's fine to struggle—there's too much on your shoulders as High Lord. But if you and I can manage not to fall apart at the same time, we'll be alright."

His wing twitched under my hand. Then Rhys snapped it in tight, pulling it out of the way so he could look curiously at me over his shoulder. The shadows in his eyes were a little less dark.

"You sound like a High Lady."

I shook my head. "I'm speaking as your mate. If we're facing a war, you need to stay functional, and I'm the best person to ensure you do."

It wasn't until the words were out of my mouth that I realized how cold they sounded. I cringed. It was the truth, but I hadn't meant to talk about Rhys like he was a…duty.

"We all have our part to play," I added more softly, running my fingers through his silken hair. "Don't think that means I love you with anything less than my whole heart."

He pressed his eyes shut and nodded. That sick feeling on his end of the bond finally began to dissipate, and I felt…lighter. We both did.

Rhys stared up at me with that reverent look I'd never been able to handle, the depth of his feelings for me on full display. Like I was his savior, his queen, his mate, his beloved, all wrapped up into one.

"When it finally happens, you're going to make an excellent High Lady one day," he said, voice rough.

I doubted that. Half a tattoo and a few ancient creatures using the title didn't mean I was worthy of it. Whatever the Night Court wanted for its end of the bargain was almost certainly more than I was capable of giving. Being Lady of Night was more than enough to navigate on its own.

But there was no use arguing, so I merely said, "Let's get you to bed."

Rhys's proud, elegant nose wrinkled like he'd smelled something sour, and I relaxed, sure the worst of this was over. "You don't need to talk about me like I'm elderly."

"I can carry you to bed and tuck you in if you'd rather be treated like a babe," I said sweetly. Even with the wings, I doubted he weighed that much more than the dead bucks I'd routinely carried home. If it really came down to it…

My shields were up, but Rhys caught the calculating look on my face and guessed what I was thinking anyway. Hissing like an irritated cat, he took my hand to winnow us downstairs.

We took the sleeping draught for the first time in a while. Rhys didn't question it when I poured a dose for us both—we didn't need nightmares dragging us from sleep if we could avoid it. Together, we knocked back the bitter liquid before kissing goodnight.

I wasn't sure how much time passed before something jerked me awake. A small figure stood at the foot of my bed. My hazy, sluggish mind was the only reason I didn't bolt upright in shock and slam into the headboard. At first, I thought it was a dream, but—

"We have work to do," Amren said in a low voice.

That was enough to clear the fog from my head. For a moment, I considered calling for Rhys, but Amren had come to me for a reason. And I trusted her.

I reinforced the walls around my mind, then whispered, "Has there been another attack?"

"No. You and I are going to see the Bone Carver."

"Now?"

"The High Lord is indisposed, and I'm his Second."

Amren's silver eyes seemed to glow in the the moonlight, watching me as I stilled and considered her words. She hadn't said anything untrue, but…she'd dodged my question, too.

"Are you giving me orders?" I said, not really meaning it as an accusation. Technically, Amren was well within her rights to do so.

She bared her teeth with a soft snarl. "I will if that's what it takes you get you to hurry up. You can't go to the Prison in your nightgown, girl."

I slid out of bed as quietly as I could. In anticipation of trying to see the Bone Carver again tomorrow, I'd draped my leathers over the back of my chair. I grabbed them and ducked behind a screen to change.

"I thought you wouldn't go inside?" I said, shucking off my clothes. Perhaps, she meant for me to go alone. I would, if that's what it took.

But Mother above, Rhys might actually kill her for it.

"If Rhysand can't enter, that changes things," she said.

Fair enough. I'd avoided saying it aloud to Rhys, but there was always the chance of the same outcome when we returned to the Prison again. This could easily turn into a test of stubbornness that wasted precious time.

I pulled on the leathers and tightened the straps with quick, efficient movements that had become routine. "But why not tell him that?"

Amren snorted. "Because it's easier to complete the task without the added complication of a self-sacrificing idiot breathing down our necks."

And since we were acting in service of defending his people, Rhys would get over it. By now, I understood how the Court of Dreams operated and when the rules could be bent or broken.

But still… "I'm not leaving him in the house alone. Not right now."

"I wouldn't ask you to. Morrigan is downstairs."

I bit back an irritated sigh; Mor would have woken me up with far less cloak-and-dagger nonsense than Amren. Ultimately, though, it was for the best that both Rhys's Second and Third were aware of this mission.

And I wouldn't make the same mistake I had in Illyria. Once my leathers were on, I grabbed some scratch paper from a pad on my bedside table and scrawled a note. I'm with Amren, will be back soon. Use the bond if you need me. — F

While I wrote the note and stuck it on Rhys's door, Amren scowled and drummed her fingers on the jeweled bracelet circling her wrist. But she kept quiet, so I supposed she couldn't have truly been that impatient.

I think Amren understood, on some level, that Rhys might need the reassurance. Or perhaps she merely appreciated additional evidence that this wasn't a kidnapping. It was difficult to tell with her.

Once I was finished, her pale hand shot out and grasped my wrist, and she whisked us both away, ready to get to work.

#feysand #feyre archeron #these next couple of chapters are outing me as an unapologetic amren stan i fear #we said hello and your eyes look like coming home

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teriri-sayes · 2 years ago

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Reactions to Trash Boss's Chapter 126

TLDR; Cale finally arrives at the Kunlun School. Cale's lucky gacha experience. Mi Ryeo joining Caleism.

Soos? LSH = ✅ CJS = ❌

Finally, Cale is inside the Kunlun School! I thought we're going to have more conversations while they climb up the mountain, but thankfully, it began with Cale inside one of the school's pavilions.

It's elixir time, but our Chief Eunuch Wi is worried about our trash boss. It seems like Wi had seen the blood-soaked clothes being carried by Ron after Cale consumed the first elixir. So Wi is worried now. Welcome to the gang, Wi!

Team Leader LSH had 2 mentions in today's chapter! 🎉One was when he stepped forward and said, "I'll be by your side." as Cale declared his desire to consume the elixir. The other mention was when Sui asked Cale, "Are you going to start right away?" after Cale opened the boxes of the two elixirs.

The scene of Cale opening the elixir boxes was like watching someone play a gacha game. There were 3 possible attributes: Fire, Wind, and Earth. Cale even mentally prayed to the gacha gods before opening the boxes 🤣

What did Cale get? He got one UR and one SSR!

You got Fire Blossom (UR rank)!

-A fresh flower with live fire. Legend has it that this flower was gifted by an immortal to the first emperor of this land. . . .

You got Lava Ginseng (SSR rank)!

-This ginseng is said to have grown out of lava.

Cale then did this under the table:

B-But there's trouble! Jungwon messaged Cale, begging him to only consume the SSR one because consuming the UR one would get him scolded by GoB. Gasp!

Apparently, the flavor text of the UR elixir was indeed true, so Jungwon was troubled. But with just one word of irritation from our trash boss, scared baby Jungwon accepted that he would be scolded later by GoB. Please, GoB... Just scold him, okay? Don't step on him like what you did to GoD, okay? Our Jungwon is still young...

Meanwhile, a representative from the Demon Cult arrived. New character is Angry Demon? Not sure if it's "angry", "brain", "lightning", or "hunger" because the Korean word has so many different meanings. Anyway, he was the general commander and tactician of the Demon Cult, so it's possible it's Brain Demon? I'm actually surprised that we have another Demon.

If I recall, there was the 5 Saints and 5 Demons. We already completed the list of the 5 Demons back then:

Sword Demon

Heavenly Demon

Blood Demon

Murder Demon

Halberd Demon

And now, there's another person with a Demon title? Or does everyone from the Demon Cult have a Demon title?

Moving on, just as Angry Demon was having a conversation with the higher-ups of the Good Faction, they all felt a massive energy of fire. Cue poetic descriptions of the Fire energy they felt to be similar to the effects of Dominating Aura. I mean, Mi Ryeo was beautifully describing it with joy despite her breath being choked...

Untitled Poem by Jegal Mi Ryeo:

This incredible power will set everything right, Like how everything turns to naught where the fire has passed, Like the path he walks.

...Mi Ryeo, when did you join Caleism? 🤣

(The path mentioned in the poem refers to the 'righteous path' or the dao. Good Faction peeps follow the righteous path, so Mi Ryeo was talking about Cale's journey to the righteous path.)

Overall, this chapter was hilarious. The author brilliantly captured every player's gacha experience when they get an ultra rare pull. And more people are joining the Caleism church! Cale's journey to godhood is progressing step by step (but without his knowledge, hahaha)!

#tcf spoilers #trash of the count's family

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hikari-kaitou · 3 years ago

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Capcom’s Official AA Fanclub Surveys - Main Series Edition

Naturally, Capcom’s official AA fanclub site didn't only post surveys about the DGS characters; they published far more of them about the main series characters. It makes sense, as they started the trend before the DGS series had even been conceived.

Back in the old days, they used to hold a survey on Capcom’s official AA fansite every few months where they’d write about the seasonal activities of a handful of characters and ask fans to vote for the funniest/most pleasant/strangest/etc answer.

They stopped doing them in like… 2016? 2017? The original text is lost for good as far as I can tell. Even the wayback machine couldn’t help because the content was password locked and you can’t get past the password wall while remaining in the archived version.

Fortunately, I saved some of my translations of them so I thought I’d share them. Unfortunately, I was doing these translations very casually and only intended to share them with two of my close friends at the time when I did them, so some of them are just summaries rather than proper translations, and I tended to only focus on characters that we personally were interested in or scenarios that we thought were funny or interesting. That means there are parts missing, and because I didn't expect the original text to be wiped off the site I didn't save it so I could go back and fill in the blanks. Sorry about that...

Cut for length!

"Spring is on its way and each of the AA cast members spent their day off in different ways. Who's way of spending their day off sounds the most pleasant?"

Phoenix- he finished unpacking his moving boxes and sorting his seasonal clothing. While he was packing away his ugly pink sweater and such, he happened across the complete works of Shakespeare at the bottom of one of the boxes, got completely absorbed in reading, and ended up abandoning his unpacking.

Mia- She went shopping at a department store for a new summer suit. On her way, she coincidentally ran into Maya, who was on her way to the agency to hang out, but then at some point Maya vanished. Mia tried calling her cell phone but she didn't answer. "Don't tell me she's lost at her age," Mia thought, and began to search for her. She found Maya transfixed by a rooftop Steel Samurai show. It seems that she was both exasperated and relieved.

Maya- she tagged along on Mia's shopping trip, but the second she spied a poster for a rooftop Steel Samurai show, she made a beeline for the roof. She got into a cheering battle with a mean-looking elementary school boy and really enjoyed the show. When the show was over, she reunited with an exasperated looking Mia. She gleefully led Mia to a burger restaurant so they could eat some burgers together.

Edgeworth- he treated himself to a drive along the coast in his red sports car... Well, that was the plan, but then he was pushed by his mentor Von Karma into being the driver for his shopping trip. As a reward for his service, he received a brand new Von Karma style, stylish and flashy summer suit.

Then there's Larry, who dragged Phoenix to a café to hit on its hot owner, and the judge who bought a wig.

"Apollo, Fulbright, Edgeworth, Klavier and Kristoph made visits to a nursery school near the courthouse. Which of them did the most pleasant activity with the children?"

Apollo acted out the story of the “Crying Red Ogre” for the children. Phoenix played the part of the blue ogre, and Apollo was the red ogre, and Apollo’s wailing moved the children to tears too. In a panic over all the crying, they got Trucy to cheer them up with a magic trick in which she made Apollo disappear.

Fulbright: He came dressed in a blinding white costume to teach the children about justice and put on a play. The children gave him thunderous applause... But when Jinxie, who had been forced to play the part of the heroine, saw Fulbright, she thought he was the ghost of an army general, got scared, and slapped a charm on his face.

Edgeworth and Gumshoe: He and Gumshoe were going to reenact the story of Kintarou (an old Japanese fairytale). Franziska handed Edgeworth the Kintarou costume she’d designed (If you've seen Ghibli's Spirited Away, recall what Bou, the giant baby, wears. That's what we're talking about here). Edgeworth fearfully asked “You... expect me to wear this...?” Gumshoe, who had painted his whole body black to play the role of a bear, told him “Of course, sir! It doesn’t fit me!” and shoved Edgeworth out on stage in it. Edgeworth quickly began to reconsider Gumshoe’s salary for next month.

Klavier and Kristoph: Kristoph started giving a boring lecture on the importance of law, and the kids were getting antsy. Seeing this, Klavier came over with his guitar to liven things up, performing a rock style arrangement of the “The Bear Went Over The Mountain". But then he threw in the unnecessary comment of “If any of you scratch the frets of my guitar, I’ll be suing for damage of property, ok?” And they both ended up getting kicked out.

"This survey is about who knows how to enjoy a sunny day at Gourd Lake the best"

Simon: To give Taka some exercise, Blackquill took him and Fulbright (who was on guard duty) out for some falconry. Things were going well until Taka heard something about this mysterious creature “Gourdy,” freaked out, flew into the little shop selling Gourdy merchandise and started making a huge mess. Blackquill and Fulbright gathered Taka up in a panic and hightailed it out of there as fast as they could.

Edgeworth had seen Phoenix home and on his way back passed by Gourd Lake. Just as he was starting to get bad flashbacks... he happened to hear Larry in the middle of a flirting attempt and got dragged in. The woman he was trying to put the moves on was a foreigner, and she and Edgeworth started chatting in her native language. Larry couldn’t understand and was annoyed that Edgeworth was apparently moving in on his target, so he sulked and blew up at Edgeworth.

Athena tried to play matchmaker for Apollo and Juniper, so she told them to meet her in the forest near Gourd Lake so that they would run into each other there and hopefully hit it off. Juniper got there first, expecting to find Athena, but when Apollo showed up, she panicked and hid behind a tree. While she was trying to gather her nerve to go talk to him, he wandered off and she lost sight of him.

Phoenix was at the park and he got caught by Larry who was doing his part time job of selling Samurai Dogs. Larry saw a pretty lady that he wanted to flirt with so he asked Phoenix to mind the shop while he was gone. Business was slow, so he called in all the WAA members to put their full range of skills to use. They seem to have managed to sell them all!

Gumshoe took Missile for a walk in the park. They stopped for a rest and Gumshoe fell asleep, so Missile slipped out of his collar and ran over to where the Samurai Dogs were being sold. He ate them all without Phoenix noticing. Phoenix handed things back over to Larry when he got back and Larry got in huge trouble for losing so much product.

"This survey is talking about how the cast spent their Valentines Day"

Trucy gave Polly chocolate for himself and some for Klavier and asked Apollo to give it to him for her. Klavier wasn’t in court when Apollo went to look for him, though, so he and Phoenix went to the prosecutors’ office together with their chocolate. On their way, though, Apollo found himself getting a lot of strange looks from Themis Legal Academy students.

Ema gave some chocolates to Phoenix to give to Edgeworth because she suddenly got called to a crime scene. Phoenix headed over to the prosecutors’ office but Edgeworth was in court and wasn’t there, so Phoenix waited out in front of the prosecutors’ office with this flashy, girly looking bag of chocolates. Edgeworth’s trial ended up going a long time and Phoenix got a lot of stares as he waited.

Edgeworth was hit by a pollen-filled spring breeze on his way back to the office and suddenly his eyes got all red and itchy and he was left sneezing and sniffling. Phoenix came to talk to him and got quite a surprise when he saw the state Edgeworth’s face was in. The chocolates Ema gave him were in the shape of the Steel Samurai and they made Edgeworth so pleased that it seemed to ease his suffering a little.

Flower Viewing:

Phoenix and Apollo go to the park early to hold flower viewing spots for the WAA members. They see some people from around town that they know who ask them to hold their spots while they go and grab this or that. Phoenix and Apollo do their best to hold those people’s spots and in the process lose their own. They end up begging Edgeworth to let them share his and Klavier’s spot.

White Day:

Because of his painful memories about Valentine’s Day from elementary school, he doesn’t like Valentine’s Day or White Day that much. As a return gift to his beloved daughter, he gave her painstakingly handmade magic panty shaped chocolates. Apparently he forced the ones that didn’t turn out on Edgeworth...

Klavier was holding a ladies only concert, which he invited Trucy to. Phoenix was worried about letting Trucy be out at night by herself, so he sent Apollo along in disguise (as a woman!!). But Klavier saw through Apollo’s disguise easily and to Apollo’s horror, called him up on stage.

Autumn/Moon Viewing:

Phoenix, Edgeworth and Larry went to collect chestnuts together. Larry was too focused on looking for chestnuts and not watching where he was going and fell down the mountain slope. Phoenix had tried to catch Larry but he ended up falling too and spraining his ankle slightly. Edgeworth had to carry Phoenix on his back down the mountain.

Apollo went moon viewing with the rest of the WAA. It turned out into kind of an office party and Apollo had drink after drink while assuring everyone that “I’m fine!” but ended up getting pretty hammered. He proceeded to pass out and Phoenix took care of him.

Obon Festival:

Klavier performed a bonfire festival dance version of the Guitar’s Serenade at the summer festival and Apollo provided the taiko drum backup. He filled the gaps in the taiko drumming with his chords of steel, and it was a very energetic bonfire dance.

Edgeworth noticed the festival going on on his way home from work and decided to have a look. He saw Phoenix selling Samurai Dogs and desperately wanted one, but couldn’t bear the thought of Phoenix finding out that he was a Steel Samurai fan. He hemmed and hawed in front of the festival stall, trying to decide whether to buy one, but they sold out before he could make up his mind.

Phoenix went to the festival with Maya. Larry, who was working the Samurai Dog stand, called them over and forced them to watch the stand while he made a booty call. Phoenix and Maya’s manzai comedy duo style vocal advertising was so successful that they quickly sold out.

Christmas:

Phoenix, Trucy, Athena, Apollo and Pearl all spent the night at the office after their party wrapped up. Phoenix put presents next to the kids' pillows during the night.

Edgeworth grumbled about having to play Santa but dressed up anyway and snuck in at night to bring the younger ones at Phoenix's office some presents. He accidentally ends up sneaking into Phoenix’s room instead.

Apollo wanted to be a good big brother to Trucy and Pearl, so he snuck into their rooms to leave gifts but tripped over something, let out a Chords of Steel volume shout as he fell and ruined the surprise/

Klavier, as a favor to Trucy, snuck in dressed as a Visual Kei style Santa, but he announced his arrival with a rock arrangement of Santa Claus is Coming to Town and got caught and kicked out.

