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marvelfanfn2187a113 · 5 months ago

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Hey Jude

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: based off of 12x11, but you lose your memory instead of Dean.

You cried out in pain and surprise as the witch blew a strange dark powder into your face and you staggered back into the wall.

“Hey!” Dean turned suddenly when he heard your distress, and he lifted his gun and fired off three rounds of witch-killing bullets into the woman that hurt his little sister.

“You ok?” Sam asked, helping you straighten up and glancing down at the witch to make sure she was dead.

“Fine.” You shook yourself and did a once over—no extra limbs, no pain, nothing. “I’m fine. The witch is dead, so whatever she threw at me won’t work.”

“We should get going,” Dean said. “If you’re sure you’re ok.”

“I’m sure.”

…

“This place isn’t half bad,” you spoke up as the Impala pulled into a motel. Your brows drew together in confusion as Dean pulled up in front of a room. “Don’t we need to check in?”

“We’ve…been here for two days,” Sam said, turning in his seat and frowning at you. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh…nothing,” you mumbled shyly, suddenly both confused and embarrassed. Why didn’t you remember? “Never mind.”

“I’m gonna give Rowena a call,” Sam said as the three of you entered your motel room. “She said there was a whole coven here, but we’ve only taken out two witches—maybe she can help us track down the rest.”

“Who?” You asked, trying to wrap your brain around the name, familiar yet somehow foreign—was it another hunter?

“Rowena…” Dean said, seemingly baffled by your question. “Red head witch? Irish, or Scottish, or whatever?” Dean goggled at you, but you just stared back blankly. “Seriously, are you joking?”

“No…” you were confused. Clearly your brothers couldn’t know this “Rowena” too well, otherwise you would remember her. So why did Dean care so much if you did? “Am I supposed to know her?”

“We saw her just last week,” Sam said, watching you carefully. “You know, Crowley’s mother?”

“Crowley?” This name felt more familiar to you, but still you couldn’t quite grasp it. “Crowley…” you mumbled again, as if repeating it would somehow bring a face to mind.

“Now I know you’re kidding,” Dean scoffed, although he didn’t look convinced.

“I don’t understand,” you said, looking from Sam to Dean and back again.

“You know Crowley,” Sam said. “You know Rowena, too. Why can’t—“ Sam’s eyes widened suddenly in horror. “That…that stuff the witch threw at you.”

“You mean Rowena?” You remembered that Sam—or was it Dean?—has just said that Rowena was a witch.

“What? No,” Dean said to you before turning to Sam. “What about it? You think maybe it messed with her memory? Made her forget about witches, or something?”

“That doesn’t explain why she forgot Crowley,” Sam countered. “Maybe it’s made her forget the supernatural world.”

“Supernatural,” you spoke up, desperate to prove that you hadn’t forgotten. “Like ghosts. We hunt ghosts. I haven’t forgotten, see?”

Dean’s brows crinkled in confusion.

“Then I don’t understand…”

“Let’s call Rowena,” Sam suggested. “She’ll know what this is.”

…

“Oh dear,” Rowena’s sigh of disappointment got the attention of the Winchester brothers; however, you were distracted playing with Dean’s gun on his bed.

“What is it?” Dean demanded.

“It’s definitely a memory spell.” Rowena sighed again. “This spell…it will make her memory fade piece by piece, until she can’t remember anything.”

“Anything?” Sam asked.

“Anything. Not you, not even herself. Soon enough she’ll forget how to eat, how to…how to breathe. And then…” Rowena let her voice trail off, her point having been made.

“Ok, then fix it,” Dean insisted.

“It’s not that simple. I need the grimoire—the spell book used to make that powder—if I’m going to be able to undo it.”

“And how are we supposed to find that?” Dean growled.

“It’ll be with the rest of the coven,” Rowena said confidently. “You said you only got two witches, right? A coven must be at least three. Any remaining will have the grimoire.”

“Is this thing loaded?” Dean whirled around to see you pointing his gun straight up at your own eye.

“Hey, hey!” He yelled, rushing to you and yanking the gun from your hands. “That is not a toy!”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, your gaze going from Dean to Rowena. “You’re our witch friend, right?”

“I…suppose,” Rowena said slowly.

“Cool!” You exclaimed, jumping off Dean’s bed and going straight for Rowena’s bag. “Is this your witch bag? Do you have cool stuff in here?”

“Hey now!” Rowena grabbed your arms and pulled them out of her bag. “Stay out of that, you’ll set off a curse or something!” Rowena took one look at your pouting face and sighed, reaching into her bag. “Here,” she said, coming out with a voodoo doll. “Play with this.”

“Wait, is that gonna hurt someone?” Dean spoke up.

“She’s fine,” Rowena insisted, waving her hand dismissively as you returned to Dean’s bed, examining the doll with a grin. “Now, we need to find that coven.”

…

“We can’t just leave her here alone,” Sam hissed as Dean packed his bag for the hunt.

“Well we’re not going to take her with us,” Dean countered.

“Are you going somewhere?” You spoke up suddenly.

“We’ve gotta take out that witch,” Dean said.

“What witch?” You asked. The brothers ignored you.

“Look, she’ll be fine for just a few hours,” Dean told Sam. “And when we’re back, Rowena can break the curse.”

“Whose curse?” You asked. “Are you cursed?”

“Alright. Let’s go.” Sam sighed.

He and Dean headed for the door, but both stopped when you grabbed onto Sam’s arm.

“We’ll be back soon,” he promised.

“Don’t,” you pleaded. “Please don’t. I’m—I’m forgetting everything…and I don’t want to forget you. If you go, I’ll forget.”

“Hey, that’s not gonna happen,” Dean spoke up. “We’re gonna break this curse, and you’ll be ok.”

You still looked scared and unconvinced, so Dean continued.

“I want you to do something for me. Just keep repeating the most important things to yourself—it’ll help.”

“Ok…” you said slowly, then froze as you wondered where to start.

“Start small,” Dean instructed.

“My…my name is Y/N.” You glanced at Dean, then Sam. “Sam and Dean are my brothers. Rowena…is our witch friend. Castiel is our angel friend. My dad is John Winchester.”

“You’re doing great,” Sam insisted. “If you keep doing that, you won’t forget us.”

You didn’t think that that was how the curse worked, but you couldn’t honestly remember. You would have to take De—no, Sam’s—word for it.

“Are you sure?” Your voice faded to a whisper as Sam and Dean walked out the door before you had even started the question. You took a deep breathe, steeling yourself. “Ok. My name…my name is Y/N Winchester…”

…

“Well that was a bust,” Dean groaned as he pulled the Impala back into the motel. “Are you sure we shouldn’t just head to the next possible location?”

“I want to check on her,” Sam insisted. “I don’t want her to be scared.”

Dean didn’t respond, he just parked the Impala and led the way into the room. The boys hadn’t taken two steps into the room before Sam caught sight of you ducking into the bathroom and slamming the door behind you.

“Y/N?” Dean called out. “Sweetheart, are you ok?”

Silence greeted his question.

“Y/N?” Sam knocked on the door. “Please answer me.”

“Go away!” Your voice was tight and squeaky, even through the door.

“Kiddo it’s us,” Sam assured you.

“How-how do you know my name?” There was more confusion in your voice than fear now.

“Y/N—“ Dean’s voice stuck, and he cleared his throat. “It’s us, it’s your brothers. You know us, remember?”

The lock clicked on the bathroom door, and Dean could see half of your face as you peered up at him. After a moment, you swung the door open all the way, but you remained in the doorway hesitantly.

“I know you,” you mumbled. Dean held his breath as you stared first at him, then Sam. “My…brothers…” you were rubbing your arm now, anxiously glancing at your brothers as you wracked your brain for more information. “You’re…you’re S-S…D…” you were breathing hard now, terrified that you couldn’t remember their names. “I-I know it, I know who you are, I know it!”

“Hey, it’s ok, it’s ok,” Sam soothed. “Do you want me to tell you?”

“No, no, I know it,” you insisted. “I know this, I-I have to know this.”

“It’s…it’s ok if you don’t remember,” Dean spoke up. “We’re here, we can help you.”

“No, it’s not ok!” Your outburst startled the boys, but they didn’t show it. “It’s not ok, I have to know this! You-you’re my big brothers, and I have to remember you!”

“Commere.” Sam couldn’t stand to see you start to cry, so he pulled you into his arms. “It’s gonna be ok…we’re going to fix this, we are.”

“I-I have to…I remember, I have to…” you were babbling almost incoherently. Sam looked at Dean over your shoulder, and they shared a moment of painful panic before Dean spoke.

“I’m gonna get us some food.” And he rushed out the door.

Sam stayed with you for several minutes before you slowly disentangled yourself from him.

“I can’t remember,” you whimpered.

“I…I know.” Sam sighed. He was about to speak again when he spotted the Impala out of the corner of his eye through the window—Dean was sitting inside, not moving; he hadn’t left. “Um…I’m gonna go talk to him.” Sam started for the door, but you stopped him.

“Let me,” you said. “I…I want to.”

So Sam stood back as you went to comfort your brother whose name you couldn’t remember.

…

He just needed a minute. He would go out, get food, come back, and be ready to help you again but he just needed a minute.

He turned on the radio, cursing himself for it a moment later when Hey Jude started playing. He reached up to turn it off—it was just too painful to hear this, your favorite song—but he stopped when your favorite part started playing.

“And any time you feel the pain,

Hey Jude, refrain

Don’t carry the world upon your shoulder.”

The words brought back a thousand memories, a thousand little moments between you and Dean that he knew he would remember forever. A few precious moments stood out above the rest—

…

“Hey little sister.” The first words Dean ever said to you. You were just a toddler, crying in the doorway of a filthy motel room while you watched your mother—some random hookup of John’s who’d gotten sick of taking care of a kid—drive away. She’d stayed long enough to hear that Dean was John’s son, then she’d snapped, “This is for him,” and shoved her daughter forward before rushing to her car.

You were utterly inconsolable, sobbing until your face was bright red and you could barely breathe. If Dean didn’t calm you down quickly, you might pass out, crying yourself into exhaustion.

“Hey Jude…” Dean had barely even made the decision to start singing before Hey Jude came to his head—the song his mother used to calm him down. “Don’t make it bad

Take a sad song and make it better…”

…

Dean would’ve done anything—anything—to undo the last ten minutes. He wanted to go back and change it all, to tell you a different story, to say “monsters aren’t real, they’re just stories, and of course dad doesn’t fight monsters, of course he’s not in danger, of course he’ll come home.”

But he couldn’t.

You were scared now. Maybe you always would be, in some capacity. You would always carry that little voice inside that said—“there are monsters out there, and they want you dead.”

Dean hadn’t wanted to tell you. Why did you have to be so curious? Why did you have so many questions, questions that you demanded answers for?

You were crying now; sitting by the motel window, waiting for dad to show up, and you were crying. Dean had done this—he’d made you so scared that you cried by the window, hoping that dad was coming home.

You flinched when the wind banged a tree against the window, and Dean decided he couldn’t take it anymore. He sat beside you, and you latched onto his arm instantly, leaning on him for support. Dean did the only thing he could think of—

“Hey Jude, don’t be afraid…”

…

Dean’s memories retreated to the back of his mind when the Impala door opened and you climbed in. He stopped his gentle singing—he hadn’t even realized he was doing it—when you turned to look at him. He looked from your eyes to the radio, almost as if he were begging you to remember—not just the song, but everything it meant to both of you. You just blinked up at him with that blank expression that had been haunting Dean since you started to forget.

“I don’t want you to be sad,” you whispered. Dean smiled painfully.

“You don’t even know my name.”

“But I know that I care about you.”

Dean’s breath hitched.

“You shouldn’t worry about me, little sister. I’m gonna fix you, I promise.”

“But what if you can’t? I still don’t want you to be sad.”

Dean was struggling to hold onto his resolve—to his strength.

“Don’t worry about that. I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you.”

The both of you lapsed into silence, the closing notes of Hey Jude still playing.

“I like this song,” you said quietly. “It sounds nice.”

Dean clenched his jaw tightly to keep his lips from quivering.

“Kid, please go back to Sammy.”

“Sammy,” you mumbled to yourself, as if trying to put a face to the name. Dean’s fists clenched as he blinked rapidly.

“That room-“ he pointed- “go knock. Sam is in there, he’ll take care of you while I get us some food.”

You stared at Dean for a long moment; he knew that you were worried about him, but the blank expression on your face hurt more than he could take.

“Sweetheart, go. I need you to…please. Please go.”

You left without another word.

…

“I found it.” Rowena’s outburst came just after you swallowed the last of your fries—Sam and Dean had barely picked at their food, but you had forgotten so much that you were no longer sure what they were worried about, so you felt fine.

“Found what?” Dean demanded.

“The coven. I’m sure of it. It’s the perfect place for a witch to hide. You take the last remaining in the coven out and get me their grimoire, and that curse will be gone before we know it.”

“What about her?” Sam’s eyes darted to you before looking back at Dean. “I don’t think she should be alone, she’s forgetting more and more.”

