#that mark is a sign that he fell or the demon he truly is now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wild-houseplant · 1 year

Text

Have Warden, Will Travel- Chapter 17

Oh damn! I can’t believe it but Tenderness is starting to sink its teeth into Zevran good and proper now. Poor bastard. Just a little bit, of course, but still. Bite.

CW for the usual gore, body horror, and violence- now with graphic torture scenes, thanks to the Crow and the Sloth Demon. Full chapter here, AO3 if you prefer here. More under the cut!! You are gorgeous and should drink some fluids.

Zevran had, in fact, died. Just as he'd suspected while he had been dying. He knew he was dead because he no longer had a solid body. He could see the floor through his ribs, which had never been a feature while he was alive, which meant he was a ghost. Handsome and charming as ever, no doubt, but indisputably deceased.

He looked up from his transparent torso and the stone floor beneath it. An ugly, choked gasp tore up his throat like a barb as his eyes fell on a very familiar door. Rippling and ghostly as it was, it was the same initiation holding cell door he had once hunched beside, identical down to its narrow grille window and the deep scratch marks in the wood around the lock.

That he’d even had the nerve to gasp had to be a sign of his months-long softening at the Warden’s side. What gall he’d had to indulge in kind words and soft nudges and pretend he nearly deserved any of it. The audacity of him to be shocked, the sheer effrontery of the tears swelling behind his eyes to find now that the Master had been entirely right about him.

But the eternity, it seemed, had begun, and with it, the re-hardening. What else was there to do? There was no hope of escape, and he didn’t deserve to be free even if there was.

Zevran sat down beside the door and waited. The initiate holding prison struck him as an odd place to start the next life. Surely if the Maker had wanted him to truly suffer (and He no doubt did) He would have plonked Zevran into the week after Rinna’s death.

Ah, but then if Zevran was nothing, why would the Maker be overseeing this? No, the responsibility for his modest participation in afterlife misery had to have been delegated to some lesser being. One who undoubtedly had a taste for the more physically macabre side of life than the emotional side.

At this rate, the more pertinent question was: would he be reliving the same racking as the first time, or did he have the chance to fight back a little? After all, it wasn’t as though he’d be getting any deader if things went wrong.

… Or would he?

The lock clicked; he found himself cursing the quietness at which the jailor had come, just as they had the last time. No footsteps, not even a loud breath or a rumble of the key going into the lock. A Crow could open a spring-loaded latch silently, if they wanted. Zevran would have bet money they only made a noise to see if he would startle, and he was proud that he didn’t.

The door swung open, and the same two men from Zevran’s first initiation stepped in and grabbed him by the hair without a word to him or each other. Zevran was on his feet before they could pull too roughly, astonished by the way his arms stayed glued to his sides. There had been a plan somewhere in his head to do things differently. He'd reach for a knife, test the boundaries of the new world by shanking the jailors, but rigid muscles refused to so much as twitch. Those useless arms were down by his sides like they were painted on.

You coward.

“We’ve got it all planned out for you today, apprentice,” said the man to his left. He had a filthy grin and fingers like fish hooks that were making it their business to wrap firmly around Zevran’s wrists. “You won’t be worth a pinch of shit when we’re through with you.”

Zevran stayed silent, marvelling at his own uselessness as they wound him around corner after corner. Tiny windows– holes, really– in the corridors showed brief glances of the adjacent alleyway, a known place to stash fresh bodies. It was so narrow the sun barely got a look-in, and the stench of mildew and cat piss, overwhelming in the land of the living, had apparently managed to pass into the next life unabated too.

A hand wrenched his head back, cricking his neck in the process. It had to have belonged to the other jailor. Zevran looked over at him once the grip on his hair loosened, but the man was watching straight ahead with a smile on his face. Internally kicking himself for falling for the trick, he forced himself to look ahead again, and took the consequent second hair-wrenching with resignation.

The man on the left kicked a door open, and the rack sat just beyond, positioned in the middle of the tiny room like a guest of honour. His gaze lingered on the apparatus a little too long; a sharp joint to the back– a knee, Zevran guessed– propelled him the last way inside as punishment.

“I don’t care for delays,” the other man growled.

Zevran forced a smirk. “Forgive me. I was taking in her beauty overlong, I see.”

He got a backhander to the face for that.

“Don’t like your attitude, either. Get on and lie down, you little shit.”

The man said that as though Zevran had been given the time to comply. Both sets of hands shoved and dragged him onto it with far more roughness than there might have been had he simply been allowed to climb on himself. But then, this was an initiation. Why would anyone be sweet with him?

His arms were wrenched above his head, up and out, and once they were tied down, his legs got the same treatment. The backboard of the rack was still wet, cool on the backs of his thighs and the jut-point at the top of his spine that dug into the wood. Sweat, specifically fear sweat, had that fulminant, waxy thickness. The whole room stank of it, and Zevran refused to add to it. Not a drop.

And then the dialling started, and that put paid to any and all resolutions. He watched from the corner of his eye as the pawl slid over the rusty ratchet, filling the chamber with the slow scream of aged metal on metal until it fell flush against the edge of the next gear. Was it better to brace the muscles, or relax into it? Something would strain and tear, subluxate and then dislocate completely with the next click. There didn't seem a way to avoid it.

He compromised and tensed his belly. The first stretch was comfortable, the second burned like a kiss. Zevran racked his brains as he tried to recall how many clicks he’d had the first time around. Was it five? Six? Mercy, it wasn’t more than that, surely.

The third came, and he already wanted to writhe. Armpits and hips and knees all pulled like a puppet held to attention. Rigid-hard, one more and he’d split at the seams–

It clicked again, though Zevran didn’t know if that was the ratchet or his joints at this point. One hip was suddenly weak and floppy, half-floating unhoused in the no-man’s-land of his upper leg, and he didn’t manage to stop the soft gasp from coming out.

The man to his left chuckled. “I think I saw him flinch.”

The other man hummed delightedly. “We’ll make you scream yet, apprentice.”

“We’re not going to go easy on you, you know. Don’t think that for a minute.” Zevran caught the first man smiling from ear-to-ear as he moved the roller up another notch.

The hip was out properly now, and his opposite shoulder had left its socket in sympathy.

Zevran’s eyes shut tightly and he clenched his teeth until his head pounded from the pressure. An agonised grunt escaped him. “No…” he gasped, “I wouldn’t… want you to hold back. I’d be disappointed if you… did.”

“This one has spirit,” remarked the second fellow with delight. “It’s a shame we have to break him, really. Go on, do it again.”

The roller cranked again, and Zevran heard his name. In his head, no doubt, but it was loud. Louder than loud, and insistent!

“No– no! Hold on, Zev, hold on!”

He summoned the last of his courage to indulge the idea that this might have come from outside of his head– the sound had echoed a little– and cracked open one eye.

A sharp, pale fist connected with the cheek of the man operating the roller. He went to the floor, and the fist-haver followed him down there with a stream of menacing-sounding Tevene and leagues of black robe rippling out behind her.

In the haze of the agony, Zevran decided that now was as good a time as any to look properly. He forced his other eye open, seeing nothing but hearing plenty of strained grunts, and the sweet crunch of bones breaking under decidedly aggressive punches. It was quite a welcome distraction, really. The other guard was hastening around the rack to join in the fight, which meant there was no-one turning the roller–

The yet-uninjured guard flew over the top of Zevran and ended up on the other side of the room.

Zevran gulped; why had it only occurred to him now that if he was living out eternal punishment, that he would likely not be exempt from whatever was being meted out down there on the floor? Why had he been silently cheering on whoever it was seeing to the jailors when he was destined for something much more unpleasant?

With two unsocketed limbs and muscles in tatters, no less.

Long, frantic fingers appeared from below, snatching the pawl of the rack and bashing it to spin the ratchet in the other direction. The rest of the body came up, dark-haired and wide-eyed and remarkably familiar.

"It's all right, Zev," she whispered rapidly. "I'm going to get you out of here." The ropes around him loosened, and his aching limbs sank down to his sides. "Get off the table and stay away from the fight."

Zevran groaned and squinted at her. "... Warden? It's you?"

The Warden's answer was cut off by a curse as the man across the room woke up and made for them, knives drawn, and Zevran was left to haul himself off the table.

There was something terribly unhinged about the whole scene. An overstretched man gingerly easing himself off a rack while the apparition of a Grey Warden threw her enormous shoulder into the spectral midsection of an Antivan Crow, sending the knives flying out of his hands.

That couldn't be right, though. No Crow would simply let go of their knives because they were tackled. No Crow would let themselves be tackled. In fact, that punch shouldn't even have connected on the first man's face. The Warden would have been dead before she could come within a bull's roar of either of them had they been through genuine article. Surely the afterlife wouldn't be so slack on such details, especially if the goal was to cause suffering.

Had Zevran not died, then? Was this a dream? As if challenging whatever had willed him here, he dared his joints to fix themselves, and he lost a breath as they did.

Remarkable.

His hands shook as he pulled the rope off himself, knees barely supporting his weight as he slid off the table and onto the ground. Somewhere in the back of his head, a voice was reminding him to heal the rest of his smarting body, but he paid it no mind.

An arm's length away from the rack, the Warden seized the would-be Crow by the back of the head and drove it down into the edge of the table. The neck of the Crow, ghost, whatever it was, snapped, and the room went silent except for the thud of a fresh corpse meeting the ground.

It took the Warden hurrying over to him for Zevran to realise he had been standing there, numb and quivering like a child the entire time. Not a single offer of help; not even a shout of encouragement. His shame shut his eyes for him.

"Zev." A hand went on his cheek. "Zev."

Zevran forced his eyes open. Rhodri was bent down to eye level with him, watching him pleadingly. Her fingers and palm covered the entire left side of his face, stroking with the gentleness one might afford a mouse. He could feel the skin flushing under the attention.

Zevran gave a chattery laugh that sent a look of bafflement over the Warden’s face.

"Nothing like a good racking, is there?" he offered weakly.

He could have kicked himself as her mouth fell open. Determination to keep things moving along pushed another sentence out: "And so what now, my lovely Grey Warden? Dinner? Dancing? More murder?"

The joke went over her head. She watched him gravely.

“We’re trapped in the Fade. The Sloth demon, it’s imprisoned us. We need to kill it here, and then we– oh, shit!”

Zevran glanced down to where Rhodri’s wide eyes had darted. His body, incorporeal as it was, was fading, and she and the room were following suit.

“Wh–? But I wasn’t injured! I– I am fine!”

“Listen.” Rhodri’s hand went onto his other cheek. “I will find you again,” she said, as firmly as if she had given an order. “I won’t stop looking for you.”

Zevran gulped. Her voice softened with each word, and she was fast approaching unintelligibility.

“Do you hear me? I will find you, Zev.”

She had said more, but one of them was gone. Knowing his luck, it was probably him.

Zevran decided, once he re-materialised, that he wouldn’t take any more of this Fade business seriously. Certainly, he would do his utmost to ensure that he and the Warden (and the rest of the party, he supposed), emerged alive. But really, if the best it had to offer was counterfeit Crows and a disappear-reappear trick, the Sloth demon might as well give up now. How embarrassing that a dimension held in such reverence by the Chantry was, in fact, the stage for amateur hour.

If only they knew.

He wandered in the nauseating mirage-rippling green for a stretch of time he didn’t bother estimating. Though eyes were on him, nothing gave him any trouble, and so he marched unaccosted until he dissolved again (he went much more willingly this time) and reappeared in a clearing with Rhodri and the rest of the party.

And a demon. Of course, how could he forget the demon?

Though he dared not say it to anyone at the time, Zevran did consider this demon to be quite forgettable. The five of them vanquished the enormous thing with what he would have called mild to moderate elbow grease. Nothing more demanding than the thick end of a multiples contract, really. He’d treat himself to a cask of wine when all this was over.

It only occurred to Zevran when he woke up that the Warden hadn’t used any magic to free him. She was as implausible as his jailors, but she didn’t wake up looking demonic, so it wasn’t as though she had been possessed. Was it a show of power, perhaps? A wordless encouragement for him to toe the line?

It seemed unlikely. He couldn’t imagine why else, though, and put the entire thing out of his head before his stomach could drop any further.

The mage named Niall didn’t survive the departure from the Fade. The only thing that had even vaguely surprised Zevran was that Niall’s physical body hadn’t died sooner. The thought of magic being used to prolong death– and that was all it had been; there was no extension of life in the act of keeping Niall in the Fade– was revolting. Zevran didn’t let himself dwell on it.

With the Litany in hand (it had been the scroll Niall was clutching!), the party took the stairs, and after making the brief acquaintance of a young, magically-imprisoned Templar who hated demons and mages (in that order), approached the door he was trapped next to.

The Harrowing Chamber (Wynne had named the room behind said door as such while they were climbing the staircase) didn’t sound like a particularly welcoming place. Certainly, given the circumstances of their sweep of the Tower, Zevran hadn’t expected a welcome with lillo flutes and minimally-clad dancers, but would it have killed them to call it something else? The Friendship Chamber? The Chamber of Cooperation? Or, at the very least, the Chamber of Strained Civility? He would have to take this up with a figure of authority later. The Tower was already a miserable place, and this didn’t help the mood at all.

In all fairness, though, the name appeared well-deserved once the door was kicked in and the party was greeted by the sight of yet more mages doing terribly illicit things to other mages with their blood. A tall, bald human in red (of course) robes in particular looked like he was having the time of his life as he suspended a writhing human in mid-air. Zevran presumed the unfortunate fellow to be a key figure of some sort; the other Tower mages all wore either blue, gold, or red robes, and this one was wearing a handsome green set. The First Enchanter, perhaps? Was it Irvine, they said his name was? Ian? … Ibsen?

Said important man fell to the floor, and several other similarly suffering mages in the vicinity relaxed from tortured positions as Rhodri began to bark out something in rhythmic, commanding Tevene. Judging by the expressions of the perpetrators, it didn’t appear that they had meant for that to happen.

The bald man’s gaze snapped over to the party (they were approaching him in a run, after all), and his lip curled.

“Well, well!” he crowed. “And what have we here? The eternal botherer Wynne, and…? Ah!” The man chuckled and shrugged at Rhodri with one hand. “Irving’s star Tranquil, of course. Uldred didn’t think much of either of you then, and I certainly don’t see your appeal, myself.”

Wynne shook her head in disgust. “You always were weak, Uldred. And now look at you!”

“I,” Uldred touched a hand to his chest, “am so much more than Uldred ever was. Mages are but the larval form of something greater, but together Uldred and I have become something glorious.” He smiled broadly. “This could be yours, too, Wynne, you know.”

“Stop him,” the man in green gasped from his heap on the ground. “He… is building… an army…”

Well, that was perfectly obvious. Zevran credited the man that perhaps he had been unconscious for that part of the conversation. It was kind of him to try.

And frankly, it hadn’t looked as though Wynne had been tempted by the offer. In fact, she recoiled a little, looking like she’d be sick if she didn’t steel herself enough.

Rhodri, who had been holding her staff in a white-knuckled grip the entire time, pointed it at Uldred.

“There will be no negotiation,” she snarled. “You accident. You utter freak–”

“Now, now, there is no need to brandish your stick at me,” Uldred said with a mawkishness that set Zevran’s teeth on edge. “I was trying to have a civil conversation, and here you are–”

A head-sized boulder emerged, somehow, from the tip of the Warden’s staff, which Uldred didn’t manage to entirely dodge as it clipped one of his shoulders.

He gave a grimacing smile, clutching the shoulder with the arm that wasn’t rendered useless.

“All right, then,” he purred. “Negotiations over. Fight if you must!”

Not that anyone had asked his opinion on it, but Zevran was getting tired of the way monsters were either invading or erupting from people’s bodies. If it wasn’t the mages, it was the Templars, or some other unappealing Fade beastie. If he knew the name of the Arl in this part of the country, he’d be writing to them as a concerned (and very inconvenienced) citizen.

He shelved that thought upon remembering the state of the Arl of Redcliffe who was, in fact, the one responsible for this part of the country. Why he had even entertained the thought of a useful noble was beyond him.

Useless and/or dead upper-crust individuals aside, whatever had taken up residence in Uldred’s body had been absolutely right: Uldred was indeed Uldred “but more.” In fact, Zevran would have confidently asserted that it was Uldred plus another. The other resident ended up winning whatever internal battle might have been occurring, because the erstwhile Uldred grew into a frankly enormous creature with arms and legs like tree trunks and enough eyes to make a spider feel inadequate. Horns on the head (of course), and most interestingly, another set coming out of the elbows that were at least three times as long as the cranial ones. The ultimate villainous entity, according to the mumbles of Rhodri and Wynne, was known as a pride demon.

Wasn’t that just marvellous.

The fight began. They were unquestionably outnumbered, by both blood mages and abominations (though it had to be said that other abominations were lesser than Uldred’s kind. Wasn’t it always the way? One could be great, so long as one didn’t out-great the leader). Alistair, though not a fully consecrated Templar, was still very adept at dispersing some of the blood mages’ harmful magic, and whatever Rhodri was reciting while she sent spell after spell at Uldred seemed to handle the remainder of it.

Optimism grew as Zevran dipped back into the many shadows around the room, opportunities to take the lackeys abounding as they became absorbed in their spellcasting. In one swift movement, he was out by a pair of blood mages, and with another, he had slit their throats and sent them crumpling to the floor. The victory lent him the rush of energy he needed to slip out of sight again, the only sign of life he gave being a low chuckle as he sent another blood mage to her death.

He cast his eye around the room when he hid again, and the situation appeared in their favour, if dire on both ends. Only Uldred and two blood mages remained, and the latter of those were clearly exhausted. So, however, was Wynne, and Alistair was also tiring. Rhodri, who had been exclusively fighting against a weakening Uldred, had been going between reading off the Litany and casting spells the entire time, many of them still wavering between invisible and all-too-visible. She either had larger reserves than Wynne, or the chanting had demanded little of her, because she at least seemed to have enough in her to continue for now.

As Zevran prepared to emerge and backstab the mage Wynne was handling, Rhodri caught sight of her flagging and let out a shout of alarm. She shot a spell at the Senior Enchanter and turned back in time to be struck hard in the arm and shoulder by Uldred’s giant hand, and went flying across the floor.

That changed plans somewhat. Zevran darted out of the shadow to make for her. He turned briefly to slash the neck of Wynne’s blood mage as he did; Rhodri and Uldred were on the other side of the chamber. If Wynne was free to cast, a spell from her would reach them faster than Zevran and his knives.

It seemed, however, that an exhausted Wynne had taken too long to get her bearings, as no spell came, and Uldred leaned over Rhodri, arm high and ready to deal another blow.

To his relief, however, Rhodri was sitting up. He heard her growl through gritted teeth as she pointed her staff at the monster and sent a fireball at him that exploded on impact. The resulting energy surge tore through the chamber, blasting those standing off their feet, and sending anyone on the floor into a roll.

Zevran hadn’t lost consciousness from that– so far as he knew. He remembered hitting the floor with a force that jolted every whisper of air out of his lungs, and he was sure he had landed in the same position he was in now. He didn’t remember feeling quite as much pain in his hip as before, but in all fairness, it was the second part of him to hit the ground.

The memory of the moments before him leaving his feet in the first place was slower to come back. There had been a spell…

His eyes cracked open–

An urgent spell…

Zevran looked around wildly and found Rhodri lying on her belly of all things, facing the newer iteration of Uldred (was that bastard still alive?). The latter party, though winded on his knees, was in a decidedly better state than the Warden, whose gasps could be heard even from where Zevran was.

Zevran was on his feet, knives out, in a limping run. His hip was screaming and the Warden still hadn’t managed to peel herself off the floor.

Her name came out of Zevran’s mouth in a shout. “Move back!” he hobbled a little faster. “Rhodri, move back!”

Uldred shambled closer; Rhodri was white as a sheet, drenched with sweat, and not moving back. Or forward. In fact, the only thing she was doing was giving him that apologetic look again, and inducing an unnerving urge to whimper that Zevran would mentally deny when he had a moment to.

Zevran blessed the Maker that he was quicker than either of them. With a growl, he sprang with the better of his two legs and in three hacking motions, Uldred’s head was falling in one direction and his body in the other. Neither landed anywhere near the Warden, who had still not managed to so much as raise an arm by the time Zevran was on his knees beside her.

He ducked his head down. “Rhodri?”

A soft, slowly crescendoing hubbub was starting up behind him; he glanced long enough to ascertain that the party and the surviving mages were coming-to, and turned back.

The Warden tipped her head so that her chin was no longer propping her face up, and it flopped down so that one of her ears was against the floor. She looked up at him remorsefully.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered between breaths. “Are you… all right?” Her eyes went down to the hip he hadn’t realised he was rubbing.

