#there's no reason to break it up into Camps because their fates are already sealed and it's blood and fire baby!!!

[nicollekidman]

Started this journey fervently hating Daemon and Rhaenyra together and only wanting her with Alicent>>Read your posts>>Now I am obsessed with their dynamic and can’t stop thinking about them. Thank you for the brainrot ❤️

real daemon enjoyers also hate daemon <333 i don't want rhaenyra "with" anyone but i am noticing i am parsing i am open and receptive to all dynamics and events that we will see unfold.... those three are so fully entangled i can't talk about one without considering the other two!! sorry for infecting you but i'm having the time of my life

[luimagines]

The Chain are Smitten Part 2

Masterlist

Part 1

Part 2 will include Twilight, Warrior and Wild.

Content under the cut!

Twilight

He just couldn’t believe it. There was so much in his life that he thought he would never be able to have. There were some things that he thought were beyond his reach. And he was ok with that.

Until he met you.

And he found himself wanting to be by your side. To protect you, to love you, to hold you through thick and thin. He wanted to be selfish- just this once.

He didn’t think he’d ever get beyond his pining stage- cursed to be in love with someone he could never have. And than you went and proved him wrong and he’s been constantly proven wrong since.

A favorite pass time of yours, he had to guess.

He thought he had some things of life figured out, but you came in like a charging goat and he had every reason to chase you down. But instead you won, and Twilight’s still having trouble catching his breath.

One thing after another and you leave him breathless. Time and time again.

He can’t get enough of it or enough of you.

He could cry with how much he loves you. Twilight never wants to let you go. He knows this- he wants to marry you have a future with you- if you’re willing.

He didn’t think he would have that in his life- he was in a similar boat to Hyrule in terms of finding simple yet basic happiness... that their lives and jobs wouldn’t allow them to have it. But he wants it. He wants it so badly. Twilight has an inclination that you feel the same way but he’s biding his time.

This isn’t the time or place to ask those kind of questions and he knows that there’s still a job that has to be done.

But he can wait until everything is done. Then he court you properly and maybe you two can build a life from the ground up.

He gets butterflies in his chest just thinking about it, it’s ridiculous.

You don’t even know that you have this kind of effect on him. You just smile and wave, occasionally laugh at his jokes, and take care of him. And he’s stubborn, he knows he doesn’t make it easy on you. But you stick around to make sure he’s still around to see another day.

He would do anything for you, he knows this. You do so much for him. you’re so good to him. He doesn’t think he deserves your level of loyalty or the amount of care that you give him. He’d push you toward maybe one of the other boys to divert your attention but it’s futile.

You do the same to them too, so that’s already a lost cause. You look after all of them, and even then find the time to spend with him whenever the moment arises.

After Midna he didn’t think he would ever find closure but here he is.

Looking after you with hearts ion his eyes and glitter and confetti in his heart. He’s struck stupid every time. He giggles more often than he knew he was ever capable. He finds himself wistfully staring after you when you’re not looking in his direction (something Time, Warrior and Sky have been giving him a bit of grief about (not that Sky is any better, but after Twi quite literally tripped over his own feet because he wasn’t paying attention to what he was doing, he sealed his own fate)).

And Twilight thinks he’s ok with that. There’s nothing he would change about it. He loves you and he hopes that you would love him just a fraction as much.

Warrior

Warrior couldn’t sleep. He was at least thankful that his shift was next or else he was going to be in a lot of trouble by the time day break decided to come along. He just couldn’t get his brain to stop running in circles for whatever reason. It wasn’t as if he had something stressful on his mind as of late but he couldn’t calm down enough to sleep.

He was used to planning ahead of time, checking supplies, personal checks and strategizing their next move no matter what troops were under his command. This time wasn’t any different except... it was. He had you to help out.

He sighed and rolled over, letting a calm moment pass over him. You were sleeping on the other side of the camp but if he tilted his head to the right he could see your sleeping face.

God, you’re beautiful. He could have sworn the moon light had blessed the night just so he had enough light to see your peaceful expression. Warrior thought you were even smiling.

Were you dreaming of him? He wanted you to. Ladies above, he dreams about you. Constantly, never ceasing. He dreams of running his fingers across you skin. He dreams of whispering sweet nothing into your ears and kissing the shell just to feel you shiver in pleasure from his touch alone. His and his alone.

It’s selfish, but he wants to hold you. He wants to feel your heartbeat against his and he wants to protect you from anything and everything that he can. He’s better than to think he’s infallible. He’s done enough that to last him a life time. He knows it could cost him his life. 

But he’s willing to take on any challenge just so that you wouldn’t have to work a hard day’s work for the rest of your life. He wants you to live in comfort. He wants you to live a life where it filled to the brim with fulfillment, satisfaction and happiness, peace and security.

Warrior sighs and closes his eyes, trying once again to stop thinking and at least get some kind of rest before his shift starts.

He feels a tap on his shoulder. Stifling a groan to shake the core of the earth, Warrior turns over, nods to his fellow hero.

The other Link is satisfied and he goes off to promptly face plant into his own bed roll. Warrior envies the way he seems to instantly fall asleep.

He sits up, stretching a bit before he makes his way over to the spot by the fire.

Even now, while he’s supposed to be focused on keeping the look out for any potential threats, he finds his gaze once again on you. He doesn’t want to give you any reason to push him away. The thought alone breaks his heart.

He wants to choose him because he would have proven himself worthy. Warrior gets enough pretty privilege’s as it is. He doesn’t want you to be by his side purely for his looks. He wants to believe that you’re not that kind of person- nor have you done anything to even imply that you have ever thought shallowly of him. But old scars still sting with fresh new encounters and he’s not excited about the idea that someone as lovely as you could even have that potential.

Another selfish side of him wants to simply not care. So what is you would only think of him in a romantic light for his looks. He could have you by his side anyway and that’s what he wants, right?

But no. Because it’s only a façade and only a fraction of he wants.

He wants to love him as much as he loves you. Sure, if you find him aesthetically pleasing, then that’s a bonus but he wants you to pay attention to him beyond that. He wants to tell you his hopes, his dreams, his wishes for the future. He wants you to be in his future and he wants you to want it to. It’s simply his selfish desire.

You don’t know of his thoughts and for that he is grateful. He can satisfy himself with being your friend and watching your back and supporting you whenever you would need it. Warrior can even be the shoulder you cry on if it ever to it, then he will irradiate whatever made you cry.

But he’s in love with you. Whipped, even. He’s wrapped around your little finger and he doesn’t think he would want anything to change. He’d kill for you, he’d die for you... Either way, what bliss.

Wild

Wild took a deep breath and waited for your reaction. It was a new recipe and he needed to know if it had your approval or not.

You brought it your mouth and Wild tried to keep his focus on the mission and not on your lips. He saw you take a small sip, then a bite and the way you chewed in thought as you let the flavors dance on your tongue was enough to make Wild gulp. 

It felt like an eternity, it was happening too fast and too slow and Wild just wanted to watch you forever, he wanted to get the moment over with- there was so many contradicting things going through his head that he almost missed what you said entirely.

“It’s good. I like it.” You smile.

Wild is taken aback every time by how wonderful it makes him feel. Not only to see it, but to be the cause of it. He’s prepared to give you anything you could ever ask for, just so that you wouldn’t have to ask for it. He’d already have it.

He wants to spoil you senseless and hold onto you forever. there are many things he knows he can never be able to do- but that won’t stop him from trying.

He sees your genuine smile take on a more mischievous look, and he realizes that he has yet yo respond to you. 

A bright blush blooms on his face and he looks away for a moment, biding his time by stirring the food instead. “Good. That’s good. It doesn’t need anything else?”

“Of course not, Master Chef.” You smirk. Then you think better of it, looking to the side momentarily. “Some salt wouldn’t hurt though.”

Wild doesn’t hesitate to follow with what you said, trying to distract himself by the looks your sending him. If he gives in to his desire to kiss you senseless just to get rid of that look on your face, then dinner will burn, no one will eat, everyone will be mad at him and it would be a waste of supplies that they can’t replenish at the moment.

Which is a shame because as much as he forages, there really isn’t anything that can be used around their camp site. So he needs to make sure that they use the food that they do have to their best advantage.

Wild looks from the corner of his eyes to see that your smirk is gone, replaced by a calm and dare he say, dreamy look... all directed at him.

The look brings a smile to his feels and he has to actively stop himself from giggling out in the open, unless he wants all eyes on him. But there’s still butterflies in his stomach and star shine in his heart, threatening to bubble out and pour out.

He can’t let it do so though. Not yet. There’s too many people around you two and too many witnesses. He doesn’t want either of you to be subjected to the (playful) obnoxious wolf whistles and jabs. His pride won’t be able to take it.

He knows you can take care of yourself though- you have no qualms to public displays of affection.

Many times you’ve kissed him for the world to see, holding his hand as you walk, hugging him randomly with little notice prior no matter where you are. You’re a very loving person. It takes him by surprise nearly every single time but he can’t be the one to initiate it with people around. 

The very thought makes him giddy. He wants to hold you right now. But he can’t and there’s still so much that still needs to be done and yet-

“Wild, the food’s about to burn.” Warrior calls out just beyond him and it throws Wild back into the moment.

He’s right.

Scrambling, Wild has to save the dinner and it causes the older man to laugh. “Thinking about your love again?”

Wild glares at Warrior, not responding but it’s all the answer he needs.

Warrior laughs again but it’s joined by your own. You come up behind Wild and hug him, kissing the shell of his ear, weakening him with a butterflies touch. “It’s ok, I think about you too.”

“Forget the food.” Wild tosses the food and spin on his heel, catching everyone by surprise as he succumbs to the desire to kiss you. He can pay for it later. He’s thirsty and your only glass of water he’s willing to take part of.

Part 3

[p-antomime]

a biding vow of a broken fate.

— minors don't interact.

— wc: 4,1K

content + warnings: 18+, including: sadist!sukuna, a bit of angsty i guess, oral (male and female receiving), public sex (idk tbh), face fucking, manhandle, DP (kinda of i guess?), creampie, tummy bulge, dumbification, monster fucking, virginity loss, spitting, degradation, orgasm denial, dacryphilia, you have been warned, well...

pairings: real form!sukuna x virgin!fem!reader (yeah im talking about the feral sukuna)

— song: HWAA; by (G)I-DLE

— note: inspired by this kinky shit here.

— jjk masterlist.

— Miss, letters have arrived. — A servant of yours remarked as he ran down the corridor to reach the room in which Y/N was resting sitting on a large cushion padded to be warm enough to warm human skin even in the nastiest of winters.

— How many? — Y/N asked only the quantity because she knew where they were coming from.

— Three, miss. — The short, gentle man bowed briefly to his mistress and stretched out both arms whose hands were holding three envelopes, all with the same crimson red seal.

— Thank you, darling. — You lifted your arms lazily and took the envelopes.

They were letters from generals stationed in strategic camps throughout most of Japan. Y/N had already read about forty-seven of them, but only complied with the request for about 13 of them. The reality was that the jujutsu sorcerers wanted to stay out of the direct clash of that war against only one beast. No happy or glorious fate awaited her on the battlefield: there was no room for women leading hordes of shamans, and should she be caught by one of the four arms of the freak of nature on the other side of the war, she would probably either become food or suffer a far more painful course than a quick death. So it was preferable to stay away, only getting involved in the tactical part when it was convenient.

It was already winter, so that was all the more reason not to venture outside the walls of your home. As if Japan was in the height of winter, although it was only the beginning of it, time seemed to have frozen into a vicious circle where Ryomen Sukuna was spreading his destruction over any piece of land that came into his field of vision. It seemed that the world had not only been forgotten by God, but had also been left behind by the cruel winter wind. It was as if the darkness of despair was swallowing everyone up little by little and getting thicker and thicker.

— Pathetic. — Y/N whispered to herself as her eyes wandered over the contents of the letters, if she tried hard she could taste the bitter taste of despair dripping off those pages.

In reality, you were extremely skeptical about the end of the war. It was hard to believe in a happy fate when the only news that existed was discouraging, as if the world was stuck in an endless season of no real good promises. Your heart was covered with the purest snow of despondency. For you, it was only a matter of time before Sukuna annihilated all the jujutsu sorcerers who were against him, and who knows, maybe he would give you a dose of mercy if he knew about the cursed spirit trapped inside you from when you were little.

— They want strategic help and offer me nothing in return? What kind of woman do they think I am? — You grumbled, throwing the letters on the small table in front of you.

Then you looked out the large diagonal window and stared at the horizon beyond the walls of your house that was now also your personal fortress. White, pure snow, pristine; extremely different from the bloodstained battlefield that Y/N once had to visit to chart the next steps of those who stood against Sukuna. Perhaps if all the memories of the war field turned to ashes and you acted as if those memories had not left a mark on your soul, who knows, you might continue living as if someday one of the four arms of that beast was not going to be around your neck ready to break it.

A thought crossed her mind: what if it were possible to negotiate a trip to lands far away from that war-scarred Japan in exchange for a tactical plan good enough just to contain Sukuna for a few months? Then you wouldn't have to live constantly wondering if that day was your last day living and breathing normally. Your lips opened and from deep in your throat emerged a call loud enough for most of your servants to hear, and those who didn't, would surely follow those with acute hearing in the direction of the room you were in. It didn't take long for about 34 people of different ages and statures to stand in front of you.

— Pack up my things, pack up everything. — You rose from your comfortable cushion and looked at them intently. — Make sure you get my warmest clothes and also all the plans and maps I have drawn up so far. And do me the favor and do it quickly, we have no time to lose. Every second that passes is equivalent to several liters of blood being spilled.

— Should I ask where you are going, Miss?

— I'm going to hold the reins of a broken fate, of course. — You answered simply.

The next three days that followed consisted basically of you passing through several provinces until you reached the strategic camp closest to your fortress. It was hard to watch four of your servants almost die of hypothermia to get you to your final destination, but it was necessary. In a few days, maybe weeks, you and they and all the other 30 who stayed behind would be free of that bloodshed. Ends usually justify the means.

— Here is fine. — You said after getting down from your carriage and placing your feet on the snow-covered ground.

Your scarlet red uchikake stood out from the rest of the purely white landscape, and this was precisely the intention: you wanted to be noticed by those men so that they would know that their victory depended on how willing you were to help them.

— If possible, wait for me inside the carriage. You've been cold enough as it is, when I've finished arranging everything with those disgusting men, I'll come back here and take you to where I'll be staying, understand? — The servants nodded positively in silence. — Good. — Y/N allowed herself a gentle smile for them.

The hours that passed served both for new information about the distinct situations and numbers of the war to be passed on to Y/N and for her to begin to draw up new plans of tactics taking into consideration all the various others she had already made, planned and organized in previous months. At the end of the short "meeting", they ended up placing you in a lodge further away from the others and closer to the escape routes from the provisional camp because you were automatically placed in a delicate and important position since you were now a vital point of more than half of the strategies discussed minutes before.

Moreover, Y/N had made it clear that he was only going to draw up new plans for the next four moons and after that she would be leaving those lands with his servants for any other safer territory. However, the tactics left by her, besides fulfilling the goal of defeating Sukuna (even if momentarily), were all interconnected so that they would work out well and, consequently, mitigate the losses of the "human" side of the war. For you, it was only fair that they let you opt out of that sea of blood after you had worked so hard to keep their asses safe.

— Miss, I have heard that there are speculations that Sukuna is indeed approaching from the west. — One of her servants who was now combing her hair said.

Y/N arched one eyebrow in disbelief. There was no way this could be true, the generals had told her. But if it were, it would require changing about 5 of all the maps she had drawn.

— Heard from whom?

— That's what they talk about in the barracks, Landlady.

— So it's gossip. — You concluded by looking disinterestedly at your servant and internally wondering if you should take into account the possibility of starting to plot other tactics. — I doubt that he chose to attack precisely the route where we have the most jujutsu sorcerers operating.

— I don't understand war strategies, miss, you are the most competent in the subject, but if he ever managed to attack the West, wouldn't it be a great loss? — Her eyebrows furrowed in displeasure.

— Are you implying that they withheld information from me?

— Or maybe they just withheld it temporarily until they had concrete proof that, in fact, Sukuna is coming from the West.

— He could not... defeat so many jujutsu sorcerers at the same time. That is humanly impossible.

— He is not human, miss. Our parameters do not apply to him. — The servant replied as he finished tidying his mistress's hair into a simple updo.

And for the rest of the day, Y/N could think of nothing but that sinister possibility. As night fell, her eyes passed frantically over the entire camp area almost obsessively. It was as if at any moment the bestial figure of Sukuna would emerge from somewhere, and because of this, she couldn't sleep that night. As if the spirits of the jujutsu sorcerers who had been killed earlier were whispering to her to stay awake, because then it would be easier for her to get away or, as a last resort, to have to enjoy using her cursed technique in exchange for a few months of your life. That was the price for each half hour of using the cursed power of the spirit attached to her soul: 30 minutes of power in exchange for 3 months taken from your total life. And that's why you avoided using your cursed technique, it was hard enough to live being a woman in these hostile times and you certainly wouldn't make it past 30, so not using this cruel power was a matter of survival.

As the hours passed, slowly Y/N ended up being the only person awake. She was the only one left standing in her long traditional red uchikake style dress surrounded by white snow and orange and yellow lamps all around her illuminating the deserted path in front of her. She had been so immersed in thought that she had already crossed the camp completely once, from end to end, and now her feet were beginning to ache and get cold, despite the thick socks she was wearing.

And then suddenly the sound of a solitary drop falling to the ground reached Y/N's ears and in the blink of an eye the landscape previously showing only piles of snow and several hastily made lodgings was replaced by a huge Buddhist shrine decorated with skulls, where once there was white snow now there was black water that glistened all around. Your breath caught in your throat and instinctively you turned back to run back towards your lodging in the vague and mistaken idea of that domain expansion not reaching the escape routes. Your mistake of thinking that your lodge would be in the same place as before, in its place there was now a large throne of bones placed on top of several other bones. The King of Curses sat with a cocky smile permeating his lips in the middle of that very throne.

Before you even put your hands together to recite the incantation that would release your cursed technique, Sukuna let out a loud laugh as if he were being challenged by a mere defenseless kitten whose greatest damage might be a few minor scratches. And truth be told: you were scared to death. That beast's torso and shoulders adorned with black markings never looked so mortifying, and his four arms looked ready to snap you in half.

— I expected you to be more intelligent, human, considering that they call you "The best strategist in the Land of the Rising Sun". — A mocking laugh escaped his lips as his four eyes analyzed the helpless figure dressed in head to toe red in front of him. — I could cut you into several pieces in seconds, but instead I decided to leave you alive for now and this is how you thank me? Pathetic. — Sukuna's arrogant voice accompanied him as his massive body rose from its throne and walked towards him.

Instinctively, Y/N resumed her focus on the incantation she had begun seconds earlier, and it wasn't long before she felt something rough wrap itself around her neck. Pulling your own body back, you tried to quickly lift one of your legs in one of the few close-range fighting moves you knew to kick the curse’s arm away, but as a result, Sukuna just shoved you mercilessly against some bones that adorned his throne. Your body slammed against those hard, rough objects and immediately fell to the damp floor of the innate domain.

You had the impression that blood was about to spill from your lips, but it seemed that the blow was only enough to leave purple marks in the area of your ribs. Apparently the bundle of clothes you were wearing cushioned that "fall".

— Dumb whore. — Sukuna commented as he walked towards her and leaned over to put one of his hands on the girl's chin and lift her face in order to make her look him directly in the eyes. — Know your fucking place, woman. — His fingers tightened on her face until she had the impression that he was going to break her jaw. — Try anything stupid like that again and I'll break you in half. Feel grateful that I didn't kill you like I'm going to do to all those pathetic humans in the war camp, feel graced with my mercy. The mercy of your new God. — He flashed a cruel smile and Y/N tried to wriggle out of his grip on her chin. — I have a great proposal for you, human.

Sukuna turned away gradually and sat back down on his throne.

— You should know better than anyone that at the end of this war, I will be the winner. The consecutive defeats of you, human bugs, have made that very evident. — Y/N took advantage of the cursed spirit's sudden withdrawal to slowly stand up, hearing something inside his ribs make a low crack. — But I want a massive defeat. A defeat so bloody that it will make even the bravest jujutsu sorcerer who comes into being subsequent to my victory tremble before me. And who better to save me the trouble of having to organize a series of precise attacks than the best strategist alive today? — Glancing at him, you watched a falsely gentle smile open up on his face.

Knowing that it was impossible to beat him by force, Y/N began to organize her thoughts and came to the conclusion that trying to negotiate was the best way out at the moment.

— I don't draw up plans to kill innocents. — It was the only thing his parched throat could spit out using his tired vocal cords.

— I bet you can if you put just a little effort into it, you pathetic woman. — Sukuna stood up and calmly walked back towards the girl, and then he began to circle her as if he were a predator about to devour his sometimes tastiest prey. — Especially if your life is at stake, no?

