#i was going to do something from danger days for wraith but i got lazy. so wraith can be whatever you want

[aphelea]

...a concept

[fanfic-inator795]

For as much as we should praise TGAMM for all the well-done Todd foreshadowing (the similar character designs, the “it’s like he’s got no soul” line from the end of s1, the only times where Todd even looks SLIGHTLY happy being when he’s about to eat something) I feel like we should also acknowledge the cleverness of Scratch’s characterization.

Some have pointed out that Todd doesn’t exactly act like a normal shell (which makes sense given how his soul-separation came about due to depression/despair instead of simply going through a ghost portal) but while ‘depressed’ and ‘dull’ seem to be the common link between shells, it should also be noted that they tend to take on opposite traits to their soul/wraith.

Shell!Molly, for example, seems even MORE hopeless and numb than most shells in contrast to Molly’s hopeful and always positive nature. Shell!Darryl, meanwhile, is obedient to a dangerous degree while Darryl himself remains obedient. As for Todd, instead of becoming incapacitated after losing his soul, he just kept doing his day-to-day life - because he was already numb. (Notice how he only ever broke that routine by going to events that Scratch himself was already at, which goes along with how he’d typically slow sliiightly more emotion whenever Scratch - his soul - was nearby. Scratch may have been afraid of truly living his life, but he still wanted it back deep down)

So since Todd couldn’t take on opposite traits, it’s natural that Scratch would instead. Todd stuck to microwaved meals and eating out, and Scratch himself used to literally eat garbage as a ghost - but once he started getting fresh, homecooked meals, he became obsessed with them! Suddenly he cared about actual taste instead of simply eating whatever he had on-hand regardless of how yummy it actually was.

There’s also Scratch’s laziness and reluctance to do work of ANY kind, which makes sense given that he spent his life doing a boring job that didn’t amount to much, so of course he’d shy away from doing any more work than he absolutely needed to.

Finally, some people have pointed out how Scratch - for as surly and cynical as he can be - tends to act like a big kid a lot of the time, both through how immature he can be and in how long he gets along with Molly and Darryl. And given that his happiest times came from his childhood, this again makes sense. Same with how he tends to let Molly take the lead a lot of the time, only taking initiative when she’s in danger or upset - because for as much as Scratch may have shied away from genuine connections out of fear of getting left behind again, he never stopped caring about others.

Stuff like this truly does speak to how well written this show is, both in major and subtle ways - and I appreciate that the TGAMM crew never cared about surprising anyone with the final twist but instead did what they could to make it feel like a natural end point for both Scratch and the show above all else.

[ultramagicalternate]

ULTRAMagic Prelude Chapter 19

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Master Post

Blood-Wraith woke up feeling pretty good. It was an excellent day in the Iron City and he wanted to do some organizing around the house. The Lich appeared to go quiet, with Leif assuming that his brother was recovering from the previous battle. This was fine for the group since it gave them time to prepare. As Blood-Wraith wandered and cleaned, he eventually found the basement. The door was old and worn, looking like it had not been used in some time. It naturally fell over with a loud thud due to decay and rust despite it being locked.

Once the dust settled, Blood-Wraith entered the basement. It was large, dirty, and incredibly musty. Crates and shelves were smothered in layers of dust and cobwebs were everywhere. There were many vials, instruments, boxes, and papers that had long since been abandoned. Looking through the moldy documents, Blood-Wraith deduced that Milosh was performing experiments of some kind. What these were was unclear. Deterioration made a lot of the notes unreadable. Something did make his blood run cold, however. Mentions of Dunja and the Lich were everywhere.

After a deep breath, Blood-Wraith sifted through a folder for a clean enough paper. “Okay, no big deal. I’ll just take this to Kresimira…”

As he returned to the stairs, something caught his eye. A door covered in glowing runes was at the far end of the basement. The strange letters were piercing red, albeit dulled by layers of dust. He wanted to check it out, but not before placing the papers he found in the living room. Returning to the door, Blood-Wraith studied it. The writing was actually angel language and detailed how to open it. Given that Milosh was an unsavory individual, it was likely that he acquired the door rather than having built it. The idea that such a door would respond to a person like that was baffling though.

“Let’s see… turn this left, right, left, right… up? No, down… there we go!”

The heavy door creaked loudly as it slowly opened. He cautiously walked in, careful not to bump into something. The light coming off of Blood-Wraith’s body revealed what looked like skeletons and failed experiments. Before he could analyze these properly, something large and flat quickly enveloped him. Blood-Wraith felt himself get wrapped up before falling to the floor. Given that he was all bundled up, he tried to call out for help. The object then covered his mouth and shushed him.

“Hmph!? Mmcuse me!”

“Shhh! Follow me…” The object got up and tried to get him to hop over to the doorway, but he refused.

“Mrrr…” Blood-Wraith growled

The object quickly unwrapped him. “Okay, easy! I was just trying to protect you. No need to get violent…”

“Protect me from what?”

The object took the shape of a hooded cloak, draped over a person… yet there was nothing inside. “This room. There’s boobytraps in here.”

Blood-Wraith looked around. “There is? I mean, so far you’re the only thing that’s tried to trap me.”

The entity looked at themselves. “Oh…sorry about that… but really, there is a dangerous trap in here.”

“What is it? Do you know?”

“There’s something over there that will turn you to stone. I don’t know if it still works though given how long that bad man has been away…”

Blood-Wraith looked on the ground. Right before a desk at the back of the room was a paper with a seal and spell on it. “Oh I see…” Tapping it quickly turned him to stone, but it did not last long. “How lazy! It only works if you stand on it!”

“What do you mean?”

“It appears to be a low quality spell that just barely works. Here, I’ll stand on it and trigger it. Wait 5 minutes and then pull me off it.” Blood-Wraith stood directly on the paper and turned to stone once more. Just as they were told, the entity lifted him up. “See? That’s lazy spell crafting. It relies on the target interacting with it when you should be actively casting the spell. If no one triggers it, it’s completely useless.”

The entity picked up the paper, unaffected by the spell. “What was that like?”

“Uh, like… um, like you're a rock, but you’re aware of your surroundings… but you’re a rock, so you can’t move.”

“I see… It doesn’t work on me. Why is that?”

Blood-Wraith took the paper back… only for it to turn him to stone once again. An audible groan could be heard. Fortunately the entity was able to work it out of his hand. “I forgot it did that… here, remove the seal since it’s attached.”

The entity did as they were told, undoing the wax holding the seal in place. Of course they somewhat mangled it. “Like that?”

“Yeah. Hey… what are you? Why can’t I see you?”

“Oh no, you can see me… it’s just that there’s nothing to see.”

Fairly confusing. “Okay, are you invisible then?” Blood-Wraith asked.

“Nope, I just don’t exist.”

“You don’t exist?”

“Nope.”

“Then how am I talking to you?”

The entity shrugged. “I’m not sure. One minute I was nothing and the next I was trapped in this room.”

The first order of business was to hug the entity. “Well you definitely are there…” Next Blood-Wraith took the cloak and put it on. “Wow, it feels like you’re standing inside me.”

The entity returned to their spot. “Can you name me? Milosh was too busy experimenting to do so.”

“Oh, um…” Blood-Wraith looked around, realizing he was still in the secret room. “Let’s head upstairs first.”

Over at Corentin’s laboratory, Kresimira was watching him work. Turns out he was right about calming down with his experiments. In actuality, the two were waiting for their messenger birds to return. Corentin’s was a Sterling Eagle named Ernest and Kresimira’s was an Iron-Tailed Hawk named Icarus. Both birds were species native to the area of the Iron City. While they waited, Kresimira looked around Corentin’s desks and tables. She was curious to see what he had been working on.

“Careful, dear. Some of that stuff could spark or react.”

“Duly noted… oh hey! Are these the prototypes for the flowers you made me?”

“Yup!” Corentin called out. “Ha, you can see where they gave me trouble and where I had to start over”

“Aw, bummer. Some of these are really wild looking. Maybe I could take a swing at finishing them?”

Corentin returned with a crate full of beakers. “Fine with me. I was going to recycle them, but if you have something in mind then by all means. My lab is your lab after all.”

Kresimira giggled. “Thank you. Curiously, what was your inspiration for these?”

“Aside from you? Hehe, a multitude of things, including the crystals I used to invigorate Maximus.” Just then, a pair of bird calls could be heard. “Well, it looks like the mail’s here.”

First came Icarus, dropping several letters on an open desk. As he settled on a perch, Ernest entered carrying a small package. “Alright, let’s see what we got…” Kresimira looked through what had arrived. “Blood-Wraith, mm-hmm… me and Drago, and…oh, one from your father too.”

“Well now! Also this package, it’s addressed to Blood.”

“How interesting, from the king too no less. Well best not dawdle, let’s go take this to him” Kresimira stated as she gathered everything up.

Back at Blood-Wraith’s home, he and the entity were having fun trying out Alchemical experiments. They were all basic procedures as Blood-Wraith wanted to show off a bit. And speaking of the entity, the name they were given was ‘Aureolus.’ He was enjoying Alchemy and was intrigued to know more about it. After Blood-Wraith had shown him the crystals he had made with Desislav, he sensed someone was at the door. They would have to put their activities on hold.

Blood-Wraith opened the door. “Hello, Kresimira, Corentin. Come on in.”

“Well Blood, looks like the king’s word is finally here” Kresimira replied as they entered. “He even gifted you something.”

Blood-Wraith took his stuff and sat down on the living room couch. “Oh, guys? This is Aureolus. I found him in the basement.”

“Hello!” Aureolus was still in his cloak, but now he wore a shirt, pants, socks, and gloves.

Corentin looked worried. “Um, Blood? What part of the basement?”

“The door with angel language on it… now let’s see what we got here…”

“Ah, I see… er, pleasure to meet you, Aureolus…” Kresimira leaned over. “Sweetie? Should we be concerned?” She whispered to Corentin.

“For now? No” he whispered back.

“Dear Blood-Wraith…” Blood-Wraith read aloud. “On behalf of the kingdom, I welcome you to The Iron City…”

Loud crashes and bangs could be heard outside, followed by Dragoslava bursting in through the door. She was half metal and a total mess. “I’M HERE! Sorry I’m late! I was outside the Magician’s Labyrinth and…”

“DRAGOSLAVA JUNIPER RAYNOT! What in the Source were you doing there!?!” Kresimira exclaimed as if she were her mother.

Dragoslava had a straight-faced, guilty look. “So I was a little worried and wanted to go see if mom was maybe outside… and then a random person told me I was late for something here…”

“OHH! YOU LITTLE HOOLIGAN! What was that you said to me about not getting lost a couple of months ago?! It’s bad enough mama is currently missing! We don’t need you going missing too! SIT. DOWN. NOW.”

“Yes Ma’am… Hey, Blood…”

Kresimira cleared her throat and calmed down. “Ahem. Continue, Blood-Wraith, if you would.”

“Right… Where was I? Oh, yeah: I am intrigued by your arrival. Born only a few months ago and you stand by our side already. I commend your bravery in the face of adversity, especially considering how young you are. You have also helped save The Iron City from falling into the hands of our enemies. As a token of our gratitude, I have decided to award you the home you now reside in for as long as you see fit… Wait, really!?”

“Congratulations, Blood!” Dragoslava said as she patted him on the back.

“Well there you go, this place is officially yours” said Corentin. “Just stay out of the basement until I can clear it out.”

“Oh, that… I found some papers I think you should…”

Kresimira stopped Blood-Wraith. “Don’t worry sweetie, everybody is well on their way home.”

“Oh, okay.” He went back to the letter. “...on top of that, I grant you any fortune that was left behind by the traitor, Milosh Proch. This shall be managed by your newfound father, Duke Radovan. I hereby seal this letter as my official word. Should anyone question you, present this document to them. On an ending note, I am glad to hear you have taken interest in Alchemy. I cannot wait to see what you come up with. Sincerely, King Englehart Schindewolf. Postscript: The package contains a Rubedo Stone. It’s similar to a Philosopher’s Stone, just not as powerful. It won’t grant you eternal life, but it will certainly help you with your transmutations. Consider it a late birthday present. Best of luck to you… Cool, I like him already” Blood-Wraith remarked as he went to open the package.

Corentin chuckled. “Yeah, uncle has always been cool like that.”

“So sis, up for a proper housewarming party?” Dragoslava asked.

“Absolutely. This is a special occasion after all.”

“Very good” Corentin jumped in. “...but before we begin the festivities, Aureolus? Do you bear any loyalty to Milosh?”

He shifted around a little. “No, I don’t think so. He didn’t really care about me outside of experimenting on me.”

“I see. Then may I acquire your help in managing the basement?”

Aureolus nodded. “Oh absolutely. It’s dangerous down there.”

“Most excellent! Don’t worry my friend, we are of the utmost moral fiber here in The Iron City. Trust me when I say…”

Kresimira gave Corentin a love tap on the back. “Easy, tiger. Don’t overwhelm him.”

“Oh, sorry about that. Pent up frustration from a long time ago, haha. Welcome to The Iron City, Aureolus.”

“Thank you very much!”

Blood-Wraith was looking at his stone in the light. “Oh boy… I wonder what this can do… We’ve got to try this out, Aureolus. No doubt about it.”

Next: Chapter 20

ULTRAMagic Alternate © 2022 William Ford II (ChaoticTempleKnight)

[lamelinam]

Why do you love Shigure so much? lol no seriously, recount all the ways in which he is the best trash dad.

LOL

Not so much a trash dad than he is a trash lover.

The reason I love Shigure so much is because of all the ways that he is a bad person clash with all the ways he is a good person. The result makes a character absolutely fascinating to me.

Out of all the characters in Furuba, I think he is one of the most, if not the most, layered (and that’s saying something).

OBVIOUSLY SPOILERS AHEAD!!

Mr. Wisdom, trash dad

His wisdom and his knowledge of the human heart allows him to help people the best way he can. Cue his speeches to Kyo, Yuki and Tohru about dealing with anxiety, loneliness, etc.

He is devilishly clever. He knows people. He has an instinctive knowledge of what makes them tick and he doesn’t hesitate to use it. But he knows how to use his powers and insights into people’s psyche for good. See how he manipulated Hatori and Mayu to get together when he thought the time was right for both of them! Helping Hatori, advising the protagonists, getting Yuki out of the dark room... The man knows what he is doing, and he is voluntarily not very subtle about some of his schemes, so of course he annoys the others.

He is mysterious. The “ripple on the wave” analogy si perfect.

I love the amount of time needed in the story to discover what his goal is, and how much sense it gives the overall story retrospectively. And when you understand that he is. behind. almost. everything.The chess master who invites himself in the game Akito and Ren are playing and completely overtakes the board.

He is generous. I don’t think taking care of teenagers is his cup of tea, but he didn’t hesitate to get three problem children under his roof. He bought Tohru a bed and spoils her as much as he can! And gets everyone on vacation at the wood hut. He’s a good friend to Ayame and Hatori. When Akito got out of control and attacked Kana and Hatori, he rushed into the room to restrain the family head. (“Akito, listen to me!”)

He has a dream, and an unholy amount of patience, stubbornness and determination to see it succeed.  Jacob Chapamn says it the best in his review of the 2x3 episode.

“Fruits Basket has often encouraged us to see Shigure as lazy, but considering that he's been trying to make some mysteriously impossible dream come true since he was a child, maybe this shiftless stinker who spends half his day sleeping is more determined than we thought. It's possible that Shigure's just been "doing the laundry at his feet" in his own way, minimizing his stress and conserving his energy each day so he can gradually chip away at a monumental task.”

And yet, he also knows to trust in fate and the freedom of others (”Que sera, sera”), barely nudging them in the right direction. What’s not to love in this mix of laziness and ruthless will?

But the best thing is that you don’t know if he’s acting out of the goodness of his heart or because it ultimately serves his own objective to help everyone find happiness out of the bonds of the curse.

Why can’t it be both?

A magnificent, self-aware bastard with a ruthless streak

He is just that TYPE, you know. In the cast of Fruits Basket, he stands out like pepper among sweets.

He is patient, conniving, and manipulative, self-aware. He knows what he wants, and is willing to do what it takes to get it. A powerful combination.

He has many faces. There’s the goofy one. He resembles, in a way, the buffoon in classic theatre pieces, who is close to the king, and under cover of jesting is the only one allowed to speak the truth, by riddle or mockery, and get away with it.

There’s the wise persona, filled with good advice and help for his friends and his charges.

But there’s also the piercing gaze, and the malevolent face. There are no true villains in Furuba. Most are victims. Akito is a basket case of fear and rage. Even the old maid is only the embodiment of the institution that produced her. Both are sorely lacking in the department of introspection. Ren is a wailing, grieving wraith clinging to a ghost (In more ways than one does she represent what Akito could have become). Shigure, on the other hand, is the farthest away from being a victim, and the closest to being a villain. He is always in control of himself, and is the only one who knows how to tame his own feelings and his attitude to coldly assess a situation and respond to it. His betrayal of Akito were both in rage and calculation, in full knowledge of causes and consequences, with plans and counter-plans for them. He is the kind of character who never explodes but will play the long game to enact his revenge. That makes him very dangerous indeed, because he is not rainbows and sunshine.

