#I think someone was trying not to get murdered and we spent half the time on a highway with no car for some reason

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

Last night I had a dream that I only vaguely remember where someone tried to switch hualian and beefleaf but kept failing because too much of Hua Cheng’s character was him being whipped and they didn’t know how to deal with that. I was entirely useless but did find their approach to making Xie Lian gender-fluid interesting (i don’t remember what they did when doing that).

I was basically just sitting there with a sprite I got from a movie theater that was closing (dream right before this one) and being entirely useless as help (but I was entertained)

[thewritetofreespeech]

Nowhere is Safe

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: you are awoken in the middle of the night to find out your nephew-in-law is dead and Aemond is trying to throw you out.

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It was the dead of night. Which seemed to be when the most horrible, cruel, inconceivable things tended to happen.

You were fast asleep when the commotion woke you. The feeling like a dream. To the point that you try to ignore it and follow the path of more pleasant dreams fading off into your mind’s distance. The door flinging open, nearly off its hinges, was what fully woke you. “Bleeding hells!!”

“Thank the Gods you’re alright.”

You had seen wild looks in Aemond’s eye before. His schemes. His dark thoughts. His cunning designs. But this wild look was not something you were familiar with. Fear. Enough to invoke the Gods? Something you were fairly certain he didn’t even believe in. “What’s going on?”

The prince said nothing as he rushed across the room with all the speed & grace those years of fighting had afforded him and took you in his arms. Aemond was nowhere near as cruel as Aegon, but he wasn’t one for overly affectionate displays. The closest he would come were peaceful, tender moments after your most intimate times. Now you were starting to sprout fear. “Jaehaerys is dead.”

You pulled back from Aemond to look at him in disbelief. His expression smooth and calm like always. Impossible to read for most, but you knew he was telling the truth. “What?! How?!”

“He was murdered by an assassin in our walls.”

The words are so impossible to believe that you think you might still be dreaming. Yes. Dreaming. This was all a bad nightmare. A terrible nightmare. Who would murder a child?! Who would murder someone within the castle walls? Yes, this was war, but deep down you thought none of them really meant to hurt one another. A child….

“You need to pack.”

Startled from your thoughts and swelling grief at Aemond’s words as he moved away, already helping himself to one of your trunks, you manage to ask, “What…? Why? Where?”

“Anywhere but here.”

He was already throwing all manner things into your trunk. Books, trinkets, some sheer manner of clothing that was more decorative than clothing. All of it going into the trunk with reckless abandon. “Aemond. Aemond stop. Aemond look at me!” He eventually stopped when you grabbed his arm. Ready to throw a vase, flowers, water, and all, in with the rest. “I’m not going anywhere. Alright. I’m not.”

“You have to.” He insisted. “The palace isn’t safe. We must get you somewhere—“If the Keep isn’t safe, then nowhere is safe.”

Aemond seemed to want to argue, but his jaw shut and closed tight. Those sharp lines in his face looking like daggers in his anger. Because he knew you were right. If they could get in here, they could get in anywhere. And more the fools they, but the point was that nowhere was safe now.

“You can’t stay here. I…I cannot protect you here.”

That’s why he was afraid, you realize. Not that you might be dead, though he would torrent the skies if that had been true, but he was scared he couldn’t protect you.

You wrap your arms around Aemond and hold him tight. Who would be next in this ridiculous feud? Aegon’s other children? Rhaenyra other sons? Helaena? Aemond himself?

You feel your grief mounting as you think on it. Who would be next, and who was now lost. Of Jaehaerys sweet face and how you would comment often that you hoped your future children were half as sweet as him. He’d make a fine king, as long as he spent less time with his father. He..would…have made a fine king.

You didn’t realize you were crying until Aemond lifted your head from his chest. “You need to leave.” He brushed the tears from your cheeks, but they all scatter again as you shook your head furiously.

“No. Never.” How could you leave him here, alone, in this place. Where nothing and no one was safe. If you were to die it would be with Aemond. It was the promise you made after all.

The prince let out a sigh. More heaving of shoulder than want of sound. Then he pulled you into his arms again. “You’re a damned fool.” Still, he doesn’t ask you again.

part II III IIII

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

The Pathology Murders

Summary: When the reader and the boys stumble across a gruesome scene, they get the feeling that the monster they're hunting is of the human variety...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 5,800ish

Warnings: language, angst, lots of mentions of gore/death, trauma, accident, fluff

A/N: This fic was inspired by this imagine (which makes an appearance in this one shot) and also by the horror movie Pathology!

________

“What the hell…” Dean and Sam looked around the abandoned house, pausing like you had when they got to the kitchen. Your boys weren’t wimps by any means. They’d seen some serious crap. Done some serious crap. But that kitchen? 

It took Sam all of three seconds to step out of the room and upheave his greek salad from lunch.

Meanwhile Dean took it all in before his eyes landed on where you were trying to work the scene, fighting back another dry heave. 

“You alright?” he asked. You knew he was concerned. You weren’t one to puke up your guts either. But the poor soul on the kitchen table, or rather what was left of him…twisted wasn’t even the right word for it.

“Not particularly,” you said, pointing at a glass jar that housed a pair of kidneys on the stove. “Not all the organs made it into jars. Pretty sure the liver is in the sink.”

Dean cautiously took a step inside, swallowing thickly. Unlike you or Sam, who had your own experiences with hell, Dean’s had been far more…interactive. Sam’s soul was battered around by Lucifer but it’d been more psychological than physical. You’d spent an unpleasant night with a hellhound in the same cage and while it hadn’t been fun, you’d been able to stay in a corner and out of harms way. Dean though…Dean had been sliced and diced and hacked and every other possible horror, imaginable or not. And then he’d performed the acts himself. You never blamed him for giving in, for breaking. You’d told him time and time again he was, and always would be, a good man.

Some days, more often lately it seemed the older he got, he seemed to believe you.

“Whoever did this performed an autopsy on this guy. While he was alive,” said Dean, leaning over the body to get a closer look. “Huh. Anybody see a heart around here?”

You surveyed the bloody room, finding more than a few peculiar shaped body parts but nothing resembling a heart. Sam finally made his way in, taking a deep inhale as he got used to the gore before him. “I got nothing over here.”

“Could be a werewolf,” said Dean, cocking his head as he straightened, brow furrowing. “Or a witch.”

You knew he wasn’t buying that though, neither of you were. You tore your eyes away from the search to watch Sam’s expression flare up with a strange look of familiarity. “Sammy?”

“I think a person did this,” he said. Dean rolled his eyes.

“No shit Sherlock. Someone used a knife or-”

“No, jackass,” said Sam, shooting Dean a harsh look for a brief second. “I mean I think this was a human, like an actual human. They were just talking about a cold case like this on a podcast I listened to during my run last week.”

“You and your fucking serial killer obsession,” muttered Dean. Sam’s eye twitched, the tension rising in the room. “It’s fucking weird, Sammy.”

“We hunt monsters, dumbass. How is that any different?”

“That’s our job. You don’t see me watching murder documentaries like a certain someone in my free time.” Sam got closer to Dean, Dean taking one to match, both boy’s jaws clenching. 

“Hey,” you said with a snap of your fingers, the pair reluctantly turning towards you. “Dean, plenty of people are interested in cold cases and as long as Sam isn’t a serial killer himself, his hobby is fine. Sam, Dean just gets concerned that you don’t take enough of a break from hunting but he can’t come out and say that. So hug and make up. You’re on the same side.”

They both grumbled and gave each other a half-assed embraced but it made you smile regardless. 

“So what’d your murder podcast say?” asked Dean, walking around to the other side of the cut open body. Sam’s face soured. “That good, huh?”

“They called them the Pathology Murders. A string of five victims about ten years ago that went unsolved. The killer performed live autopsies like you said about this guy earlier. The only lead they ever had was that the killer must have medical training, like a doctor, based on what they did to the victims. Oh, and all the murders took place in the Seattle area.”

“Which downtown is only twenty minutes from here,” you said, crossing your arms. “Was the heart missing at the other scenes?”

“I’m not sure. They could have skimmed over that,” said Sam. Your gaze followed Dean’s, his green eyes laced with uncertainty. “I can do some research back at the motel. You guys could check in with Seattle PD, see if the case files have anything useful.”

“We should double check that it’s not our kind of monster and if it really is a person-”

“We’re not working this case,” said Dean. Your eyebrows shot up, Sam’s face already frowning. “We do not investigate serial killers. Save it for the police.”

“Uh, what the hell is going on? You would never let a killer, monster or human, stay on the loose,” said Sam.

Dean’s gaze shot to you and quickly away, his eyes turning sharp as they zeroed in on Sam. You scoffed, Sam cocking his head in question.

“It’s because my mom was murdered. By a serial killer. Isn’t it, Dean?” Dean’s lips pressed into a thin hard line and you shook your head. “They caught her killer which you know. What does that have anything to do with-”

“You caught the killer, you did that,” said Dean, Sam completely lost. He knew your mom had been killed but not the gory details like Dean.

“Wouldn’t that be a good thing then?” he asked. “Y/N has experience with this sort of thing then.”

“Why don’t you explain to Sammy just exactly what you did to ‘catch’ her killer then, sweetheart. Go on. I’m sure he’d love to hear it.” You glared at Dean, feeling an unpleasant prickling in your eyes. Dean didn’t back down as you teared up though, instead focusing on Sam. “She let herself be bait. She let herself get caught by the son of a bitch. She almost died because she doesn’t see when she’s going too far with serial killers. The same thing happened on that Tulsa case five years ago.”

You could sense Sam had shifted very quickly to being on Dean’s side of this argument. You’d been young and reckless with your mom’s killer, barely a day over eighteen. That was years and years ago. You’d learned since then to use more sense. Tulsa…well your plan as being bait would have worked if your former hunting partner hadn’t been more focused on getting some ass that night than watching your back.

“Yeah, that’s how we met, Sam. Not working a case. No, Y/N was fucked and if I hadn’t been driving back from Jody’s that night and saw the fucking asshole grab her, she’d be dead. Wouldn’t you?” Dean snarled. You narrowed your misty eyes at him, Dean lifting his chin. “We will make sure this isn’t our kind of deal and if it is in fact a run of the mill serial killer, we are getting the fuck out of here, understand me?”

“I fucked up once. Once,” you breathed out. You swallowed thickly, wiping off your face with your jacket sleeve. “Just how many times have you been kidnapped Dean in the five years that I’ve known you? I’ve been taken once. You? How many times have I cut you loose? Taken out the monster with a knife to your throat? A gun to your head? How many times have you gotten lost in a case? Gone on a rampage? I never realized we were keeping score.”

Dean’s gaze fell to the floor, his hand running over his jaw, searching for the right words.

“Sam, go back to the motel and research. Dean and I’ll do the fed schitk and get the files we can. Whoever’s behind this, I’m going after them. You two can do whatever the hell you want,” you said, storming out of the room and out of the house.

“You look pretty,” said Dean softly a few hours later as you exited the motel bathroom in your fed suit, a light blue button down blouse with your charcoal gray suit jacket and pants. You ignored him as you dug through your duffel for your pointed black booties. Professional but also you knew for a fact you could run and fight in them. You growled in frustration when you couldn’t find them though, hearing Dean clear his throat behind your back. You glanced over your shoulder, following Dean’s gaze to where he’d set them down by the end of the bed.

“Thanks,” you grumbled, slipping them on and pulling up the side zipper. Dean was sporting his navy suit today, the one he looked extra hot in. You ignored that fact as you tucked your gun into the back of your pants, fixing your suit jacket over it.

“Y/N.” You sighed, giving him a look that you really didn’t want to do this right now. He took a long breath, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Sam quietly slinked out of the room into his adjoining one. Most of the time the three of you shared but when you could swing it, Sam got his own next door to give you and Dean some privacy.

