#I'm so glad I am writing it the way I am now

[zepskies]

@lamentationsofalonelypotato

LOL jumping right back into the ocean of feels! 😬

I won't get my hopes up. I will be just as devastated now as when I find out that he is gone for good. 😭

Aww stay strong, my friend!! 💪🏽

Also I love that you said her mother refused to "entertain anything else" because Dean's job description is literally "anything else" lol. And it really is a wonderful thing (not wonderful like good but you know what I mean) that Dean and the reader can further connect on. Her knowing what Dean really did for a living and him being brave enough to risk his life on the possibility of "a chance."

Lol quite literally "anything else." 😆 Yeah the reader formed a connection with John through reading his journal entries, and now she can better understand Dean and connect with him too. 💞💞

I think Dean would've risked his life to gank the evil thing regardless, but definitely willing to do it for her, even if he finds her dad or not. 💔

It's too late for that kind of talk sexy mountain man. You're stuck with her and she is not going to let you go that easy.

LMAO this took me out. It's very much too late for that -- she's not letting him go for anything now. 😝

Am I trying to hide my emotions over Dean going into the wilderness alone to face a wendigo with humor? Yes, yes I am.

ehehehe 😜

It's a whole vibe 🍞 Side note: I did have to look up what nesting was in the A/B/O universe, but that is so cute. 😭

Ahaha I love GBBO so it got a special mention. (Also me going, how the hell is she gonna pass time for a full week? 😂)

Aww yes, nesting is so cute isn't it? Even if she had nested in Dean's room, compelled by her anxiety, I think it would've melted his surly heart loll.

Oh goodness, yes it was a bad idea and I am so happy that Dean showed up when he did, because my anxiety for this reader was THROUGH THE ROOF. I mean yes, go get your man, but gurl please it's snowing and you've got a broken ankle. At least catch a bear or something to pull you on a sleigh lol. 🤣

SUCH a bad idea loll. I had to have Dean intervene there. Exactly like, go get your man, but not on a broken ankle, hun. 🤣 "Catch a bear" -- I'm deceased. I think she's pretty much done with bears from now on! LOL 🐻

See this is why I don't get my hopes up because OH MY SWEET GOODNESS I'M CRYING 😭 But at least Dean is there now to wipe away her tears. AND my tears will soon be dried with the fires of their passion so... LOL 😂

bby we're all crying, but like you said, at least Dean's there to pick you up (and warm you up). 😏❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

See I feel better already 🥰

Oh good! lol that's what I was hoping for.~~

This is such a wonderful comparison to what it's like being around him for the reader. It holds the warmth and the feeling of home whenever you read it. I love it.

Honestly that description reminded me of the way you write the reader in Take a Chance, giving very human and specific details to her background and whenever she talked to Ben about her past -- so I'm very glad you enjoyed that part. 💕

And also you know how much I love the continuing idea of Dean thinking that he's not enough and that the reader would never like him. I know that I always point it out when I read something of yours, but it really always fits him and you write it so well my friend 💚

Aw thank you so much!! It seems I always come back to that in my Dean fics! I think subconsciously I'm trying to beat that mentality out of him with every story. 🤣 But also, I think his self-worth (or lack thereof) and his fear of being a danger to the people he loves are just key points of his character that you kind of have to deal with -- at least in the canon SPN world, whenever Dean gets close to being in a serious relationship with someone. 🥲❤️‍🩹

I also love this bit, because Dean reduces himself to physical wealth here rather than seeing all the wonderful qualities of himself that we all love being something that he can give the reader. It really makes their connection all the more loving and real, because the reader isn't asking for Dean to give her things or to be rich, she's just asking FOR Dean. And I think it will be a beautiful and wonderful thing when he realizes that.

In Dean's pov it's like, "I don't have a 'normal' house, I don't have a normal job, all I've got is my car and emotional baggage that I don't want to unload on someone else--especially someone outside of the Job." But she doesn't need him to have "normal" things. He literally saved her life and is meant to be hers. To her, the quality of who he is and the connection of being true mates is more important, and the rest they'll figure out together. 💞 Here's hoping Dean can realize that soon...

This chapter was so wonderful Alex! I loved every heart wrenching bit and I can't wait to read the next one my wonderful friend! ❤️

Aw thank you so much, my friend!! 🥰 I'm so happy that you're enjoying the mini rollercoaster of this story, and I truly hope you enjoy the grand finale too!! 💖💖

Against the Wind - Part 3

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader 

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: Merry Christmas! I'm dropping this chapter a day early for you guys. Now, here's the full story, and what Dean is going to do about it…

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: True Mates @jacklesversebingo

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 3.8K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Angst, mentions of blood, hint of spice.~

Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 3: Nothing Left to Burn

“We should start heading back,” you say, looking up at the mid-afternoon sky. It was starting to dip toward the top of the trees in the distance. “It’s going to take a couple of hours to get back before nightfall.”

“Yep, it’s about that time.” Your dad groans as he starts to haul himself back to his feet, where you two had been taking a rest against a tree. “Jesus, I need a new pair of knees. Help your old man, would ya?”

You smirk as you help the middle-aged alpha to his feet. His joints pop and his back cracks as he stretches his arms high.

“Damn, Dad. You’re creakier than the trees,” you quip.

He tosses you a wry look. “Just you wait. In a few years, after wrangling a couple of pups, you’re gonna feel my pain.”

“A few years?” you laugh. “Did I miss the part where I actually met a decent guy, let alone one worth mating?”

“Oh, you’ll find him,” your dad nods, slinging his rifle back over his shoulder. “Or he’ll find you, like your mother did with me.”

You follow his lead with your own rifle, falling into step with him through the forest clearing. It’s a beautiful day in late November. Already you can see the edge of frost on the shrubs and half-barren trees. The ground is littered with dead leaves painted in browns, oranges, and dappled with reds.

“You met her in college. It’s not like you guys defied fate,” you say.

“Yeah, but if she hadn’t walked into my psychology class by mistake, and stolen my latte at the campus café, maybe you wouldn’t be here,” he teases. 