Zevran stilled his hand and nodded quickly. “Full of vim and vigour, my Warden,” he soothed. “You seem to be doing less well.”

“I’m fine,” she panted. “Just lost control… of my magic. No mana left. What about… the others?”

He glanced behind him again, mostly to humour her. “Mmm. All well. Five mages are being seen to by Wynne. Alistair and Leliana are coming over now.” Zevran gave a reassuring wave to Wynne, who had caught them between spells and pointed at Rhodri. She nodded and went back to work.

The templar was first to arrive, and he (and then Leliana) were given the same reassurance the Warden had supplied Zevran with.

“Think you overcast on that last spell, Rhod,” Alistair mumbled, taking her limp hand and squeezing it.

Rhodri sighed. “I did, forgive me. You’re not harmed, you two?”

They both shook their heads. The Warden smiled weakly. “What a relief,” she murmured. “Please, can you take the last of my lyrium and give it to Wynne?”

“What about for you?” Leliana crouched down, and Zevran could have kicked himself as she swept the soaked hair off the Warden’s face. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

Rhodri smiled weakly. “I’m only at risk if I try to cast any more spells. I’ll rest here until I can move again. Nothing to worry about. But please, help the others if you can. Any other potions she needs, you can take from me.”

Alistair shook his head. “Wynne’s got plenty of everything except the magic juice.” He and Leliana took the last of the lyrium out of Rhodri’s satchel and ferried it to Wynne.

Alone again, Rhodri looked over at Zevran. He stretched out on the ground beside her, giving her a cheerful eyebrow waggle.

He gestured up at the tiny shaft of light coming down on them through the window. “I always did find sunbathing was better with company.”

She gave a wan laugh. “Zev.”

“You called?”

Rhodri’s eyes went back to his hip. “Take a red potion from my satchel and drink it. It’ll give you some relief from that hip.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “And for you…?”

“We can talk about me when you’re attended to.”

Zevran couldn’t help but smile. “No room for debate on that?”

She didn’t smile back. “None.”

“Ah, ah.” He reached into her satchel and pulled out two apple-red potions. “I know when I am defeated. I shall make this quick, then…”

Zevran uncorked the bottle, downed it in a few gulps, and wrinkled his nose a little. “Elfroot. Tastes like bad tea– ah!”

“Don’t scratch,” Rhodri mumbled; Zevran stilled the hand that was getting ready to scrape the bark off his hip.

“Caught me,” he chuckled weakly. “How long does it last…? Oh.” Zevran bounced his legs up and down– perfectly painless. He let out a sigh of relief. “Not long at all. And now we will attend to you, yes?”

Her face hardened. He raised an eyebrow at her.

“I…” she closed her eyes and puffed out a breath. “You can just leave it there. I’m… not quite spry enough to hold the flask right now.”

Zevran smiled and screwed the stopper out of the flask. “It would be more efficient if we worked together, though, no? We will get back to the children a little faster, sí?”

Rhodri gulped. “I… yes,” she sighed. “Yes, you’re quite right.” Her eyes darted up to him, and away again. “If you have a moment, that would be very kind of you.”

He nodded with a flourish. “My dear Grey Warden, I have all the hours in the day! Now, if I may…?” he reached a hand out near her face. “To steady you, you see.”

She swallowed again, looking rather more like he was about to hit her than assist her. “... Thank you, yes,” she whispered.

Zevran fixed her with a winning smile. “It will be the work of moments,” he assured her, sliding his fingers under her cheek and tilting her head away from the stone. The skin was cool and clammy, smooth as glass, and a perfect, soothing weight in his hand. Did she like to touch other people's faces for that reason?

He shelved the thought as soon as he realised he was having it, bringing the bottle to her mouth and held it steady as the Warden drunk it dry with long, deep draughts.

Her fingers were the first things to move, flexing and tensing, and the rest of her upper body quickly followed suit. It was only when her head left the floor that Zevran realised he had been holding it the entire time.

Rhodri swung upright before the panic could eat him alive, and stretched. Her legs inched around until she was about to stand, and when she was on her feet before him, she extended a hand and pulled him up with her.

She looked down at him with a small, sad smile that made his belly surge into his throat

“Thank you for being gentle with me,” she said softly. “You’re so kind, Zev. So kind.” She held a hand out near one shoulder, and when he nodded, she took it and squeezed it. “Pretiotus.”

Zevran’s mouth went dry. Precious.

Another squeeze, and she gestured at the rest of the company. Zevran nodded and fell into a numb stroll beside her, hoping he would know to stop walking before an obstacle, like a wall or a sickly mage, would force him to.

#Have Warden Will Travel #HWWT #In which Rhodri Amell tires out #(and thinks Zevran is going to belt her for fucking up god bless I was sad about it too)#Rhodri Amell #sooooooooooooooooooooon

4 notes · View notes

stayforthemeeting · 2 years

Text

Antagonize

"Isn't this between us? What do you have against the seven lords?" Mc steps around the podium, and silently commands the brothers to step aside. MC can feel them resist, but their will won't bend so they move to the back wall of the council room. Diavolo stays where he is, watching the brothers drawback.

"I thought the council members would be the best for hosting the exchange students, but if they're so easily swayed, perhaps I need to reconsider." Diavolo had nothing against the brothers, but he couldn't let MC's attitude go unchecked. "From what I've heard, you've even made other pacts with friends. Seeing a demon's pride fall to the point they'll give anyone a pact is truly the mark of the time."

"Those are bold words coming from someone whose closest friends are under contract and on their payroll. Say what you want about me, but I think that's just pathetic." MC scoffs as Diavolo takes a step back in surprise, his face giving him away before it returns to its former stoic mask. "And all those friends were RAD students, so obviously someone thought they were worthy of walking these halls. Any poor judgment, in my opinion, lies with administration."

"The Royal Academy of Diavolo is a prestigious institution-" Diavolo gears up to give a monologue worthy of Christopher Peugeot, but MC doesn't give him a chance to defend himself.

"Royal academy? You're running a foster home for broken and abandoned kids." MC gestures back to the brothers, "if they had been given other options when they first fell, do you really think they'd be here?" Diavolo's jaw tightens, eyes turning a darker shade of amber.

"MC, stop it!" Various warnings and pleading came through the pacts, what was just low buzzing of energy now flooded MC's senses as they pushed through MC's control to try to get them to be reasonable. Flashing in quick succession, MC could see themselves through 7 different points of view, but in all of them it was obvious just how much Diavolo towered over them and only now could MC see parts of his demon form peek through his human façade. But MC is wound far too tight; the moonlight was blinding, every sweat drop prickling as it formed on their skin, and the weight of every pair of eyes in the room was beating into their head. Their own anxiety had been manageable, but combined with the brothers' nerves, MC could only think to keep pushing Diavolo's buttons.

"I mean come on!" MC's laughter was fast, airy. "Even your father would rather sleep for an eternity than be here with you!"

Even if MC had psychic powers, they couldn't have dodged in time. Their focus was so drawn to Diavolo, studying his face for the tiniest sign or regret or further transformation, that they completely missed Barbatos's murderous aura behind him.

Barbatos crossed the room in under a second, summoning chains to restrain the brothers right as he stopped in front of MC. Time inched forward, MC could see every muscle in Barbatos' hand as he took off a glove and grabbed their face. MC had full awareness but couldn't move as Barbatos dragged their head down, using it to carve the podium into two pieces.

Every fiber that cut their face, splinters that jammed into their eyes, and their spine starting to crumble under the force that Barbatos used to shove them down- MC felt it all, but couldn't scream. The only kindness left for them in this moment was the ability to look off to the side and stare at the brothers through bloody tears, instead of the rapidly approaching concrete floor.

All said and done, Barbatos was done in under 3 seconds. The brothers hadn't even started to fight against their chains until after Barbatos straightened up and adjusted his uniform coat. He doesn't care to pay attention to the screaming and cursing that filled the room, more focused on the pull of metal and smug when even the raging Beelzebub couldn't move an inch out of his magic circle. Beyond the screeching, Barbatos hears a sigh carry over the anguish. He turns to look at Diavolo and Solomon who are looking at MC's brains with exasperation and regret, respectively.

"Thank you for that," Diavolo walks towards Barbatos, stepping right through the blood and brain matter that fanned out around him. He stops next to Barbatos and nudges MC's body a bit. "Well, they're nothing if not consistent."

"I don't think you're going to be satisfied until you kill them yourself, my lord." Barbatos comments, taking a quick check to make sure he hadn't sullied Diavolo's school attire. "I have to admit, the 'royal orphanage of abandoned kids' was an interesting new tidbit."

"So they can't learn to apologize, but they can come up with new insults almost every time. Typical." Diavolo grunts, and they stare at the body for another few minutes, ignoring Solomon when he slumped down to the ground and dropped his head between his knees.

"Shall I reset the timeline again, my lord?"

"Yes Barbatos, if you'd be so kind." Diavolo waves him on, but already knows that they'll be standing in this exact same position before too long. "Maybe they'll learn this time."

"I guess we'll see."

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

[Do you wish to enter the council room again?]

#Ending 1: Bold and Brash #word count: 886

12 notes · View notes

sasa-gay-yo · 3 years

Text

Levi Gives You A Promise Ring

Request / Summary: Levi worried about reader before a scouting mission (maybe they were hurt in the last one or something), and to make him feel better about it he gives reader a promise ring?

Timeline: Pre-Season 1

Warnings: some swearin’ and suggested NSFW

Art Credits: AoT

He had called you into his office to try and convince you to stay back for today’s expedition. Walking to that dark, stuffy office, you were thinking about the numerous arguments you could give him that would make your place on the expedition team solid. You were a squadron leader. You were one of the best fighters that the Scouts had currently. Levi couldn’t hold you back just because you two had a relationship. How was he supposed to assign you to his elite squad next week when he can’t even let you go on a simple expedition?

However, you knew why he was worried about letting you go today. Last expedition you were injured by an abnormal. A new recruit was shellshocked by seeing his first titan and was easily grabbed off of his horse and body thrown towards the titan’s mouth like a snack. You swung through, shoving the boy out of the way, and your ODM line was caught by the titan. If you were to survive, you’d have to cut one of the wires and fall about forty feet to the ground. Levi watched helplessly as your body fell, but not before you sliced into the titan’s ankles.

Miche was the first one to reach you and pull the abnormal’s dead, limp body off of you. Levi came next, frowning at the fact that you were laughing at your bad fortune. The new recruit was also looking at you like you were crazy, and Levi made them run laps for that after their return. Levi, not able to show care in public, watched helplessly as Miche took you on his horse and cared for you until they returned from the expedition. Miche had done Levi’s job. In the HQ’s makeshift hospital, he watched as Hange wrapped feet after feet of bandages around your middle. Broken ribs and a sprained ankle and wrist. Still, he couldn’t come near you while Hange and Erwin were laughing at your jokes. He just had to sit back and watch the others care for you. At that moment, he decided that you wouldn’t be joining them for next months expedition, but he hadn’t told you of his decision yet. He couldn’t live like that. Always having to watch your risk your life for any member of the Scout’s while he sat on the sidelines.

You, now with a healed ankle and wrist and only a few bruises left on your abdomen, were about to get him to change his mind.

You knocked on his door and a grunt from inside signaled he knew it was you. You opened the door and slid in, closing it behind you. By the way he was sitting in the chair, you knew he was Captain Levi to you right now. Not the man who likes his shoulders massaged after hard training ODM with the new recruits.

“Squad Leader (Y/L/N), thank you for coming on such short notice.” You wanted to roll your eyes at his formality, but you knew that it would give him a reason to actually bar you from the expedition.

“Captain,” you let out, short and sweet so he knew how you were feeling about this meeting. He didn’t smile or smirk at you like he usually did with your sass, he just stared straight ahead thinking. Over and over in his head, he was replaying the image of you falling from the titan hands, your body bounding off the ground on impact. If only you listened to him when he said that it wasn’t your job to save the recruits, then you two wouldn’t be in this position. You crossed your arms, waiting for him to respond.

“I don’t think it to be wise for you to go on this expedition with your injuries still fresh.” He was bullshitting you. If your injuries were still fresh, why did he have you in his bed the day prior? He didn’t care about your injuries when his fingers left bruises on your hips. His secret marks of passion.

“With all due respect, Captain, my injuries have healed, and I’ve been cleared by Hange. I think medical knowledge outweighs your concern. Are you going to not let Petra go on this expedition too when she was injured recently?” He drew his eyebrows in with annoyance, one hand going to rub his temple. Why couldn’t you just listen to him, so he didn’t have to worry about you?

“(Y/F/N) can you just sit out this one, please? Everyone would understand why. There’s no reason to-“

“I thought you said you would never give me preferential treatment, Captain.” Little did he know, his actions when you were injured stung your heart. Even if he felt the need to hide your relationship, that doesn’t mean he can’t care for you as a worried Captain. He just stood there, watching Miche carry you on his horse, no protest or quick jabs of insults. Even when it was only Hange and Erwin, the two people who were already suspicious of you two, he barely looked or responded to your yelps of pain. He would only visit you once a week for five minutes, weary of the others who lay in the cots around you. It hurt you that you were visited by that new recruit whom you hadn’t know existed till you saved him more than your boyfriend, who you’ve known for five years. And now, after all of that, he’s showing whatever kind of concern this is by barring you from the mission?

“Are you upset with me for caring about you?” He had completely transitioned from Captain back into your Levi, but you wouldn’t let him have this moment. Your arms were crossed, jaw clench, and your eyes were boring holes into him. These were all the telltale signs that you were angry, having studied them in secret for years.

“You have no consistency, Captain.” He sighed this time, knowing now exactly what you were talking about. Did you really believe he felt no remorse? That he wasn’t fighting inside himself to go and grab you from Miche’s arms? To put the bandages on you himself since Hange was causing you even more pain with her incompetence?

“You know I cannot express my care for you under the watch of the others. Not only is it for privacy, but your safety could be at risk.” This time you rolled your eyes, loud and clear. He doubted so many of your abilities.

“My ability to defend myself shouldn’t be a problem, Captain, and your ability to just show a little care for me as a fellow soldier shouldn’t either. You can patch up Petra’s wounds, but as soon as I’m hurt, your hands don’t work anymore, it seems.” He slammed his fist against the table at the mentioned of Petra’s name. Why is it always Petra? Oh, yes, besides the fact that she told you that she had feelings for the Captain, why was it her?

“Do you think I don’t feel pain when you’re injured?! Is that it? You don’t think I care about you?!” Now, all formality was off. You were yelling. Hopefully, someone didn’t walk by and ruin Levi’s want for privacy. It was a possibility to, seeing that the expedition is supposed to depart soon.

“If you care you have a funny way of showing it, Levi! Not doing anything when I get injured, not visiting me, not tending to my wounds, only to order me to not go on the expedition?! You know my squad needs me, so you’re being selfish now, but how come you can only be selfish behind this door, huh?” You pointed to the wood behind you, the one you were about to walk out of and slam in his face. It infuriated you that he thought he could assert his control over you like this. If he showed you one ounce of concern while you were hurt or in the medical barracks, maybe, just maybe, you would let him. You would stay behind, sleeping in his fresh sheets, and rest a bit longer. But now, it seemed he was only concerned about you because he was in pain.

He stood up slowly from his desk, eyes still on his fist which connected with the wood.

“How dare you think I don’t care about you. Do you know how much I wanted to go to you? How I wanted to rip those bandaged out of Hange’s hands and do it myself? How I wanted to kill that new recruit for not only causing you harm, but for visiting you and talking about you during training? I’m suffering inside because I can only hold you at night. I can’t sleep when you’re not with me! Do you know how many days of unrest I got while you stayed in the barracks? I want to tell everyone. I want to get up on that damn table in the lunch hall and announce to your little fucking fan club that you’re mine, goddamn it! But I can’t. You know why? I care about you too much to let the Royal Government put a target on your back because of me! To let everyone know that you’re Captain Levi’s would let those who want to kill me know the same. There’s so many in the Underground who I know would jump at the chance to hurt me, and I’m not ready to let you live through my past mistakes. I’m not ready to let you get hurt in front of me while the only thing I can do is stand and watch!” He was breathing heavy at this point, and you had your hand on your heart. It was beating fast at this sudden burst of emotion. You weren’t used to this Levi. Only in your shared bed would he show a glimpse of what the demons he was truly fighting inside, but now he yelled it loud enough that it Erwin was in his office, he would have heard all of Levi’s soliloquy. The last line. That last line wasn’t about his past or the Underground. That last line was about the expeditions. About watching you fall to the ground before his eyes, the titan falling on top of you.

His breathing hadn’t stabilized, and you couldn’t see his face to know how he was feeling. You couldn’t get a glimpse into what he was thinking.

“Levi,” you said, your voice soft. Had you known all of this previously, this problem wouldn’t have occurred. If only he told you about how you felt, and only if you told him your frustrations with his displays of emotion. Your problems were always about communication. Levi didn’t know how to communicate love to anyone.

“Do you know how many times that scene replays in my mind? You falling? Your body smacking into the ground, rolling as the titan falls on top of you? Over and over. Erwin knows about our relationship because he heard me yell for you when it happened. I shouted my name for you.” Your eyes widened, remembering hearing that. Hearing the name that he gave you behind closed doors be announced over the battlefield. The name that signified his private love for you. The name he never used around anyone, for it being too revealing of his emotion. You thought it was your mind playing tricks on you then. There was no way that the man who turned a cold shoulder to you had shouted that out of the battlefield.

“Erwin knows.” It wasn’t a question, but more of a confirmation to you. Confirming that Levi had told someone on his own accord, even if it was because of a mess up. Someone knew about your relationship, and it lightened some metaphorical load on your shoulders. Erwin knew. The Commander knew and he had a whole month to tell you two that it was against the rules for officers to have certain relationships with each other on the pretense of nepotism. That meant he didn’t care, or rather, he approved.

“I wanted to give you something, at a different time and in a different setting, but I don’t think I can let you leave today without it.” That made you lighten up even more. He was letting you go on the expedition.

“What is it?” He opened the top draw of his desk and dug into it, walking over to you with something in his palm. When he opened his palm, there lie a small circle of green jade. Your heart sped up again, not knowing what this was for.

“Levi…?” You asked breathlessly. You two had only been dating for a few months, so it couldn’t have been that, but you’ve almost never gotten a gift like this from him. It was always tea or some chocolates he brought back from meetings in Mitras. One day, he brought back clothes for you, and you had to tell everyone you bought it in Trost, fighting back to the urge to brag about Levi’s care for you. However, this ring, whatever it was meant for, this wasn’t just something you could lie about or hide in your dresser drawer.

“I read about this in a book. The main character wanted to give something to the person he loved, just so they knew how deep it was. Its a promise. A promise to love you. To care for you. As long as I’m alive. No matter how cold I seem to be on the outside, I care for you. I care so much it hurts. And… and if you’re ever in a situation when you’re doubting me, like the one we are in now, then you have this,” he held it up for you to look at, before grabbing you hand and slipping it on. The jade felt cold against your finger, but you were surprised at the sung fit. Your eyes teared up.

“Levi, it beautiful,” was all you could breathe out. You were on cloud nine, receiving this gift of devotion, but also having him say it out loud. The shouts of the past fifteen minutes had faded in your memory with one touch of this jade. He linked his fingers in yours, holding your hand up so he could see and feel the jade on your finger. He marveled at it too, something inside of his tightening at the thought of a ring on your finger. A ring he had given you.

“I promise to be by your side forever, (Y/F/N).” You looked up at him this time, wiping the tears from the corner of your eyes. Never had anyone in their lives devoted themselves to you like Levi just had. Instead of responding verbally, you pulled his face in, kissing him in the middle of his office. His grip tightened on your hand as you did this, allowing you to feel the passion run throughout your whole body.

A knock at the door had broke you two apart, but your hands were still connected. Erwin’s head popped in slowly, knowing that he might walk into to something very different. He’d seen you stalk off to Levi’s office in a huff, ordering some cadet to hitch your horse for you. Yet, he saw that your hands were connected, and when Levi didn’t push you away from him, hands still together for Erwin to see, your smile radiated enough for Erwin to feel his effects. Good. He needed his two best fighters to be happy again.

“Hurry up, you two. We’re leaving and it’s going to be obvious who’s missing soon.” You were the first to let go, knowing that you’d probably have to feign some innocence for the others. The fan club Levi had mentioned liked to know your every move so they could cater to it. You decided that walking down with Erwin was probably the best bet at secrecy and so you bid Levi a smile goodbye before walking out into the hallway with the Commander.

