#I was not looking up 1/6 scale straight jackets

[colesabi]

okay, I’m cackling at this eBay listing. Those images are masterpieces.

this one!!!

This seller has my utmost respect. We are kindred spirits.

[butterscotch-goat]

Grace's Dream

(a shitty OC comic that I am unnecessarily fond of. Takes place the night before Grace's death.)

warning: noose, near-hanging, discussion of death & existentialism

If you recognize the tune (Dream)Martha is humming I will kiss you on the mouth

[ID: A multi-page comic of two of OP's OCs: Grace and Martha, both teenage girls from the 1890s. Grace has greasy, curly hair, facial vitiligo resembling a deer's fur pattern, and wears a fancy dress with frills and lace. Martha is tall and lanky with freckles, a scar across her mouth, her straight hair in a loose ponytail. She wears a men's jacket over her blouse and her skirt is a little too small for her, reaching just below her knees.

Image 1:

Panel 1: A close up of Grace's face, her eyes closed in slumber.

Panel 2: The same as the previous panel, but one of Grace's eyes is opened drearily.

Panel 3: Zoomed out a bit, we now see that Grace is leaning against Martha. Grace recognizes Martha from her jacket.

Panel 4: A view of Grace and Martha's feet as Martha steps to the right. The two appear to be swaying in their embrace.

Panel 5: A bust-up side view of Martha looking upwards with a smile on her face. We can only see the top of Grace's head. Grace says: "M...Martha?"

Panel 6: A front view of Martha's contented face. There is a rope dangling in front of Martha, but we can't see where it's coming from. Martha says: "Do you remember...when you said you wanted a house so far into the country that we could dance together with the windows open?"

Image 2:

Panel 1: A close up on Grace's face. She has started separating herself from Martha's body. She says: "...Yes. I do."

Panel 2: Grace is completely separated from Martha, only her hands left gently holding onto Martha's arms. Grace smiles and says: "I'm surprised that you..."

Panel 3: A more zoomed in close up on Grace's face, now showing a shocked expression as she looks down at something out of view.

Panel 4: A front zoomed-out view of Grace. She's discovered a noose loosely wrapped around her neck and is touching it with her hand carefully. She looks surprised and confused. She says: "...remember."

Panel 5: Grace looks up to see where the noose is coming from. Martha enthusiastically takes Grace's hands into her own. Grace says "Wh-" but is interrupted by Martha saying "Well,"

Panel 6: A very zoomed-out view revealing where the girls are. They are in an endless, empty field with an equally endless dark sky with a few clouds floating by. Grace and Martha are on the only structure visible for miles: a gallow, which the noose around Grace's neck is tied to.

Image 3:

Panel 1: Grace looks at Martha, scared. Martha waltzes with her as if nothing is wrong. Grace says: "M-Martha?" Martha hums a tune, drawn with notes on a musical scale: a G, an F, a G, then a D.

Panel 2: A bust shot of Grace, her eyes now watery, her expression desperate. She says: "Martha, I'm scared."

Panel 3: A bust shot of Martha, a confused but jovial smile on her face. She says: "Why?"

Panel 4: A view of both the girls dancing, Grace looking at Martha with fear and Martha looking back, emotionless. Grace says: "I'm going to die."

Panel 5: A view of Martha looking away awkwardly. She says: "You're not...really dying. We'll still talk about you."

Panel 6: A view of Grace, an expression of disbelief on her face. Martha says, from off-screen: "The only difference is you'll be asleep."

Image 4:

Panel 1: A view of both the girls. Martha dips Grace, like in a dance, off the ledge of the gallows, Grace only staying on the platform by the tip of her toes and Martha's grasp, the noose pulling tightly. Grace looks terrified, while Martha smiles happily. Martha says: "You know- maybe it's better that you're dying young!"

Panel 2: A close up on the girls' hands, Grace clinging onto Martha's as her life depends on it. Martha says from off-screen: "Makes it more of a tragedy."

Panel 3: A close up on Grace's feet, inches away the edge of the platform, trembling. Martha says from off-screen: "More people will talk about you for longer."

Panel 4: A waist-up view of the girls. Martha smoothly and confidently pulls Grace back onto the platform, Grace stumbling to her feet. Martha proudly says: "They will sing nothing but praises for you."

Panel 5: A close up of Grace's face, anger bubbling, though she is still scared. Martha says from off-screen: "Aren't you happy?"

Image 5:

Panel 1: A knees-up view of the girls. Grace lets go of Martha and yells angrily: "No!!" Martha looks shocked.

Panel 2: A bust shot of Grace. Her anger seems to have been conquered by sorrow, her eyes watery. She says: "N-No, I..."

Panel 3: A view of the girls' hands, Grace lovingly holding Martha's.

Panel 4: A bust shot of Martha, looking down as if ashamed, a sad smile on her face. She says: "Even after everything I did?"

Panel 5: A waist-up view of the girls. Grace looks desperately at Martha, while Martha is expressionless. Grace says: "Yes. I love you."

Image 6:

Panel 1: A bust shot of Martha staring blankly as if she didn't hear what Grace said.

Panel 2: A view of the girls' feet as Grace takes a step towards Martha. Grace says from off-screen: "I..."

Panel 3: A full view of the girls as Grace tenderly embraces Martha into a hug. Martha doesn't reciprocate, but doesn't object to it either. Grace says: "...forgive you."

Panel 4: A close up on Martha's face as she smiles sadly.

Panel 5: A close up on Grace's face, her mouth covered by her arm embracing Martha. She has a few tears in her eyes and looks conflicted. Martha says from off-screen: "No you don't."

Image 7:

Panel 1: A waist up view of the girls. Martha puts her arms up, about to do something. She says: "But that's okay."

Panel 2: A close up of Martha's hands tightening the noose around Grace's neck. Martha says from off-screen: "It's not like it matters now."

Panel 3: A bust shot of Grace as she slowly begins to separate from Martha once again. She looks sorrowful and says: "What am I supposed to do?"

Panel 4: An elbows-up view of the girls, their arms bent a little, implying that beyond our view, they're holding hands. Martha smiles knowingly as she says to Grace: "Listen for the piano. She'll pick something good for you. And don't worry too much-"

Panel 5: Grace standing alone. No Martha, no gallows, no field, no sky, nothing but her and pure darkness. But, Martha's words make it through to her. They read: "It will all be over soon." End ID.]

[djarinsidebitch]

Guns, Ghosts, and Run away Birds

a/n: this is kinda in the same universe as 'irresistible force paradox' but you don't need to read it to get this- its just a similar character. this was also supposed to be a short drabble....

word count: 2.6k like i said 'supposed to be short'

Warnings: Swearing, kinda graphic violence its the punisher so. Mentions of the Accords and other avenger stuff

Summary: rewrite of punisher season 1 eps 4 heist with frank and David but now with you- bad ass avenger reader.

paring: Frank Castle x Avenger!Reader

“How many guns do you go through”

“I didn’t get to take them to my next life”

You stood looking between Frank and his new ‘accomplice’ David Lieberman, he looked like a wet rat but you didn’t judge- out loud…

“So you need help stealing guns from the feds- you do know I am seen as a global terrorist I am on every red notice list out there”

“And we are both dead” Lieberman speaks up “they wouldn’t expect us to steal from them

“Because it’s stupid” You snap back then shifting to focus on frank and he sighs

“Are you going to help or not”

You look around at the shambles of their base, it’s not much better than where the rest of the team was hiding out in Europe. This was a stupid idea but at least you could make sure the two ghosts in front of you don’t actually get killed

“Fine- what do you need me to do” You cross your arms over your chest leaning the weight onto one leg jutting your hip out. Frank almost cracks a smile pushing himself to stand up straight from leaning against the table

“There's my birdy,” he says gruffly while explaining the plan, it was a smart plan, for them it was stupid but it would work. Lieberman would jam the feds signal then frank would take control of the truck with all of the guns on them and You would deal with the snipers.

“One thing,” Frank says as you crouch down to the dark duffel bag of supplies causing you to look up “If we are gonna work together again you gotta ditch the suit” he looks down at the black and red suit- that one was new for him to see, he was used to seeing the Black and yellow one.

“What’s wrong with my suit” you responded shifting your weight once more to drop a knee onto the ground looking down at the old widow suit, after the accords you had to ditch your nicer avenger’s suit because of the built in trackers tony had put in for emergency’s. You had pulled this one from one of your hidden caches.

“It’s just as bad as red’s, obnoxious” he grumbles looking down at you as one eyebrow quirks up

“It’s protection- it’s nothing worse than your old vest”

“It’s an almost skin-tight black suit”

“It’s a Kevlar blend that is made for the best assassins in the world”

Frank goes to open his mouth but shuts it once again knowing if there is anyone as stubborn as him it is You

“We need a car.” Frank grabs his jacket walking away saying “Leave the suit”

“You're not gonna leave the suit are you” Lieberman looks over to you, who is already taking off your jacket and boots

“Of course not” you motion with your hand to shoo so you can change. He quickly turns around to follow frank.

It only takes a couple of minutes for you to change put your clothes back over the suit and stash the bag. Walking out with the holsters over your jeans you slide the gun into place.

“What took you so long” Frank mods towards you

“I had to stash my bag- I may trust you but him” you throw a glance at Lieberman “not so much”

Lieberman goes to say something but Frank looks at him like “do you really want to get this started” he just shakes his head as the three of you head off.

The warehouse was the target Lieberman stayed behind mostly because You and Frank didn’t want him getting in the way. You both split up, scaling the side of the building you pull yourself up and through a broken part of the roof holding onto one of the steel, beam supports watching there were about 8 men one was already dead another was tied up, the other 6 visible targets looked like your average street rat wanting to be the next Fisk. It was clear they were trying to get some sort of information out of the two

“Rookies” you muttered under your breath, they were using a car battery to try and shock the information out of them but clearly by the dead man they sucked at it. The poor kid that was still breathing looked like he was about to piss Himself he was so scared.

Waiting for the perfect time you watched as one man walked right underneath where you are hanging. Letting go pulling a hand comes down grabbing one of your many knives from its sheath. The knife expertly went into the man’s carotid artery, he would be dead in seconds. The only noise was a thud as the two of you hit the ground and a slight squelch of blood but it was enough to intrigue two other men to investigate.

This is where the fun begins, You smirk one hand holding the now bloody knife you slide into the shadows waiting like a cat about to strike. They walked right into your trap; You jump wrapping your thighs around one of the men's necks, snapping it then as you start to fall with the now dead body you grab onto the other man who was able to let out one shot alerting everyone else before you slit his throat open both falling dead.

The man in charge calls out to his two, scratch that, three dead lackeys. By the sounds of the guns cocking they had semi-automatic or an assault rifle or two, you sneak through the shadows until you want them to hear your boots tap against the ground.

“They won’t be coming back,” you say slowly coming from behind, they all whip around to look at you and the main man pulls out his own pistol

“Lady you are in the wrong place- run along before you get hurt” that was his last mistake- underestimating you and you were counting on him making it. Throwing the knife in your hand towards the one lackey that was holding the assault rifle the blade landed right above the clavicle severing the aortic artery. Bullets start flying as you run back to the shadows behind some crates. They are all too nervous to make a good shot to save their life.

Two shots ring out as you feel a large presence behind you

“Glad you could join me, Frankie”

“Could have waited like the plan”

“Like you would have followed the plan”

He grumbles something and you jsut sigh twisting to face him. Placing a quick kiss on his nose then pulling out your gun you vault back over the crate, landing softly. You aim and shoot one shot to the left then drop to your right knee, twisting your shoulders and upper body to pull the trigger again; another shot to the right with two bodies dropping to the ground. Spinning on your knee your left leg moves to the side giving you momentum to turn around and stand up taking out one more person.

It took a couple of seconds for frank to process what happened but then gets around the crate to the last standing person, other than the one person tied up, as they aimed at your back but when he pulls the trigger the gun clicks- Frank grabs the gun from his hand and smashes it into his face knocking him onto a pinball machine and punches him one more time to knock the lackey out. Frank lets out a whistle for Lieberman that it is clear to come in; then walks behind you as you move to muffle the pleading man who did in fact pee himself.

“Gross” you murmur stepping back into Frank's chest, he puts one hand on your hip to steady you even though he knows you don’t need it.

Lieberman walks in one hand covering his mouth slightly with a disgusted look on his face.

“There- there was a dead man in a wheelbarrow”

“I didn’t do that” Frank responded looking over at Lieberman then to the cars

“And this you did-“

“I did most of the work” You snark walking over to look at the different cars

“Could have saved some” Frank murmured looking at Lieberman’s sick face

“What are you gonna puke-“ “I’m not gonna-“ “Hey do not leave your DNA here for the police- Hey!��� “Give me a second” Lieberman tipped his head back to try and not hurl at the scent of blood and guts.

“You said you wanted to be the guidance system right- this is what happens when the missile goes off, didn’t think about that part now did you” “it smells more than I thought”

“You get used to it” “I’d rather not”

“I guess life is a little easier through a computer screen huh- now get in the van and let's go” “what about that guy”

“Not our problem” You finally rejoin the conversation leaning against the red mustang as frank opens the driver side door

“After all of this, you're taking the mustang” “Always buy American”

“I wanted the Ferrari” You reply getting in the passenger seat next to frank.

The second they got back to the warehouse you were out of the car before Frank could even turn the car off.

“What did you do to Edward scissor hands,” David says looking at how fast you moved to pull out the burner phone that started vibrating in your hand and walk away from frank and himself.

“None of your business”

“How do you even know her. She was an Avenger”

“Not important just go get ready” Frank wasn’t stupid it was probably the rest of the defunct avengers looking for her, but it seems like you weren’t supposed to be here because you disappeared, Frank cursed under his breath going back to the car making sure everything was working.

About an hour later David is sitting looking at a pistol resting on a small table in front of him, he looked shaken his hands trembled as his breath was in even. “I can’t do this” he mumbled as frank was a few feet away shutting the hood of the red mustang

“Jesus Christ-“ he mumbled to himself walking closer to Lieberman

“This is a team job- as much as I hate it you don’t got a choice”

“I sit behind the screen- I don’t do this, this is you and the avenger's world not mine”

“Your done” Frank exasperates “pick up your shit let’s move”

Lieberman just sighs not moving Frank starts talking again

“So this is what your wife meant huh”

“Excuse me”

“Your wife- she said that you never got your hands dirty and if there was a tough job you would just call someone when you needed something done” that seemed to strike a chord in David he grabs the gun and walks over to the car. Like the Baba Yaga, you appeared leaning against the back wheel of the car, you had taken off the clothes over your tactical suit, and your hair was pulled back out of your face.

“Are we ready?” you say looking at the duo

David was in charge of jamming the feds signal as you dealt with the snipers and frank took control of the truck with the guns in it. Frank jumped onto the side of the truck yanking the door open and shoving the previous driver out onto the street. He glances up as he passes the second sniper position to see you wrapping your grappling hook wire around the sniper's neck and jumping off the side of the building and landing with a soft thud on the top of the truck

“Atta girl” he mumbles to himself as you swing around and slide in the passenger window

“Couldn’t do that in a pair of jeans” you quip at him, Frank couldn’t help but crack a tiny smile, no matter how much you can frustrate him, he cares deeply for you for the things that you have done as a Black Widow, or an Avenger one of earth mighty hero’s (you are the only one he cares about- all the others seem like pricks) “That you couldn’t Birdy” he glances over at you then back to the road focusing on losing the car behind them long enough to get back to David.

