#it's also not like it's forcing YOU to tag it the same way

[pineconepie]

CHARACTERS: Cassian, Winslow, You/Reader

WARNINGS/TAGS: Nagas/snakes, hypnosis, parental yanderes, kidnapping, infantilization, failed escape attempt, gender neutral reader

WORD COUNT: 4.8k

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Two writings posted in one day? Perhaps I felt generous. I've changed up my original plans for them a tiny bit, but not by much. I hope you like it!

The air in the forest is cool, but there's an unnatural stillness that unsettles you as you walk through it. It makes sense that you haven't seen another hiker, the place just feels... off.

It doesn't matter, though. You got several good photos of some plants, and a beautiful waterfall and lake with pristine blue water; probably the bluest natural water you've ever seen.

You have what you came for, but you want to get some more photos.

It started off as just a hobby, but when a local nature organization noticed your photos posted on social media, they were really interested in hiring you to take pictures for them. It was more comparable to a gig or freelance work, since all your pay is done by commission, but it's fun and makes you enough extra money that you don't mind keeping at it.

After snapping some photos of some mushrooms growing from a rotting log, you hear the sound of talking.

Maybe there are hikers, after all.

You see two people in the distance.

"Is the fresh air helping at all, my love?" a slightly deep voice asks. He has short black hair, and strangely bright yellow eyes. He has a scar across his left eye, rendering it milky white, likely blind.

Eyes that you know you've never seen on anyone else before.

Next to him, is a much more sullen-looking taller man. Taller by quite a bit, though they look the same age. He has longer white-blond hair tied into a loose ponytail, blue eyes, and... black scleras?

Surely you must be seeing things wrong. You use your camera to zoom in on them.

"I told you, fresh air does nothing," a more soft voice hisses, though there's no true anger in it. It sounds more... sad. Exhausted.

Zooming in on them doesn't help. You truly realize how tall they are—even the shorter one could still tower over you.

And then you realize the other part about them both that is unnatural.

They have tails. Tails like a snake, to be exact. The shorter man has a brown-gold tail, and the other has a light-brown tail, with darker brown-black markings.

That doesn't make sense. No way you aren't hallucinating. There isn't any poisonous fungi around here, right?

It's impossible, yet you keep looking through the lens at those two men.

You accidentally snap a photo of the pair, both of them whipping their heads in your direction immediately.

In a moment of sheer panic, you start sprinting away. Your heart races in your chest so hard it might just break out as you force yourself to run faster than you ever have in your life.

You look back after some time, and you're too distracted to notice the raised tree root, tripping over it and hitting the ground with a thud.

To make matters worse, you tumble down a hill and roll onto the cold rocky shore of the lake. Your head is throbbing, and you try to sit up only to get dizzy. You press the palm of your hand to your forehead, pulling it back and seeing red. With a wince, you notice the small scrape on your arm that's also bleeding, plus your knee hurts from when you landed on the rocks.

The voices come back from a distance, but still close enough for you to hear them.

"What do you think it was?" the softer voice asks. The one from the taller man you assume was melancholic—based on his slumped posture—though now you can clearly detect curiosity. "A deer?"

"I can smell its blood," the other voice murmurs. "Doesn't smell like deer. Whatever it is, I'm hungry," he states excitedly.

Oh god. You feel even dizzier than before, and not from your fall, either. You manage to stand, ignoring how unbalanced you are as you run towards a large boulder sitting near the shore of the lake. You hide behind it, praying they don't find you.

Your luck quickly runs out.

A hand grabs your ankle and drags you out of your hiding place, so quickly you don't even have time to react.

They both gasp. You look up at them both in fear, trembling underneath their gazes. You glance towards your camera; it didn't take a beating from the fall, somehow.

Not like it now matters. This is where you meet your death, you're sure of it. So you shut your eyes, and await the inevitable.

"A human," the taller one whispers. "Oh, Winslow, look at them...!" He coos, scooping you up into his arms with a scary amount of ease. His gaze softens. "A baby. Aren't they precious? They look so perfect... Look how little they are..." He sounds adoring, talking to you as if you're an animal who can't understand him.

But wait. Does he know you can?

"You're right, Cassian," the other one chuckles, running one of his claws gently across your face.

"My hatchling," Cassian shakily says. His grip on you somehow tightens. "I won't let anything happen to you... not like..." His voice cracks, like he might cry.

"Cassian," Winslow chides gently. "This time we won't lose them. I promise you." He looks down at you, smiling, but... it looks strange.

"Right. It'll be different this time," Cassian agrees, blinking tears away. They both seem to have this inside conversation, and your presence seems to have slipped their mind. Until the attention shifts back to you, anyway. "Our baby must be so scared," Cassian coos sadly, petting your head. "That was such a tumble you took..."

You continue to pretend to not understand them. Maybe if they realize you aren't comprehending their words, they'll leave you be.

"They probably have no idea what's happening! Poor thing..." Winslow sighs.

Cassian hums. You crack open one eye to see him staring at you fondly. When you first met gazes, he looked depressed; exhausted. Now he looks content and at peace, even.

You start to wriggle, trying to escape his hold. You manage to get yourself out, but your injuries don't allow you to run anywhere.

Winslow acts faster, grabbing you again into his arms this time, which are more thick and muscular. "No no no, sweetheart, don't hurt yourself!" Winslow exclaims. "It's okay, don't cry! Papa's here!" He bounces you in his arms, like soothing a crying baby.

And unfortunately, you realize he's not lying, because you can feel the tears streaming down your cheeks, burning the cut by your mouth as you sob.

They're much larger than you. There's no escape. Not right now, anyway. So you lay limp in Winslow's arms, sniffling, knowing it will help nothing.

"We're taking them," Cassian mumbles, but his tone leaves no room for argument.

Winslow pecks the side of your head. "Of course we are."

The exhaustion from the past hours suddenly catches up with you.

...

When you wake up, you hear the sound of humming, accompanied by a fire. You're wrapped in something that doesn't feel quite like a blanket... or any fabric, for that matter.

You struggle to move at first, feeling dizzy, until your vision finally focuses and you can see where you are.

The cave is somewhat dark, but there's a large hole showing sunlight, a large tree beneath the sunlight, roots reaching through the top.

Vines cover the ceiling and most of the walls, making for a very natural yet cozy-looking place.

You look down and realize the 'blanket' isn't a blanket at all. It's... a tail, leading up to reveal who you remember as Winslow. The memories from earlier flood back into your brain, causing you to shrink under his touch.

He's laying next to you, asleep. One of his arms is underneath your head like a pillow, and his tail has curled itself around you.

There's a fire crackling. You lift your head to see Cassian tending to it, cooking something in the flames. The heat from it warms the cave nicely. Your head starts to pound as soon as you've raised it too far off the makeshift pillow that is Winslow's arm.

Suddenly Cassian whips around at the sound of your slight whimper, moving faster than you would have ever guessed possible.

"Good morning, my little one," he whispers, brushing some hair off of your face, examining your forehead. "Poor dear," he sighs sympathetically. "Papa and Baba will take good care of you."

"Baba?" you repeat. You panic for a moment when you see Cassian blink in shock.

"Oh, Cass! They said 'Baba'!" Winslow gasps.

Oh, thank goodness. They both still have no clue you can truly understand them. You try your hardest to play up the innocent act. Winslow hugs you, cuddling you close to him and kissing your cheeks repeatedly, making kissy noises.

You get the impression these two have no experience with humans. If they did, they would likely notice your skin crawling at the interaction.

Then you're scooped up again into Cassian's arms. You squirm, kicking your legs against him, which makes his smile grow wider.

"So lively!" he chuckles. He holds you by tucking you into his arm as he feeds the fire more wood with his free hand.

"Are they acting fussy, love?" Winslow asks, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he gets up. He makes grabby hands towards you.

"I guess you could say that," Cassian replies, handing you over to Winslow. "I think it's simply normal, though. Maybe this is a sign they are hungry. Don't worry, sweetheart, food is almost done."

Food. You're unsure how your stomach feels about that.

After the events that occurred, you feel... hollowed out. Like all your energy is sapped from you. Maybe it actually is. You're a bit achy all over after you went tumbling down the hill.

What a horrible day. But you wonder, what did they mean before? About this time it would be different? What happened?

Maybe you don't want to know. In all honesty, you shouldn't care. You just want to get out of here.

Cassian stands near the fire, seemingly cooking meat of some sort, with vegetables on sticks. It smells heavenly, despite your nerves and lack of appetite.

"Look at what we're having for dinner, hatchling!" Cassian coos. "Doesn't it look so yummy?"

Well... it does.

Winslow hugs you tight, his chin resting on your head. You squirm uncomfortably in his hold again, but it does absolutely nothing except cause Winslow to pull you impossibly closer. It makes sense why you're unable to escape from him, considering he could probably crush a tree trunk with just his arms. He seems stronger than Cassian despite being shorter.

But not short compared to you in the slightest.

Eventually, Cassian pulls away the fire-roasted vegetables from the fire and sets them aside on some makeshift plates made out of bark from birch trees.

Then he turns to the meat skewered on a large stick.

"Food is served!" Cassian announces.

Cassian scoops you up from Winslow's arms again. He gently sets you on a cushion made of moss, and sits down beside you. "Dinner," he says. He smiles when you don't reply, assuming it's because you don't understand him.

Or at least that's what you hope he assumes.

He basically hand-feeds you, delicately placing bites of vegetable in your mouth. It's surprisingly tasty and well-seasoned. Maybe it's your hunger making everything taste better.

Winslow eats his much less elegantly than his partner, finishing it all relatively quickly. Only after does he look at you, his smile soft, but almost sad. "I'm so glad we can be a family again."

Family?

"Me too," Cassian smiles, but it seems melancholic, his eyebrows turning downwards as if reminiscing about something.

"What's wrong?" Winslow frowns, tilting his head. He knows exactly what's wrong.

"I should've protected them all better," Cassian sniffles. His blue eyes begin to gloss over. "It never should have happened."

"It wasn't your fault," Winslow soothes. "Don't ever believe that for even a second, darling."

"If I was stronger—"

"No, don't blame yourself." Winslow scoots over to hold his mate. "Please don't. You know we couldn't do anything."

Cassian nods solemnly. "Thank you..." He sighs sadly. "It doesn't make me miss our other babies any less. But this time, it'll be different." He then looks over at you. "Won't it, little one?" You feel a spike of embarrassment when he wipes your cheek with the pad of his thumb, catching a crumb left over. "Messy, messy," he tuts, but his tone is somewhat playful.

