#To have remnant affection for this series is to suffer. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

silkscream · 5 months

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CHAPTER 10: WORKING FOR THE KNIFE

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader

He’d like to eat you. Curse of a girl. Could be the prettiest of his repertoire, he thinks. He remembers the shock on your face when you killed that curse in the forest — while something horrible rooted itself inside you, sheer terror from the rot you were capable of, disgust with yourself — his face was warm with affection. Or something twisted like that.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: explicit content (18+ mdni) , unprotected sex, oral sex, fingering, impact play, alcohol, mentions of mild violence

ੈ✩ wc: 5.4k

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

February, 2010

The winter months had never been kind to Suguru. It was ironic, being born in February—he thought that he eventually wouldn’t mind the cold, because at least his birthday fell after all the important holidays. Shoko’s birthday, Satoru’s birthday, Christmas, New Year’s.

He didn’t care for his birthday the way that Satoru did. It was another day, always. Wake up, work, exorcise, swallow, sleep, repeat. He’s built for work and routine—broad shoulders, strong hands, tough mouth. Thick-skinned enough to handle swallowing the tragedies and sufferings of human nature. Satoru used to joke about him being akin to a Grim Reaper, swallowing hell’s leftovers instead of leading them to the underworld.

Both of them, myths as boys. One cursed with being impenetrable, and the other cursed with having to absorb everything.

Suguru had started kissing Satoru as a teenager to get the taste of curses out of his mouth. Now he had you as a palate cleanser too. He liked that you always tasted sweet to him, no matter what. He doesn’t kiss you like Satoru, who is always a little overeager, desperate to devour. Suguru kisses you slowly, savoring it until you realize that you’re the one begging. You’d gotten to his head like a drip of paint spreading through water—slow but absolute. Gradually feverish like Oxycontin releasing in the bloodstream.

He can’t sleep. His cock is throbbing, thinking of you. Thinking of Satoru in your mouth.

He had ignored everyone’s requests to have an impromptu party like last year—he didn’t need to count down the exact minute he got a year older, didn’t care for the exact strike of midnight. But now, it’s his birthday, and it’s two in the morning, and he’s half-hard and frustrated while thinking about you. Pathetically so.

He’s never needy. Not the way Satoru is. But all the curses he’d swallowed on his mission today made him feel like he was fucking dying. He thought he’d gotten control of it, being able to mask the putrid taste with your mouth, with food. He’d spent half an hour over the toilet bowl before bed, his tongue tasting like vomit and sea salt.

You would never taste it on him—he would ask in between making out. To you, he tasted like cigarettes and ginger candy. The kind he started sucking on so he wouldn’t get so sick from the curses, the kind that he’d steal from the konbini because Satoru liked them.

Suguru isn’t usually this restless, let alone bothered by cottonmouth. Weed didn’t satiate him tonight. It helped his dick harden for sure, making his insides feel gooey and warm just at the thought of being touched, but usually, it was also enough to get him to sleep. Despite this, he stares at the ceiling in frustration. Craving touch like a predator, if intimacy could be synonymous with a collision.

It’s why he ends up in front of your room now—knocking, just barely. After no immediate response, he’s impatient.

Suguru rolls his eyes once he finds out your door is unlocked. You didn’t need to lock it since Satoru could warp, and he was more than positive that no one else was falling into your bed at night. Perhaps you left an invitation for him. Either that or you were naive and forgetful as could be. He’d have to tease you about it later.

He slips into your bed, hands smoothing over the bare skin of your stomach, the silvery roughness of your scar. Remnants of a dead man. Suguru cringes whenever he thinks about it —how he thought you were dead along with Satoru. It always made his mouth taste like bile again.

You stir with a hum, which surprises him. Ever since the incident, you became a heavy sleeper —it was all that alcohol that Shoko would slip you. Indulging in vices that only she would. It wasn’t that Suguru didn’t approve of this the way Satoru did, but he noticed that you would act more like him. Moody. Less likely to take Satoru’s shit.

Suguru stares at you, half-tempted to wake you with his mouth in between your thighs, but he doesn’t, not yet. He only curls a finger at the nape of your neck and strokes your hair from root to tip, following along the shell of your ear. You move again, lip twitching. It entices him more than it should.

He licks a strip from your collarbone to your jaw, and you keen into his touch immediately. Curling towards him as if he were the sun.

You blink awake slowly, a lazy smile spreading among your features as your eyes adjust to the dark.

“Birthday boy.”

“Baby girl.”

You pretend to gag and he laughs.

“What do you want?”

“My present,” he says roughly, pulling you closer by the hips. “Missed you.”

“You saw me earlier.”

“I know,” he mumbles. “God, I sound like Satoru, don’t I?”

The mention of his name makes your cheeks warm. Suguru notices it immediately.

“No one is as needy as Satoru,” you snort. “How’s it feel to be able to legally drink?”

He chuckles. As if that mattered when Shoko was getting contraband since they started at Jujutsu High.

“Great. I can finally pay for overpriced cocktails.”

“Wait, I have your present. It’s kind of corny.”

“Yeah?” he grins. “Let me have it.”

“Close your eyes.”

He sits up and crosses his legs, closing his eyes as if in meditation. Nervously, you pick his gift out of your drawer and place it in his lap. When he opens his eyes, he unwraps the tissue paper, messily wrapped and covered in stickers, and sees a scrapbook.

“My disposable film photos developed,” you mumble. “They’re probably not as good as yours, but I thought I’d make a scrapbook of… you know, everything.”

Suguru turns the pages carefully. There are relics from last summer, before everything had gone to shit. Polaroids of him and Satoru lounging lazily in the grass, Satoru always blurred because he was always moving. There are more intimate moments of you in his t-shirt and boxers, the flush of your cheeks suggesting he or Satoru had taken surprise snapshots of you in your post-sex haze.

His throat feels dry.

“Happy birthday, Suguru.”

He puts the book down and leans in to kiss you. It’s gentle, feather-light, giving you goosebumps in a way that makes you realize it’s been a while since you've been touched so delicately.

“I love it,” he murmurs into your ear. “Can I get my other gift now?”

“What do you– oof!”

You always underestimate how big he is, how easy it is for him to overpower you. He has you on your back in seconds, smiling as he runs his warm hands on the bare skin of your waist. You let out a low, satisfied hum when he squeezes your lower back slightly, massaging it with his fingers. Your face warms at the visible bulge in his sweatpants.

To your surprise, he parts your legs, pulling off your panties immediately, and lowers his head.

“Don’t you want me to–”

“Shh,” he whispers, shutting you up with a bite to your inner thigh. “Wanna eat you.”

You exhale as he rubs your clit in lazy circles. He doesn’t tongue you just yet—merely picking and prodding at your cunt with his fingers while he watches you squirm. He has much more patience than Satoru, intent on playing with you until you cry.

“Suguru,” you whine.

Before you can make another complaint, his mouth latches onto your clit, tongue swirling tenderly at the bundle of nerves while his fingers sink into your cunt. He lets out a short laugh as he watches you try to hold back a moan. You taste like you’ve been waiting for him.

“So fucking soaked,” he murmurs, half-mad at the sight of your glistening pussy. You make a small noise of protest when he pulls his face away. He moves towards you, resting his head on your pillow before forcibly pulling your thighs onto his abdomen.

“Can you not throw me around like I’m a ragdoll?”

“Sit on my face,” he demands, ignoring your comment.

“What?”

“C’mon. It’s my birthday,” he grins.

“O-Okay,” you whisper, crawling until you’re hovering over his face. You often felt mortified in this position, always feeling too exposed. You’d only sit on Satoru’s face when the two of you were drunk.

You yelp when Suguru pulls your thighs down to each side of his head, immediately sucking on your clit. You whimper as he laps at your bud, his hands grabbing your ass and squeezing the flesh. His tongue keeps up a constant pressure and rhythm. You have to resist the urge to ride his face, but he seems to be encouraging you with the way he kneads your ass.

“Take off your top,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. You oblige, stripping off your thin tank top.

He groans when he sees you exposed, your nipples perky as you run your hands across them. You lean into his mouth, your legs shaking from the way he’s sucking you, from the way his eyes widen like moons as he watches you from below.

“You look so good from here,” he slurs, cunt-drunk. His lips glisten pink even in the dark.

Your wet cunt throbs when you look down, seeing his black hair fan out like an angel underwater, eyes half-lidded in desperation. You can’t even react to his praises, your tongue numb and heavy in your mouth as he pushes his palms against your ass, encouraging you to grind on his face.

“Pull my hair,” he rasps.

Your pussy drools all over him, but he takes it all, lapping up every drop of your arousal as he moans. You pull his hair and it feels like silk in your hands.

It was all more sensitive from above, you didn’t know why. You could barely take it.

You cry out once his tongue rolls over your bud in a constant rhythm, his hand reaching into your cunt with fingers curled towards him. Your orgasm is overwhelming, has you clutching his hair so you don’t completely fall over. You groan at the overstimulation, on the verge of tears as Suguru clamps your thighs down against his shoulders so he can keep tasting you.

“T-too much!” you whimper.

He finally releases you, letting you lift your thigh to stumble onto your side. You whine again when he grabs you, forcing you to straddle him again. He groans as he lifts his hips. You feel him against your ass, his dick hard against it.

“You want me on top?”

“Yes,” he moans. He’s quick to pull off his sweatpants. You’ve never seen him like this — desperate, begging. The opposite of his usual calculated demeanor.

You hover over him, your cunt dripping. He wants to slam your thighs down with his hands, fill you to the brim himself, but he waits. Even after all this time, his size intimidates you. You touch yourself as you kiss his neck, reveling in the satisfied sounds he makes.

He pulls you onto him gently, playing with your clit before he coaxes himself into you. You moan at the same time—you wincing at his size, him groaning at your warmth.

“Oh,” you gasp.

“Do you get this wet for Satoru?” he taunts.

You say nothing in response, only whining.

“You’re almost tighter than him,” he mumbles, low enough that you can’t hear. You’re too busy caught up in rapture, pulling his hair the way he likes, ravished by his hands all over your thighs and up your bare stomach.

“Sugu,” you breathe, your body trembling at the sensitivity. He helps you through it, guiding your hips so that you roll against him smoothly as he moans.

You’re so fucking warm. So tight around him. He almost feels like he’s dreaming as he bucks up into you, staring at you with a slack mouth. His eyes scan over your bouncing tits, the way your thighs tremble just slightly above him as you squeeze them, coaxing you to ride him even harder.

“Love this fucking pussy,” he growls. It makes your cheeks flush, too embarrassed to look at him, so you shut your eyes as you move your hips.

You ride him through his babbling, his moans. It’s unusual that he’s so vocal right now — Suguru is often more reserved with what comes out of his mouth during sex if it isn’t a grunt or praise. He’s never desperate like this, never whining the way Satoru does. Even when you feel yourself keening for him, you still suppose you have him in the palm of your hand.

You test this theory, pinning his hands above his hands just like the way he often does to you. He moans, jaw falling with his tongue lolling out of his mouth. He looks vulnerable, eyes unfocused. Pointed towards you, like he’s squinting at the stars.

You try not to let the power get to your head.

“Hit me,” he moans, his voice sounding drunk.

“What?”

“Hit me. Slap me. Just—do it.”

You grind against him slowly, blinking at him. You lower your hand to caress his jaw. His eyes are closed, his mouth still falling in surrender. Open and loose. After seconds of apprehension, you do it—it’s a small slap against his cheek, hard enough to hear, soft enough that it doesn’t leave a mark. He moans louder than you’ve ever heard him.

“Oh, fuck—”

He brings his thumb to your clit as you ride him and it makes your bones loose. Melting within his grasp. You breathe heavily, watching him with wide eyes.

Suguru grabs your hand and places it at the base of his throat. It’s then that you notice the large bruise below his collarbone, peeking slightly at the collar of his t-shirt. In the dark, you can’t tell the color—but in your field of vision, it looks purplish.

You squeeze the base of his neck like he wants, and you see his eyes roll to the back of his head. You whimper as you bounce his cock, your tiredness catching up to you. You hadn’t been in a position of power during sex many times, especially not with Suguru. The thought of it makes your head spin, the expressions on his face making your cunt throb.

“So fucking good, baby,” he grovels. “Perfect girl.”

You hold him by the throat, your small hands incomparable to his body as a whole, but you apply pressure regardless. Fascinated by his expressions, by your ability to make him come undone in ways you hadn’t even imagined before.

“Harder,” he groans. “Make yourself cum on my cock.”

Even with his demanding tone, Suguru’s face appears otherwise. He’s flushed, mouth parting and trembling. You’ve never seen him so vulnerable.

“Oh,” you whimper. “Gonna—”

He holds you by the hips firmly, fucking up into you. Holds your hands, interlocking your fingers. When he cums at the same time as you, he has your fingers in his mouth, his teeth grazing your knuckles as he sucks on them with a muffled moan.

You fall onto him and he’s quick to let you nuzzle your face into his collarbone, rubbing your back gently. Eventually, you straddle him, tracing your fingers over the bruise under his collarbone.

“What’s this?” you breathe.

He looks down, chuckling.

“Satoru’s gift,” he smirks. “I’ll give you a matching one.”

You let him nibble on your skin without protest, but something aches in your heart despite it all.

Suguru discards his shirt in the middle of the night. You don’t notice—at least, you aren’t awake for it. He’d had you passed out in his arms immediately the night before.

When you finally open your eyes, he’s staring back at you. You nearly jolt out of your skin.

“Don’t do that,” you whine, hitting his shoulder lightly. “You’re like Satoru.”

He doesn’t answer. Only laughs.

“Where are all these bruises from?” you mumble, touching them with your fingertips.

“Satoru,” he says plainly. He doesn’t elaborate. Not even when you look at him with raised brows.

Suguru doesn’t feel the need to hide anything from you. Neither does Satoru, apparently, but he had barely been intimate with just you in the past two months. Suguru was always included, which you didn’t mind, considering your love for both of them, but you still craved tenderness.

It’s the first time that it occurred to you that Satoru and Suguru were together separately from you. It was stupid—they’d kissed before you were even truly in the picture. Probably messed around, too. You didn’t have any deeper access to Satoru’s heart, even if you had known him as a child. You had to remind yourself of that.

But still, it felt odd to see the remnants of Satoru’s hunger on someone other than yourself. You liked to think of yourself as the mediator between them, the center of their universes, when you let yourself think more loosely, more confidently.

But now, you’re small again. Separate from them.

“What’s wrong?” Suguru asks.

“Nothing.”

“Something.”

You smile warmly, running a hand through his hair. “Nothing.”

You’re not jealous. You can’t be. You would be annoyed by short quips from either of them during sex, teasing you about the other like it was a competition, but it was never serious. You were a plaything between the two of them, you knew this. You liked it.

But the prospect of the two of them together without you made your stomach hurt. It was almost as if the idea itself was to spite you—it made you feel endlessly guilty. You were so willing to be there, to be used by either of them, to be the favorite. How selfish it was that you hadn’t noticed that the boys had wanted each other, perhaps more than they even wanted you.

“You gonna ask us how often we fuck without you?”

“Suguru!”

He laughs, but it’s not out of spite.

“Some of these are from sparring. You know how he likes to play.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. Embarrassment colors your features. He didn’t need to say it as if he was reassuring you.

“He wouldn’t let you be his punching bag,” he ruffles your hair. “You’re too precious.”

You can’t find it in yourself to believe him.

April, 2005

Suguru empties the remnants of the curse in the toilet. It's not the parts themselves, more like the ghost of the cadaver, his insides making themselves sick from the taste. He was still getting used to it.

He coughs and wipes his mouth. Examines himself in the mirror, frowning, hair unkempt. His hair was getting long, down to his collarbone. The girls liked it a lot, which he didn’t understand —the length made him get greasy. They’d compare him to male idols, not that he cared.

He washes his hands in Satoru’s fancy sink and moisturizes his hands with jasmine-scented lotion, the kind that his father would maybe gift his mother on a holiday.

When he leaves the bathroom, he nearly collides with you. You mumble an apology, barely making eye contact with him. Did Satoru have a sister?