You glanced behind you to make sure he had looked at you, and not someone else. Dean noticed this and sighed.

“We don’t have much choice.” Dean stepped over to the tv and switched it on. “Commere Y/N.” He had to stare at you for several seconds before you realized that that was your name.

You jumped up off the chair and went to sit on Dean’s bed so you could get a good view of the tv.

“Ok, sit here and watch this,” Dean instructed, gesturing to the cartoon playing. “Don’t move, don’t leave, ok?”

“Why can’t I go?” You wondered.

“Do you know what we’re doing?” Dean asked. You pondered this.

“Witches…covens…your lumberjack outfits…a Halloween party?” You guessed.

Dean glanced down at his red flannel, seemingly offended, before he waved it off in annoyance.

“Yeah, you’re definitely staying here.”

“Well can I play with this then?” All three turned to see you with a—quite possibly cursed—dagger that you had somehow gotten from Rowena’s bag, along with a—definitely cursed—witches’ spell book.

“Hey now!” Rowena cried out, snatching both items from you. “How many times do I have to tell you, my things are not toys!”

You ignored this loud outburst and instead stared at Rowena as if you had never seen her.

“I like your dress,” you said suddenly. “It’s so…it’s like a queen’s dress.”

“Why…thank you,” she said with a sudden smile. “I think I like you better this way.”

“Rowena.” Dean grumbled.

“Yes yes alright,” she huffed. “Let’s go.”

…

The witches were surprisingly easy to kill, but when Rowena went to use their grimoire, Sam stopped her.

“How long will this spell take?” He asked.

“Maybe an hour.”

“I want to do it back at the hotel,” Sam insisted.

“It’s faster to—“ Dean began, but Sam interrupted.

“She’s gotta be terrified right now, with how much she’s forgetting so quickly. I want to be there for her, I want her to know that we’re fixing this.”

“It’s not far,” Rowena said, taking Sam’s side. “Let’s go.”

…

You were much harder to coax out of the bathroom this time, and even when you were sitting on Dean’s bed with a brother on either side of you while Rowena worked on the spell, you looked unconvinced.

Sam was trying to calm your nerves by showing you pictures and telling you names and facts.

“And this, this is Bobby—“ he’d shown you Bobby’s picture at least three times, but your short term memory kept getting worse, so you didn’t notice.

“Um…” Sam stopped talking when you started, but you didn’t get far before your face screwed up, and Sam knew you were trying to remember his name.

“Sam,” he supplied, hating to see you in distress.

“Sam,” you said with a breath of relief. “I just…I for-I forgot, what’s…what’s my name?”

Sam barely heard Dean’s sharp intake of breath over his own shattering heart.

“It’s…you’re—“

“Y/N.”

Sam was confused when you answered your own question, until he looked from you to Rowena, who wore a triumphant smile.

“Did you—does she—“

“Sam.” The wide grin on your face was unmistakable, as was the spark in your eye. “Dean.”

“Oh kid,” Dean breathed, wrapping you in his arms a split second before Sam could. Sam didn’t care though—he grabbed both his siblings in a group hug that had Rowena rolling her eyes, although the smile never left her face.

“You’re back.” Sam grinned.

“Did you ever doubt it?” You questioned with a laugh.

“I admit, a few moments gave me pause,” Sam chuckled.

“Didn’t doubt it for a second,” Dean insisted. “I knew you’d come back to us.”

“Well I’m sure that that would’ve comforted me—if I coulda remembered your name.”

You knew Dean was gonna throw that pillow at you before he’d even grabbed it—you didn’t need your memories to tell you that.

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley

#the winchesters #dean winchester #dean and sam #supernatural dean #sam winchester #winchesters x sister #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #winchesters x reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x little sister #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x sister!reader #dean winchester x little sister #dean winchester x sister #dean winchester x sister!reader #supernatural #dean winchester spn

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scarletemeraldpurple · 3 months ago

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Kinktober day 9: Lactation (posting this at 1 am on the 10th but ssshh)

Rio finds you on the brink of death, but it isn’t your time yet. She takes it upon herself to nurse you back to health.

CW: Reader suffers from homophobic violence, the consent is a bit dubious

Other notes: Very gentle Rio, lots of pet names, lactation with healing properties (and aphrodisiac properties), reader becomes Rio’s pet

“Well well, what have I found this time?” Rio mused to herself as she saw you on the ground, curled up, almost unconscious.

Death. You thought to yourself. Death has come to take me. It’s just as well.

“Let’s find out what your story is, hm?” Rio said, lightly massaging your temple.

What she found horrified her. You were dragged out here by a group of men. They beat you half to death, in theory it was because you were suspected of being a witch, in reality it was because one of them suspected you of trying to seduce his girlfriend.

“They don’t even truly know of the power you hold,” Rio said quietly, “it’s not your time to go yet, little one.”

That was the last thing you heard before blackness took over your vision.

You woke up in a cave, on a mat of woven vines.

“Sorry, I don’t have guests often and I don’t really sleep, this was the best I could do on short notice.” The strange witch who saved you said.

You tried to get up, you were unsuccessful, wincing at pain coming from your abdomen.

“Easy there sweetheart.” She sat beside you on the mat as you laid back down.

“I thought you were Death, coming to collect me.”

“Well in a sense I did, just not in the way you expected. But you can call me Rio.”

“Rio?”

“Rio Vidal, at first it was just a pseudonym, but I’ve gotten a bit attached to it.”

“River of Life, so Death has a sense of humor.”

“Gotta have one in my line of work.”

You chuckled lightly, which caused you to wince again.

Rio reached a hand out, very cautiously, to brush some hair out of your face. “I can help you with that, sweet thing.”

“Yeah? Why do you want to help me?”

“Someone’s a bit mistrustful.”

“Can you blame me?”

“No I cannot. Look, here’s the deal. I have something I need help with, and you can help me with it.”

“What exactly does Death need help with?”

“You forget that at the end of the day, I am a green witch. And there’s a little side effect of that I need help with.”

You looked at her confused.

“What exactly do you know about witches?”

“Not a lot. Managed to find an old banned book about potions but that’s been about it.”

Rio nodded slowly. “Okay well…how should I break this down? I can help heal you, quickly in fact.”

“Okay. And in return I?”

“You help me get my breasts to stop aching.”

Your eyes widened.

“You drink from me, it heals you, I get rid of my milk from this cycle.”

You could not believe what you were hearing. She had to be joking right? Maybe Death’s sense of humor was more twisted than you thought.

Then Rio flung her top off, and you saw her nipples leak a bit. “Think you can get on your side or do I need to straddle you?”

“Does it have to be like, mouth to tit? Can I not use a cup or something?”

“You could if I had any.”

“Right, right, guess you don’t really need to do the ‘sustenance for survival thing’.”

“Look, sweetheart , you can spend possibly months healing, unable to sit up for weeks. Orrrrrr, you can put your mouth on my tits and both of our lives will be so much easier.”

You really did not mean to be staring at her chest, but they were big…full, and right in front of you.

“You’re not exactly being subtle, doll.” Rio said, bringing a hand to cup one of them. “C’mon, it won’t take that long, you don’t even need to drink all of it to heal. And I’ll still get some relief.”

Fuck it. You thought to yourself. “Okay. Y’know making a deal with Death was not really on my agenda for today.”

Rio smiled. She slid next to you and gently coaxed you to your side. You cautiously wrapped your lips around her nipple. She stroked your hair encouragingly.

“There you go, just like that.” She let out a moan. “Oh you’re good at that baby.”

It really did work quick. You were already starting to feel better. You felt calmer too. You weren’t sure how to describe what it tasted like, but it was good, and you wanted to keep going.

“Mmm, feeling better baby?” Rio asked.

You were but you found yourself in a haze. It just felt so good to keep sucking. To keep drinking Her in.

“Mmm, I bet you are. You should be all healed up actually. But you can keep drinking that works for me. You’re awful cute like this.” She scratched at the back of your scalp and you moaned around her.

“Maybe I should keep you. Yeah, I think I’ll do that. You’d like taking care of me like this every month, wouldn’t you pet?” Rio mused as she petted you.

“Other side now if you wouldn’t mind. Not that you’d mind very much right now.” She chuckled.

You readjusted so that you were on top of her, now drinking as much as you could from her other tit.

“It’s been so long since I’ve had such an eager little mouth on me. You feel so good pet.” She reached an hand between her legs. “You’re being so good for me baby, just keep sucking.” She said as she started to rub her clit to the sight of you.

She had stopped leaking into your mouth so you detached and realized how worked up you had gotten…how worked up she had gotten.

“Kiss me, pet.”

You didn’t hesitate to obey. Her free hand wrapped around the back of your neck as she let you explore her mouth with your tongue. You moaned into her.

“Easily excited little thing aren’t you?” Rio whispered against your lips. “Fuck baby I’m so close, fuck, yeah keep looking at me like that.” She said as she grabbed your jaw, wanting those big doe eyes on her for as long as possible.

You felt her shake underneath you as she came. Eye contact broken as she screwed her eyes shut in pleasure. You stroked her hair, totally in awe.

Rio composed herself and brought her fingers to your lips.

In that moment you realized you never wanted to be done tasting her, every part of her.

“Such a good little pet. Already so well trained.” She teased. She adjusted you so that your legs were on either side of her thigh. “This is the last thing I want from you tonight okay? Can you cum for me, sweetheart?”

You nodded and started grinding against her. Every sensation seemed so intense tonight.

“I did forget to warn you about something my dear. See I can just heal people, but if someone is healthy, then drinking from me can act…as a bit of an aphrodisiac. Feeling a little fuzzy?”

You nodded and continued rocking your hips against her.

“I could have stopped you I suppose. But you were just so cute. And I bet if felt really good didn’t it?”

You nodded again, whimpering.

“And I bet this feels amazing right?”

“Uh-huh” you moaned out.

“Oh did I make you lose your words? That’s okay. Pet’s don’t need words, they just need to hump or suck, or whatever else I tell them to do. And right now? I want you to cum.”

Your body complied with her demand. She took your hips and made sure you rode all the way through it. You collapsed on top of her.

“Big night huh sweet thing?”

“Mhm.”

“Get some sleep my dear. I’ll be right here.”

#rio vidal x reader #rio vidal smut #kinktober 2024 #kinktober #lactating kink

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mekochansblog · 11 months ago

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Behind close doors +18

Five Hargreeves x reader

Warning: this is my first smut so please bare with me I had to get some ideas from other books.

You’ve been a wife of Five Hargreeves for almost six years. You both have been working the commission for a while, Five being the owner and you who has been the co-owner. He was used to your tantics and you were used to his bluntness. As of right now you were sitting at your own desk and he was sitting on his desk, doing his work with a scowl on his face and a serious face. You on the other hand were spinning on your chair and throwing paper balls towards your husband, making him more annoyed than usual.

“Will you stop that?!” He said annoyed at you. You stopped spinning already feeling dizzy and looked at him with a playful grin. You tilted your head and put your hand on your desk and smiled ‘sickenly sweet’ at your husband.

“What, I'm not doing anything wrong, my love?” you replied to him, you made another paper ball and threw it up and down playing with it instead of throwing at him. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing he wouldn't dare blow up on you. He breathed and looked at the mess of paper balls littering his desk and the office.

“Honey, I love you but stop throwing those paper balls. I'm trying to work. Do you really have to act like this?” he asked gently. He knew you easily got sentimental, that was one of the things he actually loved about you but hated at the same time. You give him a blank face and stare at him.

“Five…. You should know by now that that's how I am. If you have an issue with it, stick it up your ass.” Well turns out you weren't going to get sentimental today but have an attitude with him. Something must have happened in the morning or between work for you to get an attitude. He’s taken aback by your words not used to you being rude to him. He sighs and hopes this attitude of yours will go away by the time it's lunch.

“My love, I don't have an issue but I'm trying to finish these reports, being the owner of the commission isnt easy and my wife isn't helping that's all.” he said softly and with care that it makes you stop with the petty attitude and look at him with love. You smile at him and sigh softly. You get up from your desk and walk towards his desk and sit on it, you cross your legs making your skirt lift a bit.

“I'm sorry my love, but I did help you….i just finish fast…do you…do you want me to help you with some of the paperwork, or want me to bring lunch?” You ask gently, looking at him with a soft look. Five looks at you and looks down at your skirt rising up that gets his attention.

“That… that sounds good honey.. how… how about food ... .pizza… sounds good ... .yeah…mhmm.” He says distractedly, his eyes looking at your plump thighs. His words trail off at what you were saying. You look at him confused and stare at him when you see he's not even paying attention at you but your thighs. You sigh and snap your fingers at him.

“Hey! Hey! My eyes are up here mister.” You playfully scold him. He immediately snaps out of the trance and looks away, his face flushed from embarrassment from being caught. You giggle and lean down giving him a view of your chest which makes him look and gulp, getting distracted again. He felt like he was sweating. You gave him a peck and leaned back straight. His eyes darted towards yours and he weakly smiled at you feeling nervous out of nowhere. Why? He didn't know, he's been married to you for more than half a decade yet he still got nervous and flustered. Maybe you've been the distraction all along. You hopped down from his desk making your skirt rise a bit more, giving him a small view of your lace see through panties. He gulped and prayed to god you wouldn't notice his semi-hard on. You pull your skirt down, hiding that pretty cunt from his view. You smiled innocently at him and walked towards the door to head towards the break room for some food.