“I didn’t know he told you, Erwin.” The blonde man huffed once in laughter, looking down at your hand. He recognized that ring, Levi quickly confining with the man about relationship advice. Erwin wouldn’t tell you, it wasn’t his place, but Levi was as eager to finally have someone to talk about your relationship with.

“It was due to a mistake, but yes, he told me. He threatened me as well. A very bold move for a subordinate.” You knew he was only joking, and you lifted your hand up to cover your laugh, imagining Erwin punishing Levi of all people for that.

“I’m sorry on his behalf, Commander.” You reached the door out into the field, everyone getting lined up in their formation to leave. Somehow, Levi was already there, sitting on top of his horse with that same neutral expression. When he saw you and Erwin walk out, it didn’t change at all, but this time it left no sting like it had previous.

“No worries, Squad Leader (Y/L/N). I’m glad the ring fits, he was worried about that.” The wicked smirk that broke across your face was confirmation to Levi that Erwin had told you something about their secret conversations about you. He glared at the blonde as he climbed up on the horse next to him.

“I moved Squad Leader (Y/L/N)’s camp closer up in the middle so you won’t have to worry, Captain.” Erwin purposely said that out loud, the others around them trying to pretend they didn’t hear their Commander’s words. Levi’s glared intensified and he gripped the reigns. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you mount your horse, only thirty feet away from him.

“Why would I care, Commander? Good for them. Now when they mess up, they can have us to back up their asses,” Levi growled out, trying to make it sound as harsh as possible. That made the others around stop listening, hearing a normal response from their Captain.

“I’m glad it fit, Captain,” Erwin said lowly, starting his horse to walk up to the front of the formation to give a rousing speech. Levi’s expression softened a bit, but he looked forward, testing out angles that made sure you were always in his periphery.

“I am too, Commander.”

Masterlist

#levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman scenario #levi ackerman #levi ackerman imagine #Captain Levi #levi attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin levi #aot levi #snk levi #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan x you #AoT requests #request

428 notes · View notes

hanatiny · 3 years

Text

Aim To Please

a/n: I’m aware that certain kinks in this may not sit well with some people, but I have a very specific target audience for this one so :) a/n 2: happy birthday to the stressed mom Seonghwa, hope he eats well and has a good day~ <3

pairing: incubus!Seonghwa x f!reader

genre: smut, fluff

word count: 1866

warnings: consensual somnophilia, unprotected sex, noona kink, pet names, Hwa has a gun kink, he's also a whiny service top, praise kink, marking (both biting and light scratching), brief mention of overstimulation, orgasm control

-----

Seonghwa had been visiting you somewhat regularly for a couple months now. He first came to you in a dream while you were feeling lonely and then another night, when you found yourself unable to sleep, he actually physically materialised in front of you.

Incubi were said to simply come to 'their human' for sex and that was that, they would leave once they got what they wanted.

Seonghwa, however, was a little different. He had a bit of a childlike curiosity to him, ironic as it seemed for an immortal demonic creature, and you adored the way his eyes would light up like shooting stars every time you'd talk to him and tell him about your day or simply recount a memory you happened to be fond of.

You grew attached to each other rather quickly and easily, a strong emotional bond forming between the two of you that one wouldn't necessarily think possible.

And so, when he arrived this particular night, he couldn’t help but pout a little when he found you fast asleep in your bed. Then again he couldn’t really blame you, it was sometime between 2 and 3am after all. In all honestly, he was relieved to see you get some rest, knowing how you struggled at times.

He visited you for a different reason tonight though; it was his creation day - or birthday, a word he learned from you that meant essentially the same thing in human terms, which he used interchangeably.

He wanted to celebrate it with you and to do so, he’d either have to wait until you'd awaken on your own accord, or wake you up himself. He technically wanted to do neither but he was an incubus, so he did the one thing that he knew how to do.

Hesitating for a beat, then, Seonghwa's face blossomed a cherry red when he recalled how you had previously informed in a conversation that he had been given explicit permission to have his way with you whenever he pleased.

Feeling the mattress dip beneath his weight, he carefully maneuvered himself onto the mattress to hover above you. Seonghwa, careful and gentle as ever, balanced himself on one hand while lifting the other to brush a few strands of hair out of your face.

Your expression was peaceful as you slept, head tilted slightly to the side, and he couldn't help but coo softly at the sight while he briefly lost himself in his own thoughts.

How would he ever tell you that he had fallen in love with you, someone belonging in a different world...? He had yet to figure it out.

He shook his emotional dilemma off in favor of trailing his lips down from your jaw over your neck and collarbone with slow, deliberate kisses. You stirred slightly with a soft hum, remaining asleep.

Seonghwa’s soft lips attached themselves to your skin to gently suck a marking near your shoulder. Once satisfied, he pulled back and his hands went to free your sleeping form from the blanket it was covered with.

He froze in his tracks for a brief moment, not having expected you to be dressed exclusively in an oversized t-shirt. He bit his lip and toyed with the hem of the piece of fabric that still covered your body before pushing it up to under your breasts for easier access to where he wanted to be.

His hands established a gentle but firm grip on your thighs and parted them for him while he nipped all over the skin of your stomach, trying to distract himself and not turn bright red once more from the realization of your lack of underwear.

Like the gentle man he was, Seonghwa glided his fingertips over your inner thighs with featherlight touches and if it wasn’t for the airy giggle you let out, having known you were rather ticklish, he would have thought you couldn’t feel him at all.

You leaned into his touch slightly out of instinct when his fingers ghosted over your slit to see if you were wet enough to take him - he knew it could be painfully if either party isn’t aroused to a more than sufficient level. But, to his relief, you were practically dripping, which led him to believe you may have been having a wet dream. Little did he know, you had been in a limbo between asleep and awake ever since his hands first came into contact with your heated skin.

Seonghwa was way too focused on his task to notice your state of half-consciousness, and he didn’t even connect the dots when you mewled out loud after he had discarded his pants and gradually pushed his length into your entrance.

Once he bottomed out, he whined softly as he began to rock his hips into you and it surprised you time and time how gentle he’d start off with you - as if you were a porcelain doll and he was afraid of breaking you - and that you’d always, without fail, remind him that he didn’t have to be, that you could take it.

There was a tenderness in his actions that you couldn’t quite place. You refused to believe that the root of it was love.

It was when his voice went high-pitched with a shaky “N-noona..~” that your eyes flew open, thankful for his lack of focus on you while he moaned softly, your hand blindly fumbling for something under the pillow next to you.

Your fingers finally took hold of and wrapped around the cold metal item, pulling it out from where you hid it until mere seconds ago, and Seonghwa’s hips stuttered slightly when he heard a familiar soft click, but he only snapped his gaze back forward to look at you wide-eyed as he felt a gun barrel pressed to the side of his head.

“Noona, I-”

“Hush, sugar. You’ll be good and listen to every word I say, yeah~?” You smirked up at him as he nodded and let out a desperate whine of affirmation.

It was a peculiar kink of him to have to want to call you noona, you mused, considering that he was a century old creature and you physically would not be able to top that as a human being. But you figured that it wouldn’t hurt to indulge him, considering that no one in his past seemed to have done so based on his delight when you complied and agreed.

Whimpers from the man above you pulled you back into the present reality as you watched him struggle to keep up a rhythm with the gun pressed to his head. You cooed at how good of a job he was doing regardless, “Such a good boy, fucking noona good just how he knows she likes it...~”

Seonghwa cried out, his face flushed because of how he submissive he acted, contrary to how he usually at least tried to appear to be.

“Mhm, my pretty babyboy figured he could use my body for his own pleasure, similar to how the rest of his kind does hm~? It’s cute, really.” You purred, unable to stop a moan from slipping from your lips while your grip on the loaded gun tightened slighly, although you made sure to keep your fingers away from the trigger just in case.

“You make noona feel so good, sugar, just like you’re meant to...~” You smiled up at Seonghwa with a so obviously deceiving sweetness that made his pouty lips tremble slightly, a few strands of his messy hair sticking to his slightly sweaty forehead.

You knew the telltale signs of when he was about to cum, your first trist with the demon having been what felt like years ago although it only lied back a few months.

“I-I... Noona, ‘m already close...~” He panted softly above you, causing you to coo as he twitched inside of you, a smile tugging at you lips.

“Mhm I can tell, baby~ You can hold it in for a little longer for noona, no?” Your voice carried a lilt as you hummed and it unsettled Seonghwa that he couldn’t quite place it, but he nodded eagerly nonetheless, not willing to even so much as risk disappointing you.

“Y-yeah!” He gasped softly when you suddenly wrapped your legs around his waist to pull him even deeper inside of you, your back arching as you did so, “Good boy...~ Oh fuck, right there-”

You hissed lowly under your breath, having unintentionally pushed the tip of your lover’s cock right into the spot that would make you come undone. Seonghwa whined loudly and desperately above you as he continued his almost frenzied thrusts into your heat, his head thrown back and his body on the verge of overstimulation when you found your climax around his length.

It was convenient for him to be so well-endowed, you mused, since he was able to hit the most pleasurable spots deep inside of you with ease.

“P-please noona, I-I can’t-”

“Cum, Seonghwa.”

And just like that, with two simple words, he let go and released himself inside of you, a soft moan drifting from you at the feeling of warmth spreading through your body.

Seonghwa panted softly as he slowly came down from his high, reaching to caress your cheek as if in a trance while you dropped the hand holding the gun onto a pillow next to the two of you before letting go of the item entirely.

Having caught your breath, you nudged him to roll over, which he willingly did after carefully pulling out of you.

You turned to face him, tenderly threading a hand through his hair as he pouted at you.

“Y/n-”

“Shh, I know Hwa. I should get cleaned up... but I’m too tired, so I’ll just shower in the morning.” You smiled reassuringly, to which he relaxed as well and wordlessly wrapped his arm around you to pull you close and cuddle you.

“Happy birthday...~” You murmured before drifting off, leading Seonghwa to coo softly at you in endearment as he held you close to himself protectively.

You were truly the only gift he could ever want and need.

When you woke up the next morning, it was in an entirely different position than the one you fell asleep in. Shifting in your bed, you realized that your supernatural companion had cleaned both himself and you in the night before making sure to dress you appropriately so you wouldn’t be cold.

You found your gun on the nightstand next to you a few moments after, along with a small note Seonghwa must’ve written in a hurry if the handwriting on it was anything to go by.

‘Thought I’d allow myself to clean you up so you could stay under your comfy blankets a little longer. Hope you don’t mind :)’

There were a few hearts scribbled all over the piece of paper, and your head fell back against your pillow with a knowing smile and a happy sigh.

You were glad the incubus seemed to reciprocate your feelings, and you’d be sure to tell him so when he would return.

“I love you too, Hwa.”

----- Taglist:

@cometoceantrenches @ddeonghwva @galaxteez @innosintsan @latte-fairytaekwoon @little-precious-baby @multidreams-and-desires @nightqueennyx @vocalyunho @yunhoes-twancings-nsfw @yunhoiseyecandy

Network tag:

@8makes1teamnet

#8makes1teamnet #ateez smut #seonghwa smut #ateez seonghwa smut #seonghwa fluff #someone please appreciate my pun-#hanatiny writes #park seonghwa smut

217 notes · View notes

emily-the-fae · 3 years

Text

Every Day is a Lullaby

A oneshot. This honestly came to my mind yesterday night, I do not know how well the idea turned out to be.

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Arthur Ketch x OC

Warnings:probably language, blood, injury, background character death, brief mentions of sex, angst mith mix of fluff

Rated: T

Mr Ketch has many sides, likable and repulsing - but which one of his faces is truly his is sometimes an uncertainty even for him.

Harper reflects on the changes on their relationship as they get out of a hunt gone wrong. While Ketch reconsiders some of his past choices... And reasons why he is still alive.

If he's a serial killer

Then what's the worst

That can happen to a girl

Who's already hurt

I'm already hurt

The first time Harper met him was a coincidence. It was long before the whole nephilim thing, long before she found out what kind of man he was, what kind of hunter he was. Yet even back then in the span of their first couple of meetings she felt he was no good.

A stupid hunting coincidence.

Harper was not used to hunting alone. She did that to herself - separated herself from the Winchesters. However much she loved Sam and Dean, she could not bear continuously being around them, not after everything that happened. Not after Charlie. Because no matter what Dean said or how Sam reassured her - it was her fault. Charlie was a great friend. Charlie had the brightest soul. Harper was late to help her and now Charlie was no more. It was all Harper's fault.

Driving away and going head first into hunting was the outmost Winchester way of dealing with the guilt and grief. Hunting alone while slowly coming out of her lowest phase - those were the circumstances under which Harper met Arthur Ketch.

The first time it happened it was a coincidence - two hunters choosing the same target is not uncommon. Harper was already on spot and all in the fight when he arrived. "Are you insane going into a whole vampire nest alone?" - those were the first words she ever heard from him. She might have been slightly insane, but he sure was a damn psycho. To be honest if not for him she would have probably ended up dead or turned in that vampire nest that night. Harper hates being honest about it.

The second coincidence happened just a few days after the first one - she would later on doubt if it was a coincidence at all. Perhaps it was. Harper would never really know - what she did know though was that he still had a small scar left above his left eyebrow - a mark of where she hit him with the grip of her gun, thinking it was the witch that was creeping up to her and absolutely not expecting to hear a male voice swearing after her blow. Arthur had not known her for 24 hours in sum and they were already making a scene after a hunt - Harper almost pitied she had not knocked him out straight away.

What happened on the next day? He caught her in the town and suggested to team up to avoid "future confusions". Rule number one how to become friends with Arthur Ketch: hit him in the face. Harper wasn't going to become friends with him - with any hunters for that matter - but fate seldom cared what Harper was going to do anyways.

Harper definitely lied to herself when she said that they were going to be only friends or that she was going to hate him after all the British Men of Letters invasion story. She didn't. Not with the way they met in the first place: him ripping her out of the claws of the angry remnants of the vampire pack - slightly concerned greyish blue eyes and a British accent was what greeted her at dawn that day, even though mid in fight she had accepted she would not see the sun again. It seemed symbolic how he saved her from giving up, from herself. And certainly not after the way their relationship went from mutual curiosity to blind semi-professional trust. Harper did not need a "friend" to console her: if she had wanted that she would have stayed around Sam - she needed someone unfeeling but understanding enough to see through her and consciously let it be.

She remembered it clearly - three hunts into their relationship - a month after their first encounter - they were sharing a hotel room. Two beds, late night after a hunt, she lied on her side and quietly cried. It was a demon hunt. The memories were too much. Arthur came into view and stared at her for a couple of moments before walking to his own bed.

- I'd say you can talk about it when you want to, but I doubt you will ever feel the necessity, - a brief caress of his hand against her shoulder. He did not try to relieve her, he allowed her to get to her own way of coping. For that Harper was grateful more than ever. - We all have skeletons in our closets, it's the downturn of the job.

Oh, dear Arthur, we are both now aware you knew far too well what you were talking about. Harper doubted any hunter had a closet cemetery as large as Ketch's.

Yet... Even after that - the awkward reuniting with the Winchesters, being pulled away from him as she came back to her old friends and witnessing, luckily from a safe distance, how the man she grew to trust without actually knowing him, uncovered darker and darker sides of his personality. What was worst - after she refused to join the BMoL, he would continue to sometimes keep her hunting company, going on like nothing happened. Like nothing changed. Why worst? It let the image of the heartless killer that she should have seen before her now connect and combine with the image of the man who would patch her up on her darkest nights and put a firm hand on her shoulder when Harper was too deep in memory to restrain herself. His presence around her became a reassurance in itself - because he did not have to know to understand. And because he simply had not been there - looking into his eyes Harper wouldn't get reminded of the times when everything was still right, wouldn't get reminded of that one time everything went very wrong. Probably those were the main qualities that helped him win a spot in her heart. Those and his unending casual flirting.

And now? After everything was over, after his very dark side was revealed, the confessions were made and the redemption was played, what did she think of him? The hunter, turned out just a very well trained assassin - he had served the British Men of Letters, he had served Asmodeus - now here he was separated from any commanding he ever had, living a hunting life of his own and sometimes collaborating with the Winchesters. Therewere many dark moments forgotten for the sake of peace. Many more had yet to come up - judging by how Ketch treated his own history and interests of others.

" - I wonder where Mick went, he was always so nice... Nicer than you, anyways. Pity he went away all of a sudden, - Harper mentioned once after a hunt.

- He did not go anywhere. I shot him in the head just like Hess ordered, - Ketch seemed calm and cold as steel. " Sometimes Harper thought that leaving BMoL would change him, but moments like that she realized how slowly the changes - if any - would have to occur. That night she simply walked away, not saying another word.

If anyone ever asked Harper how Arthur's spot in her heart had shifted after all the mess he had caused? She would say that he never even had one... And think that truth to be told there was no flame hot enough to burn him out of her chest - his name carved on her ribs would have been easier to get rid of than the bittersweet affection she harboured for the moral wreck of a man named Arthur Ketch.

If he's as bad as they say

Then I guess I'm cursed

Looking into his eyes

I think he's already hurt

He's already hurt

Despite that Harper never dared pursue a relationship. Why? She was very sure with people like Ketch the only right strategy was not to expect them to be capable of attachment. The flirting, the sweet promising looks he would give her after a well-accomplished hunt... Harper would dream of believing them to be genuine. She was very well aware thinking him in any way genuine was a risk she was not ready to take. She knew Ketch would not mind letting that affair happen - he made that quite clear. She also knew it would mean absolutely nothing to him apart from some company and a warm body in his bed. Arthur Ketch was cold, unemotional and taught himself well not to get attached to anyone - and even if that was not true, he tried his damn best to make it seem so.

Harper sometimes hoped she saw it in his eyes: a silent "please keep safe" when they would part after a hunt, a sparking "I missed you" when they would meet once again. Arthur sometimes hoped she would see it too - very deep in his soul, deeper than he would ever be able to admit even to himself.

In other words, the outcome of the new hunt would have presented itself sooner or later anyways. They were actually quite lucky to have it present itself the way it did.

The werewolf did not seem such a hard target - away from bigger packs, alone terrorizing the neighborhood - just because he could. Problem and solution crystal clear - a hunt where one clearly sees the root of evil is a blessing for a hunter that's used to all the versions of heartbreaking stories. What Harper did not so clearly see was the gun in their opponent's hands. To be more precise: she did see it, but a little too late.

Two gunshots rang at the same time: her silver bullet hitting right into the monster's heart and his normal one - ... Ketch fell against the wall, sliding down to the floor: his left shoulder bled, the bulletproof vest, even though being pierced in the thinner area, had preserved him from being too deeply injured - but not kept completely safe from wounding.

Several seconds of silence - making sure the werewolf is not a threat anymore - realisation and fear finally hitting Harper.

- Ketch?... Ketch?!... Arthur! - the hunter was too disoriented to answer and his silence was taken as a bad sign. - Oh Lord, Arthur, no! - gone are the self-restraint and professional coldness: the moment she sees blood on his chest, she rushes to his side, forgetting about everything else in the world. She needs to make sure he will be fine. He has to be. - Arthur, please, don't die on me! Arthur! - she calls for his attention, the hunter slowly regaining his senses.

For a moment there he believes he hears Tony. This reminds him of some of his unlucky hunts from the years before, though back then he had certainly had it worse. Besides this definitely was not Tony.

Tony would have said "Ketch's down" and carry on with the hunt, eyes on the target, and when the deed was done she would pass him with a short "How is it?" - more out of politeness than genuine caring. That was exactly what she did the only two times he had been seriously injured infront of her.

- Ketch, answer me right this instant, don't you dare fading out! - panic in her voice, genuine. The idea of someone caring as much as to panic at the thought of his death seems too good to be true - for him at least. Arthur feels hands investigating his chest, checking for the wound: cold thin fingers running over his blood-covered skin. Not Tony - Harper.

- I'll live, darling, it's nothing too serious, - attempting to sound confident, but his voice is rasp. It's nothing serious, but it hurt nonetheless: the blow on the shoulder was much harder than anticipated and the bleeding needed to be stopped.

Harper looks into the light blue, borderline grey eyes - he is staring up at her, his gaze unguarded only for a moment that lets her see the uncommon softness and hope in his expression - just for a moment - she believes the things she guessed about him were true, she believes the pain visible in his eyes is true, only by accident revealed to her. The state lasts only a couple of moments - but even that is more than enough for his visible emotions to imprint into her mind.

Arthur Ketch was able to feel. Arthur Ketch could be in pain. Arthur Ketch was capable of needing help.