You didn't know if he was bluffing or not. It was a game of wits that your tired mind was not willing to enter at the moment.

— If I help you... — Y/N could feel his warm, serene breath close to her neck, as if he was deliberately daring her to finish the sentence. — Would you let me live? — Her head was down, she didn't have the courage to turn to face the King of Curses.

— Would you give me your blind loyalty? Would you give me the last effort of your soul?

— I cannot promise loyalty without knowing that you will not kill me after using me and my war tactics. — Her voice was now little more than a whisper.

— So I offer you a binding vow with me, where I promise not to kill you even after I have already used all your knowledge of war strategy, and in return you promise not to betray me under any circumstances and give me your all. Everything, no exceptions. Your intelligence, your soul, your life purpose, your body. Every single thing.

It was not a fair exchange, but it was necessary for Y/N to trust that the remaining jujutsu sorcerers would be able to defeat Sukuna and at some point in the rest of her life, she would be free of that binding vow.

— I accept. — You said and watched him stand in front of you, instantly feeling helpless against his enormous height.

Again, one of Sukuna's hands was placed on your chin, and he lifted your head.

— Then prove your complete loyalty to me, woman.

— W-What? — Her eyes inevitably widened and a disinterested expression appeared on Sukuna's face, and he turned away and sat back on his cadaverous throne.

After that, he raised his index and middle fingers and suggestively moved them in her direction.

— You are a young woman who certainly understands about proving your loyalty to a man, don't you? Now, come here. Don't make me repeat myself. — Her feet moved toward him and began to climb up among the bones that decorated that throne.

Two of Sukuna's arms began to undress the frail female body in front of him while the other two began to explore that same body greedily and unkindly. He wanted her all to destroy her completely. He wanted to be the only thing permeating your mind until he told you to focus on your job as his strategist. He wanted to commit all kinds of immorality with you until you couldn't take it anymore, and you broke down in tears.

He made use of his four arms to first throw your clothes toward the damp floor of his domain, slowly spread your legs, position you over the warm wet tongue that opened almost in the middle of his abdomen, and give your ass a squeeze that would definitely leave marks behind. Y/N's small hands compared to the King of Curses' massive body rested on his broad shoulders and she couldn't help but let her head fall back trying not to let the moans escape her throat when she felt the tip of that abnormal tongue lick between the lips of her pussy. "Shit, this shouldn't turn me on so much, it shouldn't feel this good...", you thought as you forced your own hips against the tongue that licked your thighs and intimacy to get some more of that intoxicating pleasure.

You literally could not remember when had been the last time you had been touched so intimately by a man because that memory simply did not exist. The most that had been inside you were your fingers, which were far less thick and long than Sukuna's. Because of the lack of experiencing pure, carnal, fluid pleasure, you desperately rubbed your pelvis against his tongue. You were so focused on moving against that part of his body that you didn't even notice one of his arms sneaking up your thighs and nimbly rubbing your clit before began to make circular motions in it. His other arms were busy squeezing her waist, playing with your breasts, or leaving possessive marks around your neck and collarbone.

But then, just when erotically loud moans were escaping from the bottom of your throat without the least bit of shame, and you were feeling your body as hot as if it was about to explode and a knot of pleasure making itself present in the bottom of your abdomen, Sukuna stopped stimulating you. Suddenly. Cruelly. And when you tried to continue moving your hips against his tongue, he simply held your waist tightly to limit your movements and spoke in a harsh tone:

— On your knees, stupid woman. — He stood up slightly to disentangle himself from the long kimono covering his body and after undressing, was amused to see her startled face as she found herself staring at his two cocks. — Don't you dare say it won't fit, I know it will. — One of his hands grabbed Y/N's hair and pulled her face closer to his two members. — Open your mouth, slut. Easy, isn't it?

In reality, it wasn't easy at all when you had Sukuna fucking your face at a rapid pace with saliva dripping down your lips as he alternated between making you pay attention to each of his dicks. However, just as tears began to form in the corner of your eyes, he seemed to increase the force used to thrust his hips against your face, which made you choke several times in a row and turn him on even more.

— What a useful toy you are. Maybe I'll have some use for you in mind after this war is over. — He said, leaning toward you and pulling out of your mouth. — Keep your mouth open. - You obeyed and watched him spit into your mouth. — Don't you dare even think about not swallowing, you dirty whore. — Sukuna pulled your body up so that you were sitting on his lap with your back to him.

While two of his arms held you in place, the other two ventured between your legs and began to reach inside your pussy to use their fingers to widen it and dangerously rub close to your ass.

— N-Not there. — Y/N tried to grab the wrist of his hand that was sneaking up her ass and in retaliation Sukuna sank his teeth into one of her shoulders hard enough to draw just a little blood.

— Don't try to fight me, you are in no position to try to do that. Put yourself in your place, you idiot. — After he finished speaking, Sukuna also ended up invading her even tighter inside than her pussy.

The more he moved, differently from what you initially expected, the painful and uncomfortable sensation became more and more pleasurable, and then you felt embarrassed that you were rolling over and down against his fingers. But, just as before, Sukuna stopped moving inside you and withdrew his fingers, and you couldn't stop the tears from streaming down your cheeks. Literally the only thing on your mind was to reach that peak of pleasure you had never felt before, it was the only thing you needed at that moment. Y/N felt one of the King of Curses' hands grip her chin and tilt her body until her face could see her reflection in the dark water on the floor of his domain:

— Look at you, being destroyed by the same curse that hours ago you were working to destroy. — Her cheeks heated as more tears fell down her cheeks and her pussy contracted in a silent plea for Sukuna to fill it again. — How does it feel to see yourself like this, hmm? Seeing yourself helpless, totally at my mercy? — You knew that if he didn't get an answer, you would probably continue to deny your orgasm so you struggled to answer.

— I feel... dirty... — Her eyes kept staring at her crying face reflected in the water. — And so good. P-Please, I need to cum.

— Then make yourself cum on my cocks, woman. — That was all the permission you needed to lean your back against his broad chest and put a cock in each hole slowly with your head falling back to rest against one of his shoulders and moans coming from your lips from the sudden enlargement.

Y/N began a slow rhythm that made her eyes roll in delight at the repetitive sensation of feeling Sukuna widening her to the point where she could see him slightly deforming her belly, but the curse suddenly arched his hips upward hard in a violent thrust and seeing the girl vocalize a hoarse moan of pleasure louder than the previous ones, he grabbed her waist and began thrusting rapidly against her. The only sounds echoing through the huge space of Sukuna's domain were the grunts of him hallucinating with pleasure having that girl squeezing his cock, her uncontrolled moans, and the erotic sound of flesh slapping against flesh.

Your orgasm didn't take long to come and you couldn't be more internally fulfilled to finally have all those spasms of pleasure making your legs tremble, to have that overwhelming pleasure taking over your whole body. After several denials from Sukuna, you were finally reaching that carnal ecstasy that you didn't know you needed to taste until that curse gave you a taste of it. Even after you had cum, the King of Curses continued thrusting himself into your pussy and ass until he filled them completely with cum and gifted you with the wonderful sensation of feeling completely full.

— What a wonderful toy you are, human. — A wide smile filled with malice and lust opened on his lips. — I will certainly make the most of our biding vow.

[galadrieljones]

The Walking Dead: Episode 4.12, “Still” Rewatch

So I rewatched “Still” in honor of the Stilliversary tonight. My thoughts are not related much to Team Delusional stuff, more so just thoughts and idle analysis, but I had fun and definitely did not cry.

Here we go!

Beth is already feeling it, right away, after the trunk scene, ie: what he must think of her. She’s just another “dead girl” who needs to be protected. It is both insulting and embarrassing at the same time.

Daryl misses that squirrel and breaks an arrow! Dammit, Daryl. This is just another trial, but it’s interesting in how we see Daryl in like rote provider mode, and yet he makes a mistake.

The suck-ass camp begins with some Garden of Eden imagery: While Daryl skins and cooks the snake, Beth is admiring the beauty of a ladybug crawling on a leaf. The music is actually full of wonder. Beth sees the beauty in the natural world while Daryl sees it only for what he can use. It is an essential masculine vs. feminine moment, in terms of their individual themes, and what propels them and their actions. Their masculine and feminine energies will be subverted later though, and well-complicated, because the writing is good.

Beth brings up Hershel’s death early: “He’s not exactly around anymore so...” She wants to have a drink, maybe to rebel against her father, maybe to honor his memory, maybe to seal her own fate. It is a complicated choice for Beth. It’s not just some “dumb college bitch” moment. She knows this, but how is she supposed to communicate it to Daryl?

Daryl is like an animal eating that snake while Beth tries to talk to him. Literally, out of body. I imagine being her and just like, Ugh. Gross, dude. Then, when she leaves, Beth totally expects him to come after her. When she doesn’t see him right away, she mutters, “Jerk.” She called him a jerk in season 3, too, after he takes off with Merle. I think Beth is used to being treated nicely by boys. Ofc, Daryl, while he may not be an overt gentleman in his scarfing of that disgusting snake, was there watching her the whole time. 

“You wanna spend the rest of our lives staring into a fire and eating mud snakes? Screw that. We might as well do something.”

I sort of missed this before, the mention of “the rest of our lives.” It is a small acknowledgement that they are now “stuck together.” Ofc, Beth’s idea is to “make the most of it,” to go out into and DO something! Embrace the future! Daryl sees only the here, the now, and the past. He would prefer to stay still.

Unrelated but: God, Daryl is peak hot in this episode. 

Anyway, so, the state of Pine Vista, and what happened there. Jfc. It’s very ugly and very sad. The Dogtrot seems a reference to a dogtrot house, which is an old Appalachian style home. Basically like two shacks connected via a breezeway. I see some sort of backcountry types having moved in here and tortured the rich folk. There is evidence that “fun” was had. “Rich bitch,” etc. Maybe it’s the same psychopaths who tormented the OG Terminus crew, ultimately turning them into crazy cannibals.

Beth finds the Washington D.C. spoon. Why?? It’s such an odd, pointed shot, with a slow zoom. Is that where we’ll find her? Does anybody else know anything about this?? Anyway maybe this is a TD post lol.

Beth finds that bottle of wine and it’s a shame she has to break it! I remember feeling so bad about that the first time I watched this episode. Like NO BETH YOUR BOOZE!! She uses it to stab the shit out of that walker though, and to defend herself. She’s kind of pissed at Daryl for not helping her, again used to only the kindest of attention from boys. But Daryl isn’t like other boys (lol). He was there the whole time, once again, but he let it play out, because he knew she could do it. I like that her first (almost) drink here sort of has to become a weapon instead. Nothing is ever easy! And sometimes, the environment IS best observed, not in terms of its beauty or promise, but in terms of how its use can best be served to survive.

Tempus Fugit - Time flies! Oh, yes. Yes it does lol.

Daryl and Beth both need to escape their old selves here. Beth with her pretty cloths and Daryl stealing the cash and the jewels. They need to shake that shit off. Burn it all down, if you will. I think this episode we mostly associate with Daryl changing and having his epiphany, but Beth changes, too. She is just quieter at it.

It is 3 o’clock! The grandfather clock is this interesting motif that puts pressure on the situation literally while also bringing the symbolic pressure of time passing, running out, etc. It makes us feel detached from reality, like this is a purgatory episode. I like when The Walking Dead does this, like when they take us to a new place in which we become critically aware that this thing we’re watching is fiction, and by the rules of fiction, anything (ANYTHING) can happen.

“I know you think this is stupid, and it probably is, but I don’t care.” She just is who she is. She doesn’t give a shit what he thinks. I think that attracts Daryl to her in this moment and emboldens him. I think Daryl actually really cares what other people think of him, that he is keenly self-aware in this way. We see this fear manifest as Merle in Chupacabra, ie: that the rest of the group thinks he’s a “freak,” a piece of “redneck trash,” and that they’re all “laughing behind [his] back.” Meanwhile, Beth is just like, “You probably think I’m just some dumb bitch. But guess what, Daryl? I DON’T CARE.”

Beth sitting at that bar trying to clean out glasses: “Who needs a glass?” She clutches the bottle longingly and then cries. I would argue she is thinking of Hershel and the line of questioning that arises in this moment. Should she do this? Is she betraying him? This moment also contradicts what she tells Daryl in 4.1. “I don’t cry anymore Daryl.” This is the moment that breaks him.

Beth keeps trying to make him feel normal, while they’re walking to the shine shack. She thinks he used to be a motorcycle mechanic. But Daryl’s normal is not hers, and he doesn’t really do small talk. In these little moments, we see him being who he is. Daryl is really good at being who he is when who he is revolves around passivity and silence.

They go from country club to moonshine shack. What we see is how a class divide might differ in longevity. A country club full of walkers, made out of humans who turned against each other, every bottle dry in the house vs. an empty shine shack, no death in sight, absolutely full of booze. When societal protections collapse around us, it is the ruthless and the bereft who will know how best to survive. It’s like Beth sad about Daryl, being “made for this world.” 

They are trapped! Tropes. So many romantic tropes! Lol at people who would like to ignore that any of this happened or that Bethyl was never canon.

This: 

Anyway, I think Daryl is actually pretty mean to Beth toward the end here, out on the porch, like the way he treats her, kind of tugs her around physically. He doesn’t hurt her, but he is not gentle. This puts things into harsh perspective for Beth, as I do think that, while he is not right in how he handles her here, he is right in some ways about who she is. She is not naive but she is used to protection and safety and relying on others, the same way he is used to the opposite of those things. Both of them need to learn how to exist from the other side. 

Beth also sees what’s going on, however. I think she also might be used to this sort of quasi-violent, performative, drunken behavior. Her dad was a drunk. I think it’s interesting that so much of this episode hinges on alcohol in Hershel’s wake. I always thought this might be one reason Beth is drawn to and accepting of Daryl. We only really see Hershel while sober (I mean, mostly). We never saw him in his deep element of alcoholism, but Beth did. She is not innocent to vices or men spinning out of control. It’s why Beth responds to Daryl’s whole insane story about the tweaker and Merle with, “You miss him, don’t you?” She doesn’t care that Merle was a degenerate drug addict. He was Daryl’s brother who died. She has loved and lost an addict, too.

Before, Daryl was just “drifting.” In this episode, Beth gives him a quest. I think that’s very important. She also gives him something to look forward to:

“You got away from it.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“Maybe you gotta keep on reminding me of it sometimes.”

The hint at their future: “You gotta keep on reminding me,” he says, counting on them staying together. Beth is so kind to him here, too, even doting as she talks about him being the “last man standing.” I can’t imagine a girl has ever treated Daryl like this. I think she scares the living shit out of him.

Daryl suggests they go back into the shine shack, but Beth says they should burn the place down instead. Again, stillness vs. action. See their complimentary traits: Daryl is passive. He needs someone to tell him this is okay. Beth is active. She does what she wants. It is uniquely antithetical to their gender roles and subverts the power dynamic we might otherwise expect from a relationship like this: Daryl is older and a man. Ofc he should be the more aggressive, assertive one. The actor. But he’s not. It’s Beth who makes their choices in this episode. Daryl follows her and protects her along the way. 

The ending is so happy. Oh my god. Anyway.

Thank you for humoring me. Happy Stilliversary!! 😭🥺❤️

[sundaeserenade]

So a few weeks ago I wrote a thread on twitter about wanting to write a reguri soulmate fic where they decide to not be soulmates and make the decision for themselves. like it’s a mutual thing that they both decide on instead of it being this sign from the universe or fate or whatever. basically, they just go against fate.

and i tried writing out that idea and forcing it into the standard path of r/g/y/fr/lg but i ended up not liking that and i didn’t like a few other things that i did. so this was a learning experience! if i ever write this, it’ll have to be an actual..au with no canon ties. which is probably better because i can do whatever i want with the world building!

but i wrote 2.3k words... and i’m not going to post this on ao3 bc it’s not finished and it never will be. it’s not polished and it never will be, but i figured i should post it here so that it’s somewhere, at least.

They were considered to be two of the lucky ones. Finding one’s soulmate so early on in life is a blessing from the universe, a sign that their bond is under the ever watchful gaze of the divine. Luck will follow them, surely. What do they have left to despair over? What do they have to fear? The greatest challenge of their lives has already been solved, and so they are told to walk freely and without pressure clinging to their shoulders.

They found each other at the fine age of six, and from now on, they will be blessed and find wealth.

“I don’t believe any of it,” Green whispers. He keeps his voice low, eyes darting around the blanket fort they’d built in Red’s living room. The only light they have is a single flashlight that keeps flicking on and off due to low battery. Red’s in charge of turning it off and on in hopes that it’ll last just a minute longer while Green is pouring over the books he’d taken from the bookshelf at his grandfather’s house. 

They’re all self-help books with titles like How to Find Your Soulmate and Gut Feelings Can Get in the Way of Love and other crap that Red doesn’t care for. Green turns pages and looks at indexes, his mouth forming words but no sound coming out. He skims over paragraphs meant for people twice his age to read, but Green’s smart, always has been, and he’s handling the bulk of the work while Red turns the flashlight on and off again.

Green stops on a page and Red leans forward to read the chapter title: Life is Always Better with a Soulmate! Green scoffs and rolls his eyes. “That can’t be true. What about those couples that break up? Your mom and dad did, right Red?”

Red nods, lips thinning. There’s a nervousness in his heart, heightened by the darkness that comes and goes with the dying of the flashlight. All of these books are telling lies and the adults believe them. But both he and Green know that it’s wrong, that soulmates aren’t all that they’re cracked up to be. 

After all, when he’d first met Green, when they’d first shook hands and looked into each other’s eyes, their bond was formed. 

It felt like… It felt like what volcanoes erupting looks like. A loud, earth-shaking feeling that filled Red with shock and fear of what was to come. It felt like the air was being forced out of his lungs, like an ekans squeezing a rattata. It felt like being lost in the woods at night and getting an expensive toy as a birthday present. It was frightening and too much all at once, so much so that they both jumped back, startled and scared.

But it was a bond being formed under the eyes of the universe. A pact being sealed without their consent or understanding. They had found their soulmate, and the elation and joy swept over Pallet Town like a wind with Red and Green staring at each other in confusion through all of it.

Green is Red’s best friend, but he can’t say for sure if that’s because of the bond or because Green likes to talk about pokémon with him. There’s no one else around who has such a strong interest in the creatures, but Green will flaunt his knowledge and sneak them into his grandfather’s lab to look at some of them. They fed a growlithe together, they ran from a nidoran together, but Red doesn’t feel that special feeling again. 

“I don’t feel it either,” Green admitted to him when Red had written out his question. “Maybe that’s all we’ll ever feel. Maybe it’s normal.”

There are no marks to make the process of finding soulmates easier. It’s a feeling, it’s a gaze, it’s a touch that one feels when they meet their special someone. Because of this, everyone is overly friendly. Shaking hands and hugging strangers is commonplace. Eye contact is expected, and Red is secretly relieved to have met Green because now he can avoid meeting people’s eyes.

Everywhere around them, people are almost desperate to find their one. It’s so deeply ingrained in their way of living and looking at the world. So Green wonders and ponders and thinks. Red asking that question only opened up other possibilities, and Green is curious and intelligent, so he runs with it in search of the truth. 

Which brings them to the blanket fort and the lies printed in black ink. The two of them sit there comparing what they’ve experienced in their lives to what the world at large believes. Red’s parents were no longer together, and yet they’d been soulmates. What does it mean? They’d been told repeatedly that once they found their special someone, the world would right itself, the universe would sing their song and they’d face little to no hardships.

“It’s a lie,” Green spits, closing the book with a loud slam. “They’ve been lying to us, Red.”

Red puts down the flashlight and reaches over to take Green’s hand. 

There’s no spark or visions of celebration to differentiate the touch from any other one.

 When Green turns seven, he puts distance between them. 

When Green turns eight, he starts being mean.

When they both turn eleven, they begin their pokémon journeys. 

It’s a monumental undertaking and when he was younger, Red had thought he and Green would face it side by side. But now, Green runs forward, spewing taunts in his wake. There’s no link between them that offers Red a peek into what Green’s really feeling, no sign given by their bond that could explain his behavior. Red is left alone, confused and hurt by his own soulmate shunning and belittling him every chance he gets. 

Red keeps walking because that’s what he’s always done. He catches pokémon, forges bonds with them, and trudges through grass and mud and rain to get where he needs to go. It’s fun being outside so much. He gets to be on his own, away from people and it’s not seen as him being strange or weird. Pokémon aren’t afraid of him. Pokémon don’t whisper hurtful things behind his back. It’s him, his team, and the four badges in his case.

That is, until the foreboding air and eerie light of Lavender Town comes creeping closer. An unsettling presence hangs over the town like a smog, and Red finds himself thrust into the city's problems as he chases Team Rocket. And in doing so, he runs into his soulmate once more in the Pokémon Tower. 