You huff and roll your eyes. Yes, your parents are a walking cliché. And by far, your dad’s the bigger sap.

“I’m telling you. Sometimes, the universe does us a solid,” he says, reinforcing his point with a literal pointed finger your way. You push it away from your face in exasperation.

“You might wanna watch where you’re going,” you say, “before you roll your ankle on another pebble.”

“You kidding me?” he exclaims. “That thing was the size of my fist! You’re lucky I didn’t break an ankle. Make you carry me all the way back to the car.”

You snort. “Right. Think I’ll just leave you for the bears…”

You trail off when a sound reaches you and your father. The sound of leaves crunching in the underbrush, quick and light. Your father’s shoulders straighten with alertness, the alpha’s head cocking toward the sound.

“Maybe I spoke too soon about the bears,” you whisper. He shakes his head.

“Nah, too light. It’s probably an elk.” He tosses you a smile. “We’ll have one hell of a haul to bring home, plus a good story to tell your mom.”

Your mother, the vegan veterinarian?

“Yeah, because she loves elk meat.”

“Would you quit being a smartass for two minutes? You go a little west. I’ll see where it’s at,” he says.

He quietly wracks his rifle and steps away from the clearing, farther into the woods. You do what he says, veering west. You don’t see the elk, and soon enough, you don’t see your dad either. You do hear a whistling on the wind, and the cold of it cuts right through your coat.

Unease prickles down your spine, though you don’t know why.

“Dad?” you whisper-yell, trying not to spook whatever animal might be out there.

A gunshot rings out, along with your dad’s voice in a shout. Your eyes widen in alarm, and you call his name, taking off in a run to find him.

You end up rising over a hill you hadn’t crossed before, but you see your dad below; you recognize his bright blue puffer jacket that Mom got him for his birthday. You call his name, and he looks up at you with fear in his eyes.

Not for himself, but for you.

“Go, get out of here!” he shouts and waves you off.

“What? What is it?!” you yell.

He shakes his head, like he’s unable to answer your question. “Run! Run and don’t stop!”

He moves further into the denser trees until you can no longer make him out. With a frustrated huff, you sprint down the hill and try to follow his tracks with your gun at the ready. On the wind, in the distance, you still hear his voice.

Until it cuts off abruptly, along with the terrible cracking of bone.

You gasp and halt in your steps. What the fuck was that?

Tears fill your eyes and blur your vision. Despite what you heard, you realize just how very alone you are in the clearing. Fear and adrenaline make your breath tremulous and shallow, but you can’t just give up. You search for a while longer, making yourself hoarse calling out to your father.

No matter what direction you take, you never find him.

“I ran back to town to get the rangers,” you say, brushing a couple of stray tears from your cheeks. You sniff, licking your lips and swallowing a hard lump of emotion in your throat.

Dean continues to listen intently with his brows furrowed.

“It was too late,” you sigh. “He disappeared. They explained it away, thought a grizzly bear got him, but I know it wasn’t a damn bear.” 

You shake your head as the tears come harder and faster, all over again. Dean’s jaw clenches in sympathy.

“No one believed me about what I heard, not even my mom,” you confess. Your mother had been too distraught to entertain “anything else.” No matter how strongly you’d felt about your suspicions, you understood that she just wanted to put your father’s death behind her after his funeral. Part of you had stopped believing yourself. 

A stronger part of you hadn’t been able to let it go, however. So you had to come back here and try to find any trace of your father. 

When you finally run out of words, you see the proverbial gears turning in Dean’s eyes. 

“What’re you thinking?” you hazard to ask. You can’t help but reach out and grab at his wrist. “Do you…do you believe me?”

Dean’s gaze softens a fraction. He lays his larger hand over yours.

“Yeah, I do,” he says. “I’m willing to bet on what took him too.”

He squeezes your hand before he lets you go and gets up from his seat. He soon returns with his father’s journal in hand. He reclaims his spot across from you, sitting close to your thigh on the end of the chaise. His gaze falls away from your face to the journal in hand, and he flips it open to a page he knows from memory. You suck in a subtle breath to steel yourself when he turns it toward you—to the very page that had given you nightmares the first night you read it. 

Wendigo. 

“Nasty son of a bitch,” he says. “It hibernates for decades at a time, but when it surfaces, it knows how to get through long winters like this. It takes a handful of people at a time, feeding on its victims slow.”

You feel sick at that, but still, his words elicit a sliver of hope.

“So there’s a chance he could still be alive,” you say, in a brighter voice. Dean gives you a measured look, dragging a hand over his mouth.

“Look, I’m gonna be straight with you,” he says. “It’s been months, right?”

You nod, though you realize what he’s saying. Don’t get your hopes up.

“But there’s a chance,” you insist, with tears in your eyes. Dean holds your gaze for a moment, and he nods. He squeezes your knee this time, then shuts the journal with one hand as he moves to stand.

You follow him on your crutches over to the kitchen. He pulls out a drawer and retrieves a folded-up map. Tossing the journal on the kitchen counter, he opens up the map and lays it out flat next to the sink. It’s a map of the mountain, and the entire forest surrounding the mountain of Big Sky. Dean’s eyes flick up to yours.

“Where did it happen?”

Dean has packed up his supplies and put on his winter gear. You watch him from the living room sofa, trying to hide your unease. You know he’s doing this for you, but there’s part of you that doesn’t want to see him leave, for his own sake, and selfishly for yours.

“Try not to go outside again unless you absolutely friggin’ have to,” he warns. “And if you do, don’t go too far. Make sure you take a weapon, preferably a gun and a knife.”

“Dean, I know,” you reply. You get up and hover by the couch while he finishes lacing his snowshoes and hooks his backpack on. You’re unable to hide your concern.

“You shouldn’t be going out there alone,” you say. 

Dean tosses you a grin. It has the shade of how he was with you before the “journal” incident—self-assured, a hint teasing.

