#WHY do i keep making square gifs?

[conjuring-ghouls]

We were searching for reasons to play by the rules. But we quickly found it was just for fools. (x)

[dyaz-stories]

in a world of boys, he's a gentleman || Park Chan-Young x f!Reader

summary: Yeong-Su breaks a window at the stadium, and Chan-Young takes the blame for it, resulting in severe consequences. Fortunately, you're here to pick up the pieces afterwards.

word count: 3.1k

warnings & tags: spoilers for season 2 of sweet home, violence, injuries, soldiers being assholes, coarse language, making out, the pronoun "she" is used in reference to the reader

A/N: couldn't find gifs for chan-young so I made this one, but I'm by no means a gif maker, so, yeah. Also, I don't know anything about baseball, so please pretend this makes sense if you know better. I'm not sure which team Chan-Young was supposed to be on, so I picked the Doosan Bears because Sweet Home takes place in Seoul. Finally, it's my first time writing for him, so I hope you'll enjoy my take on this character!

It’s another day at the stadium, which means it’s another day of boredom.

Oh, there are things to do around here, sure. If you don’t mind being ordered around by soldiers who stand behind you with a scowl on their face and remind you that the only reason you’re even there is because of their good will, you’ll find a job to do. Cleaning a corner of the stadium, probably, in hopes that someone will be able to live there — as if there were enough mattresses — or doing the inventory, again, while looking the other way when rations mysteriously go missing and everyone knows who’s doing the taking.

Thing is, you’ve never been one to grovel. In fact, back in the Before days, you were the one giving the orders. Youngest assistant coach for the Doosan bears, the Seoul baseball team, you were in line to become the youngest coach in the history of the country. And, yeah, you weren’t completely in charge, but you were trusted. You had responsibilities. People knew to take you seriously.

You’ve had ideas for how to run this place more efficiently, to avoid making the civilians feel like they’re second-rate citizens, but it’s been made clear to you that you weren’t welcome to make suggestions. So you haven’t bothered, lately, but you also won’t play in that stupid game, where people get to change the rules without telling you.

It means that you do a lot of aimless walking around in the stadium. Chief Ji implicitly lets you roam around, a testament to the fact that you knew each other well back in the days, when you used to bring her coffee before big games, but you mostly try to make yourself useful in the way soldiers haven’t bothered accounting for.

A lot of that means keeping an eye on kids that are left to themselves otherwise. Their parents are busy, and it’s not like there’s much to do for them, here, so you try to keep them entertained. Unfortunately, you’re no teacher, meaning that it’s a lot of physical activities, wherever you find enough place. Other days, people who are teachers take over for you. That is the case today, meaning you’d have the day ‘off’, if it weren’t for Yeong-Su not showing up for class.

You don’t personally think he should have to attend class. You know how mean the other kids can be to him, and though the teachers don’t do much in the name of keeping the peace, you don’t let that fly when you’re in charge. Which is probably why the kid never misses your classes, a small pride that you keep well tucked in your heart.

Still, the teachers insist that you make sure he’s okay, so you agree to go try and find him. He knows the stadium well, meaning it will be no easy task.

You end up finding him throwing a ball against a wall. It looks like he’s practicing his aim, you think when you notice that he’s drawn a square on it. You’re about to approach him, maybe give him a few pointers, when a particularly hard throw has the ball bouncing too high and it crashes through a window, finishing outside of the stadium.

You freeze. Monsters don’t approach the stadium much — it’s been months since there’s been a case of that happening.

But the mere thought of there being something open here still has your heart pounding with fear. It’s only a few seconds before you compose yourself, but that’s long enough for someone to come running. You rush towards Yeong-Su, prepared to fiercely defend him if you need to.

It’s Chan-Young, and you relax, even if your heart is now pounding for a whole other reason.

“What happened here?” he asks.

He may have been running with his whole equipment, but he shows no sign of being out of breath.

“I’m sorry,” Yeong-Su mumbles. He’s hard to handle, especially these days, but he clearly respects Chan-Young a lot. “I didn’t mean to— I was just practicing and—"

Oh gosh, you realize, kid was practicing pitching, and it’s not lost on you that that’s the position Chan-Young mainly played as.

“…and now I’ve lost my ball,” Yeong-Su sniffs.

He’s trying to hold back tears, and it tears a little piece of your heart away. You know that Yeong-Su had found a ball autographed by Chan-Young, know that it’s one of his most prized possessions. It’s no surprise that Yeong-Su can’t stand the thought of losing anything more than what he already has.

Chan-Young glances at you, still standing a few steps behind Yeong-Su.

“He didn’t mean to,” you say. “I’ll help you fix the window.” Eun-Yu probably won’t mind giving you a hand, too.

Chan-Young nods, and you watch as he puts a knee to the floor, so he’s at eye-level with Yeong-Su. If he was any other soldier, you’d be more cautious, but you know him. Worked with him, when he was on your team, lost him when he enlisted, and now you’re in this strange limbo, where he doesn’t seem to know how to interact with you, even though there is this obvious familiarity between the two of you, every time you do speak.

“You need to be more careful,” he tells Yeong-Su, putting on his Serious voice. “If a monster heard that and came in, it could be very dangerous for everyone. And if you’re in front of the window when it happens, it would attack you first. So don’t let that happen again, okay?”

Then he gives Yeong-Su a small, comforting smile.

“If you want to practice again, come ask me next time, okay?” He glances up at you, and there’s such softness in his eyes when he does. “Or ask the coach. She knows her stuff.”

You’d never become coach, not officially, but his use of the word makes your heart swell.

“Okay,” Yeong-Su mumbles, staring down at his feet.

For a moment, it looks like everything will resolve itself just like that, and you’re already putting a hand on Yeong-Su’s shoulders to pull him away with you, when you hear the familiar stomping of military boots coming towards you.

Chan-Young’s expression changes immediately.

“Go,” he orders.

“But…”

He spins around to grab your shoulders, lowering himself to look straight into your eyes.

“Go,” he repeats. “Please.”

There’s such urgency in his voice that you can’t deny him, even if you’re not sure what is going on exactly. You grab Yeong-Su’s hand and pull him with you until you’re both behind a corner, just in time. You keep an eye on the scene, confused. The soldiers behave like assholes, you know that, but surely—

“What happened here?” the Sergeant bellows in Chan-Young’s face. “You’re lucky it was us, who were standing outside the window, and not something else! You better have an explanation, soldier.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Chan-Young says, shoulders straight, from what you can see. “I was just practicing and—”

Before you can wonder why he’d lie, the punch catches him in the stomach, and he doubles over in pain. You catch yourself before you can gasp out loud, and instinctively cover Yeong-Su’s mouth, which is probably a smart move, because he starts thrashing to run towards Chan-Young. You don’t blame him, but you also absolutely cannot let him do that, not right now.

“Yeong-Su,” you whisper, mimicking Chan-Young’s attitude with you just a minute ago. “You need to go back to Ms. Cha. Okay?”

“But they’re…”

You wince, because they’re still berating Chan-Young, and one of them has just given him a hard kick to the ribs. All the more reason for you to intervene.

“I’ll take care of it, I promise, but I can’t do that if you’re here. So go back to her, and I’ll come see you when everything is okay again, alright?”

He sniffs, rubs his eyes to hide the tears, then turns around and runs. At least he’s got a good survival instinct, you think, even if it hurts to remember where it comes from. The second you’re sure he’s not coming back, it’s your turn to run, but towards the soldiers this time, with a confidence that you now worry is wholly unwarranted.

“Hey, don’t you think that’s enough?” you interject, maneuvering so you can get between them and Chan-Young.

There’s a scoff and they roll their eyes. One of them puts his hand on your shoulder and pushes, but you barely take a step back. You’re used to men trying to intimidate you.

“I thought we’d made it clear that your opinions weren’t welcome,” Seo-Jin snaps at you, getting too close to your face for comfort — like that would make you budge.

“Doesn’t mean I’m going to let you beat up someone because he broke a fucking window, when if you’d gotten to work, that hole would be closed by now,” you reply on the same tone.

He opens his mouth to yell at you once more, a vein bulging on his forehead, when Chan-Young comes to stand in front of you. He’s barely just gotten on his feet, has one hand pressed against his rib cage, and still, he’s already coming to stop you from taking any risk. You want to scream at him and hug him all at the same time.

“Please, sir, she doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

Neither does he!

“That’s enough, Seo-Jin,” sergeant Kim finally intervenes, and the man immediately takes a step back. “Don’t let it happen again,” he tells Chan-Young. “And fix the hole,” he tells you, as an afterthought, before leaving and taking his team with him.

Your blood is boiling. He might try to be the voice of reason now, but you saw him doing nothing while his men got blood on their hands so he wouldn’t have to.

You don’t have time to think about it, though, because next to you, Chan-Young has slowly let himself slide to the floor.

“Are you okay?” you ask, panicked, while he grimaces and leans against the wall.

“I’m fine,” he says, an obvious lie. “You shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You took responsibility for something you had nothing to do with, but I’m the one who shouldn’t have said anything?”

He sighs, shakes his head.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you,” he says. He looks at you with warm eyes, and you feel your breath catching in your throat.

There’s something about Chan-Young, there always has been. You always have to remind yourself that he’s nice to everyone, because he’s such a kind person. Even that didn’t stop you from falling for him — and it’s the second time that it happens, damn him.

“I’ll go get medical supplies,” you say, pushing yourself to your feet. “Stay here.”

“There’s no need to—”

“Please, do you want to die from an infection after surviving all these monsters? Stay. Here.”

You ignore any further protests as you rush to get the supplies.

It doesn’t take you long. Chief Ji provides you with what you need without questions, and apologizes for not being able to give you painkillers — they’re reserved for emergencies, she explains. You know the other supplies are, too, but you understand her reasoning, and just thank her with a quick nod and a promise to help out for the next few shifts outside the stadium, if she needs it.

When you come back, Chan-Young’s moved to sit on one of the boxes that are always laying around in here, and you grab another one to sit across from him.

“Open your jacket,” you say as you take the disinfectant.

“I— I don’t think that’s necessary—”

“C’mon, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” you say with an eyeroll, because the guys on the team weren’t exactly shy about taking their shirt off in front of you and he should remember that.

He clears his throat and glances away, and you notice his ears turning red.

“Um, right. Yeah. Just a second.”

Under the jacket, he’s wearing a simple white t-shirt, and he lifts it up so you can see for yourself.

And it’s not looking good. The area is red and swollen already, and you worry it will be worse soon. Unfortunately, there’s not much you can do about that, so you disinfect the scratches caused by the boots, and gesture for him to put it back down. You’d normally advise to put something cold on it, to calm the swelling, but that’s not really an option here, not when the little electricity you have is mostly used to keep the lights on.

“Try not to move around too much, okay?”

“I’ll try my best,” he says with a brief laugh. It’s a silly recommendation, and you both know it, but you still felt the need to say something.

“Now give me your hand, I’ll see what I can do.”

He does, and you carefully turn it to check the palm. You’re not sure if he hurt himself when he fell earlier, or if it’s just that there’s constantly manual work to be done and it’s hard not to injure your hand. Either way, you start cleaning it and disinfecting it as well.

“Do you think they would have been as hard on a kid?” you ask.

“No!” he protests immediately, maybe a tad too strongly. “They’re humans. I’m sure they wouldn’t have—” He interrupts himself, and you suspect that he knows they still could have hit him, a thought that makes your stomach turn. “But… Yeong-Su’s had a hard enough life as it is. People here are not… kind to him.”

“I’m not blaming you, especially after that,” you sigh, “I just— You do realize that it’s not your responsibility, right? I’d have helped the kid, and it could have ended better than…”

You gesture vaguely at him, and he closes his eyes for a second. He closes his fingers over yours where you’re holding his hand, rubs his thumb over your skin, which sends a wave of heat through your body. It only lasts a moment, though, before he catches himself and lets go.

“I’m— I was in charge, when his sister— I was supposed to be helping them. And I failed him.”

“What?” Ms. Cha told you that story, in hushed whispers, to explain why Yeong-Su was such a complicated child these days. It had been clear that there was nothing Chan-Young could have done. “You can’t blame yourself for someone turning into a monster and going on a rampage.”

“It happened on my watch,” he insists. “If I’d been more careful— If I hadn’t left the bus—”

You stop yourself to look at him straight in the eye. He’s close, but you don’t feel uncomfortable, not with him.

“That could have happened to anyone. You couldn’t have planned for it.” He exhales, long and slow.

“Thank you for saying that,” he says, but you can tell that your words haven’t sunk in. It breaks your heart, and yet you have no idea what more you can say. After all, you weren’t there. It makes sense that he wouldn’t believe you.

“You still shouldn’t put yourself in the line of danger to—” to what, anyway? Expiate his sins? What does he have to prove? Does he have a death wish or something? “You shouldn’t put yourself in danger when you don’t have to.”

“Better me than Yeong-Su,” he insists. “He’s just a kid, and he has his mom — well, Ms. Cha. And he has you.” You set the disinfectant back down, hands almost trembling as you realize where he’s going with this. “Better me than him,” he just concludes sadly.

“Park Chan-Young,” you say, “you don’t seriously think that, right?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes when he replies.

“He has a family here. I— don’t really have anyone—”

You’re not sure what goes through your head when you put your hand on his cheek and kiss him. If you had to rationalize it — which you’re not really in any position to do when it happens — you’d say that you just wanted to prove him how wrong he was. Truth is, though, that you also couldn’t bear the idea that you were letting him believe that when it was so entirely untrue.

His lips are warm against yours, and you think you feel him leaning into you, but you pull away too soon to know.

“There,” you say as you gather your things. “Now you know you do have someone, so don’t put yourself in danger unnecessarily, alright?”

Then you’re on your feet, hell-bent on fleeing the scene.

Of course, Chan-Young catches up with you in an instant. He grabs your wrist, and pulls you back against him. His eyes are wide as he searches yours.

“Did you mean that?” he asks, his voice catching in his throat.

“Mean what?” Your heart is pounding in your chest. You’re… not sure where he is going with this.

“It wasn’t pity, right? You— I have you?”

The words almost send a shiver down your spine.

“Of course you do. I don’t exactly go around kissing people—”

Next thing you know, his hands are cupping your face and his mouth is on yours. He kisses you feverishly, like he desperately needs you to prove your words to him. You kiss back without hesitation, wrapping your arms around his neck. It isn’t long before your back hits the wall and you let out a brief groan.

“Sorry,” he says, pulling away from you to check on you. “Are you—”

You don’t let him finish, pulling him back down against you. His hands move down to your waist, one of them slipping under your t-shirt to feel your bare skin. He’s kissing you slower now, more sensual, and he abandons your mouth to kiss down your jaw, then your neck, before he comes back to your lips.

“I shouldn’t—” he mumbles against you. “I’m not supposed to—”

“Everyone’s doing it,” you reply, but it doesn’t surprise you when he tears himself away from you. He’s a sight to behold, flushed and out of breath — and is it odd that you enjoy seeing him panting from kissing you when you know he can run for hours without struggling? He’s always been one to stick to the rules closely. It says a lot that he broke one right now, but you won’t push him any further, not until he’s ready.

You take a step back towards him, take his hand in yours, and press your lips to his cheek for one last, soft kiss.

“Don’t forget now,” you say. “You have me. Don’t risk your life without thinking.”

He doesn’t kiss you again, but he leans in to press his forehead against yours, squeezing your hand in his.

“I have you,” he repeats, as if to convince himself. “I have you.”

I hope you liked it! as always, if you did, consider reblogging and letting me know what you thought! feedback is really motivating and is what keep us authors going, so leaving a comment or sending an ask or anything really helps to keep me writing!

more writing for sweet home

[c0nfessions-of-a-writing-freak]

Do It For Me

Pairing: Marcus Lopez Arguello x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1.1k

Summary: After pissing off Brandy and finally getting what was coming for you. Looking for a quick way out, your eyes luckily land on the new kid. Thinking on your feet, you swoop I'm in for a little kiss to try and ward off the wolves that were on your trail.

Bingo: @eclipsingbingo with the square 'Fake Dating'

*Gif does not belong to me

Your slightly heeled boots clicked through the hallway quickly, walking at a steady pace so as to not let on to how much worry was flooding through your body. You hadn't meant to piss off Brandy, scratch that, you hadn't meant to piss off Brandy enough that she'd get her whole cheerleading squad to go after you.

That's why you were hurridly walking down the school corridor, not even bothering to look over your shoulder as you could hear their pig-squeal-laughs as they followed. As you went you could see heads start to turn when they heard the parade of cheerleaders, their eyes only setting on you after they realised what was happening. The more heads that turned, the more you began to realise just how doomed you might be.

It was only when your eyes landed on some guy you had never seen before. He stood tall as he opened his locker, shoving something into it that vaguely looked like some teddy bear that had poorly been impaled. Your eyes quickly scanned over him, trying to put together the puzzle pieces as to who he might be.

You have never seen him before in one of your classes, which could just mean he was in the year above but you didn't think so. He seemed too fresh, unaware of what he was getting himself into to be familiar with this place.

That was when you remembered what Billy had been telling you. Some new kid was being recruited into this school. Some child killer. The orphanage killer, or something like that.

You had no idea what this killer was meant to look like. Billy had told you stories but even then he hadn't said anything about the boy's features. How could he? He had never seen him before last night or whenever it was that the green-haired boy slunk off with his skateboard and too much excitement flickering through his bones.

You couldn't help but count this as a win as you realised this was the boy who set that orphanage on fire. Never had you thought you would say those words in your head.

Changing the course of your walk, you head straight for the new kid, placing a heavy hand on the locker next to his head and staring up with a large smile. Eyes were instantly on the two of you. If someone hadn't been staring at one of the two of you before, they definitely were now.

"Look who finally decided to show up after my months of begging." You exclaim, saying the first words that come to mind to make it seem like the two of you had known each other previous to joining the school. His head snapped towards you when the slam of your hand had first sounded, face full of shock which now morphed to confusion at your words. "You could've told me you were coming."

"Do I know you?" The boy said, voice not as loud as yours. It seemed he was trying to keep his words on the down low so as to not embarrass you in case you had made a mistake. How sweet.

"Don't be silly," You laughed, your voice calming but still loud enough for any onlookers to easily hear. Lowly though, your teeth bared in a smile to try and not draw too much attention to your next words though, you say, "Just play along."

