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#the shots he's able to make given his height

yandere-daydreams · 4 months

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Title: Ferine.

Pairing: Yandere!Toji x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 4.1k.

TW: Hybrid AU, Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Slight Manipulation, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Knotting, Mentions of Blood + Violence, Slight Breeding, and Biting.

Toji was, by far, the largest hybrid you’d ever taken care of.

Which, technically speaking, wasn’t that big of an accomplishment. This was barely your third month at the research facility, and you could count the number of hybrids you’d encountered before being hired here on a single hand. Still, even compared to the other wolves you currently looked after, Toji was beyond impressive. His long, pointed ears and stocky build set him well above six-foot, and even if he’d lacked height, he would’ve been able to make up for it with the planes of sculpted muscle circled around his biceps and thighs, laid over his chest and back. Top it all off with a set of claws each longer than your pointer finger and sharp enough to pierce reinforced steel, and he was practically fit for exhibit. Not that Toji could ever actually be a show dog, no – he’d tear the judges apart before they’d so much as heard his name. He was sweet, but he had a temper. You had to be careful not to set him off.

His fangs were impressive, too – perfectly in-tact despite years of less-than-adequate care, only a touch duller than a real wolf’s. You were careful not to let your hand stray from where it cupped his cheek as you looked for signs of damage or rot only to, of course, come up empty. The longer you spent with him, the more convinced you were that nothing could actually hurt Toji, even if the faded scar stitched into the corner of his mouth suggested otherwise.

“All done,” you started, letting go of his cheek. Immediately, Toji’s jaw snapped shut with enough strength to take off a finger, had you given him the chance. “Perfect as always, Toji. I think you might be my best patient.”

A cocky smile found its way to his lips, and you could hear his tail beating lazily against the dirt floor of his enclosure. The facility was committed to replicating the natural environments of their more exotic hybrids as closely as possible, even if Toji claimed he’d trade it all for a punching bag, or better yet, something ‘real’ to dig his teeth into, whatever that meant. “Do I get a treat, doc?”

It was asked playfully, but still, you hummed by way of confirmation, pulling your duffle bag into your lap and fishing Toji’s well-earned rewards – a generic chocolate bar and a can of some painfully acidic, sickeningly sweet brand of soda your hybrid patients couldn’t seem to get enough of. It was a meager prize, but it was as much as you were able to spare considering how strict his caretakers were when it came to his diet. You’d probably save yourself a few dirty looks if you didn’t give him anything at all, but it didn’t feel right to leave him empty-handed.

He accepted your humble offering greedily. While the chocolate bar was stowed away for later consumption, the can was pierced with a clawed thumb and emptied in one long, unpleasantly audible swig. You’d only started to push yourself to your feet when Tojj finished, letting the now empty can fall to the ground before turning his attention back to you. “It hurts my feelings, knowing you’re just gonna run off and put your hands on another animal.” His ear pressed flat against his scalp, as if he was trying (and failing) to feign disappointment. “If I didn’t know better, I’d start to think you didn’t really care about all the time we’ve spent together.”

“You’re not exactly in desperate need of medical attention,” you chided, throwing your bag over your shoulder. “And I’m on a schedule. Not all of us can sit around, grooming ourselves all day.”

That earned a breathy laugh, a coy lilt to his smile. “Well, if you wanted to take a shot at it, I wouldn’t—”

“Save it. I get enough of that with the cats.” Just thinking about it made you grimace. It was one thing to think that Toji might bite you. Knowing Satoru and Suguru – the bonded leopard and panther pair who shared a check-up date with Toji – would insist on licking any exposed skin raw before letting you do your job was a much more tangible reality. “I’ll see you in a couple of days. You’ll be good until then, right?”

“I’m gonna gut those fucking strays.” His answer was blunt, immediate, but he cracked as soon you shot him a purse-lipped frown. “Kidding, kidding. I’ll just rough ‘em up a little – make ‘em regret putting their paws on you, y’know?”

You couldn’t help but soften. Toji was rough around the edges, but he wasn’t a bad dog. He just had a protective streak and that, paired with his brash personality and tendency to bite before he barked, was enough for most people to write him off.

You really did have a long, long list of other appointments you had to get to before the end of the day, but against your better judgement, you paused as you passed him, reaching down to rake your fingers through sleek black hair. He was stoic, especially for a hybrid, but even his cool, dark eyes and wry smile couldn’t hide the way his tail moved just a little faster at the feeling of your nails raking over his scalp, his ears immediately perking up. It only took a second for him to bat your hand away, but you only laughed as you started towards the staff exit, waving to Toji over your shoulder.

Maybe, for his next check-up, you’d see if you could sneak in something special.

“Your mutt’s been unruly, lately.”

You glanced up from your clipboard, turning your full attention to Nanami and quickly finding that he hadn’t paid you the same courtesy. He was one of the senior researchers and, so far, the only one you could stand to be around for any longer than a few minutes. Since the higher-ups expected you to fill out your reports with one hand while you took a four-hundred-pound tiger’s temperature with the other, you tended to camp out in Nanami’s office when you had paperwork to file. “Toji?” Nanami nodded, and you rolled your eyes. “I’m just the vet, Kento. If his handlers aren’t doing their—”

“The problem isn’t his handlers, it’s him.”

His voice was flat, his tone icy. You laid your clipboard over your lap, crossing your arms over your chest. “He’s an animal. It’d be more out of character if he didn’t lash out occasionally.”

Nanami opened his mouth, but closed it just as quickly. After a lengthy pause, he leaned back in his seat, bringing a hand to his temples and massaging absentmindedly. “Do you know why he hasn’t been released back into the wild, yet?”

Obviously. Working with hybrids – let alone exotic hybrids – was dangerous, and your debriefing had drilled the face, name, and background of every animal in the facility into your memory. “He was born in captivity. He’s too acclimated to human society to adjust to the wilderness.”

Nanami pressed his lips into a thin line – an expression you’d learned to read as ‘you’re right, but I’m not going to say that’. Still, a degree of satisfaction accompanied his silent confirmation. “He was found in a dog fighting ring – or, what was left of one, at least. It took three rounds of sedation and two broken muzzles before our recovery team was able to get him under control.”

A knot formed at the base of your throat. Fuck chocolate, Toji deserved a blanket and as many hugs as he would let you give him. “That’s terrible, Kento. Were the organizers arrested?”

“The organizers—” Nanami straightened. “—were found mauled and stuffed into a kennel. Their bodies were so thoroughly mutilated, we had to rely on blood samples to identify them.”

“Wolves aren’t known for attacking unprovoked. It could’ve been another—”

“One of his handlers is currently hospitalized,” Nanami went on, as if you hadn’t cut in. “And two have already turned in their resignations – a resounding fear for their welfare in the workplace, supposedly.”

Your eyes fell to the floor, and that knot in your throat tightened until only the barest whisper could find its way out. “He’s not a bad dog,” you muttered, nearly under your breath. “He just— He loses his temper, sometimes. He doesn’t mean to hurt anymore.”

“He’s never tried to hurt you?”

You didn’t have to think before shaking your head. “Never.”

That, of all things, seemed to catch Nanami’s attention. For the first time, his eyes flickered briefly to you before falling back to his desk, his paperwork. “Good,” he said, marking down something on a piece of scrap paper in front of him. If he felt the need to elaborate, he clearly didn’t deem it worth the effort.

Later that day, you were informed that you were being transferred to the reptile wing indefinitely. If you’d been there for a few more months, if you’d had a little more experience to throw around, if you’d had a little more authority, you might’ve protested, but it was all you could do to nod and set to memorizing your new schedule.

It took exactly three weeks for you to see Toji again.

One of his handlers – a woman in her early twenties sporting a pressed scowl and a gauze-padded bandage on her cheek – met you at the facility’s gates and flatly told you that Toji was injured. You’d never been in the facilities (much less with a hybrid) after sundown, and in the simulated wilderness of his enclosure, it was easy to forget that you were never more than twenty feet away from a security camera, that there was only one apex predator you had to be afraid of. After checking your usual meeting spot (clear spot near the center of his enclosure – neutral territory, safe territory) and finding it vacant, you reluctantly stumbled your way to his den, dragging your feet despite the urgency of the situation. Toji wouldn’t deliberately attack you, but any animal could react if provoked. You didn’t want to set him off. More importantly, you didn’t want to prove Nanami right.

You’d never ventured far enough to see his den, but you knew what to expect. A square shell of cement occupied the deepest corner of Toji’s enclosure, bracketed off by a metal door tucked inside of a deep entryway meant to give the illusion of privacy. You approached it slowly, stepping underneath the shadowed overhang with no small amount of caution, but you didn’t get the chance to knock before a hand manifested on your shoulder and shoved you against the cold steel.

Claws bit into to the dip of your shoulder, then your wrist, too, as he caught your hand and shoved it into the small of your back. You felt hot air on the nape of your neck, heard heavy panting laced with the barest trace of a throaty growl, and it took everything you had not to panic, not to struggle, not to give him a reason to dig his teeth into your neck and tear. Toji wasn’t a bad dog, but he was still a dog. He’d still bite, if given an excuse.

“Toji,” you started, slowly, taking care to soften each harsh syllable of his name. “I’m here to help you.”

He didn’t respond, his hold only tightening. His check pressed into your back, and there was a short, airy noise – sniffing, as little as you wanted to put a name to it. “Toji,” you repeated, with more urgency. “I heard you were hurt. Will you let me help you?”

A second passed in silence, then another. Finally, he pulled away from you, releasing your wrist first, then your shoulder. He remained where he was – a little too close, a little too looming – as you shuffled to face him, forcing yourself not to consciously acknowledge that you were in a very big cage with a very poorly behaved animal. His handlers hadn’t mentioned why they’d needed you, but you didn’t have to wonder for very long. Even in the pitch dark, you could see the dark blood covering his jaw, washed over his throat and chest. It was on his hands, too, coating the white bone of his claws, and matted into his dark hair. Your waning self-control faltered then shattered altogether, your hands shooting to his head, his face, searching for bruising or swelling or broken bones, but surprisingly, all your worry earned was an airy laugh. “It’s not mine, doc.” He laid a hand over yours. “I’m doin’ just fine. Even better, now that you’re here.”

But he wasn’t. Twin sets of puncture marks were littered across his throat, his face, his arms. Something had taken a chunk out of his left bicep, and five matching scratch marks had been etched deep into the skin of his chest. The wounds looked feline, but you couldn’t bring yourself to linger on the implications. “You’re hurt,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. Your hands fell to his shoulders, pushing him downward gently. “I— I’ve got bandages, and sutures—” You let your bag fall from your shoulder to your elbow, already reaching for the zipper. “Find somewhere to sit. We should get you cleaned up before something worse sets in.”

Panic was quickly overshadowing your better judgement, but Toji didn’t move, didn’t look away from you. He was still wearing that coy, sardonic grin – almost teasing, given your anxiety. “I already told you, I’m just fine.” His smile widened, until his pointed fangs caught in the dim light. “I didn’t think you’d actually come. They said I could ask for whatever I wanted, but—” He paused, sucked in a sharp breath. “I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“Toji, you’re not making any sense. You need help.” Again, you pushed gently on his shoulders, and again, he didn’t seem to notice. This time, though, he shifted, leaned toward you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You scowled, shoving a little less gently on his chest, but Toji didn’t move. “Toji, please, just let me help—”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, princess.” You felt his hands on your waist, then your ass. His chest was slotted against yours, and his tongue ran unabashedly over the curve of your neck once, then twice before he went on. “Keep sayin’ my name like that, and I won’t be able to control myself.”

Something pressed into your thigh – hot and hard and, like the rest of Toji, fucking huge. Your heart fell into your stomach, the air flooding out of your lungs and leaving you dazed, breathless.

Fuck. Fuck.

You should’ve stuck with the fucking reptiles.

Toji was panting audibly, again; his tongue lapping over your neck, your cheek. You were still cursing yourself for ever applying for this shitty job in the first place when Toji fell to his knees, forcing your thighs onto his shoulders as his claws caught on the fabric of your pants, decimating the thin material in an instant. His teeth tore away your panties just as quickly, leaving you exposed, splayed out on a silver platter in front of him. You reacted reflectively – knotting your fingers in his hair and doing your best to pry him away from you, but your strength was nothing compared to his and in the end, all you earned was a throaty groan, a tight squeeze to your ass before he buried his face in your cunt. His teeth grazed against the tender insides of your thighs, his claws biting into your now-unprotected skin, but the feeling of his tongue laving over the length of your slit replaced every other sensation with pure heat.

Predictably, he was near animalistic – his thick tongue fucking into you as the bridge of his nose ground shamelessly into your clit. From a distance, it would’ve been hard to tell if he was trying to eat you out or eat you alive; every noise he made feral and wet, punctuated with rough growls and little, uncharacteristic whines. It would’ve been impossible not to feel anything, but still, you couldn’t help but hate yourself when it started to feel good. His tongue was thick and textured, long enough to fill your pussy and flexible enough to curl inside of you, abusing the walls of your cunt without mercy. It was difficult to tell how much of the gloss staining his chin and the inside of your thighs was his drool and how much of it was your arousal, but even if your mind was disgusted by every slick noise and sharp flick of his tongue, there was nothing your body could do to block out the sudden pang of heat in your core, to fight the way your legs ached to clench around his head and pull the source of your revulsion that much closer.

“To—Toji, no, st—” you tried to say, like you were scolding a normal dog, like any part of you still thought he was listening. A cracked moan cut you off prematurely, and even if it hadn’t, Toji’s only response was a bruising squeeze to your ass, a low moan just loud enough to reverberate against your sensitive clit. Blinding white flashed across your vision, and before you could stop, before you could bring yourself back from that edge, you were coming undone on his tongue, your hips bucking against his face as he nursed you through your mind-numbing climax. Rather than pull away, he forced his tongue that much deeper into your pussy – taking advantage of your hypersensitivity to drag another unwilling orgasm out of you, then another, until the dried blood smeared across his lips was tacky and dripping onto your skin. He only pulled away when your little, pained sounds began to die into half-choked pleas and your limited strength failed, leaning you limp and boneless on top of him, and even then, he took the time to drag his tongue over your slit, to lap up what would’ve been wasted slick. You would’ve given anything for him to just leave you like that – messy and covered in your own arousal, but unfortunately, Toji had never been a bad dog.

His gaze flitted up to meet yours. “Sorry, princess,” he muttered, when he saw the misery knitted into your expression. The broad grin he wore was anything but apologetic, though. “Might’ve gotten carried away after all. Can’t help it – you always come to me, smellin’ like other men, and nobody ever lets me do anything about it.” He nuzzled into the inside of your thigh, nipping at the tender flesh with just enough force to break the skin. There was a tight pinch, of bright spark of pain, but Toji tended to the minimal wound lovingly, running his tongue over the thin stream of blood. “Gonna have you nice n’ scented by the end of the night.” A sharp whimper slipped past your grit teeth as the points of his fangs grazed over your skin, and Toji sighed. “Gonna have you nice n’ bred, too, if you keep making those sounds.”

Bred. Bred. Bred. You turned the offensive word over in your mind, unable to grasp what it possibly could’ve meant, as Toji carefully lowered you onto the ground – never so much as toying with the idea of fucking you into anything other than the cold, raw earth. It wasn’t until his clawed hand fell to the hard, pulsing cock standing stiffly between his legs that you were able to fully process what he’d said, what he was threatening to do to you. Your thoughts went blank, your years of veterinary school and countless hours of animal-handling training and common sense all dissolving into total nonexistence in an instant. It didn’t matter that he was taller than you, stronger than you – you were already throwing your full weight against him, scratching at his chest with your blunt nails, doing everything in your so incredibly limited power just to get away from him. Your latest wave of resistance wasn’t enough to overwhelm him, but it earned a frustrated rumble at the base of his throat, a downward quirk to his cocky smile. Your nails caught one of the puncture marks on his cheek and, reflexively, he straightened his back, brought his hand to his face, left just enough space between your body and his for you to roll onto your chest and scramble desperately towards freedom. You’d barely gotten your knees underneath you when his hand lashed out, catching you by the collar and forcing your cheek into the soil. His chest pressed into your back, his legs caging yours in on either side, and worst of all, his cock throbbed against your ass – somehow, impossibly, harder than it’d been a few seconds ago. You might’ve jotted it down as an impressive display of canine resilience, if you hadn’t felt so desolated.

“Shoulda figured you wouldn’t make this easy on yourself.” His voice was rougher than it had been, but no less self-satisfied. That made sense. Wolves were endurance predators. He would’ve come into this expecting there to be a struggle. “I thought you’d be more of a mate than a bitch, but—” He paused, his mouth settling against the nape of your neck. “—either’s fine by me.”

You clenched your eyes shut. “Please, Toji, don’t do—”

But, it was already too late. He rutted your ass once, then twice, before his tip caught on the entrance to your abused pussy and he was inside of you, fully sheathed without a trace of resistance.

Toji was big, even for a hybrid. He was a hunter, tried and true, all muscle and agility and pure, unfaltering strength. Even with his generous (albeit, unwelcomed) prep, it was all you could do to convince yourself that his cock wouldn’t tear you apart. He was thick enough to press against every soft and sensitive spot inside of you, long enough to leave a tight knot of pressure sitting in the pit of your stomach, and when he started to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in, the force alone was enough to scatter little black spots in the corner of your vision and leave you hazy, light-headed. The way he was fucking into you didn’t help anything, either. Keening whines slipped out of some deep, feral pocket of his chest as he took advantage of your vulnerable cunt, alternating between grinding into you with a desperate sort of clinginess and trying to bully his way that much deeper with bruising, brutal thrusts. One arm wrapped around your midriff, dragging you even close to him, while a groping hand found the delicate buttons of your top and tore, ridding you of what was left of your protection against him. He kneaded half-consciously at your chest as he fucked into you; his own pleasure suddenly his only priority.

His selfishness should’ve been a welcome change, but you were too far gone, your body too eager to find a silver lining to his rough affection. Your hands clawed mindlessly at the ground as he pumped into you, the heat of his body against yours clouding your senses and making the feeling of cock stretching you open, his dull head pounding against your cervix all the more unbearable. You doubted he’d be able to talk, even if he’d had anything left to say, but he was still vocal enough. Raspy groans and harsh grunts rung distantly in your ears, his calloused hands groping mercilessly at your chest, your stomach, your waist. Finally, his thumb found its way to your neglected clit, and with less than a full second of stimulation, you were buckling into yourself, clamping down around his cock with a fractured whimper. As humiliated as you were, Toji wasn’t far behind. With something between a moan and a howl, he was cumming inside of you – predictably making no attempt to pull out. Something hot and vile flooded into you, but it was hard to focus on that when you could feel something hard and bloated and wrong press into your entrance. Toji’s breath hitched as he forced his knot into your tight cunt, and whatever hope you had for coming out of this unscathed curled up and died inside of you.

You could feel him slacken on top of you. You almost thought he would collapse like that, leave you locked to him and trapped under his weight, but instead, he nuzzled against the crook of your neck, his fangs ghosting over your throat before sinking into the soft flesh just underneath your jugular. He stayed like that, his knot splitting open your pussy and his teeth buried in your neck, until you lost any hope of him ever pulling away.

Exhausted, you shut your eyes, sinking into yourself. You’d been right, in a way. Toji wasn’t a bad dog.

He was just a terrible terrible man.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere oneshot #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagines #yandere jjk #toji x reader #yandere toji #fushiguro toji x reader #yandere fushiguro toji #hybrid au

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scintillyyy · 5 months

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in my head, though, after the events of red robin i am actually super inclined to have tim choose to get his ged & decide to go to college and i am inclined to have him choose to go to hudson university & my reasoning is thus:

listen, tim's desire for normalcy is definitely there when he's not having a breakdown (not that you need college for normalcy, just that tim's brand of normalcy is very tied up in school attendance so i like that as an idea for him). i can picture him meeting up with ives again and seeing all his own peers going to college would give him the desire to maybe give school a shot again, as a sign his life is finally returning to normal after bruce's return. (and fabnic's ending of rr aside, i think tim should be in the best place as he's ever been at the end of red robin on account of being able to find himself & be confident as red robin & getting his friends & bruce back)

i think he deserves to be the one to make the decision for himself and not anyone else. he'd only dig his heels in about not doing it if someone else were trying to pressure him into it (given his history of being told what school he's going to whether he likes it or not with the boarding schools & brentwood & his dad) & i think him *finally* getting to choose to go to college/school & where is super important to his autonomy. also, he was at his happiest when he got to go to the high school he chose when he first became robin (convincing his dad to let him continue to attend gotham heights high vs go back to private/boarding school). i just really like him getting to make the choice given he's got a lot of baggage with that choice being made for him in the past.

i know san francisco seems like the obvious choice because it's by the titans but i really like the idea of hudson university because it's got the, well dick went there so tim always kind of thought it'd be cool to go there to & he does a tour & he really genuinely likes it because it's away but close & he can maybe picture himself going there & let's say ives goes there too so there's a lot of plusses in tim's head to choosing there.

but given hudson university was the university dick went to but dropped out after a semester, it gives me my oh so favorite dick & tim being weird about things a la the first time bruce time tried to adopt tim & tim was super worried dick would be weird about it & he didn't want to step on dick's toes by wanting to go there & he doesn't want things to be weird that he's choosing dick's old university & then dick doesn't know why tim is suddenly being weird & it's very fun in my head. dick will be very proud of you tim, dw.

tim going to college in nyc gives him a chance for red robin college shenanigans a la brentwood. him going to san francisco for college imo would tie up his schooling too much with the titans. if tim goes to school i delight in it being completely separate from that so he can have his separate civilian shenanigans & give him a space to be his own independent hero, not just a member of the titans. gives him a chance to keep his home base away from the titans tower like the rest of his friends do.

#tim drake #i'm also fine with him choosing not to attend college #but there's always a thread to me there wrt his schooling and choice and making it his decision and nobody else's #buzz also goes to hudson in this btw and he and ives start dating. got that jock/nerd trope they're very in love

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napoleonic-sexyman-tournament · 21 days

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(correction: title should also say vs. Karl Wilhelm von Toll. But funny mistake given the standings at the moment I'm writing this)

Thomas-Alexandre Dumas

“mustache”

“Tall! Daring! Swashbuckling! A devoted husband and father! Had a personal conflict with Napoleon! Also it was said he could, while holding onto a bar above his head, LIFT A HORSE WITH HIS THIGHS. How is he not on this list ten times already! Vote for General Dumas!”

