#the entire new chapter was absolutely heartbreaking on every way possible but that last part

[carlyxtalessdo]

abigail's piece of shit brother making her feel so self-conscious of her weight she can't even bring herself to accept a hug out of fear sabrian may feel she's more chubby now,,, i wanna do a murder so bad rn

#i talk a lot <3 #nsws #not sew wicked stepmom #abigail freidkin #the pinching her side..... war flashbacks going through my head fr. #the entire new chapter was absolutely heartbreaking on every way possible but that last part #denying herself affection for fear of being perceived as. a let down. because of her weight.

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Plastic Hearts

Chapter Four: Hate Me

pairing: dieter bravo x actress!oc (violet)

chapter rating: E (no explicit smut, just tiddies out and penis talk, mentions of insecurity, body image issues, substance use, arguments, angsty ending bc these two are sad bbs)

word count: 4.7k

series masterlist

“Good Morning America, we are back from commercial break with the absolutely stunning Violet Apollo.” The all-too cherry news anchor smiled widely at Violet as she sat across from her and her co-anchor. “How are you doing this morning, Violet? I know you must’ve had a wild night last night after your partner hosted Saturday Night Live.”

“Wasn’t too wild, thankfully. I was back in my bed before midnight, so I’m feeling pretty okay today. I downed a few shots of espresso and now I couldn’t close my eyes if I wanted to.” Violet joked, intentionally leaving out the part where she was woken up in the middle of the night to her “boyfriend” getting sucked off by a model right in front of her.

“Look at you being responsible,” the man playfully teased and she faked a laugh at that. “How about Dieter? He had a lot to celebrate, I bet he’s feeling it today.”

“Uh, yeah. He’s still asleep back at the hotel.” Violet tried not to sound bitter, but she knew that a crack was beginning to form in the carefully crafted mask she’d been wearing her entire career—and all from one little heartbreak. “He was so good on SNL last night, can we give him a moment? So good.”

“He was! I didn’t know he was that funny, he’s always so serious.”

“Yeah, is he always that funny around you? Is that one of the things that drew you to him?” The female anchor asked with a head tilt, Violet feeling the urge to scream building inside of her with every mention of Dieter. But this was a part of the job and she was gonna fucking do it.

“He does alright,” she chuckled and shrugged. “I’m definitely more of the comedian, I’d say. But truthfully, we’re both just talkers. I think that’s what makes us so good together. We love talking to each other.”

“You know what they say, communication is key.” The man chimed in with a winning smile before looking down at his notes. “Alright, enough about boys—” Cringe. “Let’s talk your new film.”

“Yes, let’s.” Violet nodded and gave them both a more genuine smile, glad to be off the subject of Dieter for a bit.

“Violet stars in Steven Spielberg’s new epic based on the ancient Greek love story of Persephone and Hades, titled: Pomegranate. Violet, you play Persephone in the film alongside Thomas Doherty as Hades. What was it like embodying a character like that?”

“I’ve always loved Persephone and have found the many iterations of their love story captivating long before I ever took on this role, but stepping into her shoes a bit, it sort of just felt like I was playing myself in a way.” Violet shrugged and smiled bashfully. “She’s sort of this tragic yet fierce character that I think a lot of the time is sort of underestimated and misunderstood and seen as someone almost needing to be saved from this underworld, but, at least in the film and in my own idea of her, it couldn’t be further from the truth. She’s an incredibly strong and fierce woman and I think the audience is going to love seeing that portrayed on screen, or at least I hope they do.”

“How was it working with Thomas? I saw him in The Invitation and fell head over heels in love with him,” the woman confessed, earning a chuckle from Violet.

“He’s so sweet and kind, and very good looking, obviously. He was just the absolute best scene partner, and neither of us have worked with someone as big as Spielberg before, so it was nice to sort of go through that experience together.”

“Well, we can’t wait to see it. Thank you for stopping by, Violet, we loved having you here this morning.” Violet nodded and gave them her best smiles, mumbling a shy ‘thank you’. “When we come back—is it possible your dog sees you as it’s parent? A new study shows it’s more likely than you might think. More when we return.”

“Alright, thank you both so much for having me.” Violet shook both of the news anchors hands before being rushed off backstage by her manager, Maria. “Did you get breakfast?”

“Yeah, it’s waiting in your dressing room.”

“I meant for yourself! You’ve been running around all morning, I haven’t even seen you stop to get a coffee.” Violet eyed the older woman, the bags under her eyes, the stress weighing down her shoulders. She tried not to ask for much or weigh her down any further with any demands or unnecessary drama, but it didn’t matter. The woman was a non-stop workaholic.

“I’m fine,” she assured with a smile, opening Violet’s dressing room for her and following her in. Violet got right to work eating her fast food breakfast, not caring about calories or nutrition as she enjoyed her McGriddle. “So how did last night go?”

“It went,” Violet spoke in a dry tone, rolling her eyes. “Dieter had a great show and a good night, that’s all that matters, right?”

“You matter too,” Maria interjected with a maternal look of concern. “Look, I appreciate how drama-free you are as a client, but as a person—you’ve gotta learn to stand up for yourself. For the way you feel.”

“I stood up for myself, I promise. Now, no more lectures or talking about Dieter. I just wanna eat my McDonalds in peace before I go back to the hotel. Okay?” Violet gave her a pleading look, Maria nodding and letting it go, choosing to scroll through her emails for the remainder of Violet’s breakfast before walking her out to the car waiting for her and seeing her off for the day.

To say that Dieter Bravo lived rent free in her mind would be an understatement. Dieter owned it—wrecked it. All that she could think about was him and his stupid fucking penis and what he was doing with it and why it wasn’t her he’d been doing it with.

It should’ve disgusted her, seeing Dieter with another woman, the way his hands stroked over her hair as she sat on her knees for him, but when she replayed the scene in her head, it was almost as though the other woman was never there to begin with.

All she could imagine was herself down on the ground in front of him, pleasing him, taking everything he had to give, hearing him moan her name just like he had on accident. That one little sentence had been lodged inside her fucking ears, replaying all morning as she tried to tune it out.

Oh fuck, Violet. Over and over. Nonstop. The cracked moan of her name punctuating the sentence she never thought she’d get to hear.

Violet knew that sex with Dieter should be off the table, scrapped completely and burned, and yet, she was still just a woman. She had needs—deep, longing, shameful needs—and the more she thought about his girth, his length, the fat tip of his cock, the way it curved up like it was designed to please, the harder it was to keep those needs at bay.

Perhaps there was a way that she could get what she wanted while not having to deal with her lack of trust for the dude. They could fuck sometimes the same way that they kiss sometimes, when one of them needed it, the other provided a friendly service, no strings attached. But every time she played out the fantasy in her mind, she could feel her imaginary self slipping up, forgetting her place, falling for a man unable to love her the way she craved. The sex could never be worth the ache of his rejection—so, celibacy it was.

For now.

•••

Dieter woke up with a startle as polite knocks sounded on the door to the fake couple’s penthouse suite, his head throbbing with each thud on the wood. He groaned as though he was an ancient vampire forced into daylight after centuries of rest, rubbing his temples and reaching for his sunglasses as he stood upright. He swayed a bit, still drunk and high, but carried himself forward, knowing that if he didn’t stop the housekeepers from entering, they’d do it on their own accord.

Dieter swallowed the vomit creeping up his esophagus before cracking the door open and sticking his face in it, hardly able to make out the housekeeper’s face through his own turmoil. “Please…no more knocking…I’m begging you.”

“W-would you like me to change the linens or leave them at the door, sir?” The woman seemed to recognize him, her eyes looking everywhere but directly at him. Dieter usually thought it was pretty funny to see people try to play off their starstruck panic, but today it only irritated him.

“Just—“ He stopped himself from speaking as the first word came out too harsh. No need to fuck her day up just because he was having a hard time. Dieter accepted the new linens and set them down on the bench right inside the entryway, reaching into the pocket of his robe and grabbing his wallet, flicking through smaller bills to find a hundred dollar bill and handing it over to her. “Thanks.”

“No, thank you, sir,” she gave him a grateful smile but he couldn’t be bothered to show any more kindness than he already had. Dieter closed the door on her and slugged his way over to the sofa, plopping down too hard, reigniting his headache.

Dieter sat facing Violet’s closed bedroom door, stuck in a daze as he thought back to the night before. He had no idea that she was standing there, watching him, but to say that it hadn’t been his inebriated intention for her to find them would be a lie. Of course he knew better than to get his dick sucked in their common space, the lewd sounds registering in his mind the entire time as too loud, but perhaps a part of him wanted her to see. Wanted to see that he was desirable.

Now, the name slip—that hadn’t been planned.

Overwhelmed by his regrets and the desire that still lingered inside of him, he pulled out his phone and ordered way too much takeout—pizza, Chinese, a bit of sushi, way too many fucking cookies from his favorite spot in the city—hoping that if he indulged himself enough, the itch to add her to the list would go away.

But just to be sure, Dieter pulled out his stash and went to town, smoking bowl after bowl, joint after joint, until he’d reached the ceiling of how high he could get.

…And then he reached for the decanter of whiskey in the kitchen. Just to be sure.

•••

It was around noon when Violet finally willed herself to stop stalling at Sephora, binge shopping her emotions away. Carrying two of the largest black and white striped bags she’d ever seen, she unlocked the door to the suite and was immediately hit with the smell of weed and takeout.

“Jesus,” she whispered as she spotted Dieter passed out on the sectional, a cup of whiskey in one hand and a piece of pizza on his bare stomach. “Dieter?”

She was surprised he didn’t wake up at the sound of his name being called, her voice far from quiet. “Dieter? Hello? Are you fucking alive?”

Still, no movement from the actor. In a last bid attempt at waking him without having to go over and touch him, Violet walked over to her bedroom door, opening it before slamming it closed again.

Dieter sprang to life, breathing in a quick inhale through his nose as he looked over the rim of his sunglasses at her. Violet stood with a disappointed look on her face, arms crossed over her chest.

“Could you slam it any louder? I’m not sure they heard you in Brooklyn.” Dieter grumbled as his headache set back in, the high now only making him exhausted. He peeled the piece of pizza off his stomach and slapped it down on top of the box, eyes remaining in a squint even with his sunglasses shielding most of the light.

“This is disgusting, Dieter.” Violet felt obligated to help sort this mess out—literally, at least. With a suck of her teeth, she set down her bags and walked into the kitchen, pulling out a black trash bag and carrying it over to the living room.

“You don’t have to clean up my mess,” Dieter sighed and reached for the bag but she withheld it, this stern, almost warning glare on her face the entire time. Dieter watched as she shoved the pizza box into the bag last, tying it up and leaving it by the door.

Surprisingly, Violet didn’t stop there. No, she needed it to be spotless.

“You gonna talk or just pretend like nothing happened?” Dieter probed as Violet wiped down the coffee table with disinfectant wipes, the smell of citrus slowly replacing the smell of weed and marinera sauce. When he was met with no response, he chuckled and shook his head. “Look, I’ll start. I shouldn’t have been doing that in our common area—“

“Can you lift that?” She pointed to a book on the coffee table, her hand holding the wipe waiting next to it. Dieter scoffed as he lifted the book, Violet wiping over it a few times before he set it back down again.

“Violet, I’m trying to apologize,” he reasoned, eyes glued to her every feature to try and get a read on her but she was too fucking good at hiding behind a mask.

“You don’t need to apologize, Dieter. Shit happens.” Violet tossed the used wipes into the trash bag before grabbing one of his joints and leaving him alone to go smoke on the balcony. Dieter didn’t last long before he got up and walked outside to join her, the sound of the glass door sliding open making Violet groan. “Dieter, I’m begging—“

“I shouldn’t have fucked someone else—“ Violet quirked an eyebrow at him, causing him to panic and blurt out an unplanned second half of the sentence. “…in our common area.”

“Right. Whatever. Fuck who you want, where you want, Dieter.” Violet chuckled, rolling her eyes as she handed the joint over to him. “I’m going out.”

“Or you could stay and we could talk about things. I once had an overpriced therapist tell me that’s important in relationships!” Dieter called out but Violet pretended not to hear him, simply grabbing her purse and leaving the suite without another word. Dieter let his eyes close as the door thumped closed, sighing as he stood alone on the balcony with a half-smoked joint in hand. “Way to fucking go, Bravo.”

•••

“So…Dieter Bravo, huh?” Sam, one of Violet’s childhood friends and current broadway actress sat on the opposite side of her sofa, Violet groaning at the mention of the man she was attempting to avoid. “How the hell’d that happen?”

“It’s not…not for real,” she confessed, knowing that if there were only one person in this world she could trust, it would be Sam. “Just until my movie comes out and his reputation is salvaged.”

“That’s Hollywood, baby!” Sam chuckled as she stood up and walked into her kitchen, the small studio layout allowing Violet to continue the conversation.

“Sometimes I feel like I should’ve never left New York. Should’ve stayed here and did theater with you. Maybe then I’d be happier—“

“You’re not sad because of where you live, babe. You’re sad because of how you’re living.” She brought back two glasses of wine, handing one to Violet before sitting down. “At some point you’re going to break, and this pretty little mask you’ve made for yourself is gonna crack. It’s too much pressure for a person to pretend to be as perfect as you try to be constantly.”

“Yes,” she sighed, chuckling at her own problems. “It’s fucking exhausting. Every single part of it. And what fucking sucks is that for the first time in so fucking long, I started to feel like maybe someone understood me. And then I woke up to the fucker getting head in the kitchen.”

“What?” She gasped and nearly choked on her wine, placing her hand over her heart. “You didn’t tell me about that!”

“Yeah, I’ve been actively trying to avoid talking about myself, Samantha.” Violet chuckled and shrugged, looking off to the side as she tried to word herself right. “I have feelings for Dieter fucking Bravo. I can admit that to you because I know you won’t judge me.”

“I’m more so curious as to what’s drawing you in? I mean, a handsome face only goes so far.”

“Exactly! That’s—yes!” Violet shouted enthusiastically, laughing at her theatrics as she stood up with her wine glass in hand. “He’s a fucking little raccoon of a man and I want to fuck him so bad. None of it makes sense. The fucker is nice to me sometimes. That’s it. No other redeemable qualities besides his dick.”

“Is it nice?” Sam asked, raising her eyebrows with a grin. Violet groaned loudly and flopped back down onto the sofa.

“So nice. It’s huge. Although, that doesn’t necessarily mean it’ll be good, right?” Violet asked with a bit of hopefulness in her tone, earning another laugh from her friend.

“Right. It could be huge and mouthwatering and absolutely terrible at pleasing you. That’s totally possible.” Violet squinted at her as Sam weighed her head to the side and took a sip of her wine. “Or it could be the best dick you’ll ever have.”

“Fuck you. No. Definitely not.” Violet frowned as she faced forward, her mind now filled with images of his cock coming all over the tile of their kitchen floor. “Well—maybe.”

•••

“Hey,” Dieter practically jumped onto his feet as Violet walked into the suite around 8 p.m., a timid smile on his face as he eyed her carefully.

“‘Sup,” Violet nodded her head at him casually as she grabbed the untouched shopping bags from Sephora and carried them into her room without another word.

“Sup?” Dieter repeated with an irritated scrunch of his face, looking around the room at nobody with his palms up in disbelief. “Fuck it. She’s done, then so am I.”

Dieter had longed to take a line of the powdery white substance sitting in his coat pocket all day long, but out of desire to be better for her, he’d refrained. But now that it was as clear as day that Violet was through with even engaging with him as an acquaintance, he had nothing to abstain for.

Walking into his bedroom, he let the door slam as he reached into his coat pocket and set out three neat lines for himself in the bathroom, taking in a deep breath before snorting them off the countertop.

It didn’t take long for Dieter’s pity party to turn into an actual party—of one.

Dieter spun around in his bedroom to Madonna’s hit single, “Express Yourself”, the song blaring on the hotel’s impressive speaker system. Dieter was as high as a kite, holding a glass of whiskey in one hand that was surely spilling everywhere but he didn’t care.

“Come on, girls! Do you believe in love? 'Cause I've got something to say about it. And it goes something like this,” Dieter shouted along to the intro, twirling around the room, using the belt to his robe as a boa of sorts. “Don't go for second best, baby. Put your love to the test. You know, you know you've got to make him express how he feels and maybe then you'll know your love is real.”

Violet was drunk when she got back to the hotel, Dieter’s attempt at conversation squashed immediately over the simple fact that she couldn’t form a coherent sentence.

She tried to take her mind off both her drunken state and her desire to weep by smoking a little bit more and practicing some of the yoga she once made a resolution to do every single day but hadn’t attempted since the second week of January.

Starting off slow, she tried to tap into her spirituality, or what little remained of it, taking mindful breaths, trying to tune out the blaring 90’s pop from the other side of the suite. All her efforts to find peace and meditation were futile, Dieter’s pitchy singing now doubling the volume of the music.

Violet let out a deep, guttural groan at his antics, the mask slipping finally and exposing the tangled web of emotions beneath it. With a huff and a determined stare, Violet left her bedroom and stomped over to his, pounding on the door.

“Bravo!” She called over the blaring music, fist beating on the door until it opened.

Dieter stood there with a wide grin, his sunglasses tipped low on his nose. He was wearing just a pair of boxers underneath his fluffy, brown coat. Seeing him so at ease ignited something inside her—anger seemed too soft of a word to use for the way her skin burned with irritation, both at him and herself.

“Hi—“

“You are the most selfish, insufferable, dirty little man I have ever had the punishment of having to be around! All you do is think of yourself and do whatever you want, not giving a shit about anybody else! I wish I could properly articulate how fucking irritating you are, Dieter!” Violet screamed over “Groove Is In The Heart”, Dieter staring blankly at her with parted lips and glassy eyes. “God, and you just stand there and look so fucking stupid! Are you even fucking listening?”

“Yeah—“

“Ugh, I hate your smug little fucking voice and—“ She eyed him up, her anger quickly beginning to feel like arousal as she scanned the exposed skin of his torso, or perhaps her self-control had just snapped completely and she was now fully at the mercy of every one of her irresponsible desires. “Fuck it.”

Dieter grunted as Violet’s body clashed with his, her lips kissing his searingly as she walked him backwards to the armchair in the corner of his bedroom. Her tongue battled with his for dominance as she straddled his lap, Dieter’s hands frozen in place as his brain short-circuited.

“God, you’re so fucking frustrating. Just touch me,” Violet grabbed his hands and placed them on her hips, Dieter’s grip tightening as he forced himself of his disbelief and back into the moment.

Violet Apollo was sitting on his lap, kissing him, biting him, moaning for him. No matter how many times he imagined his first time with her, he never imagined her so…animalistic.

He always figured she’d be soft, gentle, romantic, but here she was tugging on his lip so hard he was whimpering for her, her hips grinding down against his lap. When she took her top off, unhooked her bra and revealed herself to him, he swore he’d reached heaven—but of course, something had to ruin it.

“Uh,” Violet ran her hand over his lap and furrowed her brows, not feeling anything hard at all no matter how hard she searched.

She’d seen his cock, if it was hard, she wouldn’t have even needed to reach for it to know it was there.

“Well that’s humbling,” she chuckled at herself and quickly scrambled off his lap, avoiding his eyes as she gathered her bra and top before rushing out of the room.

Violet couldn’t help but feel sickeningly embarrassed, quickly turning the lock on her bedroom door before she rushed into the shower still in her skirt and tights. The hot water rained down on her as she sobbed on the floor, her knees tucked close to her chest.

She’d finally put herself out there, exposing more of herself to him than she ever thought she would. And he couldn’t have been less into it, apparently.

Althroughout her childhood, adolescence, and even early adulthood, Violet struggled with the extra plushness she carried around her stomach—so much so that it wasn’t until she was twenty-three that she allowed a partner to see her naked with the lights on.

Violet knew it wasn’t Dieter’s fault that he wasn’t attracted to her, and she tried to reason with herself that he had every right to like the supermodel build rather than her curvy one, but no matter how many times she repeated it in her head, she couldn’t help the sting in her heart from the rejection.

Perhaps she read it all wrong between them, and all the kisses and flirting and long conversations were simply just something to do for him. Something to keep him from getting bored. Or, more depressing, maybe he was only attracted to her with her clothes on? Perhaps he hadn’t realized how curvy she was, and now that he’d seen it, he changed his mind?

Quickly shaking her head to clear her mind of her intrusive thoughts, she took a shaky but deep breath, gathering her composure. She stood up and peeled off her wet clothes, letting them slap against the floor of the shower before carrying on like normal, washing her hair and shaving her legs like nothing had ever happened at all. The mask was back on, and after tonight, it would likely never come off again.

•••

Dieter was left frozen and speechless, staying still long after he’d watched her run off to her bedroom and lock the door behind her, the sound of his 90’s dance playlist blaring in the background mostly washing away her sobs, but he could still hear them clear enough to ache for her.

Never in his life had he not been able to get it up. No matter the amount he had to drink, the amount of substances in his system, nothing had ever prevented him from performing. So why now?

He knew the answer, and god, did he wish he was simply just an old man with erectile dysfunction. His life would be a whole lot easier if that was the case, but of course, it wasn’t.

Dieter knew that the reason he couldn’t get hard for her was because he was panicking. Panicking because it was finally happening for them. Panicking because he was high during it. Panicking because he wasn’t ready like he wanted to be for her when they finally crossed that line. Panicking because he didn’t want to lose her over something as fucking silly as sex.

A part of him wanted to go over and apologize, try to explain himself to her, but the thought of confessing even a single one of those fears to her made him freeze all over again. He couldn’t open up, at least not now, not in this state of mind.

Dieter sat there, staring blankly ahead through his opened door and at her closed one, his music still playing, his body not having moved an inch, wondering why the fuck he couldn’t just be easy to love like everyone else seemed to be. He craved destruction too much, and feared anything too good to be true, preferring to ruin it before it could ruin him.

He’d gone so long without having to face the reality of his brokenness, but never in his life had he longed to love someone properly like this. It consumed him—his inadequacy mixing with his yearning. He wanted her, but every time he looked into her pretty brown eyes, he could only see all the reasons he shouldn’t have her.

In an act of determination, and a rare show of self-care and responsibility, Dieter reached for his phone and searched through his contacts until he found the number to his old therapist, the only one that he felt treated him like a human rather than a star.

DB: Need to make an appointment. I think I’m getting bad again.

Dr. Bradford: Hello, Dieter. I’m glad you reached out. Let’s set up a call tomorrow afternoon and you can tell me more about it.

DB: Sounds good, doc.

DB: Do I need to be sober?

Dr. Bradford: Yes, Dieter. Have a good night.

DB: Fine.

Even if he wasn’t good enough for her right now, it didn’t mean it needed to stay that way. And until he got better, Dieter vowed to try and salvage his friendship with her. Starting in the morning.

Right now he needed to cry in the shower to some Whitney Houston.

•••

dieter taglist: @browneyes-issac @wildemaven @laureliciousdefinition @trinkets01 @paulalikestuff @toomanystoriessolittletime @alwayslurkinginthebackground @pastelnap @fishingforpike @littlemisspascal @pedropascalsx (please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist!)

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #dieter bravo series #dieter bravo bubble #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo angst #dieter bravo fluff #dieter bravo x oc #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo #plastic hearts

[forestwater87]

(first apologies if this is a duplicate; I got a "bad request" notification the first time I tried to send this ask) but anyhow; I saw your tags on my Lucretia post and i am not sure how to reply to tags?? but i want to see your version of that scene! (if you still want to share) I love Lucretia very much and love to see other peoples' takes on her. anyway, I hope you are having a good day!

OH MY GOD YAY!! 

I mean, cool, whatever. I guess I could share a little bit of that fic. That’s fine.

(yayayayayayayay eeeeeeeeeee)

Okay, part of me wanted to blast you with the entire chapter, but that’s 25-ish pages so I’m forcing myself to show restraint here and only include the tail end. There’s a little bit of context missing, because it’s the last section of Chapter 10 of a fic that so far has at least 32 chapters, but I think it all makes sense. It’s basically just “here’s what happened in that cycle when everybody else was a statue person” and it was, you know, not a good time. (There’s some implied Magcretia, sorry not sorry.) 

Plus it’s really good. I know that sounds arrogant, but I’ve spent the last 4-5 years hating every word I’ve ever written, and I’m going to enjoy this confidence for as long as it chooses to stay.

So anyway, I hope you enjoy! 

There are no line breaks on tumblr anymore so this is the part where the actual writing starts:

When the Hunger arrived, it was a relief more than anything.

Lucretia had been in the middle of defending The Starblaster from a group of marauders climbing like ants all over the dented and hastily-repaired sides of the ship, trying to figure out if she could possibly shake them all free without having to resort to the magic she’d deduced made it possible for the court to find her, when the sky turned dark and everything went gray. 

And her first thought was, Oh thank Pan. (She wasn’t a religious person at all, but enough time with Merle had made the casual prayers second nature.) This nightmare was almost over. In less than an hour, she’d have her family back.

She was so close to seeing Magnus again.

“Fisher, get back in your tank!” she shouted, abandoning the shield she’d been summoning and sprinting to the helm — she’d spent so much time this year running for her life that she could race from one end of the ship to the other without becoming winded. None of the marauders had made it onto the deck, but she felt the air above her head crackle with a spell that blazed past, and as she reached the controls she heard the now-familiar amplified voice call, “You are under arrest for multiple counts of evading the authority of the co — what the hell’s going on here?”

Oh, great. All her friends were here. Now all she needed was for the boar and crocodile to make an appearance.

As the officer began to interrogate the marauders (his side of the conversation still blaring loud and clear), Lucretia took advantage of the confusion to throw the ship forward. She’d had enough foresight to keep the way in front of The Starblaster clear for just this purpose, and while a few hundred yards of ash-colored grass were flattened, she was able to get the ship into the air.

She pointed it up, away from the Hunger — up into space, into nothingness, into any universe except this one, somewhere she’d stared at and imagined but now was finally going into . . .

If she could get the damaged, shuddering ship up to speed and break through the atmosphere, that was.

If not, everything ended here.

A tentacle of swirling darkness stabbed into the ground inches away from her ship, forcing her to swerve hard and nearly lose her footing. She threw all her weight on the acceleration as more of the Hunger’s tentacles latched onto the planet, the labored roar of the engines nearly drowning out the screams of panic from the people below.

As The Starblaster rocketed over a shining city with strange statues and up into the sky, a whisper made Lucretia look around — before realizing it had come from inside her own head.

We’ve been looking for you.

She frowned, clutching at the helm even tighter. Was this some sort of new thing the Hunger could do, or one last awful trick played by this hostile planet?