He blinked almost owlishly at you in return as if your intentions still weren't setting in. You rolled your eyes, your irises landing on the teddy bear that had in fact been stabbed in his locker, a not stuck to it. You sniffed at that. Seems like you were right.

"Oi, cunt," One of the girls--one that you had never bothered to learn the name of--yelled from not too far away, her and her pack catching up to you.

That was the only kickstart you needed to reach up and grab onto the boy's face, pulling him down so he reached your height and smashing your faces together. Your lips moved quickly, almost in sync as he finally realised what was happening.

Reaching a hand up to place on your hip, the other awkwardly hanging in the air before cupping your cheek, he angled your face up slightly so it would be easier for him to kiss you back.

You could hear the sudden stop of shoes as the group after you stopped a few feet away, watching with wide eyes as you kissed the boy's home killer. Someone whistled, probably some lowlife or one of your friends who were also lowlifes. You didn't care though, not when you heard the muttering or the laughing, not when a horde of footsteps kept walking, acting as if nothing had happened.

It was only when the bell rang did you pulled back, taking a big breath of air in as you looked up at the boy through hooded eyes. Hopefully, you didn't share any classes with him or this was going to be an awkward few hours.

"I'm Marcus," The boy says, blinking at you with a smile on his face as if he couldn't believe what just happened.

You returned his smile, grinning up at him sharply. "Hi Marcus, you just saved my arse." Slowly, you push yourself off the locker you had been leaning against, ready to go about your day as if nothing had happened. Marcus didn't seem to like the sound of that.

"What, no name?" He teased, shutting his locker and trailing after you, not caring if the storage unit was actually locked. "I did just save your arse, according to you."

"Don't you think it's a bit too early for me to give you my name?" You joked, walking down the hall without stopping or waiting for him to catch up.

"Well, you did kiss me," Marcus pointed out, grinning cheekily as he fell into step next to you. "I think that you should count for something."

"I don't kiss and tell," You said simply, leaving him to wonder for a little bit longer.

"Well, if you're not going to tell me your name," He started, pulling out a folded piece of paper from his blazer pocket. Unfolding it, he turned it around and showed it off to you. "Could you at least tell me where my next class is?"

You take one look at the piece of paper and say, "Fuck."

[indigovigilance]

A Nightingale Sang in 1941

This is my inaugural meta (yay!) Eventually I will learn how to add gifs and whatnot to make this more interesting but today, I give you a wall of text.

I need to give credit where credit is due to three existing metas that I’m drawing upon heavily here:

A speculative continuation of the 1941 story, which includes an almost-kiss while “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” plays on the gramophone,

A behavioral analysis of Aziraphale during the S2E6 finale (will find ref later if possible)

A meta-analysis of the way in which “coffee” is used as a symbolic equivalent for liberty and freedom of choice, a running theme of this show (will find ref later if possible)

I’m going to expand upon meta #2 and #3 and explain why I think there is are very compelling reasons to believe that #1 will be canonized.

At the end of S1E6, an instrumental version of “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” plays diegetically, but the lyrical version plays non-diegetically over the credits (we hear it but the protagonists don’t). So we the audience could plausibly say “that’s their song,” but as of the close of S1, we have no reason to believe that they know that it’s their song. Even Aziraphale’s S1E3 (1967) suggestion that they dine at the Ritz could be a reference that only he gets, or just a fancy restaurant suggestion.

So when I was watching S2E6 and Crowley said “no nightingales,” I was jarred. What does that even mean? We know it has something to do with dining at the Ritz, but what does it mean to them? The reference only works if they know it’s their song. But we’ve only ever seen them hear it together after the averted apocalypse; if this is the direct reference that Crowley is making, it leaves our 1967 reference contextless and twisting in the wind.

If we assume that there was a romantic story beat in 1941, wherein “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” (which, incidentally, was written in 1939 and saw the height of its popularity at the end of 1940, so timeline-wise it’s spot-on) became their song, then a lot of events get renewed interpretations through this lens, in a way that makes this story much more cohesive and the “no nightingales” comment even more soul-shattering than it already was.

Let’s presume that immediately after this became their song and just as they were discovering their romantic potential, they were forced back into hiding. Forever after, references to the song serve as a macro for “I’d like to pick up where we left off that night.”

The 1967 suggestion of “dining at the Ritz” now becomes a directly romantic suggestion. It also gives better context for “you go too fast for me.”

Actually going to the Ritz in 2019 is not simply a celebration or even a callback to 1967, it’s a callback to their almost-romance of 1941.

When Crowley says “no nightingales” in 2023, this isn’t to say “we’re not going to eat together at the Ritz anymore.” It’s saying that the romance that began that night, the precious, fragile romance, is over.

I’ll give you a moment to dry your eyes before we move on to metas #2 and #3.

In light that this is what has been going on - they know they want a romantic relationship but have gotten so used to hiding and denying it that they are more comfortable keeping the status quo static and quo-y then trying to achieve their ideal - a lot of S2 behavior can get a fresh view.

Crowley’s reaction to Nina isn’t a realization that he’s in love - he knew that already. You can only ask someone to run away with you so many times before you are forced to admit some things to yourself. No, he’s realizing that trying to hide it (which was justified by survival), hasn’t been working, but despite failing at being stealth nothing bad has happened. He’s realizing that it may finally be safe to show it.

Crowley’s confession, then, is not a revelation. It’s making the subtext text. He’s not telling Aziraphale anything he didn’t already know. He’s saying it now because he thinks he’s safe to do so. Pin in that.

Lots of people have lots of theories about Aziraphale’s motivations in the S2 finale, which can more or less be divided into 4 camps: the genuinely held belief, the coffee theory, the lie theory, and the mutual trick theory (some version of the body-switching at the end of S1). Let me start by saying that I love all the fans and all their theories and I find their analyses to be insightful. The genuinely held belief theory, while I believe it to be erroneous, has been incredibly conducive to so many wonderful conversations and I love being in a community that has those conversations. But I’m going to explain why I think the lie theory finds the most support in canon.

Re-watch the finale (when you feel like you can) from 35:18 to 36:19 and then from 40:45 to the end, paying very close attention to Aziraphale’s words and his eyes. Michael Sheen is telling us a LOT with his eyes, and in the back half of the finale scene, with pacing.

For 60 seconds of footage, this setup is doing a lot of work. If Neil Gaiman wasn’t doing enough to beat us over the head with how evil the Metatron is, that glare at Crowley at the end with the non-diegetic ominous horns should convey the message. But again, focusing on Aziraphale. He initially refuses to talk to the Metatron; he’s made his position quite clear. There is no hint of regret or wavering; this is not someone who’s aching to return to the fold. The Metatron ignores his refusal and functionally forces him to accept a “cup of coffee.” The coffee isn’t spiked, but it is a metaphor. It is symbolic of choice. The Metatron is going to force Aziraphale to make a choice. Meta #3 does a great job of exploring the idea that a choice between anything and death is never really a choice. Hang onto that thought.

Notice I had you start up again 3 seconds before “The Conversation.” That’s because it’s important to note where the Metatron is right now. He is across the street, staring straight in through those giant windows to where our protagonists are about to have The Conversation. He is watching.

When Aziraphale returns, Crowley begins his “let me talk” riff. Aziraphale ought to be interested in what Crowley has to say, since the preamble is pretty compelling. You’ll notice that Aziraphale quickly turns to the window and back, through which he (but not we) can see the Metatron standing there, watching them. Aziraphale is then doing his best to get Crowley to STFU without raising the suspicion of the Metatron, eventually having to cut him off.

Because unfortunately, Crowley’s entire impetus for speaking up now is that it’s safe to do so. Only Aziraphale knows that they are in very real danger (or at least, Crowley is, but I’ll come back to that).

You might take something from the fact that he’s shaking his head while talking about “incredibly good news,” and seems to self-censor his criticism of Metatron (or more specifically, he takes ownership of any criticism of the Metatron, censoring out Crowley’s role in that, with the emphasis on I in “I might have misjudged him”).

Notice in the flashback that he begins the conversation reasonably relaxed. The Metatron also says a series of things about him that not only are false, but everyone, including the Metatron and Crowley, know are false: Aziraphale is not a leader, he’s a defector; he’s not honest, he lies all the time, in fact this entire season revolved around his one huge lie of hiding Gabriel. Not only does the justification not make sense coming from Metatron, but it shouldn’t make sense that Aziraphale would accept these reasons and it shouldn’t make sense to Crowley either. So is Aziraphale including these details in his recounting to Crowley so that he will get suspicious and figure out the jig? Maybe. Let’s continue.

Immediately upon being offered the job of Supreme Archangel, Aziraphale says “but I don’t want to go back to Heaven.” This is direct evidence against the genuinely held belief theory. If returning to Heaven and making a difference was a genuine motivation, we would have gotten a different response at this moment. But then we get something more.

“Where would I get my coffee?”

This is a beautiful response for a number of reasons; coffee should be trivial compared to the opportunity to be a Supreme Archangel, so it serves to highlight just how little interest Aziraphale has in returning. Taken at face value, it’s the Aziraphale equivalent of “not even at gunpoint.” But remember that coffee is a metaphor for liberty in this universe and this season. So what Aziraphale just said, in the language of Neil Gaiman metaphors, is:

I don’t want to go back to Heaven, I would rather have free will.

What does the Metatron do next?

He brings up Crowley.

Watch Aziraphale’s eyes before and after the mention of Crowley. He goes from confused to eye-flicking panic in the space of two syllables. Aziraphale already understands that his “no” is not being accepted, and that bringing Crowley into it can only possibly serve as a threat.

So the coffee, the choice, is a false choice. No one ever orders death. The Metatron has forced Aziraphale into a situation that looks an awful lot like a choice (it comes in a blue cup, after all) but it isn’t.

We definitely have some reliable narrator problems here. I’m going to presume for purposes of analysis that these cut-outs are accurate but incomplete, and that a more explicit threat about what would happen to Crowley if Aziraphale did not return to Heaven was made.

If we assume that Aziraphale has been made aware of a threat and is trying to hide that from Crowley, the rest of this scene reads very differently. Aziraphale cannot say, “you are in danger but you will be safe if you swear your allegiance to Heaven” or “I have to go, no matter what, and the only way we can be together is if you come with me,” but nonetheless he now has to convince Crowley to do the one thing he ought to know Crowley definitely doesn’t want to do all through subtext. Which we’ve spent an entire season establishing that they can’t communicate well when they are allowed to use their words. Disastrously, this is not a magic trick that Aziraphale can make work when it counts. Their failure to practice good communication means that, right now, when it counts most, they are not going to pull it off.

We see that Aziraphale is very hopeful that Crowley will pick up on his cues and play along. Obviously, he doesn’t.

If the whole riff about Hell being bad guys and Heaven being the side of truth and light is taken as genuine, it discards a massive amount of character development that we’ve witnessed in Job, Edinburgh, etc. (again, to all the genuine belief subscribers, I think it’s a compelling argument but it simply doesn’t account for the evidence). So if it’s not genuine, why say it? Again, to alert Crowley that something is Off, because Crowley should know that Aziraphale doesn’t actually believe that. They saved humanity from Heaven and Hell. They hid Gabriel from Heaven and Hell. Crowley knows that Aziraphale knows that Heaven and Hell are just two sides of the same coin. Notice again that Aziraphale glances out the window while he’s talking up Heaven; he knows the Metatron is watching, he can’t not defend the position of Heaven. I think it’s also worth noting that Aziraphale forcefully glances and gestures off to Crowley’s left (away from the window) when talking about Hell, and then turns his head to Crowley’s right (towards the window) to try to get him to realize that a representative of Heaven is literally standing right over there, just look out the window please dumbass!

When Crowley is asking Aziraphale if he said no, and we see the back of Aziraphale’s head, again we can see him turn his head to glance out the window. This is also when he changes strategies, and admits that Heaven could use a little reform. Because now there’s a problem almost as big as getting caught, which is that he won’t be able to get Crowley to go with him.

Which unfortunately makes the next part of this so much more heartbreaking. Because when Crowley begins his speech about being a team, Aziraphale wants to hear it. He can’t bring himself to shut down Crowley again, even though it could get them both in massive trouble. Notice that he glances out the window again during this, and the look of panic on his face. He begins to shake his head when Crowley mentions that Heaven and Hell are toxic; this can be taken a lot of ways but I’ll argue for the interpretation that he’s trying to get Crowley to STFU and stop saying shit that could get him destroyed.

After Crowley puts on his sunglasses we are in the “back half” and Sheen is doing a lot with phrasing here, specifically pregnant pauses.

“Come with me… to Heaven!”

“We can be together… as angels!”

Based on the pacing decision I am thoroughly convinced that the first half of each of these statements is intended to be the message to Crowley and the second half is always a qualifying statement to satisfy the Metatron.

Unfortunately, these pregnant pauses are completely backfiring in their effect on Crowley. The sentiment gives him hope and the qualifying statement crushes it again immediately. He is being taken on a horrible emotional rollercoaster with these declarations which are only further amping up his instinct to run away.

The only truly genuine, unaldulterated statement I think we get from Aziraphale is

“I need you!”

When it becomes clear to Aziraphale that there’s been an irreparable breakdown of communication between them and the subtext is not getting across, he says:

“I don’t think you understand what I’m offering you.”

He means this literally. Crowley has not understood that Aziraphale is offering him protection from whatever threat the Metatron has made.

Which makes this part extra-devastating and also absolutely in keeping with a major running theme of this season.

“I understand. I think I understand a whole lot better than you do.”

Your understanding and my understanding are different understandings.

Crowley views the offer to return to Heaven through the lens of his trauma. He understands what life in Heaven would be like. But he doesn’t understand that Aziraphale is offering him protection.

But Aziraphale just heard Crowley say that he understood everything, and he’s still going to leave. There might be a little suspense of disbelief here to believe that Aziraphale really interpreted the statement this way, but we know that Aziraphale isn’t always the brightest battery-operated candle in the drawer. So under the assumption that Crowley did understand him and is still rejecting the offer, rejecting him—

“Well, then there’s nothing more to say.”

Please pay very close attention to Aziraphale’s body language for the next part. He’s active, agitated, turning side to side, arms swinging. This is a very fidgety angel.

“No nightingales.”

Aziraphale is now completely still. He’s feeling that feeling. You know it. The one where your entire body is getting sucked into the pit of your stomach. The aching paralysis.

This is their song, the one that began their romance in 1941, the secret code for all other attempts at flirtation. Crowley has walked out on him before, Aziraphale has been stubborn and obstinate before. But they always came back together, sometimes with an apology dance or other rituals that belonged solely to them.

But now the song is over.

By saying this, Crowley has broken up with Aziraphale. We can see in Aziraphale’s sudden transition from fidgety to paralysis that he has understood it this way.

Then he turns away from the window so that the Metatron won’t see him cry.

The kiss was heart-wrenching already. But we’re not done with this analysis.

During the kiss, Aziraphale has a choice to make between two very compelling bad choices. This is the Job dilemma. But worse.

If he doesn’t kiss Crowley back, he will let Crowley think that he doesn’t love him. He will have missed out on this (maybe/probably their first kiss?) and regret it forever.

If he does kiss Crowley back, in full view of the Metatron, they are in deep trouble.

He seems to do his best to split the difference. I would even go so far to say that the awkward arm waving is Aziraphale acting for the Metatron’s benefit, to try to portray that he doesn’t want this even though he absolutely does (just not like this). The anguish when they break the kiss is absolutely real, and the first thing he does is glance out the window. Through all this he has remained painfully aware of their spectator.

He wants to say I love you. He mouths it. He breathes it.

But the Metatron is watching.

He can’t tell Crowley I love you. So he has to say the only other thing that has always unequivocally meant “I love you” when he said it to Crowley. He has to hope that Crowley understands him now, even though he never has before.

Spoiler alert: Crowley doesn’t.

My forgiveness and your forgiveness are not the same forgiveness.

One more point against the genuine belief fans (I love you): if the offer to let Crowley back in is what changed his mind, then Crowley declining removes that incentive. Aziraphale should/would have consequently retreated to his last stated position of “I don’t want to go back to Heaven, where would I get my Crowley—I mean, coffee?” [post-publication nod to @theonevoice for a great little meta] It simply doesn’t hold up to scrutiny.

I think a lot of fans were already making these assumptions about the use of the nightingale song so this meta may not feel revelatory, however, it isn’t canon (yet), and I’m sure I’ll find company that agree that canonization of this connection would strengthen a lot of these story points, as evidenced by how it is already assumed by many fans.

If you made it to the end - omg thank you! Please leave a note and tell me your thoughts!

Bonus: somebody already made the song connection here

~~~

if you liked this, you may also like:

Book of Life and what it means for Crowley

The Erasure of Human!Metatron

Baraqiel and Azazel

~~~

Recommended related (lie theory) metas by other people:

making the subtext text by @theonevoice

Aziraphale's Decision Matrix by @yowlthinks

Nothing Lasts Forever: META by @phoen1xr0se

[munsster]

through and through

A/N: i am simply a sucker for a gorgeous, dumb blond (gif creds: @captainsamerica)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Summary: The most stubborn man in the world has no one to blame for that gunshot but himself. And all over again, you'll clean him up. 1.5k words

Warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, angry but soft reader, dumb stevie, slight wound description, its okay: everybody lives, cursing, pet names (honey, baby, darlin), friends to lovers

"God, Steve, do you know how frustrating it is when you do this?" You're ruffled: wide-eyed and feverish. Upset might better describe your situation. Peeved, maybe. Because you're used to his recklessness. Always have been. Even when it was only news articles and rumored hospitalization.

Arm hooked around his waist, he slumps his weight against you while you struggle up the ramp of the jet. Labored breathing fans the nape of your neck, and you can feel his tension loosening with the grip of his consciousness. As he plops down into a hard metal seat, he deflates. Especially with you beside him, he's happy the scolding of his life is at hand.

And all he can do is laugh. Of course he's gonna be okay; he's pumped full of the purest steroids long-dead alchemists could come up with. Which is why he's not worried. So far from worried, in fact, that he's grinning. You're fingering antiseptic against the fresh gunshot wound in his abdomen, and he's sitting pleased.

"You couldn't have been a little more careful?” You grumble something about how stupid he is. That he's doing it on purpose to mess with you. Leave it to Steve to get shot just to piss you off. "Try to risk your life a little less, 'kay? God, it's so frustrating.”

He chuckles, hissing at the brief pain and slumping down in his seat. "You said that already."