“H..hey w…wait… i uhh… w…where are…where are you going?” his voice went an octave higher than usual and he licked his lips and cleared his throat. Asking you again, but a bit better. You looked at him confused and pointed towards the door.

“Honey, you said you were hungry… So I'm going to get us food, you also mentioned pizza, so I'm going to check the break room for some. If not , I'll go to the pizza place that's right around the corner.” you said with a smile on your face.

He nodded his head slowly and looked away. He grabbed his wallet and put his hand out with some cash in it. You looked at his hand and walked towards him and grabbed the cash from him. you leaned down again and gave him a peck on the cheek. You thanked him and walked out the door towards the break room. Once you close the door, he lets out a groan. He looked down at his lap and flushed. Well fuck, what was a semi hard on turned into an actual hard on when you leaned again, giving him a view of your breasts. They were big enough that even one of his hands couldn't fit a whole one. They were spongy on his hand and they would bounce when you rode him. He groaned and stared down. His pants were feeling tight now at the images he was having in his head.

He softly pants and stares at the door, his desk was facing the door so nobody was going to see him jack off, either way they had to knock first before coming inside his office. He slowly pulls his pants down and then his boxers, he feels embarrassed doing this in broad daylight and his office but it was all your fault he told himself. He looked at his shaft and slowly grabbed it. He hissed, when was the last time you both have done it he thought. That's right, he thought it had been two weeks. You both have been busy running the company that everytime, either of you wants to do it the other isn’t in the mood. He slowly started pumping himself; he sighs in bliss. Well fuck all he needed was you on your knees looking at him with your ‘innocent’ eyes and he will die a happy man. He didn't notice you came in, opening the door slowly. Five groans, tilting his head back at the scenarios he was making up in his head about you,speeding up his hand.

You put the food down on your desk and slowly walked towards him, you saw his face and smirked loving the way you could easily make him into putty even when you weren't around him. You quietly took off your heels and made your way towards him. You held his hand and he jumped and opened his eyes and froze. He looked at you with a panicked face not knowing what you would say. You sat on his lap and started giving him open kisses on his neck making him let out breathy moans. You started to actually leave hickeys on his neck, accidentally leaving one on his white crisp shirt. You give him a loving smile and slowly get on your knees. His breathing hitches and he starts breathing heavily looking at you with wide eyes. Once on your knees you look at him with a cute innocent face and smirk, and you kiss his tip.

“Barely touched you.” He looks at you about to open his mouth when you lean over and lick him. His breathing stutters and he groans softly. He doesn’t know where to put his hands. You look at him and lick him from the balls all the way to his pink mushroom head. He groans a bit louder and tilts his head back on the chair.

“Dar… darling….I… do… don’t stop p..please..” He softly moans out, finally grabbing your head with one of his hands and using the other to grip his chair. His jaw clenched, his tip oozing only for you to press a thumb across his slit licking the bitter taste. Five tries to guide your head to his cock, you stop him and lather his cock with your spit. His breath kept stuttering, his eyes glazing over looking at you.

“My… my wife is… is so slutty… huh?” He stammers. His head leans back again and he moans. You come back to his tip, grabbing his base to take him into your mouth. You keep sucking, slowly savoring him in your mouth. Your mouth travels further down his cock, slowly swirling your tongue around it.

You start to slowly take him, he pushes your head making you gag, the noise makes his cock throb inside your mouth. Fuck how long has it been since you guys had sex? Maybe in two weeks. Work has just been piling up and with him being the owner and you being co-owner made you both busy. Not today he thought. With you sucking him off like a lollipop he was in bliss. You moaned on his cock and sucked him, saliva dripping from our mouth to his balls. You knew he was close with the stutter of his breath and his pants. His hips kept lifting, making you gag more than the beginning. He started whimpering a bit loudly, telling you he was close. You feel the first rope of cum in your mouth and you swallow it. You pumped him, making him whine for the overstimulation. You slow your movement and pop him out of your mouth breathing heavily. You finally stare at his face and you smirk deviously, loving the way you left him.

You knew you were wet. The way you could make your husband submit to you made you wet and horny. You slowly stood up wobbling a bit from being on your knees for a while just to give him pleasure. He looked at you with a fucked up face and smile wobbly at you. You giggled and kissed his cheek. You were about to walk towards your desk when he grabbed you and turned you around so you were facing his desk. Your top half of your body laying on his desk and the bottom half facing him. You felt his hands go towards your shirt and rip it from you, making you gasp in shock. You felt him lift your skirt, he held your ass, spreading it making you whine. He chuckles and pulls your panties down. He doesn't give you time to ask him what he was doing because, next thing you know he fills you up in one swift motion. You moan not expecting the stretch. It's been a while since you had your daily dose of cock inside you. He groans and grips your hips. He feels so much deeper, so much bigger inside of you in this position, that's why it was his top favorite one. He starts slow at first, not used to your tight cunt.

“F…Fuck darling.. You’re so… fhuck tight!” he groans, leaning on your back and he pants on your ear making you whimper. He grins loving the way he can make you stupid with just his cock inside of you. He knows you can make him submissive, but he has you wrapped around his cockand make you into the little slut that you are only to him.

He starts to finally move, slow at first but then grabs a speed. You try to stand on your tippy toes but the way he’s grabbing your hips and pushing you towards him makes your legs wobble. He grabs your chin and kisses your lips, biting the bottom one. He slaps your ass, making you moan. His eyes widen when you start pushing your hips back into him. His cocked throbbed inside you and he lifted your torso from the desk and held you by the neck. His breath is hot on your skin as he pants. He let out a breathy laugh.

“Does my little slut want me to go faster? Want me to make you scream so anyone passing by hears your moans?” he whispers.

Your brain turned to mush, his words made your pussy throb. “Please Five! Oh God yes!” You cry out, too drunk on his cock pounding inside of you. You dig your nails on the hand that's holding your waist, clinging to him.

Your eyes shut, and you scream his name as you come. Five lets out the most animalistic groan as he comes, his hips thrusting into you until he cant anymore. He breathes in your smell, smelling like honey and vanilla. He sighs in bliss still inside you. He slowly pulls his cock out of you, and your cunt twitches. You whimper at the feel of it and he kisses all over your body. He sits back on his chair and he slowly pulls you to his lap. He caresses your hair and starts rubbing soft circles on your thighs. You sigh in bliss just being in his arms.

“I should clean up my love.” You let him know, he knew you meant by at least making both of you guys look decent for anyone that might come in. He smiles at you and lets you get up, not without slapping your ass playfully making you turn your head and give him a look.

He laughed and pulled his boxers and pants up. He looked at his shirt and saw the lipstick stains you left when you kissed his neck. His neck was probably filled with lipstick stains and hickeys. He started buttoning his shirt when he saw the scratches on his arm. He silently laughed and smirked knowing he will have a field trip with you when people ask. You on the other hand went towards your desk and grabbed the extra clothes you kept for emergencies. Guess today was an emergency since your husband decided to rip your shirt. You grabbed the extra tight crisp white blouse and buttoned it up but left the three open, just to tease your husband. You cleared your throat and mentioned the food once Five looked at you. He looked at the pizza and then at you with a confused face.

You sighed annoyed at him and crossed your arms. “Five i brought Pizza because you asked for it..” you looked at him and tilted your head hoping he would remember. He blinked his eyes and kept staring at you all confused.

“Ooh i think i just said whatever came to my mind, i was looking at your chest.”

You let out a long sigh and rolled your eyes at your husband. “Okay well are you hungry now? The pizza is probably cold now.” You asked him softly even when you were slightly annoyed at him.

“Actually I think I want to try my dessert first. Lay down on my desk so I can enjoy my dessert.”

#five hargreaves x reader #five hargreeves #five x y/n #number five #five hargreaves #five umbrella academy #five x reader #mekochan #mekochansblog #tua #the umbrella academy season 1 3 #the umbrella academy season 3 #tua five #tua netflix #number five hargreeves #aidan gallagher #umbrella acedmy #ask to tag #five x you

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savagewildnerness · 6 months ago

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Let’s breakdown this scene…

Lestat, playing piano: bent over, lost in the world of the music - out of this world entirely. Louis sees a broken thing playing a plank of wood. A far cry from the proud, splendid creature he once knew.

(From Interview with the Vampire) "My eyes widened as I studied this stooped and shivering vampire whose rich blonde hair hung down in loose waves covering his face.”

Side note from me, as I love to talk about things that make The Vampire Chronicles appealing to me. Some people seem to be of the view that they wouldn’t desire immortality, only to be these sad, lonely, melancholic creatures… but I have always felt this way myself - even when I was a tiny child, long before I read The Vampire Chronicles. There has always been an innate loneliness and isolation to me deep inside. I don’t think you’d necessarily know it to meet me, mind! I am a smiley person! I like to do childlike, fun things. I try to bring happiness, not gloom to the world.

However, my instinct has always been to retreat into my own, wordless, unbound imagination, and to feel entirely alone, in truth. And still, I am. As a child, I felt more the weight of the world as if I were already 1000 years old. Now, loss of hope that comes with time is both sadder, scarier and, in its way, more freeing.

Anyway - imagine having infinite time and so being able to truly drift out of existence for decades. It’s such an appealing concept to me. I know Lestat is very sad here, but the idea of this kind of true escape… oh how I yearn for it. To let the world crumble around me. To step out of existence for some decades, with the possibility of return, not the reality as it is in mortal life that that is you falling through cracks you’ll never crawl out of ever again…

Lestat names Louis, reflexively when asked who said “hello”. He hasn’t turned to see Louis yet. To Lestat, Louis died 50 years ago. He is a ghost, surely? Lestat’s voice has a flat affect here. He isn’t thinking. He is merely reacting.

When Lestat first looks at Louis, I see fear:

- Does Louis really exist?

- What will Louis do?

- Must Lestat be drawn back into the world here? To acknowledge reality?

(From IWTV) “`I've dreamed of your coming . . . coming. . ' he said.”

Lestat asks Louis if he’d like a rat, as if he were a hallucination still, more than real-Louis. I think Lestat knows Louis is real when he speaks, but he’s still only half in reality himself.

Louis says “I’ve come to see you”, but Lestat is still half in his own constructed world with his music and Argerich… I love how Lestat hugs and caresses his plank-piano, drawing it into himself, as if drawing music in to himself. Me too, Lestat. Me too. I adore how Rolin and all added music to this scene. It isn’t there in the books. Of course it makes a through-line for rock star Lestat, but it is a deep love of Lestat’s and I am SO HAPPY with this addition!

I know a lot of people find “Siri, pause…” funny, but I must be a weird human, as I just find it oddly poignant. Like did people watch and laugh at this moment? This feels like when I go to see a play and people all laugh at something and I don’t laugh, then some other thing I laugh out loud at, but nobody else is laughing. And this is why I can’t do memes or any popular thing. SIGH. ANYWAY!!!

The way Lestat puts the keyboard up on front of himself, like a shield as Louis moves closer, his breathing growing ragged. Lestat genuinely scared… as though Louis’ mere presence might obliterate him if he gets too close. And of course, he does not know why Louis is there. Is he there to kill him? Does it matter if he is? He should kill him. He could too, right now. The emotional support piano becomes a protective plank.

But what Lestat is not expecting is Louis’ kindness, care, worry and empathy.

“Did you save my life in Paris?”

And now we get the first glimmer of the old Lestat as Lestat lifts his chin, shakes his head, tries to be nonchalant and to muster up his old pride, maintain any pride he still possesses. He immediately dismisses Louis’ niceness with a self-criticism as he truly perceives that he put Louis in danger by not protecting him from Armand. Responsibility in Nicolas’ death, and, he thinks, in Louis’.

Lestat is defensive. His unspoken mantra, “Don’t see me. Don’t see the real me, Louis. I cannot take it. Not right now.” Lestat is almost begging Louis to tell him he hates him, as he’s imagined Louis’ hate all these years… I fear halluci-Louis may not have been the kind, loving vision for Lestat that DreamStat was for Louis…?

A side note again: Lestat’s “All hail me” gave me a full-on spontaneous existential crisis. Folks, does Lestat say “All hail me” in the books? I hope not! Because for as long as I remember, in appropriate circumstances, I say “All hail me” and obviously it’s a turn of phrase, but I had a sudden heart stopping moment where, with a chill, I thought *Did I get that from Lestat?!* Am I entirely even my self at all?! Am I merely a manifestation of all the art I have ever consumed? Am… I… Armand!?!?!??!! Oh MY! I don’t think Lestat says this in the books though, right? Right!?!?

Well, Lestat puts his piano-plank down, terrified Louis might show him love. Craving it. Fearing it.