I said "Don't be a jerk, don't call me a taxi"

Sitting in your sweatshirt, crying in the backseat ooh-ooh

I just wanna dance with you

Hollywood and Vine, Black Rabbit in the alley

I just wanna hold you tight down the avenue ooh

I just wanna dance with you

It was a wonder that the hotel clerk did not stop them on their way - Ketch looked positively dying - Harper was quite sure there was no legal thing that could have happened to him that would have explained this appearance. This was the reason normal hunters chose motels: less suspicion. Harper briefly wondered where he got the money to maintain his former lifestyle, since he was stripped of the BMoL funding, but she guessed there were other sources on his side and he was just too stubborn to change his ways.

When they stumbled into his hotel room, Arthur made a move to drop himself on the bed, but Harper grabbed him by the collar swiftly, dragging him away in the other direction.

- Ketch don't you dare stain the sheets, they'll report us, - she mumbled, pushing him to enter the bathroom and dropping him to sit on the edge of the tub.

He would have laughed if the sudden movement had not caused sharp pain to shoot through his damaged shoulder, making him wince. Alexandra. He had wondered for so long whom Harper reminded him of and out of all moments they shared it was this that made him realise. The memory reappeared in his mind so vividly now.

"Artie, no! Don't go to your room, you'll stain your carpet! Mum will kill us!" - and the older girl held him under his arms, guiding him to the kitchen.

He still remembered it: the years before school, before Kendricks, him and his sister mostly alone in the house with parents constantly away. Alexandra had brought him up before Kendricks had. Alexandra had a lovely voice, she would read him bedtime stories, she would sing to him, she was kind and caring - probably the only human being in his life that ever seemed to care. When he went to Kendricks was the last time he had ever seen her... Well, alive. Alexandra was kind and caring - and that was probably the reason why she had not made it through the training. In fact her death might have been the only reason why he survived and made it to the top - having no one care about you has a benefit: you don't have to care about anyone too.

After his sister's funeral life had never felt the same and Arthur had been quite certain before that it was for the better. Now, watching Harper rush about, trying to find the medical kit to help him, he thought that he had been terribly wrong all the damn time.

How long has she known him? A couple of years, not more, but the relationship between them reached beyond the borders of friendship or companionship. That little american hunter - the first time he saw her he thought she was suicidal, the second one - bold and full of sass. The following months proved her well capable of combining both while turning out to be so much more, one of which being: to be able to love Arthur Ketch. Of course he knew she loved him - this was among those traits in her that he openly treated with polite contempt and deep down envied more than anything.

He watched Harper come to his side, sliding his hunting gear off his shoulders - her movements so gentle, her eyes filled with worry and guilt.

- I'm so sorry Arthur, I should have... - you're always sorry. You always think it is your fault and none else's. This was most probably the main reason why it was so easy for him to openly reject her feeling: they both knew she loved him, they both knew he saw it, he toyed with her so many times, being suggestive, flirting. "As long as I enjoy the physical aspects of having an affair, the emotional attachment that other people believe necessary to form is rather pathetic" - he told her once. He actually said that, those were his words. I would like to fuck you as long as you shut your disgustingly human little heart. She stared at him for a moment, her beautiful face almost successfully hiding the hurt - then turned away silently, shrugging her shoulders. He was being a jerk. Harper never stopped him from that, Harper seemed to take it all in and believe he was right, believe that her feeling for him was utterly pathetic. That it was her fault.

- It was no one's mistake, love, it was an unlucky accident. Besides it didn't turn out that awful, - he trailed off. She was cleaning his skin over the wound now, preparing to apply stitches. Arthur could sense a little shudder in her at the word "love". He was so used to saying it that he forgot about all the connotations it held. Lord, was he bad at this.

Harper continued her work silently. She felt him studying her face and prayed to be finished as quick as possible - she did not need another heartbreaking hope and she had already made the mistake of looking into his eyes that night. When the last stitch was done, she turned away to put the materials aside and sensed him straighten up behind her back - Harper felt he wanted to say something else, but she could not give him that opportunity. She almost thought he would die that night - seeing him on the floor made her blood run cold - she did not need any more pain to add to the aftermath of the shock.

- I'm going to my room, but please call me if you feel worse during the night, - she spoke, not turning to face him, ready to walk out of the bathroom. Harper felt his hand grab her wrist in a rushed movement and turned abruptly only to see him staring back at her with unguarded softness in his eyes. The only time she remembered Arthur look at her like that was when she twisted an ankle during the hunt all due to his mistake. It scared her a little to see that expression on him.

- Why won't you just stay to keep an eye on me? - his voice low, with an undertone she so often heard when he flirted with her.

- You're a big boy, Ketch, we both know that even stitching you up was superfluous, you can perfectly well tend to yourself, - a smile. Harper tried to brush it off jokingly, ready to make her leave, but his grasp on her wrist only grew stronger.

- Stay. At least for this night. Please, - the smile disappeared from her face. He sounded wounded, he sounded like he really pleaded. Harper broke away from his grasp, taking a step back.

- You don't need a... - she shook her head.

- But I do, - he stood up, taking a step towards her, not letting her increase the distance between them. His fingers came up to caress her cheek gently. - Harper, stay, - she shut her eyes, standing still and quiet for a couple of seconds, seemingly fighting back emotions.

- You don't mean this, - she said, looking up at him sharply and confidently, but in a moment, failing to restrain herself, she continues more quietly and softly. - Why do you have to be so cruel to me? - he could see tears brimming in her eyes.

They stood frozen in front of each other, her face so close to his, her eyes watering - not because of this particular evening, but because of all those times before he had behaved in similar nature. It was the first time she had so directly addressed the issue of her feelings for him. "Why do you have to be so cruel to me?" She seemed to be waiting for an actual answer. Why was she always so kind to him? Like he was normal, like he didn't hurt her? Arthur leaned down, his hand still cupping her cheek, his lips touching hers gently and firmly.

Harper closed her eyes - not as a girl would do in a pretty romantic movie - she shut her eyes, pressing her eyelids together, holding her breath, shuddering. A single tear ran down her cheek.

When they parted, though his face still stayed just a few centimeters away from hers, Harper opened her eyes again, her breath shaking.

- Arthur...

His free hand circled her waist, pulling her closer to him, as his fingers slid away from her cheek, moving behind her head, running through her hair. Arthur leaned close to her ear, his breath ghosting over her neck.

- Because I hate how you make me feel like I can still have a life, like not everything is lost. I hate how you make me feel worth being cared about and able to care. I hate how you make me feel, - he said that rushed and quiet. Pressing his front to the side of her head, breathing deeply.

- And what if you are lying? What if this all is for the sake of one night? I'm tired of guessing if you have a soul or not, Arthur, I'm too worn out, - she wispered after some time, leaning her forehead into his uninjured shoulder.

- Then trust me this one time. I promise. Please.

- Why?

- Because I need you. I need you to feel alive.

Arthur felt her let out a deep breath, her petite form pressing itself to his, her arms sliding behind his back to hold him close. She raised her head, freezing for a moment before their eyes met, then leaning up - their lips meeting now less gingerly than the first time.

- Does that mean you'll stay?

- You're such an asshole, Ketch...

- I know.

Harper hid her face in his chest, sobbing quietly, her form shacking, worn out both physically and emotionally. Arthur kissed her temple softly, caressing her back, for once feeling like he did everything right. For once feeling like they had a chance.

Happiness is a butterfly

Try to catch it like every night

It's escaping from me into moonlight

#supernatural #spn fanfiction #arthur ketch x oc #this is written half at night and half on school breaks please don't judge me #i havenot revisited this fandom in such a long time #arthur ketch x reader #arthur ketch #sam winchester #dean winchester #british men of letters #angst #happiness is a butterfly #lana del rey #oneshot #songfic

20 notes · View notes

hotchley · 3 years

Text

that’s when i could finally breathe

Me: oh yeah, I am definitely going on a fanfic writing break. Also me: this.

As always, I have no idea what I’ve done. I really was taking a break, but then I was listening to Clean and... this happened. All of my pieces have been weirdly cathartic, and I think this one was just like: HAHA PROJECTION!!

I also did not proofread this, and wrote it in one day, so... do with that what you will :)

Also, do not comment on my inability to come up with decent titles. I know. I know this is a terrible title, but I HAD NO BETTER IDEAS OKAY!!!

Word Count: 2289

Trigger Warnings: child abuse, funerals, death, past suicidal thoughts, grief, self-destructive behaviour (Hotch does not pull his hair out, but he does have thoughts about doing so)

read on ao3!

He has always found a sense of peace in the rain.

Where other people would run to try and find shelter, Aaron has always loved to just stand and let it soak through his clothes to his skin, chilling his bones and body. Haley had found it endearing as a teenager.

As an adult, it had concerned her.

He could tell her it was nothing till he was blue in the face, but there was a sense of panic that came with looking out the window to see the clouds weeping, combined with her husband’s lack of presence in their apartment.

More than once, he would come home, shivering and teeth chattering, but smiling. She would force him to change, to wrap himself in a blanket, but he would usually be too dazed to do so without her assistance. He caught a cold more than once.

Jack has inherited his love for the rain. His love, like everything else about him, is childish and innocent though. A love for jumping in puddles and splashing his parents. A fascination with the different types of weather, and a love for the yellow coat that has a duck on the hood that was a gift from Penelope.

Aaron’s love for the rain can be described in one word. The same word Haley has always used to describe the way he loves everything. His love for the rain is complex. It is born from the best and worst moments of his life.

His love for the rain comes from the little boy that wore his heart on his sleeve. Who wanted nothing more than to turn the terrible things that happened into a story, and who just wanted to use his brain to find a reason for all the bad things that seemed to keep happening.

It rained the day of his father’s funeral. His mother and Sean shared an umbrella. Haley tried to get him to stand under hers, but he refused, choosing to stand in it, letting it numb the fire in his stomach. He didn’t shed any tears at the funeral. He had already mourned the death of his father. He had mourned when he was eleven, and learnt that his father did not love him. Not in the way he was meant to. Not in a way that was right.

The rain made it look like he was crying. It soaked his hair and dripped onto the collar of his coat, and when his uncle drove him and the last people that knew the truth about Mr Hotchner, his mother seemed to realise what he had been doing. She chastised him, but it was weak and with no real threat.

Aaron would confess to Haley, months later, that the rain had made him feel like he was being listened to. Like the God he had stopped believing in believed his father was a bad man, and the rain had been to disrupt the final event where anyone would truly care for him. The rain made him feel like there was a happy ending at the end of the tunnel waiting for him.

It made him feel like he could breathe again.

When Haley kissed him for the first time, it was raining. They had been running home from their date, not expecting the summer night to turn out like that, and he had paused because of the stitch in his side.

She had turned around, laughing hysterically because of course this had happened. Of course their first date, which she had spent hours preparing for, Jessica styling her hair and convincing her the dress she had picked was perfect, ended in rain. With her hair coming loose from the pins she had slid into it. With Aaron’s shirt plastered to his skin. If she had stepped close enough, she could almost see the scars on his back.

She wouldn’t ask though. Not today.

He looked at her, slightly apologetic, and she was once again struck by just how pretty he was. His eyelashes were longer than she had first realised, and the rain seemed to drip off of them in a way she had only ever seen in the movies.

His hair was an untamed mess. Her heart had dropped a little when he rang her doorbell, because she liked the chaos of his usual style, and seeing it without a hair out of place made her feel like he was trying to be a different person. The rain had ruined it all though, and it now fell onto his forehead and stuck to his face in a way she loved.

To everyone else in their little town, he likely looked like the villain. Like the demon creeping in through the window to steal the beautiful princess away to their terrible castle. But Haley is not everyone else. And to her, Aaron looks like the dashing prince, ready to save the heroine from the terrible prejudice of her home.

So when he opened his mouth, probably to ask her if everything was okay, she took a step forward, placed her hands on his cheeks and kissed him. It was messy and wet and awkward, but it was their first. And it was special.

Her cheeks were flushed when she pulled away. Aaron just stared at her for a few moments, something like panic written all over his face. But then that panic gave way to something else, and Haley felt like she was watching someone realise they were in love.

It was more beautiful than she could’ve ever imagined.

He smiled at her, still bashful after the events of the evening, and held his arm out to her. She took it, allowing him to walk her all the way to her front door, where he placed a single kiss to her cheek.

He laughed, once he was out of her line of sight. He laughed, and he ran through the puddles, splashing the water everywhere, and he let out loud cheers because the night was silent and only the stars were there to keep him company.

Haley Brooks liked him. No. She loved him.

It made him feel like he could live again.

The moment he felt clean, like the blood had been washed from his hands, like he could breathe again, like he could exist and not feel like there had been some massive mistake, it was raining. Haley had been dead for six months, and it had been six brutal months of cases, of processing his grief, of shutting down in front of the team.

Of teaching Jack that being sad was part of life, and that being happy did not mean he was forgetting Mom, or a terrible person. Of wishing there was someone to hold his hand, just for a moment.

Of flashing Jessica little smiles, because he had lost the first woman to love him the way love was supposed to be, but Jessica had lost her baby sister, and nothing was ever going to bring her back to life. Not his own self-destruction. Not his guilt. Not his pain. Not the way he threw himself into cases that caused the ink to blur before his eyes.

Not the way he was trying so hard to teach his son exactly what love was so he would grow up unafraid to jump in head first, and would always believe in its existence.

Jessica asked if Jack could stay with her for a few days. She had a break in between one project finishing and the next starting, and she was going to use it to look at some of the things Haley had left at her house. Aaron was yet to deal with the things in the house and in storage. He just couldn’t do it.

But Jessica wanted to start, and she wanted Jack to see some of the things. He spoke to Jack, and Jack’s therapist, about the trip, and when both people signed off on it, he packed his son a bag and dropped his son off at his aunt’s for the weekend.

The quietness of the apartment had a greater impact on him than he thought it would’ve. He had gotten used to the sound of Jack racing around. Of Jessica washing dishes. Of their quiet existences that left a mark on every inch on every wall of the convenient location that had somehow evolved into a home- something he thought he’d lost forever when Anderson handed him the divorce papers.

He couldn’t handle the silence. It was suffocating. It reminded him of his childhood house, and of walking on eggshells. It reminded him of the thirty-four days he felt in silence, recovering from stab wounds he wished had killed him, and mourning the loss of his family.

So he drives. And he drives. And he drives.

And he somehow finds himself at Gideon’s cabin. He’d only been there twice since he left the team. Once to pick Reid up once he had the strength to phone and say that he’d found a letter, but he didn’t know what he was meant to do, but Gideon was gone and he didn’t know why everyone always left. Once to pick Rossi up, after the case with the three children that ended with no real sort of justice.

Gideon left him a key. It was in the drawer of his desk, with no explanation. No letter. No apology. Hotch had taken it, and attached it to the keyring that held his house keys. He’d never used it though.

Not before now.

Because that day, when he goes to Gideon’s cabin, he lets himself in. He walks through the different rooms, smiling at the small traces of his former mentor that still remain there, and the pieces of the other team members that have somehow found themselves a home in the various areas.

He exits out the back door.

Haley had taken him here once. After she found out she was pregnant, he was meant to step down and take a transfer. They’d had it all planned out. Then he’d gotten a phone call saying there was a case, and that case had been Adrian Bale so before he knew what was going on, he was pushed into the role of Unit Chief and trying to rebuild a team that was never meant to have been his.

She had taken him here to remind him of all the reasons he couldn’t leave. Of all the lives he would feel responsible for if he acted selfishly. And he had looked at her, with such love in his eyes, and agreed with her. It had been a quiet trip. A peaceful trip. A warm visit. They had been together, still the teenagers that linked hands during the final bows of their performance.

Haley was dead, and he was left to patch up his own pieces. The visit had been tense and silent, but the uncomfortable type, and even as he walked through the cabin, he wondered why exactly he had bothered coming here. He didn’t know what he was trying to achieve, or what he thought this was going to do. He just knew it was something he needed to do.

When he stepped back out into the woods that surrounded the cabin, the rain started.

He had never believed in signs, not truly, but this one was too big to be anything but that. It was pouring. Enough to cause the branches to sag with the weight of water. Enough to create proper puddles that could be jumped in. Enough to remind him of the first time Haley had kissed him, and how that simple touch had brought him back to life. Enough to remind him of his father’s funeral, and how the feel of the cold had reminded he had no longer had to be afraid.

It was loud enough to drown out the sounds of people.

He had one chance to do this. One chance to see whether or not his love for the rain would still help him the way it always had.

He screamed. He fell to his knees, and he fisted his hands in his hair. He didn’t pull it out, but he tugged at it, and Haley wasn’t there to grip his hands till he could trust himself.

He screamed. And he cried. And he begged for an answer. And he shoved his blazer off, not even caring that his trousers were stained with mud that would likely never come out, and not giving a damn about the cold.

He screamed. Until his throat went dry and his words seemed to fade into nothing, not only because the rain swallowed his noises, but because he couldn’t be loud.

He screamed until he was soaked and the rain had caused him to go numb and start shivering.

And then he turned around and walked back inside. As he passed the bathroom, something caught his eye. A towel he had thought he had just misplaced whilst on a case, and a hoodie he’d assumed he’d given to Sean and forgotten about. Almost like Gideon had guessed what he would be doing here, and wanted to apologise for what he had done.

Haley would not want him to get sick. Neither would Jessica. Neither would the team. Neither would Jack.

So he went into the bathroom, and he dried himself off, and he zipped the hoodie up. And then he took a final look around the cabin. He smiled to himself, knowing that, no matter what happens, the team will always have this as their safe haven.

He drives home, despite the rain.

It makes him feel like he could love again.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner #haley hotchner #jason gideon #hurt hotch #hotch angst #tw death #tw child abuse #tw grief #tw self destruction #tw past suicidal thoughts #sumayyah writes cm

50 notes · View notes

chierafied · 3 years

Text

Do I Remind You of Somewhere You Wanna Be - Part 4 (SKW2021D5)

Blue: Luck / Calmness & Stability

—

Previous Part

—

I Wish You’d Open up to Me, ‘Cause I Wanna Know You

—

Kagome’s knees were weak as she followed Sesshoumaru inside the house. Her heart was racing in her chest and her head was light and buzzing.

So many times in the past ten years she’d gone away to the remote corners of the country, chasing after that elusive moment when for a couple of seconds she could forget. When she stood in an untouched wilderness and for a moment could imagine herself back in time. When the veil between her present and her past felt so thin that reaching out with her fingers she could almost grasp that which she had lost.

And now here it was. A sliver of her past, in flesh and blood. If not for the very real hand still firmly pressing against the small of her back, or the way the demonic energy she hadn’t felt in so long licked against her skin, she might have thought she’d slipped into a dream.

But no subconscious of hers could have conjured up Sesshoumaru, in his dark-blue kimono, in this old, simply furnished house. A Sesshoumaru who had held onto her so tightly, with such desperation her soul had ached for him. A Sesshoumaru who’d bestowed such soft kisses on her.

It all made her mind reel. She couldn’t believe that she was here. Even though the tatami she now was sitting on was very solid beneath her folded knees, the ceramic surface of the teacup in her hands soothingly warm. Even though Sesshoumaru sat across from her, those golden eyes glowing. His gaze had never left her. His youki was coiled around her like a cocoon.

Then again, she hadn’t been able to take her eyes off him, either. She kept thinking that any moment now she would wake up, that he would once again slip away, tearing that frail connection to the past from her fingers. It was so startling to sit across from him, basking in his presence. Sesshoumaru looked exactly as he had the last Kagome had seen him when they had fought side by side, facing Naraku that one final time. Of course, his outfit was different. Now he wore just a simple dark-blue kimono; there was no sign of his armour or swords. She supposed he had much less use for them now the land was not teeming with demons and being torn apart by war.

But that pale skin, the vivid markings creating contrast, the elegant, claw-tipped hands, the long silver-white hair flowing down his back… Everything about him looked just as she remembered. Except for his eyes.

They were still that same amber hue but there was a look in them she’d never seen before. A mixture of silent pain and frail hope. A fierce longing. She was trapped by that stare. It held her transfixed, like a mirror image, echoing that burning in her own soul, that deep ache in her own heart. Kagome hadn’t really known Sesshoumaru, before. They’d been enemies, uneasy allies, passing acquaintances at best. But she recognised that look. It resonated with her down to her bones. Here and now, she felt a tangible kinship with him. She could tell they’d known the same pain. That they both longed for a time and place long lost.

And as Kagome held Sesshoumaru’s gaze and sipped her tea, she realised something else. Bathed in his youki, sitting here with him, having finally found a way to revisit the past, the tightness was gone. Her skin no longer itched, she no longer felt the urgency to escape. The restlessness had vanished completely.

Here and now, with him, she felt at peace.

A smile rose to her lips and wanting more of that connection, she held out her free hand.

He grasped it, his thumb brushing gently across her knuckles.

