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dear-yandere · 4 years

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☽ darling, don’t leave me.

yandere! jojos + dio. general headcanons. tw: mentions of physical abuse, gaslighting, confinement, and noncon (dio’s part).

art credits: rosuto, ぴの, wW 武 Ww, unknown, suan, tumbleweed.

Jonathan Joestar is obsessive.

A true gentleman, Jonathan knows better than to let his feelings stray from his control. Still, he’s never been one to pursue love, so these feelings are entirely new. He courts his darling like any other self-respecting man of his time, allowing them the space to choose whether or not they desire him too. He doesn’t take being turned down personally as he’s perfectly content with merely being by his darling’s side. Even seeing them fall for another man is something he cannot force himself to intervene in; every smile and laugh not directed at him hurts far worse than any punch he’s ever received, but Jonathan thrives in seeing his darling happy and carefree.

Clingy as he may be, he isn’t above taking a few of darling’s possessions should the opportunity present itself. A head band or hair tie here or there, perhaps a pair of gloves or a hat his darling is sure to not miss — Jonathan is surprisingly adept and subtle at stealing and keeping these little trinkets. Darling may notice a few missing possessions, but it’s nothing Jonathan can’t laugh off as a misplaced item and easily replace with something new and extravagant. Money isn’t a problem, especially when it comes to his sweetheart. If it means they’ll stay by his side — or even look his way as more than a friend or confidant — he’ll give his darling the world.

Overbearing and well-meaning as he is, even gentleman aren’t without their flaws.

“You don’t have to feel the same. All I ask is that you don’t leave me.”

Joseph Joestar is protective with a hint of possessiveness.

Acting much more like an older brother rather than a lover — similar to his grandfather Jonathan — Joseph is hyper-aware of anyone that might hurt his sweetheart. He’s not sure how it came to be this way, really; it’s a first for him to not know even his own feelings. His darling is easy enough to read, and perhaps that’s what got him into this situation, where even the slightest brush of skin against his or the mere sound of them saying his name sends his nerves on edge. He likes the attention they give him when he acts like a brotherly figure; there’s no need to worry about unwanted feelings developing between the pair. At least, darling doesn’t have to worry, because Joseph falls in love despite his precautions. It isn’t until a competent rival appears that Joseph becomes rather intensely possessive and competitive — a rival like Caesar.

He hates losing, especially when he had his eyes set on the goal first. The moment a suave man like Caesar sets their sights on Joseph’s darling, he’ll turn snarky, snappy with even his darling. It’s a brutally stark contrast to the playful, chipper demeanor he usually bears, but it’s easy for darling to play it off as him having a bad day — until he doesn’t relent. His grip is harsher these days, his tone more grating and condescending whenever darling shows interest in his rival. At some point, he’ll lash out whenever they show interest in any man other than him.

If his insecurities and one-sided love are kept unchecked, he has no qualms with cutting his darling’s connection to anyone he deems a threat.

“Of course I’m jealous! You’re mine! You need me!”

Jotaro Kujo is manipulative with a hint of sadism and lucidity.

With a cool and collected exterior, it’s easy to convince his darling that everything they believe is wrong. Even a lionhearted lover will doubt themselves; or rather, Jotaro would seek an individual like this out. He’s used to women and men swooning over his good looks and alluring physique, though he doesn’t care much for the attention. Even when he degrades and admonishes his admirers, they fawn and swoon over him — it’s nothing short of disgusting, really.

His ideal darling — the only type of person he’d seek out, rather than let come to him — is someone with a steel heart, someone hellbent on rejecting his words as law, someone who puts up a fight. Degrading and humiliating them will be a treat, a fun little challenge to come home to. He doesn’t want them to enjoy this in the slightest; he wants them to slowly break, to slowly doubt every piece of information they hear unless it comes from his mouth. Even the death of a loved one will seem surreal, exaggerated, fake unless he says so himself, and even then he won’t allow his darling that sort of luxury.

Once he’s tied his darling down (with a ring, and with ropes), they won’t see very much of him. As he pursues his career in Marine Biology, he’s often away on business trips, his only excuse for long periods of absence being “it’s too dangerous”, or some slew of insults thrown his darling’s way. He isn’t fond of divulging much of his personal life with them even if they are the love of his life; to him, secrets come hand-in-hand with relationships. Darling’s life is in danger simply by association; it’s best to act as if they don’t exist. Still, that doesn’t mean he’ll let them slip through his fingers. When he wants something, he’ll get it even if it’s eventual.

Darling was doomed the moment he found an inkling of interest in taming them.

“Don’t look so scared when I’m around. I shouldn’t have to repeat myself.”

Josuke Higashikata is protective with a hint of delusion.

Sweet and compassionate as he may be, Josuke isn’t immune to feelings of inadequacy, jealousy, and obsession. He rationalizes these feelings as merely being protective of a good friend of his, but it’s not until his friends point out that what he’s feeling is love that he truly understands why his heart pitters and patters like raindrops when his darling’s around. He completely understands if darling doesn’t return his feelings — these things take time, he’ll say — but he doesn’t take kindly to jealousy of any sort. A mere mention of liking someone else will have him moping and distancing himself, but he’ll stay around just enough to ensure his beloved’s protection.

Josuke wouldn’t fare well with a darling who’s familiar with getting under his skin. Even an insult or two to his hair isn’t enough for Josuke to give up on his one-sided love; if anything, it’s an opportunity. Crazy Diamond has the power to heal after all, and when Josuke’s emotions run away from him, his darling may end up with more than a few cuts and bruises. Bones will be shattered, blood will be spilled, and apologies will fumble past trembling lips as darling’s abuser fixes them up — as if nothing ever happened. The only trace of evidence are the tears in Josuke’s eyes and the excuses on his lips — this easily becomes the norm. Both he and his darling will constantly tread along eggshells, the former worrying that his actions destroyed any chance of a relationship and the latter worrying the next time they step out of line, they’ll die.

But Josuke wouldn’t let his sweetheart die, no. He can heal whatever wounds they may receive, even its its from him. He’s a platonic yandere, at worst, and an overbearingly violent one at best.

“Please don’t scream. People will think I did something terrible to you.”

Giorno Giovanna is manipulative with a hint of protectiveness and lucidity.

This soldato is cunning and intuitive, a natural-born leader with charisma rivaling his true father’s. He turns heads wherever he goes, inspires everyone he meets — it’s almost laughable how easy it is to twine people around his fingers. As a mere Passione soldato, he isn’t much threat to his darling, but as don, any hope of escaping his suffocating love is slashed. His control reaches farther than his darling can ever tread, and although he understands why his little coccinella would go so far as to run away, the thought of being without them is inconceivable. How can he protect them if they’re not at his side? Without him, darling could fall in love with the wrong person, someone who wears a mask and will hurt them once they’ve settled down together; without him, darling could fall in love with a monster. His step-father was like that, and he’d made Giorno’s childhood a living hell. So how could he let his darling tread that same path?

With a well-behaved darling, the don is a fairly normal lover... once they get past all the bodyguards and paranoia-filled lifestyle. Unlike his father, Giorno is not sadistic in the slightest; rather, seeing his darling in physical or emotional turmoil hurts him. He’s more apt to manipulate them in subtle, gentler ways rather than through brute force or threats. After giving them a new identity, he’ll keep them someplace safe, a private island off the coasts of Italy, somewhere heavily guarded and devoid of life except for his beloved and their bodyguards. It’ll be lonely, he’s sure, so he’s certain to visit whenever he has an ounce of free time. But even he can’t replace one’s need to feel social, safe, normal. That’s just the price his lover has to pay as the future spouse of a mafioso.

If he lived a different life, there’d be no need for all of this. Giorno’s love is bittersweet at best, but that realization isn’t enough to let his darling go. They need him, perhaps just as much as he needs them.

“I really can’t take it when you cry like that… smile for me, alright? You’re so pretty when you smile.”

DIO is sadistic, manipulative, and possessive.

Love has never done much for him, not in the way feeling powerful has. He prefers ruling over others rather than giving someone the ability to rule with or over him. His darling is nothing more than a plaything, at best — something to pass the time, something to sate his curiosity. Just how far can he push them before they crumble between his fingers and shatter like a precious gemstone? He takes pleasure in testing these boundaries, humiliating his darling as if that will help him understand this odd feeling humans call love. It’s possible for him to truly fall in love with his darling, but they will never take priority over his desire to end the Joestar bloodline. Perhaps, once he accomplishes this goal, his darling will be something nice to come back to, something stagnant and forever his.

He’ll go to lengths to break his darling, over and over again, see how much torture they can withstand before they realize that crying out or begging gets them nowhere. Will they hide their defiance under a facade of obedience, or will they truly break? It’s all an experiment to Dio, but either way, he’ll force them to be his little sex slave — sometimes, if they’ve behaved particularly nasty, darling will be the sex slave of his devoted followers, a little reward for being such wonderful subordinates.

Apart from sexual torture, he’s keen on testing his darling on tidbits of information from the books he reads — completely mundane and often vague questions designed to make his little slave fail. It’s just a precursor, really, because he likes seeing them shine with determination only for it to shatter before their eyes. Punishments always follow, usually humiliation or sexual assault of some sort; though if he’s in a particularly bad mood, he won’t shy away from physically hurting his darling. All the better to break them with.

It’s a miracle if darling survives this little game of his, but if they do, he’s certain to keep them around for far longer than he originally anticipated. Being immortal can get so boring, you see, and what’s the fun of bottomless money and endless casual sex if he can’t keep an entertaining and worthy slave here or there?

“Tell me you love me as I fuck you into the mattress.”

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b-yeonder · 4 years

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Hey are the requests open? If so, can you do a a-z nsfw for Lucifer? If they're not open then please ignore this. Anyways, I love your writing and I'm looking forward to more 😊😊😊

I’ve never done one of these before so I hope it’s okay. Also I struggle to take anything seriously so of course there’s gonna be some dumb shit in here. Anyway, hope you enjoy and thank you so much!

Warnings: NSFW, mentions of murder

NSFW A-Z: LUCIFER

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Lucifer can be rough - he's known to be a sadist after all but that doesn't mean he doesn't know how to look after you once he's had his way. Softens his voice, asks if you're okay, if there's anything you need. Will clean you up and praise you for how well you did. If it's him needing the aftercare, he's very quiet, playing over what just happened. Appreciates a drink and gentle caresses to bring him back down to earth

B = Body Part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

I think that Lucifer has quite a lot of insecurities - being told you're perfect all the time can make you dwell more on your flaws (or what you deem to be flaws.) But one thing he does like is his eyes. He knows he can make you lose yourself in his eyes with a single look. One look from across the room and he can have you begging for him within moments.On you he loves your hands. He doesn't let many people get close, let alone touch him, but your hands can ease his pains and make him feel loved. Massages, caresses, the way you hold his head against your chest at night, or the way you grip his cock so eagerly once he's riled you up. Also ties into a little somethin' I'll mention below in the D section eh ehhhh. (Oh and your mouth is a close second. (And not just because you called him baby boy once and had him malfunctioning for a whole hour.))

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Lucifer doesn't like the thought of cleaning up, so prefers to cum inside you - it's his main way of showing that you're his. But accidents happen and there have been times he's slipped out at the last minute and coated the skin of your stomach/back and for a moment he found himself admiring it - like a new way of marking you as his. Oh he also likes painting your tongue with his cum too because watching you swallow it makes his pride bl o s s o m.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Dirty to him anyway - he actually likes submitting to you. (Once you two are quite established.) Shock horror! But you're the only one he trusts to completely let loose with, and sometimes when you have this much pressure on you it's nice to let someone else take control. BE HONOURED. OH and the hand thing. He will fucking worship your digits. Kiss 'em, suck 'em, nuzzle 'em. OOF.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He's been around for a long time, so it goes without saying he's had plenty of experience. He's well versed in the basics and is quick to pick up on every little thing you like to use against you (in the best way possible).

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Likes being able to see your face, to watch every little sound escape your lips, every little sign of pleasure. Feeds off of it. But is not averse to shoving you face first into the mattress and fucking you senseless until you can barely utter a word. So y'know depends on his mood really.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Serious. But dumb shit can happen during sex and even the Mighty First is not immune to this. Will laugh stuff off and get things quickly back on track by muttering naughty things in that delicious voice of his. If you insist on being jokey he'll insist on making it so you can't do anything but moan ;)

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He's a busy guy, but he makes sure to always be groomed. This does mean that things get on top of him and well...don't blame the overworked tired bean if he gets a little unruly down there sometimes, okay?

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He's almost always quietly praising/encouraging you - in between the teasing of course.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He's a stressed mess, he needs to release his frustrations somehow. Does it less so since you came along, and honestly didn't masturbate too often before, but when he does it's a scene. He takes his time, making sure to work up to a glorious finish so that he can truly relax afterwards.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Probably has a Sir or Daddy kink. Kinda likes choking you as well. One time your hand slipped from his chest to his throat without you thinking and that's when he realised he kinda likes being choked too oii oiiii.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

His freakin' giant glorious bed because he's old and has back pain. Also bending you over his desk after rather troublesome days works too.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

You teasing him throughout the day. "MC you're eating that corn too sexually I'm going to have to teach you a lesson later." "Did you just call me mum? I don't care if it's an accident, I'm going to have to punish you later." "Did you just breathe? That's it, you asked for it." In all seriousness he rarely shows his want for you on the outside, but inside he'll be raring to ravage you. Depends on the day - one day you could have him popping a boner simply by rubbing your foot against his calf. The next, stripping naked and grinding on his face might not even make him blink.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

"Roleplay as Satan for me, Lucifer." You're probably dead before you even finish speaking those words, sorry I don't make the rules. (Oh wait I kinda do right now oops.)

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Prefers to give as he likes having the power over you to make you come completely undone. Can feel a little vulnerable receiving - maybe he got bitten by a devious ex lover, who knows, but once you get going and his confidence with you grows he likes nothing more than grabbing the back of your head and urging you to take more of him.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He can be both. Fast and rough are his go-to, and when he does go slow, his thrusts are still usually on the harder side.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He loves taking his time with you, as he likes driving you crazy for him but if the mood calls for it he has no issues with bending you over his desk and taking you right then and there. Will probably take extra care of you next time.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Damn straight he's down to experiment. Is curious to see how far both of you can go and what you're willing to do.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Only one round, his back hurts too much. I'm kidding, he can go a few rounds, and can last a long time. There have been a couple occasions he's cum rather fast - either when drunk, or it's been a while since the last time. Gets very embarrassed over it but knows it's natural and happens sometimes. (That’s not the norm though, he promises.)

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He got a bit crazy when you came along. Anything you like the sound of, he has. Already had blindfolds and things to bind you with - rope, ribbons, string cheese, you name it. But now you're here he has a whole collection of toys to tease you with. Even has a favourite vibrator he loves to leave strapped to your thigh so you can't get away from it. Ah, good times.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Biiitch. BIiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch. This monster is the biggest tease. "Hm...I'm not sure you deserve my cock today, MC. Now now, begging will get you nowhere." (It probably will eventually, just saying. ...Maybe.) He'll leave you on read for days but magically turn up just as you're about to pleasure yourself like "nuhuh bitch, not today."

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Fairly quiet - any sounds he does make are low in his throat, deep. Loses control closer to reaching his climax - gets breathier, speaks a little louder and noises are more frequent. Buuut once he did manage to wake up everyone in the house but that was because you'd been teasing him all day, you hadn’t slept together in like a week, and he'd been drinking and-- the list of excuses go on.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Was once convinced to try out women's underwear once after a conversation with Asmo and was pleasantly surprised by how nice his ass looked. Will never EVER tell anyone this though, not even you and shit I shouldn't even be writing this he's probably gonna-- Oh heyyy Lucifer, nothing to see here I was jus--*gurrKH*

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Decent length, decent thickness. Just enough to take a bit of work to fit in but not too much that it's uncomfortable, y'know?

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Not very high, definitely not above average. Can definitely go without, but his mind might wander.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Depends how tired he is, and how much is on his mind. You'll probably be the one to fall asleep first most of the time, which is great because he's good at giving after-sex cuddles. Plus your steady breathing makes it easier for him to sleep as well so...win win?

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truecrimeweekly · 3 years

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Aileen Wuornos

This week's post was inspired by one of my favorite movies, Monster. This murderer still raises so much conspiracy even almost twenty years after her death. Was this woman a victim? Or was she simply a monster?

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of murder, rape, incest, sexual assault and abuse

Aileen “Lee” Carol Wuornos, born Aileen Pittman, was born on February 29, 1956 in Rochester, Michigan. Her parents, Diane Wuornos and Leo Dale Pittman, were very young when they had her. Diane was only fourteen and Leo was sixteen. Aileen never got to meet her father due to him spending time in mental institutions and prison for child molestation. Eventually, he killed himself in prison. When Aileen was four, her mother abandoned her and her older brother, Kieth. She left them with their grandparents, Lauri and Britta Wuornos. They officially adopted Kieth and Aileen on March 18, 1960. Being with her grandparents, her life wasn’t much better. Both Lauri and Britta were alcoholics and Aileen claimed that her grandfather physically and sexually abused her. She also claimed that he would allow his friends to do the same. She also had sexual relations with her brother. When Aileen was eleve, she began performing sexual favors in exchange for drugs or food. At fourteen, Aileen got pregnant and was placed into a home for unwed mothers, The baby was put up for adoption. Some sources say the baby’s father was her brother, others say it was an older friend of her grandfathers. I tried to find any information on the baby now, but since it was a closed adoption, there is no information to find and he most likely has no idea who his biological mother is. Shortly after Aileen returned home her grandmother passed away and her grandfather kicked her out of the house. In order to support herself, Aileen worked as a prostitute.

In 1976, Aileen met a wealthy yacht club owner named Lewis Gratz Fell. They got married that same year, Lewis was sixty-nine at the time. Just nine weeks after their wedding, Lewis filed for divorce and got a restraining order against Aileen after she attacked him with his cane. After this, she continues her life as a prostitute. By this time, Aileen had already started her life of crime. In 1974, she was arrested for driving under the influence, disorderly conduct, and firing a .22 caliber pistol out of a moving vehicle. She failed to show up to court. In 1981, she was involved in a convenience store armed robbery. She was sentenced to prison in May of 1982 and released the following year in June. In 1986, a year Aileen would never forget, she was charged with car theft, resisting arrest, and threatening a male companion with a gun. Police also found a .22 caliber pistol and spare ammunition in her car. That same year Aileen met the one person she truly ever loved, Tyria “Ty” Moore, at a biker bar in Daytona Beach, Florida. This would be Aileen’s longest relationship, lasting four years. Aileen took care of Ty, supporting them by prostituting. Ty claimed to disapprove of this but she never left.

In December of 1989, Aileen committed her first murder. She claimed that her victim had raped her and she killed him in self defense. Though it was never brought up in court, this victim had previously done time in prison for sexual assault. He was shot six times, but the two bullets that hit his lungs were the ones that killed him. In June of 1990, her second victim was found naked and shot multiple times with a .22 caliber pistol. Days later, another body was found but was too decomposed to identify right away. Due to the similarities with the previous murders, police suspected they were killed by the same person. On July 4, 1990, a car belonging to a missing merchant seaman was found crashed. Witnesses described two women that were seen leaving the car. Police suspected Aileen after hearing the description and finding a bloody handprint that matched a fingerprint found on an item belonging to the first victim. In August of 1990, the body of a delivery driver was found shot twice also with a .22 caliber pistol. The following month, a former police chief was found in Marion County shot six times with the same gun. In November 1990, the naked body of a truck driver was found shot four times also with the same gun less than twenty-four hours after he was murdered.

Now this next part, since I want to keep it unbiased, I’m going to tell you what I found while doing research, then I’ll tell you what I believe. Please keep in mind when you read my opinion that it is just that. I may be wrong but it is what I believe happened. When Ty realized her and Aileen were wanted, she moved back to live with her sister. Police got into contact with her and made a deal. If she convinced Aileen to confess to the murders, she would be immune to any and all consequences. Ty agreed and on January 14, 1991 she began to call Aileen, pushing her to confess, saying she was scared to go to jail. Aileen promised her she wouldn’t let that happen. Two days later Aileen confessed to killing seven men and expressed that Ty was innocent. During the trial, Ty testified against Aileen. This was when Aileen figured out that Ty was responsible for her capture and began to cry when their recorded phone calls played. Ty claimed she knew only of the first murder and told Aileen she didn’t want details because she feared having to call the police if she knew more. She claimed that Aileen didn’t seem hurt or upset when she told her that she had murdered her first victim. Ty claimed to be suspicious after Aileen kept bringing back more and more stolen property. Now, here’s what I believe happened. I think that Ty not only knew about the murders but assisted Aileen either with the killing or with hiding the bodies. I think she was a coward who didn’t want to take responsibility for what she had done so she let Aileen take the blame knowing she would because of how much Aileen loved her. I think this is why she is so protective over her identity and why she refused to let the director of Monster depict her in any way other than being Aileen’s girlfriend. (No Selby is not a depiction of Ty and her character is made up to avoid any issues.) Again, this is just my opinion.

Only Aileen’s first murder made it to trial where she was charged with first degree murder, armed robbery with a deadly weapon and possesion of firearm of a convicted felon. Later she pleaded guilty for the six other murders, receiving a death penalty for each one. At first she had tried to say all seven murders were in self defense but later took back her statement saying only the first was self defense. On October 9, 2002, Aileen was executed by lethal injection in Florida State Prison. Her last words were, “I’d just like to say I’m sailing with the rock, and I’ll be back like Independence Day with Jesus June 6th. Like the movie, big mother ship and all. I’ll be back.” What do you think? Was she a victim? A monster? Both?

Let me know who you would like to see next.

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impala-dreamer · 4 years

Text

Rules Be Damned

SPN FanFic

~Look, in this line of work, something's always getting thrown at someone. There have to be rules. Rules that have to be followed. Unless, ya know, you need to break them...~

Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader, OFC

6,780 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Sex Pollen. DubCon-ish. Established Relationships. Fuck or Die. All the Smut.

A/N: This was based off an anonymous prompt from my One Day Only request line. Hope you all enjoy!

My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon ~ Find My Original Works on Amazon

Twigs broke under boots, branches gave way to waving arms.

The forest was loud that evening; wildlife screamed as they scrambled away from rushing bodies, birds overhead chirped in warning.

