#my word-count based estimation of how long something will take to read is bent SO out of wack

[thesamestarlight]

bad news y’all i’m officially addicted to leaving comments on ao3. and it is becoming a Problem for my sleep schedule

[goodomensblog]

Afterward - Part 15

A Good Omens Choose Your Own Adventure Fic

Here’s how it works:

I’ll write a scene.

At the end of each scene, you’ll be presented with 2-3 options for what the characters will choose to do next.

Comment or reblog to vote for your choice. I’ll count all votes after the first 24 hours after each update is posted.

Read: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14

(#3 wins because y’all love chaos, don’t you? Totally understandable. I love it too.)

Afterward - - - Part 15

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

Beelzebub, lord of flies, master of tyrants, patron of demon worship, and prince of Hell, is having, by their own estimation, a pretty shit day.

“I think I’d honestly rather die,” Beelzebub groans, as Crowley hauls them impudently up onto his skinny back. 

“I’m saving you, you ungrateful lump of flies, whether you like it or not.”

And Beelzebub, who is having the unfortunate realization that they are too weak to so much as wriggle their way out of this humiliating position, settles for flopping over the demon Crowley’s shoulder in such a way that the black, clotted blood dribbling out of their mouth splats grotesquely down the front of Crowley’s shirt.

“Thank you. Thanks for that,” Crowley says, grabbing underneath Beelzebub's legs to hike the demon a little higher on his back.

“Welcome,” Beelzebub replies, and more blood dribbles out.

Snatching the jar of Hellfire from the table, Crowley clutches it to his chest. With his other hand scooped behind Beelzebub’s leg to keep them in place, he kicks the door open and prowls, piggy-backing Beelzebub, prince of Hell, into the halls of Heaven.

Beelzebub, bouncing with Crowley’s every loping step, has closed their eyes. Head lolling forward, they’ve half given into the encroaching darkness, when Crowley’s annoying, incessant mutterings drag them back into full consciousness. 

“-now for this to work, I’ll just have to-”

The jar lid pops open. Hellfire leaps up, red flames lapping at the edges of the jar and the nearby grasping fingers. Beelzebub can feel it - the rich, tantalizing heat, and slumps forward, breathing in the fire’s acrid scent.

Crowley carelessly drops the jar, and it clatters across the floor as eager flames wrap around the demon’s wrists; they twist, winding up and around his forearms. It’s at that point that Crowley resumes walking. He does nearly trip over the dropped jar, but manages to stay on his feet with a skip and a hop. 

With each step, Crowley mutters sibilant syllables beneath his breath. They are rich as velvet, coaxing the fire with ancient, saccharine promises.

Beelzebub is generally repulsed by Crowley, but not enough to resist perching their chin on Crowley’s shoulder when the first flickers of flames slide over Beelzebub’s dangling arms. They sigh, going limp with relief as revitalizing flames sink into their skin.

Crowley continues walking and chanting and only stumbling occasionally. And Beelzebub hates Crowley, they really do, but they have to admit - he’s not bad at coaxing Hellfire. Beelzebub can feel the healing warmth of the flames sinking into the marrow of their very being. 

“You awake, Lord Buzziest?” Crowley asks, hiking up Beelzebub from their slowly sliding descent down his back.

When Beelzebub opens their eyes to a completely unfamiliar hall, they have the abrupt and horrifying realization that they had indeed drifted briefly to sleep. While being piggy-backed, no less. Would the humiliations never cease?

“Of course I’m awake,” Beelzebub grouses, digging a bony knee into Crowley’s side. “And no nicknames.”

“Alright, alright,” Crowley says, hands up. “I’ve given you all the Hellfire, by the way. Is it working?”

Beelzebub straightens up, pressing a hand against their chest. Eyes closed, they draw a long breath in. Breathing out, they tip their head from side to side, cracking their neck.

“Yeah,” Beelzebub answers, fingers splayed across dry, cracking blood. “Starting to.” 

They hadn’t expected the Hellfire to make them good as new, but it has at least kick-started the process. Beelzebub can feel the infernal energy within themself stirring, slowly mending what had very nearly been irreparably broken.

“I’m looking for Aziraphale, or Gabriel - or I guess, really anyone,” Crowley says, the tension in his voice embarrassingly undisguised. “They’re not where I expected them to be. At least based on the earlier racket.”

Beelzebub’s lip curls in disgust at the emotional display, but nonetheless closes their eyes, spreading their awareness wide. 

Heaven is... not exactly what Beelzebub remembers. Not that they remember much. But somehow, in those blotchy, indistinct recollections, it is brighter, louder, warmer. Safe. 

And there definitely wasn’t a malignant, pulsing thing in the central courtyard. 

“The thing is in the innermost courtyard,” Beelzebub says, opening their eyes. “Don’t know if your stupid angel’s with it.”

“Alright then,” Crowley replies, and promptly sets off in that direction.

He’s halfway down the corridor before Beelzebub fully processes the significance of Crowley’s unilateral decision.

“Hey! Hey! Hold up!” Beelzebub says, weakly digging their heels underneath Crowley’s ribs. “I don’t want to go near that thing. Put me down!”

Crowley doesn’t slow. “Can you walk on your own yet?” he asks, yellow eyes rolling up behind his dumb glasses.

The tingling ache in Beelzebub’s extremities suggests they probably cannot. It’s infuriating and humiliating and Beelzebub wants to die.

Crowley takes their silence as an answer. “Guess you’re tagging along, then,” he says with a grim smile.

“I hate you. With the entirety of my being.”

Whistling, Crowley walks faster.

As they approach the courtyard, the air begins to feel heavy, and it tastes - tart, cloying, rotten. Beelzebub’s lips curl back, and they warily suck the air between sharpening teeth.

“Demon Crowley,” Beelzebub orders, fingers curling over his shoulders as their sharp gaze scans from left to right. “Go slowly.”

Crowley, for once in his miserable existence, listens. Rolling through his steps, he prowls cautiously into the courtyard.