Privacy you didn’t necessarily want at this moment.

“You do good cop, I’ll be the hardass if it comes to it,” you said, shoving your phone in your pocket. You tried to walk past him for the door but he caught your hand, stopping you after a few feet. “Dean.”

“I do not, and have never, thought you were weak. But serial killers are a blindspot for you. Sam and I both have them. This is yours.” He lowered his head, like he was fighting the words that were coming out. 

To your surprise, he dropped your hand and stood. 

“Be careful on this one, sweetheart.” He walked past you to the motel door, cracking it open and pausing. “We should get going.”

“You sure I’m not going to lose it? Get too carried away and get myself captured?” you said, unable to stop from poking back after his earlier insinuations. Dean’s shoulders rose and fell, one hand going to the doorframe to grip it as you watched the back of his head lower.

“Y/N, don’t you know by now I’m an idiot that’d rather lose you because I’m a dick than find you in the hands of some monster like whoever did that to that poor guy? Don’t you know I know you’re stronger than me? Don’t you think I realize how hard it is to be with someone like me?”

“You don’t stop Sam from doing dangerous things,” you said. “You don’t bring up the past to him.”

“Yes I have,” he said quietly. “And convincing Sam to stay in a motel room where it’s safe to research has never been hard thankfully.”

“You don’t treat me with the same respect though,” you said softly. “It hurts to know you never will think of me as being as capable as he is all because I’m your girlfriend.”

Dean shook his head, straightening his back. “You are more than capable, sweetheart. But sometimes…I just want to be a man that protects his girl. I don’t want to be scared of failing you for once…because if that monster got anywhere near you…”

You took quiet steps over to him, staring at his broad shoulders as they sagged.

“Eventually everyone I love dies or has something awful happen to them. Maybe I don’t say it the right way but fucking hell, all I want is for those things to not happen to you.” He spun around, green eyes full of worry. You nodded, taking his hand and lacing your fingers together. He squeezed them gently, the warmth of it pleasant.

“Our job is dangerous, Dean. We hunt the monsters, supernatural or not. I love you but you don’t get to keep me locked away.” You ran your thumb over his scuffed up skin, still healing form last week’s hunt. “That said…I promise not to get so angry if you promise to just say you’re scared for me. We’ll figure it out, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, a flicker of a smile on his face. “I just have a bad feeling about this one.”

“Then we’ll be smart, okay?” You leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “And don’t call yourself an idiot. I don’t like it.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” he said. “Let’s go figure out what the hell is going on.”

Two Hours Later

“This guy’s a fucking psycho,” you said into your phone while Dean came outside with a bag of burgers and fries. “Apparently he sends the hearts to the victims families in a little box with a bow.”

“Sounds about right for a guy who cuts people open for fun,” said Sam on the other end. “I’m gonna pour through the records you just sent over.”

“Alright. Dean and I should be back in fifteen-”

“Why don’t you guys have a date night? I got this for a few hours.” You bit your bottom lip, Sam’s silence going on. “Come on, Y/N. You guys should talk about Dean’s protectiveness and your stubbornness.”

You wanted to argue that fact but sighed, closing your eyes.

“Any suggestions on how we find that line when our job is to hunt killers?” you asked.

“Maybe remember that he’s your boyfriend first, hunting partner second. Most boyfriends wouldn’t want their girlfriend near a serial killer either, no matter what their job.”

“Don’t have good points, Samuel,” you said as Dean took a seat next to you on Baby’s hood. “We’ll be back in two hours.”

You hung up and dove your hand into the bag of fries, smirking when Dean presented you with a chocolate milkshake. He grinned as you dipped the fry in it and tossed it back, giving him a big thumbs up.

“I love you,” you said, Dean smiling as he dug out his burger. “I always love you, even when we fight.”

He glanced at you, landing a gentle kiss on your lips in the next moment. He barely moved his lips, letting them linger instead. He moved back only an inch and nodded. “I was a dickhead earlier. All because I’m afraid of finding you with a serial killer standing over you with a giant ass knife again. I don’t know why I can’t just come out and say that shit in the moment.”

“Because you’re human,” you said, wrapping an arm around his waist. “And you’re so much better at talking to me than five years ago. The old you wouldn’t have even been able to say that to me.”

“I try,” he said, letting you kiss him, your own a tad more forceful than his had been.

“That’s all I ask for,” you said, Dean’s phone going off at that exact moment. He sighed as he took it out, Sam’s name appearing. He tapped it onto speaker and took a bite of his burger. “What’s up Sammy?”

“Guys, I think I figured something out. All the victims were patients at Mercy West hospital back in the day and this latest guy? He was a patient there last week.” You and Dean shared a frown. “Yeah, I know. The cops investigated all of the hospital staff there back then but they never came up with anything. They thought maybe a doctor was behind it but he died in a car accident between the second and third vics.”

“It could have been him and he had a partner. Definitely is someone with access to records so they have to work there,” said Dean as you held up a finger. “What?”

“I could have sworn I’ve heard about this hospital in the news before. Something to do with a boat accident?” you asked. You heard Sam typing loudly before he hummed.

“Yup. They made national news about six months ago when seven of their medical students died in a boating accident. Explosion apparently when they got boozed up and had a bonfire on the boat. The bodies were so bad they couldn’t identify the remains,” said Sam. Dean took another bite of his burger and swallowed. “Already checking through the police files. Shit.”

“Shit what, Sam?” you asked, dunking a fry in your milkshake.

“Shit as in the boat accident wasn’t an accident at all. There was definitely an explosion but they found damage on the bodies indicating some injuries occurred before death. Like being carved up alive. They don’t want the public knowing the killer is still active in the area.”

“It’s gotta be someone linked to that hospital. Only question is why can’t the police figure out who?” asked Dean.

“Good question,” said Sam. “I’m going to keep digging, see if there’s a connection between the two we missed.”

“Thanks Sammy. We’ll be back in twenty to help,” said Dean, hanging up. He glanced at you, biting the inside of his cheek.

“This isn’t a monster,” you said quietly. “At least, it’s a human one.”

Dean polished off the rest of his meal quietly, the air still for a few beats. 

“When you get too worried about me on hunts, you put yourself in danger,” you said, slowly sipping from the shake. His heated gaze was on you as you handed him the drink. “You have to trust that I’m strong enough to do this. Careful and capable. We both need to work on that.”

“Alright. But do me a favor? Stick close to me or Sammy on this one. You’re just…” You waited, let him find his words. He took the drink and finished it off, shoving the trash in the bag. “You just got over that shoulder injury. Your punches don’t hit as hard as normal right now. I don’t mean that in a bad way, just-”

“Okay,” you said, finding his hand, slipping yours inside. “Now let’s figure out who this bastard is.”

He hummed, letting go of you for a brief moment so he could toss the garbage away. You slid inside the passenger seat, Dean back and behind the wheel after the blink of an eye. Approximately ten seconds later you were pulling out of the parking lot and on the road, headed down main street and for the motel.

“So I was thinking this guy does autopsies on victims right?” said Dean, turning the radio down low on a soft rock station. You glanced out the window on the dark night, a rumble of thunder overhead. “But the cops can’t find him. Well, isn’t there someone that sometimes works at hospitals and for the police that would be able to fuck with a body after the fact and hide traces of their involvement?”

“A pathologist. I was thinking that too but wouldn’t that have been their first look? I mean they literally call them the Pathology Murders,” you said, waiting for the the light to turn green. “It could be someone that knows someone at the department covering for them. Stranger things have happened.”

“Maybe. I get the gist this guy works alone though. I only clocked one set of boots at the scene this morning,” he said, the bright green light illuminating the dark interior.

“Same. It’s absolutely someone associated with that damn hospital-” you said, Dean’s arm shooting in front of you in your peripheral. A millisecond later, something slammed into the right side of Baby, your side. Your lap belt tugged on you hard as your body lolled to the side, weightless for a moment before gravity reared it’s ugly head and slammed you down. Your head smacked something hard and it all went dark.

You could hear Dean asking a paramedic a million questions, not a single one concerned about himself. You opened your eyes to find yourself in the back of an ambulance, Dean lying on a stretcher beside you. He could tell you were awake and struggled to reach over to you but couldn’t. Instead he thrashed his head back against his pillow in defeat, straining against the straps that held him down.

“Sir, I need you to calm down,” said the paramedic as you blinked slowly at Dean. You knew something was wrong with you, with both of you, but you weren’t quite sure what that was yet. You struggled when you saw Dean upset. You wanted him to feel better. “You need to relax, she’s seeing you panic and that’s making her do the same.”

Dean stopped as he took in how your heart rate had skyrocketed, how scared you looked. He sighed and forced himself to stay calm. You saw him relax and heard him say it was okay. Neither of you enjoyed the feeling of being tied down, especially when the both of you were in plain view of one another and couldn’t reach each other. You tried to speak but couldn’t as you felt how raw your throat was. 

“We’ll be at Mercy West in just a few minutes,” said the paramedic to Dean as you half-listened. 

“No, take us somewhere else!” yelled Dean suddenly, fighting again. The paramedic sighed as you both started struggling once more. You didn’t have much of an idea of what was going on but if Dean didn’t want to go there, it wasn’t safe. 

“I’m going to give each of you a sedative and by the time you wake up, you’ll be in your hospital beds feeling a lot better,” he said gently. 

“No, don’t you touch her,” said Dean as you started to get very sleepy. The last thing you saw was Dean shutting his eyes as you finally remembered what had happened.

If Sam didn’t get to you soon, you were screwed.

Your eyes wearily opened under bright lights that made your head hurt. You winced and turned away from it, limbs heavy and still. Dean’s voice echoed somewhere, to your left maybe? You forced your eyes open again, Dean strapped down to a metal table with metal drawers behind him, the look on his face like he was screaming at you. You blinked, the ringing in your eyes loud and obnoxious, droning him out.

“Get up, fucking get up!” Dean shouted so loud you shook your head, a splitting headache cracking over you. “Y/N get out of here!” 

It took only a moment to discover that unlike Dean, you weren’t restrained in what was most likely the hospital morgue. Something was wrong though. A sedative? No. You were becoming more alert if anything but your arms were growing more tired, head becoming too heavy to lift.

“Something’s off,” you tried to say, the words caught in your throat, unable to be voiced. Your eyes flared wide, Dean’s drifting past you.

“Someone took a long time to wake up,” said a voice to your right. Suddenly a hand was under your head.

“Don’t you fucking touch her!” Dean snarled, your head set on a…stand? Something to keep it elevated and from rolling to the side. You tried to move but the message wasn’t getting to your body, your eyes glued on the handsome face with a just slightly off smile leaning over you.

“You were in a nasty accident, Agent Carlson. Unfortunately for you, your head trauma was too severe and you coded in the ER. Meanwhile Agent Manns in his grief unfortunately succumbed to his injuries. At least that’s what the autopsy report will say,” he said, inspecting what felt like a cut on your temple. “Such a shame. It won’t be my best work but you’re not the first law enforcement to cross me. Sadly no one will be able to discover your remains once you’re accidentally incinerated as John and Jane Doe but it’s good practice.”

“Let her go you fucking psycho,” growled Dean when the doctor moved out of view and returned with a pair of shears. 

“Psycho? I’m Dr. Thomas, ER Trauma physician and part-time pathologist. I’ve saved far more lives than I’ve taken, Agent Manns,” he said, snipping through your blouse. 

“What the fuck did you do to her?” Dr. Thomas bagged your shirt in a plastic bag nearby, doing the same with your pants and boots once they’d been removed.

“Paralyzing agent. Hard to come by but it has it’s advantages. No messy straps or ropes in the way,” he said, lifting your arm as you watched helplessly, cold metal against your skin as he cut through your bra straps.

