#Rotate Cell Content

[httpsserene]

if you’re still taking requests for your 3k celebration… #9 from the pre relationship prompts with lando pleaseeeee 💗 congrats on 3k and love ur writing sm !!

#3k vday cells

🛞  tread’s uneven: time for a tire rotation! — send me a driver and a prompt from this list of pre-relationship prompts, or these established relationship prompts, or these hurt/comfort prompts, and i’ll write a blurb or drabble for you xxx (prompt lists are made by me!)

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. missing f1 so much i'm watching the practice session tonight! three minutes and counting !!! happy 3k🤍 babe < 3 thank u for celebrating with me !!!

⌕ 3k v-day celly nav | all 3k requests | main nav | table of contents ↻

#𝟗. leaving a date early because the person didn't do something that you usually do. fem!black!reader x lando norris.

lando’s only known this woman for three weeks and this is the first date they’ve had—he’s infatuated with her already.

he’s not naive enough to think that he’s in love, however he can puzzle out his feelings of infatuation. she makes him feel heard and seen, in a way very few people in his life do, like you or max. he likes her intelligence, her dedication to her interests and hobbies, her sharp humor, her love and loyalty for those she trusts, her ambition, and the way she’s clearly fond of him already. lando likes seeing the spread of her lips when she smiles, the bashful manner she ducks her head when he flirts; he likes the way she begs lando to stop adding to his jokes whenever he keeps making her laugh to the point where her ribs begin to hurt—all of these traits reminiscent of you, he recognizes.

their server places their appetizers on the table and lando thinks that he can’t wait to introduce you to her. he knows your personalities would mesh nicely.

it’s not like he’s interested in her because she’s exactly like you—that would be weird. she’s doesn’t have the same style as you, or the same tenderness that bleeds through your gaze when you look at him. she doesn’t have the same care to deal with his self-deprecation, or the same willingness to consider lando’s ideas for your next hairstyle.  she doesn’t have the same ability to understand what he’s feeling by observing his body language, or the same ability to communicate through a brief second of eye contact.

she’s not one of his closest friends like you are.

but, there’s time for that to develop—lando’s only just met the woman last month. and, it’s not weird that she kind of looks like you, it’s just a coincidence. like how the last two women he went out with looked like you in different fonts. 

maybe, lando has a type. is that a crime? 

max thinks so, like it’s the damning evidence that proves him guilty in the case of him liking you as more than a friend. lando does like you, enough to think that you’ve usurped max’s title as best friend because of how he’s been harassing lando about his inability to recognize that he’s in love with you; which he isn’t.

lando has a lot of love for you, of course—he told you as such a few nights ago, when he made himself comfortable on the piles of throw pillows you keep on your bed, while venting to you about how he snapped at max because he wouldn’t stop trying to pressure him into admitting that he has a crush on you, which once again, he doesn’t have. 

the only reason lando’s not pettily ignoring the other man is because you made him see that it was quite stupid to fall out with his oldest friend over something so unimportant. 

lando attributed the unsteadiness of your voice around the word ‘unimportant’ as a sign of exhaustion since it was well after midnight at this point. he felt worse after learning he kept you up late after you suffered through a lengthy, demanding work day. you brushed him off with a small smile, one lando knew was more polite rather than genuine from years of knowing you. even though he had been inconsiderate, you refused to let him drive home this late in the night, guilt-tripping him to stay in your guest room because you knew he wouldn’t want to upset you further. 

it’s not like he had a good reason to fight you on it either, with him already having multiple changes of clothes in your dresser from how often he stays over.

“lando?” his date calls, a worried tilt to her brows (slightly different from yours), “are you okay? your nachos are getting cold.”

he blinks, dismissing her concerns with a shake of his head and grabs a chip. he attentively listens to the dramaticized and amusing way she retells her experience about needing to spill red wine on her friend’s mother-in-law and sister-in-law after they wore white to the wedding, mindlessly prodding around his dish to carefully pick out the jalapeños to gather them in a little pile on the edge of his plate.

“…not white sundresses, or even white evening gowns! they blatantly wore wedding dresses! like who—,” she stops abruptly, causing lando to look up, and she asks, “you don’t eat jalapeños?”

“oh,” lando chuckles, “no, not really. i’m a bit of a picky eater.”

her expression lightens with understanding, “i know you’re a little finicky about fish, but i didn’t know it went beyond that. why didn’t you just ask to have the nachos without them?” 

“‘suppose I forgot to ask this time around,” lando offers, his smile shrinking at her use of ‘finicky’ to describe his dislike of fish.  

you’re the one who reminds him to ask for changes to his meal when he neglects to do so. oftentimes, lando keeps the jalapeños because he knows that you like to eat them.

“do you want to try the nachos? the cheese is so rich, there’s no chance you won’t like it—,”

“—i’m okay. i don’t like sharing meals, i’d rather eat what i ordered myself, you know?” she says, like it was a given that lando would know.

the thing is, he doesn’t know. when he’s with you, the two of you always share a bite or two. there’s been times where the two of you swapped plates when you enjoyed the other’s more. 

she continues divulging the drama that occurred after she had stained both wedding gowns red, and lando can’t focus on the storyline anymore. 

it’s weird of him to fixate on something as trivial as her not wanting to taste his food—it’s insane for him to feel the attraction he had for her start to dwindle because of it. she’s the perfect for him; he likes her personality, he thinks she’s attractive—lando feels like there’s something missing. 

you’d remind him to forgo the jalapeños, you’d savor the richness of the cheese, and lando knows that because the nachos are your favorite starter at this restaurant. the two of you share the dish whenever you dine here. the only reason lando chose this place for tonight is because you told him that it was the ideal choice for a dinner date—

on the table, his phone rings through his do not disturb. their conversation pauses again, eyes dropping to look at the top of the screen where your name flashes across it. the contact photo he assigned to you illuminating the display: it’s you and him standing side by side in his garage after he won in singapore. he’s holding his trophy in one arm and the other is wrapped around your wait, tightly cradling you in a side hug. he’s staring at the camera with the biggest grin, his eyes crinkled from the strength of it. and instead of directing your pretty smile to the lens, you were looking at him with a wide grin, the picture capturing the immense happiness and pride you had for him.

his eyes flick up to meet his date’s, and he smiles awkwardly at her raised eyebrow, “sorry, i have to take this, it could be important.”

she gestures that it’s okay, and he answers the call, lifting the phone to his ear.

“hiiiii, lan,” the sing-song tone of your greeting is something lando’s heard countless times, but it’s the first it’s made his chest ache with adoration, “max has ordered me takeout tonight as payment for covering his turn of doing the check-in call, so is she a nice girl or do i need to phone the authorities?”

“well, did you order enough for two?” lando asks, his date frowning at him from across the table.

“i think i’ll be having enough leftovers for a week—wait, no, lando. unless you have a valid reason to ditch don’t do it, it’s rude. you can’t keep cutting your dates short to show up at my flat and steal my food, you bastard—,” 

“that’s all i needed to hear. i’m on the way,” lando doesn’t leave you a chance to respond, he hangs up and stands, mustering himself for the way your wrath will be multiplied as a result of him abruptly ending the call on you. 

“so that’s our nice evening over, i figure?” his date questions, her voice lighthearted through her soft frown.

he rambles apologetically, “you’ve just made me realize that i’ve been best friends with the love of my life for years because you don’t like to share food. she’s the one who puts up with my picky habits and i always feed her the first bite of my food to compensate for it. for the past year i’ve been going on dates with women who remind me of her—like you—instead of dating her. i’m so sorry, and i hope you can forgive me for wasting your time tonight.”

tension builds between them as she remains silent at his explanation, her face remaining blank for a minute before she breaks with a startled chuckle.

“if her and i are as similar as you say we are, you need to worry about whether she's going to forgive you for taking this long to notice that she’s been in love with you the entire time too.”

© httpsserene — do not reupload. photos in header from pinterest. divider by @cafekitsune.

[pathologicalreid]

the lost daughter | s.r.

in which JJ goes missing in the middle of the night, and Spencer's attempts to comfort you completely fall through

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: death, kidnapping, jareau!reader, takes place during 9x14 "200", caryatids, sibling loss, the british word count: 2.83k a/n: wrote this with my own sibling loss grief in mind so this is just me using fanfic as therapy. not sure if it's any good really. thanks for reading <3

You were already in the roundtable room by the time everyone came in, Penelope was making alarming faces at her laptop before she shook her head, “I’m trying,” she said. “I’m trying to pull data off of JJ’s phone, but it’s like level 9 security—it would make Snowden weep.”

Familiar hands settled on your shoulders, thumbs gently skimming over your collarbones as you watched the rest of the team sprawl around the room. “What about cell phone records?” Blake was next to speak, asking about your sister’s welfare when you couldn’t—too afraid of falling apart to so much as part your lips.

The look of desperation on Garcia’s face did nothing to comfort you, “Encrypted. JJ’s and Cruz’s.” With the disappointing news came a squeeze to your shoulders, Spencer’s silent attempt to comfort you without drawing too much attention to his movements.

Rossi shrugged, “That’s not surprising if they work for the State Department,” he reasoned, looking around the rest of the room.

You leaned back in the office chair, trying to remember how to place your feet on the ground, but it was hard when the soles of your shoes felt like a foreign sensation. “But if that assignment was a backstop,” Morgan started, “then JJ’s transfer as DOD Liaison was her cover.”

Spencer’s thumb ran from the base of your cervical spine to the base of your skull, working out a knot that had been there since you received a call from Will, asking if you knew where your sister was. “So, what was she really doing that year?” Spencer asked, the question sending a wave of goosebumps across your skin, fear making your blood run cold.

“That’s the first question Hotch is gonna ask,” Derek answered, easily slipping into the role of team leader in Hotch’s absence. “Strauss was pressured by the executive branch to push JJ’s transfer through in 2010, so she would have known the reason why.”

Your eyes immediately flicked to Rossi, wondering if Erin Strauss had divulged any state secrets over the duration of their relationship together. Though, you imagined Strauss maintained her oath of secrecy, much like your sister had in the three years since her reassignment. “Any assignment that Strauss authorized would be archived in the SCIF,” Spencer responded, his thumb smoothing over the hair at the nape of your neck.

Garcia looked alarmed, “That facility is code word classified.” She glanced around the room as if she was already searching for new ideas, but Derek seemed convinced.

His head bobbed, “Okay, but Anderson can get you in. He archives those reports,” he began to outline a plan. “Blake, Rossi, JJ couldn’t have used the SCIF without drawing attention. She probably has it foxholed right here in the BAU. We just need to find it,” his head rotated, meeting the gaze of everyone in the room—except for you.

“And what are you not telling us?” Blake asked, slipping both of her hands into the pockets of her blazer.

Morgan’s eyes dropped to meet yours, and you already knew what was coming. “Whoever took Cruz and JJ is highly trained and highly organized. Justice, defense, and state—they wouldn’t be on edge like this if this was a simple matter of two missing agents,” he explained.

You stiffened at his response, and Spencer restarted his ministrations, dropping his hands to your shoulders and working on your shoulder blades. “Is Hotch worried that the recovery won’t be made a priority?” Rossi asked, eyes flittering to you—even though they tried to hide it, everyone was sparing you nervous glances.

“It’s our job to find the leverage that assures it is. Let’s get it done,” Morgan said, nodding his head confidently before allowing the room to disperse.

Shaking off Spencer’s touch, he let you go without a fight, knowing that you wouldn’t be going anywhere far while your sister was still missing. You ducked your head, letting your hair curtain around your face while you walked out of the BAU, vaguely aware of the muttering that followed in your wake.

You shoved your way through the glass doors and turned the corner, practically throwing yourself into Morgan’s office before pressing your back to the wall and sliding down the drywall.

Visualizing the movement of air in and out of your lungs, you tried to teach yourself how to breathe normally. Something that was usually autonomic required more focus than usual, your thoughts so preoccupied with fear that you had to make a conscious effort to inhale and exhale.

The overwhelming feeling of impending doom hadn’t struck you until just then, sitting in the roundtable with your team and being left to wonder what might happen if you can’t convince the state to save your sister. You would have to call your mom and tell her that she’d have to bury another one of her daughters, Henry would have to grow up without his mother, and you would become an only child.

You never had to worry about being alone because you always had your sister, particularly in your adult life when you moved to D.C. JJ made a point to be dependable, to be someone that you could rely on no matter what was going on in her life, and the situation you found yourself in made you wonder if you never reciprocated. Her assignment was classified, but you wondered if she had ever tried to clue you into what she was doing during her time at the Pentagon. You wondered if she would’ve told you even if it was permitted.

It seemed too cruel. Parents weren’t supposed to have to bury their children and sisters weren’t meant to end up alone. The world couldn’t possibly be cruel enough to take JJ from you—she was the only sister you had left.

She promised you, after Roslyn died, that she’d never leave you alone. It was the most vivid memory you had from that early in your childhood. That period of time, from the moment JJ found her in the bathroom to the date of the funeral, you could recall it with alarming accuracy. For the longest time, you thought they were all manufactured, something you had dreamt up as if you were on a therapist’s couch.

But it was real, the fighting, the blood, the necklace—all of it was so devastatingly real.

Morgan’s office was cold, your fingertips frigid in the dim lamplight, you hadn’t even noticed your shadow until he was lowering himself to the ground in front of you, crisscrossing his legs so you were level. He leaned his head forward and set his chin on your knee, his posture so bad it would make dignitaries cry, but it allowed him to meet your eyes even while your head was tilted down.

You put your hands in a praying gesture and slid them between your thighs to warm them up, making eye contact with Spencer while he wiped at the tears on your cheeks. “What’s going through your head right now?” His voice was gentle, he didn’t want to push you, he just wanted to hear from you.

“The British Museum,” you answered because your fears of catastrophe would just worry him more.

He chuckled lightly at your answer, acknowledging that that was the last thing he expected you to say. “Can I ask why?”

Splaying out your fingers, you felt the sensation of the rough denim of your jeans on your knuckles—two of them split from hand-to-hand combat. You leaned your head back, focusing on your surroundings for a moment—Morgan’s office always smelled like cologne and a little bit like old man, which Penelope thought was the ghost of the agent that Derek had inherited his office from. “She was stolen from her sisters so long ago, and now no matter what anyone says or does, they won’t give her back,” you told him, your voice suddenly weak.

Emotion made your throat swell, and the way Spencer was tenderly skimming his fingertips over your thigh wasn’t helping. “Won’t give who back, honey?”

“The Caryatid,” you said urgently as if the answer should’ve been obvious to him. His eyes widened in response, maybe it concerned him that you were relating to a statue, and maybe it was right for him to be worried about you.

Six statues, constructed to support the roof of the Erechtheion in Greece, named after Caryae, which was an ancient town of Peloponnese. Vitruvius said they were constructed to represent the women of the town, women who were enslaved because the town sided with Xerxes during his second invasion of Greece.

Six sisters, built to carry burdens and remind people of the sin committed by Caryatid women.

Five statues, residing in the Acropolis Museum for their own protection while their sister lives alone in the British Museum because she was stolen. Taken by Lord Elgin and despite the insistence of those all over the world, she’s never been returned.

You wondered if she missed her sisters. If the arm she was missing had broken off when she was taken hundreds of years ago, and they had stopped her from reaching out to the only home she had ever known. You knew you would rather detach your own arm than live without your sister, you couldn’t bear the thought of not being a sibling anymore.

“I’m still here,” you whispered, looking straight forward and letting fresh tears fall from your eyes, “and when they’re both dead and I’m still here—what do I do?”

Spencer’s expression was pained, it killed him to know that there was nothing he could do to take your hurt away, it killed him to notice the way you wouldn’t meet his eyes. “She’s not going to die,” he insisted with an uncharacteristic note of optimism in his voice, producing hope when you had already scraped the bottom of that barrel.

Your nostrils flared in frustration, “You can’t promise me that.”

He nodded, “We are going to get her back, okay? We’ll get your sister back for you, and that is a promise.” Sad brown eyes bored into you, a sense of urgency that you very rarely saw in Spencer.

You shook your head, pulling your knees closer to your chest, effectively pushing him away. “You can’t promise me that she won’t die, we don’t even know where she is,” you reminded him.

“Honey,” he breathed, the word dripping in desperation as he tried to get you to meet his eyes, but you were looking past him—through him. “Hey,” he tried again, reaching out and sweeping a lock of hair behind your ear, “Garcia and I are going to the SCIF with Anderson, and I think you should stay here. If you’re up to it, you can help Rossi and Blake look for the foxhole.”

Just like that, he was gone, seemingly unaffected by your rejection of his reassurance, Spencer walked out of the office, leaving the door open a crack behind him.

The worst part was that you had known that JJ’s assignment was a backstop. You knew that there was something deeper going on because you could see it in her, you knew her just as well as you knew yourself. At least you thought you did.

Your suspicions started when she needed you as an emergency contact, citing that her job needed someone outside of her household to be part of her file. The cagey phone calls and missed lunch dates only added to your suspicions, but she never caved. “Where were you, JJ?” You asked yourself, speaking into the emptiness of Morgan’s office.

JJ had left the BAU just before you joined, and at the time everything seemed like it just worked out. When she decided to return, you got to stay, and being able to work with your sister felt like a dream come true—something right out of a film.

You held your head in your hands, pushing at your cheeks with your palms and trying to convince yourself to get up. You couldn’t hold the roof up without your sister. There was no way you’d be able to avoid crumbling without her.

So, you got up.

You ducked your head as a bullet ricocheted off of the iron in front of you, the BAU scattered throughout the warehouse as the search for your sister climaxed. She had to be here, it had been too long, and Askari wouldn’t let her survive this. “He’s headed to the roof,” Rossi said, and you heard footsteps echoing through the orange-lit space.

“So’s JJ,” Blake added, nodding assuredly from a few steps away.

Your head snapped up quickly enough to catch a flash of golden hair as JJ ran through the warehouse, chasing Michael Hastings. Spencer tried to get you to wait, but by the time the words left his mouth, you had already broken off into a sprint and fell into a line behind your sister and Emily.

Keeping your firearm drawn, you follow them to the roof, catching up with your sister and Emily, a thousand words exchanged in that first glance between the two of you. You didn’t have time for a proper reunion, not with Emily peeking around the corner, trying to get a shot at Hastings.

Somewhere in the distance, you heard helicopter blades whirling, getting closer and closer to you. No one had the chance to speak before JJ was running again, rounding the corner and scaling the ladder along the side of the building.

It was left hand-to-hand, and once your sister had given him enough momentum, you had to lunge forward to catch her. Hastings nearly dragged her off of the building with him, but you and Emily caught her, grabbing her hands and hauling her off of the ledge.

The three of you stood in a circle, looking around at each other as if no time had passed, as if Emily hadn’t flown here from London just to find her. “JJ,” you breathed, desperate for something, anything. The universe punished you for catastrophizing by watching the pain set in, JJ’s adrenaline faded now that she wasn’t in the midst of a chase, and the pain of the last several hours was able to show through.

You were about to offer to get down, to find her somewhere quiet to sit, but before you could, she hugged you. JJ nearly launched herself at you and gave you what you so desperately needed—your sister.

“It’s okay,” you said, pressing your face into her shoulder and letting your tears dry as quickly as they fell. “I’ve got you, J,” you assured her, your eyes flickering up to meet Emily’s, concern plain in her furrowed brow.

Slowly, the two of you got JJ off of the roof, and you met up with the rest of the team at the front door. You watched silently as everyone exchanged hugs with your sister, and you kept an eye on her even as she spoke with Cruz in the ambulance.

A familiar hand found its home on your waist, and you subconsciously leaned into Spencer’s touch, “She should go to the hospital.”

You scoffed, “Good luck convincing her of that,” you responded, raising your eyebrows as Hotch helped JJ down from the rig.

Just as you thought, she fought you on it, refusing to get in the back of an ambulance, but being okay with someone else driving her there. The only stipulation was that she needed to call Will first, and he could meet her at the hospital.

“How are you?” Spencer asked, leaning on the passenger door of an SUV while you kept an eye on your sister, watching her talk to Will and tell him that she’s fine.

JJ would always be fine. To someone else, that might’ve been enough, but you knew her better than that. Something was bothering her, but you feared it would take more than one conversation for you to get it out of her. “I’m sorry,” you whispered to him, trying to absorb his body heat into yours.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he insisted, dropping a soft kiss to the roof of your head.

Slumping your shoulders in disappointment, you looked up at him, “I shouldn’t have gotten so frustrated with you.”

Spencer is silent for a moment, shoving his hands in the pockets of his FBI jacket, “You were so scared, worse than I’ve ever seen you. Worse than you were when you were abducted, and I just wanted to reassure you. You were right though; I shouldn’t have promised.”

You shook your head, smiling up at him, “You were right. We did find her. You kept your promise.”

“I’m not really in the business of making promises that I can’t keep,” Spencer responded, cupping your face with his hands.

Raising your eyebrows, your eyes flickered over to JJ again, “Maybe you should be, you have a 100% success rate.”

[love-lilacs]

what a cruel summer! | tyler owens x reader (18+)

Tyler laughs. That deep, clear rumble that sends every girl swooning into his arms. You aren’t immune to its charm from your spot, a roiling envy settling in your stomach as you turn away from where you had been watching them out of the corner of your eye.

You can’t be jealous. You just can’t.

No matter what this feels like. 

warnings: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI. drinking. porn w some plot??? smut. unprotected pnv (wrap it before you tap it pls). oral, f receiving. spanking. dirty talk. no use of y/n. fwb relationship and feewings.

word count: 5.1k

The heat of Oklahoma is only bearable because of the storms that pass through, with their cold fronts and sweet smelling rain, creating rotating funnels of wind for you to chase with your friends. 

That, and Tyler Owens. 

It wasn’t meant to be this serious, which is why you keep telling each other that it isn't. You almost exclusively dance only with each other because you’re the only two that are only ones who aren’t clumsy and like doing it, sneaking into each others rooms for sex but staying overnight because it’s easier than sneaking back to your respective beds. Tyler insists you ride with him in his truck because you have an uncanny ability for reading the radar and navigating, not because he’ll push to get as close to the cell as possible so that you can get the perfect shot for your journals.

It’s not serious, but when he holds you close and spins you around the floor of whatever sticky dive bar you’re in, it sure feels that way. 

It felt that way when some guy put his cowboy hat on your head, taking it back only after Tyler snatched it from your head, pulling you backwards into his chest while drawling that the guy had picked the wrong girl. 

It feels that way on the odd day off in some hotel pool when you’re perched on his shoulders after another winning round of chicken fight and his short nails are digging into your thighs while you tangle your hand in his hair. The image of your thighs around his head border on too much to handle while he cheers you on- “Atta girl!”

“I’m getting another round.” You say to no one, well aware that your friends are deep in a debate about who was stupider in today’s chase and will not hear you. They don’t notice that Tyler has been gone for the better half of 15 minutes, laughing and charming the young female bartender. She can’t be much younger than you, but has on one of those tiny blank tank tops that make boobs look like gravity is a suggestion. That paired with low pigtails that the middle-aged men at the end the bar are drooling over; you’ve decided you can’t possibly compete with her. You step up to the spot only a few spots down from Tyler and the girl, desperately trying to make eye-contact with the other bartender for a refill.

You’re just close enough to hear their conversation as he tells her about the tornado you had chased earlier that day.

“That must be so scary.” She gushes, resting her chin in her hand, “You’re so brave. I could never do that.”

Tyler laughs. That deep, clear rumble that sends every girl swooning into his arms. You aren’t immune to its charm from your spot, a roiling envy settling in your stomach as you turn away from where you had been watching them out of the corner of your eye.

You can’t be jealous. You just can’t.

No matter what this feels like. 

“Another one, miss?” The older bartender asks. You nod, “and a shot of Jack,” placing a few bills on the counter as he prepares your drinks. 

“Is that your team in the corner over there?” She asks. Their two voices are growing nearer to you. You trace your finger down a grain in the wood, wincing at the stickiness that follows you as your drinks are placed in front of you. You down the shot before you can think too hard about it, the bittersweet liquid burning down your throat.

“Yup. Best in the damn south. And this-” Tyler claps a hand on your shoulder causing you to jump back into his chest. His stupidly firm, warm and comforting chest. 

“This is my wingman. My partner. Don’t know what I’d do without her guiding me.” Tyler’s hand slips down your middle, tucking you firmly into his side. 

You look up meet his gaze, hoping your face is as steely and sharp as the mask you desperately want to wear. “Probably drive straight into a tornado and die.” You deadpan, wrapping your lips around your straw and raising your eyebrows. 

“Without you darlin,’ I don’t think I’d be getting anywhere near any one of ‘em.” Tyler grins down at you, squeezing your waist as he pulls you closer to his side. “Nice meetin’ ya, Bailey! See ya ‘round.” That’s all the goodbye he affords her as he guides you back to the group with his hand on your lower back. 

“She seemed nice.” You say, trying to keep the bitterness out of your tone. You fail. 

Tyler laughs, clearly bemused by the whole situation. 

“She’s alright. Why? You jealous, darlin’?” Tyler stops, tugging your belt loops to face him. The sudden movement combined with your tipsiness makes you stumble, placing a hand on his pec to steady yourself. 

You set your jaw as you snatch your hand away as if burned, glaring up at him. “Never.” 