Winslow kisses your forehead. "They certainly eat like a hatchling."

You'd be more insulted if you weren't so focused on their previous conversation.

It's obvious they've had past children, though you can assume they were likely still eggs when they lost them. But who—or what—hurt them?

Whoever it was, you're sure either of them showed no mercy.

Your thoughts are interrupted when Cassian gently grasps your arm, lifting it up and squinting. You realize most of the injured parts of your body are wrapped neatly with makeshift bandages.

"These will need to be rewrapped later," Cassian murmurs. "Luckily they'll heal fast, considering how young you are... Humans scar much easier than our kind does, it seems."

Cassian shifts behind you. A tail comes slithering forward and wraps around you loosely, yet securely.

His tail is much softer and smoother than Winslow's, less scaly. You guess he's some kind of constrictor snake. You squeak when his soft tail squeezes you slightly, like an affectionate embrace.

As you sit there, stuck in the coils of a creature that can easily kill you, all you feel is dazed, exhausted, and confused.

Winslow places the leftovers into a pot, then moves it near the entrance to the cave. Next, he takes the dirty bark plates, exiting the cave presumably to clean them outside.

"Come here, baby," Cassian whispers, pulling you backwards until your back is pressed against his chest. "Baba's got you." It's a possessive hold. You try to squirm away, but it only causes him to hold you tighter. He's careful with where he touches, being mindful of your injuries. You bite your tongue to distract yourself from the stinging pain in your head.

He continues to speak lovingly to you as his grip gradually tightens around your form, like a snake would coil around its prey. It hurts, but not nearly as bad as some of the wounds you have.

Eventually he loosens his grip, letting you catch your breath as he cradles you instead. It makes your stomach twist with guilt when you realize he's crying.

"You won't leave us," he mumbles softly. He's so delicate and gentle; like he's afraid you'll break.

It's hard to imagine that someone who can handle you with such tenderness could snap you like a twig if he wanted to.

"We love you so much already," he sobs. His arms come up around you again, clutching you protectively, desperately. As if you could leave at any given moment.

Even if you wanted to (which you very much do), his tail's grip on you is strong enough to keep you in place.

...

You don't know how long its been since you were taken away. The sun is rising through the top of the cave opening when you wake up in the morning, but that doesn't tell you how many days you've been here.

A few, you've deduced. At least three, but possibly more.

Cassian tends to the wound on your head multiple times a day. It has a constant bandage over it now. Your sprained knee and scraped-up arm aren't wrapped anymore, since they've healed nicely according to him.

You hate to admit you're now a bit curious about these two nagas.

More specifically, what happened to their past children? Were they like humans? Naga hybrids, or full nagas?

Why did they take you?

These questions—and many more—swirl through your head while you eat another plate is prepared by Cassian. It's starting to drive you crazy, how curious you are. You want to ask them. You need to know, like an itch begging to be scratched. The only reason you haven't, is because you hope to still give them the impression you're just the dumb human (child?) they believe you to be.

Once breakfast is over, you've finished eating all Winslow has fed you, so he lays on a mattress made of moss and vines that hangs between two trees in the cave. It's basically a hammock.

Winslow seems more emotional, openly clingy, but more scary, despite being the smaller naga.

Meanwhile Cassian has the aura of a stern but caring mother. He's patient and nurturing, and clearly devoted. Terrifyingly devoted.

What makes your chances of escape worse, much to your dread, is the fact you've gathered Cassian is mostly nocturnal, while Winslow is mostly awake during the day.

Most of the time, Winslow likes sleeping on the ground, while Cassian prefers the tree or hammock.

It's hard to have them both sleep at the same time unless its a short nap. Not to mention, Cassian seems to rouse easily.

So you continue playing along with the child role. Hopefully they'll grow careless as you gain their trust and let you go do your own things.

You'll escape one way or another. You don't intend to stay and play house with them forever.

Something to your advantage you have noticed, is Cassian is much slower than his mate, probably about a similar speed to your own if you were to break out into a sprint.

Winslow, however, is quick and fast. From what you've seen, at least.

Hopefully you won't have to test those odds.

For that reason, you've decided the smartest course of action would be to attempt escaping during the night rather than day, since that's when Winslow will be sleeping. Yet that still comes with the next challenge; Cassian keeps his eye on you just as often as Winslow does, sometimes even more. He spends a lot of the time curled around you, watching you closely as you play with twigs or leaves he hands you.

He thinks it's adorable, seeing you play around with them like a baby with building blocks, or something to that effect.

At first you didn't even bother wasting energy trying to entertain yourself, but with Cassian's expectant gaze boring holes into you, you figured doing something wouldn't hurt.

Playing around with various objects helps the time pass, too. It's not much, but better than nothing.

Soon enough, nightfall falls upon the forest once more.

One thing you have learned during the small handful of nights spent in captivity is that Winslow has a habit of sleep-cuddling, clinging, and often mumbling in his sleep. Sometimes you can understand his sleepy speech, other times it sounds like a bunch of slurred mumbles.

Your sleep schedule has become pretty unpredictable, having two "parents" who only spend a few hours awake at the same time normally.

Regardless, you think this might help your potential plan. If Winslow is holding you tightly, all you have to do is somehow wriggle out of his arms and tiptoe around Cassian in order to get to the opening of the cave.

And then hope you make it out without being caught, considering you'll be traversing the forest in almost complete darkness.

You toss and turn in Winslow's grip, which makes his grasp on you tighten even further. It's less suffocating than Cassian's, but still not pleasant. You let out a frustrated sigh. If you can get him to loosen his hold, you can crawl out.

With enough shifting and shimmying around in his grasp, it works.

His arms slip away from you, leaving you free. Somehow. It must be fate granting you this luck. A chance opportunity you'd be crazy not to take advantage of.

Your feet hit the cold stone floor quietly. It doesn't stir Winslow from his slumber at all. Just as you expected, though. He's a heavy sleeper.

The challenge is going to be sneaking past his husband, who you know is wide awake and probably outside now. At night he usually is hunting or collecting resources.

Or keeping watch.

If your luck is consistent, maybe he'll be off doing something else and your chances of successfully escaping will grow significantly.

All you know is you have to at least try.

You make your way to the entrance, pausing every time the leaves rustle or twigs crack under your feet.

Walking slowly is painful. All you want to do is run. Run out and never return.

The air becomes more crisp and cool as you approach the front of the cave. With a last glance behind you to ensure Winslow hasn't stirred, you inch yourself forward through the last stretch of tunnel leading into the wilderness. Moonlight shines through the leaves above you. Crickets chirp softly. Your eyes begin to adjust to the dim light of the forest.

There's a path. You're positive this trail leads back to the road that passes through the woods.

The faster you walk, the louder your movements become, snapping branches and crunching leaves under you. And still, you continue to push forward until you're practically sprinting through the foliage.

Your lungs burn, your limbs ache, and your muscles feel weak, but adrenaline pumps through your veins as you fight against the pain to reach your goal.

Finally, you spot a small sign marking where the path splits off into two directions; one leading to town, the other going deeper into the forest towards who knows where.

And then...

"I smell them," Cassian's voice rasps. He doesn't sound far away at all. "Sweetheart?! Where are you?!" he calls. "Oh, they must be so scared..."

Then, Winslow's voice. "We'll find them, darling. I won't let them get far."

You panic, diving into the nearest bush to hide. Its thorns dig into your skin painfully. You have to bite your hand in order to not cry out in pain. Tears stream down your face, but you dare not make a single noise. Your breathing slows to almost nothing as you struggle to contain sobs.

"How could this happen?" Cassian whispers. Just from the sound of his voice, you can tell he's been crying, too. "I can't lose another one, Winslow..."

"We won't, love. We won't. It'll be okay."

You can hear Cassian's choked sobbing now. They both must be nearby. Very nearby. Too close for comfort, that's for sure.

But if they're comforting each other, that means you can possibly sneak around them while they're distracted.

It's worth a shot. Maybe the only one you'll have.

As silently as possible, you crawl on your hands and knees away from the voices, making sure to avoid stepping anywhere near them in case they hear movement. They don't seem to notice, so you move faster, hoping to put distance between you.

Unfortunately, with how dark it is out here, you stumble upon a rock and fall face-first onto the ground with a loud thud.

Cassian's tearful sobbing stops suddenly.

Your heart pounds wildly.

"Oh, honey! B-Baba is coming, stay where you are," Cassian cries, followed by a deep inhale, no doubt to scent you out, now that he knows the general direction you're in.

The way he says it makes you wonder if he even thinks you purposefully tried escaping. Does he truly believe you think of them as your family?

Of course, you don't listen. You take off as fast as you can, climbing over fallen logs and weaving through the dense underbrush. Anything to get farther and farther away from where you are now. However, the more you move, the louder you become. More twigs and dry leaves crunching beneath you, no doubt leading them to you even more.

But what else are you supposed to do? It's not like you have many options at this point.

You need to escape.

Even though Cassian isn't quick, Winslow is.

And boy does he live up to that observation.

In a flash of golden scales, you're thrown to the ground. The dirt cakes onto you, and before you can fully react, Winslow scoops you up into his arms, holding you as tight as possible without crushing you. You thrash and kick as much as you can, trying desperately to break free from his iron-like grip.

"Don't worry! Papa's here! Ssh ssh ssh!" Winslow hushes, kissing your forehead frantically, like a worried parent. He's looking over your body, checking for new injuries or cuts you could've obtained.

Cassian catches up, much more out of breath. You can tell from the tremble in his tone how angry he is, how concerned, how hurt and betrayed he feels. He kneels down to meet you and Winslow's crouched position, hugging you both so tight you wheeze.

"Let me go!" you yell. At this point, you don't care about being silent to them anymore. "I'm not your kid!"

That startles them both. They stare at you with wide eyes, jaws slackened.

"You can... speak?" Winslow gawks. His pupils shrink into tiny slits.

"Did you think all humans couldn't speak, or did you just assume I couldn't?" You shake your head. "It doesn't matter. Let me go!" You try escaping with even more fervor, trying to claw your way out, anything.

"Honey," Cassian whispers, trembling. It's as if you've broken him, and part of you hates it. "This entire time you understood us...?"

"Yes! And I have my own family! Please, let me see my family!" you wail. This isn't fair. You didn't do anything wrong. "They probably think I died..." The thought alone makes you choke up with tears.

Winslow frowns, turning his face to bury himself into your hair. "You are home," he croaks. His hug on you gets stronger.

"No I'm not!" you protest. You bite down on Winslow's arm, hard enough to draw blood. He recoils, which gives you a brief window of opportunity, allowing you to slip through their hands momentarily.