Red has a reason for being here; he’s been chasing Team Rocket thugs his entire journey. Green, however… Well. There’s only two reasons for visiting the Pokémon Tower, but Red doesn’t pry. Green tries once again at intimidation, and it ends as it always has previously; Green hiding his hurt behind a cracking mask and Red never being able to find the right words to say.

And yet, when he leaves Lavender Town after driving out Team Rocket and saving Mr. Fuji, he spots Green on Route 7, leaning against a tree. It’s not like Green to stick around in places where there’s no gym, so Red is confused...until he understands that Green’s been waiting for him.

A feeling of dread weighs him down. Was their fight at the Pokémon Tower not enough? Were the insults not enough? Red has had enough, and moves to the left to give Green a wide berth. He doesn’t want to battle or deal with the complex feelings that follow. He’s spent enough time here. He needs to go.

“Red.” 

Green’s voice stops him. It’s not because of the bond or any other false truth that’s been shoved down his throat. At one point, Green had been his best friend. And now, he still remains Red’s soulmate. Red keeps handing out chances for change, opportunities to fix things, but nothing ever comes. He needs to go.

Green pushes off of the tree, his arms still crossed. “Camp out with me tonight.”

Not a battle. Not an insult. Not a pointless taunt. A proposition. An opportunity for change? Red would be a fool not to take it.

He nods.

 By the fireside, Red and Green stare into the flames and keep their words to themselves. Their tents are already set up, their teams have already eaten dinner and they’ve done the same. There’s nothing left to take care of, but still they prolong what brought them together in the first place. 

Red has no idea what it is that Green wants, so he’s confused, but that’s not the only thing that’s confusing him. He hasn’t spent this much time around Green in years, and yet...he feels nothing from their soulmate bond. There’s no relief or itch for touch, there’s no yearning in his heart and no sudden impact of feelings like when they’d first locked gazes. If feels normal between them, as it always has since that first meeting. 

Is this normal? Is this how it’s supposed to be?

Green tosses another twig into the fire that it didn’t need and looks up at Red. “Do you want to break our bond?”

Red’s eyes widen. His lips part. He forgets to breathe. He stares.

“I’m not going to force you,” Green holds up a hand. “But I… I’ve been thinking...about this whole soulmate thing…”

Red keeps silent, his heart racing and it’s the most feeling he’s ever felt since that day. 

“I don’t know about you, but luck hasn’t been following me,” Green says, glaring at the flames. “Wealth hasn’t found me. And I know… I know we aren’t close anymore, but…” Green sighs, looks up at Red and the fire in his eyes is unlike anything Red’s ever seen. It’s volcanoes erupting and stars bursting into dust. “I want to make this decision myself.”

Quickly, Red reaches into his backpack for his notepad and a pencil. He bites his lip as he thinks on what to say. When it comes down to it, there’s just one question that hasn’t left him and probably never will. 

Have you felt anything since that first day? Even now?

Green looks over the paper and he takes a minute to respond. When he does, hurt chokes his voice, reality making his throat tighten. “No, I haven’t.”

Red sits back. The last bit of hope up and fades and he’s left with this choice. What is a soulmate bond if there’s no feelings attached? If there’s no constant affirmation that this is right? How do they know for certain that they’re each other’s soulmates? The feelings had been immense, but they’d vanished since. But who was to say that was a bond being formed? What if it was just them, the two of them, and nothing more?

But it had to be a bond, because that’s how it’s always been described. That was the one part those books got right. That initial feeling of everything at once, like the universe crashing in on them. Amazing and scary and beautiful and sad. Everything that they are and could be leveled against them in one, single gaze. 

Then after, there’s no more. That is all they are afforded. 

Green is his soulmate, but Red thinks of him as a lost childhood friend, someone who isn’t interested and wants nothing to do with him. Still, those old times when they were younger… Red wouldn’t mind going back to that. He prefers friendship over this bitter rivalry that hurts much more than it should, that tears and rips his skin.

But isn’t this the same? Green wants nothing to do with him yet again. Not as friends, not as soulmates, only rivals competing for something that they were supposed to do together. Red grips his pencil tight.

Do you hate me that much?

Green stutters. “Red, I…” He shakes his head, leans forward to set his elbows on his knees. He stares into the flames but then looks past them to regard Red. “I don’t hate you. I just think this would be best for both of us.”

Why?

“Because have you ever felt anything for me?” Green asks, turning the question around. “You always ask if I’ve felt anything, but have you? What is this bond doing for us, huh? Everyone talks like it’s the best thing, like it’s an amazing necessity, but it’s not!”

Red looks away, feeling Green’s frustration and understanding it. They always sang of soulmates, sang of love and fate, but it’s done nothing for them. Are they too young? Too ignorant of the world? And if so, shouldn’t they figure this out themselves? They can’t trust what they’re told, they can’t trust what people say. This is a step that they have to make on their own.

With every step on his journey, Red’s been making his own choice and how freeing it’s felt. He decides where to go, who to battle, what pokémon to catch. He decides his place in the world and who he wants to be. He dives into caves and crosses rivers. He looks up and dreams of snow, he looks back and yearns for times long past. But those are still his choices to make. 

This is the same. This is something that they can choose for themselves. There was always the possibility for more, an opportunity for the two of them to become more, but…this opportunity, this chance may be what they need.

What does Red have to lose? There’s never been another feeling or indication. They’ve grown apart despite being fated to be together. They’ve already defied all logic and reason. 

And he wants… He wants to know. Maybe if they break the bond, another feeling will happen and they’ll know for certain, then. 

How do we break it?

[anotherashley]

Give Me Thunder // 1988

Summary: When you’re part of rival fraternities the last thing you’re supposed to do is fall for the enemy, but then, Patrick’s never known anyone like Jonathan Toews before.

*

In retrospect, Patrick really should’ve known better.

Homecoming is a huge night for most fraternities, including his own, the Delta Chi house. They’re known for going absolutely balls to wall with the planning, preparation, and execution of their parties. It’s an event. An evening to remember if you will. And where’s Patrick? Wedged in some hallway at the Sigma Alpha Epsilon mansion drinking shitty overpriced beer from a keg, sweating his nuts off, and listening to fucking Chumbawamba playing from their high-priced stereo system.

This disgrace of a party deserves no attendees, and yet, the house is packed, every little inch and every single corner filled with Sigma Alpha brothers, their dates, and friends. A house of garbage monkeys. A house of ill repute.

"It's not that bad," Dayna says, exasperated.

Dayna, the reason he’s in this shithole in the first place.

Patrick narrows his eyes, watching her and the room suspiciously. "Oh, but it is, my friend. It is."

“You’re overreacting,” she says and grins.

Patrick frowns. He’s not usually one to get overheated, but it’s like a sauna in this joint. He pulls at his tie to loosen it, listening to some Billie Eilish song come on next. "I can't believe you made me come here."

"And I can't believe you wore a hot pink tie when I told you specifically I was wearing a royal blue dress, so I guess we're even."

Patrick surveys the slinky strapless number she’s sporting and his own shimmering tie. It’s not...awful. "I think it looks good together,” he shrugs.

She snorts. “You would.”

“I'm taking that as a compliment.”

“It's not one,” she fires back.

“Hurtful.” 

Dayna’s fun and gorgeous, wicked smart. They met last spring in Linear Algebra and became fast friends, partly out of necessity because the math department was full of dull assholes, and partly because they got along so easily. There’s this pressure to find dates for every Greek event, someone to hook up with or to show off, and Patrick just wanted - wants - to relax, hang out, have a good time and not be plagued the entire night with what might happen at the end or if his date will be disappointed. It’s why he asked Dayna in the first place - there are no strings. 

He hadn’t really counted on her betraying him in this obscene of a manner, however. Sigma Alpha? Really?!

“I'm sorry,” she says, rubbing his shoulder, but she seems distracted. She’s been looking off into the crowd as if she’s trying to find someone, ever since they arrived. 

Patrick tickles at her arm to get her attention and when she turns, smiling, he says. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”

“Will you forgive me for ditching you? Because I'm about to do that too.”

Patrick blinks. “What?”

She scrunches her nose, just a little, and takes his wrist as if in apology. “It's not you, it's me.”

Patrick barks out a laugh. “You're not serious. Here? Now?!”

“I know,” she says, and begins patting his hand like she’s his goddamn grandmother or something. “I'm the worst, but it's really not you.”

“It must be a little me.”

“It's mostly Brent.”

Patrick gasps. As far as reactions go, it might be slightly overdone, but still. “Brent Seabrook? A fucking Sigma Alpha. Dayna!”

Dayna manages to at least look contrite. Sort of. She drops his hand gently. “I can see you're mad. Understandable. I'm gonna go...over there. And hopefully, when I see you Monday you'll be less mad. Bye Pat!”

“Bye Traitor!” he yells. He hopes the whole party hears it over the awful music playing in this awful house on this awful night.

Patrick watches her walk over to a table with a group of guys centered around Seabrook. They took up camp there shortly after Patrick and Dayna arrived. And more and more people have gathered around since. People always seem to gravitate to Seabrook, so Patrick really shouldn't be surprised that Dayna is too. The guy is huge in that cuddly bear sort of way, but with perfect hair, and the kind of laid back attitude that most people never really achieve.

Too bad he's a fucking Sigma Alpha.

God.

Patrick hates Sigma Alphas.

He's not joking when he tells this to everyone, and he means everyone: from the freshman rushes to his TA, Marian, from his Tuesday-Thursday biochem lab, to Lee, his favorite delivery guy, to generally anyone who passes him on the street. Sigma Alphas are self-obsessed, shitstain, egomaniacs, that ruin everything and have no concept of fun. They’re the absolute worst.

So, of course, it only makes sense on this wreck of a night that Patrick runs into the very worst one of them all after Dayna abandons him.

“Amazing,” a smug voice says from behind him.

It’s truly unfortunate Patrick recognizes that voice so well seeing how he can’t stand Jonathan Toews. One of life’s evil jokes, apparently, because Toews is the very embodiment of gum under his shoe, or a flat tire on a rainy day, or some other horrible Alanis Morissette analogy.

The point is...he’s terrible.

Patrick turns slowly, already annoyed when he sees the amusement written all over Jonny’s stupid, grinning face.

“It's not you, it's me,” he mocks. “I didn't know that was a thing people actually still said.”

“Well, that’s what happens when no one will go out with you, Toews,” Patrick fires back with a wink. “No one talks to you.”

Jonny’s smile fades. “Says the guy who just got dumped.”

They’re not exactly standing near each other, but the music is loud and to keep from shouting Patrick takes a step closer, having to tilt his head back just a bit when Jonny moves in too.

“At least I had a date.”

“A date that dumped you for one of my friends.”

Patrick clenches his fist at the smug expression on Toews’ stupid face. “What, you think you can do better?”

“I don't think, I know I can do better.”

“Oh really,” Patrick scoffs.

“Absolutely,” he says. “I could get any girl’s number in here before you.”

It’s a ridiculous statement. Inane. Besides the fact that Jonny has a clear advantage since this is his house and he probably knows half of these girls, it’s a dumb bet to make to prove he’s somehow, someway, better at not getting dumped. Which was the original argument? Maybe? Fuck, Patrick isn't even sure any more he’s too pissed off.

But he takes one look at Jonny’s smirking face and knows he’s going to rise to the challenge. He hates himself a little for not being able to just walk away.

“Go ahead then,” Patrick says, sealing his fate. “Show me your moves.”

Jonny eyes him, nonchalant. “You couldn't handle it.”

“Couldn’t handle what? You haven’t even declared a wager yet. That confident in your moves?”

Jonny straightens his back, stands tall, and pauses for a moment like he’s gathering himself, then he looks down at Patrick, down into his goddamn soul and smirks, calm, confident, cocky. “Hey,” he says. “What’s up?”

“Uh,” Patrick says, confused.

Jonny moves in closer, the corners of his mouth curving up and up as he leans in. “I’m here now. What are your other two wishes?”

Did he just…?

Patrick laughs, can’t help himself. “Good god that’s an awful pick-up line. F minus. You’re supposed to be impressing me - I mean her, dude. That just makes you look like a stuck up jackass.”

Jonny’s brow furrows, displeased. “Okay, what about: Does your left eye hurt? Because you've been looking right all day.”

Less awful, but Patrick can do better. “Are you a 90-degree angle? 'Cause you are looking right!”

“Was that a math joke?”

Patrick glares. “Maybe.”

Jonny snorts.

“Don't shit talk math.”

He waits for Jonny to say something else, now that Patrick’s exposed a weakness, but instead he taps a finger against his chin, as if in thought again.

“I seem to have lost my phone number. Can I have yours?” he tries.

Patrick shakes his head. “Do you know what my shirt is made of? Boyfriend material.”

This time Jonny laughs, vivid and real, and it brightens his whole face in a way Patrick’s never seen before, not this close up. His eyes are almost black in this dimmed corner of the house and they sparkle when the light hits them. He takes another step in, closer, so they’re just a foot away from each other. When he catches Patrick’s gaze he says low, voice softer, “I'm sorry, I don't think we've met. I wouldn't forget a pretty face like that.”

Patrick swallows and pulls at his collar. It’s really fucking hot in this house. It probably shouldn’t be this hot in September.

“That’s um,” he coughs. “That’s not terrible.”

“It’s the one,” Jonny says, lips curving.

He’s more pleased with himself than he has any right to be, the arrogant dickbag. He thinks he’s already won this thing and they haven’t even ironed out all of the details yet.

Patrick purses his lips. “Anyway, what do I win if I get a number first?”

“You have to win first.”

Patrick steps forward, determined, until they’re only inches apart and whispers, “Watch me.”

Jonny doesn’t cede any ground, tall and looming, too casual. He makes Patrick’s skin itch in the worst way. If he could just get Jonny to break,  just a little, it’d be worth all this shitty night has wrought upon him.

He shoulders past Jonny roughly, using his upper body strength to edge Jonny a step back as he passes. It’s a small victory, but he relishes it as he looks around the room for a willing participant. Almost everyone is already clustered in groups or pairs so the pickings are slim. He’s about to turn into the next room when he sees two girls tucked away against a bay window, one texting on her phone and talking, the other, curvy, cute and brunette, looking bored beside her.

She’s wearing one of those side strap dresses that are incredibly sparkly, and her feet are shoeless. When Patrick steps up to her, smiling, she’s still almost as tall as him.

“Hey,” he says, cool, calm.

He’s got this. No problem.

“No,” she says, bored expression unchanging.

“I just-”

“No,” she repeats. She’s not even looking at him, which is a little rude.

Patrick drops the chill guy act and goes for something more sincere, genuine, as he bites his lip.

“Look, you want to maybe-”

“No,” she says again, this time sharper. “No, go away.”

“Well, alrighty then. You have a nice night,” Patrick salutes her, spins on his heel and walks away.

That was a dumpster fire.

He can already see Jonny laughing from across the room. Goddamnit fucking bullshit fuck. A weak-ass effort, and of all the times.

He trudges back to their original spot expecting the gloating of a lifetime, but Jonny has his chin tilted up and is already passing Patrick by, headed for somewhere and someone in particular.

Patrick’s eyes trail him, riveted to the way Jonny moves through the crowd like he owns it, as if the room bends to his will.

There’s a petite strawberry blonde with black gauges in her ears and dark red lipstick painted on her mouth, chatting with some skinny kid that's clearly trying too hard. She turns to Jonny when he steps up, her smile curious, but her arms crossed. Patrick can't look away, watching them talk back and forth, the way her expression shifts from curious to suspicious to amused. He barely says more than a handful of words to her before she’s writing her number on his palm.

And where did he even get a pen? Did he just have the pen on him? Who carries pens on a night like this?!

“How the fuck…,” Patrick murmurs to himself, and receives a weird look from one the Sigma rushes, as they walk by. 

Before Patrick can blink Jonny’s returned, standing straight and smug in front of him as he holds his hand up.

“Here ya go, slick.”

Slick? This guy is so lame. 

Patrick sighs. “Double or nothing?

“No way,” Jonny says. “Don’t filch on the bet now, Kane.”

It was worth a shot.

“Fine,” he shrugs, mentally preparing himself for whatever humiliation is about to come his way. “What do you want?”

Jonny hums. “Loser gives winner a blowjob?”

Patrick tries to replay the words Jonny just said, again, like it’s a recorded message and if he can listen to it closely enough he’ll understand. They’ll make more sense if he can hear them one more time. 

There might be a 404 ERROR message currently running through Patrick’s brain.

He needs a rewind button. 

He can’t...

He...

Patrick coughs his way into a laugh. “Uh...what?!

It's not that it's a secret either of them are into guys. Patrick's seen Jonny around campus getting friendly with both men and women more than a few times. Still, it's quite the leap to assume Patrick, a Delta Chi, and therefore a superior species is interested in him, a mere peasant.

“Are you serious?” he asks, still laughing. It might be a bit of a hysterical laugh. It’s pretty high pitched.

Jonny doesn't look insulted, the cocky asshole. His expression is more impatient, if anything, as he steps into Patrick's space and says, “Do I look like I’m fucking with you?”

Not yet, Patrick thinks and feels his dick twitch. Jesus. It's too goddamn hot in this house. Sweat gathering at his temples and his tie too tight around his neck. He pulls it looser and tries to shake off his jitters.

“That's a bold assumption you're making, dude.”

“Are you saying you don't want to?” Jonny asks.

The truly gross part is how Patrick only hesitates a second before looking him over, really takes a moment to let his eyes wander up and down the length of Jonny’s long body, his muscular arms, the broad shoulders, the ruddy tint to his cheeks, the sculpted jaw, his pink lips and dark brown eyes. The kind of eyes that are warm and so so intense, and currently trained all on him.

On Patrick.

Patrick’s traitorous dick thickens in his pants, his own body enacting a mutiny upon him.

He swallows roughly. “Uh...no.”

“Let’s go up to my room then,” Jonny says.

Patrick should leave. He should leave.

Instead, he follows.

*

Walking up the stairs to Jonny's room the only thing Patrick can think about is that he wishes he'd had more to drink. He’s not even buzzed enough to realistically blame this error in judgment on alcohol. But he refuses to blame himself either so it's pretty obviously all Dayna’s fault, and Brent Seabrook’s. Which means it's Sigma Alpha’s fault. 

So there, the world makes sense once again.

The upstairs is less crowded than the rest of the house, most of the bedroom doors shut, probably locked to prevent outsiders from fucking on house members beds. Jonny’s room is at the end of the hall, tucked away next to the bathroom. Jonny lets them both in, ushering Patrick inside first and flipping the lock behind them.

It’s a single, which shouldn’t be surprising since Jonny is the Sigma President, but it catches Patrick off guard all the same. He has to take a few beats to gather himself as his gaze travels over the room. It’s every inch what Patrick would’ve expected, from the collection of Apple products scattered over his desk to the trophies and medals pinned to his bookshelf. There’s an econ textbook on his dresser beside his overpriced watch and Armani cologne. Sports gear looks to be thrown in a pile by his closet almost artfully. It’s like his bedroom is a set for a fucking Abercrombie and Fitch ad. Patrick gags a little. Almost.

If that was all there was to Jonny in this room Patrick wouldn’t be surprised one iota. But it’s not.

There’s also framed photos of his family everywhere, pictures of him fishing with his brother, of their family dog, of his grandma knitting him a Christmas sweater. The floor is a mess with socks and crumpled paper, a thousand post-it notes of things he’s written to himself tacked up everywhere. He’s got anatomy posters on his walls and a signed Canadian hockey jersey framed over his bed, the forest green sheets are rumpled and soft to the touch when Patrick takes a seat on his bed. It’s a bit much to take in all at once especially with Jonny’s attention still on him as he removes his tie and unbuttons his shirt at the collar.

“I need a drink,” Patrick says, warm everywhere and restless.

Jonny pulls an unopened Absolut Vodka bottle from his dresser, unscrewing the cap, and handing it over.

“Here,” he says, and begins rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “I don’t have any clean cups.”

“Anything to chase it with?” Patrick asks, staring at the veins running along Jonny’s toned forearms, the skin golden and his hands large.

“You need a chaser?” Jonny says like it’s a dare.

“Oh fuck off,” he mumbles, shrugging out of his own jacket. He fists the bottle by the neck, using his free hand to wipe at his sweaty brow, averting his attention. He takes a breath, in and out, feels the way his stomach flutters. “Bottoms up!”

Jonny snorts as Patrick takes a long pull. It tastes horribly bitter and burns all the way down his throat. He takes another drink, and then two more, and then again one last time for good measure.

When he hands the bottle over to Jonny he licks his lips, catching a stray drop of vodka at the corner of his mouth and utterly staggered by the way Jonny’s staring at him, eyelids heavy and pupils blown wide.

The overhead light is turned off, just a small desk lamp left to softly illuminate the room, everything a soft yellow glow.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Patrick mutters, even if the idea of it all seems less crazy now with a glass of vodka in his system and Jonny’s bare forearms in view.