“Well then, you won’t have an issue with me asking her to dance? Her shift is over soon.”

Your free hand clenches into a fist, squeezing tightly as you shake your head. 

“No?” Tyler asks, a knowing look on his face. Mouth quirking up at the side, in that stupidly charming way. 

“No.” You repeat, turning on your heel and walking back to your table. When you sip from your drink, he’s talking to Bailey again and she steps out to the dancefloor as he guides her around. The men from the end of the bar watch as they do so, jealousy clear on their faces. You’re sure it must be clear on your own too, taking another larger sip and wincing. The bartender made you a double. Not that you’re complaining as you suck it down quickly. “Let’s do shots!” You exclaim to the group, grabbing Kate’s arm. A resounding ‘yes!’ is heard from around you and two of the guys head to the bar, returning with enough shots for everyone to have two.

Tyler is peering over Bailey’s head curiously, watching as you knock both back in quick succession. Tequila. Your personal nemesis. You cannot bring yourself to care. “Let’s dance!” You giggle to Kate and Lily, dragging them to a spot on the dancefloor opposite of Tyler. They oblige you easily, moving to the beat. As the night crawls on and the music gets louder, you’re fed shot after shot until Kate has you hanging off of her left side and Lilly clutching her right hand. Tyler has long since abandoned Bailey, choosing to stand with the guys and watching you move with a smile on his handsome face. All it does is make you sad. 

“Alright, party girls. Come on, last call is coming up and we should get back.” Tyler has appeared in front of you, the rest of the guys in tow. 

“Aw!” You pout, stepping away from Kate and looking up at him. “But I’m not done! And you can’t leave Bailey!” You sing her name bitterly, wrinkling your nose and spinning, maintaining eye contact as best you can. You’re warm and swaying, much lighter than earlier. You manage to ruin your own mood when you face him again, shocked that he would still be in front of you. Your brows furrow and lips form a pout. 

Tyler sighs, wrapping an arm around your waist to steady you, guiding you out of the bar. “‘M not interested in Bailey, sweetheart. I like you.” 

“You can’t say things like that.” You insist as the cool night air hits your body. One of your friend’s cars is in front of you, backseat door open and engine running. 

“Like what?” Tyler asks, carefully turning you to face him. Concern is written on his face while he hands rest on your hips. A thumb rubs back and forth on the skin where your shirt has ridden up.

“Like sweetheart, especially after you’ve spent your night flirting with another girl.”

“I wasn’t flirting.” Tyler insists, “I wouldn’t do that to y-” He cuts himself off, “I wasn’t flirting with her.” He insists quietly, cheeks going pink.

You scoff, pushing off of him and into the backseat. “Could’ve fooled me.” You call as you buckle in your seatbelt. Tyler sighs dejectedly as he closes the door behind you. With only Lily in the backseat with you, the world suddenly feels a lot less steady in the dark car. You don’t realize you’re crying until you’re on some unlit back road towards the hotel, sniffling softly as tears fall down your face. 

Lily says your name once, then twice until you look at her. You’re sure you’re eyes are red and puffy. Concern is written on her face. “Are you okay?”

You nod, wiping furiously at your cheeks. “M’fine.” You blubber, crossing your arms as another cascade of tears leak down. 

Tyler says your name from up front this time. “We’re almost back, okay?”

“Okay.” You sob, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. You run to escape from the team’s prying eyes in the lobby, not catching Tyler’s gaze as he assures them;  “I’ll check in on her.” as you rush past the closed pool, desperately searching your pocket for the room key. Only when the green light flashes and you shut the door behind you do you allow yourself to gasp for air. 

30 minutes later, you’re wrapped in a soft blanket, watching a rerun of an HGTV episode, putting sour candy after candy on your tongue. You can’t bear to look Tyler in the eyes, can't bear to face Lily and Kate’s comforting text messages inquiring about your well being. 

A knock interrupts your sulking. Expecting it to be someone from the team you ignore it, not wanting to face the music. But it comes again, louder this time, and you mute the TV.

Creeping up slowly, you reach for your phone and the nearest potential weapon- your textbook on Differential Equations in Chemistry from a summer class you’re taking. Your name is called from outside the door before you can stand on your tiptoes to peer through the peephole. Even though you recognize the voice, you check anyways. Standing sheepishly with his hands in his pockets is Tyler. 

“Can we talk?” Tyler asks, raising his hand to knock again, “I know you’re mad, darlin’, but I-”

You open the door before he can finish speaking, taking a moment to bask in his startled gaze. You look him up and down. He’s changed his clothes since the bar, sporting a backwards cap and too-small gray t-shirt he’s had since you were freshmen in college. You try to ignore the way his biceps bulge and strain against the sleeves when he adjusts the stupidly attractive hat. 

“I’m not mad.” You say, crossing your arms over your chest, hoping he doesn’t realize its his shirt that you donned. Based on the way his gaze flicks down to where your breasts are pushed up against the logo and quirks his eyebrow ever so slightly, you know he does. 

“Had me fooled, then.” He stares you down, waiting for a response. You stare back, a silent battle between the two of you on who will fold first. Begrudgingly, you concede, stepping aside for him to pass and enter the tiny room. You think he’s going to comment on the mess you’ve made; in your frustration after the chase, you left your clothes in a heap on the floor next to your damp towels from the shower and the candy bag on the unmade bed. 

“You’re a bad liar.” Tyler teases lightly with his usual lopsided grin on his face. 

To anyone else, he looks relaxed and nonchalant. You know him better. Based on the way his thumb is fiddling with his belt loop, you know he’s walking on eggshells around you. You shrug, sitting down on the edge of the bed and pulling your shirt down to cover more of your bare thighs.

His sullen face, half shadowed by the lamp in the corner, follows the movement. His throat bobs as he steps towards you.

“I’m sorry.” Tyler confesses, stepping towards you.

You look up at him, quirking an eyebrow.

“I shouldn’t have danced with her.”

You raise an eyebrow, waving a dramatic hand for him to continue. 

“And I shouldn't have said what I did to you.” He steps again, falling to his knees. Carefully spreading your thighs, he looks up at you and presses a kiss to the inside of your knee. 

“And?” You ask as he traces from your knee to the edge of the shirt leaving goosebumps in its wake, never once breaking eye contact with you. 

“Jesus woman, you’re the smartest, prettiest girl I’ve ever met and I will never doubt you again. We men are nothing compared to you.” Tyler recites, causing your smile to finally break away. You laugh, cupping his cheek as he grins too, green eyes following your movement.

“Good.” You lean down, pressing your forehead to his. Tyler closes the distance quickly, pressing a tiny kiss to your lips, unable to resist. 

“She wasn’t interesting either.” Tyler admits, trailing lazy kisses up and down your legs. You hum in response, carding your hand through his sandy locks. “Too sulky.” He quotes, not stopping his movements as he gets closer to those pitiful excuse for sleep shorts you like to wear. He presses his hand against your stomach, pushing gently until you fall backwards onto the bed. 

“Oh?” You ask, voice choked. 

“Mmm. I like you so much more. But don’t worry, baby, I’m gonna fix this.” 

“Fix it?”

“Can’t have my girl mad at me.”

My girl. 

If he didn’t have your head spinning, you’d jerk up and demand exactly what that meant. 

But Tyler does, as always, as he pushes the shirt up to expose a bit of your stomach.

Tyler rises slightly, kissing at the waistband.

“Not mad anymore.” You sigh, fisting a hand in his hair. “Was a bit disappointed, maybe.”

You feel him smile against you stomach, knowing better. But he doesn’t say anything.

“Didn’t get dinner before we left.” Tyler mumbles, more to himself as he hooks his fingers in the shorts. 

“You must be hungry.” You muse breathlessly, lifting your hips to help him.

Tyler’s eyes darken, pupils blown as he leans forward to kiss your bare, soaking core. 

“Starving.” He agrees, eyes only on you. Then he leans forward, pressing his tongue flat and licking a fat stripe up your pussy. 

The action has you crying out desperately, tightening your grip on his hair as his fingers tease at your weeping hole.

“Can’t believe I’m so lucky.” Tyler murmurs, watching carefully as he inserts one finger. You clench around him, moaning desperately “got you, pretty baby, waiting for me, in my shirt, no panties. Don’t deserve her.”

“No.” You gasp as he presses another finger. “Maybe not after today.” 

“Absolutely not.” Tyler agrees, curling his fingers experimentally. “Gotta make it up to her.”

Tyler repeats the motion a couple times watching intently until you keen forward. He surges towards you, wrapping his lips around your clit, tonguing at the little bud with his usual fervor. 

You moan loudly, pulling his head closer to you as you throw your head backwards on the messy bed, arching your back as you pull him closer, closer, closer. 

 “That’s my girl.” Tyler grunts into your core, “Is my pussy gonna come for me?”

You cry out head wobbling in a desperate ‘yes.’

“That’s right. My girl, my pussy. My sweet cunt. Who makes you feel this good?”

You squeeze your eyes shut as he repeats his motions, holding you just on the edge of coming. His arm brands across your hips, holding you in place and preventing you from squirming to get the friction you need to push you over the edge.

Tyler pulls his fingers halfway from your soaking cunt, inhaling sharply as you clench, desperately trying to pull him back in.

“Baby,” He reminds gently, toying at your clit with his thumb, “who makes you feel this good?”

Your body jolts at the featherlight touch, “You, Tyler!” You cry out, and he nods. 

“That’s my girl.” He wraps his mouth around you again, working you closer to your high as your thighs shake and breaths come quicker. Flames lick at your skin, threatening to consume you whole. The icy cold room cannot compare to Tyler’s mouth, not when he’s working you just like this. When it hits, your orgasm surrounds you like a supernova, heat covering your skin despite the overworked air conditioner blowing cool air towards your bare body. Starbursts of white bloom behind your eyelids as you thrash, desperately grinding into Tyler’s face to ride out your high.

Tyler lets you use him, grinding your pussy into his face and drinking up your orgasm, working you until you carefully pull him away, muttering “sensitive.” His chin is shiny, slick with your release and the smile he sports can only be described as smug. Tyler wraps an arm around your center, sighing as you pull him on top of you. 

You’re dimly aware of the TV casting a blue glow over the two of you as you reach for his belt, undoing it carefully.

“I really am sorry.” Tyler catches your hand, emerald eyes boring into yours. Sadness is reserved in them, touch tentative as he raises your wrist to his mouth and presses a kiss to the soft skin there. The action is so endearing you nearly want to cry.

“I know.” You pull your hand from his, running a thumb over his mouth and pulling his lip down. His tongue darts out, touching your fingertip ever so slightly. You continue your movement until you brush the scruff of his chin. You lean up to kiss him chastely. “So am I.”

Looking down at you, he’s a work of art. Face flushed and damp strands of hair hanging over his forehead, likely from a shower. That hat he was wearing is somewhere on the bedsheets of this shitty motel room. He smells strongly of cedar and pine, shrouding you in the world’s most comforting blanket. Tyler lets his body sink lower to cover you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your neck. You comb your fingers through his hair, ignoring the way the cool metal of his belt buckle is digging into your thigh. Wet kisses are being placed along your skin in between murmurs and praise you can’t quite make out. 

This doesn’t feel like friends. 

You want to say as much and the sentiment is mirrored in his eyes when he opens them, hovering above you on his forearms.

But you don’t, instead whispering “can I?” as you trail your touch from his pecs to his abs, lifting his shirt and running your fingers along that light trail of hair just above his belt. 

Tyler nods. “Please, sweetheart.”

You peel your shirts from your bodies first, taking a moment to marvel at his chest as you always do, grazing your teeth across his nipple just to make him shiver. His jeans come next and you take your time unfastening them. He ungracefully kicks them off, boxers following seconds later. Tyler lowers himself fully on top of you again, careful not to let his weight crush you.

Not that you would mind if he did. 

The kisses he offers are far from filthy, instead tender and gentle, as if you’d disappear if he wasn’t careful. You can faintly taste yourself on his lips, a blush rising in your cheeks at the thought. He cups your face delicately, calloused hands rough against your soft skin.

When you reach down to grasp him, he hisses, pressing his face into your neck . 

”Shit, sweetheart.” Tyler gasps out as you trace your fingers gently over a thick vein,. “‘M not gonna last long.”

“I don’t need you to.” You mutter into his collarbone, sinking your teeth into his smooth skin and brushing a thumb over his swollen tip. Precum smears with your thumb’s movement and he groans again, hiding his face lower in your chest and messily kissing the tops of your breasts.

You continue moving your hand, drinking in his gasps and moans with pride. Finally, you guide him to your dripping heat. You gasp and he moans long and pretty when you drag his tip through your heat. The first press of his 

The stretch is something you’ll never get used to, nails digging into your shoulders as Tyler drags his lips over your cheek. “So good.” He gasps and you nod fervently, catching you lips against his. You dig your nails into his shoulders, rolling your hips once. Tyler takes his cue, pulling out slowly, watching your needy cunt grip his thick cock. When he bottoms out again, it punches a high pitched breath from your lungs. He maintains the slow, bruising pace, arms bracketing your head as he pounds your poor pussy. Every thrust hits deeper, fat tip bullying that spongy spot you can never quite reach on your own. 

Every nerve on your body is alight, hot and burning. All you can possibly conjure from your fucked-out mind is his name. Clearly, Tyler isn’t not far off from your state with the way your name falls from his lips like a prayer. 

You clench around him, lips catching in a messy kiss that can hardly be counted as such. Panting against each other’s mouths like you’ve just ran a mile. To call it a kiss would be an insult to the romantics attached to the word. It’s messy, dirty, and downright nasty. It’s hot. 

Tyler shifts, angle changing ever-so-slightly, but the movement causes his pelvis to brush against your neglected clit. 

“There?” Tyler asks as you cry out. He trails his hand down to where your bodies meet, watching the way your cunt grips his cock, wet from every thrust into your tight pussy. His fingers circle your clit and you gasp sharply, nodding eagerly and throwing your head back. “‘S fuckin’ hot.” 

“Good girl,” Tyler murmurs, “This little cunt is gon’ come for me again, ain’t it? Can feel the way you’re gripping me. ‘S like heaven.” 

The world around you grows dull. The roof could rip off of this dingy place, rain pouring on your skin, but all you could know is the way Tyler feels against you. The way his voice coaxes you closer to your high. The way his breath fans your cheek when you come, thrusts slowing as you ride out your orgasm, clenching around him. Your senses dull as all you can feel is the way his body presses to you. When you open your eyes again, Tyler is still sheathed inside of you, pressing butterfly kisses across your cheeks. You meet his concerned gaze, and something akin to a challenge seeds itself in your brain. 

With one movement, you’re pushing him off and out of you, flipping him onto his back and straddling his thighs. Tyler’s gaze is wide as he watches you, those emerald eyes nearly black from arousal and astonishment. 

His hands find themselves gripping your thighs as you rub your pulsing pussy up his length. Tyler groans again. “You’re gonna be the death of me, baby.”

You lean down, pressing his tip into your cunt again as you whisper into his ear. “But what a way to go, huh cowboy?”

Tyler thrusts up into you, fully inside you once again. A smirk toys at your lips as you swivel your hips around him. His gaze makes you feel powerful as you begin to ride him. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, alternating between shallow thrusts to meet your body and letting you fully take control, as if overcome by the picture in front of him.

Your eyes catch on something near your knee and the corner of your lip quirks up as you reach for it. Tyler’s hat, the one abandoned however long ago is resting backwards on your head. The too-big accessory falling over your face with every bounce.

“Fuck.” Tyler huffs, gripping your ass so tightly you’re sure he’s going to leave bruises. “You really are my girl, ain’t ya?”

You nod, a wolfish grin spreading on his face at  “Atta girl. Prove it.”

So you do, fully intending to ride him within an inch of his life. His hips meet yours with every thrust, the sound of skin hitting skin not deterring either of you. Neither does the noises spilling from your mouths. Each sound of his is music to your ears, pride surging in your chest at the knowledge that you pull those sounds from him. They may not know now, but if anyone walks by your room, there is no doubt that they would understand exactly what is going on behind that closed door. 

Still, your movements never cease as flames paint your skin, too lost in pleasure to even think about the exhausted ache blooming in your thighs. A particularly hard trust has your head tipping back with a guttural moan. Two orgasms in has left you sensitive and leaking, but Tyler doesn’t hesitate, reaching up to cup your breasts and thumbing over a nipple. Your hand reaches down to rub at your swollen and forgotten clit, easing the ache from the lack of simulation. 

He looks at you in awe, as if you’ve hung the stars in the sky, painting every constellation with your hands. As he can’t believe you’re real. There’s no way. He can’t look at you like that. Like there’s something more, like you’re something special, not without promising you something. 

This doesn’t feel like just friends. 

You don’t have time to focus on the intruding thoughts, shaking them away as you brace your hands on his chest and riding him faster, harder. Desperate to feel him, make him feel as good as he’s made you feel. Desperate to be closer. 

Tyler yanks you down to meet his lips, tugging your hair and taking control as he sets a fast pace, chasing his own high. 

“Can I-?”

“Inside me, Owens.” You order, biting at his eat and tugging slightly at his blonde strands.

Tyler has a habit of clutching you tightly when he comes, bodies pressed so tightly together that nothing could possibly separate you. Ribbons of white coat your walls as he comes with a shout, thrusting sloppily as he rides out his own high. When he finally comes to a stop, you clench around him teasingly, knowing he’s still sensitive from his orgasm. A curse spills from his lips as he slips from your weeping cunt. You don’t know how long you stay there, curling on top of him with his hat still atop your head. Tyler brushes his fingers over your back, tracing invisible pictures as the air conditioner whirs in the background. Your own fingers draw up and down his collarbone. There’s a scar on his bicep from some brush with debris after a storm. A soft kiss to the skin there has a shaky breath tearing from his lungs. Somewhere in there, you doze off, only stirring when Tyler carefully moves you off of him and tucking you into a pillow. Your eyelids flutter open, a sinking feeling settling as your stomach as Tyler leans over you, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“I’ll be right back.”

You know he means it, returning in his plaid boxers with a wet washcloth to clean the remains of your sex from your inner thighs. You catch the scent of your lavender lotion being rubbed onto your legs, stifling a soft sigh into your pillow. A kiss followed tap to your hip has you sitting up, silently taking the t-shirt he offers you- his shirt. The same one he wore into your room. It’s silent as he feeds the fabric over your head and through your arms. Your eyes meet his, and he looks suddenly shy and sheepish, as if this isn’t a dance you’ve danced a million times. 

This time is different, you both know that. 

“Can I stay?” Is what he asks, looking for permission before settling into his routine. You know he’ll lay on his back before turning on his side and tucking you into him. 

Still, its a question this time, waiting for your answer. Tyler is ready to go and pretend this never happened if you would just say the words.

As if you ever would.

You shake your head, patting the spot next to you. “Yeah.” You swallow as you slide your legs under the covers. “You should stay.”

You can’t remember the last time Tyler looked so relieved. 

When you wake up to a warm body pressed against yours, it takes a moment for last night’s memories to trickle in. Your body aches deliciously, brain somehow clear despite the copious amounts of alcohol you consumed the night before. Tyler breathes quietly behind you, clutching your waist as if you’ll slip away like sand if he loosens his grip. His exhales tickle your ear and you squirm backwards into his grasp, desperate to be closer closer closer.  

“Mornin’.” Tyler murmurs in that deep voice of his. “You sleep okay?”

Your eyes close again, finding his hand and intertwining your fingers. “Mhmm. You?”

Tyler hums in agreement, turning you gently to face him. His arm is tucked under his head, bicep flexing deliciously as he studies you. A question is written on his face, searching for something in your eyes, maybe regret. 

He must not find it though, because he quietly clears his throat. “So about last night…”

You shake your head cutting him off in a feeble attempt to restrain your smile, watching the corners of his eyes crinkle as he mirrors your expression. There isn’t anything more that needs to be said, any questions answered simply by meeting the other’s gaze. Without words, it suddenly all makes sense. 

You aren’t sure who moves first, lurching into each other with such vigor that your noses collide before your lips meet and your bodies tangle into the messy sheets as one.

This is most definitely not just friends. But you were never that in the first place, were you? 

Seems you both knew that.

[dee-writes-anime]

IM SO SORRY FOR SPAMMING REQUESTS!!!! I have so many good ideas

So im a biiig redbull and monster fan (the energy drinks) and currently on gojo brain rot rn-

So imagine if reader is a teacher like gojo, special grade sorcerer. And is a littleeee younger (last tike i checked gojo is 28? So can reader be 25?) and reader is training with yuji , inomaki(?) , panda, megumi and maki

Gojo decided to watch them train, and reader is very VERY hyped up from the 10 redbulls she’s had, and gojo noticed and calls her out for it. 😭

She’s embarrassed and gojo chucks a water bottle at her and then decided to spar with her, and it goes on for a loooong ass time, and all the students are entertained, and reader pulls a power move on gojo as he tries to hit her while sparing, and pulls a similar move maki did in the jjk 0 movie but instead kicks out gojos legs out and slips him up and wins the spare

So later shes calmed down and in secret they’re dating :0 (SUPRISEEEE) and he scolds her for having so many redbulls and just hugs her while doing so as she comes down from the rush???

Soooo fluffy!!!! For our baddie 🤩, im loving that word, and i may or may not be high on redbull rn

MONTY! Eat sleep drink

Rockin' Redbull

FEATURING Satoru Gojo x Reader

SUMMARY You're hyped up on caffeine and Gojo decides to show his worry by sparring with you

CONTENT WARNINGS fluff!, reader is absolutely CRACKED OUT, worried gojo, jujutsu high students being actual students (!!)

AUTHORS NOTE Gojo is a parasite that lives in my brain. That's it. That's the note. Side note: King and Queen have been highlights in my verbal rotation these days. "get it King" is a proud example of this.

The sun was blinding—high and sharp and merciless, like it had a grudge against everyone beneath it. The rooftop training field shimmered under the heat, the concrete warm enough to fry an egg and the breeze almost useless. It was the kind of afternoon where everyone wanted to be anywhere but here.

Then you arrived.

You didn’t walk onto the field. You rocketed onto it like a chaotic comet of cursed energy and carbonation, half-jogging, half-skipping, hoodie sleeves bunched at your elbows, a mangled Red Bull can in one hand and what was probably your eighth or ninth of the day tucked under your arm.

“LET’S GO, BABY SORCERERS,” you shouted, skidding to a dramatic halt. “TIME TO GRIND!”

Yuji fist-pumped like he was born for this moment. “YEAAAH! I’m so ready!”

Inumaki glanced at you with a calm “Tuna mayo.”

Panda clapped once with the rhythm of a sports chant. “Someone’s overclocked again.”

Megumi, already stretching in the shade, didn’t look up. “Why are you like this.”

“I’m dialed in,” you declared, popping open the next Red Bull with a fzzzt that sounded suspiciously like doom. “Fully optimized. Mentally turbocharged.”

“You’re going to rupture something,” Megumi said flatly.

“Like a brain cell?” Yuji asked.

“She doesn't have any left,” Megumi deadpanned.

You took a long sip from the can. “I have become caffeine, destroyer of self-control.”

Maki leaned on her practice staff, raising a brow. “You realize this is a sparring session, not an MMA title fight, right?”

You grinned at her, jittering like a kicked beehive. “It is now.”

Panda tilted his head. “How many of those have you had?”

You blinked. “Define ‘had.’”

And then, as if summoned by sheer dramatic timing, he arrived.

Gojo stepped out onto the field like a model strutting into a battlefield. He wasn’t even pretending to hurry—just strolled up in his black uniform, blindfold half-lowered so you could see the faint curve of amusement playing on his mouth. His silver-white hair glinted under the light like it had its own gravitational pull.

The moment he saw you, he stopped walking.

Then blinked.

Then slowly turned to the rest of the students. “You let her drink how many Red Bulls?”

“She didn’t let us stop her,” Maki muttered.

“She threatened to fight a vending machine,” Panda added helpfully.

Yuji nodded. “It was kind of impressive.”

You struck a pose mid-field, vibrating like a hummingbird with an attitude. “Nothing can hurt me! I’ve surpassed mortal limitations!”

Gojo raised a brow. “You’re going to vomit on your own shoes in about twenty minutes.”

“Then I’ll vomit with honor!”

He sighed, like a man used to being surrounded by lunatics. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Your face flashed hot, and before you could even think of a comeback, a cold bottle of water came flying at your head.

You caught it just barely. It thudded into your palms with icy finality.

“Hydrate,” Gojo said, looking deeply unimpressed. “Before I put you in a holding cell with the cursed corpses.”

Yuji gasped. “She’s getting detention?”

“She’s getting intervention,” Megumi muttered, still stretching, still over it.

“I’m not that bad,” you protested.

You cracked open the water and poured some over your head dramatically like it was a baptism.

Gojo tilted his head, studying you with a smug, unreadable smile. “You know what? If you’ve got all that energy to burn…” He paused. “Why don’t you spar with me?”

The entire rooftop froze.

Panda’s eyes went wide. “Wait. For real?”

Maki blinked. “He’s serious?”

Yuji let out a full-body gasp. “OH MY GOD YES—”

You paused mid-sip, water dribbling down your chin. “You wanna fight me?”

Gojo smirked. “Unless you’re too scared, Red Bull.”

