#I still can’t believe I made this happen

[mclennonlgbt]

Paris in John and Paul’s life

30th September 1961:

“John and I went on a trip for his twenty-first birthday. John was from a very middle-class family, which really impressed me because everyone else was from working-class families. To us John was upper class. His relatives were teachers, dentists, even someone up in Edinburgh in the BBC. It’s ironic, he was always very ‘fuck you!’ and he wrote the song ‘Working Class Hero’ – in fact, he wasn’t at all working class. Anyway, one of John’s relatives gave him £100 for his birthday. A hundred smackers in your hand! That was a real windfall. None of us could believe it. To this day if you gave me £100 I would be impressed. And I was his mate, enough said? ‘Let’s go on holiday.’ – ‘You mean me too? With the hundred quid? Great! I’m part of this windfall.’” - Paul McCartney, Anthology

“We planned to hitchhike to Spain. I had done a spot of hitchhiking with George and we knew you had to have a gimmick; we had been turned down so often and we’d seen that guys that had a gimmick (like a Union Jack round them) had always got the lifts. So I said to John, ‘Let’s get a couple of bowler hats.’ It was showbiz creeping in. We still had our leather jackets and drainpipes – we were too proud of them not to wear them, in case we met a girl; and if we did meet a girl, off would come the bowlers. But for lifts we would put the bowlers on. Two guys in bowler hats – a lorry would stop! Sense of Humour. This, and the train, is how we got to Paris. - Paul McCartney, Anthology

“And Paul and I also did the same thing, once. We just cancelled. We’d made it, in Liverpool. We were making good money, for those days. I can’t remember what it was – maybe a couple of hundred dollars a week – but enough that you’d have a little extra. You’d have it in your back pocket. And Paul and I just— A relative of mine gave me a hundred pounds, for my birthday, which I’d never seen that much money in me life. Paul and I just canceled all the engagements, and left for Paris… And George was furious, because he needed the money – to work, you know. But that was another time when the group was in debate as whether it would exist or not.”  - John Lennon, 1976, an interview with Elliot Mintz

“Last night I heard that John and Paul have gone to Paris to play together – in other words, the band has broken up! It sounds mad to me, I don’t believe it…” - Stuart Sutcliffe, Anthology

“We’d never been there before. We were a bit tired so we checked into a little hotel for the night, intending to go off hitchhiking the next morning. Of course, it was too nice a bed after having hitched so we said, ‘We’ll stay a little longer,’ then we thought, ‘God, Spain is a long way, and we’d have to work to get down there.’ We ended up staying the week in Paris – John was funding it all with his hundred quid.

We would walk miles from our hotel; you do in Paris. We’d go to a place near the Avenue des Anglais and we’d sit in the bars, looking good. I still have some classic photos from there. Linda loves one where I am sitting in a gendarme’s mac as a cape and John has got his glasses on askew and his trousers down revealing a bit of Y-front. The photographs are so beautiful, we’re really hamming it up. We’re looking at the camera like, ‘Hey, we are artsy guys, in a café: this is us in Paris,’ and we felt like that.

We went up to Montmartre because of all the artists, and the Folies Bergères, and we saw guys walking around in short leather jackets and very wide pantaloons. Talk about fashion! This was going to kill them when we got back. This was totally happening. They were tight to the knee and then they flared out; they must have been about fifty inches around the bottom and our drainpipe trousers were something like fifteen or sixteen inches. We saw these trousers and said, ‘Excusez-moi, Monsieur, où did you get them?’ It was a cheap little rack down the street so we bought a pair each, went back to the hotel, put them on, went out on the street – and we couldn’t handle it: ‘Do your feet feel like they are flapping? Feel more comfortable in me drainies, don’t you?’ So it was back to the hotel at a run, needle and cotton out and we took them in to a nice sixteen with which we were quite happy. And then we met Jürgen Vollmer on the street. He was still taking pictures." - Paul McCartney, Anthology

“Jürgen had a flattened-down hairstyle with a fringe in the front, which we rather took to. We went over to his place and there and then he cut – hacked would be a better word – our hair into the same style.” - John Lennon, 1963

Interviewer: I heard you took a trip to Spain before once, didn’t you? On Holiday? Paul: I didn’t go to Spain, no. I tried once to make Spain but… and John and I were gonna hitchhike. We hitchhiked down from Liverpool… We didn’t hitchhike. No, we got the train down from Liverpool ‘cause we thought we won’t hitchhike down the first bit. And we got the boat over to Paris. Then we got the train into Paris ‘cause we thought: “Well, it’ll be too hard to get a hitch here”. And we just stayed in Paris all week. And eventually… I mean, all the time trying to get out of Paris and make Spain! We never made it, we just flew home at the end. What a lazy hitchhiking Holiday!

“The thing was all the kissing and holding that was going on in Paris. And it was so romantic just to be there and see them even though I was 21 and sort of not romantic. But I really loved it, the way the people would just stand under a tree kissing. And they weren’t not mauling at each other, they were just kissing.” - John Lennon

As was written in this post: That last picture is one Paul took of John sleeping in Paris. From what I remember of a performance he did of ‘Here Today’, and earlier comments, this picture hangs framed on a wall in Paul’s house.

Unconfirmed quote (may or may not be true): 

"He must have been fond of me to spend that money. He let me have all the banana milkshakes I wanted.”  - Paul McCartney

In January 1964, only a few scant weeks before the Beatles took America by storm, the band mates settled in for an extended stay in Paris. For the group, the Parisian visit proved to be a magical experience, with the Beatles playing 18 shows at the Olympia Theatre between Jan. 16 and Feb. 4 (source).

The photo Paul took of John (in the "Eyes Of The Storm" book):

1969:

Hoping to get married in France, John Lennon and Yoko Ono flew to Paris on this day [16th March].

The couple had decided to marry on 14 March 1969, two days after the wedding of Paul McCartney to Linda Eastman; whether it was in response to this event on some level is open to conjecture.

On McCartney’s wedding day Lennon and Ono were travelling to Poole in Dorset, where he introduced her to his Aunt Mimi. During the journey he asked his chauffeur Les Anthony to go to Southampton to enquire about the possibility of the wedding being held at sea, on the cross-channel ferry to France.

(source)

“On March 12, Paul married Linda Eastman at Marylebone Register Office in London, amid scenes of hysterical grief from his female fans. None of the other Beatles was present. The news reached John as he and Yoko were driving down to visit Aunt Mimi in Poole. Yoko’s divorce decree had become final a few weeks earlier, and, in a resurgence of Beatle copycat, John told her they, too, must get married as soon as possible” - Philip Norman, John Lennon: The Life (2008)

"We chose Gibraltar because it is quiet, British and friendly. We tried everywhere else first. I set out to get married on the car ferry and we would have arrived in France married, but they wouldn’t do it. We were no more successful with cruise ships. We tried embassies, but three weeks’ residence in Germany or two weeks’ in France were required." - John Lennon

1974:

“After a late lunch, Linda launched into a long paean to the joys of living in England. When she was finished, she turned to John and said, “Don’t you miss England?”

“Frankly,” John replied, “I miss Paris.””

— May Pang, Loving John (1983)

1978:

Wings album "London Town" is released. It includes the song "Cafe on the Left Bank", the lyrics of which clearly refer to John and Paul's trip to Paris.

Late 1970s: John is singing to Paul about Paris in a home recording.

1994 - Paul inducting John to Rock and Roll Hall of Fame:

“And then on your 21st birthday you got £100 off one of your rich relatives up in Edinburgh, so we decided we’d go to Spain. So we hitch-hiked out of Liverpool. And we got as far as Paris, and decided to stop there for a week. And eventually got our haircut, by a fellow named Jürgen, and that ended up being the ‘Beatle haircut’.”

I also remember watching an interview with Paul about his album "Memory Almost Full" (2007). Interviewer: There is a very beautiful song called "The End Of The End", the way you talk about your whole ending, and the lyric goes: "It's a start of a journey to a much better place." You mean, better than England? Paul: It's basically a start of a journey to France. Or Spain through France. Yeah, that's what it is. It's a much better place, Paris. (unfortunately, I don't have a link)

Also worth mentoning:

"All You Need Is Love" begins with La Marseillaise.

"Picasso's Last Words (Drink To Me)" contains French-language speech by BBC broadcaster Pierre Le Sève.

#mclennon #mclennon is real #mclennon anthology #paris #frankly i miss paris #may pang #yoko ono #linda eastman #the beatles #gay #bisexual #france #insane #compilation #master post

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for yesdangerpls; the last son of Krypton meets Hypertime Kon. ( + non-chrono link for mobile users )

“A version of you was conquering alternate realities,” Bruce says, still neutral. 

“Uh,” Kon says, looking embarrassed. “Kinda, yeah? Kinda definitely, actually. I mean–dude had some issues. His home reality wasn’t really all that clone-friendly, and shit kinda went to shit there, and then he just decided ‘actually killing inconvenient people is ethically okay if I just make clones out of their dead bodies and give those clones their memories after’, so, uh . . . issues, like I said. Serious ones.” 

“And you don’t think that’s ethical?” Bruce says, which is an obvious test. Kon glowers at him as Clark resists the urge to sigh at Bruce. The man’s as paranoid as ever, no surprise. It’s . . . understandable, admittedly, but not exactly fair in this situation. 

“Clones are their own people,” Kon says, setting his jaw stubbornly. “No matter whose memories you stick in our heads.” 

“That’s a school of thought,” Bruce says neutrally. Kon scowls, then pointedly lifts his lassoed wrist. 

“You’re an asshole,” he says emphatically. Clark has to muffle a snort of laughter behind his hand; Diana does the same. Bruce looks sour. Clark knows he doesn’t think they’re taking this seriously enough, but he just can’t look at this kid and see a threat. 

Of course, that’s part of why Bruce doesn’t think they’re taking this seriously enough. 

“And you’re asking for a lot of trust, for someone who’s reportedly an interdimensional conqueror in at least one reality,” Bruce says. “Why should we believe this version of you is any different from Black Zero?” 

“For the record, it was a version of me that stopped him, too,” Kon says, still scowling at him. “Like, a whole bunch of versions of me. And we didn’t all survive the experience. So I dunno, democratically speaking I think I’m mostly not a shithead.” 

“And you don’t know how to return to your home reality?” Diana asks. Kon grimaces, then shakes his head. 

“No idea,” he says. “I only got out into Hypertime to begin with because another Superboy showed up in our Watchtower with a hyperjacket keyed to his DNA and, uh . . . crash-landed and died right in the middle of a JLA meeting, actually. He was–injured, when he made the jump. Didn’t survive it. He was with the resistance. Was trying to warn our reality that Black Zero was coming, but . . .” 

Clark feels immediately nauseous at that thought; wonders how traumatic and horrible it was for his alternate version to watch that happen and not be able to save that version of Kon. Wonders if that Kon’s version of him even knows what happened to him. If . . . 

He tries not to think about it. It’s not something he can do anything about. 

It’s definitely motivating him to get this Kon home all the quicker, though. His other self must be losing his mind right now. 

“Satisfied?” he asks Bruce, raising an eyebrow at him again. He’d be amused, a little, if he weren’t still thinking about what had happened to that other version of Kon: about a kid that young dying far from home trying to do the right thing, surrounded by a roomful of heroes who couldn’t save him. 

“No,” Bruce says. 

“Batman, there are multiple realities in which all of us are supervillains,” Diana says wryly, unlooping her lasso from Kon’s wrist and winding it up again. “We can hardly blame Kon-El for the crimes of a single version of himself.” 

Bruce has a look on his face that makes it very clear that he does, in fact, think they can do that. Bruce also thinks that about them, though, himself included, so Clark isn’t going to give that concern particularly heavy weight right now.

#yesdangerpls #wip: the last son of krypton meets hypertime kon #long post

[jalluzas-ferney]

Cole wasnt “changed” to be gay. He never was STRAIGHT in the first place.

and hell- whi says he’s strictly gay now? Cole could like girls as well for all we know 🤷‍♀️ uk like, be a Bi king or smth.

The thing is, just like people are used to seeing characters from books as white as a default until stated otherwise, just because they’re so used to it, this happens with straightness as well.

People are will BEG and SWEAR that a character is straight just because they were never outright stated to be otherwise. And emphasis on “outright stated” because even when there is coding, hinting or just blatant portrayal of it, people will still deny that that certain character is queer because it’s not like they canonically turned to the camera and told the audience that “I AM NOT STRAIGHT.”

But to them, even if the character rarely showed any interest in the opposite gender or ever really talked ab their attraction, the character is just automatically straight. It’s just inherent. Of course they’re straight.

And you know what? Even if the character does, who said Bi people don’t exist? I have a lot of Bi friends and a family member that either are bi or are dating a bi person, and their attraction towards the opposite gender has never invalidated their attraction towards the same if gender non-conforming.

And even then, a lot of gay men or lesbians have struggled with comp-het in the past, reuniting them in having tried to date or even marry people from the opposite gender only to then realize they never truly were straight, and were just compulsively trying to conform or believe that they are straight because again, straightness has always been seen as the status quo. As the normal thing to be. The default.

And this isn’t me saying that “the writers were writing Cole as a dude with comp-het this whole time” or smth because I don’t know that. And while I could theorize that I don’t think the writers really were thinking about implementing compulsive heterosexuality into this silly Lego show.

But just like I can’t assure that Cole canonically has suffered from comp-het or that he is gay and not Bi or hell he could be asexual or smth while being gay WHO KNOWS-but just like we can’t exactly assure that he is exactly one of those labels, people cannot come here and act like Cole was ever REALLY canonically straight. Hell. You could even say None of the characters of the show are STRAIGHT because who said they were? You can def interpret them as straight! But why do people insist on acting as if portraying Cole as having a male character a romantic interest as them CHANGING him as if he really ever WAS straight?

No one acts that when a character is straight that it was a huge betrayal or smth because the character was “OBVIOUSLY” gay by default. No. People just see it as normal and move on because that has always been the status quo.

Because this is a heteronormative society as much as people try to act as if making a character gay is “appealing to the world and the general public” as if straight people are suddenly oppressed. Hetero friends of mine or my family will always automatically assume I’m straight because that’s the norm to them. People will always assume someone it het or cis unless outright stated otherwise.

And if you can’t tell what’s wrong with that…

…

And you know what? Get all pissed off about it. Complain. Make petition for “saving your boy Cole” (save him from what exactly? It’s not like Christianity exists in Ninjago so yall can scratch hell out of the list at least) the season was made. The character of Geo was made. The scenes where Geo fantasized about Cole being awesome and handsome were made. Scenes where Cole and geo talk about needing each other were made. Scenes where geo and Cole hold hands and look at each other all lovey dovey were made. None of that bigoted complaining is going to change that. Theyre not going back and deleting those scenes and they’re not suddenly gonna write Geo and Cole in completely different way from what they were written before. Womp. WOMP.

#ninjago #ninjago dragons rising #lego ninjago #savemyboycole #cole #ninjago cole #cole Ninjago #dragons rising #ninjago dr #gay rights #gay #comp-het #comphet #queer #queer representation #queer rep in media #geo Ninjago #Ninjago geo #geo

[hotchnisslvr]

how do we carry on?

pairing: hotch x bau!reader

rating: m

word count: 4.8k

genre: angst, hurt no comfort

summary: emily was your confidant, your best friend. when she dies at the hands of ian doyle, you find comfort in your boyfriend, aaron. when you find out that she’s alive and that hotch had known all along, your world falls out from under you. can you and hotch come back from the decision he made for the good of the team?

*if this gains enough traction i might follow up with a pt.2 to give it a happy ending*

The criss-crossed lines of the tile floor blur together as you stare blankly between your feet. The tops of your thighs have gone numb from digging your elbows into them, using your cradled hands as a pillow for your forehead. You couldn’t go home, not until you knew.

Rossi had offered to go on a walk and get a coffee, but shitty lukewarm hospital coffee was the last thing you needed. You hadn’t meant to write him off, you just couldn’t justify doing anything to distract from the fact that she was on that operating table, that Emily’s life was literally hanging in the balance.

