#It's getting close to Halloween so I can post the darker stuff

[akumahoshojo]

Castlevania I + II Fanfic: A Horrible Night's Dream (Chapter 1 preview)

I wrote this fic for @eboni-napalm as part of a Halloween gift exchange that started back in like... 2021 😱 After two of the roughest years for me ever (school/health/family/general RL problems all happening at once), I've actually been able to work on it!

While I'm still finishing up my final draft of the first chapter (fingers crossed I can do it before midnight!), I thought I'd post this preview of it here for tonight for any CV fans who might be interested in reading... and hopefully checking out the rest. It's the first 4 out of 8 vignettes to be contained in the completed first chapter, set in CV1 era for now.

Game: Castlevania I and II Pairing: Simon Belmont + CV2's "Mysterious Woman" (😉) Themes: Prophecies, Curses, Fighting Fate, Anachronic Order, Second Person POV, Experimental Style Content Warning: General themes of prejudice, non-graphic human sacrifice scene Thanks so much for your patience eboni-napalm-- I'm so sorry about the delay, but getting to work on this story has been rewarding and challenging in the best kind of way! 💗 Check out the story below!

i. now

To one who dreams the future, the present is the past. And thus all your remembered life has been a divided one, waking eyes on constant guard and inner eye fixed on time untold, like two-faced Janus in the body of a girl.

You've never been able to consider your nighttime visions a power, or even a gift: not when they've only come to you as you've lain helpless in the dark, bringing unwanted glimpses of a greater darkness in the world that encircles the realm of dreams.

And if some force beyond even that world can tear through the layers of time to give you a fleeting glimpse of what lies on the other side, then one lone human attempting to change the future’s design in response seems as futile a task as attempting to prevent an avalanche through the placement of a single snowflake.

But that's never stopped you from trying.

ii. then 

To the citizens of Transylvania, he may have been a savior, but to you, he was no different from the rest of them—which placed him somewhere just above scum. And so, as all of Jova turned excitedly north to welcome their conquering hero home, you chose to remain alone in the wooded outskirts of town, where they'd told you your kind would always belong.

Simon, the latest golden boy of the Belmont clan, with a mane of golden hair and bags of looted gold to match, was already the stuff of legends. He'd journeyed alone only days before to Dracula's stronghold beyond the mountains, slaying its monstrous guards and unholy master in a single night and escaping just in time to watch the demon castle crumble at dawn. Stories of his triumph had already traveled down from the hamlets at the foothills and across the river from the town of Yomi, faster than the news of the Dark Lord's resurrection on the night the Black Mass occurred. 

The night they’d shunned you for the last time.

iii. now

The future creates itself in the darkness behind your closed eyes. Your essence stares back from the depths of your mind.

Another vision, two-sided as always: fate's promise to you, and yours to yourself. You will fight it, the truest part of you swears, in the waking world where dreams can't reach, no matter what you'll see and see again.

It catches you off guard anyway.

As your mind's eye clears, the darkness that clouded it coalesces into a black sea, the crests of dozens of waves rising ominously from its surface. The light comes next—faint touches of distant moonlight and dancing candlelight, refining the indistinct sea of shadows into something all too real.

Hooded worshippers, lit by candles as black as their robes, fill the gutted remains of an old church. The church is dark, and the night outside is darker, showing through the shattered stained-glass windows like a void swallowing up the holy and the fair. Idols and relics, goat-headed demons and inverted stars and things you can't decipher, lurk just at the edges of the shadows.

But it's the thing on the altar that scares you the most.

Nearly shrouded in a tattered black cloak, it lays limp and motionless, sickly pale as any corpse—but with a countenance alert as any living man. Its face is twisted into a rictus of mad triumph, sightless eyes fixed on the crumbled ceiling above and a sky empty of stars, as if to mock, even now, whatever higher power watches from above. You're certain you've never seen it, through this eye or your outers. And yet, the longer you stare, the louder a primal alarm seems to scream from somewhere deep inside you.

Known and unknown, mighty and weak, living and dead—the thing’s very existence is a contradiction made flesh.

Clarity flashes across your mind in the errant glint of candlelight off a fang.

You know, now, what this thing is. Its—his—name is Dracula: scion of the dragon, the devil's very son.

His dark grip still chokes Transylvania as tightly in legend as it did in reality, even a century after his last death. Though the countryside has long healed from the scars of his prior reign, those like yourself, too well acquainted with the occult, feel their phantom ache to this day. It is the pain that springs up with each scornful word and every hostile stare, the chafing knowledge that anyone judged slightly less than normal will never be truly safe from a populace still cowering from even the memory of Dracula's shadow.

Your gaze focuses once more at a sudden shuffling among the faceless worshipers: a parting of the shadow sea. From the darkest corner of the church a maiden is borne, light as spindrift, through the crests. Her dress is pale, and her panicked face is paler. She seems almost to shine amongst the shadows that guide her onward, a lone spot of white nearly consumed by the blackness of the church.

A sacrifice.

As she nears the grim idol that lies in wait upon the altar, one of the encircling shadows shoves her roughly forward. She stumbles against the altar's edge, delicate hands bound tightly behind her back.

You are forced to watch, powerless as always, as present and future slip beyond salvation.

Another shift of the lurking shadows. A fleeting flash of metal. A torrent of blood from the maiden's lovely neck.

As the blood splatters on the leering corpse below, its fanged grin seems only to widen. And with a creeping chill of dread, you realize the thing on the altar isn't a corpse anymore.

The church darkens even more, beyond what seems possible, as the sky through the ceiling is choked by thunderclouds. The candlelight drowns in a shadow sea.

For a moment, you see nothing but blissful darkness, blessed oblivion—for a moment, you can nearly imagine what a normal night's sleep might be.

By the time a flash of lightning illuminates the church once more, Dracula is already gone—the monster loosed from its temporal cage.

You barely notice. You'd seen it, then, when the lightning struck, in what little you could view of the world beyond the church. The outlines of a cityscape all too familiar. The narrow curve of a waning gibbous moon.

Jova. Easter Sunday.

You still have time, you realize.

And, fate willing, so do they.

iv. then

It had been Easter then, the time of the town's yearly carnival. Those dull brick buildings had looked almost inviting, festooned with grand banners and colorful paper lanterns, as lively dances and celebrations went on in the market square. The scenes of joy and community, the swirls of music and laughter, seemed to sweep you up despite yourself, almost softening the heart their world had hardened long before. You were hopeful enough to believe the Lord's Resurrection reason enough for them to accept you, for that one day at least, to heed your warning and save their souls.

You were wrong.

No matter who you approached, no matter how you pleaded, the hatred you'd grown up with, inseparable as your shadow, blocked you at every turn. Maybe it was your clothes, or your accent, or just the fact you knew something they didn't, but whatever attempt you made, they judged it to be wrong. Your warnings, increasingly desperate, were met with insults from even the kindest faces in that celebration, insults steeled with the threat of something worse.

Liar.

Witch.

Unholy.

Unwelcome.

You'd finally turned your back on Jova when the stares began to linger a little too long, when the murmurs in the crowd began to overpower even the sounds of the festivities. You refused to add your own life to the number that would soon be lost.

And you'd tried, dammit. They couldn't say you didn't try. 

If their blood was to be shed, it would not be on your hands.

You told yourself this as you left them all behind, the music growing fainter and the colored lights dimmer with each step you took into the engulfing darkness. They'd just shown they cared nothing for you, for even themselves, so why chance your life for them? You didn't care—you truly didn't care.

But when your prophecy came true and hell came to earth, you suffered with them all the same.

[eddsworld-nightscape-au]

Directory + Introduction

“Hey… Not exactly sure how this works, but it said I could connect with other people who are in this… apocalips… Um… Yah any help would be great thanks.”

- N0R5K!

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Things on this blog are subject to change at any time for plot/update/revamp purposes!

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INTRODUCTION

Imagine for me if you will, that your world as you know it had a darker, mirrored version of itself. And now, wonder what it would be like if it started to leak into your world uncontrollably. What would you do in that scenario...

This is an AU and Ask Blog created by NotJayden and is Co-Owned by the lovely reluctant-ghost-detective!

This is also best viewed in a browser window*, but it isn't required,,,

Our crew's story begins on Halloween,, but the true story began long before they even realized it. Follow them as they try to uncover the truth behind what's been happening as guests show up along the way, invited and uninvited,,,

[This Blog will stay IN CHARACTER, that means that I, the author, am nothing more than just a voice in your head save for moments I break character (seen in #OOC) to answer important questions or address dire things]

[*The browser website is still currently under work! However, I do recommend keeping an eye on the Character Sheet page from time to time]

ASK BOX

CURRENT STATUS - Closed

RULES - No spamming || No hateful comments || No Magic Anons/Asks || Your words may have consequences that effect certain outcomes of the comic

DIRECTORY

[Disclaimer: these links are best sought through a website browser, I cannot guarantee that they work on Mobile]

ABOUT THE BLOG - A deeper inspection into the blog that includes a synopsis, brief content warning, who all runs this blog (if I choose to get moderators or helpers in the art process), credits and important details you'd need to know (in general).

WARNINGS/DISCLAIMERS - A list of all possible triggers and icks you may be prone to in the blog, I HIGHLY recommend you take a good long look at this page and make sure to read everything carefully, I love everyone who reads this blog and I would rather you not be exposed to something you don't like by mistake.

CHARACTER SHEETS - Self explanatory, these are the reference sheets of every* character.

[every*: MAY NOT INCLUDE BACKGROUND CHARACTERS OR DIFFERENT OUTFITS IF THEY'RE TEMPORARY, but if they play an important part in the story, chances are they have a reference sheet on this page]

RULES - These are the rules you MUST follow on the blog, failure to do so WILL result in being blocked!

TAGS

#OOC - Out Of Character This will usually only be used in times when we need to directly address the audience and will not be seen as just a voice in the back of your head like how we will be for the rest of this series

#Tord is Typing... - Tord's Response to the Ask shown above Yes, other characters can respond to your asks! It's not just Tord who can respond. It's just called this because he was the one who posted the beginning of this blog :)

#The Story Continues - A comic page, moving the story along Whether it has an ask attached to it or not this will be the tag for the actual "story" of this blog

#The Author - The weird in between shit I say, not quite out of character but not in character either (at least, not our gang's characters)

#Nightscape / Nightscape AU - These tags are how you will be able to find this blog in the future! In an effort to not clog up the Eddsworld/EW tag on tumblr, this will be the only thing I tag my stuff with

[mirkodoesstuff]

WELCOME TO MY LITTLE CORNER ON THE INTERNET, VISITOR!

☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎 ☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎

☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎 ☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎

Hello! My name’s Mirkoslavec, however you can refer to me as Mirko, Mirk or a secret third option (or my a completely different name, if we’re close). I'm 19 years old and my birthday is on June 8th!

☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎 ☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎

Ever since I was young, I was into various things, such as drawing, writing, creating various headcanons, reading, sleeping (this one is obvious) and, obviously, wanting to be original. I started to both draw and write ever since I was a little kid, and though most of my stories were either lost to time, were deleted ‘cause I was embarrassed and decided to just delete them from existence, I still improved through time, the same goes for drawings. However, unlike with stories, the old drawings are, mostly, still saved on my pen drive, however, most of them are from the year 2019, so it’s just 5 years ago. If I ever decide to post some of my old art there, I would do it as a form of redrawing those drawings, so I wouldn’t really feel ashamed of myself.

I’m really into various topics as well, mainly the darker ones, such as death, loss of loved ones, addictions, dark thoughts, dealing with various mental problems, having to come up with the past of the loved ones, that you recently learnt through the most unexpected way, torture, politics (as in, learning why things are that way, and not in another way), history (because I just love learning about the past, especially about Mediaeval Times and the last century). However, don’t expect me to get political - I just want to get away from the real world and just enjoy every free moment I have, and also I know, how people can get heated due to that topic.

☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎 ☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎

The mascot of this blog is a character called “Miroslav Bochto”, who seems to be, at first, just a normal, anthropomorphised food object (there is an object version of him), however actually isn’t an object at all. His reference, under his “used” form is there:

Miroslav will be used mainly in “personal” art, such as in art, where I celebrate various holidays, such as vacations, Christmas, Halloween, art for other things, such as rants, reviews and just in general.

Of course, there are more than one “main” OC, however Miroslav is the main one, as he was created in thought of, directly, representing me.

☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎 ☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎

I know, currently, three languages - Polish (my native), English (pretty good) and German (basic knowledge), however I wish I could learn Russian, Greek, Spanish, Portuguese and Icelandic.

Another thing I want to learn soon is how to code and create 3D models. I have my reasons - with coding I could actually create a game on my own - either a fangame for one of the fandoms I belong to, or my own original game, with modelling it’s a mix between “I want to create games” and “I want to create cool stuff, that aren’t only 2D” due to the fact, that I;m aware about the whole thing with me having to not only learn how to code, but also knowing how to improve the game, how to create various events, that would get the players hooked, how to not make the game be unfairly hard or unfairly easy etc., and with modelling, I might focus on creating, firstly, only 3D models, completely for fun, and not for any games, unless… Something would change.

☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎 ☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎

☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎 ☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎

I’m in many fandoms, so you might expect to not only see drawings, headcanons, opinions etc. related to only one fandom, but also for many fandoms.

I belong to:

Object Show Community (BFDI, II, LOTS, BOTO, plan to watch more Object Shows)

Five Nights at Freddy’s (and fangames, such as Five Nights at Candy’s, Playtime with Percy, Those Nights at Rachel’s, Dayshift at Freddy’s, The Joy of Creation, Popgoes, etc.)

Warrior Cats,

Cartoon communities (The Simpsons, Gravity Falls),

The Sims,

Omori,

Skyrim, 

Terraria,

Stardew Valley,

OCs (as in my original universe for OCs I have), 

Undertale (and its AUs),

Doki Doki Literature Club, 

Anthropomorphised animals

Brawl Stars

And many more, however I don’t really remember them, however, if I remember some, I’ll either add them or just upload a drawing from fandoms I didn’t list there!

☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎 ☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎

☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎 ☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎

The tags, that I plan to use are divided in four categories, due to me wanting to make the blog be as easy access not only for me, but also for anyone reading the blog.

The first category is “Personal tags”, which are tags supposed to indicate what the post is supposed to be about.

#mirko draws - it’s obviously a post, featuring a drawing.

#mirko redraws - same as above, however it is more about redrawing either an old piece of mine, a scene in games/in movies/in comics or something else

#mirko’s opinions - used, when I share an opinion over various things

#mirko rants - as the name says, it is used when I rant about something

#mirko rambles - used, when I ramble about something, such as the newest released episode, the news about various games, etc.

#mirko reviews - a post, that indicates, that what I posted is a review of something (either a game, an episode of a TV series, or webseries)

#mirko reblogs - as name suggest it, it’s used when I reblog stuff from other people.

#mirko's answers - tag used for asks

#mirko vents - used only for venting (either through art or text… Or both)

#mirko’s special announcements - only used when I want to announce something special

#mirko’s introductory post - only used for the post you’re reading right now

#mirko’s headcanons - used on a post featuring my headcanons for various characters

#mirko’s comics - a comic, that was created by me.

#mirko updates stories - this tag is used, when a story, either on AO3 or Wattpad, gets updated

#shitposting time - a tag for various shitposts, that are going to be occasionally posted, related to various events.

#mirko’s designs - designs created by me

The second category is “Fandom-related” tags, that are only used for something related to projects for fandoms I’m part of.

#the rising moon universe - tag used for all posts, that are related to a BFDI AU, which is “what if BFDI characters were anthropomorphised, and there was more stuff to it?”