“He was so hot that he inspired The Three Musketeers, The Count of Monte Cristo, and many more books that his son, Alexandre Dumas, wrote. He definitely looked the part of a sexyman, as he son recounts in his memoirs: "My father, as already stated, was twenty-four, and as handsome a young fellow as could be found anywhere. His complexion was dark, his eyes of a rich chestnut colour [...]. His teeth were white, his lips mobile, his neck well set on his powerful shoulders, and, in spite of his height of five feet nine inches, he had the hands and feet of a woman. These feet were the envy of his mistresses, whose shoes he was very rarely able to put on." He could crush you between his thighs: "His free colonial life had developed his strength and prowess to an extraordinary degree; he was a veritable American horse-lad, a cowboy. His skill with gun or pistol was the envy of St. Georges and Junot. And his muscular strength became a proverb in the army. More than once he amused himself in the riding-school by passing under a beam, and lifting his horse between his legs." He was so badass he could beat 13 men with 4 and take all the enemy prisoner, and defend against hundreds of men on a bridge by himself. He performed these acts of valour numerous times in Italy. He was so formidable that the Austrians named him the "Schwartz Teufel", or the Black Devil, and his feat at the bridge earned him the moniker of "Horatius Cocles of Tyrol". He wasn't afraid to stand up to his morals and protest against unfair treatment. When unjust executions by the guillotine were happening outside his quarters, he closed the blinds of his curtains, earning him the nickname "Mr. Humanity". When in the Vendée, he complained about the wanton indiscipline in his troops. When in Italy, Berthier wrongly reported his actions as one of "observation" in St. Antonio. Dumas wrote to General Bonaparte that if Berthier was in the same position, he would have shit his pants. Dumas abhorred plunder, never exhorted the locals, and ordered the Directory agent who had come to persuade him otherwise be shot if he dared present himself to Dumas again. Integrity and a sense of moral justice is sexy, mark my words. For Dumas' final qualifier as a sexyman, look no further than this Tumblr heritage post (https://www.tumblr.com/petermorwood/133803437020/hortensevanuppity-elodieunderglass), with 300,000 notes and counting. And I quote: "- daddy general dumas was an immense fierce french warrior who was a 6 foot plus, stunningly gorgeous and charismatic Black gentleman - he invaded egypt - the native egyptians said “is this napoleon? this must be napoleon. we for one welcome our majestic new overlord” - then napoleon showed up - napoleon has all the presence of yesterday’s plain Tesco hummus - the native egyptians were like “… no… no, we’ve thought very hard and we’ll have General Dumas actually” - this did not make napoleon happy - in fact it made him jealous - napoleon felt so emasculated that he launched a campaign of revenge against General Dumas, including taking away his pension, that probably inspired a lot of Alexandre’s rather satisfying scenes in which fathers are nobly avenged and the money-grubbing villains are rubbed in the mud" I rest my case. Tl;dr: He was so hot he inspired multiple books, he was a stronk man who could crush you between his thighs or carry you like a sack of potatoes, and he was so badass that he could take on odds of 1 to 3. He had a foul mouth but a heart of gold and his actions were never self-serving. Posts relating to him on Tumblr have had 300,000 notes and counting. He is qualitatively and quantitatively qualified to be a sexyman.”

Karl Wilhelm von Toll

"smart military organisation thinking”

#napoleonic sexyman tournament

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beansricejc · 3 months

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"need him to pull me forcefully onto his lap and ask me where the fuck i think i’m going."

john wick x f!reader ICYMI! note: due to a bit of goofy formatting on my part, this is a reupload from 10/2023. i wasn't able to see any sort of interaction with my one-shot, so if you haven't read it, here it is! pls lmk what you think of my 100 day old baby :') warnings: voyeurism, brief drug use, dubcon(?), exhibitionism, cursing, mean name calling, slut shaming, not proof read!

need him to pull me forcefully onto his lap and ask me where the fuck i think i’m going. - yandere-chan

you don’t ever go to clubs, the only reason why you’re actually here is for a friend’s birthday party. the flashing lights and blaring music were intimidating to begin with, but after popping some sort of chocolate shroom candy, you’re having the time of your life. the way your body is feeling the rhythm of some sort of Billboard Top 100 remix, flowing with the hundreds of other dancers on the floor.

it’s the way your skirt hugs your thighs and ass as you dance is what gets his attention.

john’s here tonight celebrating an old friend’s bachelor party. he’s used to clubs like this. whether it’s for finishing a job or accompanying some sort of high level crime lord for a meeting, he’s quite immune to the vibration of the floor from the huge speakers. he’s unimpressed by the bottle girls that he’s seen come and go over the years, but if someone’s buying, he’ll indulge in a paid blowjob behind a curtain. after helen, he’s given up on romance.

but he’s not exactly known for actually enjoying his night as a regular patron. john’s four whiskeys in, definitely feeling the buzz as his legs are a bit more loose than he’s used to. he’s not on a job. not on duty. fuck it, might as well have fun. this is what he tells himself as he’s nose deep in a line of white powder on a table, his fellow bachelor party members cheering him on in a rowdy manner. the groom himself is getting a lap dance from a bottle girl in their booth behind the curtain, and john takes the opportunity to snap a quick picture of it, just for shits and giggles.

john doesn’t exactly remember how it happened, he just remembers that the woman that he was ogling on the dance floor was now being led behind his group’s curtain. of course this was you, along with a handful of your friends who were also very pretty in their own way. it seemed like the best man of the bachelor party had taken a liking to the birthday girl of your group, and you tagged along for the ride.

he can’t seem to pry his eyes from you. the way you fidget with your soft fingers while your dilated eyes roam across the back room. the way you smile and chat with his buddies as your friends introduce you, john can smell that you’re out of your element. he’s a master at reading body language, it’s part of his job actually. all signs are pointing to that you are quite inebriated, and are clearly not a party girl, despite the fairly convincing front you have on.

you smile politely as you shift your legs. you don’t know why your best friend even followed that guy back here, sometimes you want to smack her for being so stupid. but you’ll smile and bare it for now.

“and this is our buddy, john.” the best man gestures over towards the assassin. of course you don’t know of his profession yet. your shaky eyes drift to his position on the couch. the well dressed middle aged man’s eyes are stuck on you, the way that black skirt looks has him struggling to keep his composure. but he’s a professional, even if he’s not on the job. john has seen and been with his fair share of women.

now he’s picturing in his head of what he’d like to do to you. nothing exactly romantic or gentleman like.

if it weren’t for his own morals, he’d probably stand up and grab you by your pretty little neck. make you gasp for air and tremble under his touch and looming height. john has killed dozens in a single blink of an eye, man handling you and throwing you over the table wouldn’t be an issue. maybe you’d yelp at the feeling of your body being forced down by the dangerous man. maybe you’d even like it. john’s calloused and bruised hands would immediately hike that black skirt up, just to show off your beautifully crafted ass to the entire group of men, and even your friends. maybe you’d plead for him to stop, maybe you’d beg for him to keep going. who knows, perhaps you were a little slut that liked the thought of this happening.

john imagines how the fat of your thighs and ass would feel in his death grip. the strong hold that has strangled the soul’s out of countless adversaries, now grabbing and pawing at your fleshy thighs before giving you a hard and swift smack on your poor rear. he wonders if you’d struggle or if you’d bite your lip and arch your back. he doesn’t know which response he’d like more.

“it’s nice to meet you.” was the sentence that sucked him out of his head, along with a little smile and wave of your manicured fingers. he notices the polish. a deep burgundy, a vampy color that goes well with the season. so you’re fashionable. he could already tell with the cute outfit that you were donning, but this confirms it. john can appreciate a woman who takes care of herself.

but now there’s an image of those pretty fingers gripping his hard cock, wrapping around the width of his shaft and dragging up and down while a glob of saliva from your plump lips dribbles onto the head. the thought of you licking your lips as your small hand jerks him off, your bare knees earning gorgeous blue and purple bruises from scraping on the marble floor as you do your job oh so well. maybe your teeth would dig into your bottom lip as your eyes would blink up at him, giggling as he moaned out your name.

“come here often?” is what john asks you in return. your head turns to him again and tilts to the side, you didn’t expect the silent and brooding one of the group to ask you a question from the comfort of the velvet couch.

you chuckle and shake your head.

“not at all, actually. it’s my first time here.” you admit, shrugging your well defined shoulders while you peer at him from across the vip booth. you’re still standing in those uncomfortable looking heels, john notes that there are no bruises on your knees. maybe he can change that.

john smiles slightly at your honesty. the way his mouth upturns as his strong looking hands run through his slick back dark hair make your stomach church. you internally curse at yourself, you’ve already had your heart broken by so many men before, and you wouldn’t let this one even get close to trying.

or so you thought.

john’s brown eyes look to your uncomfortable looking feet again, and he situated himself so he’s not totally man spreading on the red couch. his hand then taps the space next to him on the cushion.

“those don’t exactly look pleasant to stand in.” john nods his head towards your heels. you blink in surprise, peering down at your own feet that have been killing you this entire time. so you chuckle and shake your head.

“yeah, doctor scholl probably doesn’t approve of these.” you retort, making john laugh at loud at your statement. you join him on the couch as he’s still chuckling at your expression.

“you’re funny.” john comments, silently noticing the way that damn black skirt rides up your thighs so deliciously as your legs cross. he realizes he’s been caught when those fingers of yours snap in his face, reverting his attention back to your face. john’s face goes a bit red when he sees the scowl you’re giving him, along with a little eye roll.

“oh i’m sure you say that to every woman you want to stick yourself into.” you tell him, there’s a silent agreement between you two that he’s been checking you out this entire time.

john’s shocked by your snarky statement though. he didn’t think he was being that obvious, but on second thought maybe he was. dammit, he was trying to be a smooth criminal with you, only to end up looking like a pervert.

“you sure are confident in yourself, huh?” he sarcastically says back to you. “trust me honey, if I wanted you, you’d know.” he’s forcing himself not to bite his lip at the scent of your perfume, some sort of vanilla cookie type of smell that was lingering in the air between you two. it was going to drive him crazy.

while he says this, you’re busy applying another layer of lip gloss in your compact mirror. John’s breath hitched at the sight of your lips rubbing together to make sure the coat is even, the shimmer on them making his pants a bit tighter.

he wonders how that lip gloss would look on his hard cock as your mouth wraps around his head. maybe that color would look good against his shaft from you placing delicate kisses against the veins of his length. the thought of your pink tongue swirling around his throbbing tip before taking his entire cock down your throat, his hand grabbing a fistful of hair and forcing your face down just a little bit deeper than you’re comfortable with just to assert his dominance over you.

it’s all making his toes curl in his leather oxfords.

he soon noticed that your delicate fingernails, the vampy colored tips, were dragging along the bulge in his pants. his teeth dig into his bottom lip as he grips the leather couch cushion, not daring to making a sudden move. apparently you are much bolder than you made yourself out to be.

oh what he would do to put your in your place. to wipe that shit eating grin off your beautiful face. to whip out his cock and think back to when he hypothetically had you bent over the table for all of his and your friends to see. ripping whatever colored panties you had on, off, and tossing them to the side. one hand firmly shoving your head into the table, another lining up the tip of his dick with your entrance, before mercilessly pounding into your cunt. punishing you for even daring to speak to him in such a manner, in front of his buddies no less. maybe his friends would cheer him on, a few taking out their phones to take a video of it. maybe your friends would be slightly turned on by the roughness and lack of decency john is showing to you. even the thought of your cunt squeezing around his length and cumming from his despicable act might make him burst.

“yeah? you like that? fucking whore.” he’d say to you as he would pin your arms behind your back, giving you another hard slap on your ass. you’d let out a moan and a grunt from the roughness of it all. “tell me you fucking love it, be a good girl for me, come on.” john would growl in your ear, the positioning of him reaching that far would force his cock to be all the way inside of your pussy. the sudden feeling would make you gasp and cry, tears rolling down your makeup covered cheeks as you babbled about how much you loved it.

john suddenly feels the lack of touch on his erection, looking up from his daydream.

“come on dude, we’re all getting shots and then going on the dance floor.” the groom of john’s party calls to him, his group laughs at john’s lack of awareness as most of the crowd exits the vip booth from behind the curtains.

you’re the last to stand up, grabbing your purse and smoothing out your skirt before you joined the rest. you believe you’ve won this round of teasing with this complete stranger.

oh how wrong you are.

a surprised squeak escaped your glossy lips as you feel john’s strong hands grip your hips and waist. his nails dug hard through your clothing, using those unstable high heels to his advantage. your balance in those was subpar at best anyways, and now, he could easily snatch you up, even from where he was sitting.

“h-hey!” you squeal, john could fucking care less. your ass falls straight into his lap, with you immediately feeling how hard his cock is, and how wonderful it feels against your throbbing pussy. even if you did have underwear on, it didn’t matter. sitting on him was definitely going to leave a wet spot.

john gives you a dark and satisfied grin, leaning towards your ear with his hands beginning to hike up your skirt. your heart pounded as he was getting ready to have his way with your poor body.

“where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

#john wick #jw #keanu reeves #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #john wick x you #john wick imagine #keanu #john wick one shot #john wick fanfic #keanuverse #jw4

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fallloverfic · 19 days

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Mithrun and the changeling shapeshifting

This isn't directed at anyone in particular, but I see comments about Mithrun and the changelings/shapeshifting mushrooms a bit and I think there's some misunderstanding about what the shapeshifting does. Spoilers for the manga for chapters 51-the end/volume 8-beyond, and the Delicious in Dungeon World Guide: Adventurer's Bible (first one) below the cut. (Also yes, I know it's partially played for laughs in the manga, but I think Kui also does some neat stuff with it, particularly in Mithrun's case).

The shapeshifting emphasizes different racial traits, and that's going to be defined differently by each race, like how each race has different beauty standards, abilities, and puts on muscle differently (e.g., Senshi is maybe beautiful by dwarven standards, and his beard is huge, so as an elf he's beautiful by elven standards, but his beard is too powerful to shapeshift, so he has a mustache despite the fact no other known elves have facial hair). Kabru, for instance, is a sort of smaller tank, and is kind of waify as an elf (possibly because elves are just kind of waify generally, though this might also be due to his losing weight after being revived; he also doesn't have much magical ability: he has even less than Laios does, versus Mithrun, who's maxed the magic stats chart).

The most muscular elf we know of is Lycion, on the left:

Lycion still looks "skinny" in a way, but he's strong and muscular, just not Hollywood bulky. He matches a race that doesn't put on thick, bulky muscle, at least not easily. Compare this to Mithrun on the right, who isn't as naked as Lycion so we can't quite see what he looks like as an elf under his clothes, because the clothes give him some padding. The closest we get to modern him as nude as Lycion is, is that shot in his cabin in the Adventurer's Bible:

It's hard to tell, but his arms are decently muscular for an elf (also one-armed push-ups are hard, that's not something you do on a lark). His whole thing since Milsiril talked him into getting back into shape to go to dungeons has been solely that: getting back into shape to go deal with the demon, and he's had to build up his body to be able to walk on his own and stay alive long enough to deal with the demon. Given he's also a powerful magic user, but he seemingly doesn't have those abilities as a tall-man (or at least he wasn't using his magic on the door), it might be his tall-man form is also compensating for that. This is Mithrun's stats chart:

"Though he's an elf, both his strength and stamina are excellent. His one weakness is his terrible sense of direction." p.73, Chapter 01 / Characters, Delicious in Dungeon World Guide: Adventurer's Bible. Dudes' beefy even for an elf, even if he doesn't precisely look it. But compare Mithrun and Lycion here:

Mithrun's shorter, and the clothing is probably making him look bigger than he is, but they're somewhat similar, comparatively, once you compensate for the height differences.

We also get some shots of him in motion and wearing that tightish shirt/dress.

Clothing can of course make your bust look more defined than it is, but it's notable that we get some obvious muscle definition to him in the chest area (for an elf), and his lower chest/trunk is rather solid-looking, rather than the thinner forms of his female companions. He seems to be a bit thicker in his mid-section than Pattadol, for instance, who's only slightly taller than he is, and she and Cithis have similarly-sized waists (actually Cithis might be a little thinner? Which would make sense as her focus is on casting).

His focus is movement and physical interaction more than the other casters in his party (he has to touch stuff a little to teleport it), so he builds up his body accordingly. Which also makes sense for how he does one-armed push-ups in his ship cabin in his spare time.

I think a big reason Mithrun is viewed as weak/tiny is because he's often around Kabru so we often compare them physically. Mithrun is thinner and six inches shorter than Kabru, who is not in the best physical shape due to his revival, on top of, at this point, not having a great meal regimen due to neither of them being good at gathering or apparently making meals.

Some shots of Kabru and Mithrun together, for comparison, including Mithrun helping Kabru stand. Kabru is more muscular, but not the bulkiest for a tall-man (he's smaller than Laios, even accounting for the height difference, though still tanky in his own right, I mean he grabbed Falin pretty easily, and Kabru and Falin are the same height; Laios is just big).

(I know Laios' armor makes him look bigger than he is, especially when Kabru has his off, but, ignoring the height difference, Laios is broader than Kabru, seemingly, particularly in the chest and arms).

Yeah, Kabru lost weight after the first revival, so he's not the best comparison, but if Mithrun, an elf, doesn't look rail thin even next to Kabru, who's not that skinny for a tall-man (skinnier than he used to be, but not skeletal), it kind of also says something about Mithrun. He's not like... bones. He's thin, but not rail thin (we know because he was shown rail thin in Daydream Hour during his recovery, and he put on muscle since then). And shots of him, while variable at times - sometimes he's drawn thinner, sometimes thicker, often in comparison to who he's sharing a shot with, e.g., Sissel - often emphasize how thick his arms are, even near Kabru, who is broader and more muscular. I think my best description of Mithrun is "mostly solid for a dude often running on fumes".

And we see him moving fast and hitting hard a lot. Whenever he fights, he's running, jumping, punching, or kicking something. Being lithe would help with that, but he'd need muscle too, especially for how fast he is (an easy comparison is a ballerina or a track runner, both of whom have to build up specific muscles for their craft, and regimens for both can be grueling). And he's not just teleporting people, he's smacking them hard.

He also was (and is) still notably good-looking for an elf. He has nice hair (that he doesn't pay as much attention to as he used to, but still is nice), a good body (even without half his ears, which seem important for elves), and would be considered attractive by a lot of people.

So yes, he's possibly still stringy-ish for an elf because he's likely exhausted due to lack of proper sleep (the bags under his eyes, his noted issues sleeping while in dungeons without aid), and doesn't eat regular meals (while in dungeons). But he's still muscular - to an elvish degree, anyway - and strong, particularly in terms of magical power, so it makes a lot of sense that the guy on the left would become the guy on the right when shapeshifted into a tall-man to become a race that better creates bulkier muscle and has to compensate for Mithrun's magical abilities (also looks kind of cliche handsome, maybe mimicking how Senshi looks as an elf).

I mean obviously there are strong human magic users, like Falin... and she has stronger stats all around than he does/roughly close in some places, so it makes sense he'd be as tall and bulky as she is.

Mithrun is, canonically, way more powerful than Kabru, as well, (at least against monsters), hence probably part of why he's seemingly bulkier than Kabru as a human. Mithrun is the one who deals with almost all the monsters for a reason. It's only when Mithrun is distracted or tired that Kabru gets one over him (e.g., in Sissel's house, or when Kabru grabs Mithrun at the dungeon entrance). Notably, when Mithrun crawled out of a spider and got knocked out by Kabru in chapter 76, Kabru was pointing out that Mithrun needed to rest. He was at his most wet cat moment then... when he was exhausted. So to me at least, this shapeshift makes sense. Normal Mithrun isn't really a wet cat most of the time. He's strong. He just runs himself ragged for various reasons.

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turnipstewdios · 1 year

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Half-Lives

Something is wrong with Jason Todd.

That's not new.

Someone having answers about why... that might be. Someone maybe being able to help... that definitely was.

Danny just hopes its not to late. -----------------------------------------------

First ever fanfic! Read on Ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48120073 ----------------------------------------------- Chapter 1/? Danny didn't think he liked Gotham.

Oh, it was easy enough for him to avoid getting mugged, or shot, or involved in whatever chaos was happening on a given night. Invisibility was a great way to stay out of trouble, so long as he was careful. Nothing like walking around a corner and literally disappearing to lose a tail. He tried not to use it too much though. Tried to make sure he didn't blip out of existence on camera or in front of witnesses, or do anything else that might get the wrong sort of attention. So the ever present threat of crime was stressful, in a nagging background noise sort of way, but he could live with it. Or, well. Not Live with it.

Half-way live with it. But the weather in Gotham was horrible. It rained. A lot. Or drizzled. Or it was foggy. He’d thought that maybe the weather wouldn’t be so gloomy in the middle of Summer, but it was. Even worse. It was gloomy and hot. Heat wave or no heat wave, the city was way too warm for a place with this much cloud cover. All the rain and the mist was just making things unbearably humid. Even days when the clouds had cleared out for a bit, the smog was still there. Hanging around like a stuffy blanket, smothering the city. Choking out the sky. It was hard to see the stars in Gotham. Danny wished he could just fly up over the city, out of the fog and the haze. Just to hang in the clear air and stargaze. Lose himself in the star speckled universe and forget things for a while. But he couldn’t. That would be stupid. As much as he wanted to. As much as he felt like he needed to.

He needed to stay low profile. Use his powers sparingly. Carefully. Gotham had quite a lot of natural ectoplasm. Not anywhere near as much as Amity, but… well. Amity. It was enough to hide his ecto-signature, so long as he didn't go overboard. A bit of invisibility or intangibility was fine. Stuff like that didn't use enough power to show up on ghost hunting equipment at anything but point blank range, and if someone got that close he was in trouble anyway. In theory, flying didn't use much power either, but he couldn’t risk it. Not above building height anyway. Who knew what kind of crazy radar or lidar or whatever was scanning Gotham’s airspace. Batman seemed paranoid like that.