“Been enduring here?” Lestat is truly proud now. He will not admit his pain. As if not speaking it could make it invisible when it’s plain all about - from within him and without. It is *very* Lestat when questioned on the pain in his soul or shown that it has been seen to be like “I am FINE” & to think that’s how he comes across to others, when really of COURSE they see how broken he is. And then he bemoans that nobody will let him be broken, when he himself struggles to be broken other than when alone or on the page.

“I didn’t know it was a gift.” - Lestat is still wary. Still expecting hate from Louis here… unable yet to fully accept and understand…

Then Louis begins to say the only things Lestat has ever wanted to hear and know from Louis - thanking Lestat for the gift of vampiric immortality, showing he understands the beauty of it and intends to value that and use it… & Lestat is done for; broken open from here. He still, for a moment tries to fight back with “Shall we list all the ways we have wronged each other…” etc. But really, Lestat can now no longer maintain ay facade. Louis has opened him up.

And now we are open to Lestat’s thoughts for the last half-century. Armand erases Louis’ suicide attempt from his mind, but it is the first thing Lestat asks about. In his mind he has replayed for 5 decades how Louis is dead and it is his fault.

Sam and Jacob are so brilliant and beautiful as they open to each other in this scene. Claudia. Grief. Pain. Then, love. Broken-Lestat is particularly too much - holding on to responsibility over Claudia’s fate and how she looked at him at the end and he did nothing… and Louis, trying to take away and share the burden. Louis - so empathetic… and as they move through grief to love, words fall away (or become too personal to matter) and the storm outside echoes the storm of their hearts and their love.

(From IWTV) ““…And as I looked down at him, as I saw his yellow hair pressed against my coat, I had a vision of him from long ago, that tall, stately gentleman in the swirling black cape, with his head thrown back, his rich, flawless voice singing the lilting air of the opera from which we'd only just come, his walking stick tapping the cobblestones in time with the music, his large, sparkling eye catching the young woman who stood by, enrapt, so that a smile spread over his face as the song died on his lips; and for one moment, that one moment when his eye met hers, all evil seemed obliterated in that flush of pleasure, that passion for merely being alive.

" Was this the price of that involvement? A sensibility shocked by change, shrivelling from fear? I thought quietly of all the things I might say to him, how I might remind him that he was immortal, that nothing condemned him to this retreat save himself, and that he was surrounded with the unmistakable signs of inevitable death. But I did not say these things, and I knew that I would not.

" It seemed the silence of the room rushed back around us, like a dark sea…””

Bonus: misprint in my TVL copy!

(From TVL) “Louis had come finally to this very place and seen me through the windows. I tried to imagine it. Louis alive. Louis here, so close, and I had not even know it. I think I laughed a little. I couldn’t keep it clear in my mind that Louis wasn’t burnt up. But it was really wonderful that Louis still lived. It was wonderful that there existed still that handsome face, that poignant expression, that tender and faintly imploring voice. My beautiful Louis surviving, instead of dead and gone with Claudia and Nick.

But then maybe he was dead. Why should I believe Armand?”

#interview with the vampire #anne rice #amc interview with the vampire #lestat de lioncourt #the vampire lestat #amc iwtv #iwtv amc #iwtv lestat #iwtv louis #louis de pointe du lac #iwtv loustat #loustat #sam reid lestat #samstat #sam reid #jacob anderson louis #jacob anderson #nola #iwtv s2e8

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gin-juice-tonic · 5 months ago

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Hello. It's me again. I'm sure you've realized by now what this type of introduction to a post is leading into. I'm going to bring up another page in the bill book. This entry is going to be less about "proving" anything, but rather it's just something I'd like to discuss. (Also just a warning, this one ends up a bit long due to how many photos are included!)

As I have said before. I had many many thoughts, and I am liable to talk about them until they're all talked out. I want to focus on a single page again (Or I guess, a single double page).

Sorry for the kinda small image here, but don't worry. I'll point out the part I want to talk about.

What I find strange about these pages in particular, aside from the fact that it starts to become written like some sort of noir novel and that Bill has chosen to speak like a femme-fatale, is the new idea it suggests to us:

Bill at some point told Ford he was from another dimension.

I say "at some point" because Ford doesn't react to the idea like this is new information here. Why do I find that strange? Well, for one thing, there's never anything that would indicate Ford knew this pre-portal.

To start, we know that Bill introduces himself to Ford as "a Muse"

Notice the way Ford speaks about him. "From a higher plane, divine, otherworldly". He makes some guesses on the second page (spirit, alien, dream, etc), but nothing to indicate they've discussed the whole other-dimension thing yet. Of course, this is still early, so let's skip further ahead.

Here's where we start talking about other dimensions.

Bill has told his "weirdness dimension" lie to Ford, but there's no implication that he himself is from this dimension. And not to mention, this dimension hasn't been destroyed, so naturally it cannot be the one he talks about in the Bill Book pages.

Regardless, Bill is still being referred to as a divine thing, unknowable and even possibly not real. Safe to say he isn't inter-dimensional yet, so let's continue.

(this section has been edited from its original wording)

Here Fiddleford and his idiosyncrasies enter the fray, and Ford debates telling him. Fiddleford is aware they're building a portal to another dimension, so it would not be that far of a stretch in that vein for Ford to also explain that Bill himself is from one. But Ford's attitude toward the situation veers towards the less scientific. Ford still considers Bill to be something divine, and is worried Fiddleford would think black magic is happening.

Worrying that Fiddleford would think he's gone mad is one thing, but the emphasis on black magic and fiddlefords superstitions strike me as odd.

I understand there are likely several varying reasons why Ford wouldn't want to tell Fiddleford about Bill, even if Ford DID know he was from a different dimension, however:

If Ford had something to suggest Bill's essence was more scientific in nature, I.E. him being from another dimension himself, I think he would've put that into consideration in that when deciding whether to reveal him to Fiddleford, or at the very least would've given up the emphasis on his superstitious nature.

I'm not trying to say he would've actually fully revealed it to Fiddleford if this were the case, but I think the thought process around the concept of doing so would be different.

We're closing in on the portal test now. Ford refers to him here as a "non corporeal entity". He is non corporeal so long as he exists only in the astral plane... but is that what Ford is talking about? Or does he believe Bill has only ever existed in the mindscape? Does he know yet? I don't think this page actually includes much of an answer, I just figured it should be included.

The next-next page does have Ford cheekily refer to him as "imaginary" though...

Fairly soon after this, the portal incident and the betrayal happens. Could it be possible that somewhere within these pages, Bill spilt his home dimension backstory? I'm still inclined to think not.

These questions have no definitive answer, but I am led to wonder:

1) Bill's whole dynamic with Ford is that of a "Muse" inspiring intelligent minds throughout history, wouldn't the reveal of him being from another dimension call this dynamic into question?

2) If Bill is something from another dimension, wouldn't asking Ford to build a portal to a dimension totally-not-at-all-related-to-him become suspicious? Would Ford not question his motives at that point?

(A later edit: As has been pointed out in the reblogs, some of what I have discussed thus far fails to take into account the mental state Ford could be in due to Bill's abuse/manipulations. Expecting perfect logic and reasoning from him like the two questions above are asking for may not be fair. I am leaving them in this post so the aforementioned reblogs continue to make sense, but again, how his prolonged abuse factors into his logic and decision-making should be taken into consideration.)

I have just a few more post-portal pages to show to continue my long winded discussion with as well.

The pages about Exwhylia read a bit weirdly, admittedly. The first page Ford states he thought this was Bill's birthplace, the second page he states he believes Bill came from somewhere similar but was mysteriously destroyed.

If Ford thought this 2-D dimension had been reduced to an atom before he got there, how could he have planned to go? And I should hardly call being destroyed by a monster a "mysterious" method of destroying. Whatever the explanation for the way these are written is, I don't think they read like Bill has ever spoken to Ford about his home dimension.

Additionally, he mentions his "quest to defeat Bill" is what led him here, which I feel implies he learned of this place after being portaled.

I wish I had a good closer for this mini-essay, but the questions I asked above the Exwhylia section were originally supposed to be it. I don't believe Bill had told Ford about his dimension. That's the end of the sentence.

MAJOR ADDENDUM:

I can't believe I missed this (I can believe it) but.. In the book of Bill, Ford refers to Bill as "extradimensional" after their very first meeting!

Pinpointing the answer to my timeline question supposedly to this exact moment. In my opinion, if you combine this with everything I've mentioned above, no part of this idea from the book of bill makes any sense at all. You might remember at the beginning of this post, Ford guesses at what type of creature Bill is... two years after this last page here was supposed to have been written.

Additionally, if he had known there was an "extradimensional" creature in gravity falls at this point in time, I should hardly think it would've taken him two whole years after that to think of the idea that the Falls' weirdness may come from out of our dimension! (Not to mention in J3 he tells us the idea was told to him directly from Bill. Two years elapsed between these conversations? Knowing Ford, not likely. Again, even if Bill somehow did avoid telling him that whole time, I think Ford very well could've figured it out on his own by then.)

#book of bill spoilers #the book of bill spoilers #long post #(The following tags are later additions)#This post is very Ford centric but I neglected to mention Bill's perspective #Him revealing this to Ford would've put his whole plan in danger for no reason... so I don't think he would #bob investigations

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amethxxt · 7 months ago

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i'm ranting about descendants again and this is a long one

Alright, I talked a little bit about this on twitter literally yesterday (https://x.com/amethxxt/status/1798768561613361458) but I wanted to do it here too, so here we are!!

I think everyone has seen these pictures by now. It's from Descendants new book "The World of Auradon: Royals & Villains".

Now, at first, I got really excited (in a way, I still am) because it'll probably give me more material to use in my fics. Also, Uma looks absolutely stunning, so I immediately began reading her page and... Well, it's not the nicest things, right?

Like I said on twitter, I can't be the only one who sees the majorly different ways they talk about Uma and Mal.

With Mal, they start saying she's a "confident natural leader", and like- no, she's not, far from it.

I think the best version we got from Mal was on D1. She was such a good character and that's when I think the writers succeded the most with her - I believe it was hard to find someone who actively disliked or simply hated her.

When D2 came out, things went slightly downhill. Mal's inner conflict of not being the picture perfect Lady of the Court and feeling that the odd one out because she wasn't doing well in Auradon when compared to her friends is very realistic.

The pressure that she was feeling to be perfect and all the new things that came with being the King's girlfriend makes you understand why she was so anxious and wanted to leave. Now, I think we should all understand that this makes Mal a very insecure person.

She's insecure, she's flawed and runs away the first chance she gets because everything becomes too much. And if they wrote her like that, how is she a confident natural leader?

When the Core Four and Ben go after her, it's when things begin to change. Mal has a few moments in this movie: running away and leaving just a note to her best friend, claiming Dizzy was going to be fine when Evie felt sorry about leaving a child in the abusive place they all grew up in, betraying Uma's trust. Yeah.

I'm gonna make it very clear that I really like Mal as a character. I criticize her a lot because the writers started putting her in a pedestal, overpowering her and trying to erase anything that could be seen as bad.

Why would they have Mal apologize for using a love spell on Ben when they make such a cute couple and would be endgame anyways?

It gets worse in D3. I remember watching them announce that Hades was Mal's father and being like "No fucking way" because you want this girl to be not only half-fairy but a half-god?? Was this the only way to have his ember in the story?

Well, I think we got used to that plot after a while, but then - Oh, Mal's also Lady of the Court, she'll be a part of the decisions that concern the Isle of the Lost and a voice for the other VKs.

Yes, Mal is "a confident natural leader" who turns her back on her people and comes up to the idea of closing the Barrier for good to protect Auradon citizens.

Why do they refuse to bring up the fact that it was her idea?? Nevermind the fact that her and Ben weren't married yet, she was not the Queen and had absolutely no power to make that decision. They make Ben so useless, a King with no voice because he's not the main character, right?

So she makes a decision that's not up to her and proceeds to lie to all of her friends, makes empty promisses to both Celia and Uma, and when shit hits the fan, nothing happens.

Having Evie confront her about it is one of my favorite scenes, but what are the consequences? I understand that it was the final movie, but it's so rushed that makes everyone else feel out of character.

Mal and Evie can be the best of friends, but you can't tell me Mal would be like "I was wrong, I have to be a voice for everyone and I shouldn't have lied" and Evie would be just "Ok, perf".

And what about the opposite? When Mal betrays Uma for probably the third time, Uma has no trouble forgiving her? Of course they don't mention what happens in the books, they don't mention Mal trying to hurt Evie (or even get her killed lol) and they don't mention the "shrimpy" incident with Uma.

They don't talk about Mal's wrong doings the same way they talk about Uma.

Uma, according to the new book, is a "confident and resourceful VK with a major mean streak". Sorry, Uma has a mean streak? I don't think so. What Disney and Descendants keep doing is use the definition of a villain for a character who's an antagonist.

Villains have malicious intentions, they are evil. You're gonna tell me the girl who simply wants for all the children to get off the Isle, a place they were forced to live in along with murderers and other criminals, some of those who happened to be their parents, all while surviving off of the garbage that came from Auradon, is the evil one?