Parking the white truck frank jumped in the back while you stayed in the cab making sure there weren’t any other cars or agents heading your way. You heard the following car pull up and the two agents get out of the car. You slid down in the seat as one set of footsteps neared the cab of the truck. the back of the truck open- then a flame thrower…….. A flame thrower? I mean it worked the two agents were very keen on listening to Frank’s demands

“Drop the guns- you see that water over there, you are gonna jump in that water or else it is gonna get really hot really fast” They were smart and ran jumping into the water.

You get David and escort him into the van. Frank was taking the Mustang while you stayed in the back of the truck while David drove it away from the drop site.

“I am going to drag their attention while you get to the highway and get back to base,” Frank tells David what to do then looks back to where you would be

“And keep her safe, if she gets hurt- you are gonna wish you never came after me” Frank threatens lowly and Lieberman nods quickly. Frank then walks to the back of the truck to you.

“You gonna tell me what that phone call was about,” Frank asks looking up at where you stood in the middle of the guns and ammo

“That is what you are worried about?” you look over at him with a confused face

“Well you did run away as soon as that phone went off”

“I missed a check-in, that's all, after the accords we split up but we all check-in, I missed it helping you so I had my ear chewed off” “You didn't tell them what you were doing” Frank responds, it kinda hurts your feelings thinking that frank thinks you would sell him out so easily

“No- they think I am in a hideout in Kyiv, you know I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“I know Birdy, it's just been a long week” Frank admits stepping up into the back with you

“I probably will be gone tonight, they are gonna get suspicious if I stay away any longer.”

“Why don’t you just stay, we can keep underground just as well as they can out there” “They are my team frank I can’t just leave them, you know that” You two have had this conversation before, as much as you love and care for frank it wasn’t safe for you to stay in one place long let alone stateside, and you couldn’t leave them high and dry, they were like family to you.

“I know I know birdy; I don’t want you getting hurt” “You know I won’t; I promise, after some more time it will be easier, hell maybe in a few years I can come back home” you point to his heart “But for now I have to stay in the wind”

Frank reaches up to cup the side of your face returning the nose kiss from earlier.

“I’ll see you soon then sweet girl” he murmurs against your face before stepping back out of the truck and sliding the door closed on you. He hits the side signaling David to go as he walks back to the red mustang.

Tags: @parzival3 @galaxysgal

[pleasinglyforeboding]

Update on my Good Omens doll project

There's been a lot of progress since my last update. Here's some summary pics, with details about the dolls and clothes under the cut.

I hope you like hearing about this project and I am happy to answer any questions you have about how things are made and what I'm planning next. I'm going to try and update more often, with posts about individual accessories and clothes, as I've gotten better with the techniques and things aren't taking me as long.

Link to part 1

Crowley's head: I've completely redone Crowley's head as I wasn't happy with Crowley's hair colour from the first attempt. It just wasn't red enough. But I couldn't reroot that head; It was one of my first ever reroots and I used too big a needle and split the vinyl in a lot of places. The scalp was barely holding it together and it wasn't going to hold up to pulling out the hair and doing another reroot. So I bought another one of the same doll (Hunger Games, Catching Fire, Finnick) and rerooted the hair with a custom blend of red and brown saran hair. This also meant I had to redo the face and tattoo. As before, I left the shape of the eyes untouched. This time, I gave him more on an arched eyebrow. This looks better over his glasses and allows for some more variety when photographed in profile. His hair needs a bit of restyle (it's gone quite flat but he should be able to get a body upgrade soon, so I am waiting for that). Long term I'd like to look into making his short hair cut but straight short hair is very difficult to achieve on a 1/6 scale doll.

Introducing Aziraphale!

Aziraphale's head is from the Divergent 'Four' doll. If you're familiar with that movie, you are probably thinking that Theo James looks nothing like Micheal Sheen and you would be correct. Fortunately for me, the Four doll doesn't look much like Theo James so that's fine. I chose this head sculpt because it has the roundest features of all the Ken head sculpts I could get at the time. I modified the nose a little by carefully sanding the tip back to try and get some of Michael’s lovely upturned nose. I haven't captured it fully but it's a bit closer. I've tried to get his irises a stormy sea blue/grey. I think it came out pretty well and looks a lot closer to Aziraphale than I thought I would be able to get. I think the rounded eyebrows were particularly important in achieving that look. I am still trying to think of a way to blend the empty plug holes around his hairline a bit better. The hair is tightly curled 'ash blond' nylon blend (I find nylon holds a curl a bit better than saran).

I'll post about the PROCESS it has been to give this man shaped being a suitably soft corporation in an separate post because it's been a saga and I still want to make some tweaks.

Soft angel is soft.

Clothes

I've gotten much better at sewing small clothes as part of this project. Long term, I am hoping to have made every part of their two main outfits myself. So far, I have made Crowley's jeans, and Aziraphale's shirt and trousers. Crowley has the 2008 outfit (where he has long hair) and the 2019 outfit (where he has short hair). I am hoping to eventually do the jacket and vest from each but have him use the same jeans and undershirt. We'll see how I go. I love trying to get all the little details, like the rivets on Crowley's jeans and the cuffs of Aziraphale's shirt. The waistcoats are next on my list and I have already made a practice waistcoat for one of my Barbies, just so I can understand a bit more about how they work (See below).

Tall English Professor Barbie needs some matching shoes!

If you’re interested in my other Barbie collecting and crafts projects, you can follow Barbie_and_things on instagram,

[magpieinthemorning]

Up next for rage blogging a netflix show as I watch it: Next in Fashion

- Omg everybody’s outfits and their personalities!!! <3 <3 <3 It’s really painful that every episode someone gets eliminated because they are all so amazing.

- Really hated Isaac’s attitude, though, and the dynamics that resulted from pairing him with Nasheli. She deserved so much better! She would have done so much better with another partner! It was extremely unfair to her.

- I especially loved Carli and Daniel’s pantsdress in ep 1 - I really wish I could wear it! :O

- Painful watching Hayley and Julian - he was such a character and I would have liked to see more of both of their work, but they just did not fit together. No surprise at all that the teams who know each other well and have worked together a lot already are the most successful. 

- In the streetwear competition, on a scale from 1 to 10, how racist was it that both of the teams chosen as the bottom two had the only Black women, and the only Black people left in the competition? In streetwear? Seriously? Bless guest judge Kerby Jean-Raymond. The show is edited and scripted to be extremely emotional (literally people are crying all the time, it’s fantastic), but at that point, when he decided to walk out, I truly felt it so much. Love him. Love Kiki and Farai, who are constantly being judged much harsher than the other contestants. Thankfully here the “nobody gets eliminated” move was used for good, and not to keep in boring old white guys like in Blown Away ... because there are no boring old white guys in this show! Yay! :D

UPDATE 1:

Ep. 5 - I’m not that interested in underwear, but I really enjoyed all the boxer shorts for the women’s looks. And Angel’s men’s look was amazing! I wish they would have shown it without the jacket. There was way too much focus on the made-up bra support issue. Women actually like to feel comfortable, and wasn’t it interesting that both of the all-women teams made bras without wires ... maybe because they know how uncomfortable that shit is?! So yeah ... :-/ To be honest it felt like a setup that the tops MUST have underwire and pushup. (That’s so 90′s though?) The judges didn’t ask Farai and Kiki’s model how she felt in it, like they asked one of the others, they just straight up decided to hate their creation because of the missing underwire. They acted so rude when they were looking closer at their design, the whole “What’s this?!” and pawing right under the model’s boobs. :/ Also I didn’t like Claire’s attitude and being angry that nobody was eliminated last time - so she’d have preferred if her own team was eliminated? And guess what ... 

Ep. 6 - Claire and Adolfo were eliminated, so maybe it taught her a lesson to not throw her own people under the bus? Or not ... I don’t know, it was somehow interesting how she stressed her Asian half at the end (in the speech about how she is still to be taken seriously even though she is small and half Asian), as if she wanted to distance herself from her Blackness, and look away from how racist the elimination process was? I may be reading too much into it - I’m also mixed race and really interested in how other mixed race people experience it. Still impressive that Claire and Adolfo got so far without having worked together before, if I’m not mistaken. Btw one of the judges went out of their way to compliment the unfinished edges on one look, while it had been so harshly criticized when Farai and Kiki did unfinished edges on the streetwear challenge. Sigh. All the looks in this challenge were really great, and I guess that says something about my own style ... \m/ 

I don’t know if I want to keep watching, because the judges are so irritating (sorry Tan :( ) and the elimination part is so stressful ... But I also want to see more amazing clothes and how these amazing people make them in such a short time!

UPDATE 2:

Ep. 7 - Nooo, Angelo ... It was totally fair that he was eliminated for his grave lack of technical skill, I just loved watching him on the show so much. Together with Charles they were unstoppable and complemented each other so well, but apart? ;___; Same with Carli, together with Daniel they were awesome. I could relate a lot to wanting to quit instead of finishing something half-assed. :/ So nice that other contestants were looking out for her. It felt a bit more relaxing to watch now, although the stakes keep getting higher and the contestants fewer, but it seems like they are being judged more fairly now that Anti-Black racism is off the table lmao ... Sigh, I’d really love to watch arts and crafts contests with only Black judges and contestants. + I adore Adidas and wear way too much of it, but cringe at Jo Aberg’s heavy Swedish accent, haha (I used to live in Sweden and way too many of them go around telling foreigners that Swedes don’t have an accent when they speak English *eyeroll*).

Ep. 8 - Daniel seems like such a genuinely nice and caring person, so it’s kind of okay that the white guy stayed in the game over the two Asian guys. Charles on his own was perhaps missing Angelo’s pizzazz ^^ ... I liked Marco and his stuff a lot, and it seemed a bit like a setup here, too, that they criticized his design for being “too costumey” (I kind of hate that word now thanks to this series) and he got thrown off, instead of just doing his thing the way he wanted it, regardless of whether he would be eliminated for it.  Kind of “pro wrestling” that Minju was so freaked out by the challenge and then she made the best look hands down. Loved it! Especially with the leather band/harness - I don’t get why they criticized it. Overall I was a bit disappointed in all the other looks, because I like a lot about military style, but very few except Minju used the kind of stuff that I like. I didn’t really like Angel’s look that much - the concept was amazing, but that coat seemed a bit awkward to wear and I’m a bit confused about why everyone liked it so much, but maybe I just don’t get that about fashion. Happy for her though! Many of her other looks have been really great. + Judge Elizabeth’s crooked tie drove me bonkers. WHO ARE YOU TO JUDGE FASHION WHEN YOUR TIE DOES NOT COVER YOUR TOP BUTTON. lol

UPDATE 3: SEMIFINALS

I’m happy for Minju and Daniel and can’t wait to see them in the finale! I liked Ashton’s looks so much! I’d love to wear the women’s top (and maybe I will try to sew something similar for myself :-p). Loved the reference to hakama - I thought he made all the right choices of what to adopt from the inspiration. A bit bummed that he got eliminated, especially since he was so community oriented when he talked about what it would mean for him to win.  I squealed when I heard Angel’s inspiration, Tibetan horse racing! Here I felt like the looks were a bit far off from the inspiration. But they looked so gorgeous. Maybe if she’d used the bleach lace pattern (on the edges for example) it would have been even more amazing. The women’s look was so great! Though I was a bit concerned about the crotch exposure :D Overall maybe Angel didn’t need the win so I guess it’s fine that she got eliminated. I’m a bit confused about why they were so in awe about Daniel’s looks. Both of the looks were really nice and clean, but I didn’t think they were all that interesting or innovative, and the message was a bit simplistic. And I literally made a similar quilt a few months ago, so I can’t really agree with the “it’s NEVER been done before” sentiments. I’m really looking forward to his stuff in the finale though! For Minju I felt the same, it was great, but I couldn’t really relate to how they thought it was so new and fresh. The men’s pant length would have surely gotten her eliminated if she’d been Black, haha. Can’t wait to see what she makes in the finale - I’ve loved almost everything she did so far.

UPDATE 4: FINALE!!!

OMFG MINJU!!!!! YAY!!!!! Aaaaah, her collection was so beautiful and fun! And all women’s looks! It was so nice!  It was so nice that Minju’s sister also realised that she had held Minju back creatively and that it was wrong to do that. I didn’t read spoilers about the ending, and kept nervously thinking that it wouldn’t surprise me if Daniel the white guy won the entire competition, but then Minju won and Daniel was so happy for her! <3 <3 <3 I cried so much!

[areweevercameraready]

ID under the cut! I moved it there because this one is v long and my ID’s turn into mini-fics anyway

ID: Photo 1: Anonymous asks “bae are there,,,,, any other fusions👀”

Photo 2: The Dramaturg is standing against a white background, because he is well aware that the artist will be drawing more panels than usual and doesn’t want to complicate the scene. His hair is up in space buns, with small parts curling off the buns, and a headset over one ear. He is wearing a long light-pink cloak that is stained with paint and has David’s waves as well as Marlowe’s ribbon on both arms. Beneath, he is wearing a dark red sweater and a collared shirt beneath that. He has four arms, and the top left arm waves, while the top right arm is pressed down. His bottom left arm holds a clipboard while his bottom right hand holds the pen. He waves excitedly at the camera, starring directly at it with one green eye and one brown eye. The Dramaturg says “Hello! It’s lovely to meet y’all!” In a quieter voice, he adds, “sorry for being asleep last time” and trails off.

Photo 3: The Dramaturg puts his pen in his hair and reaches up with his top left arm. He points up with the top right arm, as if thinking. The Dramaturg says “We haven’t found every combo yet, but there’re a few I can introduce you to!”

Photo 4: The Dramaturg pulls a screen down from the top and winks at the camera, holding the clipboard with both bottom hands now. He shrugs at the camera with a smile. “Technically, I also haven’t met any of David and Marlowe’s other fusions, too.”

Photo 5: The image shifts to focus on the screen that The Dramaturg pulled down. His top right arm is in frame, with a pointer, and he points at the screen. There are two busts on the screen. The first is a man with light brown skin and a long face with pronounced cheekbones, hair straight and pulled back with a golden hairband. His black hair is long, going straight down his back, with lighter brown accents. He has magenta lipstick and large gold earrings, in the shape of hanging hearts. One of his eyes is light pink while the other is forest green. He faces toward the left, though he’s starring at the camera. The second bust is a man wearing a leather jacket, face fuller and more stout. He has sunglasses on that cover his three eyes. He also has an undercut, and the top part of his black hair is pulled back into a bun. He’s smirking, turned right though you can’t see where he’s looking. The Dramaturg says “I’ve heard some of them are pretty cool.” 

Photo 6: The screen shows two different busts. One is of a person with darker brown skin, curly hair pulled up by a tie dye hair tie. They smile serenely at the camera, eyes brown with pink hearts in the iris, and what looks like scars on their cheeks and across the bridge of their nose are actually eyes. They have small heart earrings, too, and are wearing a dark pink turtleneck. The second person is more childish, grinning at the camera though he’s looking up, with tanned skin and a scar on his cheek. His eyes are bright gold and he has messy short black hair, wearing a darker yellow bandana around his neck. The Dramaturg’s pointer is not in frame, and he says “Parent is fairly common, and Fortitude is Gavin’s most stable fusion.” 

Photo 7: The image zooms out again, showing the Dramaturg standing besides the screen, which is blank. He looks up, one of his hands pressing a finger to his lip in thought. His bottom right hand holds the clipboard while his top left hand, which had been holding the pointer, lowers it. His bottom left arm, though, is hugging his top left arm tight. The Dramaturg says “I’ve also met” and trails off. 