Three hunters with guns on the ready took on the woods like an invading army, stomping down grass, destroying bushes, kicking over habitats, unaware of the ecosystems dying around them. They were on a mission and they would not be stopped. People were dying, children disappearing. It was up to them to bring the terror that had befallen Silver Ridge to an end.

Y/N broke away from Dean and Sam, following her gut deep into the forest. She could have sworn she saw something move in the corner of her eye, and veered right when the guys went left. Now, even if she tried, she couldn’t see them through the trees; flannel and canvas was hidden by late summer greens.

The light was dying, sky turning golden ahead. Sun pulsed through the treeline like a strobe as she ran, trying to catch up with the phantom she’d seen.

Somewhere in the background, Dean yelled her name and she turned, nearly spraining her ankle as she stopped short, body moving towards his voice automatically.

“Dean?” she called back, but there was no answer, only an echo slapping her in the face. “Sam!”

The air shifted behind her and Y/N spun back around, catching a glimpse of the being she’d been chasing. The bastard was screwing with her. She was getting close.

“You wanna play games?” she asked under her breath, drawing up her pistol and taking a step. “We can play.”

She ran again, desperate to catch up with the monster. Every time she felt close, the fiend jumped further away. It was as if they were playing with a different set of rules; Y/N bound by earthly physics, and the target able to magically get around at will.

“Fuckin’ faeries.” Y/N stopped, out of breath and done with the chase. It was pointless anyway. “Coward!” She yelled, trying to incite the creature’s wrath. “Come out and fight me like a man!”

“Now, why would I do that?”

Y/N spun around in a full circle, eyes scanning the forest for the source of the comment. She held her breath as the air stilled around her, warming gently like the heat was finally coming up in an old house.

“Where are you!” she yelled, and finally, a figure appeared.

Awkwardly tall and too thin, with an alien yet beautiful face, the fae presented herself to Y/N. She wore no clothes that could be seen, but long golden hair covered her icy pale skin.

“Why would I want to fight like a man?” she asked, voice like a lullaby. “Men are not nearly as powerful as we women. It would be a disgrace to us both, to the fight itself, were we to act like men.”

Y/N couldn’t tear her eyes from the creature, enraptured by the halo of sunset that outlined her gentle curves; caught in the magic flowing from her pale pink lips, tranced by a voice too melodic and lovely to be real.

Somehow, she managed to blink enough to clear her mind. She raised her arm and took aim; gun trained on the fae’s head. “Why are you stealing the children!” she shouted, hoping her yell would bring the Winchesters to her aid.

The faerie smiled sadly. “We’re not stealing them,” she explained. “We’re giving them a new, better life. They want to be with us.”

Y/N grit her teeth and tried not to be pulling in by her sweet voice again. “You’re murdering their parents!”

“We do what we have to do.”

“So do I.” Y/N’s index finger pulsed on the trigger and she exhaled slowly, ready to shoot.

Before the muscles in her hand could contract, the fae struck in defense, shooting a single bolt of bright white lightning passed Y/N’s shoulder. It struck the tree behind her and Y/N looked up just as the canopy above came to life. Hundreds of pink flowers suddenly bloomed on the tree, aglow with sunset and magical dew. As she looked on, the flowers were illuminated in hot pink and blinding white light and the wind picked up, blowing the petals from their branches, raining down upon Y/N with a force that knocked her to the ground.

Her vision exploded in bright pink and red; the edges cut in snowy white. She felt the ground beneath her back, heard the rustle of leaves and petals, smelled the sweet perfume of exotic flora as she slipped into a warm dream.

A shot rang out, its loud boom echoing through the forest.

“Son of a bitch! Y/N!” Dean’s voice truly called out this time, but Y/N was nowhere to be seen. He’d clipped the fairy bitch, he was sure of it. A trickle of sparkling purple tainted the leaves where he’d last seen it. He ran a finger through the goo and grimaced. “What the hell is this? Blood? Come on. Next we’ll be hunting unicorns.”

Wiping the glittery blood on his jeans, Dean turned with his gun raised, squinting into the trees looking for the wounded fae. “Where’d you go, you stupid bitch!”

In response, Dean heard nothing but a faint moan from the forest floor a few paces away. Green eyes turned to a blanket of pink petals covering the ground, and a hand rose from the flowers.

“Y/N?”

He grabbed her hand and yanked, pulling Y/N up out of the thick mess of millions of pink flowers. She sat up and gasped, eyes wide and empty, lips parted and begging for air.

“Dean?”

He nodded and tucked his gun in his jeans, freeing up a hand to help her stand. “Yeah, Y/N/N. You OK? What the hell happened?”

She was covered head to toe in a faint dusting of gold and Dean wiped a bit from her cheek with his fingertips. She shivered at his touch and sighed. “Mmm. I don’t know,” she said, eyes rolling as if still stuck in a dream. “I...found the fairy and she...poof!” Y/N laughed at herself and looked up at Dean, patting his cheek with a glittery hand. “You shoot her?”

Dean sighed. “No. I clipped her. Bleeds purple, by the way. Like a freakin troll doll or something.”

Y/N giggled and pulled her hand away, leaving gilded fingerprints on his cheekbones. “Dean?” she smiled, licking her lips.

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna pass out now.”

He caught her as she fell, guiding her gently back down to the ground. “Well, crap. Sam!”

The younger, taller Winchester skidding to a halt a yard or so behind Dean. He scanned the perimeter quickly before rushing over to his brother.

“What happened?” Sam knelt and pressed his fingers to Y/N’s pulse.

“She’s not dead!” Dean snapped, shifting her carefully in his arms. “Just passed out. I found her buried under all these flowers.”

Sam pulled his hand back and rubbed his fingers together, looking at the golden dust inquisitively. “What’s all over her?”

“I have no idea- shit.”

As they looked on, the golden mist clinging to Y/N’s skin disappeared, pulled in deep through every pore until nothing remained. When the last bit was gone,Y/N’s eyes fluttered and she moaned happily, waking up with two handsome men looking down at her.

“Hello there,” she teased, voice dripping with honey.

Dean dropped his chin to look her in the eye. “You alright?”

Y/N smiled and dragged her hand slowly down his chest. “Yeah…” Her gaze dropped to the flannel under her fingertips as she rubbed it gently. “Wow, this is so soft.”

The brothers exchanged a silently worried look and Dean cleared his throat.

“Let’s get you back to the motel, huh?”

Y/N bit her lip and rubbed her forehead against his shoulder. “Mkay.”

The walk back to the car was nearly impossible. Y/N had to stop every few minutes to touch something. Trees, grass, flowers, rocks- nothing was safe from her hands and she was safe from none of it. Every new texture entranced her, every touch was electric. She was floating through darkening forest, high and in love with the universe, guided by a firm but careful hand.

When they got to the car, Y/N was nearly whimpering. It wasn’t just the firm pressure of Dean’s hand at the small of her back, or the luscious and oddly sensual textures of the world around her, but every step made her jeans rub against her inner thighs and it was driving her insane. By the time they reached the Impala, her pussy was throbbing.

Dean pulled open her door and nodded to the seat. “Why don’t you lay down? You look stoned.”

Y/N could barely hear him, her entire focus was drawn to the car. She ran her hands slowly across the curve of the roof and down to the trunk, biting her lip as the cool metal made her skin dimple.

“Y/N?” Dean watched her stop by the left taillight and rub herself against the car. She moaned as the hard steel pushed against her hips. “Y/N/N?” Her eyes rolled closed and her lip disappeared between a firm bite as she rocked forward again. “Hey!” He rushed towards her and pulled her from his Baby. “Are you… humping my car?”

Y/N laughed and slapped his shoulder hard. “You’re insane.” Her hand lingered on his arm and her eyes grew huge as the muscles beneath the fabric tensed. “You’re...so strong…”

Her chest heaved and Dean looked at Sam who simply shrugged and got in the car.

“Yeah...thanks. Get in.”

Inside was no better. The leather, the windows, the upholstered roof; Y/N’s touch was immune to none of it and every pass of her fingers made her body quiver. Everything felt so good.

Dean turned the engine and glanced in the rearview. Y/N was in the middle of the seat, head back, hands trailing down her extended neck. She hummed and chewed her lip, let her eyes roll back as the pleasure took over.

He swallowed hard as a wave of heat flooded his senses. “Shit.”

Sam turned to look at him. “You OK?” His turn continued and the sight of Y/N massaging her breasts behind him made his heart skip. “Oh.”

Dean nodded, practically drooling as he watched her reflection. “Yeah.”

“We should get back,” Sam suggested, hazel eyes desperate to stay locked on her lustful expression while his brain told him to look away.

Dean squirmed in his seat, hands suddenly caressing the steering wheel as Y/N dropped a hand down her stomach. “Yeah…”

When the zipper of her jeans fell, both men shook themselves awake.

“You OK to drive?” Sam asked, cheeks red and flushed.

“I’m always OK to drive.” Dean sneered at Sam but swooned as he looked away, feeling so aroused that it was almost painful.

From the backseat, Y/N moaned loudly and Dean accidentally looked back to see her right hand disappear into her blue cotton panties.

“Fuck.”

Sam snuck a peek too and regretted it instantly. He cleared his throat. “Drive.”

The twenty mile ride back to the motel was rather intense. Y/N had somehow stripped enough to slip two fingers into her cunt and the sound of her fucking herself was made Dean so hard his cock could drive if he unzipped.

Sam was deep into the lore on his tablet, but not immune to the wet slide behind him or the pitiful whimper as Y/N tugged on her nipples. She’d hiked her bra up above her tits so she could reach, and twisted hard until each side was sensitive and ruddy.

“God, I...fuck!” She could barely speak when they pulled into the parking lot, riding the edge with her feet spread and heels dug into the leather seat.

Sam hurried to his room, unable to sit in the car any longer listening to her symphony of ecstasy.

Dean refused to look back, knowing he’d never make it out of the car if he did. His hand kept creeping closer to his cock; every touch of his fingers on his thighs making his blood sing.

“Come on, Y/N,” he said, painfully sauntering to the back door. “Let’s get inside.” He pulled open the door and gasped.

Y/N’s fingers were knuckle deep, her wrist slick and shining, her mouth open in a silent cry.

“Fuck.” He pushed down on his erection, hoping to relieve it a bit, but all it did was make his ears ring. “Come on, baby, inside.” He reached for her but Y/N couldn’t stop the rhythmic pumping of her hand.

“Can’t...stop,” she whimpered, turning her lust-darkened eyes to Dean. “Feels too good. Too good...too good…”

Dean swallowed hard and took her free hand, noticing instantly how soft her skin was, how warm. “OK,” he said gently. “Just...um…suck on your fingers while we walk, OK? That will feel good, won’t it? You like doing that.”

Y/N grinned and nodded absently as she pulled her hand from her cunt, giving her clit one more tap before letting go. “Yeah. I like to suck,” she agreed.

Dean whistled. “I know you do, babygirl. OK, come on.”

He helped her stand, trying not to brush his hand across her firm nipples as he lowered her shirt; screaming internally as he tugged her jeans back up.

Y/N sucked on her fingers, rolling her tongue around and between, making the most obscene noises Dean had ever heard outside of a Skinemax pay per view. “‘M so ot, De,” she mumbled around her hand, spit leaking from the corners of her mouth.

Dean managed to get the key in the lock and shove the door open. “What?”

“I’m so hot!” she exclaimed, pulling her fingers away as she stumbled into the room. She tugged at her shirt.

“Yeah,” Dean sighed lustfully, watching her rip the clothes from her sweat-covered body as he shut the door. “You really fucking are.”

Once naked, Y/N sighed loudly, her entire body shivering as the air conditioner spit slightly cool air through the room. “I feel...so… good,” she slurred, fingertips plucking at her bottom lip. She ran a hand down her body and back up, squeezing her breasts as Dean watched on in awe.

His dick was painfully full, aching, crushed against his tight jeans. “Jesus.” He pushed his palm down against it and his jaw shook as a wave of pleasure hit his system.

“So...soft...so...hot.” Y/N turned and looked at Dean with crazed eyes, her mind flooded with lust. “You wanna touch?” she asked, slipping her right hand down between her thighs.

Dean’s tongue tried to escape, but he pulled it back as he cleared his throat. “You’re killing me, Y/N/N.” He looked away, falling down onto the ratty old sofa, hoping to catch his breath.

“Touch me, Dean,” she cooed, dipping her fingers inside her slick pussy. “Need you…” Her brows twitched and she pouted, spreading her knees just a bit so she could slide her hand in deeper. Every movement made her gasp in tiny breaths until her chest was heaving and Dean’s mind was reeling.

“I…fuck.” Unconsciously, he’d been rubbing his cock through his jeans, consumed with how good the simple touch felt. If he felt this good, she must feel even better. “No. No. Just… you’ve been cursed with something. Just ride it out, baby.”

Y/N bit her lip and growled. “Mmm...I could ride you.” She smirked and pinched her nipple hard, pulling it out as far as she could, watching Dean’s reaction.

He let out a heavy breath through puckered lips, almost in pain as she showed off for him. “Just lay down, will you? Shit.”

Still touching herself, Y/N backed up slowly until the bed caught her at the knees. She fell backwards, landing with a puff of blankets, and spread her legs wide. “Curse or not,” she sang, “this is...amazing.” She crooked her wrist and dug her fingers in deep, slowly petting her g spot as everything trembled. “God, I feel like… like… it’s so… mmm.”

Dean’s left hand was traveling upwards, gliding over his own stomach as he watched her thrash on the bed. His mind was clouded but his resolve was true. She was under a spell. There were strict rules about these sorts of things; there had to be. One or more of them were constantly getting hit with strange spells or picking up the wrong object at a crime scene. Something was always happening and without rules, there would be trouble.

“Dean…” She called to him, moaning his name again and again as her cunt clenched.

He bit his tongue and tugged at his nipples, only then realizing that he’d torn his layers away.

“Dean, I need you.” Her hips rocked.

His throat tightened. “Sam’s looking for a cure, I’m sorry, baby.”

Impossibly, she spread her legs even wider and rubbed furiously at her clit. “Please…”

“We…” Dean was panting around his words, fingers closing firmly around his dick. “We have rules, Y/N/N…”

"Screw...your...rules…" Her voice was weak, high and full of frustration. Her arms were growing heavy, tired from their work, but her arousal was only growing stronger. "Not like...we haven't…" Y/N choked on her words as a rush of bliss washed through her. "Fuck!"

Dean sank deep into the dusty couch cushions as he jerked his cock in time with her movements. He tried to stop, to pull himself out of it, but logic could only fight so hard. "I know, but… this isn't...there's…"

Y/N sat up suddenly, her eyes locked on his fat erection, lips wet with drool. "If you say rules again so help me." Her pupils dilated fully, her skin flushed. Y/N watched as his fist slid up and down, up...and...down…

"Dean."

She was on him before he could respond, and he blinked up at her in awe as she ran a pair of boiling fingers down his chest.

He hissed at her touch. "Jesus, why does that feel so good?"

Y/N's eyes sparkled with golden light and she sank to her knees in front of him. "Need your cock, Dean." Her voice was steady, monotone yet certain. He could hear how heavy her breaths were, feel their heat fan across his belly.

"We should wait...fuck."

He melted instantly, letting go of the rules when her lips brushed over his cock. She kissed the tip and looked up with eerily bright eyes, so happy that he was finally giving in.

"Need your cock," she said again, taking a longer taste. "Need to suck."

Dean dropped a hand to the nape of her neck and squeezed gently. "So...suck."

Again, a flash of gold lit her eyes, but Dean didn't notice. He was too lost in the push of her lips as they moved down his shaft, the hot slide of her tongue against his pulsing vein, the slight scrape of her top teeth over his head.

Y/N moaned as she worked; her legs spread, pussy dripping onto the ugly carpet. Every pass of her lips made her cunt hungrier, every satisfied groan from Dean made her suck harder. Her head was empty, thoughts drifting far into the background. Her vision swirled with gold and pink; everything was warm and delicious. Everything came back to sex.

"Need to fuck," she hummed, pulling away from Dean's cock with a loud pop of perfectly locked lips. She pumped him fast with both hands, licking at the tip like a lollipop. "Need to fuck...now."

Dean licked his lips and opened his eyes, looking down at Y/N with fully blown pupils. "Get up here," he growled, tugging at her arms to help her up.

He lost his breath as she sank down into his lap. Her body was so hot, skin so smooth, cunt so slick. Her thighs laid gracefully atop his, her hands curled around the nape of his neck. She kissed him slowly, tongue penetrating his hushed lips.

"Dean…"

His eyes flew open; green rimmed in gold. "Move." His teeth were clenched tight; his fingertips dug into her waist. "Now."

Y/N sucked at his bottom lip and rode him hard, using all of her strength to fuck herself on his thick cock. He clung to her back, holding her close, helping her move, utterly lost in the sensations that flooded his system.

Hot, sweet, wet, firm, soft.

Harder.

Faster.

Tighter.

"Need your cum," she cried; voice deafening against his ear.

Dean locked his arms around her and stood up, managing to turn towards the bed before stumbling forward. They fell together in a heap of sweat and lust; lips reaching, fingers clawing.

He slammed inside of her, pumping in languid strokes until she shifted beneath him, arching her back and lifting her hips just an inch. She spasmed around him, cumming hard, eyes gilded and wide, mouth a perfect circle of cherry red.

Dean's jaw twitched as he came, holding back a wild howl. Every muscle contracted, every nerve ending exploded with feeling. He doubled over, kissing her madly before rolling away, out of breath and exhausted.

The light dimmed from his green eyes and he smiled, drunk on the afterglow. “That was...wow.” He chuckled and scrounged around for the pillow, bunching it up beneath his cheek. “Rules be damned. Ha!”

Y/N was still squirming. Her fingers ran slowly up and down her sides, in between her thighs, over each breast. Her breath was steady but deep; chest rising and falling with dramatic dips that Dean missed entirely as his eyes fell closed.

“You OK?” he mumbled absently before letting out a snore. “I just gotta...take five…”

The heat was rising again and Y/N whined as she tugged on her nipples, forcefully rubbing her thighs together for a hint of friction. “Need cock...need to fuck.” Her words were crisp and pathetic, but Dean was well passed hearing her pleas.

Desperation brought her back to the sofa and Y/N climbed onto the arm, straddling the upholstered corner. Her thighs closed tight and she bent forward; bare tits grazing the old fabric. She moaned as her nipples responded, bit her lip as her clit rubbed hard against the arm.

“Need to fuck!”

Sam knocked but didn’t wait for an answer, walking in with his head down, his eyes glued to his phone. He scrolled upwards with his thumb as he spoke, making sure he was accurately relaying his findings.

“So get this, if I’m looking at this correctly…”

Y/N froze as soon as Sam began to speak, his deep voice churning inside of her and grabbing every ounce of attention. She stilled her rocking against the sofa and stood up, turning towards Sam as he shut the door behind him.

“...this tribe of faerie are mostly tricksters, and I think…”

Y/N licked her lips as her eyes flashed; golden and bright. She crossed the room quickly and was pressed up against Sam before he even looked up.

“...this curse was just a...oh!”

Her hand slipped up beneath his flannel, fingertips rolling over the hard lines of his abdomen. “Sam.” She whispered his name like a song, pushing her nakedness up against him.

Sam gasped, holding his breath as her hand dipped between his waist and his jeans. Her skin was hot, her touch soft and inviting. He suddenly felt… good.

“Y/N, stop." His tone was as weak as his resolve, and logic waned as her fingers brushed the base of his swiftly stiffening cock. "We...you're under a spell. Shit." Her palm pressed into him and Sam sucked his teeth. "Oh, god."

"Need you, Sam," she begged with a pout; firm tits rubbing against his arm. "Need to fuck."

A hand wrapped around the back of his neck. Y/N pushed up on her tiptoes, desperate to drag his lips down to hers. Sam gave in to the moment and looked down into her eyes, ready to let go just once and live in the moment.

Her fingers pulsed around his dick.

He bent down to her lips.

Her eyes glowed with golden light.

"Stop!" Sam pushed her away as gently as he could, forced back into reality by her preternatural gaze. "Y/N, we have to wait it out, OK?" He looked at the bed for the first time since arriving and saw that Dean had not had the same fortitude to hold back. "Shit."

Y/N cocked her head and poured. "Don't you want me?" she asked, presenting her hard nipples for him. She pushed her tits together from beneath, holding them up for his inspection. "Touch me, Sam." Her voice was strange to his ears, empty but rhythmic and for a moment, logic seemed a waste.

Sam stared at her breasts, his jaw slack, jeans tight.

Y/N took a step towards him. "Please, Sam. Need to feel you. All of you."

He lifted his right hand and she held her breath as it hovered over her chest.

"Need to fuck." The gold returned to her eyes. "Need to...cum."

"Shit!" Sam turned away, forcing himself to stay calm. His cock was aching already; laying long and hard against his thigh. His skin was tingling, begging to touch and be touched, but he pushed it all away with a steady breath. "You had been put under a love spell," he said, to her as much to himself. "It was just a distraction so the fae could get away. It will wear off, we just have to…" Y/N pressed herself against his back, hands sneaking around to have their way with him. "...we just have to…" Hot fingers reached up to brush across his nipples and Sam shivered. "...have to stay…" A small but determined hand curved over his erection, rubbing through the denim. "...strong."

Sam's eyes glazed over and his head tipped back as Y/N ran her hands over him. Like magic, she managed to pry the flannel from his shoulders, pull the gray tee up and over his head. She ran her lips across his skin; tongue tracing every line like it was her own. She felt so good, hitting every spot like he had given her a map to his arousal.

"Y/N…" His breath curled into her name.

Her mouth was wet on his hip bones; fingers tugging at his belt.

"Need your cock."

The monstrously mindless tone struck his ears and Sam snapped out of it again, immediately backing away. "No."

She rushed at him, pathetic and needy, yet filled with unnatural strength. "Need to fuck!" She grabbed at him, but Sam was stronger, grabbing both of her wrists to try and subdue her. "Need to fuck!"

"You need to calm down!" he countered, spinning her so that her hands were pinned behind her back.

Y/N let out a cry that nearly broke his heart. She thrashed in his grip, pulling so hard that Sam was afraid her shoulder would dislocate. "Please!"

He let her go and Y/N spun around.

"Sam. Please." Wide eyes went soft as she called to him, and suddenly, Y/N's entire frame began to crumble. Her shoulders slumped, her knees went weak, the ground began to rise.

Sam scooped her up before she fell and held her close. "I'm sorry, Y/N," he whispered gently into her hair. "It'll be over soon."

"Sam?" Her whisper snuck upwards from the cave of his arms, and Y/N slid a hand with it.