"I'm not afraid to hit a dying man—"

"Hush, I'm not dying." He coughs up a wet gargle, and the panic sets in. You press a square of gauze against the shallow divot with the heel of your palm. Lazily, his head lulls to the side, and he can't stop himself from smiling at the crease between your brows.

"That's exactly what you'd say if—"

"—If I was dying, yadda yadda. Have I ever lied to you, darlin'?"

His palm cups yours on his hot skin. Each breath presses taut muscle into the gentle curve of your fingers. Your face screws inward, but he puts a little pressure on your knuckles, trapping them in place on his stomach.

"How'm I supposed to know?"

His tongue clicks behind a smirk, and he blinks his eyes shut. It's because he's exhausted, you know that. You should let him rest, but after losing all that blood, you also figure it's better if he stays conscious until you're sure he'll make it. There's no reason for this time to be different. But then again, there never really is.

"Hey, hey, hey, don't do that. Keep 'em open, please."

"Aw, come on, honey—fine"—his vibrant blue eyes startle you as he goes back to staring—"As I was saying—I'm not planning on dying anytime soon. If I was, I'd tell you so you could smack the deathwish outta me."

"Oh, and I'm just supposed to trust you, huh?"

"Yes, please." He's horrible. The blood he's got left all goes to his head to fuel a stupid grin and the biggest, dumbest puppy dog eyes. No thoughts behind them, just pure nonsense and foggy desire.

"You're the worst," you huff. It kinda stings when you don't chase it with a laugh or a smile. He hates that he's forcing you to be professional. Because unprofessional, unapologetic you is his favorite. A real sweetheart, and he's the one responsible for driving that away.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. More sincere than he's been in his life. Well, this life. It's not often that he gets to open up. He's been Captain for years now. And finally someone calls him Stevie again, and he's screwing it up with his stubbornness. He wishes he could be candid. Taken with life. Unabashed life, all at the tips of his fingers. Yet grabbing on never felt so far away.

He flutters when you scowl up at him, relieved that he gets to be acknowledged by you once more. Excited, suddenly, by the hand on his new scar. Wonderfully exposed by the top of his suit folded at the waist in his lap. And you have to admit, he's handsome. Golden hair flopped into his face, bloodied up by his or someone else's, but still so charming between rattling exhales.

You sigh. "I hate it when you're headstrong."

He perks up from behind the guise of creeping pain. You pay no mind, zipping the first-aid kit up and shoving it back into your duffel.

"Can't you let someone else take the high road? You know it's okay to be the bench guy for one game. Maybe save your life." You shrug, and the guilt washes away from the surface of his skull. He's thrilled again to be here for your bloom as the jet lifts and your ears pop.

"But that's what I have you for."

He hates it because it implies that's all. But that's far from all. You are all. He doesn't know it gives you butterflies because it implies that he has you. And he does. He will.

"As much as I love being your personal nurse, don't you think I deserve a break?" You pout and settle in beside him. He thinks the closeness could make his slow heart start up again. Even with near half his blood left, he'd circulate triple as long as you stay this close.

"C'mon, honey, you know I like when you work for it."

You don't have a second to process before he shifts closer and leans his head back against the tough wall. Your neck goes all hot because he drops his hand in the small space between his thigh and yours. The length of his thumb curiously swipes the skin of your catsuit, and you stiffen.

His breath catches in the dark. Your fingers fit slowly in the spaces of his own, a subconscious squeeze soothing the warm strain built up in all the little slips and slides. And it's okay now. Close like this is good for his ache. He doesn't have to be straight-posture, strict leader in your arms, even if he hasn't been there for very long. He would still like to fold into your warmth like perfect cake batter. Vanilla and streaks of funfetti if you'll keep him in place for a while longer.

"I told you to keep your eyes open, Stevie."

So they snap open. To find you're watching him. It wrecks him wholly to know you've noticed him before. It's so stupid, but he obsesses over the times you're not subtle about it. Like now: wetting the corner of your mouth with the tip of your tongue, pressing the pad of your thumb to his forefinger's knuckle.

"And I told you I'd be okay, darlin'." He feels himself softening. Hot peaches laid delicately into the shell of a tart to bake until golden brown. You could slice through him and take a bite. It would all reassure him knowing you enjoyed the bittersweetness and buttery smooth sinking of your teeth into his flesh.

"Stevie," you coo, lips parted. The gravity of you makes him want to slink closer like a stray cat to warm milk. To dip his tongue in and savor the newness. Cool and better than ever. You could—you do fuel his strength. Every centimeter poured from your cupped palms into—finally—Man. At last. Gold and glimmering. Exposed to weathering but picturesque evermore.

But he looks dazed. Glossed over. On the verge of emotion. And distress bubbles in your lungs.

"D'you need to rest—"

He shakes his head. "Stop thinking about me for five seconds, honey. I think kissing my girl is rest enough," he huffs, "Don't you agree?"

You squint. Smartass. "Actually, old man, it might be better if—"

In a breath, he holds the pretty swell of your chin in his shaking fingers. Mouth close enough to feel the dryness and the softness beneath it all. You gasp, going all pliant at his will. Like angels, too nervous to be impure, he's holding you in place like a statue. Keeping you on edge.

Until you grab his face and kiss him nice and slow. Enough to heal his plight. A new gunshot wound in the form of a pretty lady tearing through his well-grooved chest. Leave all the shrapnel if you'd like. With your mouth in the small of his own, he feels like a dizzy hangover in the middle of a house party. His hands grasp greedily at your waist, turning you and shifting you and pulling. Bringing. Begging.

And, like a minx, like always, like you, you push away with a laugh and wipe his spit from your mouth.

"Been waiting on that for... ever. Feelin' sealed up already, baby," he grumbles.

"Sweet on me now, Stevie?"

He shakes his head with a chuckle.

"Always have been."

marvel masterlist

[alexawynters]

Scarlet Whispers - pt 2

Gif not mine

A/N: Not sure about the formatting, copy and paste didn't quite work out as planned. Title subject to change, not sure how I feel about it. This is my first published fic here so pls be gentle. Also I'm terrible at summaries.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female!Reader

Trigger warnings (let me know if I forgot to tag anything): Mentions of past child abuse, ongoing adult child abuse, stalking, horror, dubcon, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, gaslighting, angst, smut. There will be bits of fluff tho.

Rating: M. Minors DNI

Master list here

You miss your stop.

Not only do you miss your stop, but you end up all the way at the bus depot before the driver notices you passed out in one of the seats. The driver, a kindly older gentleman, offers to give you a lift home since it is the end of his shift anyway. He takes pity on you, perhaps due to your tired and sad appearance. Interestingly, no one seems to notice the red wisps behind his eyes.

You appreciate his kindness, but you are anxious about returning home. A quick look at your phone reveals that it is well past 6 PM and you have missed multiple calls and texts from both of your parents. This is not going to end well. In simple terms, you are fucked. Fortunately, the man doesn't seem to notice your restlessness as your leg bounces nervously as he gets closer to your home.

As you exit the vehicle, you politely thank him and offer to pay for the gas, but the man refuses. His accent changes slightly as he says, "anything to help." You shrug it off, as it is not your concern where people are from. Your focus is on more pressing matters. After closing the door, you square your shoulders and mentally prepare for the absolute shit show awaiting you as soon as you step through the front door.

It shouldn’t surprise you that your father’s booming voice is the first to be heard. “Where were you?”

You start with the truth. “Dad I’m sorry, I was on the bus after my exam, I fell asleep with my headphones-”

”I don’t want your excuses! While you live here under our roof, you will show us some respect, you will follow our rules! You had chores to do today, why didn’t you do them?”

A bead of sweat trails down the back of your neck. You hate being interrupted, and you hate being asked questions when they clearly don’t want the answers. Besides, you are in your twenties, not a child. “As I was saying, I-”

This time your mother interrupts. “Don’t speak to your father like that. He asked you a question, we expect you to answer it!.”

You grit your teeth. “I fell asleep on the bus, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Always with the excuses this one.” Your father laments. “Do you think your future employer is going to care about any of that? No. He’s just going to want to know why you weren’t there.”

It takes every ounce of your sanity to not snap that your answer is the reason WHY you weren’t there, and not simply an excuse. Instead you hold your tongue. They aren’t here to listen, they don’t care. They just want to yell at you, and for you to be sorry.

“I tell you, with behavior like that it’s any wonder at all you’d even be able to keep a job. They would probably fire you on the spot, and then you would be right back on our doorstep, our problem once again to pick up the pieces.”

It’s all hypothetical of course - you’ve never been late to any of your classes, but you have not yet had a job, you weren’t allowed to. You are sure you wouldn’t be late to it though if you were to treat it like your classes. You know you can’t tell your parents this however. Might as well bite the bullet and get it over with.

“Yes Dad, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Saying sorry simply doesn't cut it! Sorry doesn’t fix the problem that you caused, so tell me, how are you going to make the problem right?” he demands. A vein throbs in his forehead. Absently you think about how he knows he should watch his blood pressure, but that would require him to watch his temper. Y/D/N could never.

You know what he is looking for, he wants you to do your chores now, but it’s after 8PM and your exam is at 8AM. If you do your chores now, that leaves you little time for last minute studying, eating, bathing, sleeping, and then catching the bus back to the university. Helplessly, you look to your mother for help.

“Don’t look at me, this is your mess you’ve created. If you had just done what you were supposed to, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. If you had just been good, you could be doing whatever it is you do with your free time right now.”

It had always annoyed you greatly that your parents were unaware of your academic achievements. While it's true that you didn't have the best grades as a child, once you entered university and chose a major, you became a straight-A student, even going so far as to make the President’s list the last three years in a row. However, in their eyes, you would always be the little underachiever they had to take care of.

Tears well up in your eyes. This situation wasn't fair. It was an accident. You had fully intended to come home and do your chores, but you couldn’t have known you would sleep through your alarm on the bus. You had been so incredibly exhausted that you experienced a vivid nightmare whilst awake. You were aware that you needed more sleep, but your degree was your only way out of this miserable place. You couldn't risk losing it all just because you missed a few hours of sleep now and then.

“Please?” You beg. You didn’t have anything else to argue in your defense. “I’ll leave my headphones in my bag this time, I’ll set multiple alarms, I won’t sleep, just please let me go study!”

Your parents look at each other, having silent communication. Seeming to come to an agreement, your mother speaks first. “Y/N we’re sorry it has to be this way, but you have already proven on multiple occasions that we can’t trust you to do the right thing. Tonight, you are going to do your chores even if it takes you all night to do it. Besides, we all know you’re not studying up there. For all we know you’re just up there masturbating in the window or something.”

Being stabbed in the chest would have been less painful. You don't understand why you're caught off guard; it's not like your mother hasn't said off the wall shit like this in the past. It's almost as if she thrives on finding the most hurtful and outrageous statements to throw in your face, as if you deserved them. As if you had ever done any of the things she accused you of. Like you were some sort of deviant, when all you wanted was simply the right to exist.

“What the actual fuck, Mom?!” you scream, having finally had enough. Both of your parents look taken aback. Rare is it for you to raise your voice at them, even more so to curse at them. “I know you’ve been pretty checked out of my life for a while now, but I’ve had a 4.0 GPA for the last three years. I don’t know where you got that… comment… from, but I can assure you that all I want to do is go to my room and study.”

“Now listen here young lady,” begins your father.

"No, YOU listen, Father," your voice dripping with sarcasm. “You were right about one thing, and that is I am a gods damned adult. I take my studies seriously, and while it may come as a surprise to you since neither of you have paid any actual attention to my life since I turned 18, though it could be argued you really stopped paying attention earlier except for when I was being an inconvenience, but I am actually a great student. This is my last semester before graduating with honors and again, a 4.0 GPA, and I will have my choice of job opportunities. I will leave this place, and you miserable old bats will have no one to be your punching bag anymore. Then maybe just maybe you can finally take a look at the flaws and fix what's wrong with your own marriage, instead of trying to break ME!”

Your chest heaved. It felt good to speak your truth, but as the silence grew, you began to realize that you might have made a mistake.

Your father has finally gotten out of his chair, looming over you. A resounding slap echoes across the room as your father backhanded you, knocking you to the floor. “You ungrateful, miserable little bitch! I don’t know what lies those ‘professors’ at the university have been filling your head with, but you have no future, and you are lucky your mother and I care enough to let you live under our roof! And so long as you do, you will obey our rules, and show us the respect we deserve!”

Fearful, you scramble back to the wall and attempt to push yourself to your feet. “If that’s the price of living here, then I will happily live in the University’s library. One week, that’s all I need!” You step forward to make your escape from this house, but this time your mother shoves you, and once again you find yourself on your knees.

You raise your hands in self-defense, but your mother sneers, "Do it, Y/N, hit me, and you'll be out on your ass faster than you can blink!" Crying, you lower your hands and prepare to allow her to strike you.

The lights went out all at once, and everyone froze. Has the power gone out? It couldn’t have, you could still hear the hum of the AC unit. So what was wrong with the lights?

The lights turn back on as suddenly as they had gone out, and all three of you look around in confusion. However, despite the lights returning, the room appears darker, creating an almost eerie atmosphere. The shadows cast a looming presence over all of you, sending a shiver up your spine. Your home, which you have lived in for around twenty ish years, suddenly feels foreboding, and you wonder if it's too late to flee. It almost resembles one of the nightmares you have been experiencing recently.

Red mist fills the room, a dreadfully sinister voice speaks. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

All three of you turn to the source of the sound - the corner of the room, as a red and black leather-clad boot, attached to black leather pants, steps through a portal and into the room. The Scarlet Witch follows, radiating her full glory. She warns, "If you wish to keep your body parts intact, you will never lay a finger on Y/N ever again."

You’re pretty sure your eyebrows have never been closer to meeting your hairline before and yet here we are. You don’t know who this unfamiliar lady is, nor how she seems to know you but God damned if that outfit doesn’t look as if it has been painted onto her. You blush at your sinful thoughts. Now is not the time, and you’re pretty sure you’re having a stroke of some sort. If nothing else, however, you are grateful for the reprieve from your beating.

Meanwhile, your parents had never taken well to being told what to do, by anyone, they certainly weren’t going to now by this costumed stranger. Your mother bristles. “Who is this Y/N? Another one of your little whores?” Completely disregarding the fact that you have never in fact had a partner in your entire life, and you don’t know whether to be pleased that she seems to think you’re capable of having a sex life or affronted that she thinks you’re some type of floozy. Your mother’s words, not yours.

“What? No, I-” You look helplessly from the floor between your parents and this woman you now recognize as the one from your visions, and the same one from your hallucination this morning. Is she here to help, or to hurt you? She has been your savior and aggressor in both; there’s no telling which she has chosen for now. Glancing between them, you are unsure how to de-escalate this situation. There is no way to convince your parents, for their own safety, that this woman is powerful and not to be trifled with. Nothing you could say, they would believe, and you were pretty sure this woman would kill your parents without a second thought if they didn’t tread carefully.

Seeming to sense your struggle, the woman speaks up in your stead. “As I’ve said, you would do well to keep your hands to yourself. I am here to take Y/N with me, and you will not stand in my way. This is your only warning, which I am giving to you out of consideration for Y/N.”

She reaches down for your hand to help you back up. Hesitantly, you take it, ignoring the shock that runs throughout your body, and begin questioning your entire reality. Take you with her? Who even is she? Where exactly is she going to be taking you? You had questions, and you would like some answers, but if you didn’t get your parents to stand down, you were pretty sure she would follow through on her threat. Sure, your parents were trash, but they were all you had. You loved them, and you were certain that, in their own warped way, they loved you, too.

She helps you up and proceeds to give you a thorough once-over, carefully inspecting your injuries. Her intense scrutiny makes you blush. Meanwhile, your parents remain silent, their thinly veiled anger evident as they observe your interaction. How dare this woman speak to them in such a manner? Thankfully, they wisely choose to keep quiet. Perhaps they also sense the dangerous aura emanating from this woman, perceiving her as a true threat. Then again, it could be due to the fact that she just stepped through a literal portal conjured out of thin air moments ago. Maybe they had been paying attention, but even you are unsure of what is real anymore.

Still holding your hand, the Scarlet Witch leads you back towards the portal she arrived through. "Come, Y/N, we have much to discuss." At this point, all you could do was helplessly trail after, hoping you weren't going from bad to worse. At least by leaving, your parents would be out of danger. As for yourself, well... It was clear that the Scarlet Witch wanted something from you. Hopefully, whatever that was would be sufficient to ensure your survival. Perhaps even enough to negotiate with.

At the last possible moment, your mother chooses, whether out of genuine love and concern for your well-being, or fear at the loss of her control over you, to reach out to take you from this bizarre woman. “Mother, no!”

Y/M/N finds herself promptly flung onto the wall behind her, and stuck there, unable to move. You aren’t sure who exactly screamed but you’re pretty sure it was every member of your family. The Scarlet Witch hadn’t even turned to look, the only indication she had even been involved is the raised hand, opposite the one holding yours, with dark, ink-stained fingertips, bent at slightly odd angles.

“Stop, please! Let her go, she won’t do it again, please! I'm sorry, please!”

Unsure of why you are begging for this woman’s life when she has spent the entirety of yours making sure you were miserable. Still, your heart lurched at the thought of anything happening to your mother. You didn’t like her, and if you never saw her again, that was probably for the best, but you certainly didn’t want anything bad to happen to her.

The Witch took a deep breath, seemingly to calm herself, before turning to face you.

In the softest voice you had ever heard she whispers “Detka, I-.” She opens and closes her mouth a few times, deciding what to say. To your absolute mortification and delight, she leans down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead, and promises “I will let them live, but I must say my piece.”

You nod, completely dumbstruck at everything happening in this moment. What. The. Fuck.

Y/M/N, still pinned to the wall, whimpers and struggles to move but is clearly unable to. The Scarlet Witch turns from you to face your parents. Another wave of her hand, and your mother slumps to the floor, alarmed, but otherwise unharmed. It is clear whatever the witch did, both she and your father are now restrained.

Footsteps approach the pair, and the lights in the house flickered ominously. Despite your mother being nearly 40 years older than her (or so you assumed, as you had no idea of this woman's age), the power emanating from her exuded confident malevolence. She showed no fear towards them, and for once, although ashamed to admit it, you were glad to see that they were afraid of someone else.