“I swear to god I’m going to rip your spine out of your fucking face. If you touch her-”

“Not my style,” said Dr. Thomas, pulling away the fabric, sending a chill down your back. He gave you his focus again, a smirk on his face as he put two fingers to your neck. “Your heart is hammering away, isn’t it? Biology is fascinating that way. It’s so strange how an emotion such as fear can cause physical reactions in our bodies.”

“Get the fuck away from her!” shouted Dean. Dr. Thomas’ smile towards you dropped when he looked at Dean. He sighed and set the shears down, walking out of view.

“You’re really starting to irritate me,” he said, the distinct sound of tape being ripped from a roll filling the room and then Dean’s cries became muffled, only quiet thumping as he struggled coming from him now. Dr. Thomas appeared again wearing another smile. “Sorry about that. It’s always the men that get all squirmy. The women always live longer. Now, one could argue that’s because women have on average more blood in their bodies than men but I’ve gotten a fairly large sample size over the past decade to believe they’re psychologically stronger and therefore last longer.”

You tried hard to move your hand when he held up a scalpel near your face but nothing worked. 

Fuck if you could move anything you’d be shaking harder than a tree in a damn hurricane. Dean struggling right beside you with a front row seat was not helping.

“Now I like to explain all of my procedures to my patients beforehand. While you are paralyzed to a degree, you will still feel things. That’s perfectly normal.” You were wide eyed, Dr. Thomas chuckling. “The procedure typically takes me around thirty minutes. However, you’ll die from the blood loss or shock after roughly seven so don’t worry about that aspect. Considering you were in an accident less than an hour ago, I suspect it’s more like four or five for you which is unfortunate for me but it is what it is. Perhaps Agent Manns will give me more time.”

He lowered the scalpel to your shoulder and dug in hard to the skin, dragging it inward towards your chest. Your scream was caught in your throat as he did it on the other side to match.

Dean was shouting and thrashing on the table beside you but you couldn’t even turn your head to look. Dr. Thomas started talking about incisions and procedures and then you felt something completely unnatural against your arm, another shout trapped in your lungs. Forget the brave face. You would have been full on wailing if you were capable of it.

Crack. Snap. Shudder. Rip. It was around the time that Dr. Thomas held up something dark red and sticky looking that your body decided passing out was the best course of action. Unfortunately, it wasn’t doing that for some reason and you were stuck on the edge of consciousness, terrified and wishing something would come along and smash your head in to end this.

A loud bang shot out and something heavy smacked your leg, something else skirting against your side. 

“Dear god,” whispered Sam. Your eyes were locked open as you heard Sam rush over, staring down at you for only a split second before he moved to Dean. 

That was not good. You were far more injured that Dean, somewhere on the verge of death if you figured. Sam would have stopped to help you first.

Unless you were beyond saving.

“Sweetheart,” said Dean, grabbing one of your blood covered hands in both of his. Fuck he was crying. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You were so totally fucked. He looked over to Sam, Sam staring back with an open mouth. They couldn’t fix this. Shit, shit. You were going to die cut open like a Thanksgiving turkey. “W-What about Cas?”

“Dean,” said Sam, an air of resignation in his voice. “He’s in Kansas.”

“Jack then.”

“He’s with Cas. He doesn’t know how to-”

“A spell, a cure, something! Take her upstairs to a fucking doctor!” shouted Dean. 

“De. Half of her organs are…” said Sam as you got light headed, Dean’s hand running over your head. Dean found your face, his chin wobbling. “I-I don’t know what to do.”

“Then we sit with our girl,” said Dean softly, tucking a hair behind your ear. “And you fall asleep, sweetheart and when you wake up again, you’ll feel all better. I’ll come find you someday. Okay? Just close your eyes and try to sleep for me.”

Dean lowered his head, kissing your forehead as he fought back the tears that wanted to spill over. Sam took your other hand, squeezing it gently as you tried to do what he asked.

“Bloody hell, of course a Winchester took out a nutter like that. I’d have thunk he deserved more than a bullet,” said a familiar voice. 

“Rowena?” both boys echoed. She didn’t respond though, Sam’s hand dropping yours as a flash of red hair moved in front of you. You stared up at her, her hands cradling your cheeks.

“Dean, let go.” He did and about two seconds later you were shot straight upright, body in one piece, full of feeling and horror as you wrapped your arms over your chest, looking all around. 

“What the hell was that?” asked Sam while Dean shrugged out of his fed jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders, buttoning you up before he picked you up and was cradling you in his arms.

Rowena faced him with a hand on her hip, your own gaze falling down to where a dead Dr. Thomas lay on the floor, blood oozing from the back of his open head.

“Do you boys still not see me as a friend?” she asked, an undercurrent of hurt in her voice. You were shaking in Dean’s arms, clutching to his shirt with your too long sleeves. 

“You’re the queen of hell. Why would you stop a death?” asked Sam. She rolled her eyes and approached you, resting a hand on your arm.

“Because I’m the queen of hell and I do as I please, Samuel.” You wanted to say thank you but all you could manage was a few jumbled words as you buried yourself in Dean’s neck. “She’s in shock, quite bad. Best to take her home and let her rest.”

“Thank you Rowena,” said Dean, walking past her, stopping near the entrance to the room. “Next time you need something, just let us know and we’ll help.”

“Of course. I’ll take care of this mess. Oh and Y/N, dear?” You managed to lift your head, grateful to find Sam was right on Dean’s heels. “This lad is going to be spending a lot of time on the receiving end of what he gave out up here down in hell. I promise you that.”

You nodded, giving her a thumbs up. Dean kissed the top of your head, his hold on you tight.

“You’re going to be alright, sweetheart. Just give it some time.”

“How’s that feel?” asked Dean for what felt like the twentieth time back at the motel. You’d showered, took another another shower, took a bath, took another shower and currently were wrapped up in a mess of Dean’s pajamas on the bed with a big towel in your hair. 

“Better,” you said, your voice back with you once you’d gotten out of the hospital morgue. Sam was off relaying what he’d found to the local police. Apparently Dr. Thomas had worked on a few cases for the county but his sister it turned out was a hot shot detective who’d been covering for him for years. It was how he’d found out about you and Dean investigating.

Honestly that woman would be better off going out like her brother. She’d covered up a lot of murders for her brother. It’d be a miracle if someone didn’t take her out before then. Not that you particularly would mind that. 

You patted the bed beside you, Dean taking a seat and pulling you into his lap. He removed the damp towel and nuzzled the top of your head with his cheek, strong arms wrapped all around your body.

“So we really nailed that whole careful thing, huh?” you said. Dean chuckled deeply, inhaling the scent of your damp hair, a pretty lilac and vanilla blend you knew he liked. 

“How do you do that? Make me laugh when I don’t feel like ever laughing again,” he said, tightening his hold.

“Because I’m hilarious,” you said, closing your eyes, wrapping your hands around his forearms. “You might not understand this but what you said when I thought…you made me feel safe even when I was scared that was it. You were a guy protecting his girl tonight, even if it’s not the way you meant it.”

“Meant every word,” he whispered, breathing slowly. 

“Don’t you dare fucking apologize for not stopping it. There’s no way we saw that coming.”

“Okay,” he said, draping his legs over yours, leaning back against the headboard with you. “How’s that feel? Comfy?”

You smiled as you rolled your eyes at him, tucking in closer. “I got you, Winchester. I’ll be alright. A chocolate milkshake and order of fries wouldn’t hurt though.”

“You’re hungry? After all that?” he chuckled. 

“Yup. Ask Sam to pick some up on his way back,” you said, tilting your head back, kissing under his jaw. “Our date got cut short after all.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? You couldn’t talk earlier,” he said, taking your hand, lacing your fingers together.

“I’ll have nightmares, I’m sure, and all the other crap we get. But right now in this moment, with you, I’m okay.” He smiled, holding your body against his.

“I love you so much. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Even if you do get kidnapped by serial killers.” You whacked his leg, Dean’s laugh rumbling against your back.

“Love you too, ya dork.”

_________

[2smolbeans]

"Nearly breaking down as you saw Marco softly smile at you. A smile you haven't seen ever since he found his 'darling'."

Part 2 Part 2.5 character info

Love Me, Love Me Not

Yandere Best Friend x Obstacle Reader

*unedited

Tags: kidnapping, complicit murder, guilt, suggestive tones, mixed signals, eventual smut, oneshot, reader is going through mixed feelings, one sided crush, yandere is in love with someone else, imprisonment, will they won't they vibes.

Disclaimer: This is just a scenario I thought of with an Oc! So nothing is really 'official' or canon-

_____________________________

One too many times, you should've called the police. Why didn't you though? Now you sit there on the shower floor, hot water burning your back as you try to warm up the chill that goes down your spine. Their eyes, oh god they were open and staring at you dead in fear. Why did you cover for him?

You felt the sob trapped in your throat rip out of you as you remembered all the horrible things you were complicit in. There was nothing you could do now but accept the reality. You wouldn't get caught. The two of you burned all the evidence, and sadly, the victims were easy to dispose of. Did anyone look for them? Was anyone curious about them going missing?

The guilt was heavy, and it didn't help that the person you did it for- couldn't give two shits about you.

Marco, your happy go lucky best friend. You remembered that night when he called you, in a panic, begging you to rush to where he was. Of course you went, you were so worried for him. Upon arrival, you saw the large bag and tools. The look on his face warning you to do as he says before he decides to have another matching body bag beside him.

"You trust me don't you? I just need help with this, and then we can be over with it!"

You should've ran, screamed, called for help. But instead, you just grabbed the lower half of the bag, feeling the dreadful sensation of its limbs. You heard a shocked hum across you before the bag lifted off the ground.

"This is why you're always my number one go to. I apperciate this, I mean it. I won't ever forget this. Now follow me 'kay?"

What a joke. It was all a lie, wasn't it? All of that just for some sick obsession. Just for his "girlfriend" to focus on him and him only. If Marco just pursued her normally like a decent fucking human being, nobody would've been hurt, lies wouldn't have been told, your friendship would've been intact..

He could've just told those once alive victims that he wanted to ask her out. If Marco just smiled at her like he used to smile towards you- you're damn sure she would've fallen for him.

It worked for you afterall..

Maybe you should've let go when you had the chance. Cause now here you are, fending for your life as the killer you once called a friend claims you're the very obstacle of their relationship.

What? But you helped him?

You're staring at her in the wrong way.

Are you fucking kidding me? Does he know how many times you cried. The nights you spent mourning for the dead and the friendship that once was?

He still cares about you. But you forced him to get rid of you.

That's funny since you're currently showering at his apartment. You can't leave, though. He's locked the doors and windows. He even went as far as locking the knife cabniet and potential weapons. Still with the shower running, you didn't flinch at the sound of the bathroom door opening.

Curled up in a ball as you sat in the shower, you finally saw the eyes staring down at your naked form. You couldn't read his face, understand his expression, or even tell what he was thinking. It was foreign, new.

"Hey. Are you done? You're taking up the water bill y'know?"

Oh right, how long were you there for? Awkardly, you tried standing up while covering yourself with what little your hands could hide. You hoped he would at least save you some dignity, but he just kept staring with a blank expression.

"Here's a towel. Dry up and come to the kitchen. I made us something to eat"

You thanked Marco as you were quick to wrap your body with the towel. Looking again at Marco, you saw a hint of dissapointnent splay upon his eyes.

"Okay..Well just-Just..do whatever. Don't take too long or else I'll drag you out myself."

Rolling your eyes, you pushed Marco out of the bathroom as you closed the door. Locking - Oh right, he removed all the locks to each room..Drying off your body, you put on the clothes he left for you. Eventually, you made it to the kitchen, sitting down on the chair as you watched him cook.