Cassian wastes no time in recapturing you. "Stop, please stop! You'll get yourself hurt!" he pleads. It's not long before you're completely trapped by his tail wrapping around you snugly once more.

"No! You stole me from my life! I can't stay here!" you cry, struggling harder against his coils. "Please!"

Cassian frowns, exchanging glances with Winslow, who looks more equally frustrated and hurt. His hand holds the bleeding bitemark. You refuse to feel guilty for it. Winslow looks ready to scold you, but Cassian puts his free hand on his forearm.

"They don't know any better, sweetheart," Cassian tells him, expression strained. "They're just frightened and overwhelmed."

Winslow's anger wanes a little bit.

"But, we saved them! Why don't they understand that?" Winslow asks desperately, as if you still can't communicate. He runs his fingers through his hair nervously, looking down at you like he needs validation from you that he's done a good job taking care of you.

You don't want to give that to him.

"I don't belong here," you protest, squirming around angrily in your cocoon of Cassian's tail.

"You do belong here," Cassian argues. His expression turns upset to worried when he notices how hard you're breathing. "Breathe, dear. You're going to hyperventilate."

When your breathing only gets worse, he cups your cheeks and guides your head to tilt upwards, looking him directly in the eyes.

His eyes are glowing, colors swirling inside of them.

"Breath slow," he commands. "Follow Baba."

As Cassian counts up and down, demonstrating to you with exaggerated breaths, Winslow rubs your back soothingly with the hand that isn't injured, making shushing noises in hopes of calming you down.

And unfortunately, it works. You feel tired, so much so that even thinking is hard.

"Calm now, sweetie? No more fussing?" he coos hopefully. The strange swirls in his irises are gone now.

"...Mhm..." you murmur reluctantly, barely audible. Your eyelids flutter open and closed, feeling weighed down as if lead is tied to them. Drowsiness settles deep within your bones. There's no use in fighting against it. Not right now, anyway. Sleep wins over escape, apparently. You rest your head against his shoulder defeatedly.

"There we are..." Cassian whispers. "No more running."

Winslow looks around. "We should start heading home. I can carry them back, you look tired." Winslow holds out his arms expectantly.

Cassian hesitates briefly before handing you off to Winslow's embrace, where he proceeds to snuggle you closer into his chest.

"Are you sure? I did wake you up early..."

"I'll be okay, love," Winslow smiles tiredly. "Besides, I'd feel better having them in my arms right now. I'm still processing that they could understand us this whole time..." he sighs.

Cassian frowns sadly, brushing the hair off of your forehead. "Me too... but that's a conversation for tomorrow. Let's go home"

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [wlw][mdni][established relationship][domestic bliss][blood mention][marriage][accidental anal fingering][*intentional* anal fingering][vibrator usage][oral (f! rec)][prone bone][praise][petnames][little bit of gender dysphoria][dirty talk][like... dirty.][squirting][tw. half beta-read]

"Stop. Starting. Shit."

Rumi's eyes narrow, expression scrunched up in distaste as you flick the water droplets at the ends of your fingers in her face. Each flick, enunciating your words as you soak the washcloth in the warm water, wringing it just enough before you're wiping away the blood from her face.

Warm hands bracket the backs of your thighs as she peers up at you, slumped back against the cistern of the closed toilet. The light dimmed, Rumi's long lashes flutter as she watches you, your brows knitted into a little frown, plush lips tugged downwards at the corners and you don't even meet her eyes.

Staring down at her as you clean away the scuffs and wounds that litter her face, honey toned skin flushing just a bit at the warmth of the cloth, but also, at how gently you're taking care of her.

Manicured fingers cradling her jaw, tipping her face towards you, your thumb absentmindedly stroking the hollow beneath her plump bottom lip.

"S'not like I died." Bad move.

Rumi watches the way your movements halt, breath stuttering in your lungs and you glare at her.

"I'll kill you myself." You grit out, gripping her chin just a bit harder but still, just as gentle. Just more firm. "You keep starting shit with villains. You don't need to goad people, Rumi. In and out. Efficient. Clean. Safe."

You huff, jaw clenching.

"Last time you fucked around and found out, you got stabbed in the ass."

Rumi snorts at the memory. The way she'd been carried home, refusing actual medical care and instead, choosing to go home, and get yelled at for not being careful enough. She'd fallen asleep, cradled against your chest but when she woke up, you'd been dragging your fingers through her silvery hair whilst a doctor stitched the wound.

"It's not funny." You hiss. "That knife could've been dirty. Haven't you seen Hamlet?"

Rumi shrugs, noncommittal as she peers up at you, watching you with keen eyes as you disinfect each of the cuts on her face.

"Why would I watch a boring ass movie if I could just have you tell me what happens?" Her lips cock in that easy grin, but your fingers dig into her cheeks, forcing her lips into a pout.

"Everyone dies." You deadpan. "Laertes dies by a poison tipped sword. Hamlet dies the same way. You see what I'm getting at?"

She watches you and there isn't a thought behind those crimson pools, irises stretched thin around dilated pupils, rough fingertips tracing patterns against your skin where your shorts had ridden up.

"Wasn't a sword that stabbed me though."

"Rumi!" You groan, exhausted, shoulders slumping. "I'm telling you that you need to be—"

"Yeah, yeah," She waves a hand dismissively, "be careful."

Your lips press into a thin line, eyes narrowing and you press the disinfectant-soaked cotton ball against her skin abruptly, just to hear her wince.

"Don't do that." Your continues to tend to her, the crease between your brows deepens but your voice is quiet and she lets out a quiet breath. Arms wrapping around your middle, pulling you closer and she presses her face against your chest.

Your fingers rake through her hair, snowy strands falling from your grasp like water, and you're careful when you untangle the knots from her hair, your nails scratching against her scalp in all the ways she likes.

And she grinds her teeth, throat muscles vibrating just a bit and she purrs, face tucked away in your chest, the softness of her cheeks brushing against the swells of your breasts. Obscured from view by the ratty, old 'Pro Hero: Mirko' T-shirt you refuse to toss.

Edges frayed, stains left behind from hot oil and random, stray threads.

And her hands scale up the backs of your thighs, the warmth of your body luring her like some kind of siren song and her fingertips sink into the fat of your ass.

And she inhales the sweetness of your skin.

"You smell nice." She mumbles softly, before tipping her head back, chin resting against your sternum and you push her hair out of her face, clearing the strands that reflect the golden light of the bathroom so prettily.

And you hum softly.

"I used your lotion." And she lets out a sleepy giggle at your words, her ears twitching, resting languidly at the sides of her head and you trail your fingers along the soft fur, feeling the way her chest heaves, breath stuttering in her lungs.

And Rumi's skin goes warm.

"Don't touch my ears." Her voice is quiet, barely audible over the sound of raindrops pelting outside the bathroom window. "Drives me crazy when you do that."

And you shift, peeking down her back to where that puffball tail's twitching, wagging erratically from side to side and your brows raise.

"Is that cause you're pissed off?" You hum quietly, and Rumi shakes her head, before pulling back, ruby irises dark and she swallows, her tongue swiping across her plump bottom lip.

"Can we—"

"—If you eat first."

.

.

.

.

Your gaze flickers to the way Rumi's head tips back, jaw slack and snores slipping from her, the carrot in her hand held with an iron grip and she lets out a deep breath, slumping even further against the mountain of pillows behind her.

And you sigh, expression softening and heart swelling at the way she shifts, face tucking itself into your pillow but she just keeps snoring.

Downright demonic sounds leaving her. And you snort, reaching for the half-eaten carrot in her hand, stifling your laughter at the way the veins in the back of her hand bulge beneath her sunkissed skin, her grip tightening.

"Greedy." You murmur softly, raking your fingers through her hair before you dip your head, soft lips ghosting over her temple and you flick off the light, shuffling into the spot beside her.

A heavy leg tossed across your belly instantly, her chin on your shoulder and her head tipped back, and it really feels like she's snoring at you.

Eyes fluttered shut, lips parted and ears twitching, and you sigh.

The urge to poke her uvula burns at you, your finger itching but you've seen Rumi bite a carrot in half without even trying.

So you swallow, your eyes shutting and you try to sleep.

⊹♡🐇♡⊹

You don't know how many hours pass, but it's still dark out.

The moon's high in the star-studded sky, endless darkness stretching over the city and Rumi's face is tucked into your chest, her body pressed against yours. Thick, muscular legs entangled with yours, fuzzy socks tickling the backs of your calves and she stirs.

Abruptly. Violently, even.

"Baby, baby," Rumi taps your shoulder like it's an emergency, and you inhale sharply, disorientated as you peer up at her, "Huh? What's happening? What's going on?"

There's drool trickling down your bottom lip, there's crust in the corners of Rumi's eyes and she's barely awake.

"M'awake." She breathes out. "Let's do sex."

Your lashes flutter, and your expression scrunches in disbelief before you groan, shifting and turning away from Rumi.

"Bunny, 's..." You trail off, before lifting your phone, glancing at the time displayed on your lockscreen, "it's... 3am. We're not 'doing sex'."

A muscular arm curls around your waist, her hips pressing against yours and she pulls you closer.

"You don't even hafta do anythin'..." She slurs, breath hot against your skin. "Jus'... Go to sleep.."

Your brows furrow, and you shift. "What?" And Rumi snores, loud. Eyes shut, lashes fluttering and twitching and you groan, face tucked into your pillow, inhaling the scent of Rumi's shampoo because she manages to push you off it halfway through the night.

Every night.

And you shift, nearly yelping as something cold, hard and damp brushes against your thigh, and you shift, lifting the covers and it takes your eyes a while to adjust to the carrot tucked beneath your thigh.

"Oh, fucks' sake." You mumble, reaching down and you pick up the condensation-coated veggie, before setting it down on your nightstand.

You turn in her arms, leg hooking itself around her hip and Rumi nuzzles against you, nose twitching and her hands shift, tucking themselves into the back of your panties, cradling the warm fat of your ass. And you let out a sleepy sob.

"Rumi..." You complain. "Your hands are cold."

And she just shifts, hands tucked away and you sigh, letting out a sleepy and dejected sigh, before sinking your fingers into her hair, threading through the moonlit strands.

"Nevermind."

And it's quiet. So still and peaceful, breaths mingling and heartbeats steady.

And your eyes flicker open.

"Rumi, get your finger away from my ass."

.

.

.

.

"Rumi!"

And she giggles. "S'tight."