So he was stuck at ground level. Which, at the moment, meant lying in bed in his stuffy, dingy apartment, with his shirt sticking to his skin, and trying to figure out how to get a job. Thank God or the ancients or whoever was listening for Sam and Tuck. Without them, he wouldn’t be able to do that either. Wouldn’t be able to lay here on his cheap mattress and think about the awful weather, and the gloom, and how much he wanted to go flying. The apartment, and what little spending money he had at the moment, was from Sam. She’d apparently been setting aside money for years, building up an emergency fund in case something happened. She’d paid for the little apartment for a few months in advance, so he had some time to figure out what he was going to do next. The funds were going to run out eventually though, and he needed a way to make money on his own. Fortunately, he had ID, courtesy of Tucker. Very good, very fake ID, that absolutely did not say he was Danny Fenton from amity park. ID with just enough of a background and personal history attached to it to get him an apartment, and hopefully pass muster for a job interview. He also had a phone! A phone he could use to look for a job, and order food, and navigate through the labyrinth that was Gotham city without getting hopelessly lost. A phone that was subscribed to BATWATCH and the Gotham Emergency Alert System, so he could stay as far out of the way of the local vigilantes and their rogues as possible. A phone he didn't dare contact Sam or Tucker or Jazz with, in case someone was watching to see if he tried. He didn't know what he’d do without them.

Without them, he probably wouldn’t have made it out of Amity Park at all. He didn't want to think about that. The weather wasn’t the only off putting thing about the city either. Something kept almost, but not quite triggering his ghost sense. Whatever it was, it was weak. Very weak. Barely even a buzz above the background noise of the city’s own ectoplasm. But whatever it was felt… wrong. Wrong in a subtle, crawling sort of way.

He didn't want to think about that either.

So. A job. He didn't qualify for a whole lot. Couldn’t go for anything fancy, or anything that would look too far into his background. Which meant he was probably stuck with manual labor, food service, or retail. Or… well. Crime. This was Gotham. But he wanted to avoid that unless he got really, really desperate. Manual labor was probably out. He was more than strong enough in theory, but unfortunately he looked like a twig. Most people would probably take one look at him and laugh him off. And if the skinny twink started lifting things like he had super strength, it would get him labeled as a meta at the very least. Or worse. He’d made a list of stores and restaurants near his apartment to look into. A few of them were hiring, but he wasn’t sure being a cashier or shelf stocker was such a good idea. The idea of spending his entire work day under a camera made him nervous. Cameras tended to glitch out around him. It would be fine for a few minutes at a time as long as he was in human form, but the longer he stayed in the frame the worse the system would bug out. Somebody would notice that they were only glitching around him eventually, especially if they kept having the same problem even when they were replaced. And if someone was looking for the distinctive kind of anomalies that ghosts tended to produce on film, he may as well just paint a target on his back.

And someone was looking.

So. He needed a job that would keep him off camera as much as possible, that wouldn’t require lifting things he shouldn’t be able to, that didn't require any special skills or degrees, and that wouldn’t do too thorough of a background check. And that was legal. Hopefully. He was thinking of trying to do delivery. It had its own problems. For one thing, he didn't have a car. Or a bike. The bike he could get, he had enough money for that. But Gothem wasn’t the most cyclist friendly of places even if he could avoid getting it stolen. He could get around on his own fine, even without using his powers much. If he was willing to run rooftops, he could probably manage just as well if not better than any car could in the city traffic. But he didn't think that would go over well in a job interview. And there were other people running roofs in Gotham. People he’d really prefer to avoid. He hadn’t been able to think of much else he could do though. It was frustrating.

He wanted to fly. He couldn’t risk it.

Danny groaned. It was way too hot to be thinking about this tonight. He wanted to just roll over in bed and sleep, and leave worrying about the future for the morning or whenever he woke up, but it was too hot for that too. He had showered before bed, but he already felt sticky and unpleasant in the humid, slightly musty air of his tiny apartment. So he was left tossing and turning around trying to get comfortable on the crappy mattress, and trying NOT to think about why he had to be here at all. Which wasn’t working. He needed something to do. Lying here trying to sleep wasn’t doing him any good. It was just too warm.

He needed a fan.

He probably should have gotten one already to be honest. Danny just hadn't thought about it when he’d done the bare bones shopping for stuff to put in his apartment a few days ago. He did have money left over, and it’s not like it would be expensive, he could get one. Maybe there was somewhere close by that was open late enough to visit. Getting out of the apartment might clear his head, and it wasn’t like he had something better to do. He pulled out his phone. A quick google search showed a 24h CVS relatively close by. It would take him a while to get there on foot though. The mattress made a testy sound as Danny pulled himself off the floor, and then stood up and walked to the window. The low clouds outside were stained a muddy orange color by the city lights, but it wasn’t raining. The forecast had said it wouldn’t, but he wasn’t sure he trusted the weather report here yet. He looked up at the roof of the building next door. He hadn’t actually tested his theory about being able to move around faster above street level. He should probably give it a try to see if his delivery idea would even work. Checking BATWATCH showed no vigilante sightings so far, and there hadn’t been any emergency alerts tonight. He’d probably be fine going out roof running for a bit. He went to get his shoes.

_______________________________________

Patrol had been quiet. Oddly so. Jason didn’t like quiet. Quiet should be good. Quiet meant things were calm for once. Meant Red Hood didn't have to start breaking kneecaps to remind people that his turf was supposed to stay quiet. Crime alley was never what anyone would call peaceful, and it never stayed calm for long, but tonight had been unusually violence free. It made something in him itch. He wanted to think it was just the heat wave. It had hardly seemed to cool down at all the last few nights. The whole city had slowed down in the muggy heat, including the less upstanding citizens. Nobody wanted to be out dealing with this any more than necessary. But if there was anything that Jason had learned in all the time he’d spent in the city, it was that Gotham didn’t do quiet. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. But things were still going easier than usual. Most of the usual suspects were still in Arkham, (for now) the gangs were lying low, (for now) Batman was staying out of Jason's business, (for once) and everyone else was too damn miserable to bother making trouble. Jason hated it. He needed to do something. Needed to fight. Needed to move. Needed something to take his mind off Bruce, and the pit, and how damn quiet everything was being. He felt like that a lot, these days. Like he was trying to crawl out of his own skin. He could probably go on coms. Probably should go on coms. Ask if anyone else had found anything, or if they needed help. He could ask if Tim had made any progress on his case, or if Dick needed any help patrolling Bludhaven. He could just ask if someone wanted to get a burger with him. But somehow, he just... couldn't. Part of him just didn’t want to deal with them tonight. Not when he was already frustrated and cranky, and the pit was a whisper away from rousing. Not when they knew he was frustrated, and would be watching him from the corner of their eye the whole night, waiting for it to happen.

He didn’t think he could deal with that right now. Not with the way things had been going.

They probably didn’t have anything more interesting to do tonight than he did anyway. He did want that burger though. He had barely eaten before going out on his rounds, and that had been a while ago. And his gear was uncomfortably warm. He wanted a shower. Somewhat reluctantly, he started heading back towards his closest safehouse. No point in staying out just to be miserable. He might as well change into civies and go get something to eat. Jason grappled through the alley behind the place, dropped down onto the fire escape, and crawled in the window. He made sure to re-arm the traps and alarms behind him before moving deeper into the room though. He still felt on edge, and he wasn’t about to be careless, no matter how quiet it seemed.

Talking the damn helmet off felt wonderful. Peeling off his gear and climbing into a cold shower felt even better. He stood there for a while, letting the water cool him off, and tried not to think about anything in particular. It didn't work all that well.

Eventually, he managed to shut off the water, and dragged himself out of the shower to grab some fresh clothes. He did feel better now that he was clean and somewhat cool, but he still felt restless. He needed a distraction. And that burger. Jason sat down on the lumpy couch, and started lacing up his boots. It might be nice to go for a ride. Something icy cold ran up his spine. One of his alarms beeped. There was someone on the roof.

That wasn’t necessarily concerning. Lots of people could be found on the roofs in Gotham. Especially in the Bowery and Crime Alley. They were often safer than the streets, and plenty of folks used them to get around, especially the kids. And this building was almost empty, except for him. It was unlikely someone was attempting to break in. There were other reasons someone might be up there though. His building was higher than most in the area.

There had been... problems, before.

He checked his cameras. There was a young, scrawny looking guy with black hair standing near the edge of the roof, overlooking the street. Not encouraging.

Jason shivered again, feeling cold for a moment, in spite of the hot night air

He got up and headed for the stairs. _______________________________________ Running across the roofs felt nice. Nicer than slowly stewing in his room anyway. It felt nice enough that after a while, Danny had kind of stopped keeping track of where he was. He thought he was still going in the general direction of the CVS, but he wasn't sure exactly where he was relative to it. That was fine. He didn’t mind exploring, and the air out here was a bit fresher and cooler than it had been inside. He wanted to wander for a while. He’d never actually done this kind of free-running before. Amity park hadn’t been big or dense enough for it. It was kind of neat. He’d been trying to see how much he could do without using any of his powers to help. So far, it was hard enough that he had worked up a light sweat, and complicated enough to keep his mind off other things. He paused for a bit to catch his breath on a building that stuck up a few stories above the surrounding roofs. It had a view down one of the busier streets in the area, and he took a minute to look out over the city.

There were so many lights here. Way, way more than there had been back home. Streetlights and traffic lights and lights from the buildings. Cars and businesses and apartments, and the looming constellations of the towers downtown. Yet somehow, the city still felt darker than it should have. Gloom and shadows clinging to the space between lights like it was trying to snuff them out. It was pretty. In a slightly ominous, chilling kind of way. He shivered a bit. It almost looked like stars. “You ok up here buddy?”

Danny almost jumped out of his skin. It took a moment of concentration to make sure he actually came back down from said jump, instead of floating off the roof, and a moment longer to realize the embarrassingly high pitched yelping noise that he'd just heard had come from him. “Woah woah sorry!! I didn't mean to scare you!” Said the very concerned sounding man on the roof behind him. The man who had just snuck up on him. On Danny. The half ghost with super hearing. How the hell “Good God warn a guy! You scared the life outta me!” Danny sucked in a deep breath as he turned to look back across the roof, and oh dear lord he’s built like a tank pleasedontthrowmeoffthebuilding No one that big should be that sneaky. It went against several laws of nature. And possibly physics. The dude looked like he might be taller than Da- than Jack Fenton, and almost as buff. And kinda hot. And surprisingly contrite looking. “Sorry.” The guy winced a little, raising his hands slightly. “Bad habit. I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you.” He shuffled his feet a bit while Danny tried to get his heart rate back down to normal levels, (well, normal for him) and Danny caught him glancing down at something behind him. “What are you doing up here man?” “Ah, sorry! I can leave! I didn't mean to trespass or anything I was just… I needed to get out of my apartment and it was cooler out here and it seemed safer up here than down on the streets” And Danny was rambling. Great. He was probably trespassing on this dude’s roof, he sounded like a lunatic, and he was pretty sure that was a gun hiding under his shirt. “I wasn’t trying to cause any trouble!” Tank-Man waved him off. “Hey no, no it’s ok. Lots of people use the roofs in the alley. It’s more common than you’d think.” (The Alley. Danny had wandered into Crime Alley. he was on a roof with an armed guy in Crime Alley.) He didn't really look like he was gonna shoot him though. In fact he looked very concerned. “So you’re just out for some air? No other reason?” And he kept glancing behind Danny, and… oh. Yeah. He was standing on the edge of the roof, on the tallest building in the area. Shit. “Oh, no. Nothing, nothing’s wrong. Well, I mean there’s plenty wrong but nothing like…” he should just step away from the edge. Yeah. “Sorry. Wasn’t thinking about how that looked.” He took a few steps towards the middle of the roof. “I just, needed to get out and stop thinking about stuff for a while.” Tank-guy relaxed a bit, and Danny did too. “Yeah, I hear ya. Couldn’t sleep?” “Too hot. No AC and I don’t have a fan yet.” “Oof, yeah. Rough.” He looked Danny over for a second. “You new in the area? You don’t sound like you’re from Gotham.” Danny answered without thinking about it to hard. He had a tuft of bright white hair. Oddly familiar white hair. “Yeah, just moved in a few days ago.” “Ah, bad timing then. Heat’s been brutal this week.” He looked sympathetic. “It’s not normally this bad” Oh shoot, he'd been starring. “Well, that’s nice to hear.” Danny looked back out over the city, hoping that he wasn’t coming across as awkward as he felt. There was a brief pause. Mission failed. Way to go Danny. “Where’ you from?” Shit. That was not on Danny’s list of safe small talk. “Uh, I moved from out of state. Nowhere important.” Please don’t ask. No luck. The guy looked even more curious now. “Why’d you move to Gotham ?”“I, uh…” Danny faltered. “It… seemed like a change of pace.” He got an incredulous look and a chuckle for that. “Change of pace.” he almost looked impressed. “Yeah that’s a change all right.” Yeah Danny probably deserved that. “I just… I needed to get away from… stuff back home.” A lot of stuff back home. Stuff he’d been trying not to think about. “I was looking for a fresh start.” The roof went quiet for a moment. When Danny glanced back over at the guy, he found him watching him. He had pretty eyes. For a moment, he looked uncomfortably analytical, like he was figuring Danny out. Then he just looked kind of sad. “Yeah. I guess it’s good for that.” Danny’s stomach growled. Loudly. The guy’s eyebrows went up, and Danny felt like he might have died of embarrassment if it hadn't already been too late for that.

“Sorry.” He was apologizing a lot, wasn’t he? “I forgot dinner.” He had technically forgotten lunch too. And breakfast. He didn't actually need to eat as often as most people, and it was easy to ignore hunger for a while when he was busy. It tended to sneak up on him.

There had been other things on his mind for the last few days.

… “You want a burger?” “Uh” Very articulate Danny. “What?” “A burger. I missed dinner too. There’s a place down the street.” Ok wait. Time out. Going somewhere with the hot dude who had snuck up on him on a roof was not in the plan tonight. He was hungry though. Danny hesitated. His stomach growled again. Roof Guy looked amused. Danny let out a breath. Might as well just roll with it. “Sure. Why not.” Took another breath, and held out a hand. “My name’s Danny, by the way” Roof guy smiled, and shook it. “Jason.” _______________________________________ Jason quietly opened the access door to the roof, and stepped out into the muggy night air.

The possible intruder was standing on the edge nearest the street, looking concerningly melancholy. He did a quick threat assessment. Small. He had a surprising amount of muscle for looking so thin, but probably not physically a match for Jason in a fight. No weapons he could see. Looked about Jason’s age, with short, unruly black hair. Dressed in worn jeans and a NASA t-shirt that looked like it had seen better days. Looked like he’d seen better days in general. Definitely didn't look like a burglar. “You ok up here buddy?”

And the guy on the roof very nearly fell off the roof, and Jason flinched and tensed to lunge forward and catch him. “Woah woah sorry!! I didn't mean to scare you!” He must be more off his game tonight than he thought! He should know better than to startle somebody like that. Bruce had taught them better He had been trained to make noise around civilians, especially ones who were standing on the edge of roofs, Jason!!! “Good God warn a guy! You scared the life outta me!” The man, who had fortunately not fallen off the roof, pulled in a deep breath and turned to look nervously at Jason. Up close, he looked even scrawnier. Like a light breeze could pick him up and blow him away. He also looked like he hadn't slept in a week. It wasn’t quite Tim levels of bad, but there were still dark circles under his eyes.

He was also eyeing Jason like he was afraid he was gonna tackle him. Not an unreasonable assumption in Crime Alley.“Sorry.” Jason said. He raised his hands a bit and tried to look relatively non-threatening. “Bad habit. I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you.” He was still standing way, way too close to the edge of the roof for Jason’s comfort. “Ah, sorry! I can leave!” The stranger started stammering. “I didn't mean to trespass or anything I was just… I needed to get out of my apartment and it was cooler out here and it seemed safer up here than down on the streets. I wasn’t trying to cause any trouble!” “Hey no, no it’s ok. Lots of people use the roofs in the alley. It’s more common than you’d think.” It was. Just not on his roof. Climbing up here from the nearby buildings was a bit out of the way for someone just getting around. “So you’re just out for some air? No other reason?” He didn’t seem like he was here to do something drastic, but he still wanted to get him a bit farther from the edge. He still looked nervous, but the question seemed to confuse him a bit. Then he seemed to realize where Jason had been looking, and he suddenly looked alarmed instead. “Oh, no. Nothing, nothing’s wrong. Well, I mean” He paused a bit, and looked worryingly strained. “There's plenty wrong but nothing like… Sorry. Wasn’t thinking about how that looked.” He finally took a few hurried steps away from the edge, looking like he was trying to reassure Jason that he wasn’t gonna fall, or jump, off. “I just, needed to get out and stop thinking about stuff for a while.” And wow, yeah, he looked tired. “Yeah, I hear ya.” Jason could relate. He’d just been looking for a distraction, any distraction, to avoid thinking about his own problems. Looks like he’d found one. “Couldn’t sleep?” Roof man sagged a bit, somehow looking even more miserable. “Too hot. No AC and I don’t have a fan yet.” “Oof, yeah. Rough.” Jason had been slowly melting all day and he had a fan.

He took a moment to look the stranger over. He didn't think he’d ever seen him before, but something about him seemed oddly familiar. Some faint feeling of de'javu. Maybe it was the hair and the eyes, which, yeah. They were blue. Oh boy. He didn’t seem like he was familiar with the area though. There was something about his accent… “You new in the area?” He guessed. “You don’t sound like you’re from Gotham.” “Yeah, just moved in a few days ago.” “Ah, bad timing then. Heat’s been brutal this week. It’s not normally this bad.” And Jason was going on about the weather now, because he was clearly a master of small talk. “Well, that’s nice to hear.” The guy looked away awkwardly. Great. “Where’ you from?” That was a bad question, apparently. He was looking nervous again. “Uh, I moved from out of state.” His feet shuffled on the roof gravel. “Nowhere important.” Sounded like he was a ways from home. Maybe even from a small town. That had to be one hell of a culture shock, moving to any big city, let alone this one. “Why’d you move to Gotham ?”

“I, uh…” He seemed unsure how to answer that. “It… seemed like a change of pace.” “Change of pace.” Gotham? Really? “Yeah that’s a change all right.”

A wry look crossed the guy’s face at that. But then it shifted again, and he was looking back out over the city. “I just…” He stopped. Gathered himself for a moment. “ I needed to get away from… stuff back home. I was looking for a fresh start.” He sounded so, so tired. A fresh start. Yeah, Gotham could be that, if you were tough enough to survive here. Lots of people who came to Gotham were running from something. “Yeah. I guess it’s good for that.”

He wondered what this kid was running from. God. A scrawny, black haired, blue eyed kid down on his luck, with a mysterious past. He could never let Bruce see him, he'd be adopted on the spot. The stranger’s stomach growled. Jason raised his eyebrows, and the guys ears turned red. He smiled sheepishly, and chuckled. “Sorry. I forgot dinner.” That was… concerning. He didn't look like he should be missing meals. Well. Jason had been hungry. “You want a burger?” “Uh” He looked startled for a second. It was kind of cute “What?” “A burger. I missed dinner too. There’s a place down the street.” His stomach growled a second time, and the ears went even redder. Definitely cute.

Jason watched him debate something for a moment, and then his expression turned wry again. “Sure. Why not.” He turned fully towards Jason, and held out a hand. “My name’s Danny, by the way” He grinned, and shook it “Jason.” Danny’s hand was Ice cold.

#current hyper fixation #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #danny fenton #fanfic #jason todd #red hood #batman #dc #crossover #halfa!! jason todd #liminal! jason todd #ao3 #gotham #au #first fic ever be nice but also feel free to roast me #dead on main

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underground-secret · 2 months

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The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: (Duo POV) After a hunt gone wrong Dean falls sick. Now on his death bed Sam and Y/N do whatever it takes to save him from the void that is death, even if that means running into trouble.

Warnings: Cannon violence, Ansgt, hospitals, talk about dying and death, illness, heart issues, talk of past deaths, grief, Dean may be OOC or at least his inner thoughts but let me know, Historical and religious talk of the Celts and Christianity if anything is incorrect/ inaccurate pls tell me so I may fix it, cursing

A/N: Thank you so much for 100 followers, never thought this series would get so much love!

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra , @fablesrose , @ada--44 @bonkydarnes , @star-yawnznn , @crazyunsexycool

Word Count: 15,139

Faith

(Master list, Prev. Ch, Next Ch)

I hate hospitals.

I hate hospitals, especially when it is someone you care about on the medical bed.

I hate hospitals, especially when you can’t be in the room with the person; when you have to sit in the waiting room with nothing but pure anxiety coursing through your veins, and everyone around you is in the same position.

At least Sam is with him, that must make both of them feel better. But it doesn't make me feel as better as it should, my leg bounces rapidly no distraction working for me. I tried reading and listening to music on my stupid iPod, but neither worked- not when my mind was going a hundred miles a minute on all the worst possibilities.

It wasn't meant to be a difficult hunt, going after a rawhead. Yet it all went wrong far too quickly, Dean yelled for Sam and I to get the children out of the basement while he stayed behind fighting the thing. It would be a single shot with a taser, easy to mess up on, truthfully, which is why I had given mine up for him to have as an extra one before I carried a young boy out. It was all wrong. So so wrong. He shot the thing but they both happened to be standing in a small puddle of water, and water conducts stupid electricity and he got hurt too.

Sam had found him. We called for an ambulance and rushed him to the hospital, he was unconscious the whole time.

Sam had to talk to the receptionist for insurance and then the cops explaining what happened and then a doctor. But they wanted to talk privately and he wanted to see Dean alone first. Which only increased my anxiety, Sam wouldn’t have done that unless something was horribly wrong. Something was horribly wrong. I felt like I was going to vomit or shake myself out of existence, maybe the latter would be better. Everyone around me wasn't much better, looking the same shade of nervousness. Some were crying, pacing, or on the phone talking rapidly. Hospitals were a horribly depressing place.

I’m unsure how much time passes, minutes, hours, an eternity? Sam walks towards me, tears in his eyes some clearly having spilled over by the redness of his cheeks. No. No. No.

I stand up walking to him almost without noticing as if it was all just natural, tears fill my own eyes and I can feel my hands shaking. No. No. He wouldn't be crying if–

“Sam?” I said weakly, my voice wobbling horribly. I swallow down a knot in my throat, this couldn't be happening. No.

