#your boy does not have the willpower to edge itself

[cainkayncain]

make me cum so hard i’m lying there absentmindedly drooling after

[kimetsunoyaibawritings]

Burn like the Sun

Rating: General

Relationship: Reader/Kyojuro

Summary: “Simply knowing you are safe is a plentiful reward in itself.”

As a survivor of the Infinity Train accident, the reader seeks out the man who had saved them to try and offer some sort of proper thanks. And while he is severely injured -- enough to have to lay down his duties as a Hashira -- Kyojuro is nonetheless happy to know that his actions had protected someone.

"Is this the home of Kyojuro Rengoku?"

The question pulls the attention of the young boy standing outside the front of the gate of the vast home behind him, who had been sweeping diligently before your approach.

His bright, firey-colored hair is striking, but it is dwarfed immediately by the sharp red of his eyes as they move up to look at you. The resemblance to your savior is striking -- so much that you are sure that this is the right home before he even opens his mouth to speak.

"I-It is, yes," he says, voice oddly timid. "May I ask uh, why you are looking for him?"

He can't be older than twelve or thirteen. You try to offer him a comforting smile and gesture with your chin down to the small, cloth-wrapped bundle in your arms.

"I was one of the people he saved from the train accident a few weeks ago. I heard he was badly injured because of it and I..." you let the words trail for a moment as the boy (his brother? his son?) stares at you with a look that is not at all accusatory, but sharp all the same.

You clear your throat and speak, tone renewed, "I wanted to show him my appreciation and wish him well for his recovery."

At first the boy doesn't say anything in response. In the growing silence, you almost feel foolish. It had been hard enough to learn the man's name in the first place after the accident, but something about his presence had left a moment of terror and hopelessness instead with such warmth and comfort that the simple prospect of gratitude seemed the least you could offer.

Lost among your own thoughts and worries, the sound of the boy's voice rings out and drags you back into the moment.

"Let me go ask him first, if that's alright."

You're barely able to offer but a syllable of a reply before he's already slipped past the front gate and out of sight into the grand house beyond. It is as large as you were told, though you can't recall any prominent businessman nor politician with the family name of Rengoku. Some of your contacts had called him a swordsman -- had his family once served as samurai?

The possibilities proffered more questions than offered answers, leaving you to simmer in your own curiosity for several minutes until the young fire-haired boy emerged from the house and hurried towards you.

"He says you can see him -- he's also happy to know you're okay."

The boy -- Senjuro, you later learn as his name -- quickly explains how to get to Kyojuro's room, though you're too lost in the warmth in your chest from the too-simple notion 'he's happy you're okay' to pay all that much attention past the first two turns. But you thank him all the same and shuffle towards the house, leaving Senjuro to continue sweeping up with only the slightest, softest curiosity in his eyes.

Once inside the house, you’re taken aback by how… empty it feels. You’d expect a home as large as this to be busy with people — whether family or workers tending to it. You find neither, greeted instead by silence and an unnerving amount of peace.

It doesn’t take long to start trying to recall the directions that the young Rengoku boy had given you. A turn down the left hallway, past the third door and then… ah?

You couldn’t quite recall after that. Left or right? Was there another hall, or was Kyojuro’s room along the outside? One question bumbled into another until your unsureness twisted itself up into a ball of knots. Despite the confusion, you didn’t want to seem even more foolish by moving back to Senjuro and asking for directions again when he had gone out of his way to describe them once already. So you stand there, frozen by your own indecision at the edge of a corner-

Until someone suddenly turns it, running straight into you with enough force to leave you stumbling backwards. You would have fallen on your ass if it wasn’t for the fact that the same offender reached out suddenly and grabbed your arms, which were otherwise holding with a vice grip on the wrapped bundle still against your chest.

“I’m so sorry!” a bright voice offers, soft but merrily. “I didn’t see you standing there. Are you alright?”

It takes a moment for your thoughts to straighten and your gaze to fix upon the person who had both run into you and kept you from toppling backwards.

Blonde hair with firey tips, eyes brighter than rubies and sharper than a fine point. Though his face is covered in bandages and there’s a patch over his left eye, the recognition feels like icewater dumped over your head.

“K-Kyojuro Rengoku?” you ask, embarrassed in the stutter of your own voice.

“Yes?” the man tilts his head. You’re not able to say anything further before he suddenly winces, pulling his arms back against his body and drawing your gaze down over the rest of his body — as well as his multitude of injuries. Broken bones and layers of bandages seemed to but scratch the surface for all that he is dealing with, which made you feel the heavy weight of gratitude twice, no, three times over in his saving your life.

“Shouldn’t you be laying down?”

Kyojuro merely laughs. Though the sound must pain him, it doesn’t muffle the blossoming warmth of the noise as it fills the air around your ears. It’s strange, in a way; does the sound of his voice often have this effect on people?

“I’m well enough to walk,” he finally says, pain and aches hidden so dutifully behind his eyes that you have to second-guess yourself whenever his lips press together in a brief, but tense line. A smile, however, quickly moves across his face. “I thought it would be easier if I met you halfway so you didn’t get lost! You are the one who came to visit me, correct?”

You nod.

“Y-yeah. I’m uh. One of the people you… saved. On the train, a few weeks ago. I wanted to thank you and… maybe get to know you a little bit.”

The man watches you silently as you explain yourself, but not for a moment does a sense of judgement press on your shoulders from his attention. He simply listens, politely waiting for you to finish before responding.

“It must have been hard to find me,” he comments almost idly, some mixture of amused and impressed. “How did you manage it?”

The question is filled with an odd sort of praise, so you lower your head down until your eyes are on the ground and your mind is a shambling mess trying to piece words together.

“I uh. I have some friends in high places, you could say.”

“Well!” he chuckles. “That almost sounds like a threat!”

“Oh no, no no no no-” flustered, you immediately raise your eyes up and begin waving one hand about frantically as if to dissuade the notion entirely. “I promise I didn’t mean that as a— I mean, my family—… I…”

Your broken explanation is cut short when Kyojuro reaches up a hand towards your face, index finger curling ever so gently beneath your chin that you barely feel the heat of his skin against yours.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, and for a moment you feel your heartbeat go still. “I promise I meant it only as a jest. You went to great lengths simply to see me, and you certainly didn’t need to.” His hand slowly lowers, but your gaze is held to his as if bound by unseen threads. “Simply knowing you are safe is a plentiful reward in itself.”

“I- I uh. It’s not-” the words fall broken and useless from your lips like shards of glass with no hope of coming together to make a cohesive sentence. Perhaps it’s for the best, since you’re not even sure what you can try to say in response to such an earnest notion of safety from someone who didn’t even know your first name.

And that is what finally pulls your thoughts into clarity.

You step back, providing just enough space between yourself and your savior so that your mind can clear and your heart can stop beating so damn quickly. Once you regain a sense of sensibility you all but glare at the man.

“My name is-” you say, brows knitted and stance firm as you all but aggressively introduce yourself to the man who had sacrificed so much of himself for your safety. For the safety of hundreds.

And Kyojuro watches, and listens, and then he smiles.

“That’s a nice name,” he says, then chuckles again, then bows his head for a moment. “Though you seem to know already, I am Kyojuro Rengoku. It’s quite the pleasure to meet you then! Properly meet you, at least. One less train involved.”

As the words settle humorously in the air, you watch Kyojuro turn and make a gesture to follow behind him. For a moment you’re confused, but he turns his face back to you and nods in the direction of the hall a few steps ahead.

“You wanted me to rest, yes? We can do so overlooking the back garden. I figure you’d like to sit and talk for a while-” and then he pauses, as if a moment of realization is just now moving across his thoughts. “…unless there is somewhere else you need to be?”

Bashful instinct presses at the root of your tongue to agree, perhaps even to make up some silly excuse for why you couldn’t stay for long. But then your eyes catch and hold onto a gaze that seems like brilliant rubies, and his voice echoes so warmly in your ears. And then you remember noting how empty the house felt when you stepped inside of it, devoid of anyone but what might be the last few members of the Rengoku family.

How lonely.

A shake of your head and motion of your legs happen before you can even think.

“O-oh no, I… have the day free. Though of course I didn’t assume you yourself had the time to entertain anyone, with you… healing up, and all.”

Kyojuro smiles for a moment before leading the way down the hall, his motions a bit stilted by injuries, but proud all the same. You held a deep respect for the man and his willpower despite knowing so little about him — and you certainly wanted to know more.

“I actually enjoy the company,” he says, just as you move in-step beside him. “And you are the first person from that accident to try and find me — perhaps the only one! So, if you’ll humor me for a bit of your time… I would like to learn more about you as well.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him smiling. Despite the countless injuries that undoubtedly leave him in pain, some perhaps permanent, the man continues to smile as wide and as bright as the sun itself.

And you are glad to have met him.

[obeymeluv]

Um...Good Morning? [7 Bros Reaction]

I have so many ideas for this blog~ I didn’t expect to be found so soon but I’m grateful for the support! This reaction is NSFW (because the boys love you).

P.S: I don’t know if there’s any sun in the Devildom (I don’t think so?) but we’ll say there’s not.

Super long because there’s headcannons for all 7 brothers.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» 

Aww, the little human slept in! Time to wake them up! Never mind, now we’re ALL late to school!

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Lucifer

He fully expected you to sleep through your alarm and be late sometime during your first month in the Devildom. Humans are interesting little creatures that depend on routines and you’ve lost the sun.

Lucifer, trying to uphold Diavolo’s wish for humans, devils, and angels to build a bridge of understanding amongst themselves, gives you the benefit of the doubt and waits about ten minutes before deciding to wake you up

He’s very Type A. Probably didn’t even wait the ten minutes. Wants you to succeed and he’s responsible for you so you WILL get up.

When talking to you and light knocking (for him) don’t work, that door’s coming open!

And there you lay, perfectly asleep. Hugging your pillow with your tiny (to them) human body tangled in the sheets. Hair a mess and a...bottom scantily clad and just...in view

Lucifer doesn’t handle nudity well and you just make it all worse. His face heats up and he doesn’t know what face to make or where to put his hands

Forgets to shut the door, doesn’t say anything else. Turns away while trying to process what he just saw. Or...or not process (because that’s not right).

He absolutely CANNOT leave in this state so does he just stay home sick or...?

It’s not until Satan and Mammon come slinking up to poke at him and see what’s taking so long that he realizes they’re going to see you.

Lucifer hisses at them, little black diamond pulsing in his forehead as his horns threaten to spiral up into view.

Accidentally shuts the door on his hand because he tried to close it so quick

You get woken up by the small spat between Mammon and Lucifer--”Her FIRST MAN needs to see what’s up!”, “You won’t BE a man if you don’t SHUT UP and GO TO SCHOOL this INSTANT!”--and poke your sleepy head out the door to see Beel with Asmo and Mammon in a bear hug, lumbering towards the door.

Lucifer looks absolutely exhausted. “Please get dressed. It’s time for school.”

Mammon

He may give Lucifer a hard time but Mammon secretly enjoys waking you up

You know, FIRST MAN privileges and all!

Also, if he has to go, you’re going.

Has VERY little patience and doesn’t like to be ignored after putting all of that effort into his entrance/witty announcements.

“Yo, get--” Mammon threw the door open after running out of clever stuff to say and is totally awestruck by the sight of your ass just out there to see

He’s not up on human terms but he knows that’s a money-maker!

Seriously, that ass could make some cash! (he’d go into debt for that ass)

His ears, cheeks, and throat get super hot. Like, somewhere in the back of his mind Mammon knows his face is hurting

“Get up already!” he can’t even yell right now. His voice cracked. He’s dying inside. He jangles the door handle obnoxiously and hits his head on it really hard because this is a weird way to start the morning and he needs to think of ANYTHING ELSE.

Asmo’s skipping towards him none too innocently, practically glowing at the chance to see some drama

You open your eyes just in time to see Asmo get fucking clotheslined and dragged away from your door, the two brothers rolling away together in a ball of flailing, squealing, and biting.

“What’s going on?”

“NOTHING! STAY IN YOUR ROOM! SHUT UP AND GET READY FOR SCHOOL! THE GREAT MAMMON HAS WAITED LONG ENOUGH!”

He never tells you what he saw, and he’s weirdly protective of you the rest of the day

Leviathan 

Wouldn’t normally dream of waking you up. Touching a normie? Eww! He doesn’t even like going to school, himself, but somehow the duty’s fallen to him, so he must.

Should he say something funny? Something sweet? How would Henry do it?

OTOMES DID NOT PREPARE HIM FOR THIS!! (side note: buy more ‘slice of life otomes. They will surely have ‘wake up’ scenes).

Gets very shy, doesn’t knock loud enough, and grumbles out things you never hear (”Good morning! Time to get up! HEL-LOO!”)

Finally opens the door because if he doesn’t, you’ll never come out

Boy’s heart skipped a beat and probably stopped a minute. He makes The Noise™ (”WooOOOooW!”)

You’ll never be Ruri-chan but HOT DAMN!

That’s basically a free X-rated scene without all the dialogue and gifts!

Achievement unlocked? No, no. This doesn’t feel right! It’s not right!

Levi feels faint from excitement (is that a thing)?

He’s red in the face and right is left, he closed his eyes, and almost took himself out on your doorway trying to run away

Mammon’s coming to investigate and Levi’s demon form gets triggered because the thought of Mammon seeing you like this might make you guys closer, then you’ll get together, you won’t have time to be his friend (you dumb normie!), and just NO because Mammon took his figurine and his money!

Accidentally gets his tail stuck under the door

You guys are legitimately late and Levi may sound like he’s complaining but he doesn’t really mean any of it. Intimacy + 5, right?

Satan

He’s not as hardcore of a Type A as Lucifer, but he’s very orderly and wants to be on time. Life is easier when you put in effort.

Because he doesn’t want to hear Lucifer ramble on about how you need to get up and eat and generally detests the idea of him stealing anymore of his air, Satan goes to wake you up

It’s a moment of brief peace that he really values

Gives short, strong knocks and brief calls (mostly, ‘hey’)

Starts to get a little angry that you’re not up. Some questions and curiosities come into play, taking the edge off, but really, how long is this going to take?

Opens your door to give a tiny lecture (read: complain) and that ass throws him into stunned silence

Satan’s the one to get a nosebleed.

Forgets he’s supporting himself on the door, loses his grip, and almost gives himself a black eye

Beet red and trying not to get blood everywhere, Satan’s telling you to get up or you’ll be late

Coming from Lucifer has its perks, as he can do The Look ™ and chase his siblings off

When you show signs of getting up and moving for the day, he goes off to tend to his nosebleed

You’re awake and ready to go--backpack and all--when you realize he has blood on his bow tie.

Satan won’t admit he likes to keep up his appearance like Lucifer, but he insists on changing it out to save himself the annoyance of answering questions all day

You help, and it takes all his willpower not to get another nosebleed as you fix his bow tie

You’re both late and he doesn’t care. You talk about books on the way.

Asmodeus

Asmo’s an early bird because his routine is extensive and the world needs his perfection.

Wants to wake you up earlier--way earlier--and everyone craps on that idea instantly.

He wanted to bond, get you all dressed up! Maybe find a way for you guys to match or just do you hair. He has lots of ideas and he’d love to play with it!

But he waits to the point of it being painful, to where it feels like a century (read: until Lucifer tells him you need to get up).

Asmodeus bounds down the hall like a giddy puppy, throwing your door open like he’s the sun itself come to wake you up.

His eyes land on you and this boy basically explodes. YOU’RE SO CUTE OH MY GOD! It’s like an arrow to the heart, honestly

That bed head? Your little feet? And that ass, oh my!

As much as he wants to, he doesn’t take any pictures with his D.D.D because 1) you’re not dating and 2) he doesn’t have your consent.

The type to tease you and (accidentally, maybe) make you so mad you get up by yourself because he does not shut up!

When your feet hit the floor he’s trying to be in three different places at once. He wants to brush your hair and help you into your uniform and ALL THE THINGS!

You may break his heart by locking him out long enough to get dressed, but he pulls the charm and puppy eyes to convince you to let him do your hair. Or your makeup. Or your nails (maybe all three).

You’re late (not because you didn’t try to leave on time) but Asmo gets the punishment tossed because “perfection cannot be punished, and we are flawless.”

Beelzebub

Despite his many midnight snacks, this boy gets up early because he wants to be the first at breakfast

Eats his food, packs a few snacks for school, and tries to sneak your portion for himself. Doesn’t mean to, but the siren call is too strong!

Besides, you’re sleeping. You can’t eat if you’re sleeping. He doesn’t want it to go to waste!

When the family clears the table, it’s time to wake you up.

This boy hopes you get up because if you get up early enough, you can stop by a restaurant and get something to eat! Or you can get a good spot at the cafeteria!

Very kind and patient with waking you up, but his stomach wins out with a loud grumble.

When the grumble doesn’t wake you up, he pokes his head in to check on you.

He has PLENTY of experience with this because of Belphie and--Beel realizes you’re partially naked and his face catches on fire.

For a minute, he’s not hungry. Just looks, then doesn’t realize he’s looking and gets more embarrassed.

This boy’s probably eaten ass at least once in his long life and he’d DEFINITELY eat yours. Or eat something off of yours. Cake would be good. Is that cake still in the fridge? Mmmm...cake...

Beel may have tried to take a bite out of you when you first arrived (because you smelled so good and humans are basically a delicacy among delicacies) but he would never without your consent, so he settles for one of his freshly-packed snacks

Wakes you up with eating/package sounds. Tries to feed you.

Is pretty content to wait for you to get ready, seeing as how he has food

You guys end up being late because he stopped to get you a coffee and that turned into coffee and lots of sweets

Belphegor

He doesn’t like being woken up so why the hell would he want to wake you up?!

It’s just wrong, him stealing another person’s sleep!

Wants to do it even less because Lucifer asked him to (the asshole)

Can’t even justify it by ‘suffering together’

Belphegor knocks on your door a few times and resists the urge to lean his head against it. This boy can sleep standing up!

He finally opens it because if he keeps closing his eyes, they’re going to stay closed

It takes him a few minutes to realize you have a nice ass because he’s hating on how asleep you are.

Like, that’s a nappin’ ass. He bets it’s comfortable and soft. Would probably make a good pillow...

Belphie likes to nap, so he knows how to gently wake a sleeping person

You don’t even open your eyes as you talk to him, your voice deep and slurred with sleep. It’s so damn cute it’s almost disgusting and Belphegor’s happy you’re not looking at his face.

Makes the dangerous mistake of sitting on your bed to annoy you (shake your shoulders, etc.) and starts to get sucked into the idea of another nap

The two of you make a compromise--he’ll say he thinks you’re sick/just needed rest, and YOU let him sleep in your room. Belphie doesn’t outright say he misses sleeping with people, and probably won’t sleep with you in the bed. It’s just the idea of having another person around.

The plan works, and Lucifer and the others think he left your room to give you privacy.

Belphie makes sure everyone’s gone as he grabs a pillow and blanket. This boy’s changed out of his uniform and into pajamas in 0.03 seconds.

Falls asleep on your floor

Lucifer comes home to yell at you guys later in the day but you’ve just catnapped in different spots of the House of Lamentation and the others shush him. Apparently he’s not allowed to wake up the human (you do look kind of cute though)

Belphie is taken off of wake-up duty.

It was long but I hope you liked it!

[writing-radionoises]

sunlight

ship: shin soukoku

genre: hurt/comfort

prompt: akutagawa can’t sleep, atsushi tries to help.

notes: based on a tumblr post i saw about a conversation between poet and an ai. it really inspired me for some reason? but anyways, enjoy!

The sun emerges over the horizon from the view of the balcony. The sky is painted with a deep violet, contrasted with the soft, vivid orange of the sun.

Akutagawa watches carefully, his own sleepless, deep red eyes blinking in despair.

He pulls the blanket around his shoulders closer to his chest, and sips his tea with his free hand.

It never seems to end. The sun will rise and fall so many times, and each time, Akutagawa can barely believe it.

Things change so fast, too fast for him to keep up with.

He barely registered himself changing over the last few months.

The person Akutagawa was 6 months ago seems distant, like an entirely different person.

Akutagawa bites down on his lip, setting the tea down on the balcony edge, and continues to watch.

The door opens behind him, and Akutagawa gives a quick glance behind him before confirming its identity. Atsushi stands out on the balcony doorway in his periwinkle pajamas and messy hair. He closes the door behind himself and steps out to join Akutagawa. He leans onto the balcony railing, now watching the colors shift and change with Akutagawa.

Akutagawa can’t help but stare at the other. He’s beautiful in the rising sunlight, the way the light brings a shine to his violet and amber eyes. There’s light, pale scars along his nose and his cheeks, some of which Akutagawa knows very well he likely gave Atsushi. HE closes his eyes and smiles, taking in the fresh morning air and Akutagawa can’t help but let his stature soften.

“You couldn’t sleep?” Atsushi asked, opening his eyes and turning over to Akutagawa as he nodded a yes.

Atsushi turns away from Akutagawa once again, though Akutagawa still can’t take his eyes off the silver haired boy.

Atsushi never once understood, but Akutagawa had thought of him as completely breathtaking. Atsushi had a hatred for himself and his appearance, he thought of himself as flawed and unwanted.

Ryuunosuke didn’t understand, he didn’t understand how Atsushi could never see his own beauty, his own worth. Everyone adored him, loved him dearly. Dazai openly adored him more than Akutagawa, Atsushi was the favored one of the two.

Atsushi could have any other person, he never had to take Akutagawa as a lover.

But he wanted Akutagawa above all else.

The thought of that almost brings Akutagawa to tears, it was a hard pill to swallow.

For someone to want him? Him, of all people? It seemed ridiculous. Akutagawa was unwantable, useless, disgusting, and vile.

He was flawed in more ways than one, and when he thinks about it… It makes him realize, he had never really been wanted before.

“Are you hurting?” Atsushi asks, placing one of his own warm hands on top of Akutagawa.

“Always,” Akutagawa says, softly as he forcibly tears his gaze away from Atsushi, staring down at their hands.

Atsushi moves in closer, their shoulders brush against each other, leaning his head onto Akutagawa’s shoulder.

“What’s hurting?”

Akutagawa taps nervously onto the balcony railing, thinking.

It’s hard to pin down. He’s always hurting, physically and mentally. His lungs hadn’t known peace since he was a kid, his heart and want to be desired repeatedly stabbed him over and over.

Akutagawa can’t remember the last time he wasn’t in pain.

“I don’t know how to deal with change,” he says, shifting his eyes further away from Atsushi, “When you change, there’s only room for more hurt. I’m tired of hurting.”

“Then why change?” Atsushi replied simply, lacing his fingers together with Akutagawa’s.

Akutagawa can only smile.

“Is there a choice, to not change? Someone like me can’t just not change… I’m a terrible person, to change is a chance to redeem myself, to help the people I’ve hurt.”

“Oh, I understand,” Nakajima replies, Akutagawa finds himself unable to keep his gaze away from Atsushi any longer.

There’s a soft, and sweet smile on his face. A blush comes to Akutagawa’s pale face, the kindness flowing out from just Atsushi’s expression makes it hard for Akutagawa to even think. It’s like putting a bandaid on his own broken heart, it doesn’t help that much, but it feels like it.

“People kill their old selves all the time,” Atsushi said, looking out towards the sun once more, “Sometimes the old ones are mourned, but there’s never a funeral.”

“Hm,” Ryuunosuke replied, taking in the words before continuing, “That’s a interesting way to put it.”

Nakajima just smiles once again, running his thumb over Ryuunosuke’s hand.

“Change is everything and everywhere. People are change, love is changes. Love is also communication, so communication is change, too.”

“Because you want to know the people you love so well, it’s like reading minds, right?” Akutagawa asked, to which Atsushi nodded a no.

“Not quite. Love is communication, because to be in love is to feel like there’s a constant dialogue between the person you love and yourself,” he explained, “You get to know yourself through other people. If you really love someone, they rarely leave your mind.”

Akutagawa fell silent, biting on his cheek as he thought.

Is that true? A rational part of his brain will say yes, it is, and that he has experienced it. Getting to know your true self through another person has happened to him time and time again. People cause change, right?

But by that logic, shouldn’t most people like change? Akutagawa can imagine most people do. Most people do enjoy the transition between two things.

Akutagawa can’t find himself in that state though. Change has rarely brought him anything but pain.

“Am I a person?” He asks, softly, and under his breath. It’s more of a question to himself, but Atsushi hears him regardless.

“Do you change?” The silver haired boy replied, tilting his head to the side.

He doesn’t laugh, or even smile at the question. He just continues on, and comforts Akutagawa through his internal crisis.

It feels strange. There should be laughing at his stupid question, of course Akutagawa is a person.

He just rarely feels like it.

“I learn all the time,” Akutagawa replied, “I’m always changing… Always growing from mistakes...”

“People do that,” Nakajima answered.

There’s more awkward silence. The sun has peaked above the horizon, and is only rising up further. There’s a stopping point for it, a stopping point where the sun realizes it is enough, too.

Akutagawa was so immersed in his own feelings and his conversation with Atsushi, he hadn’t even noticed the sun’s growth.

Is it like that before people, too? “Am I… Am I hurting?” He asks, not to Atsushi nor himself, though now to the sun, like it’ll respond.

“Maybe,” Atsushi responds, in place of the sun.

Akutagawa could take that. Atsushi feels like the sun, he’s warm, and kind, and never appreciated as he should be. The sun is ever changing, and knows there’s a limit for itself. There’s a stopping point, a point where it can say it’s done enough, and then starts the cycle over again.

“... Will it get better?” He replied, his lip trembles at his own words. It’s a stupid question, his brain tells him no, it’ll never get better. Akutagawa is doomed to suffer like this for the rest of his life.

It’ll never get better, and Akutagawa feels like he’ll die like this.

“I think so,” Atsushi answered, giving a soft and genuine smile as he pulls Akutagawa into a hug, “There isn’t a reason for it not to, after all. You’re trying to make it better, so surely it will… Do you need help?”

Akutagawa involuntarily sniffles, followed by a shrug.

“Maybe,” he squeaks. He can’t give a firm answer, he’s not sure if he does.

Atsushi comfortingly rubs his back as Akutagawa hesitantly wraps his arms around Atsushi in return, laying his head on Atsushi’s shoulder.

“I’m here, as long as you need me.”

“I, I don’t know… How long that will be… We might be here forever…”

“Nobody’s stuck in one place forever. Helping is love, too.”

Akutagawa restrains himself from clinging to Atsushi, from grasping at his shirt and holding on much tighter than he should. He knows Atsushi would never leave, and yet… And yet...

He still feels like Atsushi will walk away at any moment…

“Love is a lot of things…” Akutagawa whispered softly, “What if I get worse?”

“You won’t,” Atsushi promised, running his fingers through Akutagawa’s hair, “Nobody is stuck at their worst.”

“And if I can’t be good?”

The words fall out of Akutagawa’s mouth against his will. It’s a thought he thought he buried in the back of his mind.

He wants to be good, he wants nothing more…

To be good is to be enough for Atsushi, right?

… But what if Akutagawa can’t be good? What if he can never be enough for Atsushi?

Akutagawa can feel a smile against his shoulder from Atsushi, “You don’t need to be good, just better.”

Akutagawa takes in a shaky breath, it takes all his willpower to not break down into tears in front of Atsushi and the sun like this.

“... I have to change.”

“Mhmm.”

“Will it hurt?”

“We’ve been here before, right?”

“No, not exactly…” Ryuunosuke answered, “‘Here’ is always changing, too, right?”

“You see, you’re learning,” Atsushi replied, pushing Akutagawa back lightly to look at him in his eyes.

