#THE ANGELS HAND CRAFTED YOU IN THEIR LIKENESS AND SENT YOU DOWN TO EARTH

[mccoys-killer-queen]

19 seconds into the Lonely School music video and I had to dip bc

aLRIGHT WE SEE THEM TOMMY

WE CAN SEE THEM

WE GET IT

YOU'RE AN ANGEL OK WE GET IT

[pacifymebby]

Peaky Blinders Headcannons

Tommy

🌿Calls you his angel

🌿He comes across as stoney and cold, struggles to show his adoration, but it all comes out when he says thay word. "Cmere angel," "You're my angel," "behave yourself angel,"

🌿Sometimes he really does believe you were sent from heaven to save him

🌿Or to test him... He's so hellbent on protecting you, preserving your innocence, not letting you get close to the darker side of him and his business that he almost loses you

🌿You're always trying to soothe him, to get under his skin, heal him. You're not stupid, you've heard he's a bad man and you know it too

🌿But even bad men deserve love and you adore him

🌿So you keep trying to look after him. At night when he has his terrors you hold his head to your chest and let him fall asleep there, your hands combing through his hair. You'll fall asleep with him resting there like that and in the morning when you wake up, he's usually woken up before you and moved so that its you resting on him. His hands playing with your hair. You know hes trying to pretend the terrors didnt happen, but you let him pretened. Its slow work getting a man like Tommy to open up, the fact that he let you hold him at all is miracle enough for now.

🌿He's killed for you, he thinks you don't know but you do. Of course you know, he's done it so many times, too many times to hide it. The first time it happened you put it down to coincidence. The man who groped you in the Garrison, he was an unpleasant man, exactly the type of man you could imagine would get himself into a fight he couldnt win. When he got stabbed with a broken bottle in a bar fight no one had been surprised. But when it keeps happening? Its hard to ignore the fact that any man who so much as looks at you for too long seems to end up dead or blind.

🌿Is haunted by dreams of you dying, morbidly convinced hes going to lose you, that youre going to be stolen from him. This is why hes so possesive.

🌿 Nothings going to happen to you because hes not going to let you out of his sight, there will always be peaky boys guarding Tommy's angel. But...

🌿 If something does happen to you, Tommy's calculating the cruelest revenge, the slowest most painful method of killing. Hes militant about it. He'll hunt them down. But he'll be so caught up in planning his revemge that instead of being gentle with you and holding you/comforting you, he'll sit at your bedside with a face of thunder, holding your hand too tightly, his mind far away, plotting the finer details of revenge. He will not sleep until the bastard who harmed his angel is dead.

🌿 He doesn't involve you in business at all, if he had it his way he'd keep you at home in the country forever, never let you leave the sanctuary of the home he's built for you.

🌿And why would you want to? Your doting Tommy has done everything he can to craft a little piece of heaven on earth for his little angel.

Alfie

🐻 You're far too young, precious and pretty to be sitting in this old mans lap but

🐻 Theres nowhere else youd rather be

🐻 An unforgiving brute to everyone but you, his "ziskeit" (sweetness). He goes 0 to 100 and then straight back down to 0 for you. By this i mean, he's threatening a man's life in one breath, evil in his eyes, cold and cruel with all that sadistic humor mixed in, but then upon turning to see you've slipped into his office by mistake, he drops his tone, speaks to you calm and quiet and soft.

🐻 Has a habbit of beckoning you over to him so that he can whisper instructions for you. He loves how obedient you are and how delicate you look when you tread soft and quick/nimble across the room to be by his side.

🐻 "shikseleh, go wait outside for your old man, thats a good girl, you wait for me and I'll come find you as soon as i can" "patience ziskeit, will you do me a favour? I want you to go find olly for me right, and you tell him, that i told you, that if he doesn't come get this selfish little bastard out of my office I'll kill him...."

🐻 Sending you on your way with a little pat on the cheek only to stop you as you get to the door... "wait a minute, wait... I forgot something very important didnt I... Don't swear..."

🐻 He knows he can't protect you and he doesn't want you to be too innocent - after all hes a dirty old man and there are things he wants to do with you that innocent girls just can't do...

🐻 But he likes to pretend you're innocent and hes determined to keep you good so there are rules. Alfie loves rules.

🐻 No swearing, no answering back, you're to do as you're told by him, youre not to speak to the men in the bakery (they aren't even allowed to look at you) and if you're going to sit down? Well you must sit in your old mans lap.

🐻 He hasnt had to kill anyone over you yet but thats only because he strikes the fear of god into everyone he meets. No one in their right mind would lay a finger on you. The men in the bakery know to turn their heads away and avert their gaze when you walk in looking for your old man.

🐻 He has thought about it many times however... What he'd do if anything were to happen to you. Thats why he wakes you sometimes in the middle of the night, his fingers stroking your cheek, his lips skimming your hair. He'll lie on his back, the weight of your sleeping body on top of his, his fingers tracing down your spine, your head held in the palm of his hand. And he'll hold you all night, thinking about the violence hed commit if anyone ever even threatened you.

John

🌼 Brings you flowers all the time, buys you so many pretty things. He doesnt think he's good enough to win you over with looks/charm and personality so this is how he tries to attract you. With gifts.

🌼 But you adore him, and you don't need all these gifts to attract you to him because youve only ever had eyes for him.

🌼 He's a little insecure, so he's always getting into fights over you. Nothing serious really, but if anyone dares to observe how beautiful you are, John takes offense. "She's too good for me aye? That what youre saying?" "Reckon you'd like to try a piece of my girl?"

🌼 Calls you all manner of sweet little pet names but his favourite is "little flower,"

🌼 You bring out the child in him, he's boyish and careless with you, will play fight, sneak up on you and make you jump just to hear you shriek and jump into his arms. Will chase you and sling you over his shoulder when he catches you.

🌼 Can't take his eyes off you, you really really ruin his cool. His brothers and sister take the piss and he often finds himself embarassed and blushing because they've caught him watching you again.

🌼 Worries about you, worries you will get hurt because of his deeds with the peakys, naively thinks he can protect you from everything.

🌼 When you are hurt he's both full of guilt/shame and desperate for revenge. Whoever hurt you is going to pay with their life... But his first worry is you, he won't leave your side until youre better, or unless you manage to convince him to go.

🌼 Is always always big spoon, even when really hes the one who needs hugging. He likes to wrap you up in his arms, hold onto you and bury his face in your neck. This way when hes hurt you wont know hes crying (you know but you let him pretend)

Arthur

🍂 Kind of whipped?? Dotes on you completely, his brothers think its imasculating but he just worships you.

🍂 Anything you want or need, he'll get/do/give

🍂 Knows he should do more to protect you from business but feels hopeless to do so.

🍂 More than this though he wants to keep you safe from himself... He tries to keep a distance from you, and when hes angry he wont see you, he'll avoid you... Which you hate...

🍂 He has it in his head that youre more innocent than you are until one day you catch him when hes feeling violently angry... Hes in the most tumultuous mood, his brothers pissed him off and he's all riled up on snow...

🍂 Hes storming down the night time street, going to find a whore to use up all his anger on before he goes to meet you... Just so he can calm down... Really hes doing it for you...

🍂 But you catch him and tell him to take it out on you... You tell him not to hold back but he does, he can't do that to you...

🍂 But now youve been together so long and he knows he wont hurt you... That you like it when hes violent with you. He'll be so rough with you, he'll choke you, slap you, throw you over the table, treat you so harsh, but he'll always say the sweetest things to you. He'll fuck you real hard whilst grunting the most complimentary and gentle things. "Youre my fucking cherub darling, my fucking little cherub..."

🍂 He. Has. Killed. So. Many. Men. Over. You. So many. Even before you were his, if he saw someone look at you, or flirt with you, or just talk about you, he'd cut in and tell them to watch their tongue. Hes been known to lose his temper over almost nothing, beat a man half to death over one glance.... But you, in your own fucked up way, kind of love that.

🍂 Likes to take baths with you, in the bath hes gentle with you. Will sit between your legs and have you wash his hair, your fingers massaging his scalp make him feel so calm.

🍂 You are the only person who can really calm him down and dull his pain.

🍂 He calls you his angel, his saving grace, because he believes youve been sent to save him, to heal him.

🍂 Lets you hold him when he's calmed down from a rage and is upset, lets you see him cry but isnt shy about telling you it bothers him. You are often big spoon at night, wrapped around him comfortingly. He will take your hands and bring them to his lips, kiss every one of your fingers and hold them close to his face.

Bonnie

🍀 You are his little dove, he hasn't used your real name since the day he learnt it, you have just always been his little dove.

🍀 Tries very hard to keep his innocent dove away from the peaky blinders. You haven't met them yet and Bonnie doesn't intend for you to.

🍀 He just feels so protective of you. Youre much smaller than him, he can pick you up with one arm and your hand feels so small held in his. The thought of you being in the same room as the blinders sends a shudder down his spine. Youre too good, too precious.

🍀 Always holding your hand, whenever he has the chance. Always doing things for you, making sure youre okay. He's absolutely obsessed with how small your hands are in comparison to his.

🍀 Even before you were together he felt protective over you. He would walk you wherever you needed to go, or give you rides on his horse. He socked another lad at the camp once for pulling your hair and trying to tease you.

🍀 It took him absolutely forever to admit to anyone that he actually had feelings for you...even though it was very obvious. He gets far too shy and blushes around you. He thinks the world of you and can't believe his luck. Hes absolutely giddy with pride whenever hes with you.

🍀 Is so sweet, picks you wild flowers, brings you little gifts. He made a little wooden crusifix for you once and threaded it onto a piece of string. Its not the most glamorous jewlery but you never take it off.

🍀 Always holding your hand, playing with your fingers. Likes it when you wear his jackets and shirts. Especially when he has to leave you and go to do work for Tommy. He feels as though having his jacket around your shoulders lets him keep holding you even after hes gone.

🍀 Hasn't killed for you yet... Would kill for you in a heartbeat...even tommy shelby.

🍀 Is nervous for you to see him fight in case it scares you, or makes you scared of him, because youre timid and because you were scared of him when you were younger and before you were friends.

🍀 But he also feels really proud when you come to his fights, he wants to impress you and make you proud.

🍀And he especially likes when you patch him up afterwards and carefully kiss his bruises.

🍀 Dreams of running away with you, the two of you going to live in a vardo together, far away from the peakys, somewhere safe, travelling together, always alone together.

🍀 Desperate to put a baby inside you, tells you all the time.

🍀 There were signs at first which you supposed you missed, but once you're together a little while he has a real soft dom side to him youre not expexting. He's determined to stamp out any insecuroties you might have, praises you all the time, always telling you how beautiful /pretty/adorable you are and...

🍀 They're never said out loud but he has rules for you. They aren't like alfies rules, they're not as jealous. But,

You have to look after yourself, he reminds you when you need to eat, he likes to be the one who washes your hair, he doesn't like it when you leave the camp on your own and especially doesnt want you going into birmingham without him.

🍀 When you look back you realise he always had these rules for you, he'd never let you off on your own, he'd always been over protective... And you also realise youd always complied amd been good for him... You don't know why.

🍀 Absolutely will not sleep unless hes holding you, likes to feel your body pressed against his with you sleeping on top of him. Will play with your hair and draw patterns on your skin. Unless its the night after a fight in which case youre permitted to hold him instead.

Isiah

🐀 Knows he shouldnt but definitely starts fights to try and impress you

🐀Is always a little bit paranoid that if he lets you hang around with finn and michael, one of them will steal you away from him.

🐀Over protective, puts on a front of being a fighter who's tough and quick tempered, but is actually just very sweet and in love with you.

🐀Is quite cocky, always flirting with you, really enjoys showing you off... Very tactile, always touching you. He is especially tactile around you in front of his friends and you know this is because he wants to remind them that you belong to him.

🐀Asks you who you love/who you belong to on a regular basis, multiple times a day. He'll catch your hand as youre leaving the room, pin you down in bed or up against a wall, get all up in your personal space and ask you... Won't let you go until you answer him so sometimes you stall on purpose

🐀And sometimes you hmmm and give him the wrong answer just to see what he'll do...

🐀Poor boy feels he has to prove himself and so usually you end up getting fucked real hard, only allowed to cum when he asks you the question again and you give him the right answer.

🐀Doesnt have to prove he's a man because he's so sure of himself in that specific way. Which is hot... You like the fact he lets you be big spoon sometimes, that he lets you cling onto him and nestle in as close as you can. Secretly he likes the feeling of being held.

🐀Does have a bit of a temper, will get angry with you if you've been flirting with other men, sulks if youve spent a lot of time talking with Michael or Finn. Doesn't like when you join in their teasing of him... Has plenty of ways to punish you for it later. Isn't gentle.

Michael

☘️ When you first met you thought Michael was just a mummys boy. You thought he was too soft for you...

☘️ My god were you mistaken.

☘️ Michael has an underdog complex worse than Tommy Shelby, he is ALWAYS trying to prove something. That he's a man, that he's a bad man, that you're his girl, that he's good enough for you...

☘️ Sometimes he speaks too harshly to you when hes in one of his moods but when he sees the hurt in your eyes he apologises, makes you come to him so he can kiss you and stroke your cheek. He never tells you he's sorry though and you always know hes going to do it again.

☘️ But you kind of like it like that. You like hos angry streak, it excites you, you want to know how far he'd go if you pissed him off. He wouldn't kill you, youre almost certain of that.

☘️ And besides you have the temper to match... If he ever slapped you he knows you'd hit him back twice as hard. Sometimes That is the only thing that stops him hitting you... Not his deeply ingrained principles about hitting girls.

☘️ You watch him change, no longer soft and easily bullied, but fierce, just as cruel, just as rotten as the rest of them... Part of you is sad to see his sweet side leave him but another part of you, and not a small part of you, finds it hot, exciting.

☘️ You like pushing him to his limits, arguing back until he snaps. You like seeing his temper flare and youll do anything in your power to make him snap.

☘️ He's unnaturally loyal for a peaky boy, at first you don't believe it when other people tell you they've seen him turn girls down because of you, then you think it's just a phase, he's got that new love obsession. But after awhile you realise his obsession with you is all consuming... He won't cheat on you because to him theres no point in fucking someone who isnt you. He wouldn't get any pleasure or satisfaction from dominating and owning someone else... Only you...

☘️ You argue and fight a lot, you both have sharp tempers and the relationship looks toxic... It probably is toxic, but you don't care. You set eachother on fire, breath life into eachother. You like getting into trouble with Michael. It started as partners in crime, the two of you against the world, and in many ways it is, youre ride or die, no one can come between you...

☘️ Except you love to make him angry. You love to push him over the edge so that he grabs you by the throat and squeezes, choking you whilst he tells you youre his, "you belong to me so be-fucking-have yourself you ungrateful little brat"

☘️ Youre spoilt because he spoils you and he loves to remind you. Hes proud that he can. He was raised a gentleman remember and he knows exactly how to treat a woman. When you're good you get showered in gifts and praise and kisses.

☘️ He likes to control you completely, down to the way you wear your hair and the clothes you dress. He tells you what to put on in the morning and if he doesnt like what youve chosen he demands you change.

☘️ And this is where his softer side comes out... If he doesnt like what youre wearing he demands you change, but he's the one who changes you. He undresses you, he helps you into your new outfit. If he doesnt like your hair he takes it out gently and fixes it the way he wants to see it. He wipes your make up off, tells you you look too much like a whore... His words are always so harsh but his actions so gentle and caring.

☘️ When hes done he'll say something like "there, thats better," and kiss you sweetly.

☘️ Hates it when other men talk to you, most men don't because theyve seen what has happened in the past but Tommy has no respect for Michael and no respect for your relationship. He doesn't even really find you attractive, but he will touch you, flirt with you, try to make you blush, just to piss his cousin off. And it works. And you'd be lying if you said you didnt try to encourage that behaviour because when Michael has something to prove...

☘️ Its delicious.

[droogiesanddiscourse]

Father Paul NSFT Headcannons

Pairing: Father Paul | Monsignor John Pruitt x reader (Midnight Mass)

A/N: I am literally insane, and I am literally feral. No thoughts, only Father Paul and Hamish Linklater. I am going to hell and you are all coming down with me. Writing this made me literally dizzy. Dedicated to the very lovely @jacknives who helped flesh out many of these HCs in unhinged twitter convos <3 I would not be back writing without you

Warnings: Sexual content, 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. Millie, who's Millie? Reader is written as gn! but also includes talks of menstruation (if it doesn't apply to you, or makes you uncomfortable just ignore! there are tw before the HCs including blood), blood kink, this is incredibly sexual. Feedback is always appreciated, trying to really get the feel for this character.

✧ He asks you to pray with him before the act. The irony is not lost on you -- almost like this will cancel out the evenings sins. Both your knees on the wooden floor beside his bed, hands clasps together. Your heartbeat roaring in your ears. Quietly mumbling under his breath, his wooden rosary wrapped around his fingers. The same ones that will be inside you in due time.

✧ Obsessive about making you feel comfortable and gets genuinely upset if you demean yourself. If you attempt to cover yourself up, or ask for the lights off Paul will insist for you to reconsider. He has a serpents tongue for such a holy man.

✧ "God has made you in His perfect image. Meticulously crafted from dust. I want to see you as He intended. To deny yourself is to deny God, is that what you really want? Show me. Show me all of you. And I will show you all of me."

✧ The kindest, sweetest, most affectionate lover that has ever graced the face of this Earth. He sees you as his own personal deity; and angel sent directly from God to reward him for years of devotion. The Catholic guilt eats at him from time to time, constantly there in the back of his head. But, the way your bodies intertwine perfectly together, how his cock deliciously stretches you out like it was made for you and you alone. It could never feel like a sin to him. And if God Himself made pleasures this strong, who is Paul to deny it?

✧ You have to be reasonably quiet. God knows that if anything sounds off or suspicious Bev will rear her nosy head into your private life. He'll use his mouth to quiet moans threatening to escape from you.

✧ Paul is a quiet lover to begin with. His noises consisting mostly of flushed, broken moans that get caught in his throat. He is quite talkative though. His mouth on yours, panting in between hushed praises.

"You can take it, just a few more inches. I got you. You're so strong for me. My good angel..."

"Look at me, please. I - oh god - I want you to look at me when you cum."

"I-I can't control myself when you touch me like that. Don't stop."

"Can you feel me inside of you? How deep I am? You take me so well."

"Tell me what you want from me. Tell me where you need me the most."

✧ Enjoys giving more than receiving oral; for Adam was also tempted by the delicious apple betwixt Eve's thighs. What he lacks in skill he certainly makes up for enthusiasm. He uses the flat part of his tongue to drink from you, your taste the holiest of nectars. He loves your reactions to his ministrations too. How your thighs squeeze around his head, your nails digging into his scalp. You can feel the heat radiating off of his ears, flushed pink. Paul especially loves when you pull on his thick, black locks. The perfect combination of pleasure and pain.

✧ The way he looks when he hovers over you, member thrusting into your hot core is almost indescribable. Sweat starts to curl his neatly styled hair, pieces becoming unruly and sticking to his forehead. The way his eyebrows furrow together in concentration, eyes half lidded in bliss. He will often forget his own strength. The angel blood which courses inside his veins has not only returned his youth, but given him a whole slew of other newfound abilities. His knuckles turn white as he holds onto the headboard of the bed, snapping the wood beneath his hand.

✧ Other times it manifests itself in bruises across your body - a bite too rough, a grab too strong. Being the sweetheart he is, Paul will profusely apologize for them when the post coital bliss had dissipated. But you love them, because they are proof that he was there. That you were in his bed. That his hands, his mouth, his body touched your skin. That he belongs to you, and you alone. Even if no one else knows.

✧ Loves it when you take the reins too. How his baritone register reaches up to a whine, breathy and high pitched moans as you edge him. And how delicious it will be later, smirking to yourself at mass while thinking about how easily you make him come undone. Watching this confident man deliver his sermon, know that he will be on his knees begging you to bring him the sweet release he craves just hours from now. If only the town knew...