“Or you can’t believe you lost?” Jonny volleys back, taking a few swigs of his own.

“Do I have to choose?”

Patrick reaches for the bottle again, wiggling his fingers in a ‘gimme’ gesture. Jonny holds out the bottle for a moment, offering, but the instant Patrick actually touches it Jonny snatches it back, teasing, baiting.

“No,” Jonny says, low. “But you could come closer.” He tilts his chin up, gesturing Patrick to him, movements like dripping honey.

There’s this tension in the air, something that’s always been between them, but it’s different now. No less heavier, but still challenging, still stuck deep underneath his ribcage and tight. It’s sizzling through his skin now, making goosebumps pop up all across his overheated skin. He waits, just long enough to see Jonny shift on his feet before he stands - until they’re both standing. It’s a little victory, but he enjoys it, even more for the way Jonny meets him in the middle, stepping into Patrick’s space again and slotting a leg between both of his.

Jonny’s legs are long, full of thick corded muscle and his thigh hot to the touch. When it presses up against Patrick’s dick he can’t help the way a small gasp escapes his lips.

“This is so stupid,” he says, even as he pushes closer.

“Is it?” Jonny murmurs, rocking forward until they’re chest to chest, faces only a breath away.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I hate you,” Patrick says, huffing out a laugh at the absurdity of the question, of this entire night.

“Well,” Jonny, says, nose barely grazing the edge of Patrick’s jaw and the sensitive spot behind his ear. “I hate you more.”

Patrick shivers. “Impossible.”

“You wanna bet?” he chuckles.

He’s so goddamn annoying Patrick wants to shove him away and storm out. He wants it so bad he can taste it, the tips of his fingers practically tingling. So it makes absolutely zero sense that he fists his hands in Jonny’s dress shirt, yanks him close, and spins them both around to tumble back onto the bed.

“Just,” he groans. “Just shut up and let’s get this over with.”

Jonny stretches his arms wide, crosses them under the back of his head as he spreads his legs. “Pretend all you want, Kane, but I know.”

“Know what?” Patrick asks, settling between Jonny’s tree trunk thighs and unable to keep his eyes off the considerable bulge in Jonny’s pants.

“You’re hard too. You want this too.”

His voice is a deep timber and it slides over Patrick like a silky wave. Almost calming despite Jonny’s provocative words. He wishes he could deny them, flip the script on Jonny and show him he’s not as hot as he clearly believes he is. The truth is he can’t. His own dick is a hard line inside his boxer briefs, the need to rub himself over the bedding becoming a problem he won’t be able to avoid for very long. Especially not with the way Jonny’s stupidly perfect body is right within reach of taking.

“Stop talking,” Patrick snaps, fitting his hands over Jonny’s hips and moving them up. He can feel the buzzed flush at the tips of his ears spreading down his neck. Jonny’s own throat is covered in a glossy sheen of sweat and smooth enough to lick. Fuck.

Patrick frowns.

Jonny mimes zipping his lips, locking them, and throwing away the key. It’s disgustingly endearing and Patrick gives up any pretense right then, gives all the way in. 

He reaches for Jonny’s pants, opening them up and then peeling Jonny’s silver-gray boxer briefs over his hips and the plush curve of his ass, his cock slapping back against his stomach. There’s foreskin, which is new. Not much, just enough to cover part of the rosy-colored crown. Patrick's never been with an uncut guy before. That's not what causes him to pause. Jonny’s cock is long too and so so thick, fat enough it’s difficult for Patrick to get his fingers around. The tip is slippery wet and perfectly shaped. It’s an unfairly gorgeous dick, as far as dicks go. Patrick wonders if he can hate a guy for being so well endowed while still wanting to see exactly how far he can deep throat him. It’s not a question he thought he’d be asking himself on Homecoming night.

When he takes Jonny in hand he’s pleasantly surprised to see the way his hips arch up off the bed, just a tiny sign of need. Patrick runs his hand up and down the smooth length of him, dragging up the foreskin and pulling it down as he goes, then thumbs over the slick slit. Jonny hisses, moaning in the back of his throat and Patrick grins to himself evilly.

He could do this all night, he thinks, as he works Jonny up with the twist of his hand and the tongue that’s swiping out over his lips. Leaning down to lick a stripe up the length of him from root to tip he relishes the way Jonny keens, reaching out and then digging at the sheets instead. Patrick does this a few more times, just to see the way he silently begs for more.

All of it has his own dick leaking inside his pants, balls tight and snug. He presses into the mattress for relief as he mouths at the head, breathing over it hotly, but not taking it inside.

“C’mon!” Jonny growls, impatient.

Patrick hums wickedly and doesn’t move. “Ask nicely.”

“Fuck you,” he spits, propping himself up on his elbows.

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Patrick sings, biting at his lip. He tries not to imagine another time, another deal, where it could happen, where Jonny could be the one pressing Patrick down into his mattress right now and filling him up.

Jonny whimpers a little, hand coming up like he wants to yank Patrick down on his cock, before falling to his side again. “Will you just...please?”

He says it almost sweetly, his expression shifting into something soft, earnest. It could all be a play to make Patrick do what he wants. It’s embarrassing how well it works.

Sucking Jonny down is overwhelming. He tastes salty and hot and he’s heavy on Patrick’s tongue. He can only take so much inside, working by half inches as he bobs up and down in a continuous rhythm. When he can feel Jonny at the back of his throat he’s still got one hand inelegantly stroking the base where two could fit. He can’t take much more, even with his truly enviable skills.

It doesn’t seem to matter anyway as the movements he’s making are enough to have Jonny arching off the bed and groaning deeply as he comes. There was a half-assed warning in the flapping of Jonny’s hand, but Patrick doesn’t let up, sucking him down until he’s jerking weakly. He's not really sure why he swallows, he certainly doesn't owe it to Jonny after all. That was never part of the bet. But it might be the way his own dick aches when that first splash of come hits his tongue, filthy and tangy, so clearly all of Jonny. Or it might be the way Jonny's eyes roll back in his head when he sees Patrick suck harder on the crown, instead of pulling back, shuddering all over and letting out a breathy punched out ‘fuck’. He’s not sure why and he’s not going to question it further. Instead, he eases back lazily, wiping at the edges of his mouth and watching Jonny stretch out across his bed, murmuring happily.

“You're welcome,” Patrick says, heart pounding and skin prickly.

“Oh yeah, thank you,” Jonny smiles, eyes closed. “That was great.”

“I know.”

“Mmm. Made me all sleepy.”

Patrick watches him settle back into his pillow, body slack, relaxed even with his shirt askew and his pants still unzipped. “Are...are you actually falling asleep?”

“I could.”

“Right now?”

“Why?” Jonny asks, breezily. “Did you want something?”

Was this guy for fucking real?

“Nah, man. I'm good. See ya later,” Patrick bites out, twisting to move off the bed. He doesn’t make it far.

“Shut up and c’mere,” Jonny laughs, looping his arms around Patrick's middle and pulling him back down. Then he kisses Patrick long and bruising, stealing all the air from his lungs and licking the taste of himself off of Patrick’s tongue. “Your breath smells like dick.”

“Your dick.”

“Mmm yeah, it's good,” Jonny says, and sucks on Patrick’s bottom lip for another few long beats.

“You're a weird one, Toews, but you're hot as fuck.” It shouldn’t be said, but Patrick can’t not say it. His buzz is really starting to kick in now.

“Thank you?” Jonny asks like he's unsure if Patrick's insulting him or not.

Patrick nods, dizzy drunk and skin tingling. “You’re welcome.” 

A large hand settles hot over his cloth covered dick, rubbing in circles that make Patrick whine with the need for skin on skin. Luckily Jonny doesn’t make him wait, flicking open his pants and shoving his hand inside until he can grasp Patrick good and tight. He’s a sticky, wet mess, precome slick all over his boxers. Jonny uses it to ease the way, grip firm and surprisingly deft. He leans close to bite at Patrick’s bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth again as Patrick shudders out his release. It’s better than it has any right to be.

When Jonny pulls his hand free he licks some of the come from his palm, lapping at it slowly, making a show. Patrick's so mesmerized he doesn't realize Jonny's wiped the rest of the jizz on his thigh until he feels it start to seep through the material.

“You're fucking rude,” he spits. Or tries to with the way he’s attempting to catch his breath.

“You liked it,” Jonny grins, still smug as ever.

“That second rate handjob? I've done better with a bottle of Jergens on my own, pal.”

Jonny flips over onto his front, throwing an arm over Patrick’s middle as he pushes his face half against his pillow, lips just inches from Patrick’s temple. “You know how I know you’re lying?”

“Mmm?” Patrick mumbles, limbs heavy and the room a little spinny. Maybe he needs a quick nap before he hikes it the fuck out of here. Just a quick catnap.

“Every time I touch you...you tremble,” Jonny whispers.

Patrick doesn’t shiver.

He doesn’t.

Because if he did that would be embarrassing and this night has already ruined him.

He’s wrecked and he can’t think about it.

Patrick lets his eyes flutter shut, let’s himself float into the hazy warmth of it all and doesn’t think, only murmurs, “You wish.” And then he’s blessedly asleep.

*

Patrick wakes the next morning to a buzzing in his pocket and a dull headache. Jonny’s knocked out beside him, breathing deep and pressed heavily along Patrick’s side. His face is soft in sleep, all of his edges rounded out, gentle. There’s no conceivable reason why Patrick should spend any time looking at Jonny or even be in Jonny’s bed. He shouldn't have landed himself here in the first place, and yet here he is, still, easing himself out of the enemy’s bed, and his room, and making the walk of shame home stained in disgrace.

It’s lucky Sharpy called him when he did, early enough that Patrick can escape the Sigma house without being detected. He’s not even sure what he’d say if he was caught or what they’d do to him, especially if Backes or Kesler were the ones to cross his path.

There’s other people out walking at this hour too, if only just a few. Patrick passes a couple of them on his way down the block. They look as unkempt as he feels, hair ruffled and clothes out of place. The sun is too cheerful bright the sky too blue for his dehydrated mind to process and he realizes he’s still got a come stain on the side of his pants, chalky and stiff to the touch. Awesome.

The Delta Chi house, when he walks through the lawn to the front door, looks a bit worse for the wear after last night. There are streamers and Solo cups strewn across the yard and trailing inside. Patrick kicks past some glittery confetti shit, pulling his phone from his pocket as it buzzes. It’s Sharpy again. His tenth text since last night and three missed calls. Yikes. Who’s about to get a lecture? Two thumbs for this guy.

Patrick considers trying to evade him for a few hours, maybe take a nap first. Unfortunately, he only makes it to the staircase before he’s caught.

“Where the fuck were you last night?” Sharpy says, face pinched and a mostly empty bag of trash in his hand. “You were supposed to help me with the pledges or did you forget?”

“Oh shit,” Patrick sighs. “Sorry, man. I...yeah. I totally forgot. Dayna dragged me to a Sigma Alpha party and well....”

Sharpy’s eyes go comically wide. “Sigma Alpha?!”

“Yep. And then she sorta bailed”

“The hell?” Sharpy says, stepping up to him.

The house has brothers scattered all over it in various levels of passed out, most of them too drunk to know better because if they did they’d be up safe in their rooms and not out in the open where anyone could mess with them. Shawzy’s plastered on the leather couch in front of the flat screen, some cartoon on that he’s probably seen twenty times before, Chaunette’s head pillowed on his lap. Phil’s smoking a cig by the window, even though he knows he’s likely to incur the wrath of their house mother for it. Buff is spread eagle on the floor, underneath the fancy shag rug that Soupy left them before he graduated last fall, a girl on each side of him. What a pimp. And on the green couch is G-Money, drooling from the corner of his mouth, and a dick in the shape of a J, for his first name, scrawled across his cheek.

Patrick’s going to have to wake him up in a minute. Hopefully, he doesn’t puke everywhere. 

“Yeah,” he shrugs in Sharpy’s direction. Then he sighs.

Sharpy chucks him on the shoulder. “Sorry, man. But wait. Why didn't you just come back here then? Did you...you got laid, didn't you? Aww Kaner, good job, buddy.”

His smile is so weirdly proud that Patrick has to shove him away with an eye roll. “Stop acting so surprised, shithead.”

“Was she hot?” Sharpy waggles his eyebrows.

“He was...very,” Patrick admits, even if he’s not sure why.

“Nice. Name?”

“Uhhh.”

The thing is Patrick could tell Sharpy, probably. That it was a Sigma, that it was Jonny. He’d catch no small amount of hell for it, but Sharpy wouldn’t actively judge him like the rest of the brothers would, at least not in any real way that would have consequences. The downside of telling Sharpy would come when he inevitably opened his fat mouth and told everyone Patrick’s business, probably by accident, but that would be moot once it slipped out.

So Patrick knows he can tell Sharpy, but he won’t. Instead, he shrugs, mind still too fuzzy sleep worn and foggy from the alcohol.

“Did you at least suit up?” Sharpy asks, like he’s Patrick’s father.

“Umm,” Patrick says, fidgeting under Sharpy’s scrutinizing stare. How's he supposed to tell Sharpy no, they had not, in fact, used a condom, because Patrick didn't want latex between his tongue and that gorgeous cock? But he’s pretty sure if anyone is squeaky clean on this campus it’s definitely Toews' lame ass.

Sharpy frowns and digs in his pocket, pulling out at least five foil packets. He shoves them into Patrick’s hand. “Hey! No glove no love, okay.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Won't happen again.”

They break off after that to begin cleaning, Patrick shuffles to the kitchen to grab a few black garbage bags and collects empty Solo cups and balled up napkins off the floor. Other brothers slowly join in, if a bit reluctantly, grumbly and moaning about headaches and begging to know where the Tylenol is located. Once the majority of the mess is under control Patrick leaves the rest of the pledges to it and escapes upstairs for a long needed nap. On his way he passes a framed picture of the unofficial house rules.

RULES TO NEVER BREAK (EVER!) (unless you’re shawzy and don’t give a fuck)

don’t sleep on the green couch. you’ll wake up with a dick drawn on your face.

never let a Sigma in the house

don’t leave your shoes by the door, they’ll be thrown out.

laundry days are on friday. wash your fucking clothes you, filthy animal!

the strawberry yogurt is kaner’s. don’t touch or he’ll glue your ass to the toilet seat. right, shawzy?

sharpy gets the TV every thursday from 7pm-9pm for The Bachelorette. no, you can’t watch your shitty Cardinals game. DON’T ASK.

I repeat, never let a Sigma Alpha in this, our home and refuge

if reggie is around feed reggie.

stop putting forks in the microwave, you morons.

david backes is satan. never look him directly in the eyes.

312-664-7440 Dominos Pizza - ask for Malynn NOT Bree for the 25% discount

DON’T ASK ABOUT THE GRASS

don’t give carbomb grey goose after midnight. or you’re cleaning the second story bathtub.

Seriously. Under pain of death DO NOT let a Sig into this house or you will forthwith be banished from the kingdom.

He taps his finger against the glass of the frame as he passes it by, a reminder to himself where his priorities lie.

In his room he face plants on his bed and dreams weird dreams of being kicked out of Delta Chi, then college, then his parents' house to live a lonely, shameful life on the streets of Chicago all because he let Jonathan Toews put his dick in his mouth. When he wakes, more clear-headed and less hungover he makes a vow to forget last night and never think of it again, like it never happened.

It’s for the better. It has to be.

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

Alrighty, so some of you have seen me talking about my OC fic and here’s the first chapter. Mostly still just premises and introducing my primary OC, but hopefully it’ll give you guys an idea of what is to come. 

I do not (currently) have an A03, and am wondering if I should make one, but we’ll. The fic will have mature content in it and reader discretion is advised. 

Word count: 4959

Chapter 1

Rain. A cold wind blew from what must have been west, flowing amidst the trees of the forest Solara was passing. Luckily it wasn’t pouring down, but this dark and dreary weather was hardly pleasant either. Her feet splashed on the soft ground as she made her way forward, the chill seeping down to her muscles. She was fortunate to not be one to get cold too easily, but this had continued for a good while already and soon it’s be more sensible to just camp for the night.

More sensible, she thought to herself. Many wouldn’t deem passing through a strong magic reason on one’s own as sensible by any means, especially as she wasn’t exactly in her element at the moment. But she was confident that the mana that surrounded her, would give her all the aid she needed. After all, it was inscribed into her veins with the blood of her ancestors. Mana will pass you, flow through your fingertips as you command, people would say. As if it was that simple. Nothing is simple. And yet, everything is simple.

She smirked as she stopped and looked up to the grey sky, pulling her hood from her face. Droplets beat against her complexion, as she pondered about it. Just one more paradox to consider, huh? There was so much to see, so much to consider before returning home for good and taking on her position. All the options, customs, practises, and endless amount of them. Would they really work in Thea? It was all just so… different. And yet, when you look it deep down, to the very basics of it, everything was the same. Is that what they want us to understand? Is that what they want us to see beforehand? That behind every banner, every border, there are people with hopes and dreams and ideals, much like our own. Isn’t that given? She sighed and turned to face back down, continuing forward. But it doesn’t mean that their loyalty is with you… The thought weighed on her as she walked, deep in thought and mana swirling around her.

She stopped. Her posture straightened as something pierced through the steady fluttering of energy around her. Not exactly hostility, but there was an intention in the making. She looked around for the source, until she noticed a pair of ferocious blue eyes staring at her, and she felt the untamed roar of the fiery mana. She stared back, waiting for whatever would follow. Had they wanted to attack her, it would have made more sense to do so when she wasn’t paying attention. Or was this the brief moment during which a predator zeroes in on their target before lunging in, having only just noticed their prey? Regardless, she stared back, turning to face the eyes and removed her hood, the last act appearing to serve as an invitation.

A red-haired figure lunged at her, eyes gleaming with bloodlust and a sound barrier piercing yell erupting, breaking air between them. Solara dodged only to find the attacker follow her movements seamlessly.

Fists… How straightforward of her… Hm. She’s also fast and she can use mana zone as well. But she is yet to strike at my vitals, she thought as she stared her attacker, eye to eye, testing which of them would blink first.

They bounced around, using mana zone to its full potential as Solara continued to evade the punches coming her way. She frowned as she saw how lazily those strikes were thrown her way, simultaneously wondering about what possible motivations the woman might have. This was hardly a proper fight, yet at least, but still she kept her mana skin up and opened her mouth to speak; only to close it as the space between them abruptly grew. The woman stood still; gaze still fixed on her.

That gaze. Solara knew it. She was being evaluated. All those attacks hadn’t been careless, they had been for the sole purpose of testing her. Her eyes opened wider at the revelation. I see… she thought as she grinned. A little brawl might be fun. I wonder if you can push me past wanting to open the seals…

The woman grinned in turn before shouting out: “Glad you finally figured it out! Now, come at me!”

Solara chuckled to herself internally as she thought: Who is this woman?

The woman lunged forward once more, casting out a spell; honestly not quite what Solara expected after knowing that she had been assessed. But then again, one hardly evaluates by coming in with all their strength at once. Or rather, most wouldn’t, but judging from the blazing mana that was now enhancing the woman’s attacks, she meant to end this quickly.

Alright. She thought as she pressed her middle finger tightly against her thumb, preparing to snap her fingers. “Ignire,” she spoke, the hushed syllables leaving her lips as the snap of her fingers ignited the soaked grass at the forest bed, a wall of flame erupting around her. The smell of rain and smoke mixed together as the swirling flares around her lashed out from the wall, slashing and scorching everything on their path. And yet, the unfamiliar mana lingered. She’s pushing through. Solara’s smirk grew wider, as the other dived into her flames. And so, she waited for her opponent to reach the eye of the storm, which the woman did, unphased.

Solara dispelled her flames, now standing on the ashen ground. “Not bad!” she yelled at a language that was spoken in this part of the world, bending the syllables around her tongue.

“Took the words right out of my mouth! Here’s your reward: Calidus Brachium Barrage!” The woman roared, her glowing grimoire fluttering onto another page, sending several beams of fire hurling down and around, leaving nothing untouched.

Solara knew that she couldn’t evade such an attack just like that, but what if I make the attack evade *me*? An idea formed as she bent her mana around her hands, grasping onto her known spells, fusing them together.

“Dance of the Heavenly Bodies,” the name formed on her lips as naturally as breathing, creating a field of gravity around her, trapping the rays of flame on a path around her and sending them back to whence they came from. Thundering booms pierced through the air, muffling the yells that followed.

Solara concentrated more mana around her, building her mana skin more, making her nails extend to those of claws that radiated with the brightness and blaze of the sun. The woman, casting the same spell as before, smiled wider than before as she didn’t hesitate in charging forth. Flame and flare clashed together, burning the occasional aberrations that were drawn in by the mana as neither wanted to back down.

