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#finding out the different versions of him that exist
sequinsmile-x · 3 days
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Stained Glass Windows - Chapter Sixty Five
Life was complicated, but they wouldn't have it any other way.
-x-
Hi besties <3
As always, the love for this version of them means the entire world. Look, you're going to yell at me a little for this chapter and I deserve it...so please let me know what you think!
-x-
Words: 3.1k
A full list of warnings for the fic can be found on the Series Master List.
Read over on Ao3, or below the cut
Emily sighs as she rolls onto her back, her hand resting over her eyes as she tries to will herself to fall asleep. She turns her head and looks at the baby monitor and she reaches out to activate the video, smiling sadly when she sees Lily fast asleep. She strokes her finger over the slightly grainy image, no small amount of guilt simmering in her gut as she idly wishes Lily would wake up so she could go and get her from the nursery and snuggle with her. The room had never felt so empty now Lily was sleeping in her room and Aaron was thousands of miles away, the air painfully quiet without her husband’s breathing and the surprisingly loud way a baby slept. 
She felt lonely, something she hadn’t felt since her first kiss with Aaron, his love a constant companion of hers even in the moments they were apart, a warm blanket resting over her shoulders at all times. It feels distant now, as if he’d taken it with him to the other side of the world, packed it up alongside the linen clothes she’d bought him and half her heart, an ache in her chest that seemed ever-present since she’d last seen him over three weeks ago. 
They’d spoken on the phone once in that time, the satellite phone he had both unreliable and crude. They’d exchanged a few emails and she’s sure if the circumstances were different she’d find it romantic, as if they were lovers from another time, kept apart by circumstance but held together by the written word. It doesn’t stop the loneliness that would set in at night. She was used to sleeping without him sometimes because of the nature of his job, but this was different. The further away she got from having seen him the worse she was sleeping. The sheets didn’t smell like him anymore, they just smelt like her.
It makes her feel awful because she isn’t alone. Lily is with her every second she’s not at work, and Jack is with them for half a week at a time, but it’s not the same. She loves her children with every part of her, but she misses the company of her husband, his reassuring smile when Lily didn’t sleep through the night, or how he’d effortlessly make them all breakfast in the morning, the constant lingering scent of burnt toast in the kitchen now she was in charge nowhere to be found.  She misses him, her partner in everything. The way he would know something was wrong just by looking at her, the barriers she’d put in place as a kid non-existent to him, or how a hug from him seemed to fix whatever was wrong, his embrace the safest place she’d ever known. 
She’s about to turn over, to wrap her arms around his pillow and hope that somehow it’s enough to get her to sleep, and then the door is pushed open, Jack’s small frame peeking around it, his hair visibly a mess from the small amount of light filtering in from the hallway. 
“Emily?”
Her heart cracks at the shake in his voice, the obvious tears that she can hear, and she sits up, switching on the light on the nightstand as she does so. She sighs sadly when she sees him, sticky tear tracks painted down his face, his pjyamas rumbled from where he’d been sleeping. 
“Oh, sweet boy,” she says, “What’s wrong?” 
He sniffs and wipes his face, still standing in the doorway, “Bad dream.” 
“Want to tell me what happened?” She asks and he shakes his head fiercely, she smiles sympathetically and pulls the covers back, patting the mattress on Aaron’s side of the bed to encourage him over, “Want to come sit with me for a little while?” 
His response is to jump onto the bed, moving at a speed she’s sure should be impossible for someone of his size, and he’s by her side in seconds, curled up against her with his head on her chest, his hand tangled in the neckline of her t-shirt, “Did you have a bad dream too?”
She runs her hand up and down his back, shifting them so they are laying back down, under no allusion that the little boy was going back to his own bed that night, “No, sweetie, I didn’t.” 
He frowns as he tilts his head to look up at her, “Then why are you awake?” 
She pushes his hair from his forehead and the concerned look on his face, his eyebrows pinched together just like Aaron’s, makes her ache. Aaron always said that Jack looked like Haley, and whilst Emily saw that too all she could see lately was him in the little boy. His facial expressions. His unwavering kindness. His smile. It was almost as if she was seeking out little bits of her husband where she could, keeping them nearby so she could relish in them, both Jack and Lily looking more like him every day.
“I just couldn’t sleep,” she says, kissing his forehead, “But that’s okay.” 
He hums, “You were awake to give me a magic hug.”
She smiles and nods, resting her cheek on the top of his head, “I’ll always be here to do that Jack,” she says, smiling softly as he idly plays with her necklace, his tiny fingers tracing the pendant, a small disk with a lily engraved on it that Aaron had bought her. She thinks he’s fallen asleep, the room quiet again apart from his breathing, until he says her name.
“Emmy?” 
Her smile gets slightly wider at the use of the nickname, something he uses less and less these days, his voice already thick with sleep, “Yes Jack?”
“I miss Daddy.” 
She feels herself get tense, her eyes drifting closed as she blows out a breath, holding him impossibly closer, his small body getting heavier as he falls asleep. 
“Me too, baby,” she says, kissing the top of his head again, “Me too.” 
___
She curses herself for not putting her phone on silent as soon as it starts to ring. She winces to herself and quickly closes the nursery door, not wanting to undo any of the hard work she’d done trying to get her daughter to sleep. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and walks down the stairs as she answers, smiling softly to herself as she sees Penelope’s name on the screen. 
“Pen, hey is everything okay?” 
“I know what you need.” 
She has to stop herself from saying ‘my husband back’ out loud, well aware it would ruin her friend's good mood and she chuckles dryly as she walks towards the living room, “What do I need?” 
“A night out.” 
She chuckles again as she sits down on the couch, shaking her head even though her friend can’t see her, “You’d better not mean tonight.” 
Penelope sighs and Emily can almost picture the look on her face, “JJ and I got talking about it as we were leaving the office, and it’s been a long time-”
“Look, Pen I appreciate the offer,” she says, cutting her friend off before she can carry on, irritation she knows Penelope doesn’t entirely deserve sparking in her gut, “But I have Lily. Remember her? The tiny version of me? You’ve bought her enough tutus I think I could open a ballet school.” 
Emily is sure she can hear JJ in the background. She was always the sensible one, the person who sat between Penelope’s exuberance and Emily’s occasional resistance to it, the middle ground that made their friendship work. She’d rejoined the team when Aaron went to Pakistan, Derek’s temporary promotion to Unit Chief leaving a gap in the team, and despite everything Emily was pleased that she was around more often again. There’s a muffled conversation she doesn’t hear, and she finds herself staring at her wedding picture, the photo Haley had taken for them that day almost a year ago, and she sighs, closing her eyes as her gaze drops to her lap. 
“Can’t someone watch her for a few hours?” 
She scoffs and shakes her head, the spark of irritation catching fire, her friend's well-intentioned meddling the gasoline she’d barely needed.
“Who, Pen? My husband, who is on the other side of the world? My father I don’t talk to? My mother who…” she drifts off and shakes her head, her lips pressed together as she just catches herself before she reveals more than she means to, her mother’s alcoholism something she’d never shared with anyone other than Aaron, “Just…you two have fun, okay? Maybe next time.” 
She hangs up before Penelope can say anything else, or before she herself could say something that would upset her friend. She groans and places her phone down on the couch, her hands over her eyes as she blows out a shaky breath. 
“Damn it,” she grumbles to herself, reaching for the remote to turn on the tv, the silence in the house almost suffocating, and eventually settling on a reality tv show she’d fallen in love with when she was nursing Lily. She walks around the house, doing small chores she’d put off for days, packing away Jack and Lily’s toys as she goes. 
She isn’t sure how much time has passed when she hears a gentle knock on the front door. She walks towards it, very much not in the mood for whoever is there, but grateful that they hadn’t rung the bell and risked waking up Lily. She blows out a steady breath when she looks through the peephole to find Penelope and JJ on her porch. She stands there for a moment, her head resting against the wood as she debates not answering the door at all. 
“We come in peace,” Penelope says, and Emily can’t help but laugh. She shakes her head and opens the door, her eyebrow raised as she looks at her friends. JJ is holding a take-out bag from their favourite Mexican restaurant, and Penelope has three plastic cups full of a frozen drink in a carrier in her hands, her smile mischievous as she lifts them slightly, “Did you know you can get margaritas to go if you hassle the wait staff enough?” 
She sighs and stands back a little, still not moving enough to let them in, “Pen-”
“Look, I realise I went about this the wrong way,” she says, “I thought about it and-” she's cut off JJ clears her throat, her eyebrows raised as she throws Penelope an amused smile when they both look at her. Penelope rolls her eyes and looks back at Emily, “Fine, JJ told me off for getting too excited and not thinking everything through - and we brought girl's night to you.” 
She presses her lips together and swallows thicky, uncertainty still swirling through her. She twists her wedding rings around her finger and she shrugs half-heartedly, “I don’t know if I’m that much fun to be around at the moment.” 
Penelope frowns like that’s the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard, “Peaches, you’re our friend. We want to be around you all the time.” 
“And,” JJ says from behind Penelope, winking at Emily, “We brought churros.” 
She can’t help but smile and she shakes her head, sighing playfully as she steps back, finally giving them enough room to let them past her, “Fine,” she says, smiling wryly, “But next time lead with the churros.” 
They set up in the dining room, eating their dinner from the containers so she wouldn’t have to worry about dishes afterwards, and for a moment it feels normal. Emily can ignore that she hasn’t seen her husband in weeks, that she feels his absence like a physical ache. Instead, she laughs with her friends, all of her focus on the stories about the team that they fill her in on, both JJ and Penelope always happy to act as if nothing has changed. As if it was two years ago and they were asking her all sorts of questions about her relationship with Aaron that she refused to answer until she was several tequilas deep. 
She’s grateful for them, for the family she’d found in the most unlikely of places. The family she’d found right when she needed them the most. 
She’s about to suggest that they move to the living room when she hears Lily cry from upstairs and she smiles apologetically at them, “I’m going to go check on her,” she says, standing up, “I’ll meet you guys in the living room?” 
They both nod in response and she heads upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. When she makes it into Lily’s nursery the 10-month-old is standing up in her crib, supporting herself with her hands on the bars, and she’s crying loudly, her face bright red with it.
“Oh sweetheart,” Emily says, reaching into the crib and lifting her up, pressing a kiss to her dark hair as she settles her on her hip, “What’s wrong huh? I know you’re not hungry,” she says, pacing back and forth a little, sniffing the air slightly as well as patting the baby’s bottom to check it was dry, “And you don’t need a diaper change,” she tilts her head to look at her, smiling when Lily almost chases her embrace, her face pressed into her mother’s neck as she grips onto her tightly, “Oh, I see. You just wanted Mommy?” She kisses her cheek and smiles, her heart warming when Lily starts to calm down, her smile already breaking past her sadness now she has Emily’s attention, “Mommy’s friends are here, shall we go say hi?” 
She talks quietly to Lily as she heads back downstairs, humming along to the babbling that her little girl does almost all the time now, so close to actually speaking that Emily simply did her best to encourage it. She both wanted to hear her daughter’s voice and for Lily to wait until Aaron came home, the thought of him missing out on it almost too much for Emily to bear. She smiles as she joins her friends in the living room, bouncing Lily on her hip as she tries to get her to smile.
“We have another one for girl's night,” she says, her smile getting wider as her friends both gush over the baby, always acting like it had been forever since they’d seen her, like Emily didn’t almost constantly share photos of her with the team. 
“Hi Lily,” Penelope says, reaching out for her hand, smiling when Lily grabs two of her fingers, her grip tight, “You’re the youngest member of our little gang,” she says, raising her eyebrow at her friends as she sits back, taking a sip of her drink, “For now.”
Emily rolls her eyes and sits down, making sure Lily is secure on her lap, well aware that she’d likely fall asleep again soon, “My husband is currently on another continent, Pen,” she says, sounding more playful than she feels, “You’ll have to at least wait until he gets back before you start planning for me to have baby Hotchner number 3.” 
