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polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup · 6 months

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HELP your time travel shenanigans fic idea about toji being very much alive but still putting the fate of his two little ass kids in the hands of a bunch of 16-17 year olds even if he’s still breathing. if i was megumi then my abandonment issues would’ve gone crazy if that happened to me 😭. mamaguro is looking down from the pearly white gates IN ANGER at toji’s audacity i just know it.

but now i’m curious on other ideas (that you have) for fics about jjk that you may or may not get to after sea glass gardens.

see the sad thing is that letting a bunch of 16-17 year old bitchy disaster gays discover the magic of teen parenthood is actually a step up because he had already sold Megumi to the Zenin and feral wolverines would be a better alternative to them. This was the best parenting decision toji has ever made.

(Time travel!Megumi: look we don’t have any other options. Anything is better than the Zenin.

Gojo, in the distance: they’re what three? That’s old enough for a red bull

Geto: I will actually kill you over this satoru

Time travel!megumi: *deep breath*)

A loose catalogue of my jjk fics, which may or may not exist one day:

Sea glass gardens verse:

I am forever compelled by the siren call of expanding my fics into universes because one story is never enough for me. I’ve got threeish stories in this universe, with no promises of how many, if any, I’ll write.

1. The Teen Parenting Chronicles: Gojo, Nanami, and Shoko’s expert guide to raising children when you are, in fact, children. Featuring what the fuck happened with the Zenin the first time around.

2. Megumi’s pov of what just happened leading up to sea glass gardens: someone asked me if I’d ever write this and it has the highest chance of existing because I have. Sort of. Started writing it. I have impulse control issues.

3. Okkotsu Yuuta and the world’s longest distance panic attack: crack fic of Yuuta on his study abroad trip becoming increasingly more frantic at the other second year’s updates as to how His Boy’s first year as a jujutsu sorcerer is going. What do you mean sukunas there. What do you mean he doesn’t have a shirt. Well put one on him!

Time travel AU:

1. The Time Traveler’s Guide to Fucking Shit Up And Living Well: following another attempt on their lives by the higher ups, the first year gang is forced into a desperate, high stakes gamble with a time-centric curse that puts their very existences at stake. If they want to survive, they have to complete one task of their choosing in the past before the clock runs out. Their mission?

To punch fushiguros shitty bio dad in the face, something which will surely have no long term consequences on the timeline.

See this one has the most chance of actually existing one day because it is by far my FAVORITE jjk fic I have. It even beats out sea glass gardens. I desperately want to write it.

2. The 2006 Gang and the Art of a Good Union: following a confusing incident with the star plasma vessel and three unknown sorcerers, the 2006 Tokyo jujutsu high first and second year class inexplicably goes off the rails and retires from jujutsu sorcery, claiming that they’ve discovered the magic of teen parenthood and can in no way risk themselves in such a dangerous profession now that they have kids to think about. At least, not with the way things are run now.

No one knows where they got the children from.

3. Toji Fushiguro and the Dead Beat Dad Chronicles: in which toji fushiguro succeeds at being a dead beat baby daddy to two teenaged gay boys and their crew of bitchy lgbtq compadres, who in no way want him to be involved in their children’s lives.

Standalones:

1. “Fushiguro is unleashed in junpei’s school like an invasive superpredator” AU: I’ve talked about this one in way more detail in another post for an ask game, but the idea is that itadori discovers junpeis abuse at school and says Not On His Fucking Watch and escalates the matter to gojo, who decides the funniest possible solution while they try to draw out mahito is to unleash his all star delinquent son into junpeis high school to bully the bullies.

Fushiguro resents this as a problem solving strategy.

2. The Zenin raise Megumi AU: also discussed in more detail in an ask game. In which people took Tsumiki’s little brother from her, but she’s trying to get him back, she promises.

Or, in which the Zenin take megumi, leave tsumiki, and they both spend every day after fighting to get back to the other.

3. Sort of a no curse AU: Itafushi romance story, in which local himbo Itadori Yuuji falls for delinquent Fushiguro Megumi when his grandpa is placed in the room next to Fushiguros comatose sister. Starts as a no curse AU… except there’s totally curses, Tsumikis mom just moved them to Sendai without telling anyone so the Zenin never found Megumi, and he’s just never told anyone about the curses he sees because he’s worried he’s schizophrenic. He thought the shikigami thing was a metaphor for self actualization or something.

4. Fushiguro Megumi and the World’s Most Inconvenient Custody Battle: pre JJK0, Geto decides to be a shithead magic terrorist at a local school that represents all the worst of monkey society: it’s known for a rampant bullying issue, which is a breeding ground for cursed spirits, and it contributes to the risk to jujutsu sorcerers by feeding a local legend of a haunted bridge that could explode into a serious curse any day.

What he didn’t count on? Finding the new Ten Shadows in the student body, who’s fully willing to kamikaze them both if it means saving his sister’s life.

And who doesn’t seem to be aware that he more than has the potential to take suguru in a fight.

In which Fushiguro just wanted to shut up, go to school, and go home, and instead finds himself in a binding vow to give cult life a whirl to save the lives of classmates he doesn’t even like all that much.

It involves oddly more parenting than he expected.

5. Fake Fiancés AU: prodigy and noble prize winning physicist Gojo Satoru, following a very ill advised fuck buddies arrangement with fushiguro toji, has settled down into domestic bliss with the two kids he took from the relationship despite them not, in any way, being related to him. The problem? His ex is back in town. The hot one. The one who broke up with him and started a cult. The one who he wants to convince he got over when he absolutely did not do that.

The solution? Tell everyone he’s happily engaged to Nanami Kento, who cannot express enough how much he does not want him to do that.

… until, all of a sudden, he needs a show of domestic bliss himself. His adoptive son’s older brother, sukuna, has crawled out of the woodwork and decided to make a play for custody himself. And Nanami does not know what Sukuna truly wants, but he knows it does not have Yuuji’s best interests at heart.

I share custody of this story with my best friend, who cocreated it with me over deranged text message. I may convince her to joint write it with me if I ever get her to publish her fanfic.

6. Todo Aoi and Schrodinger’s Boyfriend: Todo’s beloved brother, who is most assuredly a man, suffers some kind of terrible brain damage that leads him to confess he loves an assless boy. Todo cannot abide by this, until it’s pointed out to him that if Fushiguro’s type is his brother, that would make him the most interesting man alive. If it is not, he continues to be a boring and uninteresting boy.

Todo sets off on a mission with two goals: determine if fushiguro megumi is interesting, and get him to do some squats. because there’s simply no ass there.

Fushiguro wonders why his life is suddenly harder.

7. Choso and the Art of Being a Big Brother: choso discovers the truth of kenjaku early and does the only logical thing in response: he kills his father in his sleep, cuts out his brain, and delivers it in a jar to his new brother Itadori Yuuji as the first step in wooing him into domestic sibling love.

Megumi doesn’t know where these people come from. Or why all of them think itadori is their brother.

8. SatoSugu realizes their little boy is all grown up when he gets his first crush on a boy when he meets yuuji.

They do not fucking take it with grace.

Also co-written with my best friend via text message.

9. The instagram chronicles: crack fic in which the jujutsu sorcery personnel crisis gets worse, because nobara Kugisaki keeps trying to hard launch her instagram influencer career, and keeps accidentally making every jujutsu sorcerer instagram famous except for her

10. So I don’t actually ship Yuuta and Megumi, but I do really like the idea of low stakes relationships? Like, especially for teen romances. You tried it, decided you were better off as friends, and just went back to being friends. I just like the idea of fumbling around in relationships and getting a sense of boundaries and what you’re interested in without it being a big, world-shaking romance. It seems like a more realistic portrayal of high school relationships than every one of them being this world-defining mature love.

Pre season 1 but post JJK 0, Yuuta and Megumi dated for maybe a month and half, held hands maybe twice, and decided that they were better off as friends and parted on good terms. The issue?

No one realized they were dating. And when it is realized, everyone thinks their relationship was torpedoed because the second years kept inviting themselves onto their dates.

Cue the jjk high school students trying to amend old mistakes and get Yuuta and Megumi back together, who do not, in fact, want to be back together. Headlining Inumaki Toge, who is half in love with Yuuta and does not know why he’s helping get him together with someone else, and Itadori Yuuji, who is half in love with Megumi and also does not know why he’s helping get him together with someone else.

#I want to go on record that fushiguro expertly crafted a binding vow to get out of that time travel thing and the task was going to be ‘try #that ramen place that closed down before we could’ until yuuji said ‘haha fushiguro why don’t we go punch your shitty bio dad in the face’#and now they’re doing this he guesses #Yuuji didn’t think it would activate like that okay #it was mostly an accident but also he really fucking hates megumis dad #he’s cultivated seething resentment towards him since Megumi in an act of rare vulnerability confessed that his dad sold him to the Zenin as #a kid and that’s why gojo has custody #he. really wants to punch that guy. he REALLY wants to punch him.#the time travel AU exists in parallel with sea glass gardens #sea glass gardens is its backstory but it’s not an official continuation of that makes sense #it’s an AU of my own AU if that makes sense

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midnight-moth · 9 days

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OOO I’d love to hear the quintessence hcs abt phantom/bell

~ @atmosghoul

Okay @atmosghoul I took a long time to answer you sorry! I’m in need of distraction right now and I am channeling it into answering you.

Quintessence lore dump under the cut

This is a bit hard to answer without dumping all the lore that I want to write in Kilonova.

But lll try. I kind of built a hierarchy of ghoul types in my head. There are 3 other ones outside of the 5 everyone talks about that I won’t discuss here. But from that there are two kinds of quintessence ghouls that split from the other one of the three.

So ghouls like Aether and Omega are probably closer to how other people HC them? I believe that they’re able to manipulate matter. I think that’s why they can heal ghouls/people etc. I think they have a near boundless amount of power FOR REASONS. (Reasons maybe forthcoming) but they’re born with a whole lot of it to begin with.

And then there’s Phantom and Bell. I know people Hc bell usually as Earth or an Earth/something mix. And so do I. But he wasn’t born that way. These two are kind of the opposite. More chaotic? They can also have an infinite amount of energy/power/whatever you want to call it because they are like little sponges sucking it up.

I wrote something before about Phantom in more detail, but to sum it up all the ghouls shed energy (so does everything?) and they like I said - sponges. Some of them have a better grip on it than others… like Bell. Who mostly soaked up that good Earth ghoul rizz because he liked the way it makes him feel. (Hence half quintessence/half earth) this is why bell’s eyes are two diff colours. He has excellent control and he is certified earth/quint by choice and now his one eye is a pretty amber colour.

Like most ghouls some are stronger than others. Some of them are like little black holes trying to suck everything in. And some of them can’t control it that well. And when they end up on earth (one of my hcs is that all of them have the same body on earth it’s just weaker) in that weakened vessel, well they can’t handle what they could down below.

This is why I draw Phantom with all of those glowing scars. Because he literally split at the seams and why he is blind. He’s like a rechargeable battery that exploded? He doesn’t really know how to stop sucking it all in. Which I’ve written about in various things all over the place. This is also why being up top is actually a relief for him. Because there aren’t ghouls everywhere. Why doesn’t he know how to control himself? Reasons.

Also… again from Kilonova I do believe that to some extent ghouls can willingly (or unwillingly) share power. There are different circumstances. One of them is quint to quint. Either type. So imagine what a quintessence ghoul could do with another one that can basically store an infinite amount of all of the elemental power? Hmmm. Maybe something questionable

Okay I tried to be vague and not spoil things for my big fic but maybe I just made no sense instead but if so I apologize.

Also they’re called inanus (the void) and clarissma (kind of means the brightest light but not exactly) I’ll let you guess which is which. I am a nerd and enjoy studying Latin in my spare time even tho I suck at it and Kilonova has some in it and a lot of things/names are Latin.

#I feel like I gave away too much here #fuck #also I’m sorry if this is incoherent it’s so much to explain #and my head is kindaaaaaa right now #quintessence ghouls #phantom ghoul #cowbell ghoul #Aether ghoul #Omega ghoul

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gabessquishytum · 10 months

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I have been binge-watching SCP Foundation videos on youtube, and it got my noggin a’workin on an Eldritch Euclid-type SCP monster known simply as “Dream”, a being that is capable of making and controlling dreams. He is sometimes referred to as Morpheus but it’s unclear whether this is simply a reference to the Greek god of the same name, or perhaps a name from a time when he was still human.