It was only later, once they sat together on a blackened rock in the sea of dust and ash, that they exchanged their first proper conversation. Rain had slowed down, but still dripped down around them, making the acers worth of cinders cool down, and the damp ash was kept from floating into the air and suffocating them.

“So, what are you doing out here?” the woman asked, facing to the sky and letting the rain wash streaks of coal from her complexion.

“I was just passing through, simple as that,” Solara replied as she stared into the distance where a blackened tree line now laid.

“Oh? Where are you headed?” The red head inquired, now turning her head to Solara.

“Nowhere in particular. I just wish to see as much of the world before I need to take on my responsibilities as the next head of the family.” Her admission flowed from her as half a statement and half a sigh.

The woman scoffed. “And why would you like to submit to an enforced fate like that? My path is my own to make, though suppose I should be glad that my parents never forced it on me.”

Solara slightly chuckled. “Did I say that my parents are forcing me? No, no. The wish is my own. You see I want to take on the responsibility eventually, but I just wish that I get to grow enough to be ready for the part once it’s time.” Her gaze fell to the ground without focus as she spoke.

“You know you sound a bit like my dim-witted little brother,” the woman sneered.

“Hm?” Solara uttered gazing to the woman, sitting next to her and looking into the distant tree line, one leg dangling off the edge of the rock and another bent, serving as an armrest for her left arm.

“Not a lot. But a bit. He’s far too responsible for his own good, and I swear if I ever find out who put the pole up his arse, I’ll tear that person a new one.”

Solara stared at her, blinking slowly at the statement before bursting into laughter which contested the sound of falling rain.

Whatever tension there had been left, dangling in the air, had now passed as the woman chuckled a bit to herself with a melancholic smile. And Solara looked at her, laughter quieting down; and instead, her expression was replaced with an empathetic smile.

“So, what are you doing here? Finding a path of your own?” She asked, half joking as she didn’t wish to pry, and thought that she might as well distract her newfound friend from whatever was causing her such apathy. But instead, the question washed away the smile the woman had worn.

“I was…” she paused for a moment, but her tone never faltered from the epitome of determination Solara knew it to be. “But I just received word to come back home, because that idiot I call brother fucked up and now I need to come back and clean up a mess.” She sighed and gazed to the ground making Solara frown.

“Would it not be better for your brother to learn from his mistakes and correct them by himself?” Solara asked, keeping her gaze on the woman.

“He can’t.” There was irritation in the statement, but it wasn’t directed at Solara.

“Can I ask why?” Solara continued, keeping her tone as calm and soft as she could, but such that the woman might still hear her.

“He’s in a coma because some bastard tore off his arm. I thought that he was better than that. To let his guard down like that. But I’ll take over his squad and kill every single one of those shitheads that did this to him!” The woman growled like thunder, her canine sharp and ready to tear through flesh and bone.

Solara was taken aback by the statement, her eyes widening as she kept looking at the woman for a moment. She turned her head to face forward as a small smile veiled with sadness rose to her lips. After which she placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder.

“Your brother is lucky to have you as his sister,” Solara paused for a moment, thinking if she should stay out of it or not. “Look, I know that it’s none of my business, but if I can help…” the woman turned to her, as she lifted her hand from her shoulder.

“No. As that knuckle head’s older sister, it’s my job to claim vengeance on my brother’s behalf.” The woman stated, her tone letting Solara know that she will not budge.

“Ah, I didn’t mean in the actual spilling of blood, oh no. That is yours. You see, if someone did that to my sisters, they’d have hell to pay. So, I wouldn’t consider going between you and them. But if there is anything that I can do, just tell me.” The woman stared at Solara, gaze piercing through her.

“And what if all I told you just now was a lie? Then you’d be helping out a murdered.” She stated without blinking.

“True,” Solara admitted. “But if it is what you say, then there is proof, is there not? I would imagine that you first need to get back home and find out who did that to your brother, as well as taken on the responsibilities he’s currently unable to fulfil. After all that is figured out, I’d know that what you’re telling me, isn’t a lie. Besides, it’s not like you’re telling me to go kill someone on your behalf, but rather that you wish to do it yourself. All those things tell me a lot already. And no, I do not judge you for wanting to avenge your brother, though,” Solara scoffed and continued: “I should tell you to keep your cool and run it by a judge.” She turned her head towards the woman, who was still staring at her, evaluating her in a very different manner as before.

“So, just like that. You don’t judge me for what I admitted intending to do?”

Solara replied without blinking: “I do not judge you for wanting to protect her family.”

They shared a glance understanding what the other meant, and nodded to each other.

“Have you been to Clover Kingdom before?” The woman asked, changing the subject.

“Clover Kingdom? No, I don’t believe I have. Or if I have, then I’ve done so unknowingly,” Solara stated, her eyes shifting to the sky for a moment as she thought.

“You coming from the Heart Kingdom then?” The woman continued, pausing to let Solara answer.

“Hmm. I’m afraid none of these countries mean anything to me by name. The best I can tell you is that I’m travelling from the south, but I didn’t cross the border to the nation on the eastern side, because of the mana that surrounded it. It seemed like the entire country was being watched, and I figured that if they’re keeping a watchful eye on their own, they wouldn’t like visitors. And moving to the west, the climate got… hostile. I don’t know, there was something very uninviting in the western regions, so I continued north and here I am.” Solara shrugged, gazing back to the woman who stayed silent for a moment.

“So, where are you from?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m from a country called Thea. It’s a solitary island nation far out in the open ocean, so unfortunately transportation requires magic or a… very long sea voyage.”

The woman gazed at Solara, staying silent for a moment before shrugging. “Never heard of Thea, but suppose if it is secluded, then it’s no surprise.” She directed her gaze back forward and let silence fall between them once more.  

“Where are you from? This ‘Clover Kingdom’ perhaps?” Solara asked breaking the silence, having made a guess based on the questions the woman had made, but preferring to ask just to be sure.

The red-head next to her only nodded, her gaze staying on the ground and the look of melancholy veiling her expression again. Solara placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder once more, giving her a faint smile.

“It’ll work out,” she tried, not really knowing what to say. The woman glanced at her, not saying anything.

They sat in silence, listening to the light rain for a moment before gliding down from the rock. Their clothes became painted black, but neither bothered trying to dust it off as it’d be a lost cause.

The woman started walking forward and Solara followed without a word. “What’s your name?” the red-head asked, glancing at Solara.

“Ah, right, introductions,” Solara smirked. “I’m Solara, Solara Equinox.”

The woman smirked as well, her gaze turning forward again. “Introductions are dull and tedious things to start with,” she paused for a moment, “I’m Mereoleona Vermillion, but you can call me Mereo or Leona. I hope you realize that it’s not a privilege I allow for most,” she smirked, making Solara chuckle.

“I’ll be sure to use that privilege wisely,” she grinned and continued. “But I’m glad to have met you.”

“Likewise,” Mereo smiled. They shared one more glance before setting sights forth, the grey sky above them opening up, and sunlight cascading over them as they started their journey.

---

They travelled further east, Mereo leading the way as Solara didn’t have the faintest clue on where precisely they were headed. The thick forest changed into hills and mountains, and gradually signs of civilization showed itself. And as it did, the strong pool of mana flowing deep in the earth faded, leaving nothing but the faint glow of it behind, but that was nothing new. After all, most nations were founded on land much like this, which was sensible.

They passed some villagers on their way, but not once did they meet anyone who wouldn’t have any magic. There was always that small lingering swirl, flutter or flow, which had seemed to be the case everywhere outside of Thea. But judging from some, it’d take just a few more generations until magic would fade away from their bloodlines, forcing them to adapt. Though adapting was something they would have needed to do thus far already, having to rely on physical labour in place of magic. Solara couldn’t help but wonder why mostly physical labour, but reasoned that it must be because technology just hadn’t evolved far enough yet, or that the Kingdom just didn’t have the necessary funds to supply all of its citizens with the necessary equipment. In any case, she didn’t ask, thinking that the answer would present itself eventually, and it wasn’t important at the moment.

The further inland they travelled, the more mana people seemed to have, and the more refined the infrastructure grew, making it appear that the individuals possessing more mana were concentrated in the central parts of the Kingdom, instead of being spread out throughout the country. This meant that discrimination and a classification system of some kind were highly probable.

By now Solara and Mereo had bonded, having become close friends, but Mereo rarely implied anything to have to do with her family heritage. She always spoke of people as people, who they were. No titles, no positions, just who they were. Quite frankly, it was refreshing to Solara, which made her all the happier about having met Mereo. Especially since given the make of her clothes, although tattered and sullied by the journey, were of good quality and her amount of mana spoke of a high position within the society.

Perhaps she’ll be able to implement ground breaking changes, Solara thought to herself. But what did strike her as odd, was the fact that not even once had Mereo suggested staying in an inn on their journey. Though, if one travels into the wilderness with the intention to brawl with whatever creatures crosses your path, money isn’t something one would need. And besides, staying at an inn didn’t seem like Mereo’s style.

---

The Royal Capital. It could be seen from miles away, standing tall amidst a sea of grass. It certainly made a statement. Speaking of pride, how it’d stay in place, unmoved by any force of nature and standing above it. A declaration to which Solara couldn’t say much, knowing that each nation was no stranger to such notions. The streets, gates and turns of which weren’t much different from those she had seen countless of times, people going about their lives just as anywhere else, and the only differences laid in details.

But as they walked through the streets of the Royal Capital further in, and near the castle, Solara felt the stare of all who they passed. Hearing whispers, but was unable to make out what was said, most likely something about their attires. Solara shrugged at them, following Mereo through the streets even deeper into the city. At every turn, she expected Mereo to head for a door, but she kept going, and after a while Solara stopped guessing which house Mereo would enter and instead let her gaze wander around.

The castle towered over the surrounding buildings, along with the wall surrounding it. Packed right in the middle of the city. Talk about lack of privacy, Solara thought quietly to herself.

There was a small clearing outside of the gates, passing through which she felt a familiar presence. So, she stopped and looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of a familiar face, but seeing none. But still she had a hunch as to who it had been, as she knew that mana as well as the back of her hand. Selena? She thought, before being woken from her daydream.

“Try to keep up Solara!” Mereo yelled, standing at the gates to the castle.

Solara’s eyes widened slightly. She’s… royalty? Hm. I did not expect that, she shrugged to herself before hurrying to the open gate, the guards giving her glances.

“What was that?” Mereo asked as they entered to the courtyard.

“Nothing. I just thought that I saw someone familiar, but I must have been mistaken,” she shrugged, making Mereo give her a glance, but dropping the subject.

“I’ll go see my brothers and parents, but you can go take a shower if you want to,” Mereo stated, her tone again laced with apathy.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to tag along?” Solara asked, smiling to Mereo with an equally saddened gaze.

“No,” Mereo sighed, “it’s a family affair and besides. I’m sure you’ll have your chances of meeting both of my idiotic brothers and my parents,” she said with a faint smirk. Solara only nodded, knowing that the sentiment had been noted and was appreciated.

Mereo led her towards one of the castle entrances, decorated with a crest of a golden lion. Upon a closer inspection, it seemed like the castle was divided into three separate sections, which hadn’t been quite as obvious from outside. Three families perhaps?

Mereo waltzed in, and told the first maid that crossed their path to prepare a room for Solara, as well as supply the blonde with spare clothing and food, before disappearing, and leaving Solara standing in the corridor with the maid.

“Um… ma’am?” the maid said with a quiet and meek voice.

“Yes?” she uttered, softly like the spring sun.

“Would you like to bathe ma’am?” The maid averted her gaze, blushing violently.

Solara tilted her head, knowing fully well the state that she was in and smiled. “Yes, very much so. Thank you for being so considerate.”

The woman met Solara’s gaze for a brief moment, before averting her eyes once more. “Of course,” she whispered, before continuing with an audible voice. “This way please,” she stated while gesturing towards a hallway, to which Solara only nodded before following.

The turns and endless corridors reminded Solara of home, even if it wasn’t quite the same. But somehow this house felt warm as well. Surely all who had the finances to upkeep such an estate could keep it heated, but the kind of warmth that existed between people, was what she focused on. The lingering atmosphere radiated from the walls and windows, amplifying itself as acceptance and love, which were far too scarce in the halls of noble bloodlines. Too many houses had she seen, where family members were strangers to each other, only wishing to pursue their own goals and dreams.

Of course, there always was the entire spectrum of hearts beating together as one, and those frozen solid with permafrost, laying in between, but she couldn’t help but feel sorrow for those that lived loveless lives; a problem that didn’t care of one’s birth origin, making no distinction between nations and classes.

Steps echoes from the walls as they walked, Solara falling deeper into the sea of thought. The last few rays of sunlight cascaded through the windows, and painted the floors with a river of melted gold. An eerie feeling overtook Solara, catching her heartstrings and pulling onto them as if she had been caught in a net. She lifted her gaze from the floor, eyes shifting around in disbelief as she searched her feelings for even the tiniest whisper of explanation. But nothing surfaced, there was only the soft embrace of a silken net, tugging her and imploring her to stay. It wasn’t a spell, no, it couldn’t have been, but something else. There were no suffocating binds, only threads of luminescent cobweb.

“Here we are ma’am,” the maid spoke and gestured to a door, waking Solara once more from her thoughts.

“Ah, thank you,” she smiled stepping forth to the door.

“Would you like me to take your garments straight to laundry?” The woman asked, the meek and mellow tone still glazing her tone.

Solara let out a hum, but didn’t need to ponder for long. “Yes, that would be most gracious of you.” She turned her head towards the maid as she spoke.

“If it would suit you ma’am, I’ll bring you a change of clothes later, and in terms of dinner, would you prefer to dine here, or in the dining hall?” The maid asked, keeping her gaze on the floor.

Solara blinked at the question, having thought it to be obvious, but brushed it off as not being familiar with the customs of this country. “I would prefer to dine with the family, if that is a possibility.” She stated, the smile returning to her complexion.

“I’m afraid the family won’t be dining together this evening ma’am,” the maid apologized.

“Ah, well in that case I’d like to have dinner here.” Solara replied, tilting her head.

“Very well ma’am.” The maid simply replied, marking the end to the conversation.

Once inside the room, Solara undressed behind a screen as the maid drew her a bath. She folded her clothes into a pile, but placed the small satchel she had had with her to the side. The maid picked up her clothes, informing that she’d be back in a short while, and would soon make the bed for her, before stepping out after Solara had thanked with a smile before.

Silence fell into the room as Solara had been left alone. She entered the bathroom and climbed into the bath, warm water caressing her skin and melting all tension from her muscles and joints. Oh, how I missed this, she thought as she sank in, surrendering to the warm embrace of water. She picked up a bar of soap and started gliding it across her skin, washing away the soil and sully while humming a gentle tune to herself as a smile crept on her face. As she dipped her hair beneath the surface, she stayed lingering, enjoying the silence cradling her. Her fingers dug into her scalp as she washed her hair, making her exhaled deeply as a hum left her throat, feeling like all her worries flowed from her into the tub and down the drain.

After a while there was a knock on the door, the maid returning with a pile of clothes that she placed on a counter in the bathroom, saying that she’d be making her bed, and soon someone else would bring her dinner. Solara got out of the tub, giving her thanks and drying herself to a towel which felt like cotton against her reddened skin.

She started inspecting the clothes, which were just a simple white shirt and pants, but then again that sufficed. The fabric felt like silk between her fingers, despite being only cotton, but as she had been travelling for so long, this was so much softer than many things her fingers had graced lately.

She exited the bathroom, letting her eyes wander around. There was a fire lit in the fireplace, casting warm light all around the room which made the bed present itself as all the more inviting. All she wanted to do was burrow herself into the bed, and wrap the blanket around herself, sinking her head into the pillow, which must have been soft as a cloud. But she also needed to eat, and food was being brought to her. Thus, would she choose to go to sleep already, she’d be impolite. So, instead she walked around the room, gazing out of the windows. The city seemed to be quieting down, people returning to their homes as the sun had already set, only the afterglow remaining in the sky before the moon and stars would take their turn.

There was a knock at the door and food was delivered as promised. After weeks of wild game, nothing could beat a cooked meal, writing symphonies on her palette, which made her glad about not giving in to the desire of climbing in bed and instead battle her weary eyes. At that point she thought to have chosen wisely by asking to eat in her room, as the proper court manners had left her, and instead, she ate with hunger. But the satisfaction that came with it, oh, of all the pleasures she had known thus far, not many could compare. After all, it was the little things that made life fulfilling. A relaxing bath. A good meal. And being able to sleep in a soft, comfortable bed after a long trip.

She finished her dinner and climbed to bed, the sheets cradling her, imploring her to just lie down. And for the life of her, she couldn’t resist the call. As she climbed under covers and settled down, she felt as if she was floating on a bed of clouds, ready to drift off to a place far from here, or home, only to return in the morning. And for reasons she could not tell, she had an inkling feeling that she’d grow a lot more at home here, but brushed it off as nothing more than a passing thought, resulting from all the good she had experienced thus far.

[thecleverdame]

The Oath - 4

Parings: Dark!Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

Masterlist

Due to content, this story will have a separate tags list. Please sign up here

Summary: After an unsuccessful escape attempt, the reader finds herself taken as a spoil of war. She ends up in the bed of a ruthless Alpha, the son of John Winchester, leader of the kingdom of Gilead. She struggles to conceal her true identity and navigate a society where being an Omega means nothing more than serving at the pleasure of powerful men.

Warnings: non-con, sexual assault, rape, attempted suicide, sexual slavery, branding, torture, ownership, voyeurism, anal play, smut, violence, and murder.

Sam is dark in this story. If any of the warnings are triggers for you, I would suggest skipping this one. Please read and heed all the warnings.

Beta: ilikaicalie

Chapters 1-11 are currently available on Patreon.  To get access to this and many other stories, subscribe for a pledge of 2.50 per month. CLICK HERE

-

FOUR

The Next Morning

A hand shakes you awake and you forget for a moment where you are. Sam’s sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed and pulling on his boots. 

“Get up,” he stands, looking down at you. “You should eat.”

Wrapped in nothing but Sam’s cloak, you sit at the table, attempting to peel an egg one-handed as both the men wolf down plates of eggs, meat and bread. They eat in silence, paying you no attention until Dean finishes and sits back in his chair. Sam has sent a servant to find you a dress, but until then you’re careful not to let the cloak fall open. 

There are men swirling around them, packing up each item with care. They must be getting ready to move the camp. 

“How far do you think we can make it before the storm comes?”

“If we’re lucky we may get to the base of the mountains. But I doubt we’ll make it that far.” Sam forks a hunk of meat, popping it into his mouth. “You hear the wind? By nightfall the snow will start.”

“Well, it’s better than nothing. We’re closer to home every day. How far out do you think we are.”

“A month before we join up with dad’s regiment. Three until we’re in our own beds again.” 

“I can barely remember what it feels like to get a good night’s sleep. To not smell like blood and dirt. I’m ready to be done.” Dean sounds energized at the idea of heading home but Sam’s indifferent. 

“I don’t mind being out here in the trenches.”

“That’s because you enjoy it...I like to strategize but you love to get your hands dirty.” 

Sam’s half listening, watching you out of the corner of his eye as you fumble with a boiled egg. You’re useless with one hand, you wouldn’t have lasted long thrown in with the soldiers. 

“You set her arm?” Dean’s talking to his brother, but staring at you with unnerving intensity. 

“Of course,” Sam confirms, ripping off a bite of bread with his teeth. “She took it better than expected.” 

Sam sighs at your half-peeled egg. He takes it from you and peels the rest before handing it back.

“Are you left-handed?” Dean grins, looking from you to his brother. 

“Yes,” you respond quietly. “I’m no use with my right.”

“Well, let's hope you heal quickly. We can’t follow you around all day,” Dean chuckles, taking a drink. 

“I’m going to address her condition with the men first thing this morning. They brought us an Omega with a broken arm. Can you imagine what else they’re up to that we don’t know about? I’m going to make an example out of them. We can’t have this kind of insubordination going on right under our noses.” 

“It’s best coming from you. They’re already scared of you.” Dean nods, both arms on the table.

The younger Winchester’s reputation is known throughout the lands. He’s a ruthless killer with little to no regard for anyone or anything. All the Winchesters are brutal but he’s gone darker. 

Sam shakes his head, ripping off an appropriately sized chunk of bread and setting it in front of you. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, taking a bite. 

“They nearly ruined her.” Dean taps his fingers on the table. “And they’ve been hoarding gold and silver. When I find out who’s responsible there’s going to be hell to pay.” 

All attention shifts to you. You stop chewing and look from Alpha to Alpha. 

“You said they touched you. Where? How?” Sam asks, resting his forearms on the table. 

Both men stare at you expectantly as your fingers curl around the bread, cheeks flushed red in embarrassment.  

“My breasts,” you whisper, wishing you were somewhere far, far away from this camp and these awful men. “One of them put his fingers...inside me.”

“Jesus Christ.” Sam grimaces, utterly disgusted at the idea. “They’re dogs.” 