⊹♡🐇♡⊹

"Oh god..." Your voice cracks, cheek pressed against the warmth of Rumi's chest, her finger buried in the tight, furled hole of your ass and your hands fist the fabric of her tanktop.

Her finger pumps slowly, the methodical curls against the soft and sensitive walls have your brain melting, face tucked between the soft swells of her breasts, your ears burning hot.

And she hums.

Rumi's awake. And very, very ready to knock you out.

Her hand's buried between your thighs, one of them hiked up over her hip, middle finger nestled in your ass while her pudgy thumb circles your swollen clit, tracing down your leaking slit and dipping narrowly into your aching core.

"Awh, baby," Rumi teases, "you're so wet 'n needy, aren't you?"

Her voice is a low, husky coo, her thumb tracing along your sloppy folds, pressing down against your clit when she feels the little bud twitch against her.

And she pulls away. And you're needy.

Panting out hot breaths, your fingers bitten by the chilly cold and she tuts you, gently, shifting until she's hovering over you, her tongue dragging along the shell of your ear. And you swallow.

Your brain feels practically useless. Just a clump of cells and neurons, their legs asplayed like tiny, microscopic whores.

And she gently rucks up the fabric of your shirt, and she hums.

"I can't believe you paid to get a signed T-shirt." She mumbles under her breath, crimson gaze flickering towards your face and you hum quietly.

"Was on sale."

"You could've gotten any of your T-shirts signed for free."

And you bite your bottom lip. "Technically, it was free. I used your money."

And those full, pretty lips purse in contemplation before she shrugs. "I didn't think of it that way."

Rumi's lips press soft kiss and nips against your skin, lips trailing down your torso, down your sternum and she glances down towards where your thighs are parted obscenely, cunt glistening.

And she sighs.

"Such a pretty, pretty pussy." Her voice is a purr, ears twitching and tail flicking as she dips her head, her tongue swiping over your hood before she shifts her body. The tip of her tongue starting right at the bottom of your entrance, before she curls it, all the way to the top.

And you moan.

Your fingers sinking into her hair, pushing back those silvery strands, and you hold her hair into a ponytail, feeling the way the tresses tickle your palms and Rumi peers up at you through her lashes.

Head lowering and her tongue flat against your clit.

Just to feel the way you twitch.

"Play with my ears." She murmurs, and you don't wait, fingers stroking along the softness of her fur and she moans.

Lips finding purchase around your puffy clit, before she's sucking so earnestly, hands roaming up your sides, cupping your breasts and brushing her thumbs along your buds until their peak.

Stiff beneath her thumbs as she keeps lapping at your cunt.

"You taste so sweet, honey." She coos. "So perfect, so pretty. So mine."

Her nose and chin are covered in your slick, tongue making those tight circles until she feels your thighs against her temples. You're scratching her ears, her brain's a mess and all she wants, is to feel the way your cunt squeezes around her tongue.

The wet muscle wriggles around in your hole, textured surface brushing along your walls and her nose bumps against your cunt.

You glance towards her back, arched so prettily, tail flicking from side to side and your nose is filled with that sweet, sweet scent of pheromones.

You don't need to look to know she's soaking through her panties, hips writhing and twitching against nothing, the fabric of her panties taut around the curves of her ass.

And you're staring, entranced. Fingers tracing along those bunny ears, that you barely even notice when you're coming.

Not until your eyes are squeezing shut and Rumi's flicking her tongue against your clit, nose pushing up that pretty hood so she can make better contact. And you're soaking the sheets, slick on her face and she lifts her head, lashes batting.

And she's reaching over you, into the nightstand and pulling out that 9 inch strap that has you choking on air each time she uses it.

Rumi adjusts the harness like it's what she was born to do, and she's gently (not really) flopping you onto your belly, grabbing pillows and stuffing them beneath your hips until you're forced into a mean arch.

Your body soft and pliable beneath her as she reaches back into the nightstand, until she's pulling out a wand. Gaze lowered towards the buttons and she flicks it on, gently sliding it under you.

The soft, rubbery head right against your clit and your lips part, feeling the way she notches that silicone tip against your cunt.

And she slides in, in one easy movement.

Her elbows braced on either side of you, knees dimpling the mattress and her arm hooks around your throat, bicep bulging against your cheek.

And she fucks.

Mean, deep strokes, her hips colliding with the fat of your ass, the room filling with lewd, slick sounds and the buzz of a vibrator that's placed so perfectly that each time she fucks into you, that wand is there to catch you.

Knocking the wind out of you, but catching you nonetheless.

"Fuck," she breathes out, "you're always so fuckin' pretty when you're taking this strap." Her lips press against your temple, panted breaths ghosting over your features and your eyes glaze over.

"Always slides right in, doesn't it, honey?" She sighs, almost dreamily. "Sometimes I wish I had a dick, jus' so I could feel what that nasty pussy feels like."

Her tongue drags along your ear, hips smacking against yours.

"So, I could fuck you nasty for real."

All you're doing is drooling. So fucked out that your hips are twitching with your next orgasm. It builds. Like a fucking tidal wave, your breaths panted and you're pushing your ass back against her, only to be slammed back against that vibrator.

Rumi's thighs flex with each brutal pistol, tits pressed against your back and God. This muscular, 5 foot 2 woman is wrecking you in a way that would make men envious.

And you're coming. Nails digging into her forearm, lashes fluttering and clumped as your eyes roll back in your head, and Rumi stops, instead, grinding that silicone tip against that gooey spot that she could navigate from 3 streets away, keeping you pressed against that vibrating wand until your moans are turning into screams.

And you're thrashing like some kind of feral animal.

"Fuck, that's it." She grins wolfishly. "Come some more. Soak these fuckin' sheets."

You squirt.

Leaking through the sheets, nearly giving the toy water damage as you shake, your thighs coated in your slick and your brain effectively shut off.

And Rumi sighs in delight, pulling out of you and she looks down at where your cunt trickles messily, and she turns off the toy.

Moving your body like you weigh nothing, discarding the strap and she steps out of the sodden puddle that is her panties, before resting back against the headboard, thighs on either side of you.

"You gonna get me off too, pretty?" Her voice is so saccharine, long lashes fluttering as she watches the way you shift closer to her, legs still shaky and you nod weakly.

"Mhm." You murmur, hands moving to spread her inner thighs further apart.

And Rumi sighs, melting against the headboard when she feels the way your tongue moves between her puffy pussy lips, her hand moving to cradle the back of your neck, the other pushing her hair out of her face.

Honey toned skin flushed from exertion. And she coos at the way your tongue curls just right, and her head tips back.

"You wan' me to spread it for you?" She questions sweetly and you nod, jaw going slack when you watch her pretty fingers spread her folds, sensitive flesh bared for your eyes and your eyes alone.

And her muscular thighs tense when you dip your head once more, circling her clit so earnestly, your fingers digging into the thickness of her thighs, massaging the muscles so adoringly.

This makes her so happy that she's a woman. The way your cheeks flush and your nose glistens whenever it bumps against her sloppiness.

Her fingers card through your hair gently, blunt nails scratching at your scalp and she bites her bottom lip, watching with avid eyes as you dip your tongue into her cunt.

And her ears twitch.

"You're such a sweet girl for me." She sighs softly, mocha-toned thighs trembling on either sides of your head.

"Such a good girl for mommy."

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[vort3x]

#and also the 'reprogramming' scene was so awful#first of all it's an afterthought to the story. and it's completely forced on k-2 with absolutely no agency#he was fully dead and they bring him back literally like frankenstein's monster. with NO thought to the implications in that#and also instead of the explanation 'imperial programming hampers the droid's ability to express themselves and forces them to obey'#we got 'actually murder and emptiness is this guy's natural state but we can SUPPRESS this so he'll work for us'#which is a) a horrifying implication. like explore that deeply invasive kinda bioessentialist story or don't give it to your 'good' guys???#and b) it doesn't even make sense. why does he have 200 percent MORE personality when he's being suppressed than when he's not?#and taking away Cassian's personal connection to him is also a giant plot hole. Because why are they even partnered then??#why did you give the assassin and spy the big clunky murder droid who could assist ground troops. Cassian doesn't even seem to want him#if Cassian is the one who reprogrammed him and personally likes him we understand that he simply insisted he keep this droid#because likely nobody else would trust K2 anyway and draven would be like hey. keep your emotional support murderbot just get results

Not gonna leave all this in the tags since this is also an important point too. K2's inclusion in Andor was ultimately a checkbox move and it was painfully obvious.

Also wanna add Tony Gilroy outright says 1. he didn't watch Star Wars materials when doing Andor and 2. they worked backwards when it came to writing Andor. They'd write something then they were told if it clashed too hard w/ established canon or not. It's all in the context of not wanting to take inspiration from it, but it would also mean that they weren't researching canon.

Excerpt for point 1:

SCRIPT Magazine: That's exactly the kind of stuff I'm interested in. There's this mistake people have in looking at Star Wars and going, “Star Wars is what you need to look at to figure out how to make Star Wars.” And that's not the case.

Tony Gilroy: Never. No, I never watched any Star Wars. I couldn't watch the other shows. In the beginning, because "Mandalorian" was so great when it started and I was watching it and and then as I got into my show, it was really unsettling for me to watch other Star Wars. I just always had the continual feeling I was doing something wrong. So I just stopped. I just couldn't do it. So I didn't watch any Star Wars.

Source Excerpt for point 2:

Script Magazine: How do you balance that sort of thing with the bare bones of the carpentry as you call it with juggling something like the Star Wars timeline?

Tony Gilroy: We work it from the negative side, not the positive side - I suppose that's the easiest way to say it. I know what the calendar is, I know what the general rules are, I know I have a pretty good handle on the cosmology of what's out there and the canon somewhat. And I know the places where there's potential conflicts. I've also been cleared from the very beginning. We're using that as cannon fodder as we go forward. And you hear it in Maarva’s speech.

We raise it on the show several times. Saw says “Oh, you know, what are you Luthen, and there's human cultists and separatists,” and we've established that there's a great variety of rebel movements that are happening. When Nemik gives this manifesto that Cassian listens to the night before the funeral, he talks about all of the little seedlings of revolution that are sprouting up independently all over the place. There’s an established idea that a lot of people could be working at doing things at the same time and be completely unaware of what's going on and/or be conceivably in conflict with one another.

But I do not go back and look at the materials [like Star Wars Rebels and the novels Catalyst and Tarkin] to figure out what I should do. We do what we want to do and if we bump or we hit a guardrail or we get a high sign or we get a flashing yellow light or sometimes we change and do something else. We have one or two things coming up that have been pretty articulated in that way in the second half. We have to tiptoe around some things.