Okay, so I’m going to stop there, as I am actually incapable of writing the really scientific prose that is prevalent in SCP videos LOL But essentially, SCP Dream still has all the powers of our Dream, and is also capable of traversing to the waking world.

I’m torn between 2 possible aus here. One, an au where Hob meets Dream when he’s still a kid and befriends the eldritch being unknowingly in his dreams. There actually exists a fic with this same concept, only friendlier cause Dream was Hob’s imaginary friend, but I’d like to go a darker route where Dream becomes possessive of Hob, which is funny because he thought of the kid as a nuisance at first, amusing but annoying, so Dream doesn’t break Hob’s mind immediately. Yay. Instead he allows the child to visit him at night when he’s asleep. I’m imagining Dream making up dreams to keep Hob occupied, finding Hob’s reactions to be really entertaining. Oh and a possible scene where Hob laments to his dream friend about his trouble with bullies at school, and Dream acts dismissive to his plight as always, but miraculously his bullies all had mysterious medical emergencies and won’t be coming to school for awhile. And as the years go by, Dream grows more and more attached to Hob, to the point where he refuses to let Hob wake up, and he starts tempting Hob with sweeter dreams. Maybe some sexy dreams too, cause Hob is such a beautiful young man now, and Dream can't help but notice the way Hob has grown in certain places. COUGH HOBOOOBIES COUGH. I like to think Hob will refuse, maybe he bulk orders coffee or something, which will anger Dream and cue the dubcon/noncon scene huehuehueheuhuehue

The other au is where Hob is a SCP foundation researcher assigned to Dream, and of course our favorite eldritch being grows scarily attached and the same dubcon/noncon shenanigans occur.

I’d love to your thoughts and prayers (lol) on this.

-Love Yan Anon <3

Oh hot!!! Very hot!!! I'm gonna expand on that second option since you filled out the first one so wonderfully!!!

So Hob is a young researcher who's been assigned one of his first SCPs, and he's super excited. Only he just wishes that Dream wasn't quite as excited about him, too... he's being held onsite in a containment chamber, and he always insists that Hob come inside to do his research "properly". Dream is classed as Euclid, so he's complex to contain but not impossible, and he honestly just lets Hob come and go as he pleases. In containment he has plenty of things to keep him entertained, because the Foundation isn't cruel, but he's just so much more interested in Hob. His vivid daydreams and nightmares, his wandering thoughts. Dream eats it all up hungrily. He's relying on Hob to give his contact with dreaming, and Hob does that so wonderfully. How can Dream help but adore him? He's a perfect vessel for Dream’s love.

He wants to be inside Hob, like he's been inside his subconscious. Wants to explore his body and see what reactions he can elicit. He will inspire new dreams, new nightmares. The dream of being worshipped, the horror of being consumed. Dream wants to see it played out in the flesh of Hob’s body. The sweet little human thinks that he has Dream contained but oh no, Dream can't be contained. Not really, not while he has access to Hob’s mind. It's Dream who's doing the research and the sweet man doesn't even know it.

It's not until Hob finds himself face down on the floor with dreamstuff keeping him bound at his wrists and ankles that he realises that perhaps Dream is a little more complicated than he might have initially appeared. Hard to deny it now when Dream is fucking him joyously into the concrete, nuzzling into the back of Hob’s head and moaning like he's having the time of his life. The more Hob whines and shivers, the more his mind spirals, the more Dream seems to like it.

But then. This is going to be a truly amazing addition to his report. So Hob should maybe just keep trying to make it as good as possible for Dream. The more data the better, right?

#yan anon #the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw dubcon #cw monsterfucking

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 20 days

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https://www.tumblr.com/twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat/747570756649730048/httpswwwtumblrcomtwentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat

oh this is actually very tragic though :(((………….. because it means that for suguru to pursue the ‘right’ path, reader has to sacrifice so there will never be a way to stay on the same reality together TT

but!! i think that if reader defects before suguru it would actually be a huge twist 🤔 suguru realizing that reader was going through the same inner crisis as him… at the same time as him… starting to feel guilty about it but now it’s simply too late. him snapping out of it sounds like something he would do— not in a optimistic manner or something, but resembling more a grey character?? hmmmmm like ‘i’m aware this reality sucks, it’s unfair to all of us and the new generations… but i saw a dear friend becoming a servant of such principles and, while i do not condemn reader for their actions, i recognize that is not the optimal way to start a change’ (idk if it makes sense… it’s like putting in a mixer nanami’s and shoko’s reactions after geto’s canonical defection… ??? lmao sorry, i just woke up from a nap TTTT)

also, absolutely loving the inferiority complex factor in here! because i believe that with a powerful duo like stsg, it’s really impossible to not feel like there is a whole mountain of distance that keeps them almost unreachable……… mostly so after the star plasma vessel incident :33 really seated for this fic, i believe you will do amazingly!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼 (btw yes, i sent another anon some time ago but dw! it’s probably old by now and it was a long nonsensical rant so feel free to ignore it ^^)

—🐟🐟🐟

🐟 ANON!!!! you get it…..

that’s exactly my thought too!!! in the same way that suguru is doomed to fall in canon jjk, reader is doomed to fall as long as suguru moves forward. the two of them can’t stay on the same path together :(((( or. well. they will stay on the same path eventually since it’s a fix-it fic of sorts, but suguru avoiding his own defection almost guarantees that reader will defect in his place.

and!! it’s also connected to their inferiority complex…. it’s a parallel to stsg in many ways because in canon, suguru breaks down because he’s isolated and forced to watch satoru grow stronger without him — but in reader’s case they’re all alone and forced to watch the both of them move forward at a speed they can’t possibly catch up to. i don’t know if reader is necessarily special grade, at least not in high school… so it’s just this ugly feeling in their gut that keeps growing :(( i also have a ct planned for them that makes it worse bc. it’s sort of similar to suguru’s own ct in that it’s based on the collection of curses. so the stronger suguru gets, and the more curses he absorbs, the more reader’s potential diminishes. i think they eventually develop a learned helplessness of sorts because of that….. :((((

AND YES . i also think him snapping out of it makes most sense. i think this au’s suguru will be a lot better off than canon sugu, but his own doubts are basically unavoidable— and i think that if reader defects before those doubts grow too big to control, then suguru will have a moment of enlightenment. seeing them turn their back on him, refusing his help, and also seeing so clearly that they aren’t happy. it’d basically ruin any hope he might have that the choice could do him any good.

i also feel like suguru would have a similar realization to satoru, but instead of realizing that there are people he simply can’t save, i think suguru’s thoughts are more along the lines of… i can’t save them the way i am now, so i have to grow stronger. which is obviously a huge motivator for him to become a teacher and work harder!! i don’t know if teacher!suguru still has that ”protect the weak” mindset, but i think he’s matured a lot from his past self. he recognizes the cruelty of the world but he knowns he has allies he can count on, and he’s desperate to save you eventually.

(this is just a sidenote but!! i think suguru is a lot more spiteful than satoru is. after reader dies (before they get the chance to bring you back), i imagine him having a moment where he tells satoru that he can’t help but hate yuuta a little. for hurting you. and i don’t think it ever really goes away, as much as he treasures his students.)

BUT YES . sorry for rambling phspdhs i just….. love this au a whole bunch. and i’m so happy it has your approval 🐟 anon!! 🥺🥺 ilysm, thank you for stopping by <3333

#i LOVE your old ask btw so i’ll definitely answer it!!!!#sometimes i have to wrestle with my brain to answer longer asks but it has everything to do with my own faulty neurons #and nothing to do with you!!! i adore your asks i hope you know that <333 #and that suguru concept is just… too good #but yeah!! ily 🐟 anon!!! i hope you have a wonderful day/night :33 #ask tag ✩#🐟 anon !! ✩

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mittensmorgul · 1 year

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rewatching 15.18 and suffering afresh!

I need to talk about Billie, though. While Cas is telling Dean he’s made of love. We all know.

But Billie.

For years, I’ve been writing about how she’s Dabb’s avatar in the story. She was. Which makes it pretty damn poetic how-- and when-- she is taken out of it.

(I just watched her and Cas get ripped from the story and am currently sobbing on the floor of the dungeon beside Dean)

Cas’s love confession is the mechanism of his own happiness that summoned the Empty. But he triggered it deliberately to also remove Billie from the narrative.

Metaphorically, Dabb’s control over it.

And this is why I’m just as mad about Billie’s lack of redemption as I am about Cas’s lack of redemption.

She was tricked just as much as TFW was in this episode. She truly believed that her mission of Killing Chuck was their only salvation, just as much as Dean in 15.17 had become single-minded in that mission to the point he nearly destroyed everything else in pursuit of it. He pulled a GUN on SAM. That needs a lot of exclamation points for emphasis, but I try to be a decent person to those with screen readers, so y’all get this whole sentence instead of a string of bang marks...

As Billie told Dean and Cas when they broke into her Reading Room to try to kill her, they were in the wrong place. She had no interest in killing all their friends. It wasn’t her disappearing everyone as they’d been led to believe. It was always Chuck, all along. He was to blame for it. They’d wasted their time going after her. But without her, they also had no real hope of killing Chuck... or so SHE believed.

She said her ONLY mission now that she was dying was killing Dean.

Which... actually happened in the finale.

Because Billie didn’t understand how she’d been manipulated into doing Chuck’s bidding for him until it was too late. She spent all of s15 single-mindedly devoted to killing Chuck when that was never going to succeed. Because Chuck wrote ALL the rules to the universe, including the ones that Billie existed by as Death.

She had Grand Plans to just... keep the balance (as Amara had been urging Chuck toward in 15.17 before he broke her will and devoured her... yes Amara got short-shrift just as much as Billie did... and I won’t even go into how Rowena received the exact same treatment as a self-sacrifice in 15.03, other than to just state it plainly here).

But Chuck-- the one who can changes the rules on the fly and bend everything in the universe to his will EXCEPT for the will of humanity-- was too committed to the Writer Bit. Too invested in his own story to let it go. When it didn’t go his way, instead of adapting and letting it become something else, he chose to punish all the characters he claimed were his favorites.

Chuck ended up writing the worst, most nihilistic fanfic of his own stories just to burn it all to the ground. Tormenting his characters for no other reason than pettiness. Because he could.

Dabb was never Chuck. Dabb was always Billie. And in the final season-- out past 14.20 when we got that wild shot of Jack, Billie, and the Entity in the Empty... Dabb was all three of them.

And what happens to Jack in 15.19? He’s been Emptied Out, having been destroyed in the Empty and then brought back to Earth with no power, involuntarily absorbing power and draining the life from everything around him until he becomes... the perfect vessel for Chuck. He becomes Chuck at the end of 15.19.

Just in time for Dabb to execute... whatever the heck that finale was. Chuck’s final story.

Chuck won. He got the last say using Dabb’s in-story avatar like a puppet to bring it all to fruition. And Billie is the proof of it. And I am so tired now and can’t bring myself to watch 15.20 again yet, so I’m turning off the tv now before it’s too late and probably gonna go read my post 15.19 fix it fic instead that puts all of this to rights.

#spn 15.18 #spn 15.17 #spn 15.19 #spn 15.20 #dabb vs cars #chuck's process #destiel #billie the reaper #jack nougat winchester #chuck won #i both love and hate my own brain sometimes #i've said all of this before and i am doomed to say it again over and over until the heat death of the universe or whatever

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katsukimchita · 1 year

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Katsuki Quirk Theory

So. I wanted to bring up a quirk theory I heard suggested once, and have THOROUGHLY researched. It comes up in a lot of my fics and I think it’s so important in explaining Katsuki. MENTIONED UA TRAITOR SPOILER DON’T READ IF YOU DON’T WANT TO KNOW!

Nitroglycerin is, in real life, prescribed as a medication. It relaxes blood vessels and can alter heart rate - usually slowing it down. This is a controlled, medicated prescription because in LARGE amounts… well…it’s slowing down the heart - that can be pretty freaking bad. We know that Katsuki - at least in his hands - produces nitroglycerin. He gets this from his parents combined quirks - his father’s acid and his mother’s glycerin. I am not as certain of glycerin/glycerol effects, but one or two articles I sifted through did say that in SOME cases heart rate can be slowed down as well - others sped up.