The two of you didn’t look alike, for starters. You didn’t have the same blinding-white hair as the rest of the Gojo family, plus Satoru probably would’ve mentioned a sibling. Suguru watches you leave, face warming slightly when he realizes he’s looking for too long. He curses under his breath when you notice, but you don’t look perturbed at all—you flash him a small smile.

He returns the smile sheepishly and heads back to Satoru’s room.

“Who’s that girl?” he asks.

“Huh?”

Satoru is barely paying attention. His eyes are fixed on his game, Final Fantasy.

“The girl downstairs. Our age.”

“Oh. She’s the maid’s daughter. Family friend. Kind of.”

Suguru sits on the floor next to Satoru, knees touching as they sit up against the foot of the bed.

“You never mentioned her. She’s cute,” he remarks.

“Off limits.”

Suguru scoffs. “I didn’t even—”

“Seriously. She’s like… family.”

Satoru is lying through his teeth, jaw clenched only slightly. He nearly said sister instead of family, but that would be a hole that he was not willing to dig for himself. He pretends to blame his attitude on losing the game. Grimaces when he hears Suguru snicker beside him.

You must’ve been one of Satoru’s toys. Suguru knew the boy hated sharing.

“So you’ve claimed her already.”

“Shut up.” Satoru throws the controller at him, huffing like a child. “I can’t fucking beat this guy. Try it.”

“That’s because you fucking suck,” Suguru laughs.

Satoru grumbles and folds his arms. He was always too candid in the face, terrible at hiding emotions, and everyone knew it. He liked that Suguru didn’t care to pry. He hated that Suguru was exactly the kind of guy that you would have a crush on. Soft-spoken but quick-witted, pretty in the face.

It didn’t matter, anyway. Satoru hadn’t had a real conversation with you in over a year.

April, 2010

You are not a jealous person.

Satoru is talking to a girl who is much too close for comfort, and you are not a jealous person. Both are objective facts. Maybe.

For once, everyone is getting drunk somewhere that isn’t a Jujutsu Tech dorm room, but it was a shitty venue that wasn’t much better. Yuki played bass in a punk band, and the girls weren’t willing to go without you and the boys as chaperones. Despite this, Shoko and Utahime had fucked off during the first set, probably making out in the bathroom.

“Need a breather?”

You spin around to see Suguru with his hair down, cigarette nested above his ear. You look back at Satoru, who is now being entertained by two more girls.

“Yup,” you nod.

The night is moderately warm. The moon hangs above the velvet black, jagged like a piece of glass. Suguru wraps his arms around your middle, lighting the cigarette and bringing it to your mouth.

“Didn’t think you were the jealous type,” he says.

“What?” you frown, crooning your neck to face him.

“Oh, come on,” he teases. “I’ve never seen you make such hostile faces.”

“That’s just my face.”

“Sure.”

He kisses the top of your head. He pulls your hair and tips your head back so he can kiss your mouth, his lips upside-down against yours.

“People give me looks when both of you kiss me within the same ten minutes,” you murmur. “Did you notice that?”

“No,” Suguru chuckles. “I’m usually too busy looking at you.”

You exhale smoke before putting the cigarette in Suguru’s mouth, peering at the moon again. He was bored. Considered taking you in the bathroom so he could spill inside of you, just for Satoru to find out when you’d sleep in his bed later tonight. There wasn’t a rivalry, not truly, but he liked knowing that it made Satoru tick.

Satoru had started healing his bruises for him. They’d fight, rolling around on the floor before fucking it out. He would only let his Infinity through a handful of times, but always let it through when they fucked. Suguru knew that Satoru liked feeling the roughness of his hands on him. It made him feel alive.

It’s all carnal. Instinct as desire. Satoru wouldn’t let you see that side of him. He thinks about when he came back to life and feels horrified, sick like he came back wrong. He was never sure if you were looking at him differently or if it was vice versa. Suguru always looked at him the same way. It’s a mutual understanding.

Suguru looks at you that way, too. There’s something hungry in his eyes now, something that feels like an ultimatum. He grins at you with the cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

The way he scooped you into his arms, your fragile body all bloodied. Naive little thing. He’d held you as the two of you flew back on the manta ray and he had felt like he saw something he shouldn’t have. A turning moment. Not even Satoru would be able to make sense of it.

“Wanna go back intside?” Suguru purrs into your ear.

You nod.

You take his hand in yours just as Yuki’s band is about to start. Satoru is exactly where he was before, but this time he’s staring at the both of you. You’re too busy watching the stage to notice. The lights flood over you in a way that makes you look like a heavenly body. You and Suguru had matching eyes tonight, black kohl smudged over your eyes by Shoko during the pregame.

You feel a pair of small arms circle around your middle, the scent of tobacco and men’s Issey Miyake perfume filling your senses. Speak of the devil.

You turn your head and Shoko grins, Utahime in tow behind her. You laugh when you see the lipstick smudges around Shoko’s mouth.

“Have fun?” you ask.

“Huh?” she shouts.

“Never mind!” you yell back.

Satoru watches from afar, trying to get his way through the crowd, but is bombarded by the sheer amount of people in his way. Everyone’s too drunk to care about politeness. His size wasn’t helping him either — no one was willing to let such a tall guy get in front of them.

“You get our girl drunk yet?” Shoko asks Suguru.

He shakes his head. “She’s being responsible tonight.”

You giggle and stumble. Trying to move your body in a way that feels appropriate for a punk show. Shoko flashes a grin to Suguru.

“I think your girlfriend is lying to you,” she murmurs into his ear. “Where’s Satoru? Expanding Japan’s gene pool?”

“Shut up,” he mouths, laughing. Well, probably.

He didn’t know if Satoru was seeing other people. He didn’t care, but he knew that you would. It wasn’t something he felt like bringing up when he was alone with him, though. He trusted Satoru enough to not break your heart, but he knew that the boy was restless lately, almost manic.

Satoru had made out with a girl who looked like you at a bar two weeks ago, then cried on the way home. Suguru almost found it pathetic.

Suguru holds you again once Shoko busies herself with Utahime, the both of them thrashing and running toward the front of the crowd, close enough to touch the stage. He rests his head on top of yours, slips his large hands underneath your shirt just to feel the warm skin of your stomach.

Satoru is a few feet away. His mouth is moving, but Suguru can’t figure out what he’s saying amongst all the fucking noise. He looks drunk. Something lurches inside Suguru when he sees a girl nearly hanging off of Satoru.

He spins you around in his arms and presses his mouth to yours with more force than he intends.

You succumb immediately — is it always that easy? It must be. You were arguably easy to the two of them. It was something Satoru liked talking about when they were in private without you, something to tease Suguru about when his hand was wrapped around his cock.

She’d be so good if she was here right now, wouldn’t she? So fucking wet… so warm.

Suguru sucks in your tongue and holds your face. He opens his eyes to lock them with Satoru’s — they’re blazing blue, almost brighter than the stage lights.

Satoru laughs, though his eyes look mean.

May, 2010

You are nodding off in the courtyard when you feel a light kick to your thigh. When you open your eyes, Shoko is looking over at you, a lollipop in her mouth. It’s one that you had gifted her one day as a joke — “smoke stop pops.” She liked them anyway, the herb flavor weaning her need for nicotine while also replacing her random cravings for black tea. It didn’t actually curb her smoking habit, but it was a new oral fixation. She’d eaten three a day for the past week.

“It’s time for quality time,” she grins, the lollipop making her left cheek jut out.

“You’re taking me out on a date?” you question, blinking at her. If she moved a little to the right, she’d block the sun out completely. Unfortunately, it’s still bright beside her head. You squint at her.

“I will later, if you want. But Yaga wanted us to do a little… project together?”

She lowers her hand and you take it. She pulls you to your feet and picks a leaf out of your hair.

“Is that why they call you Twigs?”

“What?”

“Never mind,” she snorts. “C’mon.”

Shoko takes you to a greenhouse that has a path leading through it. There are cherry blossoms and hakone grass, azaleas and bonsai trees. A koi fish pond with a small wooden bridge.

“This is beautiful,” you say.

“It is,” she nods. “I used to come here a lot when I was a teenager. My old high school is pretty close to here.”

“Is Yaga-sensei forcing us to go on a date?”

“Okay, even if this was a date, you would’ve gone on it regardless, you ass,” Shoko laughs, pinching you on the side. “Anyways, this is more of an assignment. Or experiment, I guess.”

“What do you mean?”

She leads you to the little bridge and you gaze at the orange and black-speckled koi fish below.

“Have you ever brought anything back to life?” Shoko asks. Her hands tremble ever so slightly until she reaches for one of her lollipops and puts it in her mouth.

“Twice. The first time was when my kitten got hit by a car when I was a kid. The second was a bumblebee I killed. Just to see if I could do it.”

“You didn’t try it any other time?”

You shake your head.

“Okay, well, come outside with me.”

You follow her out back. There’s a plot of dirt with pots of small trees lining the square of land. She presents a few small plants stuck in their little pots, dehydrated as hell. Brown and drooping.

“You want me to… ‘heal’ these?”

“Your technique isn’t necessarily healing. And you can’t do reverse cursed technique like Satoru and I, but you can regenerate cells, right?”

You pause, staring at her, then your hands. Then the plants.

“I guess.”

“Great. So bring these plants back to life.”

You frown at her bluntness. You hate being put on the spot. To be honest, you hadn’t showcased the strongest output of your technique since the Star Plasma Vessel incident, and before that, the mission with Suguru. Every time you were in fight or flight mode, you’d pass out with a nosebleed.

Bringing a plant back to life probably wasn’t a huge feat, but Shoko’s wording made you grimace.

You lift your hand and close your eyes. You touch the dead leaves and exhale, circumventing the energy inside you into something tangible, something to hold in your hands like a spiritual weapon. Within seconds, the plant straightens its leaves and turns green with solid stems. Leaves that extended past the bottom sprouts, which also rose from the dead roots.

When you open your eyes, you see Shoko smiling.

Over the next week, you bring back small animals. Bugs and mice. Guinea pigs. Shoko nearly has you try it out on the little fetuses suspended in formaldehyde in her lab, but you refuse.

You’d never thought about using your technique in this way. Since Riko died and Toji Fushiguro left a scar on your body, you felt weak. Your cursed energy would manifest enough power for you to fight, but using your actual technique would be exhausting. Like a muscle, it was finally beginning to strengthen again, and at a rapid rate.

When you’re walking home from an easy mission, you find a stray cat that limps with only three legs. You feed it milk from the konbini. When you hover your hand over it, it heals. Regenerates another limb that looks like it was always there.

Your cell phone rings at the same time you open your eyes.

“Hello?”

“Are you almost back?” Shoko asks. “Yaga-sensei wants to talk to you.”

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lambtotheslaughterr · 1 year

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When The Bough Breaks : Part Two

A Rafe Cameron Mini Series

[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

WC: 6.4k

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

PART ONE | MASTERLIST | PART THREE

It was a little before noon on Friday when Moses came home. You were down on the beach. Thursday had passed in a blur. You had woken up still foggy, despite having gone to bed without the wine Wednesday night. But your body had become accustomed to it. Thursday morning you made yourself a margarita, slipped into an old one-piece, & trudged down to the beach, hoping the sun exposure would help rejuvenate you.

You had hoped to see Sarah again. You weren’t entirely sure why. Perhaps it was that you finally had connected with someone outside of your plethora bottles of wine. You momentarily recalled your encounter with the friendly realtor in town & shuddered. She reminded you too much of home, of all the wives of wealthy husbands—much like yourself—who hosted Tuesday brunches & commented on an article piece that featured one of your many upper-class wife-friends. Rose Cameron was not someone you hoped to interact with much. People like her always proved to be a let down when it really mattered.

The margarita you had made was safely burrowed in the sand, a perfect side table as you lied on your back, the North Carolina sun beating warmly down on you. There wasn’t a soul in sight. For the most part you were grateful for that. No one would bother you down here, not that anyone bothered you up at the house. Still, you were beginning to be thankful for the move. Perhaps your husband was right about the move; it would be good for you.

“_____?” The sound of your name forced you to look upwards & behind you, an awkward angle.

Standing upside down in your vision stood your husband. He had removed his own shoes, his pant legs rolled to his ankles. He smiled down at you. Even upside down he still remained whole-heartedly handsome.

“Moses.” You returned, your voice slightly shaky in his presence. You had completely forgotten today was Friday. You hoped he hadn’t noticed the margarita in the sand beside you yet, “You’re home.”

He came to your left, opposite the margarita. You pushed yourself to a sitting position as he joined you on the beach.

“It’s nice to come home & see you out here. I was worried when I called your name & there was no response.” He placed a gentle hand on your back, rubbing the exposed skin there. You scratched behind your ear uncomfortably at the physical affection. It had been a very, very long time since you felt him touch you lovingly.

“I figured a little sun wouldn’t help.” You shared, your voice lowering. You still loved your husband, as much as you could considering the circumstances, but it was difficult most of the time. He was a constant reminder of the great loss you both suffered.

“It’s a good first step, _____.” He began. You could feel his dark blue’s staring lovingly at you. But then they shifted. He had spotted the glass.

You inhaled sharply, standing up abruptly, sure to ‘accidentally’ knock the glass over so the remnants would spill into the sand, “Oh, shit.” You muttered, “What a mess.”

Turning your back, you gathered your phone, towel, & empty glass, tucking them all away in your tote bag. You slipped into your sandals, avoiding Moses’s worried eyes. “That’s enough sun for this morning, I think.”

You had just reached the sandy path back to your house when Moses caught up to you.

“_____.” He called gently. But you kept walking, knowing what he was going to say. “_____.” He said again, but more firmly.

When it was clear that you weren’t going to stop, he walked ahead of you to stand in your way. You faked a smile, “What is it?”

“You know you shouldn’t be drinking on your medication.”

You scoffed, shaking your head innocently, “It’s one drink, Moses. The doctor only said I shouldn’t be drinking excessively.”

But Moses gave you a look that revealed he knew you were lying. You ignored it, pushing past him, “Honestly, honey, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

“Maybe we should get set up with a counselor here, too.” He offered, catching up to walk alongside you.

You stopped abruptly at that. “Why would you suggest that?”

“Why is talking to someone such a bad thing?” He countered, “I know you were resistant in the beginning but it’s been over a year, _____. We need to talk to someone.”

You shook your head, feeling yourself grow sweaty with simmering anger.

“Would you talk to me?” Moses followed behind you as you entered through the basement doors. You sped-walk to the stairs, determined to climb the two flights so you could slam the bedroom door in your husband’s face. He needed to leave you alone. He was making it worse.

“Leave me alone, Moses.” You replied, though you were unsure if your voice really came to.

“_____!” He once again attempted to get ahead of you but you dropped your bag & made the last sprint to your bedroom. Before he could breach the threshold, you turned & slammed the door, locking it in the process. You did the same to the door that led in from the patio. You felt yourself shaking, unwilling tears getting caught in your eyelashes.

Moses tried the knob once. You heard him sigh tiredly on the other side, “I’ll leave you alone. But will you come see me when you’re ready.”

You didn’t respond. He sighed again. You could picture him resting his forehead on the door.

“Okay. I’ll be in my office.” His voice was quiet, sounding equally as dejected as you felt.

With that, you heard his footfalls carry away, his office just down the hallway from your bedroom. He wouldn’t be too far if you changed your mind. You fiercely grabbed one of the posts a part of your bedroom, none-so-gently pressing your face into it to cry silently. Even more frustrating is that you try to hide your dependency on alcohol from your husband, but he knew better. Still though, you wanted to lie to yourself that you didn’t know. So you couldn’t sneak out of the room to find yourself a bottle of wine to wind down & nap with.

You lied on your bed for what felt like a couple hours, staring aimlessly at the ceiling. Sleep tried coming for you a handful of times but your body wouldn’t give. Every now & then you heard Moses leave his office. Sometimes you could hear him approach the door, likely listening for you. You always held your breath. Tears escaped every time you did, finding it unbelievable that your marriage had come to this. But you couldn’t fix it, & neither could a counselor.