Though she was only about 5'6", the woman knelt before your parents, her voice filled with menacing intent. "I know everything you have ever done, everything you ever could do, and everything you ever will do. I know what you are guilty of. I know what you deserve, and I can assure you that it is not mercy. I will spare your lives and leave you unharmed due to the kindness of your daughter, the daughter you’ve abused for decades." As her head tilts, you can't help but feel that she becomes even more dangerous. "But if you ever try to take her from me again, I will seek retribution on her behalf, and I promise you it will be the most excruciating agony you have ever experienced. Do we understand each other?"

You squirm uncomfortably. This should not be doing things to you, but then again, no one had ever stood up for you. Ever. Gods you needed therapy. It’s fine. Little boxes, and this was for a little box for later.

The witch stood up and once again took your hand, leading you through the portal and leaving your parents behind. Perhaps for good, you weren’t entirely sure, and you suddenly realized you didn’t care. Anywhere was better than here; even if this woman was dangerous, at least for the moment, she seemed to care about you, and that was enough for you to follow her to the ends of the earth.

Again, therapy…

The pair arrive at a massive stone temple, which you would later learn is called Mount Wundagore, the Scarlet Witch's temple. It is built into a massive, rugged mountain with steep cliffs, situated above dense forests and enveloped in mist. The mountain exudes an air of mystique and possesses an eerie atmosphere. Scattered across its walls are depictions of the woman in front of you, accompanied by various runes whose significance you suppose hint at a potentially supernatural importance.

The Scarlet Witch does not make much of an effort for introductions, nor explanations, simply heads towards the entrance to her temple.

“What is this place?” you ask, hints of awe and fear in your voice

“Our home.” 

Your brain stutters. “I’m sorry, what now?” 

“Detka, do not pretend you did not hear me, I don’t enjoy repeating myself. This is our home.” Her accent sounds vaguely Eastern European, and becomes more pronounced the more irritated she is. You wonder when she started trying to hide it.

Your mind balks at the idea of this being your new home, it couldn’t be less foreboding. “Uhhh… this.. is a giant stone temple in BFE nowhere, with ice, snow, and-”

Movement startles you out of your reverie. Beings made entirely out of stone shift from foot to foot, as if adjusting their stance. Their eyes have the same red glow as the woman who leads you now.  

 “Are those rock trolls??” The stone guardians loom threatening, but make no move to engage, they await their Queen’s orders. “Right. Rock trolls. Why is this our home? WHERE is our home? And,” you spin, taking the aesthetic of the temple in, trying not to have an anxiety attack. “What do you mean -our- home? Who are you, and what do you want with me?”

You can’t tell if the faint twitch of the other woman’s lips is in amusement or annoyance at your ramblings, but in your defense, she had let you speak uninterrupted. You were known for getting entire paragraphs out if left unsupervised - it was a talent and a curse. Personally you felt she should be grateful you weren’t jumping down her throat, you didn’t know anyone else who would be taking this half as calmly as you were. Then again, you were still waiting on your Hogwarts acceptance letter at 25. 

“My name is..” she hesitated. “Wanda. I am.. I was an Avenger.”

You looked on blankly, hoping she would elaborate. The fuck was an “Avenger”?

"In my universe," (you filed away the fact that she implied the existence of a multiverse for later, as it was a problem for another time) "the Avengers are superheroes. Well, that's what we called ourselves - Earth's Mightiest Heroes. A bit arrogant, if you ask me. We dealt with threats that the military and ordinary people couldn't handle. We were the last line of defense. We saved the world countless times, but at a great cost of lives. We were vain, thinking we were above it all because we believed we were acting for the greater good. But try explaining that to those who were lost as collateral damage.

I digress. We.. were considered to be heroes. There were several of us, we were a team. A family. We lived together, fought together. Died together. Until we didn’t.”

Wanda explains the dynamics of the Avengers team, including how she and her brother Pietro joined. She mentions Pietro's death in the battle against Ultron, as well as the events leading up to and the battle against Thanos. She also covers the events of the “Blip”, and what happened afterward. However, she conveniently chooses to omit the events of Westview, as she didn't want you to know about that just yet.

“That’s.. wow. Wanda, that's a lot. Honestly, if I hadn’t seen your powers myself, I wouldn’t believe you. But all of that still doesn’t explain why you’re here. You mentioned your universe as being so fantastical, why would you come here? And what do you want with me? If you’re a hero, why are you here in what totally looks like a villain’s lair and not with your other superhero buddies?” You neglect to mention the unease creeping up your spine.

This is fine. Everything is fine. Right? Right. 

A look of utter despair crosses the witches face as she locks eyes with you before glancing away.

“I mentioned my team before, but I didn’t mention you.”

“…” You slow blink. This was not how you thought your day was going to go, and honestly, you were already getting a bit of a headache. Could she be less cryptic because that would be great. More details, fewer questions. Maybe another nap.

"Y/N, where I am from, you were also an Avenger. You had joined the team before Pietro and I, and were one of the few who made us feel welcome. Despite the fact that we had previously been enemies, you didn't treat us as ticking time bombs. Instead, you welcomed us with open arms. Your go-to tactics were kindness and understanding, which made it hard not to want to get to know you. When Pietro died, you were the only one who checked on me and cared. You taught me that grief is just love persevering. You became my closest friend, and over time, I couldn't help when those feelings began growing into something more.”

You swallow uncomfortably. It sounds like Wanda is telling you that in this other universe you both were an item. It’s not that you wouldn’t be honored to be with such an attractive woman, but it feels weird knowing that that was a different version of you. Someone with superpowers, someone likely more confident by the sounds of it. This feels almost as if you are intruding on something you shouldn’t, yet Wanda is the one telling you this; if it weren’t okay for you to know, she surely wouldn’t be sharing. You don’t really know what to make of this; if she has feelings for this other you, why is she here with this version of you?

“In the battle against Thanos, we learned that the source of your powers was an infinity stone embedded in your skull courtesy of H.Y.D.R.A. experiments, which altered your genetic DNA. Thanos had also learned you possessed this Mind Stone and sought to take it from you by force.”

Anguish on her features, the witch turns to you. “You were going to die, Y/N. We tried, I tried, so hard to protect you, to keep you away from him but at every turn he found you. If he had gotten the Mind Stone, he would have been able to enact his plan to rid the universe of half of all life. You told me.” She hiccups.

“Y-you told me it was okay, that you forgive me. That I needed to.. that I needed to destroy the stone to save the universe. I didn’t want to. I would have given anything else but that. But you held my hand and told me you forgave me, that you only felt me. Then Thanos came, and we were out of time. I was the only one with the power to do it because its magic was so similar to my own. I placed my hand to your head and I-.” She is unable to continue, breaking off into sobs.

Oh. So she had to sacrifice you to save the universe. Well. You agree with the alternate you, you didn’t blame her, and you would definitely forgive her. Awkwardly you try to find some way to comfort her. While obviously you were not the same person she had loved and lost, and you knew from your own experiences with loss that sometimes words just couldn’t cut it. Instead, you shuffle forward, making sure you were heard in case she wanted to refuse you, and pullher  in for a hug.

Wanda tenses in your embrace, as if she can’t decide if she wants to sink into it or send you flying. “The worst part,” she continues, “was that it meant nothing.”

If you were a dog your head tilt might have been cute.

“In the end, Thanos was still able to get the Mind Stone, and you were still dead, by MY hand, and it all meant NOTHING!” Wanda wrenches herself from your grasp, looking positively unhinged. You probably should have been scared. You weren’t. Her wrath did… things… to you. Therapy…

“All because Strange saw supposedly every possible future and CHOSE to let you die to save everyone else. As if there was no other possible outcome!”

Oh, that... that makes more sense. The other you was still dead, and Wanda was definitely suffering from PTSD from her involvement in it. Her little stunt with your parents was probably her way of trying to save you or bring you back to life. But in your universe, there weren't any superheroes, magic, or Thanos to protect you from (that you were aware of at any rate). So what was Wanda doing? This wouldn't bring her version of you back to life. You may have looked and sounded alike, and you might have made similar decisions, but you simply weren't the same person. The lack of the same life experiences meant that you had different personalities, despite having a similar genetic build.

“So we saved the world, and I left to live in exile. After the funeral, Clint handed me your belongings, and in them was a letter. A deed to a plot of land you had purchased in our names where we were going to build a house. I think it was supposed to be a surprise after we defeated Thanos. We had never lost before, not since Pietro - I don’t think it occurred to us that we could. So I drove out to see and.. Y/N I was still so new to my powers. They were still mostly subconscious. I was grieving and... it would be easier if I show you. May I?”

“May you.. what?”

A subtle smile appears on the witches' face at your ignorance. You are tempted to mention how beautiful she looks with that smile. Shaking off the thought, you ponder if she can read your mind, as her smile becomes knowing and a slight blush colors her cheeks. Ink-stained fingers reach towards your temple, but she hesitates, waiting for your consent, and your heart fills with warmth. You nod once, despite not really understanding.

Her charcoal-colored fingers, cold to the touch, make contact with your temple. Just as you're about to complain about the lack of warning, you're abruptly transported into a completely different world, surpassing the immersive experience of any 3D movie you've ever seen. You not only hear and see everything in every direction, but you can also feel and smell it all. It feels as if you are truly present in that moment. It takes a few minutes for you to realize that you are witnessing someone else's memories, to be precise, Wanda's memories.

She starts her memory with the unexploded bomb created by Tony Stark, which sat in the middle of the rubble of the Maximoff residence. In that chaotic scene, there were two children, the twins, hiding in fear under a bed. However, before you could offer any comfort, the scene shifted. The twins had been taken to HYDRA, where they were subjected to brutal experiments. Witnessing their suffering broke your heart, and despite your best efforts, you were unable to interact with your surroundings, although you desperately tried. Repeatedly you threw yourself against the walls of the cells in which the twins were held, hoping to free them from their hellish situation. You observed the twins' powers first emergence: Pietro's as he attempted to reach his sister's side, and Wanda's as she tried to defend Pietro from the scientists.

Scene after scene, each one as traumatic, if not more so, than the last, depicting all the events from Ultron and beyond. And then there's you. Except, it's not really you. You've certainly never possessed the power of teleportation, nor have you ever been so self-assured. This must be Wanda's universe's version of you. With bright eyes and a warm demeanor, you appear as a beacon of light in Wanda's otherwise bleak life. You observe as the version of you in this universe warmly welcomes the twins to the team, a stark contrast as to how the rest of the team treats the newcomers ranging from suspicious to openly hostile.

It’s surreal, watching yourself from outside your own body, knowing this version isn’t really you, but still no less real of a person. Wanda’s memories begin focusing less on missions and more on interpersonal relationships. Specifically, the one developing between yourself and Wanda. It’s intimate and you feel like an intruder watching this unfold. Sadly, as you grow closer, Wanda loses the only other connection she has - Pietro is hit by stray bullets while saving children. A true hero, and there was nothing anyone on the team could do to prevent it. You watch in horror both for the loss of Pietro as a friend, as well as knowing the absolute devastation this will cause your beloved Witch.

You can tell at this point that that’s what she was to you. It hasn't been long, but that bond has clearly already been sealed; you can see the signs in both your alternate self and Wanda. You would have to be blind not to. The loss of her brother does terrible things to Wanda and it’s all your other self can do to try to keep her afloat. “What is grief but love persevering?”

The scene shifts again. Time has clearly passed, and Wanda appears to have healed to some extent. She and the team have become much more cohesive, which delights both versions of you. Your relationship has definitely progressed, if the blush currently gracing your face, extending to your ears, is any indication. You feel the remnants of the emotions from your alternate self. They are not yours, but neither are they entirely unfamiliar. It makes for a disconcerting sensation to say the least. You don’t know Wanda like that, even though this version of you does. You wish you could view these memories dispassionately, free from your alternate self’s emotions that are bleeding through, but you suspect that’s not possible. Once again you try to reassure yourself that you are not the same person, no matter the genetic makeup.

Jarring you from your reverie, next you find yourself in another battle, and this one is massive. There are more superheroes here than you have ever seen before, either in Wanda's memories or in films. This must be the fight against Thanos she had told you about. Dread settles in your stomach like a stone, and for a moment, you contemplate what it will be like to witness your own death.

Traumatizing, for sure, though not for the reasons you had expected. While you are unable to interact with your environment, you are able to freely move about. Instead of looking at the memory entirely from Wanda’s perspective, you move to stand beside yourself. Wanda stands before you, ethereal, magnificent, yet utterly devastated. She knows what she has to do and pleads with you not to make her. It is unjust for a woman so powerful to suffer such loss, and still you implore her to sacrifice your life, her happiness, for the sake of the rest of the universe. It is unfair. It is cruel. You know it, but you ask anyway.

She never could tell you “no.”

You know the moment this universe's version of you had died when you witness the sheer devastation on Wanda's face. Most people would probably look away, but you couldn't. For some unknown reason, you feel compelled to witness this moment in all its horrifying detail, if only to gain a true understanding of the witch and the immense pain she has endured. There were surely few things more intimate than allowing someone to share their own memories, and here Wanda was, granting you unrestricted access to hers. The least you could do was accept this gift she was offering, no matter how painful it might be.

The images that follow blur together, evoking your personal experiences with grief and a sense of detachment from the world. The funeral is somber, one and all everyone dressed in black and grey. Wanda is present only in body, and you can’t blame her. Clint, the archer, hands her your belongings, including the letter she had mentioned. It unnerves you how detached Wanda appears to be at this moment, despite being surrounded by friends and colleagues. You worry about what lies ahead for her. So much loss in such a short time, it didn’t take a psychiatrist to know this would surely take a toll on her. You prayed that her friends came to check on her, but you had a feeling either they didn’t, or in her grief, she refused them entry.

Colors blend into one another and fade out. You find yourself standing on a plot of land in a town called Eastview, crouching next to Wanda as she collapses to her knees. Her body is wracked with anguished sobs as she finally allows herself to grieve. You wish you could interact with this memory, to hold her and alleviate some of her pain, even if only for a moment. Instead, you sit with her, sharing in her pain as she releases it all into the world. Wanda allows herself to experience her grief in its entirety, no longer burying her feelings beneath a veneer of numbness. Colors leech from the world around her, turning it greyscale. You're pretty certain that even at their strongest, the average person's manifestation of grief isn't supposed to do that, but then again, the average person isn't the Scarlet Witch. Briefly, you wonder what consequences this will have on her world. Your head feels fuzzy, and as your vision fades to black, you suppose you are about to find out.

You regain consciousness and find yourself in a world entirely devoid of color. Disoriented, you blink as the details of your surroundings slowly come into focus. In front of you stands... well... yourself. Or rather, an alternate version of you who appears to be from the 1950s, slightly older but still alive. Seated beside 1950’s you is Wanda, also monochrome and dressed in 1950s attire. Blearily, you rub your eyes. It has been a long day, and you are extremely tired, unsure if this is just an incredibly vivid hallucination or if you have actually passed out somewhere.

Alternate you asks Wanda a question, to which you aren’t listening, and she replies with a quip - you still aren’t listening, wondering where you are and why everything is in greyscale. What catches you off-guard though, is the surround sound laugh track that‘s garnered in response. It’s galling to admit but you jump, startled, and look around. There’s no one else in the house besides yourself, the alternate version of you, and Wanda. Where did that come from?

Alternate you replies to Wanda, and again with the laugh track. This time you are not as startled, but no less unsettled. What fresh hell is this? Could this be Wanda’s doing? It doesn’t seem like you can ask her though, as you’re just a passive observer in this strange situation. The last thing you remember, Wanda was grieving in Eastview at the plot of land which alternate you had purchased to start your life together after retiring from being superheroes. Strange grey wiggly woos (as you were starting to refer to her magic) were emanating from the witch, quite different from the familiar scarlet color you had grown accustomed to.

Perhaps this was her doing, if only subconsciously. You tried to recall, didn’t Wanda mention something about her powers being new to her and mostly unintentional? This could be what she had been referring to. Apprehension made a home in your chest as you found yourself dreading whatever was about to unfold before you. Oh no, Wanda, what did you do?

It doesn’t take long after observing the hijinks and mishaps, for you to realize that Wanda's grief had manifested through her powers. She had transformed the town of Eastview into Westview, resembling a 1950s-style sitcom town. Wanda, along with an alternate version of yourself (if you were truly still alive - that part you hadn't figured out yet), and the entire town were trapped. While it may have started unintentionally, Wanda became aware of it and began actively using her powers to maintain her idyllic town, keeping it isolated from the outside world and preventing the townspeople from leaving. In her grief, Wanda was essentially playing house, holding everyone hostage. However, despite her powers growing stronger, it was clear that the people living there were suffering. If you could even consider their existence as living.

There were even two boys - twins, just like Wanda was a twin. Your heart broke, knowing this could not possibly end well. While technically not "real" and not even "yours" at that, watching these boys be born, live, and grow caused you to cultivate a love for them almost as if they were your own. Your heart thumps uncomfortably in your chest; you didn't want to see how this plays out, but you didn't have a choice.

Despite the dysfunction in your parents, you had always wanted a family of your own. An attempt to break the cycle and bring new life - happy and healthy - into this world. You wanted to raise your kids with the love and care you had never experienced yourself.

You understood the motivations of the witch, but that didn't justify her morally questionable choices. Once again, you are condemned to remain on the sidelines, unable to take any action to resolve the situation. You are forced to witness this charade unfold, hoping and praying that it would end well for everyone involved, yet knowing that it would not. How could it possibly?

Despite your bias, after witnessing everything Wanda had endured, you found yourself wishing for the best outcome for her, in particular. Among all the people you could think of, she deserved a break from the misery that had plagued her life until now.

Eventually, it all came to a head when another witch named Agatha Harkness had infiltrated the town with a book called the Darkhold, attempting to convince Wanda to join her and increase their powers. If Wanda refused, the witch planned to take Wanda's powers for herself. Something about a prophecy regarding a Scarlet Witch.

Meanwhile, the alternate version of you had become self-aware of the true nature of Westview. This version of you pleaded with Wanda to prioritize the wellbeing of others over her own happiness, once again. They urged Wanda to defeat Agatha and free the townspeople, even if it meant losing her spouse and children. It was an impossible choice, and you questioned whether you could have mustered the courage to make the same decision in Wanda’s position.

Wanda defeated Agatha, not that you ever doubted her for a moment. She said goodbye to you, again, and then to her boys, and released her spell. The town was free, but her family.. was gone. Wanda was once again on her own.