I’m not out digging through that material looking for inspiration. In fact, I have to stay away from that, so it works the other way. We decide what we want to do within what we know, they tell us if we've gone too far or not far enough.

Source

I'll never forgive Andor for how it has seemingly changed how a lot of people see Kay and Cassian's relationship.

How it has become standoffish and distrusting when it was supposed to be the exact opposite. Really, it just IS a valid reading with the backstory Andor provided and what little we were shown of their relationship. If you had to pick Cassian's best friend and trusted partner in the days before Rogue One, it's NOT Kay when it originally is. It's incredibly sad that history has been changed.

[pink-sparkly-witch]

Sauvage, Part Five (FINALE)

Summary: Jensen finally meets Y/N, the woman Jared and Gen say is perfect for him. Just as they think they have their happily ever after, opportunity knocks taking Jensen halfway across the world. He’s determined to make their relationship work from an ocean apart, but it’s a lot harder than either of them bargained for.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Female Reader

Rating: General

Bingo Square: Reunion for @jacklesversebingo

Triggers / Warnings / Tags: fluff, reunion, heart-to-heart, kissing, happily ever after

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Please consider leaving feedback, a comment or a keyboard smash. Interaction really fuels a creative’s muse. If you’re too shy or don’t want people to know you read fanfic and don’t want it showing on your blog, you can submit an anonymous ask or drop me a DM 💖

You can catch up here!

My Masterlist     AO3    Ko-Fi

Jensen made sure to arrive twenty minutes early. The last thing he wanted to do was be late—or worse, for Y/N to arrive before him. It also meant he could partake in a little Dutch courage to try and settle his nerves a bit. Not until he arrived at the bar did he realise just how much this meeting meant to him. She said it herself; they lived in the same city again and they couldn’t keep avoiding each other every time the Padalecki’s had a party. It wasn’t fair on either of them, or on Jared, Gen, and the kids.

“Scotch, neat, and can you make it a double?” he requested from the bartender as he sat in a barstool facing the entrance so he could see Y/N come in without looking like a meerkat at every flash of movement that caught his eye. “Thanks,” he nodded, handing twenty dollars over when the crystal tumbler was placed in front of him.

“Do you need change?” he asked.

“No,” Jensen shook his head. “It’s all good, thanks.”

He sipped his whisky slowly trying to practice their conversation in his head, but it didn’t do any good. Everything he thought to say sounded too forced, too desperate, or too nosy.

As he finished his whisky, Y/N walked through the door, and his mind went completely blank, forgetting every topic of conversation and every question he’d thought to ask. She looked stunning in the most understated way. A white V-neck shirt tucked into dark wash jeans, a smart black blazer, and a pair of heels. Her make-up was done in the way he’d always preferred on women: natural and minimal, to the extent she looked like she wasn’t wearing any at all.

She was perfect, and not for the first time, he cursed himself for ever letting her go. For not fighting harder. For breaking her heart and letting her down.

Y/N’s eyes casually scanned the bar and when they reached him, he raised his hand in a wave so she would see him. The way her shoulders relaxed when she saw him made him smile, and he wondered if she’d been just as nervous as he was about being stood up.

As she walked towards him, Jensen stood from the barstool to greet her. It took everything he had not to kiss her cheek when she stopped in front of him, but instead, he settled on a warm smile.

“I’m glad you came,” he chuckled softly.

“You thought I wouldn’t?” Y/N smirked, watching as he nervously ran his hand through his hair.

“Kinda!” he chuckled. “I put you on the spot earlier when I asked you how you’d been. I don’t have the right to ask, and I don’t have the right to know. I’d have understood if you stood me up.”

Y/N frowned at Jensen’s choice of words. This wasn’t a date, no matter how much she wanted it to be, so she tried not to dwell on it or any hidden meaning that might have been behind them. 

“So,” she cleared her throat, “are we getting a table or do you want to sit at the bar?”

“I’d like to get a table, but if you’d be more comfortable at the bar, I’m fine with that,” Jensen answered.

“A table would be great,” she replied, smiling that he was still as chivalrous as she remembered.

“Okay, great!”

Jensen held his arm out for her to take and she quickly linked hers with it. He led them to a quiet, intimate table for two at the back of the bar where they wouldn’t be disturbed by patrons queuing for drinks or people coming and going from the restrooms.

He pulled her chair out for her and once again, she found herself enamoured by his gentlemanly manners. “Thank you, Jensen.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N.” Jensen’s smile was wide and contagious, and the sparkle in his green eyes was brighter than she ever remembered seeing it. She couldn’t help wondering if it was the low, atmospheric lighting, or if their spark was reigniting.

As they settled into their seats, the silence and tension between them grew to an unbearable level. Y/N was about to bite the bullet and tell him that this was a bad idea when a waiter approached to take their drinks order.

Jensen ordered a beer with an ease that instantly diffused some of the tension she was feeling, making her wonder if it was only her that felt the awkward air surrounding and suffocating her.

“Merlot,” she blurted when the waiter asked her what drink she wanted for the second time. “A really large glass of Merlot, please.”

“Of course,” the waiter nodded and left them to their awkwardness once again.

“What?” Y/N frowned at hearing Jensen’s chuckle.

“Nervous?” he smirked and she narrowed her eyes.

“You’re not?”

“I am. But you look like you’re plotting a prison break!” Y/N laughed, breaking the remaining tension between her and Jensen. “There she is!” he chuckled. “You had me worried for a second!”

“I’m sorry. This is…” Y/N gestured wildly with her hands trying to find a word that wouldn’t offend him.

“Awkward?” Jensen offered. “Yeah, it is.” he agreed and took a swig of his beer, watching as she took a long swallow of her wine.

“But it doesn’t have to be,” he added, putting his bottle back on the table and making himself comfortable on the faux leather armchair. “So, since I asked you here, it’s only fair that my interrogation is first.”

“Interrogation?” she chuckled. “Why so serious!” Jensen threw his head back in laughter and she grinned. She’d missed his laugh.

“Maybe that was a little strong!” he smirked.

“You think? I’m about ready to get a cab home!” she laughed.

“Okay, how about reacquainting? Is that better?”

“Much,” Y/N grinned. “So, tell me about Paris.”

Jensen spent over an hour talking about himself, his time in Paris that led to him getting a dream position in a very successful New York restaurant, and his latest venture into owning his own place.

“Sauvage. I like it. It suits you,” Y/N grinned as he finished his story. “I’m so happy everything worked out for you, Jensen. Truly.”

“Thank you. It came at the sacrifice of any kind of personal life, but I’m hoping it pays off,” he chuckled.

“I have no doubt it will. Everything you’ve worked so hard towards will be worth it when you see your restaurant full of happy diners.” Y/N swallowed the last mouthful of her wine and gestured to the waiter for another round of drinks.

“So, I guess it’s your turn,” Jensen said.

“I guess so,” she cleared her throat and thanked the waiter for her second glass of wine. “What do you want to know?”

“How’s work?” Jensen started with the perfect icebreaker. She loved her job when they were dating, and he was pretty sure she’d still love it now.

“Great!” Y/N’s smile lit up her face and made her eyes sparkle. “I have my own family practice and see patients part time. The rest of the time is paperwork and the day-to-day running of things. I have an amazing office manager though, who helps with a lot of the admin.”

“Wow! Your own practice? Looks like I’m not the only one living their dream!” Jensen smiled.

“Yeah, well, you worked hard for yours. Mine kinda just fell into my lap!” she chuckled, and he tilted his head in a silent question.

“I’d been out for drinks with a group of friends and I ran into Eddie Simpson. We both specialised in family medicine at Harvard and shared classes together there. He was working in a practice and told me they were looking for a new pediatrician.

“Long story short, I got the job, and when the original owner, Dr Reynolds retired, Eddie and I bought him out, and I’ve been there ever since,” Y/N explained.

“Is Eddie still your business partner?” Jensen asked.

“Ah, now that brings us to the personal part of my life!” she chuckled sadly.

“I’m listening,” he said softly, and she smiled wearily.

“Not long after I started working at the practice, Eddie and I started dating. He’s a really great guy and he treated me well. We got married,” she sighed and paused, her memories making her smile slightly, making Jensen curious as to why things didn’t work between them.

“But we shouldn’t have,” she continued. “I had my doubts that accepting his proposal was the right thing to do, but I wanted what everyone else had. I wanted a partner and a best friend. Someone who’d always have my back.” Y/N paused again to take a long sip of wine.

“I got all of it from him, but I didn’t love him. I mean, I loved him… I still love him. I’m just not in love with him. I’m not sure that I ever was.

“He met someone else,” she smiled softly at Jensen’s scathing expression. “He never cheated on me. But when he met Laura, he realised the way he felt about her should have been the way he felt about me.”

It hadn’t been as heartbreaking as she imagined the news would’ve been had she been in love with Eddie. In fact, it’d been a relief. It meant they could part ways amicably and without anyone getting hurt. They loved each other, they just weren’t in love, and they’d managed to get through their separation and subsequent divorce and still be friends.

“When we separated, Eddie decided to move to Houston. It’s where Laura is from originally. When we sold our house, I offered to buy Eddie out of the practice and become its sole owner. He agreed and… here we are,” Y/N picked up her wine glass with a shrug, and took another healthy swallow from it.

“What about you?” She cleared her throat and placed her glass back on the table. There was no need to elaborate because they both knew she was referring to his love life.

“Do you want the truth or the polite answer?” Jensen chuckled.

“The polite answer, obviously,” she grinned.

“Alright, but remember you asked for it!” he laughed and took a long drag of his beer.

“I tried to date after… but no one ever came close to you. So, I threw myself into work and dated casually. Even that wasn’t… it didn’t feel right. It always felt like I was cheating.

“I know we weren’t together very long,” Jensen drained the rest of his beer. “But what we had was intense and all consuming. It was the real deal. I have no doubt whatsoever about that.” 

Y/N may have managed to move on and get married, but he never could. It had only ever been her. It still was and it always would be. He knew that now just as much as he’d known it back then. 

But back then, he couldn’t see the wood for the trees, and he thought it’d be easier for both of them — no, him — and his feelings to end it. Part of him held onto the hope that she’d wait for him. That she’d still be there when he came back from Paris, but she wasn’t. And it was only then that he realised just how big of a mistake he’d made because he knew her. And he knew that if they’d separated before he went to Paris, she would have waited for him. But he fucked up in so many ways, the first being his insistence that they stay together.

“I’m so sorry,” Jensen sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I just wish I’d tried harder—fought harder for you.”