The rest of the team was no better off than you are right now. Penelope’s knitting needles clack relentlessly, the scarf inside of her purse growing as her hands keep busy so her mind doesn’t focus on how hard she’s trying not to cry. The last time you’d poked your head up, Derek hadn’t moved from the waiting room windowsill where he’d been standing still as a statue staring out at the cityscape. If Spencer didn’t stop shaking his leg, you feared he would wear a hole straight through the tile. JJ exits the waiting room as often as she returns, her liaising days quickly coming back, making her their only link to the operating room. Hotch’s behavior is no different. His cell rings every ten to fifteen minutes, no doubt the Bureau wanting to know how the hell this could happen. It’s the only sign that time is actually passing and you’re forced to accept that you’re not stuck in some fucked up purgatory-esque hellscape where time stands still, torturing you as your dear friend’s life teeters between worlds.

What you wanted, what you needed was for him to hold you; to place a kiss against your temple and tell you that everything would be alright. It had to be alright.

He couldn’t show favor to you though, not now. The team didn’t know about your relationship with him, though you believe a few have their suspicions. You’re all too observant for your own good. Not much goes unnoticed by anyone. So when JJ walks back into the waiting room, everyone shifts toward her to try and get a glimpse into her facial expression and body language for any sign of an update regarding Emily’s condition.

Instantly, you know something is wrong. JJ’s eyes flit from one person to the next, not lingering very long on anyone. Spencer is the first to stand and you follow suit. You close in, forming a small half circle. Behind JJ, Hotch stands in the doorway, brow straight as he folds his arms across his chest.

“JJ?” Her name is an anxious plea on Penelope’s lips.

JJ’s eyes drop to the floor as she presses her lips together. She takes a deep breath and lifts her eyes, yours the ones they land on as she speaks. “She never made it off the table.”

A choked sob echoes from Garcia as she falls into Derek’s arms, his features fixed as he stares ahead though his knuckles flush white as he holds tightly onto Penelope. Rossi pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closed as he mutters something to himself; a prayer, maybe. Spencer envelopes JJ in a desperate embrace, as if clinging to her will somehow make her words any less true. Afterall, how can they be? Emily can’t go down, not like this; not after all she’s survived.

Someone says your name. Your brow dips, but you don’t respond. You need to see Emily. Your feet move of their own accord, guiding you through the waiting room. Someone grabs your arm and you tug away from their grasp, set on pushing onward and finding the OR.

Someone repeats your name, and you can’t help but latch on to the deep tenor that belongs to Hotch. You halt in your tracks and close your eyes, tears leaking over your eyelids and down your cheeks.

“I need to talk to Emily,” you say, your voice small.

The way Hotch says your name is laced with pity and you hate the way it sounds on his tongue. He pulls gently on your arm in an attempt to reel you into him, but you resist. You bite your lip to still its trembling. Yanking your arm free, you press on into the hallway and stumble toward the double doors that read in bold letters: Authorized Personnel Only. Fuck that. You’ve got a badge, that’s authority enough. Before you can push through, firm hands twist around your arms.

You push back, but their grip tightens. “Stop,” Hotch urges authoritatively. You turn into him and pound your fist against his chest, a sob cracking free from your mouth. “She’s not gone,” you cry. “She’s not gone. She’s not—” Your legs tremble with the wave of grief that crashes over you and you can’t hold your weight as it does so. Falling to your knees, Hotch reacts. His arms fold around your waist, catching you as you collapse into the wide plane of his chest. Your ribs ache as your lungs inflate with each rapid, sobbing breath. Your vision turns fuzzy at the edges as you try and fail to slow your breathing. It feels like you’re dying as the waves of grief assail you over and over again, battering you, body and mind, in an unrelenting tumultuous current of sorrow and pain as the wicked reality sets in. Emily is dead. You barely feel Hotch’s hand in your hair cradling you against him. As he murmurs apologies and sympathies in your ear, you don’t see the weighted look he exchanges with JJ.

•

The funeral comes and goes. The day is too beautiful for Emily not to be there to see it. You sit on the porch at Hotch’s house, breathing in and out as you watch the daffodils dance in the afternoon breeze. You smooth the fabric of your dress down over your knees, the satin wrinkled from the way you clenched it during the service.

Your phone buzzes in your purse. The number of messages and phone calls you’d ignored continues to rise, but you can’t bring yourself to express any gratitude for their condolences. You can’t bring yourself to feel anything except the crushing weight of grief.

You picture Emily sitting beside you on the wooden porch swing. Last Summer, you’d sat here with her as the team gathered for a Fourth of July Barbecue. Jack had made invitations and delivered them to the team at the office. He’d been so excited and so were you. It was around then that you and Hotch had begun to toe the line between colleagues and something more; a morning coffee dropped off at your desk here, an extra visit to his office there. You’d sat here with Emily watching as Rossi backseat barbecued Hotch on the grill. She’d caught you smiling at him alongside the fondness in your gaze. She’d clocked you from a mile away.

“Oh, you’ve got it bad.” Her laugh had tinkled from lips, ringing like a morning bell.

“What are you talking about?” you’d asked, trying and failing to school your features into a mask of indifference.

“I’ll tell ya, it’s a big swing, but if you hit it, that’s a home run for sure.”

You’d nearly choked on your lemonade, coughing and gasping; drawing the attention of the others.

“Wrong pipe!” Emily had called while pointing at you and clapping a hand against your back. “She’s good!” In a low voice she’d added, “Though I’m sure with him, it’d be just the right pipe.”

You’d elbowed her in the ribs and bust out laughing together. For the longest time after that, she’d been the only person that you’d confided in about your burgeoning feelings and relationship with Aaron. Through that, she’d quickly become your closest friend on the team.

A couple of kids shout at one another, laughing, as they ride past the house on their bicycles; shattering the memory. You dip into your purse and withdraw your phone, pressing a button and powering it down. The screen door creaks on its hinges and Hotch steps down onto the porch, the planks shifting beneath his weight. He sits beside you and offers you a mug. The scent of coffee reaches your nose and you accept it, thanking him quietly. Aaron had taken his suit jacket off and loosened his tie. He stretches an arm around your shoulder and draws closer to you. He kisses the side of your face and stares out at the yard.

“It was a beautiful service,” he offers.

“Aaron, don’t.” You close your eyes and take a breath. You hold the coffee with both hands, rubbing your thumbs up and down the warm ceramic. “Please don’t make small talk with me about this like it’s all so fucking normal.”

He sighs and apologizes. “I just wish I could make all of your hurt go away.”

A shudder runs through you and you nestle in closer to him, taking a sip of your coffee as you do so. “I don’t think it’ll ever go away.”

•

Her brown eyes stare back at you, though the photo paper could never capture the light that flared within them when she was alive. Of all the faces you could have seen up on this wall, you’d never anticipated hers being one of them.

Every day you stop by her portrait on the wall of fallen heroes. People talk about her less and less around the office. The team doesn’t stop, though your conversations are stilted and often end in awkward silences; no one really knowing how to carry on once the conversation slows to a natural end. You speak often with Spencer about the ways in which you’ve been grieving, the sleepless nights and early mornings. Derek is reserved. He’s angry above anything else. He feels betrayed by Emily and a part of you understands that. She’d not told any of you after all. You’d be remiss if you’d not also spent some of your time grieving in anger. Of all the times you’d stayed late after work, gotten together to hang out on weekends, or gone out for drinks, she had never indicated anything was wrong. You had told her everything, confided every one of your fears and hopes into her and you’d thought that the street had been going both ways. God, you’d never been so wrong.

“Conference room in fifteen,” Aaron says as he walks past you, hand grazing your back as he does so.

You smile tightly and nod, glancing once more at Emily’s photo before making your way to your desk in the bullpen, ignoring the fact hers still sits empty and unoccupied beside yours. How has it been three months already?

•

“Emily!”

Your eyes dart around the room frantically searching as your heart thunders in your ears. You feel the organ pounding against your ribcage, threatening to break free of it. It only takes a second for you to realize it had been a dream.

Aaron rolls over and sits up, threading an arm around your back and rubbing your hip with his fingers. “Another nightmare?” he asks, words tinged with sleepiness.

You nod, yawning as you rub your eyes. The dreams are further apart, but at least every other week her face haunts your subconscious. You can’t help but wonder if it’s some sort of self-punishment as life goes on and the days get easier.

In reality, you don’t know if it’s easier or if you’ve just forced yourself to become numb to it all, compartmentalizing the pain of losing your best friend because if you didn’t you don’t think you’d be able to leave the house and do what you do day after day.

“Are the appointments with the therapist helping?” he asks.

Another question you don’t know the answer to. On some level, yes. Talking to someone who knows nothing about you or her or anyone else on the team is good. You don’t have to walk on eggshells, worried you're going to dig open a wound the others are equally fighting to heal by talking about her or how much you miss her or wish she was here. On another level, you don’t open up fully to the doctor. There are some layers of this injury you don’t want to see heal and scar over. If you do that, it’s like you’re telling Emily that you’re over her death, as if it’s something as easy as that, something you just get over. No, some things need to stay fresh, to serve as a reminder that Ian Doyle is still out there. The man who took your best friend away from you and your BAU family is breathing and she’s not. You clench your fists, the sheets balling up in your hands as your resentment burns deep inside you. Yes, that’s it, the idea of him walking around thinking he’s gotten away with this is enough to stoke the flames simmering deep inside you.

You take a deep breath, mentally imagining the flames subsiding, and they do. They dial down, but they don’t disappear. You glance down at Aaron, who snores softly beside you. His fingers still curl around your hip and a faint smile graces your lips. He tries, you know he does, but this is exhausting for everyone. He bears the brunt of it at the office. He fought to be the one to meet with the team and conduct the grief interviews, not wanting a stranger to come in and sift through your friends’ and colleagues’ pain over what happened. God knows how much bureaucratic red tape he had gotten tangled in right after the fact, the higher ups demanding how such a blunder could occur right under their noses. Aaron had put out the fires though, as he always did. Reaching around his back, you withdraw his hand from your hip and tuck it by his side, not before pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

You glance at the clock before lying back down. 4:15AM blinks back at you on the digital clock face. In forty five minutes the alarm will go off and it’ll be another day at the office. Settling down into the pillows, you press your back into Aaron’s body, yours molding against the planes of his as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

His arms slinks around your waist and pulls you in as if you can get any closer than you already are. He tucks his chin over your shoulder and his lips brush against your jawline.

“I love you,” he whispers and you relax into the safety of his embrace.

“I love you, too, Aaron.”

•

Nights are hard when Aaron is gone. Pakistan is nine hours ahead and all Hotch has to communicate with anyone is a satellite phone, the number for which you don’t have access to. Whenever Hotch calls, the caller ID flashes the word ‘Unknown’ across your screen. There have been several times you’ve missed him due to being asleep or at work. Each call missed feels like being sucker punched. Every time you talk, a part of you worries it’ll be the last time. You didn’t use to have this fear, not until Emily. Despite staring death in the face on a week by week basis, most of the time playing Russian Roulette with the Grim Reaper himself in each unsub you cross paths with, somehow you never thought he’d actually take someone you love from you; that he’d take down one of the team. You never thought there’d be a last conversation with Emily, and now she’s dead.

Dead. The word is a heavy stone, sinking from the cusps of your mind to the pit of your stomach. It sits there, a persistent ache idling deep inside of you. It never relents and it never allows you to forget.

There are nights you dream that Aaron is dead too, that somewhere far away and beyond your control, he’s dying on the ground, bleeding out, and no one knows. You don’t even know what he’s working on and he can’t say; despite your relationship there are still levels in which Hotch’s clearance supersedes your own and the need-to-know red tape keeps you out. Afraid to close your eyes and dream of his unseeing, you stare at the blades of the ceiling fan whirling lazily overhead of the bed you usually share with him.

“I miss you,” you whisper to no one; and you don’t know who you’re talking to anymore.

•

“He’s back?” your heart flutters in your chest, equal parts excited and anxious at the prospect of Aaron’s sudden return. You push off your desk and swivel in your chair to stand, rushing down the hall and leaving Reid behind as you make your way hastily to the conference room.

The door is cracked and a gleeful sound eeks past your lips as his tall frame comes into view. You slip in before anyone else arrives and throw your arms around you. Inhaling deeply, his familiar teakwood scent envelopes you just as his arms do. You move to pull away, but his arms tighten around you.

“A second more,” he whispers, and there’s an edge to his voice.

You write it off to jet lag and sink into his embrace, though you notice how slight he feels against you. Finally, you pull back and cup his face in your hands. The scruff of his beard is prickly and you laugh as you take in his rugged appearance. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with this much facial hair.” You swipe your thumbs over the hair on his lip and he tilts his head, kissing the inside of your hand. He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply before lifting them to meet yours. It's then you realize how tired he looks. The bags under his eyes are puffy and purple, almost as if they’re bruised. His forehead is creased, brow furrowed; definitely not how you pictured him upon reuniting.

“Aaron is everything ok—”

“I need you to know I would never hurt you,” he says quickly, interrupting you.

You purse your lips, brow pinching at the sudden admission. As your lips part to speak he directs a pointed look at you, the depths of his brown eyes wavering. “I love you,” his voice cracks, “so much.” He swallows, his throat bobbing as he does so. “Please remember that.”

There’s a hollow feeling in your gut, a chasm opening wide where every anxious and painful thought that you’ve tried to keep buried since he’s been gone begins to claw their way out as a thousand different outcomes play out in front of you. “Aaron, what’s going on?”

He doesn’t answer your question as the rest of the team trickles into the room, sitting at the round table or standing as suspense fills the space. It’s tangible. Everyone’s posture is rigid and tense in anticipation of whatever it is he has to say.

“Seven months ago I made a decision that impacted everyone on this team,” he begins, eyes firm.

Spencer shifts uncomfortably beside you. Rossi leans forward, fingers steepled under his chin.

“As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood,” Hotch continues and your ears prick at the sound of her name. Why would he bring her up? No less, her condition the day you all lost her. You all know this.

“…the doctor’s were able to stabilize her.”

Your lips part but no sound comes out as you raise your eyes to meet his. They meet yours for the briefest of seconds before flitting on to the others.The next words to leave his mouth sound far away, interrupted by the blood now pounding in your eardrums. “She stayed there until she was well enough to travel…given identities…”

There’s a lump in your throat and you feel as though you may choke on it. Air doesn’t seem to be able to bypass it and you have to remind yourself that you can breathe even though it feels like all the oxygen has vacated your lungs.

Penelope is the first to speak. “She’s alive?”

Spencer’s brow quirks as he tries to rationalize what’s being said to him. “We buried her.”

You did. You helped carry the casket. You felt the weight of her dead body and watched it sink into the earth. If that wasn’t her, what the fuck or who the fuck did you actually put in the ground?”

“As I said I take full responsibility for this decision,” Hotch continues, eyes downcast. “If anyone has any issues they should be directed towards me.”

The blood pounding in your ears is deafening. When Hotch looks up, you search his eyes and can’t help wondering if you know him at all. All of the nights you literally made yourself sick from crying and he held your hair back as you dry heaved over the toilet and your body spasmed from the grief of losing your best friend, he’d known that she was alive. For a moment, you think you may be sick right there at the round table at the thought of it all. Derek is speaking, his voice tight with anger but you don’t hear him. Heads turn and the hairs on the back of your neck prickle as a haunting feeling creeps up the back of your spine.

Turning around in your chair, everyone else stands but not you. If you do, you know your knees will buckle and fall out from under you. Spencer and Penelope are on their feet, moving briskly to greet the ghost of Emily.

Except she’s not a ghost. Her skin is not the cold blue-gray pallor of death, but pink and bright, the blood beneath her flesh very much pumping through a heart that’s beating. Her dark brown hair is sleek and shining, her bangs grown out and styled; her part now to the right. You watch her arms fold around Spencer and the way he squeezes her in turn. Penelope follows suit, tears streaming down her cheeks as she smiles widely. Derek stares on, features fixed in a cross between anger and shock. Emily approaches him with apprehension. An apology leaves her lips as she draws him in for a hug and his arms tentatively wrap around her. When she turns to you, your muscles tense. Those deep brown irises flicker back and forth across your face, searching for a reaction. You don’t give her one. Instead, you push past her, avoiding any and all physical contact with her, and dip out of the conference room.

You hear Garcia call your name and Derek shouts about having a case. You don’t care. You bypass your desk, not even bothering to get your purse. Your keys are hanging on a carabiner on your belt loop. Ignoring the elevator, you shove your way through the entrance to the stairs and move down them so quickly you’re surprised you don’t lose your footing and tumble down them. Down and around you go, your footsteps echoing as your heart slams against your ribcage. You slap your badge against the keypad that lets you exit the building, ignoring the greeting from the security guard at the front. As you push through the front doors of the office building, you barely make it to the bushes before you fall to your knees and retch.