"Yeah?"

The hand closed around the firm muscles of his shoulder, massaging with salacious intent.

"Need you, Sam. So bad."

He inhaled deeply; the smell of forest and sweat in her hair making his eyes roll gently. Her head turned, cheek on his chest replaced by lips, and Y/N kissed her way across the broad expanse, enjoying every twitch of tanned flesh.

"Fuck me, Sam," she sang. "Need to fuck."

When she popped the buckle of his belt, Sam growled in annoyance, mad at himself for falling again.

"Damnit!"

It wasn't easy to tie her up, but he made it sound like a game.

Sam sat her down and lovingly drew his hands across her bare arms until he could cuff her wrists to the chair. She hummed in aroused excitement as he knelt before her and carefully tied each ankle, spreading her naked pussy wide, but taking away all ability for her to move. She moaned happily as he stood back up, her mouth watering as his open zipper came back into view.

"Kinky Sam," she teased, lips reaching for him as he made sure the restraints weren't too tight. "Needs to tie a girl up before they fuck. I can get into that."

Sam sighed. "No. We're going to wait this out."

Arousal turned to fear. "What? No." She tugged at her cuffs. "Sam. No. Need to fuck. Please!"

He shook his head sadly and backed away. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Why!” she begged, squirming as much as she could to break free. “Don’t you want me? I want you so bad, Sam. So bad. I need you.”

He turned away; he had to. There were rules.

Dean was still passed out on the bed, somehow sleeping through all of Y/N's yelling, so Sam sat on the sofa, out of her sight. He hoped being quiet and out of view would calm her down, but she only thrashed harder, screamed more desperately.

"It'll be over soon," he assured her again and again, holding his head up with a tired hand. "It'll be OK."

Eventually, she called, flailing lessening to a mild twitch every few seconds. Her entire body would jerk violently and then settle; her head would roll from side to side. When her moans softened to weak murmurs, Sam relaxed, sitting back against the couch.

"You're gonna be fine, Y/N/N. We're all gonna be fine."

Y/N's head dropped, chin resting on her chest, and Sam closed his eyes for a blessed second of peace.

"What's going on?" A groggy Dean sat up in bed and twisted at the waist to see Y/N tied to a chair. "What the hell, Sam!"

Sam looked up and then away quickly as Dean's naked ass met his eyes. "Dude. Pants."

Dean rolled his eyes but grabbed his boxers before rushing over to Y/N. "What did you do to her?"

"Me?" Sam sat forward. "Nothing. She came at me- well, kept coming at me. I- she's under a spell. I had to."

Dean looked her over carefully, green eyes growing wide with concern. "Sam, she's not breathing." Panic rose. "Y/N!" He slapped her cheek and she came back, sucking in a heavy breath. "Fuck."

Her eyes fluttered. "Fuck? Please."

Dean let out a brief sigh of relief then looked to Sam. "What'd you do?"

"I wouldn't touch her and she kept coming at me. I don't know." He rushed to her side and her entire body began to tremble.

"Need...to…" Y/N's eyes rolled to white and she panted, unable to draw in another normal breath. "Please…"

Dean's forehead creased down the middle as worry flooded his mind. "What's happening?" His hands hovered over her body, afraid to land and hurt her.

Sam pressed to finger to her throat and closed his eyes, counting. "Her pulse is weak. I…fuck, she's cold." He pulled away and Y/N screamed at the loss of his touch. Tears ran down her cheeks as she choked for lack of air.

"She's dying, Sam!" Dean dropped to the floor and set to untying her left ankle. "Y/N! Come on, baby, wake up." He placed a hand on her thigh and the trembling stopped.

Y/N's head rolled. "Please."

Sam felt her pulse again and looked at Dean, confused. "It's helping...keep touching her."

"What?" Dean sat back, his hand slipping from her skin.

Y/N whined painfully. Her pulse dropped.

Sam clenched his jaw and reached for her breast, closing his palm over the quickly cooling flesh. Her pulse picked up and her breathing slowed. She moaned happily and Sam shook his head.

"We need to fuck her," he said softly, rubbing her tit gently.

Dean hesitated. "Excuse me?"

Y/N's trembling turned to squirming as Sam rolled her nipple between two large fingers. "It's the curse," he told Dean. "We fuck her or…"

"Please, Sam," she moaned, chewing her lip. "Please."

"Or?"

Sam squeezed her. "Or she dies."

Dean's face ran the gambit of emotions, settling on amused concern. "You know... I just did. Why-"

"Maybe it wasn't enough?"

"It was more than adequate!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "For the curse, Dean."

"Oh." He cleared his throat. "Yeah. Well. Ok, then." He dropped his hand back to her thigh and Y/N hummed gratefully. Her hips lifted a bit and Dean's eyes were drawn to the wet flesh of her exposed cunt; juices flowing, lips swelling. His mouth watered. "Maybe she just needs to cum real bad."

Y/N's stomach tensed. She tugged at her cuffs. "Yes. Cum. Need to cum. Please!"

Gingerly, Dean ran his hand upwards and her skin warmed to the touch.

Sam’s fingers on her pulse registered the change and he nodded at Dean. “Do it.”

“Please, Dean,” Y/N whispered desperately. “Make me cum, please. Need to cum...so bad.”

His fingers slid into the crease of her thigh and Dean ran his thumb across her swollen slit. It was slick and Y/N moaned enthusiastically.

“Yeah. Please. Please!”

Dean pushed his thumb into her cunt and Y/N took in a deep breath, her eyes glowing bright as she looked down at the elder Winchester.

“Fuck me, Dean.”

He rocked forward on his knees and pressed his lips to her clit in a suckling kiss that made her hips shake.

“Yes. Please! Need to fuck. Need to cum!”

Sam felt her come back to life; saw the color flood back through her veins. As Dean rolled his tongue through her wetness, Sam let her go and slowly took a step back.

Y/N let out a painful whine. “Sam, no.” She struggled to reach for him, wrists tight against the cuffs. She turned her head towards him, lips puckering, eyes locked on his jeans. “Please!”

His cock swelled but he hesitated; the golden hue in her eyes the only thing reminding him that they were operating under magical circumstances. If it weren’t for her failing vitals, the entire scene might have been out of one of Y/N’s midnight, whiskey-fueled confessions, but it was all wrong.

A single tear escaped and trailed down Y/N’s cheek. Golden or no, her pretty eyes begged for him. “Don’t let me die, Sam…” Her strength ebbed and her head rolled; the tight in her shoulders and arms was fading, she was fading.

Sam took a breath. “I won’t, babygirl.”

The moment his cock passed between her lips, Y/N came back to life. She licked him until hard then sucked down everything he had to give her. Sam couldn’t deny the extreme sensation; there was something warmer, something softer, something more amazing about her tonight than ever before, and it wasn’t long before he was fucking into her mouth without regret.

Dean crooked his fingers deep inside her pussy and Y/N came, clenching around his knuckles. She stilled for a moment, but the whimpering returned; she needed it from both ends, needed to be so filled she couldn’t breathe.

With his right hand still massaging her cunt, Dean untied her ankles, distracting her with kisses and tiny bites on her inner thighs as Sam pulled away to open her cuffs.

They were careful to keep their hands on her at all times, at least one man doing something to her as they moved to the bed. If they were gone at the same time, she crumbled, blood pressure dropping, heart rate falling. They needed to keep her going just a little while longer.

“Need your cum,” she moaned, weak limbs thrashing on the bed as Sam helped her to her knees. “Need it so bad.” Her eyes rolled back painfully and Sam grit his teeth, gently shaking her back awake.

“Hey! Hey, hang on,” he told her, kissing her eyes back open. “Stay with us.”

Behind her, Dean gave his brother a grave look. “How much longer?”

Sam shrugged and lay back, pulling Y/N with him, safe in his arms. “I don’t know, just...just do it.”

Y/N sagged against Sam's chest, barely breathing. "Please. Need to fuck. Need your cum."

Brushing her cheek, Sam guided her eyes up to his. "Just hang on, you hear me?"

She nodded as best she could, and Sam shoved his tongue between her lips, revving her back up as if his kiss were electro shock. She breathed deeply and sat up on her own, clawing at his chest and moaning into his mouth.

Dean snuck up from behind and ran his hand firmly down her spine. "Come here, baby. I want that sweet pussy. Now." He slapped her ass gently and Y/N responded, walking backwards on her knees until Dean could take what he wanted. He plunged two fingers into her cunt and pumped slowly, covering his hand in her hot slick.

Sam's cock stood tall before her gilded eyes and Y/N took a taste, flicking at him with the tip of her tongue. With a smirk, Sam scooted down a bit and let her have it all, laying back as she closed her lips around him.

Dean fucked her steadily, his hands locked on her hips, thighs slamming firmly into her ass. Every thrust pushed her down onto Sam and every buck of Sam's hips in retaliation sent her deeper into Dean's thick cock.

She was in heaven, she was lost in the feeling; so full, so happy, so utterly and undeniably distracted. She screamed around Sam's cock as she came again, flooding Dean's cock and the stiff sheets below. Her cunt pushed and pulled at him until he couldn't hold back, and his head flew back as he came, adding to the mess at his knees.

Sam felt them both go and watched carefully as the gold dimmed in Y/N's eyes. He pushed a hand through her hair and held her in place, taking over as he reached his end. He jerked his hips hard, fucking into her tiny, hot mouth. Y/N moaned when he came, barely able to swallow him all down. It dribbled with her spit from the corners of her mouth, sliding less than gracefully down her naked body, pooling on the bed below.

She looked up as Sam pulled back and gasped, the golden light vanishing totally from her eyes.

"Fuck!" She held her breath as the room grew dark around her and collapsed into a heap between the brothers.

"Y/N!" Dean grabbed at her, carefully spinning her onto her back. "Y/N!"

Sam grabbed her wrist and sighed in relief. "She's fine. Pulse is steady." He turned away to grab his shorts and shook his head. "Ya know, we have rules for a reason, Dean."

Green eyes looked up from the bed. "I know the rules. She was dying!"

"She wasn't until you touched her."

"Excuse me?" Dean shot up from the bed, ready to fight. "I didn't do this. I was dosed too, if you don't remember."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "So was I."

"So maybe it was your fault for touching her!"

"You flat out fucked her ten minutes after getting back here."

Y/N sat up on her elbows and groaned at the boys. "You both fucked up!" she interjected, pulling the feuding hunters apart. "Now you're both gonna get over here and give me some goddamned aftercare!"

Dean laughed and Sam blushed.

"Yes, ma'am," Dean sang, hopping to get back into bed.

Y/N stopped him with a reprimanding hand. "Oh, no. You," she said pointing at Sam, "get me a wet towel. And you-" her eyes flew back to Dean, "are gonna go get me some food."

Dean pouted. "But...cuddles?"

Y/N laughed. "After pizza."

2020 Forever Tags:

@67-chevy-baby @akhuna01 @amanda-teaches @autumnmoon @because-imma-lady-assface @blondemarvelchick @blushingjared @broiderie @burningcoffeetimetravel @classic-rock-angel @coopercharlie16 @cosicas-cuquis @covered-byroses @crashdevlin @deansgirl215 @deans-baby-momma @deangirl7695 @deanwanddamons @deanwinchesterswitch @defenderrosetyler @desiree---1986 @dolphincliffs @dontshootmespence @edge-oftonight @emoryhemsworth @eternal-elir @fandom-princess-forevermore @fangirlxwritesx67 @feelmyroarrrr @flamencodiva @focusonspn @herbologystudent252 @heycasbutt @hornyandsmol @ilovefanfic86 @i-love-superhero @ilsawasanacrobat @imjustadrummer @ivvitm1109 @joseyrw @justagirlinafandomworld @justcallmeasmodeus @katymacsupernatural @laxe-from-outer-space @leatherandfrackles @lessons-of-red @letsby @letsdisneythings @lonewolf471 @maddiepants @mariekoukie6661 @meganwinchester1999 @melbelle45 @missjenniferb @mrswhozeewhatsis @mummybear @onethirstyunicorn @our-jensen-ackles-love @screechingartisancashbailiff @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @starboycas @stephaniecanfield96us @stoneyggirl @squirrelnotsam @thebookisbtr @the-chocolate-moose @thehardcoveraddict @thevelvetseries @veevm @winchestersister55 @wendibird @winecatsandpizza @winterpoohbear

#spn fanfic #dean x reader #sam x reader #smut shot

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fearfulkittenwrites · 4 years

Text

Gala and “I’m allergic to bullshit.”

Word count: 2244

Link for it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26180371

Notes: Hey! This was beta'd by @3ambird , who is an amazing sweetheart and improves evertything they touch. Thank you for the help!

Galas were never fun. Bruce had hated them as a kid, and hated them as teen, and he hates them as an adult. Still, he has to maintain appearances, so he always attends. And as his family grew, his kids were forced to attend as well.

Dick Grayson was particularly good at socializing. After he moved past his teenage rage, of course. He used to get in passive aggressive arguments with the rich CEOs and company owners all the time. He still does, but at least now he was good at it to the point where it almost couldn’t be recognized as an argument, instead of jumping on the necks of greedy millionaires that bought land out of poor people.

That was an interesting headline.

Jason sucked at galas. Soon enough, he figured out that if he started enough awkward conversations, people wouldn’t want to talk to him anymore. Especially the creepy single older women, pinching his cheeks and squeezing his biceps.

“Say, Claire, what’s your opinion on the alarming rate at which the bees are disappearing? They say that’s because of all the chemicals we put in our food.” He’d smile, carefully holding his glass. Bruce would struggle to hide his gasp, because Jason, that’s the owner of the highest earning pesticides company in the country.

“Well, Roger, I’m certain that the legalization of abortions would be a great thing, considering that now your mistresses won’t have to be sent overseas to terminate the unwanted preganancies you give them, right?” He’d say, and Bruce would nearly have a heart attack, because Jason, that’s the president of Gotham’s conservative party.

“Oh, you see, Sandra, I think that gay marriage should not only be legalized, but encouraged. If straight couples were to cease existing, then no more children would be born, and honestly, no one needs any more of those snotty gremlins running around, ruining perfectly good tapestry.” And Bruce would faint, because Jason, for God’s sake, that is the leader of the Gotham’s Motherhood Association.

Tim wasn’t all that bad. He could be social with a little effort, and he was far more used to galas than any of the other family members, having grown up attending them. Of course, all of that was only valid when he wasn’t sleep deprived, which, considering all he had on his plate, was roughly 32% of the time. When he was running on three hours of sleep and seven cups of caffeine a day, trying to finish a project, run his share of the Wayne Enterprises, and manage school work, he became a bit more irritable and impatient. And extremely impulsive. Which is mainly why Bruce asked Dick to stand by his brother through most of the night.

“We both know you’re his impulse control, Dick.” He said, adjusting his oldest son’s tie “Remember what happened the last time he was left unattended for fifteen minutes?”

“He got into an argument with a young Creationist and dunked his own head in an ice bowl after screaming ‘Fuck God! I can hear colors and dinosaurs rule!’” Dick sighed, “Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Cass despised them, but Bruce insisted she should attend anyway. More often than not, she’d just stay at the table, tasting as many appetizers as the waiters would bring her, and shooting murderous looks at anyone who sneered at her. Bruce was relieved that at least she wasn’t cracking any bones.

Damian was... Better than Jason and worse than Dick. He had an unamused expression through most of the event, and would unceremoniously swat away any hands that tried to pinch his cheeks. Other than that, he wasn’t much trouble. The real trouble were galas all Wayne kids attended. The five of them could cause enough trouble when they were apart, together they were the embodiment of chaos.

And this was supposed to be a calm, slightly boring family evening. It really was.

But Bruce just had to bring all five of them.

Everything had to go just right. As they walked in through the red carpet, the media was eating up the image of the six Waynes dressed formally; Each of them had a tie color matching their hero uniform (a cheeky thing they enjoyed doing to play with the theorists minds), Dick had a dark blue one, Tim and Jason slightly varying tones of red, Damian had a green one and Bruce had a black one. Cass wore a long black dress that sparkled when it was hit by the light in just the right way.

The first sign was the reporter, who, while aggressively pointing a microphone in their faces, asked pushy questions about relationships and the like, nothing out of the ordinary, until he shoved it in Cass’ face and asked her if she could even speak. Jason almost broke the man’s nose. Bruce silently thanked God for Dick, who stepped in front of the man before that happened.

“Try some shit like that again pal, you’ll hear from our lawyers.” He led his sister inside, a protective hand on her back.

They calmed down. And Bruce still had hopes that this would be a quiet evening.

Looking back at it, he doesn’t know why.

Because as Dick and Cass were at the bar, ordering drinks, a woman stood next to them, trying to make small talk. Neither of them seemed too interested in her; she is a hassle at every gala, making weird advances on all of the boys. Today, however, she was a little more tipsy, and Bruce couldn’t quite make out what exactly the conversation was about, but Dick was clearly uncomfortable and Cass was fuming. The woman kept grabbing at him, sliding her hands over his tie, squeezing his arms. And then she squeezed his ass, and it took Cass less than a second to break her nose.

If they were any other family, Cass would have been thrown out of the party, but they were the Waynes, and you do not throw a Wayne out of a party. If she punched a middle-aged woman, then she punched a middle-aged woman. Bring her a glass of water and some ice for her injured hand.

Of course, it didn’t end there.

Bruce was still surprised he didn’t have gray hairs yet.

Because Damian had discovered and made friends with a stray cat in the garden, and Jason had a laser pointer, because of course Jason had a laser pointer, and the cat ended up knocking down not one, not two, but three expensive pieces of pottery, shattering them on the gravel floor. And when the house owner saw the damage, he turned pale and had to hold back his tears. Jason laughed.

“-tt-.” Damian stated, adjusting his suit “You owe that cat a favour,those vases ruined the garden’s aesthetic. Regardless, I’m sure father will be more than happy to compensate you for the damages.”

He walked back to the party slowly, passing by the man who would need some time to make it back.

Once Jason broke him the news, Bruce thought (and hoped) that that would be it.

But no, the night was young, and there was so much time left and the batsibilings for sure wouldn’t waste it.

The previous statement about sleep deprived Tim?

Well.

Tonight, he had to pick a fight with an essential-oil-loving, antivax mother. Simply because he liked to torture himself. And because nobody realised he was alone until Bruce spotted him in the crowd, eye twitching as a woman rambled about all the heavy metals and chemicals that vaccines had in them. He thought about getting to him, but he knew it was too late. There was no going back now.

“Well, you see Karen,” He started.

“Uuum, my name’s Patricia.” She interrupted.

“I’m a billionaire’s heir, I don’t give a shit.” He said “Anyways. As I was saying, the thing is, I’d rather take the chance of being injecting myself with mercury than, oh, I don’t know, get meningitis and fucking die?”

The circle went quiet. Another woman, wanting to dissipate the tension, tried to restart the conversation.

“I-I mean, I don’t understand why can’t they make something safer, right? Like, when we used to throw those smallpox parties, why won’t they make something that works like that? So that we can build a natural immunity instead of all of those chemicals.” She laughed awkwardly.

Tim slapped his own face so hard that it attracted a lot of eyes.

“How. Do. You. Think. Vaccines. Work. Susan?”

“M-my name is Mary.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” He answered. And just in time, Dick swooped in.

“Hey, Timmy!” He greeted “Can I borrow this guy for a second?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he guided Tim out to the garden.

“Fucking idiots.” He muttered “I don’t know how they have so much money. They’re all fucking idiots, Dick. I’m surrounded by dumbasses.”

“There, there.” He said “Okay, we’re far enough.” He looked around “Go ahead.”

And Tim let out the most horrendous, rage filled scream any of those guests had ever heard. Because of course they heard it. Bruce sighed and shrunk on his chair.

“Better?” Dick asked as he finished, patting his back.

“So much.” Tim answered.

“You should’ve slept a little before this.”

“No way. I’m totally fine.” He answered “I had three cans of monster before we left, so I feel great.” Dick raised an eyebrow, worried.

“Whatever you say, buddy.” He led him back inside, tidying up his brother’s hair “Just... No more picking fights with moms tonight, okay?”

And Bruce thought that was enough. Bruce was certain that this would be the last incident.

But his kids just loved proving him wrong.

He thought that the best strategy would be to ask them to stick together, so that Dick’s responsibility and social skills would keep his feral siblings under control. He should’ve known it would backfire.

The last he checked, they were making small talk with some CEOs on the edge of the room, away from the dance floor. Jason, Cass and Damian seemed completely bored, Tim was clenching his jaw for some reason, and Dick tried his best to look polished and polite.

“So, I heard that Wayne Enterprises have a new project?” One of them asked, chest so projected forwards it looked like it was about to explode.

“Yes. Yes we do.” Dick said, smiling politely “We’re opening up a refugee housing program.”

“Oh, so that’s what those buildings are for?”

“Yes, exactly!” He exclaimed, opening his arms in a seemingly natural manner “We are building apartments to shelter them. It’s nothing fancy, but we can charge a cheaper rent than most, and not charge at all for the first six months, giving them a chance to properly establish themselves here.”

“Well, I must say,” Puffed up chest guy stated, “I can’t see why not to give them to good old Americans instead. There’s a lot of homeless people nowadays, you see.” He leaned forward as he talked.

Damian perked his head up, but didn’t say anything. Cass and Jason seemed to be listening. Tim’s left eye twitched.

“Actually,” Tim started “The company has very stable, successful projects to help the homeless.”

“I’m familiar with those, yes.” He arrogantly dismissed the teen “But, you see, I just can’t understand why not open the housing to tax paying Americans instead of some...”

“Potential terrorists?” Damian suggested, arms crossed, scowl on his face.

“...Foreigners.” He completed.

“Well, since you ask, we are currently planning on the possibility of eventually opening vague apartments to Americans too.” Dick answered, swirling the liquid in his glass around “But the priority now really are the refugees.”

“I don’t see why can’t we prioritize our own people.” He insisted “I’m simply concerned for the well being of our poorest patriots.”

Dick blinked.

And here’s why Bruce should have known it would backfire.

Because, yes, Dick was able to cool them down...

But they were able to fire him up.

And so, like the charismatic man he was, he covered his nose a little, rubbing at the end, and faked a loud sneeze.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” He started “You see, I have this strange condition.” Dick stared at the man in the eye, the guy who had bought an old building people were squatting at, just to demolish it and doom them to the streets with no care or compensation, and, knowing this and so much more, said “I’m allergic to bullshit.”

And his siblings went feral again.