Photo 8: The Dramaturg says, “Him.” The Dramaturg is starring worriedly into the distance, irises small, brow pinched in fear. His arms all tuck closer to himself, pointer pointing up, hugging a little tighter. On the screen, the image goes darker, and the figure of another person is visible. He has antlers sticking out of his head, dark black hair hanging off parts of the antlers while also coiling down from his head. His back is toward the screen, though he’s looking over his shoulder at the camera, one single red eye glinting ferociously. He has brown scales trailing from the antlers down his face, though his skin itself looks pale. 

[infinite-hearts-333]

Masked Love Chapter 1

Sander sides, Rociet, Human/Magical AU

WARNING: mentions of past dehumanising, reference to PTSD flashback??, um bullying reference. 

Masterpost

~~18/5/2022 6:37am (Present time)~~

“Janus?” 

Janus grumbled, pulling the weighted blanket over his head more as what sounded like his mama's voice filled his too-tired, half asleep brain. “Noooooooooo….”

“Janus! JANUS! I know you're awake up there!!”  

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO” Janus groaned back, pulling the blanket tighter over his head. 

“JANNIE IF YOU DON'T LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER I’LL COME UP THERE WITH THE COLD BORE WATER AGAIN~!” Came the singsong voice of his mom, and Janus full on scrambled out of bed, covers sent flying and he had to double check his claws to ensure they didn’t ensnare on anything through his half sleepy, half panicked daze. 

“COMING! COMING!! Yesh….” he called, before grumbling, yawning, completely use to the soft popping of his unhinged jaw, forked tongue tasting the air. Waffles…. Mmmmm…. 

He quickly got ready, body automatically from routine, getting changed into his clothes- a lime turtle neck, black jacket with pins and patches attached, sunflower yellow beanie, skinny black jeans and his boots. He hummed a loose tune as he moved, alike to clock work, moving to turn to his bed, tugging the poor flinged sheets back into the right position, snatching up his stuffed dragon that had fallen onto the floor and placing it on top of his pillow gently. 

Janus’s room was, in fact, the attic. His mum and mama weren't… expecting him when he showed up, but they took him in and loved him all the same. The rickety old house they had didn't have enough rooms for Janus to move into when he got older, so his parents spent ages rebuilding the attic for him. You could tell in some places- the seams where the wall met the roof weren't all the same size, the floorboards ran crookedly rather than straight, there were chips in both the walls and the floor where the wood wasn’t smooth.

But janus loved his room. It was cosy- there different metals and CD disks strung up which glinted like precious gems under the sky window, he had a large rainbow flag hanging over his bed in the corner, fairy lights stuck on the wall all around the room. Boxes upon boxes peeked out of his bed, filled to the brim with the most random things, leaves, feathers, stones, shells, bones, name it, Janus probably had it. 

Walking to where his room ended, a wall with a human sized hole in the floor, he paused by the mirror, only to wrinkle up his nose in disgust at what he saw staring back. Janus was actually pretty handsome, nice clear tanned skin, brilliant eyes that shined lime and forest green and firefly yellow all at the same time. Chestnut hazel hair that hung in ruffled curls framed his face. He was strong, a little buff and according to his mother and mamma, quite the personality. But there were two things.

Janus’s jaw. It faded into the most horrid shade of olive green, splotches of lime, deep forest green and the colour of dying cactuses for scales, littered across the bottom half of Janus’s face. Two gross dusty pink scars ran from the corners of his mouth, stretching out and curling, nearly to touch his ears, one on each side. Darting in and out of his abnormally large fanged mouth was a forked blue tongue, fading into pink at the back of his mouth, the slightest sign that janus was once human. 

He softly sighed, turning away to wander to the wall, and so the holes well, jumping through it to land on the couch flawlessly. “Morning.” He mumbled to the two females cooking and giggling at each other. “Morning' darling~!” called Mamma, smiling brightly. “Did you sleep well, little snek-a-doodle?” Teased his mum, smiling warmly as she parted from her partner to ruffle her adopted son's hair. 

Janus smiled back up at her, and couldn't ignore the pang of happiness when all he found in mum's eyes was love. “We made waffles for your big day!” Chimed Mamma, beaming as she worked at the stove. 

Ah. Right. High school. Janus groaned, leaning back to painfully donk his head against the wall. “Do I have to go?” He whined. “Yup!” his mum said, popping the ‘p’. Janus rolled his head off the wall, allowing his eyes to drop to problem number two in his life. His hands. Or well…. Talons.

Janus’s hands, a lot like his jaw dyed into that horrid olive colour, splattered with scales. He had four ‘fingers’ instead of five, each ending with a large sharp claw that was almost an ivory green if held in the right light. Scars lined his hand where the scales started, signs that janus wasn’t born with these abnormal features. 

His mum then slapped him over the head with a rolled up newspaper. “OW! Hey!!!!!” snapped Janus. His mum raised an eyebrow. “You were pulling the face you make when you're judging yourself. And I'm having none of that. You're beautiful, fullstop.” she narrowed her eyes at him, daring him to prove her wrong. Janus chuckled. “Guilty as charged.” he hummed, standing to walk over to their small island counter. 

His mom huffed, nodding, walking alongside her son, combat boots making a soft thumping noise on the tiles. Janus hid a wince as the sound of clicking heels entered his mind. 

Click, click, click. 

He swallowed, sitting.  “Here you go!!” chirped Mamma, smiling as she placed the plates down. “Thank you dear.” Mom said softly kissing Mamma’s cheek on her way past. “Thanks mamma.” Janus chipped in, trying not to show his teeth while he smiled. Mamma beamed, swirling around to plop down in her seat. 

Janus reached out to grab the berries, randomly dropping them over the waffles. He was cautious, ensuring he didn’t open his mouth too wide, taking in small little bites. Mum started talking about what she would be doing while Janus was at school, working on the new barley crops. “Those darn aphids! They've been going off everywhere!!!” Janus slowly chewed on a piece of blue berry. 

“I think you're gonna need to get some pest spray mum.” Janus pointed out. Mamma nodded. “Do you want me to pick some up honey? I’m going into town anyway for some more mango seeds.”

Janus smirked against his milk glass, washing down the waffles. “Again with the Mangos Mamma?” 

Mamma shrugged, smiling. “I want to make some jams! And maybe I might try making mango sorbet again.” Janus grinned. “Yes please!” His gaze flickered to the clock on the wall, and he sighed. “Well, as much as I hate it, I should go.” he said with a huff, shovelling the last of the waffles into his mouth and drowning the milk. 

“Okay darling, have a nice day!” Mamma said with a smile. “See you this afternoon ‘kay snek-a-doodle? You’ll help me with the cows again?” Janus smirked, collecting his plate and glass. “Absolutely.” he stated, placing his dishes in the sink. “See you this afternoon!” he called, snatching up his gloves and mask off their hanger and then scooping up his bag.

He swung his bag half on, fumbling to put on his yellow gloves. They were bulky and too big to allow room for his claws, a black band around the start of the four fingers and wrist to prevent slipping and looked ridiculous, but it was better than exposing his features to the world. He had to be careful, pausing to ensure none of his scales got caught on the fabric. He then put on his mask, a simple also yellow fabric that covered his mouth and nose. He then twisted to reach into his front pocket of his bag, pulling out his earphones and lime mp3 player, shoving the buds into his ears and turning it on, blasting the music at the highest volume. 

[ 🎶 Looking for an exit in this world of fear

I can see the path that leads away

Mama never left, and daddy needs me here

I wish the wind would carry a change

Looking through the window to a world of dreams

I can see my future slip away

Honey you won't get there if you don't believe

I wish the wind would carry a change 🎶 ]

He wandered through the fields of crops and fields of animals, waving a hello to the farmer next door. Michel, his name was, he grows the best peaches. He guessed that there was a satisfying crunch as Janus jumped from a small ledge down onto the orange autumn leaf-covered road. Wandering along the side of the road, Janus quietly hummed along to his music all the way to the bus stop. He quickly checked the suns position, having done it many many times, relieved to find he was on time and the bus should be here any minute. 

[ 🎶 I've had enough

I'm standing up

I need, I need a change

I've had enough

Of chasing luck

I need, I need a change 🎶 ]

Sure enough the death machine, painted yellow and screeching nearly as loud as its passengers came swerving around the corner, somehow audible through Janus’s music, metal rusted gears screaming as the beast came to a halt. That thing was definitely gonna kill people one day. Janus huffed, climbing the rickety steps and flashed his card at the bus driver, who looked like he had been going for six months without sleep and would snap someone's neck.

They traded nods, having known each other since Janus first ‘moved’ to the country. They never really spoke to each other, but traded nods, ‘hey’s’, and ‘mood’s’ so he was cool. Janus sat right behind the bus driver, dumping his bag next to him so no one would take the seat next to him. Not that it was necessary, everyone actively avoided him. He then maintained his death glare, slipping it on as easily as putting on his mask. 

Some kids, janus found, take enjoyment in throwing things at the bus driver, so janus took it upon himself to protect the bus driver from the nuisances, and in return, once the bus driver found out, he would keep the passengers from taking the spot so Janus wasn't forced to sit next to anyone. 

[ 🎶 I'm setting fire to the life that I know (I know)

Let's start a fire everywhere that we go (we go)

We starting fires,

We starting fires till our lives are burning gold 🎶 ]

Janus sat, guarding the busdriver and spacing out till he felt the bus sharply halt. Hip hip hooray for hell. He sighed, standing up and wandered off the bus, bidding farewell to the busdriver with a small nod of the head. He turned his attention to his new problem. 

The school's shadow engulfed him standing tall over him, and a part of janus feared it may crumble and crush him. People were chatting, boys flirting and betting, bullies shoving random people and dropping curses. Janus’s personal hell. Well, here goes nothing!

[ 🎶 I've had enough

Of chasing luck

I need, I need a change 🎶 ]

[crash-cinematic-universe]

Headfirst For Halos

Ship: Tate Langdon/fem!Reader

WARNINGS: allusions to both physical and emotional abuse from a family member, actual physical abuse between a freshman and a senior, allusions to mental illnesses such as depression, student v. student violence. A certain way an event was phrased could be considered an allusion to molestation. strong language. a reference to homophobic slurs (none were used)

general comments: the american rock band My Chemical Romance was referenced in this story, yes it doesn’t work with the timeline, no I do not care. pretend mcr was around in the 80′s and 90′s. overall, I’m pretty proud of how this turned out. SPOILERS FOR SEASON 1 FOR AMERICAN HORROR STORY AHEAD. pre-death tate, pre-shooting tate, pre-beau death

________________________________________________________________

1986

        I truly believe there isn’t a sound as horrible as the sound of my alarm. The repetitive chimes shoot straight to the center of my brain. It’s horrible. My bones crack as I attempt to get out of bed, a groan instinctively leaving my throat. I was dizzy, the light peeking through from between my blinds making my head throb. My shitty alarm clock read 6:27AM. 15 minutes until my ride gets here.

        I sluggishly pull on the first My Chemical Romance shirt I see, jet black with white roses, ‘On second thought, let’s all be friends’ in red writing. I grabbed a random pair of jeans, black with rips at the knees, and moved away from my closet. I slipped on my plethora of bracelets and walked out the door. I grabbed my jacket and my backpack. 

        I try my best to avoid my family, dodging the kitchen and the living room. Sometimes, my best isn’t enough, though.

        “You’re off in a hurry.” My mother says from behind me, my muscles tensing. “It’s almost as if you’re excited to go to school.” I roll my eyes at the statement. I fucking hate high school, it’s pointless and my own personal hell. I have a total of one friend who I can already feel is slipping away from me. I don’t blame them, though. I wouldn’t stick around me for very long either.

        “I just don’t wanna be late.” I say flatly, emotion void in my voice. My goal is to make this interaction as short as possible. 

        “Aren’t you going to eat with us?”

        “I don’t have time.” I deapan before walking to the front door. There’s an open bottle of whisky on the kitchen counter. I pay no attention to it as I leave. Some would describe me as cold, but that’s how I live. Ever since I was a kid, I knew that I could never let my guard down. I needed to surround myself, to isolate myself within the inky blackness of my mind. I was taught that a tough exterior will scare away those who want to hurt me, to never let anyone in a position where they have power over me. As I got older, I kept more and more secrets. My personality, my sexuality, my mental health issues, they all became factors of my life that could make me vulnerable to others. All these secrets, on top of the pent up anger that festered with each act of abuse from my family, caused me to be, in short, a bitch. 

        On the flip side, the best form of defense is attack, right? I’m angry, and in high school, so outbursts of violent anger were expected. I feel an overwhelming urge to help the underclassmen, a need to help those who remind me of myself in their position. The last thing I want is for someone to end up like me. 

        Pluto’s car pulls up and I silently crawl into the passenger's seat. We ride in silence, neither of us making any attempt at dull conversation. It makes me angry knowing that any relationship we once had-- or could’ve had-- is gone. After all, Pluto is a senior and I’m a sophomore; it’s just smarter to shut each other out now so it doesn’t hurt as much once it’s over. All friends are temporary, after all. I leave that low anger to sizzle at the bottom of my stomach.

        We get to school, Westfield High, and I feel the need to get as far from Pluto as possible. I can't stand in this cloud of hopelessness any longer, it makes me angry. I’ve got walking down the hallway to my locker down to a science; back straight, eyes up, chest out. The bigger and stronger you seem the more likely you are to scare away others. I see the fear in the eyes of some underclassmen, asserting a gentle dominance over those who pose a threat is logical and easy. Toxic, sure, but toxicity is a part of me now. 

        I get to my locker, the code 45-23-31. My locker is plain and organized, the grey walls completely blank. I’m not going to be around for very long, why leave a mess for whoever cleans out my locker. I grab the white band binder from the back of my locker and turn around. I slam the locker closed, watching slyly as the people around me flinch at the sound. It scares me when others do that, but it’s much more fun when I’m in control. 

        I play the french horn. It’s hard to play, and to hold, but it sounds nice. It’s smooth, but it can get aggressive and frantic. Plus, it looks cool. Scale warm ups. A few rhythms. It's all part of the same shitty routine. My band director is cool, though. She lets me skip sometimes when she notices how shitty I feel. This is one of those days. My eyes meet hers and she gives me a knowing look, nodding her head as I walk out of the crowded band room. 

        Too many of my classmates hate the band director. I don’t know why, she’s genuinely kind and understanding. The thought alone makes me angry again, mixed with my stowaway anger from earlier, and before I know it I’m much angrier than before. That’s when I heard it.

        “Get off me!” A call from around the corner. I froze, assessing the situation. Thankfully, I can see their reflection in the trophy case against the wall. 

        It was a freshman kid and three seniors, football players. The freshman is small and lanky, just barely taller than me. He already had a dark bruise on his arm, but I could tell the jocks hadn’t hit him yet. They had him pinned against the locker, feet off the ground. They threw a slew of insults and homophobic slurs, and Ii couldn’t help but interfere when they began to get physical, grabbing at him.

        “Hey!” I growled, using all my strength to pull the one pinning the boy against the lockers away. Somehow I managed to have him pinned against the opposite wall, my forearm pressed against his windpipe, hard. The pure rush of adrenaline gave me the strength to knee him in the balls as hard as possible. “Listen here motherfucker, if  you so much as glance in his general direction, I’ll snap your neck. Understand?” I barked. The jock nodded frantically, and I turned to his groupies. 

        “Crazy bitch!” They gaped. That made me angry. 