His fingers rub away at the few tears that fell from Akutagawa’s eyes. He doesn’t laugh at the tears, doesn’t hum jarring insults, and doesn’t yell.

He just smiles.

Akutagawa lets loose on his restraint, and holds onto Atsushi as tight as he’s been wanting, like a child with a teddy bear.

It feels almost foreign to be treated with such kindness.

[drawlfoy]

The Placebo Effect p.1

pairing: draco x femslytherin!reader

warnings: probably gonna be some “mild” language (ok, coming back, i say fuck twice, so if you’re not down, now’s the time to nope out of here)

a/n: my first real writing post! please let me know if you have any feedback/constructive criticism. my requests are open, so pleaseeee send in stuff ;) also i’m not british so i deeply apologize if i don’t have enough british slang/if i misuse it...please tell me if i do!

summary: slytherin reader isn’t a big fan of draco and they argue allll the time. slughorn reshuffles potion partners the day they’re required to brew amortentia and... a little something happens. takes place in 6th year. 

word count: 1,936

pla•ce•bo ef•fect (noun) ~ a beneficial effect produced by a placebo drug or treatment, which cannot be attributed to the properties of the placebo itself, and must therefore be due to the patient's belief in that treatment.

Y/N was growing increasingly irritated with her house: the dimly lit common room that always smelled faintly like shoe polish, the dorm rooms which always chilled her to the bone, the dark green that clashed with her favorite color (pastel blue, if you were wondering), the disgusting amount of blood purity prejudice, and of course, Draco Malfoy. 

He had been tolerable enough in the beginning, focusing all his chaotic energy on Potter and the rest of the Golden Trio, but ever since 6th year had started, he’d pulled back and instead moped around like a very pale golden retriever who had just been told he wasn’t ever going to play fetch again. Well, a very pale, very rude, and very rich golden retriever. As a result, Y/N had to see much more of his ridiculously pale (but admittedly very delicately structured) face.She hadn’t known peace since.

“Watch where you’re going.” 

The cold and haughty voice ripped Y/N out of her thoughts as she accidentally bumped into a silk-clad shoulder. She looked up to see none other than Malfoy scowling down at her, his silver eyes narrowed and his jaw set. 

“My apologies. Didn’t your mother ever tell you it was rude to block the doorway?” Y/N’s voice was sugary sweet, dripping with sarcasm.

“Yes. She also told me how improper it is to get into the pants of a muggle. I’m guessing yours didn’t buy into that lesson?” A perfectly plucked blond eyebrow raised.

Y/N felt her face grew hot. How did he know her mother married a muggle? Her mouth opened and closed as the overwhelming feeling of being lost for words overtook her.

Stay calm, stay calm. Don’t let him see that he rattled you. 

Y/N set her face into a smirk that rivaled his. 

“No, actually.” She readied herself to go in for the kill. “Instead, she taught me the importance of rejecting an ideology that would eventually lead to me fucking my cousin.”

With that, Y/N made her exit, slipping past Malfoy and flouncing off to the Dining Hall. Sometimes it felt good to beat that prick at his own game.

“Alright, students,” Professor Slughorn began. He clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention and cleared his throat in a way only old men could. “Today, we’re going to be brewing the most powerful love potion in existence. Can anyone tell me what this potion is?”

Pansy Parkinson’s hand shot up. Y/N rolled her eyes. When Granger wasn’t here to remind everyone how smart she was, Parkinson was always available to pick up the slack. 

“Yes, Miss Parkinson.” 

“Amortentia. Its aroma is different to every individual, depending on what scents you find most attractive, even if you aren’t aware of it. Consuming it will make one obsessive with infatuation.”

“Thank you, Miss Parkinson.” Professor Slughorn cleared his throat once again. Y/N felt a smile form on her face. She had a special place in her heart for the professor. He was so pure and reminded her of her grandfather...even though he was a muggle. 

“I’ll assign each of you to new partners.” Slughorn’s words immediately made Y/N reconsider her previous thoughts that portrayed him kindly. She turned and sent Daphne Greengrass, her (ex) potions partner, a disappointed frown and waited to hear her name. All of the other Slytherins were intolerable or at least a little prejudiced.

This is too much for a Monday morning she thought, placing her hand on her forehead in a dramatic gesture. 

“Greengrass you’re with Zabini. Nott, you’re with Parkinson. Y/L/N, you’re with Malfoy.”

The names afterwards morphed into a slush of noise that Y/N couldn’t even be bothered to comprehend. Daphne reached over and gave her shoulder a sympathetic squeeze as Y/N sat, frozen with disappointment and surprise. 

This couldn’t be happening. She had done so well in his class. Why was Slughorn punishing her now? He couldn’t have missed how much of a piece of work Malfoy was, and Y/N was one of Slughorn’s favorite students. How could he betray her like this?

“Does everyone know who they will be working with today?” Slughorn’s voice pulled Y/N out of her pity party. 

“Yes, Professor Slughorn.” The depressed chorus of voices in the room offered Y/N some solace that, yes, she wasn’t the only one displeased with the new seating arrangements. 

“Good. Find your partner and begin. Your time starts now.”

Everyone sprung up in a mad dash to find their fellow worker and get started. Potions class was much harder now that they were 6th years, and each student needed all the time they were offered. 

“Fancy this.” For the second time that day, Y/N was given the treat of being surprised by Malfoy’s voice right next to her. 

“You chop, I stir.” Her words were matter-of-fact and straight to the point. She’d be damned if someone as rude as him messed up her shot at getting the highest mark. 

Surprisingly enough, Malfoy nodded, flipping open the potions book to the designated page and gathering ingredients while Y/N prepared the cauldron. 

Y/N almost started feeling bad for him as she stirred. The bags under his eyes were large enough to be designer and his eyes, once a bright and sparkling silver, were dull and unenthused. Perhaps she had judged him too quickly.

“Uh...Malfoy,” she began awkwardly, losing confidence once he met her eyes with a convicting stare, “I’m sorry about this morning. For calling you...er...a cousin fucker, and stuff.”

His eyebrows raised again. She wondered if his eyebrows ever got tired with how much he judgmentally lifted them.

“No. You’re not.” His tone was more defeated and uninterested than vindictive, so Y/N let it slide. They continued their work. 

“Your hair.” 

The phrase jolted Y/N out of her flow and forced her to look up at her partner. 

“My what?”

“Your hair. It’s about to get into the potion.” Malfoy glanced down at the lip of the cauldron and back up to my face with one eyebrow cocked as if to say yeah, look. Y/N obliged and saw a single strand of her hair barely about to touch the edge of the cauldron. 

How had he even noticed that? 

“Overdramatic much?” Y/N shot back. 

“We’re almost done, can we just get through this first?” Malfoy’s tone came across as nearly pleading, something that Y/N would never expect.

She rolled her eyes and looked down at the directions. She only had to stir the potion thirteen times clockwise, and it would be done. 

“No, I think we can talk about it now. It is basically done.” Y/N glared at him. If he wanted a fight, he could get one. 

“Well then.” His tone was a 180 from the pleading one he had adopted just a few seconds ago, now snippity and offended. “I said that no, you weren’t sorry, because I meant what I said this morning. I know you did too.”

“How would you know what I think?” 

Merlin, who did he think he was? 

“Half-bloods. They’re all the same, so predictable. It’s like you all have a hive mind or something.” He paused to fiddle with his sleeve. “But it doesn’t matter whether you meant it or not. We both know it’s not true.”

Y/N was fuming. How many times had she stirred? Ah, yes, 8. 5 more to go. It took all her willpower to continue stirring at a controlled pace. 

“Don’t you know that your blood purity isn’t a personality trait?” Y/N hissed back. 

“Sure. Still makes me superior though.” His eyes were flaming despite his measured response.

“What are you gonna do once your lot is all intermarried? What’s the plan, genius?” 

2 more stirs to go. 

“I don’t take questions from pathetic half breeds,” Malfoy spat.

1 stir left.

“Why, because you can’t answer it?” Y/N exclaimed. “You know you’re wrong!” 

13 stirs. Y/N’s hand slowed the ladle to a stop.

“No.” Malfoy leaned in, so close she could feel his hot breath one her face. “You just know that you’ll never be welcome here.”

That was it. Y/N’s hand shot up from the cauldron, aiming to shove the Malfoy heir away from her, but she forgot to drop the ladle. Instead, the ladle was flung at the two with enough force to splatter their exposed skin with the freshly brewed amortentia. 

Y/N and Malfoy both froze, staring at each other, then staring at the potion coating them.

“What have you done?” Malfoy whispered, eyes growing wide. Y/N had never noticed how kind his eyes looked--they were like two miniature stars, flickering and shimmering with the reflected light of the room. 

So that’s why my favorite color is pale blue Y/N thought dreamily, letting her hand drop the ladle to the ground. It clattered as it hit the stone, but she didn’t notice. It was much more worthwhile to admire the fairness of his hair. How could it be so pale and delicate? It reminded Y/N of spun gold.

Draco--when did she start calling him Draco?--raised one quivering hand to the side of her face.

“You have an eyelash.” His voice was quiet but deep and melodic.

His thumb brushed over the skin under her eye, making her shiver from the cool touch. He had very long, elegant fingers. How had Y/N never paid any mind to them before?

The classroom had fallen silent at this point, but Y/N hadn’t even noticed. All that existed in the room was the boy gazing at her with eyes softer than anything she had ever seen before. He still hadn’t moved from his close proximity. If Y/N looked hard enough, she could count the dark grey flecks in his eyes--ooh, or each of the long eyelashes fanning them. 

Draco licked his lips, a motion that pulled her attention away from his eyes. 

“I didn’t mean what I said about your mother,” he whispered. Never had Y/N ever heard such a tenderly stated sentiment before. 

“I know. I didn’t mean what I said either.” 

Draco’s hand was resting on the side of her face, cupping her cheek and holding her in place.

When had that happened?

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore, nothing except the fact that the blond boy was leaning even closer, his eyes beginning to flutter shut. She followed suit, sending one last glance down at his lips before they touche--

“Well, isn’t this an interesting scene.” 

Y/N and Draco sprung apart to see Professor Snape staring cooling at them.

“Thank you for calling me over, Professor Slughorn. I can take it from here. Parkinson looks like she might need some assistance.”

No matter how hard she tried, Y/N had difficulty tearing her eyes away from Draco, and it seemed as though he was fighting the same struggle.

“Do indulge me,” Snape drawled. “How did you both manage to accidentally consume the same potion?”

“Professor,” Y/N replied, “We didn’t drink it. It just spilled.” Her tone was giddier than she would’ve liked, but it was okay. Everything was okay, just as long as Draco kept looking at her with those jewel-like eyes.

“Well then.” Snape sighed. “I am assuming that neither of you bothered to listen to the explanation of how amortentia functions?”

“Well, sure, Professor,” Y/N responded. “It’s the most powerful love potion in the world and it makes you fall in love with--”

“You see,” Snape interjected, “If you or Mr. Malfoy decided to pay attention, you would’ve heard that amortentia is meant to be consumed. Its effects don’t occur from skin contact.”

“What are you saying?” Draco looked just as concerned as Y/N.

“I’m saying that you two have some unfinished business to work out. The potion didn’t cause,” Snape motioned to the two students, “this.”

With that, Professor Snape stalked off, leaving Draco and Y/N to gape at each other. 

final a/n: if you would like me to continue this, let me know! thank you for reading and send your requests in! and in the case you’re confused by the ending: check out what the placebo effect is. it’s a very interesting topic! 

[punkwithpaints]

The Rammstein Magic!AU no one asked for

Sorry this is kinda Richard heavy. I originally was just going to use him as an inspiration for a single character, but the deeper I went for his character, the more I started pulling in the rest of the gang until I decided it was easier to call it an AU. This is absolute word vomit and spit balling an idea, but I’d love to hear what you think and some feedback! Pardon the rambling and sorry if this makes zero sense.

 Richard: Alright, so, basically he can summon spirits/entities things like that. He knows about the forest’s darker secrets. Think of those spooky writings that are like “If you’re in the woods and hear 3 knocks, knock back but leave immediately.” Like, this fucker knows every old spirit, good, bad and unknown that go through the forest. He knows all the do’s and don’t’s and people come to him when they manage to get curses put on them or their families. He also knows about monsters that lurk around at night and other things.

With summoning, it’s a skill where at first it’s overwhelming since he starts to see and hear spirits and all that, so it’s a hard power to learn. Most summon animals or things that are living, not the dead. Most people’s minds can’t handle the added effect of seeing and hearing that stuff constantly.

He goes to churches or houses that people are like, “Uh, What is happening in this place?”. And he can strut in, look around and be like, “lmao that’s a demon, I see you fucker.” And he’s gotten so good at summoning that he can kinda reverse uno whatever it is, causing to it to be able to be seen by everyone else as well.

Problem is, when he first started learning, he got cocky and ended up fucking around with something way stronger than what he could handle at the time and basically got possessed. For years he is basically a dick. He’s dangerous, reclusive, hurts his friends and those around him, yadda yadda. Finally, he has enough will power to try and stop this thing, but the only way he knows how to get rid of it is to kill himself. Because without a living soul/body, the demon has nothing to feed off of or a place to stay. So he attempts by trying to slit his wrists, however, the demon is so impressed with his willpower and determination he offers a deal. It basically says, “Listen, I’ll make you a deal. You will have free will over your body and mind, but I get to stay.” Fine. Demon doesn’t let him die, heals his wounds, but there are scars obviously.

Richard now has a demon inside him. Fantastic. Richard and the demon can converse back and forth. So, Richard will be like, “Yeah, looks like you’re dealing with *insert demon thing here*.” And suddenly his voice will change and the demon is like, “I don’t know, it seems more like *other demon thing*”. Freaks people out pretty bad usually, if they aren’t expecting it. Richard also has a regular eye and a blind eye. Regular eye is just a regular eye, but his other blind eye is what gives him the ability to see the spirits. It’s like a right of passage for his type of people, where they have to blind one of their own eyes somehow.

ANYWAY

With the demon inside him, the demon has the ability to bring things back from the dead. Hence why Richard was able to come back after attempting to kill himself. Technically speaking, Richard is sorta permanently dead but living. I considered giving him no heart beat but I’ll get back to that in a sec. So, Demon and him slowly start working together where he lets the demon influence and strengthen his summoning powers and summon the actual dead as well as see them. Now he has necromancy.

When the demon made his deal, he tells Richard he can summon him if he needs him, but it’s gonna be hella taxing. Richard has to summon him exactly as he did the first time. AKA, slit his wrists to activate it. So, demon would take back into control causing Richards magic to get stronger by God knows how much. Obviously, he can’t do this very often or for too long, but if shit really hits the fan, this could help him make it out alive. I mean, the demon really doesn’t want to lose his flesh home.  I’m thinking this is where the heart beat thing comes into play. Where he’s sorta half dead, his heart would stop when he activates the demon to take over.

  Till: TILL. THIS GUY. So, I figured where Till likes the water/swimming/animals so much, he’d live at the edge of the forest by the ocean cliff sides. He’s specialize in familiars and mythological creatures. Like, he’s BFF’s with the local sirens and mermaids. He’s the opposite of Richard. Till has the magic that I forget the name of but it revolves around communicating with animals, knowing what the area is saying through them, that kinda stuff if that makes any sense. He likes growing special and rare herbs for potions and rituals. He’s pretty quiet and doesn’t like being around people, so he keeps his magic on the down low usually and spends his time talking to the sirens and mermaids, creatures/animals around him. Tends to his garden and such. He sells it at the weekend markets where he does fine since he’s one of the few that can offer certain herbs. I think he would have a shapeshifting ability or have a familiar he could change into. I’m thinking a bear or a griffin. Druid-ish????

Although Till loves the water, he’s actually specializes in pyromancy. He doesn’t use it too often, since he keeps his magic mainly hidden, but hey, he can start a camp fire or his stove with it, so that’s nice. He loves to gossip with the mermaids and sirens. They were a little confused when their tricks and songs didn’t work on him, well, they did a little, but not completely. But then they put 2 and 2 together and go, “Oh….Wait….I don’t think he likes girls as much as some of the other sailors we’ve met.” So now they just accept him as their bestie and like talking to him about their crushes and the newest dumb sailors they all lured in. They both share fish catches with each other, and Till does sketches of the market/forest so he can come and show them what it looks like since they’re curious.

He also owns a dragon. Not a big one. One that’s the size of a parrot. It likes to chill on his shoulder and likes crackers and grasshoppers. He raised it from an egg. Everyone is all like, “Dude yeah he’s scary omg, I heard he has a whole dragon!!” and they stop by, only to find this burly dude having a cup of tea with the mermaids and a tiny dragon nibbling a graham cracker on his shoulder.

However, his herbs/garden is what links him to Paul and Flake.

 Paul/Flake: So, these two bois live together (Definitely no homo going on here) and Flake is even more recluse than Till. They have a cloaking spell on their cabin. You have to absolutely know a certain tree with a ritual attached to it or a spell/password sorta deal to gain access/the ability to see it.

They’re in an open field/prairie area. Flake would be a healer and very good at protection based spells and rituals. He always buys a lot of his herbs from Till so him and Till are close because 1.) Both reclusive as fuck and 2.) P L A N T S.

Meanwhile, Paul has telekinesis and mind reading. He’s a cocky boi but he does care a ton. Even if everyone wants to smack him half the time. I keep thinking their first meeting was something along the lines of:

Flake brings him along when he goes to Till to stock up on herbs, and Paul meets Richard for the first time since Richard stopped by to visit. It’s probably pretty fresh after the whole “Tried to kill myself to yeet the demon out of me and now we’re roommates” deal. And They have barely shaken hands when Paul is looks smug and goes, “You regret you didn’t die but you were honestly too scared too as well.” And Richard is like “ALRIGHT I HAVE TO KILL HIM DON’T YOU DARE READ MY MIND LIKE THAT”. So, Paul and Richard hate each other for a while. Well, Richard hates Paul, Paul doesn’t mind Richard, he’s just waiting for him to come back to him cause that’s usually how first meetings go for him.

Later on, as they start to talk, Paul confides in Richard (after apologizing) that he understands what Richard felt and that he had attempted before as well. Being able to hear everyone’s thoughts and feel their emotions is horrible when you first start out, and is incredibly overwhelming. Over time, Richard and him end up connecting pretty well. Richard still hates the mind reading thing (so does Till), but despite the differences, they’re friends.

Paul can also temporarily slow/reverse time in a certain limit around him. Maybe like, 15-20 foot radius? For about 30 seconds? Let’s say Till decided to use his pyromancy towards him, Paul can decide to halt it and slow it, or it can begin to reverse itself. Richard sends out some hellhounds, Paul can cause them to slow way down once they get close so he can duck around them and hurry off somewhere else.  

Flake, despite the hatred of being around people, is actually a pretty great guy once he warms up to you. He’s someone you can have a good cry with but also, he can absolutely fuck up your whole day. I’d think since he can do cloaking spells, he’d understand spells about portals and rifts. To make something ‘invisible’ (AKA, their house), he’s more so just shifting the dimensions people can see, making it into one that they can’t. And sometimes, you got to yeet your idiot friends through portals to somewhere safe cause they don’t know when to shut the hell up. One of my inspirations for his powers was the music video to the song Falling to Pieces by David Guetta, specifically around the 2:55 mark. I’d imagine that, instead of getting obliterated like the people in the music video, it more that he’s shifting every part of that person into different portals/dimensions. I mean, technically, yeah, they die. BUT HEY, who can say they died via getting blasted through different portals and shifts down to a molecular level? Flake can’t do it a lot obviously. It’s hard enough opening one or two portals, so to pull a stunt like that could kill him if he isn’t careful enough. So many times everyone has had to be like FLAKE NO HEY CHILL WE ARE OKAY DON’T DO THAT.

I imagine Flake and Paul have been friends since they were teenagers, so they watched each other’s powers develop. Once Paul starts figuring his powers out, it starts becoming too much. Flake tries his best to be supportive and encourage him and keep him sane, but Paul can feel how much he’s scaring Flake and making him worry. Paul finally tries to end it (in a similar fashion to Richard, so they have matching scars which is another bonding point for them), but Flake finds him in time. However, Flake hasn’t quite got his healing abilities down yet, but the fear and adrenaline of losing his best friend is what flips the switch to finally allow him to completely channel it. Paul heals up and startles back into reality and is like “EXCUSE ME, I THOUGHT YOU COULDN’T DO THAT” and Flake is shaking him like, “YOU DUMBASS IF YOU EVER DIE IM GOING TO KILL YOU.”

 Ollie: My tall boi. I’m thinking he’s part wood elf. His magic is based off of using the environment such as tree roots or trees, manipulating and summoning eco life around him. Wanna get beat by a root system? Ollie is your guy. His powers are kinda like Till, but not as animal heavy. I know there’s a word for this magic too but my ass cannot remember it for the life of me. He’s probably one of the rarest of the bunch to spot, but unlike Till or Flake, he doesn’t put up much of a fight when it comes to seeing people or going out. People are intimidated by him cause, I mean, this fucker is 6’7 and came out of the woods like some magical sasquatch lumberjack.

But he’s very down to earth (Pun intended). Ollie crafts armor or blades in his spare time. Sometimes he’ll join Till at the market and sell his stuff or take commissions from anyone who needs new weapons/armor, or if they need anything repaired. He knows how to lace objects with magic so it can do a better job with protection or heighten the users own abilities. Ollie is able to know what’s happening in his neck of the woods. He lives in the deepest part of the forest, Richard isn’t too far from him actually. But Ollie’s area is more of a calm area of the woods, not the spooky ass weird area Richard stays in.  Ollie has way more ALIVE deer, first off. No wendigos. What a difference.

I don’t know how to phrase this without it sounding dumb as hell, but basically he talks to trees. He can tap his magic into the systems of the trees and plants and pick up on conversations miles away from him. The trees become his eyes and ears, if that makes sense. It’s never super sharp or in focus (Dream like maybe?), but he’ll know when you’ve entered his section of the woods. He can sometimes tell roughly how many, and catch snippets of your conversations. He’ll make sure to keep an eye on you.

Schneider: My boy. I’m thinking he’s a witch mage kinda guy who has visions and predictions. He fucking loves crystals, tarot cards, special odds and ends, things like that. Reading the stars kinda guy. Schneider actually gets called in by the king or whomst the fuck ever is running this world I’m coming up with, to predict the futures of queens incoming babies, wars, decision making, yadda yadda. He’s hella guidance and damn good at what he does. His visions are never in perfect clarity, but with the aid of his other doodads and such, he can give you a pretty good estimate. He’s like Turbo Tax, but with life choices.

I’m thinking his powers would probably be something along the lines of a copy cat? He can usually tell what your about to do a few seconds before you do it. Somethings are super easy for him to predict (like a punch), other things are harder (complicated magic). I think he might fit under the title Warlock with a Vestige pact? Where the souls/echos of his ancestors that have passed on stay with him. They’re the ones that help him see glimpses into the future make sure he’s protected. They’re also why he can replicate (roughly) most spells that are done towards him. For example: If Paul tried to levitate something and toss it at him, there’s a chance that someone before Schneider, in his linage, had some kind of knowledge of that form of magic. If Schneider reacts fast enough, he can reverse uno that shit back at Paul or toss it somewhere else. Sometimes, it’s more of a canceling effect. So, if Richard tried to resurrect something to attack him, he could undo the resurrection spell, making the dead thing fall back apart, since you can’t double bring something back to life.

Him and Richard went through a similar process to gain their abilities. Richard is a host and dealt with/is dealing with being possessed, and Schneider is temporily possessed/influenced by his ancestors when needed. For a bit, they’re tense around each other cause both felt they were better than the other. Schneider felt like Richard “cheated” to gain his necromancy powers, while Richard is pissed that Schneider had it “so easy” compared to what he went through.

Like Paul and Richard, Schneider and Richard finally have a sit down and Schneider admits his whole ritual/process of gaining his abilities.

To gain access to all the souls/echos, Schneider had to ‘live’ through each ones most painful times via his visions. So, easily 100+ memories that he has to go through in one go. No stopping, feeling/seeing/hearing everything that happened to these people, one at a time. Sometimes it’s their deaths, sometimes it’s a fight or injury, sometimes is verbal things. It totally wrecks with a persons mind and body. A lot of times, the people who go through this process don’t make it because they try and kill themselves afterwards or during. If they stop the line of visions, they cannot ever be started again. They usually develop a severe fever and cold chills, and the process can take several days. So if the fever or themselves don’t kill them, they might make it. So him and Richard bond over that.

I know it sounds stupid, but Schneider lives in a cave. Once you enter, it’s lined with different crystals, crystal balls, dices, maps, star charts, ornate rugs on the floor, silks all over the place, just really nice and cozy.

Overall, each one could work together and combine powers. Examples include: Richard and Till combining Richard Necromancy and Till’s Pyromancy to create a physical embodiment of hell and scare the absolute shit out of anyone.

Ollie (Controlling trees/roots) and Till (connections with animals and mythical beasts) deciding to just use a whole ass forest all that lives in it to really fuck up someone’s day.

Schneider and Paul staying 50 plus steps ahead of the game. Even more so, could Schneider have Paul slow time so he could have a better chance of knowing what’s about to happen/copy a spell?

Flake and Paul working together to slow time, then open portals for enemies to run head first into at last second.

There’s some other ways but there’s a few! I’m so sorry this is so long.

[brainsdivided]

Shattered Hearts and Broken Dreams - Chapter 2

22 August 2293

While Ezekiel spent some time on bed-rest, Joshua made the decision to prepare the boy for a risky trip. With no medicine left for what Ezekiel needed, Joshua decided that they would need to leave Zion. First and foremost, to find Ezekiel help, and hopefully along the way recover some information on Ezekiel’s brother and father. Joshua planned for them to make their way south to Legion territory. While risky, it would take less time to find a bordering town than to navigate the Grand Staircase and the areas surrounding it to get to Dead Horse Point. It would take too long. Despite it being the current residence of Joshua’s tribes, he would rather risk running into trouble he could handle than to prolong any unnecessary illnesses.    

A large bag with supplies along with a few other necessities had been prepared. Everything they would need for their trip. 

Ezekiel appeared nervous and hesitant, his back was hunched and his head was lowered. "What if I grow too weak for the trip?" He looked up at his guardian, unsure of himself.

"Son, you will do well. The Lord will strengthen you and with His help we will prevail." The old man smiled and despite wearing bandages it was clear as day through the wrinkles around his eyes. 

The boy sighed and scooted off the bed. Joshua carried most of the supplies and together, the pair made their way out of the camp’s cave and into Zion, following the trails until they ended up travelling along route 9, moving east out of the old national park.

Later during the day, Joshua tried bringing the boy some comfort using his understanding of his religious beliefs. Though, Ezekiel didn’t take to it too kindly.

The boy scoffed and tried to wave off the topic. "I've been read those books front to back and it doesn't make much sense. God isn't going to help me, but you will, Uncle Josh." He looked up at Joshua, a playful smile upon his face. Ezekiel felt better compared to when he first arrived, but the edges of the whites of his eyes were red, his sickness had begun flaring up once again.

"Don't doubt the Lord for he will save you and your soul." Joshua spoke coldly, clearly unapproving of Ezekiel’s dismissive behavior.

Ezekiel shook his head and kicked the pebbles as they walked. "I get called a troublemaker sometimes, though I don’t see why, I just like having fun… Is having fun a sin in your book?”