He drops his head down, his hair covering his face and likely more tears that spilled over. “Sam,” I say again my voice breaking. I couldn't lose someone else, couldn't lose anyone else. He finally lifts his head, barely being able to hold eye contact. He seems to wobble and all at once he falls into me, I hold him, his head dropping awkwardly into my neck, from the height difference, broken sobs leaving his mouth. He hugs me tightly, grasping desperately to the back of my shirt. Something is horribly wrong. I blink back my tears, I had to be strong for Sammy. This was his brother, I might have lost both my parents but I couldn't imagine how it would feel to lose my brother.

My neck grows damp but I ignore it. I hold the back of his head, holding him, no comforting words forming in my mind. “Sam” I breathe. I felt like I was going insane. He pulls himself away, keeping me in arm's distance. His face is red and blotchy from crying, and his hair is a mess. “Please” I begged one last time, my voice quivering.

He sniffles hard, but I do not expect him to be strong, “He has a month, at best” his voice is coarse and shaky but the words feel like they came out in slow motion. Everything freezes, turning into a buzz of white noise. I can feel tears spill down my cheeks but I can’t move. I can’t. No. He can’t be dying. No. No. He wasn’t allowed to. The world seemed to shatter, no, maybe that was my heart. I can feel it beating in my ears, everything else fading away. His mouth moves, he is saying something else but I cannot hear him over the sterile noise of the world crumbling. I don't understand. My throat is so tight I feel like I might just break right there. My knees feel weak and the floor seems closer than before.

Sam pulls me into him, holding me tightly once again, his hands cradling my head as a choked sob leaves my lips. Tears pour down my eyes, he promised. All those months ago he promised he wouldn’t leave me, it was a stupid and fruitless promise but I believed it.

He couldn’t die. He can’t, he can’t die. No one else. Not again.

All too soon Sam pulls back, his arms being the only thing that seems to be holding me up. I can barely make out his features behind my own teary eyes. “He wanted me to come get you, ‘wouldn’t talk without you there” he croaks. A whole new sob breaks through my lips, I wasn't strong enough for this. I went through this twice, I could not take another. Tear after tear passes down my face, my cheeks stiff with it. I shake my head, this can’t be happening again, but even so, I let him pull me down the halls to his room trying my best to blink away my never-ending tears. But it was useless, not when it felt like I was being torn in two.

I stopped at the threshold of the doorway, he looked so weak, he was so pale and he had dark circles under his eyes that were not there hours before. An IV sticks out of his arm along with various machines around him, including an EKG. New tears fall over the rim of my eyes and I have to force my hand to clasp my mouth to hide another sob. Sam enters the room, his face hard and rid of any of the emotions he showed just moments ago. How could he do that?

Dean’s eyes are focused on the TV, but even from where I was partially hiding I could see his green eyes had grown dull, “Have you ever actually watched daytime TV? It's terrible” he jokes but he sounded weak too, his voice rid of its usual playful tone and familiar gruffness. Sam shakes his head and sighs, his ability to not break down in front of his brother was impressive to the point of it being scary, “I talked to your doctor.” But Dean continues to ignore anything that wasn’t that stupid TV playing commercials, “That fabric softener teddy bear. Oh, I'm gonna hunt that little bitch down” he responds instead. I want to laugh and ask him what the cute laundry bear ever did to him but I could not find it within me to be humorous, “Dean” I plead weakly my voice betraying me with its cracking. That gets his attention.

His eyes snapped up to where I stood, leaning against the doorframe to prevent myself from crumbling to the floor. His face immediately fills with worry, his eyes softening which is ironic considering who’s in the hospital bed. Without looking away from me he turned off the TV, I could tell he was thinking and worrying over something as he stared at me but I could not look at him without new tears falling. “Yeah. All right, well, ‘looks like you're gonna leave town without me” he finally says, my eyes snap back to him but he has already turned his attention to his brother. “What the hell are you talking about?” I step into the room, my sadness mixing too closely with frustration over his stupid declaration. “We are not gonna leave you here” Sam adds in sternly. “Hey, you better take care of that car” he points at Sam, any hint of a joke void from his voice, “Or, I swear, I'll haunt your ass.”

My eyebrows scrunched together, “what's wrong with you?” I accuse, “How are you just accepting this? You are young and have so much life ahead of you” For each word that passed my lips tears followed, my resolve too thin to exist. “You’re meant to grow old, and…and yell at kids to get off your lawn as you work on Baby and maybe other cars with a pet at your side and a lovely home. You’re meant to annoy your brother and me with stupid calls and the same old rock music.” I swallow roughly, ignoring the subtle shock on his face, “It’ll be beautiful and wonderful and we will all be there to watch it happen because you have to live.” My chest heaves, and I’m surprised I have any more tears to give. Life was too cruel before to allow me the opportunity to beg someone to stay as if that feat alone was enough to keep someone alive.

Silence envelopes the room, his eyes are wide and his lips are slightly agape. I don’t believe in God, but I would get on my knees right now and beg and plead and do anything he ever wanted if it meant Dean living. He sighs after what feels like forever, “Look, what can I say, it's a dangerous gig. I drew the short straw. That's it, end of story.” I don’t understand how he could just dwindle his life down to bad luck and a wrong straw. Tears well in my eyes and I have the urge to smack some sense into him. “Don't talk like that, alright? We still have options” Sam insists, his voice breaking slightly. “What options?” Dean asks, “Yeah, burial or cremation?” he pauses for a moment his “joke” not landing, “And I know it's not easy. But I'm gonna die. And you can't stop it.”

It felt like a punch to the gut. How many people will I have to lose until it's enough to feed the glutenous wrath of death? First, it was my mother growing sick and dying, neither my brother nor I was allowed to see her in such a state not even to say goodbye. Then my Dad, who grew reckless in the wake of his only love's death, the coldness about him we had heard about only in stories returning to consume him completely until he drove himself into the ground. I always thought I was most like my mother, but now in the wake of this maybe I am my father's daughter.

I wipe away my tears roughly before clenching my hands, needing my nails to dig into my palms to ground me. “Let me try and heal you,” I say as firmly as my voice will allow. I've never done such a thing on a serious scale, it never got to the point where I felt desperate enough to toe the line of my own morals. But this, for him I would and I would not stay awake at night contemplating my selfishness.

Dean’s POV

Her face was red from crying, and her e/c eyes were filled with deep sadness. She looked shattered, and even so, she was beautiful.

I know I wasn’t being fair to her or Sam. But I always knew I’d die on a hunt, I long accepted it so her big glossy eyes would do nothing to change that fact. Even if it broke her, both of them, which I knew I was already doing. But I also know that sugar-coated truths would only hurt them more, I wasn’t going to allow them to get hopeful not when it would ruin them.

“Please?” she pleads quietly. My resolve breaks, my heart lurches as if it was trying to get closer to her and I didn’t think it had anything to do with the heart attack.

This was for the better, if they saw nothing would work early on they’d hopefully accept my death quicker. Plus I knew she’d stay up every night wondering what more she could have done for me, she’d obsess over it until it broke her all over again. I give her a sharp nod not trusting my voice, her eyes seem to light up a little, and that enough was all the excuse I needed.

She steps closer to my bed, careful not to trip over the wires connecting to me. She got close enough where I could smell her perfume, something sweet and flowery, and undeniably her, I felt warmer just from her closeness. She swallows roughly, “It works better if I can touch you…without the barrier of clothes.” Under any other circumstance I would most likely be flustered by her shy request, I mean this is what I’ve always wanted– to have her. But time was not on my side and I’d never get a chance to tell her, whenever it was I planned on doing so– to do so now with only a week to live would be too cruel. If she didn't like me back I’d die at least knowing and maybe I’d die with a broken heart or whatever crap people complain about. But if she did like me, which Sam insists she does, then a week wouldn't be long enough.

I lift the scratchy hospital shirt, hoping neither saw how much energy the simple action took. She looked nervous as she stared at my bare chest but I could see the hard look of determination in her eyes, she needed this. Carefully she places her hands on the center of my chest, her hands freezing as I suspected they would be but I don't cower from her gentle touch I lean into it further. I bask in it, small sparks igniting where she touched and it had nothing to do with her abilities. She looks up at me, watching my face for any warnings as her own e/c eyes turn to purple and pure warmth extends from her palm seeping into my skin. Maybe I should have been scared, but she was looking at me so gently and she's so beautiful that she must be an angel, and I'm only half the man she deserves.

I suck in a deep breath, clarity hitting me like an arrow, the grogginess and pain I felt melting into a puddle and being replaced with her. It felt like she was cradling my heart, caressing it gently like she would my face, her kindness and love seeping into the vessel, and truthfully I don't ever want it back. She could have my heart. She could have every part of me, and I'd never ask for it back. It's hers. I'm hers. My mouth fell agape, her hair fell onto her face, and I could feel it in my bones. I could feel the tension leave my shoulders and it was like everything I'd been carrying was lifted away. I don't care if she was healing me or not, I want her hands on me, I want to feel her. Just her. She was the sun and I was a fool begging to be closer, even if it burned, even if it was impossible.

Her hands begin to shake violently, but she pushes on, she holds on to me. Her fingers look like they want to curl and dig into my skin and it's clear she's fighting against the instinct, she doesn't want to hurt me not that I would mind any marks she printed into my skin. She lets her head hang, closing her eyes, “Oh fuck” she whines quietly and I have to desperately keep my mind clean. ‘Not the time to have those thoughts or acknowledge how hot that was. I lift a hand pushing her hair out of her face and behind her ear, keeping my hand there to hold her. Again I have to force away any ideas of what noises I could get her to make in a similar position. She looks up at me from her lashes as she bites down on her bottom lip hard, and I wonder how much longer I can keep my mind clean.

Suddenly deep crimson drips down her upper lip, and she begins to shake more. “Wait, wait Y/N” I breathe, looking from her over to Sam with concern. He pulls her off of me, she looks drained and paler than I know I am. She wipes at her nose, the blood has seemingly stopped, but she still shakes and wobbles. Sam pushes her down onto a nearby seat and I pull down my shirt, “How do you feel?” he asks me. “Peachy” I respond, smirking. He rolls his eyes, “I’m being serious. Did it work?”

“I feel better, not as weak” I answer truthfully. She nodded her head, her voice quieter than moments before, “Call for a nurse we should see if anything physically changed.”

“What about you? What was all that?” I ask. She shrugs, “‘Never really done it on a scale like this before, but it takes a lot out of you.”

Your POV

The doctor finally comes back, sifting through the papers on his clipboard, he looks shocked and confused which I hope is for the better because being lightheaded and on the verge of passing out would be worth it. “‘Looks like there has been some improvement, which would explain why you feel better,” he says, the room growing quiet with hope, “The difference is slight but well enough to know it wasn't a fluke” he looks up, “But I’d say it wasn't enough to change the outcome, I’m sorry.” Somehow the second time was worse. Hope was worse. “Thank you, Doctor” Sam replies sadly, and with a nod, the doctor leaves but does not take our sorrow with him.

“I can keep trying. Eventually, it will add up, and the more I do it the longer I’d be able to go” I offer, desperation clear on my tongue that it's almost embarrassing. “We can keep trying that but we should look at other options too” Sam adds. I nod my head vigorously in agreement. “You shouldn't get your hopes up, I’ve already accepted I’m gonna die you should too” Dean responds instead.

“Not happenin’” Sam retorts.

After we used up all our visiting hours we headed to the library, skipping out on eating to research for hours on both supernatural and not– just anything related to heart conditions and healing. I didn't ask why Sam didn't stay with his brother, he was family so he didn't have to follow visitation hours but I also figured he would rather spend his time trying to find a solution. Currently, Sam went the more “normal” route, pulling and printing articles on heart surgeries and other doctor stuff while calling several people. At the same time, I delved into the dark that is the unnatural.

Sam left a while ago, heading back to the motel with all his articles. I insisted on staying behind to “look for more,” in reality, I was going to make a call. The library closed in less than an hour and I already researched several Gods associated with healing, the side of my hand had turned dark with the ink stains. Though it was unsuccessful it was helpful for two reasons; one I at least looked, meaning it was one more thing I could check off, and two it pushed me to make a call I wasn't sure I was ready for.

What I needed was to be home, to look through many books on mythology and witchcraft, there I would find something but that was halfway across the country and each day that passed would be a day wasted. And teleporting books here wouldn't be helpful when there were so many of them and I wasn't sure where I would even begin.

I stare at my phone on the table, this shouldn't be a big deal. I call her all the time, well not as of late which I already got yelled at for. No, none of that mattered. She could lecture me a hundred times or resent me for months. I needed to help Dean. I swiftly pick up my phone, scrolling down to her contact, I don't hesitate to hit “call”, I’ve already hesitated too many times today.

The phone rings three times before she picks up, “Adeline” I start my voice already cracking with emotion. I can almost hear her jump to her feet, “Y/N?! What happened? Where are you? Are you safe? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I did not think I had any more tears left but was proven wrong when another tear slipped down my cheek, “Dean he’s…” I couldn’t say it, couldn't make it more real than it already was. I swallow roughly, trying to cram down my emotions for the time being, I’ve cried enough today, “Dean he’s dying, and I don't know–” a strangled sob leaves my lips and I have to force myself together resting my head on my hand for support, “I don't know what to do” I finished weakly. I hear her suck in a deep breath and it only makes me feel worse, “I-I want help…I need help,” I add, “I tried healing him, the doctor said the effect was minor but I’m gonna keep doing it, even if it takes a lot out of me.”

She exhales, “I’m really sorry Y/N”. I shake my head even though I know she can't see me. I ignored her comment, there was nothing to be sorry for because he was going to be alright, “Do you have any ideas? Maybe I’m doing something wrong or could be doing it better?”

She goes quiet again and it is hard to hold on to hope, “please,” I say quietly hoping she can hear me. She clears her throat, her voice cold and serious, “I’d try some herbal tea, one with healing properties any one of it will help or at least make him more comfortable.” I hum picking up my pen again, writing ‘herbal tea’ on my arm, I didn’t want to risk forgetting.

She sighs again, but it isn’t disappointed or even exhausted, “Don’t…don’t get your hopes up.” I shake my head vigorously again, “I’m not listening to this. I called for help cause you’re the only person I can think of who would know even a wisp of this. I’m desperate for help, not a lecture.” I know I was being cruel, ‘could hear it. She wasn’t trying to hurt me. “No, Y/N please listen. This isn’t an easy task, honestly, I’d like to say it’s impossible but I don’t want you to hang up on me. This doesn't come without great sacrifice.”

“And what if I’m okay with that?” I snap back, “I’m willing to sacrifice.”

“This is different,” she spits a hint of anger on her tongue, “I don’t mean just going against everything you believe in or against your mother's words. I mean making deals with demons, where you could lose your soul or your life or what makes you whole or maybe even worse.” I go quiet. I know she’s right, she always is. But I know my answer, I know what I’m willing to do, “I said I’m willing to make sacrifices.”

“Are you?” she counters. And without hesitation, I answer, “I love him.” I could tell she was getting frustrated with me, for not listening to her warning or taking her seriously even though I was. Of course, I know this is dark and messy territory, but that did not concern me. I can hear her swallow, her voice turning hard again, “What you would need to do would be more than love him.”

“Would it?” I counter.

“Yes,” she replies sternly, “And I won’t help you with that.” It was hard to be mad at her, she was just watching out for me trying to protect me. That was her job after all. But I wanted so desperately for him to be okay, he had to be. “Whether you help me or not, I will do everything in my power to fix this. He won't die.”

“I know you will. That’s what scares me.”

My eyebrows furrow, “I don’t understand.”

“I hope you never will,” she huffs out a breath, “I don’t want you to regret anything.” I couldn't vocalize it, did not even know how to make her understand what I felt–that even if I lost him now if I never saw him again. If I sat on his grave weeping for the man I loved with new flowers in my hand each day and each year. If I never got to hold his hand again. If I never got to see him smile again– that cocky smile. Even if I never got to tell him that I loved him…even then, I would never regret knowing him. Never regret the first time we met and never, never regret loving him. But I don’t say that, instead settling for, “I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

She turns serious once more, determined even, “You won’t. I’m on my way to your place now, I’ll go through your books, and I’ll call you back the second I find something.” She may not agree with my decisions all the time, and might even be upset that we don’t talk as much anymore but at the end of the day we’re best friends–more than that really, “Thank you, Adeline.”

“Of course, now don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” she laughs lightly, “I love you, talk to you later.” I smile for the first time in hours, “I love you too, be safe.”

I let myself into the motel room. Sam doesn’t look up from his place on the bed, papers surround him, some in the garbage which I assume were ones that won't work out. I make my way to the small table in the corner of the room, avoiding looking at where Dean slept the night before. I take out my spellbook, my small journal, and my laptop. My eyes were killing me, most likely from crying so much before.

The next few days would follow a similar pattern, Sam would fall asleep but never for very long before getting coffee and a quick bite to eat before continuing his search. And I spent the nights awake, sleep could not find me at the edge of the void. At some point crumbled pieces of paper surrounded me and I felt like a college student again, I didn't want to do anything but look for an answer. Adeline called once that first night, but it didn't wind up leading anywhere.

The second morning I prepared tea for Dean, arriving at the hospital with the steaming cup and food that wasn't from the hospital. He looked happy to see me and complained about how bored he was there. He looked horrible, and it hurt my chest to see him like that so I just nodded to what he said. He drank the tea with nearly no complaint but instead curiosity, I explained I had boiled Sun water, before making homemade ginger tea adding cinnamon sticks, chamomile, and honey for taste. He asked me to explain to him why I chose each one, though I wasn't sure he truly cared and just wanted to hear me speak since he was relentless with his questions. I healed him again and laid with him when he asked. Then the rest of the while we talked as I did research.

Somehow being there, and watching him worsen was worse than not being there at all. I think I understand now why we weren't allowed to be there when my mom died. I would have rathered someone just stabbed me in the heart over and over then see his eyes grow duller. I healed him again before I was kicked out.

I felt hopeless. I wasn't going to give up but I felt hopeless. It was like I wasn't myself but watching myself go through the motions.

The second night wasn't much better. I slept for a couple of hours only to wake up crying. I didn't try to sleep after that. I prayed to God that night. I hadn't done that in years. I hadn't begged him for mercy since my mother died. I think I was on my knees for hours, the harsh carpet digging into my skin, but that didn’t matter. I barely felt it after a while. I apologized for not praying in years, for only praying when it benefited me which I knew was selfish. I asked for help, and begged for it. I needed him to help Dean. I said I’d do anything he wanted if he did that, even if it meant becoming a nun. I felt incredibly embarrassed begging like that, I didn't even believe in God yet there I was my hands pressed together and the carpet beneath my knees. I cried again that night, for everyone I've lost and how far I would go to save another.

Adeline was wrong, I decided. Sacrifice didn't come with the solution, it came with the search for the answer. Like I said, I didn't feel like myself. I knew I was losing myself each hour that passed and I knew it would only get worse if he did die.

On the third morning, I did the same thing I did the morning before. But after healing him for the first time that morning, I broke in front of him. “I don't want you to go,” I told him, sobbing. He just held me against him even though I knew it hurt him, but he just stroked my head anyway mumbling “I know, I know” into my hair. I could hear his voice breaking with each letter; somehow, that was worse than seeing him act as if he didn't care. Then very quietly he whispered, “I don't know how to comfort someone when I know I’m the source of their pain.”

They did more tests on him. He wasn't getting better, at least not fast enough. It seemed my healing was just halting its progress momentarily, in a sense slowing it down before it continued. I needed to stay on him longer but I wasn’t sure how and ‘could barely make it past 20 minutes before I began to shake so badly and feel so faint like my chest was being pulled open with the sharp nails of cold hands.

I went back to the motel dragging my feet. It had been three days and we had nothing to show for it but failed attempts which I suppose is better than no attempts though it didn’t much feel that way. When I got there I returned to my corner at the table, moving away my mess of “work” with a swipe of my arm. I crumble into the wooden chair, laying my forehead on the edge of the table, I didn’t know what to do. I’d keep looking no matter what, that would not change. I would search through every book on every myth, god, folklore, anything. I’d do whatever it took, I just hoped time would not beat us to the finish line.

With a huff, I pulled my latest book from the library closer to me, a book on Greek Gods. I pick up where I left off in the thick book on the God of healing and medicine Asclepius. I read the passage about him, and it seemed promising, “He was considered a symbol of medical knowledge, skill, and wisdom. Known for his ability to heal the sick and revive the dead, Asclepius played an essential role in Greek religious and medical traditions…He was known for his exceptional skill in diagnosing diseases and treating wounds. His abilities were so profound that he could even bring the dead back to life, a talent that eventually led to his downfall…The Asclepieia, healing temples dedicated to the god, were spread throughout Greece and were renowned centers of medical practice. Pilgrims would travel great distances to seek healing, engaging in purification rituals, sacrifices, and dream incubation, where they would sleep in the temple and receive divine guidance through dreams.”

The rest of the chapter contains no more info on the healing aspect but just more of his legacy and whatnot. I close the book sharply, pulling open my laptop to do more research on him. Maybe a temple still existed, and considering Pilgrims there might even be one in America somewhere. Just as I type the temple name into Google a knock sounds from the door.

For a moment I think Sam forgot his keys, but when I turned to where he always was he was there. He looks at me confused and I shrug my shoulders, “Maybe it’s room service?” He answers by going to the door and opening it curiously. I watch from my seat, tilting my chair back to get a better look. But it is not room service, or someone knocking at the wrong door, it’s Dean. I almost fall backward, my chair slams forward back on all four legs I shoot up from my seat.

He leans on the doorframe, holding his side. He still has dark circles under his eyes and just looks sickly which is only accentuated by the black zip-up he wore, which was odd for him he never really wore sweaters. “What the hell are you doing here?” Sam exclaims his voice a mix of surprise and confusion. Dean limps his way just a little bit further into the room, leaning on a dresser next to the door, “I checked myself out,” he responds placing all his weight on the thing. I didn't even know a sick patient could check themselves out like that. “What, are you crazy?” Sam exclaims.

Dean shrugs, “Well, I’m not gonna die in a hospital where the nurses aren’t even hot.” He turns his head to wink at me and gives me that devilish smile. My jaw dropped, baffled wasn't even the word to explain it. This had to be the most Dean Winchester thing Dean could have ever done, I could not fathom it. I wanted to call him an idiot but I was too shocked to give any response. Sam huffs a laugh as he shuts the door, “You know, this whole I-laugh-in-the-face-of-danger-thing? It’s crap. I can see right through it, we both can.”