You grinned, eyes shining, blood singing, muscles buzzing with cursed energy and terrible decisions.

“Oh, you’re so on, Snowflake.”

The heat was still clinging to the rooftop, but it wasn’t the sun making the air shimmer now.

It was cursed energy.

Gojo stood loose and unreadable in the center of the training field, rolling his shoulders back with deliberate, relaxed movements. His blindfold was off now, folded and tucked into a pocket—those eyes sharp as cut glass and fixed on you with a slow-burning curiosity. He wasn’t smiling.

Not yet.

You were still coiled with caffeine and adrenaline, bouncing lightly on the balls of your feet. The tremor in your limbs wasn’t nerves—it was fuel. Unstable, wild, and stupidly potent. The Red Bull rush was peaking, and Gojo? He was standing in your line of fire with that smug, infuriatingly calm look on his face.

“You sure you’re ready?” he asked, tilting his head.

“I’m fueled by science and bad decisions,” you replied, cracking your neck. “Let’s do this.”

The students scrambled back instinctively, creating a wide circle around the sparring ring. Yuji practically vibrated with excitement. Panda pulled out a bag of popcorn from God knows where. Inumaki sat down cross-legged, eyes locked on the center. Maki stood still, watching with her arms crossed, the glint in her eye the closest thing to amusement she ever allowed.

Megumi just sighed and crouched beside a stack of water bottles. “If either of them levels the building, I’m not helping clean up.”

Gojo raised one hand lazily, fingers curling in that taunting “come on” motion. “Show me what that energy of yours is good for.”

You didn’t wait for a countdown.

You moved first.

One heartbeat you were standing still, the next you exploded forward—curse-enhanced speed cracking through the air like a bullet. Your fist came in fast, low, aimed for his side, but Gojo slid out of reach with impossible ease, feet barely whispering against the ground. The aftershock of your strike cracked a chunk off the tile floor.

“You’re fast,” he said mildly, turning on his heel. “Not faster than me.”

You spun, grinning. “Guess we’ll find out.”

You closed the distance again, throwing a feint left before twisting low into a sweeping kick. He stepped clean over it, countered with a flat-handed strike toward your shoulder. You blocked with your forearm, the impact reverberating down to your teeth.

“You’re holding back,” you said through clenched teeth.

Gojo tilted his head, stepping into your space again. “So are you.”

For a moment, everything sharpened. Your bodies moved around each other in precise, blinding rhythm—strike, block, twist, pivot. It was like dancing with knives. Your cursed energy pulsed with each movement, bright and erratic, while his remained cool and impossibly smooth, flowing around him like he didn’t even have to try.

Yuji had stopped cheering. He was just staring, slack-jawed.

“They’re insane,” he whispered.

“They’re insane and reckless,” Megumi muttered, arms crossed. “Great combination.”

“Pass the popcorn,” Maki said under her breath.

Panda whispered, “This is way better than class.”

You threw a series of sharp jabs, ducked under his counter, then spun around behind him—but he was already there, waiting for you. He grabbed your wrist, twisting it with just enough pressure to warn you, not break you.

“You’re gonna crash soon,” he murmured.

Your eyes flashed. “Then I better end this fast.”

You twisted free, body bending back in a full arch to slip under his arm before launching yourself into a jump kick aimed at his shoulder. Gojo caught you midair—of course he did—and shoved you backward with a palm to the chest that sent you skidding across the ground.

You crouched low, breathing hard, grinning wide.

He wiped dust off his uniform and gave you a look.

A real look.

Curious. Challenging. Like he was finally seeing what you could do. Like he wanted more.

You surged forward again, ducked one swing—then dropped your center of gravity, pivoted, and swept his legs out from under him.

Your heel cracked against the back of his knee with a satisfying thud. Gojo’s eyes widened—not in pain, but in surprise—as he lost balance. You didn’t hesitate. You moved into a spin, rose up just enough to plant your foot on his chest as he landed flat on his back, winded but grinning up at you with his hair a mess and one arm thrown lazily over his head like this was the best day of his life.

You stood over him, panting, one knee bent, hair falling into your eyes. “Who’s crashing now?”

He blinked up at you. “You just Maki’d me.”

“I learned from the best.”

Gojo let his head fall back into the cracked tile. “Incredible. I’ve been publicly humiliated. I might retire.”

“I’ll send flowers.”

“You better.”

Across the field, the students erupted in shouts and laughter. Yuji threw both fists into the air like you’d just taken down a final boss. Inumaki nodded approvingly. Panda was filming. Maki smirked faintly, just once, before returning to her neutral stance.

Even Megumi… cracked the smallest grin.

You stepped off Gojo’s chest and flopped beside him, your body still trembling from adrenaline and caffeine, heart jackhammering in your chest. Your arm brushed his.

Gojo didn’t move right away.

Then, softly—just for you—he muttered, “That was hot.”

You didn’t answer. Just smiled at the sky and let yourself breathe.

The hallway lights buzzed low and warm, and the lounge was nearly empty.

You were curled up sideways on the couch like a cat that had tried to fight God and won—barely. The hoodie you’d half-stripped during training was back on now, draped messily over your shoulders like a blanket, your body half-wrapped in a throw someone had left behind weeks ago. Your head throbbed dully. The caffeine high had cracked apart hours ago, leaving behind a sluggish ache and the unmistakable fuzz of dehydration and regret.

You were still clutching the now-empty water bottle like a lifeline.

The door creaked open.

You didn’t bother lifting your head. “If it’s Ijichi, tell him I’m dead.”

Gojo’s voice answered, dry and amused. “What a coincidence. I was just about to say the same thing about you.”

You cracked one eye open.

He strolled in like he owned the damn room—his uniform jacket slung over one shoulder, collar loosened, hair damp from a recent rinse. No blindfold. Just those too-bright eyes focused solely on you, filled with that familiar gleam of smugness… and something softer buried beneath it.

“Still alive?” he asked, coming to a stop in front of the couch.

“Debatable.”

“You look like someone who tried to fistfight a vending machine and lost.”

You squinted at him. “I won. I got the Red Bulls.”

Gojo clicked his tongue. “Ah, yes. Victory through organ failure.”

You groaned and slumped deeper into the cushions. Your voice dropped to a mumble. “I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Tough. You’re gonna.”

He dropped his jacket on the armrest and sat beside you, shifting until you could feel the warmth of him just barely brushing against your side. He didn’t say anything at first. Just reached over and pulled your hood up gently, letting it fall over your head like a soft reprimand.

“Ten cans?” he murmured.

“Thirteen,” you corrected automatically. “But one was sugar-free, so it doesn’t count.”

Gojo sighed, leaned back, and tilted his head to look at you. “You know you don’t have to kill yourself to prove something, right?”

You closed your eyes. “I was just trying to keep up.”

“With who?” he asked, genuinely confused. “You wiped the floor with me. And I’m the strongest.”

You snorted softly.

But he didn’t let it go. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers laced, and said—quieter this time—“You’re already good enough. You don’t have to run yourself into the ground to be impressive.”

There was a silence that followed that. Thick, honest, uncomfortable.

You didn’t say anything.

So he moved first.

Gojo leaned over, and before you could process it, you were being pulled into his lap like you weighed nothing. His arms wrapped around you tightly, one hand settling low on your back, the other resting against the crown of your head.

You let yourself collapse into him—bone-tired, brain-fried, and strangely at peace. His chest was warm beneath your cheek. His scent was clean, bright, familiar—like soap and sun and something electric that only belonged to him.

“You scared me,” he said against your hair.

“I sparred you,” you mumbled, eyes closed.

“Exactly,” he whispered. “You sparred me while chemically unhinged. I had flashbacks to Suguru’s cooking.”

You laughed—low and rough.

He held you tighter.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” he said. “I get it. You want to be strong. You want to keep up. But you can’t protect others if you’re wrecking yourself in the process.”

You went quiet for a while. Not because you disagreed. Just because it was hard to hear when it came from him—from someone who had made self-destruction look like an artform.

“…I’ll cut back,” you said eventually.

Gojo hummed. “One can a day.”

“Two.”

“One and a sip.”

You sighed into his collar. “Fine.”

His hand moved gently along your spine. “Good. ‘Cause I happen to like you with functioning kidneys.”

“You like me?” you teased weakly.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of your hood. “Don’t push it, Red Bull.”

[lorelune]

braised

|| blade x reader || M || captive reader x necrobiome blade || wc: 3.2k  || ao3 || previous + next ->

The Stellaron Hunters and their newest prize settle in and find routine.

minors, antis, and ageless blogs dni

a/n: HELLO >:3c this lil story has me gripped!! this piece is meant to be read after "scrap metal" but can be read as a standalone. mind the tags and enjoy 💕

CW: dark content, captive/pet reader, violence, implied/partially depicted physical abuse, force-feeding, general talk about food and eating, thoughts of violence toward the reader

"They didn't eat again."

Silver Wolf tosses the metal bowl on the counter with a frown. It’s full, heaped with eggs, kixi wafers, and some yogurt-based sauce. It’s untouched, sauce gelatinized from being out in the open air.

Kafka clicks her tongue from the cockpit, pausing her scrolling. Her gaze flicks up, "Not a bite?"

"Nope." Silver Wolf frowns and fidgets. "They didn't even look at me when I gave them their lunch either."

"They haven't eaten since the day before yesterday then. That’s no good." Kafka sounds concerned, but there's an edge to it.

Blade feels antsy. Out of his skin. He doesn't know why.

“They haven’t been drinking much either.” Silver Wolf frowns. “They’ll shrivel up and die at this rate." 

Kafka nods, "That’s more than likely their intention, even if it's a long and foolish way to die. That’s a shame. I thought they'd be better than this."

Blade drums his stiff fingers over the hilt of Shard Sword. He hardly remembers summoning it. 

"Bladie, dear? Try and convince them to have a bite or two tonight." Kafka's attention almost drifts back to her phone before she meets his eyes. Her own are clear, pupils intact. "Be careful, though. Hungry pets will still bite the hand that feeds them."

Blade doesn't reply with anything other than a jerky nod. He ferries himself across the ship to a padded training room and shreds two dozen practice dummies until they're nothing more than piles of polymer leather and filler.

...

Kafka had implemented a rotation. A 'feeding schedule' to acclimate you to your new environment, and get you used to your new comrades. You’re pricklier than she originally anticipated, but she doesn't seem concerned.

(If anything, she seems... delighted. She has a spring to her step that she usually doesn't. She leaves your room glowing.)

It’s Blade's turn to bring you dinner. Your meal is piled into the same metal bowl. Heaps of rice, covered in a sticky sauce with chunks of meat and veg. It’s still steaming as he walks silently to your cell— room. cell. He's not sure.

He undoes each lock (seven) and enters your room without any announcement.

The room is... less destroyed than it was yesterday. When Blade brought you lunch the day before, your mattress had been dragged onto the floor, sheets torn to shreds and spread around the room. You’d thrown a book at his head when he'd entered.

(Which he caught and gave back to you. You looked terrified when he got at all close to you.)

Blade didn’t like it. And he isn't sure why.

Today, you're less frantic. Instead, you’re balled up on your mattress, tucked in a corner with your knees up. Your head is down. You only flinch when Blade enters, but don't regard him otherwise.

Blade's frown deepens.

"Dinner," he says, and sets the food on your nightstand. Kafka has replaced the diffuser you broke the day prior. A new one pumps out an herbal-scented mist. "Eat it."

"Just leave it,” you reply, voice scratchy and raw. You rarely speak to him.

"No. Eat it now."

"I will later."

"You won't. You aren't eating."

"And what's it to you?" You unfurl just a fraction and shoot him a glare. It’s angry. vitriolic and guarded. (But a scared stray will bear its teeth and bite, won't they?)

(What is it to Blade? Other than Kafka's order. There’s something there. There has been something there since he saw you muzzled and dead-eyed, and Blade's always half-aware of it. How it refracts and shudders and fills him with such intense unease. He knows the feeling— recognizes it like the scent of an old lover. But he does not like it. It does not feel like it is his.)

He’s struck with the particular urge to throw you against a wall and watch your skull splatter against the metal paneling.

He doesn't. Because his mara isn't that uncontrollable, not now anyway. Instead, he frowns at your scowl.

"You'll die if you don't eat."

"Ah, and if I die, you'll lose an asset, right? I'm not stupid, I know how these things work." You sound... almost petulant. Blade does not know how to approach you, or it, or this attitude.

"You'll die. You shouldn't die. You should eat and live."

"Fuck you." You snap at him, fist balling up in the sheets at your side. You've picked your nails short and raw. "Fuck you."

Blade doesn't know what to do.

He pushes the bowl closer to you on the nightstand before departing.

Kafka catches him as he heads to the training rooms (again, because he needs to shatter a few holograms with his bare fists if he wants to feel close to sane in the next few hours.)

"Any luck, lovely?" Kafka's expression is kind. She must already know.

"No."

Kafka sighs, and shakes her head. "I'll take care of it, Bladie. I suppose we’ll have to do things the hard way.”

...

Kafka is the one to bring you breakfast the next morning. Blade does not normally keep track of Kafka's morning routine, because she is insane, but considering it involves you, he's more keen to it. Kafka prepares a light breakfast of garlic and shash rice, and secondarily, a shake of greens and nutrient powder.

(He... he thinks he knows the substance. Recognizes the acrid, must-driven smell of it, and remembers how awful it tastes. Like bile mixed with metal shavings. Who knows where Kafka acquires it from. He has smudged out memories of choking it down when Kafka first pulled him out of a crater, covered in blood and scarred— but not dead. Never. Never, never dead— )

Blade fractiously goes to your room and waits outside your door. Kafka is still inside when he arrives, speaking to you in that sweet, syrupy tone that drips into muscle and bone like molten metal.

"You need to eat, darling."

"Fuck you—"

"The more you fight, the harder this will be. Why don't you be good and let me help?"

"Don’t fucking touch me—!"

There’s the muffled sound of a struggle, which Blade assumes isn’t much of a struggle because Kafka is far stronger than she looks. Blade leans against the wall, next to your door. He can feel vibrations of a fight in the soles of his shoes through the floor. The thump of a body hitting the wall echoes.

Blade hears crying. You’re crying.

"Oh, tears? I’ve hardly done anything."

"You’re fucking monsters. Just let me go—!"

"You know that won't happen. Play nice.”

"Don't—!"

You sob, probably, and there's another sharp sound of flesh on steel. Blade would've flinched if he wasn’t an abomination.

"Let me take care of you, sweetheart. The sooner you give in, the easier this is. This doesn't need to be difficult."

"Get off of me—!"

More struggling. Blade closes his eyes and tries to imagine it. Kafka is ruthless in getting what she wants. She knows how to pry people apart, pick at their inside, and pull strings until they fracture. It is why Elio is such a fan of hers. It is why Blade keeps her close, as she knows the delicate, bowstring dance of keeping his mara in check.

He wonders what Kafka sees in you.

(He wonders what he sees in you. You're nothing like— like— who? Who are you so different from?)

Blade has a headache.

The sounds echoing from your room dissolve into muffled sobs and the occasional sharp cough. A gag. Inhaling and what must be your fist beating against the metallic paneling of the floor. He hears Kafka hush you, over and over. Quietly praising you after each gag and retch.

Blade's not sure how long it goes on before things feel still and quiet.

The sound of a kiss, audible, "See, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"... F-fuck you.

"Such a filthy mouth. Do you need me to wash your mouth out with soap? I'm happy too."

"Wait, don’t— no—“

Blade realizes his shoulders have hiked up. He forces them to lower. You scream and fight just feet away, really. All that separates you is seven locks.

Kafka seems to be handling things. The sounds continues, and become dull background noise. Shouts and pants fade into his thoughts as they get sap-sticky.

(Someone beloved, something far away. Bitter liquor on each other’s lips. Blade can’t recall the name.)

(A comet with a tail burning yellow. It is cold. A blade, driven into his chest. A blade stabbed into his eye. A blade put sidelong through his skull. A blade splitting his throat. Cold, cold, cold, cold.)

(Do you know cold? Do you know how frostbite turns flesh black? Do you know necrosis? What pain do you know?)

Blade, startlingly, does not want you to know pain. He wants you to eat your meals.

Kafka exits, almost startling him. She does not look surprised to see him hovering. She rearms the locks and glances at him from the corner of her eye.

“Down, loverboy. A scared dog will bite.”

“Do not call me that.” 

"Alright, alright,” she laughs and her grin grows sharper. “I’ll be taking care of their meals for the next few days. Listen, grab a medkit, the poor thing needs it. Though, I’ll let them hurt for a while first.”

Kafka walks off, and Blade follows at her heels. There are indentations in Kafka's gloves-- half-moon bite marks of teeth.

He decides he is going to break his own fingers, maybe. He can watch them heal back into place.

It’s meditative.

...

Several days pass with your ‘new routine’. Kafka handles each meal. Blade stays away from your room. The entire wing you’re located in feels nuclear. He stays in the training room. Throws himself at matted walls until his shoulders dislocate, only to pop them back into place to repeat the cycle.

He makes a point to check the kitchen after each of your meal times. There’s always an empty dish, a clean plate. A chunky-looking film left on a glass in the sink. Kafka is diligent, Blade doesn’t doubt this. 

The whole thing fills him with unease.

He asks Kafka to wipe his memory, but she denies him. She’s in the cockpit, swiveling in her seat.

“You don’t need that yet, Bladie. Give it some time.”

“But—”

“Discomfort isn’t mara suffocation, dear.”

“You’re patronizing me.”

She sizes him up, sighing, “Listen to me, keep it together. You’re alright. How about this, you can feed your pet starting tomorrow for lunch. Would that make you feel better?”

It would. He’s not sure why.”

“It would.”

Kafka looks pleased with the outcome of the conversation. She tells Blade to get some rest, pats his cheek, which does take the edge off the mara rooting around in his psyche for purchase. 

Blade takes a long route through the ship to his chambers. A deliberate path that brings him in front of your door. He doesn’t dare to enter, only listen. It’s late, you could be sleeping given the hour— but Blade can hear you shuffling around. Grumbling to yourself. One of your feet is dragging on the floor as you walk. Blade wonders how it was injured. 

He departs after hearing the shifting of your sheets, and the light under your door goes out.

(He feels insane. Insane in a way that isn’t mara-ridden, which is more terrifying. He knows the gnawing beast of Abundance that crawls around inside his skull and bones, he doesn’t know madness that has burrowed itself between his ribs. It feels light, like the carbonation bubbles in the bottled soda back on the Luofu. His palms sweat when he becomes aware of it with each thought of you.)

(Maybe he’ll try tearing out his organs again. That could fix it.)

Blade returns to his room and paces, before stripping and climbing into bed.

It’s only when he’s half-asleep that he realizes he’s hard.

He’s not sure why. 

...

Lunch is some takeout. It scalds his hands through the bowl he heaps it into. Braised trelk ribs with scallion and carrot, ladled over a bed of chewy-looking noodles.

"Bladie," Kafka tells him from the cockpit. She glances at him with a curling smile. "Be careful, they're sensitive."

Blade does not know how to be... careful. Not like how Kafka is implying he thinks anyway.

Silver Wolf snorts from her seat, speaking through a bite of noodle, "You’re asking a human-shaped hydrokenia bomb to be 'careful'?"

"Blade's a good boy, I'm sure he'll do great." Kafka's eyes are that spatial, nebula magenta. He feels pleasantly high when she looks at him. "Won’t you?"

"Yes."

Kafka looks pleased, "Listen, take your meal too. Eating with them will get them comfortable."

Silver Wolf raises an eyebrow, "Is that really a good idea?"

"I think so. Blade can handle it if they get testy."

She looks at him with a grin that's collapsed empires and immolated planets. Blade leaves the room with two bowls in his hands.

When he arrives at your cell— room. It's your room. He unlocks the locks methodically and enters without a greeting.

Today, you are not tucked in the corner of your bed. You’re instead perched in the rounded window, gazing at the starscape. Your knees are raised, and your arms are wrapped around yourself. You look small and defeated, eyes darkened and downcast. Blade watches you rub your shoulders.

You look up when he enters. Blade sets the bowl on the ledge next to you, and sets a pair of chopsticks on top, "You will eat."

It's not a command, but a statement of fact.

You scowl, looking so angry. Alive with it. He recognizes vitriol so easily. It's in your eyes and in the way you bare your teeth at him, ready to strike. Maybe you'll bite down on him, into him, until you taste blood. Blade's sure you wouldn't leave a scar— he heals too quickly from the types of flesh wounds to give him a lasting mark.

(There's something enticing about you trying. Blade does not know the floating, filmy part of himself that suggests such a desire.)

You carry Kafka's mark. There are bruises around your throat, the clear shape of hands. There are lumps across your jaw, darkened in color. Scratches of nails over your neck, down to your collarbones. Your eyes are red-rimmed. Your lip is split, barely scabbed over. You're shaking.

You open your mouth, ready to snap. Maybe you'll spit venom— Blade doesn't know your species. You could.

(Blade remembers your expression on different faces from the glitter of your canines. It reminds him— of—? Jingliu was colder. Frigid in her rage. Dan Feng was always so calm with his, Only shattered near the end, like a tide that swelled too high on the shore to swallow the world whole. Your expression is white-hot, like metal pulled fresh from a stoked forge. Desperation and terror make dull teeth sharp. Actions become erratic and desperate.)

(Blade has not remembered so much, so clearly in a long time. He really needs Kafka to wipe his memory again.)

The mara in him writhes. It’s a necrosis, a vitality that has long since sank into his marrow and will not leave. It rolls through him. Blades tips back his head and rolls his shoulders. There's a high to it, followed by an immediate and tumbling withdrawal and dread and clarity—

And it's all interrupted by the little gasp you make. The abrupt jolt you take backward, into the window, closer to the depths of deep space. Your body thumps against the glass. 

('Fragile', Kafka had said.)

Your mouth closes, and your bloody lower lip wobbles. Tears glitter on your lash line as you retreat. Maybe, Kafka broke you. She’s good at that. 

"Fucking— I-I mean, fine. I’ll fucking eat." You stumble over your words with a sniffle. Your voice is raw and strained. You rub your nose on your sleeve and scramble for the bowl and utensils.

Blade stares as you eat your first bite. Then your second. Followed by your third. You start crying after the fourth, sobbing with the fifth, and hiccupping between mouthfuls. You're eating too fast, occasionally looking at him with an expression he recognizes as terror. He's used to seeing a look like that at the end of his blade. Frozen before draining of blood and death.

He frowns. You should not look that way..

"Slow down," he says, sitting next to you.

You look at him and wipe over your mouth, lips parting, but seem to think better of speaking. You take another bite, chewing slower. Blade picks up his own bowl and eats small, meticulous bites.

(He shared a meal all the time. Shoulder to shoulder with Dan Feng, splitting casks of viridian wine in the moonlight. Food tastes better when someone you... like is near.)

You finish before him, and don't stop crying. If anything, you cry harder. It sounds painful.

Blade pauses his meal, idling. searching. There's something there. A feeling coated in the roots of mara, but... perhaps it's a delicious agony. Not so much a memory, but a want. Something other than— than what and why—

Blade stands. He departs to your bathroom (there are blood stains on the counter) and grabs a cloth towel. He dampens it with water, letting the sink run until it's pleasantly warm.

He sits closer to you when he returns. You flinch away in retreat, leer away as he comes close, hands up—

"Please, don't, what are you—"

"Hold still." Blade grabs your wrist and you wince.

With entirely conscious thought and great effort, he loosens his grip. And... gently, Blade brings the cloth to your face. He dabs around your eyes, then your cheek and nose, and lastly your mouth. you're frozen, wide-eyed, and still shaking.

When he's done, he grabs a blanket from the bed. He wraps it around your shoulders. It feels... somewhat right.

"You should rest." He tells you. "You need it."

Blade thumbs over a swollen round on your jaw. You tremble, eyes wide.

But maybe a little less scared.

"... Are you gonna stay while you finish eating?" You eye his half-full bowl.

"Yes."

"... 'kay... and you're not gonna rough me up like Kafka did?"

"No." He has no plans to.

"... Fine."

You cautiously make your way back to your little bed, sitting at the head of it, and half-slipping under the covers. It's... cute.

(Blade has not thought of anything as cute in several centuries.)

Blade wants to break your legs.

When he finishes, he collects both bowls, and looks around your room. It's sparse, though. There are a few books on the nightstand.

"... Are you bored?"

"Huh?" You ask. You'd been lost in thought, eyes lost. "Oh, I mean. yeah? There's not much to do."

"I'll bring some things. Bear it until then."

"Oh! Okay." You wrap the blanket around your shoulders tighter. "You're... Bladie, right?"

"Just Blade."

"Oh, okay. sorry." You wring your hands. "Thank you, Blade."

The thing in his chest blooms. A monstrous flower, mycelium under acres of land in a network that eats and never dies. Undergrowth that does nothing but rot and grow, grow and rot. 

Blade doesn't reply as he leaves the room. He gets halfway to the training wing before he has to pause, withdraw his phone, and send Kafka a frantic text: 'Meet me in the weaponry room.’

He pockets his phone before punching the wall. Clumsy fingers break upon impact, and the indentation of the fist remains in the metal. 

[faceeeeee]

Okay, so I can't stop thinking about your GOBB designs, and currently, your Flumbo is rotating around in my skull in the blorbo tumbler.

