#/ and there are passing references to some of the things they'd to do him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inun4ki · 5 months

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"I can see you struggling. Take your time. I'm listening." //Yanna

for muses who can't open up

They'd been sitting on a park bench for what'd felt like hours - talking, as if anything Kaede'd had to say had mattered. Maybe it was merely Yanna's nature to listen, to participate, to sit beside him and know something was wrong - she was good like that, maybe better than he deserved. Makeshift family, the closest thing he had to a grandmother that might've loved him once, found by chance circumstance long after the damage had been done and the dust had settled. There would be no repairing what's broken, burying the truth, ignoring the pain, pretending, hiding, sneaking, lying--

He owed her an explanation, he owed her something. Surely, Yanna could only take so much of his reckless abandon in combat, his incessant and inevitable self-mutilation as necessary and extra curricularly, his occasional blackouts and failing memory, crude and vulgar malcontent, flashbacks, anxiety--

What would she think of him, if he told her...? Would she still fight alongside him? Would she trust him to protect her as she protects him? Or would her opinion of him change, morph from the almost-tender and pleasant into paranoia, judgment, and uncomfortable tension that crackles and burns? Would she think him weak and foolish, clawing at himself to distract himself from his responsibilities and the pain he'd caused? Would she think him a coward...? Fingertips nervously tugged through long violet strands, catching on too many tangles at a time - he yanked his fingers through. Again, and again, silently drifting further and further into the agonizing cess pool poisoning his mind. He didn't want her to point all the same fingers at him as Kurai - he didn't want her to think he'd have been better off dead, too, that everything would be fine and everyone would still be alive if he'd never taken his first breath. He didn't want her to see his shame, his inaction, his cowardice. He didn't want her as the frightened and inept child he really was. He couldn't bear it. The idea of it alone caused his chest to tighten, his throat to sorely close, his body already screaming in its preparation to run.

But he owed her. He owed her something.

Gnawing on his lower lip, head bowed, gaze affixed to dirt and the sparse tuft of grass just beginning to peek through it, he made himself smaller. Shoulders sloped forward, thighs and calves firmly pressed together, spine slouching...with his hair to hide every bit of his face as his toes curled into the dirt. But his breaths caught on the knot in his throat and his teeth chattered, fear sparking into a roaring flame that burned and burned and burned in the pit of his stomach. Ripping the band-aid off and telling her was all he could do, and no matter how kind and gentle to him she'd been, she expected an answer... Why did this have to be so hard? Why couldn't he trust in turn, trust that he might be held with warmth and care and understanding and acceptance and-- Why couldn't he let it go?

He swallowed again, trying his damnedest to maintain any semblance of stoic composure, fingers shifting from his hair to the fabric concealing his wrists and picking at the seams, but he was failing - and he'd no choice anyway.

"T-twenty years ago," he rasped shakily, words like ash in his mouth. "Twenty years ago, there was... a massacre. Over sixty members of my clan were slaughtered and fed upon by curses and I...I watched them. I hid under the dining room table and cried, watching as my cousins were taken one by one and killed by my grandfather. I was stronger than they all were - I didn't know how to wield it, but still, I was stronger than them. I could've-should've done something, but I let them die... My grandfather was also killed, by the time the bloodshed had come to an end. He'd brought those curses into the estate and unleashed them upon us all, and no one knew why - but that was my fault too. He was already showing signs of severe mental instability, but the facilitation of my birth sent him spiraling. I only fanned the flames of his paranoia, the terror he already had that one day, he'd be usurped and any threats to his hold over the family must be dealt with. He planned to use me as a vessel in some desperate vie, to take my strength for his own, and in the midst of enacting this plan, the curses he'd aligned with turned on him and ripped him limb from limb. He left...a journal, outlining his plan in great detail. I found it hidden beneath the estate one night when I'd been punished for covering for Aoi and Terin again, tucked under the straw and floorboards in the cell - where no one else could possibly find it or bother to go looking."

He couldn't stand being vulnerable like this, couldn't stand talking about his family history, being seen, heard, known for even a moment. He wanted to trust her. Wanted to believe this would be okay. It was far too late to back out now. His heart and stomach lurched in tandem, his ears beginning to ring.

Please don't change your mind... Please don't turn your back on me.

His thoughts were beginning to get to him, a childlike urge to crumple and cry washing over him. The longer he dragged this out, the more pathetic and miniscule he felt, the more cowardly and weak. Kurai would've turned him away, and Aoi vowed never to speak to him again after Terin's death... They blamed him for it all, and rightfully so. Had he been able to do something, he could've used their techniques to exorcise the curses quickly and no one would've had to die... Had he not been born, Taisho would've been dealt with sooner. Terin would still be alive. Mom, too...

"I took the journal to my father - everyone deserved to know the truth behind what my grandfather was planning. I thought it would be closure for them, to finally have a real explanation... I even thought the same for myself. I didn't realize, at the time, that I was handing them my own confession. Everything begins with Taisho, but ends with me. I may as well have killed them all myself. I've no right to sit beside you now, when there's so much blood on my hands, because it's not just them I'm responsible for but countless others... People who were simply doing what they needed to in order to survive among curses and killers and the other perils of every day life, working to achieve their dreams no matter how benign or totally fucked-- I'm just as guilty. I fight to redeem myself, but I can't wash away the stains. Yet, even-even so... I don't want you to think of me as any lesser. I don't want you to see me as the sort of person who would condemn his family to death through inaction and cowardice."

#死/// Inquiries.#死/// Blood of the Covenant; Yanna.#self harm mentions /#/ nothing crazy tho. just a passing reference for effect #/ also his feelings are really just amped up anxiety. sadness. & survivor's guilt w/ a dash of #' i don't want you to think of me the same way everyone else does '#' i hate that i feel like i *have* to tell you...but i want you to trust me. i don't want you to go away '#/ the big sad as u kno #/ he's laying *a lot* on yanna rn but i think it's reasonable to say they'd probably sit down and talk about this at some point anyway #/ he's trying to be objective but you can kind of see that even tho he hates it he kind of...agrees with his family #/ and there are passing references to some of the things they'd to do him #/ v sad #/ also i'm sorry this is a mile long

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sleepyangelkami · 2 months

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RESTLESS NIGHTS d.dixon

☆ WORD COUNT - 2.2K

DARYL DIXON X FEM!READER

☆ SUMMARY - for as long as you can remember, you've always suffered with insomnia. sometimes it was manageable, sometimes it wasn't. the only difference was then you didn't have daryl dixon to help you, now you did.

☆ WARNINGS - sleep deprivation, insomnia, mention of sleeping (lack of), crying, reference to bad childhood, mentions of eating/food, having no appetite, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

sleep never came easy to you.

you remembered being young, standing outside your mothers bedroom door and crying. fat tears would roll down your cheeks as you explained how your eyes simply couldn't will themselves closed anymore and that it was damn near impossible for you to sleep.

she'd always shone you back right to that little bedroom of yours. the walls would enclose on you and yet your eyes would shut, tiredness seeping over you.

yet sleep would never come.

a lot of time has passed since you were a child crying at your mothers door, begging for some kind of an out to this awful insomnia.

before the fall hit, you were a polite young lady that wore summer dresses and skirts all year 'round. you'd walk in through the white door, bell ringing as you entered your doctor's. he'd give you the capsuled tablets that helped you sleep. now, you couldn't even remember what they'd been called.

after the fall, you'd been stocked up, a reasonable amount. though not after long, the name had scratched off, sticker almost gone from the bottle completely. along the way, you met your group, your people, your family. they were more your family than your mother ever had been.

when you and your group found the prison, you deemed that you liked it there.

it had walls, safety, food, anything you ever could have asked for. but soon enough, your medication ran out and the sleepless nights haunted you again.

like today.

carol had made this sort of soup for lunch. you were sat at one of the tables, a spoon in your hand as you stirred it inside the bowl, zoning out. you wondered if it had gone cold by how long you'd been stirring it for. all you knew was that you were too tired to so much as move your arm.

unbeknownst to you, you'd been being watched. daryl dixon had taken a liking to you the moment he'd laid eyes on you. you pranced around with big smiles and happy rosey cheeks with your little dresses and skirts. you were so bubbly and happy, even when the entire world ended. most would think that a person like daryl would find it annoying, rather irritating. but in fact, he was attracted to it the moment he'd seen it. you were like a ray of sunshine, a beaming rainbow. whenever he was around you, he was smiling or laughing. rick almost fell off his horse when he heard daryl laugh for the first time, it was next to you, of course.

but lately, things hadn't been right.

he'd noticed the very first day you woke up with messier than usual hair, a hand running through it with an almost permanent pout etched to your lips, under eyes looking a little dark.

you'd only gotten worse since then.

the sound of a bowl hitting against the table brought you back to life. your doe eyes widened a little as you sat up a little straighter, big eyes gleaming at the man who took a seat at the table you were sitting at, right across from you. "hi, daryl." almost swooning at the mere sight of him.

"hey, pretty girl." yeah, definitely swooning. "wh's up with you? you've been stirrin' the damn soup cold."

you glanced down to your bowl of soup that you'd barely touched. "not hungry." you stated, pushing the bowl out in front of you. you sighed with pouty lips as you laid your chin on your hand.

lack of sleep tended to do that to you. one of two things would happen. one, you'd be craving something like crazy, whatever food it would be from cheese to fruit. or two, the lesser kind one, you'd lose your appetite almost completely. now was the lesser kind one. this one tended to happen when you didn't sleep for longer periods of time.

daryl's eyes were so full of concern and worry. "somethin' wrong?" not waiting to begin having his own soup, carol made a mean soup.

"nope." popping the 'p' sound because really, there wasn't anything wrong, at least nothing serious enough to tell anyone else, you thought. "just tired." tired was an understatement, your whole body was exhausted.

"yeah, i get that." nodding along and pursing his lips. though this behaviour had been going on quite a while. he never wanted to push you, but there were times where he felt like he had to do something. "you'd tell me if there was something wrong though, right?"

you hummed, eyes tracing his own. you were awfully tired and with electric blue eyes like his own, it was sort of hard not to get caught staring into them, whether you were tired or not. "'m just tired." you assured.

though the man didn't look as though he believed you. his eyes traced your own, as though they were trying to figure out what else was wrong.

finally, he sighed, knowing that you weren't going to tell him anything, not now. "alright, sweet girl." watching your cheeks go flush. "you know where to find me if you need me."

you nodded your head, rosy cheeks and pink lips in a smile. "thanks, daryl."

days passed awful slow when you were tired.

thankfully, you'd taken no naps throughout the day so you assumed that by the time night fell, you'd be tired enough to sleep your soul away.

but when the dark sky loomed over the prison, you ready in your cell for sleep to envelope you... you were met with sheer nothingness.

you huffed, closing your eyes and twisting your body.

you thought that if you kept trying, sleep would eventually come to you. you'd tried all the home remedies you could, you tried medication, though that was no longer an option. now, you had hardly any options. the only one that you could think of was shutting your eyes and praying for sleep.

but you knew a long time ago that there was no god in a world like your own.

you turned around for what felt like the hundredth time. even with your eyes strewn closed, a pout still rested on your lips and your brows were knit together closely.

you wondered if anyone else in the prison was awake.

then your mind travelled back to daryl dixon. he looked at you so full of concern and when he'd offered help, he meant it. you knew daryl the best out of anyone and you knew that daryl doesn't say things he doesn't mean. he was the type of man to stay quiet and if he did speak, it was only truth. that was what many people admired about him.

you hardly registered your sock covered feet on the cold concrete ground of the prison. sleepiness was holding so close to you that you hardly registered anything. you didn’t remember your feet guiding your body, turning the corner to reveal the next hallway. and you definitely didn’t recall stepping into daryl dixon’s cell, eyes slightly widening in the dark as you peered around, looking for him.

alas, his cell was empty.

you almost cursed yourself, thinking it was beyond stupid for you to come here in the first place. perhaps you should have just stayed in your cell and waited the night out. you could do one more night without sleep, right?

but before you could turn around, you heard the creak of the cell door. you whipped around to see daryl standing there, looking dishevelled as ever. “what’re you doin’ here, angel?” when you didn’t respond, he found his body moving closer to yours. “shouldn’t you be sleepin’?”

and maybe that was what set you off.

“i can’t.” but you didn’t speak the words with your usual joyish speech, where every word was elongated and practically cheered from your mouth. your voice was all croaky as it broke, like a child, waiting for your mother to open her bedroom door and let you in.

“hey, hey.” his hands were already stretching out, finding your face in the darkness. his fingers brushed against your cheeks, softening the reddened skin. “‘s okay, what’re you cryin’ for?” though his voice was filled with nothing but comfort, the way it softened to fit your own.

daryl dixon truly was one in a million.

you shrugged your shoulders, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes, breaking the dam and sliding down your cheeks embarrassingly so. “i can’t sleep.” voice cracking again, but you didn’t stop there. “i’ve tried everything ‘n i can’t do it.” your head shaking, nose becoming red.

daryl wasn’t exactly new to insomnia. he’d felt it times on his own, usually after something drastic had happened or if something was yet to happen. like when carol’s daughter, sophia had been missing. he remembered not being able to sleep for weeks on end. he remembered glancing into the mirror, his eyes sunken and under eyes practically purple. come to think of it, that was exactly how you’d looked earlier.

he cursed himself for not realising sooner.

“‘s okay, baby, everything’s okay.” he heard your pathetic little sobs, practically whimpering as he took you into his arms. his large hand found the back of your head, steadying it by his chest as you cried, tears running down your cheeks as your own chest practically heaved.

you’d been so desperate for sleep that you hadn’t realised you’d been on the brink of tears. now that you were sobbing into the man’s chest, you found it in yourself to be a little embarrassed. but daryl wasn’t the type of person to let you feel that embarrassment. he merely cooed and shushed you, hand gently massaging the crown of your head.