✧ [tw // blood mention] It takes every ounce of his being to not give in to his most primal urges during sex. The mixture of pheromones and your natural scent makes his eyes glaze over, almost putting him into a trance. He'll bury his face into the side of your neck, leaving fresh bruises created by his mouth in his wake. How easy it would be to sink his canines into the soft flesh there, finding your pulse point. The sickeningly sweet concoction of iron and honey across his tongue, how he'd imagine your blood to taste.

This is your body, broken for the forgiveness of sin.

✧ [tw // blood mention] He will break this rule only sometimes. If you are someone who menstruates, he will have a strong fascination with period sex. As long as you are comfortable with it, of course. The disgusting need to see you covered with blood immediately makes his pants tighten just at the thought. While eating you out, the combination of your unique taste mixed with the tang of blood turns him into something you barely see. Your soft spoken pastor becomes an insatiable lust-driven demon.

✧ [tw: blood mention] Drinking the angel's blood straight from the cruet while taking you from behind, his thrusts sloppy and erratic. Blood running down the side of his mouth, his eyes wild. Your head looking over your shoulder, mouth agape as he pours the remaining contents directly onto the curvature of your back. He is an animal, and this satisfies the craving inside him as he licks it off of you.

✧ Once you are both fully spend and fucked out, he doesn't want to separate from you. He lets you catch your breath, both your hearts returning in sync. His large hand, pushing stray hairs off of your face and grazing his thumb against your cheek. You can still feel his heartbeat inside of you.

"Don't move, I want to stay like this."

✧ His cock still buried deep inside you, arms wrapped around your waist as you both drift off. Warmth. Comfort. Protection. Together you are one until the morning light. In which this perfect solitude will be once again washed away. From lovers back to secrecy in the blink of an eye.

Paradise lost.

[virulentmastermind]

@valour-bound sent:

❛ Don't pretend you ever gave a shit about me. ❜ You don’t get to — not after everything you’ve done….

It comes out in a cold winters rattle, a strained growl hissed past sharply clenched teeth. Speckled in bright blots of fresh scarlet, it’s an ugly thing, an angry snarl thinly veiled by the gnarled shield of his lips as icy hues flecked in mud pierce the blonde in place. He’s all too aware he doesn’t have the power to truly back up the threat he tries to impose — but he could give less of a shit in the moment, blood heatedly thrumming through adrenaline spiced veins, feeling the thunder of his heart like a strung-caught hare in a trap. Despite everything, despite the ever present knowledge he could very well die here despite the almost tenderly fond comment made earlier, the act of supposed mercy shown — as much as he hated to admit it, there was a spark in the others eyes, familiar enough he snatches on &&. clings to tight.

With a scoff, the edge of his lips twitching up in a mean almost mocking curl, there’s a shaky swallow, a zero in to fixate instead on the echoing pain he can feel burning at his limbs from the strain of continuing to fight.

❛ Why didn't you just kill me when you had the chance? ❜

It would have made things easier on both ends.

↳ UNPROMPTED.

THE TRAGEDY OF THIS, ALBERT DECIDES, IS THAT HE HAD GIVEN TOO MUCH OF HIMSELF TO A MAN WHO COULD NEVER UNDERSTAND HIM. Or, in the immensely colorful language that Chris had used: he had given too much of a shit, as it were, when he had been raised to be cold, aloof, and logical by the orphanage that had raised him. Rejected by Chris - the haunting melody of his laughter at his life's work a chorus in every moment of triumph - all he can do is fight him, tooth and nail, until mercy deigns one kills the other.

Albert's own lip is split right down the middle, but besides the slight rapidly-healing black and blue bruise on his right cheek, and the wild, messy golden locks that are smeared in sweat, his appearance remains mostly put-together. Chris had landed a few good hits on him, enough to make him stagger, and Albert had worn himself out quick-stepping to avoid his robust attacks, which left openings.

Another tragedy, he thinks, is the fact that Chris thinks he only pretended: a carefully crafted lie to make Chris hate him, of course, hate him for more than just the sins of betrayal and murdering of his treasured team. It had been easier to swallow, a pill coated in dark chocolate, for the other to imagine the betrayal went all the way through. The truth, that he was wanting Chris at his side regardless, that he had wanted a new life for them to share, together, would remain veiled.

A side sweep is launched at Chris, but it barely reaches its target before Albert pauses, hooks the front of his boot to Redfield's heel.

The question. Oh, what a question to ask.

Even in anger, Chris is beautiful, all teeth bared and bloodied. A picturesque avenging angel with military training and stormy blue eyes speckled with the earth's smoky quartz.

"I have the chance now," he says, using the closeness to grab the other's collar, fist wrapped in the mesh of his tactical vest, "don't I?"

Albert stares at him, the fire in his eyes inviting as it is burning, and he remembers moments of kissing those eyelids, the curve of his cheek... and barely imperceptible, Wesker flinches behind his black lenses. Still, his mouth does an old gesture of want, the subtle uplift of the left side of his lips - and he releases his hold on Chris, and lets him go.

The final tragedy is Wesker knows how this will end: he cannot kill Chris Redfield. The mercy kill will dirty Chris's own good hands.

"Every hero needs a villain to fight against, every god a myth to make. You are my myth and my villain. The ending will write itself, sooner or later. Our fates are intertwined, after all, dear heart."

[taleswritten]

@cast-you-dxwn sent

Michael has left two boxes at Anthony’s door whilst the other man was asleep. One was short, of an average presents size he supposed, the other being a small, suitcase-like package.

In the box is a box of cannolis, inexplicably still chilled, on top of a smaller package that contains an assortment of Amarelli licorice and Ferrero chocolate.

Upon opening the case he would find a paired set of pistols, wrought from fine damascene angelic steel, complete with a cleaning kit and several spare magazines, loaded with blessed ammunition.

Both of the pistols have Latin engraved on the slide, and in the case is a simple letter.

“Anthony, my friend, I cannot imagine you have had many pleasant birthdays in Hell, but I hope that this year, amongst friends, you may find joy and celebration amongst friends and found family. The sweets I procured during my last excursion to earth, which I hope you will find to your liking.

These weapons are a favorite sidearm amongst my men. An updated model of the Colt M1911A1, designed by a man of faith and utilized to great effectiveness in combating evil both on the mortal plane and the immaterial.

The engravings are a personal touch, and I hope you will find inspiration and strength in them.

John 1:5: And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.

1 Corinthians 10:13 No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind. And God is faithful; He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear.

I look forward to celebrating with you brother, and to many more years in your presence.”

When he prepares to leave the room that day, Angel nearly trips over the boxes. He blinks, staring down at the items before it dawns on him that today is his birthday. There's a suitcase here too and Angel finds himself stunned. Who the hell would buy him this kind of thing, for his birthday?

Both boxes are picked up along with the suitcase (the perks of having multiple arms) and he kicks the door shut to walk over to the bed. He wouldn't be surprise if this is some gift from Valentino in order to keep him in this toxic relationship between the two of them.

He opens the boxes first, finding the items in them. It's his first indication that there's no way this is Valentino's doing. He doesn't buy him things that means something to him and instead buys him fancy ass gifts that Angel could honestly live without.

These? These are symbolic. Italian treats that Angel hasn't had in forever which is why almost instantly he digs into the cannolis. They're fucking delicious and Angel considers cramming more in his mouth before he remembers the suitcase.

He opens that to find the beautifully crafted guns made from angelic steel. His second hint that this is a gift from someone else. Fingers run over the sides of the guns before he's picking them up.

They're not heavy but they're not too light either. They're just perfect and already Angel has the itch to use them. He turns them over in his hand and catches the letter out of the corner of his eyes.

Putting the guns back down carefully, he picks up the letter to read it.

The more he reads, the bigger his grin is. He has never had a friend quite like Michael. Sure, he's had Cherri, but he's never had someone to call brother.

It's nice. He's a demon and Michael is an archangel and yet....Angel believes it when he reads the word brother. They are family, aren't they? He's a much better brother than his own.

He thinks he might cry in joy but he blinks the tears away and reaches for his phone to text Michael. He'd seek him out but he's not sure he can without falling apart.

I got your gifts. I gotta admit, these are the nicest gifts I've ever had in hell. Sure as fuck better than anything Val's got.

Come join me, there's plenty of treats left.

Thank you, brother.

[atozphantomsquadron]

XXV- Life

For a brief time after Cole’s death, I was completely unaware of what was happening around me in the church.  I vaguely sensed Gabe getting up and moving away from me.  I heard more than I saw, which wound up being a conversation between Gabe and Abaster, one that I still don’t quite understand.

Gabe was the first to speak, after a sound which might have been a fistfall.  “Get up!  Get up, damn you!”

“Who do you think you are?” Abaster challenged.  “Do you know who I am?  I’m Alastair Abaster, God’s right hand on Earth!”

“I am sent by He who is called I AM!”  Gabe’s voice made glass shatter in my soul.  It became booming, even more so thanks to the microphones.

“But … but how?  I’m … I am the Guardsman, God’s knight-errant …”

“You have some funny ideas, Alastair.  What made you think you were the one trusted with that duty?”

“It’s in the scripture, in the apocrypha … the angel Gabriel came to a doctor and crafted the Sword from the dust to cut down the sinful …”

Gabe laughed.  “Do you really think I would let the likes of you be the bearer of MY SWORD?”

Abaster stammered.  “What?”

“I crafted the Sword for a doctor, this is true.  The doctor’s name was Ezekiel Sha, his father was a knifemaker by trade.  When they immigrated to Europe, the name became Westernized … into ‘Sharpe.’”

Abaster panted.  “So that means …”

“That’s right.  He was the Guardsman.  Just who in the hell do you think you were serving, dealing death and destruction, summoning the undead, killing innocents, destroying the world?  It damn sure wasn’t God.”

Once those words were out, Abaster’s voice became strained grunts.  At this point I did finally look up, through the watery eyesight of my tears, and witnessed the occurrences at the altar.  Abaster, still in the armor but without the helmet, was kneeling in pain, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Forgive me … I have sinned … what have I become?”  He raised the Sabre over himself and thrust it deeply into his abdomen, like a samurai committing ritual suicide.  Only Abaster did not die.  Instead, his body began to deform, growing and shifting in grotesque proportion, his skin darkening, his hair disappearing, then eventually his body becoming nothing but fuel for the beast forming.  Gabe quickly grabbed Kitty and Cyrus and brought them back behind the pew.

The creature grew, until it pierced the wall of the church, collapsing it and revealing outside, millions of undead corpses marching toward us.  The sky darkened, clouds obscured the sun and created nighttime at noon.  The beast laughed, a sound which rattled all the corners of the church, threatening to bring the rest of it down.  Defiantly, Gabe stood up.

“Well aren’t you the proud artisan?”

The beast looked down at us. 

“Gabriel.  I shouldn’t be surprised, wherever there’s a Guardsman you’re not far behind.”

“The same could be said of you and the Invader, Abaddon.”

I had heard that name before.  My eyes widened and I looked up at Gabe.  “That’s Abaddon?”

He looked down and nodded.  “Indeed.  John wasn’t sure why this thing’s name showed up in his revelation, but he dutifully included the monster.  This is Hell’s swordsmith, he’s responsible for the Sabre and the Invader.”

“MURDERER!”  Cyrus launched one of his largest spells at the creature, but with no effect at all.  It simply turned to address the army of undead corpses assembling around us.  He continued to shoot the spell until Kitty finally pulled him back down.  This was the first time I ever saw despair on Cyrus’s face.

“It’s over.  Without a Guardsman, we’re lost.”

Kitty seemed to be agreeing through her body language, slumped and sad.  I had no words.  Only Gabe had something to say in disagreement.

“Guys, we’re not dead yet.  Abaddon thinks it’s triggering the apocalypse, but there’s some things it doesn’t know in regards to its timeline.”

Kitty seemed to have a glimmer of hope.  “What things?”

“Well for starters, when the apocalypse does come, it won’t be up to the likes of that thing to trigger it.  I also have my sources, too.”  Mysteriously, Gabe patted his hip, where I could see the bump of a cellphone holster.

Cyrus looked over to the battle, then back to Gabe.  “What do we do, then?”

Gabe placed his hands on both Cyrus and Kitty’s shoulders.  “You two, you need to distract Abaddon.  It’ll be easier than trying to distract the Invader, just attack his army.  Most of all, I need you to give me and Ariel about five minutes’ worth of cover.  There’s something we need to do.”

My two friends looked at each other like it would be their last time on earth.  They kissed briefly, then rushed into the battle, guns and spells blazing.  Gabe looked on after them and wished them godspeed.

Only then was I aware that he was approaching me once again.  The others had been keeping a respectful distance from where I had been holding vigil over Cole’s body.  Finally, Gabe crouched next to me and placed an arm around my shoulders.

“Ariel, my child, I need you to do something for me.”

My tears were unstoppable.  I sniffled and looked up from the body, only barely aware that I was coated with a lot of blood.  “Why?  What can I do, Gabe?  Without Cole, life is meaningless …”

“No it’s not, Ariel.  Not in the slightest.  I need you to do something for me, and I apologize in advance but it’s going to be weird, morbid, and possibly the most difficult task you’ve ever done.  Are you with me?”

I sniffled again.  Rendered mute by grief, I simply nodded.

“Good.  I need you to take Cole’s Sword and fight.”

My eyes widened.  What was I supposed to do with the Sword?  There was no way I could ever handle it, and I tried to tell this to Gabe.  He was hearing none of it.

“Bear with me, Ariel.  You can wield it.  You are Cole’s fiancé, had he lived you would have been flesh of his flesh and blood of his blood.  His love for you is the strongest love any Guardsman has felt throughout history.  Most importantly, though …” he placed his hand on my stomach. “… most importantly, you carry Sharpe blood within you.”

An unusual thing happened.  I became aware of my baby, right at that moment.  I felt a soft, weak pulse flutter under Gabe’s hand.  This surprised me.  “You know …?”

“Did you think I, of all people, wouldn’t?”  He winked at me.  “Your friends, your world, and your future all hang in the balance.  This is the moment.  This is your time, this is what your visions have been telling you.  You need to take up the Sword and seize your destiny.”

A long, last look at Gabe told me he was right, that he knew everything.  I slowly ran my hand along Cole’s side, searching for the Sword.  Eventually I found it, the leathery hilt waiting for a hand to take hold.  Gritting my teeth and yelping, I pulled it from its scabbard.

My vision swam.  So this was what it was like to draw the Sword.  I had the weapon’s entire history flash before me, every Swordbearer, every Guardsman and Guardswoman … yes, there have been Guardswomen in the past … all of them flashed before me.  When I felt like my eyes would explode, I realized that my body was growing, even though I had not wished it.  I panicked, not wanting to hurt my baby, not wanting to make things go wrong.  I didn’t want to lose the life that made this possible.

All of this panic was suddenly replaced by a sense of peace.  I sensed others around me, and when I looked behind me I saw a thousand Sharpes, bearing a thousand Swords, ready to combat a thousand enemies.  My heart rate slowed.

I felt hands on my shoulders, not a thousand but only four.  I looked immediately behind me and saw the four who were urging me on.

One was Ken.  He smiled at me, just like he had the first night I met him.  “We trust you, Ariel.  You can do this.  You can defeat Abaddon, let us guide you.”

One was 37A.  She bowed her giant head and snuffled through my hair.  =Let me give you strength of body, Ariel.  We are one, now and forever.=

One was Cole.  His eyes reflected the love we both felt, the love I felt was lost.  My heart jumped when I heard his wonderful voice again.  “I will give you strength of heart, Ariel.  My love will help you wield God’s weapon.”

There was a fourth person, one I did not recognize yet seemed familiar.  She had long blond hair which blew in the winds of the transformation, half-covering a gentle face with blue eyes and light complexion.  There was something about the twinkle in her eye which made me feel right, a feeling that magnified when she spread wings behind her.  “I will give you hope, mother.”

Mother?  She was my child, the new life I carried deep within me.  She was to become a Guardswoman!

All four of these people, the dearest in my life, slid their hands down my arms until all of us gripped the Sword tightly.  One by one, each of the others flowed into my body.  I felt stronger, energized, and more determined with each spirit that entered me.  When the spirit of my child entered finally, my eyes in the real world opened, within the armor of the Guardswoman I had become.

Abaddon was at my eye level, and at the same size.  I looked briefly around and realized that I had grown to an even height, and my wings blew behind me, stretching out for what seemed like an infinite distance.  I settled into a swordfighting stance, holding the Sword before me, the blade threatening Abaddon’s throat.  Only then did I see some of the grotesque details of Abaddon’s body, the faces which made up his midsection.  The most recent of these, Abaster, was frozen in eternal shock and panic, forming the creature’s navel with his mouth.

Abaddon allowed fire to form in a ball in the palm of its hand, flinging the torch at me.  I cast it aside easily with the Sword.  Again and again, fireballs assaulted me, all of them cut down harmlessly.  Abaddon roared.

“You will not stop this!  Armageddon rises now!” 

It shambled into a run, trying to tackle me.  I held the Sword upright and dug my feet into the desert floor, catching the beast in mid-run and holding it there.  It reached an arm out to grab me, one which was quickly deflected by one of my massive wings.  Another reach, another swat.  It roared again, impotent against my strength.

I almost felt I should wait until it tired itself out, but eventually Abaddon resorted to swinging its fists at me, which I didn’t even need the Sword to block.  It head-butted me in the chest, to no avail.  Three of the seven horns on its head broke off when his head contacted my breastplate. 

“It’s not possible … die!”

At this point, I decided I had endured enough abuse from the demon.  I grabbed it by the throat and unfurled my wings completely, flapping them and eventually taking to the darkened, cloudy air.  I could feel how wide my wings spread, for nearly a mile on either side of me, as we continued to streak higher and higher into the atmosphere.  When I glanced over and was able to see the curvature of the planet, was able to look far away from Four Corners and could even spot the Pacific from my vantage point, I mercilessly flung the demon back down the way we had flown up.  I flapped to keep myself hovering as it rocketed down, leaving a friction contrail in its wake.  I still had my dragon vision as the Guardswoman, so I was able to follow Abaddon’s fall all the way down to the ground, when the beast finally crushed what was left of the Church of Christian Purity with its massive bulk.

I raised the Sword high above my head and closed my eyes in a brief prayer.

God … Jesus … Ken … Cole … guide me true and help me preserve God’s creation.

I angled myself so that I would be falling head-first … with the Sword’s blade pointing down toward the ground … and collapsed my wings into a dive position.  I felt the heat of the air friction threatening to cook me alive within the armor, but paid it no attention.  In the final seconds of my descent, the events of my life all came to mind.  All of the people who had loved or cared for me in the past … from Heather Lisle to the assistant chaplain, from Sonny Lauzanne to Kitty Lazarus, from Aunt Irene to Cyrus Salem … from Ken to Cole … I knew in my heart that I would destroy this demon to honor all of them, all of their sacrifice and their love and friendship.

In the last second, I heard Abaddon cry for mercy.  I alighted enough so that I would land on my feet and bent my knees to prepare for impact.  My two feet and the Sword hit the ground at the same time.  The Sword plunged through Abaddon like a hot knife through ice.  The demon’s dissolution came as a near explosion of fresh desert dust, coating all around it in the remains.

I withdrew the Sword from the ground, crouched down to a knee, and sheathed the weapon.  Closing my eyes, I felt myself shrink down to my regular, human form.  The tears came again, for now I was lost without Ken or Cole to guide my hands and heart.  I laid the Sword down next to me and collapsed in my sorrow.

The next thing I remembered was awakening in a familiar house, in a familiar bed.  It was my house on the rez.  I sat up in the bed as my mother entered the room.

“Oh good, you’re awake.  We were hoping you’d be okay.”  She set down a bowl of water and a washcloth on a table next to me and started wiping my forehead down.  I took her hand.

“What about the others?”