“No, you don’t, Jensen. You wouldn’t be where you are now if we’d stayed together.” He knew she was right, but the shame and the guilt of what he’d put them both through was still as raw as it was then.

“I don’t care. None of it makes up for the future I could’ve had with you,” he fumed. “One where both of us would’ve been happy.”

“Maybe not. But neither of us would be who we are or where we are now, and everything happens for a reason. If I didn’t believe that, I’d never have survived us breaking up.”

“I still love you,” Jensen bravely admitted. If he didn’t do it now, he knew he’d let her walk out of here without telling her. “I never stopped.”

“Me either,” she replied.

“Can I kiss you?” He didn’t know where it came from, but it was out now and he couldn’t take it back.

“You better!” Y/N giggled, leaning forward to meet Jensen’s plump, perfect lips with hers.

The kiss was everything and more. Y/N felt the butterflies swarming the second their lips touched. Her heart skipped a beat before hammering twofold when Jensen’s tongue traced across her bottom lip.

She opened her mouth, whimpering as their tongues grazed. It was warm and passionate, familiar and comforting all at the same time. It was perfect. He was perfect. And Y/N finally felt like she was home.

“Can we, uhm,” Y/N murmured against his lips having had to pull away for some much needed oxygen. “Can we get out of here?”

Jensen smirked at Y/N’s red and swollen lips, proud that he’d been the one to make them that way.

“Together?” he asked, hoping it was but not wanting to assume.

“Yes,” she answered, her voice raspy with arousal.

“Your place or mine?”

The End

Tag List:

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@winchestergirl1720 @barnes70stark

[mymusingss]

I normally don't talk about this because I don't feel like is my place, but I just need to share my own knowledge of Scientology because I have seen things on the tag.

Please, be aware that this post contains mentions of psychological abuse, torture, vomiting, coercive control, brain washing, verbal abuse and physical abuse and it also addresses the bond between cult leaders and some of their victims.

This is my perspective as a Psychologist, but I am not providing any diagnosis nor am I saying this is what happened to him, I am giving context and sharing what I know.

I want to start out by pointing the obvious. Tom Cruise was extremely young when he joined the cult. He had just barely made it to Hollywood when he was introduced to David Miscaviege by his first wife.

Tom Cruise hits the three major characteristics of a cult survivor: He was young (most studies point that young adults are more likely to join cults), he was naive and he knew someone who was a part of it.

Tom Cruise has been the person with the most hours of audition in the story of the cult. He was left vomiting after spending hours alone speaking of his darkest secrets, going through God knows what else.

As stated before, predators, sex offenders, serial killers and cult leaders all have something in common - the ability to see who is more vulnerable to their tactics. Cult leaders share the same traits as preferential offenders, they can dee vulnerability, they can yield it, use it, turn into what they want it to be.

Unfortunately, Tom's vulnerabilities were very noticeable for someone like Miscaviege. If you know what to look for, they become quite glaring. He grew up poor, with an abusive father, was abandoned and raised by his mother after that.

Despite all that, he never seemed to have lost this air of innocence about him that makes him even more of a target. On the contrary, through his interviews we can spot something else: child like curiosity. People like that - prone to being curious and to wanting to get to know others can also fall victim of cults.

His abusive father also plays a role because cults are very good at appearing to give their victims a sense of belonging they will not find anywhere else.

This - and other facts- are the reasons why Miscaviege seemed to be so infatuated with Tom - the extent of that was never fully explained nor addressed.

However, it is known that Miscaviege would have others spy on him on the daily basis. He would also mock him, berate him, call him stupid, and do other things to further isolate him.

Why didn't he leave?

He did though. Twice. Both times, Miscaviege used spies and would have people following him in order to make him paranoid and make him come back.

I think it is absolutely necessary that people understand that Tom Cruise's relationship with Miscaviege and Scientology has always been extremely dark and dire.

In many ways, Tom was Miscaviege's favorite. He was the golden boy - the proof the cult worked. They only way they'd let him leave was if he kept quiet, or if he died. Being Miscaviege' golden goose did not put him in the advantage, on the contrary, it just meant he would be at more risk of being tortured, isolated and hurt.

Which he was.

What Miscaviege did to him is torture. Having a person auditioning for hours on end without allowing them to stop, having them share their secrets to a camera in a room and forcing to say whatever is psychological torture.

Having the transcripts of what he said read at parties to humiliate him is torture.

Making people follow him to make him paranoid is torture.

Using surveillance is torture.

Abusing them, isolating them, making them choose your cult over their own family is torture.

The reason Tom Cruise is still alive is because it would be a shit show if he had ended up dead after under going levels of psychological terror that would break almost anyone.

He is alive because they needed him alive. They fed him stories about psychiatry and medication because they knew any psychologist worth their degree would see he was being controlled to the point of breaking.

They had control over every aspect of his life. The brain washing they did on that man is frankly one of the scariest shits I have ever heard in my life.

The bond between cult leaders and some victims can sometimes be akin to the bond between abusers and their victims. A pact is formed between them, some type of symbiotic bond where the victim starts to see the perpetrator as a victim of the world.

There is a reason why Jim Jones has managed to convince hundreds of people into killing themselves. There is a reason why people killed on the behalf of Charles Manson.

Every time Tom Cruise has tried to leave they pulled him back him by making him extremely paranoid, by isolating him, by making him feel that the world was against him.

He had stopped having control over his life. Every step he took was controlled by them, Miscaviege could not afford to lose Tom Cruise of all people, and so a myth was born.

I don't think we will ever know the extent of the damage done to him, or what has happened under close doors, unless he chooses to say something about it. However, it is important to note that Tom Cruise hasn't spoken about the cult in over 10 years at this point.

Can he leave? I frankly do not know.

The fact that he is the cult victim with the most hours of audition is scary to me, because we don't know what was said or shared in those tapes or what was done to him. I am not sure is safe for him, sometimes I feel like he even got lucky he left out alive at all.

[gladsforthelads]

Your mcs are soooooooo cute!!!

What do you think they're first date was like with their love interest?

Aww thanks!!!

I think my girls are cute too. ^_^

Hmmm.... As in terms of their first dates? I think it'd be a little hard between work, missions, and trying to coordinate days off. But I'll give it a go~

XAVIER & SELENE

Let's face it, these two work together more than anything, and while they're partners, they don't always have the same days off. Even when they do have the same days off, Xavier is unintentionally sleeping those 12-13 hours to physically recharge himself. Selene would text him, asking him if he was available, and her texts would go unread and she'd receive apology texts at like 2am.

So how does Xavier remedy this?

They have a really really tough mission, they're both exhausted, and on their way back to their apartments, he very casually sets up a reservation at the really nice hotpot spot downtown Linkon. While he is a lean, mean, meat eating machine, he knows that Selene is more of a vegetarian by comparison. She actually enjoys salads and greens, and he makes sure the hotpot spot they go to has the perfect balance of meats to greens.

He honestly doesn't know if she actually enjoyed it or was so starved after their mission she just consumed everything she saw, but she's asked if they could go again sometime, so that gives him some sort of hope he did right.

2. ZAYNE & LYLA

With Zayne being both a doctor and a workaholic and Lyla also being a workaholic, their schedules rarely match up unless Nero forces Lyla to take time off work. She's getting better about it because she's trying to open her schedule up more to match Zayne's availability, but with how new she still is at the Hunter's Association, she's still got a long way to go (at least in her head).

So, how does Zayne attempt a first date?

It was one of those usual checkup times where she waited around for Zayne after work and Zayne surprised her by stopping in a coffee shop on the way home. He got the second sweetest thing on the menu while she got the sweetest and they split a cheese croissant (though they really should have gotten two). It was as simple as that, but it set things in motion where Zayne started carving more time out of his busy schedule for her, and it's been that way ever since.

3. RAFAYEL & CORDELIA

Whenever Cordelia isn't actually bodyguarding him for one of his exhibitions or a special event, she is actually working as a Special Task Hunter and doing her job. Between Rafayel and her real job, she has very little off time, and when she is she's trying to catch up on sleep as much as possible. If she's not in bed, she's typically off running an errand with Rafayel or for Thomas and has on more than one occasion fallen asleep on the couch in Rafayel's studio. It's really draining her with how little free time she has and is desperate for a good R&R.

So, how does Rafayel rectify summoning her for the most mundane things?

Does exactly that because he knows she won't refuse her unless she suddenly gets called into work and sets up a quiet little picnic right on the beach, timing it just at twilight. She is, of course, agitated at first, but when she sees what he's actually cooked up, she easily forgives him and does take a little nap on his lap as they watch the sun go down.

4. SYLUS & ELARA

*Canonically, I count the Magnum Opus card as the official first date, so this is sort of a tag along to it. Yes, this is the one with the mannequins.

They both have entirely polar opposite schedules, night and day differences, only Elara has less free time and flexibility in her schedule compared to Sylus. While she's investigating other special cases, she's also trying to find Tobias, and other tedious missions that are back-to-back and apparently things only she can do. She texts Sylus when she can, sends messages with Mephisto when she can't and tries to sleep in as much as posssible.

So, how does the big bad boss of Onyichinus do?

Makes ridiculous demands for her to meet at the mall and try to act like a normal couple. She's entirely thrown by this, thinking this is some sort of coverup for what he's really after but as the day progresses, she realizes that it is simply that, a normal date. It's so normal that she doesn't know what to do, until he starts trying to buy every article of clothing, shoes, and jewelry he can find just for her. There's no way much of that will fit into her closet, which he knows, and that most of it will have to be stored at one of his bases, which he also knows, but her favorite thing about the date was getting ice cream on their way out the mall. She got a triple chocolate fudge cone, and he surprised her by getting a matcha dipped chocolate cone.

It was the closest she felt to anyone, and she secretly looks forward to more outings with him.

5. CALEB & MELORA

Caleb is of course the new colonel up in Skyhaven and Melora is busy training, fighting Wanderers, and writing up reports about her mission, so the time they get to actually spend with each other has to be planned months in advance and plenty of prayers to Astra that there won't be any outside interferences.

So, what does Melora do for one of their planned visits?

She scopes out the local fair happening in Linkon! They had all sorts of festivals that they went to as children, but since they've become the adulty adults they are, they haven't had much time for much else. With how busy Caleb's job keeps him, Melora really wanted to plan an event where they could relax, cut loose, and act just like they did as kids again.

Caleb is pleasantly surprised by the planned event and is so excited he can't help but feel like he's back in their childhood, especially when she gets them both red candied apples.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I hope you enjoyed this~

Please feel free to drop me another ask!