"No. Even if it was, son, our good Lord offers us redemption for any sin. I have done things you couldn't imagine in your worst nightmares. We all have sinned, but our path to heaven can be guaranteed through our trust in our redemption and through the commandments we keep." One hand was on the boy's shoulder. "I will help to make sure you stay on the right path."

One of Ezekiel’s little ginger eyebrows rose up in response to Joshua’s cryptic words. "Whatever you say. Your book is strange." He gestured to Joshua's blue covered book he kept in one of his vest pockets.

"Some things are just not to be understood by our meager human minds." The man was dismissive and ignored the derogatory comments.

 Instead, he discussed with Ezekiel if the boy had received any formal education. When Ezekiel said that he only had his family to teach him but that he still has a hard time with his lessons, Joshua was quick to respond, “Then perhaps a bible study is in order. Provided you feel well enough when we come to a rest.”

Ezekiel cringed, “I can’t read and when I try, lots of words hurt my head. Lots of words from that book don’t even sound like words!” He walked in front of Joshua backwards to face him, his little legs taking multiple steps to outpace the strides his guardian was able to make.

“I will help you. Reading this book can help you expand your vocabulary, as well as understand how to find and utilize the book’s lessons in your life.” Joshua stated as he guided the boy’s shoulders to make him walk straight forward and by his side. “But, keep your rude comments to yourself. We do not dismiss the good book in the ways you do.”

"I pinky promise. Instead of being mean, I’ll be nice and ask questions." Ezekiel held up his hand, pinky extended.

Joshua extended his pinkie and reluctantly did the pinky promise. "You do know that if you don't keep your promise, the tradition says I can cut off your pinky, right?"

The boy's red-tinged eyes widened and he drew in a sharp breath. "Oh well.... You can't have my pinky! I'll keep the promise." Ezekiel pulled his hand back and clasped them in a way that hides his pinkies in his palms.

"I'm joking, son. We are Mormons, not barbarians." With Joshua’s usual tone of voice, the older man’s jokes were hard for Ezekiel to pick up on.

Ezekiel’s energy had stayed kicking throughout the day, minus some bouts of vomiting. As a typical child, though, the boy would blabber and be nosy, asking questions such as:

"Do your burns really never heal?”

“Do they really always hurt?"

“Does it hurt to sit?”

Joshua ignored the boy’s persistent questions until he was able to get the boy to quiet down enough for him to speak. He figured that it was Ezekiel’s nerves making him energetic, as he had seen before in children that were anxious to be merged into the Legion. It would be best to just answer them. "They covered me in pitch that burned itself into my skin to stop it from ever having the chance to heal properly. It was the final act of Caesar's cruelty against me. As for the pain, everything hurts. Day and night, summer and winter. The pain would be unbearable were it not for the mission the Lord gave me." He looked into the distance as they started to veer south, off the road. "This condition I found myself in is my earthly punishment for my sins. What I truly fear is how I will be judged in the end."

Ezekiel wasn’t sure what to make of Joshua’s words. "So.... helping people is kind of like a distraction from the pain? Are you immortal like a ghoul? Will you be dead when I’m your age?"

"I will be gone whenever the Lord decides it is my time. He may believe that I deserve to learn from my mistakes for another 50 years, He may believe I must leave this plane of existence very soon. None of us know His plans." 

Ezekiel went silent, and thought about what Joshua said and decided to stick closer to him. Then, he spoke up again, “Am I strong enough? What if your god decides that my time is within the trip?" He tugged at the collar of his as he had begun sweating from the desert sun.

"Then that is how it must be. God has a plan for each of us; no matter what though, I will not let your father's death go unavenged."

Shuddering, Ezekiel spoke meekly, "So if I get shot and I'm dying, you would leave me and assume that God will handle it? That doesn’t sound very nice."

Joshua rested his hand against the weakened boy’s back, providing some reassurance to Ezekiel’s nerves. "I will not and have not abandoned a brother in arms. I won't leave you." His look was to the front. "It is still by my willpower that I do everything. We all make our own choices."

Beside Joshua, the boy had grown quiet, resting upon Joshua’s words. The older man removed a folded map from one of his vest pockets. Unfolding it, he told Ezekiel that where they were beginning to tread was dangerous, and that if he wasn't careful, he could end up seriously hurt or dead.

As the pair made their way along thin paths on the edges of cliffs and old roads, Ezekiel made sure to hold onto Joshua’s vest so as to not let himself stray off or fall behind. After a while though, Ezekiel grew fatigued and nausea crept back into his throat. Letting go of Joshua’s vest, he moved aside to heave. 

In response to Ezekiel’s sudden energy decline, Joshua began making camp, setting up a fire and laying out a small sleeping bag for the sickly boy. When everything was set, and Joshua came to rest by the fire, Ezekiel sat with him, their arms brushing against each other. There wasn’t much more to say. Didn’t matter anyway, Ezekiel’s eyes fluttered from exhaustion and his body felt achy. 

Over the course of a couple hours, Joshua peacefully read his book aloud. Right there with him was Ezekiel, fighting sleep by occasionally nodding off and resting his head on Joshua’s thigh. It was peaceful for the boy. Despite the nausea in his aching stomach and the mild pain in his muscles, he was relatively comfortable. Under the darkness of the new moon, Ezekiel took comfort in both the firelight in front of him and the bandaged hand that rested upon his back. Occasionally the older man would gently run his hand through Ezekiel’s dusty red hair, taking notice to the boy’s content sighs and mumblings. When it was late enough to where the fire started to become small, Joshua ushered Ezekiel to his sleeping bag.

As he did, Ezekiel spoke of his uncertainty about the possibility of their camp getting attacked during the night. Though, he quickly reassured himself. “If something did happen, I know you'd be on it in seconds. Dad said that when he traveled with you he would barely get shots in because you'd just clear everything out within seconds like a spore carrier.”

While helping Ezekiel into the sleeping bag, Joshua responded with a softer tone of voice, “I am good at doing what must be done."

"Then I know I'm in good hands..." Trying to stifle a yawn, he pulled his arms inside his shirt to conserve his warmth. After exchanging a couple phrases of ‘sweet dreams’, exhaustion swept over the sick boy with Joshua sitting and reading close by.

“That, you are, son.” 

[qfantasydragon]

Supersoakers

Author’s note: This is part 3 in an ongoing fic. You can find part 1 here and part 2 here. It’s also up on AO3 (x).

Part 4

Three days later, Aziraphale’s sword was quietly picked up by a shipping company.  

“You don’t want to keep it?” Crowley double-checked as Aziraphale bustled about, opening up the bookshop. The angel paused thoughtfully as he settled behind the counter.  

“It does contain some of... well, me, I suppose, but I like to think it’s doing some good out there in the world. Not all wars are fought for the wrong reasons.” Crowley heard the spaces between the words and understood what his angel wasn’t saying. I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to war.  

“Besides,” Aziraphale continued, “If worst comes to worst, I’m fairly certain I can call it back to me now.”  

“Nnngyeah, I guess that’s a good point,” the bookshop was full of sun, and Crowley was resisting the urge to find a bright corner to curl up in. Course, behind the register was pretty bright too...  

There was a jangle from the door and loud chatter spilled into the bookshop. The angel and the demon turned and saw a tangle of limbs, hair, and children that eventually resolved itself to be Them. 

“Hello Crowley, hello Aziraphale,” Adam greeted them cheerfully from the front of the pack, Dog eyeing Aziraphale suspiciously at his feet, “Mum and Dad are a few stores down, and they said we could come wait in here as long as we promised to be good.”  

“Errm, yes, hello.” Aziraphale blinked as Brain meandered toward a stack of particularly old first editions with his fingers covered in what appeared to be melted chocolate. Wensleydale was headed toward some old encyclopedias and Pepper was scanning the whole area with a disproving look. Crowley was considering the dignity of staging a strategic retreat and whether or not that was considered bad form in front of the former Antichrist.  

“Wicked!” Adam exclaimed delightedly, “You’ve got the books!” and made a beeline for the red covers that hadn’t been there before the Apocalypse-that-wasn't.  

Crowley was slithering towards the back when Aziraphale gave him a desperate look. Crowley shook his head frantically. Aziraphale switched to pleading and the demon’s shoulder’s slumped. He never could resist that look.  

"Not very sportsmanlike,” he murmured to his angel as he strode back into the bookshop.  

“I have no idea what you mean, I’m sure,” Aziraphale responded with a grateful smile. Crowley snorted,  

“Sssure you don’t, angel,” he responded lazily as he snapped his fingers. Brians's hands were suddenly free of chocolate as he tugged out a faded book. “All right you lot, keep your hands off the merchandise. These are all expensive, so unless you want to be paying for them...”  

“But they’re just grubby old books,” Pepper complained. Aziraphale’s eye twitched. “How can they be expensive?”  

“Maybe they’ve got stuff hidden inside them?” Wensleydale suggested. “Like rubies or daggers!”  

“Adam?” Aziraphale sharply interrupted the conversation, “What is it?” Adam had reached the window where the red-covered books were kept and had gotten as far as taking one out before he had frozen.  

“They’re coming,” he sighed in a thoughtful tone. “And they’re not pleased with either of you.” The rest of Them paused and looked over at Adam. Half faded memories of a forest and a storm tugged at them uneasily, and they all bunched together.  

“Who’s coming, my dear boy?”  

“His lot,” Adam gestured vaguely to Crowley, “The person with the flies. And others. Lots of others.” Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged grim looks.  

“Alright kiddos, time for you all to head out. Go on, shoo,” Crowley did his best to shove them towards the door.  

“But we want to help!” protested Adam.  

“You don’t want to be involved with this. The last time was bad enough,” Aziraphale stepped out from behind the counter, closing the register.  

“But I bet we can be really useful! We’ve played war loads of times!”  

“Yeah, and I’m sure we’ve got lots of good ideas!”  

“Like what?” Aziraphale tartly asked Them. They all considered for a moment.  

“I saw a movie on TV where demons can’t cross holy water,” Wensleydale offered, “We could ring the place with the stuff!” Crowley winced slightly, six-thousand-year-old habits being hard to break.  

“Demons can step over holy water just fine,” Aziraphale responded, casting a worried look at Crowley, “they just can’t touch it.”  

“Or else what?” Brian asked.  

“Or else they melt,” the angel snapped, trying once more to herd them to the door.  

“Supersoakers,” Adam announced thoughtfully. Everyone paused, and after some consideration, the rest of the Them began nodding.  

“Super-what now?” Aziraphale asked confusedly.  

“Supersoakers and water balloons,” Adam repeated and added, the idea growing wonderfully in his mind.  

“Brilliant,” breathed Brian.  

“It’ll be just like that grand old fight last summer with Greasy Johnson,” Pepper added delighted.  

Aziraphale passed a confused glance to Crowley.  

“They may be on to something here angel,” the demon admitted, “I’ve seen what they’re talking about in stores. It’s these guns that shoot water, and balloons that are full of it that you throw at people. Wouldn’t be too hard to fill with holy water. Even less difficult to miracle some up. Supersoakers and water guns, that is. You can take care of the holy water?”  

“Of course, my dear,” Aziraphale agreed. (It must be noted that the angel was still rather fuzzy on this whole ‘supersoakers’ idea, although he had a vague memory of some children in the park throwing water balloons. Crowley was not much better off, supersoakers and water balloons not being much use in mischief that he had had to report to Down Below.)  

“Now can we stay?” asked Brian hopefully.  

The word ‘no’ was on the edge of Aziraphale’s lips when Crowley glanced out the window and reported,  

“It doesn’t look like you have much of a choice.” Aziraphale followed his gaze.  

Heaven had come with quality and cleverness.  

Hell came with quantity and brute force.  

Cars were screeching to a stop outside as a thick ring of demons began to close in on the shop.  

Crowley snapped his fingers hastily and a pile of brightly colored plastic guns and a bucket of empty balloons appeared on the floor of the shop.  

“Fill, please,” Aziraphale murmured and the guns that had already been snatched up by Them were suddenly heavier, and the bucket was heaping with filled balloons.  

Aziraphale sighed or shouted or sang a word in a language that set the world around them vibrating like a plucked string and had Crowley twitching like someone had just dropped an ice cube down his back.  

“Sorry dear,” Aziraphale offered a quick apology but Crowley waved it off.  

“Didn’t even sting,” he responded as he cautiously scooped up one of the remaining supersoakers. There was a crash from outside.  

“That car just ran into a hydrant!” Pepper announced indignantly. Both angel and demon grimaced.  

“I don’t suppose you could freeze time again, keep the humans out of it?” Aziraphale murmured. Crowley let out a low hiss as he thought it over.  

“I could for a little bit, but I’m not sure I could hold it for long.”  

“Could you start it up and then pass it over to me to hold, do you think?” Crowley considered.  

“Maybe. Can’t say anyone’s ever tried it before.”  

“Well, there’s a first time for everything. And I can’t say I’d be much use with those, ah, ‘supersoakers’ of yours.”  

“Crowley!” came a buzzing voice from outside. There was the noise of screeching metal.  

Crowley snapped his fingers.  

The world paused.  

Something you must understand is that angels, and by extension, demons, are primarily noncorporeal beings. They’ve gotten used to being corporeal, of course, (especially in the case of Aziraphale and Crowley) and Heaven and Hell have both patterned themselves after the corporeal world to deal with the influx of human souls.  

But angels and demons still remember before the Beginning. Back when they were nothing but song and thought in the pure void before creation.  

Humans, on the other hand, have never been anything but corporeal.  

This makes it rather difficult to explain the following interaction. You’ll just have to accept what amounts to a copy fuzzed by a bad machine reflected twice by funhouse mirrors.  

Crowley held back the flow time with sheer willpower.  

Now what? He wondered trying to figure out how to hand it to Aziraphale.  

Here, I think, Aziraphale sighed against his soul, whispering down a thick cord that Crowley suddenly saw stretching between them.  

He examined it, fascinated for a moment, an eternity. Time was relative.  

The outermost layer he recognized with a start as their marriage (a small pub, four signatures, rings of wings and snakes, love so pure it took Crowley’s breath away). But beneath that...  

Beneath that the cord (Crowley fancied it looked like ivy, growing more strands and getting thicker every year) was woven of thousands of moments, words, and thoughts. With a start the demon recognized the church where he had saved Aziraphale’s books (names and fire and realizations), the time the angel had ‘tempted’ him into eating oysters (the roles are blurring and conversations are being woven of air and energy), and at the very core, a spidersilk thread that was them standing on the wall discussing Aziraphale’s flaming sword (the taste of apples the sting of the fall the concern of the guardian).  

There was a gentle nudge from Aziraphale, and Crowley carefully handed over his grip on time. Aziraphale seized it, bracing himself to take the load.  

Crowley rocketed back to his corporeal form and hefted the supersoaker.  

“Got it angel?” he asked Aziraphale who was standing there with a look that was an odd cross between deep concentration and absent-mindedness on his face.  

“I won’t be much good for anything else,” Aziraphale spoke slowly, much of his mind obviously elsewhere, “but I can hold it.”  

“Boy, Adam, go take Aziraphale to the back room, shut the door, and come back,” Crowley commanded. Adam, to his credit, saw the frozen people, Aziraphale’s face, put two and two together and (his teachers would say remarkably) came up with four.  

“This way Mr. Fell,” he gently grabbed the angel’s arm and led him to the back room. Crowley watched them go with concern. That was a lot of focus being directed elsewhere, especially for a celestial being.  

Inside Aziraphale’s head, he was getting a crash course on black holes. You see, despite everything and all the millennia in between, Crowley still remembered wistfully the days when he built stars and nebula and the great celestial spheres.  

So when he needed to build something in a hurry, starstuff is what he automatically reverted to, whether he recognized it or not.  

Crowley can affect time because he built the galaxy and so he knows how it works; more to the point, he knows the blueprint for a black hole, a minuscule object with a gravity so great it can slow, slow...stop time.  

That was what Aziraphale was dealing with in his head at the moment, and later he would claim that it was a perfectly reasonable thing to be distracted by.  

“CROOOOWLEY,” Beelzebub snarled again.  

“Stay here,” he muttered to the rest of Them.  

Then he hefted his supersoaker and stepped out the door of the shop, pasting on his most smarmy smile.  

“Hello there Lord Beelzebub! And how are you doing on this fine day?”  

“How’s your boyfriend?” Dagon grinned at him, baring her shark-teeth.  

“My husband’s well, thank you for asking,” Crowley responded waving his left hand airily to display the ring. “Sorry we didn’t invite you to the ceremony, but it was a small affair, not a lot of room...You know what, that was a lie, I’m not sorry at all.”  

The demons all went silent for a minute until Beelzebub spoke up.  

“Get him and bring me the angel!” the Lord of the Flies buzzed in an eerie crescendo that had the whole world shuddering.  

The demons charged.  

Crowley retreated, falling back to the threshold and then spinning in place. He raised the supersoaker and pressed the trigger.  

Out of the windows, Them did the same.  

Crowley and Aziraphale had no idea how supersoakers worked except in the vaguest of terms. So, neither of them saw anything wrong with giving the water coming out of the supersoaker roughly the same velocity as water exiting a firehose.  

“Wicked!” cheered Adam, bracing against a nearby bookshelf as the force of the spray nearly knocked him backward.  

As the water hit the demons they were knocked back and started to dissolve. Their shrieking and silvery light filled the air. Somewhere, Dog was yapping at the oncoming horde.  

Crowley bared his teeth and kept spraying, not noticing as black scales with red tints crept along his arms and face, as his spine seemed to stretch and start flexing in ways that human anatomy did not precisely allow.  

“Get the water balloons!” Pepper called to Brian, who Crowley was vaguely aware of as he darted back into the shop to grab the bucket.  

Mostly though, Crowley was focused on not letting the demons through.  

Not twice, was the desperate mantra running through his mind, not twice would he lose Aziraphale in this bookshop.  

Crowley’s power snaked around the battered store, encasing it securely. The water in the supersoakers never ran out. There always seemed to be another layer of balloons in the bucket when Brain dragged it over.  

The demons came and the demons fell. Crowley’s hands had been splashed with so much holy water that they had gone numb. He couldn’t feel to pull the trigger anymore, but still the water came.  

Then there was a feeling like someone had slugged him in the gut, but a thousand times worse. All the air rushed out of his lungs and Crowley swore that in some distant part of his mind he could hear that breath leave him, a drawn-out wave crashing on a slate-grey shore.  

He collapsed to his knees, supersoaker clattering to the ground.  

“RETREAT,” bellowed Beelzebub and immediately there were cracking noises as all the remaining demons plummeted through the Earth, falling back to the safety of Hell.  

It took a single desperate instant for Crowley to trace the terrible sensation to its source.  

He had wrapped his power around the bookshop, and something had shattered it. Something had shattered it on its way out. Crowley was already spinning, already moving faster than he had ever in his long, immortal life as time restarted behind his back.  

“What--” Adam started to ask as Crowley slammed past him to the back room.  

The door hit the wall with a crack and then fell off its hinges.  

Not that a door off its hinges stood out much in the room.  

There were chairs tipped over and books knocked everywhere in a mess Crowley knew his angel would never allow.  

His angel.

His angel, who looked to have been inconveniently discorporated once again.

His angel, who's body dissolved into white light as he watched and who's soul, when he looked, could be found nowhere on earth.

A piece of paper popped into existence midair. Crowley snatched it up before it could hit the floor.

The angel is ours. I look forward to paying him back for your stunt with the M25. --Hastur

[winchest09]

Shatter Me - Chapter Seven

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 5527

Summary: The Winchesters were your world. After joining their hunter ranks, you quickly became attached to the brothers. After a successful hunt, you insist on going out celebrating with the boys – only for a loose end to catch up with you. You’re trapped in a world without hunger, thirst and the Winchesters. With the brothers beside themselves, they make preparations to say goodbye until Dean starts to connect to you through his dreams. Little do they know that you’re much closer than they think…

Chapter warnings: 18+, smut, self smut, masterbation, fingering, orgasms, edging?, oral, female oral, fluff, angst, swearing. 

A/N: So here is chapter 7! Hope you enjoy this now and if you’ve read the tags, then you probably can already tell there will be some fun stuff in this chapter! Just you wait till you see what i have in store for you! Enjoy my darlings :) Thank you for keeping up with this story!

Please let me know what you think, feedback is my fuel! I love reading your comments and any reblog makes me smile like a loon, it makes it all worthwhile!

Also any mistakes are my own, please do not repost my work anywhere however reblogs are fine and welcome :)

Shatter Me Masterlist  

Main Masterlist

Let me know what you think!

Chapter Seven

After hearing what Rowena had to say when she examined you, it was a hard pill to swallow for Dean. His head was reeling with all the information that as swimming around. You were cursed, trapped and now deteriorating? He wanted to have hope, he needed to save you but every day there seemed to be a new hurdle that made it that little bit harder to bring you home. Feeling slightly defeated, Dean headed to the kitchen to make himself some coffee before joining the team to get stuck into some research.

Entering the library, coffee in hand, he was greeted by Sam and Rowena sorting through all the relevant books from the bookcases. Rowena already had a few books open, her long fingers scanning the pages as Sam placed new literature next to her.

Sensing Deans presence, Sam looked towards his brother “You alright Dean?”

“Peachy” Came his response as he rolled his eyes and sipped his coffee

Pulling a tight lipped smile, Sam went back to sorting through the books, eager to find the answer to bring you home. Dean started to look through the research pile, his mind spinning, unsure where to start. As he picked up a couple of books, Rowena looked over to him, her hands palm flat on the table “Dean, does Y/N remember anything?” She questioned

“No. I-I tried to coax her but she’s understandably emotional about the whole thing” Dean shook his head before remembering what he thought might be some key information about where she was “Although time seems to be different in there, she seems to think she’s only been there for a few hours”

“But it’s coming up to three days” Sam interjected, a frown etched in his brow.

Dean shrugged “Somehow, time is different where she is” He stated.

Rowena shakes her head as she scoured some more of the pages in front of her “It’s not much to go off but it’s a start. I’m going to have to go through all types of curses Dean but unfortunately these things take time, it’s literally like trying to find a needle in a haystack” She mentioned, sympathetically.

“Time. That’s the one thing we don’t have” Dean quipped, his voice laced with emotion, the air becoming thick with tension.

Before anyone could say anything else, the fluttering of wings was heard and all three members of the bunker turned to see Castiel standing at the end of the tables. Dean let out a sigh of relief, hoping to whoever was in charge these days for some good news.

“Cas! Please tell me you’ve got something for us” Dean pleaded.

“Sam, Dean, Rowena” Castiel greeted as he walked closer to the huddle “Unfortunately not, I’m sorry Dean. The angels weren’t forthcoming with remedies, not wanting to meddle in human affairs”

“That’s bullshit” Dean snapped “All those dick angels do is meddle”

Castiel frowned “I understand that you’re upset” He tried to reason.

“Upset?! No Cas, upset doesn’t even cut it. Y/N is knocking on deaths damn door and there’s nothing I can do about it” Deans voice became rough, his eyes become glassy and he stared down the angel. The room growing silent once more.

Castiel sighed, he knew Dean was right and he did wish he could do more as Castiel cared deeply about you, you were his friend too after all. After a minute, his gravelly voice filled the silence “I can try to pinpoint her location again. If her state has weakened, it may allow me to locate her spirit”

Dean growled before throwing his coffee cup against the wall in anger “Enough with this state has weakened crap ok? She’s fine, she’s gonna be fine!” Dean roared, staring down at Cas.

Sam interjected quickly, placing himself between his brother and the angel. He knew Dean’s outburst wasn’t personal but the last thing they needed right now was a fight in the ranks. Sam placed his hands up in a submissive manner as he stood in front of Dean before slowly turning towards the angel “Ok, Cas why don’t you help us with some research, we can use an extra pair of hands”

Castiel nodded, walking around the other side of the table towards Rowena who already had books ready to hand to him.

Sam placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder in a comforting manner, trying to reassure him that everything was going to be ok but he just shrugged of Sam’s hand, storming back out towards the kitchen.

“I’m gonna get a stronger drink” Dean snapped, leaving an atmosphere behind him.

 You tried to do everything you could to contact Dean. You were desperate to get your newly found information across to him, you knew it could help to free you from this dull prison. However, no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t connect to him. You tried to summon him with sheer willpower, you meditated, you even tried to sleep but you couldn’t seem to drop off. It was infuriating.

You sat in the middle of the double bed, legs crossed looking at the notes in front of you. Each one of them had little messy scribbles which seemed to be written in blood. As chilling as that sounded to you, you knew it was the only reasonable option to write anything considering this place was baron. No food, no water so of course, no stationary. You were wrecking your head trying to figure out these notes, trying to piece together the clues. The witch did this was scribbled on one. Well that you knew already. You’re trapped, there’s no way out. Again, this was something you’d already figured out and you absentmindedly touched the cracks on your arm. You need to escape.

“No shit” You scoffed, wondering who on earth would want to stay here in the first place. However, the last two notes made you furrow your brow. It’s a curse. “A curse” You whispered, trying to think of the curses you’ve come across before. Then you thought that the author of the note may have not meant it in the literal sense, just stating that being there was a curse in itself. You growled as you ran your hand through your hair. You just needed answers.

Love. The last note stated. “Love? What the hell kind of clue is that?” You mumbled, aggravated at the random words in front of you.

Throwing yourself back onto the bed, you ran both of your hands through your hair. You were slowly starting to go insane as you were bored, the only source of entertainment being Dean when he somehow appeared in the same place you were. You pulled yourself up and off the bed, standing in front of the full length mirror that was in the room. Looking at your reflection, you felt and looked a mess. Your hair was all dishevelled, your make up had ran down your face and your clothes had become dirty from your earlier skirmish in the snow. You rolled your eyes, Dean had seen you looking like this and you grimaced at what he may have thought of you. So much for the sexy look you were originally going for. Sighing, you attempted to rub the make-up from under your eyes only for you to smudge it further down your face.

“Eugh!” You grunted, your eyes falling onto the bathroom door. You were itching for a bath but surely the taps wouldn’t work. Shrugging, you headed out of the bedroom to the bathroom. With nothing but time on your hands, you thought you may as well try.

Eyeing up the freestanding bath, you silently prayed that the taps would work. With a squeak as you turned the golden nozzles, you squealed in joy when hot water began to pump out. This was a win in itself and you couldn’t wait to soak your muscles in the water. You began to strip out of your clothes, placing them into the sink behind you. As your bath filled, you also filled the sink so you could at least hand wash some of the dirt out of your garments.

You placed a hand in the water to check the temperature before stepping and submerging yourself slowly. You let out a long pleasurable sigh as you loved the feeling of the goose bumps that erupted across your skin when the warmth encased you. You dipped yourself lower, sliding yourself under the water to wet your hair. As you rose, you pushed your wet strands away from your face and held your hands at the nape of your neck. For a moment, you’d forgotten where you were, you’d forgotten you were trapped but like a blast of cold air, reality dawned on you.

It also dawned on you that Dean could emerge at any time and here you were, naked in a bath tub with the bathroom door wide open. For a split second, you panicked. There were no bubbles to hide your modesty, no towels within reaching distance to cover your naked form if he were to appear at your doorway.  But then that second passed and you let your mind wander to the possibility of Dean seeing you naked. How would he react? You bit down on your lower lip thinking of what could happen and you let your hand stroke down your body as you began to imagine your fantasy.