She sighed.  “The little man and the … er, tiger woman … they’re fine, they’re resting in another room.  Your white-haired friend Gabe is sitting in the living room with …”

She trailed off.  I knew what the next words would be.  “With Cole’s body.  I understand.”  I sighed and felt more tears starting to come.  My mother embraced me tightly, trying to comfort me.  I was unsure I could ever be comforted, not with Cole gone and with his child still growing.  I gently rubbed my abdomen in my grief.

My mother noticed this.  (She always noticed everything I did!)  “It’s rough, I know.  Raising a child without a father was a challenge.”

I looked up at her and wiped my cheeks.  “How …”

“Gabe told me.  Listen, I will do everything I can to help you, little Ariel.  We’ll raise your baby, we’ll make sure the baby has a happy childhood and becomes a happy adult.  It’ll be my chance to fix some of the mistakes I made …”

I pulled my mother, who needed comfort herself now, into my lap.  “You never did wrong by me once, mom.  I will always love you.  And I will always love this child, when she enters the world and before.”

Now it was my mother’s turn to raise an eyebrow.  “How do you know it’s a girl?”

“Oh … call it a hunch.”  I had no idea how to explain the vision I had experienced as the Guardswoman to my mother.  I simply left it as a mystery.

Eventually, once my mother was satisfied that I was cleaned up enough and able to stand on my own, we both headed out into the living room.  Gabe sat on the couch: the coffee table had been cleared in order to lay out Cole’s body, which was covered by a black sheet.  Gabe stood up and embraced me gently.

“Well done, Ariel.  Well done, indeed, I’m just so sorry it came under these circumstances.”

I accepted Gabe’s compliments and condolences in silence, simply clutching to the mysterious agent.  Some of what he had said to Abaster still stuck in my head, and I was unsure whether to mention it or not.  Before I got the opportunity to bring it up, however, his cellphone rang, blaring Handel’s “Hallelujah Chorus” from his hip.

“I’m sorry, I have to take this,” Gabe apologized as he unclipped the phone.  “Gabe … yes, I’m here in the Vibria house … he’s right in front of me, yes … yes, she’s here too …”

His eyes took an expression of surprise.  “Are you sure about this?”

I looked at my mother briefly, then back at Gabe, who was handing me the phone.  “It’s for you.”

Unsure about what to expect, I took the phone from Gabe and put it up to my ear.  “Hello?”

The voice on the other end was … extremely hard to describe.  How do you describe an eternal entity’s voice, anyway?  It’s not for me to judge.  It sounded like it came across infinite time and space to reach the small phone in my hand.

“Hello, Ariel.  I have heard your prayers for all your lifetime.  You have been a loyal servant.  You have served Me well.”

I shuddered.  New tears appeared in my eyes, but not of sadness.  Wonderment, perhaps?  “Thank you.”

“I understand that you were to marry Cole Kenneth Sharpe, and it is because of your love and its product that you were able to defeat Abaddon.”

“That’s correct.”

“Keep this a secret between you, Me, and Gabriel, but I have done this sort of thing in the past.  Would it be fair to say that you wish to spend the rest of your life with Cole?”

My heart raced.  The love that would save a life … was it Cole’s life to be saved?  “Yes, it is, more than anything.  I want him to know his children, I want to be with him … I want to love him forever.”

The voice laughed.  It was an otherworldly echo.  It was frightening and rapturous all at once.

“You have demonstrated the depth of your love, Ariel, simply by standing as the Guardsman in his stead.  You are more than worthy of this request.  Place the phone next to Cole’s ear.”

Obediently … I felt that there was no way I could disobey this voice … I pulled the sheet back from Cole’s head.  His eyes had been closed, but his face still showed the signs of battle, dirt and dried blood.  His flesh lacked the color of the living, it was bluing and becoming sallow.  I gently cleaned a spot on his forehead and kissed there before placing the phone in the crevice between Cole’s neck and shoulder, making sure the speaker was against Cole’s ear.

I could not hear what the voice on the other end said into the dead ear, but I kept a close watch over Cole.  He remained motionless.

Then his eyes opened.

I felt my heart jump.  I bit down on my fingertips, trying to keep from crying out to him.  His chest began rising and falling once more.  Slowly, the pink color returned to his face, and the light returned to his blue eyes.  His arm moved to reach up for the telephone, taking it away from his ear and handing it back to Gabe.

Finally he sat up.  He took a deep breath, then turned his head to look over at me.  The love was there again, the life, the depths of his emotion, all of them were present in those eyes.

They curled up when he smiled at me at last.  To my last day on earth, I will never forget the first words he said to me.

“Ariel … why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?”

I reached my arms out to collect him and kissed him deeply, happily.  He was alive once more.  My visions had come to pass … this indeed was a love that would save a life.

(Transcriber’s note: Shortly after the completion of this interview, Ariel led me to the site where the Church of Christian Purity had been destroyed.  I did note that there was a large quantity of different-colored sand at the site, which corresponds to her telling of the demon’s destruction.  I also noticed that nothing remained of the giant megachurch: its remains had by this time been reclaimed by the desert.  Some marriage records I tracked down eventually revealed the location of Jennifer Abaster, who apparently settled down after her brother’s destruction and married a small-time Nevada politician by the name of Carleton Regent.—DAM)

[icefire149]

Megstiel cause you are making me think about it more and with the #1 prompt please <3

It's HERE!!! I really hope you enjoy this, because I had a blast writing. <3333333333

#1 “Why do you have to look at me like that? It’s making me weak, please stop.” - Meg/Castiel

“How long do you think dumb and dumber are gonna be?” Meg asked pointing in the direction the brothers went with her thumb.

Cas’ eyebrows pinched together in initial confusion before process of elimination logically brought him to what the demon was referring to. Roughly.

Sighing, Meg crossed her arms as she leaned against the side of the impala. “We really need to prioritize your movie education.”

“Oh.” The lines in his face smoothed out. “So this isn’t about Sam and Dean?”

An amused grin curved on Meg’s face. “Well, I’m glad you at least got the gist. And yeah, I was talking about those two.”

“Not too long,” Cas answered, letting his eyes wander over to the convenience store window. The corner of his mouth moved an uptick the second his stare found Dean tossing something small in Sam’s direction. “Now was a good time for a supply run. We don’t know if Crowley will be waiting in front or behind us.”

Meg rolled her eyes. “I’d rather get in and get out as quickly as possible.” She paused and then considered, “Though, I wouldn’t mind rubbing the tablet in Crowley’s face.”

“It would be most beneficial if we didn’t cross paths with him at all tonight.” The command lessened in his tone as Cas shifted his gaze back to her.

She quirked an eyebrow. “Are we suddenly pacifists now?” Her arms fell back to her sides, exasperated. “Again!” And then, Meg felt like she was burning.

An intensity ignited in Cas’ eyes as he trailed over every speckle of blood and bruise that was visible on her skin. He curled his fingers gently around her wrist and raised it closer to his eye level, studying the gauze. Slowly, he looked up through his lashes. “Yes.”

A strangled gasp slipped from Meg’s mouth, but Cas didn’t acknowledge it as he glanced back to her wrist, worrying about his handiwork.

“I asked Dean to buy more bandages,” he confessed. “I hope he remembers. This will need to be rewrapped later.”

Her lips trembled at the timbre of his voice. “Why do you have to look at me like that?”

“Like what?” Cas raised a coy eyebrow.

“Knock it off,” she bit, but Meg had yet to pull her hand out of his light grip. “Like I’m something fragile….something worth..preserving.” Her voice fell to a hushed whisper by the final word.

The intensity in Cas’ gaze softened. He stepped forward, and heartbeat by heartbeat, she eased into the warmth of his presence.

“It’s making me weak, please stop,” Meg breathed. “I can’t...”

“It’s your vulnerability to give. When you choose it.” A small, genuine smile grew on his face. “But regardless, I do think you’re worth preserving.”

She stared at him a moment, digesting his words. It wasn’t that long ago that Meg would’ve found this situation sickening. Feelings were cheap manipulation, but….that wasn’t what was happening here. And….that revelation was leaving her almost dumbstruck.

The corner of Cas’ smile hooked playfully as it grew some more, and Meg knew that she’d been transparent. “Oh?” Meg lifted her chin higher and moved a fraction closer. “I didn’t take you as the bleeding heart type when your head is screwed on right.”

-

The increase of warmth prickling his skin was the last thing Cas perceived before he was suddenly elsewhere. He blinked. His hand was empty.

“Castiel.”

His gaze snapped to the source of the sound immediately. “Naomi.” He didn’t know how he knew that or why her displeased look made his wings itch to uncurl.

“I thought we were just using the vile blight to find the angel tablet.”

And then, the truth flashed before his eyes. Ah. He could feel the hooks buried deep in the core of his being. Tethering him to this place. His gaze narrowed.

“Is that no longer the case?” Naomi asked, lacing her fingers together and placing them on the desk in front of her.

“We are.”

Cas’ words hung in the air for several moments while Naomi stared back at him. And then, she smiled. “I don’t believe you.”

-

The smirk on Meg’s face wavered as Cas didn’t react right away. “Heh, did I hit a nerve, Casanova?”

But, Cas’ blue eyes grew vacant as the moment ticked on by. The fingers curled around her wrist let go, and his hand fell limply at his side.

“Hey!” Meg yelled, fear sharp in her voice. She snapped her fingers in his face. “Earth to Clarence.”

A thick bead of blood formed in the corner of Cas’ eye and then started smearing down his cheek.

-

Naomi sighed, stepping away from the chair Castiel was strapped down to. “I can’t believe I almost forgot about the demon.” Her fingertips were stained with the spatter of blood. “Your behavior today is making more sense. Disgusting.”

Cas followed her movements throughout the room with the eye she didn’t violate in her rummaging through his memories. He swallowed thickly.

“When I restored you to working order after purgatory, I severed those emotional ties. But it seems I didn’t cut nearly deep enough.” Naomi pivoted on her heel. “First the hunter, and now this demon,” She snarled. “What is wrong with you that you’d rather drop to your knees and worship at the feet of recrement.”

“It’s irrelevant to our mission,” Cas said, hoping to redirect her train of thought. “You’re wasting time. We need to find that tablet. Now.”

Naomi crossed her arms. “And what do you suggest?”

“Let me go-”

She laughed, and shook her head incredulously.

“-and we can resume this conversation once I retrieve the tablet. Heaven and the mission comes first.”

They stared at each other in silence until finally Naomi gave her answer, “Fine.” She crossed back over to the chair, and picked up her drill once more. “But after I make a few improvements.”

-

Without a second thought, Meg barreled into the angel. Her hands latched onto both sides of his face, but he still didn’t react at all. She stared into his eyes, looking for any spark of life. He felt like solid stone under her touch. “Castiel!”

And in a blink-you-would’ve-missed-it moment, there was a flash of light. That’s all the hope she needed. Meg pulled his face to hers, silently begging that he wouldn’t collapse like a stack of bricks, and kissed him.

Weakly, he pressed into her lips and Meg pulled back. “What the fuck was that? Where did you-” Her rage died down just as quick as it flared.

Gradually, Cas raised his hands to cover over hers on his face. He woozily shifted his weight on his feet. More blood, so much more, gushed from his eye. “Mm-meg?”

A nervous chuckle pried her mouth into a tiny smile. “Hey, I’m right here. Try not to go fluttering off again.”

“I-” Cas squished his eyes shut as he focused. “Someone in Heaven is….hur-hurting mm...me.” His hands slid forward down her wrists and then up her arms. It was there that he paused and curled his fingers around her like a lifeline.

“I need to know who I’m plucking and roasting on a spit. Give me a name.” She searched his face for any kind of clue, but there was nothing other than the answer trapped in his throat.

Meg glanced back over towards the store. She couldn’t see the Winchesters, but she knew they’d be out any minute now. Gritting her teeth, it wasn’t soon enough.

“Is it still happening now?” Meg asked, turning back to the angel. She felt like an idiot as a new pulse of blood gushed from his eye as he nodded.

-

“If you weren’t the most headache inducing light, you’d actually be fascinating.” Naomi frowned, ignoring the screams below her. “My work is easier conceptualized as a sculpting craft. Shaping and carving….it’s so much more hands on.” Her gaze slid to the drill in her hand.

As an extension of her will, she dug deep into Castiel’s memory. His light was spun into complex webs of memories. Every taut string, if plucked was thunderous with emotion.

“And it’s fitting. Like our father at his workbench, I make angels.” A fond smile tugged at her lips as she severed a chord here and loosened another there. “But that’s not accurate. Angels are so different from carbon based life. It’s much more like tuning a stubborn instrument, but when I’m done Heaven is harmonious once again.”

The next section she reached for soured her mood. “I know I fixed this. You keep doing this Castiel.” Naomi shook her head. “How do you keep finding ways to bridge new pathways to these areas, again and again?”

-

“I...don’t know-” Cas opened his eyes. The right was so sticky with blood. “-h-how long until….or if I’ll even re-remember this.” His grip on Meg’s arms loosened some.

“Okay,” Meg answered. Her mind hadn’t stopped trying to think of solutions, but she was at a loss. How do you strategize for this? What even-

And then, Castiel flopped forward. He bowed his head, sinking into the space between her shoulder and neck.

Meg’s eye twitched as she fought against the smile her mouth desperately wanted to curl into. How did her life reach this level of insanity? She was long past her threshold of touchy-feely stuff, and yet, her traitorous hands were already comforting him. One was planted on his back and the other was softly carding through his hair. A part of her wanted to laugh at the ridiculous sight they must’ve made.

“Mm-my head feels scra-ammbled.”

And his quiet mumble knocked a laugh out of her. Meg’s fingers curled tightly in his hair. “You look like it...although I think your egg is a bit runny.” His body trembled under her fingertips. “And before you ask, yes, that was a joke.”

“I feel like...I-I could almost put myself back together…..she’s ru-rushing-”

“Clarence, spit a name out.”

“-bubut it’s li-like the pieces are….just ou-out of reach.”

“We can’t help without the name. Think!”

Cas shifted his head so his cheek was firmly pressed against her. He spoke in a quiet voice, “I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner.”

That was the last thing on Meg’s mind. His admission was paralyzing as was his breath against her skin. The heat sent a shiver down her spine.

“I’m sorry,” he confessed again.

The angel’s lips were only a fraction away from her neck. It was agonizing. “So, what’s the game plan?” Her voice came out strained. Meg needed to focus.

“Find the….the tablet and..figure out the re-rest when we gget there.”

Other fics from this round of prompts

Previous round of prompts

[scarletwidowaf]

Imagine that no power AU where Natasha falls for this cute artsy girl and slowly finds out (to her horror) that Wanda's not just some random artsy crafts girl who plays guitar, but the (adopted) Granddaughter of the owner of the company Natasha works for. As in oh, oh no, that's Carter's grandbaby, Carter's gonna kill me.

baby carter

Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff (scarlet widow \ wandanat)

warnings: cursing? Terrible grammar and writing maybe because my brain's having hard time.

A\N: soft scarlet widow- Natasha being awkward and charming and Wanda being absolutely adorable. also, I honestly don't know what I feel bout it - I think it's kinda messy especially compared to my latest work.

words: idk... a lot? 

masterlist

Natasha's been working in carter's Law Firm for almost 3 years now, slowly climbing up the company's hierarchical food chain, yet not enough to get the well-deserved promotion she was aching to get.

Not that she was ungrateful, hell no. not long after she graduated she got the job in carter's, which was one of the best and strongest law firms in the market. This means that not only that she found herself working alongside some of the best lawyers in the world, she truly couldn't complain about the paycheck she was getting every month.

Natasha wasn't ungrateful, but she was driven and she knew she was great at her job, hell, she was the best young lawyer in her class, yet, after 3 years in the firm, she was still working under Coulson. Which naturally means, she did a lot of dirty work instead of representing her own cases. Working with Coulson was great, really, the man was nice, sweet, a bit nerdy at times, and of course, such a great lawyer. Looking back, Natasha should give him credit for many things she achieved in the last 3 years, and one of them was meeting the love of her life- the one and only Wanda Maximoff.

One Thursday evening, as she was just finishing up some paperwork at the firm's office in New York, she got a call from Coulson, who let her know they were cutting the day short following personal constraints.

Instead of going straight home to rest after the brutal week, as she probably should've done, she decided to text Steve and Tony to see if they were free. luckily for her, her two best friends were willing to sacrifice any plans they had for this fine Thursday night, to celebrate the rare occasion of Natasha getting out of the firm before 8 pm.

The bar steve chose was nice, rather quiet and chill. Naturally, tony didn't seem to be a fan of the blonde's choice, but since it was Steve's turn to choose a place there wasn't much he could've done about it.

"We should sit near the stage" Steve said as he spotted an empty table at the other side of the bar, near the stage.

"What's wrong with you rogers? Do you want us to sit near the stage where random people will try to squick their hearts out to a Celine Dion song?" Tony sneered out, his eyes shooting daggers at the blonde as they sat.

"It's not a karaoke bar, tony" Natasha defended steve's choice.

"Yeah, this bar hosts young talented artists, I think it's awesome and refreshing" the blonde explained.

"I still hate it" tony said.

"We don't care" Natasha said as a waitress came to the table.

Over an hour and a half later, 3 performances were over and two bawls of fries as well, the next artist got onto the stage.

The woman was young, probably younger than Natasha, and beautiful.

She was dressed rather simply compared to the other artists, just a plain white T and an old pair of skinny jeans.

Natasha noticed that some strands of her dark brown hair got stuck under her red guitar's strap.

The woman was smiling nervously as she introduced herself to the crowd and Natasha couldn't help but send her an encouraging small smile.

Surprisingly for her, the woman smiled back.

Tony and steve noticed it as well and they exchanged knowing looks.

The singer's voice was almost as beautiful as her.

Her fingers softly strumming on the frets- as almost as it was second nature, while her soft angelic voice filled the room, sending chills through Natasha's body.

Natasha smiled when she noticed how quiet the bar became, everyone seemed to be enchanted by the young singer.

When the singer finished her preference she smiled brightly to the audience, who cheered for her loudly- as she deserved, and got off the stage.

Natasha noticed the poor singer who was supposed to try and top her incredible performance. He seemed miserable.

"Earth to nat!?" Tony waved his hand in front of Natasha. The redhead blinked twice before tearing her attention from the singer and to her friends.

Steve was smiling at her, his eyes glittering in enthusiasm, while tony smirked at her with raised eyebrows.

"I'm sorry, what?" She asked.

Steve laughed and tony sigh.

"We said that she was really good" the blonde explained

"Not that you haven't noticed it, you've been practically drooling," Tony said.

"I was not" she defended herself

"You were," he said. "But we don't judge you Romanoff, its natural, she was pretty and you didn't get laid in a while. Plus- You always had a thing for the innocent looking ones" he explained and Natasha sent him her dirtiest glare.

If a look could kill tony stark would've been dead by now.

"Okay first, I wasn't drooling. Second, fuck you"

"Nice comeback" tony taunted her with a smirk, knowing full well he wasn't completely wrong.

"You should ask her out. You seem to like her"

Steve smiled at her and Natasha knew he meant it- he was was always the sweetest one of the three.

"Fancy her" tony corrected steve.

"She Like her" steve raised his eyebrow at his friend.

"Fancy" tony taunted

"Li-" steve was about to argue again until Natasha cut the stupid argument off.

"Fuck off you too," she said and waved to the waiter, hoping that another beer might make the two less annoying.

When the waiter didn't come, Natasha got frustrated, her two friends started to argue over another idiotic thing: steve's lack of love life and tony's girlfriend's lack of taste In men.

"I'm gonna get a refill," she said as she got up. The two sent her quick okays before getting back to their bickering.

When Natasha approached the bar she noticed a familiar face.

The singer was sitting in front of the bar's counter with a glass of mojito. She seemed to be having a polite conversation with the bartender.

"Hey, I'm sorry to interrupt but can I have a refill?" Natasha asked the bartender. The man smiled at her and nodded before he replaced her empty cup with a new one.

