• you: Beauty and the Beast is about Stockholm Syndrome.
  • me, an intellectual: While it's understandable where this idea comes from, it's ultimately inaccurate. Stockholm Syndrome is when a captive feels positive emotions for their captor because they mistake a lack of abusive behavior for kindness, however while Belle agrees to stay with the Beast (a choice that was made by herself in the first place, not by her father or the Beast), she constantly stands up to the Beast and defies his threats and punishments when he treats her badly, therefore not allowing him any power over her beyond being able to keep her in the same general location. She doesn't show him any affection until he finally stops acting like a jerk (he doesn't display any abusive behavior after she saves his life) and starts consistently treating her with respect. And it is only after the Beast frees Belle, making them complete equals with no power imbalance at all in their relationship that she's able to finally fall in love with him. It's also clear that while the Beast had an outside motivation to make Belle like him and to change his behavior, the changes in his character are genuine as seen in his act of mercy in sparing Gaston's life in the climax of the film. If anything, the story is about Lima Syndrome, in which a captor feels affection for their captive. Additionally, the idea that the story is about Stockholm Syndrome ignores the fact that the original fairy tale it was based off of was meant to be an allegory for arranged marriages and for the apprehension and fear a young bride would feel about starting a new life with a strange man she might not like at first.

It worries me when people actually believe that Beauty and the Beast is about Stockholm Syndrome and/or abuse. Everyone is entitled to their own interpretation, for sure. But when people start shaming others for enjoying the tale, it becomes a problem. 

Let’s break it down:

Beauty and the Beast shows how Stockholm Syndrome works

Actually, Stockholm Syndrome is yet to be recognized as an actual mental disorder, and people who have been part of hostage situations have denied it.

Stockholm Syndrome involves adapting your actions to please a captor when you feel threatened. It is a survival mechanism. In this case, Belle never changes for the Beast, and instead challenges him every time.  

But Beast kidnapped and captured Belle in his castle. He is a captor

He didn’t kidnap her. Belle chose to take upon herself a penalty that fell on her father due to his trespassing. 

Also, let’s remember that we can’t analyze a film without taking its historical setting into account. The story takes place in a Royal background during the 18th Century,  when the justice system was nothing like ours.

As a result, Royalty -to which the Prince, who is now a Beast, belonged to- dealt with trespassers much differently than we do, as they believed their word to be the law. 

Yes, the Beast/the Prince is her captor. But only because he is punishing her for what he considers to be a transgression on her father’s part. Let’s remember: this is a character that lost his kingdom, and the only power he now has, has been reduced to the castle and what exists in it. Growing out of this mentality and what has been wrongly taught to him, is part of his character arc (and it’s also why it makes sense that an Enchantress would want to teach a lesson to a Prince and not someone like Gaston, since the entire kingdom depends on him).    

But he’s abusive

The Beast never insults or physically harms Belle. At most, he’s rude and demanding…in 2 scenes. Yes. When people talk about the Beast’s abuse in the animation, only two or three scenes where he’s yelling or smashing furniture are used to support the theory.


1- The scenes (being rude to Belle on the way to her room, demanding Belle dines with him, and throwing her from the West Wing and smashing furniture) occur on the same day. The very same day he’s had to interact with another person for the 1st time in 10 years, after almost becoming a complete animal. There’s pent up anger, for sure. But never again do we see the Beast being either forceful or violent. On the contrary, he learns his way into gaining his human behavior back.

2- In each of the scenes, the animators made careful decisions to show the Beast’s instant regret. When analyzing a film, we can’t forget the visual cues that it gives us.

3-  Belle doesn’t fear him. Even after seeing him easily take on the wolves that attacked her (that is, at his most violent), she confronts him and calls him out on his rudeness. A scared person wouldn’t dare to do so. She’s an immovable force that the Beast doesn’t know how to deal with, not a victim.

4- We can’t choose to forget that the Beast sets her free, which is no small feat for someone who has been brought up in a royal background. 

But it glamorizes abusive relationships by making girls believe they can change men

No. Choices made by Linda Woolverton (script) and Howard Ashman (lyrics) focus on Belle and the Beast as outcasts, and forcing her to stay in the castle is a plot device to help the characters get to know each other (and, like I mentioned before, it’s justified by the messed up royal background of the Beast).

It doesn’t ‘glamorize’ an abusive relationship. When the Beast is rude and violent, Belle doesn’t take an interest in him and she actively rejects him. It’s only when the power balance shifts and they treat each other as equals, that the friendship and attraction begin.

The tale is more about outcasts finding solace in each other, than about a woman changing a man to fit her standards. Both Belle and the Beast change in some way. Both must look past each other’s appearance and behavior (both are stubborn and set on their ways) to find what is within. The fact that what is in there pleases them both is what makes the tale great. After all, Belle could have found another Gaston inside the Beast.

But in real life people don’t change for other people” 

In real life, people don’t turn into beasts and furniture. There are no curses or enchantments. We’re dealing with a fairy tale that shows us how the world should be, could be or we would want it to be. And if things didn’t work out for the better, there would be no story to tell.

Let’s never forget the striking difference between fiction and reality. And if you’re worried kids will get the wrong message, talk to them. Don’t blame it on the films or the stories.  

We can’t and shouldn’t judge a film on account of its validity in real life. In real life, most of us wouldn’t support vigilantism, yet we enjoy films like Batman or The Avengers without a hitch. In real life, we would probably reject terrorism, yet we enjoy Heath Ledger’s Joker (The Dark Knight) and Hugo Weaving’s V (V for Vendetta) despite the fact that both can be labeled as terrorists. 

I’ll be writing more about this soon, but for now, I truly hope people will take a closer look at a film before just glancing at the plot and thinking: “oh, this sounds too much like this other thing! It must be the same!”. 

Take the time to consider all the elements in a story before letting a Meme or a Tweet define how you see it. 

Warped || Peter Parker x Reader [[request]]

[[request prompt: Yes, the ask is open :D I really love your stories! Can I please request a kinda angsty Story where the Reader gets kidnapped and Peter tries to rescue her - but while being tortured she discovers some kind of super power and got free and Peter finds her and comforts her about it? I hope that’s okay! Thank you and have a nice day :3.]]

ahhh I know I’ve been posting so much in the peter parker x reader tags, but like, I have so many requests that i gotta get through because I’m a sucker for pain (lmao I’m kidding, I actually adore writing a lot and don’t mind it)

in fact, I just now opened up requests for stories featuring young!sirius and young!remus 。゚(TヮT)゚。this was done to actually spread out my peter parker updates a little bit by writing for these two new characters to keep me occupied.

so please, send in all of your requests! Writing is actually very therapeutic for me so I don’t mind being flooded with so many requests

and here’s the tentative schedule for what I plan to do:

present day: peter parker x reader ((requests))

the next day: remus and/or sirius ((requested stories OR my own personal stories))

the day after: remus and/or sirius ((requested stories OR my own personal stories))

and the whole cycle will repeat itself as I manage this blog TTwTT. So without anymore stalling, lets delve into WARPED!!

warnings: torture, descriptions of inflicting pain. If this triggers you, then please don’t read this.

tags: {anonymous}

{[request status: open}}

**don’t plagiarize/repost this story! Reblogs are fine!


It was still broad daylight when you escaped from the confines of Midtown, your eyes watering slightly as the sun beamed down at your (color) eyes.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