Dean moves himself further into the room leaning on anything he could, “Yeah, whatever, dude. Have either of you even slept? You look worse than me.” Sam helps him to the bed, sitting him down, “We’ve been scouring the Internet for the last three days.”

I sit back in my chair, scooting it so I can face them both, “I don't know how either of our laptops survived this. Late at night, I think I can hear it cry.”

Dean purses his lips, “Lack of sleep has made you crazy.” It was my turn to huff a laugh, and for that fraction of a second everything felt normal. But that moment of normalcy breaks as Sam adds, “I’ve also called every contact in Dad’s journal.” I was brought right back to the present, back to the reason we were doing all of this to begin with. “For what?” Dean asks.

“For a way to help you,” Sam explains, “One of Dad’s friends, Joshua, he called me back. Told me about a guy in Nebraska. A specialist.”

“Wait, why didn't you tell me sooner?” I ask.

“He called back when you were with Dean,” he answers, “I was going to tell you when you came back but didn't get the chance before he decided to break out.” I hum an ‘oh’ in response. “You’re not gonna let me die in peace, are you?” Dean chimes in, hunched over.

“I’m not gonna let you die, period. We’re going” Sam says, end of discussion.

The Impala bumps along the gravel road, I was beyond happy we finally arrived. The sky was cloudy and grey with a thin layer of mist clinging to everything, it reflected the past couple of days and the ride quite perfectly. Dean rested in the back seat the entire time, his face scrunched in discomfort, we stopped a couple of times so I could jump back there and heal him for a short while.

The car comes to a full stop among others in a large green field, a large white circus tent stealing the show. A sign nearby reads The Church of Roy LeGrange. Faith Healer. Witness The Miracle. I was skeptical, but like Sam said our options were low. I wasn’t religious and certainly hated when things like this existed, giving people false hope and feeding them lies, when they could be looking at real options and getting real help but I guess I was being a hypocrite considering how I spent my time kneeling to a God I didn't believe in. Many people walked towards it, all sick, some with canes, walkers, breathing devices, etc. I get out of the car slowly, eyeing the scene carefully. We’re all just desperate people, hoping a tent in the middle of nowhere will save our loved ones.

Sam gets out of the car, rounding the vehicle to help his brother get out of the car. Dean grimaces as he tries to lift himself, “I got ya” Sam tells him trying to grab him but Dean shoves him away, “I got it” he spits. He fixes himself, pissed off, but uses the car to hold himself up leaning on it, “Man, you are a lying bastard. ‘Thought you said we were going to see a doctor.”

“I believe I said a specialist” Sam corrects. I squint my eyes at him, “You’re not slick. But…” I say stretching out the word, “We should try, at the very least.”

“And this guy is supposed to be the real deal” Sam adds, nodding. Dean scuffs, rolling his eyes, “I can’t believe you brought me here to see some guy who heals people out of a tent.”

An old woman walks by holding a big black umbrella, “Reverend LeGrange is a great man” she declares. “Yeah, that’s nice” Dean sarcastically remarks. I hold back on batting his arm as I would normally, “Be nice” I mumble instead.

We walk away from the old lady and the car heading toward the tent, walking past an angry man who is struggling against an officers hold, “I have a right to protest. This man is a fraud. And he’s milking all these people of their hard-earned money.” I suck in a sharp breath, mumbling an “Amen, brother” underneath my breath. But the Sheriff seems to ignore the man's declaration, holding him back while trying to lead him away, “Sir, this is a place of worship. Let’s go. Move it.” The man huffs, walking away with the Sheriff. “I take it he’s not part of the flock” Dean remarks.

Sam purses his lips, half shrugging, “When people see something they can’t explain, there’s controversy.”

Dean stops short, getting our attention and making us stop too, “I mean, come on, Sam, a faith healer? And what about you Y/N you don’t believe in this crap.”

I hold up my hands in surrender, “You're right. I don’t. And I think making a whole religion out of it that smells more like a cult than anything, it’s ridiculous. But there’s a good chance this is legit,” I drop my hands back at my side, “He’s probably using magic like I was doing with you, it's just that he's, hopefully, more successful.” He pressed his lips together tightly, I got him there. “See, maybe it’s time to have a little faith, Dean,” Sam adds.

“You know what I’ve got faith in?” Dean exclaims, “Reality. And this won’t work. I mean do you really think this guy is a dude-witch.”

I purse my lips, “I’m pretty sure the term would be a wizard, but, uh, I don't know. I’d have to see it in action to know for certain along with anything around him while he works, rituals and stuff.” I pause for a moment, thinking it over, “I do hope he’s real and not an elaborate con artist, and I hope he’s better than me at the whole healing thing.” I was being blatantly honest. I hoped it would encourage Dean to not fight this version of help, and I truly did wish this guy could help. “And if you know evil’s out there, how can you not believe good’s out there, too?” Sam chimes in, a hint of annoyance on his tongue. A muscle in Dean’s jaw twitches, “Because I’ve seen what evil does to good people.”

Dean’s POV

I snapped in a moment of weakness and said too much. “Dean” she sighs, placing a gentle hand on my upper arm, stepping closer to me almost subconsciously. I didn’t want a lecture full of sappy nonsense and corny poetry. She must have known that because she smiled sadly, her lip curving up on one side, my eyes following the movement, “Good does exist, it has to,” she says simply ever the optimist. She tilts her head slightly, looking up at me through her curled eyelashes, her hand still on my arm, my knees feel weak. “I'm sure you can think of at least one good person. Of course, the terms good and evil are subjective…” she cuts her cute rambling off, “but you get what I mean.”

I guess she was right. Sammy’s a good person sometimes a total asshole but I guess that came with the territory of being brothers. And Y/N’s the definition of being a good person, she’s always been kind even to people who didn't deserve it, including me. I remember a couple of times I was cruel to her when we were kids, always about her being a witch, yet for some reason she accepted my apology and even wanted to keep being friends. For a long time, I didn’t understand her, ‘how she could be sweet and smile at a world filled with darkness. Sometimes I think I still don't get her. “Please just give it a try,” she pleads, “And if it doesn't work or turns out to be a con you can make fun of us the whole way back.”

I studied her again, she looked drained and I knew she hadn't been sleeping all because of me. “Fine” I huff. She bites back a smile and suddenly complying with this stupid faith healer was worth it.

“And who knows, maybe God works in mysterious ways” an unfamiliar voice butts in. I didn't care to look who it was, solely focused on the girl who still had her hand on me; a smile on her lips and a sparkle in her eyes, one I hadn't seen in three days. “Maybe he does” I respond, half heartily, I look up briefly catching the eyes of an attractive blonde holding a black umbrella. I averted my eyes back to my girl, but she was already looking away at the woman who interrupted us, her hand slipped down my arm.

“Uh, hi. I’m Y/N” she introduces herself, holding out the hand that was touching me only moments ago. She accepts her hand, “Layla. And these two?” Layla says looking past her. “Sam,” he introduces himself before motioning to me, “Dean.” I give her a tightlipped smile in response.

She smiles at me, “So, if you’re not a believer, then why are you here?” She was attractive, you’d have to be blind not to see it but my interest is elsewhere. I can't fool myself into thinking that'll work out. Hell, I'm probably gonna end up dead. And yeah, it's harsh, but I can't shake the feeling that I'd rather spend what time I've got with Y/N, not waste it chasing after other girls just to fill the gap she left without even knowing it. I’m self-aware enough to know that. “Well, apparently my brother here believes enough for the both of us” I muse. An older woman with blondish-gray hair walks over, putting an arm around the girl, “Come on, Layla. It’s about to start.” Both women smile at us before walking away.

“Well, you heard the woman,” Y/N starts, “We should get you inside.” Sam nods leading the way.

Your POV

The tent is packed, full of people trying to find seats, it smells of hope and despair if that’s possible. “Yeah, peace, love, and trust all over,” Dean remarks, nodding over to a camera in the corner. Did churches have cameras? “I guess it makes sense,” I try to reason, “‘probably get more people like that dude outside protesting, maybe even getting violent.”

Dean slips away sitting down on one of the foldable chairs. “Hey no,” I point at him, “You are not gonna be all brooding and hide in the back.” His shoulders slump, “Let’s sit here.”

“No” I answer simply, eyebrows scrunched. He opens his mouth in a retort but his brother steps in, putting an arm around him and practically dragging him from the seat and towards the front, “Oh, come, on, Sam” Dean growls. Mistaking his anger for pain Sam halts in his movements, “You alright?”

“This is ridiculous” Dean bites, slapping his brother’s hands away, “I’m good, dude, get off of me.” I roll my eyes at their behavior, even in public, and even with one of them being severely sick they could still act childish and make a scene. I look around the closer rows, looking for seats, “Look at that” I smile turning back to the boys, “seats” I point to three empty seats not only close to the front but right behind Layla, the girl from before. She seemed nice, maybe a little strange in randomly joining the conversation but it wasn’t a big deal. “Perfect” Sam agrees, lightly shoving his brother in that direction. “Yeah, perfect” Dean remarks, sarcasm clear in his voice.

“Take the aisle,” Sam tells his brother before moving into the row of seats, I move in after him taking the seat between them. Dean grumbles something, his face having ‘irritable’ all over it, but he sits quietly, arms crossed.

An old man with white hair and sunglasses steps onto the stage with the help of an older woman with brown hair tied back. He must be the famous Roy LeGrange, “Each morning, my wife, Sue Ann, reads me the news. Never seems good, does it?” he says with a classic southern accent, the crowd muttering agreements, “Seems like there's always someone committing some immoral, unspeakable act.”

“He could say that aga–'' I began to mumble. “Huh” I hum to myself, my eyes catching on a particular religious item, why would there be a Celtic cross? I mean the cross represented the blending of the Celts and Christians but there are many separations between the two from believing in multiple gods to human sacrifice–

“But, I say to you, God is watching,” he preaches, and if I wasn't so focused on that wooden cross I might have rolled my eyes forgetting my manners, especially when the crowd responded with “Yes he is.” It sounded very cultish, the hair on my arms standing up. Maybe it wasn’t that weird for there to be a Celtic cross, but I just couldn’t shake the feeling. I racked my brain for information on it, and I just couldn’t see it used in Christian churches anymore. Though of course, I could be wrong, it's not like I go to church every day or even once a week. But again it felt a little too weird to just brush off–

“God rewards the good, and He punishes the corrupt” Roy continued getting loud cheering and more murmuring. I look at the people around me strangely, I forget how powerful religion is…

Speaking of which, that damn Celtic cross again. Alright, think. The Celtic cross represents life and death, creating dynamic tension, the vertical arm represents the life aspect while the horizontal arm signifies death, the circle acting as a portal to transformation. In simpler terms, the cross and circle represent opposing forces; life and death, yet they harmonize with the Celtic cross, emphasizing unity and balance, they coexist. But what does that mean here? Okay, well he’s supposedly healing people which would be the life aspect and the death could represent the healing cheating death? No, that sounded like a stretch. Maybe this was all a stretch and the cross meant nothing. I’m just overreacting because I'm scared of what will become of this if this man was a con or whatever else. Yeah, that makes more sense—

“It is the Lord who does the healing here, friends. The Lord who guides me in choosing who to heal by helping me see into people's hearts,” Roy proclaimed.

“Yeah,” Dean whispers just loud enough for Sam and me to hear, “and into their wallets.” But it wasn’t quiet enough, “You think so, young man?” Oh, that was weird. The crowd falls dead silent, “Sorry” Dean apologizes. “No, no. Don’t be.” Roy shakes his head, “Just watch what you say around a blind man, we’ve got real sharp ears.” The crowd laughs but an unpleasant feeling worms itself into my stomach. It was innocent enough but something felt off and I don't think it has anything to do with Dean being scrutinized. “What’s your name, son?” Roy asks. He clears his throat, sitting straighter in his seat, “Dean.”

“Dean” Roy repeats nodding to himself, “I want…I want you to come up here with me.” My eyes widened, maybe God finally listened. “No, it’s okay” he shakes his head. “What are you doing?!” Sam whisper-yells, but his brother ignores him.

“You’ve come here to be healed, haven’t cha?” Roy inquires.

“Well, yeah, but, uh…maybe you should just pick someone else” Dean attempts to reason. And I hate the way he doesn't believe he is worthy of saving. The crowd claps loudly, “Oh, no. I didn’t pick you, Dean, the Lord did.” Had we been here for any other reason I might have been more disturbed by that proclamation, but this was a chance. The crowd roars in excitement, voices mixed in encouragement. Dean looks overwhelmed, I place a hand on his knee gaining his attention quickly, “Dean, this is good, go” I whisper to him even though I was unsure of this whole thing and that odd cross. He studies me for half a moment, something I couldn't recognize passing over his features before he reluctantly raises, my hand slipping from his leg.

The woman from before helps Dean to the stage, situating him next to the healer, “You ready?” he asks Dean. “Look, no disrespect, but, uh, I’m not exactly a believer,” Dean says, looking between the crowd and the old man. But Roy just smiles, “You will be, son. You will be,” he turns to the crowd arms raised, “Pray with me, friends.” Again, almost like a cult, the crowd joins hands as Roy moves his hands to place on Dean; one on his shoulder and the other to the side of his head. I hold my breath, I want this to work so badly, I hadn't even begun to think of a plan B if this didn't.

Suddenly Dean’s eyes glaze over, it was never like that when I healed him, and then he seems to wobble sinking to his knees. I gasped, I didn't think it would be so intense or that my heart would beat so fast. A deep chill runs up my spine seeping into my bones, my skin prickles with goosebumps, the Celtic cross comes into view again and I suddenly feel sick, a horrible feeling tangling itself in between my stomach. I don't know where to look the cross or Dean, my eyes flipping between the two rapidly all until Dean's eyes roll back and he crumbles down onto the stage floor. Sam manages to jump over me, using his long legs to his advantage he gets to the stage in seconds grabbing the front of Dean's hoodie. I catch up quickly, glad we were close to the stage, I kneel in front of Dean his head lulling back. The loud noise of the crowd cheering becomes nothing but background noise, as I check his pulse my fingers against the side of his neck the steady but fast beating of his heart thumping below my touch.

With a sudden gasp his eyes shoot open, eyes wide and mouth agape.

I tap my foot impatiently on the clean floors of the hospital, thankful that right after testing I was allowed to be in the room. Dean looked better, he moved normally and his color was back, but we all agreed we should check officially. Now we were waiting and although the room sparked with anxiety, the dark looming cloud had cleared up a lot, and once we knew for sure it would most likely be gone. I just wished the doctor would come quicker. “So, you really feel okay?” Sam asks for the hundredth time since Dean woke from being healed yesterday. Dean stares at him blankly, “I feel fine, Sam” he grumbles.

Finally, the Doctor walks in, reading from the charts on his clipboard, “Well, according to all your tests there's nothing wrong with your heart. No sign there ever was. Not that a man your age should be having heart trouble, but, still strange things happen.” The cloud fades away, and I don’t hold back my beaming smile. “What do you mean, strange?” Dean asks, his face serious rather than elated. “Well, just yesterday, a young guy like you, twenty-seven, athletic. Out of nowhere, heart attack,” the doctor shares. Dean nods, giving the man a handshake, “Thanks, Doc.” The man leaves, closing the door behind him. “That’s odd,” Dean points out, referring to what the doctor said.

“Maybe it's a coincidence,” Sam shrugs, “People's hearts give out all the time, man.” I looked at him taken aback, what was he talking about, “Dude, what world are you living in?” He gives me a pointed look, annoyed with not only my response but also my not agreeing with him, “Do we really have to look this one in the mouth? Why can't we just be thankful that the guy saved your life, Dean, and move on?”

“Because I can't shake this feeling, that's why” Dean bites back. I sigh, wishing we could just avoid this all, “Me neither.” Dean gives me a strange look, “You neither?”

“Yeah,” I nod, “I just, I don’t know, when we sat down I recognized something which automatically made me suspicious. Then you know the whole thing was happening and, well, maybe it was just nerves but it got really cold and I felt sort of sick. Which really doesn't make sense, but I just had this weird feeling, I don’t know.”

“I felt cold too,” Dean answers, face scrunched, “When I was healed, I just...I felt wrong, ‘cold. And for a second...I saw someone. This, uh, this old man. And I'm telling you, it was a spirit.” Maybe it wasn’t nerves and I wasn’t crazy. Sam huffs, clearly trying to ignore the red flags here, “But if there was something there, Dean, I think I would've seen it, too. I mean, I've been seeing an awful lot of things lately.”

“Alright, but he literally saw something and I felt something.” I reason, “You can’t deny two people saying something’s up, and whatever it was there’s probably a reason why you couldn’t see it.”

“You’re just gonna need a little faith on this one, Sam” Dean muses, using his own words against him. Sam sighs, finally giving in, “Yeah, alright. So, what do you wanna do?”

Dean steps into the leader role again, as if nothing had happened, “I want you to go check out the heart attack guy. Y/N, we’re gonna visit the reverend.”

I sit next to Dean on the nice leather couch, Roy sitting across from us. He and his wife had been very understanding and didn’t question our want to speak to him about yesterday, I figure he got this a lot. “I feel great,” Dean answers the reverend, “Just trying to, you know, make sense of what happened.”

“A miracle is what happened,” Sue Ann, Roy’s wife and the woman from before answered, “Well, miracles come so often around Roy.” I gave her a half-hearted smile and nod, maybe it was just me but that response came off a little weird. I was getting a bad vibe from her, “So, um, when did these miracles start?” I ask Roy. Any desire to possibly learn from him had been subdued, caution taking its place. “Woke up one morning, stone blind. Doctors figured out I had cancer. Told me I had maybe a month. So, uh, we prayed for a miracle. I was weak, but I told Sue Ann, 'You just keep right on praying.'” He smiled sweetly at his wife before continuing, “I went into a coma. Doctors said I wouldn't wake up, but I did. And the cancer was gone.” He takes off his black sunglasses, his eyes pure white, “If it wasn't for these eyes, no one would believe I'd ever had it.” He puts the glasses back on, it was a touching story and his eyes added a horrifying touch but it just left more questions.

He seemed genuine, and I don’t think he would lie about being in a coma. When you’re sick like that, and experience something like that, you don’t create lies about your experience, not when it was traumatic like that. And staying on that belief, there was no way he suddenly just stopped having cancer and was able to heal people. He couldn’t have been responsible for whatever caused his initial health change. Which would then mean someone else was involved. “So then, you could just…heal people?” I ask.

“I discovered it afterward, yes,” he nods, "God's blessed me in many ways.” It didn’t add up. I couldn’t get it to add up in my head. Besides the whole no more sickness ideal, how could he just suddenly heal someone? I mean, how do you even discover you can? Was it an accident? Did the hypothetical person who might have caused him to get better tell him too? Or, tell him to try? Whereas for me I knew it was something I was capable of in general as a witch, but I also had many spell books, history books, journals, and everything to learn from. And if my mother had lived longer she would have been able to teach me it too.

“And his flock just swelled overnight,” Sue Ann added, her eyes full of endearment, “And this is just the beginning.” I study her for a moment, balancing on the thin line of suspicion and paranoia. There was nothing inherently wrong about her or what she said, and maybe it was my mind making up the fact that her last words were just a little aggressive.

“Can I ask you one last question?” Dean asks, his voice pulling me out of my thoughts. “Of course you can,” Roy responded sincerely. He really does seem like a nice guy, genuine, and it could be my inherent lack of sleep that’s making me connect dots that might not even be there. “Why? Why me? Out of all the sick people, why save me?” My heart broke. Of course he didn’t feel adequate, especially when he tried convincing us for the last four days he wasn't worth saving, that we should give up and let him die. I place a careful hand on his knee, I don’t want to scare him away or clam up again, he never was very open. “Well, like I said before, the Lord guides me,” Roy answers, “I looked into your heart, and you just stood out from all the rest.”

Dean wets his lips, my eyes flickering up to the movement, he leans forward slightly, “What did you see in my heart?” I move my gaze away catching on Sue Ann’s innocent movement of picking up her glass of water, but as she leans over her necklace escapes from its place beneath her shirt. A small wooden Celtic Cross held by a thin silver chain, she catches my eyes, covering the cross with her hand and giving me an innocent smile. She assumes I would think it's just any ol’ cross, she does run religious ceremonies so such a simple totem shouldn’t mean anything else. Maybe there were dots to connect after all, and it was on full display ready to be fastened. I focused my attention back on the conversation, I left my bag in the car so I’d have to wait, and in the meanwhile, I did not wish for her to get suspicious of me either.

Roy smiles softly, “A young man with an important purpose. A job to do. And it isn't finished.” I feel Dean tense beneath my hand, his face full of shock. Whether Roy did see something or not, it might have been the thing Dean needed to hear regardless.

I wanted to run back to the car and look through my spell book and journal, but Sue Ann was seeing us out and if I had easily become suspicious of her then it was possible she would grow suspicious of what I knew too. I could almost feel her gaze burning into the back of my head, but I tried to ignore it, focusing instead on Dean's warm hand on the small of my back leading me down the short wooden stairs of their porch. But I had not expected to see Layla and the woman she was with before, I think her mother. “Dean, Y/N, hey,” she greets. “Hey,” Dean responds just as we reach ground level, his hand pressing further into my back before curling around my waist, his hand lying on my side before he pushes me closer against him. I don’t know why he was being so touchy, not that I was exactly complaining. I welcomed it and the warmth it brought.

“How ‘you feeling?” She asks him, tilting her head slightly, her face beaming in sincerity. “I feel good. Cured, I guess. What are you doing here?” he responds.

“You know, my mom, she wanted to talk to the reverend.” Layla nods toward the door prompting Sue Ann to step fully onto the porch rather than standing halfway between the screen door. “Layla?” she asks, probably not having seen her from where she stood. “Yes, I'm here again,” Layla answers softly.

“Well, I'm sorry, but Roy is resting. He won't be seeing anyone else right now.” Sue Ann informed, nodding sympathetically. Every word she said just made me want to turn around and head to the car, I was itching for it. I wondered if Dean could feel it from where he was touching me or just sensed it, giving me a questioning look with a raised eyebrow. But I couldn’t exactly say anything right now so I ignored his look.

“Sue Ann, please,” Layla’s mom pleads, “This is our sixth time, he's got to see us.”