“‘m sorry.” voice like fragile glass as you pulled away from him. “‘n now ‘m keeping you awake ‘n i―”

“hey,” catching your attention. even in the dead of night, with darkness consuming the room whole, you were still able to make out his rough features, and he could still trace your delicate ones. “you ain’ ever gotta say sorry to me, alright?” you nodded your head, eyes still full of watery liquid and lips puffy and red. “now c’mon, we’re gonna figure this out together.”

you could vaguely make out his hand on the small of your back, leading you towards his bed that was draped in many more blankets than your own.

you’d never realised just how comfortable daryl’s bed was, even through the many times you’d practically hopped into his cell, jumping on the bed excitedly to tell him some form of news that you’d heard, whether it was a piece of gossip from carol or something serious from rick, daryl had always been all ears.

it was very different to the state you were in now.

you still found yourself sniffling as daryl tucked the sheets over your body. the sheets were different than yours. usually, you hated feeling too many sheets on you, finding yourself feeling awfully trapped but when he was tucking you in so delicately, you couldn’t find it in yourself to mind.

then you felt his arm gently plop over your middle, holding your back against his front.

gently, your two hands pushed themselves forward, grasping his much larger one. you fumbled with his fingers, pulling one in, sticking one out. even in the dark when you couldn’t so much as make out the shapes, you still found it sort of lulling.

the feeling of his breath hitting the back of your neck, the warmth of his body flowing into your own. you found your eyes gently shutting.

you wondered had it been this easy all along. If all you’d ever needed as just someone else. you didn’t know but deep down you knew. perhaps that was why you’d waited at your mothers door as a child, crying and begging for her to just open it and let you in while she’d shone you away, annoyed with your antics, wondering why she couldn’t get a normal child. and maybe that was why your feet unconsciously began walking towards daryl’s cell, because even your body knew that all you needed as someone to help you, someone to guide the way.

and daryl was more than happy to give you that.

for the first time in a long time, you found yourself almost succumbing to sleep.

it was almost scary. you wondered if your eyes would force themselves open or your mind would force yourself awake. your entire body feared that you’d blink and wake up in your own cell, had this all just been in your imagination due to your lack of sleep.

the mere thought made a shaky breath fall from your pretty lips.

and daryl was more than prepared to pull you closer towards him, his face practically in your hair. his lips pressed a chaste kiss to your shoulder blade, hand finding your fingers and interlocking them before his arm stretched out around your body, pulling you as close as humanly possible. “not goin’ anywhere.” he mumbled, as though he were able to read your mind.

he spoke again but the words faded out as your tired mind finally put itself to rest.

perhaps you didn’t just need someone else. perhaps you just needed him.

main masterlist/daryl's masterlist

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 2 months

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AITA for accidentally outing my fiance?

I (27F) am engaged to a 24M guy. He is trans, but he doesn't identify as trans anymore - he's post-everything, passes 100%, lives stealth/as a cis man, and no one who didn't know him pre-transition knows him as anything but a cis man. I know keeping that up is very important to him, we've had a lot of conversations about how happy he is just being seen as cis and being able to pass. I know getting outed and 'found out' is also a big worry of his, for example for our upcoming wedding he's rushing around trying to make it clear to his family that they shouldn't mention him being trans or refer to him as she/her at our wedding because he has so many friends coming who don't know he's trans. It's not that he doesn't trust them or he's ashamed of being trans or anything, he's very supportive of his trans friends, but he just doesn't publicly live as trans.

We're in a big Discord server of friends that have been quite close for about a year now, enough that we've met multiple of them in person and two of them are going to be in his wedding party as sort of 'best man' equivalents (we're not really sticking to bridesmaid best man stuff just our mixed gender friends). He has kept his Facebook very private for as long as I've known him, the only people on there are IRL friends and family because he has in the past posted trans stuff on there, like transition updates, it still has old pictures of him pre-T or in early transition, etc. I knew he didn't want this found. He also hadn't told any of this group aside from the people he was especially close with and had invited to the wedding his surname and location in case they looked him up and found something.

People in the server were sharing their Facebook profiles and I shared mine so people could add me. My fiance messaged me right after pointing out that me sharing mine would dox him as I had him in my relationship status and friends list, but I unfortunately didn't see this message for a while as I was distracted and doing other things. By the time I saw, everyone in the group had already clicked and gone through my profile and found his.

He tried to go through and speed-delete everything he could find that was public that mentioned him being trans or showed him pre-transition, any comments from family referring to it, etc but pictures that were set to friends only were still popping up in previews on the side and some of his family have public profiles that show cover images with him pre-T and things like that.

Our friends were making jokes about finally knowing his surname, going through his whole account down to the time it was first made back in 2018, commenting on old statuses of his, so they definitely saw his profile and went through all of it. He was panicking because he had no way of knowing if they'd seen that he's trans or not and got super upset and freaked out about the possibility, and he couldn't ask without outing himself or making them suspicious.

I apologized and deleted the link but obviously by then it was too late.

I do think it's not a huge deal as much as he thinks because I know our friends would be supportive and wouldn't think of him differently, but I know it was still important to him. I'm not sure they did see because some of our friends are the type to have just blurted out "You're trans?!" in the server without thinking about it (not because they're malicious or judging it, but some of them aren't as online and don't really know how to talk about it sensitively if that makes sense) and they didn't say anything. However he thinks they did because they were talking about statuses older than the ones he managed to get to deleting in time.

Like I said i did apologize but I feel like he's still upset with me for not thinking before sending my profile. On top of that I have kind of a habit of doing things impulsively and without thinking (I have bpd and bipolar) and not always taking into account how it will affect him or what consequences it will have,which I've been working on for years but I worry this is just adding to that which I know already wears on him.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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toast-the-unknowing · 5 months

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on fanfic plagiarism

Almost five years ago, in January of 2019, someone I'd never met before reached out to tell me that one of my Pynch fics, "Word on the Street," had been plagiarized.

I remember that the stolen fic was posted in k-pop fandom, though not what specific band it related to -- I'm not into k-pop, or really into pop music at all.

I remember that the person who messaged me told me that they had found my fic because the plagiarist had a reputation for stealing fic, so when they'd posted a new story, this person had known to do some digging.

I don't remember what the plagiarist's username was. I remember scanning the stolen story, trying both to read every detail and to avoiding taking any of it in, because looking at that right-but-wrong, not-quite-there, uncanny-valley-ness of it made me queasy.

I remember being darkly amused that the plagiarist had cut out the reference to the main character suffering physical abuse at the hands of his father -- I guess it didn't make sense in the context of the new character. It's almost like the story wasn't written for him. It's almost like someone wrote the story about Adam Parrish, instead.

I filed an AO3 complaint, on the grounds that this was a blatant and unarguable violation of their plagiarism policy. Within twenty-four hours, they got back to me, and the story was removed.

It was a weird, uncomfortable, gross feeling, knowing someone had taken words I'd written and passed them off as their own.

But at the same time -- "Word on the Street" was a silly thing I dashed off pretty quickly, during a period of my life when I was doing a lot of writing. It hurt to have it stolen. It was a violation. But…I had other words, that were more important to me. Maybe that was a buffer.

Last month, about six weeks ago, someone I'd never met before reached out to tell me that one of my Pynch fics, "there's talk going 'round this town," had been plagiarized.

I was, bizarrely, amused.

I was less bizarrely furious. I was understandably, relatably, I would say rationally, furious. But in a way (and as always, when I say in a way, I am calling back to the scholars of overthinkingit.com for whom in a way is meant as the thing I have just said or am about to say is false) -- in a way, I was amused.

The plagiarist clearly did a 'find and replace' on the character names, to replace Adam and Ronan's names with those of k-pop characters. They did a bad job of it, since the name "Ronan" still appears in one paragraph and the name "Parrish" still appears in two paragraphs. The fic is here, in case anyone doesn't believe me, under the name "i do(n't remember)". At first when I complained about the fic on tumblr, I didn't mention the name, or which fic they'd stolen, because I was worried about anyone…I don't know, making a scene. I've stopped caring. AO3 user springguk is bad at find and replace and they should feel bad. About their computer skills, and also about their blatant plagiarism.

springguk also did some more edits to my fic, I have to give them credit for that. I wrote "there's talk going 'round this town" within a relatively short time span, for me. I tend to either finish things within one week, or else take several months. I believe this one took about five or six weeks completely to write -- I was very inspired.

(I was inspired, specifically, by the press coverage of Winona Ryder and Keanu Reeves 'discovering' they might be 'accidentally' married. I mention that in my author's notes. springguk doesn't mention what 'inspired' them in their author's notes. I wonder how they talk about it with friends. They do, in their author's notes, include a link to their ko-fi, and a request that people buy them a coffee.)

If I'd taken longer with this fic, I might have made some edits. Even at the time, I knew I was being self-indulgent in letting the scene with my teenage female OC talk at such length with Ronan about what his non-canonical film career had meant to her, a person the audience didn't care about. But I had fun. I liked Fox. I didn't want to cut her, and what the hell, it was fanfic. I decided to self-indulge.

I was darkly amused to find that springguk did cut out the scene with Fox from their plagiarized version. Maybe springguk is a more disciplined editor than I am. Maybe springguk just didn't have a good k-pop character to map Fox onto. Maybe springguk didn't even realize that Fox was an OC. Do you know anything about the fandom you steal fics from, springguk? I can't help but wonder. Have you read The Raven Cycle? Do you care about teenage OCs who steal cars because of fake films that are clearly meant to be stand-ins for The Fast and the Furious franchise?

Maybe springguk just didn't give a fuck, because none of their heart and soul was poured into this fic. I cared too much about Fox. springguk doesn't care about a single word in the fic they published. Why would they? They didn't write it.

I'm being a little mean in naming them so many times. But I'm able to, this time, because although I filed a plagiarism complaint with AO3 six weeks ago, springguk's stolen fic "i do(n't remember)," is still available to read on AO3 to this very day. I don't have to wrack my brains to remember what their username was, or which k-pop band they recast my work with. I can just look at their fic with its 24 comments and 151 kudos. Hell, maybe that fic is even better than mine, if you don't mind that by cutting the sequence with Fox they've sacrificed a fairly substantial development in the romantic relationship, and also if you don't care that at one point the characters names switch from Jeongguk and Taehyung to Ronan and Parrish, because seriously, for fuck's sake, if you're going to steal a fic at least do a goddamn ctrl+f at the end.

I was mad. I was amused. I made a complaint that the AO3, six weeks later, has still not acted on. I mostly moved on.

Tonight, someone I'd never met before reached out to tell me that one of my Pynch fics, "while we're on the subject, could we change the subject now," had been plagiarized.

I wanted to vomit.

I was supposed to be playing Dungeons and Dragons online with friends tonight; I spent the entire call unable to focus on anything anyone was saying. I had to keep reminding myself that I was on camera and my face wasn't supposed to look like that.

"while we're on the subject, could we change the subject now" is the first of a series of, currently, twelve fics. skytoseungmin, the person who stole it to pass it off as their own work, knew this. Their stolen version was published as part one of a series, though they hadn't published any of the sequels. Presumably, they wanted to wait long enough to make it plausible they'd gone and written the follow ups, instead of just finding them.

skytoseungmin likely didn't know that this fic and this series are intensely personal. They didn't know that the apartment that Adam -- Seungmin, in their ill-gotten version -- lives in, that was based in part off of the apartment I lived in for a year in Pico-Robertson with talldecafcappuccino. They didn't know that the 7-Eleven Adam buys coffee at is the same one I used to tease talldecafcappuccino for buying coffee at. They didn't know that the strip club where Adam and Ronan have their humorously ill-timed romantic revelation outside of, that was the strip club I used to use as a landmark when giving people directions for how to navigate the confusing as fuck freeway exit I lived near, which once caused me to accidentally tell my highly Catholic parents "just go past the strip club and you're good!"

skytoseungmin didn't know that the apartment Adam -- sorry, Seungmin, thoroughly, they were better with find and replace than springguk -- lived in, was also based off of my ex's apartment in Palms, where I as the mere visiting girlfriend was never allowed to park in the parking lot. Where I would sometimes have to spend twenty or thirty minutes circling the neighborhood before I could find parking, often a walk of several minutes away. skytoseungmin doesn't know that when Ronan's car get towed from a McDonald's parking lot, that that was a specific McDonald's on Venice Boulevards, the same one my ex's asshole roommate used to just roll his eyes and say that I should park at. skytoseungmin doesn't know that I once wished passionately that I had just parked in that McDonald's parking lot and risked getting towed, on the occasion that a man followed me several unlit blocks from my car. skytoseungmin doesn't know that when I talk about how helping someone park is the truest love language there is in Los Angeles, that that was what I meant. Has skytoseungmin ever had to circle to half an hour to find parking in Los Angeles? Has skytoseungmin ever loved someone enough to do that, instead of saying, fuck it, they can come to me or we're breaking up? Has skytoseungmin ever loved someone in Los Angeles enough, to do as my ex did, and come running as fast as humanly possibly when their girlfriend called them whispering and crying on the phone, someone's following me, please, I'm scared, I wish I just parked at the McDonald's?

"while we're on the subject, could we change the subject now" is a very personal fic.

It isn't half as personal as some of the fics that come after.

skytoseungmin marked their plagiarized version of the fic as part one of a series. Were they planning on stealing part two, where I, through an alternate universe characterization of Ronan Lynch, dig into my experience of grief and trauma surrounding my grandmother's dementia? Were they planning on stealing any of the explicit fics, where I play with kink and desire in ways I haven't even exposed to my actual sexual partners, but where I felt able to through the guise of fandom? What else was skytoseungmin planning on stealing, with charming little author's notes apologizing for how they missed the fandom-relevant date they were shooting for, because they were so busy with exams, tee-hee! Why the excuses, skytoseungmin? how long does it take you to ctrl+f, even if you are more thorough about it than springguk?

If I seem too accusatory and mean-spirited toward skytoseungmin, well, the LA verse is a very personal fic.

And it's also, it turns out, only one of eight different fics that they stole from me.

I didn't even notice at first, to be honest. I was too stunned. But my friend Jessie, my Lady Galahad, went to my defense and clicked through to the author's page, while I was still reeling at the horrible possibilities of part one of a series. It turned out, of eight fics on skytoseungmin's author's page…I had written every single one of them.

Some were short and pretty lighthearted, things I hadn't had to invest too much of myself into -- like I said, sometimes, I can write a fic in under a week.

Other things…

They stole the space western AU.

I don't think I can articulate to any human being how much that hurt me, to look at it, to see.

I wrote that as a thank you gift for someone who donated to Fandom Trumps Hate.

I spent nearly two years of my life on it -- two years during which, because of mental health issues and life situation changes, my words per year dropped precipitously. I still haven't recovered. I still think of what a failure I am for not writing more, currently, actively, and I remember how the space western AU was both a symptom of that and a defiance of it: yes, writing has become fucking hard, fucking NEARLY IMPOSSIBLE, but I'm still doing it, goddamn it, you can't stop me, even if all I produce is the tiniest trickle of words a month. it can still add up, somehow, if we just keep TRYING.

To see the space western AU, casually nestled amongst a half dozen other fics that were all apparently casually dashed off in the same month…I know it was theft, I know it was a lie, but it still felt like a slap in the face, why can't you write this fast?

Jessie, my Lady Galahad, went on a campaign of commenting on all of skytoseungmin's (my) fics, and I am so thankful. The k-pop fans who heard Jessie have been reaching out, to her, to me, to each other on Twitter, and I am so thankful for them too. skytoseungmin has deleted all of their (my) fics on AO3, and their entire AO3 account, and their entire twitter, apparently. Maybe they were hoping to get enough clicks to parlay them into some kind of book deal, and they'd now rather give up what was a low investment effort on their part than be associated with accusation of plagiarism.

I suppose they can always start over with a new user name and someone else's fics if they really want to.

I suppose they can always start over with a new username and my fics, if they really want to.

And after all, AO3 has still not reached out to me about springguk, and "i do(n't remember)" is still sitting there. Maybe springguk is also going for a book deal. Who knows?

Why complain about any of it?

In a way* (and remember what "in a way" means), isn't it a compliment, if someone loves the words I wrote, even if they don't know it was me that wrote them? toast-the-unknowing and shinealightonme, if they're the same name (and they are), then why not springguk or skytoseungmin, too?

