#and letting that feeling rot them from the insane out and make terrible choices

[lucy-moderatz]

You and me did this to him.

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

No recollection

Part one of the ficlet inspired by this post, special thanks to @sasumimo for enabling me and everyone else who said they'd like to see it in fic form: @faeratil @yuzanrath @kat-anni @michininja @its-all-suibian

Part two here

Mo Xuanyu. He's Mo Xuanyu. He's the son of the defunct second lady Mo and sect leader Jin Guangshan, he's been driven out of Jinlintai and he's gone insane. He's Mo Xuanyu. Mo Xuanyu.

He's not Mo Xuanyu. He's not, he's not - but he has no idea who he is. He should know, he feels like he should know, how could he forget something so important - but he doesn't. If he hadn't found Mo Xuanyu's journal and the instructions he left behind, he wouldn't even know his own name.

His name is not Mo Xuanyu. It's Wei Wuxian. Wei Ying. He's the Yiling Patriarch - whatever that means. He's been brought into this body to enact revenge on Mo Xuanyu's abusive family - is that the kind of person he supposedly is? The kind people summon to kill for revenge?

He doesn't feel like that's true... is it? What if it is? He doesn't remember anything, maybe it is, maybe that's what he's known for, that's why he died in the first place - for killing, for being a cruel murderer.

The thought makes him sick. Is this who he is? He doesn't want to kill anyone. Even if he used to, even if that's what his reputation has been built on - he doesn't want to do that anymore. He's not an assassin, he doesn't want to do anyone's dirty work.

He knows he has no choice. He doesn't remember anything about himself, but he knows what a sacrificial array is, and what will happen to him if he doesn't fulfill the caster's wish. If he's such a bloodthirsty monster, he doesn't think it would be so bad if his soul is destroyed forever - but he still has a survival instinct, and there's something inside of him telling him he shouldn't let himself rot so soon. Maybe there is more to this story, to his story...

But he has to kill three people now. Three cuts on his arm. If he does it, he'll be free of the curse and -

And what?

It's not like he would be able to stay in Mo Xuanyu's shabby house forever, especially if word gets out he killed his own family. Even if he plead insanity, he'd still be executed.

Say that doesn't happen - he still can't just stay here - what if someone figures out he's not who he should be? Who he pretends to be?

Based off Mo Xuanyu's notes, he hasn't been too well-liked in his previous life, so if people found out he's alive again, they'd tear him to shreds.

(They're not to be blamed, really. Wouldn't he do the same? If he found out such a terrible person has returned from the dead, wouldn't he want them gone again, forever, too? What if this person killed his family, his children, his lover? Of course he would want them turned to dust... but... has he really been such a vile person?)

He's Mo Xuanyu but he's not. He has to be. He wishes he could be himself, but he doesn't know who he is. He doesn't know if who he is is even worth being.

So he settles with being Mo Xuanyu instead.

---

There are two young cultivators visiting the Mo estate. They're juniors, dressed in white, matching ribbons tied around their foreheads, elegant and beautiful.

Wei Wuxian feels what could only be described as abject terror upon the sight of them. Panic surges through him like electricity, and he wants to run back into his shack and hide there until he's positive those two are within a day's distance away.

But he's curious. He doesn't know if his curiosity is his own or Mo Xuanyu's but he's curious why he is so deathly afraid of these two children.

They're so young, they can't have been more than toddlers when he was alive - so it's not them as individuals, it couldn't possibly be. Then, it's what they represent - or maybe, rather, who.

Someone in white with a forehead ribbon must have hurt him to the extent that it carried into his subconscious even across realms. Maybe that someone killed him, or contributed to his death in some way.

Regardless, these children belong to the same clan, or at least the same sect as that person. Wei Wuxian has to be careful, that person may have told the juniors about him and though they're young, Wei Wuxian isn't sure he would be able to fight them off if they were to attack him.

He still isn't sure of what he can and cannot do. He knows he has been - is, he is - a cultivator, but he doesn't have a sword and his mind is muddled enough for him not to be able to focus on battle. Not to mention, Mo Xuanyu's golden core is weak, so even if he could conjure up something, he'd probably die trying it out.

So he sticks to spying instead.

He hears talk of a night hunt and a sharp pain stabs through his head. He can't help a pained sound, the throbbing into his skull impossibly cruel for a few long, relentless seconds - and he gives away his hiding spot behind one of the large columns in the Mo estate's guest hall.

That attracts the attention of Madam Mo, who sends him a sharp glare. "What are you doing here?! Scram!" Then she turns to the two cultivators, apologetic, sickeningly sweet. "I apologize, this nephew of mine is not right in the head and he doesn't listen unless we yell at him..."

But Wei Wuxian knows that's a bald faced lie and even if he's scared of those two young cultivators, this woman irritates him to the point that he understands Mo Xuanyu's hatred of her. She's incredibly two-faced, cozying up to those she admires like a snake while so openly mistreating - no, abusing - everybody she deems beneath her.

Wei Wuxian hates her. He reminds her of someone - he doesn't know who, and if he tries, his head begins hurting more - but he has to speak up. He'll kill her later, but she's going to get a piece of his mind before it too.

"You yell at me because you like it, not because it works!" he begins, placing his hands on his hips. "You yell at everyone, actually. Are we all insane, then? You live in a mad house?!"

Madam Mo's son all but lounges his way, a dining knife in his hand. But Wei Wuxian's body knows what to do before he does and he quickly dodges the hit, the nimble movement throwing Mo Ziyuan off balance and sending him right on his ass in the middle of the guest hall.

Wei Wuxian can't help a laugh and neither can one of the juniors in white. The other discreetly elbows him to stop.

"Madam Mo," he says, his voice calm but carrying a surprisingly firm tone to it. Wei Wuxian feels like he can almost recognize it, recognize him. "We have come here to help you with the hauntings, please resolve your disputes privately once the issue is resolved and we are gone. We are going to set up spirit attraction flags all over your estate, so please do not leave your rooms after sundown and keep all doors and windows closed."

Another sharp pain shoots through Wei Wuxian's head. Spirit attraction flags...? He knows what they are, he knows - they're like bait, they're supposed to attract resentful energy, ghosts, fierce corpses, evil. Live targets work best, they feed off yin energy... He knows the characters, he can see them form before his eyes, he knows that he - that there was a cave, darkness, he was alone, there was screaming, it kept hurting him so he drew something and threw it at them, they left him alone, it was the spirit attraction flag -

He invented it.

He faints with the realization.

---

He wakes up in a room he knows he definitely shouldn't have been in. It's ornate, beautiful, he's laid onto a soft mattress, and a calming melody fills the silence. He slowly blinks his eyes open, and sees one of the white-robed youths from before - the calmer one - play something on his guqin.

What a familiar sight... Wei Wuxian cannot help wondering why it is familiar. Isn't he afraid of these people? Why does the image of one playing the guqin feel so... warm?

He takes the time to study the youth's image a little. He doesn't seem to have realized Wei Wuxian has woken up already, so focused on his task, the precision of his fingers betraying years of practice and a dutiful, talented teacher's guidance.

Wei Wuxian still cannot shake off the feeling that he has met this young man before. His heart aches in a way that he doesn't understand, in a way that almost feels parental. It is.

But it's impossible - he doesn't think he's ever had a child, Mo Xuanyu's notes didn't mention anything of the sort. And if he ever did have a child, he doubts anyone would have let them live, with the kind of man Wei Wuxian seems to have been...

And yet... yet he feels like this is his child. This is his child that he has loved and protected from something terrible, something that killed him but saved his little one instead. He can almost conjure up an image of this little boy, can almost hear his voice call out for Xi-

"Mo-gongzi, you're awake."

Wei Wuxian shakes himself out of his stupor - and realizes that trying to remember this boy didn't hurt. It didn't hurt like the spirit attraction flag or the night hunt.

Why didn't it hurt?

"Are you feeling better?" he asks, kind and gentle and Wei Wuxian tries so hard to hide his torment, the tears that threaten to spill out.

"I am, yes, thank you... what-what's your name?"

"I am Lan Yuan, coourtesy name Sizhui."

Lan Yuan... Yuan... God, Wei Wuxian wants to remember this name so badly, wants to remember the face that it belonged to, wants to see whether he's projecting senselessly on this boy or he's actually his child - but he can't, his mind provides nothing, he feels the knowledge just below the surface of his conscious but cannot pull it out.

"Did I qi deviate?"

"That's... hard to say." Lan Sizhui says, and seems embarrassed with himself for it. "You both did and didn't. I haven't seen something like this before, your meridians were perfectly balanced but your body reacted as if you were qi deviating."

How odd... Wei Wuxian thinks to himself. Maybe it wasn't my body that became unbalanced, but my spirit.

"I played some calming melodies for you, even though you weren't technically qi deviating, and you settled."

"Settled? Didn't I... faint?"

"Oh..." Lan Sizhui looks at him, sympathetic. "You must have blacked out. You didn't faint, you began... screaming. Like you were in a lot of pain. And you kept telling us that 'the little one' had done nothing wrong and to kill you instead..."

Wei Wuxian feels his fingers grow cold, as if ice has filled his veins all of a sudden. Who is he? What has he even done? And more importantly, what have all of these people done to him?

"Are you feeling ill again, Mo-gongzi?"

He blinks himself back to reality. "No, no, I'm okay. Um, I'm sorry you had to see all that, I don't really know why it happened or what it was... but thank you for your help anyway."

He sits at the edge of the bed and puts his boots on.

"Mo-gongzi, I really don't think you should be up and about yet, you should be resting here in bed-"

Wei Wuxian smiles, a little bitterly. "Lan-gongzi, do you really think this is the kind of room the Mo family lets me live in? You saw how little they think of me. This is just for show."

He walks out before Lan Sizhui can reply and walks back to his shack.

He bursts in tears the moment he's inside - and he doesn't know why.

Does he?

---

The Mo family dies very conveniently. Mo Ziyuan's kicked it because he's an idiot, keeping a spirit attraction flag on him as if it's not a live target, whilst Madam Mo and her husband died by a fierce ghost hand attracted by the flag formation.

Wei Wuxian hasn't had to directly kill anyone, which is a blessing - because he has been unable to focus on anything ever since his qi deviation earlier today.

How did he die? Who killed him? Why? What has he done so vile as for his (possibly?) last memory to be that of begging his child be spared?

And... has he succeded? Did his child live? Is his child that young man, Lan Sizhui? If so, how? Is he his biological son? Did he adopt him? Did someone in the Lan sect take him in? Does he know who he is? Is he who Wei Wuxian thinks he is? Who does Wei Wuxian think the boy is?

The ghost hand is relentless, driven by so much resentment that Wei Wuxian feels it vibrate under his skin. Why is he so responsive to resentful energy? Why does he feel it like it's a part of him, an extra appendage?

He wants to help the children. They'll die if he doesn't, and they're so young - no matter how he was like in his first life, he's not like that now, he won't let people die needlessly if he can do anything about it.

And he knows what to do.

---

He can't do all that he knows, he'll give himself away - but the kids send a flare signal and Wei Wuxian takes it as his cue to leave. These people, the Lan sect, they've done something to him, and if these children are innocent, their seniors are not. And Wei Wuxian is not looking for a fight right now, all he wants is to leave.

He doesn't know where, but he knows it has to be away.

How does he know how to manipulate resentful energy? How is he good at it?

It doesn't corrupt him, it doesn't hurt - well, it does, but not because of the resentment. Rather, Wei Wuxian has learned, his head hurts when the memories he's trying to remember are painful. Using this kind of cultivation gives him a dull headache - so he's figured that he discovered it in less than ideal conditions. Probably as a survival tactic of some sort, or to fight something off.

Why hasn't he used the regular kind of cultivation? He knows how it works, so it can't have been incompetence or weakness. There has to have been something else.

But when he tries to think of that, of why he uses resentful energy instead of spiritual qi, his head throbs with blinding pain, and he feels himself hollow after it passes, like he should be missing something in his body.

But he isn't.

Well, at least Mo Xuanyu isn't.

---

The stone goddess is the second terrible monster of the night that Wei Wuxian encounters and he's starting to doubt that this is just a coincidence. The cultivators are struggling with it, they can't suppress it - and Wei Wuxian is once again overcome with the impulse to help, especially as he notices a golden-robed junior charging recklessly at the creature.

He has met this junior - kind of. In the forest, just now. Wei Wuxian's borrowed donkey (it's not stealing if the family he took it from sucks and is also dead... is it? No wonder people think he's a bastard) got tangled up in a spirit-trapping net. The kid came rushing in thinking he caught some prey, but was instead met with the pitiful sight of Little Apple trying to free herself, and Wei Wuxian dejectedly watching her.

"Oh, it's you." the youth says, so arrogantly that Wei Wuxian feels insulted without even a bad word having been thrown his way. "What the hell are you staring at me like this for?! Have you forgotten who I am or something?!"

Oh, yeah, Mo Xuanyu must know this little arrogant gremlin, perhaps from his time in Jinlintai. Wei Wuxian doesn't really know how to react - he knows Mo Xuanyu is supposedly off his rocker, but he's a bit too shaken to act too shameless right now.

"Can't I be here? Do you own this mountain or something?" Wei Wuxian replies, crossing his arms over his chest. "Now free my donkey, I have places to be! Not everyone has the time to lounge around setting up nets like you do!"

"Free it yourself! If you have all that audacity, you should have a sword to back it up!" The kid says, turning around with a jingle of his many accessories, and Wei Wuxian could swear he saw the boy flip him off.

"You really have no manners at all! What kind of kid did your parents raise?"

Jin Ling stills immediately, and he grips his sword so hard it shakes in his hand. "What did you just say to me?"

But Wei Wuxian doesn't hear him anymore. The world seems to have begun spinning with him, and his head hurts so much he feels like it's going to explode.

His parents... the boy's parents... they're not- they haven't... They're not... alive, they're not. because Wei Wuxian... the incident... a fist through the heart, a sword through the neck... the boy's parents...

Wei Wuxian killed his parents.

He blacks out again.

---

[mike-haters-dni]

Some S5 Ideas, Before Information Starts Coming Out And They Get Destroyed lol, Pt. I

Part II | Part I.V

Roughly ordered from most to least likely to actually happen, but I'm at most like 50% on any of these. Except for the first one which is a 100% :)

No one dies. Yeah, that’s right. Maiming is on the table tho.

The Duffs said we were getting the original groups back together so I’m running with the idea that our boys (and girl) spend the majority of the season as a unit. (yes, this is mostly about the party, I only think about them lmao)

Mike and El have twin arcs that center around responsibility. They are both officially named the party’s leaders who get the last say on anything the group does, specifically for dangerous situations to make sure the group works together. Technically El is the Supreme Leader who gets the final say if they disagree on anything and generally isn't argued with, but Mike is more often coming up with and overseeing plans. They both take this role very seriously, and end up putting perhaps unnecessary pressure on themselves. They both feel responsible for keeping everyone safe, to the point where they would gladly sacrifice themselves if it meant making sure no one else got hurt or died. Mike grapples with his own fears and starts to buckle under this newfound feeling of being responsible for his friends lives, while El also feels the larger responsibility of being the only person with the power to actually fix the apocalypse. Does this mean she has to be willing to do absolutely anything to fix it? Is she even actually the only solution? Does she have to prioritize saving the world over saving her friends?

Lucas of course feels horrible about “letting” max die and funnels his regret into training to make sure he never loses a fight again. As soon as they figure out a plan to get her back he’s on the warpath, and ends up making some game-winning (and very risky, much to Mike's chagrin) plays for the mission.

Will’s arc is about him finding his own self-worth, and ends with him getting to physically defeat the representation of his trauma.

Nancy teaches Mike how to shoot a gun.

Hawkins gets destroyed. I want it destroyed. The rot from the gates and the gates themselves spread over time and eventually monsters come pouring out, making the area completely inhabitable and everyone gets evacuated and the town is closed off. Of course, our heroes eventually have to sneak back into it to fix The Plot. Imagine a scene where they go to the Wheeler house looking for something and have this terrible “oh shit. Nothing is ever going to be the same again” moment as they see how broken down and destroyed everything is. Our homes are destroyed and there’s no going back. It’s like a metaphor.

Everyone ends up having to begrudgingly work with the government/military to fix Hawkins cuz I mean, there's no way they’re leaving the area of this insane alien disaster and someone on the Alien Disaster Response Team is going to know about Eleven and realize that she’s their best resource for fixing this (again lol). Our heroes agree to this because they don’t really have a choice, plus the military has a ton of resources that they can steal utilize.

I also want that timeskip. A lot of it is spent in a makeshift military base in the next town over trying to figure out how to approach the Vecna problem, who has been weirdly absent for too long. There’s very much a held-breath, dread vibe during this section.

During this lull, everyone trains to become apocalypse-ready, and El finally gets an unironic, non-trauma-based training arc to become the finely-honed, superpowered boss bitch she was always meant to be.

Also Dustin learns a good deal about field medicine, which becomes a skill that he utilizes at least once in a very life-or-death situation later.

The other half/two-thirds of the story is spent traveling to the heart of the apocalyptic Hawkins after confirming the military can’t be trusted.

Will gets slightly more utility out of his monster sensing powers/curse than just being able to tell that the giant ominous rumbling is danger, actually. He can more or less read their minds and sense where they are in an area, which allows the group to avoid or ambush them. It would also be really cool if there was some moment where he sensed some goal the monsters had and it was all spooky and cryptic, or he figures out a way to mask his presence from them and there's a tense scene where he sneaks through a heavily infested area to get to something. Idk, the show’s scifi magic system barely has rules anyway we can have fun with it.

Max gets woken up halfway through the season and has some important new information that is the key to stopping Vecna. I like the idea that she retains like 20% vision and her bones healed through the coma (and the timeskip cough), so she forces the boys to bring her with them on the final mission to end everything despite their reasonable concerns about her physical state. Just so we can have the whole group together.

Continuing the responsibility theme, the idea of El having to sacrifice herself to fix everything is brought up multiple times. She never argues with this—its clear she agrees on some level, but then when the moment comes for her to do the thing and die to save the world, she decides “fuck it, I wanna live actually” and fights her way back to her friends.

The one time someone (Dustin) is brave (dumb) enough to suggest El sacrificing herself in front of Mike he almost spontaneously combusts with rage and gets to say the one ‘fuck’ of the season. I would say lmao but its actually a very intense emotional scene ok take this seriously please.

Mike finally gets a real Violence Moment (checkhov did lend him a gun). As well as anyone else that wants one.

It would be fun to see Dustin like legitimately bitter and angry after what happened to Eddie. He blames the townspeople for Eddie’s death and generally lacks empathy for anyone opposing them. Not sure how that would wrap up for him though.

El loses her powers permanently at the end of the show. I just think it would be a good ending for her to finally get to be normal, and not have the government breathing down her back (as much) anymore.

Part II | Part I.V

[xmystophalesx]

Best New Heavy Metal Releases Week of November 18th, 2022

The Heavy Metal train just keeps rolling and week after week with more and more great releases. I started doing this because I was so insanely annoyed with people that were absolutely insistent that nothing good had come out since 1992. I would contend that more of the albums being released now are hands down better than the “Glory Days”. What is being done today on a shoestring budget is simply stunning. So let’s look at a few of these stunning albums. Man, perfect segue…:)

Hellfuck-Diabolical Slaughter (Thrash/Speed)**{sept 9th}

I just came across this and although it was released on September 9th, I just had to put it on this list. If I would have heard this during the week of release, it would have made a serious push for the album of the week. If you even slightly like aggressive Thrash Metal this will put a huge smile on your face. DO NOT MISS THIS ONE!

Candlemass-Sweet Evil Sun (Epic Doom)**

Does anyone today create Doom Metal as good as Candlemass can? I seriously doubt it. This is yet another gem from the Doom Metal masters.

Metalian-Beyond the Wall (Heavy/Speed)**

I have been a fan of this band for quite some time and I swear they just seem to get better and better with each release. This band would be an absolutely perfect addition to the Hell’s Heroes lineup in Houston. Just listen to track 2 “Motorhorse” and if it doesn’t just make you instantly crack a smile and start making you bang your head, you may not actually like Heavy Metal and you may need to reevaluate your life choices.

Istarn-Eschatology (Melodic Black)**

Came across this one late on in the weekend and worried that I wouldn’t find a highlight Black Metal album. It was down to the wire but Istarn showed up to continue the streak of yet another excellent Black Metal album. This genre has been absolutely fantastic over the last couple of years. If you haven’t given this genre a chance in a while, look into it. You may be surprised.

Rising Steel-Beyond the Gates of Hell (Heavy)**

A slab of good old-fashioned Heavy Metal but with a slightly more aggressive slant. If you know the American Power Metal band Cage, this band feels like a more aggressive version of them. Great riffs all over this album that will get that head banging.

That will do it for another week. Can’t believe we are almost at the end of the year. Now starts the anxiety of trying to set my top 30 albums of the year. Ahhhh first world problems. Always remember that music is the passion of the soul. Until next week, and as always,

BANG THY HEAD!!!