Coldly, he moves the pieces and is willing to risk them. He deliberately endangered Rin when he told Akito of her and Haru’s dating, with the dire consequences we know. He tells Ren about the box, although he couldn’t foresee that Rin would also be the victim.

And when he gets angry, he is CRUEL!!

And I don’t mean the kind of teasing that makes his editor cry. (That is mostly played for laugh.) I mean the kind of cruelty that makes you hurt the people who hurt you. And among the self-sacrificing protagonists or deuteragonists, innocent teenagers afraid that they might be thinking too much about themselves... the meanness of his revenge against Akito is such... an acutely human response to being hurt and cheated on. NOT GOOD, not fine! In fact, a truly malign act that did not have any other purpose than to hurt. But, how can I say... this is what made him, for me, the most REAL of all the cast. All of the characters, layered as Takaya knows to make them, have both good and bad traits. Generally, for the protagonists, a lot of good with a little bit of bad. Shigure is the only one of the main characters whose depths of bad match the heights of his good. Which is one of the reasons I find him such a fantastic character!

He gets neither a core character development neither a comeuppance. Seriously, everyone goes on incredible heroes’ journeys, jumping from one epiphany to the next, moving reunions and relationships and realizations... and he’s the only one who is, funnily enough, “unchanging”. Although he does say that he’s learned to make some compromises... I’d rather Yuki, Kyo or Tohru had punched him once, as Hatori warned him.... Although someone does.

So why does he get so little development? That’s, in a way, because he already thoroughly knows himself. He’s a grown up, but his heart hasn’t changed from the moment he was six and had a beautiful dream.

He is probably the zodiac who has the most self-control, and also the strongest will. Remember that the curse forces the zodiac members to submit to Akito, or else feel a rending pain in their hearts if they go against her wishes or hurt her. Yet, he is the only one, the first one, who is in full rebellion against her. He is Prometheus, or Lucifer in their uprising against the divinity controlling their lives! He’s the only one who doesn’t need the curse to be lifted for his eyes to open to the true natures of the curse and Akito. He sees what is wrong and fake with those bonds, and how Akito is slowly self-destructing from it. Like Lucifer, he is chased from Heavens, and from the recesses of his new dwelling, he gathers allies and plots against his God.

His goal, ultimately, proves to be good, but he is the only character ready to dirty his hands and deal with the unsavoury aspects of slowly unravelling a whole isolation, controlling, abuse-inducing system and pull his loved one out of this mess. He will do what needs to be done, meaning he will manipulate everyone, create conflicts and confrontations, force the other characters’ development, even if it hurts them, even if it hurts the one he loves, no matter the collaterals. (I would argue in his defence that undoing a centuries-old curse that is supposed to represent abusive and unhealthy relationships couldn’t be done without heartbreaks and tears).

He is a character who is extremely clever. A good one at heart (his affection for Hatori and the spot of light that is Shiki Sohma are proof of that) but under his goofy exterior, his intelligence and manipulative streak would probably have made him a distant, cold person if he hadn’t had that dream and that goal early on as a child.

The love story (give it all to me!!!)

He is both Akito’s main antagonist and her love interest, and god, do I love Childhood sweethearts to Lovers to Enemies to Lovers trope.

I am a romantic. And as such, I’d die for any love story that has the characters be the sort who would die for each other. However (twist)... I’d die for the two people who would die for each other but are stuck in this unhealthy cycle of ripping each other apart. Yep, I like messy relationships, albeit with a happy ending. Simply put, I believe that no matter how much we might wish otherwise, passion by itself might not always be pure. Love is not always healthy. Jealousy, resentment, anger, lies, find a way to drip their poison into love. Which is why I am attracted to those stories that have the protagonists macerating in this messy hot pot of issues that they cooked for themselves, and yet somehow find their way out.

Akito and Shigure are older than our main characters. They are not pure (arguable with Akito, as Tohru will argue). The chaste kiss they shared as kids has long given way to more passionate ones and a physical relationship. Theirs is far from the innocence of teenage first love. They are adults with heavy baggage: they were in a relationship, they cheated on each other, they exacted revenge on each other, in the pettiest ways they could think. They verbally tear each other apart, Akito out of hot fury and hurt, Shigure out of coldly served revenge.

And because this is the only way he knows how to help her.

He wants to break the curse because he wants his bond with Akito to be recognized as real. Does he do that out of jealousy? Certainly, in the way that love is naturally jealous and selfish. It’s not as if he wants to isolate her and keep her for himself, except romantically. He’s more than happy she’s friend with Tohru & later Saki and Mine. And there isn’t any evidence that he wasn’t fine with Akito’s bond with the other zodiacs... until Akito slept with Kureno. Very probably, he was her only partner at the time, and he thought they would have a normal, meaning exclusive, romantic relationship. Akito thought differently (”I am free to treat the zodiac members as I see fit!”), and he realized their feelings for each other wasn’t enough to keep her for himself, again, romantically speaking. He realized everything that was wrong with the curse, and with a partner who thinks of herself as “God”. And now that I think about it, isn’t the curse a deconstruction of the harem trope? It shows the darkness and jealousy that would arose from a situation where someone is ”born to be loved by all” and is willing to test that privilege. No matter that it’s not love, but insecurity and pity that gathers them in bed.

At the time, Shigure didn’t know that Akito didn’t sleep with Kureno out of affection, but out of fear of being abandoned, just that she would choose a fake bond over a true one. At the time, he reacted as a spurned lover, and did the one thing he thought would hurt her as much as she hurt him. From this point onward, he viewed her as an antagonist. He left. He started playing against her an elaborate game of chess in the hope of destroying the fake love of the zodiacs. So she could fall back in his arms. Very selfish, yes, but also the best thing he could have done for her.

Remember when I wondered why it was that Shigure’s eyes were open before anyone to the true nature of the curse? Why he was the only one able to rebel against God? I think that’s because his feelings for Akito were stronger than those of the spirit of the Dog for God. His own love, his flawed, selfish and possessive, deeply human love, overwhelmed and crushed the submissive love of the Dog for God. He saw Akito as herself, and because of that, he is the only one who treated Akito as human, not as a divinity. While the others bowed their heads and accepted her abuse, in a way enabling her violence, he didn’t give her a free pass. I’m not saying that the way he did it was right, but his tit-for-tat way to show Akito that he wouldn’t take a hit like a good little pet, like Kureno or Hatori, was a way to reject the divine in Akito. He wanted to be her equal.

As such, him being a manipulating bastard, playing with everyone, carefully laying his pieces on the board, makes him a de facto God (I saw another post on Shigure as a God-like figure, but I don’t remember where). It’s his way of staring at Akito right in the eyes, saying, “I see you as you are. I won’t bow. I won’t leave.” Which makes him the only one who could be with her at the end.

And it is very subtle, but Shigure’s attitude towards Akito does change after Kureno’s phone call. Until then, there was something bitter and malicious in the way he taunted her (”Tohru is a much better person than you are.” , “One of us will be sorry in the end and it won’t be me.” , “It’s time you reaped out what you sowed.”)... Afterwards, the paper flower is like an offer of reconciliation. And, there’s chapter 101 of course, when their confrontation leads to the bodice tie-ripping. But from then on, even though he says quite clearly that he is not “kind”, that he won’t indulge her the way Kureno and Hatori do, he is kinder. The only thing is that he refuses to offer her is the same kind of indulgence that the zodiac members give her, the kind that either pities her or treats her as something above them. An unhealthy combination that allows her to get away with anything, even abuse. Shigure’s relationship with her is almost an inversion of courtly love. Instead of being her faithful servant, he challenges her world-view, in a way that Akito finds antagonistic. But he tries to stir her towards a better place.

That’s him trying to help her. But Akito doesn’t see it this way. Instead, she thinks he is cold and harsh, when he offers her something different, and true.

That’s when his wisdom comes into play. Self-aware as he is, he realizes that he is not equipped with the tools to heal her. That’s another of the reasons he left the main house and implicated other people. Only someone like Tohru, someone outside of the Zodiac curse, could offer her the reassurances she needed. Shigure wants Akito. But he wants to save her too, by helping her accept the truth that she rejects and Tohru struggles with.

Time passes and moves on, as do people and emotions, leaving you behind.

I used to say that it is lucky, very lucky indeed, that his inherently selfish end goal aligned itself with the greater good. But that’s forgetting that his goal was good in itself: Shigure didn’t just want Akito as a partner. He wanted her healed and whole, happy and free. That wasn’t compatible with the curse. And it served his peace of mind to have everyone else happy. Deep down, although he is the kind who dabbles in it when he’s hurt, he is not the kind of person who rejoices in cruelty and darkness, just another man, however flawed, reaching for a light that would shine for all.

So, why do I love Shigure Sohma? This master mind who planned the unravelling of the curse over years of plotting, who trusts in fate while giving it a nudge, who is behind the whole plot of Furuba? This unholy mix of charm, laziness and ruthless determination, generosity and patience, self-awareness, pettiness and guilt? The “trash dad" who, although he benefited from it, provided a roof to three fragile teenagers in need and helped them become stronger? This man cursed by human failings, drowning in sins, yet whose heart is still dreaming, still reaching toward the holiest ideal of love? This Luciferian figure who gently caught his fallen goddess and stood by her side to explore with her the beauty of truly living?

"The only thing worth writing is the human heart in conflict with itself."

William Faulkner

I love Shigure’s contradictions, his complexity, his depths, the contrast between the purity and the selfishness of his goal, the oscillations of his means between depravity and virtue, the fact that he did it all for love. Those reasons might not make him the best person, but they make him a very human and real character in my eyes. And frankly, that’s what I want in fiction.

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/Rynne Hawke: Disappointment

A (VERY late) prompt fill for @talesfromthefade​​​, for @dadrunkwriting​​​ Friday! 

Set during the later end of Act II. It’s basically a drunken conversation featuring some cuteness, but even more angst, pining, and UST. 😭

~6100 words (SORRY, MY PROMPT FILLS ARE LONG). Read on AO3 instead.

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

Fenris was sitting at the table in his mansion and struggling with a copy of Hard in Hightown when he heard a knock at the door.

It was more of a bang than a knock, really, and the sound instantly put him on alert. Before he could reach for his sword, though, he heard the laughter.

His shoulders relaxed. Hawke, he thought ruefully, and he went to open the door. 

Hawke tripped into his house with a giggle, followed closely by the scent of brandy. “Fenris!” she chirped. “I’m so glad you’re here, I was about to — hic — set up camp on your front step if you didn’t answer the door. Would you care for some wine?” She haphazardly waved a bottle of wine in his direction.

He hastily took the bottle before it could hit him in the face. “Er, thank you, but no. How much brandy have you had?”

She turned to him with wide eyes. “Brandy? Me? How did you know?”

“You smell like you were bathing in it,” he said dryly.

A beautiful grin lifted her lips. “Wouldn’t that be the dream? An entire — hic— bathtub filled with brandy, just for me. I could be persuaded to share with you, though.” She shot him a saucy wink, then began meandering toward the table. Her gait was loose and lazy with booze, yet somehow her hips were still moving with their customary alluring sway, and Fenris eyed her wistfully as he followed her to the table. 

She gasped and petted the pages of his open book. “Ooh, were you reading?” she asked brightly. 

He grunted and scratched the back of his head. “Trying to, in any case. It’s slow-going.” 

She looked up at him with hopeful eyes. “Can I help you? I can help, if you like.”

He eyed her with a touch of exasperation and placed the wine on the table. “You’re hardly in a position to be assisting with this at the moment.”

“Oh please,” she scoffed. “I’m not that plastered. I’m only a tiny bit plastered. Look, I can absolutely help you with this.” She peered at the page. “Now if only the letters would stop moving all over the place.”

Fenris huffed and pulled out a chair for her. “Sit down, Hawke. You look as though you’re about to fall over.” 

She sighed. “I suppose you’re right,” she said. Then she promptly plopped down on the floor and started pulling off her boots. 

He shook his head, then sat in the chair he’d just pulled out. “What is the special occasion?”

She smiled blearily up at him. “Hm? Occasion?”

He gestured at her. “Is there a reason you’re this drunk?”

“Do I need a reason?” she said. “Maybe I’m just full of joie-de-vivre, as the Orlesians would say! But Orlesians would probably also spit on my taste in Rivaini brandy, so never mind that.”

Fenris frowned slightly. Her tone was as jocular as ever, but she wasn’t meeting his eye as she spoke. “Were you at the Hanged Man?” he asked.

“I was,” she said cheerfully. “Varric and Bels and I got into this fabulous darts tournament, and–”

She broke off suddenly and looked up at him in horror. “Oh fuck. Oh shit. Did you want to come? Oh Fenris, I’m sorry, I should have come to get you before going to the Hanged Man but I didn’t even think about it, I just went straight there, I’m sorry–”

He waved her off. “You went straight there from where?” he asked.

“From the Gallows,” she said, to his surprise. “I took Mother to visit Carver today, and–” She snorted. “Can I just say that it went swimmingly well? Swimmingly, splendidly well. It’s definitely something I’ll be doing again, perhaps in fifty years or so.” She broke off with a goofy giggle.

Ah, he thought. Now it made sense. Something unfortunate must have happened during her visit to the Gallows with her family. 

“Did it truly go well?” he said quietly.

She finally met his eye, and for a brief second, her smile slipped before returning to her face. “It did!” she said. “Mother was happy to see him, even though he could just visit the house when he gets his leave days. Can you pass me that wine?”

Fenris hesitated. It was probably a bad idea for Hawke to have anything more to drink. But she was a grown woman who was free to make her own (possibly poor) decisions, and who was he to tell her what to do?

He reached across the table and picked up the bottle of wine. Then he came to join her on the floor. By the time he was settled beside on the floor, she was beaming at him with so much uninhibited fondness that it made his stomach twist. 

He dropped her coppery gaze and pulled a small knife from his pocket, then pried the cork out of the bottle. But instead of offering it to her, he took three big gulps. 

She laughed. “Fenris, you boozehound! I thought you didn’t want any.”

I don’t, really, he thought. But if he didn’t drink any of it, Hawke would drink the whole bottle by herself.

“I changed my mind,” he said, and he offered her the wine. 

She beamed at him. “You beautiful thing, you. You’re joining in with me.” She took the bottle and took a long drink, then lowered it and gave him a quizzical look. “What were we talking about?”

“The Gallows,” he said. “Your mother.”

“Ah yes! Oh, Mother.” Rynne laughed and shook her head. “She said the funniest thing. There I was, talking to Carver and just, you know, needling him about the usual stuff. Asking about his love life, pointing out the irony of him becoming a Templar in the first place, the usual sort of thing. And my mother…” She snickered. “My mother jumps in and starts carrying on about how Carver was just trying to support the family while I went swanning off to the deep roads.” She snorted with laughter. “Can you believe that? ‘Swanning off to the deep roads’! Those are the words she used. As though—” She broke off with another giggle. “As though the deep roads are some fancy Orlesian spa that you and I and Varric and Anders just bloody decided to ‘go swanning off to’ for a few months.” She chuckled some more and lifted the bottle of wine to her lips, and Fenris watched with a pang as she took a few gulps. 

When she lowered the bottle, he gently took it from her hand. “Did you set her straight?” he asked. “Remind her of the reason why we were gone so long?” Namely, that Bartrand had locked them in the ancient thaig, resulting in the need to wander even deeper into the cursed bowels of the thaig before finding a way out?

“Oh Maker, no,” Hawke said. “I never told her why we were gone that long.”

He lowered the bottle and stared at her in surprise. “You didn’t? Why not?”

Hawke snorted. “Are you kidding? She’d have a fit if she knew. She’d fuss and carry on about how dangerous it was and how she never wanted me to go in the first place, even though we needed the fucking money to get the fucking Amell estate back.” She broke off and took a deep breath, then smiled at Fenris and pointed at the wine. “Can I have some of that?”

He quickly took another big drink before handing her the bottle. She took a sip, then broke off with a snort of laughter. “She thought all this time that I swanned off for months. Can you believe that? The deep roads weren’t exactly a cake walk. D’you remember those rock wraith things that were eating the lyrium down there?”

Fenris sneered. “Ah yes. And that hunger demon.” He shot her a reproving look. “I still think it was unwise for you to offer it sandwiches.”

“And I still think it was worth a shot,” she retorted. Then she sighed and offered him the bottle. “Ah well, what’s done is done. It’s just…” She huffed in amusement and shook her head. “She wanted the fucking Amell estate, so I got it back for her. Next time she wants something, maybe I should just become a Templar too.”

Her cheeky smile was still in place, but she was too drunk for the smile to fully hide her true feelings. Fenris eyed her sympathetically, but he didn’t know what to say. He had no experience with providing any kind of comfort. 

He took another sip of wine and wracked his brain for something to say. “I wasn’t aware that the Templars were accepting mages among their ranks,” he said finally. “Has Cullen found a soft spot for you that I didn’t know about?”

She grinned at him, and his heart fluttered; her smile was genuine and warm once more. “Oh Fenris, don’t be silly,” she said. “Cullen has had a soft spot for me all along. Don’t pretend you didn’t notice.”

“Hm,” he said. “I suppose all that scowling and telling you off could constitute a soft spot, according to some.”