Another whisper, louder and lower-pitched: You’ve been evading judgement for some time now.

A massive column of the Hunger collided with the planet directly in front of her. It was so close, she had no choice but to try and blow through it, even though that meant taking the biggest risk she had all year. But The Starblaster’s momentum was impossible to halt, and the mile-wide column was impossible to go around, so she gritted her teeth, hunched over the controls, and slammed on the accelerator.

The second she crossed into the Hunger, everything went silent and black.

Everything, that was, except for the whispers: 

Lucretia, you have always let others take action and responsibility while you sit back and watch. You tell yourself this is worthwhile, but you know it is a lie. And yet when it is smartest and safest to proceed with caution, you take the most reckless path, because you refuse to admit you might be wrong. Your past sins are sloth, envy, and pride. How do you plead?

How did she plead? She didn’t plead for much of anything, except to survive long enough to fly them into the next cycle. The Hunger buffeted at the ship, wrapping smaller tentacles around its sleek metal body and trying to keep it from plowing forward; it might kill her — kill them all — but not knowing what else to do, she used Mage Hand to open the nearest window without leaving the helm and cast Fire Shield around the ship. It was weak and flickering compared to the spells of protection Merle could create, but the Hunger fell back with deafening shrieks of pain as flames licked the air around The Starblaster. 

The awful whispers weren’t letting up, though, digging cold fingers deep into her mind and sending a chill shudder down through her very soul.

Your present sins are no less grave. You kill without remorse. You have allowed yourself to become vindictive and spiteful. You have not abandoned your past failings, but have added new ones since our initial audit. We see fit to add to your current list of transgressions the crime of wrath. How do you plead?

Suddenly there was a break in the shimmering darkness, a bolt of ash-gray sky widening like a tear in heavy fabric — and then she was through, outside of the Hunger and so far above the doomed planet that she couldn’t see the ground below. She let out a scream of triumph, the noise tearing like sandpaper along her exhausted and dry throat, and angled the ship until it was almost vertical. The Starblaster shot forward as though with one last burst of strength, shuddering as its engines were pushed to the absolute limit . . .

The ship suddenly jolted to a halt, mechanisms whirring like a swarm of angry bees.

Lucretia turned to the still-open window and saw the entire view had been replaced with blackness, oily-iridescent tentacles spilling into the ship as others wrapped around it. She threw all of her weight on the acceleration, but it didn’t move; then, after a single grinding moment, The Starblaster began to fly backward, pulled back toward the core of the Hunger. 

She could hear its gnashing teeth.

“NO!” The word exploded out of her, coming from somewhere far below conscious thought. She abandoned the helm just long enough to run to the window, ignoring the tentacles that curled around her ankles as she pointed her wand at the offshoot of the Hunger that had its hold on her, aiming for where the base met the rest of the massive column, and shot off a burst of lightning. There was another hideous wail and the tentacles around the ship shuddered and pulled away, just a slight loosening of their incredible grip.

Her entire body shaking with terror and fury, she pointed her wand at the same spot and cast Finger of Death. 

The screaming was like a sonic blast — a thousand million voices filled with rage and pain and fear — knocking her onto her back and sending her skidding across the bridge. She scrambled to her feet, stumbling over her robe and lurching to the helm. The sound of the engines returning to full blast was like the roar of a furious animal loosed from its cage, and the last of the Hunger fell back as the ship threw itself up into space. It felt like the air was shouting with every conceivable emotion.

As the panic subsided and her head cleared, she realized it wasn’t the air screaming; it was those whisperers.

So much rage. So much wrath.

No remorse.

No different than the monster she tries to flee.

They were growing louder with every word, overlapping and running together until she struggled to pick out individual phrases —

She betrays the people she supposedly loves most

She destroys a family — destroys the memory of the family

Robs them of themselves

Who has the right?

No one has the right

The sound was becoming unbearable, deafening. Her ears felt like they were leaking; she lifted her hand to one and her fingers came back covered in blood.

It didn’t make sense — it wasn’t an external sound — it wasn’t an external force, but something ripping her apart from within.

It was the sound of going mad. 

At that point she was barely able to understand anything 

leaves him to die in agony in a hell she helped create

takes advantage of the innocent who make the mistake of believing in her

such a sweet boy, and all you do is lie to him

do you think you can make these decisions for the world?

the heartbreak you will cause

the betrayal

pride — such unfathomable pride

the deaths you will cause

the lives you will ruin

the blood that stains your hands

coldhearted — cowardly

wrath — envy — sloth

pride

PRIDE

Our judgement is decided.

You have been found wanting.

Something hardened in her chest, calcifying her lungs and making it impossible to breathe. Lucretia doubled over, her hands scrabbling to keep the ship moving, as her flesh turned hard, brittle, the feeling like casting Stone Skin but somehow it’d gotten inside . . .

She couldn’t move her tongue. She couldn’t breathe. Blackness crowded the edge of her vision — not like she was blacking out, but like her eyes just suddenly weren’t there anymore

everything went wobbly, the universe becoming untethered just for a moment

And when it stabilized, she realized she could move again, see again. She took a deep, tremulous breath and turned back from the helm, sliding to the floor in a heap.

It was less than a second, before the I.P.R.E. crew fully materialized, but she didn’t see it happen. As soon as the surreal, smoky outlines of her friends wavered into being, she dropped her head in her hands, a sob she’d been holding back for months finally escaping her throat.

She did it.

Magnus’s hands closed around her upper arms and he gently tugged her into an embrace. She could feel the cool steel of the bridge under her knees, heard the voices of all her friends speaking all at once. She was dimly aware she was talking, mumbling nonsense to herself as she waited for the world to stop spinning.

The last thing she was aware of before slipping into unconsciousness was Magnus’s breath on her forehead and his warm fingers combing through her hair.

#taz balance #the adventure zone #lucretia #magcretia #(but only a little magcretia) #taz #taz lucretia #(are those the tags? idk the tags for this fandom) #god i wanna share this fic so bad #but i feel like i need to wait until it's finished #and i need to find a beta #but uhhhh there are no magcretia shippers out there #or at least i don't know any #i will convert you #i've done it with one rarepair i'll do it again #(no i won't but it's a good fic anyway) #oh right #ask forest #i knew i'd been forgetting something #i'm so proud of this you have NO IDEA #sure hope those line breaks don't disappear when i publish this #tumblr fucking would though #journalofimprobablethings

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 4879 Soulmate au: The one where every pair of soulmates finds each other in different ways or through different soulmate tropes

Follow the link or read it under the cut! 

KO-FI and commission info in the header! 

Chapter 221

Watching the client who had come begging them for assistance with a typically ridiculous problem, Tobirama wondered what it would be like to have such an obvious connection to his soulmate as this man did. His already short sleeves were tied back even further as though to purposefully display as much as possible of the golden words flowing down the back of one arm, a greeting that must have been the first words his other half spoke to him. To have such easy proof of one’s connection, to know from the earliest ages that there was someone out there and how to find them, Tobirama could only wonder at the security this man must have felt in his bond from the moment he understood that it was waiting for him. It must have been nice. 

It was also quite the pity for whoever had been the one to speak those words. 

Privately Tobirama could admit that a small bit of the attitude he could feel bubbling to the surface was motivated by jealousy, petty retribution against someone who had something he wanted for himself. Out loud, of course, he wouldn’t be caught dead even hinting at such an admission. 

“This is all very fascinating, Kirimoto-san, but I can’t help noting you have yet to explain what any of it has to do with Konohagakure. Were you perchance hoping to commission someone to record your story? Contracting a scribe would only be a D-rank mission, not the A-rank you proposed.” Lifting one eyebrow in judgement was probably going a little too far. If only he could bring himself to care.

“I was only just getting to that, Senju-sama,” their client spluttered. Anger flashed across his face but luckily for his continued health he was smart enough not to say anything. “The mission I came to contract your shinobi for is of vital importance! My son is a diamond among chaff; he deserves only the best! If the woman pressing suit upon him is truly so weak-hearted as to look at other men then she must be chased away!”

Tobirama blinked slowly. “And you wish us to…?”

“Why, to bring proof of her infidelity of course! I will pay the full price of an A-rank mission for two of your finest shinobi to approach her in disguise and seduce her away from my son! If her heart is as impure as I think it is then she will no doubt fall for such base tricks.”

He puffed himself up with the same false importance bred in to every idiot that had ever been born in the capital city, entirely ignorant of how little effect that would have on the one he was speaking to. When Tobirama got ahold of his brother he was going to throttle the man for taking today of all days off and leaving his duties to the next in command. Technically Madara would have been the next in command if he weren’t currently at home recovering from pushing himself too hard during training. No doubt that was exactly why Hashirama had taken the day off. Tobirama hoped the two idiots drowned in a teapot for making him deal with this particular client. 

Despite his petty irritation he didn’t actually want to offend the man. Or at least not badly enough for the idiot to file a complaint that would bring another lecture down on his head about playing nice with their patrons. Several slow deep breaths helped bolster his patience until he could be certain none of the contempt he felt for this utter waste of time might show on his face; only then did he speak again.

“If you wish to pay for an A-rank mission then we will gladly accept your commission. Do you have any other information that might help us choose the two best people to accept this task?” 

“You! I want one of them to be you!” For some reason Kirimoto-san felt the need to rise from his chair and point like there could be any mistaking who he was speaking to. They were, after all, the only people in the room. “I’ve heard all the rumors! Women from here to the capitol cry themselves to sleep every night over the hearts you break!”

Tobirama could feel one of his eyes twitching. He’d heard a lot of rumors about himself before but this one was new. Him? A country-wide heartbreaker? That went beyond laughable in to the territory of utterly absurd. If anything most rumors called him uptight and cold. Which, in all honesty, was certainly more true than the opposite. The last heart he broke was probably well back in his adolescence when one of his clanmates had taken some unnatural interest in him and refused to be turned aside with any gentler tactics than a flat out shredding of her ego. 

Clinging hard to his temper, Tobirama bit down savagely on his own tongue before asking, “I don’t suppose I could change your mind on that? My duties here are many and rumors are easily blown out of proportion. Seduction is… not one of my strengths, shall we say.” 

“Do...I want to know?” Hashirama’s voice asked in the same moment the door swung open. Their illustrious Hokage recoiled almost as soon as he stepped in to the room, eyes wide and confused upon being met with Tobirama’s acidic glare. Behind him trundled Madraa who looked a hell of a lot more put together than he had when Tobirama bullied him in to going home the night before with instructions to recuperate before he passed out over his own paperwork. 

“Ah Hokage-sama!” their client bowed hastily. 

“Hello! Um, honeypot mission?” The cringe in Hashirama’s voice was as obvious as the pain it caused him to think of his sibling in any sort of intimate context. 

Unfortunately Kirimoto-san managed to speak first. “Senju-sama here has agreed to assist me in the matter I wrote to you about! All we need is one mo- ah! Perfect! You’re perfect! Pray tell, what is your name, miss?”

If nothing else. Tobirama decided while he was busily choking on his own tongue, that right there was worth the shame of having to take part in this ridiculous farce. Madara, to no one’s surprise, didn’t seem inclined to agree. His expression was particularly thunderous when he crossed his arms and leveled their client with a deadly stare. 

“Uchiha Madara,” he growled. To Kirimoto-san’s credit he didn’t so much as flinch before breaking in to a massive grin. 

“Even more perfect! A man! And here I thought I would have to pay extra for you to dress as one. Most excellent. It absolutely must be the two of you!”

Madara sneered. “I don’t think s-”

“Well now!” Hashirama spoke over him. “I’m sure you understand, my dear sir, that these two are my most valuable shinobi both administratively and in battle prowess. To allow both of them to be deployed on the same mission would be a serious detriment to our productivity - not to mention our security in the event of an attack.”

“But I must have them! Only them!” 

“It simply doesn’t seem feasible. To fill the large spaces they would leave empty would mean keeping several extra people on active duty and I’m afraid the cost…” With a face of carefully constructed regret Hashirama sighed and Tobirama took a moment to reluctantly admire his brother’s ingenuity. People could say what they wanted about his overly active emotions. Very few ever realized how easily he manipulated them entirely because of that same buffoonery veiling their eyes to the wily genius underneath. 

Kami forbid the idiot ever realize Tobirama admired that quality in him, though. 

“Can I not convince you?” Kirimoto-san begged. “If it is a matter of cost I can of course make it worth your while to send them with me! Name your price, Hokage-sama, and I will pay it! Anything to ensure that my precious son lives his life only with a woman who will never betray him!” 

The poor sod didn’t even seem to realize the mistake he’d just made as Hashirama turned to him with a beatific smile on his face and dollar signs in his eyes. 

When he finally managed to leave the office Kirimoto-san’s face was as pained as his poor wallet was empty. Tobirama couldn’t find it in himself to even pity the man. Not when his own fate had been sealed with more than twenty thousand ryō above the typical asking price of an A-ranked mission. Regrettably, he hadn’t actually been lying when he said that seduction was not one of his strengths but apparently he would have to at least make an effort. It was hard to choose whether he regretted more that it would be a woman several years after he had finally accepted his preferences in the opposite direction or that, of all people, Madara would be there to watch him make such an utter fool out of himself. 

“How exactly”-he demanded the moment their client was far enough down the hall not to overhear them-”do you propose I disguise myself? At the risk of showing my own ego, I’ll remind you that I do have rather distinctive looks.” 

“You’re not the only one,” Madara growled with both hands going almost protectively to his extraordinary mane of hair.

Hashirama boomed a laugh that lacked even a shred of sympathy. “Oh I’m sure you two will figure something out! You could always wear a henge!” 

“And if she’s chakra-sensitive? I notice you failed to even ask about that!” Madara reached out to smack his best friend across the back of the head for such an oversight. Familial bonds dictated that Tobirama should defend his sibling but, as he rather wished he was close enough to do that himself, he opted to pretend he’d seen nothing.

“Sorry! Sorry! I’m sure we can work out something that will hide your hair. Like a big scarf or a hood or something you could tuck it in to!” Hashirama drooped and clasped both hands under his chin. “Please don’t be mad at me!” 

“That still leaves me,” Tobirama pointed out. 

Both of the squabbling friends turned to him in consideration for several long heartbeats. Hashirama spoke up first with a bright smile. “I know! We can cover your tattoos with makeup! Geisha use white makeup all the time, I’m sure we can procure you some in a discreet manner!”

“Covering my face won’t do much good if my hair is just going to stick out like a fox in a henhouse. The only bloodlines left that produce hair this color are all shinobi clans and as much as I would consider it a complement to be mistaken for a Hatake, that wouldn’t exactly help me fly under the radar now would it?” he didn’t bother to list all of the other shinobi clans he would likely take insult at being mistaken for but his brother, thankfully, had enough tact to skirt that entirely. 

Instead he went even deeper in to stupid territory because of course he did. 

“You could dye your hair!” he crowed as if with the triumph of a great idea. 

“I hate you,” Tobirama told him. 

Without another word he swept out of the office, calling over his brother’s whining protests that since he was here anyway he might as well finish his own duties for the day. More than anything he was angered that Hashirama’s suggestion had actually been a logical solution and in the depths of his private heart he admitted that his irritation stemmed entirely from self-image. He didn’t want to dye his hair. He liked his hair. Call him an egomaniac but he rather enjoyed standing out from the masses. 

Sending a clone to go pick out some dye from the infiltration core’s private storage room felt somehow less painful than doing it himself. At least when he received the memories of it the deed would already be done. Tobirama completed the handful of duties left unfinished at the tower and then left to wait at home for his clone to return. The first thing he did upon dispelling his copy was sit in his living room to study the instructions on the back of the dreaded box in excruciating detail. The only thing worse than going through with this idiocy would be somehow doing it wrong; this was already going to end in mockery one way or another, he didn’t need to give anyone more ammo than necessary. After making sure he understood exactly how to use the stuff Tobirama spun the box around again to study the color. 

Maybe he wouldn’t look entirely terrible with red hair. If the stars aligned in just the right way he might be able to convince himself he looked a bit like his sister in law. The Uzumaki, now there was a clan he would feel no shame for having a connection to and it would certainly be a logical assumption. They did have a rather sizable civilian population. 

Turning the box side to side in an effort to determine whether he thought the color looked like a natural one, he couldn’t help but let his eyes be drawn to the golden letters embossed near the very top, an elegant curling script that greatly resembled the letters Kirimoto-san bore along one arm. What would he do, Tobirama wondered, if at last he managed to discover his own soulmate and he wasn’t able to reach out because of this? He’d never been all that fond of undercover missions for just this reason. To meet his soulmate while he didn’t even look like himself, to risk that they might fall in love with a falsity. A deep sigh escaped him and Tobirama spun the box around so he wouldn’t have to look at the letters anymore. Everything about this mission was stupid - including the emotions he was letting it drag out of him. Best to just get this over with before he got too maudlin about things so far out of his control. 

All told, including the time he took to pause and investigate the chemical compounds, the dying process took just over an hour and Tobirama refused to look at himself in the mirror until he had thoroughly rinsed the mixture out of his hair and let the whole thing dry completely. Only then did he finally approach the bathroom vanity with trepidation and lift his eyes to take in the horror of what he’d done. He had just enough time to cringe in distaste before the front door of his home slammed open with a bang that ricocheted down the hall. 

“Tobi?” Hashirama’s voice called out to him in an oddly strangled tone. “You here?” 

“Unfortunately.” At his reply footsteps hurried closer. 

“We may have to apply a slight change of plaaaa-....ns...oh my.” 

“Anija I swear if you finish that sentence after I only just finished this nonsense”-Tobirama jerked an angry thumb at his own mangled hair-“I will make you regret ever being born.” 

His brother stared at him. Stared some more. Blinked several times and then continued to stare, all while Tobirama’s ire grew closer and closer to the boiling point. Finally he drew in a breath that rattled ominously. 

“Come with me,” he murmured shortly before spinning on one heel and marching back towards the front door. 

“Now hold on! Anija, what the hell?”

Annoyingly, Hashirama did not stop. His only concession was to pause long enough for Tobirama to tear an old jacket out of his front closet and pull the hood up tightly. Just because lots of other strangers were going to see him in this state didn’t mean he had to let all of Konoha in on his shame. Vanity, apparently, would need to be added on to the list of character flaws he hadn’t even known afflicted him until this thrice blasted village was built. 

Where the hell they were going he couldn’t tell since the hood of his jacket was pulled so tight around his head that it obscured most of the world around him. On sense alone he guessed they were bound in a general southern direction but for the life of him he couldn’t imagine what existed to the south that had to do with his disguise or suddenly needed to be attended to the moment his brother saw him. Tobirama did try to ask, of course, but for once in his life Hashirama seemed to have lost his capacity for words. If only he could be like that more often. Well, if only he could be like that any other time but for now when Tobirama needed answers that none of his increasingly irritated questions were getting him. He did recognize right away when they entered the Uchiha district. Walking past the uchiwa-embossed gates always felt much like stepping in from the cold to a place with a thousand warm fires all around him. It was, he hated to admit, a very comforting place to be for a sensor like him. 

It was also a great relief at the moment; Hashirama might profess to love the whole world but there were very few people he was actually close with and only one of them lived within the Uchiha compound. Tobirama frowned at the inside of his hood. It would make sense for them to go see Madara right now, he was the other half of this utterly ridiculous undercover mission, but it made no sense at all for Hashirama to be in this much of a tither over his best friend unless something had gone terribly wrong in the past hour since they had all been together. 

How much trouble could one man get in to within the confines of their own village? 

Despite how close the two of them were it was still a mild surprise when Hashirama let them both in to Madara’s house without so much as knocking. Tobirama wracked his brain trying to remember whether Izuna still lived with his brother while the two of them made their way down the hall. Since they were inside now, safe from the judging eyes of the general public, Tobirama allowed his fingers to loosen their hold on the material of his hood until he had enough vision to take in the home of the Uchiha clan head. Much more spartan than he had expected. If he were taking this first look a handful of years ago he would have expected bloodied weapons to line the walls and plaques bearing the heads of notable kills. He’d long grown past such childish assumptions but if he were honest he still would have expected this place to be a little more plush, a little more befitting the head of such a large and lucrative clan.

“Mads? Mads I’m back. Are you...okay if we come in?” Hashirama paused at the beginning of the hallway to gently wrap his knuckles against a plain shoji screen. 

“End me now,” Madara’s miserable voice drifted out. “If a single person in my clan sees this I will never hear the end of it.” 

“We’re coming in, okay?”

Hashirama waited just a moment longer to give his friend time for yelling if he was truly so opposed to them entering. When no protests came he nodded once and then opened the door, pulling Tobirama behind him as he walked forward in to the room.

Strange as it was to find himself in Uchiha Madara’s bedroom of all places Tobirama didn’t have time to even look around to see if the decor here was as barren as the rest of the house. He didn’t even have the time to ruminate on the odd places life had taken him just today. The moment he stepped inside the room all of his attention was riveted to the figure huddled on the bed with face in hands. Logic told him that was Madara. It sounded like him. Felt like him. His eyes, however, must have been playing tricks on him. 

“The...hell...is going on?” Tobirama pulled his free arm away from Hashirama’s grasp to poke at him with confusion. “I thought you said he was going with the scarf idea? How the hell did you get a dye that color to saturate this much hair in such a short time? And for that matter, why on earth did you give him the same color as me?”

“Oh I didn’t do this,” Hashirama said. 

“So he did it to himself?”

“No, I think you did it.”

Tobirama blinked slowly, one eyebrow rising. “I most certainly did not. You saw me when you came to get me, you know exactly what I’ve been doing since I left the tower.” 

In his indignation at being accused he missed the sharp movement of Madara’s head snapping up to look at him for the first time since he entered the home. Busy as he was jamming a finger in to his brother’s side, he didn’t see those eyes zero in on him like a kunai finding its target but he sure did feel the weight of them. At first he ignored it - this was hardly the first time he’d been stared at - but when Hashirama managed to bat his finger away and pointedly indicated the man whose house they had just invaded he finally looked over. 

“Can I help you?” he muttered, instinctively defensive under that much scrutiny. 

“What do you mean the same color as you?” 

His first reflex was to pull the hood tighter around his head. Then he realized how stupid that was. If the two of them were going on the same mission then obviously Madara would have to see him in this state at some point - and if anyone was going to understand the pain of having to dye his hair such a wildly unsuitable shade it would be the man whose head currently matched his own. A heavy sigh of defeat escaped him before, with great effort, he finally allowed his fingers to unclench so the hood of his jacket could fall back to reveal that his hair indeed was a perfect match for the ridiculous color of Madara’s. He expected the man to stare, of course. What he didn’t expect was for his jaw to drop and one hand to reach out blindly for Hashirama.

“You,” Madara croaked. “Go away. Now. I...I need to talk to...just go away!” 

“Okay.” In a move possibly more surprising than anything else that had happened so far, Hashirama turned to leave the room as easily as that, not a word of protest. Tobirama watched him go with both eyes wide and blinking. 

“I...how did you do that? I’ve never seen him leave so easily in my life. How did you make him do that!?”

Bed springs creaked and groaned like a symphony to announce Madara’s rise from the bed, eyes still locked on to Tobirama with all the intensity of the hawks he so enjoyed flying. He looked just as silly with the wrong hair color as Tobirama felt he himself did but something told him that mockery would not go over very well just now no matter that Madara was one of the few who could give as good as he got. The arguments they got in to were usually some of the highest points of Tobirama’s week. 

“You dyed your hair.” Unfortunately his intelligence didn’t always shine through quite as obviously, such as moments like now when he felt compelled to state the very obvious. 

“So did you,” Tobirama said with one eyebrow raised in judgment. 

“No I didn’t.”

After a pause Tobirama canted his head to one side and lifted the other brow. “Well then I suppose I’ll need to get my eyes checked very soon.”

“No! Shut up, you don’t get it! I didn’t do this!” 

“You’re claiming...what? Some kind of hair dye bandit snuck in and colored your hair when you weren’t looking?”

“I think it means we’re soulmates, you absolute fuck!” 

“Oh.” 

There were dozens of responses he could pretend he’d been expecting and that one would not have been even close to getting on the list. Tobirama opened his mouth only to close it, thoughts racing over each other in a jumbled heap because he knew exactly what Madara was getting at. Of course he did. 

And of course the universe would be so petty as to give them a way to find each other only through humiliating themselves. Sometimes he really did hate other people for how easily they discovered their bonds. Not him, though, oh no. He couldn’t have a red string tied to his pinkie, he couldn’t have been born with the first words his soulmate would say to him imprinted on his skin, he couldn’t even have the moment of unquestionable knowing when he heard his partner’s voice for the first time. Because it was him and because it was Madara they just had to do things the hard way, waiting until one of them dyed their hair so the change of color could be reflected on their other half. 

“That color looks awful on you,” was all he could think to say; perhaps a little too honest but from the very start of peace the two of them had silently agreed to never pull their punches with each other. Madara stared at him in disbelief for a half dozen heartbeats until without warning he burst in to raucous laughter. 

“Seriously?” he demanded. “That’s all you have to say?” 

Tobirama threw both of his hands in the air. “Well what do you want me to say? It’s not like I have some big speech prepared just in case I find out the other half of my soul has been riding around in you this whole time!” 

“No? That’s almost surprising. You’re usually prepared for pretty much anything.” The smile on Madara’s face gentled his words from insults to fond teasing and Tobirama wondered how long the possibilities of this had been hiding right under his nose. 

“I didn’t really want to go on this mission in the first place,” he mused. “Now I really don’t want to.”

“Because we match and it’s incredibly obvious that we shouldn’t?”

“No, dumb ass, because I just discovered my soulmate and I’d rather like some time to process that.” Tobirama rolled his eyes but there was a very telling hint of a smile on his own face as well. How could there not be? 

Madara hummed and shifted his weight, coincidentally ending up just a little bit closer when he settled, though Tobirama chose not to point that out. “How much do you think it would take to convince your brother not to send us out?” 

“Oh probably about a thousand yen more than whatever Kirimoto-san paid him.” 

“Hn. I’d have to dip in to the clan coffers. And then I’d have to listen to the elders bitch about squandering clan funds. Ugh.” Madara’s nose wrinkled. Tobirama mirrored him if for no other reason than annoyance that he’d never really noticed how adorable that was. If he looked back on all the past interactions they’d had he would probably be able to drum up a thousand different clues that they were meant to be together. 

Good thing he wasn’t the type to look back. Self reflection was so boring. 

The problem of his brother forcing them to go through with this mission still was just something they would have to figure out later. Probably a very quick later since they were still expected to leave some time later that same day but still, certainly a problem Tobirama was willing to put off solving until he absolutely had to. If Hashirama was really so dead set on making them do this when he very clearly understood what situation was happening then he could come get them himself. 