All worthy of a listen if you like the genre

*= standout in that genre

**=best of the week regardless of genre

Best of the Week

Candlemass-Sweet Evil Sun (Epic Doom)**

Aggression-From Hell with Hate (Thrash)**

Hellfuck-Diabolical Slaughter (Thrash/Speed)**{sept 9th}

Metalian-Beyond the Wall (Heavy/Speed)**

Rising Steel-Beyond the Gates of Hell (Heavy)**

Istarn-Eschatology (Melodic Black)**

Fatal Punishment-Age of Madness (Thrash)**

Unhallowed Creation-Edge of Existence (Melodic Death)**

Standout in their Genre

Wizards-Seven (Heavy)*

Disinter-Breaker of Bones (Death)*

Freternia-The Final Stand (Power)*

Virtual Symmetry-Virtual Symmetry (Progressive)*

Desert Dragon-This Side of Heaven (Hard Rock)*

Titan’s Rage-Never Surrender (Heavy/Traditional)*

Threshold-Dividing Lines (Progressive)*

17 Crash-Stamina (hard Rock)*

Blood of the Wolf-IV:The Declaration of War Eternal (Death/Black)*

Grimner-Urfader (Folk/Viking)

Rise to the Sky-Stay With Me When You’re Gone (Death/Doom)*

Terrible Sickness-Flesh for the Insatiable (Death)*

Witchunter-Metal Dream (Heavy)*

Well Seasoned Christ-Sanguine (Thrash)*

Airstrike-Power In Your Hand (Heavy/Thrash)*

Enemy Eyes-History’s Hand (Heavy)*

Guapa-Myriad (Psychadelic)*

Worth a listen if you enjoy the genre

Robot God-Worlds Collide (Stoner/Psychadelic)

Ueldes-Foreverer (Atmospheric Black)

Encyrcle-Deeper (Heavy/Speed)

Crypt Rot-An Ancient Summoning (Brutal Death)

Raskasta Joulua-Viides Adventti (Heavy/Hard Rock)

Allagash-Dark Future (Heavy/Thrash)

Medusa Touch-Insaniteyes (Heavy)

Dead Earth-Et Disperdam Illud (Melodic Black)

Rat Rod-Four on the Floor (Hard Rock)

Kamra-Cerebral Alchemy (Atmospheric Black)

IBUKI-My Life (Power)

Rebel Souls-Dawn of Depravity (Death)

Risingfall-Rise or Fall (Heavy)

Scars of the Flesh-In Darkness Alone (Death/Progressive)

Visceral-The Tree of Venomous Fruit (Death)

Cortege-Vandari (Death)

Leatherwolf-Kill the Hunted (Heavy)

With an impressive 5 winter fucking sucks out of a possible 5, Metalian takes pick of the week with yet another outstanding release!

[seriouslysnape]

One of Those Days

__

Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff! Reader

Warnings: Language.

Request: hi!!! I’d love to see one where it’s Draco x a female Hufflepuff reader who had a rough day of classes and just wants comfort so lots of tooth rotting fluff pls thank u🥺love your writing! @thatsassyhufflepuff

Word Count: 2,871

“Today was terrible.”

__

Academics at Hogwarts aren’t exactly meant to be a walk in the park. It takes lots of repeated practice and skill to master the materials taught to young students. Every wizard and witch is unique in that they each have a subject that speaks to them and is easiest to them. For someone like Neville Longbottom, the ins and outs of Herbology always seemed to suit him best. The famous Harry Potter always had a knack for Defense Against the Dark Arts. For Hermione Granger....well, everything seemed to come easy to her.

But even someone as academically gifted as Hermione had days where classes were just impossible to bear.

Your day had already gotten off on the wrong foot when you woke up almost fifteen minutes late for your first class because your alarm clock didn’t go off for some mysterious reason. You always set your alarm for the same exact time every single day (even on weekends) and of course it decided not to go off on a day where you had Advanced Potions first period. 

You had stayed the night with Draco in his single prefect room, so it was even worse that you still had to make a mad dash to the Hufflepuff tower to get ready for the day. Draco had been abruptly stirred from his peaceful sleep when you leapt out of bed to grab your stuff, and he whined out when he suddenly didn’t have his favorite girl to snuggle with.

Despite his pleas and begs, you declined him cuddles and rushed out of his room before you totally missed Potions all together.

At least if it had been Herbology or Transfiguration, you could’ve convinced Professor Sprout or McGonagall to let it slide considering you were almost never late or missed a class.

Trying to plead your innocence to Professor Snape was a whole different matter.

“Ah, Miss [L/N],” Snape’s voice bellowed out when you came rushing into the Potions classroom, barely even dressed; “I’m very pleased that you found time to allow Potions into your schedule.”

Usually the other students in the class might snicker at someone else being called out by the Potions master, but based on how no one dared to even glance at you, you got the notion that you weren’t the only one having a rough morning. You snagged your usual seat, setting your bag down and unpacking your materials as quickly as possible to make up for lost time.

“I’m sorry, Professor. I just overslept.” You muttered, sitting awkwardly at your desk.

Snape let out a hum of disapproval, looking your disheveled frame over. He turned his attention back to the class as a whole.

“As I was saying: since none of you successfully completed the homework reading, I see no choice but to assign a quiz.” He announced.

Your head shot up from its lowered position, your jaw falling open slightly.

Your class of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws erupted into scattered groans and complaints, knowing good and well that they were about to botch this quiz. Snape was a man of his word, producing a ridiculously hard quiz and putting it forth in front of everyone. The quiz was insanely difficult and the questions were so specific that you weren’t even sure if you would have been able to do well even if you HAD read the reading. 

You answered the best you could and at least made an attempt to give some kind of answer for each question. That couldn’t be said for everyone in class, however. You were pretty sure you spotted Padma Patil turning in a blank quiz. The rest of the class period was dull and hazy, everyone depressed knowing that they had just tanked a critical grade.

While you were the last one into the classroom, you made it a point to be the first one out. While Potions had put a damper on the start to your day, you were hopeful that the rest of the day would be smooth sailing.

You couldn’t have been any more wrong.

You had Charms with Flitwick next, and even though you were right on time, you just couldn’t seem to do well. You couldn’t produce a single spell correctly, and if you did produce a spell, it was completely the wrong one. By the end of class, you had accidentally casted a Colovaria charm on Cedric Diggory, turning him a deep shade of purple. While the purple adorned his black and yellow robes nicely, purple was definitely not his color. 

Professor Flitwick was able to return Cedric back to his normal skin shade, but you were far humiliated at that point. Cedric, being the gentleman that he was, brushed it off as if you hadn’t just almost permanently stained his complexion. Cedric (aside from Draco) was your best friend, and so he wouldn’t mind being the color of a grape at the hands of you.

“Bad day for you too, huh?” Cedric asked as you exited Charms, checking the back of his hand once more to make sure he didn’t change colors again. 

“Yeah. I just can’t seem to get it together today.” You admitted, rubbing your temples in hopes of relieving your oncoming headache.

Cedric nodded as he walked with you to your next class.

“You’re not the only one. I heard that Luna accidentally changed Lavender into a caterpillar in Transfiguration. Not a pretty sight apparently.” Cedric told you.

You shuddered at the thought. You could only imagine what choice words Lavender had to say when she was back in human form. While you were relieved that you weren’t the only one having a whirlwind of a day, it didn’t make things any easier. 

In Herbology, you dropped and shattered one of Professor Sprout’s favorite plant pots, and while she assured you it was fine, you were sure that you saw her almost shed a tear over the lost pottery. You apologized profusely, but nothing really seemed to make her feel better.

DADA was your final class of the day, and it wasn’t exactly a winner either. While nothing exactly went wrong, you did receive your latest essay grade and it was less than a passing grade. You weren’t the only one who failed it, because you noticed several papers marked with a huge red “F” at the top. Your spirit had been broken for the day along with many others, and you were thanking whoever was listening that you had the weekend to recover. 

Dinner was unusually quiet at all the House tables. Everyone seemingly kept their heads down and voices low as everyone ate a decent meal. You sat at the very end of the table with your head in your hand as you picked around at what was on your plate. You didn’t have much of an appetite after the day you had. Your mood was rather sour and damper, and you wanted nothing more than to go back to your dorm and crawl into bed to sleep off this horrible school day.

But it was a Friday, and you almost always stayed with Draco in his room on weekends. If nothing else, you could hopefully get a little loving from your Slytherin boyfriend. 

You dragged yourself to his room, silently praying that nothing else went wrong between your commute from The Great Hall to his dorm. You felt like you had a dark cloud hovering and following you around, which was not normal behavior at all. Draco wasn’t back yet, but you let yourself in and made yourself at home, knowing he’d be back soon. You snorted at how he didn’t even bother to make his bed before leaving, his sheets all akimbo and thrown around the bed. 

You slid your Hufflepuff robes off of your shoulders as well as changed out of the rest of your clothes until you were down to your panties and the tank top you had on underneath. Draco’s bed was calling your name, and honest you were sure you could’ve been asleep before he even had the chance to get back. 

You slid under his covers, bringing your knees to your chest as you cocooned yourself with his array of sheets and blankets. His room was perfectly quiet, which was all you wanted in that moment. The day’s events kept playing over and over in your head as you laid there, wishing you didn’t feel so crummy. 

Draco entered his room, cursing the door for making such a horrid squeak when he opened it. 

“Darling, I had the best day today. You’re never going to- [Y/N]?” Draco called, realizing you weren’t in sight.

He immediately chuckled when he noticed the trail of clothing leading to his bed. If he hadn’t been paying attention, he easily could’ve missed the way the ball of bed sheets were moving each time you took a breath and exhaled. You grumbled to yourself at his jubilant entrance. Of course Draco had a great day when everyone else had a bad one.

He slipped his shoes off and closed the door behind him, approaching the bed carefully. You were completely under the covers, shielding yourself from the unpredictable outside world. 

“[Y/N], are you alive in there?” The blonde-headed boy joked, peeling back the covers so he could see you.

His amusement faded when he saw the pure look of discouragement and the tinge of sadness in your eyes. His heart sank at the sound of your meek voice.

“Hi.” You whimpered.

Your energy was totally off, and Draco could sense it. Normally you would attack him with kisses when he entered, ready to ask him all about his day. Now he could see the slight watery glaze in your eyes, and it was breaking his heart. 

“Hey, beautiful...what’s the matter?” He asked, his brows narrowing in confusion.

Your voice quivered as you spoke, but you refused to let the tears spill. One bad day shouldn’t have been enough to break you. After all, the day was basically over already and you had tomorrow to start fresh.

“Today was terrible.” You stated simply, not even knowing how else to describe it.

“You had a bad day too? Everyone seems to have gotten their ass kicked today,” Draco replied, walking around the front of the bed to his small closet; “What happened with you, love?”

Your eyes didn’t even follow him as he changed out of his school clothes and into something more comfortable. He could tell that you had really taken a hit today.

“Well, you know I was late this morning. I still have no idea how my alarm didn’t go off,” You explained; “Snape dropped a pop quiz on my class, I almost made Cedric look like a troll for the rest of his life, I broke Professor Sprout’s favorite pot, I failed my Defense essay....” You rattled off, continuing to explain in detail how horrible your day had been.

Draco listened to every word, understanding how all of that could definitely put a strain on yourself. Truth be told, Draco had secretly turned your alarm off the night before, hoping you’d sleep through first period and be with him longer. He didn’t dare tell you though, because he felt horrible that it put such a bad start on your day.

He slid into his bed, but didn’t try to pull you towards him. You needed a little space for the time being. You did, however, turn your head so you could see him. He could see the tiredness and displeasure in your expression, and he just wanted to make it better.

“My sweet girl is never supposed to have a day like that.” He said with a charming grin.

Your down and out demeanor caused you to be much more aggravated than usual, and you took his comment completely the wrong way. You snapped at him with a tone full of annoyance. 

“Oh, what? Just because I’m a fucking Hufflepuff I can’t have a bad day?” You said snarkily, turning your head back around.

His smile faded and worry filled his voice. He hadn’t meant to offend you, and he surely didn’t want to make you more upset. 

“I didn’t mean it like that, love. I just meant that you never deserve such a rough day,” He corrected himself; “But everyone has them.”

You sighed heavily and nodded. You didn’t mean to bark at him like that. You were just in a bad mood.

“I know. I’m sorry.” You apologized sincerely.

He rested his hand on your back, staring at the back of your head. He shook it off like it was no big deal. It seemed that everyone was being too forgiving towards you today.

“It’s alright. Don’t worry about it.” He smiled, even though you couldn’t see it.

His fingertips danced along your back, feeling at the tense muscles there. You had grown silent now, and he was honestly not sure what to say. His comforting skills had greatly improved over the years you had been together, but he still came up short sometimes. All he knew to do was to shower you with love and make sure that you knew that he was there for you.

He carefully left kisses on the back of your neck, moving his hand to run across the exposed skin of your arm. He always kept it cold in his room, and he could feel the chill on your body. He leaned over and spoke lowly in your ear, mentally noting that if anyone saw him like this right now that they’d think they were dreaming. 

“I think someone needs cuddles from her boyfriend.” He suggested, knowing that was an offer that you’d never refuse.

Your heart did a little jolt in response. You turned over, letting Draco pull you flush into his warm body. Your head nuzzled into his neck and his arms draped around you.

“There’s my pretty girl.” He said, kissing your temple.

Your cheeks grew hot at his kind words, but you suddenly remembered what he had been talking about when he first entered.

“Tell me about your day.” You requested, running your finger along his collarbone.

He shrugged. He had been stoked to tell you about how great his day was, but he didn’t want to make you feel worse by telling you all the good things that happened to him.

“Ah, it wasn’t much of anything. Just some Quidditch and grades stuff.” He said casually.

You shook your head.

“No, come on, D. You were excited to tell me. I want to hear it.” You said honestly.

Maybe hearing about someone else’s good fortune would help. Honestly, Draco could tell addresses he had memorized and you’d be entertained. Draco opened his legs a little so you could place one of yours between them. He smirked at how you couldn’t possibly get any closer.

“I had Quidditch practice this morning after you left. It went really well and I think that we’re going to beat the brakes off of Gryffindor next weekend.” He praised.

You scoffed at that. Of course that was considered important in Draco’s mind. He went on as you began to leave kisses along his jawline.

“Then I had Transfiguration and McGongall said I had a great technique. That woman hates me and she gave me a compliment! I don’t know who spiked her morning pumpkin juice.” Draco chortled.

You knew all too well that McGonagall had it out for Draco. As a matter of fact, most professors weren’t too fond of Draco...minus Snape. Draco was cold most of the time. He didn’t allow himself to be vulnerable in front of anyone. He didn’t share his secrets with anyone other than you and he very rarely ever let out the emotions he kept bottled up. On the outside, he was a sneaky and mean guy with no sympathy for others.

But you didn’t see him that way.

He had been nothing but wonderful to you in your time together. He held a real soft spot in his heart for you, and you were the only one that got to see the way he really was. A strong, loving guy with nothing but hope for humanity deep within himself. You knew him backwards and forwards, and the Draco Malfoy that he worked so hard to maintain wasn’t really him. One day he’d bare his realness to the world.

But for now, you were fine with having him to yourself.

“That’s great, love. I’m glad you had a good day.” You responded, with a soft grin.

You still weren’t feeling like yourself, and Draco’s only hope was that he could hold you until you felt better. Your kisses had moved to his neck, sucking lightly on the spot that you knew he liked. He hummed out happily.

“If we get to stay like this for the rest of the night, then today will be the best day yet.” He proclaimed.

“How about we stay here all weekend?” You whispered into his ear.

He moved his head to catch your lips in a searing kiss, beginning to melt away all the stress from your no good day. 

“Even better.”

[starlessskies94]

Consequence (Joel Miller x OC)

Summary: What if Joel survived his injuries from the Abby and Fireflies attack but ends up with really bad amnesia. He can’t remember his wife, Ellie, or the Outbreak; only before. How will his family bring back the man they once knew?

Pairing: Joel Miller x OC

Note: Hope you enjoy the chapter; please leave a comment and let me know what you think <3 

Chapter Eight

It all started with a note. 

The next they were hightailing across the damn state, all the way back to where their deep dark mess of secrets and lies had started. There was no time to stop and question why Ellie had gone back; there was no need. They already knew. The poor girl was simply looking for answers that everyone else had refused to give her. 

The closer they got; the worse their fear became. The dread pulling tighter up the throat like a noose around the neck. It was like riding towards their own execution for the terrible crime they’d committed, of robbing the whole world of something they didn’t believe they even deserved. Because they didn’t. Not at the expense of Ellie’s life. 

Even now after everything; Joel and Adaline would always agree on that. 

When they finally made it to the outskirts of the hospital; Ellie was sitting alone. The pair barely bother to halt their horses before dismounting and rushing to their daughter’s side. Joel quickly pulling her into a hug. 

“The hell were you thinkin’? Joel uttered. Taking the words right out of Ada’s mouth as she moved to join the two. “Running off in the middle of the night like that…you talk to us.” He continued. “You don’t just leave a goddamn note-“ He didn’t get to finish as Ellie pushed him away.

And Ada knew this was it. Their time had run out and now there was no going back. 

The teenager paced on unsteady feet; her hands fidgeting with her jacket sleeves before finally getting too frustrated and just pushing them back up passed her elbows. It was a common habit Ellie had picked up as she’d gotten older; they’d both noticed. Whenever Ellie was stressed, uncomfortable, nervous or upset; she would fidget with her hands. Whether it was pulling on jacket sleeves, picking at her nails or just absentmindedly running her fingertips across the now hidden bite mark on her arm. Just as Joel did with his watch. It was always fascinating to Ada how much Ellie could be like Joel without even realising it. 

Over the years; the girl had picked up a lot of the man’s mannerisms. Like father, like daughter she supposed. Unfortunately that also meant she had Joel’s temper. And it was certainly a force to be reckoned with. 

The girl continued pacing, almost not daring to look back at her parents. Her mind racing a mile a minute as she contemplated what to say. How to string her words together. The endless list of questions that plagued her for years. 

‘What happened to the Fireflies?’

‘Why had Ada and Joel lied about it for so long?’

‘Was Marlene dead?’ Ellie had a bad feeling she already knew the answer to that one; it had always been an assumption she sort of accepted, considering how loyal the leader had been to her cause. If she had threatened the young girl in any way in order to get her cure; Ellie knew for a fact her mom wouldn’t hesitate to cut her down. Or maybe Joel had killed her; it didn’t really matter now. The Fireflies were gone and so was their precious cure. 

She just needed to know why. Looking back at the rotting ruins of the Hospital; Ellie finally settled on her words before turning to face her family. 

“Tell me...what happened here.” She started with a shaken breath. Resisting the urge to pull her sleeves again as hands began to tremble once more. “If you lie to me one more time, I’m gone. You will never see me again.” She took a breath and it caught in her throat. The air thick and tense, Joel and Ada staring blankly at her with sad eyes.

“But if you tell me the truth, I’ll go back to Jackson.” She promised. “No matter what it is.” It was at that point as her parents shared a look; that Ellie realised she had no idea just what she was promising. 

Her mother took a reluctant step towards her and Ellie had to stop herself from flinching.  

“I...uh…” Ada stuttered, clearing her throat several times before trying to speak again. 

“Mom...just say it.” 

The older woman glanced back at Joel as he nodded woefully. Ada turned back to her daughter; her brown eyes welling with tears. 

“Making a vaccine...would have killed you. So we stopped them.” She said, gesturing to herself and Joel. The older man dropping his eyes to the floor as the shame flooded his face. 

Ellie’s blood ran cold. She gasped out a strangled sob that burst from her throat as it burned. She felt sick. Her chest tight and heavy. The weight pushing down so deep she couldn’t breath. How dare they?

HOW FUCKING DARE THEY?! 

Taking such a choice away from her! Taking away the chance for her immunity to mean something. To make the losses mean something. Her pain mean something. But they had decided to take her away from all that and it wasn’t fair that she’d had no say in any of it. 

She collapsed letting herself sit atop an old box, old equipment the Fireflies had left behind maybe? She didn’t fucking care anymore. She pulled at the front of her shirt in a feeble attempt to give herself room to breathe. But her chest continued to tighten. Her airway closing around the lump forming in her now dry throat. Her eyes streamed with tears, blurring her vision.  

“Oh my god…” She choked. Her hand clutching her chest as her breath became quick and short. Her stomach churned; hands and feet turning cold and numb. 

“Ellie...sweetheart…” The voice was echoed and distant. But she flinched when her mom reached out to console her. Her whole body snapping to her feet as she pulled away. Her hand lashing out to shove her back.

“Don’t you fucking touch me!” She snapped. Ada's lower jaw quivered as she held back her own tears. The hurt was plain and raw in her eyes looking back to Ellie. “I’ll go back, but you and me...we’re done!” She screamed, her eyes narrowing at both Joel and Ada. Ada gasped a sob of her own as she took a cautious step towards her daughter but Ellie was already backing away. “Ellie...please.” She pleaded. “Just let us explain.” The teen scoffed bitterly; she wasn’t interested in anything they had to say. Her nostrils flared in anger, her lip snarled as she shook her head in defiance. 