I NEED to know more.... please... I'm starving for blue mascot content 🙏😭💙 withering.... dying even (/silly)

(Side note: I'm being dramatic, no pressure to answer this at all /gen)

NONO IT'S OK I LOVE ANSWERING LORE ASKS! ALSO CBNCVBBCXBBVCNHV TYYYY💞💞💞💞💞😭😭😭😭😭❤️❤️💞💥💥💥 That man also had a chokehold on me like a week ago and with that I started developing more of his lore.

LORE TIME

OK SO- we know that flumbo is sort of a copy of banban, yes? A replacement if you will, meant to be the new face of the kindergarten. I imagine that his creation was due to Banban/Uthmans whole mess of bealiving that he is not indeed a 3 meter tall red thing (he was much more prone to having his outbursts back then and transform into hellish). So, they decided to make a replacement: a much better fit mascot, one who didn't bealive that he was human, one that looked healthy and strong. And that's when flumbo comes into frame. He is sort of the ideal mascot, one that completely embarces the fact that he is in fact non-human and that his only purpose is to entertain. Wether he likes it or not is irrelevant, the only thing that mattered to the staff was that he could perform well.

Now, why he was later thrown in the void and his mural drawing covered up with that of banban...I do not know. Cause the timeline ain't coherent but ignoring that-

Back to the whole "replacing" thing. The two of them later meet in Uthmans holding cell and one thing led to another and he goes berserk, making flumbo loose part of his horns and deal a lot of damage to him overall (his body kinda healed but the horns did not heheyyy). After that the two never met again and then we get to the current start of the security breach in the facility.

Why is this important? Well it adds up to the piles of reasons why flumbo absolutely loathes and resents uthman. Not because he lost his horns or whateva (well that too) but the fact that the one who should understand him, empathize with him bealives that he is separate fr him, that he's a human and also part of the staff that had tormented him and prodded at him. Uthman insisting that he's...well, uthman, infuriates him making them fight all over again.

One thing to note again is that flumbo fully bealives that he is just a creature, a thing to use. That made him completely seperate himself from humans, seeing them as lesser and as bugs to be crushed under him.

I had this crappy thing basically talking bout how he realised how weak humans actually are and deciding to take matters into his own hands (a.k.a kill em all)

And last but not least

🎉🎉🎉ANGST🎉🎉🎉🎉

[silvershadow1711]

Hey jello🤘

I want NEEEEDD more necro Ray pleassseee (would he sleep with the body and fuck it or what.)

Bye bye jello🤘

CW: necrophilla below the cut

Rigor mortis was annoying, but thankfully, that stage of death only lasts a few hours. After that, the body is pliable again. A bit too limp, but it's easy to pretend they're just in a deep sleep.

As long as he keeps his mind closed against the vacuum of theirs.

(Don't think about it)

Ray knows about death, more than most people. He is closely aquainted with the stench of rot, the sound of flies buzzing in liquid swarms around the dead heaped in pits, already liquifying in the ungodly humidity of the rainforest... Heat is the enemy. He keeps his condo as cold as possible, box fans running full blast around his bed to ensure the air stays dry (dehumidifiers put out too much heat). Whenever possible, his home is converted to a makeshift morgue.

He puts it off for as long as possible, trying to be content to just have someone to talk to, someone he can spill his guts to, someone who won't judge him

(Can't)

It's enough, he tells himself. It's more than what he had before. It's more than what he deserves.

...he's so lonely...

Heat is the enemy, but the feeling of ice-cold skin triggers a revulsion that's encoded too deep in his DNA to ignore. He fills the tub with scalding water, just short of boiling, and lowers the body into it, submerging it

(He tries to look anywhere else, but his eyes are drawn to the hole in their skull, staring at the little bubbles that cling to the folds of their brain like pearls)

Their skin remains ashen- all the blood has long since pooled in their back, despite his best efforts to rotate them regularly. But they're warm now, dewy soft. When he presses his lips against theirs, a trickle of warm water flows into his mouth and he can so easily pretend it's saliva. Ray's good at pretending- as long as he keeps his eyes half closed and doesn't linger on one spot for too long, it's easy to believe he can feel the subtle rise and fall of their chest, their pulse thrum against his lips.

He had planned on carrying them back to the bed, or at least the couch, but it's been so long since he's touched someone without the barrier of his gloves, so long since he's felt a warm body pressed against his... he neither knows nor cares where he tosses his clothes as he strips and descends on his star. The bathroom floor is heated, so at least he doesn't have to worry about the tile stealing that precious heat from them too quickly.

As he penetrates them, he realizes that this is their first time together, and he has to swallow several times before the taste of vomit is fully washed away.

(Just don't think about it)

The slapping of flesh, the faint squeak of skin rubbing against tiles, the quiet splashing of the water still in the tub from the vibrations beside it... it sounds so... clinical. It sounds like his room cell back in the NAHA facility he was raised in.

(Don't think about it)

Sterile white rooms, the incessant buzzing of flourecent lights

(Stop thinking about it)

Another body beneath his, still warm but quickly growing colder

(Stop it!!)

He watched them carry his brother away

(Please...)

He didn't even ask what they did with his body

Ray had no idea when he he'd stopped thrusting, if it was before or after he'd gone flaccid. It didn't even matter. He couldn't move, the great heaving sobs wracking his body paralyzing him. He couldn't breathe, choking on every breathe he tried to suck in. He collapsed onto his star, curling his body around theirs. He could fool his eyes, his ears, his mind, but his ability always rang true. There was no pull against his skin, nothing to absorb. He might as well have been weeping on the bathroom floor completely alone.

Again.

His tears would dry up eventually- they aways did. He'd dry his star off and lay them back in bed, coveted in ice packs to keep them cold, to stave off the rot for as long as possible. He'd content himself with laying beside them, running his fingers through their hair as he vented about his day. And that would be enough.

Until it wasn't. Until the loneliness grew too much to bear. And the process would begin anew, the same torment forever visited upon him. Perhaps one day, he would grow tired of rolling this boulder up a hill. Perhaps one day, he would let it crush him. Perhaps he would crush everything else first. But not today.

[cassiopeiathe1st]

so as a biology major, here's some things i've been chewing on after reading the unwanted guest. this post is brought to you by the part of my brain that saw the 7th's hereditary blood cancer and thought ok but what KIND of cancer is that.

the phrasing of "permeability of the soul" makes me think of semipermeable membranes and diffusion. diffusion is a passive process -- our molecules, when left to their own devices, want to be everywhere because entropy, but the semipermeable membranes that make up cells organelles etc make life possible by keeping things organized. this dividing & filtering process is required to keep things in place. with me so far?

to me, this concept of permeability emphasizes that souls are objects with boundaries. there's a line somewhere, however blurry (clearly very very blurry) or porous, that divides self & other, and! and!! that line only exists because it is somehow constructed, maintained, enforced. see: ianthe working so hard to convince herself/pal/the hypothetical audience of this play she's putting on that she's just ianthe with no babs mixed in. or john's ritual of retelling his story to alecto/harrow in NTN. something something being the unreliable narrator of your own identity.

palamedes calls the process that merges him and camilla to give us paul grand lysis vs. the "petty", incomplete lysis of eightfold word lyctorhood. lysis = the disintegration of a cell by rupture of the cell wall or membrane. the boundaries of their souls are sliced open so their contents can be poured out & mixed together to make someone new. but even in conventional lyctorhood, there's some kind of exchange of whatever material makes up the soul between cavalier & necromancer. as our boy tells ianthe at the end of the unwanted guest,

This is the real truth of Lyctorhood, Ianthe--it's not some bloodless swapping-out of batteries. It's grafting; transplantation. When you absorbed Naberius Tern's soul, you didn't swallow a diamond. You swallowed a piece of meat...and the longer you digest that meat, the more its proteins and lipids and molecules mix in with yours, until you can't tell them apart anymore.

idk where i'm even going with all of this, i'm just rotating it in my head, but:

tamsyn muir is so precise with her necromancy jargon & anatomical terms that i feel like there's definitely meaning to be found in the imagery here. there is poetry in biology, the universe is made of stories not of atoms, etc etc

it turns out lysis is also the title of a dialogue of plato on "the true nature of loving friendship," so if any classics enjoyers have thoughts on that connection i would love to hear them!

if lyctorhood is transplantation, is it possible for that transplant to be rejected? can the graft refuse to take?

souls are contained within their edges not unlike how a cell membrane contains its cytoplasm. or how a capri sun pouch contains its juice. and lyctors slurp that shit up and digest it baby

why choose to link the soul so closely with water? (the river, bubbles, currents & waves in the river, nona saying the water of the river "doesn't want to touch us.") contents of souls = liquid in the same way that the river is a liquid??? the river = spirit version of the primordial soup???

dulcinea refers to the river having two shores, not just a generic "shore", so it sounds like they're different in some meaningful way. but that may be conditional on what happens in alecto ("if this ends well you'll find that out")? is the point of the river the river itself, or is the point of the river to separate those two places?

[carionto]

This has probably been transcribed before but I don't know what tags to find it under, so imma just do it again cuz this kind of stuff feels very relevant to know, more evidence that Humans are weird as fuck and our brains just make shit up. [Twitter thread by user named foone as a long image I stumbled upon on Pinterest]: _______________________________

You want to know something about how bullshit our brains are? OK, so there's a physical problem with out eyes: We move them in short fast bursts called "saccades", right? very quick, synchronized movements. The only problem is: they go all blurry and useless during this

Having your vision turn into a blurry mess every time you move your eyes is obviously not a good idea, so our brains hide it from us. Now imagine you're an engineer and you have this problem

You've got some obvious solutions you could do.

make the vision go black during movement. (Some VR games do this!)

just keep showing the last thing we saw prior to movement

Both are good options with different downsides, but OH NO. this is assuming everything makes sense and is chronological and (regular) logical.

Your brain does neither of these options, really.

First, it basically puts your visual system on "pause".

You're not seeing blackness or even nothing, you're just not seeing period.

then when you finish your saccade, it shows you what you now see at the new position. and then it pretends it can time travel.

It seriously shows you the image at the new point, but time-shifts it backwards so that it seems like you were seeing it the whole time your eyes were moving.

And because your brain is not a computer with a consistent clock, this shit works.

You can see this effect happen if you watch an analog clock with a second hand.

Look away (with just your eyes, not your head), then look back to the second hand.

It'll seem like it takes longer than a second to move, then resumes moving as normal.

That's because your freaking visual system just lied to you about HOW LONG TIME IS in order to cover up the physical limitations of those chemical camera orbs you have on the front of your face.

We've known about this effect for over 100 years, it's called "Saccadic masking" and more specifically Chronostasis. Your visual system lies to you about WHEN things happen by up to half a second (!) just to avoid saccades blurring everything.

So while I firmly believe we're basically just overgrown biological computers, we're apparently computers programmed by batshit insane drunkards in Visual Basic 5.

And you might think "hey wait, wouldn't my vision 'pausing' for half a second have all kinds of weird effects on moving objects? why don't they appear to stutter when moving?"

and the answer is simple! your brain has EVEN MORE UGLY HACKS on top of this to avoid you seeing that

If you've got a clock where the second hand doesn't "tick" but instead smoothly rotates, you won't see this. Because your brain recognizes it's moving and adjusts what you see to make sure it sees the "right" thing.

It's only really obvious with periodically moving things like a clock hand, because it's not moving (so not triggering the movement-during-chronostasis hack) but it moves at a set rate, so you can notive that rate appearing to change.

It's tempting to think of your eyes and visual system as a camera just dumping a video feed into your conscious brain but taht's so very, very not the case. What you think you see and what your eyes can actually see are two exceptionally different things.

The big obvious one being the blind spot. Vertebrate eyes are wired backwards so we've got a blind spot in each eye where the enrves enter into the eye. About 6 degrees of your vision in each eye is just not there, as there's no light sensitive cells there.

Do you see a blind spot, right now? No, you probably don't. Close one eye! There's now no way for the other eye to fill in the gaps. Still, no blind spot… Your visual system is lying, and making up content it thinks is there. You literally cannot see what you think you see.

Here's another one: You can see in color, right? (well, some of you can't. Sorry) You can see in color all throughout your vision, it's color everywhere?

Well, most of the cone cells (Which are sensitive to color) are in the fovea, a little spot in the center of your vision.

So outside of that center-of-vision spot, you have very little color perception. There's some but it's very limited compared to your main color vision. But I bet if you shift your attention to your peripheral vision right now, it's in color.

Your vision system is lying. It's remembering what colors things are and guessing and filling in the gaps. It's basically doing a Ted Turner colorization process on your non-central vision.

There's even weird effects like what's called "Action-specific perception". If you get a bunch of white balls of various sizes and toss them at people then ask them to estimate the size of the balls thrown at them, they'll have a certain size estimate, right?

Now repeat the experiment but ask them to try to hit the balls back with a bat, and suddenly all the estimates shift larger. They actually see the ball as bigger because they need to hit it. Their vision is exaggerating it to make it easier to see!

Which just goes to show, like I said, your vision is not a camera. Perfect accuracy is not one of its goals. It does not give any shits about "objective reality", that's not important.

What's important to the evolution of the visual system is any trick that helps you survive, no matter how "dumb" or "weird" it is.

So if you want an accurate visual representation of what things look like? Use a camera. Not your eyes.

In any case the original point was that while you might know this about your eyes being poor cameras that lie to you, you might still think that at least they're consistent, time-wise. They don't screw with your sense of time passing, just to make up for visual defects. NOPE!

If you can't get it don in time, turn back the clock and pretend you did. That's a perfectly good solution when you're the visual system.

BTW @/hierarchon reminded me of a neat trick with saccadic masking: go look in a hand mirror. No matter how close you bring it to your eyes, and how much you look around, you will never see your eyes move. You're blind during those movements. But you still think you are seeing.

She additionally pointed out that your phone's selfie-mode is NOT a mirror, and it has a slight delaye, so you can see your eyes moving in it.

And for fun, here's wikipedia's example of the blindspot. Stare at L with only your left eye, adjust the distance, and the R will disappear. You don't see "nothing" or "black", you see the background, because you expect to.

This is why laser damage your retina can be so insidious. Your visual system already can hide "holes" in your vision, what's one more to hid? So you damage a small spot of your retina and your visual system covers it up.

But since you didn't go "WELL THAT WAS TERRIBLE I BETTER TAKE BETTER CARE OF MY EYES" and stop fucking with lasers, you keep doing it. Eventually you accumulate so much damage that your visual system simply cannot manage hiding it all and your vision rapidly degrades.

The other reason lasers are so dangerous is that they don't necessarily trigger the same responses as regular incoherent light. Your pupil reflex is only triggered by some special cells in the center of your eye, so an off-center laser might not cause your iris to contract.

And infrared laser light is just as dangerous as visible laser light, but can't trigger your blink reflex. Your eyes automatically close when exposed to bright light, but they can't detect infrared light. Despite not seeing it, it still causes damage.

Anyway, back on how amazing and crazy your vision is: There was an experiment back in 1890 where someone wore glasses made with mirrors in them to flip their vision. After about 8 days, they could see just fine with them on. Their vision system had started "flipping" the image.

(I say flipping in quotes because it's not as simple as it started showing the pixels at the top row on the bottom row, cause our vision doesn't work like that) It only took them a few hours to get back to normal after taking these glasses off, though.

The last really fun part about this flipping experiment: your eyes already do it. Based on how our vision is wired, we should be seeing everything upside down.

We don't, but only because our visual system has had a whole life to adapt to this.

BTW, since a few people have brought it up: There's a great sci-fi novel by Peter Watts called Blindsight. In it humans encounter an an alien race they call Scramblers, who can move very fast and precisely, and they exploit saccades.

Because if they only move during saccades, we never see them moving. And since so much of our vision is based on just filling in what we think is there, if they stay out of the direct center of our vision, we'll just visually fill them in, like they were never there.

Check it out if you're into hard SF stories of first contact. It's got some really neat ideas about human vision, very unique aliens, the future of humanity in the face of perfect VR, and vampires. (Really, it has "vampires", while still being hard-SF)

BTW, remember how I said "vertebrate eyes" up there? Guess who has eyes which are wired forwards instead of backwards (have no blindspot), have an internal lens, and can even see polarization of light? Our good friends the Cephalopods!

[my-stories-vault]

Chapter 8 ~ Purgatory Series.

Pairing: American Dean Winchester X English Y/N L/N; American Dean Winchester X American Y/N L/N.

Blurb: Purgatory suits you, to be honest. Plenty of distractions to choose from, you can kill as many as to your heart's content. And your heart is one insatiable bastard—it'll do anything to keep the memories of your ex away. Until a face much similar to his struts up into your territory, looking for you, promising you a home you lost too long ago. Your heart melted once before, do you think you would be able to risk it all again for the same criminally handsome face?

Warnings/Trigger Warnings (18+): Supernatural Wars spoilers, major and minor character deaths, mentions of previous major character deaths, violence, gore, tons of angst, (sort of, but not really) love triangle, language, self-sacrifices (not exactly suicide), betrayals, etc.

Note: This was written four years ago and English is my second language - I've tried to edit without losing the past-me's "authenticity", but let's face it, spellings ain't my strong suit, and even Grammerly gave up, soooo all the mistakes are mine 🙂🙃.

{ Series Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }

Purgatory Series: Last Part (8).

Castiel tumbled into the dry leaves with a boom. The projectile grew in shape, opening it's wide mouth.

'Leviathans,' you whispered.

Your weapon was slung off your shoulder and an arrow was shot to behead the creature in seconds. Your back had been unprotected, allowing a Levithan to get the jump on you. Seamlessly, Dean was to your rescue, and his sword invaded the monster's chest cavity, pulling upwards so the thing would be in a literal half. By the time you got your feet, your group of four had been cornered by an army of ten.

Huh, well, fuck.

The four of you ripped away from the tight circle in four cardinal directions.

West was yours.

The first one went down easy: a kick to his special place, and a lodging of your arrow into his neck. The weapon was laden with Borax.

Although when you turned, you were turning into a punch. She kicked you down and then kicked you while you were down. Until you grabbed her hard kick, and rotated your back on the forest floor so your legs could sweep her off the one sturdy foot on the ground. With her right leg still in your hand, you straddled her other one. You stretched the right one near her ear, making her yell in strain, then you stabbed it with an arrow that went through her stretched leg and her nose till it was lodged into the ground - effectively pinning her there in a very awkward position. You didn't stick around to admire your work; another arrow was out and ready.

This dance went on for a while.

Benny had always admired Dean's fighting prowess, but seeing you, he was more than a little awed. It was like you were dancing, something choreographed into your every cell was pouring out of you like music. But you didn't utter a single sound, no grunt, or a yelp, no sound of an effort made. He doesn't think Castiel or Dean noticed, perhaps because they were used to you, but you slew the most Leviathans.

The idea of you being captured by the small fairies seemed funny to him now. He should've known you were a greater force than all that made this Purgatory. You weren't just a human, you might just be the destroyer of this very no man's land. For the first time, Benny was glad Dean was your friend, and he forced the tingles of fear to roll down his back.

Castiel was playing with their minds by flying around, he didn't have a weapon, so he was just waiting for you to reach the subjects of his mind games. At least, Dean had dipped his and Benny's weapons in Borax while you'd been away.

This little fight in the small pocket of Purgatory could be described as self-preservation at its best. And this fight would give you all an hour of repose before the war began.

With the last monster cut, you took the lead back to the camp à la Dwarves - you did realise that you might be leading the war to them.

However, nothing mattered more than getting Dean to safety. You would be damned if you had something go wrong when you could see the finish line.

When you noticed the marks laden on the trees, you produced a whistle (shaped like a bird, and you blew into its tail) they'd given you in case of emergencies; and not a second passed after the first chirp that long vines were thrown down. They all had little footholds on the bottom, much like the ones during horse-riding.

You pushed Dean before you, then Benny. To quell Dean's incoming protests, you clawed the tree bark and raced beyond them, climbing like a monkey, much faster than the Dwarves could pull anyone up. To save time, Castiel also flew.

As soon as you'd slapped a hand onto the first flat surface, you saw Kan-fir's face looming; leaving just enough space to let you haul up and sit on the edge.

'War?'

You were panting; your heart beating out of proportion and the lances of fear that jerked through your nervous system. But you'd never been scared for yourself, not since his death.

'War.'

His expression transformed into a Leader's, much like you used to once upon a time. He signaled to the side, causing alarms, not unlike your whistle, just amplified, to blow throughout as far as you could see was Purgatory's horizon.

The small crowd of the little ones that had gathered around dispersed to arm up. You touched Kan-fir's shoulder to stop him a second.

'The portal?'

'Open,' he assured. 'It closed not with alarms, but with him gone,' he pointed at Dean.

Guess that made sense. The portal was directly linked to the man that belonged to said Purgatory's Earth. No wonder it never seemed to splice the time and space continuum for the likes of you.

Kan-fir hurried away to finalise the last few battle strategies. After all, the alarms had just signified a war between the Leviathans and the Dwarves. The Purgatory would be going into lockdown within the next hour, and it would be an all-out massacre.

From what you'd known, the rest of the creatures of the land had been forced to divide between the two armies.

Back when the Leviathans had been A.W.O.L. to Earth, the monsters had lived pretty peacefully - you'd seen this treeland heave a sigh of relief in their absence. But when they came back, the chaos had ensued once more. That's when the armies had started forming. Dwarves had advantaged themselves with a headstart while the Leviathans mourned their deaths on earth, and convinced a hefty amount of monsters that Leviathans had to be rid.

You didn't know how true it was, but Kan-fir said that many monsters had been reluctant to side with the Dwarves; they'd wanted to be anonymous and in hibernation when the war commenced. He said that they changed their minds when you picked a side. You'd been a bit bashful to hear it.

This was a time-old conflict, literally, it seemed as old as time. To think that the Dwarves credited you for bringing them resolution was more than a little flattering.

You felt like a soldier, a Leader again . . . Not some deserter who left her people to die . . .

You'd been raised into wars, but for the very first time, you were secretly enjoying the thrill of death that came with wars.

You'd run amok for seven years because you didn't have a purpose and it was your punishment for the way it ended with Dean.

This?

This is your redemption.

'Alright,' you clapped your hands for attention. 'Cas, do you think you can fly yourselves to the portal? Or near it. You've got about an hour now, before—'

'What about you?' Dean cut you off.

'Darlin', I've gotta stay and—'

'So, we stay, too.'

'I didn't sign up for that,' the vampire groused.

'Look, Ben—'

'No, Chief, this is not our fight. These are two larger entities that made each other extinct on Earth, way before the fucking dinosaurs - what do you think will happen when neither of them can die in Purgatory? They've been planning an Armageddon - why do you think some of us have been trying to get out of here forever?'

'I agree, Dean,' you couldn't believe you were, with Benny, but, 'The other monsters are going to end up being pawns in their revenge schemes.'

'And you think you're so special?' he scoffed. 'Look, I'm not leaving. End of story!'

You and Benny shared a long-suffering look.

'Fine,' Benny gritted out. '. . . We'll go ask what we gotta do.' He tapped Castiel on the shoulder, who hesitated.

'Dean, I hate to side with Y/N—'

'Then, don't!'

'Dean,' his voice strained the elder brother's name, 'Purgatory's not for you . . . think about Sam.'

He let that sink in. Then, they turned to leave.

'Reserve me some weapons,' Dean instructed as the boys left. 'And her, too.' He must've sensed that this conversation wasn't over.

'This is not what I want for you,' you tried.

'Ditto.'

'I'm not who you love, Dean,' you went for the jugular.

His jaw worked a muscle and he stepped closer in challenge. 'I beg to differ,' owning up to those feelings that either of you had never uttered.

You really didn't want to do this, but you squared, bracing for something you never thought you'd ever have to do. 'Dean, I don't love you,' you lied.

Dean didn't flinch - as if he'd always suspected it - even though you could see the hurt cleaved into his face; a pain that ran so deep, you felt it was cutting you. His eyes grew gloss, and you almost took it back.

Yet, you couldn't.

'I'm staying,' his voice was soft, as if he couldn't muster much energy to say it more determinedly. 'I go where you go,' he cleared his throat. 'And I'll . . . I'll leave you alone when you're out of here, okay? I swear. Just . . . just let me save you. Let me help you.'

Your eyes filled up on salt.

But he didn't cry, nor would you.

'Fine,' you rasped past the lump that was hurting your throat - it felt like it was in your windpipe, choking you.

'Fine.'

When your gazes locked, they were warring.

You both knew you'd try and weasel out, and you both knew he'd try and stop you. And you both also knew who would win . . . .

You'd never been so beaten in your life.

The Leviathans didn't leave an inch of your skin unbruised, not an organ untargeted, and not a tree in the one mile radius they hadn't pounded you against.

Being kidnapped sucked. You didn't think you'd make it out of here anymore. And you could then solve one of life's greater mysteries and find out where monsters went after they died in Purgatory.

Maybe they just ceased to exist?

You sobbed at that thought. A feeble, 'Stop,' escaped you.

'What?' snarled the woman. She gripped you by the hair and pulled your head back so she could speak near your lips. 'What'd you say, bitch?' she examined you from the corner of her eye; your face twisted and abused beyond recognition, 'Where are the Dwarves?'