It’s exquisite - if you’re into uninspired pale flagstone and modern, geometric looking decorative fountains. The bodies on the ground don’t at all fit with the aesthetic.

The Archangel Gabriel is slumped over the edge of the fountain, golden blood sliding down his arm, dripping into cloudy water. The second figure is crumpled closer to the center of the courtyard - as though they’d put themselves between the archangel and whatever had been attacking him. The second one, though further away and also face down, is obviously Crowley’s angel - Aziraphale.

Crowley makes a pitiable, strangled sound, and Beelzebub just knows he’s going to charge out into the courtyard. Nails shifting to claws, Beelzebub digs them into Crowley’s shoulder.

“He lives, Crowley, I can feel the flicker of life from all the way over here,” Beelzebub hisses at his ear. 

Beelzebub can feel Gabriel’s life as well, a bright flare of energy at the fountain’s edge.

“Do not rush in,” Beelzebub continues, clenching at cloth and skin, “Something watches from the shadows.”

Crowley stiffens at that. Head tilted, he slowly, carefully, pulls down his glasses. 

“Who’s there?” he calls out.

Beelzebub shivers, the hairs on the back of their neck rising, one by one. Not daring to breathe, not daring to move, Beelzebub watches the space they know a creature waits.

At the courtyard’s edge, a figure unfolds itself from the shadows.

It is...an angel. The short, balding one. Sandalphon, if Beelzebub recalls correctly. 

Beelzebub and Crowley watch as the angel Sandalphon strolls out of darkness. His pale, pudgy hands are folded in front of his stomach, and he narrows his eyes, chin tilting inquisitively up as he inspects them.

Crowley looks from that angel to his angel, and Beelzebub digs their nails deeper into his flesh. Do not move. Do not move, Beelzebub thinks, squeezing.

Sandalphon tilts his head and speaks. “The angels fought me. And then they ran from me. At least, they tried to.” 

The voice that emerges from his throat is layered and ringing and it leaves Beelzebub with more than a passing inclination to shove their claws deep into their own ears, if only to make it stop.

“I thought I’d conquered all of Hell,” Sandalphon continues, lips quirking in puzzlement, “and yet here, in Heaven of all places, I find two unconquered demons wandering about.”

“Conquered?” Beelzebub growls, mind racing. 

They’d fled Hell after Satan had gone mad and started attacking his Princes. At the time, everything had been a giant fucking mess, and Beelzebub had made a tactical retreat to recover. Hell had been chaotic, sure - but conquered? 

Crowley cuts in before Beelzebub can say another word. “You’re not Sandalphon, are you?”

The thing smiles wide, revealing the angel’s ostentatious gold capped teeth. “I’m wearing Sandalphon. Just like I’m wearing Satan. And the demons and angels who weren’t quite quick enough.”

“Satan-” Beelzebub breathes, trembling. They’d thought he’d been bespelled. or some level of possessed, but this was - unforgivable.

“And God?” Crowley cuts in, voice sharp.

The thing tilts its head in a jagged, unnatural jerk. “She disappeared before I could get my hands on her, I’m afraid. Awfully cruel of her, I say, abandoning all of you like that. Though I suppose you two are rather used to it.”

“What the fuck are you?” Beelzebub snaps.

“Oh!” And the thing wearing Sandalphon like a second skin gives a start, “I didn’t introduce myself, did I?”

Sandalphon’s head dips forward. From the back of his neck, pale, twisting limbs unfold. Like spider’s legs, bent and folded back over themselves, they jerkily unfurl. There must be at least eight, and at the end of each limb, bony, clawed hands splay - reaching. The pale, sickly limbs spread out, lifting a creature which emerges from the back of Sandalphon with a frankly horrifying squelch. The thing is limpid and waifish, and watches them with black, eternity old eyes.

“Dear creatures of this poor, dying universe, you may call me Entropy.”

“Entropy?” Beelzebub hisses.

As Crowley says, “This universe?”

The thing smiles, and it’s mouth is a void. “Everything ends, honey. I hop from place to place, returning universes to the nothing from which they came.”

“Why?” Crowley asks.

“Why not?” the thing answers, void smile spreading across the lower half of it’s narrow face.

And then Crowley is unhooking Beelzebub’s arms. When he lowers them down, Beelzebub hates how their legs, still embarrassingly weak, give out beneath them. Teeth gritted, Beelzebub kneels on cold flagstone.

Crowley steps away, turning toward the abomination of limbs and hands.

“Demon Crowley?” Beelzebub calls when he takes a careful step forward.

“Gonna get Aziraphale,” Crowley says, soft.

The thing - Entropy - looks down. Round eyes unblinkingly survey the courtyard. 

“Aziraphale,” it says, singing the name in that horrifying voice. “Is he the soft looking one? He did put up a formidable fight.”

“I’m taking him with me,” Crowley says, low and dangerous.

The thing laughs and it’s so awful Beelzebub has to physically refrain from flinching back. “No. No you’re not,” it says, and laughs again. “He’s strong. And I need the strong ones. I like wearing them best. And if I’m not careful, even the strong ones-”

The clawed hands encircling Sandalphon squeeze. Within moments, black cracks are crawling ominously over the angel’s form. The air begins to whine. Then, with a pop the angel’s form folds in. He shatters into a cloud of black and gold dust that falls silently to the floor.

“Oops,” the thing exclaims.

Beelzebub and Crowley stare, mouths open and the pile of angel at the creature’s feet.

That kind of power is...Beelzebub can’t conceive of it. Not that they have time to try. Before the last Sandalphon dust speck has fallen, Crowley launches into motion.

“Shit,” Beelzebub breathes, because this is not a fight any angel or demon can win.

Crowley gets to Aziraphale before the creature does, but he only just has time to drag Aziraphale aside before a clawed hand spears down, piercing clear through the stone tile. Crowley, scrambling, drags Aziraphale back, avoiding a second stabbing hand.

“Move faster you idiot,” Beelzebub shouts.