Am I making too big of a deal out of this? Does everyone just have their work stolen from them, all of the time? Is that simply the cost of doing business in an era and an ecosystem where we all can copy and paste twenty-four thousand words with greater ease than our ancestors could transcribe a single phrase? Are more prolific, more famous, more successful fan authors looking at my piteous cries and thinking, bitch, you've only been ripped off by k-pop fans ten times, come back when you have real problems?

And yet in a month, a year, a whole life phase of not being able to write as much as I would like to, because of my health, because of my work, to have someone else just casually pass off the words I have managed to eke out, as though they have no value, as though it were no more than photo copying a shitty flier to stick under a windshield wiper…

I can't imagine springguk or skytoseungmin give a shit how I feel about any of this. At best, they roll their eyes; at worst they laugh to know they hurt me -- and what's the difference between the two? I'll never know either way.

I know that some of the people they duped do care, and are also upset. That helps. And also, it doesn't help.

I just fucking hate all of this, and if all I have are words, and if my words are valuable enough for someone to steal, then here, here are enough of them to choke on. I know I did.

#long post #fandom #plagiarism #that whole plagiarism thing

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bisexualiteaa · 1 year

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Finding out you have an ✨intimate✨ piercing

CW: suggestive themes and light mentions of smut so 18+ content! Reader is written in a more AFAB orient. Also thank you all for such great receptions on my CoD works, it means the world to get my silly little writings and ideas out and that you all like them so much, so a million times thank you. 🥹🫶

John "Soap" MacTavish

- It was a secret you held from him for a while, having spent years in the force together before finally dating, he hadn't known til now that you had nipple piercings.

- He had seen a few of your other piercings when you would wear jewelry outside of work, like your earrings, a nose ring, even having your eyebrow pierced and a belly ring when you were out and about on a day off, none of those things phased him, they were just a part of you.

- It was when you two had finally taken the next step in your relationship to get intimate for the first time that he had found out, this was the first time he'd ever seen you without a bra.

- As soon as you removed the material from your chest, he was excited to see what laid beneath, and soon shocked to see you had your nipples pierced. He gave a whistle at the sight of your titties that had just grown even more alluring to his eyes.

- "When did ya decide to get that done, hen?" He asked with an intruiged grin, making you look down to see what he was referring to. "Oh these? God it was so long ago, I got them on a stupid dare back in high school. My friends at the time said they'd give me fifty bucks to get it done to prove my pain tolerance" you admitted, making him laugh. "Only fifty bucks?" He asked. "Well originally the bet was I'd only get one done, but mama didn't raise a bitch, so I got both done. The piercing itself was only thirty, so I made twenty bucks out of it. Twenty bucks and friends who'd never question my nuts of steel ever again" you replied making him laugh at the response that seemed sounded so completely like you.

- You on the other hand, couldn't help but see the way he was looking at them, oggling at them as if he was admiring them even more, seeing the look on his face that practically read "wonder what it'd feel like to have them in my mouth."

- "You like them?" You asked with honeyed seduction in your tone, a cheeky grin on your face as you made him snap out of hid own thoughts. "I do, like 'em a lot actually" he answered, stepping closer and placing one of his hands to your breast, his thumb brushing over your pebbled nipple, making you give a sigh at the sensitive feeling. "Heard they can make ya more sensitive" He started to say, his accent thicker now as his own voice took on a deeper octave, lascivious intent laced in his tone. "Care to find out?" You asked with a grin, making him loop his other arm around you to pull you close. "You bet I fuckin' would" he answered before leaning down to wrap his lips around the other nipple. You gave a moan, leaning your head back as he started to suck on it, earning a plethora of lovely sounds from you.

- Needless to say, he was definitely a fan of these piercings too, enjoying this new information about you and the things he could do with it, he loved the way they were so sensitive and made you make such beautiful sounds for him.

König

- You knew this little stunt would definitely shock König when he came home from his mission in the next couple of months, giving the jewelry ample time to heal before he was able to catch sight of it in action.

- "got a little surprise for you when you come home~" you'd text him one day, giving him absolutely no context, but reading the message alone was enough to make his mind run rampant. Had you bought a new outfit? Some lingerie to surprise him in when he got home? Did you get him something he told you about? Oh how this poor man's mind was reeling from all the possibilities.

- So when the couple of months passed and he finally made it home, he'd almost forgotten all about it, happy to just see you after going months out in the field without getting to hear from you except for periodically.

- That was, until you were on your knees in front of him, his dick heavy on your tongue as you circled it around his tip before taking him in your mouth, that he felt something a little different.

"Maus? What- Scheiße...what is that?" He asked through moans, making you giggle as he looked down at you. "Your surprise, liebe" you answered sweetly, sticking your tongue out to show him the jewelry before you gave a long lick up the expanse of his cock, teasing the sensitive spot under his tip with your piercing. "You like it?" You asked with a cocky grin, knowing by the way he was moaning and practically melting at your every touch that he did, but you needed to hear him say it.

- "Ja, I like it a lot liebling" he replied, his hand carding through your hair, keeping it away from your face as your lips wrapped around him, taking him in as deep as you could as your hand wrapped around what you couldn't fit.

- He definitely made it clear how much he liked it, from the way he would kiss you with far more tongue now just to feel it against his own, to the way he would get more excited than before when you would get on your knees to please him, or even anytime you'd run your tongue along his skin, he swore it was his new favorite feeling.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

- You were embarrassed when he found out that you had a clit piercing, knowing the reason behind why you had gotten it done, even though he hadn't known yet.

- You had it before meeting Simon, having been in a couple of relationships before meeting him. The jewelry was a need for you after your previous relationships, due to your former partners and their lack of abilities in making you finish.

- You and Simon had sex before, so you knew thankfully, even if you hadn't had the jewelry, he was finally the one to break the cycle. But anytime you knew you were going to get intimate with him, you'd take it out beforehand and pray he wouldn't be too observant of the area so he wouldn't know.

- So when you forgot to take it out one day, caught by surprise by him coming home early from the field without telling you, your anxiety began to get the better of you as things turned intimate.

- It made you incredibly nervous and embarrassed the moment he went down on you and found the jewel peaking from your clit, and had he not been between your legs, you'd have shut them if you could.

- "What's this you've got here?" He asked, knowing damn well what it is, but he enjoyed teasing you too much, especially when you were in a more shy and submissive mood. "A piercing..." You let out, hiding your face as you admitted to it, and by the tone he knew he needed to let up and check on you.

- "What's wrong, love? Do you not want to do this?" He asked, worried that perhaps he had pushed things when you weren't in the mood, or maybe misjudged your signals. "No, no! It's not that at all, I want this I just.." You started to say before giving a sigh and trying to collect your thoughts and courage. "I'm just embarrassed to have it" you admitted, making him come back up to be level with you. "Why?" He asked, genuinely curious as to why you'd get something like that, then be embarrassed of it. "Because...if I'm honest, the people I had been with before you, weren't good" you started, feeling a little more at ease to open up to him. "So I got it when I was single, before I met you, to help me finally have a chance to experience an orgasm for once in my fucking life when I'd have sex, instead of having to fake it and take matters into my own hands later" you admitted, making him chuckle at your admission that he felt was completely valid. Little did you know, you'd just sky rocketed his ego in telling him he's the first person to make you cum.

- "You don't need to be ashamed love, I'd be pissed too if a shit back like that didn't make me cum" he said, making you giggle at his blunt words of reassurance, but that was Simon, and you took comfort in knowing he didn't hate it. "You don't mind it? I can take it out if you'd prefer" you asked. "I think it's a good look on you" he replied honestly, his fingers gently circling your clit, making you moan and clutch at the sheets beside you as you delighted in his touch. "I'd say I feel sorry for the poor bloke you got this for who missed out.." he mused, trailing his lips down your stomach, then all the way down until he was once again situated between your legs, mouth just centimetres from your aching cunt. "But I don't" he finished, placing a light, open mouthed kiss to your clit, making you buck your hips in reaction. "Legs open for me love, let me show you how much I like it, yeah?" He asked, watching you nod your head yes before devouring you like you were his last meal.

- He made damn sure that after that night, you weren't ashamed of it anymore.

#cod imagine #cod smut #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley #könig imagine #könig #könig smut #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #soap smut #simon riley imagine #soap imagine #könig cod

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aziraphales-library · 9 days

Note

Hi there lovelies!!

I was just wondering if you had any recs for aziracrow slow burn through-the-ages fics - even better if they explore parts of history that aren’t shown in the show, or if they’re just being a silly a duo having a good time throughout, well, time.

Have a good day :))

Hello! We have an entire #through the ages tag, so do check that out. Here are more to add...

Nude woman with a Snake or The great tulip crash of 1637 (+Art) by Sad_Wet_Bretzel (G)

Aziraphale is in Amsterdam sponsoring Rembrandt van Rijn. And Crowley? He's just in it for the tulips.

with wings unfurled by MaiaPynne (G)

“The Son of God is being born in a barn?!” the demon squawked. “Her Son! Born in a smelly, thatched little barn?!” Then Crawly guffawed. And then he cried. Aziraphale watched this act of pure blasphemy unfold with patience. “If you're quite finished,” he said coldly. “I was hoping you might be amenable to lending me a hand.”

Shadow & Light by AFrenchFanWriter, T0beee (T)

1489. Seizing the opportunity to take drawing lessons with Leonardo da Vinci, Aziraphale learns more than he expected… A short story about life and death, love and hostility, opposite sides and complementary beings.

see, how the most dangerous thing is to love by theleftoveryou (T)

Aziraphale grasped for something to say and settled rather lamely on “Ah, yes… yes, you do seem to be missing your armour.” For all his tenderness, for all his love, in the end even the best angel in all of Heaven was powerless in the face of such grief as this, hanging immobile in the heavy air. He turned, then, to stare helplessly at Crawly, who for his part could only shrug. Aziraphale huffed quietly. Fiend, he mouthed.

through adversity and all, my love by jaysflight (G)

It was just the two of them, he and Crowley, angel and demon, two opposites on the sides of a War that would have its culmination merely eight hundred years from now. They were not meant to be here, solitary, in some thin alleway in a small German town that would have no significance a millennium from now, had no significance now, even; at least not in the powers-at-be’s eyes. Everything about this was improbable. Every shred of angelic instinct within him, that’d he quietly begun to drown out over the years when he was with Crowley, was yelling at him to leave at once, to get out while he could still play at respectability. He stood there, the breeze playing with his locks of platinum hair, and did not move. He set his shoulders, lifted his chin a little. “I’ll take care of it, Crowley,” Aziraphale firmly stated. “Take care of them.”

They'd met countless times over the six thousand years, in all sorts of manners and places; here are six more, in tangential relation to six fairytales or myths.

The Song and the Covenant by MissJeevesy (T)

1021 AD An old love presents new challenges for Aziraphale. Crowley, as usual, complicates matters. No archive warnings apply but please be aware of minor injury detail, language and one passing reference to homophobia.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #through the ages #mod d

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sygneth · 1 year

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allright i have few thoughts about Jules Pidieu and yall need to listen

He is old. Probably good 10-15 years older than most of his colleagues. Maybe more. From guys like Jean, Chester, Torson, definitely more. He has to deal with a bunch of guys with unsophisticated sense of humor all the time. The talks with Harry makes absolutely no impression on him, he is used to that kind of shit. It may seem that he is tired of it, dealing with drunk officers on duty, with their stupid jokes and using him to banter with one another via official channels. He tries to stay professional. And yet still plays the game and passes all the messages, even not the relevant ones. And even though he seems reluctant, it doesn't take much to convince him to pass even the extreme ones. In his own manner, but he will.

Heck, if Harry will refer to himself as "Firewalker" in the first conversation, Jules will go along with that too, if you call the precinct more than once (well, right after he told Jean that Harry refers to himself as *firewater* and I refuse to belive he didn't do that on purpose as he literally said that right a statement before)

But there is another thing. There is constantly someone in the comms besides him. The rest of the precinct, or at least the C-wing seem to hang out in there all the time. He is a man that others like to have around. What is more, if Harry will ask him for the details of his personal life, what Jules says, suggests he and Harry have been talking quite a lot too. "You're not really keen on mentioning your home life, so I've always assumed things weren't that good on that front" - is what he says.

Yeah, we may assume that Harry is rather keen on talking to people and also talking about himself, though one still needs to talk to another person quite a time to notice which topics they'd rather avoid.

Another thing is, that Jules seems to have heard about Harry's life before the RCM, it's just that the question takes him off guard and then Jean appears and cuts it short.

Even if he looks like he's done TM with the shit he has to deal with, I think he finds some satisfaction in it. He will never admit it, because what he does is sigh and probably roll his eyes while lighting another cigarette, but he actually likes the fact that people come gossip to him, that he is in possession of most of the precinct's secrets, that there won't be a drama he will miss. He wouldn't go into all this if there wasn't a part of him that liked it. He is just very subtle showing this.

#disco talking #but also #echoes talking #yes this is EoE lore now #jules pidieu #disco elysium #deep analysis

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vent-stink · 26 days

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inspired by @bunnliix's "The Point of No Return"

Things were a blur after they found his girlfriend's body. He had to make a statement, attend her funeral, and perform the next weekend of Coachella, all in such a short amount of time. His members tried to convince him not to do the next set, but he had to. There was no other safe way to release his anger than through his fierce on-stage personality.

People could tell that his demeanor was a lot more... well, less easy going. Every look, now, instead of the ease and happiness with which he performed before, was replaced with seriousness. He never smiled.

Fans were quick to notice this, and considering the events of the previous week, they praised him for not bringing on a stellar performance despite his clear shift in mood.

What they didn't expect was for him to never smile again.

He had a lot to think about after the second set at Coachella. He finally took his break before their next comeback, but he was debating on whether he could continue being an idol at all. He felt betrayed by the so-called Atinys who had done this and feared that he could never look at any Atiny the same way again.

He decided that this was his dream, and he wasn't going to let a few criminals have power by changing the course of his entire life more than they already had. He also knew his girlfriend wouldn't have wanted that for him.

And despite internally not being able to separate real Atinys from the murderers who took his love from him, he still knew that it wasn't their fault as a whole. They didn't deserve to be punished for what someone else did.

So, he continued his career with some limits. Fan interactions, especially one-on-one, were completely stopped. This meant no fan calls or meetings and even if an Atiny happened to see him at an airport or in a restaurant, he would not acknowledge them. He didn't do this consciously, but he couldn't bear to look at them.

On stage, he couldn't bring himself to perform with ease since the last time he had, a tragedy had occured. He could never smile in front of Atinys again. Thankfully that didn't stop them from loving him and supporting him, and even when there were a few netizens who criticized him for it, they were quickly squashed.

Hongjoong's trauma ran deep, and he could never forget his girlfriend's lifeless body and the cruel way in which she'd been taken from him. Continuing his career despite his grief was his "fuck you" to the people who had done this. Now they'd never get to meet him (before or after their jailtime) since he'd stopped all interactions with his fans.

In future contents, he often refer to his passed girlfriend as his wife since she would have been had she not been taken from him. In other members' lives, some Atinys complained about Hongjoong, to which they all told Atinys to be patient with him because he was grieving.