#goikian stories - a tag used for all posts, which are about an AU based on beta BFDI content (such as Firey comic series, Total Firey Island, Total Firey Island Points, etc.)

#along came a bubble - a tag used for all posts, which are about a BFDI AU, in which Bubble snapped at everyone, who mistreated her.

#among the clouds - a tag used for all posts, which are for a BFDI AU, in which TV needs to deal with a heavy loss of his

#battle cats - a tag used for all posts, which are for a BFDI x Warrior Cats AU.

#paltronics’ experiments - a tag used for all posts, which are for PWP AU, in which Paltronics decided to use a technology to create an updated cast of the original characters, adding more stuff to it.

#percy’s afterparty - an AU, in which many years after the incident, that changed the poodle’s life completely, Percy is forced to confront the forgotten past

#the playhouse of damned ones - an AU, in which the playhouse was abandoned for an unknown, for public, reason and Nick decides to see what happened in there

#our playtime - some sort of OMORI x PWP x BFDI (woah) AU

The third category is “OCs” related

#miroslav and friends - a series of stories/comics/drawings etc., featuring my persona - Miroslav and his gang in various situations

#lights in darkness - a series of stories/comics/drawings etc., featuring my original characters, still related to object shows, living on an island and having lots of adventures.

#the forest seven - OCs, that belong to the Forest in Goikian Stories

#the forest guards - a group of OCs (both objects and cats), that were guarding the Evil Forest for many years

#wolkrows - a group of demonic creatures, that have two forms - one “hidden” and another - the real, blob-like form

The fourth category is “things I did for people” related

#mirko’s art for people - a tag used, if the art was requested by someone

#mirko’s paid work - a tag used, if the art was bought by someone

#mirko’s gift - a tag used, if the art was a gift for someone

#mirko’s part of art-trade - a tag used, if the art was a part of art trade with someone

#mirko’s part of collab - a tag used for my part of a collab

☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎 ☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎

☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎 ☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎

Naturally, the tags in fourth category wouldn’t be used so often, due to various reasons, as, for example school, me being busy with life or any other reasons.

Requests - CLOSED

C0mmissi0ns - CLOSED

Art-Trades - CLOSED

Collabs - CLOSED

☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎 ☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎

☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎 ☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎

You know, I wish my blog could be kid-friendly, however… Me being me is making it impossible, so I require everyone, who are visiting my blog to be at least 15 years old! Under 15 do not interact!

Another thing I want to say, that on my blog you can find themes, such as:

Gore,

Death,

Torture,

Addictions,

Nightmares,

Dealing with mental problems,

Memory loss,

Paranormal activities,

Repressed memories,

Mystery pasts,

Breakups/bad romances,

Loss of friends/family etc.,

Kidnappings,

Body Horror,

Disturbing lore,

Suggestive themes,

So, if you’re uncomfortable with any of the topics above, don’t follow me, don’t try to force me to not talk/make stories based on those topics/etc., just because you dislike those topics! 

All of those topics will have warnings.

You can expect some of “lighter” stuff be there too, because even people like me need some fluff, right?

☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎 ☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎

☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎 ☠୧⍤⃝ 𒋨𒆙𒆜𒄆𒁎

The list of my other social media is:

Gamejolt - Mirkoslavec

Discord - mirkoslavec

Toyhouse - Mirkoslavec

Deviantart - Mirkoslavec 

Cara - soon

Hope you will enjoy the stay there!

[yourbuerokrat2]

Listen, there is a lot of wholesome but also a lot of dark potential in platonic scenarios/interpretations between Picard and Q.

[mickadamz]

MONEY ANON HERE Ive thought it over 🚶we need to know abt billy from the adams that mf gives me such pure neurodivergent vibes it's insane.

im so sorry but he's got one of the most traumatic histories out of his entire family prepare to read some upsetting stuff. i'll put CWs around paragraph(s) where the darker, heavier subjects are mentioned/described, though. red indicates where triggering subjects start, and blue marks where they end. also its a long post and im on mobile so i forgot how to do the read more thing sorrryyy 😭😭😭

i kinda went more into his entire life story than explaining how he is and his personality but it generally does not change too much unless specifically mentioned/pointed out. personalities r harder to describe than certain behaviors - i prefer show not tell as a way of deacribing personalities qnd i hope thats present in what ive written here. otherwise you can probably pick up what oind of person he os based on tagged posts oops

HEAVY SUBJECT MATTER AHEAD SUCH AS: (MENTIONS OF) SUICIDE/IDEATION, INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS, SELF HARM, CHILD HARM, STALKING, AND BULLYING

William (Billy) Benedict Adams

bisexual 💛

b. April 17 1976

diagnosed w/ autism, depression, and C-PTSD

he's the youngest of three siblings (mick, beth, billy) and looks the most like his father colbert, taking after him in a lot of ways aside from appearance, including a terrible immune system - when he was little he would get sick a lot during flu-season but gradually was able to fight it off faster as he grew older. his middle name came from his paternal great-grandfather benedict marlowe adams.

billy's pretty hyperactive and chatty. he occasionally goes through periods of being nonverbal, but his attitude and energy remain about the same. he learned how to swear when he was 9 and hasn't stopped since much to his parents' chagrin. he loves horror movies and halloween is his favorite holiday. he's modeled after young eddie kaspbrak in the 2017/2019 IT movies, both in some appearance aspects and just how he behaves in general. he talks a lot and doesnt really have a filter, and uses sarcasm and humor even if sometimes it goes over his head when others use it.

like both of his parents and his sister, he is autistic. it's more visible than it was with his parents before him, as they spent their lives masking, while allowing their kids to "be as weird as they want to be", especially at home. a lot of their kids' behaviors were just like "oh yeah i / your uncle richie / (other relative) did that too thats normal" so they didnt think anything of it. unfortunately, billy was an easy target at school and had been bullied for not masking as well as his parents and other autistic kids his age, and being very sensitive to that same teasing.

some of his special interests include stuffed animals (especially bears), generally just toys he grew up with and even stuff from before his time, and vampires just to name a few. he also likes wearing the same colors and owns a lot of black / gray sweaters and monochromatic button-ups and khakis/jeans and short variants. he also has one specific salmon-pink colored shirt that he calls The Exception. he has some issues with his motor skills

being the youngest of three in a healing marriage had certainly put a slight rift between him and his siblings. he was the baby of the family and - while not being infantilized on purpose - was given a lot of attention from his parents, especially his mother. beth hardly noticed a difference, while mick was definitely a little jealous but he kept it to himself. aside from that, billy has a pretty close knit relationship with his older siblings and likes to hang out with them and when playing together, he'd always treat their toys gently and would freak out if he accidentally broke one.

billy also idolized his father a lot, part of it coming from family members saying he looked so much like colbert. this idolization even got him intereted in his father's work and would always beg his dad to let him come with him to wilderness pizza on the weekends. he loved that place a lot. while it could get overstimulating at times given its popularity, he felt very free there. all three of his siblings liked spending time there, but mick grew older so it was just the youngest two, and beth was on her way to other interests as well when she started to get closer to her 13th birthday.

speaking of, that interest in his father's work was entirely shattered on may 22nd, 1987. beth's 13th birthday.

(CW: CHILD HARM . i tried not to go too graphic but some information is necessary to understand where his injuries and trauma came from.)

this information is currently exclusive to my personal oc universe - while events mirror CBM, there are alterations made.)

james summers, a vindictive, jealous, unstable man , former friend of colbert's and a current employee of wilderness pizza, had let his envy ans anger take hold of him as he held in years worth of vitriol and hate towards colbert and made an impulse decision to just go all out, seeing as summers's life and marriage was collapsing in on itself and he "had nothing to lose".

he chose bethany's birthday to let loose, as he had the day off and it's where two of the most precious things colbert had would be. billy and beth, his youngest biological children. beth had suffered an injury to her leg, but managed to get away and hide before anything worse could happen. billy on the other hand wasnt so lucky - given it was very dark and his already poor-hand coordination, he'd found something sharp to defend himself with and had unintentionally cut his hands with it. summers attacked him and while struggling, the kid had lost an eye, cuts on his arms and hands, and suffered some blunt force trauma which knocked a tooth out and chipped three others. scott barnet came to his rescue and billy was able to escape and find his sister hiding in the rafters above the little play area tube things. by that point he was running on pure adrenaline.

their father found them and was in the process of helping them down when beth slipped from where she was (again, it was dark) and done severe damage to her spine when crash-landing on a table. summers was approaching too fast for colbert and billy to retrieve her, the two making a run for it and hiding in a janitor's closet. while billy felt safe in the cramped room, his claustrophobic father did not and it was very visible. by the time police arrived, billy's adrenaline was starting to crash and his injuries were catching up to him. he does not remember anything after entering the closet and before waking up in the hospital the the second time.

(CW END)

billy spent a lot of time in the hospital recovering and suffered from nightmares, panic attacks, and other PTSD symptoms for years afterwards. his love for his father's work had crashed and burned, but that didn't mean their relationship had gotten worse. in fact, it only strengthened their bond. whether it was a healthy attachment or not is unclear and varies depending on who asks. he'd also been recieving counseling and therapy afterwards given the severity of his trauma.

(CW: STALKING, SELF HARM, SUICIDAL IDEATION)

during that period, though, the family was starting to struggle financially with WP being closed, hospital + counseling bills piling up alongside utilities and food and other necessities. his mother finally got a job and his father was suffering from the hard losses that came with summers's attempt on their lives. bethany was also adjusting to being almost entirely unable to walk, and mick had stepped up as a caretaker in place of their father. it was very hard on the entire family and billy felt like he was a burden. not because anybody said anything, but because he could see how much his caretakers were trying to provide for them given the financial circumstances. he didn't feel like he was worth the trouble and his feelings were overwhelming and he'd often hit himself or scratch at his face during meltdowns or panic attacks. he was only 11 when he first experienced intrusive thoughts and suicidal ideation. it was never active at this point - he was deathly terrified of pain,so he never brought it up as it wasn't an active problem.

summers wasnt done, though, and had been stalking the family for months until his sudden, unexplained murder on november 1st, 1987. it had left the family paranoid and untrusting of phone calls and mail they recieved and billy wasn't allowed to go anywhere without supervision of some kind. that left him with even more anxiety and what was later re-diagnosed as c-ptsd.

(CW END)

once the family began to recover, his mood and mental health had stabilized. he was still bullied sometimes in school but it was much... different. it was in the way you wouldnt notice until years afterwards. there was a lot of pitying and infantilism that he faced from peers and teachers to the point where it was uncomfortable, but if he spoke up to them about it they wouldn't listen. he resorred to being a class clown to make up for his "weird" behavior, and didn't make too many new friends. his best friends growinf up were jupiter summers and suzie mason, as they were in his age group and also went through the same thing as him, albeit they both came out with minimal injuries, if any at all. they were also "weird" kids and he felt at home with them. other friends in school were the espenson twins (family friends who were a few years older than him and beth), his cousin cassidy miller (see previous), jaiden summers (beth's age, also attended the party), and of course his sister bethany.

graduation was hard for billy as school was a constant for him, despite the bullying and other hardships he went through. it had structure. structure he wasn't confident he could keep if he ever got a job. he lived at home for a few years after graduation and worked at blockbuster video. he got officially diagnosed with autism around this time as well.

i havent decided if he should go to any further education like college or technical schools, so thats a big fat ??? though in the meantime he and his friends would often frequent haunted houses or walkthrough horror attractions set up at farms or old houses given his love of horror and halloween. despite his mother's concern he continuously went through with it because he knew it was a controlled environment and that he could leave at any time. plus, years of therapy had helped him learn to manage triggers and readjust to certain smells, imagery, and places. wit( that in mind, hed started coming around to things like pizza, arcades, clowns, rabbits, and animatronic characters, and later his father's business as a whole. he worked odd jobs there every so often once he felt comfortable enough being in the building again.

in 1999, a classmate from high school named kelly hotchkiss had approached him with romantic intent (and a bit of an ableist savior complex) and the two hit it off pretty well. they dated for a few monrhs, got married, and had their first child davis in 2000, followed by their middle child millie in 2002, and their youngest child alexander in 2006. their marriage was alright. his wife was the primary breadwinner, but billy confinued to work at blockbuster until it shut down in 2013, a year before shit really hit the fan. (he found another similar job elsewhere, though.)

over the years he'd been a victim of his wife's weird ableism and coddling. yes, he needed help with things, but he wasn't totally helpless or socially inept. there also came an issue with her transphobia towards their oldest son davis (ftm) and middle child millie (transmasc nonbinary). lex, like his father before him, is also autistic himself and it presented much more visibly through him having a lot of the most recognizable traits of it and also was on the receiving end of his mother's ableism.

(SUICIDAL IDEATION TW)

billy decided that he'd had and seen enough, and began the long, grueling divorce + custody battle. with help from a lawyer and emotional support from friends and family, the divorce went through and billy had full custody of his children. however, as with most major changes in his life, is threw him into a spiral of despair and anxiety. change was hard to adjust for, especially now thst he had three kids to provide for on his own. he fell into a heavy decline as he wondered if it was really worth it all, going so far as to regretting the divorce entirely and considering suicide. it got to the point where his children were affected by his bad mood and millie began to resent him for not being there emotionally, especially since lex was very attached to billy and needed his support and attention.

one night, billy was up at 3 am. and he realized something, and called his brother mick and told him "i need to get help." his brother-in-law jeremy had been through something very similar, and so billy sought out their help in getting him admitted to a hospital and arranged for billy's kids to stay with their uncles until he was stable enough to leave. it personally helped him tremendously and billy'sfamily had been reunited again. after staying in their home temporarily, billy, jeremy, and mick all agreed to billy's family staying there indefinitely, seeing as they have the money and room to accommodate them. billy still works and provides finances of his own, but he doesn't feel like he's constantly in the red anymore. he cant be fully independent and that's okay, and hes learned over his life that he absolutely has the right to lean on others for help when he cant do something on his own.

(END TW)

he's very close with all his kids and loves them all dearly, doing his best to understand what theyre going through individually and doing what he can to accommodate for them. he's very active and present in their interests and lives. like sending memes in the family group chat. he would make tiktoks for funsies. billy is very tech-savvy with modern technology - he and his cousin cassidy got really into making personal webpages and web design (they looked absolutely atrocious back in the day. partly on purpose just for fun, partly bcuz billy just had no fucking clue what he was doing)

he's also very open about the fact he's been through so much because of how actively it affects him throughout his daily life. for example: he can't drive. both because he physically cannot and out of a personal choice. he doesnt feel comfortable enough, he's physically disabled (half blind), and his motor skills lag just enough that he doesn't feel safe being behind the wheel in case has to make a quick decision on the road. while those who are half-blind can learn how to drive just fine, he personally decided it's not within his abilities. it took him years but he doesn't believe there's any shame in things like that, and there shouldn't be. he's not a public figure by any means, at least not to the extent his older brother and father are, but he does have a small platform where he talks about his personal journey through life and how he's gotten through everything because he hopes that it can help anyone going through a tough time of their own!

then there's an entirely different site/platorm where he does stuff more catered to his interests. being a young adult in the 90s-2000s kickstarted his relationship with the internet and he personally really enjoys the little spaces he's carved for himself. i think hed have a youtube channel where its him sitting in frint of a webcam reviewing horror media and old toys he got his hands on either from family, his own personal collection, or from secondhand sites and storesblike ebay or goodwill. he's very passionate about these things and its a bit of a funny contrast .

tl;dr: billy adams grew up dealing with mental illness and disabilities and the symptoms of such which made life very hard for him. despite it all, he learned how to grow around it and that it was okay to rely on others and ask for help whenever he needed it. he's curious and a bit snarky, but all-around a very kind and warm person with interests in shitty web design, horror, vampires, and toys from his generation and older.