“Roy is well aware of Layla's situation,” Sue Ann declares harshly, “And he very much wants to help just as soon as the Lord allows. Have faith, Mrs. Rourke.” And with that, she goes back inside. I might not know exactly what’s going on but her continuous frustrated comments regarding the healing and her perhaps overly religious nature were enough to make me antsy. We should really go to the car, call Sam to see what he found, or even just head to the hotel. Layla’s mom turns sharply to Dean, glaring at him she spits, “Why are you still even here? You got what you wanted.”

“Mom. Stop” Layla insists, looking at us nervously.

“No, Layla, this is too much” her mom fumed, “We've been to every single service. If Roy would stop choosing these strangers over you. Strangers who don't even believe. I just can't pray any harder.” I do feel bad for her, but it's not like we had control over any of this so she shouldn't be mad at us let alone Dean who was quite literally on his deathbed and might not have made it to the end of the week. I open my mouth to say exactly that, but Dean cuts me off before I get a chance, “Layla, what’s wrong?” he asks.

She looks everywhere but him, “I have this thing…”

“It's a brain tumor,” her mother cuts in bluntly, “It's inoperable. In six months, the doctors say…” Layla cuts her mom off putting a hand on her shoulder. Maybe it was good Dean didn’t let me say what I wanted to, it would’ve been too cruel to do that to someone who was going to lose her daughter. It seemed like we were surrounded by death, more now than ever and I hadn’t thought that could be possible. I didn’t like death, or sickness though I suppose who does. “I'm sorry” Dean says, and I just nod in agreement not trusting my own voice. “It's okay” Layla responds softly. Her mother shakes her head slowly, “No. It isn't,” her sharp gaze is back on Dean, “Why do you deserve to live more than my daughter?” Then she storms away, Layla hesitantly following. I know that woman was just upset and projecting her anger but it was not fair. Grief isn’t fair.

I look at Dean, his jaw clenched tightly, a slight furrow of his brow, his eyes a little far away in thought. I recognized that look. “Don’t listen to her” I declare, slipping from his hold to look at him straight on, “Death is not kind and it is not just, but you deserve to live. You deserve to live just as much as Layla or anyone else does. I know that look and I know you're thinking poorly of yourself, which I hate that you do so ‘cause you’re amazing and brave and kind and you care so much for others regardless of your gruff attitude.” His eyes are wide and written with shock but I continue, “So don’t think for one second that you don’t deserve to live.” I didn’t realize my chest was heaving, or that a lump had formed in my throat. I’ve watched too many people die, I’ve been down the rabbit hole of grief. I knew it well, it became a second skin. And I've watched someone run themselves into the ground because they didn’t feel like they deserved to live, or at least not when the love of their life was dead. I watched the evolution of that grief while dealing with my own and my brother’s. Death was not kind.

His jaw was slack with surprise and I know I said too much, I gave him a sharp awkward nod before turning around and heading for the car. I have something to look into.

Dean throws his keys on the bed the second we enter, the soft jingle of the metal ringing through the quiet room. I unzipped my sweatshirt, making my way towards Sam who sat at the small table to the side of the room. I take a seat next to him, putting my sweater behind me, “So what’d you find?” He seems hesitant to answer, his adam's apple bobbing, “Um, I’m sorry Dean” he says weakly looking up at his brother.

Dean takes his jacket off putting it on top of mine, his face written in confusion, “Sorry about what?” he asks, leaning on the back of my chair, his knuckles just barely brushing my back. Sam huffs out a breath, “Marshall Hall died at 4:17.” My eyes widened, I shouldn’t be surprised it was just another dot to be connected to whatever was going on with the damn cross. “The exact time I was healed” Dean adds solemnly, voicing what we were all thinking.

“Yeah. So, I put together a list of everyone Roy's healed, six people over the past year, and I cross-checked them with the local obits,” Sam explains, “Every time someone was healed, someone else died. And each time, the victim died of the same symptom LeGrange was healing at the time.”

“Oh frick” I mumble, apparently nothing is allowed to be easy for us. And I wasn’t exactly expecting that to be what we’re dealing with. “Someone's healed of cancer, someone else dies of cancer?” Dean asks for confirmation, even though it’s clear that’s what’s going on. “Somehow. LeGrange…” Sam sighs, “he's trading a life for another.”

Dean stands up straight backing away from the table, from Sam, “Wait, wait, wait. So, Marshall Hall died to save me?” Sam shakes his head, “Dean, the guy probably would've died anyway. And someone else would've been healed.”

“You never should've brought me here.” Dean declares, running a hand down his face.

“Dean, I was just trying to save your life.” Sam reasons.

“But, Sam, some guy is dead now because of me.”

“I didn't know,” Sam answers quietly.

I stand up abruptly, “Hey, there’s nothing we can do about that now. What’s done is done.” This all got very complicated very quickly, maybe Adeline was right you can’t save someone from death without making difficult decisions and sacrifices. “But what we can do is stop this from happening again, before it gets worse” I add and I know I don’t sound so convincing. You don’t get to choose who lives and who dies, and we had crossed that line whether intentionally or not, just wanting to save Dean from death was already putting a foot past that line. “That’s the thing I don't understand, how is Roy doing it? How's he trading a life for a life?” Sam questions. “Oh, he’s not doing it,” Dean answers, “Something else is doing it for him.”

“Do you mean the thing with Sue Ann?” I ask with a tilt of my head, maybe he had picked up on it too. “What?” his face contorts in confusion, “No? What are you talking about?”

“Oh” I say, now I'm confused, “Wait. What are you talking about?”

“What are both of you talking about?!” Sam exclaims looking between us. Dean sighs, pinching the space between his brows, “The old man I saw on stage” he explains, “I didn’t want to believe it, but deep down I knew.” He pauses and I begin to wonder if it’s for dramatic affect. I motion my hand for him to continue and he does, “There’s only one thing that can give and take life like that. We’re dealing with a Reaper.”

“Pardon?” I say, my mouth agape. “Yeah,” Sam agrees, face just as shocked as I am, “You really think it's THE Grim Reaper? Like, angel of death, collect your soul, the whole deal?”

“No no no, not THE reaper, A reaper.” Dean clarifies, taking the seat I once occupied, “There's reaper law in pretty much every culture on earth, it goes by 100 different names, it's possible that there's more than one of them.” My mouth still hangs open, it can never be something normal with us, ever. “But you said you saw a dude in a suit,” Sam voiced.

“What, you think he shoulda been working the whole black robe thing?” Dean countered, “You said it yourself that the clock stopped right? Reapers stop time. And you can only see 'em when they're coming at you which is why I could see it and you guys couldn't.”

“Oh my god,” I say, the realization finally hitting me, “That’s where it comes in!” Both boys stare at me confused, “Where what comes in?” Sam asks.

“Okay, remember I said I recognized something and thought it was a little strange,” I paused waiting for them to nod before continuing, “It was a Celtic Cross, which was all I could focus on the entire time ‘cause like what is it doing there. And then I started thinking of what it symbolizes, here’s the interesting part” I point out, “So basically, the Celtic cross represents life and death, creating dynamic tension. The cross and circle represent opposing forces; life and death, yet they harmonize with the cross, emphasizing unity and balance, they coexist. Which now makes total sense with the whole Reaper thing.”

“Sorry sweetheart, I’m not following here” Dean admits. I huff a laugh, “Right. Let me get to the point. So, as far as I know someone has to control the Reaper to, you know, dictate who lives and dies and to do that you need a spell. And I’ve seen it before…” I head over to my bag that I had just plopped down right next to the door when we walked in, I pull out my spell book holding it up, “This book has been in my family for generations. Now as you know my mother and her family didn’t see eye to eye, so when it eventually became my mothers and she ran away she changed a lot of stuff in here, crossing things out etc.” I open the book, flicking through the pages, “Basically there’s some pretty dark stuff in here, straight up black magic, some stuff even ancient,” finally I find the page, “Aha!” I turn the book around pointing at the page, “As you can see by the frowny face in the corner my mother did not appreciate this spell. Anyways, this is a binding spell for a Reaper where you create a black alter with bones and human blood etc, you get the point. You can then control it with a Celtic Cross, and before I saw Sue Ann with the necklace.”

“So you think Sue Ann is using dark magic to control a Reaper and kill people to save people because you saw a necklace?” Sam asks. I close the book, “Yeah, and it makes sense she was desperate when her husband was sick. I don’t know how I didn’t think of this sooner.” I knew this page existed, I've seen it in passing multiple times, especially some time since Dean was in the hospital. I guess I did listen to Adeline’s warning because even though I was ready to go far to save him I had kept away from pages like this. “Yeah but Roy's alive, so why is she still using the spell?” Dean points out. I shrug, “Money? She’s psycho? I don’t know, maybe there’s a connection with the victims.”

“How would we break it?” Sam voices.

“We gotta get that cross from her, the one around her neck” I answer, “And let me just add, that Reaper is gonna be pissed, I mean the second it gains back its control…” I don’t need to say it out loud for them to get what I mean.

The Impala bounces down the badly graveled and potholed road, passing a sign that says Service Today. Hopefully we will be just in time. Dean brings the car to a stop and wordlessly we exit, “How do we get Sue Ann alone?” Sam asks. I nervously tap the side of my legs as we approach the tent, some guy handing out leaflets stops us, “Roy LeGrange is a fraud. He's no healer.” Dean accepts the paper, “Amen brother” he nods. “You keep up the good work” Sam points at the man and he looks taken aback, he probably didn’t get many if any people that agreed. “Thank you,” he says, surprised.

Focusing back on the task at hand I open my mouth about to say something about not knowing where she goes when she does the spell when I spot her near the side of the tent, “I see her” I say already moving in that direction, “Find her spell book and keep Roy distracted too in case this does not work.” I don’t wait to hear a response before I’m running off to catch up with the woman playing God, “Sue Ann!” I call as I approach. She turns, her eyes wide, the necklace peeking out from her blouse, “Hi Y/N, what are you doing back here?” she asks sweetly.

“Oh well you guys are doing such amazing stuff here, wanted to say thank you one last time before we had to head off” I answered hoping my lie was believable. “Don’t thank us, you just thank the Lord” She says pointing to the night sky. I nod, I had to keep her talking long enough to figure out how to get the necklace off, “I have to admit I always had a hard time believing in the man upstairs, but you and Roy really turned me around.”

“Oh I’m glad, it’s never too late to welcome Him into your heart,” she smiles, “Now if you’ll excuse me I must get going, the sermon is starting.” Uh oh, do I just rip it off of her? No, she’s already turning around, “One last thing!” I call out getting her attention again. This time when she turns around she looks annoyed, “Uh, um…”come on Y/N come up with a lie or something, “I saw your necklace earlier today, I think you caught me staring,” I laugh, “I was just…I was wondering where you got it from I’ve never seen something like that before.” She clasps her necklace, “It’s just an old thing, I don’t remember where I got it from.”

“Could I maybe take a closer look at it? Maybe I can find a replica, you know, for my new found belief.” I was practically begging her to just let this be easy, maybe I should ask Dean to give me a lesson on finessing cause this is not working. She clasps it tighter, “I’m sorry, maybe later I really have to help with the sermon now.”

“Right, right sorry” she begins to turn around again but I call out again, “I know you said to thank the Lord and I have and will, it’s just” that gets her attention, “I feel like you and Roy are also responsible and like I said I came to thank you again…I know it’s maybe unprofessional or what not, but, could I just give you a hug? You’ve really done so much for us.” God I was bad at this. Her face softens a fraction, hey maybe I wasn’t bad at this, “Of course.” She holds out her arms and I move closer to allow myself to be embraced, I wrap my arms near her neck hoping she couldn’t feel the tension in my body. “Thank you” I say softly, all the while sneaking my hand to the clasp of her necklace.

She pulls away abruptly, once more grasping her necklace, “What is wrong with you!” she exclaims. I back up, hands up in defense, “After everything we’ve done to help you, healing your boy” she glares at me with wide eyes, “I never expected this from you Y/N.” I stare at her blankly, do I jump her? “You get out of here, before I call over those officers. Looks like your boy is already in trouble too. Disappointing, both of you.”

I look over my shoulder, Dean’s being pushed away by two cops and there’s a large crowd surrounding the tent including Roy. Maybe they evacuated. I turn back to Sue Ann but she’s already pushing past me, heading to the crowd. Oh no. Layla walks up to him next and she seems to be upset with him. How much did I miss? I rush towards Dean, Layla walking away, “What did you do?” I whisper yell. “You said to distract Roy!” he argues.

“I didn’t mean to get in trouble with the police!”

“‘Don’t matter, did you get it?” Dean asks with a quirked eyebrow. “No,” I grumble, “She caught me in my attempt and started lecturing me, I was thinking of just jumping her before she pointed out your run in with the police.”

“You were gonna jump the woman?!” He exclaims.

“I didn’t know what to do!!” I hissed, “And it’s not like I did it!” I let out a frustrated sigh, crossing my arms across my chest, “We need a new plan, where’s Sammy?”

“‘Think he’s waiting by the car, ‘hope he’s got somethin’ Roy’s gonna do a private healing session with Layla tonight.”

“Great,” I mumble, “I really should have jumped her.”

I sit criss cross applesauce on the hard motel bed. For a hunt that I knew so much about I had royally blown it. She was right there. The necklace right there. “Please tell me you found something helpful in their home” I pleaded.

“I found the spell book, written by a priest who went dark side,” Sam answers, holding up the small book, “And she isn’t just killing random people. She’s forcing the Reaper to kill people she finds immoral, from some teacher who was openly gay to a woman who advocated for abortion rights.” The room fell quiet for a moment, there were more layers to this than we thought. “May God save us from half the people who think they're doing God's work” Dean muses.

“No seriously that’s messed up,” I add, shaking my head. “Yeah,” Sam nods, “I think you should hold onto this book Y/N.” He hands it over and I hold it cautiously in my hand, “How nice.” I’ll probably spend the next couple of days reading it over before ultimately sending it home, I did not need a spell book on dark magic with me, didn't even need to own it but rather me than get in the wrong hands.

“We should head back soon” Dean says, “Layla could be there any minute”

The Impala rolls over the graveled road for the second and hopefully final time today, this time with total darkness cloaking us no lights on. We roll to a stop, “That's Layla's car. She's already here,” Sam points out.

Dean nods slowly, “Yeah.” He was upset, “Dean…” Sam began. But Dean ignores him, looking out the window instead, “You know if Roy woulda picked Layla instead of me she'd be here right now. And if she's not healed tonight she's gonna die in a coupla’ months.” I should’ve known my dramatic speech from before wouldn’t magically resolve him of his guilt, no one has that power. “What's happening to her is horrible,” Sam reasons, “But what are you gonna do? Let somebody else die to save her? You said it yourself Dean, you can't play God.”

Dean goes quiet for a beat before getting out of the car, Sam and I following. We approach the tent, peeking inside to see Roy speaking to a small group of people including Layla and her mom, “Gather round, please everyone, gather round. Come in closer, come on up.”

“Where's Sue Ann?” Dean whispers. I tried to crane my neck to look around the tent, maybe she was off to the side somewhere… “House,” Sam answers simply.

We creep up to the small house, weary of making too much noise we couldn’t afford to get caught, “You guys go find Sue Ann, I'll catch up,” Dean orders. I look at him confused, “Wait, what are you gonna—“ But Dean’s already backing away from us yelling, “Hey!” to two figures in the distance. “You gonna put that fear of God in me?” he yells out, of course he would be taunting the police. The officers drop what looks to be coffee cups before running after him, Dean taking off at full speed. Only he would do something so stupid. “Uh, anyways” I begin, “If she’s doing it at her house she’s probably by the altar, and considering the size and necessities of the thing and the fact her husband doesn't know it would have to be in an attic or basement.”

“I’ll offer you one better” Sam nods off to the side of the building, “a cellar.” He was right, that would be better. And on top of that definite light emerges from the metal doors. Sam leads the way opening up the heavy doors and propping it open as he makes his way down first. I follow suit immediately being hit with the sight that is the altar, a small table adorned with candle operas filled by tall burning candles, parts of dead animals, bones and blood sprawled out meticulously across the red table cloth. And right in the middle was a black and white surveillance photo of Dean before he was healed, the photo smeared in blood.

“I gave him life and I can take it back too” A familiar voice suddenly says. Sue Ann. I turn around hastily being met with cold eyes, behind me I hear a large crash and I don’t have to look to know Sam had flipped over the table. Her eyes flip to the scene and I use the initial shock to rush her, but she was already close to the stairs so it did not take her long to sweep up them slamming the cellar doors behind her. Something clicks and shifts, she must have locked us in here. Sam joins me at my side, pushing and fighting against the barred doors. “Can't you see? The Lord chose me to reward the just and punish the wicked,” she reasons, “And Dean is wicked and he deserves to die just as Layla deserves to live. It is God's will.”

Oh, so that twisted psycho thinks that’s how it is. Well she messed with the wrong witch. “You're gonna wanna back up” I tell Sam. I press my palms to the cold metal of the doors, I’m pissed now. No one gets to use magic, let alone dark magic, on either of my boys. The doors begin to rattle harshly, almost as if there’s an earthquake, “Goodbye Sam, Y/N” she says. I put more force on the door, my entire being focused on it until it burst open bits of chipped paint and screws flying away, a satisfying break of the wood she used to block us ringing in my ears as broken bits of the wood come crashing back down.

Sue Ann stands but a couple feet away, her eyes wide as she watches me exit the cellar with shock and fear. She backs up further and I follow after her like a predator trapping its prey. “I-I read about things like you” she says weakly, her voice shaking. She keeps backing up, “You’re a—You’re a—“ her back hits the wall of a nearby trailer house. “Witch” I finished for her, yanking off that necklace once and for all.

I throw it off to the side, far away, and back up from her. My job was done and the Reaper would come knocking for its own revenge. “My God, what have you done?,” she heaves, pressing a hand to where her necklace used to be. “He’s not your God” Sam says cooly. Her head snaps to something in the distance, her face falls growing pale she must be seeing the Reaper. Then all at once she takes off running, not making it very far before she falls to her knees, her body convulsing once, twice, before falling to the ground. “I think we have just aided in her murder” I muse.

“Yeah…” Sam nods, “We should probably…” This time I nod, not saying anything as we walk away from the crime heading back in the direction of the Impala. We intercept Dean on the way, meeting at the car. I give him a small thumbs up to say we did it this time and he nods solemnly. “You okay?” Sam asks him.

“Hell of a week” he answers.

I glanced up from my phone for the fifth time in the last minute. I was trying to text Adeline to update her on everything but kept getting distracted by Dean's blank face as he stared off at nothing while sitting in bed. I made eye contact with Sam, giving him a sad smile, we were thinking the same thing. He turns to his brother, watching him for a moment before speaking, “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Dean replies gruffly. Sam looks back at me again and I give him an encouraging nod, “What is it?” he asks again this time more gently.

“We did the right thing here didn't we?” Dean asks, finally breaking. It was difficult to answer him, on one hand we stopped someone from playing God and killing people who they found immoral in which none of the victims were bad people, it wasn’t like they were criminals but to her they were still wicked (god forbid someone has a different opinion than you). But on the other hand it was saving people, except to pay one life for another wasn’t exactly gracious work. Yet, we were doing the same thing, trying to play God and cheat death. I had even admitted to being willing to make great scarface’s to do so, in that aspect I wasn’t so different from Sue Ann in the very beginning.

“Of course we did,” Sam answers, and he really does sound sure. Dean sighs, hanging his head, “It doesn't feel like it.” Suddenly there’s a knock at the door and the parallel from only earlier in the week is not lost on me, “I got it” Sam volunteers getting up from his seat to open the door, “Hey Layla. Come on in.”

Huh.

“Hey” she waves awkwardly. Dean quickly rises from his place on the bed, “How did you know we were here?”

“Sam...called. He said you...wanted to say goodbye?”

Dean glances at Sam and I join in on the glaring, he really needs to start telling me things sooner. But he just smiles sheepishly, “I'm gonna...grab a soda.”

I stand abruptly from my chair, Dean should have his time with Layla. Maybe he won’t feel as guilty, “I’m gonna join you” I declare, “A soda sounds great!” I follow Sam out the door, closing it behind me.

#supernatural #fanfiction #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean winchester x reader #john winchester #slow burn #dean winchester x witch reader #the hunter and the witch update #witch reader #the hunter and the witch #angst #light angst #celtic #supernaturalwiki #supernatural faith

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studentinpursuitofclouds · 1 year

Note

What are the biggest fears of the townspeople in Stardew Valley?

Ok, this is a very interesting question. I tried to take into account the canonical fears of people (the same Abigail and Harvey), as they have dialogues that reveal their fears. Thanks for the ask, dear anon, and enjoy!

Warning: there are references to various phobias as well as sad and unpleasant moments. There is no detailed description but still it is worth warning, it may be unpleasant for someone to read.

Rats. Haley is terribly afraid of rats. Huge and scary rodents almost the size of Haley's handbag ... Eeeeeeep, gross!

To be buried alive in a pile of stones in the mines, to die of starvation or wounds, so that later your soul wanders through these very mines like a damned spirit... For Marlon, this is probably the worst fate that he would not wish even an enemy.

Acrophobia made it impossible for Harvey to follow his dream of becoming a pilot, and to this day he has to face problems due to his fear of heights.

Kent fears that the war with the Gotoro Empire will knock on the door of Stardew Valley, the home of his family and friends.

For Shane, the worst thing is if something happens to his dearest niece. Given that they live close to the forest where wolves and bears live...

Clowns... Penny stays away from the man with the clown make-up at every Stardew Valley Fair.

No matter how much Clint grumbles about his work as a blacksmith and about Pelican Town residents, his biggest fear is being alone. Especially dying alone.

The mere thought of going to the doctor brings panic to poor Vincent's face. And if he needs to get a flu shot, then all the glass and windows will crack from loud crying.

Needles. Bummer, why does Sam need to take medicine not in the form of bitter pills, but as an injection? Of course, he's not as scared as his younger brother, but his mom said that Sam cried a lot louder at the doctor's appointment when he was a child.

Poor Jas is terrified of the dark and won't be able to sleep in her room without her nightlight and plush bunny.

Every day, the Wizard needs to check the seal on his wife's hut, for he is afraid that she, in a fit of revenge, will still be able to unleash her wrath on the innocent inhabitants of Stardew Valley. If this happens, he will never forgive himself.