“Spot of tea?” Tobirama looked around as though he might spot a kitchen through the bedroom walls. 

“Ah, yeah, I guess it would be polite of me to get you some, huh?” 

Madara rocked back on to his heels and looked towards the door as well, the perfect opportunity for Tobirama to really look at him and take in all the little details he normally wouldn’t in another person, the shape of his jawline and the tiny amounts of baby fat that had never fully left his cheeks. 

“It isn’t like you to be concerned about being polite,” he pointed out. 

When his soulmate turned back to reveal an openly amused grin he thought maybe the universe did know what it was doing - but he was still a little annoyed that it had made things so difficult for him. Also quite annoyed that they were likely going to have to see this ridiculous mission through. What an absolute shame that he finally discovered his soulmate only for the poor man to bear witness to his complete lack of seduction skills all in the same day. He hoped Hashirama had already started running because he was going to murder his own brother for this. 

#rae writes #soulmate collection #madatobi #tobirama #madara #hashirama #fanfiction

[syntheticpoetry]

The Ghosts That We Knew

See my original post on the origins of this story here!

Summary: Blaine Anderson is no stranger to hospitals and has been volunteering on the pediatric unit of Lima General Hospital for years when Kurt Hummel comes along.  After Blaine is attacked at his school's Sadie Hawkins Dance, he has his best friend Kurt to help him deal with the aftermath. And when Kurt becomes the target of the McKinley football team's bullying campaign, he can count on Blaine to have his back.

AU where Blaine transfers to McKinley instead of Dalton. Set during season 1.A story of two best friends finding courage to face their bullies and discovering love along the way.

Author’s Note: Blaine has a reason he has been in an out of the hospital since childhood that will be revealed, but if you are overly cautious of the level of angst surrounding it I can assure you it's nothing heartbreaking/super serious. It's actually quite common.  I cannot thank @esperantoauthor​ enough for beta reading this for me and really helping me whip it into shape!

AO3 Link || FFN Link

Chapter 1: Of Viral Videos and Disney Princes

The last time that Kurt Hummel remembers being in a hospital, he told his mother that he loved her for the last time.  

That was six years ago.  

As he walks through the lobby, towards the directory by the elevators, he keeps his gaze fixed forward, careful not to spare a glance at the waiting area to his right.  He spent so many months in that waiting room.  Entire seasons, multiple holidays spent watching people receive good news and bad news, with his father stoic and silent beside him as his mother underwent procedure after procedure.  Until it was their turn to be the family that received bad news.  The doctor sounded sincere as he said a lot of big words Kurt could not quite understand at the time, but he understood the look on his father’s face.  He took to studying the ugly designs on the carpet to distract from the tight clench in his father’s jaw, the way he kept himself so still and barely blinked through the entire explanation— Kurt knew, even at eight years old, what it was like to use up all of your willpower to hold yourself together for the sake of someone else.  To this day, he cannot look at paisley print without thinking back to that awful day.

Kurt scans the directory before punching the up button to call the elevator and folds his arms across his chest, tapping his foot as he awaits its arrival.  When he first heard about the volunteer program on the pediatric unit he was naturally hesitant to return to the place that held some of his worst memories.  He had been on the fence about it all summer, torn between the desire to give back to the hospital staff that had gone above and beyond in their attempts to cure his mother’s cancer and wanting to put as much distance as possible between himself and the place where they finally had to say goodbye to each other.

Until he saw that YouTube video.  

A curly-haired boy with big doe eyes and an unwavering grin, guitar in hand, leading a Disney themed sing-along with a group of elementary school age kids.  The warmth that spread through Kurt’s chest was almost overwhelming as he watched the boy march around the room performing Hakuna Matata with the parade of children trailing behind, mimicking him raucously and off-key.  It was the first time Kurt had really smiled in a long time.

So he had decided to look into the program.  Mostly because witnessing the boundless energy of pure joy from each child singing along in that video elicited memories of countless nights of living room performances with his own father, both of them puffy-eyed and exhausted but still managing to find the stamina to sing at the top of their lungs, using the furniture as stage props.  They were two lost souls attempting to cling to each other through tidal waves of insurmountable grief, and those nights together— well, those nights wereeverything to Kurt.  He had never felt closer to his father than when they were both breathless and laughing their way through the most eclectic collection of songs imaginable, hugging each other tightly at the end of each performance.  

And if Kurt happened to run into the boy from the video along the way, well, that would certainly just be an added bonus. Kurt did have eyes after all.  And there was no denying the boy’s natural charm or the air of confidence with which he carried himself.  

Truth be told, entering yet another school year with no friends was beginning to take its toll on Kurt and the possibility of finding camaraderie with a cute boy who seemingly shared similar interests was certainly enticing.

Ding!

The doors slide open before him revealing an empty elevator.  Kurt steps in and presses the button for the fourth floor.  He thinks about that video and jumping on armchairs and couches in his living room with his father for the entire ride up.

***

He has to be buzzed in to enter the unit, which he thinks is strange.  But the woman who greets him, a young nurse with bright green eyes and deep auburn hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, explains it is the protocol for all pediatric units in order to prevent children from wandering away or being kidnapped.  There are security bracelets around each patient’s ankle that trigger an alarm if they are taken past a bright yellow line painted on the floor.

“Who would kidnap sick kids from a hospital?” Kurt asks, looking absolutely horrified.

“You would be surprised at how common it is.  Parents fighting over custody, usually.”

He nods and guesses that makes sense, but the thought is still deeply unsettling.

The hallways are empty as she leads him to a room behind the nurse’s station.  The unit is certainly much different from the one his mother had been on.  The walls are covered in murals of different cartoon characters and scenes from popular storybooks.  While the nurse punches in a code, Kurt studies a painting of Rapunzel in a high stone tower, golden plaited hair strung over the edge of the window for a handsome prince at the bottom. The door buzzes and she holds it open for him.  “I’ll let my supervisor know you’re here.”

Kurt thanks her and takes a seat at one of the tables to wait.  On the far wall he spots a bulletin board covered in an overabundance of overlapping photos, hand-drawn pictures and a variety of cards both homemade and store-bought.  He casts a quick glance towards the door before crossing the room to investigate.  He cannot help but smile as he scans over the collection of memories, reminiscing back to his own pile of hand drawn cards for the staff on the oncology unit.  

Then something catches his eye.  

It’s the curly haired boy from the video.  He’s standing, guitar in hand with the strap over his shoulder, in the center of a group photo, surrounded by children of varying ages and the unit staff.  His outfit is different from the one in the video though.  He’s wearing baggy sweatpants and a printed T-shirt, only the edges of the otherwise obscured design visible from behind the guitar over his torso.  In the video he had certainly seemed more, well, put together, to say the least.  He had worn light grey slacks and a navy polo shirt accented with a white bow tie, which Kurt could not help but notice because he could count on one hand the amount of teenage boys he had ever seen wearing bow ties in the state of Ohio, himself included.  

Kurt wonders how often he comes by to visit and volunteer.  Maybe there is a chance they will be able to meet after all.

The faint beeping of the key code and jiggling of the door handle to his left draws his attention and he turns in time to see an older woman with ashy blonde hair and huge round glasses that take up half of her face walk in.  Her scrub top is printed with different Winnie the Pooh characters.  She smiles and approaches him, extending her hand.  “Hi, you must be Kurt.  I’m Jeannie; we spoke on the phone last week.”

“Oh! Yes,” Kurt shakes her hand.  “Nice to meet you.”

“Shall we?” She gestures to a table and Kurt takes a seat opposite her.  “So we just have to get some paperwork in order and then we can take a little tour around the unit so you can meet the kids.”

“Okay.”

“This is your first time volunteering, right?” She opens a Manila folder and begins rifling through a large stack of papers.

“Yes.”

“What drew you to it?”

Kurt steals a glance towards the bulletin board, lips curling up into a half-smile.  “I heard about it through my school a few months back, but honestly? I spent a lot of time visiting my mom in this hospital when I was a kid and when me and my dad would get home he would always try to cheer me up.  We put on a lot of concerts for my stuffed animals in our living room.  And I mean… like a lot .”  

Her eyes are soft as she listens, a piece of paper held loosely between both hands just inches off of the table, almost forgotten, and gives him an empathetic smile.

“I saw that video of the Disney sing-along online and I just really wanted to be a part of it, helping kids, especially with music, because it’s really helped me through some tough times.”

“Well,” She straightens up and slides the paper across the table towards him, “I think the kids will really love having you around.  Do you play any instruments?”

“Never missed a piano lesson,” Kurt says, grinning.  “But mostly, I love to sing.”

The paperwork consists of a lot of signatures.  Kurt is not to discuss any of the patients or their health conditions with others in order to maintain privacy regulations, not to post anything to social media without permission, and just a lot of general information about the hospital’s protocols such as what to do in the event of emergency scenarios (of which there are many ).  By the end of it, Kurt has a pretty sizable stack of papers to take home with him and a dull cramp in his wrist.  

“I know it seems like a lot of information, but nothing you have to memorise.  You’ll always be with other staff members who will guide you through every step of the way.”

Kurt releases a nervous laugh, “Okay, good.  I can save my highlighters for school work then.”

***

Jeannie leads the way to the playroom which, she explains, is a safe space for all the children on the unit that remains open every day until 7 p.m.  No medications or treatments are allowed to be administered to a child in the playroom, they must be brought out first.  There are about ten kids inside, ranging from toddlers to older teens, all of whom have seemingly gravitated towards splitting into their own little cliques based on ages.  As soon as they enter the room two of the younger kids, a boy and girl no older than three or four, look up from a mountain of blocks and start crying.  Kurt casts an alarmed glance at Jeannie.

“It’s okay, you can keep playing.” Jeannie kneels down and stacks a loose block onto their small tower.  “Everyone, this is Kurt, he’s going to be coming by to help out and spend some time with all of you.” She stands up and backs away from the two toddlers with the blocks to stand beside Kurt again.  

“It’s the uniform,” she says quietly to him.  “Some get scared when they see us come into a room cause it usually means it’s time for medicine or treatments.”

“Hi, Kurt!” A small girl with bronze skin, a round face, and long thick black hair comes over and takes his hand.  “I’m Melanie! You wanna come draw with me?”

She does not wait for an answer before she starts tugging on his hand and walking back towards a small rectangular table covered with construction paper and crayons.  She climbs into one of two plastic blue chairs which are far too tiny for Kurt to fit in, so he sits on the floor beside the table, crossing his legs.  Melanie slides a piece of yellow construction paper towards him and pushes a pile of crayons into the middle for them to share.

“Did you draw all of these?” Kurt picks up a red crayon and starts sketching.

“Yes! My daddy brought my big brother to visit and we draw together,” she says, shading in what looks like a sunflower with a purple crayon.

“They’re very beautiful; I like that one a lot.” Kurt taps the one she is currently working on.  “I’ve never seen a purple sunflower before.”

“I’m gonna invent them one day,” she says matter-of-factly.  Kurt smiles and returns to his sketch of a new outfit design that has been floating around his mind for the past week.  

“Woah!”

Kurt begins to lift his head up to locate where the voice has come from when he spots movement beside his left elbow.  To say the boy is small would be an understatement.  He is tiny .  A pale, skinny little thing dressed in Batman pajamas that look two sizes too big on him.  He has wide, bright blue eyes and is wearing a charcoal grey beanie.  Clutched between his toothpick arms is a stuffed rabbit with drooping ears the size of its entire body.  

“Hello,” Kurt says as the boy leans forward to peer at his drawing.

“You can draw,” the boy says, clutching his rabbit closer.  

“Would you like to draw with us?”

“Can’t draw,” he says.

“Oh, I bet that’s not true,” Kurt says and holds out the crayon to him.  “Everyone can draw.”

The boy looks at the crayon then up to Kurt and shakes his head shyly before raising the bunny up to his chin, hugging it tightly.

“What’s your name?” Kurt asks.

“Jason,” he says quietly.

“Well, would you like to watch me and Melanie draw?”

“I’m really good.” Melanie looks up at him.  “You can sit next to me, I’ll show you.”

Kurt spends the next hour drawing with Melanie while Jason continues to peek curiously between them.  The other kids begin to trickle out of the room, some led by nurses, some by visiting family members.  Pretty soon, only the three of them are left until Jason’s mother comes in to collect him.  Before he leaves, Kurt holds out a piece of paper to him.

“Something tells me you like Batman,” Kurt says as Jason’s eyes widen at the image of a child-sized Batman with bright blue eyes.  “How about next time you can draw me?”

“Okay.” Jason grins, slipping the picture between his stuffed bunny and his chest to hold it there safely.  “But you’re gonna look like a potato.  I really can’t draw.”

It is the most Kurt has heard him speak all afternoon.  Something about the way he talks contradicts the way he looks. Kurt wonders how old he actually is; the boy looks smaller than most five year olds he’s seen but definitely talks like an older child.  Kurt makes a mental note to find out next time.  “Deal.  I can’t wait to see it.”

Jason’s mom gives Kurt a parting smile before she shepherds her son away.  Soon after, Melanie’s nurse comes to collect her as well, leaving only Kurt and Jeannie in the empty playroom.

“That went well,” she says.  “You’re a natural with them.”

Kurt beams back at her, a sense of pride swelling in his chest.  

After his dad comes to pick him up, Kurt spends the entire car ride home filling him in on the events of the day, excluding Jason and Melanie’s names.  He goes to bed that night with his mind already buzzing with activities for the next visit.

***

Kurt starts volunteering two days a week after school and over the course of the next month, he becomes very familiar with some of the regular kids on the unit.  Jason, he discovers, is actually nine years old, has leukemia and is in his final round of chemotherapy by the first week in October.  Melanie has sickle cell anemia and had been hospitalized for something called ‘sickle cell crisis’— she had gone home two weeks after they first met, but Kurt learns that she usually returns frequently for the same problem.  There’s a teenage boy not much older than Kurt is, but taller and skinnier with jet black hair and sad eyes, named Julian who has cystic fibrosis— he usually keeps to himself, oftentimes choosing to sit in the back corner of the playroom and silently watch everyone else.  

The rest have been a whirlwind of faces and names with a variety of issues such as pneumonia, appendicitis, broken bones and asthma attacks.  There have also been quite a few cases of children who have come in with injuries as a result of abuse at home, more so than Kurt would have imagined actually occurred.  He finds trying to interact and engage with those kids to be the most heartbreaking.

Some of the kids are not as keen to warm up to him as others, keeping to themselves or staying with their families while Kurt leads sing-alongs, painting lessons, hosts movie nights, and reads aloud during story time.  He has developed a steady routine in the five weeks since he began volunteering.  So on the Tuesday during the second week of October he waves hello to the security personnel by the front entrance like he usually does.  He rides up the same elevator and is buzzed into the unit by Rosie, the first nurse he met with the auburn hair.  And with his usual wide smile in place, he strolls into the playroom with a new four-pack of Disney themed puzzles under his arm.  

But when he walks in, the kids are already sitting in a circle, staring up at a boy with loosely gelled curls coiffed into a fluffy side part, bright hazel eyes, and a sapphire acoustic guitar perched on his lap. Kurt is caught completely off guard as he realises, Oh god, it’s him! It’s the guy from the video!

He looks shorter in person than Kurt assumed.  In both the photo on the bulletin board and the video his hair was ungelled and wild.  Kurt vividly remembers his dark curls bouncing as he bopped his head along to the music while impersonating Timon and Pumba for the younger kids.  He’s dressed in another carefully selected outfit though— bright red pants, a black polo and a white bow tie with black polka dots on it.  

“Kurt!” A few of them yell excitedly.    

“Ah, so you’re the famous Kurt I’ve been hearing so much about,” The boy with the guitar says, that same unwavering grin already in place.  “Nice to finally meet you, I’m Blaine.”

#the ghosts that we knew #klaine #klaine fic #klaine fanfiction #blaine anderson #kurt hummel #klaine au #friends to lovers #more like idiots to lovers am i right #canon divergent #syntheticpoetry writes #angst with a happy ending #romance #fluff #early klaine #blaine will forever be an oblivious dumbass #sick!fic #glee #glee fic #klaine fanfic #new directions #cooper anderson #burt hummel

[cake-writes]

Compromise (Interlude #3)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Story Warnings: Mom!Reader, Dad!Bucky, Ex-Relationship, Co-Parenting Drama, Slow Burn, Angst, Fluff, Separation Anxiety, Violence

Summary: You didn’t want to trust him again, because every time you did, Bucky broke your heart just a little more. Deep down, though, you wanted to get along with him. You wanted to be amicable. You wanted your daughter to know her father. You’d always wanted that. It just required a compromise.

Part Nine / Master List / Spotify Playlist

This chapter was written for @marquiswrites​​‘s 100 follower challenge! Congrats, my love! I’m so sorry I’m like a week late on this. Please enjoy.

Bucky’s heart caught in his throat. With his pulse racing just as fast as yours, he quickly got the hell out of dodge and went to the counter to pay. The check became a means of escape. Instinctual, perhaps – fight or flight, and he chose the latter because he was absolutely fucking terrified.

What did you want from him?

He cared about you. He loved you. That much was clear, but in that moment, he’d been forced to confront his feelings and he wasn’t ready to. Not yet. Not with you gazing at him across the table, teeth dragging across your lower lip in such an enticing way that it made him break into a nervous sweat. 

God, how irresistible could you be?

It wasn’t just nerves that drove him up a wall. Bucky wanted to act on the implication in your words, your teasing, your flirting. He wanted to reach over across the table and kiss the breath out of you, desperately, with every fibre of his being. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not now.

He wasn’t ready.

To be a parent, he was. To be a dad.

But to disappoint you again? He absolutely wasn’t.

Needless to say, things only worsened on the walk back to your house – the walk from hell. Somehow, he managed to keep his cool, but his mind was a mess. Anxiety. Panic. Fear. What ifs ran through his mind on an endless loop and gnawed incessantly at his subconscious.

What the hell did you want from him?

But Bucky knew what you wanted. Deep down, he probably always knew.

The sound of your heartbeat was a dead giveaway; quiet, almost inaudible, but he’d heard it quicken. He’d seen the flush come across your cheeks as you teased him – simple words to be sure, but laced with innuendo.

He wasn’t just imagining things.  

And yet, you had been the one to draw a line in the sand two years ago, to shut down any future the two of you might have had. You left him, and it had been your idea to come to an agreement for Winnie. Even now, he could appreciate that you’d done so. She was more important. She’d always be more important. 

Bucky knew you knew that, too, so what the hell was he supposed to do?

He missed you. He loved you. He wanted to be with you.

But he loved his daughter, too.

Bucky startled awake to nothing but silence, the sound of his own voice echoing in his ears.

You take me instead, do you hear me?

A thin sheen of sweat coated his body, and he ran a shaky hand through his damp hair, taking a deep breath to try and calm himself down. One, then two. Pitch dark room. Moonlight spilled in through the blinds and onto his duvet.

All he wanted to do was dream – to forget – but instead, he had a nightmare.

Give her back and take me instead.

The words scratched at the back of his throat, dry and unbearable. How many times had he heard that particular phrase? Too many times to count. Too many memories of Hydra blurred the lines within his brain, made things feel entirely too real. Possibly because they were. Bucky had done awful things to secure Hydra’s future, and although he hadn’t been a willing participant, it was still him. All him. He’d done such terrible things that his mind liked to conjure them as a punishment of his own making. 

Once, he ripped a woman away from her father – made him watch. She’d been a threat to Hydra, and thus had to be eliminated despite her father’s desperate pleas to give her back, to take him instead. And now, Bucky understood.

Usually, he watched helplessly as Winnie was kidnapped, taken from him, her young life snuffed out with the flick of a wrist. Or the tip of a knife. Or the sound of a gun.

Quick. Efficient. All ways in which he’d taken lives before.

His sweet, darling daughter, dead in a millisecond. The heartbreak and pain he felt at the very thought of it – never mind witnessing it in such a vivid nightmare – could only be replicated when it was you instead of Winnie. And Bucky understood that, too.

He’d murdered a newlywed on her wedding night, right in front of her groom. Blood spatter against white spackled walls, pristine dress stained a rich, ruby red. Life snuffed out more easily than love, he discovered, when he wound up having to dispatch her new husband, too.

I love her. Give her back. Take me instead.

Bucky would have done the same for you. 

Somehow, he’d found the smallest shred of stability with you, despite his uncanny ability and willingness to blow it up because of his own insecurities – but his past still came back to haunt him anyway. 

With a shudder, he dragged his hands down his face in an attempt to forget the horrors.

It was in times like these that he missed you the most. No matter what, you’d always offered him so much comfort and love despite everything he’d done. Quiet, gentle comfort he’d grown so accustomed to that, even two years after the fact, he still had yet to figure out how he’d survived without.

You’d rouse with a sleepy mumble of his name and reach out for him, small hand coming to rest against his heaving chest. The harsh pounding of his heart beneath your palm would wake you a little more – as would the feel of Bucky’s too-hot skin, sticky with sweat, and you’d blearily blink your eyes open to look over at him in the darkness.

Shh, he’d say. Go back to sleep, doll. I’m fine.

Fine. Always fine. 

Always a lie. 

Just like the crooked smile on his lips, meant to reassure you that it wasn’t a lie this time. Even though it was.

Oh, Bucky… Come here.

You’d see right through him in an instant. Stroke his hair. Whisper sweet nothings to him in the softest, kindest voice he’d ever heard, delicate and strong all at once. And when you’d tell him that everything was going to be alright in such dulcet tones, well, he just had to believe you, didn’t he?

Sometimes he’d break down a little at your gentle touch and even gentler words. He’d wrap his arms around you, hold you tight, cling to you like you were his lifeline and in a lot of ways, you were. He often told you things in confidence that he’d never told anyone before; it felt good to have another person to join him in the darkness, no matter how slight. How selfish. 

And you’d stroke his hair.

Christ.

With an aggravated sigh, Bucky snatched up his phone from the nightstand. He desperately wanted to seek comfort from you like you’d done so many times before so long ago. The problem was that he felt conflicted, now, because of a multitude of reasons: your relationship was already so strained, for one, and it was bound to affect Winnie. Not to mention he knew. 

He knew you wanted to be with him, but you deserved better.

If he reached out, he’d be taking advantage of your feelings for his own selfish comfort. It would complicate things. He’d disappoint you again. He’d ruin what little good relations the two of you had, and it would negatively affect Winnie.

Dear, sweet Winnie with a halo of blood around her perfect little head. His darling daughter, dead in her big girl bed. Bullet in her brain.

Three in the morning. You wouldn’t be awake, but right now he just couldn’t shake the need for your kind, soothing words.

She’s alright, Bucky, you’d say. She’s fine.

He knew you would.

Thumbs hovering over the keyboard on the screen, he couldn’t help himself. Selfish. So, so selfish.

 Bucky, 3:18am Sorry. I know it’s late. Are you awake?

 As soon as Bucky hit ‘send’, he immediately wanted to take it back. He’d managed so many times without you before, and he could do it again. All he had to do was try. A nightmare. That was all. Winnie was fine.

It was so stupidly selfish of him to reach out to you like this, knowing what he knew. He didn’t need you to comfort him, did he? He just wanted it, wanted you.

Needed you.

When his phone vibrated less than a minute later, it made him jump.

 You, 3:19am What’s wrong?

 You had to work in the morning. Why were you up?

Staring at your message, Bucky wasn’t really sure what to say. He started to type one thing, then backspaced and tried another, only managing to get a couple of words in before he changed his mind again. A text was so impersonal – not like how sweet and caring you were in person, in bed with him, and he had some difficulty finding the right words for the situation.

Three or four attempts later, his phone vibrated again and he froze.

A phone call.

Bucky barely had time to bring the device up to his ear before you’d already started to ask on the other end, “Who was it this time?”

Bucky swallowed thickly, before he rasped, “Winnie.” Then he cleared his throat and tried again, “It was Winnie.”

“Winnie? Okay, hold on,” you told him, and then he heard some shuffling – fabric against the microphone, and your voice came through a little more muffled. “Must have been pretty bad tonight, huh?” Your tone was light despite the dreadful subject; then came a creak, a pause, and you let out a soft laugh. “Don’t worry, she’s fine.”

His phone vibrated again.

In confusion, Bucky pulled the phone away from his ear. You’d sent him another text, which he quickly opened to find a photo of Winnie sleeping soundly in her big girl bed. No blood. No halo. She was fine, and fast asleep in what was probably the most uncomfortable position he’d ever seen in his life.

He couldn’t help but let out an undignified snort.

“See?” you said, voice much clearer now, albeit still holding onto the last remnants of sleep. “Our daughter, the contortionist. I bet she got that from you.”

Gentle ribbing, despite how uncomfortable this afternoon had been.

“Hey, I resemble that remark,” he croaked, but his heart felt lighter than before. “How’d she fall asleep with her leg like that?”

“I don’t know,” you responded, laughing some more. “She sleeps like that a lot. I think she saw it in one of her cartoons. Just kind of stuck.”

Bucky let out a soft hum of acknowledgement. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Another laugh, quieter this time, faded into silence before you asked him softly, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

You knew. You always fucking knew and he hated how much he loved it. And just plain hated it, because you saw right through him.

“It’s late,” Bucky deflected. No matter how much he may have wanted to talk about it, he didn’t want to drag you down when he was already bothering you like this. He’d woken you up. It wasn’t his place to do that anymore. Not that it ever really was. “Thanks for the photo. I think I’m gonna make it my wallpaper.”

Another joke. Another deflection.

Hollow.

There was another deafening pause, before you offered, “Are you free for breakfast?”

“What?”

“Winnie would love to see you,” you told him, and he could just hear the smile in your voice. “I’ll even make some french toast.”

“I don’t— I don’t wanna impose,” Bucky stammered at the unexpected invitation, already feeling the anxiety pool in the pit of his stomach. What’s worse was that he did want to impose. He wanted to impose very much.

“Then you can help,” you teased. “Come on. It’s just breakfast.”

It wasn’t just breakfast.

“We’ve gotta leave by eight, so let’s make it seven?” you mused aloud. “Yeah. How’s seven?”

He forced down the lump in his throat. “Seven’s… Seven’s fine.”

“Okay, good! See you in the morning.”

Without missing a beat, he responded almost automatically, “See you then.”

Then the line went dead, and Bucky stared blankly at his phone.

What just happened? You’d just talked him into breakfast so easily. How?

He still had no idea what the hell he was supposed to do. His thoughts started to race for the umpteenth time, full of panic and dread, but no matter how rational he tried to be, an undercurrent of excitement still ran through him like electricity. It made him feel good. Warm. 

Breakfast with you. Breakfast with Winnie.