[cruciatusforeplay]

This is part two of a hella big post. Check out part one here. These are all a lot more recent, so I'm gonna try to be less spoilery, but there are gonna be some.

A not-so-brief history of Hawkeye in Comics Part Two (spoilers below the cut)

A note on events, dying and doubling down on Hawkeyes

Comics love doing big events, and I'm not covering them in here. Partly because they are huge and complex and to just focus on Hawkeye would be an injustice to the stories, but also because the amount of stuff I would need to spoil would be way beyond just a little Hawkeye. Clint was involved in Secret Wars (1984), which was one of the first crossover events of its kind. Another notable era is 2004-2009, where there is an incredible amount of superhero politics driving big narratives. If you're new to comics, you might not know that characters dying is common and rarely permanent. This is relevant because while I said that I wouldn't talk about events, I think it would be pretty uncool to not mention that Hawkeye dies and is brought back to life (Avengers Disassembled, House of M, New Avengers #26). It's around here that Clint picks up the Ronin mantle.

This is also when Dark Reign/Dark Avengers is going on. For anyone who'd like some Clint whump from this era, there's a top notch naked torture scene in New Avengers Annual (2009). Clint is involved in several other big events and crossovers over later years, but that's definitely a seperate list.

In the time where Clint is dead, Captain America is hanging out with a group of newly formed Young Avengers, including archery badass Kate Bishop. Cap suggests to her that she take up the Hawkeye mantle and gives her Clint's old bow. After Clint returns, he becomes initially her mentor, before they form a very close friendship. Clint is initially doing Ronin things, but even when he lays down ninja robes, they decide to be very Hawkeye about the whole thing and both keep calling themselves Hawkeye, despite the obvious confusion this causes.

Hawkeye's ears: Hawkeye vs. Deadpool #0-4 (2014)

This is a fun little miniseries that you could treat as a Halloween special if you so desired. It's set in the time after Fraction's run and there are a few callbacks, but nothing major if you've not read that. Clint is a little short-tempered and hypermasculine in this run for my personal taste, but it's got lots of grumpy Clint Vs sassy Wade while they vaguely attempt to team up. The thing this run does really well is Clint's deafness, despite the lack of visible hearing aids. There are comments around lip-reading, wearing aids when wearing other headgear, there's some sign language, and this is the run where Deadpool pulls his mask up so Clint can lipread and see his face while he signs (facial expressions are really key in sign language). It's lovely. Otherwise the run gives you a Kate cameo, some Deadpool and Hawkeye disaster/shenanigans, and perhaps most importantly, the return of the skycycle.

Key background: All New Hawkeye #1-6 (2015)

This run is often overlooked, but the art in the flashbacks is beautiful. We get some key information around Clint and Barney's abusive home situation - with their dad who drank and beat them, and how they ended up in care after their parents died, and subsequently their early days in the circus. There is a definite shift in how Barney is characterized as a bad influence compared to the 2003 run. It parallels with the rest of the arc which focuses on Clint and Kate Bishop working together to get some kids out of a very bad situation. The rest of Lemires run is a little weird and has no major repurcussions for anyone except Barney (which I won't elaborate on because it's relevant to the Fraction run).

Back to your roots: Tales of Suspense #100-104 (2017)

Seeing Clint cycle back and return to Tales of Suspense is really lovely. This comic is one of my all time favourites. It's incredibly tight story-telling with a great plot and really fun dynamic. The premise is Clint and Bucky teaming up to figure out the body trail being left after Black Widow's death. Clint is obnoxious and a delightful mess, Bucky is sporting a permanent scowl and is hilariously level-headed. It's a lot of fun and it's a lovely build on the tension and teamwork between these two idiots (who I, as an avid Winterhawk shipper, am completely gone for, but even without that, this is a great comic.) It also has some killer covers, and the facial expressions are absolutely hilarious.

Hawkeyes together: Hawkeye #13-16 (2017) and West Coast Avengers #1-10 (2018)

The Hawkeye run is Kate Bishops run and it has a larger continuing storyline that runs from the beginning of her Hawkeye and way into WCA, but I've listed the issues that you'll want for Kate and Clint shenanigans, and you should be able to catch up without the rest if you don't want it. These comics are ridiculously fun, especially West Coast Avengers, which has Kate leading the team this time. There's loads of jokes, and it strikes a nice balance between Hawkeyes being disasters and being hyper competent. Truthfully, this is Kate's show, and Clint takes a backseat, but their dynamic is killer here so I think is deserves a mention. There are also plenty of Clint related wardrobe malfunctions and Lucky the Pizza Dog is around.

Our most recent boy: Hawkeye freefall #1-6 (2020)

I haven't read this one yet, but it's been extremely well received by the fandom. As a result, good news: no spoilers! It's a short run, which may have had something to do with it being published during 2020, and specifically around a time when Marvel were experiencing some major distribution issues (which would have led to digital release only and as a result lower sales), but that's all guesswork because I haven't actually researched it. This run has someone dressing as Ronin and letting Clint take the blame for their nefarious deeds (oh no!). Clint makes some classic Clint (read: dumpster fire) decisions, and the art looks fun and vibrant. Can't really give you more without reading it myself 😅 If you need more Clint still, he's also rumoured to be knocking around in the 2020 Black Widow run, but I've not had the money to get my mitts on that yet either.

Notable AUs:

Marvel is a big fan of throwing a well known cast into an alternative universes, so there are a few other places to look for him.

The Ultimates universe was largely speaking a bit of a shitshow, but they did give us a very dark and gritty Clint, so if that's your jam, ultimate hawkeye is the place to be. Old Man Hawkeye appears alongside Old Man Logan, and they are both, you guessed it, old. It's not the only time we get Clint as a wrinkly dude (the second half Lemire's run also has some timey-wimey stuff happening), but this is a version of Clint who is going blind (granted we've seen that before too, but this is a darker vibe than Blindspot). Wanna know who the greatest marksman is without his sight - old man Hawkeye for you! Finally there's the Zombie 'verse: zombie Clint is a little confused, but he's got the spirit. Clint got zombiefied and then left in some rubble as only a head for 40 years before getting picked up, so he's a little worse for wear. If you need that in your life then Marvel Zombies is your universe. For a full rundown of all the universes including animated and MCU, click here.

Notable aliases:

Clint's been a few other people than Hawkeye in the 616 universe (the main Marvel Comics universe). He used one of Hank Pyms growth serums and became a giant strongman in Avengers #63 (1969) and stuck around in his Goliath form for more than a few issues. After Cap had died, Clint returned from the dead and tried on Captain America for all of one issue in Fallen Son #3 (2007). He decided (with a little help from Kate) that it wasn't right to wear the uniform, which in turn led to some interesting tension between him and Bucky Barnes when Buck did become the new Captain America. Finally, there's his most well-known alternate persona: Ronin. Clint becomes Ronin after returning from the dead, wanting a break from his Hawkeye persona and an opportunity to become Ronin arises in New Avengers #27 (2007). Clint is not the only person to have used these aliases. Additionally, Hawkeye has been used not only by Clint and Kate Bishop, but also by Bullseye during the Dark Reign.

The things we haven't talked about

Like I said at the very beginning, there is a lot of Clint Barton knocking around in comics and even with all this there's a lot of content I haven't focused on. For instance, I've not talked a lot about his relationships, beyond his marriage to mockingbird (and really I only scratched the surface with that), and honestly once you start getting into interpersonal relationships we're starting to move on from what can be done in a Tumblr thread.

There are also some topic specific threads floating around, which you might like to look at too.

@vaguelyrotten has done a run down of some great dumpster fire Clint Barton comics (some of which I haven't listed) and you can see that here.

@bobbimorses did a great summary of Clint's historical deafness for instance which you can find here.

There's also this little bit all about Clint and Bucky in canon (thanks to @nightwideopen ) and how Winterhawk became a thing (thanks to @1000-directions )

This is slight sidenote, but @clintscoffeepot did a really great comprehensive of Fraction Clint's apartment which is just a really useful writing resource and you can get that here.

There is also this website which I stumbled across fairly far into writing this post which does actually look like it might be comprehensive.

If I've missed anything major, or listed something incorrectly or you just have some Clint related opinions that I need to know about, do hit me up.

[some-kindofgnome]

Kinktober Thirty-One

On Halloween night, at a costume party on the edge of town, you find a Lost Boy to keep you company.

Characters: Mirio Togata x f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!) aged-up characters, vampire Mirio, drinking, mentions of smoking, blood, vampirism, deception, a little bit of mindfuckery and manipulation.

Notes: This is it, folks! Day thirty-one of Kinktober is here and with it, a very special little Halloween fic. Today’s prompt was “Dressed Up,” which I sort of did but also sorta didn’t.

This one is a little bit longer than my usual Kinktober fare, (~3.4k) but hopefully it’ll be worth the ride. It’s also, in the spirit of Halloween, a little on the darker side, so please do heed the warnings and don’t be afraid to skip this one if spooky stuff isn’t your thing.

This hmmmm didn’t show up in the tags when I posted it this aft (even though I couldn’ve sworn it did :C) soooo reuploading! gotta love tumblr

Kinktober Masterlist

It’s a bright, cold, clear Halloween night, and the parties are in full swing.

You’re at the only decent bar in town. Just like every other joint within a hundred-mile radius, tonight they’re throwing a costume party. Originally, you showed up with a friend, but she’s long gone now- drifted off with some punk sporting a chintzy werewolf costume. Ears covered in plastic fur, limp tail dangling from the back of his coat.

Whatever. At least she managed to find something fun to do.

You’re dressed like an angel, in a delicate white slip with feathered wings spreading from your back. In lieu of a real halo you’re wearing a dainty silver circlet. You’re sipping punch- pumpkin punch, says the chalkboard signs pinned up all over the bar- but to you, it tastes like vodka and orange-dyed sugar.

At least you can confirm it’s alcoholic.

You don’t recognize the song that’s thrumming through the rented, oversized party speakers, but it’s sort of catchy. You’re tapping your foot to the beat- or maybe you’re just jonesing- when there’s a lull in the surge of the crowd and you see him.

He’s a complete stranger to you- a rare commodity, in your isolated little town. He seems to tower above the other patrons, standing a head taller than most of the men on the dance floor. It’s humid and sticky inside the crowded party, but he’s wearing a leather jacket with the collar popped. His hair is a shock of mussed gold, and you almost miss the glint of a dangly earring in his right lobe.

He’s got something red smeared across one corner of his mouth. Fake blood, maybe? You’d like to find out.

His eyes are dark and deep. You know they are, because he’s staring intently at you, right across the party. Like he’s spotted you through the skulls of the crowd that separates you. Your gaze is drawn by his steady eyes. It feels like he’s not even blinking when you share a look.

You glance away. But he’s still looking- you can feel the pull of his gaze like a magnet. You lift your syrupy punch to your lips as you drag your eyes to the opposite side of the room.

No dice. When you look across at him again, he’s still there. Still looking.

The crowd passes between you. And when you find that empty spot on the bar, heavy disappointment settles into your gut. That’s what you get for wanting a little excitement.

“Hey.”

The low, unfamiliar rumble of a voice directly behind you shocks the base of your spine. You whip around with the weight of your wings bobbing against their elastic shoulder straps.

He’s even taller than you realized up close. His eyes still have that dark edge to them, but he’s grinning now. That’s not an expression you might have imagined him capable of, given the solemn way he’d stared across the bar at you.

His teeth are immaculate. He seems entirely flawless. You’re pretty sure you could cut your fingers on the sharp corners of his jaw.

“Vampire,” you quip, homing in on the smudge beneath his lip. “Very original.”

It’s definitely supposed to be fake blood. The leather jacket and dangly earring might not be a dead giveaway to anybody else, but it’s working for you.

He slips one hand into the pocket of his jeans, shooting you a low chuckle and a quiet little smirk. He reaches for you- you flinch, wings giving a telltale twitch as your shoulders bob. He catches the edge of one synthetic feather between his fingers and gives it a little rub.

“Almost as original as you, angel,” he teases. You can’t bring yourself to roll your eyes.

There’s something about him that makes everything feel more sincere than usual. He’s got an easygoing, sunny disposition, but he’s intoxicating to look at. The closer you stand, the headier you feel.

You put your cup down on the bar behind you, having had more than your fair share of vodka-with-orange-Jello-crystals Halloween punch.

“So, angel,” the vampire sighs. Both hands are in his pockets now, forcing you to come to terms with the broadness of his chest. He’s built like a brick wall, but it’s all firm muscle underneath his tight t-shirt.

Your chest goes tight as he digs one palm out of his pocket, extending it to you.

“How ‘bout a dance?”

You can’t turn him down. You can’t say anything, since your voice has died somewhere in the cavity of your chest. All you can do is give a muted little nod and slide your fingers into his.

His palm is devastatingly smooth and brisk to the touch. It’s impossible to picture anything cool at all, stuck under the relentless lights of the bar and crowded among so many sweaty, polyester-clad partygoers.

When he pulls you onto the floor, his body trickles over yours like water.

He holds you so delicately, and yet pulls you so close. Lifts your hands between his palms-massive- and draws you in by the waist.

You’d dare to say he’s graceful, dancing to the uneven beat of The Time Warp and Thriller and a half-dozen other songs that are only catchy through the month of October. His leather jacket is supple and soft beneath your touch, and you’re happy to finger the sleeves, grip the lapels as you sway and swirl.

He doesn’t pull his eyes from you once. Again, you’re overcome by that strange sensation. Like he hasn’t blinked the whole time. You can’t quite bring yourself to be freaked out by it.

“So,” you gasp, breathless and sweating by the time the music dulls enough to warrant conversation. “It’s not every day you meet a guy who can dance like that. You gonna tell me where you picked up your tricks?”

He laughs. It’s a rich, full sound, but musical. Enchanting. You’re spellbound by everything about him.

He seems entirely too good to be true. You’re just waiting to find out how.

“Practice,” he gushes, slipping a hand under your chin. You’re smiling. You’re woozy. He’s drawing you in.

He kisses you, so soft and unassuming you’re surprised he didn’t ask your permission first. His lips are as cool as his hands are, fresh and soft like a smooth mountain lake.

You dive in.

You kiss him back as best you can, twining your arms around his neck and letting him drag you close. The longer he kisses you, the hazier you feel, but there’s a taste of something on his tongue that you can’t quite figure out, and you’re determined to find out what it is.

Your vampire tangles his fingers in your hair and wrenches your mouth to his. He kisses you harder, bruisingly so, sucking and biting at your lower lip and pulling away, garishly wiping the back of his palm across his mouth.

“Come home with me,” he croons. He could have asked anything of you. Your response would have been the same.

You turn a vacant, woozy stare to him with the sound of his voice swimming in your ears. Your eyelashes bat heavily. You smile.

“Okay.”

He takes you to find your jacket, thrown over a stool somewhere. You shrug out of your wings and tuck them tightly against your chest. When you do, he eyes you with a sideways little grin.

“Damn,” he teases. “I thought those were real.”

You duck out of the place with his arm slung around your shoulders like he knows you.

The cold outside does nothing to sober you, but full moon is so bright, the cars in the parking lot cast stark shadows across the gravel. So bright, the light of the stars is drowned by it.

He leads you to a shiny Harley, parked in the last spot next to the grass.

“Whoa.”

Your vampire turns, eyebrow cocked. You realize you said that out loud. You also realize that you’ve never actually been on a motorcycle before.