“Exactly,” she giggled. She took another sip of wine, then gave him a pitiful look. “I know I’m barging in on you and all, but I wasn’t in the mood to go home just yet. Is it all right that I came here instead? Any safe port in a storm and all that.”

He frowned. Safe port in a storm? “Are you concerned that your mother will harm you when you return home?” he said quietly.

“No no, of course not!” she exclaimed. “It’s just a figure of speech.” She barked out a laugh. “My mother, harm anyone? Don’t be ridiculous. She couldn’t harm a wasp even if it was about to sting her.”

Fenris eyed her skeptically for a moment, then shrugged. “You can stay for a visit. I suppose it is only fair, since I…” He trailed off awkwardly. He was about to tell her that her house had become something of a safe space for him as well — a place where he felt at ease, almost at home, particularly when he and Hawke were lounging together in front of the fireplace in her study. But to admit such a thing would be veering far too close to telling her how much he still longed for her, and he didn’t dare let the conversation venture there.

It was surprising that he’d even said as much as he had, in fact. He usually did everything in his power to keep his tenderness for Hawke under wraps, for fear of letting her think there was a chance of them being together again. Why had he nearly said something now?

She offered him the bottle of wine; it was three-quarters empty. That explains it, he thought in resignation. With a small sigh, he took the bottle and drank from it once more.

Hawke stretched her legs out and leaned back on her palms. “So! What were you reading before I came bursting in to ruin your night?”

He lowered the bottle with a smirk. “You really couldn’t tell? You are that drunk?”

“I am quite spectacularly drunk, yes,” she agreed.

He raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were only… what was it you said? ‘A tiny bit plastered’?”

She snorted. “What is this, an interrogation in Aveline’s office?” She poked his arm. “Come on then, tell me. What were you reading up there?”

“Hard in Hightown,” he said. “Varric gave it to me. I am only on page ten or so.”

Hawke chuckled. “Of course that’s what Varric gave you to practice with. Any excuse to get more readers.” She suddenly straightened up and gasped, and Fenris recoiled slightly in surprise; her face was bright with enthusiasm. 

“I just had the most fantastic idea!” she chirped. “You should write a book!”

He wrinkled his nose. “What would I write about? And besides, I can’t write.” He didn’t tell her that he’d been secretly writing terribly-spelled letters to her since the day he’d mastered the alphabet. That was one secret that even his half-drunken mouth would never spill.

She waved one hand dismissively. “You’ll be able to write in no time, you’re brilliant. And the book should be about your life, of course!”

He frowned. “My life? Why?”

“Because you’re strong and handsome and interesting. And you lived with the fog warriors!” she exclaimed. “You probably know more about them than anyone in the whole of Thedas!”

His frown deepened. “Reflecting on that time in my life is not exactly pleasant, Hawke. It did not end well, if you recall.”

She wilted. “No, I know, I just meant… oh fuck, I put my foot in it, didn’t I?” She nervously patted her cheeks. “Maker, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you think about awful things. I was hoping to make you think of nice moments when you were with them since I know you liked living with them, but… ah, I’m an idiot. Don’t listen to me.” She reached for the bottle of wine. 

He allowed her to take the bottle. “It’s all right. I already knew you were an idiot.” 

She shot him a grateful smile. They passed the bottle back and forth for another minute, and when it was empty, Fenris placed it on the floor beside him. 

“You’re not wrong. I did enjoy living with the fog warriors,” he said. “It was… unusual to spend time around people who were not afraid of me. But I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised; the fog warriors were the most courageous people I ever knew.” He draped his arms loosely around his knees and glanced at Hawke. “Even their children had no fear of me.”

She nodded and didn’t speak. Her expression was a picture of attentive focus despite the boozy flush of her cheeks, and something about her attention prompted him to go on when he usually would not.

“I remember the first time I stepped into their… settlement, for lack of a better word,” he said. “I was weak after healing from my injuries. Every step I took required a great deal of effort. But as I walked through their settlement with one of their healers at my side, a child approached me. A boy, perhaps five or six.” He grimaced. “Or maybe seven; I’m not familiar enough with children to guess their ages.”

“Five, seven, it’s all the same,” Hawke said softly. “The little boy approached you. What happened then?”

Fenris tilted his head as he remembered the moment. “He was holding a ball that looked to be made of dried branches and twine. He stopped and stared at me, and I was certain he was going to run away. Or perhaps throw the ball at me in disgust. I’ve suffered worse from children in Minrathous. But…” He slowly rubbed a hand through his hair. “He asked in Seheronese if I would play with him. The healer translated for me, and I… I didn’t believe her, and I didn’t believe the boy. I thought they were taunting me. I…” He swallowed hard. “I went back to the tent and didn’t come out again for another day. But the same boy approached me again when I emerged. He continued to approach me until I agreed.” 

Hawke’s face lit up with a brilliant smile. “You played with the fog warriors’s children?”

He shrugged. “I had little choice. They are very persistent.” He gave her a tiny smile. “All of their people are persistent. Stubborn and determined. Or… they were, at least, before I…” 

Blood. Screaming. Women and children fleeing, to no avail. The horrible images flashed through his mind, raw and undimmed by time, and Fenris dragged a hand through his hair as though that could pull the memories out. 

The only time he had ever seen fear in the fog warriors’ faces was when he had put it there.

“Hey,” Hawke said softly. “I’m glad you were happy while you lived with them. I know it ended badly—”

“I killed them all,” he snapped. “It ended badly because of me.”

“I know,” she said. “I know you feel responsible. But I’m still glad you were happy there for a time.”

He stared hard at her for a moment, but her expression was calm and steady — surprisingly steady for someone who was so drunk. 

He sighed and shifted his position on the floor. “I was happy with them; you’re right about that. The only time I could ever remember being happy, really. Before I came to Kirkwall, at least.”

Hawke perked up. “Before you came to Kirkwall? Does that mean you like living here more than being in Seheron?”

He huffed at her hopeful tone. “I don’t know that I would say that. But… this city has its charms. They may be few and far-between, but it does have them.”

“Like what?” she asked. 

He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Such as… that apple pie at that one particular stand in Hightown.”

Hawke nodded. “Oh yes, that pie is fantastic. What else?”

“The music at the Hanged Man isn’t completely terrible,” he said.

“I do love the music there, it’s true,” Hawke said brightly. “Anything else?”

She looked so hopeful. Fenris gave her a chiding look. “Why do I get the sense that you’re fishing for compliments?”

Her beautiful amber eyes grew wide – suspiciously wide. “Me? I never! I never ever fish for compliments. Particularly not from broody handsome elves with the sexiest voices I’ve ever heard.”

He scoffed and rubbed his mouth. “Kaffas, Hawke. You will make me blush.”

“I’m not talking about you,” she said. “I’m talking about some other elf.” 

She clearly was not. Her smile was coy and warm, and it made his ears feel uncomfortably hot. “I see,” he said dryly. He absently rubbed the red scarf on his wrist and studied her from the corner of his eye. She was humming to herself now and gazing at her bare feet with the sort of vacant smile that made it clear how drunk she was.

Then he surprised himself by speaking again. “I suppose some of the people here are tolerable as well,” he said.

She perked up. “Oh really? Like who?”

Fenris shrugged and leaned back casually on one hand. “Sebastian is a fine man.”

Hawke snorted. “Perfect Sebastian. He doesn’t count. He makes everyone look bad. Who else?”

“Varric,” Fenris said. “He’s forgiven my gambling debts on more than one occasion.”

She let out a scintillating laugh. “Has he? Oh, Varric. He’s such a soft touch.”

Fenris smirked and gazed idly at her legs – lovely legs that were regrettably covered by trousers. Lovely legs with soft golden skin that was so smooth beneath his hands… 

Before Fenris could stop himself, his drunken mouth was opening once more. “You are good company, as well,” he said.

Her face lit up with a slow and breathtaking smile. “Am I, now?”

He shrugged and ignored his suddenly thrumming heart. “You can be. When you aren’t aggravating me.”

She raised one hand innocently. “Those were all failed attempts at flirting, I swear.”

He gave her a chiding look. “That’s hardly a comfort, Hawke.”

“It should be,” she said. “I’m usually a very good flirt.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” he said wryly.

Her smile widened. “Maybe I should try harder, then.”

Her cheeky voice was ripe with its usual humour, but there was something more to her tone now: something husky and heated that made Fenris’s clever retort fade away on his tongue. He studied her face carefully, and his heart jolted; only now was he realizing how close she was. She was sitting right next to him, and although they weren’t touching, they were so close that they might as well have been. Her knees were almost brushing against his thigh, and she was leaning in as though to take shelter against his chest, and he… kaffas, his shoulder was curled toward her as though he wanted her to take shelter against him. 

A rush of excitement filled his rib cage, followed by a surge of terror. I can’t, he thought. He couldn’t let her get any closer. Not because he didn’t want to; venhedis, there was nothing he wanted more. But the closer she got, the more she would see just how damaged he truly was, how unprepared he was for what she was trying to give, and he couldn’t… He couldn’t stand it. The thought of looking into her perfect amber eyes, of seeing their heat replaced with pity instead...  

She wet her lips, and Fenris was instantly distracted by her mouth: her lush raspberry-red mouth that he vividly remembered kissing, even though it had been almost a year. 

Then Hawke nibbled her lower lip, and Fenris could feel his own lips parting as though by instinct — as though the movement of her lips was a siren call, a lure drawing his own lips to react, to lean closer to her, to breathe in the wine-scented warmth of her breath…

He inhaled slowly, and his heart thudded in his ears. She smelled exactly as he remembered, of sandalwood and sweetness and a hint of sweat from dancing at the Hanged Man, and overlaid on it all was the scent of the wine she’d drunk — that they’d been drinking together. 

Then Hawke’s hand rose slowly toward his face.

His breath stuttered, but his heart burst into a galloping race. Her fingers were reaching for him, reaching for his cheek, reaching so slowly that he knew she was giving him time to stop her. But he was frozen on the floor with Hawke sitting so close to him, so damned close that he could smell her intoxicating scent, and her fingers were drawing nearer still… 

She stroked his cheek gently: so incredibly gently, with just the tips of her fingers. And with that one simple touch, the buzz of longing in his gut hit a fever pitch.

Fenris closed his eyes and turned his face toward her fingers, and her thumb brushed over his lower lip. He exhaled shakily, and he was distantly aware that his breath sounded far too much like a groan. 

“Fenris,” Hawke breathed. 

Fenris. That was all she said: just his name in her husky voice. But it was almost enough for him to come undone. His name in her voice, carried through the air on a breath of desire: fasta vass, it was too good, too evocative, too strong of a reminder of the past — of the mistake he’d callously made by going to her in a moment of anger-fuelled impulsiveness. 

A mistake he was primed to repeat right now, in a moment of impulsiveness that was fuelled by alcohol instead.

He reached up and grabbed her wrist. “I can’t,” he rasped. 

Her eyebrows tilted in a way that made his chest ache, but he forced himself to stay still, to not move, to not bridge the mere inches that separated his lips from hers. He held her wrist in a steady grip and stared steadily into her glittering amber eyes, and he forced himself to remember – to remember the way those same amber eyes had filled with tears when he’d walked away from her before. 

The memories of their night together still tortured him, along with all the attendant reasons why he couldn't let this same mistake happen again. He was an empty shell whose history had been carved away and replaced with anger and hate, and nothing about that had changed in the year or so since he and Hawke had tumbled together into her bed. He was still the same broken man, the same ex-slave with a mind as scarred as his body, and in the time that had passed since that one glorious night in Hawke’s arms, Fenris had failed to make any changes in his life. 

He hadn’t tried to find his sister. He hadn’t done anything other than take on jobs as an errand boy and follow Hawke and her friends around in their ill-advised adventures. He still sat alone in his mansion at night fuming about Danarius and Hadriana and all their misbegotten ilk. He was still just as blank and ruined as he’d always been, and he couldn’t… he didn’t dare inflict that on Hawke, not again, not even if he was drawn toward her in a way that he’d never been drawn to anyone else before. 

They sat frozen on the floor for an interminable minute, Hawke’s fingers a hairsbreadth from his cheek and her wrist entrapped by his intractable grip. Fenris stared into her eyes and ignored the plumpness of her lower lip, and he prayed for the strength to move away from her now – right now, right this second now, now before his frenzied thoughts led him away from the reasons he shouldn’t touch her and brought him back to all the selfish reasons that he should. 

And oh, the reasons he should, the reasons he wanted to fall into the crystal clear pools of her eyes and take what her slightly-parted lips were offering: those reasons were… fasta vass, they were far too close to the front of his mind. The pleasure of her body stretching beneath his own, of her needy gasps filling his ears, of her comforting hands cradling his face as she told him that there was nothing ruined about him–

“I can’t,” he snapped. He pulled her hand away from his face and turned away from her, dragging shaking fingers through his hair as he did. 

For a brief, terrible moment, Hawke was silent. Then she laughed.

“Of course!” she said brightly. “Of course, I didn’t mean to – I was just, um – I’m terribly drunk, you know, and it’s – I should go home. I’m just about ready to fall asleep right here on your floor, which probably means I should go crawling into my bed before I end up like another one of those corpses in your corners here.” She snickered and pushed herself to her feet, and Fenris watched painfully as she stumbled toward the door.

She wasn’t wearing her boots, though. Fenris hastily pushed himself upright and ignored his own slightly spinning head. “Hawke, wait,” he said. “Your boots–” 

She cut him off with a haphazard wave. “It’s okay, please, don’t say anything, it’s like it never happened.” She reached for the doorknob. 

Fenris darted forward and planted one hand on the door. “You need to put on your boots,” he said. “You can’t go out without boots.”

“Why not? You do it all the time,” she said belligerently. 

Fenris raised his eyebrows, but before he could reply, she sighed and sank down to the floor. “Ah, you’re right. My feet are terribly tender and delicate. Where are my bloody boots?”

Fenris silently brought her boots and socks, then waited with an ugly mixture of fondness and misery as she clumsily pulled them on. When she was finally shod once more, she stood up and did a dramatic curtsy. 

“On that sparkling note, Rynne Hawke takes her leave,” she announced. She giggled and opened the door, then promptly tripped on the front step. 

Fenris snatched her arm and her waist before she could hit the ground. “Fasta vass,” he complained. 

She didn’t reply; she was far too busy laughing. Fenris sighed heavily, then stepped out of his mansion and pulled the door closed behind him. “Come on, Hawke,” he said wearily, and he looped his arm around her waist to guide her home.

She hiccuped and squeezed his arm. “Did you see I—” She broke off with a giggle. “I didn’t even make it one step out the door! Oh Fenris, aren’t you pleased I came to your house tonight to entertain you?”

“Not particularly,” he muttered, but not for the reasons she thought. He hadn’t had his hands on her this much since the night they’d spent together, and her drunken state wasn’t making the curve of her waist any less appealing. And his drunken state wasn’t making it easy to maintain the barriers he’d been building to keep her at bay. 

She squeezed his arm again. “I know, I’m horrible, I’m a nuisance. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’ll — hic — bring you some of that apple pie that you like first thing in the morning, bright and early. You’ll be woken by the smell of fresh-baked— eek!” She tripped over a paving stone with a squeal, and Fenris scowled as he pulled her upright. 

“Quiet,” he hissed. “If you cause a disturbance, I will be the one who’s blamed.” He scooped her up into his arms and continued in the direction of her mansion at a faster pace.

She gripped the collar of his tunic and beamed at him. “You hero. You chivalrous thing. You’re making a drunken girl’s dream come true.”

“Perhaps you can return the favour and keep your voice down,” he scolded softly. He was already on Hightown’s radar as ‘that elf of Hawke’s who squats in the derelict Vint mansion’, and he didn’t want anyone to find a reason to complain to Aveline again about his presence. 

“All right, all right, I’m being quiet now,” she stage-whispered. Then, to his surprise, she actually fell silent. 

He carried her in silence for a couple of minutes. She eventually rested her head against his shoulder, and he guiltily savoured the scent of her chestnut hair. But she still didn’t speak, and eventually Fenris wondered if she’d fallen asleep. 

He glanced down at her, and his heart lurched; her eyes were closed, but her face was tinted with melancholy, and there were tears trickling down her cheeks. 

He hastily looked up at the path ahead, but his entire rib cage was aching now, as though his heart was swelling and pushing against the walls of his chest. He ought to say something – something to soothe her, like the way she was always trying to soothe him when he was angry. But he was the cause of her distress, so what was there to say? 

He swallowed the lump in his throat and didn’t speak, and they made the rest of the trip to the Amell state in silence. 

As they approached the door, Hawke finally spoke. “Don’t knock. I don’t want to wake her.”

Fenris nodded. “Where are your keys?”

“In my pouch belt,” she said. “You can put me down now. I promise I won’t disgrace myself by falling onto my own front step.” 

Her tone was cheeky and warm, and for some reason, this made his chest hurt even more. He shook his head slightly. “I’ll bring you safely inside.”

She hesitated, then shrugged. “All right. I won’t complain about being carried by Thedas’s most handsome elf.” 

He scoffed softly, then waited as she pulled out her keys and unlocked the door. But as they were moving toward the stairs, Leandra’s bedroom door opened. 

Leandra stepped out with a scowl. “Rynne, I’ve been beside myself—” She stopped short at the sight of Fenris and clutched the neckline of her dressing gown. 

