#like being slain by the spirit

[fatecantstopme]

Not Good Enough

Pairing: Dean Winchester x plus size!reader

Summary: You overhear Dean say some hurtful things about you to Sam and decide you need to change, much to Dean's dismay.

Warnings: cursing, mutual pining, mentions of violence, body issues/esteem issues, past trauma, illusions to eating disorders and sexual assault. SMUT, oral (M and F receiving), unprotected sex (P in V), dom/sub vibes, dirty talk.

You didn't like to think about your life before the Winchesters. Most of the time, it was easier to pretend you didn't have a past--no dark and morbid history to share, no pain and trauma still lingering deep within you.

Sam and Dean were the only ones you'd felt comfortable opening up to, and even that took years. Life had not been kind to you, and the scars on your body and in your mind were the proof.

Eight years ago, your hellish life took a turn for the better, but only after you almost lost it. You'd been walking home after a late night filled with bad decisions, when you were attacked. The man was fast, vicious, and cruel--taking what he wanted from you and leaving you for dead.

As fate would have it, the Winchester brothers were in town hunting a nest of vampires, and had been prowling around downtown waiting for one to make an appearance.

It was Dean who heard your screams, your cries for help, your sobs. It was Dean who came running into the dark alleyway without a thought for his own well-being. It was Dean who dropped to his knees beside your beaten and broken body...who took his jacket off and draped it over you to cover your mostly exposed form. It was Dean who gently scooped you into his arms and carried you to his car...and it was Dean that stood beside your hospital bed until you opened your eyes again.

Sam had eventually tracked down the man who had attacked you. It turned out, he had attacked several other women in the downtown area over the previous few months. Dean had been surprised to discover the man was just that--a man. Not a shapeshifter, a ghoul, a demon...not a vampire or a werewolf...just a man. His status as a human did not, however, make him any more safe from your avenging savior.

You'd never asked Dean exactly what had happened to your attacker, and he'd never talked about it. All you knew was he would never hurt anyone ever again.

It was unlike Dean to trust a stranger, and certainly out of character for him to confide in one, but there was something about you that seemed to draw him in. He felt as if he'd found a kindred spirit in you, someone who could understand him in a way even his brother couldn't.

Once you were on the mend, Dean made you an offer--one you were thankful you didn't refuse. You joined the brothers on their adventures--saving people, hunting things, the whole nine yards.

Overtime, you had become an integral part of their small family unit. Either brother would have died for you and you for them. There had been more than one close call for each of you over the past eight years, and more than one monster brutally slain to protect you.

You were closer in age to Sam, only a year younger than him, but Dean had always been the one you were closer to. Just as Dean had seen a kindred spirit in you, you had seen one in him. He understood you, he respected you, and he cared about you more deeply than anyone in your life ever had.

In the long years you'd spent in their constant company, you'd begun to change. The darkness that lived inside you seemed to fade, as if being near the Winchesters brought a light into your life you didn't know you needed. The mental scars you'd carried began to heal, even if the ones on your skin would always be visible.

There were still days where the darkness would rise within you, dark thoughts rolling through your mind, bringing you to your knees with a pain you could never describe. There were days when you would look in the mirror and hate the reflection gazing back at you--seeing the girl you had once been instead of the woman you now were.

There were moments when you'd forget all the progress you'd made, mind focusing instead on all of your flaws, all of your failures. The worst part was many of them lived only in your mind--you knew no one but you could see them, but that didn't make them any less real to you.

Lately, you had been struggling with self-esteem issues you'd long since buried. You'd thought you'd come to terms with who you were and what you looked like--accepted the body you had. Weight had been a struggle for you your entire life, and for a long time, you turned to terrible habits in order to lose weight and attempt to keep it off.

Those habits had ended eight years ago, but the issues they'd covered did not. Today was one of the bad days. One of the days you stared in the mirror and hated the image you saw--the softness, the curves, the fat. That was the word that kept repeating in your mind, fat, fat, fat.

You tried desperately to block it out, to remember why you loved your body just as it was, but those thoughts wouldn't leave you alone. The darkness inside you was too much to battle, the pain of hating yourself too much to cope with.

You'd been thankful for the bunker the day the three of you had discovered it, but you were even more grateful on days like today. Days you wanted to spend holed up in your room, refusing to face the outside world.

As much as you wanted to lay in bed for the entire day, your grumbling stomach soon became too much to ignore. You knew you needed to eat--there could be no more starving yourself, no more binging and purging--you needed to eat.

You dragged yourself out of bed and tugged on a pair of sweatpants before cautiously opening your bedroom door. You listened for the sounds of either brother moving around. Upon hearing none, you made your way slowly towards the kitchen, intent on making yourself a sandwich and retreating to the safety of your room.

Just before you rounded the corner to head into the kitchen, you heard Dean's low voice rumbling from inside. You froze in place, pressing yourself against the wall, not wanting to be seen or heard. You fully intended to creep back to your room--you really did--but the sound of your name leaving Dean's lips held you in place.

"(Y/N)'s not strong enough," Dean hissed. You could tell by the tone of his voice he was angry, very angry.

"Oh come on," Sam snapped. "She's been doing this for eight years. She's more than capable."

"Are you insane? I mean, really and truly crazy? She'll get herself killed!" Dean's voice had risen in volume and you heard Sam shush him quietly.

"Don't wake her up," Sam chided.

You heard Dean's annoyed sigh and your eyes fluttered closed for a moment. You knew what they were fighting about. You and Sam had a conversation a couple days ago about you hunting on your own. You'd asked for his thoughts and Sam had been honest and supportive. He said you were more than capable of hunting on your own, should he or Dean not be available to go with you. Your hunting skills were certainly not on their level, but if the case was simple enough, you would be fine.

Clearly Dean did not agree with his brother's assessment of your abilities. "She's not strong enough, or fast enough, or physically prepared to hunt on her own. She's just not, okay? She's different from us...she's not built like we are."

"Do you even hear yourself?" Sam asked incredulously.

You bit your lip to keep from whimpering aloud, Dean's words having cut straight through you like a hot knife. You blinked back your tears as you moved as quickly as possible back to your room without making noise.

Dean's words repeated on a loop inside your head, echoing your own darkest thoughts about yourself. Even Dean thought you were too fat, too weak, too useless to do anything on your own. You realized he likely only allowed you to hunt with him because he felt sorry for you--a pitying friendship you didn't ask for.

Despite the irrationality of your thoughts, you could not escape them. You couldn't fight them off, either because you didn't have the strength or because you were afraid they were right. Your mind once again played tricks on you, dragging you down into the darkness--but this time you succumbed, allowing your own tears to drag you into a nightmare fueled sleep.

Unbeknownst to you, Sam and Dean's conversation had continued in the kitchen. Neither of them had noticed your presence, both too upset with the other to focus on anything else.

"Look, (Y/N) is my best friend. Other than you, she's my favorite person...hell, I like her more than you sometimes," Dean confessed. "I just--I don't want to lose her. If we let her go out there without backup and something happens to her, I'll never forgive myself. I'd rather her never hunt at all, but I think she'd kill me if I told her to sit out on a fight just because I'm terrified of her dying."

Sam was quiet for a moment as he regarded his brother. Dean was not known for his vulnerability, nor for sharing any of his deeper emotions, but Sam could see something simmering just beneath the surface--some emotion beyond rage and fear lurked in his brother's green eyes.

"What are you really saying, Dean?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean looked at the floor for a long moment before answering. "When we met (Y/N), I was instantly drawn to her--like a moth to flame. I don't know what it was, but I felt connected to her in a way I'd never felt before. That feeling has only grown in the past eight years and now I can't imagine living life without her. I don't want to imagine it. A world without (Y/N) in it isn't a world I want to exist in."

Sam exhaled slowly, realization crossing his features. It was rare for Dean to care for someone so deeply, but when he did, he became irrationally protective. Sam was painfully familiar with that particular side of his brother's nature. He also knew what it meant, what Dean was really saying--even if he wasn't ready to admit it.

"You should talk to (Y/N)," Sam urged. "Both about how you feel, and about why you don't want her to hunt alone."

"What do you mean, 'how I feel'?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. "You know exactly what I mean." He didn't give his brother a chance to respond. He grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and walked out the door, claiming a need to workout.

Dean watched Sam walk away, and a feeling of mild terror settled into his bones. He'd come very close to admitting how he really felt about you and it scared him. Hell, his feelings scared him. The fact that he was foolish enough to fall in love was bad enough, but the fact that you were the one who'd stolen his heart made it so much worse.

He'd told himself he would never fall in love, never get married, never settle down--this life wasn't conducive to any sort of domestic bliss. Part of him didn't think he deserved that kind of happiness, but the main issue was the danger of loving you so deeply. He knew the risks, knew how it would turn out--bloody, like it always did.

In his mind, the only way he could keep you safe was to pretend all he felt for you was platonic friendship. He could protect you on hunts and his guard would never be down around you, so he could protect you in every way. He'd seen how far you'd come, how strong you now were, and there was no way he would be the reason the world lost your beautiful soul.

No one could ever know the truth, not even Sam. The only way this didn't end bloody was if you never even suspected Dean loved you. No monster would be able to use his love for you against you, no monster would ever hurt you just to get to him. For you, for your safety, he was willing to break his own heart.

**********

It had been three days since you'd overheard the conversation between Sam and Dean. The first two days, you'd remained secluded in your room, claiming a migraine any time either of the boys came to check on you.

This morning, however, you'd woken up with a goal. You showered, got dressed, and made your way to the kitchen. As you were fixing yourself some breakfast, you heard someone enter the room.

"You're up early," Sam said warmly.

You turned to glance at him with a soft smile. "I wanted to get a head start on the day."

Sam raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. "You're feeling better, I take it."

You nodded. "Yeah, that headache was brutal." You felt bad for lying, but it was easier to fein a migraine than it was to admit what you'd overheard and the dark thoughts you'd been plagued with.

"Well, I'm gonna go for a run," Sam said cheerfully. "Any chance I could entice you to come with me?"

You laughed and rolled your eyes. "Not unless someone's chasing me."

He chuckled and ducked out of the kitchen, taking a bottle of water with him. Sam always asked if you wanted to join him on his morning runs, but he knew you were unlikely to ever agree. You hated running almost as much as Dean did.

You ate your breakfast quietly, contemplating your plans for the day. You had decided to start a new routine today, a routine you intended to continue until you felt better about yourself or until you could get Dean's words out of your head, whichever came first.

After breakfast, you went into the library to do some reading, intending to allow your stomach time to digest your food. You weren't sure exactly how much time had passed, but Sam had returned from his run, showered, and was now eating his breakfast at the table while scrolling through the latest news stories on his computer.

Dean, unsurprisingly, was still not awake, despite the fact that it was 10am.

You closed your book and stood up. "I'll be down in the gym if you need me," you said to Sam as you crossed the room towards the door.

"You'll--what?"

You gestured towards the hall behind you. "I'll be in the gym."

He looked perplexed, but didn't comment on your sudden desire to workout. He could tell something was a little off with you, but he had the feeling you wouldn't want to talk about it, so he decided to let it go. After all, it's not like going to the gym was something he needed to worry about--it wouldn't kill you (unlike some of your previous bad choices).

When you reached the gym, you looked around and sighed. You'd always hated working out. It was a reminder how out of shape you were and how imperfect your body was. Sure, hunting kept you relatively healthy--you had surprising stamina and endurance, but the weight just never seemed to fall off. You'd begun to feel like your fat was holding some kind of grudge against you, intent on making your life miserable for some perceived slight.

You sighed again and walked over to the treadmill in the corner. You stared at it for a few minutes, deciding whether you really wanted to use it. You'd always hated the treadmill, but you needed to start somewhere, so you hopped on and started to walk at a brisk pace.

Thirty minutes later, you switched to the stationary bike, wanting a change from the monotony of walking. Twenty minutes after that, you were bored out of your mind. You decided to try something else. Maybe lifting weights would do the trick.

About two reps in, your headphones died and you groaned in annoyance. You tugged them out of your ears and tossed them to the floor, opting instead to blast your music loudly through the bluetooth speaker Sam kept down there.

Alanis Morissette's voice now carried down the hall, but you couldn't be bothered to care. She was your go-to when you were feeling angry or upset, her music always making you feel better, especially when you scream-sang along.

After a few more reps, you decided to work on your boxing skills. Sam had taught you years ago, mostly as a way to teach you some fighting skills. You wrapped your hands to protect your knuckles, settled into your stance, and began hitting the punching bag. The release of frustration you felt was almost immediate and you realized you should have just done this from the start.

Upstairs, Dean was just returning from running an errand. He'd woken up and been distressed to find they were out of bacon and beer--his two main food groups. He'd gone to the grocery store to restock and was now happily cooking an excessive amount of bacon for his breakfast.

"You know you should eat something besides bacon, right?" Sam teased him.

"Nothing is better than bacon, Sammy. Nothing." Dean scooped the rest of the bacon onto his plate with a look of glee.

"Heart attack on a plate," Sam muttered.

"Oh shut it," Dean grumbled as he bit into his first piece. He moaned obnoxiously, causing his brother to roll his eyes dramatically. "Where's (Y/N)?" He asked, words garbled by the bacon he was still chewing.

"What?"

Dean swallowed. "Where's (Y/N)? I stopped by her room before I went out and she was gone."

"She's in the gym."

"I'm sorry, she's what?"

Sam shrugged. "She's in the gym. She went down after breakfast."

"Why?"

"I assume to work out," Sam said lightly.

Dean groaned. "Obviously, smartass, but why was she gonna work out?"

"I don't know, dude. Why don't you ask her?"

Dean looked down at his plate. "I will once I finish my bacon."

Sam rolled his eyes, but didn't comment further.

Once Dean had finished his breakfast, he made his way down to the gym, a feeling of dread settling into his stomach. He couldn't really put a finger on why, only that he didn't like the feeling.

As he neared the gym, he heard 'You Oughta Know' blasting down the hallway. He didn't hear your voice over the lyrics until he actually entered the room. He would have smiled at the sight if he wasn't so worried about you.

Your back was to him as you continued to pummel the absolute shit out of the punching bag. Dean had to admire both your form and the power you exuded. But as he watched you, that feeling of dread began to creep higher into his chest, wrapping itself around his heart.