        “You have ten seconds to get the fuck out of here before I become a really crazy bitch.” I snarled, my fists clenching in pure unfiltered rage. I could see the hatred in their eyes, but they could see the fire in mine. They were smart enough to walk away. Then I turned my attention to the victim of the whole affair.

        “Thanks,” He breathes, still on the floor where he fell. He has dark brown eyes, and they look scared, but relieved. There’s something in his eyes, but I can’t put my finger on it.

        “Don’t mention it.” with that statement, the bell rings. Teenagers pour out of the band room, and I disappear into the crowd. I probably should’ve stopped and made sure he was okay. I didn’t. A strange voice inside my head told me I’d see him again. I’m not exactly disappointed.

[capricornus-rex]

Two Sides of the Coin (11)

Chapter 11: Innocence, Lost and Found | Jidné Sheedra x Cal Kestis

Summary: Hell-bent on exacting revenge and retrieving the Holocron, the dreaded Darth Vader is now on the hunt for the young Jedi Knight, Cal Kestis. Under the assumption that he still possessed the artifact, while fueled by the intrigue of the boy’s strength and skill with the Force, the dark lord hires the bounty hunter, Jidné Sheedra, to track him down and have him delivered alive. However, the task becomes a trial for young Jidné, as she faces a conflict that tests her beliefs of a scarred past she had hidden for so long.

A/N: The header was supposed to be a Spotify link but it looked so inconsistent with how I usually lay out my fics here that my OCD kicked in and jumped ship lmao anyway, the mood song I had in mind for this chapter was “I Won’t Say I’m in Love” from Hercules UwU Also, sorry that this chapter went a bit beyond my usual word count, I got carried away with the fluff ;;A;;

Also tagging: @berenilion @stellar-trinity @silver-is-in-too-many-fandoms @peterwandaparker @cal-jestis @justtinfoley @fallenjedii @queen-destenie @calgasm @sweeetteaa​ @calsponchoemporium​ @superwarsofthrones​ @ayamenimthiriel​

Also in AO3

Tags: Fem OC, Jidné Sheedra, Force-Sensitive! Fem OC, Bounty Hunter! Fem OC, Jedi! Fem OC

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 – 8 – 9 | Previous: Part 10 | Next: Part 12 | Masterlist

11 of ?

Whether or not Jidné knew, Cal heard her squeals’ echoes in the distance as she sprinted away. He smiled to himself, even after her sound had died down. He could’ve sworn he felt his heart slow down and then make the biggest thump that he thought it’d burst right through his ribs. He clutched his chest where Jidné’s hand lay just mere minutes ago.

Cal let out a sigh and threw himself backwards to the soil, a bed of grass cushioned his fall and now he’s facing up at the first stars of the evening sky. He used his hands as a pillow for his head while BD-1 snuggles to his side.

“Beee, trill?”

“Yeah, BD-1… I feel great!” Cal laughed.

He stared up at the stars and counted them silently; however, the longer he stared, the more he remembered Jidné and everything the two of them did together. The faintness of her shy giggles lingered behind his ears, parts of his skin where Jidné had touched burned and tingled; he intentionally kept his eyes closed after blinking to reimagine those dark, soulful irises staring back at him accompanied by the coy smile that curled along her lips.

His free hand cupped his mouth as he remained lying on the grass, fantasizing of the kiss that almost was; more stars and fleeting comets riddled the deep blue sky, silver plumes of clouds loomed in front of the platinum moon. He exhaled nasally and closed his eyes again, his mind replayed the moments of their interactions these past few days. His mind repeated the last thing Jidné said before she said good night and left.

“You always seem to have a way of finding me,”

That sentence circled his mind the whole night and reminisced the moments where they found each other in the uncanny of timings—it all began when he followed the sound of her voice, ever since then, he always stumbles his way to her and he’ll be greeted with the same warmth from the same, kind smile. Over and over, his head replayed the image of her—in every angle, in every silhouette, and in every light; his fingers slowly curled inward upon the fantasy of feeling her tiny hands nestled between his roughened hands and the way she held his hand to use her Force Shroud on both of them when escaping the bounty hunters who chased him in Diitana.

Cal wondered if the Force had willed the two of them to meet. He wished that the Force would speak in words to tell him straight in the face—or at least send a sign, even if technically that’s not how the Force works.

His hand wandered to his chest again, feeling for his racing heartbeat and clutching the fabric of his jacket to calm down the swirling storm within his ribcage. He coaxed himself to stand up and return to the Mantis, when he did come back, he was greeted with teasing glares from the crew.

“Well, you seem to be in high spirits at such an untimely hour,”

“Is that bad?”

Cere shook her head while smiling, she mouthed “No.”

The redheaded Jedi slept through the night with butterflies in his stomach and a smile he couldn’t completely wipe off of his face even if he wanted to.

Jidné had returned to the confinement of the Scarab. ID-3 hopped out of her shoulder and hovered about, meanwhile she pressed her back against the cold metal door as she caught her breath—parched and wheezing from the panting and the in-between giggles to herself.

She patted the body of her jacket and remembered the shard she picked up back in the Mantis. She fished it out of her pocket and held the shard between her fingers.

“ID-3, can you analyze, please?”

The droid obliged, a small tray slid open from its body where Jidné gingerly dropped the shard in, ID-3 hovered to the computer along the walls of the lounge and plugged in his port connector. An image of the shard larger than its actual size appeared as a projection, inscriptions and panels of information flashed on the screen—attempting to decipher what this shard had when it was still whole was a bit of a stretch, but Jidné’s resourcefulness as a bounty hunter came into play.

“Beeep, chirp?”

“This shard could be only the shell part; but it’s sizable, it could be part of the core—then the contents would still be intact… some of them though,” Jidné thought out loud, nipping the tip of her thumb as she pondered. “But what if I could…?”

The words trailed off, but the idea remained. She debated against herself regarding the reality of her idea.

“Trill, beee?” ID-3 inquired, noticing the apparent silence from his owner.

“Would meditating even work…?”

Nonetheless, she gave it a try. ID-3 relinquished the shard out of his compartment and handed it over to Jidné. For the rest of the night, in the solace of her bedroom, she meditated deeply on that little emerald shard not bigger than Cal’s second kyber crystal. Behind her eyes, she could see a map of sorts, she recognizes the planets on them but got confused when she found two planets of two different systems near each other, tiny inscriptions grew in size until they were readable—the Aurebesh danced and flickered in her eyes until they stayed put to make the words.

The words turned into names of planets and of people, she caught a glimpse of a child using the Force—she could feel the child’s fascination with their newfound ability, despite not fully grasping their capability yet. Jidné questioned the Force in her mind why did it show her a child using the Force to play.

Her eyes shot up, unable to make of what she saw in her visions.

“What does it have to do with a kid? Unless…” Jidné pondered briefly, and then dismissed the thought. “That doesn’t help in clearing things up. I should go to bed.”

ID-3 trilled in agreement, sprinkling in some teases—pointing out how Jidné blushed fiercely when she was together with Cal.

“Can you not, you little saucer?!” Jidné screeched quite defensively.

The disc-shaped droid laughed—a robotic croaking of a single note, nonetheless a cheery one. Jidné snatched her droid into her arms and hugged him as their laughing mingled. She and ID retired to the captain’s quarters; Jidné shed off the cowl and jacket, leaving out the tank top that she wears underneath it, and pulled away the boots from her feet before bringing them up to the bed.

Jidné spaced out staring at the ceiling, absentmindedly she rubbed her hands together, feeling for Cal’s touch. She sighed and closed her eyes, remembering the sensation simply through touch.

“His hands… are so gentle,” she muttered, lightly clenching her fingers and rubbing the back of her hand until she drifted off to sleep.

Cal woke up hopeful the next morning. He was like a child again—incapable of hiding his excitement and eagerness while moving with such haste. When he joined everyone for breakfast, they watched how chipper the boy is as he scarfed down his breakfast in ten bites or less.

“Kid, kid, don’t you want a glass of water first after gobbling up your food all at once?” Greez beckoned, handing over Cal’s glass to him before the young redhead could get any farther from the table.

“Can’t have you choking on your words and breakfast at the same time when you face Jidné,” Merrin blurted, sipping on her cup of tea.

“No, I won’t choke!” Cal rebuked.

“Uh-huh,”

Regardless, Cal did take a gulp of water from the glass that Greez had offered him. He stood from his seat at the table and beckoned BD-1 to come along, the little droid hopped on over on his shoulder as he went down the stairs until he disappeared from the Mantis.

East of Diitana is a forest, a few miles away from where he and Jidné first met. He brushed his way through the shrubs. He used his climbing claws to scale the great trees to get a better view of the lay of the land, he pushed away curtains of vines that blocked his way to the next branch until he got the topmost of the tree he climbed up on.

The next thing he saw took his breath away—the expanse of Ombari from what ought to be the highest vantage point he’s ever been on. Green and orange clashed, evergreen treelines touched with the red mountain ridges of the badlands: a dramatic contrast of colors of terrain.

“Wow, would you look at that!” Cal gasped.

“Triiiiiiilll!!!”

He scanned the red plateaus, mountain ranges, and mesas that walled the continent from the next land mass beyond. On the other side continued the lushness of Ombari’s land—a meadow that stretched wide with rich green grass for the herbivores to graze on, a great lake and waterfall could be seen at the farthest end.

The wind blew in his freckled face, the cool breeze ruffled his soft locks and swayed them as if they danced along with the current. He closed his eyes and tilted his head up, savoring the fresh air while being on top of the world. His heart couldn’t take the excitement, it stormed within his chest as he panned his head from west to east of the entire planet.

“Come on, BD, let’s go around some more!”

“Beep!”

Climbing up the great tree was a challenge, but the hardest was finding his way back down. Perched upon on the thick, sturdy branches, Cal strategized how he’ll get back on the ground that’s about twenty feet below him. He spotted coiled vines dangling from the treetops.

“I sure hope this works,” Cal uttered to no one in particular.

The boy thought he could make the jump and grab a vine to slip his way down, he instantly regretted it the moment he was suspended in the air—he desperately clawed the air in the hopes of catching at least a single vine. It was too late for him to catch one using Force pull, in turn, it’s the vines and lianas that caught him! During his fall, some of the snapped from the impact, others wrapped around him in different portions of his body; they tangled and coiled around his legs as he fell.

While he was saved from an apparent fatal head and neck injury, poor Cal dangled with his head just three feet above the forest floor. The flap of his poncho flopped upside down, obscuring his entire upper body. He grumbled, flailing around helplessly as he tried to reach for the vines that snaked around his legs, unfortunately, his poncho didn’t budge.

“Well, this is just spectacular!” sighed the upside-down Jedi in great vexation.

On the other hand, BD-1 wasn’t the one who’s got their legs stuck around tree vines. He hopped down from Cal in the first few minutes he got himself suspended with his head pointed down.

“BD-1? BD, who’s coming? Who’s there?”

He craned his head and saw a pair of boots peeking under. Two hands hiked up the hem of Cal’s poncho to reveal his face.

“Hey,” Jidné greeted casually. “How’s it hangin’?”

“Hah! Ha…” Cal half-heartedly chuckled. He playfully crossed his arms. “Oh, you know, not falling far from the tree.”

They concluded the exchange of tree and hanging puns with laughs. It pained them that giggling it away felt like the best resolution for both of them.

“Alright, I’m gonna cut off the vines for you,”

Jidné lets go of the poncho while Cal repeatedly barked “No!” and “Wait!” in the same sentence. His hands blindly pawed the air in search of Jidné, but she had already stepped away to a safe distance. She lobbed her weapon at the vines, the blade fanned through the air until it severed the vines a few inches above Cal’s legs—the boy’s body anticipated a fall, instead he felt like he’s floating. He finally pushed away the poncho that obscured his face and found Jidné’s free hand directed at him, she’d caught him using the Force and gently laid him down while her sword hand caught the returning lightsaber after she threw it.

“Thanks,”

“No problem,” Jidné shrugged her shoulders and gave him her hand to bring him up to his feet.

Cal dusted off the leaves and specks of dirt that clumped on his clothes; he got flustered all of a sudden when he saw Jidné bringing her hand close to his face and was proved otherwise when she picked out a leaf that got caught in his hair.

“You okay?”

Cal nodded and then the bounty hunter tilted her head back, emphasizing on the height of the tree in which the Jedi fell from.

“What were you doing up there, anyway?”

“Oh you know, trying to get a better look of Ombari—in a certain point of view,”

“Did you find anything interesting?”

“Glad you asked!”

Instead of answering her directly, he takes her by the hand again and led her to where the meadow ought to be. Cal could feel Jidné’s grip tighten around his and even if she may not feel it—he squeezed it back; together, they followed an invisible path that perhaps only the two of them could see. Bushes and shrubs snapped and rustled when the Jedi and bounty hunter shouldered their way through, dried and withered leaves crunched and got whisked into the air by their heels, and the dewy mist cooled their pores as they dashed.

At the end of their run, their finish line was the seemingly endless vastness of the meadow. They scanned the sights as they caught their breaths. Long-stalked flowers, as well as the grass, danced pliantly in the direction of the wind. The faint crash of the waterfall in the lake echoed and mingled with the bellowing of the grazing herbivores.

“Oh my…” Jidné gasped. “I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“Over here, Jidné!”

Jidné was startled to find that Cal had run off a few meters away from her already, she raced and caught up to him. Both of them frolicked gaily, drawing attention from the grazing animals that they passed by, their droids hovered and fluttered about like mechanical butterflies while following their owners. BD-1 and ID-3 scanned the grazers for their databanks.

“What is it, BD?”

“Trill, bee!”

In translation, BD-1 told Cal about these grazing animals—the Q’aval, a docile animal that can easily be domesticated for labor such as pulling carts or serving as mounts, though in the wild, they can be quite a handful to tame and they pack a mean kick especially with their hind legs.

Cal decided it was a good idea to approach one of them amongst the herd. At first it whinnied and slightly reared when the animal saw the human boy approach it. He cooed “It’s okay” in soft whispers repeatedly while cautiously stepping towards the Q’aval, the gentle pat of Cal’s hand calmed down the majestic, hooved beast and nickered softly.

“There we go,”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Jidné warned.

“It’ll be okay,” Cal reassured her while petting the Q’aval’s long, downward muzzle.

He noticed that Jidné stood there frigidly while examining the animal, he noticed the nervousness conflicting with the fascination in her face.

“Don’t worry, it doesn’t bite,”

As much as Jidné wanted to pet the Q’aval too, her hands trembled profusely as she hoisted them to the level of the animal’s muzzle. Cal carefully took her hand and guided it towards the muzzle, his free hand then found the small of her back to comfort her. Her slender fingers came into contact with the curve of the animal’s jaw and by impulse, she petted it in a smooth pace.

The Q’aval quickly warmed up to Cal and Jidné, nudging its head closer to them to demand more pats and they gladly obliged. In the right timing, Cal quickly mounted the steed, it reared for a few moments as it was startled by the sudden weight that bore on its back; Jidné kept her distance from the Q’aval that bucked and kicked even though Cal was continuously petting its broad neck.

“Wanna hitch a ride?” Cal blurted.

Jidné scoffed a chuckle, resorting to petting the animal’s neck, “Is it safe?”

“Sure, do you trust me?”

The girl’s head jerked to Cal. There’s the child-like yet tender gaze looking back at her, the gleaming emerald eyes that always had a natural allure that she couldn’t take her own eyes off of them, and then the coy and inviting smile to top it all off.