'I don't know,' you cried out. 

Your throat hurt from the rope burns and hand imprints from the multiple times they'd strangled you into the near vicinity of death. After taking you from the fairies, they discovered you weren't the human they sought for. But just because you had her face, they thought you also knew what her plan was.

'Yes—' 

She paused while she slammed you into the ground - probably cracked another rib you didn't know you had - and let your head be submerged into the icy lapels of the river near which they'd chosen to torture information out of you. And you wanted to give it to them. You just didn't know what it was!

'—You do!' she completed when he pulled you back out.

The cold made you shudder and your wounds burn as if they'd been exposed to fire. It stung so bad . . . 

'No,' you wept.

'I can't believe that you're holding out for those little bastards,' she spat in your face. She tugged your strands, and you whimpered. 'D'y'know how they'd tattle to Mommy? She got so pissed with us that she grounded us to this filthy craphole! She made us extinct! Said we couldn't leave until we apologised to each other . . . Like, we'd ever do that!' she scoffed, adding a slap to unload her misplaced anger.

She paused to contemplate you, admiring the myriad of "art" she'd left on your s/c skin. 'Tell me. Did you think you'd be getting out of here? I mean, really. What, you figured you'd hitch a ride on the human? And he'd let you? Do you believe in this soulmate crap?'

Soulmates sounded like such a sure thing. All the Deans you knew would save their soulmates; all those Deans would die for their soulmates.

Yet, you were an anomaly.

Your blood was stained with monstrosity, and Dean's was riven with righteousness. He couldn't love you, he wouldn't save you.

For once, the Leviathan was right. Why were you being such a damsel in distress?

You tried to kill me! you'd yelled.

Oh, honey, it's nothing personal. We just can't love a monster.

'Awww,' she smirked down at you. 'You look like a kicked puppy.' She traced a finger down from your head to your jaw. 'At least puppies are liked enough to be saved . . . No one's even coming for you.'

'You're right,' you said.

However, your lips were too swollen for her to understand you. She leaned in to listen better but your hand shot out to grip her neck. She laughed in your face with how faint your fingers were against her.

'Oh, you're cute enough that it's a pity I'm gonna eat you.'

'Is that a fear of yours?' you murmured feebly. 'Let's find out.'

Your other hand came to her head. With all the energy you'd left, and this newfound motivation, you tapped into your magic.

The cells in your body seemed to be gushing out to aid this outpour of fears and nightmares you were granting her as a parting gift. Before she could process the concept of it all, you were already into her head a good deal. And then, she was thrashing atop you, screaming and yelling for mercy.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

You were shocked when her eyes melted in her sockets and spilt down her cheeks like a sticky milkshake, while more black blood oozed from her nose and mouth.

You couldn't stop until she stopped screaming. And then she fell on your body, making you humph.

'Survival 101,' you rested your eyes as the worst ache of your life boomed into your headspace. Claret trickled down your cheeks, a warning ringing in your ears. 'Save yourself.'

Darkness adopted you.

Figures since darkness had been looking after you your whole life.

The tasks were divided to be conquered.

One sector was of Dwarves only, with arrows and spears for farther distances. The second and the third wave of Dwarves and/or monsters would attack and then encircle the Leviathans (so that their supplies, ammunitions, and back-up are all cut off), respectively. The fourth sector (of Dwarves alone) was supposed to lay low as back-up.

The fifth batch consisted of Dwarves who would protect their King, Kan-fir. The sixth group consisted of monsters who were assigned as medical first responders.

You headed the rescue mission.

It wasn't the original plan. You were supposed to use the weapon the Dwarves had been researching for a while, but now that they did find the weapon, it was something no one had expected.

The plan had to be . . . modified, so to speak. 

'I don't know, Y/N,' Castiel was skittish about the said plan.

You flashed him an annoyed look. 'Are you bailing on me?' You didn't stop packing the Borax water balloons in your bag.

Rescuing Y/N might, at the very least, be interesting, and at its worst, tough. Most of the Leviathans would be out battling the second and third wave of your troops. They wouldn't be sparing manpower for a puny dreamwalker.

You were the real deal, as Kan-fir had put it.

After you assault the Leviathans guarding your doppelganger, then you'd have to worry about them coming after you.

I will have one hour, insisted your rationale. Yeah, one hour until her guards wake up and sound the alarm bells. One hour until they chase you. One hour to get everyone to safety. One hour to—

'I didn't say that.'

'Then, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my fiancé. Prepare to save,' you joked.

He gave you a bitch-face that would have put Sam Winchester's to shame.

'Geez, it's not like I asked you for your wings. Cough up a laugh!'

'That's not even the correct reference.' He seemed disappointed.

Your eyes narrowed, 'Dean was the T.V.-savvy, all right! Will you do it or not?'

'Dean won't be happy with this - we're deceiving him.'

'You would know - you've racked up quite the experience.'

'I've trusted the wrong people over him before Y/N. He won't forgive me.'

You glide past the fact that he called you "wrong", turning to finally face him. 'I trust you over Benny, Castiel. Will you or will you not divert Dean towards the portal?'

'He wants to take care of you,' Castiel persisted.

'I know - chivalry isn't dead or whatever. But Cas, we're running out of time! Kan-fir wants to end this, sooner than Dick figures out this complicated shit. There's one weapon, and the opportunity's only shown up now - do you feel me? I need to save her, and I need Dean to be out of Purgatory before the weapon implodes!'

'I understand your concerns. But Dean isn't a child - or a commodity you want delivered to Earth. Dean can handle himself.'

'Doesn't mean he should have to, Castiel,' you barked. 'I'm not his responsibility either - but here he is, isn't he? We both are running the same race. And I will win, with or without you. The Dwarves are so much more powerful than you, so it would do you good to side with me. Lest you want to be as blindsided as your precious best friend is.'

He took a pregnant pause to let the open threat sink in. '. . . I'm with you.'

'Good. Now, get Dean, and try not to screw up.'

Castiel moved to the door when there was a knock on it.

"I don't like this," was Benny's first response when you'd announced the plans of your wayward group of hunters.

Dean and Castiel, who had experience fighting side-by-side in battle, would head one of the factions, most probably the third one, and attack the Leviathans head on. You weren't saying you were too happy about Dean running head on into danger, but honestly, what was new?

Plus, your reprimands would be like a pot calling out to a kettle.

Besides, Castiel would make sure that halfway through the fight, anytime he sensed an overpowering bunch of those monsters were going to attack them, he would lead Dean astray by saying that sensed more assist was required in the opposite direction - and soon, he would be leading Dean down to the portal where you would converge with Y/N and Benny. The Dwarves found the exact location of the portal and gave it to Castiel. You just prayed Castiel didn't grow cold feet.

He was unhappy about lying to Dean, as you were about being paired up with Benny. The vamp wasn't your first choice; he became your only.

Benny and you had a better idea of how substantiated the forest was than either Dean or Castiel; which was putting aside the fact that a human from this Purgatory's planet, and an angel would attract just too many monsters. It would be like inviting the whole Leviathan population for a barbecue.

'This is not good,' the Cajun repeated under his breath.

You rolled your eyes and swung off to another tree, giving him a beat to follow. Your eyes scanned the area but nothing seemed off to you. You were deep into the territory of Leviathans. Deep like cold cuts in a freezer, ready to be blazed and eaten. It was pertinent that you both maintained silence.

A fact that Benny was trying his best to abide by.

But when you'd passed by a herd of battle-ready Centaurs, he had to remind you how stupid this endeavor might as well be.

Eighty-five percent of chance said the American version wasn't even alive anymore. You were running out of delusions to imagine that they'd simply placed her on a torture rack somewhere instead of turning her into a pile of ashes no one gave a fuck about.

Another half an hour passed, and the fewer Leviathans you saw, the more worried you were getting. It's a miracle you hadn't bitten off someone's (Benny's) head. The fewer monsters you saw here, the more had been sent off to the battle where Dean was. Already, a day had passed since the war commenced.

None of it was not good for your anxiety.

'I thought you had the address,' Benny prodded after a while.

You had to breathe deeply. 'Consider this a complex or a cluster of buildings. Forgive me if it's taking me time to reach the apartment - clever kidnappers tend to cover their fucking tracks.'

'Dwarves are supposed to be good at sniffing out that kinda shit.'

'This is the best lead we could've gotten.'

'We're wasting our time,' Benny complained.

'You didn't have to come with me!' you protested, turning on the tips of your toes, scratching the bark of the branch that you both were perched on like birds. 'You could've stayed back at camp, or gone with Dean like a good little bloodhound!'

Yes, you'd sought Dean for help. Yes, you realised that Benny would be more expendable than Dean. No, you were not about to tolerate his bitching and moaning.

He gave you an impatient look and if you didn't know any better, you could've sworn that Dean's soul had entered his body when he said: 'You didn't ask to be stuck with Dean or his soulmate either, but here you are risking your life for nothing.'

Did he just spew common sense? You were rusty, you'd lost yours a long while back.

'What's it to you?'

He rolled his eyes. 'Dean's like my brother. He would kill me if I left your reckless ass on line.'

Oh, so that was what this was about.

You sensed that Dean might've cornered Benny and ordered him to keep an eye on you while you lead point on your messed up way of salvation.

At least Benny's loyal.

'There,' Benny pointed.

At five o'clock, there was a body half-lying on the ground, and half in the stream. Had to be a monster; alive or sleeping.

Both of you swung over to the tree it was under. You leaned backward till your legs were bent at the knees, allowing you to hook yourself on the branch, upside-down, to get a closer look. It was something your Dean had taught you, the upside-down trick - to remove your fear of trees forever.

You didn't know if it was blood rushing down to your brain or actual nausea when you saw its face . . . Her face. Your face.

Patches of hair were pulled out, skin frayed in too many places. So much sanguine had already bled out that now it was verging on black - a medical omen of death.

You did an abdominal crunch, and came face to face with Benny again, who was holding your quiver.

'It's her.'

His brows furrowed. 'Why would they leave her alone?'

That was a good question.

This could be a trap, was communicated in one look.

'One way to find out,' you pursed your lips. 'Cover me?'

You made your descent without waiting for his response. You heard the slightest ruffle of leaves, in which Benny had slacked off to another tree for better visuals, while you steadily climbed down.

You stepped lightly on your feet next to the body. There were no signs of movement from her. You judged her face and wondered if Levithans could even replicate wounds when they take a face - because make-up products were definitely not a popular sale/purchase material down here - this couldn't be a Leviathan, right?

You untied one of your Borax water balloons, and gently poured it over her face. She didn't sizzle, but neither did she twitch.

You got worried, as you signaled Benny to get down there. You kneeled beside her, and unscrewed your bottle of the healing potion. You parted her lips by holding her face up with one hand under her jaw. Only a rivulet or two of the sewer-tasting liquid escaped her mouth.

'Will she live?' Benjamin questioned when he was near.

'Don't ask stupid questions.'

She had to live.

You kept pouring it down her gullet till the bruises on her lightened, and most of the scars mostly sealed up. The lost blood wasn't retrieved, but new would circulate in a while, maybe then she wouldn't appear as blanched. By the time the bottle was vacant, she was still terribly hurt, and showed no signs of regaining consciousness.

'We need more,' Benny observed, the same thing you did.

You sighed through your nose. 'Did you ever go to a gym, Benny?'

'If you're asking me to carry her while committing mediocre tree-hopping, you're gonna be disappointed.'

'Who said I'm asking?'

'You carry her.'

'You're not the only one who failed gym class, Benny.' You had a decent upper-body, but you couldn't carry another person like that - that was more Dean's thing; that strong, beautiful bastard. The man was frigging Hercules.

'What, the invincible Y/N L/N can't even pull her own weight?' he sassed, grinning about the pun he just made.

You made a sour face, 'I didn't like you before, but at least I didn't judge you. Besides, I'll have you know, I believe in quality over quantity.'

'If you're so smart, then get us out of here without the way of the trees,' he snapped.

You shot him a scathing look, wondering if you could threaten to leave his Cajun ass behind. Though, you feared if he would be just another person for Dean to stay back for. So, you took a breath of patience (a lot of it), and assessed your surroundings.

You still weren't sure why Y/N was alone, and if her guards were going to be back. You needed to transport faster. What could possibly be a better mode than the trees?

'Benny, you were a pirate, right?'

He looked at you uncertainly. 'Did I tell you that?'

He didn't have to. You'd been suspicious of it since so many other things of their world have been similar to yours.

Question for a question, 'Do you know the concept of upstate? Royalty?'

'What are you playing at?' he bit first.

'I'm playing Purgatory politics,' you explained. 'We're upstream. Upstate means elite. Leviathans think they're royalty.'

'You want to sail?' the incredulity made him take a step back to understand if you were in your right mind.

You shrugged. 'We row far enough, we reach the outcasts.'

'The Dwarves,' he pieced together. 'The currents are in our favour, but how will we go undetected?'

You didn't rectify him by saying that you were going to sail past the Dwarves, who were rebels of Purgatory at best, and you were going to sail to the outcasts, which was where the Portal existed - where the humans should be, the actual outcasts.

'We have enough Borax balloons to fight if it comes to that,' you theorized. 'Unless you're too scared.'

His ego wouldn't let him deny the risk you were asking him to take. 'What do you need?'

'Tree sap, bark, leaves,' you listed off with a winning smile. 'So many leaves.'

He ran a hand over his scratchy brown beard. 'I see regret in my future.'

'My old friend, tell her hi for me!' you said, sarcastically cheery.

He flipped you the bird.

You were underway in a sturdy makeshift boat by the end of the second hour. Surprisingly, and a relief it was, when no Leviathans showed up to check on your doppelganger. You could work with undivided attention, and stitched up a storm with an arrowhead you broke off.

The boat didn't have a very good shape. It was buoyant because of the woody base, it was connected through a leafy cover, and joined by gooey tree sap. The rows were just as misshapen, but workable. At least the surface was wide enough for one person to lie on, and two to stand or sit on. Both you and Benny were on opposite ends, rowing continuously, as fast as your energies would allow.

'Where did you learn to make this?' he enquired randomly.

You were immediately flashing back to your Earth. Voices floating in your mind: instructions. You blinked back the anger that was burgeoning, just thinking back to your "teacher".

'Angels had Heaven, the skies; Demons had Hell, the underground; Humans had Land, the surface; Monsters had the Seas. Pirates, everywhere, all monsters. And when you want to travel overseas, it's easier to pass through the Monsters' jurisdiction than it is the Angels'.

'Our world's "travel agent", Jack, hooked my mother for my travels. I met you when I was transferred to Europe.'

'You weren't born there?' he seemed surprised.

'My parents were Leaders. And when the Wars run as long as ours did, there's always nepotism. I was declared as a potential co-Leader of Europe after I was born. And for the authenticity of it, I had a British nanny. I was raised a European. But I got to go there only after I turned twenty-five - that's usually the year of a Leader's initiation.'

'And my clone took you there?'

You bit your lip, and practiced breathing for a while. You remember his promise of being an honorable monster, a man of his word. You'd never truly believed him, a reason why you couldn't hate this version too much.

It was Castiel who had betrayed you.

'I was a curious person,' you indulged.

"Was" being a keyword. You have felt curious or like a person in a long time.

'I'd never been near a boat in my entire life,' you shared. 'We made a deal: boat knowledge for an island we weren't using.'

'Were you that rich?' he asked in surprise.

'The richest,' you shrugged.

He hummed. 'Thought nothing bad ever happened to the rich,' he said, somewhat bitter.

'Money can't buy lives. Or loyalty. Or happiness. Not that I'd expect you to understand.'

A pause.

'There a reason why you hate me?' he finally acknowledged the elephant in the room.

'By the time of the concluding war, only the Alpha Vampire remained as a representative of your monster faction . . . you were his second-in-command.'

Lot of money in it, you added in your mind. Benny and The Bloody Princess' (his ship) background checks had only indicated a hand-to-mouth existence, thus, a sort-of ally to humans who could give them blood bags in exchange for transport . . .

All that while he'd been working directly for the Alpha, spying on the hunters and trafficking the innocent ones.

'You didn't know?' he guessed, based on the thickness of your voice.

'No.' You found resistance when you tried to swallow.

'Did I kill someone close to ya?' he put his hand on the money.

'Doesn't matter,' you shook your head. You cannot go there. 'You're saving someone close to me now. That's more important.'

'Why are you trusting me now?'

You smirked, the fool. 'You know what they say,' you said. 'Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice? . . . If I have to finish that sentence, Benny, consider it your eulogy.'

Both of you knew the resounding truth ringing behind that warning.

He steered you to another topic: 'Since we're bonding—'

'We're not.'

'—why are you saving her?'

'She's Dean soulm—'

'Cut the crap.'

Time to lay on the lies. 'What tipped you off?' you led him on.

'At first? Human carriers can have more than one monster through the portal, but the more monsters there are, the harder it is for the human to survive, and you wouldn't risk his life that way.'

That had been your plan. Your plan had been to train her in your accent and to familiarize her with the territory a bit till she could fool Dean enough. It was a long shot, but not impossible.

It wasn't until she actually died that you realized she had to travel under Dean's skin. Messed up your whole plan.

'He's . . . resilient,' you told Benny, keeping the charade up.

'Fine. But that couldn't be your current plan.' Benny was sharp, you noted. 'That would have been before he knew that only you or her can live on the planet. He won't let her travel willingly now. Not unless you go through the portal first. Before she does with him.'

You knew that. Dean believed in defying the multi-dimensional norms of the various Universes, and as admirable as it is, it sometimes pissed you off. Sometimes the goddamned universes are just more powerful.

'What are you doing with her, chéri?'

'Do you believe . . .' you purposely acted reluctant. 'Are you aware of how Leviathans can be killed once and for all?' 

You heard the water on his side stop splashing for a second. 'Bedtime story. There's a single weapon that can kill the Dwarves or the Leviathans - one that kills the Leaders and erases the rest of their population. Not just them, works on every Leader. Once you eliminate the Leader, you kill every groupie under him, here, in Purgatory. But no one's ever seen or heard of it.'

You stop rowing for effect. 'She is it, Benny. We had the weapon when we had her.'

'. . . Do the Dwarves know?'

'They found out this morning, and told me. They made a new plan . . . in which the weapon dies alongside the Leviathans.'

'Damn.'

Tears burned your eyes. 'Indeed.'

You stood on the water's edge . . . No, wait. That was your face-thief. You were dreamwalking again. She looked pensive as she stared at the house in front of her - it resembled a gazebo out of a fairytale book. There was a book sinking slowly into the water, a disturbance to the place's idyllic nature.

There was something else that was off . . .

Then, you saw it. The edges were wilting as if this was an old chapter of an ongoing book. Usually, when you dreamwalked, your scenes were fresher, more present, but this seemed like you were visiting a memory of hers.

You'd rarely ever used this skill of yours. You usually could only tap into the memories of someone you'd sorta bonded with; it made you uncomfortable to know that the Brit was one of them.

In walked a tiny figure. A Dwarf, you noted - those miniature bastards. You recognised this one as Kan-fir.

'Sad.'

She stiffened before she turned to the perpetrator of the voice, she blinked at the air for a moment before her eyes were drawn way below to the King of the Dwarves.

'Oh, hey, cutie. Kan-fir sad?' she questioned, pronouncing his name with a silent "n".

He halted next to her. 'No. Y/N sad. Y/N sink journal about man human. Y/N miss Dean.'

She was rueful. 'Story of my life.'

You stepped closer to hear them better - you knew they couldn't see you, not unless your face-thief had initiated this meeting - which she didn't, because the color belonged to a past memory of hers.

'Go Dean.'

'I can't go to him!' she protested, fluent in understanding broken English. 'He deserves . . . He deserves to have someone who loves him for who he is.'

'You. Yes.'

She rolled her eyes. 'Did you get what I asked for?'

He sagely nodded. 'Cutie find Dean soulmate alive. Earth-living. Dreamwalker she, you right.'

'Oh, good, I can start visiting Y/Ns then. Did you get the African dream roots?'

He shook his head yes, before, 'Tip pro?'

'Yeah, tell me.'

'You kill soulmate, you live Dean. Back new Earth!'

Your habit of mistrusting people niggled in the back of your mind as the memory melded into another.

'Why do you prefer daylight?' she was asking.

'Dwarves and Leviathans: major-league, before BAN! Then, humans. Them force, monsters hide. Irony: biggest monster think broad daylight as possession. They control everything!' Kan-fir very passionately waved his pudgy hands for emphasis. 'We prefer daylight because we monstersbig.'

'Hmm,' she admitted, 'never thought of it that way. I must be a monster too, then, since humans preside over the daylight now. At least on Earths.'

'Never thought that way.'

You tried to stir towards the exit. You weren't comfortable seeing her memories like this - something you would never admit out loud.

However, you walked into a war room this time - the one where you'd first met the Brit Y/N in person, bound and gagged. You remembered because you'd both stayed there for a day before you left.

Y/N was pacing the room, looking stressed. 'Is it true?'

'We research,' Kan-fir said grimly. 'America right. She need be under Dean skin for exit Purgatory.'

You realised this must be on the day that you first met your face-thief. After you asked her how you both were gonna convince Dean to carry you . . . You'd left the Dwarves the same day.

'How did we not know this!?' she threw her hands in the air. '

Kan-fir huffed. 'Busy with war things.'

'Well, it would have been nice to know, Kan-fir!' she was almost scolding. 'There goes my plan to fool Dean into thinking she was me! We had an agreement—I fight war for you, and you help me save Dean!'

Kan-fir crossed his arms. 'Down tone. No like loud.'

She budged. 'I'm sorry. I'm just . . . how do we send her back? She's here. We brought her here.'

'Don't send. You go.'

Fear and anger oiled your heart into acceleration. This was twice now that Kan-fir had mentioned it . . . more importantly, has the Brit been lying to you all this time when she promised she would send you home? . . . She was a better person than that, right?

You decided to seek a memory that would prove her innocence . . . still, dread was settling in your stomach.

Another remembrance played.

A Dwarf burst in, 'Fairies kid-sleeped Y/N two!'

'What?' Y/N asked. 'Why would they kidnap her? We have got to get her back!'

Castiel put a hand on her shoulder to stop her in her hammock. 'You're still weak. You just woke up.'

'I don't care! Cee-cee, call Kan-fir. I'm going to need back-up.'

She shook her head. 'Kan-fir say no.'

'What?'

'Worth not. Like not,' she shrugged. 'You alone.'

'Oh, come on! We brought her into this mess!'

She shook her head vigorously then. 'You brought Y/N two, you brought mess. For stupid man human.'

'And according to our pact - you protect her!'

She pursed her lips. 'Protect man human. No soulmate. You contribute not more - so, we help not more. Buh-bye.'

She turned and left.

You scoffed, 'Can you believe them?'

Castiel was impassive. 'Dwarves look out for themselves first. Even if they're fond of someone.'

She clenched her jaw, 'I guess we enlist Dean's help, then.'

You made the memory fade into other.

'Are you sure?'

'Tested,' one of the Dwarves from the little group said, Kan-fir in their lead.

'Y/N two be weapon, Y/N,' Kan-fir interjected.

'How did you . . . ?' she looked appalled. 'You said you'd stop taking blood from us! Taking it from Dean to identify her soulmate was the last time.'

The Dwarves looked at each other, somewhat embarrassed.

A wise, old Dwarf took responsibility for explanation, 'Sav-ty steal when Sav-ty lift her.'

You recognized him as the Dwarf who kidnapped you.

'That's horrible.'

'She horrible!' a female protested this time. 'Curse Dwarf-folk out!'

'Oh, so you're being patriotic by giving an innocent a death-sentence!?' she scoffed. 'Is that why you asked us to leave for the week? Because you wanted to test on her blood? You never were going to find a way out for her, were you?!'

Your blood ran cold as the truth came to you. That's why she'd been dodging your questions, because she didn't know what to do with you, herself. She only kept you away from the Dwarves so they could find another way, or as they confessed, so they could test your blood.

And you'd managed to disrupt that entire chain of events of your victimization by attacking Y/N.

Was that why she'd been so forgiving? Because she was guilty of what the Dwarves had done behind your backs?

'Why defence her!' Kan-fir puffed his chest out. 'Y/N two put Y/N one in coma!'

'Then she called Castiel—'

'Nan-nan say,' a third one stepped up, 'Us know now - she weapon. Ultimate benefit - she here, so, Leviathan - fuck son bitch - die!'

'Oh, so, she wasn't worth saving from the fairies but now that you can use her as a weapon, you are willing to save her from the heart of your nemesis' lair?'

'You understand,' Cee-cee beamed.

'Kan-fir?' she almost looked as if she'd been betrayed.

He looked torn, 'Sorry. But side with Dwarf-folk.'

The muscles in her jaw worked. 'Fine, but then I'm not gonna be a part of your pettiness.'

She made to leave but Kan-fir stopped her by placing a tiny palm on her calf. His eyes had a certain hard glint to them. 'I know you. You go after Y/N two now, against our wish, because you nice . . . But Kan-fir order - let Dwarf-folk have her.'

'That's not how this is going to go down—'

'Or Dean die.'

She looked like she'd been slapped in her face. 'What, no! He's not a part of this! That's not in the pact! My participation in your stupid war for his protection whenever he needs it! I'm giving you what you want!'