“That… that’s yours?” You ask dumbly. He smirks, and your stomach goes icy.

“Hop on.”

He produces a glossy black helmet from somewhere along the bike’s gunmetal chassis and passes it to you. You slip it down over your head. The thick padding pushes your circlet painfully against your forehead. You’re sure it won’t be a long ride, though.

He stoops, reaching for your throat. For an instant you flinch, but as his fingertips brush the underside of your chin, you realize what he’s doing. You flush with heat.

He buckles the strap securely beneath your chin, making sure it’s tightened properly. His flaxen lashes give a little flutter as he finds your eyes, and he gives the side of the helmet an affectionate little tap.

You swing one leg over the rear of the bike seat as he climbs on in front of you. The leather presses cold and firm between your bare thighs. You slide a hand self-consciously over your back, making sure your dress gets tucked underneath your pelvis.

All good.

“Hold on tight,” he prompts, kicking the bike off its stand and starting the engine with a noisy rumble. You fall forward against his solid back- stronger than you anticipated- and wrap your arms firmly around his waist.

Your heart beats low and warm against his back, so solid you’re sure he can hear it. He peels out of the parking lot and onto the empty highway, and you close your eyes, warm and dark in the safety of your massive helmet.

There’s something immensely thrilling about the way the wind whips past your legs and through your clothing. It occurs to you just how stupid you are, climbing onto the back of a motorcycle with a man whose name you don’t even know.

Holy shit. You don’t even know his name.

When he pulls into the parking lot of the Day ‘n Night Motel on the edge of the highway, you don’t think to ask.

“This doesn’t look like home,” you brush. You fumble to get the strap of your helmet undone and tug it straight off your head. Your halo comes with it, bouncing across the pavement and rolling to a stop at his feet.

“It’s home for now,” he replies as he stoops. He picks the silver circlet up in both hands and presents it to you like a crown. You take it, self-conscious but not quite unsettled. There’s something about him that doesn’t seem to let you get that far.

He takes you up to the second floor and unlocks a door somewhere along the middle, shouldering it inwards. You feel a strange sort of comfort as you step over the threshold. You glance behind you, like the rest of the world might have been swallowed up as soon as you followed him.

But it’s still there. It even stays when you nudge the door closed behind you.

The curtains are drawn tightly shut, but he leaves you to throw them open now, letting silvery moonlight spill through the dirty glass like mercury.

“Let me have you,” he rasps as he comes back to you. He’s shrugging out of his jacket- his arms are way bigger than you anticipated- and he’s pulling you tightly to him. “Let me have you, let me taste you, let me wreck you, angel.”

“Okay,” you gasp. The only word you seem to manage with him around.

He kisses you just like he did at the bar, tight and urgent and needy and bruising. He walks you toward the bed, laying you down in a stark, gentle contrast to the rough way he’s kissing you.

Your coat’s fallen open and he helps you out of it, letting the fabric spread beneath you like a cloak. He doesn’t waste time at all- kissing his way down the curve of your jaw and pushing his palms under the hem of your dress.

Your skin is chilled from the wind, but it warms quickly beneath his cold fingers. You part your legs and he snags the top of your panties, tugging them harshly down your thighs. He discards them quickly and comes back to you, burying his face into the apex of your thighs.

“Oh!”

His tongue is surprisingly cool as he swipes it along your slit, but he’s gentle and attentive with his mouth, and you tangle your fingers eagerly into his mussed hair. Your pinky brushes over the edge of his pointy little earring as it bobs against his neck, and you let your head fall back against the mattress so you can lose yourself in the pleasure he offers you.

He braces icy palms against your thighs- sending goosebumps racing up your legs- and keeps his head buried beneath your skirt as he eats you out furiously. His tongue swirls coolly around the nub of your clit, then flicks it deftly.

“Stop,” you gasp, toes curling tightly in the blankets. “Please, I-I’ll…” You trail off. You can’t hold out any longer. But he heeds your warning and draws back from your body, licking his lips garishly.

There’s a carnal glint in his navy gaze that sets your nerves alight as he crawls atop your body. At some point, he’s shed his clothes- you didn’t even see him strip- but he’s wearing only a pair of tight black undershorts, and his cock stands prominently against the front of them, hard and heavy across one thigh.

“Angel,” he rasps, bending over your torso. He nuzzles the crook of your neck, nosing at your pulse point as he nibbles your flesh. For the first time he seems to lose himself, blowing a deep huff over your chest and shivering hard as his hips rock forward into yours.

“Let me feel you. Let me fuck you.” He growls. Unbridled and feral.

You tug furiously at the hem of your dress.

“Take it off,” you insist. He wedges his palms beneath the flimsy fabric, tearing a new slit up the side of the skirt in his haste to get it off you. But you’re not paying attention. You’re consumed by him. Drowned by him. In this moment, he is all you’ve ever needed.

He strips out of his shorts and comes back to you bare, palming the base of his thick shaft. He settles between your thighs and draws a thumb up your slit. Your body sings. You gasp.

A dull chill settles over your body as he lines himself up.

He slides home in one easy stroke, composed all over again as you fall to pieces beneath him. As he starts to fuck you- smooth, steady, easy- he gives you nothing more than soft huffs of effort. He’s thick and stretches you well, but his body seems to flow in and out of yours like a river. His touch spreads cool relief through your gut.

“There you go, angel,” he rumbles into your ear. He braces a hand on your belly, rutting into you and letting the gentle slap of your flesh punctuate every thrust.

Beneath him, you’re a mess. The pleasure is more than you’re prepared to handle. With every push of his hips, you feel yourself falling deeper and harder. You don’t even know his name, but with him stroking your side so tenderly, it feels like you could love him.

Somewhere along the way, his rhythm shifts. He becomes wild and brutal and relentless, fucking you deep and hard. You relish in the way the bed creaks beneath you. You cling tightly to him, mewling and howling your overstimulated pleasure into the night. Your nails rake hard over his back as you hit your peak with sobs of tight ecstasy.

Your pussy clamps down hard around his cock and he fucks you through it, pushing you further and further until you come apart, a trembling mess in his arms.

With a feral roar he draws himself back from you suddenly, spilling sticky spurts of cum across your belly and over your chest.

Your eyelashes flutter open. He’s staring down at you, cupping your cheek with that same intense look from the bar. You blink, letting your brain swim back to life.

“Your fangs,” you gasp, noticing the sharp glints as they protrude from the underside of his lip. You chuckle. “You never took them off?”

You reach up, thumbing the edge of his jaw. They align seamlessly with the rest of his teeth. The fact that they didn’t pop out on their own is impressive, if a bit strange.

“They’re good,” you confess. “They look real.”

He purses his lips tightly shut and folds his body over yours. He finds the curve of your jaw and nuzzles it. Finds the bare thrum of your pulse point and tongues it. He grins. You feel the sharp point of them against your skin- strong, surprisingly so.

He snarls.

“They are.”

You’re blinded by pain before another thought can cross you. He sinks his fangs into the flesh of your neck and you scream, clinging and clawing at his back. But he’s strong, inhumanly so, and his grip is iron as he grabs your wrists and pins them over your head. He’s patient, holding you fast.

There’s an ecstatic, heady sort of bliss bleeding about the edges of your suffering. You thrash and struggle, but eventually, you succumb to it. It’s sweet and distant and so, so, serene, and as he pulls his fangs from your neck and licks tenderly at the wound, it lingers.

“That’s it, angel,” he sooths. “That’s it. C’mere.”

He slides a hand under your back and lays you properly against the pillows. He smooths his palm over your forehead, tugging the sheets over your bare body. His face is doubled in your vision, but his lips and chin are stained garishly red. His fangs are even longer than before, but his dark gaze is peaceful.

“Sleep for me, angel,” he croons. He smooths your hair, and you’re too far gone not to listen.

When you come to, the room is empty. There’s a motel-issued glass sitting on the nightstand, filled with a thick liquid like raspberry compote.

It’s still dark out. The pain in your neck and shoulder is immense. You bolt upright, remembering all at once where you are. What you’ve seen.

It can’t have been. Your fingertips scrabble over your neck. The wounds are already starting to scar.

So it was.

You climb cautiously out of bed, grabbing your dress and hugging it tightly to his chest. The bathroom door is open and the lights are out, but you poke your head in anyway. He’s not there.

You tug the dress violently over your head. The fabric is split almost to your hip, but your jacket’ll cover it. With your shoes clutched tightly in your hand, you make for the door while you still can.

The filled glass stares from over your shoulder, halting your hand on the knob. You turn slowly toward it. Your limbs go cold.

You know what it is.

That doesn’t stop you from craving it.

You can smell it from here, sweet, rich, irresistible. You lick your dry lips and press your back hard against the door.

It’s not too late. You can leave. Right now. You can make it home, you can call somebody, you can get out.

You’re not going to.

In two strong steps, you cross the room. You grab the glass so quickly and so firmly that it cracks in your hand, but it does not shatter.

The blood of your vampire is just as sweet as you’d hoped. You take long, desperate gulps, draining the glass in an instant and swiping your palm across your stained mouth.

The door to the room sweeps open behind you. With the empty glass in your hand you whip around to face it, paralyzed and half-caught in desperate bliss.

“Angel,” he purrs. He smooths a hand over his hair and kicks the door shut with a hollow thud. He grins wickedly at you, setting ice and cool, firm desire into the deepest reaches of your heart.

“I’m so glad you decided to join me.”

[imnotoverlyobsessive]

Mabel’s All-In-One Guide to Being a Shooting Star: How to Avoid Being Caught and Other Tips You Should Know

Chapter Four: Not Gravity Falls

Whoops I forgot to post it my b you guys

Shoutout to @edward-or-ford and @pacific-ship for being bangs

When I wake up, the dream isn't done, I wanna see your face and know I've made it home. If nothing is true, what more can I do?- All Time Low, Painting Flowers

There was something… off about this Gravity Falls. Which was, of course, to be expected; alternate reality and all that. It wasn’t as different from her Gravity Falls as Not Dipper was from her Dipper, it just… It just felt strange. Like it was just a little bit wrong. It was darker. Everything was darker. She didn’t quite understand why.

She was still somewhat out of it, and walking was a chore. She really missed her bike. Why didn’t she have her bike again? Right, because she’d been abducted by gnomes, and then abducted-slash-rescued by an alternate version of her bro.

He was walking beside her, this alternate Dipper, and there was something different in the way he held himself. Her Dipper was… awkward, for lack of a better word. Adorably so, of course; it was one of the many things that had made her fall in love with him to begin with.

But this version… this version of Dipper walked with an easy sort of confidence Mabel wasn’t used to seeing, not on anybody, or at least not to that degree. He wasn’t awkward. Not even a little. He was sure of himself, perhaps even arrogant. He stood at his full height, not slouching or hunching his shoulders.

He didn’t just walk, either. He strutted, and he didn’t seem to notice when the townspeople (who had all stopped dead in their tracks and were looking at her, slack-jawed and wide-eyed) gave them both an unnecessarily wide berth. He didn’t glance at them, not even briefly to take mental note of their locations in relation to his own. He simply continued on as if they weren’t there, as if they didn’t exist.

They were looking at her with such unmistakable horror that Mabel had to say something.

“Hey,” she murmured at Not Dipper. “What’s the deal with these guys?”

“Hm?” He didn’t appear to have been paying attention to them, so when she voiced her question, he glanced around haphazardly. “Oh, I suppose they might think you’re… the other Mabel.”

“Huh. Weird.” Before she could comment further, her words were cut off.

“Mabel?” came a shocked voice that was almost familiar, but not quite. And when Mabel slowed her pace along the sidewalk and turned her gaze to her right, she found herself looking at a very… well, it was just odd, wasn’t it, almost as odd as Not Dipper’s mannerisms and general Not Dipper-ness. The contrast of these weird versions to the people she knew was lowkey freakin’ her out.

It was… “Pacifica?” It did very much appear to be Pacifica. The girl looked like Pacifica. She had the same face, eyes, and general appearance, but it looked like Pacifica if Pacifica had aged several years and gotten a hippie costume from a Halloween store. Or a Summerween store. Y’know. Whatever.

“You’re, uh… how are you…?” Pacifica was asking, and Mabel still felt a bit wobbly, but she smiled at this strange version of Pacifica all the same.

“Hi!” Mabel greeted with a cheerful wave, sticking her hand out for the other girl to shake. “I’m Mabel, nice to meet ya!” There was murmuring of words from the crowd that Mabel couldn’t hear or understand, and Pacifica was looking at Mabel’s hand like it had a shark’s mouth and the corresponding number of teeth (which was, fun fact, three thousand), and would give her hand similar treatment to that of those teenagers in Jaws.

Realizing Pacifica wasn’t gonna take her hand, Mabel lowered it with a pout. Not Dipper wasn’t looking at her. He’d stopped walking when she had, but he was staring off into space, his expression blank.

“I… I don’t understand,” Pacifica said, eyeing Mabel warily. “How are you… how are you here?”

Suddenly, Mabel remembered: ‘nother universe, concussion, blah blah blah.

“Right!” She snapped her fingers. “Sorry, I totes magoats forgot!” Pacifica (and everyone else) raised their eyebrows at her. “Have a bit of a concussion here,” she explained, knocking on the side of her head. “Yowch, prolly shouldn’t’ve done that. Anyway, the long and short of it is,” she paused for dramatic effect, “I’m from an alternate dimension! Ta-da!” She did jazz hands. Dramatic effect really was important. Essential, even.

“Okay,” Pacifica said slowly, looking immensely confused. “So, how, exactly…” she glanced at Not Dipper, and her eyes widened. “Holy crap, what happened?!” she exclaimed, rushing towards him. “Are you okay? We need to get you to a hospital, ommigod!”

He rolled his eyes, allowing them to land on her. “It’s none of your concern.” His voice was bored, disinterested, like the absolute last thing in the world he wanted to be doing was to be talking to her, and the fact that he was having to was nothing more than an irritating waste of time.

“Worry not, little missy!” Mabel gave her a double thumbs up. “We’re gonna get it taken care of and the not-broseph over here will be a-okay!”

Nobody else said anything. Pacifica was still looking at her nervously. If they thought she was the alternate universe’s Mabel and they were acting like, well, that, then what in the hell had her other self done to them? Dang diggity, they were looking at Not Dipper the same way; what had he done to them?

She glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at Pacifica anymore. He was staring off into space again.

“Um, well, I-“

Pacifca’s nervous stuttering was cut off by Not Dipper sighing, taking Mabel’s hand in his, and pulling her forward again. “Time to go,” he said, not bothering to look over his shoulder.

Had he always been so... apathetic? Mabel wasn’t sure. Her head was still pounding somewhat, and she couldn’t remember suuuuuper clearly, but she was pretty sure he’d been paying attention to her before. In fact, he’d been focused entirely on her, she had thought. But just then, he wasn’t focusing on anything. He’d totally snubbed Pacifica, too!

“Where are we going, exactly?” Mabel asked, doing her best to wave over her shoulder at the bewildered and fearful-looking townspeople as Not Dipper dragged her along behind him, his hand gentle but firm around hers.

“Home,” Not Dipper said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Not her home, obviously, but his. Was it her shaken brain, or was his distinct lack of the word ‘my’ weird?

“Not… uh…” she took a moment to collect her thoughts. Stupid concussion. What was that word again? “Not a hospital?”

“Not a hospital,” he agreed.

“O...kay…?”

After several minutes of him walking in strides that were a bit much for Mabel, particularly since she was having difficulty walking at all, he looked over his shoulder at her with one of those stupid stupid stupid grins-

“You seem to be having a bit of trouble there, Mabel dear. You’re quite sure you don’t want me to carry you again?”