“Surprise!” Rynne exclaimed, and she patted Fenris’s chest. “Two for the price of one!” 

Fenris cleared his throat. “Hawke, keep your voice down,” he mumbled.

She pulled a little face. “Right, right, people sleeping and all that,” she whispered. Then she blew a kiss to Leandra. “Hello, Mother! Go on back to bed, all right?” 

Leandra stared at them for a moment longer, then lifted her chin and went back into her bedroom. As soon as the door was shut behind her, Hawke burst into giggles.

“Maker’s balls,” she whispered. “She’s going to be furious in the morning when you’re not here. I might not be able to bring you apple pie after all. I’ll be too busy nursing the new asshole she’s going to tear me in the morning.”

Fenris grimaced at the vivid image, then headed for the stairs. When they were in Hawke’s bedroom, he set her down on the bed. 

Hawke snickered to herself as she pulled off her boots. She clumsily shucked her vest, then started pulling her shirt over her head, and Fenris hastily turned away. 

He awkwardly tugged his ear. “I’ll, er. I’ll just…” He trailed off and started shifting toward the door.

“She’s disappointed,” Hawke said.

He glanced cautiously at her. She was tucked in bed and covered up to her chest, and her lips were curled in a sad sort of smile. 

Fenris took a cautious step closer to the bed. “She will get over it soon enough.”

“No, I mean she’s disappointed that I’m not Bethany.” Hawke’s smile widened. “Honestly, so am I sometimes. She had the most perfect milkmaid skin. I bet you would have loved her too.”

His heart twisted painfully. Whatever Bethany’s virtues were, there was no doubt in his mind that she would never have found her way past his armour and burrowed beneath his tainted skin the way that Hawke had. 

But he couldn’t tell that to Hawke. Such words meant nothing if he was incapable of backing them up with the devotion that she deserved. 

He swallowed hard. “Get some sleep,” he said softly. “I will see you in the morning.” He slowly made his way to the door. 

“Fenris?”

He glanced at her. “Yes?”

“Do you want to know what I like best about living in Kirkwall?”

“Half-off Tuesdays at the Hanged Man?” he suggested weakly. 

She let out a bark of laughter. “Aw, half-off Tuesdays. That’s almost my favourite thing.”

He leaned against the door jamb. “I give up, then. What do you like best?”

“Running around this fucking place with you,” she replied. 

In the dim lantern light of her bedroom, her smile was sweet and free of guile, and Fenris felt his throat growing thick once more. He felt the same way, of course; Kirkwall would have no value if not for her. She was the reason he had decided to stay, even after the exquisite disaster of their night together. Even knowing he was no good for her, he was incapable of leaving her side. 

He gazed at her for a moment and drank in the perfect softness of her smile. It is the same for me, he thought. You are the only reason I’ve remained in this Maker-forbidden city. The confession crept close to the edge of his tongue, ready to spill into the soft and intimate atmosphere of her bedroom. 

But the walk from his house to hers had cleared the booze-induced boldness from his mind, and he was no longer at the mercy of his selfish heart. 

He bowed his head politely. “Get some sleep,” he said.

Her smile widened, and she snuggled down into her blankets and reached for the bedside lamp. “Goodnight, Fenris,” she said softly. 

“Goodnight, Hawke,” he murmured. A moment later, her bedside lamp went out.

Fenris quietly closed her bedroom door, then padded silently downstairs. Orana was awake and waiting nervously by the door to lock it behind him, and he murmured an apology to her as he left. Then he was slipping stealthily through Hightown back to his empty mansion. 

Once he was in the mansion once more, he sat at the table and stared at Hard in Hightown, but the words were meaningless on the page, unseen by his unfocused eyes.

Hawke thought she was a disappointment, but nothing was farther from the truth. Nothing about her was a disappointment — not her incessant jokes or her drunken visits to his home, not the fact that she was a mage, and the memories of her naked body bending beneath his hands… venhedis, nothing about those memories were a disappointment either. 

It didn’t bear thinking about, though. Hawke might not be a disappointment, but Fenris certainly was, and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon. 

With that heavy thought, he closed his copy of Hard in HIghtown and went to bed.

[crowleyellestair]

Desperate Times Call for Stealing Outfits - Jaskier

AN//// Ok, I’m obsessed with this outfit, and I know that this is worn in most of the fics I write, so, here we go

My part 3 is coming soon!

Masterlist

 The hot water was physically relaxing to the bard, but it did little to ease his mind. Even looking over to Y/n, who laid on their shared bed, couldn’t silence his thoughts. She laid face down, her cheek smooshing against the hard cot. She tried to keep her eyes open and focused on him as she had been trying to get him to calm down.

While the sight of her, naked under the small towel that lazily wrapped around her, was a great deterrent, his mind couldn’t leave Geralt. He trusted the Witcher with his life, so the fact that his capability for keeping himself safe was being questioned frustrated the bard. Jaskier knew he’d be fine- the hunt was for a low level noonwraith, where’s the difficulty in that?

If Jaskier had anyone to blame for this line of worry, it would be Y/n herself, though she is trying to talk him down. Jaskier looked to her in any situation that logic is questioned, and since she brought it up, it worried him. She had noticed that the town seemed fine- lively, even, when they first showed up. There is a certain hatred the town holds for non-conformists, so it was odd that before the trio left, they received a job. Why would someone take a week to bring up the monster plaguing their town?

This got to the bard, and so there he sat, in the tub, questioning Geralt’s safety.

“Please, Jaskier. It was just an interesting thought. Correlation is not causation-.” Her entire sentence came out as one long sigh, cut off by a yawn. His hands picked at the wood of the tub’s rim, his eyes following the small ripples in the water’s surface.

“But that isn’t always true, is it. We aren’t sharing this room just because we have a mutual, brooding, unsafe friend. It’s because we’re in love.” His eyes flicked over to her, trying to emphasize his argument with a look, but he watched as a lazy smile spread. She had closed her eyes at that point, so his gaze was futile. It took a minute for her to respond, almost as if she was hearing him in slow motion. Y/n threw her hand up, pointing at him before dropping her hand back down just as fast and replying,

“Don’t forget the number one reason: Jaskier’s gorgeous bottom.” He rolled his eyes, but smiled. He quickly fell back into thought. He pushed out of the tub, snatching up the towel that wasn’t being used. He quickly rubbed himself down before finding an undershirt and pants. He looked decent enough to go out and find Geralt. Y/n had a great knowledge on alchemy, taking over Geralt’s need for replenishing magical items.

Jaskier quietly rifled through her alchemy bag, finding the wraith dust shot towards the bottom. He tiptoed over to her, looking down at her apparent sleeping form. To not disturb her, he didn’t reach for the blanket she laid on. Instead, he reached for his dark blue doublet he had planned to wear the next day, and placed it over her top half. Just in case she shifted in her sleep, she wouldn’t be chilly. Jaskier placed a kiss on her head before heading out.

 When Y/n woke, the room was dim. The candles had burned down to nubs, and the steam the lifted from the water had long passed. Her hair was dry and little noise crept in from the recently filled tavern. Her body snapped into a sitting position, eyes flying to try and find her loving bard. He couldn’t be found, but she noticed her alchemy bag had its contents gently strewn about. Jaskier must not have wanted to make too much noise by putting things back. Y/n took quick inventory, realizing instantly that the only thing missing was a noonwraith weakness. She sighed, putting together that Jaskier must have followed Geralt after she fell asleep.

Y/n looked around, trying not to let worry seep into her mind. Jaskier could easily get lost in the woods, never finding their friend. Or maybe he could be injured, especially if she was right, and it was a trap for Geralt.

Stalking around the room, she couldn’t find clothes. Y/n had always brought in the most coin by selling elixirs and gambling with Gwent. She had no qualms with having an open purse if the boys needed some, and Jaskier must have sent their clothes to the wash. Normally, it would be fine, but Y/n had run out of extra clothes other than her nightgown. As much as she was willing to go hunt the men, and maybe a wraith, in just that, Jaskier’s worries started to gnaw at her. Maybe she was right? It was just something she noticed, and her love for pollical conspiracy sometimes mixed with normal, harmless observations, which gave birth to her thoughts. Jaskier worrying and his absence threw her into a frenzy.

The only clothes around was Jaskier’s, and she threw the dark blue trousers on hastily. While his pants were tight for him, they were way too long and somewhat baggy on her. She laced the top of them just under her breasts, and she rolled up the ends, tucking them into her boots. Y/n couldn’t find his undershirt, so she settled for his doublet. The sleeves were too long, but rolling them up seemed difficult. The red triangle patterns mixed with the yellow slits looked nice, and she stopped to appreciate it for a moment. Jaskier might not know how to fight, but he does know how to find fine clothing. Y/n knotted the coat closed, but Jaskier had fiddled with the top section of them. Damn his need to show off his chest hair- even if she did love it. The valley between her breasts were left to be shown off to any onlookers, and her collarbone quickly got cold.

She thought herself foolish, but desperate times came desperate measures. Throwing her quiver and bow over her shoulder, she made her way into the forest.

 Y/n wasn’t great with tracking, her never really having a need to giving her a good excuse. Luckily, after walking a while in the direction she thought were fresh footprints, she heard Jaskier. Geralt must have been upset for him showing up, and she took off running towards her bard’s retorts.

She pushed through a bush line, straight into the wall of Geralt. Her body bounced off his chest, but his hands shot out to steady her. Her eyes flicked between the two, trying to evaluate for injuries.

“You two are okay?” Her breath came out in heavy puffs from running and relief. Her hands left Geralt’s arms before running over Jaskier, trying to feel for anything wet. “You two are okay!” Y/n let out a hearty laugh, pointing at Jaskier. The sleeve engulfed her hand, only her pointer finger popping out. She wagged it at him before her laughter died down. “You got to me with your worrying.” Her smile fell before cuffing the side of his head. “If you ever leave without telling me that you’re blindly running into danger, I will follow you like I did today, and kill you myself. What if I was right? What the hell were you to do then? That wraith bomb won’t be very effective against a person.” What she heard next was something she hadn’t expected. Geralt’s gruff voice was full of humor as he asks,

“Why are you wearing Jaskier’s clothes.”  Y/n blushed a little as she looked down at herself. She met his gaze, popping her hip and placing her hands on them. She tried to give an intimidating aura, but the sleeves bent, and her hands couldn’t be seen. The puff of the sleeves swallowing her neck, so her illusion was ruined.

“My clothes are being washed. Would you rather I wait if you were in danger?” She watched as his gaze raked her form before a smirk appeared upon him. His gaze left hers to look at the bard.

“At least we found someone who can actually pull the outfit off.” He looked back at her, giving off what she thought was an approving hum, and continued walking back to the town. Jaskier scoffed at his remark before looking down at her.

“He, although rude,” He yelled before quieting his tone, “is right. You look…ravishing. This is doing something to me.” A finger of his hooks itself on the top knot, popping it while staring into her gaze.

“Sadly, nothing could fill these trousers out like you do.” She winked, but the blush spread, and she leaned in to steal a kiss.

“Well, we can certainly take them off.”

[clansayeed]

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 8: The Tower Upright

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Ryder and Taylor head to local out-of-the-way voodoo vendor Laveau’s for the final ingredient in their protection ritual. While he waits, Taylor gets his fortune told by the real deal—a spirit medium descended from Marie herself.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Krom’s barely through the threshold before Taylor pounces; hovers around him comically short and buzzing like a gnat.

“So, what did they say? Do I need to call — I don’t have my phone, shit — please tell me I’m not cut from the show.”

Luckily the stone troll looks freaked-out enough to get him to stop and apologize. “Sorry,” he mutters, “I just…”

“No, no I completely understand!” Krom scratches the tips of his head and laughs it off, “I just didn’t want to step on you.”

“He’s not that short.” calls Ivy from her booth at the back.

Taylor shrugs it off. “But I appreciate it.”

“Anyway; the company manager’s a little mad no one could reach you but I convinced them to give you a week of sick leave? Even though there was this one weirdly giddy guy…”

They join Ivy on either side. Taylor groans and rubs his hand over his face.

“That would be Antoni. He doesn’t matter. I really appreciate you doing this for me, Krom.”

“It’s no trouble!” And the troll’s voice is so filled with sincerity he has no trouble believing it.

“That’s our darling Krom.” Garrus returns behind the bar with his tray of collected dirty steins and beer glasses. “He’s like an angel; always helping others. You’ve got nothing to prove sweetheart — you know that.”

Ivy answers Taylor’s question before he even has the chance to ask it; “Stone trolls have a bit of a rep’ around here. You saw their natural element at Persephone.”

“Bodyguards, hired muscle, and the like.” Krom agrees; pointedly trying to keep his voice his usual baritone despite Garrus’ casual compliments.

“So you’re a pacifist?”

“In the flesh — so to speak.”

There’s a thud from behind and all eyes turn to see a stack of crates stumbling out from behind the back room curtain. Not hovering in midair as Taylor originally thought but carried by a very red-faced Cal. Who still forces on a smile through his gritted teeth at Garrus.

“Where… where?”

The fae gestures with a bony finger. “Just leave ‘em behind here. I’ll unpack before the evening rush.”

He slams them down before Taylor can even try to offer help — grumbles under his breath about something he can’t quite catch but he knows Cal’s grateful to Garrus for giving him a place to stay. He must be paying off the stupor he drank himself into following their return as less-than-triumphant heroes.

“I should start taking in strays more often — pun not intended,” Garrus teases but all in good humor; especially when he slides a cool glass of water for Cal to chug when his hands are free, “someone to do the heavy lifting around here and all that.”

Krom shifts in his seat. Something so subtle only the two beside him notice it. But Ivy doesn’t give him the chance to let it go and kicks his rock of a leg with her heels.

“I — I could help with whatever you need, Garrus?” Even though it comes out as more of a question than anything.

The look the two exchange is strange but fond. Garrus’ eyes softening under the twinkling lights. Maybe he regrets what he said — or the implications behind it.

“But if you’re laboring around here then what would I have to look at for inspiration?”

Not the smoothest save, in Taylor’s opinion. But Krom acts like it’s the highest form of praise and brushes the compliment off with a wave.

“Are they always like this?” Taylor whispers to Ivy. The revenant just sighs and nods. A long-suffering struggle on her end no doubt.

Heavy footfalls on metal steps herald Ryder’s arrival from the apartments above. He looks around and beelines towards Taylor in a way that almost has him jumping and hiding.

“You, me; let’s go.”

“That’s not how you ask a man out on a date, Nik.” chides Ivy as she pushes the mortals together.

“What?” He blinks; shakes himself out of whatever thoughts compelled him to seek Taylor out. “Wh — shut up, Iv’.”

“Right,” she winks, “he’ll go with you anyway. It’s part of your brutish charm.”

“Shut up, Iv’.” Taylor parrots with a glare. “Is the spell finally ready?”

Not that he’s not enjoying his time at the Shift. And following the disaster that was the Bayou and Persephone he’s not exactly eager to go into other supernatural spaces any time soon.

But he’s never been one to stay cooped up for long.

Ryder huffs. “Not quite. Damn toad wart expired. Luckily though there’s a shop down the road that carries simple ingredients — so put away that grin Iv’. I’m done owin’ you for now.”

Probably a good thing judging by the low witchy cackle she gives instead.

“So let’s get goin’, hustle hustle.”

“But wait — is it safe?” Taylor follows anyway. Keeping at the Nighthunter’s heels is practically his new job. “You didn’t even want me leaving for the theater.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“With your hallelujah arrows, right?”

“Holy light arrows, Rook. You sound like an idiot when you say that.”

“Well now I’ll keep doing it to piss you off.”

“‘Course, because why would you do anything else?”

Their bickering continues out onto the ruins of another day of Mardi Gras fun. At least some things never lose a sense of normalcy.

It’s a small shop — one of those ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ types. The shop name LAVEAU’s is hand-painted above a doorway embellished with the classic purple, green, and golden plastic beads of the season’s parties.

Taylor stops Ryder before he opens the door. “‘Laveau’s’ like…?”

“Read the signs, Rook.”

There they are clear as day; painted by the same hand as the top sign but with an artist’s frustration behind every black-painted stroke. One on the door declaring ‘Yes, like Marie herself’ and then one blue-tacked beneath it; ‘Not Affiliated with Marie Laveau’s House of Voodoo.’

“Oh. Got it.”

While the outside may lack the flair and panache that attracts the usual tourist crowds the inside is a whole other looking glass. Probably looks the way it does to differentiate between those who want fake dolls to poke with pins and those who want a real hex to mess with.

God, he’s talking about real hexes. When had this become his life?

Together they weave through the cluttered mess of uneven shelves and their uneven products. Books stacked flat where they’d fallen over at some point and left that way with little concern. A bundle of glass-looking orbs balancing precariously without cradle to keep them from rolling off the edge. A plant hanger in the middle of the room holds a pile of sage sticks just there. At second glance some look a little used.

The back ‘counter’ isn’t even that. It’s a folding table with a frayed tablecloth unevenly distributed atop and an old and rusting register in the corner.

First Taylor sees the joint resting in an ash tray made out of a mason jar lid. Only when it’s picked up and placed between two pink lips does he realize the man sitting kiddie-corner to the till.