Tim and Jason screamed an ‘Oooooooooh!’, Damian pointed at the man and laughed loudly, and Cass snorted, covering her mouth in surprise.

Dick didn’t break eye contact as he drank the last of his champagne.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” He said “I have to go look for better company.” Dick left the empty glass at the nearest table and adjusted his suit, smiling “Have a nice evening.”

As he walked away, the gang followed close behind, all of them very excited about how Dick, the composed, calm, cool, polite and polished Dick Grayson-Wayne, had just burned a millionaire in front of his economic allies. As the party reached Bruce, the man once again seemed to sink into his chair. Dick sat next to him, radiating confidence and charm.

“Do I wanna know?” The man asked.

“No,” Dick answered, grinning but not looking at the man “No you don’t.”

#Batfamily #BatFam #batbros #batsiblings #dick grayson #bruce wayne #jason todd #tim drake #Damian Wayne #cassandra cain #bruce wayne is a good parent #exasperated dad bruce wayne #batman bingo #batman bingo 2020 #fanfic #fanfition #writing #chaotic batfam

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freedom-in-the-dark · 4 years

Text

James Flint Is Gay: A Meta Post

[slides into the Black Sails fandom late with Starbucks]

Hey! What’s up! Here’s a post no one asked for but I wrote mostly for me. Before we get into it, I’ve got some big notices to put on the top here.

DISCLAIMER: If you interpret James as bi, and you prefer that, I am not trying to say you can’t do that or to convince you otherwise!

You do you! If you’re not cool with seeing him as gay, please do us both a favor and keep scrolling past this post! I’m mildly aware that this fandom has a history of rough discourse surrounding this topic, but I cannot emphasize enough that I am new here, and this post is not an attack. Please do me the courtesy of not attacking me or blocking me or whatnot because I’m not trying to start drama lol. And for what it’s worth, I myself am bi (well, bi ace), so I’d like to think I’m being objective.

This post exists simply because I like to write meta out with my arguments / evidence lined up in a row; it gets things out of my head and onto a screen, and I find it satisfying. And if I’m doing it anyway, I might as well share.

So if you see James as gay, or have an open mind to that interpretation… please allow me to take you on this adventure under the cut. I’m sure it’s obvious, but this contains spoilers? Lol.

Here we go!

Compulsory Heterosexuality vs “Bi Erasure”

Firstly… to address some stuff I’ve seen in my limited Black Sails fandom travels right out of the gate: I’ve seen people imply that interpreting James as gay is “bi erasure,” or they ask “Why are you erasing that James was attracted to Miranda and had an affair with her?”

But to that I say: it’s far more complicated than that.

Gay people can have sexual relationships with people of the opposite sex, especially until / or before they identify as gay. This is how so many gay people can be married to the opposite sex and have biological kids, and then later realize their truth and come out to themselves and their families. Having those experiences or even some variation of actionable attraction to people of other sexes in the past doesn’t negate their ability to later identify as gay, once they stop burying those parts of themselves and/or experience something that “brings that part of them into the light.”

This is why the phrase compulsory heterosexuality exists. The phrase was originally coined by Adrienne Rich in a 1980 essay titled “Compulsory Heterosexuality and the Lesbian Experience.” So yes, let me make this clear: this term originated in reference to lesbians and feminist theory, and then the idea was later expanded upon to include discussions of gay men by other academics in the early 2000s. I’m not gonna dive too deeply into it here, but in essence–as the name implies–this is the idea that patriarchal and heteronormative societies are viewed as the default, so individuals are assumed (by themselves and otherwise) to be heterosexual until “proven” otherwise. Through these standards that are seen as “normal,” people are also taught from a young age–whether explicitly or subconsciously through society–that anything that deviates from those ~straight norms~ leads to negative consequences. And so, society encourages people to avoid sexual exploration, because having experiences with someone of the same sex is what can often bring their gay identity into focus.

In the case of Black Sails, this is all very much emphasized at the forefront because it’s a historical drama. Aside from racism/slavery, patriarchy and heteronormativity are what the characters are actively going to war against.

So, the point in me defining all of this? No one—or at least, not me—is saying that James didn’t have a sexual relationship with Miranda. That’s not in question. But that doesn’t necessarily make him bi, and it doesn’t mean the narrative isn’t structured in various ways that indicate otherwise.

Just keep this in the back of your brain, because I’m going to circle back around to it.

Anne, Flint, & Gay Rage

In the wise words of an old pirate captain: “Fruit, fruit. Tits, tits.” This show thrives on parallels, and gives us lines / scenes that apply to more than one character; it’s partially why the themes are so consistent, and if you ignore that, you can miss a lot of the nuance. Our resident angry gay gingers are one of the paralleled sets of characters.

This is not a meta about Anne… but talking about parts of Anne’s story can help to highlight some things about James’ story.

I tweeted this once: “Flint and Anne’s sexualities paralleled to show struggles with compulsive heterosexuality, fighting for the sake of fighting, bringing parts of themselves into the light, wrestling with being told they’re monsters and their distorted senses of self, etc.” and really, now I’m just here to elaborate.

-----

The word “monster” is a recurring theme in this show. It’s tied mostly to Flint and how he is told he is monstrous for loving a man, fears being “the villain” or “monster” in everyone’s stories, and eventually embraces that monstrous portrayal in service of his goals–even as the violence is slowly devastating to him. But the other character the word “monster” is used in reference to? Anne.

A quote by Max:

“Idelle, how would you feel if the one man you thought would never betray you did? If he purchased for himself a future through that betrayal? If you were told by a world full of men that that betrayal confirmed for them that they were right to see you as a monster to be shunned? She's not mad. She is adrift.”

In some ways, this quote is also the story of what has happened to James in his life, over and over. (Not to say this is what Jack intended to do to Anne, but the parallels inherent in Max’s line itself cannot be denied.)

James is repeatedly betrayed by those he trusts: Admiral Hennessey; Peter Ashe; Hal Gates. All of them try to get him to conform to heteronormative society–including Gates, because even if he didn’t know it, that’s what he was doing by trying to get James to take a pardon. That’s why James reacts with such instinctual panic and kills him; the idea of being forced to apologize to and assimilate back into heteronormative society puts him at a breaking point. (It can even be argued that Miranda “betrays” James in this way too by trying to get him to take a pardon and go to Boston–which is where his “and they called me a monster” speech comes in–and that also contributed to how James later panics and kills Gates for trying to force him to do the same. Miranda tried in a well-meaning way to get James to move on, because she isn’t fully understanding what James wrestles with; but I’ll go back to that.)

Again, these parallels are deliberate. Anne and Flint are the two main gay characters who wrestle with their supposed “monstrosity” in the eyes of everyone else, because they don’t fit in. They are “othered.” It’s not simply about their violence; for these characters, it’s about what their violence is in service of achieving, which is tied to their sexuality.

Anne is seen as a “monster” for slaughtering the men who abused Max, who is not only a fellow woman but also a fellow lesbian, in a way that Anne is undeniably drawn to even before she lets herself acknowledge the feeling. We as viewers are meant to see this and understand this, and we do. Anne is ostracized for violence that was motivated by her sexuality, which is partially why Max tells her that she understands her violence and will protect her–because Max is not only also a woman in a patriarchal society, but she is gay too.

Flint is seen as a “monster” first and foremost by England, for his sexuality… and then, later, by everyone else for the actions he takes because of his sexuality. Again: the violence he commits cannot be divorced from his sexuality because it is the reason for it. It’s what informs it.

I tweeted about this once too, but in many ways Anne and Flint’s kindred displays of brutality and anger and “fighting for the sake of fighting” (a quote by Miranda which applies to them both) are informed by their desire/need for gay tenderness. The world has too often denied them that tenderness and their expressions of their sexualities, or demonized them for wanting it, and their violence is the result.

Here’s a quote from Deborah Tolman with regards to how compulsory heterosexuality affects men, which she calls “hegemonic masculinity”:

"These norms demand that men deny most emotions, save for anger; be hard at all times and in all ways; engage in objectification of women and sex itself; and participate in the continuum of violence against women."

The anger and hardness is a huge part of the personas both Flint and Anne have to put on for survival. I include Anne in this because she uniquely lives her life in a “male” role to survive the male-dominated world of piracy, and she’s clearly not immune from these unspoken masculine guidelines: she refers to Max as “the whore” half the time as a defense mechanism. Flint and Anne lash out, they’re hard and angry and violent for the sake of their personas, and it’s all because... inside, they just want to be soft and gay with who they love.

Anne, Flint, & Compulsory Heterosexuality (Not Bi Erasure)

In Black Sails, we are shown the story of a gay person who has a consistent sexual relationship with someone of the opposite sex, but is running from internal truths about themselves in some ways in the process. That person is Anne.

Struggling with compulsory heterosexuality is explicitly Anne Bonny’s prime storyline in the show and that is not up for debate (and I’ve rarely seen people disagree); but I argue that it is also part of James’ storyline, and he is paralleled significantly with Anne to make that clear. It’s just overall more subtle because it’s not the prime focus of James’ story the way it is for Anne, because James’ realizations happened largely in the past and we’re seeing the aftermath of it. The parallels are there, and I’ll be breaking some of them down.

----

From episode one, we are told that Anne has a sexual relationship with Jack…. But later on, she tells Jack that she “can’t be [his] wife,” even though they’ll be partners forever. Why? What changed? The answer is that she’s been with Max and realized that she’s gay. It doesn’t mean Anne didn’t have sex with a man in the past and even enjoy it on some level, but it does mean that she knows now that she was using that sex partially to distract from things about herself that she was doing her best to ignore.

Multiple lines by Max (to Anne) tell us this:

3x03: “When you and I began you did not choose me. Something that lives inside you beyond choice made it so.”

2x01: “But perhaps there is something else underlying it. Something hiding in a place not even you can see. Perhaps… we would do well to bring it into the light.”

Before I continue, let me remind you of something: when writers decide to show viewers something on screen, that is done with intent, especially in a show like Black Sails where not a single moment is wasted. Remember this. What they show us, and what they don’t show us, are both deliberate choices.

So what are we shown about Anne’s sexual relationship with Jack? We get exactly one scene of her having sex with him. We are shown Anne riding Jack in a way where neither party was particularly enthused. Does this mean they definitely never had sex in the past that they both enjoyed on some level? No. But they showed us this one scene on purpose: to emphasize the stark difference when Anne has enjoyable sex with Max, an experience that forever changes her.

So what are we shown about James’ sexual relationship with Miranda? We get exactly one scene of him having sex with her. It is the most depressing sex scene of all time, James is just lying there to try to be helpful for her to chase her own pleasure, and he doesn’t even touch her. Does this mean they never had sex in the past that they both enjoyed, especially back during their affair in London? No. But we are never shown any of that. We never see them have sex in London before James’ relationship with Thomas; we never see them having good sex with each other after it all goes to hell. And that is a deliberate choice.

Why? Because all of the above info about Anne and her compulsory heterosexuality journey also applies to James McGraw, and his relationships with Miranda and Thomas.

“They paint the world full of shadows... and then tell their children to stay close to the light. Their light. Their reasons, their judgments. Because in the darkness, there be dragons. But it isn't true. We can prove that it isn't true. In the dark, there is discovery, there is possibility, there is freedom in the dark once someone has illuminated it.”

The realizations James came to about his sexuality (just like Anne did) inform much of his tangled story with the Hamiltons, and much of the tragedy of Miranda and James’ situation after the loss of Thomas. We are shown the way James and Miranda are no longer perfectly aligned after that loss, and grief is undeniably a part of it… but it goes beyond that. It’s more complicated than that.

That sad sex scene is not solely about grief; remember, that scene takes place ten years after they lose Thomas. It takes place during a time where Miranda is already thinking about and will soon actively try to tell James that they need to move on, without understanding why the loss of Thomas affects him in a profoundly different way than it affects her. I am not minimizing her loss or her grief whatsoever; but it is undeniably more complicated for James, and it’s why he can’t move on.

In episode 1x07:

James: “Have you no memory of how we got here? What they took from us?”

Miranda: “What does it matter now? What does it matter? What does it matter what happened then if we have no life now?”

James is, of course, appalled by this. I’ll talk about why momentarily.

The next time James is in Nassau (2x03), he goes to see Miranda and tries to apologize that night, but she’s otherwise engaged. So he stands outside of her window looking in, surrounded by darkness, while she’s playing the clavichord with children in the light. It is symbolically the domestic version of a heterosexual ideal. He is “othered” by the camera angles / framing, and the dark / light aspects. James is relegated to being an outsider literally because as Flint he’s a pirate, but metaphorically because he’s gay; the reason we as viewers are given that scene is to underscore that he feels he has no place in that display.

Ultimately, James is misaligned with Miranda after the loss of Thomas (shown in both the sad sex scene and arguments) in a way that goes beyond grief. The implication is that things cannot ever be the same for him again since the loss of “his truest love” and the truths he learned about himself.

If James and Miranda were simply at odds with one another because of grief, it would be far less of a “tragedy” in some ways. But James cannot heal the way Miranda slowly finds the way to over ten years, because Thomas signifies things for James that Miranda cannot relate to. In London, when Thomas is taken from them, Miranda even yells to James, “He is my husband!” Her grief and rage are shown as equal to James at the start and have extreme validity; the two of them are partners in the plan to kill Alfred Hamilton for revenge; but then she is able to somewhat move on, whereas James is not.

Why? Because, for James, Thomas was not just his (truest) love; Thomas was the awakening of his fullest self as a gay man.

In the same way that Anne can’t be Jack’s “wife” after she’s been with Max and realizes she’s gay, James cannot content himself with fulfilling the role of Miranda’s “husband” after he’s been with Thomas and realizes he’s gay. Neither of these facts minimize Anne’s love and devotion to Jack, or James’ love and devotion to Miranda; they are undeniably two sets of partners. But Anne and James are forever altered by their experiences with same sex lovers, and the truths about themselves that were brought into the light as a result.

----

Another part of the tragedy of James and Miranda is what happens right when we see Miranda grasp the significance of all of the above. Whether or not she grasped it before in the past, we are shown it only once on screen, and that’s in Charlestown.

Peter Ashe says this in 2x09:

“You will tell them about the affair with Thomas. You will tell them how it ended. You will explain to them what it drove you to do. You will reveal everything. And when you do, Captain Flint will be unmasked, the monster slain. And in his place will stand before all the world a flawed man, a man that England can relate to and offer its forgiveness.”

This is James’ worst nightmare; we know as such from what he told Miranda back in 1x07, and from when he killed Gates. And yet, here and now in 2x09, he is exhausted from pushing back against heteronormative society, all he wants is to retire the mantle of Flint born of gay rage, and he actually contemplates playing by their rules and giving into their judgements of his sexuality... until Miranda comes to his defense.

In season 1, Miranda didn’t seem to fully understand James’ thoughts on this, but here–in combination with her realizations about Peter Ashe’s betrayals–she finally does. And she’s not having it.

“What forgiveness are you entitled to while you stand back in the shadows pushing James out in front of the world to be laid bear for the sake of the truth? Tell me, sir, when does the truth about your sins come to light?”

And the moment she is yelling in rage on behalf of James, and their combined loss, and how Peter would dare to force James to experience shame about his sexuality again–she is instantly shot for it. A woman who’s yelling on behalf of a gay man? In a patriarchal heteronormative society? It has no place. England makes that clear.

It all further underlines James’ sense of “otherness”... and now he decides to embrace it, even at his own emotional detriment. He will no longer try to fit in or reason with them; he will no longer accept their halfway measures of pardons. He can’t, because in the eyes of England, all that he is as a gay man is abhorrent.

2x10: “Everyone is a monster to someone. Since you are so convinced that I am yours, I will be it.”

3x05, to the Maroon Queen: “...England takes whatever, whenever, however it wants. Lives. Loves. Labor. Spirits. Homes. It has taken them from me. I imagine that it has taken it from you.”

The Way James Views Miranda

And here is where I simply give you more food for thought–or further “evidence” of James being gay, if you will.

All of Flint’s lines about how he views Miranda are worded very, very deliberately.

Here’s a minor one, from 1x05:

“So you can probably guess it isn't as much fun to tell stories about how your captain makes a home with a nice Puritan woman who shares his love of books.”

There is nothing overtly romantic or sexual about this. It’s said in a one-on-one conversation with Billy, where Flint neither has to make the relationship sound like something it isn’t nor refuse to give any info whatsoever. So he goes with what is the seemingly-mild truth.

But 3x01, convincing the men to forego pardons:

“But what price surrender? To beg forgiveness from a thing that took my woman from me? My friend?”

“My woman” is what Flint says for the benefit of the men… these men who are part of the heteronormative world they all live in, and still value sexual relationships with women above all else. It’s about hegemonic masculinity, remember? (“Objectification of women and sex itself.”) He’s doing his best to speak their language.

But “my friend” is a secondary line that was not needed for the purposes of this speech, but James could not keep himself from adding it in a quieter tone–because that’s who Miranda was to him. His friend. Not his woman, which drips sexism and sexual undertones. Not his wife. Not even his “love,” which he could’ve used if he wanted to be ambiguous and sneak a Thomas reference in; he said “my woman” to appeal to the men, and then he added “my friend” because in the face of her memory he couldn’t help it.

And lastly, in 3x03, we begin to hear from “ghost Miranda.”

But what is ghost Miranda? She’s a voice from James’ traumatized mind. Everything she says to him is about truths he already knows and/or things he is hiding from himself. So what “she” says here is a voice from James’ mind; it’s about how James sees her, and subtly elaborates on his sexuality in the process.

“When I first met you, you were so... Unformed. And then I spoke and bade you cast aside your shame, and Captain Flint was born into the world... the part of you that always existed yet never were you willing to allow into the light of day. I was mistress to you when you needed love. I was wife to you when you needed understanding. But first and before all... I was mother. I have known you like no other. So I love you like no other. I will guide you through it, but at its end is where you must leave me. At its end is where you will find the peace that eludes you, and at its end lies the answer you refuse to see.”

This does not diminish Miranda’s importance to James in the least! In fact, it emphasizes it, and it is all part of why he is so ruined over her! But it is also, in the oddest way, an elaboration upon how he isn’t bi: Miranda was his partner in many things, including shared grief and revenge and some semblance of life for ten long years; and she was also was instrumental to his formation of himself as a person (“mother”), and his acceptance of himself as a gay man (“love” and “understanding”). This is how he sees her. Mistress and wife were roles she filled in his life, but above all, she contributed to the birth of Captain Flint–the personification of James’ gay rage.

Of course, the “answer” that ghost Miranda (the depths of James’ brain) alludes to here as well as her later words of “you are not alone” are all about James needing to recognize that Silver is a newfound partner and love for him… but that’s a whole other meta entirely.

Closing Thoughts

Look, did I consult a couple of specific scenes and look up transcripts to put quotes in this? Yes. But have I still only seen the show in its entirety once? Also yes. My point in mentioning this is that, if I did a full rewatch, there might even be more evidence I haven’t mentioned here. This isn’t meant to be comprehensive, but I do feel that it... certainly conveys the gist of the mood.

You may still agree to disagree if you prefer to see James Flint as bi; I’m not here to fight you on it and what queer characters mean to you personally.

But for me, when surveying all available evidence, the narrative screams that he’s gay. In that sense, my thoughts on this matter are similar to my thoughts on the ending; sure, you can interpret it one way if you look at certain details, but if you take in all the evidence and the big picture as a whole… there’s a specific conclusion to be drawn.

Last thing I’ll say is this: Steinberg himself has said that Flint is gay, which I found out way after watching the show and forming this interpretation. And like... not that if I wanted to hardcore argue he was bi I wouldn’t disregard Steinberg’s words, because in my experience the narrative speaking for itself is always more important than than creators’ words, but... in this instance (as in all Black Sails instances I’ve come across), his words just underscore what the well-crafted narrative is already telling us, because the creators wrote this show with intent. They knew what they were doing.

And thus, I will quote him (from these GIFs) below.

“When we were trying to build the story, we wanted whatever this thing was that made [Flint] feel alienated to be so deeply tied into who he was that there was no way he was every going to dismiss this thing that happened to him. We wanted to make sure we understood what the reality was in England in terms of how homosexuality was perceived. In some ways it was more tolerated, in some ways it was significantly less tolerated. I think in terms of Flint being gay, it’s about the fact that it is a tool that is used politically when convenient to make somebody be a monster… and it isn’t even really about the relationship.”

(If you buy the series on iTunes, you get an “inside” look at every episode, including this one from 2x05.)

EDIT: I had no idea Toby Stephens basically confirmed my thoughts that James' relationship with Thomas was his actualization as a gay man, so excuse me as I lose my mind for a moment:

“I think his relationship to Thomas Hamilton, the initial friendship and then becoming lovers is sort of like the realization of himself. I think he became himself with Thomas Hamilton. His potential was unleashed with Hamilton.”

And just for fun, since I’m here anyway, here’s a piece of a Steinberg quote about Anne from the Fathoms Deep podcast.

“In terms of Rackham and Bonny, I think that was another thing that I assumed for a long time could never go away. That they were essentially, you know, that they were married. You know not legally, but they were functionally married. And then this story happened in Season 2 with Bonny, that I think with like with a gun to my head of things that I’m proud of with the show, probably at the top is this story of this woman coming out and understanding that she’s gay. . . And so when we got to a point where it was like, I think she’s gay? Like I don’t think this is something we want to be wishy-washy about. It required getting over that hump with Rackham of, ‘Well like what am I going to do with this relationship? I don’t want to split them up?’ And I think it became something way more interesting.”

Thanks for coming to my TED talk. I love James Flint and his gay rage, I love you if you read all of this, and I love my friend @sunbardy who dealt with me yelling about this in DMs and then proofread the doc.

Hit me up on Twitter @gaypiracy if you want, where I do most of my Black Sails related yelling. And shitposting. Because I contain multitudes.

Know No Shame, my friends.

#black sails #james flint #know no shame #flinthamilton #captain flint #anne bonny #meta #black sails meta #miranda hamilton #jackanne #maxanne #legit have no idea what else to tag #my meta

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thingsifindinthedark · 4 years

Text

Some thoughts about: Anger, Illness and Imagination

Good morning

It’s 11:30 am in Los Angeles and the sky is finally looking blue again even though fires are still raging close by.

Living in the smoke reminded me of winters in West Virginia. When the sky was just a heavy gray blanket from November through April. It felt cruel at the time.

I never got used to that winter.

My moods are so connected to the weather and what I’m looking at outside.