“Yes, I’m sure!” She nodded emphatically. But, wait a second. “Again? What do you mean again?”

“Oh,” he glanced over his shoulder at her for a second, as if he’d forgotten he’d mentioned it to begin with. “I carried you earlier. When you were unconscious, you know.”

“R- right,” she stuttered. He’d carried her? How terribly embarrassing. She was far too heavy to be carried, and she was massively uncomfortable with this random version of her twin she loved in a very un-sister-type way knowing that she was far too heavy to be carried. “Thank you for saving me, by the way.”

“Of course,” he said easily. “Though please do try not to get into too much trouble now that you’re here.” He paused for a moment. “I’d hate to see something happen to you.”

“Honestly, the only place weird stuff ever happens to me is Gravity Falls,” she chuckled a bit. Her own need to escape had trapped her in a way, hadn’t it? “I’m probably no safer here than I was in my dimension.”

They’d migrated from sidewalks to dirt walkways along the side of a long, winding road that Mabel couldn’t see the end of.

“You’re safe with me,” he told her firmly. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

He was pulling her along the dirt path still, the earth and gravel crunching beneath her shoes. It was fairly dark by this point, so the chill of the evening air bit into the bare skin her shorts and loose crop top revealed.

“Sorry for complaining, but like. We’ve been walkin’ for a hot minute here, and I’m not seeing any houses in sight, so I’m just…'' she paused to take a break. Words were hard when one had a concussion. “Just kinda wondering if we’ll ever actually get to your far-far-away abode, y’know?”

“We’re almost there,” he assured her, and she could’ve sworn he squeezed her hand, but she really wasn’t sure. She might’ve imagined it. Actually, she probably imagined it. Almost certainly.

Which, side note, but why was he still holding her hand? They weren’t exactly walking side by side, no, but she was close enough behind him to where he didn’t really need to lead her anywhere.

Before she could formulate the words to question it, however, a wall came into view. A very high wall. Perhaps ten feet? Mabel didn’t know; she’d never been great at math. Sue her. It was stone, it looked like, but it was difficult to tell for certain because it was covered in ivy from top to bottom.

“You see?” He smiled at her slightly. “We’re there.”

The road they were walking beside appeared to end at a very large, ornate wrought iron gate that the wall-slash-fence appeared to house, and beyond that lay a driveway, leading to…

A… castle? It certainly looked like a castle. It was very very tall, and she couldn’t see much, but it definitely looked like a castle.

She sped up her pace a bit so she could match his long strides and poke him lightly on the arm. He looked down at her with mild amusement, it looked like. “Hey, uh…” he raised his eyebrows at her. “Is that where you live?”

“Yes, that’s why we’re here,” he said as if it were obvious. As if anyone living in a goddamn castle in the year of our lord 2019 was an obvious conclusion for somebody to jump to.

She noticed that some of his hair had fallen from its slicked back style and was falling over his birthmark. She wondered what it would look like down. She wondered what it would feel like. She wondered- no no no, bad Mabel, very bad, he’s not your Dipper!

“So…” she trailed off for a second. “Just to be clear, so we’re like, one-hundred-and-ten percent on the same page here, you live in a castle. Have… have I got that right, oooorrrrrr…?”

“If you consider this a castle, then yes, I suppose.” Not Dipper was looking down at her again, and he looked like he found her surprise quite funny. Which she didn’t exactly appreciate, but y’know. Beggars can’t choose their rescuers and all that.

They’d finally reached the gate, and it appeared to have a very large G in very fancy cursive on it.

He pressed his thumb to an electronic pad. The gate creaked open, and he strolled through it, pulling her along after him. It closed again as soon as they went through, and she found herself looking around every way she could without making herself all dizzy again.

They navigated around what appeared to be a hedge maze (that she would later discover was also in the shape of a giant cursive G), and it was several more minutes before they reached the overly tall wooden doors.

It wasn’t until he pushed the door open, taking his hand from hers in the process, that she realized he’d never let go of her hand. He’d been holding it the entire time, and she’d never even noticed.

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Black Lives Matter, @butsamsd donated $50, and requested Sam/Dean/Jack. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

After the craziness of their Halloween hunt, it’s good to be back in Kansas. Dean isn’t totally whole, probably won’t be for a while--Sam knows what it’s like to be possessed better than just about anyone else alive, he knows what the aftereffects are. Still, the hunt--getting out of his room, getting away from it all--Sam knows that it helped, too, and Dean’s happier on that drive home than he’s been in weeks, and even the crowd of cars parked up in front of the bunker don’t dim his grin, still wheedling Sam to try to get him to agree to a couple costume, for some future Halloween Dean’s thinking they might both see.

“Daphne and Velma,” Dean offers, parking the Impala in her pride of place down in the garage, and Sam squints at him, trying not to laugh, says, “Which one of us is Velma?” and Dean says, reproachfully, “Sam, please take this seriously,” and Sam looks around the empty garage, and pulls Dean in by that stupid plaid jacket, and kisses him soft, right there, because they’re--home. They’re finally home.

Dean blinks at him, when he pulls back. Surprised, uncertainly pleased. They haven’t really messed around, since he got Dean back from Michael. There was that first night, desperate and pressing together, and they had to be near-silent and it was more of an insane desperate renewing of something they’d both always promised each other than something that actually felt good. Otherwise--Dean too hurt, and trying to pretend he wasn’t, and the bunker too full, and things not right. Things still aren’t right but Sam thinks they can both live with them. “Think I’ll take a shower,” Sam says, pulling back to his side of the bench seat. “Then--my room?”

Dean breathes, presses Sam’s hand low on the bench where no one would be able to see, even if there were someone in the garage with them. “Sounds good to me, Sammy,” he says, and Sam squeezes his thumb, and gets out and heads into the bunker, smiling at the few refugees he sees, thinking--this is it. They really are home, at last.

Not all that many people around, really. Mom’s gone, like she usually is anymore, and Sam’s long-since reconciled himself to it. Cas in the wind, too, and what’s left is a half-dozen of the people Sam’s been training who aren’t on hunts, and he and Dean got back late enough that most of them are in bed, anyway, in the bunked-out rooms they reserved for themselves. Just Roland left up, manning the phones and watching Friends reruns on Netflix, and Sam waves at him but doesn’t stop, because--because Dean’s going to be waiting for him, and that knowledge is a heavy beating thrum in Sam’s blood.

Shower room’s empty, thank god. Sam strips out of the nerd gear, drops it all on the bench below the towel rack. Under the showerhead, that instant blast of heat and pressure carving the lingering worry of the hunt out of his shoulders, and he stands there for a second, soaking. Imagining. Dean, in his room, in the gold light. Dean’s skin under his hands. Everything else falling away. He drags his hands through his hair, decides to wash it another day because he can’t wait another ten minutes, and when he turns around under the stream of water there’s--Jack, standing there in his pajamas and bare feet, watching him.

Sam starts, moves a little out of the water. “Jack, hey,” he says, smiling--a little awkward, he bets, but Jack probably can’t tell. The showers are old-school open pans, not exactly private, but most people know not to just come in and watch when someone else is using them. Then again, Jack’s not most people. “You all right? Thought you were asleep.”

“I’m okay,” Jack says, and smiles. A little wan, maybe, a little pale, but he’s been different since Lucifer stole his grace. Sam’s still rinsing off suds, and Jack tracks his eyes down Sam’s body--deliberate, really looking, and Sam goes still. Jack nods, like he’s made a decision, and looks Sam in the eye. “Sam, I’d like it if we could have sex.”

Sam drops his washcloth with a splat. “What?”

Jack smiles, soft. “I thought that might seem weird,” he says, easy, but he also--strips off his t-shirt, and his pajama pants, and then he’s--jesus, naked, all of him right there, and he steps up into the shower pan and walks closer, makes Sam back up against the wall out of pure shock. “I know that isn’t the way our relationship has been going, but I think it’s something I need.”

“Jack,” Sam starts, and can only--laugh, kind of, like it’s some weird demented joke. “Buddy, this isn’t--I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

A tiny beat. Jack licks his lips. He’s not in the stream of still-running water and his body’s all smooth, pale. Perfect. Sam glances down, can’t help it, and Jack’s dick isn’t hard--just another perfect piece of him, soft and pink and curved gently over his balls, in a sparse nest of fine hair barely darker than the golden hair on his head. Cherub, Sam thinks, not for the first time, and then Jack puts his hand square in the center of Sam’s chest, over his sternum. Sam hitches in air, completely thrown. “I’ve just been thinking,” Jack says, softer. “All of the--stuff. Humans get to learn all of this when they’re growing up, but I’m already grown up and no one would ever--no one would get that. Nobody understands.”

“That’s--” Sam starts, and grabs Jack’s wrist. Soft, slipping under his wet hand. “You have to get to know people, Jack. Girls, or--or boys, I guess. Your own age, you know? This stuff doesn’t just happen automatically.”

“No one else is sixteen months old with a fully functional body and brain,” Jack says, reproachful, and Sam doesn’t have a lot to say to that, but then Jack’s mouth twists, somehow--sad. “I just want--I want to know what it’s like. At least once.”

Sam frowns--what does that mean?--but Jack shakes his head, and moves in closer, and puts both hands on Sam’s chest. “Sam,” he says, soft, and Sam should--should push him away, should demand answers, should ask why Jack doesn’t think he has other chances--only the door opens, and Dean says, “Sammy, what’s taking so long,” and Sam looks up over Jack’s head to find Dean there in the bathroom doorway, mouth half-open, staring at them.

“Dean,” Jack says, sounding glad. “You’re here.”

“Yeah, I am,” Dean says, slowly, and looks Sam in the eyes. He shakes his head, not knowing what to say. Dean’s in his undershirt, flannel pants, and he takes a step closer. “What’s up, kiddo?”

“I want to know what sex is like,” Jack says, again, firm, and Dean’s face does a thing that’d make Sam laugh any other time. “I asked Sam, but I want to know from you, too.”

“Kid,” Dean starts, but Jack shakes his head, looks back and forth between them, says, impossibly, “I know that you both have sex. With each other, I mean. It shouldn’t be a big deal for you to show me.”

“How did you know that?” Sam says, past the weird ringing in his ears. God, the shower’s still running. He shuts it off, and Dean’s just staring at Jack, his mouth set and his eyes narrow.

“My senses were better when I had my grace,” Jack says, shrugging, and looks up at Sam. “Castiel said I shouldn’t mention it, but it seems like--you know what you’re doing.” He looks at Dean, while Sam’s trying to dig himself out of the pit of what both of those statements mean. “I just...” he says, and he’s--so lost little kid, for a second. Immensely young, and sad, and Dean’s face changes again, settles.

“Why us?” Dean says, guarded.

Jack shrugs, again. He doesn’t even look turned on--just miserable, and there’s a wry curve to his mouth. “Who else could I trust?” he says, and Sam puts a hand on his bare shoulder. Something’s going on--something they should dig into.

Dean tips his head back a little, looks at Jack with full attention. His lips part, after a second, like he’s seeing something Sam doesn’t, and there’s a wash of compassion across his face. He looks up at Sam, and Sam thinks, something unlocking under his chest--this isn’t a good idea. They’re going to do it anyway.

*

The door to Sam’s room locks behind them. Silent, but Jack’s not nervous because he doesn’t know what to expect. Other than-- “I watched a pornographic video,” he says, and Dean closes his eyes and mutters jesus christ. “But it had a woman and a man, and I guess we can’t do those same things.”

“Some of ‘em,” Dean says, easy, and Sam leans his back against the door, holding his towel around his waist with what remains of his strength. Dean pulls Jack into the middle of the room, looks at him steady. “Jack. What are you--what do want to get out of this?”

Good question--better question than a lot of the ones Sam has. Jack frowns, seems like he really thinks about it. “I want to know--I mean, I’ve--with my hand,” he says, unexpectedly shy. Sam drags in a deep breath, imagining it. “But I don’t know what it’s like with someone else. In books they say it’s better with someone who loves you. You and Sam have that.”

Sam catches Dean’s eye. “Yeah,” Dean says, gruff, and then turns his full attention onto Jack, and smiles. Small, but full of promise. “You say the second you want anything to stop, all right?” he says, and his voice is--Sam’s gut revs, because he knows that voice. Dean, when he’s not laying it on thick as a charmer but when he knows someone wants him, and Jack blinks and nods, eager, and Dean lifts both hands and strokes his thumbs along Jack’s smooth jaw, gentle and easy, and then ducks and inch and kisses him, smooth and confident and simple, and Sam feels like the bottom drops out of his stomach.

Dean knows how to kiss. Sam knows that better than just about anyone, too. Jack makes a startled noise, clutches alternately at Dean’s shirt, his arms, and when Dean pulls back to let him breathe Jack’s chest is already heaving, his face all surprise. “Good?” Dean says, and Jack nods, more jerky than before, and Dean smiles at him, cupping his face. “Good,” Dean says, and catches Sam’s eye, and Sam walks over while Dean kisses Jack again, smooth, and again, soft and constant pressure, and Sam thinks with a burst of total insanity--this is like when Dean taught him to kiss, what feels like a million years ago--and he walks up behind Jack and holds his waist, watches up close. Soft, but insistent, and Jack’s hand creeps up to Dean’s neck like instinct’s driving it, his mouth following Dean’s lead like he’s learned everything they taught him, quick and eager. Dean makes a small, approving sound, and runs his knuckles over Jack’s cheek, and on the next press in he opens Jack’s mouth with his own and Sam sees the wet glance of Dean’s tongue and Jack moans, startled, and Sam dips and presses a kiss to his neck, says, “God, that’s good, Jack--you’re doing so good.”

Dean pulls back, mutters jesus again--grabs the back of Sam’s head and pulls him down and kisses him, too, over Jack’s shoulder, and Sam’s pulled close enough that his dick presses into Jack’s ass, and he breathes hot into Dean’s mouth and rubs his thumb in that soft sweet spot just below his ear, and god, this is--weird, weird, so goddamn weird but it doesn’t feel wrong, and Sam’s done a lot in his life that felt wrong and he knows the difference.

“Wow,” Jack says, small, and Dean laughs, pulls back from Sam and cups Jack’s cheek.

“Wow is right,” Dean says, warm with promise, and Sam knows then--whatever Jack wants, they’ll give him. They taught him everything else. It doesn’t have to be anything more than what it is. Anyway--it’s not like it’s something that’d come between Dean and Sam. Nothing ever will again.

Dean looks at Sam, expression as soft as though he heard the thought. “You ready for more?” he says, and Jack nods, so eager it makes Sam grin. Yeah, he’s ready. It’s going to be a good night.

[eturni]

Day 23 - Ghosts

It’s day 23 of @drawlight‘s advent calender prompt list https://drawlight.tumblr.com/post/188869931294/aziraphale-crowley-for-half-an-hour-youve-been and today is ghosts.

This ended up being the mandatory crackfic chapter and includes a haunted doll helping to celebrate Candlenights.

Crowley halted inside the doorway of A. Z. Fell’s bookshop, a sense of unease skittering up his spine. He froze, as though the lack of movement would protect him from prying eyes, and slowly looked around the shop to try and get any idea of what was so wrong.

“Angel? Everything clear?” He called out cautiously, not quite letting the door close behind him just in case. It had been a short few months since the world didn’t end and everything still held a little bit of the feeling that time was holding it’s breath waiting for something to go wrong.

The silence stretched for seconds that felt more like centuries before Aziraphale appeared from the back with a bright, unaffected smile in place. In fact, if anything, it grew when he spotted the demon in the doorway. “Ah, Crowley dear. Good to see you again in such short order.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow but nodded tersely. “Yeah. I mean, already gone freelance right. What’s it matter now. No… No angels or anything here causing trouble?”