A startled gasp leaves your lips as you awaken from the memories. It feels like it’s been ages, but from what you can tell, it must only have been minutes since Wanda first began sharing her memories with you. “Oh.”

Cringe. You wish you could have said something, anything more eloquent. Unfortunately, you feel as though you've just been hit by a Mack truck and could nap for a week. It doesn’t help that you were still feeling the effects of lack of sleep for the last couple of weeks. 

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t feel so good, is it okay if I lay down somewhere…?” A quick glance around the temple makes you second guess the question you were about to ask. Stone floors did not make a good bed.

With a tone much softer than she had been using, she replied. "Of course, Detka, you only need to ask." 

An elegant wave of her slender fingers and gone is the stone temple, replaced by a cozy bedroom. At a cursory glance, you can tell it is a sanctuary of comfort and tranquility, featuring a plush, inviting bed. The room is adorned with personal touches, such as framed photographs of you and Wanda, and artwork that is somehow absolutely your aesthetic. Shelves display a carefully chosen selection of your favorite books, each waiting to be explored. These items add character and give the space a feeling that is unique to you, even though you have never set foot in this place before.

“Come,” A glimpse of Wanda and you are surprised to discover instead of her red and black uniform, she is now garbed in an oversized sweater and some cotton sweatpants.

“You have been holding space for others for so long, it is time you took some well-deserved rest. You work much too hard.”

“Uh s-sure.” About to make a comment that perhaps you should also change, but looking down to find that you are wearing your favorite worn Legolas shirt and some pajama shorts.

“Right. Rest.” Part of you wants to ask when you can return to your home so you can finish studying for your exams, but based on previous conversation, context clues tell you that’s the least of your concerns right now, and Wanda probably wouldn’t be too pleased with that topic of discussion right now.

Wanda takes your hand, leading you to the bed and it takes your overworked brain far longer than you care to admit to realize that she means for you both to share it. Your brain short-circuits at all the factors at play here: Knowing that you yourself are touch-starved; this absolute enchantress of a woman dated an alternate universe’s version of you, even going so far as basically playing housewife and mother of your children, and here she was asking you to share a bed. Sure, she wasn’t asking you to sleep with her, but she was still asking you to share a bed next to her and what if you accidentally spooned her in your sleep, and what if-

”You’re thinking too loudly, malysh.”

“What? You can- you’re a mind reader?!” you panic, backpedaling mentally, praying to every deity that existed that you hadn’t had any unsavory thoughts in her presence, and nearly fainting as you recalled that you in fact, had some rather explicit thoughts from the moment you first saw her.. The mortification alone was enough to put you into an early grave. You weren’t sure how you had missed that during everything she had shown you, but you reasoned you were probably more focused on the physical manifestations of her powers. 

"Relax, Y/N. I don't intentionally read minds, at least not anymore. Sometimes, surface thoughts are so loud that I can't help but hear them. Like right now, you're practically yelling them at me," she said, trying to offer a reassuring smile.

Unfortunately, while you were no longer freaking out about having accidentally offended the witch, you were now spiraling down a different path. You were agonizing over the pain you had, and likely were still causing her by thinking so loudly. If you remembered any media involving mind reading, the person with the ability usually suffered greatly at the hands of others unintentionally. Naturally, the average person didn't know how to shield their thoughts, and you were afraid that you might be giving her a migraine. To the woman who had only tried to bring you to a safe place and offer you shelter. 

You began to hyperventilate.

Wanda could see that you were spiraling, even without being a mind reader. It was written clearly on your face. However, being able to hear your thoughts helped her identify the source of your anxiety, and she berated herself for not considering that earlier. This version of you lacked confidence, and it was now Wanda's responsibility to help rebuild it. At least, according to her.

"Your parents really did a number on you, didn't they, detka?"

Cool hands gently held your cheeks, pulling you out of your thoughts. Suddenly, Wanda invades your personal space, and the scent of vanilla fills your nostrils, momentarily distracting you from what was happening.

"We're just going to take a nap, okay Y/N? You don't have to worry about anything. I'm not bothered by any of those thoughts you have." A leering grin unfurls across her face.

“If anything I’m quite flattered by them.” She winks.

Heat flashes across your body, and you can’t tell if you were embarrassed, aroused, or both. Unfortunately, you knew your thoughts were likely betraying you. Gods, if only the floor could just open up right now and swallow you into the abyss. Yes, that would be fantastic.

"However, there is time enough for such things later. It's been years, Y/N, and I've just got you back. Nap with me, please?" The witch's eyes gaze longingly into yours, and well, when she looks at you like that, how could you say "no"?

She leads you to the bed and, with the practiced ease of her time in Westview, pulls you into her embrace as the little spoon. Earlier, you had been worried about accidentally touching her inappropriately or having a dirty dream. Now though, with her arms wrapped so protectively around you, sleep claims you almost instantaneously.

[callivich]

Just a reminder for anyone new or anyone who has been lurking:

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Please don’t steal gifs and repost them, here’s a great post explaining why and another one explaining why and how to use the gif search function! And another one explaining the gif search function.

Reblog content you enjoy and write in the tags or reply to the post - how much you liked something or if you have other thoughts…..creators love to hear this!

Use the tags. They’re the best way to get your posts noticed if you’re new- #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ianxmickey any or all of these will work. When you make a post, you should see a little grey box that says something like add tags to help people find your post, just type in there. (You don’t need to use the # symbol. Tumblr automatically does that.)

There are so many brilliant active communities that you can take part in - I’ve done a roundup post here & I will update it with new communities.

If you feel creative? Got for it. Don’t worry about what people think, just share your work. Write that fic or headcanon or meta, draw that art, create that gifset, design that aesthetic piece, share that playlist. Chances are that a lot of people will enjoy your work!

Don’t feel shy about promoting your work either - tag it with #gallavich & the tags mentioned above.

Recommend what you’ve enjoyed! There is no time limit on sharing links to fic, art, headcanons, gifsets, posts of any kind…..reblog/share what you love and keep sharing it. Whether it’s brand new or years old, sharing the work is great idea.

Go back and explore things. Older fics on ao3, gifsets and art from years past, moodboards and headcanons that are years old. None of these things have an expiration date. So reblog them, share them, let people experience them for the first time and allow people to enjoy them for the 2nd/3rd/4th time.

Comment!! It’s such an important thing to do in fandom. Whether it’s on new work or old work, whether you write long comments or just a keyboard smash and emojis - it’s great way to share love to creators, to support/encourage/inspire them and to get involved in fandom. Check out Ian and Mickey’s guide to commenting and other posts about commenting: here // here // here

Share your ideas. Whether it’s headcanons or meta or fics or art, share it. Feel free to explore your ideas. There’s always room for discussion, analysis and creativity.

If you see ask memes or tag games going around, take part! Or even reblog one of these games and tag some people you’d like to get to know better! Don’t feel intimidated, it’s always nice to be tagged.

Keeping reblogging posts. Not just once or twice but again and again. The queue is there for a reason. And each time you do? You’re sharing it with your dash.

Remember, pretty much everyone starts out as a lurker and when it comes to being creative - everyone starts at the beginning. Those writers and artists and creators that you are in awe of? They all started out at square one. Everyone practices and creates over and over again, that’s how it goes. The more you write or draw or create, the better you get. And fandom loves to see it.

Need ideas or inspiration? I’ve got lots and lots of prompts for you!

This is a relatively small-ish fandom but it’s active and there is nothing nicer than new people joining, so don’t hesitate - jump in. It’s so much fun and we’d love you to join us! 💖

If anyone has any tips or encouragement they’d like to share, please reply to this post! 💖

And if you have any questions about using tumblr, send me an ask!

[morganalatina21]

Manipulating Death: Chapter Two

(Not my gif)

Series Summary: When Harry discovers he has a twin sister that was hiding for years, he wants to know all about her, specially about her ability to bring people back to life.

A/n: Again, English isn't my first language so I'm sorry if I misspell or use the wrong time at any sentence. Also, this is my first time doing a series here on tumblr so please have some patience with little ol' me :))

Chapter One

***********************************************

"So... you're Sirius' brother." Harry started, standing on his feet in the kitchen while the man had his back facing them.

The place was the exact size of the kitchen and dining room from his uncle's house at Privet Drive, only a balcony separating them.

However, the similarities stopped there, the oven was cleaner and looked almost untouched, the cabinets were a little darker and looked rather unstable. The amount of things on the top of each one Harry couldn't even count.

"Yes. And as you seem to know, when I was sixteen I joined the Dark Lord." Regulus replied without looking their way, too focused on brewing tea and cutting pieces of a fresh baked pie which Harry guessed there's where the smell of blackberries came from.

"However, I always knew what he was doing was wrong." To that, Remus scoffed. Regulus proceeded, unbothered. "So I started looking for flaws on his plans, and when I was too deep into that, that's when I died."

He started stacking the cubes of pie, making two pyramids in different plates.

"If you knew it was wrong why didn't you run away? Like Sirius did." Lupin asked, arms crossed and frown never leaving his face.

"You don't know how my mother was like." He simply answered. "Anyways, I died when I was barely eighteen and a couple years later your sister brought me back to life."

"But how?"

However, the answer didn't looked ready to be known by him, because it kept being dodged every time he asked.

This time, it was by a groan coming from the living room.

"You better go see him, he needs a known face so he won't absolutely lose it."

Remus gave Harry a nod, he still didn't trusted Regulus, so he wouldn't, under any circumstances, leave him alone.

"Y'know, Sirius told me a lot about how your family was." He commented on it when the boy left the room.

"I'm sure he did."

"And he also told me how you were your mom's favorite." To that, Regulus only hummed slightly annoyed. "So I'm sorry if I don't see how that can be a bad ambience for you."

"Someone who drowns at ten feet under water is just as dead as someone who drowned at four." The Black finally turned to him, only enough so he could see the professor with the corner of the eye. "I was the favorite because I wasn't a rebel like my brother, so they would put much pressure over me to be the perfect pure blood son."

"And Sirius knew I wanted to run away, I just needed to have something against Voldemort, otherwise my escape would be useless."

With that, he went back to cutting the pie in perfect squares.

Deciding to keep the rest of the questions to when Sirius was present, Remus sighed and the room dived into an uncomfortable silence, being broken only by the sound of knife against the dishes.

Regulus, on his own mind, was trying to organize everything.

What he should tell them, what he shouldn't, what he would deny until the day he died (again).

The thuds from upstairs kept his heart calm, they might not believe him, however they'd probably believe Y/n.

Even if they didn't, they had no idea where the house was, so escaping again would be easy.

"WHAT?!"

Disturbing his peace, Sirius walked in, stomping with eyes wide open and lips parted.

He turned slowly, not moving the hair away from his eyes just in case he needed to hide emotions yet again.

"How... Why... When... HOW?"

"Sirius let's calm down." Remus reached a hand to his shoulder, but got shrugged away by the Black.

"Don't ask me that RIGHT NOW." He screamed, not moving his eyes from the brother. "How are you alive? I remember the day I heard you died. I remember going to your grave. I remember it all too well." He stopped, catching his breath, tears making his eyes sparkle. "So how are you here?"

Regulus dropped the knife into the sink, swallowing thick before looking at Sirius.

"I died." Were the first words that came to his mind. "Just like you just did. And the same way, I was brought back to life."

"When? Who brought you back?"

His lips were sealed. It was not entirety his story to tell.

However, not everyone thought the same.

"Y/n". Sirius' head snapped at Remus. "It was Y/n Potter that brought not only him, but also you back to life."

The older Black looked fast at his godson before looking at his partner marauder.

"Y/n Potter died. Years ago, with James and Lily."

"That's what I thought too, Sirius. But I just seen her. She's alive. I don't know how, don't ask me that."

"So you all knew I have a sister?" Harry shouted, standing on the door.

"The entire Wizarding world silently agreed to never mention her, Harry." Remus started, looking rather guilty. "The night your parents died, everyone that walked into the house looked for Y/n, but not a single soul found her. We just assumed that the what occurred was opposite of what happened to you; that Voldemort had casted such a strong death curse on her, she vanished from existence. It was so horrible to even think about it, no one had the courage to mention it, and it stayed like that."

"When were you going to tell me?"

"When we made sure Voldemort and all his followers were gone." Sirius answered. "Losing your parents is bad enough, losing a twin that her body was never found..." he sighed, "We were scared we'd be giving you hopes she could be alive."

"WELL SHE IS!" Harry screamed, making the marauders take a step back. "SHE BLOODY IS! THAT'S MY SISTER! YOU SHOULD'VE TOLD ME!"

"We know..." Sirius whispered. "And we're deeply sorry, Harry."

Regulus, glad the attention wasn't on him any longer, went back to brewing the tea, not a big fan of knowing what happened when he was gone.

Y/n had told him the basics, Voldemort wasn't back but he knew if all the horcruxes hadn't been destroyed it would be just a matter of time; people still thought Sirius was guilty even though Dumbledore knew the truth, Snape was a teacher at Hogwarts and stuff like that.

The both got used to living a life where they were able to avoid the outside world, and Regulus didn't hate that.

"And you, brother." Once again, peace disturbed. "Why are you living with her?"

"As I said, she brought me back to life and just so happened that a month later you ran away from Azkaban, there were wizards searching for the Black blood everywhere, I couldn't risk it." He explained, sounding bored. "And when everything was settling down, she started having visions of Voldemort and Pettigrew."

"Wait, she had those too?" Harry interrogated, taking steps forward.

"She did. For months. I couldn't leave the house when the man I died to defeat was threatening to come back. So we just decided to live together."

He finished setting up the tray, with the one plate of square pie, teacups and the tea pot, putting it on the table and taking some steps back, his cup ready on the sink with the other plate of pie.

"The man he'd hate the most and the girl he couldn't kill." Sirius added, approaching the table. "In the same place. It's two birds with one stone, you'd be damned if he found out."

"Would you just shut up and eat? Hunger from resurrection is the worst."

He was right, Sirius stomach was aching.

So, despite the harsh words and the frown on his face, he sat down and started devouring the pieces of pie.

"And you guys shouldn't worry about safety. The house is completely sealed, the stairs are too, so are the bedroom doors, and we have special moves if anything happens. Believe me, we're safer together than separated." And took a sip of his tea.

"Where is she, anyway?"

"Speaking of.." Regulus started, hearing rhythmic footsteps coming downstairs.

"What are you doing?" Sirius asked, when his brother pulled a chair and left close to a cabinet, opened a random drawer and grabbed some herbs from one pot that was near the stove.

The three boys seated at the table perked up when the girl walked in the kitchen. Headphones were plugged in her ears and she danced lightly at the song.

Regulus handed the entire plate of pie and she grabbed it with a smile, without saying anything.

And then, the younger Black's behavior started making sense.

The chair he pulled, Y/n used to stand on and reach something above the cabinet. The random drawer he opened, she pulled a potion bottle from it without even looking. Before she started searching for the pot, he handed her the herbs.

It was like he was predicting her every move. Even moving the chair out of the way so she didn't bumped into it.

He knew what she would do, and decided to make things easier.

"She won't listen." Regulus advised when Harry tried to stop her from leaving the kitchen. "She deals with death a lot, and sometimes the voices from the dead get a little too loud so she either sings or listen to music to avoid them."

"Why does she deal with death?" Remus asked the question on everybody's mind.

He sighed, imagining she wouldn't come back from doming the possessor so soon.

"It's a long story and it's hers to tell." He started, making Sirius roll his eyes and Harry's lips were pulled down a little. "But, basically, she's been trying to bring her parents back to life."

"She's WHAT NOW?"

"Don't scream! You'll attract the possessors!" The Black whispered-yelled, gesturing them to stay quiet.

They raised their heads, trying to hear any sound non-human around.

Fortunately, nothing but the basement door opening and closing, Y/n dancing steps disappearing.

"You didn't said anything when Harry was screaming." Sirius mumbled, taking another sip of the tea.

"Because I knew the possessor was with her, before she went to the basement it could've been anywhere."

"She said it wouldn't hurt us." Remus quoted the line the girl had said earlier.

"They're easily atracted to emotions, especially the bad ones. You ever felt the crippling feeling someone was watching you when you were on the edge of dying? You're filled with anger, sadness and fear. They smell it and get ready to take the person's soul."

The dining room was thrown into deep silence, Harry trying to be as still as possible.

Sirius had his eyes wide, the mouthful of pie stopped chewing and Remus held his breath.

"And Y/n is alone with that?"

"She can handle it." Regulus guaranteed. "It's nothing new and no one else here knows how to deal with them."

Harry kept quiet, adjusting his posture as if it'd make him hear a little better. He wished he'd payed attention to the sounds that creature made when it first came out, so he could identify it quicker.

However, nothing but silence came to their ears.

With that problem out of the way, they could focus again on what Regulus said.

"She's trying to resurrect our parents?"

The younger Black pulled a chair and sat down, legs crossed and hands enlaced on his lap.

All eyes were on him once again, waiting for the truth.

"I know you're about to say it's a long story and she should be the one to tell." Sirius interrupted before he even started. "But honestly, we need answers. That girl came outta nowhere, jumped into that motherfucking veil of death and-"

"What?"

Regulus' eyes were now glued to his brother, suddenly interested.

No, scratch that. He was interrogating, staring at the older man like he was about to rip his head off if he didn't repeated the sentence.

"There's this sort of veil that kills you if you go through it. Our beloved cousin hit me with a spell and I fell on it, she came running and entered that, and pulled me out so- why are you looking at me like that?" He stopped the story, clearly bothered by his brother's gaze.

The younger one never looked at him like that before, with such repressed anger.

"Excuse me, I'll be back in a minute." Regulus asked, standing up and marching out of the kitchen.

The three wizards stared at each other for a moment before raced out the room to follow the Black.

While the discussion was happening, Y/n sat on the basement, in complete darkness except for one lonely candle.

Sharing the pieces of pie with the creatures they had caged, song wild on her ears, she was thinking.

How exactly would she tell all of her life to two people who believed she was dead and one who didn't even knew she existed?

It wasn't exactly on her plans to bring her brother, her godfather and her kind of an uncle to her house.

So now, she'd have to smush on her routine some time to answer their questions. And currently, her own questions were ringing on her mind.

What if they didn't trust her? What if they didn't believe her story? What if Harry didn't like her? What if they would trust her but not Regulus?

For years she dreamt of what would happen when they reunited. But in not one of them she thought it'd be like this, escaping Death Eaters and Sirius almost dying without knowing her.