The singer smiled at her softly again- Natasha smiled nervously at her.

"I'm Natasha" Natasha said awkwardly to the girl, her cheeks flushed.

Wanda smiled back at her "hey Natasha, I'm Wanda" Wanda, the singer said as she held out her hand for a handshake.

Natasha took her hand, praying to whatever god exist that her hand wasn't sweaty.

'What's wrong with me?' She thought as she mentally faces palmed herself.

"I liked your performance," Natasha said and Wanda smiled at her.

Natasha smiled back, happy she had the privilege to be the reason the singer smiled.

"Thank you" wanda thanked her.

"I saw you at the front line," Wanda said and Natasha nodded.

"Yeah, my friend likes this place. He chose the table" she admitted.

"That's nice, I'm guessing it's your first time in here"

"Yeah, it is actually. Was I that obvious?" Natasha joked and Wanda laughed.

"Just a little bit," Wanda said with a smile "what do you think about it so far?"

"It's really nice, honestly" Natasha admitted.

"Yeah, I think that as well. I come here often with my cousin and brother but its the first time I was on stage"

"Well, you were great. Seriously. You were" she started before gazing at the stage briefly, catching the sight of the young singer who went up after Wanda. "sorry, are- the best singer" she continued and Wanda blushed.

"Thank you it means a lot"

"Anytime," Natasha said back

"I should really go... It was lovely meeting you Natasha." Wanda said as she checked the time, a small frown on her lips.

"You too," Natasha said.

Wanda nodded at her before getting up and turning around from Natasha to pull her guitar.

when Natasha took a small sip from her beer she catches the bartender's eye.

The guy was giving her the 'are you kidding me?!' look- who was a well-known look she was familiar with from years of friendship with tony.

"Hey Wanda-" Natasha said to Wanda, who was about to walk away. The singer turned back around with a small confused smile.

"Yeah?" She asked

"Would you like to, maybe, I don't know.. go out sometime?" Natasha stuttered.

'Did I just fucking stuttered!?' She mentally kicked herself.

"Yeah.. id like that" Wanda said with a smile. The brunette took a pen out of her jeans pocket and scribble something on Natasha's arm.

"Call me," Wanda said with a smile before she smiled at the bartender, who tried to look busy with anything but them.

"Bye bucky" she laughed at his antics and left.

Natasha looked up from the scrabble on her hand, who was- of course Wanda's number with a small heart at the bottom, and exchange looks with bucky the bartender.

"That went well, right?" She asked him dumbfounded and he laughed before handing her a shot glass with vodka.

"Yeah it did.. friendly advice, don't fuck it up" he said as passed her a slice of lemon.

Natasha downed the shot, nodded at him as she took her beer, and left the lemon on the counter. Her legs taking her back to her table. both of her friends were staring at her with wide eyes.

"Hell yeah Romanoff!" Tony said excitedly.

Natasha smiled at tony before looking at steve with a chuckle "the bartender is your type" she said as she set.

Steve gave her a 'are you kidding me look before his eyes traveled from her to the bartender at the bar.

----------------------ᱬ----------------------

Not long after Natasha and Wanda met again, a few times actually. 10 minutes into their first date, Natasha knew she was in trouble.

Wanda was completing Natasha on almost every level she thought about.

Wanda was carefree and dorky as Natasha was a stressed workaholic.

Wanda liked homemade meals and cooking while Natasha was practically living on boxed mac and cheese or takeout.

Natasha loved to binge movies and random tv shows into the night while Wanda liked getting up early to watch the sunrise.

Wanda loved fruity alcoholic drinks while Natasha preferred it clean.

Wanda was a splash of color in Natasha's black and white life.

Not long after, Natasha asked wanda to be her girlfriend- it happened in a month and a half after their first meeting as the two women laid in Wanda's bed, naked and sweaty with their limbs intertwined.

She could've done it more romantic, but both girls truly couldn't give a damn about it.

Wanda's apartment was incredible.

The studio apartment was big and bright.

The apartment's walls color was cream and the tall window frames were covered with white curtains.

In the beginning, Natasha didn't really understand why wanda even bother to use these curtains since the sun would light the room either way, (she found out about this terrible trait when she first stayed over and found herself awake and cursing under her breath at 7 am) But, luckily for her, Natasha learned rather fast why the younger girl's windows where ALWAYS covered. It was simple, really.

Wanda had this habit to walk around the apartment half-naked, or completely naked on better days, and as much as Natasha was grateful for that (and she was), she truly wasn't the one to share, especially not the image of her naked girlfriend as she walked around the apartment or squirmed under her touch on the bed- or anywhere they chose, really.

"Nat?" Wanda whispered softly as she was playing with her sleepy girlfriend's hair and spread soft kisses on her back.

"Hm?" Natasha hummed, half asleep.

"There's something I need to tell you" Wanda said softly. Her voice barely a whisper.

"Is everything okay, baby?" Natasha asked as she turned around to face the taller woman.

Natasha's eyebrows were tightened together in worry and Wanda couldn't help but kiss her on the nose.

"Yeah" she whispered and Natasha waited patiently for her to continue "it's just that.. there's something I need to tell you... about my family"

"Okay.." Natasha encouraged her to continue.

"My family-" she started, but got cut off by Natasha's phone buzzing on the nightstand.

"Fuck" Natasha cursed before turning around to check who it was- and if she can ignore it.

The name on the screen was definitely a sight she could not ignore.

"Just a second baby, it's my boss" she said as she pulled herself up to answer the phone. by doing so, Natasha missed wanda's guilty lip bite.

----------------------ᱬ----------------------

That's how things went for another month. In this month Natasha got the promotion she wanted which meant she was enthusiastic for days later- and Wanda couldn't bear the thought of ruining it for her.

And that's how it went overtime.

Every time Wanda manage to muster enough courage to tell Natasha whatever she wanted to say, something happened and ruined it.

But jean Racine was indeed right: 'there are no secrets that time does not reveal', and unfortunately for both women, wanda's secret got revealed in a rather unpleasant and awkward situation.

It was a pretty normal day for Natasha.

Or at least it started as one. she spent the night at Wanda's again, which means she had a hard time leaving bed in the morning but she managed it so now, a few hours later, she was having lunch at a deserted meeting room with a few friends from the office

"hey, nat.. is that your girlfriend??" Sam asked, his eyes following a girl who passes near the glass door.

"Wanda?" Natasha asked him confused.

They weren't supposed to meet today for lunch, didn't they?

"Do you have another girlfriend I'm not aware of?" He asked

"Shut up Wilson, why would Wanda be here!?"

"I don't know Romanoff, she's your girlfriend. All I can say is that she seemed to be in a deep conversation with Sharon"

"Carter?"

"the one and only" Carol whispered and Gamora rolled her eyes at the girl.

"Will you stop being weird?" Gamora asked and Carol shook her head.

"Why would she have a conversation with Sharon fucking Carter" Natasha asked confused

"Maybe you should ask her...?” the man asked

"Oh shit I think they're coming over here, pretend to be busy," Carol said as she dived back into her salad.

The others do the same as well.

A few moments later the glass door was pulled open by Sharon.

Her smile wide.

"Hey guys" Sharon said as she opened the door and git into the room, wanda following behind-

Probably unaware of her girlfriend's presence until moments later when their eyes met.

Wanda looked like she was about to die.

"Wanda?" Natasha asked. Her eyebrows knitted together.

"Wait, You know each other?" Sharon asked as she turned to the brunette

"Yeah-" she started

"How do you guys know each other" Natasha cut her girlfriend off. Her eyes were still wide with confusion.

"We're cousins" the blonde explained and Wanda bit her lip.

Natasha stared at her girlfriend, hoping to get an explanation from her.

"Wait how do you to know each other"

"She's my girlfriend," Wanda said softly as Natasha got up from her chair.

Sharon's eyes were wide "didn't see that coming" she muttered

"Tell me about that" Natasha said, more to her girlfriend than to her boss.

"I'm going out for a smoke," she said simply before leaving the room.

"Nat-" Wanda started as she followed her, leaving the other remaining members of the room confused.

"Really?" Sharon asked again.

"Well, that was something," sam said and gamora nodded.

"That's classic," Carol said as she quietly laughed to herself

Meanwhile, at the elevator, things were going less smoothly for the couple.

"You're my boss's niece and you didn't think about telling me this?" Natasha shot at Wanda as the elevator door opened and the two went outside.

"I was trying to tell you, nat. I swear. That was the thing I tried to tell you about this whole month But every time I tried to something happened" Wanda explained as Natasha lit her cigarette.

"Why didn't you say anything when we started dating and got to know each other?" Natasha asked.

The lawyer wasn't sure if she was more hurt by the fact Wanda kept this secret from her or terrified by the fact she was dating her boss's niece

"Because I didn't want you to look at me the way you look at me right now" Wanda defended herself.

"How do I look at you wanda?" Natasha asked hurt.

"Like I'm no longer the same artsy girl you met at the bar" Wanda whispered

Natasha laughed bitterly

"Come on Wanda you know I don't give a shit about it. I love you and the fact you're a carter won't change it. You are the same artsy girl from the bar, who happened to be my boss's nephew. You should've said something."

"You're right, I shouldn't have kept this away from you. It was destined to get out eventually and the last thing I ever wanted was to hurt you" Wanda took the cigarette out of Natasha's lips.

"I made a mistake and I can't change it."

Wanda continued and Natasha sigh

"I wanted you to know me, and I was scared you'll judge me or see me as a carter like most people do."

Wanda put her hand on Natasha's cheek and Natasha kissed her palm, encouraging her to continue her speech.

"Fuck, nat, I'm not even in this business- yeah they're my family but that's it. the only other connection I have to this firm is the fact I'm in love with one of its lawyers" Natasha's eyes lit up and Wanda blushed furiously.

"You're in love with me?" Natasha asked as she played pulled her girlfriend closer, A small cocky smile on her lips as Wanda rolled her eyes

"For someone so fucking smart you can be so dense sometimes," Wanda said and Natasha laughed "Of course I do moron."

"I love you too," Natasha said before kissing Wanda softly on the lips.

"Can you forgive me, then?"

"It depends," Natasha said with the best poker straight face she could muster.

"On?" Wanda asked with her eyebrow raised.

"Is there any other relative- who can fire my ass, I need to know about?"

Wanda smiled kissed Natasha's lips deeply.

"No!" She said when they broke away and the two laughed.

Natasha wiped away the younger woman's tears before kissing her lips again. This time softly.

"Good, now if you don't mind maximoff. My break's over and I should really get back before your cousin will fire my ass"

"Well technically.. she's my cousin in law, I'm peggy's grandchild, adopted one, and she's her nephew" Wanda explained

"Can she fire my ass?" Natasha asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Well.. yeah..?"

"Then my point still stands.

"Shut up Romanoff! you and I both know Sharon won't' fire your ass' because you're the best lawyer in this damn place" wanda argued

"Who fucks her cousin..-"

"You're right.. she might fire you" wanda joked and took her girlfriend's hand in hers.

"Or murder me" Natasha continued as her girlfriend pulled her back into the building and to the elevator.

"Yeah" Wanda laughed when they got into the elevator and the doors closed.

Wanda kissed Natasha's lips softly before pressing the button of their destined floor. "Or murder you"

[theparanormalperiodical]

Everything You Never Knew About The Nazi UFO Conspiracy Theory (it’s a wild ride)

Oil.

You could tell the story of the modern world through oil.

The thick, sticky liquid is the dark glue clobbering the West together. Nations go to war, governments plot and plunder, and innocent people get caught up in the crossfire. All for oil.

But the oil I’m talking about didn’t start a war. It instead leads us to a little known historical tale. A tale that in turn brings us to the front step of a conspiracy theory.

Our story starts in Queen Maud Land, Antarctica.

It’s currently -46 degrees celsius. We are surrounded by soft, white stretches of snow and sharp, mountain-esque peaks breaching the ice.

But some would have you believe there is much more to the land lying just beyond the North Pole. According to some theorists, beneath the frost-bitten ground lies an entire hidden society. And amongst the people gathering in this underground bunker sits technological advances quite literally out of this world.

In 1938, an expedition from Nazi Germany was sent out to take control of Queen Maud Land (known then as New Swabia) in order to supply whale oil for the upcoming war in Western Europe.

Theorists, however, claimed that after the war, the remaining Nazis in Europe fled to New Swabia and may have even kept and developed their advancements in aircraft technology. Yes, it is here they keep and dispatch their UFO technology, helped only by a superhuman race or aliens!

Strap in, kids. It’s time to talk about the messy, mysterious and my-god-this-is-weird-shit Nazi UFOs.

2010 was a pretty tame year by the decade’s standards.

But in late November, a meme was born. A meme that probably relaunched a conspiracy that once thrived in a postwar world: it claimed aliens paid a visit to the guys at the top during Nazi Germany’s heyday and offered up advice for advanced aircraft technology.

Ancient Aliens (season 2 episode 5) gave us innocent viewers the lowdown on the UFOs spotted during and after the war that were supposedly related to Hitler’s regime.

This theory clusters alongside other Ancient Aliens theories - that extraterrestrials have popped down now and then to help construct vast civilisations like Ancient Egypt.

Is it true?

Is it bugger.

But the theories and the evidence put forward frame a unique time in history.

What are Nazi UFOs?

The title of this theory is far from imaginative. The theory claims the Nazis were successful in advancing aircrafts and spacecrafts during WW2. But there is also talk of postwar survival of this technology, whether concealed at the North Pole or hiding in plain sight at NASA.

We know that the Nazis made vast strides in engineering and weaponry. In fact, the ‘evidence’ route forward by theorists relies heavily on accounts from high-up figures in the Axis countries.

Take the Repulsine: this was a specialised engine built during the war. How far was the stretch from this feat of engineering to alien-tech? Is it possible that an advanced race of extraterrestrials stopped by with a few tips and tricks?

Apparently so, as put forward by the claims of the Haunebu flying saucer and the occult-inspired Die Glocke (the existence of both of these aircrafts is, of course, highly disputed).

Nazi UFO believers should get some credit, however - they at least did some research. They got their facts right on three crucial pieces of evidence, before losing control of the wheel and skidding off the track completely.

Firstly, yes, we know they claimed New Swabia in 1938 for the purpose of obtaining whale oil and potentially for imperial pursuits, as well.

And yeah, they researched advanced propulsion tech. They even created a prototype of a circular-winged aircraft that looks preeeeetty similar to your run-of-the-mill UFO.

They even get right that there were flurries of UFO sightings during the war by allied forces.

But as soon as 1950, outlandish claims emerged, mere years after Germany surrendered and the Allies claimed victory. But we need to start at the beginning.

The year is 1944.

The end of the war is just on the horizon. The Allies have liberated Western Europe from Nazi grip. But a new, surprising threat is in the soldiers line of sight, too.

It was a cold, November evening. Lt. Fred Ringwald was in a night fighter piloted by a fellow Lieutenant. As they soared above the Rhine valley, the two american soldiers spotted something in the hills of Strasbourg.

8 fiery, orange lights were staring back at them.

They were sure, as any fighter pilot in that situation, that this was enemy aircraft. And yet nothing showed up on the radar. As soon as they turned the plane to prepare to fight, the orange lights had disappeared.

Many would attribute such sightings to combat fatigue, St. Elmo’s Fire (weather phenomena during a storm where glowing plasma appears near masts) or the fact that pilots would have seen many aircrafts clogging across Europe's skies.

But soon, the sightings began to spread. And fast.

In December, a pilot saw “5 or 6 flashing red and green lights in ’T’ shape.” in the skies near Breisach, Germany. They followed him but quickly vanished.

Days later, two orange glowing lights were spotted by two more flight crews.

They rose from the earth to 10,000 feet before tailing the fighters for approx. 2 minutes. They then stopped following the allied planes and disappeared.

“They appear to be under perfect control at all times”

Keith Chester

These sightings would become so common, they’d be given a nickname:

Foo fighters.

Scientists would go on to investigate them, later decoding them as advanced German aircrafts and weaponry. As they were only spotted by allied forces, it was likely they were advancements such as the V-1 or V-2 rocket.

But after the war, UFO sightings continued to apparently connect the dots:

Project Sign, an official US UFO investigation team, linked the designs of the German Horten brothers to UFO reports. The head of the follow up investigation confirmed some of their findings:

“When WWII ended, the Germans had several radical types of aircraft and guided missiles under development. The majority were in the most preliminary stages, but they were the only known craft that could even approach the performance of objects reported by UFO observers.”

Captain Edward J. Ruppelt, 1959

It was only after the war that accounts from former officials of the Axis regimes appeared to support these claims.

The first newspaper report forging a connection between UFOs and the crushed Nazi regime was written by a former Italian Minister of National Economy under Mussolini’s regime:

"types of flying discs were designed and studied in Germany and Italy as early as 1942"

But this doesn’t suggest aliens airdropped a PDF of flying saucer designs. We know that flying saucer aircrafts can and have been created.

A similar account from a Czeh scientist spurred on another key element of this conspiracy theory.

Die Glocke.

December 9th 1965.

All is peaceful in the small town of Kecksberg, Pennsylvania. That’s about to change.

Six American citizens in Detroit, Michigan, Windsor and Ontario witnessed a fireball score across the sky. NASA later claimed that this was a meteorite or a Soviet satellite crashing back to Earth.

UFOlogists weren’t so sure.

Many claim they saw a large object the size of a VW Beetle spotted with strange symbols, like hieroglyphics, being carried out by a truck from the area cordoned off at the crash site.

UFOlogists believe they recovered The Bell, an occult-alien-hybrid spacecraft.

Apparently, such claims bear a similarity to the designs of an aircraft laid out in a Wehrmacht document about a vertical take-off craft. And then Rudolph Schirever, the man claiming he designed it during the war, gave a statement the same month something crashed to the earth.

He told Der Spiegel that he designed a craft powered by rotating turbine blades. He developed it until April 1945 at BMW in Prague before fleeing to the Czeh Republic, as it is now known. 3 years later, he claimed the designs were stolen.

He thinks Czeh agents nicked his ideas for a foreign power.

Could it have been for an underground society of failed Nazi war criminals stowed away in underground base in Antartica?

(That was a mouthful.)

Many have attached their own take to Die Glocke.

Some believe it was anti-gravitational, others claim it was a time-machine. Some claim a Nazi colonel handed it over to the US military to buy his freedom, and a few even allege that the US forces forced Nazi scientists to build Die Glocke and advance it’s anti-gravity technology.

This stuff is pretty out there.

Quite literally.

But the last bit does fit actual history: US forces did bring over Nazi scientists to advance their space technology.

Postwar Theories

When historians began to reflect on the war decades after it ended, new ideas banking on UFOs followed suit.

In the 1960s, one of these most infamous theories was put forward in the controversial book The Morning of the Magicians.

It made numerous claims about the mysterious and fictional Vril Society which was based on a novel about superhuman-angel-alien beings that lived inside the Earth. In 1935, a German engineer fled to the US spouting claims that the Nazis did indeed have a society dedicated to finding the Vril.

The Morning of the Magicians claimed the Vril Society was a precursor to the Nazi party amongst other ideas. They supposedly created flying disc prototypes and had a secret base on the moon.

Oh, and about that Antarctica underground base?

It’s so the Nazis can vanish into the Earth and meet that advanced race living down there.

Jumping onto this New Swabia bandwagon was Ernst Zündel.

This Holocaust denier (*stares into camera*) wrote many books throughout the 70s claiming flying saucers were secret weapons released from this base. He even claimed he would attempt to locate the base and reveal the Earth was crammed full of aliens this entire time!

In 2002, he let slip that it was a big ruse to bring in more cash for his publishing company.

At the end of the decade, Migeul Serrano gave it a go. He was a Nazi sympathiser and believed that Hitler was the avatar (a deity on earth) of a Hindu god. Apparently he was hanging out with the hyperborean gods (Greek gods that are stowed away at the North Pole) underground until he was ready to release UFOs and bring in the Fourth Reich.