“Don’t worry. This isn’t exactly my first solo mission,” he says, though his devil-may-care attitude soon subsides into something more serious. “If I’m not back inside a week, you need to ration out the supplies here as best you can. That new meat in the fridge should last you a while.”

By new meat, you have to assume he means the bear.

“When you’re healed up, you can make your way down the mountain and back to town with that map I left for you. Kitchen counter,” he says.

Your frown worsens. You step closer to him with the pretense of closing and locking the front door for him after he leaves.

“Dean,” you say, stopping him at the door. He turns to look at you over his shoulder. You hesitate, fidgeting slightly, but you gain your courage.

“If you don’t come back, I’m going to find you,” you warn him.

Dean frowns. He turns to you fully and tilts his head as if to say, come again?

“No, you’re not, Omega. You understand me?”

His terseness doesn’t scare you anymore. You glare up at him, quite literally standing your ground.

“You didn’t leave me out there when you didn’t even know me. You think I’d do that to you?” you counter.

At that, Dean has to pause, tilting his head slightly. He almost smiles at your stubbornness, and just like that, his annoyance dissipates. It softens him, making him reach for your arm in an assuring squeeze.

“I appreciate the thought, but trust me. I’d rather you look out for you,” he says.

Right now, you don’t really give a shit about what he’d rather, but you don’t say so. It’s written across your face anyway. Dean’s mouth tugs at a smile.

“All right, I’m out,” he says. “Save me some of Yogi in there.”

You huff, but you shut the door behind him after he steps out onto the porch, down the steps, and beyond. You move to the living room window and watch him get farther and farther away from the cabin. 

Despite the crackling fireplace, you begin to feel cold inside. 

After the first three days, you’ve managed to clean the entire cabin, top to bottom. With the “new meat,” you make a large batch of soup to last you throughout the week. You freeze a couple of servings for Dean.

For when he gets back. 

You try to fill up your time in other ways, like attempting, and failing, and trying again more successfully to make bread from scratch. You haven’t binge-watched every season of The Great British Bake-Off for nothing.

Then you organize all of the alpha’s books by author. You wash all the laundry you can find and fold everything neatly on his bed, and you put away the couple of sweaters you’ve borrowed from him into your own dresser. 

On Day Four, you create a nest of pillows and blankets in the middle of the living room floor. In your anxiety, it’s a reflex you can’t help. Your initial instinct was to nest in his room, but you thought that was too invasive of his privacy, so the living room was your next best option. At least his scent is still somewhat imbued into his favorite chair, and around his records. (You do steal another shirt of his to sleep with though.)

On Day 8, your worry becomes a living thing. You pace the living room and the kitchen on your crutches, probably wearing down the wooden ends of them while you debate what to do. Despite what Dean told you to do if he didn’t get back, you know you’re not just going to leave him out there. But the reality is, you have a problem of mobility.

With a frustrated huff, you decide to try setting your problem foot down normally. Your ankle hurts, a sharp pain shooting up your calf and nearly sending you to the floor.

“Fuck!” you gasp, both in shock and aggravation.

You know this isn’t just a sprain. At best it could be a fracture, since no bone is protruding under the skin. It still means you shouldn’t go after him either. 

But you’ll have to try. 

After you manage to clamber back onto your feet using the crutches, you put together some supplies, including the extra med kit in case he’s hurt. (Or in case something happens to you while you’re out there.) This is a bad idea, you think, even as you heave on your jacket.

Then, you hear the sound of a lock turning, before the front door shoves open. 

A yelp of surprise escapes you, though you soon realize that it’s Dean, looking worn down and ragged, but alive. 

“Home, sweet home,” he says wryly, but he looks relieved to see you too.

You help him sink down onto the chaise, where he stretches out with a groan. He tips his head back on the cushion. His jacket is torn in a few places. Blood has dried on his cheek, his neck, and near his hairline, and you worry about where else he might be hurt. 

You quickly go to the kitchen and pour a bowl of warm water and grab a hand towel. You bring it all back to Dean, where you set your supplies on the floor and sit down beside him on the cushion.

“Are you okay?” You try to calm down your racing heart (and the nauseous feeling in your stomach) as you help him work open his jacket, followed by his shirt. Discreetly, your eyes take in the expanse of his tanned skin and pebbling nipples exposed to the cool air, even with the fire roaring nearby.

“Yeah, just peachy,” he says. 

You smile a little. You take the towel, dampen it, and begin to clear the blood from his cheek, his neck, and the upper part of his torso—even his scuffed hands. Then you squeegee out the blood in the bowl and continue your task. Dean subtly watches you, his gaze a bit softer than usual.

He eventually looks you over with a frown as he takes in the way you’re dressed, and then the backpack by the door. 

“What, about to go for a little afternoon stroll?” His sarcasm turns to annoyance. “Didn’t I tell you to stay put until you can actually walk?”

Your mouth flattens into a line, but any anger you might’ve felt is waylaid by your relief. It brings tears to your eyes. 

“I thought something happened to you,” you say.

Dean hesitates. Your hand has stilled on his chest. He softens a little more, grasping your hand in his larger one. 

“I’m fine,” he says. “The job’s done.”

Your eyes widen. “You found the…thing? The wendigo?”

His mouth pulls at a cocky grin, tempered only by his tiredness, and the way he’s looking at you. “Sure did. Tried to take a chunk outta my ass, but a little aerosol deodorant and a lighter’s all you need to barbecue that ugly son of a bitch.”

You smile in amusement, but all too soon, it fades.

“Did you find my dad?” you ask.

Dean’s expression sobers as well.

“Yeah, I think so.” His face gentles. “Was he wearing a blue puffer jacket?”

Your lips tremble. As that horrible realization dawns, you break down into tears. You already know from his tone that your father was dead when he found him. 

Dean guides you down to him by your shoulder and wraps his arms around you. You bury your face into his neck, and your body shakes with quiet sobs.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your hair. “Believe me, I am.”

He holds you close, warm and secure. He allows you to stay there as long as you need, where you feel safe, even if this world has become a colder, darker place. 