His girls.

Despite all his nervous energy, Bucky actually managed to sleep soundly for once. So soundly, in fact, that he slept right through his alarm.

Part Ten

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes imagine

[jenmyeons]

Favorite Fics 2019

hi hello it’s me your local mess. ok so this hit me on my way to work the other day and since it’s friday i feel like today is a good day to hopefully make someone’s day/night/weekend a little brighter? 

i love reading fanfics. periodt. there are lots of incredible writers out there on this site and other platforms who take time to write beautiful fics about the real people and characters and their emotional support kpop ladies and gentlemen to show their love and appreciation so i want to dedicate this to my favorite fics of this year. these fanfics are of varying lengths and genres but they all have two things in common 1) they were posted this year 2) i love them.

(most of these are exo but i have some other groups sprinkled in there too)

other favorite fics of mine can be found under my fic recs tag!

A Decade of Midnights by @chogi-wae 

queen of noir! grumpy chenneth! sexy detectives! murder mystery! do i even have to say anything else? oh yes! we also get coroner!baekhyun 

ps: jae has a sequel started for this with two parts already having me at the edge of my seat. i love all of jae’s writing but this one takes the cake

Enough by @yeoldontknow

anything kat touches turns golden and holy mother of everything that is self-love and reflection. this is a fic for all us sexy ladies with a body that doesn’t conform to what society has decided is “beautiful”. i can’t call myself plus size in any way but i do not have a flat tummy or legs for days or perky titties. quite the opposite; i’m a short lady with love handles, saggy tits and stomach rolls (yes we’re going tmi here but it’s important ok). park chanyeol is the opposite of that and he’s the best fucking man ever in this fic. he’s a muscle man but he’s a man with the biggest heart and he says “you have a cute butt” which is enough reason for you to read this. when i feel bad about myself, i think about enough and i become a little happier

Empty Vessels 

another yeoldontknow masterpiece! i stand by the statement that this is the best fic i have ever read. probably read this five times already and i think about it almost daily. junmyeon is a witch from salem and that’s only one of the many reasons for you to check this out and hopefully fall in love with it as much as i have. it’ll rip your heart out and stomp on it. dub me professional empty vessels promoter already kat!! 

Dichotomy by @kyungseokie

dia hurts you in the best possible way with this fic. bawl my eyes out every damn time i read this because fucking hell this is emotional investment and hearts broken and everything hurts and this is not your average love triangle where one guy is obviously worse than the other. NO! this can go either way and you just want everyone to be happy and baekhyun needs a hug!

Teacher’s Pet by @suhoerections

teacher junmyeon getting called daddy “threatening” to bend you over his desk and fuck you hard is a lot for a suhoe stan such as myself to think about but i’m not mad, just jorny.

Clouded by @mayrubyy

uhm yes do you want to cry some more? this is an emotional rollercoaster, you have been warned! this fic has great potential and it’s maya’s child and when the next part is posted you know shit will go down and ashjgff i have no words only love for both the author aka my baby and the fic itself🥺💖

Familiar Stranger by @myforeverforlife

love love love love LOVE familiar stranger! a beautiful story about reader losing all memories of the last five years due to an accident which includes her entire life with fiancé kim jongdae. dae is an angel, we all know that, but he’s somehow even more angelic as the most patient person ever in familiar stranger. this hits right in the feels (can you tell i love to read angst ahjdsf) and it’s not your usual wham bam thank you ma’am all-memories-recovered-in-five-seconds kind of situation either and i’m praying for another update of this because this is not just one of the best fics of this year but one of my favorites period.

Sunny Side Up by @dreaminghaos

i love everything fee writes with a burning passion y’all

this fic is everything everything everything!!! i can’t get enough of this fic and i probably never will get enough of it either because i love this pairing and i’m in love with struggling writer!jeonghan 

Magnetic by @softyexo 

did anyone say ceo!myeon? this is a recent love of mine. i read it just the other day and have been thinking about it non-stop since. absolutely in love with oc’s and junmyeon’s dynamic in this one and it feeds all my lovesickness for this man made of pure husband material. thanks for coming to this ted talk.

Hold on to silence by @dropsofletters

amazing! show stopping! incredibly unique! absolutely astonishing! idiots in love! omg i LOVE this one! yixing as chanhun’s manager is everything i didn’t know i needed and holy crap this is such a lovely story please read it and experience the feels™

Neon Moon by @kyungseokie

they were roleplaying! ROLEPLAYING!

Trauma by @baekwell--tart

dad and secret mafia man!byun falls in love with his babysitter after being an absolute asshole to her and oh my god i am so invested in this masterpiece. whenever bella updates trauma i yell. i’ve re-read this many times already and i continue to find new reasons why i love this story with my whole entire being

Mr. Byun

bella once again proving that she writes the most amazing bbh fics. angst and smut combined i swear i was a whole lot worked up with all the spice in this one and then i cried like a baby when it ended. have i told you that i’m a very emotionally stable person?🤡

Bedazzling Heart of Gold by @baekonsforbreakfast

i love this song! baekhyun gets dumped and falls in love with oc who runs one of the biggest hostess bars in all of sk and holy crap you just love everyone in this fic. even that one character who you feel like you should hate but kind of still empathize with on a deeply emotional level. no? just me? ok then. i love you belle and i hope you know how much i enjoy your writing💗

Mr. Muscles by @chogi-wae

short and sweet drabble about oc biting jun’s bicep. no but for real i’ve read this one countless times and i just love a domestic jun so go ahead and read duality and dyson as well because nobody writes cute domestic fluff like jae ilysm

Money Makes Her Smile by @ninibears-erigom

mrs gom has written one of the dirtiest but also loveliest smut series of 2019. jongdae’s part was posted yesterday and holy fuck i have never read better jongdae smut ever i think

Business Before Pleasure by @pcychedelic

actor minseok! i repeat: actor minseok!

they get down and dirty in like the second chapter and i’m in love. not because of the obvious spiciness but because the amazing portrayal of minseok in this fic. love a strong female character? then you will love oc too!

High Voltage by @skyesins

SIN! THIS IS SIN! I LOVED EVERY SINGLE PART OF THIS FIC AND PART TWO IS EVEN BETTER!

there’s also the original ofc version on asian fanfics for those who aren’t into reader inserts and it’s just as good! 

Literally every single aesthetic that @kpop-daze has written but some favorites include exo as broken love / exo as ephemeral tenderness /  exo as fleeting heartbreak 

Unfitting by @heechulhamster

SOLDIER MINSEOK SOLDIER MINSEOK SOLDIER MINSEOK that is all

no wait... this has real descendants of the sun vibes and i love it so much can i have a soldier!xiu por favor

Fire and Frost by @writing-exo-things

queen of drabbles! i love every single one of them but this one is next level™ i cried like a baby this is truly amazing!!!

Take Care by @omyeol 

 g o d i felt this fic on a deeply spiritual and emotional level 

False Hope by @pastel-kpop

i hate you and i love you for writing this it still hurts reading this like YES MAKE ME HURT AYESHA THEY ARE IDIOTS 

Mocha by @stainandscribble  

the whole café series is lovely but mocha and espresso really stuck out to me i’m so soft for the whole aesthetic of these! 

ever imagined that jackson wang is your date to your brother’s wedding? well @softseunies did and it turned out fucking amazing! what i love the most is that it’s very open for interpretation and of course jackson is always a mood when will he be my date and mayhaps potential bf at the wedding of the brother i don’t have?

little forest by @myforeverforlife

I LOVE THIS! DO YOU HEAR ME?! L O V E THIS!

not his to love by @boogerines

can you hear me sobbing? this hurts so much let me go back to crying over this again after i re-read this for the nth time

this blurb right here is adorable @sprinklesofktrash did that!

wild valley by @fairyyeols

wild valley is that bitch™ and that’s all i have to say i live and breathe for this installation of exo customs my favorite, in fact

blossoms in the wind by @marshmallow-phd

don’t @ me but this goblin!au with junmyeon as the goblin and baekhyun as the grim reaper is more intriguing than the drama and that’s saying a lot but i cry with every new chapter ohmygoddddd

wrong number by @yeoldotcom

i’m a hoe for fake texts and zee makes the best ones🥺🥺🥺🥺

also love love love bf!jun in food buddies

break up with me by @exoangst

don’t mind me i’m just crying in a corner as i read this for the millionth time and cry over how well written oc is and how fucking amazing that breakup scene is like has anyone done it like that before? maybe, idk but this is the only one that counts 

#fic recs #2019 favorites #here it is! #I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH YOU'RE ALL AMAZING AND I HOPE YOU KNOW THAT #got carried away as usual but i love to support content creators on this hellsite #maybe i'll do this for other things as well? #drama recs anyone?

[zankivich]

The Arrangement: CEO’s Son/Dom!Shawn x Black Sub Reader Chapter 12

a/n: went to post this chapter and then realized it was 10k long, so I broke it into two parts. This is the first. I promise we’re building to something here. I just figured out how this story is going to end and I’m lowkey excited about it. but I do want to be realistic in that the response to this story has halved since I first started it. I get the way that we all feel about Shawn is different and difficult in times like this but...Just know that the reblogs and the engagement with the content are instrumental. When those go (and they are going) so will I. That’s not a threat at all and I love writing, but to take time out of my day to create for people who don’t read is pointless. Just wanted to say that here. Hope you like. K bye. 

Warnings: mentions of police brutality, smut, sex without a condom (wrap it up) 

*Shawn’s point of view*

She was supposed to take him on an adventure to Brooklyn. It was hair day, and she had her favorite store that she refused to betray by going anywhere else. He was excited to watch her more in her element. She was excited to share this part of her culture with him. It had all the telltale signs of a great day. It was just one of those days where he couldn’t wait to see her, so he could tell her about this thing that happened to him. And it didn’t even really matter what the thing was, it just mattered that she was the one he got to tell it to. He couldn’t wait to be with her. And then it happened.

He must’ve been in the shower for too long. It’s only the way he wouldn’t hear or see her texts or phone calls. He’d only just managed to pull his underwear on when he notices all of the notifications. And that’s when his heart stops.

y/n: so this guy at the door isn’t letting me in. He thinks I followed someone inside.

y/n: I showed him the code and he’s not budging. Could you come down maybe?

y/n: Shawn?

He leaves his door open in the heat of the moment, but there’s nothing on his mind except for getting to her. Living on the top floor was suddenly the worst thing to ever happen to him. Every second that it took, every moment he wasn’t with her, his heart was on the cusp of bursting. He just needed to get to her.

And there’s this moment that truly felt like the worst moment in his whole life. It’s where the elevator doors open and he’s running and he sees this big ass guy with his girlfriend’s hand pulled behind her back like a fucking lunatic. And he sees the fear in her eyes. This look of utter devastation and torment. It’s like he failed her. In every way imaginable, he had failed her.

“Excuse me!? What the entire fuck are you doing?!” He raged immediately getting in between them.

His hand touched her wrists where the guy still had her and she was fucking shaking.

“Mr. Mendes sir, this person has no--”

“It’s my fucking girlfriend you asshole! Let her go!”

He saw the fear of God, or perhaps his father, enter the man’s eyes as his hands released her and she fell into his arms. She was silent, her face in his chest and she didn’t move a muscle. It was the most unlike her he’d ever seen her behave. She was small and scared and so, so quiet. He couldn’t hold her tight enough to erase it, and that’s the part that hurts the most.

“I want you to call your boss right fucking now and explain to him where harassing women is in the safety policy for this goddamn building!” He yelled holding her as far away from him as possible. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“Sir, there was no excessive force used. I--”

“There should have been no force at all you racist piece of shit! She’s here almost every week. This is an apartment complex, not at a prison ward!”

He pressed his hand against her cheek and felt the way that she flinched from his touch. It was again the worst feeling he’d ever felt.

“Mr. Mendes I assure you I was just doing my job. I--It was proper protocol.”

“I can assure you that this is the last day you’ll ever do that job. I will personally make sure of it. So perhaps the next time you decide to racially profile and attack women, you’ll think a-fuckin-gain.” He spat before leading y/n towards the elevator. “Let’s get you upstairs where you belong.”

The elevator is dead silent except for the rise and fall of his heart. His apartment door was still open when he lead her through it. He gets her out of her jacket and wraps his arms around her again, barely having time to collapse on the couch before he felt the first tear hit his neck.

“It’s okay. You’re safe. I--I’m right here.” He assured her. “I’m so sorry. Baby, I’m so sorry. I was in the shower and I didn’t hear you calling.”

Her fingers threaded around his neck and she only gripped him harder. She wouldn’t let him see her face, wouldn’t budge out of the hold that she had on him. It was terrifying. But he absolutely couldn’t let that show. Wouldn’t dream of letting that show, when she so clearly needed him in that moment. He wanted to be everything she could ever think of needing. Even if the truth of the matter was that he had not a single clue of what the right thing to do in that moment was.

“You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you. I would never let anything happen to you, okay?” He whispered.

Her face wormed itself deeper into his neck, and he could feel the tears escaping from her eyes. His arms only tightened around her in response.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I--I got you. I’m not letting you go.”

His heart was absolutely pounding in his chest and he could feel the way that her’s pounded too. It felt like he couldn't hold her tight enough. Like there wasn’t enough love he could offer in the world to take away her pain.

“Do you...do you wanna talk about it?”

She shook her head slowly as if she really didn’t know what she needed in that moment.

“Okay...What about a shower? Would that help? I’ve got those aromatherapy things for the shower you like.”

She paused and then nodded her head slightly.

“Perfect. Okay.”

He helped her off the couch and led her in the direction of the bathroom. His hand came off her back and she literally froze where she was standing.

“Come with me.” She sniffled.

He reached for her hands squeezing them and bringing them to his lips to kiss.

“I’ll be there in just a second. I’m just gonna lock the door okay? I’m not going anywhere, I swear to you.”

She nodded hesitantly and headed for his bedroom. He pulled the door closed behind him and moved towards the kitchen to make a phone call. Living in the penthouse had its perks, and one of them was having the owner in your contacts. Never in his five years living there had he ever needed the number. He would never make a call without purpose, but he could think of no better time in the world to make that call. He left a voicemail stating that he expected the security responsible to be fired immediately, or he would have no trouble presses charges for racial profiling and assault.  It wasn’t something y/n needed to be bothered with in the moment, but it was important to him. He had a recent newfound understanding of his power and his privilege in a moment like this, and beyond his love and adoration for her, he knew he had the ability to make things rights. And he would use that ability above all else.

In the shower she’s more still than she’s ever been. The water rushes over her shoulders which are hunched and protective. He’s afraid to touch her just in case he might spook her, but the second he lays a hand on her back she’s already rushing into his arms. She cries for a while. It’s heartbreaking, but it seems to be what she needs. So he just holds her for a little while longer. Her face pressed against his chest soothes him as much as he hopes it soothes her to be held. He doesn’t even care that he showered less than thirty minutes ago, or that his fingers and toes quickly wrinkle beneath the water. They could stand there all night if that’s what she needed. He’d do anything for her. Anything.

***

*y/n’s point of view*

His bed feels safe. Feels just as safe as your bedroom, or your couch, or even your kitchen. It is the wildest thing in the world to you. That you should want to be there as opposed to your place. But he was there. And you knew that you wanted, no needed, to be wherever he was. And his arms wrapped around you tell a similar story. It eases your mind and your pain and your heart. He’s warm. His sheets and blankets are like a thick cocoon protecting you from the world. Even if it wasn’t true, it felt so nice to pretend in the light of what happened.

“I could move.” He offered softly.

You’d been drawing patterns in his chest hair and listening to the melody of his breathing. You felt calm for the first time since the incident.

“Hmm?”

His arms pulled you a little closer against his chest.

“I could find a new place to stay. This apartment was my dad’s idea ya know? It’s expensive as all hell. I could...I would happily move.”

You drew your eyes up from his chest to that face. Soft eyes, sharp jaw, big head. He was still so confusing to you sometimes. Mostly you just couldn’t quite wrap your head around the vastness of his love for you. It seemed to grow by the day. And he was never even remotely afraid to showcase it.

“Move. You’d move out of your home, out of your own space? For me?”

He ran his thumb beneath your eye taking away one of the final tears from your face. His eyes though soft, were also a little sad.

“I would do anything for you, y/n. This apartment is just walls and stuff. It’s not home. I can find home somewhere else. As long as I’m with you.” He whispered.

Your heart wasn’t even in a state to be able to work through all the layers of his statement. But it felt good to hear nonetheless. Made you feel protected and warm.

“I don’t want you to move for me. But, I do appreciate it. And I love you. A lot.”

“I love you too. And if you ever change your mind, I can have this place listed in a second.”

There was something about that day that shifted things for you, not that they hadn’t already shifted drastically in the last few weeks. You were so scared. The guard had made you feel small, had made you feel erasable. Your body, your life, it didn’t matter. He had told you as such when he decided that you didn’t belong, and that there was no way someone who looked like you could exist in a space like that. At first it felt like a confirmation of your greatest fear, that there really was a divide amongst the world that wasn’t conducive to you and Shawn existing together. But when he came barreling down the hallway with no shoes or shirt on, it had felt like breathing for the first time. He got between you and this seven foot, massive guy without even blinking. And he knew, he knew immediately what it was about. He wanted to help, wanted to protect you even. No one had ever offered you that before. Somehow, someway, you wanted to let him.

***

You sat in front of your computer at work, back relaxing against the softness of your chair for the first time that day. The tiny green light on the monitor blinked to let you know that your video camera was working. The feed starts off a little crackly before your mom comes perfectly into view. You smiled so hard your cheeks hurt.

“Hi mommy!”

“My baby! Would you look at you all done up in your little business office!” Your mom giggled.

You smiled. “I’m trying, mama. These people get on my nerves by the hour. But someone’s gotta do it.”

“Yea, and that someone is you. Don’t you let them crazy white people raise your blood pressure, girl. Heart attacks come easy enough in our family.”

It already feels like home. You missed her endlessly.

“I’ll do my very best. You know...speaking of crazy white people…”

“Oh lord, I can tell by your face. Let me sit down.”

You rolled your eyes as your mother dramatically grabbed herself a seat and settled into it. And they wondered where your crazy ass got it from? Genetics.

“Alright now. Let’s hear it.”

“I’ve been...I’ve been seeing someone. Not so seriously at first, but for the last six months or so? Pretty seriously.”

Your mom’s eyes widened. “Y/n why didn’t you some say somethin’?”

“I don’t know. I just haven’t found anyone in so long, and he’s very different from me. Shit, is he different than me.”

“You’re not afraid I’m gonna disown you for bringing some white boy home like it’s the sixties, are you?”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little bit. Your mom always had the ability to deescalate a situation. People used to say if there was ever a bomb threat, just let your mom speak to them, and everything would be okay. It made it a lot easier to talk to her when you needed it.

“It’s not that. Although he sure is pasty, momma. He’s uh he’s the son of a very rich, very powerful guy in the industry. He’s Canandian but he spent a lot of his childhood in California actually. And I just sometimes feel like it’s hard to find where we fit in this world. But...no one has ever treated me so well in my whole life. He’s in it with me for the long haul. I love him so much, and I guess I was just wondering if you would be okay with meeting him.”

You keep your eyes on your hands for as long as you can hoping that she wouldn’t make you look up. But your mother was always very good at getting her way, and this time was no different. She’s quiet for so long that you don’t have a choice but to look up and catch the way that she stares at you. It’s the look of a mother who knows all, but knows her child even more.

“You ain’t brought someone home in years, y/n.” She breathed.

You nodded. “I know. I know, momma.”

“Hmm...Okay. You can bring him home for Christmas. I’ll tell your uncles and aunties to behave. Now he’s Canadian white. That’s a special type of whiteness. Are we gonna be able to feed him here, or do I need to find some type of casserole dish?”

“Now wait a minute momma didn’t nobody say nothing about Christmas!”

Your palms were sweaty just thinking about it.

“Girl, I said it. That’s all that matters. Now is he gone eat the food or not, that’s all I asked you for ma’am.”

You sighed the sigh of defeat of a Black child with a Black mother who could never be questioned. You had walked head first into a shit show, and there would be no way to rectify the situation. Shawn was going into the lion’s den. And apparently so were you.

“Yes ma’am. He’ll eat the food.” You sighed. “He could use some fattening up too, his father is satan and workouts are his stress relief.”

“Good. Now go on and tell me what you and Tiana have been up to over there before I get off this phone.”

Mothers.

***

*Shawn’s point of view*

“Oi Shawnie boy, can you even hear me over there?”

Shawn poked his head out from behind his computer, to see Niall staring at him like a crazy person. He set his laptop aside and smiled sheepishly at his friend.

“Sorry man, I was just looking at some listings.” He sighed wiping his hands tiredly over his face. “What’s up?”

“What kind of listings? Like for houses? You’re not abandoning me are ya?”

“‘Course not. Just...something happened with y/n and I know she’d never ask me to move, but I can tell my place just doesn’t feel the same for her anymore.”

“Shit, man. You’re willing to move for her already?”

“I don’t know if it’s ‘already’. I mean maybe we’ve only been dating for six months, but we fooled around forever before that. I feel like I know her better than anyone could. Even when she thinks I don’t know? I know.” He shrugged. “I’m okay with moving if it means she’s happier.”

Niall moved to plop down on the seat next to Shawn and knocked his shoulder playfully against Shawn’s. It was comforting at least to have him there. He didn't really have any clue of what he was doing. He just did what felt right. And when it came to y/n, anything that was for her felt like the rightest thing in the world.

“You love her, aye?” He asked softly.

He peered over at his friend and nodded softly.

“Yea. A lot.” He mumbled looking back to his computer. “What says merry christmas like ‘here’s my heart on my sleeve, I moved out of my place for you’, right? It sounds pathetic even to me.”

“It’s not pathetic. I mean...it might be if some broke bloke did it, but you’re loaded. You moving apartments is like a change of scenery isn’t it?”

Shawn snorted. “I guess so. I’ve honestly never paid for where I live before. My dad has always taken care of it for me. I think maybe she might like to see me take care of myself for a change. Prove I’m actually worth something in the long run, and not just a manchild for her to take care of.”

“Huh...And is that what your aiming for Shawnie? The long run?”

He paused, just a tiny bit frozen in fear. He hadn’t had that conversation with anyone. Had barely let it formulate in his own mind. His eyes ran hesitantly over the bookmarks on his desktop. Most for music and the company. One for Tiffanys. But there Niall was looking at him with those dumbass baby blue pools of truth and death. There was no getting around it.

“Well… I don’t know man? Fuck. Y/n’s a one of a kind. You don’t just find a woman like that every day. And I’ve made far enough horrible choices in my life to not even deserve the time that she’s given me so far. Why would I ever let her go, if I could help it?”

“You seem to have the right idea, my friend. And who better to have by your side in a moment of desperate pining and overwhelming love than your best friend, Niall. I’m here for you lad.” He assured him.

Shawn laughed and bumped Niall playfully with his shoulder.

“That’s good to know man, thanks.”

***

He lets himself into her apartment with the key she gave him. It was more than a moment for them, it was like an evolution. Her space was so sacred, so intimate, that he knew how much it meant for her to allow him inside. At first he had been afraid that she had done it out of necessity. Y/n had been unable to voice her reluctance to visit his apartment, but every plan they made since the incident always ended things back at her place. He thought maybe the key was just a moment of deflection. But then she told him how good it made her feel to have him there, how safe and happy she felt when they were together. There was really nothing for him to do except make love to her in thanks, and then spank her ass a little bit after the fact. It’s what she deserved.

“Babe you’re not gonna believe this, but the senior level heads of the department apparently stop working immediately. I’m free until january!” He exclaimed toeing his shoes off at the door.

Y/n wasn’t in the kitchen or the living room, so he headed straight for the bedroom instead. That’s where he found her fresh out of the shower, wrapped in a towel still with a facemask on, which kind of made him pout.

“Hey! I thought we said we’d do facemasks together, you traitor.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Boy, my oily skin was not finna wait for your meeting to get finished. We can do the moisturizing one together after this one.”

“Fine.” He mumbled immediately tackling her down to the bed in favor of nuzzling himself into her arms. “Did you hear my good news?”

She ran her fingers through his hair and scratched at his scalp perfectly.

“Not quite love. Can I get a do over?”

“I guess so. You’re lucky you’re cute. Basically none of the senior level managers are working from here through Christmas, so I’m yours as long as you’ll have me.” He hummed. “If you’ll have me.”

“Of course I’ll have you. Who else is gonna do my Christmas Madea movie marathon with me?” She snorted. “I’ve never had someone to just kick it with through the holidays. Tiana always goes on these elaborate family destination vacations, so we don’t see each other. I could use the company.”

“Hmmm, guess it’s a good thing I’m here then aye?”

“Yea. It really is.” She breathed. “Speaking of the holidays I… have something I wanna talk to you about.”

She had her serious voice on so he made sure to remove himself from on top of her and give her his undivided attention. Surely, that was the least he could offer.

“Of course. What’s up?”

She picked at a loose thread in her towel so that she didn't have to look at him. He thought she was the cutest thing in the world. It was insane.

“I talked to my momma about you.” She admitted.

His eyes widened and his stomach flipped. He bit his lip and dipped his head to catch her gaze. When their eyes met, she smiled.

“Yea? What uh, what did she say?”

“She said that you sound pretty special. And that I could bring you home for Christmas if you wanted. Only if you wanted though.”

Her leg bounces and she crosses her arms and waits for a response from him like she couldn’t be more indifferent. Of course he knows better. He can see the energy in her eyes and in the light that seemed to surround her at all times. This was important. She wanted him to be there. Screw the fact that he could think of nothing he wanted more in the world. He hadn’t needed to broach the topic. Instead it was her, and that meant a great deal to him.

“Huh. You want to bring me home for the holidays? Like to your whole entire family?” He asked.

She nodded hesitantly. “I do.”

“This isn’t about what I said when we were in Canada is it? I really meant it when I said I didn’t wanna pressure you, y/n. We can move as slowly as you want.”

“No I...this is what I want. I want them to know about the things that matter. And nowadays that’s you.” She smiled softly. “But that’s entirely up to you. I don’t want you to feel pressured. I can tell my mom you have other plans.”

“Honey, are you kidding? Of course I wanna come. I can think of nothing else I’d rather do.”

He reached for her face with his hands just wanting to hold her and hold her close. She was so special and so important to him that the thought of not holding her didn’t even make sense. He loved her more than anything.

“I love you.” She mumbled kissing his cheek softly. “I really just want you to be a part of things, of all the things.”

“You really mean that?” He asked, forehead pressed lovingly against hers.

“Yes. I mean it.”

He smiled up at her, stomach full and happy at her words.