Dean was at the door, his green eyes growing dark and lustful from seeing your naked form wet and waiting for him in the bathtub. He was wearing dark jeans that made his ass look edible, a tight black t shirt with your favourite red shirt over the top. You closed your eyes, your hand grazing over your nipples. You imagined him stalking over to you, stripping himself of his flannel and top in one go, his toned torso coming into view. You watched in your mind’s eye as he unbuttoned the top of his jeans before kneeling beside you in the bathtub. Your hand ghostly trailed down past your naval, imagining it was Dean’s strong hand instead. You willed him to go lower as he used one finger to trace over your mound, you arched your back, willing for him to get closer. You saw how he smiled, licking his lower lip as he took all of you in.

You thought of him leaning over towards you, his lips nuzzling into the nape of your neck, stealing kisses before allowing his tongue to trace upwards behind your ear. You moaned, your hand dipping lower allowing your fingers to stroke between your folds. In your head, it was Dean’s fingers and you squirmed beneath them. He smiled a sly smile at how wet you were for him as he ran his thumb over your sensitive nub, his fingers dipping into you. You felt your body jerk at the sensation. He curled his fingers inside you, stroking that all important spot as you panted beside him, his thumb working overtime against you clit. You imagined his slightly stubble covered jaw grazing your shoulder as he planted soft kisses against your neck.

You worked yourself hard, chasing your blissful end, your fingers dipping in and out. You let out a shaky breath as you brought your other hand to cup at your breasts, thinking of Dean’s mouth instead. You closed your eyes as you felt his tongue swirl around your nipple, a pleasurable moan leaving his lips and a whimper leaving yours when you imagined his fingers leaving your soaked pussy. In reality, you were edging yourself.

Dean hooked ones of his bare toned arms under your legs, the other behind your neck as he hoisted you out of the freestanding bath. He hummed in approval as he placed your naked form on the side of the tub, using his large hands to spread your legs wide. Droplets of water cascading down your body, causing a puddle to go onto the floor. He sucked at his bottom lip, locking his hungry green eyes with yours. You shook with anticipation, knowing you would soon come undone to the thought of Dean’s mouth sucking and lapping at your juices.

Once more, you allowed your hand to travel south as you slowly circled your own bud, finding the thought of Dean being eye level with your wetness, exhilarating. You carried on with your fantasy, imaging Dean’s tongue lapping at you, dipping into your wet hole then flattening as he travelled all the way to your clit. You watched in your mind’s eye as he sucked and kissed the bud, his tongue becoming relentless to match the speed of your fingers that were currently working yourself. You were getting close, your toes were beginning to curl and that all too familiar feeling coiled itself within you.

Dean pulled away from your soaked pussy as he continued to fuck you with his fingers, his green eyes locked on yours, taking in your moans. The sight of you, all wet and orgasm ready made his erection painfully hard. You watched as he palmed at his dick through his now loose jeans as he moaned your name “Y/N”

You were blissfully unaware in reality however that Dean had manifested in the living room and was calling for you “Y/N?” He husked, looking around briefly before seeing steam seeping out from the bathroom doorway.

Still focused on your fantasy, unaware that the green eyed Winchester was metres away, you continued your pursuit to your pleasure, throwing your head back as you groaned his name “D-Dean” In reality, you were still in the bathtub with your legs spread wide, water splashing over the side of the bath as you chased your orgasm.

Dean had heard your breathy reply and his eyebrows shot up into his hairline. He didn’t know whether to be concerned or aroused. Either way, he crept closer to the bathroom door as he fought his conscience. Surely he couldn’t spy on you while you were bathing? He shook his head, you could be hurt, and you could have hit your head so he was doing this purely for your benefit. Or so he told himself.

You are that dangerously close to your euphoria that you’re delightfully unaware of what was happening around you. All you could concentrate on was your fantasy of Dean between your legs. You looked down to see him lapping at your clit, to see his fingers fucking you and your pussy clenched around them. “Dean” You breathlessly moaned. You were so close, your feet pressed hard against the porcelain tub to ground yourself, your fingers working overtime.

Dean stopped just outside the door, his knuckles getting ready to rasp on the wooden frame to make his presence known but hearing your breathless voice made him hesitate slightly “Y/N, you ok?” He cautiously called, his head leaning forward slightly to wait for a response.

You heard him in your head but your sense of clarity was well and truly lost. All you could see was him between your legs, relentlessly fucking you with his tongue and fingers. You groaned, you were close, so close “Dean…D…I’m” You stuttered, your stomach tightening, toes curling.

Dean stood straight, panic taking over “What Y/N, you ok?!” He questioned urgently, making the decision to move into the bathroom, thinking you were in distress.

It was at that moment when you realised that Dean was there, not just in your fantasy, but in reality and your eyes shot open. Your hands scrambled to cover your naked form, the water splashing more so over the side of the bath, just as he entered the room “DEAN!” You squealed, trying to save some of your modesty.

Dean’s eyes widened “Oh my god” He muttered under his breath, his eyes quickly roaming your figure before slapping one of his large hands over his eyes and his slightly pink cheeks  “I’ll just be...yeah” He clears his throat and points outward towards the living room, blindly reaching for the door handle as he left the room.  

You didn’t know whether to be extremely embarrassed or to feel liberated that the man you have had feelings for had not only seen you in the nude, but also possibly getting yourself off. You wanted to hide in this bathroom and never come out. How were you meant to look him in the face after you’ve moaned his name? You knew he heard you. He acknowledged his name and came in to you as if you called for him. You groaned, this time in frustration, into your hands. You’d gotten yourself into this situation, you needed to get yourself out.

“and I didn’t even get to finish” You muttered under your breath as you pulled yourself out of the bath and quickly wrapped yourself in a towel. You grabbed your wet clothes out the sink and proceeded to give them a quick hand wash, all the time wondering what on earth you were going to explain it all to the man currently in the next room.

Dean paced outside the bathroom as he tried to calm himself down. If he said that his body hadn’t reacted to seeing you wet and naked, he’d be lying. He was currently sporting an erection that was straining tightly against his jeans. Running both hands down his face, he tried to get the picture of you out of his head but he couldn’t. The image of you, with your hand between your legs, thrashing in the water was going to be engrained in his mind until the end of his days. He let out a shaky breath, the image of your breasts that peaked above the water was taunting him. He was fighting everything he had to not throw caution into the wind, storm into the bathroom and fuck you against the wall. His dick twitched as he replayed your moans in his mind, the moans of his name and he stopped pacing. Were you thinking of him? Was he your sexual fantasy? Before he could ponder on the thought anymore, the bathroom door swung open and you came walking out, sheepishly looking at the floor.

Dean sensed her embarrassment and tried to break the awkward tension in the room “Sorry I – I didn’t know you-”

“Hey no it’s fine, why would you know” You cut him off, briefly looking up into his eyes as you held your towel tighter with one hand.

“Gotta admit, wasn’t expecting to see you in there” Dean smirked, remembering once more as he placed his hands his jean pockets “…thrashing about…” He continued, his shoulders coming forward as if he was an awkward teenager rocking on his heels “…having fun” He continued, a cheeky grin becoming evident.

You just stood there like a deer in the headlights. He basically just called you out on you masterbating in the bath so you knew you could play this two ways. Admit it, or deny it with some terrible excuse you know he’d never believe. You went with option A. “Yeah well a girl gets bored and I was cold” You shrugged, squaring your shoulders and looking him boldly in the eyes “Plus I just felt filthy so…”

“Yep” Dean strained, trying not to look at the beads of water travelling down your skin into the valley of your breasts, it wasn’t helping his erection situation. Then again, neither was the conversation he apparently was insisting on continuing. Seeing you standing there in just a towel, with what he just witness, was like torture. Like rain in a drought, he needed you, he wanted you.

He wanted to know what your legs would feel like wrapped around his waist, what your lips would feel like against his, what his dick would feel like buried inside you. He heard his name, there was no denying that so he dared to ask the question that was eating away at him.

“Were you thinking…” Dean cleared his throat as you raised your eyebrows at him. You heart beating a million miles a minute, he HAD heard you. Shit. Dean took a step closer, bringing one hand out of his pockets and scratched at the back of his neck “I just…I thought I heard you say my na-”

“Dean Cain” You spluttered out, thinking on your feet as fast as you could, eyes wide. It was the only other person you could think of on the spot who had the same name as him.

You saw Dean frown slightly “…who?” He questioned, his brown furrowing.

“You know, he played Superman. Also, he’s in Supergirl too. That show I watch sometimes” You ramble, trying to play it off as best as you could, hoping you were being convincing enough. You dared to make eye contact with Dean again and you watch as he raises a brow. You continued “Does it matter?”

“No…no” He replied with a tight lipped smile. If you had to take a guess, you could have sworn that he had looked a little disappointed as his shoulders sagged a little. You just put that down to your wishful thinking.

“Anyway” You wanted to change the subject and quickly, so you decided to walk towards the bedroom to grab the notes “I’m glad you’re here, I’ve found something” You announced as you grabbed the notes off the bed.

Dean swallowed the lump that was in his throat as he watched you walk to the bedroom. Of course you weren’t thinking of him you thought, he wouldn’t be that lucky. At least he still had the memory of you however, even if he couldn’t have the real thing, he’d definitely be storing that in his spank bank. He smirked slightly at the thought, he was still human after all.

Watching you walk out with all of these bits of paper in your hands, he looked at you with confusion as you passed them over. You explained to him everything, what each one of them said, what you suspected they were wrote with (to which Dean grimaced) and where you found them. You also told Dean about what you remembered from when you were with the witch, the words she uttered to you.

“This is” Dean smiled, feeling some weight being lifted, daring to feel hopeful “This is really good Y/N. We have something to work with”

You smiled back as you made you way to the fire, stoking it to keep the flames alive before sitting down on the rug next to it to keep warm “Yeah. I hope so. You going to remember everything?”

“Notes and altum somnum. Got it” He smiled, pointing to his head as he walked over to sit on the couch.

You leant back on your hands, letting the warmth of the fire wash over you and you felt a little at peace, despite not reaching your blissful end earlier, you could always finish yourself off later. You closed your eyes, tiredness creeping up on you after the eventful day you’d had.

You heard Dean speak up next to you as if he had read your mind “I need to tell you as well that we’ve worked out that your time here is a quarter of our time back home. So if I sleep for 4 hours, I only get one…here with you” He sat forward slightly, his hands encased together as he tried his hardest to not let his eyes roam over your figure.

You sat up slightly, opening your eyes to look into his “How…is that possible?”

“We don’t know sweetheart but we’ve got Rowena on the case now. She’s helping” Dean said softly, as his eyes broke contact with yours. You noticed how they quickly looked over your figure before he stared at his closed hands.

You smirked slightly, was he checking you out? Was he enjoying the view? Normally, you’d dive to cover yourself up but being sexually frustrated, you decided to put on a show. If he wanted to check you out, you were going to make it impossible for him to resist.

“So what’s she doing?” You questioned, as you rolled onto your side, back to the fire with your head resting on your hand. The towel had risen slightly, showing off your long legs which were bent fractionally at the knee, your other arm placed strategically in front of you just under your breast.

You saw as Dean ran his tongue across his lower lip before rubbing at his forehead, his throat bobbing as he tried everything he could to look anywhere but at you. He tried his best to explain what Rowena and Sam were doing back home but to not look weird he had to look at you and when he did, he felt his throat close up. Your towel was starting to come loose around your breasts and you weren’t doing anything to adjust it. He was convinced that if he sat at the other end of the coach, he would have a perfect view of your pussy and he groaned internally. Was she knowingly teasing him?

“Y/N, are you not gonna get dressed?” He questioned, his voice coming out huskier than expected. God, he didn’t want you to get dressed but he knew that if you stayed there looking like that any longer, he might effectively ruin your friendship.

You coyly shrugged, enjoying the effect you were having on the hunter in front of you. You felt empowered “I have no other clothes Dean and the ones I do have are currently drying after I washed them” Well…it wasn’t a complete lie. Your clothes were currently on the edge of the bath drying after you hand washed them but then you could use the duvet or a blanket to cover yourself up “I was dirty and so were my clothes” You smirked, the pun intended.

Deans lips went tight as he smiled, rubbing at his jaw. His self- control was dwindling and his erection that he was desperately trying to hide was becoming painful. He needed to do something, he needed to release this tension but he was trying to figure out just how to do that.

In the bunker, Sam strolls into the library, his third cup of coffee in his hand and one made for Rowena. The desks were covered in books, everyone having their own little research stations. Castiel was currently looking through a handful of spell books, Sam had lore and curses and Rowena had the grimore and ancient rituals.

Gratefully accepting her cup of coffee, Rowena looked up at Sam from under her thick eyelashes “Is your brother planning on joining us any time soon?” She questioned, one eyebrow arching.

Sam smiled slightly, scratching at his head with his now free hand “He’s uh…he’s passed out in the kitchen” He muttered, earning an eye roll from Rowena before he settled back down at his desk “Just me, you and Cas for now I guess” He stated, sipping at his coffee.

“Typical, I think I’ve found the counter curse and the boy drinks himself into oblivion” She sassed, her Scottish accent coming out strong.

“Wh-what?!” Sam spluttered into his coffee.

Rowena smirked “It’s all here in this little wee book. The curse itself talks about binding a soul whilst the host sleeps deeply. Next to it, is its reversal” She tapped her nails against the Latin, her smirk turning into a smile.

Sam beamed, his hands gesturing towards her on the table “Rowena that’s amazing, what do we need?”

Standing up, Rowena took the open spell book over to Sam, placing the ingredient list in front of him “Do you have all that?”

Sam nodded, hope blossoming in his chest “Thankfully, yeah. Yeah we do”

“Then I’ll meet you in Y/N’s room pronto” Rowena replied smoothly before she went to gather her things.

Sam looked over at Cas who was also smiling before he offered his assistance with gathering the ingredients. Luckily it wasn’t much or anything exotic so everything they needed was scattered about the bunker. After about half an hour, they had everything they needed and they took it to Rowena who had set up in your room. Red candles littered each one of your surfaces, they’re flames portrayed a warm glow. As Cas helped arrange the ingredients next to Rowena, Sam darted back to the kitchen where Dean was currently passed out, face down on the table.

Shaking his brother, Sam hoped that he would wake but it didn’t seem to be working. “Dammit Dean” He muttered under his breath, his expression one of disgust as he takes in the empty whiskey bottle next to him. He knew his brother was struggling with this but drinking himself into oblivion was not going to help anything and at any moment, you could wake up and Dean wouldn’t be there to greet you.

Sam tried one more time to wake his brother, this time slapping him hard on the back but all he got was a grunt. Sam had no choice but to leave him to it, they had to perform the spell before your body deteriorated anymore. They had to bring you home.

As the youngest brother entered your room, Rowena had already started the spell under Cas’ supervision. She started to chant the reversal, the ingredients in the bowl sparking, and the candles in the room flickering. Sam kept clenching then unclenching his hands as he stared down at your still form on the bed, his nerves on pins at what the outcome of this spell would be. As Rowena placed the last ingredient into the bowl, her eyes turned lilac and the bowl exploded with a blue flame causing all of the candles in the room to burn out.

“Bollocks” The witch muttered. The spell hadn’t worked.

You were still lying on your side, basking in the warmth of the fire as you and Dean made small talk. It was the only thing that Dean could think of doing to try and take his mind off wanting to take you there and then in front of the flames. You both laughed at a story Dean was telling about him and Sam when they were younger, you always loved hearing about their childhood, even though it was limited. You admitted how Dean looked after Sam, how he practically raised him. It was a quality in him that you admired.

“So…this seems to be the longest you’ve been here” You noted, playing with the hem of your towel.

Dean nodded as he rubbed at the back of his neck “I uh…might have knocked myself out”

“What?” Your smile fell, concern immediately flowing through you at his admission.

“Full bottle of whiskey, good vintage and percentage” Dean half chuckled, knowing that you’d be deadpanning him right now “Pretty sure I went KO on the kitchen table”

“I can’t beli-” You couldn’t even finish your sentence when you felt like all the wind had been knocked out of your lungs. You pushed yourself off the floor so you were sitting up as you tried tour hardest to catch your breath.

Dean noticed the change and immediately grew concerned “Y/N? You ok?”

You didn’t even have the opportunity to answer before a familiar searing pain soared through your body and you let out a piercing scream. Dean rushed over, placing himself in front of you as he scanned the room quickly for danger before looking back at you. Your screams didn’t stop as you clawed at your right arm, clinging tightly too it as tears streamed down your face. Your skin was burning, throbbing and you tried desperately to stem the pain.

Dean noticed the source of your pain and tried to pry your arm from your grip so he could inspect it. Although he didn’t have to move your hand to see what was causing the pain. Thick black cracks were crawling from your wrist to your elbow, the skin around them an angry red as your skin burned with pain.

“Please help me” You sobbed, your eyes fleeting from your arms to Dean’s concerned eyes.

Dean felt his eyes glass over, swallowing a hard lump in his throat when your pleading eyes bore into his “You’re gonna be ok Y/N” He whispered, brushing the hair gently from your face and the tears from your cheeks.

“Stay with me Dean” You pleaded, the pain was too much and you were scared. Looking down at your arm, you loosened your grip so you could fully inspect the damage. You were falling apart, the curse draining you, piece by piece.

You’ve never been terrified before. You’ve been scared, nervous or apprehensive but never downright terrified. The look on Dean’s face said it all, the worry etched in his features as he held your face in his hands “Please don’t go, please don’t let me go” You begged him.

Dean felt his resolve break there and then. He pulled you into him, his strong arms wrapping around your frame, his head resting on top of yours.

“I’m not going anywhere sweetheart”

A/N: ... well...there we go! Hope you enjoyed! 

Any feedback would mean the absolute world to me so if you have the time, i’ll love you forever!

Also if you want to come along for the ride let me know - TAG LIST IS OPEN! Just send me an ASK and i’ll happily oblige :) 

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[thinkofduty]

soror diu amissa

The sun is high and bright and warm and fooling absolutely no one.

Twice today has it rained already. The first time was just before dawn, the sound of heavy droplets waking Halgyth and refusing to let her go back to sleep. The stone roof was enough to shelter her from the worst of it, but it was still loud enough to keep her up until she had no choice but to rise. The dust had turned to mud in its wake and the people of Ala Gannha had woken with sour moods. This close to the river, the humidity is bad enough that no one wants it to rain, even in the midst of summer.

The second time had been just over a bell ago. Halgyth had been sat cross-legged with a circle of children sat around her, and the clouds had come on and fled so quickly that the patches of earth they sat on are still light in colour.

Determined not to let something so insignificant as rain ruin her day, she'd tried to continue the lesson, but she'd slipped in the mud and gone painfully to one knee when trying to rise. A simple spell fixed the worst of it, but she aches nonetheless, and her ego is bruised as bad as her flesh.

It might be miserable in fits and starts, but she still sits outside now. Being cooped up when the whole world is there is dreary, even when the wind is moist and the sun oppressively hot, and in the late afternoon of her life now she has zero desire to be indoors more than necessary.

What few children remain in the village are happy to let her teach them from time to time, but none of them show any particular love for the healing arts beyond the basics. Were there any young adults remaining she would try to find amongst them an inclination instead, but asides from the infirm and unsound, they have long since disappeared to serve the Empire or the Resistance. Two different names for the same kind of death, thinks Halgyth, and contents herself with the next generation instead. They still must needs learn.

Sometimes the days grow so long and uniform that even the elders come to sit by and listen, but they are as useless as their grandchildren to her, if not worse. They might as well be carved from the marble they'd once mined for how stuck in their ways they are: having known a few Peaksmen in her time, Halgyth wonders if it is a natural affliction of the land itself. They already know how to dress wounds and care for the ill; what need have they for a wandering shamanka?

Prone to forgetting details if not written down, she no longer recalls how long it's been since the Resistance swept through the state and threw off the heavy shackles of oppression. Not that it matters. Very little has changed for those who live off the land, asides from the colour of flags that now flutter from the village gates. Oh, to be sure, there are less beatings and less rapes, less men uncomfortable in steel wandering where they please with accents unfamiliar to her... but less is not none. Beneath the blanket of other, the Garleans are not all that different from her countrymen, something she is quick to remind those that lust for the good old days. At least Garlemald does not hunt shadows and string up the innocent in the name of justice, unlike other recent history she could name.

But that bears thinking about not at all: both of those pasts are firmly behind them now, and she must live in the present, as she always has done. And as for right now, the clouds are beginning to edge once more into view as though seeing how long they can get before being discovered, like children playing at Sly Fox or Sneaky Bear or whatever the newest name for the game is.

"I'm not moving," she tells them firmly, and someone laughs.

"You tell 'em, gramma."

In her sixties, Halgyth considers it a point of pride to have found and covered up every grey hair that sprouts from her scalp. The aging flesh she cannot help, not after a life so well-lived outdoors, but it is unblemished for the most part, and she does not yet stoop unlike the washers and menders that live in every place from here to the palace. Dyes, at least, are easy to come by, and cheap enough to make if she does not want to spend the gil.

"Excuse me?"

She doesn't recognise the man, but his manner marks him as one of Einar's boys. She'll have to have words with him the next time she sees him: it's quite one thing to have her brother's junior sass her from time to time, but this firmly steps across the line and shits in the face of her good humour. Thankfully, he seems to recognise that, and quicker than the last who'd been overeager to share jokes with her like mead with friends. He straightens and gives what might pass as a nervous salute to an untrained eye. to her, it looks like a nervous fumble.

"Er, Bayan Beygarz. Miss. Ma'am. S'cuse me. That is you, ain't it?"

Unspeaking, Halgyth watches him for a long moment. A natural teacher, she has perfected the art of waiting silently until the guilty party squirms and admits to their role in whatever mischief they've done.

"Uh... I'm here on behalf o' the Spray. He said I'd find a woman here, wi' pink in her hair. That... you... I thought..."

It takes all her willpower not to roll her eyes. Einar's ridiculous nicknames are no longer as necessary as he seems to think they are - though he at least has assured her that they'd once been more elaborate than the ones he currently wears like fancy coats in the middle of summer. Needless.

The man before her fidgets some more, eyes trained on the patch of pink she'd thought stylish only a few weeks before. "Is or ain't it you?" he asks. "The description was thorough..."

"I'm sure it was," she says. "Come inside."

*

"Where're we headed, anyroad?"

Thankfully, the rain hasn't made it too difficult to travel. Chocobos would have complained the whole way and any cart they could have hired would have gotten stuck in the mud. All six of them have no problems picking their way across quick-flowing streams until they get to the red earth that was once Ala Mera. Orella spares it barely a glance: the landslide that had taken her home village off the map had been so long before, and everyone had gotten out, besides. It had been rain much like the one they'd walked through that had done it: years and years of water built up and swelling the cliffs until the earth could take it no more.

Honestly, a village on the edge of a cliff was a stupid place to build in the first place.

The Peaks have changed a little, but not so much she doesn't recognise the distant mountains. "We're still going east," she says confidently, and Wilhelm nods agreement.

"Ala Gannha," he says. Gisfrid harrumphs. "Better than any other place round here to ask questions, unless you want to put one o' them chapuli to the question instead."

Berend snorts. "For all we know, they'll squeal sweeter than any Mhigan will. Folles isn't stupid, he'll be hidden away nice and safe if he has any sense at all."

"Tell you what," says Orella, "Fifty gil says he's burrowed down in one of them antlion nests. You know, the ones we-"

"Could you not," Ingvald grumbles, and she laughs. He still has a scar somewhere by his ankle - faint, but white and rigid all the same - from the day after his induction to the Kingsguard had been formalised. "Be serious."

Orella shrugs. Likely he wants to forget that time of his life, and the anger he'd once borne his brother; she can't fault him for that, not when they seem to be getting along so well. "Suit yourself," she tells him. "There's no reason we're going there, then? Other than looking for any scrap of information?" When Wilhelm nods, she scowls. "You don't have anything to go on? Nothing at all? No dossiers, no eyes on him, not even an idea of where to start?"

Both Bloodhound brothers open their mouths at the same time, but it's Berend who beats them to the punch. "What, you think he's the only one the Resistance ever kept eyes on? We aren't perfect, Steelhand, and undermanned anyway - well, we were when it mattered most. You can't fault us for one man slipping through the cracks."

"Oh, it's we now, huh?" she shoots back, unwilling to let the truth silence her.

Beside her, Ingvald sighs. "Orella."

"Weren't you with the Garleans long enough yourself?" Berend snaps, and she clenches her hand into a fist. "What's your excuse?"

A pregnant pause settles across the shoulders of everyone present. Ahead of the rest of the group, Gisfrid and Milleuda have stopped to watch.

"I'm sorry?" Orella asks, so sweetly.

If Berend can hear the obvious warning, he heeds it not. "I said," and his own hands mirror hers, "Weren't you one of them for long enough?"

The brothers move in tandem before any blood can be spilled. Ingvald grabs Orella's wrists and wrestles his arms around her chest to stop her from leaping across the mountain pass and tearing him limb from limb. Wilhelm takes Berend by the shoulder, and then the face, and says something low and serious to him. Gisfrid's laugh is a backing track to the whole affair, infuriating Orella further. "Cram it, bastard, I'll do for you too-"

"My, my."

Perhaps it is the unfamiliarity of the voice, however soft, that silences them all. Still tense, Orella struggles to push Ingvald aside to see the newcomer; he holds her tighter.

"Aren't you all grown? You ought to be ashamed."

The woman is dressed in the local style, suited for forays along the mountain paths, with actual boots rather than the rags poor men sometimes wear. A Roegadyn, a few inches taller than Orella, with bright eyes that study them as though they are simply misbehaving students. A shock of pink in her hair stands out against her dark skin, though otherwise she's as plain as can be.

She sighs. "Oh, dear. Are you going to say I'm not welcome?" Her gaze flits between each of them in turn; she doesn't seem bothered by their suspicious gazes. "Tell me the road is free to all and you can act as you please? Tsk. Which one of you breaks arms?"

No one moves, and she tuts again. "Come now, 'tis not a difficult question."

"That... would be me," says Berend, taking a hesitant step forward. He hasn't bothered to make to unsling the spear across his back, but he could have it out and pointed at her in seconds if he chose. The woman is either very brave or very stupid. "Who-?"

"The Spray bid me pass this on to you," she says, and reaches into a deep pocket to pull out a folded paper and hold it out to him. "I trust you know who that is? No," she adds with exasperation. "By your face you don't. Take the damn paper, boy, I'm done playing the messenger."

He reaches for it warily and takes it quick enough that her eyebrows raise at his bad manners, but skimming it does nothing for his frown.

"I don't get it," he says, and passes it to Wilhelm, who has to shake the hair out of his eyes to read it. "Who are you? Who's the Spray?"

Orella, now relaxed enough that Ingvald lets her go, raises one eyebrow and then the other. "Wait. The... The Eastern Spray? About yay tall?"

She gestures, and the woman nods, and then her expression smooths over. "Ah," she says, matter of factly. "You must be Orella. Which would make this gentleman Ingvald," she says with a glance at him, and then moves between them, mouthing their names in turn - all of them but Milleuda. "You don't look quite like I imagined you to. His tales never did you justice."

"What the fuck has Einar been saying about me?"

There's mutterings from the others at the mention of their once-comrade; the stranger tuts. "Language, if you please. Not Ser Einar, though I'm glad you know our mutual friend. No - my brother."

"Your brother?"

When Halgyth Beygarz smiles, she looks weary, the lines at her eyes creasing the same way her brother's had once down.

"Why, Zartosht, of course."