•

A car door slams followed by the double beep which locks them. You close your eyes and inhale deeply as you prepare to face him, hands clenching around the sweater you were packing. A tear slips free from your eye as you breathe out and look toward the ceiling, as if the answers to why all of this had to happen are written up there. This is not how your reunion is supposed to be. You’d pictured his homecoming for weeks; thought about the outfit you’d wear to dinner and the lingerie you’d bought to wear just for him when you both got home, opened a bottle of wine, and made up for all of the time lost while he was away. That is how tonight is supposed to go.

Now you’re leaving, and you don’t know if you’ll be coming back.

The lock on the front door jiggles before the gears click into place. It squeaks on its hinges as it swings open. Five beeps follow and you can picture his fingers pressing against each button on the alarm system. His keys clatter as he drops them on the table. As his footsteps edge closer to your bedroom, you count each one. The sound that usually means safety and security, now sends a shiver of anxiety throughout your body.

He appears in the doorway, eyes rife with exhaustion and the bags beneath them puffy and swollen. His cheeks are flushed and his nose is pink, as if he’d been crying. Maybe he had been, god knows you had. His eyes flit between you and the bag you’re packing. His lips part and a small sound of desperation slips past them.

“Baby, please—”

You hold up a hand, curling your fingers into a fist. Your lip curls as you speak. “Don’t,” you breathe. You swallow the lump that quickly forms in your throat as you drop your hand, zipping the bag shut.

The inner corners of his brow draw upward and you can hardly stand to look into his pleading gaze.

“You have to understand—”

“Understand, what? Aaron?” You ask sharply, struggling to hold back the thick hot tears pricking the backs of your eyes.

He places a hand on his hip, fingers tucking back the fold of his unbuttoned shirt as his thumb hooks into his belt; a gesture you’re all too familiar with as he does the same thing with all of his suits. His other hand rises to pinch the bridge of his nose. He pauses, inhaling as he tries to find the words. After a moment, he scrubs a hand over his face and turns his gaze to yours.

“I wanted to tell you so badly,” he says. When he looks at you there are tears in his eyes. “I hated myself, watching the agony this decision put you and the team through. I wanted to tell you and take away your hurt, but I couldn’t. It wouldn’t have been fair to the team. Just because you’re my girlfriend, I can’t—” He turns his hand and slams his hand against the doorframe causing you to flinch. “Dammit!”

Your voice is soft, but sure when you speak. “You can’t bend the rules.”

It’s what you’ve always worried about, both of you. You always knew the job could come first, especially with him being the Unit Chief. You always understood that that meant no preferential treatment and that is something you never would’ve asked him to do. You just never anticipated it happening like this, a complete and total life altering mind fuck.

Aaron drops his hand and it slaps against his thigh in defeat as it falls to his side. “What was I supposed to do?”

You cross your arms over your chest, fingers curling over your biceps to try and still your shaking hair. You hang your head and a curtain of hair falls across your face, “I don’t know, Aaron.”

He kicks off the doorway, moving towards you with his hands outstretched. It happens without thinking, the way you flinch away. Pain flashes in his eyes and you feel as though you’ve been punched in the stomach the way it’s suddenly hard to breathe.

His hip is close to yours, his body angled away from you. You can feel the weight of his gaze on your shoulder as he looks down. “Don’t do this,” he whispers.

Your lip quivers, chin wobbling in response to the tears you’re trying so desperately to hold back. “I have vacation I’d been saving.” You pick up your bag and throw it over your shoulder, not daring to look up at him because you know if you do you’ll shatter into a thousand shards of glass at his feet.

As you move toward the door, you pause. For a split second, you entertain the thought of dropping your bag, running across the room he’d chased you around so many times before, and throwing yourself around him. You consider all the things you want to say and scream and cry about; all of your anger, sadness, betrayal, grief, and love. You crave him so terribly in that moment because his have always been the arms you’ve run to when things become too much to bear.

Instead, your chin dips toward your shoulder as you speak, but you don’t raise your eyes to meet his. If you do, you don’t think you’ll be able to leave. “My gun and badge are in the safe.”

As you make your way down the hallway, you have to bite your knuckles to stifle a sob just as you hear one leave his lips from the bedroom.

You don’t turn back.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner criminal minds #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner hurt no comfort #angst #hurt no comfort #bau reader #bau!reader #fem!reader #hotch x reader #hotch x y/n #drabble #fic #hotch #sad!aaron hotchner

[lemongizumo]

I didn’t want to make any public posts about what’s been happening in the past days in our fandom because of my health issues. Some of you know, mostly people I consider my friends now, others because I was offering emergency commissions to solve hospital and treatment costs, but my health isn’t that good lately and the level of drama, intensity and everything around this topic was affecting me. Still is a bit. However, after everything that has come out, so many similar experiences, so many people being manipulated, hurt and damaged because of this one individual who I considered my friend, I can’t remain silent anymore. I just can’t. I’m still shocked and feeling so many emotions, from sadness to concern, from disappointment to anger. Even guilty for not realizing how disgusting this person was. It’s unbelievable.

I won’t go into any details, those involved know everything that needs to be known. I will not share screenshots either but there are plenty to prove what this person tried to do until the end and how many people she damaged.

I became her friend months ago, around August/September of last year. I considered her a real friend, a good one even, she was nice to me all the time and talked to me every day for all these months. She bought my friendship with love bombing, gifts, with praise about my art and me, a fucking naïve idiot, thought she was sincere. I never noticed the red flags until it was too late, how she was collecting artists along the way and discarding the ones that weren’t useful. She was after popular people, writers and artists, anyone that could give her status. She wanted her name seen everywhere and she invaded every space she could. She also promoted her server to anybody who had big numbers or was known in the HG fandom.

I didn’t know anybody in the fandom, only some names I followed because I admired their art or writing. I always spent my days in any fandom as a spectator, doing fanart and having casual conversations but not getting close to anybody. She was the first person I let get close to me.

I trusted her and that was a mistake I’ll regret for a long time.

She took advantage of me not knowing anybody, she used me as a dumpster bin to trash talk about others, she played victim over and over again, she claimed some people hated her, and she made me believe so many things that I later discovered weren’t real. She twisted reality to her convenience; she created a false narrative where she was the poor victim who was attacked constantly and that she only wanted the best for everybody. She just wanted to be ‘nice.’

Knowing English isn’t my first language and sometimes it’s hard for me to understand certain expressions, she used that to be able to act as a bigot without me noticing until it was too late.

And I believed her. I believe every single fucking word she said about others, because why would she lie? She was just trusting me with things, right? She was just warning me about people, she cared about me, she was just looking out for me.

I’m a good friend, I know I am. Friendship has always been important to me, and I’m faithful to whoever I care about. I thought I was being a good friend to her by defending her and giving her my thoughts and opinions about all these ‘awful’ people who didn’t like her and were against her.

She just wanted an ally.

Her love bombing and praise only lasted until I didn’t act the way she wanted.

I confronted one of her ‘friends’ in her server after that person was exposing an innocent writer just to humiliate them. I was mistreated and attacked. She, the owner, didn’t do anything to stop it while I was telling her in dms what was happening. She didn’t do anything at all because she didn’t care.

She didn’t care either when I showed her proof that her friend was a terf. I was worried, I was so naïve I thought maybe this person didn’t know about her friend being transphobic. But she knew. She didn’t act surprised, she just did her best to clarify she wasn’t a terf ‘by association’ in between jokes and tried to justify her friend over and over again. She dismissed my worries and acted like it wasn’t such a big deal.

I trusted her to the point I felt safe enough to tell her I am autistic and how hard it was growing up not knowing that, how everyone treated me as if I was dumb when I was a kid and a teenager. Her attitude towards me changed after she knew my diagnosis. From treating me like I was a child to a condescending way to talk to me whenever I did ‘wrong.’

I supported her when she decided to create a BB just to be called silly and treated as stupid because I wouldn’t join if the terf was there. She simply didn’t care I was affected because I’m non-binary and trans. She just wanted artists for her shitty event because she needed to make a name among other events. She kept insisting that I join, even after she knew the terf was going to be a part of the event. She wanted me to be a pinch hitter artist.

I finally opened my eyes after my medical emergency in February. I decided to open emergency commissions to help with the costs and that led me to talk to people I never talked to before. People this individual didn’t want me to talk to.

I don’t know why things happen but everything seems to happen for a reason. Some people that reached out to me to help me were people this individual talked shit about over and over again for months. And to my surprise, they were nothing like I was made to believe. On the contrary, these people were sweet, nice, and were actually sincere.

Her reaction to me talking to them was passive-aggressive comments, jokily threats and playing the victim. She also started giving me the silent treatment in order to manipulate me again. Which, luckily, didn’t work.

This disgusting individual lied so much I have spent the last few days wondering how much of what she said was true and how much was bullshit. She tried to mess with friendships, she tried to ruin a relationship, she made racist and transphobic comments, she lied about so many people that didn’t deserve it, she thought her lies wouldn’t catch up to her and kept acting like a ‘mean girl’ who wanted to be number one in popularity. She thought having popular friends, who she bragged about, would keep her away from anything.

She thought she was safe and that I was stupid enough to keep believing her.

I’m not stupid. I never was.

And I will not remain silent while she still plays victim, while she decided to blame ME for all of her fucking mess.

When this whole thing exploded, she desperately tried to convince someone she wasn’t bad, that it was all a misunderstanding and that she was just venting to me. A good pity party because she was being called out and she didn’t expect it. She tried to convince them that I was to blame. She didn’t hesitate to throw me under the bus, to make anyone believe I was the villain, exposing me with screenshots, for all we know, were probably manipulated by her. It is now known that she edits, changes and deletes messages.

I’m not a villain for exposing the truth to people I now care about. To people who have been nothing but nice to me even tho they are aware I said awful things about them based on what this individual told me. She tried to brainwash me with her lies and almost succeeded.

The past few weeks have been hard. But it’s harder to see how many others she hurt.

She’s not a good person no matter how much she tried to act like one. Her disgusting behavior led to so much damage and she got me involved in it, using me until the end.

This behavior is not ‘fandom drama,’ it is dangerous behavior, one that should not be tolerated or accepted. Fandom is not a place to escalate in popularity, to surround yourself with popular artists just to get something from them. Fandom should be a safe place for us to enjoy, to escape from reality, from the real world that is hard enough for so many of us.

I will not let her step on me anymore. I will not be her scapegoat. And she will not get my sympathy anymore.

Please be safe out there, do not let these people harm us anymore. This individual and her fucking terf friend can go fuck themselves.

I am so tired.

#fandom wank #i guess it is #dangerous behavior #personal post

[holylulusworld]

Indecent Proposal (17)

Summary: Your boyfriend wants to be part of their empire. You are the pawn he’s willing to sacrifice.

Pairing: Mobster!Stucky x fem!Reader

Characters: Natasha Romanoff, Jake Jensen

Warnings: established Stucky, caring mobsters, pregnant reader, fluff, implied needy reader and Bucky, candy theft, polyamory

Indecent Proposal (16)

Indecent Proposal masterlist

Two months after Bucky and Steve found out about Rumlow’s plan to get information about them using the nurse, said man disappeared.  

No one cared about Brock Rumlow's disappearance. One day, he left town and never got seen again.

People may think Steve and Bucky took care of the annoying thorn in their flesh, but the truth is that they didn’t touch one hair on his head.

“Still nothing?” Bucky watches Natasha stuff the money he brought to her into her bag. Another good investment for the mobster, money for her retirement to Natasha. “Be honest, Nat. Did you take care of him?”

“I told Rumlow that his little stunt with the nurse went too far. He had the order to stay away from your…” she wrinkles her forehead still not understanding your relationship with the mobsters. “Fiancé.”

“We didn’t kill him,” Steve pushes off the wall to look at the pictures on Natasha’s desk. “Even though, we planned on taking him down. Rumlow had it coming.”

Natasha frowns deeply. “If none of us took him down… What happened to him? This doesn’t make sense at all.”

“What if he fucked with the wrong people over?” Bucky scratches his scruffy chin, wondering if the man obsessed with him and Steve annoyed the wrong person. “We can’t be the only people he messed with.”

“I don’t know,” Natasha sighs and rubs her tired eyes. “He’s a good cop.” She rolls her eyes when Steve makes a retching noise. “Believe it or not, he’s not a complete psycho. Rumlow is good at his job. I don’t know what you did to make him lose his mind.”

“We did shit to your little buddy,” Steve grunts. “If someone made him disappear, I owe him one. This way, I didn’t have to get my hands dirty.”

“This must be very funny to you, Rogers,” Natasha wrinkles her nose. “He was a good man and a good cop. It’s too bad he got lost in your web.”

“We didn’t lure him in,” Bucky snaps at Natasha. He glares at her, making sure she knows they did come here to chat. “One day your friend decided he must bring me and Steve down. Does he even know that we maintain peace? No one dares to harm citizens since we took over the throne.”

“I get it,” she huffs. “You are the kings of your kingdom of shit.”

“Careful—” Steve snarls at the redhead. “Our fathers build this kingdom with blood and terror,” the blonde steps closer to Natasha, sizing her up. “Bucky and I changed the old ways. We took their empire and changed it for the better.”

“What do we do about Rumlow now? If he’s dead, people will start asking questions. It’s no secret that he was obsessed with us.”

“I will try to keep you out of this,” Natasha steps away from Steve. She doesn’t want to rile him up even more. 

“You’ll keep us up to date,” Steve points his index finger at the redhead. “We need to know every detail of his disappearance…”

“Doll, what are you doing,” Steve laughs. You threatened to cut Bucky’s cock off because he dared to steal a chocolate bar from your secret stash. 

“He stole from me!” You pout. “Bucky stole my favorite chocolate bar. It was the last one with hazelnut.” Faking a sob, you look at Steve. “You should scold him.”

“I was hungry after you wanted a taste of Bucky,” the brunette grins. “And you got a whole drawer filled with the sweets. Candies, chocolate bars, all the good stuff. Steve, she’s got a sweet tooth.”

“Not only a sweet tooth,” Steve smirks. “She’s a naughty little minx too.”

“Hey! I’m not little,” you kneel on the bed to glare at Steve. Not months ago, you trembled in fear in front of Steve, and now you talk back and tease the mobster. “You better watch your tongue, or I won’t show you the latest ultrasound picture!”

Bucky watches you and his husband bicker. He smirks and chuckles. The brunette leans back and enjoys the show. “Steve, she’s getting cocky. What will you do about it?”

Steve cocks a brow. His features darken and he smirks at you. “I will spank her cute ass if she gets even cockier.”

You laugh at Steve’s words. He wouldn’t dare put his hands on you. Both men are deadly and strong, but with you, they are soft and gentle. Even if you are a brat and a needy slut sometimes.

“The doctor will be here in half an hour,” Bucky stretches his legs and yawns. It was a long day. Jensen and Bucky tried to find out more about Rumlow’s disappearance over the last hours. “Let’s not fight over stolen candy.”

“I did not forget you stole from my stash, punk!” You poke your index finger into Bucky’s thigh. “You are on thin ice, Sir.”

“Sir, huh?” Bucky licks his lips. “Steve, how long until the doctor arrives.” He looks at his husband.

“Buck. No,” Steve shakes his head. “Last time the doctor almost caught us red-handed.”

“Hmmm…good times,” you nod and sigh dreamily. “Very good times.”

“Your fiancé is healthy,” the doctor murmurs while scribbling down a few notes, “everything looks good. There is nothing to be worried about.” He looks up from his notes. “We should talk about the results of the ultrasound we took today now.”

He clears his throat and looks at you. The elderly man gives you a soft smile. “Can I tell them?”

The doctor chuckles now. “Of course, my dear.”

“Alright,” you clap your hands before grinning at Steve. “I will blow your mind.”

“Please tell me she’s not pregnant with a Tasmanian devil,” Steve mirrors your smirk. “I bet she is. It would explain her bratty behavior.”

“Stevie, let Y/N talk. I wanna know what she wants to talk about,” Bucky grabs your hand. Anytime you have an ultrasound examination he turns into a softie. “Go ahead doll. We are listening.”