“I don’t fucking care! I hate-” 

“Hey! Stop! That’s enough!” Ellie's eyes darted to Joel raising his voice as he moved to stand beside his wife, his arms wrapping around her shoulders. Pulling her close as she buried her face into his side. 

“Don’t do that. You wanna hate someone for this? You hate me, okay?” He clarified and somehow the audacity of Joel only made her angrier. “Don’t put this on your mother. It ain’t her fault.” 

Again Ellie scoffed bitterly. How dare he tell her how to feel. Who to blame. They were both at fault for this. She’d trusted them and this was what they’d done?! How could she ever see them in the same way again. “Are you fucking kidding me Joel?!” 

The man sighed heavily, Ada wiping away her stray tears as she looked back at her daughter with bloodshot eyes. Joel was quiet for a second, his eyes flitting back between Ada and Ellie before he finally spoke. “I pulled the trigger, not your mom. You wanna blame anyone then you blame me. Please don’t punish her.” He uttered pathetically. His whole body seemed to sag with sadness and Ellie felt sick the longer she looked at him, she didn’t even bother dignifying his plea with an answer as she shoved passed him and headed back towards Shimmer. Not even bothering to spare them a glance as she mounted and forcefully spurred the horse into a canter and rode away back towards Jackson without another word. 

Ada and Joel watched her go. Both feeling defeated and tired.

The Texan glanced back to his wife when she slid her hand into his and squeezed gently. “You didn’t have to do that.” She whispered. “I wished you hadn’t.” Joel felt his heart ache at the broken look on her face. Her nose and eyes rubbed red from her tears, Her face slightly puffed from the lack of sleep they’d lost from riding through the night to find Ellie. He softly kissed her forehead before dropping his gaze to meet hers. 

“If she has to lose one of us...I’d rather it was me.” He said. “She needs her mother if she’s gonna get through this.” Ada sighed, collapsing against his chest as her exhaustion caught up with her. “She needs you too.” She muffled into his jacket. “We both do.” 

He ran a hand through her hair as he hugged her close. In that moment it hit him just how grateful he was for this woman in his arms. He often thought about his life before Ellie and Adaline and he didn’t like it. There had been no way of knowing how things were going to play out the way they had when they’d met in Boston, but Joel knew without a doubt he wouldn’t have changed a thing. This was a life he’d happily choose over and over. At the beginning after losing Sarah, Joel had given up on the idea of family and love. After losing her, there was no getting it back. But then they’d come barrelling into his life...literally. Ada, eager to protect the young fourteen year old from the strange man forcing his way through the door, with Ellie in toe ready to strike with her pocket knife to protect her then mother figure from harm. If anyone had told him he would then go on to marry this woman, he’d have called them insane. Now he couldn’t imagine life without her. He didn’t think he could live without her. He didn’t want to. 

He squeezed her tight as her own arms found their way around his waist squeezing back in return. 

“Don't worry about me; I ain’t going anywhere darlin’.” He looked down kissing her then let his hands run the length of her arms, taking her hands in his, walking her towards the grazing horses. “Come on, let's head home.” 

Ada didn’t reply as she followed, the two quickly climbing back on and turning towards the same path Ellie had taken. Their horses breaking into a gentle trot. They rode in silence, both afraid of the fall out that awaited them when they returned to Jackson. Tommy and Maria would want to know what happened. If they hadn’t already noticed they were gone, Joel wasn’t looking forward to that conversation. He figured Tommy would understand but he was pretty certain, he hadn’t told Maria the whole story yet. He stole a glance back towards Ada as she rode beside him. But she just looked utterly broken. Her eyes set dead ahead of them, hands gripping her reins like a vice and legs rigid from the panic she’d woken up to in the night; when they'd found Ellie had disappeared. Joel looked back at the path before them. It would be a long ride back to Jackson. He just hoped and prayed that given some time and space...maybe...hopefully; Ellie would eventually understand why they’d done what they had done. And if he was lucky she might even forgive him for it. 

[you-cant-spell-subtext-without]

I’m back on my bullshit and we have GOT TO TALK about 13x08 The Scorpion and the Frog; which serves as a good example of why you should not ONLY watch spn episodes with Cas (partially because of that scene I shamefully blogged about earlier - no I will not link that cursed post here).  The episode title comes from a fable in which the villain is the scorpion.  Interpretations of this fable note its uniqueness lies in the concept that “the scorpion is irrationally self destructive and fully aware of it.”

To quote the scorpion, buddies -  “it’s in my nature.”

Anyway, this episode is subtextually predicated on exploring Dean Winchester’s nature and specifically - his bisexuality, and I’m not only saying that because it opens with Dean in his Bi Colors Plaid (that also he wore on his burger date with Cas).

Let’s get started, after the cut!

Season 13 on its face gives me absolute whiplash because it starts widow arc-reunion-TOMBSTONE and then Jack yeets himself off to Chuck knows where so Cas can go out Looking For Him Because Otherwise He Will Definitely Kiss Dean there is no other option for the writers at this point.  Sigh.  Here, have another shot of Dean anxiously cleaning his gun as he always does when Cas has Gone Off For Reasons -

Anyway, this feels like a filler episode at first, but as always they bury the ENTIRE damn world in it and I am here with my dossier to Unearth It.

Lets start with Bart (demon of terrible nicknames and microagressions) meeting the brothers at Smile Diner to talk about some spell or whatever. 

(I am not thinking about the Cherry Pie meta I AM NOT)

THEY HAVE THE AUDACITY to start with these lines immediately introducing the theme of duality, a thread throughout this episode.

BARTHAMUS

Everything. I've been following your careers a long time. You're a real pain in the pitchfork. And the halo. Natural disrupters. We have that in common, you and I. DEAN

Mm. Yeah, we're twinsies.

***MORE DUALITY!  But as we know, Dean does not like Bart because He Is A Freakin’ Demon

DEAN

Well, see, here's the thing. When a demon tells us to jump, we don't ask how high. We just ice their ass.

UMMM excuse me Barting Bacting Boices?  What is that sexual gaze?  

Then we find out that Bart has 1/2 of the spell.  They need the other 1/2.  Oh, a spell with two parts, you say? [ I am going to scream :) ]

***Also, Dean eats the pie Bart ordered.  I cannot begin to explain to you the state of unwellness that I am in regarding how important this is. DEAN NEVER GETS TO EAT THE PIE, remember?  But in This Filler Episode, Dean eats the pie. While Sam looks at him with a very quizzical expression.  Pie -> what Dean wants but never actually gets -> Dean actively eating this pie.  Dean is coming to terms that maybe he can have what he wants.

***I am reminding you again that this is post widower-arc, post-reunion, and especially post-Tombstone.  Anyway-

Now we get to Smash and Grab.  Not literally even though I want to Commit Such Conduct at this point.  We are introduced to two one off characters named 

Smash (human/female presenting) -  can crack any safe built by man 

and Grab (demon/male presenting)-  expert in bypassing supernatural security.

Reaching or no, you can’t disagree that when spn introduces one off characters - it is almost always a Narrative Parallel or Mirror.

So we have a human and a demon (and Dean Winchester, a human who has been a demon)

who are experts in cracking open/bypassing something that has been secured and guarded (breaking down walls, if you will).  

They also use fake names identifying them as Tools to be Used ( Dean Winchester, the Michael Sword/daddys blunt little instrument)

BONUS:

Dean himself is literally used as a tool in this episode.

So yeah.  Smash and Grab are physical representations of Dean’s duality.  Human/Demon.  Femininity/Masculinity.  Dare we say something else, too?

Anyway, Dean is paired with Smash and Grab; Sam is off to idk negotiate weird artifact purchases lawboy style with Luther Shrike, a man who cannot die so long as he never leaves his house (I cannot even begin to unpack this shit; please just sit there and think about it.  I’m not even going there here.  I CANNOT DISCUSS Luther Shrike RN).

Speaking of things I cannot discuss without halgdhsag;lsa - Smash has very Specific boots (a look overall, really).

DEAN

Hey, Winona. The '90s called. They'd like their shoes back. SMASH

Shh.

***That’s right girl - do not take his shit; he actually LOVES them and is therefore Overcompensating for it with this little jab.

***Dean’s pop culture references and particular attention to the details here Should Not Be Overlooked.  90s! Winona! Ryder!

ANYWAY, then Dean and Smash bond over a caffeinated beverage -

[While Dean is doing a spell, Smash opens a can of drink, takes a mouthful and burps loudly. ] SMASH

Ahh. DEAN

You're weird.

***This scene makes me literally insane. (even aside from Dean living on something named NERVE DAMAGE as a KID.  They could have called it anything. You’re saying this wasn’t a Choice)  

She chugs a swallow of the drink and burps.  Something stereotypically associated with masculinity.  Not feminine.  Dean’s reaction is that she is “weird” - because she is not acting in a way stereotypically, J*hn Winchester brain-rot patriarchy bullshit-tily associated with Being Female.  But also, says the stupid show, they like the same soda.  They are The Same.  She shares the soda with Dean.  HIS FACE WHEN SHE DOES -

Other similarities are addressed throughout the episode (they are working for demons because they have no choice; they don’t discuss feelings/emotions, they both sold their soul, they both This Thing - 

DEAN

You know, we could help you. SMASH

No, you can't. I gotta take care of me.

etc. etc.) Smash is absolutely dean-coded.

****Also it’s textually established that Smash thinks Dean is attractive -

GRAB

[looking at Smash] Oh. You said he was just a pretty face. SMASH 

Shh.

***But Grab flirts with him too.

DEAN

I will kill you. GRAB

I bet you say that to all the girls.

***sorry, Grab - you won’t get far with Dean, but only because as he mentioned in the beginning of this episode - 

Drowley rights.

Now Dean has to put his hand in the mouth of this stone lion thing and all of a sudden he is acting....very-not-like-Dean.

[Dean looks again and takes a deep breath.] DEAN

I… how about this? What if I cut myself, put it on, like, a little piece of paper? We'll just wad it up and throw it in the mouth, okay? Okay. 

***Dean Winchester, who has been to Literal HELL, who has been torn apart by hellhounds, who has battled the devil and angels and God’s sister - all at the expense of his own life is now - afraid of spiders.  Well, technically he has always been afraid of spiders, but why isn’t ‘he being performative about it At This Time??

***Come to think of it, this sends me right back to how Jackles was playing Dean in 12x11 Regarding Dean THE episode dissecting Dean’s performative masculinity [one day I will clean up and post that analysis sitting in my drafts like a sad hamster]. That makes sense actually, because -> -> ->

that episode and this one are both written by Meredith Glynn.  Girl get in I want to torture you affectionately with a barrage of questions.

So here we have Dean and he’s not performing for Reasons, and he’s scared he’s genuinely scared of putting his hand in this stone lion-gargoyle-pig-creature’s mouth and then -

Smash gives him a push.

She gives him a push.  I cannot stop thinking about how she gives him a push.  A push to go do this thing that he is scared of; his fear being something he was hiding under his performative masculinity. Smash - dean coded dean mirror who does not perform femininity and is ‘weird’ -  she   gives   him   a     p u s h.

***linking here for the jackting joices that follow.

Now, let’s circle back to Smash’s story; why she is working for Bart in the first place -

SMASH

You think I wanna be here? Like I have a choice? SAM

You made a deal. SMASH

Wow! You think? SAM

You sold your soul. SMASH

And if I could take it back, I would. 

there is no reason for this picture here other than I needed you to see the jackting again

***How does the story end for Smash?

DEAN

Take care of you. [Dean glances down at the box, and then at Smash. She sees that Dean has put a lighter on top of the bones.]  BARTHAMUS

Alice, chop chop! 

[Bart indicates she should get his bones]. SMASH

Yeah. [She grabs the lighter and sets Bart's bones alight. Bart screams as he bursts into flames. ] 

***She accepts help and breaks free from the narrative, literally burning it down. The female presenting but not female-performing “weird” ooc representing a side of Dean breaks FREE because she makes a choice.  The lighter Dean drops? It’s a push.  And she goes with it.

Alice reclaims her story.

(Also, Grab gets ganked.  The male presenting ooc; the performative masculinity side; the demon; the darkness; the not-humanity - gets ganked).

Guess what Dean says to Alice when they say goodbye?

DEAN

Hey, Alice. Stay weird.

[I know the peace sign is probably just a Charlie throwback but I’d still like to say duality.  Two. ]

Dean’s not just talking to Alice.  He’s talking to himself; because the walls have been breached and for once Dean isn’t as scared of being different.  Maybe, just maybe, he’s going along with the push.  That’s exactly how the episode ends - with Dean feeling a little more hopeful, a little more at peace; a little more Considering he is capable of not only loving Cas but also not hating himself for it. 

[until the knowledge that Mary is still alive and the guilt of allowing himself ANY happy thoughts instead of looking for her miserably rears its ugly head in 13x09 and round and round we go but for NOW at least -> ]

DEAN

I'll drink to that.

(oh look Dean is just wearing his henley.  It’s almost as if a layer has been peeled back).

tagging @im-shaking-like-milk​ and @deanwasalwaysbi​ for letting me ramble on to them while writing this; and @lilac-void​ because you are always so kind about my stuff :)

[poguesgold]

how did you feel about season? i know most people liked it better than season 1 but i’m not sure how i feel yet🤔 might need to rewatch it

okay this ended up soooo long so i'm giving a tl;dr review here and if anyone cares to read my insanely long thought dump you can feel free. this part is spoiler free also!!

cons: i think they should have further developed the s1 storyline rather than conjuring up an entirely new treasure and conflict; i don't think they did the characters justice a lot of the time, particularly kie and jj; too much yelling and running not enough hanging out; the finale cliff hanger was a stupid writing choice

pros: cleo!!; pope-centric plotline!!!; amazing jjpope moments in the improv sequences; never a boring moment; rafebarry oh my god????; neck kiss shirtless wrestling holding hands standing unnecessarily close jjpope rot; just a straight up nine hour long adrenaline rush and i love that shit.

overall: i definitely did not like it more than s1, but i still REALLY loved it. i think it's worth the watch, just don't go into it expecting good writing or realistic injuries or a comprehensive plot LMFAO. what saves the season is the pogues' chemistry and their improv sequences, for real. and cleo. you WILL get angry about the shitty script and characterization if you’re really invested in that part of things, but as far as vibes and dopamine high it was awesome. it was a fun watch and i'll definitely rewatch at least once to soak it in properly

please this is going to be soooo long i apologize in advance. but i have a lot of thoughts. also ⚠️⚠️spoilers ahead!!⚠️⚠️

most of this review is going to be criticisms tbh so sorry for that but this show kinda sucks (affectionately<3)

i thought season 2 was an absolute TRAINWRECK as far as writing goes. jonas pate was basically like. this season we're going to have an even BIGGER and BETTER treasure!!! but the exact same thing is going to happen. like. we already had gold. and that's what they were going to the bahamas for at the end of season 1 for anyway????? it would have been so easy to just develop the original storyline further, i just cannot figure out why they would completely abandon it for another mediocre storyline. (i LOVED that this other mediocre storyline was pope-centric and the main character energy he was given this season. but. they. could have done that?? with the first storyline?????)

i hate that they brought big john back so so much. SO much. literally it was the stupidest most idiotic lazy cheesy plot choice in the world. it doesn't make sense, we like saw his literal bones at one point like his lifeless corpse, and WHY would they bring back a key character from the PREVIOUS ARC when they created an ENTIRELY NEW CONFLICT AND PLOTLINE FOR THIS SEASON???? jonas pate stuck it in for shock value and cliff hanger in hopes of securing a season 3, and i hate him for it. he's such a terrible writer white men have it so easy

someone in the neck kiss truthers discord earlier pointed out that jb's dead father returning after like a year and a half of thinking he was dead would probably be more traumatic that healing at this point, and i agree so much. also, you know that they're not going to use it for good either way. they're going to use his dad coming back as a way to further traumatize him somehow because obx writers are jombeephobic. and i wouldn't put it past them to bring him back just to kill him off again. jonas pate wants to write john b torture porn and i am TIRED of it

my least favorite thing about season 2 was the characterization. they really did just disregard the characters they created in season 1. kie was completely ooc for like three episodes, and it wasn't because she was mourning. it was just shitty writing. she had no character outside of her relationships this season, which has been my fear from the very beginning and why i have never wanted kie with any of the pogues. season 2 diminished her character to the female love interest, and that just sucked so bad for her.

whether you're a jjpope or not, season 2 completely changed their friendship dynamic. the only time we got glimpses of the season 1 jjpope dynamic was in the improv sequences when rudy and jd took it upon themselves. also during their hugs LMFAO. which is also an acting choice. the writing completely disregarded their friendship and dynamic. it was weird as fuck it was all weird. i also hated that kie and sarah's scripted interactions were just them talking about boys. another case of friendships again being completely disregarded for the cishet relationships. 

i just really feel like all of the characters were handled poorly this season, which is crazy because literally ALL we asked for was backstory and character development and pogue screentime. but jonas pate instead decided to write ten episodes of nonstop running and yelling and fuckinf adrenaline, with an ooc script. for funsies

i feel like the magic of season 1 was lost. the vibe of season 1 that makes it so comforting and rewatchable and lovely is sort of just lost in all the silly plot. we see snatches of it here and there, but they feel crammed between unnecessary action scenes and stunts and shouting when we would have been happy with ten episodes of the pogues hanging out in each other's bedrooms.

NOW IM GOING TO TALK THINGS I LIKED OKAY OKAY

i seriously DID love watching it. we pulled an all nighter in the neck truthers discord and binged the entire season and the adrenaline of that kept me going for the rest of the week. it was literally fucking insane absolutely batshit and i LOVED it. the writing was horrible but like. it's obx we know it isn't good LMFAOO. it's part of the charm

i definitely don't like it more than s1, but i did still like it a lot. i LOVED how pope centric it was, like he fr had such main character energy this season and it was wonderful. even though the storyline was weird and didn't make sense jd did so well lolol he did so wonderfully. i loved seeing pope get the attention he deserves this season.

JJPOPE MOMENTS. i was definitely sad they didn't have an arc to themselves like they did season 1, but oh my god jd and rudy FED US with jjpope improv moments this season. the NECK KISS? the WRESTLING? every single one of their hugs?????? they're insane. it sucked that they really didn't have any scenes alone but we take what we can get.

SPEAKING OF GAYS LET'S TALK ABOUT RAFEBARRY. because?? oh my god??? first season it was like a crack ship and then season 2 came out and... what are we supposed to do ignore it? they are literally??? gay????? it's jarring they're insane. i am so so invested in them it's kind of unreal how deep i got into this ship in such a short amount of time (follow @rafebarry babies <33)

cleo. i love cleo. the best new thing to come out of this season for sure. clarah is coming strong i can feel it and i am SO ready. i know that they're most likely going to move toward a cleopope romance next season, which i don't hate? i'm bothered only because a) it's obvious it's mostly being done to get pope out of the way for jiara, and b) i think people often push two dark-skinned characters into a ship just because they're both dark-skinned, and that yucks me out. but i will say i really liked their moments together in s2 and i think they could be really good together if they're canon s3 (which they probably will be.)

overall like. it was a fun watch. i retained like 2% of the plot i was just there for the vibes and dopamine high and that was totally fine. i want to take the pogues out of jonas pate’s greedy little white man fingers and give them the character and relationship development they deserve, but we can’t have it all i guess. the cinematography this season i think i liked better than season 1, wasn’t a huge fan of that weird yellow filter tho. also the lighting. obx lighting guys get demoted challenge. umm yeah season 1 supremacy but season 2 had amazing vibes

[chuuyas--boo]

The "Judge" and The Sinner.

Tw: Violence, language, murder, Self harm

(Partially based off of 3 episodes of Angels of Death; Episode 4: A sinner has no right of choice, Episode 5; Don't let me kill you just yet, and Episode 6; Zack is the only one who can kill me. Some torture methods will be skipped over/changed slightly because most human beings can't endure all of the torture Zack and Rachel (Mostly Zack cause he's an idiot) went through without dying.)

The elevator doors opened and Riley slowly walked out onto B3, immediatley noticing the machine guns mounted on the walls, as if the last floor wasn't difficult enough; Running from the sweet but obsessive and insane ginger haired grave-keeper; Eddie.

A single bullet was fired from one of the guns, just barley missing Riley's arm causing her to stumble back, just as more bullets were fired rapidly, getting closer until they stopped, only inches away.

"Great...trying to fill me with bullet holes huh?"

"Hiii~! Terribly sorry I'm late! It took you so long to get here...I nearly dozed off! Still...I'm surprised you weren't killed just now! You sure have incredible intuition dear~"

"What..."

"Y'know something? I had a feeling you'd be a great sinner~! ...I must've needed some excitement cause that woke me right up!" "That's great and all miss...but I don't really care...Could you just let me through...?"

"I supposed I can do that~"

Bright lights shined on Riley and she narrowed her eyes so it wasn't so harsh.

The iron bar door slid open and Riley walked through, and walked down the hallway to a room with locked doors.

"You said you'd let me through..." her voice was calm yet slightly irritated.

"My~ You're so impatient! At least let me finish putting on my makeup!"

Riley let out a huff of annoyance.