Blackquill had to make a jailbreak in order to play Santa, was chased down and Phoenix woke to find the police surrounding his office.

DGS Edition

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writer-ish · 4 years ago

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makai

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Dr. Brooke Spiers) Word Count: 3.4k Rating: 18+ (NSFW - minors dni) Author's Note: makai (mah-kigh) - one of the four key directions on Oahu, but used on all Hawaiian Islands; makai means "toward the ocean".

Premise: A follow-up fic to this text exchange. Ethan and Brooke meet for a little pre-planned Hawaiian rendezvous.

Hey, I’m here. Where you at?

Brooke taps out the message on her cell phone, keeping one eye on the almost-empty lobby.

It's late now - late for check-in, late for milling around, late, it seems, for Hawaii itself - and she'd be lying to herself if she said she wasn't feeling a bit sleepy—a bit like, maybe, she should be getting up for a six AM shift in Boston after having gotten a good seven hours of sleep the night before?

Rather than waiting for her elderly boyfriend to meet her for a late-night swim - and a little more, hopefully - after sleeping a total of five half-lucid hours on an airplane in the last twenty-four hour period.

She's about to text him again, when she hears a voice from behind her.

"Christ, enough with the texting already."

Whirling around, she can't help the grin that splits her cheeks at the sight of him. Without responding, she throws her arms around his neck, squeezing him in an impromptu hug. His hair is a little damp and appears freshly washed and there's the sharp, pleasant, and familiar smell of his cologne that she inhales when she presses her body to his.

He seems almost nonplussed at her public and spontaneous affection, his arms staying at his sides for a beat longer than they should, before he returns her embrace. She giggles as he even takes her for a half spin, kissing her neck before setting her down, hands lingering at her hips.

"Well, aren't you in a good mood," he comments, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

She shrugs, giving him a cheeky grin. "It's nice to see you. Plus," she adds, taking his hand and interlocking her fingers with his as she starts to walk, "I'm in vacation mode, so you're going to a get a much better version of me for the next few days."

He allows her to lead him out of the lobby and to the stone pathway that will eventually take them down to the beach.

"I like the version I get at home," he remarks once they're in the open air, which smells like hibiscus and coconut and the reminiscent warmth of the sun still emanating from the stones.

As they walk, he tugs her closer and puts his arm over her shoulders. She smiles up at him as she wraps her arm around his waist. He returns it, staring down at her with an inscrutable look, but one that causes a bloom of warmth to start in her chest and work its way outwards.

"It's nice to be somewhere different, though." Resting her head on his shoulder, they continue to amble down the path. "I like us at home, too, but…" She trails off with a shrug. "We work a lot. And don't see each other outside of work enough. I mean, I thought with you suspended I'd at least get a date night, then you had to go and get your freaking job back!"

He throws his head back and laughs, a loud, head-shaking, self-deprecating thing.

"Oh god, I've really done you wrong, haven't I?"

"Yes!" she insists, though she can't stop her own giggles. "Not even a dinner out. Our first movie in months was on the private jet that Vik got me."

Ethan rubs his chin thoughtfully. "I haven't gotten you a private jet yet?"

"Nope." Her hair tosses against her cheeks as she shakes her head, unable to keep the smile off her face. She loves teasing him, she loves being away with him, she loves—she cuts her thoughts short and focuses on their banter. "For shame, sir."

He glances at her and she sees the heat in his gaze as she calls him "sir". She bites her lip and looks up at him innocently. His eyes go from hers down to her lip in an instant and she laughs again.

"You're like one of Pavlov's dogs, I swear." Breaking free from him, she jogs lightly ahead of him down the path, her sandals slapping the pavement with her movements. "Anyway, your old bones are slowing me down. Keep up!" She takes off towards the beach, her sundress whipping around her legs, even as she can hear his bit off curse from behind her.

"I'm not running!" he calls, his voice growing distant as she puts more space between them.

"Your loss!" she yells over her shoulder, before turning around and jogging backwards to tease him even more. She screams as she sees him gaining speed quickly and her shrieks turn into hysterical giggles as he ducks down and lifts her effortlessly over his shoulder, continuing on without breaking his stride.

She buries her face in the thin cotton of his shirt so that she doesn’t wake up all the other sleepy inhabitants of their resort with her giddy snorts, especially when he playfully smacks her butt as he carries her steadily to the beach. Soon, she feels his steps change as his feet sink into the soft sand.

"Wow." His voice is soft and, even though it's coming from somewhere near her rump, it still carries over to where she is, hanging securely off his shoulder.

"I want to see!" She squirms and he grips her bottom, holding her still as he reaches up with his other hand. She feels him wriggle his finger under the heel strap of her sandals and she stills, waiting as he removes first one and then the other. Leaning forward, he places her down gently and she immediately wiggles her toes in the warm, fine sand before whirling around to take in the view.

"Oh, wow," she breathes as well, because truly there isn't another word for it.

The moonlight reflects off the dark surface of the waves, illuminating the gentle ebb and flow of the tide. Dark shadows on the horizon appear to be mountains or something in the distance - she hadn't had a chance to check out the beach in the daytime upon their arrival, so she's just seeing it now for the first time, perhaps not in all its colourful splendour, but still, majestic and beautiful in its own right.

And the stars - Brooke can't remember the last time she'd seen so many of them. They sparkle in the inky blue firmament like someone had tossed an infinity of tiny diamonds on a velvet tray. She breathes in the salty sweet air deeply as her and Ethan take in the view together, silently, for a moment.

"Thank you for asking me to come here with you," Ethan says quietly, eyes still on the sea and the sky. "I didn't realize how much I needed this… this quiet beauty. This moment of serenity."

She quirks a smile at him, taking his hand in hers. He looks down at their intertwined fingers and then back up at her face, his eyes warm and soft, the pale blue glistening in the moonlight.

"I did," she tells him simply with a little shrug, still smiling up at him.

He looks at her for another beat, his eyes conveying a message that only her heart understands, then he turns to her, stroking her cheek softly with his knuckles, before leaning in to place a soft kiss on her lips.

She cups his cheeks in her hands and returns it, keeping it soft, sweet, open-mouthed and warm. After a moment, she pulls back and looks up at him, the smile back on her face. It’s silly, but it almost feels like a permanent fixture tonight; one she can't get rid of even if she tries.

He’s watching her again, eyes heavy and heated, even in the glowing light of the moon. He slides his thumbs over her cheekbones in a light caress. "Brooke, I—"

Even though they’ve gone down this road many times before - the incomplete sentences, the longing looks, the words that are felt but not said - Brooke still feels her breath catch and her heart rate increase as she waits.

They stay suspended like that for a moment, the waves and the moon their only companions, when suddenly the call of a night bird, tropical and unfamiliar, breaks them from their reverie.

Ethan looks up and Brooke looks away, disappointed - though not surprised - that the moment got away from them again without any new revelations.

“Looks like we have company,” Ethan remarks, his voice carefully composed, even as he pulls her closer, rubbing her bare arms with his hands.

“Well,” Brooke replies, still determined to make this a good night, “as long as our only company is avian...” She pulls away from him, reaching up and teasing at the straps of her sundress. “What do you say we go for a swim?”

Biting back a smirk, he looks back and forth across the long expanse of beach. Her gaze follows his, ensuring along with him that they truly are alone. As much as she thrives on the spontaneity of a moment like this, she'd rather not have any of their colleagues - or any guest for that matter - see her naked. Which is exactly what she plans on being in due course.

“Looks pretty quiet.” His gaze locks in on hers again. “No?”

She nods, teeth catching at her bottom lip as she slowly backs up towards the water, pulling the straps of her dress down to fall on her upper arms. “Indeed it does, Dr Ramsey.” She pulls one arm out and then the other, leaving the dress clinging to the tops of her breasts. She continues to step backwards until her feet hit the shoreline, warm, frothy waves caressing her ankles. She laughs in delight and looks down, sliding around in the wet sand.

Ethan is closing in on her, his shirt already off. She sees he’s holding her sandals and his shoes in one hand, shirt slung over his arm.

“How’s the water?” he asks, though his eyes are still on the beach, as though he’s looking for something.

When she realizes his apparent destination, she can't help but shake her head fondly - he's walked over to one of the resort chairs, stacked up neatly for the evening, and is placing their shoes and his shirt on the pile.

Heaven forbid they get sand on them, she thinks, unable to stop the swell of affection she feels for her fastidious man.

Making her way over to him, she shimmies the dress up and over her head.

“Space for one more thing?” she asks innocently waiting for him to turn to look at her.

When he does, she gets immediate gratification at his dumbstruck look.

She had foregone a bra completely, so she watches as he takes her in from head to toe, nipples already stiffening in the exposed night air and under his gaze. She'd also pulled out the "special occasion" underwear, a lacy, boy-cut confection that she knew he'd appreciate.

And by the look in his eyes, he seems very appreciative.

Smiling cheekily, she shimmies down the underwear as well, tossing it to him before wading further into the water.

For all her bravado, standing stark naked on a public beach for longer than thirty seconds stretches the limits of her comfort, so it feels nice to seek both warmth and privacy in the languid tropical waves.

She had almost been worried that the water would be cold, but instead it's the perfect temperature - just nice enough to submerge herself in without feeling like she's entering a frigid bath. She wades out a bit deeper until the water just skims the top of her breasts and she turns in time to see Ethan entering the water.

Her heart picks up speed as she admires him, his naked, muscular body limned by the moonlight, walking into the ocean like some sort of reverse Poseidon, his eyes fixated on her and her alone.

Brooke shivers in a way that has nothing to do with water temperature, goosebumps lifting the fine hairs on her arms as she waits for him to get to her. The anticipation is sweet, but not as sweet as seeing him up close, smiling down at her as he collects her in his arms.

Their naked bodies slide together and she instinctively wraps her legs around his waist, feeling his arousal at the crux of her body. She kisses his neck, his jaw, his cheek, as his hands glide down to her bottom to lift her higher.

"This is nice," she murmurs, twining her arms tighter around his neck.

He hums in agreement, stroking her back up and down with one hand as they quietly watch the moon ripple on the horizon.

"I love touching you like this." He presses a kisses to her shoulder, squeezes her tighter. "If I could keep you this way, naked, pressed up against me, your skin on mine—if I could hold you like this forever, I would do it."

"Might be difficult to get work done." Her response is flippant, but his words have struck a chord deep inside her and her heart twangs painfully at the implications.

He snorts. "I don't care. Who needs work."

She pulls back to look at him, affecting a look of shock. "I'm sorry, who are you, and what have you done with Dr. Ethan Ramsey?"

He shakes his head, burying his face in her neck. When he speaks again, his words are muffled against her skin. "Dr. Ramsey has learned more in the past three years than in any of the previous years combined." He pulls back to look at her, one hand still holding her against him securely, the other pushing her damp waves back from her face. "Learned and grown and just—" He shakes his head before continuing. "Just tried to be better. To do better. Thanks to you." He kisses her and she can taste the salt on his lips.

"I can't take all the credit," she whispers against his mouth as they pull apart after a beat.

"Why not?" he whispers back, pressing another salty kiss to her lips. "You do it all the time at work anyway."

"Hey—!" She pulls away indignantly. "It's not my fault I’m the only one who can actually solve our cases—"

He laughs loudly and spins her around, making her lose track of her indignation as she dissolves into helpless giggles.

The warm water swirls over their bodies and she tightens her arms and legs around him. Her giggles inadvertently turn into a soft moan as she feels him, hard against her centre, settled right between her spread legs.

He tucks a kiss below her ear, nipping lightly at her pulse. "I want you so bad," he murmurs, sucking gently on the spot where he bit.

"So what are you waiting for," she breathes, her head lolling back as her hips move restlessly, her body stroking wetly against his length.

"Not in here," he groans, "the bacteria—not good for your—" He grunts as she presses more tightly against him, continuing to rub intimately in a way that has them both moaning.

"Have I ever told you—" She gasps, her breath coming out in short pants. "—how hot it is when you say the word 'bacteria' during sex?"

His response is a muffled groan into her shoulder as her jerky movements become more frantic, chasing the climax that has been inevitable since the first touch of salt water on her bare skin.

It's an odd sensation, the languid warmth of the ocean surrounding them while a different, more intimate, kind of wetness grows between. She misses the feel of him inside her during a moment like this, but there is something strangely, captivatingly erotic about making love this way. Their bodies sliding together in a new sort of intimacy, his rigid heat captured between her velvety folds.

“Ethan, I—” Her voice catches and his fingers tighten on her bottom, holding her to him in a way that hits that exact spot she needs it to. "Ah—ah!" She feels her muscles clench as a wave of pleasure crests…then crashes down over her. She lets out a moan, throwing her head back, the movement lifting her half out the water. Her nipples hit the cooler night air as her breasts emerge from the sea, and the feel of it in contrast to her climax sends prickles of sensation across her skin.

Ethan ducks down, kissing between her breasts as his hips jerk and finally still. He lets out a long groan through clenched teeth and she feels a bloom of warmth between them as she holds his head tightly against her chest. She can feel her heart pounding and his heartbeats echo hers from where his chest is pressed, closer to her stomach.

They hold each other for a protracted beat, the only sounds the crashing waves and their ragged breaths.

"Would you consider that," she finally says, still slightly breathless, "acceptable for my pH balance?"

He snickers deeply into her skin as he wraps his arms around her tighter before releasing her slowly. She allows her body to dip back and float leisurely on the bobbing waves. Letting out a contented sigh, she looks up at the stars, her eyes catching on a streak of light separate from the rest.

"Look!" She sits up quickly and grabs Ethan's arm, pointing at the sky.

He looks up as well and they watch as two, three stars make a quick descent from their position, a trail of sparkles in their wake.

"I've never seen a shooting star," she breathes, mesmerized.

He doesn't reply, so after a minute she glances over at him. He's staring at her, a soft smile tilting the corners of his lips. She can't see his face that well, even in the bright glow of an almost-full moon, but she recognizes the gentleness in his expression, the curve of his cheek as the shadow of a dimple barely appears.

She loves him so much.

She loves him so much that her heart aches with it, like a balloon that's about to pop or a cup that's overflowing.

She loves him for all his flaws, for all his hubris, for the ways he tries to be so good, and for all the ways he fails.

Her eyes well up as she looks at him, the words yearning to tumble from her lips. To tell him that she's always on his side. That he's hers, no matter what. There's no one else and there never will be.

That this is it, for her.

Instead she smiles back at him, albeit a little tremulously, and she leans forward, pushing off with her feet as she wades back to the shore.

He follows her quietly and they dress quickly, clothes awkward and difficult to tug onto their still-wet bodies.

As she grabs her sandals and goes to walk, he grabs her hand to stop her and pulls her into his arms.

They stand there for a bit, quiet and still, and Brooke feels all the little moments that have brought them here swirling around them in a hopeful nostalgia; the promise of things to come, built on a foundation of what they've surpassed.

"Time to sleep?" She looks up at the rumbling sound of his voice, blinking her eyes tiredly without even having realized just how tired she was.

"Mmm," she agrees, pulling away. "Your room or mine?"

He looks askance at her and she groans good-naturedly. "Fine, we'll be good. But see if you last more than one night without me. Just see!" She pokes his shoulder and grins at him and he catches her hand and holds it tightly against his chest, over his heart.

"Meet me for coffee tomorrow morning?" He brings her hand up to his lips and presses a kiss to the palm. "Hawaii has the best—"

"Yes, yes, I know, you talked my ear off about it on the plane, I remember." She shakes her head. "You're so boring I literally don't know how I stand you."

He grins at her and shrugs good-naturedly as they begin the slow walk back to the resort. "I try not to tempt fate too often by asking that very same question."

"Probably for the best." She tilts her head onto him and he drapes his arm around her shoulders. They meander down the path, away from the ocean, in comfortable silence.

She knows, deep down, how he feels about her. And if the final show of her loyalty to him is for her to wait until he's ready to tell her, well, then—

She'll wait.

#open heart #ethan ramsey #open heart fanfic #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart third year #oph 3 #playchoices open heart #nsft #mature #soft ethan is soft #we know how he feels #and so does brooke #can't wait to hear it for real

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absynthe--minded · 4 years ago

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Beren, the Nauglamír, and Editorial Oversight

this is gonna be a long one, guys.

so one of the things that makes Christopher Tolkien’s contributions to the greater legacy of the Tolkien Legendarium so complex is that he, as the posthumous editor of his father’s works, essentially was able to declare what is or isn’t “canon” in a way that no amount of scholarship (fannish or professional) will be able to truly successfully challenge. it’s his vision of Arda that was published as the Silmarillion, and his interpretations of the Professor’s works that have come to act as the standard and the baseline. after all, the Silm’s been traditionally published and translated into many languages; it’s far more accessible than out-of-print/print-on-demand copies of the History, and reading it doesn’t require you to slog through pages and pages of commentary or to have a good solid understanding of what the story is so you can follow along with lists of bullet points outlining events timeline-style.

of course, Chris also made mistakes, and those mistakes became enshrined in canon just as surely as anything else. I and many others have discussed the Gil-galad problem (namely, that Gil-galad’s parentage is oblique and strange at best and downright contradictory at worst, and Christopher’s choice to make him Fingon’s son was an admitted error) but it’s not the only case of a decision later proving to be the wrong one.

with that background, let’s talk about Beren.

Beren and Lúthien are in an unusual position in the Legendarium as a whole. Not only are they the sole author-insert characters, they’re also uniquely positioned as moral compasses - every other person in the Silm is morally ambiguous to some degree, or does bad or questionable things; not so with these two. If Beren or Lúthien does something, it’s explicitly the right thing to do, and this is confirmed by the narrative. If someone else opposes them, that is the wrong course of action. They’re not merely protagonists who make a lot of good choices, they’re good people, and the things they do are right because of their moral fiber and nobility. Of the active agents who are developed to any great degree, they’re the least complex and the most clear-cut, and the narrative itself treats them differently from other characters, validating them and framing them as the sort of spotless heroes that are in short supply in this Age.