He cautiously stepped in when the angel gave a baffled shake of his head. “Then what-” Crowley stopped, straightening like an adder-strike. Felt more like his lot. Felt spooky. “Did you put Halloween stuff up?”

“Oh.” Aziraphale brightened in that way that told Crowley he’d worked something out but still shook his head. “No, not at all. That will be dear Nora. She’s my newest holiday acquisition.” He declared proudly before leading Crowley to the back corner of the room.

There, beside the tree and peeking out as though plotting something against the world was a little doll in a blue sari and gold hijab. She wouldn’t have been out of place as a stand in for Mary in a slightly more accurate nativity representation… if it weren’t for the pits where eyes should be and the fact that it gave off the very distinct energy of something that was possessed.

The demon blinked. He did his best to try and process what he was seeing. “Aziraphale.” He wet his lips, still coming up blank for a moment. “Look, I know you love midwinter and I know we’ve come across a lot of weird stuff in the name of celebrating it but… what the actual fuck? Did you bring back the human sacrifice bit of it? What the hell is going on here?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes at the suggestion. “Well dear, have you ever heard of the McElroy brothers?”

Continue on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638803/chapters/52335700 or:

“Heard- Angel, any demon who knows anything about earth knows those three. Pure chaos that lot are. Entire family, in fact.”

“Yes, well, quite… Actually they all seem very kind, but that’s hardly the point. The point, my dear, is that I found the perfect holiday celebration for me.” He smiled, wide and as bright as a sun. It usually came with the same

“Please don’t say what I think you’re gonna say. Please, angel.”

Aziraphale’s lips set into a thin line at that and her regarded the demon slowly. “I don’t see what in heaven’s name should be wrong with it.” He declared finally. “I do so love every one of the traditions they’ve come up with through the years and Candlenights” he ignored the full-body eye roll and groan that wound itself out of Crowley “Candlenights is the perfect way to celebrate. It’s a pan-religious, pansexual, personal pan holiday. What could be more appropriate for me?” He pointed out almost patiently.

“I’ve stepped into the fucking Twilight Zone.” Crowley declared, leaning in to stare the doll head on unblinking and getting the very strong sensation that it stared back.

“Oh Crowley, must you use language like that? I… I rather enjoy the idea of a holiday built around just accepting everyone else and letting it start and stop whenever one’s most comfortable with it.”

The softness in his voice, the slight tremor of vulnerability, finally pulled Crowley back from his inspection. “Yeah, suppose you did always like your own speed.” He smiled faintly. There was less sting there these days but it hid in the darker shadows behind Crowley’s eyes regardless.

“And the giving to charity.”

“And the pansexual bit?”

“Just another way of saying that gender doesn’t matter in love. Of course I can support that.”

“And the doll, angel?”

Aziraphale almost feels foolish for not having spotted Crowley circling back to his initial point. Always circling, always in orbit with the impossible gravity of him.

“The doll is part of their traditional Candlenights celebrations. Some of the students come in regularly and they very helpfully let me see some of the shows. It seems that at Candlenights there’s always a watch set for haunted dolls. Then you take one into your home, and Nora was just precious.”

Crowley’s head swayed a little for a moment; having almost entirely lost function in his corporation at the earnest words. “You know… They just… It’s a bit you don’t actually get a doll and they’re not actually haunted.”

Aziraphale frowned and gestured to Nora. “Well she most certainly is. Been causing all sorts of mischief.” He pointed out reasonably.

Of course, the problem with this was that Aziraphale had bought the doll fully expecting it to be haunted. He actually had little concept of how a soul could become trapped on earth, odd as the idea was, but that wasn’t entirely his department and he thought that it could happen. So, expecting a haunted doll to arrive, that’s exactly what happened.

“Satan’s sake angel.” Crowley cursed, eyeing the doll suspiciously and wondering if he could just kind of throw it at Shadwell and tell the Witchfinder to deal with it. “Maybe she is, but what I mean is that Candlenights doesn’t actually need you to have a doll that’s really haunted. They only joke about buying the blessed things.”

There was a moment that Aziraphale squinted at Crowley as though trying to read his intentions but admittedly the demon had never been one for lying to him. “Oh dear. Now that’s a bit of an error on my part.” He smiled a little sheepishly. “You see, the thing is it is the middle of winter and I’m afraid the young lady who helped me buy it won’t be able to do anything while she’s back home for the holidays. It seems that Nora will just have to stay with me this year. Can’t leave her out in the cold, as it were.”

“Angel, are you-” Crowley paused. Pulled back a little. He could point out that none of this was right. Could get it exorcised or something like that. Or he could let Aziraphale send an actual haunted doll out into the world after midwinter and track the chaos that it caused. “Never mind. Happy Candlenights I guess.” He snorted.

The smile he got in return was the usual terribly tender one he seemed to get at this time of year. “Yes indeed. Let’s open a bottle and celebrate properly. I believe Nora’s overdue to play with her cards anyway.” He agreed before slipping into the back.

Once Aziraphale was out of earshot Crowley leaned back just far enough to catch the doll’s blank void-like eyes. “I swear to Satan, you behave for him or I’ll drop you into a holy water bath myself.” He hissed, frowning further when he swore he heard a giggle in response. “No bloody respect these days.” He muttered; going to follow after the angel to see about that wine. Winter was going to be a long one.

[makepunsmaketracks]

Cownies

Original fiction

Girls have a fluffy lil Halloween together. They bake some stuff. It’s cute :)

Triggers: stomach mention maybe? (it’s blink and you’ll miss it)

“Come back here!” Charlie shouted. She was glaring after her friend, but a smile was fighting its way onto her lips.

“Catch me then!” Jo threw over her shoulder.

Charlie did catch her outside the bathroom. The blonde tackled her and firmly wrapped her arms around Jo’s waist. “Can’t get away now.” Charlie mumbled into Jo’s shoulder.

“Oh no!” Jo cried dramatically. “I’ve been captured by the ugly troll!”

Charlie snorted and dug a finger into her friend’s stomach. It was followed by an “ow!” and a swift smack to her arm.

They collapsed on the couch where they had begun and groaned. A comfortable silence reigned until Jo exclaimed, “I’m bored! Let’s make something.”

Charlie had been resting her eyes after chasing Jo around the house for a good ten minutes. She groaned in protest and turned to look at her. “How do you still have energy?”

Jo looked at her with a pout.

Charlie sighed and acquiesced, shaking her head and mumbling quietly, “I can never say no to you.”

Jo’s smile lit up the sitting room as she dragged her friend into the kitchen. “Great! I wanna make spooky brownies!”

Jo rummaged in the pantry while Charlie leaned on the counter watching with a small smile. “We’ve got a recipe somewhere-” Charlie began.

“Nope!” Jo cut her off.

Charlie slowly closed her mouth and raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“No recipe!” Jo had a glint in her eye that twisted Charlie’s stomach into knots.

“No… recipe?”

“No recipe!” Jo shouted with glee. “We’re gonna make an entirely new kind of brownie! A spooky brownie! It will be fun, trust me.”

Charlie laughed at the determination in her friend’s voice. “Okay! Spooky brownies. Thematic. On this, the spookiest of nights.”

“Yes! That’s the spirit...s!” Jo turned to the ingredients she had gathered. “Now… we need…”

Charlie watched her friend ramble on about how if they used more flour that would make it drier but if they put in water would that… etc.

The younger girl hadn’t ever baked without a recipe, but it wouldn't hurt anything to let her friend experiment. Plus, the excitement radiating off Jo was infectious. Charlie could admit it sounded fun.

Suddenly, she had a thought. She turned to the cabinet behind her and reached up to the top shelf. Her hand touched various areas of empty air before landing on a small round container. She pulled it down.

Jo was still talking to herself as Charlie came up behind her. “But this is really dark cocoa, so we need more sugar than with other kinds… what?” Jo smiled a bit self-consciously as she noticed Charlie watching.

“Would these help? With the spookiness.” Charlie held out the container of cupcake liners. There were little ghosts and pumpkins dancing across the bright green background.

Jo’s eyes shined with excitement. “Oh my gosh, yes! These are adorable! I didn’t know you had these!”

Charlie shrugged. “Mom bought them years ago when she had to bake for a work party. We didn’t use all of them, and they sort of just migrated to the back of the cabinet. I just now remembered we even kept them.” Charlie smiled. “So you like them?”

“Yes, I love them! Thank you! This is perfect for the spoops!” Jo cradled the cupcake liners as if it was a nugget of gold. Her eyes were shining as big as the full moon. It made Charlie feel bubbly and light.

“Well, you’re welcome. I guess.” Charlie rubbed her hand on the back of her neck abashedly.

Jo put down the spoopy liners on the counter with the other ingredients and hugged Charlie. “They’re great! Now hand me the sugar. Let’s put them to good use!”

Neither had a great knowledge of baking, so the decision to forego the recipe wasn’t maybe the best idea. But they were having fun, and that’s the important thing. They argued over the amount of sugar to put in (Charlie wanted more, Jo liked darker chocolate), and eventually Charlie conceded to Jo before waiting for her back to turn and adding another half cup to the bowl.

After haggling the rest of the ingredients they thought best for fudgy brownie/cupcakes, they finally got a semi-recipe they were both happy with.

Jo tasted a bit of the dark brown sludge they had concocted. She narrowed her yes at Charlie, who was smirking gleefully, safely on the other side of the kitchen island.  “You added sugar didn’t you.“

“Can’t take it out now!” Charlie cackled.

Jo shook her head and got out a cupcake pan. “Now we are going to use your delightfully spoopy cupcake thingies!”

“Liners.”

“Whatever. Choco-goodness holders!” Jo dismissed, flapping her hands at Charlie.

She carefully separated the cupcake liners for each cupcake the pan would hold. “Hmm. Looks like we’ll only have enough for a dozen.”

“Six for you. Six for me.” Charlie put in. “I don’t know if I could do more than that anyway. Depends on the brow-”

“Cownies!” Jo shouted excitedly, grinning at her inventive name.

Charlie paused, sighed, and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “... cownies.”

“Yes. Cupcake brownies.” Jo said again.

“... fine. Spooky Cownies it is then. What actually makes them spooky?” Charlie asked.

“The holders.”

“... fair enough.”

They decided on a low heat for now and just watch to make sure they don’t spill over. Charlie leaned on the counter across from the oven while Jo sat directly in front of it at her feet.

“I’m really curious how they turned out.” Jo said, vibrating impatiently.

“Yeah, me too. I wonder if they’re edible.” Charlie teased lightly, nudging Jo with her knee. Jo leaned on her leg and sighed.

“I hope so. It would be so disappointing if they weren’t.”

Charlie frowned. She made a fervent wish to whatever gods were listening to make the cownies taste perfect.

“But!” Jo cried, sitting up, “We had fun! And that’s the most important thing!” She smiled up at Charlie. Charlie smiled softly back.

The cownies took about 15 minutes to fully bake. They didn’t even do anything for the first ten. In the last five minutes, they were both getting nervous because they were rising so much. (“It’s. ALIVE!” “Charlie, sit down, they could be ruined!”) But they weren’t ruined. They rose beautifully and settled into their spoopy liners with good grace (for a cupcake).

Jo carefully pulled out the toothpick. It was clean. “They’re ready!” Jo shouted excitedly. Charlie hovered over her shoulder. “Finally! But they have to cool first.”

They were ready to eat sooner than expected. Jo took one and handed Charlie another.

“Ready?” Jo asked excitedly.

Charlie nodded grinning.

They bit into the cownie together.

“...hmm”

“Hmm.”

“They’re not... bad.” Charlie says tentatively.

“Yeah… they’re not bad.” Jo says.

Charlie can see Jo’s lips turn down slightly.

“But they’re wonderfully spooktacular! And I would eat six of them right now.” Charlie reassures her quickly.

Jo smiles softly.

“And we had fun! So that’s the most important thing!” Charlie continues.

“Aw, Charlie. Thank you.” Jo took Charlie’s hand and squeezed. “We did have fun. Thanks for indulging me.”

“It was no problem.” Charlie insisted.

“Still... “ Jo yawned then. “Wanna cuddle on the couch and watch Hocus Pocus again?”

“Heck yeah I do!”

Author’s note: This is the first fic I’m posting on my tumblr, so let me know if you liked it :) i crave validation

[withoutcomedy]

oh heck, i want to hear how you think a NBC and UT crossover would be like

((Ahaha thank you for sending in an actual question to the world building meme!! I actually posted this meme to my blog accidentally because I wanted to reblog it to my meme blog for later - but since you were so sweet to actually send something in, let me try to answer. 

A NBC UT Crossover, huh? Let me turn on my edgelord NBC OST covers on for this. :’) I guess it’s my teenage years all over again. Anyway, to get to the point.

To be honest, the way I imagine it, all of the monsters would probably live in Halloween Town, since they already fit in there. Everything would be way darker and more Halloween / Horror inspired. So I’d probably go for an aesthetic that’s close to Horrortale, but ofc more Tim Burtonesque. 

Since we are talking more about crossover than AU - I’d keep all of the original NBC Characters. I’d also keep the Christmas world, since it fits with the whole theme of multiverses anyway. Next to an aesthetic overhaul I’d give the monsters new jobs/roles that are more fitting to the Halloween Theme. 

Alphys? Would work together with Doctor Finklestein as another assistant or colleague. 

Flowey? Idk, probably local nightmare flower. 

All of the dogs? More friends for Zero :’) 

Asgore? Maybe takes care of all the nightmare Flowers, including Flowey. He and Toriel broke up in this Crossover too :(  I’m not sure why though

Toriel? Probably lives in an isolated hut or something on the graveyard after her break up with Asgore. Loves to scare children, especially, but secretly has a soft spot for them. 

Undyne? Part of the Local gang of lovecraftian Fishmonsters that fuel your nightmares, probably. Other than that, close to her canon counterpart. Also loves the abominations that Alphys creates in her lab. 

Muffet? Well. Spiders are already pretty scary for some. :’) 

Mettaton? Probably the same, except more scary. More weapons, more destruction. Maybe wants to convince Sally to sing / act in one of his shows.

Papyrus? Wants to be part of the lovecraftian Fishgang but is a skeleton. He made a fish costume though! Also his spaghetti would be similar to HT!Papyrus spaghetti with eyeballs and such - maybe also gummy worms?  

Sans UnderNightmare?? Tbh, I imagine bc he is this cryptic kinda multiverse aware character he knows about all of the different holidays, and as such he just drops random references to them all the freaking time. Sometimes wearing an easter bunny costume / even Christmas stuff. No one gets him and everybody thinks he is nuts (delta nuts). 

Frisk/Chara? I’m not sure about these two - maybe Chara actually died and lives there as a ghost now that’s why Toriel lives there too now. And Frisk is a living human child that crawled too far under their bed during Halloween, ending up in Halloween Town? :’)  

I’m super sorry if I forgot someone. xD But that’s all I can think about right now. Maybe the plot would be similar to the original NBC, idk. I have to think more about this! I kinda wanna draw their designs now... gdi.... @skeletations))

[segadores-y-soldados]

Have Some Mercy

Anon: “I don't know if you've mentioned this, but what do you think the odds are of Mercy being evil? I see a lot of theories about that, but I don't know if they can be backed up or not. I'm sorry if you've already discussed this” Hey, no worries, Anon - a lot of my Mercy stuff is spread out through like...five separate posts, so here’s one that’s got it all collected.  I moved this to a regular tumblr post so that I could also provide a cut and pics and whatnot.