Undeterred, Penelope’s smile only gets wider, “But you are planning on having more?” She asks, her excitement clear, “Because JJ never gives me a straight answer on if she and Will are having another one and I need another BAU baby to spoil.” 
Emily catches JJ’s eye briefly, and she sees a flash of something. It’s a moment that passes by quickly and she decided to file it away for later, a conversation she wasn’t sure how to start right now. 
“Definitely,” she says, running her fingers through Lily’s hair, smiling when her little girl looks up at her, “Have you seen how cute she is? It would be a waste if we didn’t,” she smiles at Lily, “Would you like that, baby? If Mommy and Daddy made you a big sister one day?” She tickles the baby, drawing her sweet laugh out of her, ignoring how she can feel Penelope and JJ staring at her, fascinated by this side of her that they rarely got to see, “I know Dada would.” 
“Dada!” 
They all fall silent, and Emily briefly thinks she’s imagined it. Her smile slips off her face and she looks up at her friends, and thats all it takes for her to know they’ve heard it too. “Did she…” 
JJ moves closer, one of her hands on Emily’s shoulder, squeezing comfortingly as she leans over her and picks up the wedding picture from the side table. She puts it in Lily’s line of sight as she removes her hand from Emily’s shoulder to point at Aaron in the picture. 
“Who’s that Lily?” JJ asks, her voice soft and encouraging, “Is that Dada?”
“Dada!” Lily says again, grasping at the picture before JJ can move it out of reach, not wanting Lily to accidentally drop it and then hurt herself. 
“Good job, Lil’ Peaches!” Penelope says, her enthusiasm clear, her tone matching JJ’s.
Emily barely reacts, her eyes fixed on her daughter as the baby smiles widely at the encouragement, clapping her hands together as she mirrors JJ. She feels like she’s underwater, her eyes watering as she tries to live in the moment, to enjoy one of her daughter’s firsts, but it’s muted. The colour of it dulled by Aaron’s absence, and she takes a moment to grieve the way she’d imagined this. Both of them huddled together with their little girl, one full of glee that she’d said their name first and the other pretending they were upset when they were nothing less than proud of their baby girl.
She blows out a shaky breath and smiles, pulling herself out of it, forcing herself back into the present as she lifts Lily from her lap, peppering her face with kisses before she hugs her close, breathing in the scent of her. 
“Good job, baby,” she says, clearing her throat to ignore the shake to her voice, smiling gratefully at JJ when she places her hand on her knee without saying anything, the slight squeeze she gives to the joint saying everything it needed to, “Mommy is so proud of you,” she kisses the side of Lily’s head again, “Daddy is too.” 
She wondered how she’d tell him this, how she’d break the news that he’d missed something he’d so desperately wanted, and not for the first time since he’d left she regrets ever encouraging him to go. 
-x-
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itsgrimeytime · 2 days
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Magnolia in May (Part Thirty Three) || Rick Grimes (TWD) x Greene!f!reader Regency AU
Parts 1-20, 21-30, 31, 32...
Taglist: @loliakeoghan23 @curlycarley @queenie32 @mgparker @misatmosfear @crazyunsexycool
rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker
AVAILABLE ON AO3
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Inspiration (in honor of Speak Now Taylor's Version): Enchanted by Taylor Swift.
Summary: Your town was small, not the smallest you knew, but anyone of high fortune was the gossip of the week. Predictably, Richard Grimes was a thing of whispers -rumors of a search for marriage among the grassy hills. You weren't one to buy into town gossip, but something about him... just seemed a little too intriguing.
TW: a little bit of happy crying.
[[A/N: girl let's tie up some loose ends!!! Thanks for reading !!! ]]
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You were silently doing some of the chores around the house -day relatively passive, nothing of note. It was these kinds of days you enjoyed most, where you could simply exist, busy yourself to an extent.
So, you were doing a mix of things -at the current moment, you were hanging clothes to dry. Dress bellowing in the wind, it felt quite nice on your skin. You'd chance to later go on a walk. To where you weren't sure, but you were quite certain you'd end up at the Grimes Estate. Always did.
The chirps of birds and rustle of wind filling your ears, you were quite at peace then. Pinning up dresses and towels and father's shirts, you found comfort in the monotony. Motions fluid and practiced, a little bit like dancing.
Though, you would admit dancing was much more fun than such a chore.
Your mind lit up with balls, with music. Twirling dance partners of all sorts, you had danced with quite a few types of people. Being the eldest, everyone often asked for a dance, and being the eldest, you rarely refused.
Plus, it was quite fun dancing with all kinds of people -older, younger, richer, poorer. All types of people danced differently, and you had dabbled in quite a few. Some were funnier than others, and some were not quite as... exciting. Those were the worst, the boring ones.
Maggie quite believed that those with the least skills were the worst. But you heartily disagreed, they (in the right circumstances) can be quite fun. You'd always find something to laugh about later if a man had danced oddly. The worst ones were those with no flair, no talking, no joy.
Their technique could be flawless, each step in time, but it wouldn't be a good dance. Part of the event of dancing was the chatter, the laughter, the joyous swings with the music. Without that, the movements were rather bland and experience monotone.
You'd much rather dance with someone of lesser quality.
You supposed now though, you didn't have to worry about dancing with others. Betrothed, you had quite the built-in dance partner.
Dances with Mr. Grimes were a tedious balance, his movements fluid and practiced and the banter wonderfully produced. It was exciting, not only to be near such a man you held so dearly but to dance with someone as well socialized as himself.
He was clever, witty, and wonderful-
Perhaps, you were a little biased in retrospect. But you did truly believe that dancing with Mr. Grimes had to be one of the delights of your life. To keep such conversations going and move so eloquently to the music, was special. You were glad to be on the receiving end of it.
Although, you were quite certain that Mr. Grimes would say you were the one with such characteristics. As he always did.
"Y/N, darling," Headmistress called out, "-come here, will you?"
Grabbing the empty basket, you waltzed back up to the door -head filled with wonderous sorts of songs and the image of dancing with Mr. Grimes. You were quite smiley, as Maggie would say.
You hummed, placing the basket where it usually stayed -fidgetting with some leftover cloth, "What is it you needed, ma'am?"
Headmistress didn't say anything.
You pursed your lips, turning to face her -curiosity blooming through your chest. What your eyes met was simply not expected.
Headmistress stood there, hand outstretched with a stack of paper -you recognized the ivory. Her dress was crinkled and hair mussed, she looked quite worse for wear -there was a question on the tip of your tongue.
"I finally decided to read them, my dear," she swallowed and you could hear the clog of her nose -the redness of her cheeks to match.
With a start, you realized what she held -the letters, the invitations, from oh so long ago. Something in you had forgotten you'd given them to her to read, desperate for her to understand and forgive Mr. Grimes.
You with ease pulled the papers from her hands -fingers gently carding through them. It was such a mix of emotions to be holding them again -it brought you back to such a place of uncertainty but also at the very beginning of something so wonderful.
She sniffled, dabbing at her eye with a handkerchief, "I couldn't quite do it, at first, all that time ago. All I felt was guilt, and I believed reading these would only further that."
You merely looked at her -watching.
"I cannot express how sorry I am for my misdeeds, and though I do believe you have already forgiven me," she sighed, her voice cracked only slightly, "-I humbly ask for your forgiveness."
"Headmistress-"
"I was holding something so wonderful back from one of my own," she cried, breath biting through her lungs, "-I do not believe I can forgive myself, but I do ask you to. If you have not already."
"Headmistress," you tried to interject.
"If such a thing had ended in heartbreak," she continued, "-I would've certainly never forgiven myself. I hope you know-"
"Headmistress," you stressed, running your hands down her arms, smiling, "-please do not cry. I have long forgiven you."
She seemed to settle slightly then, something heavy lifting from her shoulders; you wondered how long she'd carried such a thing, briefly. You slid your hands down to grab hers, comforting.
"And I urge you not to think of such possibilities," you squeezed her hands, "-Mr. Grimes told me that there was no limit to his affections, and he would have waited forever had I asked him to."
Headmistress was tearing up again, but you felt that this time her reasoning was much different.
"So, even if you had postponed my reaction longer than it was," you explained, "-it is my belief that the outcome would not change."
"Oh," she laughed -a little weepy, "-the man does love you so, doesn't he?"
"Very much," you smiled, "-And I like to believe I love him just the same."
"Oh, my darling girl," Headmistress sighed, hand smoothing over your cheek, "-you are to be married so soon, and to a wonderful man, no doubt."
You leaned into her hand, watching as her eyes began to wetten, and her smile smooth across her lips -something passing through her eyes, "I shall say that I'm rather proud of you."
Your eyes began to fog up then.
"It is with no doubt that the man fell in love with just you," she echoed, rubbing her fingers along your face -looking at you like she could still see you as a child but it was now shifting, "-you need no training to be such a person. It was only a matter of time, really-"
You laughed, "Headmistress-"
"No, truly!" She hummed, a bit joyfully, "-Had you not met Mr. Grimes at the market, I'm sure you would have elsewhere. Either by mine own hand, or just within Alexandria. I believe it destiny that he loves you."
"Headmistress," you spoke, softly.
"No man loves as powerful as he does without such a reason."
It was an idea that you had been familiar with, one that Mr. Grimes had many a times expressed. He seemed ever convinced of it, that your souls were intertwined. That you were the superior one, and he was made as a compliment.
"Seeing you for the first time felt like everythin' in my life shifted, I found ya. You must understand, I was made for you."
"You existed, and the world built me off of ya. I, by some grace of God, found you."
You weren't sure you quite agreed, Rick Grimes was anything but inferior, but the sentiment was all the same. Made for each other.
You often thought back to the day you met him and the feelings therein. Sure, they were surprisingly new and you'd been drawn to him quite quickly. Something of a new, handsome presence you had never quite seen. Always wondering why Judith had chosen you of everyone within the market if it was, in fact, an act of destiny.
There was always the opinion that she saw your berries, to be frank. Or maybe you just looked safe, kind, you did get that a little bit from onlookers.
But there was something in you that said even without Judith, he would have found you.
Perhaps he would've brushed into you, stopping to apologize or maybe you'd drop something after running through the shops (lord knows your hands were often full) and he'd pick it up. There was just the rightness of you and Mr. Grimes as if your souls had been matched -crafted expertly by God.
"I may agree with you, Headmistress," you finally replied.
"You should agree with me," she spoke -frankly, "-you could ask for the most rare sort of gem and I'm certain he'd cross the ocean to find it."
That was the thing, there were no limits for Mr. Grimes, but you wouldn't ask him to pursue them. You were perfectly happy within your the life you lived, whether that was with Mr. Grimes or without.
Though without him, something would certainly feel as though it was missing.
A man willing to go as far as necessary, and a woman who only really needs him by her side. It was an odd sort of match, but you supposed anyone who asked him to reach such bounds would be rather exploitative.
Perhaps the kind that only chase the money.
You were nothing of the kind.
"You know I would not ask him to," you laughed in response, "-I'm perfectly happy with what he gifts me here."
Headmistress's eyes trailed to your basket, poised carefully on the kitchen counter, "He does give you quite quality gifts, does he not?"
You absent-mindedly trailed to it as well, eyes lingering on it -thinking back to that day with a fond smile, "He's quite mischievous in that way, all such expensive gifts are done without my knowledge, so I can't refuse them."
"Would you?" She asked curiously, "-If given the option, would you refuse them?"
You pursed your lips for a moment, thinking about such an idea. Suppose the lavender dress, had he made it personally for you under different circumstances, would you accept it? Or the basket? Or the portrait?
"I suppose not," you remarked -thoughtfully, "-He does it out of his affections, and I believe it an extension of them. I would be daft to refuse such a thing."
"So why do you refuse them, darling?"
"I... I don't know," you hummed, thinking to yourself, "-I'd guess it was something of a confidence issue. I value myself much under what Mr. Grimes tends to give me. Or-"
Headmistress listened very carefully, for once.