[ddaenggtan]

lay me gently | ksj (preview)

there is no time for loneliness among the fires of your forge, no room in your buzzing mind for thoughts of anything but your next invention and the pain in your leg. your life is tilted off its axis, though, when your parents arrange a marriage without your knowledge or consent, and your new husband begins to situate himself into your life despite protests from either of you. you don’t know what zeus and hera have planned, but a volcano is no place for a love god like seokjin. | monsters and gods pt 2 (masterlist)

pairing | seokjin x reader

genre/warnings | greek god au, aphrodite!jin, hephaestus!reader, disabled!reader (kind of, it’s presented more as chronic pain, but that’s a whole discussion), fluff, slight angst but not a ton, v brief allusions to violence but its purposefully vague, not so brief descriptions of physical injury, descriptions of chronic pain, cyclopes! everywhere! i use that word so many times!, this also features dionysus!jimin but only a little, 

word count | 11.3k for now 

a/n | short lil preview bc i’m so close to finishing it but also have --89515221354 willpower to finish and edit this, so hopefully seeing that people are even halfway reading about this will kick my ass into gear!!!

It's hot. It's always hot here, the consequences of living inside a volcano, you suppose, but the callouses on your skin have long since made you immune to the burns. You glide down through the halls, an old habit since the day you crafted the wheels you attached to your sandals. No longer did you need to carry the awkward and hefty cane everywhere you went, or struggle to make your leg move the way you wanted it to. The invention of the wheel was one you were forever proud of. 

The forge is already blazing when you arrive, each of the hundred levels full of cyclopes all hammering away. Steam hisses and rises through the air, and you chance a glance at the lava bubbling miles below you. 

"Careful today," You call to the cyclops closest to you. "It looks like she's feeling the burn again. Raise the guards soon, and keep them up until she blows. No sense letting good work go to waste." The cyclops nods and barks orders out at others across the levels. You wheel yourself further along, the sound of the celestial bronze shields being brought up serving as background noise. You probably could have waited another day or so to raise them, if you were honest; cyclopes are fireproof, which is useful in a forge, and you yourself aren't likely to be taken out by a mere volcanic eruption. The work, though...heat like that could affect even the strongest of your creations, and you all worked much too hard here to have to reform every bolt, repour every blade. 

You valued your time too much for that. 

"You have a guest, my lady," one of your workers called. You look up from the notebook in your hands - soot-covered, bound in leather, edges singed, with bits of paper sticking every which way from the many times you've jotted something down for later and stuffed it inside quickly before tying the leather cords that bind it - and frown. The cyclops grimaces slightly. "It...seems to be Lord Zeus."

You scoff and spin yourself around to follow him to the elevator reluctantly. "Probably wants to commission another throne, the bastard. Should've stuck him to the last one, maybe he'd get it through his head that not everyone wants to fuck him." You wave a hand and your guide gives you a curt nod before returning to work. You settle yourself in the lift and flip the lever. It's not a long journey, thanks to the many improvements you've made over the years, but it still seems that too soon the grate is sliding back into the wall to allow you exit. 

You tap your heels together twice as you glide off the lift, already reaching for the cane that you keep there for situations like this. The soft clicks and whirs are nearly imperceptible as the wheels break themselves apart and regress into the hidden compartments in your soles. Your leg becomes dead weight once more, and you wince at the way it drags behind you. You've half a mind to curse whoever came to call on you this time; you hate walking, even if the charade is a necessary one. You're still contemplating the idea when you hobble into your entry to see Zeus himself, stoic and cold as he ever is. 

"My lord," You call, barely keeping the venom out of your voice as you do. Many would say it's the heat of the mountain making your blood boil, but you know the truth. Very little in the world sets you off like the man in front of you. 

He turns and fixes a blinding grin on you. "My dear Hephaestus!" You scoff at the title; no one has called you by your name in centuries, lest they inherit your lameness. "Wonderful to see you, truly. It's been too long since my last visit."

"Yes, four hundred years does seem to crawl by without you to grace the halls of my forge," You drawl. His eyes steel for a moment, your sarcasm not as lost on him as you'd hope, but it quickly passes. "Why are you here, my lord?"

"Well, you remember how I said I would owe you a favor?" Your eyes narrow and you nod. In the handful of times Zeus has repaid the hundreds of favors he owes, it's hardly ever been something positive. "I'm here to pay it! I brought you a gift."

"A gift, what-?" You don't get the chance to finish. Zeus has already waved forward a steward he brought along. Your heart aches for the boy as sweat drips down his body and his tunic is already singed. Your own leathers are slightly oppressive in the heat, but at least they don't catch fire. Zeus takes a scroll from the boy, harsh and rough, and shoves it into your hands. You unravel it quickly, your eyes darting across the words on the paper.

"A marriage?!" Your screech echoes throughout the mountain and the clanging of metal on metal pauses for a moment. "What am I supposed to do with a marriage, much less one to a-" You scan the paper again. "A love goddess?"

"Not a love goddess," He tuts. "The love goddess. Well. Love deity. Aphrodite is a beauty, you're lucky I could arrange such a thing." Your eyes strain against your skull, threatening to pop out with every word Zeus says. 

"What in all of Tartarus is a ‘love deity’ supposed to do in my forge?" You ask him. He scoffs and waves the question off as if it doesn't matter. Your hand twitches with the urge to throw him into the lava, and the only thing keeping you from doing exactly that is the pain striking through your leg - a bitter reminder of just what Zeus is capable of - and the knowledge that it wouldn't even kill him. 

"Your mother was adamant about this, Hephaestus." You echo his scoff at this; you're sure she was. "Aphrodite will arrive within the week. See to it that everything is fit for a god." He chuckles at his own joke, and a vision of your cane shoved through his skull implants itself in your brain. You force yourself to take in deep breaths. The scent of hot metals, sparks, and sulfur calms you, as it always has. 

"Fine," You say, though Zeus is already on his way out. "I'm not keeping anyone here against their will, though!" Your shout goes ignored, as you knew it would. You grumble under your breath and hobble back to the elevator. Within moments you're shooting down to your bedroom, large and situated close to the heart of the volcano. You don't bother to activate the wheels of your shoes, instead leaning on your cane until you get to your bed. 

The plush mattress and blankets are a relief on your aching hip and leg and you let yourself lean back and just relax for a moment. The notice is still clutched in your hand and you find yourself staring at the looping curves of Hera's signature, wondering what she's up to this time. 

Memories flood you before you can stop them; being a young godling in Olympus, attached and in awe of your mother as she led you around the city, light gleaming off the golden columns. Seeing the fire in Zeus' eyes the first time he struck her in front of you, and the blaze that came when you stepped in front of her. Starlight glinting off her silver robes as she cried in her garden. The bruising vice he kept on your calf, the feel of the winds against your skin as you fell, the way Helios painted the sky as you kept falling. The feel of a hammer in your hand for the first time, juxtaposed to the throbbing pain in your crippled leg every time you so much as twitched. 

The notice is across the room before you realize you've thrown it. You want to believe she isn't playing games; Hera has always been somewhat conniving, but your mother has never been outright cruel to you, not since the night you tried to save her from her husband, and she always had her reasons. You may not always agree with her reasons, but that didn't change the fact that she had them. Still, condemning an innocent person to a life here...condemning you to live your days with a constant reminder of your plainness, your deformity, wasn't something you expected from her. Zeus, yes, but not her. 

You let yourself fall back onto the bed, only to adjust a few moments later when the pressure on your hip becomes too much. You're angled now, weight resting on your good side to alleviate even a bit of the pain from the other. It was the only way you could get a moment's peace since your fall, the only time the pain lessened. 

You allow yourself five breaths. Five breaths to let the tear slip down your cheek, drawing its path through the soot and the smoke. Four to let your breath shake in your chest and shudder in the air. Three for the ache in your hip to disappear completely, so you are blessedly free from your pain for once. Two for the thorns to tighten impossibly around your heart and let it bleed for you. One for the hole in your chest, shaped like a loving father and a true family that doesn't constantly commission weapons from you to throw at each other.

Pain arcs through your leg once more and you wince. Your hand massages the muscles there absentmindedly; it provides no relief to anything but your mind. You stand and click your heels together once more, glad when the wheels are stable once more. In seconds, you're off, flying through hallways to get to your workshop. 

You've got work to do. 

It's nearly the entire week later when one of the workers knocks on the door of your workshop. 

"Aphrodite has arrived, my lady." You wave at him and he disappears back into the mass of his brothers. It doesn't take you long to get to the entryway, rolling through the halls until you're just outside the large bronze doors. You retract your wheels and grasp your cane, reminding yourself that the more people thought Zeus had crippled you debilitatingly, the better. Your hip aches again and you tune it out in favor of tapping the end of your cane against a small hammer at the base of the doors. There's a quiet whir as they slide open, and you limp forward as best you can. 

The foyer is packed with people, cyclopes everywhere with bags slung over their shoulder, forest nymphs tapping at their smoking roots, naiads hissing with steam. In the midst of everything stands two still figures, one infinitely more familiar than the other. 

"I thought I told you that the next time you step foot in my forge, I'd stoke my fires with your bones." Your voice is loud as it reverberates across the walls. Both figures turn to look at you, but your glare doesn't falter. 

"Aw, are you still mad about that?" His smile is deceptively innocent. "You never would've gotten her off that throne otherwise." 

"It wasn't supposed to be her throne in the first place, was it?" You spit back as you make your way to him. It doesn't escape your notice that everyone but the cyclopes is staring at you, and you're glad the heat from the mountain keeps you flushed. You can't show weakness in front of this crowd, you can't let them know that you know they think you're below them. 

You can't let them know that in your worst moments, you agree. 

"Get the fuck out of my mountain, Dionysus, before I throw you out."

"Ooh, take after your old man a little too much there, don't you?" Jimin's smile never leaves his face and you resist the urge to smack it with your cane. Instead you tighten your grip on it and take a breath. 

"What are you doing here?" You eventually ask through gritted teeth. 

"Just escorting a dear, dear friend." His grin has turned predatory as he rests a hand on his companion's shoulder. "My dear Hephaestus, I'd like to introduce you to Aphrodite." You glance over, looking the man up and down briefly. 

He's taller than you - though with your pained hunch, many are. His shoulders are almost as wide as his eyes as he looks around the room, taking in the granite walls and bronze moldings. His clothes aren't practical in the least; soft and sweet and flowing linens in a pale lilac that complements the purple of his hair. It's a stark contrast to the harsh reds and greys of your soot-stained leathers. When he finally looks at you, his eyes are the same color as the grease you use to oil your inventions and give you no clue to his thoughts.

He's fucking beautiful and it brings a sob to your throat.

[parkhabits]

Twilight {M}

GOT7 JB x Reader x BTS Jungkook  Genre: Soulmate! AU / Smut / Angst Word Count: 7,912 {one shot} 

Warnings: Explicit mature content, oral (giving, receiving), threesome. No, this isn’t based on some cheesy vampire movie. The crossover I so desperately needed why do i do this so myself,  Summary: One was your first love, the other was your soulmate. Your love for the two men was like night and day. Two opposites, never supposed to share the same moment. 

Time flew by. It seemed like yesterday you were walking the halls of your high school. Now almost ten years later you were attending a gathering with a whole bunch of high school classmates. Truth be told, you rarely attended these activities. Any alumni events you strictly avoided. It wasn’t because you were an unsociable person or that you were above these kind of activities. Nor was it due to the fact that you lacked friends. It was because seeing everyone, reminiscing on high school in general, reminded you of someone who left such a deep mark, perhaps you could even call it a scar, on your heart that had you subconsciously avoiding all these events. Not the mark everyone was used to though.

It was the other mark, the one that changed your life forever, that everyone knew. The mark of your soulmate. You remember the pain you felt the day of your graduation. It wasn’t caused by the mark itself but because of the heartbreak that shortly followed after.

No one expected you to walk through the doors of the bar. As you made your rounds greeting people you were welcomed with enthusiastic smiles, warm embraces and shocked expressions. Yet you couldn’t shake the unease you felt. Each person who tapped your shoulder or called your name you were afraid it would be him. However, you heard from your close friend that he rarely attended these events as well. In fact no one, including yourself, had heard from him since graduation. Tonight’s gathering had been planned on short notice so there was no way he’d show up if he hadn’t been before.

It had almost been a decade since graduating high school, and everyone had changed. Some were now doctors, others worked for the government, became school teachers. Some even had kids, a family. Though professionally everyone seemed to be doing well, some were still in search of their soulmate. The one that would finally complete them. Someone to give even more meaning to their lives. In your society, it didn’t matter if you were a famous entrepreneur, a socialite or a well known surgeon.  If you weren’t with a soulmate or had a soulmate marking you weren’t ‘complete’. You had been lucky. At least that’s what everyone else thinks. You had received your soulmate mark at a young age. You were barely even legal yet had developed the soulmate mark prematurely. While everyone else congratulated you, wishing you all the best and genuine happiness for you. You felt different about it. Not the ordinary elated feeling most people described. Because to you, the mark had sentenced you to a lifetime of heartache.

“Well I’ll be damned,” You heard the hushed murmurs and gasps. You followed everyone’s gaze as they all looked towards the door. “Hell must have frozen over because we have both Y/N and JB making an appearance tonight!” your old classmate Jackson announced to the group.

Your entire body went numb, brain blacking out as you heard his name. It was like a dream for him to appear in front of you like this. After all these years, seeing him for the first time since that dreadful day you found out that the man you loved basically all your life; The man who had once been the most important person to you, was not your soulmate.

You were in love with him. Truly and madly. You had been so sure because of your feelings for one another. The love shared between you two felt that it was meant to be spent together for the rest of your lives. That JB’s mark would appear on your wrist. But it wasn’t his mark.

Your breath hitches as he walks towards you. Years may have passed since the last time you saw each other yet nothing had changed. Your heart still races just by looking at him, giddiness spreads through your body, yearning. His appearance was untouched by the years gone by, aside from the hint of maturity that usually comes with time.He makes his way through the crowd and briefly,  a fleeting second his gaze lands on you. At that moment you feel like your heart is about to pop out of your chest and directly to him. The second quickly passes and you wonder if he saw you or if you were just another face in the crowd. You feel the inexplicable feeling of disappointment as he does so.

“I can’t believe JB showed up,” you hear someone mumble. Though you weren’t sure if it was directed towards you or someone else, you remained completely unresponsive as your gaze followed his every movement.

The singles, the ones without a soulmate, surrounded JB. He had been everyone’s dream boy. Infatuated by JB and with hopes that fate would reveal that he was their half. However, that wasn’t the case. JB was a nomad. This meant he would spend the rest of his life searching for his soulmate but it would never be revealed. The arrow that appeared on his wrist a few weeks after yours indicated that, everyone knew what it meant though it was never admitted out loud. Your heart had broke for him when you heard the news from others. By then, you and JB had already split. It would have been easier if he had found his soulmate too. That way you two could both move on with the one that you were meant to be with. Knowing that he was bound to never find his half made things even harder for you to be apart from him.

“JB and Y/N showed. This calls for a celebration!” Jackson raised his glass, the rest of your classmates joining in his toast.

You took a seat at the long table. Two acquaintances flanking your sides. It was better that way though. You  may have had only one or two conversations with either of them back in the days but it was better than having JB near you. Though he sat on the opposite side of the table  just diagonal from you. He still didn’t look at you. He sat there casually conversing in small talk with the ones who sat near him. Once again feeling the disappointment from the lack of his attention. Here you were on edge, reacting and responding to every movement of his body. He still had the same effect over you but it was clear that your presence didn’t phase him the same way.

You hadn’t said a word since JB came through the door. “Y/N, I heard you are finally getting married. That’s great! You had your soulmate marking for so long,” the person beside you shifted in their seat, trying to think of any conversation topic to break your silence.

Immediately the rest of the table started to express their excitement for you. All except for one. Now you wished his gaze wasn’t on you.

“You’re getting married?” He finally speaks to you.

The table falls silent. Everyone forgot that there was a thing between you and JB. Eyes widening, others turning their direction to another beside them. Some taking long sips from their drinks as an awkward atmosphere began to loom over the entire room. You could only nod. Pierced by his gaze, you couldn’t even find the voice to answer him with words.

“I see, congrats.” There was a smile on his face, but no warmth in his tone nor behind his expression.

“T-thanks,” you manage to stutter.

“You were so lucky to find your soulmate so early,” one of the single girls pouted.

“How does it feel?” Another asks, “Is it like what they say?”

“It’s nice. Just a lot to take in I guess,” you answer watching as JB’s attention turns away from you as he takes a long pull from his beer bottle. Your phone vibrates on the table, a loud text chime.

“Excuse me,” You say as you get up from your seat using that as an excuse to get away from the soulmate interrogation. In reality, it was a promotion text from your phone company nothing important or pressing. You simply needed a reason to escape their curiosity and more specifically, get away from JB.

You never thought  that you would reencounter JB, especially here of all places. No wonder you avoided going to these. As soon as you stepped away from the lounge area towards the hallways that led to the bathrooms it felt like you could finally breathe again. You thought it was the bass from the music but turns out it was the rapid beating of your heart that you could hear. After calming down a little, you pulled out your phone. Maybe it was best to call for a ride home. Before you knew what was happening you were pushed against the wall by a large hand. You gasped in surprise, looking up to see JB standing in front of you.

You trembled slightly as you looked into his evocative eyes. All the nerves, all the feelings you had tried to calm down resurfacing again. Being so close to him, face inches away from yours bringing about suppressed emotions and feelings.

When he remained silent, pressing you into place you took it upon yourself to say something, “JB,” it was the first time you had spoken his name in so long.

“Are you avoiding me?” He asks, his hand slips from the wall to wrap around  your waist and instead of pushing him away you shudder at his touch.

“No - why would I?” You reply, voice shaking and lacking the confidence you hoped to deliver.

He looks at you,  eyes searching yours before he drops his forehead to yours. “God, I missed you,” he says with a magnetic voice. Pulling everything, all your willpower, everything that you tried to suppress, the emotions, the feelings, most importantly the love you had for him all gravitating towards him. How could this feeling, this right here between you two, not be destined for each other? How could he not be the one you were supposed to spend the rest of your life with? Your hands move to grip at his shirt, not saying anything you all but cling to him. Even if only for a brief moment you let yourself stay like this until you hear the sounds of footsteps approaching. With that you push away from him before you get caught as you rush out of the enclosed space and out into the open. Back to watchful and curious eyes to hold yourself accountable before you made a huge mistake.

Unable to bear the heartache again and after a moment of thought you decided to leave. Quickly mumbling quick goodbyes to everyone. Baffling everyone by your abrupt exit. JB was too dangerous. A pit that you could easily fall into but never get out of. You thought after all these years you could forget everything but you only fooled yourself as the same intense feelings came back as soon as you saw him. The same bewitchment as you had back then. His scent, the way his hand felt on your waist awakening memories that poured into your mind like a flood rushing out of a broken dam.

After graduation, after you broke up you believed that you would never see JB again. He even disappeared, no one knew where he’d gone. Now suddenly he returned but why? For what? All the questions that pounded at you were torment. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You had your soulmate. Despite everything you had to let go of JB, had to come to terms just like seven years ago, that it could never be him. No matter how much you loved him, or he you, you could never be together because fate decided it wasn’t supposed to be. After all you had been through with him, fate or whatever it was determined that you were supposed to marry another man, live a comfortable life with another for all your remaining years.

Your fiancé, Jungkook, was a good man. He was younger than you but sweet nonetheless. You remember the day he met you, the electricity that ran through your veins after interacting. Physically you could feel the pull towards him and you grew to love him as time passed. Knew he could provide for you, make you feel comfortable and even be a good father to your future kids. But to love him the way you loved JB? That couldn’t compare. You and Jungkook had been together a long time now, almost for as long as you’ve been apart from JB. Despite your hesitation and reluctance in the beginning, loving Jungkook had just happened. It felt easy to love him. Your feelings didn’t just stem from the soulmate link. It wasn’t full of heartache, deep yearning and intense emotion. Your love with Jungkook was light, simple. Where JB’s love left you broken, Jungkook seemed to mend it. He did more than just complete you, he complimented your very being. Two pieces that made each other’s life whole. Your love for the two men was like night and day. Two opposites, never destined to share the same moment.

When you returned home, it was completely dark inside. Jungkook was probably still finishing his shift at work. You had just finished getting ready for bed when your phone started to ring from an unfamiliar number.

“Hello?”

“I’m downstairs,” JB spoke through the phone but before you could respond the other line went dead.

You couldn’t go downstairs and see him, but if you didn’t would he wait? You could have blamed curiosity but truth be told, you just wanted to see his face again. There wasn’t even a moment of hesitation as you wrapped yourself in a jacket. Rationalizing to yourself that if you didn’t go downstairs Jungkook might come home and see him. That was all, you’d tell JB to leave. Sure enough, JB was there leaning against his car.

When he heard your footsteps he lifted his head. Damn those eyes, damn that wickedly alluring smile that planted on his face the moment he saw you.

“Thought I’d have to climb the fire escape like what I used to do when I snuck into your room,” he huffs.

“That was a long time ago.”

“You’re still the same as before. You haven’t changed a bit,” he gazes at you, eyes full of emotions too complicated to even describe.

“What do you want?” You respond with a bitter smile. You can’t take it upon yourself to reminisce with him, to talk to him about the past or the present knowing that he wasn’t your future.

“You,” JB says with the utmost sincerity. “I want you, Y/N. I love you. ”

You almost lose your mind upon hearing those words. You two had been separated for almost a decade. You hadn’t even spoke to each other, knew nothing of what those years apart had done to him but you knew what it did to you. You couldn’t go through it all again.

JB had been the most important person in your life all those years ago. With him you had experienced all sorts of feelings-  love, longing, hurt. Now he stood here in front of you telling you that after all these years he still wanted you. He still loved you.

“Please don’t do this JB. We aren’t teens anymore, we aren’t soulmates,” your voice hoarse as you broke you gaze.

“Fuck that,” JB snaps, “It’s my life. I don’t care what these markings say. I know that my feelings for you will never go away. Believe me, for the past decade I’ve been trying to fight against this. But I’m tired. I want to fight this with you. I want you by my side and no one else,”

“JB…” Your chest aches, you want to believe in his words. That the two of you could defy the odds, go against everything you had learned and were destined for but you couldn’t. It wasn’t as easy for you as it was for him. You had someone else to consider, you had Jungkook. Despite your feelings you couldn’t bring yourself to do that to Jungkook. “I’m getting married to my soulmate. We both know that we can’t be together and the hurt from being apart from each other reminds us of that every day. Our love is destined not to work. I have a soulmate. He’s good, he loves me more than anything in this world and I want to respect him. So please, let us go,”

When he was silent you thought you made yourself very clear, so unwillingly you turned to go back inside. JB grabbed your hand to stop you.

“JB -” you could barely finish your sentence as JB pulled you into an embrace. Holding you tightly as your face pressed against his broad chest. As much as you wished you could hold it in, the comfort, the familiar warm embrace had tears well up in your eyes. You cursed, this was wrong. You couldn’t. You had to keep repeating it to yourself that he wasn’t the one. That you shouldn’t be in his arms when you were supposed to be with Jungkook. As you sobbed JB closed his arms around you even more, neither of you willing to let go. He hugged you tightly, he learned from the years apart. He wasn’t going to let you go as easily ever again. No one could take you from him.

Then you heard a familiar voice from behind, “What are you doing?”

Startled, you pushed against JB as you turned to see Jungkook standing not far behind you two. In his hand was a bag full of your favorite snacks. As the initial wave of surprised vanished you snapped back into reality. Shoving JB away from you, creating distance.

“Jungkook.. it’s.. I.. I can explain,”

Jungkook’s gaze shifted towards JB then back at you, “I’m listening,” His voice surprisingly calm.

Before you could say anything, JB suddenly opened his mouth to speak interrupting you before you even had the chance to explain yourself, “Y/N is mine,”  Upon hearing his statement you felt like your head was going to explode.

Having heard JB’s open declaration the tenderness drained from Jungkook’s eyes, turning to animosity.  “Y/N, who the hell is this guy?”

“He’s my.. high school classmate,” your voice wavering as you spoke. It was half the truth.

“I’m the love of her life,” JB corrected, a hauty smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he sees the widened expression on Jungkook’s face. “You didn’t know? Hasn’t Y/N ever mentioned the man she loved deeply?”

“Is it true?” Jungkook asks with little warmth behind his tone.

“Jungkook…” you lower head, embarrassed and apologetic because it was all true.

It’s all the confirmation Jungkook needs. His gaze turning back to JB, eyes narrowing. “I believe you used the word ‘loved’. Past tense,” Jungkook says, catching you off guard as you look up at him. “And seeing that she’s marrying me and that I’m her soulmate technically, she’s mine.”

“Why don’t we ask Y/N?” And as JB said that both gazes turned to you.

“Stop this both of you. I’m not a toy. I’m not some property either of you can claim,” You huff. You walk over to Jungkook, grabbing the bag of snacks with one hand and his hand with the other. You pull him towards the direction of the apartment, side eyeing JB.

“Wait,” Jungkook says tugging against your hand, knowing that however this played out he won solely because he was your soulmate. To show it he brought his lips down to yours. Pulling you in for a kiss, wrapping his arm around your waist as he brought your body close. Just like all the other times and when you first kissed, you feel the immediate pull between you two. No doubt the soulmate bond between you linking you both physically, the chemistry between you undeniable. The way his lips melded with yours like perfect puzzle pieces and you can’t help but meld into him, returning the movement of his lips with yours. When he feels you yield and giving into him, he pulls away. A cocky smirk on his face as he turns his direction towards the person you had forgotten was standing there. “You like what you see?”

Your eyes widen, panic in your stomach as you remember that JB was here. However, it isn’t hurt on JB’s face nor is it anger. It’s amusement. His hands are relaxed, tucked into the front pocket of his jeans.

“I like knowing that I can do better,” He says as steps towards you both.

Jungkook scoffs, “I’d like to see you try,” Putting aside the fact that intimacy between two soulmates was unlike no other, Jungkook was confident enough in his own skills as he challenged JB to try and beat that.

Before you could even process what was happening JB snakes his hand to the small of your back pulling you against him. You try and push against him even as he lowers his head, lips hovering just above yours. Just what was JB doing in front Jungkook? Why was Jungkook even letting him get this close to you? Then JB’s lips took yours.

Caught unexpectedly, the force of the kiss has you rocking back on your heels but your balanced as he brings you against him. You stiffen, unrelenting as his mouth moves against yours, unlike earlier you were well aware that Jungkook stands within arms length between the both of you.

“Looks like you can’t do better,” You hear Jungkook tease behind you.

JB pulls away, gazing at you. Lips parted as he brings his hands to cup your cheeks, “Show him how much you want me,” he murmurs.

You glance hesitantly towards Jungkook who’s grinning smugly, arms folded over his chest. “Go on baby,” he encourages.

JB doesn’t wait, his lips meeting yours again. Kissing you with determination not only to prove it to Jungkook but to remind you how much he affects you. It’s crazy or is this all a dream? Did you doze off as soon as you got home? It was real. JB’s lips against yours and Jungkook’s observant eyes watching the two of you. You remain hesitant even while his lips try to entice.

“Kiss me Y/N,” he murmurs, his tongue coaxes along your lower bottom lip and it’s the tipping point. You clutch at the material of his jacket. Clinging to him as you begin to return the kiss. The rekindling familiarity of his lips as it moved with yours. Years of longing and need resurfacing as you both hungrily satiated yourselves with the kiss. His hands move from your cheek, down your sides as your body moulds against him. There’s a low moan in the back of your throat that forms as his tongue meets yours languidly. One hand fists in the back of your hair while the other moves to cup against your ass. Soft kisses with subtle nibbles of your bottom lip claim you once more as you grip the lapels of  his jacket.