“I need you to wash this mask off so I can kiss you please. I missed you all day.”

“That can be arranged. Let me go get dressed.”

She slid off the bed and headed for the bathroom leaving him to watch the way her hips moved beneath that towel.

“That won’t be necessary! The less you’re in the better when I go to take it off.” He called after her.

“Okay sir! Give me thirty seconds!”

“I’m counting. One! Two!..”

***

*Y/n’s point of view*

You were a bit of a sucker for winter. And also a complete and utter little bitch when it came to the cold. But the snow in New York was beautiful when it wasn’t piling up by the feet. The lights in the city were always breathtaking. And you loved to walk through Dyker Heights in Brooklyn because it’s where the biggest houses had the biggest lights and everything was so beautiful and bright. It was your own little tradition. Except for now you get to pull him in with you, and it couldn’t have felt better.

You walked with your arm wrapped around his bicep sharing sips of hot chocolate and apple cider because you couldn’t pick, so Shawn had got one while you got the other. It’s cold enough that you can see your breath, but that just means you have to hold each other close while you walk. The lights are bright against the backdrop of the sky. The snow is clean and soft looking with a crystal glittery top that makes your inner child want to drop into it. There are children and families and other couples walking all around you for a glimpse at the lights. But it still feels intimate, still feels like just the two of you. You like it that way.

“So...Christmas. Is that like a big thing for you?” You prodded gently.

Shawn chuckled. “In what way do you mean?”

“I mean like...are you the kind of person who goes all out and wants everything to be perfect? Or do you barely notice Christmas happens?”

“Hmm, I think I’m somewhere in the middle. I love buying gifts for people if that helps answer what you’re really trying to ask me.”

You punched weakly at his shoulder, annoyed that he constantly seemed to know you better than you gave him credit for. Rude.

“You’re so annoying.” You whined.

He laughed. “Baby, why don’t you just ask me what you really want to ask me. I would never lie to you.”

You huffed but snuggled closer to him as the two of you walked, a gust of wind further chilling your already cold body.

“I just think we should have a discussion about some boundaries on what we’re going to gift each other. My manager salary is quite beautiful if I do say so myself, but it’s never going to match up to a billionaire trust fund.”

His arms gripped you tighter against his body.

“I don’t need you to try to buy me, y/n. You’ve already got me.”

Ugh. Do you see? Absolutely ridiculous.

“Yea, yea, yea, and I’m the most beautiful woman on the whole entire planet, and no other woman could ever compare. Now you have to tell me what you want, and you have to not buy me an island or some shit.”

His eyes only got brighter as if this was some huge joke instead of a serious discussion.

“Ahh. So when you said discussion, you really meant telling me how things are gonna go, and me doing them?”

You frowned up at your gentle giant, lips forming your most famous of pouts.

“Why are you mocking me? I’m serious, Shawn.”

He pulled your bodies to a stop and rested his glove covered palms on your shoulders.

“I know you are, darling. I’m sorry okay? I just don’t want you to worry about these things. Christmas for me is an opportunity to show the people that matter that I love them. Hence why I haven't  gotten my dad a present since ‘02. I won’t buy you an island, but I’m gonna do everything in my power to get you something that I think you would love. Because you deserve it. And quite frankly, I don’t need a holiday to do that. I love you, alright? Let me spoil you for once.”

“But...But, what if you get me something better than I get you.”

He smiled and kissed your forehead.

“I really admire your competitive streak, but it’s not gonna matter. I’m gonna be happy because it came from you. I promise.”

You grumbled a little more but ultimately had difficulty complaining as he kissed you on the sidewalk with a world of lights in the background. He was incredibly annoying. But, you loved him.

***

Time off is magical. You get through Madea Goes to Jail and Medea’s Family reunion all in one afternoon. You barely leave the couch, and when you do it’s only because there’s not enough room for him to eat you out there. You bake cookies and make cider and hot chocolate. You have sex. A lot. And he makes you cum so much you have to take naps to rebuild strength. It is literally the perfect life. You could ask for nothing better. Enter your boyfriend.

“So, hear me out.” He says stepping up beside you by the stove.

You roll your eyes and continue you moving your spoon through the bolognese so that it doesn’t stick to the pain.

“You’re on vacation. I’m on vacation. And yet we’re sitting in New York just like it’s a regular Tuesday!”

“Shawn it is a regular Tuesday.”

“Yea, but it doesn’t have to be.” He sighed wrapping his arms around your waist from behind.

“Why don’t you tell me your plan already.” You snorted.

He kissed at your shoulder already working on wearing you down.

“My plan is that we take a little trip before we visit your family. There’s a lakehouse in Windsor my family owns. My dad hates it because it’s so cold, but my mum would skin him alive if he ever sold it.  We could lay by the fireplace, watch movies, make love. Doesn’t that sound amazing?”

“That sounds like what we’re doing right now!”

“No trust me this will be different. We’ll be out in the middle of nowhere. We can just unplug and--and be with each other ya know?”

You paused your stirring to turn in his arms. He kept his hands around your waist and pressed his forehead playfully into yours. If only he wasn’t so incredibly soft, you might actually be able to say no to him. In fact you vividly remembered the days when you could say no to anyone, ever. And then came Shawn.

“You wanna whisk me off to a winter wonderland huh?”

He nodded with a hum, his nose skimming against yours.

“Yea. Can I?”

Fuck it.

“Why the fuck not.”

***

*Shawn’s point of view*

His dick had never been so hard in his life. Including that time he accidently popped a viagra because someone told him it was molly and he was dumb enough to believe them. He’d gone to the kitchen to get the champagne just the way she asked him too, only to come back to his girlfriend face down, ass up in christmas themed lingerie that honest to god made him wanna cry. If there was such a thing as a Christmas miracle it could only be personified with one of those little white furry balls on the top of her ass. God he loved Christmas.

There’s something about Daniel Caesar playing by a roasting fire in the middle of a cabin that is just the epitome of romance. And she was the epitome of beauty. And maybe lust. And definitely love. They had enough of that to sustain an entire city.

“Want you to ride me.” He’d whispered in her ear after she straddled him against the headboard. “Want you to ride me like only my good little girl can.”

Her hips jerked against his hard on, slipping him between the folds he’d licked just minutes prior like an ice cream cone. She was soaked, and it felt too fucking good to describe.

“If I ride it real good will you cum in me?” She mumbled teeth grazing his earlobe. “I love when you shoot it deep inside.”

Merry. Fucking. Christmas.

“Jesus Christ, yes.”

He watches the way the fire light makes the sweat on her skin glisten. Watches the way her thighs ripple with every bounce against his lap. The way her hips flutter every time it feels too good. And it always feels too good. He’s gone. She’s the sexiest thing he’s ever laid eyes on and his heart and his dick simply can’t take it. The craziest part is that it’s not the way that she moans, or the way she clenches around him that does him in. In fact it’s this moment when she smiles for him. She’d taken to slowly grinding in his lap, one hand in his hair and another perched on his thigh as she moved. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back as she moaned again, and her lips turned up at the corners. It was as if his balls had formed an evolutionary response to tighten.

“Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He grunted.

“Huh?”

He fell forward until her back hit the sheets and he was poised over her body completely frozen.

“Shawn!” She giggled. “Get off of me.”

“Oh baby I can’t. Damn you feel so good.” He whimpered.

“You are so dramatic. Just give it to me already.”

She wrapped her legs around his back and ran her nose up his neck. He squeezed his eyes shut and whined pitifully.

“Sweetie…”

“What?” She whispered, teeth scraping his ear. “I just wanna feel it baby. Please? I’ve been so good for you haven’t I?”

“Yes. you’re the fucking best, but I wanna last honey.” He sighed into her neck. “I wanna make you feel good too.”

“I’ve cum twice already boy.”

Her hands trailed over his back, fingers sliding through the sweat to cup his ass in her hands. She wasn’t taking it easy on him in the slightest. In fact, it was as if she had no interest in helping him at all, only in making him lose his mind. This was further proven by the way she clenched herself around him and sank her teeth into his shoulder, which somehow caused one of the best orgasms of his whole entire life.

“Oh my god.” He panted on the come down. “Oh my god.”

“Mmmm...Merry Christmas honey.”

She’d be the death of him. With a doubt.

***

Tag List

@simpledomain @liliane106 @thecurlsofgod @xeuphorically-moonstruck @euphoric05 @daijanicole @bruhh-whateven@learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @decewill@goldiean@bitchacho25 @bruhh-whateven@justbeingoceana@loveylangdon @iloveshawnieboi @september-lace@valedictorian65 @dimestorebieber22 @MixerMani @lifeoftheparty74 @sinplisticshawn @kamahriii @disaster-rose@justbeingoceana @thecurlsofgod

Arrangement Taglist:

@moonlightmendes22  @cottoncandyshawn @iloveshawnieboi@shawnsblue

@claredolphinbear24 @peterbrokenparker@blackharry@shawnwyr @speakingofmari @moniehp@softmendesss@ydolansss  @MixerMani @kitykatnumber@chonmnds @cottoncandyshawn

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes series #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes au #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes x you #shawn mendes x y/n #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes x oc #shawn mendes x black woman #shawn mendes x black reader #dom!Shawn #dom Shawn #sub!reader #sub reader #Arrangement fic

[fictionalrambles]

Shadowhunters Fandom Story - Part Seventeen

Submitted by @archeryandeyeliner​

Five Fave Fics

Lightwood-Bane Family Series by Fanatic_weirdo

Why I love this series: This was one of those fics for me that had me up until 4am on a work night, but I just couldn’t stop reading. Every single story in this series hits the reader in a different way. It deals with immortality in a way I have yet to see another fic handle. It works in Max and Rafael to a point where I was almost more invested in their stories than Malec’s, which is incredibly hard to do. The reader gets Malec as immortal husbands and father’s to two children who the reader can’t help but fall in love with. 

Favorite work in the series: This is Me (Fighting for you) follows the love story between Max Lightwood-Bane and Chris, Shadowhunter and Parabatai to his brother, Rafael. 

Favorite quote: “He’s getting married,” Max whispered. Every word harder to say than the last as he tried to breathe against the feeling in his chest that made it feel like his throat was closing. “And not to me.” That broke the dam and now the sobs were back. Heaving and ripping out of his throat as he gripped one of their shirts as tightly as he could, desperate to keep from drowning.

Magnus and Alec had tears of their own trickling down their faces at their child’s pain. They knew it wasn’t just a teenage heartbreak. What Max and Chris had was as real as what Magnus and Alec had.

“Please fix it, Daddy,” Max begged, his face contorted in agony. A sob came from Alec’s throat as every instinct in him told him to do what was ingrained in parents to do and ‘fix it’.

“I want you to kiss me,” Max whispered. Chris moved forward but another hand on his chest stopped him, “But I won’t be able to bear it when you stop.”

Support System by @bytheangell​

Why I love this fic: Elle has always been one of my favorite authors in the fandom and someone I’m lucky enough to call a friend. This was one of the first chaptered fics I ever read for the fandom and it pulled me in like no other. The dynamic between Magnus and Alec was so perfectly written and the storyline truly helped me with accepting the inevitable end of the tv series. Throughout the entire fic, you just want them to get their act together. The missed opportunities are plenty and when they do finally meet, it’s just as beautiful as the reader could hope for. 

Favorite quotes: “Why don’t you just tell him?” It’s a question Alec asks himself every day, and the answer he gives himself is the same one he hears come from behind the rim of a martini glass.

“Because if he doesn’t, and I ruin this friendship now, I’ll never forgive myself.”

Alec picks up the thought without missing a beat. He doesn’t know what this guy’s situation is, but he can certainly relate to the general concept.  “And even if he does, and it doesn’t work out… It’s safer to keep what you have than risk losing everything.”

“...but then I wonder what if he’s sitting there, thinking the same thing? What if we’re both just waiting for the other to make the first move? Hell, what if it’s worth the risk?”

Magnus’ eyes aren’t on the billboard; they’re on the man standing next to him.  Alec is conveniently unaware with his attention dutifully turned upward. He knows he should be looking up as well since the billboard is what they came here to see, but honestly, he’s enjoying this particular view much more... Especially now that the edges of Alec’s lips are curling up in a soft look of appreciation he probably isn’t even aware he’s making - the pure joy of his expression is enchanting. So while everyone else’s gaze is focused upward Magnus’ eyes linger on Alec. He doesn’t know what everyone else is looking at - Magnus can’t imagine a more captivating sight than the one he’s currently taking in.

Angel's Treasure by @msalexiscriss​

Why I love this fic: I read this fic during a slow day at work. I sat in line at Dunkin Donuts, opened it on my phone in full, and drove to work with it ready to skim during the day. I was captured by it. I am not usually a fan of these kinds of AU’s, but this fic had me neglecting all of my adult responsibilities. The adventures that they go through together and the love they have for each other was everything I needed at that moment and it will forever hold a special place in my heart. 

Favorite quotes: “No, what are you doing!?” He berated himself in the back of his mind. “You’re caring about the boy and you can’t! You can’t!” He told to himself, trying to close his eyes and go back to sleep.

But his mind kept taking him back to the first time he had seen Alec in the square in Alicante, to the day the boy had helped him out of prison, to the day when, in an attempt to protect his father’s honor, he had tried to kill him; to their time in the Spiral, to their little stroll in Cadiz, to their perfect adventure in Cartagena. There was a memory of Alec in every day since they had met and Magnus hated that.

He hated it because he was starting to feel guilty, something that had not happened before. Every time he recalled one of those moments all he could see in Alec’s eyes was trust, and Magnus knew he was not worthy of such thing. Alec didn’t do it on purpose, of course, it was in his nature. Alec was one of those men who had a blind faith in humanity—and that was either a blessing or a curse.

“The fact that you’re a pirate doesn't make you a bad person.”

“What?” Magnus asked just to make sure he had heard correctly.

“Not all pirates are bad.” Alec said. “You’re not bad...I mean, you’ve committed crimes and all, but you’re not a bad person. I know you’re a good man.”

Magnus tried to laugh at the sudden compliment, like Raphael and Ragnor seemed to be doing, but he couldn't. What Alec had just said had touched him deeply. And even though he was not sure if he deserved the praise, he was grateful that his skin had the right tone to hide those uncontrollable accumulations of blood, because after more than 108 years, give or take, Magnus Bane, immortal pirate and once captain of the world's fastest ship, had blushed.

Appassionato by @chonideno​

Why I love this fic: There’s something so soft and wonderful about Malec falling in love with only their mutual love of music. Throughout the entire story, I didn’t mind that they hadn’t met. They fall in love with each other through every piece of music that Magnus requests and Alec seduces him with every brush of his fingers over the keys. I wanted Alec to keep fulfilling his love for his gift and Magnus’ little notes made it even better, for both the reader and Alec. This fic is nothing less than poetic in nature and every single piece Alec played for his tiny audience had me captured without actually hearing the music. 

Favorite quotes: There’s a note on the doorstep.

Alec bends over, picks it up and closes the door. It’s a thin piece of paper coming from some kind of notepad. Something is handwritten on it; the ink is a deep purple (really? who writes in purple ink?) and the words flow with grace despite having obviously been written in a rush. The letters are inclined, in cursive, elegant. Even more pleasing to the eyes, instead of a complaint, Alec reads a love letter.

“A humble request to the pianist: Liebesträume no 3 in A flat.”

A request. Someone heard him and when they could have ignored him or asked him to stop, they want more. They want more. A wild shiver runs down Alec’s back. He has an audience.

On Tuesday, his neighbor sounds tired, so Magnus requests a simple Goldberg Variation.

On Wednesday, his neighbor plays for a full hour without stopping so Magnus requests the short and jumpy Maple Leaf Rag, hoping to tire him out and allow him to sleep.

On Thursday, Magnus finds a large plate full of muffins of all sorts on his neighbor’s doormat; chocolate, caramel, blueberry, vanilla – only good stuff. They all look homemade too, all soft and perfectly baked. Still warm for some, they smell absolutely delicious. Magnus can’t believe it. It’s for him. His neighbor made all of this for him. He leaves his note and carefully takes the plate as if he had just found a pirate’s treasure. Of all things he owns, of all the silks and cashmeres he’s touched, nothing is quite as precious as a plate of baked goods prepared with love. Later this night, biting into the muffin version of an apple crumble as Alec delights him with Saint-Saëns’ Swan, Magnus wonders what he did to deserve this seat in heaven.

“I have one last humble request, if you let me,” Magnus smiles, visibly proud of having used the perfect phrasing. He steps even closer, his hands joined together under his chest as he rubs his own palms gently. “Please, teach me,” he almost whispers.

Alec raises an eyebrow. This doesn’t make sense, Magnus always seemed to be such an expert. “Teach you? What do you mean, you don’t play it?”

Magnus’ eyes dart to the left. “I know a lot about music but I’ve never really…” he moves his hands around, looking for a word. “Taken the time to learn myself.” He locks his gaze back into Alec’s eyes. “So let’s make a deal. Keep the piano and give me lessons in return.”

Wild Life by crazyellephant

Why I love this fic: There’s something about two strangers who meet in the craziest of ways that just gives a reader hope for their own future. Magnus is so entirely lovable and Alec was a goner the second he decided to ask Magnus along for the ride. With every new character who sees them falling in love, the reader learns a little more about both Magnus and Alec and it makes the reader fall in love with them separately before they even want them together. These two were insufferable the entire fic and I just wanted them to have their happily ever after. 

Favorite quotes: In this life, Alec is just the guy who was nice enough to have picked up this hitchhiker. And tomorrow, quite possibly, they’re going to go their separate ways.

"Hey, Alec." Magnus said, his voice echoing in the room. Alec grunted to acknowledge he was still awake. "Thank you for coming back to pick me up and staying with me tonight."

Alec turned and lay on his back, his hands resting on his stomach. He looked at Magnus and smiled. "No problem. My conscience wouldn’t have let me live it down if I heard you died there or something."

"Magnus?" Alec asked, voice catching in his throat.

"Hm?" Magnus responded.

"I really like you." Alec all but whispered his confession, aware of how very close they were. He held his breath, waiting for Magnus to say something.

Magnus smiled wider. "I really like you, too." He confessed.

Attached to her message is a screenshot of Magnus' Instagram page. Trust his sister to already be following probably all of Magnus' social media accounts. It was a picture of the two of them. Magnus had jumped on Alec for a piggyback, his arms around Alec, hands resting on Alec's chest, Alec's hands circled back around Magnus' thighs to keep him steady. Magnus' had his chin on Alec's shoulder and both of them were smiling. It was taken by a friendly tourist when they were at Lipan point earlier that day, with the view of the Grand Canyon right behind them.

On the caption Magnus had written:

Most handsome mule at the #GrandCanyon. ;) #OrIsItStubbornAss #besttimeever #adventure #mine

~

Author Story

I had always been terrified of posting my writing. I’ve written for years, upwards of 15 at this point in time. I have notebooks filled with stories dating back to my freshman year in high school, none of which have ever (or will ever) see the light of day. There was something so… satisfying, about posting my first story for this fandom. It wasn’t anything amazing now that I look back on it, but it spurred my creativity and had me yearning to write. It had been years before I posted my first fic that I had actually sat down and written a story. Now, a few days go by without writing and I feel lost. 

I have this fandom to thank for that. I’ve met the most brilliant, talented, kind people that I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing through Shadowhunters. Every author mentioned and so many more inspire my own writing every single day. Writing is… hard. It’s impossible to always feel good about what you put on a page, but to have fans of the show tell you that your writing made them feel something is unimaginable. I’ve had people tell me that my writing makes them cry because of angst, have to take a cold shower because of smut, makes them curl up in a ball and squeal because of fluff; it honestly means everything. 

#shadowhunters #shadowhunters fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfiction blog

[spnfanficpond]

January Angel Fish Awards

Every month all of you fantastic writers work your asses off to post some truly incredible stories. Our Angel Fish Awards are the way for all of us, as a community of writers and readers, to lift each other up and give praise to those who have captured our attention and deserve a few kind words.

The monthly Angel Fish Awards are peer-nominated, meaning ANYONE IN THE POND CAN NOMINATE ANY POND MEMBER’S FIC. While the Pond was founded to support the Guppies, everyone in this community deserves to be showered with love and feedback, and we hope that by opening this up as a Pond wide system, we’ll be able to share the love as far as it can go.

NOTE: WE’VE BEEN HAVING OCCASIONAL PROBLEMS WITH ASKS GOING MISSING. Please use the Submit button when submitting your nominations and make sure you’re signed into Tumblr or your URL won’t show. (If the form asks for your name and email address, then you’re not signed in.) If you like, you can also send a message to Michelle or Mana to check and make sure we got your submission.

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, HERE ARE THE FIRST ANGEL FISH AWARDS OF 2020!

Cabin Fever (a long oneshot) by @slytherkins​ was nominated three times!

I said all of this in my reblog, but this is FUCKING GOLD. It depicts life with chronic pain so beautifully, I read most of this with my heart in my throat. Have tissues, heed the warnings, but definitely read this! - @mrswhozeewhatsis​​

Tara is the Queen of Angst. She never fails to break my heart but this fic was something else entirely. I always feel like her stories could be canon and this is no exception!! Dean was exactly how I imagine he would be, Sam too. Without giving any spoilers: the scene setting - I was there, I could see them preparing dinner, sat around the table eating, I felt the coldness of the snow.

The raw emotions were sublime, I cried with Dean. I felt I could feel his pain, I was with him every step of the way, I felt his desperation. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love.  - @princessmisery666​​

O. M. G. I don’t expect anything less than incredible when I read Tara’s stuff, but this is on another level. The angst is painful (literally, sometimes), the detail is exquisite. She put heart and soul into this, and it shows. And as always, her Dean is spot-tf-on. Tara’s a brilliant writer, and this fic is amazing. ❤❤❤ - @risingphoenix761​​ 

Nominated by @manawhaat​

Satin (oneshot) by @wingedcatninja​

This fic has some out of the box, vulnerable, sexy, surprising Dean feels! I went into it expecting one thing and what I got was so different from what I could have imagined, but it was so wonderful and refreshing to read! 

Next Year (series) by @wingedcatninja​

Holy crap, the intensity and control in this fic is astounding. It’s so palpable from start to end and this is only the first fucking part. Seriously stellar and surprisingly reverential. 

Nominated by @mrswhozeewhatsis​

For Better or Worst (ongoing series) by @stunudo​​ 

There’s so much mystery and intrigue in this series and I just can’t stop wondering how it’s all going to work out! Sam made some kind of deal to save the world and the deal involved marrying this woman and getting out of hunting. But what was the deal, exactly? And where’s Dean? And who is this woman? What about Cas and Jack? I’m so freaking hooked and I can’t wait to find out!!

Nominated by @princessmisery666​

Love You To Death (series) by @negans-lucille-tblr​

I’ll be the first to admit I’m not into AU’s but this had me hooked from the beginning. I hate Y/N, I hope she gets whats coming to her, but I also so desperately want to be her, which is a testament to the wonderful writing of both Lisa and Bee. I can’t wait to see how this one unfolds.

These two together are a force to be reckoned with.

Nominated by @deanwinchesterswitch​

One And One Make Three (series) by @supernatural-jackles​ 

 This series was absolutely stunning, beautifully written, and an amazing rollercoaster of emotion. Jen handled some very sensitive subject matters with grace and wit. It has ALL the feels; I cried, laughed, and loved right along with the characters.

Nominated by @flamencodiva 

Skeptics and True Believers (series) by @d-s-winchester​ 

I love this story! It had me on the edge of my seat when I read through the master list. the way she wove the story together made me happy for the ending to the story!

Good Things (series) by @crashdevlin​​

This is Part one to four parts of writing GOLD! Cassie knows how to completely put you in the story and envision what is happening. 

How Do You Spell Forever? (series) by @kittenofdoomage​​ 

This is part one of a four parter and OMG! Can I say that this is sweet and cute and full of A/B/O goodness? because this is! and it should be read and shared!

Nominated by @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish​

Heathens (series) by @pink1031​ 

Why: I have been 1000000% hooked on this story since the first chapter was published. It’s a little bit twisted, a little bit wrong, a whole lot dirty, and a whole lot of amazing writing! At the time of this submission, the last chapter is in progress (don’t get me started on the fact that it’s ending D:). It is without a doubt, one of the few stories I stop what I am doing (life permitting) and read the new chapter when I get notified. READ THE WARNINGS CAREFULLY THOUGH, this is not a story for the faint of heart or those that get squicked out (is that even a term?). But if you like dark and dirty, this fic will absolutely be your jam.

Nominated by @risingphoenix761​

My Home (oneshot) by @kittenofdoomage​

Short and sweet, but it got me all choked up. To repeat what I said in tags, bless this fic and the hands that typed it.

Feels Like The First Time (oneshot) by @stusbunker​ 

This gets better every time I reread it. Sweet and sexy and kinda touching. Any time I need a Samwitch fix, I come back to this one. ❤

Nominated by @lovetusk​ ( @fictionalabyss​​ )

Turning Into Butter (oneshot) by @thing-you-do-with-that-thing

Lets be honest with this one, shall we? We’d ALL get that distracted by a half naked Dean. 

Please Don’t Go (oneshot) by @sorenmarie87​

Dawn tested out her Angsting abilities in this Adam x Reader fic, and I’m hoping we get to see more of it. Like why is Dean so angry? I NEED TO KNOW!

Someone You Loved (oneshot) by @ne-gans​

So glad ne-gans is now part of the pond because now I can nominate this beautiful thing that made me cry. 

Nominated by @impala-dreamer

Stupor (oneshot) by @dontshootmespence​

The hottest hot to ever hot in the hottest way possible - SOULLESS!DOM!SAM!! I ded. Very hot. Much smut. Very good.

Hurt So Good (oneshot) by @alleiradayne​

This was tasty. Pun intended. I have such a biting thing and Sam would be so amazing. Yes. Devour me, Winchester!! Loved it.

Nominated by @thegirlwhorunswithwinchesters​

Isn’t That My Line (oneshot) by @princessmisery666​

I went into this one intrigued by the concept and I got even more than I was hoping for. A little twist I didn’t expect here, a perfect ending there. Amazing.

Control And Release (series) by @thecleverdame​

I just needed to bring this one back. Started rereading the entire series and it’s still as amazing as the first time I read this masterpiece.

Photographs and Gasoline (oneshot) by @ne-gans​

Always gotta check the new pond member list when I’m making my rounds. Found this fic and fell in love. It’s absolutely heartbreaking but I loved every second of it. Guess if I have to torture myself, I prefer to do it with beautiful writing like this. 