It was shortly after 2 when you finally left your bedroom. The house was quiet & when you passed by Moses’s office, his door was open but he wasn’t inside. You had changed into PJ’s at this point, & were growing hungry. When you reached the common area of the third floor, he was still nowhere in sight. You could see out the windows over the stairs that his car was here. Entering the kitchen, you finally caught a glimpse of him. He was on the patio, just past the sunroom. His shoulders were hunched & a cigarette was between his fingers. You frowned. He had given up smoking long before the two of you met. You knew he kept a pack for times when he was stressed, but you rarely ever actually saw him partake in the habit.

Ignoring the pleas of your stomach, you entered the sunroom. The sound of the screen door slamming back into place alerted Moses to your arrival. He glanced at you over his shoulder, a forced smile on his lips. He followed your line of sight to his fingers holding the lit cigarette. He half-heartedly laughed but there was no joy behind it.

“Guess we both have our vices.” He uttered.

You joined him at the railing, tempted to place a comforting hand on him, but couldn’t. You didn’t know how to touch him anymore.

“I’m sorry.” You said. And you were. Moses had only ever meant well. He would push but never too hard.

Your eyes met & he nodded, taking a drag of the cigarette. The two of you stared out to the ocean, the sun still high in the sky.

“We’ve been invited to a dinner.” He told you, surprising you. Who would he know in town to get an invite?

He continued without you gesturing for him too. “Our realtor, Jack Schaffer, I’m not sure you ever met him. But he’s invited us to a colleagues of his for dinner.”

Your stomach rolled, having a decent idea as to who could have orchestrated such a gathering.

“When?” You asked, hoping it won’t be for some time.

“Tomorrow night.” He responded, his voice audibly exhausted, “I declined.”

Your eyes widened, “Moses, why?”

He shrugged, “You’re not ready.” He dragged the cigarette on top of the railing before tossing it into an empty planting pot behind the two of you, “I don’t want you to force yourself for my sake.”

Your heart faltered, “Do you want to go?”

He exhaled, nodding, “It would be nice to get to know some people. I think it would be good for both of us. But I learned a long time ago to not decide what is good for you.”

Moses was a beautiful being. His entire career & lifestyle consisted of helping people heal, to grow stronger—though in most cases physically. But when it came to you, he felt helpless. You knew he wished for nothing more than to make you better. But it was your journey, not his.

“Thank you.” You replied. “You should go though.”

Moses looked at you, “I considered that. But uh, it’s just not the same without you. Quite frankly, it’d be lonely.”

You laughed softly, the memories of your early years with each other running across the forefront of your mind. You two were a package deal. Wherever you went he went, & wherever he went…

“Let’s go.” You swallowed the dry lump in your throat.

Moses furrowed his brows, “What? Why?”

“Because you’re right.” You started, “You’re always right. It’d be good for us. I wasn’t the biggest fan of this whole move-to-an-island tactic but it was a good move, it just took me a second to realize that.”

He grinned happily, his hand grabbing yours, “Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure, _____? I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“Moses, I’ve been not doing a lot of things I don’t want to do. You’ve done so much for me, I can do this for you.”

What he did next left you shocked. He pulled you into him, kissing the crown of your head. At first, you felt stiff in his arms, your first instinct to pull away. And you could feel in his affection that he was prepared for you to do just that. But as he held you against him, you saw over his shoulder the coastline & how beautiful it looked. You felt your eyes close sweetly slow, embracing this small, special moment far away from your misery.

Your wrapped your arms around his frame.

“I love you, _____.” Moses mouthed against the side of your head, “I always will.”

Saturday evening came much too quickly for your taste. The previous night was the first time you & Moses had had dinner together in quite some time. It was a quiet dinner, & at some points you felt yourself wanting to snap or breakdown, but Moses always found a way step away from a potentially triggering moment. The rest of the night had continued smoothly. Moses did the dishes as you took your medication & treated yourself to a hot shower. Then for the first time since you two moved to the east coast, Moses slept in your bed together. It was almost like before.

Almost.

By 5:30 you were done getting ready. It had been a long time since you got dressed up for a social event. Though it was only a small dinner, you still felt a lot of pressure to show up as your old self. Not that anyone even knew you before. You made good to remind yourself of that as you squeezed into a modest dark pink lace dress that you owned. The weight you gained wasn’t as well hidden in this dress but you figured you didn’t care. You couldn’t. If you cared too much then you’d never leave the house.

Moses stood in the doorway to the bathroom as you finished putting in your earrings. He looked impeccable in a simple cream colored button up matched with a pair of khaki colored slacks. He had recently shaved his facial hair down to a light buzz, taking away the salt look you had grown to like so much.

You turned to look at him, running your hands over your front, feeling unsure. Moses stepped forward, looking you up from head to toe, a warm smile on his handsome face, “You look perfect.”

“I don’t.” You rejected the compliment, but smiled through it, “But thank you anyway.”

His smile fell slightly but he brushed it off, “I have a call to make then I’ll be ready. How are you on time?”

You nodded, following him out of the bathroom, “I’m ready as I’ll ever be.”

He paused in the hallway outside his office, resting a comforting hand on your upper arm. You resisted shrugging it off, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

You didn’t trust your voice. So, you nodded, forcing a close-lipped smile.

You could tell that he didn’t believe you but he wasn’t a pusher, “I’ll be just a minute.”

Moses disappeared into his office. You carried your heels to the kitchen. You had taken your medication about an hour ago. You wanted nothing more than to chase it with a glass of wine but with Moses under the same roof you couldn’t risk it. It was no secret that you mixed the two together, & while it was obvious Moses knew about it, you didn’t want to see the look of disapproval. It’s why you savored the days when he was working inland.

In the butler’s kitchen, you surveyed the small collection of wine you kept. Old habits die hard, you thought as you contemplated which bottles would be best for gifting a host. You had decided on a summery white when Moses appeared. At first he look concerned but then nodded in agreement, “Good idea. I have an untouched bottle of scotch in my office.”

After Moses grabbed the bottle of scotch, you found some scrap ribboning, tying simple knots around the necks of both bottles, “Should be good enough.”

Moses kissed the side of your head before guiding you two to the door. Much to your chagrin, the destination wasn’t very far. Moses had insisted on walking, saying it would be good for both your legs to get some exercise. In less than three minutes, the two of you appeared at the end of a long driveway. The walk up revealed a beautiful & charming Charleston style home. It was all white, with big windows to let in all the North Carolina sunlight. You inhaled sharply, bracing Moses’s forearm for comfort as you got closer. He pat your hand gently, “It’s just like old times. You can do it.”

You didn’t believe his words but it was nice knowing you could lean on him when it mattered. Just as you were approaching the doors, a familiar face opened them, stepping out to greet the two of you.

“Evening!” She greeted happily, holding out her hand to shake your husbands hand, “It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’m Rose, welcome to our home.”

“Thank you for inviting us.” Your husband spoke before gesturing to you, “This is my wife, _____.”

“Hello, _____.” Rose surpassed a handshake, instead offering a hug that left you feeling shaken up over, “It’s lovely to see you again.”

Moses looked between the two of you momentarily. He opened his mouth to say something when another name hollered out, “Mr. McFarlane!” An average looking man about your age with a receding hairline stepped out, “Glad you could make it! I was relieved Rose was able to salvage the dinner arrangements after your cancellation. It’s nice to have you two here.”

As Moses turned to speak with the man who you assumed to be Jack, Rose faced you, her perfect smile blasting you in the face, “I hope you like steak.”

“Who doesn’t.” You softly said but swallowed down your discomfort, “Oh, we brought these as well.”

You produced the two bottles from a paper bag you carried, “I wasn’t sure what you drank so I went a safe route.”

Rose gleamed at the gift, taking the bottles, “This is great. Thank you, _____. Come on, follow me.”

You shot a wary look to Moses as he stood on the front steps with Jack. He mirrored you as you passed him by. It seemed you both were out of practice in the art of socializing.

“Your home is beautiful.” You offered as your eyes danced around the grand interior. For a house on the beach, it reminded you a lot of the condos you often were invited to back in the city. It had a lot of modern touches & luxurious pieces throughout.

“Thank you. Ward insisted on a renovation, but I convinced him to keep some small, vintage details.” She paused to point at an accent table that looked to be a couple centuries old but well-tended, “It’s an antique. Estimated to be $15,000. One of the pieces I saved from Ward’s modern taste.”

You nodded, truly not caring about the boasting of numbers, “It’s gorgeous.”

Rose hummed to herself, leading you into a larger room where a grand table was set with candles & dining sets. A man sat at the head of the table, a phone in his hand as he clacked away on it.

“Ward, honey, our guests are here.”

The man, who was very similar in appearance in age & appearance to your husband, glanced up from his phone. For a split second you looked mildly irritated before he replaced the expression with a polite smile. Rising from his seat, he rounded the table, offering his hand.

“_____, this is my husband, Ward Cameron. Ward, this is the woman who moved in down the street I told you about.” You cringed internally at that, imagining the worst things she could’ve possibly said about you. She seemed the type after all.

“Pleasure, _____.” Ward greeted.

“Likewise.” His grip was firm but short. Voices sounded behind you & to your relief your husband appeared. As the men introduced one another, another woman appeared. She was yours & Rose’s age.

“Vera, this is _____. Your husband sold them the house down the road.”

The woman smiled brightly, but hers wasn’t as overwhelming as Rose’s. “It’s nice to meet you, _____. I love your dress.”

“Oh, thank you.” You stumbled over the compliment, “I love your hair.”

You felt you were in grade school again, making friends on the first day when you didn’t want to be there.

“I just had it done!” She fingered her honey-colored locks that stopped just above her shoulders.

After the introductions concluded, everyone sat at the table. Rose & Ward at either end, you & Moses on one side, & Vera & Jack on the other. Conversation was light at first as everyone talked amongst themselves while appetizers were brought out by kitchen staff. You hadn’t eaten much today but there was no appetite. Still, you forced yourself to have a couple bites.

By the time the main course came out, everyone had had a bit to drink, that is except for you. You had grown accustomed to drinking on your own in the last year that drinking with others felt… strange. It wasn’t tempting whatsoever. Rose had offered you a glass of wine from the bottle you had bought but you declined. When she cocked an eyebrow at that, you knew that she had been expecting you to say yes.

Moses, Jack, & Ward discussed their work while Rose & Vera began to talk in detail about their kids. The topic choice forced you to be quiet. You could’ve had something to add, but not anymore. All the while Moses kept a comforting hand on your leg under the table. You were sure the steak you forced yourself to eat had taste but no flavors came through. You felt dizzy. You shakily brought a glass of water to your lips.

“_____, are you okay?”

The sound of your name followed by the question halted all conversation. You sweltered. Rose placed a hand on the arm closest to her, “You look pale.”

Bitch! You screamed internally to yourself. Now everyone was looking at you in concern.

“I’m okay.” You lied, folding the napkin on your lap & placing it on the table, “I just need to use the restroom really quick.”

“Certainly.” Rose’s airy voice feigned concern, “All the way down the hallway, then take a left & the bathroom is at the end.”

“Honey.” Moses lowered his voice as you stood. You tossed him a look of warning, “I’m okay. I’ll be right back. Please, continue.”

Escaping from the claustrophobic dining space, you followed Rose’s directions until you turned left at the end of the hallway. Away from prying eyes, you leaned against the wall, holding your head in your hands & catching your breath. Everything had been going well so far, or at least decent enough for you to hold your own. But then Vera gushed about her nine-year old, & Rose commented on her stepdaughter’s whereabouts. It was a life you would never get a chance to be a part of. You crumbled in seconds.

Once you felt calm enough to move again, you made the rest of your way to the bathroom. On approach, you noted that the door to it was cracked, with the light on. You frowned. The light suggested someone may be inside but the cracked door left you wondering if maybe a staff member just forgot to turn the lights off.

Hesitantly, you knocked but no sound came. Then you pushed it open slowly. A gasp left your lips at the sight before you.

Sitting on a small, cushioned chair, a young man sat, having just snorted a known white powder off the length of his thumb. His eyes blood-shot eyes flew to your own. While yours were wide & apologetic, his own were glaring & filled with an unbridled fury. You made to shut the door as you pulled away but he stood fast, gripping the end of it to open it more. He stood a good head taller than you, “Who the hell are you?”

You ignored his question, once again apologizing, “Wrong turn.”

Turning your back on him, you began to walk back to where you came from when the young man yelled loudly, “Hey! I asked you a question.”

You picked up speed but didn’t run. You just wanted to not draw any more attention to yourself. It wasn’t your business why there was a college-aged kid doing coke in your hosts’ bathroom.

Just as you were about to turn the corner, you bumped into a figure. It was Ward. He gripped your upper arms to steady you, an unhappy smile on his face, “Careful.”

Then he glanced behind you, his eyes narrowing. He didn’t say anything to the man behind you before he gently gestured for you to return the dining room, “Tell Rose I’ll be back momentarily, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Shakily you nodded, beginning to walk away from him. Ward disappeared around the corner, walking toward where you had just left. You walked slowly, not in a rush to return to the dining room. As you stalled, you heard heated whispering coming from the hallway you had departed from.

“Goddamnit!” It started, “We talked about this, Rafe.”

Rafe? Why did that name sound vaguely familiar.

“Yeah, yeah. You don’t want your son around when you have people over. Ashamed of me, right, Dad?”

Ward spoke again but this time lower, leaving you unable to decipher what was being said. But it didn’t matter. It wasn’t your business. Leaving the two to their affair, you focused on your breathing, returning to the dining room.

Everyone was in conversation with one another, except for Rose. When you sat down, you felt her eyes on you. You raised your own to meet yours. She looked at you as if you were hiding something from her.

“Better?” She asked. Moses turned to you, echoing her question.

“Yes, much.” You replied, though you really hadn’t a chance to get better. You just happened to get distracted & chased away, which albeit, did help you forget your anxieties in a way.

“Your husband said he would be right back.” You told Rose. She produced a stiff smile, nodding once. Then she turned her attention to everyone at the table, “Well, should we have dessert?”

Dessert lasted longer than the appetizer & main course combined. Ward had returned shortly after you, a disdainful look on his face, despite the grin he kept carrying throughout conversation. Rose had quit talking some time ago, deep in thought, you could tell. At some point, the men followed Ward to his private dwellings, referring to the space as ‘where he goes to get away from the women in his life’. Both men had chuckled awkwardly at the comment. Moses gave you a gentle kiss on the head before he left down the hallway with them.

Like the men, Rose excused herself as well, claiming her attention was needed elsewhere, but not before telling you & Vera to make yourselves at home, going so far as to suggest the backyard where a beautiful view of coast waited.

The sun had just set when you & Vera followed her advice, sitting a patio table to converse lightly with one another. Vera you liked. A lot. She was one of those women you knew you could trust. She didn’t fake her smiles or care about the matters of others. You hoped that if you were to run into anyone more often on the island in the future it would be her. However, a bit into your conversation with one another, her phone began to ring.

“Sorry.” She winced, “It’s the babysitter. Cyrus hasn’t been feeling good the last couple days.”

You nodded in understanding, having understood it at one point, & told her you would be fine on your own. Vera left you to your lonesome.

For the first time that night, you felt at ease. There were no strangers to judge you when you weren’t looking, or intrusive realtor wives to make your blatant discomfort a matter of concern for everybody. You sat at the table for some time, watching the sky shift from an orange-y pink to a pinky purple. You checked the time on your phone & it was nearly 8:30. It was disconcerting to think that you had been at this gathering for over two hours now. Before you could last all night, but you had already felt yourself begin to wane as you left your home. Still though, sitting by yourself for the first time that night felt comforting.

You slipped out of your heels, no longer finding it necessary to wear them with no others around. The glass door from the kitchen opened & a young girl carrying a tray of wine glasses came out, “Miss, would you like some?”

You easily could’ve said no but it would only be one glass. With a welcoming smile, you accepted a glass from the woman before she returned inside. You brought the glass to your lip, taking a small sip. Immediately, you felt your muscles relax. You inhaled deeply, savoring the familiar taste on your tongue.

Kicking your heels under the table, you rose from your seat & began to walk out onto their expansive lawn. The grass was embarrassingly soft beneath your feet. Had you a couple more glasses of wine in you, you probably would’ve lied down for your husband to find you. But fortunately, it wouldn’t come to that.