“Trying to,” Crowley yelps, yanking his angel another several feet back, barely avoiding the third strike.

He’s not going to make it, Beelzebub realizes with a sinking certainty. Crowley has always been a slippery one, but this thing - this Entropy - is like nothing Beelzebub has ever encountered. It has the strength to casually turn an angel to dust, and Crowley was half-exhausted when they entered the courtyard. 

Beelzebub should get the hell out of here - while the Entropy creature is preoccupied with Crowley. 

Bracing their hands on cold stone, Beelzebub, rises on shaking legs. Their legs burn - and not in the good way. Clenching their jaw, Beelzebub sways, remaining determinedly upright. They take an unsteady step back, away from the chaos in the courtyard.

Behind them, Crowley screams.

Beelzebub, shaking with effort, looks back.

Crowley is on the ground, one leg speared by the creature’s clawed fingers. He’s pushed Aziraphale behind him as the creature, balanced on pale, spindly legs, rises above them both. It’s speaking, void-black mouth stretched in that wide, unsettling grin.

“Poor, poor demon,” it croons, and presses the claw deeper. “Abandoned by God. Left to rot in Hell. And then you didn’t even fit in there did you? What kind of outcast doesn’t even fit in with the outcasts?”

The claw twists and Crowley gasps.

Beelzebub closes their eyes, clenching aching muscles in an effort to remain upright. If they are going to escape, it’s now or never.

“I do want the angel,” the creature says, it’s porcelain face looming over Crowley, “but don’t you worry demon - I’ll mercifully end your miserable existence.”

Beelzebub moves.

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

A creature calling itself Entropy is revealed! It seems to have plans to end this universe, and has already single handedly conquered both Heaven and Hell (yikes). Entropy intends to use Aziraphale and to kill Crowley, and Beelzebub is left with a choice. Beelzebub will…

Fight. Mustering their remaining strength, Beelzebub will show this Entropy abomination the hell a real demon is capable of raising. It’s not that they care about Crowley (or his stupidly nice angel)….they just don’t want to feel like they owe him.

Flee. Beelzebub is a survivor. They are injured and weak and they are not about to enter into a fight they have little hope of surviving. Sorry Crowley….it’s nothing personal. (Note: this will result in an immediate POV shift)

Please comment or reblog to vote! :) 

(also, I absolutely love all of you who have been taking the time to explain the reasoning behind your votes. It’s always interesting to see where you all are coming from!)

Part 16

[multisuperfandom]

Closure

Pairing: Castiel x reader

Summary: You and Castiel have drifted apart to point where it hurts more to stay than it would to go. Even if it breaks you.

Warnings: ANGST, language, sad reader, break up, angry Castiel

Word count: 1.2 k

A/N: Based off the song Closure by Hayley Warner. Also if anyone wants to request one shots, I’m gonna start posting them on Sundays and maybe Wednesdays.

~~~~~

Italic part are flash backs

Bold parts are the song lyrics

~~~~~

I knew it was over when the fighting stopped. We used to fight over everything. We were both passionate people with our own ways of understanding the world. He believed that everything was black and white, that you can either be good or evil. I lived in the grey areas, where the difference between right and wrong was blurred. Once he referred to something I did on a hunt as ‘something that only the devil would do’. What he doesn’t know is that hunt haunts my dreams and makes me wake up screaming.

“There’s too many of them!” I yelled at Dean. We were hunting a nest of vampires. We knew there were a lot of them but we didn’t know that there were about 3 dozen more than we estimated.

Sam was thrown against a wall about 30 minutes ago and hasn’t moved since. Dean had more cuts than he had skin. And I was fighting with a dislocated shoulder and what I thought was a twisted ankle, I later found out that it was sprained. If we stayed, we were gonna be killed. If we didn’t kill them, they would keep killing innocent people.

I was starting to lose hope until my eyes landed on a gas can that was sitting at the corner of the barn.

“Look, I have an idea but I don’t think it’s very good!”

“What is it?” Dean yelled as he got yet another cut added to his already vast collection.

“Grab Sam and run as fast as you, and don’t look back.” He listened, surprisingly, but that was probably because he could keep fighting. With Dean and Sam gone and a gas can in one hand, a lighter in another, I burned down the barn and every vamp that hurt my friends with it.

Cas came to the motel after hearing my pitiful prayers. I had never seen him so angry. And after he healed us, we had the worst fight in our entire relationship.

“How could you do something like that?!”

“Sam was knocked out, Dean was being turned into a human pin cushion, I had to do something!”

“And burning down a building with a bunch of survivors in it was the right way to go?!” I didn’t know that there were survivors. I didn’t know that you burned the innocent people I wanted to save alive.

“I had no choice,” I whispered, completely devastated but hell-bent on trying to excuse what I did.

“You could’ve just left! You could’ve called me! You could’ve done a hundred things before doing something that only the devil would do!” I could see it in his face that he didn’t mean to say what he did. But the damage was done, and hearing the man I love more than life itself comparing me to Satan was heartbreaking.

“What I did was justified. I tried to save my family,” I said, grabbing my jacket and heading to the door. “But what you said wasn’t.”

“Where are you going?”

“Out.”

That was almost a year ago and it still haunts me. But three months ago, he stopped caring, stopped trying to make me good, and in a way, it’s worst than the fights. He gave up on me. He was my conscience, my difference between good and evil. I’ve been with him for so long that I don’t know what kind of person I would be without him. But I guess it’s time to find out.

I drifted towards Castiel and I’s room, knowing he would be in there reading a book, waiting for me to go to bed. Tear already formed in my eyes.

I just stood in the doorway for a couple of seconds. Just watching him read his book and remember all the times when we were happy.

“What are you doing?” Castiel asked, seeing me lean against the doorway of our room.

“Just watching my cute boyfriend.” I smiled, watching him get up and walk over to me.

“Now, why are you watching me?” He tilted his head in the way that I love. With a slight shake of my head and a smile, I lean up and kiss him. “Now, what was that for?’