Where I’m going with this is, typically, people born with quirks have some sort of natural defense against them. It’s why OFA causes such a strain on the user’s body, especially Izuku, and why Aoyama gets sick using his quirk - they weren’t theirs to begin with. Now, I know not EVERY quirk has built up defenses, and every quirk has a drawback (Aizawa’s dry eyes, Uraraka’s puking, Iida’s engine stall - etc etc). But, overall, I think most quirks come with a natural defense. There’s always been debate over whether or not Katsuki will or won’t lose his hearing - maybe already has since he’s so loud. I PERSONALLY think his body probably gave him sturdier ears to prevent that, but that’s just me. And I also think that Katsuki’s body came up with a way to defend against the possibility of Nitroglycerin poisoning - only it might be the biggest drawback of all.

Anxiety and Anger can MASSIVELY boost heart-rate.

Who is angry all the time? Katsuki AND Mitsuki.

Is it possible that Katsuki’s anger/anxiety issues stem from his body trying to keep his heart rate up? Is it possible that the nitroglycerin and glycerin require their bodies to combat slower heart rates? (Maybe for Mitsuki her heart is doing the opposite of slowing and just constantly going fast - keeping her in a mental state that’s higher?)

We all know that, while, sure, Katsuki was always a bit of a shit - he and Izuku WERE friends before he got his quirk. We put so much of the blame on his personality - on the ego he got from his quirk being epic. And I don’t dispute that as being part of it. But is it possible his quirk genuinely screwed with his brain chemistry?

Is it possible that his tendency to ‘explode’ partially gets worse when his body is trying to dispel large amounts? That his anger and anxiety decrease after he explodes shit, not just because he let something out emotionally…but physically? Possible that he is calmer after because his heart rate can slow but not dangerously so because he isn’t full of nitroglycerin?

I doubt that a doctor or anyone would ever look into this as a possibility because there would probably be an assumption that it was all ‘bad attitude’ or ‘personality’ maybe even simple upbringing - what with Mitsuki’s anger issues and all.

But think about how angry Katsuki gets - some of the pivotal moments in his and Izuku’s lives. If my theory is correct, he already would have a baseline of high anger and I truly think anxiety. Just because his body is trying to keep his heart steady. (the more the nitroglycerin pulls it down, the higher his anger/anxiety would work to pull it up). But add on an external moment of anxiety or anger? It’s going to be for all LITERAL intents and purposes like a ticking time bomb. Katsuki falls in the river? He’s scared? His anxiety is going to be even higher. Someone comes to help him? BOOM.

He gets extreme anxiety while the sludge villain is suffocating him? Rabid ‘monster’ BOOM. Izuku saves him? He’s vulnerable/anxious and now even more angry? BIGGER BOOM.

He gets muzzled after an anger episode? Triggering his anxiety over suffocation? RABID BEAST ONCE MORE MID PANIC ATTACK. He thinks he’s responsible for the fall of the greatest superhero? That the world is falling apart and it’s his fault? Yeah…that normal anxiety? Now skyrocketing. His heart rate is going crazy, his nitroglycerin builds up - both sides are attacking one another and he needs to boom the hell out of someone he knows can take it - Izuku. Baboom!

Wakes up in a hospital where he hasn’t been able to dispel any nitroglycerin? Learns Izuku is still unconscious? (the love of his life) BOOM! Katsuki’s body chemistry is literally ALWAYS fighting against itself. So when he starts to realize he’s an ASSHOLE and wants to change…. He is fighting an uphill battle in a nitroglycerin hurricane because his body is pushing him down in this war against its own chemistry. And that, Ladies, Gents and Those of you in between, is why his character progression is that much more meaningful. Because he still begins to overcome himself - even with all of that happening. And THAT is why I love him.

~KatsuKimchi~

#quirk analysis #bakugou katsuki #boku no hero academia #manga spoilers #bakugou family #bakudeku

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bonesandthebees · 11 months

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[“I think I hate her now,” he confessed. “I hate her because you’re so fucking loyal to her despite all the horrible shit you’ve gone through in her name.”] -Tommy. See this is a mood. I know plenty of people that I hate because they hurt someone I care about even id they never directly wronged me. It’s justified anger and it shows that he cares.

I do find it very interesting that Tommy is pinning all the blame onto Clara. He does it later in the chapter too. He makes the entire struggle about Wilbur’s loyalty to Clara and the damage being Clara’s vessel (the Pythia) has done to Wilbur. He’s ignoring a lot of the other factors. He’s completely skipping last Schlatt, even though that’s a big part of the reason why Wilbur doesn’t want to go back (with a clever placed reminder of what Schlatt’s like to really sell the deal). Tommy is also ignoring the people who enforce ‘Clara’s’ rules. (and I’m writing ‘Clara’ like that because I don’t trust humans ability to properly pass down rules from generation to generation and some of these rules are very obviously to control the oracle better).

Anyway, Tommy is ignoring the people and their actions to focus on hating the Goddess. Case in point: [“She took your name from you!” Tommy exclaimed, his eyes burning as brightly as the flames in the Pythia’s chest. “You got told that you were fucking empty inside! Don’t you see how messed up that is?”] Clara did none of those things, the previous Pythia did, as did the one before her. It’s a game of telephone that could have every easily gotten mixed up along that way. (Also, I’m not defending Clara per se, I’m just saying there’s room for human error and Tommy is ignoring some of the complexities to push his own agenda.)

And that hate of Clara in turn sets Wilbur of again (which shitting on Schlatt wouldn’t have done). [“I am empty!” He shouted, his voice echoing off the walls of his room. “I’m not a fucking person, Tommy, and I keep trying to tell you that but you won’t listen!”] I think it would have hurt less if you’d just shot me instead.

This is where shit gets heated, so I’ll need to split of into yet another ask. (and get my popcorn out, lol.)

(3/?)

-🌲

yeahhh while tommy knows that schlatt was shitty to wilbur, he's focusing most of his hatred to clara because he sees firsthand how badly damaged wilbur was by the institution of the pythia itself. like yeah, it sucked for wilbur that he was ignored, but in tommy's eyes the bigger issue is how dehumanized he was. and that wasn't schlatt's doing. that was 'clara's' doing.

organized religious worship is a human's perception of what a deity wants them to do. that's something I've kept in mind with all the religious worldbuilding for this fic.

but yes, tommy is directing his anger towards clara rather than the institution, which isn't exactly right. but considering tommy's been hunted down by a government because of his own religious beliefs in the name of clara, it's understandable why he's pinning a bit of a grudge to her.

I knew that line was going to hurt you guys hehe

#ask #spruce anon #through a glass divine

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kyofsonder · 2 years

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Find the Word

I was tagged twice by @on-noon to find two sets of words in my WIPs, so I’m combining both sets into a single post. Thank you for tagging me, and giving me a chance to play my favorite writeblr game after being away for a few days.

My Words: train, trying, stressed, intricate, translate, front, frame, freeze, free, friend

I’ll tag: @wynter-of-dusk, @houndsofcorduff, @junypr-camus, @aohendo, @365runesofwriting, @calicojackofficial, and as always anyone who wants to join in the game can use the following words and say I tagged them!

Your Words: skate, stall, brush, crave, veil

With so many words to find, this post is going to get long – so I’ll put the WIP exerpts themselves under a cut as usual. If I can’t find a word, I’ll share a fun fact related to the word instead.

I found train(ed) in my novel WIP “A Place to Return”:

Still... he takes a moment to read more recent entries instead of the script itself. Owen sounds so excited in them. He's been having so much fun figuring out how to hunt, how to refine his fishing techniques, how to use weapons so he can (shakily, according to his mentor) replicate the skills Leo had trained in before leaving home, how to use magic items. Every other sentence asks a new question, not only curious but also clearly eager to make it so that when they do swap back Leo returns to the best conditions possible.

I found trying in the same WIP, a little before the last excerpt:

"I can... ask her to transfer some money... if you need it?" Kelly is trying so hard to act like the responsible older brother. It's like he's standing there with a handful of sunset berries, dropping a few as he struggles to hand them over. Wait. Not that. On Earth it's an olive branch, isn't it? Like he's holding out an olive branch, whatever that looks like, and hoping his little brother will take the other end.

I found stressed in the script draft of my Sk8 the Infinity Matchablossom fic “Flipping a Switch”, in a scene where most of the Sk8 cast is having a meal at Joe’s restaurant:

Miya: (rolling his eyes): Give him a break, guys. He might be an idiot, but it's not like he controls how busy this place is.

Hiromi: He controls how many employees he has serving people!

Miya: Oh, so now you know what it takes to run a restaurant?

[Hiromi and Miya devolve into an argument about restaurants in general, completely ignoring their friends.]

Reki: Seriously, though, Joe, I was just messing with you. We came here to hang out, not to get you stressed.

Langa: I really am hungry, though.

Reki: Yeah. That's true. But Joe's got work to do, so...

Langa (only a little sad): Yeah.

Kojiro: Thanks, but I don't want to leave any customers hungry. Especially when they're my friends. Just let me get these last few people at the counter, and I'll take your order myself.

I didn’t find intricate in any particular WIP, but I did find it in some worldbuilding for a world in my story collection WIP “Love as Indicated”:

The year on Ait'kulith KIT 1B, in many countries, starts in May because that is the month when common Nightingales, known to have particularly complex/intricate mating songs, begin advertising for mates. Birds in general are seen as heralds of the Goddess of Fate, and nightingales in particular embody the importance of music in this world. Their mating season ends in late August, and so the first 4 months of the year are marked by their singing.

I didn’t find translate in any particular WIP, but I did find it in some worldbuilding about one of my magic systems, Soul Magic:

There are materials available for studying the basics of Soul Magic. These usually recount what other Soul Mages have found useful in the past, like materials that have worked well as vessels for spirits and techniques that have kept souls themselves from losing focus or misinterpreting a mage’s requests/orders. However, there are no materials to translate the language of the dead, which is at the core of Soul Magic itself. Souls speak in a way that simply cannot be translated unless you've learned directly, through sustained exposure to their language – especially from a young age. If you can't speak their language, then trial and error is your best chance to figure out how to communicate. Good luck.

I found front in my novel WIP “To Be Honest”, in a scene containing a brief mention of blood:

"You can't even see what's right in front of your face! This is what you want!" Micah opens his eyes and immediately regrets his decision. The shadow walking towards him glimmers with magic and the reflective shine of liquid, only the barest semblance of a human being beneath a coat of blood. There's no trace of David here. He probably hasn't been talking to his actual brother at any point. Just this. It stomps its formless feet across the dirt and reaches out its arms until there's a squish against his chest and a pressure that pushes him toward the ground.

I found frame in an unfinished, untitled short story from back when I was trying to write a complete story every day back in February – about a guy asking a dragon for an insomnia cure:

He catches himself looking around at the source of that blue-green glow, surprised by the sheer size of some of the holo-screens that fill up every open space on every wall in the room. They're not all the exact same size, but a few of them take up so much space that he wonders how they hadn't blinded him the second he'd arrived. The largest screen sits across from the couch, stretching to the corners of its wall. The display itself is either frozen or paused on what looks like a still frame from a movie. The scene shows two people offering wound up circles of flowers and clovers to a third person under a tree in a meadow. Everyone's smiling. The one being offered flowers even looks like they might be laughing. If he could stop holding his breath and make the scene un-pause, he knows he'd hear words and sounds that would... that would... he's not exactly sure what they would do or how long he's been holding his breath, but nothing happens when he starts breathing again and he can't help feeling disappointed.

I found freeze in the second draft of my Danny Phantom fic "Lingering Scars":

She's probably feeling some of the same things he'd felt in that bathroom, watching the marks of his own emotional turmoil disappear and reappear as he'd transformed. Shell-shocked and horrified, realizing that the things they'd thought were simple paths from infliction to recovery are actually more winding trails with forks that lead to unwanted places. He doesn't let his clone linger in that space, turned around at the road behind her and letting its twisting maze overwhelm her. The first time you see it can be a paralyzing and heavy moment. It can freeze you in the most literal way -- even without ice powers.

I found free in my short story WIP "Kiyo":

"Sure thing," I get my own words out as steadily as I can manage. I'm not really sure what else to do, so I place my free hand over the vines on my wrist and gently pat them. "Thank you, too," I realize I'm still talking before I know what I'm trying to say, "I probably didn't do a good job keeping you healthy, but you've done a really good job at... I guess I never said it to you before, actually. Thank you for keeping me alive. That's what you've been doing these past few months, but I didn't say it until now. So. Thank you, Kiyo. You've helped me with so many things, just by being there. I'm grateful for that. I'm glad I got to know you."

I found friend in my novel WIP "To Be Honest":

"You went all quiet. Oh. Oh, did you see a friend and not want to be seen talking to your cousins in front of people you actually like?" Finn gasps, drawing the sound out so Micah can imagine them holding their palms dramatically over their mouth -- vivid enough to make even Micah roll his eyes at the phone involuntarily, "Micah! You're making friends in college? That's amazing!"