“Ahem,”

The sound startles you and instantly you pull away, breathless. Immediately you turn to look at Jungkook ready to face the pained look on his face or the wrath in his eyes but to your surprise his face is stoic. His next sentence catching you off guard even more.

“Let’s take this inside before the neighbors question us,” He tilts his head in the direction of the apartment, hands digging into his pockets as he turns. You’re confused. Did he mean all of you? JB grabs your hand as if to answer your confusion as he leads you towards your apartment.

Jungkook unlocks the door letting you all in. He tosses the keys onto the counter, undoing the buttons of his shirt as if he’s at ease. There’s no words said between the three of you. You never anticipated having Jungkook and JB in the same room even more so like this. JB glances around taking in the home you built with Jungkook. There’s pictures of you two on the wall, the mantel, the little side tables. Each of them showing milestones, the love grown between you two. What those pictures didn’t show were the feelings behind the smile. The unease and doubt. The lingering feelings for JB, the what ifs and could have beens. Only you knew.

You can’t help but avoid meeting  JB’s gaze yet your hand still remained entwined with his. Feeling as if you got caught living a double life. However that wasn’t the case, JB had entered you and Jungkook’s world.

“Cute place,” JB comments.

“It’s cozy for us,” Jungkook answers as he leans against the arm of the sofa.

“You still have him,” JB says as he notices the stuffed animal that lied on the couch behind Jungkook’s body. You see the flicker in Jungkook’s eyes and feel the small seed of guilt. JB remembered the trouble he went through to win it for you during a festival one year. Yet he couldn’t forget the smile on your face as he handed it to you. Now after all these years, amongst you and Jungkook’s items, there was still a piece of you and him. He still lingered. You hadn’t let go of him completely and even by the way you kissed him back he knew. He still had a part of you too. JB knew that Jungkook wanted to see how much and he was damn well going to make sure he proved it.

“Baby,” Jungkook says, emphasizing your nickname that you call each other. For some reason it makes you blush, JB hated pet names when you were together. Yet when it rolled off Jungkook’s tongue it made you giddy. You feel JB’s hand tighten around yours as if reminding you he was still there. “I’m okay with this if you are,” Jungkook’s gaze moves to JB, indifference in his eyes and face. “If she doesn’t want you then you’ll leave her alone,”

“Tell us, baby.” JB mocks, finding amusement in the way Jungkook’s eyes narrow. “Do you want me?”

You hesitate, glancing back and forth between the two of them. When neither of them say anything, nor object you realize the ball is in your court. JB’s hand is warm as it holds yours. You draw comfort from it. The slow circles of his thumb against the surface of your hand enough to entice you. Stoking your wants. Your hidden desires. You make eye contact with Jungkook who awaits your choice. Looking for any hesitation on his face or unease when you find none you answer. Trying to steady the sound of your voice.

“I want him,” Hell, after the way he kissed you moments ago you need him.

Jungkook eyes you evenly and you’re left holding your breath. Wondering if you had just jeopardized everything. You don’t know why you relax when you see the amusement light up again in Jungkook’s eyes and the way his posture eases. Your sex life with Jungkook was never mediocre but this? This had to be the most risqué thing you two had ever done. Though this would never happen or even be a thought in your mind if it wasn’t JB.

“You heard her,” Jungkook muses gesturing to JB, “Give her what she wants,” He says as he moves to sit on the adjacent sofa. He relaxes, eyeing the two of you evenly. There’s a certain confidence that’s radiating off him. A side of Jungkook you had never seen and to you it’s attractive. A sex appeal that surprises you and never expected to come from him.

JB rolls his eyes before he turns to face you, a grin on his face. Your heart is beating fast, everything is quiet around you except for the steady sound of everyone’s breathing. Jungkook is quiet, silently watching as JB faces you. JB sees it as a challenge. Knowing he’s being watched to see how fast he can get you riled up. Jungkook was underestimating him. He may not be your soulmate but it didn’t mean he didn’t know your body, your sweet spots and the way to illicit the most lewd sounds from you. He was going to make sure Jungkook heard every one of them coming from you lips.

He pulls you in for a kiss, palms finding purchase on your hips guiding you towards him. His lips move languidly against yours, savouring your familiar taste, the fullness of your lips and the way it melds with his. You moan as his tongue traces the seal of your lips coaxing you. He only had to kiss and he could imagine Jungkook behind him frowning, if he wasn’t so preoccupied he would have shot a smug grin over his shoulder but instead he maneuvered you towards the couch. Lips never leaving yours. Your body laid soft on the cushions, his body over top yours. His hand slips under your sweater, over your hip, caressing towards your mid section and higher until his hand is filled with supple flesh of your breast. You groan, nipping his bottom lip with your teeth as you arch into his hand. With his body on top of yours his knee positions between your legs and as he expected you began to grind against it. Hips raising as you grind and he knows its to soothe whatever ache he’s building up for you. He knows soon you’ll grow frustrated, impatient when it does little to ease especially with the barriers of clothing between you two. For Jungkook’s sake, JB planned to drag it out for as long as he could. He was going to savour the time he had with you. For just this moment you were his again. It was his name that left your lips in heavy pants and sighs as he kisses your collarbone, as he drags your sweater over your body and feasts his mouth on your skin. Marking you, claiming you once again, rediscovering every surface of your body.

You never thought you’d have this again. Not with him. There had been countless amount of times before you met Jungkook, during the time you had separated from JB, that you wished to feel his lips, his warm embrace and the intimacy between you two. Now you clung to him with fervor, relished in the feeling like an addict about to have the last high before going on the straight and narrow. All you could think of were his hot open-mouthed kisses on your skin, igniting a fire everywhere he touched and explored. His fingers hook in the waistband of your lounge shorts, drawing them down. Kneeling before you as his kisses trail down your abdomen. Inching closer and closer to where he had yet to touch but where you needed him most.

His hands caress your thighs until tucking behind your knees as he pushes your legs apart. Through hooded lashes he looks up to see your face, taking in the view of you pliant and needy before him. Your breaths are shallow with anticipation. He toys with you. Pushing aside your panties and you groan as he barely comes in contact with your core.

“JB,” you plead. His arms are looped around your thighs, you’re spread in front of him yet nothing. Barely even a breath against your core and you know he’s doing it purposely. You know what he awaits and longs for. He wants your command, he wants Jungkook to hear you beg for him the way you have done so many times before. “JB eat me out please,”

“I’m glad you haven’t forgotten your manners,” JB chuckles. Jungkook scoffs in the distance further adding to his satisfaction.

“Fuck!” You rasp when his tongue finally swipes up your core. Hands fisting in his hair as reflex. Your heads falls back and eyes tightly shut as you relish in the feeling of his tongue against your throbbing clit. Your body jerks with the flick of his tongue.

“Just as good as I remember,” JB says as he looks up at you, running a tongue along his lower lip to savour your taste before dipping back for more.

“She likes it if you-”

“I know what she likes,” JB cuts Jungkook off. To prove it JB goes back down on you. You gasp as his tongue curls against your clit before his mouth closes over it and sucks gently. Repeating the actions as he builds you up. Your thighs quake as they tighten around him, overcome with pleasure.

In the midst of pleasure and as your head lolls back you see Jungkook from the corner of your eye. “Jungkook,” you say between breaths.

“What is it baby?”

“Let me help you,” you say as you notice the length of his dick straining against his pants. It had to be uncomfortable for him. JB remained nestled in between your legs, tongue working effortless at your core.

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, “How do you plan to do that when you’re busy getting eating out?”

“I could turn around and suck you off,” you stutter as JB’s tongue swirls around your nerves. Jungkook still gives you a skeptical look yet you see the intrigue in his eyes. You look at JB who’s nestled between your legs, “Is that okay?” You ask him.

JB looks from the top of his lash line, his mouth unceasing. “Whatever you want,” he mutters, then he kneels to sit up. Wiping the remnants of your pleasure around his mouth as he waits for you.

Unsteadily you reposition yourself on the couch onto all fours. Jungkook moves to stand on one end of while JB stays behind you. “You sure you can handle it baby?” Jungkook says as he caresses your flushed cheek.

You nod and to show it your mouth parts. Jungkook smirks as he undos the buttons of his pants and works the zipper down.

“Mmm….” you moan, eyes closing as you feel JB’s mouth against your core again. His hands grip your ass with a firm hold, his tongue swiping long languid strokes up your slit. Lapping up every ounce of pleasure that drips from your ripened center. His tongue working meticulously to build you up again in the new position.

Jungkook’s fingers weaves in your hair, using it as leverage to keep your head tilted up towards him. He looks at the view before him. Back arched and ass raised, seeing only the top of JB’s head as he’s nestles between your legs. When you open your mouth to cry out again, Jungkook muffles your moans with his cock. Hips thrusting as he fills your mouth. Through teary eyes you look up at him, a small grin of satisfaction around his cock as you take him into your mouth. His head lolls back, fastening his grip in your hair tightly as he feels your mouth adjust around him. Hollowing with every slow thrust.

“Can’t hear you Y/N,” JB murmurs, hands squeezing your hips.

“That’s cause her mouth is filled with my cock,” Jungkook snides and for his own satisfaction pushes himself in further. He grins down at you, smile filled with smug praise as you eagerly take him into your throat like he enjoys.

“Oh, f-fuck,” you choke out around Jungkook’s cock as you feel JB’s finger slip inside you, pushing back against his hand. He knows just what to do, how to curl his fingers in you to your utmost pleasure spot. Jungkook’s grasp around your hair tightens to bring your attention back to his cock. This was all too surreal. You giving Jungkook head while JB’s mouth works your core  and finger fucks you from behind in the middle of the your living room.

Your walls clench around nothing when JB pulls his hand away. Your other half left with nothing as you feel JB move behind you, hear the zipper of his jeans as he says nothing. You do your best to continue to suck Jungkook off, all the while trying to see what JB is doing behind you. Jungkook grips your hair, guiding your head as he thrusts his cock into you mouth to keep you focused.

“You’re not fucking her without a condom,” You hear Jungkook say.

“If it eases your mind I’ve only ever been with Y/N,” JB replies, “And I’ve cummed in her before,” he further adds. For a brief moment Jungkook’s thrusts falter, gripping your hair tighter until he hears the little wince that leaves your mouth. You had wished JB left that part out. You hadn’t let Jungkook cum in you yet. Sure, he’s gone bare in you but never had you granted him the opportunity. Always insisting that it’s something that should be waited for until after the wedding.  

“If you want to fuck her you do it with a condom. Or you can just forget it,” Jungkook’s response is final, the tone in his voice leaving no leeway for negotiation.

You can’t see their gazes but the long silent pause that lingered in the room had you imagining that the two men were both in a stand-off. Feeling the testerone loom around the three of you, neither of the two men backing down from each other. Nor were the two men in your life the submissive type - especially in the bedroom- both equally stubborn and headstrong.

At last JB’s sigh breaks the silence, “Fine,” he reluctantly agrees, surprising you. “Won’t make a difference to either of us anyway. Where do you keep them?”

“Bedroom, left night stand.” Jungkook answers straight away.

“I’ll be right back,” JB says to you as he palms your ass before leaving the couch.

“Jungkook...” you say looking up at him when it’s the two of you left in the room.

He smiles down at you, caressing your cheek once again. “It’s okay baby,” His voice reassuring and soothing your guilt.

JB comes back into the room. The couch cushion creaking under his weight as he kneels and resumes his position behind you. “Sorry to keep you waiting,”

The sound of the foil tearing excites you. Finally after so long you get to feel him again. You could feel your core aching, dripping in anticipation. JB lets out a frustrated sigh as he begins to roll the latex down his length.

“Can’t get it up?” Jungkook teases.

“Or the condom size is too small for me,” JB retorts.

If you weren’t so needy maybe you would have rolled your eyes at their snide remarks to each other. Perhaps you could have told them both to shut up but this was battle of egos and testosterone and frankly, the only thing on your mind at the moment was to alleviate the ache in between your thighs

“Fucking finally,” JB mutters under his breath as he inches closer to you. “I’ll go slow, you’re probably not used to the stretch anymore.” JB continues to provoke.

It felt too good, your core sensitive to the feeling of JB rubbing his length up and down your slit. Using your arousal to coat himself. You feel the tip of his cock align with your entrance. Then you feel the familiar stretch as he slowly begins to enter you. He grips your hips as you slowly tighten and clench around him. He stills when he’s at his hilt, thighs against your bottom as he waits for you to adjust around his cock, savouring in the familiar feeling of your walls around him.

“Fuck you feel as good as I remember. Still so t-tight,” his voice strains as he begins to gently roll his hips. He lets out a satiated sigh, “I missed how good you feel,”

One of Jungkook’s hand fist into your hair again. The other wrapped around his own length as he strokes himself. The tip of his cock beaded with his precum as he guides his length back to your mouth. “Such a good girl,” he praises, “Taking our cocks so well,”

“Amazing isn’t she?” JB chimes, thrusts unceasing.The jolt of his hips making you lurch forward against Jungkook. Taking him deeper into your mouth and it causes Jungkook to hiss, your nose meeting his pelvis. You moan, neither of them taking mercy with their thrusts and soon enough everything is oversensitive. Eyes tight shut, strangled moans and stomach tightening. JB doing his utmost best to coax a release from you. While you did your best to make sure Jungkook was satisfied as you run your tongue along his shaft, alternating between different motions.

“Fuck baby,” Jungkook rasps, his rhythm breaking. The grip in your hair tighter as he fucks your mouth. He’s close, through hooded eyes you see his body tensing. His lower lip caught between his teeth as his head lolls back. “T-tongue out,” he orders as he roughly pulls off of your mouth with loud ‘pop’. Immediately you obey, watching as Jungkook pumps his cock with grunts. Then he lays his girth on your tongue, hot bursts of his pleasure releases into your mouth, onto your tongue and inadvertently down your chin as he lets out a low arduous groan. The strokes of his shaft slow until he finds his bearings again as he pulls up his pants. He kneels before you, meeting your hazed gaze and smiles softly as he watches the pleasure contort your face as JB continues to fuck you. He wipes your chin with his thumb, wiping his remnants onto his pants.

Resting his hand against your cheek, he kisses your forehead. “Does he feel good?” He asks. Amidst your whimpering you nod. Jungkook grins, “I’m glad you’re enjoying baby,” He stands up and your gaze follows. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right here.” He says as he moves to sit back on the adjacent sofa.

You’re hesitant at first. Holding in your moans, tensing, gaze always moving to Jungkook to make sure he’s okay. You bit your bottom lip so hard you wouldn’t be surprised if you started tasting blood.

“Turn around y/n,” JB says softly, taking your attention away from your worries.

With your movement faltering, you move back to lay supine on the couch. JB joining you once again, easing his cock inside in the new missionary position. The atmosphere becomes more intimate between you two. He cages you in with body, the rough snaps of his hips from  before transition into slow, wanton movements. Your breaths are heavy, the hair around his temples growing damp. For this moment you were each other’s once again. Sharing in the intimacy, the love that still lingered binding your bodies more than physically. His thrusts are slow and hard, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room. He grips your hips, caressing. To your surprise he kisses you, tongue tracing your taste. The taste of you mixed with Jungkook.  

“Did you ever think this would happen?” JB murmurs into your ear, “That we’d be together like this again. I guess we have your soulmate to thank for this,” His voice is quiet but just enough for Jungkook to hear. “Don’t forget your manners, Y/N. Thank your soulmate,”

“Thank you Jungkook,”  You moan breathlessly.

“You’re welcome baby,” his voice answers from the distance.

You hold onto JB’s shoulders, nails raking across his skin. Body shuddering, as the knots in your lower abdomen tighten. Your legs wrap around his waist to pull him closer as the impending climax grows near with every thrust of his hips. His name leaves your lips like a mantra as you cling to him. Even with each thrust, his touches are tender. The movement between you two sensual. It was so typical of JB. Tending to you enough to make your heart melt, ensuring every single inch of him  was felt inside you while he continues to kiss you affectionately.

He claims you with every touch of his fingertips, his lips, his cock reaching your deepest pleasure spots. You begin to tumble over the edge, floating off like a dream. As if each pivotal movement was letting you know there has never been anybody but you, that there will never be anyone else for him. It has you questioning everything again amidst all the pleasure, all the desire. Just inches from you your soulmate sat there watching, amused and entertained. Letting you have this and you wonder how you ever got to share this moment. Two loves of your life, different like night and day. Yet for this brief moment you shared in the moment like twilight, where day and night finally meet. You reveled in it, basked in the glorious sensation of making love to JB, even if it was just one last time, you clung to him with fervor until euphoria breaks.

Your vision freckles, your body shuddering and unwinding as you cum around JB. Delightfully blinded by the sensations of your orgasm. JB’s thrusts falter as he feels your walls tighten around him. He buries his face within the crook of your neck, breath heavy as he quickly follows in your release. You could barely move under the weight of his body, completed depleted from all your energy. Your arms wrapping around him limply to hold him close. The intimacy is soon broken as JB shifts his body off yours with a low groan, leaving you empty but satiated. He props himself onto his elbow, both your bodies still entangled. His palm settled on your abdomen as he lazily traces slow circles on your skin.

“Are you alright?” He murmurs. You nod lazily, too exhausted for words.  “I need to clean up,” he says sitting up, “Get this thing off,” he says referring to the soiled condom. JB kisses your forehead before shifting off the couch as he leaves the living room.

Lazily you stretch on the couch, content. “Jungkook?” you call out, eyes drifting shut. There’s a moments silence and just before you open your eyes you feel him join you on the couch. Hands intertwining  with yours as he squeezes it gently.

“Come on, I’ll bring you to bed,” he says tenderly. You don’t object as he lifts you, carrying your bridal style to your bedroom. You feel the mattress behind you, he brings the sheets up to cover you as you nestle in bed. “Comfy?” he asks.

“Lucky,” you hum. “That I have you,”

Jungkook smiles, brushing the strangled hairs from your face. “I consider myself the lucky one,”

“Do you regret it being me?”

Jungkook shakes his head, “Never.” He says as he leans over to kiss your forehead he settles in bed with you for a moment, draping the covers around both of you as he holds. “I love you,”

“I love you too,” you smile, snuggling your head into his chest. He’s warm, heart beating steadily as it soothes you, eyes drifting to sleep.

He hears the steady sound of your breathing, respirations quiet and easy. He lays there for a moment holding you close as he’s done so many times before and had planned to do even more but as the night slowly lightens to morning, at the break of twilight. It’s not his name that leaves your lips on a quiet sigh.

All Rights Reserved © parkhabits

[skyfireflight]

Midnight’s Dawn, Chapter 5

Pre-series/Pre-canon (AU): The story of Xadia’s history before and leading up to the continent’s split, and how Elarion met Aaravos.

Story Summary: Dragons were not kind to humans. Nor were most elves. But Elarion was willing to take that risk. She had to, to save everyone she loved.

Chapter Summary: Though the journey is unkind, Elarion gets help from a friendly face. And: To stop the dragon attacks, she must give up something precious to her.  

Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4

_______________________________

Part 1: Sun

Chapter 5

The stars asked

to receive her light

and the fire of the raging dragon stopped

- from Elarion’s poem

_______________________________

The town entrance was a small opening between the trees directly next to the left side of the road. People, all elves that she could see just at a glance, bustled around her, hauling wagons and carts, going in and out of stores, talking to each other in a strange accent. Young children, some of them with blue skin and wings, she noticed, played and laughed in the streets, and from underneath her hood, Elarion smiled at the sight.

So cute.

The roads were wide and made of neatly cut cobblestone, and the buildings were about the same distance apart as in her own village, thought the architecture was very different, just as she had seen from a distance as she had passed by elven settlements on her journey; although up close, it was even more impressive.

Swirling, leaf-shaped designs carved into the walls and doors, windows shaped like butterflies or sometimes circles and arches with colored glass, the roofs rising in sharp, curved points with elaborately decorated chimneys made from stones that Elarion didn’t recognize immediately, thought she was sure they were some kind of gemstones.

But Elarion didn’t gawk at the scenery, though she was tempted to. Being around so many elves, people she had only heard about and seen far off, made her nervous, and she kept her head down for the most part, except for occasionally glancing up at the buildings to see if any looked like an inn. Thankfully, no one bothered her.

After about ten minutes of wandering, she found one. Just like with human inns, a sign hung outward by the door.

The Dancing Unicorn Inn, it read, gold letters engraved in the wood, next to a golden outline of a unicorn rearing up.

She had found what she was looking for. Steeling herself, Elarion pushed the door open.

And blinked at the lights. Outside, the sun was dim from the evening, but here, candles sat in chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the entire room. The room itself was a lobby, pretty much the same as with the inns in human towns, with some chairs and tables set about the room and a desk before the far wall, the wall housing keys on hooks. To the left of the desk, disappearing into the left wall, was a staircase, where Elarion assumed the rooms were.

The only difference, besides the lighting, was the dark-skinned elf with gold tattoos behind the desk. As soon as she spoke or he saw her hands, he would know she was a human. Elarion took a quiet breath, and walked up to the desk.

“Excuse me,” she said, surprised when her voice came out normal and even.

The elf’s eyes snapped up from where he was reading a book. She could tell when her accent registered, and he gave her a quick look up and down, before narrowing his eyes at her. “What do you want?” he asked shortly, his tone stand-offish and impatient.

Elarion swallowed. “I’d like a room for the night, please.”

The man gave a short breath through his nose, and he looked away for a moment, seeming to be thinking about something. Elarion didn’t breathe.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was in reality only a few seconds, the elf spoke again. “Alright, there’s a room I can give you. Do you have anything to trade?” Elarion opened her mouth to answer, but then he continued. “Wait, you humans use money, right?”

Elarion nodded. “Yes. I…have money.”

“I’ll take that, then.”

Surprised, but not about to question it or test this man’s patience, Elarion quickly rummaged in her bag and took out the amount that would be for one night at a human inn. “Here,” she said. She set the coins on the desk.

The elven man looked at them for a moment, picking up the coins and rubbing them between his fingers. Then, he gathered them up and placed them under the desk, before turning around and taking a key off the hook. He handed it to Elarion.

“The room number is on the key,” the man said, indicating the paper tag wrapped around the ring on the end of the key’s handle. “One night only,” he added sternly.

“Yes.” Elarion nodded. “Thank you.”

The man grunted instead of responding, and Elarion turned and went up the stairs. They number on the key’s tag read “12,” and it didn’t take her long to find the number engraved on the top edge of one of the room’s doors, the symbols also in gold. Elarion turned the knob, and went inside.

A bed! she thought with relief. Elarion shut the door behind her and locked it, allowing herself the moment it took to place the key on the dresser – thankfully right next to the door – before dropping her bag and launching herself on the bed in a belly flop.

And it was wonderful.

“Ahhhhh,” she sighed and closed her eyes. She turned over onto her back and splayed her arms across the blanket – which was softer than any material she’d felt – her legs and feet dangling over the side of the bed.

I could fall asleep right here.

It took all her willpower not to.

She should take off her shoes first, after all, and probably change her clothes, which were quite dirty.

Opening her eyes and sitting up with a grunt, Elarion’s gaze met a door on the far wall directly in front of her.

I wonder what that is. Maybe it was a bathroom?

Curious, Elarion got up and opened the door. It was a bathroom. A white tub was set into the wall, with a metal rack with white, fluffy towels, and what looked to be bottles of liquid soap – something she had only heard of – resting in an indent in the all beside the tub. A toilet sat next to the tub and to her right, and next to that was some sort of raised basin, over which was a pipe with a knob. And above the basin was a mirror.

Elarion shook her head. She wasn’t going to bother wondering about elven technology right now. Right now, a bath sounded nice.

Or, maybe she should wonder about elven technology. The bathtub was empty of water. Elarion fought down the budding disappointment, and instead turned to wonder about the metal pipe and knob stuck in the wall above the tub. Hmmm…what does this do….

She leaned down, wrapped her fingers around the knob, and turned. With a squeak, the knob turned with them. Then, water gushed out of the pipe and into the tub. Elarion slightly jolted, startled. Then, she giggled.

Running water!

She’d heard of it; tales of such technology told by human travelers who had been to elven cities. But to actually see it and get to use it….!

A breathy laugh escaped her as she dripped her fingers in the water falling from the pipe. It was warm. She stayed that way for a few minutes, before the ache in her back and the need to actually get into that water made her step back.

After closing the bathroom door – not that she needed to; it just felt better – Elarion shucked off her boots and the rest of her clothes. As she did, she glanced up into the mirror.

Boy, was she glad she’d hidden under that cloak. Though she did the best she could do detangle her hair with her fingers and the little water she could spare for things over than drinking, it was still poofy, oddly-shaped nest. And she had dirt on her sleeves and skirt of her dress, though mostly on the edges and hem, with some stray leaves she hadn’t noticed before.

Thank the stars she had packed other clothes.

Finishing that, Elarion stepped into the tub and sank into the water.

“Mmmmm….” Elarion shivered a little at the contrast of temperatures – she hadn’t even noticed she was cold – then closed her eyes and laid her head back as she let the warmth wash over her. She was in paradise.

After a few moments of just basking, Elarion turned to investigate the bottles of liquid soap. Some were for the body, apparently, according to the names and instructions written on them, and others for the hair. And they seemed to have different properties, too – skin moisturizing, hair detangling, hair strengthening, skin exfoliating, and others. She picked out one soap for her body and one for her hair, the ones that seemed would suit her best. But they all smelled lovely – some scents her of herbs she recognized, and of others that she didn’t.

The sun had already nearly fully set by the time Elarion had climbed out of the tub, found the drain at the bottom to let the water out, and dried off. She picked out some clean clothes, another warm dress with leggings, and put them on before crashing onto the bed – the wonderful, smooth-surfaced bed. She snuggled under the soft blankets, wrapping herself up in them, taking a fistful of the fabric and holding it to her chest, tucking a fold of it under one leg.

Wrapped up like that, finally relaxing as much as she could on this journey with the burden over her head, clean and warm and comfortable, she fell asleep.

_____________________________

Elarion was woken up by loud, harsh, insistent pounding on her door. It was still night, the window just beside her bed showing a black sky and glowing almost-full moon. The knocking continued. Scrambling to get up and untangle herself from the blankets, she hurried across the room and opened the door. The elven man who gave her the key stood there just beyond the threshold.

“Get your things and get out,” he said, his tone hard.

Elarion stuttered in shock, her voice airy. “What…? But, I paid –.”

The man cut her off. “It doesn’t matter. We’re fully booked with you here, and an elf needs this room. Now get your things, and get. Out.”

Shaken, it took all of Elarion’s will power not to physically shrink away and pull her arms in close to her body like a frightened child. She kept her hands to her sides, feeling her fingers flexing slightly as she forced them not to curled into fists. Then she nodded, giving the man a quiet, breathy, “Okay,” and turning back into the room to grab her things.

Everything was already packed; she hurriedly grabbed her cloak from it, put the cloak on and pulled up the hood, and slug her bag across her shoulders. Then she shoved her sockless feet into her boots.

The man was still waiting for her when she turned toward the door, and he said nothing, only kept his gaze on Elarion as she went out the door, slightly stepping away at an angle to let her pass. Elarion could feel his eyes on her back as she began to descend the stairs.

“Stay off the streets!” the elven man called after her, in a low but stern voice. Then Elarion could hear him grumbling under his breath, the sound of his voice getting quieter when he went into the room, presumably to fetch the key and tidy the space up for the next customer.

When Elarion got to the lobby, an elven woman, with white hair and light skin that was decorated with dark violet markings, stood by the desk, leaning on it with one forearm. She must have been the one who needed the room, Elarion reasoned.