'Pact renew,' Kan-fir firmly posted. 'Give Y/N two. Dean live.'

'This is wrong,' she gritted out.

Kan-fir frowned. 'Good for you! You go home when she die a weapon. Want you that not?'

Frustrated tears built in her eyes. '. . . I do want to go home . . . I can't believe I'm doing this . . .'

For some reason, it broke your heart - once again, you'd judged wrong. Once more, someone chose themselves over you. The realisation dawned on you that she'd been playing the long con all along.

The scene shifted.

Castiel spoke, '. . . I'm with you.'

'Good. Now, get Dean, and try not to screw up.'

Castiel moved to the door when there was a knock on it. He wrenched it open to see no one until he gazed down, near his feet. The Dwarf King trotted in with two arrows appearing as overlarge spears in his hands. One had a blue feather, and the other red.

'Here,' Kan-fir offered her both.

You turned a sharp gaze at Castiel and he took the hint to leave; he closed the door behind himself.

'Red for Y/N two.'

'That'll eviscerate her on the spot?' she grimaced.

He nodded.

'And . . . through the heart, right?' she enquired. 'It should soak in blood before we kill Dick with it.'

'You bitch,' you mumbled. 'I'm going to kill you.

He nodded again. Then, 'Take. Blue for Y/N one. With it, we wish good luck.'

She tentatively grabbed them, inserting them into her quiver.

Kan-fir lurked, shuffling on his feet. 'You mad?Kan-fir no longer Cutie because Y/N no like Cutie anymore.'

She paused her movements for the minutest seconds before she resumed zipping everything up. She slung the bags on her, shifting them till they let her have an ease in movements. If you had to guess, it was so that she could jump across trees.

'Not mad,' she responded.

He looked ashamed, 'I, true monster.'

'If every person who put family first is a monster, then I fell in love with two biggest ones. Then, I'm surrounded by monsters . . . and I'm one, too. Because I'll be sacrificing so much for my new . . . Let's call them family.'

'You'll be sacrificing me!' you roared to no avail.

'. . . So, you go home.'

'Yeah,' a grin spread on her face. 'That eases my pain a little. I finally go home.'

'You be missed.'

She crooked half a smile. 'Likewise, Kan-fir.'

'Sorry for everything,' he said with regret.

She kneeled to ruffle his hair. 'Hug me good luck?'

The Dwarf King smiled small.

They both embraced while you fumed.

You steered yourself once more through the unpredictable mind - but fucking finally, you navigated out of her brain - you saw the white light and you rushed towards it.

You awoke with a jolt, you thought - you didn't feel it, probably because you were hanging upside down and blood saturated your brain. You had to blink way too much to understand what was in front of you - you were looking at the back of a person's legs, your face leveling up to their lower back.

Your hands hung on either side of your head, and you felt woozy. Your body was jerking now and again by the quick, sharp steps that the person carrying you took.

He didn't seem to have realised that you were awake yet, too engrossed in a conversation. His chest vibrated as he spoke deeply and your legs were against it as he pinned you with a hand around the back of your knees; you were just a sack of potatoes for him.

' . . . can't believe you sunk the ship,' the words sharpened into focus.

'Did you want to be caught?'

You recognised that voice. You felt relief trek through you - knowing it wasn't the Leviathans - before betrayal raced against it, and reached all the corners of your body faster than the calmness could - it warmed the tips and fibres of your body.

You fought off the sting with entitlement.

'And what - the water creatures won't be after us? You should've burned it,' the accent was unfamiliar to you. But it did not sound like anyone you know . . . unless . . . there is a distant memory in your mind of someone with that voice . . .

'We weren't planning to stick around! And fire is just a bat signal. It's what you see in Purgatory before devils come running.'

'Just shut up - and tell me where the battle is.'

'Oh, we aren't going to the battle - we're going to the portal.'

The man stopped abruptly, your head smashed into the small of his back . . . What is he, a fucking wall?

You resisted consoling your poor smushed nose.

'Tell me you're fucking kidding, chéri.'

Benjamin Laffitte, it clicked into your head. The vampire.

You gogt to regulating your heartbeats immediately. As a vampire, he would sense if you were awakee and privy to their conversation if he concentrated.

'Nope. Castiel must already be there with Dean. Come on!'

'You lied to him?!' he briskly paced forth. 'And Castiel let you?'

'Let me?' she evaded the real question, 'Cas is like a baby. You bribe him, he does anything you want.'

'What did you give him?'

'Penance.'

'What—?'

A loud cluster of clomping cut him off. He reverted quickly to hide around a tree, banging your head against the bark in the process.

'Be careful!' Y/N hissed, her legs coming into your sight.

'Today is just not her day.'

Ya fucking think?

'How many?'

The legs bent to check from the other side. 'Five.'

'That's too many.'

'Why don't you be a good boy, and play hooky towards the stream down yonder while I—'

'Oh, I'm not falling for that - I'm not letting you out of my sight. We both fight.'

'Whatever, dude. Just don't get killed.' She made to leave before, before she retraced, 'On second thoughts, you have my blessing.' Then, she disappeared.

He huffed, 'I hate her.'

Benny dumped you on the ground without ceremony. You shut your eyes and relaxed. He propped you up as best as he could against the tree while you tried hard to appear limp. He hurried after the infamous woman.

You opened your eyes and blew out a breath. 'Me, too, pal.'

You straightened yourself, and took a peek around the immense circular stock (seriously, does no one in Purgatory get afraid thinking that a tree can fall on them?) to time your getaway.

The monster of today were Centaurs. Half-man, half-horse.

Y/N was using the hanging branches to gain leverage, shooting for the cardinal organs. Benny tried to backstab them while they were distracted, he was literally running round and round, making the horses chase their own tail until he pierced them with his weapon. The Centaurs were angrily braying, and even going on their hind legs in protestation.

Years of Purgatory had deteriorated their intelligence on a battleground. They were way too far, and way too engaged with the relatively new-age warriors to notice you.

You didn't know what you would do with your life now - but you certainly weren't going to die here all alone . . . You just needed time to think.

Yeah. Time to think. I can do that.

A smile grew, and you booked it stage left, feeling free.

Freedom comes with obstacles.

The first obstacle was the aches in your joints and bones. You weren't human but you got hurt like one - why, God, why?

You'd been walking upstream when you encountered the second one: a small troop of Dwarves.

Why must my obstacle course be this hard?

'Y/N one!' exclaimed the Dwarf in the lead. Two others flanked him, sharing his excitement.

You don't correct them. 'Well, 'ello, you!' even you didn't believe the phony British accent.

'Why you alone?'

Hope told you that for such intelligent creatures, linguistics wouldn't be where they singled you out.

Panicking, you said the first thing that came to your mind. 'Centaurs!' was a squeak.

Their brows furrowed.

You internally kicked yourself, and forced the posh obnoxious accent. 'Centaurs attacked, and I played . . . hooky,' you used a word you'd heard her use a while ago. 'Benny left with Y/N . . . two,' you added.

They accepted your answer. This was easy.

'Majesty ask: Where Y/N one say goodbye?'

'The portal,' you blurted.

If you took too long to reply, the ruse would lift. Y/N one knows what she's talking about, you don't. You can't afford the privilege to think.

They all shared confused pouts. 'Portal?' the lady-Dwarf, as the right flank, wondered.

Anxiety concerned you again - that's where your face-thief would go, right? That traitor was going to leave Purgatory with Dean there!

'That's where Dean is,' the accent fluctuated like your uncertainty.

The third Dwarf frowned. 'Exactly.'

Before you could come up with a lame defence, the first Dwarf snapped his fingers. 'Unless! Goodbye with Dean.'

Satisfied, they all murmured in understanding. Not that you knew what went through their heads - long as they don't ask you again, you don't care.

'Now, there, mate, won't you go fetch your King, and I'll see him at the Portal,' you suggested, plastering a smile to go along.

You'd thought you'd safely diverted everyone to the portal, giving you time and rest of the Purgatory to figure out a solution in.

'Good sounding,' the third one said. 'Sar-se, and I go tell. Y/N one leave with Yve-tt,' he pointed at the girl.

'Why!?' you whined Americanly, then, hurried in Brit, 'I mean, I can reach the portal by myself.'

'Danger roam,' argued Yve-tt. 'Leviathan wanting you. Help you, me. Take you, I.'

'Right,' you cleared your throat. 'Well, darlin', I just didn't want to be a bother, see?'

'Mind not, I!' she beamed.

You leashed your tongue lest it starts to curse out this 3x1 foot pain in your ass. 'Of course you don't!' you faked enthusiasm, 'Know why? 'Cause you're awesome!'

She giggled unattractively. The Dwarves stepped away with identical smiles (they all look the same to you).

She started leading you down the path, downstream, opposite where you were headed, and where the other Dwarves left at. While you wondered if your newfound Leviathan harming powers worked on Dwarves as well.

'You're sure we're headed the right way?'

Castiel nodded absent-mindedly. The Dwarves had given him elaborate instructions with intense gesticulating. Castiel knew that if the situation had been cheerier, he would have made friends out of them - they were adorable. Like bees, and monkeys, and everything in between.

'Five more minutes.'

Dean uneasily kept in step with his best friend. It had been almost two days into the war, and none of the parties seemed close to giving up - he'd never known any monsters before of such resilience - it was frankly annoying and he wanted them to die.

Speaking of resilience.

'Do you know where Y/N is?'

In the last two days, he'd asked that more times than he'd like to count; and he felt that ugly twinge of jealousy every time Castiel answered. You had made it a regular thing to discuss whereabouts with Castiel apparently. It was as grating as it was comforting to know.

'Last I heard, they sunk the ship and took to the foot. They are headed to safety. Fortunately, no Leviathans followed. Y/N thinks your soulmate killed her guards, thus, there was no one.'

Dean's thoughts wandered. He tried not to let your words filter in his mind on a loop, but their sting clung to him like an unseen thorn.

It's not like he didn't have a basic idea of why you were attracted to him. He had the face of your fucking fiancé - but it did not stop him from feeling . . . used.

Had he been that easy to cast aside?

How easily you reduced him to his face. A skin-deep attraction that you used as a crutch for your pain.

He was envious of his own lookalike. How can he have the girl, and not have her at the same time? Is the difference between doppelgangers really that much?

He lingered on his meeting with his own soulmate then. Same face, same voice; he spotted a smidge of difference (the accent, but you had already pretty much phased it out) before she was ripped away from him.

He tried to dwell on the fact that she is a monster. But his eyes darted to his angelic companion, and then he thought of Benny. The people he calls his best friends are nothing short of powerful. Even Sam has dabbled with powers once upon a time. Dean had the tiniest experience of being a vampire - but he never fully embraced that part of him . . . which makes him wonder how much of a different would powers make someone.

Definitely a lot. If his soulmate is a monster, then, there's a good chance she isn't a good person. And he doesn't think he can accept that.

Why can't he just have you?

He sighed through his nose - he was starting to get tired of his own whining, his childish stubbornness.

He needed to break the silence.

'So, do you, uh, did Y/N talk about me? You know, about the one with the same handsome face, but the better personality? Her soulmate?'

Real fuckin' improvement, rattled in his mind, heavy on the sarcasm. But the question was shot, with a lot of due resentment.

Castiel levelled him with a dry look. 'Sometimes.'

He forced his facial muscles to remain poker. 'Oh?'

Castiel smartly didn't take the bait, just nodded.

Dean was beginning to think that spending time with you had taught him to answer with silence. The frustration from his initial months with you tried to claw at him, but he took a subtle,e steadying breath.

'Cas?'

'Yes?' he tilted his head, kept trudging forward.

'She's not . . . She's not planning to run away, is she?'

He was desperate to hear just one confirmation.

As if summoned by your mention, his name was called by you. And then Castiel's.

He turned with a certain amount of relief to see you, with Benny in tow.

'Where is Y/N?' Castiel asked.

Dean wondered the same.

Y/N appeared distressed. 'We lost her!'

'Y/N?' the green-eyed man confirmed, because the number of times she seemed to get lost was becoming unreal - did this woman not want to go home?

'Second and only,' Benny tsked.

'This is all your fault!' the first and only whipped to point fingers. 'You should've stayed with her!'

'And lose you? No chance.'

The blond man was secretly grateful. Something he wouldn't say out loud unless he wanted to get punched by you in the face.

'Look,' Dean expelled a breath. 'Focus here. Do we find her now or what?'

'We're so close to the portal,' groaned Benny.

'What?'

'She lied to you again, Chief. Cas here was supposed to lead you away from the battle and towards the portal,' he casually revealed.

'Benny!'

Dean's indignant eyes found Castiel's, who was grimacing. His anger settled deep in his belly, and he resisted picking up the same fight again - he was getting really tired of how helpless they were rendering him.

'You're fucking impossible, you know that?' Dean spat at you instead.

'Oh, I'm the impossible one!?' she practically screeched. 'You don't understand, do you!? Can't you see what we've done to one another!?'

Dean hesitated.

He's never seen you so mad, outwardly, at least - he knows how much you tend to suppress. And losing his soulmate was starting to become your undoing.

This is a mess - falling for you has been like falling into quicksand, and all he can feel is suffocated, and trapped.

'We make each other helpless, Dean!' she shrieked, verbalising what he never dared to.

Because despite feeling like the walls have been closing down on him, he still knew that falling for you has been his biggest high.

How toxic is that?

He didn't say that either.

Nevertheless, you seemed to know.

'This is not love! Not true love!' you stamped your feet petulantly. 'This is not right - why can't you fucking see that?! Love makes you strong, not so fucking weak like we've made one another! We can never be more; we can never be each other's strengths; we can never be together! Why can't you understand that?' Your tears brimmed.

His jaw clenched while the other two men shuffled on their feet uncomfortably.

Dean felt embarrassment reddening the tips of his cheeks and the expanse of his neck. Mostly, he felt you words decorate into his chest like pieces of shrapnel. Red-hot coal of anger cooked his brain.

'I didn't ask you to be with me,' he said, deadly calm. 'I just asked you to leave with me.'

Benny jumped to answer before you could double his misery. 'Problem solved. Chéri, here, is traveling back with us. Her deal with the Supreme Dwarf was altered the morning of two days ago, she's using the replica to end the Levithans.'

Another lie, he bitterly holds in.

He was there that morning. You could've simply told him that. Maybe then he wouldn't have simped after you for the last two days to Castiel. Maybe then the seemingly unforgiving lead in his chest would have lifted earlier.

As relieved as he was to hear it, a part of him was just more upset with you. How can you be so horrible to him?

'She is?'

Castiel was just as confused as him - Dean was secretly appeased (because you seemingly didn't tell Cas everything).

Before you can throw out your defences (none of which he has the patience to hear anymore), more of those bird whistles echoed through the forest - much louder than what he had heard back at the camp, two days ago.

Your face drained of color. 'Oh, fuck, no!' With that platitude, you sprinted off in the direction of where he now knows the portal is.

'Y/N, wait!' Castiel called out, running after you.

Dean and Benny exchanged an unhappy look, following suit.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no!

This is not how this was supposed to go down. Everything is falling apart.

The American is lost; you lost your shit on the human; half-truths were in the air; and now this.

That call was supposed to be rung in the last phase of the war! And not a second before Dean was out of here. Not only did the Dwarves violate that part of your request, but also they rang it near the fucking portal!

You ran faster than you had in years - so much so that you had a fucking stitch in your side (not a normal occurrence) by the time you reached the site.

There was the portal, thin, and multi-dimensional, glowing weird colours. Your eyes were already jumping to the multitude of Dwarves there.

'How could you do this to me!?' you hissed out to Kan-fir as soon as you stopped in front of him.

His brows slanted inwards. 'What?'

'This! Kan-fir, I told you not to call the end of the war until Dean is safely back home! But you called the Leviathans right here! To the only exit!'

You panted huffily, barely catching any breath in between your emotional outbursts, only soothed by the puffs of adrenaline in your system.

He looked genuinely befuddled. 'But Y/N one ask to meet Leviathans while she say goodbye to man human, the Dean!'

'When did I say—!?' your breath caught. 'That bitch!'

Your scream startled the Dwarves in the vicinity. 'You call King, bitch?' one of the civilians frowned in protest.

You could s-c-r-e-a-m.

Dean and Castiel called your name, alternatively - finally in range to be audible.

'Kan-fir, I didn't ask this - the American did,' you seethed.

'I talk you!' stepped up Sar-se. 'We left Yve-tt and you!'

'Well, obviously, you made a mistake!' you can't seem to not panic. 'Can you see Yve-tt here!?'

He actually checked.

You closed your eyes: Don't make Dwarves your football, don't make Dwarves your football . . .

'What we do?' Kan-fir asked.

I don't know, was seated on the tip of your tongue. I don't know, I don't know, I don't know . . .

Castiel's voice called your name out, much closer. He gave the Dwarves one look, and he knew - he was the only one who knew the whole plan.

Dean and Benny were at his heels.

'Y/N! Sweetheart, what—?'

His question was cut off by the loud thudding footsteps. Of the Leviathans. Their entire army had arrived.

This was the part you'd been dreading.

You had asked the Dwarves to call a "negotiation" after you'd safely seen Dean off to his homeland. Wherein the Dwarves and the Leviathans would have a final showdown, with both the Heads available (not much talking they would do), and they would fight to death . . . With the weapon.

'You have to leave,' Castiel gravely informed the other human.

'What's going on?'

'The last battle,' Benny grimly informed. 'Take us home, brother.'

Dean met your eyes, and you froze. You didn't know what he was looking for. You just knew you didn't have it.

He rolled one of his sleeves up, and began the spell, soon absorbing Benny's soul into his forearm; it squirmed like lava underneath his skin, Dean didn't react on the face-value, but his face had tightened.

'Come on,' he extended his other hand to you.

'What he doing, Y/N?' Kan-fir asked suspiciously.

'Well, well, well. Isn't this a party?' a gloating voice joined the chaos.

Your unyielding body finally stepped towards Dean, and to his side just as "Dick" and his entourage filed into the increasingly shortening clearing.

Kan-fir, followed by his loyal citizens swarmed all around their XXXL-sized comrades (you guys).

'We meet again,' Kan-fir replied with confidence - and a glint that scared most monsters.

Dick's face coiled in disgust, his eyes flitting between Kan-fir, and Dean, staying on the latter man for a second longer.

Your hands snaked around his Benny-free one and squeezed. 'You have to get to the portal, darling.'

'We do,' he quietly persisted.

You kept forgetting your lies to him. 'Right. Sorry.'

Neither of you still moved. The line of Dwarves - bless their little souls and bodies - provided zero cover.

'We didn't know you adopted a circus of freaks, brother.'

'Only freak Kan-fir see is you,' the little finger jabbed the air. He was proud of his improving English.

Dick's face twitched. 'I was hoping you would apologise to me. But I guess you haven't learned your lesson.'

'We teach you. We have weapon!' the little King boasted.

'You mean - this?'

The Leviathans parted and an unconscious Dwarf was spat out, and then much heftier, still conscious, monster.

Of fucking course! She got kidnapped. AGAIN!

'Does that woman have no skills?' you scoffed to yourself. Though a part of you was relieved that she was right where you could see.

Okay, okay, okay. Revised plan, you consoled yourself. I can do this. Everyone's here.

'You didn't think you'd be the only one with a plan, did you, you pesky little killjoy?' Dick smirked

His fingers encased something in his belt, and you belatedly realised what it was - when it stabbed into the heart of your doppelganger!

A scream was ripped from your lungs - and the world cranked into fast forward.

He ripped the dagger out and callously let her fall to the ground for the dead. Dean held you back, and you understood that you'd jerked in that direction by reflex. He was already dragging you to the portal.

The Dwarves yelled and crashed against the lines of Leviathans. The little minions were overwhelmingly good against the black-goo-filled crap-bags.

'Cas, come on!' Dean ordered over your head.

You were still in shock, your eyes fixated on your face-thief. A guilt and regret tugging at your insides, fighting against the shock.

You were too locked up in your own head to see the portal a foot away.

'Sweetheart, climb in!' Dean urgently demanded.

You locked eyes with his green irises, but it wasn't his voice that ran rampant in your mind.

You're mine, darlin'. Just mine. And I'm yours.

The haze in your mind was torn apart by a shout and a lunge of a sword that you only saw from the corner of your eye.

'Dean!' you finally found your voice.

You threw your body in front of him, and your momentum pushed him back into the portal. You gasped, falling into the ground with a pained cry, that was overridden by Dean's protesting one.

Your eyes blurred only for a second, but by the time you could see, you only noticed Dean's desperate countenance trying to get off the portal. Yet, the thin pocket of time and space has zipped up, and been lost to Purgatory forever.

The goodbye poised at the tip of your tongue was left unsaid . . . Forever.

You took a shuddering breath - unsure if it was from pain of the dagger lodged in your abdomen or the relief of knowing that Dean is finally safe.

I did it! The exhilaration did not last long though.

Your tremouring fingers grabbed the blade and the hilt tightly, and you gave yourself a count of three before you ripped it from yourself with a devastating sob. Your head fell back, and tears trekked down the sides of your face even though dark spots competed with them to take your vision first.

A laugh made you blink back everything. A Leviathan entered your periphery.

'Didn't know it would be so easy to take you down. For a legend, you're pathetic . . . Why are you smiling?'

You didn't know you were. 'Because,' you snapped your left leg with all your might into his knee, making him lose balance and fall forward into the waiting dagger. You hoisted upwards, ignoring the urge to hurl when your wound was pressurized; you grabbed a Borax arrow on the way. 'For a monster, you don't scare me.' Gruesomely, you struck his cerebral facilities; your arrow impaling the ground.

You granted your burning lungs a moment of oxygen before you stood. Your old mannerisms surfaced: stab, dodge, roll, repeat.

The place was crawling with both teams - but you're just looking for a good vantage point from where you can shoot Y/N - before she dies by herself, that is.

You saw many of the Dwarves you recognised, dying momentarily, and then waking up again, dusting off, and throwing themselves at the Leviathans with a new zeal.

Even Castiel was pitching in quite a lot, smiting all he could. Piling up decapitated Leviathans, and avoiding being eaten by the rest.

You guessed you were the most astonished by Kan-fir - and how . . . scrappy he was. No wonder he was the King with how he was running up and down Dick, finding new spots to bite, and using his toothpick-sized knife (coated in Borax) to weaken Dick from unusual places.

You downed another asshole; she took you down with a mean right-hook, you disabled her hands and head. That's when, through the shuffling footsteps, you saw her.

Propped weakly against a tree, eyes dropping, mouth leaking with drool and blood.

You grunted as you went, ducking two engagements with Leviathans and rushing to sidestep a shrieking Cee-cee who could deafen her enemy.

Y/N was in your full view now, when a punch into your side knocked you against the nearest tree.

Your hands broke your fall, except your jaw, which slammed and scraped. You groaned, having bitten your tongue; the metallic taste flooded your mouth.

The other Y/N whimpered, trying to slink away from you, but only managing to fall into the ground. She heaved heavily, otherwise motionless.

The Leviathan hauled you off the bark and lifted you by the collars. He beat you against the tree repeatedly and the quiver on your back shattered the fifth time, the arrows collected at your feet. Then, he framed you on the tree, letting the stray pieces of your broken quiver dig into your back while he used you as his punching bag. He scratched and clawed whatever skin he could reach. Then he dropped you, letting your weak legs crumble like grass under you. You fell to your knees, bruised and swollen all over. Your nose was broken, your lips torn. You knew for sure there was a black-eye because you could only squint with the left one. Your abdominal wound had taken a few more hits, which had spouted more blood, and you knew that you had a few broken ribs.

He walked past you knowing you were dead meat.

You swallowed the claret in your mouth, sniffling ever so slightly, your ears catching the tailend of his phrase, ' . . . stupid whore trying to steal the weapon on my watch.'

Your hands slung the bow off your body slowly, it was somehow intact after the cruel and relentless beating you took. Your fingernails dug around the ground in an effort to reach the stack of arrows - only two mattered to you.

Red for Y/N two . . . eviscerate on spot . . . blue for Y/N one . . . through the heart . . .

You took a total of five.

You used the tree you had been hit against as a support to stand.

The Leviathan gave you an impatient sigh. 'You humans are truly annoying, you know that?'

'Funny, was gonna say the same to you,' you taunted.

The man had beaten your torso, probably beyond recognition. Yet, he didn't touch your hands. A mistake his entire brethren would pay for.

You nocked and shot the red arrow. It whizzed through the air and cut into the American's elbow. She imploded into thin air like a sack of pollen grains.

'You missed!' he scoffed gleefully. 'You just destroyed your own weapon!' There was a teasing lilt to his dimples.

'If you want to kill an artist, you don't take their life. You take their livelihood; their hands,' you said, taking that time to align your Borax arrows.

'You think you're an artist? Girl, you're a wackjob!'

'Artists of war often are,' you smirked. 'You ready to die?'

'You gonna miss again?' he taunted.

'Oh, but darlin', I never miss,' you grinned. 'She was a weapon. I just never said we'd use her.' The three arrows stretched back.

His smile evaporated as the meaning dawned on him. 'Why would the Dwarves call this negotiation if not to eradicate us?'

'That's for me to know, and you to die for,' you winked.

The arrows were too quick for him to move away. His head separated from his body, and he would make sure he never woke up again. All with one arrow.