How do I write an interaction between a kidnapper and the person they abducted? They know who the kidnapper is but not well, they just recognize them. Also the person who was abducted wakes up and ends up talking to the kidnapper right away. I'm having trouble deciding how the dialog should go and I think getting a second opinion on how the characters would probably react would really help me out. And one last note: the kidnappers motive was a love at first sight type of thing. thanks :)

Thanks for your question, love!  Sorry for the wait </3

So while this largely depends on the characters involved, there are a few questions you’ll need to consider:

About the Victim

  • What panics them?  This is the most important factor of how a victim acts in their unique situation.  Obviously, they’ll be scared the whole time, but what triggers the fight-or-flight reaction?  And which do they tend toward: fight or flight?
  • What is their opinion of the kidnapper?  Do they see the kidnapper as a reasonable person, or mentally compromised?  Do they feel they can manipulate the kidnapper?  Do they see the personhood of their captor, or are they willing to inflict harm for their freedom?  Beyond this, there’s also the matter of personality.  Is the victim annoyed/scared by the kidnapper?  Or is the kidnapper at all charming or kind?
  • Do they see any way out of this?  Is there a phone, a door, a window, or anything that provides hope of escape?  When a victim feels truly at the mercy of their captor, they’re less belligerent – more likely to try to “befriend” them.  But when they see a way out, that becomes their new goal: get the captor to leave, or knock the phone off the chair, or shine a light through the window.  Everything becomes about this.
  • How confident are they physically?  Do they feel they can challenge their captor given the right opportunity?  Do they think their captor would hurt them, and if so, unprovoked?
  • How do they handle unwanted attention?  A kidnapper with an obsession for their victim will be giving a lot of attention, sometimes physically, to the victim.  How does your character receive this?  Compare it to getting catcalled or harassed on the street – do they put their head down and ignore it?  Sass back?  Get physical?  Try to handle it civilly?  This will escalate, of course, the more intrusive the kidnapper becomes – but figure out what kind of person your character is, and start from there?

It also helps to take a look at abduction survival tips, as well as the emotional phases of abduction.

About the Captor

  • What sparked their obsession?  If it was truly a “love at first sight” reaction, was it physical or due to a positive interaction with the victim (e.g. ordering from them at a coffee shop, internet date)?   Is it possible that the victim reminds the captor of an old girlfriend/family member?  This determines if the attachment is physical, emotional, or psychological.
  • Are they violent?  This is especially (but not exclusively) likely if the captor: (a) is mentally ill, (b) realizes the victim doesn’t return their love, or © feels on edge about being caught.  What triggers the violence?  How violent are they?  Do they draw blood?
  • Are they mentally ill?  Different disorders cause different affectations under stress, including mood swings, breakdowns, paranoia, violent outbursts, flawed judgment, hallucinations, depersonalization of victim, pathological lying, etc.  If you should decide to include a mental illness, read up on it so as to portray it accurately.  Don’t just go with the “overall crazy” trope.
  • Are they genuinely interested in their victim’s personality?  Some kidnappers are merely looking for a listening ear, so they can air out grievances or fill a void.  But a kidnapping based on personal obsession can become less of a rambling session and more of a simulated “date” scenario, where the captor attempts to share feelings and solicit certain responses from the victim.
  • How do they handle the victim?  This is two questions, really.  (1) How does the captor treat the victim physically, in transporting the victim to new locations, providing for the victim, respecting the victim’s space, untying their hands/feet/mouth, etc.?  (2) How does the captor handle the victim interpersonally?  Are they abusive, disagreeable, rude, volatile, impulsive, defensive, or demanding?  Or are they more relaxed, patient, even-keel, studious, or gentle?  A mixture of both positive and negative traits will yield the most realistic results.

That’s all I’ve got for you right now, but if you need more help, my inbox is always open!  Thanks for waiting, and good luck :)

If you need advice on general writing or fanfiction, you should maybe ask me!

i went and decided to do a dissection ANYWAY of tsuna’s potential backstory regarding his school life / bullying and family dynamics  (and things i see rehashed in fic over and over again), because i already wrote a million paragraphs about it but didn’t feel like spewing bits and pieces all over the place.

i can absolutely understand ‘nana is a normal mom and tsuna is just a saltlord who only cares about himself’, because that’s kind of how it seems. on the surface. that’s fine!! normal salty tsuna learning to care about people is nice too.

but 'normal’ is very, very subjective. it’s very subjective. it depends on culture, it depends on class, it depends on soooo many things. and ‘normal’ isn’t always what’s best.

so this is kind of a not-really-comprehensive look into Why Are You Like This Sawada Tsunayoshi.

read if you like a lot of introspective salt and hate against bullying, because i have a lot of hate for bullying. the first half is pretty respectful but it gets really salty near the end i just lost patience. this thing is 6k words long. it’s as long as one of my fic chapter updates.

disclaimer: i do not reference the anime much at all. most if not all of this is purely manga based. i get mine from mangahere instead of official viz-released translations. the anime also has different translations too depending on the fansub, and also different when compared to manga, so take these with a grain of…. salt lmao.

Keep reading

iamcomradecharlie  asked:

Would it be reasonable for a character to fall in love with his captor? My MC has lived on the streets for over a decade with no support network, no family, friends, etc and has now been kidnapped by an older man, who while he doesn't treat him particularly well emotionally, does take care of his physical needs like drugs, food, clothes and such. This happens over a few months, so is it realistic to have my MC fall in love with him and want to be with him even if there's a chance of escape? TY!

Unfortunately, yes, your scenario is a realistic one. Your character could appear to have fallen in love with his captor. However, I would say that the close relationship formed via a Stockholm Syndrome type environment cannot ever be truly defined as love.

For those who don’t know, Stockholm Syndrome is a term for the psychological condition of a captive bonding with their captor. I might do a masterpost on the original hostage situation that gave this disorder its name, if there’s interest.

Anyways.  There’s a hell of a lot of other symptoms that your character could be showing that would indicate that they are not in a healthy relationship.

Keep reading


I loooove your Hotch stories!  Especially the Daddy one!  I was wondering if you’d be willing to write a one-shot where the reader is a virgin in her twenties and loses her virginity to Hotch?  Pretty please?

Poor Hotch.  All people want is Daddy kink, heh.  I can do this, but I’m better with writing characters in their natural element, and this is the only way I see feasible that this scenario would take place, so I hope you’re not disappointed!  

There is a hell of a lot of angst and trigger in this story.  It’s not a pretty love scene, but one that shows Hotch’s devotion that I believe he has to protecting anyone younger than him in danger.  Please please please…read with caution.

Here is your one-shot, comin’ ‘atcha!

As your eyes fixate on the older man in front of you, the blood from his forehead trickling down his cheek, you slowly meander off of the bed and creep your way across the floor.

“Sir…?” you whisper quietly.

Hearing him groan, you reach out and wipe the blood away from his cheek.

“Sir?  Can you hear me?”

Sitting on your knees as you wrap your arms up under his pits, you help him sit up, his eyes fluttering open as he squints to take in his surroundings.

“Where am I?” he groans.

Swallowing hard as tears mist your eyes, you look down and rip a piece of your dirty nightgown from the hem, wrapping it around your finger as you dab it at his wound.

You watch as he furrows his brow, the creases in his face denoting his age as you attend to the droplets of blood soaking the fabric curled around your finger.