“Being you,” I replied, grabbing his hand and dragging him to bed. Cuddling him is my favorite thing to do. Well, just anything to do with him is my favorite thing to do.

How can I let him go? How can I let this love that we once had mean nothing to me? No matter what happened between the two of us, I love him, I will always love him.

But he isn’t happy anymore. The light in his eyes, the innocent-ness in his voice is gone. And whether that is because of me or not, I need to let him go and find the happiness that he once had. He wouldn’t if he was with me, the part of him that sees only good and evil would think of searching for his own happiness and leaving me as evil. Even if it is what he needs to do. He won’t. Not without a push.

“I don't wanna say it but somebody's gotta say that it's over.” His head jerks away from the book, and the way he tilts it breaks my heart more.

“What?”

“We’re over, Cas.”

“No, we’re not.” He gets up and I wish that I could kiss like before, but that would only hurt me now.

“I am all out of options,” Tears spill, wetting my cheeks. “I don't wanna say it but somebody's gotta say that it's over.”

“I don’t understand,” He whimpers. “Do you not love me anymore?”

“I do love you. I have loved you since the day I met you and I will love you until my dying breath.” My hand acts on its own, moving its way up to touch Castiel’s cheek like I always do when he’s upset. “The strain of time tore us apart. It's not what we want but it's where we are. And I know the fault is partly mine. I miss those nights that we'd talk for hours. About our dreams and our desires. But all that's gone and all that's left is bitterness.”

“I know that everything hasn’t been the best but you want to give up?”

“If it means that you can be happy, yes.” I cry. “I can hate myself for this. You can say that I'm a selfish bitch. It doesn't change my mind. Someone's gotta take the fall. So I'll be first to cross the line.”

“Please don’t do this, Y/N.” He grabs my arm as I tried to walk away. For a second, I hesitate, I want to turn around say ‘I’m sorry’ and stay but he will just resent me later. So I rather he hate me now.

“Seeing you defeated doesn't bring me any closer to closure, but it’s over.” I walk away from the love of my life, knowing that not in a million years will I not be broken from this.

[miss-emrys]

The Sea Is Calling

Read on AO3

“Back again? Second time this morning, Sid.”

Sidney blushes and Geno wishes he could see past the wetsuit zipped up tight on Sidney’s neck, to follow that enticing flush further down.

“It never hurts to be cautious,” Sidney replies after a moment. He bites his lip before adding, “She’s a bit restless today.” Then he’s already walking back in the direction he came from like he knows Geno will follow.

Geno does.

Even though he’s been working at the Coastal Marine Rescue Center for almost ten months, Geno’s still one of the newest veterinary hires. He also can count on both hands the number of personal details he knows about the elusive Sidney Crosby, despite having grown quite close to the rest of their tight-knit staff. That personal information is hard-won. Sidney resides in a league of his own, keeping to himself for the most part; he seems to prefer it that way. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem altogether bothered when Geno’s curiosity gets the better of him and he shamelessly peppers Sidney with questions from time to time. It’s a delicate game of give and take, learning tidbits of information about him. Geno makes sure to offer up details of his own life so it’s less of an interrogation and more like an actual conversation. He always feels a special kind of accomplishment when he learns something new about Sidney.

They don’t speak much as they walk through the facility, comfortable in each other’s presence, and Geno has to force himself to focus on something other than the view of Sidney right in front of him. That damn wetsuit is the bane of his existence; it never gets any easier to see him walk around in skin-tight neoprene without any idea of the effect it has on the rest of them. Geno might even think Sidney is entirely oblivious to the world around him if it weren’t for the glances Geno catches aimed his way every so often when Sidney thinks he’s not looking.

As they enter the large enclosure, Geno’s eyes shift from the broad line of Sidney’s shoulders to their patient in the water. Weighing only a couple of tons, the humpback whale calf that had been rescued less than a week before is still severely malnourished. Geno estimates she’s about four or five months old, which means she should weigh significantly more than she does and likely still be nursing for awhile yet. He can still remember how disturbing it felt when the emergency call came through, when they found her beached and alone on the shore with a dangerously low body mass, so far from any of the local pods. They had truly arrived in the nick of time; it’s a wonder she’s still alive considering her condition.

Geno and Sidney crouch down at the edge of the expansive tank in unison, watching as she rises up to the surface in the slow, gentle way they’ve become familiar with over the past few days. She’s moving a bit more steadily today than she has been, attempting to break the surface of the water more and more as is her nature.

“You know humpbacks playful, Sid,” Geno remarks after watching her swim around for a couple minutes, breaking the surface a few more times. “Lacerta just try breaching little bit.”

Geno knows better than to name a wild animal, especially one whose stay is only temporary. But that didn’t stop him from referring to the young calf as Lacerta the first time he examined her in the water, due to the distinct constellation-like pattern on the underside of her fluke. Sidney has yet to comment on it, but based on the tiny smile that quirks up on his lips each time Geno says her name, he figures he’s not being judged for doing so.

“You think?” Sidney asks. Lacerta resurfaces again further away, blowing out a spray of condensation and slapping the water with her tail. “She’s been so lethargic since she arrived. It’s strange for her to be attempting a breach.”

Geno doesn’t mention that it isn’t strange behavior for a humpback though. Sidney knows that, just as Geno knows Sidney has a tendency to fret over the marine life that makes its way into their care. It’s part of what makes him so amazing at his job. He never misses a thing when it comes to the animals they work with, often putting in extra hours without pay to see that they’re taken care of. It can be a thankless job to rehabilitate animals when the ultimate goal is to successfully see them return to the wild. But Geno has seen firsthand the positive impact Sidney’s precision and attentiveness has on the wildlife they work with, so he doesn’t mind indulging in Sidney’s idiosyncrasies.

“Think maybe we increase feedings,” Geno says instead, changing the subject. “She not reject meals yet, is moving around more. Could use extra calories.”