California is the perfect place to live if you’re pretending to be happy all the time.

The weather always tells you you should be hiking, and laughing as you wash your face with some sort of foaming organic cleanser like you’re in a commercial.

Setting aside the horrific reality of the fires, purely for the sake of metaphor, there’s a poetry in being here in this moment.

Just as I learn to make room for anger, and embrace it, and leave the cult of fake positivity, things are going up in flames.

Something that therapy and illness has taught me, is how much freedom and power we have to make sense of certain things creatively in whatever way we want. It’s just hard to let ourselves do it, it feels almost indulgent. Or maybe silly. Or we feel it will take away from our ability to grasp harsh truths or do something about them. I think we need both versions.

The places where I have most desperately wanted certainty and facts but not been able to get them- those are the places where finding meaning with my imagination helps my life.

I remember being in 3rd grade, newly dealing with the reality of being in pain all the time. Something had changed in my stomach.

I was now late for school every single day, a trend that would continue, because of the mixed messages my gut sent me every morning that sent me in and out of the bathroom, or cause me so much paralyzing stress that I would try to talk my out of attending.

My 3rd grade teacher, tired of my lateness, but with good intentions, once told me to picture a cool liquid in a soothing color, to pick my favorite color - I chose turquoise, filling the inside of my stomach. Calming the pain.

I was annoyed. Imagining a color in my stomach was not going to fix me. I needed cold hard data. I needed medication or a replacement set of internal organs. Even if this COULD help, the moment I admitted using my imagination helped my symptoms? That would be the moment doctors took my pain even less seriously and dismissed me outright. Many had already because I was a young girl. If I weren’t a young white cis girl from an upper middle class family i guarantee the dismissal would have been even worse.

So I was defensive to my teacher. The same way I would be defensive for years when people told me to try xyz lifestyle choice or simple solution to address years of pain that had confused doctors.

The same way I would be insulted when I was told it was “just anxiety” by doctors. I was defensive, and I became avoidant of sharing about my life in order to not, inevitably, come off as defensive.

But there is a weird sort of privilege in my being sick this long, over various stages of life; childhood, adolescence, young adulthood. Don’t get me wrong, I would rather not be sick, but what I mean is, this isn’t my first rodeo.

Science may only just now be really starting to understand the microbiome and the conditions that plague it, but I have been here, waiting in the wings, doubled over but still trucking along, learning how to make sense of things where there is not enough information for them to literally make sense.

I’ve found I truly need both the antibiotics AND the stupid turquoise liquid mind exercise, the lab work and the therapy that looks to address my anxiety and traumas. The idea that it was one or the other, in my mind OR in my body has been a barrier to my coping skills for years.

I came by that “either or” idea organically. It’s the way we are taught to think and the way western medicine tends to view things, though that is improving. Trauma also makes it harder to grasp nuance instead of black and whiteness.

I couldn’t have gotten to this point without learning to recognizing the way my brain got organized in childhood: don’t get angry, always appear positive, put others first, men’s emotions and needs are generally more important than yours.

I have a lot of anger. I have anger at my illness too. About the symptoms. About being on a restricted diet (again) and taking all these supplements. About feeling like I have to do everything perfectly or my body will collapse for days.

It becomes so much more livable though, even by simply acknowledging that in writing; I am angry. I am still sitting here calmly on my red velvet pillow on the floor at my short Japanese tea table by the window, but I am also angry.

There is something in anger that is self-preserving. An acknowledgment that you deserve better than what you’re facing.

When I can trust myself to meet my anger, to neither stuff it down or express it in a way that is harmful to others or myself, I feel a new freedom. I don’t have to walk around ready to spring into a defense posture. Because I know how to regulate that emotion and I’ve made room for it to show up. Even though it is still uncomfortable.

When it can’t show up as itself, for me anger shows up as; looping anxiety or guilt, obsession over food and health that leads to tunnel vision, impulsive decisions, various other forms of self sabotage. Oh, and physical pain.

My therapist once told me it was “like my body rejects it, when I feel angry.”

It made sense to me perfectly in a way that is hard to explain, but that I’m sure someone out there reading this also feels and understands. I think a lot of our bodies, women in particular, reject anger. Or maybe reject some other emotion. Whatever you weren’t allowed to feel growing up. Whatever emotion was deemed too much, or was monopolized by a different family member in a toxic way.

But that pain, rage, sorrow- it has to go somewhere. We learn to point it at ourselves for the benefit of other people when we don’t know what else to do.

This is the last thing you probably want to think about if you have a chronic illness. Or even if you don’t, it is not stuff we as humans tend to embrace; trying to better regulate and sit with our least pleasant emotions.

But while you are waiting; while you’re waiting for your lab work to return or your doctor to call you back, while you’re waiting for your new anti depressants to kick in, while you’re waiting for the incessant busyness of your pre-Covid life to return, experiment with stopping yourself from going down whatever avenue it is that you go down when things are out of your control, the one that harms you. The one that is probably fueled by anxiety - constant googling? Obsessing over something small? apologizing constantly for reasons you don’t understand? The list goes on.

Instead, try to feel the physical sensations of emotion in your body. Are your physical pains saying anything to you?

Is there a totally unscientific but spiritual interpretation of what’s going on that can help you get through the day or the hour or the minute, WHILE you’re on the meds, or waiting for the next step?

Here’s mine:

Science: My body has been overwhelmed for years by bacterial overgrowth, pathogenic yeasts, mold spores, fungus, mycotoxins. As I have been wiping out these beasts, I’ve also had to build up my body’s detox pathways, my ability to take in, process and effectively get rid of what is harmful. I’ve had to get my immune system stronger, and build up my good bacteria so it will fight these monsters off and not let them take over again.

Creative connection: My biggest roadblock in relationships, of all kinds, and in my career, aside from being sick- has always been with boundaries. I used to never have them, and feel the need to say yes to everyone. When that burned me out, I was resentful. I’d built up a lot of resentment that wasn’t the fault of others. I let everything in and it built up and I had no methods of getting it out. So I am detoxing here too. I have gotten rid of so much of what doesn’t serve me. And my ability to notice and honor anger as a messenger and protective force will help keep the harm away, just as a healthy immune system and functional microbiome keeps the pathogens away.

That’s an oversimplification of both my illnesses and my point of view on it, but it helps me to find these ways that healing from (and just improving in dealing with) sickness mirror/compliment the other areas of my life. I used to push illness into it’s own separate corner of my brain as if it weren’t really a part of me.

It is. And I both accept that, AND feel certain that I won’t always feel the way I do now, and that I can keep getting better, or at least befriending these parts of me. I’m building a relationship with my illness. Weird as that sounds.

When something is awful and out of our control and makes us feel we lack agency, deciding your own interpretation of it can be a way to seize a little bit of a feeling of autonomy. I will wait for my doctor to tell me what to take next, but not to tell me how to feel.

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mtab2260 · 3 years

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I realized I never actually gave a... I guess— description on what Turbine Addition really is. Then also how I got the idea and built Lukian.

(Warning long essay)

Basically, when I was on my third rewatch of the show since august, I was watching episode 3x10: Maveth and I had a interesting thought after May snuck away from everyone to find Andrew. What if, Lash or Andrew actually spares one inhuman In that compound? It’s not completely unheard of/ unrealistic, he did spare Daisy on multiple occasions. But— obviously, I had to give a reason why this inhuman was spared over the others.

It was a idea that floated in my mind for maybe a month, I wanted to create an Inhuman who was spared by Lash and ends up joining the team from there on. I kept thinking of angles on how I could do it but none of them ever seemed right. Until I watched episode 2x17 with my friend— who I had blackmailed into watching the show. (Yes, I did two rewatches at once.)

For those of you who don’t know by heart each episode by it’s number (I had to look it up)— the title is Melinda, and it’s the episode where we finally learn about Bahrain. When I rewatched that episode the idea just teleported into my brain.

Lash spares an Inhuman because one of them is a child.

The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Obviously during episode 3x10 Andrew still had some control over Lash and wasn’t fully tainted by him yet. So when Andrew/ Lash saw the kid Andrew definitely fought for every ounce of control he had over the situation. He knew how killing a kid— no matter how much the situation demands it— can destroy a person, because he saw it happen to May.

Then I also kept thinking about the inhuman epidemic and then later— Robin, like how she definitely couldn’t only ever be the only inhuman child during the outbreak, right? It was just highly unlikely. We know Terrigenesis at a young age, or any age really can change a person. Not just physically, or on a cellular level, but mentally. We see it with Andrew and also with Katya, and Robin. Which, all in all is really fitting— Andrew was May’s husband, May killed Katya, and Robin was May’s daughter.

But nonetheless that’s not my point, my point is at Afterlife there was a certain age everyone went through the mist. It was an age where they’re young enough to adapt, but old enough to understand. Now, Katya and Robin were both young when going through Terrigenesis and their gifts were something that were more mental than others. It was contained to their body, it wasn’t an external gift like Daisy’s, Lincon’s, Joey’s, James‘, Kora’s. It was like Jiayang‘s, Gordon’s, Raina’s, Yo-Yo’s, Andrew’s— all of their powers are contained to their person.

So if they didn’t have a mental gift like Katya and Robin, and they were at-least mature enough to understand then having a kid go through Terrigenisis could work. And obviously if you’re gonna create a character that has an external gift, you gotta give them an uncontrollable destructive power like Daisy’s. But the fun thing about Daisy’s power, is that it also has endless creative possibilities.

I wanted a power like that.

After some workshopping and a few completely terrible ideas... I got: air molecule manipulation. Or other words, tornado powers. Before I started thinking on how his powers worked I needed an explicit way to think of how Daisy’s powers worked since I was modeling his power after hers. From my two rewatches at the same time I started making notes on what we knew about her powers and how they feel to her specifically.

She can hear the vibrations of everything around her (but it’s not as noticeable at first glance)

Can amplify the ’sound’ of the vibrations to cause an earthquake, or avalanche

Internalizing her powers improperly caused her arms to fracture

Strong beam of concentrated vibrations for a long period of time can cause her to blackout/ nosebleed

The vibrations don’t only just come out of her arms

Lack of care can also lead to her arms to fracture

Now vibrations and electricity, are both element related powers, but they work differently. Lincoln said after he went through the mist every cell in his body generated a different electronic charge. Basically, the power (pun intended) came from his body without needing an external source. Yes, I know I said Lincoln‘s power was an external one, but it isn’t contained to his mind— or person. I feel Daisy’s vibrational powers are different, mostly because, if she could generate vibrations directly from her cells then her bones wouldn’t be breaking from too much of it. Kinda like how Scorch had those fire pellets in his blood to prevent him from burning himself, Daisy doesn’t have vibrational immunity.

Gordon said everything in the universe was giving off it’s own vibrational frequency, and Daisy could control that. So in order for her to quake Talbot’s ass to the sun she need to obsorb the vibrations around her, store them in her first (the bees under her skin), then send the vibrations out through her palms.

I’m not gonna get into why her bones crack and everything, but it’s an important downside.

Obviously.

As I said I wanted to model my character’s powers as closely as I could to Daisy’s, which I did, but I couldn’t do it exactly for obvious reasons. Yes, you store air like oxygen and carbon dioxide (not for long) in your body temporarily— but your body is going to use it because it needs it. Plus you can’t send air molecules through skin tissue like vibrations can— it’s why we have noses. The skin tissue is too dense for the diffusion of the molecules to take place there. So if I had to say, his power is more of a cross of Daisy’s power and Joey’s power. He needs an external source to wield his power and manipulate the element he can control, but can’t store it in his own body.

So I had a powerful power for my character but I needed a downside. Each incredibly OP power had one: Daisy with her bones, Robin could see the past— present— and future but just didn’t know what went where, Raina became the monster under the bed (or Sonic), Jiayang had to kill someone to heal herself. I thought for a while on this, how can I make a downside for a power like that?

Obviously there’s not many options because oxygen is such a fragile thing to living organisms, and lack of it isn’t exactly ideal. Fitz’s brain damage being a prime example, another example being all those people who died due to hypoxia on the floating ship where the Gravitonium was. So as I said— fragile.

I was going over my notes again of Daisy’s power when the hearing aspect struck a cord. Since their powers are so similar in the aspect of they’re both natural disasters, he was going to need a way to create those tornados around him, like with Daisy and the earthquakes— when the power isn’t concentrated but it’s still triggered. I wanted the sound to be like what you hear when you hear wind over the phone, and when it’s blowing past your ears and it creates that sound. That’s where I got the inspiration from really, static noise and whistling.

So I had that down, and instead of it being like Daisy’s, the sound is much, much more apparent. Mostly because you can hear the wind, like when is passes your ears or if the wind current is just strong enough— but you can’t necessarily hear vibrations. You can when you put your finger on the rim of a water glass and go around the edge, but if you don‘t... you don’t really hear much (I think). And also another thing, sound in general.

The reason why there’s no sound in space is because there’s no air molecules in space, there’s nothing for the sound waves to hitch a ride on. Which leads me to my next point. If he can hear the wind and the air molecules around him and sound passes through the air molecules then he could hear sound through his powers without needing ears. You’re basically adding a third— non-connected to the others— ear.

And people get sensory overload just normally, adding that third ear would be too much. So long story short: the down side to air molecule manipulation powers is... headaches. But like a really bad headache, I don’t know if they’re migraines at that point, I know there’s a difference but I haven’t done my research on that yet. But essentially, headaches. And later on there will be a fix for that.

Just keep in mind chapter seven.

Now the one thing I absolutely love about AoS is despite all the crazy, outlandish stuff they go through— there is always science and reason to back it all up, making it seem ever more realistic. And that’s what I love, the realism of it all (Yes, I‘m well aware they do time-travel, and there’s aliens/ superpowers). So if I was going to make a story, then I needed it to be realistic, otherwise I’d probably hate it myself.

And I’d rather not hate my own fic— thank you very much.

So when I thought about Flint, him being fifteen, with inhuman powers and the team was still hesitant to bring him in because he’s a kid— I knew I had a problem. Especially since my character is thirteen. I needed a realistic answer to why and how the team would actually allow a thirteen year old to join SHIELD.

Being inhuman helps, sure. Especially with a power that could rival Daisy’s (tornadoes are bloody strong). But he’s still a kid. It does help that with how tense season three is with inhumans and Hive they’ll need all the backup they can get, even if it’s an inhuman kid who Hive can control. I have very logical reasons why Lukian stays with the team despite everything, but it hasn’t been revealed yet so I’m gonna keep my trap shut.

I’ll give you a hint though, there’s a reason why he can lie so well.

Now onto the character himself, Lukian. Why I made Lukian the way he is? Well the trauma part is very clear, you can’t have a main character without trauma. That’s just simply unheard of.

For gender, I thought about making him a girl at first because that’s what AoS is all about really— Strong women. But... all the lines I had in mind, just made it seem cheesy and with poor writing. So he became a boy. Sorry.

For his name, Lukian, honestly it’s not much of a story. I just really suck at creating names and thought a kid in my class had a really cool name so I copied it for my character. I know it’s Ukrainian, but that doesn’t mean that’s Lukian’s (my character) ethnicity. Especially since Lukian isn’t apparently his name... cough cough (Kelly Clements) Cough. That specifically will be revealed in the next chapter, if I ever finish it. And when I first thought (copied) it, I didn’t realize how close it would be to Lincoln and how much similar those names look if you read them really fast.

So, my bad on that part.

For Lukian’s (Kelly’s) age it goes back to Terrigenisis warping his mind, and the logic and reason. No matter how kick-ass a seven year old may be, he’s still a seven year old and everyone but May won’t see past that. Plus, school.

For his personality it goes back to that trauma section. Trauma and experiences make us who we are, so obviously that will play a bit part in who Lukian is. And for all the trauma you pick up you will need a coping mechanism to hand all of it. Whether it’s break down right there, bottle it up, run away, hide from it, ignore it— whatever it is, we all have one. And for Lukian his coping mechanism is just pretending that he doesn’t care, that he’s fine— that there’s nothing wrong. It’s not that he’s completely like Simmons who created a horror movie in her locked up tight music box, though in a way it’s simular. A big part is bottling things up, putting on a mask— but another part of it is just simply not caring.

Personally that’s my coping mechanism, it’s terrible and when I become a real adult I’m bloody fucked, but it’s what I do. I have a big test coming up, what do I do? I don’t study and don’t let it stress me out. I just don’t care about it and don’t think about it until when I’m actually taking the test. I still get decent grades too so it’s not a completely bullshit mechanism, but boy, my future is going to die fast. Mostly because I’m in high school and I don’t really know how to study now because of this.

Anyway, back to the story, that’s essentially his coping mechanism. Along with a hint of deflection with humor too. Again, like Daisy. As I go more into the story you’ll find there are many Lukian and Daisy parallels. It’s probably why Daisy has taken such a liking to Lukian in the first place, and why they get along so well despite barely knowing each other for three weeks. Or it’s because I wrote them that way, who knows?

The reason why I had Lukian have an interest in robotics and in engineering goes back to the downside with his powers. As you may know, the kid may have stolen a few things from the lab to help with that headache of his. Plus if he’s good in science and has a usefulness besides fighting, then it’s another reason for him to join. Obviously the team isn’t gonna just let him ditch school, so him actually being smart helps if school isn’t well... at a school.

Now, why did I name this fic the way I did?

The Addition part is very simple and easy, Lukian is an addition to the team. I wanted that to always be in the title, but what I wanted before that was something that related to Lukian. Whether it’s his powers, or personality, it didn’t really matter but nothing really called out to me or fit properly. And again as I said I’m terrible at naming things, currently on chapter ten I’m more than half way done, I still don’t have a bloody name for it. So like my coping mechanism, I forgot about it for a bit.

So I went on to what the team’s connections will be with Lukian, thinking about who each member of the team is to Lukian and how close he is to everyone. Obviously May’s relationship with him will be most strained, not because of May herself and her trauma, but because of his too (I’m not saying anymore). And the closest relationship he’ll have will be with Daisy, because again paralells. And, because she was the one to find him and she is also his transitioner and trainer.

And while I was thinking about all of that, no matter where Mack was on the closest relationship list, there was no way Lukian was getting on the team without a nickname from the nickname king. And since if you’re inhuman basically it’s a rule your nickname will be based off of that I started sorting through air related nicknames. Breezy was my top choice originally but Breezy Addition just didn’t sound as strong as Turbine Addition. But don’t worry Breezy as a nickname from Mack isn’t going to disappear, it’s just going to take a while to get to from a writing standpoint.

And.... this is when I’ve realized I’ve been writing this for the past three hours and now it’s bloody three am. Thanks for coming to my extra long Ted Talk/ fifty paged essay.

And if anyone actually read all of this... holy bloody fuck you have a long attention span.

#Turbineaddition #fanfic #inhumans #aos

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djinmer4 · 4 years

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Why Nightcrawler Had to Die (Egyptia AU)

@dannybagpipesarecalling @niuniente

Colonel Zuri stepped into the room. “Pryde-” he cut himself off and looked around. “Where’s your shadow?”

Kitty got up and stretched, arching her back. She’d been writing after-action mission reports all morning and her back and shoulders were killing her. “Right now?” She glanced out the window. “Just finished training with the newbies. He’ll probably be here in a few minutes with lunch. Why?”

“It’s good he isn’t here then,” Zuri stepped closer to her. “Alistaire just woke up.”

She was puzzled by the frown on her colonel’s face. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he nodded. “What’s not so good is that he claims he saw Nightcrawler get bitten during that last engagement before he got knocked out.”

“What?” She didn’t slam her hands down on her desk but it was a near thing. “That’s impossible! It’s been three days since the battle and he’s been sleeping at my feet like usual. I would have noticed if he’d been turned.”

The older man’s eyes glazed over as he pondered. “I wondered about that. Alistaire’s a good man, but he’s not the best observer in the middle of a fight, especially at night. Still, we do need to check anyway. Not every infectee turns on the first night and the full moon is tomorrow. If he was bitten, we’ll have to cage him like the other potential infectees until we’re certain he hasn’t been turned.”

Kitty grit her teeth. “Nightcrawler’s not going to like that.”

“Not like what?” The indigo man had entered the room on silent feet, carrying a fragrant package. He shut the door with his tail and placed the food on Kitty’s desk. He’d bought fuul for her and kebabs for himself and small beer for both of them. Perching on the side table, he pulled out a handful of change and entertained himself by playing around with it.

Zuri didn’t pull any punches. “Alistaire said you got bitten in the last fight.”

Nightcrawler was already devouring his food but nodded anyway. Kitty sucked in a breath. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Yellow eyes switched back and forth between the two officers. “Why matter? Bite heal clean, not worry about it.” He tossed the skewer onto the desk and then reached up to unwrap his left forearm. Indeed, underneath the bandages were two bite marks, although both looked too old to have been from the fight three days ago. Zuri grimaced. “Nightcrawler, do you know how people are turned into Man-Beasts?”

The mercenary shrugged. “Curse, yes? Nightcrawler saw priests dragging men and women being dragged to altars while Nightcrawler was locked up in temple.” He raised one deformed hand to gesture to his eyes. “Tattoos on face and then change into vulk at high noon.”

Kitty gentled her voice as much as she could. “The Man-Beast transformation-” She switched her word choice when she saw the downward twist of his lips that signaled confusion on her companion. “The change itself is a curse but can be spread by biting.”

The other man shook his head. “Curse no work that way.”

Zuri said, “They usually don’t but Khonshu’s developed something new. People who get bitten by Man-Beasts have a 90% chance of turning.” He eyed the still visible wounds. “100% chance if they’ve been bitten more than once.”

Nightcrawler was still shaking his head. “Nightcrawler been bitten before. Many times even. In the fight before priests put Nightcrawler in cage. Often after that. Nothing ever happen.”

“You might have been lucky the first few times,” Zuri continued. “Or it’s possible the second time you were only lightly gashed and it didn’t really break skin.” The indigo man simply pointed to the two very deep bite marks on his arm. “There have been people who haven’t changed after being bitten, which is why we don’t just kill all the potential infectees. But Wakanda can’t afford to have a Man-Beast going wild in Birnin Zana on the full moon so-”

Nightcrawler was not an idiot, even if he still had a lot of trouble with the language. “-the cage?”