"There's a certain procedure each criminal must go through before their punishment is assigned~ If I were you, I'd start getting ready now. In fact I'll even open up a room for you~"

One of the doors unlocked and Riley went in.

(ignore the fact Zack and Rachel are there, it's a room with the mugshot board(?), a camera, and a table with a bin with the name boards)

"Every legitimate criminal has a mugshot, right~? Take a pretty one for me! ...Oh and it's not a proper mugshot without your name board, of course~"

Riley walked over to the table, grabbed her name board out of the bin which said "Riley Morgan" on it, in letters that looked as if they were painted with blood...which wouldn't be surprising if it WAS blood.

"How am I supposed to do this by myself..."

Riley huffed, and moved the camera closer to the wall, hung the name board around her neck and quickly took a picture, narrowing her eyes slightly at the flash.

"There..."

Taking the name board off and tossing it to the side, Riley grabbed the photo and held it up towards the security camera, and the iron bars slid out of the way.

Walking out of the door; into another hallway, but this time with poorly drawn images of what seemed to be torture methods.

"They're illustrations of punishments I designed, for sinners just like you~! I'll give you a choice,...there's more than one way to punish a sinner you see~, So I've got a variety of painful options waiting for you! Of course...if you'd rather spend the rest of your life rotting in a cell...it's always on the table~!"

"What kind of pathetic person would decide to rot forever..."

"Oh~? Too bad...and here I was hoping I'd get to keep you forever! ahahah~!"

Silently Riley walked into one of the rooms, filled with dolls...life size wooden dolls in rows of chairs...with what looked to be an electric chair in the front. "She- She's really trying to fry me to death!"

But suddenly the iron bars slid open.

"Ahaha~! I know you wouldn't survive that kind of punishment! I'd like to see a little sinner like you suffer for longer~ So I ever so kindly let you through!"

Riley hesitated before walking out of that room, into another hallway, with a door that had a warning sign on it. "Doesn't seem like the best of ideas...but it's the only chance I've got"

Opening the door open, Riley imagined sitting in the electric chair and being shocked over and over until she eventually died and shuddered, once inside the door locked behind her. "Great..., as if it wasn't bad enough to be locked in here, it really stinks!" scrunching her nose at the smell, she noticed a corpse in the middle of the room.

Sighing, Riley walked over to one of the blood stained windows, pulled her knife out of her pocket and bashed the handle against the window as hard as possible, but nothing happened, not even the slightest crack.

The TV's in the room turned on, showing Cathy.

"Hiiii~! Did you miss me dear?"

"Like the plague." Riley said flatly.

"Let me give you an explanation of the room you're in right now! And you'd better listen closely if you want to live. I got a little carried away with the design~ It's completely sealed, making it impossible for air to get in or out! The window glass has been reinforced, so you won't be able to break it! And the best part...I'm about to fill it with something veryyy special! If you stay in there long enough, you'll be on your way to a nice, peaceful death. It's poison gas~! Obviously I wouldn't confine you to a place like that with no way out...in fact, here's a gift~ I've mercifully provided a gas mask! As long as you do your best, of the utmost faith you'll escape! Oh, and of course I think it'd be a bit boring if I let you sit in there forever, so I've added a time limit! I knowwww~ I'm sooo thorough! After your time runs out you'll be given another gift! A gas so potent the mask won't do any good against it! That's all for now, have yourself a good time in there, and try not to die, okay~?"

Sighing, Riley glanced at the gas mask in the middle of the floor as the poison gas began to flow into the room, noticing the cracks in the eye lenses "Yeah...that won't be all that helpful..." and then walked over to the corpse on the floor and crouched down.

"There's writing..."

Riley gently shoved the body out of the way and read it

"The one with the ugly foot, the foolish killer who stomped out life with the right foot..."

Pausing as the writing got more difficult to read Riley huffed and then continued.

"It says something like...if you feel guilty get rid of your right foot, if the crime and punishment are equivalent, light will shine in hell."

Riley hesitated before grabbing the right foot, and walked over to the scale and placed it on one side, then grabbed the bag that was placed on the table and set it on the other side of the scale and watched as it balanced out.

The gas started to get to her, and Riley started coughing as it got harder to breath, quickly running over to the gas mask and putting it on, despite the cracks in it, it'd be better than nothing. The gas mask helped a little, but made it harder to see.

"This is stupid! Why the hell bother providing something if it's only going to make it harder you sadistic bitch?!"

Letting out a sigh of frustration Riley looked around hoping something had happened, and noticed the safe in the corner of the room had opened slightly, inside was a wire and a key card. Grabbing both, Riley walked over to where the key card would be inserted and put it in.

The gas stopped slowly and Riley smiled to herself, glad she had figured it out.

"My, my~ What a smart sinner you are~!"

"You're the one that made me come in here in the first place..."

"And you're the sinner who got yourself into this place~! You coulddd chose to rot in a cell~ It's still an option on the table dear~"

"Like I'd decide to do that! I'd rather die immedatley."

"My, my~ someone's eager to be punished for her sins~!" "Not like I can leave this floor till I'm "punished" anyway..."

Cathy laughed as Riley walked out of the room, down a hallway very slowly, the gas still taking its toll. Eventually she sat down against a wall where the cameras wouldn't see her and fell asleep.

Waking up with a jolt, Riley shook her head trying to get rid of the thoughts from the nightmare. Getting up and slowly down the hall, into a room with a smashed doll house, half expecting to be required to do something, she sighed and glanced at the TV in the room.

"I'll let you pass through this one~ I didn't know enough about you to mentally torture you so you're lucky!"

"and you said I took a long time to get here, in that time you could've figured out more about me, but why would you want to? I'm just an ugly, pathetic, useless, boring bitch."

"Oh~? I don't think you're boring! You're actually quite an interesting sinner~ You're smart and I like that about you~ You remind me of that gorgeous sinner; Eddie~!" Not knowing if that was a good thing or not, Riley slowly walked down another hallway, separated in two by a wall in the center with barbed wire on the top, stopping at the table. The door up on the ledge opened and Cathy stepped out.

"How nice to finally meet you in person~!" Riley just gave her a cold glare "You gonna let me through or not?" "My! You shouldn't be so rude to a pretty lady like me~! In order to continue, you must inject yourself with those syringes, one contains vitamins and the other contains dangerous drugs!" "Which is which?" "AHAHAHAHA~!! It doesn't matter! I won't tell, besides I forgot~! Once you inject every last drop I'll gladly open up the door for you! You might wanna hurry though...or else someone you love will die~" and with that, Cathy went back the way she came.

"Great...this could kill me, I'll probably die anyway..."

Grabbing both syringes, Riley looked at them; one of them contained green liquid and the other was yellow, but the colors didn't give any hints as to which was the vitamins and which was the drugs, it wouldn't matter since she'd have to inject both. Quickly Riley injected both into her arm, tossed the empty syringes to the side and the door opened.

"Stupid bitch...my heads pounding..." Riley stopped in the dim hallway and leaned against the wall with her hands against her head.

The so called "dangerous drugs" just brought out the voices in her head, telling her to kill someone, or something and they only got more persistent by the second.

"SHUT UP! JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Riley's voice had gone shrill, laced with insanity as it echoed through the dark empty hallway.

Continuing to walk down the hall as the voices got more and more persistent until she walked into a large room and the door slammed shut behind her, locking.

"Glad you could finally join your sister and I~! It took long enough..." There was a girl standing in the middle of the room with long dark brown hair and blueish green eyes.

"What does she have to do with this? I want nothing to do with her! She left me and Jack, and Jack died!!"

"Oh~, you don't want revenge~? All those voices in your head telling you to kill her but you just can't? Maybe you aren't as great of a sinner as I thought..." The brunette glanced at Riley "R-Riley don't...please..."

"Oh but why not!? Huh? WHY NOT LEXI!? Why shouldn't I? You left us alone, and Jack died. Why shouldn't I rip your throat out right here right fucking now?! So you can go be pathetic somewhere else? Nahhh~ I'll kill you myself, slowly and painfully and see how you like it!"

Fear shined in Lexi's eyes as Riley stepped closer

"Scared~? You should be!" Cathy laughed as she watched the two

"AHAHAH~!! I've provided you with a gun as well~ Kill her as you'd like!" Riley grabbed the gun and pointed it right at Lexi's head.

"You could've avoided this y'know? But you didn't...and now you'll pay for it!"

"RILEY PLEASE!" "You're gonna beg to live? Pathetic. If you're gonna beg, do it right, you don't look nearly as pathetic as he did." "W-wh-who d-did?" "You don't know? AHAH! Go on~ Tell her~!" Riley shot a cold glance at Cathy, enough to make her shut up, temporarily. "You're clueless...Jack? Yeahhh...I did it. I killed him." "YOU WHAT?"

Lexi attemped to grab the gun out of Riley's hand only to have it pressed to her chest.

"He begged me to, so I did." "You whore-" "Do you WANT me to pull this trigger? The trigger that'll end your pathetic existence?"

"Do as you please...it doesn't matter anymore..." Riley pulled the trigger but nothing happened.

Cathy giggled and then bursted out laughing.

Silently Riley pulled the knife out "You'll die one way or another~" and pointed it at Lexi's throat.

"Please...-"

Without saying anything, Riley took the knife and slid it across her arm, blood gushed down her arm but she seemed unbothered.

Silently Cathy got up, and walked down the stairs to where the siblings are "WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU!? YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE KILLING HER!" "Did I say I wasn't going to..?" The drugs would've worn off at this point, but because Riley was younger and smaller they hadn't yet, without hesitating she flicked the knife back towards Lexi

"RILEY PLEASE! Can't you hold back?" "Hold back!? IF I COULD I WOULDN'T BE HERE!" "Sinners can't control their bloodlust~ Just accept it!" Lexi stepped back only to stumble and fall

"Get up. Now." Lexi didn't get up, so Riley grabbed her arm and jerked her up making her stand up and quickly plunged the knife into her stomach over and over, blood gushed out and covered the floor around them, Cathy laughed as Riley plunged the knife deeper every time until she stopped and Lexi's body fell to the floor, limp and dead.

"My, my~ You ARE a great sinner~ Now you'll get your punishment~!"

Riley just glared at Cathy silently, her eyes seeming cold and dead.

Without warning the 4 guns in the corners of the room began firing, not knowing what to do, Riley ducked hoping they'd stop before they got to her, unfortunately they didn't and one shot her in the leg.

"You'd look great filled with bullet holes~" Collapsing on her knees, Riley glared up at Cathy "So would you" and pointed the gun at her, forgetting nothing had happened when she pulled the trigger last time.

"Go on~ Shoot me~!" "Why are you so eager to be shot?"

"Just do it! Unless....you aren't as great of a sinner as I thought~" Riley pointed it at Cathy's head and pulled the trigger but nothing happened "AHAHAHA~!! Foolish of you to think I'd actually give you a loaded gun!"

Despite the blood gushing from the bullet wound, Riley shakily got up "So...are you gonna kill me or..." "No. A sinner like you is much too interesting to be killed~!"

Riley sat on the floor, watching blood pool around her, and her sisters dead body in silence.

[yandere-wishes]

Twisted Wonderland; Yandere! Dorm Leaders // Ideal Darlings//

Riddle Rosehearts.

Riddle wants someone confident and bold yet who will follow his every command. His perfect darling would scream out orders to their subjects, whilst still maintaining their poise and elegance. However, never would they dare yell at him! Their only words to Riddle will be about how much they adore him, love him, worshipped him!

After all, Riddle would be giving them the most ideal life by his side. Never would one of their wants go unattended. He'll shower his darling in gifts, from luxurious ballroom dresses to the most expensive pastries. All to show his love and devotion. But nothing ever comes without a price...

In exchange for all that Riddle provides -be it whether or not his darling even wants any of it- he'll want you to please him in every way. To utter nothing but praises and compliments to him. They'll always have to be close to him.

After all his little rose should be forever grateful to him.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul is so incredibly manipulative that he could morph anyone into his ideal darling. All it takes is a wish on his darlings part and a contract from him! But  Azul does have a type so to speak. He loves naive young darlings who are oblivious to the real nature of things.

Someone so sweet and trusting that they'll fall for any sweet lie. All Azul has to do is convince them that he is only looking out for them, with the best intentions at heart. He'll feed me fables, swear to them that the world is full of threats just waiting to take advantage of a poor unfortunate soul such as her.

If his darling shows signs of resistance or defiance than he'll talk them into a contract. Maybe one in exchange for a better mark or a new phone. Something, anything, little or big it doesn't matter!

The payment, however, will be rather odd, it simply states that they'll have to become Azul's darling. Knowing no better they agree, and oh what a terrible mistake that was!

After that Azul will have his darling locked up in his room or office, never to enter into the cruel world again. Oh, but of course he's twisted the facts so much that his little darling believes this is all to protect them!

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim is such a soft yandere! He's also so very social and would desperately want a lover who is as open-minded and amiable as he is! He wouldn't mind if his darling is shy or even more outgoing than he is, as long as they love him than he's happy.

Sure sometimes he can go a little overboard with his punishments. Or maybe come off as a little pushy depending on who you ask. But at the end of the day, his darling will forgive him, they didn't have a choice.

He would also like his lover to be rather adventures and risk-taking. To throw caution to the wind and just laugh and have fun.

As long as Kalim's darling his willing to love him and have fun then that's all he wants.

Vil Schoenheit

Let's not kid ourselves we know that Vil's ideal lover will have to be stunning on the outside, hat's the only way he'll notice them. However, there is a certain personality type that he can't help but show some interest in. Any darling that's cunning, rebellious and a daredevil. There is a part of him that's repulsed by his fascination in this kind of person, that's why he's rather cold and cruel with his darling when he first kidnaps them!

He desperately wants a darling that is the definition of grace and beauty. So he'll put his darling through so many lessons all with extremely harsh punishments and designer rewards *wink wink*. Very soon his beloved will be so utterly regal and polite, no one would ever think that they use to be a delinquent trouble maker.

Oh but Vil knows, behind closed doors, he's the only one that is permitted to see their outlaw like personality.

Idia shroud

Idia will want a darling who is much like him, an outcast of society, an introvert who can assist him with his new programs and new inventions. Never will is darling treat him like the other, irk him to go out to sleep to "take care" of himself.

His darling needs to be as self-destructive as he is. In all Idia is a bit delusional he expects his darling to fall into his arms, kissing him and thanking him for taking away her less freedom. That this way she'll never have to socialize with anyone ever again!

Oh, and will that make Idia so happy! He can remain in his room, alongside his darling and Ortho for as long as he pleases. They can share dark jokes, build new things together and love each other forever and ever.

Leona Kingscholar 

Leona is very split amongst his preferred types of darlings. On one hand, he wants a lover who is passionate and firstly one who will follow whatever plan he comes up with, who is devoted to him no matter what. One the other hand though... the second prince likes innocent darlings who have a bit of a childish naive side to them (I headcanon he was a younger sibling kink, don't look at me like that!!). He really wants a darling that he can overpower and manipulate to do whatever he wants. To obey him and accept him as the one in charge of his darlings life. He wants absolute control of his darling, they have to do everything he tells them to. 

However brains are also very important to Leona, he wants someone witty and smart, who can keep up with his intellect. He may not seem like it but Leona is incredibly intelligent, he simply lacks motivation in academics. Thus is darling will have to have a good head on their shoulders, they should be able to think clearly. 

Overall Leona just wants a darling who will love only him. Is that too much to ask for? Everyone is always gushing after his brother. So just once he wants one person to solely to love him, and you will be the one to love him

Malleus Draconia 

Malleus is incredibly possessive and controlling, his ideal darling would have to be very obedient and on the more timid side. They will never talk back to him nor defy any advances he makes. They will also have to be on the more gloomier and realist side, someone mature enough to accept and embrace life for the tragedy that it is. They will, however, have to hold a rather cheerful and joyous attitude around him. Being all so loving and tender with their lover. It's teeth rotting and a very obvious lie but Malleus doesn't care also long as they have their darling than nothing else really matter, not even his darlings their opinion on the matter.

He will undoubtedly drug his darling to fill his every need. When he's gone his beloved must be fast asleep so they don't plot any escape plans. When he's feeling needy than he'll give is darling an insane amount of aphrodisiacs. When he simply wants to spend some time and talk then he'll just give his lover a small duse of ecstasy to awaken them. 

Malleus desperately wants to show his beloved he loves them and he does so by trying to spend every moment that they are conscious with them. With that logic in mind, it should be okay for Malleus to drug them so they fall asleep when he is absent...Right?

[milknette]

day 16 - magic

feel the early morning madness, feel the magic in the making.

tumblr month: @auyeahaugust

links: ao3 | ff.net

"OF all things, why choose that as your familiar?"

Adrien sighs, for what is likely the hundredth time for that day, watching as the familiar crawls up his arm. He can almost see Chloé's disgusted expression, but pointedly decides to ignore it. "I told you Chlo, it's a she. And I'm not sure why I chose her— I just felt the connection Ma'am Bustier spoke about, and it just happened. I don't get why you can't just accept that."

She raises an eyebrow at his irritated tone, before shaking her head. "It's just that this isn't what anyone expected you to choose, Adrikins," she points out. "I thought you'd have chosen something more majestic, like a lion. Didn't you always like cats?" Chloé shivers, then gestures at his arm. "Choosing some common ladybug… that's not like you."

He just shrugs, exhausted from even trying to protest. She notices his tired expression, then sighs, putting a hand to her hips. "Look, even if you don't believe it, I'm just worried about you," she tells him. "You know that Ma'am Bustier's test is worth a huge chunk of our grade. If you fail to connect properly with your… familiar, then you'll fail." Chloé frowns, and for once, it's a look of actual and genuine concern. "Your dad's never going to let you come back if you do."

At that, he smiles, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. (One she almost immediately shakes away, not wanting any way to bridge her to his familiar. She's always hated insects.)

"Thanks for the concern, Chlo," he starts, before nuzzling close to the insect. "But I don't need it. Ladybug and I are going to crush it."

"You named your ladybug… Ladybug?"

"Says the girl who literally named her familiar, dragon child."

"Hey! Ryuuko's a name fit for a queen! And at least my familiar is befitting of my status. A dragon is all-powerful, royal, and regal. What about a ladybug? What's she good for?"

Adrien shrugs, easily answering the question:

"She's my lucky charm."

.

.

"Alright bugaboo, ready for this?"

As the moon shines through the courtyard, Adrien kneels down and touches the ground with his fingers. Ladybug rests upon his shoulder as he closes his eyes, muttering a few choice unintelligible words to himself.

Then:

"Cataclysm."

The ground shakes and the grass starts to rot, spreading rapidly and intensely… until it stops only a few feet away.

Opening his eyes and walking over to the edge of his spell, Adrien sighs at the result.

"Not strong enough," he mutters to himself, evidently disappointed.

The ladybug crawls over to his cheek, almost as if to give him an encouraging kiss on the cheek.

He smiles.

"You're right," he replies, getting back on his knees. "Let's do this again."

.

.

Adrien spends the next few months practicing.

He spends every waking moment with Ladybug, working with her to improve his cataclysm, then spending the rest of the day spending time and taking care of her (Ma'am Bustier had told them improving relations with a familiar was important; the more trust and loyalty to each other, the better their magic would work together)— but to no avail.

His spell's strength and attack range was still small, with the date of their exam rapidly approaching.

Chloé mouths on about how she was right, how choosing a ladybug was a terrible idea, and how he was going to fail if he continued to stubbornly choose to stay with his familiar.

Usually, the words roll right off his back and he ignores it.

But this time, he finds that maybe she isn't completely off-base at all.

Maybe this wasn't a perfect match, after all.

.

.

Ma'am Bustier tells him to 'talk' to her.

He finds it silly— absurdly so, to speak to a ladybug as if it were a human; but decides to do it as a last-ditch effort.

He leans his head on his arms, watching as the ladybug moves back and forth on his desk.

"Hey bugaboo."

Silence.

"I don't know if you can understand me, but well, we're going to try anyway. Okay?"

Ladybug stops in place, and he assumes it's as good a sign as any to go on.

"I really need help," Adrien starts. "I can't fail this test. It's… let's just say, I'll never become a warlock if I don't ace this."

Ladybug is quiet. (He doesn't expect her to speak, of course, but a flap of her wings or some bzzz would help a lot.)

"Please," he tries to say. "I know you felt it too, right? We're meant to work together. I'll do anything for you to help me out."

She only stays in place, before flying upward and landing on his nose.

He can't see her without crossing his eyes together, and laughs.

The ladybug flaps its wings, then crawls on his shoulder.

Adrien smiles. "I'll take that as a yes, then."

.

.

The day of the exam, Adrien is nervous.

He's put all his trust and faith into his familiar, but he's not that confident she's done the same. (If she even could— honestly, Adrien was starting to think all of this familiar stuff was more insane than the fact he could destroy things with his fingertips.)

"Next… Mister Agreste, and his familiar a—," the announcer coughs, then almost confused, says the next words. "A… ladybug. Okay, then. Please show us what you've practiced."

He kneels downward, and touches the ground.

Ladybug crawls down, lying upon his fingertips. (Almost as if she were holding his hand to guide him.)