You take a deep breath. Suddenly you’re a little nervous. “I-doctor can you tell them?” You chicken out and drop your gaze.

“Fuck! Is something wrong with the baby?” Steve presses one hand to his heart. “Please tell us.”

“Doll…” Bucky holds your hand a little tighter. The usual tough man looks helplessly at his husband. “Stevie?”

“The baby and your fiancé are healthy,” the doctor hastily says. “We got no bad news for you. It’s rather, good news for you and your fiancé, gentlemen.”

“Good news,” Bucky nods at Steve. “Did you hear…good news. Phew.” He sighs deeply. “Thank fuck.”

“What is the good news?” Steve rumbles. He stares at your swollen belly, awaiting an answer. “Doctor?”

You take a deep breath and look at both men. You don’t know if the news is good to them or not. “We—we are having twins!”

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky #stucky x reader #pregnant reader #stucky x fem #stucky x female reader #female reader #stucky x y #Indecent Proposal (17)

[xielianlover2]

Okay. I need to talk about Xie Lian. This is gonna be a bit rambly, jumbled, and unedited because I am kinda sleep-deprived right now.

Out of every fictional character I’ve read about… Xie Lian stands out as possessing the most remarkable mental fortitude and resilience I’ve ever seen. He’s such a brave and stubborn man. He’s, well… a diamond in the rough. 

I always thought him to be really mature for his age in the flashbacks. He was what, only around 16-17? And then after he descended down to save his kingdom, he was around the mental age of 20. He was barely an adult. Yet he had his whole kingdom’s fate on his shoulders, and the way he was treated was beyond horrible. 

That’s the problem with getting assigned the role of a leader… a general even. The number of deaths, their successes, their losses all fall upon the one who had the most status, most importance. So many people blamed Xie Lian for the fall on Xianle, but really, none of that was on him. Xianle was gonna fall either way due to all the politics and strife. But my goodness. To put all that blame on a child??? It’s so despicable. 

It made me terribly sad to see Xie Lian blame himself for what happened to Xianle and his people, when they were the ones who put him on a pedestal and did nothing to help ease his burdens. I think Xie Lian has natural charisma and could be a good leader, however he does not have the heart for it. He cares too much. He’s the type who wants to save everyone. He doesn’t like or want to see people suffer, even those considered his enemies. 

Xie Lian suffers a lot. He goes through so much, goes to unimaginable suffering constantly for 800 years. However, the core message of the series is that Xie Lian, as an individual, has the power to decide his own fate. He has the power to decide to remain pure at heart in the face of immeasurable suffering and to not give into Bai Wuxiang’s manipulations.  

His suffering can’t even be put into words. To be blamed for a whole kingdom dying. To blame himself for the horrifying Human-Face disease. Then he was banished and cursed and hunted by the Yong’an’s people. He became extremely depressed on top of trying to survive and take care of his parents each day. Mu Qing helped a lot, but he too eventually left. He resorted to stealing, which went completely against his morals. He was cornered by 33 Heavenly Officials, who humiliated and bullied him, Mu Qing being one of the people involved as well. All the while being haunted bu Bai Wuxiang, who’s truly a sadistic, unredeemable monster. Then he was brutally stabbed fatally hundreds of times in the most horrific way possible and the recovery-time was just two months of pain with the monster who made it all happen keeping him for company. Then Feng Xin left because Xie Lian changed too much, was too hurt and numb and lashed out. 

Then his parents left him too in a way. And Xie Lian probably blames himself for that. So at that point, Xie Lian just craved death. But he couldn’t even die because of the cursed shackle. 

But still. Still. Even after going after Lang Ying and having Wu Ming burn down the palace and could release the Human-Face disease all over the Yong’an kingdom.

He still chose to pin himself on the ground outside with the same sword that killed him hundreds of times… and waited for three whole days for one, just one person, one samaritan to help him. He still had a dredge of hope in humanity. In people. Because in the end, Xie Lian is an empathetic and kind person. He believes and has hope in people- because he is a pure-hearted person himself, and has to believe there are other people like him out there. Because he can’t be the only one. (He’s not, but a person like him is one out of millions.)

And deep inside he starts to believe Bai Wuxiang’s words when he come on the third day to convince him that this test/social experiment he was doing was pointless. That it is all so hopeless, and these people aren’t worth living, not after how much Xie Lian suffered at their hands. 

But all it took was one person. He was waiting. To be proved wrong. He wanted to be proved wrong, even after everything. That truly… I don’t have words for how amazing that is. 

And then. Even after 800 years of having literally nothing. 800 years of loneliness, suffering, and depression. Being nailed through the heart and buried alive for an undetermined time. Just so he could save more people again. He still remained the same. So pure of heart. So sweet and kind. He even asked for his second shackle to take away his luck so other people more “deserving” than him can take it. 

He still has his problems. His mental health is terrible. He’s very depressed. He chose to stay in a coffin for what could be a hundred years because of self-flagellation probably.

He has no self-esteem, except he’s so interestingly contradictory. He loathes himself, but he also believes he’s completely right. If Xie Lian had to do everything over again, I have no doubt he would do the same thing, except the second-time, maybe blame himself less, because he knows deep down what he is doing is right. He has a simple, but strict moral code. All he wants to do is the right thing. That means saving the common people. Interfere and help if he sees someone suffering. If he can save one person, he will save one person. If he can save a hundred people, he will save a hundred people. 

What a stubborn, beautiful person. 

Book 8: “I won’t! I won’t I won’t change!”… He’s been pent up for far too long. It was as though he’d been waiting for a chance like this all these years, and tears rolled as he screamed. “I won’t change! Even if it’s painful, even if I die, I won’t change, I will never change!”

And he didn’t. He has more than proven that he won’t change even if he died a hundred times. He won’t change even if he died a million times. Even as a young adult, he stood in front of a whole village of people after experiencing what is it like to feel stabbed fatally hundred of times already and was ready to do it all over again willingly. With even more people, even a whole kingdom of people.

Insane does not even begin to cover it. What an extraordinary resilient and compassionate person. 

Xie Lian is truly… something else. Something beyond words. He is also the only type of God I would willingly pray to. 

I understand why Hua Cheng would go to any extent for him. 

#tgcf #xie lian #xie lian rant #my favorite character #tian guan ci fu #heaven official's blessing #mo #mo xiang tong xiu #mxtx #brilliant character #analysis?

[badcaseofcasey]

one single thread of gold (tied me to you) | Part 4 aka: my Steddie soulmates au, Eddie's POV Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |Steve's POV

Eddie wasn’t sure how he thought Steve Harrington would end up coming back into his life - he wasn’t even sure Steve would come back into his life - but pinned against the wall of a boat shack at the end of a broken beer bottle was not it.

The past 24 hours of Eddie’s life had been something out of a horror movie. He wasn’t sure his heart rate had slowed down since he first saw Chrissy’s eyes glazed over in his trailer. And now, here comes his soulmate tagging along with the most unexpected combination of people he’s ever seen - including Dustin Henderson, one of newest recruits to Hellfire Club, and Max Mayfield, who moved into Forest Hills not that long ago.

He was reluctant to admit that his body instinctively knew to calm down once he realized his soulmate was there, instead choosing to believe it was down to the group of people who - against all odds - heard his story and believed him.

The next few days were… strange. Steve seemed intent not to mention their words at all, so Eddie followed his lead. There was a moment when Steve took off his sweater to dive into Lovers Lake where Eddie was able to see his words, clear as day. If he wasn’t convinced that Steve was his soulmate by then, that would have confirmed it.

Because much as Eddie hated to admit it, Steve had surprised him. Sure, Dustin and the others had spent the better part of the past six months trying to convince him that Steve was a good guy (no, really!), but he never expected it to actually be true. He said as much to Steve, and reveled briefly in Steve’s shy acceptance of the compliment. If it hadn’t been so dark in that godforsaken forest, he would’ve sworn Steve had blushed.

They had made it back topside and now he and Dustin were goofing around while the rest of the crew were setting up supplies and weapons. His eyes drifted briefly to where Robin and Steve were putting together molotov cocktails - a sentence he never would have even considered thinking before today. The distraction was long enough for Dustin to get a drop on him, knocking him to his knees. Eddie rolled sideways to avoid Dustin’s “spear,” laughing along with Dustin.

Dustin sat next to him. “All right, old man, catch your breath.”

Eddie gasped, pretending to be appalled. “Watch who you’re calling ‘old man,’ whippersnapper.”

Dustin looked out at the field and his hand drifted down to run his fingers up and down his forearm, where Eddie knew his soulmate’s words were. Eddie had learned all about Suzie within their first few sessions of Hellfire; it was a point of pride that Dustin got his words before any of the other members of the party did.

“Thinking about Suzie?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah,” Dustin answered, eyes still looking out into the distance. “I always worry when we’re about to do something like this. What if something… happens to me? We’ve kept Suzie out of this so far, so she has no idea that we’re facing off against literal monsters at least once a year at this point. If something happens to me, what will Suzie think?”

Eddie shook his head and sat up. “I hate that you’re having to worry about things like that. You’re only fourteen, man.”

“Yeah, but look at it this way,” Dustin said. “At least I know, for sure, that there’s someone out there for me. That no matter how bad things get, there’s something to look forward to. It gives me hope, and a reason to keep going when I think I can’t.”

Eddie smiled sadly. “That’s quite the bright side.”

“I try,” Dustin said. “What about you, do you have your words?”

Eddie weighed the options of lying to Dustin right now, but decided it wasn’t worth it. Besides, it felt like it would be a betrayal of the trust Dustin had clearly put in him. “Yeah, I do.”

“Really?” Dustin asked. “You never talk about them.”

“For good reason,” Eddie said, bumping his shoulders into Dustin’s. “Not all of us get our words from our adorable girlfriend from camp.”

“Well, whoever it is,” Dustin said, nudging Eddie back. “It can be a reason for you, too. You know, to keep going.”

“Hey, I already have enough of a reason,” Eddie stood and said, “‘86 is gonna be my year, right?”

Dustin smiled and accepted Eddie’s hand up.

“And Dustin,” Eddie said, seriously. “You know that one of us would take care of letting Suzie know. We know she’s important to you. She wouldn’t just be left in the dark.”

“Thanks, Eddie,” Dustin said. “You know, if you told me who your soulmate is, I could make the same promise.”

“Nice try,” Eddie said, ruffling the top of Dustin’s ghillie suit. “Come on, let’s go see if we’ve got our marching orders.” He slung an arm across Dustin’s shoulders as he steered them back towards the group.

Eddie couldn’t get Dustin’s words out of his head, even as they all made their way back into the Upside Down. Is that how Steve thought about him as he went through everything that Eddie gathered had happened over the past few years? Did Steve think about him at all?

The group was getting ready to split up, and Eddie was caught with a sudden need to talk to Steve. He called out his name as the group headed out towards the Creel House, then stopped when Steve turned to look at him.

There was so much to say, so much they had both left unsaid. Eddie didn’t know how he could possibly put all of what he was feeling in that moment into words, but here he was, about to watch Sir Steve walk away from him again, only this time, the dragons were so much more real. He just knew he couldn’t let Steve leave without saying… something.

“Make him pay.”

Shit. He probably could have done better than that.

taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added/taken off!: @awkwardgravity1 @infinitetrashbag @vampireinthesun @swimmingbirdrunningrock @maya-custodios-dionach @thev01dd @obsessivlyme @a-little-unsteddie @anything-thats-rock-and-roll @spectrum-spectre @red-panderz69 @magpiemuseum @minjintea @finalmoondragonn @thatonebadideapanda @estrellami-1 @freyaforestafay @biatcgh @sadcanadianwinter @im-sam-fucking-winchester @bidisastersworld @justanothergirlwithobsessions @anaibis @thing-a-ling @rosered93 @newtstabber @void-o-chaos @thegingerrapunzel @baron-zemo-trash @katireads @child-of-cthulhu @the-s-is-silent @i-must-potato @hellomynameismoo @lovelylilbadone @theotalksalot @lydi-cyan @background-noise-headache @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @slitherynchiken @grapefruitgalaxy @bookbinderbitch @luthienstormblessed @blues-tunes @murdblurdock @grtwdsmwhr @xpaperheartso@anaibis @thedyingwriter

#my fic #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steddie #soulmate au #Stranger Things #met as kids au #steddie soulmate au #finally getting back to this one!

[angeart]

hhau mimic arc rambles - part II: reunion

(~3,4 k words) // part I here // au masterpost here --

After being left out in the open, weakened and alone, without supplies or his cloak, wings on full bright display, Grian… isn’t doing so well. 

He barely survived the attack. He scrambled so much to defend himself. He used the arrow (the one that was once buried in his thigh; the one he kept because it was sharp-edged and better than nothing). There was so much blood. It was all so horrible. 

Now he finds himself alone and cold and terrified, bleeding. Everything hurts and he doesn’t know where Scar is—

Where is Scar? 

... Did Scar leave him?

Scar wouldn’t leave him, right? (He doesn’t want to believe it. But the possibility that Scar might be in danger, somewhere far away from Grian, is absolutely dreadful.) 

The camp is empty when Grian stumbles back into it, and the ribbon is gone, and— Maybe Scar did replace him, after all? Got rid of the burden of Grian’s violet wings, chose the path of least resistance, opted for survival instead of trying to constantly fight against Grian’s doomed fate?

Grian is so scared and confused. Worried sick too, but he feels abandoned and doesn’t know where to go. He misses that fabric on his wrist. He feels so so alone. 

He tries waiting, for a while. But it’s dangerous to stay put and, eventually, he’s forced to move. And it almost feels familiar, in some awful way—it’s as if he was plunged back into his first week in this world. Hostile and cruel and nightmarish, with no reprieve, no kindness, no gentleness. No warmth to curl against, no hands to hold him steady, no safety net beneath his wobbly feet. Except he’s worn down by months in this world. And it’s colder now. And on top of that, he’s already wounded horribly.

He scrambles from place to place, leaving a trail of blood that he’s sure someone can trace. He tries so hard to hide himself, to lose any potential pursuers, but—

But a part of him wants to leave a trace. A part of him keeps hopelessly wishing that Scar might be out there, looking for him.

As days pass, that seems less and less likely.

Grian barely sleeps, reverting to old habits of wings pressed tightly against harsh surfaces in an attempt to hide them, surrendering the very much needed warmth they could provide if only he wrapped them around himself instead. He shivers, exhaustedly alert to every little sound. Dizzy and hurting and terrified.

He’s got nothing left now. Being with Scar feels like less of a memory and more of a fever dream. He's so sure it’ll now forever be this: him, lost alone in this vast forest, running until he can’t anymore. It will be the cold, or the hunger, injuries, or the hunters—something will inevitably bring him down, soon.

He misses Scar.

He hopes Scar is okay.

(He tries not to think about how he wishes this would all just end.) (He tries not to sink too much into exhausted, hopeless despair.) (He tries to dredge up his pesky resistance, any sort of spite against fate that could fuel him to just keep going, keep surviving.)

It’s a harsh week. He gets into more fights, each of them bleak and panic-filled and horrible. (A lot of the scars he later has—including the one on his face—come from this week spent alone.) He’s so, so tired. It all hurts. He’s scared.

When it happens, he’s curled up, hurt and bruised, face dirty and bloodied, body shaking from the cold, stomach twisted with hunger. All of a sudden he jolts, thinking he heard something distant that sounded like Scar’s voice. And he doesn’t know if he’s imagining things, because at this point that seems more likely than this being real, but he still can’t help himself as something urgent swells in him, begging him to reply, to call back.

He tries to call for Scar, but his voice falters and fails. His throat is so dry. He hasn’t made a sound in days.

Scar’s voice moves further away and Grian panics. He scrambles, unfurling his sore wings. Everything aches, his balance is off, but he tries to get up anyway. Desperate, he lets out a cry—a loud, sob-like sound, the only one still willing to wrangle itself from his throat. 

And then he does something he hasn’t done in months: he spreads his wings further, and he tries to fly.

The branches are thick, and Grian’s wings don’t really carry him, and in his blind desperation, he quickly crashes against a tree. His wing spikes with pain and he tumbles harshly to the ground, but he doesn’t pay it any attention.

Panicked desperation keeps flooding his veins as he’s sprawled on the forest floor, his own body not listening to him as his lungs edge hyperventillation. Because— Because Scar was there but he was moving away and Grian couldn’t follow and he’s— he’s—

He’s just going to die here, isn’t he?