You stood at the edge of their lawn, looking out onto the beach, taking a drink from your wine every few moments. As you stood there, admiring the view & embracing the quiet coastal charm, you resolved that this was a world you could grow to love. You already were, after all. For a moment longer, you enjoyed the views. And then footfalls sounded behind you.

You exhaled slowly. All good things must come to an end at some point.

Turning around you had expected to see Vera, ready to apologize a second time, or even the host coming to stare at you until you broke under her stare, but it was neither friend nor foe who you were surprised to see.

Instead, who approached you was the young man from the bathroom. Upon closer inspection, he was indeed young. He had light brown hair that kissed his forehead, grueling blue eyes that paired well with his sun-kissed skin, & an unfriendly smirk gracing the corner of his lips. Already, you felt your walls go up. What the hell did this kid want?

“Hello again.” He greeted.

You nodded once, opting to not say anything. You turned away from him, focusing your attention back on the beach. Part of you hoped he was just going to pass you by, but then he stopped just beside you, his hands in his pockets.

“How was my step-mothers dinner?” He said ‘step-mother’ with such distaste that you could actually relate to it.

“Fine.” You responded shortly.

“Hmm.” You looked at him in your peripheral, seeing a knowing smirk appear on his face, “I see you’re not impressed by her attempts like other wives on this island.”

It was your turn to hum in response. What business did you have to—in a way—talk shit about Rose to her stepson? Absolutely none.

“It’s okay.” He said, seemingly having read your mind, “I can’t stand the gold-digger either.”

The insult forced your lips to part in shock. The gall of this guy…

“That why you were making a run for the bathroom earlier?” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a joint, “Trying to escape her overbearing arrogance.”

Yes & no, you thought to yourself but still kept it nonverbal.

The young man peered down at you curiously before lighting the joint. The thick smell of marijuana invaded your nostrils, making your stomach flip. You had never much partook in smoking the grass, having always favored alcohol over other vices, but you had been around it plenty in your 20’s. You subconsciously waved away the smoke that wafted towards you.

“Whoops.” The young man voiced, but didn’t sound all the apologetic as he blew the smoke, this time sure to blow it away from you. “Want a hit?”

You frowned, finally looking at him, “No, thank you.”

He wagged his head at that, seemingly amused, “’No, thank you’.” He mocked.

You rolled your eyes. Though he was college-aged, he must’ve not grown much at all. You finished off the glass of wine, regretful you couldn’t enjoy the last bit in peace. You were about to turn & leave the man behind when what he said next took you by surprise.

“My father said I needed to apologize to you.” The way he said it informed you that he absolutely didn’t believe he was apologetic, but it was enough to keep you standing there.

You turned to face him fully, “Apology accepted.”

He scoffed, a cocky smile appearing on his face, “That wasn’t me apologizing.”

You shook your head, “And I don’t expect I’ll get a proper one from you. So, I’ll take what I can get.”

Smoke seeped from his parted lips as he stared down at you. It left you feeling unsettled.

“Goodnight.” You had barely taken a step away when his next words shook you to your core.

“Word on the island is you’re a drunk.” You paused, not facing him. You felt your skin flush, “And that your husband is too weak of a man to get you help.”

You rounded on him with lightening speed, “You can spit all the crap you want about your mother—”

“Stepmother.” He countered.

You ignored him & continued heatedly, “But you don’t talk about my husband. He is a good man, a good husband.”

The young man smiled proudly. You wished you were the type to smack some sense into someone.

“Hey, I wasn’t saying that. Just people are. Thought you’d like to know.” Though he was claiming innocence, you knew better than to trust this child standing before you.

“Well then you shouldn’t believe everything you hear.” You countered.

“You’ve defended your husband.” He said, taking a hit from the joint, “But you’ve not come to your own defense.”

You felt your brows furrow in confusion until you remember what else he had said. You lowered your eyes shamefully, “Like I said. You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

“Mhmm.” He stared at you challengingly. You felt yourself falter under his all-knowing glare. But you never lowered your gaze, not wanting to succumb to the words of a youth. You were at least stronger than that.

“_____?” The sound of your name ripped your focus away from the problem before you. On the patio, holding your heels, was your husband. He waved you over, “We’re heading out.”

You waved back before facing the young man once more, “Have a goodnight, kid.” You said, none-so-gently placing your empty glass of wine into the palm of his hand. Your skin erupted in goosebumps at the contact you initiated. The young man grinned, his eyes never leaving you.

“Name’s Rafe.”

“Uh-huh.” Ignoring his stares, you turned your back on him, approaching your husband.

“Everything okay?” He asked with concern. For the umpteenth time that night, you forced another smile, “Everything is grand.”

Moses offered his forearm as you used it to balance slipped back into your heels. As you did so, your eyes reluctantly returned to the figure standing on the lawn. Though he was a couple yards away, you felt his eyes burning into you. Shaking it off, you stood straight, smiling at your husband, “Ready.”

Back inside, Rose & Ward met you two at the front door. Vera & Jack were nowhere in sight.

“Unfortunately, they had to leave.” Ward shared, noting your wandering gaze, “Kid was puking.”

“Ah.” You mustered a smile, “Well, thank you for dinner.”

Rose hugged you once more, but said nothing. Throughout the night, you had noticed her mask of friendly neighbor slowly melt. The two of you were about to part when Rose finally spoke, this time however, she addressed your husband.

“Mr. McFarlane, really quick, I wanted to mention something that Jack forgot to tell you.” The two of them stepped off to the side, leaving alone with the man of the house. Your eyes fell to Ward, & you were flustered to see his eyes were already on you, narrowed.

“Mrs. McFarlane, I understand you saw my son doing something inappropriate earlier.” His bluntness took you by surprise. Couldn’t you just leave?

“Oh, I’m not sure—”

“Please.” He chuckled lightly, attempting to smile reassuringly at you, “There’s no need to protect him.”

You closed your lips, nodding once.

“I know you’re new to the island, & while I know you’ve not made any friends here yet—” The comment shocked you but he continued anyway, “I ask that anything you see here to not be shared with anyone outside of this home.”

You were unsure of what to say, still recovering from his previous comment.

“You’ll learn soon enough I imagine how, well, to put it plainly, how ruthless people on the island can be. I imagine you’ve heard what people have said about you.”

A small, appalled exhale escaped you. But before you could neither confirm nor deny, the unpleasant man before you carried on.

“So, I just ask that if you keep your mouth shut.” He stepped forward as he lowered his voice, “I’ll keep mine shut as well.”

You frowned. It wasn’t like you had anything major to hide, or really anything to be ashamed of. You came from a world very similar to this one, what baggage you carried was a carry-on compared to the trolley some people needed for theirs.

“I trust you understand what I’m saying.” You stared up at him, at a loss for words.

“Ready, honey?” Moses appeared at your side, “Thank you again for dinner, Ward. It was excellent.”

Rose joined Ward, her hand grasping his forearm. A very tyrannical couple stood before you. Ward’s eyes softened at your husband’s thanks, “It was all Rose.”

Actually, it was all a probably underpaid kitchen staff, you wanted to interject but remained quiet.

Rose grinned proudly, “It was lovely having you two over finally. We’ll have to do it again soon.”

Ward nodded in agreement, his eyes falling to your own in silent discernment.

“We would love to.” Moses replied.

With that, Rose & Ward stepped to the side to allow you to access to the exit you greatly craved.

“And _____,” Rose’s painfully kind voice sounded behind you, “Thank you again for the wine. It was lovely.”

‘Lovely’ was quickly becoming your most-hated word, & you didn’t even have one to begin with.

“Of course.” You muttered, a smile not quite reaching your lips.

Moses placed a hand on your lower back as he led you out of the door. Though his hand was on you in comfort, you felt anything but. Against your better judgement, you peeked over your shoulder once more, observing Ward standing in the doorway of his egregious home. Much like his son, you could feel the unwavering stare burning your skin as you walked away.

It was in that moment that you decided that you would never interact with a member of that family again, for as much as you could help it.

A very long part. I hope ya'll are enjoying it so far. What do we think of Rafe's introduction? Talk to me!

Please comment, reblog, drop an ask, I want to hear it all friends. It really helps as a writer.

In the meantime, thank you for reading!

oona<3

Requests are currently CLOSED.

Read this post on why doing more than liking a tumblr writers work is essential to our content creation.

[my love language is words of affirmation, it would make my day if you could comment your thoughts, reblog with tags, or drop an ask that shows your support. thank you for reading tumblr writers, we appreciate you]

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if you want to be added to a tag list, comment whether you want to be tagged for a character, a series, or in general, otherwise it will be dismissed.

#dark!rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron #outer banks fanfiction #dark!outer banks #dark!fanfiction #dark!fic #non con fic #wtbb part two

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azriel-scum · 1 year

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It wasn’t supposed to be this way - Chapter 1

My first ACOTAR fanfic!

Original character with eventual inner circle interactions

Most recent update: 1/22/23

Warnings for the series: domestic abuse

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Elara Haverstrom was a highly respected member of the night court. Officially, her title was the Governess of Velaris; a keeper of sorts, her main responsibilities were overseeing the city of starlight and being the last line of defense for the sacred city. Warrior in nature and Illyrian trained, there were very few enemies who would even fathom the thought of breaching the borders with her at the helm.

Despite tales of her on the battlefield, of what she was willing and capable of doing, the people of Velaris never feared her; fondly giving her the nickname Lady Starlight. Elara was far too humble to ever accept the title, knowing if anyone was to be called Lady Starlight, it would be the high lady of the court herself.

Elara never relished in her abilities to cut enemies limb from limb. In her heart she was sensitive, caring, and protective, but she’d stop at nothing to defend her people, even if it meant doing things that made her sick to her stomach and sent her spiraling into a storm of questions about her own existence and morals.

While she wouldn’t consider herself part of the inner circle, she was well acquainted and truly could not imagine working with anyone else. She directly reported to Feyre and Rhysand, but found herself frequently seeking consult from the rest of the group.

As governess over the city, she had nearly an entire wing of the house of wind to herself, although she rarely chose to take up residence there. she lived with her partner in an apartment near the river; the rest of her family, her mother and siblings lived in a townhouse in the heart of the city. Her official office and work space was there as well, but she much more preferred to be out on the streets when possible, conversing with her people and seeing the state of the city firsthand.

Her mother was somewhat of a legend among Illyrian females. Laurel Haverstrom had three children and upon the birth of her youngest son, Endor, she escaped out of the Illyrian camps, fleeing the oppressive laws against females and her own husband’s abuse and cruelty. Upon their arrival in Velaris, Rhysand had welcomed them in, well aware of what the family had suffered at the hands of Elara’s father. Her and her younger siblings, Elvira and Endor, had trained their entire childhood, Laurel trying her best to stamp out the hopelessness and fear they had learned in their home.

Elvira and especially Endor were too young to have truly been affected by their father’s tyranny. Remnants of what he had done stuck around in their brains, but they were much better adjusted than Elara ever hoped to be. After hundreds of years she had surely expected to be able to leave the past in the past, but she feared there was something truly wrong with the very make up of her body, of her mind. She had been forever altered by the horrors she saw in the Illyrian camps and she was still dealing with the consequences of it to this day.

Laurel Haverstrom, while she had once been as close to immortal as she possibly could be, had been given a death sentence. She was slowly dying and had been for the last 100 years. While her family had never been able to uncover the specifics of their mother’s mysterious illness, they had suspicions their father was involved. The best Madja had been able to ascertain was that there was a poison flowing through Laurel’s veins with no known cure and while it was working through her body slowly, her siblings felt the weight of passing time everyday, fearing they had already borrowed too much.

And then there was Merikh. Elara’s partner. They were not married nor mated and to be quite honest she really wasn’t sure what they were or what they were doing. She had once been in love and perhaps he had been too, but they had spiraled into something that was cruel, twisted, and ugly.

Merikh had once been a fierce protector of her siblings and a gentle caretaker for her mother, but resentment and restlessness had filled his brain and fueled his decisions. Elara had sought counsel from Cassian and Rhysand to see if there had been a role for Merikh, something to release the tension and untempered energy. Cassian had appointed him as an emissary to the Illyrian camps. It was a job very few people wanted to do and it allowed Cassian to focus his efforts elsewhere. On the bad nights, Elara feared that sending her partner into the Illyrian camps where he was exposed to their ideas and practices regarding females might one day be her downfall.

Tonight could definitely be considered as one of those bad nights. After returning from a long day of walking through the north and eastern sections of the city, Elara unknowingly returned home to a war zone. As she walked through the door of their apartment, all she wanted to do was eat dinner, take a warm bath, avoid Merikh as much as possible, and lay in her bed.

Merikh clearly had other plans.

“Have you thought at all about what to do with your mother?” He asked it casually, but there was an edge to his voice. One that meant he knew he was testing his partner, that he knew he would be starting a fight.

He was asking as if she was a burden, a task to be dealt with, an inconvenience to be handled.

This was a recurring argument between the two of them and had sparked many a fight in the past. Merikh wanted to send her mother to an elderly home. A place where they would have no ideas how to handle her mother’s illness, who had no history or context of the poison flowing through her veins, where she would be lonely and isolated, away from her family. He thought that Elara was spending too much money to have nurses with her mother 24/7 and resented the amount of time she spent at the townhouse with her and her siblings. The first time he had broached the topic, she had refused outright. Merikh hadn’t appreciated being told no with such finality and authority. The fallout from that fight had been devastating to Elara, the first time he had truly been violent with her.

Before responding, Elara ran through her mental checklist; steeling her mental shields, checking her discipline and self control, relaxing the feelings of rage that rushed through her veins. She would not feed into his clear desire to have a fight this evening. She would eat dinner, ensure Merikh left the house to go do whatever it was he did around Velaris at night and she could have some sense of peace and go to bed without incident.

She took a deep breath and responded “My mother is staying at the townhouse, where Madja can visit her easily and where she is comfortable and close to her family.”

“I can’t imagine having children and then expecting them to serve at your every beck and call.” he had responded with venom in his voice.

Elara stopped in her tracks. Her eyes glazed over, her hearing went out. All she saw was red. All she heard was rage.

“My mother gave us a life of freedom and happiness. My mother gave me everything I have. Might I remind you that neither of us would have anything if it weren’t for her?”

In a second, she was slammed against the wall. His hands were around her neck, his hot breath in her face.

“I don’t know where the fuck you get off speaking to me like that, but you’re lucky your leash is as long as it is. You need to watch yourself Elara.”

Before she had the chance to react or respond, he had dropped her from the chokehold and watched her crumple to the ground. Gasping for breath. He stood there for a beat, considering her. In a flash, he had pulled out his knife and savagely swiped at her crumpled form. The slashes were clumsy and haphazard, but hit their mark all the same.

Blood flowed out of her wings and pool around her. She was gasping for air as hot tears painfully spilled down her face. It was the most devastatingly pathetic situation she had ever found herself in. A brief ghost of regret flashed across Merikh’s face. As quickly as it appeared, it was gone and so was he.

There was no way to tell how long she had been laying on the floor. A few moments or a few hours she had no idea. Her head was spinning, she was dizzy and nauseous. Confusion swirled through her brain and muddled her thoughts. She tried to stand but any movement of her muscles, of her wings especially, resulted in a searing pain. Eventually, she drug herself to their shared bed and laid on her stomach, praying to the mother that Merikh would stay away for the night.

Could she have tried speaking through her mind to Feyre or Rhysand? Probably. Could she have fought back against Merikh? Absolutely. He had less than half the training and discipline that Elara possessed. Could she have drug herself down the hall to the neighbors? Less likely but she might would’ve managed. But she didn’t do any of that and couldn’t even pinpoint the reason why.

The hours after nightfall came and went. Midnight, one, two, three in the morning. As the clock neared four, Elara convinced herself she would leave. She would take all of her stuff to the house of wind. She would seek out Feyre and Rhysand and tell them what happened. She would make things right. Start to really live and be free, but by the time the sun rose, she had talked herself out of it and couldn’t for the life of her figure out why.