After a few minutes longer, your intense sobs begin to subside. You don’t mean to, but you turn your nose into Dean’s neck, scenting him on reflex. It calms you down, but it has the unintended effect of arousing him. The alpha rumbles in pleasure. 

You blink in surprise and lean back enough to see his face. Dean’s lips press together as he looks down on you; he seems embarrassed, but you also see the heat reflected in his gaze, so intense in those forest greens. Your face begins to warm in a blush.

He brushes your cheek with his thumb, collecting your tears there. You glance down at his plush lips again, your own parting with a breath. His hand moves to cup your cheek, framing the side of your face. Please…

He finally drags you to him in a kiss. 

It’s heady and passionate, and also comforting. Your fingers wind into his hair, your nails scraping along his scalp. He growls as his arm tightens around your waist. You shiver in delight.

You press a hand to the center of his chest, giving you leverage to rise up and slide your thigh over his legs. There you sink into his lap. Your breasts pillow against his chest when you lay on top of him, your elbows digging into the cushion on either side of his head. His hands move down your body, feeling down your sides, squeezing your hips, and then your ass. You hum into his mouth and roll your hips into his. Already you feel him hardening through his jeans.  

But somehow he breaks away from your kiss, even though your hands are still in his hair. 

“Sorry…we can’t do this,” he says, with difficulty.

He sits upright and nearly makes you fall over in the process. He grabs your arm before you tip over, but he keeps himself at arm’s length from you after you’re forced to slide off his lap, sitting on the end of the chaise instead. Your eyes glisten with hurt and confusion. 

“Why?” is all you can ask.

He doesn’t want to answer. 

“Dean?” you ask, inching towards him. He raises a hand to keep you at bay.

“Just…it’s not a good idea, okay?” he says, with the clenching of his jaw.

That cuts into you even more. Your heart pulses with pain.

“Do you know what your scent is to me?” you ask, in a voice slightly trembling. You glance at the fireplace that has dimmed to embers. “It’s better than that fire at full blaze. Every time I went camping with my dad, that’s what I loved the most. Sitting by that fire, talking, laughing, and for the millionth time, telling the story of when I gave my sister micro bangs in her sleep when I was ten.”

You wipe a stray tear from your eye, but you respect the distance he’s put between you two.

“The second I met you, I knew what this was,” you say. “I think you know it too.”

Dean shakes his head. His face betrays his wariness, his desire, and his obstinance. 

“Look…even if that’s true, you don’t want this with me,” he says. His handsome face becomes marred by a frown, his brows knitting together. “I don’t even own this place. Besides my car, I ain’t got much of anything to give.”

You shake your head in dismay. “I know that’s not true.”

“I’m not bullshitting,” he says. “Listen…I’ve never had much. And what I did have, I found a way to lose. I’ve let my people down. Just about everyone I’ve ever…”

You can’t help but reach out a hand for him, your heart hurting, but he leans away, pressing himself back against the seat. It cuts even deeper into you; now though, you wonder if it’s because he feels the same gut feeling you do when he’s this close—close enough to touch, but almost afraid of the burn.

“They’ve been hurt, almost always because of me.” His voice shakes imperceptibly, with a wry, humorless turn of his lips. “So take it from me, sweetheart. You’ll wanna steer clear.”  

“Dean,” you say. You expel a breath, digesting his words, while thinking of what you want to say.

“I’ve never not felt safe with you,” you confess. “Even when I screwed up and drove you crazy, I’m sure, I knew you’d never hurt me. The same way I know…”

You reach out a tentative hand to lay in the center of his chest, over his heart. Your thumb brushes the edge of his strange tattoo, over the dark ink in his skin. 

“You’re my mate. My one, true mate in this world,” you say, meeting his eyes. “And I want to know you.”

You see inner conflict in the depths of Dean’s eyes, dark green and troubled. You take a chance and lean in, brushing your cheek against his, nuzzling, laying a soft kiss to his cheek. 

“Omega,” he warns, but the grit in his voice has little heat.

Or at least, it’s heat of a different kind, as his strong hands once again find your waist. They hold you still, but also hold you to him. Your gentle affection is making him ache, deep in the shadowy cavern of his chest. He’d never admit it, but loneliness had set in there, burrowed deep with a stronghold on his heart. Without knowing, you’ve been carving it out with those gentle hands. 

You now slide your hands up his chest and over his shoulders, warm palms on his skin. 

“Alpha, I want to know you,” you insist. Quiet, but steady, your voice is a mere brush of words near his ear, against his cheek. “Please.” 

Dean’s brows furrow as he briefly shuts his eyes tight. With your whispered plea, the brittle chain of his restraint finally snaps free. 

He cradles the back of your head and guides you back into a feverish kiss.

AN: Sorry to cut it off there lol, but the big (steamy) finale is coming up next week! Perhaps a little earlier than Friday. 😘

Next Time:

“Were you nesting, Omega?” he teases, between the sinful meetings of his lips with yours. You hum your affirmation before his tongue swipes across your lower lip, seeking entrance.

You open yourself to him in more ways than one; you slip your hands across his naked shoulders and explore the smooth planes of muscle, the dips and softness in between. You encourage him to lower down, to cover you with the length and broadness of his frame. His weight is a welcome one between your thighs and against the softness of your body.

“Was worried about you,” you whisper a confession against his lips. Dean briefly pauses, meeting your eyes.

“Thanks for waiting up,” he says, with a hint of a smile.

Your lips curve upwards in return.

▶️ Keep reading: Part 4 (Finale!)

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[fivewholeminutes]

How to avoid being spoiled with ST members' identities

A not so short guide for tumblr newcomers

Hello new fans and (probably) tiktok refugees! This is a guide on how to enjoy sleep token online without being spoiled and also, a guide on how not to be a twat at the same time.

It is rather long, but please give it a chance. If not for you, then for other people who do not want to be spoiled.

I was thinking about making a reminder post about it for ages and recent post from @zelink-stan02 inspired me to make it sooner!