“You said you’d tell me everything I wanted to know,” she spoke, breaking that comfortable silence they’d been wrapped in.

His head dipped in assent. “I did.”

There were too many questions whirling in Kagome’s mind, too many things she ached to know and yet didn’t yet dare to ask him about. So she chose what seemed to be the most pressing; Sesshoumaru’s cryptic warning from before.

“What did you mean by not letting me go this time?”

Sesshoumaru’s gaze was calm and steady as he considered his answer.

“We did not meet on auspicious terms,” he finally began.

Kagome’s lips twitched into a smile. “You mean when you tried to kill me?”

He shrugged his shoulder. “We were adversaries in the beginning. But even on that very first day of our acquaintance, your bravery and actions earned my respect.”

“Oh,” Kagome breathed softly, taken aback.

“And then, when those many months later we fought against Naraku side by side, I realised that these… feelings were starting to grow and shift. That my regard for you was changing from mere respect to something different. Deeper.”

Kagome swallowed to ease her dry throat. She stared into his earnest golden eyes and squeezed his hand.

“Of course, I did not truly understand the full extent of this shift until after you were gone. I did not know where you had disappeared, nor how nor why. So since then, I’ve been stuck, always wondering what would have happened if you hadn’t gone.”

She looked away then, down at their entwined hands and how carefully he held hers in a gentle grip.

“I had no idea,” she said after a moment, her voice scarcely above a whisper.

“You could not have known,” Sesshoumaru told her, his stable voice soothing. “I hardly knew myself, might not even know now had I not had all those years to reflect, had time not stolen you so suddenly.”

“Well, it’s brought us back, hasn’t it?”

His eyes flashed molten gold.

“Indeed it has. Luck is on our side, or perhaps it is fate. I care not which, I’m just glad you have found me at last.”

Kagome’s heart fluttered in her chest. She set down her tea, unable to resist the impulse to close the distance, to cup his warm cheek in her palm.

“I’m glad I found you too. I wasn’t even trying to. I mean in a way I was… Well, not trying to find you but trying to find a way to connect with the past again, to feel closer to Sengoku jidai and to forget…”

“Trying to forget the now and the world you do not fit in, wishing yourself back in time, impossible as it is.”

Tears pricked in Kagome’s eyes, threatening to spill. Her smile was wide and wobbly as she squeezed his hand like a lifeline.

He knew.

He understood.

Sesshoumaru and her, they were the same.

A single tear fell, trailing down Kagome’s cheek. Sesshoumaru leaned in, brushed it away with his thumb.

And then, meeting her gaze with his hooded eyes, he inched even closer.

Kagome sat still, breathless, entranced, her heart beating a mad rhythm as their breaths mingled.

“I am going to kiss you now,” Sesshoumaru told her.

Next Part

#sesskag #sesskag fanfiction #sesskagweek2021 #skw2021 #skw2021d5 #chie writes #fic: sk #Do I Remind You of Somewhere You Wanna Be #Part 4

26 notes · View notes

savethelastdan · 3 years

Text

Yashahime Is Over Party: Contribution #2

“All right, all right!”

The crowd of villagers quieted (some with a wince) as the high-pitched shout rang around the village entrance. Ten-year-old Moroha gave them one last warning glare for good measure.

With, as her Great-Grandpa on the other side of the Well would say, “more gusto than should be necessary”, she then leapt upon the nearest height-offering surface - one of the tourists’ suitcases, emblazoned a dozen times on every side with “FRAGILE” - and began her welcome speech.

“Shut your mouths and hold onto your butts, folks, because this is a real treat! The coolest village ever to exist in any timeline, on a sunny day! Since my big brother is at kitsune academy today, you all have the honor of yours truly acting as escort around this prime piece of feudal real estate!”

Dramatic pause for emphasis. (Yes, she’d taken some liberties with the script that Shippo had left, and she didn’t quite know what ‘prime piece of real estate’ actually meant, but her cousin Towa agreed that it sounded fancy and fancy always worked with humans.)

A soft-faced young woman glanced around the crowd self-consciously before raising a hand. “You mean, this is the village where priestess Kikyo - “

“Ahem!” Moroha held up the wooden sign hanging from her neck, tapping the carved-in letters spelling ‘Village Tour Guide #2” with one nail. “Are you wearin’ the sign?”

“Oh. Uh, sorry.” The woman blushed.

After a moment, Moroha cleared her throat. “Okay, yeah, it is. But there’s a bunch of other super-cool people here, too! If you wanna meet them - follow me!” With that, she jumped from the suitcase to land solidly in the dirt. A few tourists reared back from the cloud of disturbed dust, putting them at the back of the moving crowd.

“First up, the sister of the blah-dee-blah-famed-priestess-blah-dee-blah Kikyo - Lady Kaedeeeeee!” She swung both arms in a dramatic half-circle towards the healer woman’s hut; the crowd ooh-ed and ah-ed appropriately. “On days like these, she’s either healing a sick patient, birthin’ a new baby, or taking a long nap! Since she’s awfully old, the napping’s more frequent.” Hooking an arm around a teenage tourist’s shoulder, she hissed in a spooky tone, “Some say she’ll live forever, getting older and older until she’s like a living zombie-”

“I heard that.” With a cross expression, Kaede leaned out of the window.“Don’t think I won’t curse you for those bad manners.”

Moroha waved the group on with a nervous chuckle.

“And this is the home of the most famous demon slayer known to womankind - Sango!” Cupping both hands around her mouth like a bullhorn, Moroha drew out the last syllable of the woman’s name to emphasize her coolness. Several of the humans perked up with excitement; it wasn’t hard to imagine that they had themselves benefited from some of the woman’s work.

“Her husband Miroku lives here too. He used to be a monk, but now he’s a family guy! My papa says -” She straightened, putting on a deep, gruff tone - “it’s a damn miracle -” Dropping the tone, she grinned cheerily at the group - “nobody will tell me why!”

As if on cue, the door to the house opened to reveal a group of tall, bickering young adults. The loudest were two women with matching features, the only visible difference to a stranger being that one’s slayer outfit was trimmed in pink and the other’s in green. Behind them trotted a younger boy, also wearing a slayer outfit in red.

“I’m taking the kusarigama, you’re taking the wakizashi!” The green-outfitted slayer said, ignoring her sister’s attempts to talk over her. “Otherwise you and Mom will have two long-range weapons, and that makes no sense!”

“Plus that’s Uncle Kohaku’s specialty!” Their brother piped up; he dodged the twin elbows that swung back at him as easily as if they’d warned him. “She wants to impress him with it so he’ll take her on his trip to the mountains with Rin this summer!”

Through the left-open door, came the sweet smell of treats baking - one of the many hobbies Miroku had taken up with his time, now that he wasn’t going to up and die (Moroha knew she wasn’t technically supposed to know about that. Or probably phrase it like that… But if her godfather Koga said it that way, why was it any different for her?)

The group of slayers stopped short upon seeing the crowd; with awkward bows, they quickly skirted their way around the gaping tourists.

““That’s Sango’s kids; every one of ‘em demon slayer prodigies.” Slinging her arm around the same teen from earlier, Moroha shook her head with a dramatic sigh. “Makes me almost want another sibling. Except then I’d have to share my room, nooooo thank you!”

“Excuse me.” A mustached man in the middle of the group raised one arm curiously. “I heard one of those women mention Rin - is that the human who died twice and was resurrected by the sword Tenseiga?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. That’s Rin.” Moroha tapped her own head thoughtfully and muttered under her breath, “Was it really only twice…”

“Does she still live here?” The man’s mustache drooped in a frown. “Or did she go to live with that dog demon?”

“Dog demon? Ohhh, you mean Uncle Sesshomaru!” A smile stretched across her face. “I almost forgot about him! Nah, after she got married she decided to stay in town -”

“Married?!” The group erupted in murmurs of horror. One kerchiefed mother clapped her hands over the ears of her daughter; the mustached man turned green.

Moroha’s face fell. “Well, yeah. She wanted to keep taking healer lessons from Kaede, and even though he travels a lot, she wanted to stay by Kohaku’s side when he comes home. Be a team, and all that.”

“Ohhhh, so she’s Kohaku’s wife!” The human mother’s shoulders slumped with a sigh. “How lovely and age-appropriate.”

Moroha wasn’t sure what that meant, but if it made the negative energy go away then she was all for it! “Rin’s super cool, anyway. She knows how to heal demons, not just humans, and she tells really good ghost stories, and she’s actually really good at arm-wrestling -”

Suddenly she ducked her head to whisper, “She’s probably my favorite cousin, if I’m bein’ honest with ya.”

“Do you have other cousins?” A man who appeared to look a thousand years old squinted in her direction. Perhaps in confusion, but it was hard to tell with all the wrinkles. “I doubt a full-blooded dog demon like that Sesshomaru fella would leave his legacy in the hands of a human girl.”

“My mom would say that’s prejudiced,” Moroha said helpfully, causing the old man to blanche. “But Rin’s got two little sisters, who you can see riiiiiiight now!”

With a dramatic twist, she whirled around to point in the opposite direction with both hands, adding a low growl that was meant to mimic the roar of an excited crowd.

The moment was slightly underwhelmed by the confused looks of the tourists as they took a moment to figure out where exactly to look. That’s okay; she’d work on it.

Down the road, her twin cousins leaned against the wall of a house (Moroha’s house, which she was saving for last because you always save the best for last). Towa was smiling and pointing out something up in the sky, while Setsuna wore a very predictable scowl. From this far away, the red streaks in their hair were little more than smudges.

The extremely old man with an attitude problem made a weird hacking noise, most likely in surprise.

“Did he adopt them like your other cousin?” asked a teenage girl.

“Kinda!” Both hands landed on her hips; Moroha then modeled her expression on her Uncle - stoic, dismissive, oh-so-cool. “On a cool spring night, Uncle Sesshomaru walked into the darkest, deepest forest on the planet, waved his sword over a really old and creepy tree, and when he cut it open - there they were. Two lil’ hanyou babies.”

Dramatic pause.

“Just kiddin’.” Laughing loud enough to bring back the wincing from the group, Moroha slapped her knee. “They’re full demons. I can still take either of ‘em in a fight, though. Oh!” She pointed up in the air with a wide, excited smile. “There’s their mom right now!”

Murmurs of confusion filled the air as the tourists moved their heads this way, that way; only when a chilling breeze morphed into flesh and bone, right before their eyes, did the group exclaim in collective understanding.

Moroha waved. “Hi, Auntie Kagura!”

“Yo.” Clearly taken aback by the crowd, the wind demon gave a tiny salute. The side of her neck bore a half-moon symbol tattooed on the skin; Moroha thought it was neat, even if her dad thought it was a dumb, archaic wedding ritual. “Do your parents know you’re doing this?”

“Uh, duh!” She held up the sign with a cheeky grin.

“Fair enough.” Upon spying her daughters across the way, Kagura’s expression softened a bit. “Well, I’ll see you later.”

“No, wait! We’re actually heading the same way.” Gesturing to the not-moving crowd, Moroha repeated, “The same way. Meaning the best part of the tour - come on, folks, work with me here -”

Kagura snorted, walking quickly as though to avoid the gawking humans and their nosy questions about how she had been resurrected or could still live now that Naraku was dead or got Sesshomaru to admit he had feelings much less have kids with her. A curt “none of your business” was all they’d get, no matter how much Moroha tugged on her sleeve and whined about “giving people their money’s worth.”

Luckily, once they reached Moroha’s house, it was easy to escape. After all, a much more awe-inspiring attraction awaited the group of lucky, lucky tourists.

“And now! The Greatest Love Story Of Our Time!” With a winning grin, Moroha landed a kick on the door, sending it slamming open.

“Oh.” Kagome blinked at the group from where she sat on a futon in the middle of the house, surrounded by magical artifacts. A scroll marked with ink rolled from her lap all the way to one side of the room. Behind her, halfway through helping her put her hair in a bun, Inuyasha froze “Uh, hello?”

“My parents! Dumdedumdummmmm!” The warmth of her pride felt like it was going to burst in her chest. It was the absolute best to come home to people who loved her! Whether it was tickle fights before bed, or her dad taking her and Shippo out on demon-tracking trips, or her mom humming a lullaby if she felt sick on the full moon night, Moroha was certain her family was the best of anybody’s anywhere. “One fell through time, and one fell -- fell, uh, for her -- sorry, I’ll work on it.”

Inuyasha huffed in the way that meant he was going to complain later. Kagome just chuckled and waved.

For once, the humans reacted exactly the way Moroha wanted them to - smiling, clapping, appreciating the wonder of her super-beautiful-and-also-hella-powerful mom and grumpy-but-still-amazingly-brave papa. She launched into the story she knew by heart, of how they had come to be together and saved the whole world while they were at it. Some parts were probably missing or misrepresented, from the laughter in her mom’s eyes, but she had enough of it right that half the tourist group was in near tears by the time she was done.

“And now, they have one more accomplishment to add to the long list - parenting the greatest warrior this world has ever seen. Moro-uh, Beniyasha!” Swirling the ends of her fire-rat robe, she twirled. “The Crimson Slayer!”

“Slayer of my patience, maybe,” Inuyasha snapped, though he was unable to hide his smile as he marched over to grab her by the collar. “Come ‘ere, kid. You’ve got chores to do!”

Tossing her over his shoulder, he waved dismissively at the group of humans. “Sorry folks, the show ends here. Yeesh...”

Moroha cupped both hands around her mouth, screeching to be heard over her parent’s laughter before the door shut.

“Make sure to leave your comment cards in the box at the entrance!”

#moroha #setsuna #towa #kagome #inuyasha #miroku #sango #kinu #gyokuto #hisui #sesshomaru #rin #kohaku #kagura #yashahimeisoverparty #hnyisoverparty #yashahime #shespitsfire #savethelastdan

57 notes · View notes

cassandra-moon · 4 years

Text

You’ve come back

Adara stared up at her ceiling with tears streaming down her face and onto the sheets. Today marked a full year since he left, now where was a different story. She honestly didn’t know, he just went into town and never came out, and when she went to look for him, either nobody knew or they’d refused to tell her anything. If that wasn’t enough, she found out she was pregnant only a month after his disappearance. Now here she was, finally in a place of refuge where she and her baby daughter can rest peacefully, but her life was not complete nor peaceful.

There was always that, feeling in the back of her mind that wouldn’t leave her alone. Every night she’d lay awake, left alone with nothing but the deafening silence and her thoughts and the many questions that plagued her mind. Did I do something for him to leave? Does he still love me? Did he ever love me? Inhaling deeply, Adara rose from her, her long black hair fell to her back, wiping the tears from her tanned face, made sure her baby was secured in the crib, and left. As she walked into the garden, she looked up towards the skies and prayed to the gods, begging them for some sort of sign that her beloved was out there, somewhere, looking for her. As she pried, she couldn’t help but cry because she knew that no matter how much she prayed, deep down in her heart she knew he didn’t care.

Clenching her hands into fists and grinding her teeth she spoke, “I really should hate you. I want to hate you, but I can’t.” She collapsed onto her knees and cried. No matter what, she couldn’t bring herself to hate him. Memories of the two of them invaded her mind as she tried.

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

Adara sprinted away, her heart pounding in her chest as her bare feet collided with the cold mud of the forest floor, glancing behind her, her assailant gaining speed, a smile plastered on his face. Despite her situation, Adara wasn’t scared, she wanted him to catch her, but she wasn’t going down without a sight. Quickly, she ducked into a bush and slid down the hill, regaining her balance as she sprinted away, “that should put some distance between us.” She felt so alive, so confident that she didn’t even notice the figure jumping from tree to tree just above her head until he jumped down and tackled her to the ground.

Adara screamed in delight as her beloved nibbled on her neck and growled playfully in her ear, his black hair fell like a curtain off the night sky surrounding them. Once they calmed down they looked into each other’s eyes, the world around them began to grow silent and dark until it was only the two of them in the world. “You truly are the most beautiful being on this earth.”, his words sent a shiver up her spine as she stared into his dark brown eyes through her hazel ones. “I love you, Seraphim”, she whispered before her lips locked with his and her legs were around his waist.

****

Adara stood, her knees ached from kneeling, wiping the salty tears from her face once again. She had shed so many tears for that man and she wanted to stop, but she knew that in the end, she would shed more. She often found herself in her fantasies, hoping that she’d be working in the garden, and one day she’d look up and see a man, covered in shadow emerge from the trees and it would be her beloved. His walk would turn to run as he’d surround her entire body in his strong arms and whisper in her ear “I’ll never leave you again”, before making love to her till dawn.

“I need sleep, this is too much for one night.” Just as she had turned, a voice called out to her, “Adara.” She whipped around, eyes darting in every direction in a desperate attempt to find the voice that sounded just like the voice she’d call out to in her dreams. Timidly, she called out in a quivering voice, “who’s there?”

A man emerged from the dark, eyes glowing red and claws sharp, he dropped his bident to show he meant no threat to her and placed his hands in the air. Adara’s heart thundered in her chest so much that she swore he could hear it on the other side of the field. “Wait, I just want to-Hey!” Before he could finish, Adara had made it back to the house and opened the door, she screamed as the tall demon raced over to her. With a burst of adrenaline followed by the sound of her wailing child she slammed the door and locked it, then she grabbed her baby and hid as far away from the door with the raging demon on the side.

An audible sigh came from the other side of the door and one final thud, this time a lot less aggressive. “Adara, please listen to me.” She stopped shaking, “That voice.” She shifted slightly over to the bed and placed her now a quiet baby in her crib before carefully striding over to the door. “I know you must resent me for leaving you that night. I know you feel as though I abandoned you to raise our child, but please know this, since that day, even during this war, I have always loved you, and I’ve never stopped thinking of you. Thinking of the ways we’d spend our days. I missed you so much, Adara.”

Realization struck her. This man. This demon. Was her beloved? Without hesitation, she flung open the door where she came face to… well, chest, with the man she only thought she’d see in her dreams. Looking into his eyes she could see the man behind the monster that stood before her, the man she loved.

“Seraphim?” She hesitantly lifted her hand up to his face and cupped on his cheek, he leaned into her palm and she could feel the tension leave his entire body as he placed his hand on hers and kissed her fingers. She moved her hands further and ran through his silver and gold hair.

She remembered a time where he’d lay on her lap and let her comb his hair with her fingers while she told him how beautiful she thought he was and how much she loved him. “I truly don’t deserve you”, he told her as he fell into a deep slumber on that first floor and she’d follow him soon after. To her those memories were bitter sweet, they reminded her of the times she spent before he left her, and that made her furious. As tears once again built up, she retracted her hand before bringing it back down on Seraphims face hard, forcefully turning his head to the side forcing him to grunt out in pain.

Seraphim lifted his hand to his burning cheek and gazed out in astonishment. He whirled back, fangs bared ready to strike her back until he saw her face. Tears ran down her face and he could tell she was in pain. This was his fault, he’d hurt her in a way no person should ever be hurt.

Cautiously, he wrapped his arm around her body and pulled her into his chest. He knew this would calm her, it always did. Just as he thought, her sobbing quieted and her body stilled, nothing calmed her down more than the sound of his heart beating. “I’m sorry”, he said breaking the silence. “I had no intentions of leaving you for so long, the job was to be done and done quickly so I could return to you, but the Fates had other plans and led to a creature, a giant. It infected my mind, and I had followed it’s orders. And the result of such an ordeal, I have become a monster.”

The time in Seraphims voice said it all, he truly felt awful for what he has become. If he didn’t feel ugly inside and out before, he sure felt like that now and that's something Adara wasn’t going to have. She never settled for her loved ones hating themselves.

Looking into his crimson eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her level. Seraphims breath quickened as she leaned in and captured his lips, it felt heavenly. Urges he thought he’d never feel again began to rise and soon he found himself lifting her up off the ground and walked into the house.

Adara could feel the bulge push into her stomach, she herself could feel her own arousal pooling between her legs. A had found its way under dress and began pushing it over her head revealing everything to the man above her. “You have not changed a bit, you’re still beautiful.” Seraphim ran his clawed fingers up her body until he squeezed one of her plump breasts and played with her nipple. “I thought I’d never get the chance to play with you like this ever again, I promise I will never leave you alone again.”

Adara smiled before moaning out when she felt a pair of fangs graze her stomach and travel lower until he disappeared between her thighs. She could feel the arousal dripping from her core, she attempted to close her legs out of embarrassment only for Seraphim to open them wider than before, “now, how can I enjoy my feast if you keep it from me?” He loved teasing her, every chance he got he’d tease her in some way or another to get a rise out of her, but now I seemed as though he was trying to make up for the year he was gone.