There was a scream of horror and your small victory was overshadowed.

Dick was laughing and the Dwarves gaped in a singular terror where in the middle of the ground lay Kan-fir with the Leviathans' ultimate weapon sheathed through the middle of his body. It was the weapon they had used on Y/N's body. They thought her blood was the key to killing the Dwarves population.

An ominous air ensued the clearing, and the Dwarves acted their part in exchanging petrified and uncertain looks - any second now, they were looking at each other to start dropping like flies in the presence of a mosquito coil.

Or so they were good at pretending.

The Leviathans started hooting and cheering, they started disentangling with the Dwarf population because it was only common sense that the death of such a powerful Leader would blast a wide area around him, making a fatality of anyone in the near vicinity.

Dick remained nearest to Kan-fir for the longest while, waiting for the first signs of sizzling to start before he made his triumphant retreat.

Everyone had been so focused on Kan-fir's death that no one noticed you sneak up on Dick.

If only they knew that they needed the weapon to be enjoined with the Leader in death.

The blue arrow was poised at your heart, and you stood back-to-back with Dick.

You're mine, darlin'. Just mine. And I'm—

You stabbed yourself, driving the weapon with force, through you and into another chest.

More shouts aired, and Dick gasped. Your breath got stuck in your lungs. His chest pierced in the same line as yours. You don't think you'd quite managed to get your fluttering organ, but you did know at least one major artery had been hit, or you'd at least nicked your heart - that would be enough.

You're scary, you know that?

Both of you fell haphazardly to your knees, and then to a side. With the few blinks you'd left, you saw the Leviathans yelling in terror - ruing the day they made this cocky jerk their Leader, scampering off - but they would die no matter where they went.

What do you mean?

It was the Dwarves and the other monsters who would lose their lives in vain if they didn't make themselves scarce. You both would explode any second now.

I mean, I'm scared of you.

Castiel was extremely blurry when he crouched next to you, his voice so distant that you got the feeling of being underwater. Your memories washed away as you sank deeper into your drowning; you would never have to cry over a memory again.

You closed your eyes, thinking to Castiel: Run!

He hadn't budged when your e/cs opened again.

Please, you prayed. I forgive you . . . Run . . . .

You both knew the weight of that. He didn't want to leave. Yet, there was nothing he could do to help; he felt your life force taper.

The last thing you heard was the flap of his wings.

And it was lights out.

You were dream-scaping again.

You were revisiting a time that followed right after a memory you'd already seen.

Frustrated tears built in her eyes. 'I do want to go home . . . I can't believe I'm doing this . . . Kan-fir,' something changed in her eyes, 'I need to talk to you alone.'

He frowned, but relented. Others left.

'What are the requirements to be a weapon?' you asked determinedly.

He listed off on his tiny fingers. 'A monster who a Leader. But don't have anyone to take care, so when Leader die, no follower die.'

'Great,' you nodded. 'Okay, so you're saying I can do it.'

'Did you no listen?'

'If I send Dean back, I'll be a Leader of humans when there aren't any to take care of.'

'You got no monster magic!' he countered.

'Yes, I do! I was once an archangel! That's got to count, right? I can no longer activate it, but once you've been a monster, you can't go back.'

He shook his head. 'Tall shot. Kan-fir no like tall shots.'

She all but pleaded. 'Kan-fir, trust me, this will work! It must.'

'You not a monster!' he said heatedly.

'You, yourself said, that monsters are relative. You called humans monsters because we made you take to the walls, and cling to the shadows. The American is not a monster because of her powers, she is one because humans pushed her away!'

You couldn't believe your eyes or ears . . . She defended you?

'But. Tall, tall shot.'

'Please.'

'Tall, tall, tall shot,' he reiterated, agitated.

Her temper snapped. 'Kan-fir, what will remain the difference between you and the Leviathans if you use an innocent's life for your gain?'

He seemed riled up. 'But, Y/N two, we no like.'

'Let me not shock you, Kan-fir - but saving people even if you don't like them can be the line you draw between you and your so-called brothers! That will be the mark of your betterment. Let me die, and you whip her up a cure - that's when you'll have proven that you deserve to live more than the Leviathans do!'

His shoulders sagged. 'But, you, we like, little. This is not standard double?'

She tamed, 'No. Because you kill her and you leave us both with nothing. You let me sacrifice, and you let us both have the lives we need.'

The little man huffed. 'Me no like . . . But. Kan-fir go make special arrows. One for her . . . and one for you.'

'That's all I ask. Oh, and, uh, set up a negotiation,' she pinched the bridge of her nose as she remembered.

'With Leviathans?'

'Yes. I'll let you know when. And where.'

'You say goodbye there?'

'Goodbye to who?'

'Purgatory.'

She chuckled, 'Uh, yeah, yeah. But first, I need to retrieve the other Y/N, and, uh, take care of Dean.'

The colours diluted into something else.

Dean was looking down on a gorgeous, picturesque city littered with equal parts treehouses and the forest that only got denser from the edge of the city line. The man of about six-foot-one was unbothered by your dreamwalking presence. His burly frame leaned on the railing, his teeth ground now and again.

'Dean!' a voice like yours just thickly layered with a British accent, called.

Dean didn't turn.

'Out 'ere!'

Your face-thief rushed in.

She looked breathtaking in her custom-made formal gown, adhering to her like a second skin.

'You aren't dressed,' she said, sounding exhausted.

'Why bother, darling?' he glanced at her over his shoulder, quickly looking away as if he was stopping himself from fully appreciating you. 

His moodiness didn't deter her. Approaching him with a scowl, she ducked under one of his hands so that she could efficiently betwixt his arms and the railing. She had to lean back so their heads wouldn't clang.

So up close, she didn't leave Dean a choice . . . His eyes dipped down, admiring, and Dean was now too busy being taken with you to gain distance.

'Aren't you afraid someone'll spot you?' he snarked.

She made a face at him that verged on hurt. 'Why won't you be there?'

When he tussled with his dilemmas for too long, she investigated further.

'Are you jealous?' her pout was too hopeful to succeed.

He would not let his insecurities overcrowd her stress. 'Of?'

'Other suitors coming to see me,' she said, hope dwindling.

'I'm giving them a fighting chance,' he dipped his head down challengingly. 'If I come, you won't give them the time of your day.'

She rolled her eyes.

'Daydreaming, are we?'

A tad bit offended, Dean scoffed.

He captured her lips punishingly, pressing her back into his balcony railing. His hand glided up to her jaw, tipping her head backwards so he could devour her to his heart's content.

You had to look away in shame and modesty.

When they could part, Dean was chirpier. 'Felt pretty real to me,' he winked.

She blushed hotly.

'What if I find someone else tonight?' she asked, weirdly sounding desperate. 'Handsomer, maybe? More charming?'

'Woman, please,' he curled a finger under her chin, locking eyes with her. 'You can't find someone handsomer. And heck, even if you find someone with my exact face, you won't be able to pick them. Know why?'

'Why?'

'You're mine, darlin',' he shrugged. He had never been more sure of anything in his entire life. 'Just mine. And I'm yours.'

Tears clogged her tear ducts. You could almost feel them, they were tangible to you . . .

'Prove it?' she held her breath.

His eyes narrowed. 'At . . . the Ball,' he guessed.

'It's like one mind,' she whispered weakly.

Dean's stoic mask wavered. 'You know you'll be all right, right? I'm right here. I'm not going to let some goddamn idiot whisk you away; I'll be the idiot then.'

She chortled. 'I am taking this very rationally, Dean. I am rational.'

'You're everything,' Dean uttered.

The dream dissolved into another.

The most recent one: the battle site where you'd been shot.

You see some of the Dwarves extracting the dagger from Kan-fir, and him gasping for air, as he sits up. The Leviathans are running away in the backdrop. Even the Dwarves have a certain sense of urgency to their movements. As soon as Kan-fir gets his bearings, he gives one sad glance to his right, and runs off with his subjects.

Where Kan-fir had gazed, you see Castiel kneeling before your face-thief.

An arrow ran through her heart, and into the centre of Le Dick Roman. Their blood, red and black pooling under their bodies as they lay back-to-back - Dick already gone, and Y/N on her way.

Castiel, close to tears, takes a regretful breath and a flutter of the wind indicates his take-off.

The clearing is empty and silent when you see her last breath escape her.

Everything is too still.

They blast. 

The Purgatory shakes.

And you know that the Leviathans are extinct.

The scene has already transformed since the explosion.

You were in a pitch black room when an arrow came shooting across, out of nowhere, and it fleshed your elbow.

You felt like all your atoms scattered.

You woke up with a scream.

Your hands were already searching your body for wounds you knew you'd acquired from being kidnapped by the Leviathans. (Again. Seriously, that had to have been a world record of being kidnapped so many times in such a short span.)

But there was nothing. You were in the middle of a fucking forest, one akin to the nightmarish kind you'd apprently just escaped.

You were in the same clothes as you'd been when you died, yet, there was not one hole in them. Not a speck of claret either.

You would have believed that you had been dreaming this whole time (wouldn't be so surprising, downside of being a dreamwalker - scary, but not surprising) if you hadn't looked around the floor to find a red feathered arrow with a gold ring attached just under the arrow head.

This all had been real.

Someone had truly died to save you.

Guilt consumes you: you killed a human being. For the first time, you killed an actual person . . . You really are a monster now.

Tears perched on the rims of your eyes. Your arms wrapped around yourself unconsciously, and finally found one injury.

You checked your elbow where the arrow had skinned you. You knew right then it would scar even if it wasn't bleeding right now . . . It would be the scar the Englishwoman had been looking for when she'd first met you.

A scar that would now forever stay with you as a reminder of your monstrosity. A scar that would be your connection to your European face-thief; well, that, and her soulmate ring she gave you as her parting gift.

A/N: Well, this is it ❤️🥹.

What did y'all think about the ending? I have a feeling I might get mixed reviews for this one 👀; by all means don't hold back 🙃.

And what did you think of the teeny-tiny cliffhanger about the English Reader 🫣?

Tag List.

@globetrotter28 @hobby27 @stoneyggirl2 @aylacavebear @emma1998sblog

@stanzie

[that-sw-writer]

Carpe Diem

Summary: Hondo Ohnaka plays matchmaker for his favourite Jedi, much to Obi-Wan's dismay.

Relationship: Obi-Wan x Reader (fem, no use of Y/N)

Notes: this story is more about Hondo being the bane of Obi-Wan's life than it is about the relationship, it's been sat in my drafts for a year so I gave it a swift ending.

Carpe Diem

'Kenobi, why the long face?' Hondo threw himself down beside a disgruntled Obi-Wan, who was nursing a drink in his left hand as he slumped over the table.

'Because it's been two rotations since I heard from the council and I think another night spent here is going to be the death of me.'

'You wound me, Master Jedi. What is there not to like about crash landing on Hondo's turf?' He grinned, throwing an arm around Obi-Wan, who merely grimaced. He didn't hate Hondo, per se. He just found him... exhausting.

'Perhaps the fact that last time I had a prolonged stay here, I was being held hostage by you. Pardon me if I don't trust your sudden sense of hospitality.'

'Bah! Do not cling to the past, Kenobi. I would never sell you out.' Obi-Wan gave him a pointed look. 'What? It would not be profitable to bring the Separatists here. The Republic, on the other hand, will pay handsomely for your stay.'

'Mm, quite.' Too tired to argue, Obi-Wan returned to sulking into his drink. He had been sure to pour his own drinks whilst in Hondo and his pirates' company; especially after last time.

'Jedi... so boring.' Hondo flapped his arms in his usual theatrical manner as he went off to bother somebody else. A long sigh left Obi-Wan's lips as he drained the contents of his glass. Maker, he must have looked so miserable. The council had assured him that a pickup was imminent, but the nature of war meant that plans were always subject to delays. He knew they were coming for him, he just didn't know when. Not to mention that he wasn't sure how much more of Hondo's babbling he could take. But, he knew he had to remain calm. The Council would be sending someone to collect him and, provided he remained unharmed, Hondo would likely receive his credits as compensation. It was just his luck that he would crash on Florrum. All these pirates did was drink, thieve, drink some more, and create more noise than Obi-Wan had ever thought possible. He had barely slept a wink for the past few nights. If the noise wasn't bad enough, Hondo's "guest quarters," as he had called them, were just a repurposed cell. Obi-Wan had decided that he would never complain about the hard beds aboard Jedi cruisers again.

After too long spent wallowing in his self-pity, he decided to retire for the night and meditate in the privacy of his "guest quarters." What caught his attention before he could leave the room was a voice he didn't recognise, one that stood out from the crowd. Whoever this was, they were yelling at one of Hondo's men in a Coruscanti accent similar to his own.

'Be a thieving pirate all you like, but do not test me. Give me my credits, or you won't make it to the end of that drink.' As Obi-Wan approached, he saw a blaster being pointed at one of Hondo's right-hand men. The woman behind it appeared to be very calm. Despite her cutting words, her tone remained level - something about her demeanour made Obi-Wan believe that she meant her threat.

'I'm not payin' for a job that didn't get completed.' The pirate slurred, his drink sloshing over the brim of his glass as he threw his arms up in protest.

'Are you trying to scam me, or are you just plain stupid?' Perhaps emphasising her point, she tapped the pirate's forehead with the barrel of her blaster. He was about to respond and escalate the situation even more, but Obi-Wan stepped in before he could. He knew it was none of his business, but it was his natural instinct as a Jedi to help.

'I'd assume he's both.' With the same calm tone as hers, but lacking the vicious edge, Obi-Wan caught the woman's attention. She glanced at him, whilst her blaster remained pointed at the pirate. Her eyes scanned him up and down, doing a double-take.

'A Jedi... on Florrum?' Her brow furrowed.

'Yes. Although this isn't my first choice of holiday destination, believe me.' His words made the corners of her lips turn up into the smallest of smirks. Obi-Wan felt an uncontrollable desire to smile back at her. It seemed as though his usual composure had abandoned him... perhaps Hondo had encouraged him to have one too many drinks.

'Are drunken pirates not your thing?' She laughed and his heart rate increased. Why? Why did it increase?

'Are they yours?' He nodded his head towards the drunkard at the end of her blaster.

'Don't get clever with me, Jedi-' she was smirking, but her expression dropped when she spotted movement in her peripherals. The pirate she had been arguing with was trying to sneak away from his impending death. Obi-Wan could tell that didn't sit well with this mystery woman. 'And you,' she launched forward, grabbing the pirate by his neck, 'better have those credits in my account by sunrise, otherwise, I'll make you regret ever being born. Am I understood?' Her last sentence was punctuated by her blaster tapping the pirate's temple.

'Yeah, yeah.' He slurred, flapping his arms as he stumbled away. Obi-Wan could sense that the pirate knew her threat was genuine. Her blaster was finally holstered and she turned to face him properly.

'I hope you're not expecting a thank you.' She raised an eyebrow.

'Not at all, I've come to expect very little from the clientele around here.' His reply elicited a short laugh from her.

'Very wise.' Neither of them spoke another word, but neither of them moved away. Obi-Wan could feel the Force poking at him, pointing out an unspoken desire to keep the conversation going. But, he bottled it.

'Anyway, it was a pleasure to meet you, but I was just about to retire for the evening.' He couldn't read her expression, but he thought that was probably for the best. He wished he'd forced himself to find something else to talk about; in his head, he could picture Anakin making fun of him. A snarky comment along the lines of: 'veryyy smooth, Master.' sprung to mind.

'Right, you're a Jedi,' she gave a slow nod and a flash of something akin to disappointment crossed her face.

'Meaning?' Rest forgotten, his brow quirked.

'Meaning... you're a Jedi. Lightsaber swinging, righteous, peacekeeper with morals.' Her nose scrunched at the last word.

'And I suppose spending my evening surrounded by immoral, uncivilised criminals doesn't fit that job description.' His eyes widened as he realised the implications of his words, 'not that you're an immoral, uncivilised criminal. I-I mean, you're... you know, you're...' As he continued to stumble over every syllable he tried to utter, she burst into laughter.

'I'm sure I should be flattered by whatever it is that you're trying to insinuate, Master Jedi. But, your first observation was right: I am all of those things, and hanging around people like me doesn't fit your job description.' Every word that left her lips convinced Obi-Wan more and more that she had some kind of Force sensitivity that was causing him to melt on the spot. There she was, admitting to him that she was a criminal - he had already seen her threaten someone at blaster-point. But, something about her was more intoxicating than anything Hondo had offered him to drink. Silence befell the pair of them again, but this time Obi-Wan decided to seize the moment and stop the Anakin-like voice in his head from mocking him.

'I'm sure one more drink before retiring won't hurt. Besides, since I've been here I've found it hard to sleep with all the noise.'

'Yeah, you get used to that.'

'Would you care to join me?' He really felt like he was putting his life on the line here. Dozens of Battle Droids could be standing before him and he wouldn't break a sweat. But, a beautiful bounty hunter and suddenly his resolve was crumbling. She looked somewhat surprised by his invitation, but a smile soon settled on her face.

'Sure, why not? Drinking with a Jedi isn't something you get offered every day.' Obi-Wan nodded in response and glanced to his left, looking for a quieter spot that would keep him away from the prying eyes and ears of pirates. He saw some empty seats at the end of a long table that was littered with Hondo's clientele, all drinking and jeering with one another. The pair of them sat down, but it dawned upon him that he was out of his depth in this setting.

'I, uh- I'm not entirely sure how you get drinks here.' He exhaled a sheepish chuckle, 'usually, I pour my own.'

'And why's that? You don't seem like the bartending type to me.'

'Let's just say that last time Hondo poured me a drink, I woke up in handcuffs.' He grimaced at the memory... handcuffed to Dooku and Anakin no less.

'Handcuffed?' She laughed, 'that was probably just Hondo's idea of a good time.' Normally he would have rolled his eyes at such a comment, but when it came from her he couldn't help but match her laughter.

'Believe me, these circumstances weren't what anybody would describe as a "good time."'

'Maybe where you're from, Master Jedi, but I think you'll find that there are a lot of things we enjoy here that you might... well, arrest us for.'

'Do my eyes deceive me-' A voice cut through the crowd and Obi-Wan willed the ground to swallow him up, '-or is Kenobi still here?' Hondo threw himself down at the table and looked between the pair of them. 'Socialising nonetheless!' He cackled.

'Hondo, do you not have somewhere else you should be?' Obi-Wan hoped he would pick up on the subtle hints in his tone, but who was he kidding? Hondo wouldn't pick up on it if he had outwardly told him to leave him alone with the outlandishly beautiful bounty hunter.

'Somewhere else? You mistake me, Kenobi. I am here to attend to my very esteemed Jedi guest and his-' Hondo's gaze moved to his companion '-new friend.'

'Hondo, always a pleasure.' She greeted him with what Obi-Wan could only describe as a flawless smile. It seemed almost like a reflex - something she had perfected through years of practice.

'Ah! My favourite hunter spending time with my favourite Jedi - what a surprise this is.'

'You should be thanking him, he stopped me from killing one of your crew.' She shot Obi-Wan a smirk. He willed himself to remain composed, especially with Hondo there.

'If he had died, I am sure it would have been deserved,' Hondo flapped his arm in dismissal before throwing it around Obi-Wan's shoulders. He responded to this with a disgruntled expression. 'Of course, this dashing Jedi Master stepped in to save the day. He is, after all, a hero.' Hondo exhaled a whimsical sigh, and Obi-Wan's brow furrowed. He was never this complimentary without an ulterior motive, only he couldn't work out the angle this time.

'I'll drink to that.' Despite Hondo's odd behaviour, she didn't seem to be discouraged.

'But alas, you have no drink,' Hondo shook his head and tutted. 'Kenobi, how could leave your lady-friend sat here practically dying of thirst?'

'I never-' he began to protest, much to his "lady-friend's" amusement.

'-come come, Kenobi. Let us go and fetch the drinks.' Hondo was ushering him out of his seat before he had a chance to process what was happening. He gave a fleeting glance back at the bounty hunter and decided that this was all worth it when he saw the way she laughed. He followed Hondo over to the bar, where hordes of pirates were gathering to get themselves drinks - many of which were sloshing out over the brim of the glasses as they stumbled away.

'What in the stars are you doing, Hondo?' He pinched the bridge of his nose, only speaking once they were out of earshot.

'Me?' He gasped, holding a hand to his chest. 'Why, Kenobi, I am just trying to enjoy an evening with my esteemed guest. How was I supposed to know that you would be socialising with your new friend?' There was a wry tone to his words.

'She's a bounty hunter, Hondo. We aren't friends, per se.'

'Not friends at all it seems. In fact, Hondo would wager that you're more than friends.' He elbowed Obi-Wan, letting out a loud cackle. As Obi-Wan stammered over his words, trying to make up some kind of viable excuse, Hondo leaned over the bar and ordered a round of drinks. When his attention returned to the Jedi, he laughed once again. 'Now now, Kenobi. There is no need for excuses.'

'I'm not making-' he began to huff, but Hondo didn't even register his voice.

'-what you need, Master Jedi, is a pep talk from old Hondo.' With a roll of his eyes, Obi-Wan attempted to interrupt, but Hondo shushed him. 'Kenobi, listen here. What happens on Florrum, stays on Florrum... mostly, anyway.'

'Wise words, as ever.' He snorted.

'Nevertheless! You must seize the day, Kenobi. That,' he gestured to the striking woman who now sat alone at the table, 'is one of the best bounty hunters in the outer rim. You would be a fool to let her pass you by.'

'You never do anything without an angle. You always have something to gain, I just can't work out what it is this time.'

'This is true, this true.' Hondo tutted, shaking his head, 'but can't old Hondo do something for an old Jedi friend out of the kindness of his own heart, just once?'

'No, you can't.' Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow as a momentary pause.

'Pish posh, Master Jedi.' Hondo threw himself to grab the tray of drinks when it arrived. 'I just want you to have a pleasant stay. Besides, if the Jedi council do ever arrive to collect you, I'm sure they'd be willing to heavily compensate such a... generous host.'

'So you mentioned.' If Obi-Wan had a credit for every time Hondo hinted at the Republic paying for his stay, he'd have enough for early retirement. 

'Come along now, you can't keep a bounty hunter waiting.' With that, he shoved the tray of drinks into Obi-Wan's hands and pushed him back towards the table. As they approached, his companion's face lit up and he swore he had never seen anything that beautiful in his life. 'How generous of Kenobi to buy all of the drinks,' Hondo announced unnecessarily loudly.

'Did he now?' He could tell that she understood Hondo's angle but must have found it amusing enough to play along.

'I told him that as his host, I would pay. But, he has insisted on giving me the credits back, didn't  you, Kenobi.' A hand outstretched in Obi-Wan's direction and he raised an eyebrow.

'Really?' He knew there was no point in arguing. With a roll of his eyes, he tossed a few credits into Hondo's palm. Any excuse to make money...

'You see that? Generous.' Hondo threw himself down beside the woman, opposite Obi-Wan.

'Hm, well that is the Jedi way, is it not?' She smirked over at him.

'I'm sure being generous isn't just limited to Jedi.' He chuckled, taking a long sip of his drink. Over the rim of the glass, he could see Hondo staring at him, as if he was expecting him to say something else. 

'It is in this place, trust me.' She laughed, but he noticed that she was eyeing up his silent exchange with Hondo. After a beat of silence, she exclaimed, 'Kriff, is that a fight over there?' She pointed over Hondo's shoulder and he immediately whipped around, 'shame nobody's taking bets.' She tutted and Obi-Wan had to drink again to hide a laugh at the pirate's expense. Hondo scrambled to his feet and cleared his throat.

'Alas, I have another business venture to pursue. Remember Kenobi, seize the day.' He yelled, before scurrying off. Obi-Wan put his head in his hands and groaned.

'I think I'm in your debt for that.' He withdrew his hands and drank the remainder of his drink at a faster pace than he would usually deem appropriate. 

'I'm sure we can find a way for you to repay me.' Her tone, combined with the words, had Obi-Wan's composure turning to dust.

'What do you have in mind?' He hadn't intended for his tone to sound as flirtatious as it did

'That depends, how attached are you to those Jedi morals of yours?' She paused, 'no pun intended.' Obi-Wan was slightly taken aback - was the forbidding  of attachment that well-documented? Even if it were, why did he care that she knew about it?

'I'm not one to question my morals, but the definition of attachment is... somewhat flexible.' He was losing himself in the thought of it; stranded with pirates, a bounty hunter who seemed as intelligent and dangerous as she did gorgeous, and a desire bubbling up that he hadn't felt in as long as he could remember. Was the attitude of the pirates rubbing off on him, or had he had too much to drink? Either way, he really wanted to kiss her.

'It's funny how spending time surrounded by... how did you put it? Immoral, uncivilised criminals can change a man.' Her teasing statement was accompanied by a sip of her drink, her gaze never leaving his from the rim of the glass. When she lowered her glass she took a bold step towards him, 'define flexible.' She smirked, and Obi-Wan thought his heart was going to burst out of his chest with the speed it was beating.

Maker, it wasn't as though he was going to marry her. He had heard tales of Jedi bending the rules in far more serious ways. For liquid courage, he drew his head far enough away from her to empty the remainder of his drink. 'Do you want the dictionary definition, or the metaphorical one?' Having regained some of his wit, he grinned at her and she rolled her eyes.