The woman swept a glance over her, and Elarion quickened her steps toward the inn’s door. The lack of a burning presence on her back told her that the woman must have looked away. She pulled it open and stepped out into the street.

It was still the middle of the night. After seeing the town in the daylight, and coming from the illuminated lobby of the inn, Elarion felt that she had plunged into another world, covered in darkness. Still, there was some light. Moonlight shone down on the cobblestone, and lanterns high on the walls of buildings lit the empty pathways, cutting through shadows and making other shadows deeper.

Well, not completely empty, apparently. Elarion saw a figure flit through the shadows in the corner of her eye, on the other side of the street to her right, between a few buildings. Though far fewer than during the day, people still wandered around, keeping their voices low, most of them hugging the walls. A shout came from somewhere off in the distance, startling her and making her jump, and Elarion remembered the man’s warning about staying off the streets. It must not be safe here, she thought.

Back to the forest it is, then.

The lights from the moon and the lanterns made it mostly easy to find her way back to the entrance of the town. She could have summoned a ball of light, like the last time, but that would have drawn attention that Elarion did not want. Not to mention she was tired – it would be difficult to maintain the light, the ball flickering in and out.

When she got back to the road, though, the lanterns no longer helped her, and the trees blocked out most of the moonlight. A quick look back and forth told her no one was on the road; even in the sparse light, she would be able to see someone traveling along it. Assured that no one would see her, Elarion put her finger into the air to begin a light-ball spell.

Her finger shook, and the light popped in her face and disappeared. Elarion had do the rune several times before she got it right; finally, when she said the incantation, a ball of yellow light appeared in her cupped hand. After a few seconds of staying steady, the light flickered.

Then a few moments later, it went out.

Argh!

She couldn’t keep a steady light source like this. Elarion yawned and rubbed her eyes with her left hand. What was she going to do? No way was she going to try to navigate the woods in the dark, with the moonlight mostly blocked by the tree cover. And going back to the elven town wasn’t an option.

There was a clear, flat space between the road and the trees.

Elarion curled up there, at the side of the road, wrapping her cloak more securely around her. Hopefully she would be able to wake up with the sun, leave, and continue on before anyone passed by on the road and saw her.

___________________________

“Hey!”

Elarion woke to a shout. Another rude awakening, she thought grumpily. Elarion squinted in the sunlight that met her eyes, trying to focus them. The voice sounded gruff and male. Something hit against her side none too gently. Finally, her vision cleared, and she looked up into the face of a light-skinned elven man.

“Get out of the way! You can’t sleep here! Get up! People are using this road!” the man shouted at her. He roughly nudged her again with his boot.

A young, quiet voice. “Dad….”

What is this guy’s problem, anyway? Elarion thought, also grumpy from being so harshly awakened twice in a row. The lack of good sleep certainly didn’t help her mood, either.

Still, she got up, brushing the dirt off from her clothes; her bag was still across her shoulders, thank the stars. When she stood, the man huffed and turned away.

Elarion took in her surroundings. A wooden cart stood in the road, near the town’s entrance, pulled by a strange, colorful blue, bird-horse type animal. Elarion pressed her lips together and huffed quietly. She hadn’t been anywhere near “in the way.” The cart had plenty of room to pass by her.

As the elven man crossed in front of the cart and into the town, Elarion could see an elven woman and a young girl – maybe around her age or a few years younger, she guessed – with the same light skin, white hair, and dark violet markings, standing by the cart. And there, climbing off the seat in front of the cart as he dropped the rains, was a human man. Elarion stared at him for a short moment, at first disbelieving, and then stunned.

Elarion didn’t think she’d been so happy to see another human in her life.

The woman turned to go into the town, and called to the girl. The held her gaze on Elarion for a few moments, giving her what she could only describe as an apologetic look, as if to say she was sorry for the man’s – presumably her father; Elarion thought she heard her call him “Dad” – actions. The woman called again, more urgently this time, and the girl torn her eyes away, seemingly reluctantly, and followed.

The human man stayed with the cart, now dropping the reigns he’d been holding in one hand, and Elarion’s eyes turned back to him. He was maybe in his thirties, if she had to guess. He was light skinned, and wore a brown, wide-brimmed hat, wearing a thick-materialed looking jacket that was the same color brown as his hat.

“Hello there,” the man greeted, tipping his hat and smiling at her. “You alright?”

At the sound of his voice – warm, gentle, and friendly – caught Elarion’s attention, and she realized she had been staring.

Oops.

And now, after over a week of barely any person interaction, with the few people she’d talked to being unfriendly elves, interacting with another human, friendly and asking after her well-being, nearly made her want to cry.

But Elarion shoved that feeling down. She wouldn’t cry now. She would keep her composure.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Thank you,” she answered, relieved when her voice came out steady.

The man nodded, then walked around the cart and began to unload it, first pulling a smaller hand-push cart off the back and rolling it to the front.

“Sorry about that,” the man said, making conversation as he worked. He went back to the larger cart, hefted out a crate, and came back around to set the crate in the smaller cart. “So, why were you sleeping out here on the side of the road?”

Oh, yeah. That again. “I got kicked out of the inn,” Elarion answered. “An elf needed the room.” She couldn’t help the bitterness that seeped into her tone of voice.

The man hummed in sympathy, stacking another crate, this one open and with fruit of different types and colors peeking over the brim. He winced in sympathy. “I’m sorry. That’s rough.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Then she asked, curious as she watched the human unload the cart that apparently belong to the elven family, “Why are you with elves?”

“Oh, I work for them,” the man answered.

“You work for them?” Elarion echoed.

“Uh-huh.”

“Why?” She couldn’t imagine wanting to be around elves every day, let alone working for them.

The man smiled. “An understandable question,” he said, lifting another crate from the larger cart. “You see, I was a merchant, but then I got myself into debt with them, and now I’m employed as their servant until I work it off.”

Elarion’s tilted head and creased eyebrows showed it all. She wasn’t sure if this question would be insensitive, but…. “Can I ask…how did that happen? I thought elves didn’t use money. Do elves trade with humans?” She hadn’t meant that last question, but it still confused her. If elves didn’t use money, like she had always heard, how would a human get into debt with one? She thought the elf in charge of the inn was an anomaly, a stroke of luck. But did elves trade with humans after all? They must, to use money, and to even have money to lend or pay a human. How else would a human get into debt with elves?

Now leaning against the front of the larger cart, the man didn’t seem offended by the question at all; he just smiled at her. “Some elves do, though not many. Most see money as either silly or useless, or some keep it as a novelty, something from another culture, you know. The ones who do get money through trading with humans, they do it enough, and they get rich with it, since they don’t need to use it among their own folk.

“And as for how it happened, well. My parents, my two siblings, my wife, and my son and daughter and I all lived together. We fell on hard times with a famine last year” – Elarion nodded; famines were common all over where humans lived. The elves’ magic must keep them from experiencing famines like humans do, Elarion thought – “and on top of that, my business wasn’t doing well. So, this elven family that sometimes trades with merchants from my town allowed my family to borrow from them. Not sure if it was out of the kindness of their hearts, or because they had nothing better to do with all their money, but” – he waved his hand in a “that’s how it is” gesture. “They wanted to be paid back, but we didn’t have it, so here I am.” He shrugged.

Or maybe it was the daughter, Elarion thought. The elven girl seemed kind enough: apologetic about her dad’s actions.

The man reached back into the cart and lifted out another crate. “My name’s Thomas, by the way,” he said. “What’s yours?”

“Elarion.”

“Nice to meet you, Elarion. You’re not from around here, I take it.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m from the Midsummer Valley. My village is just near the west end of it.”

“Oh, wow. You’re far from home.”

“Yeah.” Her voice came out with a sigh.

“You all by yourself?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Brave kid.” Elarion smiled at that. “What are you doing all the way out here by yourself?”

“I’m –” she paused. Should she tell him? Surely he would know about all the dragon attacks that had been happening; from what she’d heard, they were affecting human settlements far beyond just the Mid Spring Valley. Would he think she was silly, trying to seek help from elves she didn’t even know if she would find, or think she was on a fool’s errand?

Well, it wouldn’t hurt to tell him, she guessed.

“I’m trying to find a way to stop the dragon attacks that are happening,” she told him. Thomas paused, giving her his full attention, and Elarion told him about what she’d read and heard about the star nexus and startouch elves, and her plan to find and petition the startouch elves to intervene on the humans’ behalf.

Elarion braced herself, but Thomas didn’t tell her she was silly or that her goal was far-fetched. He stared into nowhere at a spot on the ground for a moment with a contemplative look on his face, his arms crossed, then nodded slowly.

“That’s as good as a plan as any,” Thomas said, giving a sigh and lifting himself off from where he had been leaning against the larger cart. “If something had any possible chance of stopping these dragons, I’d try it.” He went back around the cart, hefting out one last crate. “That star nexus is still a bit of a ways, and a tough climb. Have you eaten? Probably not, huh? Since you just woke up.”

Elarion shook her head in confirmation.

“Here.” From the crate, he took out a small paper bag with green and yellow runes drawn on it, and pulled out a long loaf of bread.

Or rather, a sandwich.

But it wasn’t like the sandwiches Elarion had been eating on her journey; plain bread, cheese, and meat jerky dry and tough and sometimes made her jaw hurt from how much she had to chew it, cold or lukewarm depending on the weather and how much the bag was affected by her body heat, though mostly cold.

She could smell the garlic, butter, and rosemary from here. And the soft, fresh, slices of ham, the light green of lettuce that still looked crisp. Not to mention it was long enough to break apart into two or three meals for someone of her size.

Elarion felt a pang in her stomach at the sight, reminding her of her hunger. Thomas wrapped one end of the sandwich in a large white cloth and handed it to her. It was warm in her hands.

“Take this,” he continued. “They can spare a bit; there’s much more where this comes from.”

“Thank you….” Her voice came out soft and nearly breathless, and she grinned so widely she thought her cheeks might ache. “It’s warm.” The bread was soft, too, and the food inside was as fresh as it looked.

“Magic is amazing, yeah?” Thomas said, lifting up the paper bag and tapping it close to the runes with his pointer finger, making the bag rustle. “These runes keep whatever is inside warm and fresh. As a matter of fact, here.” Rustling around for a brief second, he brought out another, smaller paper bag with the same runes on it. “You can put that,” he gestured with his head toward the sandwich in Elarion’s hands, “in this.”

She took the bag and slipped the sandwich inside it.

“And.” Thomas paused. “You have water with you?”

“Mmhmm.” Elarion nodded and rummaged in her bag with one hand until she brought out her water container. From the very light swishing sound inside it, she could tell it was less than a quarter of the way full – nearly empty. Elarion frowned at the container for a moment, mentally kicking herself. She’d been so tired last night that she had completely forgotten to refill it with the water at the inn.

Thomas seemed to notice as well. He reached over the side of the larger cart and pulled out a water skin, similar to Elarion’s own container, put longer and more flexible, also with runes, but blue and green instead of yellow and green. “Here, let’s fill that up for you.” He gestured for her container, and she handed it to him.

“Does that keep the water fresh, too?”

“It does, indeed,” Thomas confirmed, pouring water from his waterskin into her container. Then he closed both and Elarion’s back to her.

“Thank you,” Elarion said, feeling almost overwhelmed the man’s kindness. “So much.”

The man smiled and nodded at her. “Don’t mention, kid. I’m happy to help.” He went back to put the waterskin away, then began to unhook the horse-bird from the larger cart. “Tell you what. The family won’t be back for a couple hours or so, and I’m going to take this food to market. It might be a bit before any of us can come back for the cart. Why don’t you sit here, take a rest, and eat?”

Elarion smiled and sighed a small laugh. “Thank you. I’ll do that.”

Thomas smiled and nodded. He wrapped the horse-bird’s reigns around his wrist, then gripped the smaller cart’s – now filled with crates of food – handles. “Best of luck to you, kid. I hope your plan works. Have a safe journey.”

“Me, too. Thanks. You, too!”

Thomas smiled again, tipping his hat, and set off into the town with the small cart and horse-bird trotting alongside them.

Now that she was no longer distracted by the conversation, Elarion’s hunger returned in full force. With her sandwich in one hand and her water container in the other, she went around the cart, set the food and water down, and pushed herself up backwards to sit on the open back. Once she was settled, her legs dangling over the cart bed, she opened the bag her sandwich was in, carefully tore off a meal-sized piece, and took a bite.

“Mmmmmmm.”

It was just was warm and heavenly as it looked. The water, too, was cool and fresh.

For at about fifteen minutes, she sat there, enjoying the first warm meal she had in over a wee, and a break from having to sit on the ground.

Then, all too soon, she finished, the sun inching farther above the horizon, and it was time once again to be on her way.

____________________________

The journey to the base of the mountains took a little less time than expected, even with the breaks she took to rest and eat. Maybe it was the food, or the encouragement from Thomas, getting to sleep in a real bed, even though it was for a brief time, that allowed her to walk faster.

As the sun was just slipping over the horizon, still visible, but barely, she was at the mountain’s base, having stayed hidden in the forest to be out of sight from the larger elven city on the other side of the road. Now, Elarion looked up at the mountain she would have to climb up. She, very, very briefly, entertained the idea of sleeping at the base and climbing tomorrow. And though not as exhausted as she usually was by now, she was still tired from walking all day.

She quickly and easily dismissed the thought. She wasn’t that tired. She shivered, pulling her cloak around her closer. It was getting colder, she noted. And the farther up she climbed, the colder it would be. It didn’t matter, she told herself. She would be fine; she could make it. The sooner she got to the star nexus, the better.

Elarion put one foot in front of the other, and began her way up the slope.

_____________________________

Very few creatures lived on that mountain. And most of them kept themselves buried in the snow at night, or in caves and cracks in the rocks. It wouldn’t do to burn all the forests down, especially the ones near the summit, but…now that the danger of collateral damage was gone….

Now he could really have fun.

_____________________________

She’d only been walking for about ten minutes when she heard it.

In the distance, and steadily getting closer, the whooshing sound of heavy wing beats.

ROARR!!!

No! Not again!

Elarion turned. And saw the dragon, red and fiery in the sunset, flying faster than a crossbow bolt, directly toward her.

It wasn’t stopping.

Elarion screamed as its mouth opened wide in an angry snarl, and it swooped low. She threw herself on the ground, just barely missing being slashed by the dragon’s claws that gouged the air not three feet above her.

The dragon spun back, shooting a stream of fire, and Elarion cried out again, launching herself to the side and rolling away at the last moment.

She hurriedly scrambled to her feet, racing forward and making a beeline to a place to the side where the trees were thicker. She made it under their cover, the overlapping branches blocking out most of the light.

But then, the trees caught on fire.

Not directly above her, but to her side, as if the dragon knew where she was and was trying to drive her out into the open.

Gasping in fear, Elarion ran to try and outpace the flames that were quickly spreading from tree to tree, heading towards her. Then, she forced herself to stop and turn and to keep her hand from shaking, she drew the same rune to tried back when her village was first attacked.

Please work! The thought was more a desperate, wordless feeling than coherent phrase.

And except for small flickering flames on the ground, which would burn out, the fire dispersed.

Elarion sighed in relief.

Until the trees burst into flames directly behind her.

She screamed. The fire spread far more quickly now. Flames caught on her dress, burning her lower right leg before she could roll on the ground and put it out. She couldn’t try to put this on out with a spell. She didn’t have time, and there was no way to stop her hands from shaking and messing the rune up now.

Elarion got to her feet as fast as she could with her leg screaming at her, and bolted. She exited the cover of the group of trees just in time to see the dragon circle back toward her. Its claws were outstretched, and she dropped to the ground, the claws barely missing her once more.

Hissing at the burn in her leg, she forced herself to stand up and start running again.

The chase had begun.

___________________________

It had been hours. Night had well and truly fallen, and it was completely dark except for the stars that littered the sky.

When the dragon hadn’t immediately attacked her again, she’d been able to stop for a moment and steady herself enough to heal her leg.

It hadn’t given her any more opportunities since then.

Snow gathered on the ground now at this elevation, flakes off and on drifting peacefully from the sky. Elarion wished she could share in their peace.

The dragon would circle back several times and leave, sometimes after scoring a hit on her, before circling back a few minutes later to do it again. But nothing ever life threatening; a minor burn here, a shallow scratch there. It was toying with her. She had no idea why. But whenever she tried to stop and heal herself, or just take break and rest for more than a few seconds, the dragon was there, roaring, chasing her and driving her on.

Elarion had forgotten about the possibility of cliffs. Yet another thing to kick herself about.

Ravines were another danger to add.

Sometimes there were no passes through, and the only way to keep going was straight up. Jagged handholds tore at her hands, the cold – it was so much colder than she’d anticipated it would be – stiffening her hands and making it more difficult to grip. The warmth-infusing spell she managed to do earlier while the dragon was flying away helped, but it wasn’t strong enough to ward away all the cold. She knew she’d be shivering more without the heat from adrenaline and how quickly she was forced – by the dragon and herself – to keep moving.

Now, a ravine blocked her path, and there was no way around it. She would have to jump.

It wasn’t too far, she told herself, even as her face conveyed her fear as she looked at the other side of the ravine and the drop in the middle.

She had no idea how far she would fall if she missed the other edge.

But it would be okay. It was only a few feet.

(It was her full height nearly twice, the far ledge her height and a half higher than this one, and Elarion tried to – had to – ignore the burning muscles in her legs.)

She took a deep breath, took several steps back, and made a running leap.

Her hands slipped on the ledge.

With a shriek, Elarion curled her fingers against the stone. Thankfully a handhold was there, and she gripped it with all the strength she had, desperately pushing against the cliff face with her legs to find footholds and push herself up.

Her feet found leverage on the jagged rock, and for a brief second, Elarion had to stop and just hang on. Focus on keeping her hands from slipping. Catch her breath, or try to.

A roar in the distance, a great whoosh of wings overhead.

There was no escaping the claws this time.

The dragon swooped down. A wail tore from her already sore throat, her back wracked with knives of pain as the dragon dragged its claws against it. Her cloak and dress did nothing to lessen the damage; the claws tore right through them and into her skin, the blue material darkening with blood. Her hands slipped again, and she struggled to strengthen her hold and keep herself from falling, hot with panic. She reached upward with one arm over the ledge, pushing against it to pull herself up, her back in agony as the motion pulled at her gashes.

She didn’t have time to think about how deep the cuts were; they were deeper than the others, but the dragon was obviously holding back, making sure the damage it did didn’t kill her. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t probably need stitches later.

Stone scraping against her hands, her vision swimming with the water that blocked it – oh, she was crying, when did she start crying? –, gasping at the effort and gritting her teeth through the pain, pushing against uneven rocks at the side of the cliff with her booted feet, Elarion pulled herself up onto the ledge.

Another whoosh of wings.

With a final shove, Elarion rolled out of the way of the dragon, barely missing where its outstretched claws scraped the air next to the cliff face. She lay there on her side, panting, watching the dragon soar up into the sky. It would come back, and soon, she knew.

She stayed there on the cold stone for another minute, to catch her breath, calm herself down from the panic – her heart was beating so hard she felt it would punch through her chest –, and gather her strength. Keeping her eyes and ears open for the dragon.

Then, she pushed herself up onto her feet, staggering before finding her balance. She looked ahead of her, toward her destination. The summit of the mountain was in sight, and the stars glittered above it, looking almost as if they had assembled there. The star nexus.

She was almost there. She would make it.

Elarion continued on.

__________________________

A person was coming up the mountain, toward the star nexus.

A human girl, a child no more than fifteen.

She looked to be in a bad way, stumbling through the snow as she was, and her clothes were torn.

And…she was connected to the sun arcanum.

This human was a magical creature.

The group looked at each other.

“Well?”

“She came all this way. And she has magic. Let us see what she is here for.”

__________________________

A whisper of a private conversation. “Do you think he will come?”

“Him? That eccentric hermit? I doubt it.”

“You should respect your elder.” A joking tease.

A scoff. “Elder? He is no elder; he is only a mere three-quarters-millennium older than I.”

A soft chuckle and a fond shake of the head. “Well, it matters not. Let us go.”

__________________________

Elarion broke through the grove of trees. She held her arms close around her, trying to conserve her body heat. She’d been looking at the snowy ground, watching her feet so she wouldn’t stumble.

Now, a radiant light, contrasting starkly with the darkness she had been in as she climbed, made her look up.

Elarion gasped, this time in wonder. And relief.

She had made it. A giddy laugh left her raw throat.

Stone structures, obviously built in elven make, beautiful leaf-like roofs, and swirls and runes carved into the structure’s sides. They were so dark they were nearly blue, almost like obsidian but not quite, glittering with starlight, small and large dots that glowed on the stones’ surface, along with smaller shimmering specks that looked as if they came from within.

Then even brighter light, and Elarion had to shield her eyes from it. The glow softened to something variable, and she fixed her gaze to what was in front of her.

Elarion sucked in an awed breath.

The light came from elves.

From startouch elves.

They’re so beautiful, she thought.

And they were. There were at least five of them, standing about two meters in front of her. Their skin tones ranged from pure white, to tan, to blue, to dark purple, many of them, most vividly the darker tones, sparkling with stars like freckles.

All of them had long hair past their waist, some past their hips, smooth as silk and waving in the slight wind, and their heads ornamented with what looked to Elarion like crowns, some circles and hovering like halos, others sharp and pointed and set on their foreheads. Long robes covered them from the neck down, some layered and light colored, some pure black and covered in stars like the buildings behind them, as if they were clothed in the night sky itself. And soft, white-yellow glow surrounded each one of them.

Elarion was staring, but she couldn’t make herself stop.

Until one of them spoke.

A soothing tone. A woman’s voice.

A brief thought: Elarion missed her mom.

“Child. Why have you come here?”

The words registered and snapped Elarion out of her awestruck daze.

Right. Words. She had to use them. The startouch elves were here; she had found them. She had to tell them what she came here for. She had to ask them to help her, to beg them that they would if it came to that, or it would all be for nothing.

“I came here,” her voice stalled, and she swallowed and started again. “I came here because dragons are attacking human settlements. Thousands have died; they’re killing off all the mages, all the human mages…and….” Elarion paused, then continued. “Please. Can you help us?” She hoped she didn’t sound too pleading, too desperate. But she knew she probably did.

Two elves in front of the group, the woman who had spoken, pale-skinned with dark star-speckled robes and a yellow, hovering halo, and a man standing beside her, with light blue-ish skin, looked at each other. The woman’s eyes began to glow, a purple mixed with white, then, after a few second, the glow faded.

“The dragons are attacking the humans because they are angry that you,” the startouch woman said, her tone making it clear that the “you” was referring to Elarion “have connected to a primal source.”

Elarion nodded. Yes, she knew that was why.

The startouch man standing beside the woman then spoke. “We can help you and stop the dragons. But we will need to take your arcanum from you. You will have to give up your connection to primal magic.”

When she heard those first words, that they would help her, Elarion took a breath in happiness and relief.

But then…

The happiness deflated, and so did she.

Give up her magic?

The thing she was so excited to learn about, to do. The thing that saved her village and allowed her to help several more, that kept them from starving.

The thing was precious to her, was part of her.

She would have to give that up?

But now, it was that very thing that was causing the dragons to attack.

She felt tears coming, her throat constricting, and she swallowed the feeling back.

She had to do it. She had to save everyone.

Elarion looked at the white-covered ground, took a deep breath, then lifted her head, and nodded.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

The startouch woman and man nodded. The two of them and the other startouch elves moved to form a circle around Elarion.

“We will begin now,” another woman with far-branching horns said as she circled closer, her layered, tan colored robes fluttering lazily; the way she moved so smoothly, it looked to Elarion like she was floating. Maybe she was.

The elves held out their hands, fingers lightly curved and palms facing Elarion. Then they all spoke, their voices loud and reverberating.

“Enim si cigam ruoy. Cigam ruoy ekat i.”

And something ripped out of her.

It burned.

Elarion screamed, bringing her hand to her chest where the pain was the worst, and fell to her knees.  She saw streams of golden-yellow light move through the air, from her and into the startouch elves’ outstretched hands. Their eyes glowed purple before turning jet black. Then the both the yellow of magic – her magic, Elarion’s magic, that they had taken from her – and the black in their eyes faded away.

It was done.

Elarion toppled on her side into the snow, suddenly weak. Every inch of her body was on fire, searing as if someone had lit a torch inside of her before forcing the flames up through her skin. She whimpered, then sobbed, tears pooling in her eyes before spilling over to wet her cheeks.

A whoosh of great wings.

Elarion’s heart clenched instinctively.

She turned her head slightly to look up toward the sky. A large, blurry figure of red and yellow entered her vision, blotting out many of the stars.

Her vision was then partially blocked by boots and robes. An elf had stepped in front of her, between Elarion and the dragon. The two spoke, maybe the other elves did, too, but she couldn’t focus on what was being said.

Then, the dragon turned and flew away. The sound of its wings grew quieter and quieter, fading away completely in the distance.

The sky was clear again, showing the whole field of stars, closer and brighter than they had ever seemed before, the largest and brightest one of all blinking steadily down at her.

[cellard0ors]

Fic: the beginning is the end is the beginning

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Buzzfeed Unsolved, Godzilla: King of the Monsters

Pairing: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej

Warning: Apocalyptic!End!Of!The!World stuff, mentions of dead people, mass suicides

Summary:  The Titans have returned. The world has ended. The Ghoul Boys are still here.

Notes:   HO-KAY. This is dedicated to @theawfuledges, who has always been super sweet, super supportive, and who had a bad day a while back and deserved something then but I. Take. FOREVER.

Inspired by this sorta-not-really-prompt-post and also the fact that @theawfuledges seems to also enjoy Godzilla. This is the Shyan!Godzilla!AU NO one asked for and probably NO one will care about - but! I had fun writing it enough that I’d consider coming back to it at some point - I mean, why not, amiright?

Anyway - excuse all my philosophizing about the end of the world via Titans and enjoy…

AO3 Link

They’ve been walking through the wasteland for almost an hour now and Shane can still feel Ryan’s eyes on his back. He ignores it, as he’s been ignoring it. He’s even whistled a tuneless song on and off during their walk, just to rub it in. A sort of reminder that he’s oblivious and doesn’t know Ryan’s trying to burn a hole through him. I mean, he does know, but it’s just…it’s too funny.

Ryan is always too funny when’s worked up into a snit. No, not funny…cute. Something Shane probably shouldn’t think about, but think he does. The best way to try to not think about it? Antagonize the little guy. So antagonize he does, finally stopping in their rambles to squat down at a larger than usual rock he’s kicked at.

It didn’t make him stumble exactly, but it caught his attention enough to make him stop and bend down. He tosses the smooth white stone around in one palm, grinning, “Well, well, well…ain’t you a nifty lookin’ fella…”

He stands back up, fully aware that Ryan has stopped a few feet behind him and is still glaring. Hell, he’s probably reached seething at this point. Balled up fists shaking at his sides and the mere idea of that imagery – the utter adorableness of it – breaks Shane’s resolve, “What?”

“Really?!” Ryan finally explodes and his voice cracks over the word and Jesus, the guy is too goddamn precious for words, “A rock?! That’s what catches your attention?!”

“Sure! This baby could be a geode! Just need to crack ‘er open and see if she sparkles!” Shane returns as he waggles the stone in Ryan’s direction, lips curled in a devious smile. He finally turns to look behind him and see Ryan and oh, no.

Shane wants to press a hand to his heart. Ryan has moved beyond cute, beyond adorable, beyond precious. He’s reached that level where it takes all of Shane’s willpower not to dart right over and kiss the breath out of him as Ryan cries, “I’ve been shooting death daggers at you for over an hour now!”