“I do,”

She approached him, he extended his hand to which she gladly takes. With a sudden might, he hoisted her to the back of the Q’aval with him; out of instinct, she snaked her arms around his waist to keep herself balanced upon the mount. BD-1 gently perched upon the animal’s mane while ID-3 returned to Jidné’s shoulders. Cal licked his lips and gave her hand a quick squeeze.

“Don’t ever let go,”

Jidné intertwined her fingers much tighter together and buckled closer to Cal.

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

A gentle yet abrupt kick spurred the Q’aval to gallop across the meadow. The animal’s speed was breathtaking yet empowering; their hairs danced in the wind as they ran towards the never-ending horizon. Neither of the two Jedi have ever felt anything like this—it was simply astonishing!

The Q’aval made for the hills, as if in an attempt to show them the greater breadth of the planet. To their surprise, they’ve been revealed the coastline of Ombari’s main continent—black rocks framed the deep blue ocean with ivory seafoam that striped its waters, a shore of golden sand lined the beaches from one rock formation to the other. Cal felt Jidné rest her chin upon the edge of his shoulder.

“Oh wow…” she gasped, the sight of the coastline had stolen all of the air in her lungs in wonderment. She swooned. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?”

Cal could feel her smile at the same time their fingers intertwine.

They returned to the meadow and dismounted the Q’aval which they thanked with a lot of pats before it returned to its herd.

They refreshed their parched throats with the sweet, cool water from the lake and rested by its banks. They settled atop the peak of another small hill where they can see the whole view of the animals and the waterfall. Jidné stretched out her legs on the earth and propped herself leisurely on her elbows while Cal drew his knees close to his chest where he can rest his arms.

“I never saw myself being in a situation like this,” Jidné initiated.

“What do you mean?”

“Back then, I barely had the time to explore in the same way as this. I understood that Master Anesh just wanted to keep me within a safe distance, but I felt like I kinda missed out on how worlds really looked like.”

“Well, we managed to see how Ombari really looks like,” Cal chirped.

Jidné turned to Cal and shot him a smile, “You’re right about that.”

“Actually, it’s really nice to lay low for once,”

“Oh? You hiding from someone?”

“Well yes… but actually no,”

The uncertain n tone in Cal’s voice made him sound like he’s questioning even himself. Jidné tilted her head and shot him a look to go on and say what he meant.

“These past few days, Inquisitors and Imperials have been chasing us back and forth for a Holocron,”

“The Inquisitors, I’ve heard about them,” Jidné trailed. “What do they want with a Holocron?”

“Well, it contains the list of all the Force-sensitive children,” Cal looked at Jidné in the eye. “The next generation of Jedi.”

Jidné’s heart raced. She put two and two together. Everything that Cal just said gave light to what she discovered last night.

That explains the child I saw! In her mind, she exclaimed.

She figured the Holocron was the second thing Vader needed—she remembers their negotiation back in Modala, the calm yet demanding tone of the dark lord thundered in her mind and rumbled her heart. She zoned out, staring back at the flawless green plains, letting the two facts sink into her.

“Are you searching for the children now?” inquired a curious Jidné, there was an ulterior motive between her words that Cal may or may not have hinted.

“No,” the boy simply shook his head. “Even if we did find them, the Empire will come after them. The same way they’re after us, I think.”

Her heart sank further in, Cal’s last sentence hit her close to home. The same goes for them back when they were younger—when they were still Padawan learners—it’s unimaginable to think that these children, who have no idea what they’re capable of in the first place, be suddenly robbed of their homes and families simply because they were Force-sensitive, all for the sake of the Empire’s exploits.

“So, the only way the crew and I thought would keep them safe is…” Cal trailed off. The fact that he destroyed a Holocron felt like a sin for once, even though he seemed confident about it when he had done the deed. “Is destroying the Holocron.”

The cogs in the bounty hunter’s mind turned so relentlessly that sparks sputtered in the tiny gaps in between. She masked her surprise with a straight face and pensive eyes, on the inside, she’s already drafting her progress report should Darth Vader come in contact with her.

Cal took notice of her silence, he examined the girl’s stoic expression: eyes lost to the endless meadow, lips slightly parted with the words dripping at the edge, and the gentle rising and falling of her breast as she breathed.

“You did the right thing,”

“For a second there, you looked like you just heard me confess a crime,”

“Well, I was never told that there was a law that destroying Holocrons was a criminal offense!”

The two traded glances and ended up in giggles, returning their gazes at the meadow and counting the Q’avals that grazed the tall grass. The day was whiled away with their banters of their childhood. They may have been worlds apart, but the stories that were so alike with another had linked them.

“You know, it’s funny,” Cal began.

“What is?”

“We’ve probably never even met along the halls in the Jedi Temple, yet somehow I find it easy to talk to you about these sorts of things. It’s like I’ve known you all my life,”

Jidné reciprocated the sentiment. Her thoughtful eyes smiled back at him, she plopped her back flat against the soft earth to hide her cheeks in their blushing glory. Cal started plucking the tiny flowers that dotted the plains and surrounded them, he adorned her dark hair splayed on the grass with white and pink buds while his free hand dared to caress her cheek—the back of his fingers stroking and tracing the suppleness of her face down to her jaw.

His touch was received with the upward curl at the corner of her lip, in return, Jidné plucked out a blade of grass and drew invisible lines over his scars—tickling his neck, cheek, and the bridge of his nose, counting his freckles with the pointed end of the stalk, her thumb softly brushing against his lip to find the tiny nick on his lower lip. Her slender fingers combed away the stray locks that draped over his forehead, revealing another slit that cut through his eyebrow.

She could only imagine what kind of stories these marks have to tell her.

Evening fell upon the two youngsters, Cal promptly stood up.

“Let me take you to your ship. Is it still in the badlands?”

“Sharp memory,” she blurted.

Cal offered Jidné a ride on a Q’aval before it got any darker. By default, she wrapped her arms around him again and he welcomed her embrace, Cal spurred the animal and in obeisance to its rider, the Q’aval reared and galloped through the plains, they passed by Diitana and crossed its bridge until they’ve arrived in the badlands.

Jidné did some backseat driving, directing Cal where to go until they found the trenches and he caught a glimpse of the Scarab’s hull. Both of them dismounted the animal, Cal got a closer look of her freighter—he recalls scrapping a similar model back in Bracca.

“You could have stayed the night at the Mantis, you know,” the Jedi initiated.

Jidné pursed her lips, “It looks like a full house in there.”

“Nah, you fit right in,”

“It’s fine, Cal,” she insisted politely.

“Well, if it’s not too much to ask—let’s do this again some time?”

Even in the night, the girl could always spot the twinkle in Cal’s clear jade eyes; he didn’t need any more words, his fond puppy-eyed gaze was enough to get her heart going—though, she wondered if he was aware that he made her feel that way.

“Don’t look at me like that,”

“Why not?” he cooed back.

“Because I don’t know if I’ll have the strength to say no,”

Cal chuckled nasally. He took out a flower that he had tucked underneath the straps of his armor and wore it on Jidné’s hair, wearing it into the braid that crowned the side of her head.

“Then I can wait for that yes,”

He leaned in and planted his lips against her cheek. He found her standing there, apparently taken aback by the gesture, when he looked over his shoulder.

“Good night, Jidné.”

“Good night, Cal.”

The animal reared once more and Jidné watched the boy ride into the distance, leaving plumes of dust in his wake. Her heartbeat synchronized with the hooves of the Q’aval as he departed. Absentmindedly, her fingers fondled the petals of the flower pinned into her hair while looking into the now-empty desert.

An epiphany threw its way into her—it felt like something invisible had tackled her into submission and punched her in the gut so violently that she arched inward for a bit.

“Shit…”

“Cheep?”

“This never happened before… No… It can’t...” she turned to ID-3 for some sort of affirmation. “Can it?”

[deans-baby-momma]

Rebel Without A Cause-Part 2

A/N: Hope you all enjoyed the PG-13 Chapter 1. Because this goes straight to X-rated from here on out. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya! LOL

As Dean pounds into  the random cunt beneath him, the sounds from around the room mixes with her moans. Glancing up, Dean sees a multitude of bare-assed bodies littered about, all in various stages of the exact act he is partaking in. Their hotel room is filled with people having some sort of sex.

Sam, his younger brother and bass guitarist, is kneeled on the floor in front of a chair, his face submerged between the legs of some brunette; Cas is sprawled on one of the beds with Meg, his wife and the band’s keyboard player, bouncing on his cock. Other random strangers were placed throughout the room, participating in the nightly orgy that the Winchester Sex Bombs always hosted. Fucking random people around a bunch of other random people fucking always helped the band come down from the high of a great concert.

Dean thrusts into the pussy his dick is buried in when he feels a familiar touch on his shoulder. The whisper in his ear causes his cock to harden even more. “How’s she feel, brotha? That pussy squeezing your prick tight? You go’na let me have a taste?” The Cajun accent sending shivers through his body.

Dean groans as Benny’s hand slides down his back and grips his ass. Pumping into the girl once more before pulling out, Dean turns to Benny.

“You want that used up hole or you want this?” Dean asks as he wraps his hand around the base of his cock. He smirks as he watches Benny quickly crawl backward off the bed and get down on his knees. Guiding his cum-slick, condom-covered shaft to the Cajun’s lips, Dean chuckles. “That’s what I thought. You’re a cock slut for this, aren’t ya? You want to taste her? Lick it off my dick.”

Benny parts his lips and slides his tongue out to stroke the head. His eyes roll as the tang of the woman’s pussy mixed with the cherry-flavored condom hits his taste buds. The lead singer of the Winchester Sex Bombs watches as his best friend and the band’s drummer continues to lick some random girl’s slick from him.

“Goddamn Ben!” Dean whimpers as he places a hand on Benny’s head. “Open up.”

Benny drops his chin and allows Dean to slip between his lips.

“Fuuuuck, your mouth is like heaven,” Dean growls as he pumps into his friend’s face. A scoff comes from the top of the bed, catching Dean’s attention. The whore sits up on her elbows, wide-eyed at the sight before her.

“Sorry sweetheart. You'll get yours in a minute,” he uses his free hand and jams three fingers into her used cunt. “There. Fuck yourself on that.”

Dean gazes down at the man sucking his dick. Whoever would have thought that when he became friends with ‘the new kid that talked funny’ that a few years later he would be balls deep inside the man’s mouth. Dean tries to remember when it all changed but his train of thought derails as he feels his balls tighten, signaling that he was close to cumming. “Ben, I’m gonna shoot my load,” he warns, expecting Benny to pull off and jack him off. Instead the big man hollows his cheeks and sucks. Dean yells as he shoots ropes of cum into the flavored rubber.

He sits back on his haunches and watches as Benny leans up and forwards to finish cleaning him, licking off every drop of the girl's juices. Dean hisses when Benny runs his tongue over the sensitive head. 

“Finish her off,” Dean says as he pulls his fingers from the stranger’s pussy and licks them clean. “I need a smoke.”

Jumping off the bed, Dean barely pays any mind as Benny takes up residence in the same pussy he’d been fucking. He pulls the loaded rubber off and tosses it in the trash bin. They shared a lot, Dean and Benny. From childhood memories to drinks to random hook-ups. Some of those hook-ups left unsatisfied but the two best friends always ended satiated.

Dean sat on the balcony of the hotel, his flaccid, used, sticky prick hanging between his legs. He looks out at the night sky as he lights the joint that had been left behind.

“Dude, have some modesty!” Sam admonishes as he and his lady of the night join Dean moments later. Sam wearing only a pair of boxers but the short brunette’s body was covered with the shirt Sam had sported earlier. Dean looks at the two of them and silently studies them. They are so different. Sam, with his 6 foot 4 inches of height and his date….well she would be lucky if she tipped the scales at an even 5 foot. Sam’s shirt practically swallows her but Dean could tell she is built under it.

“Why? You think your girlfriend will see my dick and forget about you?” He asked, turning his attention to the girl. “Sweetheart, is my brother enough man for you? He thoroughly fuck you or does that little pussy still need to be wrecked?”

Dean felt his member twitch at the thought of pounding into the girl who was trying, and failing, not to look at his groin area.

“Fuck you, Dean!” Sam said as he sits down in the other chair, pulling the girl into his lap. “The only thing I’m sharing with you is that,” Sam replied, pointing at the lit roach pinched between his brother’s index finger and thumb.

THREE HOURS BEFORE

Dean finishes off his drink before pulling on his trademark leather jacket. Tonight, he and his band were in some no-name city on the east coast, on the line up with other up and coming bands to rock the house at. A variety of headline acts were on the venue but Dean knew his band and their music would bring the house down. Winchester Sex Bombs were the best of the whole program. 

A knock on the door alerts the lead singer and lyricist that it was time to head backstage and join the rest of his band. Slipping into his boots, Dean opens the door and exits his room. He follows the PA toward the elevator.

“Packed house tonight,” the man informs him. “I haven’t seen this many people here since the Boss took the stage.”

Dean just smiles at the shorter man. He was used to hearing that they were packing stadiums and arenas as much as Springsteen used to, when he toured. But Dean’s dream was to surpass all those and break attendance records. 

The elevator doors glide open once the metal box stops its descent and Dean can already hear the crowd. The third act of the night is on stage and they are next. The masses sound riled up already and it makes Dean eager to get out there and knock their socks off! It did seem to be a full house, just from the reverberation. Dean’s smile grows as he thought of all the possibilities for the after-concert festivities that the Sex Bombs always engage in.

“Sounds like a fun crowd,” Cas says. His wife, Meg standing near the curtain, peeking out at the horde of fans. She turns and heads toward them, her dark eyes smiling. 

“Man, this is the largest event we’ve ever been a part of,” she gushes and she grabs Cas’ hand and interlocks their fingers. “Can’t wait for them to hear our new material!”

“Yea we’re gonna knock their socks off with ‘Let’s Get Carnal’”, Cas chuckles. “I still can’t believe you wrote that.”

Dean shrugs and gives his best friend a toothy smile. “Can’t take all the credit,” he responds, as the drummer walks up with two beers and hands one to Dean. “Benny co-wrote it.”

“Eh, I jus’ give ya th’ beat. You’re the one who wen’ all vulgar with th’ lyrics,” Benny answers. “But these folks are gonna lose their shit!”

The house goes wild when they take the stage. Dean stands behind the mic stand as the rest of his group take their places with their instruments. Sam begins the beginning chords of the first song in their set as Dean prepares to launch into the lyrics.

Halfway through the second song, Dean eyes a blonde in the second row who looks like she could be a good time. Signaling their manager, Crowley McLeod, Dean points her out knowing the man would work his magic and the girl would be in his room waiting for him after the show.  Dean continues to observe the girl as she dances to his songs. The way her lithe body moves, he knows she'll be a good time later tonight. 

@pink1031​ @spnbaby-67​ @winecatsandpizza​ @joseyrw​ @kricketc28​ @tftumblin​ @markofdean79​

[juliandevwhoreak]

Modern Arcana AU HCs Part 5: Julian Edition

More than three years ago, Vesuvia found itself in the iron grip of a highly contagious and lethal plague. The Oculorubrumvirus, more commonly known as The Red Eye Virus, was thought to coincide with the sudden introduction of an invasive species of red-colored beetle not native to Vesuvia: Liliocerus Lilii, aka the Lily Leaf Beetle.

Entomologists traced this exotic species of beetle to the forests of the far South, found to be endemic to the darkest and most lush areas near caves, where lilies are prone to grow in dense clusters.

Vesuvia’s scientific community could not, however, identify the exact link between the beetles and the new virus, which was beginning to be reported with alarming frequency first on the outskirts of the city, then within the heart of the city itself.