He looked so calm, so soft as he focused on flipping the meat. You almost smiled when you heard him mutter about how he spilled some oil on his shirt.

Eventually sitting down to join you, Marco gave you your food as he offered you a drink. You declined of course, not feeling thirsty and paranoid of whatever poison he might spike it with. Smelling the aroma of the food, you felt your mouth water. He was always a good cook, hell you remembered the first time you visited his place.

How he made you a nice cooked lamb with mash potatoes. You recalled it being the first time you've ever seen Marco so particular about a certain thing - even though he's always been a speradic and chaotic individual. Though, the quick realization of your perdicment made the food cold and unappetizing.

Biting your lip, you turn your head away as you felt your eyes burn.

Don't cry, don't cry.

You sucked it up. Inhaled the air that surrounded you and forced a bite into your mouth. The food was good, you couldn't deny it. But it didn't taste as good as it did before. It's good, you say. Nearly breaking down as you saw Marco softly smile at you. A smile you haven't seen ever since he found his 'darling'. You want to run away and cry, to start fresh and new.

"I'm actually glad you moved in with me, it feels nice talking to someone who's helped me"

With the murders?

"Hey, we finally reached one of our bucket lists! To be roomates! Huh, well isn't that kind of funny? And we didn't even plan it out- kinda just happened huh!"

He was just rubbing the salt in the wound at this point. Forcing a smile, you just continued eating, chewing your food as a distraction as he kept on staring at you. Where's his girlfriend? Why didn’t he just make her move into his apartment if you're in the way?

"Oh her? She's at work, don't worry about it"

You stop eating, finishing your plate as you push it towards Marco.

"All done? I'm glad you enjoyed it! Just sit right there while I put everything away"

Is there any way for you to escape? There has to be a way, right? What are you doing here? How long is Marco planning on keeping you alive?

"Hey, your not thinking of doing anything weird right?"

You nod your head no profusely, trying to get his suspicion off of you. Patting your shoulder, Marco motions you to the couch. Sitting down before you as he drags you along with him. Placing you on his lap, he turns on the TV- switching through channels while you freeze on the spot.

"Is there anything you want to tell me?"

Out of nowhere, his hands slowly begin to play with your shirt. His fingers rubbing up and down your sides, his crouch nearly pressing against you. Confused, you just sit there, your hands on your knees as you glued your eyes to the screen.

"You're not lying to me, are you?"

His voice is so sweet, so much closer than you anticapted. You nearly buck against his touch just as his palm brushes a certain spot ever so subtly. Why was he doing this? You had a slight speculation why - or at least a hopeful stupid thought that would fufill your old wishes.

"...If you say so"

You find yourself now sitting beside him, pushed off of his lap. Feeling the weight shift on the couch, Marco stood up and walked away for what seemed like forever.

"I just remembered I have to quickly run by to get some things. I'll be back.."

If like nothing happened, you were alone. Confused, you wave your hands around as you scrunch up your face. Talking to yourself as you pace around the room. Calming down, you walk towards the door. Examining it as you realised that Marco had left one of the security laches loose. Should you risk it? You could grab the butterknife he gave you for the meal to loosen the door..

Oh fuck.

You could perhaps finally leave.

____________________________

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Part 2 coming up soon!

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____________________________

[spiritseeeker]

This singular frame was all it took to undo my very extreme hatred of Adam, Vivienne Medrano how dare you make me feel sympathy for this man-

Like, Adam before this scene? A blatant misogynist and a hypocrite who unabashedly revels in sinners' suffering. A guy who has no regard for anyone else, and who pisses pretty much every viewer off with patronizing jabs like "sorry sweetie" and "try to chillax, babe." Ugh, disgusting.

As the first man, it seems like he got an easy pass into Heaven. Maybe the angels were just saving face, given that their core pair of humans both took the fruit of knowledge of good and evil willingly, ordaining Adam on the technicality that "Eve did it first." But I think we can all agree that it was not on the merit of Adam's virtue.

And then Charlie draws blood during their fight in Episode 8, and, for the first time, Adam genuinely realizes he can be hurt. Like, for the first time in the duration of the show, in his entire fucking existence, someone shows him that he is not, in fact, an all-powerful symbol of power and superiority. He's just a guy with privilege who is just as vulnerable, just as flawed, just as human as the rest of them.

But once the mask is shattered, revealing the rather unexceptional man underneath, does Adam back down? Of course not—he doubles down. There's nothing worse than a narcissist who is virtually incapable of seeing the error of their ways, even when they're clearly backed into a corner. Bruised and bloody, he bellows that he's THE man; everybody should worship him.

For me, that pretty much hit the nail in the coffin. There was no redeeming a character like Adam (ironic, since he's one of the few characters in the show not in need of redemption).

So isn't it fitting, then, that his death didn't happen in some grand display requiring all of Lucifer or Charlie's might? Isn't it fitting that Adam falls to Niffty—not Lucifer, not an overlord, but a common sinner, who sees him as nothing more than a foot soldier that needs to be eliminated, a pest as easily squashed as a roach? For someone as self-aggrandizing as Adam, this has to be one of the most humiliating ways to die. The perfect end for an insufferable antagonist.

But nooo, Vivziepop didn't end it there.

Because INSTEAD, we hear Lute's heart-wrenching screams as she realizes that Adam has just been defeated; we see the look on her tear-streaked face when it registers just how badly he's been injured. The fear in her eyes at the prospect of living in a world without the angel she idolizes, the man she serves.

She's not concerned that she's just lost her arm, or that Vaggie is standing right there. In that moment, the only person in Hell is Adam, and all she wants is for him to stay with her.

Adam could have easily dismissed her feelings entirely. He could have spent his last breath hurling one last insult at Lucifer, getting the satisfaction of having the last word before his death. He could have thrown himself a pity party and cursed his fate.

Instead, this greedy, selfish, murderous fiend has the audacity to see Lute in his field of vision and flash her one last, tender smile.

We don't know for sure what Adam was thinking in this shot, but personally, I think it was something along the lines of I lost. Proud of you, Lute. I'll miss you. Goodbye.

Whatever his final thoughts are, we can surmise from his expression alone that he's accepted his fate, and that he's grateful his last seconds alive are locking eyes with someone who's important to him. Someone he cares about.

And THAT—that was enough to crack through that thick shell of hatred I'd developed for Adam and shatter it like the mask he wore for seven and a half episodes of the show. THAT 8-second moment was enough to make me reconsider my stance on Adam as an irredeemable villain.

(CURSE YOU, VIVIENNE!!!)

Does this scene cancel out all the heinous things Adam does throughout Season 1? All the lives he destroys, all the pain he causes to thousands upon thousands of souls? Absolutely not. But it does change my perception of Adam from "obnoxious egomaniac with no self-awareness" to "obnoxious egomaniac with no self-awareness that is a product of the flawed system he perpetuates."

And, I gotta wonder, what would Adam have been like if Heaven had been different?

[hearts4werka]

Missing

Summary: it’s been six months since your sister went missing, everyone gave up on the investigation but you’re determined to find her no matter what but someone comes along the way… Genre: first person pov’s Stalker, missing person, thriller, horror, crime investigation, dark aesthetic, stalker romance, double pov Warnings: stalking, mentions of possible murder and torturous acts on children, mental health problems, dark fantasy dreams, exploration of the dark web, mention of an asshole boyfriend and possibly more that might trigger some readers. Read At Your Own Risk!

This is part 3 of the ‘Missing’ series!

7:00 AM

🤍 - Rosalla’s POV

The sun starts rising and the sun pools into my room through the windows as I wake up from my slumber with a weird feeling of soreness and bruised skin on the inner parts of my thighs.

Immediately ripping the duvet off the lower half of my body I slide down my pyjama pants to my mid-thighs, seeing several marks left behind on the inner skin of my thighs.

Inspecting it, confused on how the fuck did I get them? I don’t think I woke up in the middle of the night to go take a piss and even if did, I wouldn’t have bruises on my inner thighs.

Searching my mind for a presumable answer, I scout out one most reasonable answer that makes the most sense.

My stalker.

But what was he doing between my thighs?…

Realization hits me like a big bookshelf falling down, it’s obvious what he was doing there now. Immediately I pull my pyjama pants right back up and a weird feeling of my dark fantasies coming to life…

I’ve never confessed to something like this to anyone except for my now ex-boyfriend, one morning we were just cuddling in bed and I started to talk about a dream I had about a being chased down by a man in a mask and then being taken against my will.

That morning I had woken up all wet and horny so I asked my now ex-boyfriend if we wanted to try something like that, he looked at me and said I was fucked up in the head and proceeded to ignore me for two whole weeks which broke my heart.

Those two weeks I’ve spent at home eating ice-cream, watching romcoms and crying myself to sleep. Blaming myself for even having such dreams, such dark and twisted fantasies in the dark parts of my brain…

He was the one that broke up with me since I had felt seriously emotionally attachted to him, like he actually loved me but it all ended when he found out I have a stalker and he said he couldnt be seen with me, knowing theres some other man lurking and watching our every move somewhere in the dark shadows.

I finally get the strength to get out of bed and make my way over to the bathroom to take a refreshing morning shower. Thank god I have a day off today or I would not survive an hour at work.

Undressing myself I step into the shower, washing my spiraling thoughts taunting me in the dark depths of my mind down my body. Running a hand over my face I silence out all of the voices in my head all speaking at once and allow myself to finally relax and have a moment of peace.

| - 🍂 - |

7:47 AM

I’ve gotten out of the shower and thrown on some random clothes I found in my closet so I won’t sit in my pyjamas all day even though i was being close to doing that. A simple black tank top under an oversized off-shoulder gray hoodie with black sweatpants and mini uggs on my feets, my hair being put up lazily in a messy bun. ( outfit here )

I walk down the stairs and enter the kitchen, putting on some my hometown Spanish music on the speakers I start preparing some breakfast, my hips swaying from side to side each time I walk and when I'm standing they start to create circle, dancing to the music using my hips.

🖤 - Matthew’s POV

I watch her every move, every sway of her hips and move of her perfect body. She wont be able to escape me now ever since I've laid my eyes on her that one time, after I got home that day I did all of my research and found out as much as I could without her finding out.

Fuck, she sure knows how to move her hips.

Also I may or may not installed cameras in her house a few weeks after she became my newly found obsession but atleast I can keep an eye on her and protect my girl from any danger coming her way she may not know of. No one touches what’s mine.

Shes preparing breakfast, doing something normal in this moment and still manages to look even more gorgeous each time.

I sit back in my chair at my house, watching her from all different angles on numerous monitors on my wall from the cameras I have scarretered all over her house in those small and invisible spots she would never think to check.

A laptop is dismissently sitting on my lap with the dark web opened and the newly leaked video loading, I'm checking if the new victim isn't her missing sister by any chance and to hopefully track down the location of their new stay. I've been trying to catch those fuckers for some time now with my team and we've been close in the past but never close enough.

I'm moving my gaze from a goddess dancing in her kitchen to a gory, disgusting video of various of tortureous acts being preformend on children, why do I do this you may ask? I don't know it just sucked me into the dark layers of the world and once you go in, you can't get out.

| - 🍂 - |

10:25 AM

She’s already ate breakfast, had a dance party and singing competition with the voices in her head. Finally she’s now resting on the couch of her living room writing in a journal-like notebook with her cat Willow sleeping in her lap.

That journal holds some of her darkest secrets and I’ve somehow managed to get my hands on it one night, reading thought the different things she’s been through and establishing her ex-boyfriend is a total asshole and didn’t deserve her.

If I could I would teach him a goddamn lesson for treating her like the way he did and when I first found out I was close to actually bashing that motherfucker head with a brick but I kept myself under control and decided to leave it alone.