"Or I did," you corrected, "-I'm working on such things now. Valuing myself properly, perhaps not as high as Mr. Grimes does-"
"Oh, you'd surely believe you were god," she retorted -pompously, "-I cannot imagine anything quite higher than you in his mind."
You laughed, eyes dropping toward the table by the wall -where the letters lay. You'd set them there in your urge to calm Headmistress. Eyes lingering along each fold and expansive of ivory, your fingers reach out again and you pull them toward your chest.
And on the off chance you don't understand what I mean, I ask, from the depths of my heart, don't leave Alexandria.
Written through all of this was his very own heart extended to you, like an offering. Something so personal, vulnerable, in every single word, you remember the feeling once you realized that.
The realization that you were wrong, that it was an assumption, that he quite possibly wanted you. Did want you, if his words were to be believed. And you believed them.
I fear if I cannot explain it now then, she may never know. And I truly don't wish for it to end this way, or for it to end at all.
I will not stop trying. I can't.
And I ask that you honor that and tell your sister I am still fighting, that I have not run away. Please.
You swallowed, eyes just a little misty. It was the last letter, the one addressed to you, that you held in your hands. Your eyes flickered through the words, reading briskly. It all rang familiar.
My head is a mess as it is, but I find something clears it all when I think about you. I've never been more certain about you. I suppose I'm just afraid I don't know if you are as certain as you once were. I want you to be. I need you to be.
You smiled, a little bittersweet. Your fingers gently rubbed against the ivory -holding it like a prized possession.
You supposed it was.
"I shall intend to keep these," you hummed, briefly flickering over every written word -mindlessly you rubbed at your nose, "-They are quite emotional, but..."
Headmistress's hand found itself on your shoulder, squeezing once solidly. She roamed to your side -reading over your shoulder.
"That one," she said, a little wistfully, "'s rather desperate. A man of his status does not beg, but-"
Your fingertips traced over the ink, absent-mindedly imagining the scratch of his quill. His composure, or what you believed it to be. Was he crying? Was he desolate, desperate as she said?
"-he begged for you."
"Yes," you hummed, biting at your lip -the tears bubbling up your throat (it felt a bit like the first time you'd heard Mr. Grimes wanted to marry you, deliriously happy), "-Yes, he did. Didn't he?"
She laughed, a little weepy too -happy in her own right, "You've got quite the man in the works, my dear."
"I know," you laughed out, placing the letters back onto the table -spinning to her with a smile beyond comprehension, "-I know, Headmistress. Oh, it's just so-"
The bell in town rung, clearing through your head -you stilled.
"Is that the bell? Truly?"
Headmistress nodded -a confused look crossing her face.
"My final dress fitting!" You nearly exclaimed -eyes darting across the space in front of you, "-Oh, I need the carriage if I'm to be on time now."
"Hershel, dear," Headmistress called out, and you could faintly hear his response, "-We need the carriage, immediately. Call for it, will you?"
You had a spare thought, staring at the pile. Suppose you brought them, and after, talked to Mr. Grimes about them. It might answer some of your questions, and there was something in you that wished him to know how you'd read them -if it was the same as how he intended.
You blew a huff through your nose, grabbing your basket off the counter and piling the paper into it.
And with that, you scampered out the door and into the carriage -at the urge of the Headmistress. Without so much as an extra thought, she tumbled in beside you -speaking quickly to the driver.
You found, even though you hadn't invited her, you didn't quite mind.
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lonely-dog-song · 2 months
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the melting man wasn't THAT incredible tbh
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bucketofpaint · 3 months
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Danny is Damian's clone.
He's well aware of it. He wasn't just any clone. He was the very first. That was the difference between Danny and other clones. He was made before the League started using brainwashing and stuff into their cloning process.
When Danny was fresh out of the tube, the League had sat him down and explained his the purpose of his existence, gave him some intense training, and immediately tossed him out into the world.
But the thing was, he just didn't care. He had absolutely no loyalty to his creators, and he had no desire to kill/kidnap his original. So he just started walking. The next thing he knew, he was at some orphanage in Illinois.
And then the rest was history. He got adopted by a pair of enthusiastic scientists and their red-head daughter, got his own name, and he could finally start living his own life.
Danny had put the past behind him and had barely even thought about it at all for a long time. That was unill his original showed up at his school.
----------------
Damien was annoyed. He was stuck at some random Illinois town (supposed to be the most haunted place in the world, which was a bunch of ludicrous.) On a transfer program. He tried convincing Father how illogical it would be, but Father had told him it would be good for him to meet new people.
___
Danny was annoyed.
"I don't understand what the big deal about him is anyways," Danny complained.
"He started being the ceo of Wayne Enterprise when he was a teenager." Sam countered.
"Ok, so, nepotism."
Sam rolled her eyes. "I still don't understand why you're so against him."
"One, billionaire. Two, Tucker is way cooler than Tim Drake.
Sam's eyes soften. " Tucker is just gone for a few weeks."
Danny's cheeks felt warm. "I never said anything about that. I just want Tucker to find a cooler role model, is all.
Sam gave him an all-knowing look. "Well, if you say so. I'm going to get in line."
Sam, all ways waited last to get in the lunch line. Claiming she didn't want to hold up line when the lunch ladies had to get the vegetarian option. Which was fine, but now that Tucker was doing the dumb transfer student program, all he could do was eat his mediocre lunch and mindlessly play on his phone.
Untill someone grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the cafeteria into the hallway. Danny turned around to face the person. He froze at the sight of his own face. Or well, a glaring rich kid version.
"Oh, it's you." Danny said nonchalant, even though he was screaming inside.
"You're not going to play dumb, clone?"
"No, why would I, The resemblance is uncanny.
"What are you doing here?" His original demanded
"You dragged me here."
His original scowled. "You know what I mean, clone. I won't hesitate to end you."
"Just trying to go to school, honest."
Original glared at him, scanning him with his eyes. The grip on Danny's arm loosened. " I'll be watching you, clone."
" Whatever you say, template."
Danny walked back to the cafeteria, blocking out the yells of rage behind him.
___
It was about a week of Damian watching his clone, and he was confused. At first, he thought the league sent the clone to trade places with him before he went back to Gotham, but now he wasn't sure. The Clone seemed to fit in the community to well to have show up recently, but that didn't disprove the theory entirely. It could be a long-term plan from the League. They could be responsible for putting the transfer program in place in the first place.
The other theory was that the clone escaped and made a life for himself, but that didn't explain how he got past his programming.
After the last period, Damian found his clone and pulled him aside.
"What do you want?" His clone asked, irritated.
"You're different then other clones, explain."
"I don't know. I didn't really stick around very long to find out."
"What about your programming?"
"I didn't have any?"
Damian thought about it before giving a small nod. "You don't seem to be a threat, but I'll still keep my eye on you, clone."
"I've got a name, you know." He held out his hand. "Danny Fenton, nice to make your acquaintance."
Damian heistently shook his hand. "Damian Wayne."
That started their unsaid agreement. You don't mess with me, I don’t mess with you. They interacted with each other sometimes, but not very offen. They were impartial to one another, and both sides weren't very keen on getting to know each other. And that was their relationship till the day Damian was leaving.
Damian was waiting for the bus when Danny approached him.
"What do you want, Daniel?"
"I told not to call me that, but uh, here." Danny handed a piece of paper to him. "It's my phone number if you ever need help from the League or anything."
Damian slipped the paper into his pocket. "Give me your phone." Danny handed over his phone, and Damian started typing.
"What are you doing?" Danny asked.
"I'm putting my number in. If you ever require assistance."
Danny smiled, "Thanks."
____
A few months later.
Tim was peeking over a corner.
"What are you doing?" Dick asked.
Tim didn't say anything and just waved him over. He walked over and stared in aw at what he saw. Damian was slouched on the couch, his hair messy, playing on his phone.
A few minutes later, Jason joined.
"Am I hallucinating?" Tim whispered.
"Nah, I don't think so... unless we're all hallucinating." Jason whispered back.
"Do you think he has brain damage or been possessed or something?" Tim asked.
Dick shook his head. "That seems unlikely."
"This is so trippy. I've never seen him wear anything that casually like ever.
"What are you imbeciles doing?"
"We're watching Damian."
All three of them froze and turned to look at a glaring Damian.
Damian walked past them and went right up to the second Damian.
"Daniel, what are you doing here?"
The causal Damian 'Daniel' pulled out a letter. "Your pops invited me, and I didn’t want to risk the chance of batman showing up at my front door."
Damian scoffed, "Of course, Father found out."
Alfred walked in. "Master Daniel, I'll be taking you to Master Bruce."
The double got up and went to Alfred.
"Cookie, Master Daniel?"
"Sure, and call me danny."
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devilishcupid · 10 months
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CARBON COPY | Miguel O'Hara
☆ premise: trying to find miles morales in earth-42, he encounters you. or at least, a version of you.
☆ pairing: miguel o'hara x fem!alt universe!reader
☆ warnings: across the spiderverse spoilers, pregnant!reader, clueless!reader, angst, hurt no comfort, miguel's pov, some swearing
☆ a/n: oh my god. across the spiderverse is literally a masterpiece. into the spiderverse already is, but the spiderverse team said, "we can do better." they didn't have to, but they did.
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"Do you really think this is a good idea?" Jessica asked through the commlink. "This is risky, even by your standards."
"It doesn't matter. The quicker we find Miles, the quicker we get out of here." Miguel muttered into his earpiece as he walked through the busy streets of Earth-42's New York.
"Yes, but blending in? For all we know, a version of us exists here."
"Which is why you need to stop talking and start looking, Jess." Miguel hissed a little too loud, earning looks from a few passerbys. He winced. Jessica had a point. If a version of them did exist in this universe, it would be best not to bring attention to themselves.
"Miguel!"
And... that was now thrown out of the window. Cursing under his breath, he turned around reluctantly to face the person who called him—only to find that it was you.
His eyes widened, and his lips parted at the sight of you. Never in a million years did he expect to see her again. But here you were, the absolute spitting image of her. Your clothes were exactly the same things she would wear, your hair and makeup done the same way.
Finding different versions of people in different universes was not uncommon. There's literally a society uniting the different universes' own Spider-people, for God's sake. But Miguel didn't expect this. He didn't expect a carbon copy of his dead wife on a universe where Spider-Man did not exist.
He should've said he wasn't Miguel, that you were mistaking him for someone else. Hell, he shouldn't have stopped and turned around in the first place. He didn't know what came over him, but in a second, he had his arms wrapped around your body.
"Miguel, hon, are you okay?" You asked, your voice laced with surprise and concern. You had no clue that the man who was hugging you was not your husband. At least, not your husband in this universe.
Miguel grunted in response, his ability to string words together to form a sentence rendered broken by your presence. He squeezed you tighter. He couldn't believe he was holding you in his arms.
You weren't the same woman he fell in love with. He knows this. But he couldn't help himself. You looked exactly like her. Felt exactly like her. Sounded exactly like her. Shit, you even smelled like her.
"Damn it, Miguel, keep it together! She's not your wife!"
Hearing Jess' voice snapped Miguel out of his stupor. Remembering his mission, why he was there in the first place, he pulled away from you. He didn't want to. He wanted to hold you longer. But he knew that if he did, he wouldn't have been able to stop.
"Honey, what's wrong?" You asked, cupping his face in your hands. God, how he missed feeling the warmth of your palms. "You're acting weird."
"I'm fine, sweetheart." He gave you a small smile, his hands wrapping around yours and his lips pressing a kiss on each of your wrists. "I just missed you, that's all."
You laughed. "What are you talking about? You saw me this morning."
Miguel could only chuckle in an attempt to hide his sadness. What was only hours for you was months for him. "Right. I did."
"Are you sure you're okay, though?" You asked again, eyebrows furrowing and the corners of your lips downturned.
"Don't worry about it, darling. I am."
He wasn't. But you didn't need to know that. You didn't need to know that in another universe, the two of you were married. You didn't need to know that you had a daughter together. You didn't need to know that he loved you and your daughter more than life itself, only for him to lose you both.