“What’s your name?” you ask, a light lilt to your voice.

“Hotchner…uh, Aaron.”

Watching him get to his feet as you stay crouched, you crawl back over to the bed as you clamor back up on it, the chain hooked to your leg dragging on the ground as his eye takes in the shackle around your ankle.

“What’s yours?” he asks, avoiding your gaze as he quickly looks around the room, removing something from his ear as he grunts and tosses it to the side.

“Y/N,” you say quietly, your eyes hooked on him as you watch him survey his surroundings.

“It’s no use,” you say.

As he turns towards you, his eyes stern and his shoulders taut, he slowly sits on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching towards yours as you tentatively slide yours in his hand.

“I’m Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner.  You’re safe now.  The team will come looking for me, and you will be alright,” he reassures you.

Shaking your head lightly as you jerk your hand away, he watches as a tear cascades down your cheek, his eyes studying you carefully as the intercom clicks over the speaker system.

“19,” the voice says.

As you watch the man whip his head around, he calls out into the darkness.

“I know who you are, and I know what your game is,” he says.

But no one responds.

“What does 19 mean?” he asks, turning back towards you as you stare off at the wall.

“Y/N?” he raises his voice.

“It’s uh…”

Swallowing hard as you lay back down, your dirty nightgown hiking up to reveal the fresh wounds on the side of your leg, you feel him slowly sit himself on the corner of the bed, his hand resting lightly on your ankle as you jerk at his touch.

“It’s alright.  It’s just me,” he coos.

“It’s how many days I’ve been here,” you respond.


“We’ve got to figure out where they are,” Morgan says as the rest of the team barrels into the conference room.

“But why take Hotch?” Spencer asks as he furrows his brow, “We know he’s taking girls that have distinct father issues…abusive situations and rejection fears…and he’s locking them away until they beg him for mercy.”

“We can assume he’s raping them by the latex residue on their inner thighs and the bruising on their hips and around the penetration point,” J.J. chimes in, “…but doesn’t he get off on taking care of them, in his mind?  It’s obvious they are fed and given something to drink.  Maybe he sees himself as some sort of savior to them?  And then when they reject him in the sexual act, his rage takes over and he kills them?”

“You think the killing is an accident?” Prentiss asks.

“I don’t know, it’s all speculation now, especially now that Hotch has been taken.  That’s not his MO…to introduce another man,” J.J. finishes.

“What if…” Spencer murmurs.

“What is it, kid?” Rossi asks, panic on his face at the idea of his friend being in the hands of this monster.

“What if he’s taken a strong girl?” he postulates.

“Well you were there with me,” he motions to Rossi, “when we went to her mother’s house.  She takes regular karate and kick boxing classes, as well as weight trains.  What if she overpowered the unsub.  I mean, this is the longest we’ve gone without a body.  Maybe she’s still alive, and he has tried to dominate her-”

“…but can’t,” Rossi finishes.

“So…he takes Hotch because what?  He thinks Hotch is more her type?” Morgan asks, his brow furrowed.

“It would give us basic features to look for,” Spencer says, shrugging.

“So…opposite features from Hotch…blonde hair, blue eyes, possibly shorter build?” J.J. questions.

“It’s a start,” Rossi says as he yells for Garcia.


32 minutes and 14 seconds.

That was how many ticks you had counted until the man came back over the intercom.

“I thought you would enjoy him better, sweetheart.”

Feeling your jaw grow taut as your head whips around to look up at the intercom, your hand automatically shoots to your injured leg as your eyes water.

“W-what?” you stammer out.

“You talk to me,” Hotch demands, “leave her alone.”

“Alright…” the voice lilts, “…have it your way.”

Hearing the intercom click off, an involuntary whimper escapes your lips as Hotch turns towards you.

“It’s alright, it’s gonna be ok,” he reassures you as he rubs your leg lightly.

Shaking your head vigorously, you squeal as the door creaks open.

You knew what that meant.

Slowly moving into the dim light, the plump man, standing at about 5 foot 8 inches, allows his eyes to linger on you before turning his frame towards the strange man in your room.

“Hello, Aaron,” he says.

As Hotch stays silent, his jaw tensing as he stands, towering over your captor, you feel your hands shaking as tears streak down your face.

“Your command is simple,” the blonde man states.

“I take orders from no one,” Hotch growls.

“Oh yes.  You will,” the man enunciates.

As Hotch steps closer to the man, you reach your hand out and scream out for him to back up just as the unsub pulls a knife, swiping it across Hotch’s chest as he hisses, stumbling backward as the faint twinge of blood begins to stain his shirt.

“She needs reassurance.  She craves attention, and approval,” the unsub hisses, his ice blue eyes slowly panning your way, “…but she won’t have me.  She won’t let me give that to her.”

Hearing his voice hitch as his eyes mist over, you furrow your brow at the unsub as he tries to take your hand, your entire body turning away from him as you scurry off of the bed, running towards Hotch as he opens his arms for you, wrapping them around you and holding you close as he glares at the man across the room.

“See?  You are so much more her type…” he trails off.

“You will give her what she wants,” he lowers his voice.

“No,” you whisper as you shake your head, your hands clenching onto Hotch’s shirt as he tightens his arms around you.

“Yes,” the man lulls, a twinge of sadness in his voice.

“No,” you say, a little louder as you let go of Hotch and turn towards the unsub.

“Yes!” he roars, drawing a gun from behind him as he points the shaking barrel in your direction.

Instinctively, Hotch steps in front of you, he arms holding onto your waist as he steadies your shaking body behind him.

“Leave her alone,” he says.

“You will give her what she wants, or you die,” the unsub states as he feels his ankle vibrate.

In all of the commotion of the last few hours, he didn’t even notice the cuff around his ankle.

Looking down as he takes notice of the device, Hotch furrows his brow as he bends down on one knee to take a good look at it.

“What is this?” he calls out into the darkness.


“Hello?” he calls out, raising up as he looks at the intercom.

And then…click.

“It’s a bomb,” the man says matter-of-factly, “a bomb that will disengage once you give her what she needs.”

Sighing as you scoot back towards the bed, your body shaking furiously as you lay down on your back, you feel a tear trickle down your cheek as you hold your hand out for Aaron.

“Come here,” you whisper.

“What is he talking about?” Hotch asks, his eyes lingering on your trembling hand .

“I’m not going to let him kill you,” you choke out.

“What is going on?” Hotch asks a little louder.

Watching him as he strides to the bed, sitting on the side of it as he takes your hand, you find his gaze as your lip begins to quiver, your thighs already tightening from the fear of your decision.

“I’m a virgin, so please be gentle,” you whisper.


“Any luck?” Rossi asks as he watches over Garcia’s shoulder.

“Give me a secoooond…” she draws out.

“…there!” she says, clicking one last button as a picture of a man and his birth certificate pop up on the screen.

“Carl Sanderson.  Age: 45.  Removed from his home due to multiple hospital visits.  Father killed his mother before himself in a successful murder-suicide attempt 2 months after his official adoption to another family went through,” she rattles off.

“Alright, so where can we find this guy?” Spencer asks as he walks in, coffee and muffin for Garcia in tow.

“Bless you, my sweet, sweet boy,” she says a she reaches for her nourishment.

“This is his home address, but he owns a bunch of land 10 miles south of there…and judging by the looks of it, there are two abandoned structures on the property he owns.  A shed and a barn,” she finishes a she looks back at them.