He called out your name, but you couldn't hear him over the music. He spotted the speaker and walked over to turn it off, plunging the room into a shocking silence.

You spun around, surprised to see Dean standing beside the speaker. "I, uhh, I called your name," he muttered sheepishly.

"Oh, sorry. I was kinda in the zone."

He nodded. "Yeah, I noticed. So, uh, whatcha doin'?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Working out...as one does in a gym."

He winced, feeling like an idiot. "I know that, but what I don't know is why."

"Why what?"

"Why are you suddenly working out in the gym for two straight hours? You hate the gym."

You stared at him with an unreadable expression. Your eyes were dark and your jaw was set as you regarded him. "You can't think of any reason?"

Dean thought about it for a moment. "No...hence why I'm asking."

You gestured to your body. "Because I'm not strong enough or fast enough or physically fit enough to hunt...sound familiar?"

Dean winced, eyes widening with realization. "(Y/N), I--"

You held up your hand. "No need to apologize, Dean. I realized you were right. I am weaker than you and Sam, I am slower and heavier and fatter--I am completely less physically capable than either of you. So obviously, I need to do something about that. Hence the gym."

Dean stared at her, anger darkening his features. "None of that is true."

"Of course it is, Dean. You said it yourself. I'm just agreeing with you."

"Of course you're not the same as us, (Y/N), but that has nothing to do with your body or your weight or your ability. We're men, and large ones at that. We're physically built different than you, but that doesn't mean you need to change anything about yourself to be more like us."

"Well clearly I do, or you wouldn't have found my body so unacceptable--you wouldn't have told Sam I'm not capable of hunting on my own."

Whatever thread was keeping Dean from yelling finally snapped. "Your body isn't unacceptable! You aren't weak! There is nothing wrong with you--nothing!"

You were stunned into silence by the intensity of his words. You didn't know how to react or what to say.

Dean sighed deeply, feeling the anger drain out of him at last. "You didn't hear the rest of our conversation, did you?" His voice was barely a whisper, but you could hear the raw emotion in it.

You shook your head.

"You should have stayed...you may have learned something."

"What would I have learned?" you asked quietly.

"You would have realized that your interpretation of my words wasn't at all how I meant them. You would have heard me tell Sam how terrified I am of losing you, how that fear makes me want to keep you out of this life--away from hunting entirely. You would have seen that I love you just the way you are--that I don't want you to change a single thing about yourself. You would know that I am the problem, not you...it was never you."

"Dean..." you whispered, unsure of what to say. "You...you don't need to try and make me feel better."

He stared at you, green eyes full of fire. "I'm not trying to make you feel better. I'm trying to be honest about my feelings--to make you see you the way I see you."

"Why now?"

He was taken aback by your question, and it took him several moments to respond. "You know how I feel about romantic attachments...I worry about losing the person I love most, simply because they were unlucky enough to be loved by me. The fear of losing another person I love or have them be used against me is a pain I'm not sure I can bear. But you--you deserve better than my fears. You are the light to my darkness, my reason for living. I can't stand the thought of you believing I think less of you, not when I would burn the world down to keep you safe."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" you whispered, a glimmer of hope sparkling in your voice.

Dean took a step towards you. "If you think I'm telling you that I've been in love with you for years, that I love every single part of you inside and out, that I don't want you to change a single thing, that I think you're perfect...then yes."

You exhaled sharply, breathing ragged as you stared into his soulful green eyes.

He crossed the short distance between you and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against his body, not caring about the sweat staining your body.

He practically crushed you against him, holding on more tightly than you'd ever imagined he would. After several moments, he loosened his grip on you so he could gaze down into your eyes. A small, lopsided smile graced his lips and his eyes fluttered shut. As his lips grazed against yours, you sighed softly, causing him to immediately deepen the kiss.

His hands dug into your soft flesh, seemingly reveling in the feeling of your body in his arms. His kiss was everything you'd imagined it would be and so much more--you felt safe, loved, and cherished. You didn't know you could have those feelings from a single kiss, but here you were, drowning in emotion, his love the life raft saving you from darkness.

When you finally parted, Dean rested his forehead against yours. "Do you believe me, (Y/N)? Can you see how much I love you? How badly I need you?"

"Yes," you breathed. "I believe you."

He sighed happily, breath mingling with yours. "Will you let me show you?"

You pulled away from him slightly so you could see his face better.

His eyes were dark with hunger, his gaze almost predatory. If you didn't know him, you would be frightened.

"Let me show you, sweetheart," he begged softly, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. "Let me show you how much I love your body--how badly I've wanted to touch it, mark it, make it mine. Let me touch every curve, kiss every scar--bite and lick and suck every pleasure point until you're a moaning mess in my arms. Let me make love to you the way you deserve."

No man had ever spoken to you like that, and you felt your toes curl at his words. If he could spark your body alive with nothing but words, you wondered what he was capable of doing with his body.

Your breathing was labored and your voice husky as you murmured, "How could I ever say no?"

Dean smirked and he tugged you to him again, lips crashing against yours. You felt his hands all over your body, clutching any part of you he could reach. His mouth left yours, lips trailing down your neck, nipping and sucking gently against the sensitive skin. He licked the column of your throat and groaned softly, muttering "salty" in a devilishly sexy voice.

You pulled away, suddenly remembering what you'd been doing when Dean interrupted you. "Wait--I-I need to shower first."

Dean groaned in annoyance. "No you don't."

You started to peel him off you with a light chuckle. "Yes, I do. I feel gross."

He pouted adorably. "For the record, I would make love to you on the sparing mat, right here, right now."

You laughed. "As hot as that might be, I really want to shower...I'll even let you join me." You shot him a wink and ran toward the door.

He realized what you'd said and turned to run after you, chasing you all the way to the showers. You giggled when he caught you, tugging you to him to kiss at your exposed neck and shoulders.

"Shower!" you squealed.

He groaned. "Fine, fine."

He practically dragged you into the bathroom, turning away from you to turn on the water before tugging you into the shower with him.

"Dean, our clothes--"

"They'll dry," he grumbled, fingers tugging on your shirt to lift it over your head.

You allowed him to remove it, neither of you paying attention to where it landed as he tossed it out of the shower. He did the same with his own shirt and jeans, followed by your leggings.

He spun you around, so your back was pressed against the cold tile, water spraying across your chest. He unzipped your sports bra and you allowed it to fall to the ground, revealing your heavy breasts to his wanton eyes.

"Fuuuuck," he groaned, lips attaching to your pert nipple.

You ran your hands through his hair as he continued his gentle assault on your breasts. His lips didn't leave your chest, even as his hands trailed down to slowly peel off your underwear.

He slipped two fingers between your folds, collecting your slick and pressing firmly against your clit. You moaned softly at the sensation, head falling back against the tile.

He removed his fingers, slipping them between his lips and sucking them dry. "I need more," he murmured hungrily.

He dropped to his knees and grabbed your right leg, slinging it over his shoulder before you could utter a word. You started to complain that you needed to wash the sweat off first, but he ignored you, tongue sweeping between your folds without a care.

Any protests you may have had were lost as he worked his magic on your pussy. Your fingers twisted into his short hair, head back, mouth open, drowning in the pleasure he was giving you. You were thankful for the tile you leaned against and his strong arms holding you in place as he feasted on you.

Your legs began to shake and you cried out his name seconds before your orgasm hit you, sending you spiraling into bliss. Dean didn't want to stop, but your hands weakly tugged on his hair and your legs began to buckle, so he pulled himself up to keep you from falling.

"Delicious," he whispered against your mouth as he pressed another kiss to your lips.

You wrapped your arms around his neck to hold him closer to you and he shifted to press his body tightly against yours. You gasped as his still clothed member brushed against your thigh and your hands instantly slid down his body to rid him of the annoying fabric.

"Wanna touch you," you begged softly.

He groaned, but pulled away from your reach.

"Dean," you whined.

"Shh, let me wash you first," he insisted.

"But--"

He cut you off with a kiss. "Let me worship you before you touch me--I wanna make this about you."

Your expression softened and you leaned into him. "I love you, Dean."

Your voice was a low whisper, but he heard it all the same. You hadn't said the words earlier, a fact he had been trying to ignore. Hearing you say them now nearly had him throwing all his plans for the next week out the window--wanting to do nothing more than worship you from dusk to dawn for the foreseeable future.

"Dean?" you whispered warily, concern filling your eyes.

He used all his self-control to push his own needs and wants aside. "I heard you, baby," he assured you. "I heard you."

His kiss was gentler this time, sweeter even, and it warmed your body from the inside out. He broke away, panting, a whispered "I love you" pressed into your skin as he made his way down your body and back up again.

After what felt like an eternity, he grabbed the shower gel and loofa and slowly began to lather you up, washing your body in a surprisingly sensual way. When he finally decided you were clean, he helped you under the spray and made sure all the suds were rinsed off.

"Can I touch you now?" you begged.

He smiled warmly. "I suppose I can allow it." He forced his voice to be steady and calm, despite the desire screaming inside of him--begging him to take you well and properly.

You sunk to your knees, gaze lifting to meet his. You gave him a shy smile before taking his cock in your soft hands. He was larger than average, but you weren't afraid of the pain. Instead, you focused on giving him the same intense pleasure he had given you.

When you wrapped your lips around his cock, his head fell back and a groan escaped his parted lips. His fingers danced across your scalp, gathering your hair to one side so he could see you properly.

"Shit, sweetheart," he mumbled. "You're taking me so well."

You moaned around him, pleased with the praise he offered you. You continued to work him, using your tongue to caress and tease him in ways he'd never experienced before.

He wasn't at all surprised by your skill, but he was surprised by how damn good it felt. Sure, it had been a while for him, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten a blow job that made his knees weak--if ever.

"Shit, baby," he whispered. "I'm so close--gonna cum for you."

His fingers raked through your wet hair and he used his other hand to lean against the tiles behind you. His hips jutted forward slightly as you relaxed your throat, taking him as far back as you could.

You flattened your tongue against his cock and flexed it, repeating the motion a few times before Dean's grip on your hair became painful and he exploded into your throat with a cry of your name.

You swallowed everything he had to give you, not releasing him from your lips until he pulled away, forcing the two of you to separate.

Dean leaned back against the shower wall and pulled you towards him, trying to support his weak legs while also helping you up. Once you were on your feet, he tugged you into him and placed a feverish kiss to your lips.

He panted heavily when he finally released you from his tight grip, allowing you to suck in some much needed air.

"Where did you learn how to do that thing with your tongue?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

You smirked. "It's a natural talent."

He grinned. "Well I fucking love it."

You laughed and leaned back into him, capturing his lips in a sweeter kiss. "So what are your thoughts on continuing this elsewhere?"

"Well my plan was to make you moan my name for the next several hours...I don't care where we go, as long as you're willing to let me ruin you."

Your thighs clenched together involuntarily and you moaned softly, biting into your bottom lip to keep the sound from being too loud. "My room?"

"My room is closer," he murmured into your shoulder.

You smiled and backed away from him, causing him to pout. You turned the water off and continued to back out of the shower. You grabbed a towel and wrapped it around yourself, which only served to upset Dean.

"What do you think you're doing?" he growled.

Your eyes widened. "Putting on a towel so we can go to your room..."

"Did I say you could hide your body from me?" His tone was shockingly dominant and a spark of need went straight to your core.

"No," you whispered.

"I didn't think so." He stepped forward, dominance oozing from every pore in his body. "Drop the towel. Now."

You gasped softly, but heeded his command. The towel fell to the floor and he took yet another predatory step in your direction.

"Don't you ever hide yourself from me again. I wanna see every inch of your body." His hands grabbed at your hips roughly, tugging you towards him forcefully. "You're mine, do you understand me? Mine."

While the idea of someone owning you would normally piss you off, in this context it was a shocking turn-on. You swallowed thickly as you stared up into his heated gaze, suddenly unable to move, or even breathe.

He leaned down to kiss along your jaw towards your ear. He breathed slowly against your skin, causing you to shiver and clutch his arms for support. "Is this okay?" he whispered, voice still gruff, but much more loving.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to form actual words.

"Baby, I need you to tell me with your words. I need you to say whether this is okay or not. I don't wanna do something you're not into."

You turned your head a little so you could see his bright green eyes. The look in his eyes was reflected in your own and there was no doubt or fear in your voice when you answered him. "I'm very into it."

Your reassurance was all he needed to fall back into the dominant role. "Then you'd better get your ass into my bed before we have a problem."

You turned to open the door, yelping slightly when his hand smacked your ass. You shot him a surprised look and he looked slightly sheepish.

"Sorry, baby...I couldn't resist. You've got a great ass."

You smirked at the compliment and gave him a little wiggle before rushing into the hallway and making a beeline for his bedroom door.

He was surprised by your teasing action, but it only made him smile. He chased after you, mumbling, "Oh you're in for it now, princess."

You giggled as you landed on his bed, crawling up towards the headboard as he came through the doorway. He shut the door behind him and stalked to the edge of the bed, fiery gaze locked on you.

"It's unfair how sexy you look right now," he growled. "Makes me wanna fuck you senseless--make you scream my name until your voice is hoarse."

You gulped, trying to hide behind false bravado. "Are you going to do that from the other side of the room?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Don't be a brat."

"Why don't you come here and do something about it."

Dean practically jumped onto the bed, climbing on top of you and caging you beneath him in seconds. His cock was hard again, pressing against your thigh--a reminder of how badly he wanted you.

"Not so mouthy now are you?"

"Dean, I--"

"Hush," he murmured as he leaned down to kiss you. He shifted just enough so his cock brushed against your core, and you gasped into his mouth.

"How badly do you want me right now, (Y/N)?" he asked, voice rough with need.

"I've never wanted you more," you answered honestly.

He groaned lowly. "How do you want it? You want me to fuck you into this mattress or take it nice and slow?"

"Fuck me into the mattress," you begged softly. "Please."

"Jesus--I love when you beg for me," he growled.

"Fuck me, Dean," you pleaded. You weren't above begging, especially when it came to him.

Dean gripped his cock in his right hand and lined himself up with your entrance. He started to push in, trying to move slowly to avoid hurting you as much. "You're so fucking tight, baby," he whispered against your lips.

You gripped his biceps harshly, nails digging into his skin. The stretch was unbelievable, both painful and pleasurable all at once.