🤍 - Rosalla’s POV

I was just journaling in my notebook, it’s always felt therapeutic to me and helped me to find my peace or to drain my constantly spiralling thoughts onto paper so I don’t have to bottle them up inside of me.

My cat Willow is snuggly cuddled up on my lap, peacefully sleeping. I wish I could be so carefree with no worries on my head like her, maybe if I was a cat I wouldn’t constantly be burying myself in my thoughts?

As I try to relax, placing the journal down next to me the memories of me and my missing sister together flood back into my mind, clouding any other thought I might have had in there.

A single small tear swirls in my eye and falls down onto the delicate fur of my cat as I pet her back, smiling at the funny and wholesome memories we had together as tears start to prick my eyes.

I wish she was here with me.

authors note: I didn’t know how to end this, kinda ended on a sad note but I finally finished it and fed you my children, there’s more backstory here to go indeep with the characters pasts. Hope I didn’t make you wait long and hope you enjoyed this!

Guestlist!

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Reblogs, likes are very much appreciated!

[kaivenom]

My favourite book came to life?

Summary: you went with your brother's to solve a case but when you get there you start to realize similarities with the murders and witnesses with your favourite book.

Pairing: Gabriel x Winchester!reader

Warnings: none, murder scenes? but not explicit written

Masterlist

Finally the ride ended, you loved your brothers but being on a car with them for eight hours was suffocating sometimes. You closed your favourite book, the ride let you read it once again.

You checked in on the motel and create your covers, this time you were a FBI rookie again, you are always the rookie because you are the younger.

You three spent all the morning asking witnesses and seeing the murder scenarios. Something about the settings was strange, more strange than a creature killing people , this procedure sounds familiar to you somehow.

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

Two days passed since you got on the town and two new murders occured. Officially the assasin it's someonw who read your favourite book.

"I tell you guys, maybe it's a normal serial killer who it's a nerd for this book."

"I think we should be here one more day to check the theory."

That afternoon you visited the new witness, she opened the door dressed like a character from the book and refused to be called by her real name.

"Officially it's a monster, she is completely brain-washed."

"How can we talk to her? Use your book knowledge."

After one hour you convinced her to speak to you about it, you told her you were the inspector from the book and she started to open up.

You said goodbye to the woman and left the house, before getting into the impala, your Dean picked some candy wrapping from the floor.

"Son of a bitch."

"It's the trickster."

"Who?" you repplied confused.

"It's someone we dealed with twice, he is a total pain in the ass," by his faced you could see that he is, "he can alter the reality and change his appareance, all of this it's his game."

"Maybe the only way to get out it's follow it, back there i was the inspectorfrom the book, and this morning the witnesses weren't brain washed, his game its escalating, we need to adapt."

"And for what porpuse?"

"Reveal the mistery and capture the assain." you said quoting the protagonist of the novel."

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

Your strategy worked, you advanced a lot on the case, you almost got him. It was raining outside but you needed to clear your mind, just like the inspector you think, so you got outside and leaning against the motel wall under a shelter from the rain.

You noticed someone with a coat and a black umbrella, just like the final witness of the book, the one who gives the final hint to get the killer.

He got to your side and hand you a letter, you couldn't recognize his face from the town but that doesn't matter. You run to your brothers to give them the information. The chart talked about the police officer and his name, just like the book.

You three went fast to the police man's house to get him in hopes that the game ends and find the trickster. The man was in fact in his house and you arrested him because he was human but no trace of the supernatural one.

"So, we were wrong?" Dean was starting to get frustated.

"No, the trickster it's on town, how else can the victims have that personalities..." while they continue to argue you realized somethin.

"Shut up, i think the letter it's an anagram."

Half and hour and you were going to the location on the chart, a storage outside the village. When you entered you found the man who gave you letter.

"It was you, you killed those people," you are not able to hide the rage of having been fooled by that man, creature.

"I didn't kill them, the officer killed them and i didn't care but then i read this book," he showed to you like it was a comercial, "and thought about taking the opportunity to try some new ideas."

"Disgusting."

"I made it obvious for your brothers to come but i didn't thought about you gorgeous," he started to get close to you, "how are you related to them?"

"Hey, relax with our sister, mate."

"But at first they where just settings, later they started to be characters, why?" you asked, trying to ignore your brothers's attack of protectivity.

"Because i saw you and i was intrigued. You read the book and you found the similiarities but you needed a little hint, i supposed you would love a litte roleplay."

"I like it, not the killing humans part but the yes."

"Are you guys really flirting at this moment?"

"Perhaps we can meet again some other time."

"If there are no murders yet."

"I will have that on mind." he smiled playfully and blew you a kiss from the air before snapping his fingers and dissapearing.

"Son of a bitch, he escaped again, if you weren't flirting with him..."Dean almost screamed at your ear.

"Sorry okay? i didn't know he can do that, you should thell me more about him the next time."

"Oh no, we are not going to talk about him, we don't want you to date him, seeing how you two were right there."

Sam only laughed a little behind you and you three made your way to the impala. When you sat on the backseat and oppened your book, there was a paper with some numbers, a phone number. Smart and pretty Trickster.

[physalian]

10 Plot Premises That Never Get Old

There’s a great many lists out there complaining about the worst and most overused tropes in fiction. I want to pass the mic to tropes that will never get old. The love-to-hate ones, the knife-twisting ones, the shipping fodder.

1. Killing the character who knew too much

Or, the “Maes Hughes” effect. Your story centers around a massive mystery or conspiracy and one lone character is unfortunately not genre-savvy enough to remember that the phrase “the early bird gets the worm” ends in “but the second mouse gets the cheese”.

This is the character who has unraveled the partial, if not entire truth, coming to a shocking realization moments before their untimely murder. Usually, they’re alone. Usually, this death rocks the remaining characters, sometimes for the entirety of the remaining plot (see FullMetal Alchemist). Usually, they become genre-savvy at exactly the moment they realize there’s no way out of this. Conveniently, they’re never on the phone with the right person, or there’s never any cell service. They didn’t write their findings down or didn’t hit record.

This whole entire tragedy is only a tragedy because this character made the wrong choice that is also the only choice this character would have made.

2. The enemy of my enemy

As OSP once said, anyone can be a minion, even the presumed Big Bad. Whether it’s a serialized cartoon with well established sides of good and bad or a single movie, having two entities that loathe each other reluctantly and bitterly join forces to deal with an even Bigger Bad… that’s the good stuff.

Either the villain has been minion-ed, or the good guys and the bad guys’ enduring battle of morals is interrupted by a wild card third party that insults them both or threatens the world both sides are trying to save in their own ways.

This is *not* a redemption arc. This is the temporary alliance that usually terminates once the threat is dealt with (see: Transformers Prime, or ‘Marabounta’ from Code Lyoko). Extra points if they’re age-old rivals who fight better together than the hero does with the rest of their team. Extra extra points if they both realize this and firmly deny that it happens (and even more if the villain tries to exploit the hero with this fact later on).

3. The redemption arc

***Emphasis on the word ‘arc’*** The ones that span 56 out of 61 episodes (see: you know the show). The ones that cost the redeemer their ideals, the friends they thought they had on the wrong side, maybe a limb or two. The ones that start with a villain so convinced they’re right, only to slowly question everything they’ve come to know and, without shedding their entire personality, do the right thing and still survive the process.

This is not redemption equals death. This is not a half-assed heel turn at the very last second—that’s a button mash impulsive act for shock value. This is taking a character almost all of the heroes have given up on trying to save, someone they themselves have nearly written off, and deciding to try anyway. This is a character deciding to do the right thing even if it doesn’t ever redeem them at all. This is a character whose whole life ahead of them is spent doing better than what was done before, and we love them for it.

4. The haunted ashes of a fallen empire

This one is a bit more tricky to define but think Prometheus of the Alien franchise, or Xerxes from FMAB. These are characters in the present exploring the ruins of a civilization that never should have fallen, but did due to the Big Bad they either created or tried to imprison. This is those characters looking around at what used to be, and making history repeat itself whether they’re genre-savvy or not.

These are the glaring red sign posts telling the heroes to turn around every step further in *or else* and they do it anyway. Or, these are the heroes who know exactly what happened and in their own hubris, are convinced it won’t happen this time to them.

5. The Most Dangerous Game

The originator: An island owned by a big game hunter who has evolved into hunting humans. The trope: Powerful and/or incredibly skilled character in any other situation is trapped in the confines of a dwindling clock matched up against the very antithesis of who they are and what they represent, but who is also just like them.

I just love seeing characters who are normally incredibly competent and rarely fazed, tripped up by the horror of being hunted by someone just like them who lost their humanity. So many juicy existential questions arise, so much angst. Double points if the character has a firm no-kill policy or extremely picky morals and has to wager tossing them aside to survive.

6. Stranger in a strange land

Whether it’s a character in a foreign country trying to learn and respect the ways of the people who saved them (see: Last Samurai, or Avatar '09), or an alien who crash-landed on Earth and struggles to assimilate and not get caught by the government (see any PG 13 alien adventure movie), a time traveler to the past or the future (Outlander, Back to the Future), either drama or hilarity ensues, often with a heaping helping of socio-political commentary.

It gets kind of troublesome when the writer is a white guy taking all the wrong messages from throwing his white guy protagonist into a land of the ‘savages’ (see uhhhh all variations of Pocahontas). But then you have strange lands like Wonderland, or Narnia.

7. Magical Otherworlds

Speaking of Narnia and Wonderland—magical hidden otherworlds. They can be incredibly blandly executed sometimes, but some of our most cherished stories come from living vicariously through Harry Potter or the Pevensie siblings. In this case I’m specifically talking about complete otherworlds, not hidden-in-plain-sight otherworlds (see: Percy Jackson) because of the complete freedom and creativity you have in geography, history, and world mechanics.

The possibilities are endless! Double points if the otherworld is a metaphor for childhood adventure and living without adult responsibilities (see: Peter Pan), a world in which we know, no matter how cool the world is, the protagonist was never meant to stay there. They must always inevitably, inexorably, return home and take what they’ve learned there to live a better and profound life.

8. “I know you’re in there somewhere”

Is it done to death? Yes. Is every situation different because it’s completely dependent on the relationship between the characters involved? Also yes. Tends to overlap with a redemption arc, but more often a hero-turned-temporary-villain. The drama! The angst! The shipping fodder! (see: many, many anime, too many to count)

This trope also has some uncertainty to it. You never know if the confrontation will be a success, if the character in question will commit some heinous act to wrack them with guilt later, if they even want to be saved, or if they really were saved and not just faking it. Either we get a POV of the stricken character’s battle in the mind or are left watching on the edge of our seat as unknowing as those trying to save them, and sometimes, rarely, they’re just not salvageable.

9. On the Run

The base has been discovered, the ship has been overrun, the house has burned down, the government is on the hunt. The hero team is forced apart with only the clothes on their back and what they can carry with only one or two others and loses all contact with most of their team, scattered to the wind. They leave a trail of sketchy motel rooms and diner take-away boxes, or they sleep in their car, or are forced to hide out in old bases that the villain definitely knows about but wouldn’t bother checking, built in a bygone era with a friend that’s no more.

Everything they ever knew has been called into question. The character they find themselves stuck with wasn’t their closest buddy on the hero team, but both forge a newfound respect for each other in this new unknown. Poignant conversations are had as one keeps watch in the dark so the other can sleep, and yet doesn’t, as they mourn the passing of the life both knew and vow to take it all back in their darkest hour.

10. The Thing

As in, a mysterious entity or illness has invaded the story and knowing which characters are infected and compromised is impossible. This entity either bodysnatches other characters and can be expunged, zombifies them, or kills and replicates them (see many zombie shows, iterations of The Thing, or “Croatoan” from Supernatural). This entity is a sickness slowly spreading throughout the town or the base or the ship and the heroes (or villains) realize far too late that something is very, very wrong.