Nominated by @thoughtslikeaminefield​​​

Smokes and Sex Toys (oneshot) by @wayward-and-worn​ 

This is delightfully fucking filthy. But that’s not all; Dean’s characterization is SO DEAN - flirty yet straightforward - it reminded me of the scene with the bartender in Defending Your Life, I love the simple yet creative premise, and I adore that it’s left open-ended. 

Sick Day - @fangirlxwritesx67​​ 

Viv wrote this for me - it’s true - but that isn’t the reason I’m nominating this; it’s because this is so warm and comfortable and just feels like Dean. Like I actually felt like I was in his lap while I feel asleep reading this. (Also, check out my girl’s other works. She’s fairly new but balls to the wall and bursting with ideas and words for just about anyone.) 

Nominated by @slytherkins​

Isn’t That My Line (oneshot) by @princessmisery666​

Short. Sinful. Sexy. It’s like a smutty snack that hits the spot. (And so does Dean.) 

Nominated by @kittenofdoomage​​

What Goes Bump In The Night (series) by @saxxxology​​

A phenomenal series, historic and dark, with all the fantastic detail you’d expect from Saxxy and more! Please heed the warnings though!

The World Doesn’t Know (oneshot) by @negans-lucille-tblr​​

A wonderful little smutty J2 fic, for those who enjoy that fantasy.

Marked (series) by @there-must-be-a-lock​

I’ve only read the first chapter so far, but hot damn! This is a spectacular start to a promisingly dark series. AND The Right Spot - a smutty smutty follow up to another oneshot that literally made me sweat.

Just Like A Pill  by @princessmisery666​​

The angsty sequel to In Spite Of What My Heart Says and you should totally read both parts, just keep tissues by you in case of heartbreak!

Nominated by @focusonspn​​

House Of The Rising Sun (series) by @kittenofdoomage​​

I’ve never liked BDSM themes too much but, OH MY GOOD!! This series is AMAZING!! It even has a sequel: The Ones You Love. Go and read it, you won’t regret it.

Yes, Sir (series) by @evansrogerskitten​​

Ash must be tired of me praising this fic but I can’t help myself, it’s one of my favorite series ever and deserves this recognition. This is a series that every John girl out there should be reading RIGHT NOW. It has everything! Smut, fluff and a tiny bit of angst and drama.

Good Vibrations (series) by @impala-dreamer​​

At first I wasn’t sure if I should bring this fic here because all the drama I heard it existed about it but, then I thought it twice, and I came to the conclusion that this fic definitely deserve to be part of these awards. This piece of writing was the first (after Dear John, I have to admit) that actually made me cry. It’s dark, it’s sad as fuck, it’s damn well written, and makes you easily get inside the characters and feel what they’re feeling. That being said, if you’re thinking of reading it, please HEED THE WARNINGS.

Take a Drunk Girl Home (oneshot) by @amanda-teaches​​

This fic is so beautiful and so well written that I promise you even can end up tearing up a little, but it’s so worth it that you won’t care a bit.

Nominated by @emilyshurley​​

His Property (series) by @negans-lucille-tblr​​

I freaking love this series to the point that i binged the series (and it’s sequel, Yours) in a single day.  

Just Me & My Baby (oneshot) by @deanwinchesterswitch​​

Can’t get over how adorable it is.

Guns and Ribbons (series) by @myinconnelly1​​

What can I say Dean Winchester deserves all the love in this world and so does this series.

I Can See Clearly Now (oneshot) by @katehuntington​​

I can’t. I don’t have words. This is perfection.

In the Heat of the Night (series) by @evansrogerskitten​​

Nominated by @impalaimagining​​

Goals (oneshot) by @atc74​​

Okay. It's been a long time since I've found Sam smut that really gets me into it. This though - it's a whole different level of wonderful. I love the way it explores a woman finding and embracing her own sexuality, and the frustration that can come along with it. It's obvious how much effort and research and actual planning went into this. My favorite kinds of fics are those that draw from real life experiences, which I think it what makes this one so special. And the end? Yes please!

Nominated by @fangirlxwritesx67​​ 

Everything (series) by @there-must-be-a-lock​ 

I can’t even talk about how great this J2 x reader series is without incoherent fangirl flailing. It’s wildly creative, sharply well written, and absolutely panty-melting filthy! And then just when you’re so hot and bothered that you can’t see straight, *boom*, it’s sweet and intimate and loving. I don’t think there’s a series out there I’ve read this many times!

Hark and Hush by @thoughtslikeaminefield​​

This is a luscious, dark and twisted fairy tale about Dean and the spirit of the Big Bad Wolf. It’s written so vividly that you can see and smell and taste the whole story. Sexy af, of course, and so intense- take the warnings seriously!

The Kind of Girl You Like (series) by @thoughtslikeaminefield​​ 

To me, MJ will always be the Queen of the Winchester threesome and this series shows exactly why. Smoking hot story about the brothers sharing a sub that quickly unfolds into something complex and beautiful. The last chapter especially is written with so much emotional depth- the first time I read it, I was swearing and crying and smiling all at once because it was so well done! Just the best!

Nominated by @supersassyprobablysad​​ 

How You & I Will Be (series) by @katehuntington​​ 

Hey so I wanted to do an angel fish award nom for Kate for her How You & I Will Be fic. In 5 parts she not only developed believable characters but by the end I was ugly crying (and I don’t cry a lot so that’s saying something). The ending feels totally necessary too, not like it was just done for shock value. Anyway I love it, it’s the best I’ve read in a long time.

Thank you all for the awesome work and great feedback!

As with the BFAs, these are not actual awards! This system is set up so everyone in the pond has a chance to share the love and promote a fic/author that has grabbed your attention. The more people that participate, and the more everyone remembers to submit their own fics after posting, the better this will be :D

THANK YOU ALL AGAIN, KEEP UP THE AMAZING WORK, AND AS ALWAYS, HAPPY WRITING!

#afa masterlist #angel fish awards #spnfanficpond #spn fic rec #spn fanfic #fan fiction #fanfiction #fan fic #fanfic #spn fan fiction #spn fanfiction #supernatural fan fiction #supernatural fan fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #fic rec #supernatural fic rec #spn fan fic

[sheliesshattered]

This Isn’t A Ghost Story extras for Chapter 7: The Museum

The penultimate chapter of This Isn’t A Ghost Story has been posted! It’s here on Tumblr and here on AO3. Lots of pictures, explanations, and a few spoilers below the cut. The extras follow the flow of the chapter, so it’s safe to follow along with this post as you read, if you like. 

Chapter 7 is named for and takes place in the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities in Cairo. This is the same location where Clara and the Doctor first met in 1921, as detailed in the journal entries in chapter 3 and some of Clara’s recovered memories in chapter 4. The museum was originally built in 1901, and besides a few modernizing improvements over the years, it hasn’t changed much since then. Here’s a postcard depicting the museum while it was being built:

And the museum as it appears today in modern Cairo:

The interior of the museum hasn’t changed much either, and a few of the larger artifacts haven’t even been moved since they were originally put in place for the opening in 1902.

Here’s a short walk-through video of both the entrance and the interior of the museum, showing what it looked like in 2017. The new Grand Egyptian Museum was supposed to open in the spring of 2020, but has been pushed back to at least 2021 because of the Covid-19 pandemic. For Ghost Story I decided to skip right over 2020 and assume that by May 2021, the original Cairo Museum will still be open to the public, whether or not GEM has finally opened.

Clara asks the Doctor if he remembers what she wore to that black-tie party in 1921, and I have to imagine it was something like her dress from Mummy On The Orient Express:

This amazing dress from 1925 is also a strong contender.

While the Cairo Museum doesn’t have a reproduction of the tomb of Thutmose III like I described in this chapter (and, in fact, until the new museum opens, the Cairo Museum is far too crowded with artifacts to be able to devote an entire room to Thutmose III), that specific burial chamber has been recreated at a museum in England, with stunning attention to detail:

Comparing it to the original tomb in the Valley of the Kings, you can see how accurately they’ve reproduced it: 

Clara comments on the star ceiling, photographed in the original tomb here:

Which, as the Doctor notes, is a common feature in a lot of 18th dynasty and other New Kingdom architecture, and in This Isn’t A Ghost Story connects directly with Clara’s star sapphire wedding ring:

Those of you who have followed me here on Tumblr the last few months may have heard me yell about the tomb of Thutmose III before, and in particular the art depicting the Amduat aka The Twelve Hours of the Night. What Clara describes as “stylised stick figures” is in fact what the walls of the burial chamber are absolutely covered in, and I cannot overstate my love for it. I mean:

I love this art style, possibly more than anything else in all of ancient Egyptian art. I love how stylized and timeless it is, I love that it’s used to tell a complex story that is part of an even more complex funerary tradition. I love the sweeping lines and tiny bits of shading, I love the little upturned toes of their shoes and the tiniest hint of hand shapes. I love their skinny little arms and skinny little legs, oh my god. The fact that this is a real 3500 year old work of art constantly boggles my mind.

The reproduction of the tomb of Thutmose III at Bolton’s museum in England also has a short video that retells the story of the Amduat in gorgeous stylized animation, following the recently deceased pharaoh as he joins Ra on his journey through the underworld to rebirth, if you would like a more complete idea of what the wall art is depicting. 

The Twelve Hours of the Night poem Clara quotes is credited to the poet William Ashbless, the less about whom is said the better. But if your curiosity compels you (and I certainly hope it does), I do highly recommend Tim Powers’ excellent novel The Anubis Gates. Tim Powers is possibly my all-time favorite author, and a huge influence on all of my writing. This Isn’t A Ghost Story is quite definitely the most Powers-esque thing I’ve ever written, and was probably influenced most specifically by The Anubis Gates, Declare, and The Stress of Her Regard. Finding a way to work in a subtle nod to both Ashbless and The Anubis Gates felt fitting and highly amusing to me.

My long-standing love for the Amduat was an early part of the development of this story, coming right on the heels of deciding to give the Doctor a background in Egyptology. I spent a fair part of mid-June digging into research on the Amduat, reading every little scrap about it that I could wring out of the internet. On June 19th -- three months ago this weekend -- all of that research quite suddenly solidified into this chapter, which at the time I figured would be chapter 6, before chapter 5 up and decided to split into two chapters.

Using the twelve hours of the night as the linchpin for the happy ending I wanted for these two really helped solidify and clarify my ideas about how the Doctor functioned as a ghost with regard to sunlight. The sunlight/darkness and day/night theme is really the backbone to the whole story, and is also echoed by the dichotomy of Clara’s wedding ring, which looks like a star in the night sky, but only when viewed in direct sunlight. All of that, from chapter 1 onward and even the story’s title, was leading to this moment, the twist at the end of this chapter.

I wrote the first draft of this chapter in basically one go, beginning to end, which is super unusual for me for any scene, much less an entire chapter. The first version was about 400 words shorter than the final version, and almost all of that growth was in the moment right after the Doctor starts feeling lightheaded. I wanted that sequence to have enough emotional weight, without tipping over into feeling like I was milking it for melodrama. While editing this chapter, Jack said that he thinks there will be a lot of wailing in the comments this week, and I’m very curious to see how that moment will go over for all of you.

Clara and the Doctor have so many exquisite moments of heartbreak in canon that I couldn’t help but borrow from them all heavily here. And as a writer who really enjoys eliciting emotion from the reader as well as communicating the emotions of the characters, I couldn’t resist the urge to make you, my lovely readers, think that I just might take this down the path of tragedy, even if only for a couple of paragraphs. I would say I’m sorry except that I’m really, really not. :D

We’re down to just one chapter to go now, an even shorter epilogue that grew out of some of the research I did for this chapter. I’ll be back next week with the behind the scenes details for that chapter, as well as a few things about the story as a whole, including the full timeline for Clara and the Doctor. 

Do you have any questions for me heading into the final chapter? Any behind the scenes details you’d like me to cover? Let me know! ❤️

--

Extras for Chapter 8: The Temple

#This Isn't A Ghost Story #This Isn't A Ghost Story extras #process thoughts #my writing #Doctor Who #Doctor Who fanfic #Clara and the Doctor

[chickensarentcheap]

Sanctuary -Chapter 19

Warnings: profanity

Tagging: @valkyrie-of-the-light, @alievans007, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @innerpaperexpertcloud

Nik has managed to arrange a private flight; a jet owned by a high-profile business big wig she's provided previous -and successful- services for. He has all the toys and all the connections: his own gulf stream, no checking of passports and baggage through either the small municipal airport in Telluride or the much larger one in Belfast,  a flight manifesto with all fictitious names, and absolutely no contact with the general public.  Normally Yaz would fly them in and out of extractions, but with many unknowns and the need for him to run point on the tech side of things in Ireland, a private flight had been the best and safest choice.

 Tyler had taken the seat at the very back of the jet; preferring to space himself out from the other two passengers and the small flight crew.  He'd needed a chance to clear his head; a stampede of thoughts surging through his already weary brain.  Unable to get Millie's meltdown out of his mind, the way she'd become a child possessed and he'd had to physically restrain her. Heart still aching over the words she'd said: “I hate you”, “Don't come back. EVER.” Stunned by the vehemence and hostility that had just spewed from such a tiny, innocent body. The look of the utmost betrayal written all over her face.

 And his wife. That heartbroken, lost, and haunted look in her eyes when she'd kissed him goodbye. The way she'd clung to him when the made love for the last time; her hands slowly moving over his body, as if committing every inch of him to memory. Of their desire to have another baby: the first and last. And how he hopes and prays that the news doesn't come while he's away.

 His eyes are closed, arms folded over his chest, legs stretched out under the seat in front of him when he feels someone slip into the seat beside him. And he cracks open one eye just as McCann, a glass of whiskey in his hand, plops down next to him.  Part of him wants to tell the guy to fuck off; after all, he's the main reason behind Millie's meltdown and harsh words and Esme's heartbreak. But his more logical and humane side reminds him that this is a man who genuinely needs someone to prop him up Who is going through quite possibly the worst shit a husband and a father could ever deal with.

 “It's always hard saying goodbye,” McCann says, as he sips his drink.

 Tyler nods. “My wife takes it pretty bad. She's been struggling with some things. Since Dhaka.”

 “PTSD?”

 “Undiagnosed. But yeah, I think so.”

 He'd been so caught up dealing with his own issues and getting Ovi the help he needed, that her struggles had bee pushed to the back burner. And they've spent so much time, effort, and energy during their five years of marriage having a babies and raising them, that he's never really pressed the issue of her getting some kind of help. But he sees it. Every day. The way she struggles with her up and down moods; hyper and manic one moment, horrifically down and depressed the next. Her battle with self confidence since having Declan and being unable to lose the last ten pounds she is always obsessing about. The sleep issues.  The days when she can't even get out of bed because the weight of the world is just wearing her down.

 “How about your kids?” McCann asked. “How do they handle it?”

 “The baby's too young to understand anything. The twins handled it pretty well.  They're just disappointed that we didn't get to do all the things I promised we would when I got back last week. My daughter...” he sighs, leaning his head back against the seat.  “...she didn't take it too well.”  He leaves it at that. It's too painful to relive, and the man sitting beside him doesn't need to know every detail of what goes on behind closed doors.

 “She's a daddy's girl?”

 Tyler nods. “Well, she was. I'm not so sure about now.”

 “Kids are resilient,” the other man reasons. “By tomorrow she'll have bounced back and all will be forgiven.”

 “I hope so. She's a stubborn little thing. Like her mother. She doesn't forgive and forget easily. If at all. I've been on my wife's shit list a few times and the past and it felt like I was never getting off of it.  She's amazing though,” he smiles. “She's put up with a lot. Keeps putting up with a lot. I haven't always been the best husband for her. I'm not an easy person to live with. Yet she keeps hanging in there and giving me chance after chance.”

While infidelity has never been an issue, his own struggles with mental health problems  and substance abuse has caused a lot of angst within the last few years, as has  his often volatile temper and his need for control and issues with seeing her as a possession instead of an actual person. But they've battled through it; a lot of fights, counselling, even a trial separation when the twins were only two.

  They latter they'd kept a secret from everyone they knew.   Friends and family alike.  It had been the wake up call that he'd needed; living in a shitty hotel, relegated to seeing his kids once every two weeks, wanting so badly to beg and plead with her to just take him back yet his pride never actually allowing him to do it. For six months they'd lived like that. Barely speaking except for him he'd stop by to grab the kids or when he took them home. Never actually setting foot in the house, instead having to carry on awkward and tension filled conversations with her on the front porch. Until one night she'd called him and said she missed him.  That she wanted him to come home.

 After that he'd made it his mission to make up for all the bullshit he'd put her through.

 “You're lucky,” McCann says. “That you found someone like that. Not many in the game manage to, you know. It's hard finding someone that gets it. That understands why we do what we do.  It's a hard life. Not just for us, but for them too. Having to put up with us gone all the time, taking care of a house and a family all on their own. It's why so many people in this job never get married. Or if they do, it never lasts long.”

 Tyler thinks about G. Finally meeting the love of his life and settling down, only to never get the chance to grow old and gray with his bride.  

 “Drink?” McCann offers. “I can wave the stewardess over.”

 “I'm fine, mate. Thanks. I'm trying to stay clean for a couple of weeks. I've been going a little overboard lately and I need to slow down. For my family.”

 “Battles with the bottle?”

 Tyler hesitates on using the word 'alcoholic'. He's never felt that things have been that out of control. At least not within the past five years.

 “I struggle from time to time,” he admits. “It's my weakness.  I try not to let it beat me.”

 “Must be hard. Seeing what you see. Doing the things you do.”

 “It has it's moments,” he agrees.

 “You know,” McCann downs the remains of his drink, the motions to the stewardess that he'd like another. “You didn't have to stay in a hotel. I've got enough room at my place. Why waste the money?”

 “I'm not actually paying for anything. Nik takes care of all that. I appreciate the offer, but I work better on my own. When I have my own space and my own little bubble. I focus a lot better.  Besides, the last time I stayed under the same roof as someone while doing a job, I ended up marrying them. And no offence, but you're just not my type.”

 McCann laughs at that. “None taken. I can definitely understand why you'd prefer to stay under the same roof with her.   I hear Nik has a little project she's working on. Starting up the business in North America.”

 Tyler nods.

 “She said she asked you to run it. You given it much thought?”

 “If I had to give my answer now, it would be yes. But ask me in two weeks. It all depends on how things go while we're in Ireland. Things go nice and smooth, then I go for it. Things go to shit, then I just go home and keep doing what I'm doing now. I've already told Nik this is my last year. That I'd give her twelve months and than I was walking away. My family needs me. They deserve to have me home. And we're trying to have another baby, so...”

 “Another one? Five all together? You're mighty brave. Both of you. Why not go for two? Make it an even half dozen?”

 “I don't think my wife would go for that. Unless this one ends up being twins too.  If I do take the offer from Nik, I'd be home more. Not so much time out in the field. And let's face it, I'm not getting any younger. My mind may say yes, but my body is very much telling me no.  I don't know how much more I can put it through before it just gives out entirely.”

 “I keep telling myself...and my wife...that I'm going to give it up,” the other man muses. “I've been saying it every year for the last six. But something always comes up and I just keep hanging in there. My wife's a lot like yours. Stubborn as all hell. Fiery temper. Likes to hold a grudge from time to time. But she keeps me around. Lord knows why. I've put her through a lot. Because of the job,”

 “I guess we're both lucky then,” Tyler reasons. “We both managed to find that balance. Between the job and a real life. It's not easy. Far from it. But it's worth it. Every time she smiles at me. Every time my kids hug me or tell me they love me. It makes all the bullshit worth it.”

 McMann nods in agreement, slowly sipping his drink. Contemplative now. Eyes dark. Lips set in a thin, firm line.

 “We'll find them, mate,” Tyler assures him. “We'll find them, and we'll bring them home.”

 “I've been thinking about what you said the other day. When you talked about why you didn't want to be the one to get the kids. About not wanting to have to choose between the two of them. If you knew you could only get one or the other.”

 “I never should have said that. I was way out of line. I never...”

 “You made a very valid point. As much as it hurt to hear you say it. What if you couldn't get both out at once? What if you knew there'd be no chance of going back to get the other? How would you decide? If you had to pick between your two sons. Your twins. Which one would you pick?”

 “I wouldn't,” Tyler's answer comes easily. With absolutely no hesitation. There isn't a scenario that he hasn't run through his mind at least once or twice.  A solution that he hasn't come up with. “If it came down to that, I’d make a deal. My life for both of theirs. If something like that were to happen, it would mean that whoever it is, is after me. They don't want my kids. Not really. They just know that taking my kids will bring me to them.   I'd give them what they want. Me. As long as it means they let go of my kids.”

 “And if they won't? Let them go?”

 “Then they better make sure the first bullet is the one that kills me. Because I won't go down easily. I'll do whatever it takes to save my kids. Or my wife. So they better make sure they put me down permanently the first time because I'm going to just keep getting back up.”

 McMann nods slowly, considering the words as he swirls the ice within his glass.

 “If you're not willing to do that, what the hell are we even doing here, mate? If you're not willing to sacrifice yourself for your kids, so they can live and get home to their mother, why are you even bothering with all of this? You know it's you that they want.  They're just using your family to get to you. If it comes down to it, are you willing to give yourself up so your kids will get back to their mom?”

 “They have to have a mom to get back to you. That's your job.”

 “And I'll do my job. I'll find your wife. I'll get her out of there.  But I'm not worried about my end of things. I've got my shit under control.  But if you're not willing to give up your life for your kids, this is all for nothing.  You don't offer yourself up, they'll kill all of you. You pick one kid over the other and you'll kill yourself in the end. Because you'd never be able to look at yourself in the mirror again.  You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself. So you better be ready for that, mate. To make that choice. Yourself or them. Because it's a damn good possibility that that's going to happen.”

 McCann finishes his drink in one large gulp. Coughing as the whisky burns his throat. “And what if you've got a choice to make? When you find my wife? If they want your life for hers? What decision are you making?”

 “It's simple,” Tyler says.  “I'm going home to my family. And it's not going to be in a body bag.”

 The other man blinks at the brutal honesty.

 “Let's get one thing straight. I'm here to help you. I'm not here to die for you. For any of you. If it comes down between me and your wife, I'm being a selfish bastard and choosing me. Because I've got my own wife at home. I've got four kids. And I made a promise to all of them that I was coming home. Alive. And no one is going to stop that from happening.”

 “Your family gets the money,” McCann reminds him. “If you don't make it, they still get the money. As long as my wife gets out of there.”

 “I don't give a shit about the money.  Five and a half years ago, when I had a death wish, I would have gladly gone in there and offered myself up for a complete stranger. Back then I wouldn't have given a shit. I was close to putting a bullet in my own head, so it wouldn't have mattered if someone did it for me.  But now? I have way too much to lose. People that count on me. Depend on me. And as big of a dick as I sound for saying it, your wife's life is not worth more than mine.”

 “I'm counting on you, Rake. I'm counting on you to get her out of there. To make those bastards pay. Don't fuck me over just because all of a sudden you can't take the heat or because you get a little squeamish.”

 “I can take the heat. And I don't get squeamish. We're not buddies. We're not partners. So you better watch who you threaten. I'm not scared of you. Or your buddies in the IRA.  You asked for my help. I could have easily just told you to fuck off and leave me alone.  But I'm here. I'm on your side. And if you're the one that's planning to fuck me over, you better start thinking twice right about now.”

 “You don't trust me?”

 “I don't trust anyone. It isn't personal. If I find out there's any hidden agenda or something you're not telling me, you better run and hide.  Run far. Find the darkest, deepest hidden place you can. I will come for you.  If I get to Belfast and this was all some kind of bullshit to get me away from my family...to make me vulnerable...there isn't going to be a place I can't find you.”

 McCann smirks.  “Now you're threatening me?”

 “That's not a threat. That's a promise.  Don't fuck me over. I'm warning you right now. Because if I come for you, you better have a goddamn army to help you out.  All those stories you've heard? The things I've done? The people I've killed. They're all true.  Bigger and better than you have tried to put me down. And I'm still here. So if this is some kind of game...”

 “This is all true. Every word of it. The videos you saw. All real.  This isn't some kind of ploy to get you into a strange place and catch you off guard. This is exactly what it is. A job. I need your help.  No games. No bullshit.”

 “Fair enough,” Tyler says, once more leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes. Hoping the other man will take the hint and leave him alone.

 “You just do your job, Rake.  You get my wife out of there and you make those bastards pay. In whatever way you have to. I need you to give me your word. That you won't leave her there. That you won't just drop her off in the middle of nowhere or leave her in the street.  At least give me that. At least give me your word that you'll do whatever it takes. That you'll make them pay.”

 He sighs and opens his eyes, seeing the hand that is being offered.

 “You have my word,” he says, and they shake on it.

 *****

 While not exactly five star, the hotel in Belfast is a far cry from the one he’d stayed at in Dhaka.   Clean. Spacious enough for two queen sized beds. Fresh carpet and paint; no unusual or concerning stains lingering on the walls.  No weird smells.  No obnoxious noise from the street below. Running water -hot water at that- and a normal shower and tub. A toilet that flushes.

 There’s two closets. The first one he uses to stash his clothes and personal effects. The second he uses for the ruck sack filled with weapons; using an abnormally large and powerful combination lock looped through the handles on the doubles door to keep it safe and secure.  He removes the holster from his right hip; setting both it and the Glock in the top drawer of the nightstand that separates the two beds.

 He hangs the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside of the hotel room door, then sets both the locks; deadbolt and flimsy chain. Toes his boots off and leaves them in front of the closet that holds the weapons.  The SAT phone he uses to send a message to Nik that he’s arrived and to expect a call soon from her brother, then he places it in the drawer next to the Glock.  There’s an unlocked mini bar in the far corner; next to the dresser and the wall mounted TV.  Locating the remote, he turns the latter on and selects a local news channel, volume on low as he grabs a travel bottle of scotch from the bar and cracks open the seal. He doesn’t even consider grabbing a glass from the small kitchenette, taking a long pull straight from the bottle as he stands in front of the sliding glass door that leads out onto the small balcony.  The room overlooks the downtown area, much cleaner than the market area in Dhaka. Less populated. White mini lights strung up in the trees that line the curbs, shops with illuminated closed signs, flashing neon advertising which bars and restaurants are open to patrons.

 His stomach growls. Prompting him to make a mental note to order room service.

 Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he places the bottle of scotch on the floor and his elbows on his knees, running his hands over his weary face, then clasping his hands together and closing his eyes. Contemplating his first moves when the new day breaks. He has to wait for Yaz to get some information; even the smallest tidbit that will send him in the right possible direction.  Wandering aimlessly through town will only draw unnecessary attention. People will find who he is and what he’s there for when the time is right.