Kitty squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll be right there. All Man-Beasts have to change with the full moon so they need people who can’t be bitten to guard everyone.” And execute anyone who turns she didn’t say.

~~~~~~~

The cages are large and sturdier than they look. Depending on when they were exposed, people could be quarantined up to a month to see if they would finally change with the full moon. And with Vibranium woven through the bars, they would throw back any attempt by Beasts to break out. Or break in, if any of the quarantined people didn’t change with the moon, they would need protection from their neighbors. Isolated people yelled or prayed or tried to sleep. From the high wall, Kitty watched Alistaire pace back and forth while Nightcrawler simply crouched into a corner. She and Colossus and Logan watched, as the sun went down and they waited for the moon to come up.

Then the howling began.

“One, two, three, damn,” swore Logan. “Looks like everyone got infected this time.”

“Not everyone,” demurred Piotr. “Alistaire’s fine.” Indeed, Captain Smythe was still human and had moved to the middle of the cage to avoid provoking his now monstrous neighbors.

“Nightcrawler’s fine too,” said Kitty, breathing a sigh of relief. “Alistaire must have been mistaken, he only got bitten once.”

And then it happened.

“I thought Nightcrawler was the only teleporter this time!” shouted Logan.

“I thought he was too!” One of the other victims had teleported outside of her cage. But rather than heading for Alistaire or Nightcrawler, she attacked the crane used to transport the cages, doing enough damage that the machine toppled over onto another group of cages. The cages had been designed to withstand Man-Beast claws, not the multi-ton weight of the crane, and the small amount of Vibranium in the bars overloaded. Now they had half a dozen escapees.

Zuri hurriedly passed everyone’s swords out, giving Kitty one of Nightcrawler’s as well. He also opened up the flamethrowers near the stairs to prevent the Man-Beasts from getting out, but couldn’t activate the far side ones, since the two people who hadn’t changed were there.

Logan just jumped from the wall while Piotr turned his skin to metal and ran through the flames. Each of them managed to wrestle away one Man-Beast, but that still left four around the cages. Kitty skimmed the side, ignoring the other still trapped Man-Beasts, trying to reach Nightcrawler and Alistaire. The cages were keeping the two of them safe for now but with six Man-Beasts attacking them it was better to get them out now rather than wait until dawn. Nightcrawler could teleport out of the cage easily enough but without a weapon, doing so would be suicide.

She managed to take off the head of one from the side, but her second blow was badly aimed and got stuck in the creature’s shoulder. It turned to snarl at her and she let go of the blade, fumbling for the silver dagger at her waist and she ended up backing up into another cage. Too slow and her phasing blocked by the Vibranium, she was sure she was going to die.

Instead, there was a bamf of foul-smelling smoke and then Nightcrawler was in front of her. He shoved his arm into the creature’s mouth and its teeth snapped down. Even if she hadn’t seen the bite, she could smell the blood. Horrified, she closed her eyes and waited for her companion to transform then turn those fangs on her.

Instead, she heard Nightcrawler call out. “Sword!” He shouted. “Give sword!” Surprised she looked up and saw he’d swung around and had the Man-Beast in a chokehold. She tossed him his khopesh, which he caught with his tail, and finally had a chance to pull her own acinaces out of the Beast’s shoulder. Nightcrawler quickly beheaded the creature and the two of them focused on the last two monsters still free.

~~~~~~~

They’d won the fight and executed all the other infected. There had been some debate about caging Nightcrawler for another month, but the fact he hadn’t turned even though he’d been bitten again during the full moon had been pretty conclusive.

“Said curse not work like that.” His words were still clumsy but the tone of voice was clearly exasperated.

“No one’s ever seen anything like that,” said Zuri. “If someone doesn’t turn, it usually means they were actually mistaken about being bitten, but all four of us saw those teeth draw blood. Or they’re like Logan. He can fight off the curse, but it takes him hours of agony after being bitten.”

Nightcrawler frowned, then pointed at her and Piotr.

“Pete and I aren’t any more immune to the curse than anyone else. Our powers are good for not being bitten in the first place,” answered Kitty.

“You acted like that was nothing!” marveled Zuri. Then he frowned. “Although, now I’m confused. You said you were kept as a slave in the Temple of Khonshu. Did they never try to curse you directly?”

“They did.” He waved one hand at his eyes. “No see, but scar there.”

“And the curse didn’t take?”

The indigo man snorted. “Curse stupid. Priests not do curse right.”

“They didn’t do the curse right?” Once again, Kitty really wished Nightcrawler knew enough of Xhosa to actually have a real conversation. Wherever the man had originally come from was very far away and clearly things were done very differently there.

He hesitated. “Curse is . . . curse cannot-” Nightcrawler shrugged and gave up, lacking the vocabulary to convey his idea across.

“The point is, you are completely immune to be transformed- changed that is, into a Man-Beast.” Zuri explicitly stated.

Nightcrawler nodded.

The colonel sat back. “Now, how can we use that to our advantage . . .”

#marvel egyptia #nightcrawler #Kitty Pryde #kitty's a mercenary #kurt is a mula #witcher crossover

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stroni-bomb · 5 years

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Son of Satan, Prince of Hell

Warnings: mentions of blood, death and a lot of angst

Being the Prince of Hell and Son of Satan meant Yuta had to be untrue to himself since the day he was born. He watched others fall around him, wanting to save them, forced to stand by and laugh. When he realised what he was bound to inherit he couldn't take the pain any longer- leaving his home and Father behind for good.

Demon!Yuta - Backstory ~Stroni~

26th October 1995 - The Prince is Born

Fallen angels blew their trumpets. Hell hounds howled and other demons cheered. Slaves, although unwillingly, celebrated their future leader. Yuta, the Son of Satan.

His mother, bless her soul, was instantly killed as soon as she gave birth. Her crying child ripped from her arms, a spear instantly stabbing into her skull. She was successful, test subject number 203, in finally bearing the Son of Satan, the Prince of Hell.

Others before hadn't been so lucky, the baby too strong and killing her and themselves in the process. A few had managed to survive to this stage, only to give birth to a beautiful baby girl. Pathetic is all their father would say as he personally took the baby from the subject and thrown her into a fire pit. The subject was killed soon after.

Yuta wasn't aware what his life had become, what exactly was expected from him or the pressure he'd receive. At this point he didn't care, he was just a little baby demon blissfully unaware of the monster which was his father.

26th October 2000 - The Prince's 5th birthday

Yuta laid patiently in bed not having gotten any sleep since the excitement brewing in his stomach was far too much. He was still innocent at this point... far too innocent.

He was waiting for his maids to come in, the ones who usually took care of him. On past birthdays they'd come with bags full of presents, the concept of presents were fairly new to Hell, a slave from the living world gave them the idea. Yuta had no idea that he was a slave, nor that every morning he gets tortured just like the other millions of slaves that live here.

No one came. It was approaching midday but Yuta wouldn't know that, he was definitely aware that they were arriving much later than usual though. Cautiously, he jumped out of bed and tip toed to the door, ever so quietly opening it just a crack. He couldn't see anyone but he heard a booming voice down the hall.

He was only five....you couldn't blame him for wanting to explore.

Quietly following the voice of what he thought was the King (he had no idea if was his father) he noticed there were smaller voices too, voices that he knew belonged to his carers. Running now he found the room they were in and took a peek inside, the poor boy had no idea what he was going to end up finding.

"I told you to stop with such childish things," the King boomed, slapping the eldest carer across the face with such an impact that a bruise was already forming.

"We're sorry your highness but the look on his face when he gets these gifts is too precious," the woman dropped to her knees and bowed her head to show her sincerity.

"Sir if you saw his face you'd-" the King grabbed the younger carer, secretly Yuta's favourite, by the throat and squeezed. He didn't let go, not until her body laid limp, no sign of life left in her. The King let go and her body fell, where his hand was previously gripped were now just blisters and burns.

"Anyone else want to tell me what to do with my own son?" He roared at the women who were crouched by the youngest's limp body.

"N-no sir."

Terrified of being caught, Yuta sobbed silently as he ran back to his room, the sight of his favourite carer being murdered in mere seconds staining his pure memories. A little piece of his heart turned black and a thin protective shell started to form around the young boy.

1st January 2011 - Initiating Ceremony

At 15 he was deemed a full fledged demon, something humans would call an adult. His heart had become completely blackened and his thoughts were tainted. Witnessing death after death, his loved ones and friends being ripped from him one by one, all of it was a sick joke from his Father to toughen him into a strong leader. Yuta was unaware of this though too, unaware how every time his best friend would suddenly cough up blood and die in his arms was actually his father's doing, blissfully unaware that his mother was killed on his Father's orders.

Today he was called to his Father's quarters, he wasn't told why but only to come in his best attire and be prepared. Again, no one told him what to be prepared for, only to expect the unexpected.

His had never seen his father without his demon form, such a form that only the King, known as Satan, was able to change into. It was probably a pride thing, Yuta concluded, something that made his father think he was intimidating to others. His son just saw him as a coward.

Politely he bowed,"You called, father?"

Satan smiled broadly, lifting himself out of his throne and casually walking down the steps towards his son.

"Yes my dear boy," he stopped a few metres in front of Yuta, an almost menacing smile etched on his features. The very look of him made Yuta uncomfortable. "Today is the day you officially become Prince my son. Do you know the requirements for such a title?"

Yuta nodded his head with a hesitant gulp. Dzina, a bloodhound and Yuta's only best friend, told him what he must do in order to please his father. He would have to kill one of the slaves, something Yuta sworn that he'd never do.

A click of a door behind his father caught his attention, the unsuspecting slave came in and placed the King's meal on a table. His father gave him a pointed look, a cue for Yuta to commit the murder. He could have easily said no, but if he had then he'd be a "failed experiment", his blood would stain palace walls and anyone he knew would have the same fate. Plus... He really wanted his demon powers.

He lunged at the slave, taking her throat so easily in his hands, his grip instantly tight. He tried to look cocky, to have a smirk written on his lips and forced a laugh out of his throat, his eyes though were pained with sorrow as he kept squeezing the young girls neck.

He was only fifteen.

18th May 2013 - Escape while you can my Prince

"Yuta you should go," Dzina continued to plead, her eyes tearing up. She had found a way out of this hell, literally, and was trying to convince Yuta to be the one that leaves.

“I’m the Prince Dzina,” he shook his head at his best friend, “father would kill us both if he found out.”

She pouted using her abilities as a Hellhound to do her best puppy dog eyes, “Yuta I don’t want to be around and watch my best friend turn into the same monster as his father I-”

“Enough Dzina!” He screamed, his eyes going a dark shade of purple, fists clenched by his side. “I’m not going! I need to protect Hell and everyone in it, if I run away that won’t solve anything.”

She slumped in defeat, beady red eyes glaring into his purple ones, “at this rate it’ll be you they need protecting from Prince, Son of Satan.” She bowed, something she would never usually do, and shifted into her Hound form leaving Yuta alone dumbfounded.

It was his turn to feel defeated. Should he had gone?

3rd July 2013 - Where do I go?

It was the last straw. Yuta couldn’t do this anymore.

As he let go of the limp body of a young slave a lone tear rolled down his cold cheek. He crouched down to examine the body in front of him. He looked no older than twenty, who knows what he did in his past life to end up in Hell but Yuta was sure it wasn’t enough to earn complete death- to never have the chance to reform, to never live any kind of life again. The Prince was sick of being able to make these decisions, being able to kill whoever he wanted to just because he felt like it, this wasn’t who he was deep down. This is who his Father wanted him to be.

Not anymore.

“Yuta...” The Prince quickly stood up, wiping the tears from his cheek before turning to see his former best friend standing there.

“I want to go Dzina,” he whispered. “Take me away. Far away.”

Dzina gave the troubled prince a heartfelt smile, “I’ll sort it out straight away Yuta.”

He tried to smile, he really did, instead it turned out to be a faint quiver of his lips. “But where do I go?”

Dzina gently shook her head, “there’ll be someone on the other side waiting for you my Prince, my Yuta.”

6th July 2013 - D Day

If someone had told Yuta beforehand that angels really did exist then he would have refused to escaping in the first place. Every story he was told as a child seemed to be a lie, Hell wasn’t for the good and not every angel had become a fallen one. All his suspicions of his life being built on one big lie were confirmed to be true as an angel who looked no older than him stood in front of him at the gates to his kingdom.

“Yuta this is Taeyong, he has a kingdom on the Land Of The Living. You’ll be safe there, we struck a deal with heaven that only you will be permitted to leave Hell and accompany Taeyong,” Dzina informed the very lost demon, he still hadn’t picked up his jaw as he gawked at the angel, his natural sworn enemy.

“I won’t have to kill anyone on Earth right...” was all that he managed to say and Taeyong simply shook his head and held out his hand.

“Come,” he said softly as he gestured for Yuta to take his hand. “It won’t take long for your father to realise I’m here.”

It was Yuta who shook his head now. “If I touch you for more than five seconds you’ll die.”

“Angels are immune to a demon’s touch. Please hurry all of us will be killed if we’re caught,” Taeyong sounded desperate so Yuta just shrugged and complied, not completely assured that the angel would be okay.

“Dzina...thank you. Be okay, please? For me,” the bloodhound simply nodded, she didn’t want to break in front of her best friend, crying would only make him stay.

“Bye Dzina I lov-” the demon’s words were cut off. A bright flash of light left him disorientated and the familiar heat of his homeland was replaced with a cool breeze which caused the hair on his skin to raise.

Once his vision was cleared he was met with a big building, one much like his father’s, which was surrounded with blankets of greenery. Looking up he saw blue and white, colours which were much different to the red and purple he was so used to seeing. There was no fire in sight. No screams to be heard. No smoke to be smelt. It was beautiful, it was safe to say Yuta was purely in awe.

“This is N City. There’s only me, you and a Siren called Taeil here right now. I can show you your room if you’d like?” Taeyong pointed to the door of the home but Yuta stayed immersed in the nature surrounding him.

“I- I’d like to take a walk,” he didn’t wait for a reply but instead went forward towards the forest which bordered the homes and plains of grass. His thoughts were dazed and unclear but the pain in his heart could be easily identified. He was hurt, by his past but also the decision to leave Dzina behind. Maybe this would become his biggest regret but he just hopes that she’s okay.

He does love her after all.

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writing-ro · 5 years

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Fictober 19-5: “I might just kiss you.”

@fictober-event // Set in a Multi-fandom Fantasy AU where most if not all kinds of fantasy creatures exist alongside humans, though the two cultures stay fairly separate, with many humans being afraid or prejudice against creatures.

Rating: G Fandom: Dragon Age, Characters: Leliana (Dragon Age), Analei Amell (OFC) Ships: Leliana/Analei Amell Additional Tags: First Kiss, siren!Leliana, Yes there is a type of siren with wings look up Minority Monsters,

“Leli! Are you here?”

Leliana smiled to herself up in her perch in on a branch that crossed right by the window of her treehouse. She would recognize that voice anywhere. She pushed herself to her feet and looked down, spying the brunette woman standing at the base of the tree. She was looking up and around, but Leliana was hidden well enough she didn’t see her. Just perfect.

With the skill of long practice, Leliana moved silently in the branches of the tree, until she was just above and behind the woman in the pink dress. She counted to three, then jumped, her brown and lavender wings spreading behind her to slow her fall. She wrapped her arms and wings around the woman as she landed on her, startling a scream as they fell to the ground and rolled together down the small hill of the clearing. Grass and a few flowers were squashed, but the only effects to the two women when they finally stopped, a few feet away from the brook that babbled at the edge of the woods, Leliana hovering over the brunette, was breathlessness and a few grass stains on their dresses.

Leliana smiled down at the brunette. “Hello Analei.”

Analei’s face flushed bright red and she pushed Leliana off her, the siren rolling to the side and spreading her wings on the ground. “Why must you do that every time I show up?”

“Because you make such the cutest sounds when I surprise you.” Leliana reached over to poke her, but Analei batted her hand aside.

“There are other ways you can get sounds out of me, you know.”

“How forward of you, Analei,” Leliana teased. “Shall we do it here, in the open?”

“Leli!” Analei swatted at the siren who just laughed. Once they calmed down, they lay on the grass a while longer, and Leliana found herself breathless in a different way. Her blue eyes were locked with Analei’s pale green, and she felt she could stay like that forever.

But all too soon, Analei sat up and pushed herself to her feet. “I wanted to collect some angel’s arbor, and I got a new shawl pattern I wanted to show you.” She went back up the hill and collected the basket and bag she had set down before she’d called out, knowing Leliana would pounce her like she did.

When she came back the two sat on the bank of the brook, and Analei showed Leliana the new illustration of the pattern she was making - a forget-me-not pattern, what a surprise - then started gathering the white flowers and green stems of angel’s arbor that grew there, speaking of the news from Kirkwall. Leliana in turn shared the news of the woods, which was not much aside from the rumor two elves had been found, lost and sick, near the gryffon den, but no one could confirm it. When the news ran out, Leliana went up to her treehouse and collected her lute and some refreshment, and once they had eaten, she started to play and sing. She did not sing at her full power, but even so, a few of the local creatures stopped and came closer to the clearing, a few of the braver or more entranced ones coming almost all the way up to them. The only one who wasn’t so entranced was Analei, who simply smiled and occasionally hummed or sang along to the music.

Some say a siren’s true mate was immune to their siren’s song. This was not entirely true. Moreso, the innate part of the siren that just knew when they’d found their mate just could not bear to seduce and force them into a relationship. If a true mate was to be won, it had to be done honestly. Leliana had known Analei was hers after using her song to stop a barfight during the last Tribute Festival. Everyone in the bar, from the brawlers to the barmaid to the manager was entranced to near stupidity - all but Analei. Instead, the noble’s daughter went around the room, separating the brawlers and healing their injuries with magic, before sending them on their way, through different doors, so they hopefully would all forget their grievances and seek drinks elsewhere. After being thanked profusely for being such a help, Leliana had asked how Analei had withstood her voice. Analei proceeded to show off her hair clip, a silver piece engraved with forget-me-nots that she said had powerful enchantments on it. A quick bribe of a sensor and a examination of the clip showed that, while indeed powerful, no spell of it would make her withstand a song as strong as she’d sung that night.

So Leliana kept returning to Kirkwall, despite the reknown hatred of creatures its people held. Even Analei’s grandfather had been close to banishing her and all of her siblings for their magic, if not for the fear of what their mother would do if he did. First their meetings were simple, short conversations in the market, or on the way to the temple. Then conversation turned to meals, which turned to evenings walks and day trips out of Kirkwall, to where they were now. Leliana had been waiting patiently for a time like this; she was not going to waste an opportunity.

“Leli?” Analei asked, and Leliana broke from her reverie. Analei had her head tilted and her lip stuck out in that adorable way she did when she was concerned about something. “Are you alright. You stopped playing.”

Leliana looked down, and found, indeed, she was so lost in thought she actually stopped playing. That had never happened before.

“I’m alright,” Leliana assured her. “I was just thinking.”

“Thinking of what?” That little lip stuck out again, and Leliana wanted to find out what it tasted like, more than anything.

“I was thinking I might just kiss you.”

Analei’s eyes widened and her face flushed bright red again as she dropped the flowers in her hand, which fell over her lap. “W-What?”

“I said I might just kiss you.” Leliana set her lute aside and leaned forward. “I’ve been thinking it for a while, but you’re like a little bluebird, I didn’t want to scare you away.”

“You- you-” Analei took a deep breath. “You could never scare me away.”

“Most humans are scared of sirens,” Leliana pointed out, an echo of a long ago conversation.

“I’m not most people,” Analei said, reaching out to take Leliana’s hand. “This human happens to love a siren.”

That was not on script, but Leliana just smiled. “Oh? What are they like?”

“Oh she’s lovely. Red hair with a braid on the left side of her face. Blue eyes like the skye. Nightingale wings with lavender on the ends of her feathers. Has the loveliest singing voice.” She smiled at Leliana. “She’s a lot like you, actually.”

“Well, then I have a secret to tell you.” Leliana leaned in closer and Analei did the same, their faces hovering so close to each other they could feel the other’s breath. “This siren happens to love a human too.”

The tension snapped and Analei pressed forward, her lips meeting Leliana’s. It was a mash of mouths at first, and Leliana laughed against them before tilting her head and taking control of the kiss. It was sweet and soft, and just expressed everything Leliana had been keeping bottled up for so long.

When they parted, they were both breathless for several moments, just resting their foreheads together and looking into the other’s eyes. Analei finally broke the silence with a smile. “Was it as nice as you were hoping?”

“Very much so,” Leliana said. “In fact, it’s so nice, I would like to try it again.”

“I wouldn’t object to that.” They both giggled, and then leaned in again, floating on the high of new love.

#fictober19 #Fictober Fantasy AU #fandom: dragon age #oc: Analei Amell #char: Leliana

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sun-summoning · 6 years

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summary: sakura and seven women. non-linear timeline. multi-genre. for sakura week.

i. iron will of determination

“are you going to do something you’ll regret, sakura?” shizune asks.

sakura’s jaw begins to ache from clenching it so tightly. no, she wants to say. i don’t know. maybe. yes. yes. sasuke’s fallen over the edge, naruto’s gone rogue, kakashi’s keeping her completely in the dark. oh, and they’re all out of the village. and tsunade is in a coma and about to replaced by that sketchy bastard danzo. yes. yes, yes, yes.

shizune looks at her, sadness in her dark eyes, and she draws sakura into her arms. one hand cups the back of her head, the other is wrapped around her body. shizune holds her despite sakura’s stiffness and after a moment, sakura considers crumbling. but she doesn’t. she wishes she could clutch at shizune, shake and cry because she’s scared and she’s lost and she feels terribly, terribly guilty, but sakura just tightens her jaw until it aches and the only proof of her determination to do something very, very bad is the way her eyes have glossed over.

“i’m not going to stop you,” shizune assures her, probably already knowing sakura’s plans. “whatever you choose to do, sakura, is entirely up to you.”

sakura nods once. “i know.”

“but you’ll have to live with that for the rest of your life. do you understand?”

“i understand,” sakura replies, not intending for that life to be very long.

shizune smiles at her sadly and hands her a scroll. sakura looks down at it, perplexed. “you’ve been so busy that we haven’t had a chance to work together in a long time.”

sakura’s eyes stay trained on the scroll, forest green and gilded with gold. sakura doesn’t shift in the slightest, so shizune reaches for her wrist and then presses it into her hand.

“we created this arsenal for a reason,” shizune reminds her, forcing sakura to recall all the nights she spent learning about what certain chemicals can do to a man when mixed with each other in what portions. she doesn’t smile, doesn’t frown, but there’s a sadness in her eyes that cannot penetrate the iron walls forged in sakura’s. “you and i are the only people in the world with access to these poisons. you and i are the only people who are immune. and you and i are the only people with the antidotes.”

sakura swallows thickly because using one of these will mean sasuke will, without a shadow of a doubt, die. her hands begin to tremble so she tightens her grip around the scroll.