"Listen, I have to go. I'm having lunch with a friend. But I'll see you later at Doctor Nguyen's, okay?" You placed your hands on your stomach, a smile forming on your face. "I can't wait to see her again."
Miguel swallowed the lump in his throat before forcing himself to smile. Only now he noticed the bump on your stomach, carrying a different Miguel's Gabriella. "Yeah, me too."
With a kiss goodbye on his cheek, you walked away, blissfully unaware that he was not your Miguel. He watched as you disappeared around the corner, knowing it was the first and last time he was ever going to see you again.
But that didn't matter. He'll find Miles. He'll make sure the canon isn't destroyed. He'll make sure another version of himself wouldn't have to suffer the loss of his family the same way he did. He'll make sure you and your kid were safe.
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mediacircuspod · 8 months
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This scene was absolutely beautiful BUT it’s also the crux of the issue. You guys this is where the problems start. Because—because Crowley’s already cast out, he finds COMFORT in the idea that they are lonely together. “As far as he can” becoming “as far as they can” is an END to his complete “otherness” and something to appreciate, to covet, and to find solace in. He’s finally not alone.
But—and this is important.
Aziraphale does NOT feel that. He can’t.
This moment is completely and utterly devastating for Zira. He finds out he’s not damned and sure, he’s relieved. But he’s no longer “an Angel” in the way that he’s learned is right. He’s now unchangeably and forever; less holy—a concept that is dearly important to his identity. “[Going] along with heaven as far as he can” is a FAILING on his part. Not heaven’s(at least to him). There is no solace or comfort—he finds existence like that—just the two of them—achingly LONELY. And that’s just how his perspective demands to be taken. It’s the only perspective he is capable of in that moment AND after it, too.
Take into account Crowley has went from having no one AT ALL to having SOMEONE. And he puts EVERYTHING he has into it. This is not good. It’s unfair to Aziraphale. And it’s unfair to himself. On the opposite side, you have Aziraphale. Who has just went from having the ENTIRE HEAVENLY HOST, to having this SINGLE demon— who, one minute ago, Aziraphale thought would be dragging him off to hell.
And the part that aches is that this perspective hasn’t changed. Aziraphale feels like his existence is lacking because he wants so badly to be GOOD. And good is Holy. Good is heavenly. He’s the problem for having morals that are misaligned.
Spoilers for the last episode:
Aziraphale has just been given the validation that he is not only GOOD but the most HEAVENLY Angel there is, the Supreme Archangel, even. And if heavens morals are now HIS morals, then that’s EVERY PROBLEM SOLVED. With a bow even, because Crowley’s basically on heavens side anyway, he’s GOOD, isn’t he? He’s been good this whole time, so why wouldn’t heaven want him back? Reinstating him as Angel would fix everything. They can be together, and they can be good, and they can be HOLY. All Aziraphale’s conflicting emotions about loving Crowley can be packed away because Crowley will be perfect again—and surely Crowley wants to be perfect—wants to be forgiven.(sorry everyone, that hurt me too, oof) Aziraphale is SHOCKED by Crowley’s refusal. He’s devastated that his version of perfect is treated as something naive and distasteful.
Crowley’s devastated too. He’s just lost “their side”. A concept that for 5000+ years has been THE ONLY THING he puts love into besides his car and perhaps his plants(And humanity, but he’ll never admit to that—I’m looking at the “No more dying” scene). Crowley is constantly being devastated by Aziraphale. He’s “too fast”, he’s too evil, he’s too good sometimes. Crowley has always been TOO MUCH. But this is different because for four years, he’s had “them”(on their own side) without the hiding, and without the denial and without Aziraphale constantly putting former jobs between them. PLUS he has a mountain of trauma centered around the concept of “forgiveness”, so that’s not great considering Aziraphale’s last words to him(THAT HE HASNT SAID ALL SEASON EVEN WHEN HE MADE CROWLEY APOLOGIZE IN THE FIRST EPISODE, AHHHHH). He’s losing everything and he’s desperate: Why isn’t he enough, hasn’t he been enough these last 4 years? Hasn’t HE been enough the last 6000?
Aziraphale has always been enough for Crowley. But being enough for Crowley doesn’t fix how Aziraphale has never been enough for himself, not since Job. He looks at this offer as a chance for HIM to be enough, and for Crowley to be FORGIVEN. Crowley looks at it as a betrayal because it’s Aziraphale saying Crowley ISNT enough, and he NEVER has been.
But that’s not what Aziraphale is saying. He’s saying, “Let me fix it for you”. Crowley is hearing, “Let me fix you for it.” Two completely different and completely horrifying concepts.
And then Crowley needs to say HIS piece(oh my gosh, btw, this was heartbreaking).
“Let’s be together on our terms” is basically what I’ve distilled it down to. But Aziraphale hears, “Let’s run away from our problems”
Aziraphale doesn’t want to run away, and Crowley doesn’t want to change who he is.
They both want to be together so badly but they don’t understand why they each want it so differently. And Aziraphale can’t compromise because he’s brainwashed and LOATHES himself. And Crowley can’t compromise because he’s traumatized and LOVES Aziraphale just as he is. Crowley doesn’t want to be good on heavens terms. He can see Heaven for what it is; “toxic”. He hates heaven not only for what the Host did to him, but for HOW THEY TREATED Aziraphale.
They both don’t understand each other because for all the pleading and presenting and monologuing, they never once in that whole conversation, actually talked.
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falseficus · 7 months
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I read a physical copy of monstrous regiment soon after listening to the audiobook, and I noticed two tiny discrepancies between the two editions that make an absolute world of difference. when I found out that these discrepancies existed (you’ll find reddit posts backing me up about them), I felt cheated that my first experience of the book had portrayed a less cohesive arc than pratchett intended
if you’re looking to buy or read monstrous regiment, I strongly recommend the doubleday 2003 version or the corgi 2004 version, which iirc contain the original text. The harper collins publications and audiobook both contain these changes, which imo are confusing and severely undercut the themes the book is trying to get across. if anyone knows the status of other editions of the book pls feel free to add on
obviously the audiobooks and ebooks are more accessible than physical books to some people, so if you read one of those just know that the original text is different in some key ways. I still recommend you read the book because it’s crazy good :)
the changes I noticed, beneath the cut to avoid some serious spoilers:
firstly, the last line of Jackrum’s last scene. in the Doubleday version, this line reads:
“Jackrum had turned her chair to the fire, and had settled back. Around him, the kitchen worked.”
in the harpercollins version, the line reads:
“Jackrum had turned her chair the the fire, and had settled back. Around her, the kitchen worked.”
this pronoun change is actually has huge implications. in the scene in question, jackrum, a transgender man, reveals that he joined the army in disguise. he is referred to as “she” throughout his background reveal. however, he then considers where his future will take him, and in the final line of the scene his pronoun reverts back to “he.” jackrum’s pronoun goes from he->she->he, encapsulating the gendery arc of the scene. however, in the altered he->she->she version of the scene, half of that circle is erased. the neat tie-up of jackrum’s journey is left confusingly unresolved, and the importance of his gender to the book’s overarching themes goes underemphasized
the second change I noticed is how maladict appears in the book’s ending:
in the Doubleday version, maladict appears “in full uniform.”
in the harpercollins version, maladict appears “in full female uniform.”
maladict is the last soldier to reveal [their] true gender, keeping up a masc/ambiguous presentation far after all the rest of the squad has come forward as women. “in full uniform” maintains this ambiguity, allowing the reader to decide for themself whether maladict comes forward and presents as fully female or continues to dress masculinely despite the fact that circumstances no longer require it (in fact I believe that the latter is more likely, as maladict says “thought I’d try again,” which could mean dressing in male uniform again). “in full female uniform” removes that ambiguity, and brings maladict’s arc to a somewhat unsatisfying conclusion. it eliminates the possibility of maladict as transgender or gender-non-conforming, and I’m left wondering, “if maladict presents as female so readily, why make such a fuss of it before now?”
both changes undermine the book’s message by eliminating its space for non-cisnormative identity… which is kinda crucial to the whole idea. im honestly really disappointed that these changes were made in any version of the book, because whoever made them clearly didn’t get the point
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brucewaynehater101 · 1 month
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AU Baby Stalker Tim universe hopping
In this AU, babystalker!Tim gets hit with a portal gun (or something) and winds up in Gotham around 7 or 8 years in the future. He was in Crime Alley when he got hit, so that's where he is when the lights stop imitating the absolute worst kaleidoscope to exist meshed with LED car headlights.
Hearing some poor kid probably upchucking in an alley of the worst area of town, Red Hood goes to investigate. He finds what must be a baby ("I'm 10!") clutching an expensive camera.
If that's not weird, the child has no clue who Red Hood is. Not that Red Hood knows who the child is. Maybe an out-of-towner?
[There's barely any baby photos of Tim and Jason wasn't around at the early Robin stages.]
The kid is ecstatic (and slightly confused) to learn that Crime Alley, the area that Robin comes from, has a protector! There's another vigilante Tim can add to his collection (and subtly stalk).
While Tim ponders who this guy is and what his identity might be, Jason is concerned as hell that this infant is following him to his safehouse. Has no one taught him stranger danger?
Eventually, after annoyingly growing fond of the gremlin, Jason realizes two facts: this kid is from a different universe, and the child is the infant version of the placeholder.
Although Jason is upset he has to deal with this situation and somehow Red Robin fucked his day over, the crime lord can't take the anger out on pre-Robin Tim. The "I'm-probably-emotionally-neglected-and-have-no-clue-what-puppy-dog-eyes-are" puppy dog eyes are way too powerful.
Jason drags himself to the cave to have the Bats help him with this situation. Their current relationship is tentative, slightly aggressive coworkers. They don't trust each other, but they also no longer attack on sight.
Tim is hiding behind Red Hood as he stomps into the cave. Everyone else becomes alert and wary at his presence. Hood usually only appears when it's urgent.
Before Red Hood can introduce Tim and get into the issue, the kid peeks out from behind him. He notices how the other vigilantes are so hostile to the man that's been nothing but nice to Tim. He doesn't understand. He tugs the man's pants, causing the man to look down at him and says:
"They look so angry... Why does everyone always look at you that way?"
Red Robin startles at hearing a younger version of himself ask that of Hood.
The Red Robin feels his heart break at realizing that his childhood hero still exists in the figure of Red Hood. The man just isn't safe to the current Tim.
Both Jason and Tim come to the realization that a younger Tim would've trusted Hood. He would've defended the protector of Crime Alley.
Jason feels his world start to tremble with the idea that he would've loved a younger version of Tim. He would've felt protective and caring. The sight of him wouldn't drive anger and betrayal. If he hadn't attacked Tim, he might still look at him as if he wasn't a monster.
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ioniiaa · 2 months
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My Darling, My Honey
Alastor X Fem!Reader (Part 8)
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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8
Quick Notes:
You, the reader who is an artist, and had become Alastor's sweetheart, but unfortunately died too early.
Now, you're in hell.
Part 8:
Your arrival in hell was a quiet one, hardly a soul around to even notice you in what looked like a barren desert. But red. So much red everywhere. The sky, the ground, all of it- red.
You looked down at your hands, you looked different. You looked... not quite human.
"So this is hell, isn't it?" You said yourself out loud. "I thought it would be more... populated.. and.. different."
But what really caught your eye was a ring on the ring finger of your left hand. You don't recall ever wearing a ring there before you died.
But then it dawned on you... Alastor. This ring was from him. It had to be. Tears welled up in your eyes as you sniffled. It just had to be and you thanked whatever higher powers that existed for allowing this one thing to be brought with you to Hell after you died.
After walking for miles, hardly seeing any sign of civilization- or whatever it's called down here, you happen upon a small town situated in an oasis.
Well, a hell.. version of an oasis. It wasn't water in the center of this town, lava maybe? Blood? Either way, you figured this would be where you'd have to get your start and find your bearings as a new denizen of Hell.