The last, infamous proponent of this theory had physical, real-life consequences.

A year after Serrano made his claims, Richard Chase professed that Nazi UFOs had forced him to commit numerous brutal and bloody crimes under threat to his own life.

Chase is one of the most infamous serial killers in history, earning the title the Vampire of Sacramento due to his reputation for murder, rape, cannibalism and necrophilia. These claims can be traced back to his schizophrenia which prompted him to believe prison officials were poisoning his food as directed by Nazi UFOs.

***

I think sometimes it’s easier for us to frame the atrocities committed by the Nazi regime within the context of something the horror genre would spit out. We’d much rather spin tales of occult rituals and far-out entities than admit actual humans did what they did.

It’s no surprise that following the war, a surge in movies detailing alien invasion emerged. It fit the fears of impending doom from a foreign, fascist government, a reality for many nations during WW2.

What do you think is the craziest claim?

If you liked this blogpost, make sure you like and reblog it. And while you’re down there, hit follow to read something spooky every weekend!

[jalapeno-princess]

Cyber Sex

Mark Tuan X Reader

Word Count: 5.6K

Genre: Fluffy ass smut 

Warning: Masturbation, fingering, dirty talk, cussing, breast play

Summary: Your boyfriend Mark is currently in Japan for a conference and seeing you wearing nothing but his shirt leads to fingering yourself to his commands.

A/N: Based on the song “Cyber Sex” by Doja Cat. I am so excited for their comeback, I’m broke as a fucking joke but it’s fine. I’m FINE. Happy reading.

I wanna touch on you You see me in my room Wish you were here right now All of the things I'd do I wanna get freaky on camera I love when we get freaky on camera

The word tired wasn’t even enough to describe exactly how you were feeling right now. You were exhausted beyond belief to say the least. Being a full time college student; majoring in both criminal justice and journalism on top of having a full time job at one of the most prestigious and reputable law firms in your state wasn’t the most ideal situation, but you made it work. Well, for the most part. 

Your mental health these days has been at an all time low; you were being overworked to the point where you were afraid you could suffer from either a mental breakdown or panic attack at the rate you were headed. Unfortunately, the only person who knew how to keep you from completely reaching the brink of insanity was currently thousands of miles away from you. Your boyfriend of over three years—Mark; was in Japan for a very important conference that the company he was working for sent him on in order to represent his department. 

Although he was the youngest in his career field; Mark knew exactly what to say and do to build partnerships and to gain the trust of many other company shareholders. Your boyfriend was quite the charmer; sometimes you did grow jealous when you’d observe how some of his colleagues and a few of his clients would look at him in such a way that you thought only you were allowed to. 

As much as you wanted to be upset with the women who were bold enough to ask him out even if they knew he was in a relationship, you couldn’t really blame them for finding him attractive and attempting to make a move on him. Mark was the definition of a sight for sore eyes. He was gorgeous and exceedingly handsome—however, Mark was way more than just a pretty face, a well-defined and extremely toned body and a deep, raspy voice that never failed to get you groveling at your knees. 

He was extremely kind and generous to every single person he’s ever met in his life. You always considered him to be somewhat of an angel; an ethereal being here on earth because there was no way someone who was both ridiculously breathtaking on the outside was just as wonderful on the inside. Sometimes, you felt as if he deserved better than you. From a very young age, you never thought much about yourself; you didn’t care all too much about the way you looked, you didn’t consider yourself smart, funny nor did you have any impressive talent. 

However, Mark never failed to make you feel as if you were the most beautiful creature he has ever laid his eyes on. He reminded you both physically and verbally on a daily basis that he loved you more than anyone and anything on this he’ll forsaken earth. You were his person, his soulmate—the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. You don’t know what it was that you did in your past life to be the lucky person to call him your boyfriend, but you would do it again and again if it meant having him in each and every lifetime. 

It was hard having to be away from him every now and then—especially on the days when you felt as if the entire world was against you for not doing anything right. Deep down, you knew you were doing the best you can but it was as if your best wasn’t good enough for other people. Since Mark was a day ahead but six hours behind, you were sure he had to be busy attending a convention or going over his notes to prepare for meetings he had mentioned to you a couple of times in the last week. 

As much as you wanted to call him just to hear his voice; even if it were just for a few minutes, you didn’t want to bother him. He had other things to worry about—the stress and frustration caused by your responsibilities would only worry him and you knew he didn’t need that. You made your way in to the bathroom and started getting ready to go to sleep. You wiped off any trace of makeup from your face, brushed your teeth and took off your clothes before throwing on one of Mark’s shirts. 

Right as you were about to throw yourself in to the comfort of your bed, you heard your phone sound off on the night stand and because you had a huge feeling it was Mark trying to get in touch with you, you practically flung yourself across the threshold and reached for your phone while flopping down on your sheets.

Babe: Hey, you didn’t let me know if you got home. Are you alright? Can we FaceTime? I miss seeing your pretty face so much. 11:27 P.M.

Whatever exhaustion you felt from earlier immediately disappeared; the want and need to talk to your boyfriend was far stronger than any amount of tiredness you felt. You got up and grabbed your laptop—preferring to look at him on a bigger screen since your vision wasn’t all that great from taking out your contacts. He was quick to answer before the first ring and you could feel your chest warm up at the sight of him. 

No matter what he wore, he always seemed to take your breath away. Whether it was a flannel and some skinny jeans or just a pair of grey sweats when the two of you would lounge around your shared apartment—a blush would always seem to rise on your cheeks just because he was so annoyingly attractive. However, seeing him in a suit; looking extremely classy with his hair pulled back so you could see the entirety of his handsome face made your stomach sore in the best way. God, why did he have to be thousands of miles away from you? 

“Baby!” You gave him a soft smile and sat up properly in order to get a better look at him. 

“Hey—are you right about to go in to a meeting or something? You look very handsome babe.” He gave you his infamous cheeky grin—one he always flashed whenever you would compliment him. Mark, even at the prime age of twenty-seven could still get so shy and flustered at the smallest little things. Especially whenever you would go in to detail about his charming features or how his cute little butt always looked good in a pair of slacks. 

He scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment before biting his lip. You were soon growing envious at the thought of how many women got to see him looking like a Greek-God while in his element. Although you have only seen a few videos of the speeches he would give at conventions and conferences, you observed just how confident he was when it came to his craft. When it came to talking with other people—sometimes even when the two of you would go out to dinner with your parents, he was always so timid and soft spoken. 

Yet, he seemed to change in to a completely different person in environments where he was meant to persuade clients in to buying stocks with his company. You couldn’t help but find it cute whenever he would act flustered around you—especially because in the bedroom and behind close doors, he was the complete opposite of shy. 

“Oh—uh, thanks. I actually just came back from a luncheon. It was boring as hell and honestly I didn’t hear a thing anyone had to say, I was too busy thinking of you. God, I hate having to attend these fucking conferences—I mean I love traveling; it’s not like we can really go around anyway and even if we could, I’d use all my free time talking to you. I hate any moment spent without you baby. Tell me about your day; how was work? Did you finally take that exam you’ve been studying for these last two weeks—oh shit. I didn’t realize what time it was there, I’m sorry baby. You must be tired, I can call you back tomorrow—“ 

You waved your hand out at him signaling that it was okay. Even if you had to be up in less than five hours, you were perfectly fine with the idea of getting no sleep at all tonight if it meant talking to your favorite person until the sun rose. 

“It’s fine Mark. I miss you too—so much. I can always message my professor and tell her I’m sick if I’m not feeling up to attending class tomorrow. Work was work; tiring and frustrating as it always is and school is well—school. Nothing new. I want to hear about you though—“

“We’ll get to me later baby. It hurts knowing that you’re going through something—I’m sure there’s more to it that you’re not telling me. I hate that you suffer by yourself and it’s even harder when I’m away and I can’t hold you and tell you that everything is going to be okay. But it will be and you know why? Because you have me. I got you y/n. You know you can always run to me—confide in me. That’s what I’m here for. To help carry your burden with you. I’m sure you’re well aware that I want nothing more than to carry your problems in your place. I would do anything just to make you happy—I hope you know that. I probably don’t say it as often as I should, but fuck—I just want to give you the whole world; the entire universe because it’s what you deserve.” 

You could feel the tears brimming at your eyelids and if he was there with you, you would probably playfully shove him for making you cry with his sweet words before leaving chaste kisses all over his face. One thing you admired about your boyfriend, on top of the infinite amount of other things was his way with words. Mark preferred to show you through his actions rather than tell you with his words exactly what you meant to him but when he did speak up about his feelings, your heart would combust in to a million different pieces. 

He even wrote you a couple of letters filled with love and adoration because he wanted to remind you when he wasn’t around that you were all he could ever want and need for the rest of his life. The two of you talked for around half an hour until you found yourself re-positioning yourself when your leg got a cramp for sitting on it too long. You didn’t think anything of it, but as soon as you fixed yourself, you were quick to notice how Mark’s jaw was now clenched as he began grazing his teeth along his bottom lip. 

You’ve been with him long enough to know what his ministrations and movements meant; those two in particular usually meant that he was either uncomfortable or horny. But you didn’t understand how he could be either; he was fine just a few seconds ago—why was he looking as if he was on the verge of a mental breakdown. 

“Hey Mark, everything okay?”

“Is that my shirt?” 

You looked down at his black champion tee that was practically swallowing you whole, just like most of his clothes that you’d find yourself wearing every now and then. He never failed to rave about how sexy you looked in his clothes and sometimes he didn’t have the willpower to let it stay on you for all too long before ripping it off and showing you the effect that seeing you in any of his clothes would do for him. 

Your hair was a mess, there were bags under your eyes and your lips were chapped from not feeling the need to moisturize them; so you didn’t feel like you were at all ravishing or attractive in any way. Surely, seeing you in his shirt couldn’t be the reason why he was riled up all of a sudden—could it? 

“Oh, yeah. I was so exhausted I just grabbed the closest item of clothing near the sink. Is there something wrong? It smells good. Just like you—wait, is it dirty? Did you not wash it yet? I can go change—“

“No no—shit—can you lean back or something? I want to see you, full body.” 

You did as you were told and pushed your computer further away from where you were sitting before moving back just a little in order for him to get a better look at you. It wasn’t till you saw him gulp as a whimper fell from the back of his throat did you know exactly what was going on. 

“Mark—“

“Fuck—you look so fucking breathtaking Y/n—so damn sexy—don’t get me wrong, you always look so beautiful. But when you’re in one of my shirt it’s just—why the fuck am I in Japan right now this is bullshit.” 

A soft giggle fell from your lips; whenever Mark would get horny, that was when he was the most vocal about his emotions. He was extremely vulgar and his words were always so dirty; so naughty. It was funny listening to him talk on the phone to his boss or a couple of his colleagues knowing just how filthy and lewd he could be during your love making sessions. Your boyfriend was the definition of dominant. 

There were a few occasions where he would allow you to take charge—when you would dominate him, you would put all your effort and energy in to driving him to the brink of insanity. The older boy didn’t know what he preferred; edging you until you would beg for him to let you cum, or being tied up to the bed while you ride him at an exceedingly quickened pace. You could feel the warmth building in between your thighs at his words on top of the frustration that he wasn’t there to help you with the forming orgasm you were now completely aware of. 

“You know babe, now that you’ve mentioned it—I do feel pretty warm in here. Maybe I should take this off.” 

You decided to mess with him; knowing that he was probably suffering and trying to hide the fact that he was definitely hard as a rock right now. His shirt was gently thrown to the side of the bed and soon your breasts were on full display for him. Watching his jaw drop at the sight of your bare chest only made you want to continue putting on a show for him. Slowly, you brought your hands up and cupped both your breasts in your hands—massaging and kneading your mounds all but gently before bringing your nipples in between your fingers and twisting them. 

Breast play had to be one of your favorite forms of foreplay; specifically because Mark—well, the asshole was good at every single thing he did. Sports, cooking and baking, education, singing, cracking unsolved mysteries and blowing your mind in more ways than one. His fingers; they had to be the prettiest fingers you’ve ever seen on someone before and you weren’t being biased because he was your boyfriend. 

Mark had such long, skinny fingers and he knew exactly how to use them. His hands were almost double the size of yours—yet your hands fit perfectly together as if you were made for one another. Although you were very insecure about your body, no matter how many times Mark practically worshipped it and reminded you how he loved every single one of your body parts; especially your face, breasts, thighs and ass, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t confident in your boobs. Honestly, your breasts were one of the only parts that you genuinely liked about yourself. 

Sometimes, you would wear certain tops that showed enough cleavage to get a rise out of your boyfriend and every single time, you did. Mark looked as if his eyes were about to pop out of his head and you had to stifle back a few moans from how good it felt. No matter how much you were enjoying this; playing with yourself in front of your boyfriend, you knew it would feel so much better if he was the one doing it to you. 

“Fuck Y/n, you’re going to be the death of me. Shit—what I wouldn’t give to be the one fondling your pretty titties. Fuck—just wait till I get home princess. I’m gonna suck the shit out of them; you’re going to regret this. You’re so beautiful—I can’t get over how gorgeous you are. You’re really going to kill me.” You gave him a smirk and playfully brought your bottom lip in between your teeth. “Mmm—Mark—feels so good—“

“I bet it does baby—you look so ethereal—twisting your perky nipples like that. But I’m sure it doesn’t feel as nice as it would if it were me. Shit y/n—I want to titty fuck you so badly right now. I swear, it’s like your breasts get bigger whenever I’m away. Should I show you just how crazy you’re driving me right now?” 

You immediately nodded in agreement; the desire to see Mark’s cock was seeping through your veins. You didn’t care if you came off too eager or too excited; it’s been almost three weeks since you’ve seen your boyfriend and even longer since he was buried balls deep inside of you. Sex wasn’t a huge deal in your relationship—well, it was both yours and Mark’s favorite physical activity, but unlike other couples, you cared about other forms of intimacy just as much as you did making love. 

Mark was a huge fan of cuddling, spooning and holding hands. Your boyfriend was extremely clingy and overprotective whenever it came to you; but that was just apart of his nature. He wasted no time in yanking off his slacks; the outline of his cock was prominent against his grey briefs. You could feel your mouth water at the sight; to some people, penises were very ugly, but something about Mark’s always had you on your knees—begging for him to shove it down your throat. His girth was long and extremely thick. As soon as he took off his underwear, you suddenly stopped your movements and eagerly leaned forward to get a better look at him. 

“Someone’s excited.”

“That’s the understatement of the year. I could cum right now just at the sight of your tits alone. Fuck—you’re the one who caused this painful ass erection baby, I wish you were the one who would solve it.” He spit on his hand and brought the saliva down to the tip of his cock; he lubricated himself and you could feel your breath hitch when he let out a soft moan. 

“Babe—fuck Mark, there’s nothing more I want than to suck you off—“ If this were under different circumstances, you were sure he’d let out a snarky chuckle like he normally would every time you made it clear that you wanted to blow him; or if you wanted sex. You were always so soft spoken; so modest and you hardly ever were vocal when it came to voicing your desires. 

You were more of the type to mess around with him; gliding your hands gently along his thigh, palming him through his pants and even hovering over his lap; grinding yourself against his dick while leaving wet kisses against the juncture of his neck. Whether it was because you were extremely turned on or because it’s been a while since you and your boyfriend were intimate, but sometime came over you and you felt yourself wanting to take over of this cyber sex session.

“Mark—close your eyes baby. I want to take care of you. Pretend I’m there with you and do as I say. Grab the bottom of your cock; bring your thumb along the vein and slowly pump yourself.” 

Watching the veins on his neck grow made it adamant that he was enjoying your dominance and you used that to your advantage. He let out a very faint whine; you wouldn’t have heard it if you weren’t giving him your full attention and you were well aware that if you were to touch yourself, you’d be soaking at this point. 

“Circle your thumb around your tip, and graze the slit as gently as possible. God Mark—I’ll purchase a ticket to Tokyo right now just to wrap my mouth around your cock.” This earned you a mixture of a laugh and a cough and you found yourself laughing along with him. 

“Is that a promise? We can put this on pause and I’ll buy one for you; you don’t even need to pack a thing. All I need is you—keep talking like that and you’re going to lose your voice once I get home. I know I keep saying this, but it’s because it’s true and I can’t get over it—you’re so fucking sexy. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but just know that I love you; with every breath I take and every single beat of my heart. I love you more than I will ever be able to express to you in words. As much as I want to continue going in to depth about the love I have for you, you can’t be having all the fun here. Take off your underwear y/n—I can’t believe you’re wearing that one. How did I forget to take it with me? I remembered to sneak the matching bra in my suitcase—“

“So that’s where it went, I’ve been looking for it since you left—weirdo.”

“Hey, you have your kinks and I have mine. Now—take off your panty and do as I say.” 

With a quick roll of your eyes, you stripped yourself free of your red thong and flung it across of the room. It was probably a mess now with all your pieces of clothing lying around, but you didn’t care. There was a flame burning in your core that you wanted to hurry up and get around to reaching your release. This wasn’t the first time the two of you had sex over webcam; but you felt as if this time would be different from your past experiences. 

Not only did you miss your boyfriend terribly, but you’ve been daydreaming about the last time the two of you made love the night before he left and you could still feel the way his cock stretched out your walls. Your fingers absentmindedly made their way down to your entrance; you brought your index and your middle finger in your mouth and sucked on them before returning them back down to your folds. 

“Fuck—fuck, fuck—such a pretty little mouth and an even prettier pussy. Tell me baby—who does that pussy belong to? Tell me while you drag your digits along your core y/n.” 

You traced your fingers back and forth along your entrance; gathering some of your essence on your fingers and bringing them back to your mouth. During most of your sexual activities—Mark, whether it would be when he would finger you or when he would eat you out, would have you taste yourself so you were well aware why he was so addicted to the way your pussy tasted. 

Although you were a big fan of giving him blow jobs, Mark was a professional at giving head. He ate your pussy like it was a delicacy and he was very vocal about how pleasuring you brought him equal amounts of pleasure himself. Next to fucking your tits and ramming himself inside of you, he loved going down on you. On the days that work was extremely stressful, or your classes were bombarding you with too many assignments; Mark would take care of you—either making you dinner or ordering your favorite food, preparing you a bubble bath, and sucking the life out of your pussy in order to take your mind off of your many frustrations. 

You sucked your fingers dry of all your pre-cum and let out a loud pop before returning them back to their previous position. Multiple swears and wanton moans left Mark’s mouth as he continued to guide his hand back and forth along his cock all the while watching you shove your fingers inside of your cunt. It felt amazing; anytime the two of you were intimate—even on the days you were both exhausted beyond belief and just gave each other oral to both reach your highs, you could never get over the feeling of ecstasy and euphoria that came over you every time Mark would bring you to heaven with his tongue. 

It was in that moment that you realized the last time you kissed him was almost a month ago. If your schedule wasn’t so hectic, you probably would have went with your boyfriend. The two of you were like magnets; everywhere you went, people could expect Mark to follow no matter where it was. Most boyfriends would get bored having to wait outside while their girlfriends went shopping, but Mark would follow you around to each and every store; he even gave his opinion on what he thought would look good on you and what he would love to rip off of you. 

To your dismay, he would pay for everything even against your many complaints but like he said, he just wanted to make you happy. He felt bad that he had to travel all around the world a lot, so he felt like he wanted to buy you a couple of things to make up for being absent every so often. 

There were days your boyfriend contemplated on quitting his job and finding one that didn’t require him to leave all the time; but this job had amazing benefits and because he was still so young, yet had a position that most of his coworkers twenty years his senior haven’t even experienced before, he knew he wouldn’t be able to find a job even half as good as the one he had now. But he would give it all up and even work as a barista or a cashier in a grocery store if it meant being able to see you, kiss you, hold you and go to bed with you in his arms every single day. 