I think Mercy’s personality is basically how she’s presented in the game - a healer who is passionate about her work, but also gets rather tired of the responsibilities she feels.  She appears to have some level of guilt or frustration over Overwatch’s fall, indicated by the line:

Overwatch was shut down for a reason. Maybe it's best it stay that way.

So in short, no, I don’t think Mercy is “evil” - I’ve seen a lot of similar theories and almost none of them have real evidence to back them up.  

To start with, we’ll get the “biggest one” out of the way:

Mercy is the one who incorrectly resurrected Gabriel Reyes/Reaper.

This is not true.

More under the cut

https://us.battle.net/forums/en/overwatch/topic/20747844983#post-16

Chu: “I'm not sure where it came from (maybe there is another line that sounds similar to it), but the "this is not what I intended for you, Reyes" line/exchange does not actually exist in the game.”

For a long time, many fans seemed to believe that there was a voiceline or interaction between Mercy and Reaper that went something along the lines of:

Reaper: you’re the one responsible for all this. Mercy: this was not my intention for you, Reyes.

Now, there is an unused Reaper voiceline that goes:

Reaper:  Don't forget, you're the one responsible for this.

But because it’s unused, he never actually says it.

We also need to remember that the game itself isn’t “canon” - what is happening with the game is a huge series of “what if’s”.  “What if” these six heroes got together and defended a payload in Numbani from another six heroes?  “What if” Reaper and Ana ended up working together again after the events of the Old Soldiers comic?  “What if” Genji and Hanzo had to work together in Hanamura after “Dragons”?  That sort of thing.

The game is basically a massive reference system for each character’s personalities and interactions, but are not actually 100% canon.  Each voiceline is meant to give you an indicator on 1) who this character is, 2) what their relationships with the other characters are, and 3) their relationships within the larger world of Overwatch (e.g. when a character comments about a specific map).

The “exception” to this are the series of interactions between Reaper, Sombra, Soldier: 76, and Ana.  While these still fall in the category of “what if” (these four characters interacted post-Old Soldiers), these four are the only characters who currently know that Reaper is Gabriel Reyes.  It is debatable how much Doomfist/Akande Ogundimu and Widowmaker/Amélie Lacroix know about Reaper.

Getting back to Mercy, she certainly has some Strange Techno-magic Shit going on, that Blizzard has put under their category of “firm science fiction” by describing her Caduceus staff as “nanobot technology,” but basically the majority of her interactions in-game are “Not Canon” in the sense of being firm, specific events we can point to and stamp as “This is canon proof about Mercy’s life.”

Mercy forced Genji to become a cyborg.

I spoke with a user privately not too long ago about the nature of Genji becoming a cyborg - the short answer is “we just don’t really know enough details about his fight with Hanzo and ‘the deal’ he made with Overwatch/Blackwatch to argue who is morally right or wrong here.”  And the longer answer is basically an expanded version of that.

We don’t actually know what level of involvement Mercy specifically had in terms of rescuing Genji and the Overwatch/Blackwatch operation against the Shimada clan.  Presumably, Overwatch/Blackwatch had been investigating the Shimadas for some time, which is why they were “close by” when the fight between Genji and Hanzo occurred and could rescue Genji before his death.  My assumption is that Mercy is still a doctor who genuinely believes in doing good, and so she wanted to help save Genji and create a new body for him.  Her level of involvement in making him “a human weapon” for Overwatch is not known.  In Uprising we see her monitoring his training, but I would assume by that point the person who is actually in charge of him is Commander Reyes.

Mercy has connections to Oasis/the group governing Oasis.

This is one I actually believe.

If you’re not aware, there’s a lot of interesting little lore bits floating around about Oasis.  The “City of Science” is governed by eight ministries, each one “ruling” over the city’s different scientific disciplines (e.g. Geology, Biology, etc).  We are specifically told that there is, in fact, a Ministry of Biology.

https://playoverwatch.com/en-us/blog/20457295

Mercy is a preeminent doctor in biotic nanotechnology.  Her last known location as of Recall is somewhere in the Arabian Desert.  Oasis, meanwhile, has been confirmed to be in Iraq.

Fortunately, the game has actually provided us with a handy little map showing Oasis’ location.

And yes, that is Oasis’ location because it is the only map currently found on the Arabian peninsula.

This map is pulled from the computer on Necropolis, where Ana and Soldier: 76 are tracking Reaper’s locations.  These locations are:

St. Petersburg, Russia (Volskaya Industries - Infiltration)

Watchpoint: Gibraltar (Recall)

Numbani, Nigeria (Museum Heist)

Los Angeles, California (Reflections?)

Oasis, Iraq

(Not shown: Giza, Egypt - Old Soldiers)

Oasis is particularly interesting because it’s hypothetically the only location we haven’t seen Reaper appear at in “actual canon materials” (aka comics and shorts, or lore events like Uprising), which means we need to sit down and scrutinized why it’s being referenced alongside “canon appearances.”

Reaper has a very specific, “semi-canon” interaction when he is selected alongside another character in Oasis:

Sombra: So what are we doing here boss? Reaper: I need to pay a visit to a friend.

Remember, Reaper’s interactions with Sombra are “canon” in the sense that she knows who he is, and presumably knows about his “condition” too.

A number of theories argue that Reaper is going there to “off” Mercy... but considering their only “what if they encountered each other” interaction is this:

Mercy: What happened to you? Reaper: You tell me, Doc.

It legitimately sounds like Reaper is actually going in for a doctor’s appointment with the doctor who may have the ability to resurrect the dead.

Mercy is not exactly what she seems to be.

This one I also believe, and this ties into the last “theory.”

http://segadores-y-soldados.tumblr.com/post/159665523340/overwatch-apocalypse-now

I have a long essay talking about some of the “dead/undead” mofits in Overwatch, and Mercy is basically top of the list - yes, arguably beating out Reaper.  The issue, as is the issue for like 70% of the Overwatch cast, is that we simply do not have enough lore/story/plot for Mercy to determine what exactly is “off” about her.

Just that she kinda is off.

In the essay I linked to, I talk a lot about how the symbolism and mythologies that Mercy’s different skins reference should give us some pause.  They’re not canon (well, the “Witch” is canon as a Halloween costume she wore at some point before Overwatch fell), but they’re not...exactly... “isolated” either.

I sum it up like this:

What the Overwatch team is building here is a series of “range of canon” background mythologies (some that are “non-canon but merely background white noise that colors how the players view the world,” to “these are kinda sorta canon and you should be paying attention to how we use these references,” to “these are outright canon and we will be using them blatantly for whatever we want”) that develop the world in a set of unique ways.  Even for the stuff that “isn’t canon,” it still exists in the game and it still tints how players interact with the characters, their personalities, and their story arcs.

So yes, I know that like half of this essay or whatever “isn’t canon.”  But if Mercy’s Witch skin has impacted how you view her, or knowledge of Watchmen has impacted how you understand Overwatch as a whole, or hearing Orisa’s voiceline about the Iris has changed your perception of it, then does it matter “how canon” it is?

If it has impacted how you see it

Then it has already influenced how you interpret it.  

I wrote this essay like, right after Uprising came out.  Since then, we’ve received a few more indications on how this reading is not inaccurate:

This doesn’t even cover backstories like Reaper or Mei or D.va, that latter of whom straight up has Godzilla/Evangelion references in her background.  And this doesn’t even cover stuff like the battle of Eichenwalde, or Deadlock, or “HAL-fred Glitchbot” (who is literally a reference to HAL and Alfred Hitchcock, both elements of “Hollywood horror”), or even the issues around Los Muertos.  There’s a ton here that shows that the Overwatch devs are dropping apocalyptic and/or horror references as varied as Mad Max to Apocalypse Now to 2001: A Space Odyssey to Neon Genesis Evangelion to The Headless Horseman to “the grandfather of all sci-fi” Frankenstein to “the grandfather of American macabre Romanticism” Edgar Allan Poe.  

The “background mythos” of Overwatch is filled with horror story references - everything from The Raven, to Thriller, to Psycho.  Behind the bright colors and beautiful maps are canon stories that imply something darker - a God Program being contained against its will, a yakuza clan that “needs to be reigned in,” a city “building the tallest tower in the world,” an arms-dealing gang “coming back into power,” an EMP being delivered to “hostile Omincs” - and a whole slew of “non-canon references” that display something even deeper, “even darker” that lurks beneath them all.

And what did we receive for our patience?

More

http://segadores-y-soldados.tumblr.com/post/164048891205/chateau-guillard-details

Evidence.

http://segadores-y-soldados.tumblr.com/post/163200042035/death-becomes-you

And what’s coming next?

Athena: Welcome to Junkertown.

The mother of all Overwatch apocalypse maps is going to “hook” us in soon.

So what exactly is “going on” with Mercy?

“You tell me, doc.”

I’m not certain, but I’m super excited to see where her lore goes.  I suspect that if Reaper is actually visiting her to “get a consultation,” then Mercy contains a lot of the “answers” we’ve been missing - what happened to Overwatch after the fall?  What is going on with Reaper’s condition?  Can she actually resurrect people from the dead?

And if heroes never die

Then why do they appear to be losing “the war” against evil?

[chimchimvkook]

Jimin 1

I tried to finish this as soon as possible because Jimin’s birthday passed and October is almost over. A little halloween spirit and very slight jealous Jimin, very little. Also, if you haven’t noticed, my stories seem to be going very slow. I’m a person who likes the little things but if you want things to start happening, let me know! I’ll probably start making things moves faster lol sorry. Enjoy!

CHAPTER 7

BIRTHDAY WISH

Finally, it was Jimin’s birthday. You had no idea what the boys planned nor did you know if you were even part of the surprise. They were at the dance studio practicing their upcoming single so you weren’t needed at the moment. Suddenly you got a call from BTS’s manager.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah? Do you need me to come in?” you ask.

“Yeah, but first can you get some halloween costumes for the guys? We will film their annual halloween dance practice.” he says.

You arrive at the studio with a box full of costumes that the fans would hopefully enjoy. You hand it to your and she distributes the costumes. You didn’t have time to greet the members because a coworker pulls you to sit with her while the boys left to change. You sat watching them mess around and when the filming was over, so was practice. Everyone cleaned up and shared how excited they were to have the rest of the day off. One by one, everyone started to leave. You were the last one to leave and lock up the room. Since you brought the costumes, you had to put them back. As you locked up and walked down the hallway, you hear someone calling you over.

“Psst! Y/N!” someone whispers.

“Namjoon?” you ask as a door opens and someone pulls you in quickly. All the members and staff were there, except for Jimin.

“Where’s Jimin?” they ask.

“Oh, I don’t know. I thought he left?” you answer.

“Well, if he’s still here can you distract him? Take him out or whatever, just wait until Sung Deuk hyung calls him back.” Namjoon explains.

With that, Namjoon pushes you back out the door and mouths, “thank you”. You roll your eyes at him but you were happy you were part of the surprise. So, you head to the costume room and drop off the costumes. As you were organizing them, you hear the door open. You turn and find Jimin smiling at you, sweating under his hoodie.

“Hey! Happy birthday!” you happily greet him.

“Thank you.” he chuckles and walks into your hug. He then grabs a hanger and helps you put the clothes away.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

“Everyone left and I’m not sure where my manager went. Then I saw you walk in here so I followed you.” he answers.

After putting away all the costumes, Jimin walks you to the lobby. You thank him for helping him and just as you were about to say bye, you remembered what Namjoon told you to do. So you decide to obey and take Jimin out.

“Hey, if you don’t have anything to do, would you like to go somewhere? On me! I owe you a gift, remember?”

“Sure! Let me just text hyung.” he responds.

Jimin and you walk to the parking structure and you unlock your car. He sits in the passenger seat as you put your stuff away in the back. You suggested to go to a haunted house for the October spirit. You weren’t into stuff like that but you really wanted to try it out at least once. You also thought Jimin was into scary stuff but boy were you wrong.

You arrived at the haunted house and texted Namjoon where you were. It took us 20 minutes to get here and these things take about an hour a half, so you thought that was enough time for the members to finish doing whatever they were doing. You both got your glow in the dark wristbands and waited in line.

“So haunted house huh?” Jimin asks.

“Yeah, I know. I just really wanted to try it out! Recording you guys dance in your costumes made me so excited for halloween. So I wanted to do this before they close.” You explain.

He just chuckles at you and asks, “do you like scary stuff?”

You respond with a shy smile and say, “not really. I’m such a baby but I want to try this.”

Jimin appreciates you being honest but respects you for trying to be brave. He couldn’t help but smile at you. Jimin was honestly scared but he didn’t want to worry you so he tried to act brave as well. The line was getting shorter and soon it was your turn to go. Jimin entered first and you couldn’t help but grab Jimin’s arm. He was ahead of you but your gesture made him pause. He looked at you with a sweet smile and grabs your hand instead.

You walk in together and enter a third room and it was pitch black. You couldn’t see anything and the air was very cold. You grabbed Jimin’s arm with your other hand held on to him very tightly. He led you to another room. This time, there was fog. There were shadows everywhere and this time Jimin pulled you in closer. He let go of your hand and put his arm around you so you hugged him from his side. At this moment you look up at him and notice fear in his eyes. He looked down at you and smiled a little. This made you chuckle because he was trying so hard to act brave. Something popped up and you guys screamed and turned around. There was a clown suddenly chasing you guys so you both ran out screaming, hand in hand. You walked out a door and made it out, letting go of his hand. Both you and Jimin started dying laughing. He stood up straight and walked closer to you.

“Good job! We did it.” he says as he pulls you into a hug.

“Thanks haha, we did it,” you smile into his shirt, “Wanna get something to eat?”

Jimin responds with a nod as he checked his phone. He had 3 missed calls from his manager and 5 texts from the members asking him where he was. He opened a text from Jin and it read, “dude, where are you? Manager hyung called all of us wondering where you were. He found your wallet at the practice room.” The rest of the texts were about the same thing. He panicked and reached in his pockets. His wallet wasn’t there.

“Hey, I’m sorry. We have to go back to the studio.” he apologizes.

“No worries! It’s fine. We can go eat after?” you suggest.

As you head back to your car, you get a text from Taehyung. It read, “where did you guys go huh? *wink emoji*” he sends another text, “Namjoon hyung says to hurry. We’re all waiting.” You smile as you respond to Tae, letting him know you were on your way back. Jimin catches your smile.

“Who are you talking to?” you ask.

“Oh, Taehyung was asking if I knew where you were.”

The car ride was silent. Jimin was kind of jealous. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way you were smiling when you were texting Taehyung. First of all, why was he texting you? Were you guys texting buddies? How did he even get your number? Jimin couldn’t stop thinking about how close you and Taehyung have gotten. Jimin didn’t even have your number.

You finally arrive back at the building. You both walk up to room and you text Taehyung that you guys have arrived. The lights were on in the room and you laugh when you see it turn off. “How slick” you thought to yourself. You look over to Jimin and find him looking at the floor. You were glad he didn’t catch it but you couldn’t help but notice how sad he looked. You stop at the door and make him face you.

“Hey, are you ok?” you ask.

Jimin looks up at you and makes a panicked face, “oh yeah, sorry! I’m a little tired.” he lies.

“Are you sure? You don’t look tired. Is something bothering you? Come on, it’s your birthday! The birthday boy shouldn’t be sad. I won’t let that happen.”

He smiles at you, “I’m a little jealous,” he confesses, “I didn’t know the other members had your number. I thought we were close but you were already in texting terms with everyone else.”