After talking to some (begrudging) locals, you found out you were in what's called the "Ring of (insert whatever ring of hell you want to be in, except pride)"
With the basic information given to you (and then being told to figure the rest out, as the locals spat in your face) you figured you would have to settle here for now.
So settle you did, until you had enough resources to get to a bigger city.
In life, you were an artist, it was the one thing you felt like you could do best, so that's what you decided to do in Hell too.
For many years, you were the definition of a starving artist. You moved from town to town, city to city, with only enough money to get you through each day.
You didn't have a home to call your own, so you often had to find small little nooks and crannies in backstreets and alleyways at night.
During the day, you offered super cheap portraits on the street. Some sinners scoffed and looked down at you, calling you all sorts of degrading names that you had never heard before. Meanwhile other sinners were so vain, demanding you capture their beauty to their unrealistic standards. But you gave them what they wanted, after all, beggars can't be choosers down here.
This same cycle repeated for many long years, until a few decades later, you found yourself slowly working for higher-profile clients, starting from a variety of store owners until you eventually had your first Overlord client commission you to make a large-scale magnificent portrait of them.
After this big break, you began to get more commissions from other Overlords, both big and small.
It was around this time, decades after your arrival to Hell, that you found yourself not starving anymore. You didn't have to worry about the day-to-day, and even though you could afford a really nice place even in a big city of one of the rings of hell, you chose to keep it more low-key and stayed in a small, humble apartment.
It was easy to relocate and take the bare minimum essentials and move onto the next town, city, or ring of Hell.
Even after many decades in Hell, you never forgot about the love of your life- Alastor.
It's why you chose to live in such a small apartment, with not many material belongings except for your work/art materials.
You made it easy to pick up and move because you were searching for Alastor all these years.
You didn't want to sound insulting, but you knew he had to end up in Hell too.
But it was hard to find one specific person in all of hell. After all, you knew you had to tread carefully. Names and connections hold a lot of power and reign supreme down here.
Unfortunately, this led you to a bunch of dead ends or nothing at all. Investigating wasn't really your strong suit, but you did your damn best.
As you were reminiscing the past, both of your life on Earth and in the years you've resided in Hell (which doubled or was even close to tripling the number of years as you lived on Earth at this point), you got up from your chair and decided it was time to pack up again.
One of your acquaintances that was a lackey to one of the Overlords in the area let you know that a turf war was going to happen soon, so you figured now was the time to pack up and make your way to the only ring of hell you hadn't been to- the Pride ring.
Given the nature of your business, you had a feeling business would be booming in the Pride ring. You had a feeling that the Pride ring would be your best bet to make connections and find any potential leads on where the love of your life would be.
However, every time you traveled into a new ring, you had to sneak in as unnoticed as possible because "sinners" aren't supposed to be able to travel freely between the rings of hell.
It was a wonder that you still had ownership over your own soul after all these years, especially considering you've done many commissions for high-profile demons and Overlords throughout almost all of the rings of hell at this point.
You sigh as you bring your hood over your head and leave your home with just a briefcase of art supplies once more.
-> Part 9
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cherry-leclerc · 5 months
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the red high heels ☆ cs55
genre: humor, secret relationship, leclerc!twins
word count: 1.9k
It's 2am and Charles is desperate to find you. Who better to help look for you than his teammate?
req... guys, i literally wrote different versions of this request at least 5 times...anyways, hope you enjoy a quick one :)
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Groaning, Carlos stands up from his bed, making his way to the door. It’s 2 am and he was far too comfortable until he was rudely interrupted. Opening the door, he sees a despaired Charles, dark under eyes evident. “Charles? Are you okay, man?” His voice is raw and croaky almost. His teammate shakes his head, then nods.
“Fuck, it’s just that…my sister. Mate, I don’t know where she is.” Hearing this, the Spaniard narrows his eyes, all of a sudden awake. 
“What do you mean you don’t know?” 
“Well, I checked her room, I called her and nothing. We’re supposed to be leaving for the airport in an hour!” 
Carlos stays still for a moment. “Okay, I’ll help you look for her, she can’t be too far out. She’s not like that.” The Monegasque nods slowly before beginning to slump his way into the room. Carlos sprints after him.
“Oh! Um…How about you wait outside? It’s just that the room is so messy.” Turning his gaze, he points to the spotless room. Charles frowns. 
“Carlos, this has got to be the cleanest room I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” He scrunches his nose before waving his hands in his teammates direction. “Hurry and put on a shirt so we can leave.” With tight lips, he nods. He’s slow about it too, the way he makes his way to his suitcase. Opening it, it’s empty. He slightly curses himself for being too much of a neat freak that he just had to organize his clothes into the small closet. “Some girl kept your shirt?” Charles' smile is teasing as he sends over a playful wink. Carlos winces.
“Of course not! Just have to…” He points over to the closet that is on the other side of the room. He pats his face. “You know what? I think I’m going to put my shoes on first! I’ll be quick, if you want we can meet outside.” 
“It’s no big deal. I can wait. I mean you are helping me after all.” The brown eyed man wants to yell when a kind smile tugs at Charles’ lips. Get out, get out, get outttt. 
“Of course.” Leaning down to grab his Golden Goose under the bed he takes a deep breath. His heart is beating so fast, he thinks it might leap out of his chest. Charles is talking, but all is unclear as Carlos reaches down. He quickly relaxes when he finds his shoes. He lets out a shaky breath.
“Oh no. Is your age getting the best out of you?” Charles snickers as Carlos grunts before sitting beside him, slipping on his shoes ever so slowly. Charles is growing impatient, he could tell. This was good.
“So, um, where do you think she is?” Carlos questions as he unties his other shoe. Charles hums.
“You know what? I have a feeling she’s not that far…Twin telepathy.” The broody man rolls his eyes as Charles shares a thoughtful glance. He laughs. “Call it what you want, but that shit exists.” 
“I bet.”
The green eyed boy furrows his brows at Carlos’ clumsy fingers playing with his laces. He desperately huffs. “Do you need help or something?”
“Almost got it…” The white strings become undone for what seems the millionth time before he finally gets the grips of it. Bravo, Charles mutters. 
“Coming back to what you were saying, what do you mean by twin telepathy?” Carlos stands up making his way to his empty suitcase again but Charles doesn’t even seem to notice as he becomes entertained by his bracelets. 
“Oh, well, it’s real. I feel like she can’t be that far. How else do you think I would win at tag when we were younger?” He raises an eyebrow over his teammate. He continues with a now moody face. “Though, something else tells me she’s with someone, y’know?” Carlos chokes as he turns to face Charles. I don’t, he squeaks out. “It’s just that I’ve had this feeling that she might be seeing someone from the grid. I told her not to and she said she would never, but I don’t know why I could never really believe her. Plus, she’s oddly been attached to her phone a tad bit too much.”
Just then Carlos’ phone rings. They both shoot their eyes to the bright light that shines in the middle of the messy bed sheets. Reaching out, Charles grabs it before handing it over. You should probably answer. Hastily, he takes it. 
Get. Him. Out.
He coughs as he slips his phone into his back pocket. “Hey, why don’t you start looking for her without me? I swear I’ll be out in a minute.”
“I don’t know where else to look, I’ve tried everywhere! Just hurry so we can brainstorm ideas. I swear to God when I find her-” A light thud echoes the small room as he cocks his head to the side in attentiveness. He raises his hand to his ear. “Did you hear that?”
The Spaniard immediately goes to rub his elbow. “I just hit my arm, that’s all.” 
“Be careful, mate.” He stands up. “Okay grab your shirt.”
“Mierda. I can’t find it.” But that's a lie because just a couple of feet behind Charles, it lies. Right next to a pair of red heels. Charles' eyes roam the room with a slightly annoyed expression before spotting it. Picking it up, he pauses. When he turns around he wears a toothy grin.
“Oh shit! You have a girl over! That’s why you went all shy!” He picks up the heel. “That’s crazy. Looks just like my sisters. Girls just have the same taste these days…”
Carlos quickly grabs the shirt from him before snatching the heel back too. “I-I didn’t–I mean I did, but she left! She must have forgotten her sh–” The words tumble past his lips so fast that he doesn’t notice how Charles’ expression has dropped.
The red high heel could have been anyones, true, but not everyone had your initials at the bottom. He knows since he was the one who had gifted them to you as a birthday present. You had begged for months.
“Hope you shut up now that you have them,” he says as you smile down at the designer heels. You nod happily. 
“I promise I’ll take care of them, Charlie! So sweet, I mean, you even added a nice detail!”
He’s fuming, but he’s also confused. “You motherfucker–”
“It’s just a shoe, mate!” Carlos' voice cracks in nervousness as his teammate strolls his way over. The Monegasque quickly grabs Carlos’ collared shirt as he pushes him against the closet. His body thuds as he groans. 
“Where’s my sister?” His harsh glare doesn’t equal his tone and that scares Carlos just a tiny…lot. 
“I don’t know! Let’s go look for her!” He tries to pry Charles’ hands off, but this only makes him push him back against the wood, harder. He cringes.
“Stop lying.” When Carlos looks down and doesn’t respond, he doesn’t think twice as he starts to bang his body against the brown doors. It shakes so much that the closet starts to get slightly unbalanced. And then…
It tips over.
Reacting quickly, Charles swiftly pulls Carlos away as they both fall onto the floor. The closet falls with a loud thud as they both gasp. But Carlos is quick to try to lift it up. “Calm down, it’s just a closet-”
“Fuck you, your sister is inside!”
Charles’ eyes go wide as he runs over to help his teammate. Finally, once it’s stood up correctly, they open the doors in a hurry. You moan as you rub your head.
“You both are so fucking innsufferable.” Your eyes are screwed shut when you reach your arm out for help. Your boyfriend is about to help you but your brother beats him to it. He leads you to the bed as you curl into a ball. “Oh God, I think I have a concussion.”
“We should take her to the hospital,” Carlos says as Charles bites down onto his nails. He agrees. They care, of course they do, but they’re not smooth about it.
“You grab her head and I’ll grab her legs.” Charles instructs as Carlos nods. 
“No!” You sit up straight as you crawl further away from them. “I’m fine.” 
“Amor, you should get checked out-”
“I don’t like that nickname. Stop it.” Charles mutters as he crosses his arms. You ignore him.
“Seriously, I’m fine. All your clothes saved me.” He lets out a sarcastic laugh as you giggle. Charles can’t help but glare at both of you.
“Okay, since you’re feeling well, then we should leave. Now.” 
“No.”
His gaze sharpens as you cuddle your legs to your chest. “Stop being a brat. Let’s go.” He reaches out for you but you only kick his arms away. I’ll leave with Carlos, you bicker back. “Just shut up. Let’s. Go.” He reaches out to grab your legs as he starts to drag you towards him, but you’re kicking and screaming so loud that he lets go to cover his ears. He almost loses it when you run over to Carlos as you hug him like your favorite teddy bear.
“You can go. I want to leave with Carlos.”
He clicks his tongue as he places his hands on his hips. He taps his shoe. “Listen, say goodbye or whatever you want, but you are not going anywhere with him.” You shake your head. Carlos sighs as he places a kiss to the top of your head.
“I think he’s right.” 
I don’t need your help controlling my sister, Charles wants to warn him but he doesn’t when he notices you deflate, furthermore. “No, I want to stay with you. I can deal with him later.” The Spaniard unties your hands from his waist before he leans down to place a kiss on your cheek.
“No, you should listen to your brother.” You know he isn’t breaking up with you, but perhaps a bang to the head has you slightly sensitive. Tears slowly fill up your eyes.
“Do you not want me anymore?” Your voice is small and he wants to punch himself for causing so much confusion. He’s about to say, you know I always do, but decides not to answer when he looks up at Charles, who stands by quietly.
“I…”
Charles awkwardly clears his throat as he twists his heel. You muster up the dirtiest stare possible as you say, “What do you want now?” He winces at your tone as he exhales in defeat.