“Damnit y/n—ahhh—you’re such a goddess—my pretty petal—pump yourself harder baby. Faster—tell me how it feels. Grab your clit and twist it in between your fingers; I bet you’re like the Pacific Ocean right now. I’m sure you’re just as tight as you are wet baby. Keep going. Pretend it’s me; burying my long fingers in that tight cunt of yours. I can just picture how good you feel clenching around me. Flick your clit; ugh, I miss nibbling on it and taking it in between my teeth. I miss the way you would tighten your thighs around my head—and don’t even get me started on how much I miss whenever you would ride my face. I don’t think I can handle being away from you much longer y/n—it’s not even just because I miss fucking you—I mean I do—God do I miss railing the shit out of you—but I miss you. So much. I miss seeing your contagious smile that I’m sure could cure cancer, and your laugh that never fails to light up an entire room. I miss your lips and how they meld perfectly against mind. I miss looking at your beautiful eyes and the way you tell a story with them. I miss being the cause of the blush on your cheeks. I can’t wait to finally finish here and come back home to you. Just a couple more days baby then I’m all yours okay. Have I ever told you how grateful I am that you’re so patient? Thank you for waiting for me y/n—I—love you—“ 

You could feel tears brimming at the corner of your eyelids. Although you were just moments away from coming on your fingers, his words tugged on your heartstrings. Sure, he texted you every single day and told you that he would much rather be home with you; sat in between your legs and leaning his head against your chest while he played video games—but it was so heartwarming hearing him describe every single thing he missed about you. 

“I miss you too Mark—I would do anything for you. I’ll wait for however long you need me to my love. I love you—I hope you know that you’re the only good thing I’ve got going for me. I don’t care what happens in the future; I just really want you in it.” 

The two of you continued your movements; you quickened your pace; you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to your release. Your fingers felt so amazing being clenched by your velvety walls and you were actually doing really well with picturing that it was Mark fingering you. His movements were just as relentless and he even began fondling his balls. He tilted his head back and the sight made you whimper at how erotic it was. His neck; along with everything else on his body was long and you could still faintly see a couple of the love-bites you left on his collarbone. Before you knew it, you felt a sticky substance on your fingers and allowed yourself to come on your digits before releasing an embarrassingly loud moan. 

“Holy shit—that was so fucking hot. Suck your fingers for me baby—help me reach my release—shit, shit, shit—“ 

His semen squirted out in rapid spurts and you were upset that you weren’t able to feel him fill you up to the hilt with his warm, creamy liquid. His hair clung to his forehead as sweat dripped down the sides of his cheek. You were sure if you were to look in the mirror, your hair would be just as tousled and your cheeks would be flushed. 

The two of you spent a couple moments in comfortable silence; both coming down from your highs. He took a little while longer to come to his senses and you used this time to look at him in awe of just how breathtaking he was. This was a common occurrence right after the two of you finished your love making sessions; you would bask in each other’s presence and sometimes if you were still up for it, the two of you would talk until one of you would finally let sleep take over. Once you were both settled down, you gave him a soft smile and flopped on to the bed. 

“Honestly, I think I’m going to get a good nights rest now. Thank you baby, that was wonderful. I’m sure I would have came faster if it was your cock inside of me, but that was a good distraction nonetheless.” He beamed at you. 

“No, thank you. That was mind blowing as always y/n. I can’t wait until I have you in my arms—and on my cock. I love watching you as you cum—I wish you could see what I see, your expression when you reach your orgasm is so fucking tantalizing. I plan on having you the entire day when I come back home, so just be ready baby. Wait—you’re not going to bed naked are you—“

“Oh—I wasn’t planning to, but now that I know it’s probably going drive you insane—“

“You wouldn’t dare—fuck—just wait until I get my hands on you—“

You gave him a sultry smirk and began running your fingers in between the valley of your breasts. “Hmmm, I might just take the day off just to touch myself. Might even walk around the place naked. Too bad my boyfriend isn’t here to fuck me up against the balcony or up against the fridge—“ 

The growl that came from the back of his throat did not go unnoticed to you and you found the coil in your tummy tightening again. Only Mark Tuan could get you horny again minutes after getting you to come on your fingers. Even if he repeatedly called you sexy almost fifteen minutes ago; you felt like that word didn’t do him justice. 

“That’s it—I’m telling my supervisor I need to come home. Tonight. I’m gonna kiss the shit out of you then fuck the shit out of you.” 

You weren’t sure if he was just saying that in the heat of the moment, but you were soon growing excited at the thought of finally being wrapped in his embrace again. As much as you wanted to keep up the sexual banter; you came to the realization that Mark was only half naked. His dress shirt was soaked with sweat and his tie was flipped around the other way. He looked at you in confusion once you bursted in to a fit of laughter. 

“What’s so funny?”

“I hope you packed a few other dress shirts; you have cum stains all over the bottom.” He released a frustrated grunt before sticking his tongue out at you. 

“They’re all in my dirty laundry pile. I was planning on using this one for the rest of the week. See, even the more reason to come home tonight. I expect you on your hands and knees once I get home. As fun as it was watching you fuck yourself with your fingers through webcam, nothing compares to seeing the real thing in person. I think it’s time you go to bed, you’re going to need all the energy you can get for what I have in mind for the both of us. Sweet dreams baby, I’ll see you real soon.”

[demonologist-in-denim]

Humming to himself, Crowley dusted the rich dark cocoa powder into the soft white flour, and reached for his trusty wooden spoon. Blending ingredients in a mixer tended to create a smoother batter, but Crowley enjoyed the feel of the spoon in his hand, the sound it made scraping the bottom of the bowl, the hands-on experience of turning flour and sugar and eggs into cake.

When the dry ingredients were properly combined, he made a well in the center and carefully poured in the buttermilk, eggs, butter and vanilla. Instead of the usual red food coloring, Crowley added in fresh beet puree – just enough to give the cake a velvety ruby hue. The rich cocoa would cover the hint of earth with a delicate chocolate flavor. The mixture was then evening distributed between three pans and scooched into the oven.

While the cakes baked, he set to work on the frosting. The softened cream cheese and unsalted butter whipped together beautifully. He settled on using far less powdered sugar than the recipe called for, wanting the tangy sweetness of the cream cheese to accent the cake all on its own.

“Would have asked about any preferences in decoration,” Crowley muttered to himself as he applied the crumb coating to the cake, once it was done baking and properly cooled, “but that would have tipped my hand.” Simple yet elegant seemed appropriate. After applying a thick final layer of cream cheese frosting, Crowley piped fluffy buttercream swirls along the rim of the red velvet cake. A soft pile of crumbled extra cake crowned the top, and he tossed more along the side to create a dusting effect.

There was nothing left now except to take the photo.

Which, as fate would have it, turned out to be the difficult part.

He positioned the cake on the kitchen table, and snapped a few photos. Crowley hmmmed to himself.  It wasn’t quite up to his standard of food porn. Perhaps he’d take a few more, just to be on the safe side. Until one was suitably flattering. He was still adjusting the cake, playing with the proper angle and lighting for the perfect shot, when Sam and Dean strolled into the kitchen.

For a moment, they lingered at a respectful distance. But Crowley could sense their curiosity like a gathering storm of rose petals, soft yet burdensome.

“Can I help you two with something?”

Disbelief and delight were tugging a one-sided smile out of Sam. “Is – is that for Valentine’s Day?”

Valentine’s Day? Crowley narrowed his eyes at the elegant dessert. Bloody hell, the cake was red and white, wasn’t it? He hadn’t considered that when a bit of carefully applied questioning had disclosed the recipient’s cake preferences.

Crowley mulled the situation over. He couldn’t answer in the affirmative. That would mean he had intentionally crafted the cake as a celebration of gushy hearts and the sweet delirium of – internally, Crowley cringed – love. But he also couldn’t reply with a defensive and definitive “no”. That would only open him up to further, unwelcome inquiry.

He settled for the more characteristically dismissive third option.

“It’s Valentine’s Day?” Crowley steadfastly went back to attempting to capture the perfect photo with his phone. “I don’t bother myself keeping track of that sort of thing.”

Dean eyed the demon knowingly. “Yeah, well, our Netflix recommendations would say otherwise.”

Crowley glowered at the hunter.

“Whatever the occasion,” Sam offered up as his brother idled over to the cake, “that’s professional-grade baking. You’ve got a real talent. The frosting, the whole look? Seriously, I’m impressed.”

The arrow of this flannelled cupid hit its mark. Crowley felt a slight blush of pleasure, despite himself. Casual, unsolicited praise? From Sam Winchester? He seriously contemplated the possibility that Sam had been exposed to some sort of low-grade, poorly-concocted love spell that had bloomed into amiability, or maybe it had been released as a pink mist in the bunker’s common room, and Crowley had unknowingly avoided the worst of it. That seemed like the sort of malarkey that would happen around here on what, apparently, was Valentine’s Day.

Because Crowley found himself saying, “Thank you, Sam,” with actual sincerity. Moments such as these reminded Crowley that he was rather fond of these two boys, after all.

That was the moment Dean ran his finger along the edge of the cake, carrying off a large dollop of frosting from one side. The whole cake just looked so enticing! Dean was more of a pie man himself, but Crowley’s culinary expertise had the tendency to tempt him in surprising ways.

He was halfway to lifting the frosting-festooned finger to his mouth when he caught sight of the expression on Crowley’s face. Sam’s own face was a rotting lemon. Dean’s hand stilled, mouth still open.

“Um,” he muttered.

Dean looked at the offending finger, uncertain of what to do next. He started to put the frosting back where it belonged, thought better of it, looked for a napkin, and reluctantly settled for ashamedly completing the crime by depositing the frosting in his mouth.

Which was a mistake. Because now he knew the cake was friggin’ delicious, and Dean seriously wondered if maybe Crowley could manage his little photo shoot even if there was a slice of the cake missing.

As if he could read his brother’s mind, Sam shook his head in the most supreme disappointment. “Dean.”

“What?! Sorry!”

Reminding himself that murdering one Winchester brother would only end with him being ganked by the other one – though there were certainly times it seemed worth it – Crowley took a deep inhalation, and let it go. Cakes were ultimately meant to be eaten, even if it was by inconsiderate louts and lumberjacks.

“I’ll accept your apology, if you cut everyone else a slice before digging in yourself. I’m sure one of the photos I took before your little indiscretion will suffice.”

“Alright! Cake!” Dean cheered, while Sam just closed his eyes.

Crowley thumbed through the multitude of pictures he’d taken, and settled on the most appealing of the lot. Then he opened up his Bumblr app, and made a new post:

@petrichoravellichor – in honor of your birthday today. Heard from a mutual that you have a particular fondness for red velvet cake. Hope it’s to your liking. – C

He sent the message and image off with a satisfied smile, then set about getting plates and forks, as this cake was obviously not going to survive the interest of the Winchester brothers much longer.

As Crowley was pulling plates out of the cupboard and Dean was cutting into the cake, Castiel wandered into the kitchen, attention entirely given over to his phone. The angel had graduated from texting and emojis to social media and memes, and sometimes he could be found scrolling through Twitter and Instagram with a rapt fascination that would out-fixate even the most plugged-in FOMO-obsessed teenager. There was a chiming sound as he entered the kitchen, as notification of a new post.

“Dude,” Dean was grinning from ear to ear, “Crowley made cake!” He pointed with delight at the dessert.

Cas looked up from his phone, saw the cake, and halted in the middle of the kitchen. He narrowed his eyes, examining the red velvet cake on the table in front of him. Then he looked back down at his phone in consternation. Cas looked at the cake again. Looked back at his phone, and then slowly, he looked at Crowley.

The demon looked from the angel to the cake, his eyes increasing in size as realization dawned.

“Is that – ?”

“Don’t you say one bloody word, angel!” Crowley blustered, a rush of red to his face further colored by the mortification of such abject exposure. “Not one word!”

And before anyone could say anything else, Crowley shoveled a huge slice of not-at-all birthday cake onto a plate, shoved it into Cas’ hand, and quickly excused himself from the kitchen.

“What,” Sam wondered to the startled room, “was that all about?”

Cas continued to stand in the middle of the room, cake in one hand and phone in the other, attempting to come to terms with having inadvertently discovered a fandom mutual was also a real-life friend, and the one he would have least expected. Unsettled, he took comfort in the certainty their shared mutual would appreciate the well wishes on their birthday.

Dean shrugged, merrily flipped the serving knife in his hand, then waved the tip at his brother. “That’s Crowley for you,” he observed, good mood undeterred. “Dude would cut out his own heart and blend it to make red cake batter before admitting to it, but deep down, he’s just a big ol’ teddy bear who wuvs hugs. Speaking of which – you see that giant pink moose Eileen sent you? Friggin’ adorable.”

Dean proceeded to cut a huge slice for himself, leaving a worried looking Sam staring down at the blood-red cake. Then the hunter stepped around a disconcerted Castiel, patting the angel on the shoulder, and strolled out of the kitchen.

***

Happy birthday, Petra! I’m sure you’re tired of your birthday comingling with Valentine’s Day, but when you said your cake preference was red velvet cake, what was I to do? ;)

If you’re wondering exactly why – or even how – Crowley became a member of the in-world spn fandom, you can find out here. This fic will be posted on AO3 in my Tumblr Ficlets after posting on Tumblr.

Image sources here: X

[dark-and-twisty-01]

DiAngelo is the only survivor of the largest mass suicide on American soil. He found the bodies of his 39 friends lying with plastic bags over their heads, wearing neat black tracksuits with an 'Away Team' patch and Nike trainers. Now we discover why he was left behind...

It was midday when Rio DiAngelo arrived at the hilltop mansion overlooking San Diego to find all the windows closed, the curtains drawn, and outdoor lights burning in the sunshine. The front door was locked, but he found a side door ajar and warily pushed it open.

The unmistakable stench of death made him gag and he covered his face with his shirtsleeve, which still smelled of cologne from his morning shower. As he walked through the eerie silence, he knew what he would find. And he dreaded it. Upstairs, 39 of his friends lay dead in their beds after the largest mass suicide on American soil. All members of a bizarre cult, they had each downed a lethal cocktail of vodka, barbiturates and apple sauce to leave their 'earthly containers' and join an alien spaceship trailing the Hale-Bopp comet.Yelling out in case anyone was still alive, DiAngelo raced from room to room. But all he found were bodies with plastic bags over their heads. Each one wore a neat black tracksuit with an 'Away Team' patch and Nike trainers with their comet-trail trademark. The 21 women and 18 men had each packed a small bag for the journey, and have five dollars in their pocket. Thoughtful to the end, each had left a note saying. 'I forced myself to go into each room and check everyone,' said DiAngelo. 'With each body I came across, the loss became too much to bear. They were my closest friends. I loved them dearly.'

DiAngelo, who's real name is Richard Ford, became involved with the Heaven's Gate Cult in 1994 after attending one of their meetings in a California hotel or 'Cultifornia' as sceptics often call the state that spawned Charles Manson and the Reverend Jim Jones. He had listened while nine androgynous-looking members wearing identical loose clothes and cropped hair described their absolute belief in aliens, the paranormal, and reincarnation. One of them was 59 year old Thomas Nichols whose sister, Nichelle, played Star Trek's Lieutenant Uhura. Forbidden to have sex, hug each other, or even shake hands, the Heaven's Gate cultists concentrated on purifying their bodies and spirits ready for the move to 'an advanced level of being' on another planet or dimension. They called each other brother or sister, observed daily rituals, and were allowed to watch only selected TV programmes. Individual needs were minimised so that a member who had run out of deodorant, for example, would have to apply for a new one in writing.Anyone entering the immaculately clean mansion referred to as 'the temple' had to take off their shoes and wear surgical socks. Silence prevailed, and many of their neighbours assumed they were 'a bunch of monks.' In line with their belief that they had been sent to earth as angels, six members were castrated and, according to DiAngelo, 'they couldn't stop smiling and giggling about it.'

On some days, members had to report to their superiors every 12 minutes while on other days they were required to wear a cone on their heads as they would in alien bodies. Many common words were changed so that members would not remember their human past once they had ascended into space. For instance, house became 'craft' and kitchen became 'nutri-lab.' Their 65 year old leader Marshall Applewhite had started the cult in 1972 with Bonnie Nettles whom he had met while undergoing treatment for homosexuality in a psychiatric hospital. They had abandoned their human names and called themselves Guinea and Pig, then Bo and Peep, before finally settling on Do and Ti.Ti died of cancer in 1985, But Do, claiming he was Jesus reincarnated, said he continued to communicate with her. The group survived financially by running a successful web page design firm which they also used to try and win converts and spread their message. Their own website featured pictures of stars and nebulae downloaded from NASA and appeared very businesslike. It also stated that suicide is acceptable for cult members who want to ascent to 'a higher level of life.' Heaven's Gate shared some of the beliefs of 19th century occultists like novelist Mark Twain. In 1907, Twain wrote a short story about a hero leaving Earth for 'an extended excursion among the heavenly bodies' on the trail of a comet. He took his passport and five dollars for the fare. Despite their fantastic beliefs, DiAngelo was converted and lived in this eccentric community for nearly three years. I'd just turned forty and recently divorced and I was trying to find meaning in life,' he said. 'I'd had a fairly troubled past that included a violent, unstable mother and other bad relationships. The group shared my interest in UFOs, music and Eastern Religions.

But in, December 1995, Do's teaching took a more sinister turn and DiAngelo later recalled that he 'sat us all down and told us that we might have to leave our bodies behind. Amazingly, we didn't really have a problem with that. We trusted Do implicitly. 'We found a suicide recipe that used phenobarbital, vodka and apple sauce, and Do and some of his helpers went to Mexico to buy enough of the drug for the entire group.'  Eleven months later, an amateur astronomer took a photo of the Hale-Bopp comet, which showed a mysterious oval-shaped object trailing in its wake. Although NASA later described it a 'proto-comet' 2,000 miles behind Hale-Bopp, other astronomers dismissed the sighting as a hoax or error. Hale-Mary, as it was called, has not been seen since. Do, however, convinced his followers that it was a spaceship coming to take them away and that his deceased partner, Ti, was flying it. Seeing significance in everything, he told then that Hale-Bopp even had the same initials as Helena Blavatsky, another 19th century occultist with whom the group shared beliefs. Having decided on this 'Star-gate' plan, the group prepared to enjoy a final spree on Earth by spending some surplus money. They went to Las Vegas and stayed at the Stratosphere Hotel, and rode the rollercoaster and the Big Shot free-fall ride. A week later they went to see Star Wars and visited the San Diego wild animal park and Sea World. For their 'last supper,' they booked a table for 39 at a local restaurant where waiter Eric Morales was struck by their politeness and helpfulness. 'From the moment they arrived, all austerely dressed and looking the same, I knew this would be no ordinary shift,' he said. 'I made a joke to sort of set the mood and when I returned to their table five minutes later they were still laughing at it. You could tell they didn't get out a lot. 'All thirty nine ordered exactly the same: turkey pie, salad, blueberry cheesecake and iced tea. They were very pleasant, but guarded. When asked where they were from they said things like 'from the car' and 'from all over.' Six days later, employees at the restaurant watched news footage in amazement when they realised the oddball diners they had served had gone straight home and killed themselves. 'It was the last time they were going to be together,' said Morales. 'The bill came to three hundred and fifty one dollars which included a twenty six dollar tip. Our manager was so taken with them, he stood in the doorway and shook hands with each one as they left.' A month before the suicides, DiAngelo decided he wanted to leave the commune. He moved to Beverly Hills, and began working for a web design company. 'I left with Do's permission,' he said/. 'I told him I felt I had something to do outside...like a task. I think part of it was to explain to the world the philosophy of Heaven's Gate and the sort of people they were. Be an instrument of clarification. 'I believed Do was from another planet. He taught me to be more aware, honest and sensitive to the world. In short, a better person. What I gained from the group was phenomenal.