"You okay?" he whispered softly.

You nodded.

"Babe," he said in a warning tone.

"I'm okay--keep going."

He continued to push into you and your back arched as his cock brushed against your cervix. You whimpered at the feeling of fullness, and Dean struggled to remain motionless until you told him it was okay to move.

"I need you to move, Dean--please."

He pulled himself up slightly and started a very gentle pace, still allowing you time to adjust. The last thing he wanted was to make this painful or uncomfortable for you. He didn't give a damn about his enjoyment--all he wanted was to watch you fall apart over and over again.

"Your pussy feels incredible, baby," he groaned. "I could stay here forever."

He began to move more quickly and your breathing became more erratic as you reveled in the pleasure of the moment. Your moans were like music to his ears, spurring him on as he slid into you again.

"I love the sounds you're making, sweetheart. I wanna hear you."

He picked up his pace and shifted you into a new position so he could get even deeper inside you. You cried out as he hit your g-spot, pussy clamping down on his cock in response.

"Shit--" he groaned. "You're squeezing me so tight--taking my cock so fucking well, gorgeous."

Your back arched again and your head was tossed back, pressing into the pillows at the head of the bed. Your hands twisted in the sheets, unable to reach his arms or his back as he slammed into you repeatedly.

He knew you were close, but he wasn't ready to feel you cum yet. "Look at me, baby."

He waited until your hazy eyes met his.

"Don't cum until I tell you to, understand?"

Your eyes widened. "But, Dean--"

"Not until I give you permission," he said firmly.

You nodded rapidly, not wanting to risk your orgasm altogether.

"Good girl."

You moaned loudly and your pussy clenched tightly around his cock, causing him to echo the sound.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned. "You like it when I praise you, huh? You wanna hear about how much I love this pussy? How I've been thinking about fucking you for years? How I've craved your body?"

You were practically breathless beneath him, unable to formulate a response or even acknowledge his words.

"Your pussy is fucking perfect," he continued. "Made for me. And this body? Gorgeous and soft and fucking delicious. Can't believe I get to touch you like this--make you feel so good."

"Dean, please," you begged breathlessly.

"Not yet, sweetheart."

You whimpered, but continued to focus on staving off your impending orgasm.

"Who owns this pussy, baby?"

You didn't answer--too focused on not cumming until he gave you permission.

His grip on your legs tightened, bringing your attention back to him. "That's it, pretty girl, look at me. Tell me who owns this pussy."

"You," you gasped out.

"That's right. This pussy is mine. I'm the only one who gets to touch you like this--make you moan and whimper and scream. No one else."

"Only you," you cried.

"Fuck--" His breathing had become ragged and he had begun to struggle to keep himself from orgasming.

"Please," you whimpered.

"Please what, baby?"

"Let me cum!" you begged.

Dean decided to take pity on you. "Cum for me, baby."

"Dean!" you screamed as your orgasm ripped through you. The pleasure so white hot and blinding you nearly blacked out.

Dean helped you ride out the waves of pleasure before lowering himself back down to hover over you. He placed soft kisses to your heated skin and whispered, "You're so damn beautiful when you cum."

You were gulping down mouthfuls of air, but you heard his whispered words. "I love you," you murmured.

He groaned softly. "Love you more."

He picked his pace back up, intent on giving you another orgasm before allowing himself to cum.

It didn't take long for him to work you back up, letting you hang on the precipice of blissful pleasure once more.

"You feel so good beneath me, baby. I love watching your pretty face as you fall apart. I just can't get enough of you," he admitted.

Your nails dug into his back, indicating you also couldn't get enough of him. "Dean, I need more," you pleaded.

"Touch yourself for me, baby. I want you to cum before I fill you up."

You lowered your hand down and slipped it between your bodies. You found your clit with ease and began to gently toy with it, sending pulses of toe curling pleasure up your spine.

"Fuck, yes. That's it baby. God, this pussy is addicting...don't ever wanna stop."

"So close," you whimpered.

"Yeah, sweetheart? You wanna cum?"

"Please, Dean."

"How badly?"

"Dean," you whined.

"Be a good girl and tell me how badly you wanna cum for me and maybe I'll let you."

"Please-please-please," you begged. "I wanna cum so bad. I need to cum, Dean, please!"

As much as he loved prolonging your orgasm, he couldn't bear saying no to you. "Cum for me, sweetness," he whispered into your ear.

Your body began to shake as the dam broke once again. You cried out as the pleasure invaded all of your senses, overwhelming you completely.

Dean began to chase his own high, desperately needing to fill you up with his seed. "You're the only woman who makes me lose control," he whispered into your skin.

You were surprised by his words, but they warmed your heart. Dean wasn't the kind of man to lose control often, so the fact that you made him do so was a massive ego boost.

"I wanna feel you fill me up, Dean," you murmured. "Need your cum inside me."

"Fuck," he growled, teeth grazing your pulse point.

His hips began to stutter as he reached his peak. Your nails scraped along his back, giving him the last push he needed to fall over the edge. He came with a guttural growl of your name, ropes of hot cum filling your pussy.

His arms started to feel weak as his orgasm came to an end, and he collapsed on top of you, crushing you beneath his larger frame. You couldn't have been bothered to care if he'd literally smothered you--you were too fucked out to form coherent thoughts.

After a while, Dean managed to pull himself off of you, only to collapse on the bed beside you. He reached for you, strong arms wrapping around your waist to tug you into his chest.

"You're so damn incredible, (Y/N/N)," he whispered into your shoulder, lips pressing soft kisses there. "I don't think I've ever cum that hard--and you managed to do it twice."

"I can't feel my legs and my head is fuzzy," you mumbled. "So I second all of that."

Dean chuckled softly and held you even tighter. "I love you," he murmured. "More than you'll ever know."

"I think I have some idea," you whispered back. "And I love you just as much."

Dean smiled, feeling truly happy for the first time in as long as he could remember. He knew he should get up, help you clean up and all that, but he couldn't get himself to move and you weren't complaining. In fact, your breathing had evened out and he had a feeling you'd be asleep soon.

He kissed your shoulder one more time before resting his head comfortably on the pillow, feeling more relaxed than he had in a while. Just as sleep threatened to claim him, he heard his brother's voice from the other side of the closed door.

"While I'm super happy for you both, I have one request. Next time the two of you decide to fuck each other's brains out, could you at least have the decency to wait until I'm gone? I can't un-hear any of that!"

You laughed lightly and you could feel Dean's laughter rumbling in his chest from behind you.

"We'll do our best," Dean called back. "But no promises! She's simply too hot to resist--you never know when I'll get the urge to ravish her."

You laughed even harder, but you reached behind you to lovingly smack his hip.

"Ohh gross, dude!" Sam grumbled before walking away, leaving the two of you alone again.

"You're so bad, Dean Winchester."

"I didn't hear you complaining when I was making your legs shake ten minutes ago."

You tossed him a grin over your shoulder. "I didn't say it was a bad thing."

He matched your grin. "Touché, my love. Touché."

#dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader smut #supernatural #supernatural smut #dean winchester x plus size!reader smut #dean winchester x plus size reader

[silkscream]

tender is the flesh

ੈ✩ synopsis: in which you're the only thing that can make the strongest sorcerer of the jujutsu world weak.

ੈ✩ cw: smut (minors dni), angst, yandere-adjacent gojo (he is so obsessed with you), religious imagery, unprotected sex, dom/sub dynamics, body worship, lots of biting, dacryphilia, possessive gojo

ੈ✩ wc: 2.5k

ੈ✩ a/n: [giggles nervously] gojo really went feral mode in this one! honestly this had more angst in mind because i was feeling So Horrible and then when i started writing the smut... someone else took over. anyways gojo is so obsessed with you that it might be a little unhealthy. like wants to live in your skin unhealthy. i think i actually wrote that word for word in the fic that's how down bad he is. runs away

gojo satoru won’t admit it to anyone, but he’s started to consider you an extension of himself. the missing piece, the phantom limb, however the cliche goes. even when he had ended things for the better, the ache would never dissipate until he found you again.

out of his own selfishness, he did.

once gojo had made up his mind that he was in love with you, he thought peace would come along with it. it did, in some aspects — your presence often acted like a summer breeze that eased his nerves. the warmth of your smile shined brighter than the sun.

and then other times, being in love with you was a new kind of violence. it churns in satoru when he’s alone, knotting in his stomach like a caged beast.

he knows you aren’t delicate. he’s watched you in all your beauty, all your bloodshed surrounded by the slain bodies of cursed spirits. he has held your calloused hands in his just to feel the pulse on your wrist. it’s a habit for him now whenever he touches you.

he has softened himself so much for you that he’s terrified to know that you’ve seen him in battle. he often wishes he could hide that from your memory, maybe make it disappear completely — the sadism that sparks in his eyes when he’s busy with his hands against curses and curse users.

he can’t suppress that violence within him — the one raging at him to leave you, ruin you, kill you. (he’d much rather you kill him, instead.)

right now, the sound of your even breathing is all that fills satoru’s ears despite the dread in his chest. when you twitch the slightest bit in your sleep, he has his arms around you in an instant, chin rested on the top of your head.

“satoru?”

“mm? thought you were asleep, baby.”

you nuzzle your nose into his bare chest. he can feel your eyelashes flutter against his skin. he chuckles when he notices you’re trying to adjust to make your face level to his.

“have you been awake this whole time?”

“uh… yeah,” he sighs. he doesn’t have an excuse this time like he usually does, but he’d rather die than relay his late-night thoughts to you out loud.

“can’t sleep?”

“i should be asking you that,” he chuckles. he tucks a stray strand of your hair behind your ear and moves to comb his fingers across your scalp just the way you like. the feeling of it makes you shiver.

“i was having one of those dreams,” you whisper. “the ones where i’m like, half awake. and you’re there, holding me.”

“yeah?”

“mhm. and then i tried to adjust so i could kiss you, and… and then you disappeared.”

“i’d never disappear on you.”

but you did. you don’t say it out loud, because you don’t blame him for trying to leave you the way he had months before.

he’d told you once that being with him was a death sentence in itself. it took a great amount of sacrifice and carnage for him to realize that you would never let that happen by your hand. he had discovered it in your bloody hands and the shallow breaths you’d taken after countless missions.

“i’m glad it wasn’t a nightmare.”

“what do you mean?” you coo, your big eyes blinking back at him. “not being able to kiss you sounds like a nightmare to me.”

he lets out a breathy laugh. he replies by giving you a peck on your hairline.

“satoru.”

“yes?”

“do you ever get nightmares?” you yawn.

it’s an innocent question. satoru is more likely to say no, because usually he has a dreamless sleep. he hasn’t gotten nightmares since suguru died, and even then, satoru has seen more gore and split limbs than a normal man should. he also recognizes that he isn’t a normal man.

“never. not when i get to sleep next to you.”

“right. six eyes isn’t afraid of anything.”

“that’s not true.”

“oh, yeah? what scares you, then?”

he holds your chin in between his fingers and his thumb.

“you, honestly.”

“me?” you giggle in genuine surprise.

“yes, you. i don’t think you have any idea of what power you hold over me.”

“says the strongest sorcerer,” you tease, rolling your eyes.

“i’m serious,” he mutters. “it’s terrifying, really. sometimes i want— i want you so selfishly. to own you. you’re so—”

“i’m what, satoru?” your voice is a wavering murmur now. he’s sure he’s scared you now.

“completely unprecedented. it’s fucking ridiculous.”

he would tell you he loves you, but that would make it real. real in the sense that those three words are an incantation that would most likely lead the both of you towards doom. despite already hurtling towards it, he prefers to delude himself by telling you in a million different ways that you make him weak.

he’s already accepted his spot in hell. on the other hand, you are too heavenly to accompany him, so he’ll keep you in this lifetime.

satoru rubs his hand on the soft skin of your neck and shoulder. in a certain lens, it’s innocent and loving. nurturing, even. but you know better.

gojo satoru sees you as his other half, as a necessity to the very fiber of his being, and he still wants to wreck you.

he dreams of it often. he usually has you tied up in red rope, something soft and pretty and comfortable. he likes the image of you docile, your skin so supple and malleable underneath his large hands.

you curl into satoru because you know that’s what he craves. you exhale into his collarbone and he thinks he might just lose his mind.

“you’re weird, six eyes.” there’s more that you want to say but you don’t know how to piece it all together in a way that makes sense. all the desire crawling out of your throat comes out in hushed breaths.

“i’m horrible.”

“no,” you grin. “just weird. but i like you that way.”

admittedly, you are on the brink of sleep. meanwhile, he is on the brink of imploding into himself if he doesn’t feel your touch. so, of course, he takes matters into his own hands.

you barely question it when satoru touches his full lips to yours. luckily for him, you don’t mind, either. he’s more than ecstatic to feel you melting into his body as you kiss him back, his tongue pillowy as it teases yours.

you’ve done this before with him plenty of times, but it would be a stretch to say that you’re particularly used to it. in every way, his mouth anywhere on your body makes you feel electric. in your sleepy haze, you accept it, because you’re convinced you’ve never felt anything better.

when his mouth leaves you, you can’t help but mewl pathetically.

“what is it, baby?” he rasps.

“don’t stop.”

“what do you want, hm?” he teases. “tell me.”

if you were more awake, you’d flush and retreat into yourself out of embarrassment. there’s a part of satoru that wishes to see that part of you right now.

in a sick, twisted way, it turns him on even more — the prospect of you being so unaware of how obsessed he is with you. of how he’d be more than content with simply living in your skin, knowing all the ways you move and all the ways you tick. he has you memorized, certainly, but he hasn’t gotten ahold of all of you. he’d forfeit his status and his work just for a bit just so he could learn all of you from the inside out.

satoru is so sure that his desire for you is too much. so much that it would disgust you the same way it disgusts himself. and it’s not that he finds the act of wanting you disgusting — it’s the mere caliber of his desire. it’s become otherworldly.

he’d rather coax out a confession from you, instead, just so he can feel better about himself.

“want more.” the sound of your voice is small. pathetic.

“want more what, huh? be more specific.”

“i— i want you to touch me. please?” you stammer. your eyes blink up to satoru’s for just a moment and he swears it’s the most adorable sight. the usual sharpness of his gaze softens.

he chuckles, reveling in the desperation of your voice.