This ended up being a really long post, as expected, but I found more of these words than I'd expected. This was a really fun challenge!

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pomgore · 1 year

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⭐?

enabling me <3

i am going to rant a little bit about my very big wip fic "sorrowless" because i have Ideas about luthien!thorin's abilities

(chapter 5)

Dís nodded, impressed. “Then so far no crime is afoot,” she said, “as long as you exercise more restraint than I was able to.” “I…” Thorin dug his nails into his palms, swallowed his pride for what had to have been the tenth time. “I let him touch my hair." “Oh.” “You cannot understand,” Thorin said, all but pleading with his siblings for forgiveness, compassion, advice - anything. “If I were in my right mind I would have stopped him, or for Mahal’s sake I’d have told him what it meant, but I am not in my right mind when I am with him.” A lie, but Thorin spoke with such conviction that it became the truth.

so obviously since this is an au (and i have done every bit research EXCEPT actually reading beren and luthien for this fic) i'm taking some liberties with my interpretation of thorin's powers. his power is in his voice, as with luthien's, but rather than merely using song as a vessel for his powers, his words have the power of influence whether he wants them to or not

thorin is Brutally Honest even in canon, so obviously he wouldn't just lie his ass off in this au for his own benefit, because that wouldn't be right - however, he needs to have a lot of control over his own emotions (whether or not he actually does? time will tell) in order to keep from exerting his influence in undue situations. if he's angry, he can inspire fear in anyone, if he's sad, he can make anyone cry, if he lies, his words can become the unquestionable truth for everyone but him, and that's a tricky power to have! so there'll be a lot of back and forth between thorin keeping his emotions in check and just screaming at everyone everywhere all the time for all the reasons

i plan to dig deeper into dis and frerin's abilities as well (they're all children of a maia so i think it's important that they get to be as badass as thorin is) but that's a digression for another day

(chapter 3)

“I’m told I wear my emotions on my sleeve regardless of the flowers that serve to undermine me,” Thorin huffed, but then he grew thoughtful and plucked one of the tulips, turning it around in his hand. “I’ve never grown pink flowers before.” “You’re partial to blue,” Bilbo agreed. “Do you know why they change color?” Thorin prodded at the flower with his finger, not unlike someone pushing food about on their plate or kicking a pebble on a path. “They are feelings,” he said after a moment, “given shape and color. When I am with you, I feel.. pink, and soft." There was silence for a moment. “You’ll be delighted to know that sweet nothings are instrumental to hobbit courtship,” Bilbo said with an affectionate smile, reaching forward and lacing his fingers with Thorin’s next to the tulips. “I feel pink and soft when I’m with you, too.” A blush-pink rose popped up between their fingers. Thorin scowled and shook his head, but Bilbo leaned in and kissed his cheek about it.

the flowers are self indulgent but if we're all being tbh this whole fic is self indulgent

so thorin is pretty powerful, if you know the story of beren and luthien you know that shit gets crazy late-game with the powers of voice and song, and in the song of beren and luthien it's described how luthien makes flowers grow and rivers melt and rain fall and birds sing and stuff; basically, i decided i wanted to take these abilities more literally than just a response to her singing, and decided that thorin's powers of voice are the only "voluntary" ability he has, but not his only supernatural influence by a long shot

so, color coded flowers with intentional meanings (as far as google can get me with flower language, anyway) are featured pretty heavily in this fic. i just like flowers and i think involuntary powers are pretty cute, particularly emotion-based ones since thorin is so emotional by default (he's all ooey-gooey with bilbo in these early chapters but he gets bitchy fast dont worry)

(chapter 3)

“A courting standard among dwarves is jewelry,” Thorin said, thinking already of lyrics and rhyme. “I could imagine a medium between your culture and mine, in which flowers were placed in one another’s hair with intention.” Bilbo nodded, imagining Thorin with a pleat of forget-me-nots and trying not to squeeze his plum too hard thinking about it. “With intention?” He asked. “Meaningfully,” Thorin clarified. “In a way that said something, rather than… poking them here and there.” “And, in this scenario, who decides what the meaning is?” Bilbo asked, his eyes on the meadowsweet flowers in Thorin’s hair. “No-one but ourselves,” Thorin replied conspiratorially, and Bilbo laughed.

something that i find to be important about bilbo and thorin's relationship early on is that thorin's voice isn't the reason they fall in love. of course in the song of beren and luthien there's a great significance laid on luthien's music (and how beren's response affects her!) but even though there is Much Fanfare when they meet for the first time, i think it's important that they're able to laugh and play with one another because to me, development of a relationship lends itself to true love more than falling in love with some lady singing in the forest

these first chapters to me are kind of like an exploration into what beren and luthien's early courtship was like, when they're in love but they're also besties! and so with thorin's voice, in a relationship it only gets him as far as catching bilbo's attention. everything that comes after is the product of work and just really disgusting amounts of pda (as far as pda goes when you're meeting secretly in a forest)

this is all just word salad in terms of organization so i apologize if this doesn't make sense LOL but i went really intentional with thorin's abilities and i wanted to give it some public love so people who are waiting for me to post this fic have something to inform their experience!

once again @rockdove-ridge thank you for enabling me

#the pom! signal #sent to me #ask game #sure i'll maintag it #bagginshield #thorin oakenshield #bilbo baggins #fic meta goin crazy

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norabrice1701 · 1 year

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Falling - Pt. II

A Sam Neill!Vasily Borodin (The Hunt for Red October) x Fem!Reader Fic

Mini-Series Main List

Pt. II Warnings: Misogynistic, controlling and abusive behavior towards the reader; self-worth issues; pregnancy and infertility topics; lost love and associated heartache

Vasily must have made the right connections that night. It’s the only explanation that you can find why he, among Ramius and a few other officers, are present at so many high party official events over the coming months. And without even trying, you pick Vasily out of the crowd every time.

You glimpse the strong line of his shoulders beneath the crisp uniform. You hear his easy, elegant tones. You connect with those sharp, clear eyes that always pierce you through the heart.

If Mikhail notices, he says nothing as he works the room and keeps you in tow. But a hushed conversation finds you with a rare moment of peace, and you take a sip from your champagne flute. As you lower the glass, glancing around at the evening finery that surrounds you, your breath catches as Vasily melts out of the crowd at your side.

He nods in silent greeting, but his eyes hold a fond warmth that neither of you could vocalize in the current setting. Tender memories stir in your chest, along with your long-held admiration for his quietly pensive nature. You tighten your grip on the champagne flute as you search for something to say. “I’m glad to see that you’ve done so well in the submarine fleet. You said it was what you most wanted to achieve in the service, and now,” an edge of pride curls the corner of your mouth. “Now, you’ve done it.”

His expression tempers with modesty. “I’m hardly at the pinnacle of my career goals, but I am well positioned.”

“As a captain, do you command your own vessel?”

He nods gently. “The posts come from high command, and yes, I have been fortunate to command several over the years. My current post, however, has me as Ramius’ Executive Officer.”

You return the nod. “I don’t know exactly what that means, but it does sound important.” Pausing, you dart a quick glance up, glimpsing your husband still occupied in conversation, before you turn back. “How long until you go to sea again?”

“We’re told a couple of more months yet.” The corner of his mouth tightens with veiled frustration. “All new vessels take time to outfit, and the Red October is no exception. While the delay is… unfortunate, the captain, myself and other key officers are fortunate to oversee her final appointments.”

“The Red October.” You echo with approval. “It sounds like she will be the grandest ship in our fleet.”

“That is certainly the expectation.” His eyes twinkle with sly excitement, and you can’t help but marvel at him.

“Are you not concerned, though? Or frightened even just the slightest bit?” You hear yourself ask. “The newest ship - as of yet untested on her maiden voyage. Are you not worried about something not working? Or the reactor failing?” The news coverage about the Chernobyl reactor explosion still haunts your nightmares, and the thought of Vasily trapped in a steel tube underwater with all that destructive power sends a chill through you.

His gaze warms with a calm, reassuring edge. “No, I am not concerned. We have the finest engineers and the finest craftsmen. The Red October will be our fleet’s most advanced achievement, and we will prove that to the world.”

Affection stirs in your chest and your heart warms with long dormant feelings. “You…” your voice trails off with a breathy sigh of admiration. “You are so brave to do what you do. You always have been.” Heat dances high on your cheeks as you give a gentle shake of your head. “Braver than I could ever hope to be -”

“You need never doubt your own bravery.” His voice sharpens with a firm edge before he scans the room in a quick, assessing survey. “You attend countless functions like this with a husband who doesn't respect you, and yet you still hold your head high. Every night, every time.”

Your throat tightens as his words shock you. They’re so bold, so inappropriate and so… overwhelming. Your strength threatens to fail and all at once, you want to dissolve against his chest, to melt in his arms. To remember the scent of his skin and the cadence of his impassioned breathing. Everything you’ve ever felt for him rushes back like a tidal wave, and you quickly drop your gaze to your champagne glass, hoping that he can’t see the conflicted torrent inside you.

Slowly you shake your head, fumbling for words. “I, it’s not… it’s not quite like that.”

“Then, I suppose we shall have to disagree.” His voice carries gently, imploring you to look back up at him. “It would be easy to lose your way among all of the superficial drivel that happens here, but you remain just as true to yourself as when we last met. And that’s a strength of character that few possess.”

You force a hard swallow down your throat, wanting to say so many things. So many things that no one should overhear. So many things that your wedding band forbids. So many things that you should have said all those years ago. Taking a deep breath, you try to compose yourself. “Vasily, that’s… thank you. But I’m alright.”

His eyes narrow with skepticism even as he gently nods. “I am glad to hear that. Otherwise, I might have to punch your husband.”

Your eyebrows climb to your hairline. “You wouldn’t dare. He’s - Mikhail is not a bad sort, and he doesn’t mistreat me. Marriage comes with certain expectations, and ours… well, hasn’t met those expectations.”

“So he is keen to tell everyone, as I understand it.” He says with carefully guarded reproach. “The intimate business of family need never be wielded as a political tool.”

An embarrassed flush heats your cheeks at the thought of gossip reaching him. What do the other political wives say about you behind your back? Do they call you a failure of a wife? Do they deem you unworthy to wear your husband’s last name without bearing him children? You dig a nail into the glass of the champagne flute as you try to steady your raging thoughts. “My apologies for not asking sooner,” you say, hoping your voice isn’t too uneven. “But do you have a wife and family?”

His mouth pinches to a thin, modest line and a startling blush dances high on his cheeks. It de-ages him by at least decade, back to the young man of your memories. “Not as of yet.” He answers gently. “I spend more time at sea than I do on land, and that can have its drawbacks.”

Sadness creeps to the lines of your face. How could that possibly be a fulfilling life? If his only respite from the cold, harsh sea is his cold, empty bed, then… does that satisfy him? It’s an intensely personal question, but it gnaws at you all the same despite the setting. “And are you…” you pause to take a fortifying breath. “Are you happy?”

Despite the busy sidewalk, you’d recognize those hawkish blue-eyes and the closed-mouth, crooked smile anywhere. It was the smile that he reserved only for you, and your heart warmed as you approached him on the puddle-ridden sidewalk.

“Ugh,” you groaned even as you summoned a smile for him. “Thank you for waiting, though you didn’t have to stand out here.” You casted a quick glance up at the heavy rain clouds that have loomed all day.

“I’m a sailor,” he quipped, arching a teasing brow. “Water doesn’t bother me.”

You shook your head through a soft laugh as you leaned in to meet him for a hug. For the past four weeks, you had been seeing Vasily Borodin, and you hoped – you thought maybe it will be soon that he kissed you. It was almost odd – certainly old fashioned but you found it strangely quite endearing. You’d never met another man like him, and that suited you just fine.

His arms came around you with tender strength, squeezing with fond affection as you embraced him for the space of a breath. It was rare that you got to see him out of his uniform, but he always managed to look effortlessly good, and the fabric of his jacket felt soft under your fingertips. Your nose brushed his neck as you both pulled back, eyes meeting as your breathing hitched and… will this be it? His gaze dropped down to your lips and desire flashed in his eyes before he quickly broke away to glance around the grey, damp street.

Your heart fell with disappointment – but for everything you knew about Vasily, he was just romantic enough that your first kiss wouldn’t be on some busy, rain-soaked sidewalk. The thought buoyed your mood, helped further when his hand found yours and you joined the queue for the ticket counter.