Sidney nods, dropping his hand to run the tips of his fingers through the water. “The additional fat would do her good. I spoke with Shaw last night and he said her nutrient levels are starting to rise a little.”

“See?” Geno smiles and nudges Sidney’s shoulder with his own. “Nutritionist happy. Vet also happy,” Geno replies, pointing to himself. “Not need to worry. Lacerta grow big and strong, do pretty lobtails for Sid.”

Sidney turns his face away, but not before Geno catches the grin spreading across his face. Geno slaps his thighs lightly and stands once more, ignoring the catch in his breath at the sight of Sidney’s smile. He stretches out the ache in his right knee as Sidney stands up, too, turning to face him.

“You get milk for Lacerta, find me later after more feedings. I’m check on sea turtles now before Letang bore them to death.”

Sidney snorts helplessly, covering his mouth with his hand to stem the unexpected giggles. “He can’t bore them, Geno. They don’t even understand what he’s saying.”

“Nobody understand what he say. French always so messy,” Geno jokes, rolling his eyes.

Lacerta swims closer just then, spraying the two of them with her blowhole and prompting a sigh from Geno when his dress shirt and right side of his trousers cling wetly to his skin. It’s not the first time this has happened, considering he works in a facility that is literally filled with water at every turn. That doesn’t make it any less inconvenient though. Especially since Geno used his last spare shirt the other day after assisting with an unexpectedly messy emergency surgery that left him in need of a change. He hasn’t remembered to bring in a spare set of clothes since then, so hopefully there are some clean scrubs in the supply closet.

“Look, Sid,” Geno whines pitifully. “You distract and now my shirt soaked.”

Sidney stands unfazed by the spray of water on his wetsuit, although the dripping hair forming dark curls across his forehead is sending butterflies dancing around in Geno’s stomach. It’s entirely unfair how beautiful Sidney looks in a generally unflattering piece of clothing, especially when Geno’s own wetsuit makes him look like a gangly giraffe wrapped in rubber. He looks away before he can get caught staring and begins unbuttoning his shirt, the cool water making the fabric feel tacky and uncomfortable against his skin. A crash makes him jump, startled by the loud noise. When he glances up, Sidney is bent over a bucket of cleaning supplies which are now scattered across the ground, that charming blush spreading across his cheeks once more.

“So clumsy, Sid,” Geno chides gently. He pauses in his undress to go help, but Sidney quickly bounces up just as Geno walks over, already backing away towards the storage rooms.

“I’ll just—I’ll see you later, G,” Sidney stumbles over his words before making a fast retreat.

If Geno watches him walk away for a few moments longer than necessary, well...he’s only human.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It’s been almost three weeks since Lacerta was rescued, and she’s an entirely different whale from when they first found her. Her weight is up, she flits about the large enclosure with increased amounts of energy, and her overall playfulness and demeanor is encouraging to see.

“I can never decide if I love or hate this part,” Sidney remarks, walking up to stand beside Geno as he preps his diving gear. Sidney’s actually wearing regular work attire today: khaki cargo shorts, a navy blue polo with the rescue center’s logo embroidered on the chest, and his ever-present yellow crocs. It’s rare to see him out of the water for a day, but Geno knows it’s Sidney’s way of avoiding the goodbyes.

Geno hums in agreement, soaking in these last few moments. It’s always bittersweet releasing an animal back into the wild. They spend so much time together, working so closely with them with the intent to rehabilitate them for this very purpose, but that can make it all the more difficult to let go when the time comes. The animals that reach their facilities tend to arrive with severe injuries or needs, so even with the care they receive here there’s still a decent chance they won’t survive long after being set free. That is the true hard part.

“Lacerta need to integrate back with a pod before too late, Sid,” Geno eventually replies.

“I know,” Sidney sighs. “I wish we could’ve found her mother, though. She’s so young.”

They’d attempted to locate any local cows who may have given birth this season or lost their calf, but the efforts had been fruitless. Most of the employees believe Lacerta’s mother was likely the victim of an orca attack. Geno knows Sidney is worried Lacerta won’t survive without her mother. She is still quite young to be out on her own, but they are reaching the point when it will do more harm than good to keep her here. Whales aren’t meant for captivity; even these past few weeks are pushing the limits of her care.

“She strong and fast,” Geno says rather than voicing his thoughts. “Will travel to feeding ground with pods and make new family.”

A technician calls out to Geno before Sidney can reply, so Geno grabs his diving gear and finishes strapping on the equipment. He needs to tag Lacerta and run some final exams on her before she can be officially released, but Geno knows she’s ready. They’ve been counting down the days for most of this week.

“Tell her goodbye for me,” Sidney requests, like he does every time.

Geno makes a silly face behind his diving mask just to see Sidney smile once more, then pats him comfortingly on the shoulder and heads down the ramp that hangs over the water.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“What’s this, Geno?” Sidney walks into Geno’s office unannounced three days later, holding his hand out in front of him.

Geno doesn’t bother to look up from the report he’s typing. He’s used to Sidney letting himself in by now. “What?”

“This,” Sidney replies, thrusting his hand out further. Resting on his palm is the silver keychain Geno had purchased on a whim yesterday. He could only take so much of Sidney’s moping about Lacerta’s release before attempting to do something about it.

“What it look like? Is whale charm for keys. You always lose.”

Sidney huffs. “Look, I appreciate the thought, but you can’t just—”

“Lacerta not forget you, Sid,” Geno cuts him off. “She smart, you kind. Is special bond.”

“That’s not even—”

“Sid,” Geno interrupts again, putting his work aside. This is clearly going to take his full attention. “You allowed to feel things. Okay to be sad. We not think you weak or silly. You amazing, best at your job, always try hardest to help. That makes goodbye hard.”

“I...you think I’m amazing?”

Of course that’s all he got out of that explanation. Smiling, Geno rises and walks over to Sidney, standing a little closer than he would normally dare. “Most amazing. All animals love. Care so much all the time. Nobody else like you, Sid.”