“where? here?”

you hiss at the feeling of his long fingers cupping the damp mound of your underwear, reflexively bucking into his palm. he’s so tantalizing with how he moves the fabric to the side. your wetness gathers on his fingertips as he rubs your clit.

“y-yeah.”

“so pent up,” he groans. “all because you couldn’t kiss me in your dream, hm?”

“fuck.”

“my poor baby. ‘s so easy to make you feel good, isn’t it?”

you mewl his name, turning each syllable a staccato. your blink wildly at the feeling of his teeth gnawing at your collarbone as he keeps a steady rhythm on your clit. the movements are so gentle yet rapid. the coil inside of you is so close to breaking.

your eyes are squeezed in anticipation of your release. it’s probably good that you aren’t looking at his face, because the way satoru stares down at you is something indescribable. he looks at you like you created him. he’ll probably get sick from how prodigious his love is. his devotion will be the cause of his ruination.

“s-satoru! i’m— ”

“shhh,” he coos into your ear. “s’okay. you’re so good, look at you. so fucking pretty.”

you don’t even notice the tears pricking the corner of your eyes. when you look into satoru’s blue ones, you gasp at how blown out his pupils are, visible even in the dimness of your room.

he grins like a devil. he’s determined to have you overdose on him just so he can be the one to bring you back to life.

“fuck, don’t look at me like that,” he groans. “i’ll cum before i’m even inside you.”

satoru lifts up your (his) t-shirt so he can hook his teeth around your nipple. one hand grasps your waist hard enough to bruise while his other hand covers your mouth. he slips his fingers onto your tongue. when you suck obediently, licking up your taste, satoru makes a wounded sound, a whimper like a devoted dog.

you want to kiss him, lick into his mouth, but the hold he has on your hips is resolute, as if he’s sure that you’ll disappear. his demeanor is always wild during intimacy, often cocky, but this time it’s more primal than usual.

“so fucking cute when you fall apart for me,” he mumbles, his mouth moving upwards now to suckle on your collarbone. “just for me, yeah?”

“mhm,” you moan. his hands all over you makes your mind completely erratic. you barely register his words after chasing the high of your orgasm.

“say it. want you to say it.”

“’m yours, satoru,” you whine. “all of this — ah! — just for you.”

your legs are shaking so much from his fingers on your clit again. he has you overstimulated from his touch. the sounds that come out of your mouth have to be awakening something divine in him. the knife inside him twists inward.

“mine, mine, mine,” he mutters into your skin, slotting his hips with yours. he enters you without warning, a hard thrust that has your body bending to his will.

“no one wants you more than i do, you know that? if anyone even tries to test me, i’d kill them.”

“satoru—”

you can barely grasp language at this point. he laughs a little when he sees your eyes roll back and the sound of it is both melodic and a little mean.

“oh my god,” you whimper. tears start falling down your cheeks.

satoru might be a sadist — the sight makes his heart fucking swell. he wants to tear you apart and put you back together. he wants to worship you.

and god, the begging. the aching way your voice breaks as you say his name and the word please.

he’s carnal with his teeth at your throat. his hips stutter when he feels how tightly you suck him in, how he can feel your cunt contract when he hits a certain spot.

satoru thinks he’s been hungry for you all his life. if being the strongest sorcerer wasn’t his reason for being alive, he thinks that being able to see you sprawled out like this underneath him is reason enough.

satoru is many things. he’s arrogant, assured, depraved. he’s certainly annoying to anyone that knows him. but above all, to nobody else but you, he is fucking obsessive.

he loses himself in your pussy. with his cock pushed inside you to the hilt, he is yours and no one else’s. no one else can touch him like you do. no one else touches him.

“i’m so close,” you gasp.

“poor thing. is that what’s got you crying so much?” he taunts.

“y-yes! fuck—”

“you’re so pretty when you cry. i love it.”

you flush under his gaze, heat pooling in your stomach. when you attempt to cover your face with your arms and at least wipe away your tears, satoru holds down your wrists.

“don’t hide from me,” he groans. “wanna see my pretty girl when she cums.”

he can feel his dick twitching inside of you. you’re so fucking tight. the lewd sound of him drilling into you is obscene, but the look on your face is fucking divine.

he loves to claim you, to mark you up. he remembers how much you like it, too, especially when his long, pretty fingers are around your throat. he squeezes just the tiniest bit and you gasp in pleasure.

“more, more, more—”

“i know, baby, i know.”

satoru likes his name best when it comes from your mouth. especially when you’re crying, your voice shaking just as violently as your thighs.

he takes the opportunity to be even rougher, his other hand toying with your clit as he coaxes your release. you’re overwhelmed, flooded with a euphoria that stimulates the whole of your body.

“fuck, y’feel so fucking good,” he grunts. with his cock wrapped in the velvet of your cunt, satoru feels like he’s on top of the fucking world. above the heavens, too, probably.

“cum inside me,” you strain. “please.”

“yeah? you want it that bad?”

he presses into you further, lifting your legs so that your ankles dangle past his shoulders.

“yes— need it so bad, fuck!”

he curses with a growl rumbling in his chest. he soaks your insides with his warmth until it leaks out of you.

this is satoru’s form of worship. the stutter of his breaths, the slight tremble of his hands as they caress your jaw. the all-consuming kiss.

it rouses something terrifying inside you. in a way, it mirrors the beast in him. gods and monsters, the two of you.

the room is filled with the sound of both of your breaths evening out, heartbeats syncing together.

“jesus christ.” you clear your throat.

“you okay?”

“i’m perfect,” you reply in a haze. even after cumming, satoru wants to lick the sleepy grin off your mouth. or maybe make you cry again.

for now, he basks in your warmth, indulges in the way you bring him back to earth after making him ascend to heaven.

“yeah, you really are.”

#gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo x reader #jjk smut #jjk #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

[genshin-scenarios]

pacts and their marks: demon au

Summary: Where you've accidentally summoned a demon (you’re an exorcist) and now you’re in a pact with them! They’re now your assistant of sorts, some more willing than others…

Characters: Venti, Xiao, Lyney, Wanderer

Content warnings: minor injury and blood (Xiao), mentions of fire and smoke with allusions to death (Lyney), mentions of death and human experimentation (Wanderer)

Generally speaking, Venti likes to float rather than walk if he can help it; he’s gotten the habit of flitting around your form often, hanging off your shoulders and clinging on to you absentmindedly. You might be more annoyed about it if it wasn’t for his voice as he greets you, light and deceptively soothing.

Venti’s music hypnotizes the heart. Whether it be singing or another instrument, he has the ability to convince any being, living or dead, to do as he wishes—so long as his melody isn’t overpowered by their strength of mind.

Honestly, sometimes you wonder if he’s testing the safety-precautions of your pact. You’re invulnerable to his powers thanks to it, but with the way he endears himself towards you, you wonder if his true motive was to steal your affections in another way.

He’s one of the rare demons that blend in with people well. You found him as a spirit living inside an antique lyre; while Venti says he was sleeping there for a lack of anything to do, you have a feeling that there’s another story behind his attachment to the item. He often uses it in battle—its strings glowing with an old magic that matches the shade of his eyes and braids.

You sometimes forget how deadly it is to lose one’s mind in the heat of a fight, when Venti’s lying next to you on the bed as he scrolls on your spare phone. Noticing your attention he peers up, twirling his hair—currently unbraided—between his fingers.

For how much he teases you about praising him, Venti’s never mentioned anything about playing his music to get rid of your nightmares. One time, when you were especially sick, you recall him singing a song in a language you didn’t recognise.

It was hauntingly beautiful, and so was the way he brushed his hand through your hair, too gentle compared to the demons you had to hunt down.

Xiao’s most unique feature had to be his wings; the same dark shade as his hair, dipped in streaks of teal.

During a quiet night, he’d told you they used to be white as snow and gilded with gold. But an angel that kills to protect is destined to fall from the clouds, shrouded by the ghosts of those they have slain.

You know there are others like him, but he says they’ve succumbed to corrosion. He is the only one left, and is one of the only demons you’ve met that hunt down their own species. In an effort to save him from his own corrosion, you’d made a pact with Xiao to link your life forces. 

Despite how he’d told you to leave him, his spirit still reached for yours—towards any form of light and warmth it could meet. Xiao still finds the marks of the pact distasteful, however, always glancing at the dark patterns now etched into your skin. You tell him it’s more reassuring than not, now that you can summon him with a call of his name.

If there’s one word to describe his powers, it’s destructive in every form of the word. Xiao leaves the battlefield entirely demolished after a fight. Sometimes he struggles to control his strength, but it’s been getting easier to do so with your presence to balance his. 

He prefers to throw himself in as the weapon. Which is why when you’re the one that gets injured this time around, all Xiao can do is panic. He holds you in his arms, frozen as he realizes he cannot help.

Thankfully, it wasn’t a serious wound. But after that, Xiao has been a lot more protective of you; almost hyper-aware.

“W—What are you doing, Xiao?” You flinch as he bites into your palm, drawing a small line of blood. 

Xiao hums. “Did you know that even using your blood, I can only heal you a limited amount with our pact?” Another bite, this time with his fangs, frustrated. “Keep that in mind the next time you plan on getting hurt.” You’re lucky the hospital could treat you this time around.

All Lyney knows is that he was reborn in a fire. At the back of his mind, he’s searching for his siblings—though he’s not sure where they are.

Like smoke filling a room, Lyney’s able to create illusions that trick all the senses. At your first meeting, he’d tried this on you; only for one of your protective amulets to diffuse his powers, revealing a larger demon he’d been working with that’d been ready to devour you. 

Suffice to say, Lyney was quick to switch sides once he noticed that you were winning. That, and the demon he was working with turned out to have lied about having a lead for him. After noticing your potential as a partner, he’d been quick to scout for your help.

He often uses his illusions to fool enemies into fighting one-another, redirecting their attention away—but after the pact, Lyney seems to lose his larger-than-life traits and falls into a casual routine with you. It makes you wonder if he’d been human before this, though sometimes he’s more cat-like than not.

If nothing else, he does like to put on a show when you’re faced with a battle. He makes your job easy, considering that your bond allows you to see past his illusions and maneuver around enemies, finding the perfect blind spots. Despite the oddity of your partnership, you start to enjoy the pattern of working with Lyney, from your smooth conversations to his smarts. 

One thing that does throw him off however, is when a demon you were trying to exorcize attempts to form a pact with you. Not that you can’t have multiple pacts at once, but it’s the first time you’ve seen Lyney openly aggressive towards an enemy, striking it with a sharp bolt of flame that diffuses it long enough for you to dispose of it.

With the threat gone, Lyney was quick to check on you, looking for any traces the other demon might’ve left behind. He calms down once he finds nothing, eyes widening when he realizes your faces are only inches apart.

“I…” He looks like he’s about to apologize, but decides against it. “Please don’t make a pact with anyone else. I don’t want to feel like that ever again.”

When you first met, Wanderer had tried to turn you into a puppet.

It was his power, after all—to attach strings onto any form and take control of them. These strings could be cut off, but it would only take so long for him to attach them again.

Most people don’t survive their encounters with him, but you’d managed to trap him into a pact right before things went dire. Now you could restrain his actions to a certain extent, though Wanderer would always push against your control, keeping you on your guard.

Many coworkers have told you to simply be rid of him—but just as you’d tricked Wanderer into a pact with you, he’s since linked your heart with his soul. That is to say, if he was exorcized, you’d be going down with him.

It’s a small relief to learn that Wanderer could also puppeteer other demons, thus you put him to work on the field by your side, turning into an unwilling duo. He has a habit of not doing anything unless you make it a ‘command’, leaning closer with a challenge in his eyes even as an enemy charged at the both of you. 

Then, with a snap of his fingers, they’d stop mid-air. As large as the pact's patterns are on your skin, you had to admit that Wanderer’s power was a deadly one.

You’ve always wondered why he had no reactions to injuries; no matter how serious, you’ve never seen Wanderer express pain. Much, much later into your partnership, you learn that he’s become numb to physical sensations a long time ago. And that him turning into a demon was a gift of reprieve more than not, as he’d destroyed and escaped from an experimental facility shortly after.

During a fight where you'd been affected by a tranquilising venom, Wanderer had been the one to save you; your eyes met briefly as you felt his strings take a hold of your form.

“Don't make me look bad now.” He'd said. “Just relax.” 

With not much of a choice, you allowed him to guide your movements. Somehow, it does feel different compared to your first encounter with his powers. With a push and pull between the strings, you could almost say it felt like a dance.

Were Wanderer's movements always this graceful?

Preorders for my wanderer fanbook and genshin letters are open! If you liked this, consider checking out the purple link on my pinned post!

#genshin venti x reader #xiao x reader #lyney x reader #wanderer x reader #genshin scaramouche x reader #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin reader insert #genshin writing #genshin x you #genshin headcanons #traveler wishes

[beenbaanbuun]

the pet w/ poly!addams!matz

upon spending more and more time with your lovers, more things that have been kept well guarded secrets from the rest of the world seem to reveal themselves to you. the things that go bump in the night aren’t necessarily all figments of the imagination. the legends may be twisted and warped to make them seem a hell of a lot scarier than they actually are, but some things still hold true.

vampires for example. while their genes still technically exist, vampires themselves went extinct long before you were even born. seonghwa had explained it to you in depth one morning over breakfast, but none of it really sank in. you should’ve paid more attention to your biology classes in school; maybe then all the ‘immortality is a recessive gene’ nonsense that he was spouting would make sense to you. the whole ‘my great-great-grandmother was a vampire’ thing just didn’t seem to compute, but it did sort of explain why seonghwa gets a rash when he’s out in the sun for too long.

it turns out jongho isn’t really a bear skin either. he’s an onikuma that hongjoong’s family had passed down through generations. it was during that long, drawn-out chess lesson that hongjoong had explained to you that his family were once livestock farmers that the creature had stolen from time and time again. you found it cruel that jongho was slain just for the crime of being hungry, but hongjoong patiently explained that his ancestors were hungry too. slaying the beast that kept breaking onto their land and taking their sheep was the only way to keep food on the table. you’re just glad the memory of the onikuma lives on; you hope his spirit knows that he’s one of your closest friends.

but then one evening, just after the nightly waltz that you so love to sit and watch, seonghwa drops a bombshell. you’re cuddled up by hongjoong’s feet, gently undoing the laces on his dancing shoes as he and seonghwa pass soft conversation over your head. you’re listening, but not very well. it’s not like much of it is any of your concern anyway… well, except those few words that slip so freely from your mommy’s mouth.