“How did the evaluation go?” You asked, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“It went as expected – plenty of calisthenics, a good dose of cardio. These physical fitness evaluations are required every six months or so, and the only thing that differs is which station you’re assigned to first.”

Your gaze raked up and down his trim, lean form. The strength of his muscles had been obvious in your fleeting embraces and even rarer glimpses of his forearms despite how well his clothing disguised it. It only made your blood heat to think of pulling him back to your dormitory room and discovering the dips and slopes of his muscles for yourself.

Heat flushed your cheeks, and you hoped that he couldn’t read the direction of your thoughts as your gazes reconnect. “Well, I’m sure that you still did great. Top of the class, hmm?”

Despite the humble slant of his mouth, he didn’t quite hide the pride in his eyes as the queue advanced. “Close enough. Though, it’s more of a comparison between your marks and the national guidelines, than it is a direct competition between fellow officers.”

You arched an incredulous brow with a teasing laugh, taking another step forward. “You really expect me to believe that a group of super-ambitious young officers aren’t measuring their stats against each other? Aren’t you all wanting to outdo the other for the highest ranking commands?”

That endearing flush returned to his cheeks even as his eyes turned sly. “It takes far more than just physical prowess to rise to the higher ranks and captain a vessel.”

“At those ranks, you would think they’d value command acumen far more than physical fitness.”

He gave your hand a fond squeeze as the last patron finished up at the window. “Some of those hatches are a half-meter wide. You may have all the qualities of a natural born leader, but if you can’t squeeze through that opening, you’ll never get onboard.”

A shiver crawled down your spine at the thought as he let go of your hand and stepped up to the ticket counter. You couldn’t imagine what it must be like to live in such close, cramped conditions under the water for months at a time. Despite the open air, phantom claustrophobia quickened your breathing, and you quickly shook the thought away. The last thing you wanted to do tonight was ruin your date.

With tickets in hand, you stayed at his side through the cinema hallways and settled into the numbered seats. The opening reels already ran the upcoming looks at new films and you glanced around, taking in the sparse attendance. A private grin teased your face as it felt more like a private screening for you and Vasily than a public outing when the lights went down.

As the film began to play, you slid your hand over in the darkness, seeking out his. Your palm connected with his and he spread his fingers to interlock with yours. Contented warmth grew in your chest as his thumb stroked your skin and you watched the events unfold on-screen.

Or, well… tried to watch. You couldn’t stop stealing little glances over at him. The flickering light danced so handsomely on his refined profile, catching his perpetually neat hair. What would it be to ruffle it between your fingers? To glimpse it first thing in the morning, all sleep worn and pillow mussed?

All at once, you realized that he, too, had turned towards you with the film all but forgotten. His eyes roamed over the curves of your face with open appreciation and affection. Your heart skipped a beat and you squeezed his fingers, hoping it conveyed the encouragement that you couldn’t vocalize. Anticipation sang in your blood as his gaze lingered on the shape of your mouth for an impossibly long moment.

A private grin relaxed his face before he glanced down at your conjoined hands. With a gentle squeeze, he raised your hands and slid his gaze back to yours. His eyes burned through you as he pressed a slow, tender kiss to the back of your hand. Butterflies erupted in your stomach as your skin tingled, and your breathing quickened.

You leaned forward without thinking, bringing your other hand to cup his cheek. A trembling breath left you as he drew close in the cinema’s shadows, and your lips finally touched. The firm, delicious pressure and slightly dry texture of his kiss shot sparks down your spine that curled your toes. Your mouth curved to a giddy smile against his as you both exhaled with audible, excited relief. His hand raised to cup yours that still rested against his cheek, and as he kissed you again, your heart soared from unbridled happiness.

The delightful memory surfaces as you watch his bright eyes cloud over with distant memories of his own. Regret and heartbreak temper the lines of his face as he regards you with too many other emotions to name. Anticipation constricts your chest as you wait on baited breath. There’s no other answer that you want in the universe, and as he dips his head, wetting his top lip, you want nothing more than to reach out for his hand.

“Ah, there you are.” Mikhail’s voice cuts between you, and you gasp as you look over at him. Carefully concealed irritation darkens his brow as he looks suspiciously between you and Vasily. “My apologies, Captain. It seems that my wife cannot understand the concept of monopolizing someone’s time at an event like this.”

Vasily’s face hardens with a look that must make enlisted men quake in their boots. “Your wife is not the one in breach of etiquette here, Comrade. You might consider refraining from making such assumptions in the future.”

“With all due respect, Captain,” Mikhail’s tone sharpens with indignation as he spits out the rank like an insult. “I will take my considerations from elsewhere and conduct my marriage as I see fit.” He wraps a hand around your arm, squeezing with unmistakable insistence. “Come along, my dear. There are too many other people here this evening worth speaking to, and you’ve already set me behind schedule.”

Mini-Series Main List

#sam neill #the hunt for red october #the hunt for red october fic #captain vasily borodin #vasily x you #vasily x reader #sam neill x you #sam neill x reader

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theartistknownaslymond · 2 years

Text

Whumptober 2022 day 14

Desperate Measures | Failed escape | “I’ll be right behind you.”

A prompt from @stripedroseandsketchpads: Oonagh *did* canonically try to break out from the seraglio w Khaireddin one time…

She sure did! This one in the AU is set immediately after Breathe for Two (see fic list pinned post on my dash). Oonagh is not to be fucked with. Unfortunately, she’s also not able to succeed this time.

Sorry for the delay posting! I’m trying to get back on track, I really am :’)

CW: pregnancy and symptoms of low blood pressure, references to terrorism training and guns, also to DV. I’m afraid Graham Reid Malett also turns up, so be prepared for that: some blood and violence.

---

Oonagh waited until it was dark. By then she knew she was in control of the symptoms she'd experienced since trying to leave the ashram earlier that day. She still felt light-headed if she rushed a task, and her skin was clammy, her stomach in turmoil, but these were sensations a woman in her third trimester could put into context and deal with. Provided they didn't worsen; provided she was otherwise healthy.

Oonagh, after six months of work on the ashram, of good food and good friendships and no Cormac O'Connor, felt the healthiest she'd been in years.

Light-headedness aside, of course.

So since Swami Geetesh's visit she had used her seething fury to plan and to prepare. He had made it quite clear that he considered her little more than a vessel, a carrier for the child that he hoped belonged to Francis Crawford. What the fuck he wanted to do with the child if that was the case was anyone's guess - and what would happen if the child turned out to be Cormac's was an even more troubling unknown. But Oonagh had promised herself never again to be in a position of vulnerability and subordination to a man. Never again to let someone else dictate what her body was for and how it should look. She would not sit meekly in her room and wait for her world to be snatched away.

So during the afternoon, she'd torn the cotton sheets on her bed into strips and soaked them in the small bathroom sink - you didn't spend a lifetime in the fashion industry without learning a thing or two about the properties of fabric and how to improve the strength of cotton fibres. At least, you didn't if you had the kind of quick, ready mind Oonagh had always had, the kind of mind that thrived on stimuli and newness and on understanding every little thing that went on around her.

She took a bag of carob brownies a friend had baked from her bag and made herself eat half of one for strength and focus, and she wrapped the rest in a select parcel of only the most necessary clothes. And then she waited, doing breathing exercises, rubbing her hands over and over her huge belly, talking to the child she carried inside her in Irish, muttering low under her breath.

The child wriggled in response, as restless as Oonagh felt in the little room. She murmured comradely reassurance - she told them to save their kicks for Swami Geetesh, although if mummy could, she would make sure they never had to meet him.

Sunset came slowly, agonisingly slowly. It couldn't really be seen from her window, she just had to wait as the light changed and the gaps between the trees disappeared. The towering, straight trunks looked like bars layering jail cell after jail cell outside her room, but as twilight deepened, engulfing their bases and the heights of their boughs beyond what Oonagh could see, the darkness unlocked opportunity.

She checked her watch and wondered whether she ought to wait, in case someone was tasked with bringing her an evening meal. But there had been no scents rising from downstairs, no sounds of cooking - no sounds at all, in fact.

So Oonagh, nervous from waiting so long already, made her choice and pushed the window open. It would be a tight fit for her swollen, co-occupied body, but she would manage. She secured the knotted rope of wet sheets to the heavy wooden bed, ensuring the furniture was wedged tight against the wall already and wouldn't give her away with any screeching movement across the floor.

She had changed out of her flowing red dress and pulled on an old pair of dyed leggings and a top that was loose without being baggy. She tied her long black hair back, knotted the bundle of essentials she had chosen in a makeshift papoose held above her belly, and took a deep, soothing breath - part meditation, part catwalk prep, part eyeing up the target on the provo’s training range as she tightened her finger on the trigger of a Libyan rifle.

She squirmed backwards out of the window, her bare toes reaching into the night air, flailing until she got her angle right, and then flexing against the wooden walls of the building, her fists knotted in wet wraps of torn sheets. She allowed herself one more quiet promise in Irish made directly to the child, and then paused to listen again to the silence.

The water from the taut cotton was dripping steadily on the wooden floor of her room, her blood was rushing and she felt a headache building at the base of her skull - if she took too long about this, she risked a return if the light-headedness. She risked a fall from a height she most certainly couldn't afford.

Oonagh clenched her teeth and unwound one hand from the rope of sheets, moving it lower, rewrapping it securely before she unwound her second hand.

Her knuckles felt squeezed and bruised, but the tactic kept her secure. With each steady movement, accompanied by each steady breath, she recited a favourite poem in her mind, line by line, one foot then the other, one hand unwrapped, rewrapped, then the other: I won’t go back to it – my nation displaced into old dactyls oaths made by the animal tallows of the candle – land of the Gulf Stream, the small farm, the scalded memory, the songs, that bandage up the history, the words tha rhythm of the crime

where time is time past. A palsy of regrets. No. I won’t go back. My roots are brutal: I am the woman - a sloven’s mix of silk at the wrists, a sort of dove-strut in the precincts of the garrison - who practices the quick frictions, the rictus of delight and gets cambric for it, rice colored silk. I am the woman in the gansy-coat on board the Mary Belle, in the huddling cold, holding a half-dead baby to her as the wind shifts east and north over the dirty water of the wharf

mingling the immigrant guttural with the vowels of homesickness who neither knows nor cares that a new language is a kind of scar and heals after awhile into a possible imitation of what went before

Her feet touched crisp leaf matter and dry, gritty soil. She let out another deep breath and freed her hands, laying the palms against the wooden sides of the house and checking that her body was still with her, working with her, supporting her. The ache in her head hadn't worsened, and deep breathing settled her nausea and the floating feeling inside her chest and brow.

She slipped her sandals back on, but it didn't seem advisable to go by foot, she realised that with grim certainty. She was managing, but she didn't want to risk collapsing in the woods. She wanted to escape, not put her child at risk. At least in a car she would be sitting. She would be comparatively still. She would be able to get off the ashram, and on the I-93 she'd find someone who could help get her the rest of the way to Vegas.

With a pang of regret, she noticed it hadn't even occurred to her to approach the friends she'd had here. Who knew what they would do if Swami Geetesh asked it of them? She couldn't trust anyone in this place if she couldn't trust him.

She shuffled round the building, keeping close to the walls. Light radiated from only one room, escaping the cracks in the curtains, but she ducked low and crawled beneath the level of the sill.

In the front yard there were two cars - the truck and the saloon. Geetesh's housekeeper - Donati, Oonagh had thought her name was, Ma Dānti - was instructing a man as he carried a heavy-looking wooden rocking chair into the house. Oonagh held her breath - it must have been the one meant for her room, which meant she didn't have much time before they'd realise she was gone. There was no sign of Geetesh, though, so she figured they would spend a few extra minutes panicking without their leader.

She steeled herself and ran in as low a crouch as her belly allowed across to the truck once both figures had gone inside the house. Her hands were steady and her breathing was controlled when she silently popped the door, her fingers hooked under the metal handle. She kept one eye on the house - the door was open, but still the only light was from the room on the corner, which must have been large to have so many windows.

Her hope was that the man who had brought the chair might have left his keys in the truck, but - no dice.

"Go hlfreann leat!" she spat, and pulled the hard plastic cover under the steering wheel down, more annoyed than inconvenienced by the lack. She knew how to hotwire, just as she knew how to fuse an improvised explosive. Long supermodel's fingers worked quickly, tugging and twisting the right components until she had the two wires she needed, held ready in her hands. Did she wait until she heard a commotion from the house? Did she just go?