Hongjoong's demeanor with his loved ones didn't change as drastically as with Atinys. He was a lot more melancholy, but with his family and his members, he felt safe.

His members' hearts broke seeing their captain as a shell of the man he used to be, but they try their best to fill the gaps, hoping that Hongjoong would be able to find happiness again one day.

#ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez #hongjoong #kim hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong ateez #kim hongjoong x reader #chellateez #Ateez angst #atz #atz hongjoong #Yo I wrote this whole thing while pooping

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argisthebulwark · 19 days

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Nothing Left For Me, I Am Pleading

summary: The fallout after you learn he's cheated on you. gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used. feat: Vilkas, Miraak, Farkas, Brynjolf, Cicero warnings: angsty hurt/no comfort. cheating in an established relationship. swearing. reference to sexual acts, nothing explicit. masterlist

Vilkas' fingers are uncharacteristically chilly when they grab your arm. Your stomach churns at the contact - mere hours had passed since they'd touched someone else. "Don't go." You see every muscle in his body tense - does he anticipate you lashing out at him? Your anger is far too cold for that, a detached hatred that drowns out any love you've felt for him. "Give me one good reason to stay." You sniff, glaring up at the man you've loved so deeply that it hurt. Your heart is shredding in your chest but you refuse to show him. After last night, he does not deserve to see you hurt. You will grant him no opportunity to comfort you. "I thought of you the whole time." "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" You seethe, wrenching your arm from his grasp. "How kind of you to remember me while fucking some stranger at the tavern." "Please." His voice is caught in his throat when he steps closer, hand still reaching uselessly toward you. "I - we just lost Kodlak. He's the closest thing I've ever had to a parent and I felt so fucking lost. I didn't know what to do with myself." His nose wrinkles and you know he's fighting back tears. Strangely, you feel no urge to comfort him - all you want is to escape this damned room. "I was there." You curse your voice for wobbling. "Farkas was there. Our friends were right there - we were all there grieving Kodlak. Together." "I know." He mumbles, sucking in a shaky breath. "I should have talked to you - I don't know why I did that. Nothing makes sense." "You should talk to someone, maybe your brother." You press your lips into a tight line, clamping down the sob tearing at your throat. "I hope you can figure things out, Vilkas." You do hope that he can figure things out. Grief is messy but when you turn away from him, there's a sense of finality to it. You clench your fists to stop their shaking and before you can take that first step away from Vilkas, his voice stops you dead in your tracks. "Can we try again someday?" His voice is so defeated, as if he already knows your answer. Why did he bother asking? "I know that Kodlak meant a lot to you." You squeeze your eyes shut against those damned tears. "But I can never forgive this." "I understand." Vilkas sniffs and you're glad you turned away. The sight of him crying could break you. "I'll always love you, though." You can't think of a response that doesn't break your heart.

"It meant nothing, Mal Dov." You smack away Miraak's hand - you know he wants to caress your face, to calm your nerves as he has so many times before. You can hardly think past her fucking voice ringing through your head. "After that, my hopes of being named High Priestess don't seem so far-fetched. Our lord truly is blessed, isn't he? Well, I suppose you know that better than anyone." She'd bumped into you like it was a silly little mistake, dragon mask pulled aside to display the messy state of her lipstick. The thought of what she'd done for Miraak - the thought of him with anyone else, it makes you sick. "Nothing?" You spit the word back at him. You hate that look on his face, the tears gathering in his eyes. He has the audacity to make you feel like the hurtful one. "In my time, it was quite common to maintain a concubine -" "Oh, fuck you!" Angry tears spill down your cheeks, that hot ball of rage fueled with every word that passes his lips. "You would burn Tamriel if another man dared to kiss me, yet you expect me to be alright with some priestess getting on her knees for you?" "My beloved, please allow me to explain." Miraak reaches for you once more, an offer that feels so loaded. You know that if you take his hand he will whisper sweet apologies in your ear and promises that he will spend the rest of his unnatural life with you. He will tell you that a passing moment with a priestess means nothing compared to an eternity at your side. "No." You reject, gulping past the knot in your throat. Drying your tears you turn, hands shaking when they clench at your sides. "No explanation will undo your actions."

Sunlight bursts over the horizon, bright and cheerful. Farkas' snores echo across the hall as your weary eyes wander toward the window to watch. Your throat is raw from swallowing those ugly sobs and your cheeks are stained with war paint and tears. Clutching your knees to your chest you wait, stuffed into the same chair you've been seated in for hours. When the doors creak open your heart leaps into your throat. You've practiced the speech over and over, memorizing the words and praying that you won't stumble but it's all gone when you see her. The woman is half dressed when she scurries through Jorrvaskr, offering you a kind smile when she spots you. "Sorry if we kept you up." Her voice holds no malice - you're certain that she's interpreted you as a disgruntled housemate. "Can you point me toward the exit?" Your voice ceases to function, merely pointing her toward the front doors. Uncertain of how much time passes you remain there, knees tucked to your chest scrambling for the words you'd planned out so carefully. "Gods, it's bright." Farkas' rich voice causes a fresh wave of tears. Through blurry vision you watch him emerge from the living quarters, one hand shading his eyes from the sun. "My love - what day is it? I thought you weren't back until Middas?" "The assignment was easy." You gulp, hating the way he kneels right in front of you. His thumb traces through the mess of war paint on your face and you suck in a deep breath. "Everyone acted so strange when I returned. I thought perhaps it was because I was a bit early - they were all fairly drunk." "We drank far too much last." Farkas moans, still scrubbing at your cheek. "I can hardly remember anything past dinner." "When Aela tried to stop me from going to bed I knew something was wrong." "My beloved -" "I saw you." You sob, shoving at his bare chest when he attempts to hold you. Your heart is cracking deep in your chest, fat tears spilling down your cheeks but you can't let him piece you back together. "I heard you, Farkas -" "It was a drunken mistake. Please," rough hands cup your face but you're shaking your head. You can't see him through the tears but you know he's crying too. "Please don't leave me." "I can't stop seeing it." You hiccup, curling deeper into the chair. "I can't even look at you."

"I would have raised him better than that." Karliah's hand pats your shoulder. "The Brynjolf I knew would never do that." "He did." Your voice sounds scratchy and far away. Whether it's from rage or the alcohol you aren't certain. You're lying flat on the bar, Vekel's infinite patience saving you from the floor as the world tilts and dips around you. "I have some friends in the Brotherhood." Delvin pipes up from somewhere far away. You aren't sure if you're laughing or sobbing at his comment, noises and tears slipping out of you. "Want me to kill 'im?" "I could kill him for you." Vex offers and you bury your head in your arms. You feel sick - you'd hoped that too many drinks would rid that image from your brain but it persists. His lips on her skin, her fingers in his hair, the sound of her sighing his name. "There you are." His voice still sends shivers down your spine. You bury your face in your arms, mind still stuck on the way his hand wrapped around someone else's waist. "I've been lookin' for you -" "To what?" Vex snaps. "Looking to do some more damage?" "Love, gimme a chance." "Get away from me." "C'mon, I know it was fucked up but we were together for years. I told her I'm with you, that we had to stop before things went too far -" "I said get away from me." You whirl toward him, the world spinning and your stomach flipping dangerously with the motion. Warm hands are there to steady you, Brynjolf's familiar scent filling your nostrils as your bleary eyes struggle to focus on him. "Talk to me, love. Just for a bit, yeah?" "We are done." You stare up at him, hating the way his eyes still make your heart flutter. "I'm taking some time off -" "Don't say that. Think of the Guild - we need you, I need you." "You should've thought of the fucking Guild!" You sob, hands smacking against his chest. "You should've thought about me! You don't get to do this, you don't get to make this my fault." "I know sweetheart, trust me I know it's my fault." "You should probably leave for now, Bryn." Karliah taps his shoulder when you devolve into a mess of sobs. His hands slip from your face and gods help you, after everything you hate to feel it. "Give it time." "I'll be here, love. Whenever you're ready I'll be here waitin' for you."

"I'm sorry." Cicero snivels, falling into your lap. "Cicero's so sorry, Listener - please don't leave me, don't leave your awful Keeper." The indecision is paralyzing; so badly you want to comfort him, to comb through the mess of his hair and wipe at his face until he's calmed down but you cannot. You can't stop thinking about the dreamy look on his face after someone else's lips touched his. "Please, Listener." He gasps, fingers screwed up in the front of your armor. You can't bring yourself to rebuff him but do not have the capacity to soothe him. "Please, Cicero is so sorry - they were helping with Mother's rituals and so kind to me, so sweet helping with prayers and honeyed words." He hiccups, a sob breaking up his explanations. You want nothing more than to forgive him, to wipe at his tears and tell your beloved that everything will be alright, but find those words too difficult. "Was I not enough?" Your voice breaks, tears finally spilling down your cheeks. The flood of emotions is too much all at once when Cicero buries his face in your shoulder. God it hurts - you've known hurt but nothing like this, betrayal that cuts down to the bone. "You're everything!" He howls, both your bodies shaking with the weight of his sobs. "Terrible, awful Keeper - I don't deserve that title, the Listener deserves someone much better." "Calm down." You urge, unable to resist rubbing a hand down his back. The sensation of his body curling into yours is so familiar but there is no warmth, no love in the way he clings to you - only guilt. His voice is torn as he mumbles your title over and over, apologies mingled in as he professes his guilt. "Love you, Listener. Love you, love you, love you..." he trails off, wet kisses placed along your throat. "Silly Cicero made a horrible mistake but oh, how I love you." "You know I love you." You choke on the words, shocked at how hard it is to say. You do love Cicero, you always will. "But my beloved -" "Don't, Listener - please, your Keeper begs you." He sniffles, breaths finally evening out. "Don't leave poor Cicero. Anything, I'll do anything, just don't leave." "I don't think we can get past this." His arms tighten around your middle, tears streaming down your face as the raw pain pounds through your body with each beat of your wretched heart. "You know I love you, my Cicero, but I don't think there is any mending this." You sit there, clutching Cicero to your chest and crying until your lungs threaten to give out. You are both painfully aware that as soon as you let each other go that is the end. When he slides from your lap he will no longer be your Cicero, you will simply be two Brotherhood members who cannot look each other in the eyes. So you hold him, allowing him to cry into your armor and shedding endless tears over the love you've both lost.

#writing #skyrim x reader #x reader fanfic #angst #vilkas #miraak #farkas #brynjolf #cicero

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badn3w · 8 months

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In all honestly, my ideal ending for iasip is a simple one. The gang would play Chardee Macdennis one last time, bringing back a beloved concept with lots of references to the show brought up in the trivia portion. It'd be fun and light. It'd give us one last glimpse into these characters' dynamics, playing a game they invented in their 20s now in their 50s. Still a gang, still together, in the bar of Paddy's on a slow day, passing the time with a game they invented out of boredom.

Maybe they'd invite some old friends to form new teams. Maybe we'd see Cricket, the Lawyer, the Waitress, the Waiter, the McPoyles, Artemis, Ponderosa, and Gail the Snail all join in on the fun. Surprisingly, everyone shows, probably because they have nothing better to do. Maybe Frank and Pondy would form a team. The Waitress, Artemis, and Gail would group up, bringing the Fridge-It Bitches back. Maybe we would finally learn the Waitress' name. We'd get to see each member of the gang at their best, deranged, manipulative, and evil as always. Charlie would probably fail a task because the Waitress made him nervous. Cricket would join forces with the McPoyles because they're the only ones not disgusted by Cricket. Their group would be really good at the pain and endurance portion. The Lawyer and the Waiter would form a team, bonding over the years of strife the gang had caused them. They would grow very frustrated at not understanding the rules of the game. They're the only group that is normal enough to find the whole thing preposterous, but for some reason they see it through.

The episode would wrap with Mac and Charlie finally beating Dennis and Dee after losing to them for 30 years. We'd close on the pair stomping on Dennis and Dee's dolls, victorious at last. Dennis and Dee would be sore losers, complaining that Mac and Charlie must have cheated. Frank would be celebrating with Mac and Charlie, telling them he was proud of them. Mac and Charlie would realize that perhaps Frank really had become a father figure to them. They would allow Frank to smash Dennis and Dee's dolls with them and Frank would be over the moon. We would pan out, through the front door of Paddy's, still able to hear the gang rejoicing and bickering, only now from a distance. The last thing we would see is Paddy's sign, old and decrepit as ever, never to change, as the gang's arguing begins to fade out, transitioning into the final end credit theme.

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heartthrobin · 10 months

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making merry, oh my little fairy (2)

sam winchester x fairy!reader

wc: 5.3k

warnings: soulmate!au (partners share scars), fem!reader, implied age gap (reader is early 20's), hella pining, tooth-rotting fluff, destiel is canon, town being mean to reader, some shaky police jargon, references to thick reader (everyone cheered) but can be ignored, dean being dean, canon-typical warnings (child kidnapping, violence ect.)

an: part 2 of my little fairy series! it's been sitting in my drafts for weeks and part 1 was pretty unpopular so i've been hesitant to post it but then i realized i write for myself and not for recognition! so enjoyyyyy. remember to comment and repost to support your favourite writers :)

summary: you flew around Sam's mind with your pretty little wings all night and all day, it doesn't help that you're popping up around every corner of this case. he's trying not to think about it.

part one part three part four

They'd sat in the car parked out front maybe longer than they should have. Sam noticed you peak through the curtain at the twenty minute mark, he only noticed because he could feel your curious gaze.

It disturbed him enough to allow Dean to fly down the neighbourhood road noisily at too many miles an hour.

Naturally, sleep became a stranger.

Dean was long passed out on the questionably lumpy motel bed and Sam was still at the desk. The white light off his laptop made his eyes itch.

A dryad is a tree nymph, commonly inhabiting oak trees, and generally born into the form of beautiful women. Many dryads were considered to be originally human or children of the nature Gods and it is widely believed that they take on the physical characteristics of the trees they protect.

Your eyes returned to him again, if not for the hundredth time that day. The way the greenery reflected off of them at him. The strength of your legs, how they were wide and grounding like the tree that engulfed your house. Your movements, your walk, how you floated like how the leaves shivered in the forest beyond your garden walls.

Sam had given considerable thought to his soulmate, as most people did.

He was turning thirty-one in a few months time and it had occurred to him that maybe you were on the other side of the world. Maybe you were dead. But people had warned him that he'd know if that were true. He'd feel it, like a gaping wound in his soul.

Castiel had appeared to Dean in a flash of light. In a heroic swoop of love, and Sam thought maybe that could happen to him too.

His thumb was warm where it ran over the scar down his arm.

He wondered if you thought the same.

If you dreamed of his arrival the way he'd dreamed of yours.

It was a silly thing, to dream of meeting your true love. Far too trivial in the life of someone like Sam Winchester when the fate of the world, of good versus evil and heaven versus hell was always in the palm of his hand.

But your figure was burned into his corneas like a blinding torch.

It scared him. Not an easy feat for the man who'd seen it all.

Sam had asked Dean a few years back.

Can someone live without their soulmate?

Dean had shrugged. "Sure, plenty of people do."

Sam had sunk back another sip of his beer at the time, they were somewhere in Florida.