This entity brings characters to their breaking point, paranoia making them do very bad things in the name of survival, killing off characters the audience knows is clean, but their murderer doesn’t, for extra knife-twisty fun. This entity brings a morally devout character near to ruin as they almost cross a line trying to do what’s right. This is an entity where, even when it’s defeated, is never really gone for certain… is it?

[miss-madness67]

Your Valentine (Dean)

This is how Dean Winchester shows you that he loves you.

To say that Dean Winchester is the love of your life is an understatement. You met him on a hunt a few years ago. At first, things didn’t hit off between you. It was an eventual romance that you never saw coming. Now, you’ve been together for more than a year. You are very happy in your relationship. Thus, the reason you aren’t answering his calls has nothing to do with the fact that you’re mad at him. Not at all. You want to talk to him, just not right now.

The last hunt was hard. You and the brothers were up against some demons. They were threatening the safety of a family, and you had to save them. During the hunt, that was all you could think about. One of your flaws, if you could call it that, it’s that you took very seriously your role as a hunter when it came to saving people. It always took you down when you couldn’t save someone. And sadly, that happened often. Today, it had been the youngest daughter of the family who you couldn’t save. Normally, you would need a hot shower and a warm meal to bring you back. It didn’t work this time. You had spent some time with the little girl before she was murdered. You liked her. 

After the hunt was done, and you got to the bunker, you took the Impala and ran off. You drove for a few miles until you stopped by a greenery cliff. You’ve never been here before, but the sight makes you wish you had. Your phone has been ringing with Dean and Sam’s calls ever since. Well, mostly Dean. You briefly wonder if he’s angrier that you left or that you left with his car. As if hearing your thoughts, your cellphone vibrates. On the caller’s ID reads Dean. Along with it, the picture that you chose for him stares back at you. Eyes light green and mischievous smile. Maybe you should answer, you’ve been MIA for a few hours. You don’t want them to get worried.

You’ve barely clicked on the green button when he starts talking. “Hey, where are you? Why don’t you pick up?” Under normal circumstances, you would’ve told Dean to back off. But it was you who left without a word after a dangerous hunt.

“Calm down, I’m ok,” you respond. “I just needed some air.”

“I’m sorry, you had me worried,” Dean murmurs.

You sigh, “I’m sorry.” For a moment, no one says anything. You can feel that Dean wants to add something, yet he knows better than to talk to you about the people you lose. For you, it works better to acknowledge it and move on. Alone. You don’t like talking about it, you know you can’t save everyone. “I’ll return the Impala, sorry I didn’t ask.”

“Don’t worry, honey. Take your time.” Take your time? With his car? He must’ve been really worried.

“What is it, then?”

You know him too well. “Well, it just that… we had that reservation tonight. I was just wondering, do you still want to go? It’s ok if you don’t.”

Fuck, you completely forgot. You were going out with Dean after the hunt. Of course, you were, it’s Valentine’s! “Shit, I’m sorry -again-, with the hunt, I-”

“I know. As I said, I understand if you don’t want to go anymore. Why don’t we eat here instead?”

You really want to go out with Dean. It’s not every day that you get to do that with the life you have. “No, I’ll be there in fifteen. Then just give me half an hour to get ready.” Before he can answer, you hang up.

On the way back to the bunker, you try to go back to being yourself. You try to forget about the little girl. For the most part, you can, though she still lingers in the back of your mind. Just like the rest of the people you couldn’t save. As soon as you park, you head to your bedroom to get ready. The restaurant where you made the reservation isn’t that fancy. Nevertheless, you cannot show in jeans and flannel. You hope Dean has the decency to change too. You put on a nice purple dress and high heels. Furthermore, you do a quick make-up and decide to just brush your hair. If you had more time, maybe you could’ve done something prettier, but you’re running late. It’s been 40 of the 30 minutes you asked Dean. He’s used to you being a little late, but that doesn’t mean you have to make him wait too long.

“Hey, sorry that took me a bit. I’m ready. Are you…?” The question gets stuck in your throat once you look up.

There, in a nice suit, Dean Winchester awaits you. His clothes are cleaned and ironed, this is definitely not one of the suits he wears when he pretends to be FBI. Did he buy it for this date? His hair is styled back charmingly. The beard that he has been growing for a few days is well-groomed. You remember telling him you liked seeing him with a beard. Truth is, it turns you on. If he noticed your awestruck expression, he doesn’t mention it. Maybe because he’s too busy looking you up and down. His smile becomes appreciative.

He walks towards you and embraces you in his arms. “Well, I wouldn’t mind skipping to dessert.” You roll your eyes but smile nonetheless. That’s one of the things you love about him. He makes you forget all of your worries. “Are you sure you’re up for it?”

You peck his lips briefly. “I've been dreaming about this date for months. We rarely go out,” you look at him firmly, “we're doing this”.

“Alright, let’s go then.”

The restaurant where you go is not so far away from the bunker, so you make it in time before they give someone else the spot. Once settle, you order and wait for your dishes. In the meanwhile, Dean puts all of his efforts into making you forget about the hunt. Mostly, he succeeds.

“I really think Sammy is having a thing with that bartender,” he’s saying, “you saw the look he gave her the other day.” He’s referring to a pretty girl that works at a nearby bar. You’re certain Sam is not having a thing with her because she’s told you she’s lesbian.

“I don’t know, Dean. Sam doesn’t really seem like her type.” He gives you a puzzled look, “if she were, she wouldn’t have flirted with me the other day and told me that she likes girls.”

Now he’s just surprised. “You’ve never told me she hit on you.”

You shrug, “it wasn’t a big deal. She saw you kiss me after and back off.”

He thinks it over, “alright. But Sam definitely has someone, I bet you, when we get to the bunker tonight, he won’t be there.”

You laugh, “of course, he won’t. It’s Valentine’s, he wouldn’t want to be there with you being so loud.”

He pretends to be hurt. “Darlin’, if I remember correctly, it’s not me who’s the loud one.”

Shortly after, the waiter brings your food. A comfortable silence surrounds the table while you eat. Dean makes sure to tell you how beautiful you are every chance he gets. Moreover, he keeps the chat light and hunter-related free. Not only for the sake of whoever is listening, but also in favor of a peaceful, semi-normal date. Truth be told, you feel refreshed and a lot better. Maybe talking with Dean about losing people isn’t your thing, but being around him is.

You’re quite full when it’s time for dessert. Unsurprisingly, Dean orders pie. The pasty looks too good that you can’t help to steal some from his plate. He chastises you with an easy smile. Once it’s time for you to leave, he pays the bill and guides you to the Impala. He clearly is excited for what is to come, though he tries not to show it. It’s a no-brainer that Dean Winchester’s favorite part of Valentine’s is the sex.

Nevertheless, you have to hand it to him because he keeps his hands to himself during the car ride home. He kisses you briefly during a red light and that’s it. Dean Winchester is trying to be a patient good boy, maybe you’ll reward him for it.

“Sam?” Dean calls as soon as the bunker’s door closes behind you. When no one answers, he turns to you. “I told you he wouldn’t be here.”

You hum and take a step forward. If he’s not going to make the first move, then you will.

A/N: That is the PG13 part of the one-shot, if you wish to continue, click here.

[seresinhangmanjake]

It’s oh so quiet

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x reader

Summary: you are in a bad relationship, and you just want to be with Jake.

Warnings: angst (?), but fluffy end. cursing. cheating/unfaithfulness. poor relationship.

notes: its technically jake seresin x reader/bradley bradshaw x reader, but barely

Sorry i’ve been so awol. there has just been a lot going on

Words: 1668

-----

"Did you know the sheets pilled?"

There's an oblong table in your kitchen. Large. Out of place in the cramped space. He sits at one end, you at the other. The distance between you is enough to keep one another well out of reach, but you're used to it. With your hands in your lap, you stare at the outside of the flimsy newsprint in his grip that obscures most of his face. 

"What?" He asks, taking a sip of coffee. He doesn't bother to flick the corner of the page down to meet your eye. 

"The bedsheets,” you pick at your thumbnail, “they pilled. From the washer." Cheap things. So thin you can see the label of your mattress through the fabric. That they're not littered with holes is a miracle. “That’s why it feels like someone dumped a bucket of cracker crumbs in the bed.”

"Oh," he pauses, maintaining his full attention on the article. You know he didn’t bother to fully absorb your words before opening his mouth. His stupid mouth. "I hadn't noticed."

Of course not, you think. He sleeps soundly. Thoroughly. He sleeps like a cradled cat with a belly full of milk. Always waking perfectly rested; yesterday’s troubles as thick and potent in his mind as a cup of watered-down coffee is on his tongue. His side of the bed might as well be silky soft, smooth. You wouldn’t know. You haven’t spent much time there in a while. Meanwhile, your side is filled with little balls of hardened fabric that scrape their way into the uppermost layer of your skin. As irritating as kneeling on a pile of uncooked grits or chipped pieces of rock. 

You don’t sleep anymore. You can’t blame the sheets. You think of him. The other him. The him whose face is tattooed on the inside of your eyelids. Ever present. Following you with each blink—each attempt at rest. 

-

“Are you going to leave him?”

Your hand runs softly down the side of his face, skimming across the light blond scruff coating his jaw. “Is that what you want?”

He grabs your hand from his face. Kisses your palm. “You know it is.”

-

The man before you doesn’t speak—he reads. He doesn’t look up. You’re not there; not to him. The room is once again silent—silence in its rawest form. We have silent sex, you suddenly think. Well, had silent sex. You don’t touch him anymore and he doesn’t try to touch you. He knows better; knows you prefer those touches to come from another’s fingers; he just doesn’t know whose. He doesn’t ask. 

It’s so heavy, this silence. Thick. Hard to penetrate. It’s different here, in this space. Uncomfortable and achy and soon it will morph into pure pain—it always does. It makes you miss the noise. The days you used to fight. The screams and the curses and that time the walls shook when his fist pummeled through the plaster. Without the noise, this silence is a murderous little thing. It seeps into your pores, nestles under your skin, and slowly eats away at your insides until you feel ugly and rotten, like a festering wound. Something to be cut out and discarded. 

It’s not like that with him. With him, silence is easy; it’s peace. It turns your brain into cotton candy clouds. You’re free to not have to think. You’re free to breathe. You like breathing. It’s oddly pleasant. Even more so when you’re laying beside him while his fingers sift through the stands of your hair. 

-

“I love you,” he says. 

“I know—I love you, too.”

“Then when do I get to clear out half of my closet?”

You raise a brow. “Get to?”

He only smiles and tugs your body closer to his. “I want to have you here. I'm ready for you to be mine. Only mine."

-

You are ready, too. So, so ready. Each moment of acting otherwise seems to age you. Like nature looks upon you every day, shaking its head in disappointment, and decides that if you’re going to waste your time being miserable when you could be happy, then you don’t get to keep your youth. You’re wasting it and you don’t deserve such a gift. 

You understand nature’s irritation. You hadn’t been too thrilled with yourself, either. But then last weekend happened. 

For the first time, you hadn't left his place to shuffle your way back to your apartment. You woke up in a bed other than your own and when you opened your eyes, you flipped over to be met with the peaceful face of the man you loved—asleep, and yet awake enough to subconsciously wrap his arm tighter around your waist and nuzzle his face into your hair. You knew in a half-second that that was where you belonged. With him. In his arms, his bed, his heart. Your life is meant to be by his side. It's just a matter of speaking it aloud to more than yourself. 

Your eyes penetrate through the paper. You can practically see his face; emotionless, dull, the entirety of him unmoved by your presence. 

“It’s Jake,” you finally say, your voice powerful, slicing through the air. You take a breath. "It's been Jake."