That is not to say Uma doesn't make mistakes or does bad things. Mal and Uma have the common point of using a love spell on Ben, which is awful and should be acknowledged as that, but they only do it in Uma's case.

"When Mal and her friends successfully freed Ben, Uma took it one step further by putting Ben under a magic love spell" x "She [Mal] used spells to mess with other students, to convince Ben that he loved her, and to change herself in order to fit in as Ben's girlfriend. But once she realized she needed to ditch the spell book and learn to survive without magic, she was able to become the queen she was always meant to be"

Those... are not the same to me. They detail every thing Uma does during D2, making it clear that using a love spell was worse than the previous actions of kidnapping him, but with Mal it almost feels like they excuse her actions because, eventually, she learned that magic wasn't the way to become who she was meant to be.

Also, what do you mean Mal felt guilty about the other VKs who were left behind? Mal didn't even look sad when her and Evie were leaving Dizzy behind! Evie was the one to come up with the idea to bring more children to Auradon, and when that magically turned into the VK Day (my arch-nemesis plotline along with Merlin Academy), she didn't look worried at all that it would them so long to free all the kids if they were going to pick 4 each time.

And again, her idea to close the Barrier for good (with no way in or out) would mean that eventually, everyone left in the Isle would die. I know it's Disney, and they would never make that happen, but if you're not going in to even leave your trash there (aka their food source), yeah, they're all dying.

Now, with Uma, they point out how she wanted to escape and get revenge on Mal, but like...... not really? Of course she mentions in D2 how she wants Mal's new turf and tries to make a deal with her to leave with her crew, but when she's actually free and we get into D3, it's been months (I think) and while Auradon's scared she's going to do something, we find out Uma spent all that time looking for a hole in the Barrier to get the kids out.

When she makes another deal to help Mal, all she asks for is the guarantee that every kid who wants to leave the Isle is able to do so. Who breaks that promise? The "villain" with the major mean streak or the confident natural leader?

I'm not saying that Mal is real villain, because she's really not. But she's far from how they describe her and if you're gonna tell me she's a natural leader, I better not see her bringing down the Barrier, letting both the kids and villains out, and acting like it's the right thing to do.

VK Day wasn't the answer to free the innocents, but bringing down the Barrier isn't it either! Mal doesn't "help convice Auradon citizens to accept all VKs into Auradon Prep" she just decides to do that lol

And again, that decision is not up to her, she had no legal right to do it. She was just Lady of the Court and nothing else.

Like I said on twitter, Disney and Descendants like Uma because she's a fan favorite, she was one since they announced her as a character. But they insist on the idea that Auradon changed her for the better, as if she was never someone who fought for what was right. She's not perfect either, but they can't write about her in a way that makes her look better than Mal.

How did Mal stop her at the end of D2? Mal didn't do anything, they were fighting, Ben made a speech, Uma turned around and left. That was it.

How did Auradon transform her? Of course they are implying that because of Rise of Red and her becoming the new principal, and even though this plot still kinda confuses me, it still seems like all the wants is for Auradon to be a fair place that doesn't discriminate against anyone.

I now this is getting too long, but I really like ranting about descendants. It's my comfort franchise but there's so many things wrong with it lol

And I also know I'm probably looking too deep into it, but I don't think I'm the only one who sees the ways Disney has always treated Uma and Mal differently.

I want to get this book and see if there's anything else about them. I really wished Disney and Descendants treated Uma better, though.

#disney descendants #descendants #descendants mal #descendants 2 #descendants 3 #uma descendants #descendants rise of red #rise of red #descendants ben #descendants evie

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mangoshorthand · 13 days ago

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A Hargreeves Christmas Carol | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader | Ch2

SUMMARY: Luther is the sort of idiot who goes around with a 'Merry Christmas' and a goofy smile on his lips. In your opinion, he should be roasted with his own turkey and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. Who better to teach you the error of your ways than Luther's brother, the man who holds the power of Christmases Past, Present, and Yet to Come in the palm of his hand? Info/Announcement Post << Read Chapter One

Chapter Two (Rated T, 4.7k words)

The First of the Three Spirits

You blinked, eyes protesting in sudden, bright daylight.

“Where are we?” came Five’s voice, still holding tight to your elbow.

“How the hell am I -?”

But you broke off. You knew this place.

“It’s your past,” Five said.

And then, proudly, as if he couldn’t help himself, he elaborated:

“This briefcase is a prototype I made. It just needs DNA, and it can take you back along that person’s individual’s timeline. All I needed was a hair from the brush in your room, and here we are.”

You weren’t fully listening. Instead, you were looking around at your surroundings, staggered by what you were seeing.

You and Five were standing on a suburban street; a sprawl that would be featureless to all but those to whom it was familiar. The snow, in gentle flurries, was just starting to overcome the grit on the road, and shoveled driveways too were being dusted with fresh power.

“I lived here.” you said, softly.

You gazed at the small house across the street from where you stood, at the azalea bush whose flowers used to brush the living room window in spring. So many memories rushed back, half forgotten and shadowy in quality; like dreams you couldn’t be sure really happened.

It made you feel strange.

“I was little,” you murmured.

Your voice was soft, and it wavered as you spoke. Five looked at you curiously, at your trembling lip and the small tear on your face.

“Are you okay?” he asked, more gently than he’d yet spoken.

You swallowed.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“I didn’t.” Five said, “Emotional stuff gets into your DNA too. I just programmed it to take me to your earliest salient christmas. And here we are.”

He continued to look at you appraisingly.

“I don’t want to do this,” you said.

There was no anger in your voice, none of the rudeness or indignance from before, only vulnerability.

He knew you well enough for this to strike him as unusual. You were a tour de force: a hard-nosed bar owner, a woman he’d watched ordering drunk and disorderly patrons out of her establishment without turning a hair. It would be fair to say he admired you. You were striking: hair shining in the low light, the unadorned, efficient way you pulled a pint or shook a cocktail. The bar was your stage, and your presence there was magnetic.

For a moment, he felt guilty about the part he was playing, about the hornet’s nest in your life that he might, even now, be kicking. He didn’t know quite why he did it, but something about the tear falling down your cheek made him release your elbow and hold out his hand instead.

You took it, and led him towards the house.

“You can go in,” he said, when you hesitated a little out of view of the front windows, “they can’t see us. This is a read only visit.”

“What?”

“It means we can’t affect anything,” he explained, patiently, “It’s as if we’re watching a movie of what happened.”

He eyed you then, at the thin sweater you were wearing, and felt another small pang of guilt that he hadn’t let you get a coat.

“I don’t want to go inside,” you said, quietly, and led him to the front window. Together, beside the bloomless azalea bush, you pressed your faces against the glass.

Inside was a christmas tree, at the foot of which a small girl sat, surrounded by gifts, discarded wrapping paper and new toys. There was a set of crayons and a coloring book, a small lego set, and a stuffed calico cat with a bright pink bow around its neck.

She was alone in the room and, what was even more unusual, she was not opening any of the other gifts around her and was instead staring at her own legs in footsie pajamas.

The reason why was clear. From within the house, a raging argument was clearly audible, even though layers of walls and glass must separate you from them.

“What world do you live in?” came a woman’s shriek.

“A world where me placing one little bet isn’t going to break the fucking bank, Ellen!”

“Fuck you! Two hundred dollars is not a little bet! I earn twice your wage, what makes you think you can -?”

“Oh HERE we go,” the man shouted, “you never let me forget that, do you?”

“Not when you’re wasting the money that I earned!”

“What about when you earned less than I did? Back then there was plenty of money for you to spend on fucking David!”

“Go fuck yourself!”

There was a loud crash and a cry from your fighting parents that made your younger self jump and start to cry.

Maybe I wouldn’t have been fucking David if you hadn’t been neglecting me!” came a shrill, scream, “You’ve never cared whether I’m happy!”

“GET OFF ME, YOU CRAZY FUCKING BITCH!”

As you looked at your younger self, you cried along with her, all the memories coming back in that moment: hurled insults, smashed plates and drunken tussles.

Five’s hand came to the small of your back.

“Hey, look,” he said.

A car was pulling up on the drive. You turned your tear-streaked face towards it, and it made your heart skip a beat.

Everything about the car and its driver fell hard on your heart: the sickly beige of her Dodge Caravan, the squeak of the parking brake as it engaged, her perm, the swing of her leather purse as she carried over her arm with a sack of gifts clutched to her side; all of it just made the tears come faster.

“It’s my grandma,” you wept, and Five’s hand rose to your shoulders, rubbing tentatively between your shoulder blades as your grandmother juggled with her stuff and knocked on the door.

In the living room, little you sprang to her feet, ran to the hallway and opened the door, falling against your grandmother’s legs to cry against her. The young you cried with relief that she could run into her grandmother’s arms, while the adult you cried in grief that she could never do so again.

“What’s all this?” your Grandma said, scooping you up and holding you to her chest, “What’s wrong?”

But the young you was too overwhelmed to respond, and the voices echoing from within the house quickly helped grandma to put two and two together.

“Fighting again?” she said, grimly, holding open the front door with one leg, “Merry goddamn christmas.”

She joggled you onto one hip and shouldered her way into the house.

When the door clicked closed behind you, muffling your parents’ screaming, you were left sniffling beside the azalea.

“She got full custody of me eventually,” you said, “Dad left, Mom moved back in with her, and then Mom married a new guy, moved to Illinois, and left me with her.”

“Ouch,” Five said, wincing, “so no Parent of the Year awards here?”

“Grandma was parent of the century.”

Five nodded. His arm hadn’t moved from around your shoulders.

“I bet you had a lot of happy christmases with her at least?” he said.

“I guess so,” you said, quietly, “but she wasn’t big on celebrating.”

You stood there, shivering, watching your younger self curled up on the couch while shadows moved in the kitchen behind you, as your Grandmother tried to lay down the law with her daughter and son in law before giving in and taking you back to her apartment.

There, you’d be in peace, away from the gifts, the twinkling lights and all the yelling, watching the snow fall down onto the city street outside the window, and drinking hot chocolate in her undecorated but undeniably peaceful apartment.

Five, watching you, briefly set down his briefcase, removed his coat and placed it around your shoulders.

“She died when I was twenty-one,” you said, quietly, drawing Five’s coat more closely around you.

“I remember you saying once that she left you the bar?”

“Yeah. And the apartment above. Mom tried to contest the will, but Grandma left it watertight. She always fought for me.”

You chuckled reminiscently.

“She left Mom one dollar and an ugly ceramic beagle.”

Five gave a half smile.

“She sounds like an impressive woman. Formidable.”

“She was,” you sniffed, wiping your face with your hands.

“Like you.”

You looked at him and returned his smile, tears dried now.

“Let’s see another Christmas,” he said, taking your hand gently.

Again, you vanished with a fizz into the ether, and the world materialized around you as your body buzzed with electricity.

It was a Starbucks filled with people, and festooned for the holidays, a jazzy version of Sleigh Ride pumped through the speakers. It was stiflingly hot, so you pulled off Five’s coat and folded it over your arm. The patrons jostled one another as they joined the line, staked out tables, or took their takeout, walking through you and Five as if you were nothing more than ghosts.

And there you were, at twenty-three, sitting at a table in a low armchair, the seat of which sloped at such a high angle that your body was sunk back into it. You looked older than your age, tired and drawn: this impression would only increase over the years as the day to day stresses got to you.

“Oh no!” you groaned, turning back to Five and deliberately blocking his view, “Not this.”

“What’s going to happen?” Five asked, craning around you curiously.

Something about your tone had piqued his interest. It wasn’t a tone of distress, but embarrassment. His consciousness of this, as evidenced by a small smirk playing around his lips, made you scowl.

“I’m about to get dumped.”

Five quirked a brow.

“Well this I have to see.”

And he disappeared, leaving that little electrical frisson on your skin as he dematerialized, and then rematerialized immediately behind you.

“You’re such an asshole!” you said, following him as he approached the table.

Across from you sat Nick, your ex, running his fingers through his straw colored hair.

“He’s drinking a latte,” Five said, as if it was a crime.

“- Is this about Brisbane again?” you were saying, with a roll of your eyes, “Do you expect me to close up for two weeks during the holidays? It’s the busiest time of year. If I acted like you wanted, I’d barely break even. Right now, I’m actually making real money.”

“You remember in college we used to talk about traveling after we graduated? We even talked about volunteering to teach in Ghana. We used to actually talk and laugh, but now you just snap at me. All you do is count your profits and push me away.”

You disclaimed this with a little shake of the head.

“I don’t push you away, I -”

“But you do.” he interrupted, “ever since you took over the bar. You’ve changed so much. I feel like I barely know you.”

“Well, I’m sorry, Nick,” you said, sarcastically, “excuse me for not having the time to fantasize about vacations when I have my grandmother’s business to run.”

“Do you think she would have wanted this?”

“Yes!” you cried, “She put her whole life into that bar!”

Nick gave a small, defeated sigh and took another sip of his latte. When he looked up again, he asked:

“Tell me something. If you met me now, would you want to be with me?”