“Let’s go,” Rossi says as he grabs Spencer’s arm, his body wrenching backwards as Rossi barrels out of Garcia’s office.


As Hotch stare at you incredulously, you hear the beeping on his anklet speed up as your eyes widen.

“Please, just come on.  Get this over with,” you beg as you grab his shirt, yanking it over his head as his bare chest is revealed.

“No.  I’m not doing this,” he says, grabbing your wrists before they make their way to his belt buckle.

“But he’ll kill you!” you yelp.

“No, he won’t,” Hotch says as he places your wrists over your head, his face close to yours as your eyes well with tears once again.

“Don’t make me responsible for your death,” you beg.

“I’m waiting!” the unsub wails over the intercom.

“You want me to sleep with an innocent child!?” Hotch screams.

And then you hear the beeping on his ankle speed up.

“Yes,” the unsub hisses.

Gritting his teeth as he stares down at his ankle, he shakes his head as he lets out a huge sigh.

“Well, if your life means nothing to you, then maybe hers does.”

And that’s when your shackle started beeping rapidly.

Feeling your eyes widen as you lean up and look at your shackle, you panic as you grab the chain, rattling it around asyou pull furiously.

“No, no, no, no, no!” you yell as Hotch scrambles onto the bed, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pushes you back down onto the bed, his lips crashing into yours as tears spill down his cheeks, your hands migrating to his hair as the relieving sound of silence fills the room.

No more rattling, and no more beeping.

Feeling your jaw quiver as he begins peppering your neck with kisses, you hear him muttering something as you lob your head back.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry…I’m sorry…”

Feeling your breath hitch from your sadness as you hear him begin to unbuckle his pants, your legs begin to tremble as you close your eyes, the distasteful words of your father’s disgusting mouth ricocheting through your mind.

You’re pathetic.

You’re disgusting.

You’ll never get married with all that fat.

You can’t even cook a decent meal!

As a light whimper escapes your lips, you feel the man travel back up to you, his thumb descending upon your cheek lightly as he wipes your tears away.

“It’s alright.  I’m going to be gentle, ok?” he reassures you.

Nodding quickly as you squeeze your eyes shut, he leans down and kisses both of your eyelids, the warmth of his lips causing you to relax as he migrates his strong hands down your sides, your body shivering from the sold as he hikes your nightgown up, his fingertips trailing along the inside of your legs as your fear is overtaken with another feeling.

One you don’t quite recognize.

Feeling his body shift down, his lips descend on your leg, your body jumping at the sensation.

“Ssshhh…” he says, fearing his voice will crack from his sorrow is he says anything.

Feeling his warm, wet kisses trail to your virgin folds, he places a light kiss on top of each one before slowly parting you with his fingers, and you could have sworn you heard each of his tears drop on to you as he swirls his finger around your entrance.

“I’m going to help you a bit, alright?” he chokes out.

Nodding as you feel him insert a finger, you squirm at the sensation, uncomfortable at first before relaxing around him.

“How does that feel?” he asks, looking up at you as his voice clears a bit.

“Uh…alright, I guess,” you say, your eyes glued to the ceiling as your hands grip the bed-sheets.

Feeling a pinch, you suck in a bout of air as you feel him inserting another finger, pumping them slowly, in and out, as you bite down on your bottom lip.

You felt guilty for your pleasure.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

Taking a ragged breath, you shake your head side to side.

Feeling him promptly remove his fingers, he crawls up you, his face reading your body as he sees your flushed chest and dilated eyes.

“It’s alright,” he says as he brushes the hair from your face, his length pressing against your leg as you hear your shackle start beeping again.

Feeling your eyes widen as your body begins to panic, Hotch looks down at your ankle before looking up at the intercom.

“Just give us a second!  Please!” he yells.

But the beeping speeds up, and you feel the vibrations setting in around your foot.

Wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing your free leg around his waist, you raise your lips to his ear as your trembling voice breaks free from your constricted throat.

“Don’t let him kill me…please…”

Closing your eyes as you anticipate the pain, Hotch maneuvers himself towards your entrance, his hand going down between your bodies as he grabs his length, the tip of him slowly pushing inside of you as you dig your fingertips into his back, your teeth gritted as the beeping of your anklet stops as your head lobs back.

“Ooooooh god,” you groan out as he stops.

“Take a deep breath,” he says, his face dipping into your neck.

Sucking in a bout of air through your nose, Hotch pushes in a bit deeper, his length growing in diameter the father in he gets.

Whimpering as you feel your skin tearing, Hotch wraps his arms around you and holds you close, whipping you around so that he is sitting down, his back against the wall, as you straddle his hips.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his arms holding you close as you bury your face into his neck, his cheek laying on top of your head as you slowly sink your body the rest of the way onto him.

And he couldn’t help but let out a groan.

Feeling him tense up at his own reaction, you nuzzle into him as you whisper against his skin, “We might as well enjoy what we can.”

“You control this, alright?” he says as he turns his head, kissing your temple as you nod lightly.

And all at once you begin to rock your hips.

It was different, the pain slowly giving way to the electricity.  Like your body had switched modes, from being afraid to being powerful.  From being a scared little girl to being a protected woman.

Peppering the side of his neck with kisses as his hands slowly drop down to your hips, you find his lips with yours as you kiss him again, his salty kiss intermingled with the heaves of his breath as he helps you roll your hips, his hands splaying across your ass cheeks as your fingertips trail down his chest.

You could feel the dried blood of his wound flinch with every breath he took.

With no words exchanged between you two, you feel him begin to move, your legs instinctively wrapping around him as he picks you up, his large hands supporting your weight as he latches his lips onto your neck, your head lobbing back as you let out a light sigh, feeling him slowly lower you to the bed as you open your eyes.

Your eyes that found his eyes.

His kind, strong, protective eyes.

As he slowly brings his hand up, his thumb caressing the flushed apple of your cheek, you find yourself smiling lightly as you blush, your body shielded from the reality of your situation as you bring your hand and cup his cheek.

“It’s ok to enjoy it,” you whisper.

Closing his eyes as he begins to rock his hips, you watch as he grits his teeth, your eyes fluttering open and closed as the feeling of him filling you up time and time again causes you to dig your fingertips into the muscles of his back.

His muscles etched with time, and stress, and experience.

As your breathing becomes light pants, the bed rocking slightly as Hotch picks up his pace, you find yourself digging your teeth lightly into his shoulder as he moans into your neck, his face burying itself into the crook of it as his rocking becomes pounding, the sound of your flesh smacking against his eliciting his name from your lips as his hand meanders down your torso, parting the top of your wet lips to find something you didn’t know was there.

“Hooooo!” you call out into the room as he begins to encircle something between your legs, his hand working steadily as your breath begins to hitch and your body begins to squirm.

“Oh god, Aaron…ooooh, Aaron,” you involuntarily groan, your legs shaking as a tightening sensation builds, your arms clamping down around him as your body begins to shake furiously, your entrance pulsating against him as you moan out into the room, your head barreling back into the pillow of the bed as Hotch brings his hands up, interlacing all of your fingers within his as his lips capture yours in a desperate kiss, the salty taste replaced with the sweat of your skin as your mouth swallows his groans.

Panting as his body grows limp, you feel him slowly lower himself on to you, his body shielding you from the door as the two of you lay there, panting into the darkness just as you hear voices call out down the hallway.