“You can stay.” You narrow your eyes as you let out a wobbly smile. Are you serious? He nods as Carlos smiles at him in thankfulness. “But we spoke about this so many times, didn’t we? I always warned you that relationships like this take lots of taking care of, that's the main reason why I was always so against it, never because I didn’t want to see you happy.” His eyes flicker to Carlos, who’s attention remains on you. 
“I know that, but I don’t care. I’m willing to learn.”
“I know you are. And you.” He points sharply at the Spaniard. “I can’t believe you went behind my back! That’s my sister!” Calm down, you plead. “You know what, we’re twins, so I hope you think of me when you kiss her-”
The room goes silent as you stare back with wide eyes. Once a single giggle is let out, a string only follows as you hurl over laughing. “That’s so wrong!” Charles blushes.
“Forget I said anything, just…Be careful and treat her right.”
Carlos bobs his head as he hugs you from behind and you lean into his touch with a glow Charles has never seen on you. 
“I swear to God I will always do that.”
2K notes · View notes
clairdelunelove · 8 months
Text
badges of honor
simon 'ghost' riley x reader
genre: fluff! (sticker drabble!)
warnings: slightly suggestive, cursing, protective!ghost
synopsis: ghost doesn't understand the appeal of receiving stickers, a tangible reward, after the completion of successful missions. never thought it was necessary for his efforts. however, his mindset changes when he finds out you're the one handing them out–
a.n. just a silly lil blurb that floated around in my mind for some time! decided I'd write it and I'm thinking about writing something similar for könig too! hope you're all well! and if you wish to show more support here's my kofi! <3
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holding onto the belief that ghost would stubbornly swallow his pride and allow you to decorate him in cutesy unnecessary stickers.
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it starts with price’s recommendation of implementing a routine of handing out stickers after successful missions. he insists it’s a great way to dial into intrinsic motivation. to keep the task force motivated to dedicate their best into every operation. a way to recognize positive behavior. a byproduct of hoping for the most favorable outcome in war where the only images are bloodshed, conflict, and hostility. it’s a stark difference. “who knows,” price’s shoulders lift into a casual shrug as he addresses the fierce group settled around him, “it might just help you lads.” it’s a harmless and cost-efficient idea to justify the boxes of tangible reinforcements that are shipped to the base. literal cartons of sticker books that range from the traditional ‘great work!’ to ‘prized soldier!’ and the notion seems childish (disguised to be more of a scheme, in all honesty). that is, until the pieces of sticky, illustrated adhesives start working– boosting the soldiers’ determination for the taste of victory– because you’re the one handing out the affordable versions of chest candy. they adore saccharine treats. and over time, so does ghost. 
ghost who initially loathes the new process that price endorses. he’s good at his job. knows he’s an expert in clandestine tradecraft. doesn’t need a miniature label tapped on his chest to recognize that no one does a better service in infiltrations or sabotages in risky environments than he does. he’s in and out like a gust of wind. well, more similar to a grim reaper that takes and punishes whoever he deems fit. a brutish force not to be reckoned with. and he reasons that this little sticker ceremony ultimately wastes time. precious alone time that ghost exploits to catch up on some well-deserved rest or exercise. because training after an intense mission totally makes sense to the lieutenant. yet, he’ll doggedly line up with the rest of the task force and await getting crowned with the bane of his existence. doesn’t wish to stir the pot with price and sit through being lectured. so he stays. and he’s a bit taken aback when he catches a glimpse of you handing out the stickers; a beaming smile on your lips while you press an overly exaggerated thumbs-up design onto the front of a soldier’s vest. 
ghost who rasps, “I’ll pass,” before your fingers can pin the sticker onto him. unaware that his voice would come out grainy from the weeklong mission and, involuntarily, blunt. brash. the complete opposite of how he wished to sound towards you. notices the surprise in your eyes due to the acidity of his voice and how you instinctively shrink from him. he shifts, straight away, and hastily tries to take back his tone of voice. to right his wrongs. to atone for his mistake. however, your nervous movement is swiftly replaced with your usual upbeat nature as you plaster on a grin and dramatically bring the back of your hand to your forehead to mimic a fall, “woe is me.” you exhale pointedly while mentioning, “whatever shall I do with all these stickers then?” and ghost understands that it’s so typical of you to hide your hurt with witticism. you’re too considerate. too bright. a touch of color to his monochrome soul. venturing a step closer to you, he lightly scoffs at your melodramatic behavior and remarks, “woe is most definitely not you. now get up, pup.” and before you can comprehend, his gloved hand wraps around your wrist to gently pry it away from your face. “changed my mind,” he murmurs while indicating to the book of stickers that you casted aside, “pick one f’ me, will ya.” 
ghost who refuses to comment on your shaky fingers to save you from embarrassment. it’s endearing that despite the layers of heavy clothing, you’re still hesitant to touch any part of him. “you’re all set,” you quickly chirp before stepping back to admire your handiwork. or so you tell yourself that excuse. in reality, you’re teetering on the edge of becoming distracted by the heat that he radiates. and he savors how your gaze dances across his masked face but evades his intense eyes. the most profound part of him that reduces you to stumbling on your words like a drunk. intoxicated by him. it’s like he’s drinking you in and allowing himself a selfish taste of your beauty. a thought that causes you to heavily gulp. to take your mind off of the blatant yearning, you teasingly raise the sticker book up to him, “how about I add another one? this one has glitter—” “that’ll do,” ghost interjects and turns to leave. his immediate answer and retreat brings about a genuine laugh from your lips. it’s music to his ears. wagering a glance to his chest, he notes the sticker you chose for him. cursive letters twisting into ‘you’re a star!’ followed by a smiling gold star draws his attention. you don’t spot it but as he leaves, his gloved fingers reach up to smooth the sticker over his vest. to pat it down so it stays a while longer. 
ghost who attempts to convince himself that his disinterest toward the small slips of adhesive paper is still the truth. they’re just for show, right? no one really pays attention to how some of the stickers varied in size. they’re all mature adults. and it was completely unrelated how there’s regular bickering amongst various recruits that compared their hard-earned rewards. doesn’t admit that his chest visibly swells with pride whenever the other soldiers point out that ghost always receives the biggest sticker. purposefully taunts them by stating, “get better then, yeah?” he also fails to acknowledge that you’ve coerced and conditioned him to accept them like a pavlov experiment. after all, your unwillingness to comment on how he noticeably leans over so you can put stickers wherever you wished must mean that it doesn’t happen. and in the scenario where it could perhaps occur, you shouldn’t blame him because ghost was certain no one else had the willpower to brush you away. you with gentle fingers and an angelic voice. singing him a siren song whenever you mutter, “for your excellent work, lieutenant,” as you smooth on another ridiculous sticker. his heart stutters in his chest when he feels how your hand tentatively flattens against his chest. the broad muscle causing you to hum appreciatively before gracing him with a coy smile. an interaction that replays in his mind whenever he’s awake and follows him to sleep. 
ghost who clenches his fist so tightly that his blunt nails bite into his own palm when he overhears a lowly recruit outrightly insult the implemented routine. hears them utter (when you’re out of earshot of course because goodness forbid that they have courage) ‘bullshit’ and how you were ‘off your rocker for putting up with this waste of time.’ and ghost isn’t usually responsive in situations like this. he’s got a covert operation to focus on in about 15 minutes. a level-headed person was far more intimidating and efficient during classified matters. now, however, his heavy boots thud against the floorboards when he stalks toward the recruit. an abrupt wave of darkness and unabridged horror before the recruit is face-to-face with ghost. “problem?” he asks challenges, voice dead and devoid of sympathy. his head slowly tilts and the action creates a dismal shadow over the eye sockets of his mask. ominous and menacing. everything that ghost is infamous for. knows he’s won when the recruit’s apology is nasally and on the verge of crying but their reaction isn’t his personal interest. what he does undertake as his responsibility, though, is when he’s called into price’s office for a debrief. he pockets some of the miscellaneous sticker books that sit on the superior’s desk. wordlessly hands them to you when you’re both briefly passing each other in the hallway. and while you profusely thank him for the additional sets (vaguely wondering what caused the change in his behavior), you playfully press a sticker above the lower portion of his mask– right where his lips are. somewhere new. you leave him rooted to the spot, the sweet gesture sending him into a stupor, and call over your shoulder, “compensation for the stickers!” he watches as you hurriedly dart away before he can react but there’s no need. he unabashedly smuggles more stickers from price’s office in hopes of reaping a similar repayment again.
ghost who reasons that stickers aren’t that bad if you’re the one giving them out. he organizes himself with the rest of the force, a brooding figure that patiently waits in the back of the line. favors being the last one because you’re able to utter more than a few words of encouragement to him. if he’s lucky then you converse and excitedly share your day with him– like you currently are. “want me all to yourself, do you?” you heartily tease him upon noticing that he’s consistently been last in line for the third time in a row. he shifts on his feet, makes a show of looking around at his fellow team members that are filtering out of the room, and deliberately concedes, “‘suppose so.” his frank answer is followed by a flustered roll of your eyes but it’s the genuineness that causes your heart to flip. you force yourself to concentrate on the task at hand– giving out prizes. unsteady fingers lifting at the sticker page, you skim the options before spotting a perfect one. your teeth catch the edge of your bottom lip as you can’t help but question, “you say that to everyone, simon?” his real name on your glossy lips. a prayer that he desires to hear being chanted over and over as he holds you in his arms. the gaze he wraps you in is burning. tempting. exhilarating. you push yourself up on your toes to reach out and place a sticker on his cheek. on the hard shell of his skull mask that you’ve learned will ultimately end in halfhearted chiding because the adhesive is difficult to remove off of it. ghost catches a glimpse of the sticker that you’ve picked. the bolded words of ‘#1 lieutenant’ flashes at him. and the sticker is like a brand you’ve adorned him in. an embellishment that he proudly displays and wears because it’s what you’ve given him. he hums, dark and inquiring, when he leans to graze his masked lips against your inner wrist. his eyes are heady and half-lidded. clouded with a violent craving for you– always you. visibly strains to make contact with your exposed skin by tilting his head to place another chaste kiss on your hand while murmuring, “just to the sweet ‘n pretty ones that I fancy.” 
2K notes · View notes
satorugu · 5 months
Text
In Every Era (Sukuna x f!reader)
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She is the reincarnation of his love, and he plans to be with her in every era.
Warnings: Blood, violence, fighting, making out
Note: The readers technique relates to ice and being able to lower the temperatures around her enough to create it. Both Heian era and the version of Sukuna in Itadori's body is included.
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"There are three victims we need to find, correct?" (Y/N) clarified as the group walked down a corridor.
It was oddly lit, the sound of their shoes echoing off of the walls as they made their way through the juvenile detention center. This was simply an investigation, much easier than other missions they had received. As sorcerers, finding dead bodies was considered casual, but there was a slight chance they could run into something else.
A rumor of a special grade being discovered inside was circulating, meaning it could spawn at any moment.
Although it was just a rumor.
It was rare for cursed wombs to produce them, which is what caused the massacre in the first place.
"Yes, and the dog remembers the scent of the entrance," Fushiguro said, referring to the white dog trotting in front of them.
"Simple enough," Itadori nodded.
The second set of eyes underneath his pre-existing ones were contradictory to his own, with red irises that never showed a hint of emotion. Itadori was the opposite, almost always seen smiling or at the least content. (Y/N) hadn't seen the second pair close, as they never seemed to take their gaze off of her.
Every time she looked at him, she saw them staring back at her.
She thought it was coincidental, that they followed anyone who shot Itadori a glance, perhaps an intimidation tactic of Sukuna's.
His reputation already surpassed a level of intimidation though.
(Y/N) feared ever being in Itadori's presence when Sukuna came out.
Everyone did.
"Look!"
Both she and Fushiguro turned to the sound of Itadori's voice, seeing a corpse sitting in the back of the room they entered. Fushiguro crossed his arms, standing next to the pink-haired boy and taking in the sight.