Seraphim began nibbling on her inner thigh, going closer to her heated core and then leaving her in need as he moved away, chuckling at her frustration as she whined for him to come back. Finally he had enough and dove into her core, forcing a moan from her throat as his tongue invaded every area inside her, she had forgotten how he could make her unravel just with his tongue. The pleasure began to build up as he continued until she burst, sending waves of shock throughout her body.

Seraphim rose her thighs with a smirk plastered down his face as he kicked his lips, “I had nearly forgotten how good you teste. Now let’s see if I can remember how good you feel.” He grabbed one of Adaras legs and flipped her over onto her stomach. From over her shoulder, she could see Seraphim remove the cloth from around his waist revealing his large, hard shaft. ‘Did it grow’, she exclaimed in her mind just as he began climbing his way up the bed. “It’s been too long since we did this. Be still, I know it will hurt.”

Slowly he pushed into her, groaning at her tightness. He tried to hold in his moans of pleasure, he really did forget how good she felt. Adara wasn’t doing any better. Sure it hurt, but it felt just as good, hearing him huff and groan, and feeling him twitch within her. “M-move.” Seraphim carefully and cautiously began to pump into her, his pace began slow but strong, making Adara moan in ecstasy. His pace began to quicken, now instead of slow and cautious, he was confident and brutal. His shaft rubbed her right in every way, she could feel herself begin to burst again, until he stopped. She was about to shout her protest until she was grabbed and flipped back over onto her back and he pushed back into her.

Adara practically screamed out in pleasure but was sil nice when a pair of velvety lips pressed onto hers. Seraphim continued his assault on her core, his grunting and groaning only pushed Adara further off the edge until she fell. “Oh gods, Seraphim!!” Her calls and screams delighted the man and made him increase his pace. He was on cloud nine, his mind clouded with pleasure, he wished this moment could last forever, but sadly it couldn’t.

Adara had come at least three times before he finished, his seed spilling into her with a low moan, gods she missed him. He collapsed next to her, breathing heavy. That was another thing he forgot about, how much energy he’d put into fucking her. He looked over to her, she was exhausted. “I’m sorry. I should have never left you. I’m terrible and I know it. But if you’d give me another chance, I promise I’ll make it up to you, as our child’s father and as your husband.”

Adara smiled, “yes.” They embraced each other once again before Seraphim stood from the bed and walked over to the crib where the sleeping baby lay. She looked just like him, before his transition. Black hair, tanned skin, “she’s got your eyes.” Seraphim sighed before doing something he hadn’t done in almost a year. He transformed back into his actual human appearance. “What did you name her?” Adara stood and placed her hand in his back. “Ariana.” Seraphim smiled down at the sleeping baby before picking her up. “Perfect.”

——————

I told y’all

#bood of zeus #seraphim #seraphim x reader #oneshot #smut #blood of Zeus x reader

235 notes · View notes

wornoutmouse · 3 years

Text

I'm doing a Haikyuu male reader next of my own devising since hoes don't want to request 🙄.Fyi i write smut, angst, and fluff just tell me yeah charcter, category and plot of you want.

Sukuna x Gojo x femReader

Don't ask the time period i don't even know man😓😭 I'd like to say it's set in Africa during like the era when Japan still had emperor's.

Once again sorry I'm working so slow sometimes plots don't work and i have to restart.

But reciving the news of my teacher/second father's death this morning has urged me to bury myself in work.

Yokai Gojo and Sukuna

When they speak japanese it will be bold

Warnings: manipulation, behind the scenes murder, hidden angst

You were a fool for venturing out in the wilderness by yourself. Have you learned nothing from your grandmother?!

The sound of crows and cicadas vibrated around you as you walked through the forest. You were only out here for some berries, so how on earth did you get lost?

Your feet were bare and sore, and the sky was only getting darker as the sun lowered. Finally deciding that continuing to walk wouldn't help, you opt to climb a tree.

As you climbed further, you prayed that you wouldn't fall as numerous species of insects crawled throughout the tree and unfortunately on your hands and back.

Reaching a height great enough that you could see over the trees, you spot water in the distance. It was the river just east from your village and that was a promising sign that you weren't a complete idiot.

Climbing down the tree with less grace than you came, you head in the direction of the river, and soon the forest floor is shrouded in shadows as the sun finally sets. You hug yourself and press your arms close to your shaking body.

As you walked, you noticed warm light peeking through shrubbery ahead. You slowed your steps and walked with your feet at an angle. By some miracle, you avoided the sticks below you. "Wait till I tell father about this he'll have to let me hunt with him"

You grimace, "Assuming he'll let me leave home ever again after this" Thinking of your father put a sour taste in your mouth. The man loved you, truly, but the only way he deemed you safe is if you are at home all the time or if you are with your future husband at all times. One of which you were not ready for, and the other you'd rather not.

You got as close to the light as you could without being noticed, and crouched. Two men stood next to each other facing a fire in the opposite direction of you. Good, you could stay down wind. A rough voice spoke, but you were not able to understand the strange language he spoke.

They were tall and pale and the clothes they wore, was not of your region. The closest you could compare it to was the robes worn by the elders once they reached a certain age.

Their hair color was strange as well. The tallest one had hair the color of winter snow meanwhile the other's hair was pink like your mother's roses. They spoke more but you still couldn't understand what they were saying.

The one with white hair seemed familiar to you yet you couldn't quite place it. Either way, you didn't feel safe approaching them on your own so you decided to walk around.

You shift from one foot to the other and fall back on your bottom as something flies over your head. Looking behind, you saw a knife in a tree behind you.

"Screw this!" You whispered to yourself, taking off. You run blindly through the forest, jumping over fallen trees and on many occasions running on all fours when you fell down.

Fear should have been on your mind but all you could think of was how your mother would kill you when she saw the tears that were most likely forming on your clothes.

After you get a good distance, you stop and take in your surroundings. To your left, you gaze with wide eyes, at the reflection of the moon on the lake. Hopefulness filled your heart as you saw twinkling fire coming from your village in the distance.

You were finally home, is all you thought as you took a step forward. You freeze as a shiver goes down your spine and moments later, something wraps itself around your ankles, dragging you back into the dark forest.

You cover your face as you're dragged across the floor. It was a long while till you stopped and when you did, you found yourself back to the two men as they towered over you.

They looked down at you, well one did, the others eyes were covered and that scared you more than the man grinning sinisterly above you.

"Would you look at that, you got pretty far,, my vine couldn't even reach you till you stopped." The vine releases you and you quickly crawl back. "You should have kept running I love a good chase." The man with white hair grinned down at you, hands in the sleeves of his robe.

The pink haired man crouched in front of you, and you flinch as your see fangs flash in the fun light. "Demon." You whimper as you look at the smaller eyes surrounding his normal ones.

Black markings surrounded his face and down his chest that was strangely bare despite the cool air. "You like what you see?" While you couldn't understand him verbally, it was obvious that he was gloating.

You turn your face haughtily, "She doesn't speak Japanese." Gojo finally spoke up, looking at you with subtle interest. He recognized you from his visit to your village. Well it wasn't necessarily a 'visit' more like he watched from afar.

You had seen him before though, whether you knew it or not.

Gojo cleared his throat, "Can you tell us what you were doing in the bushes?" Your eyes widened at his ability to speak your language. While it was comforting, it was even more suspicious.

"I was going home, and your light caught my attention." You said calmly. It's best that they don't know you were lost. Your eyes darted to the pink haired man who stayed crouched in front of you.

He raises his hand towards you, and you swallow as his sharp nails come into view. "You're a pretty little thing aren't you?" You resist the urge to slap his hands away as he uses the back of his finger to caress your cheek.

These men are dangerous, one clearly more reckless than the other. All it took was one wrong move and you'd be on the receiving end of that danger. "I would like to be on my way, sorry for bothering you."

You stand up and take a few steps back. A warm chest stops your retreat and you look up to see the white haired man standing behind you. "What's the rush, can't we have a little fun? Look, if you entertain us a bit, we'll walk you home." The pink haired man said in a singsong voice.

You shook your head and walked around the white haired man. "No thank you, it's not that far." The white haired man shrugged and watched you walk away. "We really gonna let a good piece of ass like that go?" Sukuna grumbled as he watched the darkness swallow your form.

Gojo placed his hands behind his head, "She'll be back don't worry."

You walked in the direction you had before, but it seemed as if you were no closer to leaving the forest like before. You climbed a tree and saw the river once again and walked towards it. But it seemed as if you were truly making no moves towards it whatsoever.

After a while of sitting in the nerve racking darkness, you walk back in the direction of the men, hoping they haven't left yet. It was against your better judgement, but they were the only option you had left.

To your luck, they hadn't left and were tending to their own flames. When you came back into view, they looked up at you. And you tried to ignore the rose haired man's knowing smirk.

The white hair man, that you have come to trust more than the other, waved at you slightly as you got closer to the fire. "I thought you were going home?" You shrugged your shoulders embarrassed.

"I got lost." Both men humed with mock concern. The pink haired man walked towards you loosely. "That's not good, I'm sure your family is worried sick." You nodded absent-mindedly. An arm is slung around your shoulder and you lean into it, basking in the warmth.

"Well we can't have that now can we Gojo?" The pink haired man looked at the man next to you, Gojo. "No I don't think I'd be able to sleep easily if I left you alone, how about you Sukuna."

If one were to have looked up. One would have noticed a strangeness to the sky above. Almost as if being covered by a bubble the sky closed and got considerably darker.

A barrier. After all, wouldn't want anyone to hear you scream.

"So do you promise to entertain?" Sukuna held out his hand and you looked at it. The black lines wrapping around his arms seemed to move but you summed it up to being a truck of the light. "What kind of entertainment?"

Gojo squeezed your shoulders and you shivered as his warm breath brushed against your ear. "Nothing you won't enjoy as well, we're all adults here aren't we?" You could feel your face warm at the implications. "I-I don't think I can do that."

You go to stand and the barrier above stops. "Aw what a shame." Sukuna turns back around as if heading to sit down but stopping. "But how will you get home!?" You furrow your berries, weren't they still going to take you?

Gojo noticed your face, "Ah, my dear this is a world of give and take. So I'm afraid we can't do things without a price. But if you feel better off on your own figuring your way through the dark woods, then we respect your decision."

You didn't want to do that and they both knew it.

"What do you want in return?" Gojo and Sukuna shared a look with each other. Your eyes widened as Gojo's hand trailed down your back, drawing circles when it got just above your butt. "Just a little pleasure…mixed with a little pain." Sukuna's teeth shined in the fire's light.

"Pain?! Out here?!? No, anyone could see!" You stood up, Gojo following suit. He had yet to say anything but knew Sukuna could handle it.

Like a snake, the tatted man came close to you and held your chin as one arm wrapped around your waist. "Oh calm down sweet cheeks, a little pain never hurt anybody." He leaned forward closer to your neck and you suck in a breath as you feel him nibble on your earlobe. "I'll make sure of it."

Gojo pressed against your back, "Don't worry about being seen." He clicked his fingers and suddenly you found yourself shrouded in darkness. In the middle of said darkness, was a large bed with a bright sourceless light glaring down at it.

Hands are on you in an instant, and you are pulled into the bed with Sukuna behind you and Gojo in front.

Because you were only wearing short bottoms, your legs were easily accessible. Hot wet kisses are layed on your caves as Gojo travels up your body.

Sukuna was less attentive. Taking your face in a harsh grip and kissing you roughly. You squeaked as his thumb nail pierced your cheek. A red red stream of blood falls down your cheek and Sukuna laps it up like a starved animal.

"Be gentle with her." Gojo tutted at his rude counterpart who only scoffed. "Why should I when breaking them is the best part?!" Your neck was gripped tightly and forced you to watch Gojo nip at your clothed thighs. "You like that don't you?" You shook your head embarrassed as Gojo's hands went behind you, cupping your ass.

He skillfully massages them before tugging your pants down. "You're moving too damn slow Satoru."

Sukuna's rough voice made you turn as it vibrates against the shell of your ear. "Patience, wouldn't want to hurt them." "That's the point as far as I'm concerned."

Sukuna puts his hands under your shirt and goes to cup your small chest. "I usually prefer mine with a little more here but I guess you'll have to do." Your body twitches as Sukuna mercilessly pinches and pulls at your nipples till they became puffy.

You close your eyes as you feel Gojo's warm mouth cover your pussy. His tongue played with your lips before pushing farther. You were beyond wet at this point and his tongue was simply sinful.

Sukuna was starting to feel ignored, so it was no surprise when he made it known. He pushes at Gojo's head with his foot before turning you around to face him on your knees. Fingers swipe over your lips before trailing up to your head.

You wince as his fingers curl into your fro, pulling your face to his crotch. "Why don't you put that pretty mouth of yours to use?" You fumble clumsily with the soft cloth of his robes before finally finding the prize. You lost all nerve when you saw how thick it was.

Forget going inside of you, you doubt it could even fit in your mouth. Sukuna pressed your face closer, urging you to start. You stick your tongue out hesitantly and collect the salty fluids dripping out of the tip. Just from that small simulation, Sukuna groans lowly.

Gojo had long since resumed his meal, and the sounds leaving his mouth was obscene. You couldn't see it but Sukuna watched with curious eyes as Gojo's face developed into a bit of a red color as he pressed his mouth against you.

Faint whimpers could be heard from him and the vibrations shook your core the louder he got. "Hey Satoru what's with that face, you're moaning like a bitch." Gojo doesn't respond as he grips your thighs harder. Sukuna pressed your face closer to his dick and you have no choice but to take him in your mouth.

You bobbed your head as his hand guided you relentlessly. With his other hand, Sukuna leaned forward and tugged at Gojo's blindfold.

Gojo's face was just as lewd as the noises he made. His sky blue eyes were shining with unshed tears and Sukuna had never seen a man look as content. You stop sucking when something wet hits your lower leg.

Looking in between your thighs, Sukuna laughs as he sees Gojo helplessly humping the air as warm ropes of cum spurted from his exposed cock. Sakuna gripped Gojo's now limp hair and the snow blond man glared at him through his dazed eyes. "You really are a bitch aren't you?"

Gojo reached forward and gripped Sukuna's face just as harshly, "Yes but this bitch knows how to please a woman." With that, he kisses Sukuna, forcing his tongue past his lips and exploring his mouth.

You watched, mouth agape as the men showed such an intimate display of dominance. Sukuna's fingers trailed down your back as he tongue fucked Gojo. Gaining more dominance, Sukuna fluidly pushes Gojo back far enough that he could slip two of his fingers inside of you.

While it was uncomfortable due to his sharp nails, you couldn't help but get a thrill as they scraped against your walls. Sukuna jerks his head away, his ruby eyes flared with lust and confidence. "Let's see about that."

You find yourself on your back with your head hanging off of the bed as Sukuna takes place over you and Gojo stands above you. The white haired man was beyond red and his dick was fairing no better.

It was long and an angry purple, dripping with so much pre cum that it had made his dick slick and shiny.

As if under a spell you open your mouth and Gojo quickly slides inside, gripping the sheets next to your head tightly as he face fucks you. You gag profusely as the head relentlessly slides down your throat without stopping.

You bring your hands to grip his thighs to try and gain some bearing but that only spurs him on as his thrust became rougher, and the sound of you choking becomes rhythmic as drool collects in the corner of your mouth.

"What happened to treating her gently?" Sukuna smirks as he watches the skin around your neck bulge with each thrust. "S-Sorry, young lady, but your mouth is so fucking warm and tight." Gojo slows himself into a slow grind, tapping his fingers against the bulge in your neck. You finally get a chance to breathe through your nose.

Sukuna finger fucks you a little bit more, scraping his nails uncomfortably against the walls of your cunt. When he pulls them out, they are soaked and he licks his fingers clean, humming at the taste.

He positions himself at your entrance and pushes in without stopping. Your pained moan is muffled by the sound of Gojo's balls hitting your forehead but Sukuna still hears it and mutters out a quick apology as he goes slower. "Fu-ah~, what happened to breaking them?" Gojo said mockingly.

Sukuna glares before snapping his hips forward, sheathing himself completely inside of you. Your nails dug into Gojo's skin, and his hips stutterd as he moaned. Sukuna grips your chests and uses them for momentum as he opens you up on his dick. "For someone that was so reluctant, you sure are fucking wet down here."

Sukuna uses his thumb to circle your clit and your hips raised unapologetically from the shocks of pleasure. "Filthy little human." Sukuna laughed as he continued to play with your swollen clit.

Mixed with your lack of property oxygen, the boys running to your head, and the two sources of pleasure, your thighs shake and you cum around Sukuna's dick. He laughs darkly, speeding up his thrusts as he holds your limp legs in the air. "Yes, cum again. I want to feel your pathetic pussy squeeze my dick."

Gojo had stilled and was breathing heavily as he watched Sukuna disappear inside of you. "My turn." His still hard cock slips out of your mouth and you find yourself thrown into a coughing fit.

Sukuna begrudgingly switches spots with Gojo but takes joy in holding your head as he uses your mouth like a fleshlight. "Fuuuuuck. Perfect little mouth for me. I want you to swallow my cum wench!" You whined as Gojo pushes his cock inside of you.

It was longer than Sukuna's and you could already feel the soreness as the tip grazed against your cervix. Gojo adjusts your legs to rest on his shoulders as he folds you over.

The sensations are entirely too much as air is pushed out of you from the restricting position. The sensitive walls of your cunt both sucked and pushed Gojo's cock as he delivered deliberately slow strokes. "So messy down here." Gojo uses the palm of his hand to quickly swish at your clit.

Your brown legs tremble around your head and Sukuna uses this chance to grab your feet as leverage.

By now, your mouth had completely gone slack as he abused your throat, completely ignoring the scrape of your teeth around his shaft. "Fuck I'm gonna cum." Sukuna groans, speeding up. Gojo speeds up as well, "Shit me too, you better cum with me you two-faced bastard.!"

You grip the sheets for dear life and between you and me, you blacked out as the two filled your holes with milky cum. The tangling of body's unraveled and rested together as you all came down from your highs.

Well the boys did, you fell asleep.

They tuck you into the bed after Gojo changed the sheets. "So you said you can keep her in your zone?" Gojo nodded as he did his best to put your 4c hair into braids.

"Yeah, but what are we gonna do if she asks to go home." Sukuna smiled as he looked at his nails. Sinister later fills the empty abyss of Gojo's zone and the man looked boredly as Sukuna laughed.

"She can't go somewhere that no longer exists."

#black y/n #blackreader #jjk sukuna #jjk smut #gojo smut #sukuna smut

98 notes · View notes

vln-vibes · 4 years

Text

Of Legends, Fairy Tales and Folklore

AKA A MariBat, Ever After High inspired AU

In the World there are certain stories that are universally known. They're known as Legends or Fairy Tales. Every knew the big stories; The Classics of Grimm Tales - Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Goldilocks and the Three Bears etc etc. They even created a new celebration for such stories; Legacy Day. It was a rare event that everyone wished to see; the day the Stories and Legends pledged to follow their story to the tea, no games, no divergence, a perfect recreation through and through. But there were other Legends that began to emerge like those of the Miraculous; The Miraculous were items blessed by the gods of the universe and they always played out the same stories. The Ladybug and the Black Cat would always retrieve the stolen Butterfly, it was always stolen back from the guardians after. The Ladybug would recruit other heroes to aide in their journey and become the next Guardian. The Ladybug and the Black Cat would get together and live their happily ever after.

However people were often unaware of the Folktales- divergent stories that took a split with each incarnation. They began with the story of Bruce Thomas Wayne, an aristocratic boy who lost those dear to him at a young age. His story should have ended that day, he would live his days reclused in his castle, never to see the light of day... However that was not how his story went. He took his mourning and channeled it to create a new Legend. He became the Batman, a champion against the evil of the world to ensure no one would be destined for a tragic ending. Then came Richard John Grayson. The day his world came crashing he was destined to become the Talon, a weapon for the Court of Owls and Gotham’s dirty aristocrats; Bruce saved him from a miserable ending and the story of Robin was born. Batman and Robin became folktales; to show that not everything was set in stone, that there were multiple paths to a single beginning. Jason Peter Todd, Timothy Jackson Drake and Stephanie Brown all took on their own incarnations and versions of Robin; each unique in their own way but maintaining their mission to rid the world of its tragic endings that were deemed to be destiny. Along the way came the tales of Batgirl, Batwoman, Black Bat, Spoiler and Signal.

Damian Wayne-al Ghul was one such spirit who was saved. His destiny was to become the ultimate weapon for his family. A culmination of the greatest of the world. When he was at his perfect state he would become the vessel for the Demon. His destiny would not be kind. The story of Batman and Robin were what brought him hope, the small amount he allowed himself. When he finally left the dreaded compound, he was finally able to see that he didn't have to be a weapon for his grandfather. Thus the story of the Fifth Robin began.