“Welcome, wayward souls, to another side of the witch you know,” he recites as if from a script; monotone — doing everything he can to dissuade those who might darken his doorstep, “everything you see is one hundred percent bona fide authentic to the craft. Don’t do the rhyme if you can’t do the wiccan time.”

Ryder stops abruptly. Arms folded and a raised eyebrow looking over the pile of scattered tarot cards strewn across the table. That which holds the proprietor’s attention more than customers.

Unbidden he reaches out and plucks a card at random. Turns it over to stare at glittering golden words ‘The Emperor’ upside-down.

There’s no way the shop owner should know what card was grabbed — not like he can see though the matte black backing — but he gives a low and throaty chuckle. Lets smoke billow in a thin stream around the same lips now curled in a smirk.

“You always picked predictably, Ryder.”

Ryder who frisbees the card back onto the table carelessly. “I’m not still unconvinced you don’t set me up every time, Luc.”

“For all the shit you see…”

“I’ll always be skeptical of some damn cards, yeah. What else is new?”

“Good question.”

Luc finally drags his gaze up and away from his reading. Gives Ryder an easy and lazy smile that might possibly be the friendliest greeting to the Nighthunter Taylor’s seen so far. Had he not joined Ivy in teasing Krom only a short while ago he might have run himself ragged trying to understand the electric connection he’s witness to.

There’s definitely a history here.

Ryder sighs; knows Luc isn’t going to answer him until he answers himself. “The usual, man. Another day another job. Not much changes for me.”

“That’s not what I hear. In fact — I hear quite the opposite.”

“Sure those aren’t just voices from a bad trip?”

Luc laughs and kicks himself up to balance on the back two legs of his chair. Teeters dangerously close to falling backwards. “Could be, brother, could be. But I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout the spiritual radio this time. Everyone who’s anyone heard tell of a gutsy break-in among the city’s most elite. And all the chaos that followed.”

Ryder’s teeth grind together; his brow gives an almost imperceptible twitch.

“What did I tell you about listenin’ to the rumor mill, Luc?”

“Are they wrong?”

Not giving an answer is answer enough. Makes Luc give a haughty grin so wide Taylor likens him to a shark.

“I said what I said; another day, another job. It got me a rare ingredient I needed. I figured I could get the rest from your sorry ass if I could get you to look away from that damn deck long enough to ring me up.”

Luc makes everything look easy; from getting on Ryder’s bad side to letting his chair fall forward so he can stand. Like he’s not moving through air and gravity but dancing through deep watery depths.

But there’s a defensive edge to his voice — the first emotion beyond amusement — as he starts to gather up his cards.

“I’ll have you know I’m fond of this deck in particular. They were given to me as an apology from someone who never apologizes.”

“Oh yeah, what for?” Judging by Ryder’s tone, though, he already knows.

Still he lets Luc’s bright hazel eyes bore into his soul.

“Skippin’ out come dawn without so much as an adieu.”

Taylor laughs because, well, it’s funny? Only to quickly realize it’s not the right thing to be doing when he catches the strange look Ryder throws back at him; halfway and in profile — like he stops himself before he can make it a whole confrontation.

The teasing’s gone, now. “Yeah — listen, any chance I still have that standing credit here? I need frog warts and a few other things for a protection spell.”

“Ain’t like you to run around on an empty wallet.”

“Yeah, well… this job ain’t just another.”

And as ‘Another Job’ Taylor kind of takes offense to it.

Luc jerks his head towards a doorway shrouded with a curtain of thick wooden beads and the occasional bird feather. “You know where the stores are, cher. Just consider ya’self lucky Mardi Gras is a prosperous time for us all.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Luca. And if it makes you feel better the life you’re savin’ ain’t even mine.”

Taylor’s a step behind his heels when Ryder turns and keeps him at bay with a palm to his chest. His heartbeat stutters; spandex yielding to the firm press, but Ryder says nothing of it.

“Stay up here.”

Taylor scoffs. “Why? I’m not going to accidentally cast a spell or anything.”

“Maybe not, but the last thing I need is you gettin’ clumsy on the wrong object and fuckin’ us both even deeper.”

While he fumbles for a retort worthy of the witty comeback, though, Ryder makes his escape. Calls back; “don’t touch anything, don’t look at anything — and don’t let him suck you up in that damn deck!” before he’s gone in a clatter of beads.

They both know he’s not going to listen — he only says it so he can tell Taylor off when something inevitably happens. That seems to be how they function. Not that he plans on flailing his arms and messing with the first thing he hits, but…

“Since you ain’t dead I’m gonna assume Ryder’s not takin’ on the role’a teacher of the nighthunting arts.”

Snaps Taylor’s attention back to Luc; back in his chair and shuffling the deck in long and ring-adorned fingers.

“No.”

“Good. You might just stay alive then.”

“Apparently that’s a hard thing to do so, sure.”

Luc gestures to the chair across from him. It’s an offer, not a demand, but out of spite for Ryder’s twenty different moods — follow me, don’t follow me, around and around again — he takes it up. Watches Luc shuffle and reshuffle with naught but the soft collision of the cards as music.

When he realizes Ryder’s going to take his time, he figures the best way to start might be an introduction.

“I’m —”

“Pick a few cards for me, Taylor.”

He hadn’t even realized the man had started a spread; each card turned down and black as the void in a soft arc reaching out to him across the table.

Luc is courteous enough not to blow smoke in his face. Sits back slightly hunched and letting his focus flicker between Taylor and the cards. Like both are equally likely to speak to him in the silence.

“It’s probably useless asking how you knew my name, huh?”

“Smart boy. Sometimes they whisper an’ sometimes they scream, but I gotta say it’s been a good long while since I heard the cards call out the way they do to you, Taylor Hunter.

“So help me out here. Pick a few and let them show us why they’re so damn chatty.”

He wants to point out that the only chatty one around is Luca himself, but again that’s one of those useless things he’s finally starting to come to terms with. Knows another useless thing would be to ask why he can’t hear anything… but that’s because hearing is the only word he can think to describe it too.

They’re cards — just plain tarot cards. But like inky tendrils they’re reaching out to him across the table on another plane of reality. One where they have soft black fingers that wrap around his wrists and bring his hands to hover over them. Like safety.

Ryder said… “Well, Ryder said…”

The look Luc gives him cuts him off. Yeah, that was a bit of a stretch, wasn’t it?

He points at random; watches Luc pull a card out without flipping it over. Keeps going until a curt nod cuts him off and nine rectangles of shadow form a square across from him.

“This ain’t your average reading,” that much being obvious by the reverent way the shopkeep looks down at his selection, “and I ain’t your average reader. You’re not from around here.”

“Are you asking?”

“No. But I figure that means you did what all newcomers do — got yourself one of those back room phony shows at the House of Voodoo.”

He wants to say he hasn’t only for how ashamed Luc’s tone makes him feel about it. But yeah — yeah he had. Doesn’t remember much about the event itself but knows somewhere buried in the clutter of his desk back at his place there’s a piece of paper from whatever the alleged ‘psychic’ had him ask.

Luc nods slowly. “Mmhm. Sometimes — ‘bout as oft’n as pigs fly — the cards they play don’t listen and give out an ounce of truth. Nothing life-changing, but a slip enough to tempt the handler into believing.

“You won’t get none’a that here. Whatever’s shown when I flip these babies around has been, is, or will be whether you know it or not. But they only tell as much of a tale as you’re ready to hear.”

The unasked question: are you ready to hear it? And Taylor isn’t sure he knows how to answer.

He knows a lot about himself; inside and out. Has lived through too much and shoved too much inside for too long not to. It’s something he’s proud of. A lot of people spend their lives with no understanding of their inner self but he’s never had that problem.

But there’s a difference between knowing it and seeing… whatever these cards might show him.

What if what he knows isn’t what they say?

Life would be easier if Ryder took that opportune moment to reappear and save him the trouble of having to make the choice.

But life isn’t easy.

He nods — but before Luc can flip over the first card he reaches out and stops him.

“I’m not, like, sealing a deal with a demon or something, am I?” Judging by the look he gets he really shouldn’t have asked.

“Do I look like a demon?”

“I don’t know what demons look like.” He knows it’s a lie but says it anyway; can think only of that skeletal face sneering at him under the moonlight.

Luckily it’s not enough to deter the shopkeep who just bats Taylor’s hand away. “Judgin’ by your ghostly pallor I’m gonna call your fib on that one. But if it eases ya mind; no. No deals here. I get as much outta this as you do.”

Well that’s okay then, isn’t it?

Luc flips the first card over and has himself a little laugh. And why wouldn’t he — The Fool isn’t just an apt card but an apt description.

Taylor’s humor is, however, short-lived. “Seriously?”

“You drew the card. Only one to blame is you.”

“So I’m gonna be even more of a joke in my future or something?”

Luc shakes his head; spreads his fingers as far as they’ll go as the shadow of his palm casts over the center card. “This ain’t your future, but your self. This is you, Mister Hunter.”

“A fool.”

“A man of innocence,” comes the quick correction, “and oftentimes a free spirit. You do your own thing; march to your own drum. Ev’ry Sally and Joe likes to laugh at the Fool but he’s got his eyes set on the horizon and that’s worth admirin’. So don’t sell him — or ya’self — short.”

Innocent — not quite. But the rest Taylor doesn’t disagree with. Seems he knows himself as well as he thought.

Luc’s painted nail traces along a jagged line on the image. “But see here; the Fool stands at the cliff’s edge. He’s a card so it ain’t in his nature to look anywhere but where he’s told but you’re not a card, are ya?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you lookin’ forward at the horizon or down into that abyss,” — he flips over another card before Taylor can answer — “or maybe you see the Tower on the other side.”

The Tower card is actually at the Fool’s back but he’s learned enough now not to question the metaphors.

“All that love for life might come at a cost. An’ hey — maybe it’s one you’re willin’ to pay. I don’t judge.”

No matter how hard he looks he knows he isn’t going to see the same thing as his reader. But… “I’m gonna need you to be a little less cryptic and a little more straightforward.”

“This ain’t science. Everything’s up for interpretation when the cards are involved.”

“Okay so interpret what exactly you mean by a cost. What cost?”

His rings drum on the plastic surface slowly before Luc clicks his tongue. “Looks to me like you’ve been through some shit lately. Life-changin’ shit — shit that skips right over dippin’ a toe into destiny and pushes you right in the deep end tied to an anchor — or ten.”

Finally Luc looks back up but his gaze is guarded; carefully and excellently so. He can’t get a thing out of just a look.

“I could have told you that.” He mutters a defensive reply. “A couple of days ago everything was fine and then my best friend’s in a coma, I find out the shit I’ve been hallucinating my whole life is real, and on top of it some big scary Ugly wants my skinny ass for a meal.”

“That explains our friend Ryder, then.” Luc almost seems to peek at the row’s last hidden card. When he turns the Eight of Cups over the hum he hums reminds Taylor of endless weeks of therapists and their noncommittal noises failing to cover the scratching of pen on paper. “And it’s all a helluva lot, I bet.”

It’s a bit hard to play off the full-body adjustment to hide his discomfort but Taylor likes to think he pulls it off pretty well.

“Understatement of the century.”

“Makes a world ‘a sense. You’ve tried gettin’ away from it.”

“Actually I haven’t really had the time.”

Only Luc disagrees; shakes his head curtly and offers the Cups to Taylor like it’s written on the surface in plain sight. “The cards ain’t just talkin’ ‘round the physical. Sometimes we do all the runnin’ in our minds and we don’t even know it. It could be as simple as connecting new things in ya life to old ones and convincing ya’self they’re the same; whether they are or not.”

Oh, there it is — on the surface and in plain sight. Struggling for Cal and Donny. Taking blame for what happened (not that he’d tell Cal, he’s got enough to feel bad over). Jumping down Krom’s throat about the theater company.

“Don’t beat ya’self up too bad,” continues Luc in a way that makes him freeze in the sudden fear that he can read thoughts as well as tarot cards, “a little escapism is good for the soul. The hard part’s when you gotta come back to reality an’ doin’ it without a fight.”

Taylor offers the card back and watches it settle home beside the Fool. The same Fool he’s now a little reluctant to identify with so quickly. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Got it — now cut the ramblin’; you’re talkin’ over the cards.”

Only hasn’t he been the one doing all the talking? Arguing won’t help but that little nugget of petulance persists.

This time Luc reveals three cards one after the other. Makes sure to let each one rest face-up before moving on. Letting them breathe. Letting them speak.

Strength. The Hermit. The Two of Swords. The first two facing Taylor this time as if in judgment. No; they haven’t drawn that card just yet.

He realizes he’s waiting on bated breath when his lungs start to burn and beg for fresh air. Why is he so quiet all of a sudden?

“Tell me more about those hallucinations ya mentioned, Taylor.”

That’s not where he was expecting that to go at all; catches him off guard. “Sorry?”

“Don’t be,” but the other man sounds distant; lost in his thoughts, “jus’ tell me. Said you been seein’ things ‘your whole life’ right?”

“Yeah. But I’d really rather not, uh, go into…” Wasn’t his life story down on the cards? It was hard enough explaining everything to Kristin — and they knew things about one another bound to secrecy by the sanctity of roommate-dom. So he tries to keep it all in the realm of the reading; “I mean I know what they are now. I was seeing glamours. Like through them — without a charm or spell or whatever. I dunno, Nik can explain it better.”

When Luc doesn’t give the same shocked jaw-drop the trio at the Shift had he entertains the brief hope that the same talent runs through the psychic’s veins. But that’s dashed when he catches sight of the unconscious way Luc grabs onto one of the numerous stone pendants draped over his neck — the way he thumbs over the polished surface and tugs on the leather cord.

It’s not the same one Ryder has but pretty damn close; close enough to assume his glamour-charm used to have a home in this very shop.

“That kind-a inner sight’s awful rare.” He practically mumbles.

“Yeah, it’s been mentioned.”

“Not unheard of, mind you. Not in things that ain’t entirely mortal by blood and bone. When you draw Strength in reverse it’s not the opposite like you’d think; it ain’t sayin’ you lack strength.

“Think of it more like the meanin’ is just turned about. Upright’s outside and the other is inside.”

“So it’s inner strength.” He can get behind that.

“Or lack of it.”

I’m fucking sorry? “Who—what-now?”

“This row,” he gestures a little too grandly for the subject matter, “is your past, present, and future. I told you the cards were screamin’ — and they still are — but not this one,” — not Strength — “this’un’s more of a whisper. And it makes sense given that you called ‘em ‘hallucinations.’”

“And an explanation for us ‘card’-of-hearing?”

Luc bites his tongue — really and without metaphor; wince and all. Grabs a stray bit of crumpled receipt from god-knows when his last sale was and scribbles on it in blocky letters.

“‘Note to self,’” he enunciates his writing harshly, “‘add sign to shop: ‘Owner Has the Right to Refuse Service on Account of Shitty Fucking Puns.’”

The glare that follows tells Taylor it won’t be long before that sign has his name added to avoid confusion.

No regrets. None at all.

Puns aside, though? The level eye he gets across the cards takes a turn for the serious.

“I think it tells me a lot more than you’re ready to share. About ya life before this; about the things you done to make the pain go away. Some of us may be human but that don’t mean we ain’t still animals. And animals lash out when they’re scared.”

He’s right. It’s a lot more than Taylor’s ready to share. Makes him want to scramble the deck — flip the table on its end. And maybe the old version of him, the version in those cards, might have.

In his silence Luc gets the answer — “moving on…” he almost sing-songs — lets his fingertips dance on the card showing the present: the Hermit.

Which Taylor tries not to take personally. Who is there to be angry at other than himself?

“So since that one’s reversed too that means… what, that I’m a hermit on the inside?”

“I can see how you’d think that,” laughs Luc, “but not quite. How about we let the professional do his profession?”

Taylor gestures. The professional carries on. “It ain’t easy comin’ into this life so late. ‘Specially when you end up seein’ all the bad before a lick’a good comes your way. But you’re drownin’ in it — that’s what the Hermit’s tellin’ us. No time to ruminate?”

He scoffs. “Something like that.”

“Well make time. Lest it all starts crashin’ down and you get the proverbial water in ya lungs.”

“It’s not by choice. There’s things after me and —”

“And excuses ain’t gonna keep you afloat.” The man reaches over faster than Taylor can move back; actually flicks his forehead dead center.

“Ow!” He swats Luc’s hand away.

“It ain’t me sayin’ this, Hunter. It’s them,” he gestures to the cards, “and they know more about this world than either of us could learn in a hundred lifetimes. Take ya damn time and really work out how you feel. Else you won’t be able to face this here future with a clear head.”

Luckily Taylor doesn’t have to ask; isn’t certain he’d be able to as he looks at the Two of Swords card and feels sweat start to bead at his temples.

Playing with tarot cards is all fun and games when you don’t believe. Even when you do — a measure of healthy skepticism is good for the soul. But with everything he’s seen; been told?

Who would willingly ask for their future foretold after that?

“I think we can skip to the next cards.”

“Oho, this don’t work like that.”

“Why,” doing his best to keep his voice level, “it’s my reading, right? I don’t want to know.”

“Sucks to be you, then. You draw; you listen. That’s how all true readin’s go.” Luc leans back on the creaky chair and lets the Swords card flip and twirl between his fingers.