"It really sucks." Murmured to the brand new possessor. It wasn't the biggest one, but it certainly wasn't small. "Wanna know what's worst?" Asked, throwing a piece of blackberry pie to the creature. "I'm probably never going to bring my parents back."

She smiled sadly, looking at the circle of herbs she made on the ground to hold the possessor's power.

The door swung open, and she only noticed because of the light it send all over the room. Pulling the headphones off her ears, fortunately the whispers had settled down and she watched Regulus get closer to her, a very unpleasant look on his face.

"What was our agreement when you left to go to the Ministry?" He asked, hands on his pockets and the girl sighed. He was playing games.

She knew it and he knew she knew.

"That I'd see Harry, only do something if really bad things happened and would get out of there the moment Dearh Eaters showed up." She recited, seeing with the corner of her eyes the other three sneaking to hear their conversation.

"And what did you do?"

"I saw Harry, did something when bad things happened and got out of there. Safe and sound." She added.

"You forgot to mention you went through the veil." His words were sharp and Y/n could swore she saw poison dripping from his mouth.

She started standing up. "Yeah I did. So what? Big deal. Or I should've let your brother die?"

"You weren't prepared. You had zero equipments to help you, do I really need to tell you how everything could've gone wrong?"

The possessors around the room started waking up, glowing scarlet eyes watching them both, seeing their anger and frustration.

"But it didn't! I wasn't going to just stand there and watch Sirius die!"

"You shouldn't even be there! You should've left the moment you saw a Death Eater. You were reckless."

"I was and I'm not sorry for it. I finally met my brother and you got a second chance with yours. Can't we focus on that?"

Regulus kept quiet for some time, anger was bubbling inside him. She had been reckless, could've died and he wouldn't know until way later.

He thought about the three men hearing the discussion - of course he knew they followed him. The Black didn't wanted to give them another reason to think he and Y/n should be apart.

"Fine, I'll focus on that for now, and only for now," she smiled "if you stop this play date and go upstairs, I'm tired of answering all the questions alone."

The girl snorted. "Okay then, but knowing you I'm pretty sure you barely answered one." Taking one more pie square, she started walking. "Come on, they're so curious they forgot what privacy means."

Regulus suppressed a smile when he heard the loud mess of the wizards pretending they weren't listening and started walking with her, leaving the leftovers of the pie, and the candle behind for the possessors.

*********************************************

Next Chapter

Taglist: @intoanothermind @moonysupremacy01 @maraudersarelifee

[tawaifeddiediaz]

Hi!

I was just wondering if you have a tutorial on how you created this effect in your gifset, it's something I'd like to try but have no idea where to start. Your set is so pretty! Any helps appreciated x

https://www.tumblr.com/tawaifeddiediaz/712911415428743168/ill-take-you-with-me-then-well-both-die-you?source=share

Hey Nonnie, thank you! This is super late, but I don't actually have the psd for this set anymore (I delete them as soon as I post them), so we're just gonna wing it with a gif I made the other day. I think this ask is about the text, but if it's anything else, just drop me another line and I'll get to it when I can!

I'm pretty sure I got this tutorial from the wonderful @eddiediaaz but I then turned it into Lazy Girl Hours :)) anywho, here we go!

We’ll be making this gif:

This tutorial assumes basic knowledge of gif-making, Photoshop, and coloring. I’ve only described the typography tutorial in this, but you can reach out if you have any questions.

Tutorial under the cut:

Couple things to note beforehand:

There is a lot of trial and error involved when doing any sort of effect, and this is no exception! You might have to play around with the colors and the settings before you find something that looks good and readable and that fits your set!

This text effect works better on big gifs (540px width).

For this, I find that a simple font works better than a fully-cursive one, but play around with what you like. The boxes may need some adjusting if you use a font with too many tall or tail letters (i.e. text where all the letters aren't on one uniform line - that's why capital letters work so well.)

Movement works really well with effects like these, but again, it depends on your gif + readability. If you have a blended gif, it may take a little more trial and error.

I work in frame animation for all my text effects, but this works just as well in timeline as well.

We’re going to start with this gif:

First, I like to put my text on the gif. You can obviously move this around later so don't worry too much about how it looks right now.

The dialogue is "Just don't feel it." "Feel" is one of those Big Words for this quote, so I'm going to emphasize it with cursive text.

I am using Moon for the sans serif text, and Santa Fe Spring for the cursive text. Keep both of these in white for now:

Next, we're going to use the rectangular marquee tool to draw our rectangles around the capital letters (we're not touching the cursive text right now). I just eyeball this, and then try to center it as much as possible.

(The rectangular marquee tool has a keyboard shortcut of M, and it's the second tool in that little toolbar on the left of most people's Photoshop.)

This is what that'll look like:

Next, we're going to go down to the icons at the bottom right of the layers panel and select the half-black half-white circle > Color Fill.... You should get a color dialogue box. Choose your color - I'm using #8d0000. Then, we're going to move that layer below the corresponding text layer, and set its blending mode to Difference. This is what that looks like (click the image for better quality):

I'm going to repeat that with the other two boxes as well, using the same color. The boxes will look different with the Difference blending mode because of the shadows underneath.

For example, the box with "it" looks like a solid red square because it's against a completely black background, while the other two have some blue shading to them since there are some highlights behind them.

This is what my gif looks like now:

Next, I like to go The Lazy Girl™ route and put all three color-fill layers into one group underneath all the text layers. This just lets me edit the drop shadow of all three of them at the same time.

Right-click the group and open up the Blending Options. In Drop Shadow, these are the settings I'm using. The drop shadow color is #0c6477:

(Note: uncheck "Use Global Light" especially if you're working in frame animation to make sure all the drop shadow has the same angle on all frames.)

This is what my gif looks like now:

Now that we've finished that, time to move on to the cursive text.

I usually match the cursive text to the palette of the rest of the text, and since the drop shadow is our "accent" color, so to speak, I'm going to use a lighter version of that color. I am also going to add a drop shadow for readability.

The color I used for the text is #acfffe and I actually ended up adding two drop shadows, just because I needed something subtle that doesn't overwhelm the text, especially since it's a delicate font. Here are the settings for both layers:

And here's what my gif looks like now:

Now, before we move on to the lines, just check the adjustment of all these text layers, see if there's anything you want to change. It's easier to change now than after the lines are added, since you'll most likely have to redraw them if you move the boxes after the fact.

To draw the lines, we're going to use the Line Tool. I just freehand all of this, and I try to go from center to center of the boxes when I can. It all depends on your angles.

My lines are 2px thick, but you can change these depending on your preference. Here's what mine look like right now:

We're going to do the same lazy hack that we did for the color fill, and put all three line layers into a group. Move this group below the text layer and the color fill layers. The reason for this is so that the lines look like they're coming seamlessly from the box, rather than from on top of them or something.

Then, set the group to opacity 50%. I like more subtle, simple looks in my gifs, so I don't like super high opacities.

And that's it! This is our final gif:

Some final notes:

Absolutely play around with the blending modes of the color fill layers for this effect. These two gifs are the exact same color we've been using, just two different blending modes. You can see how drastically different they look. The first one is Linear Dodge (Add) and the second one is Vivid Light:

It can change how your gif looks in a BIG way, so play around with it, see what you like, especially if you don't really like the "two toned" thing going on.

Sometimes, I also like playing with the width and height of the text in the font settings, making it shorter and wider, or making it taller and more compact. You can play with the letter spacing as well. The world is your oyster, etc etc.

One other thing I've started doing is erasing the lines with a big brush, just to fade them from his face a little, like this:

To do that, use a layer mask on the line layer folder, and a brush that's 0% hardness, and at least 200px big. For this gif, I also changed the opacity of the lines back to 100% so the fading effect is a little more pronounced:

(this gif isn't the best example for this, but oh well. Anywho, hope this helps, Nonnie! Let me know if you have any questions.

Enjoy!

[kickingitwithkirk]

Winchester's Folly

Summary: When Dean gets into trouble John decides to hide the truth for his family

Word Count: 888

*Dark! Fic-don't continue if you are disturbed by the subject matter

Warnings: A/B/O, non/con elements , dub/con elements, enslavement, pandemic, non/con drug use, collaring/leashing, forced mating, forced breeding, BDSM elements, show-level violence

*Additional warnings to be added

*Square filled: @spnabobingo - Alpha Challenging Alpha

A/N: * UPDATED 3/24

A/N II: Still working on reigning myself in, keeping each part reader-friendly length, and have no clue how many parts this will end up being.

A/N III: a few notes about designations in A/O sub-genders for this story.

Alphas-Dominant (head of the pack/family) Subordinate (obey Dominant) Breeders (rare & highly coveted by the government. Can challenge Dominant for pack/family leadership)

Omegas -Domestic (mostly wiped out by plague, few natural born left) Feral (government-supplied breeders sold commonly called O's) House O’s (3rd generation+ Feral/Dominant breed. Used as servants/sex workers) Pack (rare & highly coveted by the government)

*Divider by @firefly-graphics

*No Beta-all mistakes are mine

GIF by antiquerss

Part II

“Dean's preference of type doesn’t matter, but I want one under eighteen.” 

Sam’s head snapped up in shock. That wasn’t the plan; John was specific that O should be older than Dean and preowned, making them cheaper to repurchase. “Dad, why are you wanting…?” John cut him off with a low growl, provoking Sam’s inner wolf to reciprocate, neither noticing Helms studying their interaction with interest.

Alpha Winchester can’t wholly control this beauty like the other one. The boss will be pleased to learn about these developments. 

“A House O would normally do on paper,” Helms interrupts, “But I know this judge, they will not be satisfied with that alone.”  Both Winchesters have matching, confused expressions, and he continues before John can ask what that means.

 “The judge will require that I follow the statutes in Hibbins and your pack's unusual dynamics: three virile, unmated Alphas with no permanent abode, residing whatever. House O’s have a breed down to need stability, so a Pack Omega would be ideal even if they're as scarce as Phoenix and need the right connections, but there's your social standing.” That remark made Sam snort. It wasn’t the first time someone had mentioned their social standing, not so slyly code for a dirt-poor pack. 

“I have a few in the preferred age range we could negotiate over, but I suspect you won’t allow your Subordinate to breed them. The judge probably will consider that a deal breaker. The best option is an altered pre-owned Feral. And fortunate for you, I’ve recently acquired a selection from a fire sale. This way, gentlemen.” 

Dean's wolf whines, watching his pack move farther into the building. At the same time, he can only stand there, as ordered, and observe these unfortunate creatures bartered over as the livestock society considers them. His Alpha knew it would eat at his ingrained, perpetual guilt and is part of the repentance he has to endure because, once vexed, John Winchester never forgave or forgot.

Sam's inner wolf was getting more unquiet the longer they were in this den of iniquity. He knew the only reason John wanted him near was an additional jab at Dean to emphasize his failures. Fuck, he hated their Alpha using Dean's guilt against himself whenever displeased. Sam couldn’t see Dean from where they were, getting pissed that John was now only focusing on a couple of O’s that’d caught his interest.

Sam instinctually knew she was all wrong and, without realizing it, started vocalizing his displeasure. “What’s your problem now?” John barked at him. “They’re undoubtedly your type, sir,” Sam replied with his usual bluntness that made John's jaw clench, grudgingly reflecting on his youngest observation.

As the Dominant Alpha of his pack, John ultimately decided how they functioned, including mating. He cringed internally, remembering the drinking confession inadvertently made to Sam shortly after he presented.

It was a typical night when John was around.

Sam was sitting at the kitchen table finishing up some calculus homework. At the same time, John, sprawled on a couch, hovering between drunk and passed-out drunk, started talking about his mother.

Mary used to say three-year-old Dean was a handful, and now about to whelp again; it was too much for an Alpha herself to handle not having the instincts. She insisted John procure a House O to wet nurse the new pup because after extending the nursing of Dean, she wasn’t willing to do that again. John told her they couldn’t afford one, and Mary retorted if they had one, they could hatefuck their anger out on the O instead of John leaving. 

Sams revolted learning that the mother he never knew, one his brother practically worshiped, had wanted to purchase a House O to raise her litter and use them as a fuckslave to keep her mate happy and at home. When John started drunkenly lauding the pleasurable attributes of an Omegas natural slick pussy versus female Alphas, Sam grabbed Dean's CD player, pumped up the volume, and pretended to be working until John eventually passed out.

Shoving the books into his backpack, Sam retreated to their shared bedroom and retrieved the cobbled-together black-market laptop Dean secretly got him. Firing it up, he began researching the history of Omegas, the Hibbins Procurement Act, eventually going down the rabbit hole, finding blogs about how the effort to repopulate Omegas became perverted over the decades and obscure provisions secretly added during extension reviews that the government schools omitted felt his meager dinner about to reappear and bolted for the toilet.

Dean came rolling later, finding the laptop open on the bed, and immediately started worrying. His brother never left it out when their dad was around, followed the scent of sickness to find Sam lying on the bath floor, looking like he’d picked up an illness. Dean cleans him up, then tucks Sam into bed, diligently watching over him the rest of the night.

Surveying the area for hidden trouble, Sam catches an irresistible scent. His inner wolf hurls itself frantically against its cage of skin and bone, growling home home home in his mind. Flicking an eye towards his Alpha, whom Helms had distracted by another O. Without a second thought, Sam follows the wolf’s instincts, slowly backs towards the door left ajar, and slips through unnoticed.

Part III

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx @lyarr24  @flamencodiva    @lassie-bird @nancymcl   @spnbaby-67   @leigh70

Sam/Jared: @idreamofplaid

Dean/Jensen: @thoughts-and-funnies @stoneyggirl2 @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl

WF: @slamminmine @ladysparkles78 @deans-spinster-witch @ilovetaquitosmmmm

[the-owl-tree]

Hello! I'm doing a short little comic on lore from one of my OC's stories :D one of these panels involves a gif where the quarter of this character's face changes into other faces. If people are interested, I would love to get people involved with their own OC's!

I have some general guidelines for those interested:

please keep the file 3600 x 3800px for best chance of integration

please keep the gruesome imagery to a minimum. unsettling is perfect but i'd rather avoid blood or gore.

in the same vein as that, please avoid overly saturated colors! this will be a changing gif and will already be difficult to look at for some, let's not make it entirely unbearable to look at.

don't draw within the red squares, that is where key text will be! everywhere else is fair game :D

you don't have to draw your character in a character view, feel free to play with angles! the art is totally fair game so long as you keep to the base area. have fun with it, go crazy!!

keep the background white for the most part, colors around the character are fine.

depending on how many people do this, i might not be able to fit everyone into the gif (or at least not without making it a nightmare on the eyes) so first come first serve rules unfortunately

you can reblog this post with your art or post it separately and tag me in it!

the deadline for official submissions will be September 24th at midnight!

this project is completely for fun!

comic info for those interested + image without guidelines under the cut

this is a comic about guides, creatures from starclan that monitor "anomalies" (i.e., "isekai'd" people within this universe). the comic is meant to be darkly comedic and "informative", so keep that in mind when deciding to participate! the comic itself is in sketch stages and may take some time to finish due to my schedule but i do intend on finishing it!

w/ white bg transparent

if ur wondering why this image is slightly different, i fucked up my original one <3

[oh-saints]

sunshine becomes you (pt. 3)

Martin truly lives up to the expectation, like a dream come true, except this is reality.

Grumpy!Martin Ødegaard x Sunshine!OC

Word Count: 4.0k

Note: as promised (re: post them as soon as i'm feeling better)! the gifs are actually a clue LOL but please please please don't hate me after this :( but as usual, i happen to write this at dawn so this is ofc not proof-read. feedbacks are also always welcome! hope you like them as much as i like writing them!

tw: some suggestive languages

tags: @julianalvarez9 @formula1tina @okayline @mrswhitethornbelikov (lemme know if you want to be added too!)

sunshine becomes you masterlist here

However, after an hour playing the dutiful, supportive girlfriend—both towards her beloved boyfriend and the cause of the gala itself—around the charade full of everyone deemed important for the club, Eve decided she needed a bathroom break.

So much for answering the endless probing, especially from the women, on how long they’d been dating—to which Martin would save her by saying, “only recently, Ma’am. We decided to take it slow after what happened to Eve.”—or how they’d ended up together—“it was snowing heavily that day so he offered me a lift home, and the rest is history,” Eve would tell them while stealing a pre-planned glance to Martin.

If only the women were easier on her like the men.

Martin had it rather easy and smooth when they clapped back on him for “finally sucked his balls and tell Eve how you feel.” The captain laughed along the joke, and she did too to make their story believable in the eyes of the public.

Yet, it seemed that even bathroom wasn’t a safe place to take a breather.

As Eve sat on one of the loo, she heard a bunch of ladies walking in while laughing. They were grumbling at first, muffled by the background music of the ballroom that was slowly turned into a dance floor. But once it became clearer, she wished to take back her hearing ability.

Do you see how much Eve is so out of place in Martin’s arms?

It’s like she forced herself onto him, no?

She doesn’t even deserve to be here! Look at her cheap dress!

Hush! It can be expensive, you know? It only falls on the wrong person.

Or maybe Martin really bought her that dress so she could look the part? I mean, she’s given her pussy for all we know!

That was it. That was the final straw for Eve.

She and Martin had slapped Bob in the face, played their lovey-dovey part tonight. She was more than ready to smack these girls before calling it a night.

She burst the flimsy excuse of a plastic they called a door, electrocuting the fucking mean girls to the point their jaws dropped on the floor. It felt good to give them what they sow in the first place—and don’t get Eve talk about one of these pathetic bitches was Bob’s wench.

Despite her initial rejection to the exquisite evening gown, it was what Martin had chosen for her. Martin had outmost confidence on her pulling all the stunts from the beginning and—boyfriend or not—she wasn’t going to let it goes to waste.

By wearing that, too, she’d promised the man a favour, and she intended to keep it the way he kept his. She’d wear them with squared shoulders and immense proudness, as had Martin been doing to her and for her.

“Better pick up your jaws, ladies,” Eve reapplied her lipstick without a flying fuck to the girls, albeit seeing them with stunned faces from the corner of her eyes did the trick. “You don’t want to look like a bunch of pathetic, jealous bitches.”

She’d like to pardon her French but why not utilise the fact she was resigning by next week?

Although, if the girls had taken a closer look at her fingers as Eve passed them by, they’d find the digits shaking from the acute adrenaline rush.