As the sun rose, she finally got out of bed, careful to avoid grazing her wings.High fae healed quickly, but there was something about being hurt by someone you once loved, someone you had once committed your life to, that severely slowed the healing. As if the wrongness of it lingered in her bones; the fabric of the world had been wrinkled and altered. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Normally, she’d fly up to the training rings to start her morning, but even if she could get over the insurmountable task of using her wings to get up there, she’d never survive a round of training in this state. Instead, she used her time to try and mask her injuries and emotions the best she could. Delicately, she dressed herself in casual clothes. A set of blue flowing pants and a loose white shirt. Her original plan was to walk the streets of the city, making her usual rounds, but the thought of anyone accidentally seeing her bruises or tense movements made her sick. A moment of conflict went back and forth through her brain. If she couldn’t fly, she couldn’t get to the house of wind without help, but she was clearly in no state to see her people around the city today.

The only option was to take the day off - which honestly made her equally as sick. She could spend the day with her mother and siblings in the heart of the city; they were much less aware of what she did on a daily basis and could easily play off her injuries as a result of training or a mission she had been asked to go on.

Wrenching open the defenses around her mind, Elara opened just a sliver of space to call out into the void.

Good morning high lady

After just a moment a response shot down into her mind.

Good morning Elara Starlight, is everything okay?

Elara’s heart clenched at the sweetness and concern in her voice, at the endearing nickname she used. But she quickly stifled that bit of emotion, lest Feyre sense her fragility.

Everything’s alright but I wanted to let you know I’m taking the day off. I need to speak with my mother’s nurses and check in to make sure everything’s going okay. I’ll be available for emergencies though if anything comes up.

With no hesitation Feyre shot a response into her mind.

Finally, the governess takes a well deserved day of time off. Elara can sense Feyre’s smile and genuine care. Take the day and don’t worry about us. Rhys and I send Laurel our best wishes

Thank you. She hoped Feyre could sense your genuine gratitude.

And with that, she was off. Normally she would’ve just flown to her family’s townhouse, but that just wasn’t an option. Walking would have to do.

As she walked through the city, taking less travelled paths to run into as few people as possible, two things became abundantly clear.

1. Merikh was not the love of her life and everything about them had been destined to fail - even from the beginning. At some level she had always known this, but what she hadn’t realized was that her heart was never truly open for anyone, least all of all someone as revolting as Merikh. His cruelty and twisted ugliness had made her forget the true loves of her life. This city, the place that had given her true purpose in life, her family, most of all her siblings, and the people she was sworn to serve and protect. Her heart belonged wholeheartedly to all these things and whoever she found one day to love and settle down with had to be just as taken with those things as she was.

2. She had to leave. She wasn’t exactly sure how or what the aftermath would look like, but things could not go on this way.

As she winded through the city toward the townhouse her mind created a spiraling of thoughts that wound deeper and deeper into her soul. Each thought was more painful than the next, but she needed the pain. She needed the sharp prick of realization, the shock of knowing undoubtedly she had to act. Had to stand up and do something. With each painful thought she neared closer to the reality of leaving him and with each painful step she neared closer to her mother’s house.

#acotar #innercircle #rhysand #azriel #cassian #acotar imagines #a court of thorns and roses #cassian x reader #azriel x reader #rhysand x reader #feyre

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dynared · 7 months

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Weirdly, I find myself invested in the fate of Rooster Teeth when I stopped watching most of their stuff years ago, save being weirded out at the Justice League crossover with RWBY (and being infuriated Rooster Teeth animated both parts instead of Part 1 in Remnant being done by Rooster Teeth and Part 2 in Metropolis being done by the people handling DC's current batch of DTV animation). Maybe some of that is enjoying the company that made the hate letter to mecha gen:Lock squirm, maybe some of it is the idea that these properties could have been big if someone had zagged when they zigged, went a different way with a story, etc. Maybe, like a lot of other people, I was just disappointed when RWBY Ice Queendom wasn't a full-on remake of the series done by actual animators in SHAFT vs. what I've dubbed "Rooster Teeth Vision", the Blender-animated visuals that pale to visuals from companies like Studio Orange. But I think I'm just attracted to concepts that never got over the hump, the franchises, and films that die in development, the incomplete behind-the-scenes stories, etc.

I think after seeing everyone talk and the discussions of who's interested in buying RWBY from statements and podcasts, I have some good news and some bad news, depending on your opinion on the franchise.

The good news - There is definitely someone interested in buying RWBY (maybe not gen:Lock).

The bad news - Given that Warner is only allowing Rooster Teeth its 60-day sunset period to find a buyer for the IP before taking over proceedings and selling it directly, that potential buyer probably has zero interest in hiring Dillon Goo, the CRWBY, and probably wants to call a do-over on the franchise. A full-on reboot is going to happen if someone buys after the 60 days are up.

I've gone over options in other posts for potential homes for RWBY if Warner declares open season from the likely (Crunchyroll/Sony facilitating a sale to a Japanese partner, given their own disinterest in owning IP vs. being a middleman) to the less-likely but vastly different (A mobile game company turning the IP into the basis for a gatcha game in the vein of Honkai Star Rail or Genshin Impact) to the "Utterly goddamn hilarious but not likely" (Nacelle buying the IP and making RWBY the centerpiece of their shared universe with the likes of the Biker Mice from Mars, the C.O.W.Boys of Moo Mesa, and Sectaurs: Warriors of Symbion). But in pretty much every scenario, from the mundane to the ridiculous, one thing remains consistent.

No one who buys RWBY after the 60-day time period is going to have any interest in continuing the series from where it left off. At most, Dillon Goo seems to be positioning himself as the guy to hire as a showrunner/property steward for the potential reboot no matter who the new owner is.

But that might be a bit of a blessing.

Even if you're a fan of RWBY, I point to the utter disaster that was HBO Max's attempts at continuing gen:Lock after its first season did OK on Toonami, but was a lightning rod for the practices that affected Rooster Teeth, ranging from employee abuse to embezzlement. The second season was an utter disaster. What are the odds that an attempt to pick RWBY up where it left off wouldn't suffer the same issues? To that I say, just reset it rather than let its corpse shamble about.

As for gen:Lock, I'll give you $10 for it. Sell it in the next 72 hours and I'll throw in a keychain absolutely free.

#rwby #rooster teeth #rambles #gen:Lock #genlock

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aspiringwarriorlibrarian · 1 year

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Team RWBY as also "bad protagonists" because they apparently don't affect the main plot or at least aren't constantly driving the main storyline forth at a nonstop pace. Yeah that also baffles me because "team RWBY don't affect the main plot" How? They are the main plot!

I think it's partly motivated by a mentality that they "don't do enough" or "don't do it correctly".

The kinds of things that Team RWBY tends to do are more about the value of small and partial victories, the resilience and healing needed to keep going in the face of relentless evil or failures by forming strong bonds with each other, and the willingness to lean on others and trust others to continue the fight when you've fallen down.

A running theme of most views like the original point was making seems to operate on the notion that the only valuable thing a protagonist should do is big, grandiose absolute victories that fix everything perfectly and put them as the big saviors whom all should respect and defer to.

In other words, a lot like how a lot of people seemed to think Adam and Ironwood would be.

But the series actively skewered and dissects this mentality, with those two being highlighted more and more overtime as being intensely self-righteous at best and downright monstrous because all they really care about is their own grandiose fantasies at the expense of others.

Hell, Ozpin, even if his own goals were better-intended, suffered from this issue for millennia, since his belief that he was the only one who could oppose Salem and fixation on the bigger picture meant that he constantly overlooked how his "perfect world order" was cracking and falling apart at the seams because of the numerous small failings and societal issues he considered to be less important than defeating Salem (whom was smart enough to recognize his bad habits and exploited it ruthlessly), and arguably to the point of overlooking the possibility that his entire quest set to him by his God was likely never intended to succeed in the first place, because his goal was fundamentally impossible.

RWBY is a story about the small victories, how they can inspire others to try their best, even if only a little bit, and how the little things can build and improve to truly enacting change, in ways that grandiose gestures and fixation on bigger glories can overlook, or outright actively harm. How much the small things we do to help others can snowball into bigger and more profound impacts because we as people remember to actually care about others, instead of seeing them as a stepping stone for "the main characters".

And more than anything, that justice and a better world is a living and breathing organism that needs to be cultivated and nurtured with care and compassion, acknowledging and addressing the warts and all of society and that the fight never ends no matter how much people might want a guaranteed "happily ever after". Not forced at gunpoint or by "purging the problems until they go away" by those who think everything should be solved by the egomaniacs with the biggest god complexes.

That's exactly it. This isn't a story where we find a giant superweapon or where we have a series of battles where some win and some lose. Salem is immortal, infinitely patient, and the game is rigged against them. The only way to win is to change the fundamental narrative of Remnant itself. It's a story about broadening your understanding, learning to get back up, accepting yourself. Which often leads to cool battles, yes, because the demons of human nature here occasionally have the form of literal demons you can shoot in the face.

#rwby analysis

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simonshepherd · 1 year

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The ideal path for Scarlet Witch forward in MCU is a quick and definitive arc.

Let’s just acknowledge the fact that Wanda as a character is kinda cursed, and I don’t say that lightly. In the comics she got nuked out of the orbit by House of M and suffered 7 years of straight up absence from comics and spend even more time doing half-assed redemption arcs to get back on her feet.

Ironically it’s probably the popularity boost from MCU that fished her out of the sewer(she barely got comic appearance when WandaVision is actually running, that’s how little Marvel cared about her.) And when her fans saw the new dawn and seemingly bright future, sike, she got nuked again by Multiverse of Madness.

The way I see it, there aren’t many paths that won’t further waste her time or condemn her character even further.(AKA being Kang/Doom’s living plot device for Secret War, at least that’s what the fandom wants for her, before that they want her as the brooding mare for MCU mutants, did I mention this character is cursed?)

There is one storyline that could maybe both redeem her and develop her character further and maybe lead to a satisfying end though, that is a Darkhold Redeemer project based on the 90s Darhold: Pages from the Book of Sins comic series. She will be perfectly for Modred the Mystic’s role, a former victim of Darkhold who holds tremendous power, and wanting to help others who are affected by the remnants of Chthon’s power, the exact plot of course needs to be changed but Wanda helping Victoria Montesi avoiding her own prophecy and fate would be a very sympathetic premise, and of course it would naturally explore more Elder Gods lore and lead Wanda on the path of finding a way to defeat/contain Chthon, it could probably be finished in a show and a movie, then she can hopefully just peace out and never come back. A somewhat complete legacy not to be disturbed.

Also please just avoid the Billy/Tommy(and Children’s Crusade) in any actual capacity, I don’t hate those characters(and I am a YA fan), but I am going to amputate parts of her if it means I don’t have to be reminded how braindead she is during MoM yelling “muh kids” and that godawful icecream song. (Yes, that includes the none-existent Dadneto) But of course she will more likely be a spectacle generator down the line, have we learned nothing from being a fan of hers since 2005?

#wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #darkhold #house of m sucks #Multiverse of Madness also sucks #Victoria Montesi #just wishful thinking #MCU was useful #Until it wasn't

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thepmmmwitchproject · 1 year

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Manga Witches: Holy Quinque

This is the fifth post of the nameless manga witch series! This part will focus on nameless witches that showed up in Tart Magica.

All of these witches were done alongside with @honestlyboringperson!

We'll start off this time with Gogmagoga, the giant witch with a vigorous nature, a witch made of powerful plant-like tendrils, it absorbs the remnant lifeforce of human communities to become larger and stronger, despite being made of vines, it's quite the weak witch in isolated areas such as forests or valleys. She desires the company of other witches or animals but due to her gargantuan size and intimidating appearance they often flee at the sight of her, as such she is very lonely.

Pan, the witch of bells with a fainthearted nature. In an enchanted storybook forest barrier, small fairy-like familiars make their domain in. When danger comes, the familiars will ring out a melody with the witch, while the chiming may warn familiars from danger, it'll put others in danger by giving them suicidal witch kisses. She values her life above everything else, it'll even flutter away, leaving the same fairy familiars she tries to protect to suffer in her place.

Guadeluape, the corona witch with a holier-than-thou nature, it emits a warm light that causes those affected to calm and peaceful around it, regarding it as a divine deity, those who do not bow under it, receiving a killing blow from one of its many tentacles. More that reject its dominion, weaker the light affects others. This witch is also notably a bit more docile than others, but only to those who have fallen under her sway, and let’s them leave the barrier to procure offerings and spread the word of her divine “guidance”. If you defeat this witch without snapping the followers out her control, all her followers will learn of this like an epiphanhy and will relentlessly hunt you down.

(Corona in this case does not refer to that, but rather to "a part of the body resembling or likened to a crown." and "the rarefied gaseous envelope of the sun and other stars.")

Elizabeth, the witch of fertilizer with a bewitching nature. Her magical scent attracts men to it, which it'll then process to eat them with its gaping mouth, the witch then proceeds to grow taller with more limbs added on it. It can summon giant arm-like plants to bind and subdue men who try to flee. It'll eat women as well, though the effects aren't as potent. The floral familiars tend to imperfections the witch gains, due to it being too distracted with feeding itself otherwise. This witch was once a revered assassin who lived in a beautiful garden filled with her sister flowers, who used her beauty to take down her targets for fertilizer, until it became the very thing that took her down. Plants become much fertile and healthier when this witch passes by.

Limos, the feast witch with an overindulgent nature. It loves to eat, but not just because, but the fill the hole in heart after a horrible incident that occurred in her human past. It can and will eat anything it sees, crushing it with its claw for easier consumption. It has a strong preference towards soul gem, more cleansed the better. This witch is edible and the taste of its crabmeat is absolutely gourmet, but some noted the slight aftertaste of sorrow after a while. It is oddly fond of French fries and will take their time to savor its favorite food, giving opponents an ample opportunity for a surprise attack. The next part will be the start of the last section of witches, the witches that show up during the climax battle of Tart Magica!

#obscure witches #witch #madoka magica #tart magica #collab #gogmagoga #giant #pan #bell #guadeluape #solar corona #elizabeth #fertilizer #limos #feast

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coloursfalllikesnow · 2 years

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Here is a Bane I used recently in one of my chronicles that perhaps others might be interested in using - it’s free to use for your chrons.

Coalmouth An ancient spirit that has been changed by the modern day, Coalmouth was created for use in a chronicle in the Appalachian mountains, but is suitable for any location that coal mining is or was common.

Rage 10, Gnosis 8, Willpower 6, Essence 60 Charms: Airt Sense, Materialize (which grants 12 health levels), Realm Sense, Re-form, Blast, Warp Reality*

(*Functions as the Nexus Crawler Warp reality charm in W20 Core, though Coalmouth is limited to affecting the surrounding landscape, such as raising or lowering temperatures or changing patches of earth to pitch, and so on.)

Materialized Stats: Attributes: Strength 5, Dexterity 6, Stamina 5, Perception 4, Intelligence 1, Wits 2 Abilities: Alertness 4, Athletics 4, Brawl 5, Intimidation 4, Primal-Urge 4, Stealth 3

Bans: Coalmouth cannot abide the singing of the domestic canary, and it causes it great pain to be in the vicinity. As well, Coalmouth is weakened by direct sunlight; its Essence is treated as half if led into the sun.

Image: Coalmouth resembles a long, pitch-black serpent as big around as a small car, though several dozen pairs of pointed legs extend down its body like a centipede. Its head is blunt and has three slit-shaped eyes arranged an equal distance apart on the top that glow orange in dim light. Its mouth is a jagged maw of sharp teeth, and when open appears to lead into the depths of a furnace. Its roars are layered over many other noises to an unsettling effect - fire crackling, and the screams of dying miners. It gives off small amounts of smoke and ash when it moves, and radiates heat.

Background: Coalmouth has been known by a number of names by many different people, though the current one is an approximation of the Garou tongue name given to it (represented by the glyphs for "fire", "earth/stone", "poison/disease", and "tooth") in the mid-late 1900s. In days long past, Coalmouth was a remnant of a great and terrible brood of ancient plant-spirits, sealed deep under the earth by parties unknown in the time before the Garou remember. It managed to eventually slip its binds and threaten to escape into the material once again, though the local Pure Tribes sealed it once more under the earth, in a small but twisting series of caverns. And that was that... At least until the coal boom in the Appalachian region, when the rich seams of coal were discovered and dug deep into by the coal companies.