He could make it easy on them both; stop arguing and just get up and leave the reading unfinished. Find Ryder in the back and apologize for doing what he said not to do — again — and book it out of there right quick.

But he doesn’t.

“Now I get why Nik said not to do this.”

“Ha — well, hindsight ain’t much use in a house of foresight baby. So listen; an’ listen well.

“In proper tarot some cards are real close in meanin’. That’s where the spread comes in — the order, the intent; not to mention the cards all ‘round it. The Swords in your future point to some hard fuckin’ choices. And if ya keep on the path ya’re on you won’t be makin’ ‘em with all your marbles.

“I ain’t talkin’ about decisions that can be made for you, neither. When it comes down to it you’re likely to find ya’self alone — not only in the act a’ choosin’ but in dealin’ with the consequences.”

“So what kind of choices? What do the cards scream about that?”

“They don’t —” he tosses the card back down and it’s probably not a coincidence that it slides magically askew back in the reading’s place, “— on account of all the changes between now and when that time comes.

“The cards give truths where mortals lie; hope where the world pushes despair. But at the end’a everythin’ they’re just cards — bound by the same circumstances as you or I.”

It’s probably meant to be poignant; something that might be sold on a re-purposed wooden palette hand-painted and polished. In a shop similar to this — right between the mismatched crystal balls and Ryder’s coveted frog warts.

But all Taylor can think is; “Well that’s absolutely useless to me beyond freaking me out.”

Luc gives another one of his gap-toothed grins — “C’est la vie, mon petit,” — and doesn’t wait for permission or argument to reveal another card.

“If it makes ya feel any better —”

“Doubtful at this point.”

“— Fair. But they won’t leave ya hangin’. Unless the Hanged Man is drawn, a’course. Naw, rest easy knowin’ you won’t be goin’ the journey alone.”

He frowns; confused. “But you just said —”

“Hush. All the best journeys are made with friends. Though I… I ain’t sure I’d call the Nine a’Wands a friend…”

Curiosity replaced by twists and turns of his bewildered head; Luc bites down on his thumb nail and scrutinizes the seventh draw. “In fact, I’d call whomever this bad draw represents —”

“Ryder!”

The Nighthunter emerges in a wave of beads carrying a pearly sphere the size of his head tucked in the crook of his arm. At the same time Taylor jumps — a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar — and swears when his knee bangs under the table.

Luc doesn’t notice — or doesn’t care; still fixated on the black-and-gold design in front of him. Mutters “could be him, but…” under his breath so low that no one catches it.

Taylor fumbles for an explanation — which is a pretty stupid move seeing as he was ready to just come clean only a minute ago — but doesn’t get the chance. Though he would like to state that it probably would have been an extremely convincing and well-versed one had Ryder not just held up a hand and rolled his eyes.

“I figured you’d ignore me. Already took out my anger with a mortar and pestle in the back.”

Well he’s a little offended now. “I wasn’t blatantly disobeying you or anything,” then; “I’m a grown adult and can make my own choices.”

And doesn’t that karma come around to bite him in the ass pretty damn fast. He makes a great effort not to look at what is no doubt a haughty look of ‘I told you so.’

“Yeah yeah, cry me a river.”

He props the sphere on a large cushion nearby to keep it from rolling and drags the last free seat over into Taylor’s personal bubble. Already looking at the spread like he, too, can hear these alleged screams from the deck. “So, Luc? Any tell on whether or not I’m gonna get paid for this gig?”

“Wha — hey!”

Taylor knows he doesn’t hit Nik’s arm that hard but the offended look he gets back is more than enough.

“Ouch. That hurt.”

“If that hurt I need a new bodyguard.”

“Don’t tempt me to pawn you off.”

“Please do.”

A tinny click draws their focus away from each other and to Luc’s newly lighted blunt. No longer puzzled by the cards — his eyes are brighter; they shine with understanding.

“Nevermind. I get it, now.”

“Get what?” barks Nik a little too defensively.

“Didn’ I jus’ tell ya not to mind it?”

Taylor cuts Nik off before he can continue arguing. They’ve been here too long already. “If we can’t leave until this is finished — can you finish?”

Two cards remain to be revealed. The fortune teller takes his sweet time with a few puffs before agreeing, if reluctantly. Maybe he just doesn’t like an audience?

All sense of the mysterium is gone. Luc flips the cards one at a time with one hand while sucking in his joint with the other.

The Five of Swords. The Wheel of Fortune.

It’s totally the secondhand high that makes the golden wheel glitter and seem to turn before their eyes. Totally.

He braces himself for another round of cryptic semi-explanations. Only they don’t come. Luc’s eyelids droop heavy — almost closed. And judging by Nik’s frown that’s not a normal part of the reading.

“Luca? Hey —” — he snaps in front of the man’s face — “— Laveau!”

He doesn’t quite jerk out of his momentary trance; eyelids flutter as if awakening from a dream.

“Maybe you had a point, Hunter,” after a throaty cough, “maybe it’s best this go unfinished.”

“What seriously? After all that earlier shit?” He balks. Beside him Ryder grabs the Swords and looks it over back to front.

“You’ve never left a reading hanging. What gives?”

“He’s still new to the life. I think he’s had enough bad news for today.”

Taylor practically snatches the card from Nik. But it seems just as reluctant to give up its secrets to him, too. Makes him toss it back down in frustration.

“Just tell me,” even he can’t believe what he’s saying, “since I dunno if it’s worse to know or to guess.”

“Trust me. The worst one’s knowin’.”

“I’ll take that as you’ve never encountered crippling anxiety, then.”

In rare sympathetic form Ryder reaches out and rests a hand on Luc’s exposed forearm. They aren’t hiding behind quips or dancing words any longer; you could see the remnants of intimacy between them from space.

“Luc — come on. For my sake, too.”

The doubt doesn’t ease off from the fortune teller’s brow. In fact it looks deeper than ever before. Finally he yields. “All right — but don’t blame me or the cards. We’re jus’ messengers after all.”

No longer in need of a familiar touch Luc shakes the hand off. Mutters something unintelligible under his breath and takes another few puffs to calm himself down before he covers the Five of Swords like he can’t do the reading while looking at it.

“There’s more than difficult choices ahead for you — and for those what end up around you. A fight looms —” he turns the Swords card on its back atop the revealed Wheel of Fortune, “— on a bigger horizon than that’a the Vieux Carre. Might even be one bigger than this world of ours.

“Not so much a fight as a battle; a war. Turnin’ and churnin’ at the banks of the river and out into the ocean. Ready to flood the whole damn city — every corner of the earth. And it’ll keep ragin’ and screamin’ with every body what falls to it.”

Ryder goes still as stone beside him. Taylor finds himself revisiting the notion of it being better not knowing.

“What does any of that have to do with me?”

“You, Mister Hunter — you’re smack dab in the middle of it. More’n that… you belong there.”

Apologies. Sympathy. Condolences. Luc can’t seem to settle on one way to look at Taylor so instead he just focuses on packing his deck back up. He isn’t as careful this time around — like he’s angry at the cards and what they had to say; to scream. Two separate entities working off of one another but, at the very least, both unhappy with the outcome.

“I’ll get a box for that crystal ball — the warts are yours but I’ll need interest on that relic.” He can’t get away from the pair fast enough. Shuffles the tarot deck in his hands as he goes.

He wants to be surprised that Nik doesn’t follow; doesn’t go to check on someone he obviously has a past and present connection with. But in the goody bag of his emotions he just keeps pulling out resignation — even when he cheats and peeks inside.

That’s all there is. All he can feel.

Where’s that opportunity for escapism the cards had mentioned earlier? He could use a bit of that at the moment.

Doesn’t know when exactly Nik started trying to comfort him; hand on his upper back, the gentle back-and-forth of his thumb. Taylor’s not a big fan of touch but that seems to be how Ryder connects to the world; through the physical.

And oddly it’s working. The comfort thing.

“You okay?”

He’ll sass such a ridiculous question later. “Uh, honestly I don’t really know what I am right now.”

Ryder’s face is unusually close when Taylor looks his way. The barest flicker — a crack in the bravado. Nik is worried for him.

“That can happen after Luc’s readings. You think I warned ya away to keep you from somethin’ fun? Knowin’ his connection with the spirit world makes it all really…”

He struggles for the right word. Weird, coming from him.

“‘Real?’” offers Taylor, and gets him a nod.

“Yeah, really real.”

Noises of shuffled boxes and Luc’s grunts draw them out of Taylor’s personal space and back to the world around them. Up near the back curtain Luc gently eases the crystal ball into a wooden box.

“So, question.”

“Yeah Rook?”

“What do we do now?” Because if turning tail and running like a shameless coward away from this war is an option, he’s taking it.

“We keep on going,” Nik answers, “We get back to the Shift and finish up this blasted protection spell and then we dive into findin’ your attacker and punch a bunch’a holy light holes in it’s ugly-ass face.”

This time when he reaches into the bag of emotions, luck gives him a break and lets him pull out the barest ghost of a smile.

“Man, it is ugly. Like — fugly ugly.”

Ryder’s smile is just as small — but no less sincere — than his.

“It damn sure is.”

[bunnylouisegrimes]

Always Together (NOS4A2 Fanfic)

Always Together

By: Bunny Louise Grimes

A/N: Ah, a NOS4A2 fanfic at last! This is pure fluff I thought of with Charlie and one of my characters, Rose or Rosie... enjoy, with love 💖

The smell of something wonderful cooking from downstairs woke me up. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes to the best of my ability and stretched the REM sleep paralysis off. I yawned and looked up at the ceiling, where hints of sunlight speckled about it. Never had I slept better than when I was with Charlie. Before, I had developed insomnia and never slept very deeply. Due to his comforting presence, pure happiness everyday, and ability to lull me to sleep, I was able to sleep soundly and get a good night’s rest.

I rolled out of bed, my bare feet meeting the cold floor. My long rose-decorated nightgown swayed with me as I stepped out of our room, went to the bathroom to the furthest left, and stepped down the stairs. The front door was right near the steps. When you took a left, you were in the dining room. I could see Charlie in the kitchen. He grinned when he saw me shyly peaking in at him.

“Well, good morning, sleepyhead,” he teased. “I hope you slept well.”

I walked over to him and hugged him. “I did.”

He hugged me back, giving me a gentle squeeze as he usually did when we hugged. We separated and I looked up at him. He looked back down at me with a smirk.

“Whatcha making?” I asked.

“Pancakes and bacon.”

I hugged him by his side as he set his arm across my back. “I love those!”

“I know, my dear,” he beamed. “That’s why I’m making them just for you. Now you sit and look pretty while I finish up.”

I sat down at the table and swung my legs, eager to have a good breakfast.

“You know, darling, I was hoping we could have a day of lazy leisure today,” he said. “After breakfast, I was wondering if you’d enjoy spending today doing nothing but being in my company. I know that the two of us have spent the past few weeks after running away together being in hotels and driving in my car, but now that you’ve settled into my humble abode, we can spend time doing other things.”

“I really like the sound of that,” I nodded.

“Excellant. I was hoping you and I could wander through the woods after breakfast, gaze at all the woodland I have and even the mountains behind it, if you are fine with that.”

“Of course, Charlie! That sounds really nice!”

“I’m glad you think so. You’ll come to find living a life in a more solitary environment with only your lover by your side will be quite the experience. I know I prefer the comfort of a quiet area with nothing but the sounds of nature to preserve your peace. That’s why I bought this place to live. It was simply perfect. It’s an area I am familiar with, not too far from Christmasland, and away from everybody so I can rest in tranquility.”

“I like it too! I’ve always sort of wanted to live out in the country away from everybody and have beautiful land to run through.”

“Well, here on my land, you can run and run and run to your heart’s content. There’s plenty of space to do it.”

He gave me my pancakes and bacon. He picked up some syrup and poured it all over my pancakes. I clapped in excitement as he gave me a knife and fork.

“Thank you, Charlie!”

“You are most certainly welcome, my sweet.”

We ate our breakfast and he told me stories about other breakfasts he’d had in the past century and 35 years he’d been alive. Some were horrible, and he joked about those ones. Others were some of the most delicious meals he’d ever been presented with. I was fascinated by all of his stories of old. It was an honor to be with someone as old and wise as he was and hear stories from times some were not alive anymore to recall and tell.

When we were done, Charlie gathered up the plates and told me to get changed to go outside. I ran back upstairs and got changed into one of my long, oversized hoodies. It was lavender purple with a white kawaii cat with colorful eyes, a star on her forehead, heart blushes on her cheeks, and a pink ribbon with a bell on her neck on the front. A pastel rainbow was behind her, and white stars sprinkled throughout it. The same cat and rainbow were on the back of the hoodie. I slipped on a thick pair of leggings with pastel rainbow stripes. Stars and crescent moons decorated the rainbow stripes along with a pair of fake milk splashes designed to look like they were dripping down the legs. A childish and girly castle design was printed on the bottom of both bottoms of legs.

For jewelry, I put on a necklace with a pink and gold Sailor Moon wand, a necklace Charlie gave me that included a part of the Wraith’s engine so that I always had a piece of him and the car (he knew something was up with the engine one day and when he got it fixed, they gave him a piece of it he could keep, and he thought of the idea to make a necklace for me out of it), and a pink kitty cat collar choker necklace Charlie bought for me with a gold bell, golden heart, rainbow, star and moon dangling off of it in the front, and a cat paw in the back that clipped it together around my neck. I also put on a letter bead bracelet I made myself that read, “Charlie’s Angel” and another bracelet Charlie bought me and customized at a jewelry store that had rainbow beads and colorful, glittery ponies, bats, and butterflies dangling off of it.

I bounced down the steps to see Charlie washing the dishes. I sat back down at the table with some hair ties and a small, glittery and pink unicorn brush I had left in the hoodie pockets. Charlie looked up when he saw me sitting down and chuckled.

“You look adorable, my wonder... I always think it’s so cute that you express yourself by wearing the most colorful and feminine things possible...”

“Aw, thank you, Charlie,” I giggled. “I love the way you dress too. I love your old-fashioned clothes. Plus, your clothes are so soft!”

He blushed and said, “Perfect for snuggling, huh?”

I nodded happily. I undid my braids and brushed my hair out. I placed my hair in two puppytails on the side of my head held together on the top by hair ties with pastel rainbow bows with pink strawberries in the middle of them.

By the time Charlie was ready to go, I had finished my hair. I slipped on a pair of shoes I had near the door. They were pastel pink and purple sneakers with white Pegasai with pink, yellow, and blue manes and tails on the sides of them, signifying which was left and right.

We stepped outside and walked together for a few minutes, enjoying the peaceful nature around us. I clung to Charlie’s side, feeling the softness of his blue coat. He had an arm wrapped around me, keeping me close to him. It was a little chilly, being autumn. I looked up at him with a toothy smile. He looked back down at me with a tightly-lipped smile. That’s when an idea hit me.

“Charlie, let’s play hide and seek!”

“Hide and seek? Well, I suppose we could. We have the room to do it. But I warn you, I always win at hide and seek. You’ll never find me, but I’ll always find you.”

“We’ll see about that,” I snickered. “You hide first and I’ll find you.”

He smugly smirked at me. “Alright.”

I closed my eyes, covered them, turned around, and counted to ten. While I was counting, I heard Charlie’s footsteps running away from me with swiftness for only a few seconds before disappearing from my hearing entirely.

I turned around when I was done counting and called, “Ready or not, Charlie! I’m coming!”

I ran around the woods amongst all the tall trees, looking and searching everywhere I could. There was no trace of the vampire anywhere; he must’ve been telling the truth about always winning.

“Charlie!” I called after a while. “Where are you?”

My voice echoed amongst the trees, and only silence responded.

“Charlie!” I tried again. “Come out, come out, where ever you are! I know you’re around here somewhere!”

More silence answered me. High above, the leaves swayed and branches rocked. I clung to myself, shivering at the chilly wind.

Five minutes passed, and I couldn’t find Charlie anywhere. A small part of me was starting to get a little worried. I had strong doubts that he would be in danger, but a part of me somewhere had to worry about him. He wasn’t indestructible.

“Charlie...” I called, my voice shaking just a little bit. “I think you win, Charlie... you can come out now...”

A minute of silence and stillness later, a shape flung itself at me from above, along with a growling. I shrieked and jumped back, but after hearing a certain laughter, I realized it was Charlie hanging upside down from a branch like a bat, the long back of his coat hanging down with him. I giggled back at him.

“Charlie! What are you doing? Hanging upside down like a bat... you’re a silly vampire bat!”

He chuckled with an innocent look on his face. Even his arms were crossed as if he were a bat crossing its wings.

“Well, this silly vampire bat scared you! The look on your poor, sweet face... you weren’t expecting your beloved Charlie to surprise you and scare you like that, were you? But it’s okay, because Charlie is here to comfort you...”

I giggled and kissed him on the lips as he still dangled from the branch.

“Now it’s my turn to hide! You close your eyes!”

He jumped down from the branch safely. “Very well then... good luck, my joy... you’re going to need it...”

He turned around, closed his eyes, and began counting. I ran as fast as I could away from him and found a little dip in the land to hide behind, guarded by trees to prevent him from seeing me. I jumped into the small ditch and covered my mouth to hide my laughter. I gasped for air at the same time to catch my breath.