“Yes, they are.” His brother agrees as they both turn their attention back to the food in front of them. 

-

Dean stands at the head of the tent, looking at the line of men standing at attention. Sam’s pacing up and down the row with you frozen in place next to Dean. If they didn’t know why they were summoned, they figured it out as soon as the Winchesters brought this new Omega back to the scene of the crime. 

“Do you remember who touched you?” Sam asks. 

You look up in horror as every man looks at you with murder in their eyes. 

“No, I’m sorry.” You lean forward in hopes of only Sam hearing the confession. “I was delirious, in pain and riddled with exhaustion. I can’t remember the faces.”

Sam and Dean have been displeased with the men for months now. The soldiers are compensated well and allowed free reign save for a few exceptions. There are so few rules and they can’t seem to manage to follow them. They’re expected to hand over precious metals and stone, and of course, keeping an Omega is strictly off-limits. 

Last month someone slipped a note to Dean. It was a tip about men stealing away gemstones. It turned out to be an entire operation, almost a dozen men involved in the scheme. Ever since, tensions have been rising. 

“Which one of you found her in the woods and brought her to the camp?” Sams walks up and down the line. 

“I did.” A man steps forward. 

“And you saw fit to throw her from your horse?”

“I didn’t realize she was so delicate,” he chuckles and behind him other men laugh. 

“Who touched her? One of you had your hand between her legs, tell me now.” Sam’s question is met with wide eyes. All of them are silent. They all know what happened was a serious transgression. 

“Either the man who stuck his fingers in her cunt identifies himself or every man here will suffer his punishment.” Sam looks down the line of soldiers as Dean crosses his arms over his chest. 

After a moment a man steps forward, looking nervous as he raises his hand. 

“It was me, my lord.”

“Your honesty will not go unnoticed.” Sam nods, his mouth pressed in a grimace. “And her breasts. Which of you touched her breasts?”

You want to crawl away. This sort of public shaming is nearly too much to bear. 

Two more soldiers came forward, remaining silent as Sam stares at each of them in turn. 

“You, who threw her from the horse. For breaking her arm, you’ll have yours broken as well.”

“Please,” the man breathes, as two larger soldiers take him by the arms. 

Sam ignores him, moving forward to the next two.

“For touching her breasts, each of you will forfeit a finger. Thumbs, I think.” Sam walks down the line, coming to stand in front of the man who touched your sex. “And you, a beta who dared to put his hands inside an Omega, we have a fitting punishment. Your right hand seems like a fair trade.”

“Please don’t do this!” The man pleads. “We didn’t know what she was. Would have brought her straight to you if we even thought she was-”

“Enough.” Sam hisses. “There are rules in place for a reason. You find an Alpha officer and you have him scent her. No exceptions. Let’s hope this is an example for all of you.” 

-

You’re loaded into the back of a horse-drawn cart, nested in fur and wrapped in a cloak. Several servants bring more blankets to lay over you until you’re sufficiently protected from the elements. The snow has started to fall and they’re moving the entire garrison. Headed home after months in the field. 

“Thank you.” You offer a smile to the shivering man, as he lays yet another blanket at your feet. 

The moment you speak he looks at you in horror and scurries away as another woman is helped into the cart. She’s older but unmistakably Omega, her scent is slightly soured, a sure sign of abuse. She settles in on the opposite side, a servant tucking her in. The cook who washed you the night before approaches, handing each of you a cup of hot pine tea.

“Thank you,” you try again, only to have the woman grunt and turn her back. 

“They’re not allowed to speak to you.” The other Omega shifts, cupping her tea in one hand and pulling her hood down to shield her face from the snow. “In Gilead servants aren’t allowed to speak directly to Omegas.” 

“Why not?” you ask. The cart begins to move and you grab your arm, wincing as the pain surges. 

“They’re Betas, and slaves at that. According to the law of the Gilead, they’re not good enough to lick the bottoms of your feet.” The woman stares at you, then your arm. “Who did that to you?”

It’s such a strange mix of sexual slavery and social status. You’ve been reduced to nothing more than your pussy and yet you’re considered elevated. 

“I fell from a horse.” You don't want to get into the details, it makes you sick to think about what happened. And now the men who will be disfigured because they didn’t follow protocol. Being an Omega has saved your life and will now seal your fate. 

-

“Do you have your flask?” Sam asks, guiding his horse beside Dean’s. His brother reaches into his cloak and fishes out the metal canteen. 

“You’re not one to drink in the morning.” 

“It’s not for me.” Sam takes the flask from him. 

“For the Omega?”

“She's in pain. And she’s only going to get colder. The snow is just starting, the storm will be bad.”

They ride in silence a moment longer before Dean pipes up. 

“You fucked her?” Dean poses it as a question but he’s not looking for confirmation. He already knows. 

“What of it?” Sam shrugs. 

“You’re not normally interested in much more than getting your dick sucked.” Dean looks ahead at the line of soldiers stretching as far as the eye can see. “Are you developing a soft spot?”

“Have you smelled her?” Sam asks deadpan, his grip tightening on the reigns. He can scarcely think about you without his dick getting hard.

“I did.” Dean’s not sure what his brother is getting at. You smelled appealing but nothing to elicit this kind of reaction. “Her scent wasn’t out of the ordinary but she’s quite the beauty when she’s not covered in mud and snot. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an Omega like that, that pleasing to the eye as dad would say.”

“She doesn’t know how pretty she is.” Sam’s horse whinnies, hot air puffing out in the frigid air. He’s quiet for a moment and turns toward his brother. “She doesn't smell different to you?”

“You’re stuck on that?” Dean’s eyes narrow, trying to suss out exactly what Sam is getting at. “Well, you know what they say. Some Omegas are better matches.”

“Perhaps.” 

“Or it’s entirely possible that the notorious Sam Winchester has found a pretty face he can’t ignore.”

“I’ve little interest in women.” Sam shifts in his saddle, ready to end this conversation. 

“She’s not a woman. She’s an Omega and a rare one at that. But if you’re so indifferent, why don’t you let me have her tonight. I did see her first after all. Fair is fair.”

Dean gets the reaction he’s looking for, a locked jaw from his brother. 

“No, you’ll ruin her. You can have her when I’m done with her.”

“Right,” Dean chuckles and Sam reaches over, slugging him in the arm. “I won’t hold my breath.”

[saltnhalo]

saltnhalo’s 2019 writing

This has been a big fucking year, and I'm so unbelievably grateful for the support and love of all my fandom friends, and to the people who read my fic for motivating me to keep telling all the stories that I have bottled up in my brain <3

ON AO3

A Sacrifice Worth Keeping (January)

5,151 words, Explicit

The sun rises over the treetops and touches Dean’s face, and still, he waits. The villagers have retreated back to the village to pray, allowing the god his privacy, and it is just Dean out here now. He closes his eyes, tips his face up towards the sun and allows its rays to caress his skin, knowing full well that it could be for the last time.

When he opens them again, there is a man standing in front of him.

(sacrifice Dean, pagan god Castiel)

Such Familiar Magic (January-March)

26,279 words (19,946 this year), Explicit

When solitary witch Castiel finds an injured dog unconscious in his garden, he takes it in. He's expecting to heal it, look after it for a few days, then perhaps return it to its owners.

He's not expecting it to be one of the strongest familiars he's ever met.

(witch Cas, familiar Dean, strangers to lovers)

The Meaning On My Skin (March-December)

82,787 words, Explicit

Castiel Novak never wanted to be a Dominant. Living with the mark on his skin that designates him as one has haunted him every day of his life, and he goes to great lengths to avoid the part of his biology that he hates. When he makes the decision to get a tattoo with the intent of hiding his mark away, he meets Dean Winchester: tattoo artist and confident submissive.

Dean turns Castiel’s world upside down and subverts every expectation Castiel ever had about himself and his designation. Will Dean be able to teach him how to be comfortable in his own skin?

(biological D/s, tattoo artist Dean, mutual pining)

Sending A Raven (March)

38,677 words, Explicit

When Dean, the Viking jarl of Týrvik, leaves on a raid to combat the enemy warriors attacking their ships, his husband Castiel is left to protect and lead the village. The ships return barely a week later, with damaged timbers and a devastated, leader-less crew, and suddenly Castiel finds himself not only in a position of leadership for which he is ill-equipped, but terrified for the safety of his captured husband.

With the possibility of a spy somewhere in the village’s midst, Castiel leaves his people under Sam’s care and departs on the journey north to where they think Dean is being held, in a desperate attempt to rescue him before it’s too late.

(viking AU, mutual pining, angst)

secret of the sea (March)

2,465 words, Teen

Dean is ten years old when he finds the injured seal, exhausted and adrift in the moonlit ocean.

(selkie Cas, kid Dean)

Where There’s Smoke (April)

6,183 words, Mature

When Castiel accidentally locks his keys in his car on a miserable, rainy night, a handsome, green-eyed firefighter comes to his rescue. Despite their initial spark, it takes a few tries before they can turn it into something more...

(firefighter Dean, bookstore owner Cas, strangers to lovers)

Homemade (June)

5,317 words, Teen

Dean Winchester, a successful but perpetually overworked and overtired engineer, meets chef and restaurant owner Castiel, his new neighbor. Castiel courts him in the form of homemade meals in Tupperware containers and handwritten notes, and Dean eventually takes it upon himself to return the favor.

(A/B/O, chef Cas, first meetings)

Steel and Whiskey (June)

6,207 words, Explicit

When Castiel agrees to meet with the leader of the Winchester pack in the heart of his territory, he does not find the alpha he’s expecting. Instead, he meets an omega in Dean Winchester’s apartment with stunning green eyes and an alluring air of danger.

Someone should have warned Castiel that the Winchester leader is not an alpha.

(A/B/O, mafia AU, first meetings)

Luminescent (June) 

17,222 words, Mature

Embarking on an expedition to the deepest, most unexplored parts of the ocean is all Dean has wanted to do since he was a kid. Now, his dream is finally coming to fruition, and he can feel in his bones that there is still so much to be discovered.

But nothing could have prepared him for what he finds in those uncharted, impossibly deep waters…

(creature Cas, marine biologist Dean, first meetings)

Chasing Storms (November)

5,929 words, Teen

Sam and Dean Winchester are world-famous storm chasers operating in North America's Tornado Alley. When they encounter a photographer who does not seem at all prepared for the reality of the tornado that's about to touch down, Dean is less than impressed.

(storm chaser Winchesters, photographer Cas, first meetings)

The Weight of a Promise (November)

5,939 words, Teen

Four years ago, Dean said goodbye to his childhood best friend and the only familiar he’d ever considered bonding with.

Tonight is the matching ball, where Dean, as the crown prince and an eligible witch, is expected to make an appearance. He’s determined not to dance, and definitely not to bond—until he meets an alluring familiar wearing a raven’s mask.

(masquerade ball, prince Dean, mutual pining)

Sourdough and Shenanigans (November)

5,298 words, Explicit

A prank war in the Bon Appetít test kitchen escalates, worsening the already-tense relations between Dean and newcomer Castiel Novak.

(chef Dean, chef Cas, sexual tension)

Out of Bed (November)

4,145 words, Teen

On his way back from the Quidditch Pitch late one night, Dean Winchester finds himself adventuring the deserted corridors of Hogwarts with the Head Boy.

(Hogwarts AU, mutual pining, friends to lovers)

On Display (December)

4,053 words, Explicit

“I’ve invited a special guest for today,” Dean tells his viewers, glancing away from the camera as the bed dips beside him. Cas is all easy confidence as he settles onto the mattress next to Dean, and they share a quick smile before Dean turns his attention back to the viewers. “This is my boyfriend. For all of you who’ve wanted to see me get fucked by something other than my varied collection of toys…” He winks teasingly and pitches his voice a little deeper—teasing, sultry. “Today’s your lucky day.”

(camboy Dean, Dom/sub, established relationship)

AO3 word count: 209,319

ON TUMBLR

Enochian | Secret Service AU | Beekeeper Cas | Bartender Cas | Crow Cas | Retirement | Familiar Cas | Stable boy Dean | Beach party | Vampire hunting | Moonlight | Streetracing | Singer Dean | Mornings | Grief | Painter Dean | Fate | Archaeologist Dean | Endverse | Valentine’s Day | Rockstar Dean | Geek Cas | Glassblowing | Punk angels | Space prison break | Printer | Otters | Rain | Knight AU | Camping | Informant Dean | Blind Dean | Death Dean | YouTube AU | College separation | Afterlife | Djinn | Mixtape | Bar | Wild West | Fae petstore | Incubus | Beach wedding | Shelter | Shower | Pining | Sometimes | Snowed in | Oscars | California | Simple Man | Motorbike Cas | Carry On | Research | Late nights | Astronaut Cas | Fae Cas | Professor Cas | 1920s bar | Christmas ficlets

100 word drabbles x x

Tumblr word count: 62,858

TOTAL POSTED WORD COUNT: 272,177

I’ve also been working on some stuff for @profoundzine that I won’t be posting until next year ;) so stay tuned!

Once again, thank you to all of my friends and everyone who reads my fics. Y’all are the reason that I can keep putting all my ideas into words and sharing them with the world, because fuck, I love writing so damn much. Here’s to 2020, you guys <3

[lukasemero]

he shouldn’t have done it. when he found out what scarecrow did to ariel, there was no  stopping  him. he ravaged through the camp like a tornado, tore open the door to his  leader’s  tent, and by some strange twist of fate he actually decided to  be there  on that day.  YOU DID THIS. YOU KILLED HER!  a voice so  thunderous, so low, walkers could hear for  miles.  (  he’s never known the strength of his own voice -- hard to when you can’t hear  yourself.  )  it was all out war the moment he stepped into that space, and when he lunged at the  much  taller  and bigger  man, it only sealed his fate. 

  luke is a  good  fighter  --  better than crow in some ways. he’s smaller, able to move with more agility, more  grace,  but crow takes up  space. luke could run, but one step to the left and he could easily be caught up with. willow had already rushed into the tent by the time her lover had her best friend to the ground, dragged by the hair on the nape of his neck. one punch.  NO! STOP! STOP IT!  two.  STOP!  the smaller man was falling faster and faster into unconsciousness, and it didn’t matter how blood-curdling and  pleading  willow’s screams were  -- scarecrow wouldn’t listen. 

                     --  JULIAN!!

the last blow that might have struck the nail in lukas’ coffin was frozen in mid-air. a pure  rage, black as night, dark as a  demon  flowed through the man on top of him, and when his eyes met with willow’s  --  god, they were  black.  you don’t speak his name --  no one even  knows  his name. except for her.  but when he looks to her he only sees his name, not the gun she has pointed to him, and the second he  lunges  for her  --  

                       BANG.

if the screaming wasn’t enough to draw a crowd, the gunshot  was.  the cries of their people getting overrun by the dead soon after was the payment for their sins. she told everyone else to leave, run, get out as fast as they could, but she wouldn’t leave ; she stayed by lukas’ side. walker by walker was dropped at the entrance of the tent without second thought until he told her  no more.  he wasn’t going to make it. and it took everything-  everything  in her to leave. but she  did.

                          //  SEVERAL MONTHS LATER  //

if it wasn’t obvious--  he got away.  finding his way out, navigating around the horde of walkers that swarmed what was once their camp -- it wasn’t  easy. but he’s a  survivor.  he had to go far out of his way to escape harm, and by all assumptions he reckons he’s found himself a state or two away from the massacre. an abandoned home becomes his big break, after  months  of being on the road and having no  sure  shelter for the night, or even the day. 

what’s different about this home isn’t that it’s fully stocked, that it’s warm, that it has running water or even  clean  water  --  it’s the silhouettes he sees in the window. long, ratty, curly hair that seems to be beginning to form dreads, and a mop of  blonde.

his heart  stops.    ❛  matt--  ❜  it’s soft,  hoarse ;  he can’t remember the last time he spoke, there hasn’t been an reason to.  the strap of his gun rolls off his shoulder, his bag following, and they drop to the ground while he advances forward. he notices willow’s attention is gained just by the knowledge of something moving in the front yard, and when she realizes it’s  him, everything in her hands that she’s eating drops to the floor.  LUKAS!  even if she’s calling his name, there’s only one he can say, again:  ❛  matt!  ❜  tears are forming by now, and he moves at a faster pace once the front door is swung open by his best friend, his  sister.  she sees him, he sees her, but before she can make a move, matt’s body rushes past her. it doesn’t take long for lukas’ arms to open, for them to welcome the touch of the man he was growing to know as his lover, and he squeezes him against his body  tight.  his head rests, face pressing into matthew’s neck, and his fingers curl into the fabric on the back of the man’s shirt.  ❛  -- i’m sorry-- i’m sorry i lost you-- i lost everything--  ❜

written for  @afterdeaths​​,  because they  ♡  this.

[beckytailweaver]

Avatar: The Last Airbender (fic stuff)

Since I’m trying to work on something (ANYTHING!) and I seem to be in an Avatar mood of late, I’ll throw this up here.

These are fics, potential fics, and mostly-concrete ideas that have existed in the back of my closet for a very long time, since the good old days of watching ATLA when it was shiny and new and cool. Most of them are also so old that LOK didn’t exist yet or was in its infancy.

Note: These are mostly gen fic. If pairings come up they are not the central goal of the piece; they will be mainly canon as it existed at the time the fic was outlined. Treat them like the scenery (no ship war drama allowed in my workroom, that’s what stopped me participating in the fandom years ago).

I’d kinda like to put some feelers out and see what folks think would be most interesting to work on.

Read on:

The End of the Circle Post-canon continuation, my oldest ATLA fic, conceived and outlined before comics or LOK existed. Does some headcanon worldbuilding based on what was available at the time of the original series. Dragons and spirits and legends coming to life, oh my!

Status: outlined, some scenes written, firm endpoint, world built.

Summary: Roku warned Aang that he could not die in the Avatar State, or the cycle would end. Azula’s lightning killed Aang in the Avatar State. To their good fortune, Katara’s spirit water was able to bring Aang back to life, but there are Consequences—for the Avatar and for the world.

Wild Fire Canon AU/semi-rewrite. Also born before LOK was a thing so Druk doesn’t exist. It borrows some concepts from the idea of Toph and her badgermole family. It breaks some TLA canon around the edges but it’s all in good fun.

Status: outlined, many scenes, ending fully plotted.

Summary: The young Fire Prince was burned and disowned by the Fire Lord, cast away and abandoned on the hostile shores of the Earth Kingdom before his kindly uncle could aid him. Disfigured, angry, and lost, young Zuko finds solace in the wilderness when he is taken in by a most unusual protector: A dragon.

Phoenix Legacy Not-a-time-travel “time travel” fic. It was born after seeing Season 1 of Avatar LOK and...kinda liking it but not? (I mostly lost interest in LOK after S1.) And wanting to add some more classic feel to the season. No information from subsequent seasons was used to outline it (thus there is no Druk) but recently I have gone back and “fixed” Zuko’s daughter (giving her the correct name and appearance), and added her nameless daughter (Iroh II’s sister) for lulz. Basically a rewrite of LOK Season 1 with a TLA character along for the ride to shake everything up, because at the time I was disappointed that there was only Katara and no other Gaang members out there kicking the new Avatar into shape.

Status: outlined, a few scenes written, ending plotted; not to be a rehash.

Summary: A phoenix cannot die by fire—it can only be reborn. When Ozai claimed the title of Phoenix King, he had no idea what sort of spirit he might be invoking. When he lost his ancestor’s war and his crown, the spirit’s blessings were unknowingly conferred upon his heir: The hapless Fire Lord Zuko, determined to bring his nation to peace. Seventy years later, there’s a tragic explosion in a tea shop in Republic City, and exiled traitor Fire Prince Zuko wakes up to an unfamiliar world full of unfamiliar faces. The last thing he remembers is an Agni Kai under a Comet, catching lightning to protect a friend.

The Prince’s Prisoner Another ficling born before the comics or LOK were really a big deal and/or I didn’t know about them. Basically during TLA S1, rather than fleeing Prince Zuko’s clutches, Aang decides to remain his prisoner. The original reasoning for this was a kind of modified Peggy Sue: Aang effed up his final battle with Ozai for reasons, his soul is sorta sent back in time to do-over from his iceberg wakeup. The problem is that this is not a perfect process and he doesn’t actually remember everything, only some very important faces, feelings, and concepts. The idea of Zuko as a dear friend/teacher/trusted person is one of these things. Thus, in defiance of all visible logic, Aang trusts S1!Zuko with his life and keeps his promise to go with him. In spite of his Water Tribe friends continuously trying to rescue him, Zhao continuously trying to capture him, and Zuko himself continuously trying to avoid being befriended by his ticket home. (”I’m your prisoner, not anyone else’s.”)  Intended to be a funny and heartwarming friendship/journey story taking a different angle at the series.