Tumblr is one of not many places online where the chances of you getting jumpscared with the guys' faces and names are minimal. You're not completely safe here, but it's still way better than on other platforms. And a lot of users try to keep it that way.

So, the basics for people who want to avoid spoilers online!

No twitter. That is a place of no honour. No exceptions. Nothing good ever comes from ST twitter. Also i am not calling it x.

Tiktok is also not safe. But most of you probably know that.

Pinterest is a super quick way to see all their faces.

Idk about facebook, but i bet there are morons commenting with their legal names there too. Like on twitter.

Googling is very tricky. Image results will most likely show you their faces among 20 first photos and if you do google them. Well. The main search used to show the names as suggestions up here before; I'm glad to see that for now this is fixed:

BUT LO AND BEHOLD. Pictures tab gives you a treat (derogatory) of a full vessel's name RIGHT THERE:

First suggestion. They're not even trying. So yeah, googling is very tricky.

I didn't scroll further to the right, but i bet ii's name is there too. (Their names are spoiled most often, cause they're writing the songs.)

7. If you look for the lyrics, google sometimes shows vessel and ii's legal names in songwriters' credits. I haven't seen it recently, but it doesn't mean you won't see [redacted] instead of "Vessel 1" and so on in the credits. Try not to scroll too far when checking the lyrics. I think Apple music shows their names in lyics all the time, someone correct me if I'm wrong though.

FORTUNATELY,

if you want pictures, band info, older rituals' shenanigans etc. etc., we have real mvp's here on tumblr!

@sleepanonymous has it all. Including an archive of band-related stuff and also older (mostly) vessel's stuff without any names or faces revealed. Just older songs, if you're curious! Sleep Anon has a neat google drive archive too. Please check the tags and other links in their pinned post!

We also have another pillar of our community here, @thesleeptokenarchive, who shares older rituals' details, song release dates and many other important information and dates.

My dear friend @a-s-levynn created this beautiful archive with band pictures for people who want to find that very specific picture without having their faces spoiled. Behold, the Sleep Token Reference Archive (STRA). Perfect for artists, but not only!

Beautiful people @kaddyssammlung, @vulcanette and @chaosandchaos are posting cool band photos they find regularly. Others too, but these three are the most active! We're also lucky to have @hecetas here, posting their original photos of the band (and not only!)

Also, The Choir is not anonymous. The band itself shared their actual name, Espera, and the ladies are not faceless. It was their decision, band supported it, so you don't need to worry to keep them anonymous.

Last but not least! How not to be a twat in the sleep token fandom space on tumblr:

Do not tag any band-related stuff with their names or older projects' names.

Do not post photos of their faces and tag it as the band or band members.

If you want to sceam about the love you have for that one older Vessel's project, the not solo one, you can do it here: @wings-of-clay

If you are a curious being and face/names reveals don't mean much to you, you can always scream about their past projects with your closest friends in the DMs. Or ask literally anyone here if they want to talk about those things without revealing those things' names publicly. Most of us have their faces and names spoiled anyway. But trust me, you don't need to put any names for us to understand what you mean.

Not exactly a tumblr thing, but! One of the band members streams on twitch. It is an unspoken rule to NOT mention anything band-related in the chat. No "worship", no band name, other members' names, nothing. He wants to keep those things separate. You get blocked there or he stops streaming for everyone if you're too pushy.

And remember folks, digging too much into their personal lives guarantees a court case against you!

I'm not joking. There is a person who is going to face charges for being way too parasocial and stalker-y about them. Do not be like that person. This applies to all public figures, not only sleep token. But some people take anonymity as a challenge to dig even deeper for all their info.

Last, but not least! I have the names spoiled and i don't mind talking about old projects and stuff. So I'm here for you if you want to google something, but are afraid of a face reveal, or if you just wanna talk about the older stuff (tho i admit, i don't know much about previous bands/projects of all of them). However, I will not be engaging in anything related to their private lives or families and I will block you on spot if you mention anything like this to me.

[letteredlettered]

Hello there! I recently read your thoughts about By the Grace, in which you mentioned that you've never been happy with how it turned out. (I am one of the readers who love BtG, btw, I found it transformative in the sense that i loved it so much that I felt changed afterwards. my comments trace my slow disintegration 😅). I wondered if you'd be willing to share which fics of yours you like the best - which fics came out as you wanted them to, which fics make you feel understood and known? (Totally understand if this is too personal an ask btw but just thought I'd see if it's something you'd like to share).

Well, hi. You sent this ask in August of 2022. I am apparently very very behind on a lot of things. I just had a lot to say to you and didn't have the energy to say it. I'm currently dealing with some health issues so fandom is actually now one of the only things I have energy for, so here I am.

The first thing I want to say is how glad I am that you liked By the Grace. It's hard not to love something I've written, but I think it shows so much about our humanity that something I find so deeply imperfect could be something that really worked for you. Thank you so, so much for all your kind words.

The second thing I want to say is that for me, the fics I like best are the one that came out as I wanted them to, but they are not necessarily the ones that make me feel seen and known. For instance, I wrote By the Grace because I felt upset about the world, and I also felt upset about some things in fandom that felt like an ugly reflection of the world in a place where I didn't want to have to think about such things. The fact that people love BtG, in spite of its flaws, makes me feel that people understood what I was trying to say, no matter how imperfectly I said it; they care about its message and its values, even if I couldn't deliver those messages and values in the way I hoped and worked for.

Another example is The Way Down. The Way Down is one of the first Harry/Draco fics I ever wrote. I started writing it in 2007, and I was in a very difficult place at the time. It was two years after I finished college; I still wasn't doing anything with my life; I felt like a failure. I started to want to stay inside, never leave the house, never see anyone I knew, never do anything but talk to people on the internet all day long. Incidentally I felt very lonely and left out of the fandom I wanted to be a part of, which was H/D. No one was interested in my writing and I couldn't make friends in that community. I couldn't finish the fic. I got myself out of that situation, moved across the country, got a job, made new friends, and also stopped caring as much about whether my fic was popular. I was able to finish the fic because I as a person changed, and that fic reflects both parts of that journey. I don't actually think it's a good fic; some of the characterizations are too fanon for my taste; some of the scenes are a bit too silly; a lot of the deeper parts don't go deep enough. But when someone loves that fic, when it really touches someone, it's like they're loving me as I was then, loving the fact that I got myself out of it, loving a person who can struggle in that way. And that means so much to me.