He still doesn’t move. Doesn’t say anything. You start to think you’ve reached a whole new level of insignificance to him. But then he folds the newspaper and lays it flat atop the table. He looks up at you—stares straight into your soul.

“It was that girl from the bar,” he says. 

It doesn’t hurt. Not one bit. You don’t feel anything in your body at the thought of his limbs entangled with another woman's. Your heart doesn’t crack, your head doesn’t ache, your fingers don’t tremble. It’s nothingness. There’s nothing.

You only nod in response, but truthfully you don’t know which girl he is talking about. There were many options. Women fling themselves at him whenever you go out, and he lets them. His voice is a beacon from the moment he sits himself down on that piano bench. A beacon to all women but you. With his eyes on them, yours are always on Jake, standing on the other side of the bar, his hand outstretched for you to take and sneak off somewhere more private. 

He shakes his head as he crosses his arms and fully leans back in the chair. His snort is a puff of air. “He’s always talking about you,” he says. “Drags your name into every damn conversation.”

You hold back the smile his words beg to spread across your face. But his own meaning is clear. I should’ve known. It was so obvious. It was right in front of me the whole time. 

You agree. It was right there, in plain sight, from the moment it started. He just never cared enough to bother seeing. Neither did you care to notice how easily he fell into arms that were not your own.

“No one else to pick but my teammate?” he asks.

You shrug. “Why did you pick the girl you did?”

“She was there and she wanted me.” 

"Jake was there and he wanted me," you say. “And I fell in love with him.” To say the least. Jake Seresin hit you like an avalanche; showing you all the things you didn't know you could have. All the things that completely and simultaneously swell your heart and set your body aflame.

"Well." Fingers run through his brown locks. “Are you leaving or am I?”

“I am. At the end of the week.”

He scoffs, but there’s a hint of a dry laugh buried beneath it. “All planned out and everything, huh?”

You can practically taste the bitterness on his tongue. You know it all too well from past kisses. It's his pride this time, though, that has been damaged. You feel an ounce of regret for that. Hurting him is not your intention. It never was. But anything he feels now is not a wound to the heart. It's been quite some time since you could have had that power.

“When was the last time we were good for one another, Bradley? When was the last time you looked at me and could truly say you loved me?”

He's quiet, yet again. This time appearing to think on your question. Perhaps he believes it's for your benefit to not seem so terribly obvious in already knowing the answer. But he’s not alone. You've both known the answer for far too long. 

“I don’t know," he says. 

You nod. "Neither do I.”

—-

He's leaning against the back of his truck; muscled body clad in jeans and a black t-shirt, the short sleeves straining from the thickness of his biceps. He hasn't noticed you yet and you let yourself stare at him—taking him in, absorbing him the way his skin absorbs the summer sun. 

Then you smile wide and run to him from the entrance of your apartment building. He notices you just in time to catch you in his arms, spinning you around once before setting you on your feet. 

"Hi," you say. 

He shakes his head with a smile that mirrors your own, and then he kisses you. A soft press of his lips to yours, but it's enough to burst tingles throughout your body, reaching down to your toes and to the tips of your fingers that are weaving into the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Hi, baby," he whispers between the narrow space separating your lips when you break the kiss. "I missed you."

A chuckle escapes your mouth as he sighs and rests his forehead against yours. His arms tighten around you, as if holding you loosely would give you the freedom to evaporate from his grasp. But you never will. Not by your own choice. "I don't think you'll be saying that for a while, Jake."

"Good." He gives you another long kiss. "Let's go get your stuff."

-----

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[nayadoesstuff]

my azula/zuko role swap

I spent a lot of time thinking about *why* Azula would be banished. she's the typical golden child, the prodigy. so why would Ozai give that up? I read everyone's suggestions, had a good think and I think I've finally got it. Something we need to remember, is Azula isn't like Zuko. she isn't Zuko, so i highly doubt she'd be punished for speaking out of turn - because she probably wouldn't speak out of turn in the first place. I did see the idea of someone saying Azula *accidentally* murdered Ursa (or so she thought) and I really liked it. I wanted to be more original, so I did tweak the story - but credits go to @oscar-meir Everything up to the meeting with Fire Lord Azulon is the same. Azula believes her mother fears her, that she loves Zuko more, etc. However, this is where things change. You see, Azulon ordered Ozai to kill Zuko, and Ozai was going to do it. Azula overhears, and decides to interfere. Despite everything, Zuko is her brother, even if she resents him. She attempts to defend him, and steps between Ozai and Zuko (metaphorically, Zuko isn't present). A fight breaks out, and Azula is outmatched (obviously, she's like 7) but I feel like at that moment, she would've gotten blue fire. Ursa hears all of this, and comes to interfere. The next morning, half the palace is scorched, Azulon is dead, and Ursa is missing. This whole scenario is traumatic, and Azula mostly represses it. The official story is that she lost control of her power, and Azula has no reason to not believe it. She believes, deep down, she is a monster responsible for the death of her own mother. Ozai gets crowned, and the next few years are relatively similar to canon, with the exception of Zuko's agni kai. Ozai has seen Azula's power, so he pushes her into rigorous training. She's a prodigy, after all. Azula is mostly consumed by guilt - she's afraid of her power, deep down. She even begins seeing her mother. But she cannot lose her father's favour, so she continues to train hard. We can see her become mostly similar to canon - she's strong, powerful, intelligent, but that feeling that she's a monster keeps gnawing at her, keeping her from her full potential, and Ozai fears her, and wants to control her. He's desperate to fully weaponise Azula, so he tries his hardest to snuff out her weakness. He of course, fails. Azula is still mostly hesitant to achieve her full potential, which leaves Ozai frustrated. She begins to slip from her perfectionist personality, eventually becoming more of a scapegoat. In this scenario, lets say Ozai gives Azula a mission, and she fails. He declares she has lost her honour, and must fight an agni kai to regain it. Azula is afraid from the last clash with her father - she refuses to fight, and is punished. Ozai declares she is banished - she cannot return until she captures the avatar. It's the only way to regain her honour. He orders Iroh to accompany her, so he is out of the way. Iroh doesn't want to go with Azula, but he can't refuse an order from the firelord, so reluctantly goes. I don't see Iroh doing much to help Azula though. from what we know, he doesn't like her, and she never had much respect for him. Azula is desperate to regain her father's favour. This, however leaves Zuko alone with Ozai. considering Zuko is now Ozai's only option for an heir, he does his best to shape Zuko into a tool, similar to Azula in canon. Zuko is constantly reminded he is the future of the fire nation, the only option for firelord. this is constantly drilled into Zuko's head, allowing his negative traits to flourish. he could become angrier, crueler, as a result of the way he feels - a replacement for Azula, and his father's only option. I believe he'd try to control people with fear and violence, just like Azula in canon.

[bullet-prooflove]

Coy: Dean Archer x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @helsinkibaby @hufflepuffgirl @mimi-8793

Releasing early as a birthday gift to my babe @mandy426

Dean found out his wife was cheating on him when he discovered he had syphilis during a routine medical check. He tells you that after you've been trapped in an elevator together for over three hours. He’d exhausted all of the small talk options after the first two so now the you’re digging into the real stuff, the stuff you don’t even tell your best friend because you’re terrified they’ll murder someone on your behalf.

You’d already disclosed how you found your husband fucking another woman on a sheepskin rug in the cabin you owned together. So it was his turn and well that’s apparently that’s the secret he chose to disclose.

“It’s gone now though right?” You say gesturing towards the lower half of his scrubs and he gives you an offended look. “You’re not just walking around sowing your wild oats…”

“One, that would be horribly irresponsible if I didn’t get treated and secondly I do not ‘sow my wild oats’.” He says making bunny ears with his fingers.

“I just assumed, an intelligent, attractive man like yourself would have a busy social calendar.” You say, tucking a stray strand of hair back behind your ear.

“Yea, Netflix and medical journals.” He responds before backtracking. “Wait you think I’m attractive?”

“Dean, don’t be coy.” You say, kicking him lightly in the knee with your shoe.

“I’m not.” He tells you, his cheeks colouring as he tilts his head back towards the ceiling and closes his eyes. “I can’t remember the last time someone told me they found me attractive. It’s usually grumpy, egotistical…”

He laughs before he tips his head towards you, his eyes meeting yours.

“I’m not selling myself am I?”

“Do you feel like you need to?” You ask him and he frowns before he shakes his head.

“No I…” He trails off before he looks at you a little differently. “I’ve never felt like that with you, it doesn’t feel like trying. Hell I’ve just told you I’ve had syphilis so I think we can discern I feel pretty damn comfortable around you.”

“Yea.” You say with a sigh, tucking your hands into your pockets. “Comfortable.”

“I’ve said something wrong.” He says quietly. “I didn’t mean…”

“No.” You say softly, shrugging your shoulders. “It’s just, I’m not the girl that gets the guy. I’m the weird one that cuts up bodies in the morgue.”

“You do a valuable job, we learn things from that, people get closure.” You give him a look and he realises he’s doing it again, saying the wrong thing. “I’m not explaining myself well.”

“No you are.” You say with a smile that doesn’t meet your eyes. “I understand perfectly.”

Silence falls between the two of you and now it’s his turn to sigh because he’s never been good at communicating, not when it comes to the important stuff. Up until three hours ago you were just a colleague, the woman he had a thing for. And now…

“I’ve always thought you were beautiful.” He tells you because you took a risk and now it’s his turn. “And it has been intimidating actually, because you’re also smart and funny. The perfect package.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

He can tell you don’t believe him, why would you? You’re ex-husband spent years lying to about his affairs. He knows how that feels, how it erodes at your self-worth. He also knows that sometimes actions speak louder than words.  

“I mean it.” He tells you, his fingertips tilting up your chin so that he can look into your eyes. “I never thought I had a shot with you.”

“We’re idiots aren’t we?” You say softly as his thumb traces over the apple of your cheek.

“We are trapped in an elevator.” He agrees, his nose trailing along the length of yours. “And I’m terrified what other secrets I may end up spilling if we stay in here any longer.”

“You wanna do something other than talk?” You ask him and he smiles against the corner of your mouth.

“Yea.” He whispers, his lips brushing over yours. “I think I would.”

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[lulublack90]

Prompt 21 - Attack

@jegulus-microfic February 21 Word count 962

Previous part First part

Regulus returned to the library to finish his book. It was gruesome, but he couldn’t leave it half-finished. He flipped the page to the next chapter and paused. Horcrux. The title read. He remembered seeing something mentioned about them before. They were a particular branch of dark magic that split the soul if the wizard committed a murder, allowing the killer to place a shard of their soul into an object. 

There wasn’t much on them in this text, so he spent the next few days pouring through multiple tombs, checking references and extracts. 

Finally, he found what he was searching for. The page lay open before him, the only illustration he’d ever seen depicting a wizard who had split his soul. The wizard’s skin had an odd, lifeless quality to it. His eyes glinted red, and his hairline had clearly receded. This was it. This was what he’d been missing.

He felt heat radiate from his pocket. He pulled himself away to answer James’s call. He flicked the mirror open and revealed James’s stressed face. 

“There’s been an attack.” James started speaking immediately. He didn’t even say hello. "It’s Sirius. He’s in a bad way. They took Remus.” Regulus felt the air bleed out of him as he struggled to control his emotions. “He’s going to be fine.” James carried on. “He hasn’t let Remus out of his sight, sticking close to him. We warned him he’d get hurt, but he’s stubborn.”

“Can I see him?” Regulus’s cracked voice whispered. James’s eyes filled with pity. 

“I don’t think they’ll allow that, love. He’s in a safe house. They won’t even let me go without prior consent.”

The wards around Grimmauld Place reacted to someone trying to get in. He could feel the magic tugging at him. 

“I have to go, James. Someones here. Tell—tell Sirius—tell him I’m sorry.” 