The greed of the coal companies and the suffering of the miners as they toiled all around the coal veins it was sealed into fed Coalmouth better than it could have ever dreamed. The small but slippery spirit grew stronger and stronger, eventually cracking its bindings enough to start roaming around the mine in the Umbra. Following the closure of the mine when the coal boom died down, the bane contented itself will collecting the remains of former mine workers when it could, and attacking any unfortunate kinfolk who would wander near. While its binds were cracked and weak, it was still tethered to the mine, and couldn't roam too far, unfortunately for the beast, and so bides its time.

The weakening of the binds and the lack of upkeep by any Banetenders is likely due to a long-running conflict between two local septs, the feud causing both sides to neglect duties they should otherwise be keeping tabs on. Coalmouth is unaware of these interpersonal conflicts, but benefits from them greatly anyway. The spirit is too powerful to be completely destroyed without great effort, but perhaps if relations could be mended, the bane could be sealed completely once more, or even destroyed by a joint effort.

Storytelling Notes: Coalmouth has an intense hatred of the Changing Breeds but especially their kinfolk, and will attack any it becomes aware of, preferring them to normal humans or other spirits, though it will still attack Garou and Fera if presented with them. The spirit is old and crafty in a primordial, instinctual way, and when not in the presence of any of its Bans will prefer to slither through disused passages of its mine or tunnels of its own making to avoid attackers. It is well aware of the effect sunlight has on it, and will refuse to exit the mine during the day to avoid it, unless bidden to by a greater force.

#werewolf the apocalypse #old world of darkness #world of darkness #TTRPGs #WtA #long post

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inthepitch · 1 year

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Toji Fushiguro - Potentially the most human character in the entire JJK series?

Let me start this off by defining how I’ll be using the term “human.” Humanity, to me, is the capacity to act humanlike. To some, it could refer to moral righteousness, but I view humanity to be just that—acting akin to a human. Humans have flaws. We are deeply, deeply flawed creatures that have the potential for good, as well as the potential for wickedness. It’s all a matter of circumstance.

Toji, to me, is a victim of circumstance. He was born into a family that rejected him—not even casting him out, but keeping him around to be ridiculed and abused. His trademark scar is but a physical remnant of the suffering he endured under the Zen’in, but one has to look no further than his attitude to see the mental remnants the abuse has etched into his being.

First and foremost, his apathy. He was shown no significant measure of love or compassion over the course of his upbringing, facing turmoil and ridicule because of something he couldn’t control. He spent his life suffering under those who should have fostered and loved him. The very concept of love, or even positive emotion in general, may be extremely foreign to him. He is so far alienated from regular human emotion, that it’s what allows him to commit the crimes he does in the present day. Hell, one of the first things he does when we finally see him in the field is kill a teenage girl with a shot right through the head, as she’s crying joyously over the renewal of her life. And what’s his reaction? He doesn’t have one. It’s just another task for him, akin to washing dishes or folding laundry. This, for some, would condemn Toji. They’d label him a villain, and though he thematically IS the antagonist of Gojo’s Past, he is by no means an evil man. He’s a callous man, driven by circumstance into the situation he’s in now.

Let it be known that his apathy extends even to himself. He doesn’t truly care for himself, and he tells the reader as much when he faces Gojo’s Hollow Purple. Accurate translations of his dying words reflect a profound lack of respect and value for both himself and others. He’s not someone like Sukuna, who will drag others down and prop himself up—He simply doesn’t care about anyone. Well… that’s not true, but we’ll get back to that. Overall, his apathy is what allows him to commit murders such as Amanai’s without a second thought—an apathy founded in the abuse of Toji by his own family.

The only emotion that he can consistently be seen to feel is thrill—excitement brought around by the presence of risk. We see clearly on his face that he quite enjoys fighting, and one of the only other hobbies we know him to have is gambling.

But, we know that Toji felt love for at least two people. Megumi’s mother, and Megumi himself. Not much is known about their marriage, not to me at least, but it seems accurate to say this was the peak of Toji’s life. Mamaguro, however she may have done it, seemed to be the one to ignite compassion in Toji that he had failed to grasp onto for his entire life. Tragically, when she died, she took this compassion with her. Now, Toji was almost entirely back to the way he was before. Almost.

There was still Megumi. Despite forgetting who he even was for an extended period of time, the sense of care Toji had for his son is quite unambiguous. He did approve of a deal to sell his son to the Zen’in clan, but this was to provide Megumi with a better, more prestigious life than he himself could provide. He knew that he couldn’t be the father Megumi needed—after all, Toji never knew love or affection himself until Mamaguro came around. But, she was gone, and he wasn’t convinced that Megumi’s upbringing was gonna be a good one under his parental guidance. So, instead of foolishly holding onto his kid, he willingly relinquished him—and got a fat check off of it, so that’s a plus. His care of Megumi is even further driven home as he’s dying.

Toji, missing half of his body, was asked by Gojo if he had any final words. At first he denies the notion, seemingly just fine with dying in an unremarkable silence. No declarations, no apologies, nothing. He was just going to stand there and die, knowing he had brought it on himself. But, then he thought of his son, envisioning the frowning face of his boy. When he saw this, he spoke up to Gojo. He informed the high schooler that his son was to be sold in 2-3 years, to the Zen’in family, and to do with that information what he pleased. Toji, in his dying breaths, entrusted the man that killed him with his son, because he didn’t like the prospect of his boy unhappy under the callous rule of the Zen’in. He knew that Jujutsu High would be a better home for Megumi than the Zen’in clan ever could be, seeing the compassion of its members firsthand.

Now, how exactly does Toji care so much about Megumi, whilst also seeming to forget the boy even exists? It’s hard to pin down. Maybe his care for the boy is in remembrance of his mother, and that’s it. Could be, but I’m not too convinced. I posit that Toji does genuinely love his son, but it’s so stifled by his own upbringing and the loss of the love of his life that he appears to feel nothing at all for him sometimes. But, when it counts, Toji’s love for Megumi will always prevail—no matter what.

When brought back to life later on in the Shibuya Arc, Reanimated Toji seems to be led entirely by homicidal instinct. He strikes down Dagon, then enters a fight with Megumi for some reason. He focussed on nobody else, but his son, thrashing him quite a bit too—but clearly not trying too hard. I mean, to be frank, if Toji applied even HALF the effort it took to take down Dagon, he’d have destroyed Megumi VERY quickly. I feel that, over the course of their fight, Toji’s consciousness was gradually coming back to him, holding him back from obliterating his son as we know he absolutely could have. Eventually, Toji gained FULL consciousness, first reminiscing on the moment that he sold his son. He then asks him, what his last name is. Upon finding out it’s not Zen’in, Toji is happy to stab himself in the skull.

Let’s note a few things. The conversation he had with Megumi was very brief. He didn’t even introduce himself as the kid’s dad, or assert himself at all. Thank goodness for it too, or Megumi would’ve have to deal with the mental strain of his father killing himself RIGHT after entering his life. But, another thing, is that Megumi was Toji’s first thought. As soon as he fully came to his senses, he remembered the moment in which he sold Megumi. Signed his son away, in hopes for him to have a better future. Is this his sole biggest regret? Lastly, Toji’s suicide is quite unnerving in how casually it’s done. Toji has just scored a second shot at life, reincarnated into the world for reasons unknown to him. He could’ve literally done ANYTHING, but he chose instead to die upon finding out that his son was, for the most part, okay. That he still bore his last name, and that he had a family/community where he was measured by more than his potential. Instead of clinging onto life from this point on, Toji was so fulfilled by his son’s relative peace that he decided to just let go.

The sketch of Toji at the end of the chapter, with the halo above his head, indicates to me that he’s in a better place now, hopefully with Mamaguro. That might even be part of why he was so easily able to exorcise himself—to return to Heaven after learning that his son was okay in life.

Yes, Toji was absolutely a callous, cold, unrelenting man that didn’t blink at the murder of a child nor even show himself to regret it. But, at his core, despite the abuse that cursed him with the evil he displayed over the course of his life, Toji seemed to be a relatively good man. He was merely a victim of circumstance, molded from birth by monsters in a situation that was completely out of his control. Despite his actions, I’m happy that he isn’t remembered in any great deal of contempt. I’m glad that Gojo has even gone as far as honoring him by dressing in his outfit, and that Gojo has taken Megumi in as his own, given him a home. And, I’m glad that Toji is finally at rest now, enjoying the peace and joy that he has lacked since the moment he was born.

#toji fushiguro #toji zenin #jujutsu kaisen

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disordinarybeauty · 4 months

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Echoes of Agony: The Lasting Imprint of War on Flesh and Soul

Geliy Korzhev's "Burnt by the Fire of War" series is an evocative exploration of the devastating impact of war, immortalizing the irreversible damage inflicted on both land and psyche. Through his art, Korzhev delves deep into the human condition, exposing the relentless torment and the shattered remnants of what once was. His canvases are a chronicle of suffering, each stroke laden with the weight of stories untold, voices silenced, and dreams obliterated.

Korzhev's work is a continuation of a somber narrative, one that artists like Otto Dix and Francisco Goya have historically narrated through their own haunting series, 'The War Series' and 'Disasters of War.' These artists, much like Korzhev, did not shy away from confronting the viewer with the grotesque truth of war's carnage. They unflinchingly presented the grotesque mutilation of the human form and the desecration of the human soul, challenging the observer to confront the harsh realities often sanitized in historical recounting.

In 'Burnt by the Fire of War,' Korzhev does not merely depict the aftermath; he transports us into the midst of the inferno, the moments where humanity is both lost and found. His paintings are a visceral scream against the senseless destruction, a plea for remembrance, and a call to never forget the cost of conflict. They are a powerful reminder that while the battles may cease, the echoes of war resonate long after, in the silent suffering of survivors and the collective memory of society. Korzhev's legacy, therefore, is not just in the visual representation of war's brutality but in the emotional resonance that his work evokes, compelling us to reflect on the profound consequences of human strife.

The physical agony endured by those caught in the throes of war is a subject of harrowing depth and complexity. War's capacity to inflict pain extends beyond the immediate brutality of combat; it leaves in its wake a legacy of enduring suffering and bodily mutations that can span generations.

The human body, when subjected to the extreme conditions of war, can experience a range of traumatic injuries. Explosive devices, for instance, can cause blast injuries that result in complex fractures, amputations, and shrapnel wounds. Chemical warfare can lead to burns, scarring, and disfigurement, as well as internal damage that may not be immediately visible. Radiation exposure, a grim reality of nuclear conflict, can cause mutations at the cellular level, leading to cancers and other chronic health conditions.

These physical afflictions are not merely isolated injuries; they often lead to secondary health issues, such as infections and psychological trauma. The pain experienced is not just in the moment of injury but is a continuous struggle in the lives of the afflicted, often requiring lifelong medical care and rehabilitation.

Moreover, the genetic impact of war's toxins and radiological agents can result in mutations that affect future generations. Children born in regions affected by war may carry the genetic scars of conflict, manifesting in birth defects and developmental disorders. This is a poignant reminder of war's long shadow, as these mutations become a part of the genetic narrative of populations, altering the course of lives yet unborn.

In the context of art, the depiction of these physical mutations serves as a stark visual language that communicates the depth of war's destruction. Artists like Korzhev use their canvas to capture the raw essence of this pain, not just as a record of historical events, but as a profound commentary on the human condition. Their work compels us to confront the uncomfortable truth that the consequences of war extend far beyond the battlefield, embedding themselves into the very fabric of human biology and identity.

#new media art #digital art #artificial intelligence #ai #art #war #emotional pain #physical pain #mutation #body #identity #art text #art critic #world #society #culture

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ismahanescorner · 8 months

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The Remnant Chronicles | Series Review

Author: Mary E. Pearson

Genre: YA Fantasy, Romance

Publisher: Henry Holt & Co

Release Date: 08/07/2014 - 07/07/2015 - 02/08/2016

Rating: 3.75/5 🌟

Synopsis:

The Kiss of Deception: 4/5 🌟🌟🌟🌟 In a society steeped in tradition, Princess Lia’s life follows a preordained course. As First Daughter, she is expected to have the revered gift of sight—but she doesn’t—and she knows her parents are perpetrating a sham when they arrange her marriage to secure an alliance with a neighboring kingdom—to a prince she has never met. On the morning of her wedding, Lia flees to a distant village. She settles into a new life, hopeful when two mysterious and handsome strangers arrive—and unaware that one is the jilted prince and the other an assassin sent to kill her. Deception abounds, and Lia finds herself on the brink of unlocking perilous secrets—even as she finds herself falling in love.

The Heart of Betrayal: 3/5 🌟🌟🌟 Held captive in the barbarian kingdom of Venda, Lia and Rafe have little chance of escape . . . and even less of being together. Desperate to save her life, Lia's erstwhile assassin, Kaden, has told the Vendan Komisar that she has a magical gift, and the Komisar's interest in Lia is greater than either Kaden or Lia foresaw. Meanwhile, the foundations of Lia's deeply-held beliefs are crumbling beneath her. Nothing is straightforward: there's Rafe, who lied to her, but has sacrificed his freedom to protect her; Kaden, who meant to assassinate her but has now saved her life; and the Vendans, whom she always believed to be barbarians but whom she now realizes are people who have been terribly brutalized by the kingdoms of Dalbreck and Morrighan. Wrestling with her upbringing, her gift, and her very sense of self, Lia will have to make powerful choices that affect her country, her people . . . and her own destiny.

The Beauty of Darkness: 3.75/5 🌟🌟🌟 💫 Lia has survived Venda—but so has a great evil bent on the destruction of Morrighan. And only Lia can stop it. With war on the horizon, Lia has no choice but to assume her role as First Daughter, as soldier—as leader. While she struggles to reach Morrighan and warn them, she finds herself at cross-purposes with Rafe and suspicious of Kaden, who has hunted her down. In this conclusion to the Remnant Chronicles trilogy, traitors must be rooted out, sacrifices must be made, and impossible odds must be overcome as the future of every kingdom hangs in the balance.

Review:

BOOK ONE:

okay, so yeah, this one actually lives up to the adequate hype it has! honestly, it should have more hype since it’s much better and well plotted than most new releases!

anyways, the first half of the book was a game of who’s who?! and it legit had me pulling my hairs out!!! cuz i sooo wanted her to fall for the prince but these shitty stories always have the princess falling for the rugged broke bitch … ugh!! i was all nerves!!! thankfully, around the 70% mark, we get the truth out !!! anywho, really like this one. i’ll be picking up the next in a couple of days! highly recommend the audiobook too!!

BOOK TWO:

unfortunately, this one suffered from “sequel blues”! it wasn’t bad per se, but it didn’t have the mystery element of the first one that kept me reading! that element could have easily been swapped for who is “the betrayer” the book is named after (ie: **** ******)! the exposition of the events wasn’t as gripping as in the first book either! still the ending offered a good fight scene and a resolution to the current situation so i’m not too mad at the book!

I hope the final book is more like the first than the second!!

BOOK THREE:

this one wasn’t as gripping and thrilling as the first, but it didn’t suffer from sequel blues like the second. the events that transpired in the last 10% weren’t exactly my cup of tea and brought my overall enjoyment down, thus the 3 stars instead of 4 stars! hey at least we got peace and no stupid draconian border treaties!!

📷 Mary E. Pearson on Twitter.

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fanartbyherd · 1 year

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Here’s a series of small drawings I did for that Mundane horror AU. again.

At different locations and looks they have. How do I explain this without it being too long?

Well first of I should state a few things more about the au; first of as mentioned last time, the powers and dread domains are known about by the public at large, and have been known about for millennium. But I don’t know if I have mentioned that the dread powers are not the only powers floating around making domains, there’s two others getting into peoples business. More on them some other time perhaps. Domains are sort of a thing. And people are affected by powers all the time. But most of the time it goes away after a while. In the meantime there’s people like Michel here where that’s not the case. Most of the time people like Michel Shelly or Nicola, are able to use “glamor or the haze” to obscure what thier true appearances are for most people. Though there are people who are able to sense the precence of them or in even rarer cases you get twats like Gerry Keay and Jonathan Sims, who can just see straight through these glamor. Also mirrors. Mirrors and many reflective surfaces will betray a persons true form.