This characterization runs headlong into the actions Beren takes in early drafts of the story and in the published Silm, where after dwarves kill Thingol and sack Menegroth, Beren (with the help of some allies, usually either Green-elves or Ents) ambushes them and duels the Lord of Nogrod for possession of the Nauglamír, a necklace originally owned by Finrod in Nargothrond that Húrin brought to Doriath after his release from Angband. Thingol commissioned dwarven artisans to alter the piece and create a setting in it for the Silmaril that Beren and Lúthien had won for him from Morgoth, and there was a dispute about payment that escalated to violence and ended in his death at dwarvish hands. The battle, later called the Battle of the Thousand Caves, was more or less a victory for dwarvish forces, as they escaped both with the Nauglamír and several other treasures from Menegroth and they defeated Sindarin forces that set out to stop them.

In most versions of the story, Melian sends Mablung to Ossiriand to warn Beren and Lúthien of what’s happened, and essentially asks them to do something to stop the retreating dwarvish forces from reaching Nogrod, where they came from. Beren does this, killing the Lord of Nogrod himself and taking the Nauglamír and the Silmaril home to Lúthien, who then gives it to Dior, who takes it back to Doriath when he takes the throne there. This is the version of the tale that’s in the published Silmarillion, and the one that’s consistent throughout the earlier drafts that Tolkien himself wrote.

But it’s not the only version that exists.

In The War of the Jewels, which compiles versions of the story written late in Tolkien’s life, we find The Tale of Years. This is not a cohesive narrative, instead functioning (like many of the writings that make up the bulk of the History of Middle-Earth) rather like a series of bullet points mentioning and summarizing key events. It progresses chronologically, giving a sense of passing time and organization to the First Age, and it has this to say about the Nauglamír and the battle at Sarn Athrad:

“The Dwarves of Belegost and Nogrod invade Doriath. King Elu Thingol is slain and his realm ended. Melian escapes and carries away the Nauglamír and the Silmaril, and brings them to Beren and Lúthien. She then forsook Middle-earth and returned to Valinor.

Curufin and Celegorm, hearing of the sack of Menegroth, ambushed the Dwarves at the Fords of Ascar as they sought to carry off the Dragon-gold to the mountains. The Dwarves were defeated with great loss, but they cast the gold into the river, which was therefore after named Rathlóriel. Great was the anger of the sons of Fëanor to discover that the Silmaril was not with the Dwarves; but they dared not to assail Lúthien. Dior goes to Doriath and endeavours to recover the realm of Thingol.”

(This quote is taken from the latest and typed version of the Tale of Years, an earlier handwritten version exists that is shorter but includes the same relevant details.)

Christopher Tolkien elected not to use this version of events, instead choosing to maintain the earlier tale where Beren had an active role; he was never truly satisfied with this, or with the Ruin of Doriath as a whole. In the commentary to the Tale of Years he wrote that “It seemed at that time that there were elements inherent in the story of the Ruin of Doriath as it stood that were radically incompatible with ‘The Silmarillion’ as projected, and that there was here an inescapable choice: either to abandon that conception, or else to alter the story. I think now that this was a mistaken view, and that the undoubted difficulties could have been, and should have been, surmounted without so far overstepping the bounds of the editorial function.” We have, for a second time, an admission of error, though unlike the Gil-galad question there is not a specific choice singled out as a flaw.

Why am I talking about this? Well, simply, I think that the version of the story where Celegorm and Curufin attack the Dwarvish host is the one that makes the most sense, and I’m here to make my case for its adoption as fanon. I’m not trying to take a purely scholarly view - I can’t prove that Tolkien’s true vision was for this version of the text, and of course it’s only in the one draft - but as a fandom we’ve reached the consensus before that specific versions of the story are preferred, even when they only appear in a single draft (Amrod’s death at Losgar stands out as the best example).

So here’s my argument.

1. Beren is not a violent man, and having him act as a murderer is out of character.

This one is pretty simple - Beren is an outlaw fighting against Sauron, a defender of his family’s land, a nobleman in his own right, and a vegetarian who is keenly aware of what it is to be hunted and pursued. The man we’re introduced to in the other versions of the story is not someone who would answer violence with violence unless there was no other choice, and in fact he becomes less violent as the story goes on. Putting him in a position where he’s acting militarily against the Dwarves introduces elements to his character that simply don’t exist before this story. It’s inconsistent, and it also ends his life on a strange, sour note - he’s not an uncomplicated hero anymore, he’s also got blood on his hands.

2. Beren is one of the moral compasses of the Silmarillion, and having him be the one to spearhead the ambush of the Dwarves frames that act of violence in a very troubling light.

Like I said above, Beren and Lúthien are good people who do good things, and those things are good because of who’s doing them. If Beren kills the Dwarves and the Lord of Nogrod, that act becomes justifiable, and perhaps even the right thing to do, simply due to the fact that one of the two true heroes of the First Age is doing it. The narrative never frames this as a downfall or a moral event horizon for Beren, either - he made the correct decision and the consequences that come afterward aren’t things that can be blamed on him. But wholesale slaughter, even slaughter of people who do bad things, is not something Tolkien ever condones or paints in a truly positive light, so it makes more sense for it to come at the hands of people who aren’t solely positive forces. It’s thematically in line with what Tolkien does through the rest of the text, and it feels more like Arda, at least to me. I think an argument could be made that Tolkien realized that making Celegorm and Curufin the responsible party would achieve this end, and that’s why this version exists in the first place, but there’s no proof of it.

3. The Laiquendi are nonviolent, and it makes no sense for them to be involved in this fight. The Ents being involved at all is somewhat nonsensical based on what we know of them in The Lord of the Rings.

Another simple one - we don’t know much about the Laiquendi, but we know they’re not really keen on warfare or on any undue violence, so having them be Beren’s backup is a weird divergence from their presentation in the rest of the Legendarium. And the Ents are pretty universally depicted as uninvested in the wars of the incarnates, only taking action against Saruman when it becomes apparent they have no other choice - why should they care about Thingol’s death, or care enough to murder dwarves?

4. Melian’s actions make far more sense in a version of the story where she doesn’t merely abandon Doriath once she realizes Thingol is dead.

If Menegroth is already sacked, and she cannot hold the realm together on her own as its Queen without really fucking shit up with reality-warping shadow magic, her choice to abandon it after delivering the Silmaril safely to her daughter and warning her that Dior will be needed soon is far less irresponsible.

5. Celegorm and Curufin ambushing the dwarves makes more sense than any other alternative.

Of course Celegorm and Curufin were actively watching Doriath for any sign of weakness. Of course they noticed the dwarves leaving with stolen treasures, and heard rumors that Thingol was dead and his killers had the Silmaril. Given the choice of following Melian (if they even were aware of Melian’s departure) and following dwarves, of course they picked the dwarves. Their ambush and attack and slaughter is consistent with their past behavior, as is their refusal to attack Lúthien because they were scared as fuck of her.

What’s more, this also explains the Fëanorians’ refusal to attack Doriath immediately after the dwarves do - they were unsure of whether or not Lúthien was in Menegroth and ruling as its queen or acting in some capacity as Dior’s defender. Celegorm in particular isn’t the type to hesitate - he’s impulsive, and rash, and rushes into bad decisions without considering their consequences, it’s even in his name. But they waited for years, giving Dior time to marry and have children of his own, and then even sent letters rather than attack directly - and yes, some of this might have been Maedhros’s influence, or an attempt by all of them to stave off the Oath, but it’s also plausible that they were trying to figure out whether or not they’d have to take on the same woman who made fools of them before.

I, at least, think this version of the story makes the most sense, and I’ll be adopting it into my personal canon. I obviously think it’s worth advocating for on a larger scale, and I hope I’ve made a good argument for its widespread adoption.

#silmarillion meta #silmarillion #tolkien #absynthe's meta #beren and luthien

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amarienne · 4 years ago

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Long and tired 15x20 rumblings. Beware of spoilers and the F word.

It’s been 10 hours since I watched the episode and I still can’t believe that was real and not a prank episode.

Let’s leave aside the destiel of it all, alright? We all knew getting a huge and proper destiel scene was not gonna happen, no matter how much we clowned the last few days.

But that was a shit show of writing and plot. Fair enough, they felt like a MOTW episode was very fitting to be the last and you know what, I agree. That first 10 minutes of a simple life jogging, making breakfast and petting the dog? I am all for it. Pie Fair? Perfect, who doesn’t like pie? And Dean surely deserved to eat to his heart’s content with no worry in the world.

But at the same time you are trying to tell me that Dean didn’t even blink while Sam mentioned Cas being dead? And that we didn’t even see Sam at least texting with Eileen who just one episode ago vanished in thin air and Sam, had to perform some pretty heavy self control and restraint so he didn’t break because of the loss? How am I, the audience, supposed to believe that??

Still, I was happily going along with it all still keeping hope (lol, what a fool) until they entered the barn. I saw that freaking rod while they were fighting. Don’t believe it if you don’t want to, but I saw the freaking metal rod and I saw Dean being attacked and I was like fuck no he’s gonna end up on it. And surely enough a second later he was. And being the naive person I am I thought ‘huh, interesting. maybe that’s how we see Jack in this episode, or we see Dean in the hospital fighting for his life because he realises he doesn’t want to keep doing this.’

Buuut nooo, ofc not. We get 10 minutes of Dean hanging from a nail making an otherwise lovely speech and Sam standing there listening to it. We get a *w*nc*est* aura with the hand holding and forehead touching? REALLY? I couldn’t fucking believe it. And then Dean dies.

Dean, who just last episode did not take vengeance on Chuck because ‘that’s not who I am’. A fact I am betting my life on comes of course, of course, from Castiel’s confession. So we finally get to see Dean accepting the fact he is not just a killer, but actually he is made of love and for love and he deserves to be happy. Guys, you can see it in his face, he starts to believe it. And he chooses to walk away with his brother and Jack and to simply leave Chuck behind to have the thing he is more scared of- the thing Dean craved more than anything: a normal life.

Enter a sad excuse of a funeral, a pathetic montage of Sam in the bunker and then a call for another hunt. And Sam leaving (forever? who the fuck knows) the bunker. And just as I feared we get to Heaven. And Dean is welcomed by Bobby. That scene was actually fine. At least we get to fucking know Cas is no longer in the Empty- that presumably Jack saved him and they are now together or were together to build Heaven. And the fact they all share a heaven is sweet, okay? Baby is there, Dean goes for a drive, Kansas is playing. Cheesy but lovely.

Montage of Sam living a normal life? A toddler with ‘Dean’ stitched on his clothes? Enter me losing my fucking mind on the turn of events. So Sam named the kid he had with a *faceless* woman Dean in honour of the brother that died like 3 days after saving the world. Huh?? Really? I mean really? What the fuck happenned to Eileen?? She was too precious for this episode and this fucking story.

At this point I am like, I wish I had not pressed play on this mess. But the God awful montage continues. We see Dean Jr (*retching from disgust on the cliche*) telling Sam it’s okay, mirroring the first death. Also what’s with the tatoo? Is he a hunter too? Did Sam continue hunting and pulled his son into it as well? Or was it just a general precaution/tradition. Fuck knows of course. Heart monitor goes beep (the fucking cliches will be the death of me) and we see a bunch of pictures. The faceless wife remains faceless because *who cares* let’s just show the parallells between the two brothers’ deaths.

Oh I forgot all this is to the sound of a pop cover of Carry on my Wayward Son. They didn’t even have the decency to keep the original playing.

And here I am thinking, wishing, being ready to make a crossroads deal that all this is not actually real. It’s a dream, or a nightmare, or an alternate reality or - my biggest hope- Gabriel’s playing a prank somehow.

But as we all now know, dear strangers, that was not it. Nope. Dean stops in a lovely bridge (after apparently a couple hours of driving) and Sam appears. They hug it out. And they watch the sun set over the fucking mountain top.

Oh and then we have the god awful goodbye message. The final blow so we stay on the ground.

Un-fucking-believable. That was like the worst fanfiction, wrapped in a last minute essay you’re writing that is due in six hours, dipped in a diary entry from when you were 9 and dusted with a touch of *who gives a fuck let’s just finish this*. Also let’s blame *COVID*.

All the beautiful scenes and moments of the past 15 seasons. All the character progression we thought we were witnessing. All the symbolism we thought we were seeing. All the secondary characters we got to love to just not see if they actually made it back after 15x18. All the blood, sweat and tears our four boys went through in the last few episodes. All yeeted out the fucking window. It was all for fucking nothing? For an ending my four year old niece could come up with on the spot?

They all die and live happily ever after in Heaven?

Betrayed does not begin to cover how I feel. I was not a hardcore fan of SPN by a long shot. But I know stories. This is not how a good story ends. And SPN was a good story. It deserved better. We deserved better. Our boys deserved better.

I am standing and slow clapping for the actors though. They were truly brilliant, they worked with this shit writing and managed to get to the other side of it. I would sell my left kidney to find out what they actually thought of that ending and to also ask the showrunner what kind of drunk dream made the basis of this finale. Oh, and also ask the folks at CW who green lighted this shitstorm how they’re feeling? The 1 star ratings at IMBD are raining like the fallen angels, bitch.

God. This was long and awful but even if noone read it, it made me feel better.

I can’t even begin to form coherent thoughts regardging the lack of Cas and destiel. Maybe on another post.

#supernatural #spn #spn 15x20 #dean #sam #destiel #supernatural finale #supernatural spoilers #shitshow #supernatural betrayed us #mine

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whats-her-quirk · 4 years ago

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Congrats on your 500+ followers babe!! 🤩🥳 Any chance we could see Aizawa w fluff prompt 4.?:”)

a/n: I’m crying, don’t look at me.

"Please marry me." x shouta aizawa

Aizawa knows he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. He’s more sure of that than anything else in his life. Of course, people are constantly asking the two of you when you’re going to get married, and you both brush off the questions as politely as possible. To Aizawa, marriage and commitment are two totally different things. He can be committed to you forever without putting on a big show of it. He hates the idea of so much attention being on him for an entire day, and besides, you both know you’re in love, so what would a ring prove? He’s not so sure he ever wants to get married, even though he’s 100% sure about you.

But he sees the way your face looks when you attend the wedding of a friend together. He feels the way you always squeeze his arm a little tighter when someone refers to you as his wife. And on one single occasion, he happened to see you wiping a tear out of your eye when some prick at a work party joked that, “Aizawa better put a ring on it before someone else does.” But you never said anything to him, never complained that you weren’t married or nagged him to propose. You never pushed him into it, and for that, Aizawa was grateful to you.

It was a normal Thursday evening when Aizawa realized that he didn’t just love you for the big things: for your personality, your brains, your talent, or your looks. He loved those things, but even more than that, he loved you for the little things, the domestic things, the little eccentricities that made you so perfect.

It had been a long, stressful day of teaching, and he just wanted to push all of his grading work to the side and climb into bed. You weren’t home; maybe you’d run to the store or somewhere, he wasn’t sure, but you left a note saying you’d be back soon. Before collapsing onto the bed, however, Aizawa spotted something in the corner of the room: his laundry basket.

He’d been letting the laundry pile up for days now, and he was running low on some of the essentials. Apparently, you’d noticed. The mountain of laundry he’d been meaning to do was washed, dried, and folded, just waiting in a neat pile to be put away into his closet and drawers. He hadn’t asked you for help; he’d been fully planning to get it done himself, but you’d taken it upon yourself to do it anyway. He wondered if it had anything to do with some seriously stressed-out texts he’d sent you earlier.

You were always doing things like this for him, taking care of the things he didn’t have the capacity to handle at that exact moment. Not that he needed you to take care of him. He could do that just fine, and he had for a long time before you came into his life. But you picked up where he left off. You filled the gaps in his life, and he couldn’t imagine it without you.

He heard the front door creak open and closed. “Shouta, are you home?” you called from the front door. Aizawa rose from the bed and met you in the front hall, your arms full with two paper grocery bags. He kindly took one for you and helped you carry it to the kitchen.

“Thank you for doing the laundry. I owe you one,” Aizawa said as he unpacked the vegetables from the bag.

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” you said. Then you pulled something from the other grocery bag. “Oh, and look! I got your favorite cookies.”

Aizawa thought for one second more before he turned to you and said, "Please marry me."

You froze for a moment, not looking at him. “W-what?”

And for a moment, Aizawa doubted himself. Should he have done this differently? Were you disappointed? But what was done was done, and he supposed, it was speaking from his heart that mattered most. But the least he could do was get down on one knee and take you by the hand.

You turned to face him, your eyes already welling up with tears of joy. You were wearing old jeans and a sweatshirt, your hair a bit messy from the wind outside. To him, you looked beautiful as ever. He cleared his throat before he spoke again, feeling himself getting choked up too. “I haven’t bought a ring yet. I’m terrible at that kind of thing, so maybe you’d like to pick your own. But I know that I love you. I know that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Y/n, will you marry me?”

You were so surprised to see him kneeling right there in your little kitchen, you could hardly speak. So you nodded as hard as you could, squeaking out a, “Yes,” in the process.

Aizawa was on his feet immediately, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a kiss. He could feel the tears rolling down your face, and figured you could feel the same from him. But he couldn’t let go of you, not yet. Aizawa never thought the prospect of getting married could make him so happy, but with you, everything was different. You deserved the entire world, and only he could give you, “I do,” so that’s exactly what he was going to do.

#RIP I'm gone #junes 500 follower event #aizawa #shouta aizawa #aizawa fluff #aizawa x reader #aizawa x you #aizawa x y/n #aizawa shouta #my writing

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brockadoodles · 4 years ago

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Snow doesn’t fall in scottsdale - a. matthews

AN: Uhh just ignore the text in the gif since it’s obviously not relevant to the story. (even though Ema is the best) But here’s what might be the last Christmas fic in my eight weeks of Christmas series. I’ve been finding myself inspired for other stuff, and there’s so much wonderful Christmas content out there that I’m sure you don’t need 47837584 more from me. So enjoy this one, a nice anon requested more Auston content, so that’s why I wrote it. But, I really liked it and hope you do too.

This is also for @broadstbroskis who I love to send things at absolutely inappropriate times for her so, I hope this hits you at a bad time ;)

Word Count: 4628

Warnings: None, it’s floofy.

Auston felt himself sigh as he looked at you. You were sitting out on the roof and holding an old mug of tea. He noticed the way you held the mug close to your chest and looked out at the skyline. The sun was just beginning to set, the deep orange and purple hues and the hot dry air were some of his favorite things about where he was from and lived during the offseason. But as he carefully looked at the somber expression coming from his limited view of your face, he could tell that you missed Toronto.