Sebastian has always loved watching the sea, but swimming in the sea - no thanks. One unpleasant incident in childhood, in which he almost drowned in sea water, discourages the desire to swim even in adulthood.

A huge crowd of people is what Leah fears the most, because she knows many true stories when an uncontrollable crowd in a panic can accidentally knock a person to the ground and trample.

Once Pierre visited an exhibition of vintage dolls in Zuzu city with his wife and said to himself: never again. Why dolls? He himself cannot answer.

Snakes for Marnie. And it doesn't matter if they're poisonous or not. Just the sight of a snake makes her break out in a cold sweat.

Abigail is a brave girl, but spiders have always been her weakness. And the fact that there are monster spiders in the mines... Brrr!

No one argues that good-natured Emily loves animals very much, but the sight of a huge predator like a bear or a pack of wolves causes her only piercing fear. And no wonder, these are wild animals.

For Jodi, it's the fear of food poisoning. An even greater fear is that you will be poisoned by your own cooked food. Even more - if her husband and sons were poisoned at the same time. She always checks five times to see if there are any accidental insects or something else in the dough or in the soup.

Who would have thought that Elliott has signs of lyssophobia. Although he is a very creative and philosophical person, among such people there are often individuals who are afraid to go crazy.

More than once or twice Demetrius refused Sebastian and Mary to have a puppy in the house. And this is not because he is harmful, but because he is terribly afraid of them (the dogs, not the kids).

George is afraid of what is inevitable and, sooner or later, will come to everyone without exception - old age.

It's not for nothing that Robin scolds her husband strongly when he almost set a fire in their house due to an unsuccessful experiment - the prospect of being burned alive in an inexorable flame in his own house scares the town carpenter the most. She treated the wood of their house for the sake of seriousness to minimize the possibility of a fire.

Maru can't stand honey, and that's because honey is the sweet nectar from honeycombs, one of the triggers of her trypophobia.

Sea sirens strike terror into the heart of every sailor, and Willy is no exception. An insidious angelic voice that cannot be resisted will pull you and your ship to the bottom, to be eaten by fish. Some mermaids are kind, but the old sea wolf knows what these sea demons can be.

There is no greater nightmare for Alex than the return of his biological father to the Pelican Town.

Somehow, I got the feeling that Lewis has signs of technophobia. All these gadgets, computers and newfangled smartphones cause him irritation, and then fear when he is forced to use one of them.

Poor Evelyn's heart was broken when she buried her daughter, and she fears more than anything that she will have to bury her grandson too... No mother/grandmother should bury their precious children.

The fear of tall objects, buildings, statues is one of the reasons why Gus decided to settle in a calm Valley, and not work as a cook in a huge metropolis.

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celandeline · 4 months

Text

Summer of Like // Farleigh Start x OC (18)

My fatal flaw is that I can’t say no to Venetia. I’ve known since I met her, when I moved into our suite at Cambridge, that I wasn’t going to be able to say no to her - not when she’s as pretty as she is and as pitiful. Which is how I find myself singing karaoke in the library with Venetia.

I didn’t know the words to Head Over Heels by Tears for Fears before Venetia pulled me out of my seat. I doubt that I’ll remember anything I’ve sung after we finish given how much wine I had at dinner. But it makes her smile, and everyone scattered on the couches around the rooms claps when we’re done.

I hand off my microphone to another of the Henrys, and flop down on the couch, next to Felix. Venetia perches between our laps, one leg over mine, one leg over her brothers - her right arm around Felix’s shoulders, her left hand laid on my thigh. I wrap my free arm around her waist, and tuck my head into the junction between her neck and her shoulder, watching as the Henry who took the microphone from me starts to swagger as Flo Rida’s Low starts playing.

“Oh god.” Venetia laughs as an exasperated sigh leaves Felix.

It’s very evident right from the start that he’s not very good. It’s made even worse by the way his British accent tries to mimic Flo Rida’s tone. I huff out a laugh as he shrugs off his jacket, tossing it to a woman that I presume is how wife.

Felix is the first one to call it quits. “Alright, fuck this. I'm getting a drink.”

“Me too.” Venetia says, rising from her spot in Felix and I’s laps. “Coming Evie?”

I stand up with them, fixing the straps of my borrowed dress. “‘Course.”

I follow them back into the dining room, leaving the library behind us, letting the noise of the karaoke fade into the background. In the dining room, the plates and silverware have been cleared away, but the bar is still set up to the side of the room.

Felix gets there first, pulling three glasses over from the side. “What do you drink, Evie?”

“Depends.” I say. “What are the options?”

“Anything you want.” He says, pouring himself some whiskey that looks like it costs five times my rent in New York. He starts on Venetia’s drink, pouring gin, vermouth and bitter campari into the same glass, and swirling it all around a few times before handing it to her.

“Some tequila would be good.” I say.

Felix grabs a bottle and pours me a healthy helping, and drops a lime wedge into the drink for good measure. “Alright?” He asks, handing the glass to me.

“Yeah, thanks.” I say, taking a small sip. The tequila burns, just a little, the impact softened by the wine that’s already in my system.

Venetia grins as she sips her own drink. “Nobody makes a negroni like you, Fi.”

Felix scoffs, and downs his glass of whiskey like it’s a shot before pouring himself another. “I’m sure you’ve had better negronis than that.”

“I didn’t say it was good.” Venetia says. “Just that nobody makes them like you.”

“Shove off.” Felix says, but there’s no bite in it.

Glasses in hand, we wander back to the library. The song changes abruptly as we slip back into the room, as I spot Farleigh at the karaoke machine, sorting through the selection, microphone in hand.

“Okay, well done Henry, that was great. Round of applause for Henry…” He grins as he finds the song he wants, and stands back up to his full height. “Okay now it’s time to take things up a notch. We have someone here who is a very talented singer.”

The intro to Rent, by the Pet Shop Boys begins to play. I turn to Venetia, already knowing what he’s going to do before he does it, but she’s only smiling, not recognizing the song.

Farleigh turns towards Oliver, that wry smile on his face. “He’s your best friend and mine: Oliver Quick!”

“No, no, no…!” Oliver protests as Farleigh grabs his hand.

Farleigh only smiles as he pries Oliver out of his seat and presses the microphone into his hand. “Yes, yes, yes… don’t be shy!”

Oliver stumbles forward, pushed by Farleigh, wide-eyed. “I don’t even know this song!”

From the couch, James claps his hands. “The words are on the screen, Oliver! That's the best bit! That's the best bit!”

The first verse of the song starts, and Oliver starts to sing, a little off the melody, but smiling anyway. Farleigh sidles up to me, a playful smile on his face. “What’re you drinking?”

“Tequila.” I say, holding my glass out to him.

He takes it, and swigs some into his mouth before handing it back to me.

I keep eye contact as I take a sip, sure to place my lips right over where his just were. “You’re cruel, you know. Making him sing this song.”

His grin widens. “You know this song?”

“Yeah.” I say. “My mom loves the Pet Shop Boys. She’s always playing them around the house. Says they remind her of the ‘good ‘ol days’ before she had kids.”

“Harsh.” Farleigh laughs.

“Either way, it’s mean.” I say.

“Shhh, he hasn’t realized yet.” He says, fishing a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it with glee as he watches Oliver stumble along to the music. I watch as Elspeth realizes exactly what song is playing, casting a look at James. The cheering only gets quieter as more and more of the crowd realize where this is going.

The music swells into the chorus, and the lyrics change on the screen. I watch Oliver’s face shift as he reads the words, and the joke dawns on him all at once. He falters only for a moment before he finishes it off.

“I love you, you pay my rent.”

Full of malicious glee, Farleigh whoops. “Whoo! You tell ‘em!”

“Farleigh.” Felix’s voice is low. I glance over to him to see a glower on his face, not unlike his expression at the breakfast table the night after Venetia’s moonlit escapade.

“What?” Farleigh mocks innocence.

Whatever Felix is about to say is cut off by Oliver. “This is your song as well Farleigh, come finish it.” His tone is friendly, but his stare is anything but. A shiver runs up my spine just looking at him.

Still, Farleigh grins. “Only if you insist.” He tucks his cigarette between my lips before dashing away, taking the mic from Oliver. He doesn’t have to look at the screen to know the words, and he leans into the performance, dancing and spinning the wire of the microphone as he croons.

I puff on his cigarette as he looks over to me and winks.

< previous part | next part >

#farleigh start x oc #farleigh start x reader #saltburn #farleigh start #farleigh x reader #saltburn x reader

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majestyeverlasting · 1 year

Text

𝐀 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲

This piece contains brief descriptions of a very minor injury and lots of fluff.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Late nights with friends aren’t only meant for eggnog and good fun, but for feelings to be unveiled in the most unexpected of places.

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: The gang’s all here in this one. Hope you guys enjoy!

Everyone’s laughing. Eyes squinted, heads tossed back. All because of Eddie. It’s a sound he wouldn’t mind listening to for the rest of his life. It makes him feel like a kid again, being silly to get high off his friends' amusement. It’s just you, Steve, and Robin with eyes on him tonight.

The three of you are sitting on the well-loved couch in his living room as he stands in front of the TV. Steve’s in the middle with both arms resting behind you and Robin’s shoulders.

Though snowflakes fall outside, you’re all warmer than you’ve been in a while. The type of warmth that comes from the inside out. That the heater humming in the corner of the room would never be able to provide.

Eddie tries to bite back a smile, but a bout of boyish chuckles mix with his next words, “Are you guys gonna guess who I was supposed to be, or what?” His eyes are sparkling, cheeks rosy.

Perhaps from one too many cups of spiked eggnog, perhaps from all the attention. Likely both. The night's festivities had all of you feeling loose and playful, inhibitions a distant memory. The perfect tone had been set for a game of charades.

Robin manages to get an answer out after snorting, “Dare I even say that was your attempt at Elvis,” she muses.

Eddie looks like the incarnate of joy, and you don’t miss the way his eyes soften as he meets your gaze. “The more metal and less suave version,” you tease. “I dig it, though.”

You dig him.

Everything from his tattoos to his heart. He’s a little rough around the edges, but always has a way of making people feel good and seen.

He’d seen you a year ago as you sat at the library with your nose buried in a new copy of Beloved. He plopped down into the armchair across from you and stared over the top of your book until you lowered it. You were expecting a sly comment or witty remark, but he smiled and told you he liked your kicks. An old pair of black Vans with daisies painted on them.

Next thing you know, you’d found a friend in each other. And before long, you were meeting his other friends and Hawkins became infinitely less lonesome.

“We know you do,” Robin shoots you a suggestive look that goes unnoticed by the boys. “He’s got the spirit, but those hips need some serious work.”

“They need to be exiled, is what they need,” Steve shakes his head. “I can’t believe you just disrespected the king like that.”

Eddie wrinkles his nose. “Talk is easy, Harrington.”

Steve frowns. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?” The other boy’s shrug is provocative, as if to say you tell me. “Well, I bet I’ve got your Presley beat by a long shot.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Steve pushes himself up to go stand alongside the metalhead, making a grand motion out to you and Robin as if you’re audience members who paid for a show.

“Ladies, hold onto your panties.” Then he looks at Eddie with a smirk. “You too.”

Eddie barks out a laugh, “Fuck you, man.”

Steve stumbles as he’s shoved.

There’s not alot of space in the living room, but they break into a small tussle nevertheless. Steve comes in hot and hooks an arm around Eddie’s neck, pulling him into a loose headlock. You and Robin roll your eyes, but can’t help but smile as you watch. Both of them are strong, but years of playing sports had given Steve the upper hand when it came to putting that strength into practice.

Robin heaves a sigh. “Thought we were gonna make it through the night without any more macho displays, but here we are,” she scoots closer to you to rest her head on your shoulder.

Eddie manages to stand back up to his full height, only for Steve to finally shove him back in retaliation. He chuckles as he steadies himself, and a fond smile tugs at your lips when he briefly peeks your way to see if you’re watching.

It isn’t long before Robin nudges you with her elbow. “You should tell him how you feel,” she murmurs. “You’re probably gonna explode if you don’t. It’s science.”

The chuckle that bubbles out of you is wistful. “Chemistry?”

“Precisely.”

You let your head loll to touch hers. “I want to,” your voice is low. “I just can’t.”

“Can’t what?” Eddie asks. “Dude—” Steve makes a sudden move towards him, and in stopping his advance, one of his fingers harshly grazes the buckle of his belt.

A short string of curses leave Eddie's mouth as he grasps his hand, and Steve takes a few startled steps backwards.

Both you and Robin straighten up on the couch.

“Shit. My bad, man.”

Eddie waves him off and assesses the affliction. There’s a trickle of blood running from the cuticle of his index finger.

“Are you okay, E?” Sincerity clings to your words.

“I’m all good,” he assures. “Stings like a bitch… but I’m not finished.” After sucking the blood off his finger, he assumes a ready stance.

Steve is quick to follow his lead, shifting on his feet as he scopes out an attack window.

At the same time, a light bulb goes off above Robin’s head, and you must see it because you turn to look at each other.

Her words are quiet and fast, only for you, “You should totally go dote over him,” she cocks her head Eddie’s way, and you realize that’s what a small part of you already felt inclined to do. “This could be your chance.”

Before your mind can catch up to your body, you’re on your feet and headed Eddie’s way.

“Time out,” you say, holding out your hand for his. “Can I see?”

He forgets all about Steve as his eyes zero on you. He gives you his hand without question, without thinking. Like he’s on autopilot. His finger is red again.

“Ouch,” you say sympathetically.

Your closeness makes him fidget. “It’s nothing. I promise I'm okay,” this time he sounds a little less sure, swayed by your concern.

Steve’s brows furrow at how soft Eddie’s voice has grown, and it isn’t until he glances at Robin that he realizes what’s going on. She’s smiling in that giddy way of hers that always signifies a plan in motion.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t sensed something between you and Eddie for quite some time.

“Hey, uh…” he scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t think we finished off the eggnog, did we, Rob?”

She springs up from the couch. “Nope. We most definitely did not, but we absolutely should. Let’s!”

She follows him to the kitchen and pulls out cups for the two of them.

They might as well be invisible with how focused the two of you have become on each other.

“Will you let me put a BandAid on it, at least?” You ask Eddie, meeting his umber eyes. “It’ll make me feel better.”

Eddie can’t find the word no, even though he’s been a rub some dirt on it kind of guy his entire life.

In the bathroom, he closes the door behind the two of you. It’s not a large space, so you stand to the side as he washes his hands, wincing as soap accidentally runs into the cut.

When he’s done, he shakes them to get rid of some of the excess water, and you squeak when it splashes on you. The look you fix him with isn’t harsh. It’s amused, and kind, and every good thing he knows you to be.

“Whoops,” he smiles.

Before pulling a paper towel off the roll, he flicks his fingers your way for good measure.

“Wha—hey!”

“Sorry. That was an accident too.” It’s a bold-faced lie that you can’t bring yourself to mind. Not when he’s looking at you with that much fondness in his eyes.

You bite back a smile as you move to the medicine cabinet to pull out a small box of bandages. You finger through the different sizes and settle on one of the smaller ones.

After drying his hands, he moves to put the lid of the toilet down so he can sit.

You feel his eyes on you as you unwrap the bandage, and the intensity of his gaze makes your fingers falter. Just as you move to stand in front of him, he asks something that makes time slow down.

“What is it that you can’t do?” He holds up his finger so you can put the BandAid on. “When you were talking to Rob you said you wanted to do something but couldn’t.”

You wrap the it around his finger, and your eyes flit to the glint of his rings.

“It was nothing," all your courage drains. "I didn’t think you heard me.”

He always hears you.

Any time you’re in his vicinity, he can't help but be in tune with where you are and what you’re saying. That’s how he realized his crush was more than innocent. Innocent crushes didn’t listen out for each other as intently as he did for you. Or care this much about the unspoken thoughts of the other.

He hums after inspecting your handiwork. “Now can you do something that’ll make me feel better?”

You blink, waiting for him to continue.

“Tell me what you can’t do.” He’s gazing up at you with eyes warmer than anything. Encouraging. Begging.

Your mouth opens a few times before any words leave. “I-I can’t tell you how you make me feel,” you say it quietly, but it’s like the voice of God in his ears.

Eddie swallows. “Try?”

A few seconds pass before you say anything.

“Light. You make me feel light in a way that doesn’t quite make sense,” you say, toying with the hem of your shirt. “But I also feel so on earth when you’re around. Like I can root myself in the moment and not have to worry about a single thing in the world.”

A few more seconds of looking at him has you reaching out to grace your fingertips down his soft cheek. He leans into your touch, but it’s gone as soon as it appears. For the first time all night, he doesn’t have anything to say.

He continues staring up at you for what feels like forever.

At last, he stands, and carefully walks you backwards. Before you have the chance to fill the silence, your back meets the wall and his lips are on yours, calloused hands rising to cup your face. He kisses you slowly, as if making time for you to change your mind.

But you don't.

You allow yourself to enjoy the warmth of him, his palpable earnesty.

It’s a miracle your knees hold you as long as they do. You feel like you’re bursting with want and light.

Eddie’s the one who breaks away, and it only seems right that a soft chuckle escapes him. All everyone had been doing all night was laughing. Because the three of you were safe. Happy. And in the case of you and Eddie, in love.

That’s all a couple of kids in a crazy world could ask for.

“We should probably get back out there,” he murmurs, leaning in to give your lips one last peck.

Your eyes grow wide. “You’re right, let’s go.”

When Eddie pulls away, you make quick work of straightening your sweater and neutralizing the expression on your face as best as you can. He doesn’t bother telling you that you now have a pretty glow you wouldn’t be able to will away if you tried. Even his own face is more flushed than before.

Steve and Robin watch as you file out of the bathroom and make your way to the kitchen. They’ve poured the two of you some eggnog as well.

You and Eddie come to a stop three feet apart from each other.

Steve snickers as he crosses his arms. “Really. You guys are out here looking like Elmo and the Northern Star and think we don’t know what just went down?”

“He is pretty red,” Robin agrees.

Eddie grabs a cup and takes a sip. “You can think whatever you want.”

He doesn’t care that they know. He wouldn’t care if the whole world did.

“The suspense was literally killing me,” Robin tilts her head back.

After setting his drink down, Eddie easily pulls you to stand in front of him. Heat rushes to your cheeks as he wraps his arms around you from behind. But it feels right.

“How’s this for Elmo and the Northern Star?” You can feel the gentle vibration of his chest as he speaks. “And don’t think I forgot about that Elvis impersonation you’re supposed to be doing, Harrington.”

Steve waves a hand. “Don’t worry, you guys are gonna get it,” he says. “Just fueling up.” He finishes off the last of his eggnog and burps.

“Gross,” you chide.

“The Northern Star speaks,” he grins at the lighthearted way you narrow your eyes.

After a beat, he sighs, long and thoughtful. “I guess I’m a little happy for you guys.” You can see in his eyes that it’s more than that.

When he cares, he cares hard. Even though he tries to hide it.

“Only a little?” Robin presses, a smile pulling at her lips.

“Okay, maybe a little more than happy. Only by, like, this much—hey!"

He’s in the middle of illustrating the amount when Robin pokes him in the side.

Eddie huffs out an amused laugh as he squeezes you tighter. You place your hands over his where they're secured at your middle.

Of all the places you could’ve been tonight, you’re glad you’re here with the three people who never fail to feel like home.

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. I promise I see them all. ♡

For more fics, see my pinned post!

To join my taglist, turn on notifications for @taleseverlasting

#eddie munson #eddie munson friends to lovers #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #4 stranger things fic #steve harrington #robin buckley

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make-me-imagine · 7 months

Text

Plot: You and Lou search through a corn maze for evidence, successfully getting lost. What makes the situation worse, is the sky is getting darker, and you swear you're not alone.

Pairing: Lou Ransone & Partner/Best Friend!Reader

Request: 'Getting lost in a corn maze' + "Are you scared?" "No" "Then why are you holding onto me?" & "If you get scared you can hold my hand." "How about I hit you instead?"

Requested By: @will-grammer

Warnings: References to death, murder, etc.

Words: ~1.1k

Standing with your hands on your hips, you let out a soft sigh and shook your head. "How the hell are we supposed to find anything in there?"

You looked out at the tall corn maze ahead of you. The whole area had been shut down due to a body being found, the third in a week, all supposedly from the same suspect.

Lou stood beside you with a similar stance, "We're stuck. We need something on this guy."

"And you think we're gonna find it in there?" You side-eyed him and he shrugged.

"We got nothing else." As he stepped towards the entrance to the maze he waved his hand, "Come on."

You let out a sigh as you followed him into the maze, immediately focusing as you looked carefully down every path and into the corn, hoping you'd find anything. A weapon, blood, evidence. Something that could point you to the guy behind these murders.

As the two of you slowly made your way though the maze, you collected a few fibers, fully aware they were probably from various civilians who had come through the maze in previous days. You were grasping at straws, desperate to end this case.

Looking up, you noted the darkening sky, checking your phone you sighed. "Why didn't we come earlier in the day? We wont be able to see anything soon."

"Good question."He chuckled.

Hearing a shuffling sound nearby your head shot towards the sound. You stared in between the corn stalks, seeing nothing.

"God this place is creepy." You muttered and you heard Lou chuckle.

"You sure we're the only ones here?" You asked after a few minutes, still hearing noises throughout the corn maze.

"The whole site's closed off." He replied casually as he turned on his flashlight, the sky having become dark enough it was growing harder to see.

Your heart was beating heavily as adrenaline was rushing through you. Something was telling you there was something else in the corn maze. But you tried to convince yourself it was just your overactive imagination.

"Shouldn't we be out by now?" You asked, growing antsy.

You had been wandering through the maze for over an hour, having given up on searching for evidence when it grew too dark.

"We're close." He said simply, but you could since reservation in his tone.

You paused, staring at the back of his head, seeing him trying to peer over the corn stalks. He was tall enough to see over them, but the dark surrounding you made it hard to locate the exit.

"Are we lost?" You asked after hearing him let out a soft sigh.

"No."

"Are you sure."

He stopped as he turned to look back at you. "...No"

You groaned as you leaned back your head.

Walking down a coupe more paths, Lou spotted a hay bale. Standing up on it he peered around.

"There's a scarecrow nearby, we must be in the middle." Shining his light around he nodded his head, "The exit is that way, I can see the farm."