Shite, she realised she should have done something to disable the saloon. She'd been too keen to leave, too smug with the knowledge that she had the skills to do so.

Oonagh glanced back at the house. There didn't seem to have been any change in the situation there, yet.

Crouched low, she moved round the from of the truck to the saloon, which was at least concealed by the shadow of the bigger vehicle. It made it easier to get inside, pull the bonnet, and lift it high enough to snatch the spark plug without being visible from the house.

She went back to the truck again, the spark plug gripped tight in her hand, the other one soothing the excited child in her belly.

"Oh, you're enjoying this, are you?" she whispered. Pride overrode the moment of trepidation she felt as she imagined her child - the child of Cormac, after all? - attending the same training she'd undergone.

She picked up the wires as she'd left them and didn't hesitate to touch them together now. The little spark made her blink, dazzled momentarily as her eyes came to terms with the darkness again, now filled with the rumbling of the truck's engine. Then she stood, one foot in the truck, one hand on the door, and realised the latter was resisting her attempt to close it.

She turned with a gasp and saw Swami Geetesh standing too near, his large hand preventing her from slamming the truck door closed.

"No," she couldn't stop the word. Like when she knew it would only wind Cormac up further to hear her object, but she had to object anyway.

Geetesh said nothing. He looked white with fury and he ripped the door from her hand, throwing it wide open and grabbing at her arm with a pinching grip.

She'd come too close to freedom to go quietly back now. She didn't give a shit who was working for him - she'd make them doubt their loyalty all right. She hollared loud enough to make her throat raw. She bellowed and screamed and held onto the steering wheel with the hand that still held the spark plug from the saloon. She kicked at him with her woefully soft sandals and remembered the catharsis of group meditation, the catharsis of Francis Crawford encouraging her to really scream into the mic during one recording session they'd shared.

She knew he was stronger than her. She knew she couldn't keep this up long, it was already making her temples howl with pain and making blackness seep into her vision.

So while she still had the strength to, she let him drag her from the car and used the momentum of her body to swipe at him with the sharper end of the spark plug.

He turned his head, but the metal grazed through his thick, guinea gold hair, and Oonagh pressed hard against the resistance beneath her weapon - she dragged it along his scalp and let it slam into the upper part of his chest. An ineffective injury, but an injury nonetheless.

Blood began to seep through the strands of his hair and he slapped her, open-palmed, so the shock of it made her drop the spark plug, her body trembling, remembering the touch of Cormac O'Connor.

"Daso," he said commandingly. "Where are you going? Ma Dānti has prepared you a meal."

"I'm not hungry," she sneered and spat in his face.

He closed his eyes momentarily and shook her in his grip before wiping it from his cheek. "There is a chair and a reading light."

"I don't want to sit," she raised the arm he wasn't holding and went to claw her nails into the wound in his scalp.

He grabbed her wrist before she could, but all she had hoped for was to make him realise she'd fight him the whole way.

He ground his teeth, his jaw bulging angrily though he tried to keep up the cool, impassive act. "Then pace the room until your heart is content, but know this: you will not be leaving it again until the child comes."

"You won't have my child," Oonagh told him.

"You can't stop me, my dear," he returned, his nose coming near to hers as he finally allowed his anger to seep through into his voice.

***

The poem is Mise Eire by Eavan Boland (1983), a response to Padraig Pearse’s poem of the same name (”I am Ireland”) and against a whole genre of comparing the island to a mythological woman.

#whumptober2022 #whumptober #character: oonagh o'dwyer #character: graham reid malett #band au: disorderly knights #kinda?#every day i write the book

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noctumbra · 3 years

Text

𝒇𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒐𝒖𝒕

summary ─ you were a trouble. you were a walking sin. that was okay, though. james knew how to deal with problems like yourself.

pairing ─ dark!serialkiller!bucky barnes x reader

warnings ─ DARK FIC, smut, +18, slight dub con, explicit murder scene, major character death, rough sex, mean!bucky, degradition, name calling, alcohol consumption, pussy slapping, shitty smut lol, bucky is stuck up on morality (?) aka he doesn't like when women show some skin off because he thinks it's wrong, mentions of rape (didn't happen), biblical references??

a/n ─ hellooo! this is one of those rare times where i write dark fic lmao, this is my entry for @bitchassbucky 's 2K writing challenge. my prompt is "if you're reading this, i'm dead." with criminals au. i really hope you like it. please leave a comment if you do, thank you so much! <333

explicit murder scene starts after the * mark.

You were too close.

The guy’s hands were way too close you. His eyes were roaming all over your body like a hungry panther; he was waiting for the right moment to attack and feed on you, and the worst thing was you were letting him look.

It was not okay in James’ book. You shouldn’t have been doing that, shouldn’t have flaunted your body the way you did: A dress that was too short and showed your legs more than it should and its cleavage was too deep, even from his seat, which was at the far end of the bar, he could almost see your nipples, and then you had these high heels. They were thin heels, very high, that made your feet look elegant but at the same time sinful. They were putting the attention to your legs.

James tilted his head just a little bit to his side as he watched you.

You were laughing freely, loudly, and throwing your head back. You were revealing your neck like that, this time drawing the attention to your almost bare chest. Sometimes you touched the person who made you laugh; a gentle caress on their arm, or a light grab on their shoulder… You didn’t know what kind of effect you had on them; the men shivered every time you touched their arms or shoulders. They were getting hungrier, James could tell. Their eyes were roaming all over your body even more, they were black, almost, and they kept licking their lips as if to stop themselves from drooling.

He shook his head in disappointment. Some men were really weak, he thought as he watched one of the guys adjusting their pants because they became tight with the sight of you.

You were a trouble.

You were a walking sin.

That was okay, though. James knew how to deal with problems like yourself.

──

James approached you slowly. He did not want to frighten you or give you the wrong vibe. He handled with the other guys at the bathroom when they visited it to empty their bladders. He could talk to you without being interrupted, now. Although he probably had twenty or so minutes before the guys were discovered by some other patrons in the bar, so he had to charm you in a short amount of time and had to convince you to join him for the night.

He was in a cleansing mood.

So, he ordered a soda. He didn’t drink on nights when he was working, and he had plans for you and preferred to stay fully sober. The bartender put the drink in front of him silently and went back to drying the glasses. James took a sip, watching you with the corner of his eyes.

“Lovely dress,” he murmured gently, his eyes on the bartender. “You look like summer in the middle of a stormy night.” He turned his head to you; his blue eyes were intense as they took your shocked but pleased face in. You ducked your head.

“Thank you,” you whispered, but he heard you anyway. He was surprised that you were playing the innocent card. You were far from being innocent, he could tell. He only needed to take one look, and he knew right away. Maybe that was how your way. Maybe that was how you lured your preys in. James smiled despite his chain of thoughts.

“You’re very welcome,” he nodded, and then turned his body to you. “I’m James,” he extended his hand. He didn’t mind you knowing his name; you were going to be cleaned at the end of the night anyway. You smiled.

“Y/N,” you said, gently shaking his hand. James almost hummed loudly at the touch of your soft skin against his. His hands were rough, their texture wasn’t soft anymore, but yours were. They were soft. He liked that. It was nice to feel soft things against his own skin every once in a while. “You look tired,” you murmured after two beats of silence. James barely kept his smile soft and contained the twitch of his lips which threatened to form his smile into a smirk.

You were desperate.

The only thing he needed to do was to show you some affection, pour out some sweet words and now, you were desperate to talk to him more.

“I am,” James responded with a neutral voice, but he was mindful to add some sort of a sigh at the end. “Not so much, but I am.” He sent you an equally tired smile that matched up with his story. You gave him a soft look before inching your chair towards his. You were unaware of stepping into a very feral wolf’s den.

──

It wasn’t a hard work for him, to keep you talking and drinking while he was charming and maybe seducing you all along.

You were a little tipsy as he walked up to you anyway, James just made sure that you kept drinking. You were doing every single thing that was wrong in his book; the cleansing he’d be doing tonight with your help was going to be a good one.

“What brought you here?” You asked him. You weren’t slurring yet, and honestly, James didn’t want you that drunk, so after you were finished with the glass you had, he was going to stop you. As much as he liked seeing you indulge yourself into the sins like this, because it was going to make his cleansing better, he wanted you to enjoy yourself on your last moments.

James shrugged. “Just passing by, to be honest,” he murmured. It wasn’t a lie. He was passing by. He would be leaving this small town in the morning, most likely 6AM sharp. “How about you, sweetheart?” He asked. His head cocked to his side, eyes teasingly narrowed and lips stretched into a dangerous smirk. He was a handsome man, James knew that, and he liked to use it to his own advantage in these kinds of things.

“I’m going home,” you said. “It’s a long way, though, so I’m just spending the night here.” You sent him a small smile and finished the last drop of your drink. Just when you lifted your hand to ask for more, James placed his hand over the glass.

“I think it’s enough for the night, don’t you think?” He murmured, and then he stood up and moved closer to you. “Besides it would ruin the fun if you were to get too intoxicated.” James saw your eyes getting heavier with a hazy look, saw your chest stop moving and heard the hitch in your breath.

“What fun?” You asked. James let his lips form into a smirk, this time.

“If you join me for the night, I think you can find out,” he whispered, leaning in just a little. You whimpered softly. You were turned on; you were desperate for him, for what he could give you, what he could make you feel. It should have felt empowering, but it didn’t. It made him feel disgusted.

“Alright,” you agreed easily.

Wrong. This was wrong, what you were doing. Wrong. You shouldn’t have agreed to spend a night with a stranger this easily. You shouldn’t have been let that stranger seduce you like this, but you were naïve. You were desperate.

So, James smirked. He held out his arm and walked out of the bar with your arm looped into his.

──

James wasn’t a big fan of having sex. He knew he could go without having it, and he had, once. It wasn’t hard, abstaining himself from sex or any sort of psychical contact with anyone. It was very easy, actually, but it wasn’t worth it. He’d stop by one of the towns he was passing by, have a wild night and relieve himself and then he’d move on.

He called them cleansing.

He’d find a woman, watch them and try to decide if they were worthy of his cleansing nights. If they were, James would take them back to his motel room. He’d have his sex, give them pleasure, make them take whatever he gave them, and when he was free of his sins, he’d get rid of them.

Tonight was his cleansing day, and you were his vessel.

─

“Fuck!” You moaned as James slammed you back against his motel room door. His mouth was assaulting your neck, your bare chest, all the skin you showed to those men and made them lose their control, James left his mark.

His hands were under your dress. They were running along your soft skin, along length of your legs, and he grabbed your ass beneath the skirt to haul you up. With a soft moan you held tightly onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, you let him carry you to the bed. His lips were stroking yours so perfectly, you couldn’t keep your moans to yourself.

“You like this, don’t you?” He murmured against your lips as he laid you on the bed. He was on fours between your legs, your dress skirt bunched and ankles looped behind his thick thighs. “You like having some touching you like this.” He trailed a finger gentle from your ankle to your hips, digging his nails lightly. You sighed.

“Yes,” you moaned. “Yes, I love it.” James hummed. His fingers grabbed a hold of your flimsy panties, ripping them off with a flick of his fingers. You gasped, but it was so hot to watch, you couldn’t say anything. James discarded the ripped material. He hummed once again as he swiped his fingers through your core, causing you to buck your hips towards his touch.

“So wet…” He whispered. “You’re turned on, hm?” You nodded, desperately biting your lip to contain the sounds you wanted to let out. James pulled on your dress. “Take this off,” he ordered, a dangerous growl in his voice. You shuddered and scrambled to obey him. Quickly sliding the straps of the dress, you slid out of it in a blink. You threw the dress on one of the chairs in the room and settled under him again with a sigh.

James was right about almost being able to see your nipples because you weren’t wearing anything to cover them underneath that dress. He growled. You were so careless with your body, he realized. You never thought about what might happen to it before you threw it towards someone that could charm you with handful of words.

James wanted to laugh: You were so fucking easy.

Licking his lips, he ran his hands all over the now-available naked skin. It was very soft to touch, warm and smooth. It felt nice under his fingertips. James wanted to dig his nails and draw some blood just to ruin the perfect smoothness of your skin. He wanted to mark it, wanted to destroy its beauty so that no one would want to touch it ever again.

“Mm,” he heard you hum. Ignoring your writhing, James continued to stroke the warm skin beneath him. James sighed. “James…” You breathed, eyes closed and mouth open.