[adobe-outdesign]

thoughts on new kau day outfit and color? personally i’m obsessed although im not obsessed with the gacha style release

Valentine: The Valentine Kau is fine, thought in all honesty it's kind of boring. It's just a pink Kau with a standard same-size heart pattern over it, which is a sharp contrast to other Valentine pets that integrate the hearts subtly into the design. There was also some attempt to put hearts into the hooves, but they don't match the usual shape of the split hooves, so it looks forced and out-of-place.

They did at least do it with the eyes (which is cute), and replacing the standard Kau bell with a Valentine bow is a nice touch, but beyond that it feels like more could've been done. I could've easily seen the tail become an upside-down heart, upturn the horns a bit and make those into a heart, make the ears hearts, etc. Some size variation in the pattern could've also helped it. Like I said, it's not bad, but it feels pretty generic and standard compared to some of the more creative Valentine pets we've been getting.

Otherworldly (Outfit): This is based off that one poem about the two-headed calf, hence all the outerspace motifs. I like this, as just doing a standard Kau with two heads and tails would've been boring; adding in the space markings, which play into an actual cow's spots, adds some much needed detail and additional theming.

Beyond that, I just like the visuals here in general. Like I said, the markings are pretty and I like that they didn't cheap out and make the head markings the same for both (or the head fur, for that matter). The brown color makes for a nice base that contrasts well with the blue eyes and ear tag. Finally, the space theme is nicely integrated throughout in not just the body, but also the eyes and the ear tag.

My only complaint (outside of the gatcha release, which has always been and will always be gross) is that the necks look weird, in that Kaus aren't supposed to have necks. I feel like the far head should've been way lower down. Have the underbelly area split also does not help with this, as it makes the overly-long right neck look extra thin. It's not a huge deal, but it looks off the more you look at it. Outside of that, however, this is a pretty nice outfit.

[endlesslyhyperfixating]

You're the bear

on episode ten- THE BEAR SEASON FOUR SPOILERS

........

Okay, I think we have to talk about the fact that when Carmen was going off about how Sydney is the reason things are great at the bear and how any chance of good started with her and that he was going to do anything to set her up for success; and she asked him " why? " And he said;

Because you're the bear.

SORRY UHM...

Do y'all remember this....

Think it's important to realize and remember that Claire is the only one that Carmen has said " I love you" to without being forced to do so.(Like in Fishes. He tells her he loves/loved her on his own.) Many metas have been written on whether or not it's a real love, or if it's just based on his family, pushing him to appreciate Claire in a romantic way.

Despite this, we know that Carmen has deep genuine feelings for Sydney. They don't even have to necessarily be romantic (though, in the context of almost every single one of my posts and reposts it usually is) everybody knows that their relationship is one of the core things that keep the show together.

As seen in many scenes from season 2 and 3, Carmy has to turn to others to check in on how much he " loved" Claire. For example, when he had to ask fack if she was his girlfriend, and when asked if he loved her, he could only simply reply 'a lot.'

Despite how contrived the love may be, And despite the fact that there are feelings (although mostly codependent and toxic) are real between Carmen and Claire, we can assume that he associates what she has said with what real love is.

So wouldn't it make sense that for him to call Sydney the bear, in comparison with the way Claire had called Carmy the bear, in a way that had made him feel seen at the time, should also be taken as somewhat the same on Sydney's end. Right?

I feel like these thoughts could be expanded. Tags:

@yannaryartside @fairestbeard @thoughtfulchaos773 @tinfishlove

[maxdibert]

I’ve been thinking about this a lot, I went on a trip to the dumb side (I was scrolling down the anti Snape tag) and the way people hate Severus not only seems childish and willingly ignorant because 99% of the people are talking about fanon, they hate him because Lily rejected him a million times and he wouldn’t take no for an answer, the irony of these idiots to know nothing about canon but having the courage to brag about their ignorance but the other 1% that calls him an incel feels like a projection, they go on and on how Snape is like guys they’ve known, their hate is blown out of proportion and personal that is hard to take them seriously because again, they have 0 understanding of canon and lastly, I think how they’ve been adopting Barty and Regulus, whitewashing them into poor little boys that were forced to do evil while actively and yet again leaving Severus out of this new trend feels like someone started it and was being petty like ‘see? Even the other nazis were better than Snape’ also they love to be politically incorrect but seriously hating Severus so bad and for non canonical reasons, treating him as the devil incarnate is becoming like a case of mass hysteria because I’ve yet to see someone giving an actual argument against him, not the regurgitation of the same five, six reasons

Golden Trio fans usually hate Severus for being an asshole to the kids (which is fair), while a lot of Voldemort fans hate him basically for being a traitor (also fair, because for them, he was). But Marauders stans don’t actually have any coherent reason. The only thing that really bothers them about Severus is that he was the actual victim of that little gang, and because of him, their favorites are exposed for what they were: a bunch of aggressive, privileged bullies.

Severus is also a problem because he gets in the way of turning Lily into some untouchable saint. If you really look at her choices and priorities, they come off as deeply insensitive and lacking in empathy, considering she ended up marrying a guy she’d seen abuse people for years. And as for James, he’s left looking like a privileged, abusive jerk. And they don’t like that, because for some reason they’ve convinced themselves Lily and James were flawless heroes who should basically be canonized when in reality, they were a hyper-normative, privileged couple who never actually knew what it meant to suffer, and who ended up dead because they thought playing at resistance was a game and because of their own prejudice against the people around them.

Basically, they’ve got nothing in canon to back their headcanons up, because canon makes their faves look like victim-blaming, abuse-excusing, classist assholes. So all they have left is to make up whatever crap they can.

[kedreeva]

just to offer another perspective re: the ot3 poll from someone who is a fan creator - i fully interpreted that poll to be about tagging your own creations

To give a specific example of my interpretation - if you ship an ot3 and draw two of the characters together, do you/should you tag the ot3 when the 3rd isn’t present?

And in that above example (which i think is a completely valid interpretation of the question tbh) it would be my opinion that it’s at minimum a fandom faux pas to tag a ship that is not (entirely) present As The Op, because that fan creation will end up in the main tumblr tag

(Just like it’s frowned upon to tag ships As The Op on a post that’s not about them, in an attempt to get “reach”)

I’m saying this because i usually find you to be someone whose fandom opinions align closely with mine, and thought your response was a massive overreaction, until I came to the conclusion that you and i (and, i would guess, you and the person you were in direct response to) were looking at tagging from 2 different perspectives

I think it’s fair to say spam tagging/reach tagging As An Op on tumblr is rude behaviour (and frowned upon) AND that any reblog tags added after the fact are fair game as they do not effect the post’s reach in fandom tags + are largely for organisational reasons

(Caveat being there are few ot3 ships with greater reach and popularity than any pairings within, but i know if i was scrolling through the Parker/Hardison/Elliot tag and seeing only Parker/Hardison fanworks I would find that disappointing and even irritating yk?)

I'd agree, if you're the one creating the art in the first place, and it's exclusively for the pair and NOT the OT3, and you have no intention of it being even a part of the OT3, then that's mistagging, and mistagging is a problem.

On the other hand, if you ship the OT3 and your pairing fanwork is made with the OT3 in mind even if you've only done part of it (like, you've drawn spock and bones BUT your drawing is specifically of them while they're part of mcspirk in your head, and the third person just happens to not be currently present), then you're still within your rights to tag it as such (especially because you're still posting the creation to your blog and filing).

Poly relationships don't stop being poly just because only two people are in the room, y'know? As someone who has both written poly relationships and been in them in real life, when I was physically with just one partner it's not like suddenly I was somehow exclusively dating that person because the other person wasn't with us at the time. We were still a trio. And if/when I choose to write about an OT3 (or if I could draw, when I would choose to draw them), if I tag my own work with the OT3, because it is intended to be artwork of a part of the OT3 as a part of the OT3, even if I don't mention the third person (ie, the third person is 'not in the room') then "rude" should not be a descriptor used.

So sure, it may be annoying to you if someone makes art with only two of the OT3 and tags it with the OT3 (in general), but unless you're sure that they're purposefully mistagging it for "reach" and not just making art (including writing etc) for part of their OT3, calling it blanket rude is still not a great way to approach it, and possibly says some stuff about how one views poly relationships in general. And the poll specifically stated "if you ship an OT3" which I take to mean the art (including writing etc) is for the OT3 but only 2 of them are currently present, not "the OTP is the intention and OT3 is tagged for reach." I could be wrong, of course!

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

The world if people stopped applying their understanding of "conservatism" and "religion/christianity" through a very modern, deeply American view onto Death Note (a manga from the Early-mid 2000s which is very much set in the cultural and societal context of early-mid 2000s Japan and all that entails):

[sysig]

Caughtcha, gotcha, not letting go ♥ (Patreon)

[yappacadaver]

yapping about fanfic under the cut feel free to respond if you have something to add, I'm genuinely curious

saw a reddit discussion that intrigued me on the ao3 subreddit, where people were very split in opinion on whether gratuitous tags involving plot points were either good etiquette and all but necessary to avoid triggering anyone, or otherwise they were antithetical to the experience of reading as appreciating the art form of writing, and built only for reducing reading to consumption of content. Personally found myself firmly on the side of the latter point, but like.. first point had a whole lot of supporters

the idea went something like: I only consume fanfic for comfort, i don't want to see anything that makes me feel a negative emotion (that wont eventually be resolved in the text to my satisfaction) and the fact that a fanfic could, through the death of a character or a lack of a happy resolution, lead me to think about it for days and draw a very visceral emotional reaction from me is extremely undesirable. I would prefer to have every major plot point laid out in the tags so I can choose whether to read the story from a perspective of complete understanding, rather than go into a story without that understanding and potentially encounter something i was not expecting (and have that be an unpleasant surprise). Reading something, even if it doesn't trigger me, that ends up disappointing me is a complete waste of my time.

and idk. personally i find that pretty lame. maybe that's why i dont vibe well in most fanfic communities (the other reason being that i almost never seek out fanfic to read, lol, teheperooo). I feel like this kind of idea is doing everything it can to take the art out of the art form. A visceral emotional reaction is what artists of every medium should strive for, imo. That reaction doesn't always have to be sobbing in pain, it can be a real laugh, it can be a grimace of disgust, it can be a boner, but I'm thinking if someone wants to make art on the human condition, pain is a very big part of that! And ig i understand avoiding genres that don't vibe with you, but it seems to be a lot more pervasive than that, because it's not just about tagging the genre it's about tagging specific plot points to the extent that the story is spoiled. it's about an audience that not only wants the art explained in bullet points, but for it to be done before the art even has a chance to effect you. And honestly lends some credence to the "fanfic isn't real art" crowd. If you only "consume" fanfic for comfort, then i feel like it's more of a pacifier. But again, I'm kind of an outsider to this culture so i wonder what the rest of yall think.