The trees rustle. There’s a loud noise Grian can’t quite decipher, but it doesn’t matter.

All that registers is danger. 

Danger danger danger danger

It’s only ever been those horrible creatures. Nothing good approaches from the sky here. Grian’s made too much noise, and now they’ve found him, and he can’t fight, not anymore, not again, please—

A series of panicked, frantic chirps spills out of him on nothing but blind instinct as he tries to back away, press against something, flatten against the ground, anything.

His wings are bright. He doesn’t have a cloak. He can’t hide. He can't run.

He doesn't stand a chance.

He can’t do anything as the source of danger swoops down on him.

---

When Scar left Juni, he was a mess of conflicted emotions, the hurt and betrayal fresh and wildly flaring. But as he keeps moving, those emotions get overrun by others that spread through him like a wildfire: the rage, the desperation, the fear.

He doesn’t know where to go. 

He doesn’t know if Grian’e even alive.

With heart torn to pieces in his chest and nothing but feeble, foolish hope—and an insane amount of blind recklessness—he clutches the ribbon, spreads out his tattered wings, and leaps up, scaling the trees to get as high as he can. The morning light is soft, pale and gentle, interspersed with fog that obscures everything further in a cottony haze. 

Scar’s wings struggle to carry him, but he doesn’t care. He needs to go. He needs to go, and this is the fastest way, and—

He’d do anything right now. Anything to find Grian.

Desperately, he tries to feel the tug of their connection; the dark fabric of the ribbon prickles against his grip in silent accusation and Scar begs it to lead him. Yet there’s nothing to help him pick a direction; he simply scrambles in whichever way feels right. 

He hollers. It’s not a word, just a cry. A call. 

He really shouldn’t be loud, shouldn’t heedlessly drag attention to himself, but he doesn’t care what he attracts. The only thing that matters is that he also attracts Grian.

It feels futile. The world is vast and Scar doesn’t even know which direction him and Juni took, because he was continuously dosed with weakness. He doesn’t know how to get back to where he saw Grian last. (Days ago—) 

He flies and glides and leaps, yelling, heart feeling like it’s going to explode in his chest. 

And then he hears it.

A sob. A wretchedly (wonderfully) familiar sob.

His ears twitch rapidly, latching onto that. His whole body whips backwards midair, almost making him tumble completely. Frantically, in a haze of vex magic that edges on feral, he delves in the direction where he heard it.

He knows he’s near when his ears flick, catching another sound. Terrified little chirps.

He makes his way down through the trees. Down the branches. Down towards his avian.

---

Grian’s panic breaks the moment he catches sight of those bright spectral wings. Broken. So broken. Tattered and frantic. 

Scar is made of sharp claws and fangs and wisps of pale blue magic. He looks like a monster ready to pounce. He looks absolutely nightmarish and terrifying.

Grian’s never been more relieved in his life.

He scrambles forwards. He’s on his hands and knees and his wing throbs and his face is wounded and none of it matters. Scar rushes to meet him, his wings fading before he’s even on the ground, and he practically falls into an embrace. (His claws stay pressed to his palms, careful, so careful. His tail wraps around them as he holds on, holds on, never wanting to let go again.)

They both cling tightly and cry. Grian’s making garbled noises, as if he was trying to say things, but he’s crying too hard to be coherent; he just paws at Scar and clings and burrows into the comforting safety of his arms. (He thought Scar left him.) (He thought Scar got captured.) (He thought Scar was dead.)

Feeling the shivers and cold skin, Scar scrambles to wrap the cloak around Grian, noticing the limp wing in the process. (His heart hurts.)

The familiar weight of the cloak provides such a small but important sense of security. Grian tucks his wings underneath it, even though it hurts, one of the wings twitching and moving wrong. He hisses in pain, but it gets swallowed up by his sobs and crying.

Amidst it all, Scar isn’t doing well—he only just got clear headed from that constant dose of weakness and he’s just majorly overused his magic, slamming into trees as he glided recklessly—but he has to keep pushing through, keep using his magic to be able to function right now, because Grian is the priority here and Scar won’t rest until he knows Grian is safe.

Here isn’t safe. They’re out in the open, after making loads of noise. And— Grian’s hurt. He’s bleeding. It’s so clear that something happened and Scar wasn’t there and— He can’t bear it, can't forgive himself. 

Grian looks so cold and small and scared. And even though Scar was dosed with weakness potions, at least he was fed and kept warm. At least he was carefully steered away from danger and into shelters, left to rest. At least he wasn’t alone, terrified out of his mind for his life. 

Grian didn’t have any of those luxuries. And there’s no way Scar can undo any of it. 

Now Grian presses close to him, desperate to have him be here and be real. Through the crying, something desperate comes through—something that sounds like “Please don’t leave me again.” 

With a hitched breath and a heart torn to absolute pieces in his chest, Scar shakes his head. He’s choking on sobs as he babbles, “Never, no no no no, never, never—” Urgently, he tucks the ribbon back into Grian’s hands.

Grian thought he lost it forever. He immediately clings to it, in such a desperate, urgent gesture. Needing to feel it in his grasp, to tell himself that it wasn't lost, that its connection persists. That it still belongs to him. (The ribbon and Scar's heart alike—)

“Yours, yours yours yours.” Scar, too, means more than just the ribbon.

Grian cries so hard he can’t breathe. He’s holding onto the ribbon and pressing himself against Scar and— he’s loud. His sobs carry. He can’t get them under control; it’s just so so raw.

With shaking hands, Scar tries to tie the ribbon around Grian’s wrist, where it belongs. He’s shaking too much, he’s struggling. (Trying to ignore the bruising he sees there. As if someone tried to pin Grian down by his wrist—) He’s babbling incoherently through it all, the words that  tumble out of him both reassurances and apologies, repeating that he’s here, he’s here, he’s so sorry. Once he manages to get the ribbon tied, his words stumble through “This is yours, always yours, I’m yours, I’m sorry—”

Grian  has no words beyond Scar’s name.

In all of this, Scar’s feeling weird. He wants to scoop Grian up and never let go, but he’s a little afraid of his claws— a little afraid of himself, really. This has never happened quite like this, with the surge of vex magic that borders on feral. He is lucid but off. He still feels a bit like he’s spinning. This is real, right? It’s real?

A frightened squeeze to Grian’s hands is reciprocated with a squeeze back and a whimper. Scar makes a quick decision to pull Grian up, to lift him and hold  him tight. (He feels so urgent and needy, desperate and afraid that Grian is going to slip away if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.) He tries not to be rough, but he still feels only barely in control of his own body. And despite the bruises and wounds that litter Grian’s body—despite everything hurting—Grian barely makes a sound of pain, instead tucking himself closely to Scar. Relieved to be held, to feel him so near. Trusting him fully with himself.

Securely holding Grian, Scar breaks into a run. His ears twitch, catching sounds of the forest as he tries to avoid them all. It’s chaotic. It’s all a bit of a blur. He keeps slurring more nonsense to Grian: “Sorry, safe, safe, never again, sorry.” Something broken about “love”. 

Once Scar finds a semi-safe place, he kneels down, but he’s hesitant to let Grian go. Everything feels weird and light and he’s terrified it’s a dream he’s waking up from.

Grian isn’t any better, though; he keeps clinging to him, too. Scar was gone for so long and now he’s randomly back? He can’t quite process it; all that he knows is that he’s terrified to let go. (He remembers feeling woozy on weakness potions, and he remembers the deep pit of the fever from that arrow wound way back, and... This feels similar. Like maybe he’s not quite aware, not quite getting things right. Maybe— Maybe Scar isn’t here?) 

 Grian begs Scar to stay. (He feels like he’s asked that of him before, but it’s hazy in his exhausted mind.)

Scar can feel himself falling from the high of his magic; he feels weak again, confused, distant. But he latches onto that. “I’m not leaving,” he says, suddenly so clear. “He— he tricked me…” his voice wobbles. He feels awful, like a failure. He doesn’t want to think of the mimic ever again. He’s terrified to as well. The fact that he didn’t kill him means he could return—

Grian feels such a tangled mess at that admission. He wonders if Scar felt better with Juni? It took so long for him to realise and go looking for Grian, maybe he was better off with the fake one? It's so... it's so horrible to think that Scar took this long to realise Grian wasn't with him.

Scar still hasn’t let him down, instead falling to his knees entirely and cradling Grian close. He doesn’t want to admit how hard he fell for the trick. He hates himself for it. What if he didn’t find Grian? 

His skin feels prickly and odd like his whole body has fallen asleep. He’s numb and weak and heavy and— Is he drugged again? 

He wants to provide so many answers but— His skin is pulsing an off whitish blue. And he just croaks, “S–something’s wrong. I don’t feel— Grian. I don’t feel good.”

That singular admission throws Grian into sharp focus, panicked. He ignores his bruises and aches and the cold and tiredness, the wooziness from hunger and thirst—all of it. Instead, he whips to attention, looking Scar over. Trying to get him to tell Grian what’s wrong. (Obviously the colour is wrong—Scar’s not meant to pulsate with magic hue like this. But Grian doesn’t understand it. He’s never seen it. He’s— He’s so scared that this is something he won’t be able to help with, won’t be able to fix.)

Instead of a constructive answer, Scar stammers, slurred: “Did you— he— more potions?” He feels like he’s falling past some edge. His body won’t listen to him. His thoughts are turning fuzzy and staticky and he’s sick to his stomach, thinking about weakness potions.

Grian’s holding his cheeks, trying to keep eye contact. He doesn’t think a potion could do this. He pleads with Scar to tell him what does he need. How can he help?

The genuine concern from Grian horribly reminds Scar of the mimic. The nausea churns in his stomach, acidic, and he feels painfully helpless in this moment as everything seems to slip past his fingers. “Please be real?” 

Grian makes a miserable sound, edging a startled sob. Something aborted and strained. His thumbs brush over Scar’s skin and he leans in. “I’m real,” he promises weakly, desperately, sealing it with a soft kiss to Scar’s cheek. And then another one to his temple, and his eyebrow, and his forehead. A swelling build up of helpless heartache translates to hot tears dripping down Grian’s face. “I’m here. You found me. I’m here.” 

The tenderness, as well as the easy forwardness of the affection help reassure Scar. Juni wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. He never did. (Maybe Scar should’ve realised sooner—)

Grian’s fingers brush over Scar’s cheeks. His touch is featherlight, gentle, as if he was worried Scar will break underneath his fingertips. (Scar’s skin still pulsates, a sickly hue that reminds Grian of those awful, rotting vines they found in a cave so many months ago.) (He doesn’t know what’s wrong with Scar and it terrifies him.) His breath hitches, and then he finds himself saying, “Please don’t leave me.” His voice cracks. It’s so awful.

The words snap Scar to attention—as much as he can currently manage. “God— No. No, not leaving.” The flickering hue of magic across Scar's skin speeds up, like a panicky heartbeat stuttering out of rhythm.

The change frightens Grian and he scrambles to make things better, in any way he can. He thinks maybe they need to stop panicking first. Maybe— Maybe they both just need to take a deep breath. Surely they could both benefit from some proper breathing.

He suggests just that, and it does help somewhat. The flickering slows and steadies and almost fades, and Grian moves to pepper Scar’s face with soft kisses, tiny and light and greedy. And wet. Because he can't seem to stop crying.

Grian’s own cheek throbs with his unhealed wound, but he doesn’t pay it any attention. He just needs— He needs Scar to be okay, and he needs him to be right here with him, and he needs both of them to believe that this is real.

With deliberation, he moves his hands to brush them over Scar’s ears, knowing full well how sensitive they are. Remembering Scar’s flush, that very first time, and the way his ears twitched underneath Grian’s touch. A weak, destabilised chuckle precedes his strained words, ready to break. “Remember when I did this before?”

Scar barks out a little laugh at that. And… it helps. It helps to hear Grian bringing up a private, intimate memory they both share. 

And then all of a sudden, he’s begging for forgiveness. “I messed up. I’d… I’d never leave you, Grian.” Even with a leaden, exhausted body, he pulls together enough strength to graze his fingers over the wound on Grian’s face, his touch gentle and sad. 

Grian falls quiet for a moment, breaths still tripping in his throat, coming out shaky. “I thought— I thought you—” He can’t say it.

“Never.”

Exhaling, Grian falls against Scar. He curls up and presses into the crook of his neck.

Scar still feels tingly and strange and light, but it’s almost pleasant now. Like he could pretend it’s from Grian and not overextertion. Like it’s just silly nerves. And even though he wants nothing more but to collapse, to curl up with Grian in his arms and drift off to sleep, he can’t. He can’t have that.

Because Grian’s wounded, and hungry, and so horribly exhausted, and Scar needs to patch him up and grant him some safety. He needs to try to clean Grian’s wounds. (On next to no supplies.) He needs to get him to eat something. (He doesn’t have anything to offer; he fled Juni so fast, unable to think past Grian might be dying right now.) He needs to let Grian rest, after a week of horror; he needs to take watch and let Grian sleep. (He’s so, so tired, the magic overuse weighing him down in a way that makes him almost certain he wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight.)

This feels familiarly miserable.

But Grian isn’t dying.

He isn’t dying, and Scar found him, and they’re together. And he won’t let anything separate them ever again.

(But he might not have a choice.)

#hhau #ange rambles #ange writes #i borrowed a lot of link's words for scar's bits <3 #credit where credit's due #scarian #these rambles were long overdue #this was meant to be only like #half of the stuff #but i got carried away with details and it got too long #so there will be part THREE that is the aftermath of this disaster #and i'll also separate the bit about what happened to our li'l mimic friend #(friend might be a questionable word to use) #dw about that ending #that's not relevant to the mimic arc at all #>:3c hehe

[lightwise]

TBB S3 E10 Reaction

Life has been a bit busier the last few weeks so I am finally catching up on my episode reactions (I’m determined to do all of them this season!) And I apologize y’all, this episode made me very snarky apparently.

I’ll be honest. When this episode first came out I was nowhere near as surprised by it or horrified by it as reviewers seemed to be. Nothing about Palpatine hunting down force sensitive children as experiments and using Cad Bane to do it is a surprise, and the Vault feels so much like Andor. But even on a rewatch this episode holds up so well and honestly just starts to give a cold chill under the skin as the quiet horror of it sinks in.

- Cute kid. And the Batch nowhere to be seen. This is going to be a different episode isn’t it

- Oh no. He’s force sensitive 😫😫😫 hmmm how could that possibly go wrong

- This is giving Andor vibes 👀

- It’s always interesting seeing “regular people” in Star Wars and little markets and how they’re just trying to go about their daily lives.

- Don’t go around snitching people! Nothing good ever comes of it!!!

- Yeah this guy is worse than Timm from Andor. Wtf dude. You’re turning in a baby!!

- Also is it just me or typical Star Wars “houses” end up being pretty dark and depressing?

- Wait okay okay. So this is the CX chamber. Why can’t we see any of them yet 😩😩 what is this red fog? What are these weird conditioning pods? What kind of armor is on this datapad?? *trying to crawl inside my screen* I NEED ANSWERS JENNIFER!!

- “Do you trust me?” Ooooh why do I think that’s going to come back around

- But also, babygirl, I don’t think you actually know what you’re signing up for

- “I could be more useful” “you wish to be the new chief scientist Dr. Karr?” “I believe I’ve earned it.” Alright. This. This is interesting. This fully encapsulates the dynamic that these two have shared. Emerie knows that Hemlock only values things that are useful, and probably only sees her own value in the light of what she can contribute, due to how she was raised and the circumstances she has been trapped in. Hemlock’s tone of voice implies that he has never considered her as being the new chief scientist, and yet he acquiesces quite quickly, almost as though he’s just too busy to think about it and if it means things are brought back up to production standard then he’s fine with it. His utter disregard for Emerie as an actual human and someone with merit is disgusting though.

- But I get it, the man’s busy, he’s got a lot of evil shit he’s trying to do all at the same time 🙄

- So we have “the assets”, which is the area that Hemlock took Palpatine in the first episodes, where the orange containment pods are and the zillo beast is being kept. We still don’t know what those assets are. The Vault is something different.

- Well. Shit. It’s Andor and Narkina 5 for kids. Lovely 😳💀

- “There are few adults left with such characteristics” I WONDER IN THE NAME OF ONE EMPEROR PALPATINE WHY

- Okay so this entire exchange is awful. The kids are so cute! Hemlock is so cold. “Specimens. Assets” ughhh Emerie what are you getting yourself into!!