However, as soon as she opened the door, it was Eve’s turn to be surprised. Martin was leaning his body against the wall, both hands kept inside the pockets, a leg was crossed over the other—had Eve not controlled her expression, the Norsk wouldn’t miss the way she swooned, especially with his black tie and all. Eve could swear she was one of the girls at that moment and she cursed at Mikel for building a team surrounded by models.

But Martin caught on the bad words muttered under her breath. How he did it when everyone and everything was practically too loud in this part of the building was certainly a question for another day.

“That’s my girl,” He stood up straight at her meek voice, with a cheerful voice that truly sounded like he welcomed her, like he was truly waiting for her proudly, and her chest eloped in ways she didn’t want to think of because with the way he looked so damn good it should be a sin. “I was worried about you. You’re taking too long for my liking…”

“Aw, you’re getting lonelier without me?”

She was actually teasing him, as they’d discovered the kind of fun they let to dictate how far their impromptu scenario could take place. So many touches—hidden or not, subtle or not—and glances between them passed by and they now fell into their own rhythm of bantering this evening.

But Martin took the glint gleaming in her eyes as something else. He didn’t know whether he could describe them in words.

So he didn’t, and chose violence instead.

He pulled out his hands in a flash that could put ninja to shame, cupping the side of Eve’s face that felt so small under his fingers, and brought her lips to his. It was gentle, compared to the fireworks show earlier that must’ve been relocated down to between him and Eve. Like alpha and omega blending into one in the sky beautifully.

It was gentle, very much in contrast to the rough and patchy hallway like those you see on Americans shows, which made this all supposedly a wrong thing to do. In the wrong place, in the wrong setting. It was everything but what Eve deserved to have. It should be wrong… but why was something so wrong felt so right?

“What was that?”

Martin himself found it funny how her little whisper tickled his ears in all the right way, as if they were meant only for Martin to pick up the sounds, like it tingled his spidey senses even against the blaring music that was starting to take over the bar down hall. Yet, he knew he’d choose her melodic tune over any other music in this world.

And there was the smile she’d come to love. The one she knew only reserved for her—because there was only 3 instances when it happened and every single one of them occurred around Eve—with the edges tipped slightly slanted in all the right ways as it deepened the dimples that rarely existed anywhere else.

“I promised you I won’t let anybody disrespect you, didn’t I?”

It all fell down on her like a fucking nuclear bomb.

He’d heard those horrible ladies. He’d heard, and he’d come to the rescue. He kept his end of the promise he first gave her.

He fulfilled the promise she herself even forget.

Nobody had ever done that to her. Perhaps, none to all what Martin had been doing tonight. Frankly, Eve didn’t think she’d find somebody else that could do what Martin just did.

As much as the green monster lurking on the back of her head for the possibility of him kissing her only for the show, the gratefulness that blossomed from the very bottom of her heart succeeded in taking over. And before she could swallow the bitter pill of reality that they were only faking it till they make it, Martin kissed the top of her head, the side of her head, the shell of her ears.

“Let’s go,” He whispered against the soft bone, and she swore the shivers didn’t come from the cold winter air that seeped in through the open backdoor. “There’s still the real party we’ve got to attend.”

No matter she liked the feeling of his fingers sliding down her arms until they were finally clasped together with hers, Eve tugged Martin’s to a halt. “Can we go home instead?”

Eve really wished it wasn’t the constant flow of champagne she chugged to ease her nerves that resulted her vision seeing Martin confused and… hurt. “Why? Did you not enjoy yourself?”

The disgraceful bunch of ladies earlier slipped past behind Martin’s back and Eve felt like throwing up again, all adrenaline from earlier washed away by now. Martin, however, being alert as he always was on the pitch, noticed how her hands freeze slightly in his grasp as soon as he sniffed the reeking smell of cheap perfume.

“Angel, baby, look at me,” Martin stepped closer, hindering her eyes from direct exposure of fluorescent lights coming from the dance floor behind him so he could meet her eyes. “You’ve gotten so far, beyond what everyone expects of you, so brilliantly at that and I’m so proud of you,”

Martin giving her pep talk was the last thing in Eve’s mind. The first one was how his clear blue orbs were searing into her soul, as if begging her to stay with him instead, and she had to ask herself silently if her vision was seeing right with the help of her contact lens. If not, then she’d surely have to buy a pair of new ones.

“For that alone, we should celebrate you.”

“You mean, us.”

“That can be arranged,” and there was the playful Martin again. This one she could handle easily by now—trust me, spending almost 4 hours around him did wonders to you. “So do me one last favour, Eve.”

She snickered at his response. “You seem to like this whole favouring thing a bit too much.”

“Only for you, solskinn,” Martin tucked away the unkempt strands that went astray from her bun that exposed her flawless neck. The man swore he had to remind himself not to run his fingers against the length of her neck right here, right then, for he was a gentleman and he was raised better than to treat her in public less than what she deserved. “Enjoy the rest of the night like you’re not pretending, will you?”

But in all honesty, how could she deny him when he made her crave his touch like that?

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

So enjoy yourself was what all Eve did for the rest of the evening. She’d danced, she’d laughed, she’d drunk, she’d laughed some more.

True to his words, like the gentleman he was since the beginning of the night, Martin never strayed too far from Eve. He’d be lurking somewhere while watching Eve having fun for those who knew her—Louisa, especially, for it’d be the last time attending this kind of event with you!—and Eve knew his eyes lingered on her because he made it hard for her to miss it.

There was always a burning feeling on the back of Eve’s head or back, surely unmissable whenever she looked for the source of the warmth, it always directed back to Martin. No matter what he was doing or whom he was speaking with, his eyes always managed to meet hers from across the room without missing a beat. Like he knew she’d be searching for him, for the stolen glances he’d always snuck on between flowing conversations with his teammates and staffs and other guests alike.

Maybe because he intended it to be, so she could find him anywhere, everywhere. If she was to encounter another nasty bunch of women, if she was to be graced by Bob’s disgusting breath, if she was to be disturbed by a stranger she didn’t wish to be around with…

Wherever she wanted him, he’d be there.

He’d asked her to enjoy the night, and he’d also promised her that no one would disrespect her while he was around. But with the way she swayed her hips left and right in tune with the blaring music, Martin started to question his initial noble motive.

It was straining him to be honest, down to the particular parts of his pants, to see her enjoying the night so free, her hair dangling loosely down her spine left and right in opposite direction to her hips, hands in the air with a smile so widely stretched unconstrained, like she didn’t go through the worst period of her life just weeks ago.

To see her so unrestricted, after weeks of toning down her chirpiness in the training ground, was like watching a caterpillar transforming into a beautiful butterfly, ready to fly away from the cocoon that was protecting her all this while.

The metaphor surmised what Martin was actually feeling, ironically.

Martin couldn’t—and didn’t—want to acknowledge she was leaving the premises he’d call home these days but he had to. It was a decision she made before he was involved in her life, and it was a decision he had to respect. At least, it gave him an insane amount of proud to see her leaving a huge footprint in the facility before she left, just the way she wanted it and just the way she deserved.

At least, Martin would like to proudly think he’d given her back the life that was identical to the facility just before their sunshine left. Just before Eve left.

And proud was becoming something he’d like to wear on his exterior, he found out tonight, especially whenever Eve was striding towards him with a full-watt smile that was directed to none other than him. She might be smiling to everyone but he discovered that those smiles strained the edges of her eyes a little too forceful for his liking, while this—no matter how cute her eyes turned into crescent moons as she grinned, every contour of her face was relaxed and clearly glowing.

And proud was becoming something he’d like to wear on his arms as well, as he scooped Eve by the waist before the woman could even reach his sides. He was proud of the woman she’d become tonight—acting or not, after her earlier stint in the bathroom—and he was proud of the woman every men and women alike would like to get hands on her.

No can do was something Martin didn’t know could be so exhilarating when saying. Or maybe in his case, showing, as his hand settled well on top of her hip while his lips nestled well on the back of her ears or somewhere between her hairs. The action startled his conversation opponents, for they’d never seen Martin so openly affectionate and possessive, but that was the last thing on his mind as he felt Eve sinking back against his front, her hands covering his own in their respective places.

Eve didn’t let the guests continue to be fluster, though. Being an excellent conversationalist, she steered the chat between them seamlessly like nothing happened. Not even when Martin joining Eve in moving his body left and right slightly, following the music in the background.

Granit, somewhere at the other end of the ballroom, was shaking his head with a smile on his face as he noticed the young captain only smiled whenever Eve was around him. Every time someone interrupted his time with Eve, Martin’s smile would vanish into thin air as fast as Eve could strike them back in seconds. Well, he’d call the dibs from the start, to be honest.

“I’m thirsty,” She turned her head slightly to reach up Martin’s ears and he swore he had to hold back an audible gasp when her lips grazed his jawline. “I’m getting something, you coming?”

Like an insolent pair of teenagers, Martin had to quickly disengaged themselves from the conversation before her tug on his hands got stronger. Before her hands slipped of his. Before he couldn’t get a hold of her anymore.

And Martin thanked God he was following her. He could definitely pull off a head from its place if he’d caught the stare thrown by the bartender a second too late to Eve’s lowering cleavage, a result from dancing too many hours too count. Involuntarily, he stepped in between Eve and the oakwood bar, hands already reaching for her waist before he could help himself. And as soon as the drinks were served, he navigated the both of them to their table, although only to find the chairs were all occupied.

“I want to sit,” and Martin didn’t hesitate to pull a chair from the table beside theirs before sitting down himself. Eve was left bewildered at Martin’s action, so much for being a gentleman. “Can we switch places?”

“Sit,” Martin tapped his thighs, and Eve had to blink out the alcohol that was slowly coming down her system. “Come here, Angel.”

She didn’t see anything wrong, of course, for Martin had been sporting that challenging look with him since he told her to have the fun of her life earlier. But maybe that subtle smirk was something else… is that another challenge?

Bring it on.

The crystal glass on Martin’s hands almost slipped off his grip when Eve welcomed his daring challenge, sitting sideways across his lap and slithering her arms on the back of his neck. They’d been bantering each other, verbally and physically, throughout the night but still, Martin didn’t think Eve would answer this one so brutally like this.

He wasn’t complaining, though.

How could he if it meant him getting access to nuzzle his nose right on the crook of her neck, like two pieces of puzzle meeting each other as a match? How could he if it meant he could wrap his arms around her so easily, like a kid with their favourite bolster? How could he if it meant he could whisper all these things to her ear that lit up her entire features, like the electricity to a light bulb?

She might be drunk in alcohol but Martin might be drunk in life, for he didn’t want this to end.

Sue him.

Sue him for stealing her away from the crowd for the rest of the night, until the dance floor was being cleaned away slowly but surely. They didn’t do anything more than cradling one another in each other’s embrace and talking each other’s ears off—and somewhere in the back of the room, Rob Holding could be heard bawling his eyes out for losing the bet to his best friend.

But Martin couldn’t care less. He was picking up all sorts of endearing little anecdotes of Eve, one he’d never gotten to know of and one she’d never revealed to anyone in the building, for how precious it was for her. Like the fact she likes it so much to go to the flower market for a fresh bouquet on the weekends, no matter how tired she was or how early the clock might be striking.

Martin was proven right once more of his own hypotheses; Eve was more than the bright persona she let on.

So sue him when he refused to let her go from his clutch when she stood up, agreeing to join the rest of the staffs one last time for one last dance. It was his one last time, too, in a way. Put some regards to his name.

“Then dance with me.”

How could he deny her when she made him crave her touch like that?

The rest of the staffs didn’t expect Martin, the club’s current captain, to graze his presence to the dance floor. The staffs usually had fun amongst themselves, not even the physios or doctors joining them, more over the players. What started as murmurs between the staffs that Martin and Eve weren’t possible was starting to become true in their eyes.

They couldn’t refute whatever it was displayed in front of them, as Eve jumped to the music in Martin’s arms, both laughing at God-knows-what as her arms circled the back of his neck, so comfortably like they’d done this on a daily basis and not like someone who’d been hating each other’s guts until today.

The way they kissed each other certainly didn’t give anything away, not even the slightest clue, that they weren’t an exclusive item initially. Martin’s gentle brush over her lips and the little pecks she gave in return, just to capture Martin’s lips between hers and teased them in the way she only could—in the way Martin definitely would never get tired of getting kissed, the smile stretched over his face was an absolute giveaway to what he was feeling inside.

“Stop laughing, Martin.”

Eve was another level of irresistible when she pouted deeply like a child not granted sweets, and Martin had to succumb to the temptation. He kissed her deeply this time and he could feel her melting underneath his skin that was supporting her exposed back as he tilted her head to gain a full access to the cavern of her mouth that tasted exactly like how he imagined her to be. Sweet, sour, fun, and addicting.

Once, twice, thrice—they could go on to the fourth if Eve didn’t catch the glimpses of reality happening around them. Nobody was remaining on the dance floor and everyone was already deserting the venue. It was the two of them now, and it dawned on her that this was it.

She was dreading the moment the bell pounded its 12th ring.

But it never came. Instead, Martin landed another well-placed smack on her lips, like nothing bothered him at all. Maybe he didn’t, being used to playing a full stadium every week and out.

But it bothered Eve, so much. Was the last kiss one last show to the cleaners and everyone that was waiting for their transportation modes? Was the last kiss meant to be for them, now that they were alone?

“What’s wrong?”

“Martin,” By the way her lips quivered against his, letting out a huff of breath as shaky as her lips, and eyes not meeting his, the Norwegian immediately wished to not hear anything else she had to say. Because he knew—he knew—that it wasn’t going to be something he liked to hear. “Martin, I—what are we?”

It was the question he didn’t even dare to ask himself, let alone imposing her with such heavy baggage. Yet it was the question they had been dancing around tonight, as it was impossible to deny the shift in their chemistry. Somewhere along the night, the lines between reality and acting had blurred.

Living up to her reputation, Eve made time and space, a well-known complicated concept, shrink into something as magical as a tinkerbell dust. Before long, Martin was trapped into something he didn’t want to return to. Something he didn’t want to grow up on and smell the fucking coffee.

Yet, if this was a reality, they’d skipped out the conventional way of getting to know each other that it threw them off the axis. If there was something Martin was sure of at that moment, it was that he was as confused as Eve was.

“I—” Martin was rendered speechless and helpless against the blinking of Eve’s beautiful eyes sparkling under the chandelier. The soft yellow hue suited her entire being, and he knew, despite starting on the wrong foot with Eve, the moniker he’d given her was nothing close to a mistake. “I don’t know.”

But he had to face it.

They had to face it.

The least he could do to her was to talk the truth, and only the truth. In the midst of this chaotic, Cinderella-like parade, Martin didn’t want Eve to have anything less than what she deserved. Even if it costed him the heart he was wearing on the sleeve as he watched her withering in his arms after hearing his answer, and shrinking Eve didn’t fit anywhere in this world.

For God’s sake, she was solskinn—sunshine; his sunshine—and yet she wasn’t shining anymore in his arms. As if he was the moon only bound to eclipse her into something unseen, insignificant. A force like her shouldn’t be hidden, and certainly shouldn’t stray away from the centre of his universe.

“Do me one last favour, Martin.”

But now it was too late, wasn’t it? She was slowly setting down and Martin already didn’t know what to do if he didn’t see sunrise anymore.

You said you want to see her having any other emotion? Well, congratulations, asshole, his inner-self emerged in anger. You did it, just like Bob did to her.

And Martin had never hated himself more than now, for doing the one thing he promised not to do.

“Angel, you know I’ll do anything—”

“Don’t kiss me again if you don’t mean it.”

*solskinn means "sunshine" in norwegian.

[imyourbratzdoll]

Oke oke...creepy date smut sweetheart...please, please, please? 🥺💗

Rick saving you from a guy who is disgusting and yeah...🤭💗

Gosh I love you so much and your fics? The best 😫💗

hi, my little baby! I love you too, and I love your fics, also! plus, you're requests, they're always so good!

summary - your friends set you up on a blind date, who turns out to be some creepy guy, thankfully, the sheriff is in town.

warning - smut, creepy date, unwanted touches, swearing, public sex, creampie, and word whore being used both in a good and bad way.

18+ only please, the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips

You could feel his hands moving up your leg, his creepy stare locked with your frozen one. You had to keep yourself from making a face as you smelt his horrible breath. “You look really pretty tonight, baby. How bout we get out of here?” You shake your head before looking around, hoping to catch someone’s eye, and a breath leaves you as your gaze connects with a man with blue eyes. You blink, trying to calm yourself as your date moves closer, wondering why you had let your friend set you up on a blind date. You watch as the man you had been staring at stands and begins to walk your way, wondering if he’ll come to save you or turn out like the man beside you. 

Rick arrives at your table, fingers looped in his belt loops, staring down at you and the man. “Honey, there you are. Who’s your friend?” His voice is raspy, glaring at your date as the man tries to square his shoulders. Rick looks at you with a raised brow, beckoning you to get up. You go to move but are stopped by your date gripping your thigh. 

“She’s not going anywhere. She’s with me. It’s not my fault your girls a whore.” You whimper as his dirty nails dig into your flesh, causing Rick’s glare to sharpen and his jaw to clench. Slowly, he lifts his shirt enough to show off his badge and gun. Your date quickly jerks back, gets out of the chair and leaves without looking back. 

You stare at the badge, gun, and the flash of skin you see licking your lips. His throat clears, and you quickly look up, eyes connecting with his. “T–thank you!” Rick gestures for you to move over, and as you do, he slides in next to you, trapping you between his body and the chair. “I–I’m Y/n, and I can pay you for helping me?!” You whimper, rubbing your thighs together as his musky scent fills your senses. His hand slides onto your thigh as he takes one of your chips on your plate and eats it. 

“I’m Rick, darlin’, and there is one way you can repay me.” You stare at him with wide eyes, waiting for him to continue. He places his hand under your chin and gets close to your face, looking between your eyes and lips. “You’re going to come with me, and let me fuck you out in the alley against the wall, got it, darlin’.” You gulp, nod, and quickly follow him like a dumb little whore outside. Rick pushes you up against the wall, smirking, wrapping your leg around his hip. “You are a little whore aren’t you?” You nod, biting your plump bottom lip as he presses his bulge into your soaked core. “Is this okay?” 

“Yeah, yes.” You nod, whimpering and trying to grind your weeping cunt against him. “Need you, wan’ you so bad, please.” You beg and whine, gripping his arms. Your head leans against the brick wall as Rick pushes into you, kissing and biting your neck, soft moans fall from your plump lips as he rubs you through your knickers, and when he knows you are ready, he pulls them to the side. 