You were the type of person who had a firm belief that Christmas wasn’t really Christmas without the snow, and Scottsdale, Arizona might have felt cold at 20 degrees celsius to those that lived there, but to you all it was, was a dry desert with fake Christmas trees and a painful lack of snow covering the ground. Your favorite memories included carrying a small sled down the street while holding your mom’s hand, or sitting on your dad’s shoulders at the Christmas market every year, snow piling onto your beanie as you stuck your tongue out hoping to catch flakes. Those were your favorite memories of the holiday and even if the view was stunning, the palm trees simply didn’t hold a match to the thick, evergreens covered in snow. But you were thankful to have Auston, and his family, who had been nothing but accommodating to you. So you kept your homesickness away from them, plastering on a smile that faded as soon as you came out to the roof to take a moment to yourself.

You didn’t want to complain, because you were genuinely grateful that Auston had invited you to spend the holiday with him. Before you could contemplate the weight of the question, or think about how spending Christmas with your friend who always felt like something more would only entangle your heart further into the mess of feelings that it was already nestled in, you said yes. The decision didn’t phase you until you were waiting for a flight, your thigh brushing his and his head resting on your shoulder, that maybe this was only going to end up hurting you in the long run because of your own harbored feelings for one of your closest friends.

You’d liked Auston for almost as long as you’ve known him, having met in a chance run in when he bumped into you on a night out with your friends, spilling your drink all down your dress. He offered you a new one, and soon you found yourself tumbling into a dangerous friendship with him that your heart always wanted to pull more out of. It was a bad idea, going home with him. It was something that was debatably far too intimate for two people who were supposed to be just friends. But you didn’t know that Auston harbored feelings of his own, and you didn’t know just how much he’d do to make your Christmas special.

Auston watched carefully as you set the mug down and snapped a picture, one that would later end up on Instagram for the world to see, captioned “there’s no snow but the view is great.” You flipped your phone back over, presumably hiding any potential interruptions from your time up on the roof. He took your pause as his moment to make his presence known, and he carefully opened the tall glass sliding door and stepped out onto the roof. You looked over at him before curling your feet underneath your legs to make space for him to sit.

“Are you okay?” He tentatively asked. You simply nodded and leaned your head on his shoulder, causing him to instinctively pull you closer into his body. It was almost terrifying how well he knew your mannerisms, each breath you took or movement gave away everything about how you were feeling. It scared him how well he could read you, but he paid attention because he cared. Auston knew this was about Christmas, and while didn’t know how to pull any of it off, he'd drive to Colorado and back if it meant bringing you a dusting of snow to the desert in December.

----------

The following afternoon, your mood had improved and the melancholic moment shared between you was nearly forgotten as you sat across from him at the small coffee shop. Auston had this ability to know your every emotion. He knew when you wanted to talk about what was bothering you and when you didn’t, and you appreciated that when you woke up the next day, he offered nothing other than a soft smile and asked if you’d like to check out this new small coffee place with him.

“I can’t believe you managed to get this much time off this season, normally you don’t even go home.” You hummed as you sipped on your drink. Auston held the door open for you as you walked out, the heat hitting your skin almost instantly as the loss of air conditioning from the shop became more apparent.

“I know, but it’s good.” He shrugged, offering no indication that there was any deeper meaning to that statement as he followed you out of the shop. The truth was that the extra time was much needed, as it gave him the perfect opportunity for an impulsive trip out of town that just might lift the mood you were so desperately trying to conceal.

You handed Auston your iced coffee for a moment so that you could toss up your hair. The sun was starting to beat down, heating up your skin and causing a light sweat.

“It’s too hot, how can you even be wearing that?” You gestured to his outfit, which in contrast to some of the clothes he normally wore, was relatively relaxed and normal. He was wearing black joggers and a dark t-shirt, with a light flannel on top. You were sweating just looking at it in comparison to the oversized Nike t-shirt you had stolen from him that morning, and your soft shorts. You couldn’t deny that it looked good on him though, and if it wasn’t so hot and you lived in a reality where you could act on your feelings, you wouldn’t mind tucking yourself right into his chest.

“Ah well, that’s because we’re not staying here.” He shrugged, shaking you out of your daydream and tugging you back toward his car. He laced his fingers in yours and it sent fluttering right to your chest. The simple display of affection was something that you were likely reading entirely too much into. But you didn’t care, because your brain was communicating chemicals of fondness that were being sent straight to your heart with the simple gesture, and you were going to let yourself enjoy it even if it ultimately didn’t actually mean anything substantial.

“What? Where are we going?” You asked. Auston just smiled nervously at you as he unlocked the car. He untangled his fingers from yours and walked to the driver’s side door, a sensation that you subtly frowned at.

“Uh, well I hope you don’t mind but…” His voice was muffled as he got into the driver's seat.

“But what, Auston?” You pressed.

“We may be going on a road trip.” He bit his lip slightly as your eyes went wide. He knew this was spontaneous, and maybe too much. But all he wanted was to see a smile on your face and if he had to spend all night looking up weather reports and finding a town that had a substantial amount of snow and drive you there, that was a task he was more than willing to do.

“To where? And why?” You laughed. Auston smirked at you as he started the car.

“This small town in the mountains in Colorado. We have a cabin, we’re bringing Felix, and there’s a ton of snow right now.” He smiled at you, watching out of the corner of his eye to see your reaction as you took in what he was saying. Your eyes widened and your heart rate quickened. You reached over the center console and grabbed his hand and slid your fingers through his once more.

“Thank you.” You whispered, hoping that the simple words could accurately depict just how appreciative you were of him. He pulled your hand up to his mouth, pressing a light kiss to the back of it and smiling at you once again. The adoration in his eyes was more than what a friend should show, but this entire trip was more than friendly, and you didn’t really care that you were setting your heart up for the inevitable disappointment you might face by the end of it, because you at least somewhat had Auston. He may have not been your boyfriend, you couldn’t kiss him whenever you wanted, or hold him beyond small gestures but he cared about you, probably more than he cared about most of his friends, and that was enough. So you packed a bag, loaded Felix into the car, and drove just over eight hours with him to spend a few days in the snow before Christmas.

----------

The first night you got there, the two of you were exhausted. You were so tired that you couldn’t even register the lines you were crossing as you climbed into bed next to him, Felix tucked securely under your feet. You were so tired that you didn’t question it when his arm came around your waist and slid just underneath the waist of the sweatshirt you were wearing. He was warm, and you felt safe, so you let yourself drift off to sleep without thinking of the emotional consequences of the romanticization of all of this.

The second night, Auston had insisted on another surprise for you. One that he was tight lipped about, but swore that you would love. All he told you was that you needed to dress warm and be ready to walk around. So, you threw on more layers than was probably necessary and let him lead you into town.

You grabbed onto his arm to not lose him. The crowd was larger than you’d expect for the small mountain town he had brought you to. Auston just pulled you in closer, wrapping an arm around you to tuck you safe and secure into his side. It was another simple gesture, adding to the annoying list in the back of your mind of things that Auston Matthews could do that caused a flutter in your stomach and slight heartache in your chest. But it was cold, and the gesture was one that made you feel calm and content as he led you further into the town.

The small town was quant, and reminded you of some picturesque stereotypical German town that went all out for the holidays. The Bavarian style cottages and buildings were all decorated with lights, and the snow on the roofs was a sight that made you smile even more as you kept walking. You were about to ask Auston where you were headed when suddenly the lights came into view. Your eyes went wide as you looked at the giant tree in the center of the town square, it was lit up with white lights and shiny, multicolored ornaments. Snow was settled into the branches and littered on the ground. You nearly cried when you realized where he had brought you.

“I can’t make it snow in Arizona, I can’t replicate the tree, but I found this place and thought it was pretty close.” He looked down as you with a subtle smile on his lips. You reached a hand up to his cheek, running your thumb along the stubble from where his beard was growing in, feeling his cheeks shift into a larger smile. He wrapped an arm further around your waist and pulled you into his chest. Auston looked at you like you were his entire world and his heart lurched in his chest at yet another grip you were securing on it. He wanted to lean down and kiss you. He wanted to walk through the door to your soul that he had been waiting behind for so long because for the first time, standing there with your hand on his cheek and you looking at him the way that you were, it felt like it was finally opening for him.

But the moment was fleeting and as your eyes scattered away from his and you stepped back, his heart dropped. Because in that moment he could almost see the intricate parts of your mind racing, probably regretting getting so close to him in the first place. He didn’t get to kiss you that night, but as you threw on his sweatshirt and crawled into bed next to him, letting your head fall onto his chest, he let himself wander back to the idea of your feelings being reciprocated. It was that feeling that left him softly smiling as he fell asleep.

----------

“I have one last surprise for this trip.” Auston came out into the kitchen. He stood behind you and reached an arm around to grab a mug, resting his other hand on your waist as he did so. You were growing almost too accustomed to the subtle touches shared on this trip, to falling asleep in his arms. You were in your own almost blissful world, and there was a part of you that had been thinking about taking the leap and kissing him. Because in this blissful world, reality didn’t exist. You weren’t going back to Arizona tomorrow, and you weren’t ultimately going back to Toronto to your separate apartments. In this reality, you could stay with Auston forever, without the pressures of everything that real life brought both of you.

“Do enlighten me on the latest Auston Matthews surprise experience, because I must say that I am enjoying it.” You teased, passing him the coffee pot that was in front of you. You spun around to face him and his smile grew. There was a soft glow to his smile and his eyes that had your heart racing even faster than it already was previously, and you bit your lip as you waited for a response.

“We’re going skating.” He grinned, a satisfactory laugh coming from him as he watched your eyes go wide and mouth hang open just slightly. You had only skated once in your life, and it was when you were seven. Your older brother had shoved you onto the ice and you tumbled, breaking your arm in the process. Ever since then, skating was the one fear you had, which was slightly ironic considering the person you were essentially in love with did it for a living.

“Auston… you know I don’t know how to skate.” You glanced over at him, his hand reassuringly came to rest on your hip, a soft squeeze that sent shivers running through your body at the contact. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and you nearly fell over. The line that the two of you were balancing on felt like it had been crossed with the intimacy of the kiss. It was a simple, quick, but tender kiss to the forehead, and it was rushing into your heart, causing it to react and demand more from him.

“Time to learn, babe.” He patted your hip and walked out of the kitchen. The disconnect from his body no longer pressed almost against yours was almost excruciating. You stood there in the kitchen for what felt like hours just replaying the moment in your mind. You were so focussed on how badly you wanted him that you didn’t even register the fear that you normally felt when it came to the idea of skating.

Later that afternoon, after resolving yourself to the fact that you were definitely not getting out of this surprise, and realizing that he even bought new skates for you, Auston led you through a snow-covered pathway on your way to the frozen lake. The walk was quiet, the only sounds coming from your feet crunching in the snow. As you got closer and the lake came into view, you were regretting leaving Felix at the cabin because he could have been a great excuse to use to get out of this.

Auston spotted a small bench and instructed you to sit down on it. He sat down beside you and lifted a leg into your lap, sliding the skate on and beginning to tie it securely for you. You watched as his hands moved, tightening the laces. When he was done with both skates, his hand slid up your shin, a soft reassuring smile on his face as he tapped your leg indicating that you needed to move so he could put on his own skates. You were starting to get more and more nervous as he finished lacing his up and grabbed your hands, helping you stand on the edge of the lake. Auston took a few steps backwards, guiding you to the very edge of the frozen lake. Your stomach dropped when he stepped out, the sound of skates hitting the ice shocking you back into the reality of what you were doing.

“No railing baby, you’ve got to hold onto me or accept that you might fall.” Auston teased as you stood at the edge of the lake. This felt like a disaster waiting to happen, a tragic ending to what would have been the cute cheesy skating scene in one of those terrible lifetime Christmas movies. You felt slightly ridiculous out there, but Auston didn’t see it that way. He saw this as another opportunity to help you have the best possible Christmas even if you were away from your family.

“You know.. what if I just sit here and watch you?” You offered, biting your lip as he skated to the edge of the lake. He positioned himself right in front of you and took your gloves hands in his, guiding you slowly onto the ice.

“I’ve got you, I won’t let you fall, okay?” He reassured you. If only he knew that falling on the ice was the least of your concerns when it came to the meaning of that word. Auston reached for your hand, silently lacing his fingers with yours as he guided you into taking your first step. You crashed into him, hands flailing into his chest as he laughed softly at you.

“It’s not funny!” You whined, grasping onto him as tightly as you could. Auston didn’t mind the contact, he wanted to be with you all the time, his heart carefully locked in your possession to keep, whether you knew it or not. If anyone told him that he’d have gone through all of this for a person who he wasn’t even dating, he would have laughed in their face. But you were different, and no matter how hard he tried to pretend you were just a friend, he knew he was potentially setting himself up for a shattered soul if you didn’t feel the same way that he did.

You let Auston guide you around the ice, his hands secure on your body to prevent you from falling. When he guided you off the ice, you sat straight down onto the same bench you had previously. Auston leaned in front of you, grabbing the back of the bench with his hands on either side of you. For a moment you let your mind drift, thinking about what it would be like to reach out and grab the strings tauntingly hanging from his sweatshirt and pulling him into you from where he was standing. You thought about how you could press your lips softly to his, reaching your hand through his hair to pull him closer into you. You felt your stomach in knots as you thought about kissing him, something you’d been wanting to do for a while, but never had the courage to, and it wasn’t until he waved a hand in front of your face that you realized you weren’t kissing him, it was just an image projected from your imagination as you sat there, wishing your feelings away so that you wouldn’t constantly be rejected in your own head.

----------

The two of you set off on the drive back to Scottsdale the next day, leaving behind the bliss of being unplugged and away from everyone for just a few days. The whole experience almost felt like a melatonin induced dream, the last three days spent with him. But as you settled back into the guest room in his Arizona house on Christmas Eve, your bed felt cold and empty without him.

Christmas day had come and was nearly over, and you smiled more than you thought that you would. It was weird how the short trip had changed your perspective over the whole holiday. You weren’t nearly as homesick as you had been. You were genuinely enjoying yourself, and felt like you belonged right where you were as you helped Ema in the kitchen with Christmas dinner. You felt a sense of ease finally about Auston, clarity slowly drifting from your heart to your brain about how you felt about him.

You had excused yourself after dinner to go up to the roof once more, just taking some time to let all of your feelings settle. The reality of going back to Toronto was starting to creep back in. Soon you would be home and back in the routine of the second half of the hockey season. Auston would go back to being gone all of the time, and you would go back to work, the fleeting feelings you were experiencing would pass, and you’d get back to the place that you had been before where you were content with him just being your friend.

Auston however, had different hopes for the last few hours of this short escape from Toronto. He loved his job, he loved his teammates and the city, but he’d be lying to everyone and himself if he didn’t admit that you were one of his favorite parts of the whole thing. He lit up whenever he’d see you in the crowd, the same old Maple Leafs beanie you had since your high school days adorned on your head. You fit seamlessly into his life in every single way except for the most important one, and he had enough of it. This week spent with you had shown him that he needed to be honest. He needed to release his heart from the weight of his own growing feelings for you, and there were moments where he truly thought that you were going to catch it. He needed to take the chance, he might explode if he didn’t.

The gift was entirely too much, it was too sentimental, too heartfelt, too every other adjective in the dictionary for the word much, and Auston knew that. He knew that this gift sealed any chance at keeping his feelings opaque, the transparency of the glass felt like a metaphor for a window into his own heart. But he didn’t care. He didn’t care that it was too much, all he wanted was for the horribly wrapped confession to somehow be enough for you. Auston took a deep breath as he held the box, the one that Bre had helped him wrap just the night previously. You were up on the roof, sitting peacefully as you watched the sunset over the skyline. The palm trees and dry terrain are vastly different than what you were used to in December. It was almost like you had a sixth sense he was behind you because he swore he felt his heart drop into his stomach when you turned your head just enough, showing a warm and soft smile as he tentatively stepped toward you.

You were in one of his sweatshirts and your hair was up, a look that in all your years of knowing each other he never got tired of. You were everything to him, and he had been so sure about how he felt about you right from the beginning. But, you weren’t ready. At the time you had just had a bad breakup, your heart was tucked in a locked box in your chest, no hope of it being unlocked by anyone else for a long time. But, a long time had been coming, and now that you were here, in Arizona, in his sweatshirt, smiling at him, he could only hope that you would at least consider giving your heart to him.

Auston stepped out onto the roof again, a familiar feeling settling into his chest from just a few days prior. You lifted your eyes up to meet his, this time a genuine smile adorning your lips as the moon and small patio light lit up your face. He sat down next to you once again, handing you the small, wrapped gift that he had been holding.

“I have one last surprise for you.” He quietly spoke.

You took the box in your hands and you slowly unwrapped the gift. You set the paper down under your thigh and pulled out the small snow globe, letting it feel heavy in your hands. Your fingers traced over the details, the fetched mountains in the glass and the hint of green pointing through the white snow. It was a simple gift, something plucked straight out of a bad holiday movie, but you didn’t care because it came from him, and the thought behind it was better than any tangible gift he could have bought for you.

“Turns out, snow is very hard to come by around here.” He smiled down at you. You looked at Auston with a new perspective filling your mind, you noticed all of the things about him that you were blissfully ignoring before for the sake of guarding your own heart and hiding your own feelings. You knew his eyes softened when he looked at you, you just chose not to see it until now.

“Auston-“ you started, but his eyes shifted as he spoke. His entire speech was tossed off the side of the roof, he was going with his gut here. He was going to tell you how he felt, because he simply couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“This is probably the worst time for this. And you deserve better than some shitty rooftop confession on Christmas. But, I like you. I like you so much, I have probably since shortly after we met, and I know I didn’t make snow fall like I promised, but that doesn’t change how I feel about you. How badly I want to kiss you, how badly I want to just say that I love you all the time.”

“Auston, you talk too much.” You smiled at him. Everything felt warm, and it wasn’t just because of the slight heat in the air, or his body closely hovering above yours. You were warm because you loved him, a concept that you weren’t expecting yet somehow ended up prepared for.

“Well, I’ll shut up and kiss you, then.” He teased, smiling into a soft kiss. Your hand tangled in his hair, and your eyes fluttered closed as you melted into him.

“Oh, and I love you too.” You smiled as you leaned in to kiss him once more. Sure it wasn’t Toronto. It wasn’t that blissful three days in the mountains. There weren’t lights or trees or snow or anything that you’d traditionally associate with December 25th, but you had Auston in exactly the way that you had wanted him for a long time, and somehow that was better than all of it combined.