You smile at him and just as you were going to respond, your phone lights up. You both look at it and it was a text from Namjoon. Jimin looks down again and you roll your eyes at the timing. You open it up and it read, “where are you!! You said you were here????” Instead of responding, you pull Jimin in the room with you. Just as Jimin was going to turn on the lights, you point him in the direction of a little light at the corner of the room. The members were holding up a cake with the candles lit.

“Happy birthday to you~” everyone sang. Jimin’s eyes disappeared when he smiled. He grabbed his phone and started recording everyone singing happy birthday. After he made a wish and blew out the candles, you went over to turn on the lights. When you turned, a cake war was happening. Before you could even move, you were attacked by a very hyper Taehyung. Your nose and left cheek had white frosting smeared all over it. You wouldn’t let that slide so you grab a chunk of frosting and chase Taehyung. As you finally got him, you plunged your cream-filled hand in his face. You were laughing so hard and caught Jimin at the corner of your eye. You calmed yourself down and walked back over to him.

“Surprise!” you say as you lick off the remaining cream on your index finger.

“Surprise to you too!” Jimin says.

Confused, you look up at him and he slides his index finger down your forehead. He is amused as he watches your reaction.

“Wow! You are so lucky you’re the birthday boy.” you yell at him.

Everyone finally settles down. The members took many pictures to post on their twitter. Each member then begins to tweet their birthday tweets out to Jimin. He sits next to you and asks you to take a photo of him. You take one and help him think of what to say to his international fans. Another english lesson was taking place while everyone else was minding their own business. The night grew darker and everyone decided to get some rest. After cleaning up, everyone went their separate ways.

You washed yourself up. Your face was so sticky. As you were washing your face, you looked at your reflection and paused where Jimin touched. You caught yourself smiling and tried to calm yourself. That boy. You were wondering how and why he was making you feel butterflies. This was so wrong. You worked for him. That wasn’t enough to stop you from what you were going to do. You put on the sweater Jimin let you borrow that one time. You keep forgetting to return it.

As you laid in bed, you grabbed your phone. You looked at a miss call from an unfamiliar number. You clicked on it and typed a message.

“Happy birthday! Hope you had an great time.” you sent.

“Who’s this?” the number responds.

“You could’ve just asked for my number, that’s how everyone else got it.” you respond.

“Y/N? How did you get my number?” Jimin responds.

“When you asked me to take your picture, I called my phone with your phone haha.”

“Wow! Anyways, yeah I had a great time today. Thank you for today! My birthday wish came true. Have a good night, sweet dreams!” he texts back.

“By the way, I wished that you would give me your number LOL ok bye” he sends again.

You tried so hard to stay calm but you just couldn’t. The butterflies came back again. You responded once more to say good night. You didn’t want to be annoying or seem clingy the first time you guys text. So you put your phone away and went to sleep, inhaling the rest of his scent in his sweater.

Chapters:

1 2  3  4  5  6  7

[thechitchatbar]

Sensory processing disorder- reposted

was posted on old disqus moving here adding part to bottom

all the aspects of how it effects me

I cant do rough fabrics such as cotton can only do dresses or skirts can only sleep in dresses

male voices bother me so cant do audio books read by a male and very limited on music sang by a male (there are some exception) this part has perception involved so its not just the direct sound of the voice but the perception as well

I cant handle ppl singing in public near me in any form (im picky about the music I like but the music I do listen to is all professional with auto tuner anyone singing those no matter how good they are or how good there voice is triggers my spd makes it hard going to birthday parties and such also random singing on shows or commercials trigger it I couldn't even be in ear shot if a musical was playing omg that is terrible whenever theres singing on certain shows ill fast forward threw it tho certain background music is ok as long as its not the charecters and is professional meaning a real song (there are some exceptions to this very very few but some if only I can think of the movie where that girl who had no fear until she released some monsters on Halloween idk it was a Halloween movie now I cant sleep til I figure out the name of it next week learn how ocd effects me as I still try to figure the name of that movie out  btw to put yourself in my shoes whenever someone sings listen to a nail on a chalk board for equal the time

guys touching me bothers me(my spd may have more negative relations to guys for various reasons or just cause spd is an asshole idk mayby its cause im trans mayby its cause im attracted to girls mayby its maybeline idk) girls are fine unless unexpexted

to much going on quickly over whelms me and can create sensery overload really fast to many ppl really loud just to much going on

this next 1 may not be spd idk but I cant do conformity of any kind such as speaking as a group like some weddings do where they have everyone readingor group prayers even tho im a Christian (hope saying that doesn't break the no religion rule im only stating it not trying to start a convo about it)

light bothers me

things a req are a darker area in general for sleep I need silk/satin sheets my sensery lamp my music (ironic considering how easy music can trigger my spd) a cool environment or fans cool environment is better a silky feel dress and my silk/satin pillow case tho I feel some gentle movement might help which is why im planning to build a swing bed and surround it so its encased to hopfully help better

anyways ask questions if need be sure I missed something

[ersonist]

title: yesterday’s just a memory, tomorrow is never what it’s supposed to be

rating: t

word count: 2k1

summary: It’s not every day someone you know gets kicked in the head and forgets a couple of years of their life or modern AU amnesia fic.

a/n: I was checking my dash the other day and @hurricanedancer​ reblogged  this amazing post and mentioned in the tags wanting a fic. I was already planning to write something for Cassian Andor Appreciation Week (Favourite Relationship(s)) and this inspired me so I combined both. No such thing as too many RebelCaptain fics, right? Anyway hope you enjoy it :)

(I wrote the fic, but Bob Dylan wrote the title.)

Cassian wakes up to the blinding lights and whispers that are way too loud for his pounding headache. He vaguely identifies the place as a hospital but he’s not sure how he got here.

“Welcome back,” he hears a woman’s voice tell him in a British accent and his confusion deepens. Must be one of Kay’s relatives, he decides.

And then there’s a flurry of movement around him, people asking him questions, calling a doctor, squeezing his hand. It’s exhausting so he closes his eyes and lets himself fall asleep again.

The next time he wakes up the room is significantly darker and emptier. He notices a sole figure half sitting, half leaning on a chair next to his bed.

“What happened?” he asks, his hoarse voice slightly breaking over the last word.

“You don’t remember?” the young woman looks at him with a clear concern when he shakes his head no.

“You tried to be a hero, stopping a bunch of guys from stealing a car.”

“They clearly won,” he states, hesitantly smiling at her.

“Yep, you got your ass kicked,” she openly smirks back. She fluffs an extra pillow that doesn’t look hospital issued before helping him to lean back comfortably. She’s cute. Whoever she is, he thinks.

“So what’s your name?”

Her hands start shaking and he figures this was a wrong question to ask.

Amnesia sounds too much like something out of Mexican soap operas he used to watch with his grandmother. The neurologist tries to be optimistic but there are too many we don’t know and we can’t predict that for Cassian to share her positive attitude. His room is crowded again but he can’t really blame anyone. It’s not every day someone you know gets kicked in the head and forgets a couple of years of their life. Still he averts his eyes refusing to witness their pity. The problem is that except for feeling a bit weak, he is fine. The headache is gone, he can stomach solid food again and frankly all he wants to do is go home. Unless...

“Do I still live where I lived back then?” he interrupts impatiently. How much could his life have changed in two years anyway? A new girlfriend does not define his entire existence.

He doesn’t like the anxious looks they all share.

“More or less,” Bodhi finally informs him without actually replying to his question.

He lives with Jyn now. That’s the news everyone, Jyn herself included, was gently trying to break to him. Honestly he would’ve guessed the minute he stepped into his (their?) apartment. Hot pink bunny slippers weren’t exactly his style.

“It was an inside joke,” Jyn mutters defensively when she follows his gaze to the offending items, carelessly thrown near the living room couch. She picks the slippers up and stuffs them into the small closet in the hallway.

It’s the oddest thing in the world. This virtual stranger who has her things all over Cassian’s living space and sometimes watches him with fondness and love he doesn’t understand.

The uncomfortable silence stretches a bit too long for his liking. He did suggest crashing at Kay’s but they all thought he should re-familiarise himself with his usual surroundings. Plus Jyn seemed determined in showing how much this doesn’t bother her.

“You have an unusual name,” he points out, slightly cringing at how terrible he is at small talk.

“Like gin and tonic, right?” she laughs and he joins her.

“Please tell me men don’t use that as a pick-up line!” he jokes with more ease. He plops on the couch now covered with a soft, grey blanket and stretches languidly. Jyn doesn’t say anything for a moment, just plays with the sleeve of her shirt.

“That’s actually what you said when we first met.”

Trying to trigger lost memories is a perfectly acceptable treatment for amnesiacs and Cassian doesn’t mind it at first. That changes by the 10th minute of a powerpoint presentation fully prepared and presented by Kay.

“Halloween party last year. Picture taken at approximately 2 am as judged by your frankly obvious intoxication,” Kay comments the current slide with his usual mixture of amazing detachment and complete disgust. “Is your memory back now?”

“No,” Cassian groans miserably. “Could you please speed this up?”

Kay straightens in his seat, towering over the desk even more.

“I was preparing a shortened version if you wish.”

“How long is that one?”

“47 pages but it’s not proofread yet.”

***

“3 hours, Leia! 3 fucking hours!” he complains later over a cup of coffee. “He even gave me a bound copy!”

“I know you forgot some stuff,” she comments with a grin that was clearly supposed to look innocent but comes out more like a devious smirk. “but I thought you remembered Kay was more like a robot than an actual human.”

He sighs and stirs in a spoonful of sugar. You drink more tea now, Jyn informed him one morning over the breakfast. He knows they have silly matching mugs and one cupboard is full of a specific earl grey blend she apparently can’t function without.

“How are things with Jyn?” Leia asks nonchalantly as if she could read Cassian’s thoughts.

He shrugs because he’s honestly at a loss for words. How to explain to his old friends that it’s like living with a roommate that you never asked for? Except that there used to be an us with that roommate and the more he thinks he can fall for her, the more she probably falls out of love?

“I sleep on the couch in my own apartment and I’m pretty sure my mere presence makes her want to cry,” he admits in the end. “She’s erm... she’s something else though.”

Leia nods and smiles encouragingly at him.

“But I think I get it. I get why he fell in love with her,” he concludes quietly. He never planned on confessing this much especially since he’s pretty sure Leia will blabber it all to Han and one way or another it’ll reach Jyn.

“You talk about yourself in third person,” she settles for a joke instead and he’s immensely grateful for it. “They did recommend you a shrink, right?”

***

“How about you scroll through my instagram and ask me questions if you want?” Bodhi suggests during their lunch the next day.

Cassian agrees more out of politeness than an actual wish to go through yet another “let’s make Cassian remember things” session. He checks one post after another. Birthday parties, a trip to the beach, Christmas drinks at a pub nearby. They all have one thing in common. If Jyn’s present, Cassian looks like a complete dork in every single one of them.

“Seriously you’d think I’d stop with those ridiculous starry eyes!” he exclaims while practically shoving the phone into Bodhi’s face. “Just look at that one, for example! We get it, Cassian, you’re happily in love!”

“Actually that was taken right before you officially met,” Bodhi explains slightly embarrassed and Cassian goes completely red in the face. 

He tries to find a specific document on his laptop when he stumbles upon a folder simply named “porn”. Judging by the creation date this was done by Jyn’s Cassian (as he secretly calls himself) and frankly he’s slightly worried about its content. He knows it’s a bad idea idea to go through it now, especially with Jyn sitting a few feet away from him furiously scribbling something on her work papers, but the curiosity wins. He clicks on one of the files at random and gets a cheesy selfie of both of them outside his apartment. He clicks another. This one has Jyn cooking and frankly looking beyond annoyed. There are hundreds of pics in the folder and Cassian has a feeling they all have a similar subject. He finally clicks on one of the few videos. It’s a terribly cliché shot of a beach sunset that moves slowly to Jyn sitting close to the camera, a cocktail in one hand, her shoulders a bit reddish from the sun. Mi amor, she calls to him laughingly and it suddenly reverberates around the silent room. Cassian desperately shuts his laptop but one glance in Jyn’s direction confirms she’s heard it loud and clear. She stays silent for a few seconds, biting her lip in an obvious attempt to keep a straight face.

“Are you watching porn, Cass?” she asks before finally bursting into laughter.

He realizes he enjoys his new life about 5 weeks after the incident. Sure it’s still awkward when he bumps into Jyn freshly out of shower and he’s still confused by a lot of stories he hears about himself but his new (old) friends turn out to be great and it’s nice not to be so lonely in life. 

Chirrut and Baze, the married couple who lives 2 floors above him, come over with a pizza one evening. Jyn’s working late again and the apartment is a mess but Cassian finds himself liking them a lot more than he thought he would.

“We’d bring Chinese but we don’t like to add to stereotypes,” Chirrut informs him when Baze drops the pizza boxes on the table, shoving aside what looks like Jyn’s white scarf and a brown shoelace.

“Sorry about the mess,” Cassian apologizes, helplessly looking around what used to be his pristine, minimalistic apartment. “Jyn tends to just leave her stuff everywhere.”

Like her toothbrush inexplicably abandoned on the coffee table at least three times this week. Or one of her boots on the kitchen floor. Or her bra casually hanging from the living room chair.

“We know,” Baze chuckles and hands him a slice of pizza. “You mentioned this when she moved in.”

“But things are good between you two?” Chirrut asks shamelessly and Baze just rolls his eyes.

“Yes, all’s good. She’s good. I’m good. It’s all... you know... good.”

Cassian is sure he can’t sink any lower than that. He chews his pizza for a moment before deciding that yes, of course he can: “Do you happen to have any stories about me and Jyn where I’m not making a fool out of myself?”

“Not really,” Baze answers very frankly and Chirrut chuckles at that. “You did learn all the British monarchs in chronological order just to impress her with your knowledge on all things UK.”

“And I suppose she was-”

“Very much not impressed,” Chirrut finishes triumphantly and Cassian just sighs in resignation.

He’s cooking dinner one night when he hears the front door open. Jyn drags herself in, kicking off her shoes and shrugging off her coat  and before he can ask about her zombie-like state she wraps her arms around him and buries her nose between his shoulder blades. He can’t help it - he freezes, his whole body suddenly tense which in turn makes her freeze, her lethargy instantly gone.

“Sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” she mumbles and Cassian grabs her wrists before she can fully pull away. Neither of them dares to move until he can feel her slightly relax, taking a tentative step closer. He lets go of her hands and smiles.

“Any plans for Saturday?” he casually asks her.

She moves then and leans on the kitchen counter, looking at him with suspicion.

“No. Why?”

“I thought we could go out,” he says softly, trying to sound as reassuring as he can. “Dinner, movies. What do you say?”

“Like a date?” There’s still a trace of doubt in her voice. Like it’s a trap or a cruel joke. It hurts him more than he thought it would.

“Yeah, like a date,” he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and their eyes lock.

“Cassian,” she whispers, the tension suddenly overwhelming and he can’t help but wonder if this is it. The perfect moment for a kiss.

It’s not.

“Are you trying to be suave now?” She manages to utter between uncontrollable giggles.

“Laugh all you want,” he declares grumpily, “but one thing that I’ve learned these past weeks is how much of a lovesick fool I was around you.”

She laughs even harder at that.

“No, please, mock me some more,” he continues, turning back to the now slightly burned dinner. “I was like a mix of a total dork, a schoolboy with a crush and a fucking stalker.”

He hears her still howling with laughter and he’s genuinely unsure if he’s more embarrassed by Jyn’s Cassian or the current Cassian. But when she puts her hand on his arm and tenderly kisses his cheek it stops mattering.

He gets his memory back two days after their second first date.