“You going to be quiet for me, darlin’? Don’t want anyone to know how much of a whore you are, do ya?” He grunts, staring at you with hooded eyes. Unzipping his jeans and pulling out his heavy cock, he grips your jaw with his other hand. “Don’t want anyone to know you like being fucked like a whore by a cop. Isn’t that right, darlin’? You wanna be my dirty little secret, huh?” You begin to babble as he rubs his leaking member against your folds. His tip hits your puffy clit before he lines his cock against your entrance, pushing into you slowly with a low growl. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight for a whore. My whore.” You nod, leaning forward to bite into his shoulder. Your walls flutter around him as he continues to push inside. “Feels good, huh?” 

“Y–yes, so good! So big!” Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he slides all the way in, hitting spots you didn’t know you had. Rick begins to set a rough pace, slowly pulling out only to slam back in, one hand grips your hip, and the other rests behind your head, protecting it from hitting the wall as you bounce on his cock. “Oh, right there….” Rick growls, watching your face break into intense pleasure, your mouth hangs open, and your cunt squeezes his cock. He leans forward, bringing you into a rushed kiss, grunting into your mouth as he picks up the pace more. 

“I’m going to cum deep inside you, darlin’, and you're going to go home with me dripping into your cute little knickers you got on. I’m going to make a mess of you, and you will like it, won’t you, darlin’?” You nod, whimpering as he slams into your sweet spot, your vision going white from the pleasure. “Words, darlin’.” 

“Yes! Yes! Make a mess of me! Mark me as your whore!” Your back arches off the wall, squealing as you cum, arousal coating his thick cock and heavy balls. “Oh!”

“Fuck! Look at you! Cumming like the filthy whore you are!” He growls, thrusting harder and sloppier as his end nears. His fat mushroom tip throbs, and his balls tighten before he lets go, releasing thick amounts of cum deep inside your little cunt. “There ya go, darlin’, being such a good whore for me.” He huffs, resting his head against your forehead and closing his eyes as he catches his breath. Rick slowly pulls out, covering your dripping cunt with your knickers and tucking his softening cock into his jeans. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.” He lifts you, your legs wrap around his waist, and your head resting on his shoulder as your eyes drift closed. 

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

[bronx-bomber87]

Mid week Review :) The amazing hits keep coming in S2. Another goodie for them. Hard to believe we have 9 eps left in this season after this one. Such a rock solid season for them. Let's get started.

2x13 Follow-Up Day

We first find our lovely couple pre-roll call. Smitty is celebrating his last day as ‘Mr. Irrelevant’ He scored so low he’ll never get promoted. Honestly most depressing thing I’ve ever heard... but it’s Smitty. So he’s rolling with it like we all would expect him to. The scores are going to be posted soon. Meaning Tim will get to know where he ranks as well. (Tim is all smiles while they’re talking btw. It’s pretty cute.)

You can see Lucy is so excited for him to get them. Supportive and proud wifey reporting for duty. All she can see is the light at the end of tunnel for him. She knows he crushed it. Tim on the other hand looks nervous af about these results. You can sense how edgy he is in that last gif. Lucy is her sunshine self for him regardless. His encouraging cheerleader. Her default mode for him. Her pride for him is just gushing out of her.

Tim being Tim can’t handle the support. So naturally he pushes away when she does it. Instead of thanking Lucy for her support he deflects it. Says 'No doubt' and nothing more. Leaving Lucy a little baffled. Has to leave before she sees the affect her support has on him. I get Tim’s reaction I really do. It seems like he's being rude when really he can't fathom it. When you’re not given words of affirmation or support growing up, it’s so damn foreign to receive it.

Her support means so much and he craves it yet he can’t actually process or handle it. I relate to this all to well. He's still not used to having someone in his corner consistently like Lucy is for him. Always showing up. It's so nice you almost can't trust it. It sounds insane but it's true. Deep down you need it and want it. But when you get it you push it away or down play it. Just like Tim did in this scene. Good thing our girl is relentless. Our never ending cheerleader for him. Sees past his rough spots and loves on him more for it. Ugh I love them.

In roll call they’re all assigned follow up cases that are about to be put on the back burner. Hence the name of the episode. Tim and Lucy get assigned a house break in. No prints or DNA. It's for a man named Nevin Cooper. Former gang member. They arrive at his donut shop and ask to see him. (Side note I'll never be over how he ALWAYS opens the door for her. Chivalry does it for me.) The eye contact she gives him when he does it too my goodness. But I digress ha Sasha his GF is instantly tense at their presence. Asking if she can help with something? Before they can answer they hear a noise and head back.

They find Nevin talking to the new head of his former gang. Tim immediately tries to square up with this guy. Tells him he’s the one who put his former boss in jail. Tim doesn't waste much time and asks if he’s the new leader? Marquel quotes Shakespeare as his answer. Lucy can't help but comment on this. Marquel softens a bit says she’s smart for a cop. Tim does intimidation and Lucy tries to build rapport with Shakespearian knowledge LOL Yin and Yang.

They’re clearly giving him grief for leaving the gang post jail. Mad he's trying to go straight. Tim and Lucy are able to scare Marquel off for now. Nevin is evasive with them after they go. He won’t admit to anything. Apparently Sasha called them not him. Tim knows they're not going to get much more out of him so they leave. Tim knows Marquel is sweating Nevin. He just can’t prove that or him breaking into his house just yet.

They make it back to station and Lucy starts asking how the results work. Clearly the only thing on her mind is his exam. It’s adorable. She asks him if he gets the stripes right away? Tim tells her passing the test is just the first step. You only get promoted once a spot opens up. So that’s why his ranking is so important.

If he makes it to the top of the list could take him a month or two. Lets her know the lower you are on the list the longer it takes. Says for some they’ll never get a shot. I.e. Smitty. Can see why he’s so damn stressed about the whole thing. Just passing isn’t guaranteeing anything. Tells her if nothing comes up he has to wait 2 more years to take the exam again. I love how intently she listens to him. Look at her absorbing everything he's saying.

Grey comes up to them says Nevin has been assaulted. Lucy says that’s crazy they just saw him. Tim says Marquel must’ve double backed after they left. It’s landed him in the hospital. They know he won’t talk to them. So they try their luck with Sasha. She is upset he got hurt cause they showed up. Tells them they had to make sure Nevin wasn’t snitching. Lucy says snitching about what? She balks and clams up just like he did.

Then Tim steps in with a damn good mini speech above. He’s not wrong. This guy is relentless. A predator. He’s not going down without a fight. She gives in and says they’re trying to pressure Nevin into laundering drug money for them. Gave him only 24 hours to decide. Lucy asks if they can arrest Marquel for assault? He says no it’ll only incite the gang. They’ll end up killing them. Lucy asks him what they’re gonna do? He looks stumped. Says he doesn’t know…

They go to Grey for some guidance about what their next move is. His answer doesn't appeal to them either. He mentions making him a CI dragging him back into the life. Wrapping up Marquel's crew that way. Lucy isn't on board for this. Says he's trying to get out of the life not get thrust back into it. Grey uses this hard decision as his segue into his Sergeant results. I love Tim darting his eyes at Lucy first when he asks about the scores. *heart clutch*. He's nervous for himself but also nervous he tanked it and she'll know he did. He doesn't want to let her down. She helped him so much.

Lucy goes from upset about Nevin to radiant proud wifey when she hears the news. Tim looks so very relieved. Reserved but relieved. The Tim Bradford way haha Lucy voicing her excitement is too damn cute. Just spews out of her like word vomit. He looks at her like 'Not in front of Grey' LOL Wade’s face is too damn funny. Not subtle in the least Lucy. I know in S5 when Tim came to him about them dating he wasn’t shocked in the least. They’d been emotionally dating for YEARS before they were official. He had a front row seat for a long time.

Lucy gets his silent communication message loud and clear. She tries her best to rein it in like the cute human she is. Bring it back to a 'professional' setting in front of Grey. Says 'Congratulations Sergeant Bradford' with heart eyes x 1000 ❤️ Subtle as a hammer Lucy. Didn't scale that back like she think she did. I love her so much. She sure tired haha

It’s then the scene takes a turn for them both. Grey tells him there’s an opening in North Hollywood. Captain owes him a favor. He could start in two weeks. They’re both stunned. You can see it on their faces. Lucy thinks there is now way in hell he’s going to pass up this opportunity for her. So her sadness is she thinks she's going to lose him to this. Tim however is immediately hesitant about the quick turnaround. Lucy of course doesn’t want him to go. It’s evident Tim doesn’t either. Another tough decision ahead for our boy it would seem. Stay or go and get everything he’s been working hard for?

The next day rolls around and Tim decides to take a run a Marquel. Trying to appeal to him to let Nevin go. That he gave a decade of his life to them. Took the fall like a good soldier. Lucy even quotes Othello like the BAMF she is. Trying to persuade him to their side. Using their Shakespeare rapport from the other day. It fails. Do love her trying with Shakespeare though haha Had to take her shot.

Lucy asks what they do next? Ready for his next plan. Tim says he doesn’t know. They made their play and failed. Then our girl does what she does best. Challenges him. Says she never thought she’d see the day he gives up. She did once call him the DEAR method incarnate. Reminds him he is the king of subversive tests and tricks. No way this is the end of the road for them about this.

That there has to be someway for them to win coming at this sideways. What I love about this scene is yes she challenges him, but also builds him up while she’s doing that. Encouraging him to be more creative about this. That he has it in him to win this fight. That he just needs to allow himself some space to work it out. Such a damn good partner to him in more ways than one. Love his face in the second gif above. Ready to go back into battle over this because of her.

He told her she has no quit in her. That applies to him as well. This moment is absolute undeniable proof of that. This scene right here is one of the reasons he stays at Mid Wilshire. The impact she has on him. How she lights a fire under him like no one else ever has. She’s the whole reason he's staying really but this scene is a facet of why she’s the reason. A reminder and the moment he makes his decision. Not just about this situation but about his career. It’s more valuable for him to keep what they have than to leave for that promotion.

We find out Tim’s out of the box plan. To turn Nevin's donut shop into a cop hang out. No way he’ll launder money there now. It's brilliant. Lucy commends him on his great plan and make sure he knows how genius it was. Then tells him with sadness in her eyes North Hollywood is lucky to have a sergeant like him. Tim squashes that sadness and lets her know he isn't going to move up yet. He seems really excited to tell her that he is staying. It's pretty cute.

Lucy is clearly thrilled when Tim reveals he’s not taking it. She of course isn’t going to assume it because of her. So she makes a joke and ask if he’s waiting on Malibu then? Oh Tim has rubbed off on her too. Deflecting through humor. Then Tim says that iconic line of his about finishing what he starts. With far more affection and heart eyes than I’m sure is needed. But hell we’re gonna lap that up all damn day.

Their looks are so incredibly telling. Basically saying exactly how they’re feeling while dancing around it at the same time. Once again you forget he’s dating one of her closest friends this season. The amount of emotional rapport being built in S2 is mind blowing and beautiful to behold.

She wouldn’t be Lucy if she didn’t give him a little crap though. Saying he better move up at some point. That those books on tape took her a long time LOL Her labor of love for him is what those were. His is he chose Lucy over furthering his career. (This won't be the last time he does this either) He wasn’t ready to leave her. This is such a big thing for him to do. I don't think he even realizes how big this is. Wouldn’t have done this for any other rookie. But Lucy is forever the exception for Tim. He values their bond and connection far too much to give that up. He can’t tell her that but actions speak louder than words. And his are SCREAMING.

The smile he reserves only for her comes out after her little jab. You know he loves it when she gives him a hard time. He says ‘Yeah’ then they are in literal lock step after that. Just look at them. Their body chemistry without even touching is out of this world. Looks like she wants to touch him with some playful pushing but holds back on that last gif. Easy you two your massive feelings that are growing by the ep are showing. Damn they cute I can’t get over it ha So ends another wonderful s2 episode for them.

Side notes-non chenford

Did enjoy Nolan’s SL with Pete coming into the picture for first time. Always funny. Harper being funny in this one as well.

Wopez had a good SL as well with his mom. Enjoyed it.

Thank you all for your continued support, likes/reblogs. They fuel my reviews so very much. You’re the best :) see you all in 2x14

[monsterswithimagines]

Undisclosed Desires - Part 25

Joe Goldberg x female!Reader

Summary: Twenty minutes before he would have met Guinevere Beck, Joe meets you instead. You intruige him, but it will soon become clear that there is something off about you.

Words: 1356

Masterlist

(I swear I've used every Joe gif I could find...)

Four days in The Netherlands, and I've learned a few things.

One: You don't eat in front of your grandmother. Mostly you don't even try, but the few times you do start to eat something, she will make a comment - though I can't understand what she's saying, I can tell by her expression it probably isn't something nice - and you will quickly put down whatever you were bringing to your mouth. When I ask you about it, you just shrug and say something about old fashioned views.

Two: Your grandfather is very intelligent, even in a language he barely has a grasp on. Also, you get your love of reading from him. All the books in your grandparents' house (there are many) belong to him.

He also knows how to restore old books. He spends about an hour showing off his tools to me after I mention my love of old books. I'll have to show you my own equipment when we get home.

Three: Your grandparents really are like your parents, which makes your aunt and uncle more like your siblings. You try to involve me in your conversations but mostly, when you talk to them, you devolve into fits of giggles and can't get the words out to translate for me what's so funny.

I don’t mind, I'm just glad to see you happy.

I'm sorry to say it this way but luckily, we don't spend all our time with your family.

When I first arrive, you let me sleep for fourteen hours, and then you keep telling me to take it easy. You’re taking care of me, and I don't know why that surprises me. I just can't remember the last time someone bothered.

But with all that alone time we have together, you still don't tell me anything about Mitch.

You take me on a walk past your ‘old haunts’ and he never comes up. Not even when we walk past your high school! It's getting to a point where I just want to ask you about him, (Y/n), but then I'd have to tell you how I know he exists.

On the Saturday before Christmas, almost a week after I arrive, you take me to the old town square to meet up with Nadia.

Even though technically, I've only briefly met her once, she greets me like we're old friends and does her best to involve me in the conversation. She insists the three of us go ice skating on the rink that's set up in the middle of the square, and the two of you laugh at me when I fall flat on my ass.

“I’m glad you two are enjoying my pain,” I complain. Really, I'm not in pain at all.

“I'm sorry,” you say when you're through giggling, skating up to me. You offer me your hand. “Are you okay?”

I pull you down on top of me and Nadia devolves into even more laughter while you just stare at me with wide eyes, our faces inches from each other. This could be a scene from a movie, (Y/n). That's how perfect this moment is.

Still, no mention of Mitch. Even Nadia doesn't bring him up, and I was really hoping she would. I was thinking she might ask you if he's still bothering you in front of me, so I could jump in and ask what's going on. I guess not.

I'm beginning to suspect you must have told her not talk about him, but then we go over to her apartment - which is smaller than your little room in New York - for dinner the next night, and suddenly she says::

“Did you hear about Mitch?”

You tense.

I look between the two of you, acting confused.

“Mitch?” I ask.

“Some guy we went to high school with,” you say, waving me off. You look at Nadia. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“He killed himself, (Y/n).”

Now, you're all ears. Your back straightens and your eyes become alert and you snap: “what?!” only I think you might say it in Dutch. The words sound basically the same.

Nadia begins to rant at you in Dutch, and I am clearly not a part of this conversation.

That bothers me.

I went through all this trouble for you, (Y/n). And you still won't tell me what's going on.

It wasn't easy to convince you I wanted to go on a walk by myself last night. But what could I do? You went to take a shower and you told me to answer your texts if it was Nadia. I guess you didn't think I'd bother to translate texts from a stranger.

But there were so many. Hundreds since the last time I checked, and you hadn't even responded once.

Some were nice, if taken out of context. He'd ask you how your day was going or what you were up to. He'd even ask about me: is your new boyfriend enjoying himself here?

But others… others were horrible. He threatened you. He told you if you didn't respond, he was going to find you, hurt you, hurt himself.

I knew something had to be done.

And I stand behind it. He was a danger to you.

But you don't look happy that he's gone. You don't look sad, either. Mostly, you look angry. Finally, after ten full minutes of Dutch conversation that I can't follow, you turn to me.

“Sorry, didn't mean to exclude you.”

Sometimes, you're a liar.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Something very sad happened,” you tell me. Maybe you don't remember that Nadia said the part about Mitch killing himself in English. “I need a minute.”

You go onto the balcony and close the door behind you. Nadia's windows are covered by foil that blurs the outside world, so I can only see your silhouette. 

I look at Nadia, who sighs.

“Sorry, Joe. I probably ruined your entire evening, telling her that.”

“Who's Mitch?” I ask.

And she says: “he's - he was - a fucking stalker.” She pauses. “You don't seem surprised.”

Shit. I'm so eager for her to tell me more that I forgot to make myself look like that was news to me.

“I saw some texts yesterday. I… put the pieces together. I didn't think it could be that serious since (Y/n) hasn't mentioned it at all.”

“It's pretty serious,” Nadia says.

She tells me the story. In high school, Mitch was in the same grade as the both of you. He got bullied relentlessly, and nobody did anything about it.

“Except (Y/n),” Nadia says, looking out at the shape of you through the window. “She couldn't just stand by. She stood up for him all the time. Of course he developed a crush on her.”

“Of course,” I agree.

It seemed innocent at first. He'd follow you around at school, or sometimes he'd show up when you and Nadia were hanging out in town.

“It got worse, but (Y/n) didn't tell me that at first. It got to a point where, like, he'd show up at her house.��

I shake my head like I don't know what to say.

“He wrote her these long letters, saying he was in love with her and he couldn't live without her. Then this one night, somebody threw a brick through her bedroom window. Of course we knew it was him, but we couldn't prove it. The next time he showed up outside her house, I convinced (Y/n) to finally call the police. I told her to say he was threatening her so they'd actually respond. And, I mean, basically he was.”

“Where was her mom?”

“I don't know, with some boyfriend,” you say, slamming the backdoor closed. “Nadia, what the hell?”

“You wanna just lie to him and act like this didn't happen?”

“If I wanted to, I can't now,” you say, and turn to me. “What do you know?”

“That Mitch stalked you in high school, and you eventually called the police.”

“Right, well,” you say. “Obviously, it didn't end there.”

[callivich]

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