"What if they'd already met them? Can they decide that they don't want to be with them?"

Dean chuckled at that. "I doubt that works out very often."

It was already long after Dean had met Castiel. Long after he'd survived his "my soulmate is an angel and a man what the fuck--" stage.

"What makes you say that? I'm sure some people have a strong enough willpower."

Dean had answered him by referencing some movie, one that Sam knew he loved and it took a bit of pestering for Dean to admit he knew the quote by heart.

He'd blushed nearly red and shrugged, accompanying it by another long slug of his beer.

"It's like at the end of the movie--" When Harry Met Sally, specifically, "When they're at that New Years party and Billy Crystal goes up to Meg Ryan and gives that whole speech, and he says that line."

Sam was grinning by then. "What line?"

Like he hadn't seen the movie enough times to know.

"You know, he when says ... when you realise you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

Sam had long made peace with the fact that even if you did ever come around, that it would be better to leave you be. To leave you in the safety of a life different to his own.

At least he had.

In the slim hours since leaving your doorstep he'd found himself choking over the thought of never seeing you again. Of his eyes never laying again on your face that gazed so happily up into his own, like you felt his warmth in a cold winter.

He was plagued, possessed, by the thought of never knowing more.

Never knowing the way you liked your tea, how you looked first thing in the morning, or worse, how your lips would feel slow and warm against his own.

He wanted to know your favourite song, and your worst fear. He wanted to know where you came from, how you found Fernglade, Washington. What's your favourite book, do you like to read? Would you like it if he read to you instead? Maybe you would, you'd be tucked against his side in bed and he'd tell you about his favourites. His favourite movies and the way he drinks his coffee and the shampoo he used. Maybe you'd play with his hair, braiding little flowers into the ends--

Sam groaned. His face fell into his hands.

This wasn't supposed to be happening. Not now.

But he supposed there would never be an adequate time for your arrival.

And god, you weren't even human.

Cross species soulmates weren't impossible - improbable, sure (about as much as being hit by lightening) - but not impossible.

It was only Sam's luck, the Winchester's luck, that they'd both been struck.

Castiel was an angel, but the concept seemed to fade off Dean quickly at the time.

Dean himself had been little help on the matter during the blurry drive back to the motel. "Hey. I mean, all things considered, fairy sex must be crazy."

Sam closed the tab on Dryads: A Modern Day Delve into Greek Mythology. Another page blinked up at him.

When the sun was still setting and Dean was still seated across from him, he had managed to do some work.

It distracted him, barely, but he managed to somewhat narrow the list of potential suspects.

The filters helped. Creatures that steal children. Creatures that live in the woods.

In all the webpages and in some text from John's journal he'd found a common thread. A thinly veiled one, but a lead regardless.

Goblins are generally found living in communities in burrows of forests across Western America. They are known to be mischievous and malignant spirits which often feed on small animals or easy prey and hunt during the warmer months before hibernating in Winter.

Children are easy prey, Sam thought.

Some subspecies were believed to be able to shift into the form of naughty children and sneak into nearby villages to prey on young humans.

It was the last thing his eyes ran over before he slipped the laptop shut. He crawled to the bed, wishing more than anything that his mind would cut him a break, before sliding under the sheets: seeking respite from the crisp autumn Washington

"Rise and shine, Sammy."

The hangers reeled noisily against the rod where Dean had ripped open the curtains and the stark light brought Sam to gasping consciousness.

Sam pulled the pillow up over his face, grumbling into it.

He made out the sound of Dean setting a coffee mug on the side table.

"What time did you get to sleep?"

Answered by another indiscernible whine, Dean sunk into the chair at the tiny table in the room. "Fine, fine ... but did you find anything helpful? Besides fairy porn probably."

It earned him a well-aimed smack in the face with a pillow.

Dean laughed jovially, "Okay, okay."

Sam rose up into a sitting position with a moan. He ran a hand over his face, the other grappling for the already cooling coffee mug on the table.

"Goblins." He muttered around the rim.

Dean paused his own sip, face falling into incredulity.

"Did you just say "goblins"?"

Sam nodded. He didn't elaborate.

"Listen, I know it's a conversation you probably don't wanna have ... but are you sure we're ruling out your little garden fairy from this equation? I mean, it really doesn't look good for her--"

"You're right. I don't want to have this conversation."

Dean shrugged. He fiddled with the coffee mug against his hand.

"It's not her." Sam added quietly.

Nodding slowly, Dean watched his brother with tentative eyes. "Have you thought about that? What you're gonna do?"

Sam rose from the bed, stripping off his shirt. "I don't know man. I don't even think she knows."

It had been a thought that occurred to him at some point in the previous night, that you didn't know. That it was probably selfish to keep it to himself.

"Right, well anyway," Dean reached into the tupperware you'd gifted them the previous afternoon. He'd already cleared out his own and was starting on a pastry from Sam's box. "I was thinking we should go speak to the third vic's mom. Kelly Williams. We haven't spoken to them yet and maybe they can tell us more."

Sam nodded. "Sure. You got an address?"

"No, but she's working a stall at..." Dean picked up a leaflet from the table that Sam assumed he'd found on his coffee run before he was up, "The Fernglade Sunday Market. We can find her there."

"Fine."

He disappeared into the bathroom, Dean heard the shower turn on.

"And you can tell me about this goblins story on the way there!" He called after him.

The door slammed shut.

"So you think goblins are coming into town and stealing kids out their back yards?"

The morning was warm and the market made it more so. It was out on a farm a couple roads down from the boys' motel.

There were little set-up stalls as far as he could see over lush green grass, selling cakes and jewellery and home-made soaps. Couples strolled hand-in-hand and children chased their parent's ankles.

Sam shrugged. "I mean yeah, it makes sense. Dad mentioned about the trees, Y/n mentioned about the forest too."

Dean nodded, his eyes rolling over the scenery. "Sure, but goblins? I've never heard of that anywhere, I mean, how do you even kill it?"

"Them." Sam corrected. "They live in groups."

Dean sighed. "Well that's gonna be fun."

Somewhere down the row, a man was singing behind a set up microphone with a guitar in his lap. A small crowd had formed to watch him.

Sam's stomach had begun churning with that feeling that made his organs feel like jelly again. He shrugged against the collar of his shirt.

"Right, well, there's Kelly Williams' stall." Dean glanced again down at the pamphlet, "Rings and Things ... how creative--"

But Sam's eyes had found on another stall. One further down from Kelly Williams', a little set-up of vases and stain glass sculptures. Rather ... they found the woman standing in front of it.

Of course it was you.

Standing against the breeze in another, unsurprisingly, light green dress. It was ruffled and shimmering and glittery and short. It made Sam's airways tighten to a shut.

You seemed intent on avoiding wearing anything that draped any further than just over the curve of your ass, and Sam prayed to anyone listening that it would stay that way.

"Sammy?"

Dean's face shrunk in confusion, he followed his brother's line of sight. He began to laugh, clearly finding you, and jostled Sam with a hand on his shoulder. "Well, isn't this just your luck."

Sam was sucking in deep breaths again. Dean shoved him in the side.

"Go talk to her, I'll speak to Mrs Williams."

Jumping back into semi-consciousness, Sam shook his head, "No, no, it's fine. We'll go--"

"Stop being a baby, Sam." Dean shrugged him off. "You're gonna have to talk to her eventually. And I hope you do a better job than you did yesterday, because that was a train-wreck."

"Thanks."

But Dean's figure was already retreating.

"Asshole." Sam muttered under his breath.

Eyes found you again, they strained against the sunlight. He could make out your face from where he stood: it was twisting, falling into a creased brow that Sam didn't like the look of.

His legs began moving before he had chance to instruct them and it only took a couple paces of his long structure to find your side, heart thumping violently in his ears.

Your eyes lifted from the table, there was an elderly lady sitting in the shade of the cover and looking unimpressed.

"Sam." You smiled up at him and he swore in that second he could listen to you saying his name forever on repeat and never grow bored. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Hey." He sighed, it was louder than he anticipated and he could feel his cheeks growing warmer. "W-What are you doing here?"

You stuttered, "Well, I was just looking at this cute little crocodile--"

His eyes found where your hand was motioning over the woman's table. He was unsurprised to find it littered with stained-glass sculptures of animals. Lions and fish and elephants among others.

But the woman interrupted before you could find the end of your sentence.

"I don't sell to kidnappers."

Her elderly face was curled up in disgust. Sam was taken aback by her directness.

He was more taken aback by your polite smile at her.

"That's fine. I'll be on my way." You nodded kindly, looking back up to Sam. "Wanna take a walk?"

Sam's bones had begun aching with fury in the small seconds since he'd arrived. His brow-bone was heavy set against his eyes.

He glanced over at the crocodile you'd referenced. It was about the size of a shoebox, glassy in bottle green tones and grinning a mouthful of sharp teeth up at him. He could already see it sitting happily on a spot between your books and photo frames, maybe up on the mantle above your fireplace.

Brushing softly against your elbow with his hand, a movement that sent a stone cold shiver up his whole body, he shook his head. "Just one sec--"

He turned to the woman, sticking his finger in the direction of the lifeless creature.

"I'd like to buy that crocodile please."

"Oh, Sam, you don't have to--"

But the woman was unmoved, "No. I'm not selling anything to anyone associated with her."

She stuck a shaking finger in your direction and Sam suddenly wanted to rip the stall to pieces.

"We should just go..." Your voice was small and he fought hard against pulling your frame into his side.

Instead, he reached into his jacket pocket for his FBI identification: flipping it out into the daylight for the woman to see. Her eyes widened behind thinly framed spectacles.

"I said I'd like to buy that crocodile." His voice was stern, heavy laden with his trembling aggravation. "How much is it?"

The woman's face flickered between emotions, before settling on vexation. "Forty dollars." She mumbled.

"I'm sorry?"

"Forty dollars." She replied more clearly, face turning red in embarrassment.

Sam slipped away his badge and dug for his wallet in his pocket, he flipped between the notes and handed her two twenty dollar bills. The woman was quiet while she wrapped the creature, avoiding your and Sam's eyes in the process.

She handed it over with a scathing, "Get away from my stall."

"With pleasure." He turned to you, your face was a cherry red shade. "I'll take you up on that walk."

You stepped away, offering a small sheepish "thanks" to the woman scowling at your and Sam's retreating figures.

"Here." He handed you the crocodile gently, and you took it with tentative hands. "Get a lot of that?"

But you shrugged off his question, grabbing for your purse. "You really didn't need to do this, Sam. Let me just pay you--"

Sam stopped, taking your forearm into his hand - the tingle it sent up his body again didn't go amiss - and he huffed. "Please, please. Don't. It's a gift."

The sun was shining off your dress and it made your face seem lighter. "Sam, really, I can't ask you to--"

"Please?"

You paused, lashes blinking carefully up at him and god he could really kiss you right there--

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

Smiling again, easing the tightness in Sam's chest, you nodded. "Fine."

You held the crocodile up to your face, "What are we gonna name him?"

"We?" Sam laughed and you laughed back at him.

"Sure, he's ours now." You tucked it under your arm again.

Ours. He was fragmentally taken away with the thought of something belonging to them, to us. A house, a couch, a dog (or a fox if that's what you wanted)--

"Anyways, where's the other one?"

Sam was brought back to the conversation.

"Oh, uh, Dean?" his eyes grazed over the stalls, pointing over to where Dean was talking with the tall Kelly Williams behind a tray of seashell necklaces. "Talking to one of the victims."

"Right, I almost forgot." You fiddled with your bag over your shoulder. "He decided whether he's killing me yet?"

His mouth tilted teasingly. "What makes you think that I've decided I'm not here to kill you?"

You shrugged, teeth flashing in a gut-wrenchingly beautiful smile. "Well, you bought me this, and ... you don't seem the type."

"The type?"

"Nah, you're too sweet on me already."

Sam's stomach did a somersault in his chest. "I--"

"Besides, you couldn't do it here. Too much blood, too many witnesses ..."

Sam's hair flicked over his shoulder where he tossed his head back to laugh. "Right. You've thought about the logistics already."

"Sure have." You nodded. "Any headway on the kids?"

"Some." He shrugged. "There's this fairy--"

"Dryad."

"--living in this petting zoo in this cottage on the outskirts of town..."

"Fine." You conceded. "I won't ask."

"No, but we have--"

"Ah, look at you two. Getting along like a house on fire."

Sam hadn't noticed his brother's approaching footsteps. Dean clapped a jolly hand over his brother's arm.

You smiled in greeting. "Good morning Dean."

He nodded. "'Morning Tinkerbell."

"Dean."

Chuckling you nodded. "Good one. Haven't heard that before."

The sun was hot on Sam's shoulders, Dean was making it hotter with his conspicuous side eye.

"What's that you got there?" He motioned over the figure under your arm.

You lifted it up proudly, "It's my crocodile. Sam got it for me. The lady wouldn't sell it to me."

"Oh, Sam got it for you, huh?" Dean smirked, relishing in the admission.

"Yep."

The glitter in your eye was making Sam's knees buckle.

"W-We should get going ..." He shifted from his one leg to the other. "Work to do ... and stuff."

"Right," you agreed, fixing the strap over your shoulder again. "I should also head home, not very welcome 'round here anyways."

Confusion glazed briefly over Dean's face but he said nothing on it.

"Yeah, stuff to do." He nodded.

You began your walk past them, finding Sam's gaze. "Thanks again, Sam. I'll see you boys around."

His eyes followed you where your crystals were clinking around your neck. "Yeah. No problem."

Barely out of your earshot, Dean turned to Sam. "A crocodile, huh?"

"Shut up."

It wasn't another two days before Sam saw you again.

The boys dove head first back into research, Mrs Kelly Washington hadn't much more to add beyond the fact that she heard another child's voice in the moments before her daughter's disappearance.

"I mean, there was some mention in the lore about goblins being able to turn into kids. Naughty ones at that."

Dean sighed over his bar-top lunch. He took another swig of beer.

"Okay, so what, these ... goblins are coming into town as children and grabbing the kids from their yards? Maybe they'd met somewhere before then, at school or the park?"

Sam shifted the salad around his plate, bored. "Yeah, maybe."

There was a depressingly thin amount of information in John's journal on goblins and the website lore was too broad to even begin sifting through it before another child was taken.

"Well we know that eight kids are taken each time, right?"

Nodding, Sam took an unenthusiastic bite of tomato.

"That means there's still two kids to be taken. I mean, there's only been six victims and autumn is two weeks away from ending, if the story is true that they hunt before winter."

The boy's didn't have to wait long. They were less than an hour clear of the dilapidated bar they'd stopped in for lunch when the call came over the police monitor in the car.

"Units, this is dispatch. We have a suspected 134 at 98 Calvary, requesting assistance."

Code 134. Kidnapping.

Dean found Sam's eye across the front seat before taking a screeching turn into the next street.

Cavalry road was just a few streets down and the scene was as they'd expected. Burning red and blue cop cars littered the street and Dean pulled the Impala into a space between them.

There was a scuffle of officers, in the corner of the driveway a man holding a sobbing woman to his chest. The parents.

Dean and Sam flashed their badges at the nearest deputy.

"What's the situation?"