Meanwhile, Away Childish Things is a perfect fic to me. It came out exactly as I wanted and said so much about both Harry and Draco that I had been wanting to say, that I felt I hadn't been seeing in fic. I knew it was good when I was writing it. Frankly, I thought people would like it, and I was right. I'm not sure that people loving it makes me feel seen and understood. It's not like ACT isn't a personal story for me--it's terribly personal! But I don't think it's saying things that make me feel bad about myself, or that I think other people or the world are struggling with. It's a sharp story that I think many people can identify with from different directions.

In terms of fics that turned out exactly as I hoped, The Eighth Tale is another such fic. It always makes the list because I had this idea for so, so long--a fic in which the war didn't go as it was "supposed" to, but instead drags on and on and on, a fic in which the canonical ending is glimpsed, but other endings are glimpsed too, a fic in which universes collide into the idea that the ending is never set, it's always the choices we make that give us our own endings. But whenever I imagined such a fic it was half a million words long, and while such a fic sounds interesting, I am so glad that @tacktigerfic would come along so many years later to write that grand epic. Meanwhile, what I had in mind was just a little paradox timey-wimey business that should take only 15-20K to get out into the world. I just didn't know how to do it. But finally, I read a fic that really inspired me with its voice (in a completely different fandom; it's Crow on the Cradle by Refur in SPN fandom if anyone is interested) and it helped me to understand I would need a very particular narrative voice to make this fic happen. Then I sat down and wrote it in about two or three sittings. It's exactly what I meant to do.

Ginny Weasley: Dragon Slayer is a similar fic in that it did exactly what I wanted to, and I wasn't sure I would get there. I think both of these fics are things I often think of as perfect because I have a habit of having rather small ideas that quickly turn huge and unwieldy. It's why BtG is a problem, imo. I love that I was able to make these fics concisely what I wanted them to be, no more, no less.

There are fics in other fandoms that are exactly what I want them to be: Sincerely Your Pal, in Captain America fandom, Say More in The Untamed (CQL) fandom. The End Resting Only on Air is the perfect end to my series of fics in The Walking Dead fandom. I still think Or Even Rearrange You has the best Tony Stark voice I've read, and that's cool because I wrote it. The Chuck Writes Story for SPN fandom is one of the cleverest and most incisive things I've written, because it's about SPN fandom more than SPN--and I happened to write it before SPN even had the mythos that it does now. But in terms of fics that make me feel seen/understood and I'm perfectly happy with how they are written, Responsible Science in MCU is always my answer to which fic I've written is my favorite fic for a reason (although it's actually a series). That Lesson Alone in Schitt's Creek fandom is probably one of the most personal things I have ever written, and I wouldn't change a word of it.

But in H/D fandom, if you want a fic of mine that I'm happy with, that came out exactly as I envisioned, and makes me feel seen and understood, only one fits the bill: The Pure and Simple Truth. I actually don't think the writing is perfect--I would tighten it up a little, maybe. But it's exactly what I wanted to write, and it was so fun to write; I still think it's fun to read. But on top of that, this fic is also trying to say something about morality that I think is really fundamental to who I am. It's trying to say things about friendship and forgiveness that I believe with my whole soul. It's trying to say things about conversation, what that means for people, what that can build, what community is and what it isn't. I've gotten a few comments over the years from people saying they didn't really understand it. I've also gotten a lot of comments yelling at me about it because there isn't a kiss at the end. I've also seen people saying that the fic is suggesting that Neville's a bad person because he struggles to forgive folks who tortured him, which is the exact opposite of what the fic is about.

But when people do get this fic, when they comment or message me to tell me what it means to them to see folks who have hurt each other, some of whom have been actual torturers and part of hate groups, come together and grow from that, discuss that, and learn to love in spite all of that...wow, that makes me feel like the things I care about aren't just mine; other people feel that way, which is a wonderful feeling.

[ledesaid]

Someone once told me ╚-.╚-.╚-.╚-.

..............................................

"Don't trust strangers..."

I think I had no choice when I met him.

The lights of the trains passing through my station were new, this section of the route was closed, but they pass so quickly that they barely illuminate the entire station.

But that station felt smaller than I usually remember.

It felt so lonely.

I felt trapped.

There was only one way out. I knew it, the echo resonating through the tunnels invited me every hour without fail to get on that train. I've lost count of how many times it has stopped and started again.

I may not know about equations, but I know that something entered the station and did something.

But I couldn't ask and was tied up, literally trapped.

The exit of the station had disappeared and an invisible force pushed me away from the train tracks.

I would be desperate, I really was, but I couldn't ask for help... I thought that if they were my last moments, they would be fine, always and whenever they stopped.

The train stopped every six hours, waited five minutes, and then left again.

Maybe I could have watched this for weeks, but I felt so tired that I knew I could only withstand one more cycle of the train, there was only one bottle of water and two granola bars left.

It was unfair that I had no choice...

But at least, as a mark of my passage through the world, I took a can of paint that someone had left and began to write on the station floor:

"Hello, my name is Billy Batson. I am nine years old and I'm going to get on an unknown train."

"This sucks, please call Superman for me."

For my tired self, I couldn't think of anything better at the moment, I had no friends, parents, or anyone close... That still hurts even now.

When the doors opened for the last time, I knew it was over... I knew it was time and I just took what little I had with me. A stuffed animal, a blanket, and half my bottle of water.

The train didn't take long to move forward as it usually did, I realized it was a trap, but I didn't try to get off and just sat and waited.

The windows only illuminated the stations very quickly like flashes and, after a few minutes, there was only a blinding light that disoriented me.

I tasted fear in my throat, held on to the only thing I had... a small tiger stuffed animal, and begged for it to end soon.