Full-scale panic reached a crescendo when the Prime Minister, himself, was reported as being among the infected.

Enter Dr. Julian Devorak, aspiring virologist and professional vagabond.

It has not escaped my notice that a few of you have drawn comparisons between Dr. Disaster and Crowley the Demon, and I am here for it. He rocks leather blazers, tight jeans, messy hair, and sunglasses: sunglasses during the day, sunglasses at night, sunglasses indoors, outdoors, there will be sunglasses and you’ll just have to deal with it.

Are you a Barista? Can you keep a straight face when a 6′4″ zombie-skeleton-man in scrubs stained with blood and/or vomit shambles up to your counter at the stroke of 5 AM requesting, in what barely counts as English, 6 extra shots of espresso in his lightly-sweetened Venti nitro-brew? Will you smile politely as he frat-boy chugs his drink order right there, slams his glass on the counter and asks for another in a series of grunts and sputtering? Do you gingerly hand him napkins to wipe the stray droplets from his chin and neck? He loves you, darling. He will sink to his knees in supplication and kiss your hands and make sure he tips you generously. You’re an angel, sent to his earth bearing blessings and abundance. You are the center of his universe, you miracle. You absolute treasure.

Has driven the same old, lovingly maintained motorbike for the last 15 years. Her name is Lola, and while she’s not the newest, shiniest model, she gets a good 40 miles to the gallon, she’s sleek, she’s midnight black, and she’s reliable. He never rides with a helmet, but if you were to be his passenger, he would attach her sidecar, make you wear a helmet with the visor down, thank you, and an armored biking jacket, all of which he’d strap you up in while lecturing you about road rash, concussions, and the dangers of gravity.

His secret superpower is attracting a cabal of old, crusty battleax nurses to take care of him at every facility he’s ever provided care at. There’s something about a charming, wan skeleton-man that compels old women to rocket into Nanny-mode. “Christ, Julian, I’ve got this ultrasound, you go lay down on that gurney and get some shut-eye.”

“DOCTOR DEVORAK, drop those charts and come have some tea, you look half-past-dead and gettin’ stiffer, come on.”

Mostly subsists off of what he can find in hospital vending machines and has a large leather sack full of coins just for this purpose.

He’s a certified workaholic and will run on fumes until his body throws a tantrum and gives up, so he ends up passing out in odd places: hunched over kitchen counters, half dressed in a drooling pile on his living room floor, upside down on his couch, in the trunk of his neighbor’s car, under a cart of urine samples at the hospital, curled around a potted plant in the front lobby, and once hanging halfway out of Mazelinka’s window. The worst part is that Maz is on the third floor and his bottom half was hanging out of the window.

These scrubs, and you can fucking fight me about it.

When he’s not killing himself at the hospital, he can be found relaxing at the pub and if you buy him a salty bitters or five, he’ll tell you a few harrowing tales about his time apprenticing as a medic on fishing vessels, especially that one time a tuna clipper he was providing services on was hijacked by Molovian pirates and he had naught but a few inches of rope and a good, solid pipe to defend himself with. The pub regulars have heard it several times, but they always laugh. It’s a favorite.

Has a shitpost meme account on Instagram, and another Instagram where he posts pictures of pranks he’s pulled on other doctors at the hospital.

Has probably the most eclectic taste in music out of the main 6 and bought a Spotify premium account so he could make meticulously curated playlists for every situation. Definitely speeds down the highway on Lola blasting The Black Keys through his airpods.

If things get spicy 🍋 between himself and another person, it’s not wise to roleplay a doctor/patient scenario. He will take it entirely too seriously, regardless of what role he’s in, and the mood will be ruined until other measures are employed.

Ex: “Oh-ho-ho-okay, MC, I’m going to gently hold you here, and you cough for me, ha ha ;)”

MC: *exaggerated sexy cough* ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)

“Oh- oh God, I think you have a testicular hernia, ho-holy shit, ah, have you gotten this checked out before, fuckin’ yikes, we need x-rays yesterday-”

Part 4: Muriel Edition can be found here.

Part 3: Nadia Edition can be found here.

Part 2: Lucio Edition can be found here.

Part 1: Asra Edition can be found here.

[cownnor]

What if at one point cyberlife sends Jericho video footage of Connor being tested. And they sent it to them because they wanted them to see how cold and like robotic Connor is but it kind of backfires and Jericho just feels upset about what Connor had to go through. So Instead of kicking Connor our like cyberlife wanted they just Comfort him and validate him as a human being

MMM this some good shit. You know what I need? here we go let’s play with this. Markus, North, Simon, and Josh are sent a file directly into their systems from Cyberlife. THat’s not supposed to happen anymore so they’re put out. Connor is with them and he’s like “why did i not get a file :(” kinda joking so they go to a conference room to watch the video that was attached. And it shows: 

Connor, completely skinless, staring straight ahead as his engineers test his reaction times in front of a fast speed scale. After he manages to past certain milestones they switch the feed. its another month. They conduct tests on the model to see if he can compute fast enough to escape the path of a bullet: he can’t. he’s not advanced enough yet. Connor model 6-13 die riddled with bullets. 

Connor model 22 is placed in a room with Connor model 1-4. The older models are slower and not as advanced. If they’ve succeeded, 22 will be able to eliminate and kill 1-4. Its four against one, and no one wins. In the end 1-3 are dead, 4 is decapitated, and 22 is missing a leg. The feed cuts. 

The feed is in what looks to be a bomb range. There are several engineers behind ballistic glass. Connor model 25 sits within a 4x4 room, and the room is set on fire to test the fire retardant inner coating on the model’s synthetic muscles. They need to know if this model will be effective in rescue situations. They watch for four hours while the model is burned until it is a puddle. Throughout the feed the Connor model sends them continuous updates on it’s system status. The engineers ignore system stress of 93%. 

Feed cuts to Connor model 31 hung up on a diagnostics rig.  It is only a torso and head. The engineers are explaining to the camera an issue that became noticeable when they drained the last model dry of thirium. They are fixing it. The model stares down at their hands in its chest. 

Feed cuts to a sterile room. This model is fully dressed. It’s jacket says 37. It has a lovely conversation with its engineers. It is sociable and calm. This Connor looks exactly like their Connor, skin and all. The engineers hand it a revolver and leave and it bids them a goodbye. Over the speakers quality reassurance test 498 is announced. “Connor model #313-248-317-37, please initiate self destruct.” Connor takes out the revolver, checks the chamber, turns off the safety, and shoots itself in the head.

Video ends. No one moves because what the fuck do you do after something like that? They just watched their friend burn to death and kill himself. Markus recovers first and whips around to look and see if Connor’s okay but uh oh Connor’s red lighting. Just kinda-- blankly staring. Kinda like he was on the video!! Makrus stands and tries to get his attention but Connor won’t respond to him. Now the others are focused and concerned too but they don’t know what to do either. Connor only reacts after Markus grabs his arm and he snaps back and rears backwards, blinking. “Shit.” Markus kneels down in front of him, taking both his hands, but Connor is still looking at where his dead body is laying on the screen. Josh turns the TV off. North is pacing. Simon looks like he would like to join Markus but doesn;t want to crowd Connor. “I didn’t realize-- I still have those memories, they were just very encrypted. They’re not anymore.” and Markus is like “Let’s go for a walk.” So Markus and Connor and Simon go out to Jericho’s courtyard in the sun and grass and let Connor walk off all the freaked out energy he built up while they try to think of just what the fuck to do now. They both agree that Connor will stay with one of them tonight. Probably Markus, but Simon might pop in and sleep in the recliner just because. 

[recklessrex]

Rexy's Cats OCs Part 4: Jellicle Allies...

Jellicallies!

(Honestly I don't really need the pronunciation guide for these ones because they're just normal names but I'll include it anyway for consistency's sake)

Ezekiel

(eh-ZEE-kee-el) An old acquaintance of Taro's and one of Munk's teachers at the training grounds. A veteran fighter with extensive battle scars

Gruff, sharp, and strong-willed

Also surprising mellow

Big people watcher

Like it's his favorite hobby, just chill and watch the world

Keen and vigilant

Introspective

But not afraid to speak his mind either

Knows how to use weapons, but only does so against enemies that are also armed

"Claws against machetes ain't exactly fair"

Carries one of those snap-out collapsible batons that police use as a quickly deployed, easily concealed emergency weapon

Also very skilled with a staff and can make use of stuff like brooms in a pinch if cornered by a machete wielding madman for example

Yes he taught Munk these things too

Typically very casual in speech

Not always very good at talking about emotions

Cares more than he lets on, or admits to himself

Would rather not care but can't help it

Will risk his life to save yours, scold you for getting yourself in this mess, and then continue on as if nothing happened

Invariably calls Munk "Kit" even when they meet again years later and Munk's an adult

Cares very much for Munk as well as Alonzo and Cass (other students of his) even though he'd rather not "get attached"

Munk, Lonz, and Cass in turn look up to him, respect him, and care about him more than he feels he deserves he'd like to be cared for

Used to be on good terms with Taro, though they met rarely and only when Taro was traveling on ahem "important protector business"

Has increasingly lost respect for Taro over the years

No he's not Yaji's favorite teacher

Asexual/Straight romantic

About Skimble's age, give or take

Average height, athletic

Short, unkempt fur

Calico, white and black with orange blotches including an orange patch over his right eye/ear and crossing over his nose, black over the rest of his head, white chin and neck… and so on

Odd-eyed, the left eye is orange, the right is blue

Lots of scars, including a few noticable ones on the face

Most notably he lost his left ear to a machete weilding madman during the same event that killed Cety's family and Arbutus

Not quite deaf in that ear, but sound on that side is now severely muffled and distant, and pinpointing the direction of sound is much more difficult

Nickname: Zeke

Herman

(HERM-an) A sly, independent young Cat that helps the Jellicles when they arrive at the Isle of Storms (more on that in a future post)

Cool, clever, and resourceful

Like for real, he's Mr Resourceful

Calls himself a "Resource Acquisitions Agent"

Gets shit you need

In return for other shit that maybe he needs or that another "client" needs

Obfuscates obliviousness and nonchalance to hide his keen interest in pretty much everything

Legitimately a chill dude

But has an agenda

What's his agenda? I'm not telling (:

Cares far more than he wants people to realize, but isn't in denial about it like Zeke

Separated from his parents in pre-adolescence, has been taking care of himself ever since

Lives alone in a small tent on a 5 meter square fenced in plot of land

No you can't come in

Well, you can hang out in the garden, but stay out of the tent

Has stuff going on he doesn't want you to see

Lacking in education due to growing up in a severely isolated community with banned heavily controlled "limited" internet access

Dude seriously had never heard of Auschwitz and Munk had to explain it to him

Also limited on his pop-culture knowledge

He's learning

Everyone knows who he is but very few people really know him

Seems to be able to come and go from anywhere, locked doors and fences be damned

Like is he magic? *shrug* maybe, maybe not. I'm not telling C:

Will suddenly appear in your camp to trade you three cans of soup for your warm jacket, then immediately go trade the jacket to someone else for a working desk lamp, then trade the lamp for…

Lol for real tho. Will come through for you. Just be patient and considerate (and have something to offer), and he'll get you anything

Be a jackass and he might decide to leave you to your own devices or maybe swindle you ah um er not give you a bargain discount yeah

Was very interested in the Jellicles, and particularly Munk, from the first day they arrived, for reasons he's keeping to himself thanks very much

No not like that. He doesn't do that. Like literally the one thing he has no interest in whatsoever

Ace/Aro

About Misto's age

Slim and kinda shortish

Soft short fur

Solid grey

Teal-green eyes

Very mild surfer-dude accent left over from his early childhood in southwest California

Nickname: Herm or Hermie but prefers Herman thanks very much. Also called "The Ghost" because he's grey and not at all because of the aforementioned ability to come and go as he pleases he doesn't know what you're talking about bruh he just came through the front like a normal person you dudes are crazy

Some notes

My feelings on male calicos in the Cats universe here

The "event" I keep talking about was on a global scale, Zeke wasn't associated with the Jellicles at that time, aside from occasionally encountering Taro. More on that event coming up in a future post if I can ever get it banged out

There's a lot about Herman that I know, but I don't want to reveal until I actually get around to writing this story

Also Herman isn't my only ace or aro character, just the first one where it's come up in context while writing these bios, idk why I didn't think to list sexuality/romantic orientation before…

brb editing previous bios real quick

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5 Part 6

[linskywords]

1M Words Week: 1988 Dragons

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7

The second in a series of seven starts of unfinished stories I’m posting to celebrate my having hit 1M words on AO3 (today!!!1!!11!!).

This one is an AU where dragons are real, non-hockey-player Jonny gets turned into one, and hockey-player Patrick finds him in an alley.

The important thing, Patrick thinks as he smuggles the half-grown dragon into his apartment at three in the morning, is that the team can never know about this.

***

Patrick’s not planning to smuggle an illegal dragon when he comes home that night. Obviously not. He’s just out, minding his own business, coming back from a totally respectable evening. Or, fine, maybe he’s a little drunk. But he’d challenge even the soberest of soberers not to be moved by that little dragon face in an alley.

So what if at first he was terrified. Humans are supposed to be terrified of dragons, okay, it’s like survival instinct or whatever. But this little guy, well, he clearly isn’t like the ferals they warn you about on the news. Patrick took one look and leapt back, because he was drunk, not stupid, but the dragon didn’t charge him or go for his throat or anything. He just turned his head, leaned it against the pile of garbage, and keened.

After that, there was no hope for Patrick.

So yeah, he knows how dumb it is. But that’s why he’s smuggling, at three a.m.

This would be easier if he lived in one of those normal-people buildings without a doorman. As it is, Patrick’s going to have to do some quick thinking.

“Oh heyyyy,” he says to the doorman, whose name is Teddy. He’s pretty sure. “Um, do you want to look out here? I saw a…thing.”

Teddy gives him a narrow-eyed look. Teddy definitely thinks he’s drunk. Which, to be fair, is true.

Fortunately for Patrick, Teddy gets paid to not call residents on their questionable drunk antics. “Certainly, Mr. Kane,” he says, and he gets his undoubtedly long-suffering self up from behind the desk and goes to look outside.

Goes right towards Patrick, who definitely didn’t think this through. Patrick angles his body in the hope that it will obscure the suspiciously smoking lump under his jacket. “Um, I meant by the back door!” he yelps, and Teddy gives him a weird look but turns and goes toward the door to the parking garage. Patrick seizes the moment to make a break for the elevators.

The doors slide close, and Patrick slumps a little in relief. Not too far, though, because his balance is definitely thrown off by the dragon in his coat.

The dragon hisses his displeasure at all the rapid movements. It scrabbles at Patrick’s belly when the elevator lurches, and it’s not like it’s actually trying to dig into Patrick’s skin, but dragon claws are no joke, okay?

“Stop it,” Patrick mutters at the dragon. “We’re almost there.”

The dragon bats at the collar of his coat, like it’s making a bid for freedom.

“No, you can’t get out,” Patrick says. “I have neighbors. What if one of them comes into the elevator at three a.m., huh?”

In that case, they’d probably notice the dragon even under Patrick’s coat. But at least it might take them, like, a couple extra seconds to do so.

The elevator finally, <i>finally</i> comes to a stop at Patrick’s floor, and Patrick speed walks down the hall to his condo. There’s a really nosy woman in the condo across the hall, and he wouldn’t put it past her to be away at three in the morning, peering out her peephole just waiting for illegal dragon smugglers to come by. Or something.