He closes his eyes, whispers the words, and feels the magic course through his veins, moving to his hand.

It's a calm, swirling, black, as usual.

Nothing new.

But then:

An explosion of deep, scarlet, red.

The sudden attack lightning shoots through his body, and he feels almost every part of himself buzz with untapped energy.

It's like nothing he's ever felt before.

He almost falls back, before noticing a girl in red stand in front of him.

Why does she look so familiar?

The girl grabs his hand and pulls him up, then orders him. "Keep chanting."

Adrien does. It's overwhelming, he's almost thrown over, but somehow, he shouts the words.

"Cataclysm."

.

.

The exam arena is covered with smoke.

Adrien vaguely hears someone say a spell to clear the air, but he's fallen over and almost loses consciousness.

The last thing he sees is Ladybug, crawling over to his cheek.

.

.

When Adrien wakes up, the first thing he notices is the lack of weight— however light it is, on his shoulder.

He immediately panics.

"Where's Ladybug?"

The doctors tell him to calm down, to rest, but he can't. Not now, not yet, not when he had unanswerable questions about his familiar and the girl and how it all tied together.

Someone takes out their wand, and casts a spell for sleep.

He passes out.

.

.

Ma'am Bustier is there to greet him the next time he wakes up.

"Are you feeling better, Adrien?"

He only nods, then clutches his head. "What happened?"

She stays quiet for a moment, staring him in the eye, before calmly beginning to explain to him. "Your cataclysm destroyed the whole arena."

"What…?" Adrien looks up at her, disbelieving, before shaking his head. "No, I… I never meant for it to become that strong. I just lost control, see, there was this girl and Ladybug, she… Ladybug. My familiar, where is she?"

"You don't have a familiar, Adrien—"

"What do you mean, Ladybug was right there and I have to know if she's okay… if I hurt her during that blast or…"

Ma'am Bustier grabs him suddenly, effectively calming him down. Her smile is kind, and he finds his feelings of panic slowly ebb away.

"Ladybug was never your familiar."

"I just said no, she's…"

"Ladybug is human."

"What?"

.

.

Ma'am Bustier explains to him that no warlock could have done such intense damage alone; even with a familiar, such heights of destruction was unheard of.

The only way that was possible were if two extremely powerful magicians had created the spell together.

She tells him that Ladybug had never been his familiar.

He doesn't know what to believe.

A sudden knock on his room, and in enters a young girl, about his age, nervously looking down at the floor.

She's barefoot and links her fingers together, her clothes a dark red, in sharp contrast with the blue of her eyes.

From her hunched figure, Adrien can almost see who he'd spent the past few months with.

"I don't know if you can tell it's me, but…"

Adrien smiles softly, and takes her hands.

"Ladybug."

"Adrien."

[lo-55]

Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 9

Crown of Thorns

Before they set off for Seireitei the next morning Ichigo hands a backpack to each of his friends.

‘Backpack’ isn’t the right word. It’s a sling bag that will strap across one shoulder each. Kukaku had been nice enough to provide him with them. They’ve got basic medicines, rations, a small flashlight and a bowie knife, a few other things that came in strangely useful in Ichigo’s experience. Like a roll of tinfoil, and a ball of rubber bands.

“Once we get into the seireitei, we’re gonna make a flashy entrance. People are going to see us and they’re going to report on what we look like. As soon as we land we need to find the laundry, or the barracks, and steal uniforms.”

He holds a hand up to keep Uryu from objecting.

“I know you hate it. Deal with it. Orihime and I will be the most distinct. Chad and Uryu can probably change clothes, maybe hair styles and be fine. She and I will have to change hair color.”

They won’t have time to dye their hair, and even if they did Ichigo knows they were both loath to do so. Orihime prided her hair for Sora, her brother. Ichigo was just plain stubborn.

“There’s wigs in both of our bags,” and in Ichigos, his Chaldeas combat uniform in all its white and black glory. It will cover the rather distinct mark on his chest. He turns to their guide.

“Yoruichi. There’s different squads, what do we need to know about them? Characteristics, duties, positions. Anything.”

The cat has been staring at him this entire time. Ichigo doesn’t quite know what to make of it. She shakes herself out of it.

“You’re right. Each squad has different duties and different specialities. There’s also rivalries between certain squads. Each squad has approximately 200 individuals.”

“That’s not good,” Ichigo grimaces. “200 is small enough to be able to recognize people by face if not name.”

“Yes, but the turnover rate for unseated officers is low enough I don’t think it will pose a problem,” Yoruichi continues. She gives them a run through of symbols and squads associated with them, before moving on, “the first division is made up of those who are able to take charge. They rank highest, besides seated officers. They will be the second worst to masquerade as. The absolute worst will be the second division, who work as covert operations. They handle wetwork.”

“Assassins,” Ichigo understands. “And spies?”

“Sometimes. That also falls to the Third division, which serves as a secondary source of information gathering and is in charge of media, communication, and, for lack of a better word, propaganda. Fourth division is medics and combat medics. The fifth has historically been an emergency response system, and are one of the most combat ready.”

Ichigo nods along. Orihime would be best suited to the forth then. Chad, perhaps the fifth?

“The sixth division runs internal affairs. Even if Rukia had not been their captain's sister, it would have been someone from the sixth sent to retrieve her. Seventh doesn’t have a particular speciality as far as I know, but they are typically sincere people. The eighths division is made up almost entirely of women, and they are the reservists and jacks of all trades. They work closely with the thirteenth. Rukia’s own division.”

“Are they mostly women as well?”

“No. They typically do the most work outside of the soul society, sending people to the living world and protecting people from hollows. Ninth division is also combat oriented. They are entrusted with the defense of the seireitei. They count the paperwork of all high ranking officers as well. The tenth is in charge of inter squad cooperation and joint task forces. The eleventh is full of heavy hitters and combat specialists. They are one of the largest divisions, and also the one with the highest mortality rate. Twelfth is research and development. We should avoid them as well.”

Ichigo taps his fingers along his leg. “Orihime should find something from the fourth. She’s the only one who can heal, and can probably pass her abilities off as a zanpakuto if needed. None of the rest of us could be in the eighth, and the thirteenth seems too close to each other to be fooled. I don’t know enough about science for the twelve.”

“I could probably pass, but I would rather not,” Uryu agrees.

“That’s fine. I think it’s best if I say I’m in the eleventh. I have the sword and the fighting ability too. Chad, I think you’d be best for ninth. And Uryu, sixth. We need to avoid one through three if we can.”

“Ichigo…”

Ichigo looks up at Chad. “Huh?”

“When did you start planning like this?”

Ichigo doesn’t know how to answer that. He learned on the battlefields of france. He learned in the streets of london. He learned on the decks of the Golden Hind, the plains of america, the mountains of the middle east and the deserts of egypt. They had been weaker, they had been lesser. They had heart and desperation, but they had to fight smarter not just harder. It was the only option. He had to learn or he had to die.

“Chaldea, I guess,” he finally says. “We need to be quick and careful. This is a rescue mission, not a war.”

Chad looks at him for a long moment. Finally, he nods.

“Okay.”

They break apart and come back together around the ball that Kukaku hands them. She looks at Ichigo intently.

“This energy needs to be balanced between all of you equally. Your power is insane. You’ll have to put barely any into it.”

“That’ll suck,” Ichigo says bluntly. “I’m not good at holding back.”

He runs his fingers through his hair. “No choice though. Let’s go.”

Before they can start, Ganju grabs his wrist. Ichigo keeps himself from elbowing him in the face.

“What?” Ichigo asks, turning to look at him.

“Why are you going through all of this for one shinigami? Why is she so special?” Ganju asks. For once he looks absolutely serious. Ichigo stands straighter and lifts his stubborn jaw.

“It’s because she saved my life. And my family’s lives. She gave her power to me, and because of that she’s going to die. I owe her,” he said again, “And I will repay that debt.”

Ganju searches his face for something. Whatever he finds must satisfy him. He lets go of Ichigo, but Ichigo grabs his arm before he can get far.

“Why are you coming along? It’s not like you have a stake in this. You’re not one of our friends. You’ve never even met any of us before this, and you clearly hate shinigami.”

Ganju looks ready to say something, but Kukaku shoves her way between them and cuts it off.

“Enough chit chat, let’s go already. You’re wasting daylight, idiot.”

Ichigo can’t argue with that. They circle the sphere and Ichigo lets only the barest of his reiryoku bleed into it.

He’s not oblivious. He knows the difference in his power and theirs is about where he and Mash had been when they’d first began. She was endowed with the power and skills of a great warrior of ages past and he was little more than an amateur mage who fought punks on the side.

Now he’s got his own power, his own sword, and he’s been trained by the best warriors to ever walk the earth. He’d learned at the knees of literal legends. He’d faced down gods and demons and he’d lead armies.

He had the power, he had the experience.

It’s time to go.

They climb into the canon, form the sphere, and the chant begins.

Kido isn’t so different from magic. The only difference is the type of energy that’s being used. Reiryoku and mana are the opposite of two coins, the body and the soul. The living and the dead.

Ichigo figures now he stands somewhere between the two. He doesn’t fully understand. He doesn’t need to.

All he needs to know is how to fight and win, for the sake of his friends.

*

Ichigo will admit, it’s somewhat terrifying how  big this goddamn continent is. They’ve been marching for what feels like forever. He knows that the northern army has been holding the celts back for at least a week. He doesn’t know how much longer they can last, and they themselves are still a good week from the white house.

The stress of the situation was still heavy on Ichigo’s shoulders, but Kyo was a good person to carry part of it. Mash is under just as much stress as he is, but she must be made of stronger stuff than he is.

She presses on with all the faith in the world that they will stand victorious when the dust settles.

Ichigo has less faith, and more bullheaded refusal to accept any other outcome.

Kyo, he can tell, doesn’t understand this.

They stand in a field of death. Celts lay at their feet, blood drips from Ichigo’s sword and stains his cheek. His orange hair is dyed red in places.

These are soldiers who were born only to fight. They were made to die at the behest of a wicked queen and an artificial king. They never knew childhood. They never knew joy or a future. They only knew the present, they only knew what they were made to do.

To fight. To kill. To die.

“This is wrong,” Ichigo says, his hands fisted at his side and his jaw set in stubborn anger. In one hand his sword weeps bloody tears into crushed flowers at his feet. A mansion sets in the background, once grand, and around them stretches the ruins of a garden. A headless cherub gushes brown water into a red basin.

Kyo reaches down and plucks the flower from its place on the ground.  Ichigo knows well he has the heart of a poet and the mind of a scholar.

“Orchids,” he says, showing Ichigo where the violet petals stretch through the violent stains.

“I doubt we can get perfume from them.” The stench of rot and death hasn’t set in just yet, but it will. Ichigo would rather not stick around.

“No, but they’re out of place here, don’t you think?” He must see the scowl on Ichigo’s face, for he goes on without prompting. “Orchids are a spring flower. One of the four gentlemen. They’re a rather old concept in art.”

“Old for you must mean ancient for us,” Ichigo tries to turn the subject, but Kyo merely shrugs.

“You humans live short, scared lives. And we, long and terrible ones. It’s the way things are…”

It’s there again. The look in Kyo’s eyes. The one he’d had when he was first telling Ichigo about Rukongai and seireitei, and the empty throne that sits atop the world. There’s a longing for change, Kyo is too stubborn and ambitious not to have it, but there’s something else holding him back.

Ichigo scowls and closes the distance between them in a single stride.

“You just sound defeatist. So it’s hard, so you’ll have to fight. So you just give up? Are you going to give in to the status quo when you return to Soul Society?” Ichigo demands. He grasps Kyo by the front of his shihakusho and drags him so close that their noses almost touch. Brown eyes meet brown, one set wide and the other narrowed. “Half the fight is always mental. If you talk like that, you’ll never win, and nothing will never change!”

Ichigo bites out his hardest truth. “A victor should talk about how the world should be. Not how the world is.”

Kyo opens and closes his mouth, gaping like a fish. Ichigo has never seen the man so wrong footed before. Even when Ichigo had shoved part of his soul into Kyo’s body, there hadn’t been time for him to be so stunned.

Now he gets to see those brown eyes shift. From shock to understanding to a near burning determination that his calm demeanor barely betray’s.

Ichigo is getting good at reading him.

He can see the blossoming dream inside his heart. Soon time will erase everything, but maybe, just maybe, some things will remain. Impressions, hopes. Dreams.

Kyo lifts the orchid up between them, purple and red in equal turns, and incinerates it with only a whispered spell.

* *

They’re forced to split apart upon entry.

It’s not ideal, nothing about the situation is. All the same, Ichigo deals with it.

He finds himself spat out into a street with no name and no distinction with Ganju, who lands in a pile of sand while Ichigo himself land catlike on his feet. Yoruichi still sits on his shoulder, steady and growing familiar. She isn’t Fou, but the presence is welcome all the same.

It takes all of ten minutes for someone to find them.

Typical.

Ichigo glances at Yoruichi on his shoulder. “Are you staying, or do you wanna step to the side?”

Yoruichi considers him with those wide golden eyes of hers. He always feels like she’s looking more than skin deep.

“I’ll be off to the side. Don’t get into too much trouble.”

“Give me some credit,” Ichigo rolls his eyes and bends down enough that Yoruichi can hop to the ground comfortably.

He tilts his head at Ganju. “Hey. I’ll take the stronger one. Do what you want with pretty boy.”

“Oh?” one of the opposing shinigami smiles and flutters his weird feather eyelashes at him. “You really think I’m pretty?”

It wasn’t meant to be a compliment. Ichigo grimaced at him. “You look like you spend twenty minutes in front of a mirror every morning. If you don’t exfoliate, I’m a hollow.”

“Well, Yumichika, looks like this guy has got you pegged!” the other one, a blond man who has his sword propped on a shoulder, grins at Ichigo. There’s red around the corners of his eyes. Make up? Tattoos?

“I’m not pegging anyone, thanks,” Ichigo says dryly.

The three dead people stare at him blankly.

“Huh?” pretty boy, Yumichika, asks.

Ichigo shook his head swiftly. “I’m not explaining that.” At least Yoruichi snorted at him.

“Well, doesn’t matter. All I need to know is that today…” the bald man started bouncing around on his toes with his sword out in front of him. Dancing? “I’m lucky! Lucky, it’s my lucky day!”

“Ichigo!” Ganju hisses, grabbing his shoulder. “I’m not fighting these guys, they’re way too strong! I’m gonna run.”

“What? No. If you run we might get split up! That’s a terrible plan, just hold him off until I finish my fight.”

“Hah?” Ganju scowls at him. “Since when are you the boss?!”

“Since I knocked your ass flat on the ground, that’s when!”

“I don’t care what you say,” Ganju scrambles out of the sand box he made. “I’m outta here!”

Ichigo watches him go sprinting before he looks to Yoruichi. “Oi. Keep an eye on him, would you?”

Yoruichi gives a long suffering sigh. “I suppose I must. He is Kukaku’s brother, after all.”

Without another word the cat trots off at Ganju’s heels, keeping pace easily.

Ichigo is left with the two locals.

“...Did that cat just… talk?” Yumichika points after the runaway, his perfectly trimmed brows furrowed.

“Ee-yup.”

“Yumichika,” the bald one nods to his companion, who grunts in response and takes off after Ganju. Ichigo has no choice but to let him go and trust Ganju to handle himself. He doesn’t know if he can take the both of these guys at once. They’re clearly close. He’s sure they’re a terribly effective tag team too, and he really doesn’t have time for this.

“Your friend. He could tell we’re stronger, and he ran. You would have been smart to do the same,” the bald man says, eying Ichigo speculatively.

Ichigo merely shrugs. It’s not in his nature to back down from a fight. It never has been, and now it is even less.

“I figure, if you are stronger you’ll catch up,” They aren’t, he can see clearly.  “I’ll have to fight you either way. Besides, if you’re not then I’ll just kick your ass now and move on.”

He shifts himself, draws his sword and bares his teeth.

The man laughs, sounding far too delighted. This is someone who revels in combat.

“That’s a pretty good reason,” he praises, drawing his sword from his scabbard. Ichigo blocks the blow that comes, and ducks the swipe of his sheath. Ichigo bounces back and comes against him again, a whirl of blade. He twists out of the way of another blow and smashes his elbow above the man's eye, splitting his brow. He barely moves back from the blade that slices through his own. Blood drips into his left eye, a mirror of the damage he’s inflicted. They separate.

It’s the bald man, his opponent, who brings them to a pause. The air isn’t as heavy as he would expect. This man may want him dead, but Ichigo can tell; he’s fighting for the fun of it.

(Ichigo loathes to admit it, but he is too. Rukia is going to die, Ganju is being chased by someone dangerous, and Ichigo is here having  fun )

(It makes him sick to realize that the life of one person weighs less heavily than all of human history.

Rukia is his friend, how can he think such a thing?)  

“That was good. You’ve got good reflexes. You’re stong. What’s your name?”

Ichigo doesn’t see a reason to pretend to be anyone he’s not.

“Ichigo,” he says easily. “And you are?”

“Ikkaku Madarame. Third seat of squad eleven. Ichigo huh? That’s a good name.”

“You think so?” Ichigo arches a brow, privately waiting for him to say something about strawberries.

“Yeah. They say guys with ‘ichi’ in their names are strong and forthright. So…”

He lifted his sword again, his scabbard in a reverse grip behind him and grins like mad. “What say we be friends, Ichi?”

Ichigo wishes Urahara were here, if only so he could crow an ‘i told you so’.

Ichigo levels his sword and can’t help the curve of his mouth. “Fine. But only if I win. If I lose. I figure I’ll be dead.”

“Deal!”

They come together again.

“You seem young,” says the chatterbox, Ikaku. “But you’ve adapted to my fighting style well.”

Well? What can he say, he’s met a lot of dual wielders. EMIYA, other EMIYA, Diarmuid saber, Diarmuid lancer, Scathach, Jack the Ripper, and more. He’s fought with them, trained under them. His hand still itches to hold a sword that isn’t there.

He settles it on his hilt instead.

“Who taught you to fight?” Ikaku asks. He wipes away the blood on his brow with an ointment. Ichigo makes mental note of it. For now he settles on keeping one eye closed, and waits for Ikaku to try to take advantage of his ‘weakness’.

“Who’s to say? I pick up what I can from everyone I know,” he says truthfully. “Are we gonna talk or fight?”

“Fight, obviously! Now,” he slams his sword and scabbard together. “Extend! Hozukimaru!”

Huh. A duel wielder and a lancer all in one. What an interesting person.

It doesn’t matter. Ichigo crosses the ground between them. He pours his power into his blade, until it shines pale white and blue. Ikkaku brings his halberd up to block, but Ichigo cuts through it like butter.

Zangetsu slices through Hozukimari like it’s not made of wood and steel and soul.

Zangetsu carves through Ikkaku’s chest and stomach. It’s not deep enough to kill, but the blood flows heavily. Ichigo finishes it with a hard elbow to his jaw, and Ikkaku falls to the ground.

Zangetsu returns to his resting place on Ichigo’s back and Ichigo gets to work. He has no intention of killing if he can help it. In this case, he can.

He uses part of Ikkaku’s own balm and his first aid kit, one of the things he’d packed in his bag, to seal the injuries. Ichigo hasn’t got time to wait around for Ikkaku to wake up, but this is a good chance for him to get information.

So he sits and changes his hair color, and watches the clouds roll by while Yoruichi plays cat and mouse with the pretty boy.

* * *

The whitehouse is a twisted vision.

Ichigo has seen pictures of his classmates on vacation in front of it, and pictures online or in books. He knows, at least vaguely, what it’s supposed to look like. It’s not supposed to be a twisted desecration of red thorns eating away at pale stone dragons.  

Ichigo eyes one of the macabre statues, wrapped in thick, strangling vines made of the same blood red bane that Gae Bolg is. So many thorns. Scathach had called them unbearable. Ichigo is caught somewhere between pity and anger at the berserker that’s caused so much pain and suffering. He was born for this, created from a wish and twisted by Medb’s black heart.

A pitiful creature to be sure. Ichigo knew Cu Chulainn well. He was a creature of duty and loyalty, of compassion and determination. Once he decided he wanted to protect someone that was the end of it. He would battle an entire army on his own, suffer uncountable pains, and still die with his pride intact. He had.

Ichigo doesn’t miss the way his own Caster eying the thorns, his red eyes dark. If Ichigo remembered right, he had died at the point of his own spear during Medb’s quest for vengeance against him.

Ichigo bumps his shoulder with him and gives him a questioning look.

“ ‘m fine,” he assured, touching Ichigo’s shoulder. “I sworn m’self to you, Master. Have faith in me.”

“Will my loyal dog not use my name?” Ichigo rolls his eyes. He still manages to get a cracked smile from the druid. Caster lifts his staff and settles his shoulders.

“After you.”

Ichigo leads the way inside.

It’s just them again. His core servants, and now Florence Nightingale. For a medic, she’s one of the scariest berserkers he’s ever seen. He’s not sure even heracles would win a fair fight with her when she’s determined to save someone.

Indeed, when they finally step into the interior, where Cu Alter and Medb are waiting for them, she wastes no time explaining that she’s going to cure them.