Status: tentatively outlined with very few scenes skeleton’d out, season 1 definite, endpoint undecided but can continue throughout the series. The premise mechanic is a bit flimsy; it’s less concrete since it’s supposed to be fluff, angst, and friendship.

dragon!Zuko AU fic Everybody has to write one of these, it’s like a law. Here’s mine: Ozai’s cruelty during the Agni Kai with his young son invoked the wrath of Agni, bringing down a magic from a time before memory and no one knows if it’s a blessing or a curse. When Zuko’s face burned, the fire didn’t stop there, and when the flames went out a young dragon was left on the floor of the arena. Uncle Iroh came to his rescue before the rest of Court could gather their wits, and then had to get him on a boat and out of the Fire Nation before Ozai could decide whether to make him into a pet or a trophy. Part 1: Rather than going on a mission to hunt the Avatar, Zuko and Iroh are on a road trip to keep Zuko alive and secret from the world (Ozai wants to usurp his brother’s title of Dragon). Iroh and his crew end up raising this stubborn angsty dragon prince; since he can’t turn back into a human he has to come to terms with being a dragon most of the time (which can’t talk), and he can often be Very Dramatic about it. Part 2: Years later, there’s rumors of the Avatar’s return and Zuko (who has sort of learned to take a human shape again) sees an opportunity to spare his own life and go home by offering his father a bigger prize than a dragon’s head...

Status: very general outline, some scenes conceived and a general plot/endpoint. Part 1 is in the 3 years pre-canon, Part 2 is during canon, including the grumpy dragon hiding out in Ba Sing Se.

Years Gone/Avatar kids AU S1/pre-canon rewrite. Some whim of fate cracks open Aang’s iceberg three years early (a storm, a passing boat, pure chance?) and he tumbles out into the world in the same year that Prince Zuko was banished. Despite befriending some Water Tribe children who would love to go adventuring with him, he’s got to get home to the Southern Air Temple and that’s where he runs into young, angry, raw-wounded Prince Zuko on his first visit. The tiny chase ensues up and down the entire temple. Aang will of course be friendly but escape. And this begins a probably-ill-advised adventure with a lot of kids who are entirely too young to be camping across the world on a bison (but it’s exciting!), chased by another kid entirely too young to be leading a manhunt. The Comet is three years away so there’s plenty of time for adults to tear their hair out over this. Zuko is a tiny ball of determination, rage, and tears. Aang feels bad for him and tries to make with the befriending even as he’s dodging the fire tantrums. Occasionally during adventures Zuko just gets scooped along for the ride in Appa’s saddle, no one’s sure how these weird truces get called, but Iroh sips tea and directs the crew on a new heading and they’ll pick up their prince at the bison’s next stopover most likely after the kid pendulums back the other way and remembers he’s trying to nab the Avatar again. So Zuko spends 50% of the time yelling and chasing the Avatar and 50% of the time sitting in Appa’s saddle learning tentative smiles and being offered berries and seal jerky, all the way from the South Pole to the North. (It’s slightly terrifying to realize that Aang and Zuko are currently the oldest kids in the party and are actually in charge of this terribly irresponsible expedition.)

Status: general outline, a couple of scenes written, particular S1 plot points, no endpoint yet. Possible bonus content: Toph and/or Suki come along for the ride because why not.

The Blacksmith of Ba Sing Se This is a very old Lu Ten Lives! story. Lu Ten always knew Uncle Ozai envied him, but secure in his position he didn’t really care about it until he took an arrow in the back during the final battle of the Siege of Ba Sing Se. With unknown assassins among his own ranks and no safe place to retreat in the melee, the wounded prince decides to fake his own death by hiding in the rubble, and then swapping clothes with a slain Earth Kingdom soldier half crushed in the ruin. At first, it’s only to get to safety until he can get to the bottom of this. But Lu Ten is picked up by the EK medic teams after the surprising withdrawal of the Fire Nation troops, and ends up spirited away into the heart of Ba Sing Se—where he discovers that it’s hard to escape. He also discovers a whole new world, and a whole new perspective, and, keeping out of the authorities’ notice, eventually manages to make a life for himself as Chang the Blacksmith, a humble craftsman with a wife and kids. This...is much nicer than war, death, and Court politics. Years later: refugee Zuko walking home from his job at Pao Family Tea Shop runs across a little boy crying over his broken toy in the dusty street...

Status: nebulous outline with a few particular sketched scenes. Takes place mostly in Ba Sing Se, outcome indeterminate. It could be mixed with the Lineages concept from below.

Lineages / not Ozai’s kid AU Not really a concrete plot so much as a campy idea from long before the Avatar comics blundered through Ursa’s backstory. There was a phase in the fandom (I think the Search comics drew off of that) where it was popular to imagine almost anyone else than Ozai as Zuko’s Secret Real Dad (the boy deserves a better father) and Iroh was often selected as primary candidate. (I know, Iroh is already the real dad and stepped into Ozai’s cold empty shoes like a pro.) Me, deciding that I had to be different, decided to offer up Lu Ten on that altar. Justifications: Iroh and Ozai looked to have a pretty extreme age difference and there was no solid age for Lu Ten at the time of his death, but his picture looks mature enough. Deals with family secrets and the political issues of muddying the lines of inheritance in the middle of a war. Also takes a crack at Ursa having a clever hand with Azulon’s last will and testament on Ozai’s behalf, with provisos.

Status: nothing really more than a vague concept without enough plot to stand on its own. Without a viable framework, it could work better/well folded into The Blacksmith story, above.

I’m open to opinions and/or asks about these. Trying to get a spark going! (I need to be working in a fandom, ANY fandom at this point! ^_^;; )

[blueangelicrose]

Reset : Welcome to the Underground: Chapter 1

It was eighteen years ago on a stormy night at Ebott village. The stiff madam of the Ebott orphanage was making her rounds when a sudden knock came to the door. She walked swiftly to the front door as fast as she could. All the meanwhile the knocking kept getting louder and louder. "I'm coming! I'm coming! Who in their right mind would be visiting here in the middle of this atrocious night?!" As she grumbled her way to the front door, she noticed that the knocking abruptly stopped. She thought it was strange and as she opened the door, she nervously looked around and saw that no one was there. "Well isn't that strange. I thought I heard someone knocking at the front door...." She stopped in mid sentence when she heard small crying coming from right at her feat. It was a small newborn infant that had been wrapped up in a purple blanket that had a strange insignia on it. The small child was placed and tucked in lovingly in a small carrying basket. And tucked along with the child was a book on monsters and myths. The madam quickly took in the child inside and dried off the small baby girl. "Goodness me! What a way of getting rid of a child. Whoever did this must've been desperate!" The small infant kept crying and crying for a mother that would never come. The madam tried soothing the infant but no matter how hard she tried to calm her down, nothing would work. And it wasn't till a letter that fell out of the book, that she finally had the answers. The letter from the mother said that she had no choice but to give up her beloved baby girl. And in order to calm the baby down the best way was to sing her to sleep a song that was written on the back of the letter:

"Let's go in the garden you'll find something

waiting. Right where you had left it, lying

upside down. When you finally find it, you'll

see how it's faded, the underside is lighter

when you turn it around. Everything stays~

right where you left it~ everything stays~ but

it still changes. Ever so slightly, daily and

nightly. In little ways when everything

stays~.

Let's go in the forest, all the birds are

singing~ have them play for you a very

special sound. So if you're ever frightened,

let the melody protect you~. For they will

bring you to me, when the sun goes down.

Everything stays right where you le~ft it.

Everything stays~ but it still changes. Ever

so slightly, daily and nightly~ in little ways

when everything stays~. Ever~ so slightly,

daily, and nightly. In little ways when

everything stays~. (Song by Adventure Time/additional lyrics by PurpleRoselyn on YouTube).

And just like that, the baby stopped crying.

Eighteen years later to the day, the once crying and frail baby girl had blossomed into a wonderful young lady. This young lady's name was---- "Fri~isk!!!! Are you almost ready?!" As the madam called out her name, Frisk replied, "Yes! I'm almost ready! Whoops! I almost forgot my book." Young Frisk was at the age on her 18th birthday where she could finally go off on her own without the madam worrying about her. The book, "Monsters and Myths of the World", was the only piece of her that she had received from her real mother. Written on the front inside of the book was her first name and then the initials "S. E." Frisk had no idea why her real mother chose to do this but regardless, she was grateful that her mother had given her a name or even cared too. Frisk knew a lot of the orphans there that had no names, at least officially, and would do anything to get a name. Because to them, if you had a name, you had a place to belong too. And Frisk having a name, made her very privileged among the orphans. Sometimes it was a good thing and sometimes, not so much. She had friends in the orphanage, but she also encountered bullies that wanted to take their anger out on her. Of course her friends and the madam stepped up to interfere with this harassment. But the hatred and jealousy still remained.

Frisk shook those negative thoughts away and quickly packed her book along with the camping gear that she had in her large backpack. For her birthday she wished for nothing more than to go camping/monsterhunting out on Mount Ebott as practice for the real thing out in the real world. The madam, at first was hesitant at this. And she expressed her concerns very thoroughly to Frisk. Frisk rolled her eyes and persuaded her that she would be fine. Although the rumors of children going missing while climbing Mount Ebott over the years did somewhat trouble her. What if there was a ferocious beast on the loose? Or a psycho mountain man protecting his moonshine? But Frisk knew the reason why the madam was scared for her to go. It was the same reason why no one in the village dared to go near the mountain.

A long time ago, around 300 years. There lived 2 races of living beings. Monsters and humans. They once lived in harmony and got along with each other. The humans shared their knowledge and technology with the monsters and the monsters in turn shared their magic with the humans. Together they lived in harmony. But one day a human soul was absorbed by a monster that the people thought that was harmless. They were terrified of the unknown abilities that the monsters had. And thus the humans, with great ignorance, started a war with the monsters. After great loss and tragedy, the monsters had lost. The humans thus sealed the monsters in Mount Ebott using the same magic that the monsters had gifted to the humans. The only flaw to this seal was if seven human souls were to be absorbed by a monster and thus that monster would gain the power to break the barrier for all monster kind.

Frisk had her doubts as to believe whether if that story was true or not. But she didn't care. From what she read about monsters from her history books and, of course, her inherited book of monsters, she loved them. She wanted to meet one and possibly befriend one, and prove once and for all, that monsters are loving creatures and the humans have nothing to be afraid of. And she was very much DETERMINED to do so. The madam requested and pleaded to Frisk one last time reconsider going. "Madam Gertrude! I'm officially 18 now and am old enough to make my own decisions! I am not one of those wandering children that got lost in the mountain! I'll be fine. I'll come back after the weekend." With a hug and kiss goodbye, Frisk set off to the bus station.

When the bus arrived, she climbed aboard and sat down on one of the back seats. Half an hour or so later, the bus went as close as it could go near the mountain until Frisk yelled, "Stop the bus! This is my stop!" The bus driver looked at her then looked at the mountain, and then back to her with a brow raised. "Are you crazy lady?! No one that has come up the mountain has never gone back down!" But Frisk insisted that she had to go. The bus driver just rolled his eyes and said, "Whatever lady. If you're not back by the end of this weekend I'm calling the cops for a search party. Ya hear?!" Frisk smiled and thought, "Geez, that's what madam Gertrude said. Am I in over my head on this one?" She bid the driver farewell and started walking to the base of the mountain. As she stared at the looming forest in front of her, she gulped. "Well, too late to turn back now Frisk." As she started her ascent on the mountain, she couldn't help notice that the woods had an omninous aura. No birds were singing and no signs of little animals were no where to be seen or heard.

She decided to set up camp when she was already half way up the mountain. She put half of her stuff in her tent, while she looked around for a river nearby for some water and food. But as she walked on and on, she noticed a gaping hole in the mountain that was covered with vines. Something about that hole seemed suspicious to Frisk so she tried to avoid it. But unfortunately, fate had other plans for her. She had unfortunately tripped over one of the vines and fell into the hole.

End of chapter 1.

To be continued in chapter 2.

[heliads]

Neverland Rebel Chapter Eight

Saramia Gibson didn’t want to be taken to Neverland, but apparently, she didn’t have a choice. Now, Saramia has to escape the island before Pan finds her- because that means a certain death for her. Can she escape in time?

previous / series masterlist / next

It's been a while. I've been hiding in the room for a while, and I haven't found anything of use. I've looked through boxes and bags, making sure to leave them exactly as I found them when I leave. When Pan finds me, he's going to kill me for looking through his things, but I want answers. What is this place? Who, exactly, is Pan? Most importantly, how can I get off of this island? I know I can find the answers somewhere, but I don't know if I could ever find them. However, it seems like this is the one chance I'm going to get to look around, so I need to find things and find them fast. Out of the corner of my eye, I see one last box that I haven't checked. It's partially hidden under an overhanging root and covered with a tattered brown blanket, but it seems important. I brush off a couple layers of dust as well as the blanket and open the box. Inside are only a few things: a map and a straw doll. Curious, I pick up the straw doll. It's simply made, with its hands away from its sides and a blue jacket. Whose doll is this? 

Overhead, I hear a series of thumps coming towards the door. Is someone coming? Quickly, I put the doll back and cover the box with the blanket once again and back away. I hear the footsteps stop near the door, and I realize that whoever is coming knows about the room and probably knows I'm here. I panic and head towards one of the darkest corners of the room, hiding behind a dirt encroaching. I hear the creak of the door opening and know my fate is sealed. The lanterns in the front of the room light up, and I peer around the dirt to see none other than Pan himself stroll down into the center of the room. How long has it been since the game started? Have I wasted enough time to live past another day? He looks methodically around the room, checking behind boxes and lifting up bags. I come to the realization that no matter what, he will find me here. Nothing is getting past him, and there's no way I'm getting past him. I try to think of a plan, but the only thing crossing my mind is the need to escape. My hand brushes on something metal, and I try to remember what it is before realizing it's my dagger. The one Pan gave me. What if that's my ticket out? 

I wait for Pan to turn around and lift up the lid of a box, exposing the back of his head to my vantage point. I rush him and slam the end of my dagger into his head, surprising him enough for me to sweep his legs out from under him and sprint to the door. I make it through, noting the absence of lost boys around the tree. I start running as fast as I can away, through the trees. I hear an angered shout behind me and Pan comes out of the tree, calling his Boys, but it's too late. I'm out and away. I'm not going to lie, it felt great to hit the leader of this island over the head with his own dagger. I take twists and turns, hearing the sounds of the Lost Boys far behind me. A laugh bubbles up out of me, gaining momentum as I head farther into the forest. I realize it's the first time I've laughed in who knows how long, which almost makes me laugh harder. My breath comes in triumphant bursts, and the Lost Boys can't even try to keep up. I see them trying to cut me off on the sides, their whoops and whistles becoming infectious as their energy spreads throughout this entire group. I'm feeling great, and it's only the icing on the cake that the great Pan can't keep up with the first girl his camp has seen in maybe forever. That is, until he appears out of nowhere in front of me, effectively stopping me in my tracks.

"That was a good rally, but I'm afraid our fun stops here." I just grin at him as the Lost Boys circle around, still feeling a high from the chase. 

"Sorry, Pan, you upset that I hit you on the back of the head?" Pan's smirk fades a little, and the Boys look at each other with grins. He'd clearly forgotten to inform them that I managed to bring him to his knees before escaping once again.

"Well, I had to give you a head start, right?" He tries to bring the topic back on track, but it's too late for that. I remind him that he was on his knees on the ground while I was running far ahead of him, and it took magic to catch up with me. He steps closer to me, and I'm worried for a second that he's going to yell at me more, but he breaks out in a grin too. 

"Well, you didn't do too badly. Here's to our new Lost Girl!" Pan shouts and the rest of the Boys whoop before heading back, presumably to camp. He nods at me, with a ghost of his smile still on his lips. "You've been here for barely a couple of days and you've already felt at home. You're here for a reason, and today proved it." That surprised me. I thought he didn't want me here? When I say as much, he just shakes his head. "The shadow has never brought a girl to the island before. I wanted to make sure you weren't a mistake."

That stung. I can hear my parents calling me a mistake, an accident, a disgrace. Thousands of times. The blows that accompany those words are harsh, and I can't help but flinch. He turns to me, but I just walk faster. I know the way to camp. I don't need him. 

[nekoaihime]

Sealed with a Kiss?

Series: Fairy Tail Setting: AU!Verse Pairing: NaLu Genre: Romance, Fantasy Summary: Unsealing a Demon from its prison was hardly a thing she planned for, but what was she to do when said Demon would not leave her alone?! A/N: When Edens Zero hasn’t given enough to write a good thing yet, I fall back on my favourite pairing.............with random ideas. :D I’m too tired and lazy to vet through this properly....................                                                                   [ Read on AO3 ] 

There was nothing vaguely familiar about her surroundings ( besides green, green and more green ), though the woman could hardly fault anyone but herself. She was supposed to be holed up ‘safely’ in her ‘house’, yet she found herself wandering in the midst of a forest despite clear instructions to remain indoors. What was a young woman to do, trapped within four walls with absolutely nothing? It was a house, but it lacked the intimacy and warmth a home should have. Whilst she was reluctantly used to dissociation, it had been weeks, and the world beckoned and screamed her name. Exploration was a must for a new city, even a new town, but in a rural area like such where televisions were a rare thing? An adventure was the only thing that promised diverting experience.  Thus she had sneaked out of her prison, with a carefully packed bag in preparation, and her cell phone ( though it had no reception, it could function as a light if her flashlight failed her ). What could go wrong? She was careful, and she knew where she wanted to scout. There was a waterfall near a series of caves, a beautiful sight surely to inspire better writing. A few pictures would do no harm either. A picturesque location, would that not be a great place to relax? If she was to keep out of sight; trekking through the woods seemed like a far better alternative to the concrete cell they called a house in the middle of a quiet town. 