Sidney looks away, Geno’s steady gaze tracking the rise and fall of his chest as he takes a fortifying breath. “There are many people who could do my job, Geno.”

“Not just a job to you,” Geno disagrees, gently guiding Sidney’s chin up so their eyes meet. “You best.”

“I don’t think—”

“Why always argue?” Geno chuckles. “I know best. Just accept.”

“You just want me to admit you’re right about something,” Sidney replies with a petulant huff, still arguing, the tiny beginnings of a smile starting to appear on his face.

“Yes, reveal master plan.” Geno rolls his eyes, taking another step closer. “Can’t just say thank you, Sid?”

Sidney blinks as though just realizing how rude he’s been. The thought doesn’t quite seem to compute with his polite, Canadian brain. “Of course. Thank you, Geno. It’s lovely.”

“Will use it?” Geno presses.

“I—” Sidney’s breath catches as Geno moves closer still.

“Find it in store,” Geno continues softly. “Think of Lacerta, remind me of you, work so hard with her. So beautiful swimming around in water.”

“She really was,” Sidney agrees.

Geno shakes his head. “Not talking about her, Sid.”

Their eyes meet again, a question in Sidney’s dark eyes that he doesn’t seem willing to voice. They are standing close enough now that Geno can feel Sidney’s warm exhales against his neck where his collar lies open, the sensation sending goosebumps across his skin. Geno bends down slowly, so as not to startle Sidney, their noses just brushing.

“So beautiful, Sid,” he whispers, helpless to resist the pull of Sidney that draws him ever nearer.

He remains there, waiting, the sound of their breaths the only noise in his quiet office. They’ve been dancing around each other for weeks, months even, Sidney always moving close and then away like a sunbeam dancing upon the open water. Geno doesn’t want to scare him off, would wait months more for Sidney, but the ache in his chest feels nearly unbearable right now in the tense silence.

“Geno,” Sidney finally says, so many unspoken words layered into his voice as he reaches up, one hand settling on the side of Geno’s neck, pulling him down the few inches necessary for their lips to meet.

Geno sighs into the kiss, the tense set of his shoulders melting away as he gathers Sidney closer, arms around his waist. Sidney tastes like the salt water he so often works in, his lips soft and warm against Geno’s. Time feels like it’s moving in slow motion as they kiss and Geno is content to linger there, savoring the feeling. Their lips gently separate what feels like hours later, yet altogether too soon, exhales mingling between them as neither of them move any farther apart than necessary. Geno strokes his hands gently up Sidney’s back, urging away the nervousness he can already feel gathering there. He delights in the flush that returns to Sidney’s cheeks and knowing he’s the cause of it.

Sidney hides his face in Geno’s neck, but Geno can feel the curve of Sidney’s lips and an answering smile blooms on his own face. He commits this moment to memory, somehow knowing that Sidney’s going to make him work for another one like it. If there’s anything Sidney’s always been entirely genuine and open about, it’s his dedication to his job. That’s part of what drew Geno to him in the first place. As good as this feels, Geno can almost guarantee Sidney won’t want to jeopardize their assignments by letting Geno distract him with kisses and touches at work.

Geno looks forward to testing this theory in the very near future.

Thank you for letting us participate in this, @sidgenophotochallenge!

[kierarutherford]

Blood and Lust

Idea was what if Cullen went with the Inquisitor (When romanced) into the field. Originally, he’d be concerned about them until he saw how impressive their abilities were. -From @dapromptexchange I wanted a twist on this. What if Cullen saw her fighting and it turned him on. Hmm… so we have for your enjoyment: Cullen and my OC Diana Trevelyan. NSFW and I like it that way. Word count - 2929 (it kinda just ran from me, and that’s cool) Some mention of blood and gore, death, and smut. Under the cut for length. Thank you! AND tagging @princessvicky01 because she wanted to read this piece, so for you hun! Enjoy!

The entire journey to the Shrine of Dumat had been quiet. More so than she was used to and in stark contrast to the clatter of metal and scent of blood that awaited them at their destination. Cullen had been too focused on fighting, too honed-in on finding Samson that he didn’t even think about Diana while he hewed down red templar after red templar.

Searching the burning ruins, it became reality that once again, Samson had evaded him. Once again just outside of his reach. Collecting everything they could use they settled camp a few kilometers from the smoking building.

Everyone was on high alert and exhausted from their fight having also endured the thrum of red lyrium. Cullen in particular, found his mood much improved once he put distance between himself and the angry crystal. Taking shifts, they all kept vigil less any of the red templars were lurking in the near by woods. To his surprise it was an uneventful evening. With everyone rested they began the trek back to Skyhold. It would take several days and while there was no immediate rush, Cullen couldn’t shake the feeling they were being followed.

“We are being followed,” Diana lowered her voice as she steered her horse close to his, “they intend to ambush us at the pass, ahead.” She maintained her calm demeanor as she smiled, “don’t fuss too much, they’ll know we’re on to them. I haven’t got a proper count of their numbers but I believe we are out numbered.” Looking back over her shoulder she smiled to Bull, “the Commander wishes to stop up head, he needs a moment.” Turning back, she hissed, “play along.”

“Yes, if you don’t mind of course,” Cullen nodded over his shoulder. The hairs on his neck were standing as he followed Diana’s lead. Hoping down from his horse he handed the reigns to Diana. “I don’t understand your plan.”

Stifling a giggle, she tied the horses together and passed the reigns around a tree along their path, “take the advantage away. If we linger, they will grow impatient. Striking us in anger and hurry, losing their edge. It may not be a perfect win, but it assures us less aches come the morning.” The others clattered up to them jumping from their horses. “Be ready, it won’t be long. The fat one over there just sneezed,” she lilted her head towards a massive oak. “There’s at least a dozen of them, if not more. I can’t be sure. Lost count last night.”

“Last night?” Cullen half squeaked out as his thumb traced the pommel of his hilt. He had thought they had been lucky to walk away from the Shrine with no one giving chase. Now here was Diana pointing out too much for his brain to focus on.