The officer huffed, tightening his grip on either side of his belt. "We think the kid was taken, Frankie Moore. Disappeared about two hours ago, the parents only called in the last twenty minutes. They thought he'd just run off."

Dean nodded and Sam watched over the scene around him.

"Any witnesses?"

The cop shook his head, Taylor, his badge read. "None. Right out the backyard, just like the others."

"Did the parents see anything, hear anything?" Sam pressed.

"Not from what we can gather from them right now, they're pretty out of shape." Taylor motioned back to where the Mrs Moore was desperately pushing out sentencing between racking sobs. "But we've got a suspect, they're out fetching them right now."

Dean glanced over the officer, "A suspect?"

Sam's hands were starting to itch. He twisted them against his the cuffs of his sleeve.

"Yeah, neighbour saw them out in the forest about an hour ago. Called it into dispatch. They never took it seriously until this call came in."

Somewhere behind them a short siren yelped from one of the cars.

"Did they have the kid or what?" Dean's face was laden with confusion, the story twisting around his brain.

"No, but they've been taken in on suspicion. Talk of the town and such." Taylor responded and Sam's heart sunk to his knees.

There was a click over the officer's radio. "Suspect is in custody."

He pulled it closer to his mouth, "Copy that."

Sam tugged up on the end of his sleeve, revealing his wrists in the afternoon light. They were turning a pinkish red. Handcuffs.

"Dean."

Dean's back stiffened at his brother's tone, eyes finding his wrists. He sighed. "You've got to be kidding me."

Sam's brain was turning muddy. "The suspect, is she a woman?"

Taylor nodded. "As far as I know, yes."

There was nothing else said.

Sam fled the scene as if the perpetrator himself. He flew into the passenger's seat with the force of an attacking bear.

Dean chased after him, slotting the key into the ignition: setting the car alight.

"Sam, I know what you're thinking--"

Houses flew past the car, streets and pedestrians, but Sam had no space to consider them.

"You don't know what I'm thinking."

But Dean was persistent, knuckles white around the wheel. "She's your ... your soulmate, I get that, but our leads are thin. Have you considered that she could really be doing this?"

The station came into view at the end of the road. Lights from the cars were flashing in Sam's eyes. His head spun.

"She's not a monster, Dean."

"But she is, Sam! She is! She's not a human."

Dean pushed down on the brake in front of the sheriff's station and Sam was out the car before it had fully pulled to a stop.

He threw the doors open. Officers were flocking around like seagulls over an abandoned hot dog.

Sam grabbed the arm of the nearest one, firm in his grip.

"The suspect, where is she?"

"Uh, they've just moved her to--"

The doors swung open again behind him and the rumbling of the station was overpowered by a loud low whine. It was followed by an equally distressed yelp.

Sam turned to find a row of officers, leading one after the other like ducks, each with a rattling metal cage of a different animal. Your animals.

Goose was yipping wildly in the confines of the box. A woman holding Lydia followed him. They come in procession: the rabbits, the ferrets, the ducks, the budgies.

"What the fuck!" An officer close to the door jumped out the way where Lydia hissed angrily at him from between the bars.

"No, please!"

Sam spun on his heel. His hands felt heavy with helplessness. It was your voice, echoing across the station and reverberating in his brain.

"Please, just leave them! They're not gonna hurt anyone. I haven't done anything--"

His feet chased after the sound. Sam found a long corridor near the back of the room, there were two officers tugging on either of your arms. Your eyes were bouncing wildly between each of the officers where they disappeared into the evidence room with your pets.

Your gaze found his own. "Sam!"

"Y/n." He was bounding down the corridor, long stretches of leg, but the officers were adamant in their grip.

"Sam, I promise I didn't-- it wasn't me. I swear--"

There was a loud huff and a heave and you stumbled backwards into a closed holding cell. Your hands wrapped between the bars.

"I know," Sam was breathless. "I know you didn't--"

Suddenly there was hands on his chest. "Sir, you need to get out of here."

"I need to speak with her--"

"Sir you can't do that. You need to speak to the sheriff."

Sam's chest was rumbling with a frenzied desperation. He couldn't pull his eyes off the fragments of your figure behind the bars.

The officers shoved him again. "Sir--"

He ripped himself off their grip, hair flushed back against his reddening face and he turned back down the corridor.

Dean was already at the sheriff's desk.

"--suspicious behaviour--"

"What the hell is going on?" Sam's voice rumbled across the room. "On what basis are you holding her?"

The sheriff was a small man and he looked smaller under Sam's furious stature.

"It's like I was telling your partner here, agent," He was patting a handkerchief over his balding head. "Y/n Y/l/n is being held on the basis of suspicious activity."

"What exactly is your definition of suspicious activity?"

The sheriff shrugged, "Well we got a call in of her roaming around the forest--"

Sam could feel his fists tightening at his sides, "What are people not allowed to go into the forest in this town or does that make them all kidnappers? You have no evidence--"

"Sammy, calm down." Dean's hand found Sam's chest but he shrugged him off.

"Release her. Right now."

But the sheriff shook his head. "Unfortunately, not even FBI have the power to do that. State's laws say she can be detained for 12 hours pending investigative procedures."

"Investigative procedures--?"

By then, Dean had him by the arm. "Okay, okay. Let's go cool off--"

He tugged Sam towards the door, surprising both himself and Dean by allowing him to do so successfully.

The cool dusk air rushed over his face. Sam took a deep breath.

"They have no evidence, Dean--"

"I get that, but you need to calm down. You're not helping the situation by threatening the sheriff."

An officer passed them with another cage. Three hedgehogs.

Sam ran a hand over his face. He took a deep breath.

"You don't even believe she's innocent, Dean."

There was quiet for a long moment.

Sam fell into a bench bolted against the side of the building. His hands found his face again. After a moment, Dean crouched into the spot beside him.

"Look." He sighed. "If you believe her, I believe you. Alright?"

Sam's eyes were watching his shoes. He nodded, only half believing his brother's claim.

They sat like that for nearly an hour with evening settling over Fernglade around them and the autumn crisp seeping into their suits.

After a long resounding silence, one that had stretched on past Dean's wide yawn, Dean rose to his feet.

"Sammy, we should go home. Get some headway on this goblins angle."

At that, Sam shook his head. "I'm gonna stay."

"What, until she's out?"

"Yeah."

Dean's eyes were dripping in pity and it made Sam's blood boil.

"That's--" he raised his watch into his eyeline, "She's still got another ten hours. It's only six o' clock now."

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"Sam--"

"Dean."

Another cold silence.

Sam pressed his hair back with a wide hand, conceding. "Look, I'm sorry. But I'm gonna stay. You head back to the motel, do some work and get some sleep. I'll be fine."

Dean considered him, but he made no further argument and Sam thought momentarily it was maybe because he knew he couldn't budge him in the same argument with Cas.

"Alright. Fine." Dean nodded, tugging his jacket closer against the cold. "I'll see you in the morning."

Sam watched his brother's retreating figure all the way until the Impala had disappeared down the next street before going to stand.

The doors swung open with a whine, the station had cooled to a quieter buzz than when he'd first burst in. The sheriff had disappeared into an office off in the corner of the room.

Finding the nearest officer, Johnson, behind a short wooden desk, Sam approached him.

Officer Johnson glanced warily up at him from the papers he'd been filling out. He'd probably been witness to his first outburst.

"Uhm," Sam cooled his voice to a deferential timber. "The animals at the back, what's gonna happen to them?"

The officer set his pen down, "Well I'm doing the paperwork on them now. They'll be released if and when she does."

"If?"

He shrugged, "Yeah, if they don't find anything they'll let her go. Only got twelve hours."

Sam shifted his weight, running his eyes over the station. Somehow it was colder inside than the bench he'd just abandoned.

"Right."

The image returned to him again of your tiny green dress, the satin sleeves that reached down over your arms - he wondered for a moment if you wore them to cover all his scars - and the shiny ends that left your legs a prize for the bite of the freezing air that nipped at him even through all his layers.

He dug his hands into his coat pocket, pulling out his badge and his wallet and his phone to slip them into his pant pockets. Then he shrugged out the jacket.

Sam held it out to the officer. "Would you mind giving this to her?"

The officer took it with tentative hands, he gave it a glance over but made no move to stand.

"There's nothing in it." Sam huffed. "It's freezing in here, and unless you want her to die of hypothermia before morning, I suggest you do what I've asked."

He was considering it, Sam could tell by how his eyes flickered over the office door behind which the sheriff was hiding, but eventually elected to stand.

"Fine."

comment and repost if you enjoyed <3

taglist:

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ecoamerica · 1 month

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youtube

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

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rivalriotrenegade · 10 months

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Nikto x Reader

@oleworldblues Saw your post saying there needs to be more Nikto content and I got you! So hope you like this, it's not the best but it's what I got!

Side Note: Nikto has a form of D.I.D and often refers to himself as “we” which is why it’s written like that in the story.

About: Nikto x GN reader. This one was written in about 20 minutes and edited in 5 so it’s kind of sloppy, but still sweet. Not my best work lol. The story is just you calling him pretty. Also the use of “Andre” which is going to be his actual name in the story.

Warnings: CHEEEEEEEESY to the MAX! Also some slightly toxic behaviors. Nikto went through a lot and hurt people hurt people, but basically he tries to use his height to ever so slightly intimidate reader for like .05 seconds. Also descriptions of kissing? Is that a warning?

Summary: Nikto does not think he’s beautiful, if anything he thinks he’s the exact opposite. It had taken well over a year of dating before he was comfortable enough to show you his face. After seeing him maskless for the first time you began to call him “My pretty boy” He hated it at first. Honestly he thinks you’re trying to be cruel. After a while of bottling it up he finally explodes.

It was about 10:30 at night and you're just starting to make some late night spaghetti. You knew he had a rough few weeks with KorTac and thought it’d be nice for him to have a home cooked meal. You had just put the hamburger into the sauce and realized you needed something to stir it with. “Hey pretty boy, can you pass me the spatula?” You ask.

You're caught off guard when Nikto, who had been quiet most of the night, suddenly explodes. “Don’t call me that! I am not pretty!” He snarls. You cock your head to the side not sure where all this anger is coming from. “But I think you’re pretty. Are you telling me that my opinion is wrong?” You question.

“You’re lying! You’re lying! Do NOT lie to us!” He hisses, stepping into your space caging you between him and the counter, purposely looming over you, trying to make you back down. His eyes are wide, wild. He’s looking at you like he doesn’t know you. Your own eyes soften. It’s not the first time something like this has happened. “Oh Andre.” You say slowly reaching up to cup his face. Nikto flinches back slightly before letting you touch him. You gently caress his face. “I’m not lying. Have I ever lied to you?” You ask.

Nikto hesitates for a moment taking deep breaths trying to ground himself before whispering out a hoarse “no.” He pauses before continuing his voice cracking, “But I can’t be pretty.” You cradle his face in your hands and carefully pull him down so you’re almost eye to eye. “But you are.” You say. “You are the most beautiful person I know. You have gone through some horrible things and you survived. To me these scars are proof of how strong you really are. There a reminder that you came back alive, so how could I think that they'd be anything less than beautiful?”

Nikto stares at you, his eyes unreadable. He stares at you until it’s just bordering in to the territory of being uncomfortable and then before you even know what was happening, he’s kissing you. Usually his kisses are rough and dominating, but this one is desperate. He’s kissing you like this is the last time he’ll ever see you. His hands grip at your hips, fingers digging into your flesh, determined to keep you there.

He sucks on your bottom lip and when you part them he shoves his tongue into your mouth. He’d never admit it, but you swear you hear him whine against you. His movements are frantic, feverish. Like any space between the two of you needs to be all but eradicated. When he pulls back your both left breathless and panting.

He then pulls you into his arms and buries his face in your neck. “I love you.” He breaths. You smile, rubbing his back up and down to sooth him. “And I love you too, my pretty boy.”

(You swear you feel him cling to you a little tighter)

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chuuyrr · 1 year

Note

If it isn’t too big of a request what if like Akutagawa was taken hostage by an enemy as bait to lure in the PM and I know Akutagawa can easily break free but this particular enemy has a member with an ability similar to Dazai’s meaning they can nullify someone’s ability just very differently.

Scarlet Witch! Reader upon hearing (Aku and reader are together) this goes on a rampage and drag Dazai off his ass to help them with rescuing Aku since Dazai’s ability will cancel out that other persons ability. Reader does most of the killing as some members were assigned to guard the prison Aku was in and Reader goes like “You want my lover, you’re gonna have to fcking kill me!”

basically this scene from Helluva Boss

when akutagawa gets taken away from his scarlet witch! s/o

bungo stray dogs x scarlet witch! reader

masterlist of the series

╰➤ CW(s): spoilers for bungo stray dogs, reference to wanda maximoff in multiverse of madness + wandavision, detailed fight scenes and mentions of blood

╰➤ PAIRING(s): akutagawa ryunosuke

╰➤ SYNOPSIS: in which the akutagawa ryunosuke is taken in as a hostage and bait by the enemy organization lure the port mafia, but they have no idea that in doing so, they're also luring in the port mafia's scarlet witch, who just so happens to be the black-fanged hellhound's darling.

╰➤ SONG SUGGESTIONS(s): ...ready for it? by taylor swift

"they.. fucking.. what?!"

port mafia executive nakahara chuuya recoiled at your harsh tone of voice as mori and his other subordinates when koyou ozaki reported that akutagawa had been kidnapped by the enemy organization.

even mori was taken aback by your sudden outburst, knowing how calm and collected you usually were and how you were never hostile. this was the first time they'd seen you snap and break as you always spoke softly and were very polite.

"[surname]-chan, put everything back down," mori sighed, shaking his head as he stared at you, unfazed by the pieces of papers and other furniture that were already floating in the air as they glowed red with your fingertrips twitching with agitation as an ominous pressure wafted in the atmosphere.

"[name], you heard the boss," your mentor, chuuya, exclaimed as he placed a hand on your shoulder, "i'm just as pissed as you are, alright? take it easy."

"how am i supposed to calm down when he's out there gravely injured and was taken in as a hostage to bait the port mafia in?" you raged, your eyes now furiously glowing red.

chuuya sighed, wondering if his temper and arrogance had rubbed off on you as you scoffed and glared at him before stopping your red psionics from making things float in the air with zero gravity out of rage. well, you were his subordinate, and possibly his younger sibling, given that he was only four years older than you and that you shared a brotherly bond with him.

"i understand how much akutagawa means to you, [surname]-chan," said mori, clasping his hands together, "but you must not let your emotions get the best of you."

despite mori's and your mentor's words, you were so consumed by rage that their words merely passed from one ear to the other.

you couldn't sit still as mori discussed what needed to be done with you and chuuya, but you already had other plans as you twitched and cracked your fingers, which they found uncannily similar to dazai, especially kouyou when dazai threatened her once.

"what are you doing, kiddo?" chuuya asked, raising a brow as red wisps of psionic energy oozed from your fingertips.

"i'm going to find.. and i'm going to kill every.. last one of them," you murmured as you stood up from your seat, your red glowing eyes boring into mori's with a death threat.

with that, you abruptly left the office, swinging the doors open with your red psionics as you extended your hands.