The dragon makes a pitiful noise from inside his coat. “Yeah, yeah, just a minute,” Patrick says, and he manages to get the door open and staggers into the kitchen so that he can dump the dragon onto the table.

If the dragon was unhappy inside his coat, it seems to be even less pleased with being dumped on a table. Smoke curls from its nostrils in a distinctly displeased manner. Patrick’s glad he went with the kitchen and not somewhere more flammable, like the living room couch.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he says. “First rule. You are not allowed to light anything on fire.”

The dragon huffs a breath.

“I mean it,” Patrick says. “First fire in here, and you’re going straight back outside.”

The dragon looks away and starts preening a wing. Patrick swears it looks unimpressed.

It was hard to tell outside, but it turns out it’s actually a reddish dragon. Reddish-black, maybe. Like, in some lights, it looks like some of its scales are red and others are black, but then if Patrick moves his head they’ll switch, like some kind of holograph.

“Hey, you’re kinda pretty,” Patrick says. He reaches out a hand to touch the dragon’s head, and it snaps at him and hisses. Then it goes back to cleaning its wing.

“Okay, okay, no touching, I got it.” Patrick doesn’t mention that he had to touch the dragon plenty to get it here. “So, you want some food?”

The dragon swings its head back around so fast Patrick’s surprised it doesn’t get injured. “Ha, thought so,” Patrick says with a grin and goes to see what he has in his fridge.

He’s not really sure what dragons eat, but probably meat, right? He has a couple of steaks in the freezer, and he throws one of them into the microwave to defrost. It’s maybe not the healthiest meal, but he doesn’t want to deal with the complications of dragon digestion until he’s done some research.

Speaking of which. He should probably do some of that. He’s not sure if it’s safe to Google dragon care from his laptop, though. What if the government watches that shit? He’s pretty sure the Dragon Containment Bureau doesn’t care <i>that</i> much, but you never know with governments. Maybe he can get an actual book. If they even make one. It’s not like dragon-rearing is a legal activity.

Hm. He’s starting to realize why this was such a dumb thing to do.

The steak is defrosted, so he takes it out of the microwave. It’s still, you know, raw, but that’s probably how dragons like their food, right? “Here you go,” he says, depositing the plate in front of the dragon.

The dragon looks at it. Then at Patrick. Then at the food. Then back at Patrick.

“What?” Patrick says. “Is it the wrong cut for you?”

The dragon rolls its eyes. Honestly. It should not be possible for a dragon to roll its eyes, but it does.

“Well, it’s all I have,” Patrick says. He crosses his arms. “If you want rare manticore, it’ll have to wait for the morning.”

The dragon appears to think it over for a minute. Or maybe just to sulk. It’s hard to tell, with a dragon face. Then it lowers its head and takes a delicate bite. Then another bite, much less delicate and much faster, like all of a sudden it realized it was ravenous and needs to eat the entire steak in the next five seconds.

“Okay, so you do like it,” Patrick says, just as the dragon makes a little yelping sound like pain and flinches hard.

“Oh—oh shit, you’re hurt,” Patrick says, because yeah, that’s probably not what a dragon’s wing is supposed to look like.

The dragon keens softly and turns its head to start doing the thing it was doing to its wing before. So, not grooming, then. Patrick raises a hand to touch, and the dragon hisses again.

“I’m not going to hurt it,” Patrick says. “I just want to see.”

The dragon looks at him for a long moment. Patrick holds its gaze. The dragon’s eyes are a really deep brown, and maybe Patrick’s imagining the pain he can see in them. But finally it moves its head back and lets Patrick get at the wing.

Patrick touch his fingers to the scaly surface. It’s surprisingly warm—the dragon’s whole body was warm when Patrick had it under his jacket, but this is pulsing hotter than that. Like an infected wound. The wing is a thin membrane of flesh strung on a webbing of bone, except for one spot where the flesh is torn and the bone is bent at an angle that really doesn’t look natural.

Patrick touches the wing near the wound. The dragon hisses a little but doesn’t move away. Patrick is suddenly reminded that he’s drunk and utterly without dragon knowledge. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, I don’t know how to fix this. And it’s two in the morning, so probably we can’t do anything about it now. But tomorrow—tomorrow we’re gonna figure this out, okay?”

The dragon looks skeptical. It’s not the only one.

[seasonofthegeek]

When the Sun Met the Moon: Hunt

Written for @marichatmay

Days 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30:

“Let me in or I’ll call the police right now,” Adrien growled against the closed front door. “You’ll go down with him, Nathalie. You know you will.” He stood back when he heard the lock click and the door opened inward.

“I didn’t know he would go this far,” Nathalie said, not meeting his eyes as he moved past her.

“There’s no point in lying to me now.”

She finally took in his injuries and he saw the shock on her face. “Are you okay?”

He stared at her, baffled. Was he okay? Of course he wasn’t okay. In what world was any of this okay? He ignored her question and the twinge of pain when he balled his hands into fists. Fighting with a sprained wrist and recently dislocated shoulder wouldn’t be easy but he wouldn’t back down. “Where is he?”

“They’re in the master suite.”

Her words gave him pause and Adrien turned back to look at her. “Is she...”

She gave him a small nod but dropped her gaze again. “Emilie’s back.” Her voice was quiet.

Adrien walked up the staircase he’d ascended so many times, not bothering to check if Nathalie was following him. It was a surreal feeling as he moved closer to the door and heard his mother’s voice. He was suddenly a child again and walking down the dark hall after having a bad dream, intent on crawling up the bed to sleep between his parents where it was safe.

There was no safety here anymore.

He needed to focus on his hunt for Gabriel. If he let himself get swept up in seeing his mother well again, he would lose steam. Even now, he could feel his rage receding to the back of his mind. It would be so nice to feel her hold him close again, to see her eyes light up with recognition, to hear her say his name...

Adrien pushed open the door and let his eyes sweep over the room before they focused on his father. He crossed the distance between them and grabbed the front of Gabriel’s shirt in his good hand. He heard a feminine gasp from the side but tried not to think too much on it. “Give them back,” he demanded, twisting the expensive fabric in his fist.

Gabriel peered at his son over the frames of his glasses, his face a mask of indifference. “I did what had to be done. You’ll learn to forgive me. Now say hello to your mother.”

“Adrien...” Emilie’s voice was hesitant and uncertain behind him.

He swallowed hard and glared at his father. “Marinette’s in the hospital because of you.”

“Or perhaps because you had her scale down the side of the house.” Gabriel lifted his chin. “You could’ve left through the door at any time, you know.”

“Don’t act like this is my fault. You poisoned us!” The sound of tearing fabric followed his words as Adrien’s fist twisted further in his father’s shirt. “Now give me back the Miraculous. All three of them.”

In an unexpected movement, Gabriel kicked out and swept Adrien’s legs from underneath him. The younger man released the shirt in surprise and hit the floor with a loud thud.

“Gabriel!”

Adrien tried to gather back the breath that had been knocked out of him in the fall and felt gentle hands pulling him into a sitting position. His vision swam for a few seconds before his mother came into focus in front of him. 

“Oh, sweetheart. You’ve grown so much.” Careful fingers traced the injuries on his face before Emilie looked up at her husband. “Are you responsible for this?”

“Emilie, Adrien is a grown man, not a child. He went against what I--”

“Answer the question, Gabriel.” Her jaw clenched and she squeezed Adrien’s arm before standing to square up the other man. “Did you do this to him?”

“Some of it,” he admitted. “Some of it is self-inflicted. He wasn’t being held against his will. There was no reason to leave out the window.” His expression softened and he reached for his wife. “I had to bring you back, Em. You were trapped. This was the only way.”

“Helping me is never worth hurting our son. Never.”

“Emilie...”

She ignored him and offered Adrien a hand up. “Come with me, Adrien. We’ll get you something for the pain and then I want you to tell me everything.”

Adrien shared an angry look with his father and then let himself be led out of the room.

______________________________

Adrien felt like he was barely moving as he finally made it up the last step of Master Fu’s building. He knocked on the door and leaned against the frame as he waited on an answer. He let his eyes close and fell forward as the door swung open. Master Fu caught him and led him inside, coaxing him down to the floor mat.

“Here.” Adrien reached into his jacket pocket and produced the Ladybug, Black Cat, and Butterfly Miraculous. They tumbled to the mat unceremoniously. 

“Gabriel used the power then.” Master Fu looked down at the activated jewelry. “Have you noticed anything different?”

“My mom is healed but nothing other than that. I can hardly see straight at this point.” Adrien yawned and leaned dangerously to the side.

“You should sleep.” The older man swept up the Miraculous and carried them away.  

“I need to go see Marinette.” He attempted to stand but Master Fu pressed a hand to his shoulder, keeping him down. 

“Sleep now, Chat Noir. You’ll be no good to her in this condition.” He began to hum and a pleasant fragrance filled the air. Adrien felt warm and then his world went dark.

______________________________

Alya stood across the room, arms crossed as she watched Adrien process the information. She, Tom, and Sabine had managed to keep him away from Marinette for over a week now but she knew he wasn’t going to give up trying to see her until he knew the truth.

“She...what does she remember?” he finally asked. His eyes were shiny with unshed tears.

"She doesn’t have any memory of being Ladybug. She freaked out when I showed her some pictures so her parents and I decided to play it off as something from a costume party. Just another memory she lost in the accident.” Alya looked down at her hands. “But she seems fine otherwise. She remembers her childhood and old school friends and when we met. She knew we were roommates. She didn’t remember the kittens but she’s already fallen in love with them all over again.”

He blinked at the tears began to trail down his cheeks. “She doesn’t know who I am, does she?”

Alya shook her head and honestly felt bad for the guy. She knew Adrien has never meant for any of this to happen but she felt relief at knowing Marinette wouldn’t be caught in the middle of anything else involving the Agrestes. “I deleted any trace of you off her phone so she wouldn’t stumble onto anything. She’s already so worried and confused as it is.”

Adrien swallowed hard and nodded. “Um, so what does she think happened?”

“She thinks she was drugged at a bar and when she tried to leave, she was involved in a hit and run. We needed something to explain the mental and physical issues. She’s happy to be alive.” She shifted uncomfortably. “Master Fu told me about your parents and your mom leaving and everything. I know there isn’t anything legal we can do about your dad without dragging Marinette into it, but...”

“He’s not going to have a single day of rest, I can promise you that.” Adrien clenched his teeth together. “Somehow I knew if this happened, it would be her. I can’t believe I...” He trailed off and bit down hard on his lip, trying to keep in the sob that was threatening to tear from his throat.

“For what it’s worth, she really loved you.” Alya wasn’t sure if it was kind or cruel to say but she needed him to know. “I’ve never seen her so happy with someone before.” She spotted the silver ring on his finger. “Are you going to keep being Chat Noir?”

He took a moment to compose himself and nodded. “Whatever was involved in the ritual, it fixed the Miraculous. I can transform in the day now too. Someone needs to watch over the city and I feel like I have a lot to pay for.”

Alya heard the unspoken words and knew their apartment in particular would have a watchful guardian whether she liked it or not. “You can get in contact with me if you need to, but I think for now, it would be best to give her some space. Without the responsibility of Ladybug, who knows what she might want to do. This is a brand new life for her.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t want her to ever get hurt on my account again. I’ll...I’m going to watch out for her, but I’ll keep my distance. She deserves the best life she can possibly have.”

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Devil’s No. 1 (6)

Chapter 6: The Devil Wears Nada

Loki x fem!Reader, Bucky x fem!Reader

Theme: The definitions of devils, angels, demons etc. are twisted here in this world. But some things remain the same.

Series: Will contain violence, death, destruction, softness, fluff, smut, everything that my mind can conjure, really.

Chapter warnings: None. a demon.

A/N: This was written two years ago (I think) on @phantomrose96 ‘s prompt/situation of a shy girl summoning the devil to be friends with him (and something else that he does but I’ll leave that part out for you guys to have fun with). But I- being thirsty for tragedies- twisted things a little.

Word Count: It’s 5 am. The sugar rush has receded. My eyes are paining but my heart is happy.

MASTERLIST in bio, love. Tags are open

art credit: @russian-hiddlestoner

"Where do you think you're going?"

"I uh...I'm going...with you?"

The silence lingering in your apartment was chilly at best. In between the mess that was strewn around you- both inside and out- and your life in the hands of the Devil himself, it seemed sane to go with him to find Peter.

But to Loki, who watched your arms crossing your chest, your fingers digging into the skin while your eyes looking everywhere but at him, your body wasn't really ready.

He loved taking his sweet time to see the most minute chill you felt wherever his icy gaze landed.

My oh my!

He had never seen someone be so delicately sensitive to his gaze. That too in a good way.

You, on the other hand, were trying your best not let your heart give out for there was a chance that you might see those eyes again and be trapped in them forever. Not in a good way.

"Oh, Y/N, pet," his voice came as the wind-chime in a thunderstorm, sweet and ominous simultaneously, "you are not going anywhere with me. I will be bringing the boy back while you sit here and think of how not to disappoint yourself and your new best friend."

"...okay. Sir. Loki. Listen, please. I want to go with you because I have to."

"Don't you trust me?"

Your brows wanted to reach the sky along with the silence that came out with your interrupted lungful of breath.

Is he really asking me that?

"Relax, little one. I will deliver that boy to you. He is part of the deal after all."

"Yeah, that's the thing. I know you will deliver him but I have to be there because he is my responsibility. In many ways. So...please, mi-ahem-Loki, let me go with you."

The essence of complete fear stank around you and to Loki's amusement you still wanted to ride with the devil.

"I'm not taking you with me looking like that," he spewed in your direction without so much as breaking his elegance.

You looked at yourself in mild confusion. "But...I just had a bath."

A low groan of disapproval left Loki's throat as whatever ounce of confidence that you had gathered slowly faded away right where it had originated from- in the hollow darkness around you.

"Wait here, I'll comb my hair and...put some perfume on," you muttered.

Your feet tried to find the floor on your way to the room while Loki watched your back, his suspiciously glistening greens never leaving you.

"Minnerva," he called out to the thin air.

"Yes, Sire," her grave voice came from behind his right shoulder.

"Give me Y/N's file."

He hadn't even said the f-word when Minnerva was producing her tablet forward to show him your history while you tried to find something to wear.

"And take some medication while you're at it," he raised his voice just a smidge, the honey-laden grace never leaving his throat, "I don't want you puking your guts out on me."

Loki looked down at the tablet, his expressions a complete blank turning to slight twitch of amusement in his brows before a smirk found its way on his lips.

"Well, I'll be damned," he whispered.

"You already are, sire," Minnerva quipped.

"Right, my pet? This is one quite absurdly unique human who has found me."

"How so?"

"Remember the human form of tides we talked about that we cursed creatures ride on."

"Distinctly."

"She's experiencing one. And looks like I am about to surf right in time for a raging tsunami," he smirked.

The click of the door sounded and Loki's nostrils flared at an aroma he was too familiar with.

"Mmm," he moaned, his eyes closing to let the scent linger inside his head before he had to see the dull humanity again, "Bvlgari."

You scratched an itch on your neck before nodding and giving a muted 'yes'.

"It was a gift," you cleared your throat before picking up your jacket. "Right. So...where are we going?"

Loki watched your jacket, his eyes coming to linger on your face before he sighed and looked around the space, his jaw doing a twist while his hands came to rest in his pant pockets.

"Y/N. Darling," he tried- he really did- to slowly breathe out your name, "we are not going to be scouring your dump of a city. We will be going straight to the boy."

He found the tiny grooves between your confused brows quite amusing- not to mention hilarious.