 He opens his eyes, meeting his own reflection in the glass.  His beard needs a trim. He already needs to take the clippers to the shortest parts of his hair.  

 He’ll do that in the morning.

 Taking another swig of scotch, he stands up; wincing as his knees crack noisily.  He finds his cell phone in the inside pocket of the flack jacket that he’d worn from the airport and now hangs in the unlocked hall closet.  Hitting the second number on speed dial as he slides open the patio door and steps outside.  The air is crisp and fresh; an unusually cool evening for summer in Ireland, he’d been told by the desk clerk. And he takes a seat on one of the patio chairs just as the call reaches the fourth ring and someone finally answers.

 “Hey,” he greets, his heart immediately feeling a hundred pounds lighter at the familiar sounds of his ‘normal’ life in the background; the dog barking, the kids squabbling, the baby giggling and attempting speech.

 “Hey,” he can hear the relief in her voice. He knows she’s smiling. “Did you just get in?”

 “About half an hour ago.”

 “What time is it there?”

 “Eight thirty. PM.”  He does the math in his head.  He’s seven hours ahead. Making it one thirty, her time.

 “How was the flight?”

 “Long. No issues though. I don’t know who this guy is that Nik knows or what she has on him that he’s so willing to cough up his private jet, but I’m not going to complain.”

 ‘Maybe they’re friends. Special friends. If you catch my drift.”

 He grins. “Maybe. I’m sure she has a lot of special friends.”

 “You sound tired.”

 “I am. Tired. Sore. Hungry.”

 “Well make sure you eat. I know how you get when you start throwing yourself into something. You won’t do anyone any good if you’re trying to run on an empty tank.”

 He smirks. “Worrying about me from even thousands of miles away, huh?”

 “It’s what I do, Tyler. I worry. I try to take care of you.  It would be a lot easier if you weren’t so damn stubborn. Are you okay?”

 “I’m fine,” he picks the bottle of scotch up off the ground and takes a swig. “You okay?”

 “I guess. As good as I can be. The first couple of days are the worst. But I manage.”

 “The kids?”

 “They’re doing okay.  They get sad and weepy every now and then. Tyler is grumpy as all hell. He is so much like you. He even has the same facial expressions when he’s mad or irritated. I see so much of you in him. Tanner is really stepping in to help him through things.  He’s an old soul, that one. He’s just so sensitive and so intuitive. Such a big heart in such a tiny body.”

 “Like his mom. All the best stuff he got from you.”

 “Oh I don’t know about that. He got some pretty amazing things from you, too.”

 He smiles at that. “And Millie?”  

 “She’s pretty bitchy. I’ve had to send her to her room twice already today.  She’s just snapping at everything and taking it out on her brothers. She’s stronger than she looks. She almost beat the living shit out of Tyler because he looked at her the wrong way. And you know how strong and tough he is.  Your daughter does not take shit from anyone. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I mean, at least we know she’ll be able to handle herself when she gets older if some asshole tries anything with her. But at the same time, she should not be beating the crap out of her brothers. She even goes after the baby. And all he’s doing is baby things.”

 “I’ll talk to her tomorrow. If she’ll talk to me, that is.”

 “She’ll be fine, Tyler. She’ll be happy to hear your voice. She’s already asked about you. Three times. If you’d gotten to Ireland yet and if you’d called to say you were okay.  I know she feels bad. For what she said to you. Please don’t let it bother you. She’s a little girl. She just worries about you and misses you. She didn’t mean what she said. Don’t hold it against her.”

 “I don’t. I just thought I had a lot of years to go before she said something like that. Like when I started scaring potential boyfriends off. I swear to God, if she brings home some guy with weird hair and tattoos…”

 “You basically just described yourself,” his wife laughs.

 “You like my hair.”

 “I love your hair.  You know she’s going to bring someone home that you just despise, right?”

 “I’m going to despise all of them. Not just one of them. All of them. None of them will be good enough for her. Not a single damn one.”

 “I’m sure someone will come along that you like. Maybe someone like you. A military guy.”

 “Uh, yeah, no. That’s definitely not what I want for her.”

 “I don’t know, you’re a pretty good catch. And you’re ex military. So…”

 “Ex. You hit the nail on the head. Ex. Look what I do now. Is that really what you want for our daughter? This kind of life?”

 “I think you’re overreaching. There’s a big difference between her finding a military guy and her finding a mercenary. And where would she ever find one of those?”

 “You found me,” he points out.

 “Only because I was already in the job. Our paths would never have crossed if I hadn’t had been. I doubt that is going to be a lifestyle that she choice.  She’s beautiful and smart and…”

 “So are you.”

 “…and we’ll do our best to get her on a different path. That’s years away, Tyler. Why stress about it now? And why talk as if this is the worst possible life to have? It isn’t. I know you get down on yourself and you think you’re a failure as a husband and a father. You think that I hate you and that I hate this life.  But I’ve never once hated you. Ever. And I don’t hate this life. It’s not my most favourite thing and it’s hard. But I walked into this. Willingly. I fell in love with you.  I chose you. And I don’t regret that. So please don’t ever think I do.”

 Silence falls between them as he considers her words; the power of them both comforting and overwhelming. And he closes his eyes against the hot, bitter tears that threaten.

 “Tyler?”

 He clears his throat noisily. “Yeah?”

 “Are you okay?”

 “Yeah, I’m fine,” he assures her.  “I miss you.”

 “Already?” he can practically hear the grin on her face. “That was quick.”

 “I missed you the second I got on the plane,” he admits.

 “I miss you too, baby. It was hard this morning. Waking up and not having you there. With your messy hair and your sleepy little grin.  The way you kiss me awake. And the way you do other things to wake me up.”

 He grins at that.

 “Most of all, I just miss you. I miss your smell. The sound of your voice.  Your smile. The way it crinkles the corners of your eyes. I miss all those things.”

 He can hear the emotion in her voice; the way it chokes at her. And he can’t hold back the tears any longer; allowing them to flow freely down his cheeks and the sides of his nose.

 “Please be safe,” her voice is barely above a whisper. “Because if anything happens to you…”

 “I’ll be fine,” he assures her, and uses the back of his hand to wipe the tears away.  “You know how you said you didn’t trust McCann? That something about him just doesn’t feel right? And I said you were probably just on edge? Well I’m starting to think you’re right.”

 The line crackles as she moves the phone from one ear to the other. “What’s happened?”

 “Just a conversation we had on the plane. The other day when we first met, he wanted me to be the one that goes for the kids. I told him that I couldn’t do it. That I wouldn’t do it. That I didn’t feel confident that I’d be able to safely get three of us out. One kid was enough in Dhaka. And he was a teenager. Not a little one. I told him that he should be the one to get his kids. That I’d deal with the wife.”

 “Makes sense. I mean, they might panic if they saw you. A complete stranger all dressed up like he’s going to war.  That would just make things worse if they got scared and freaked out. They won’t do that if it’s their dad.”

 “Exactly what I thought. It just makes more sense. I brought up what would happen if I could only get myself and one of them out of there. How would I make that kind of decision? About which kid lives or dies?”

 “Tyler…” she sighs. “…don’t do this…”

 “He threw it back in my face on the plane. He asked me how I would choose. If it came down to the twins. If I knew I could only get one of them out alive. Which one would I pick?”

 “Tyler…”

 “I told him I wouldn’t. That I’d make a deal. My life for both of theirs. It’s me someone would want. Not them. They’d just be using the kids to get to me.”

 Silence from the other end.

 “Esme?”

 “I’m here,” the sadness hangs heavily in her voice. “Tyler, why are you…?”

 “I would do it. In a heartbeat. Offer myself up for them. For any of my kids. For you.”

 “I know. But…”

 “It was weird. How he responded to that. Like he wasn’t on the same page. What father wouldn’t do that for their kids? Especially when he knows that he’s the one they want? What father wouldn’t give himself up to save his children? I can’t wrap my head around that. Then he asked me I’d do if it came down to saving myself or his wife.”

 “And you said…”

 “I told him that her life isn’t worth more than mine. That I have my own wife and my own family and I’m going home to them. And it’s not going to be in a body bag. I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m a selfish prick now.”

 “It’s not selfish. It’s smart. It’s self preservation.”

 “There’s something not quite right about this guy. I didn’t like the way he acted when I talked about how he might have to sacrifice himself for his kids. He was reluctant. He wasn’t willing to make that choice. And that’s fucked up. To me, anyways. It should be an easy decision to make. At least in my eyes.”

 “Be careful, Tyler. Watch your back. Even more so than you usually do. Something isn’t right here. And I think you’re beginning to think that way too.”

 “Yeah…” he finishes off the scotch. “…I am. I miss you,” he says once more. “I miss you so fucking much.”

 “I miss you too.  Be safe, okay? Come home in one piece.”

 “I will. I promise.”

 “Go and get something to eat. And try to get some sleep. You’ve got a big job ahead of you. I’m proud of you, just so you know. I’m so proud of you, Tyler. For doing the things you do. For other people. I know it’s not easy on you. But you still do it. You still put people ahead of yourself. Even knowing the consequences. Even knowing the ending might be horrible. You’re the strongest person I know. And the bravest. Whether you want to hear that or not. Whether you want to admit it. Ovi was right. When he said you were brave for rescuing people. You are.”

 “I love you,” he manages through another wave of tears.  “Just know that I love you. That I always have, I always will.”

 “Please don’t talk like that. It sounds so…final.”

 “I just want you to hear it. I just want you to remember it. Just in case.”

 “I love you too. I’ve loved you right from the beginning.  I meant it. When I said it to you on that bridge. I know it was way too soon. It shouldn’t have made any sense. But I meant it. I love you and I can’t wait for you to come home. Please be careful.”

 “I will. I’ll call you tomorrow. Hug and kiss the kids for me. Tell them I love them. That I miss them. That I’ll be home soon.”

 “I will,” she promises. “And eat, Tyler. Get something in your stomach. And then get some sleep. Or try to at least.”

 “I love you,” he says one last time.

 “I love you, too. We’ll talk soon.”  And with that, she disconnects the call.

 Sighing, he places his cell phone on the ground beside the empty bottle of scotch and runs his hands over his face.  Unable to shake the feeling that he’s walking straight into hell.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fiction #tyler rake fan fic #extraction #sanctuary #chris hemsworth character

[prismatic-cannon]

uhm sis (or bro or whatever u prefer i just call everyone sis) pls reblog more fics like i need some good ones and pieces was hella good

Ahhh i’m really glad you like Pieces!!! It deserves more love for sure and the feels are only going to get better I can promise you that hoho \o/ (and I’m good with both sis/bro, I don’t mind either or it’s cool)

So far I’ve been blindly going through the AO3 tags for jojo fics so I’m not sure if my fic recs would entirely appeal to you … but if you’re interested you could definitely take a look at some of these faves! (Do mind the fics’ tags if you’re sensitive to certain tropes) Most of these are going to be heavily skewed towards part 4 and 7 (absolutely no one is surprised), but there’s other parts under the cut too!

Part 2

see you again by efthemia (6k oneshot with background Part 7 ship) - A Caejose reincarnation fic! This is set in a modern day au where Joseph and Caesar meet in another life … by crashing vehicles into each other lol

Can You Ever Go Home Again? by alexclusive (4k oneshot, contains Part 4 spoilers but is mostly centred around Part 2 and 3 characters) - I don’t want to spoil too much for this fic so I’m just going to copy paste the fic’s original summary here: “A few months after his adventure in Morioh, Jotaro goes on another personal errand at the request of his grandfather, and ends up discovering yet another lingering ghost.” A lowkey fix-it with feels!

Part 3

Torture Me by Xyloto (nsfw 2k oneshot) - The SDC gang walks in on jotakak inappropriately using their stands lmaooo enough said

Young Flame by greenteafiend (nsfw 7k multichaptered) - More Jotakak! Takes place during the Devil-Yellow Temperance part of SDC where Jotaro and Kak share that hotel room in Singapore lol

Kiss With A Fist by nevermordor (nsfw 6k oneshot) - Tempers and egos flare between Jotaro and Kakyoin as they make the long tenuous journey to Egypt – Fistfights inevitably happen. I really like how much of a cold hardass bastard Kakyoin gets in this lol

time after time by dimolto (11k oneshot) - TIME LOOP TIME LOOP TIME LOOP!!!! God time loops are one of my favourite tropes of all time, I don’t think I could get sick of it. SDC canon compliant (kinda) – Jotaro is the only person that’s aware of the loop and has to work his way out of it somehow. It’s jotakak too!! Highly rec this fic

Part 4

No place where we can’t go by tjesje (4k oneshot) - Josuyasu! Two dudes slowly fall in love over the course of their summer break. OP really nails the friendship between Josuke and Okuyasu – the banter flows so easily you can’t help but get caught up in how close and in sync they are with each other. Also, the summer vibes are super strong in this fic! Always a big plus with duwang content lmao

electric word life by Fluffifullness (8k oneshot) - More Josuyasu mutual pining + confessions, suuuuper sappy and sweet with some light post DiU angst.

Just Let Me Know, How Do You Feel? by hushroom (6k multichaptered) - Post DiU – Set during their college years, Okuyasu meets up with Josuke for the first time in a while, and they work towards overcoming emotional distance caused by the strain of long distance relationships and misunderstandings. Aged up Josuyasu content is always such a treat and this one doesn’t let down!

Bosozoku Boys by VulpesVulpes (nsfw 4k oneshot) - Takes place a few years after DiU. One night during a sleepover Josuke accidentally stumbles upon a porn mag under Oku’s bed – midnight confessions and feels ensue. This fic always has a soft spot in my heart just because of how vulnerable Josuke gets, argh my heart it aches

Crashing Waves by chamomilekai (7k multichaptered) - Post DiU – Josuke and Okuyasu deal with the lingering effects from the final Kira fight. It’s a slow burn romance with heavy feels where both bros find comfort and support in each other, very delicious part 4 h/c sob x10000

Part 5

the passenger by havisham (nsfw 5k oneshot, contains Part 6 endgame spoilers) - A Brugio fix-it …. of sorts. Ten years after Vento Aureo ends, mob boss Giorno somehow finds himself sent back in time with the opportunity to save Bruno and the others. I really like how desperate and jaded Giorno is in trying to save everyone, and how despite everything things still don’t go entirely the way he wants them to …

DIOmestic by writers_haven (4k oneshot) - Yep, it’s modern au mudad lmao. Some JonaDio here and there but the focus is mostly on Dio+Gio father-son fluff. It’s stupidly cute and there are little nods to canon material that I love to bits, like Hamon being reimagined as a fancy form of new age yoga ahahaha

Part 7

Riches and Wonders by etymology playground (8k oneshot) - A lighthearted gyjo fic that takes place during canon events – Two weeks after Sugar Mountain, Johnny and Gyro spend some R&R at a stand-powered onsen lmao. This was one of the first few fics I read right after finishing part 7, and it really helped to soothe the post SBR pain … not that I’m completely over it yet but then again would anyone ever be lol

Laundry by Petronia (2k oneshot) - Another lighthearted canon gyjo fic with lowkey ust lol – Johnny and Gyro take time between travels to do laundry. Idk, there’s something about gyjo domestic downtime that’s so comforting sob

i’ll see your face again by queenieofaces (2k oneshot, Part 7 endgame spoilers) - Oh boy this one … It’s a reincarnation au where Gyro experiences deja vu and misplaced memories from Phantom Blood and Battle Tendency during the events of SBR. 10/10 lots of feels bc reincarnation aus pair so incredibly well with gyjo gosh

nowhere to go; I’m already inside by librisdedita (31k multichaptered, major Part 7 spoilers all around) - A canon compliant gyjo fic – Johnny’s perspective on life is especially bleak in this one. OP tore my heart asunder by the end of this fic but oh man I wouldn’t have it any other way lmao

Cowboys Ain’t Easy To Love by jotarosgirl17 (36k multichaptered, Part 7 spoilers) - A series of interconnected slowburn gyjo canon compliant fics, suuuper heavy on angst and period-typical homophobia and internalised homophobia. Very good for a cry … or ten lmao

see you when the sun sets east by mourn (nsfw 2k oneshot) - Two cowboys sit five feet apart from each other not talking about their repressed feelings yeehaw. Jokes aside this is a quick but intimately tender glimpse into the beginning of Johnny and Gyro’s relationship

Spin This! by polyphenols (17k multichaptered) - A modern day office au where Diego works at a new tech startup named Steel Ball Run. Honestly, I don’t think I could ever properly articulate how much I love this fic – It’s full of sooo many nods and easter eggs to all the bizarre eccentricities that happen in part 7′s canon, and I think nearly every major/minor character gets featured one way or another, if not all (everyone works in the same horrifyingly open air office space after all). The witty banter and dialogue between characters are so snappy and succinct you can’t help but smile or laugh while reading along. Diego in particular stars as the long suffering Straight Man and audience surrogate into the madness that is SBR, with a lowkey crush on HP that slowly builds as the fic progresses (there’s background gyjo too!). While there’s more of a central focus on Part 7 at first, characters from other parts also make an appearance and gradually become more involved as well. I can’t rec this fic enough!!!

Diamond Ball Run by polyphenols (15k multichaptered, Part 7 endgame spoilers) - A gyjo fix-it of sorts … Johnny takes up Funny Valentine’s offer and asks for an Alternate Universe Gyro. The fic is mostly told from Alt Gyro’s perspective in the later half, and argh this makes my heart ache in so many ways I didn’t know were possible god help me –

happy new year, johnny by 3kanite (7k oneshot, Part 7 endgame spoilers) - Aaaah I just read this one today lmao – The fic is written from Johnny’s POV over the course of several new year celebrations – pre-race and during SBR canon. It really nails Johnny’s characterisations and personality shifts down nicely and makes the last year spent with Gyro that much more bittersweet and heartbreaking oh why won’t these part 7 feels stop coming for me

desperado by 3kanite (35k multichaptered) - Features missing scenes that take place during the events of SBR – Admittedly I’ve only read the first two chapters so far and haven’t fully processed things yet but I’m already so caught up in these pre-slash gyjo feels that I can’t help but rec this one catch me crying behind Owson’s @ 3am bc it’s just that good urgh I need an adult Could possibly be nsfw but I haven’t gotten that far in yet obvs

Aaaand that’s about it for now! Hopefully some of these interested you haha. Go show these wonderful OPs some love because they deserve it!!!

#anon #asks #this hyper fixation is going to be the death of me god #look @ all these fics i can't hold all these feels

[ladynuwanda]

Whatever Souls Are Made Of (Michael LangdonXMallory AU) - Chapter 5

A/N: This is the final actual chapter, and probably my favourite! We still have an Epilogue to go, so don’t give up on this story just yet... ;)

Warnings: Deaths. Many. Kinda gory. Definitely bloody. I tried not to get to graphic about it, but I had to.

Word Count: 4K

Michael was sitting alone with a glass of wine in the library. All guests were long gone, and his personal staff in the Grange were already retired for the night. Lady Mead was the last to leave him, but not before saying how proud she was, how much of a success she thought the Evening had been. And she had good reason to be proud, his return to Yorkshire was exactly as they had spent all those years planning. The party was flawless, everyone was exactly where they were supposed to be, his reveal had the impact he wanted, and now he knew all the witches in Robichaux Manor were quivering in their boots, waiting for his next move. Everything was happening according to the plan. So why on Earth was he feeling so miserable?

It was her, obviously. Seeing her again, holding her in his arms for the brief time of one dance. He hadn’t thought it would have such a strong effect on him. But why did she have to appear so happy to see him? The loving way those beautiful eyes were feasting on his face, the sweet smile dancing on her lips, the way her gentle hand held on to him, like her life depended on it... it made absolutely no sense, and he felt like that lonely little boy again in her presence. He could see her with his waking eyes, as if she was standing right there in the library, brights eyes on his, her chest heaving with every breath. His vision of Mallory walked towards him and crouched in front of his armchair, “Michael. It really is you. You came back”, the vision put her hand on his with the lightest of touches. Light but solid. Undeniably real.

Michael felt like he was in a dream as he slowly put his wine glass down and reached out to touch Mallory’s face, part of him fearing she would disappear in a flower-scented mist once he did. But she didn’t, she was real. Somehow, armed with her own bravery and magic, she had walked all the way from the Heights to the Grange in the middle of the night and into his library unnoticed. She smiled when his thumb brushed her cheek and he couldn’t help smiling back in disbelief. Suddenly everything was forgotten - the sadness in which they had parted from each other, the years apart, the ominous reunion - and it was just the two of them, together again. Without ever knowing who started it, they threw themselves in each other’s arms, and shared a kiss full of longing and relief.

Time stood still for a moment, and nothing else was real. They were just lost in each other’s arms and lips. Together again. Back home. Both of them. But reality slowly crept into their minds. The faint memory that they were on a mission was becoming more of a pressing matter with each second, until it became a painful sore in their hearts, that was impossible to ignore. This man wanted Mallory and all her sisters dead, how could he kiss her with such passion? And Mallory had rejected him most cruel and definitely, what was she doing sneaking into his library in the middle of the night, now? Their lips parted and they gazed at each other like strangers. The ice wall of pain and suspicion was between them once again.

“You’ve got some nerve coming here like this”, Lord Langdon picked his glass of wine again and took a sip. And Mallory thought that he was right, but not in the way he was thinking. “Did your Supreme tell you to come and beg me for mercy?”, the look in his eyes made it clear that there was no mercy left in him anymore. “I wanted to see you when no one else was around, Lord Langdon”, these last two words tasted like poison in her lips, “I needed to know who this man you’ve become truly is”. With a bitter chuckle he got up from his armchair and slowly walked around her “Well, take a good look then, what do you see?”. Mallory got herself up, and looked him straight in the eyes “A little boy in a Lord’s clothes”.

Michael closed the distance between them in less than a second, his face glowing with anger, so close she could feel his breath on her lips “I should have you killed for this insolence, Witch!” It wasn’t the first time she saw Michael’s face become the white-faced demon in his fury, but it was the first time that fury was aimed towards her “And why don’t you?”, she said it with a confidence she didn’t really feel. “A quick death is too simple for you, I want you to feel as I’ve felt. What it’s like to have your beating heart ripped from your chest and crushed before your very eyes. I want to take everything you hold dear, your home, your family... Everything! I want to see the despair in your eyes when you see what you thought was your life shatter to nothing. Because I know that despair, Mallory, you gave it to me the night you sent me away!”

“You think I don’t already know what it feels like? You think you’re the only one who’s lost something when you left... I died that night!! You want to break my heart, well you can’t: I’ve broken it, and in breaking it I have broken yours. And it has killed me. I’ve been nothing but a shell of the person I was. But I don’t regret it, because it saved your life. My heart, my soul, my own life are nothing to me if they can buy you freedom and safety, and that’s what I did. And it cost me everything. And I paid it gladly, knowing you were still alive somewhere in the world. And now you are back, talking of revenge. It is you who’s got some nerve, Lord Langdon, not me!”, Mallory’s eyes were all but sending sparks to the air, it was like the girl herself was on fire as she said those words, with her flushed cheeks and heaving chest leaving no room for anyone to doubt the truth in her words.

For the first time Michael revisited the memories of that night without being blinded by his own pain, and Mallory’s heartbreak was so obvious now. He could remember the pain in her eyes and her voice, and how desperately she had fought to hide them. “You lied... to save me?”, Michael was speaking in the smallest voice, again the little boy she had known not the devilish Lord Langdon. And it was that voice what broke her, all the pain she had spent five years holding in bursted out of her in a flood of tears and sobs she almost collapsed under. But Michael caught her with sure hands and pulled her to himself, holding his precious girl in his arms one more time. And she let herself cry freely in the shelter of those loving arms.

It’s like they forgot everything the minute they were together again. That the Coven would have killed him, what Mallory had to say to make him leave, all those years apart, Michael’s thirst for revenge... everything was forgotten, only that moment mattered. That they were back in each other’s arms. That she had always loved him and he, in his turn, had never stopped loving her. A love that even time would lie down and be still for. They kissed like it was the beginning and the end of the world. All the longing slowly turning to a thirst, the desperate desire to become one once again, right there in the library. “We’ll never be parted again, Mallory, we belong together”, he gasped the words between passionate kisses, “I will be a King in this new world that I’m building, and you will be my Queen.”

It hit Mallory like ice-cold water was poured over her head. “Michael, what... What are you talking about?”, she looked at him with fear in her eyes, “you’re still going to go through with your plan?”. “Why, of course I am!”, he seemed puzzled by her question, “more than ever now that I’ve got you by my side, my love! The Coven wanted me dead, and tearing us apart all but killed us... the world would be better off without the witches!”. “Michael, I am witch. It’s my family you’re talking about...”, Mallory had to do her best to keep herself from shivering from the cold she felt in her heart. “Your family who kept secrets from you? Who would have me killed before I could know what I’m capable of? What you are capable of... they did everything to keep you on a leash all these years and called it love, Mallory... you can be so much more, and by my side you will be!”, he misread the shock in her eyes and pulled her to his chest again to soothe her, giving a kiss to the top of her head, “I know it’s a lot to take in on one night, Mal... give yourself some time to work it out. It will all make sense...”, he gently stroked her hair and rested his cheek against her head, while Mallory was frozen in fear in his arms.

Mallory returned to the Manor that night carrying doom on her shoulders. Michael would be waiting for her answer, and then he would put his plan back in motion. With or without Mallory by his side. But she simply had no answer to give. None of the options seemed like a solution. She couldn’t simply join Michael and watch him destroy the Coven and the life she had built for herself. But she didn’t have the strength to give him up once again, now that they had been reunited against all odds. She wanted to go straight to her bedroom, as silent as possible, before someone would find her and ask her what news she brought from the Grange. The entire Manor seemed to be asleep, and she thanked the Goddess for this small blessing.

Once again, Mallory used her magic to go unnoticed into the house. As she passed by the parlour, she saw that Zoe and Kyle were there sharing a chaise longue, holding each other close and talking in whispers. They wouldn’t have noticed that she was there even if she hadn’t been using a concealing spell, they were just too focused on each other to pay attention to anything else in the world. They were looking into each others eyes and kissing slowly and gently. Making promises of eternal love, come what may, and of doing their very best to protect each other against whatever darkness might fall upon them. And in that moment Mallory’s broken heart hated them. She resented the simplicity of their love, and every single happy couple she had ever met. Why were people allowed to find each other and live happily together, while Mallory and Michael had to have so much pain and misery between them. Then she remembered that Kyle Spencer had already died and been brought back to life through an elaborate ritual. Nothing was as simple as it seemed. And she decided to put her resentment aside and take her shattered heart to bed.