That being said a person can also drop thier glamor, when they want too. Sometimes it slips up as it is something that is rather exhausting to keep up all the time. Other times something is too overwhelming too keep it up. Such as being near something with the source of your own power. Or when forced out of it by the presence of something else.

Glamor is of course only something that the people who are still in some semblance of their sense have. There is the other side of the dangerous game that is these domains that is “being taken” a firce balancing act when trying to be stronger with these very fickle situations. Try and amass too much all at once and the power will eat you and turn you into a monster, something that is just an extension of the power but has little to no remnants of what you had been. Eaten by it leaving only a Mabey you shaped skeleton that goes on trying to eat others until it falls away to nothing or becomes destroyed. Do too little with these powers and they fade away until they are no longer of use. Like they where ever there at all. Both prosess leave behind scars of sorts.

Some are invisible and unnoticeable even by those who bear it. Others are have large ones proclaiming they survived being eaten. These range in severity much like how healing and not healing ranges.

For those who have become tied up in large parts with the powers and not been taken by them, they will often find themselves beginning to change physically as they grow stronger. It’s a bit like going through a second puberty so in other words it sucks. Sometimes this change can be quick or slow, it can be gradual or extreme. Some of these features become things that can not be hidden.

For example, even when in his most human of human forms that Michel Shelly is able to take on, there are a few things he can not get rid of. Michel always has sharp teeth and his eyes change colors ever since he became a distortion. All the other things they can hide when not seen in a mirror, the wild hair, the bright neon like colors, the too sharp hands with too many joints. He can hide all of it. Many features have overlap with each-other, like sharp teeth are a trait that can appear in the hunt, the slaughter, the spiral and even the web so trying to determine a person’s alignment by physical features is a bit dubious and also rather rude (people still do it anyways)

There are devices built to help a person become more powerful but not suffer from any of the adverse consequences of this. Invented some time around the Second World War but not common until the 1960s. They where made to allow people with only some connection to a power to temporarily boost thier ability without having to worry about all that icky stuff about your body changing.

Charms for empowering and for warding off these powers have been around for centuries. In the form of things like lucky charms, evil warding symbols (evil eyes, dream catchers, gargoyles, talisman etc) and stuff like that. With the different cultures having had different methods to keep this dangerous power at bay.

The powers are Ill understood by society and science, in part because thier very nature is in defiance of understanding.

Anyways so much for this being short. In the picture Michel looks rather human still. Notably they are able to take on even more monster like forms. In fact in the same way glamour works to make someone appear more human there is also a way to make yourself more “monstrous” too. This is in some ways how werewolves and the like work. Though unless someone or something is very proficient or well practiced it this. Shapeshifting is one of the fastest ways to push yourself from being in control to become a “beast”.

This will also depend on your alignment(s). Shapeshifting is a lot easier for something of the stranger, spiral or hunt than what it would be for someone of the beholding, lonely or the web.

#fanart #the magnus archives #tma micheal shelly #tma au #why is this so long #cw scars #cw injury #brief mention of World War Two #genuinely don’t know why I keep doing this #long post #shapeshifting #mirror horror #cw body horror #cw body image #I’m embarrassed so let me be

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h50europe · 3 years

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Why the myth about Steve's PTSD doesn't add up and other inconsistencies

In the last few episodes of H50, PL tried to sell us a mentally broken Steve suffering from PTSD. Only the whole thing came a bit too late. The clip you see is from season 4 and ended up - no, not in the series - but somewhere on the floor of PL's editing room. And why? after Kurtzman and Orci departed, along with their writers, PL took the helm and started turning Steve into a super-soldier. He stylized him into something that wasn't meant to be. Instead of developing the characters, PL began to incorporate more and more hair-raising action sequences into the series and then let Steve fight on the front lines. There was no mention of Steve's mental state, and a lot was explained by PL with: it just happened "offscreen." Yeah, sure. PL can't create a decent character. He can only produce stereotypes and one-dimensional beings. Like Adam. What potential would that character have had had he been turned into Five-0's antagonist? But no. So his role remained diffuse and monotonous. Sometimes even tragicomical.

Back to Steve. When SEAL Team started on CBS, PL also lapsed into SEAL mania. If someone who writes fanfiction were to produce as much garbage as this man did, he would be chased away from every writers' platform in disgrace. PL's Super SEAL also had to rescue his team members from a blazing inferno. Not man by man, no, he flew a helicopter right into the danger zone and lifted a whole cabin out of the burning jungle. If lunacy had a name, it would be PL. While the action became more and more exaggerated and unrealistic, the same happened to the protagonists. After the departure of Daniel Dae Kim and Grace Park, PL completely lost his mind. And please, don't blame the writers for the nonsense that was thrown at you. A series stands and falls with the showrunner. He dictates what he wants and passes it on to his staff.

And so, lovable Steve became a soulless robot who only showed feelings here and there. Danny diminished more and more into a sidekick. McDanno became a ship that drifted anchorless through a stormy sea and threatened to capsize again and again. From season 8, it became a reboot of the reboot. PL tried an ensemble show and failed more than miserably. Often the actors just stood around bored. At least that was the impression. The only highlight was episode 8.10. A feast for all McDanno fans. But even here, the outcome of "who shot Danny" was more than insubstantial.

Wait, there was something about SEALs... Oh, yes. Junior appeared on the scene and became Steve's lapdog. I really wondered when there was going to be an episode where he would fetch sticks for Steve. Luckily we had Eddie for that. And because he thought he was so clever, PL invented the episode speed dating. How many subplots can you squeeze into one episode at the same time? In some episodes, you couldn't even take a look at the bag of potato chips without losing the thread.

The case of the week became the yawn of the week. There were so many loose ends that PL then came up with something called retconning. That's what you do when you're no longer satisfied with what was once established in the series years ago, or it no longer fits. But PL went one step further and did the same with the characters. The more the series was dragged out, the more the characters deteriorated and became OOC. It means, often, they were not recognizable at all. And that's where we come to Steve. Because PL, in his desperation, didn't know what else he could do to Steve, and so he killed Joe White. He did it in such a cheesy way with a fake sunset that it made you sick.

Of course, one episode later, there had to be another gig of PL's favorite Barbie. He stuck a fake beard on poor Steve/Alex, so he couldn't even hug Danny/Scott properly. The episode also raised more questions than it answered any. And Steve? He still didn't suffer from PTSD, even though he had now lost Joe White and a fellow SEAL. Everyone is dropping like flies, except for Steve, who is standing like a rock. No matter what. He doesn't need in-depth talks with Danny, nor psychological care, nor any sleeping pills. No, he's doing great. He also opens a restaurant with Danny because apparently, the carguments are already getting on PL's nerves. Unfortunately, this plot device leads into nirvana. The idea was nice, but nobody thought it through to the end. And the merry-go-round continues. Until we get to season 10, where it gets even more absurd. Now PL is almost bombarding us with McDanno episodes, or at least it should seem that way. Oh well, he's already planning for season 11, so a new character has to come on board quickly. While in the beginning, Steve's mother, Doris, dies.

Alex was allowed to take on the subject. Of course, only under the strict eyes of PL. He then nullifies Alex's idea that Steve kills his mother. Because a good soldier and Super SEAL won't do that. Little does PL know. THAT could have been the opening of a PTSD scenario for Steve. However, apart from that, this episode would have had any potential for a multi-arc. Just imagine Steve chasing his mother across multiple episodes. Again, PL stepped in and butchered Alex's episode. You can really feel sorry for the guy. PL at his best or worse? He just can't help it. And then, on the very last meters of the series, he brings someone new, who is allowed to cruise around with Steve most of the time. Because Danny was kidnapped by Wo Fat's widow, PL also invented quite late to have some villain at his disposal. This wannabe mastermind must really have been living under a rock somewhere if she wasn't even mentioned by her husband or appeared earlier.

Because towards the end, PL obviously ran out not only of steam but also of ideas, everything culminated in a wildly illogical scenario. Steve has to live through a dramatic day with Eddie, who stands as a metaphor for Steve (as I said, PTSD was never a thing for Super SEAL), Danny bangs his brains out in a ladies' room with a complete stranger, who dies shortly after that in an accident with Danny's rental car. Apparently, there was no budget to turn the Camaro into scrap metal. Danny then also goes home alone, ignoring the incoming emergency vehicles. Everything remains open at the end of the episode. While Steve expresses his gratitude to Tani and Quinn and says, he would be just as lost as poor Eddie without the dog and all of them. The strange thing is that you never notice anything until that sentence. A few forced dialogues are supposed to make the drama visible, but they all happen way too late or are so poorly written that you miss them.

PL had decided early on to make Steve a Teflon hero. That also means he didn't need to put much substance into the character. Which you can clearly see if you compare the first three seasons to the rest of the series. But towards the end, PL wanted to turn the tide and forcefully rewrote Steve's past. There is a huge difference if you compare Steve from seasons 1 to 3 with Steve from season 10. It is only a sparse remnant of what made this character so great. This change in Steve's personality also affects his relationship with Danny. The witty, affectionate banter degenerates into a snappy, humorless bitch-fest that takes all the joy out of it.

The final two episodes could have been written for any other crime show. As mentioned, we have Cole, who even gets a book'em Cole from Steve, which can only be described as out of line. And it begs the question, was that what Lenkov originally had in mind? Danny out of the show and Cole in? Was the last episode, which mainly featured McCole, something of a test run? Did all the McDanno moments happen only to tear the two apart eventually? Was the real final scene the one where Steve and Catherine take Danny's coffin back to Jersey? Was Danny not supposed to survive? Was that the real reason Steve wanted to get out of Hawaii because he wanted to pay his respects to Danny? And would he really have returned to Hawaii later? Or would he have turned his back on Hawaii? To me, this ending is more plausible than what PL served us. Then, Steve handed over his credentials to Cole instead of Danny, his second in command. Honestly, you can't make the end of a series any more sloppy and dumber than that. And I won't even lose a word about the last 1:30 minutes because I think everything has already been said.

No PL, mission absolutely not accomplished. You created Teflon-Steve. You never wanted him to show any weakness. You turned him into a superhuman who can survive anything. Only to pull the rug out from under him on the last few meters to the finish line and spit on his legacy. How can you dismantle such a great series and its characters like you did? How much do you have to hate something to do that? In the final interviews, the showrunner didn't exactly cover himself in glory either. Everyone who grew up with the series from day one knows that its end was wrong on all the possible levels and that the showrunner is solely to blame for that. It takes a fair amount of egoism and carelessness to drive 10 years at full throttle against the wall. Not many people can do that. Whether you can be proud of that, however, I doubt.

My respect if you have made it this far. Each of you gets 10 extra brownie points for it.

#McDanno #steve mcgarrett #danny williams #scott caan #alex o'loughlin #H50 the final chapter #H50 series finale #Lenkov #Eddie #Junior #seal team

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chaoticgeminate · 3 years

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A Drink for All (Almost)

Part of the Iridescence Fictional Universe

Precious Sea Glass Series

Pairings: Dragon!Pero Tovar x Nereid f!Reader

Series Rating: M [This portion is all fluff, however]

Word Count: 1.1K

Summary: Centuries have passed since your tale began and reunions bring nothing but good news now.

Notes: Written as a bonus for @writer-wednesday, has a few tidbits about major events in the Iridescence-verse but I tried to avoid too many spoilers.

[AO3]

“Are you excited to see him again?” Pero glanced at you as the two of you sat on the train, heading for Silverglenn together for a miniature vacation, and your dragon nodded after sighing gruffly. He was grumpier than usual after the Ostrean Magic Council had finally set a limit on where he could traverse in his natural form, people were still quite terrified seeing this massive black dragon soar overhead for some reason or another, and his idea to just shorten the trip had been halted by the ban.

“I would much prefer to have flown, mi cristal marino, but I suppose this is worth seeing that Elvish bastard again.” You resisted the urge to laugh at him, he really was trying to adapt to many of the restrictions in place, and instead you rewarded him by casually running your hand through his hair. A soft rumble escaped him as he leaned down to rest his head against your shoulder, exhaling heavily enough that the warmth of his breath spiked the temperature of the air around you, and a few people shifted slightly in discomfort.

You took the time to really study your mate, your husband, as he lay against you with his eyes closed; his armor was back at his dreyerie, traded for sturdy cargo pants and work boots along with a black button down currently unbuttoned most of the way down the chest. The centuries had been good to him, the fiery temper was certainly still there but being able to help grow and change alongside Se’Kvia had cooled some of those rougher parts of him, and he had definitely taken advantage of making sure to add his own influence where he could.

Turning the remnants of the land you both had called home into a much larger, singular, city had been his idea and the Elves were the first to back his suggestion after you. Gale Ennore and Kvia had been razed in the Sundering, the lands had taken decades to heal and reform, and once the new terrain had settled Pero had been the one to rally and monitor the construction of the outer rim houses before paying the magi and witches and spell slingers from his personal horde of treasures to erect the strongest of barriers and most potent of wards.

You traced the long stretch of a scar down the back of his neck, one you knew disappeared into the fabric of his shirt and ripped a long jagged mark down his back, and the memory of that day still chilled you to the bone. Pero’s desire was not only to protect the people of Ostrea but you, the Sundering had been such a tragic time for both of you and he’d suffered dearly all to keep you safe.

“Mi amor, you are thinking too hard again. Those days are long behind us.” You met his gaze as Pero looked up at you, the unmistakable warmth in his eyes making you smile again, and you couldn’t help but lean down to capture his lips in a kiss. Pero was the one to draw away from you, which was nearly unheard of usually, but the dragon was a touch greedy in his affections and PDA wasn’t his favorite thing.

“I know, my darling, but I very nearly lost you and that will live with me for the rest of my life.”

“Well it is a good thing we have helped shape a world that is more unified than before and the Elder Ones can no longer come muck this realm up now isn’t it?” You relented with a nod and pressed your forehead to his, letting him stroke the back of your neck gently, and the remainder of the train ride was spent with you leaned against one another holding hands quietly. By the time you arrived at Silverglenn the lingering fears were gone, the entire town transformed, and William stood beside Lin with a smile.

It was still such a strange thing to see the Priestess, you had met her a handful of times but she had met the two former mercenaries before even you, but the warmth that radiated from her hadn’t changed.

“Glad to see you both made it, come meet our little ones Daiyu and Tobias.” You laughed lightly as the Elf proudly presented the two children proudly before they were begging to go find the source of the herbaceous and yeasty aroma in the air. Pero gripped your hand in his and William looked between the two of you, a knowing look on his face.

“What about you two, then, any plans for little water lizards in the future?”

“William.”

Laughter spilled out of you when Lin scolded her husband, Pero flashing a look of gratitude at the Priestess, and you cast a very cautious look at your dragon. It wasn’t necessarily relief but you couldn’t quite be sure of his expression. You had purposefully waited for today, since Lin had given you the same courtesy.

“Actually, yes.” Your remark stopped the triad in their tracks, your mate’s head whipping to look at you with a sharp eye, and Lin smiled brightly as she placed her hand against your abdomen once you nodded.

“Strong, I sense a strong attachment to fire in this one.” You hummed gently at her brief examination and Pero’s hands were shaking as he captured your face.

“We are- you’re pregnant mi amor?” You nodded and tears sprang to your eyes when he grabbed your hips and hoisted you up, spinning with a delighted sound, and the kiss he gave you was searing and intense but so full of love. William looped an arm around your neck after you were released and hugged you against his side, offering a firm handshake to your dragon, and Lin captured your hand in hers.

“Then the three of us will drink to your delightful future as parents, you will have nothing with alcohol.” The Priestess’ word was final but you’d expected that much and as they steered you down the road, under the colorful flags and toward the nearest pub, you caught your mate’s eye and smiled at the barest flicker of a shine that he blinked away.

You would never forget the day, not after watching William and Pero insist they couldn’t get drunk and then proceed to do so, but chasing a drunken dragon was much harder than it sounded and several times you had to stop him from challenging other revelers to some competition or another.