“we should get a werewolf,” he muses to his husband before tipping the rest of his wine down his throat. it’s so nonchalant as if it’s something so perfectly normal for them. in the end, you suppose it is; seonghwa has already alluded to being descended from immortal beings (that aren’t really all that immortal, just… longer living) and the rug you’re currently sitting on is made from the skin of some mythical beast. if anything, a werewolf should just be another thing that you shrug off and accept as just being another part of your increasingly weird life.

but there’s a difference here. quite a big one. seonghwa said they should get a werewolf, and you can’t quite wrap your brain around why he means by that.

the couple seem to notice the sudden interest you have in their conversation though. perhaps it’s the way your body physically tenses up, or the way your fingers become slack on hongjoong’s shoe. either way, the two men hum out a chuckle. seonghwa’s hand finds it’s way to your head, stroking at your hair in the same way he does whenever he needs to calm you down. hongjoong just taps your knee with the toe of his shoe, reminding you of the task you appointed yourself with the moment the pair collapsed onto the couch.

“why ever should we allow some mutt into our house?” hongjoong says as your fingers begin to work on his laces again. he always ties them so tightly. you know it’s just to give you something to do with your hands for a little while. “we’d have to house train the feral thing, which would be an immeasurable amount of work. it’s hardly a walk in the cemetery to train a beast to be civil, Cara Mia.”

seonghwa chuckles as he watches his husbands face twist up in disgust. he never has liked werewolves; claims they’re shifty creatures with no good intentions. seonghwa has to wonder what ‘good intentions’ he thinks vampires have, but he chooses not to argue. there’s not much point in the grand scheme of things. vampires don’t exist anymore, werewolves do.

“protection for our darling?” the tall man suggests, curling his fingers against your scalp so his blood red nails scratch delicately against your skin. you let out a satisfied sigh. your lovers smile down at you, “a friend for when we’re busy with work? there’s plenty of reasons as to why…”

hongjoong seems the mull the idea over as you slip the first shoe off. you gently place it to the side before moving the the next foot, laces done equally as tight.

“and you want to let our sweet girl near such an uncivilised creature?”

“it’s either that or a dog,” seonghwa shrugs.

“i’d rather the dog,” hongjoong cocks his eyebrow confidently, but seonghwa isn’t so easy to give up.

“and i’d rather the werewolf,” he says with a smile. he knows, after all, that he always gets what he wants. the proof of that is sitting right between their legs with a collar around its neck. “it would give her something to talk with when she gets lonely, plus the fact we won’t have to clean up after it. opposable thumbs really do work wonders.”

hongjoong sighs; they’re all good points but the thought of letting a werewolf into his home still sends a shiver down his spine. the thought of you being around one is even worse. they’re notoriously difficult to train (the fault of their human-esque desire to be independent) and hongjoong really doesn’t have that much time to waste. he lets out a groan just as you get the knot to the second shoe undone.

“you’re serious about this, aren’t you?” hongjoong asks. seonghwa replies with a nod. “what about you, little dove? would you like a friend?” you think about it for a second before slowly nodding as well. you suppose it would be nice to have someone to fill those empty hours where hongjoong and seonghwa are both tucked away in their respective work spaces. hongjoong lets out a defeated huff, “fine.”

you slip the shoe off of his foot just in time for him to grab you and tug you onto his lap. it’s ironic really—you’d get punished for having a temper tantrum, and yet when hongjoong groans and hides his face in your hair, all seonghwa can do is smile. there’s a reason you’re the one with a collar around your neck, you suppose.

“thank you, mi amor,” seonghwa leans over to press a kiss to his husbands head, “i’ll let mingi know that we’re interested; he was showing me photos of an absolutely gorgeous specimen named yeosang just the other day…”

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #poly ateez x reader #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #matz x reader #opposites attract universe

[irradiated-imp]

GOOD GUYS VS. BAD GUYS

06

Good Guy A Heroic being of unknown origin. He fights to protect all innocents from the evils of the Bad Guys. Bad Guy The ultimate evil. Bad Guy and Good Guy were once allies, until Bad Guy decided to hoard the power of Duracell Batteries for himself. Duracell Bad Guy In a climactic battle with Good Guy, Bad Guy absorbed the full power of the Duracell Batteries, becoming DURACELL BAD GUY! His power was too great for Good Guy alone.

Golden Good Guy An ancient hero who wields the incredible power of the Duracell Batteries. He was awakened by the Good Guys to help battle the evils of Duracell Bad Guy. Likeness of Turaga Lhikan used legally.

Quick Good Guys: Red and White A pair of brothers who rose to challenge the evils of Duracell Bad Guy and to aid Good Guy in his search for Golden Good Guy.

Quick Bad Guys: Yellow and Green Monstrous minions created through the power of the Duracell Batteries by Duracell Bad Guy. They were created to stop the Good Guys from finding and awakening Golden Good Guy, the only being with the power to challenge Duracell Bad Guy.

07

Good Guy Mahri Deep beneath the waves, the battle of good and evil for the power of the Duracell Batteries continues. Good Guy Mahri is a hero of the waves, a former sailor whose crew were killed by a Sea Beast empowered by the batteries. He set out to find and slay this beast to keep the seas safe for all travelers.

Bad Guy Mahri The Sea Beast responsible for killing Good Guy Mahri's crew. His power has waned noticeably since that fateful night, and he has become smaller since. Despite this, he is still a dangerous threat, and searches for more Duracell Batteries to further empower himself.

08

Good Guy Phantoka A Hero of legend who wields the powerful weapon, Function. He once battled, and destroyed a monstrous evil. He continues to patrol the skies to this day protecting the innocent from whatever evils may threaten them.

Bad Guy Phantoka An ancient evil, possibly even the source of it all. He was slain by Good Guy Phantoka, but his spirit lingered after his destruction. Bad Guy Phantoka went on to corrupt Bad Guy, convincing him to steal the pwoer of the batteries for himself, using the unknowing fool as a pawn for his own resurrection.

I imagine these characters exist in universe as stories told by Matoran and Agori alike.

#bionicle #bionicle moc #lego #lego moc #Good Guy #Bad Guy #Quick Good Guy Red #Quick Good Guy White #Quick Good Guys #Duracell Bad Guy #Quick Bad Guy Yellow #Quick Bad Guy Green #Quick Bad guys #Good Guy 07 #Bad Guy 07 #Good Guy 08 #Bad Guy 08 #Function #Duracell #Duracell Batteries

[chloedrewitt]

𝙆𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙎𝙥𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙨 - 𝙏𝙝𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙪𝙞𝙡 𝙭 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

summary: You are captured in Mirkwood after you defend yourself from a drunk guard who mistakes you for the enemy, and brought before the Elven King. Due to a misunderstanding, he is expected to punish you, but how could he when you look exactly like his dead wife?

pairing: Thranduil x Reincarnated!reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: mentions of assault, protective!Thranduil, age gap (MC is an adult)

a/n: just a quick little one shot I had the idea for while watching RoP and reading up on Lotr lore. No smut, just Thrandy reuniting with his wife.

Request status: open [info]

Taglist: @evyiione​​​

If you wish to be added to or removed from the character taglist, please comment underneath this post​.

Masterlist - Ko-fi

“The Children of Ilúvatar are described as existing in two parts: they have a spirit or soul (fëa) [...], and a body (hröa). [...] When an Elf dies, the fëa leaves the hröa, which then dies. The fëa is called to the Halls of Mandos, where it is judged. If allowed by Mandos, the fëa may be reincarnated into a new-born body that is identical to the previous one.”

- Fëa and hröa, The One Wiki To Rule Them All The grip around your arm was so strong that every time you moved, it hurt. You glared up at the guard next to you, though his gaze was fixed ahead. From where you were kneeling on the floor, he looked four meters tall but you knew this was only due to your perspective. It was dehumanizing, and for the first time, you understood how animals felt shortly before they were slain. 

You were sure this would be your death, too, even though you had not even done anything wrong, at least in your eyes. All you had tried to do was defend yourself from the anger of a drunken guard, but these people seemed to take his word over yours. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the guard bow down deeply as steps appeared in the distance, growing louder with each second that passed. You dared not raise your gaze, so you remained with your eyes locked on the floor, your long hair shielding your face from curious looks like curtains. Not that anyone else was in the throne room, but it was still comforting to know you could hide.

You had never seen the Elven King in person, at least not this close. Most of what you knew was based on stories told throughout the kingdom. Many thought he was the most beautiful of all Elves, others called him cruel and heartless. Though it had not stopped you from wanting to join the guard one day when you were little, but now, as an adult, you realized that it would have only held you back.

The King climbed the stairs to his throne, onto which he lowered himself gracefully, crossing one leg over the other and placing his right elbow on the arm rest. His index finger traced the edge of his jawline as he watched you closely, but you refused to meet his eyes. The guard next to you straightened his back again and increased the grip around your arm even more, which made you growl. 

“Tell me again what happened,” said the Elven King, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine. It was powerful enough to fill the entire throne room, despite there being no walls to separate it from the hallways in the castle. 

“She attacked Erynor while he was on patrol,” the guard replied, giving you a disapproving stare. 

“Unprovoked?” The Elven King tilted his head to the side, his long platinum hair falling around his shoulders. You felt his eyes on you and it almost made you nauseous. 

“Yes.”

“That’s a lie!” You intervened, wanting to stand but the guard forced you back on your knees as soon as you made the attempt. Pain shot through your legs when your knees met the hard floor. “It was self-defense. He-” Your voice cracked, anger clouding your mind. “He was drunk and mistook me for an intruder.” 

You had raised your head by now and were looking directly at the Elven King. But he didn’t answer, he simply stared at you with his lips slightly parted. You, too, stopped in your tracks and tried to sort the unexplainable wave of recognition you felt the moment you properly laid eyes on him. You had never seen this man before, yet you were sure you knew him. 

“This is most likely a lie to protect herself. Erynor is the most honorable member of the guard. He would not be intoxicated while on patrol.” The elf next to you did not seem to notice his king’s sudden change in mood, so he proceeded to talk down on you. It was not hard, given you were a lowly born Elf, left on your adoptive parents’ doorstep when you were but an infant. 

“Let her speak,” ordered the king as he rose to his feet, his eyes still locked on you. You withstood the intensity of his gaze, partly because you couldn’t look away yourself. Only when you felt the guard let go of your arm did you turn your head towards him, rubbing the sore spot where your skin had reddened. 

“I was gathering herbs in the forest. The safe parts of the forest,” you clarified, taking a step towards your king as he slowly descended the stairs. Your eyes met once again. “This… Erynor insisted I was here to collect information on the state of the Woodland Realm, to give to our enemies. I explained to him I was a jeweler’s daughter, here to collect herbs for my ill mother but he did not believe me, especially not in his state.” 

You swallowed, dropping your eyes for a moment. When you looked up again, you saw that the king was standing a few meters in front of you, his height not any less impressive now that he was on the same level as you. The man clasped his hands together behind his back as he nodded towards the guard still standing beside you. 

“Leave us.”

“My lord, are you certain-”

“-she will hardly be a danger to me now, will she?” He asked, sarcasm and annoyance in his voice. The guard gulped. “Leave us.” 

You crossed your arms in front of your chest, studying the king as the guard’s steps slowly faded into the distance. Only when their echo stopped, did the king approach you further until you were closer than you’d deem appropriate. 

“What is your name?” He asked with a gentler voice as he looked down at you. Not in a condescending way, like the guard had, but with curiosity in his eyes. 

“(y/n),” you replied, digging your nails into your still crossed arms. His presence was overwhelming and magnetic. Being this close, you could hardly look away. The corners of his lips sank slightly and he averted his gaze at your answer, disappointment briefly marking his features. You swallowed, not sure whether you had said something wrong.

“Forgive me,” you began hesitantly, drawing his attention back to you, “but have we met? I recognize you from somewhere but I don’t quite know where from.” His eyes widened, making you fear you had somehow offended him by implying someone from low birth as you could have crossed the Elven King before. 

“I meant not to offend you,” you added, a bit too quickly to do so gracefully. 

“Not at all.” His voice was reassuring, and he closed some of the distance between you. His hands lingered in the air, as if he was debating whether it would be appropriate to touch you, but decided against it when he lowered them again. 

The Elven King and you were alone now in the throne room, with only the occasional sound coming from somewhere above you two signaling that the castle was not abandoned. You wanted to say something, but he seemed to go through an internal conflict just by looking at you. 

It took a few moments more, but he caught himself again and exhaled deeply, his features relaxing. “I will have Erynor investigated. Do not stray too far from the palace until then.”

You nodded, rubbing the palms of your hands against each other nervously. Curiosity made you stand still, despite obviously having been dismissed. He had already turned his back on you, ready to return to his throne, when he stopped in his tracks and turned his head to the side. “Is there anything else you wish to say to me?” 

“You know me from somewhere, don’t you?” You asked, hiding your shaking hands behind your back. You had never been one to do as you were told, and sometimes your curiosity got the better of you. Something your adoptive parents had told you to work on. 

When he didn’t answer, you took a step forward. 

“Please,” you said silently, hoping to perhaps find a clue about your roots.

He exhaled deeply, turning slowly to face you again. “I do not wish to burden you with the shadows of the past. It is a weight I must carry alone.” 

But this answer did not satisfy you, so you took another step forward and said, “I carry enough burdens already, one more will make no difference.”

The Elven King chuckled sadly, eyes flickering between yours. “You sound a lot like her.”

“Who?”

“My wife.” A pause followed, but you remained silent. “She died in my arms on the battlefield years ago. Longer than you are alive, I presume.” 

You placed a hand on your side, tears threatening to fall. “How-” Your voice cracked, so you took a deep breath, before you said more loudly, “How did she die?” 

He followed your hand with his eyes and furrowed his thick eyebrows as he took another step towards you. “A sword to her side.” 

You gasped, a tear rolling down your cheek while you dug your nails into the fabric of your dress. Your mother had always joked that it looked like a sword wound, and she had even speculated that you must have been a soldier in your previous life. 