On March 27th, 1997, a parcel arrived at DiAngelo's office. It contained an upbeat farewell video and a message saying: 'By the time you read this we will have exited our bodies.' 'There was no mention of sadness or fear, but rather an air of excitement and anticipation. The cult he called 'his closest brothers and sisters' were aged between 26 and 72 and are believed to have died in three groups - 15 the first day, 15 the next, and nine on the third. In the heat of the Californian spring, many of the bodies had already begun to decompose by the time DiAngelo discovered them. Eager to be helpful, they cleaned up after each round of dying and had even taken out the rubbish. Police found handguns, rifles, and ammunition at the mansion which DiAngelo believed Marshall Applewhite had assembled because he feared a Waco-like siege by the FBI. He had also spent, $1,000 on an insurance policy that would pay out a million dollars each for up to 50 people in the event of abduction by aliens. The company said Heaven's Gate were one of 4,000 policyholders worldwide who had bought alien abduction insurance, with Britain and the USA being their biggest markets. The aftermath of the Heaven's Gate deaths was predictably prosaic. San Diego County planned to auction off their belongings - worth an estimated $1 million and give the proceeds to surviving family members. But  DiAngelo claimed that his brothers and sisters wanted him to inherit the web design firm and announced his intention of settling the matter in court. Neighbours living on the same street as the group campaigned to change it's name after crowds of 'strange visitors'  kept arriving to pray there. And the $1.6 million mansion itself proved unsellable because of it's gruesome associations and the obstinate smell of formaldehyde in its air conditioning. Two months after the suicide pact, two former members of Heaven's Gate also tried to 'exit their earthly vehicles' in a Holiday Inn four miles from the cult's mausoleum. They were dressed and prepared exactly the same as their departed brothers and sisters. One died immediately. The other was found unconscious, and went on to evangelise for the cult, touring the country with a 70-minute video of the bug-eyed Marshall Applewhite. He killed himself the following year in Heaven's Gate style after telling his friends that he would 'rather gamble on missing the bus this time than stay on this planet and risk losing my soul.' DiAngelo went on to apply the computer skills he had learned from Heaven's Gate to his earthly life. He auctioned off the cult's van on eBay and signed a deal to write a TV movie based on his experiences. But the project never got off the ground. A tabloid offered him $1 million for exclusive rights to his story. At the time he refused, preferring to preserve the dignity of his departed friends. Upon reflection, he later said he should have taken the money. 'I've been on a rollercoaster over the last decade,' he said in 2007. 'I still miss my friends so much and I still haven't met anyone who can compare to them. Not a day goes by that I don't think about them. 'I'm the last Heaven's Gate member on Earth, so there must be a reason why I'm still here. But although I still want to live like them, dying like them definitely isn't part of my plan.' DiAngelo re-established contact with his 19 year old son and confessed he was now 'a slave to commerce like everybody else.' Ten years on he was still haunted by the events of that terrible day, but relieved that he didn't join his friends in the mass suicide which shocked the world. The group's website is still maintained by two individuals allegedly surviving members who left after 12 years to get married (forbidden within the group which prized gender-free platonic relationships) prior to the group's exodus to the 'Next Evolutionary Level.' They confirmed in a statement on the 20th anniversary of the mass suicide that Heaven's Gate no longer existed but that the site remained available to those seeking information about their beliefs.

The world's fascination with the extraordinary actions Heaven's Gate undertook is yet to abate...

[greyswritingagain-ohhell]

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔊𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔢𝔫 ℭ𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔞𝔰𝔰

*yeets this at you and runs* PRINXIETY FAIRYTAIL SOULMATE AU-

The compass… What a beautiful creation. Burned into one’s little arms at birth, the red pin always pointing at destiny. Destiny one must travel to, a type of destiny named love.

Roman Sanders X Virgil Sanders

Word count: 2,393

TW: Blood mention, vague mention of sex (i guess?), threats, mentions of an unhappy father-son relationship. Msg if there is more.

★-----☾-----❍-----☽-----★

The compass… What a beautiful creation. Burned into one’s little arms at birth, the red pin always pointing at destiny. Destiny one must travel to, a type of destiny named love. The blissful romance of twirling skirts and melodic laughing from a young story of either woe or contentment. Though destiny is not entirely glitter and kisses, it is and will never be the work of fiction we all wish it be. It is also a raging storm against a raft in violent gunmetal waters, smashed plates and wine glasses once filled stained with tears and tragedy as cries and whimpers fill the lonely grey room that withheld an untold tale of sorrow.

Destiny, as mystifying as it is, can be merciless.

Though… maybe not in this case. Maybe not in the case of the poor little prince in his depressing creamy marble balcony. His glimmering jade eyes were devoid of the usual passion and joy they once shined with. Passion and joy were replaced with longing and unfulfilled urge. Urge to find his soulmate. His soulmate. He has built a reputation for himself for finding his citizen’s one and only, why couldn’t he find his? Why not a quest for the brave prince with a promise of a fairytail ending?

Simple. His father. The man who insisted he stay locked up inside, only seen when needed, only for the fair young maidens to coo and swoon at upon sight. All his services had been classified, hidden away within the palace walls, never to be dug up. But of course, that was only dust on his shoulder that he will eventually brush off. Because the one thing in his mind was them. His rare focus was on what he had considered will be his best achievement. His missing piece. The one he will treat like royalty then proceed to make them royalty.

His soulmate.

Though their meet was delayed many times, today, he was finally going to find them, see their sparkling eyes twinkle in the natural warm sunlight, witness their face contort from confused to… hopefully something positive. Today he will set off to the depths of the unknown and finally, finally, without any form of hesitation or restraint, be free from the chains of the limelight of their watchful gazes on him. Because as much as he loved his kingdom, he didn’t mind the morning breeze flowing through a woodland cottage as his love lied next to him, breathing softly and peacefully like an angel sent from the heavens. He didn’t mind the playful ribbons of the sunset reflecting on the diamond windows, endearing touches slowly becoming a burning sensation that lasts midnight when the stars bless their love.

But alas, father dearest must foil his plans once more when Roman Kingsley heard the familiar thudding of leather boots on the porcelain tiles, not even an attempt to sneak up.

“Father?”

At the unceremonious acknowledgement, his father came closer, crossing his arms as his eyebrows furrowed, “Roman.”

Roman only heaved a heavy sigh, his brown hair teasing his forehead as he ran a hand through them to tame the flying strands. They seemed to shine in the sun, glowing a divine gold over the hues of brown, a halo of a prince. A prince fit for the role of a protagonist, a hero in fiction. Too good to be true, too perfect for such an icy hell called Earth, a forgery for the monsters and myths. A place of fire and ice, uniting to let their twisted gift see the light, the most merciless craft of the gods all creation feared as their result of boredom wrecked havoc over the paradise they so generously provided. And yet there he was, gleaming gold and red, a divinity in the midst of the madness.

Gold in the sand dunes, he'd say.

“What do you need from me, father?” He pondered, raising an eyebrow. There was no denying the slight hurt bubbling in his chest. The weight that rivalled Earth itself was pressing down harshly on his tired shoulders, a warning like defying gravity to never let go. Handling pain had always been his forte, a duel of clashing bronze and gold in the air. But dealing with muffled, inconveniencing pain from someone he had once considered his own father? He'd rather be thrown to the wolves.

“Morgana's at it again. This time worse than usual.”

Contrary to popular belief, he was rather fond of the treacherous shape shifter. Sure, they both had their moments of malice and graceful of fiction-worthy battles, but nonetheless, she was one of good company. Maybe even a friend. Though Roman was positive she'd never admit it. She always struck up a conversation, even the first time they met. Throwing blasts of flames and questions about him and then proceeding to vent to him about the stupidity his father must’ve had to send a 15 year old to “slay” a dragon. His agreement and addition to the topic had unknowingly blossomed a purple and red friendship, flourishing in the snow while dripping vicious, warm blood on the contrasting temperature. If anything, he was thankful his father had sent him on those missions.

But one thing stuck out from his father's sentence.

Worse than usual?

“Will you take care of her?” He deadpanned, placing a large, heavy hand on his shoulder. It was of the most brief displays of what his father called “affection”. Please. Even the stalactites in the dark of the caves nearby loved him better. That is, if constantly falling and almost gifting him a concussion is loving in one's words. Which apparently was to the stalactites. But what did he expect? Kisses on foreheads and ‘we love you's?

“You know I will.”

Its not like he had anything better to do.

Well, there was one mystery at hand. Er, wrist. Because no matter where he turned, the compass pointed the tip of the silver dagger north. It didn’t, not once, change direction. A cliché, yes, but one can only assume his soulmate takes solitude in the brutally icy snowy mountains, freezing for their own life. Or maybe thriving. Who knows, this fair lass or lad may be a hunter, shooting silvery bits of moonlight to puncture any stags nearby. A life they see worth living over their humanity. It was grave, yes. But Understandable. It was ironic, really. Because north was where Morgana set camp that day. Just his lucky day.

The trot of the thoroughbred echoed widely in the evergreen willow forests, tiny little warm white stars shining and illuminating the strip of a path towards his usual Sunday evening. Towards the steep, rocky mountains of Ragana. Could’ve done a better job at naming the damn thing but hey, it's her mountain after all. He had no jurisdiction to interfere with her property.

But the peak of the mountain showed way, standing in all its shimmering glory in the afternoon sun.

“Morgana? My dear, I appreciate the need to see me, but I am on a quest! I must find my soulmate! Can this please wait?-“

“What do you want with my mother?”

He froze, his begging paused. His hands grow stiff as a tree in the air, his hair brushing his forehead teasingly against the cold wind the white snow tinted. The voice had slightly shocked him, foreign and quite… mystifying. He says foreign, through there was a silver lever snapping in his mind, saying it is a familiar melody in his ears. Dark, surely a male's, unwavering, and very, very attractive. How does one tell if another is attractive through their voice?

Another detail caught his attention. His compass, rock solid. Normally a compass' pin will vibrate, jitter, yet still keep its direction clear. The silver end was ice, now burning his arm once more ever since the day of his birth, the tip of the pin now locked on the engraved N. He never recalled any but one knowledge of the compass freezing mid-encounter.

The compass speaks.

Was this young lad his bound? The end of the red string…? His.. Destiny…?

“Hey! Prince guy! I was talking to you-“ the voice died, now silent. The only thing that passed his ears were the slapping of the drooping Willow trees nearby that served him a dreamy backdrop and the blowing winds, gentle and smelling of the oddly comforting breeze of winter.

His body regained its motioning state, his hand dropping to his side, brushing his white blazer. His eyes scanned the scene, remembering the direction the voice came from. It came from under the dark overhang of stone, untouched by the snowflakes. Morgana's humble abode, he'd say. And since when did she have a son? Assuming it’s a man.

“I-She's been wrecking havoc amongst Acelina. We cannot afford any more wreckage, we cannot spend money so carelessly to clean up her messes. She must be stopped.” He said, his head held high. One could take one look at his poised form and think that he was actually confident, brave as he faced the man. But no. His head was screaming. His legs felt like stiff jelly. He was weak for just a dark and mysterious voice. Sue him.

“And? Must you kill her? What proposes that need?”

He squawked in surprise and offend, “I never said she must perish! I simply need to talk-“

“Oh? Then why a sword? Why the need to bring a rash weapon when all you need to do is talk?”

If this was his soulmate, his guards better prim his deathbed soon for this hiding man will be the cause of his delicate demise.

Everything evaporated into the wind, a heavy silence falling and pressing on their slouched shoulders, a force like defying physics. And as every second ticks by in the hourglass, the weight started to gain, pound by pound as they helplessly watch themselves almost get wordlessly sink into a rabbit hole of deep tension.

Almost all else was lost into the marine depths of the Pacific till Roman heard footfalls against the 2inch thick snow. Till the small clouds of breaths from the other brushed softly against his flushed cheeks. Till he felt something cold and sharp press against his chest.

Oh no.

“Listen, prince, I don’t care who you are, what you want, or what your intentions are, all I want you to do is to not—touch—my—mother.”

Though the icy silence was the only solace he could’ve confided in, he had to reply. And he had to do it carefully. One wrong spin, one wrong puff of air, one wrong gesture, and the dagger drives violently through his panicking heart and he will be left to die in the clutches of the dark, mysterious lad without even a glimpse of his face.

“I have no intention or need to hurt your mother. She and I are… acquaintances. And I wish to speak to her.”

The lad lifted his head, his purple velvet hood now falling off as Roman was sure his heart had stopped and screamed at the sight…

His eyes. Those wretched, silver and coffee eyes will be the death of him. Sunlight flooded in them, the numerous similar shades of iron and dirt violently popping against porcelain skin. His hair was a tint of purple, blending in with midnight spikes flopping on his head. His lips were tight and sealed, a menacing scowl stretching his sharp features.

“Acquaintances, huh?-“

“Virgil!” a new voice broke through the sharp silence, stern and feminine. They both recognized it immediately.

“Mom?”

“Morgana!”

The woman was insanely beautiful, he had to say, what with the curled umber hair and the piercing gold eyes against equally pale skin as her son. The threaded hem of her slim burgundy dress was damp against the snow, her black velvet cloak waving against the wind.

“Virgil Anxolia Black, what on earth were you about to do?” she loudly proclaimed, pulling him by the arm and releasing the tight pressure ‘Virgil' so graciously put him under. He released a breath, swallowing lightly. Virgil, however, looked outraged, a cold, hard determination in his eyes. His gloved hand seemed to tighten around the knife the second Roman began to speak.

“Fret not, Morgana, he was simply-“

The knife was raised, another step falling onto the snow as he heard the crunch of it under Virgil's boot, “what’d I say about my mother?!”

Perhaps it was the strong tone of his voice or the alluring gleam of his wide, steely eyes, but Roman had just felt his heart skip a sobbing beat. His beauty was radiant, a rose against the crowded leaves, a lit candle amidst a hurricane, a stray shadow in the room of light. And with a knife pointed and a lethal scream of his heart, Virgil Black was truly an unmistakable Adonis in his jade eyes.

The scene went still, a brush of the wind setting tiny movements for the three. A chill ran down Roman's spine at it. Silence was never an area of expertise of his. Silence turns into tension, tension into impulsiveness, impulsiveness into absentminded decisions that lead to blood being drawn and late night regrets to weep for. He was not a fan.

But alas, before tension turned into a form of impulsiveness, the woman in the cloak stepped forward, gently taking her son's wrist, “your compass…”

Virgil raised an eyebrow, taking his wrist down, therefor lowering the knife and allowing Roman a few seconds of oxygen, “what’s wrong with it…?”

His mother huffed in gleeful disbelief, her golden eyes glimmering, “its still! Your soulmate must be in your presence!”

Contrasting the unusual cheery expression of the shape shifter, Virgil stilled, his hand once again a lethal grip on the bronze dagger, his eyes flat with no emotion, “someone's here.”

This only made Roman's skipping heart seemingly beat faster in lovesick adrenaline as he slowly connected the dots.

Mine doesn’t work either…

And it was clear that Morgana thought the same as she dragged Virgil's wrist forwards closer to him, careful not to impale the flinching prince, and took his own wrist, lining both their compasses up until both North and South are parallel points.

Everything seemed to click in the two men's minds, mismatched eyes meeting jade.

Oh boy, this will be a ride.

★-----☾-----❍-----☽-----★

[managedmischiefs]

north//chapter one

here she is!! after the long wait, here is the first chapter of north! I hope you all like it. let me know what you think. more chapters to come soon🖤

also i dont have a tag list for this but if anyone wanted to be tagged in this fic then let me know and I’ll create a tag list

genre: fluff

pairing: spencer reid x female oc

warnings: very basic troupe that I’m sure some people are tired of lol but other than that, none!

word count: 3k

SPENCER

Being late to work is not something that I tend to enjoy. I hate it, in fact. I feel like I'm letting my team down if I'm ever late to round table meetings or if I miss a briefing. But these days, sleep is rare. And if I do sleep, it's not uncommon for me to sleep over the array of alarms I have.

Coffee is a must have for me at all points of the day. No sleep means exhaustion and exhaustion means my brain doesn't work as quickly as it could and that means we don't solve cases and not solving cases means more people die. I can't have more people die on my watch so I drink as much coffee as I can. But the coffee in the bullpen isn't always the best so if I ever have time, I stop at a cafe on my way to work. I take the extra five minutes to walk there before hopping on the metro.

I mumble off my coffee order to the tired looking barista and she scribbles down my name. I hand over a few stray bills to pay and get some change in return, tucking it in my pants pocket. I give a tight lipped smile to the barista before moving to a table in the corner of the cafe, pulling a book out of my messenger bag and starting to read, crossing one of my legs over the other. I don't look up while I wait for the barista to call out my name, not even when two people bump into each other in front of the door or a tourist asks someone else for directions. I just read my book and chew my lip, tapping my fingers against the hardcover.

"Spencer," I hear my name being called and finally allow myself attention to be lifted.

I stand quickly, tucking my book in my bag and closing the flap before heading back to the main counter. But the buckle of my bag gets caught on the button of my sleeve when I try to close my bag all the way. I pull at my sleeve, trying to get the buckle unlooped. But in this tussle with myself, I don't even realize that I'm still walking until I bump right into someone. I move my attention from my bag and catch the person's shoulders so I don't completely knock them over and make not only a fool of myself, but of them too. 

"Oh my gosh," I say immediately, my eyes widening, "I'm so sorry,"

"It's okay, it's okay," the girl laughs, her hands squeezing my arms as she regains her balance, “didn’t even fall. You caught me. I didn’t even break a sweat!”

My eyes finally find the girl's face and I'm rendered absolutely speechless. I somehow notice everything about her right away and I memorize her beauty. Her eyes are a bright, beautiful shade of ocean blue and her eyelashes cast shadows over her perfectly pink cheeks. Her hair is wavy and blonde with brown roots, but there's a yellow and blue patterned scarf tied around the front of her head like a folded bandana with pieces pulled out to frame her face. Her nose is small and I can only liken it to a button. Her lips are full and plump and a pretty light pink color and her Cupid's Bow is one that Cupid himself should be jealous of. Both of her ears are full of different types of piercings, and her nose even has a hoop in her right nostril.

She's wearing a light blue knit sweater tucked into a tight denim skirt, along with a pair of short black boots with small heels on them. Her nails are painted white and her fingers are full of rings, each of them different styles and various shades of silver with yellow gems. I notice a tattoo on one of her fingers but she moves and I can't make out what it is. I wonder if she has more tattoos. I find two straps around her shoulders and realize she's wearing a leather backpack, one probably very similar to my own bag. The last thing I notice is the old fashioned camera hanging around her neck, resting just above the waistband of her skirt.

I've seen my fair share of pretty girls. I've seen girls that I wouldn't mind getting to know better. I've met girls that have caught my attention. I've even been in what I believed to be love. But what is this? If I thought I'd seen a beautiful girl before, I clearly hadn't met this girl before. She looks like an angel sent directly from heaven. She looks like she was crafted by God himself and put on this earth to grace mankind with her beauty. Is it fair for one woman to be this beautiful? Is it even possible? I didn’t think that one woman could possess such beauty. 

What the hell is wrong with me? I can barely even breathe. I’m just staring at this gorgeous specimen, admiring her smile and trying to memorize the way her fingertips feel on my forearms. I quickly try to think of something to say, another apology for running into her, but I can barely even breathe when I stare at her, much less speak. 

"Spencer," the barista calls out my name again, setting my cup down on the counter before walking away. Saved by the barista. 

The girl smiles at me and her face lights up, only further illuminating her features. She's got two dimples on her cheeks, bringing out a childlike spirit in her that I pick up right away. "Um," she says with a laugh, "is that yours? You should probably grab it before someone else steals it,"

Okay, Spencer, breathe. You can do this. You’ve spoken to pretty girls before. Sure, it’s hard and it’s scary, but you can do it. Just say words. Preferably, coherent words. Preferably, maybe, a full sentence.

"Right," I finally force out, dropping my hands from her arms. I hadn't realized until now that I was still holding onto her and she was still holding onto me. I reach over and grab my steaming coffee, almost wincing at the heat under my fingertips.