Except, she was supposed to trek and wander, not slip, fall and become exceedingly lost as her paper map fluttered away into the depths of the woods. Her ankle, twisted, throbbed obnoxiously as she trudged, filthy outwear tied lazily onto the straps of her bag. The tank top was a far better choice for meandering through the thicket, she reasoned, though sulky that her jacket was now sullied with mud. Her shorts revealed the worst of her plunge; bloodied and bruised skin peeking through fabric.  But she would not last long, not with her injuries, not with her ribs still healing from the trauma before. The trauma that sent her to this forsaken place. She ought to be grateful that she still lived, but still she desired her own life back. It was taking far too long, just as it was taking her far too long to make her way somewhere safe. There were no wild beasts, as far as she could recall, but night would fall soon, and she had no wish of camping outdoors with nothing for the chill that was sure to set. A jacket would do little while she remained exposed under the wide sky. If she could not find her way out, she would have to find some shelter, at the very least.  She attempted to still her anxious heart, attempted to pay heed to her surroundings like she had researched. If she found the water source, she would find the caves -- that would have to do for the night. She needed to refill her bottle too, and hoped fervently that the water was not contaminated. Nothing like a stomachache to ruin the impromptu camping trip. She groused, but ultimately, the blame was upon her. She made her choices, now she had to live with them, all of them. Nonetheless, be it by a stroke of pure luck, or simply the newfound survival skills she recently developed, booted feet finally came across a stream. Upon her knees she went, finishing up the rest of the bottled water she brought before she splashed the refreshing coolness upon weary face, and slowly begun the arduous process of cleansing what wounds she could find. After filling up her bottle, she would have to go against the flow of the stream to find the caves by the waterfall. And she needed to hurry.  Her mobile phone still had no reception, but the time ticked by and she noted with chagrin that sunset was but a mere hour away. There was little time to lose. Thus she hobbled along with haste, sparing little breaks for her swelling ankle. Pain was one thing, but she had far more to lose if she stayed in the wilderness. The food in her bag would last her the night and more, her jacket would make a passable blanket.... If she could survive that, she could survive the night.  She barely made it. There was no time to admire the waterfall in the dimming light, though she spared the rejuvenating cascades a glance of appreciation and a quick snap of camera. She would have the time to do properly so tomorrow, for now, she needed to pick a suitable cave before her world was plunged into darkness. She had no ability nor tools to start a fire, though knowledge told her that sticks were sufficient. Light and warmth would escape her tonight unless her choice cave contained twigs of salvation. Carefully she peered; a feeble attempt to select one -- but she had no clues.  She allowed Fate to make the choice, and that, perhaps, was the biggest mistake she made.  Eyes squeezed shut, she summoned her intense desire for warmth and safety, imaging it into an arrow and assigning it the task of selection. It was not the mental arrow that guided her, however, but a sensation of what she craved emitting from the distance. It was illogical, how one could sense such a thing, absolutely ridiculous -- but since luck had a way of dancing to her, Lucky Lucy made her way to that particular cave.  It was not much; the entrance smaller than she thought it would be -- she barely managed to squeeze in, but one ought not to judge a book by its cover. Though the access was constraining, the interior of the cave proved to be ample. Enough space for her to sleep, and a small opening to restrict the entry of wind. It would have to do.  Burdensome bag struck the ground with a thump, flashlight obligating with its duty. There were no bones in sight, which was a good sign, it was no creature’s cave, and she would not wake to the terrifying agony of being eaten. Taking a deep breath just to be certain, she noted no lingering whiff of death or meat. She spied a connection of sorts further back, and with mobile phone in hand, elected to explore before she settled down for the night. She wanted to take a look at the swelling ankle, and was sure that she would have zero desire to move after boots were removed. In addition, there seemed to be warmness wafting from further back. If there was a source of warmth, that may be of use. Better to be warmer, after all. She strode, keeping to the stone walls as she made her way deeper, marveling at the capacity. The further she walked, the more she regretted not bringing her bag along. Her indignant stomach growled its displeasure, echoing into the depths of darkness. Groaning, she gritted her teeth, determined to see this through. Already feeling far warmer than she did at the mouth of the cave, curiosity kept her going.  It felt like forever, though her phone inclined to inform her otherwise, yet eventually, she arrived the innermost cavern; the warmest she had felt so far -- nonetheless she found no potential source for the heat, there was naught more than a strange red lizard pinned under a rock. Flashlight found the creature, light bouncing off the scales as tongue flicked. With such visual confirmation, there was no way she could allow it to remain trapped -- she was no cruel human. Like her, the lizard would survive the night, and more.  Thus she edged forward, muttering under her breath in an attempt to comfort herself. It was just a lizard. “Just a lizard.” It was not going to do anything to her. “Don’t jump on me, lizard. That’d be disgusting.” She was no fan of lizards, and who knew what diseases it may have! After all, it barely looked like any lizard she had ever seen before. Not that she studied lizards. “Don’t touch me, don’t touch me.” A devout chant she begun as she wedged the torchlight between face and shoulder, preferring to lift the rock with both hands. A devout chant she continued as she struggled with the rock, wondering why it was warm to the touch, and strangely enough, seemed to resonate. “I must be going insane, talking to a lizard and thinking that a rock is ‘resonating’. Maybe the stream’s water wasn’t so good after all....”  She could blame the water for all she wanted, but nothing could quite prepare her for the yell that followed as the lizard darted free and the rock fell to the ground, suddenly far lighter than it had been when she gripped it and freed the animal from what would have been its tombstone in a few days.                                             “I’M NOT A DAMN LIZARD!”  Its howl reverberated through the cavern, though in a different situation lips may curve with amusement at the high-pitched tone. Physically, it seemingly bore no damage from the immobilization of the load recently lifted. Instead upon claws did it rise and hiss, carving deep gouges into the solid stone, huffing a breath of dark flames that singed the edge of her already tattered shorts. She scrambled back with a screech, distressed vox resounding sharply. Despite the throe of pain pounding through her ankle, she wasted no time in patting out the glowing ember and putting as much distance as she could between herself and the demonic lizard. No animal could talk, and certainly no animal could spit fire! A DEMON ! It had to be a demon! She was going to be eaten by a demon because she disobey instructions to stay within her cell.  HOW WAS THIS LUCK?  And here she thought she was lucky to have survived that, and that she would survive the night lost in the woods. She choked on babbled words, a desperate plea for her life, “Please don’t eat me. I swear I probably won’t taste good, I’ve been eating terribly these past few days!” Yet in her unexplained fear, she made eye contact, despite every bone within her willing her not to; and as oculars met and darkness consumed what vision she had, Lucy Heartfilia came to regret her decision to leave the safe house.

                                                              It had to be the water.

IT WAS NOT. It took her a few minutes to properly rouse and consider her current situation, though she had no idea how long she was out cold for; but there was no mistaking the solid ground she laid upon, nor the swell upon head that was sure to grow. The reason was unclear, but somehow, somehow she had managed to lose consciousness upon the sight of the talking lizard; originally assumed ( or so she had desperately hoped ) to be but a hallucination, a result of water unsuitable for quenching thirst. Yet as she stared down at what was the aforementioned lizard, now nestled by her side, looking larger than before, and shockingly producing sufficient heat to keep her warm in the midst of the empty cave.....she was now convinced that she had either left the realm of the living and now resided in some strange form of hell -- or that demons definitely existed.  After all, what else would explain those sentient crimson eyes staring up at her and how tongue flicked across scrapped skin, or how its jaws parted and uttered words she would never imagine from a lizard?                                            “You’re pretty weak, aren’t you?” Feet crept up her form, though she was thankful to note the lack of deadly claws ripping skin apart ( especially when they so easily carved the solid rock ground ), still her writer brain churned terrifying possibilities that failed to fade; especially not when it inched up her side and stood upon chest to stare her in the eye. Be it the weight of the lizard, or fear that suppressed her voice; Lucy could only gawk helplessly as forked tongue flicked across her lips.  Despite the expected urge to hurl at the mere thought of a lizard in contact with her lips as though it was a kiss, her first kiss was not with a lizard!!! She refused to accept that as a fact! So Lucy attempted to grip the lizard and fling it as far away from her as she could, but once more, the emphasis remained on attempted. Her feeble attempt brought her no luck as the creature grew, not only in size, but also in weight. Scaly arms doubled in size, and doubled once more, a continuous growth as she stared in utter disbelief -- breath lost to both its rapidly increasing weight and shock.  Lizards. Do. Not. Grow. To. Such. Sizes. Especially not when its length extended beyond her height. But the true shocker came as scales fell off its form; each and every piece of the layer bursting into tiny flames that neither burned or hurt her in anyway, instead coming to envelope and surround her with what she deemed as a familiar warmth. Distracted and confused, she glanced at the fire dancing around her and once more, attempted to make sense of the situation -- but this day was only the beginning of her future with little sense, logic, and choices. Lucy Heartfilia has taken the step into the unknown, jumping out of the frying pan -- straight into the fire. For as she looked up from the embers that night, it was no lizard she came face to face with,                                                                but a man. This time, she promptly dealt him a solid right hook.

[dudebrosunited1]

What You Should Know About the Wall (1962 GDR brochure)

Newspapers, radio and television report daily about Berlin and West Berlin in many languages throughout the world. They often speak or write of a state frontier, or of a wall.

It may be very difficult for you to form a valid picture from all these reports which frequently contradict each other. We want to help you to do so.

We tried to imagine what would be the considerations of a citizen of a foreign state if he wanted to gain clarity about the problems in West Berlin. And we would like to reply to these considerations.

1st CONSIDERATION. Where, exactly, is Berlin situated?

A glance at the map suffices: Berlin lies in the middle of the German Democratic Republic, exactly 180 kilometres (112.5 miles) to the east of its western frontier. A quite normal locality for the capital of a state. Only one thing is not normal at all: that a hostile, undermining policy and disruptive acts have for years been carried on from the western part of this city against the surrounding state territory. West Berlin Mayor Willi Brandt called West Berlin a “thorn in the side of the GDR.” Would you like to have a thorn in your side? We don’t either! But Brandt even proclaims quite frankly: “We want to be the disturber of the peace.”

2nd CONSIDERATION. Did the wall fall out of the sky?

No. It was the result of developments of many years standing in West Germany and West Berlin. Let us recall preceding events: In 1948 a separate currency reform was introduced in West Germany and West Berlin - the West German reactionaries thereby split Germany and even west Berlin in to two currency areas.

The West German separatist state was founded in 1949 - Bonn thereby turned the zonal border into a state frontier.

In 1954 West Germany was included in NATO - Bonn thereby converted the state frontier into the front-line between two pact systems.

The decision on the atomic armament of the West German Bundeswehr was made in 1958 - thus, Bonn continues to aggravate the situation in Germany and Berlin. Repeatedly the annexation of the GDR is proclaimed as the official aim of Bonn policy, most recently in a statement of the Adenauer Christian Democratic Union (CDU), on 11 July 1961.

Thus did the anti-national, aggressive NATO policy create the wall which today separates the two German states and also goes through the middle of Berlin. The Bonn government and the West Berlin Senate have systematically converted West Berlin into a centre of provocation from where 90 espionage organizations, the RIAS American broadcasting station in West Berlin (Radio in American Sector) and revanchist associations organize acts of sabotage against the GDR and the other socialist countries. Through our protective measures of 13 August 1961 we have only safeguarded and strengthened that frontier which was already drawn years ago and made into a dangerous front-line by the people in Bonn and West Berlin. How high and how strongly fortified a frontier must be, depends, as is common knowledge, on the kind of relations existing between the states of each side of the frontier.

3rd CONSIDERATION. Did the wall have to come?

Yes and no. We have submitted more than one hundred proposals for understanding, on the renunciation of atomic armament, and on the withdrawal of the two German states from NATO or the Warsaw Treaty. If things had gone according to our proposals the situation in Germany would not have been aggravated and, consequently, there would have been no wall. Especially since 1958 the GDR and the Soviet Union have repeatedly told the West Berlin Senate, the Bonn government, and the western powers: Be reasonable! Let us eliminate the abnormal situation in West Berlin together. Let us start negotiations. Why did Bonn and West Berlin reject these proposals? Why did they, instead, step up agitation to an unprecedented degree before 13 August? - The wall had to come because they were bringing about the danger of a conflict. Those who do not want to hear, must feel.

4th CONSIDERATION. What did the wall prevent?

We no longer wanted to stand by passively and see how doctors, engineers, and skilled workers were induced by refined methods unworthy of the dignity of man to give up their secure existence in the GDR and work in West Germany or West Berlin. These and other manipulations cost the GDR annual losses amounting to 3.5 thousand million marks.

But we prevented something much more important with the wall - West Berlin’s becoming the starting point for a military conflict. The measures we introduced in 13 August in conjunction with the Warsaw Treaty states have cooled off a number of hotheads in Bonn and West Berlin. For the first time in German history the match which was to set fire to another war was extinguished before it had fulfilled its purpose.

5th CONSIDERATION. Was peace really threatened?

Indian journalists R. K. Karanjia shall give you the answer to the question. He published a sensational report from Berlin in the biggest Indian weekly, Blitz in which the world public is warned against the West Berlin powder-keg. K. R. Karanjia wrote:

“It (the protective wall of the GDR) served the cause of world peace since it halted the advance of the German neo-Hitlerites toward the East, forced the world to recognize the reality of the division of Germany and thus supports negotiation.” (retranslated from German)

If further evidence of the aggressive intentions of the West German government is needed it is provided by the authoritative West German employers’ newspaper, the Industriekurier, which regretfully wrote, exactly 19 days after 13 August 1961: “A reunification with the Bundeswehr marching victoriously through the Brandenburg Gate to the beating of drums - such a reunification will not take place in the foreseeable future.”

Bonn heads were really haunted by ideas of such a victorious entry. That would have meant war.

6th CONSIDERATION. Who is walled in?

According to the exceedingly intelligent explanations of the West Berlin Senate we have walled ourselves in and are living in a concentration camp. But in that case why are the gentlemen so excited? Obviously, because in reality their espionage centres, their revanchist radio stations, their fascist soldiers’ associations, their youth poisoners, and their currency racketeers have been walled in. They are excited because we have erected the wall as an antifascist, protective wall against them.

Does something not occur to you? West Berlin Mayor Brandt wails that half of the GDR, including the workers in the enterprise militia groups, is armed. What do you think of a concentration camp whose inmates have weapons in their hands?

7th CONSIDERATION. Who breaks off human contacts?

Of course, it is bitter for many Berliners not to be able to visit each other at present. But it would be more bitter if a new war were to separate them for ever. Moreover, when the GDR was forced to introduce compulsory entry permits for West Berlin citizens on 23 August in the interests of its security we at the same time offered to open up entry permit offices in municipal railway stations in West Berlin. In fact we opened them and issued the first permits. Who closed them by force? The same Senate of that Mr. Brandt who is today shedding crocodile tears about “contacts being broken”! The GDR has maintained its offer. If we had our way Berliners could visit each other despite the wall.

8th CONSIDERATION. Does the wall threaten anyone?

Bonn propaganda describes the wall as a “monstrous evidence of the aggressiveness of world communism.” Have you ever considered it to be a sign of aggressiveness when someone builds a fence around his property?

9th CONSIDERATION. Who is aggravating the situation?

The wall? It stands there quite calmly. Former French Premier Reynaud said already on 19 August 1961, according to UPI: “The sealing-off measures of the East Berlin government did not increase, but lessened, the danger of a third world war.” In reality, the situation is being aggravated by persons who play at being the strong man on our state frontier, who are turning West Berlin into a NATO base and daily inciting West Berliners against the GDR. Municipal railway cars are being destroyed, frontier guards attacked and brutally shot, tunnels dug for agents and bomb attacks made on the GDR’s frontier security installations. Does that serve relaxation? One must really ask why attacks on the GDR state frontier in West Berlin are not subject to court prosecution as in other states. The Brandt Senate even presents “its respects” to the provocateurs.

10th CONSIDERATION. Is the wall a gymnastic apparatus?

The wall is the state frontier of the German Democratic Republic. The state frontier of a sovereign state must be respected. That is so the world over. He who does not treat it with respect cannot complain if he comes to harm. West German and West Berlin politicians demand that “the wall be removed.” We are not particularly fond of walls, either. But please consider where the actual wall runs in Germany, the wall which must be pulled down in your and our interest. It is the wall which was erected because of the fateful Bonn NATO policy. On the stones of this wall stand atomic armament, entry into NATO, revanchist demands, anti-communist incitement, non-recognition of the GDR, rejection of negotiations, the front-line city of West Berlin.

So, make your contribution to the pulling down of this wall by advocating a reasonable policy of military neutrality, peaceful co-existence, normal relations between the two German states, the conclusion of a peace treaty with Germany, a demilitarized Free City of West Berlin. That is the only way to improve the situation in Berlin, to safeguard peace, a way which can, one day also lead to the reunification of Germany. The wall says to the war-mongers:

He who lives on an island should not make an enemy of the ocean.

Decide in favour of the recognition of realities. Don’t join in the row over the wall. Perhaps YOU don’t want socialism. That is your affair.

But should we not come to an agreement jointly to refrain from doing anything that leads to war and do everything that serves peace?

[nightmareonfilmstreet]

[Recap] AMC’s THE TERROR Episode 7: “Horrible From Supper”

The mind is a powerful thing. It takes in external stimuli, interprets the ramifications of that information on the fly and converts it into electrical impulses that control everything from your sweat glands to your body movements. When everything works correctly, you can perceive a threat and make a rational decision in milliseconds based on hundreds of different variables. When everything is not working correctly, if a foreign agent has been introduced into your system that alters just one facet of this process, things begin to become slanted and skewed.

Maybe your vision is slightly impaired and you cannot see a crack in the rocks you’re climbing. Maybe you begin to hear things that aren’t there, voices telling you to do unspeakable things to those around you. The foreign agent slowly takes control and begins to make your body do things that it would never do on its own. This is what is happening to every single character on AMC’s The Terror, and it is manifesting itself in a creeping madness that is beginning to unravel even the strongest of men.

    There are two foreign agents that have revealed themselves over the last few episodes. The first is Lead. Each crew member has been slowly poisoning themselves for years with the lead that has leaked into their canned provisions. This has caused headaches, paranoia, and in the severe case of John Morfin this week, a bad case of “suicide by Marine”. He has been complaining for weeks of having unnatural thoughts and he apparently reached the end of his rope this week, begging to be killed to put an end to the pain. Morfin got his wish after the rifle he was pointing at Captain Crozier misfired and he caught a bullet to the head for his troubles. Not only was this the end of one man’s life, but it was yet another nail in the coffin of every other crew member’s psyche.

Henry Collins laid in his tent, not even poking his head out to see what the commotion was about. He stared at the canvas ceiling, seemingly resigned to the madness that has already begun to take hold in his own mind. Dr. Goodsir, probably the finest and most pure man on this expedition, finally loses control and begins to hyperventilate in his tent. In the most beautiful scene that The Terror has given us so far, he is comforted by Lady Silence, who quietly lays herself down beside him and holds him until his breathing slows down. She can no longer talk, but she makes sure that he feels safe and secure, even when everything around him is out of control.

  “If it comes, it comes. All you can do is make sure you’re not the one in its jaws.”- Cornelius Hickey

  The second foreign agent that revealed itself this week is none other than Mr. Cornelius Hickey. Ever since the flogging he received from Captain Crozier, we have known that Hickey’s motivations are not completely altruistic. He has been slowly sowing the seeds of insurrection within the minds of his fellow shipmates. Now, we have learned that he is aware that the food is poisoning them. He knows that they have found the heads of the advance party that left last year, the one that has “supposedly’ found help and is on the way back for them. He knows that Crozier and Fitzjames have been lying to the entire crew about both the dangers of the food and that their rescue only made it 18 miles from the ships before Tuunbaq found them. In previous episodes, his shenanigans could be marked down as another side effect of cabin fever mixed with the rancid, lead-laced food. In “Horrible from Supper”, however, we begin to see that it isn’t the madness sweeping across the camp that turned Hickey into the menace he has become, he was mad before the ship even set sail.

The episode begins with a flashback to before the ships left England. A young man named Cornelius Hickey reports for duty. He is a fresh faced young man who asks for advice for his first mission. “Just show up on time“, the officer responds, to chuckles from the fit and well-fed crew around him. It is confusing at first, because it is plain to see that the young man reporting for duty is not the Hickey that we know. He’s younger, clean-shaven, chubbier. I brushed it off as a flashback to farther back in time, back when Hickey was younger and reporting for duty on a different mission. I was wrong.

  In the present, Hickey joins John Irving and another crew member for a hunting expedition at the end of the episode. They crest a hill and find a small group of Inuit men dragging their hunt behind them on a sled. John tells the others to stay behind and he goes down to try to speak to the group. As he introduces himself to the Inuit and exchanges a bit of seal meat for his telescope, we can see Hickey and the other man on the top of the hill. When John asks the Inuit to stay in place, however, the two men are no longer on the horizon.

Worried, John hurries back up the hill to see a dark shape straddling one of the men, looking like a phantom plunging its hands into the body of its victim. As he approaches the figure, it shrugs off its coat to reveal Hickey, only in his underwear and holding a knife. He pounces on Irving like an animal, stabbing his chest over and over again. The brutal attack culminates in him holding his hand over John’s mouth as he bleeds to death, smirking and planning all the while.

  “Friend, Mother, Lover, all the things they say a ship is to a captain and they miss the only thing that matters… Confessor”- Francis Crozier

  The scene is inter-cut with another flashback, this time it is the Hickey we all know and love coming aboard the Terror, reporting for duty. He claims that the reason the officer doesn’t recognize him is because he grew out his beard, but we know the truth. He is not Cornelius Hickey. He is a foreign agent that has killed the real Mr. Hickey and taken his place on board this ship. We knew that he was a dangerous man, but we never really knew just how dangerous he was. Before, when wronged, we saw him defecate on his enemies beds or spread gossip about them behind their backs. Now, with the scene in the frozen wilderness and the flashbacks as our guide, we know that Hickey is an animal. He is just as dangerous as the lead in the food or Tuunbaq in the night. He is using this act to further the men’s paranoia and distrust. They are already in a horrific state, barely hanging on to sanity as it is, and Hickey wants to exploit that to get others to join his cause.

No scene better illustrates the state the men are in than the interaction between Collins and Dr. Goodsir earlier in the episode. Collins breaks down to the doctor over what he is going through. He’s not afraid or paranoid, as most of the men are. Instead, he’s disgusted with himself. In a scene that chilled my bones and gave the episode it’s title, Collins describes to Goodsir what has been going through his mind since the tragedy at Fitzjames‘ Carnivale:

  Collins: “Now I can’t stop smelling the Carnivale.” Goodsir: “The smoke, you mean.” Collins: “… More the meat… They were cooking, like fillets grilling… Those were my friends burning right next to me, but my mouth went from dry to wet in an instant. My nose and my stomach, they don’t know horrible from supper. But I do.”

  The men are hungry. They are exhausted. They are sick, and they are scared. What Hickey is doing is pushing men that are already close to the edge, like Collins, over to tumble down to their doom. Two foreign agents have wormed their way into the brains of the crew and lies, rage, hate, murder and cannibalism are not far behind. “Horrible from Supper” sets up the final three episodes perfectly, showing us the true monsters that await these men as they try to escape their fates.

There are only three episodes left of AMC’s The Terror, so there is still time to get caught up before it ends. If you don’t, then you are missing out on what has become the best show on television, one filled with scares, history, gore and monsters of all shapes and sizes. Keep your eyes on Nightmare on Film Street as we continue to recap each episode and give you the latest and greatest horror news available on the web. While you’re at it, join our Facebook group, Horror Fiends of Nightmare on Film Street and let us know what you think!

    The post [Recap] AMC’s THE TERROR Episode 7: “Horrible From Supper” appeared first on Nightmare on Film Street - Horror Movie Podcast, News and Reviews.

from WordPress https://nofspodcast.com/terror-episode-7-recap/ via IFTTT