"That's one down," he commented. "It's odd there aren't any others here."
"Yeah, wouldn't there be some sort of trail?" Itadori added, considering the behavior of a cursed womb.
The body was cut clean, the upper half being all that was left.
(Y/N) crouched down on one knee in front of the two, running her hand across the floor.
The cleanliness wasn't purposeful, she noted, as she felt dirt pick up on the pad of her fingers. No one had tried to stage this, if they did, the floors would be cleaned due to having to wipe up the blood.
"A cursed womb didn't kill him."
Then it clicked, uneasiness sinking into the three sorcerers like an injection.
Sweat budded on both Fushiguro and Itadori's foreheads, the two now frozen in place.
It was eerily silent, as (Y/N) felt the temperature around her hand drop. She was trying to muster up the courage to swallow, as she stared forward in horror.
They were supposed to investigate a detention center haunted by a cursed womb.
Not fight a special grade curse.
And now it was right next to them, closing the gap between Itadori and Fushiguro. Their only security from it was beheaded and bleeding out, that security being one of Fushiguro's Divine Dogs.
The special grade was different from most curses, having a human-like body that was well in shape. It was tall as well, with pale white skin and eyes attached to a pair of arches on its head.
(Y/N) huffed out a cold breath, cursed energy being conjured in her arm.
They were going to die if they ran.
And there was a low chance that they could beat a special grade.
A heaping amount of ice shot out of her hand on command. It formed a barricade between the curse and the sorcerers, causing the two boys to back up and snap out of their fear-induced trance.
It was only for a moment though, as a wave of pure force shattered it in return and sent all three tumbling back. It was like acid, burning through the floor and causing smoke to emit into the air.
(Y/N)'s eyes widened.
"We can't fight it! We need to find an exit!" Fushiguro shouted.
Her ice was supposed to be impenetrable, nothing had ever broken it like that before.
She was airborne.
The second she spent reflecting on the attack sent her flying backward again, as the special grade sent out another wave. She hit the wall immediately, turning the surface in on itself as an indent now marked it. The wind was knocked out of her lungs, watching Itadori pick up speed, making an attempt at close combat before being sent back in a similar fashion.
Fushiguro went to summon his second Divine Dog, clasping his hands together and opening his mouth.
But the words never came out.
Rather than a wolf appearing out of a shadow, an abnormal black hole appeared underneath him.
He fell in, his scream being cut off as soon as it shut.
The special grade curse turned to the two sorcerers, having separated the other.
Itadori shouted out in pain, falling to the ground after he had been tossed aside. He held onto his head like it was the end of his life, mumbling a spiel of panicked words that (Y/N) couldn't understand. She didn't pay that close attention to him though, distracted by the curse now approaching her.
It was forming another kind of cursed energy surge in its hand, aiming at her as she tried to form a counterattack.
The back of her head was bleeding, and a pounding headache formed across her forehead.
She was destroyed.
(Y/N) let out uneven breaths, standing up wearily and attempting to make another offense. She thought of freezing it, barreling towards the curse, and using the slipperiness of the ice to help her move even quicker. It was like skating, as she shot out a wave of ice that wrapped around the special grade, and trapped it.
There was a micro-expression of a smile on her face, before the solid block of ice began to glow orange.
A crack began to form on the exterior.
Then the entirety of it burst.
The special grade took its large claw around (Y/N) neck and lifted her up, squeezing the air out of her lungs.
It opened it's mouth, a massive sum of cursed energy forming inside as it aimed for her face.
This was death.
She couldn't breath, yanking against it's grasp and trying to free herself. Either she would suffocate from lack of oxygen, or have her face burnt to ashes.
She was a fool not to run.
(Y/N) saw the cursed energy dart out towards her, feeling the heat right against her eyes as she closed them for the last time.
It sounded like a blade cut straight through something.
Arms from the side of her slid around her back and under her legs, holding her bridal style as she collapsed in it's hold. She felt whatever was holding her land in a crouched position, still keeping her to itself.
She felt her head rest on a beating chest, a hot breath landing on her nose.
Her eyes opened to meet a pair of red irises staring back at her.
The silence was pregnant.
Sukuna.
The great amount of fear was evident in her expression, as she swallowed back and dared to move.
He set her down, as the sound of the Special Grade crying out could be heard from behind. Sukuna had took off it's arm, but it seemed to have grown it back, turning to face the King of Curses. It summoned a massive amount of cursed energy in it's hands, forming a sphere that shot out towards him.
"Pathetic."
With one hand Sukuna shielded both himself and (Y/N) from it, standing almost casually.
"Allow me to show you real Jujutsu Sorcery."
The Special Grade was still, horror evident in the screech it let out. The King of Curses raised his hands, putting them together in a specific formation.
This was ten times worse than being choked or burnt to death.
"Domain Expansion, malevolent shrine."
Suddenly, everything around them vanished, as a pitch black abyss consumed (Y/N)'s vision. The small, unkempt detention center had been remade into an atmosphere that she couldn't describe. She was sitting on water, a lake to be in fact. The entire floor was water, except for a Shrine that sat in the middle of it. It was built off of a pile of skulls, Sukuna standing on top of it all.
He had a white Kimono on, looking directly at the curse that was frozen next to her.
One moment it was there.
The next, it was cut into ten different parts, burned alive by purple flames.
She thought she was next.
Sukuna walked off of the pile, making his way towards her in the dimly lit domain.
(Y/N) thought of running, her heart pounding faster by each step he took. She was frozen in place, unable to get up as she looked into the eyes she had seen a thousand times. Always the same, always red, always emotionless.
She was thinking of the worst death possible, wondering if he had saved her only to kill her himself as he towered over her helpless form.
The King of Curses knelt down, as she sat leaning back on her hands.
"Soon, you will understand," were the words that left his mouth, as he pressed a delicate kiss to her forehead.
(Y/N) couldn't register what had transpired, as she felt an overwhelming amount of exhaustion kick in and couldn't resist falling asleep.
It was the Heian era, the golden age of Jujutsu.
(Y/N) fiddled with the red dress she was wearing, as she stood by the fountain in the garden. It fit her body well, with thin straps that showed off her shoulders.
This is where she spent her free time, away from the servants and maids. It was peaceful, always well kept and bright. The flowers were watered properly, and the stone that marked the grounds were always cleaned of dirt. There was no war here, it was fitting of her personality.
A familiar pair of strong, big hands wrapped around her waist, along with another pair coming to hold her upper arms, stroking her skin lightly.
She felt his gaze on her, as she held onto one of his hands and looked up at him.
"You were right, it is quite peaceful out here," her husband, Ryomen Sukuna, said.
"It's very fitting of you," she teased.
"Is that so?" he leaned down, pressing a kiss to her neck.
He felt her shiver, letting out a breathy laugh and turning around to face him.
The look in his eyes was filled with affection, a soft smile in place of an emotionless and deadly stare.
It was clear he was in love.
And so was she, as he picked her up and she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him passionately. Two of his arms held onto her upper thighs, while the other two rested on her head, one running their fingers through her hair, the other cupping the side of her face. If it wasn't for the fact that she was human, she might've not let go. Yet she broke away from him to catch her breath, resting her forehead against his.
Her hot breaths landed on his nose, as he held her up high enough to look down on him. She couldn't help but smile, as he refused to take his gaze off of her.
He leaned in, stopping just before their lips could meet, and whispered something.
"I will love you in every era."
For a moment she thought he was making an effort to be romantic, but it was clear in his tone that he was sure of it.
He would love her in every era, even if she didn't remember him.
(Y/N) shot up, and for a moment, she thought she was still in the detention center, stuck in the domain.
She was in her bed, the covers tucked in around her, arranged just how she liked. Her dorm was cleaner than she left it, an outfit sitting out for her by the desk. All of her wounds were fully healed, in fact, she hadn't felt this rested since she came here.
She reached for her phone, seeing that it was almost eleven in the morning. (Y/N) never slept in that late, nor slept that deep. The only reason she hadn't been woken up was because it was the weekend.
Then, she thought of her dream, and Sukuna's words from before.
Soon, you will understand.
(Y/N) threw off the covers hurriedly, putting on the outfit laid out without question and rushing towards the door.
She opened it to see both Fushiguro and Itadori standing outside in the hallway, talking amongst one another.
It was odd.
"Oh, hey (Y/N)!" Itadori exclaimed.
"Are you two okay?" she panicked, looking at Fushiguro specifically.
"Yeah, why?" he asked her.
"What happened?"
"I don't know, honestly, we both just woke up here."
"Yea, the Special Grade got taken care of, along with the three victims we were assigned to finding," Itadori added casually.
"By who..."
The boys both shot each other a look, shrugging almost comically. She didn't know what to say, as her eyes trailed down to the pair that were below Itadori's.
They were staring directly at her, once again.
She flushed and swallowed back, thinking of the dream she had. First, he kissed her, followed up by her somehow falling asleep and having a vision about the two of them. It wasn't the version of Sukuna that saved her though, it was his true form, the one that was most prominent during the golden age.
(Y/N) looked down at her outfit, eyeing the red top she had on.
It fit her body well, with thin straps that showed off her shoulders.
That wasn't a dream.
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A/N: Part two?
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dcxdpdabbles · 7 months
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Cave boy Danny has way to much fun fucking with the bats after a while. Jason is too until Danny bites him after some unwanted human contact. Alfred gets a big wave of nostalgia when Danny does it too.
Danny can say that the Waynes have been ridiculously welcoming, all things considered. He still hasn't come clean about not being Bruce Wayne's alternative double, so to throw them off from finding out the truth and have a safe place to crash- he's missed plumbing- he has been invited to the Wayne Manor and has been lazing about when under their watch.
If there was one thing apparent, it was that Bruce Wayne did not laze about. It was mind-blowing to those who knew him to see Danny- a version of Bruce- act like walking across the room for a remote was too much work.
It drove them mad to see such a difference between them, and thus, none of the Waynes noticed Danny's side project to get home.
The Waynes gave him a giant room and helped set up a fake Identity for him while they worked on getting him home. To the public, he was Danny Kane, a long-lost relative recently coming to Bruce for help.
Thanks to the support of Jacob and Kate, they agree to make it seem that Jack Kane- Danny's made-up father- was the result of Bruce's material grandfather having a fling after his wife's death. Jake was hidden from the public eye but had his father's financial support until he was an adult.
Jack was never bitter and told Danny stories of his wayward father, filled with love to prove it. These stories inspired Danny to seek out the remaining Kanes after Jack's untimely death, which led him to Bruce as Martha Wayne nee Kane's son.
The day Danny would be sent home, the Waynes would fake his death, and no one would be the wiser that Danny Kane never existed.
Fine by Danny
. He only planned to stick around long enough to get his ship ready and pinpoint a location that had the vile between the living and dead thin enough to slice his way back to the Ghost Zone.
Unlike Wulf, who could open portals wherever he wanted, Danny had to find points weak enough to punch a hole through. He knows his parent's portal was way out of his set of skills, and he sure as hell wasn't going to give anyone the idea to build their own here. Two percent of portals were already two too many.
He mostly hung around the house- with someone always close by in a poor attempt to hide the fact they were watching him. Most of the time, Danny was either lazing around the house, eating and sleeping, and it felt like a costly vacation.
He refused to help on the coms when the Bats went out to kick ass, even after Dick offered to sit in front of monitors and relay information to the heroes like he was offering the chance of a lifetime.
This seems to disturb everyone else in the house except for Alfred.
If anything, the fact Danny straight-up refused to put on tights and rush into night to fight crime made Alfred adore him. The butler claimed he was worried everyone in the family would forget what everyday life was supposed to feel like.
A few Waynes couldn't seem to wrap their heads around the concept.
"You're not interested at all?" Tim asks, eyes narrowed. He was among the few who thought Danny was suspicious for not wanting to risk his life to fight the corrupted system.