“FBI!  Open up!”

Feeling him scramble as you shoot up straight in bed, you pull down your nightgown as Aaron scrambles to get his clothes on, his body lunging for the door as he begins to pound desperately on it.

“Morgan!  In here!” he roars.

Watching him with wild eyes as he turns towards you, he gives you a hopeful smile as Morgan call out.

“Hotch!  Hotch!  Where are you!?”

“In here!” he roars, the veins from his neck protruding as he yells.

Watching as the doorknob rattles, you watch as Hotch moves backwards, the door barreling open with a great crack as a broad man barrels through, followed by a much older man as they both survey the room, your eyes wide as you dart between them and Aaron.

“Hotch, you ok?” the older man asks.

“Yeah…yeah I’m good,” he says a gangly man walks over by your side.

“It’s gonna be al-”

But you shy away from his touch, curling up at the other side of the bed until you feel Hotch’s hand on your shoulder, your body instantly relaxing under his touch.

“I’ve got her,” he says sternly to his team as they look back and forth between each other, their eyes curious but their mouths silent.

“Well, let’s get you two out of here,” the broad one says, motioning towards Hotch as your hand flies up to stop him from moving.

“I’ll stay here until you have her unhooked,” he says, looking down at you as you flash him a grateful smile.

And as the team looks on in utter confusion as people push by to take a look at both of your anklets, you feel Hotch sit down on the bed next to you as he cups your cheek, your gaze rising to his as he says, “Just keep your eyes on me.  It’ll all be over soon.  You’re safe now.”

About that sunahama update, great storytelling and show-don’t-tell by dsp and Ivlis not being as dumb as we thought

A VERY long post, my own two cents about the update (bolded for main points and observations)

tl;dr: Ivlis knows what’s going on now and is being torn apart by it, Satanick is even more confused and is probably going to die through denial of his love, and funamusea/dsp/mogeko astonishing me with the improved quality of their work, design and storytelling-wise, since this past week. 

Keep reading

Bite (Part 10)

Jungkook x Taehyung x Reader
Vampire Smut AU
Word Count: 2,389
Warnings: Abuse, Swearing, Blood, Death,

“Focus on my hands, (Y/N). Just Relax….”


I was floating in nothingness, black space all around me, comfortable and quiet. Serene. I was floating in the blank space Jin had created in my mind. I was vaguely aware of his hands on my knees, the only sensation tethering me to the physical world.

“Listen to my voice, (Y/N). Let me guide you through your memories.”

His voice was distorted and echo-y, as if we were on opposite ends of a long, spacious hallway. I could only acknowledge him with a feeble hum deep in my throat.

“Go back to the day of your kidnapping. What were you doing? Who was around you? Try and remember every little detail that you can, if you see it, I will too.”

I descended slowly, limbs and hair floating around me as if I were suspended in liquid, until my feet touched down softly onto the playground that was forming around me. The brightly painted jungle gym, swing sets, monkey bars, the yellow plastic slide, it was all slowly fading into place. I could even smell the earthy and floral scent of the freshly planted hyacinth flowers along the entrance and hear the squeals of the many younger children around me. I was back at my childhood playground, the one where I had been abducted.

“Where are you, (Y/N)? Go find yourself.”

Where was I? I walked towards the swings immediately, knowing they were always my favorite part of the playground. And there I was, 7 years old and completely unaware of all the bad things in the world. My hair was long and a mess from the wind flowing through it as I soared higher and higher in the swing. I wore a pink jacket with darker pink hearts printed on it, jeans, and black converse shoes that were worn and dirty, and my face was bitten with the cool spring wind. 

“Good, now who’s around you? Do you see your kidnapper?”

My eyes searched the faces around me but the scene went blurry as if a thick fog settled in front of me.

“What’s happening? There something blocking her memory.” Said Jin from the other side.

“It’s a memory lock spell, I think. Let me try something.” added Wendy.

Hands grasped the sides of my temple and a pressure filled my head along with a tingling sensation that made my eyebrows knit together in discomfort. Wendy muttered an incantation under her breath and the tingle increased into an uncomfortable, somewhat painful feeling that made me groan.

“The spell is strong but i can dismantle it. It won’t hurt much longer (Y/N).”

The pain increased until I almost screamed but it broke as soon as I drew in a gasp, and the fog dissipated and cleared away.

“There we go. Sorry about that.”

“Thanks Wendy. Okay, what can you see now (Y/N)?”

I saw children and their mothers and fathers, my own talking to another couple by the side, their eyes flicking to 7-year-old me every so often. I didn’t see anyone out of place at first until I looked to myself again, noticing that I had stopped swinging. My heart began to race, choking off the breath in my throat, as I saw a tall man in a long black coat, face mask, and sunglasses with his hand gripping the swing, bringing younger me to a stop. I took a step back, panicking as if it were happening again, afraid that he would see me even though this was just a memory.  The edges of the scene began to fade and everything flickered like a TV with bad reception as terror and bile rose in my throat.

“(Y/N), calm down, he can’t hurt you now. Just breathe and stay focused.”

I tried to breathe but I could only huff in air that didn’t seem to fill my lungs enough, as if there was a weight crushing my chest. In the midst of gulping in air, I felt warm skin brush against my hands as fingers curled together with mine. Long, slim digits in my left hand and slightly thicker, shorter ones in my right; Taehyung and Jungkook were there to comfort me.

“It’s alright (Y/N), were here to keep you safe, no matter what.”

“I’m right here, Love.”

Surprisingly, my lungs opened up a bit more, and I slowly began to calm down as my memory fell back into place, no longer disturbed by my tumultuous emotions. My muscles twitched in the real world as I closed my hands over theirs in tight fists and took deep breaths of their scent through my nose.

“Follow him (Y/N).” ordered Jin.

With Tehyung and Jungkook beside me, I focused on the cloaked figure again as he held out his hand toward me, silver rings stacked on his fingers and a brightly wrapped piece of candy sitting in the middle of his palm with the promise of more, whatever I wanted, if I just followed him. I knew in the back of my head that I should not do what he said but it was as if I could not resist him. I knew now that it was his compulsion that he used on me, there was no way for me to disobey him, a Vampyre, when I was just a child. My cold, little hand landed on his and I stepped from my swing in a daze, unaware of his crushing strength around my fingers. The jewel colored candy fell to the ground, forgotten, the only trace of me resting amongst the dark dirt. My memory fast forwarded until I sat in the back of a van, tears falling from my eyes as I hugged my knees and tried to keep quiet, lest I upset the bad man again and cause him to yell at me again.

“Stop your crying, you pathetic child!”  

His head whipped around from the driver’s seat, words spitting from his mouth, displaying all his pointy teeth that terrified me immensely. So I buried my head in the black darkness of my arms and knees, hoping that when I looked up again, I would see my mother’s face. I sat there like that for some time, the van jostling me as it hopped over bumps and fell into potholes, before we came to a stop. As soon as my captor stepped out of the driver’s side, he was opening the back doors to the van and pulling me out by the neck of my jacket with no regard to my safety. My feet slipped on the edge of the van and I tumbled down to the ground, palms hitting the jagged ground as tiny pebbles and gravel stuck painfully into my skin. Tears pricked at my eyes and threatened to fall but I held them in as much as I could, afraid that the bad man would get angry again.

“Get up!”