Each person selected to be a Story or a Legend was born with a mark, one which would represent their role in the story. When they reached the age of 10 they would wake up to find a blank book, one which only they could read and could never be lost or destroyed. Marinette Dupain-Cheng did not know what to think when she saw the Ladybug mark over her heart, she ensured no one could see it as she knew it would be important for later in her life. The book that appeared when she was ten told her snippets of her story, she could never know too much lest she face unforeseen consequences.

"The young Ladybug was loved by all.... Ladybug knew what this moment meant, after all she knew since she was a little girl... The Ladybug and the Black Cat were loved by all, regarded as the best in history... She was abandoned by her friends, all quick to leave her for the next big thing... Ladybug knew she could not deny destiny... Ladybug fell for ..."

Marinette did her best to be a good friend, always accommodating, always compassionate and always willing to help her friends.... She never wanted to lose them. When she met Adrien Agreste she thought something clicked, as though he was her destiny to meet. She had felt the same when she met Chloe, Kim, Alix, Max, Nathaniel,(maybe Nino) but something felt different, something she could not place her finger on. The day she found a small black box in her bedroom she knew what it meant, after all she had known since she was a little girl. The day she met the small Kwami she could not help but think that she was hiding something, her eyes looked saddened before smiling and introducing herself.

As soon as Ladybug made an appearance on the rooftops along with Chat Noir everyone was talking about Legacy Day. The Parisians couldn't help but see when their Ladybug would finally announce their Legacy day. Everyone wanted their favorite heroes to get a reassure Happily Ever After.

The Folktales or Justice League , honestly they had no idea who came up with the name, did not know how much progress Ladybug's story had made. "No one truly knows how different each story of the Ladybug is" Diana, the Princess of Thymescara, and current Wonder Woman explained to Batman and Superman, a new folktale with unprecedented beginning, "My mother was once Ladybug, but to be the Ladybug there is always a price. Each and every one is cursed with a robbed happily ever after, a fact many ignore. My mother, after retrieving the Butterfly, was betrayed by her Black Cat; he wanted my mother to be his happily ever after, when she refused he murdered her, its how she was chosen to be Queen of Thymescara by the goddesses. Jeanne d'Arc was burned at the steak for refusing to sign the Storybook of Legends, they accused her of being a witch and of terrible crimes, that she had deceived them and was not the true Ladybug. Even those that signed did not live happy lives after the story was done... I can't help but want to save this Ladybug from the same ending"

Adrien Agreste was always told he was born for greatness. His mother and aunt said so the moment his cat mark came out. They wondered which tale would be his or if he and Felix would play their tale; The Twin Rings. He knew he would be getting his happily ever after so he put up with his father's ridiculous standards, the overbearing work and overly sheltered life. Someday, he knew, he would get to see the real world, make friends, he'd get his happily ever after. The moment he met Ladybug he knew it was heading for the right direction. Meanwhile Plagg is sure that Adrien is a cat but not his Black Cat. He of course can't really do anything about it and ever since his mother passed, Adrien's father locked up all their Books. Because Adrien technically knows they're in his father's safe its not considered lost so it can't reappear to him; he has no clue about his story but he thinks it’ll all play out in the end. Ladybug liked Chat Noir but she did not want him to be her happily ever after... she was beginning to doubt if she would even get one. The more time she spent as Ladybug, the greater her magic and her ability to read the past tales of Ladybug. They all began so grand and courageous but... the closer they got to the ending the more tragic she began to find them. Even those that signed the storybook of legend would eventually fail to protect the butterfly, thus the cycle continued. Tikki does eventually confess about the thing with Ladybugs and Marinette isn't surprised, its actually something all Ladybugs end up realizing and just strive forward with it. A few did try to change the story but by that point it was too late; Tikki has hope Marinette still has time to change or decide to stick with the story. With the introduction of "Lila Rossi", the supposed granddaughter of the one Pied Piper of Hamlet and Ermellina, not to mention she was destined Fox of the Miraculous; the Ladybug began to feel her friends move away... they no longer needed her. Or that was what she believed. As it turned out her classmates who had their own Book and story were aware of a wolf in sheep’s clothing who would try to destroy their stories. Many chose to play along with her, to see how it was possible for her to change stories while other stood firmly on their ground and had unknowingly allied themselves to the Ladybug, the test for their own stories. What they don’t realize is that Lila's actually a Page Ripper, like a dream-eater except for stories, she lives off of or just enjoys destroying stories because she knows hers will end with her being stuck with a terrible ending, in her opinion. She refuses to realize that she only get the terrible ending because she began to destroy other stories.When she saw Marinette she recognized her as definite main character for a Story and began her vendetta against her At this point she already has Ryuuko, Viperion and Queen Bee as her permanent holders, she made a mistake of choosing Alya as the Fox (one her book warned about, and now Alya thinks its supposed to be for Lila.) In reality she has no clue who or if there is even a person who was meant to be the Fox in this version of the story or if she's just supposed to give it to whoever she deems worthy. The Kwami tell her not to worry about it and just choose allies she is sure about. She does eventually recruit other temporary holders but she’s unsure if she could trust them after Rena Rouge. Everything began to change once more when they ventured to Gotham, the city of Folktales as it was home to the Batman. Their class had been enraptured by the newest story Lila had come up with, about convincing a story to finally follow their destiny and sign their storybook of legends, when she was called out for the fact that it was not her call to make... No one had to follow any so call destiny or story. "Do you not understand! Without the stories the world will fall apart!" she had yelled out

"And I believe you have no clue where you are. Here, no one has to follow their stories, everyone is free to make their own decisions and create their own version of their story" "And how would you know!" some angry yells began before he took out a book, it was a deep emerald green, easily mistaken for black at a glance, with golden details and cuffs, at the center was a ruby gem, in cursive the spine said 'Damian Wayne' where it once said Ibn al Xu'ffasch That was how the young Ladybug was introduced to the concept of Folktales and met the young Robin.

Selina Kyle, the Catwoman, knows that she at some point gains a protege but it should have happened some time ago (around the time one of her old friend’s passed away), she's not sure how she feels about that. Marinette isn’t sure if she want to sign the Storybook of Legends, truly no one on her team is, but the Parisians are getting persistent. Even city officials are breathing down her neck and she can’t help but think of Jeanne.

Damian's story of Robin begins to transition into a weird mix about becoming a cat of some sort and of breaking a curse.

All anyone is sure of is that

The End is just the Beginning

#MariBat #MariBat au #Ever after high au #Miraculous Au #Daminette #Lila Salt #Lila Bashing #Alya Salt #Alya bashing #damian x marinette #damian wayne au #damian wayne x marinette dupain-cheng

536 notes · View notes

officialyourdailyinspiration · 3 years

Text

Devotional Hours Within the Bible

by J.R. Miller

The Appointing of the Twelve Apostles (Mark 3:7-19)

"Then the Pharisees went out and began to plot with the Herodians how they might kill Jesus. Jesus withdrew with His disciples to the lake, and a large crowd from Galilee followed." - Mark 3:6-7

We can hardly realize how wide the influence of Jesus was at this time. The multitude that followed Him, came not only from Galilee - but also from Judea, from beyond the Jordan, and even from the Gentile cities of Tyre and Sidon, and the countries surrounding them. The throng was so great, that Jesus and His disciples withdrew to the sea. He wished to do His work without interruption. Thus we have our Lord's example for sometimes withdrawing from opposition. It was not lack of courage that led Him to do this. He knew that he conspiracy of His enemies would in the end be successful, yet He would not throw His life away. Nothing could be gained by His staying in their midst at this time. There was no testimony to be borne. Besides, His work was not yet finished. When, at last, His work was all done, the plots had all ripened, and He knew that the rulers were about to kill Him - He did not withdraw, nor did He show any fear or lack of bravery.

There are times when duty requires us to flee from danger and thus save our lives for further service. We are certainly never to court danger, nor to be reckless in our courage. On another occasion Jesus said to His disciples, "When they persecute you in this city - flee into the next." Christian prudence is an important element in Christian courage. It often requires a higher courage to avoid danger - than to rush into it; to flee away from angry enemies - than to answer back and incite them to further wrath.

The great report of our Lord's works of mercy and kindness, went out everywhere, and multitudes were drawn to Him. One who does good to others - will always have followers. The world is full of sorrow and suffering, and hearts hunger for sympathy. When one who has a gentle spirit and a hand whose touch gives blessing comes among men - people welcome him. Love always finds its mission. We are apt to criticize the motive in such following. "For the loaves and fish!" we say. But people know a friend when he comes among them; and when one suffers and has been helped - it is no wonder that other like sufferers come with their needs. Jesus loved the people - that was His secret! He loved them - and they knew it. People always know when a man truly and sincerely loves them.

The kindness of Jesus was not discouraged by the ingratitude and enmity of men. Though the evil plots of His enemies drove Him out of the city - they did not stop His doing good. Though some rejected His love - His heart was not closed. Capernaum lost much - when He went out of its gates; but on the throngs which followed Him - the gracious blessings fell. Persecution scatters the seed which it means to destroy. When the first Christians were driven from Jerusalem, it was only to carry the gospel into all the countries round about to which they fled. They "went about, preaching" (Matthew 4:23). Opposition must never silence the lips that carry the words of life. If one rejects and scorns you - take your gospel message to another. You will always find some ready to receive the blessing you have to give. Especially are the people, who have "plagues," who are in any misfortune or distress - ready to press upon him who comes to them with a heart of love and with desire to do them good.

The people pressed up close to Him, that they might touch Him. A touch was enough. All who touched Him - were made whole. Life flowed from Him - to them. Health went from His rich, wholesome life - and expelled their sickness. So a touch is always enough. Anyone who really touches Christ is healed. But we must be sure to touch Him. It is not enough to be in the crowd that gathers around Him. Only those are healed - who touch Him by faith. It is not enough to be in the congregation that worships. One sitting or bowing next to us may receive a great blessing, while we receive none at all. It is because he reaches out his hand of faith and touches Christ; while we, physically as close to Christ as he is - do not put out our hand to touch Him; and therefore, receive no blessing.

We ought, as Christ's disciples, to be so full of life and love - that anyone who touches us, shall get a blessing from us. Just to have their handshake is a blessing. Their mere presence in a sick room gives comfort. It is worth while to be such a person. Do you want to know the secret ? It is LOVE. Love people really, truly, genuinely - and there will flow from you always, to every life that touches yours - an influence of healing.

Jesus stood in the throng and called certain men to come to Him. He singled out the people and called them individually. That is the way He is doing continually - standing and calling men to come to Him. He does not call a crowd - He calls people by name, calls them one by one. Everyone who hears His voice should answer - leave the world's company, step boldly out, cross over the line, and take his place by the side of Jesus!

There are several things to be said about the way these men responded to Christ's call to discipleship.

They responded freely. Although He had chosen them out of a whole nation, and called them, there was no compulsion laid upon them to go with Him. They could have refused if they had chosen; Christ never chooses His disciples by force .

Then, they responded promptly. There was no hesitation. They said nothing about considering the matter for awhile. They did not talk about being unfit or unworthy; they did not tell Him that they were afraid they could not keep their word if they promised to be Christians. They did not say, "Tomorrow we will go." The moment they heard their names called - they answered.

Then, they responded resolutely. Whenever they heard the call - they stepped out with firm tread, and, crossing over the space between the crowd and the Master, they joined themselves to Him. It was not done secretly. They did not wait until they were alone with Him, and then tell Him quietly and timidly that they had made up their minds to accept His invitation. They did not propose to be His disciples - and yet stay among their old friends and keep on at the old business. They immediately separated themselves from the people about them, and went over to Him, putting themselves absolutely into His hands, to be His and do His bidding - so long as they lived.

This is the way these men started in their apostleship - and the way everyone should start whom Jesus calls to be His disciple .

He chose the Twelve - that they might be with Him. That is the first thing always - before preaching or teaching or working for Christ. We must be disciples ourselves, before He will use us to make disciples of others, or to carry His messages and blessings to others. He employs none as His servants - who are not His followers. One reason why we must first be with Him - is that we may be taught by Him. The apostles learned from their Master - the things they themselves afterward taught to others. We cannot do any good work for Christ - until He teaches us how to do it.

He teaches us by His Word, by His Spirit, through the impact of His own life, through our experiences. This is one reason we should study the Bible so carefully, that we may be able to teach others by our example and by our words - only the things Jesus would have us teach them. Another reason why we need to be with Him before we go out to testify for Him - is that we may be actual witnesses for Him. We never can impress the world by giving second - hand information about Christ, by repeating things we have heard others say, or have read in books, about Him. We must be able to tell what we have seen and learned for ourselves, from personal fellowship with Him.

These men were chosen not merely to official office - but for service, "to preach, and to have authority to heal sicknesses." This authority to heal, was given to validate their commission. When Moses went to the people and to Pharaoh as God's messenger, and when they demanded evidence that God had sent him - then he was to work certain miraculous signs in their presence, to prove his claim. So the apostles had power given to them to perform works of wonder - as their credentials.

Besides, those works of mercy which they wrought were examples of what the gospel should do wherever it goes. We say there are no miracles now. Is this true? Are no sick people healed now? Are no evil spirits cast out? Are no blind eyes opened, no deaf ears unstopped, no lame made to walk, no dead raised? If miracles are not produced in the physical realm, they surely are in the spiritual. Eyes are opened to see God and heavenly things. Ears are opened to hear the voice of the Spirit. Fevers of passion are cured. Sicknesses of soul are healed. The evil spirits of greed, lust, and selfishness are cast out. These are the validations of all teaching and preaching. Power is given yet to Christ's ministers and to all His disciples - power to heal the sick and cast out demons!

One of the men chosen was known as Simon - but Jesus gave him a surname of Peter. These two names are suggestive. "Simon" shows the crude fisherman of Galilee, with all his rashness, his ignorance, his imperfection. "Peter" shows the apostle of the Acts and the Epistles; the rock firm and secure; the man of great power, before whose Spirit-filled eloquence, thousands of proud hearts bowed, swayed like the trees of the forest before the tempest; the gentle, tender soul whose words fall like a blessing; the noble martyr witnessing to the death for his Lord. Study the two names together - to see what grace can do for a man.

It is not hard to take roses, lilies, fuchsias, and all the rarest flowers, and with them make forms of exquisite beauty; but to take weeds, dead grasses, dried leaves trampled and torn, and faded flowers - and make lovely things out of such materials, is the most severe test of skill. It would not be hard to take an angel and train him into a glorious messenger; but to take such a man as Simon, or Saul, or as John Newton, or as John Bunyan - and make out of him a holy saint and a mighty apostle - that is the test of power. Yet that is what Christ did, and has been doing ever since. He takes the poorest stuff, despised and worthless, outcast of men oftentimes; and when He has finished His gracious work - we behold a saint whiter than snow.

The sculptor saw an angel in the rough, blackened stone which was rejected and thrown away; and when men beheld the stone again, behold - there was the angel, cut from the block! In one of the English cathedrals is a window, the admiration of all beholders, made by a workman, from the bits of glass thrown away by the master. So heaven is filling with glorified souls, gathered from the despised and rejected of earth. We should never be discouraged by our unworthiness, or our many faults. Christ can take us as we are, and in His hands - our life shall grow into purity and loveliness until He presents us at last before His eternal throne - faultless and perfect. There is only one thing that needs to concern us - we must make sure that we are in Christ's school, that we really put ourselves into His hands.

#Devotional Hours Within the Bible #J.R. Miller #The Appointing of the Twelve Apostles #Mark 3:7-19 #June 4 #2021

9 notes · View notes

corinthbayrpg · 3 years

Photo

NAME. Hotaru Imube AGE & BIRTH DATE. Unknown & 3000+ GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Rift OCCUPATION. Card Dealer FACE CLAIM. Sen Mitsuji

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: death, violence, animal death, infant death, torture ) The night Hotaru was born the grounds of the Imube clan were blanketed in fireflies, the long dark night punctuated an arduous labor that brought the screaming infant son of the clan leader into the world. Named for the omen that marked Hotarus’ auspicious birth, from an early age he was placed upon a pedestal - the prodigal son of a warmonger that could do no wrong. Despite countless attempts his mother failed to deliver another child which only elevated his own position within the clan, the heir and future son of the proud family. Superstition surrounded Hotaru, as did the whispers of servants who watched as from a young boy he seemed to delight in suffering. He’d pull the wings off of flies and watch them jump around uselessly, raise shards of broken glass over ant mounds and incinerate hordes of the creatures. These urges were only encouraged by his father, while his mother tried to temper Hotaru’s cruelty with games and strategy instead. She introduced him to Go and for hours at a time she would have him sit with her and they would play, if only for Hotaru to be rescued by his father who prioritized real-world military strategy over that which was found over a wooden board.

He learned to fight under their weapons’ master, a man well-versed in a variety of martial arts who was responsible for training clan’s generals and eventual military heads. At sixteen Hotaru had already seen combat, a bloody state of affairs that suited him. On the battlefield Hotaru was merciless, cruel, and unrelenting. While he never produced an heir, though this never bothered him there were some that whispered of his potential infertility. Whispers Hotaru was quick to silence.

It was at the same time that Hotaru’s mother managed to successfully give birth to not one, but two children. Though it took her life in the process. Twins born under a full moon, one boy and one girl. They were the Imube clan’s newfound promise, should anything ever happen to Hotaru there was a backup child, another boy to take his place. And a girl who would undoubtedly come to bare many more children for the family. While his father was advanced in years, he suffered from a thirst for violence that was never quite sated. The loss of Hotaru’s mother took a toll of its own and for months the man’s health slowly deteriorated, bringing down the power of the clan with it. At night Hotaru would watch over the children, they had servants, but the boy liked to watch them as they sleep their frail frames as they took such tiny breaths it was almost as if they weren’t even breathing at all.

The future stretched before him and Hotaru could see the path that lay before him clearly, these children were young and strong. They would grow as he had, and even after Hotaru inherited his father’s position as the head of the clan, these twins would potentially threaten his position and birthright. Though he despised them and in secret, conspired to dispatch them, Hotaru could never bring himself to do it. He cared little for his father, but he had genuinely loved his mother - and now these children were all that remained of them. His father however, blamed the children for his wife’s death - their birth had come under a bad sign and he took this as an omen that they would someday bring the clan to ruin. Hotaru found his father by the river one night, the children already below the water and while he could do nothing to save them he gutted the man where he stood. Whispers followed that the cruel young lord was responsible for the children’s death, a lie that Hotaru did nothing to discourage. If his enemies believed him capable of such a cruel act, then no one would ever dare to oppose him. In private, however, he mourned his brother and sister; in a locket around his neck were twin locks of their hair, spirited from them before their pyre.

From that day forward the young lord was leader of the Imube clan, with no one to threaten or oppose him. Hotaru had an uncle, but shortly after inheriting his position Hotaru a story emerged about the man conspiring against him. For months Hotaru tortured the life from his body and let his screams echo across the grounds - this was a statement - a warning. And it was effective.

Only mortal, death came for Hotaru eventually. Though it was when he was very old. Cruelty made his enemies cower, but fear alone was not enough to keep those beneath him from conspiring against him forever. Sickness took his frail body, and soon a knife across the throat sent Hotaru Imube hurtling towards the Underworld where the Great Lord Enma awaited Hotaru’s damnable soul. It was here that Hotaru’s potential and ability was truly appreciated, the fires of hell coursed through his veins and Enma transformed the once handsome lord into a demon, a monster, an Oni. Hotaru had been so evil in life that he was a fitting torturer of Hell, he would take the worst of humanity and draw their punishments out for what would feel like eternity. Then, Hotaru would piece them together once more and begin again.

Centuries passed in this fashion before Enma sent Hotaru back to the mortal world, his form no longer recognizable to the man he had been before - he was a giant with blue skin, horns and a gruesome third eye that protruded from his forehead. A great, iron club was Hotaru’s weapon as he descended upon men and women who were deserving of an Oni’s wrath. He dragged them down and into the Underworld where he would then torture them, or toss them into the innumerable army of Hell to be devoured by the hordes of like-creatures. Thousands of years continued as the name Hotaru seemingly fell away, that was the name of the man who had been dragged into Enma’s realm, only the Oni remained. As the world expanded so too did the Oni’s reach, more and more he’d appear in lands and regions that the yokai had no business in until one case brought him to a village that was soon to be engulfed in flames. It was here that the Oni hunted a creature that evaded Enma’s clutches, and it was here that he bore witness to a phoenix as they burst into flames for the first time. The sight was an interesting one, Hotaru could admit as much, but not as interesting as the hopelessly lost soul of the man who crawled out of the flames. The Oni returned to the Underworld and put little thought towards the sight again until the sundering of the veil broke free some of the long imprisoned denizens of Hell. Enma himself tasked Hotaru, along with a few others, with the retrieval of the creatures that had broken free. Once more his mission would take him far from his homeland, all the way to Greece.