“thank you,” sakura whispers.

shizune leaves sakura to the fate she’s chosen. “do with it what you will.”

ii. connections

the invitation is strange, but sakura still accepts, clearing time in her schedule to meet up with a young woman who claims she wants to write about her. when sakura sits across from her, the writer begins to shake.

“i’m sorry,” the writer says. “i don’t mean to be weird.”

sakura just smiles back. “don’t worry about it.”

“i know you’re a busy woman. former e.r. director, current head of the medical ninjutsu program, part-time practitioner, part-time researcher, weapons development consultant.” the writer raises a finger with every title. “i understand that you’re unofficially off the mission roster for jounin, but i imagine that has more to do with the fact that you have a toddler at home. i’m also going to gracefully not even consider what the next step tends to be for well-trained shinobi with a rare specialization such as yourself.” the writer clears her throat because sakura narrows her eyes in that subtle, suspicious way only the most trained of shinobi might. “i’m going to be direct with you. i want to write your story.”

“pardon me?”

“your story,” the writer repeats. “you are probably the finest kunoichi in this generation and i think it’s important the world knows that. or, at least, our village.”

sakura looks away, a flush forming on her cheeks. she begins to shake her head, wring her hands, and stutter incoherent things. the gestures all seem so strange, so foreign, so uncharacteristic of someone that holds all the titles the writer just mentioned. she finds it sad that haruno sakura can’t take this sort of compliment because this is a woman that can shatter the ground with one finger.

words should have nothing on her.

“i’m not saying there aren’t strong women out there,” the writer continues. “it takes one glance at the hokage mountain to remember that there are. but you...you’re just...” she shrugs. “simply put, you’re incredible. and i think decades from now someone is going to write a book about all the best kunoichi that ever existed and i want to make sure they have a proper source of reference when making sure that you’re on those pages.”

“why?” sakura asks.

the writer shrugs, but there’s a hopeful sort of smile stretched across her face. “every little girl needs a hero, don’t you think?”

“and you think that’s me?”

“i know that’s you.”

the writer leans back into her chair and a waitress arrives with the tea the writer had ordered earlier. she takes a sip and contemplates the steam. across from her, haruno sakura is quiet.

“why don’t i tell you my story first,” the writer says. sakura nods so the writer does as well. “i was eight-years-old when konoha was invaded years ago. my parents, both shinobi, were part of the efforts to the stave off the attack.

“to be clear, this isn’t a sad backstory. they’re both alive. retired, but alive.

“they left me with my grandmother in what they assumed was a safe place. but there were no safe places. not at that time. not with the akatsuki attacking and all the monsters they brought with them.

“did you know i used to be afraid of bugs? how irrational. they’re everywhere. but i used to be so frightened by them. and then after my parents left, a giant centipede came out of the ground. we were all running. i fell and i looked back and i saw it. a centipede as tall as a building that i was so certain was going to eat me. i couldn’t move. i was hurt and i was terrified and then all of a sudden i saw a girl leaping in front of me like every incredible manga heroine i’d ever read about. then she took it down with a single punch.

“the people around were marvelling at the dead monster and talking about how this girl took it down all by herself. but she--” the writer shakes her head. “but you--you didn’t even look at them. you came to me and checked on me and healed my wound while comforting me.

“you saved my life that day, saved more people, and not to be weird, but i’ve been following your accomplishments ever since then. you’re not lauded in the same way people like uzumaki naruto are. not at all. you’re not something flashy, something often spoken about. your influence runs deeper than that. your legacy runs deeper than that.

“no shinobi name, no blatant nepotism--no offence--you started off ordinary. and now you’re--” the writer falters, unable to find the right words to describe what haruno sakura has become. she shakes her head. she grins, something tight and rueful for her shortcoming. “you’re--”

“okay.”

the writer blinks. “what?”

“okay,” sakura agrees. there’s something in the way her posture loosens, in the way she rests an elbow on the table and cradles her chin in her palm. she’s relaxed enough, but the writer catches the way she braces herself for the inevitable onslaught of questions that will likely lead her down a few mental pathways she’s probably spent years ignoring.

haruno sakura smiles and the writer bites her lip when she remembers that this is her hero.

“what would you like to know?”

iii. from a bud to a blossom

her mother doesn’t look particularly impressed when she visits home with an indisputable baby bump and a wedding ring dangling from a chain around her neck. the wedding came first, sakura has the decency to clarify, but the lack of husband at her side leaves mebuki frowning.

“sasuke-kun and i can’t just--” sakura stops, pursing her lips and then looking away.

unlike her husband, mebuki has never once turned a blind eye to the bruises that used to dot their daughters skin, how limp limbs turned sturdy and powerful over time. perhaps he attributed it all to puberty, perhaps he refused to acknowledge the way her mouth had tightened with grim acceptance, how her gaze had sharpened. her daughter is one of the few from her class that was promoted to jounin, and it wouldn’t surprise mebuki to know that perhaps she was promoted even further.

sakura might pretend they’re on some sort of journey of redemption or whatnot, but her secrecy is telling enough.

“sasuke-kun couldn’t join me,” sakura says instead. “he had something he needed to do.”

“for kakashi?”

sakura dons a careful mask of pleasantness. “yes.”

mebuki almost laughs. sakura was never a good liar growing up, too quick to stutter and stumble. even after meeting ino and gaining the confidence only a best friend could provide, sakura couldn’t quite wear the right poker face. it was only after her team split up, after she learned from tsunade, that sakura figured out how to hide the important things a bit better.

“fine,” mebuki acquiesces. they fall silent, so she picks up the cup of tea before her, prompting sakura to do the same. there’s a tension between them that’s only felt when they bring up uchiha sasuke, so mebuki goes for the next best thing and nods to sakura’s midsection. “so.”

“so?”

mebuki raises an eyebrow. “are you not going to tell me about my grandchild?”

“um. you’re having one?”

“how soon?”

“well i’m due in april--”

“are you afraid?”

sakura looks startled. “what?”

“are you afraid, sakura?”

“i--” sakura swallows thickly. “i am.”

“don’t be.”

mebuki reaches across. she pulls sakura into her arms and almost laughs because she hasn’t held her little girl like this in years and now she’s just so big. she looks down at sakura’s growing belly and reaches out hesitantly. she might be her mother, but mebuki remembers all too well the invasion of hands on pregnant women. after sakura nods, mebuki smiles softly and rests her palm upon her grandchild.

“you’ve grown up, haven’t you,” mebuki murmurs. she looks up, meeting sakura’s eyes, and with her free hand, she cups her daughter’s cheek. “you’ve always been mature--probably more than you ever needed to be--but somehow seeing you like this, about to become a mother...”

sakura’s eyes, green just like hers, begin to water, and mebuki hopes against all statistically likeliness that this baby might inherit that trait.

“i love you,” sakura blurts out, her voice wavering over every word. “mommy, i--” she sniffs. “i love you so much.”

mebuki laughs. “hormones, huh?”

“mommy, they’re awful.”

she laughs again, shifting her hands to sakura’s shoulders and then pulling her into a hug. she pulls back and presses a kiss against sakura’s forehead like she did when her girl was growng up. “i love you too, sakura.”

iv. zodiac

one day sakura is cooking breakfast while sarada sits at the table reading a magazine. she looks so strange, dressed down in her pyjamas with her hair messy and her glasses askew. she yawns and then says, “hey, we have the same zodiac sign, mama.”

sakura glances at sarada with an eyebrow raised. “you’re thirteen. this is just occurring to you now?”

sarada sticks her tongue out at her. “i’m just saying!” she holds up a page with a ram on it. “aries women are passionate, enthusiastic, and determined.” then she winks at sakura. “they’re also short-tempered, moody, and aggressive.”

“what was that? you don’t want me to make you breakfast and you want to starve today?”

"see! short-tempered!”

sighing, sakura slides the cooked eggs out of the pan and onto a plate. she brings the food to the table and sets everything up for the two of them. sarada needs to eat up for her day preparing for the chuunin exams with her team, and sakura has work to do at the hospital.

“also,” sarada says, stuffing her mouth with a piece of fish, “we aries are optimistic.” she pauses, probably considering herself and considering her mother. “yeah, the both of us really are all of those things.” she nods. “it’s because we’re both aries.”

“that’s absurd.” sakura shakes her head, hardly one to believe in something like astrology. she rests her chin over her palm and stares at her daughter, a young woman full of confidence and drive. she reaches out with her free hand and musses sarada’s hair. “we’re alike because i raised you, not because of some stars.”

she leans forward, pressing a kiss against sarada’s forehead. when she draws back, sarada is beaming.

“you have all those amazing traits because you had an amazing mother to teach them to you,” sakura says with a wink

sarada laughs again. “and the negative ones? did i get my moodiness from you or from the stars?”

sakura steals a bit of sarada’s breakfast. “that we’ll blame on your father.”

v. japanese mythology

while sakura’s chakra control has always been superior to that of her peers, she still lacks the utter precision of people like tsunade and shizune. she’ll get there, and she’ll get there very soon, they often remind her, but there are still times when sakura’s control falters at the moment meant for release.

sometimes nothing will happen. sometimes she won’t exert properly, won’t protect herself either, resulting in a shattered fist and broken arm, and even worse depending on the intentions of her opponent.

and other times the opposite will take place. sakura will throw her punch, putting everything into a well-timed attack that results in much more damage than she could ever intend. sakura’s caused minor earthquakes, demolished buildings, shattered foundations, but not because she meant to.

she’s still learning, tsunade will tell her. it hasn’t even been a year, after all.

sakura tries not to use her chakra enhanced strength all too much, but sometimes it’s necessary.

she doesn’t know where her current team is. ever since her genin cell was split up, tsunade has put her on various squads. she’s mostly meant to heal, but she still needs to fight, and right now she’ll die if she doesn’t.

the kunoichi she’s up against is strong and comes at her with the intention to kill. she’s stronger, so much stronger, and sakura doesn’t know if she can beat her. she wishes she could be as powerful as this kunoichi, as sure of her own capabilities that she had no qualms with separating from her team. sakura scowls, jealous, and curses her old team and curses her current one. she tries to hide to get her bearings, but the yatsugatake mountains do not allow her this reprieve.

“do you intend to run away?” the kunoichi asks.

she’s much older than sakura, and judging by the scar by her eyebrow and the hardness of her face, she’s much more experienced as well. she moves with a confidence sakura can only wish to one day achieve, and strikes just as surely.

sakura is just fortunate that she’s much better at dodging.

"fight me!” the kunoichi yells.

the kunoichi slashes her side and sakura cries out and stumbles. the kunoichi moves to hit her again, but sakura rolls out of the way at the last second. she runs, unashamed by her cowardice. one hand holds her bleeding wound, unconsciously feeding it with healing chakra.

she has to do something.

sakura slides down against the jagged stone of the mountain and takes a deep breath to think. she can’t get in close. the kunoichi is better than her. sakura can evade, but she can’t do that forever. she can attack with the few long-range weapons she has on hand, but sakura doesn’t doubt the kunoichi will counter them with ease.

sakura takes a breath, looks down at her stained hands, and wonders is she can cause a rockslide.

“stop running--”

sakura concentrates her chakra into her fist. she draws her arm back, punches the mountainside, and release everything she has. she cries out as something breaks in her arm, but she gets the result that she wants. despite her pain, she catches the flicker of fear on the kunoichi’s face when the stone crumbles and immediately falls on top of her.

sakura herself barely dodges the boulders. she jumps as far back as possible and watches and waits and waits and waits. she waits for the mountain to settle once again, waits for the kunoichi to claw her way out of her grave, waits for the pain in her arm and on her side to turn numb.

finally, sakura moves forward. she takes careful steps, eyes and ears open to the sound of the kunoichi’s counterattack. when sakura hears the tortured groans of a survivor, she turns and finds her opponent. her entire body is covered by the broken mountainside, but half her face is visible. her mouth moves, and sakura can only imagine the pain that causes.

she considers what is left of this section of the yatsugatake mountains and considers how strong she’ll one day become.

“how pathetic,” the kunoichi says. she coughs, causing the boulder on top of her to shift. her eyes squeeze shut and despite the excruciating pain, she laughs. “i can’t believe i’ve been brought down by a child.”

“i’m fourteen,” sakura tells her. she doesn’t mean to take offence, but she does, and so she presses her foot down just so, making the kunoichi cry out once more. satisfied, sakura eases her stance. “i’m old enough that you decided to fight me. am i not old enough to kill you too?”

the kunoichi sneers at her, revealing red stained teeth. “i’m not dead yet, brat.”

“no,” sakura murmurs, slowly sinking to her knees. she considers pulling out a weapon, but her manipulation of chakra still needs practice. and shouldn’t she practice? as her bloody palm nears the kunoichi’s nervous face, sakura takes a deep breath. “but you will be.”

vi. acknowledgements

naturally, tsunade’s sudden retirement is a sore spot for sakura. sakura raves, sakura rages, and sakura doesn’t once back down. this is ridiculous. this is preposterous. this is terrible timing. this is not at all a wise political move. she’s cyclical and repetitive, so tsunade mostly tunes her out after the first few days of sakura’s screaming.

“i don’t see why you’re so against this,” tsunade drawls over a cup of tea. “one would think you might find this ideal, considering who my successor is.”

sakura’s scowl darkens at the reminder that kakashi will soon be taking over as hokage.

“after all, he’s the one who will be dealing with the age old question of what to do with uchiha sasuke.” tsunade leans back into her chair. she drums her fingers over the leather arm and cocks her head to the side. “surely you’re relieved that he won’t be on the receiving end of my brand of justice.”

sakura rolls her eyes. “there’s still the village council. and the other kages. and, well, konoha’s reputation. you’re one person--”

“listen here, you little--”

“--and i know you would never do that to naruto.”

“naruto?”

sakura shrugs. “he wouldn’t take anything less than a pardon just sitting down.”

“and you would?”

“this isn’t about me.”

“then i’m making it about you,” tsunade insists. “do you think i’d do that to you?”

“i--” sakura purses her lips to stop herself from talking.

tsunade might not be the best politician, but she plays the game better than any of her predecessors because she’s a woman and isn’t it just so easy to underestimate her? shizune sleuths just as well, acts and smiles on cue, and so sakura has picked up these skills too. little sakura knows who to smile at, who to butter up with her femininity, who to demolish with just a couple of words. the girl can argue and make it seem like your idea was never hers to begin with.

“yes?”

“it’s not about me.”

“i acknowledge that. i don’t care. answer my question.”

“i--” sakura grunts to herself. “no,” she admits. “i don’t think you’d do that to me. but your decision to pardon sasuke wouldn’t be about just me. it would be about sasuke. about naruto and kakashi, about inspiring hope, about--”

tsunade waves a hand. “you don’t have to do that.”

“do what?”

“convince me about hypotheticals. it’s not going to be my call considering i already have a successor.”

sakura flinches at the word and that gives tsunade pause. leaning back, tsunade considers a smile. instead she shakes her head. do i detect jealousy? she wants to ask. but sakura isn’t jealous. sakura is worried. sakura is upset. sakura is upset that kakashi would replace tsunade as sakura’s beacon and that he would replace her as tsunade’s legacy.

“as hokage,” tsunade clarifies. “all this means is that kakashi’s face will be carved into a mountain between mine and some other poor bastard. that’s the successor he is. do you understand?”

sakura frowns and tsunade laughs in her face.

“don’t be like that,” she says, smacking the back of sakura’s head the way she used to when sakura was young and naive and full of dumb answers despite her obvious intelligence. “kakashi? my new successor?” tsunade mimics with a laugh. she smiles softly, shakes her head, and picks up her box of things. “he might have my title, but you know better than that, sakura.”

vii. happy birthday, sakura!

for her twenty-second birthday, sakura and ino makes plans to meet up and celebrate. sasuke makes some excuses so he can lag behind, and while normally that might have annoyed sakura, she takes it with a stride and just goes on ahead.

she’s seeing ino again. she’s seeing ino again after so long apart and as she runs faster and faster, her heart races from the anticipation. when she finally catches sight of ino at their meeting place, sakura releases a stupid little squeal that ino reciprocates. they run for each, meeting with a hug and moving around with it.

“i missed you!”

“your hair is long,” ino says, playing with the locks of pink. “you look so pretty!”

sakura sniffs. “you look pretty.” she pokes ino’s bicep. “do you even lift?”

ino rolls her eyes. “not all of us can be ripped and use our chakra for additional strength.”

sakura laughs and ino laughs too and then they’re hugging once again.

eventually ino notices how sakura is alone. she peers over sakura’s shoulder as if expecting her partner might appear. “where’s sasuke?” she wonders.

sakura shrugs though. “he has some stuff to do.”

“he’s not joining us for your birthday celebration?” ino asks, sounding thoroughly unimpressed with the man her best friend had chosen to fall in love with.

“nope,” sakura responds with a grin. sasuke’s absence might irk ino like it irks her mother, but sakura knows him well enough to know that this is his gift to her: time alone with her best friend. sakura loops her arm around ino’s and they begin to move. “it’s just you and me, ino.”

it always was and it always will be. no marriage, no other friendships, no children -- nothing will change ino’s significance to sakura. ino, the friend who brought sakura out of her own shell, the one who gave her confidence and supported her through absolutely everything. sakura loves many people and will continue to do so, but sakura will never be able to replicate the sort of bond she has with her best friend.

“sounds like a perfect pair then.” ino presses a sloppy kiss upon sakura’s cheek. “happy birthday, sakura.”

fin

#fic #sakura haruno

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writinanon · 5 years

Text

Gods and Monsters 2

So this story is just deciding not to work with a linear narrative so it’s probably going to jump around a lot I’m sorry. This is set a few years after everything that went down in the first ‘chapter’. The Seeds have been consolidating their powers, isolating themselves from the other Gods and only talking to a select few, learning about Mercy and Ben and the history of Hope leading to them discovering the Witch. I couldn’t find Wheaty’s mother’s name anywhere or if there was a consensus for what it would be so I picked one at random from a list of my favorite characters. Sorry, I’ll happily change it if there is a better name.

The Witch had been revived. That much was clear from the sickly-sweet smell coming off the water of the River.

“I don’t get it.” Wheaty murmured looking at the life-blood of the county, the Henbane. “I keep trying but nothing works.” He looked up with large eyes. Mercy recalled those same eyes, his mother’s eyes. She had been the one who held dominion over the River before her son. She had been a strong woman. Mercy was saddened by her passing. But the poison had left a mark on her. It had been eating her away slowly, surely, until she was no more. This was the worst kind of Vanir Magic. Mercy would not let another die simply because she was blind to the sins of one from her Home.

“Come. Eli you stay. The Witch’s fields aren’t far. We will clear the poison before it spreads.” Mercy promised, unwilling to let the son of her dear friend suffer. “Stay out of the water until then.” The Young God blinked and nodded, warily looking at the green tinted water.

“Yeah. Good plan.” He nodded. The four of them set out towards the fields.

“You seem to know what’s causing the river to smell so different.” August said, voice questioning and defensive.

“A long time ago, before you’d even come to visit here, there was a Vanir Witch who had followed us.” Ben informed with a shrug. His spear and shield were upon his back and he continued forward. “She was a dangerous woman, she believed herself a medicine woman but only ever destroyed people. Her potions and remedies would corrode the mind, until all you were was a puppet for her desires. She had begun poisoning the River then too…” He trailed off looking at Mercy’s back. She could feel his eyes.

“I did not want to think one of ours would have done such a thing. I was stubborn and prideful. I would not listen to Nisha. In the end I was wrong and it cost Nisha her life. If I had acted sooner, if I had just stopped the Witch, Nisha would be alive and Wheaty would have his mother still.”

“You didn’t want to think badly, she was from your Home, right?” Dakota chimed in.

“Yes. She is crafty. Be on guard. Though we might have an easier time of this. It took Nisha and Ben flooding her fields for me to be able to land a blow last time. This time the Wind is fully on our side.” Mercy glanced with a small smile at August. She shrugged and rubbed at her arms. She had a dagger on her hip only because Mercy refused to let her be weaponless if she meant to join them.

“I don’t see why we couldn’t try talking to her.”

“Because there is no talking to her.” Mercy murmured harshly. “Believe me I tried.”

“Did you? Or did you just bark at her and demand she stop. When she thought she was helping?” August asked back and Mercy paused. Dakota looked between the two and then to Ben.

“Augustine, I understand how you might feel I have betrayed you by not telling you of my True Nature. But I assure you there has never been a lie in my affection. I am not just a mindless Warmonger like other Gods of my Throne. Unlike their Pantheons mine saw fit not to divide the Warrior and the Strategist. I do not want this War. I came here for peace. If there was another way…”

“You haven’t even tried any other ways.”

“Nor have they.”

“Joseph’s tried talking to me, to Ben on several occasions. But you never want to listen either.” Ben and Mercy glanced at each other and Ben sighed.

“Being twins we can tap into each other’s powers.” He said and Mercy started forward again while the other two lingered to listen. “When someone intends to do me or mine harm, I am aware of it. Joseph has never approached me without intention of doing something that will hurt me. Whether he sees his actions as passive or not, the effect will be that I am put into danger, my life is threatened.” The pair of young women stared at him in shock for a moment before looking to Mercy’s back. The blonde had summoned her Lead Cougar and was pointing to something. The big cat brushed against her before darting off.

“What is it?” Dakota called.

“I’m having her scout ahead. We need a rest.” She motioned around them. “We’ll see if there’s a clearing and have a quick meal before we finish our journey.” She said and looked out at the trees.

August felt no small trace of guilt. If they could just talk to this woman, if Mercy would let her reason with her, then they would see that violence isn’t the answer at all time. The Wind God didn’t buy that Mercy knew when someone was threatening her, even if they weren’t directly doing it. That sort of Foresight was impossible. But Mercy was set in her ways.

“We’ve arrived. August if you could keep us up wind so that none of the pollen or her powders blow to us, please?” Mercy didn’t even look at her. And it didn’t sound like she was really asking.

“Yeah sure.” She shifted the wind slightly and Mercy glanced to her and nodded before they moved forward. This still didn’t sit right with her.

“Mercy and I have some immunity as we have faced her before and she’s Vanir, like us. You two should hang back.” Ben said softly as he moved to stand beside Mercy. Dakota nodded and hung back but August was going to try and prove that they could talk to her.