At some point, I fell asleep, but when I opened my eyes, the doors were open and I believed I was alone again...

I decided to get off. I had no other choice.

Billy: "Come on Batson, you can do it..." I tried not to cower before the unknown.

To my surprise, there was no station to welcome me, only a dark cave in its place.

***: "Welcome William, I have been waiting for you for a long time..."

Billy: "Who are you? Why am I here?"

***: "I am the wizard Shazam and you have been chosen as the champion of magic."

Billy: "I want to leave."

Shazam: "You have no choice. The Olympians have chosen you and you just answered the call."

Billy: "You forced me to get on the train."

Shazam: "It's an honor to be chosen, William, and you only need to say my name 'Shazam' and you will be able to walk among mortals carrying my power with you to protect magic. The end of my era has come, good luck Captain Marvel, you will need it..."

I still have nightmares about a giant rock crushing the wizard I had just met.

Two days later I couldn't take it anymore and invoked the wizard's name... One week later I saved Fawcett, six months later they offered me to join the league and now, two years later, I'm telling you my story... I really, really didn't expect to tell this to anyone... I'm glad you're just an AI, Sanctuary.

Billy: "I must go now, thanks for just listening..."

Sanctuary: "Thank you for your service Captain Marvel, even if it was imposed on you, you have saved many lives. Thank you for getting on the train."

Billy: "You're welcome, I suppose... I had no choice and really, even now, I don't feel like I have one."

[that-was-anticlimactic]

see a world so beautiful and strange (spinning off somewhere)

“Why? Why are you suppressing?”

“Because I can't tic,” Alya whispered, fingernails digging into the skin on her arm. “I know Tourette’s isn’t exactly uncommon, but it’s part of my identity as Alya Césaire. It can’t be a part of Rena Rouge, too. Someone could figure out who I am and then…”

And then she’d have to give up the coolest thing that’s ever happened to her, give up living her dreams.

[or, alya is suppresses as rena rogue in order to protect her identity, but neither ladybug nor trixx will let her hurt herself like that]

🦊2,345 words | alya-centric, alya & ladybug friendship🦊

happy tourette's awareness month!!!

[raiiny-bay]

finished dhes & kel's character pages so here are the lil edits i made for both of em :-)

[justalittlebluetiefling]

I do think the hardest part about actually writing a whole novel for the first time is having to constantly remind myself that first drafts are allowed to suck. They are not meant to be perfect. They're allowed to be filled with half thoughts where you need to go back later because you can't figure out what you need to fix until there are words on a page. Like, allowing myself to feel like I am bad at something and still continuing to push might be the biggest way I've grown in my entire life.

[hide-your-bugs-away]

Eric Burdon + cloudy pictures of the aurora I was able to take!! 🎤💚💙✨️

[lesbianwyllravengard]

I walked into a class I don't actually need but needed to fill my credits, heard the professor go "there will be essays due every week", and walked right out. Lmfao.

[goldentigerfestival]

Forgot to post this earlier but I did in fact comb the entire Vesperia script to determine how many times he uses ま/まあ throughout the game, along with a few other phrases he uses repeatedly. This counts all of main story, every single sidequest, and every single skit in the game.

Final counts were:

ま/まあ: 280

Ma/Maa; translates to "well". He uses this at the beginning of a sentence usually, but it's sometimes in the middle. "Ma" is usually more quick and snappy. "Maa" is more thoughtful and/or prolonged. Obviously it can vary based on context, but that's the general breakdown.

んじゃ and any variants: 133

Nja, along with variants such as "ja", "soreja", etc. Variants are counted when they're all used to express "let's get going", when they're about to head off ("ja" could be used in a sentence such as "ja/but then, why is xyz like this", etc). They encompass translations such as "well then" (let's get going implied. includes "so then", "then" "alright then", and so on), "we should be off", "let's get going", "let's go", etc. (not to be confused with 行こう(ikou), 行くぜ, (ikuze), and other similar versions of this phrase. That can also mean "let's go", but any instances of Yuri using that particular phrase was not counted because it wasn't a variant of, specifically, んじゃ, which is also his most common "let's go" ja variant).

おい / おいおい: 66

Oi/Oi oi; translates to "hey"/"hey, hey", though "oi" is more or less an accepted word in English nowadays.

おっと: 12

Otto (not to be confused with "oto", referring to sound); an expression of surprise that can translate roughly to "whoa there" (which is the most common translation I do see for it and what I'd use in most cases too, context of course varying). The reason I included this one despite it being so seemingly low in number is because it's not a particularly common expression, much less one used multiple times by a single character? It's so rare from anyone else, which is just a regular thing relative to Yuri and his dialogue/speech (i.e. most characters sparingly use phrases repeatedly, as compared to Yuri... as you can see lol. Other characters use these words/phrases, but nowhere near as regularly, if regularly at all).

Realized along the way I should've included やれやれ (yare yare, "good grief", "oh dear", "oh boy" etc), but by the time I realized I should have in case it was an interesting count, I was too far into the script to be able to handle going all the way back through it LOL.

No. No, I am not joking that Yuri used ま/まあ 279 times throughout the course of the game. That is to say, it could be more if I missed any, but on the assumption I didn't, that's where it stands.

Why do I love this so much? Because it's a very specific character quirk of a character I adore. I'm very fond of his repetition. Thank you.

[mortellanarts]

2023 go bye bye

[quatregats]

Honestly kind of lame of CS Forester not to go in for the weird Narnia ending. Think of how fun that could have been

[void-botanist]

Sheri: A Powerpoint Intro

It is here! A tiny bit of background: Sheri is sort of a companion to Triad, in the sense that it shows some of what happened to the other ex-heir to the Navaren throne, but it takes place after it (by at least 3 months). Also maybe someday I'll come up with a better title for it.

Anyway please enjoy this introduction to fantasy disaster gays.