There was no announcement from Charlie that he was ready to find me.

Am I really that far away from him? Maybe.

The tree limbs above me waved in the wind. I had caught my breath and rested my back against the ground. I kept my ears and eyes open for any sign of him. For a total of three minutes, I sat there, waiting for him. Once those minutes were over, I let my guard down and relaxed a bit. There was no way he could find me now if he hasn’t by this point-

I cried out as I was being lifted up off the ground by a strong force. I was set comfortably down on a tree branch and turned to be faced with a certain vampire with a large grin and smug face.

“Ha, ha! I found you! Just like I said...”

“How?! How?!”

“Well, I can sense your presence, plus smell your sweet scent, and I have very sharp ears and eyes.”

“No fair!” I laughed.

“I told you I always win. Because even when you can’t find me, I’m always there watching out for you, and when you’re lost and wander away from me, I’ll always be there to swoop in and take you back in my arms to keep you safe.”

I hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. “Awww, Charlie, you’re such a sweetheart!”

He smiled and hugged me tightly back. I burst up laughing again and looked up at him after he laid a kiss on my lips.

“Charlie and Rosie, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” I sang.

“Very cute,” he smirked.

We cuddled together in the tree for a while longer, eventually nodding off and taking a nap. We woke up when the sun was setting, and we ran around more in the woods. Charlie even invited some of his bat friends and let them fly around us. One of the bats, Alucard, was especially a “little gentleman,” as Charlie put it, and let me pet him. Charlie told me that all the bats liked me because I was so kind.

By the time the sky turned dark blue, Charlie believed it was time to go inside. We returned home, Charlie prepared dinner, and I took a nice bath in his claw foot bathtub. While I was changing into the pink bunny pajamas Ralphie from A Christmas Story wore (Charlie bought them for me), Charlie took a shower himself. For dinner, we ate Hamburger Helper with potatoes (one of my favorites), and we snuggled more on the couch while watching TV after dinner. I yawned and nuzzled my head against Charlie’s chest. He rubbed my head through the pink rabbit eared hood and said, “Sleepy, my little bunny?”

I nodded and rubbed my eyes.

He picked me up after turning the TV off and we settled into bed. I was already snug in my pajamas, but I was even more snug within the blankets and Charlie’s body. He rested his chin against my soft head and whispered, “Good night, my wonder and my joy. I love you very much.”

“Good night, Charlie! I love you very much too.”

He placed a kiss on my lips and forehead before embracing a nuzzle against my head. We both fell into deep and peaceful slumber, our shared dreams filled with nothing but fun and happiness.

[86quills]

Red Moon

They sped through the trees, muted blurs against the encroaching shadows as night began to fall. Already, Sakura felt uneasy. There was an undeniable pull in the air, thick and heady. A siren’s call of mischief and mayhem. Red moon.

Demons would be out in full tonight.

And as her luck would have it, she found herself hunting one of their very own.

She signaled to the rest of the hunting party to veer right.

“Sakura…”

“I know.”

They stopped at the unmarked border where a flurry of wild magic mixed and mingled. An electric dance all at once playful and dangerous. It caressed her skin like a lover, tickled her lips and sparked on her tongue. It was not forbidden to cross territories but if one did of his own free will, well…everything became fair play. No court would vouch or come to the rescue should something go astray.

She crouched, sweeping leather clad hands over dead earth the shape of footprints. What was once green was now devoid of life. Leaves turned to brown ash in her palm as she grimaced beneath her large hood.

“He grows stronger with every step and now that he’s crossed…the darkness will have its way with him.”

She straightened at Neji’s somber words. “Take the others and head back. It’s a red moon. I won’t risk any lives tonight.”

Sakura was one of the best hunters he knew and if any fae could navigate demon territory, it would be her. She just so happened to be the most stubborn too.

“Be careful, Sakura. I refuse to suffer Naruto’s wailing any more than I have to.”  

Her laugh was soft, instantly soothing. “He’ll be occupied for the next few days, I hear. Something about wooing your pretty cousin,” she teased, catching his pained sigh.

“Don’t remind me,” he said. “Return safe and sound.”

Sakura nodded, green eyes bright in the rising twilight.

One. Two. Three steps and she took off after her prey.

…

“Did you feel that?”

“Hnn…”

“We’ve got a visitor.”

And they were not alone. Shisui took a moment to savor the giddy rush as their lands seemed to burst with life and anticipation. It didn’t take long for either to come to the same conclusion. Hunters.

Dark eyes flashed with excitement. “And here I thought we’d only be stuck with our own tonight.”

“Keep yourself in check, Shisui.”

He ruffled his younger cousin’s hair as he sped by, grinning. “Don’t pretend you’re not as excited, Itachi. Now come along, we should give our guests a proper welcome.”

It wasn’t often the Fae crossed into demon territory, but when they did, it did not go unnoticed. Their visits were few and far between and tended to be diplomatic in nature. So it went without saying that this was a most unusual occurrence. Most knew to keep away from their territories during red moon nights. Dark beings liked things that glittered and shined and the Fae, well, they were the brightest of all. The red moon only enhanced the allure, drove those with little control mad with want and the insatiable urge to bite and taste and feed.

As his cousin so dutifully pointed out, to say he wasn’t intrigued would be a lie. Hunters were an entirely different story and a part of him itched to see one in action. They were merciless, swift in their hunts and even swifter with their kills. For a kind who were known for their fun and games, they were surprisingly ruthless. With a huff, he quickly fell into step at Shisui’s side.

…

Sakura couldn’t shake the sense of dread in the pit of her stomach. She had precious little time before everything saw the color red and she’d be fighting more than just her target. A glance above only made her quicken her pace and—

The clash of steel against steel rent the air.

Jumping back, Sakura didn’t have time to assess how far he’d fallen into darkness for he was already escaping; a disgusting, wraith-like creature no longer recognizable as fae. She fell into pursuit until they burst into an open clearing just as the moon bled a darker shade of red. Her every sense was heightened as she skidded to a stop.

“Surrender and I’ll make your death quick.”

A sinister grin crept across his almost face and he tsked, long tongue darting out to lick too thin lips. “You inssssult me, Hunter.”

So they were going to do this the hard way, then. Sparks flew when their weapons collided. Curved daggers crossed over her chest took the brunt of his attack before her kick landed square in his gut. She flipped over and the next moments were a volley of parries and strikes too quick to count. She sidestepped and slashed him across the ribs, spun and sliced clean down his back. Black blood poured from the deep gashes, splattered across her cloak.

He rushed and she met him head on, her twin daggers sliding across his blade in a long, beautiful steel kiss until she was close enough to spin around him and ram an elbow into his lower back. She jumped away when he twisted but instead of a downward swing of his sword, he grabbed hold of her ankle and suddenly the world was spinning and she crashed into the ground, her daggers flying from her hands. He was on her in an instant, but she was faster. Wrapping her legs around his neck, Sakura flipped him over and crushed him into the ground, using his body as a springboard to jump away.

He didn’t stay down though and emerged from the cloud of earth and rubble almost too quick for her eyes to pick up. His knee connected with her stomach and the air forced its way from her lungs. Bending backwards, she narrowly dodged a roundhouse kick and then another. With one powerful uppercut to his jaw, she sent him careening into the air and not a second later she was above him, landing a heavy downward blow to his middle that nearly tore him in half. Sakura used him to soften her crash back into the clearing and prepared to end him. However, his deafening scream and the wave of tainted power struck her hard and fast and she was sent hurtling towards the trees. Dragging her hand through the ruined earth to slow the impact, she spit out the blood and straightened from her crouch.

Well, wasn’t he just full of surprises? The darkness must’ve been festering inside him for far longer than they’d believed. She cursed when black magic seeped into his body, stolen from the land around them and morphed his body into something other. Something unnatural and wrong.  

Unclasping the hook of her cloak, she let it flutter to the ground as long pink hair cascaded around her shoulders from her high ponytail. Sakura reached behind her and gripped Katsuya, her fae war axe. Twirling the finely crafted, double headed weapon in her hand, she swung it up and over, reveling in the melodic whoosh. It seemed they were definitely going to do this the hard way.

Consumed by black magic, he cried for her death and came for her in a rush of madness. Claws swiped down from behind her, but she rolled out of the way and back to her feet in one smooth motion. She swung her axe in an outward arc, catching him across the chest. Close, but not close enough. She watched the wound close and knew she needed to finish this soon for every second wasted he would only grow stronger.

She shifted her stance and shot forward like an arrow, going on the offensive. She wielded Katsuya with practiced ease, every blow and swing swifter and truer than the last. Sakura was unrelenting. She cut through black magic, through claws and tore apart dying flesh. His blood sizzled across her elven armor as she flipped over him and dragged the razor sharp edge up and over his face, destroying his gleaming left eye.

He shrieked and it echoed throughout the clearing, empty and hollow. From his body, sharp blades of dark magic twisted and shot forth. Sakura countered with a powerful swing that dug up earth and wind and damn…she coughed blood when black magic penetrated her armor and tore through her left shoulder. But she didn’t let that stop her. With a sudden ferocity too wild to tame, she swung and released her axe in a deadly spin. Using her speed, she flew straight towards him, leapt into the air and hooked her legs around his shoulders just in time to catch Katsuya and slide her clean across his throat.

His body crumpled beneath her and she came away with his head in one hand and a thrumming war axe in the other. As tendrils of white magic swirled around her, she whispered the ancient rites of the old world and what was once fae slowly faded to ash. She took a deep, shuddering breath, the aftermath of the hunt still racing through her blood.

But there was no time to rest or linger. The moon was at its peak and drowned in the deepest scarlet.

Securing Katsuya to her back, Sakura summoned her curved daggers and slipped them into their leather sheaths hidden under the elegant war axe. Taking off at a run, she snatched up her cloak just as a tremor vibrated beneath her feet. The dread from earlier returned and pooled something fierce in the pit of her stomach.

The ground suddenly exploded and all she saw were fangs and smooth black scales as she leapt back to avoid being crushed or probably eaten in this case. When the dust cleared, she stood facing a giant two headed snake.

“Faaaeee…” it hissed in a lazy, hypnotic way that certainly didn’t bode well. Sakura cursed her luck for the second time that night. She could feel other demons on the fringes, no doubt drawn by the commotion and the mix of magic. This was going to be a bloody free for all.

The throbbing pain in her shoulder reminded her of her injury, but she currently had bigger problems at the moment.

It struck and she jumped up to avoid its massive fangs only to whip out her curved daggers and swipe at the second head that came from the other direction. She flipped back and on her descent, slammed the hilts of her blades together, twisted, and brandished a double-edged spear. She raced forward, using her weapon to catapult her in an arc. Both heads attacked, fast and efficient, its body slithering right to left as it tried to snap her up. A sharp tip grazed her thigh and it felt like fire against her skin. Sakura pivoted and slashed, almost got impaled by another terrible fang, and spinning in the air, pierced her weapon in the underside of its bottom jaw and cut clean down with stunning white magic.  In a rainfall of blood, she scaled the side of the falling snake head and severed its twin in a beautiful flourish of iridescent steel.

Hitting the ground, Sakura saw the shadows move from the forests all at once, some going to feast on the flailing reptile and others eyeing her as their next meal. After all, fae was a delicacy around these parts. She unlocked the hilts of her spear and flicked the dripping blood from their sharp edges.

The red moon enhanced the blood lust of demons and those who could not control it fell victim to its clutches. Her magic was like a beacon to them, an alluring siren call they could not resist. She’d be lucky to come out of this in one piece. As if a drop of water had fallen into a still pond, she only had a moment to brace herself before all hell broke loose.

They came for her from all sides and she slashed through them in a graceful, mesmerizing dance. Splatters of red and black painted the scene as she cut them down. Spinning her body, she slashed through flesh and bone, crushed faces with powerful punches and aerial kicks that sent bodies flying. Ducking low, she swept their legs out from under them and drove her blades into their hearts with devastating efficiency.  

But a sudden murmur had pierced through the mayhem. Something even darker was here. She could feel it, see it in their shifting, pitch-black eyes. They hesitated as she slowly rose, demon blood dripping from her armor and curved daggers. They looked at her, then beyond, and she knew they were trying to decide if she was still worth it. Sakura chanced a look to her left just in time to see black flames turn demons to ash, to see bodies torn limb from limb in less than a heartbeat.

A pulse of magic more ancient and far more frightening rumbled through the clearing and that was enough to send them scrambling back to the shadows.  

She reached for the comforting, engraved handle of Katsuya, readying herself for the worse…

“Sakura…”

Her green eyes immediately hardened, knowing full well what kind of demons lurked here and the tricks they liked to play.

“It’s been a while, sweetheart.”

She knew that voice. But…

“Looks like she still wants to rip your heart out and eat it, cousin.”

“Gladly.”

Perhaps she should’ve anticipated running into these two, but she’d honestly didn’t think the Hunt would end up this messy. With this being a red moon night, they were probably out patrolling and had felt the ripple when she’d crossed over the border. She relaxed, relieved she wouldn’t have to fight her way out of this one.  

“It’s only been a few decades,” she remarked.

“But it’s felt like centuries!”

She snorted at Shisui’s dramatics as she sheathed her daggers. A grimace crossed her face when her shoulder burned in pain.

“You’re hurt.” Itachi reached out to brush soft strands of petal pink. When had she become so devastating?  

“I’m fine,” she assured, offering a weak smile. “Is there running water nearby?”

Itachi nodded, sharing a worried glance with Shisui.

“I need to get there…now…”

It wasn’t long after when they arrived at the river. Sakura immediately began to remove her upper armor that fit like a second skin, undoing the leather buckles and bindings, releasing her arm guards and tearing off the left sleeve of her undershirt. From the weeping wound, dark veins of black magic had spread. It was an ugly thing, its spindly invasion already engulfing her shoulder, traveling down her arm.

Kneeling at the river’s edge, she summoned the water forward and let it cleanse her wound, clenching her jaw when it burned something fierce. With whispers in the old language, Sakura spun a healing spell with potent white magic that charged the air around them. Black leached from the gaping hole in her shoulder, fell in rivulets down her arm before it began to run pure red.

Despite their desire to help, Itachi and Shisui remained quiet and vigilant, knowing well enough not to interrupt when Sakura was healing. It was when she nearly keeled over that Itachi caught her in his arms.

“Thanks,” she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder. “Have I told you how much I hate red moons?

“Many times and yet you keep coming back.”

She laughed and then winced. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“You need rest.”

“I need to get…back…”

“Not tonight.” But his words went unheard. She’d already fallen into a healing slumber.

Shisui shook his head before grabbing her discarded armor and weapons, admiring the Fae craftmanship. Watching her wield these had been a sight to behold and not for the first time that night did both he and Itachi wonder how much she’d grown.

…

A/N:  Fae!Sakura has been been bothering me for a while so figured I’d give it a shot. Demon!Uchihas, I think, are a weakness of mine...well, anything supernatural and fantasy really. I’ll probably continue this at some point...maybe...

[imagining-supernatural]

Avenging Angel: Part 34

Summary: You’ve spent the last five years on a dangerous mission to solve the crime that wrongly imprisoned your father. When the Winchesters find you half-frozen on the side of a mountain, they make it their own mission to save your life and make sure you stay alive. But after five years of uncovering horribly dark secrets, you’ve learned not to trust anyone. Especially people who seem like they have good intentions.

Word Count: 1823

Warnings: None

Avenging Angel Series Masterlist

Security cameras really shouldn’t have little red blinking lights to indicate that they’re recording. It tips off the bad guys who are trying to break in. They know exactly where to aim their guns to protect their identity.

As you walked under one such camera, you glanced at the feed on your phone, making sure that the loop you’d made was working. You didn’t want any well-meaning security guards ruining your plans. You weren’t a bad guy, but you sure were following their pathway. And, you supposed, you were trying to rob Herytoc Tech Inc. But the stuff you were after belonged to your father, so technically you weren’t stealing as much as… taking what was rightfully yours.

You reached the first door and tapped out a code on your phone, then waited for the door to unlock for you.

Besides, you had an inside man helping you out. Quentin had told you what kind of firewalls Herytoc Tech had. He told you where your dad’s stuff was being kept. And now he was visiting his parents, three states over so that he wouldn’t get blamed if things went sideways. You’d insisted.

The clinks of the locks disengaging alerted you that it was green to go. So you slipped inside and slowly made your way through the building. A careful eye was kept out for any security cameras or measure that you might have missed. However, you made it to the records room with no complications.

You activated the code to crack the system lock and waited. As your phone ran the numbers, you heard footsteps drawing closer. A glance at your phone showed that it was getting close to cracking the code, but it wouldn’t be fast enough.

So you fluffed your hair a bit and tried to calm your racing heart. You’d prepared for this. You could do this.

A man in a suit rounded the corner and strolled towards you, expression more curious than accusing.

“Looks like I’m not the only person getting their life sucked out of them for these late nights, huh?” You initiated the conversation, hoping to get him more relaxed.

He just chuckled. “Tell me about it. Maybe one of these days we can learn what it’s like to leave at a normal hour.”