"I know."

This tiny concrete piece of confidence in your voice pinched him for some reason and one could see him lock his jaw hard right on that exquisite face before releasing it.

"Fine," he concluded, "come closer then, sweet one. Hand me a property of that boy."

Putting on your jacket you took out a piece of folded paper from inside one of your pockets before placing it in those big pale hands, subconsciously getting a touch of that cold skin.

"My my," Loki commented flatly as he unfolded the paper to look at the stick figures Peter had drawn, "putting Van Gogh to shame."

One of them quite closely resembled Elsa from Frozen.

"Could you please concentrate, and let it g-"

Your head registered Loki smiling as he watched you.

"Let it what?"

He knew!

"Nevermind."

Before you could say something more, Loki's hands were already on your hips snaking their way to your back from beneath the open jacket. All the heat that had been gathering inside you, you could feel it being siphoned off by him as he pulled you close to him- too close. You could see every little groove on his face, every mole over his neck, even those peeping from beneath the collar of that crisp black shirt. You could even smell him.

And he smelled something like a forest in snow would- cold, still, crisp, dormant, hibernating, an animal resting, a chilly breeze carrying the scent of the frozen lake and pine trees.

He was everything that death was supposed to be.

And yet was alive within with something inhuman underneath.

Is that what it was like to be the devil?

"Let's find out," his lips gently whispered close to your ears, brushing against every little hair on over your forehead "shall we?"

.

"Come on. We haven't got all day," Loki announced as he fixed his collar and straightened his cuff.

You, on the other hand, were on your hands and knees, trying to make sense of the blur before toppling over and coming to rest on your back.

The room spun a bit more till it finally came to a standstill.

"I'm fine," you tried to speak through panicked breaths, "I'm fine."

He was right, you thought to yourself, I should have taken something for the... travelling sickness.

While you tried to get up, Loki looked at the paper in his hand before putting it in his inner pocket.

"So much for building a snowman," he muttered to himself, looking straight ahead.

The structure around them looked like a mansion or boarding house out of time, with wooden boards and stairs broken, windows shattered or missing, wild grass growing everywhere. The doors were off their hinges while some vulgar graffiti soiled one of the walls.

"Are we-"

"In the right place."

You could only see one side of his face but this half determined, half thrilled look made you feel like he knew something you didn't. And that was one of the reasons your head wasn't the only thing thumping.

"I can smell the blood and torture here," he commented, quite pleased with himself.

The cracked portraits you passed carried a haunting impression that made you walk faster and lot closer to the devil than you wanted to.

"Pop quiz for you, Y/N," Loki chimed out of nowhere taking up a bit of dust from the frames around him, "what does an animal do when they realise they have done something their master won't like."

He breathed in the air and made what your friends would have called his orgy-face- the same thing you did when you smelled a good old book.

You knew you could not question his insanity so you did what you were told.

"Umm, dogs tend to hide in their comfort spots. Usually in a corner where they think they won't be found. Or a spot they think their parents won't find out about."

You heard a low chuckle from the figure walking in front of you.

Now that does not sound right.

"Winner winner-"

One moment you had been standing right in the hall of the remnants of the huge house while in the next you were walking two floors above into a space that looked like a dining hall minus the luxury of chairs and a banquet.

"-demon dinner," Loki growled as the wall in front of both of you exploded, taking one of you by utter surprise.

A creature in seemingly solid form with slime and scales everywhere on its body and a jaw that opened so wide to scream its existence out that you thought it was off its hinges. Eyes as black as the purest coal bore into Loki while the saliva dripped from its fangs. The incoherent screams felt like they would rip through you any moment.

But Loki stood there unbothered. In fact, he seemed quite satisfied with the unbearable pain that had started surrounding you.

And then it all made sense.

"Loki!" You tried to shout over the screeches of that beast, "stop torturing him!"

"What?" Loki turned to you blankly, and the shrieks died. "I thought you wanted an outing with your new friend."

For fuck's sake...

You turned towards the demon who kept uttering something in a language foreign to you. "Where's the boy?"

The demon looked at you for the first time, and within an instant, sprang towards you with its jaws wide open with every intent devour your bones.

And like an unspoken underlying instinct, you jumped and grabbed Loki's arm, hiding behind him.

Loki didn't move. He did not have to.

"Step within ten feet of her and the only thing you would be seeing is the hellfire I created from the souls you tortured."

His entire being stood between you and the demon, his eyes brought the blood-curdling scream to a whimper, his words reduced the beast to a crying lost cub looking for something to hide underneath.

"What are you waiting for? Answer her," he commanded without any effort, forcing the creature to look between the two of you in confusion before it pointed to the unbroken part of the wall it had exploded through, where a pile of old furniture lay.

"Peter?" Your aching larynx called out for the boy as you stepped forward and walked towards the pile, keeping yourself as far away from the demon as possible, never realising the demon was trying to do the same.

You could already see a pale hand in between the pile from three steps away, forcing a curse out of your mouth and sending you into a scare to quickly move everything away before you could finally reach him and grab his limp body out.

"Peter," you tried to speak through the breathlessness you were currently experiencing, "oh God! Peter!"

You checked for his breathing and his pulse.

"He's fine," your declared, teary-eyed, to Loki.

Why you did that, you do not know.

Picking up the unconscious boy, you carefully adjusted his head on your shoulder before hurrying back to Loki's side.

"One rule, Icarus." Loki's voice echoed through the dilapidated walls and hollow foundations.

You had no idea how he was doing it. He wasn't shouting, nor screaming. But the ice in his calm voice asserted the right amount of pressure you didn't want it to be.

"One. Rule."

Your hands wrapped themselves around Peter's waist, securing him in your hold as you took a step back from the one entity in the room radiating overwhelming gelidity.

"No children."

Icarus, the demon, grunted and muttered something under his breath, never once having the balls to look right into Loki's eyes.

"Hmm?" Loki tilted his head a bit, turning his ear less than an inch towards the demon. "What was that? What did you just spew, you worthless pile of mud-goblin?"

Icarus blinked and moved back a little. You could sense that beast had hit a wrong nerve.

Icarus said something, this time loud and clear.

Loki turned to you, his eyes swirling with tiredness.

Now that was something new.

"The audacity of this bitch," he stated before snapping his fingers.

A flat line of noise originating from somewhere far away seemed to get closer with every passing second, making Icarus wriggle in fear where he stood.

It cried in its incoherent language some more.

"Oh, I'll leave the judgement to those hungry bastards, demon," Loki concluded with a smile that never reached his eyes.

Shrieks filled the room and you could feel the pressure on your back increase five folds.

Something really worse had entered the space and it was affecting you apart from making that demon run for a corner to hide in.

With Peter's weight on your shoulders, you felt nauseous, chilling sweats running down everywhere throughout your body while your legs gave away to make you fall into something...soft.

"You might want to close your eyes, sweet one," Loki spoke softly as he brought you back on your legs, the pressure upon you receding for some reason.

You did as you were told. But not before you buried Peter's head in your chest and put one hand around his ear.

Icarus' lungs burst with the the cries that would have woken up the dead before all went silent.

.

"Baymax was really underrated."

You open your eyes and find yourself in a room with posters of Baymax, Inside Out, The Emperor's New Groove, and Lilo & Stitch.

On a study table by the window were figurines of Naruto, Sasuke, and Orochimaru.

You carefully laid Peter down on his bed, making sure he wasn't hurt anywhere.

"This kid could've done better," Loki commented as he tipped Sasuke's figurine and let it fall down with a clatter, grabbing all your heightened- and definitely tired- senses.

"Could you-" you nearly shouted before composing yourself and turning down into a whisper- "please shush it. There are other...humans here."

"Relax, they can't hear us," Loki groaned, tipping Orochimaru this time.

You were tucking Peter under his quilt when you felt a soft cold blow tickle your ear.

"And don't you. Shush me. Ever again."

The whisper right inside your ear coiled up all parts of you as his lips ever so lightly brushed right at the edge of you.

Your hands went by the side of the bed to look for support as you tried to get away from the devil while he smiled at the way he was playing your chords. The music he was producing seemed to please him.

"Y/N," a familiar voice called for you.

You turned to look at a conscious Peter looking at you with every bit of emotion through his eyes.

You turned to look at Loki but he was nowhere to be seen.

"I'm here, Pete," you whispered before laying a hand on his forehead. "Are you okay?"

He nodded.

"That demon-"

"Won't hurt you anymore. I promise you," you assured him, stroking his hair.

"That man with you," Peter gulped, "he saved me. He's an angel, isn't he?"

You pressed your lips- not knowing what to tell him- before planting a kiss on his head.

"You've been through too much. Get some sleep, hon. We'll talk in the morning, okay?"

Peter slumped into his pillow and closed his eyes while you softly patted him to sleep.

.

"Loki?" You whispered through the empty corridor of the house.

There was no sign of him whatsoever. No sounds except for the clock's ticking and the snores coming from the master bedroom.

"Loki?" You called out again.

Nada.

"Oh, Loki!" You moaned in frustration, feeling an icy chill go right through your spine.

Oh n-

"Keep calling my name like that, kitten, and we'll be best friends with some really worthy benefits."

"Wh-"

You wanted to be disgusted by it but you were already being sucked through space back to your apartment and only had enough energy to keep yourself from throwing up as you landed back right where you'd vanished from.

.

"They were sleeping."

Loki sighed as twisted two fingers and the shot glass filled with the Jäger you two had left behind.

"That's what humans usually do, Y/N." He sat down on the sofa in your living room and downed the shot.

"No, Loki," you sat down next to him, "they were sleeping when their son was missing!"

Lokis swallowed another shot and raised a finger.

"Adopted son."

"What?"

"Didn't you know?"

"...no."

"He has a blood relative. An aunt that lives in New York."

"...oh."

You wanted to ask him how he knew that but thought it was better to keep your mouth shut and not land yourself into something you could have easily avoided.

Plopping down into the sofa you relaxed a bit, feeling some part of you feel a little light.

"For second today, I thought his father...his adoptive father would explode at me by the way he..."

Your hand moved on its own to caress the throbbing part of your arm where he'd held you so carelessly.

Loki glanced at your arm before trying to sit back in his chair, moving around a bit, trying to find the source of his discomfort before his hands found it and took out a plushie of a cat.

He looked at the stuffed toy with pure judgement before placing it on the sofa's arm on his side and placed the bottle of liquor between the toy's limbs.

Loki took your empty shot glass and the two seconds it took for it to come to you, it was filled with Jäger.

"Relax your nerves, kitten."

The smooth herby liquid went right down your throat and the swirl came a bit later when you were already three shots down. The beauty of Jäger.

"Why did Icarus betray you?"

Loki breathed in and opened his mouth to speak.

"Oh, Icarus! Now I remember where I've heard this name. Icarus and the sun! Huh!"

Loki's brow judged you with everything it had while his lips basked in your drunken state.

"He didn't seem like the type who'd go and betray you, though. I mean he looked like a two-year-old on a sugar rush, really. Like a child angry at his parent for not getting him something he saw at the store."

"Yeah, I told him not to hunt children once before too-" Loki turned towards you and rested his head on his curled hand over the sofa headrest, looking at you, "-but that was thousands of years ago."

"Then someone else must have shown him the store."

You gulped down another shot.

"Minnerva's really cute, though," you spoke to yourself. At least that's what you thought.

"Something tells me you get quite interesting once you get drunk."

The sixth shot was swirling around in your mouth when your head turned to look at Loki and your index finger went up in a 'first-of-all'.

"I'm drinking to forget all the things you've'n saying and doing to me all night. I'm also drinking to forget the things you would be saying or doing to me later tonight. Capice? And, we still have work to do."

The glow that had come over Loki's face disappeared.

"No wonder you haven't had sex in a long while."

You gasped.

"Excuse me!" You sat up straight, turning towards him, forgetting who it was you were squaring up against, "Just because I am drunk does not mean I will hook up with anyone! Especially you!"

It was Loki's turn to be offended.

"First of all," he began, "donot for a single moment forget you are talking to the devil, you minx. I am unbelievable in bed. I can make you feel all nerves of the entire universe and its galactic charm in fifteen minutes and it will be so apocalyptic that every neuron in your body will remember that sensation; so will the elemental foundations of your soul even when you ascend into a higher dimension."

You gulped, blinked and put your leg above the other.

"And second of all, even when you should loosen up and drink, you do not stop being a professional. Even the devil has some standards, human! I look forward to foreplay and pleasure, not some sloppy drunken sex that feels like work."

You did not know what to say.

I cannot believe the devil is better than so many men I've met.

"I'm sorry," you muttered, feeling weird yet not that uncomfortable apologising to the devil.

The shot glass went back on the table.

"Business first then," he clasped his hands together. "Let's suck that life-threatening force from inside you."

You looked at him, appalled for a second.

"I-uh...I didn't....how did you know?"

Your gut was still not used to the smirk on his lips.

"I'm the devil, darling. If I cannot smell the ever so pungent darkness that dims the everbright soul then who am I, really?"

Your throat let out a hum while your head nodded.

"How long?" He asked.

"It's been three months," you responded while playing with your shot glass.

"And," you continued, the raised momentum in your voice catching Loki off guard, "I've already sold my soul to you so why not just live the last five days of my life with less pain and whatever it is that is killing me from the inside."

Loki eyed you, studying the emotions hidden in plain sight in your eyes.

"You do realise I will be inside you if you want me to untether whatever it is that is sucking the life out of you?"

You played the words that just came out of his mouth in your head and narrowed your eyes at him.

"Puns fully intended," he teased.

"Please. Don't," you pleaded. "Just do whatever you have to do to get this heaviness off me. And while you're insid-possessing me, please don't do anything I wouldn't do. I beg you."

"Oh! How lovely. That leaves me with so many choices." The sarcasm dripped in this one.

Putting your leg up on the sofa you straightened your back as much as you could.

"Okay, let's get on with it, then."

Loki chuckled.

"For someone who has studied about me, you sure seem to forget that I cannot just enter you, pet. I need you to give me your consent."

He moved the unruly strands of your hair away from your face, making your feel some shivers you had not felt in a very long time.

"You need to say yes."

"Yes?"

"And you need to seal your consent."

All you could do was blink at those smaragdines that were staring right into your soul, as cold fingers pulled up your chin.

"What do you want to say?" He asked gently.

"Yes," you exhaled with a relieving ache.

His thumb rubbed that edge of your jaw, his eyes taking off your soul's layers.

"Go ahead then," his command sounded more like the minstrel's song in the spring.

And you did go ahead, letting your lips meet his, feeling those cold supple ones with your heated throbs.

Your eyes closed as you felt yourself drawn into his icy touch, letting your lips chase his more; the urge to taste him growing with every second before you felt complete darkness and your bodies went limp over the sofa, seeming like they were in deep slumber.

.

The radio in your kitchen tuned on and started playing Ann Margaret's What Am I Supposed To Do; the music relatively slow and eerie to the taste of the apartment with no one but the inanimate objects and two lifeless bodies to hear it.

A few moments later the window in the living room opened, giving way to a strong gust of wind that knocked the dead bamboo plant from over the fridge, and as it went down, a magnet on the fridge door stuck to its side.

The glass bowl that the bamboo had rested in for so long shattered and the muddy, worm-infested water spilt over the kitchen floor.

The magnet, that was an angel, lay there between the water and broken glass.

Just as Ann sang her last verse, an echo reverberated through the air before sending a cosmic pulse from the centre of the radio as one powerful ripple throughout the apartment.

The song finished, the radio died and the cold silence came back again.