#auston matthews #auston matthews imagine #auston matthews fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #8 weeks of christmas #hockey imagine #hockey fic #auston matthews x reader

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ijenoyou · 4 years ago

Text

Bright eyes.

werewolf!jeno x human!reader.

summary: jeno reminds you of a part of your childhood you don’t remember ever living.

PT2.

warnings: mentions of blood, loss of memory.

note: this is kinda based on the book saga The Wolves of Mercy Falls hehe anyways don’t mind any grammatical mistakes:) english isn’t my first lenguaje soooo hehe enjoy! also i might do more parts of this lol depends on how well it goes lmao

MASTERLIST.

————————————————————————————————————————

Another cold and boring day.

It was the coldest day by far in the whole year, making you wear a gray sweater under your tshirt and fluffy jacket. Middle of the new semestrer starts today so it would be no surprise if you saw some new faces at school. And still, you would find most of them boring and plain, nothing could get you excited today, unless something big happens which was unlikely in the cold and boring Minnessota.

When arriving at school, you met your best and only friend, Mark. A nice boy with soft brown hair from Canada, who moved five years ago to the bright yellow house next to yours.

“I think this year is going to be good!” Mark said with a smile after you said hi to him.

You wished you were as happy as he is —it’s not like you were in a constant state of sadness— but you couldn’t help but to wonder why is he always smiling and beaming with happiness. There’s nothing in Minnessota to be excited about but maybe it’s the way he could ditch you any time and get more nice friends who could actually talk to him the way he does with you.

“I don’t know Mark, it feels like the year is going to be the same as the other years.” You said while beginning walking towards the entrance of the school.

“Maybe this year you can find someone to you know—“ He said while nudging me with his elbow while moving his eyebrows up and down.

“What? More friends to hang out with?” You snort and laugh while shaking your head to the sides.

“I mean— You could get more friends, sometimes I feel bad when I see that I’m your only friend.” He answered while faking a sad pout. “I was talking about you know... A boyfriend maybe.”

You stopped walking making him laugh with nervousness.

“Or girlfriend! I don’t judge.” Mark said while shrugging his shoulders.

You roll your eyes and push his shoulder with yours and began walking again.

“I’m not looking for someone to date, dude.” You said and took your usual seat, Mark groaned and put both of his hands at the sides of your desk making you look directly at this eyes. “What?”

“You’re going to die alone if you don’t start hanging out with other people!” He said almost screaming.

You huffed and decide to take out your phone which was connected to your earbuds. You put them on and pressed play so your loud music could start. And that’s when Mark knew he lost the battle so he decided to just sit next to you. The class was about to begin when other students started to apear and take their places. You weren’t paying any attention until one of the new students arrived, you frowned when seeing what he was wearing.

Isn’t he cold? You thought to yourself.

He was wearing black skinny jeans, a plaid black and white flannel with a black shirt underneath with black combat boots. You were thinking of how could he not be shivering since it’s snowing already and it’s going to be like that for 2 months in a row. But what got your attention was the fact that he was wearing sunglasses, wondering why since there’s no even a bit of warm lights coming from the sun.

You followed him with your eyes until he took the only free seat which was in front of you.

Mark saw the way your eyes were looking at the mysterious guy and smirked, thinking of a way to make you talk to the new blonde boy.

It was free period when you saw him again, this time you alone since Mark had basketball practice. You were walking towards your locker when you saw the boy with blonde — almost white— hair next to yours trying to open the door but failing miserably.

“You have to twist it and let it click.” You softly spoke behind him. “Like this.” You did it with your locker and it opened.

He copied your moves and his door opened in which he smiled. He turned his full body to you.

“Thanks, I’ve trying to open this damn thing for almost 10 minutes.” He said and started to put some of his books inside the locker.

You gave him a small smile with a nod and took your water bottle of your own locker and close it with your shoulder since you were carrying some heavy books for your science class.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You’re already asking one.” He answered making you snort. “But sure.”

“What’s up with the sunglasses? There’s no sun.” You said making him laugh, he shrugged and took them out revealing a pair of eyes which had some tones of red mixed with brown and a mole underneath his right eye.

Why are his eyes red? Maybe you were seeing things but you could swear to god that his eyes were going from a deep brown to a dark red.

“I’m Jeno.” He extended his hands towards your and you took it without hesitating.

For some reason you feel like you already know him, and when you took his hand into yours a tingle went right through your whole arm. It was a feeling you had in the back of your brain like a memory you had lost. When he let go of your hand he smiled and turned around to leave.

“I’ll see you around Y/N.” He said while walking away from you.

You frowned. “How do you know my name?!” You shouted since he was already pretty far away.

“Your friend Mark told me.” He playfully said while putting his sunglasses on.

Mark is so gonna be dead.

After that atrocious meeting you had wifh Jeno you decided to nag Mark later over text.

When you arrived home the first thing you see is your mom looking at your baby pictures on the kitchen counter with a sweet smile on her face.

“What are you doing?” You asked while filling a glass with apple juice.

“I’m planing on hanging some of your baby photos on my office.” She explains while taking one photo and putting a frame on it.

You placed your glass down and took one picture off the counter.

It was a picture of you when you were between 10 and 12 years old, you could see there was some snow on the ground you were sitting at, next to a big white fluffy dog that looked almost like a wolf. You were smiling while hugging the dogs neck and for some reason the dog looked like he was smiling since it’s —weirdly enough— red eyes were curling like crescent moons with his tongue out.

“Whose dog is this?” You spoke after a few seconds of silence.

“Uh? Oh! That’s Moonie.” Your mother explained and took the picture off your hands. “I’m surprised you don’t remember him, you had him for almost two years.”

Weird. You don’t remember having a dog at that moment in your life, but when looking at the fluffy dog your heart started to beat faster.

“What kind of name is ‘Moonie’?” You mocked and took another sip of your apple juice.

“Well— You always said his eyes looked like moons even when we found him because it looks like he’s always smiling.” She said focused on getting the picture frame standing correctly.

“F-Found him?”

Your mother stoped doing whatever she was trying to do with the frame and frowned.

“Do you really don’t remember Moonie?” She asked with concerned, you shake your head and she sighed. “Y/N, you found him or maybe he found you—“ She laughed. “We went out to the mountains, the ones that are close to the forest, to play with the snow but your father and I lost you within the trees.”

Before she could continue the story your father came down from the second floor and smile when he saw what your mother was holding, gave her a quick kiss in the crown of her head and walked towards the fridge to take a cold water bottle from it.

“Honey, Y/N doesn’t remember Moonie!” She exclaimed and your fathers eyes went wide open.

“I’m surprised she doesn’t.” Your mom laughed and expressed that she said the same thing.

You rolled your eyes at your parents ethics and told your mother to continue the story in which she responded with a very enthusiastic yes.

“We were looking everywhere for you until we heard you scream, we ran as fast as our old bodies could and found you in the ground with a very big bite on your right leg and blood stained the snow.” Your father patted your moms head and she sighed. “We—“ Her eyes started to water at the thought of you hurt.

“A pack of wolfs attacked you.” Your father explains. “But there was one who tried to get them away from you, that was Moonie.” He finished talking.

“So... You’re saying that a dog saved me from being eaten?” You asked with shock. “What happened after?”

“When they left he began licking your wound to try and make it stop bleeding, we wanted to carry you but when your mom and I got closer he would bark at us.” He said and opened his water bottle then taking a sip from it. “Since he wouldn’t leave your side we took him home with us, we hid him on the car when we took you to the hospital to get treated.”

Your mind was racing, trying to remember the dog who apparently saved you— but looking at the other pictures you had with the animal you started to think that maybe he wasn’t a dog, but a wolf. Maybe just a bit smaller than a normal wolf.

“Where is he now?” You asked.

“We don’t know, he one day left on his own and never saw him again, you were so sad it broke our hearts.” Your mother finished putting all of the photos she wanted on frames and got up from the stool she was sitting at.

She gave you a squish on the shoulder and started to save the rest of the pictures in a shoe box.

“Can I keep it?” You took the picture of you and Moonie in between your fingers.

“Of course honey!”

Getting a ton of work on the second day of school wasn’t something you were looking forward to, but here you were, doing literature work if you wanted to get some points for finals. But it was hard to do it since you kept on thinking about that damn dog or wolf — whatever he is. —

“It’s a wolf.” You heard a raspy voice behind you.

“Uh?” You turned around confused.

There he is.

“You were muttering something about a dog and a wolf but looking at the picture in your hand it’s clearly a wolf.” Jeno answered and took seat next to you.

You bit your bottom lip thinking of a reply to his words. “How are you so sure?” You asked while narrowing your eyes.

He smirked and took the picture with him. “There’s no way a normal dog is that big.” Jeno explained and you nodded. “Moonie.” He whispers with a faint smile on his lips.

“H-How do you know his name?” You asked with wonder in your voice.

“It’s uh— It’s on the back of the picture.” He quickly spoke and turned the piece of paper around.

Moonie and Me! ♡

It’s written on very big and bold letters.

#nct angst #nct fluff #nct scenarios #nct x reader #jeno fluff #jeno scenarios #jeno x reader #nct jeno #jeno angst #nct

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to-many-towered-camelot · 4 years ago

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book notes

for anyone who is interested in a nuanced take on fairy beliefs vs the Christian Church in the Middle Ages, this book by Richard Firth Green was actually so good, if your library has it:

[Image: Front cover of the book ‘Elf Queens and Holy Friars: Fairy Beliefs and the Medieval Church’ by Richard Firth Green]

like, obvs it’s just one person’s take on a very complex topic, but it’s well-written, well-researched, and it uses a bunch of Arthurian examples throughout to explore this dynamic (see under cut)

really interesting exploration of how the Church’s response evolved from the early-High Middle Ages (”dude, you believe in fairies? hhhmmm, do penance for 10 days”) to the Late Middle Ages/Early Modern Period (”kill them for heresy and witchcraft!”)

and how it enfolded vernacular/fairy beliefs into Christian doctrine as fairies being either a) demons or b) the illusions of demons (and how dangerous/bad these demons were depended on the time/location/cleric in question - some packaged fairies as “neutral” demons who fell when the rebel angels did, and who must be punished on Earth but will return to Heaven on Doomsday - potentially doing this to soften things for their parishioners, who often held these fairy beliefs and reconciled them with Christianity, uh, differently than the Church officially would prefer)

and enduring belief in fairies existed in both common and aristocratic circles (can see this in medieval romances, although they’re not the only source of evidence), rather than just being used as cultural “decoration” by a more sceptical upperclass

aaaaand because of this conflation of fairy = demon, you get a really interesting blend/overlap with medieval demonology and enduring “folk” beliefs (obvs not all of medieval demonology was just rebranded fairies, but some of it defs was - you see stories being retold with “devil” instead of “elf”, for example)

INCLUDING in Arthuriana - how you get Morgan the Fairy (”le Fay”) vs Morgan who was raised in a nunnery and learned dark magic there, the Lady of the Lake as a (largely) positive force, Merlin inexplicably as a (perceived to be...) Good Guy despite being the literal antichrist, the Green Knight and all the overlap with Christian symbolism in that story, etc, etc. and they all just either??? co-exist in the same stories or appear through either more fay or more ~Christian lenses depending on the version

and it creates a very interesting and very confusing soup of Stuff stemming from a very confusing - and sometimes dangerous - soup of official and unofficial beliefs evolving over hundreds of years

anyway, WRT Arthuriana it’s got (and ymmv on these, but they’re all interesting thoughts):

(i think in Gottfried’s Tristan???) apparently Tristan has a rainbow fairy dog called Petitcriu...name a knight less deserving of such a Good Boy smh

Chretien’s Yvain flooding out Laudine at the fountain (...jerk) as a continuation of the beliefs surrounding a magical Spring at Barenton

Gingalain moving from being the son of Gawain and the fairy Blanchemal (and having a fairy love interest, Pucelle) in the French OG version (~1200-ish) to being the son of Gawain and his human mistress (with Pucelle also being human) in a later 15th-C Middle English version)

AJDKN UJ IOE E Merlin’s conception, that one’s a wild ride - theologians REALLY didn’t like the idea of demons being fertile, and the work-arounds they came up with were...incredible. but skipping over that sheer comedy, the author draws links between Merlin’s conception and the general trend of claiming a fairy lover/whatever when a difficult-to-explain pregnancy arose. He also theorises that Geoffrey’s idea for Merlin’s father being a demon/fairy may have come from Nennius saying that Merlin/Ambrosius’ mother “never knew a man”. Later adaptations of this storyline made it even more fay-like (when they weren’t, like Robert de Boron, making it more fucked-up) by making Merlin’s father invisible (Wace) or a super attractive guy in swanky gold clothes (Layamon) - and Vortigern’s advisor explaining the creatures that lived between the earth and the moon until doomsday, etc, etc (walking that line between fairy and incubi, whichhhhhh was not clearly delineated in the Middle Ages the way it is now). also there’s one 13th-C Anglo-Norman poem where Merlin’s father is a bird that transforms into a dashing young squire, which isn’t terribly demon-y. So even though most versions of this story describe Merlin’s dad as an incubi-demon, what people understood this to mean may have been more fay-ish that we’d expect nowadays (depending on the reader, and also on authorial intention - some are pretty explicit that he’s a demon [many clerics keen to push this as the main narrative], while others refer to him as an elf or fairy). some contemporary scepticism during this time about Merlin having any sort of supernatural parentage as well

[none of the same Church anxieties about explaining away how the Plantagenets and other aristocratic families claim a female fairy ancestress - maybe bc there’s none of the stress about patrilineal bloodlines??? who knows! but yeah, much less thought given to those stories in ecclesiastical circles, and they were very popular in vernacular romances (male aristocratic wish fulfilment?). also, fairy enchantments =/= necromancy, so there are stories like the non-cyclic Lancelot where the Lady of the Lake is found out to be “a fairy by education, not by nature or heredity” (Elspeth Kennedy), with the spirits used in necromancy being demons, not fairies. also potential trend of female-associated magic becoming more passive and book-learned, gradually demonising it leading up to early-modern witch hunts.]

Geoffrey of Monmouth in his Historia and in the Vita Merlini being actually pretty circumspect about saying whether or not Arthur was alive/dead, returning/not returning, maybe due to his work/text being a (hypothesised) defence of the Welsh as being “civilised” (and having been so for centuries before the Normans came) - with the corollary that believing in Arthur’s return was somehow “uncivilised”. Author argues that this may be due to an association with fairy beliefs, and that Layamon is the one that makes Avalon explicitly fey. Also the author describes Arthur as living in a “feminised version of the Christian heaven” (iconic) and says that later writers and people could be very scornful of this belief held by the Britons/Welsh/etc, and that it was contrary to orthodox ways of thinking.

Links the “discovery” of Arthur and Guinevere’s bodies in Glastonbury in the late 12th-C as similar to when individuals found the bodies of their loved ones, thus making it much harder to believe (and hope) that they were still alive in fairyland. Makes a suggestion that the monks in Glastonbury who “found” these bodies may have been trying to curry favour with the English crown (i.e. champion/hope of the Welsh isn’t coming back) but also may have been trying to “help”/”save”/correct the thoughts/ideology of the Welsh (i.e. “set them on the correct path to salvation”). Lots of medieval writers describing Arthur as living in “fairyland”. Precedent of people visiting fairyland and returning, so Avalon/fairyland =/= a place only for the dead (i.e. Arthur isn’t dead). An Arthurian example, albeit a less explicitly fay one, is Lancelot getting in and out of Gorre (with Gorre as a “typically supressed and rationalised” version of fairyland) in Chretien’s Knight of the Cart.

Some stuff about the wild horde (distinct from the wild hunt) being presented by some writers as very penitential (i.e. they are departed souls that may look like they’re bearing arms/hunting/whatever as they did in life, but really they are in agony e.g. because their weapons burn them) and tbh demonic (black armour, carrying torches, ominous aesthetic). Other writers thought maybe it was - once again! - demonic impersonators rather than actual mortal souls. (Should note also that the wild horde/wild hunt motifs were not always associated with their being dead). Relevant in the Arthurian context because Arthur and his court were sometimes associated with the idea of the wild horde (as in, sometimes the wild horde is described as Arthur’s court living it up in a cool, undying sort of way - “in the likeness of knights hunting or jousting, commonly known as the household of Hellequin or of Arthur” [Etienne de Bourbon, a medieval writer] - with Hellequin’s household often being used to encompass either the wild hunt or the wild horde). Ultimate point made by the author (props to him, he’s always like “if i’m right” lol) that for many clerical writers, it was very uncomfortable to leave people with the impression that Arthur and his court were living it up in fairyland (and similar for other figures associated with the wild hunt/horde) and this idea needed to be corrected/shaped to suit more orthodox perspectives - e.g. tying in with notions of purgatory, etc.

Aaaand this one was exciting to me just bc i’ve vaguely heard about Arthur and his knights snoozing under a hill, but for some reason i could only remember this being in Victoria-era-and-onwards poetry. 3 versions of the same tale, where a servant looks for his master’s lost horse on a Sicilian mountain. Version 1) servant of a bishop finds his master’s horse in the beautiful palace of Arthur’s court beneath Mt Etna. Aside from the fact that the ancient wound Arthur received from Mordred opens once a year, it’s not very purgatory-like. Version 2) a dean’s servant is told by an old man that King Arthur has the horse on Mt Gyber (Mt Etna). he is told that his master must attend Arthur’s court in 14 days, but the dean laughs it off...then sickens and dies on the appointed day (whoops). Enough differences to this story compared to the first to suggest an oral circulation. Also a note in the version/text that such mountains are said to be the mouth of hell, and only the wicked are sent there, not the chosen. Version 3) Etienne again! Also likely changed with intervening oral circulation. The master is not an ecclesiastical figure, and Arthur’s palace is now a populous city - also Arthur is not referred to, just a nameless prince. There is a gatekeeper who warns the servant not to eat or drink while he’s there (that...is a very fairy-ish proscription). This mountain is apparently reputed to be the site of purgatory. The book author (Richard, i mean) ties these versions in with other stories/accounts of different entrances to purgatory (e.g. one on an island in an Irish lake) as being part of a gradual process of “rendering [...] fairyland purgatorial”.