“I will. Stay safe, Reg.” Regulus quickly shut the mirror and stuffed it into the secret pocket in his robes.

When he opened the door, he was surprised to see Evan and Barty standing there. 

“Fucking finally!” Barty grumbled. “I’m freezing my bollocks off here!” Regulus didn’t respond just let the door swing open more and stepped back to allow them to enter. He didn’t say anything until they were securely in the house.

“Why are you here?” He asked, his eyes narrowing. 

“Aww, aren’t you happy to see us? Evan, I don’t think he loves us any more, now that pretty boy’s back in his life.” Regulus turned his attention to Evan and raised an eyebrow. 

“We’ve come to drop off the new information we’ve collected. We thought it would be better in person rather than sending it via owl.” Regulus nodded.

“Yes, you’re right. Voldemort placed charms around the house, preventing owls and patronuses from entering. I doubt he’s removed them. It’s definitely safer to be here in person. Shall we go up to the library?

He listened to them relay the information they’d gathered. He wrote everything down in the notebook. Once they were done, he spelled it so the writing disappeared.

Evan and Barty settled in. They’d have to be here for a few hours to avoid suspicion. Regulus had a question that had been niggling at the back of his mind since the last time he’d seen them. 

“So,” He started, “Lily Evans?” He didn’t need to say more. Evan and Barty had gone pale and glanced uneasily at each other. 

“What about her?” Evan cleared his throat nervously.

“I saw her sneaking into Pandora’s room as I left the other night. How long has that been going on?”

“Erm,” Evan looked at Barty again as they silently decided how much to tell him. “Since school. They had to keep it secret for obvious reasons.” Regulus nodded. He was well aware of the implications of a Slytherin and a Gryffindor dating with the way things had been and still were. He left it at that. Perhaps he’d ask more from Pandora the next time he saw her.

He pulled his book towards him and turned it towards Evan and Barty. 

“I’ve been glancing through a few of the texts in here over the last week. I found something interesting. Please have a look at this and tell me what you think. Does it remind you of anyone?       

Barty and Evan peered at the yellowed pages and the faded illustration. 

“Yeah, looks like ole mouldy Voldy. Barty cackled, looking at Regulus for his reaction.  

“That’s actually pretty accurate.” Regulus laughed under his breath. “These are the effects on the body after creating three Horcruxes.” 

“Shit, you don’t think?” Evan gasped. Barty was uncharacteristically quiet and paler than usual once the information sunk in. 

“So—So you’re saying that if he has created Horcruxes. Then he’s made more than three? That’s a lot, right? I mean, he looks insane. It’s way more than three.” Barty was tapping his fingers against his jiggling leg. Regulus nodded. 

“I think we found the missing piece as to why he’s so far been unstoppable. He is by all rights immortal.”

“So, what do we do about it? Pretend we never started helping the Order and just slink back into the fold?” The fear was evident in Barty’s whole demeanour. Evan put a reassuring hand on his shoulder as he quietly looked to Regulus for his answer. 

“No, we continue listening and gathering information. If he’s created Horcruxes, he has to be hiding them somewhere. Someone must know where they are and what they are.” He straightened his back more than it already was, his resolve firmly in place. “We will be careful, act as we normally do. Carry out orders as we usually would, and at the same time, we start searching.”   

Next part

[gay-nidoking]

goofing aside, i love the shadow of the erdtree story, and ending

like, we did get some lore on marika that gave us more insight into her past and her motivations, but also confirming that hey! she kind of sucked! no matter how fucked up your backstory is, a crusade that results in thousands being murdered is never justified (which I feel like the dlc actually addresses!! With Messmer's armor lore stating that he wanted people to have someone besides Marika to project their disgust and anger onto) I think that maybe the assumption I had that we were seeing Marika in the trailer, and thus we would get more lore on her ascension, was wrong. I think it was supposed to be Miquella in the trailer, and we were seeing what he was doing

And the parallels that were drawn between Marika and Miquella were so fascinating. Like Marika is beloved, but she did some fucked up stuff. Miquella is beloved (though does anyone really have a choice in the matter), and is doing some fucked up shit. I found following in Miquella's footsteps and also seeing Marika's shadow was such a good experience.

This is, apparently, a massively divisive opinion, but holy shit the Radahn/Mohg shit was so so so good. First of all...the boss was very good (maybe not from an actual gameplay experience perspective, because fromsoft bosses feel like trying to shove a lightbulb into a very small hole), and the cutscene was amazing, the dialogue was amazing, and I thought the implications were amazing. Maybe it's the Frankenstein fan in me, but the fucked up "shove my dead half-brother's soul in my other dead half-brother's body so we can get married" thing was so delightful. We stan a fucked up king.

Like...the implications of how Miquella views other people, and how far he is willing to go for his goals. All of Marika's children know firsthand how fucked up life can be when you are born in the service of the Golden Order/the Greater Will, and not a single one of them has a normal view of intimacy, of godhood, of power. And Miquella is obviously no exception, and I love it.

I do like to ponder if the "eternal childhood" was contributing to the way he seems to view people as tools or toys, almost. He spent so long as a child and being loved unconditionally (against the other person's will, a lot of the time), and how does that skew your view of other people and what they owe to you? And when your family is...well, the family that Miquella has, I can't imagine those issues not being compounded into complexes

Also, this game (and pretty much every other fromsoft game) and this dlc specifically hammer in again and again that this kind of rise to power will always be built on the backs of other people, and seeing how depraved everyone is willing to get in order to achieve that ultimate power....it's so tasty

[tethys-the-aquatic-sea-godness]

Perhaps Viconia and Sarevok are changelings 🥲

I'd take any explanation that fixes the shitshow that are these two quests, major quests mind you, not side quests you can ignore. It'd be funny if they were changelings, because they'd be pretty lousy ones. Or rather a lousy one, and one who doesn't have to do much work (warning: I started ranting)

I mean, for reminder, this is viconia:

And this is... a drow:

Skintone: wrong

Age: they were drunk or they didn't try, possibly both. Viconia is a drow, a full elf, meaning +700 years of life expectancy, and they made her look as old as Jaheira, a half-elf. A 100 years should be nothing to her, she should look basically the same.

Distinctive marks: her beauty mark above her lip on the left side of her face isn't there. It's like Jaheira's braids or Minsc's tatoo, it sets her apart. Without it, it's not her.

As for Sarevok, well, with his armour and his helmet, you see like 1/4 of his face, you could put anyone in there, and slap face paint on. So not too much work for a changeling.

But if it makes you feel any better, you can actually get in game clues that hint neither of those characters are who they claim to be. These hints are never remarked upon or pointed out by any characters, you have to find them and take the time to read them.

This, for example, is the description of the drow's dress (also BG 3 has a problem with treating its clerics like anime healers. This is DnD, clerics wear mail or plate, unless they multiclass with wizard, but I digress):

Dulls senses, thoughts, feelings... sounds like a good dress for brainwashing, not having an efficient cleric. It's not hard to imagine Shar being salty enough that Viconia left her cult that she picked another of her drow cleric to take Viconia's identity. Keep her 'working' for her in spirit as payback. One of Shar's whole thing is about forgetting all, including yourself. Switching her followers' identity to suit her whims wouldn't be out of place. I could see a 'Shadowheart' mother superior in the future, with little in common with her template beside being a half-elf. Shar is the type to hold grudges. Ask Selûne.

Now Sarevok comes with a failsafe too. Let's ignore's Jaheira's delirious episode where she spouts absolute nonsense that has no basis in either BG 1 or 2. She's not that young anymore, she's spent time in the shadowlands and she has kids to look after, she's under a lot of stress. We'll call it a breakdown.

If you dig around for loot, you can come across this book: Disorders of the Nerves and Mind: A Treatise

Here you read about how a totally random guy started calling himself 'Sarevok' and talking about 'raising the father', after finding (and reading?) a strange book.

If you remember the previous games, you may recall a dream sequence in SoA:

Bhaal is perfectly capable of using Sarevok's appearance for his avatar. If you add to that the fact that before he was killed by Cyric, he was already too weak to have his own form and only existed through possessing the bodies of murderers, well, it's not hard to imagine Bhaal using a random murderer's body and passing it off as Sarevok. He's the first Bhaalspawn who rebelled and tried to usurp him, you can't tell me Bhaal isn't salty about that.

Now obviously, this is me drawing conclusions from scraps found within the game. I don't think it's a 'fix-it', or that it makes Sarevok and Viconia's butchered characterization alright. Especially since these scraps don't mean anything in the narration. I've said it before, but they read like room for deniability, they feel too specific not to be. Like someone knew it was trash and they tried to patchwork an exit. But like I said, without relevance to the narrative, it's meaningless.

Regardless of any explanation, as far as I'm concerned, neither of the people we encounter are the real Sarevok, or the real Viconia.

[neongreenllama]

Prompt: Lazy

Cowboy Remus Agenda?

@wolfstarmicrofic - 630 words

“Are you gonna tell me where you’re taking me or will you just murder me in stoic silence once we get there?”

They were riding their horses along the edge of the field where the herd was peacefully grazing in the afternoon.

He didn’t respond, which he knew was driving Sirius mad.

“Ah well,” Sirius sighed heavily and continued in an exaggerated Southern accent and an air of ancient wisdom which were most definitely not his own, “You know what I always say. No hour of life is wasted that is spent in the saddle.”

Remus fought off a smile and remained silent. Sirius’ pony was the most docile one Remus had ever seen in his life, but despite the fact that Trigger literally did not care where he was going or what was happening to him, ever, Remus still had him tied to the horn of his own saddle. Just in case he decided to buck or run away for the first time in his life.

Because Sirius could not ride a horse to save his life, nor had he ever sat in a saddle until a few weeks ago.

They continued along the fence for a few more minutes until they’d left the cows and the farmhouse far behind them, when Remus stopped their horses and dismounted.

“This is where you’re taking me? A field? Why that’s so refreshing after all that field we’ve been through. You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

He turned to hold Trigger still by the halter so Sirius could get down as well, not that the gelding would ever move on his own volition. Sirius did, and not ungracefully for someone who’d lived his whole life in the city, and Remus tied both their horses to one of the nearby trees.

“I thought we were gonna do some cool cowboy stuff,” Sirius pouted, not helping him at all.

“We are,” Remus just said and laid down in the shadow of another tree, tipping his head forward as he leant against the trunk. He crossed his ankles and folded his hands over his stomach.

“You’re taking a nap,” Sirius pointed out from where he was standing.

“Exactly.” He closed his eyes.

“We should get back on them horses and round up them damn cows down yonder. Yeehaw,” he said in that accent again, adding that ‘yeehaw’ in a pointedly monotone voice, still not making a move to join Remus.

“I don’t sound like that,” Remus halfheartedly defended himself from under the brim of his hat, but trying hard to hold back his laughter at the ridiculous nonsense Sirius was saying.

“I don’t sound like that,” Sirius imitated him promptly, laying it on way too thick in Remus’ opinion.

“Just shut up and c’mere,” he murmured and moved from his comfortable position to grab Sirius’ jeans around his ankle and pull.

The other man finally complied, and Remus managed to pull him down half on top of him, losing Sirius’ hat in the process.

“So this is what you cowboys do all day? Nap?”

“Mhh.”

“Mhh.” He removed Remus’ hat to kiss him on the lips. “I think I might be warming up to it.”

Remus pulled him back in for another one.

For the rest of the afternoon they laid lazily in the shadow of the tree, drifting off to sleep in between kisses and watching the horses graze, enjoying the slight breeze in the heat of the afternoon.

The view from the farmhouse was obstructed by the steep of the hill and the trees, and no one was around to tell them what they could and couldn’t do. The horses didn’t mind, and neither did the cows that slowly wandered to this side of the field for fresher grass.