“I have a birthmark there,” you said, voice shaking slightly. “It looks like the wound of a sword.” 

Though no memories came back to you, an overwhelming wave of emotions made it hard for you to think properly. It was as if you and the Elven King shared a connection that had been severed, and was now slowly being restored. You felt the warmth of his hands as they ghosted above your shoulders, which were exposed by the dress you wore. The hairs on your neck stood on end while a single name came to your mind. It was not like you recalled something you had forgotten, but rather an instinct. 

“Thranduil,” you said breathlessly, and you saw that he was barely able to contain himself. His hands found their way to your cheeks, where his thumbs gently caressed your skin. The king’s name was not commonly known across the realm. 

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered, his own eyes becoming glassy. “I was ready to go to war over what you have left me. Thank Mandos for sending you back to me.” His breath brushed your skin, his thumb gently pushing down on your bottom lip before he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. 

You felt it then deep in your bones that this was the Elf you loved, despite not having a single memory of him. It stung a little, but you found comfort in the fact that you would make new ones. 

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as you had to stand on your tip-toes to reach his lips, the kiss sending a warm feeling through your body. With flushed cheeks, you pulled away to whisper, “I won’t leave you again.” 

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind your pointed ear. It did not take a lot to see how your death in your past life had broken him, but you made a promise to both him and yourself. You never had a home to begin with, perhaps this could be the start of what you’d always longed for.

Then, his eyes darkened and he looked at you with determination. “I will see to it that no one ever touches you again. And those who harm you will pay with their lives.” 

You placed a hand on his cheek, offering him a kind smile. It was tragic how the things we loved the most, and the things we so desperately wanted to be our saviors, often ended up being our greatest ruin. But you decided then and there, that you would not become his. Not ever again.

#thranduil #thranduil x reader #legolas #the hobbit #lord of the rings #lotr #lee pace #protective thranduil #elven king

[gay-dorito-dust]

You looked left, then looked right before then hobbling down the hallway, safely making it to the dimly kitchen of your apartment without so much as a peep but just when you thought you were in the clear. The lights turn on and in the doorway, you could clearly see the disappointment upon Adam’s face as he crossed his arms over his chest.

‘Fuck.’ You hissed under your breath.

‘Shouldn’t you be in bed, resting.’ You grimaced, knowing you’ve tested his patience one too many times with your constant escapades that were birthed from your boredom of being bed bound.

To provide a little bit of context: The most recent mission you and the guardians had partaken in turned out well enough to be considered a success…had you weren’t then later on ambushed by what you had originally thought was the corpse of your slain enemy; leaving you in a state of injury and on bed rest until all sustaining wounds were properly healed over.

During this, Adam had appointed himself your caregiver and would often catch you in the act of attempting one of your many grandiose plans of retrieving a snack from the fridge when your hunger could no longer be ignored or your comfort plushie, before ushering your back to your room and getting what it was that you needed for you. Oftentimes you’d think to yourself that Adam was doing this out of a sense of guilt in not being able to react fast enough but he -as much as the rest of you- couldn’t have known that amongst the dead there would be one still clinging to their last embers of life whilst scheming the ultimate revenge plot.

‘This is the fourth time this week.’ Adam began his chastising.

‘I know…’ you muttered.

‘Your wounds will never properly heal at the rate that you’re going.’ He continues and it feels as though you’ve heard this same rant more then you’d like, but then again you guessed it was kind of your own fault for not actively doing your part in allowing your wounds the time to heal; Even now you felt them scream at you in agreement from beneath the thick gauze as they throbbed in anguish, causing you to wince and bite down your groans of pain as to not alert Adam.

However Adam was more observant then you or anyone gave him credit for and had saw the way your hand instinctually reached for your heavily bandaged side and how the muscles in your face contorts into one of pain and discomfort. His posture relaxed, arms limp at his side, as his face softened; All he wanted to do was make sure your healing went accordingly but he failed to take into account of how restless you’d become from the inactivity, which had lead to your current situation becoming a common occurrence.

‘Your wounds are flaring up again.’ Adam said softly as he made his way to your uninjured side. ‘Let me help you back into bed at the very least.’ You mulled it over but ultimately decided that you should stop making Adam’s job as your caretaker harder then it should be and actually allow your wounds their time to heal because what you were doing wasn’t helping anyone and it certainly wasn’t helping your healing process, only proving in hindering it even more then necessary.

‘Fine.’ You said, accepting that you were loosing this battle, allowing Adam to escort you back to your room and helping you find a comfortable position without irritating your wounds even further then you already have. Before Adam left your room, you find yourself calling out to him. ‘Adam.’ The golden boy looks over his shoulder, ‘I’m sorry for being a pain in the ass. I know you were just trying to help and all I’ve been doing is make it harder on the both of us. I just wanted to say thank you for putting up with me.’

‘You could never be trouble for me.’ Adam admits. ‘I find your inability to stay situated an admirable trait as it only tells me that you have a restless spirit that won’t go quietly into the night. So don’t apologise for I’ll always be here whenever you should need me.’ He finishes with a soft smile before closing the door behind him and you found yourself smiling when drifting to sleep.

#adam warlock x y/n #adam warlock imagines #adam warlock imagine #adam warlock x you #adam warlock fluff #adam warlock fic #adam warlock x reader #mcu imagines #mcu fic #mcu x reader #mcu x y/n #mcu x you #mcu imagine #marvel imagine #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #marvel imagines #marvel x y/n #marvel x you #marvel x reader

[tylermileslockett]

"The Performance" (part 5 of my Orpheus and Eurydice series)

(From Ovid’s Metamorphosis)

“The bloodless spirits wept as he spoke, accompanying his words with the music. Tantalus did not reach for the ever-retreating water: Ixion’s wheel was stilled: the vultures did not pluck at Tityus’s liver: the Belides, the daughters of Dana��s, left their water jars: and you, Sisyphus, perched there, on your rock. Then they say, for the first time, the faces of the Furies were wet with tears, won over by his song: the king of the deep, and his royal bride, could not bear to refuse his prayer, and called for Eurydice. She was among the recent ghosts, and walked haltingly from her wound. The poet of Rhodope (Orpheus) received her, and, at the same time, accepted this condition, that he must not turn his eyes behind him, until he emerged from the vale of Avernus, or the gift would be null and void.”  

Tantalus (great-grandfather of Agamemnon) was a King who, after being admitted to dine with the gods, killed his own son (Pelops) to serve the gods to test their powers of perception. For this moral crime, he was cast into Hades where he endured the torment of everlasting hunger and thirst.  Ixion was a corrupt mortal, who after killing his father in law and attempting to seduce Hera, was punished by Zeus to be strapped over a an ever spinning, solar flaming wheel. Tityus was a giant who attempted to rape Leto; the mother of Artemis and Apollo. After being slain by Apollo, the giant was punished in hades by being staked to the ground and having two vultures peck out his regenerating liver. The Belides (Daenaeds/water nymphs) were fifty daughters who were ordered by their father to murder their husbands on their wedding nights. In Tartarus they were cursed to carry water jars for eternity to fill an ever-emptying tub. Sisyphus was a trickster mortal who cheated death, and was cursed to roll a boulder uphill for eternity; another fruitless labor. The Furies (or Erinyes) were dark deities who punished mortals who spilled familial blood.

Like this art? It will be in my illustrated book with over 130 other full page illustrations coming in march to kickstarter. Please check my links in my linktree in my bio to join the kickstarter notification page. 🤟❤️🏛

#greekmythology #greekgods #pjo #mythology #classics #classicscommunity #myths #ancientgreece #Orpheus #Hades #persephone

[plumadot]

WAIT QUESTION. Martyn is a fish person too yes? Does he have connections to Scott and Jimmy too?? Since I assume martyn and Scott are maybe from the same place, and jimmy being the codfather which seems to be the common God that Scott and his kind worship, would martyn be drawing his powers from Jimmy as well? Or has he lost faith? Was he EVER a worshiper? Or just Scott? Does it drain Jimmy to draw power from Scott? And also does *martyn* feel the same draw to Jimmy that Scott does as well????

And ALSO! HOW DOES THIS CONNECT JIMMY AND JOEL?!? Cuz I imagine that Jimmy and Lizzie are connected, being the whole thing of lizzie being an oceanic godess and Jimmy being the cod father!!!! I have SO MANY QUESTIONS SHAKES YOU!!!! -🎉

martyn is a triton and scott is a sea elf so they're not actually from the same place!!! my thoughts are martyn was orphaned when he was quite young and taken in by the clerics of the listener. he met bigb there and proved to be such a talented fighter that ren's family hired him to become ren's protector. he knows about the disappearance of the codfather, but he doesn't know the details of it until ren uncovers the story of his ancestor and tells him about it.

the ocean queen and the codfather are almost like twin spirits? they're so closely connected that when the codfather was lost, the ocean queen felt like a part of herself had disappeared with him. in turn, she claimed the life of the one who had slain him, drowning him in a flood, but it didn't bring her brother back. so she shut herself off from everything for many decades until a pure-hearted sailor landed in her waters.

#ask #plume dnd au #hope this isn't too convoluted hehe i try

[trash1129]

×,.·´¨'°÷·..§SELF-SABOTAGE§.·´¨'°÷·.. -a Soobin smau (+ written chapters)

Summary: After (Y/n) breaks up with her ex, Do Jaeyi, she isn’t left alone by him. Finally after being bothered nonstop, she breaks and tells him she is dating her high school rival, Choi Soobin. Now they are left to keep up the act of being a couple till this all blows over. Little does (Y/n) know Soobin has been waiting for a chance like this.

a/n: here we go again with me attempting another smau! I’m more excited about this one because I actually planned stuff for once :D I really wanted to try my hand again at one of these and wanted to try an enemies to lovers type situation

☆Rating: 16+

☆Release date: March 2nd, 2023

☆Ending date: August 15th, 2023

☆Status: ended

☆Pairing: Choi Soobin x Fem! Reader, mentions of past relationship with an OC, and maybe some pairings on the side if I wanna add some spice ;D

☆Content: smau with written chapters, fluff, crack (idk if it really is bc I don’t really think I’m that funny), some angst at some point tbh, fake dating, semi-enemies to lovers, semi-mutual pining, psych major!(y/n), dancer!(y/n), psych major!soobin, barista!beomgyu, college!au, slow burn ig???

☆Warnings: lots of swearing (I have potty mouth myself so they all will too), some suggestive parts maybe and some mentions of sex but no smut bc smut isn’t something I write, chapters may be long idk yet, I didn’t really pay attention to like grade levels in relation to age so we don’t need to pay attention to if it’s accurate or not

☆Featuring: the rest of txt, lee chaeyeon (iz*one/solo), Lucy (weki meki), probably some other idols in passing

DISCLAIMER: This is a piece of pure fiction and do not represent txt artist, iz*one/solo artist, weki meki artist, any other artist or reflect their actual selves or morals. All in this fan fiction is 100% fake and not real at all

Profiles:

The ass shakers

Soobin’s emotional support group

Chapters:

01. ONE OF US RRRAHHHHHHHHH🦅

02. You see how easy it is to lie?

03. Twinkle toes

04. Don’t HMU😣😭😿💔

05. I’m meeting Lucifer today! (Written, 1.9k + sns) unedited

06. That's the spirit!

07. That is a (Y/n) response

08. Very Soobin core

09. Is that Choi Beomgyu?

10. Soob is a broke ass bitch

11. I was threatened 🥺🥺 (Written, 2k + sns) unedited

12. I do but I don’t :D

13. Darling baby girl

14. FEED ME

15. Slay or be slain

16. Mean girls Christmas routine

17. Love birds (Written, 3.6k) unedited

18. Because sleepover :)))

19. In the words of Twice

20. And I’m Hyojeong

21. SHUT UP ITS GIRLS NIGHT

22. Skill issue

23. Keep my wife’s name out of your mouth

24. I’m concerned (Written, 1.2k + sns) unedited

25. No pics���️ No proof🗣️

26. Not you too

27. Oh f*ck

28. Prettiest face I’ve ever seen

29. …what?😃

30. I know. I’ve known.

31. fanfic levels

32. Master manipulator (written, 1.9k + sns) unedited

33. Crush (written, 2k) unedited

34. Limited addition animal crossing switch

35. Epilogue

Bonus!: New privs

Bonus 2!: Daily bf texts

#choi soobin #soobin x reader #soobin x you #soobin #txt #tomorrow by together #txt fanfic #txt x reader #soobin smau #soobin x reader smau #kpop smau #smau #txt smau #soobin fanfic #Kpop #kpop fanfic #fake dating #enemies to lovers #college au #social media au #soobin x y/n #soobin imagines #txt scenarios #choi soobin scenarios #choi soobin x reader #choi soobin smau #fluff #txt fluff #soobin fluff #choi soobin imagines

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA For discouraging my friend from exploring paganism?

I (20X) have been a Norse pagan for years. It's something I engage with both as a very serious religion and as an academic field of study. It's a special interest of mine as well.

My roommate and dear friend (21F) is a former Pentecostal Christian (something she's coming to terms with being a traumatizing experience for her). She's never had an issue with me practicing, I have a small altar in the living room, she doesn't mind celebrating my holidays with me. But lately, she's started asking a lot of questions about it, expressing an interest in exploring paganism for herself.

Now, I've tried not being judgmental, so far I've given her my impartial knowledge when she asks questions, but I'm starting to feel odd about it.

First of all, every time she's asked questions, I've given her further resources (youtube videos, books, podcasts, articles, everything) but she's never actually looked at them. I can tell. The next day she'll ask something small and inane that even skimming what I sent her earlier would have told her. It feels like she wants to just be spoon-fed exactly what to do and how to do it. I'm not an absolute authority either, this is a lot of weight to put on my shoulders.

I'm also worried because it she tends to pick up and drop hobbies very quickly and impulsively. (Hello to the huge pile of expensive yarn sitting behind our couch because she gave up knitting the second it got hard). She also seems to have super unrealistic expectations about what paganism involves, or even just non-Christian religions. She keeps asking about rules, no matter how many times I tell her that's not how it works, like she expects me to spring secret rules out of nowhere. She also seems to expect it to be a lot more dramatic than it is. She's shocked when I pray and it's a quiet affair, when I talk about gods and I don't hold them in utter reverence, when my rituals don't have shocking and extreme immediate results. It seems almost, sometimes, like she expects me to speak in tongues or be slain in the spirit.