"At least your height is useful for something." You mumbled and he grinned as he climbed back down.

As you stalked your way trough the maze, you continued to hear various noises within the corn stalks. And you couldn't help the feeling as though you were being watched.

Without realizing you had gotten close to Lou, your hand was now holding onto his jacket as your eyes darted around in paranoia.

Lou glanced down at you and grinned. He cleared his throat softly.

"Are you scared??"

You glanced over at him before replied, your voice much less confident than you intended. "No."

"Then why are you holding onto me?" There was amusement obvious in his tone.

You looked over at him before realizing you were in fact holding onto him.

You quickly let go before rolling your eyes, wanting to avoid the teasing. "Shut up."

He chuckled as he leaned down a bit and obvious teasing grin on his face you could see even in the darkness.

"If you get scared you can hold my hand."

"How about I hit you instead?" You replied quickly, making him laugh.

As you began down another path, you both heard a thudding noise around the corner, causing you both to stop in your tracks. You saw Lou's hand rest on the hilt of his gun as precaution as you both slowly turned the corner.

You weren't sure if you were relieved or not to find the only thing being the tall looming scarecrow.

You made an audible noise in discomfort as you bot approached it. "Why does it have to be so creepy?"

"To scare the kids." He mumbled and you snorted a bit.

"It would definitely work on me."

As Lou climbed up on another hay bale to find the way out, you stared wearily at he Scarecrow. You weren't sure what had made the thudding noise before, but it had to the scarecrow somehow. Maybe the pole it was on was not sturdy. Grabbing it and shaking it softly, you realized it was firmly in place.

You hummed under your breath in uncertainty as Lou walked back over to you. "I figured out the path to get out, come on."

After another ten minutes and a few bickering comments you finally made it out of the maze.

You let out a groan of relief. "I'm never forgiving you for that by the way." You peered over at him and he chuckled.

"Understandable. This was definitely not one of my best ideas."

Looking back at the corn maze, you could make out the scarecrow in the moonlight and you felt your body stiffen.

"Wasn't...the scarecrow facing the other way?"

Lou looked back at the scarecrow and thought for a few moments. "Yeah, it was facing the entrance."

"How did it move? I checked the pole it's on after we heard that noise that thing was firmly in place."

You and Lou shared a look of uncertainty before peering back at the scarecrow. A mutual shiver ran up both your spines before you shook your head.

"If you want to find anymore evidence in that maze, you better send someone else."

Lou nodded his head, "Let's go."

You followed his lead, more than ready to leave the creepy farm and the scarecrow behind. Sparing another look back at the scarecrow, you felt your blood run cold.

You weren't sure if it was now your eyes and brain playing tricks on you, but you swore you saw it look at you.

xx End xx

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#Lou Ransone x Reader #lou ransone/reader #lou ransone imagine #lou ransone fic #lou ransone oneshot #lou ransone one shot #911 x reader #911/reader #9-1-1 x reader #9-1-1 imagine #911 halloween #halloween 2023 #911 imagine #911 fanfic #lou ransone halloween #lou ransone & reader

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wet-and-wedgied · 10 months

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Drew’s Diarrhea

True Story about one of my friends (with added details)

Drew smiled as he took a piece of brownie from the tray that had been set up for the college cultural festival by one of his fellow students. Drew is an average guy, about average height and build, a little on the thin side. He has really thick black curls. He was wearing an orange polo shirt with cream colored pants and a braided belt.

He snacked on the brownie as he listened to the baker explain that it was their first time baking, and they hoped that they turned out great, since they hadn’t followed any recipes or instructions. Drew assured them they were delicious as he finished up the treat, taking another and enjoying it as he headed on to his job, leaving campus.

About a half an hour later, Drew was at work when he felt his stomach churn. He bent at his desk, clutching his abdomen as it felt like his guts had turned into a boiling melting pot. He let out a low groan, then felt his stomach drop and a river of shit drop down his small intestine. Drew squeaked, clenching his ass and putting a hand underneath himself, just barely stoping his bowels from emptying themselves.

Oh fuck Drew thought. I’ve got the shits

“I’ll be right back,” Drew told one of his co-workers as he hustled to the staff bathroom and ran into the first stall.

“oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” Drew cursed to himself as he squirmed and desperately undid his belt. He yanked down his pants and his boxers, pooling around his ankles and sat down.

BBBBRBBBPPRRTT! A fat hot fart escape him, but did nothing to elevate the pressure in his gut. Another fart. Then two more PPPRBBFFFTTT! PppRBBRRT!

Drew held his stomach as his asshole opened up and a mushy column of shit blasted out of him onto the toilet. A cascade of muddy diarrhea followed, spraying the porcelain bowl as his bowels evacuated themselves. “Ahhh! Ahh!” Drew moaned as he bent, arms around his stomach as an other shitty eruption left his ass. Diarrhea poured out of him, emptying him out still he was left drenched in sweat.

Drew wiped himself and pulled up his trousers and washed his hands, going back to work.

… to come running back into the bathroom ten minutes later, slamming his ass against the toilet seat just in time as

BBBRRBBPPRT!

SLLESSURPRPPBBRRT!

“oh shit!” Drew called out as a cascade of bubbling diarrhea like a waterfall shot out of his ass. “What the hell is wrong with me—AHH!”

Another wave of diarrhea, thicker than before blasted out of Drew’s ass in an uncontrollable splattering against the soiled water. Squishy chunks of shit shot out rapid fire. Farts like machine guns were squeezed out, rapid fire one after another. He was then suddenly given a reprieve from his diarrhea. Drew’s eyes crossed and he extended his legs as a new thick log of shit hit his hole, stretching it out as it slowly pushed out of him, it was pleasurable and painful at the same time and then another cramp hit his gut and the massive log broke free, morphing from solid back into muddy and then watery diarrhea once again.

Again he was able to clean up and go back to work. And again he was back in the restroom not long after, his ass exploding with diarrhea.

It was Drew’s fourth trip to the restroom when things got dicey. As he entered the bathroom, he saw that the stalls were all occupied. It seemed he wasn’t the only one with an upset stomach. He doubled over as his guys twisted and he forced out a fat wet fart. He winced as it blasted out of him. Oh man, another round of the shits was coming and it was coming fast! He held his stomach, looking around, clenching his ass as he tried to make sure he didn’t shit himself. The stalls were occupied and none of them sounded like they’d be done anytime soon. But his dump was not waiting. The urinal! He winced as another fart boomed out of him PPPBBBPPPPRRRDTTTPT!

“oh man, I’m sorry, I can’t hold, I gotta—“ Drew said exasperated as he fumbled with his belt and rushed to the urinal. He turned around, dropping his trousers and yanking his underwear down around his knees as he bent ass first into the urinal, bracing himself.

PPPOLPPOSSSRRRPPERRT!

Drew gasped, his eyes crossing as a fire hose of diarrhea bursted out of him , arcing through the air and splattered against the back of the urinal. It came out as a relentless torrent of muddy shits, quickly filling the urinal as Drew’s lost complete control over his bowels.

Drew farted and moaned as he expelled the last of his waste, overfilling the urinal and sending the mess splattering against the bathroom floor. He nervously pulled up his pants, wiping himself with some torn papertowels and hurrying out of the bathroom before anyone could find the mess he had made with his bout of explosive diarrhea.

#diarrhea #malediarrhea #toilet #the shits #malepoop

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ellie-the-oracle · 1 year

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Freefalling From Great Heights - A Discussion & Analysis

Hey guys. So, I lied about getting off socials LOL I really need to go full on film theory here and talk about the fall. I do want to preface though and say that I am not a woman of science (I’m an art girlie), therefore I won’t be able to make any sort of proper calculations. Without further ado, I’m going to break down the whole fall and discuss how Tech could’ve and probably did survive.

First and foremost, I want to go back and take a look at the most clear shot given to viewers of the height between the tram system and the perceived ground level. In this picture, we get a brief glimpse from Wrecker’s POV of how far down it is from the trams.

While it looks quite high, considering they are practically in the clouds, it is important to note the amount of foliage this planet has; a vast amount large trees, specifically tall pine trees.

These types of trees are not uncommon in biomes that include bodies of water. Consider the images below.

While it is not definitive, it can be safe to assume that there could have been a stream or body of water below in that valley. However, even if this was not the case, the trees are large enough that they can dampen a fall, even if it is from a great height. This leads me to my next point:

How high of a fall can humans survive?

An NCBI article covers the case of a rock climber who had fallen from a total of 300 feet and survived. Though she suffered many severe injuries, she was able to recover after extensive medical care. According to this article, the way in which a person falls is imperative to survival. In particular, if a person is falling vertically, they can survive an average fall height of 23 feet and 7 inches (7.2 meters) with minor to moderate injury. Survivable injuries have a threshold of around 20-25 feet. Yet the rock climber was able to survive at even greater heights. That being said, according to an article by Arnold & Atkin Trial Lawyers, 20 feet and below can still prove to be fatal. Moreover, fatal falls usually are between 21 and 40 feet. Considering all the information thus far, it would seem that Tech is exceptionally fucked. But stay with me folks, I’m not done cooking yet.

While it is not common, humans have, in fact, survived free falls at extreme heights. Take for example Vesna Vulović, a Serbian flight attendant who holds the Guinness world record for surviving the highest freefall without a parachute: 33,330 feet (10,160 meters). She was in a coma for days and spent several months hospitalized. She suffered a fractured skull, three broken vertebrae, broken legs, broken ribs, and a fractured pelvis, leaving her temporarily paralyzed from the waist down. Despite all of this, she made a nearly complete recovery, only continuing to walk with a limp.

In another case, Nicholas Alkemade, a British tail gunner of the Royal Air Force during World War II, survived a freefall of 18,000 feet (5, 490 meters). His fall was broken by pine trees and a soft snow cover on the ground.

While the first case can be safely considered as a miracle, it's the second case that is interesting. The pilot survived a freefall from a height he should’ve died from. Yet, due to the large trees and the snow on the floor, his fall was cushioned and allowed for him to survive.

Now, taking what we discussed and applying it to the Star Wars universe, the chances of Tech surviving is definitely in our favour. Firstly, we know there is a lot of foliage (bushes, grass, etc.), and there are also massive trees. But we must remember that this isn’t just some random, unprepared person that is falling. This is Tech, a highly skilled, highly intelligent, and well equipped clone trooper. It is also important to mention that he is wearing a helmet and a chest plate, which provides protection to critical body parts. Knowing him, Tech could have very well put his gear to use and used a grappling hook to attach to a tree and create momentum from his fall to swing onto the ground. He could have also gotten into the falling tram and found a way to cushion his fall. But let’s say he does neither of these things (perhaps due to the speed at which he was falling), Tech can still survive if he falls vertically into the pine trees and foliage, which will cushion his fall, just like Nicholas Alkemade and the rock climber, respectively.

Furthermore, based on all that has been discussed and considered, the chances of survival of a freefall from that height, while seemingly impossible, is in fact, possible and likely.

Sources:

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burningvelvet · 5 months

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Quickly and poorly reviewing and ranking adaptations of Jane Eyre (1996, 1997, 2006, 2011) by their pros and cons:

1996 pros:

Best fire scene, easily. It actually gave me that excited feeling that good cinema gives a person. Much of the cinematic art was enjoyable altogether, including the costumes.

This film probably has ond of the best Bertha's in my opinion. She's truly sympathetic, beautiful, and fierce. probably tied for my favorite Bertha actress with 2006. She and Poole are given little time in the story, however.

Most adaptations shit on St. John. Here, that isn't the case. What little time he has is spent in making him much more appealing than I've ever seen him, both physically and characteristically. I like this, because many forget that Jane did love him in her way, and he is supposed to be attractive and nice despite his zealotism.

1996 has the best Adèle, which is amazing for me as a big Adèle fan. There is more focus on her and her relationships with Jane/Rochester. I particularly love the scene where J draws R and Adèle tries to play cupid a little, and when Adèle is offended when the ladies insult Jane.

Best Lowood plot by far. This is the first time I've been able to stand the Young Jane scenes, and little time was devoted to her early life with the Reeds, just enough to let us know she was abused. I like this choice. The young actresses playing Jane and Helen were the best and most rebelious I've seen yet. Their hair cutting scene brought tears to my eyes, which rarely ever happens for me.

Good Blanche plotline. I absolutely love the cinematography/aesthetic & set design.

1996 cons:

the actors are individually endearing in some ways (the scene of Jane and the mirror is particularly touching, as is their reunion). However, The biggest downside to this adaptation is that the chemistry between Jane and Rochester was lacking in my opinion. this is particularly notable in their meeting scene and first proposal scene.

William Hurt is a fantastic actor, and he's likeable, but he's not my favorite Rochester ever. He's alright. On a rewatch I could see myself warming to him more.

I love Charlotte Gainsbourg more for her music than her acting. Granted, she was young here like Jane is supposed to be, so I do not blame her. Visually, aside from her height, I can absolutely see her as Jane. As the film went on I warmed to her acting style; Jane Eyre is a hard role to perform due to her inwardness. I don't think she was horrible, but Anna Paquin (of later True Blood fame) as Young Jane Eyre somewhat outshined Gainsbourg.

I was disappointed in Adèle being sent away to school before the disaster and her not coming back in the end (why couldn't they have had her running with Pilot in the landscape shot!!!).

1997 pros:

Maybe the most accurate Jane and Rochester. I wasn't expecting to like him at all but he blew me away. excellent chemistry between the actors. The dancing scene was very captivating, as was the scene with him jumping from the walkway, their outdoor talks, him chasing her down the stairs — really, I was impressed, because I thought I'd hate this film. Like in the novel and in 96, both actors are a bit conventionally unattractive (well, compared to 11 and to some extent 06) - and like them, the characters grow on you.

BEST ST. JOHN (although 2006 has the best Rivers sisters) - St. John is described as being nice though serious, and looking like a statue of a Greek God with all the coldness AND beauty - and this movie is the only one who relatively understood that assignment (96 came close emphasizing his niceness). Most adaptations adapt his coldness but not his conventional Eurocentric good looks, which not only symbolize his colonizer attribute but also his appeal to Jane and the others. It's also important to have a conventionally handsome actor play St. John just as it's important to have a conventionally less attractive Jane Eyre because one theme of the novel is the critique of Victorian physiognomy & beauty; Jane/Rochester being unconventionally attractive is a contrast to Bertha, St. John, Blanche, Georgiana being attractive, so I think this element is not inconsequential. The difficult part is that beauty is highly subjective, so relying on conventional standards is key, as is the reminder that Victorian standards were a bit different from our own.

good Lowood plotline, good Gateshead plotline, fantastic Adèle with lots of adorableness & miraculous though OOC bonding between her and Rochester, fantastic costuming (though I don't know about accuracy), good Blanche plotline overall. Probably my favorite Bertha plotline for being sufficiently creepy.

1997 cons:

this isn't really a con for me but many people may dislike 97 Rochester for being passionate to the point of coming off crazy, and physical domineering as when he grabs Jane when she tries to leave — however, this does kind of fit for canonical Rochester & I don't mind it since he's supposed to be that way, but this is still arguably a con nevertheless. he does come off as too forward but i get they were trying to capture the whole overpassionate thing. it does come off as a little more toxic than other depictions perhaps!

I have very few complaints overall. I don't think the chemistry is as appealing as 2006, but it is accurate. I wish there was more Adèle, but you can't have everything.

The posters are bad and make the actors look worse than they are which subsequently turns people away. I think 1996 was marketed a bit better but that 2006 also suffers from bad poster syndrome which had an effect on me also. Presentation is important; marketing and advertising are also important in cinema. The aesthetic isn't as good as 1996 although I don't think the visuals are bad overall.

Jane is a little dissociative seeming, which can be off-putting for myself and other viewers I assume, but to be fair she is described as being like a weird little elf creature in the book, and the actress plays this very well, actually looking quite ill when Rochester asks if she is.

2006 pros:

Best chemistry between Jane/Rochester by far and for this reason will always be my favorite because it actually made me fall in love with Rochester in the end though I didn't like his portrayal at all at first (that's power! — and my love for this Rochester should arguably be a con for the sake of my sanity and pride). best Rochester imo and a fantastic Jane. I love love love the way they did the Rochester storytime flashbacks and fleshed out his character as a result.

Best and most enjoyable Blanche Ingram plotline by far (although no one likes the lack of Rochester-in-drag, the party scenes & insertion of the twin flame theory was delightful).

some of the best dialogue, fantastic Adèle plotline, good Bertha plotline, best Pilot, best Rosamond, good costuming, good sets/locations (the fairytale ambience of Jane walking outside before meeting Rochester! Rochester's weird study!), I like the extra focus placed on themes such as nature/genetics/science, religion, travel, sexuality, etc.

2006 cons:

I dislike the way they did the Lowood and Gateshead plots, and although the Rivers sisters were good, I resent their St. John plotline for the most part. I disliked the lack of mystery surrounding Bertha; I think they made it way too obvious & not creepy enough, especially in showing her perspective from the window and giving her lines (one line, calling Jane a whore in Spanish) which no other adaptation does. I was sorely bored before and after Thornfield and only really revived when she got back to Ferndean (although Jane's flashbacks and some of the St. John plotline [the references to love, reminding us of her inner thoughts of Rochester] kept me alive). I suppose there were prices to pay for the excellence of the Jane and Rochester moments. - in comparison these seem like small prices, but still!

2011 pros:

deciding to go with a non-linear structure was a fantastic choice though I was skeptical of it at first, good St. John plotline for the most part & which they put emphasis on, really fantastic Jane with a lot of good fierce moments & lines, maybe the best Gateshead plotline including Mrs. Reed & the Red Room scene (although the lack of red was disappointing, and the lack of explanation for the chimney monster is conflicting – was it all in her head?), good young Jane, one of the best Richard Masons, star-studded cast, good dialogue, maybe the best costuming, Aesthetic™️

2011 cons:

least favorite adele (not insulting the child actress, this is the fault of the writers/directors)

— this is where i call security to protect me from an onslaught of jane eyre 2011 fans here on tumblr. alright, maybe i should watch it again — but i was expecting a lot more. particularly from michael fassbender as mr. rochester. probably my least favorite rochester by far & the least sympathetic. this rochester captures the dark and dangerous part of him but imo not so much the higher feelings that define him. the lack of humour & lack of unrepressed passion/drama/rage is noticeable - rochester isn't supposed to be quiet; as toby stephens (2006) said in an interview, rochester never shuts up in the book, he's really too eccentric to even be adapted accurately; he has to be toned down to be realistic, but here he's muted too far. - i felt like mia was carrying all of their scenes on her back & that the chemistry really rested on her primarily.

Cinematography-wise, there are some gems in the stills (famous hand holding gif), but I dislike the overall muted palette of the film; many will think this suits the tone and in some ways I agree, however, I will always prefer color and dislike the epidemic of desaturation we've seen so often in 21st century cinema. For this reason, 96, 97, 06 all triumph against 2011 aesthetically for me personally, although I still recognize some of the artistry of 2011, it is not my preference.

My overall ranking: 2006 (primarily for Jane/Rochester), 1997 (excellent overall), 1996 (good but flawed), 2011 (I tried but overall did not enjoy it).

#jane eyre #jane eyre 2011 #jane eyre 2006 #jane eyre 1996 #jane eyre 1997 #mr rochester #charlotte bronte #charlotte brontë #the brontes #movie reviews #film review #film comparison #film reviews #cinema #adaptations #critique #my analysis #my reviews #my opinion

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bellonim · 1 year

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𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐙 - their favourite thing about you

synopsis: my head take on what they like the most about you

𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐖𝐀: I think Seonghwa likes your eyes the most. He could get lost in them forever, and even when looking into them for the hundredth time, he never gets tired of them. Sometimes he claims he can see the whole universe through your eyes, and though you know he is only joking, to him it's heartfelt. You are, after all, his universe.

𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐉𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐆: Hongjoong likes your personality the most. It's not a secret that his job as an artist is very demanding, having to stay up late to either practice or compose or anything which takes up too much energy. Oftentimes, he finds himself astray due to the fact that he has hardly time for himself. But then you come around the corner, and always manage to lift up his spirits with your beautiful personality. He sees you as the light at the end of the tunnel when things get hard.

𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐎: Yunho definitely likes your height the most. That goes for people who are shorter or taller than him. He obviously cherishes his height a lot, considering he is the tallest member in ATEEZ. He is proud of it and becomes even more so when you stand next to him. When being shorter, his pride exceeds. You look small and fragile next to him and he loves that feeling. And when you're taller than him, he feels so proud that he can look up to the love of his life, literally.

𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐆: Yeosang loves your hair. He loves combing his fingers through it or styling it in different ways. Whether it's braiding your hair or sectioning strands of hair and putting them in cute ponytails, it doesn't matter. It makes him calm and collected and lets him forget everything that's around him. He loves smelling your hair, especially when you have just washed your hair. It smells like home.

𝐒𝐀𝐍: your confidence. I feel like, because San himself is very confident, he looks for confidence in a partner. And the way you handle yourself, even on bad days, just makes him fall in love again every time. Even when you feel like you're not confident in yourself, he'll point out all the good things he sees in you. Because if you can see all his perfections, why shouldn't you be able to see it in yourself?

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐈: your cheeks. Something about them always makes him smile. The way your cheeks go into mochi-mode when you smile has him smitten all over you. There never goes a day by when he doesn't try to make you smile or blush, just to see your cheeks all red and cute. He definitely does the grandma cheek-grabbing because he cannot help it. If it's cute then he must squeeze them. Must.

𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆: Listen, this boy. He is the most hyper member in ATEEZ, that's established. He smiles a lot, and then I mean, a lot. And he loves smiling. But you know what he loves even more? Seeing you smile, especially when it's because of him. He loves the way you laugh whenever he does something silly. Even in serious situations, he cannot contain himself. Seeing you smile is equal to people in Ancient Greece seeing Zeus himself coming down from Olympus. He is addicted to your smile.

𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎: It's a known fact that Mariah Carey bows down to Jongho. I mean, come on. When you enter Heaven, the first thing you'll hear is Jongho's voice. And he cherishes his voice very much. It's a given, he is an angel in disguise who has a choir as vocal cords. And though he loves his voice very much, he loves you talking even more. Especially when you sing too, even if it's a little song while you're cleaning or just doing your thing. Even if you cannot really sing well, it doesn't matter. Your voice reigns supreme. You are his Mariah Carey.