"o-oi! [name]! where the hell are you going?!" exclaimed your mentor, "[name]!"

chuuya rose from his seat to pursue you, but was abruptly stopped by mori. he said, blinking as he spoke calmly, "there's no need for that, chuuya. i was going to send [surname]-chan to get akutagawa and bring those fools to their knees anyway,"

"that damned kid.. tch, does [name] even realize the illuminati has a member with the equivalent ability to dazai's ability?" scoffed chuuya, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"i believe in [surname]-chan, so you should as well. after all, you're the mentor," mori smiled, almost sinisterly. "and for another thing, [surname] [name] isn't the port mafia's scarlet witch for nothing, chuuya-kun," he reasoned.

it was exactly what mori had in mind.

there was only one person you were going to approach in order to get akutagawa back.

you learned earlier in koyou's report that the illuminati, the enemy organization, had an ability user capable of nullifying any ability, which is why akutagawa was taken in, but the conditions are unknown, unlike this ability user you knew who does the same thing but with physical contact.

you wouldn't risk going after akutagawa and tbe illuminati empty-handed if you weren't certain that your chaos magic and other set of abilities wouldn't be nullified, whereas the one you were familiar with truly wouldn't.

inside the agency office, atsushi and the other detectives were taken aback, wincing at the sound of their door swinging open by red psionics pushing it.

they were all taken aback when they saw a familiar figure, you, to be exact, dressed in a dark red leather coat—the scarlet witch of the port mafia—standing in the door frame, hands extended out.

as you walked inside, or more accurately, stomped, the heels of your boots clicked against the pavement, everyone stood up. they could feel an ominous aura radiating from your body and couldn't move, but dazai osamu simply sat in his seat, legs propped over his desk, arms behind his head, headphones on, singing with his eyes closed.

you sighed at dazai and flicked your hand, using your red psionics to take his headphones, jolting him back to reality, prompting him to exclaim, "oi, what gives—ack!"

but dazai came to a halt when his shirt collar was yanked upwards, forcing him to rise from his comfortable sitting position, which was now floating mid-air as your red psionics took hold of him.

"well, if it isn't [name]-chan?" dazai's eyes widened slightly at the sight of you, blinking as he tilted his head to the side, "what brings you to the detective agency?" a small smile rose on his lips.

everyone was taken aback by how unaffected dazai was by your presence, and how casual he was with you—he even knew your name.

you scoffed at his friendly smile. you still don't understand how this man managed to leave the port mafia and live a renewed life as if he hadn't been a monster who made your boyfriend's life a living hell in the past, but as much as you hated it, you needed him to help you.

as you heard weapons being unsheathed, you hardened your gaze and flicked your other hand up. at that moment, kunikida's gun and yosano's machete were yanked from their grasps, as was kyouka's blade, which she whipped out as she summoned demon snow to her side.

you glared at them all for a split second before shaking your head, snapping your fingers to drop the weapons to the ground as you turned back to dazai, speaking in a calm tone of voice and folding your arms across your chest, "i'm not here as your enemy, i'm here as a client."

"a client?" dazai held a baffled yet amused look across his face, "how interesting, [name]-chan."

"yes, your client," you confirmed, twisting your hand before dropping it to your side, releasing dazai's collar and allowing him to return to his seat, "and whether you like it or not, dazai, you're going to help me bring back someone."

"bring someone back.." dazai's eyes blinked at you for a moment before it dawned on him who you were referring to, "oh."

yes, of course. that would explain why you were practically blazing with rage.

"hmm, alright. i'll help you out, [name]-chan," dazai said with a smile, standing up from his seat and removing his headphones, "who am i to refuse a client in need of my assistance?"

"hey! you can't be serious about assisting a port mafia member, dazai!" kunikida exclaimed as he looked at you, "don't you remember the last time we took in a client and it turned out to be an ambush?!"

"i'm confident of assisting our client this time, and besides, if [name]-chan really wanted to, we would have been hurt by now," dazai explains with a sigh, shoveling his hands into the pocket of his brown coat, "the scarlet witch of the port mafia can kill in the blink of an eye."

with that, you turned your heel and walked out of the office, pushing the door open with your red psionics.

as you picked up dazai in the air again, dragging his ass with you, leaving kunikida and the rest of them speechless, wondering how and why in the world dazai was so eager to help you, and even more so casual with you.

you and dazai were on the way to where akutagawa was after he deduced where he and the enemy organization were after you gave him the information you obtained from the mafia. however, dazai asked you a question.

"you know what i don't get, [name]-chan?" dazai began, tapping his cheek with his index finger.

"what?" you asked, scoffing at dazai's familiarity in addressing you.

"why me? you do realize you have that hat rack as your mentor. hell, and your wiggly-woos too," dazai explained briefly, folding his arms across his chest and tilting his head as he stared down at you.

"because the illuminati has an ability user like you. they can nullify abilities and that's why ryunosuke—i mean—akutagawa was taken hostage," you explained to dazai, your eyes narrowing as you looked away, "and the thing is, i don't know if i can work through their ability like i can with yours. i don't know the conditions, and you're the only one who figured out their exact location."

"and how certain are you that i can nullify an ability user similar to mine to help you out?" dazai chuckled, raising a brow at you.

"because yours only requires physical contact, whereas the said ability user's must have a different condition, and in any case a singularity would occur," you sighed, looking up at him, "of course, you would know how to react quick."

"you sure have grown up, [name]-chan. the last time i saw you, you were still quite young, serious and introverted, practically fragile as a glass too," dazai commented, staring down at you with what appears to be a soft gaze that made you scowl, "but still cunning and intellective as ever, and even way back in the mafia, you were the only one with guts to talk like that to me, and it was real amusing."

"don't talk to me like you're that familiar with me. i am not happy to see you at all, dazai," you said bitterly as you and dazai came to a halt in front of the massive steel doors in a secluded forest area somewhere in yokohama.

"ughh, chuuya's attitude has rubbed off on you, [name]-chan. when you were little, you weren't even that hostile to me!" dazai grumbled, childishly pouting, "you're way meaner now!"

"shut the hell up before i take your mouth away!" you yelled, a nerve protruding on your temple from agitation.

you straightened your back and stared at the massive steel doors, shaking your head. you cast a quick glance over your shoulder at dazai, who was no longer acting childishly, but was instead glancing at you with a curt nod, signaling that he was indeed ready.

you extended your hands, blasting the steel doors open with your unrivaled red psionics. as soon as you did, you and dazai were met by a swarm of guards armed with firearms and katanas.

"well, this is unexpected. i was expecting more from the port mafia," the gifted said as he banged against the bars of the cell akutagawa was in, causing him to wake up fairly weakly, his half-lidded, hazy eyes meeting yours, "and you must be this hound's little darling too. well, that's bad, i plan on keeping him around like this."

for a brief moment, your eyes softened as you discovered your beloved in a cell somewhere in the place, battered and bruised, chained like a dog in the cell as the ability user you were expecting stood right in front of prison.

"yes, i'm his little darling alright," you said as dazai stood behind you as you stepped into action, tilting your head.

your [color] eyes then glowed red menacingly as you scowled with your calm voice rising into a higher, and harsher tone, "you want my lover? you're gonna have to fucking kill me!"

you extended your hand to the guards charging at you. with your red psionics, you blasted and tossed them in the air before slamming them to the ground, causing a crater to form and debris and soot to scatter as a result.

instead of simply using your magic to fight harder, you incorporated it into a skillful close hand-to-hand combat, which surprised dazai enough that his mouth was slightly parted.

a smirk crawled across akutagawa's bloodied and exhausted features as he looked at you proudly as you moved sharply with fast precision as your red psionics simultaneously blocked hits of bullets and blades aimed at you as you used them all against the guards.

you even mind-controlled one of the guards to decapitate himself before manipulating his corpse to fight alongside you against the rest of the guards. all the while, you were using him as a shield and didn't care if blood was gushing out from the blades piercing his abdomen and decapitated head.

it was morbid but impressive—so much so that dazai smirked. he had always seen you making the most of your long-range combat ability, but it appears chuuya, your mentor, has changed that drastically. your fighting style now resembled chuuya's.

you now discarded the body and attacked, expertly dodging the other guards by either sliding and ducking fast only to snap their necks or manipulating their bodies to finish each other off with their own weapons.

the enemy organization's ability user stiffened for a split second as you effortlessly crushed a man's skull with your red psionics. as blood splattered on your face, you remained unfazed.

you kept walking as another who was still alive tried to shoot you from among the bodies. however, his limbs twisted and bones broke instantly when you twisted your hand. the last guard screamed in agony as his body mangled and exploded in a burst of blood.

"you know, i would have crumbled by now if i were you in your shoes," dazai mocked the ability user at the end of the area who was standing right beside akutagawa's prison as he trailed after you from behind and laughed.

your eyes held no warmth or remorse. the illuminati member saw only one thing in you: a mindless killing machine of the port mafia with one goal in mind, and that was to get your lover back at any cost.

your aura reeked of bloodlust and enmity, and it was comparable to the boss of the port mafia.

"hell hath no fury like a belladonna scorned," declared dazai as he soundlessly moved right behind the ability user who was frozen in fear at the sight of you.

before the ability's conditions illuminati's member activated, which turned out to be marking the surroundings with glowing violet runes, dazai nullified it, and even if the singularity had caused him to cancel out his own as well, dazai was quick enough to grab his arm behind his back and force him to yield.

you came to a halt and tilted your head, your eyes glowing red as you stared at the man dazai was holding. a smirk crawled across your lips as you turned your heel and walked past akutagawa and dazai.

despite your desire to revel in the vulnerability and helplessness of the gifted was who possessed a similar ability to dazai, your priority was not him.

dazai watched the ability user stiffen up before his neck broke, which dazai assumed you killed him from inside his mind, and looking at it—it wasn't snapped. you literally broke it.

you made your way to the cage prison where akutagawa was and immediately used your magic to break the bars and chains on him. as soon as you did, you knelt down to akutagawa's slumped figure against the bars and began to mend his wounds and injuries, which he visibly flinched at given how strange it feels to be stitched up at the molecular level.

"i'm sorry. i know, it feels weird, but i have to," you exclaimed, your tone of voice now hushed and calm as you no longer bore an emotionless and monstrous look, "just hang on tight for me. okay, ryuu? look, even dazai is here."

"dazai?" akutagawa raised his head weakly to see the bandaged man in a brown coat now standing behind you, looming over you.

"you look like a mess," dazai said to akutagawa as he blinked at him, but he immediately let out a surprised yelp when yanked his hair using your red psionics, "ow! [name]-chan!"

"that's for ryuu," you said, your eyes slightly narrowed at dazai, before returning your gaze to akutagawa, who was now sitting up as his wounds and injuries healed.

"thank you," akutagawa said quietly in gratitude, and you smiled back, but he couldn't help but stare at you as you finished patching him up with your magic.

that's right. even if dazai was right there, akutagawa focus was on you; this is how you know akutagawa is truly in love.

you also knew that akutagawa wasn't one for hugs and physical contact, so you were doing your best not to fling yourself at him, especially since quality time and acts of service were more of his love language.

but that seemed to change just this once.

your eyes widened in surprise as akutagawa leaned in, wrapping his arms around you, his cold body warming up at the close distance between you two, unfazed by the soot and blood all over you. he was just as happy to be reunited with you as you are with him right now.

"ryunosuke.." you muttered in surprise before smiling and tightly embracing him back.

"it feels nice once in a while.." akutagawa held a smug look, chuckling as he glanced at you.

dazai smiled as he watched you and his former subordinate reunited. now, if there's one thing you have in common with him, it's the way akutagawa makes you feel alive and warm, bringing light to your eyes. it was the same thing he had witnessed after leaving the mafia.

however, it amused dazai to see how quickly you transition from a fearsome and terrifying force to be reckoned with to such a sweet and loving darling to akutagawa every single time.

[ author's notes ! for reference, i also used the delted scene of multiverse or madness wherein wanda was supposed to fight the masters of the mystic arts in hand to hand combat. i hoped you enjoyed reading this. thank you for requesting <3

p.s. ! i also added in a small detail in this writing, which is reader being chuuya's subordinate (again) but also his little sibling figure. i figured it'd only make sense because akutagawa used to be mentored by dazai, so you should have chuuya as your mentor lolol. that's all, bye-bye ! ]

[ join my taglist, perhaps ? @atomi-mi @anonymousewrites @magpiemissy @anqelically @96jnie @lovesick-fairy @soleelia @celestair @irethepotato @idunnomynamesince2005 @nianre @sigmasdarling @lenasvoid @achlysyo @youdidntseemehere21 ]

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writer-in-theory · 1 year

Text

TW: mentioned past homophobia (steve's dad), steve uses the q slur to refer to himself once (quoting his dad), this is a happy ending i promise y'all

When Steve sent the invitations, he never expected his parents to actually attend. He never expected them to actually see the envelopes, even. It had been a fleeting moment of impulsivity that had led to him sending them at all, figuring it would be better to get the hurt out of the way before the ceremony came and passed without either of the people who gave him life in attendance.

And yet, when the wedding ceremony was over and the party was starting, he saw her.

His mom.

She wasn't sitting in the front row of chairs where the rest of their family was. Eddie had tried to convince Steve not to leave two chairs open beside Wayne for his parents, but he needed to see it for himself. Those empty chairs needed to be front and center, a reminder that the only people worth caring about were the ones filling their assigned chairs. Steve's mom wasn't sitting in hers, but she was there, stood in the very back where Hopper was keeping watch over the whole thing, daring anyone who disagreed with the scene to get anywhere near them.

Maggie Harrington wasn't dressed as prim and proper as she could've been, the only way Steve had ever seen her. No, today she was in a simple sundress, hair flying wildly around her shoulders in a way that reminded him with painful clarity of where he'd gotten his appearance from. The same brunette waves, the same doe eyes now staring at him like she'd never seen anything so wonderful and terrible before.

Even as everyone got up from their chairs to convert the outdoor space into the after-party, she stayed at the edge of everything, exactly as she'd been on the fray of his life since he'd left Hawkins at 19 and never looked back.

"Go talk to her," Eddie spoke, notching his chin over Steve's shoulder from behind, wrapping his arms around his middle and interlocking his fingers over Steve's belly.

"I don't know what to say." Visions of the night he'd left flashed unbidden in Steve's mind—all the shouting from his dad, the crying from his mom, him begging his mom to say something, anything. Eddie picking him up from Robin's house after he'd called, promising they could go anywhere they wanted. They'd left for Chicago the same night, and Steve had never looked back.

"Hi is a good start," Eddie teased gently, pressing a kiss to Steve's jaw before stepping back from him. "You can do it. I'll be over with Gareth and the others when you're done."

It was Eddie's quiet support—his husband's support—that pushes Steve's feet to action. Before he could begin to think of what to say, he was standing in front of her. There was too much to say, nothing at all that could rise to his lips, so he said the first thing his mind could supply.

"You didn't RSVP."

His mom winced, hands raising then stopping, fingers clenching as though she physically stopped herself from touching him. "I know, Steven, I know. I'm sorry."