Clicking her tongue Diana patted his arm, “don’t take it personally, Commander, you are an ex-templar not a seasoned tracker. I’m sure only the Dalish rival my skills. Now if I were you,” she pulled her sword and unhooked her buckler from her shoulder, “I would prepare. This is going to be a close one. Thankful they didn’t bring any archers.”

No sooner had she leveled her shield did the red templars spring from the woods. Cullen braced himself best he could but panic rose in his chest. In the rush before he hadn’t seen her skill, and while her tracking and estimates of the red templars were accurate, could she back that with sword skill. His questions were being answer before him as she charged the first soldiers, her blade glinting in the late morning sun.

Shields clashed as she slammed head long into the templar. Not risking a power struggle, she slammed into his shield and using the momentum, sprang off her feet and rolled around him. With no time to react she quickly found the weak spot in his armor and drove her blade in deep. Crimson splattered down the grooves of the blade, splashing along her gloved hand and the dirt path.

Cullen couldn’t help the swell filling his chest and travelling even lower. There was a fluidic and gracefulness to her movements. Acrobatic strength and raw beauty as she dealt death. Giving his head a shake he refocused on the men pouring from the woods.

Magic and metal singed and sang as they battled on. Smoke and blood filling the air as their group dealt measured death. Diana felt herself tiring, “we need to finish this, Dorian!”

“I’m too pretty to die,” he howled as he cast out. Reaching in his robes he pulled another lyrium potion. Sucking it back quickly he shivered under the rush of power, “get behind me!” Everyone rushed towards Dorian seeing his hands pulse and swirl in a sparkling purple flare. Focusing the energy his lip quivered in a grand smirk. Casting out towards the largest guy he thrust the magic forward. “You may want to take cover,” he grunted forcing out a barrier before them, “and for those with tender stomachs, I wouldn’t look.” As he spoke the vibrant ball of magic entered the body before them. The red templar twitched, doubled over and let out a feral yelp before his eyes started to glow. “One more second,” Dorian grinned holding his open hand out. “and, now.” Dorian clenched his open hand into a tight fist. Magic flickered from his palm. The red templar’s back bent backwards sharply as he howled again. His howling burst as his body bubbled and his armor squealed as the metal twisted. In a bright flare of light, the man exploded, sending a shockwave of bone shards into the unsuspecting group of red templars surrounding him.

“Dorian…” Cullen groaned as blood sputtered out of the wretched corpses laying on the ground. Some of them still alive as they groaned and twitched along the ground. Gripping their wounds, sections of the man’s ribs imbedded in their faces, chests, limbs.

“Let’s finish them quickly, they’ve suffered enough,” Diana smirked as she kicked at the one before her, “perhaps not quite enough.” Going about the wet work they finished off the men quickly. Looting through to salvage anything useful. Once that was done, Diana slashed a section of fabric from a fallen templar and calmly strolled over to the small stream running by the road. Dipping her blade in she hummed to herself as she cleaned off the blood and matter. Wiping herself down she sheathed her sword and hooked her shield to her horse, “we should get to our campsite before the stars are forced to light our way.”

Cullen was dumbstruck. Her calm demeanor, a cool sense of strength and sureness that lit a sense of wonder and adoration deep in the pit of his gut. Clumsily following her lead, he climbed atop of his horse and followed closely behind her. He was mesmerized by the sway of her fiery hair as he hung down her back. How her shoulder rose and fell with the cantor of the stallion beneath her.

“See something interesting, dear Commander,” Dorian bristled next to him. “Perhaps you should take the night off watch, you’re of little use to the group if you can’t focus.”

“I… I… uh…” he rubbed at the base of his neck, cheeks blooming a brilliant red.

“Hush, you are adorable, indeed,” Dorian chuckled as he kicked his horse up to meet with Diana.

Cullen fumbled with the reigns as he tried not to look up. Keeping his head down he stumbled over what he would say to her once they made camp. Surely by now Dorian had told her of his boyish fawning. Trotting along he maintained his position with the group, only lifting his head once he caught the sound of feet hitting the ground before him. Stumbling along he jumped from his horse too. They must have arrived at their site.

Everyone did their chores from collecting firewood, to setting up tents and setting out cooking gear. Things moved rapidly as night began to creep over the horizon. It flowed smoothly and without much hassle dinner was bubbling away in the pot upon the crackling fire. Crowded around that fire they all laughed and tittered about the day, Diana’s unique catch of the fat templar, and the extra half day it would take to reach Skyhold.

“Dearest cousin, please, get some rest. Bull has offered to take the first watch. Varric is going to assume the second and,” letting out a groan Dorian rolled his eyes back at Bull, “I shall take the final watch.”

Letting a coiled grin kiss her lips Diana peered towards Cullen as she spoke, “well dearest cousin that is quite generous of all of you. I appreciate the efforts put forth.” Rising she tipped her head to everyone, “I should bid you all good night then, since I’m sure the Commander will want to make up for lost time.” Hiding the grin cracking across her face she licked her lips, “I’m certain he will want to ride hard tomorrow to reach Skyhold.”

Cullen furrowed his brow, not picking up on the subtle innuendo of her speech. Feeling a stubby finger poke his side he glanced over to Varric. “Follow her Curly, Maker’s breath you’re slow tonight.” Eyes flashing wide Cullen staggered back as he watched Diana slip into her tent, “what?” he barely mumbled.

“Bull would you kindly speak to the man,” Dorian waved his arm as he disappeared into his tent.

Bull slapped Cullen across the back as Varric threw up his hands and sauntered off to his tent, “Cullen, go get her. A little after battle sex, hot and heavy. Best way to cool off.”

Cullen flushed red as he stood sharply, “I… uh… well…” turning about he realize he was alone with Bull, “good night, Bull.” Keeping his head low he rushed off towards the tents. Peeking over his shoulder he saw Bull’s face down adding another thick log to the fire. Clenching his jaw tightly he went for it, ducking into her tent.