Although, Ichigo has never heard someone say that the best course of treatment would be  suicide .

He privately agreed with the king of savages. Nightingale is crazy.

That doesn’t mean she’s not wrong. Ichigo can see it plainly. Cu Alter, the king that Medb created, really has had his joy sealed away by his duty to destroy. There’s no pleasure in the fight for him, and for a warrior such as he it must be equal agony to the red thorns that pierce his hide.

Ichigo shift, Kyo at his side, while his band steps forwards in formation. Mash and Rama take the front, a strong defense and a strong offense that can switch easily to long range at a dimes turn. Cu Cullainn and Nightingale bring up the rear, supporting them with runes and healing spells, while Medusa stays staunchly at Ichigo’s side.

Her hair floats around her, a hissing halo that rattles with chains. Her scythe has manifested in her hands.

Ichigo lifts his right fist, the command spells burning in his skin. He only has two left, and three spells in his combat uniform. This will be their final fight. They have to win. They have to.

If they lose, they lose the world. Everyone’s suffering and sacrifice will be wasted. Yuzu and Karin, and even his dad will be lost forever. His mother will have never even been born.

“Go!” He shouts, his voice cracking through the air.

Rama aims at Medb while Mash tries to keep Cu Alter at bay. Ichigo’s Caster uses the distraction to start weaving runes into deadly traps, while Nightingale reverses the worse of the damage as she’s able.

It’s going well. They’re this close to overwhelming the duo when Medb does something that Ichigo will never be able to forgive.

She summons 28 demon god pillars to the northern army.

Cu Caster get’s in the final shot.

Gae Bolg still does not kill the wicked Queen of Connacht, but it’s master does deliver the last blow that sends her glittering into dust on the wind.

That one instant of victory, however, is all Alter needs.

Gae Bolg leaves his hands.

Ichigo knows the details of the Noble Phantasm. A spear that affects probably, and turns ‘trusting the spear’ into ‘piercing the heart’. Once it’s active, there is no dodging it. There is no blocking it with anything shy of a realty marble.

It does not pierce Rama again. Nor does is strike down Mash, or Nightingale, or Meduse, or even their own Cu Chulainn.

Ichigo chokes.

He doesn’t feel it, not really. But he sees it. He sees the red jutting out of his chest. The hole that has pierced through his heart. ]

He chokes. Blood drips from his lips, down onto the spear. Brambles crawl beneath his skin, spreading the hole until black gapes within the red. Blood pours down his chest, staining the white of his shirt.

Ichigo chokes. Black bleeds into his vision from all sides and his mouth tastes like blood and chalk and void dust.

White drips down his lips.

Darkness consumes him.

* * * *

“Alright,” Ichigo tugs his wig in place one more time, double checking that there’s no orange hair poking out to give him away. Ganju is next to him, tying the shihakusho in place with a grimace over his face.

“I hate this,” he grumbles. He secures his sword back in place. His armor is barely hidden under the sleeves of his new uniform.

“You didn’t have to come with us,” Ichigo pointed out.

Ganju scowled at him. “Yes I did.”

“Your sister didn’t tell you to-”

“It’s not about my sister!” Ganju snaps. Ichigo shuts his mouth at the look in his eyes. Burning with anger and grief.

“It’s about… my brother,” Ganju’s hands were shaking. “He was killed in cold blood by a shinigami. He was a genius, a lieutenant, and a good man. But he was betrayed and killed by his partner. I was young… So I don’t know everything. But I will never forget that shinigami’s cold eyes, when she dragged my dying brother back to our home. Or the way he  thanked her for it. I’ve never understood. But you.”

Ganju grabs him by the front of his shirt. “You’re different from other shinigami. So I followed you here, so I could understand. Why he loved the shinigami until he died. I want to see for myself what shinigami are like!”

Ichigo meets Ganju’s eyes squarely. “I’m not a real shinigami, so I can’t and won’t speak for them. I’ll let you see for yourself, Ganju. Just as long as you watch my back.”

Ganju gives him a short, single nod.

Yoruichi, who has spent the entire time standing in the corner while they ready themselves, flickers her tail and stands.

“We should get going. The longer this takes, the more danger we will be in. Everyone will be on high alert, and while this can help us blend in in the confusion, we still need to stay on our toes.”

Ichigo nods sharply.

They duck out of the barracks they’d stolen into and start down the pathway. Ikkaku had told him Rukia was in a white tower, and they could see it from here. The problem was that none of them knew the way to get to the white tower. They’re just wandering around blindly.

There’s nothing for it.

They walk on.

Ichigo looks around as they go. Some of the walls carry Lily of the Valley on them, stamped in careful black ink.

“Mary’s tears,” Ichigo muses, mostly to himself.

“Huh? No, they’re plants,” Ganju argues, looking at Ichigo like he’s just lost his mind.

Ichigo scowls at him. “I know that. They’re Lily of the Valley, but some people call them Mary’s Tears. There’s an old legend in the west in the living world that they grew from the tears Mary cried when her son was crucified.  They’re a sign that their messiah is coming back.”

“That’s very interesting,” comes a smooth (terribly, awfully,) familiar voice from behind them.

Ichigo feels his heart tighten. He turns.

Kyo stands behind them. Brown hair, brown eyes. He’s older now. His face is more angular, the last of his puppy fat has melted off his face, and he’s finally taller than Ichigo. His smile is polite and geniel. Ichigo is almost fooled. He can still see the sharp intellect behind them.

A white haori hangs off his shoulders. Kyo has been made a captain.

It’s all Ichigo can do not to reach for him and hiss out the truth.

But this isn’t the place. He cocks his head and frowns.

“I’m friends with Jeanne d’arc,” he says straight faced. Ganju at his side has gone tense and still. Ichigo elbows him. They’re more than a little suspicious out here like this. Two men and a cat.

Except, Yoruichi is now gone.

Two men and no cat.

“Is that so?” Kyo looks faintly amused, even as he assesses them sharply. It’s barely hidden in his deep eyes. Ichigo knows him well enough to see it, and to see something unexpected. A faint recognition. “It’s rare for someone in the eleventh division to be so knowledgeable.”

“How did you know…?” Ichigo is not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Kyo does not speak his name, he does not broach any subjects. It stings far worse than Ichigo had ever imagined. Hadn’t Nero felt something familiar about them too? But she hadn’t remembred them, and neither does Kyo.

“You were with third seat Madarame after he lost the fight with the Ryoka, weren’t you? The eleventh rarely tolerate people who aren’t in their own squad.” He had waited at Ikkaku’s side for field medics, with his own choppy work keeping the barely conscious man stable. It shouldn’t be a shock that someone saw them and spread the word. But how did Kyo recognize him from just that?

“Oh, right,” Ichigo says like that makes sense. In his mind he’s screaming.

  Kyo, kyo! Don’t you see me? Do you remember? We’re friends, we’re friends! We fought in america, we travelled the continent, look at me goddamn it. I know the name of your sword, I know where you were born. Kyo-  

“Excuse us,” Ganju grabs Ichigo by the back of the neck and forces him into a sharp bow. “We need to get going. Invasion and all that.”

“Yes, of course,” Kyo says smoothly. He gestures behind him. “I won’t keep you. We all must do our best to protect Seireitei.”

“Right…” Ichigo barely keeps his hands to himself.

He’d promised. He  promised .

His mouth opens to say something, to beg time between only them, to send Ganju away if he must. But down the street comes a pack of blood hungry shinigami, looking for a piece of the invaders, and Ichigo has no choice but to let Ganju drag him away by the collar of his shihakusho.

A woman with a badge on her arm appears at Kyo’s side as they’re being pulled away, her brown eyes wide and curious. Kyo draws her attention away and that’s the last Ichigo sees of him. It drives him insane.

* * * * *

He comes in the dark.

Silver hair and a white haori, he manages to go utterly unseen by all. It’s a skill even Sosuke Aizen has trouble mastering without the aid of his illusions. Gin’s footsteps are light, barely a whisper against the hardwood of the office building. Even the omniskido would be hard pressed to beat his skill with sneaking around.

It’s one of the things that Aizen prizes him for. The other being his unfailing loyalty and his willingness to do whatever he was told, with or without answered questions.

These things include going out to spy on the young would-be Ryoka. Everything is happening exactly as he’s expected. They’ve even brought the Shihoin heiress back to Soul Society with them. How useful.

“Well?” he asks, without further prompting. Most of his attention is still on one of the monitors in front of him that details the boy sitting outside the Shiba house. A camera fly can only get so close with Shihoin around, so he must settle for watching the human stare at stones in his hand like they’ve personally offended him.

The boy must be mad, to come with such a small group, but this is a while different type of crazy. Sosuke is fairly certain he’d seen the human-shinigami- possible -hollow speak to the rocks.

“He’s got good reflexes,” Gin says, peering over Sosuke’s shoulder. His presence is familiar and not unwelcome. Few get so close, even when Sosuke pretends to be gentle and kind. He keeps them all at arms length, the brown nosers and sycophants.

“I saw that much. You know that’s not what I’m asking.”

Gin smiles widely at him and lifts, from out of his pocket, the innocuous looking marble. It swirls with blacks and blue’s and glows faintly it’s own ethereal light. A faint red in the center bleeds purple into the blue. Incomplete as it is, it still reacts to interesting things and people.

Gin drops it in his hand. It’s warm to the touch, nearly burning. He’s never seen the red in the center flicker so bright before, like a tiny ball of fire in the very center. There’s something not quite right about this intruder. Ichigo Kurosaki. Sosuke has known him for many years, even if he’s never gotten close enough to see the boy in person. That would involve getting far to close to Urahara and Shihoin, and if he is honest even Sosuke is not foolish enough to go up against legendary assassins in their own home field.

“It tried to burn a hole in my pocket when I got within fifty feet,” Gin reports succinctly. “What does that mean?”

Sosuke has no idea what that means. But one of his rules of his own behavior is that he never admits to not knowing something. So rather than say as much to Gin, he offers him his own faint smile, the kind that puts other people at ease but sets his most faithful companion on edge.

“You’ll see soon enough,” he says instead. “Now. Are you ready to be the bad guy, Ichimaru?”

Gin’s smile, snakelike and cold, only grows. His eyes curve upwards.

“What other kinda guy would I be for you?”

* * * * * *

[fanfictiondotmess]

“Hello?” Danny called, his voice the only sound other than the harsh buzz of the fluorescent lights. He gripped the straps of his backpack, shoulders tensed as he made his way down a seemingly endless hall of yellow wallpaper and damp carpeting. There were rooms lining the halls, and each room was identical. There were empty rooms with the exit leading to another hallway full of more rooms, more fluorescent lighting, and more of the same wallpaper.

Heart heavy in his stomach, he reached into his pocket to check his phone for the umpteenth time. No signal. The time had been replaced with nonsensical images but, other than that, nothing was changed. He could look through his messages, photos, and anything else one could access without internet and signal. So, other than for a trip down nostalgia lane, it was useless. Feeling that it might come in handy later, he chose to conserve battery power and pocket the phone.

Over and over again, Danny ran the events of that morning through his mind. He'd left the dorms at the same time he always did in order to meet Sam and Tucker for the cafeteria's Sunday brunch. Everything looked normal, save for one hall where a light had gone out. There were some extra shadows, and some of them fell on the wall adjacent to the cafeteria doors. Some impulse struck him, and he touched the wall. When his hand reached where the wall was, it went through. Still groggy from the weariness of a Wednesday morning, he did not react quickly enough to catch his balance before he tumbled through the wall and fell.

When he woke, he had a throbbing pain in his head and felt an uncomfortable dampness seeping through his clothes. The first thing he saw was the same thing he'd been seeing for god knew how long. Endless doors and halls.

“Is anyone there?” He called, yelling as loudly as he could. Amity Park had many strange and high-tech additions, courtesy of his parents. It wouldn't be impossible for this to be one of them. But it felt... different. There was a different energy. An intense sense of isolation. Of being lost. Worst of all, though, was the feeling of being watched.

A low grumble came from the room to his left. Desperate, he quickly entered the room to find its source, praying that it was the grumbling of a disheveled professor or maybe some inventor. However, his hopes were quickly dashed and replaced with crippling fear. Inside the room, a humanoid creature stood on all fours. It had a fleshy look to it with an awful, misshaped head. It was facing the door in front of it, turned away from Danny. The longer he stared, the more agitated the creature seemed to become and, within seconds, it had turned to face him.

“I-...” The words died on his lips and he began backing away. The creature before him, though displaying some human-like qualities, was clearly not something that could be reasoned with. Finally, his flight reflex activated and he was running before he'd realized he'd decided to run. He could hear heavy footsteps and growls following behind him. “That's it. I'm going ghost.” Danny transformed and instantly took advantage of his increased speed and ability to phase through walls. Eventually, he lost it.

“Man...” Danny landed and transformed back into his human form, taking a knee to catch his breath. Like before, he was surrounded with the sound of the terribly artificial light and the uncomfortable dampness of the dull carpet beneath him.

“Well now! Look who we have here.”

A voice cut through the monotonous sound; calm, collected, cocky.

“It seems you've found yourself in quite the unfortunate place, little badger.” Vlad phased through the wall, but quickly shifted from his ghost to his human form. Despite the chaos of the whatever the heck they were in, Vlad still seemed well put together. Perhaps a few bags under his eyes, but the lighting made it hard to tell.

“I should've guessed you had something to do with this.” Danny rose quickly to his feet, clenching his fists in preparation for a fight.

“I'm flattered. But this isn't my work.” Vlad said, gesturing admittedly.

“Yeah? Then why are you here?” Danny asked.

“I could ask you the same thing, Daniel. Why are you here?” Vlad asked, his question laced with condescension. Danny scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “No answers? Hmm?”

“I was at school one minute, and the next thing I knew, I was here. When I woke up-”

“Woke up?” Vlad interrupted, a look of concern glimpsing over his otherwise stoic face.

“Yeah. I kinda hit my head on something. I think.” As he spoke, he unconsciously rubbed his head. It still hurt, but it was far from the most pressing issue on his mind. Vlad took a step toward Danny placing one hand on his head and using the other to part his hair. “Hey! What're you doing?” He swatted at Vlad's hand. “Ow!”

“Stand still. If you have a head injury, you could be in danger.”

“I'm fine. What? Are you going to have me walk around reciting the capitals of the states so I don't wind up in a coma?” He spoke with heavy sarcasm and frustration, but he gave up on fighting it. Vlad placed a thumb under Danny's chin and tilted his head upward. Likely to check for dilation of the eyes. The gesture, though, made his heart skip a beat. Being that close and with such an uncharacteristic-seeming tenderness felt... Shut up, Danny. You're being an idiot. It's Vlad.

“-And because of that, you are going to be left vulnerable to the more Do you understand?” Vlad spoke, his tone indicating the end of some sort of explanation. Oops. Didn't pay attention to a single thing he said.

“Uhh....”

“Are you having trouble concentrating?” Vlad asked, finally concluding his assessment and letting Danny have his personal space back.

“No. Just run it by me again.” Danny lowered his head, a bit embarrassed. Vlad sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Fine, but try listening this time.” Vlad placed his hand against the wall. “This dimension operates under different rules than our own. I've marked my path, etching a symbol into each wall I pass and each door I enter. Despite that, I have made no progress in solving this little puzzle. When back-tracking, every symbol is gone.” He paused for emphasis. “This place plays tricks on your mind. If you have a head injury, you are far more likely to succumb to hallucinations. And, for some reason, using our ghost halves weaken our fortitude. It is very likely that, were one of us to lose grip of reality, they will become one of the monsters that lurk these halls.”

“How do you know all this?” Danny asked, the magnitude of his situation slowly starting to settle on him.

“I've spent many years as Plasmius. I've learned many, many things. More than you could hope to fathom.” A smirk crept across his face. “So I think it would be wise for you to join me. I am your only hope of escape.” Vlad let the silence sit between himself and the male who had long since decided that Vlad was his enemy. It was rather... cute. The hero complex and firm but entirely naive grip on morality was entertaining to say the least.

“In your dreams, cheese head.” Danny stepped back and transformed. “I'll be out of here in no time. Enjoy the soggy floors!” He shouted as he flew down the hall, putting as much space between himself and Vlad as possible. It was hard to tell if he was making progress. Everything looked the same.

As he rounded the corner, one of the same humanoid monsters sat in the center of the hallway.. It rocked rocked back and forth, a high pitched screech seeping from its mouth. When it saw Danny, it immediately threw itself onto its four, distorted limbs. Skin, rotting skin sagged from its body exposing holes. It was as if the thing had been decomposing.

“Alright, creep. This time, I guarantee I won't be running away. You're way uglier than I remember.” Danny's hands glowed as he summoned the energy for an ectoblast. “Maybe this'll help!” He launched two powerful blows at the thing. The resulting explosion knocked down parts of the wall and a burst of drywall and dust creating a small fog in the hall.

Danny landed and waited for the debris to settle. Whatever this nightmare world was, he wasn't going to forget the most important rule of living in a horror movie. Well, aside from not having sex. And that was the good ol' double tap.

His thoughts were interrupted by a horrific screech. A shadow emerged from the debris, moving faster than anything he'd ever seen. Before he had a chance to react, the thing had sliced at his chest, leaving a deep cut. He kicked the thing, but it had no effect. Every move in his arsenal failed to do anything but make the thing even more volatile.

“This is insane.” Danny leaped backwards, gasping for breath. With no other choice, he ran. He flew through walls, making erratic turns. It was the same way he'd lost the monster earlier. Every time he looked back, though, he would see the thing racing down the hall or coming out through a door. Sometimes, it would even walk through the walls. This shouldn't be possible. Danny flew faster and faster, but there was no reprieve.

Danny collided hard with a figure and fell hard on the floor. Looking up, he saw Vlad. Vlad's expression was serious. He pulled Danny to his feet and covered his eyes.

“You need to turn human again, now.” He demanded. Danny could hear the screams of the creature as it neared them. With no other choice, Danny transformed. Vlad led him backwards down a series of halls. The longer they walked, Danny tripping and stumbling as he tried to keep pace with Vlad. Finally, the sound of the creatures began to fade. Vlad uncovered Danny's eyes.

“Are you still so sure you don't need my help?”

[caimkairos]

forged on lightning, treaty on the palm

Undoubtedly, this was a mistake.

Still, she raced forward. Past the snow, past the ruined city. She had never ran so fast, never really ran at all, but she ran forward now.

The air was cold, so cold. But she had to reach that figure still walking away. The figure Chaldea had fought, that everyone had fought.

A naïve, dumb girl. Blind to reality. She knew that’s how cynical people saw her. How realistic people saw her. But-

(She had raced back when she saw that woman. The boy she wanted to be friends with, save, laughed in her face. A woman that was not human had ‘rescued’ her for the purpose of cruelty. Looked at her eyes and laughed herself silly. ‘Rescued’ her because it was like a cat playing with a mouse.)

(Yua knew the world was cruel. This world exemplified that. Russia, the land of the strong and the dead or dying. But she couldn’t take it anymore.)

“IVAN!” A near wail, seeing that figure collapse to his knees. Her chest was tight, no, everything was tight and burning. Nothing was possible to save. She couldn’t save the A Team- now the Crypters. She couldn’t save humanity, all she could do was keep the lights running and the machines working. Even that didn’t stick. She couldn’t save Da Vinci, she couldn’t save Dr. Romani, or Olga Marie Animusphere, or her coworkers, or anyone-

If she couldn’t save this one person, no matter how deserving-

(Yua would break.)

“IVAN!” There were no honorifics, no terms of address. She didn’t know him. Koyanskaya had persuaded the Father to show her him, once, but it was another attempt at- making herself laugh. She had been in Russia since then.

(They seemed to expect a bigger reaction. A much bigger one.)

(But... she wasn’t afraid of him. He was- big, yeah. Bigger than any of the Yaga, than really anything besides... maybe Tiamat, or some dragons. Bigger than anything she’d seen in person, yes. But... he wasn’t horrifying.)

(Apparently, that wasn’t a common reaction.)

The point was, this action... was stupid. She had no reason to save him. He was ‘Ivan the Terrible’. Emphasis on the last bit. There was no reason to save someone like him. There was no reason for her to even want to save him. But Yua had to. She had to. He was the only person she could reach.

“Please- please, stand back up!” It was pathetic begging, wasn’t it? There was no purpose to this. He had been defeated, in every way. But-

“You can’t give up- n- not until they give you an answer!” That finally makes the mountain respond to her, something almost a laugh.

(The tree has already been lost. She should hurry, try to find the Shadow Border. If she doesn’t-)

“Their silence was enough. That was their answer. Our death is met with ignorance.” He sounds defeated. So defeated. But- but she can’t take it. The tears freeze as they fall, icicles on her face, and it hurts, but not as much as her heart. 

(Filled up with so much empathy for someone she doesn’t even know. That nobody should care for, a tyrant everyone here seems to hate, fear, or both. But she can’t reach anyone else.)

(It’s probably selfish.)

(It’s absolutely selfish.)

“You talked about God! You think He would let this world just- just end?!” She screams into the wind and it’s blasphemy and they both must know it. She doesn’t know what God wants. She can’t know.