You watched your younger self struggle to reply, the justice of what he was saying dawning in her eyes. You remembered the feeling well.

When you opened your mouth to answer and nothing came out, Nick put his mug carefully down on the table.

“I didn’t think so.”

His voice faltered as he spoke, and you sat in silence for a few moments while Nick recovered himself.

“I think that clears things up.” he said, simply.

“Nick…”

“No,” he said, his grey eyes serious, “I’m sorry, but it’s over.”

And he stood up from the table, leaving the last third of his latte.

“Nick.” you said, again, starting to cry.

“I think it’s been over a long time. I just didn’t see it.”

You tried to stand up to follow him as he moved towards the door, but the ridiculous armchair made you scramble to find your feet, and when you did, you fell back into it.

Five stifled a snort beside you, so you kicked him in the shin, slightly harder than could have been called gentle.

“Ow!”

I hope you get everything you want,” Nick said, sincerely, “I really hope you find happiness.”

He hesitated a moment, looking awkward.

“So…goodbye then.”

And then he was fighting his way through all the people towards the door, leaving you staring after him with tears brimming in your younger self’s eyes.

You watched you pained expression, and then turned to Five.

“I want to go home,” you said, to Five, “you’ve tortured me enough. What good does this do?”

Five was looking at the point where Nick had vanished into the crowd.

“I didn’t like him,” he said, bluntly, “You’re better off in my opinion. A Starbucks latte? No, you need a real man. I wouldn’t drink that shit if -”

But then he cut himself off, his eyes caught by something.

“Shit,” he said, distractedly, “that’s Luther.”

You looked up and followed his gaze. There, indeed was Luther, standing in line for the counter, looking unlike you’d ever seen him before: he looked young, comparatively baby-faced, and, though still tall, his proportions looked completely normal.

Five glanced down at a display near the briefcase’s handle.

“It’s before he went to the moon,” he murmured. And then, in a more normal tone, “I didn’t know you knew him this far back.”

“I didn’t,” you said, dumbfounded.

“I didn’t know Dad let him leave the Academy,” Five said, almost to himself.

Leaving your younger self to cry in her armchair, you and Five approached his brother.

“Hey there,” he said, with his usual, grin, “I’ll just take this smoothie to go, thanks.”

And then something caught Luther’s attention. Perhaps he caught a glance of something out of the corner of his eye, because he turned to stare directly at you and Five.

“Oh fu-” Five began, but petered out as it became clear that he wasn’t actually staring at you, but rather through you.

No, he wasn’t looking at you and Five, he was looking at the younger you, and his face had fallen into lines of empathy.

“If I buy something for that lady, will you take it to her after I’m gone?”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Sure,” answered the barista, glancing at you, crying at your table, and immediately understanding Luther’s kind intentions.

He furrowed his brow as he read the menu.

“I think she needs something chocolatey,” he said, “how about…a venti gingerbread hot chocolate with cream and those gold sprinkles?”

You watched Luther’s honest, earnest face as he paid, took his little bottle of smoothie, and left, humming a little snatch of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen as he went.

“That was him?” you said, watching Luther’s retreating figure with a dumbfounded expression on your face, “I remember that. I thought one of the baristas took pity on me. It made me feel…”

Your own words to Luther echoed back in your mind:

“Why not keep all your Christmas shit to yourself and mind your own goddamn business?”

And then his reply, so like Nick’s:

“Why are you pushing me away?”

And your face flushed with shame.

“I was so mean to him,” you said, ruefully.

“Well,” Five said, with the reasonable air of someone chairing a debate, “it can be hard not to be mean to him. He asks for it.”

This didn’t make you feel any better, but Five continued.

“He didn’t always have it easy, but he always had this… uncrushable spirit beneath the surface. He’s always been a teddy bear, no matter how much Dad taught him to suppress it.”

Five gave a reluctant, half mocking chuckle.

“If you ask me,” he continued, “I think he’s trying to make up for lost time: our Christmases sucked.”

There was another moment of silence in which you looked down at the briefcase.

“Can you show me?” you asked.

“Huh?”

“Show me what it was like for you and Luther as kids.

“We’re here to sort out your shit,” he said reprovingly, his thick eyebrows lowered.

“You think you can stop me from causing nuclear armageddon if you show me the past, right?”

“We’re here to get to the root of your christmas hate-boner so you don’t cause such a mess, yeah.”

“Then show me Luther’s past. Show me why it’s so important to him.”

Five considered you, a vertical line between his brows and the corners of his mouth turned down. After a moment, he spoke, sounding impressed with the idea:

“I guess we could try it. And I know just the one.”

He moved closer to the table and armchairs to give himself space, knelt and placed the briefcase on the floor beside him. He reached into an inner pocket of his blazer and withdrew a pair of tweezers and a small vial sealed with a cork.

Carefully, he bent over the briefcase and removed the strand of your hair from one of its mechanisms with the tweezers, and deposited it into the vial.

“That’s creepy as shit,” you remarked, “Do you regularly steal DNA from women’s bedrooms to keep in little jars?”

Five rolled his eyes as he stowed the vial away again.

“Trust me, if I wanted to be creepy, your mess of a bedroom gave me ample opportunity. Do you even own a laundry hamper? If I had a thing for worn panties, that room would be nirvana.”

You felt your cheeks heat up as Five used the tweezers to pluck a single dark hair from his own head.

“That ought to do it.”

With a steady, precise hand, he slid his own hair into the briefcase’s mechanism. When he clicked it closed, the entire panel hummed, lit briefly with a faint blue glow.

“Perfect,” he said to himself, and drummed his fingers briefly on the briefcase as he thought.

“Christmas of ‘95? Yeah, six seems about right.”

He fiddled with the dials briefly.

Five rose to his feet again and held out his arm, which you took readily.

“Here we go,” he said, and clicked something on the briefcase.

And there was the roiling static, your skin alive with tingles, and you arrived, swaying, into a scene unlike any you’d seen so far.

The room was white walled, the floor of that squeaky wooden variety you get in a school gymnasium. Padded mats were stacked neatly against the wall at one end, and mirrors lined one of the walls.

Four small children stood in front of the mirror, watching two more facing each other in the on a large mat in the center of the room. One of these was blonde and tall for his age, the other slight and dark.

“Where are we? Wait, is that you and -?”

“Number One and Number Five,” came a crisp voice from the other end of the room, “I have chosen to pair you today because your respective power offers the other a unique and complementary challenge.”

It was Reginald Hargreeves, standing tall and imposing in a pinstriped suit, trademark monocle firmly in place. Beside him, another child stood, hiding behind bangs with a clipboard at the ready, presumably to take notes.

“Wait,” you asked, “isn’t this supposed to be Christmas?”

“It’s Christmas Eve,” the grown Five beside you confirmed, grimly. “Didn’t mean shit when it came to our training.”

As he spoke, Hargreeves continued.

“Number One, you have size and strength on your side, but you are uncontrolled; clumsy. Number Five, while you may be agile and precise, you are small and weak.”

The young Five in the center of the room’s jaw set. It was simultaneously a sad expression to see on the face of such a young child, and a pleasant little hint of the man he would grow into.

“You were adorable,” you said, before you could stop yourself. Then, you hurriedly added, “all of you, I mean.”

Five only smiled in a way that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was looking at the two boys in front of him, and it seemed as if he was already regretting his decision to show you this.

“The object of this fight is to overpower the other by any means necessary,” Hargreeves continued.

“Jesus,” you murmured, and Five shrugged beside you.

“Prepare yourselves.”

The two children shifted, and squared their small frames, bare feet planting against the mats.

“Three,” Hargreeves voice rang out, “Two…One. Begin!”

Young Five and Luther sprung into action, Five vanishing before the latter could even make his first move. On instinct, Luther ducked immediately, avoiding Five’s tiny fist as it punched the air where the back of his brother’s head was, just a moment earlier.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, half in shock, half in horror.

The two children moved like professionals: like lightning, almost. It was hard to keep track of whose body was where: one minute Five was spinning away from Luther’s perfectly executed knifehand strike, and the next Luther was leaping over Five’s leg, extended in a high kick.

When the first hit came, you gasped and clapped a hand over your mouth.

The heel of Five’s hand slammed up and into Luther’s face, causing him to cry out and stagger backwards, his hands clasped over one eye.

“Oww!” he whimpered, body wracked with sobs, “Ow, Dad!”

As Luther wept, the young Five hesitated, his hard, determined expression betraying a little remorse. Though he remained on the balls of his feet, prepared for another attack, he glanced guiltily at his father.

“Press your advantage, Number Five,” Reginald said, a hint of pride in his voice, “and Number One, pull yourself together. Take a demerit for tears.”

At their father’s words, both Five and Luther leapt back into action, Luther’s expression contorted into pure, emotion driven frenzy, lashing out in pain more than he was sparring.

You took an instinctive half a step forward, hand extended towards them.

“You can’t help,” Five reminded you, his voice carefully nonchalant, “they’re just shadows of what happened.”

Luther became wild and less disciplined in his movements, and though Five blinked around so fast that he was barely visible, the forceful strikes he landed affected Luther no more than a foam bat might have done.

Then, Luther landed a hit of his own, a blow to Five’s stomach that made him double over at the waist with a hiss as all the air was punched out of his lungs.

“Excellent, Number One.” Hargreeves said, motioning to the child beside him to take a note.

But Luther wasn’t listening. Breathing through his teeth as snot ran from his nose, he pulled back his fist once more and struck Five squarely on the chin with a devastating uppercut that sent him off his feet and flying across the room, struck with the full force of the young Luther’s power.

His head hit the far wall with a sickly crack, and he fell like a ragdoll onto the pile of stacked mats.

A great gasp went up around the room, yours included. You dropped Five’s coat and, unthinking, ran over to the injured child and dropped to your knees beside him, reaching out a hand. But, of course, your fingers passed straight through his face.

His eyes were open, but far from alert. One of them, filled with blood from burst blood vessels, was looking inwards towards his nose, while the other looked straight ahead, unfocused. His mouth dripped with blood from a badly bitten tongue.

You looked from him to the older Five, who simply shrugged as if to say: ‘what are you gonna do?’

“What happened?” you asked, turning desperately to Five, though the words kept coming before he could answer, “Oh my God, I didn’t know what he made you... it’s horrible!”

“It’s not how I’d raise kids,” Five said, with an air of forced casualness.

As Hargreeves lectured Luther for being undisciplined and told him that his fun and games privileges tomorrow were revoked, Five approached your end of the room.

He picked up his coat with the hand not holding the briefcase and folded it over his own arm.

“You want to see what happened?”

You nodded, and Five began to fiddle with the briefcase once more. It took no more than a grasp of his hand and the final click of a button before you were in a bright, cozy sitting room.

“This is Christmas day,” Five said, “I was the only one who got the day off training - I still couldn’t see right - but the others except Luther got to watch the movie with me.”

Though a fire was crackling in the grate, there were no decorations, you noticed.

Little Five was sitting propped up in an armchair, his face bruised, one eye still red and a bandage wrapped around his head. All the other children save Luther were seated on a couch.

One of the boys was wriggling, much to the annoyance of his brother.

“Klaus,” he said, indignantly, “stop kicking me!”

“Stop kicking me,” Klaus imitated.

Then, one of the girls piped up from the floor.

“Can you two be quiet? I want to watch Rudolph!”

The two boys fell into scowling silence, and all eyes turned to the stop-motion animation on the TV, where Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer was guiding Santa’s sleigh across the sky.

Little Five looked from the TV to the sibling beside him.

“Hey, Ben,” came Five’s whisper, leaning towards him with difficulty.

“What?”

“I got presents from Santa last night.”

“No you didn’t,” Ben said, dismissively.

“Yes I did,” Five countered, “I got a black power ranger and three of the candies Dad gives us on our birthday, and a bookmark and two moon rocks. And it was all in a sock hanging on my bed, just like in the movie.”

“You’re lying,” Ben replied, “Santa’s not real. Dad says it’s just a lie they tell normal children.”

“Oh yeah?” he said, with a smug smile. “Then how come I got presents?

“Because you’re lying,” Ben retorted, tartly.

”I am not lying,”

“Are too.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Shut up!” said the girl again, indignantly.

“You shut up, Allison!”

“Oh yeah? Well I heard a rumor you stopped talking until after Rudolph!”

The two boys fell silent immediately, though Ben stuck his tongue out at Five.

“I was such a little asshole,” the Five beside you said.

“You were a kid,” you said, gently, “you all were.”

“I guess.”

You watched the six of them, legs too short to touch the floor, and frowned.

“It was Luther, wasn’t it? The sock.”

“Yeah,” Five said, a tender note in his voice, “and he got in trouble for it. He stole the candies from Dad’s office.”

The corner of your lip twitched outwards in a sad smile. Five’s hand was still in yours, and you squeezed it.

The pressure seemed to bring Five back to himself, and he cleared his throat, shaking off a little of the gravity that had settled on him as he revisited his own past.

“So that’s why you need to come tomorrow,” he said, stoutly, “for Luther, Christmas is about rejecting what Dad tried to turn him into. He feeds off showing people he cares, and he wants to show you.”