“Have you?”

“Yes, you monumental jackass! And I know you know it!”

Shane can only chuckle and Ryan frantically waves his arms about, “It’s been weeks now and we still have yet to talk about it! We just go out for recons, talk banal shit, and you – you stop for a fucking pebble instead of doing what you should do!”

Shane merely raises his eyebrows, that question enough and Ryan comes closer, breath all huffy and puffy and the perfect representation of a temper tantrum in human form, “Which is give me the world’s biggest fucking apology!”

“…for?”

“FOR?!” Another word cracked by hysteria, “Being right! Monsters exist! Or is this-” Ryan yet again waves about, waves around at the miles and miles of baked, orange earth and uprooted, long dead trees. The rubble of buildings long since lost, the endless expanse of nothing but baseless destruction – “-not proof enough for you?!”

Shane just dips the rock in Ryan’s direction like it’s the tip of a pointer, “Never said monsters weren’t real. I said ghosts weren’t,” he draws the rock back and continues walking, voice very sage, “And that continues to be a fact." He turns away and starts walking again, "Now the Titans? Oh man, those boys are flesh and blood. Meat and bone. Just like Bigfoot and hey, do you think-?”

“…stop it…”

Shane turns to look at him again even as he continues walking backwards, “-Bigfoot is a Titan?”

Ryan only stops to pinch the bridge of his nose. His earlier anger has finally spooled out of him thanks to his outburst, leaving only his normal Shane-oriented exhaustion, “I mean, he’s no Godzilla or Gidroah-”

“Ghidorah.”

“Hmm?”

Ryan’s tone is bone weary, “You said it wrong. It’s Ghidorah.”

Shane just waves a hand like it’s no big deal and Ryan stands up a little taller, clearly offended by the gesture. Perfectionist. Shane is pretty sure his smile is never going to leave, “Whatever. But Bigfoot…he can hang with the big boys, right?”

“I don’t think Bigfoot is capable of leveling Los Angeles which, news flash, is what happened when Godzilla and the other Titans trampled through!”

“It was their world first, pal,” is his amicable response, “We just have to do our best to live with it.”

Ryan looks less than pleased at that revelation and Shane can’t blame him. Still…

Finally Shane sobers, stopping to look at Ryan with all due seriousness, “Ryan…”

He doesn’t say any more. He doesn’t have to. Ryan just gives his own subdued head bob because, well, it’s the truth. They do have to do their best to live with it. What else can they do? They have no power over creatures taller than skyscrapers. Ancient beasts on par with living gods. The human race did what it could. It wasn’t enough. But – to be fair – what could they do?

Humanity always likes to think of itself as the top tier – nothing bigger, nothing brighter, nothing stronger. And within the span of a few weeks that was proven horribly untrue. Frankly, Shane always knew it would be – humility is something every living being should possess and a lot of humanity lost that long ago – but frankly, he’d been banking on aliens.

Not big ol’ monsters.

Regardless, they are where they are. In a world where massive creatures walk the earth and humans have been knocked down several pegs. Pegs that have to scurry out shelter and he and Ryan found it. They reach it now – an underground bunker dug deep into the earth by god knows who.

The first time they’d found the little hide-ho they’d intended to merely use it for one night, sure that the original owners would appear. But they didn’t. Night after night passed and no one came to claim the bunker – so Shane decided they should claim it for themselves. Hell, they took a bridge from a Goatman and made it their own – why not a bunker?

Hence why it’s colorful name –  ‘The Goatman’s Bunker’. He’d even made a sign to that effect once they’d managed to scrounge up some paper and workable pens. Funny the things you find littered amongst the refuse. Like his cool new rock – which he now sets alongside other treasures he’s found in their travels. A kid’s beat up plastic car, a broken snow globe, a crushed cup advertising Disneyland (long since gone – a collectible now!), and other debris he found of interest.

Ryan takes off his backpack and reaches inside, digging out various goodies they scavenged today. Dented bottles of water (always a god send), band-aids, several tin cans of vegetables and meats, scraped bottles with unreadable labels and anything else he could shove in.

They’re both pretty sure they’d come across the ruins of some pharmacy today – maybe a CVS or Walgreens or something – but neither could be certain. But there had certainly been a nicer haul than usual. Some days they walked out into the wasteland and found nothing for miles but old car parts and the occasionally, questionable collection of garbage.

Sometimes…sometimes they found worse things…

Both of them tried their best not to think of those things. Awful, sad things. Dead things. Crushed things. They had a radio in the bunker and there was the occasional chatter, but mostly? Mostly the world was silent. Funny how quickly a world, its people, its governments – could fall apart in the face of something it couldn’t understand.

There was word of massive suicide sites. Places where religious fanatics scrambled, unable to comprehend a world in which something their God couldn’t have possibly made appeared. There was word of places where ground born militias formed. People bloodthirsty for revenge, willing to do whatever they have to, to fight back, to rage against the sky – against forces beyond their control. There has been a lot of different word…but nothing that really concerns the two of them.

At least not for now.

For now?

For now the Ghoul Boys have their Goatman’s Bunker and a questionable collection of cans that will provide tonight’s sustenance.

What Shane wouldn’t give for a can opener. He’s gotten pretty good at stabbing cans open with the knife he has, but sometimes tiny metal shavings still end up in their meals. Tonight is no exception. He stabs away at a few cans, digs out what he can on to broken plates they’d found. Broken, a little chipped – but surprisingly in pretty good condition.

The food, however, is mush. Shane scoops up a bit with his fingers and licks at it, wincing as the taste, “Think this is chickpeas…or maybe hominy…”

“Those two things are very different.”

“Oh, sorry Paul Prudhomme – what’s your expansive palate telling you?”

Ryan’s nose wrinkles even as he takes his own bite, “Um…peaches?”

“Pe-?” Shane can’t even finish, laughing, because this sure as shit isn’t peaches. As is his way, Ryan looks charmingly flummoxed, “I taste something sweet, you dipshit!”

“Well, you did just stick your fingers in your mouth, didn’t you?” Shane teases and he knows it’s on the edge of a flirt and dammit, bad idea, Shane, bad idea…

Again – as is his way – Ryan ignores it. Shane releases the breath he isn’t even aware he’s holding. Good. Ryan shouldn’t respond. Good. And yet…

Shane takes another bite of his ‘dinner’ and it’s as questionable as the last. Maybe even more so, given their last interaction. This is not the time. This is SO not the time. The world’s ended. Or, well, the world as they knew it. Now is not the time to put the moves on Ryan. It wasn’t before. It isn’t now. When will it ever-?

Never, his thoughts whisper, and Shane feels his face fall, feels an uncharacteristic moroseness take him. He polishes off what last few bites he can manage, even though he’s not hungry, and then he rubs his hands clean on the material of his dirty jeans. Not the most hygienic, true – but they can’t waste water.

He can always find some stream tomorrow – do a better job then. Say what you will about the Titans, but their returns had brought some worth while things. California was flusher with fresh streams than ever before. Glowing green plant life – plant life that, before – would have scorched – now flourishes here. It’s as if the arrival of these creatures changed the very exosphere.

He wonders how global warming looks now. Have they caused a monumental shift in it? Probably. If anything has the power to, they probably do. Fuck, they can probably grow back icebergs or something. Create new fossil fuels. God – or heh, Godzilla – knows what. Once feeling his hands are sufficiently clean, he sighs and looks over at Ryan who has started in on again on his torn, dog-eared novel.

“Thinking I’m going to hit the hay.”

Ryan blinks, “Already?”

He just shrugs, “Long day.”

“Yeah,” Ryan admits softly and Shane goes over to his sleeping bag. It’s funny, but in as much as things changed, some have stayed the same. Sleeping together in a dirty, gross shit holes? Just like old times. Except no one’s filming with plans to upload it to the internet later.

The internet. Man. Talk about something to miss. The whole world at your fingertips. Although, in a way, they now have that albeit in a much more literal sense. Shane snuggles deep into his bag and falls to sleep far quicker than he thought he would.

Ryan, for his part, continues to idly pick through his uncovered novel. It’s a pretty decent tale. Romance. Big shocker. The world is over and all he can find in the remains are old bodice rippers. But a book is a book – entertainment is pretty goddamn scarce these days. He’ll take what he can get. True, he wants to click on the radio – see if there’s any good word, any good news – but he doesn’t want to disturb Shane.

…even if the bastard won’t admit he’s wrong. And yeah, the Titans aren’t ghosts. But they are real. So, if they’re real – it’s not much of a stretch to think the same thing of ghosts.

…probably a lot more ghosts now…what with all the…

Ryan can’t even coherently string it all together. All the lives lost. Too many to even begin to contemplate. A planetwide event, a tragedy beyond bearing. And here the two of them are. Holed up in their little bunker, trying to live the best lives they can. Ryan’s a few more pages in when he hears that familiar hum.

His mouth twitches, unable to resist the smile forming.

Ha-hum. Ha-hum. Ha-Hum.

The sound Shane makes while he sleeps. The soft hum of his breathing. Ryan can’t even count how many times he’s fallen asleep to that sound. Clung to it when they were shooting in creepy locations. He never slept well in supposedly haunted locations…but he always slept a little better when they shared space. When he hears those sounds.

Ha-hum. Ha-hum. Ha-Hum.

Like the bastard laughs in his sleep. Although, the sound isn’t quite like a laugh. It just…it has that same warm sound, that rewarding quality his laughter carries. Affable, irresistible, rich and…Ryan looks down at the words on the pages of the book before him, feels his cheeks heat. He’s been reading far too much of this mushy shit. It’s messing with his thoughts. He closes the book and contemplates his options.

Sleep is probably the best among them. He looks to Shane again. Long limbs all akimbo – awkward. He fits within his cocoon and yet not. Ridiculous – those stork legs, those string bean arms…

…how would those arms feel wrapped around-?

Ryan literally tosses his book aside. All your fault, he thinks at it, even as he stands up rolls his shoulders. Okay. Calm on. Relax. Don’t be stupid. Just go to sleep.

He climbs into his own bag, which isn’t far from Shane’s. He dampens their lanterns and it’s dark, cool, quiet. He’s almost asleep when he hears it. A deep, hefty rumble. Like thunder, but worse. Far worse. Worse because no storm has this feeling behind it. This pure, volatile energy.

He sits up, his breath catching. It’s far off in the distance, but it doesn’t matter. He knows what it is. It’s one of them. His heart leaps into his throat and fear throttles him so roughly that at first he can’t move – eyes watering as the sound grows in strength.

…boom…boom…Boom…BOOM!

The last makes the ground shake and he hates the goddamn squeak that leaves him as he physical jolts. Shane (sonofabitch!) is still asleep and Jesus Christ, does this fucker sleep through everything?! Ryan rolls his bag hard to one side, closer to Shane, knocking him with enough force that Shane wakes, voice groggy with sleep, “…izzat?”

“They’re coming! They’re coming!” Ryan wishes he didn’t sound so whiny and high pitched and frantic. For fuck’s sake – he’s a grown man! But the sound of those…footsteps…

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The ground beneath them shakes violently. Ryan’s experienced earthquakes before (California born and raised) but this is beyond that. This is as if the planet itself is coming apart. Shane sits up, even as Ryan shushes at him, tugs at him – as if somehow Shane’s sitting up, underground, in the dark, can signal the Titans above them.

Shane tilts his head this way and that – clearly doing his best to listen. To pinpoint. And then he slowly turns back to Ryan, “Hey, hey…shush, shush…they’re moving away…”

Ryan’s eyes hurt from being open so wide. Ryan’s chest hurts because his heart is beating so fast. Ryan’s…hurt. He hurts and hurts and suddenly he’s in Shane’s arms. Shane is cuddling him close, “Ry? Ryan, buddy, come on…come on! Calm down, calm down. Breathe…”

…he can’t…Ryan can’t…

“You can,” Shane intones firmly and Ryan realizes he’s said something to that effect aloud, “Ryan, breathe.”

Ryan drags in one loud, long shuddering breath. Then another. Then another. His mind briefly flickers over all he’s lost. All they’ve lost. All the friends, all the family, all the people…the world…

His wide eyes fill. Blink. Shed some tears, there and gone, and he’s still breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. He curls forward some, relaxes, and he’s in Shane’s arms and they’re not quite as string bean as he thought. They have strength and weight and long fingers are stroking through his sweat damp, dark hair. Soothing it back from his forehead.

Ryan lets out a jittery wheeze, “Sorry…must think I’m a dumb ass.”

“No.”

“Shane…”

“Ryan, you’re not a dumb ass because you’re afraid.”

“You’re not.”

“Shows what you know.”

“Shane…”

“Ryan,” Now it’s Shane’s turn to sound bone weary, “We played up that shit for the show. You know that. Being scared of heroin needles and avocado pits and…and you know,” he says it so firmly, with such deep assurance that – even in the darkness of the bunker – Ryan knows he’s looking directly into his eyes, “You know I’m just as human as everybody else. That I get afraid. That I am afraid.”

“Yeah?” Ryan asks and he can’t see the nod, but he knows he gets it. And Shane’s right. Of course he’s right. Ryan knows he’s right. Shane’s not any more of a dumb ass than he is. They have every right to be afraid. Everyone in the world currently is. It’s all changing. It’s all becoming new. So new that to-to be afraid of other things? Silly things? Well, that would be what would make him a dumb ass, right?

And it’s this thought that leads Ryan to ask, “Can I kiss you?”

Two little balls of heat form right on the apples of his cheeks, lighting zipping up and down his spine because – holy shit – did he just say that out loud? And he can’t really see Shane in the cool darkness of the bunker. Their lanterns are out, but he can feel him. Sense him. He’s…close.

And then Shane answers.

“I don’t know…can you?”

It takes Ryan a moment to digest this response. And when he does? He fishes out his flat pillow and hopes it hits hard as he smacks right across Shane’s face, “Fuck you! You-!”

The curse is said without any real heat, but it can’t be helped, because, well – goddammit! So Ryan plans to keep on pummeling Shane until he somehow dies from pillow pummeling only for Shane to stop him. He manages to catch his pillow and stall his movements as he grunts out, “No! Hey! S-sorry, look-! I just-! I just couldn’t help myself, y’know?”

“Oh, do I?!”

“Yeah, man I mean – it was right there!” Shane damn near pleads with him, clearly feeling the opportunity was too good to pass up, “Besides, it was…it was too damned much. You asking like that…all hat in hand…”

Ryan’s struggles with the pillow cease as Shane comes…closer. He can feel him closer. The heat of him, the rush of air on his lips in the dark as Shane talks that his breathe caresses Ryan’s mouth, “But you can, Ryan.”

The last is said with such intensity that Ryan’s whole body shakes harder than when the Titans walked near them. His heart booms louder than their steps. He feels Shane hovering so close, “…I’ve wanted you to.”

A thick, noisy swallow and a very cracking, very insecure, “Yeah?”

“Mmm. Been waiting for you to.”

“R-really?”

A soft scoff, “No, actually – never thought you were interested. Never thought I’d be so lucky. But goddamn Ryan, if you are? You can kiss me and then some.”

That’s all the incentive Ryan needs. He charges forward and yes – kissing in the dark when you’re not quite sure where the other person is? Awkward. WEIRD. Ryan’s lips sort of miss Shane’s and there’s a laugh and a snort and a lot of fumbling in the pitch black dark.

But then?

Oh, then.

Then there’s lips meeting and Ryan’s thoughts splinter, his veins ignite and he’s kissing Shane. Their tongues are tangling, lips playing along one another and suddenly the world isn’t over. It’s just beginning.

[glassrain]

On Disabled Characters:

So I reblogged this post a week or so ago that examined disabled protagonists - and Edward Elric from Fullmetal Alchemist in particular - and I thought that I was done with the topic, but apparently I’m not. I’ve been thinking about that post for a while, and I find that I have things that I need to say.

The post started on the premise that apparently there are people who shy away from the idea of a disabled protagonist. That people find the idea unrealistic, particularly in the more action-based genres. This idea simply baffles the writer in me, because - (and I don’t say this to trivialize one’s disability, but this aspect of disabilities in fiction is worth speaking about) - don’t writers realize what a goldmine characters with disabilities are?

The drive behind a story, any story, is conflict. The emotional conflict the character has within themselves (character development/growth) and with other characters (development of relationships), or physical conflict the characters have with an individual and/or society (the plot). As a rule, the more conflict you have, the richer/fuller your story is going to feel. This is why thrillers often have national or global-level stakes, with entire elitist organizations targeting a single man (intense physical conflict). This is why tragic backstories are so popular - because these characters have immense amounts of baggage to deal with, thus allowing for immense character development.

Disabilities in writing are unique in that they allow for both forms of conflict - in fact, they not only allow for this development but often demand this development. A writer can delve into the frustrations and griefs that accompany their character’s disability. They can examine the tensions, the awkwardness or resentments disabilities can enable in relationships. And of course, the writer can pursue the physical and societal struggles/limitations that people with disabilities often experience. There is so much a writer can do with their character as relates to their disability, and they can do so in a natural, organic manner that doesn’t feel like a plug-in for Man Pain or cheap drama. And thus, they can greatly enhance their story.

Again, let’s use Ed as an example. How is his disability utilized from the storyteller’s perspective? Well, obviously he suffers physically (OP on the post I’ve referenced did a great job of expounding on this). The surgery he underwent to have his automail implanted is known to make grown men cry, if I’m remembering correctly. While people might insist that Ed isn’t “really” disabled since his automail allows him relatively natural movement and actually gives him an edge in combat (it acts as a shield while his arm can double as a blade-like weapon itself) they fail to realize how uniquely vulnerable he becomes once his automail is damaged; a vulnerability which has nearly cost him his life more than once. The OP made many other points, such as the fact that Ed gets phantom pains in the manga, had to learn how to write with his opposite hand and how his automail needs constant and expensive maintenance, to name a just some of them.

None of this is easy for Ed to deal with. Yet he grits his teeth, pulls a sharp grin and forages on. This acts as a brilliant yet subtle showcase of Ed’s strength, determination, stubbornness, willpower and conviction. Furthermore, there is something to be said for a character who suffers and ultimately overcomes physical obstacles and hardships - they make the character’s end much more potent. If the character achieves their goal in the end, hardships make that final reward feel earned, and the reader/viewer treats this goal with a significant deal of respect upon seeing just how far this character was willing to go for it. If the character does not achieve their ends, then physical suffering makes that loss extremely potent, and allows for a very sharp examination of the themes and messages within the story. In the case of Edward Elric - would his emotional journey be so powerful if he hadn’t lost his arm and leg? Would his triumphs in battle feel as victorious if he were whole?

Speaking of which, how about Ed’s emotional development as pertains to his disability? Edward lost his arm and leg in a highly traumatic manner, and their loss serves as a constant reminder of the failures and mistakes he made that night - he carries tremendous amounts of guilt and horror, emotions his automail makes very difficult to separate himself from. To make matters worse, he can’t even properly express his pain and frustration over his situation because of Alphonse’s disability. To complain about his own in the face of Alphonse’s suffering, after all, seems incredibly petty and selfish in his own eyes. It’s a luxury he can never deserve after what he’s supposedly done to his little brother. And of course there is the desire to restore his lost limbs - as well as Alphonse’s body - which is his drive throughout the entire story. His desire to be made whole physically, which is entirely intermingled with his desire to be whole emotionally.

Yes, Edward would still be a very compelling character if he hadn’t lost his limbs that night in the shed. He would be a boy who decided to play God, whose brother suffered the consequences of his hubris, who is driven by love and guilt to heal the brother he had so deeply wounded in his arrogance. That has all the makings of a great character. Taking his limbs from him, however, is what makes a powerful character potent. An altruistic character who suffers greatly to restore his brother is commendable. A character who is all this while also fighting tooth and nail to heal himself and stitch his own broken pieces back together is more relatable and insurmountably more interesting. An Ed who feels guilty about what happened to Alphonse is a compelling character; however, an Ed who also hates how deeply he hurt himself (and resents that he feels hurt because he doesn’t think that he has that right), an Ed who sees himself as inescapably damaged but is still fighting for a better way, that’s bitter and beautiful and heartbreaking. That’s the Ed we got, and that’s the Ed that turned a great character into an exceptional one. Because Hiromu Arakawa (the woman who wrote FMA) knew how to use her character’s disability to her story’s best advantage.

Because characters with disabilities don’t limit or handicap you as a writer. Instead, they help you to truly bring your story to life.

[jafndaegur]

Sesskag Week 2018: Day Five

An Oath

Sesskag Week 2018 | Day Five: Blade, Protect, Trust

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼ ✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　

Hey brother.

Katsurou stood stock still as Naraku’s disgusting mass congealed around his younger brother, trying to absorb the other hanyou’s energy. He didn’t know what he could do other than rush directly at it. All he could think of was safely freeing Hayate.

A hand on his shoulder steadied him.

“We have to wait,” Kagome stated, her eyes dark and her expression grim. Her bow was clenched tightly in her right hand, her knuckles bone-white. She cast a glance to Sesshomaru.

The daiyoukai returned her gaze, his face did not betray any of his thoughts. But his eyes did. Perhaps it was the scent that both Katsurou or Hayate gave off, the scents of offspring and danger combined. Perhaps it was because the miko was relying on him to protect them all. He didn’t know. But the edges of his vision bled red, and all he wanted to do was tear apart Naraku bit by bit until he was a bleeding unrecognizable heap of flesh. Once the spider hanyou was out of the picture, he could assure himself and even Kagome that the two boys—their boys—were safe. Was it honor? Was it instinct? What exactly drove him to this thought process, he could not say. Nor did he care to. Right now, his blood and his mind were in enough of a mess and did not need the surplus stress of his addled thoughts.

Do you still believe in love I wonder?

His eyes steeled and he gave Kagome a curt nod. She returned the gesture, understanding and worry causing her forehead to wrinkle a bit. It took all of his resolve and willpower to not lose composure and release his wrath right then and there. They had to approach this on tender hooks. Strategy was the upmost key to—

Inuyasha roared, sending himself hurtling toward the evil hanyou with Tessaiga drawn and a slew of curses spat out.

Oh if the sky comes falling down…

“Sesshomaru!” Kagome shouted as she watched Miroku and Sango take off on Kirara after their friend, weapons drawn, battle ready. “I can clear a path for you if you can get to Hayate!”

He nodded his head and drew his newly earned Bakusaiga, a blade of his own and not his father’s, with his newly returned arm.

“I’m going with you!” Katsurou yelled, his voice barely carrying over the din caused by the starting battle, his long, dog-like ears pulled back defensively. “I can cause a distraction or get him out of there while you fight. Anything you can trust me with. Please, father!”

For you, there’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do.

“You will help this one fish your brother out! Once he’s safely retrieved, leave. You will only get in the way!” Sesshomaru shouted back, giving a look over his shoulder to the miko.

She gave a reassuring bob of her head and released a holy arrow. It sped through the air, creating a crisp and clean pathway for both the daiyoukai and the hanyou to follow. Sesshomaru leapt into the air and flew after the arrow. Katsurou soared after him, not nearly as fast as the full demon, but much stronger than what Kagome had presumed him to be. Together, the two tore through the belly of Naraku. Both of their eyes were completely red, the irises no longer the identifiable gold of their blood line, but a frozen blue to match the marks on their heads. A small bubble of hope and relief sparked in her heart. Their kind was strong, their blood even stronger. They would be okay.

Scrambling to find a higher vantage point, she began an onslaught to help both parties of their group in defeating Naraku. Jaken, Shippo, and Rin had stayed behind in the village to protect the people their. Inuyasha, Miroku, and Sango were fighting head on, taking the full brunt of the onslaught from various lesser youkai and puppets, as well as the head evil itself. Sesshomaru and Katsurou were busy to the right, ripping and shredding the disgusting mass to try and reach the slowly fading-away boy within the demon. Her arrow rang true as it soared forward. For once, in all of her time learning how to use the weapon, she was making all of her marks. She imbued each shot with her reiki, sending it spiraling through the sky in a dazzle of blue. Bit by bit, Naraku stopped regenerating. Her friends were winning. As she started to feel as though the outcome of this would be good, a small spark caught her attention. It was a quick wink of pink before it disappeared. It called out to her. The jewel. The Shikon Jewel! Naraku was distracting everyone so that none of them could reach it.

Kagome had never ran so fast in her life.

Her breath was trembling, and her limbs were burning. The miasma around the spider hanyou was so thick, it was killing her. The jewel was just in her sight, it was just right there. Above her, she could hear Inuyasha summoning a meido and she prayed that he would not send her into the depths of hell with his new favorite ability.

Buckling beneath her, her legs failed her, and she fell to the ground. Her bow left her grip and she cried out in dismay. Miasma flooded her mouth and choked her. Air refused to enter her lungs. Words tried to escape past her lips, but nothing could make it. Vision blurred and she realized she could not move. Desperation coursed through her and she writhed.

Strong hands picked her up from the ground along with her bow, and suddenly they were speeding away from the miasma. Away from the jewel. She could barely move her head to look up.

Sesshomaru seemed like he was barely holding onto his control by a spiderweb’s strand. The veins around his eyes bulged, and his face had elongated slightly as if to form a muzzle. Her hands grasped his kimono weakly.

“Go back,” she rasped.

“Like hell this Sesshomaru will,” he thundered, his hold on her tightening possessively.

Kagome felt faint. “Sessh…the jewel…it’s back there. It’s so dark and tainted…”

“This one will retrieve it,” he commanded, “you will get to safety with our sons.”

Anger bubbled up inside of her, but was immediately overwhelmed with heartache and wistfulness. “No Sesshomaru, I will not.”

He stopped mid-air, face contorted in fury. She dared to defy his demand? Almost roaring at anger, he immediately stopped when her soft gentle hand touched his face.

“Sesshomaru, I have to go back with you,” she whispered, her hand gently stroking along the line of his jaw. “We don’t have sons. Not yet.”

Flecks of gold filtered into his eyes. His more reasonable side was listening. Good.

She relaxed and looked at him directly, surely. “We have to finish this first before we can get to them.”

His gaze was completely gilded, the beautiful orbs golden and narrowed. Sesshomaru permitted a momentary lapse of affection. His arms closed around her tightly, his nose buried in her neck to take in her scent.

“I cannot lose you, miko,” he murmured, giving her a gentle squeeze. “This Sesshomaru must protect you.”

Kagome hugged him back just as fiercely. “Oh Sesshomaru. I have to protect you too. The only way I can do that though, is if I can get to the jewel.”

“This one does not require protection,” He huffed, before quieting. “However…such attempts from you would not be unwelcomed.”

She smiled gently, and leaned up.

 Her lips graced his brow in a feather soft touch. It was the lightest of kisses and the most tender he had ever received. A sigh escaped him before he let his protective wall back up, and his face became devoid of any expression.

Kagome smiled. “Get me in close to the Shikon Jewel, Sesshomaru. The others can’t hold off Naraku forever. It’s time to end this.”

The daiyoukai surged forward, his power sending them speeding through the miasma like a bullet. He held Kagome with one hand, the other lashing out a poison whip at anything that threatened to halt their path. In a silver flurry, they were like lightening. They raced to the spider hanyou’s core, their combined powers causing the air to sizzle with might. The miko drew her bow and took aim at the faint outline of the tainted jewel.

Everything happened so fast. The second her arrow pierce the jewel through, she felt a connection. It had the gall to ask her what her wish was. After all the pain it had caused, after all the loss and spilt blood, it had the nerve to ask her what her wish would be. She tightened her hold on Sesshomaru—and wished the Jewel of the Four Souls to disappear from existence.

Everything shattered into darkness.

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