Finally, Gawain in Roman van Walewein: To get to an ‘earthly paradise’ [i.e. King Assentijn’s garden with its fountain of youth - side note that ‘earthly paradises’ were often popularly described to be fairyland/where fairies live, in addition to their theological functions, e.g. Avalon was sometimes described as an earthly paradise...i should also say that purgatory was frequently thought to be located beside earthly paradise, so there’s the proximity element] and the castle containing it, Gawain must cross a river (guided by a magical talking fox) that a) has waters that burn like fire, and b) can only be crossed by using a bridge sharper than a razor. His reaction? “Is it the enchantment of elves or magic / that I see?”. He is then guided by the fox underneath the river through a tunnel, and is told that the river’s source is in the depths of hell, and “[the river] is the true purgatory / All souls, having departed from the body / Must come here to bathe.” So it’s a very strong intermingling of fairy and purgatorial imagery/ideas!

I dunno, I just found this very ??? satisfying to read

it leaned towards lit-crit at times (which, considering the subject matter, is honestly fair enough), but it was more respectful of vernacular beliefs than so many other academic takes i see (ofc ymmv re: anything to do with non-Christian major religions, but i think the author’s pretty solid on this!), and it had an explanation for the survival of these beliefs that imo made a lot of sense, especially from a pan-European perspective, not just a Celtic one

plus it explored the undeniable damage done by Christianity over history without making up some “ranged battle between paganism and the Church” that i see e v e r y w h e r e in casual Arthurian circles...which, like, i empathise with the vibe, but also! that’s just straight-up historical revisionism! (i blame MZB and the 80′s for that one)

(there was a fantastic post floating around a while ago about how the religious syncretism in Arthurian literature is much more interesting than peeling away all of the Catholicism in the medieval lit (...you ?? don’t end up with much left?) and saying that this is more “accurate” to some obscure original)

anyway yeah yeah ymmv but it’s v interesting 😊

#arthuriana #Arthurian legend #religion #religious history #christianity #folklore #*#richard firth green #AUDEI FEF HEF this is hilariously long #but really it was such an interesting book!#esp if you're a bit like me and you've been turned away from discussing vernacular/folkloric elements in Arthuriana bc of how badly/weirdly #it's been handled in the past #arthurian literature #medieval history #medieval literature #medieval romance #(also im so sorry to any medieval historian reading this im just throwing around 'The Church' willy-nilly i know it's not a monolith!!!#pinky swear

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chilling-seavey · 4 years ago

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so i have some ✨interesting✨ ideas for ABM. so this is the best friend phase where Daniel gets frat dragged to some frat party with the guys and some girl goes up and talks to him, but he's too hung up on Florence so he ✨kindly rejects her✨ or something hahaha. Or instead of that lol maybe the first time he met Caleigh?

Oh gosh I got a little carried away with this one...thank you for sending it in! I kind of combine both your ideas here hehe

April 3, 2020

Florence was always busy. Busy being a mom, busy being pregnant, and busy with both Grayson and Emilio. Despite their status as forgiven best friends, Daniel was trapped under a mountain of feelings. It was all too apparent that the baby could be his but only he and his friends knew that – not even Florence – as well as the fact that it made him sick to see her with other guys. Daniel hated it. He wasn’t a hateful person but he hated it.

So his friends forced him out to a party to get his mind off everything and to actually live like a college student for once. It was hosted the day after his twentieth birthday too so they also used it as an excuse to celebrate him even if the party was thrown for no good reason down the street.

Daniel was squished between Corbyn and Jack as they headed into the crowded house, the music already pounding his head and the smell of weed and cheap beer reeked over every surface. Daniel hated parties and the frat houses down the street already had the worst kind of them.

Zach and Daniel stuck to the back of the group as their four friends led them farther into the messy house. Drinks were passed around and the boys mingled right into the crowd, talking loudly to classmates or finding random girls to chat up. Jonah – who was still involved with the girl from the bar from Corbyn’s birthday celebration – took up beer pong with Zach, the younger boy losing miserably and ending up nearly falling over his own two feet by the sixth glass he chugged.

Daniel found himself standing at the table watching their game but his eyes drifted around the house, past Aidan and Jack on the back porch sharing a joint with a few other guys and Corbyn in the living room trying to talk up a girl with space facts. She walked away with an eyeroll and Corbyn frowned. Daniel looked down to the can in his hand and swirled the drink around before taking a sip.

He never could take alcohol well so by the second can he was already feeling that buzz. But at least it made him forget about his issues for a moment.

“Daniel! Bro.” Jack stumbled up behind him and slapped a hand on his shoulder to yank him around. He was already nearly plastered himself and he smelt like weed, making Daniel scrunch his nose up. “Bro…I want you to meet some people. Come here.”

Jack pulled Daniel out of the house and onto the covered back deck into the cloud of smoke.

“Everyone,” Jack fell to a stop, patting a hand against Daniel’s chest, “this is my good buddy, Daniel. He’s so fucking single. And he needs to get laid.”

“Jack-” Daniel spoke softly.

Jack only laughed, the group joining in, and he smacked his hand on the side of Daniel’s face, “Lighten up, bro.”

Daniel only drank his beer and ignored him.

“Have a hit.” someone held out a glass bong and a lighter to him.

Daniel shook his head and shrugged Jack off his arm to head back inside. He didn’t know how long they had been there but it felt like far too long. Daniel leaned up against the kitchen counter that was littered with empty cups and cans and sticky from spilt drinks. He took out his phone to find a few messages from Florence.

Clementine wants me to tell you that she can count to fifteen now. She’s very impressed with herself. Come over tomorrow if you’re not too hungover and she can blow your socks off in person.

I don’t know if I want to say have a drink for me or say don’t drink too much.

Wish I was there with you. Emilio’s taking good care of me though. He brought over dinner and

Daniel audibly scoffed, not even bothering to finish reading her last message, and slid his phone in his pocket again and finished his drink. He tossed the can in the sink before pulling out another from the lukewarm box on the counter and cracked it open.

Corbyn was still in the living room, chatting up some girl who was giggling at everything he said, and Daniel shoved himself down onto the couch beside him. He was ignored and just focused on his drink, the suffocating environment of the frat house was making him on edge. He drank some more.

When the wall in front of him was hazy and his body felt warm and tingly, Daniel’s mind was still hung up on Florence. He shoved himself off the couch and pushed through the crowd to the bathroom, all to familiar with the same environment where he had met Florence. He hated it.

Daniel knocked on the closed bathroom door and was met with a call of ‘just a minute’ followed by a bit of shuffling and then the door opened. A couple came out hand in hand, the girl’s lipstick smudged and strap of her tank top falling off her shoulder. Daniel looked away as they passed and he helped himself to the privacy of the bathroom. With the door closed and locked, he had a moment to try and gather his thoughts with the chatter of the crowd and piercing music down to a steady thudding through the walls. He set his can on the back of the toilet and did his business, staring at the framed that was hanging crooked on the wall. The frame was empty. Daniel stared at it for far too long, even when he was finished he stood there swaying for a moment as his mind whirled.

Soon he ended up back in the living room, finishing his drink only to have a fourth shoved into his hand.

“Jack said to find you.”

Daniel blinked slowly as his wide eyes tried to focus on the girl in front of him.

“Jack Avery? You’re Daniel, right?”

“Yeah.” Daniel breathed. “’M Daniel.”

“Good. I’m Cayleigh.”

Daniel barely processed what this strange brunette girl was saying to him. He just stared at her – stared through her one could argue – as she rambled on. He sipped his drink. She mentioned something about being in the same program…seeing him on campus…maybe even a little compliment about him being hot. Daniel didn’t acknowledge.

“Jack says you’re single. He said I should come talk to you.” she leaned in close and Daniel could smell her perfume.

She didn’t smell like Florence.

Daniel stared at her, right into her brown eyes that were dilated with drunkenness.

They weren’t Florence’s eyes.

Her hands were on his shoulders and then her arms slid around his neck, “But you’re quiet…I don’t think talking is what you want.”

He could have pushed her away. He could have. But if he thought hard enough, he could convince himself that she was Florence. His hazy mind pieced together the dark tones of her hair into Florence’s deep blonde in the weak lighting of the living room, with her eyes fluttering closed he could reflect the soft lashes that rested against Florence’s cheeks, and her strong perfume could be passed a simply the smell of the room around them.

Cayleigh lingered in front of him for a moment and Daniel stared wide eyed at her pursed lips, his breathing laboured slightly, and finally, she closed the gap. Daniel gasped lightly into it, shutting his eyes tightly as he habitually leaned back. But her arms around his neck kept him close and she smacked on his lips with her sticky lip-gloss coated mouth until he was succumbing to her.

If he thought hard enough, he could convince himself that she was Florence and although her body frame was different, Daniel gripped the back of her crop top nervously, not even needing to touch her. Florence.

He kissed back, inexperienced but desperate, locking his lips with hers in closed mouthed kisses. Florence. He could feel her. He could smell her. He could hear the way she moaned his name into the warm air between them. This is how he wanted to meet her that very first October evening, being able to taste her drink on her lips and the softness of his hair as his hand slid up to the nape of her neck. Florence.

His body buzzed with intoxication and desire, vague memories of their night together flashing through his mind until he was clutching the can in his hand hard enough to crumple it slightly and he was letting out soft moans between kisses. He wanted her again. In every and all ways, morning, noon, and night. Florence.

Daniel was drunk. Daniel was in love.

“Flora.” he breathed shakily into her mouth.

Cayleigh pulled back, breathless, “Did you say something?”

Daniel’s eyes went wide as he stared at the stranger in front of him, the stranger he just made out with at a party, and he hesitated. There was a moment of silence between them. Daniel tried to step back from her but her hands were locked behind his neck.

“I…” Daniel felt panic ensuing. “I have to pee.”

Cayleigh let him go and he turned away from her and pushed through the crowd. He fell back into the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind him before throwing himself against the vanity, arms straight and chest heaving. He looked up into the mirror; his brown hair messy and tears brimming in his eyes and his lips were swollen from a few short minutes of kissing a stranger.

He took a moment to try and catch his breath before he was pulling out his phone and bringing up Florence’s text thread. He typed a paragraph of nonsense, filled with drunk typos and secret confessions, but at least he had the sense to backspace the entire thing before sending. She was his best friend but he missed her. He missed her and he missed her touch.

Daniel returned to Cayleigh where she was waiting for him in the living room.

“I think I’m gonna go.” Daniel told her.

“I can come with you.” she bit back a smile, setting her hand on his chest.

“No. Thank you. I’m just…not feeling well.”

“Oh. Okay. Can I have your number at least?” she pulled out her phone when he nodded and she passed it over so he could type it in.

It was the least he could do, he thought. He pictured another girl while kissing her. What jerk does that?

With his number in her phone and the drink in his hand left to warm on the table in the living room, Daniel told Corbyn he was leaving and headed out of the house on his own. He walked down the street towards their home, arms tucked around his body in the cool air of early April, and he cried the whole way. His first day being twenty and he already wanted to leave it behind.

The house was silent and empty when he got home and he stumbled his way up the stairs to his bedroom. He stripped down, tossing his shoes and jeans and jacket and shirt to the floor before climbing into bed with tears drying on his cheeks. He couldn’t help himself, flopping onto his stomach and called Florence.

She answered, of course, with a concerned, “Hey, Daniel James.”

He sobbed in reply.

“Dani. What’s wrong?” she asked quickly.

“I kissed a girl!” Daniel cried.

“Oh my. And you didn’t like it?” Florence giggled to herself to hide her own slight jealousy.

“No! I didn’t!” Daniel answered sorrowfully. “And there was no picture in the frame in the bathroom!”

“Oh, wow. That sounds terrible.”

“It is! Who hangs up an empty frame?” Daniel wept, smothering his sobs into his pillow.

“Okay, Daniel James, listen to me. Are you home now?”

“Uh huh.”

“Okay. Go get yourself some water and get right into bed.”

“I’m already in bed and there’s no water.”

“Okay-”

“There’s not water with me, Flora.”

“Okay.” she chuckled lightly. “That’s fine. I’ll text Aidan to put a glass beside your bed for you when the boys come home. Just get some sleep.”

“Aidan did drugs.” Daniel mumbled.

“Did he?”

“Mhm. He did drugs with Jack and…and they asked me to do it too!”

“Did you?”

“No!” Daniel sobbed. “I didn’t do drugs. Just…I just…I kissed a girl and I didn’t like it.”

“Okay.”

Daniel’s voice fell quieter as the comfort of his bed and the aftermath of his emotional breakdown started to take over his drunken alertness, “And there was no picture in the frame.”

“I’ll buy you a picture and a frame, okay?”

“M’kay. How’s m’lil angel?”

“Clemmie?”

“Mhm.”

“She’s sleeping.”

“And new baby?”

“New baby is good. He or she is well behaved.”

“M’kay.”

There was a pause.

“I kissed a girl, Flora.” Daniel whispered. “Her lips were sticky.”

“That’s kinda of yucky.”

“Mhm. I only kissed you before, did you know?”

“I know.”

“Your lips weren’t sticky.”

“Get some rest, Dani.” Florence said as straightly as she could, “I wish I was with you.”

“Me too.” Daniel mumbled.

“I love you, Daniel James.”

“I love you, Florence Margret.” Daniel breathed. It was the easiest thing he said all night.

Florence stayed on the phone until he fell asleep, just listening to his heavy breathing as exhaustion took over. She sat up in bed across the city, one hand holding her phone to her ear and the other set gently on the small swell of her stomach as she craved the presence of her best friend beside her.

When Daniel woke up the next morning, there was a promised glass of water on his nightstand and two texts; one from Florence and one from Cayleigh. He answered Flora first.

#unedited as HECK #anything but mine #why dont we #daniel seavey #jack avery #zach herron #corbyn besson #jonah marais

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katehuntington · 4 years ago

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Title: Black Dog - part six Word count: 5100± words Episode summary: When Sam gets an anonymous phone call with information about his father, Dean receives a text message with coordinates to different location. The brothers clash and split up, one following orders, the other trusting his instincts. Meanwhile, in the wilderness of Cascade Range, Washington State, Zoë loses grip on a personal case and is forced to confront her demons. Without back up, this might very well turn out to be her final hunt. Part six summary: The huntress tries whatever she can to outrun her past. Now that it’s midnight, the shadows are out to get her and threaten to take Dean down as well. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Swearing, smoking, weaponry. Descriptions of torture and murder. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Descriptions of suicidal thoughts and tendencies, depression, panic attacks, hallucinations. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 & @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E03 “Black Dog” Masterlist

No wind, not even the slightest breeze. Evergreens stop whispering, night animals seem to have vanished in the deepest holes of the forest. Whitehorse Mountain has turned into a dead rock in a matter of seconds. No tree can grow, no life can live, only pure evil lingers in these woods now.

Dean looks around in disbelief, his eyes darting to detect anything that moves as he adjusts the backpack hanging from his shoulder. He has seen many things over the years, but the poison that has affected the entire Cascade Range is unlike anything he has ever experienced before. The temperature was already at freezing before midnight struck, yet now it’s so cold, he reckons it’s minus twenty. A shuddering breath leaves his cold lips, when the trees around him begin to crack and moan. Frost crawls up from their roots, covering the trunk with a layer of ice that eventually reaches the branches, causing the remaining leaves to fall. “What the fuck is going on?” he questions, whispering, afraid that whatever stalked this land is listening in on his words.

Zoë backs out, the snow crunching under her boots, nervously shining the flashlight over the shadows which seem to close in and swallow her whole. All she can hear is the sound of her lungs heaving a breath, Dean’s respiration providing her a harmony in the silence. Heart beating loud and fast against her ribcage, she looks over at him, tears glistening in her eyes but she doesn’t reply to the question. “You can still run.” “No chance in hell,” he returns, determined, pushing down the fear that his surroundings are surfacing. Zoë huffs. “Funny you mention that…” “Would you just answer my question, Zo? What the fuck is happening?” he repeats, his eyes flicking left and right, frantically trying to pick up on anything that moves. “It wouldn’t matter if you know, Dean,” she whimpers. “It wouldn’t matter if you stayed either. You can’t save me! It’s - it’s too late! If you go now, you might still have a chance,” Zoë exclaims desperately. Dean stands a little taller, despite that he begins to realize that he’s in way over his head. “I’ll take my chances right here.” “Then that will be the end of it! You’ll never see your Dad again, you’ll never see Sam again!” she shouts at him in an attempt to get through to the hunter. “We’ll see about that,” he returns, despite the thought horrifying him. After all, with Zoë clearly panicking, he needs to be the calm and collected one. “I'm not letting you go down without a fight.”

He takes his shotgun, engages the breech lever, opens the break action and discards the empty casings. Then he picks two shells from his pocket, pushes them into the barrel and brings it back up. The soldier is ready for battle, and this is him offering protection until the very end. Zoë swallows down a lump in her throat, trying to hide the emotions that his gesture brings to the surface. Although she wishes he had chosen differently, she has to appreciate his courageous decision. “Now for the last time, answer me,” he calmly demands, trying to keep a hold on the situation. “What are we dealing with?”

Zoë sighs deeply, finally deciding to tell him. Perhaps he will let her be if she tells the truth, and it will finally click in his stubborn mind that she’s a lost cause. But before Zoë can answer, a howl echoes through the valley. Both are startled by the sound and look at each other, eyes widened. “That ain’t no coyote,” Dean gulps.

Chills run up and down Zoë’s spine as she listens, horrified, as the call is answered by several more of its species. She knows the stories, it’s the last thing you hear before getting ripped to pieces. This is the final warning, announcing their arrival. They are coming for her.

The howls repeat several times, seeming to come from all directions. Frozen on the spot, she scans the area, shivering in fear. The silence returns, the calm before the storm.

Then she sees it.

Her gaze stills and she inhales sharply, focused at the top of the ridge. Dean observes her big terrified eyes and follows them, but he doesn’t see anything. Whatever is there, it’s invisible, at least for him. One thing is clear as day, though; the huntress can see it just fine. Trying to figure out their options, he glances over. But before he can take action, Zoë reacts by doing the one thing Dean didn’t expect her to do; she flees.

Caught off guard, the hunter stares at her running figure for a split second, when he hears the howl again. He might not see what Zoë is running from, but right now might be a good time to get moving himself.