Ultimately, I'm worried she's just going to pick up my very serious religion like it's a fun silly hobby and nothing more. I'm worried she'll be disappointed by it. And if she doesn't drop it immediately, I'm worried she's going to practice it like it's just another form of Christianity where she feigns dramatic results. (She used to pretend to speak in tongues as a kid, for context.) I want to gently steer her away, but I feel like maybe I'd be an asshole for stopping her exploration and like I might be a roadblock in an important step in healing from her religious trauma.

So... AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[silverskye13]

So, the thing about being damseled, Welsknight is rapidly realizing, is you don't really have to be a damsel to do it. Or have it done to you, that is. Being damseled isn't really a gender thing, like all the old knights tales would have him believe. He doesn't have to have long blonde hair, or a princess dress. He doesn't have to make deals with obscure fae gods or spirits, doesn't have to know how to weave golden thread. Heck, he doesn't even have to be locked in a tower. Damseling -- that is, the state of being a damsel in distress -- is a much broader scoped state of being. It's not so much a trope or a role, and more of... An essence. A vibe. If one can be trapped and helpless and in need of a knight in shining armor to save the day, one can in fact be damseled just fine without any of the key fairytale hallmarks.

How does Welsknight know all this? Well, because he's managed to damsel himself, of course.

Welsknight is trapped. He should have known better. Well? Should he have known better? Eh. Even if he should have, he definitely shouldn't have expected to. He's new to Vault Hunting.

Iskall and Stress made it sound so easy. Yeah! Just go find a vault, gear up, don't be afraid to run for your life. Nothing can go wrong if you're careful. Beware the curses and traps and tripwires. Don't eat anything growing on the walls. Fight. Survive. Win! They do it all the time, with their adventuring teams and alone. Whatever suits their fancy. Just don't anger the gods and do run screaming if something way beyond your skill level wanders into the room. Cowardice? Nonsense! Vaults aren't duels, they're thrills. Thrills that sometimes glean cool treasure, and treasure, while awesome, can't challenge your honor and isn't worth your life. So go, kill some monsters, have fun, run when you need to. It's low-high stakes, choose your own adventuring at its finest!

And Wels is a knight errant, alright? He's slain dragons. And withers. And, yes, rescued a few damsels. He's good at what he does. So when he and Iskall went for some drinks at a local tavern, and Welsknight whined that he was getting bored of escorting mining parties and killing oversized lizards for neglectful nobles, well, Iskall had smiled and pointed him to the Vaultlands. And Welsknight, bored and stupid in his boredom, had decided raiding vaults was a great idea.

"If I get out of this," Welsknight vows in his most solemn, oath-binding knight's voice, "I am going to punch Iskall right in his grinning, stupid face."

He is barricading a door with anything he can find, all while the screams and shrieks of some persistent undead challenge his fervor from the other side. The undead here are different than they are outside the Vaults. The slow, lumbering, hollow things that amble blindly around deep caves and unstable mines don't hold a candle to these creatures. These are malevolent undead, things that seem to hate Welsknight personally, inhabited by the dreams of sleeping gods that were, probably, sealed in these Vaults for a freaking reason. He's pretty sure one of them is jibbering with the voice of his dead brother, which is, honestly, demonic scales of unfairness. And he would know demonic unfairness. Welsknight has fought exactly one demon, and while he certainly isn't an expert, he knows more about how much they cheat and torment than he had ever wanted to know. And anyway, how is he supposed to kill that kind of malevolence in the undead? He's not! For heaven's sake, he's faced fae with less personal malevolence, and the fae court is the most petty place on earth!

Welsknight kicks his barricade with an armored boot, making sure it'll hold. The stack of pilfered detritus shakes but stands firm. Somewhere in that lot is his broken sword, barring the door shut. The blade shattered in four pieces when he was tackled by some wight-creature, not because the creature was that strong, but because he'd just used it to fight some sort of corrosive slime, and really, the fact that living acid slime exists in the Vaults is unfair, and something Iskall really should've warned him about. At least it hadn't gotten on his armor.

Welsknight backs away from the barred door, listening to the angry screams of what lay beyond it. There's a lot of name-calling going on. "Come to your death, coward!" And "Brother please! Help me! Don't let it take me!" And "Sleep with us forever knight! Aren't you tired?" Screech and groan through the air as though the door and barricade aren't there to muffle it. There's hysterical cackling as well, which is kind of typical. He can't tell if the loudness of the noise is supernatural, or if it means there's another entrance to the room he hasn't noticed yet. As unsettling as the supernatural option is, he kind of prefers that right now. Weaponless and exhausted, he's not sure how well he'll manage if the undead just start pouring in from a side door somewhere.

Welsknight blinks, and belatedly realizes he's blinking back tears. His hands shake as he wipes them away. Yeah, okay, maybe the screaming-with-the-voice-of-his-dead-brother thing was getting to him more than he thought it would. He's a knight, not an iron golem. He still has feelings. He tries to be detached and gentle about it. He knows what fear is. The first time he fought a dragon, he cried. He cried a lot, actually. After it was dead he lay on the ground sobbing for a good hour, which had been terribly inconvenient at the time, since it had broken one of his ribs. Terror kind of just, does that to him -- makes him cry. He learned a long time ago not to be ashamed of it, no matter how badly timed it could be.

"Right," Welsknight croaks into the room around him. "Cry about it later. Escape now."

It's not a big room that he's trapped himself in. It has the trappings of an ancient hall, with some newness to it, indicating he isn't the first adventurer to stumble in here. Rotting boxes and chests are tumbled against a collapsed wall, the smell of damp rot wafting off them. One has candles and two plates on it, someone's makeshift dining set up, and there's the scorched remains of a campfire. It looks pathetic compared to the massive columns and reliefs it sits beneath. Maybe this place was a temple? It sure seems kind of temple-y, but Welsknight has yet to encounter an altar to any Vault Gods -- which is probably good. Iskall had mentioned those were guarded by scary creatures, and if "malevolent undead who steal the voices of your loved ones from your memories to torment you while they devour your flesh" hadn't registered on Iskall's "scary creatures to warn Wels about" index, he really, really doesn't want to know what insane creatures might guard the altar chambers of the Vault Gods.

"Probably like, undulating tentacle demons with acid breath," Welsknight mutters out loud as he meanders the chamber, searching for something useful. "Or maybe the Gods themselves just come down and use you as a hackey sack until you prove your worth or die. That sounds about right."

The cold stone walls make no comment, which is probably for the best, since given current trends, they would probably talk back with the voice of his disapproving parents, or maybe the old knight he'd been squired to, which would really start straining his already stressed out psyche right about now.

He can still hear his brother's voice calling to him through the door.

For as impressive as the room is, there really isn't much in here of use. The boxes from the old expedition have let the moisture in the room in. There's old, indecipherable food inside that is now mostly black sludge. The candles might be useful if he had anything resembling a tinderbox to light them with. Everything else in here is far older, and mostly carved stone too heavy to pilfer. This place has obviously been picked over before. No relics are on the walls. The one chest he finds that is (probably) older than the boxes contains only a single glorious cobweb as a prize. Welsknight has just about submitted to his fate to die in obscurity in a random Vault somewhere, when he encounters a corpse. It is not reanimated dead, though he does give it a few good kicks to make sure it doesn't feel like crawling to life and talking with ominous voices.

"Well, at least the ambient necromancy going on in here has limits," Welsknight sighs, squatting down on the balls of his feet to pick the corpse over. "Well, friend, I don't suppose you've got anything helpful on you?"

Their chainmail is rusted, their features, save for a few whisps of black-brown hair, are decayed away. He manages to find a coin purse with some woefully old looking coins -- so the chances of some other adventuring party stumbling to his rescue are quite small then. He picks up a shield from them that, though dry rotted, looks like it could block one or two more hits before giving up the ghost. On their back is a scabbard so rusted, it looks like the sword might be fused inside. Welsknight grimaces, then shrugs and concedes that even a brittle sword is better than none. Still, it doesn't make prying the sword belt off the old bones any more pleasant. There's a lot of brittle cracking, and a lot of wincing on Welsknight's part, before he finally manages to get it free.

"Sorry friend, but I think I need this a little more than you do."

The skull rocks a bit on the floor as it settles, but otherwise doesn't seem to care. The sockets aren't even facing his direction. Welsknight takes that as his sign that he isn't horribly cursed... Or at least no more so than when he first got trapped in here. Welsknight rubs at the blade, trying to see how much of the rust is superficial. A bit chips off beneath his fingernail, revealing bright silver beneath.

"A silver scabbard?" Welsknight raised his eyebrows at the corpse, "Well, weren't you a glamorous fellow?"

Welsknight grimaces and, taking ahold of the hilt, draws the sword. It pulls a lot easier than he thought it would. The rust holds it for a moment, and then smoothly releases, revealing bright steel underneath. The sword unsheathes with a ringing hiss.

"--ON'T SHEATH THE SWORD YOU IDIOT!"

The scream is right by his ear. Welsknight lets out a startled yelp and turns to face the voice, tripping over his feet and landing in an inglorious heap on the floor.

Standing in front of him is a knight garbed in black armor, a fiery plume rippling from his helm. His back is facing Welsknight, and he stands with his shoulders hunched, one arm reaching forward like he's trying to stop someone. The knight takes a step back, surprised, then rocks on his heels.

"Oh." He says, then looks down at the skeleton by his feet. "Oh."

He stares at the skeleton for a long moment, shrugs, and then gives the skull a hard kick, sending it clattering off across the room. "Serves you right, you asshole!"

Welsknight is crying again. He can't help it. He's scared and overwhelmed, and this knight is so, so terribly familiar. From the armor to the way he stands, to his voice. And when the knight turns to face him finally, the face is familiar too.

"Hels?" Welsknight whispers.

Helsknight, his definitely-dead brother, looks down at him with uncomprehending eyes. Then he scowls, "Nope. Sorry."

"I-- but--"

"I am the Spirit of the Sword," Helsknight cuts him off, rolling his eyes petulantly. "I serve the wielder of my blade, loyal in death, as I wasn't in -- blablabla. I take the form of the protector, the guardian, the comforting, and yes, I'm used to the whole "oh you look just like my dead loved one" thing. So let's skip the unnecessary angst, okay?"

A particularly loud shriek from the ghouls outside echoes shrilly through the room before Welsknight can even attempt to gather his response. Helsknight spins to face the barred door and takes a threatening step towards it.

"Oh would you SHUT UP? We're in the middle of something!"

The sounds behind the door fall abruptly silent. Welsknight stares in bafflement, feeling just confused enough to stop crying. The Spirit Of The Sword That Looks Just Like His Dead Brother offers a hand to him.

"Come on, get up." He says as he pulls Welsknight to his feet roughly, and then gives him a long, appraising look. "Well, you look like you might know how to swing my sword, so there's something at least."

"I'm-- I'm a knight errant," Welsknight tells him, trying to recover some of his senses. "What-- are you another trick of this terrible place?" Anger starts to bubble underneath everything else he's feeling, and his fists clench. "I'm tired of the stupid mind games and the trickery, and everything screaming like Hels and---!"

Helsknight holds up his hands, looking something between annoyed and appeasing. "Aye, yes, I understand. My last wielder did die in this Vault. No I'm not a demon, or an evil spirit -- unless you intend to use my sword for evil, in which case, I'm evil by proxy." Helsknight ushered to himself. "The enchantment in the blade turns me into something you're familiar with. Whoever I am, I don't have his memories or his mannerisms--" his lip curls in something like disgust as he adjusts his breastplate, "--or his taste in armor. Really, what's wrong with some nice high mobility chainmail? Or leather? Leather is amazing! It's quiet and doesn't feel like I'm carrying a whole damn armory around."

Welsknight screwed his eyes shut and breathed. Alright. Alright. He's okay. He can deal with this. He can-- well at least he can ignore the specter of his brother following him around for as long as it takes to get out of this Vault. But when he gets out ohhh, oh Iskall owes him six pints at the nearest tavern and a damn good explanation.

"Sword Spirit," Welsknight asks after another set of calming breaths, "can you fight?"

Helsknight looks down at his hip where a sword is sheathed. He draws it, tests its weight and shrugs. "I'd be a poor sword spirit if I couldn't."

"Alright then," Welsknight picks up the magical sword from where he'd dropped it and walks towards the barred door. "Let's get out of here, then."

Well, there is one good thing about being damseled at least, Welsknight thinks bitterly as Helsknight begins moving the debris. Someone always sends you a knight in shining armor.

#the barking writer #welsknight #helsknight #swordheart au #sorry i couldnt resist this has been rotating in the back of my head ever since i read swordheart #hermitcraft fic #vault hunters fic #i know nothing about vault hunters except for like 10 eps of Iskalls singleplayer season 1 lets play please forgive me vh fans #helsmits

[cosmicasteroids]

Qsmp lore hcs and thoughts !

This is mostly character techno based so I’ll use Q!techno and also based around chayanne and some other things.

Phil mentioned that techno helped guide chayanne in the fight against ender!phil that lasted for like three days and I already had some like small lore on where technos been in the events of the qsmp character wise. Techno was a conduit for the blood god due to this the voices and everything onlt got worse with time and even healthy outlets fell through. Techno took this as a personal mission to bring his fight to the blood god in the spirit realm and left his own cloak and a note behind for Phil before leaving to go fight the gods themselves.

Thing is when techno won that fight and the blood god was slain there was now a new champion to take on the rule of blood and war kind of like a, ‘you kill the king you now are the new ruler situation’, you topple the god off his tower and now the realms deem you to be that god. Techno didn’t anticipate this and now is bound to be and become the new blood god and carry out his tasks and deeds and keep the realms in balance as the other gods. Bros just kind of winging being a god he didn’t come out here to be trapped in the spirit realm forever and become a immortal being, tis was not the plan.

In present day techno uses his god hood to watch over Phil and the his new family he has when the fight with the enderking happened between Phil and chay techno stood in to help guide chayanne through the whole fight where to stand how to hold his sword what to dodge when to strike he knew Phil better then anyone after all. Thing is after days and nights of this fight techno accidentally claimed chayanne to be the new blood god conduit a little soldier much how he was his entire life. Techno tried to speak with the gods saying it must be some sort of mistake but the gods told him it was simply fate. So techno took it in his hands to try to make chayanne better, stronger, and of more sound mind then he ever was using his mistakes of his past as simple warnings.