- Is this the first time we’ve heard the word glasses in Star Wars?

- Oh no. So THIS is why Cad Bane was brought back ����🥺

- The score in this episode is perfectly eerie

- Lol Todo is not good with kids huh 🤣

- That poor mama when she wakes up and finds her baby is gone

- I hope that dude has his entire life flash before his eyes as he’s trying to pick all of those credits up

- “My name’s Eva” 🥹🥹🥹 Emerie has no idea how to handle this 😂

- I still wanna know what’s happened with these commandos. No way a clone of Jango Fett is able to look a child in the eyes, call them a “specimen” and not have even an ounce of remorse as they stun them point blank.

- “Jax?” And Eva just points. The power in knowing someone’s name vs a dehumanizing number

- It’s also interesting that these kids are species that are red, blue, and green, and when they get Bayrn in, he’s white. RGB colors make up white light when put together.

- The little peeks of Emerie’s backstory we keep getting are so interesting. She was abandoned by Nala Se. She knows that these children don’t belong here, the same way that Omega told both her and Crosshair that they didn’t belong here either. Nala Se says that the Empire will hold these kids to control them. Emerie feels like she has no power to do anything differently. So much to unpack here.

- Why is Tarkin’s holo so large?

- Lol I honestly love getting to see the backbiting politics of how the Empire functions. It’s so bad and so funny

- Also love that Project Necromancer is so secret that even Tarkin doesn’t know what it is. He’s so nosy

- Okay why does he bring up the CX schematic again and why is it so different than the one we saw earlier??

- Whoa Cid was tortured???

- “The other operatives aren’t ready to join you in the field” why????

- We’re visiting a lot of space stations this season

- Man I wish Emerie had fudged this test

- Nooo let the poor baby go home 🥺

- Oh and now we’re putting kids in solitary confinement. Great.

- C’mon Emerie. Keep clicking that moral compass until it points north

- She kept the straw Lula. She’s giving it to Eva 😭. There’s hope for her yet

#the bad batch #tbb #tbb spoilers #star wars #the bad batch spoilers #Emerie karr #tbb s3 #the bad batch season 3

[sinner-sunflower]

P.2 HH Lucifer-centric AU 11/?

STORY 1, PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 12

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

Lilith: Sign the papers, Lucifer.

Lucifer: Wha- Why?

Lilith: I don't think- This needs to end now. We both knew it won't last for all eternity.

Lucifer: Lily?

Lilith: I'm leaving.

Lucifer: Lilith, please! Talk to me! At least tell me why! How about Charlie! Our daughter, Lily!

Lilith: It’s just better this way. Believe me. You’ll understand someday. And she will too.

Lucifer: Is this because you’re afraid I'll overshadow and control you? That I'll hurt you like Adam did? Because I won’t. Lilith, please. I love you so much. I can step down! You can be the sole ruler of hell is that's what you want. Please.

Lilith: Stop this, Lucifer. Don’t make this harder than it is.

Lucifer: I.....can’t stop you, can't I?

Lilith: No.

Lucifer: I guess you’re the one doing the hurting this time. Is that what you’ve wanted all along?

Lilith doesn’t respond. She leaves. 

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

Lucifer awakens to the scent of Marigolds and the sound of strangled crying. He's vaguely aware of the weight of his body being cradled by someone, their tears falling onto his still form.

With a lot of effort on his part, he commands his vision to clear and the ringing in his ears to subside. Gradually, his surroundings comes into focus, revealing Charlie to be the one holding him, her face contorted with anguish that should never be present on his little girl's face.

'Who did that? Who made my Charlie cry?'

Her words tumble out in a frantic stream, but Lucifer struggles to respond, his voice caught in his throat. It dawns on him that Charlie isn't aware of his consciousness, her attention absorbed by her own distress.

Squinting against the haze of confusion, he realizes she's speaking to someone else entirely.

Charlie: A-angel hurry, please! I don't know what just happened. You're the number I- and I'm sorry please help me!

Lucifer can't hear what Angel was saying on the other end but they're muffled. Each unintelligible word seems to only worsen his daughter's tears, and oh, how he longs to comfort her.

Helplessness washes over him as he wishes to move, to reach out and wipe away his most precious' tears.

'That's what a good dad should do, right? Yeah. Yeah. It's kinda funny how Charlie is the one craddling me right now. I miss her baby days.'

He must have chuckled because Charlie whips her head down to him.

Charlie: Dad! You're awake! Thank you. You're okay, dad, don't worry. I- Angel, he's awake! I don't know! I just found him, oh god, Angel- I thought he-he-

There's frantic voices on the other line, the residents are all probably huddled in the phone attempting to calm Charlie down. Lucifer didn't get to hear what the overlapping voices were saying when the sanctuary's doors fly open revealing the radio demon.

Suddenly, the sanctuary's doors burst open, revealing Alastor. With a keen eye, he spots Lucifer and Charlie, and wasting no time before teleporting to their side in a blink, concern evident as he checks on them both.

Charlie: A-Al, thank god you're here. I- I

Alastor: My dear, you must calm yourself. Breathe.

Charlie: I can't!

Alastor: Yes you can. Count from a hundred backwards.

Charlie: 100, 99, 98.....80... I ca-can't please-

Charlie freezes as a gentle hand touches her cheek, prompting her to lower her gaze. With deliberate tenderness, he reaches for her hand, guiding it to his chest, positioning it over his heart. A silent reassurance pulses beneath her touch, the steady, calming rhythm of her father's heart.

Lucifer: I'm okay, duckie. Feel it. I'm okay. I'm breathing. I'm alive.

Charlie: D-dad.

Alastor: Match his breathing, dear.

After a minute, Charlie managed to calm down enough to form coherent sentences. She reiterates what she walked in on earlier and Lucifer is horrified. His daughter shouldn't have seen that but he's also berating himself. He knew that he shouldn't have told Keekee that Charlie could come. Stupid. Stupid. STUPID-

A snap of a finger stops the start of another spiral.

Alastor: None of that. We will have a talk about this but first, let us go back to the hotel for now. It must be uncomfortable laying on a frozen floor, no?

The King of Hell wants to say something but he knows there's no arguing with a fretting Alastor. Charlie is already outside on the phone again, most likely talking to whoever was at the hotel or maybe the Sins. He's hoping she doesn't call them right away; they're bigger worrywarts than him.

Charlie: -no no. He's fine now We're going to take him back to the hotel. Yes. Yes. Of course. Maybe in a few hours? Yes, I'll call you after we check him over. Yes. Thank you, Aunt Bel.

He yelps in surprise as the radio demon picks him up and holds him bridal style.

Lucifer: What the hell you doing??

Alastor: Why, carrying you, my love!

Lucifer: I can walk just fine.

Alastor raised an eyebrow at this then promptly dropped him.

Lucifer: Ow! What the fuck?!

Alastor: That does not look like standing. Perhaps it's opposite day today?

Lucifer all but growls but knows he's got him there. With a groan, he relents, deciding that he's going to be complain all the way back if he can help it.

Lucifer: Fine.

Alastor: What was that~?

Lucifer: I said fine! Carry me you tacky piece of shit!

He's pouting but he doesn't care. He's the King of Hell for Father's sake! Why is he letting this man bully him??

Alastor only smiles as he picked him up again. At least someone is enjoying this humiliation.

The way Alastor is holding him is doing something to him and had Alastor always been this handsome??

They meet Charlie outside already with one of their limousines. Thankfully, no reporters are camping anymore around the palace or this will be another big scandal that will most likely damage his image. Not that he cares what people in Hell think of him but whatever they they perceive him as extends to Charlie and he's not going to give them any ammunition on her.

Charlie: You sure you're alright, Dad?

Lucifer: Yes, sweetheart. I just want to be in a bed right now.

Alastor: I could always teleport you there, my dear. Would be faster than this death contraption.

Lucifer: I will throw up on you.

Alastor's eye twitches but doesn't say anything back. They sit in semi-comfortable silence the rest of the ride.

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

Alastor: Charlie, why don't you talk to the others and your uncles and aunts about your father's condition? I'll take his majesty up in his room. I'm sure the last thing he needs is to be bombarded with questions at this time.

Charlie: You're right. Thanks, Al.

Charlie squeezed Lucifer's hand in a silent reassurance.

Charlie: I'll follow you later, Dad. Love you.

Oh, how he loves her so.

Lucifer: Okay, duckie.

He almost threw up when Alastor teleported them up to his tower but before he could, the sinner put up a lemon tea up on his face. Muttering a small thanks, the King of Hell took a few sips before deciding to lay down.

Alastor is still not interrogating him but maybe the other can smell his exhaustion. No. The guy did not talk at all. He only moved to sit by his side, leaning back to the headrest. Lucifer takes this as an invitation to hug the other's waist like a bolster and snuggles closer. The Sin of Pride feels his partner's hand combing through his hair and humming an old tune.

He's afraid of seeing Roo again as he tightens his hold on Alastor. The other doesn't even flinch and Lucifer is glad. Alastor usually doesn't like touch so whenever the other allows it, Lucifer savors every second.

Lucifer: I won't blame you, you know?

Alastor: Hmm?

Lucifer: If it's too much. If you wanna leave, you can.

The hand in his hair stops moving but Alastor still said nothing.

Lucifer: I'll remember you though.

Sleep is calling him. He only wishes that he'll dream of nothing this time.

Lucifer: I remember everyone that leaves.

He passes out not hearing Alastor reply, words laced with a genuinity no one else had the privilege to hear.

Alastor: I can assure you, my king, I am not one to give up what I adore that easily.

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

I adore that Lilo and Stitch line. It really struck me when I first watched it.

YT also played this Hour of Joy VHS tape and that background tune really gave me inspiration on some future scenes. So, stay tuned.

#hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin alastor #hazbin charlie #hazbin angel dust #hazbin lilith #hazbin husk #hazbin vaggie #hazbin cherri bomb #hazbin sir pentious #hazbin niffty #hazbin emily #hazbin sera #hazbin michael #hazbin adam #hazbin lute #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel vaggie #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel niffty #hazbin hotel cherri bomb #hazbin hotel sir pentious #hazbin hotel emily #hazbin hotel sera #hazbin hotel lilith #hazbin hotel lute #hazbin hotel adam

[hearted-anon]

Love Troubles

Words: 2k Note: I couldn't find a picture of all four of them. :( T/w: Restraints, rough, VERY rough Lee(s): Changbin, Channie Ler(s): Felix, Minho

“Look at those muscles, both of you look amazing!” Felix fawned over the duo after their workout, who had just exited the shower. Both Changbin and Chan flushed a bright red at the compliment, waving it off before scurrying into their room. Felix stood there akin to a dazed puppy as they rushed off, unsure of what he had done wrong. The cat happened to slip by, sneakily eavesdropping before sliding over to the sunshine.

“Why can’t they accept that they're just absolutely gorgeous?” Felix pouted, crossing his arms with a huff. Minho chuckled, shaking his head at the sheer comedy between the trio.

"Because they're dumb, my sunshine." Lee Know offered a gentle smile, trying to soothe away the very obvious tantrum the younger was throwing. Felix was desperate, he wanted- no, needed to help them realise their self-worth under any circumstance.

"Then can we make them realise?"

"How so, my sunshine?"

"Your favourite activity."

"...bring it on."

They both barged into the gym duo's shared room, calm, loving smiles that were nothing but a ploy to lure the fish to their bait. The mischievous duo were let in with open arms, quite open to the fact they were being spooned. Minho groaned as Chan wrapped warm arms around his waist, Felix happily squealing as he tackled Changbin's chest without hesitation.

"Look at you, so pretty..."

Felix cooed as his fingers snuck around Changbin’s waist to his tummy, tracing heart shapes into it. A squeak came from the older, clamping his lips down to hold back the giggles that bubbled in his throat. Chan stared in horror, realising the cat was looking at him with a happy, but evil glint in his eyes. Before he knew it, fingers had slipped under his sweatshirt to his abs, poking tenderly at each pack. The duo’s faces flushed a bright red, shaking off the endless amount of compliments that rained down on them. 

“So cute, all red for us hm?” Minho whispered into Chan’s ear, making him squeal and back away from the warm breath that grazed his ear. Stomping his feet he tried to evade the claws that didn’t leave his tummy alone, it was all futile, the cat eager to follow him like he was a fish out of water wherever he went. Changbin wasn’t fairing too well either, Felix always had a certain way with the rapper’s body that made him go limp with cooing and giggles filling the room. 

“Stahahap it!” The oldest whined pitifully, still adamant on refusing the fact he was in fact adorable, and gorgeous. The dwaekki was no different, not letting the icy walls of hate comments on his body melt down just from simple complimenting. They both were six feet under in absorbing distasteful comments on their body, shaking their head. Eventually, the cats got frustrated with their lack of belief in them, sending each other a signal as their ‘ears’ twitched in annoyance.

Snatching their arms up, they pinned both Changbin’s and Chan’s wrists up to the head board with their belts, only able to do it as they weren’t expecting any of this to happen. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen. You two will take all of our compliments, and repeat it to us until we believe it.” Minho announced slowly, not waiting for a reply from the oldest before his shirt was lifted, to reveal a glorious set of abs and ribs stretched out for the cat to play with. Chan shrieked at the threat, shaking his head rapidly knowing how ruthless Lee Know could be when it came to getting what he wanted. He was pinned too, only allowing him to endure what was coming. 

Felix smiled innocently at the rapper who was giggling and pleading with the chick to have mercy. The younger one only nodded softly, his feather-like fingertips across his clothed tummy before lifting it up slowly, caressing the rapper’s bare tummy with his warm breath. Although softer than Lino, he was, if not, the most teasy member out of the eight, and especially when it came to his ideal type, he was not going to hold back. Changbin squealed loudly, giggling himself crazy before anything really bad actually happened, the anticipation starting to swell in his heart. 

“Firstly, tell us that you look gorgeous.” The cats said in sync, fingers wiggling over their tummies in case of refusal to comply with their instructions. Of course, they both shook their heads rapidly in denial, making them both smile widely, eager to torture their respective hyungs. Planting his lips onto Changbin’s tummy, Felix placed gentle kisses everywhere, his lips brushing so lightly and in ticklish motions. Now this would only have Changbin giggling, which is why there was his hands that dug right into his ribs, making the older shriek and cackle.

“ARGHAHAHAH! LIX! P-PLEHAHAHA!” Changbin screamed when his fingernails scraped into the smooth skin between his ribs, thrashing when those soft lips brushed over his navel. Chan wasn’t fairing much well either, shrieking again when fingers squeezed relentlessly at the muscles on his sides, teeth sinking right into the rim of his belly button, nibbling all around it. 

“I CAHAHAN’T! MIN! NAHAHAHAH!” The oldest begged, tossing his head back into the pillows when Lee Know just went lower with his hands, way too close to his hips for comfort. The cats didn’t let up an inch with their antics, not hearing the words they wanted to hear. Meanwhile the other two that were pinned down felt like they were going insane, tugging at the belts that held their wrists high above their heads. Although being the two strongest members of Stray Kids, they were majorly weakened by the tickling, letting the younger members do whatever they wanted.

“Say it then, if not don’t say you can’t~” Felix wasn’t usually implied the type to be mean, but when it came down to a member feeling down, insecure? He was going to be as mean as needed to get them to realise what was important. Changbin simply squirmed in return, thrashing around to try and get away from the soft kisses and harsh fingers.

“YAHAHAHA! I-I’M GORGEHEHEHEOUS! MIN!” The leader lost it when Lee Know got just a bit tired of the oldest not admitting what was needed, going down to his v-line without mercy as he blew harsh raspberries while kneading his thumbs into that pudgy skin, driving him actually crazy. He felt tears well up in his eyes, panting when it came to an abrupt stop, staring pleadingly at the younger sat on his thighs. Minho didn’t say anything, admiring that flushed face before looking over to Felix.

Changbin was, if not, much more of a mess than Chan was. Although not as intense, his entire neck to his ears were a bright red, the chick right next to his ear whispering unintelligible words to the duo beside them, what assumed to be compliments as everytime Felix spoke Changbin squealed. His hair was a mess, sprawled out over the bed as tears cornered his eyes prettily, a dimple on his face prominent. The Aussie didn’t mind if Changbin didn’t admit it, it gave him more time to coo over the rapper anyway. Minho and Chan shuddered, they both didn’t know how ruthless Felix was, so soft yet so deadly.