He bent down and gripped my wrist in his large hand, nearly crushing it in his hand, and I scrambled to my feet.

“Don’t make any noise or try and escape, or ill hurt you.”

I followed his orders even though I didn’t want to but I had no control over myself when he spoke, I had no will.

He led us into a dark abandoned building that was dark and damp and smelled of mildew and animal droppings. There were open part of the ceiling and the torn plastic tarp hanging from the holes blew in the wind and made soft flapping noises that added to the eerie feel. My captor dragged me into a room that had chairs and a stained mattress in the corner. The strong stench of alcohol and cigarettes permeated the air and the pile of clothes at the end of the bed made it seem as if this person had been living here for a few days. I tried to ignore the blood stains on the white shirt crumbled up and tossed on the edge of the mattress as he pushed me hard enough so I fell onto the bed.

“Don’t move”

My body stilled and I laid there in the uncomfortable position I fell in and stared at the Rorschach blood stain patterns in front of me. I could only hear him as I stared at the still damp red stains, confused and scared and alone, tears slipping silently past my eyelashes.

“I’ve got her… yeah im sure, she’s the one.”

At some point he pulled out a cellphone and called someone to confirm my capture but his words confused me.

“She has the mark, that’s how! …. Were at the abandoned building on the corner of Salem and Olive Boulevard. Don’t be late, I want to get this over with.” He growled agitatedly.

Fear simmered in me as I lay motionless. The minutes ticked past and the sound of a lighter sparked in the air, followed by the choking stench of smoke filling my nose and throat. One after another, he lit cigarette after cigarette until my eyes watered and tears fell from the stinging sensation that the smoke brought. Time seemed to fast forward until finally another person entered the room and addressed the chain-smoker.

“I assume this is her.”


The new stranger bent down and I felt his presence beside me, eyes burning holes into my skin and breath heavy on my ears.

“It’s hard to believe that this is supposed to be the witch that is our downfall.” Said the new stranger.

“She may just be a child now, but she won’t be forever. And the prophecy is clear. Born in a ‘Circle of Summer’, the 9th reincarnation. We’ve kept track of all of her lives and this is the last one.”

The silence that followed was thick with thought as the stranger weighed his options.

“Where is it?…” he asked.

“Left shoulder blade.”

The stranger’s voice turned back toward me and spoke.

“Sit up child. Take off your jacket and show me your shoulder so I can see your birthmark. Don’t be scared, I won’t hurt you just yet.” he assured me in a fake sweet voice.

I obeyed, and sat up, back sighing in relief as I straightened my spine and sat up. The zipper sounded through the room as I dragged it down my coat and shrugged off the pink material, shivering as the wet wind hit me. I hesitated when it came time to pull my shirt from my shoulder, not wanting to expose myself any more in front of two strange men. I kept my eyes down and avoided the eyes of the new man but he grabbed me and pulled me up from the bed and spinned me so my back was to him, tearing the shirt down my left shoulder. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for it to be over. He released me and I crumpled to the floor and sat against the bed, hugging my knees to my chest and rocking back and forth.

“Are you satisfied now?” asked my captor.

I finally looked up, my eyes peeking beyond my knees and gazed at the dangerous men standing tall above me. My captor had bland features, simple black eyes and black hair, unattractive and tainted by his many vices that probably included more than just cigarettes and whiskey. However, the second man was the complete opposite. Tall and attractive with bright white hair, dark eyes, a long, sharp face and a cut in his right eyebrow. He was unlike anyone I had ever seen before.

“Yes. Kill her.”

He looked at me one last time and I saw the evil deep in his eyes before he turned away and left me alone in the room with my foul captor who stood up from his seat and smiled freakishly at me, all his many pointy teeth on display. He growled as he dropped to me and a scream tore through my throat as I shut my eyes against the terrifying scene and struggled against his unbreakable grip on my face. Teeth grazed against my neck deep enough to break skin and leave a stinging trail. Suddenly, a force knocked him off of me and into the wall which broke with the strength of the blow.

“Get away from her!”

My head whipped in the direction of the female voice and I saw a woman standing with her arms out towards the man now crouching defensively on the ground like an animal. She had hair the same color and texture as mine, and a beautiful face still unmarked by age and time held dark, thick eyelashes that framed eyes similar to mine. Those eyes turned to me and warmth filled them as she rushed to my side, but my captor dove at her and knocked her from her feet. She lay on her back with him on top of her, teeth snapping at her face like a rabid dog, arms struggling to keep him from tearing into her flesh.

“Get OFF me!” she screamed, pushing him off with a strength unmatching to her stature, knocking him into the chairs.

“Don’t look, (Y/N).” she said, turning to me and making sure I hid my eyes.

My fingers split slightly and I watched though them as she brought up her hand and his body seemed to rise slightly into the air by invisible strings.

“This is going to hurt you very much.”

Her fingers slowly closed and her eyes flashed as the air sparked with electricity that clung to her hair and crackled around us. My captors face strained as his eyes widened and he opened his mouth, releasing a deep roar. Blood welled up in his eyes, nose, ears, any available orifice, and leaked out in streams that pooled on the ground beneath him. That’s when I hid my face in horror and didn’t open them again. Not even when his screaming stopped and he thudded to the ground, dead. I didn’t open them again even when my savoir soothingly told me everything was okay and I was safe now, or when she picked me up and carried me from the building into the cold dusk and drove me home. I didn’t open them again until I heard the voice of my mother and father.

Spotless - Imagine Request

Requested by @jeffry4ever:  I will love to read a fic of DeanxReader where the reader gets abducted and her captors start torturing her, and for some reason she starts to forget about Dean…you can make the rest…if you want.

Characters: Dean x reader, Sam, Castiel.

Word count: 2,666

Warnings: none.

A/N: This is way too fluffy, I’m sorry. I hope you like it, though. Enjoy!

The corn field was huge, and there was no way (Y/N) and Dean would finish scanning the whole place with the EMF.

“There’s nothing here,” She sighed, “why don’t we go back to the motel and call it a day, huh?”

“Sounds about right, sweetheart.” Dean replied with a flirty smirk.

They started walking out of the field as fast as they could. The corn was almost fully grown and they didn’t want to break it and expose their actions to the farmers, who had threaten them with calling the cops if they caught them sneaking on the field.

There was this noise coming out of nowhere, one that (Y/N) recognized as something similar to the hovercrafts in The Hunger Games. But said hovercrafts were fiction, and there was no way one of those was flying above them.

“(Y/N), stay close.” Dean ordered, immediately pulling his gun out.

A light landed right above them. It was some kind of spotlight, but they couldn’t see what has holding it. Dean cursed under his breath and pulled her away from the light.

“RUN!” He ordered. Being careful to the corn was no longer an option.

“I thought aliens weren’t real!” She roared. Dean was still holding her arm, and she was trying her best to keep up with Dean’s pace.

“They’re not aliens!” Dean replied, “Those are fairies!”

“What?” The light covered them once more.

(Y/N) started levitating towards the light. Dean tried his best to pull her back on the ground but it was useless.

“Dean!” She cried, “RUN!”

“Not leaving you.” The huntress let out a heavy sigh and pushed him out of the light. The strange force levitating her took full control and, in a matter of seconds, she was gone.


Everything felt cold. Her vision was blurry and all she could see was million different lights, surrounding her. Suddenly, the million lights turned into a single white light and an acute pain filled (Y/N)’s body; ripping an agonizing cry from her lips.