Of course when chayanne says he hears voices and has nightmares of war and slaughter and has this terrible need for violence Phil freaks out a bit. He’s seen all of this before he had a kid much the same toiled by blood and he’s watching closely to help like he did in the past nothing has changed.

Anyways besides story lore there’s also smaller bits of other little fun facts hc lore !

Only conduits of gods can see other gods, Phil is more likely to be able to see techno if he wakes up for a second during ender kings possession, unlike chay who can see him all the time. Phil is less blessed by a god and more being used like a puppet so he doesn’t have the luxury to see the gods as easily as chay would be able too. Chay can see the enderking wrapping himself around Phil and he hates it.

Techno is the new blood god but as such he kind of claimed the blood gods old memories from thousands of years and his powers making techno not the most sound of mind 24/7 he tries to be generally calm and teach about protection and defense but sometimes the voices beg for war and he can’t help the things he’s becoming (aka techno angst is real)

Will emerald duo ever reunite stay tuned cause gods can’t keep promises and even if the gods reach out and hold tight sometimes words can’t be reached by mortals of light.

Anyways I will make concepts of techno and chay for my lil hc lore au qsmp thing lol but I wanted to shout my thoughts into the void even if no one sees them. And if you do hope you enjoyed my ramble hope it made sense. If you have any questions you are free to ask but no pressure.

#asterrambles #qsmp #qsmp rambles #qsmp hcs #philza #qsmp chayanne #technoblade

[balanceoflightanddark]

This scene. This scene right here might be one of the most tragic and brutal scenes in the whole series.

We all knew going in that Aang was in fact the last airbender, but this just hit it home just like it did for Aang. A confirmation that his entire people was wiped out, and his father figure (the one he abandoned cause he couldn't take the pressure of being the Avatar) having been butchered. Later episodes only makes this image a lot worse since the Air Nomads valued pacifism and the sanctity of life, while Gyatso is surrounded by the corpses of firebenders he had slain.

There's no buts or ifs about it. Aang's people is GONE.

And he doesn't take it very well.

Aang, the happy go lucky kid that believes in the best in everyone goes absolutely berserk.

I think this is one of the recurring themes in Aang's arc aside from accepting his role as the Avatar. I really do believe that deep down, the kid does have a grudge against the Fire Nation. A rage like this doesn't go away easily nor overnight. And there are times when Aang went berserk when pushed too far, like how Appa was stolen or when he fused with the Ocean Spirit. Sure, you could argue he wasn't in control of himself in the latter incident, but considering how corrosive deep seated grudges and anger can be corrosive, I still think it's in the realm of possibility.

Plus I think it gives his decision to spare Ozai a bit more weight behind it cause he's choosing to move on from his anger and end the cycle of violence the world is trapped in. What the Fire Nation did was awful: yes. But it doesn't mean Aang's doomed to give into his anger.

Am I saying Aang was in any danger as being just as bad as his enemies? No. I don't think there's any circumstance where he'll become some genocidal warmongerer. Neither does it mean his trauma, grief, and anger will just go away over night. It's how one handles them is what makes his character. Despite being the last survivor of a genocide, Aang chose not to give in. Just because the world is brutal doesn't mean you have to be.

#aang #aang atla #aang meta #monk gyatso #atla #atla meta #air nomads #air nomads meta #fire nation

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Ghosts

( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord )    

Human: *Walks into room* I think we need to move. Alien: We just moved in, why do we need to move? Human: I am 95% sure this place is haunted. Alien: What does that mean? Human: It means there’s something else in this home alongside us. Alien: Now I’m pissed. Human: Because we’re being haunted? Alien: No. Alien: Because they’re not helping with the mortgage. --------------

*Lights flicker on and off randomly* Human: This is getting scary. Alien: Really? Alien: Poor electrical wiring is scary? Alien: *Flips off lights and lights candles* Alien: Use these instead. Human: *Reaches out for lit candle when light is suddenly blown out* Alien: Okay, now I’m getting upset. -----------

Human: *Steps out of shower and wipes mist off mirror* *Horrible reflection looks back at him* Human: Hey sweetie get in here! Alien: *Walks in and sees horrible reflection* Human: What do you say about that?!?! Alien: *Causally leaves room and returns with hammer* *Smashes mirror into tiny pieces* Alien: You need more conditioner. ---------------

Human: *Walks into dining* *Sees furniture stacked in a pyramid formation* Human: *Looks up to see Alien partner sitting on top of it all sipping morning tea and reading paper* Human: How are you so okay with all of this? Alien: You know I don’t believe in your wild superstitions. *Suddenly chair floats above alien and slams against the back of their head, shattering into a million pieces and sending the alien tumbling to the floor* Human: How about now? Alien: I am *coughs up blood* starting to have my suspicions. --------------

*Doors open and exorcist walks in* Exorcist: You were wise to call me; I can sense the evil of this house already. Alien: Bit early to judge. Exorcist: My church has taught me well of such sensations. Alien: I bet it did. Exorcist: Pardon me? Alien: Does “Ratlines” mean anything to you? Exorcist: *Coughs into hand* Human: *Turns to Alien* I’ve seen you struggle to open a car door and yet somehow you are well versed in world war two histories. --------------------

Exorcist: *Walks around house* Exorcist: Where is the evil centered? Human: Basement. Exorcist: Then let’s go down there. Alien: We don’t go into the basement. Exorcist: Why? Human: They don’t like it when we go down there. Exorcist: *Holds up symbol of faith* have faith my child, for our lord shall protect us. Alien: I don’t have a lord so I doubt they’ll protect me. Human: Yeah, and I’m an atheist so- Exorcist: Wait, you’re an atheist? Human: Yeah, why? Exorcist: *Packs up things and leave* Good luck with your ghosts you heathen fuckers. *As they’re walking away another floating chair comes up behind them and smashes it against their head, sending them to the grassy lawn* Human: I’m not even mad at that one. -----------------------

*Several humans walk in* Lead human: We’re the ghost hunters and we’re here to help. Alien: Question. Lead Human: Shoot. Alien: How many ghosts have you actually slain? Lead Human: We don’t actually kill ghosts. Alien: Then why are you hunters? -----------------------

*After several cameras installed and night falls* Lead Human: If there is a spirit amongst us, we wish to speak with you. *House groans* Lead Human: Give us a sign if you are here. *Vase goes flying off the wall and hits them in the head* Alien: *Watching from van outside* Should have been more specific. --------------------------

Lead human: Why didn’t you tell me it threw things? Alien: We have been telling you this entire time. Lead Human: You said it only used chairs. Human: Chairs are just vases for humans. Alien: That’s a debate for another time.

#humans are insane #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #humans are weird #scifi #story #writing #original writing #niqhtlord01 #funny #ghosts #ghost

[raayllum]

Your Aunt's Spirit In You :: Callum & Amaya, a Meta

Was thinking about these two due to writing a scene between them in a recent oneshot, and then about the similarities they have, so thought - why not? Especially for a shorter meta than more of the long form ones I have siting in my drafts, let's talk about Callum and Amaya

As always, SIMILARITIES first:

Both loyal siblings to a monarch (Sarai through marriage, Ezran through birth)

Taken captive and interrogated by elves

Willing to sacrifice themselves for the good of the group (special shout out to 3x01 which puts this back to back * )

* This is slightly negated by Rayla, not Callum, being the one to actually risk her life (as she talks Callum out of risking his own quite easily) whereas Amaya goes through with it. Still, Callum's sentiment and willingness is there (and on multiple occasions), so it's included. ("I need you to kill me" being another example)

Skeptical, distrustful, and good at reading people (even if Callum changes his mind about Rayla and Amaya does not about Viren)

Good planners / generals (see my General Callum tag here)

Often times more decisive than their partner (Rayla often hesitates, which Janai worries about as well) and encouraging them to prioritize their own needs as well above just their 'duty'

In 4x01, they are both worried about secrets (as a result of war based trauma) and potential attacks, even though both 'secrets' wind up being something positive and wonderful (successfully for Amaya - as she is proposed to and happily rejoices with her partner - and an attempt for Callum, as it leaves him forlorn because his partner is still missing)

Slightly darker sense of humour, maybe ("Now that you'll officially be my little brother, I'll try not to beat you up too much" + "Besides, she only eats three people a day. It's a small price to pay for peace")

And last but not least, there is Janai's assessment of their similarities (aka the meta title) that accompanies the soundtrack piece of "Like Aunt, Like Nephew".

Callum does often undertake dangerous quests / make dangerous choices (travelling across the world to return a dragon egg, throwing himself off a mountain, running into what he believes to be a trap, etc). This is, however, much like how Aaravos' assessment of Callum in 4x04 ("and my favourite, the human mage, already tainted by darkness, and destined to play right into my hands") is true for all of his mage pawns up to that point (Ziard, Claudia, and Viren in the past), true of just about every character in the show. Which makes sense - in an action/adventure fantasy show, most of the characters are going to have to be okay about throwing themselves into danger just by proxy of genre. In most of the trio scenes where someone is hurling themselves into danger, it is usually Rayla first - and then Callum, stepping up if/when she can't do something on her own.

As you might've noticed while there are similarities, outside of their skepticism and willingness to sacrifice (which is again, something most characters in the show have) there aren't that many that go beyond more surface level "these events both happen to these characters," as Amaya and Callum's mindsets aren't that similar, which are the bulk of the main differences we're going to talk about next.

DIFFERENCES:

Prejudice (or therefore lack of)

Amaya is very prejudiced against elves ("Moonshadow elves - the worst kind [...] Don't worry, Callum, I've slain monsters before") at the beginning of the show, whereas Callum never is. He still holds some poor misconceptions (mostly the blood drinking) but he still always sees them as 1) people and 2) therefore worth reasoning with: "Can't you just make peace with them? You don't want to die, I'm sure the elves and dragons don't want to die, so everyone agrees"and his first conversation(s) with Rayla.

2. The ways in which Amaya is similar to Viren are largely different than the ways Callum is similar to Viren.

Amaya devoted her life to safeguarding the Breach and their kingdom's borders, a form of security that Viren was worried about and continued to be worried about once he came into power. Amaya and Viren can both be a little two-faced, willing to present a trusting front and hide their ulterior motives (most notably from each other, and something Rayla has in common arguably with both of them), whereas Callum is incredibly honest most of the time and is very bad at covering up his emotions (something he also has in common with Rayla, since although she often tries to cover things up, she routinely fails at it).

Viren is willing to send his children after the princes in spite of the danger of their secret missions ("if you must choose, choose the egg") and Amaya is willing to hold the Breach rather than go after her nephews, leaving Corvus to do so in her stead. This is very different than Callum, who automatically and often times insists on going along with his loved ones (Ezran, Rayla) when they're embarking on dangerous journeys of their own.

On that note, Amaya and Viren are both also taken captive by the Sunfire elves and given the Trial of Light, with very different outcomes that S5 also reaffirms for Callum, so let's talk about it:

3. The Light Will Decide Your Fate

During Janai's interrogation of Amaya, and Finnegrin's interrogation of Callum, the two respond very differently. Both Janai and Finnegrin want information, but Janai doesn't resort to torture even when Amaya remains entirely silent on any and all matters, and Finnegrin keeps pushing at Callum (and Callum keeps giving up information) even if he doesn't give up what Finnegrin wants, at first.

Amaya's trial is specifically about whether or not she's "pure of heart" or, more accurately, whether or not she's done dark magic. Her interrogation and test, if you will, ends with her passing it - to Khessa's surprise. Amaya is not a mage, and certainly not a dark mage, and is therefore going to interact and approach the world differently than a mage - human or elven or otherwise - would. Callum's interrogation and test is also about dark magic, and he does not 'pass it', lmao.

Because where Amaya had to confront the Light, Callum had to confront his Dark.

This is where we get into more of the mindset differences.

Amaya is willing to cut her losses (if she cannot successfully defend the Breach, she will destroy it, circa 3x01) but Callum almost never does (staying too late in the Great Bookery, for example; holding onto hope that Harrow might be alive even when he knows deep down he knows better, etc). Amaya refuses to give up the Sun Seed for her partner's life, knowing it safeguards a bright future and is what Janai would want her to do; Callum does give Finnegrin the spell and does dark magic to save Rayla, even when she wouldn't ultimately want him to do either of those things on her behalf. 5x08 makes this comparison particularly clear by juxtaposing these two deals and scenes throughout the episode.

Part of this is because, as Amaya acknowledges, for a great deal of her life, she and Callum had very different ideas regarding strength - which is exactly what allows these perspectives to switch:

When she died, I felt lost and weak without her. I hated feeling that way, so I learned to be strong alone. Stoic, strong... and lonely.

But the last two years have changed everything. Meeting Janai, falling in love, I am stronger than I ever was... because we are stronger together. And I realized that was the real truth of me and Sarai, too.

Callum has, up until about halfway through 5x08, always believed that he (and others) are ultimately stronger together, and we see this reflected through the first four seasons and into season five. However, the back half of 5x08 begins to greatly challenge this. Meanwhile, this is something that both Amaya and to a more detailed degree, Rayla, have had to learn. Because, when it comes to how they've responded to trauma, Amaya and Rayla are more similar to one another (and arguably to Viren in this way) than Amaya is to Callum, who by and large has a very different trauma response.

CONCLUSION (??)

While Amaya and Callum do have some similarities, Amaya is not extraordinarily similar to either of her nephews - Callum included - due to their differences in occupation, mindset, and trauma response. The similarities they do share are mostly things that they each share with Viren (such as skepticism) or share with most of the general cast (intelligence - although Callum is a standout - and bravery, for example). Most of their parallels, therefore, are put there to provide contrasts within similar themes (mostly in S1, 4x01, and 5x08), and they do not parallel more than any particular pair of characters in the show (seriously, you could throw a dart and probably find parallels between almost anyone, the show is so steeped in them, so looking at consistency and structure is key). Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed.

—Dragons out

#tdp amaya #tdp callum #tdp meta #the dragon prince #tdp #analysis series #amaya #punching someone in the face is not a thematic parallel in this show i'm sorry to report #however these two do have their similarities & differences #analysis #arc 1 #arc 2 #multi