As if they are both being chased by the Devil, they rush down hill through the forest, trying to avoid collision with trees and rocks. The hunter monitors Zoë constantly, not letting her out of sight as she appears and disappears between the evergreens several yards ahead of him. Without hesitation, she skillfully jumps down a ridge, breaks her fall with a somersault and continues her desperate escape attempt. Dean halts at the edge of the cliff and looks down at a stream which has carved itself through the mountain. Whoa, that’s deep! Before he jumps, he glances ahead and spots a small hunter’s cabin. “Smart girl,” he comments.

Dean leaps over the gap, hurting his knees with his fall, but not enough to slow him down. He continues to run down the slope as fast as he possibly can, trying his very best not to trip over roots as he goes. “If you’re not gonna tell me what these motherfuckers are, at least tell me that I can shoot them!” Dean shouts as he jumps over a fallen tree. “Not with salt or silver!” she returns. “Torch them?!” “Won’t work!” “Just fucking great!” Dean curses.

As fast as their feet can carry them, they bolt towards the house on the hill. Zoë reaches the small open space in front of the cabin. Dean watches her as his lungs burn in an attempt to keep up with her. Almost there. Almost th--

Out of nowhere, Zoë slams to the ground. At first Dean thinks she has tripped, but within a fraction of a second he realizes that she just got tackled by the creature that is still invisible to him. Desperately the huntress tries to fight it off, but she doesn’t stand a chance. Dean tries to get to her as fast as he can, but has to watch in horror how the monsters drag her away and tear up her leg, pulling a chilling, agonizing scream from her.

“NO!!!” he roars.

“Dean!!” Zoë cries out between frantic squeals as she claws at the icy soil, despairingly trying to hold on to something before she disappears into the shadows. Crimson poisons the snow underneath her, disrupting the black and white picture.

Not wasting a moment, Dean racks the shotgun and shoulders it. He skids down the slippery hill, the snow allowing him to slide towards her fast while leveling with the ground underneath them. He needs to be positioned low in order to take the shot if he doesn’t want to load her face full with rocksalt.

The skilled hunter aims while still in motion and fires, pulling a loud yelp from whatever creature is on top of her, and for a brief moment Zoë seems to be freed from her ambushers. Quickly, Dean hoists her up and unceremoniously drags her onto the porch and inside the cabin. He pushes the door closed, the heavy iron latch falling shut. It’s good that he wasn’t a second slower, because a strong force rams against the wood from the other side. “Son of a bitch!” he groans, using all his strength to stop the creatures from getting in.

Suddenly, the hinges stop rattling and the violent barking and growling behind the barrier ceases. Vigilant, Dean stands by the door, holding it with both hands flat on the timber, but then notices the line of black dust on the doorstep by his feet. Realizing Zoë just laid down the line of gunpowder-like particles, he turns around, perceiving the smear of blood on the wooden floor. When he follows the trail, he finds the woman who he barely saved, crawling to the opposite wall. As the monsters outside start circling the cabin, her focus darts from one window to the other, completely terrified. There’s no way they could come in, though. Every possible entry of this little cabin is sealed with the black dust, which apparently holds enough power to keep this evil out.

Dean realizes this isn’t the first time Zoë has been here. She made sure she could return to this place if things went south. The fact that she had a back-up plan doesn’t surprise the hunter one bit. What does, is that she is currently curled up into a ball, hiding in the far corner of the room like a scared little animal. Tears stream down her face, mixing with the blood on her cheeks, as she anxiously keeps an eye on the windows, breathing irregular and rapidly. “Zo? Easy, it’s okay now.” The hunter rushes over and kneels down next to his injured companion, takes off his backpack, then his leather coat and his denim jacket. The last one he folds into a ball and presses to the wound in order to staunch the bleeding. He needs to keep pressure, but he can tell she’s losing the battle with her anxiety. “Hey hey hey... Look at me, take a breath,” he tries, while attending the disturbing injury. “I’m right here.”

He takes the sleeves from the blood-stained jacket and uses them to tie the bundle of clothing to the wounds in order to have his hands free. Zoë doesn’t respond to his actions despite the pain it must inflict, the terrified young woman having other issues to deal with. Breathing for one, because she seems unable to fill her lungs with oxygen.

The hunter looks up from his work after tightening the knot. She’s restless, her chest heaving fast. Upset, she keeps searching for a possible other way for the bastards to get in. When one of the creatures outside howls like a wolf in the night, she almost jumps out of her skin and can’t help but to cry. He doesn’t need to be a psychologist to determine that she’s having a full-blown panic attack. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Zo,” Dean hushes, carefully laying one hand on her shoulder, the other on her knee. “It’s gonna be alright. They can’t get in.”

Frightened, she tries to find protection with him and Dean answers her by pulling her into his chest. She crawls closer to find shelter in his arms, a sob wrecking her. Her entire body is shaking, yet when he presses his cheek against her forehead, her skin feels clammy. Dean knows Zoë is anything but affectionate these days, so he’s stunned by this 180 degree flip compared to the fearless woman he ran into in Rochester two weeks back. These things really scare the fuck out of her. Dean never imagined that the huntress - an absolute force to be reckoned with - could turn into the fragile girl he is holding close right now. Yet here she is, quaking in his hold, struggling to breathe.

“You’re okay, easy breaths, alright?” he whispers into her hair. “I won’t let them get to you, I promise. You’re safe.” While waiting for the anxiety to pass, Dean keeps soothing her by running his hand up and down her back, trying his best to calm her down. Her entire body continues to tremble, but eventually her respiration becomes more even. After finally being able to take in a deep inhale, Zoë creates some distance between her and the hunter. Concerned, Dean dips his head to make eye contact, but she’s avoiding his gaze. “Don’t ever tell Sam this,” she chokes out, wiping her tears and runny nose with her sleeve. “He’ll laugh his ass off.”

Dean smiles; she’s back. He keeps her steady to make sure she has retaken control over her fear, when she flinches. Both direct their attention to her injury and Dean gets on his feet, only to crouch down by her extended leg again. He folds the soaked fabric away, revealing the damage. Through the denim of her jeans he can see the torn flesh and puncture holes, blood flowing from the wounds. Her combat boots prevented the creatures from crushing her ankle, so at least there’s that. He takes off his leather belt and carefully lifts her calf in order to slip the strap underneath.

“Y’know, I normally don’t remove my clothes on the first date,” he jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood. He earns a scoff and a glint of a grin. “Don’t think you’ve ever known a girl this long without taking your clothes off,” she responds, her voice still shaky. Corking his eyebrow, he shoots her a look with a smirk on his lips, wearing his mask well. Carefully, Dean pushes her torn jeans up a little so that he can work. “Nasty wound, Zo.” He makes a discontent sound with his mouth. “Nothing we can’t fix, though.” "Don't bother, it's no use,” she whimpers. “Haven’t you figured out what these things are?” “I have,” he says, remorseful to admit the truth. “Hellhounds.”

She swallows apprehensively and confirms with a nod. “What do you know about them?” “I know they are the gate watchers of Hell and that they collect souls who struck a deal with a demon,” Dean states. “Which gives you a fucking lot to explain.” Zoë blows out a breath, realizing she owes him that much. He just saved her life again, or at least postponed her expiration date. “What else do you know?” “Not much. Sam’s the nerd, remember?” he jokes. She smiles, only slightly, but Dean’s glad she is still able to. “Pull it,” Zoë orders, hinting at the belt.

For a brief moment he looks her in the eye, but then he tightens the leather strap just above the laceration. Although it hurts, she doesn’t make a noise. Pain she can handle. Hell; now that’s a whole different horror show. Once Dean has secured the improvised tourniquet, Zoë rests her head against the wooden wall behind her, still shaken by current events.

“This is useless,” she mutters. “I should just walk out and let them take me.” “Are you nuts? That’s suicid--” As Dean pronounces those words, he realizes that’s exactly what this is; suicide. She planned to give the hellhounds what they want, her soul. Suddenly their last conversation in Paragould makes perfect sense; she really didn’t expect to see him and his brother again. When she said ‘deadline’, she meant it in the true sense of the word. Zoë didn’t anticipate coming here and solving a case; she came here to die. The only reason why she moved to plan B was because he showed up at the final moment and was too stubborn to leave her side. Seeking shelter in this hideout would be the only way possible to grant his safety.

“That was your plan, wasn’t it? You were waiting for them to come and claim you,” he utters, stunned. She shrugs, careless. “A lot better than bleeding to death in here. I’m going to Hell anyway.” “Not if I can help it,” Dean says, determined.

He rises to his feet, pushing warm air from his lungs, which forms clouds in front of his face. A thin layer of ice is starting to form on the inside of the windows, obstructing the view. Staying still by Zoë’s side instead of running for his life has made him realize that they have another enemy to deal with; the cold. Now that the adrenaline isn’t pumping anymore, hypothermia is lurking around the corner. Combined with low blood pressure caused by blood loss, it can be a deadly cocktail. He needs to find a way for them to get warm.

Looking around the sober cabin, Dean clicks his tongue while going over his options. There’s barely any furniture, not even a dirty mattress. Only a wooden table and four chairs were left behind by the previous users, and a kitchenette in the corner remained as well. The hunter stalks over, opening the cupboard under the stove. The propane tank he finds will not provide them any heat; it has been empty for quite some time. Dean screws the valve closed again and curses under his breath. Then he glances at the fireplace on the other side of the room. He’s not sure if it’s smart to set it alight, because that shaft might actually be a way in for those fuckers if they aren’t careful.

“We can use it,” Zoë announces, understanding his thought process. “I mounted an iron pipeline filled with goofer dust around the chimney. They won’t be able to enter through there.” “Goofer dust?” Dean repeats, questioning. “It’s hoodoo,” she elaborates. “Keeps hellhounds at bay.”

Dean huffs, once again amazed by her knowledge and her ability to think five steps ahead. For someone who was so dead set on dying tonight, she sure did one hell of a job turning this place into a safehouse. About a million questions come to mind, but he holds back the interrogation for now. Everything at its time.

His eyes land on the remaining furniture, then flick to the wooden pillar that supports the roof, in the center of the space. A plan begins to form and he strides to the table, picks it up and places it on the side against the post, the tabletop facing the fireplace. Making quick work of gathering a few logs of birch and dry twigs that are stacked up against the wall, he takes out his zippo and begins to build a fire. Once the flames starts to lick at the bark, the inventive hunter gets on his feet again and turns back to his wounded hunting partner.

“Let’s get you warmed up,” he says, leveling with her. When he intends to slip his left arm behind her back and the other under her knees, she protests. “Dean, I can stand.” “Na-ah, you’re not putting any pressure on that leg.”

Zoë grunts objectively, but allows the man who she has had so many fights with in such a short period of time to lift her up, simply too tired to argue. The hunter carries her closer to the heat, setting her down gently against the turned over table, the countertop functioning as a backrest. Being only six feet away from the flames now, she can feel the warmth radiating towards her. The sensation is welcoming, because she feels frozen to the bone.

Not even taking a second to slow down, Dean goes to get the backpack he dumped on the floor earlier and brings it back to her. He rummages through it until he finds what he was looking for and takes out an extensive first aid kit, one of the ten essentials David packed for him.

“Dean, let it go already,” she objects when she realizes what he intends to do. Perplexed, the hunter stares at her. He can’t believe her careless attitude right now. “Do you wanna die?” he questions, then corrects himself. “No wait, let me rephrase that. Do you wanna go to Hell?” “According to AC/DC it ain’t a bad place to be,” she scoffs. Narrowed green eyes warn her as he tilts his head. “Don’t get smart with me.”

Dean clearly doesn’t find it funny, so she tiredly sighs and avoids his penetrating gaze. “If they drag me down the pit, their job is done and they’ll leave. The killings will stop,” Zoë explains, her voice gaining strength. “Until that time, they are heat seeking missiles, they will slaughter everything that comes on their path, even now that my deal came due. Innocent people like the Clevelands and those hunters got torn to pieces because I’m too fucking scared to face what I started. What if others come barging up this mountain? They’ll end up dead!” she brings to mind.

“David will take care of that. Now that he knows he’ll make sure that no one will,” Dean states, seemingly certain. But Zoë doesn’t agree. “For all he knows he’ll hike straight up this mountain first thing in the morning to pick up what those things left of his family. He knows nothing.” “He won’t, he’s smarter than that. I'm sure he will call Sam for help before he does anything stupid,” Dean defends him. “What about you, huh?” she inquires. “You won’t be able to leave this cabin as long as I’m alive, not without enduring what actually I should undergo. And if you stay, you will either starve or freeze to death. Is that what you want?” “We’ll figure something out,” the hunter returns, hopeful, his voice a lot calmer and softer than hers. “One problem at a time, okay? Let’s patch you up first.”

He picks up the disinfectant from the kit and cleans his hands first, but before he tips it over while pressing some cotton wool on the opening, Zoë stops him. “Is there any saline solution in there? Hydrogen peroxide is way too aggressive, it will only slow recovery.” “Sure? We use this all the time,” Dean replies, doubtful. Zoë glares at him; did he really just question a former med-student? “Well, then you’ve been doing it all wrong,” she scoffs. “Use the saline if you don’t wanna destroy the fibroblasts. The tissue is gonna need those cells to heal.”

Dean holds a gaze for a second longer before he gives in. Fine. After all, she’s the one who knows about this stuff. And so he does as told, takes a bottle of water from the backpack and mixes the saline like it says on the description manual. Once the solution is ready, the hunter carefully angles her leg so he can flush out the wounds. The fluid doesn’t sting, but the damaged skin is sensitive. Zoë lets her savior take care of her, despite that he’s being naive, stubborn, and won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. She has to give it to him, though; the guy has good intentions.

Once the damaged tissue is clean, Dean takes out the stitching wire. Zoë watches him pierce the suture needle through the skin with his hands instead of with the tweezers or a needle driver, gritting her teeth to bite down the pain. When he knots the first stitch too tight and intends to use continuous suturing, she can’t help to stop him. “What are you doing?” she comments with a tone. “Sit still and shut up. I’m fixing your leg,” he replies, annoyed. Zoë scoffs. “More like scarring it. Who taught you how to stitch?” “My dad did, and he never complained once whenever I had to sow him back together. I said: shut up,” he urges warningly. It remains silent for a few seconds, but before he starts on the next suture, Zoë stops him again. “Why don’t you use interrupted sutures?”

Dean sighs and lowers the needle. He knew it was going to be tough the moment he pulled the first aid kit out, remembering that he was about to treat a top of the class med student. He wasn’t wrong. “Do you want this stitched or not?” he returns snappy. “The suturing technique you’re using now is quick and effective, great for battlefield treatment like in Nam where your old man picked this up, but for better cosmetic results interrupted sutures are better,” she assures. “Cosmetic results?” he chuckles. “What? If I have to parade through Hell it probably won’t be in long jeans, so I might as well look good,” Zoë jokes smartly.

She bends forward without putting too much tension on the laceration and gestures for the needle driver. Dean hands it to her, after which she shows him how to properly hold it. Then she gives it back to him. “Look, if you keep the needle driver between your thumb and your ring finger, like this.” she takes his hand and positions the needle driver between his fingers, “and now put your index finger on top to control it, like using a pencil.”

Dean can’t help letting his gaze wander to her face for a moment, intrigued by the skill set of the young woman. She’s twenty-five years old and yet she carries so much knowledge with her. He knows a little about a lot of things, enough to survive, but Zoë is truly something else. No wonder she managed just fine on her own for four years.

Her fingers touching his, draw his thoughts back to what the huntress is trying to teach him. “- now insert the needle in a 90 degree angle. Try to get the suture loop as wide as it is deep,” she says, flinching. After she leads him through the first two stitches, Zoë leans back and leaves him to it, trying to stay still, despite the pain that comes with suturing without a local sedative.

She corrects him a couple of times more, her remarks falling from her lips in a bitter manner, yet Dean holds his tongue, not wanting to fight with her. It takes him about a half an hour before the laceration and puncture holes are properly closed up. He loosens the tourniquet, relieved to see that the stitches are holding. The hunter puts back what he used into the kit, then takes out a non-stick bandage.

“Put some antibiotic ointment on it first,” Zoë says, although it sounds more like an order. Deciding against snapping at her, Dean rummages through the plastic briefcase until he finds what he’s looking for. “I should probably wear gloves for this, right?” “You should’ve worn gloves all this time,” the huntress sneers. Dean rolls his eyes and bites the inside of his cheek, but even that can’t prevent him from countering the woman he’s treating. “I didn’t even touch the wound directly. Stop being such a fucking bitch. I’m only trying to help.”

Annoyed by her judgemental attitude, the man who’s giving her first aid puts on a pair of latex gloves, encloses the tube with his first and squirting the gel on his index finger. When Zoë fails to shoot him a snarky comeback, he looks up at her, finding fresh tears pooling in her eyes. Regretting his sharp tone instantly, he carefully begins to apply the substance. “I didn’t mean it like that.” “No, you’re right,” she says, a small tremor in her voice. “It’s just - I’m not used to people giving two shits about me anymore.” “Well, get used to it,” he returns, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly.

Dean gingerly dresses the injury, wrapping the bandage over a sterile wound patch. With a pair of scissors he cuts the gauze, taping the end secure. Then he sits back on his haunches and looks at his work proudly. “Not bad, huh?” She nods, approving. “Not bad at all.”

After elevating her feet on the now closed first aid kit, Zoë rests her head back against the wood. She can hear the guy who she’s cooped up with getting up and walking away a couple of steps, then the crackling of leather. She assumes he picked up his jacket from the corner.

The temperature in the cabin isn’t close to comfortable yet, and after having shed his denim overshirt to stop her from bleeding out, all he’s wearing is a henley. Dean shrugs on his warm coat, trying to shake off the cold, when he notices Zoë has her eyes closed. “Hey, don’t fall asleep on me now.” Dean sits down next to her, their shoulders touching. “Are you cold?” He asks because she’s still shivering, but she shakes her head. “Not really, just numb. Tired,” she returns, her voice barely a whisper. “Shock?” Dean assumes, concern knitting his brows together.

With an unsteady hand she presses her second and third digit against the radial artery on her wrist; it’s rapid. She notices the pale skin complexion of her hands and breathing is still difficult, too. Besides those issues, there’s also her mental state; she’s all over the place. Zoë can diagnose herself just fine and confirms with a nod, still trembling in silence.

Worried, Dean studies her. He’s not an expert, but he knows her going into shock can be dangerous. At least the bleeding is under control and they have a heat source, but he has to keep her awake for now. The hunter straightens himself, pulling up his legs and resting his forearms on his knees, getting lost in the flames before him. They pop and rustle playfully, the sounds soothing, but unable to diminish the apprehension.