This was too much. It was all too much and Steve wished he'd never sent the invitation, that he'd just listened to Eddie's fucking advice because he always seemed to know Steve best, better than even himself. "Most people RSVP for events. It's the polite thing to do, proper etiquette and all. You taught me that."

"Steven, please," his mom tried again, voice wobbling enough that some of the anger began to leech out of him. And that, well that made him more angry. What right did she have to show up on the happiest day of his life? To choose now to make him confront everything he'd fought so hard to forget? "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for everything. I want my son back."

"It took you five years to realize you missed me? That's really great, Mom, we should really give you the Mother of the Year award for that one."

"Steven," his mom finally snapped, and again her expression could have mirrored his own, that familiar flash of uncontrollable anger and hurt across her eyes before it was reined back in to a disquieted coolness. "I am trying. I am doing the best thing I can to be the mother you needed back then."

"You think I wasn't trying?" Steve's voice was eerily calm, an even-tone that clashed loudly with the tears beginning to blur his vision. "Do you think I didn't spend my life trying to be the son you wanted so badly? I did everything perfect, exactly what you and Dad expected and it still wasn't enough. It would never be enough, not once you found out what I am, right? The sports were fine, and the friends, and even retaking my SATs so I could go to college, but none of it could ever make up for the queerness could it?"

"Steven, stop it," his mom begged, tears falling down her own face now. They were drawing a crowd in the way his fights used to in school. No one was outright staring, but all of them lingered nearby, ears turned to listen, eyes glancing by every so often to catch the scene. He'd like to think they were waiting for him, waiting to see if they needed to step in.

"Oh, I'm sorry, how could I forget Dad's exact words? It's fine if I don't act on it, if I find some woman I don't love and settle down. It's fine if I become like the two of you, marrying for reputation and making my kids fucking miserable."

That did it for his mom. He could see the moment the switch flipped, when the tears turned into something harder, more focused. "Steven, I did not come here to be berated. I came to apologize, for everything."

And that, well, that was new. Harringtons don't apologize.

"I shouldn't have let your father say all those things, I shouldn't have let you leave. I didn't...you can't understand, but I was scared," she tried, reaching out for his hand and wincing when he took a half-step back to evade her touch. "But losing you, not knowing where you were or if you were happy...that was the worst thing to ever happen to me, Steven."

"Good," Steve forced out through the tears, though he's not sure he believed it. He wasn't sure what he believed. "You should've said something then, not five years later."

"I know, I know that, and that is going to weigh on me for the rest of my life. But Steven, Steve, let me try again, please," his mom begged, and God he wanted to tell her to stop because Harringtons don't beg, they demand, but she kept going and going and it reminded him of himself. "It took me too long but...I got there. I'm here. I'm here, Steve, and I promise I'll try to be the mom you always deserved. I understand we can't get that time back, we can't have what it should've been from the beginning, but please, I want to see my baby's life."

Steve wanted to yell at her. He wanted to scream and throw something and tell her to get out. He wanted to spit every vile word he could come up with at her, to make her hurt the way his dad had made him hurt. And yet, this was everything he'd ever dreamed out, all those nights when he'd cried in Eddie's arms for his parents, for them to see the life he'd built for himself.

"I can't just..." Steve sighed, looking up to the sky as if the clouds might provide him with an answer. "I can't trust you, right away. I need time, Eddie'll need time he...he's pretty protective, you know."

"Good," his mom answered, pulling a small, tearful laugh out of Steve. "You deserve to have someone looking out for you like that."

"Do you..." Steve sighed, fighting the urge to mess with his hair lest Nancy kills him for it. He glanced to Eddie, seeing him with his chin tilted back as he laughed joyously across the space, hand gripped around a champagne glass. "Do you want to meet him?"

The smile that warmed his mother's expression was worth all of it. Steve had never seen her so open, so emotional. Maybe she really had changed, really come to every realization he'd wished she'd made five years ago.

"I'd like that very much."

It would take time. There would be good moments and bad, some where Steve wondered if any of it would work out and some where he'd laughed with his mom more than he ever had as a kid. Slowly, not-so-gracefully, they found a way to make it work. She came over for weekly dinners with him and his husband (who asked more than once if her pull in the Indiana statehouse could get them an official license), she called once a week and asked about his friends, his studies, the kids he worked with at his job.

And before Steve could even blink, he had his mom back.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #mrs harrington #steve x eddie #steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington ficlet #listen i'm not over mrs harrington not doing the best but trying her best #is this a projection onto one of my favorite characters MAYBE but thats noones business but mine #tw homophobia #stranger things #jay writes in theory #steddie ficlet #steddie headcanon

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vidavalor · 24 days

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Hey Vida, I have some milk chocolate sea salt caramels to share. *Passes the canister*

Have you written about this moment yet? I'm guessing it has come up but I can't recall specifics.

The time loop hypothesis that includes the idea that Crowley figures out what is happening and starts actively trying to influence things helps me understand why Crowley would say this - that he would despair after having been unsuccessful in every attempt he'd made to change the final outcome, to save Aziraphale's life. I know Crowley has some timey-wimey stuff going on generally, like his knowing the future and making all sorts of references to things that don't exist yet... I am very curious to know what you think Crowley's deal is and what is happening for him here.

...

Also, do you think Aziraphale knows from the beginning of S2 that he has fallen? I mean, the other angels refer to Aziraphale as a former angel and principality right to his face, don't they? I remember wondering about this the first time I watched the second series. I kept waiting for the show to clarify just what exactly Aziraphale's status was...

Well, this is a more oddly worded question than I remembered. One cannot simply be "a bit of" a fallen angel wtf game are you guys (gn) playing at? Leave that perfectly frosted cinnamon roll alone!

...

Also, I am still full of so much anticipation wondering what I asked you last time! I am positive it had to do with innuendo lol

Hello to you, my fave @iammyownproblematicfave! 💕I am SO sorry about the other Ask-- I determined you asked about the innuendo in the "very nice" scene & I'm going to whip you up a batch of etymology around the insanely complicated history of the word "nice." It got lost in my Drafts folder for a little while there and I overlooked it-- will remedy that shortly! Here's thoughts on these questions and thanks for asking.

On Crowley, time & "too late" and Aziraphale, fallen angels & heavenly rank under the cut.

First, time loop idea and Crowley's "too late" comments... So, anything is possible, right? That said, I don't think it's a time loop because I think there are scenes that explain why Crowley says "too late" at the end of that episode. I wrote about how it ties to unicorns & Wee Morag a bit in another post and I'll link it at the bottom of this one.

Basically, Crowley's anxious in that scene where he threatens Gabriel and then says that "it's always too late." Crowley's memory is iffy-- he admits as much to Gabriel later in S2-- and even if he was lying to Saraqael and/or Furfur about not remembering them, we know he struggles to recall all of his memories from when he was an angel. One memory that he felt confident about was the one he told Beez earlier in the season-- that The Book of Life is bunk that he and Beez made up to tease some of the more innocent angels. It is likely that this memory of Crowley's is correct. I say that because Beez seemed to think it possible when they heard it-- but then Beez felt like a fool at the thought that they'd been threatened by Heaven with something that didn't exist and that they themselves and Crowley made up. They doubled-down and insisted to Crowley that The Book of Life was real.

Crowley suddenly thought that Beez might be right because, hey, they'd run Hell for so long, they'd know more than he would, right? He starts to doubt his own recollection and he rushes back to the bookshop to help protect Gabriel as a way of protecting Aziraphale because he now is terrified that Aziraphale could be erased from existence if he is caught helping Gabriel. He doesn't want to tell Aziraphale that Beez reached out to him because he knows Aziraphale is sensitive about the fact that none of the angels have talked to Aziraphale in years and that their only source of intel is a demon with a thing for Crowley (Shax) so Crowley doesn't ever tell Aziraphale how scared he is about The Book of Life. Meanwhile, even though Gabriel is basically on their side now, Crowley can't exactly ask him if it's real or not because dude only knows Buddy Holly songs for basically the whole season lol.

So, in addition to worrying that Aziraphale is spiraling (because he is) and that helping Gabriel could mean that Aziraphale is risking his mental health and a fall, Crowley is also now terrified that Aziraphale could be made to have never existed. It's on his mind so much that he growls at Gabriel in that episode-ending scene that Aziraphale could be "risking his existence" for Gabriel and then muses about how it might be "too late-- it's always too late..." I don't think this is a time loop indication. I think it's a reference to other times Crowley has said "too late" in the past, like the unicorns and when Wee Morag died. It's about how it might be too late for him and Aziraphale and they might be running out of time and be on a collision course with death while not knowing it-- like how Elspeth never saw the fact that it was her last night with Wee Morag coming. It's Crowley's anxiety talking. Crowley thinks it's too late to turn back now because they're already helping Gabriel and Shax is sniffing around and they might be nearly out of time.

Crowley does have some time-related stuff happening in his story and the ability to control it but it seems to me more likely that Crowley's ability to remember that he has control of it has been taken from him in the present in S2 than it is that he's in a time loop. In the disaster kiss scene with Aziraphale, Aziraphale is really obviously signaling to Crowley a request that he freeze time. (It's obvious to us, I mean-- Aziraphale hid it from The Metatron by curving his hand.) He was trying to get Crowley to do what he did on the tarmac in S1 when he stopped everything and took them and Adam to a little time out cloud to help Adam figure out how to deal with Satan.

Crowley, though, just kind of stares at Aziraphale, even though this is literally one of the most recognizable hand signals on the planet. He also didn't just do it himself at the start of the conversation. If I were the villains, I'd be damn sure that Crowley didn't remember that he could freeze time after S1 and Crowley was gone all night before this scene (which he also doesn't seem to totally realize, no matter how many people around him keep commenting on how it's now morning.) The story, to me, seems to be suggesting that the Crowley & time stuff in S2 is that he doesn't recall that he can control it.

re: Aziraphale and what his angelic status/rank is in S1-- the cherub/principality/"you've been a bit of a fallen angel" bit...

When Michael and the other angels corner Aziraphale in S1 and Michael says that they've been learning some "disturbing things" about Aziraphale and that he's "been a bit of a fallen angel", the disturbing things are, imo, the photos of Aziraphale and Crowley that Michael has dug up. (Hypocritical much on Michael's part? Their phone chats with Ligur? That Gabriel knows about and lets them get away with but Michael wants to go after Aziraphale for having a relationship with Crowley? Yeah. Gross.) Michael and Uriel are threatening Aziraphale with a fall in the scene when they corner him. Uriel says "and don't think your boyfriend in the dark sunglasses will get you special treatment in Hell." They're using their power to threaten to cast him out as a way of trying to intimidate Aziraphale, which is another way of showing how political falling is and how it's all kind of b.s..

A demon is a fallen angel, by definition. That's the definition of a demon. Heaven has socialized angels to believe that the demons are all evil-- that they're devout followers of Satan and horrible people and to associate with them is to sully yourself with their satanicness and all that lol. In reality, there are some evil demons-- Satan is evil, Ligur was pretty bad-- but there are also some evil as fuck angels... The Metatron at the top of that list. In reality, the demons are the angels who put notes in the metaphorical suggestion box. They stood up and spoke out and questioned things. They're the curious, free-thinking "troublemakers" whose questioning of authority threatened to crumble The Metatron's power so he reacted by ostracizing them. He made a sense of the demons being "other" and evil. He invented Hell and banished them all to it-- lumping curious rebels like Crowley in with evil like Lucifer/Satan and using them as examples of what happens to those who dare to question. There really is no such thing as "a demon"-- there are just angels who have been told they're no good and that they've been cast out and are part of the collective owned by and working for Satan.

In S2, we get another bit of info about a fall when Gabriel falls. The Metatron can't send Gabriel to Hell like he would other angels because he did that once with Lucifer/Satan-- the last one to have Gabriel's job before Gabriel-- and once is "a good story" (meaning, once is a cautionary tale that keeps angels in line) but twice would suggest "an institutional problem"... twice would cause a rebellion. Twice would show that the problem is really Heaven. But, The Metatron has to do something with Gabriel, so he's going to erase Gabriel's memories (he tries to before Gabriel enacts Operation Fly and saves his memories thanks to Beez) and cast him down to a new rank of angel that they've just added to the bottom of the pile-- just for Gabriel lol. It's all political, which is how Crowley and Beez fell back in the day as well. They were caught up with Lucifer and held up as examples of evil when it seems that they really were just looking for others who were questioning things, too.

Does Aziraphale realize he's falling in S2? I think there's some language in the kiss disaster scene that indicates he suspects he might be and that he doesn't fully trust in what The Metatron is offering him-- or that that's really The Metatron. I don't think he realized he was falling until that point. It's a question, though, of what a fall really is. There are many ways to fall. You can literally fall from a great height. You can fall in rank. Both of these things happen during a fall from Heaven, in Good Omens, from what we've been told, but there are other types of fall. You can also fall in love. You can fall into despair. These ones? Aziraphale knew about. He fell in love with Crowley a long time ago and despair is always something he's working at keeping at bay, sometimes more successfully than others. In the end, his fall from Heaven is tied to both of those other kinds of falls.

But is Aziraphale already something of a fallen angel, like you asked? What of the fact that he was a cherub at one point and is a principality? Which is higher rank? We are told in the book that people "make jokes" about the fact that Aziraphale has both of those ranks. The word 'joke' comes from the Latin jocus, which literally means 'wordplay' and I think maybe looking at the different kinds of rank in Heaven through that angle might be worth a look. (Me? Taking a wordplay angle? Who would've ever thought? lol)

Who outranks who can be shown to us by how the characters behave in the scenes but the ranks of angels are more about what the words mean than about exactly which level that rank is, I think. For instance, there is some evidence that a throne and a dominion are the same level of rank-- that an angel can be both at once... which makes more sense when you consider the power aspects of those words and that here's our throne/dominion leaving his chair to dominate his plants in S1:

People are complex and need more words than one title might allow.

Aziraphale can be a cherub and a principality because once you start to get into the meanings of all of these words, you can see that which ones are given to Crowley and Aziraphale are done because of how they support who the characters are-- and how they overlap. I have a meta that I've been playing with from time to time about the different meanings of principality/dominion/throne and how Crowley and Aziraphale are both really all of them. I'll try to finish that one up soon. If you look at wordplay around the word "rank" itself, though...

...a rank is a placement or a position in military order, yeah, but it's also a bad smell. Something that is rank is something that is foul and offensive. One of the themes of the show to me seems to be that, whether you're an angel or a demon or a human, you possess your own power and no one can take that away from you unless you let them. Empowerment and freedom is the realization of that. We're all equal beings. The characters who are the least interested with power systems-- the ones who have freed themselves from concern about it and live as independently as they are able-- are the ones who view others as autonomous beings and do not support oppression of others. They are the least rank because they are dismissive of the idea of rank itself.

So, while we're having fun with words here... those who are the least rank are also probably not rank in the scent sense of the word, too lol. This would be why we have a multiple scenes devoted to how everyone is in a faint over how great Crowley smells. He's the least rank of them all-- in every way possible. 😉

The other "too late"-related meta:

#ineffable husbands #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens 2 #aziracrow #good omens meta

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