[majorasnightmare]

as a tragic doomed siblings enjoyer what are your headcannons about dirge/orin's relationship pre-betrayal? care to elaborate on what was going on with them based on what we know? when do u think the resentment from orin rly started peculating?

this is an EXCELLENT excuse to have somethin i can quickly refer to for autosarcophagy thank you 💜💜💜

so a LOT of it is speculation and headcanons with most of our canon sources being close to the end of their pre game interactions with each other. We know Orin resented Durge for taking what she felt was her spot, we know Durge demeaned her ritual murders and scoffed at the idea of fighting her for the role of Chosen, we know Sarevok essentially led Orin on by acting like she was ever anything more than a sacrifice, and we know that the cult of Bhaal isn't entirely pleased with the change in leadership. It's a fairly straightforward tale of resentment and betrayal and an unworthy upstart claiming what shouldn't be theirs out of jealousy, but I like to throw wrenches in the works and add fun complicating emotions in like genuine admiration and sibling affection

a core aspect to Dirge is that, much like real world wolves, he is deeply family oriented. upon arriving at the temple of Bhaal, he has killed his only family, and only has Sceleritas as company, who at this point is more cagey than comforting for him. hes lonely, and scared, and vulnerable, and is coming off a profoundly miserable experience roughing it in Baldur's Gate. the temple delivers on the one form of connection Dirge craves more than anything: not only is there family, there are siblings.

Dirge technically has four siblings waiting for him at the temple. Haflidi, who at this point would be either an older teenager or a young adult, an angry spiteful vindictive barbarian goliath. Ornaryn, a drow vengeance paladin, who IS invested in trying to make sure the Temple's newest additions aren't horrifically traumatized (and near immediately removed from influence and forced to travel to the other side of the continent). Zherimon, the eldest, a tiefling paladin serving as the current head of the cult (begrudgingly). And Orin. Not only is Orin close to his age, she's also the only one who's as happy to see him as he is to see her. His other siblings are all emotionally unavailable for one reason or another, but Orin is here and Orin is excited and now he finally doesn't have to be alone anymore. He latches onto her very quickly, and throughout his entire time with the cult, she's the only one he was ever close to.

Orin is canonically the youngest in the cult to ever achieve the rank of Unholy Assassin, which, given that shes close to Dirge's age, would mean she achieved that lofty goal BEFORE him, and I like to think this is another example of Orin's latent natural talents and skills that eventually contribute to her feeling ignored and overshadowed. Because for at least half of their lives together, it would've been the other way around. Dirge and his prodigy sister, who had already served as Bhaal's mouthpiece once before in the ritualistic killing of her mother. Ironically its a relationship they were both happy with. Dirge arrives at the temple emotionally distraught, but now Orin finally has a playmate her own age, AND hes going to join the temple, same as her! Finally someone she can practice murder with that isn't grandpa Sarevok!

Dirge is a crybaby as a kid, and hes quiet and deferential. This is a new place, with lots of new people (and he's never been fond of new people), and he still feels sick about his parents, but he hits it off with Orin immediately. Orin has a strong mischief streak, emboldened by her shapeshifting, and she ADORES having someone to teach and be superior to. Dirge in turn is happy to have someone who delights in teaching him, because a lot of whats going on is confusing and unintuitive and upsetting. Orin softens his early years of indoctrination into something that could even be construed as pleasant. She excels and pulls ahead, and she bullies her brother for being a crybaby, but she still reaches out behind her to help pull him back up. Orin very much takes on the role of "big sister" even though its a negligble distinction given their circumstances. She teaches him how to delight in torture, makes the doctrine of nihilism make sense, emphasizes that the two of them are special and chosen and important, that they dont have to care what other people think, because theyre stupid and wrong anyways. She diminishes the pain he feels from killing his parents by affirming what SHES been taught, that it was a good and holy and rightous thing and he deserved to be rewarded for it, just like she was (though maybe not the SAME reward because SHES going to lead the temple one day!). Sarevok and Zherimon have already decided on grooming Dirge for the role instead, knowing EXACTLY the difference between them, but both Dirge and Orin are children, whats more important is making sure Dirge is properly indoctrinated, and Orin is very useful for that.

Theyre thick as thieves for most of their childhoods, Dirge perfectly content to trail behind Orin wherever she goes, and to follow her progress right on her heels. Orin definitely has the most energy of the two, and she delights in playing leader, deciding exactly what games the two of them will be playing and where, while Dirge pads along behind her. She gets into the habit of shapeshifting into him for one of her favorite games, that being "find ways to bully and harass the other initiates in the barracks and avoid trouble by making sure no one can tell who's who". As Orins changeling nature is well known, you can never really tell if your looking at Dirge or looking at Orin, who will tell you whichever is more confusing at the moment. As changelings and dopplegangers have empathetic abilities, this also means that Orin is extremely keyed in to Dirge's emotional state. She typically uses this to lightly bully him, but also typically follows that up with attempts at genuine comfort, because a good leader has subordinates happy to follow them, and makes sure theyre taken care of well enough to serve. Theyre siblings, and theyre best friends, and theyre little hellions, and Orin knows every crack and crevice in the temple and where exactly there are spots too small for the grownups to follow them that the two of them can still crawl through. The cult is slowly but inevitably carving away their empathy for the world outside, bringing them into a miserable ideology of death dealing and slaughter, and isolating them from anyone who could ever break them free, but right now they are small and close and she is showing Dirge exactly where to stab in a rats belly to make all the guts come out, and when he scrunches his tiny face in disgust she'll call him all sorts of names, but take his tiny hand in her own and hold the knife together nonetheless

Dirge doesnt resent Orin when she makes rank before him. He doesnt resent Orin when she excels, when she grasps the knifework faster, memorizes the doctrine quicker. He doesnt resent her when she gets assignments first, or when they work together and she takes the lead. Thats the goal hes chasing, after all. To be as good as his sister. To eventually pull ahead. To play chase like they always do. But when he DOES pull ahead, when the lead he has grows but never shrinks, its equal parts pride and confusion. Proud to finally surpass her, confusion that he KEEPS surpassing her. Shes slower to catch up, angrier about it. It isnt resentment, not yet, just frustration. Theres something hes stumbled into that she hasnt gotten yet. More reasons to train together, after all, put their heads together and work it out. But when the cult finally passes down the mantle of leadership, it doesnt pass into Orin's hands, youngest Assassin, pre chosen vessel of Bhaal. For reasons neither of them understand, it goes to Dirge instead. Purest bhaalspawn, severed hand of their God let loose, the one true prophet of armageddon. It doesnt make sense, but hes trained so hard and come so far, he wont dissapoint their Father now. its a bitter pill orin doesnt swallow easily. its there the resentment starts

The gap wont ever close now, not really. Dirge is too neurotic, too anxious and obsessed. He leaves no breathing room for anyone to pick up the slack, because he leaves none, will not ever give the slightest hints of being unworthy. Its suffocating. Diminished, demeaned, forgotten, Orin falls to the wayside, swallowed within an ever lengthening shadow, and he never turns to her, never reaches back. Pushing himself to the breaking point, and then far past it, and now HIS word is law, is doctrine, when it should have been HER, she who spoke with Bhaal's voice when all he has is fleeting visions. The resentment grows, made all the more acrid by the sweet memories of yesteryear. Its like everything shes worked for means nothing, and now he wont even cast a glance her way. Seeing him less and less, and then never as himself, always acting as Leader, Prophet, Idol, everything the cult needed and more, and now when habit rears up and she takes his face to talk to him, he scowls at what he sees. Like the bastard ever had a leg to stand on, she knows what he is, pathetic weak crybaby bloodkin trailing in her wake, acting big and strong now that hes special. Now that hes chosen. Like he knows something she doesnt. Like he could ever know something she doesnt. Grandfather calls him proud, arrogant, and theres no other explanation for the cold she feels from him, inside his skin, its cold arrogant bastard pride for finally besting her at the only game that mattered.

It falls apart slowly over the years. Sarevok, and then Zherimon, instilled in Dirge the need for perfection, to serve as Bhaal's will on earth, and the need for it burrowed deep into Dirge's psyche and consumed everything else around it. He loves his sister. He misses her. But this life is hell and Bhaal's expectations for his chosen spawn are cruel and exacting. All Orin needs to do is what shes always been good at, thats enough. He'll take on everything else so she isnt choked or constrained, so she has room to flourish. He's pulling further and further away from her and it hurts but theres nothing to be done for it, because its Father's will (HIS father, not that he could ever stand to tell Orin, and take from her yet something else, another pillar she stands lofty upon). Shes more than a sacrifice, thats obvious by the way she holds a blade, and Dirge refuses to waste her potential in a single sacrifice to Bhaal, when together they could bring so much more glory to Him at each others sides. He won't take the duel. If she wants for them to kill each other, she must promise a death so glorious as to make this single murder worth more than all the slaughter they could achieve together. The idea is laughable. Somewhere in the back of his mind behind a door that wont stay locked is a treasured sentimental sin, two tiny bodies pressed together in a crevice only barely big enough for them both, outside a man about to be flogged for his failure calls out a name neither of them respond to, and all else is quiet save for the hushed giggles swallowed by the stone. No, she isn't worthy. She isn't worthy by far.

Its a mix of Dirge taking on as much responsibility as he can while leading the cult to give Orin more freedom, and Orin having next to nothing to do with all that extra time and lack of duties beyond ruminating on the discrepancy between them. It feels like she isnt trusted or considered good enough anymore, when she clearly remembers the opposite, and the more he pulls away the more she hates him for it. The resentment is tempered by religious duty and childhood memories, but even though Dirge makes attempts to try and bridge the gap, the circumstances are that there really isnt anything he can do. I like to headcanon that Dirge helped Orin make her skin suit, because he has a noted habit of taxidermy and human leatherworking, as a way to try to reach out to her, but the inertia has built up too much to stop whats going to happen. It was doomed to fall apart at the start, driven by forces neither of them could have even hoped to work against.

The love was always there, but it just made it hurt.

[gideonisms]

Does a podcast ever release a take you disagree with so strongly it makes you question everything you heard on it up to that point

[ilovetv99]

thinking about ch0mpkin's evil evbo post (evilbo, if you will) and going "How can I align this with My Interests (the axes)" and the answer is Very easily actually