“This isn’t the boy.” A high pitched voice said.

“No, but we can hurt him even more with her.” Another one replied, “There won’t be a sweeter revenge than the one we will have thanks to this girl.”


Dean was walking from side to side of the room, trying to remember every single detail he could about what happened ten minutes ago and what had happened years ago when fairies abducted Dean.

“Why did they only take her and not both of you?” Sam asked, interrupting Dean’s thoughts.

“The force was too strong and I couldn’t pull her away… The whole effort made me stumble and fall out of the light.” Dean explained. As always, he was blaming himself.

“Well, at least we know those are fairies… Now we have to find out who conjured them.” Sam said, opening the lid of his laptop and starting to research.


She stretched, finally waking up from her long dream. It was no longer cold, in fact, it was pretty warm. She wasn’t at a flat, metallic surface but rather in a soft one. She was in a bed.

Her (Y/E/C) eyes opened slowly. She needed to adjust to the change; she had been surrounded for nothing else but lights. Thankfully, the only light in the room was a lightbulb, and it wasn’t nearly as bright as her captors.

“How are you feeling sweetheart?” Dean spoke, cupping her cheek with a hand. His green eyes analysing every bit of her as she became conscious.

“Who are you?” She asked, frowning at the sight of the hunter.

“I’m Dean… Dean Winchester, don’t you remember me?” Dean furrowed at her dumbfounded look. She shook her head in response. Dean sighed and helped her to sit up.

Sam entered the room; he was carrying some plastic bags filled with all kinds of groceries. (Y/N) smiled at him instantly. “Heya, Sammy.” She said, “Missed me?”

“Hold it.” Dean ordered before Sam could reply, “You do remember him but you don’t remember me?”

“I’m sorry?” She answered. Dean stood silent for a second, analysing her once more.

“Enough joking, (Y/N).” He said, trying to laugh.

“I’m not joking.” She replied with a serious tone.

“Will any of you tell me what is going on?” Sam interrupted, leaving the bags at the counter next to the door.

“(Y/N) says she doesn’t remember who I am.” Dean spoke angrily.

“It’s the truth; I have no idea who you are.” She added.

“Did you lose your memory when you got abducted?” Sam asked Dean, who shook his head aggressively. “(Y/N), do you remember what they did to you?”

“Not really… I just remember being on a metallic surface and uh… Something hurt me, but I don’t know what.” The huntress told Sam.

“Torture?” Sam mumbled, looking over at Dean.

“But why? I thought they only served that pansy King of theirs.” Dean frowned.

“So you DID serve him!” Sam laughed.

“Not the time, Sam.” Dean grumbled, “We need to make her remember, then I’ll find those naked assholes and….”

“Alright, alright.” Sam calmed his brother, “We’ll find a way.”


A bunch of pictures where sprawled in front of her. They were all Dean and (Y/N)’s pictures; on their birthdays, after successful hunts, Christmas, Halloween… Every memory they had together, was there.

“So?” Dean asked. His green eyes were full of hope.

“Nothing, I still don’t remember you.” The girl replied nonchalantly. Dean sighed and sat beside her. They were back at the bunker, sitting in the war room – and surprisingly, (Y/N) remembered everything, even Baby, but not Dean.

“See this?” Dean asked showing her a picture of them dressed up as some lame-ass version of scarecrows, “That year you wanted us to dress up, but since we don’t own costumes, you decided to improvise.” He smiled at the picture, “You made us all wear old flannels, and then you and I went out to find some dry grass while Sam looked for old cloths or whatever we could use…”

    “And this one,” he grabbed another picture, “it’s from last Christmas. You made me get up very early in the morning to go cut a pine tree, and then you made me decorate it with you.” A chuckle left his lips, “Sam was amused by it, because we had never had a Christmas tree as pretty as that one.”

     “Now this one is from a few months ago.” He explained, “It was the first time I saw you wear a dress and I just had to take a picture.” He looked nostalgic, “You wanted to kill me for that, but ended up giving up and letting me keep this.”

He explained every single picture on the table. The huntress would alternate her gaze between the pictures and Dean. He reacted differently to each one, yet there was something that didn’t change; there was something in his eyes, in his voice tone… Something familiar, but it felt so distant to her.

“Dean?” She asked, interrupting the story behind the last picture.

“What is it, sweetheart?” He asked, putting the picture down.

“Were we… dating?” Dean’s face turned even sadder.

“No,” he shook his head, “I’m afraid not.”

“Oh, sorry I just… I thought…” Dean placed a hand over her leg.

“It’s fine.” He winked at her and left the room.

(Y/N) gave another look to every picture. It was like every memory that included Dean was somehow erased from her mind, but it made no sense because she could remember everything else.

Finally, after a few hours and a quick visit to Sam’s room, (Y/N) knocked on Dean’s door. She had two beers in hand and was willing to try and remember.

“Hey.” Dean smiled once he opened the door.

“Hey,” She smiled back, “Sam told me we uh… we drink beers at night so I figured we could try that, see if I can remember?”

“Yeah, sure.” Dean stepped aside, allowing her to get in. “Looks familiar?” Dean asked after noticing the way the huntress looked at his room.

“Kind of.” She said, “I remember the furniture and uh… I don’t remember the pictures or any personal artefact really.” She shuddered. Dean walked closer, pressing his hands on her shoulders and his chest on her back. Again, the familiar feeling fluttered inside her.

“It’ll take time, but at least you remember my room… That’s a good start, huh?” Dean chuckled.

“Yeah, I guess.” She let go off Dean’s grip and sat in bed, unconsciously taking her usual place. Dean smiled at her action and joined her.

The whole time, Dean dedicated to tell her all kinds of stories, trying to make her remember a bit more. However, she didn’t. Dean had been deleted from her memory and it was frustrating for both of them.

The next morning, the three hunters were at the kitchen when Castiel appeared.

“Hi, Dean.” The angel cheered, “Sam, (Y/N).”

“Hi, Cas.” She smiled, palming the angel’s arm, “how’s Heaven?”

“Celestial?” Cas squinted; he never understood what she meant with said question.

(Y/N) laughed and, before she could say anything else, Dean interrupted again. “You remember him too?!” He fumed.

“Yeah, I… Sorry.” (Y/N) gave her an innocent look, which immediately softened Dean’s features.

“So it’s true.” Castiel spoke, “You don’t remember him.” (Y/N) shook her head in response.

“Can you do anything?” Sam asked. Castiel took a closer look to (Y/N) and without asking, he touched her forehead with two fingers. (Y/N) screamed in pain and when Cas let go off her, she fell – thankfully, Dean caught her right in time.

“I need to enter her mind.” The angel informed like nothing had happened, “Those fairies set a barrier in her mind; a barrier similar to the one Sam had when he came back from Hell.”

“Is it really necessary for you to get it?” She asked with a tired voice tone. Dean was still holding her and she felt dizzy.

“I’m afraid it’s the only way.” Castiel explained, “Fairy magic is a lot different than Angelic powers… I can’t just take the wall down from the outside.”

“Will I remember Dean again?” She asked.

“I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do my best.”


“It won’t hurt, right?” She asked. Castiel opened his mouth hesitantly, “Okay, don’t answer that.”

“I’ll be fast.” He promised.