“It can’t be! Things can’t be that cruel!”

“The world is that way. You cannot deny it, one from Proper Humanity. This flame-”

“It isn’t dead yet! You aren’t dead yet! They hurt you, but you can heal! You can still be saved! I can save you!” Pleading. Her hands are miniscule compared to his own. Arguing with a tyrant.

“You think you can save me? You think you have the right?” It’s a fair point, but that voice that can’t bring up even anger is just even more infuriating.

“It isn’t fair!”

“That is a child’s lo-”

“If something isn’t fair, you change the rules to make it right! You don’t just- just shrug and give up! What kind of ruler abandons his people like this?!” The mountain (Ivan the Terrible) shifts, turning his face to her.

“You dare-!”

“I do! I do because you’re giving up! You should be with your people til the very end, fighting til the last chance is lost! The Tsarina fell! There is no other choice for a ruler! Would you just- just leave them here?! Just die? Leave them forgotten?! Alone?! There- there are other Lostbelts! Other options! We can find a way!” Yua is screaming. Shouting at the world more than the man (the demonic beast) (the tsar) (the servant) in front of her. Because she can’t stand it.

She loves the world, she loves people, and because of that, she hates this idea of reality more than anything else.

“This world can’t be lost yet! I can’t- I can’t accept that!”

This coat hides her most cherished possession, ripped out from its place around her neck.

It’s not a proper rosary. It shouldn’t really be compared to anything holy. The beads are worn down, it’s become what is mostly a necklace, and the cross has been held to tightly and rubbed so much the corners and almost nubs. But her mother gave her this, a long time ago.

It’s this she puts in his hand. It’s miniscule compared to him. She barely reaches his knee, and she couldn’t reach Ivan’s hand if he hadn’t fallen from his wounds. (She has to desperately ignore the thick, almost tar like blood that oozes out of some of them.) She can’t shove it in there, really, because he is more powerful than her. But when her hand pulls at his finger and it moves, she feels a bit of hope.

“This is my faith. If I’m wrong- then destroy it! If it’s just some dumb thought then get rid of it like you would some rebel or- or something! Tell me I’m wrong! Crush it!”

But he doesn’t. He stares (she assumes he stares, because she can’t see his eyes) at his palm. Maybe he can’t- he’s as faithful as her if not more so. But he could, easily. Without even thinking about it. It must take more effort to keep his hand so deathly still.

“You would chain yourself to a dead world rotting? This pilgrimage is not to a paradise. There is no chance of your retinue returning. Your Chaldea has left. The wisest thing would be to attempt contacting them. Would you choose to remain?”

“...” She hesitates. Pauses. Of course she does. She’s human. She doesn’t want to die.

(She’s even more fragile than any life here.)

“...yeah. Yeah. I would. I will.” Her voice really isn’t strong or anything. It’s clumsy and she sounds full of nerves as she feels, and her throat is sore from the cold, and she’s been crying, so it’s all scratchy on top of everything else.

But maybe they’re strong enough, because Ivan the Terrible moves.

That palm is lowered to the ground. Yua hesitates, the fear gripping her heart again. The intent doesn’t hit her for a few moments. The palm stays there, patiently, resting on the ground, in the snow. 

Oh. 

Carefully, aware of how small she is, how he could squish her like a bug-

She takes her rosary back, and steps into his palm.

Trusts in a tyrant to not harm her.

It’s stupid. It’s foolish. It’s flat out insanity. Her kindness has not been met with anything but cruelty or apathy for months upon months. But she knows it’s stupid. She isn’t naïve. Not anymore. She hasn’t been naïve for a long time. She knows he could just kill her, and be done with it. Die with this world.

It’s all ending. Those trees are important and this worlds’ is gone. Chaldea is probably- no, they’re definitely gone. She can’t sense her familiars anymore, however briefly she could when they arrived here. She’s lost her familiars. She’s lost everything. She’s lost everything.

She’s lost the chance to escape, because she ran forward to the one person she thought she could save. Because she was so desperate to do something good that she ignored everything else.

It all could end right here, and that thought nearly makes her pass out. She shakes, finally, in his palm, holding desperately for balance onto the tip of one of his fingers as she is raised, slowly, to eye level with him. Her lip is bitten and she’s still crying. 

(She’s going to die all over again, isn’t she? Instead of facing death in an explosion, in fire and ruin, she’ll die in the snow.)

(It’s ironic in a way that feels sick in her gut.)

But she stands there in his hand. She stands. She feels, however faint...

Hope.

“Young woman from Proper Human History. Answer my question now. Are you my Master?” That low rumble finally makes her smile, no matter how grim this is, no matter how likely her own death is now with this very action-

“I- I am! I am your Master! Y- Yua Saito!”

And lightning splits the sky, as a crimson mark appears on a young woman’s palm.

[until-we-fall-in-love]

creature-song

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, light Steve Rogers x Reader, light Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers, light Wanda Maximoff x Bucky Barnes

Summary: You should turn away. But you let it happen, let it happen because some dark, most trapped part of you wants to. A piece of you that you have chained like an animal, a mongrel bitch, and tried to let die. It paces inside you now, hungry and waiting and ready.

1600s America AU, Witch!AU, Possesed!Bucky, Gothic, Horror

Warnings: Smut, gore, violence, demons, possession, sacrilegious themes. This is 18+ as most of my works are.

If you are under 18 you should not be reading this!

A/N: hello guys!! this is a little late but its for @barnesrogersvstheworld​ writing AYAOTDchallenge!! it was supposed to be for halloween, but i’ve been insanely busy and i think November is spookier anyways because it’s when things truly die and whither away and the cold comes on lol. this is a whole mess, but i’ve been heavily inspired about witches and possession because of a class im currently taking! it got long so i’ll split it into two parts! enjoy and pls let me know what you think!!

my prompt was: the task of navigating darkness by candlelight

***

1692, Massachusetts

The day is filled with fog and smoke, a bleak grayness that shrouds all in it’s gloominess. The whole town seems washed out, everyone’s faces grey and slack. The crops are dying, growing brown and muted in color, fading away into death and nothingness. Your world seems covered in death recently, in the thick, heavy, inescapable blanket of it. 

There’s been another two murders. People torn apart, their bodies lie in the main road of town for all to see and gawk and pray over. 

Their blood is the brightest color you have seen in all of November. Saturated and sticky, sliding from them like the juice of berries in high summer, like the color the leaves had been before they’d all fallen away, like poppies and roses. Their skulls are bashed inward, as if made of clay, the sludge of them leaking through as flies buzz, buzz, buzz around them. As if they weren’t people once, but always food for insect, for the earth. Their limbs are twisted at strange, rag doll angles, and you think there was nothing but softness inside of them. No bone, there couldn’t have been with the way they lay there, all twisted and slack.

Their eyes are hollow. Open. Their mouths agape as bugs skitter and crawl and press outward in their feast of flesh.

There’s moaning in the streets, howling cries of a mother or a sister or a wife. It’s horrific, if you dig into the pit of yourself, but it’s the fourth pair of bodies that have been found dead in recent weeks. It almost isn’t shocking anymore. 

Wanda presses closer to your side, your dearest friend, her body warm and soft. Flushed with color and light, the cold nipping at her cheeks, her nose. The wind lifts her auburn hair from her cheeks, her lashes fluttering in the breeze. She catches your hand with one of her own, tangling your fingers together. Her palm fits yours easily and swiftly, as if it’s where she belongs, as if it’s where you belong, too. 

“At least he’ll stop breathing down your neck about an engagement.” Wanda says quietly, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. She is warm and lulling in the cold autumn air that seems to be pushing through your wool dress, your scarf. Trying to worm it’s way beneath and make a home of your body. 

Perhaps you will never be warm again, if the cold decides to settle deep into your bones.  

“What?” You ask, blinking away from the bodies, from your murky thoughts. 

“Mr. Fowler.” Wanda murmurs, nodding to one of the bodies, “He always upset you, he always pressured you for an engagement.” 

You glance towards the bodies once more, find the shape of them, the faces so crudely misshapen now, but you finally catch the lines of his features. The dark hair, short and balding. As if you finally see the full picture. 

Oh. It’s Mr. Fowler, then. And Mr. Adams rotting beside him. 

“Yes,” You say quietly, weary of the spark in Wanda’s eyes, the glimmer that ensnares you, “I suppose so.” 

Wanda is all you have in recent years, another orphaned girl your village does not wish to worry or feed. So you worry and feed each other. You both claim to be trying to find husbands, trying to marry off into another household. Truthfully, though, neither of you have ever searched. You’re content to live together, secluded, removed from all of the prying eyes of your small, imposing world. You wish to go home with her now, in fact, want to curl up beside a fire and lean into her side until your eyes grow heavy and soft. You want her nimble fingers carding through your hair, her touch upon your neck-- 

A broad hand comes down upon your shoulder then and you jump, almost let out a yelp in surprise. You whirl around to face them, tilting your face up to find Steve Rogers looking down upon you. The sculpted lines of his face, the shocking blue eyes, the flush to his pale cheeks. He has always looked like a tragic hero to you; a Hercules, Perseus, noble and damned and fighting against all odds. 

Beside him, Bucky stands broad and pale faced. He won’t look at the bodies. There are deep, darkened blossoms beneath his eyes. It makes his already depthless and haunted eyes look worse, blackened out, charcoal blue. He crosses his arms across his great, wide chest; one of them the off-beat shine of metal, iron and leather creaking with the movement. Like a piece of armor, the leather strap reaching up to his shoulder, so that if he moves it, it may move the forearm of his appendage. The fingers lay motionless, cold and gleaming. Such an odd, strange invention to the rest of the town; they fear him because of it. But he has only ever helped you and Wanda, the way Steve has kept a watchful eye on the pair of you. 

If Steve looks like a Greek hero to you, you think Bucky looks like a Shakespearean one; damned because of his own choices, falling from grace; A Hamlet, Macbeth. 

“You shouldn’t watch this,” Steve murmurs to you two, already turning you from the gore and bloodshed with his warm hand, wishing the flesh of him would sink into you and flush you with heat, “Come on,” He then urges you gently, “Buck and I will help you with some morning chores.” 

He’s always been so giving, overly helpful, a twinge protective over the pair of you. Loyal, terribly so, as he stands beside Bucky, the pariah of town. 

And you let him guide you away, your fingers still woven tightly with Wanda’s, who still peaks over her shoulder at the seeping crimson of flesh and blood and body, as if they were petals of flowers to admire than corpses to rot. Her eyes glitter strangely when she turns back to you. 

Bucky follows like a shadow, head hung low. 

***

The crack, snap of wood being split into two is felt in your chest, the steady motion and sound falling into tune with every other beat of your heart. Bucky lifts the axe high with one arm, before bringing it down sharply upon the wood. It splits easily, a crack of lightning, of metal as it falls apart then. 

You feed the few hens that you and Wanda share, spreading feed onto the ground as they cluck and scurry around you. 

Steve helps Wanda fix the barn door, their figures blurry and grey in the fog and bleakness. 

You gaze at Bucky, the shadows that seem to cling to him. 

“You look tired, Mr. Barnes.” You speak up, tossing the rest of the feed to the chickens who scurry after it. You leave their pen, the gate creaking as you step nearer to him. The axe falls with strength and brutality, bursts the wood in half. 

“I haven’t been sleeping well.” He grunts, tossing the wood aside. He sets another piece upon the block, lifts his axe high. You can see the movement of muscle, the strength and cutting edge of them.

“No?” You ask, curling your fingers into your sleeves; you’re so cold still, stiff and frigid and snow hasn’t even touched the ground yet. You shiver, you think it will be an awful and long winter. “Why not?”

The axe smashes down upon the wood. 

He lets out a breath, shakes his head, the dark locks of his hair brushing his cheeks which are deeply flushed from the cold, from the exertion. He looks handsome, you think, with the peak of his chest beneath his long shirt. 

“I’ve been having strange dreams recently.” He then admits with the soft gruffness of his voice, eyes flickering to you.

You stand idly, know that idleness is a sin; you should be working. Working, busy hands can never sin. But you step towards him and your eyes watch the movement of his chest and torso, wonder what he looks like bare--

“What kind of dreams?” You ask, voice gone soft as you peer at him.

He straightens up a moment to his full height, now turning his eyes on you, “Curious little thing, aren’t you?” He half scolds you, and you feel small but suddenly bold. There’s a catch in his eyes, a gleaming not dissimilar to Wanda’s. It’s haunting, exhilarating, it makes you take another few steps closer as if drawn to him by an unnatural force. And then he answers, “They’re nightmares. Horrible dreams.”

“Of what?” 

His lips twist into a ghost of a smile and he shakes his head, “They’re not for a girl’s ears.” 

“I’m not a girl,” You counter, “I haven’t been for many moons.” 

His eyes flash to you, at the rather crude reference of the blood that spills from you monthly. He is not appalled, he is not shocked or scandalized, instead he peers deeper into you. As if he can see the twisting of your innards, all of the blood that might spill from you the way it had from Mr. Fowler. Would you paint November in the bright flare of red, too? Bring color to this washed out world. 

“I dream I slip from my body.” He says and his eyes grow glassy, far-off. You near him as he continues, “Or that I no longer control myself.” His breath stutters and you are fully ensnared in him now, “And I do monstrous deeds.” 

“Of what?” You breathe, looking up into his face, so haunted and hollow and frightened.

His lip trembles, and he exhales;

“I knew they would be dead this morning.” 

“Mr. Barnes,” You gasp and his eyes suddenly snap to you, wholly black and wide, and you are so startled that you try to lurch back. 

But he grabs you with speed and strength, and cold metal wraps around your wrist, around the fluttering, lively pulse beneath your thin skin. A moth’s wings pinned, a rabbit in a snare. When he speaks, it is strange and spellbinding, “I know you hated Mr. Fowler.” He says through a wall of his white, white teeth. 

You look down at the metal hand that seems to have come to life, yelp at the way the unnatural fingers tighten upon you, squeezing, as if they are his very limb. As if it is flesh and bone, a steel skeleton come to life. 

“I have peered into your soul, temptress, and I know you thought his blood was pretty.” He snarls low and guttural, his eyes digging into you like a curved, arching dagger. 

Wildly, your eyes fly over his face, now twisted into such misery and rage. You try to pull your wrist from his metal grasp, your face flushing with color from exertion. Your eyes glitter with sudden tears, the cold air pricking at them. “Mr. Barnes--” You gasp, voice catching, breath curling into the air between you two. 

All he does is pull you forward, jerking you into the strong expanse of his chest as he lifts your wrist. “I know your thoughts are rotting.” He rumbles, and the sound vibrates through him and down into the marrow of your bones “You want more than this. Your heart longs for what it shouldn’t.” 

“Bucky, you’re hurting me.” You whimper, trying to twist and squirm but it's useless against the strength of him.

“Am I?” He hisses, voice like insects swarming, “I know what you want, little one.” He then croons so lowly that it slithers down into you like a serpent, coils into the darkest, most wretched parts of you. Sinks down into your core to unfurl in a sudden burst of heat--

And with the way he looks at you; as if you are to be devoured, as if you are to be torn apart by him or worshiped on an unholy altar. Your heart beats an unsteady, thunderous rhythm in the cavity of your chest. 

It echoes inside of you, demanding of you something you don’t know how to feed. 

His body is warm against yours, unnaturally so, save for the frigid hand constricting around the delicate skin of your wrist. You think he’ll bruise you, you think he’ll mark you for all to see and you’ll carry his brand. His eyes are as dark as a starless sky, blown out black as coal, as black as the he goat in the barn, as the smoke of hellfire.

“Bucky!” Steve shouts suddenly, and the two of you lurch away as if something has forced you apart. You cradle your wrist, try to rub the ache away, your heart still ricocheting around inside of you, as if it very well might escape entirely. 

Bucky blinks in horror, his eyes returning to the gentle midnight blue that you know so dearly. He stumbles back, his metal arm returning inanimate by his side. If it weren’t for the frightened, wild look in his face, you’d think it would’ve never happened at all.

“I need your help for a moment!” Steve yells, voice echoing. 

A flock of black birds burst into the shapeless, endless, grey sky at the loud noise. You jump at their sudden explosion of flight. They squawk and screech, wings flapping like your heart beating. 

Whatever had filled Bucky has fled now and his eyes are clear and shining, his cheeks flushed again, no unnatural darkness tracing the edges of his features. You watch him warily, your mind suddenly feverish with what he’d said to you, with the searing touch that now seems to scorch your skin. 

I knew they would be dead this morning. 

You should tell someone; Steve, Wanda, a minister. You should flee. 

But all you say is, “Go,” And you nod your head towards Steve and Wanda, “I will light a fire to warm you after.” 

He looks at you warily, as if he might apologize or thank you or question you; there’s such confusion in his eyes. He is lost, swimming in that black sea. What did I do? He asks silently, pleads with you, what have I done? 

You look away, unwilling to answer. He moves on cautiously, towards Steve and Wanda in the distance. You begin to make a fire as if all is normal, and all you can think about is how you are no longer shivering with cold. 

As if an ember has sparked, been cradled to a small flame in the cavernous depths of your soul. 

***

Some days later, Wanda wakes you at an odd hour of the night, moonlight spilling in through the small window of your shared bedroom. It fills the room with reaching shadows and cutting, silver light. You’d been sleeping soundly, curled onto your side when you are roused by small, seeking hands. 

You turn, eyes fluttering, a blurry shape in front of you. You make out Wanda’s impish features, the shadow of her slender figure. And her eyes--

Oh, her eyes. 

They’re glowing strangely, fever bright and glittering like rubies in the night. She sinks upon you, her body sliding so she straddles your hips, laying herself along you. You can feel the soft lines of her; her chest to yours, the heat of her nose and lips upon your neck and shoulder. 

“Wanda,” You exhale, twisting, a little confused. Her fingertips are hot, like little embers, dancing along bare skin. 

“Hush, my heart.” She shushes, “My little shrike.” She cooes, “My moon and stars.” Her nose and lips brush your cheek, her searching hands dipping underneath the thin, cotton nightgown that wraps around your body. 

“Wanda,” You gasp as her lips settle into a kiss upon the flamed skin of your cheek. “What are you doing?” 

She pulls back so that you may see her in all her nightshade glory, her hair sliding along her bare shoulders, her nightgown down, spilling around her arms so the tops of her breasts are revealed. She looks almost wild-eyed, strange and beautiful and seductive in the night. Her eyes swim before you, blood red and glittering and enchanting. There’s something heady and intoxicating about her, something you want to taste, that you want to sink into and drown in. 

“Giving you what you want,” She says on a simple sigh, just as her fingers find the curve of your breast, little dancing flames that have you shutter and arch. She tilts her head with wide, bright eyes; there’s a sweet, coy smile playing at her lips, her lashes fluttering like moth’s wings, as she asks too innocently, her voice gone high and soft and beguiling;

“Isn’t this what you want, little one?” 

Her clever fingers find the peak, make you squirm, make heat flood through you. She draws back the covers with her other hand to find your bare leg, your bare thigh, sliding up to your bare--

“Wanda!” You jolt, suddenly shy, trying to sit up but she forces you down. 

She grins wickedly, “Don’t hide from me.” And her nimble fingers stroke between your legs where you’ve become slippery and warm and silky. You feel flushed and heady, hypnotized by her. She sighs against you, settles deeper into your body like a corpse sinking into a grave, pushing her finger inside to make you gasp aloud. To claim you, to touch you in a way that no hand has ever touched before. 

“This isn’t new to you, though, is it?” She breathes, almost hisses, “I know because I hear you some nights.” Her fingers twist and a moan tumbles out of your lips, and she laughs, bright and warm, “Just like that, dearest.” 

You squirm, and slowly lose your inhibitions with every push and pull of her fingers, every glide of her. Had you not dreamed of this? Had you not wondered with a sinful mind what it might be like to feel her like this, to taste and be tasted by her? Had you not wondered what heaven or hell might have felt like? She’s damnation, sweet salvation; something so visceral and entangled within the pits of you, something profound and holy. 

The world falls away so that it is only you two and the moon, the pleasure she gives and torments you with. The town slips away, the rules, the Bible, your Holy God all dissipates like fog until you are only born of this warmth and vicious sweetness. She keeps you teetering on an edge, cruel mistress of night that she is. She trembles with you on a new beginning, baptized between your thighs, between hers. She lets you touch and explore the softness of her body with curious and hungry hands, no longer idle. 

She brands you with lips and teeth and tongue, makes you wild and insatiable. Her fingers wrap around your tender throat as she guides you towards another sharp and jagged edge. 

Her cheeks glow against yours, a face of fire and heat, her breaths tumultuous and warm against your shoulder. “You’re mine,” She seems to half-sob, her little hand tightening upon your throat as if to claim you, “Mine. I live in you, and you have possessed me so thoroughly I think I could die.” 

A broken moan from you, a gasp. 

“Say it,” She then hisses through her teeth, “Say you’re mine.” 

You whimper, push your hips into her hands as if she has bewitched you, taken hold of your very soul. The words fall from your kiss stung and abused lips, eager and knowing it to be true, “I’m yours, Wanda, I’m yours--” 

And then she claims you with lips, with body and soul, forces you into oblivion. She laughs with delight against your mouth, drinks up your cries and buries herself into the crooks and corners of your body. Of your very being. 