“What is it?” James asked. “What do you want, sweetheart?” You wiggled and writhed under him again. He could see that you were shying away from him for some reason, and he was intended to find out why. “Mm? Tell me. What is it?” You bit your lip, watched his eyes darken with the smallest action.

“I, um,” you whispered. “Can you be rough with me?” You asked gently. James narrowed his eyes. They were filled with amusement.

“You wan’ me to rough you up, love? Hm?” He leaned in and grabbed your face in his palm, squeezing your jaw, he pulled it towards his. He nudged your nose with his own softly. “You wan’ my bruises all over your body? Wan’ me to mark you up?” You were nodding excitedly; head bobbing up and down, eyes glimmering with anticipation, James thought you were adorable. He chuckled darkly. “Use your words,” he commanded with a low, rough voice.

“Yes,” you moaned loudly and whimpered. “Yes, I want your marks!” James hummed. It was a content, happy sound.

“Good, baby,” he whispered and flipped your over in a blink. He pulled your hips up as he placed a hand on your face and buried it into the bedding, almost constricting your breathing. You groaned throatily. “This what you wanted, yeah?” He leaned in until his lips were next to your ear. “You gonna get it.”

Briefly pulling away, James took off his clothes and laid them on the chair all folded. He climbed up on the bed, took his position between your thighs and pressed his groin against yours. Your dripping core felt warm and slick against his hard on. He closed his eyes and grunted lightly at the feeling, hips moving slightly. You wiggled your hips, pressed your ass back at him and coated his erection with your slick. James groaned. His hands were quick to find your hips and grabbing them tightly.

“You do not move unless I tell you so,” he snarled. His hand released your ass cheek and slapped it harshly, making the flesh jiggle. “You are to follow my orders,” he snarled again as he slapped the other cheek. You whimpered. “You disobey, and I’ll make sure you’re in pain.” He quickly gave you a slap right on your clit, making you shout into the bedding. “You hear?” You nodded.

“Yes, yes, I hear,” you whined. “’m sorry. I’ll follow your orders, sorry,” you mumbled, tears gathering in your eyes. James smiled.

“Good girl,” he whispered. The hand that was still resting on your ass sneaked its way up into your hair, and he yanked it harshly. You cried out. Your hands grabbed his thick thighs as something to hold on when he pulled your body flushed against his. “The sounds you make,” he snarled. He released his hold on your hair. “Grab the condom. It’s in the drawer.” James pointed the one on your left, and you leaned to get it.

After he put on the condom, he cornered and caged you on the bed, under him. You were breathing heavily, he could see how wet you were and how warm your body had become. “I’m gonna be rough,” he warned you. “I’m gonna degrade you, slap you, pull your fucking hair and I will not stop, y’hear me?” You nodded. That was exactly what you wanted from him. “Yell as loud as you want. Let’em know I’m making you feel so good.” He kissed you on the lips once and slid inside of you in one thrust.

You groaned loudly as your eyes rolled back. They way he filled you was so fucking perfect, you felt yourself tear up. Your hands were holding onto his biceps, nails digging softly as James started thrusting without missing a beat.

The pace he set up was hard and almost punishing. All the rage and tension in his body was loaded into his thrusts, making your body jolt up and down every single time his hips kissed yours. The sound of skin-slapping-skin was almost too loud, but James closed his eyes as he listened to it. His hands were grabbing your thighs tight enough to leave bruises in its wake, nails digging hard enough to draw some blood. James growled.

“So good,” he murmured to himself as he once again flipped you onto your stomach. He watched the jiggle of your ass with his each thrust, watched how perfect it was and warm it made him feel. It sent tingles all over his body. Pulling at your hips, he positioned you half-sitting on his lap, half-lying onto your stomach. He was hitting and reaching deeper with each movement of his cock, he knew it. Your screams of pleasure were letting him know. “Hmm, damn…” He groped your breasts. Pinching the soft, loose flesh, he pulled at your nipples.

“James!” You moaned, but you were slurring. James grinned devilishly. He sneaked his hand from your breast to your pussy and slapped it. Your hips twitched, and he slapped it again. Your walls were rippling around him like mad, James was loving it. “Oh, fuck!” You cried out as he pinched your clit. Tears were freely rolling down on your cheeks, but they were pleasant ones.

“Yeah?” James hissed. “You feelin’ good, slut? Hm? Tell me.” He listened to your litany of ‘yeses’ and moans and whimpers. He dug his nails on your breasts, digging them deep and dragging them down roughly. You shouted. James could feel the trickle of blood on his fingertips, and he chuckled darkly.

“We are just starting, dove,” he whispered into your ear and wrapped his arm around your throat.

****

James watched you as you dozed on and off. You were sprawled onto the bed, starfishing, and had a dopey smile on your face. You were so beautifully blessed out, James felt proud. His eyes roamed all the marks and bruises he left on your gorgeous body: Bite marks, handprints, nails… They looked incredible.

“Damn,” he heard you whisper. You giggled. You sounded drunk, but it wasn’t because of the booze you consumed earlier, it was all sex. “This was the best fuck I’ve ever had,” you said, grinning. James just hummed. Lifting himself on his strong legs, he walked over to his small bag. He opened it.

His clip point bowie knife was winking at him cheekily in his bag, and James smiled. He grabbed it gently. Fingertips running over the sharp and smooth edge of it, James sighed. This knife had served him so well over the years, it became his lucky charm and his go-to. Tonight, it was going to serve him once more.

“Are you still there?” You murmured, head lifting tiredly. “Or have I been talkin’ to myself all alon’?” You chuckled.

“’m here,” James whispered. You hummed, head falling onto the pillow. He walked over to your tired and used body. Your eyes were closed, but you had a happy smile on your face. James stroked your cheek as he mounted you.

“Mmm,” you protested lightly. “You wore me out. Can’t go again.”

“I don’t want you to,” James whispered, licking his lips hungrily. His pupils dilated with the anticipation. His hand moved to your hair from your cheek and he stroked it, too. You purred. James grinned. He looked like a mad man with a grin like that, he was aware, but this was his favorite moment.

He fisted his hand into your hair, yanking you half-upright. Without letting you understand what was happening, he ran the knife along your throat. A clean, deep cut. He heard your gurgled breath, watched the blood pouring out.

James smiled at your half shocked and half blessed face as he watched the blood pouring out of your body and pet your hair all the while. He could feel the relief filling his body already. He sighed deeply, relishing the feeling.

He loved his cleansing nights.

He loved watching them fading out.

It was why he was created.

──

Another body was found exactly a month later after the last one.

Despite the undisturbed look in general, he could see couple bruises peeking under the clothing that wrapped her body innocently. Rogers knew what he was going to find when he dug a little deeper. He knew how all the bruises the killer left behind was going to look like. He also knew that the forensics was going to say she was most likely got raped, but it wasn’t true.

Rogers had been working on this killer’s case for some time, now. He had seen cases of his killings enough to know that he cared about consent. The bruises, damage on genital parts on the bodies were all asked for. Rogers felt like he knew the killer like a best friend with how much personality to put into his… craft.

He would watch them first, seized his options. That was how he’d choose his next victim, most of the time. Then, he’d approach them, make small talk maybe, and charm them right away. It was a funny and humiliating fact that they had no visuals about the killer; no one seemed to saw his face, or remembered it. Rogers figured he must at least have a decent enough face to charm the women the way he did. Then, he’d take them to one of the rooms in the motel nearby. He’d get his pleasure, satisfy himself, and then. Then, he’d get to work.

This one, the body in front of him, was definitely his work.

The scene Rogers was facing was weirdly peaceful. It was by a lake with lots of willow trees surrounding it. It was almost 5AM in the morning; the cool breeze of the night was even sharper now. There was no noise, only owls making soft cooing sounds. The darkness of the sky was the darkest before the sun peeked through its black curtains.

However, Rogers was not there for the scenery. Not that kind, at least.

She was standing by one of the willow trees. Her body was positioned in such way that it looked like she was just leaning against the tree and watching the view in front of her. It might have looked normal, like nothing was wrong if she was wearing a coat or something, but she wasn’t. The white dress she had on was beautiful. It was simple, no designs or anything. The dress had long sleeves; the fabric was covering her chest up to her neck/shoulder joint and the skirt part of it was reaching to her ankles. She had matching flats on her feet. The skirt was only allowing Rogers to have very small peek of her skin.

Her hair looked clean when he came closer. It was up in a half-braid, thrown over her right shoulder. Her hands were clasped in front of her in a submissive way, her fingers were laced together. She had an also white, silk scarf covering her neck. Simple silver earrings were put, she looked really beautiful.

Her face, however, was the creepiest part.

It looked almost alive; she had a serene look on her face, a faint smile on her lips and the look in her eyes were soft. She really looked like she was watching the view, but she was dead. Her skin looked undisturbed, but Rogers knew that if he were to rip the dress off, he’d find her genital organs all mangled. He would also find all the bruises that this elegant dress was perfectly covering up.

“Same guy?” Wilson asked as he approached Rogers. He nodded. His blue eyes were inspecting the girl’s body carefully. “These poor girls,” Wilson sighed. “What is he trying to do, I don’t get it.”

Rogers knew what he was trying to do.

“He’s stopping them from sinning ever again,” he murmured as he eyed the note where the killer pinned the note. It was sitting right over her heart innocently, an elegant hand writing was smiling at him gently on the cream-colored paper. One sentence was striking, but he could see more things were written on the small paper. It was that one sentence that was haunting him in his nightmares. Rogers counted exactly seven drops of blood on the paper. One of the drops was darker than the other: It was the third one.

“Does that mean anything?” Wilson frowned. He was new to this case, so he didn’t know the meanings of the small details the killer loved to leave behind.

“Yeah. Seven drops. Seven deadly sins. Third drop is darker than the others which indicate which sin she had died from.”

“Which is?”

As he answered Wilson, Rogers sighed deeply.

“Lust.”

𝙸𝙵 𝚈𝙾𝚄'𝚁𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂, 𝙸'𝙼 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝙳...

#bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes blurbs #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #serialkiller!bucky #welcome to highway 63 #dark fic #fade out

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ladydimitrescuspet · 3 years

Text

Tonight's Theme: Being Selfish

AO3 Link! argument fic but it's not my brand so it's a bad argument fic so I am not the least bit happy with how this turned out. and I cannot tell if I've contradicted myself in this story with what I said so I apologise profusely if I did. I also apologise for any grammatical errors. regardless, please enjoy and tell me what you think if you'd like!

***

The minute you stepped into Alcina’s study, the atmosphere changed. She knew why you were there and let out sharp exhale before lighting a cigarette.

Alcina took a drag, blowing the smoke out before she looked at you. “My answer still hasn’t changed, draga mea.”

You frowned as you walked over to her. “Why not?” You asked.

“Because it is far too dangerous for you to do.” Alcina replied.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Why do you even get to make the decision? It’s my body, it should be my choice.” You argued.

“Darling, if I let you make any and every decision you wanted to then you wouldn’t be standing here right now.” Alcina said. She had a point. You’d made a pretty reckless decision a few months ago and it’s made her even more protective of you.

“Look, it’s sweet that you’re trying to protect me, Alci, but I really am capable of making my own decisions, reckless or not.” You replied.

Alcina sighed. “Little one, I really don’t have the time to go over this right now. I am swamped with business.” Alcina said as she replaced her quellazaire with her pen.

“That’s always your excuse, that you’re too busy for me.” You were tired of her constantly brushing you off.

“I am never too busy for you. I simply don’t wish to have this argument with you, Y/N.” Alcina responded, rubbing at her temples. “The risks of taking the cadou are high, as I’ve told you. We’ve no idea what it can and will do to you and I’d rather not take the chance to find out.”

“But Mother Mirana clearly stated that it’s the only way she’ll bless our relationship and let us marry.” You replied.

Alcina laughed dryly. “Is that what this is about? You want to seek Miranda’s approval of our relationship?” Alcina asked. “You silly little mouse, Miranda doesn’t care about our relationship. She doesn’t care about you, nor me, nor my daughters, or any of the other Lords. No, Miranda only cares about obtaining a proper vessel for her darling daughter, Eva. I stopped seeking her approval on matters a long time ago so I suggest you quit while you’re ahead.”

Your frown deepened at her words. “That’s not what I meant, Al.”

“Then what did you mean, dear one? Hmm?” Alcina asked. “Is that not what you were implying? That you wish to get that thing put into your body so you can marry me? Do you not care about your own well being, that you’d just do without thinking?” Alcina abandoned her pen once again, but this time to pick up her glass of wine. "If you did, you wouldn’t keep hounding me about it. PPlus, your intent for the cadou is purely selfish, and that’s not a good look for anybody.”