But at the end of the day, laying in bed at the inn you’d chosen, he had held you close and whispered the admittance of how happy he was to learn that you were going to be parents together. You carved that moment into your heart, that reminder of all that had happened in your long life leading you here, to him, and thanked the Immortals for putting this dragon in your path.

#chaoticwrites #iridescence fictional universe #precious sea glass #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar fanfic #dragon!pero #nereid f!reader #writer wednesday

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negans-lucille-tblr · 3 years

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Too Close (Absent Sequel) - Chapter Four

Summary: Dean and Y/N are finally happy and settled in Paris, but there’s something threatening to disturb their peace - and with them comes secrets and betrayal.

Rating: 18+ (Smut/Angst/Fluff - Dark scenes)

Chapter Tags: angst, therapy, mentions of having a baby, anxiety, hints of PTSD, drug use

Chapter WC: ± 2.7K

A/Ns: Please send me an ask to be tagged in this series!

This fic is currently being posted four weeks (8 chapters) ahead on Discord.

Too Close Masterlist // Daughter!Reader Masterlist

< Previous Chapter

Chapter Four

Dean’s POV

“Everything okay?” Sam checks as they watch Y/N run into the bedroom. Dean frowns after her slightly and then looks back at Sam, accepting the drink Sam’s offering him.

“Yeah, man, it’s Tuesday, she has therapy Tuesday mornings, she’s probably just a bit out of it,” Dean shrugs softly, though his mind is on the bathroom in their bedroom as he wonders if Y/N is really okay. She’s come back from therapy shaken up before, but never like this. Maybe Cassandra finally broke through to her about some things. He takes a long sip of his drink, and decides he’ll go in and check on her after giving her the time and space she needs alone first.

“Therapy, huh?” Sam checks, slowly taking a seat on the couch opposite. Dean takes a deep breath and nods slowly. “Didn’t realise it was that bad,” Sam adds.

“C’mon dude, she was kidnapped, she thought she was gonna die, that fucks you up,” Dean defends. Sam purses his lips and nods his head.

“Didn’t think she’d still be affected by that.”

“Like I told you yesterday, ever since Christmas she’s been different, I don’t know,” Dean slumps back in his place and rubs his eyes.

He had hoped therapy would’ve helped her, and it had in some ways, but she still was closed off from him, up until she’d decided that she wanted a baby. And where she’d gotten that idea from, Dean didn’t know. She loved that cleaner’s kid, so it probably came from that, but Dean just hoped that Cassandra wasn’t encouraging the idea. Even without her knowing who Dean really is to Y/N, surely Cassandra can realise that Y/N is still so young and far too fragile and vulnerable for a child right now - so that alone should make her discourage Y/N and these ridiculous ideas.

“How much does she tell this therapist?” Sam asks carefully, his voice a little hesitant. Dean purses his lips, and takes another swig of drink.

“Don’t worry, she knows not to talk about who I am, I think she just talks about the kidnapping,” Dean explains. But Sam doesn’t seem to relax at all, and Dean can only assume he’s worried about them being exposed. But Dean trusts Y/N not to say anything.

“Are you sure therapy is wise?” Sam presses, licking his lips.

“Sammy, everything else aside, my little girl is suffering and I’ve gotta do everything I can to make her better, okay?” Dean’s tone is firm, leaving no room for arguments, and Sam seems to get the message, because he looks away and doesn’t say anything else. Dean takes a deep breath and looks down at the remainder of his drink, before knocking it back. The liquid burns his throat a little but he welcomes it, and licks his lips clean of any remnants before getting up. “I’m gonna check on her,” he explains, “just make yourself at home.” He reaches up and loosens his tie as he heads towards the bedroom, shutting the door behind him to give them privacy. Dean can hear the shower running in the bathroom and sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed.

As soon as he hears the shower stopping, he stands up and makes his way over to the bathroom door.

“Sweetheart? You okay in there?” he calls in. He doesn’t get a reply, but he can hear her moving around in there, “I’m just in here if you wanna talk,” he offers. Once more, there’s no reply, so he steps back and undoes his tie completely, pulling it through his collar and draping it over the back of the chair in front of the vanity table. He leans over the chair and stares at himself in the mirror for a moment. He’s barely slept all week and it’s showing in his face. He sported this look often back in Kansas, either too high or too busy to sleep most of the time, but since moving to Paris, he and Y/N had adapted to healthier lifestyles. No drugs, no working ridiculous hours, and most importantly - no girls at all hours of the day. Dean had only had eyes for Y/N the entire time they’d been here, and that wasn’t going to change any time soon.

He can’t deny he’s tense. He’s not been this long without sex since... well, probably ever. Sex and drugs had always been his go to when he was stressed, and he wasn’t expecting to have both things ripped from him. Especially when things have been particularly stressful in the last several months. But Dean knows that what he’s feeling can’t begin to cover what must Y/N feel, and he has to respect that she just might not want to be physical right now. So he has to be there for her whatever way she needs, and put his own needs on the backburner. She’s his priority and always will be. She’ll get better soon - she has to.

The bathroom door clicks open, and Dean immediately stands up straight, seeing Y/N coming into the room with a towel wrapped around her and her hair damp.

“Hey baby girl,” he smiles softly. “Are you okay? How was therapy? Wanna talk about it?” he checks. Y/N doesn’t answer him, but a small smirk curls over her lips as she reaches for the end of her towel and then pulls it out so the material wraps from her body and drops to the floor. Dean’s instinctive reaction is to check he definitely closed the door, and then his head snaps back to her as his eyes take in naked flesh. God he’s not seen her like this in a while, and his dick knows it as it starts to swell in his slacks. Dean clears his throat, and she steps up to him oozing confidence as she bites her bottom lip. She brings her lips close to his and softly cups over his growing erection.

“I don’t wanna talk, Daddy,” she whispers, “I just really want you to fuck me.” Dean takes a shuddered breath in, feeling himself get harder and harder beneath her palm, and tells himself to stay in control. How quickly she’s changed her mind about this before in the last few months is playing on his mind, and then the last time they almost fucked comes back to him too. What if she’s only doing this because she’s hell bent on him getting her pregnant? Not that he thinks she’d trick him, but Y/N hasn’t been in her sound mind for months, and he knows her well enough to know how desperate she is to keep him around. If she thinks having a baby is the only way to ensure he never leaves, that’s what she’ll do. Dean just needs to show her in other ways that he’s not going anywhere - that he’s in this for the long haul.

Dean reaches up to grip Y/N’s arms, pushing her away ever so slightly. He feels the slight bump under her skin in her arm where her implant should be and subtly moves to stroke his thumb along it and check it’s definitely there - which it is. He lets out a slight breath.

“Are you sure, baby girl?” he checks carefully, “because fuck, I want to, you know I do,” he sighs, referring to his now fully hard and fully throbbing cock under her hand, “but if it’s going to upset you-” Y/N’s hand pushes harder against his cock as she rubs it more purposefully, and Dean chokes on a moan. With her other hand, she reaches for Dean’s and guides it between her legs. Dean’s fingers curl through her sex, feeling how wet she is. Fuck, he’s missed that.

“Feel that, Daddy? Need you so badly. Need you to take care of me, please?” she whimpers.

Dean’s only got so much resolve with it being so long, and he couldn’t give a fuck if Sam was standing in the doorway watching, he needs this. Dean closes the gap and kisses Y/N passionately, hearing her moan softly into the kiss as he plunges two fingers inside her heat and curls them up to find her sweet spot. The heel of his palm grinds against her bundle of nerves, and Y/N rocks her hips down desperately into his touch. She pulls away, only to get down onto her knees at his feet, starting to get into his slacks. Dean reaches up to unbutton his shirt as he watches her reach inside his pants and manage to pull his erection free. He shrugs the shirt off of his shoulders and lets it drop to the floor, his hands instantly reaching for her damp hair as he wraps it around his fingers and Y/N leans forward to take his leaking tip into her mouth. She cleans the pre-cum away first with a swipe of her tongue, then sucks a little harder and starts to take him deeper.

“Jesus fuck, baby girl, Daddy’s missed that mouth,” he grunts. She hums happily around him and lowers her head further and further, until her bottom lip curls against his balls. Dean moans a little louder, forgetting all about their company, and tugs at her hair to encourage her to pull back a little. He starts to thrust into her mouth, Y/N sucking and swirling her tongue around the shaft as he goes, and he watches her hand disappear between her own legs to rub at her clit. She’s moaning loudly around him now, and Dean’s not sure he can stand much more of this. He needs to feel her wrapped around him. He pulls back and reaches down to encourage Y/N to her feet, before gripping her thighs and lifting her into his arms.

He sits down on the bed, which encourages Y/N to straddle him, and he watches her face closely as he reaches between them and grips the base of his cock, guiding it towards her dripping entrance. Her eyes are lust blown, so blissed out her eyelids are heavy. It’s been so long, Dean’s not surprised she’s as desperate as he is. He just hopes she doesn’t change her mind.

“This what you want, baby?” he checks, rubbing the tip of his cock against her hole.

“Mhm, Daddy please, please Daddy fuck me,” she begs.

“You ask so nicely Princess, how can I say no?” he smirks. He holds his cock still, and Y/N takes the initiative to lower herself down onto it, and Dean’s eyes almost roll at the feeling of her enveloping his cock in wet heat like that, but he’s too transfixed on the way Y/N’s mouth falls open and she bites down on her bottom lip to look away.

Once he’s all the way inside, she rolls her hips, gripping his shoulders hard, and Dean chokes on his breath and grips her hips hard, encouraging her movements.

“Fuck baby girl, careful,” he warns, grunting, “that pussy is so good and it’s been so long,” he laughs breathlessly. Y/N smirks down at him and only rolls her hips harder.

“C’mon Daddy, make me scream for you,” she purrs. Dean stares at her for a moment, her bottom lip tight between her teeth, before he flips them over and spreads her out on her back, pinning her hands above her head and snapping his hips forward hard and fast. She screams out in pleasure and arches her back, rolling her hips down to meet his thrusts.

“Fuck Daddy, feels so good, oh god,” she squeals. Dean grunts, fucking her relentless before sitting back on his heels and lifting her hips to keep her in his lap - her shoulders still flat against the mattress and her breasts bouncing with every thrust.

“Love Daddy’s cock, don’t you baby?” Dean chuckles, watching her near enough lose her damn mind as she desperately palms at her own chest and rolls her eyes back.

“So much Daddy, best cock I’ve ever had,” she tells him, “only one I want.”

Dean chortles, gripping her hips and encouraging her onto her hands and knees. Fuck it’s so hot to see her this desperate and willing for him, especially with how she’d been recently. Dean had started to wonder if she even wanted him in that way anymore, if she was only going along with the romance to keep him around - but seeing her moan his name, rocking back on her own hands and knees as he fucks her from behind - all those worries melt away. You can’t fake adoration and need like this, and the very fact that she’s this desperate for him has Dean’s balls tightening.

“Fuck baby, Daddy’s gonna cum, need you to let go for me,” he urges. Y/N fists the sheets beneath her as she arches her back and drops her face into the mattress, screaming out in pleasure and clenching around Dean so hard he has to pull out abruptly. He cums across her ass, painting her skin white as he pants and comes down from his high.

Y/N flops to her front and lays face down on the bed for a moment, as Dean struggles to catch his breath and feels the huge sense of relief wash over him to finally have something to make him cum that isn’t his own hand a shitty porno on a cell phone screen. He finally comes back to his senses and remembers his brother just outside, who probably heard everything unless he had the sense to leave - and whilst Sam knows about their relationship now, he probably doesn’t wanna hear about it. Dean climbs off the bed and reaches for the tissues on the nightstand, helping clean Y/N up.

“Are you okay?” he checks, worried she might be changing her mind like before.

“I’m so good, Daddy, missed that so much,” she hums happily.

“Me too, baby,” he agrees, stroking her hair as he sits next to her on the bed.

“Listen, Uncle Sam is-”

“Uncle Sammy,” Y/N sighs heavily, rolling onto her back. “Of course, gotta come and ruin the fun,” she snaps.

“Baby, don’t be like that, he’s missed you. I thought you’d want to see him?” Dean frowns. She clears her throat and looks at him, before sitting up and leaning back on her elbows.

“Yeah, of course, I just… well I’ve missed this, and with Sam around-” She doesn’t finish her sentence, she just shakes her head. “Doesn’t matter,” she tells him, flopping back on the bed. “I’m gonna take a nap,” she tells him.

“Okay, well maybe we can go and get dinner tonight the three of us? Show him the new restaurant?” Dean suggests.

“Sure,” she replies, her voice a little distant as she rolls over and turns her back to him. Dean sighs and stares at the back of her head for a moment, before getting up and finding some different clothes to dress in.

He leaves the bedroom five minutes later in jeans and a plaid shirt, and Sam’s out on the balcony.

“Hey, urm, sorry,” Dean says, clearing his throat.

“I’ve just got back,” Sam tells him, “took a stroll, wanted to give you and Y/N some privacy for your chat.” Dean nods his head.

“Right yeah, thanks,” Dean blushes.

“So how is she? Did she say much?” Sam pries. Dean can’t exactly tell his brother that Y/N didn’t say anything except how much she loved his cock.

“She’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Dean brushes Sam off.

“But I do worry about it, Dean. I worry about her. She’s my little girl too, you know. Who raised her? Who was there for her?”

“Don’t start that, Sam,” Dean warns, feeling the guilt of Sam’s words crush him. He’d not felt guilty about his neglect of Y/N in a long time. Part of him wondered if their relationship was overcompensation, but either way, he was trying to put the past behind him now.

“I’m just saying,” Sam sighs.

“Well don’t. If you want your relationship with Y/N to stay intact you’ve gotta work for it yourself. That’s between you and her,” Dean growls.

Sam draws a deep breath and nods his head slowly. “I am working on it, she’ll come around soon enough.”

Next Chapter >

Always and Forevers: @stoneyggirl / @hoewkeye / @dandywinchesterbras / @foxyjwls007 / @kyjey / @spnbaby-67 / @waywardbabie / @phoenixblack89 / @miraclesoflove / @valisiofdauntless / @peaches007 / @xoxabs88xox / @sam-girl1998-blog / @linki-locks11 / @vulgar-library / @jades-bullshit / @dirty-pan-goblin / @little-diable / @waywardbaby / @tatted-trina6 / @lunarmoon8 / @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone / @warrior-angel / @impalaspixie

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Supernatural Forevers: @moosekateer13 / @akshi8278 / @atc74 / @notyourtypicalrose / @angelofthetrenchcoats / @pyroqueen-k / @thecreatiivecorner / @collette04 / @lovealways-j / @noneedtoknow789 / @socalgem1124 / @impala1967dwinchester / @thoughts-and-funnies / @blueaura / @animegirlgeeky / @onethirstyunicorn / @zeppette / @lettersofwrittencollective / @beth-winchester21 / @laxe-chester67 / @nightsbite / @h0unds-of-h3ll / @squigglylinesdotthei / @an-unforgettable-place / @seawinggs / @krazykelly / @shelvierenablatt / @bobbie3939 / @sharp-cheekbones-locked / @jaydahlynne / @michellemxndes / @allys-creative-bubble / @squirrelnotsam / @lyarr24 / @deansbxtch / @pinkshenanigan / @beskaradberoya / @mikadwinchester / @chocolateheart / @cluz1babe / @musicalraven100 / @iceythelostwinchester / @cutiecowgirl

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Too Close Tags: @deans-baby-momma / @lifeofrileyp / @smellingofpoetry / @sweetaspiesammy / @destiel-bridesmaid / @x-mypeopleskillsarerusty-x / @healpeony / @cemini-winchester / @destielstuffandthings / @moonlightandscarlet / @prettysourabbie / @bobbysxidgits / @brookelan / @xhannahbananax03 / @teresa-67 / @vikki240401 / @inkedaztec / @winchester27 / @cutebutnotinorcent / @cole22ann / @1800-bleach / @deangirldream / @ghostlygooppeanutwobbler / @deanscroissant / @jensenswinchester / @secretlovexo / @tremendouseggsmugpizza / @shawnie74

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