"Nah, man, I'm good here. I got my nachos, I got a movie room and I got the softest bathrobe ever bathrobe." Danny snuggles more profoundly into the pink plush robe that Steph had lent him. "Why would I want to ruin any of these? Sides, I can't even throw a punch."
".....There has never been a single alternative Bruce Wayne that wasn't involved in this life in some way. If not as a hero then he was a villain. Bruce as a villain is one of the most dangerous things that can ever happen across the multiverse" Tim reveals grimly. "We've won every single encounter but only by the skin of our teeth."
"Damn. Let me guess. You guys beat the evil Bruces by sending his kids after him."
"Yes."
"Problem solve. You already know you can kick my ass, so if I try anything, you can take me out, right?" Danny doesn't wait for a answer. He turns away from the teenager to stare at the movie screen showing his picked movie. "I can do nothing but tremble before your bat might."
Tim steps into his line of sight. "I mean it. You do anything to harm this family and will regret it."
"Does that mean I can't bite Jason again? That sucks. It's the only way I can get him to stop trying to drag me to galas. He wants to scare the other rich people with my poor people's manners."
Tim's lip twitches and Danny knows he's fighting to keep his face under control. "You didn't have to lock your jaw in like that."
"I really did. Jason tested me."
Tim tilts his head. "You don't really feel like Bruce. You look just like him at fifteen. Alfred says you act just like him. But for the last three weeks, you've been trying really hard to make it seem like you're okay with doing nothing."
"I am comfortable doing nothing."
"I think you're lying," Tim says, moving closer to stare down into Danny's eyes with frankly a manic glare. Danny's core flares up with the sense of challenge he finds in that dark blue gaze.
Which is a first for a human, and frankly is terrifying. If Tim had been a ghost he would have easily been an Ancient assistant or a baby Ancient. He has to be able to match Danny's power like this. Holy shit.
"I think your parents didn't give you enough love as a child, and now you seek approval from everyone around you while trying to push everyone away because you are too scared to make yourself valuable. You find yourself in an endless loop of self-doubt and self-hate by doing both simultaneously." Danny blurts. He watches Tim freeze, then winces. "Shit, sorry, the psychoanalyze came out as a reflection. Forget that."
Tim is still frozen in a way Danny recognizes as someone hearing something challenging to come to terms with. This is why he needs to break the habit of using Jazz's psyche training as a weapon.
He forgets not everyone insults each other with their deepest insecurities. That's just how he and Jazz love.
"...Do you want to watch the Grey Ghost Marathon with me?" He asks after a long pause. Tim closes his eyes before plumping down next to him.
"I like that."
Neither mention Jason, who is gasping in the last row of seats and attempting to suppress muffled laughter behind the wrist cast that Danny lovingly gave him at the last gala.
On a side note, Danny Kane is called "Rabid Dog." by the elites of Gotham, who watched the boy make three grown men cry after two minutes of talking to him and also witness four Waynes attempt to pry his mouth open screaming, "No Danny drop it. drop it!" while the boy munched on Jason's wrist.
No one has noticed that half of the tech has disappeared.
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anthurak · 6 months
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Something I’ve often found really compelling in Adventure Time is how The Grass Sword/Grass Demon/Fern found up becoming one of the most prominent and disturbing antagonists of the series pretty much by complete accident.
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Like it’s easy to forget after Fern has become such a prominent character both in the show and fandom, but the ‘curse’ of the Grass Longsword started out and spent much of the show entirely benign. All it really did was cause the sword to stick to Finn. If anything, the sword/curse was quite beneficial to Finn, providing him with a prosthetic arm and activating on several instances to protect him. Really, the entire point of the original Blade of Grass episode was that the sword was actually pretty useful.
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It was only AFTER stabbing and later merging with the Finn Sword to create Fern that the ‘curse’ started becoming actively malicious.
In hindsight, I think it’s pretty clear that while the Grass Spider/Octopus/Demon ‘curse’ entity within the Grass Sword may have been malicious, for the longest time it had no way of actually controlling or otherwise influencing Finn. The sword may have bonded to Finn’s body, but NOT to his mind, or more importantly his soul. This left Finn free to use the sword, and later even the grass-prosthetic freely without any danger or corruption from the curse.
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But then Finn accidentally used it to stab the Finn Sword. As we see in Two Swords, this for the first time gave the Grass Demon/Curse direct access to a soul, the soul of the alternate Finn within the Finn Sword. A soul that it was able to corrupt and influence and ultimately merge with to create Fern.
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This is one of those things that I think a lot of the fandom seems to miss: Fern isn’t some quirky doppelganger or a ‘brother’ to Finn. He is straight up a distorted, corrupted version OF Finn (the alternate iteration of him within the Finn Sword) manifested by the CURSE of the Grass Sword.
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As in, basically EVERYTHING Fern does that deviates from the ‘norm’ that is Finn can be considered the work OF the curse. From more overt stuff like his tendency to ‘stab first, ask questions later’ or the times he ‘flips out’, to more subtle things like his brooding or just the fact that he has a noticeably different voice (the voice of the Grass Demon mind you), ALL of these are the product of the Curse.
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And it’s this fact which makes Fern a truly tragic character. Because he was effectively doomed from the very start. Despite Fern’s attempts to do good and Finn’s and Jake’s attempts to accept him as his own person, Fern simply could not escape the curse’s influence. Because that curse was the very thing that created and maintained his physical body. It WAS his body. And this curse wanted nothing but to subvert, influence and ultimately CONTROL him for its own ends.
I think we can very easily assume that all of Fern’s failures, all his insecurities, everything that drove him to turning on Finn and trying to kill him and becoming the Green Knight in the final season, ALL of that was the result of the curse’s influence. Trying to whittle and break down Fern’s will so that it could mold him into whatever it wanted. And there was NOTHING Fern could do to stop this. Because the curse made itself a core part of what he was.
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When Finn and Fern finally enter his mental world and destroy the Grass Demon in Come Along With Me, we see Fern as he truly is: simply another version of Finn who has been corrupted by the curse.
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And with the Grass Demon dead, there is nothing to maintain Fern’s physical body, causing him to soon fade away. In order for this alternate Finn to be saved, he couldn’t exist as ‘Fern’.
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Of course this also means that ‘Fern’ didn’t actually DIE at the end of the series. He simply reverted back to his true form: The Finn Sword.
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And what I find so compelling and tragic about all this is that NONE of it had to actually happen. The Finn within the Finn Sword didn’t need to be put through all this suffering. Like it seems pretty clear that the Finn that become the Finn Sword was perfectly content being a sword. He didn’t need to be corrupted and spend the last two and half seasons being manipulated by a grass octopus demon.
Because when you think about it, ALL of this happened by accident. If Finn hadn’t lost the Finn Sword to Bandit Princess, or if he’d been able to simply avoid stabbing it with the Grass Sword during his fight with her, NONE of this would have happened. Finn would still have the Finn Sword and the Grass Sword would have likely remained benign and helpful to him. Heck, given how Finn seems to fully regain the use of the Grass Sword in his fight with Bandit Princess, he probably would have been able to duel-wield the Grass Sword and Finn Sword together.
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This is really what I find to be the tragedy of Fern: That two of Finn’s greatest tools wound up becoming one of his most dangerous adversaries, and even worse that the Finn who became the Finn Sword was tortured and corrupted for no real reason, all essentially by accident.
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mintsuwu · 1 month
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Guess who has jumped into the Smiling Critters bandwagon after watching a gameplay of Poppy Playtime Chapter 3(?
This is LoolaLamb! Either it's written together or separate I still have to figure it out-
EDIT: Profile Card/Character Description
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Loola Lamb was conceptualized as a replacement for Catnap amid Playtime.co's reputation troubles related to the poppy gas and Catnap toys issue. Her design closely resembled the feline's, with the notable difference being her that her voice induced sleepiness instead. Despite initial plans, her concept was scrapped, and she never appeared in the cartoon series.
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Despite this, the company still created a Bigger Bodies version of her, albeit smaller compared to others. Though Catnap, feeling threatened, locked her away before anyone else knew about her existence and removed her voicebox (and sewing up her mouth). However, Catnap occasionally allows her to move around the factory and mentor the Mini Smiling Critters, she is kind of his "assistant" so to say.
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Loola's bell in-game serves as an indicator of Catnap's proximity when she lurks around. Its chiming alerts other toys to Catnap's whereabouts, providing a sense of safety or potential danger.
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And in regards to Dogday, he and Loola have limited interactions. Despite their lack of familiarity, she occasionally checks on him in Catnap's absence, providing care and support for as long as he is holding up.
And in an AU or continuation where Dogday were to survive, they could potentially bond over their experiences and find peace and healing together(?
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luckshiptoshore · 5 months
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I’ve been thinking recently about the way your plot should ideally be driven by your characters, rather than making your characters fit into the plot you have planned for them. The best characters are the ones who jump into the story and fuck it up in ways you were not expecting
which just makes me realise all over again that Cas is the character of all time.
In Supernatural, Sam is a great example of a character who can pretty much run with whatever plot you want him to. At a meta level he’s fairly obedient. You want him soulless? he’s soulless. he will drink the drug blood he will hit the dog he will do whatever the story needs. his plots tend to shape him, and it’s easy to make an equal case for why he would or wouldn’t do any particular thing. Fanon Sam is so different to canon Sam, and I think that’s partly because of how textually malleable he is.
Then there’s Dean. Dean is a character who both is and isn’t the person he’s supposed to be at a meta level. He was always supposed to be a main hero character, but somewhere along the way all his surface attributes turned out to just be careful camouflage for the real Dean underneath. the mean homophobic jokes became true, in this weird way that felt initially like a mistake but by the season 10 episodes I’m watching right now feels like the most intentional, fascinating revelations about his true self. I really do get the sense that in early seasons the writers thought they were using his queerness as a fakeout butt of the joke (ha ha! the he-man’s overcompensating!), but then Dean’s character turned around and was just like … and so what? i am a little fruit. i love rainbows and ballet and the asses of soldiers i see on the street. i will fight god about it. I’m Dean Winchester, bitch. I lied to you before. That’s what I do. The things I want are exactly the things I said I didn’t want.
And then there’s Cas. Cas was supposed to be in the show for FOUR EPISODES, until his character turned around, said fuck you to the writers and walked backwards into hell while kissing Dean on the mouth. I am completely besotted by the story of how Cas happened. Like, he was not supposed to do this! He was not supposed to do any of this! he is teflon! he is unstoppable! he is stronger than god! You kill that man and the space he leaves is so narratively powerful that it drowns out whatever else is supposed to happen. You kill him and Dean kicks a hole in the story, sticks his head out the side of it and screams unceasingly until he gets his boyfriend back. You make up any reason why Cas and Dean can’t share the same space and he just looks at you flatly and then keeps punching through doors until he finds Dean again.
Cas is both a writer’s nightmare and a writer’s greatest gift. You always know how he’s going to behave in any given situation, even if it’s not how you need him to behave for the plot. And I think it’s so cool to see the writers finally giving in to his gravitational pull from season 9 onwards and making that a feature, not a bug. The whole Metatron plotline is just the writers projecting themselves into the story, being like “hey Cas how about you do this?” and Cas turning to them and going “hey how about you go FUCK yourselves. respectfully.”
I just adore him. I adore him and Dean, and the way they’re making their own stories! Cas sat down on Dean’s bed one day back in 2008 and blew up the whole carefully constructed Brotherhood of Salmondean Show in one scene! He’s alive in this undefinable, chaotic, brilliant way, and he brings the other characters and the story they exist in to life too. I honestly don’t think that there would be 15 seasons of Supernatural without Cas specifically. I don’t know if we’d have the fully fleshed-out, queer as hell version of Dean we have without him. Cas’s existence is the thing that turns all of Dean’s fascinating negative space into something positive and interesting. When Cas is in the picture we finally know what Dean wants, and it’s not just Cas. It’s connection and love and life, and Cas is the conduit to all that. Dean made Cas care about the world, sure, but Cas made Dean real enough to be able to do that.
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