You snatched the glass out of her hand before she could take a sip, the look of shock on her face making you regret the decision a bit. After all, the wine did help her calm down so you sat it down on the desk. “I don’t understand.” You said softly. “It may be a selfish reason, but you said I was your one true, the love of your life. And I can’t be that without the cadou, without the ability to be immortal like you and the girls. You say you love me, but you won’t let me do the one thing that’ll keep us together forever. And I don’t understand.” Your voice cracked as your eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, yes, please cry me a river. I know it’s a harsh reality, but I am doing this for your own safety, Y/N.” Alcina replied. “And frankly, I don’t care how my decision makes you feel, the answer is no and that is final. Am I understood?” Alcina asked.

You nodded your head and sniffled. “But I love you and if you loved and cared about me like you always say then you’d let me take it.”

“You say you understand my words, yet you still stand here defying my answer, trying to guilt trip me into changing it.” Alcina stood from her desk and headed towards the door. “Listen to me carefully, you ungrateful little mouse. You can go to Miranda and ask for that damned parasite of hers, but if anything goes wrong, do not come crawling back to me. You can beg, you can cry, you can scream into you’re blue in your little face, you will be dead to me and my daughters, and you will not be welcomed into my home. The decision is yours to make as you wished for it to be and what you do now regarding the cadou is none of my concern.” Alcina said rather calmly albeit the scowl on her face before leaving you alone in her study.

You broke down as soon as she left. Alcina had very good reasons as to why she didn’t want you to take the cadou, why she was being so hostile. But still, her words hurt you. It made her love for you seem inferior, but you refused to believe that that was the case. Alcina said she was doing this for your own safety and you were just going to have to trust her on this.

As you gathered yourself together, you left Alcina’s study. She’d given you an ultimatum, the decision should’ve been easy. You’d simply just have to forget about the cadou and live your life with Alcina until your dying day. Then she’d find someone else to replace you in heart, you grimaced at the thought, blocking it from your mind as you wiped at your eyes.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” A voice asked you. Daniela’s, you assumed.

You shook your head. “I’m fine.” You replied, your voice sounding a little scratchy.

“You don’t sound fine. And Mother looked awfully upset a few moments ago.” Daniela said.

You sighed. “We had a disagreement about something, no big deal.” You shrugged your shoulders as you continued walking down the hall.

“About the cadou, right?” You stopped and turned to look at her. “Mother may have been muttering about it to herself when I saw her.” She admitted. “Bela and Cassandra went to go and try to comfort her so I thought I’d wait for you.”

You gave her a small smile. “That’s sweet of you, thank you. And yes, it was about the cadou.” You replied. “It was a stupid thing to bring up again. I just, I fear for the day that I can no longer be with any of you, that’s all.3”

“Mother fears for it too, if it’s any consolation.” Daniela said. “She cares for you, Y/N, she really does. It’s been so long since Mother’s had someone around that she truly loves and she doesn’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I understand that, Dani, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I took the cadou.” You replied.

“But if Mother lost you, it’d be the end of hers.” Daniela said. “I think Mother is saying no because she doesn’t want to risk losing it before she has to. She’d rather you spent your days with her until you’re old than to lose you before your lives together really started. Mother’s not the one to really wear her heart on her sleeve, but she intends to do well by you, Y/N. Even if it seems a bit selfish.”

You nodded your head. “Being selfish seems to be the theme for tonight.” You murmured to yourself. “Listen, Dani, it’s not that I don’t want to just spend my days with her until I grow old. I want to be with her forever, and I can’t risk losing her just like she can’t risk losing me. Will you take me to her?” You asked.

Daniela nodded her head, leading you to where her Mother was. “Just promise you won’t leave us, no matter what. You’re one of the nicest people here and I’ve grown rather fond of you.”

“I can’t make any promises, Dani, but I’ll try.” You replied. You let out a small exhale before knocking on the door.

Bela opened the door, a little surprised to see you. “Now’s not the best time, Y/N.”

“Please, I just... I need to talk to her for a moment.” You replied.

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough talking with Mother for one evening?” Cassandra sneered at you.

Daniela pushed Cassandra out of the way. “Leave it alone, Cass. It’s not really any of your business what goes on between Mother and Y/N in private. Let them talk to her. Now.” Daniela said as she grabbed your hand, guiding you into the room. “Mother, Y/N has something they’d like to talk to you about.”

Alcina hummed before waving her hand in the air signalling for her daughters to leave the both of you. Daniela gave your shoulder an encouraging squeeze, Bela gave you a sympathetic smile, and Cassandra growled at you. You’re pretty sure Cassandra threatened you under her breath, but you could catch the small snarl she let out when Daniela hit her shoulder.

Alcina waited until the door was closed before addressing. “Come to provoke me even further, Y/N?” Alcina asked.

You’d taken a moment to notice the broken vanity in the corner of the room. Shaking your head, you walked to stand in front of her. “No. I came to... I came to apologise, Alci.” You replied.

Alcina raised her eyebrow, placing her wine glass on the table next to her. “Apologise for what, Y/N?”

“For being selfish.” You said softly. “Not that you aren’t being entirely selfish yourself, but I wanted to apologise for how I reacted. I did mean what I said, I want to be with you until the end of time, Alcina. It hurts me to think that one day I won’t have all of this, that I won’t have you just because I’m not immortal like you and I could die at the drop of a hat.”

Alcina raised her hand to your cheek, cupping it. “You will never have to worry about dying at the drop of a hat nor will you ever not have me. I am yours, as you are mine, draga mea.” Alcina replied. “You must understand that I simply won’t permit you to have the cadou at this time. It’s not safe after what happened with that wretched man-thing, iubirea mea. That’s why I said no.”

You looked at her in confusion. “It’s not safe?” You asked.

“No, my love. After what happened, Miranda’s had a bit of a set back with the parasite and it’s not... she can’t control it like she used to be able to. Her experiments have been complete failures, though she is finding success with it every once in a while. Once it is more stable then we will revisit the topic, but as of right now, I can’t let you take it.”

You hand came to rest on the one Alcina had over your cheek, squeezing it lightly. “I understand, Alci.” You said softly. “Thank you for talking to me. I know you tried to get me to understand back in the study, but I was so clouded by sheer will to spend eternity with you that I just didn’t properly understand what you were trying to tell me.”

“I’m glad you understand now, dear. I should’ve told you sooner about the instability of the parasite at the moment, I’m sorry.” Alcina apologised. “It was, like you said, a bit selfish on my behalf to keep such a thing away from you.”

You shook your head. “No need to apologise, Al, it’s fine. Besides, if you weren’t selfish, you would’ve given me to the girls to be a midnight snack a long time ago.” You said before pressing a kiss to the palm of her hand. “Are we okay?”

“Yes, draga mea, we’re fine.” Alcina replied before glancing at the time. “It is getting close to the midnight hour; may I indulge in the idea of you being a midnight snack?” Alcina asked with a smirk on her face.

You laughed as she pulled you onto her lap. “You’re incorrigible, Al.” You rolled your eyes before pulling her mouth down to yours.

Selfish or not, it was your personal goal to spend the rest of your life with Alcina, and you'd wait for however long it takes for Miranda to get the parasite under her control again, but for right now you'd be content with being a midnight snack for her until the time came for you to cross that bridge.

#lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #resident evil #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #added tags #lady dimitrescu's daughters #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu

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hereticpridevinyl · 3 years

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Ok I finished your gay!dean manifesto and SCREEEEEEEEEEEEE!! I am incabible of putting words together and sounding coherent cause my brain is melting from my ears and psalms 40:2 has gone and replaced it. Gonna think about it for life but honestly it’s made me such a gay!dean stan now! Can I hear more of your thoughts on it and just why cause it’s so big-brained snd there but I feel like my head has been caved in by the concept cause how tf am i only seeing this NOW???

first of all, i'm so glad you enjoyed my fic! thanks for reading :)

as for the gay dean brainrot... WELCOME BESTIE, JOIN US! gonna preface this all by saying that i adore every sexuality headcanon for dean (except straight—vile energy. evil, even, and wrong) and as a bi person i would be remiss if i didn't acknowledge how wonderful bi dean is. however. HOWEVER.

(under the cut because this got away from me enormously)

i've talked about this a lot on twitter, and i know a lot of people have said this more eloquently than i, but i'll try to sum up my thoughts here.

the way dean is into women is so incredibly performative that often it can't help but be read as an act. there's almost a routine to it: dean meets Beautiful Woman, dean flirts with Beautiful Woman, dean (sometimes, but not always) sleeps with Beautiful Woman, dean pats himself on the back for fulfilling his role of Most Hetero Man In America. it's as if being into women is another aspect of his job, another skill he was taught and forced to utilize, much the same way he was taught to hunt. in early seasons, dean's interactions with woman quickly gain a stale, rote sort of taste. we as the audience expect dean will hit on any attractive woman he sees; dean as a character seems to expect it of himself. there's no anticipation behind these interactions. they're predictable and often lead nowhere—especially if dean thinks the woman is unattainable. dean's hot-blooded all-american cishet lady's man persona is just that—a persona.

we see the cracks in this persona most often during moments that are ostensibly played for laughs. haha, dean likes a show about a sexy male doctor! he gets flustered when he's around the lead haha! he's so masculine and straight and tough but he falls apart when his favorite wrestler shakes his hand and winks at him! he can't form a coherent sentence when he thinks this man is flirting with him, and he's so flustered that he doesn't try to stop it haha! he's psyching himself up for this hookup with a woman because it's funny if he's not confident! look, he likes wearing panties and his comfy bed and cooking for his family and dressing up like a cowboy but those are all things he does in private because he's actually very straight and manly! see? in an effort to make dean seem incontrovertibly heterosexual, his character becomes a parody of himself. these brief moments that we're supposed to laugh at become tragic; watching dean winchester perform his compulsory heterosexuality becomes a waiting game, seeking out those flashes of his true self, his most genuine self, from-moment-to moment.

and then something insane happens: post-season 12, dean stops hooking up with women at all.

his hookups had been waning in the two or three seasons leading up to this point, but after s12 he stops trying completely. it's as if that aggressive need to perform this learned role eventually died out. he just... stops. late seasons dean is a man who would rather stay home and watch lost boys with his husband and his brother and their son for the millionth time than have sex with a woman he's never going to see again. this is who he becomes—and the show forgets to make us laugh this time.

and we all know that supernatural has a disease that almost always keeps them from writing women well—all marginalized groups, actually, but that's a topic for another rambling post—which could be a significant factor as to why dean's most compelling romance-coded relationships are with men, but it can't be the only reason. sam's relationships with women are frequently interesting to watch, and if not groundbreaking, they seem natural. there isn't anything forced or performative about sam being into a woman. obviously the brothers are very different people and cannot be compared one-to-one, but there's definitely something to be said about sam's lack of go crazy go stupid hot girl summer star-crossed lovers cas-benny-crowley situation that dean's got going on at all times.

in my opinion, the best chemistry dean has with a woman is charlie—and while that's very strictly platonic seeing as she's a whole lesbian and probably wouldn't go for dean even if she wasn't, it's undeniable that there's just something intoxicating about watching them on screen together. while i might be biased with this analysis, i think it's worth pointing out: it's like dean's letting out a breath he's been holding his whole life when he's with her. because he knows she's unavailable, he knows there's no world in which she'd be into him, and therefore he doesn't have to bother putting on his macho straight dude persona. he doesn't have to go through the motions of hitting on her, or sleeping with her, because it's out of the question. he can be himself. turns out, "himself" is a huge fucking nerd who likes to pretend he's someone he isn't and hang out with a woman because he loves being her friend and not any other reason. the axe of heterosexuality is no longer hanging over his head.

there's a throwaway interaction way back in s2e11 that sums this up more succinctly than i can:

DEAN: of course, the most troubling question is why do these people assume we're gay?

SAM: well, you are kinda butch. probably think you're overcompensating.

DEAN: (pause) right.

we've got some splendid jacting here where dean gets control of the vessel for a moment and sort of nervously smiles at sam, a sad kind of scoff that just gets me. here's another moment where we're supposed to laugh, but there's nothing funny about the way dean reacts to sam's words. there's no overblown anger, there's no begrudging laugh, he doesn't roll his eyes. he just smiles. looks down. doesn't argue.

#i am SO SORRY at how long this is aslkdfj #i'm just extremely passionate #gay dean #dean winchester #spn #passionfruixts #ask box

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