In the morning, Mallory was once again spared to have to report her conversation with Michael to the Coven, since everyone else in the Manor had their attentions diverted by an unexpected visitor: Madison Montgomery. Even more unexpectedly, she was there to profess her undying loyalty to the Coven. She told them of how Lady Mead had stolen her body the night they left the Grange, and brought her back through a dark magic ritual. But according to Madison’s story, they had done so because they thought having a witch on their side would be some form of leverage for them. So she bid her time, waiting for a chance to escape and go back home. She swore she was never on their side, specially because everyone in Lord Langdon’s household seem a little too pleased with the idea of having a witch on their leash.

The Coven didn’t even have time to question the truth in Madison’s words, as they were interrupted by another unexpected visitor. Lord Langdon, himself. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to betray us, Madison. To be honest, I never thought you capable of waiting an entire night to come wagging your tail back to Lady Cordelia.”, even though those words had been spoken in a quiet voice from outside the Manor, everyone in the parlour could hear them loud and clear inside their heads. “You should run! Assemble the Coven in the woods, come up with a plan to take him down... I’ll hold him off for as long as I can!”, Madison was already walking towards the door when Lady Cordelia reached her. The Supreme held on to Madison in a maternal way that none of them was used to “I can’t let you do this, my dear girl... it’s not fair”, she touched Madison’s face, tears welling in both women’s eyes. “Fair or not, it’s the only way...”, Madison lifted her hand and tenderly touched the one that was resting against her cheek, “Go!”, she smiled bravely at Lady Cordelia.

The first two people Michael saw leaving the Manor were Kyle and Zoe. And he felt the same kind of resentment Mallory had felt the night before. Everything was so simple for those two. They both had everything they ever wanted... Zoe wouldn’t even let Kyle stay dead, for crying out loud! That’s where it all went wrong. When Kyle came into the Manor and Michael was reduced to his apprentice. And Zoe was just an ordinary witch, not the next Supreme, they could live together as equals to everyone else’s eyes. Michael had to work hard to make himself worthy of Mallory, and even then it was never enough. And the Coven would repay his efforts by murdering him. It was unbearable to live in a world where Kyle Spencer had everything he’d ever wanted, and Michael had nothing.

He didn’t even have to snap his fingers now, Michael would just roll his eyes back for a moment and Zoe’s body would be in flames. And not just any flames, that strange heatless fire of his, that could destroy souls as well as bodies, and in a few seconds Zoe was gone from this world and the next. Kyle lost his mind, screaming in fury from the deepest places of his own soul, he turned to charge on Lord Langdon. But with the slightest wave of one hand, Michael sent him flying against the nearest wall, and Kyle fell unconscious to the ground. Unconsciousness seemed to be enough for the time being. Killing Mr Spencer was not in his plans, at least not in his immediate plans. He wanted to enjoy the other’s desperation at the loss of his beloved one for a while. And he wanted to witness the moment when the so-called Protector of the Coven would find every single one of the witches under his care dead. Only then Michael would kill him.

Madison came rushing out of the Manor, half mad with pain. In the end, she felt for Zoe’s sudden demise, the same way Zoe had been inconsolable when Madison disappeared all those years before. She looked at her former master, furious tears running down her cheeks, but the cold look she found there was almost amused “Oh, Madison... I could pretend your betrayal is in any way a surprise, but that would be if I had ever trusted your loyalty to begin with.” Anger made Madison forget her fear of Lord Langdon for a moment “You stole me from my family, you made me your slave... you couldn’t expect me to simply stand aside while you murdered everyone I had ever cared about? Even you couldn’t be that stupid, Farm Boy...”, the last two words carried all her despise for the so-called Lord. “You have lived both your lives as the Coven’s little bitch. And now you’re gonna die like one.”, Michael snapped his fingers once and Madison’s head disappeared in a bloody explosion, like Lady Mead’s hounds’ had when he was a child.

Michael Langdon opened his arms, his eyes rolling back again, and what had been a clear sky was now heavy with dark clouds. And inside the Manor witches were dropping like flies all around. One by one, all the students in Lady Robichaux’s School were dying. The four women in the Parlour now - Lady Cordelia, Misty Day, Myrtle Snow and Mallory - were facing the massacre, horrified, not knowing what they could do to stop it. He wanted them to leave the Manor and face him. Michael’s revenge wasn’t simply about killing the witches, he wanted to drive them crazy with hopelessness and despair before the end. Lady Cordelia knew what she had to do, and she knew she had no choice. “Ladies, I love you more than my own life”, she reached out and held her beloved Misty’s hand, “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to lead this Coven safely into the next Century.” And without giving the others a chance to respond, she walked out into the dark day. To face whatever fate, and Michael, had in store for her.

Lady Cordelia stepped out of the Manor looking every bit as regal and powerful as the Ladies of the Lake in the ancient times of Avalon. “So you decided to face me”, Michael was not impressed, “even though I know you can feel, as much as I can, that your powers are fading as the new Supreme rises.” It was true. Cordelia had been feeling it for months, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he had hit a chord “I am not afraid of you, young man”. Michael chuckled, seeming positively amused now, “You should know this is pointless. Deep down you know I was always going to win, Lady Supreme.” Cordelia forced herself to smile back at him “Oh, but you haven’t. Darkness has only one son. But my sisters are a Legion!”, she took her silver cerimonial blade from her belt, and without taking her eyes from Michael’s she plunged the blade into her own heart in a sure movement. Time stood still for a moment, and even the raging storm that was gathering in the sky was silent. The only sound they could hear was Myrtle Snow’s heartbreaking cry, her sorrow at the loss of the darling girl she had raised weighting in the air.

“She performed the Sacred Taking”, Misty’s shock came out in a breathy whisper, unable to hold back her tears, “she sacrificed herself to give full power to the next Supreme. Why would she do that?”, shock was turning into heartbroken hysteria, “Why now? We don’t even know who the next Supreme is”. But they did. Mallory turned to look at the older witch, tears streaming down her own face as well, her eyes wide at the realisation. “Oh no, Mal. Don’t.”, Misty pulled Mallory to a desperate last embrace, “Don’t leave me here alone!!”. Mallory held tight to her dear mentor, feeling the surge of power in her bones, running through her veins like a lightning bolt. She knew this was how it had to be. That she was the only one who could face Michael Langdon as an equal. “It will all be alright, Misty”, she said in a soft voice and gently kissed her on the forehead. She walked out on poor, sobbing Misty and neither witch had ever felt more alone.

When Mallory found Michael, the ashes of what had been Myrtle Snow were still warm at his feet. With a wave of her hand, the dark clouds went away and the sun was shining on the moors again. For the first time since his return, Michael doubted himself, his purpose and his resolve, looking at Mallory. She was heartbroken, but still had all the power of the Goddess with her. She walked towards him, not without fear, and looked him in the eyes “How did we come to this, my love?”, she asked with all honesty. “It doesn’t have to be like this, Mal... you can still join me. The two of us will be more powerful than anything the world has ever seen...”, his words might have been full of authority, had his voice not betrayed the desperation in his soul.

None of them could simply raise a hand to hurt the other. The death of one would be the death of both. Michael understood that, even through all the years he had spent planning his revenge, there was a part of him that never stopped believing that Mallory would join him again, and that they would rule the new world he was creating side by side. Mallory, in her turn, was incapable of making herself believe that the Michael she had known and loved would do what this Lord Langdon was doing now. But the evidence was undeniably all around her, the Coven had been massacred. Only Misty Day was still alive inside the Manor, trying desperately to perform the Vitalum Vitalis on her fallen sisters, but all her powers had left her when Lady Cordelia died. She could no longer be the bringer of light in the Coven when the light of her life had been extinguished.

“I can’t let you do this, Michael, I’m not here for myself. I’m here for all the witches of the Avalon lineage. Everything depends on me, now...”, tears were rolling freely from her eyes, and Michael understood that Mallory’s stakes were simply higher than his own. She was fighting for something bigger than herself, others relied on her. She really did have a family she loved in the Coven and they loved her, while he had spent all his life gathering power and followers. In the end, he had never had any chance of ever being worthy of Mallory. “Then take this burden from me”, he held her hands while he pleaded, “set me free!”. When she understood the meaning of his request, she shook her head in panic “No, Michael, please! Don’t make me do this!”.

This would be his final act of love. Michael had been born from evil, and evil was the only thing he had known in his life... except for Mallory. She was the only thing that was good and pure, the only person who had ever truly loved him for himself, and in spite of his darkness. He couldn’t bestow that darkness upon her. Make her a murderess and send her into damnation. He kissed the hands he was holding, soft and slowly, before he reached inside his own chest, his eyes never leaving hers, and ripped his own heard out. He placed the bloody organ, still somehow stubbornly beating, on the palms of her hands, and his body fell lifeless to the ground at her feet, as she felt his last heartbeat fading in her hands. The heart she held burst into heatless flames, and was gone at the same time the light left his eyes.

Misty Day was brought outside by Mallory’s desperate cry, and found the girl cradling the body of her beloved one, the image of a dark Pietà, running blood-stained fingers through his golden locks and kissing the cold, lifeless lips, smudging his beautiful face with his own blood and her tears. The painful sight brought Misty to her knees, covering her face in her hands, listening to Mallory ramble in misery “I killed him, Misty... not with my own hands, but I killed him...”, in her despair, Mallory started talking to Michael’s corpse “I killed you... haunt me, then!! Be with me always... take any form... drive me mad!! Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!! Oh, Goddess!! I cannot live without my life!! I cannot live without my soul!!”

Taglist: @blakewaterxx @burn-thevvitch @ccodyfern @certifiedmoth @consultingsnowqueen @crossdressingpirate-deactivated @ghostwithangeleyes @hecohansen31 @kalam22 @kirchnvrs @lathraios @laying-with-the-devil @michael-langdon-appreciation @mvllorylvngdon @mytrash-mylife @no-need-for-rules @nuke-em-from-orbit @psychobitchtess @queen-of-quotes @rocketgirl2410 @rosegoldrichie @sophiegracejreylo @suspirateux @tayfinities @touch-in-the-night @wvntersldr @xavierplympton

#American Horror Story #AHS Apocalypse #Michael Langdon #Mallory #Cody Fern #Billie Lourd #AHS Brontë AU #Wuthering Heights #MCA #Millory #Fanfiction #Whatever Souls Are Made Of

[desiredposion]

1.22 Devils Trap

I’m not much of a writer but I started this story on my wattpad almost a year ago a decided to upload the first chapter to see how it did on here and see if i could fall in love with writing again.

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Idjits - 1.22 Devils Trap

Walking down the street towards Singer Salvage Yard a young teenage girl was lost in the music pouring through her headphones. Air drumming and humming along to the lyrics all the way up the salvage yard to Rumsfeld, the dog, who managed to get on the hood of one of Uncle Bobby's trucks.

"How you doing buddy?" She asked giving him a scratch behind the ear before noticing the classic black '67 Impala parked outside the house. Alarm bells rang in her head and she held her breath listening for any possible yelling coming from the house, hearing nothing a sigh of relief passed her lips. Silently walking towards the house catching glimpses of conversation before ultimately sucking up any fear and opening the front door.

"Bobby, thanks. Thanks for everything. To tell you the truth, I wasn't sure we should come."

"Nonsense. Your Daddy needs help." Once in the messy front room she could clearly see her carer as well as her older brother with a flask in each of their hands.

"Well, yeah, but last time we saw you, I mean, you threatened to blast him full of buckshot . Cocked the shotgun and everything" Bobby smirked at this and Riley couldn't help but to smile at the memory, the day Uncle Bobby became more then just an uncle.

"Yeah, well, what can I say? John just has that effect on people."

Dean nodded and smirk also appeared on his face, "Yeah, I guess he does."

"Damn right he does. Hiya Dean, long time no see." Standing awkwardly in front of Deans gaze before heading over to Bobby and giving him a hug. "Hi Bobby, good day?"

"Great day sweetheart" he said reciprocating the hug and giving the girl a kiss on her head before turning his attention back to Dean who had yet to say anything, "none of that matters now. All that matters is that you get him back."

"What trouble did he get himself into now?" Riley mumbled under my breath with an eye roll as she went to the kitchen to get  an after school snack, feeling the lingering eyes of Dean on her back. 'I guess I have changed quite a bit since the last time we saw each other, suppose he's just getting over the shock of it all.' She thought to herself.

"Bobby, this book... I've never seen anything like it" blocking out part of their conversation focusing on homework. She already had an idea on what they were talking about, Bobby was big on teaching her how to protect herself and others without the constant need of hunting and finding a fight that wasn't theirs to begin with. She liked it better then the hunting life she was destined for, being buried in a book and keeping the phones was more her style and she was proud of that, John, not so much.

Before long Riley was brought out of her thoughts at the sound of Rumsfeld barking up a storm before letting out a loud, heartbreaking whine. She quickly walked back into the main room looking at Bobby by the window, "Somethings wrong."

Before she could even take a step towards the door it was kicked in and in stepped some young blonde chick, she quickly recognized her as a demon from the way she threw Dean across the room when he went at her with the Holy Water. Riley was the next to be thrown across the room landing next to Dean. "Isn't it nice to be back in action sis?" Dean asked helping the girl sit up.

"I wouldn't exactly call it nice." she answered quietly with an eye roll and a small groan of pain.

"I want the Colt, Sam - the real Colt - right now." The demon chick demanded to the  last Winchester standing.

"We don't have it on us. We buried it."

"Didn't I say 'no more crap'? I swear, after everything I heard about you Winchesters, I got to tell you, I'm a little underwhelmed. First Johnny tries to pawn off a fake gun, and then he leaves the gun with you two chuckle heads. Secondly no one seemed able to find your sister and yet here it is hidden in plain sight. Lackluster, kiddos. I mean, did you really think I wouldn't find you?"

"Actually, we were counting on it." Dean smirked glancing up at the Devils Trap painted on the ceiling of the old house. A breathy laugh left Dean's lips as he pushed himself up from the ground, hauling his sister up also, "gotcha."

After making that the demon, Meg, was secured and trapped in the Devils Trap Bobby had painted Riley and Bobby made the rounds salting every door and window of the house, before long the girl was standing by the front door looking out to where her favorite dog was last seen.

"I salted the doors and windows. If there are any demons out there - they ain't getting in. I'm going to go check on Riley." Bobby's rough voice floated through the house, she could practically feel his fatherly presence behind her before he even spoke, "he's gone isn't he?"

"'fraid so kid, 'fraid so." She felt the tears well up in her eyes but refused to let them fall, "I know you loved him and if you want to cry then no one will judge you." His hand rub soothing circles on Riley's back and arms, she crossed her arms and shook her head.

"No. It's alright, these things happen in our line of work, don't they? You might want to go sort those boys out before they do something they regret. I'll be in my room finishing my homework."

The older man sighed, knowing that the girl who has become like a daughter to him was upset and that put him into an even worse mood. Letting her grieve and get some school work done, Bobby walked to the brothers helping them get answers from the demon chick.

Before long Riley came down stairs just as Bobby walked through the door leading into the hallways, this time with Sam and Dean in tow. "You okay?" Sam asked.

"Shes lying. He's not dead." Dean said though it seems like he was trying to convince not only everyone else but himself the most.

"Dean, you've got to be careful with her. Don't hurt her" Bobby said.

"Why?"

"Because she really is a girl. That's why."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked

"She's possessed. That's a human possessed by a demon, can't you tell?" Riley explained finally contributing to the conversation.

"Are you trying to tell me there's an innocent girl trapped somewhere in there?" Dean asked earning nods from both Bobby and his sister. He then turns to look through the door at Meg before turning back to us. "That's actually good news."

Whilst the three men got ready to perform an exorcism, Riley went into the kitchen getting any supplies ready that they may need for the poor girl who was taking as a meat suit. Yelling from both Dean and Meg could be heard throughout the entire house so Riley tried to drown it out with music. When the screaming had finally stopped she breathed a sigh of relief allowing for the music to take over system once again. Through that only lasted a moment when Bobby rushing in with a blanket looking for a glass of water and the supplies Riley had gotten out. She got up and trailed along behind him seeing the girl that had been possessed lying on the ground looking awfully broken. Taking the glass from Bobby she went to the girl's head, holding it up and allowing for her to take slow sips.

"If Dad's still alive, none of that matters." Dean said, helping Sam to cover her up.

"Where is the demon we're looking for?" Sam asked Meg.

"Not there. Other ones. Awful ones." Meg spoke with a massive strain to her voice, a clear indication of the battles she went through.

"Where are they keeping our Dad?" Dean asked.

"By the river. Sunrise." Meg spoke with one last shaky breath. Riley held the girl's head in her hands looking for any sign of life but there was none.

"'Sunrise.' What does that mean? What does that mean?" Dean asked but stopped when Riley shook her head. Meg was gone, finally experiencing some peace after the last few months or years of absolute hell.

The house became silent for a short period. "You better hurry up and beat it. Before the paramedics get here."

"What are you going to tell them?" Dean asked.

"What you think you guys invented lying to the cops? I'll figure something out." Bobby picks up the Key of Solomon handing it to Sam. "Here take this. You might need it."

"Thanks Bobby" he said taking the book from the older man.

"Hey Ry, what do you say about tagging along? We could sure use some help down there and having our little sister back would be pretty cool. Just like old times." Dean said to his sister with a hopeful expression on his face. She would admit that she missed her brothers but the hunting life just wasn't cut out for her and it would not be a pretty sight when John and her meet again.

"Thanks but I - uh. I think I'm going to stay behind help Bobby clean up the place, plus I've got a ton of school work due tomorrow that I can't skip out on. Maybe next time?" She ask feasibly.

"Yeah, uh sure. Thanks... for everything. Be careful, alright?" He said to the duo.

"You just go find your Dad and when you do, you bring him around would you? I won't even try to shoot him this time." They say our goodbyes then get to work tiding the house before the paramedics arrive and they handed over Meg with a more believable story then the Winchester boys could've ever thought of.

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The next morning Riley wake to a voicemail from an unfamiliar number.

Hey Ry, it's me Sam. Listen there was this accident and I... well... it's Dean. They don't think he's gonna make it. Could you please just call me back? We need you.

#supernatural #winchester #supernatural x reader #supernaturalxsister!reader #supernaturalfic #deanwinchester #samwinchester #bobby #seasonone #spn #spnfandom #spn fanfiction

[arcanalogue]

The Tower + The Force of Impact

This week is a sort of special anniversary for me. Exactly five years ago, I fell through the fire escape outside a friend’s apartment and broke three ribs. It was a serious injury, the bones were “grossly displaced” (I was morbidly delighted to learn this term), and the healing was very slow. And friends, as some of you may remember, the timing absolutely could not have been worse. 

You see, just a month beforehand I’d moved out of the apartment I’d shared with my partner of over a decade. Not sure of my next steps, I packed everything into a storage unit, like so:

The unit was located in this fascinating old historical building, an old glue factory which had been converted into public storage. I’d ridden my bike past it so many times, I took a perverse pleasure in finally having an excuse to go inside, rent a tiny piece of it:

From there I embarked on a month of traveling across the country, mainly to get a leg up financially by not having to pay rent. It didn’t work! And when I returned to the city, I kept everything in storage while I took shelter in a temporary room I could scarcely afford. I decided to keep it monastically empty, like so:

Not even a bed to sleep in, because beds are FURNITURE, and furniture is not only EXPENSIVE, but signifies a symbolic COMMITMENT to the way things are going to be for a while. 

I was determined to avoid defining my new reality that haphazardly, This, I imagined, was my one big chance to find the path forward, into THE FUTURE.  I wanted to remain staggeringly open-minded, which would require the utmost clarity and simplicity. Starting anew with only the basics, I would hone my sensitivities and let them guide me to what was truly important. 

And thus, the only piece of luggage I brought to the temporary room was the suitcase containing all of my ritual equipment, like so:

But then, within a week of setting up in the new space, came the fall. And with the injury came the kind of pain and fear that you simply can’t retreat from. I couldn’t rest, couldn’t think. I could barely commute to my storage space, let alone haul anything back from it. I didn’t have any goddamned money. Overnight, that spartan living space appeared quite different to me: it was devoid of comfort, and of possibilities. I was just a person with nothing, trapped in the borderlands, and my surroundings reflected that. 

You almost had to laugh. Except I couldn’t, it hurt my bones.

I’ll spare you the gory details, but that winter ended up drop-kicking me into the deepest depression since my early twenties. There’s a special component of failure that age imparts to illness: fifteen years of growth, of important milestones and observations, but suddenly none of that is useful, or even accessible. Poof, gone.

And that carefully-packed suitcase full of ceremonial tchotchkes? It might as well have been filled with sand.  

I made a lot of terrible decisions that winter, but can’t bring myself to regret them. I also made a lot of okay-ish decisions, and even some pretty good ones, all considered. A drowning person will grab onto anything that floats. At one point I spent about $200 of the money I didn’t have on new clothes: red socks, red pants, red sweaters, red everything. My gothic black-and-gray wardrobe suddenly felt like it was killing me, pulling me down. I needed to draw power from an external source, and color seemed to help.

That was the winter I began using the Salvador Dali tarot deck – I’d actually purchased it just hours before falling from that fire escape. 

One of the few joys during those long months was discovering that these cards finally made sense to me, seemed to come alive in my hands. When I’d first explored them fifteen years earlier, Dali’s abstract impressions of the arcana had been too advanced for me; now the deck had practical use.   

The colors in these cards inspired me to start painting again, and when I couldn’t think of anything to practice on, I’d just copy illustrations from the deck. It didn’t feel like I was making art, just crudely using water to push the paint around, constraining my focus to subjects that brought the kind of comfort and illumination that expired opioids barely scratched at. 

The winter passed, and then the spring, and I managed to pull it all together just in time to lose it again, in the fall. Another heartbreak, concurrent with another physical injury, and many of the same conditions: another temporary room with no bed, my best things in storage, nothing in particular on the horizon suggesting that significant change was possible. Again. Again.

One of the ugliest parts of all this was knowing how much worse it could get, how many people have it much harder every single day. Some end up living their entire lives that way. Having risen out of such conditions earlier in life, I’d always been sympathetic to those who were still trapped; now, even sliding backward into hell, it felt uncharitable to complain too noisily.

However... and this is a pretty big however... I hate the idea of failure so passionately. It’s offensive to me on a profound level. Having climbed out of the depths of complete isolation and a shitty, abusive childhood, having catapulted myself across the country and gradually proved (to me, if no one else) how frightfully attainable so many dreams can be... 

All that effort, and for what? To just implode and lay there dying in a nest of red socks? 

From the first day I put my things in storage inside the historic Miller building, I wanted to climb it. Not the outside, silly. I wanted to find out how high one could actually ascend into that great big noggin perched on top. Considering how much of NYC building stewardship seems to resolve around making things LESS INTERESTING, I assumed it would be completely inaccessible.

I was wrong, friends. There was a staircase in the middle of the building that went up, up, all the way up! Due to a fair amount of recent construction on that wide plane of roof halfway up, they hadn’t bothered to block anything off. And from that midpoint, the stairs just kept going up. How far?

Finding out would be tricky, because I couldn’t afford to get caught and risk having my rental agreement canceled. And then once I broke my ribs, urban exploration was off the agenda for quite some time. 

But at some point in 2015, I actually went back and climbed it several times, went all the way up. 

On the plus side, there seemed to be no security cameras in the stairwell... but also, above the roof level there was no electricity, and the wooden stairs from that point upward hadn’t been inspected in... gosh, maybe fifty years?

Don’t worry, I was as “careful” as one could possibly be, even if there seemed to be nothing left to lose.

In that middle section of the building, three stories worth of crumbling wooden staircases climbed in total darkness brought one to the final threshold: a ladder leading to that uppermost chamber, the steps thin enough to bounce slightly underfoot.

It seems ungrateful to describe what I found up there “anticlimactic.” What did I expect, skulls hanging by the eye-sockets from chains? It was simply musty and derelict and mostly undisturbed. A bit of light came in from cracks between the boards, reminding me that I was at least a hundred feet above street level.

I had wanted to find some kind of ultimate truth up there in the darkness, even if it scared me all the way to death. So, the excitement of setting foot in a space that had remained unoccupied for so many years seemed like a mere consolation prize. I’d been bracing myself to be shattered, torn all the way apart. 

Why was it almost a disappointment to survive, to ease myself back down the rickety ladder, descend those crumbling staircases through the guts of the Miller building, and scamper out onto the sidewalk no worse for wear, no one the wiser, completely unwarned and unscathed? To face the daylight again, no end to this journey in sight?

That’s how I feel sometimes about all the wonders that have come into my life since then, five years onward. The residual gloom isn’t dark enough to be horrifying, and the illumination is never quite bright enough to dispel the shadows. 

I prayed to find this kind of equilibrium, and worked my way toward it so painstakingly; it’s such tedious work, if only because the extremes can be so attractive. The motion of flying back and forth between them is so exhilarating, the impact of a high-speed collision so marvelously unambiguous.

But if it’s truth you seek, the tedious work is literally all there is. Here’s a quote cadged from the last chapter of that book I’ve been studying again lately, Meditations on the Tarot: A Journey into Christian Hermeticism:

“He who aspires to authentic spiritual experiences never confounds the intensity of the experience undergone with the truth that is revealed — or is not revealed — through it, i.e. does not regard the force of impact of an inner experience as a criterion of its authenticity and truth. For an illusion stemming from the sphere of mirages can bowl you over, whilst a true revelation from above can take place in the guise of a scarcely perceptible inner whispering.”

Ah, but some of us have to learn everything the hard way. 

Five years onward, I’m still the same person, would probably make all these decisions the same way. The only difference is that I can finally hear the whispering, a steady stream of it, and doubt I’ll ever again confuse the intensity of an experience with its “authenticity,” whatever that is. And the more urgently I’m tempted to do so, the more I have to question what it is I really hope to find out there, in the vastness of the future.

There’s a notorious phenomenon described as “failing up,” wherein some people manage to succeed in spite of their obvious shortcomings, spared certain consequences due to certain privileges such as wealth, gender, racial identity, etc.

But I want you to know, friends, that despite certain inescapable factors, there’s hope for any of us. Down can become up quite suddenly, and up can let you down. You can get flattened by a feather, or trip over a shoelace and end up on the roof.

You just have to stay alive long enough to see what happens next. And then for five minutes after that. 

And then, gradually, five minutes at a time, this becomes five years. That’s about all I can really say about it from experience.

Wait, that’s not true: thank you, all of you, for helping me span those years and find my footing up and down the ladder. 

Here’s hoping that we’re still brushing past each other in the dark in another five years, on our way to... somewhere, anywhere, but slowly, and according to scarcely perceptible whispers. 

#triumphs #the tower #major arcana #tarot cards #depression