The huntress said yes and Castiel entered her body. Both Jimmy Novak and (Y/N)’s body remained still for fifteen minutes until Cas came back to his vessel. (Y/N) was still unconscious, and Castiel suggested taking her back to her room – which Dean did.

“She needs to process every memory, and it may take a while.” Cas told Dean.

“But she’ll remember me, right?” Dean asked with puppy eyes.

“I don’t know, Dean.”

Sam and Cas remained downstairs, doing God-knows what while Dean waited patiently for (Y/N) to wake up.

She opened her eyes suddenly, gasping for air and then closing them again. Dean started to call her name and, slowly, she became conscious again.

“Dean.” She whispered, gripping tightly to him.

“Yeah, it’s me.” He smiled, “Do you remember me now?”

“Only the past days.” Dean’s smile fell.

“We’ll find another way, I promise.” He said, trying not to sound hurt.


For a whole week, the Winchesters and (Y/N) focused on reading each and every single book the Men of Letters owned, trying to find answers. Meanwhile, Cas went back upstairs to see if anyone knew a way to make her remember.

On the sixth night, Sam excused himself and went back to bed; leaving Dean and (Y/N) to do the research.

Dean was actively reading a dusty lore book, while (Y/N) read some parchments and a few annotations she had found inside one of the books.

“Fairy tales were written by older fairies to teach the younger ones how to break their different spells.” One of the notes said. (Y/N) widened her eyes and closed that book, and then she walked over to the fairy tale section of the big library and started reading the last chapters of each.

“I don’t think fairy tales will work, sweetheart.” Dean spoke without looking up from his book.

“I might as well try.” She chuckled.

Every book ended the same way: A true love’s kiss. And though (Y/N)’s inner child squealed in excitement, her experienced hunter mind said otherwise; after all, even alchemists disguised their codes as romantic tales, and none of those really involved a true loves kiss to create gold.

She closed the books and stared at them for five minutes straight. Dean lifted his gaze, tilting his head and admired her factions. Meanwhile, (Y/N)’s mind wandered around all kinds of codes she had come up to over the years, and none of them were giving her answers.

“What is it, (Y/N)?” Dean asked.

“Nothing.” She replied, still staring at the books.

“You’re doing that… That thing you do when you’re nervous… What’s wrong?” (Y/N) looked up to meet the hunter’s eyes.

“I’m not nervous.” She lied. Dean smiled, and looked down for a minute.

“If you remembered me, you’d know that it’s no use trying to lie to me.” He spoke softly, “I know you better than I know myself and I can’t tell that you’re nervous.” He extended his hand across the table, taking (Y/N)’s. “Whatever it is, don’t worry. We’ll find a way.” (Y/N) smiled at him.

The contact with Dean was so intense, the strange feeling she had been having rose up again; only this time it was stronger. Her heart was beating faster than that time she was running away from a werewolf, and her limbs were trembling. She swore her hands were starting to sweat and her cheeks were threatening to turn red. What the hell was going on?

“Dean?” Her voice could barely be heard, “Maybe it’s because I really don’t know what kind of friendship we have, but according to this books there is something that I need to do and I don’t want you to kill me. Okay?”

“Okay… What is…?” Before Dean could finish his question, (Y/N) had let go off his hand and walked to the other side of the table.

“Please don’t hate me.” She begged, crashing her lips against Dean’s.

At first he was shocked. But after processing what was going on, he melted into the kiss. His hands held her hip, pulling her to cradle his lap as the kiss deepened. (Y/N) felt as if an electric wave fluttered on her spine, making her break the kiss. She nuzzled her head on the crook of Dean’s neck, holding him close.

“(Y/N)…” He tried to speak, but (Y/N) shushed him.

Like a movie that is set on fast forward, every single memory played on her mind. She remembered everything as it had been yesterday.

“Fairies are the cheesiest creatures on Earth.” She spoke softly, still nuzzled on Dean’s neck.

“I’m pretty sure those are cherubs.” Dean chuckled. His hands were around her waist, holding her tightly against him.

“Nope, fairies.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because I remember now.” Dean let out a relief sighed. He held her even closer, as a smile formed on his lips.

“Thank God.” He whispered. His hands travelled up her back and down again, repeating that same movement over and over.

“You don’t hate me?” She asked without looking up.

“How could I hate you, sweetheart?” Dean smiled.

“Good.” She smiled, finally facing him.

They were both smiling like fools, looking into each other’s eyes like a couple of teens. They were both blushing, and their hearts were beating so loud they could easily be confused with Jumanji’s drums.

She sighed and went back to kiss him again. This time it was slower, more careful, and especially more meaningful. They had no idea how things will roll next; having a relationship was really dangerous in the kind of life they lived. But one thing was certain: She would never forget Dean.

Her hands and feet raw from the rope digging into her skin, Ellaria had been tossed all around the back of the waggon they had stashed her in. The road had not been forgiving, nor had her captors. She could still feel the cold metal that had scraped the side of her cheek, drawing blood, before they decided it would be safer to simply silence her with a gag her. She hadn’t given them the satisfaction of screaming, she had felt worse pain than what the shemlen had tried to inflict. Although for the past little while she had managed to curl into herself, to avoid being tossed around, she found herself flying across the waggon, crushing her side against whatever else had been stashed back there. Bracing herself for a bumpier ride, her ears perked in anticipation of more movement, but nothing happened. 

Scrambling to get closer to the front of the waggon, she hoped to catch some snippet of information, whether it was where they were taking her, or what they planned to do with her. Pressing her ear against the division that separated her from the driver in the front, she could barely make out the words, but whatever it was, did not sound pleasant. Whatever was going on, it had made her captors, or whomever they were talking to angry enough to yell. Managing to plaster herself against the divide, the hands bound behind her back trying to grab at something for balance. She managed to push away the filthy cloth that covered the small window in the divide, that the driver used to bark commands at her, trying to get some sort of visual. It was impossible to make out anything in the darkness, but she couldn’t miss the glint of silver in the air. Swords were being drawn. Fenedhis lasa. She quickly drew herself into the darkest corner of the waggon, hoping that no one came looking in the back. She was too far from her weapon to defend herself.


Pairing: Caspian x Reader

Time: Some time between Prince Caspian and The Voyage of The Dawn Treader. (Caspian is the King of Narnia)

A/N: This was requested on my deviantart account- the request was for the reader to be kidnapped, Caspian searching for them and finding them half-dead, followed by a fluffy reunion.


“That is the king’s betrothed we have in the cell, of course he’ll come,” one man exclaims, his tone filled with irritation.

“I’m warning you pirate, if you are wrong.. Well, let’s just say I am not as merciful as my compatriot.” The accent is heavy, probably Telmarine- and that realization is enough to fill you with dread.

It is clear to you that your captors are using you as bait to lure in your beloved, and you have no doubt that their intentions towards him are nothing short of violent. Your heart clenches with dread and the importance of escape strikes you anew.

Keep reading

only in the Miraculous Ladybug fandom can you need 4 different pairing names to describe all the possible ship dynamics of the same OTP


wow canonmates??? canonmates!

still not positive on their appearances but I’m pretty sure this is how they looked!! Sollux Makara and Karkat Maryam!!

SolMak had chucklevoodoos hence the eyes lmao. 

I think I might? have found these two through serendipity, but if this looks familiar to you and you think you recall an Eridan Captor, feel free to hit me up for memory comparison @possiblydave, my kin account!!