“But why am I so important?” you asked, a small whine edge into your voice, “He has you guys to show he cares. Why would him not being able to serve me turkey cause armageddon? Can’t I just smooth things over with him in the New Year?”

Five gave a large sigh and looked up at the ceiling, bringing all the lines and hollows of his neck into greater prominence.

“God, you’re so stubborn. I am done trying to get through to you. Is all this not enough for you? You hate Christmas because your parents sucked and you got dumped, I get it. But still, you had people who loved you and were kind to you, and that’s what it’s supposed to be about, asshole! What more do you want from me?”

“What?” you asked, irritated, “you just expect me to jump for joy and turn into Mrs-fucking-Claus at the drop of a hat?”

“No,” Five said, dropping your hand and setting the briefcase with gritted teeth, “I was hoping you’d get your head out of your ass long enough to realise not everything’s about you and your, frankly, pretty mundane traumas.”

“Fuck you,” you retorted, annoyed by his attitude. “I’m sorry your dad made you beat the shit out of each other, but that doesn’t mean you get to dismiss my feelings!”

“I am not dismissing your feelings,” he said, punching a final few settings on the briefcase, “but would it kill you to make Luther’s day? Sometimes we do stuff to make other people happy. That’s what it’s supposed to mean to live in a goddamn society.”

“Are you fucking kidd-” you began, but your voice was cut of as Five seized a fistful of your sweater and you disappeared in a flash of light.

Read Chapter Three >> I FEED OFF COMMENTS AND REBLOGS YUM YUM YUM

Mr Fezziwig's Ball (left) and Scrooge Extinguishes the First of The Three Spirits (right) Both by John Leech, 1843 in Dickens's A Christmas Carol, first edition (1843).

Dickens' A Christmas Carol full text available here.

Read it! It's a much better than this, and you can see how many lines I stole verbatim or clumsily referenced.

Dividers used in this series by @bernardsbendystraws (garland) and @strangergraphics (lights)

Taglist: @nevbrooke-555, @fiannee, @abeeabee6969, @chalametabingbong, @lolawassad, @icantpickanamefromonefandom @thebearmage @kaybreezy3000, @starlitflora (comment to be added or removed)

Megalist

Request info + rules

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

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cameronspecial · 1 year ago

Note

can you please write the trip with Zach and his family and the reader?! 🩷

Snowboarding Disaster

Pairing: Zach MacLaren x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.5K

Masterlist

Y/N has yet again been invited to go with the MacLarens on their yearly ski trip. She was invited last year, but she didn’t exactly go snowboarding with the family. She opted to stay in the chalet with hot chocolate and a good romance book. This year, though, she is determined to hit the slopes with her boyfriend. He helps her get all of her gear and they go outside. His family headed out ahead of them. He guides her to sit on the ground, explaining how to put her board binding on. She can see he is trying to hide her laughter and groans in frustration. “Can you help me, please?” she whines, looking at him in despair. He lets his cackle out for a second before bending to help her, “There you go, Baby.” he gives her a kiss on the lips and helps her up.

They head over to the magic carpet to go up the bunny hill and shrieks the moment her board is on the moving belt. “I do not like that feeling,” she cries out, trying to stabilize herself. Once at the top of the hill, Zach does a rundown of the basics and tells her to just try to slide down to him with her board perpendicular to the slope. She is easily able to do it, so he moves on to moving directions by shifting the weight of her body from foot to foot, still keeping the board somewhat perpendicular to the hill. This is where the problem started. She would put too much weight on one foot, which causes her board to twist parallel to the slope and she starts going out of control. After a few times of Zach catching her or her wiping out, she is close to calling it quits. “Come on, Baby. Just try it one more time,” he begs. She gives in to his pleas and tries again. This time she almost got down the hill correctly, but a small bump of snow tilts her board forward. She begins zooming out of control down the hill with no way of stopping. Panic starts to rise when she sees a little kid at the bottom of the hill. Luckily, Zach is able to get down fast enough and tackle her onto her back, just narrowly missing the child.

She groans, rubbing her head with her gloved hand. “I don’t think I ever want to go snowboarding again,” she moans, sitting up off the ground with Zach. He unbuckles her snowboard and helps her up, “I think you shouldn’t either. How about we head to the chalet and get some hot chocolate, instead?”

———

The rest of Zach’s family return to the chalet to find the couple cuddled on the couch near the fire. “You guys are here earlier than I thought,” Connie comments, sitting across from her son. Y/N smiles at her boyfriend’s mom, “Yeah, I wasn’t very good at it.” Avery giggles. “Are you sure it wasn’t just that you had a bad teacher?” Y/N gives the younger girl a mind-blown look, “You are absolutely right. It was your brother’s fault I was so bad. Maybe you should be my teacher next time.” “Hey! I am a great teacher, I have never felt so betrayed before,” he gasps out with a pouty look. Y/N brings herself closer to him, giving him a kiss. “It’s okay, you are an amazing boyfriend.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight

#zach maclaren #zach maclaren x reader #the other zoey #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x you #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey one shot

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copperbadge · 4 months ago

Text

I am so close and yet so far from being done with The Chicken Salad War, argh. I have the entire rest of the book plotted out, and there's a little less than a quarter of it remaining to write, I think, but it's going to be an intense quarter. And then the rewrites will be a little more extensive than usual because I've basically been skipping scenes I don't want to write, which isn't a lot but isn't zero.

Anyway, have a scene where Ylias and Simon realize that attempting to make an edible sauce using davzda and harissa paste may be an error.

It took a few more minutes of scraping and blending, but in the end the warm, fragrant harissa paste was scooped out and into a bowl, and they both examined it.

"Now…davzda," he said, sounding excited and doomed at once, like someone about to attend an execution but fortunately not theirs.

"I'm wondering, should we just try to loosen it up with the raw hooch?" she asked. "Or actually make some shakshouka and stir the davzda into that?"

"I think to start, we make a sauce -- some beautiful paste, some davzda, and some broth," he said. "I will reserve some for further experiments."

She carried the bowl to the stove and set out a saucepan, spooning some of the harissa into it and then shuffling aside so he could add broth; he whisked them together cold, then added a careful pour of davzda from the ubiquitous gray-green bottle. The smell that rose from the mixture was…herbal, but it began to fade into something more pleasantly spicy as it heated.

[insert brief hold music here for a part of the scene I don't want to spoil yet]

"Now, I must begin prep for dinner, I think, while this simmers."

"Can I help?" she asked.

He blinked at her. "Oh -- it is my job and I am too accustomed to it. But..." he added, considering, "You won't go yet, will you? You must taste this sauce. And I have been accustomed to company, but not so much with Eddie now looking after the little ones."

"Can I criticize your technique?" she asked, grinning, and he laughed.

"Only in French, and I will not be gracious about it," he replied.

"I'd worry if you were," she said, stationing herself at the stove to mind the sauce while he gathered ingredients. By the time he was done assembling the meatballs, the sauce had thickened and darkened to an almost mahogany color. Simon procured some twist-bread and fetched crudite from the fridge ("I keep carrot sticks for Joan, and His Majesty will enjoy the leftover cucumber at dinner,") and she spooned some sauce out into a bowl, dipping the bread while he tried a piece of carrot.

At the first taste, he looked thoughtful, chewing the carrot and harissa sauce with a blank look on his face. Ylias, taken off-guard, coughed and nearly choked when she finally tasted it.

"Oh, no, oh dear," she said, taking a long sip of water while he grinned, still chewing. "It's...so earthy."

"The flavoring in the alcohol, I think," he said, finally swallowing and rinsing his own mouth out. "The oil in the chilis brings out the mushroom in the davzda."

"Ugh, but the worst part," she managed. "That's awful. It's not even bitter, really, not like davzda is, it's just...almost cloying."

"Yes, but..." he considered, eyes narrowed. "There is good flavor there too, just not in balance."

She tapped her tongue against the roof of her mouth, chasing stray hints of the sauce, then braced herself and took another, smaller taste.

"You can almost get to it," she agreed, considering more deeply. "I never bother with mushrooms in shakshouka because they're just texture at that point, the flavor's too delicate for the spice. But maybe...if you could just cut the flavor a bit."

"Less davzda?"

"Defeats the point, but maybe. Or..." she considered. "There's a lot of tomato coming through, but it's the acid. Do you think a sweet note would help, or would that just make it worse?"

"Make this worse?" he asked, amused, but he was already reaching for a jar on the counter. "The family likes muscovado in their coffee," he said, using the little spoon in the jar to lift out a mound of golden-brown sugar. "Yes?"

She gestured for him to give it a try; he added a few spoonfuls and then stirred it with the whisk again. The sauce darkened further, but when they tasted it this time, the horror had receded.

"Oh, that's...actually nice," she said. "Salty-sweet. You could even use molasses -- or a sherry if you wanted."

"Yes. Very good," he agreed, and then he leaned in and kissed her.

It surprised them both, she could tell; she didn't pull away -- he was a very good kisser -- but when he leaned back, he looked startled by what he'd done.

"Ah, perhaps inappropriate," he said. "Only -- I like this very much, this experimentation. With the sauce," he added in a stammer. "Although, of course -- "

She held up a finger and he fell silent, looking relieved.

"I like it too," she said. "A little warning next time, maybe."

#shivadhverse

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j23r23 · 7 months ago

Text

Double booking

Tangerine x fem Reader - angsty? & fluff

warning: blood, mention of dying, death, suffocation

Great.

Married for a week and already shot by your brother-in-law.

No, it's not what you think.

Blood oozed out between your fingers, staining your wedding ring.You press harder against the gunshot wound on your left glute, a hiss escaping your lips. You are leaning against the cold brick wall of an office building in the middle of the night, hearing Tangerine and Lemon arguing just a few feet away.

"You absolute muppet, Lemon! You just shot my wife!" Tangerine's voice is a mix of fury and panic, his thick accent making him sound even more exasperated.

"How was I supposed to know that it was your wife?!" Lemon snaps back, his annoyance barely hiding the guilt in his eyes. "It should just be you, me and the target in this bloody building! For fucks sake, she shouldn't even be here! Why are you even here in the first place?" Lemon turns to you now, all flabbergasted.

"Lemon, i am as confused as you are." you began, your voice steady yet tinged with a hint of exasperation. "But I'm guessing it's highly probable that there was a mix-up, due to the recent change in my records all three of us got a call for tonight. I guess, when I took on Tangerine's last name, it likely triggered a glitch in the system, resulting in this fucked up double booking."

Tangerine's voice cracked with annoyance as he spun around to face Lemon again to continue their argument. "You still shot my wife in the ass!" he exclaimed, his tone sharp.

Lemon' rolled his eyes. "I didn't mean to, it was a fucking accident!" he said irked. "All I saw was a figure in the shadows, thinking it was the twat we need to kill tonight. Not my fault the database did a double booking because you two share a last name now!"

Tangerine's cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of crimson, his frustration boiling over. "Lemon, if she dies, I'm going to kill you myself," he threatened, his voice low and seething with barely contained anger.

You snicker at Tangerine "I'm not dying, love... just, severely inconvenienced." You manage a weak chuckle, wincing at the pain and trying to calm your husband, who was not amused with the situation. "You know darling, I always said changing my last name to yours would come back and bite me in the ass. Just didn't think it would be quite so literal." You glare at Lemon.

Tangerine kneels beside you bringing his hand to your cheeck, his anger momentarily replaced by concern. "Sweetheart, we need to get you patched up."

"Not yet" You grit out, trying to focus on the mission. "We need to take out the target first. Can't have him spilling company secrets from our employer while I'm busy bleeding all over the floor."

Lemon glances around, clearly frustrated. "This is ridiculous! You are clearly not in any condition to continue. You should get that bullet out asap."

"And she's also a professional," You cut in sharply, mustering as much authority as you can. "Which means she knows the job comes first. Now quit arguing and get moving. I've got enough adrenaline to keep me going for a bit."

Tangerine looks torn, his jaw clenched pressing his forehead to yours for a moment. "You sure about this, love?"

"Yes" You whispered, managing a weak smile. "Now go. I'll be fine. Just... hurry back."

He hesitated, looking at Lemon he stands up. "Lemon, you stay with her. I'll handle the whistleblower."

"Like hell I will!" Lemon protested. "You stay, I'll go. Shes your wife, not mine!"

"Both of you go!" You snapped, mustering as much authority as you could. "Like i said, I can handle myself for a few minutes. Besides," You add with a wry smile, "I'm not going anywhere until I get a proper honeymoon. Now, finish the job so we can go home and you can patch me up, alright?"

Lemon rolls his eyes, pulling out his gun and checking the clip. "Fine, but if you die becaues it got infected, I'm blaming you for it."

You roll your eyes. "And ill haunt your ass. Now, go be the charming psychotic duo I love, and kill that son of a bitch."

They exchanged a look, then nodded reluctantly. Tangerine kissed Your forehead quickly. "Be right back, love."

As they headed further into the building, their bickering voices fading, you leaned back against the wall, closing your eyes.