It was on Delos that Hotaru had tracked down a yokai who had wiggled free of its cage, when he brought it down into the Underworld he was intercepted by three sisters along the way. They were hideous and fearsome, not at all unlike himself. Serpents coiled for their hair as great bat-like wings unfurled behind them. Their voices sent terror down his spine, even him, an Oni of Enma’s realm knew of their power - these were the Erinyes. Furies and gatekeepers of Tartarus and Hotaru was trespassing in their domain. They told him he deserved punishment for his awful crimes, and for setting foot in Greece they could do just that. Or, he could help them as he was helping Enma and they would reward him instead. Hotaru would be given absolution, freedom, and the autonomy to move about the world with a human visage once more. For thousands of years he had been Enma’s soldier, but Hotaru was never given a choice in the matter. A fiend though he was.... he sought an end as well. Finality. Peace. Hotaru agreed and the furie’s washed his sins clean - despite Enma’s wishes he was sent forth to Corinth Bay.

PERSONALITY

+ protective, open-minded, amicable - disloyal, cruel, aloof

PLAYED BY SHANE. EST. He/Him.

#taken #male #rift #oni #sen mitsuji #hotaru imube

4 notes · View notes

archivingspn · 3 years

Photo

Entertainment Weekly Special Edition: The Ultimate Guide to Supernatural 2017

SAM AND DEAN WINCHESTER KNOW "WEIRD." Their entire life has been weird, ever since the moment a demon claimed their mother's life. In case anyone has forgotten over the course of the show's past 12 seasons, Supernatural tells the story of the Winchester brothers, portrayed by Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles, who fell into the family business of hunting creatures after their mother's murder. What began as their father's journey for revenge has evolved into endless monster slayings, near-death experiences and more than a few actual deaths.

By this point the Winchesters have been to Hell and back, killed Death himself, come face-to-face with God and prevented the Apocalypse. But perhaps more impressively, the series has survived three network presidents, five showrunners, a writers' strike and five different time slots. Turns out the only thing harder to kill than the Winchesters is the series itself. "It's one of those shows that has moved a lot, and yet each time it has found that core audience and built on it," Warner Bros. Television president Peter Roth says. "It's been an unsung hero."

If anyone knows about being an unsung hero, it's Sam (Padalecki) and Dean (Ackles), who've dedicated their lives to saving others and asked for nothing in return. Seriously, how many nights have they spent sleeping in their car?And yet that on-the-road lifestyle has paved the way for a number of the show's riskier episodes, which play a crucial role in keeping the audience engaged. In 2015 "Baby" was told entirely from the perspective of their beloved 1967 Impala, and that's not even close to the craziest thing the show's tried.

Aside from the rules the show creates within its canon—yes, they have a historian in the writers' room to keep them honest—not even the sky is the limit when it comes to story ideas. “[Show creator] Eric [Kripke] used to say, 'Smoke 'em if you've got 'em,' which meant: Anything crazy, don't be afraid to run it by us," executive producer Robert Singer says.

That motto led most famously to season 6's "The French Mistake," in which Sam and Dean found themselves in an alternate universe where everyone mistook them for Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles, the stars of a show called Supernatural. "Our show's not bound by reality," Ackles, 39, says. "We're rooted in reality, but we're not bound by it. That gives us a fifth wall almost."

But Supernatural's season 12 finale managed to raise the stakes by somehow introducing the boys to something they'd never seen before: a world in which they don't exist and Heaven and Hell are locked in an eternal war. By episode's end, their allies Castiel (Misha Collins) and Crowley (Mark Sheppard) were dead, and their mother, Mary (Samantha Smith), who was resurrected-by God's sister!-in the season 11 finale, found herself trapped in this new reality with the Archangel Lucifer (Mark Pellegrino). If that doesn't seem bad enough, the birth of Lucifer's son is the very thing that opened the rift to this apocalyptic realm. "The world in which Sam and Dean were never born is not a good world," showrunner Andrew Dabb says. "It speaks to the importance of our guys. The world Sam and Dean live in is certainly not perfect, but it's a whole hell of a lot better than the alternative."

Dabb describes the new run of episodes as more melancholy than last year's, with new threats including some long-dead characters. And somehow Scooby-Doo has a role to play. (More on that later.)

"Last season was, in some ways, a very upbeat season for us," says Dabb, who goes on to explain that season 13 will be "darker." In their grief the boys will butt heads when it comes to both Lucifer's son Jack—Dean wants nothing to do with him; Sam thinks he's worth trying to save— and Mary, whom Sam refuses to give up on despite Dean's having lost hope that she's still alive. "The Apocalypse world hangs over our guys a little bit like a sword of Damocles," Dabb says of the season's beginning. "We're definitely going to spend a little time there."

And of course Sam and Dean have this new responsibility thrust upon them before they've had the chance to properly grieve their many losses, including Castiel, who Dabb says will appear, though maybe not the way fans are expecting. "We're not looking to hit the reset button," Dabb says. "We want to give both our guys an opportunity to react to that and ask the question: How would that affect them if their closest friend sacrifices himself for them? There is a certain amount, especially when you look at Dean, of survivor's guilt."

That being said, there will be at least one (animated!) moment of levity, though it's in the season's back half. Episode 16 will be a much-anticipated Scooby-Doo crossover, for which Ackles, Padalecki and Collins have already recorded the audio. "They've often talked about Supernatural crossing over into something." Ackles says. "I love that it's Scooby-Doo."

But even with exciting new ideas on the agenda, there's always the lingering question of how much longer the show can continue. According to CW president Mark Pedowitz, the answer is as long as the guys are happy and the ratings are relatively stable. As for Ackles and Padalecki, they are focusing on the next milestone: hitting 300 episodes (something that would take them 13 episodes into season 14). However, if Sam and Dean have taught the actors anything, it's that Death can be lurking around every corner (and he's usually eating pizza). "If we don't make it to 300, I think Ackles and I will both be truly bummed," Padalecki, 35, says.

Ackles adds, "They're paying us to bring that little bit of magic to what they wrote, and I still feel that magic. The day that I don't feel that magic will be a very sad day, and I hope that day never comes. I'd like to get to 300 before that day comes."

One thing everyone can agree on is that they want to know when the end is nigh. "I think it would be bad for this show to just ride off into the sunset without a finale," Singer says. "I think we've earned that." Ultimately the only thing that's certain about Supernatural's eventual end is the fate of Sam and Dean's Impala, Baby. "He gets Baby," Padalecki says of Ackles. "I get Baby Two." Ackles makes one correction: "No, you'll get Three. Two is a stunt car. It's beat to s---.”

But nobody gets Baby just yet. For now they'll need all the Impalas they can get as they try to solve the problems of not one world but two.

[pg 10-12]

LIFE IN THE FAST LANE

Stars Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki and Misha Collins have rolled with rapid changes and some surprising detours during the series' remarkable run. BY SAMANTHA HIGHFILL

JARED PADALECKI CAN STILL REMEMBER THE exact pitch for Supernatural's first season: “Route 66 meets X-Files, brothers on the back roads of America hunting things that go bump in the night.” That was how he and costar Jensen Ackles were told to promote the show, which, in its first year, was just that-Sam and Dean Winchester chasing urban legends from state to state.

But over time that original pitch added a few sentences. Much like with any good road trip, there have been quite a few turns—and the occasional crossroads along the way. Although the show remains about two brothers on the back roads of America hunting things, those "things'' now include everything from vengeful spirits to imaginary friends and even Lucifer himself. After all, a show doesn't last 13 seasons without adjusting its game plan. For Supernatural that has meant an ever expanding mythology, some shocking deaths, resurrected characters, breaking the fourth wall and so much more.

Yet all the while, one thing has remained true: Sam and Dean Winchester will do whatever it takes to save the world and, even more so, to save each other. And they'll do it while navigating those seemingly endless back roads in their 1967 Impala.

Finding John Winchester (portrayed by Jeffrey Dean Morgan) was the boys' goal in season 1, though that ended up being about as difficult as getting John to stick around once he was finally discovered. The Winchester family reunion was short-lived: Season 1 closed with a car crash and the fates of all three men up in the air. And then there was that demonic deal John made with the same monster they had been hunting.

JENSEN ACKLES Everything up until that point was about finding Dad. We found Dad, we continued to fight as a unit, and then we lost Dad, and now we were two orphans.

JARED PADALECKI And I think that was the first time we ever brought back somebody from the dead, and it was you [to Ackles].

ACKLES I died in the car crash, and he traded his life with Azazel.

PADALECKI I think that was the first time we ever saw a major character die and come back. And that was a total leap of faith. So we told the story of Reapers and the veil and what happens to your soul.

ACKLES That's when we got into afterlife.

PADALECKI That was a big title shift in what Supernatural could do...

ACKLES With the introduction of Hell and making deals with demons—which is funny, because you think about that now, and [creator] Eric [Kripke] must've always known because Mom made the deal with the yellow-eyed demon.

The next shift would come later in season 2, laying the groundwork for the introduction of angels far before Castiel spread his wings in that abandoned barn in season 4.

PADALECKI "Houses of the Holy” was the first time we ever talked about angels on Supernatural. [Jensen] and I both were like, “Whatever your religious beliefs, whatever ours, we're not here to proselytize. We're here to make a serialized television show, but we want it to be universal.” So we actually had a conference call with Eric Kripke, and we were like, "Hey, man, we don't know how we feel about this.”

ACKLES We didn't want to be a mouthpiece for writers' religious views, because it wasn't the show that we had signed up for. Our argument was: “We trust you. You've done good by us so far. However, this is our one concern, and we're just bringing it to the table so that we can discuss it.”

PADALECKI And they heard us out, and I think that's why they waited another year and a half before introducing our second and most famous angel. I think it's the one time we've ever called them together with a complaint. Because I'm not a writer. I don't want to be a writer. I enjoy my job as an actor. But that was legitimately like, “Listen, if you're going here about religion, I don't want to be a part of it.”

MISHA COLLINS And now amazingly, 11 years later, so much of the show has been hung on biblical lore and mythology that is actually drawn from the Bible. One interesting thing for us is that we end up talking along the way to priests and pastors and ministers, or even nuns, who love the show.

(...)

ACKLES It was amazing, but my point being that we're in one of the most religious places on earth, and they're catering to people from a show that deals with religiously inspired story lines.

PADALECKI But not telling the story that the Bible tells.

ACKLES That's the out. That's where we get a pass is that we're not trying to tell the story of the Bible. The writers take inspiration from biblical elements and then elaborate on them. So when we got into that original discussion, Eric came back with: “We're not here to tell the story of Jesus Christ. We're here to take that element and use it as inspiration for the story.” I think that alleviated any concerns that he and I had. And at the same time we really trusted Eric and still do to this day.

Another leap of faith came with season 2's "Hollywood Babylon,” which can be considered the show's first meta episode. It opened the door for everything from season 6's “The French Mistake” to the upcoming season 13 Scooby-Doo crossover.

ACKLES “Babylon” was the first time we took the piss out of ourselves and were poking fun at the industry.

COLLINS That has been a huge [help to know] that you can go to these absurd lengths and break conventions. Reading the script where we are doing a Scooby-Doo episode makes me feel proud. Where else can you do that?

Padalecki What other show does that and has the fandom at large excited that they’re going to do that? Can you imagine if JAG or NCIS did a Scooby-Doo episode? People would be like, “What?” Not only do we break the fourth wall, do we go meta, but those end up being some of our best episodes.

The season 5 finale holds the No. 1 spot on EW's episode ranking, but that hour was important for many reasons, one of which being that it was creator Kripke’s farewell.

COLLINS “Swan Song" was another milestone because that marked the culmination of Eric's original vision for the show. He had a five-season arc in mind that tied up perfectly with a bow, and then he moved on and handed the reins over to Sera [Gamble]. That became, “Okay, guys, now let's figure out how to start a new chapter or a new volume in a series of chapters.”

PADALECKI It's the story that we were all born from, those of us who were introduced in the first five years. So to have the creator step away? I would argue that it was the largest shift.

Gamble served as showrunner for seasons 6 and 7, the latter containing another major show moment: the death of Bobby (Jim Beaver), Sam and Dean's father figure.

PADALECKI Bobby was such a big part. Jeffrey Dean [Morgan] was never as much a part of the show. He was obviously a huge part of the story, but he did [just a few] episodes, and Jim Beaver did 60 or something. And there was something about his death that we knew it was final...or final for Supernatural.

ACKLES Because his character said, “I'm done.” So it wasn't like he got killed accidentally and we found a way to bring Bobby back. He was like, “I'm hanging it up, guys." It was heavy.

PADALECKI That probably was the first big death of someone who'd been there for years...

ACKLES [Interrupting] A fan favorite...

PADALECKI Yeah, and I remember [CW president] Mark Pedowitz saying something to the effect of “As a fan, I hated when Bobby died, but it was great television.” That's how I feel.

ACKLES Like when Sam Winchester dies for good, it's going to be good television. But when Dean Winchester lives on, it's going to be great television. [Everyone laughs]

The season 12 finale saw the introduction of an apocalyptic alternate world in which Sam and Dean Winchester were never born and Heaven and Hell are locked in an eternal war. And with that world comes the possibility for a number of character returns. But does it feel like a turning point?

COLLINS Well, I think the rift and the fact that you can go into the apocalypse world and you can all of a sudden revisit every character in a different iteration—there could be a different version of every character—it opens up this incredible panoply.

(...)

PADALECKI And if an alternate universe exists, then how many alternate universes exist? It's hard to say, because I feel like it's impossible to identify a turning point during the turn. In hindsight it will reveal how this story will affect the show, the canon at large and the way we move forward. But I certainly feel like we're opening up doors with the rift and with the son of Lucifer.

(...)

[pg 20-26]

THE CORONER'S VAN JUST PULLED INTO THE driveway. It's the middle of August in 2016, and Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles are filming a scene for Supernatural's 12th season at a farmhouse in the Vancouver countryside, which is standing in for Iowa. Sam and Dean Winchester have ditched their flannels and jeans for sweaters and slacks in order to pose as social workers. They're doing what the two brothers do best: lying about their jobs in order to solve mysteries and kill monsters—in other words, saving people, hunting things.

When Supernatural premiered, Sam and Dean Winchester were born into the family business of hunting creatures, and it's a lifestyle that, over the years, has left them with very few people they love. Turns out, when you spend your days battling shape-shifters, witches and the occasional angel—they're not all nice, you know—nothing is guaranteed, especially not tomorrow.

But no matter how crazy the Winchesters' world gets—or how many worlds they have to face—one thing remains unchanged: At the center of it all are Ackles and Padalecki, whose Dean and Sam are the beating heart of the show (whether theirs are beating or not).

(...)

(...) even pulling up their favorite scenes on their phones to watch at the table. Padalecki can easily name the scripts that made him cry—“Heart,” “Sacrifice" and "Baby" all land on the list. The common thread is a heartfelt moment between the brothers where they get to talk about their crazy life as if, say, having visions of Lucifer is normal. “I feel like those situations where we treat the abstract and the fantastical as just part of life is where the show thrives,” Padalecki says. Ackles adds, “I think the show is truly at its best when it doesn't take itself too seriously, then it does take itself seriously, and it gets scary as s---,”.

But whether Supernatural is making fun of itself, scaring the living daylights out of its fans, or just letting the brothers have a moment on the hood of the Impala, it all works because of our central heroes. “It's about the Winchesters," says Crowley actor Mark Sheppard. “We really do care, and it's a testament to the boys that we still care."

(...)

As the sun sets on the Vancouver countryside, Sam and Dean ditch their slacks for jeans and send the coroner's van on its way. It won't be needed—this show, and the brotherly bond that holds it all together, has a lot of life left in it. Not that death has ever stopped it before.

[pg 32-34]

(...)

DEAN WINCHESTER Jensen Ackles

He was always the good son. Dean embraced the hunter's lifestyle, and he idolized his father despite John's many faults. But with the senior Winchester devoted to tracking down demons, it fell to Dean to help parent Sam, and he went to great lengths to protect his younger sibling-at one point even making a deal with a Crossroads demon (at the cost of his own life) to resurrect Sam from the dead. The two have had their differences, but throughout, Dean's brother was his first priority. "Watching out for you, it's kinda been my job, you know? But more than that, it's kinda who I am." Cynical and initially skeptical of the existence of God, Dean has nonetheless managed to become best buds with the angel Castiel (and on first name terms with both God and God's sister Amara). His self-sacrificing nature means he would do literally anything for those he considers family-and that's a short list: Sam, Mary and Castiel.

[pg 38]

Sympathy for the Devil

EVERY HERO NEEDS A HELL, BUT SUPERNATURAL HAS JUST TWO PROTAGONISTS AND HUNDREDS OF VILLAINS. HERE’S HOW THE SHOWRUNNERS APPROACHED SAM AND DEAN’S MANY FOES, FROM WELL-KNOWN URBAN LEGENDS TO SATAN HIMSELF. By Samantha Highfill

[pg 51]

Stairway to Heaven

SAM AND DEAN MET CASTIEL. AN ANGEL OF THE LORD, IN SEASON 4, AND IT CHANGED THE COURSE OF THE SHOW. BECAUSE ANGELS WEREN’T ALWAYS THE PLAN— AND CASTIEL WAS ONLY THE FIRST. By Samantha Highfill

(on page 57 there’s a small box of print on the corner that says: In what executive producer Robert Singer calls one of the series’ most “iconic images,” Castiel (Misha Collins) is introduced as the show’s first real angel.)

WHILE OTHER CHILDREN WERE LEARNING multiplication tables, Sam and Dean Winchester were hunting monsters. “When I told Dad I was scared of the thing in my closet, he gave me a .45!” says Sam to Dean in the Supernatural pilot, recalling an episode when he was 9 years old. Clearly creature encounters were par for the course in the Winchester way of life. And when you grow up battling all the evil in the world, it's hard to believe in the good. But in the show's season 4 premiere, Dean would come face-to-face with the one supernatural entity he didn't think existed: angels.

“[Show creator] Eric [Kripke] wasn't in love with the idea of doing angels,” executive producer Robert Singer says of the early days. “But as things went on and we were getting into demons, I would say to him, 'I don't know how we do demons without doing angels.’”

The show tested the waters in season 2's “Houses of the Holy,” when Sam and Dean worked a case that appeared to involve angels then went in a different direction. It wasn't until late in the next season that the seraphim were finally embraced. When Dean was dragged to Hell, they needed to get him out. And if there's a Hell, it stands to reason there has to be a Heaven. "[The season 3 finale] was the gateway into this whole other world of angels and demons," executive producer Andrew Dabb says.

When it came time to spring Dean from Hell, it was Castiel, the show's first angel, who gripped him tight and raised him from perdition. But Castiel quickly established that he wasn't a typical cherubic angel. Many of the show's angels were, as Sam and Dean would put it, real dicks. “We have our own brand of angels and the idea that they were these warriors of God,” Singer says. “We introduced Castiel, and we just went from there. Heaven opened up different levels of angels.”

The moment Castiel spread his wings, the show expanded its universe. Castiel came bearing news of something much bigger: the Apocalypse, the ultimate showdown between good and evil-or more specifically between Archangels Michael and Lucifer. “We started with archangels and the idea that Lucifer was an archangel and was cast out of Heaven,” Singer says. “We certainly took some license, but it was all biblically grounded. We just took those things and went a step further to make them work for our story.”

From there the show explored all kinds of angels, from Zachariah and Naomi to Gabriel and Metatron, and, of course, it eventually arrived at God-or Chuck, if you prefer. “We didn't really know that Chuck was God when we first started with him," Singer says of introducing the character in season 4. (He wouldn't be revealed as God until season 11.) “That evolved. We wanted a relatable God, a God with foibles.”

Nine seasons later, what started as one angel in a trench coat has evolved into Lucifer, God, Leviathan and even a sister for God. “We play a little fast and loose with religion, but no one has really complained about it,” Singer says with a laugh. “So we'll just keep going.”

[pg 56-58]

CASTIEL Misha Collins

What can you say about the only member of Team Free Will who wears an overcoat? Cas has become a true member of the Winchester family.

[pg 61]

#2017-Sep #2017:September29 #*SMT #*romance #*codependency #*destiel #*TOF #c/m saved the show #Jared Padalecki #Jensen Ackles #Misha Collins #Mark Sheppard #Robert Singer #Andrew Dabb #author: Samantha Highfill #author: Alyssa Smith #Entertainment Weekly #*magazines

8 notes · View notes