She lays with you beneath the moonlight, a new strange power surges through her, a brightness that cannot be dimmed. You think she might be a devil, a witch, a creature of the night with her lullaby voice and twilight kiss. You think she is damned and maybe you are, too.

You think she has claimed you and, as you tighten yourself around her body, your nails digging into her soft flesh, you think that you have claimed her, too. 

***

Wanda has never looked brighter, more flushed with life and vitality. She is radiant, even in all the grayness of devouring and lonesome autumn, when winter is on it’s tails. The town is thoroughly terrified and sick with horror as another two bodies arise. They’re just as the others, a bright mess of crimson and maroon and sludge. 

Steve and Bucky stay near you and Wanda, watch over you both closely. Bucky is changed, too, something in him has been bent and broken and fractured. You think he’s bleeding internally, you think there is something in him that needs to be taken out. 

Or maybe it doesn’t. His smiles are more hooked, shadowed, strange and tempting. You wonder what his teeth would feel like against your neck-- if he would taste like Wanda, if he’d touch you like her, too. 

You’ve never touched a man before. You’ve never been touched by one, either. 

Wanda and Bucky are strange together, you think. And you grow jealous when you see her fluttering her lashes at him and cooing. You don’t know who you’re more jealous of, which one of them you want to claw and tear apart with viciousness, with love and heat and something demented.  

Steve notices this new change, too, and he tries to console you when you pout. You think he would make a good husband if a husband was something you were interested in. So valiant and golden, too polished for your unclean hands. 

But husbands are so base, so simple. Wanda has opened your mind to something higher, something more enchanting and powerful. 

And in the middle of the nights, when it is only you and her, she promises to give you more. She promises to guide you further into such wonder that she has discovered. Then she devours you and makes you tremble and shake with her might and love. 

She grows stronger with each day; odd happenings following her. She grows angry and a glass may shatter. A neighbor who glares at you suddenly loses two of his cows. Someone calls Bucky an abomination and suddenly they are struck ill. 

When she returns to you, while you still pout with Steve, still mad over her attention to Bucky, she smiles brightly. She wraps her arms around your shoulders and kisses your cheek, “Tonight is the night, my stars.” And then she nuzzles at your jaw, amorous and warm, “Tonight is the night that I give you all the power I have been harboring.” 

She takes your hands in hers, kisses the inside of your wrist, “Tonight you become like me, in eternal darkness.” 

Her teeth nick your wrist playfully and she looks at you with burning, hooded eyes. You think if she could, she’d lay you out on the dirt and take you right there. Hitch up your skirts and grind her hips against yours until you were both desperate and wild for release. 

But Steve is there, and Bucky, too. 

You wish she would, still. 

She laughs and saunters away as if she knows your thoughts. The wind howls and bays, as if it knows, too. 

***

She dresses you that night in a thin, white gown. You whine that you’ll freeze to death, but she shushes you with burning lips. She promises not, promises that you will never feel cold again after tonight. 

She leads you barefoot and shivering out to the forest by the dim, flickering light of a candle. It burns in her hand, wax dripping and sliding the way honey does in the summer. You long for summer suddenly, for the warmth and sea of green. The candle casts little, dancing shadows that seem to lurk and follow you both.

She leads you by hand, guides you into the thick of the forest where the wolves howl and the foxes yip and the coyotes yowl. The owl cooes, eyes peering at you in the darkness. You are lead to a clearing, and the small, fluttering candle that you’ve used to navigate illuminates the shape of a man.

Large and muscled, broad shouldered and lonesome in the woods. 

“Don’t be scared,” Wanda coos, “Go to him.” 

Warily, you ease past her, past the flickering, gold light of the candle. And even in the darkness, you recognize his face, the unnatural metal arm--

Bucky stands bare from the waist up and you flush at his nudity, at the shape of a man. Hadn’t you wondered about his chest beneath his clothes? About his abdomen? Your eyes flicker lower and you blink, quickly avert your eyes as your blush grows deeper. His body is far different than Wanda’s. 

“Mr. Barnes,” You breathe, and Wanda comes to your side, lifting the candle up to illuminate his handsome and shadowed face. 

His eyes are purely black, inky, the way they’d been that day not so long ago, when he’d seized you so tightly. He looks different, cutting and jagged. 

“Somewhat.” Wanda answers you with a smile. “He is changed, though.” 

“Possessed,” You gasp, the thought striking you deeply and suddenly. Like a blow to your chest, you realize you gaze upon a demon. 

His eyes snap to you,“Hello, temptress.” He says in a voice that is his and not his all at once. 

“Are you afraid?” Wanda purrs and you shudder at her voice, at the cold that pricks your skin, at the hungry, hollow look in Bucky’s face. The forest seems alive and breathing, shuddering with you, terrified and expectant of what it is to transpire. 

The moon is full, hanging and heavy and open mouthed in a horrified scream against the sea of blackness. 

“Should I be?” You ask quietly, a whisper of the wind, and Wanda’s eyes glitter excitedly. Her eyes flash red, warming and shimmering like embers. 

Wanda sets the candle aside, comes to your back. She slides her fingers beneath your nightgown, begins to ease it down past your shoulders. You should protest, you should force her to stop, shield yourself from the gaze of the man in front of you. From the demon in front of you. But you let it happen, let it happen because some dark, most trapped part of you wants to. A piece of you that you have chained like an animal, a mongrel bitch, and tried to let die. It paces inside you now, hungry and waiting and ready. 

It runs its teeth along the tender, pink inner flesh of you. It’s creature-song sings to you now, a siren to surrender to.

So you stand in the darkness, the guttering flame of the candle upon you, bare and shivering in front of evil.

And evil lies you on the cold, unforgiving ground. Wanda is there beside you, stroking your face and your hair with warm, gentle fingers. More gentle than she has ever been with you, as if she can hear the fearful, pounding of your heart caught between your shuddering ribs. You’re suddenly new to touch, virginal and trembling, a new flower to be opened.

The weight of Bucky settles upon you, his body unnaturally warm and burning, his broad shoulders wide upon you. His lips and nose nuzzle your jaw, your neck, also with surprising care. You shift your legs, open them tentatively to fit his waist in the cradle of your hips and—

You can feel him there, the hard line of him and you flush, suddenly squeak. 

“Don’t be afraid, little one.” He rumbles, and his voice sounds clearer, as if the demon doesn’t speak for him any longer, but only the midnight timber of Bucky’s sweet voice. He lifts his head and only the slate, blue eyes of him gaze down at you. “I’ll be gentle,” He promises, rubbing his bearded cheek to yours; so rough compared to Wanda’s smooth one. 

“I know this is what you wanted.” Wanda says softly, her lips at your ear, tucking your hair from your face. “I know how you gaze at him.” 

The first touch of Bucky’s hands are rough and make you jolt; one calloused and scarred and another cold and metal. They slide along the dips and curves of you, firm and gentle. You squirm slightly, base and animal upon the ground. 

“I’ll make you mine,” He murmurs, nosing at your neck, his teeth skimming lightly there. “My bride of darkness, queen of beasts.” His voice dips now into that lowly, snaking one of a demon, “I’ve been waiting for you for so long, my love.” 

His hips roll, a push against yours that have you clinging to his large frame. He is so much bigger than what you know, so overpowering. Wanda ravishes you but she is slight and nimble. You make a noise of surprise, a whimper, a squeak. 

“Relax,” He coos darkly, his flesh hand sliding up your bare legs. “You’re hurting here, aren’t you? Aching in the pit of you.” And his warm, rough fingers slide against you; revealing that, despite your fear, you’ve become molten and slick. You can feel his hooked grin, “Oh, little queen, and how you’ve longed for me, too.” 

He strokes until you are pliant beneath him, urging you on, Wanda pressing kisses to your cheeks and neck, collar bones and shoulders. You shudder beneath him, let something inside of you curl and coil, like a serpent, like the tightening of a rope, pulled to its full length, creaking and swaying as everything grows that much tighter. 

“You were born for me,” Bucky’s rumbling voice is in your ears, against your throat laid bare for him, his voice seems to echo in the darkest pieces of your mind and heart. “Born for this.” He sighs, leaning heavier into you before he suddenly pushes down the length of your body.

He settles between your legs, spreading them wide with his shoulders. Pearl moonlight, silver and opal fall across his features like pale silk that you have only ever dreamed about. In this light, he could’ve been an angel, a creature made of softness and delicacies, his black eyes turning up to find you and stuttering back into lovely blue. 

He bows his head like you could be holy, like you are to be prayed to. His hair tickles the bare skin of your thighs, his fingers prodding gently and then his mouth presses to where you’re most sensitive. 

You arch like a bow off the ground at the first touch and Wanda is there to comfort you. She eases you up slightly, let’s your back lay against the soft warmth of her chest and strokes your face and neck, down to your breasts. 

She grasps your hands when you pull and twist at him so that you lay helpless in her arms, helpless to the too-hot glide of his mouth against you. The forest is silent save for your cries, you are the wolf that howls, the crying fox, the whining coyote. You let go, let them consume you until you don’t recognize yourself. Until your nails feel sharp and your heart feels so full it could burst from all the aching. 

“Please,” You whimper, your hips pushing towards his lips in desperation, “Please, I can’t take this any longer!”

He laughs darkly against the slick pink flesh of you, “Didn’t their God teach you patience, darkling?” 

And he waits until you’re nothing but an animal for him, until your head is spinning and there are tears streaming down your heated cheeks. Not until you dig nails into Wanda’s hands so deeply that you have broken skin and she hisses through her teeth. He gives you no release, cruel as he is, and eventually slides up along your body once more. 

He grasps Wanda by the back of the neck and pulls her sharply to his shining lips. She moans, the sound going straight down into the depths of you. 

“My loyal servant,” He tells her, his eyes once more black as a raven, shining under the flash of silver moonshine. “You brought her to me.” He murmurs reverently and she looks up at him adoringly, her wide eyes that flare deeply red and maroon are glittering like gemstones in a cave.

“Make her ours.” Wanda then breathes, and he smiles all sharp and gutting. 

He grasps your hips with metal and flesh, draws them closer and slides you towards him. Your head falls to Wanda’s abdomen, her lap. Her fingers brush your wet cheeks and you mewl, twist into her touch. He kneels before you, worshiping, and opens his trousers. 

You don’t have time to think because you can feel him between your legs now. He brushes the hard length of him along where you’re most sensitive and desperate. You feel empty suddenly, knowing that he will fill you, and suddenly tentative. 

He is large and burning and the crown of him dips inside of where no man has been. He exhales harshly, eyes seeped in black, so depthless and dark that it swallows the moon light. The first slow, heavy push of him makes you cry out.

“I-I can’t—“ You half beg, feel the stretch and breach of him deep inside of you, the pressure and heat that terrifies you. 

“Oh, you will,” He almost growls, as if you’re undoing him. His eyes are fixed to where he eases in deeper, slides slowly and he groans, broken and in the back of his throat. “You will, even if you’re so small.” 

Another slow push and then he sinks into you entirely, sinks down so that he covers you in all his strength. His breaths are ragged; he is unwoven by you, falling apart as he stretches you open.

You give another cry, hold incredibly still beneath him as the pressure mounts. You feel as if you’re splintering, broken open like ripe fruit, bursting forth with a new heat. Your hand squabbles over the muscles of his back before sinking into his skin with nails. 

You become overwhelmed, drag your nails deep into his skin to mark him, to urge him on or force him out, you can’t tell. You bare your teeth, let out a broken moan, a half-growl against the vein of his neck. You realize your own vulnerability, belly-up and soft to him, open and waiting. 

Wanda soothes you when he begins to move in you, traces her fingertips over your swollen lips, sinks inside the sweetness of your mouth and lets you suckle and kiss and bite. There’s a fever inside you, tormenting your insides. You whimper, the sound pulling at Bucky, and when he looks back down at you, his eyes burst back into blue. The demon seems to slink away, or Bucky has regained control, again. 

You almost expect him to jolt away again, to flush with fear but—

“Oh,” He gasps instead, unraveled man, fallen from grace. He gathers you in his arms, pulls you closer and tucks you into him, as if he could pull you beneath his skin and bury you behind the strong bones of his ribs. He holds fast to you, suddenly lifts you into his lap, into his arms. “Oh, pretty girl.” He murmurs as he moves you slowly over him, foggy and heady with you. 

Your world begins to blur. You don’t know where the demon ends and Bucky begins. You don’t think you care, when all of that pain and burning gives way to a hedonistic pleasure. You move over him on your own, can feel the slickness of you, you can feel the deep seated ache you need to ease. 

The teetering edge, the right and creeping rope, ready to snap. The leash on the beast inside of you begins to splinter. 

Wanda’s at your back then, lips at your neck, brushing your ear. “Repeat after me,” She murmurs, voice a lulling warmth that sinks into your marrow. 

“Et dabo tibi animam meam,” She murmurs, her voice gaining a haunting, otherworldly inflection, as if other voices buzz alongside hers. 

So you repeat with a thick, honeyed tongue the Latin words that seems to simmer and etch themselves into you. You feel the power surge in her, in him, in you; a tether woven tightly between you three. His thrusts become rougher, his eyes flooding with crude black once more. 

“Nunc, et in perpetuum magis.” Wanda finishes in your ear, a possessive hand curled around the bones of your waist, along the curve of your breast. 

The words fall from your mouth as easily as if you’ve known them your entire, unforgiving life. And then there is a pull, snap of your heartstrings. The howling mongrel in you bursts loose, the heat and life and viciousness unfurls from within. You feel as if you’re being torn apart, as if another creature is clawing its way out of your core, your soft stomach and aching chest. 

The demon groans, spills inside of you; his seed so hot that you feel it may burn you. As if it burns its way through you, into your womb and heart and being. 

“You’re mine now,” The demon and Bucky say, rough hand cradling your cheek. “Semper magis.” He hushes against your lips and seals it with a claiming, damned kiss.

Then he sinks talons into your soul, teeth into your bottom lip and your heart, locks his essence tight to yours and throws away the ancient, heavy key.

***

Part Two

[overwatchshotz]

Couples fight (reaperxF!reader) 1

Just writing a collection of moments where you and our beloved Reaper argue like couples do sometimes. But there are always sweet endings with our edgy man.

Warnings: Female pronouns, cussing, mentions of sexual activity. And physical fighting (one sided) that turns into kissy faces.

-×-

She had an attitude today, she was tired, she was bored, and she missed him terribly. But he was always just gone. Work she could understand, she worked with him, but lately he was just gone for hours sometimes days even. And she was getting sick of that. If he didnt want her, tell her, she rather cry her tears tonight and be moving on the next day.

"I'm back." His voice heard in the for the most part silent room, she was reading. "For how long?" She asked. Her tone not pleasant, he could pick up on that as soon as he entered the room, just from body language alone. "A while" he said going over to her to try his luck with a simple move of the mask and kiss on top of her head. "So 5 minutes?" She asked. He rolled his eyes. Starting to take off his hood and coat. He had a very long day.

"Oh my God, those are actually removable?" She gasped raising her brow. He tossed his garments onto an armchair beside him, mask gone, only his scarred face and goatee, still nicely groomed. His brown orbs now a reddish color. He combed his beard with her fingers now free from his usual clawed gauntlets. "Is there an issue?" He asked. "Perhaps....are you going to stay long enough to actually talk about it?" She asked putting her bookmark in her book and tossing it to the coffee table.

He stood there arms now crossed. "Speak." He saying simply. "What have you been doing whenever you arent around, or not on missions?" She asked. "Afraid I'm unfaithful? Never took you as the type." He said amusement in his gruff tone. "I've heard rumors about you being unfaithful to your past organization...so you ARE the type maybe." She said with even more amusement when his eye seemed to twitch. She wasn't with him during those days, they became an item after he joined Talon.

"Watch it..." he warned. "No, you watch it. I want to know where you've been going and why." She wasnt afraid of him in the slightest, she was never afraid of anyone in her life, it's something he liked about her. "It's none of your business Y/N..." he was getting pissed. "It is my business if you want to keep getting between my legs Gabriel. I dont sleep with cheaters nor traitors." She said sternly. "I'm not the one getting between your legs sweetheart, you crawl onto my dick." He chuckled at the look of her face. He could play the game of who can piss off the other just as well as she could.

"Now tell me princess, what did daddy say no to that has you so pouty?" He asked in a mocking manner. Knowing she hated to be called princess. ((In this situation anyway)) and in a moment, he moved his head to the side dodging a oncoming fake plant (they were not around enough to take care of real ones). "F*ck you! You know what fine dont tell me, but whatever you're up to, I hope she, he or it is worth it and if you f*ck up I'm not backing you!" She got up the chair she said in and went for the door.

He was infront of her in seconds, "You're not walking away from me, and you will not walk out of here making a scene..." now if she wasnt so mad at him, him being so tall and towering over her, she would have been turned on, but right now she wanted to hit him. "I'll make biggest scene and show you how I could have been an actress." She said. "How dramatic you are I dont doubt it." He said, that's it. She pushed him back against the door and her fist went to his face, he moved his head and her fist went through the door.

"Come at the king....best not miss...and you're the only one who got a chance to try twice." He said. " 3..." she corrected and brought her knee up to get him in the stomach, he grabbed her leg and shoved her backward. Their living quarters was like a studio apartment, she stumbled onto the bed on her back. "Always loved seeing you like that..." he was sounding playful. "You better start taking me seriously..." she growled as she grabbed a lamp and threw it at him too, he wisped and was behind her now.

"Hard to when you're acting like a child throwing a tantrum..." his arms wrapped around her, holding her to him tightly, she kicked her legs trying to get him to falter in some way. "Now let me guess what's really wrong...." he grunted when she bit his arm. "You're lonely, horny, and bored. And I have been too busy for your liking and you're insecurities, which I'm surprised you have any, are making you come up with insane theories." He grunted again when she managed to stretch her leg up and behind his head, the position forcing him to let go and she got his arm, they wrestled a little bit,but she but him in an arm bar.

"F*ck" he grunted. "You will tell me what you've been up to, or we are over..." she threatened as she tightened her hold. Despite all this, he loved her, and he sighed, getting his other arm and managing to grab his own hand and started to lift her, forcing the arm bar to break and she let go, her body landing on the bed, her body bouncing in a delightful way in his sight.

"What If you couldnt know?" He said looking down at her, exhausted. "You know how many things I told you that you couldnt know? Just tell me if you're screwing around with someone else just tell me so I could get up, get out and move on." She said. "Y/N..." he sighed, she was going to be mad either way. "I'm not seeing anyone sexually...or romantically...besides you. If you want to label us that." He said. "Then?" She nudged him with her foot.

"I've been trying to fix myself..." Gabe finally said. "Fix yourself?" She said slowly, trying to understand. "Yes, I want to be normal again...I'm tired of my body feeling like its constantly on fire, I hate when my face decays and I have to go a week sometimes weeks without kissing you." "Who have you been seeing?" She asked. He gave her a look, he's trying to open up here and she's still on that question. "The one who turned me into this...monstrosity..." he sounded sad, disgusted with himself. He should have never aloud Moria to help him...she was helping herself...and left him to rot...literally then regenerate, he was in pain most of the time, even when he and Y/N are together he hid the fact, something he became pretty good at.

"So me touching you, hurts you?" She asked. "In the last 10 minutes, yes..." he joked. But she felt horrible. "Then why would you be with me if you're in constant pain?" She asked. "Because of a silly little L word...besides, its most of the time, it seems when I have you, that sensation overtakes the pain..." he smirked at the small blush on her face. "Go to someone else...to help you I mean...Moria won't help, she'll probably just experiment more in the name of finding a cure..." she said.

He sighed "I there is no one else..." he said. She now wrapped her arms around his neck, "Not true, you see here's the thing, I know people...people that even Talon can't connect with...very special friends that If I call would love to meet you." She said, lips brushing against him, barely connecting. "And how come you've never mentioned them?" He asked his hands going to her hips. "It's your fault, you don't let me in...how am I supposed to know these things if you dont talk" she said. "Point taken....in Talon you never know who your friends are..." he said. "True but then why do you let me "crawl onto your dick" hmmm?" She raised a brow. He chuckled "You're cute...that's why." "Bull...I think it has something to do with that silly L word you were mentioning." She pressed. "Maybe I "Like" you...just a little bit..." he said.

She kissed his lips slowly, pressing herself more into him. She missed his lips. "Bull" she said pecking his lip. "Mmmmm maybe I like you a little more than a bit..." he said, she kept pecking his lips "bull..." she said again. He hummed, laying her down, getting ontop of her. "Alright, alright....since you literally twisted my arm...I love you..." he said. "Love you too...asshole..." she said making nip at her lip. "I think I need relief (pet name of your choice)..." "Go to Moria..." she said playfully making him growl and kiss her hard, she laughing into the kiss.

Ah Silly little L word...

~End~

Hope you enjoyed, as always Gif is not mine, and if you guys would like me to write something, use that ask box. And I will write it hopefully. I will put up a notice and "rules" soon.