'You talk too much, Jedi.' She laughed, pulling him towards her so their lips would meet in a passionate blaze. He barely had a chance to react, but quickly settled into the kiss. It was safe to say that this was the highlight of his unplanned stay on Florrum - maybe it had even made the trip worthwhile. The pair's lips moved in tandem for a few moments longer before they separated. 'How do you fancy spending the night on my ship tonight? I may even throw in a lift home for you.' Their lips remained close and her voice was low - it was as if it were just the two of them in the room.

'I wouldn't dare decline, I've already seen what happens to those who get on your bad side.' He smirked and the way her face lit up with a laugh had Obi-Wan ready to do anything she wanted him to.

'What was it Hondo said? Seize the day, Master Jedi... meet me in the hanger in five.' Pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, she left his arms and disappeared into the crowd before he could utter another word - something he was struggling to manage. He shook himself off and moved to gather his belongings from the repurposed cell that had been his home for the past few days. This seemed like a win win situation - a night with the bounty hunter and he would be dropped back home.

'Kenobi!' Hondo bellowed across the room causing Obi-Wan to stop in his tracks and take a moment to breathe and centre himself as he prepared for another interaction with the pirate.

'Hondo, I'm afraid I'm retiring for the evening.' He uttered the moment the pair were face to face.

'Tssh, I thought better of you than lying Kenobi.' He tutted, shaking his head in his usual over-dramatic manner. 'Did you think I wasn't watching?'

'I hoped you weren't at least.' He muttered under his breath as Hondo continued his speech.

'Your lady friend is waiting for you, is she not? Now now, I won't keep you long, but it would not be right of me to let you go without giving you some tips-'

'-no no, that absolutely won't be necessary.' Obi-Wan interrupted faster than a pod-race on Tatooine. 'It's like you said Hondo, seize the day, carpe diem, all of that.' He grimaced, giving Hondo a pat on the shoulder as he slid past him and tried to continue his journey.

'Excellent, Kenobi, excellent!' Hondo called after him as he rushed off. 'Just remember, you wouldn't be here without Hondo and his hospitality during a trying time! I expect payment in full Master Jedi, otherwise your next stay will not be so pleasant!'

'Next stay...' Obi-Wan repeated under his breath, rolling his eyes, 'not a chance.' At last free of Hondo's watchful eye, he scurried to gather his belongings and rush to the hanger.

Perhaps, all things considered, crashing on a hostile planet wasn't the worst thing that could have happened to Obi-Wan.

[b-biltz]

Tips and classes for Drawing and painting!

Hi!

The other day I saw a comment on Tumblr from someone who was just starting out in drawing and was using AI to help study their drawings. I decided to put together some resources that I know can help artists study and use as a reference without feeding this algorithm that is being so harmful to so many people in the artistic field.

Feel free to add more in the comments and reblogs!!!

Note: Some YouTube channels and profiles mentioned here I don't follow for so long or/and I didn't have time to analyze the content posted in full, but they were recommended by other people. Some channels/profiles are on these lists because of these recommendations or because they were useful with a post/video/tutorial at some point in my life. If there is any controversial/questionable conduct, I make it clear that I didn't know before posting! (We never know, right? hehehe)

LET'S GO:

1. You and your environment:

That's right, YOU. Your person and what you have available at home can be great references! Photos of family or friends, your pet, everyday objects that you barely pay attention to, the landscape around your house (even if it is not considered the most beautiful landscape or if it is just a wall), your food, the forgotten plant in the pot, your shoes, your clothes, your own body! They are physical objects, in YOUR hand, where you can rotate, position, arrange as you wish, and as a bonus you can do light studies on them with your cell phone's flashlight or natural daylight.

2. Follow your favorite artists and styles you like:

By following profiles of artists you like on social media, you can study their drawings, to understand how they do what they do, and, little by little, develop your art with your personality based on the styles you like!

Just be careful not to plagiarize! There's a difference in taking art from your artists to study, and keeping it for yourself and posting copies of other people's art or copying someone else's design! Study, understand and end up developing yours! DO NOT base your studies purely on the arts of others, but complement with them!

3. Follow photographers:

Photographer profiles are a treasure for anyone who likes to draw! There are photographers who capture images of people, animals, plants, landscapes, cities, etc. There are several categories! And different styles! Black and white, evidence in the shadows, play of colors and perspectives! It can be a fun exercise!

4. Follow model profiles:

Templates also provide good references. Today there is great variability in model profiles (if you know how to look well), and it can be a good exercise to design clothes and accessories on people! Study of fabric, movement, makeup and pigments in skin, hair, pose, among others

5. Media:

You can pause and take a screenshot of scenes you like from series, films, documentaries, cartoons, anime, or even take a panel from your favorite comic and draw it in your style, or study that image and try to copy it before applying in your style!

6. Pinterest:

The classic of classics! Great for references, using PHOTOS, of REAL people, animals, objects and landscapes. In addition, there are also several posts with drawing and painting tips, and even several mechanisms about various objects and elements, which can allow you to better understand the dynamics of what makes up your drawing, making your drawing, design and painting easier! There are even ready-made folders shared by other artists with several images, but you can make your own, in your own way! Mine have more than 60.000 pins!

7. Tumblr’s focused on tips for drawing and painting:

There are several names that we can mention and it is very easy to find these Tumblrs!

8. Follow artists here on tumblr:

These artists often share tips, techniques and brushes!

9. YouTube channels focused on drawing and painting:

There are several channels focused on art, tutorials, classes and drawing tips!

Some are: New Masters Academy; FZDSCHOOL; Proko; Alphonso Dunn; SamDoesArts; Marc Brunet; HABOOK; Brad's Art School; KeshArt; 조맹 Chommang_Drawing; NIRO; Sinix Design; Mmmmonexx; Draw like a Sir; fjordwind; Angel Ganev; Desenho Mestre; Pikat; One Pencil drawing; Bluebiscuits; SulaMoon; Uncomfortable; Bob Ross; Kevin Oil Painting; Fine Art Academy; Sycra; Moderndayjames; Kaycem; Tim Mcburnie - The Drawing Codex; Swatches; Ahmed Aldoori; Jordan Grimmer; Justin Donaldson

10. DAZ Studio:

It is a free program that allows you to model characters. You can customize and position the avatars however you see fit. You can even work with light incidence. You can also set up scenarios.

The free program already comes with some basic elements and on the website you can download more elements to compose your scene, such as other avatars, animals, objects, clothes, textures, among many others. However, it should be noted that some of these elements are paid. But the free basic elements already help A LOT in reference position, proportion, anatomy, scenery and study of light and shadow

11. Sketchfab:

It is a website that has several 3D elements generated by other artists. It has a free basic plan, with certain limitations, but it helps a lot when photos and other drawings are not enough for the pose you want!

12. PixelSquid:

It offers 3D models that can be useful for reference.

13. Floorplanner:

Allows you to create 2D and 3D house plans with a free account. This can help you with references to compose the scenario!

14.Dimensions:

It allows the notion of the dimension of different objects and figures.

15. Comparing Heights:

Website that allows you to compare heights between two figures

16. SculptGL:

Free basic 3D sculpting tool

17.Textures.com:

It has 3D molds and textures. There are free options in its gallery

18. Justsketch.me:

It has a free version with basic human models to create positions for reference. They are somewhat reminiscent of the articulated dolls used in the past.

19. Reference Angle:

Offers photographs of people that match the position of a 3D mold. You can select facial expressions

20. Photo reference X 3D model:

It gives you some 3D molds of human and animal skeletons and correlates the position you leave with photos

21.Bodies in motion:

Provides several stop motions of people moving. There is free and paid content

22. Sketchdaily:

A website that offers several reference photos for drawing, with different poses. You can select whether you want photos of structures, vegetation, animals, body parts, people and other specifications. One cool thing about this website is that you can choose to set a timer for the image, allowing you to leave it exposed for you to draw for 30 seconds to 1 hour (or not, you can choose to leave it without a timer).

23. Line-of-action:

It has an interface that is very similar to Sketchdaily, but the maximum time for displaying an image is 10 minutes. It has the categories of human figures, animals, hands & feet, faces & expressions and scenes & environment and basic shapes & still life.

24. Reference.pictures:

Site with several posed photos. However, there is paid content.

25. Croquis.cafe:

Various reference photos of people. Paid content

26. Pose tool:

Selection of multiple reference images that can be selected according to a filter

27. Clip Studio Tips:

Various digital drawing tips provided by the clip studio website itself

28. CecelyV:

Blog created by Cecely Valderrama (CecelyV) where she provides free tutorials

29. Drawawesome:

It has free content for artists

30.Will Kemp Art School:

A blog with free painting and drawing lessons

31. Blog Art Instruction:

Offers free art instruction. Created in 2007 by Ralph Serpe.

32. Draw Mix Paint:

Offers a series of tips, classes, videos and content focused on painting and drawing for free

33.The Dimensions of Colour:

Material created by David Briggs for coloring

34.Guide To Drawing:

A guide from Bill Martin

35.Artyfactory:

Offers some tutorials for free

36.Art Lessons Online:

This website has some free content

37. Ctrl+paint:

Offers a range of free and paid content

38. Drawspace:

It has free and paid drawing and painting courses

39. Paid classes:

Domestika

Sketchbook skool

Proko

Teacups

The Virtual Instructor

40. Color Palette Cinema:

Instagram account that creates and publishes palettes based on scenes from movies and series

41. Canvas color palettes:

Create color palettes from an image upload

I can do a drive collecting books for drawings too, but that's for another post or for someone's reblog hehe

[truths33k3r4]

Ok, I have been waiting for weeks and praying about it if I wanted to share my now written chapters of my au of TMNT. I have been slowly dropping art of my version here and there on my page, but I decided to just GO FOR IT. :) So, without further ado, here's the first chapter of my au. :)

CHAPTER 1. A Stranger in Our Home

Lotus' mind pounded with every beat of her heart. Her body ached from the blood that had slowly been drained from it. But as she started to gain consciousness, she realized something about her wrists:

Nothing was on them.

She rotated her hands to check for the familiar, painful chafing of the metal wrapped around it.

Nothing. No annoying jangles of chains. No constricting pressure digging into her skin.

And then she noticed she had been sleeping in a fetal-position.

She wasn't on the examination table.

Her hands shakily stroked across the thick fabric beneath her.

She was on a bed. A REAL BED. Not the hard floor, but a soft, indulgent MATTRESS.

As she turned onto her back, her eyes and body jolted feeling something wrapped around her. Memories flashed through her mind as she flinched, waiting for whatever it was that was restraining her to constrict, once again cutting off all circulation.

But... nothing happened.

She timidly opened her eyes to see.. a blanket? But it wasn't paper-like or smelled weird.. It was soft and heavy.. WARM. ..

' Where am I??'

In complete honesty, she didn't really care where she was. She would be fully content to sleep till she was dead.

...

" DUDES THERE'S ANOTHER TURTLE IN LEO'S BED!! WHO THE HECK IS THAT? "

Michelangelo ran into the kitchen interrupting the meeting between his older brothers and Sensei.

" Mikey, chill. " Raphael snapped, " We found her in one of the cells. We don't know who she is yet."

"- And judging by how sick she looked when we found her she will need LOTS OF REST, SO SHHHH!"

Mikey knew Donatello could be trusted to know what to do in such a sitch as this. And Raph- Raph was just being himself.

" As soon as she wakes up I need to check her vitals and address any of her injuries. From how she looked when we found her, I'll have my work cut out for me for the next 48 hours.."

Mikey watched his oldest brother, Leonardo, as he paced back and forth in worry. His face had a seriousness molded on that Mikey wasn't comforted by. When Leo was this graven, it always meant he was mentally preparing for the worst. Like when Mikey broke his ankle attempting to try the ' Triple Corkscrew Turntable' on his skateboard. HE HAD NO IDEA HIS ANKLE COULD EVER BEND THAT WAY..

AND LEO WAS NOT HAPPY.. He had that same face when he realized he needed to snap Mikey's ankle back into place. Needless to say, it wasn't a fun time for either of them.

" My sons, we must welcome this sickly stranger into our home. She's tired, injured, and probably very frightened. I sense a great weight of pain in her spirit."

Master Splinter's calm voice helped soothe Mikey's racing mind. Sensei always knew best. However hard he was on the brothers during training, he was still very kind and caring when they needed him to be.

One time when he was about 4 years old, the brothers were all playing hide n' seek in the Lair. But this time Raph had the idea to hide everyone in the one room that was OFF LIMITS: Sensei's Study. It didn't take long before Splinter caught the little tots sneaking around in his private room. When he began demanding an explanation of why they were in there, Don slyly stated,

" We were playing hide n' seek. And YOU taught us to always be unpredictable in training class, so we hid in the most unpredictable spot!"

Instead of annoyance or anger, Splinter's face lit with a smile.

" I suppose I did teach you that, my studious son.. But there's a difference between doing something unpredictable, and doing something downright foolish.. NO TV FOR A WEEK."

" Senseiiiiii..."

" IT WAS RAPH'S IDEA! HE'S THE FOOLISS ONE!!" "

"- HEY!!!"

" PAPA PWEASE DON'T TAKE AWAY DA TEVEEEEEE!!"

Hope you guys enjoyed my work!! :) If you have any questions, I'd be happy to try to answer them! Have a great day, everyone! :)

~ Melissa

Masterpost NEXT CHAPTER->

[chrismerle]

Jumperverse: Anomaly 000

Class Alpha Anomaly 000, contained in 1859, "Adam," "the warlock" Type: Humanoid male Anomalous Properties: Severe reality warping capabilities, teleportation, and self healing capabilities that make Anomaly 000 nigh invulnerable. Containment: Anomaly 000 cannot access other abilities while engaged in self-healing. Anomaly 000 is to be kept in a windowless approximately 2m x 2m room, and Anomaly 000's arms are to be kept submerged in powerful acid at all times, keeping the self-healing abilities engaged perpetually, rendering all other abilities null. Removal from the cell is to be done only in the most drastic of cases, and only if relocation can be done within a span of 72 hours. After 72 hours, regeneration will have been sufficient for Anomaly 000 to begin accessing other abilities.

Gryphon has never actually seen 000. He's never been part of her rotation; she usually deals with plant anomalies, and she's content to keep it that way. But she is on the lowest level sometimes, and she sees people going into 000's cell sometimes.

("He needed a top up," Silas had joked once, spotting Gryphon leaving monitor duty as he stepped out of 000's cell.

Gryphon could see 000's silhouette through the slightly ajar door, but nothing else, before Silas closed the door. He cleared his throat awkwardly when Gryphon didn't respond before he carried on his way.)

She's tracking an instance of 321 with Kevlin today, following it as it toddles down the hall on its roots. She pauses as she sees Hammond leave 000's cell. It's rare for him to be doing it; Silas must still be on vacation.

Hammond nods in greeting before heading down the hall toward the elevators, and Gryphon continues following Kevlin and 321 as it steadily makes its way to the monitor room.

"Sounds a bit barbaric, don't you think?" she asks after a moment, her voice nearly startling even herself in the quiet. When Kevlin glances at her, she jerks her chin toward 000's cell.

"How does that sot of containment method even occur to someone?" She can't help but wrinkle her nose.

Kevlin shrugs, barely paying attention to her as he watches 321 try to scrabble its way under the door.

"Trial and error?" he suggests dryly.

Gryphon rolls her eyes into a scowl at the side of his head.

"It just seems a little cruel, is all," she replies, and Kevlin snorts. She gets it, though. No one in the Bureau has deluded themselves into thinking 000's containment method was kind when it has only ever been necessary.

"If he ever gets out, he's going to hate us all." She laughs before she can help it. "We don't stand a fucking chance."

"If the warlock gets out, him wanting us all dead will be the least of our worries," Kevlin replies, impassive. 321 is still trying steadily to get under the door.

"He could end the world if he wanted to," he continues, and his voice turns also thoughtful as he muses, "I'm not sure it would even take any effort."

"Do you think he actually would, though?" Gryphon asks, curiosity overtaking her concern.

Kevlin thinks that over for a second before he answers.

"Get someone mad enough, and you have to assume eventually they'll use the full extent of their abilities," he settles on.

It's a bit of a non-answer--an elaborate 'who knows?' and Gryphon suspects Kevlin is just as aware of that as she is--but she supposes she's never actually going to get a perfect answer. 000 has been contained long enough that anyone who had actually spoken with him is long dead (or at least anyone within the Bureau, at any rate; they've all heard the rumors about the demon).

Besides, it's not as if the Bureau is in the business of asking 'but what if they're nice?' Even the nicest people have breaking points.

At last, 321's timer runs out, and it gives up on the door, turns, and starts heading back the way it came from. Kevlin grumbles under his breath about it being a waste of a walk, but they both follow 321 dutifully once again.

"You plan on opening the door?" Kevlin asks as they pass 000's cell again. He snorts when Gryphon smacks his arm.

"No?" he guesses. "Then I don't think we have to worry about meeting him any time soon."

Gryphon spares the cell door one last glance before following Kevlin and 321 back onto the elevator.

enjoy my noodling? maybe buy me a Ko-fi. monthly subscriptions are enabled, or you can just throw some pocket change. anything is appreciated. there's a link in my pinned post.

[silvernyxchariot]

Kabuto Yakushi x GN!Reader

Content Warnings: Fluff, sickeningly sweet; Lords, was I always this gawky as a kid; reworked one-shot from 2012-14 era

Word Count: 1437

“My life wasn't horrible… but it certainly was dreary.”

Another day in my life and I wake up in a candlelit room, the small prison window on the door also supplies my sight with the torches in the hallway. There’s practically nothing for me to do, maybe a simple little desk and some writing supplies. The other inmates are crazed from constant boredom and experimentation; not even one can offer an intellectual sentence.

I roll my eyes at another distant scream.

Orochimaru's forsaken eastern hideout was miserable, but aren't they all; even though we are in the land of fire, as far as I could remember, why hasn't anyone found this place? My jutsu is undeveloped. My shinobi skills are unrefined. So, why does he want to keep me? No… I think I want to be here.

Flashback Back then, I had lived a simple life. The waterfall was luke warm at best, but it was useful for a bath and I can't help but linger in the lakes depths. Brilliant blue to a burnt orange to a yellowish grey, I watched as the sky turned to night. The day had come and gone as if nothing else had existed. The water calmed my nerves, but I must've looked like a raisin by now. My cottage is only two minutes away from the waterfall. As I walked through the brush, my reflexes proved horrible. Three little pricks sent shivers into my very core, silver piercings in my arm, shoulder, and neck. Pressure points. “Damn it.” When I hit the ground, and before I fainted, a man walks up to my place on the ground. In a rather polite voice laced with hints of venom, “I'm sorry Miss; I didn't—” That's all I could hear before the my senses went black. Fortunately, I saw my assailant's face. He was… pretty? His silver hair and onyx black eyes just shown so beautifully; but what was so funny was… His circular glasses made him look so boyish. Then everything faded. End Flashback

That was such a cliché meeting. Yes, the reason I stay is for this one person. Stupid, don't you think? And it started with mistaken identity. But I don't care; I couldn't help but love him. For months, I've followed Kabuto around, whether it be for small errands or a dangerous mission. Most of the time, I have been his subordinate specifically. At least I try my best to be. You see, I’m not the best shinobi since I was never given any formal training. A few punches and kicks in taijutsu. I can barely release myself from simple genjutsu. And never mind trying to pull off a shadow clone. I was a horrible shinobi.

I would fall off almost any branch or ledge, trip and roll down a hill but Kabuto was never mad at me. He’s patient and maybe hyper fixated on his current task that I must force him to remember how to drink or eat. It’s strange; possibly he felt the same. Kabuto had been a creeper on a couple of occasions: staring at me, caressing my thigh, or maybe twiddling my hair. I stare into his eyes when he’s too close.

In the darkness of my cell a small beam of light appears, for the door creaked open and guess who stood there. “Come on out. We're going somewhere,” his close eyed smile is so innocent that I had to chuckle. “You must be bored. As always.” Kabuto stayed in step with me.

“Ok…” I never argued, Kabuto never asked anything unreasonable of me. “Where are we going, Kabuto?”

“I just need to find something… You have decent eyes. So, you're going to help me,” he shrugs nonchalantly as if the screams didn’t exist. The smirk on his face was far too enigmatic for a simple mission like he claims this one is, but I could not read his face; what's new?

I have no idea what time means or what it is when I’m underground. Kabuto brought me out in the blazing heat of summer, and I have to squint and keep my eyes shut for a few minutes. But the fresh air feels good. My joints pop as I stretch and rotate my joints. My lungs groan and scream as I fill them with air.

Four Hours Later, flying through the trees, the orange gleam of disappearing light is behind us. The branched groan at our landing and body weight. Kabuto and I had been traveling on foot. The evergreen forest became thicker and thicker, but it was beautiful. The trees offered shade from the blazing sun and cool relief in the summer heat. As we continued, rainbow bundles of flora became more evident. Over the horizon, a silver round moon began to rise.

Finally, Kabuto dropped at a moment’s notice and came to a stand still near a small cave entrance. Catching my breath, I descended to stand beside him. Kabuto only slightly turned to see if I was even still here. “Kabuto!” He left me without a clue, so the basic thing I would do… follow him. Time and time again, tripping fucking hurts. The only thing I could possibly grab a hold of for balance in the barely lit cave was Kabuto. Despite his slender build, he’s sturdy and holds me upright without even trying. His dark chuckle only ever made me clumsier, as it was distracting. Always was. I staggered until he finally decided to pick me, legs and knees up, and face-to-face with those circular frames.

“If you keep this up you do realize we'll never get back to the hideout in time. I'm only given roughly 2 days just to find this.” What is it!? He never tells me anything. “Close your eyes, count to ten, and then open them.” I huffed but obeyed. He was demanding and actually quite forceful sometimes. If I didn’t close my eyes, he’d shove his face over my sight. I had to take advantage of this and let myself snuggle into his embrace, arms wrapped around his neck and the collar of his shirt. I heard him huff but I had a triumphant smirk on my face.

Ten, nine, eight, seven…

When I open my eyes, the moonlight is an ethereal beauty. Everything glimmered with a silver coat of pale light. Everything is moving in slow motion. The dragonflies and fireflies buzz around. The more I looked around the buds of the evening moon lilies opened wide as if to greet me. My favorite. They only bloom in the dark. Small flowers with a sweet scent; the best appearances for a night wedding, ornaments, or a bouquet.

“Happy birthday…” Kabuto stands at the edge of the cave we just exited. A little awkward, not sure what to do with himself, but I was too busy chasing the rabbits that inhabited the little clearing. He set me down to let me wander the garden cave. In that moment, exasperation and awe fills me with warmth despite the creeping cold of the night.

This small area. It was beautiful. The pond and little river, that reflected the shimmering moon, was surrounded by iridescent blooms.

I couldn’t hold my excitement as I turned and crushed Kabuto in a crushing grip. I peered into his black eyes, satisfaction. He was happy and so was I. But it didn't matter where we were and what was happening, as long as we were together a moment like this would never go away. “I have something else for you.” He pulled a chain from his pocket and clipped it around my neck. An intricate summer themed locket.

“I wish I could repay you for this…” Nothing but a whisper. I could say nothing more. But no other words were exchanged. In their place, a forceful kiss.

Kabuto chuckled in amusement while adjusting his shirt and smirking into the chaste kiss, “I guess we should be getting back…”

“Yeah, uh, Kabuto. I lik- I love you.” A deep, bloody crimson filled my cheeks along with heated ears.

“I figured you'd say that” he chuckles as he stares down at me. “I love you too. I belong to you; you can do whatever you want to me, and I would let you do it.”

It was so exciting. “Really?” I whined with high-pitched excitement. He stayed silent for a moment and then patted my head like I was a kitten. I wrap my arms around this waist and rest my chin on his chest. “I know. I will always be yours in return… Always by your side.”

.

.

.

One of the fan fics I'm editing from my neophyte years, and will subsequently post here to Tumblr.

Damn. I wish teenage me was mentally mature enough to have joined Tumblr during the SuperWhoLock era. For context, I'm catching up on some old shows that I wasn't interested in when I was a kid: iZombie, Bones, HIMYM, Dexter, and newer stuff like Queen's Gambit. THE CHAOS, where everyone loved gushing and word vomiting, must have been so much fun.

[kimberbohwrites]

Hello this Viago x unnamed OC (not Rook) plot has been rotating in my mind for days like a sexy little rotisserie. My single brain cell seems to be capable of words again and I am living. Preview below.

“Fit for a King” Preview

Viago De Riva x Unnamed OC (but not Rook)

“Her back slammed into the panel as their mouths met in the dark, locked in a passionate and clandestine embrace in the warm evening air. He’d pushed her back with such force, but she hadn’t missed how his hand had shielded her head against the hard panels of the wall. So firm but with that little sweet side he worked so hard to hide, that was Viago De Riva.

All hard planes and angles, deadly, dangerous and discreet. Viago’s sweet spot was something of a secret, for few played it as close to the vest as the fifth talon of the Antivan Crows.

A noblewoman from Antiva City and an Assassin, each time they met under cover of night they were throwing fuel on the flame that would surely devour them both. Until that time they were content to let the fire light their way to one another in the gathering darkness. “