“I’m so fucked, Dean.”

The hunter breaks his eyes away from the fire and takes her in. The light in front of her catches the shimmering pathways that find a way down her cheeks. He wishes he could give her solace, but all he has are his words. “At least here we’re able to buy us some time. I know you turned over every stone, so did you find anything that gave even the slightest clue on how to kill these fuckers?” he offers. “I studied them for years, Dean, even before I decided to go on with it. Years. Why do you think I know so much? I tried every book, every spell, I worked all the mojo possible in that span of time. Nothing worked.” she states. Hopeless, she stares at her hands in her lap. Dean can see she’s telling the truth, she really pulled every string. “I’m usually not the one to give up, but this isn’t a battle I can win,” she claims. “Good thing you ain’t fighting it alone then,” Dean replies, nudging her softly. “We’ll figure something out, okay?”

Zoë nods, but more to give the man next to her the answer he wants, than because she actually believes in a positive outcome. She admires his optimism, envies it even. Her future is grim, no matter how you look at it, and Dean’s isn’t much better. He doesn’t deserve this, but then again, neither does she.

After all she has been through, she wanted to redeem herself, to do enough good to block out the bad. She tried to enjoy the little things in life ever since she made the deal. Ride one more wave at the beach, have a drink on the pier while watching a sunset, roll down the highway on her Harley. Over the last couple of months, she had a lot of moments in which she realized it was going to be her last. She thought she was at peace with her fate and the consequence of summoning a crossroad demon, until it was ten to midnight.

It doesn’t matter, though. Being okay with the decision or not doesn’t change the path she has chosen to walk. The only outcome is a one-way trip downstairs. It’s a matter of time before the hellhounds claim her soul. They will never stop, not until there is nothing left of her. Not even Dean Winchester can save her now.

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

Read part seven here

#Supernatural: the Sullivan Series #Dean x OFC #Sam x OFC #Dean angst #Sam angst #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester fanfiction #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Supernatural #SPN #Supernatural series #STSS #Black Dog #1x03 Black Dog #Zoë Sullivan #Kate Huntington

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kisskissbanggang · 4 years ago

Text

Can You

[~10Min Read/3.3K Words - Sub!Jaehyun x Dom!Female Reader - NSFW 1/2 Plot 1/2 Smut - Office hookups, impromptu dom/sub, mutual pining, dirty talk, mild degradation]

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You’d never really looked at Jaehyun until he wore a suit to the office. Of course, you saw him nearly every day, but the day he dropped his messenger bag on your desk as he raced around, looking for his tie clip he’d left in the office last time he had a hearing, you truly noticed him for the first time. It wasn’t exactly in your job description to acknowledge how effortlessly tidy he kept his hair, or how neatly he kept the stubble on his chin smooth, or the natural charm of his dimples, but now you were trying desperately to keep your mind off of it after he ran to catch his Uber. Surely, you would forget about it, and not have to worry about disappointing your father, who’d pulled some strings with a friend to get you this job in Jaehyun’s office in the first place.

But then Jaehyun came huffing back into the office at the end of the day, after his hearing, while you were on your way out. His suit jacket was slung back over his shoulder, with his tie pulled loose in his shirt collar. The look alone made your heart quake.

“That ran way longer than I’d been hoping,” he laughed exhaustedly as he shrugged back into his office, “I’m so happy to get this stupid suit off.”

“Want some help?” You laughed, instantly mortified at your outlandish remark. Thankfully, Jaehyun laughed.

“Not tonight,” he chuckled, his shoulders appearing to relax as he thankfully seemed charmed by your joke.

And you refused to think about it, wouldn’t have deigned to think about how Jaehyun would look taking that suit off when he got home that night, and how maybe you wanted to take it off for him. Instead, you returned back to your little apartment on the other side of the city and hopped into a freezing shower.

Sure enough, the next morning Jaehyun strolled into the office in jeans and a sweater.

“Well, you certainly look more comfortable,” you chirped politely.

He let out a relieved sigh. “So much more comfortable. Can I please have some coffee?” You tried to look away from his cute smile as you nodded, his dimples pulling you in an untrustworthy direction. He shut the door to his office as he cued up some music on his speakers so he could get caught up on work. The thought of Jaehyun’s broad shoulders, the way he bit his lip when he was thinking — it was all hopefully getting pushed out of your mind as you took an extra long moment to pour Jaehyun some coffee. You peeked through the window lining his office door and looked back over your shoulder to check with his assistant real quick to see if Jaehyun was on a phone call before you softly rapped on the door. The sight of Jaehyun’s worn sneakers propped up on his desk distracted you for a moment before you responded to his smiling wave beckoning you in. He sat up in his seat, grinning gratefully as he took a brave sip of the hot brew in his favorite mug.

“Sorry for whining,” he sheepishly offered, maybe emboldened by finally getting some caffeine in him.

“I’m just surprised, is all,” you smirked, “I thought suits sort of just came with the whole lawyer thing, like a package deal.”

“Well, honestly, I totally used to be that guy at my last firm,” he admitted with a shrug, “but things change. There’s more important things than looking the part.”

“I agree,” you curtly smiled at him, trying not to look like a bashful schoolgirl as you breezed out of his office.

The next few days, work consisted of you ghosting around and away from Jaehyun’s office, and trying hard not to be preoccupied by his comfortable sneakers casually kicked up on his desk as he seemed to be asking for coffee refills more often than usual. Of course, you did still have to bring him his personal mail everyday. Maybe that would be a fitting opportunity to get this dumb crush out of your system. You resolved to finally start making yourself clear without being unprofessional, that you would make it known to him that you understood where the boundary was and weren’t going to cross it.

The following morning, the perfect chance came as you set a package on Jaehyun’s desk along with his coffee. Jaehyun quickly sat up and clicked off his Twitter feed. He’d apparently been looking up a girl. You knowingly tapped the package.

“Secret gift for your girlfriend?” You prodded, just innocent enough to be passing small talk, but surely something that would let your intentions be known. Except Jaehyun laughed, which in this moment meant he choked on his coffee.

“Girlfriend?!” He guffawed. “Lord, no. This is just an emergency tie to keep in my desk. I’m single, and I’m just fine with that. Are you?” The look in his eye was goading, teasing, and it lit a fire in you that you weren’t quite familiar with.

“Oh, er—“ you stumbled over your words as you grabbed some napkins from your back pocket. You always carried some when fetching coffee for the partners, just in case something like this happened. It didn’t quite strike you as an odd move when you leaned over his desk to wipe up the sputtered coffee, but it was increasingly apparent as you noticed you were practically bent over Jaehyun’s lap. You both froze before you quickly snapped back up, apologizing profusely as you excused yourself from his office.

You dreaded the rest of the day, wondering if this was it, if you’d grossly overstepped your boundaries while desperately trying not to without causing a scene.

But nothing came. No yelling, no lecturing. In fact, your father called. He heard you were doing great.

Honestly, it was easier to just ignore it, to just cage the butterflies in your stomach that came around every time Jaehyun made small talk or asked you to hold his calls, or ask for his fourth cup of coffee for the day. Jaehyun never overtly made a pass at you other than harmless jokes, and he never got too personal. It was easy to try ignoring him. All you really knew about Jaehyun Jung was that he was a young lawyer, and an incredibly competent one at that. He refused to divulge much else. His office had no pictures, no knickknacks — only his minimalist decor and tech, his diplomas and certificates, and one lone orchid that sat on his windowsill and he cared for religiously. As opposed to the older partners, his reference books were all on his hard drive. He didn’t go out, he refused to let anyone celebrate his birthday, and he only stuck around at the annual holiday party for the White Elephant and a single beer. To say Jaehyun was closed off was putting it mildly. He wasn’t an island — he was a fortress.

Over the course of another week, you became so good at ignoring your schoolgirl crush on Jaehyun that it was as if it never happened. You could even resume life as normal, to a point that you found yourself knocking on Jaehyun’s office door with a fresh cup of coffee before he asked. He sat up with a start, planting his sneakers on the carpet as he eyed you.

“I’m single, you know,” he blurted, “but I’m not looking.”

“That’s fine?” You raised a dubious eyebrow at him. “This is just a cup of coffee.”

“I, uh,” Jaehyun stammered, blindsiding you with his uncertainty before he pointed to the hook behind his door. “Can you take my suit to the dry cleaner’s? I was going to do it at lunch but I need to really review these exhibits before I have to present them tomorrow at my trial.”

You’d nodded dutifully, taking Jaehyun’s suit in its garment bag to hang on the coat rack by your desk until your lunch break. The faintest hint of Jaehyun’s cologne hit your nose and you grimaced before quickly hanging it up and pretending that no longer existed, either, or at least until lunch.

Jaehyun didn’t even come to the office the following morning, no doubt having to go through his own practiced ritual before a jury trial. It wasn’t until later that day, just in time to close the office, that a group text came through the office. Jaehyun had lost. It wasn’t necessarily a surprise — Jaehyun never wanted this to get to trial in the first place — but everyone seemed pretty relieved to have to clear out.

Except for you. You stared at the mountain of files to update on your desk. It was nice, honestly, to work with no coworkers and no phones ringing, just you and some quiet music to power through your work until you were ready to lock up the office. You were closing the door, by itself at the end of a winding hallway, when you felt a presence sneak up behind you. You whirled around, facing a very defeated Jaehyun, his sleeves rolled up and his tie hanging slack around his neck again. He regarded you warily, tiredly, in the seemingly cramped space of the hall.

“You alright?” You softly asked.

“I cannot wait to get out of this stupid suit,” Jaehyun sighed, an exhausted smile revealing his dimples. There it was. That dreaded longing. You just needed to hold it back, not make any rash—

“You want some help?” You smirked.

God dammit.

Jaehyun held your self-conscious stare. The two of you attempted to read each other, get any sort of handle on the situation. You decided this was it, you would briskly turn and leave and forget you were this big of an idiot, and hopefully he would as well.

Except Jaehyun reached for you. He reached for you, his fingertips brushing over your waist and his lips grazing over yours before they pressed to your cheek, and ultimately the soft spot on your neck just below your ear.

Your fingers grasped at his shirt, the metal of your office keys digging into your palm before you pulled him close, and pushed him back away. You were staring each other down again, now with the added layer of Jaehyun blushing through to his ears. The silence of the hallway was crushing.

“I’m sorry,” Jaehyun shook his head as he pressed back against the wall in the compact corridor, “I meant it the other day. I’m not looking for anything. You’re gorgeous, and I can’t stop looking at you, and my caffeine intake has tripled in the past weeks, but I’ve… You have to understand. I’ve hurt people before.”

The ball was in your court, except this felt more like a grenade. Jaehyun was looking at you, and was asking you into his office lately just to see you and talk to you. And you quashed all these feelings, for what? For some high school nonsense like this?

“That’s fine,” you decided. Jaehyun stared, unblinking.

“What?”

“That’s fine, Mr. Jung,” you nodded, teasing him with the title he’d instantly insisted you not use when you first started at the firm. His eyebrows raised cautiously as you slowly grasped his necktie and drew him close. “I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m not asking you to exorcise all your demons or martyr yourself. I’m telling you that if you want it, I’ll help you take that suit off.”

“You’re trouble,” Jaehyun laughed breathlessly.

“You’re the one wasting time asking me to get you coffee when you could’ve been asking me out.”

You shut up Jaehyun’s surely clever retort as you yanked him close, this time giving him the proper kiss he’d deprived you of initially. To your relief, his lips responded in kind, his tongue following your lead as his hands searched your body, before landing on the keys in your hand. He quickly got the office door open, and you pulled him along, clumsily punching in the alarm code and letting Jaehyun desperately grope at you. Both your work bags dropped to the floor of the lobby, your coats landing on top of them as Jaehyun kissed you back through the dark office to his door. You still had a vice grip on Jaehyun’s tie, holding him close and making him accidentally push you hard against the door, a grunt reverberating through both of your chests. And his hands were in your hair, fretting over hurting you and making sure you were alright and kissing your face before you turned the knob to his office, sending you both tumbling inside. Making quick work of him, you shoved Jaehyun to sit back on his desk.

“What’re you going to do to me?” He quietly asked, but it wasn’t timid. Jaehyun was challenging you, dipping a toe in the rapids.

“I’m going to make you forget your ghosts for a little bit,” you explained as you swiftly slid off his tie. Jaehyun watched, intrigued and curious as you crawled onto the desk between his legs, but only to reach around him to rummage around in the drawers behind him.

“Not very interested in me, huh?” He asked, as if he’d proven any sort of point before you scoffed. He went rigid under you when you sat back up between his legs, his recently acquired emergency tie in your hands.

“Don’t be dumb,” you smiled in the scant moonlight streaming through the window lining the wall. “Of course I’m interested in you, Mr. Jung, but I’m a bit hung out to dry after seeing you’re all flash but no bang for the past couple weeks.”

“I resent that,” Jaehyun laughed weakly, his eyes pointed at your fingers lifting the hem of your skirt so you could straddle his hips on the desk.

“Don’t argue,” you condescendingly shook your head, “you did plenty of that today. You asked what I’m going to do to you, and right now I’m going to work out this frustration you left me with.” Before he could respond, you firmly pushed Jaehyun back onto his desk before gathering up his wrists and wrapping one of his ties around them.

Until he roughly jerked them away. You nearly scoffed, nearly teased, until you sensed a desperation — fear — in his action.

“Jaehyun?” You asked gently.

“I’m fine,” Jaehyun insisted as he got his breath back. “I just… can we not? Do that, specifically, I mean.”

You sat up on your knees, still perched over Jaehyun’s lap and frozen as you wondered where to go from here.

“Jaehyun, baby,” you soothed as your hand gently cupped his face, “we can take a minute. We can stop.”

Jaehyun’s hands found your hips in the dark, gliding over them and pulling you close. “No, please,” he pleaded, his voice low in his throat and still coated with lust. “I can handle you.”

“That’s a strong choice of words,” you smirked, relieved to get the moment back when you caught Jaehyun’s fingers fumbling with the waistband of your skirt. He jolted as you slapped his hand off, getting his attention back so you could begin to unbutton his shirt. “Don’t be selfish,” you chided, “get mine, too.”

“Anything, princess,” he eagerly agreed, his fingers deftly plucking the buttons of your blouse open. Nevertheless, you grimaced at the pet name.

“Call me something else,” you suggested, threading your fingers back through Jaehyun’s hair and tugging before letting them trail down to his exposed chest. You thumbed over his nipples and enjoyed how it made him squirm. His cock surged against you through his slacks.

“Yes, baby,” he readily complied. “What now?”

“Now you have to be patient,” you smiled. “If I don’t want to make you keep your hands to yourself, can you be good and sit still on your own?” Jaehyun eagerly shook his head. You slid down his lap a little, just enough to get your hands on his belt and unbuckle him. His breath caught in his throat as you got a hand around his warm length and his hands searched, reached, desperate for any other stimulation before he pulled you close to tug your bra down and hungrily tongue your nipples. Your grip massaged his cock at an agonizing pace, and Jaehyun was getting worked up much too fast to be dignified.

“Please, baby,” he begged, “I need it. I need to fuck you.”

“Oh?” You laughed, “Since when?”

“For weeks now,” he wheezed. “I need you.”

“Really?” You grinned devilishly, lifting your hips just enough to pull your panties to the side, lewdly rubbing yourself to taunt him. He couldn’t take his eyes off you as you exposed yourself for him but wouldn’t let him have any. “You want to fuck me?”

“Please,” Jaehyun pathetically groaned, even more so as you took his turgid length in your hand and rubbed the head against your soaked heat. He tried in vain to keep from rutting up into your entrance.

“Say it,” you commanded.

“Say what?” Jaehyun desperately implored.

“Say thank you,” you grinned triumphantly, grinding your pussy down onto just the head of his cock as you roughly thumbed and pinched his erect nipples. Jaehyun let his head fall back against the desk as you finally dipped him fully into you. You savored his shuddered groans of pleasure. Jaehyun still obediently kept his hands to himself, even as he uselessly babbled his endless thanks to you. “It’s so convenient,” you smirked, “having a good boy to keep his hands to himself on his own. It gives me a chance to get some work done around here.”

Jaehyun watched, captivated as your fingers dipped down to your clit and drew fervent circles in time with your pace on his cock.

“Tell me you want to see it,” you ordered, breath ragged as you bounced hungrily on Jaehyun’s leaking cock.

“See what?” Jaehyun panted, his fingers gripping tight to the edge of his desk.

“Tell me you want to see me cum all over your nice suit,” you teased.

Jaehyun moaned hard, cursing under his breath as he watched helplessly. “Please, baby,” he pleaded, “I want to see you cum.”

“Cum where?”

“I-I want to see you cum all over my nice suit,” Jaehyun confidently stammered.

“Only if you fill me up,” you grinned valiantly. Your goading did the trick. Jaehyun’s head pressed back into the desk, his eyes screwed shut as yours did the same. Your body jolted, your pussy contracting and spasming on his spurting cock as you both cried out.

Seemingly minutes later, you found yourself resting on Jaehyun’s chest, eyes groggily reopening as you let your thoughts fall back into place. You absently played with the bracelet around Jaehyun’s wrist where his hands had finally relinquished the desk, a simple and dainty set of chains that felt cool against the pads of your fingers.

“Did you really want to do this for weeks?” You murmured into his chest. You cooperated as Jaehyun sat up with you in his arms. He gently buttoned your blouse back up, petted your hair back into place as he hazily nodded.

“I did. I’ve wanted you, but I couldn’t bring myself to make that step. I guess I needed you to help me.”

“I’m glad I did,” you smiled modestly. Jaehyun pulled you close in his lap again, his nose buried into the crook of your neck.

“And you were right.”

“Hmm?” You contentedly hummed.

“You made me forget for a bit.”

You sat back, studying Jaehyun’s face for a sense of inflation or play, but found none.

“Want me to do it again sometime?” The question was phrased lightly, but you meant it. If you could be with Jaehyun again, you would. He just had to want it.

“Can you?”

[A companion series.]

#kwritersworldnet #neowritingsnet #cznnet #kprosenet #sub!idol #jaehyun #jung jaehyun #jung yoonoh #jaehyun x you #nct smut #nct 127 #oh my god i can't believe this happened

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