[aberooski]

so tonight my friend and i sat down in call for 2 1/2 hours and binged GX and augh. i feel like i’m always saying it and you’ve heard it before…

thank you. just, thank you. from the bottom of my heart for making me feel so welcomed and having a person to enjoy this with and being able to enjoy with other people. i really resonated with your post about feeling authentic because of this series and i’m the happiest i’ve been in months now that i’m rewatching it.

if GX is like a weighted blanket, your presence and friendship are like the warm comfort of a hot chocolate on a snowy day.

so thank you again for letting me be so free and authentic and happy, because i have someone as wonderful as you to be authentic with <3

i didn’t think i’d be a GX fan for very long, or that i’d meet someone who i’m proud to call an online sibling because of the series, but you proved me wrong and i’m so happy that i was. :)

🫂💜

🫂💖

[renegadeknight]

Hi, I just need you to know I’ve read stubborn love twice already. And I regularly think about getting to download it to my kindle in full once it hits 22/22 so I can read it on holiday.

Just need you to know what it means to me :))

Hi, this is me seeing this message:

[boredymcbored]

Stream O'

conscious journaling.

That's what we're on, right? What I'm on?

I'm in another "dig deep into self care" era and I think a grandeur part of me would be happy to know that this comes from a place of being proactive. Imagine me, proactive?

Yeah well I wanna have more control again. I liked when I was in control. I just got jaded by it, by lack of reward for hardwork, from lack of support. Those years in college where I saw the worst students get rewarded and I was told I don't do shit really ruined me huh?

But I'm tired of that ruling me.

I think of the joy in the moments of life where I felt my autonomy and felt like I knew what I was doing, even if I really wasn't. It was joyus, free and freeing. I kinda tapped into it traveling so much lately and really determining where I went and what I did. I controlled my own destiny for sure. And it was so freeing. There were true moments of being absolutely care free.

Now sobering thoughts swirl around. The weather is changing back to darkness. Robert has passed. My mother isn't working again. I gotta step up and really get into the workforce.

That last sentence woulda killed me and my outlook before. I gotta go into traditional work?? Ew.

But it was the type of work that really killed me. Getting into work with what I'm doing now tho? Lowkey I'm geeked!

For years I've looked as sports as being one of my options of getting in front of that camera and shining and, well, life has been weird in delivering that. I was going to go to American University at a point, I wrote articles on the side, my Spot on Sports and EsportsXtra things. I was just doing them. Not knowing where it'd go. Guys, I've wanted to be all types of things from comedy to acting and so much more.

But sports enthusiasm and obsession has been a constant in my life and this time.. it's clearly revealed itself as the next path for me. Esports, it just feels like I could never really climb like I wanted to there. There's no applying for positions, everything is networking and knowing people and LUCK. Which is fine cause all work is to an extent, but being a black woman that isn't a pro in the space felt so fucking limiting. I had to prove myself constantly. Which I'm very unafraid go do, I've been doing it my ENTIRE life, but it felt so completely funneled. And frankly, I didn't have nearly the support system I needed. Some shooters that I'm entirely indebted to and love but jesus not enough. I've had to stand alone a LOT.

I think that's why doing my streaming thing felt so.. right? Why I feel sports is possible now?

Kiki and Hannah, whether they are thirst following or not, coming in and just being around, respecting what I have to say, shit that helped. And back in the day, having Jay and OG and BB and Awillie REALLY respect what I say? Man that felt great. They've been pros pros and them saying they love my takes, jesus I must really know what I'm talking about. Reconnecting with them and Larry moving me from part time camera to full time? Saying my enthusiasm makes the show better??!!! BRO I'M THE SHIT?

And people sticking around and LOVING my sports content. Just me, even when they aren't around, they love what I say. My hard work understanding sports I haven't played, my passion and jokes being appreciated. Man, I know what I'm talking about too, huh?

That shit inspires me. I kinda always felt on my backfoot in esports and although I have my own anxieties about my lack "journalist" badge whilst carving my way into aport journalism, I have a lot to my resume people don't. I have the respect of people that do journalism for a living. People that work behind the scenes in the sports world. People that actually fucking played of have played!

I'm that girl bro. Sometimes I forget, but I really am.

And that's why I like journaling because I need a reminder for the things that are ahead. I know once it really hit hits that Rob is gone I'm going to really sad. I know that the stress of applying in a field that's new to me is going to make me self doubt. I know that actually WORKING in that field will cause me to get antsy too. The lack of sun outside will bring my thoughts to darker places. The stress of Mom neing unemployed will be thrust into my lap whether I like it or not. I'm gonna have to step up. Big time.

But, I believe.

The path I'm on, it feels clearer than ever. Before I felt like someone lost at sea with no sense of what's up or down. I had no real career or life direction. My motivations were always some lofty idea rather than a tangible item out my reach.

Now I see it; where I want to be, how to get after it. And the fact that I've carved a path towards this despite no experience, no degree in it, no connection prior to doing what I've done? Shit I did the hardest part already. The can't do shit voice is officially null and void cause in 5 years, I've done so much more than even I thought I could do. And that's with my being riddled with self doubt and fear. Imagine me with confidence???

So, even if I'll have moments where I know I won't be ready, I am. And me trying to get ahead of the stress and fear by taking care of myself now just proves I've grown. Everything I've done before this moment was leading to this. Even during times where I feel I'll crashout, which will probably be inevitable, I have nothing to fear overall cause I have the tools to get it done. It isn't new. I know what I need.

Doing it, that's the hardest part. But that isn't hard, if I don't look at it like that. Nothing you've done before really is. It can be different, I might have issues readjusting since I've changed since I first started it. Starting over can be frustrating since I'm not where I was before I had to prioritize other stuff.

But maybe it can be fun too. Reconnecting with a past me. Finding my "free" again. Finding the me I want to be and reconnecting with it. In a way, I'm already the exact version of me I wanted to be years ago. I might have some tuning up to be an even better version, but I'm still the me I wanted.

And realizing that makes me so happy.

Cheers to me for being that and wishing myself well on the journey to navigate whatever new issues might arise to realize even more of that 'me'.

You're doing great kid. And you still have so much more great left to do 🥰