“I’m…g-gorheheous…plehehease..” Changbin begged breathlessly, shaking his head with tears streaming down his face. He couldn’t take this, the sweet words, the soft caress on his tummy? He was sold, the soft torture overwhelming his heart as Felix let up with a proud smile. The cats schemed above them afterwards, leaving Chan to stare embarrassingly at Changbin, who was a panting and gasping mess.

“Good job~ It seems one of us took longer to crack…” Minho cooed, giggling when the rapper squeaked.

“Now, tell us you both look adorable.” Felix smiled innocently, his intentions of wanting more hidden discreetly away as he smiled down at the mess he made of Changbin. Minho simply kept quiet, enjoying his time of making the leader squeak every time he gave a poke to his stomach, it was clear as day he liked his new cat toy. Changbin weakly shook his head, adamant on not giving in and believing whatever ‘nonsense’ the two were spewing, meanwhile Chan could barely retort with squeaks interrupting his every attempt. 

“Nehehever!” Changbin managed to get out, quite the bold move on his part. Too bad for him, it only fuelled Felix’s mood for tormenting further. “You’re going to regret that, my love.” Felix hummed, before his fingers slid under the rapper’s shirt to his pecs, grabbing it gently before squeezing the skin underneath it, to his top ribs. His lips attached themselves to the top of his navel, blowing as hard as he could with each raspberry. Changbin screamed, before tossing his head wildly in his bound arms as he cackled himself crazy. His face was flushed once more, his eyes crinkled cutely with a dimple showing, begging for mercy in an instant. 

With the other two, Minho decided to be more ‘gentle’ this time, running his nails over Chan’s neck, his head leaning down to nibble tenderly at his collar bone, exposed neatly from all the thrashing. Chan screeched when he felt the change in pace, trying his best to scrunch up his shoulders; which in fact, didn’t work with his arms bound up. Honey-like giggles slipped from him, shaking his head to try and dislodge the nails, while his chin attached to his neck to avoid the teeth that so softly scraped on it. It was all futile, he could never focus on both the teeth and nails at once, couldn’t he?

“I CAHAHAN’T TAHAHAKE IT! PLEHAHAHAH!” 

“Min! Wahahait nahahat there!” 

The cats absolutely relished in the laughter they were hearing, still a little frustrated about the lack of what they wanted to hear, but enjoyed torturing them nonetheless.

"Look at you! There's that scrunched nose!" Felix pointed out with a grin, planting another raspberry onto his stomach before Changbin even had a chance to reply. He knew he was going to tap out soon, red in the face with his eye squeezed tightly shut, even tears welling up in the corner of his eyes. Changbin screamed in ticklish agony, also a denial to Lix's compliment.

"Don't wanna give in yet, tough leader Channie-hyung?" Minho emphasised the word 'tough' with a harsh squeeze to his sides, making Chan shriek loudly. The fingers ghosted that spot soon after though, tracing the outer shell of his ears that made his head shake aggressively.

"Nohoho...adohohorable...I-I'm adorahahahble.." Chan panted out for mercy, feeling his brain turn into complete mush at the dancer's fingers and lips all over his neck and ears. Initially, he had wanted to deny it, but feeling his heart pound and suffocate from the lack of his breath he ought to give in eventually. Lee Know let up with a satisfied smirk, untying the oldest before snuggling him. The leader wasn't expecting it, knowing the older cat was notorious for lack of skinship; but now was cuddling him. He didn't say anything though, just warmly cuddling the younger as they both stared at Changbin's predicament.

"OH MY GAHAHAD! FELIX PLEHEHEASE! MAHAHAKE IT STAHAP!" Changbin whined pitifully, screaming again when those merciless fingers found their way into his armpits, kneading the middle in massaging motions that drove him crazy. Meanwhile, Felix's lips found the rapper's ribs more interesting, blowing and nibbling harshly everywhere on the bones he could reach. Changbin cried out and dug his feet crazily into the bed to no avail of escape, eventually submitting when Felix found particularly sensitive spot between his pecs and ribs.

"ARGHAHAHAH! I'M ADORHAHAHABLE! STAHAHA-" He was cut off by silent laughter, tears of mirth streaming down his face a second time. Felix reluctantly let up, making himself welcome into Bin's arms once he was untied. The gym duo stared at each other, with tear streaks and red faces before giggling softly, cuddling their respective dongsaengs with a wide smile. All four fell promptly asleep after that, but be warned, the cats received just as much, if not a worse punishment once they awoke.

It didn't mean that method wasn't effective though; the duo now worked out much less with proud smiles on their faces.

#..? #in school fsdja #lee changbin #lee channie #lerknow #ler minho #ler felix #stray kids tickle #skz tickle

[daughterofcain-67]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕮𝖚𝖗𝖘𝖊 (𝔭𝔱.2)

(Dean Winchester x Female Reader)

(masterlist)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After finding more information about the case, Sam and Dean ask Jody if there was a possibility you could be involved with this case. And when they discover you aren’t, they realize they need to keep an eye on you before you could fall to the mark’s urges.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: loosely based on season 10, mentions blood, murder, nothing too graphic this time around (NOT ACCURATE TO THE SHOW SINCE THERE ARE PLANS FOR ALTERNATE OUTCOMES)

Dean’s arm was killing him. It was like an endless fire, relentless burning, but Dean was starting to cope a little better. At least he was able to hide it from Sam successfully so far. He said he needed the work to keep from being restless, which was mostly true, but deep down a part of it was to distract him from the mar, from you, from everything that’s happened. The vacation practically did nothing to help him as much as he wanted Sam to believe it did.

In a way, Dean was gradually beginning to feel like himself again, sure, but it was like the mark knew what was missing whether Dean wanted it or not. The fact was that even if you and Dean split, you two had a connection. And if the both of you were going to be stuck with that mark from your father, you’d have that connection until the end of time.

Sam and Dean were making their rounds through town trying to make any sort of connection to the killings at the farm, see if they had any sort of enemies with any other competing farms or if any other members of the nest made enemies outside of farming life. At the moment, Sam and Dean found themselves in a factory where one of the members named Mikey worked. They were speaking with their supervisor, Eric Raeford.

“So in the last couple of weeks that Mikey was working here, did he seem off at all? Did he act paranoid or something, any suspicions of anyone stalking him or anything like that?” Sam said while Dean took notes on a little notepad.

“No, not really. None of his coworkers seem to think so either. He seemed like just a normal guy. Gosh, I still can’t believe he was murderer like that. Do you think that family was involved in some sort of gang activity? Is it something I should be concerned about with my company?” Eric asked and Dean shook his head.

“No, I don’t think there should be any concern of your well being or that of any of these other coworkers. We’re just looking into any sort of potential connections.” Dean explained.

“Oh… I see. Well as far as I know, Mikey pretty much kept his nose clean of any problems, at least around here anyways. He always showed up to work on time, did his job the best that he could, never did anything that would cause any conflict. But he didn’t really seem to be the type of guy that would rant to any coworkers if he were going through something like this.” Eric continued.

“What about any of his family members? Have you met any of them or have there been any situations that threw up any sort of red flags?” Sam continued and Eric shook his head.

“No, not that I can think of. I didn’t know his family that well. His old man and mom that adopted him were good people, farmers. The wife made the best damn baked goods.” Eric groaned at the last part.

“Have there been any new comers in town that you’ve met recently? Anyone that claimed they were just passing through?” Dean questioned and Eric tried to search his brain for anything that seemed to stand out to him.

“You know…. I was at the bar about a week ago. There was this girl that said she was from Cincinnati taking some sort of nomadic lifestyle for a while. She seemed really nice, but she did seem to have some sort of mysterious vibe about there. And she had this funny looking mark, looked kinda tribal or something.” He said and that was when Dean looked up, brows narrowing as something troubling brewed inside him.

“Tribal mark?” Dean asked and then he started to draw the Mark of Cain before he turned the pad of paper over for Eric to take a look, “Would that be what it looked like?”

“Holy cow- yeah that’s the one! How did you know?” Eric asked, sounding amazed, while Dean had this unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Just a hunch…” Dean said as he closed the notepad, tucking it in one of the hidden pockets of his suit jacket.

Sam put a hand in his pocket and pulled out this card holder before he handed one over to Eric, “If you can think of anything else you can tell us, please don’t hesitate to call us.”

“You bet. If you fellas need anything else feel free to stop by again.” Eric said, just wanting to be cooperative.

“Thanks…” And with that, the Winchesters left the factory and Dean opened the door.

When he got inside the vehicle he all but slammed the door shut behind him, “Son of a bitch…”

Sam heard the way his brother grumbled with aggravation with a hint of something else, disappointment maybe? Worry? Sam couldn't pinpoint what it was.

“Dean, you don’t think Y/N could have anything to do with this… do you?” Sam dared to ask and watched his brother grip the wheel tightly for a moment before he turned the engine on.

“Dean?”

“I don’t know, Sam. I really hope not.” Dean said before he pulled out and onto the highway, then Sam continued on.

“What if it is her? What are we going to have to do? If we kill her she’ll just turn into a demon again, sort of like when you died and came back. What the hell happened between you two that made her leave?” Sam questioned, practically interrogating his brother at this point.

“Why do you make it sound like something bad happened? After we both became human it was a mutual decision that she go her own way. I didn’t want her to go, Hell I wish she stayed so you and even Cass can monitor us so neither of us go dark side.” Dean replied.

“Dark side? That’s what you’re calling it?”

“You got a better name for it?”

Sam’s brows narrowed as he rolled his eyes before he looked out of the passenger window, “Are you ever going to talk about what happened? You both seemed to hit it off okay at least near the end.”

“It didn’t work out, alright? Can you drop it please?” Dean snapped, getting agitated with Sam lingering on the way you and him ended things.

After all, in the end things really were mutual. Dean still felt like shit for the things he said to you. And he wished that those three months with you were better than they were, then again demons weren’t exactly known for their redeeming qualities. You may have said there was nothing solid for the two of you to really learn anything abut each other, but Dean was bitter knowing that you seemed like you didn’t even want to give it a chance. Then he remembered one of the last things you said to him, something about you holding up your end when it came to helping him.

“She said she had to go find a way to help me with this blasted mark, whatever the Hell that means.” Dean grumbled.

Sam listened and he thought about the book you told him abut. We’re you looking for it while you were out who knows where doing who knows what? Then he thought about Jody, recalling her opinion about finding you again. If the mark started to effect Dean again, he didn’t deserve to go through it with people who didn’t even know what it was like. Only you’d know what he was going through, so maybe Dean wouldn’t feel so alone.

“Well… if she didn’t have anything to do with the massacre… I think we should consider looking for her.” Sam finally spoke up.

Dean was quiet and focused on the road.

“Think about it, Dean. If she was trying to help you out, what better recourses our out there than what we’ve got in the bunker? If we can track her down and figure out where she’s headed maybe we can convince her to stay.” Sam continued as if convincing Dean as best as he could.

“And what would our excuse be, huh? If she didn’t have anything to do with this case then how are we supposed to convince her to come with us?”

“Come on, man… Stop acting like an idiot. Just because things may have fallen through for you two doesn’t mean she can’t be an ally. If anything, I know you need her around even though you’re claiming not to want to think about her that much. With the way the mark affected you before when you didn’t kill, you may need Y/N for your physical health one of these days.”

The more Sam seemed to talk about you, the more Dean’s arm began to throb under the sleeve of his suit jacket.

“Can we just focus on this case first with Jody before we go searching for her again? We can’t just leave her hanging if this is really our thing after all. If it turns out not to be our thing then we’ll figure it out from there.”

Sam noticed the way Dean seemed to speak through gritted teeth, which caused him to arch a brow upward.

“Are you alright?”

“Never better.” Dean replied just as he pulled up to the police station so they could talk to the sheriff.

When the two federal impersonators made it into the building, one of the officers took them to Jody’s office where she was sitting at her desk in front of her computer. She seemed to be going through some files before she looked up when the door opened, Sam and Dean saw a smile light up her face when she saw the two boys.

“Hey, you two. Any luck so far?” She inquired.

“Well… yes and no.” Sam began.

“We got in touch with Mikey’s boss, Eric Raeford. He said that he was at the bar one night and he met someone that was just passing though. Are you sure you can’t recall anybody coming into town?” Dean asked.

“Dean, kiddo, I’m a busy woman. I seldom get to people inspect if they’re new. That’s why I told you I couldn’t recall a newcomers yesterday when the two of you dropped by.” She reminded.

“Well.. could you maybe do us a favor then and see if this girl has dropped by here via train or something? Just any way to see if she’s been around or not.” Dean said, pulling out his phone to find a picture of you. When he did, he handed the device to Jody who took the phone and gazed at the photo, raising a brow.

“Her name would be…?”

“Y/N… Y/N L/N.”

“You mean-“ Jody looked over at Sam who had a hand behind his neck and an uncomfortable expression on his face.

“Yeah let me see what I can do. She doesn’t look familiar right off hand. You don’t think she did it do you?” She asked and started typing your name in her computer.

“We’re just trying to find where she is. Maybe she could even help us on a case like this, maybe find out what kind of enemies your vamps had in this case or maybe she can help find the killer. Have you heard anything about witnesses?” Dean questioned.

“Well, the only witness I’ve got was actually a member of the rival farm. His name’s James, said he saw a figure wearing all black. Seemed to be more on the feminine side.” Jody said as she continued typing and she found you.

“Y/N L/N…. Tattoo artist based in Cincinnati. Based on her drivers license, she’s too tall to be our perp. Let me see if there’s any record of her leaving or coming here on some form of transportation. See if her alibi checks out.”

“You can do that?” Sam asked, unaware that Jody had footage of some kind of transportation in the first place.

“Well I had asked for it shortly after I called you boys. Wasn’t sure if a hunter would try the rail roads but figured I’d give it some sort of shot.”

Sam looked up at Dean and he tried to think of how he wanted to formulate his next thought on his mind, “What if we called Cass? Maybe he can help track her down. Or… I hate to say it but I think it would be a lot quicker if-“

“Crowley is off the table. We don’t have a use for him. He’s got the blade, probably trying to keep tabs on Cass, no. It’s just a bad idea.” Dean interjected, immediately shutting down the idea.

“Well whatever you two decide to do and whoever you decide to reach out to, the record I’m finding says she was on her way to Minnesota. If you two rush out of here then she may still be there.” Jody looked up at both the hunters.

“What do you two intend to do if her alibi checks out?” The sheriff asks and Sam shrugged a little.

“I figure maybe she could help us out with your case.” He said and Jody looked back at her computer screen.

“Frankly boys, I’m not so sure if this is a hunter or not. I don’t think it’s a monster though. I’m beginning to think I may have to call the actual feds for this one. Maybe they have this person’s files in AFIS or some of their other departments.” Jody said as she pulled up what she could about the train station.

“From what I can tell, Y/N’s alibi does check out, she arrived after the time of the killings.” She continued.

Dean heard the words and he couldn’t help but feel relieved when Jody said you weren’t here for the murder. He hated that even the slightest bit of doubt about you crept in, but in his mind the concerned seemed at least reasonable.

“Well that at least settles the matter of whether or not she was involved, but now it’s a matter of where she could be heading to next. Which I highly doubt she told anybody where she’s going. Dean, I really think we need to call someone.” Sam looked over at Dean.

“Actually… before we do anything rash, I think we need to talk to Eric again, or at least go to the bar. See if the bartender had any reactions with Y/N. Maybe she may have tossed around some ideas of where she’d go next, where in Minnesota if we’re lucky.” Dean replied then he looked over at Jody.

“And if you need anything, call us as soon as you need us. Whether you call the actual feds for your case or not, we’ll come right back here if anything goes wrong.” He said and Jody grinned.

“There’s a reason I’ve got you two on speed dial. By the way, the bar most frequented around here is Blackbird Ale. Ask for Chris.” She insisted, Dean grinned a little.

“Let’s head out Sammy, see what we and find. See you around Jody.”

With that, the two boys made there way out of the office so they could make it to the bar Jodi said to try first. It was worth a shot to try and find you.

Crowley was sitting upon his throne in Hell and he had a very old looking paper in his hand, sort of an agenda his underlings created for him when he was on his sabbatical. Yet he had his head in one of his hands, so disinterested in everything.