“Hail Lord of War!” A voice called out from all around them before a soft green mist began to seethe around them.

“August the wind.” She moved the mist away from them and looked around for the source. A woman stepped out of a deeper bank of the haze. She was wearing a white lace dress and her long hair fell around her in bronze tendrils. Her eyes were an eerie bright blue. She smiled and held open her arms. “I have awaited your return.”

“You should have stayed dead.” Mercy hissed, hand going to her axe.

“Wait!” August called and the pair looked to her. “Please we don’t want to fight you! We just want to talk.” Mercy looked at her as thought she was insane but she ignored it. The other woman gave her a speculative look.

“Talk? Of what? I’m purifying the river I always have been. And I’ve always helped others see the True Path.”

“You’re poisoning people and turning them into shells!”

“Mercy! Please. Miss…”

“Faith. That is what my Brother calls me.”

“Please, Faith, the pollen from your flowers is hurting others. And it’s making them sick…”

“It’s purging them of their corruption.” She informed simply and shook her head. “But a Childe will never know unless shown. I have made something just for you Bóthildr. Won’t you walk with me?” And then she blew a powder, a deep almost emerald powder, at Mercy.

“August!” But the Wind God wasn’t fast enough and she inhaled the powder. Soon a cloud of it surrounded them all…

Everything was happening so fast. The images all jumbled together. There was a massive Wolf, a large almost Serpent like creature, a Woman tall with her white hair pulled back and a pure black eye, a Man with red gold hair and bright blue eyes a hammer in his grasp, a Man with darker red hair and green eyes tattoos covering his chest as he smiled cruelly, and then suddenly it seems to focus.

An older man, hair mostly white with silver glittering among the strands but the dark rusty red still clinging in some places. His lone eye was a glimmering silver color, shifting and turning. The patch that covered his other eye was a brushed black leather. Perched upon his shoulders were a pair of dark birds, ravens that gave sharp caws. His armor was shining and bright, looking like gold, and his leathers and tunic were made of fine materials as well. A crown sat upon his head.

“So, you think to restart a War, Childe?” He laughed, a booming sound that trailed off at the edges as the world blurred slightly.

“I will stop the Ragnarök by any means necessary.” Voice strong and sure, hand grasping the handle of the Axe. A crackle of lightning, the growls of many large cats joining. He looked shocked but then he snarled and hurled a spear. It was easily cut in half.

Things faded, time moved, swirling and twisting. A Woman, tall and slender with a regal air around her, surrounded by fields of flowers and glimmering pools of magic. Her hands are warm, her nails are sharp. The eyes change, altered eternally.

Everything stops. A field, a Woman of beauty and youth, but broad and muscular, build for fighting. Her dress is deep purple, soft gold stitching lining it intricately. There is a warm smile on her gentle heart shaped face. But her eyes hold sorrow and pain. She does not wish to be here, she does not wish for this to happen. A sharp pain in the chest. This shouldn’t be happening, she shouldn’t be here. Why is she here?

“The Norns have told you, haven’t they? That the Ragnarök will be far worse than previously thought. That it would only be Us wiped away. That the Yggdrasil would survive. That it would recover, but not anymore. Odin’s meddling has caused everything to become so much worse.”

“You’re not one of Them. Come home. It doesn’t have to be this way.”

“I am not Them. But I am tied to Them now. My fate it sealed. I would rather it be you.” Hands, once small and held dearly, lift and remove a golden necklace. “You’ll need this.” Clasped around, the weight is heavy, too heavy. Eyes burn and trails of ice fall down cheeks.

“Baby sister no. Please. No.” Arms wrap around each other. It happens fast. A blade in the hand, those once small hands above scarred, worn ones. Plunge in, smooth motion.

“I love you, big sister.” Gently, so gentle lowered to the ground. Agony, rage, sorrow, pain, fear, anguish, fury, tribulation, wrath. The ghost of a wolf stands at the edge of the mourning circle. Slowly it shifts, alters into that of a mountain lion. A Wolf no more, now honor unto the lost a Cat forever more.

They were yanked from the visions by the scent of smoke and the feeling of heat. Dakota stood not to far from them, having pulled them to safety, with the Bow in her hands. The field was burning and for a moment her eyes were a warm green. She was panting and looked at them.

“Mercy!” She rushed over and hesitated before touching her arm. “Are you okay? What happened? August, I thought you were going to keep the wind blowing hard enough so that this didn’t happen?” She couldn’t stop her voice from raising. Mercy’s hand shot up, wrapping around Dakota’s forearm and she looked at her.

“You used the bow.” She murmured, still shaking off the fog.

“Uh yeah. I… I guess I didn’t get hit as heavy because I listened to Ben and hung back.” Another pointed look at August. “And I managed to pull myself out of the vision. What was that by the way?”

“Memories. Memories of what happened before.” Ben said softly and looked concerned for Mercy. But she was focused completely on Dakota.

“You used the bow.”

“Was… Should I not have?”

“No. It’s a special bow. Keep it. We should go. The Witch is long gone. We’ll need rest to shake off the effects of her poison.”

“Are you sure? Maybe we could just sit here for a bit?”

“No. We should go. We need… fresh air.” Mercy gave a light squeeze to Dakota’s forearm before releasing her and looking over the other two. “Are you well enough to walk?”

“Yes.” Ben nodded and gave a small smile. “Thank you, Dakota; you saved us.” She gave a small bashful smile and shrugged.

“It’s what you would have done. If you could.” They started and Mercy continued to look at August. She looked shaken. She looked horrified. She had felt everything, seen her own hands doing the tasks.

“You…”

“Come we’ll walk.” Mercy motioned to follow her brother and the young goddess. “Are you happier now?”

“What?”

“Are you happier now that you know fully what my True Nature is?”

“Mercy this isn’t about that I was just too slow to…”

“You should have been fully able to keep that powder away from me if you had done like I asked. You don’t trust me because you believe I lied to you.”

“You did lie! A lie through omission is still a lie Mercy?! How can I know you weren’t faking everything huh? You omit that you don’t like cooking but still do it. You omit that you want my company? What else have you not told me huh?”

“I didn’t tell you my past because it was not prudent to my present. It had no effect on how I saw you or how I cared for you. There has never been a lie in my personality, I find it too tedious to do things like that.” Mercy looked over at the younger woman. “The Witch murdered many people. She cannot be reasoned with, cannot be bargained with. She no long feels any sort of pain. She believed she’s helping by destroying. She killed the previous River God.”

“But you didn’t even try…”

“I did long ago. I tried and I tried and I tried because a Vanir couldn’t be doing the things she had done. In the end… In the end not believing my instincts, refusing to see the evidence in front of me cost Nisha her life. I am just as responsible for her death as the Witch. But while I mourn, grieve, and atone for that. The Witch sees herself as purifying the people. She seeks to remake the world as she wants it. Hollow and lifeless.” The blonde woman looked ahead at the back of her brother and her other friend.

“But still… Everything that’s happening… I mean I understand Jacob but Joseph and John haven’t done anything. I’m sorry but the kind of foresight Ben claims the two of you have just isn’t a thing.” August shook her head and the wind wrapped around her in a comforting embrace. A bitter chuckle rumbled out of Mercy’s throat and she reached up, tracing below her eye.

“Is it not strange that Ben and I are twins and yet we don’t share brown eyes?” She asked softly and August blinked. She then moved her hand down and plucked at the chain hanging around her neck before she paused and August stopped next to her. “This belonged to my baby sister. It’s a necklace of many talents. Chief among them being able to tell whom you can and cannot trust. It was given to her by her Aesir husband so it’s of Aesir magic, no Vanir. I have no control over it, nor its opinion of me.” She unlatched it and placed it in August’s palm.

“Mercy you don’t have to…”

“You want to know who to trust. You’re young. You’ll forever be aware of the Monster in your midst now. Even if you don’t know how bloody my hands are, how thick it coats, you know its there. You know I killed all the Old Gods, all the Aesir, the Vanir, the Giants; anyone who stood in my way, I killed until none remained. It’s up to you if you want to wear it.” She turned and walked away, Ben and Dakota now looking back at them. August looked down at the necklace in her hand. Dakota had walked on with Mercy but when August looked up Ben’s deep brown eyes were looking at her. He turned away and followed the other two and she raced to catch up.

Mercy vanished with Jess and Eli for a short period of time. Ben had been reluctant to see her go but hadn’t wanted to leave the others alone. Dakota used the down time to practice with her new weapon. It was of a Yew tree according to Ben, an old and strong one. It was slightly curved, making it a little different from the traditional long bow that Dakota knew about. She could feel the tension and strength in the string. She was able to fire fast and with great force. She wasn’t the best shot but Grace helped to become better. She remarked that it should really be Jess helping her because the other Goddess enjoyed bow hunting. Dakota still couldn’t get it to do what it had done that day at the field. The string was always warm, the bow itself was always warm even when she hadn’t touched it for hours, but it never sparked red like it had that day.

“Has it been mean to you?” Mercy’s voice jerked her from her thoughts and she looked over. Her tunics looked a little dirty and there was blood on her Axe. She had a satchel with her and set it down as she sat at the bench.

“I can’t get it to do the thing.” Dakota waved her hands over the bow and looked at her friend. You know like when we were fighting the Witch.” Mercy hummed softly and pulled a cleaning cloth from the satchel and started to clean her weapon.

“That is a special Bow. When the Vanir and the Aesir agreed to cease all Wars with an exchange of hostages, in a show of good faith we poured all our hatred and fury, rage, and anger towards the Aesir into that Bow.” She explained and Dakota looked at it, almost not wanting to pick it up.

“So, it’s like a sacred relic? Are you even allowed to give those away?”

“Rest assured it’s not sacred in any way. It burns with the deep hate and rage that flowed through our veins. It smolders with the fury and lividity from being muzzled and forced into a pact. Only a few special people can wield that Bow, it would consume someone… lesser.” The brunette felt like the blonde had chosen that word specifically. It confused her, she’d seen Mercy use the Bow so that meant it had to be wielded by a God, Dakota was just a lesser goddess. But she could use it. Maybe it meant someone of divinity period? But no, Jess and Grace looked at the Bow with awe and trepidation. As though it would devour them, but it would be wonderous. “Don’t be afraid of it. Only someone who is capable of feeling that same rage within themselves, of wielding that emotion, but someone who won’t get lost in it, can wield it.”

“But I’m not angry.”

“No, you’re not.” Mercy chuckled softly. “But if push came to shove, if something happened to me, to Ben, to the Ryes, what would you do?” Dakota looked down at the Bow. She didn’t need to answer that. She had already proven that she would burn an entire field for them. Mercy set her now cleaned Axe aside and picked up the Bow. The string shimmered, shifting colors like the dying of coals. She ran her finger up it before pulling it back. Energy crackled through the Bow. An arrow, almost intangible, appeared nocked and ready to be fired. Dakota looked from the arrow to Mercy’s eyes as she focused on the target. Her eyes had been swallowed in red again. It should have scared her but it didn’t. Mercy had never scared her, would never scare her. She released the arrow and it flew straight to the target. It burned but didn’t burn the target down.

“Whoa.”

“Keep practicing. You’ll need to focus your fire.” She explained and held out the Bow. Dakota took it with a grin and set back to practice.

#God of War AU #Far Cry 5 AU #Deputy Mercy #Deputy Ben #Deputy Dakota #Deputy August #Sorry guys this one is gonna jump #please let me know what you think though

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sig-nifier · 6 years

Text

New Fic!

Immunity by Signifier on AO3

Summary -

There was supposedly, a group, that lived right in the heart of the city, the most overrun area of Los Santos. Achievement City, it was known as, due to the fact that it was an achievement to survive longer than an hour while you were there. It was said that this group was immune. It was said that this group was immortal.

Michael didn't believe in such bullshit. Not until he saw it first hand, that is.

"But- but you were fucking dead!"

"Yeah, and now I'm not."

Chapter 1 -

Michael did not do groups.

They were complicated and reckless and loud. They led to arguments - people always had conflicting ideas and preferences, and an argument in the present day was dangerous. Michael had seen his fair share of groups torn apart by what normally started as simple disagreements. He was pretty sure he could remember the worst of it all down to the last detail.

He had met his most memorable group on a run for supplies and they’d hit it off right away. He’d been weary, of course, as he was with all the new people he came across. It was logical to assume that nobody friendly was left. But they had been. They’d swapped stories and booze and Michael found himself quickly enjoying their company. They teamed up easily and for a while things worked out smoothly.

There was Bruce - he was the one everyone turned to when looking for a new plan, but he was also known to be reckless and often his ideas had to be modified. Thats where Adam came in. Adam had a way to subtly make adjustments to plans that secured everyone’s safety, although Bruce caught him out on it a few times but it was all accepted in good fun. Lars was good with his hands. He could fix up a car with limited resources and was always looking for ways to improve on people’s weapons. Michael had gotten a pretty sick knife out of that and he still had it, too. The handle was a knuckle duster. Elyse and James, the married couple, made up the rest of their group. Elyse made sure everyone was doing okay - the mother hen as Michael liked to call her, but she could be ruthless and fire back shots just as easily as she could take them. She was always sweet to him. James was an excellent shot and he and Michael often competed for kills. As far as Michael knew, he was still winning.

It ended bloody.

The atmosphere had gotten tense with supplies getting low and the constant talk of where they were going next had everyone on edge. Bruce ended up getting them into a situation that they barely escaped from, and it was all downhill from there.

A screaming match ended with a hole in Adam’s head, Bruce’s gun smoking from releasing the bullet. Two more shots followed. Lars put down Bruce and then James gave Lars the same treatment. Michael would never forget the overwhelming silence that had washed over the three of them that remained. Elyse told him that they were heading to Achievement City, and that he was welcome to come along. He refused, but he wished them the best. He hoped they had made it.

Michael was alone again for a while after that, before he met a woman named Lindsay. She was fierce, a blazing passion to her that attracted Michael straight away. She could hold her own and didn’t take any of Michael’s shit, but at night, when they huddled for warmth around a glowing fire on the roof of a building, Lindsay spoke of the world. She spoke of traveling and concerts and hot coffee. She told Michael of her family, and he told her about his. It was raining the first time they kissed. Michael could feel the chill of the water on his skin, sinking it’s way into his clothes with ease, but Lindsay’s body against his was warm and her lips were soft and just for a second he could pretend that they weren’t surrounded by flesh eating monsters and that everything would be okay.

Her death hit him hard.

It was a bite that got her, or maybe it was the bullet that she put in her own head as soon as she said goodbye. All Michael knew was that part of him had died with her.

So, no. Michael did not do groups. He didn’t do partners or alliances or trades. He kept to himself and it had been keeping him alive so far. It wasn’t the virus that killed you in this day and age, after all. It was the people that made you care for them.

If he could avoid it, Michael wouldn’t leave his building. He was hauled up in a hotel just outside Achievement City. It had taken him a few days to clear out the whole place, but it had been worth it. When he first arrived at the hotel he’d had supplies for months. He spent his time wandering the halls, finding odd souvenirs from people that once were and taking guesses on the lives that the people of Los Santos had led. His favourite souvenir so far was a couple of voodoo dolls that he’d found in a busted wardrobe. He had decided that they belonged to a cult of women who had used them to bring the virus down as a punishment to all the men who had wronged them. He thought Lindsay would have liked that. Michael read a lot, too. You’d be surprised how many different books you can find in a hotel. There were comedies, horrors, romance novels, plays, even a few comics. He liked the stories, liked the way they could take him away from the hell he was currently living in, even if it was just for a few hours.

One thing that hadn’t changed with the apocalypse was the fact that supplies ran out fast. As the months past Michael felt the dread slowly crawl it’s way towards him as he made the decision to venture into the city for supplies.

He had a feeling things were about to go very wrong.

Achievement City would have been beautiful, if the undead hadn’t made it their place of inhabitance. Hell, Michael could still appreciate the beauty of it. The plantation was overgrown, wrapping the concrete buildings in a certain colour of green that Michael found himself loving. Cars were brown with rust and lampposts lay sideways in the street. He wasn’t entirely sure how that happened. His favourite part of the city by far, though, was the tallest building in the area. It loomed over the rest of the city, watching and taking in everything that happened down below. It was made of a special reflective metal, meaning whoever was inside could see out, but you couldn’t see in. Sometimes, when the sun hit the metal in just the right place, the whole building lit up straight gold. They called it The Tower.

Michael knew of the people who took residence in The Tower, too. He’d never met them, but he’d heard stories from groups and people passing by. That’s all anyone heard these days, just stories. They had many names, too. Michael always seemed to hear different names and different stories. He had overheard a conversation where they were called Munies. Lindsay called them Fakes. Adam called them Legends.

The general tale went that five men had taken up place in Achievement City, living recklessly, wandering without weapons, killing geeks for sport. Then the stories started to spin. People spoke of them being immune to the virus, seeing them dive off buildings for dares, testing how many bites it takes to kill you instantly. He once met a particularly religious group that claimed they had sold their souls to the devil. People said they were immortal. Michael called bullshit on that. Nobody was immortal. Sure, the dead were rising but that wasn’t immortality, that was some form of fucked up science. Nobody was immortal.

Michael could recall the exact second that everything went to shit. He had made his way soundlessly into a small corner shop, and lucky for him, there was still some items left. He barricaded the front doors with a couple of empty stalls and then kept low, not wanting the dead’s unseeing eyes to catch him through a window. He loaded his bag, making quick work of the shop before he saw something truly valuable. Laying wide eyed and dead on the floor was the shop clerk - uniform and all. There was a pistol in her cold hand. If there was anything rarer than food, it was ammo, which is why Michael liked to stick to his melee weapons. The knife Lars had made him still worked perfectly fine, after all. But sometimes a gun was needed. It was useful for a way out in more ways than one. He crept across the floor, bag discarded halfway through packing up tins as he reached the girl. She looked younger than he was. Carefully, Michael reached out a hand and started to uncurl her fingers from the weapon.

Dead man’s grip, they called that.

It was almost free, just one finger left and that one finger just so happened to be resting on the trigger. Carefully, he started to remove the finger. That’s when it all went to shit.

The gun fired as the clerks finger caught on the trigger and Michael stumbled backwards, his heart racing from the shock. He pressed a hand to his right ear, a low ringing deep in his skull. Then he heard them. A soft groan erupted from outside and Michael felt a pang of anxiety in his chest. He heard the dragging of worn shoes on concrete, heard the pounding of rotten fists on glass. Michael stood up, there was no use in hiding now, and turned to look at the windows.

Geeks stood looking in, hands smearing all kinds of dirt down the glass as they hit and scratched and tried to make their way inside. There were so many of them that they were blocking out the light from the sun and Michael knew that with time, the glass would crack. He picked up the discarded gun, cursed himself for not seeing that it was already cocked and moved to pick up his bag. He threw the last of the supplies inside, zipping it closed and throwing it over his shoulder. Then he simply stood and waited - gun in one hand, knife in the other.

It was inevitable that the geeks would get inside. That was his only exit, he had checked that when he first arrived. Not to mention that geeks were strong, maybe not one on it’s own, but a big group like the one Michael was faced with was practically a death sentence. He watched as the glass started to crack, dirty, prying fingernails picking at the spot over and over. Then the entire window pane smashed. Michael shielded his eyes from the stray glass before bending his knees, ready for action as the dead started to pile in. He took shot after shot, putting them down from afar before the pistol ran out of bullets. He threw it to the side with a curse. Michael started forward after that, bracing a geek with a hand to it’s chest before plunging the blade into it’s head with ease. The softness of their rotting skulls still made him feel mildly sick. It didn’t take long before they overwhelmed him.

He had come close to death many times and his body had gotten used to it by now. He felt fear, at first. Fear for what would come when he did finally kick it. Then his anxiety would ease and be replaced with a small acceptance. He knew that wherever he was going, Lindsay would be there waiting, and that seemed to make the idea of death nicer, in his mind. It made him want it. Michael considered it whenever there was a gun with bullets in his hand, just a simple pull of the trigger and that would be it. He could be with Lindsay once more, listen to Bruce and Adam bicker, tell Lars how well his knife has served him. It would be so easy, so quick, so painless and then this hell would be over.

A putrid smell hit his nostrils and he struggled not to gag as he realised just how close the dead had gotten to him. He took a deep breath and braced himself for the pain that was certain to come. Except it didn’t. Right before his eyes bodies started dropping and he could hear the guns that were to blame thank outside. Within seconds there was a clear path to the window.

Standing outside was two men. One of them was short but well built, head shaved and sunglasses perched on his nose. He had a gun in each hand, black jeans and black body armour covering him from head to toe. The other man was taller, probably taller than Michael himself, and decked out in the exact same outfit, sunglasses and all. He had dirty blonde hair and a gun in one hand, an axe in the other. For a while, they simply stared at each other before the taller guy spoke.

“More would have heard that. You coming or what?”

Michael made his decision with ease, picking his way over the dead bodies that littered the floor and climbing out the window, glass shards biting at his hands. The men took off walking as soon as Michael was out of the building and he assumed he was to follow. So he did. The two strangers made small talk between themselves, discussing kill counts and bickering lightly over who had done more damage. Michael was almost certain they had forgotten about him as they turned down a small alley, before the shorter guy turned slightly and threw a question Michaels way.

“Who would you say killed more biters back there?”

“Uh, I couldn’t really see from where I wa-“

Michaels speech was cut off as a geek emerged from nowhere, grabbing the short man by the shoulders and sinking it’s teeth deep into his neck. The man cried out as the flesh was torn from his body, brutal and bloody. Before Michael could even think he had drawn his knife and stabbed the fucker in the temple. It was silent, save for the ragged breaths of the bitten man before he spoke.

“God dammit.”

The blonde pulled his gun from his waist, aiming it at his friends head. “Sorry Jeremy.”

Then he pulled the trigger.

Killing geeks was a sight that Michael was used to. Living people being shot, however, was not. He jumped as the shot rang out, loud and unwelcome in his ears. He was suddenly very aware of the fact that these people were indeed complete strangers and that he had no reason at all to trust them. If the other man picked up on his sudden unease, he didn’t show it, just simply put away his gun and took off walking once more. “Come on, we’re not far now.”

Michael wished he could see the man’s eyes from under his glasses. For some reason he felt like it would make him feel better. “Where are we going?”

The man paused, for dramatic effect or a train of thought, Michael wasn’t sure, but when he spoke he could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“We’re headed for The Tower.”

#fahc #apocalypse au #Achievement Hunter #immortal au #fahc fic

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