“That’ll be the day,” you agreed. Your phone vibrated, indicating that the door would unlock in three seconds. So you grabbed a credit card and swiped it over the sensor, letting the man think it was an employee key card. The records room door opened and you nodded at him. “Well, good luck staying awake.”

“You too.”

As soon as you were in the room with the door closed, you allowed yourself thirty seconds to calm down over that close call before heading further in to search for your father’s stuff.

*****

*****

“We think it might be possible that your mother is an alpha to more than just her pack of werewolves.”

You considered Crowley’s words for a moment. Sam and Dean had given you a few minutes to get over your HELLicopter ride before inviting the angel and demon into the hotel room. But even with those few minutes, your brain was still working at half capacity.

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“It means that the different factions they were telling us about—the groups of different kinds of monsters—they’re more like different divisions of the same pack.”

“My mom’s,” you finished Dean’s sentence slowly. “So… what? She’s building an army? Getting eyes everywhere? For what?”

Sam sat forward and trained his eyes on you. ��We were hoping you would have figured something out from Braxton.”

Closing your eyes, you thought back over the past few days. “It was… it was a lot of science. They were doing all sorts of experiments, like the kind that my dad locked away. Curing rugarus, replacement food for wraiths and djinn, stuff to hide the signs like those contacts for the eye flares that my dad came up with… It was too shiny, you know? Everything was just too good to be true. But I didn’t see anything about some war that my mom is preparing for, or whatever George Covington is doing… I don’t know.”

“Maybe we should start there,” Cas piped in. “We have Victoria, George, and Braxton. Those are the three main players that we are aware of.”

“Braxton says that he wants to help everyone. And he says that George is all about shapeshifter supremacy.” Your head was spinning, and you hadn’t even started into the depth of the discussion.

“And your mom?”

“Who knows?” You mumbled. Rubbing your temples, you debated whether or not to tell everyone this next part. But you figured that Cas and Crowley deserved to know, since they seemed to be a part of the team. “There’s… one more thing.”

All eyes were on you.

“Braxton said that… he said that he can get my dad out of prison. He wants him out of prison, for some reason. But apparently his plan will only work if I work with them.”

“Is that… good?” Sam asked hesitantly, not sure where you stood on the issue.

“I mean, he would be out of prison, which is all that I’ve wanted for the last five years. But why does Braxton want him out? What if it’s better that he stays in? It seems like when he’s in prison, he’s safe from all of this.” Life was so much easier when you were only focused on your father. Now you had to worry about all of this saving the world crap and you did not like it one bit.

You weren’t cut out to be a hero. You just wanted a nine to five and a dog.

“When does he want an answer from you?” Dean asked.

At that, you laughed bitterly. “Apparently, the only way this plan will work is if we execute it on Wednesday.”

“So he gave you three days to make a huge decision?”

“What a gentleman, right?” With a sigh, you started explaining the rest. “He really wants my dad out, for some reason. I mean, he wants me to join his little organization. But he made it clear that my helping get my dad out does in no way mean that I consent to join for good. He… he would rather have my dad than have me.”

“I could have some demons waiting by to snap him away from your little boyfriend’s hands,” Crowley suggested, immediately earning a glare from you and Sam.

Shaking your head, you simply said, “No. I don’t trust you.”

“Really, now? Darling, I am on your side. I thought that was clear from how I’m sitting in this dingy hotel room.”

“Don’t call me darling.” You physically turned to face Sam and Dean. “I don’t know what to do. I want my dad out of prison. He doesn’t belong in there.”

“But if Braxton wants him out too…” Sam finished your thought.

This discussion continued on for a few more hours as the five of you tried to piece together everyone else’s motivations and plans. It quickly became apparent that you couldn’t make a plan yourself until you knew what you were up against, and no one knew that. The three major players were holding their true intentions close to their chests.

“What if… What if my dad knows what my mom’s doing? What if we can get him out, and he could help us?”

Sam considered your words. “We could go see him tomorrow. Ask him. He probably has a right to know that he has a way out.”

Everyone in the room was quiet as they thought through everything. After a few minutes, Dean slapped his hands on his thighs and stood up. “There we go. First plan. Sam and Y/N will go see Kemuny tomorrow. Crowley, you keep poking around Hell and try to get your rogue demons to talk. Cas, keep an eye on the factions that we know of. Let us know if they make any changes or moves.”

Cas and Crowley took their orders and disappeared.

“And I’m gonna head out to a bar and not be back until morning.” Dean grabbed his jacket, the keys to the car, and walked out of the hotel room.

You remembered all of Sam’s words from earlier, but at the moment, you could barely sit upright. So you reached over and grabbed his hand, looking at him with soft eyes. “Can I take a raincheck on tonight? I’m super tired and I just really wanna sleep next to you tonight.”

The corner of Sam’s mouth quirked up and he reached over to cup your cheek. His thumb slowly rubbed across your cheek bone, drawing you even closer to the pit of sleepiness. “You look exhausted. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Mmm.” You closed your eyes and leaned into his hand. “You’re the best, Sam.”

As you and Sam got ready for bed side by side, three pesky words flew around the room. They were there when you were brushing your teeth. They knocked against each other while you changed into your pajamas. They tried to dissolve into your skin as you washed your face.

And when you climbed in bed and waited for Sam to finish up and join you, those three words struggled to climb under the sheets and tuck themselves in next to you. By the time Sam wrapped you safe in his warm arms, those three words had slithered into your ears and were knocking around in your skull.

As tired as you were, you couldn't sleep and it was all because of those damn three words.

"Sam?" You whispered in case he was asleep.

"Yeah?"

Shifting slightly so you could look up at his face in the pale moonlight that filtered through a break in the curtains, you found that you couldn't form those three words.

So you kissed him instead. His lips were soft and warm, and oh, how you had missed him. He kissed you back gently, slowly drawing your body closer to his. It was a lazy, dim-lighted kind of kiss. A chorus of cicadas drifted through the thin motel window, creating enough white noise for you to be completely and utterly lost in the moment.

When you broke the kiss, Sam's hand at your chin guided your eyes to his.

"What were you going to say, Y/N?" His voice was low and reverent, adding to the moment.

You reached between your bodies and lay a hand on his cheek, feeling the rough scruff against your palm. "Nothing."

"Mm-hmm," he replied, unconvinced. Then he leaned closer and nuzzled his nose beside yours. "Well, back at you, babe."

After another quick kiss, Sam settled back into the mattress and you curled yourself into him, unable to control the giddy grin on your lips.

He loved you too.

Part 35 of Avenging Angel

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[elizabethrobertajones]

Hey 😊 What are your thoughts on not!Lucille being included in 12x15? I feel like I'm the only one (unpopular opinion coming) but I hated the way they did it? The fact that Dean ENJOYED using the bat (or at least seemed to), and was looking at it/handling it with REVERENCE creeped me out? It just drew parallels with Negan that I didn't want drawn? I mean I get that it's JDM, but Dean should never be paralleled with Negan 😭😭, it betrays who he is as a character just to get a cool reference in😭

Heya! Funnily enough I ended up in the same place, kind of. At least, being totally horrified by it, after I had a very good laugh on first impressions. I don’t think they shouldn’t have done it though because it was a great joke on first impression and then the fridge horror of it all actually works really well for me thematically with exactly what was going on in that scene ANYWAY so it was actually an incredibly clever and layered joke that I think happened to just fit in with something they were trying to tell anyway.

I actually talked out everything I had to say about it in my watching notes, so I hope you don’t mind me C&P-ing them to save time, after I already C&P’d a conversation with @mittensmorgul to save time on writing these, so really this is incredibly incredibly lazy :D Laziness squared.

Pfft some extras from the Walking Dead wander into the Bunker making obvious pop culture references. Do we even analyse that mention of Dad or do we just laugh hysterically and move on?

-

Wait so that time when they seemed to have it on set they weren’t just fucking around with the baseball bat because they felt like making one but it was actually going to be in an episode oh my god

-

I wonder if Mary has been watching The Walking Dead or if she hasn’t had time.

-

Being distracted by Mittens:

elizabethrobertajonesWait - Sam is clean… is this meta or are we still in the pop culture reference?

mittensmorgulThe things on Dean, “ghoul, wraith, siren.”

elizabethrobertajonesyeahThey fought a SIRENWHAT HAPPENI want to know everything

mittensmorgulI DON’T KNOW?!

elizabethrobertajonesI bet if it was “back to back to back” they didn’t have time for it to be complicated

mittensmorgulI mean, DEAN fought the siren, Sam is completely clean

elizabethrobertajonesWHY IS SAM CLEAN

mittensmorgulAnd Dean’s been wearing his underpants for four daysPeople are screaming OOC

elizabethrobertajonesoh god

mittensmorgulI have no idea

elizabethrobertajonesAhahahahah  "Frodo"

mittensmorgulSort of reminded me of how he looked after he killed the stynes

elizabethrobertajonesIs that a thing

mittensmorgul:D

elizabethrobertajonesmaybe they intentionally USE those code namesmaybe Mary talked to Samwait if Mick is telling Sam where to gohas he given them “back to back to back”

mittensmorgulyes…

elizabethrobertajonesand Dean did all the killingand Sam was cleanOkay THERE’S the symbolism I was looking for :P

mittensmorguldo go on…:D

elizabethrobertajonesI am literally paused just at “Frodo” and his missing campers message so idk what happens nextbut yeah :PDean’s being used as the weapon here and Sam’s coordinatingAka trying to turn him into Ketchor Mark!DeanSam doesn’t have any blood on his hands for these huntsand they’re coming too fast for Dean to process them and work out shades of grey….

mittensmorgulYep

elizabethrobertajoneswhich means the Negan thing is probably a reference to how bloody it has all beenand not just a joke >.>

mittensmorgulnope

elizabethrobertajonesthey’re trying to turn him back into a bloody single minded hunter like Johnthis is awfulI LAUGHEDnow I feel horrible about it all :P

elizabethrobertajonesAlso Dean not being a germ freak about it all is probably a bad sign >.>

-

elizabethrobertajonesOh no Sam lyingepically

mittensmorgulyep

elizabethrobertajonesreminds me of 8x01 when he tells Dean how he found Kevinbut he actually did thatDean like Purgatory DeanWait fuck that baseball bat is his purgatory weapon*slides under the table* Go away NeganThis is worse than the Eliot Ness thing

To clarify that last reference, it’s when they get to the uni campus and Sam explains in great detail how he tracked Kevin via his IP address and router and stuff, while Dean sits there unimpressed eating his first burger back from Purgatory. Despite actually being shown as the better HACKER (thanks, “Strictly into Dick” moment) Sam’s got a broader computer knowledge while Dean seems to have just intuitively picked up the software Frank and Charlie taught him better than Sam, probably because Dean learns the tools of the trade while Sam is, really broadly, more aligned with lore and research (this is a gross oversimplification for both but all these moments play into it) 

I think it was also that Dean forgot computers while he was in Purgatory and had to sort of re-learn being in the modern world and showing him not following computer babble was a good way to show how his mind was working right then… he re-learns it off-screen and within a few episodes was perfectly competent again. Dean making silly comments about computers only being good for monsters and porn also echoes that sentiment while he’s in a sort of over-hunted exhaustion because I think the point was to show him in a very particular state where all the Dean danger signs are flaring up, from not being precious about keeping his home tidy and initially rejecting the shower, to almost… tempting him with the high of killing monsters endlessly, and making him channel the darker part of himself that gets involved in killing. The attack dog imagery wasn’t spelled out for once, but Sam being completely clean showed the imbalance even before we see he’s getting all the cases…

Anyway Dean channelling Negan is awful and I haven’t even seen TWD but the meta links are brilliant even with a casual outside eye on what’s going on there, because the shadow of John is over everything all the time, and Negan is like… a worst case scenario or something, a way to really explore the idea of John as the boogeyman he is in the narrative because there’s a fresh reminder out there of Negan being like… a pop culture renowned worst villain ever contender because he’s really horrifying people and making big pop culture waves as far as I can tell sitting over here really not caring what JDM or TWD are up to and hearing all about it from multiple sources anyway :P I was wondering if they’d sneak a reference in but that was extremely blatant. It would be for someone who’s actually watched TWD to comment in-depth, but anyway linking John and Negan in the narrative is CLEARLY pulling pop culture strings to make a point, and one that works in the story… 

Not to say John was that bad, but to remind us that he was a dark, ruthless hunter, for example in 2x03 he was compared to Gordon, and we’ve always known he was falling out with mainstream hunters, and clearly with a black and white revenge-y approach to monsters that would fit well with the BMoL’s goals. He instilled “saving people, hunting things” in Dean (who passed it onto Sam) but 1x01 and 1x02 are a lot about taking up the mantle of that job because John’s moved on, abandoning everything to do with working regular cases and saving people, to work on the revenge mission. It’s clear that Dean especially in season 1 and both of them in general are much more focused on saving people, and Sam in 1x22 has his huge moment at the end of picking family over revenge, after which in 2x02 he clearly gets onto the same path Dean was on in 1x02 of focusing on the job and saving people… Anyway that’s all in contrast of what we learn about John while he’s around, which is mostly that he’s running around doing plot stuff and throwing cases their way to deal with, and not behaving as a regular hunter who’d work those cases himself. He’s on a quest to get revenge where that darkness has consumed him, and we see all season through Sam, what that means with the danger it could consume him too, until Sam rejects it at the last moment. But in many cases revenge makes Sam reckless and impatient and he leaves or argues with Dean about why they’re following orders and working regular cases, so if you parallel them together, you see through Sam that John had no interest in “saving people hunting things” any more, and that it had probably only been something he did on the side to his revenge mission anyway, emotionally. Like, he starts the family business, but out of necessity, while his sons are raised in it and as a life, changing the way they relate to saving people…

Sorry, this is really rambly but I get the feeling no one ever reads my long rewatches where I write very long essays about this sort of thing, so I’m trying to summarise in a few paragraphs something I’ve written like maybe 100k words on at least after wandering through season 1 and 2 getting really invested in the early Winchester family drama :P

Anyway! tl;dr John is still haunting them, especially when Dean is in a bad way, ESPECIALLY when he’s being made to prioritise “hunting things” over “saving people” because there’s a REALLY fragile balance and Dean only functions well when he’s over on the “saving people” side, and if he’s not, angst follows :P Even just being made to hunt monsters non-stop immediately wears down on Dean’s humanity, and so you get a parallel like this, and to Purgatory, Mark!Dean, and generally showing all sorts of the good parts of Dean stripped away. >.> I think it’s a warning we should be WORRIED about Dean, NOT a direct comparison between Dean and Negan, especially as he makes the comparison himself between John and not!Lucile, and therefore the parallel is between John and Negan, and Dean’s just caught up in that as an incidental part of his characterisation, but probably isn’t going to go around braining people willy nilly.

[seen-betta-days]

Personal fish rant thing

I don't post here as much because I'm embarrassed and full of self-hate about Mirage right now. Like, he got his fin rot back—something I didn't even notice because I'm so self-centered and oblivious and ADD, it had to be pointed out to me—and now I have to dose again with Artemiss only a few weeks after I stopped. Why did he get his fin rot back? Because I'm not doing the extra weekly water changes that I should be, of course. It's such a simple fix, but I've failed week after week. I keep blaming it on how I'm almost full-time involved with caring for two puppies and one elderly dog. But come on, that's no excuse, I'm not doing that 100% of the day, only about half. And when I get time to myself, which I do, I... I sleep instead of doing the water changes and stuff that I should. It's so narcissistic. "Pets' needs before mine," I always say, but then I fail daily to practice what I preach. Like, I could be doing a WC right now at 4 AM instead of typing this. Have I slept? No. Will my parents need my help with the dogs in a few hours? Yup. Will running the water loudly at this hour wake the house up? Very likely. So... Why own a fish if I can't be there for him as often as I should? When I got him, it was just the two of us. Easy. I focused more on him (and Wraith before him) than my homework, than my self-care. Then I came home from college, and it was still ok. More complicated, but ok. Then my dad got a long-term foot injury and my mom was diagnosed with her own condition and so walking the dogs was put on me most of the time. Now things are harder. I'm forgetful, too. I'm not neurotypical, and planning can be incredibly hard. I'm lazy, too. I admit that. And focused on myself sometimes with things like going on Tumblr and playing iPhone games... I could easily do a WC instead and yet... why haven't I? Ugh, I don't know... I just... I never know why, there are many important things that I could or should do with my time that I don't. I figure people are gonna come and tell me I should sell the fish and the tank and the everything. I probably should. I just... I must be the worst fish parent... I just... I swear I'll do the water change in a few hours when the parents wake up, after I take the dogs for their three walks (can't walk more than one at once) and help feed them and observe them as they play (to make sure the puppies don't get into anything dangerous). I'll do it before I take my nap (since I struggle to sleep at night). Before I focus on myself. I don't think too much is actually wrong with Mirage, I just... he's not been super active lately and I'm back to dosing the tank. All I know is that I can't keep BEING like this. An animal is in my care and I'm not doing right by him. I'm not the best fish parent, I never have been (I'm fairly new to this, after all), but I need to do better than this. I can't focus 100% on the mammals and then let my fish fall by the wayside. Everyone else deals with so much more real life stuff and does way better with their fish. I can be like that too if I just put in more effort... ...I need to delete this later... *flop*