But a sudden commotion snapped you out of your brief reverie. You pressed yourself into the shadows under a desk, listening intently. Someone else was on the same floor. You could hear panting and a string of whispered profanities. The sounds drew closer. It wasn't Tangerine or Lemon for sure—so it had to be the target.

You shifted around to get a better view of your surroundings, muscles tensed and ready. The moment the target sprinted past, you extended your leg, tripping them. They went sprawling across the floor. Without wasting a second, you pounced, locking them into a chokehold. Their arms and legs flailing as you tightened your grip around the neck.

Just then, Tangerine and Lemon came rushing back, their footsteps pounding against the floor. They skidded to a stop when they saw you.

Tangerine smirked. "Need a hand, love?"

You tightened your grip. "One moment, please," you said calmly, watching as the target's struggles weakened, his face turning purple and snapping for air.

Lemon chuckled. "And here I thought I actually have to do some work."

As the target's body stopped moving, you release your hold and pushed him off of you "All done." you say, brushing some strands of hair out of your face and trying to ignore the throbbing pain in your butt.

"Nice work." Lemon comments, holstering his weapon.

"Thas my wife." Tangerine adds proudly, a grin spreading across his face. "Now come on, poppet. We can't have you bleeding all over the place longer."

You roll your eyes, a faint smile tugging at your lips. "Good idea, love."

Tangerine scoops you up gently, careful not to jostle your wound. "Let's get you patched up, and then we'll be on our Honeymoon, yeah?"

Lemon leads the way out, keeping a lookout for any more trouble. "I'll tell you what," he says over his shoulder, "next time, I'm double-checking the mission report. No more mix-ups. Can't stand your lovey dovey shit."

You chuckle, resting your head against Tangerine's shoulder. "You do that Lem. And maybe try not to shot me the next time?"

And thus, another day in the life of a newlywed assassin comes to an end.

#tangerine bullet train x reader #tangerine fic #bullet train tangerine #🍊#bullet train #tangerine fanfiction #tangerine bullet train #tangerine #tangerine x reader #tangerine and lemon #tangerine 🍊#tangerine fanfic #lemon and tangerine #aaron taylor johnson #aaron taylor johnson fanfiction #aaron taylor johnson fic #bullet train fanfic #bullet train fanfiction

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nomie-11 · 1 month ago

Text

Epilogue - Unsent Correspondence from the Desk of Late Rider Cadet Liam Mairi

<- previous chapter | masterlist | series masterlist | next book! ->

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Before the death of Liam Mairi was reported, and his items were burned, a stack of unsent letters from under his bed were taken by one graduated rider cadet and two second years. Among those letters, three letters in envelopes were addressed to The Wounded Healer, The Drowned, and The Guilty. These three people were later discovered to be Genevieve Hale, Violet Sorrengail, and Xaden Riorson, and were properly distributed.

These three letters, for preservation purposes, are listed and titled below.

Transcribed into a modern language by Jesinia Neilwart, Curator of the Scribe Quadrant of Basgiath War College.

Unsent Correspondence from the desk of late Rider Cadet Liam Mairi

To my dear Violet,

As I write this, Genevieve is passed out on my bedroom floor, and you’re softly asleep on my bed, in my sheets. I’ve never been good with words, especially ones I can’t bring myself to say out loud. But I need to try, at least this once. Because if I don’t, I think it’ll haunt me worse than the battle scars ever could.

There’s something about the way you sleep, Vi. So peaceful, like the weight of the world hasn’t touched you. But I know it has. You carry so much on you, more than most people ever should or ever will. And yet, here you are, still fighting, still breathing, still… you. I don’t know how you do it, but I’m grateful every damn day that you do.

Being around you, fighting alongside you, it gave me something I never thought I’d have in this bloody war—hope. Hope that there’s something worth protecting, something good that survives even in the darkest places. You’re that light, Vi. You’ve always been. And I know I shouldn’t say that because it sounds like something out of one of those stupid romance books we’d steal from Xaden and laugh at, but it’s true. You make me believe in things I should have long stopped believing in.

I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you the way I promised I would. I know you don’t need anyone to keep you safe—you’re fierce, stronger than most of us—but I wanted to, anyway. It was selfish, I suppose. I was supposed to protect Genevieve, but I wanted to be the one you turned to, the one you trusted with the things you don’t share with anyone else. And yet, here I am, with so much left unsaid.

There are days, Vi, where I wonder what would’ve happened if we’d had met before the rebellion. Before the fighting and the death, before all of this. Maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe we could’ve had a chance at something more, something normal, something not filled with blood and battles. I’ve never let myself think too long about it, though. Because that’s not the world we live in, is it? We don’t get to have that kind of peace.

But if I’m honest with you, and I have to be, you deserve that at least now, I wanted that. I wanted you. I wanted us. I wanted to wake up next to you, not just here, not just at the brink of dawn, but every damn day. I wanted to marry you. And gods, I hate myself for saying that because it feels too late, and maybe it is if you’re reading this, but it’s the truth. I’ve wanted that since the first time you smiled at me like I was something more than just another rebellion kid.

I know this letter won’t reach you while I’m alive. And maybe it’s better that way. But I need you to know, Vi, that if I could go back, if I could change just one thing, it wouldn’t be how we fought or the decisions we made. No, it would be this; I’d ask you to marry me, right then and there. I wouldn’t wait for the perfect moment or a perfect day, because there’s no such thing in a world like ours.

I’m going to die soon, I can feel it, but I’ll die without regrets. At least, that’s what I’d like to say. The truth is, I do have one.

It’s that I never got to marry you.

Yours eternally, Liam.

—-------------------------------------------

To Xaden,

I’m sorry.

I’ve thought of a thousand ways to say it, but none of them feel like enough. I failed you. Worse than that, I put us all in danger because I couldn’t look at Violet and lie to her about everything. I thought if she knew the truth about Athebyne, it would protect her. But I recognize now that it’s probably going to be my downfall. It’s just… everytime I look at her it’s like the truth spills out. And now there’s no turning back.

I’ve always known you carry a weight that no one else can understand, not even me. You were forced to lead before you were ready, forced to make decisions that no one should ever have to make. And I made it worse. I wanted to believe that if I could just tell Violet everything, tell her why I had to disappear at night, that maybe this wouldn’t be so hard. But I misjudged everything. Aetos probably read her memories, and by the time you’ve read this, I’ve probably destroyed everything.

You’re right to be furious with me. I betrayed the only real family I’ve had since my parents died. And even though I did it because I thought it would help, it’s no excuse. I should have trusted you—trusted your wish to remain a secret, trusted that you’d find a way to protect us all, without dragging Violet into it. But I didn’t. And I’m sorry, Xaden. More than you know.

But now it’s too late for apologies. By the time you read this, I’ll be gone.

I don’t know how it’s going to happen—whether it’s a battle, an ambush, or just the cruel hand of fate—but I know that my time is coming. And I want you to know that when it does, I’ll go down fighting. Not just for you, not just for Violet, but for all of us. For everything we’ve been through, for everything we’ve fought for, for the futures we all deserved but never got.

There’s one more thing, Xaden. Genevieve.

You’re not going to like this, or maybe you will, but I had to make a choice. She’s important—to all of us, yes—but especially to you. I saw the way you looked at her, the way that she was the whole world in your arms. You’re as good at hiding your feelings as ever, but I know you. And even though she’s been forced into this situation, forced to spy on us, I know she isn’t our enemy.

When it comes down to it, if it’s her or me, I’m choosing her. I’ve made peace with that. If it means you’ll survive and have someone by your side after I’m gone, someone who might understand what you’re going through, someone who’ll stand with you when the world turns to ash, then it’ll be worth it.

So, if the time comes, and I have to make that choice, know it’s not because I don’t care about you. It’s because I do. It’s because you’ve spent too long losing the people you care about, and I won’t let it happen again, not if I can help it.

The idea of dying doesn’t seem to scare me anymore, really, because I know when I die I won’t be alone. I’m excited to see my mother again, most of all. I love you more than words can convey, brother. You’ve always been the best part of me. And I’ll see you on the other side.

Your brother, Liam Mairi

—--------------------------------------------

To Genevieve,

I know you didn’t want it to go this way. Hell, you’re probably furious with me. And you should be. I never asked for your permission to make this decision, to sacrifice myself for you. But, Genevieve, I think we both knew from that night in February that it would end like this. We just didn’t say it out loud, did we? Some things don’t need to be said to be understood.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry because I know what this will do to you, how much you hate owing anyone anything. But this isn’t about debts or favors or even survival. This was my choice, and I made it because you deserve a shot at something beyond this. I’ve seen the fire in your eyes, even when you’re trapped in a cage that you didn’t build but can’t seem to escape. You deserve the chance to break free, to live beyond the strings people keep trying to tie you to.

I don’t want you to think for one second that this makes you weak, that my decision somehow implies that you couldn’t make it on your own. You could. You can. But I also know you’ve been fighting with every ounce of strength you’ve got for so damn long, and I just… I wanted to give you a moment. Just one. A moment to breathe, to take control of your fate without someone else calling the shots.

It’s not fair. None of this is fair. The fact that we’re even here, at Basgiath, trapped between wars we didn’t start and loyalties we didn’t choose—it’s all wrong. But we don’t get to change that. What we can change is what we do with what’s left. And what’s left for me, Geneiveve, is making sure you get out of this alive, no matter what.

I know you’ll never forgive me for this. I know you’ll curse my name every day from here on out. And maybe I deserve that. But I couldn’t just stand by and watch you burn yourself to ash trying to survive in this gods-forsaken world. You’ve got something inside you, something bigger than revenge, bigger than all this pain. You just don’t see it yet.

And you will. One day, when the smoke clears and the world isn’t quite as dark, you’ll understand why I did it. And maybe you’ll hate me a little less.

So live, Genevieve. Live on your terms, not anyone else’s. And when you do, don’t look back. Not for me. Not for anyone.

I’ll be with you, in whatever comes next. I just hope you’ll find a way to forgive yourself for not saving me, even if you can’t forgive me. You need to remember that you are nobody’s soldier, and know that I’m always beside you, for you are my greatest adversary and my best friend.

Your sword and shield, Liam

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

So, how are we feeling?

That's it for The Wounded Healer, The Drowned, and The Guilty! This will be a bit of a longer note because there's so much I want to say about this project and what it meant to me to write it.

This is my first writing project after what was a pretty hard breakup for me. I didn't write for the almost entire year I was talking with my ex, and then he cheated on me and I decided that I needed an escape. I read Fourth Wing to give me a quick break from reality, and between the breakup and reading Fourth Wing, Genevieve Hale was born.

I'm actually not a romantasy reader, nor am I a romantasy writer, I tend to sway towards classical literature and poetry, but I can appreciate a good book when there's a good book, even if I don't love the writing style or the main romance, so this was a huge step out of my comfort zone, but it was a lot of fun!

It's actually 3 months and 1 day that I'm completing this since starting it. I started writing it on August 15th, and then finished writing on October 27th, and finished publishing today, November 16th, which is pretty crazy. And I reached 100 followers literally yesterday on Tumblr, which is pretty crazy (at least to me--100 followers in three months???), so thank you all so much for being invested in my writing. I never imagined people would actually read this, and I'm so grateful for each and every one of you.

There's a lot of things in book 1 that I left unexplained that will be covered in book 2, we will go more into Genevieve's father, Genevieve's mother, Genevieve's signet, Genevieve's relationship with Xaden (and Violet post-Resson), and much more.

With that being said, now you understand the title of the book The Wounded Healer, The Drowned, and The Guilty. Genevieve is the wounded healer, a fitting title for someone who cannot physically heal someone without nearly killing herself, but it's also a title for her emotional state. Violet is the drowned, representative of the grief that will consume a lot of her actions in book 2, and a lot of the things that Liam hid from her, and Xaden is the guilty, a testament to the lies and deception he was taking part in when hiding details from Genevieve. I already released the title for book 2, so it should give you some insight into what will go down in the second book, but I'm excited to hear your theories (if you have any).

What do you think will happen between Xaden and Genevieve, Genevieve and Violet, Genevieve and (eventually) Catriona and the gryphon fliers? How will Genevieve cope with the loss of Liam? What developments will Genevieve's signet and her understanding of it go through? Let me know!

Anyways, that is it for now! I'll be back in a little bit (probably around 2-3 weeks) with chapter 1 of The Tragic Hero, The Betrayed, and The Haunted, but between now and then there will be some bonus content (incorrect quotes, one shots--x reader and x genevieve, etc) posted here and there. That will only be on Tumblr for my Ao3 readers, so find me at nomie-11 if you are interested!

As always, if you enjoyed, leave a like, comment, or kudo, and I'll see you all soon with book 2!

-------

Taglist: @awkardnerd , @hannraumari , @minjix , @glaciuswduo , @wolfbc97 , @heeseungthel0ml

#violet sorrengail #fourth wing #fourth wing imagine #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing xaden #liam mairi #xaden and sgaeyl #xaden riorson #xaden riorson x reader #garrick tavis x reader #liam mairi x reader #the empyrean #the wounded healer

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