“I was wondering if you were going to figure it out,” Diana lay upon the top of her bedroll, in nothing but her smalls and bra band.

Lips pressed tightly together Cullen stifled a long groaning grunt as he began tugging at his armor. Practiced hands slipping buckles and clasps as he watched her toy with the lip of her bra band. Her finger dipping under the fabric and ringing around the edge plunging between her bountiful bosom.

Kicking at his boots he nearly tumbled to the floor. Righting himself he pulled the last pieces of his armor off and discarded them to the side. Pulling his shirt over his head he let out a throaty half growl, “I don’t wish the entire camp to know what we’re doing tonight.”

Reaching behind her she unclipped her bra band, catching the material against her breast she sighed, “of course. Believe me when I say you don’t want to give Iron Bull ideas when Dorian is around.”

Finishing with the ties to his pants he hurriedly hauled them down. Standing before her, naked and ready he licked his lips, “good. Take it off, now.” His voice was low and smacked of his stern Commander tone.

Purring she tossed the bra band at his face. Looping her finger tips in her smalls she stood up, “yes Commander,” turning sideways she shimmied her hips, dragging the clothe inch by painstaking inch down her toned, bronze thighs. It was too much as he sucked in his bottom lip, sinking his teeth into the stubble patch of skin beneath. Tossing her bra band towards his armor he stalked towards her, half primal predator half remaining in control. He knew she loved to unleash this side. Pure carnal sin and animal ferocity nestled just underneath his cool veneer.

Sinking to her knees she licked her lips, waiting for him to come closer. Taking as much joy in teasing her as she did in tease him he got down to his fours. His eyes never leaving hers as he crawled towards her, the beast in steady pursuit. His eyes drove her back, upon her elbows and down to the bedroll, where he loomed over her. Kneeing her legs open his breath heavy, he pressed her down into the woven blankets, “I’ve wanted you all day.”

Dragging her nails along his shoulders and up into his hair she sighed, “seeing me fight turns you on?” It was less a question, and more a sinful statement as she nipped his bottom lip, drawing a harsh moan from him.

“You are grace and death,” he sealed his lips to her, eager and forceful, just how she always craved him. Leaning further into her he craved the sounds she could make. Low and wicked murmurs that made him weak. Taking her lip in his teeth he graced them over the sensitive flesh, “you are sin and base, a demon wrapped in sweet promises.”

Licking his upper lip, she grinned against his mouth, “I love when you talk dirty to me.” Pulling him back into herself she snaked her hands down his neck, over the taut muscles of his back, passing countless scars as she reached over the small of his back to grasp his rear tightly in her palms. Forcing him forward she felt his tip twitch at the sudden dip into her warmth. Shuddering she threw her head back, “fuck, yes,” she gritted out between her teeth. “Fuck me hard, Cullen. Lay claim to me.”

A thunderous bellow held tightly in his chest as he thrust into her, driving himself as deep as he could. Gasping above he, he seized her wrists. Pinning them over her head in one hand he grinned, “how do you ask for such things?” His face loomed over hers just beyond her reach. Struggling would be ineffective against his size and strength but he knew she would. Knew she loved the chase, the callous and naked approach to their love making. She bucked under him, twisting her hip against his, forcing him in and out of her. Leaning back, he grinned, “that’s not being a very good girl, is it?” He tugged on her nipple, earning another low hiss and curse. “How do we ask for such things?” He enjoyed being in control, enjoyed commanding her in such a way. A way he never thought of until she came along, equal parts fire and tempered water, and only for him.

“Fuck me hard, Commander, please,” her doe eyes batted their long lashes as her lips pouted.

He twitched hard inside of her, so much so she gasped at the sudden shift. How he loved this game, how it drove him higher. He couldn’t last, wouldn’t last much longer and by the tightening around his length, she couldn’t either. Giving her breast, a firm swat he grinned, “did you want your hands back, temptress?”

“Mhmm, please Commander. I wish to touch you,” licking her lips she eyed him like a hungry wolf prepared to devour him whole.

Slapping her other breast, he released her hands, “good girl.” His voice was low as he rocked his hips, “come here,” he opened his arms to her as he leaned back upon his knees. Helping her into his lap he thrust up into her, her own hips matching his rhythm made the tent spin. Light was fading, the tent whirled and the delicious sounds of her sighs and moans were in his ear as he clutched her to him, “damnit Di…” he panted. His walls were closing in, sound and atmosphere washing away in the cloudy haze swirling about him. Her voice broke the sensation, “fill me, fuck me.” Burying his face in her breasts he sucked one of the stiff peaks into his mouth hard. Her half cry was muffled as she sank her teeth into her palm to muffle herself. Squeezing her rear in the other hand he could hear her heart hammering in her chest. Another thrust and both were squelching their wails. Riding their climax together, their breaths frantic and gasping. He released her breast and rested his forehead against hers.

Wrapping her arms around his neck she let out a soft giggle, “you are a delectable prince.”

Chuckling along with her, he struggled to catch his breath, “I love you, Diana. I hope you know that.”

Giving his rear, a firm swat she let out a chorus of giggles, “of course I do, silly. I would never allow anyone else to ride me like you.” Seeing his face twist up in an odd assortment of confusion and amusement she laughed again, “oh Cullen, you are such an innocent little creature. Never change.” Carefully slipping off his lap she swiped a rag from her bag and tidied them off, “come, sleep. I’m sure you’ll be marching us at a wicked pace come morning.”

Giving his head a shake he sighed, “I shall never get used to your humor and sense of carefree flippancy.”

“Flippancy?” she laughed again, “Maker Cullen, I’m only getting started,” winking she patted the bedroll, “come on. There’s room for two.”

Sinking into the bedroll, he cradled her in his arms, “thank you.”

Wiping the sweat from his brow she nestled into his chest, “no thank you my dearest. I love you, Cullen Stanton Rutherford. Even if I don’t say it nearly enough, know I do. Now hush before you make me get all mushy.”

Snuggling her tightly he sighed, “perish the thought.”