He recalled the day one of his demons had their little outburst, questioning the way he proceeded to rule since he went gallivanting around with the elder Winchester and yourself.

He couldn’t help but reminisce upon those times. Despite Dean such a pain in his royal behind, it was a fairly good time. You were much moor cooperative, someone that was able to keep Dean in line until you all seemed to have a falling out.

Crowley hated to admit it but he was beginning to miss the little band from hell. He missed how good of a ring it had to it, the King of Hell, with a Winchester turned Demon and the Daughter of Cain and Abbadon herself.

The three of you would have created the perfect Hell, it would be at its peak since Lucifer himself ruled, which it’s been centuries since people actually feared such a place as Hell. There must’ve been a way to bring it back to its former glory.

“Your greatness?” A timid sounding demon asked and Crowley blinked once or twice before he shifted his gaze up from the disinteresting and dull page to who had the audacity to wreck his train of thought.

“What is it now? Did you run out of souls to torment?” Crowley asked bitterly.

“I just.. wanted to inform you about an update.” The scrawny little demon said and Crowley arched a brow.

“Well? Spit it out. I have more important things to do rather than sit here and play these pathetic guessing games?”

“I-It’s about Cain’s offspring. W-we’ve located her and.. Sir, she’s human.” This seemed to peak Crowley’s interest and he set the paper down on the pile of boring papers beside his throne.

“Tell me more.” He said as he leaned forward.

“W-Well, we aren’t sure when she became human but we have reason to believe after your falling out with the older Winchester and once he became human, she may have been taken to the bunker and they may have turned her as well. We don’t know for sure of the situation leading up to that, but we have reason to believe she is somewhere in Minnesota.”

“Is that so.. And tell me, how did you come to find that out?”

“One of the crossroads demons. They said they caught a glimpse of her last night running away from Saint Paul’s Minnesota with blood on her clothes and hands. When the demon investigated where she was running from, it seemed like she had taken a life.”

Crowley lifted a brow slightly, that didn’t sound like you. After so long of hiding, it didn’t sound right that your first instinct would be to kill without at least a plan, you didn’t seem the reckless type. When it came to these things, not with all your centuries of training and your upbringing from Abbadon.

“Human life?” Crowley inquired.

“No, Sir. Seemed to be just another beastly creature a hunter would come after. We have reason to believe it was what they call a werewolf.”

“Tell me, where is she now?”

“We have reason to believe she is traveling on foot so she may still be just outside of Saint Paul’s Minnesota, we aren’t sure where she is heading next. Would you like to have one of us to track her down and have her followed to keep tabs on her?” The demon asked and Crowley shook his head.

“No. The moment she find out any of us demons are onto her, she’d kill any of us. Just because she is no longer a demon herself doesn’t mean not make her any less of a skilled murderer.” Crowley replied as he rubbed his hand over the lower half of his face, contemplating on what his move should be.

“What will you have us do then, Sir?”

Crowley went quiet as he began to formulate some sort of plan.

“If I may, Sir…” Another demon spoke up, one of Crowley’s advisors and Crowley looked over.

“From what I’m understanding according to a report from a demon close to Sioux Falls, the Winchesters are about to look for Y/N…. It seems they want to monitor her… humanity. Her well being. They may try to diminish her.. talents for lack of a better word.” Crowley lifted a brow.

“And we all know dear Sam wants his brother to lose the mark, if Y/N loses it too then all of our chances of restoring Hell back to what it once was, we must reach out to Y/N before the Winchesters do. They’ve speculated her to be the culprit of a mass killing of vampires, which is why they want to keep her under their radar. It’s only a matter of time before they catch up to her and try and convince her to stay on their good terms, maybe even convince her to be rid the mark as well.”

“It’s a little too soon for them to think her guilty of such ability isn’t it? They could be correct though given her history.” Crowley said.

“Sire, if they convince Y/N to remove the mark, if there’s even a way to do so, it will ruin all of our chances of rising up from this slump you’ve been working so hard to bring us from.”

“We could recreate the Knights of Hell… she would be the general of my army. We could reap so many souls as more demons the human’s contracts come to a close. Maybe even beyond.” Crowley agreed before he looked back at the scrawny demon.

“You keep tabs on the Winchesters, continue to keep tabs on their angel friend Castiel. You know how often they come to him when they’ve lost something like irresponsible children.” Crowley ordered.

“And what of Y/N, Your Majesty?”

“Leave her to me. She may need a visit from an old friend. It’s not easy being human after all and she may even want to come back to her roots - just for some clarity if nothing else.” Crowley said as he stood up.

When Crowley lifted up his hands, he snapped and within an instant, he was gone.

You found yourself roaming around the woods, still in Minnesota but you weren’t sure if you were in the same city or town anymore since you were pretty much avoiding all highways to avoid being seen any anyone. You supposed the one thing you could have said you missed about being a demon was the fact that transportation was a lot easier than traveling on foot.

Then you started thinking about the werewolf you killed last night, the feelings you had with it… was this how Dean felt when he went on his hunts?

Dean.

The very thought of him made the mark on your arm ignite all over agiain. The longer you were away from him, it seemed to get so much worse. Yet the first moment you became human and Dean was right there, it was like there was a sense of calm.

But you remembered it was you who made the ultimate decision to leave. And honestly you were starting to regret it, especially because deep down you knew you wanted to stay. But there was no way Dean would let you come back to the bunker right? Maybe not this soon. What if you made a mistake leaving?

Your mind went back to Dean again. You couldn’t believe he kissed you that night! Why was that such a bittersweet moment? And why did you feel so many things when it came down to that moment? Why didn’t you just stay?

Your mark started to burn again and you looked down at it. You knew you needed to help Sam and Dean. You told Sam to look into the Book of the Damned, and you would be on the lookout for it too. You needed to find where it was and soon so Dean wouldn’t have to go through baring this curse.

But what if you couldn’t find the book? What if thee really was no way out for this for Dean? What if there was no way out for him and he’d be miserable forever? And why were you beginning to feel like it was your fault when you weren’t even there when he accepted the mark from Cain in the first place?

“Ugh…” You groaned to yourself, frustrated with your own mind. You didn’t know humans could overthink so much, and you weren’t even sure if this amount of thinking was justified for anything!

Six weeks in and you were already finding out quickly what the human brain was like and how so many emotions could bubble up all at once, making you so unsure about so many things. And a part of you that had so much doubt about who you were and what you were trying to avoid, was even beginning to doubt your own abilities of finding the book that would even help Dean.

You understood that The Book of the Damned was cursed, about as cursed as your heirloom. You also knew it was sort of a legend at this point in time and a part of you wasn’t even sure if such a thing really existed anymore.

The truth was, you weren’t even sure where you should look. Maybe someone from Hell had it in their grasp once more, maybe a witch got a hold of it because there was a lot of dark magic involved with it. No one had seen or heard about it in centuries, maybe even millennia, so who knew where it could be found.

Your jaw tightened with the frustration you were feeling and you ran a hand through your hair.

You had your fun exploring, being a little nomad. You experienced human things during those six weeks, but now you knew that if were ever going to be useful to the Winchesters, you needed to buckle down. For Dean’s sake.

“Maybe I need to find a highway.” You muttered to yourself to no one in particular, specifically since no one was around.

Then, this sudden wave of nausea began to hit you. You asked over to one of the trees and placed a hand on it to try and steady yourself. Your mind started flooding right back to last knight when you had your first kill in weeks. You knew in that moment exactly what was happening to you.

Your mark wanted you to kill again. It was like it wanted, craved it more than life itself. Now that you were human, the feeling was physically beginning to overwhelm you. And this is the first time you were beginning to feel nauseated, but you knew it would only get worse. At least you weren’t at the point of withdrawals as you witnessed Dean go through before he became a demon. Though you knew that experience would be grotesque and hellish when you experienced it.

A part of being human, though, was learning how to resist. You had to fight back. Being around the Winchesters taught you that, so you needed to learn from them. You couldn’t kill anymore, even if the werewolf was a monster.

You were scared that one day it would be a human life you’d take. You didn’t want that on your shoulders, not when you were trying to be a new person, not when you were trying to escape the monster you were in the past.

You pushed yourself off the tree as you gathered your composure again and tried to return to your train of thought, one of many yes but you went to your main one before the nausea hit.

“Main road… Look for a way out of state… Buckle down on research for the-“

“Hello, Chipmunk.”

You could have recognized that accent anywhere and you turned around, glaring at Crowley after he called you that name.

“Didn’t I tell you not to call me that?” You said and Crowley simply shrugged, “What is it that you want now?”

“Just checking on an old friend.” Crowley said and you weren’t exactly convinced.

“Last time I checked were weren’t exactly on the friendliest terms.” You retorted and Crowley let out a low hum.

“Well, from my understanding, you aren’t exactly on the best of terms with the Winchesters. Heard you were human now and.. well I can definitely sense some sort of shift from you.” He said and you lifted a brow.

“I don’t need a wellness check, Crowley. Becoming a human was my choice and I left the bunker on my own accord.”

“And how’s the mark holding up? Either it’s beginning not to treat you so well or you’re starting to become one of those tree huggers seeing as you were practically clinging on that tree next to you.” He replied and you went silent for a moment.

“Now.. tell me why you became human. What on earth possessed you to do something like that?” He asked as he walked over with interest in his voice and you rolled your eyes.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I was curious. After all, you and every other demon have been human once. I just wanted to experience it before I end up dying and going back to being a demon once more with this blasted thing.” You said and Crowley lifted a brow.

“So… you’re learning to resent your birthright?”

“More like resent this curse of an heirloom. But I’d rather it be me that bore it rather than anyone else. No one knows where Cain is ever since you and Dean blew his cover.” You said.

“I see.”

“Why are you really here, Crowley. I doubt you really want a status update on my human condition.” You said and put a hand on your hip, displaying your impatience.

“I just want to extend an offer. I know you originally went into hiding from Hell to avoid your mother dragging you back, wanting to escape everything and test. Out your father’s lifestyle. But should the situation arise that you need to return to Hell…Give me a call.” Crowley said and you became skeptical.

“What’s the catch?”

“None as of yet. But you should reconsider becoming the new leader of the Knights of Hell. I know you don’t want to be a killer for as long as you possibly can, but yo cannot deny what is in your blood. You’re talented, strategic, and Hell’s army needs someone like you to keep them in line.” Crowley reminded you and you glared.

“I refuse to take up that mantle. The Knights of Hell are all dead anyway.”

“No, but you could train up an army of your own. Turn even the weakest demons into the strongest soldiers under your training, they’d all be under your command and you’d have a place of power, second only to me.” Crowley said.

“Crowley, I think you’re failing to realize that I don’t crave power. I’m not like you, I don’t need to be in a position of leadership, and I never wanted it.” You stated and Crowley hummed a little.

“Again, it’s simply an offer. A place for you to go if you find yourself in a less than ideal situation. You know who you were meant to be deep down. That position will always be yours should you decide to claim it as you should.” Crowley said.

“The Winchesters wouldn’t be at all surprised if you claimed that role.”

You looked at him and stepped forward, brows narrowing, “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. All I’m speculating is that if I were in their shoes and you were so new to being human, which you are, they wouldn’t be surprised if you slipped up one day. And from the looks of it, you’ve already given the mark a taste of what it craves most.” Crowley motioned to the blow on your clothes you couldn’t wash off.

“Let me handle that for you.” He insisted and with the snap of Crowley’s fingers, you looked down and saw your clothes were almost brand new, as if last night had never even occurred.

“They wouldn’t be so cruel as to make those kinds of assumptions.” You said, not wanting to believe Crowley, knowing his kind spoke practically nothing but lies most of the time.

“That’s what humans do, Y/N, Darling. They assume, they overthink, they judge prematurely. The human world is ugly. Why do you think demons prefer their new life after death? They become free from caring of others opinions and their assumptions of them. It’s easier to live without human insecurity.” He reminded you, and you supposed that was one part of your old life you missed.

“That’s my discovery to make, Crowley. And the day I become a demon again because of this mark, I’ll have learned all I needed to about being human. But until then, this is my life and my experiences. Let me learn them on my own terms.” You said and Crowley lifted his arms up in surrender.

“Very well. Just know that if you end up having enough of humans sooner than you think, you’ve got somewhere to go.” Crowley said and he started to walk off.

Then while Crowley was facing away from you, his eyes turned red as if her were getting in contact with his demons in Hell, “Monitor her. Give me frequent reports on both her and the Winchesters.”

Who knew…. Maybe either outcome could lead to his advantage. One must learn both sides in order to play the game properly after all.

Tag List:

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[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Hi, Ange. I know you probably don't want to talk about this subject anymore, but is the screenshot you talk about about Brazilian fans true? I wanted to know because I didn't see any clarification in any other post and as a Brazilian who likes your stories I was hurt. If you don't want to answer that's fine, I just wanted to clarify this once in for all but you obviously don't own me anything

Hi, love.

No, it is not. There’s a very helpful post created by Hagi here regarding the reliability of most of those “screenshots”.

I have never spoken badly about Brazilians. The screenshot that is real in that post is the one where I mentioned that Mari (a mutual at the time) had unfollowed me around the time that I received an anonymous ask telling me to die in my sleep. When I checked my IP tracker, I had had a Brazilian IP address visit my asks, so I expressed my disappointment at this. Never once did I make derogatory remarks with regards to nationality. I never would.

I was confused as to why this would happen, until months later during “bimbogate” I saw people making mention that they had considered my actions around the time of the announcement of Ewan’s appearance at CCXP to be racist. I was still puzzled by this, as I don’t think I had posted anything that could be considered racist. I refused to believe Ewan would be attending until I’d seen official confirmation, and I noncommittally answered an ask from an anon expressing their concerns over fan behaviour. But the ask and unfollow suddenly made sense. That’s all of it.

I am genuinely sorry that you have been made to feel like I have prejudice against you. Regardless of the untruth, that can’t be nice to see and I hate that for you. I hope that my response goes some way in easing your mind.

#asked and answered

[quietwingsinthesky]

you ever just think about. “You are diseased, albeit a disease of our own making. No more.” you ever just. oh, they made him and they discarded him. it’s never going to be quiet again for him, and that’s just collateral. they let the sound rot through his whole life, his whole timeline. because that’s the kind of easy sacrifice you can make when you want to save yourself above everything else, one that doesn’t ask anything of you. you dig open a child’s mind and you bury your survival inside him and when he follows the noise back home, when he does exactly what you groomed him for, you call him ruined for it. that’s. you ever just think about that.

#it’s genuinely such a horrifying sixkening thing that they unveil. what was done to the master. #and it’s like. it’s so important that he is awful. he really is. but he still does not deserve to have had this done to him. #the drums are a tragedy that cannot. would not. be a punishment earned no matter how terrible he is. #they’re such a violation of his mind. isolating and constant and violent. and it drives me insane that this is just. in the show. okay cool #ill never be normal again. #they literally pulled his head open. during a ceremony that we. as far as i know. have to assume is not exactly voluntary. and is at the #best of times. already traumatic and horrifying. but they went into that moment and they put the drums in his head and they made him into #something repulsive to them. because they did that to him! in this thing alone the master had no agency and no way out and this thing that #was done *to* him is what makes him. to them. a broken thing now past its usefulness now that he’s done what they wanted him to. #sorry im rotating him in my head again and again. this is the thing that makes him ‘diseased’. it’s that they chose to do this to him. there #is nothing he could do to not be this. he was a child and there was nothing he could do to stop it from happening. he’s an adult and he’s #doing the impossible exactly like they shaped him to do and he can’t stop this from having happened to him. so he might as well follow the #drums. and then. and then rassilon calls him diseased. and im going to. lose it. #there was nothing he could have done………….. #everywhere else he has choices to make and he can burn the world and keep it as a toy and he can fuck with the doctor and he can do. #anything. anything he wants. but he can’t. there’s nothing he can do to make it stop. there’s nothing he can do to make it so this never #happened to him. and i am spinning in circles here do u see why he makes me insane. #and the doctor doesn’t even really fucking believe him that the drums are real until the master makes him listen……. oh im going to be ill. #doctor who #simm!master #the master

[sunglassesmish]

the fact that misha mostly sends texts to people in specific areas or just the us/canada 😔

#i guess it wasn’t made for anywhere else so i’m just lucky i can still text hi #and maybe get a text back (which i still can’t believe happened)