The girl still hasn't moved when I turn back to her, but now she's fiddling with her camera. "Are you," I start to say before hesitating. Her head pops up and she smiles again, letting her camera fall against her stomach. I gulp, shuffling my feet against the floor as I attempt to speak a full sentence. "I didn't mean to bump into you like that,"

"Oh, it's totally fine," she waves her hand at me casually. "I wasn't paying attention either. No harm, no foul. Like I said, I didn’t even break a sweat,” The girl pushes her hair behind her ears and places her hands on her hips. With the confident way she speaks, I almost expect her to keep speaking, but she doesn’t. She just looks at me with the cutest smile, even baring her teeth, waiting for me to say something else. 

So I clutch my cup of coffee and swallow thickly. “I-" I hesitate yet again, but when the girl's eyes scream for me to continue, I do. "What's your name?"

She opens her mouth to speak but before she can, another cup of coffee is placed on the counter. "Amelia," the barista announces before walking away.

Amelia laughs, taking a step over to grab her cup, which I immediately notice is tea and not coffee. "Took the words right out of my mouth,"

"Amelia," I repeat as if testing the way the word rolls off my tongue. It tastes sweet. "You heard already, but, um, I'm Spencer,"

"It's nice to meet you," Amelia holds her hand to shake mine, and the panic starts to set in. For a moment, I debate on actually just shaking her hand so I don’t seem like a total freak to this girl that I seem to have a massive crush on. But the prospect of shaking a total strangers hand is repulsive and when I find myself looking at her hand for more than two seconds, I’m starting to count up the amount of germs that would be present there and I have to force myself not to make a face.

So of course, while my hands get clammy and my heart rate speeds up, I do what I do best. I spit out a fact that Amelia didn't ask for. "On average we carry 3,200 bacteria from 150 different species on our hands,"

Amelia's fingers curl into her palm and she retracts her hand, looking down at her palm and smiling just a tiny bit. "You know, I don't blame you for not wanting to shake hands. It is kinda gross anyway,"

"Sorry," I blurt out immediately, still shuffling on my feet. "That was rude of me,"

"It's not rude," Amelia counters, sipping her tea without so much as grimacing at the inevitable heat. "Are you in a rush?" I glance down at my watch and see that I still have ten minutes until I should be getting on the train. I relay this information to her and watch as she smiles again. "Would you like to sit with me then?"

"Oh," my eyes widen slightly and I squeeze my coffee cup so hard that I think I might poke holes in the sides, "y-yeah, sure,"

"Cool," she breathes out, waving me on and leading me to a booth on the other side of the cafe. I'm far too anxious with this situation and by Amelia's beauty and her comfortability around me to even think about relaxing, or drinking my coffee, or taking my bag off from around my shoulder. I definitely can’t remember any of Morgan’s advice on how to chat up girls or any of the conversation starters I’ve memorized for social situations like this. My mind is completely empty, just when I need it to be full and plentiful. How lovely.

Amelia sits across from me and grins, and every time she does, I swear my heart skips a beat and another butterfly breaks through its cocoon in my stomach. "So where are you off to this morning, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Work," I answer, and then realize that's an incredibly vague answer. Amelia raises her eyebrows as she lounges back against the booth, clearly waiting for me to elaborate. "Uh, I work for the FBI, actually. More specifically, the BAU- the Behavioral Analysis Unit,"

"You're a profiler!" Amelia perks up again, sitting up straighter with a huge grin on her face. "That's super cool! My dad is a police officer, sheriff actually, back home in Texas and I'm pretty sure he's worked with the BAU before and he says you guys are awesome. You catch serial killers, right?"

I'm almost stunned by her reaction. Most people don't believe behavioral profiling works, and most people resist the practice, especially local police. But her acceptance of it is incredibly refreshing, and it's welcomed. Honestly, any type of excitement from this Amelia girl is welcomed. It’s a beautiful sight. 

I can feel my cheeks turn bright red as I nod, still clutching my coffee cup. "Yeah, we do. And um, what about you?" I hate talking about myself so I change the subject. "Where are you off to?"

"I'm actually meeting a friend of mine to go shopping a few blocks over," Amelia gestures out the window. "But since we're talking about your job, I'll tell you about my way less cool job, which is an artist. I went to Carnegie Mellon and then moved here and I’ve been here ever since. My preference is canvas painting but I bring my camera around a lot, hence," she holds up the camera around her neck, "the camera now. I try to capture spontaneous moments for when I do exhibits and galleries and such,”

"I've always loved art. Never been talented at it, but I like it." I shrug nonchalantly and sip my coffee, trying to divert my eyeline down to the table, but when Amelia smiles at me, I can’t find it in me to break our eye contact.

Something about Amelia's smile brings me in. Every time she flashes her teeth, I feel myself sink further into my seat and I feel my head get fuzzier. I almost forget that I have to get to work in just a few minutes. But I don't want to go anymore. I want to stay here and keep talking to Amelia. I want her to keep going on and on about canvas paintings and her education at Carnegie Mellon, or even just tell me why she likes tea over coffee, if that’s even true. I don’t know anything about this girl but I want to.

"Nobody is technically good at art," Amelia responds. "Everyone has their strengths and weaknesses in the arts, everyone sees art differently, and that's okay. I'm sure you're not horrible, I'm sure you just haven't found your strength yet, Spencer," She enunciates my name with such beauty and grace that I almost ask her to say it again. I'd do anything to hear her say my name again.

"If-" I'm cut off when my phone rings in my pocket, so I lean over and fish it out. I read a text from Garcia that tells me we have a case, meaning we'll be briefing for a new case this morning. I sigh defeatedly, wishing I hadn't just gotten a text that usually piques my interest. Today, it makes my heart drop. 

"You have to get to work?" I look back up at work to see yet another smile on Amelia's perfect face. "Go ahead, it's okay," I’m so used to seeing disappointed faces when this text comes in, not a smiling face. It’s odd, somewhat confusing.

I grab my coffee cup and stand as Amelia does the same. She holds her cup to her chest, looking down at her feet. "Will," I chew on the inside of my cheek when she looks up at me, ocean eyes wide with anticipation as I struggle with my words for the umpteenth time, "can I see you again? We barely got to talk and you-"

"Yeah," Amelia nods before I can even finish my sentence. "Can I give you my number?"

I have to hold myself back from jumping up and down in excitement. "Y-Yeah, sure, of course," I pull my phone out yet again as she does the same. She tells me her phone number slowly so I can get it down, but of course, it sticks in my brain immediately.

"Just text me," Amelia murmurs, looking over my shoulder at my phone where my shaky thumbs press against the buttons on my phone to type out- hi, it's Spencer. She waits until her phone rings and then she smiles at me. "Great, I've got it. Now, um, go. Don't let me be the reason you're late in helping people. You don't have to text me if you don't want to," she pauses for a moment, and I wonder what she's waiting for. Is she waiting for me to confirm or deny that statement? Is she waiting for anything at all? Is it an open-ended statement? Where have all my profiling skills gone? Forget profiling- where is my common sense? "But if you do wanna text me," I'm thankful when she starts talking again, "don't until after you've solved your case. Don't worry about me until you've saved lives. But like I said, if you don't wanna text me, you don't have to,"

My phone buzzes again and I can only imagine it's someone from the team asking me where I am, hurrying me along so we can get started on our briefing. I ignore it for now. "Well," I have to clear my throat to be able to speak again. I give Amelia a bashful smile holding up my phone for her to see, "I'll text you when I'm back home,"

Amelia blushes, her bottom lip being pulled between her teeth. She breathes out a tiny laugh, nodding. "I look forward to it, Spencer,"

I take a step towards the door and feel my body grow cold at the distance starting to increase between us. "I'll talk to you soon, Amelia,"

And with that, before I have it in me to take one more look at the angel standing in the corner cafe, I hurry out the front door. There's a dumb smile on my face as I rush down the stairs to the train platform, struggling to swipe my card and respond to Penelope's text at the same time, all while running to catch the train at the platform. I'm somehow successful at all of this and only manage to breathe once I'm inside the stuffy car. Amelia's face is stuck inside my head and I can't get it out, and I'm positive that I never want to.

///

"Reid? Reid!" My head pops up as Morgan forcefully says my name, catching my attention and bringing me out of my daydream.

When I look up at him, he's already staring up at me with his eyebrows raised, clearly expecting an answer out of me about something. I have no idea what that something is, but he’s wanting an answer about it. I clear my throat, placing my cup of terrible police station coffee on the table and running a hand over my face. "Sorry," I apologize half heartedly, "I was thinking,"

Morgan sits across from me at the table and folds his hands. "Case related?" I glance up at him before deciding to completely ignore him, standing and walking up to the board, returning to examining the geographical profile. "Reid, come on, we've been on the case three days. You've been distracted ever since you walked in for the briefing. You can talk to me," I keep ignoring him. I stare at the map in front of me. "Is something going on? Is it your mom?"

"My mom is fine," I spin around and cross my arms over my chest, ignoring the way my heart starts to speed up when Amelia’s face resurfaces in my brain. “Can we just solve this case so we can go home?”

[obsidiancreates]

The Crossover Nobody Asked For (VenturianTale and Milo Murphy’s Law)

“Oh, this place is horrid,” Cavendish says, looking out the window as the van rolls into town. “This is barely an upgrade from garbage duty.”

“So there’s a lot of damage. Maybe they’ve just a Murphy in town and no budget,” Dakota says with a shrug.

“... I suppose that’s a possibility. But I don’t believe Milo has mentioned any family living in North Carolina. Especially not a place with a name like... ugh.”

“Come on, say it,” Dakota says, already almost laughing.

“... Butts, Little Butts,” Cavendish sighs.

Dakota laughs, slapping the steering wheel.

“Who even named this place?! And who would live here-”

“WHOA!”

Dakota slams on the breaks as someone runs right out in front of the van. 

“It went this way! Come on, Johnny!” a short man in a gray hoodie shouts behind him.

A tall man in a rather fancy outfit jogs into view. “I’m coming, sir! But I-I’ve been stabbed in the leg-”

“IT’S GETTING AWAY- oh, you!”

The short man runs up to the window of Cavendish and Dakota’s van. “Hey! Give us your vehicle!”

Cavendish is slightly taken aback. “Wh- we most certainly shall not!”

“Oh, he’s British! Johnny, come communicate with him in your British tongue!”

“What the devil-”

“Hello, there. I’m Johnny Toast. May we please use you vehicle?”

“More British, Johnny.”

“Oh, right sir, um, tea and crumpets, may we use your vehicle, um, Doctor Who, ah, my grandmother is the Queen of England.”

“... Just drive, Dakota.”

Dakota waves at the two men, and drives away. They hear the short one scream in frustration.

“This town is deplorable,” Cavendish says.

“We’ve only met two people, maybe it’s not so bad,” Dakota points out. “And we haven’t even been to any restaurants yet.”

“Given the state of some of these buildings, I advise against eating anything from here.”

“When has that ever stopped me?” 

“Mmm, true.”

They finally arrive at their destination. A shockingly normal looking house, out in the suburbs. 

“Well, perhaps this won’t be so bad after all.” Cavendish seems hopeful as the van is parked.

“Yeah, see? We just happened to run across two weirdos. Now let’s find that alien signal Mr. Block sent us here for.”

“I’ll grab the scanner, you introduce us,” Cavendish says, opening the back of the van. 

Dakota nod sand heads up to the front door. He rings the doorbell, and waits.

“GERTRUDE! SOMEONE’S AT THE DOOR!”

“I HEARD IT, I’M MAKIN’ DINNER!”

“KIDS!”

Dakota winces. Oh boy, so the people who live here are... loud, to say the least.

“WHERE’RE THE KIDS, GERTRUDE?”

“BILLY IS HIDING FROM MADDIE AND SALLY IS ON A DATE WITH SLENDER! SUE IS SOMEWHERE IN THE MALL!”

Dakota waits a moment, and then rings again.

He hears a heavy sigh. A moment later, the door swings open, and Dakota shouts and stumbles back.

A large man stands in the door, holding a shotgun. With his bald head, beard, and very angry expression, he looks like exactly the type of person you don’t want to bother in the middle of the day. 

“Who the heck ‘re you?” he demands in... some kind of... southern? accent.

“Uh...”

“Dakota, have you- oh, hello, are you the resident who lives here?”

Cavendish is either ignoring the shotgun, or hasn’t noticed it yet, somehow.

“Yeah, this is my house, so what’re you doing here?”

“Well, we’ve been sent by an agency-”

“Are you some more of them P.I.E people?  I told ya to quit comin’ to my house, you only make the problems worse!”

“P.I.E? No, we’re with an agency called P.I.G-”

“Paranormal Investigators Gourmet?! I don’t remember hirin’ you!”

“... Gourmet- no! No, we’re with the Paranormal Investigation Group-”

“How many ghost huntin’ groups are there?!” the man shouts, presumably in frustration, though a slight bit of laugh slips into his voice.

“... We deal with aliens,” Cavendish says, unsure what else to say.

“Aliens? I KNEW IT! GERTRUDE, I TOLD YA! I TOLD YA THAT THING WAS FROM THEM ALIENS!”

“GOOD JOB, HONEY, YOU DID IT!”

“YEAH! I DID IT, I DID IT!Aw, you can come right on in, provin’ me right. You’re a lot less annoyin’ than the P.I.E people, they’re always talkin’ and sayin’ I’m wrong and not to shoot the ghosts, but they shoot ghosts too so I don’t know what they’re talkin’ about-”

“He’s just talking to himself now,” Dakota whispers to Cav as they follow the man into the house.

Cavendish nods. Maybe this won’t go as well as he’d hoped... He clears his throat. “May we ask for you name, my good man?”

The man stops, and turns around. “My name! Is PAPA ACACHALLA!”

Dakota snorts.

“Why’re you laughin? That’s my name! It’s a great name! Means ‘whole dang universe’!”

“No, no, it’s just I never thought we’d find a more made-up sounding name than his,” Dakota says, pointing his thumb at Cavendish. 

“I beg your pardon?!”

“Well, what’s his name?” Acachalla demands, pointing at Cavendish with the shotgun way too casually.

Dakota pushes the barrel of the gun away. “Go ahead, Cav.”

Cav crosses his arms. “Balthazar Cavendish.”

"HA! You British people have the weirdest names! Like that Toast boy! Anyway, the alien thing is out here. Officer Maloney came to look at it, but it isn’t one of his things, and I can’t figure out how to move it! I’ve tried C4, a tractor, Freddie, a nuke-”

“A nuke?!”

“- an’ none of it even dented the thing!”

“Yeah, can we go back to nuke?” Dakota says, eyes wide.

“Too late, we’re here.”

Dakota and Cavendish blink.

Cavendish’s eye twitches “It’s a-”

“It’s a giant metal Kirby,” Dakota finishes. 

“Yeah! I don’t want it in my yard! My daughter says it feels like it’s mockin’ her from when she was a Kirby!”

“What in blazes are you- this is no alien technology! This is some kind of... bad sculpture!” Cavendish shouts.

“It dropped right out of the sky!” Acachalla protests. “Maloney said it was alien, and he would know! He’s a bird!”

“A bir- you said he was a police officer!”

“He is! And he’s a bird! Who can be a person!”

Cavendish is fuming. “Dakota, call Mr. Block and tell him we’ve been lead on a wild goose chase!”

Dakota sighs, and heads inside to make the call (for some reason, he can’t get a signal from the yard).

“There’s no wild goose around here! Not after that nuke test, anyway!”

“There’s no possible way you set off a nuke here! This house is still intact, you’re still alive, and there’s no residual radiation in the area!”

“So?”

“SO?! SO THERE WAS NO NUCLEAR EXPLOSION!”

“I don’t think you know how nukes work!”

“YOU-”

“Cav, calm down, he’s holding a gun,” Dakota says in a hissed whisper.

Cavendish takes a deep breath, and collects himself. “Clearly, Mr. Acachalla-”

“Papa Acachalla. My title is Papa.”

“I steadfastly refuse to refer to you as ‘Papa’. Mr. Acachalla, there’s been some sort of mix-up, and this is not alien in-”

The mouth of the Kirby opens, and a being steps out.

“Excuse me, but our craft was broken, and we just got the doors working,” says the being (that looks... weirdly like a... Pokemon?). 

“I KNEW IT!” Acachalla shouts. He shoots his gun up into the air, and starts ‘dancing’ (to use the term loosely). “I KNEW IT, I KNEW IT, PAPA ACACHALLA, I KNEW IT-”

Cavendish stares, dumbfounded. “You- you’re actually an alien?”

The alien nods. “Yup, I am!”

“... You sound remarkably human.”

“Thanks! So do you!”

“... Thank you?”

“Do you happen to know where we can get some materials to repair our ship?”

“Well, I suppose I might. What do you need?”

“Macaroni.”

“... What-”

“Hey, we’ve got that!” Acachalla says, stopping his little song and dance. “Just don’t tell the cops. It’s Johnny Toast brand, too, really strong stuff.”

“... Why would macaroni need to be hidden from the cops?” Cavendish asks weakly, shoulders slumped. This is ridiculous, and he feels... defeated, in a way.

“Uh, ‘cause it’s illegal?” Acachalla says with a laugh. “Duh?”

Acachalla leads the alien inside, and-

“WHY’RE YOU EATIN’ OUR MACARONI?!���

Dakota looks up from his bowl. “Uh, your wife offered me some-”

“GERTRUDE, WHAT’RE YOU THINKIN’?! THAT’S OUR GOOD MACARONI!”

A woman in a green sweater peeks out from the kitchen. “Well, he said he was hungry, and it was either this or your old boot!”

“That boot is high in protein!”

“That’s why I’m savin’ it for the kids!”

Dakota puts down his fork. “I think your macaroni went bad, actually, I don’t feel so good...”

Acachalla rolls his eyes. “Duh, you don’t! Have you ever even had macaroni before?!”

Dakota looks up. “Somethin’s weird here...” he slurs.

“Wh- what have you done to him?!” Cavendish pushes Acachalla aside and rushes to Dakota.

“It’s macaroni! It makes the world all wiggly and weird!” Acachalla says, like that’s at all true and common knowledge.

Dakota laughs a little, reaching up to grab Cavendish’s hat. “You’re way taller th’n I remember,” he says, still slurring.

“That is it! We are leaving!”

Cavendish picks Dakota up bridal-style. Dakota grins, and leans up, giving Cavendish a peck on the lips. “Wow, I can stretch really far...”

Cavendish blushes intensely. “That macaroni has clearly intoxicated my partner! You’ll be hearing from the higher-ups over this!” he says, trying to ignore what just happened.

“I think ‘m flying,” Dakota declares as Cavendish carries him back out to the van.

“Dakota, you’re delirious. Just rest until we get home.”

“I feel fine,” Dakota insists, head lolling. “You’re the one who turned into a tomato when I kissed you. From a leek to a tomato...”

“A leek? Is that because of my suit?”

“You’re a-a leek with fluffy wings.”

Cavendish buckles Dakota in. “What on Earth-”

“Like a vegetable angel.”

Cavendish blushes again. “This is terrible. you have no idea what you’re saying,” he says, trying to affirm that fact in his mind.

“You’re a tomato again. Whoa, my hand is made of fresh fries...”

“No, they’re just yellow because they’re covered in cheese.”

Dakota grins. “Smarty-pants.”

As Cavendish goes to shut the door, Dakota grabs him again and gives him another kiss. A long one. Cavendish is in shock. 

“You don’t taste like a leek,” Dakota says afterwards, apparently incredibly happy about that fact.

Cavendish, blushing more than he thought was possible, gets in the driver’s seat and starts the car. “We’re never returning here,” he mutters to himself.

Dakota waves at the house as they drive away.

[elysicndrcvm]

━♡ guess the 23 YEAR OLD FEBRUARY baby just arrived to dallyeog! it makes sense, because CHU EUNHA is just as BEDAZZLING as the month of FEBRUARY. wait, why do they remind me of JACOB BAE? beyond that, they seemed JOYOUS and SAVVY upon first glance. i heard someone say they’re sort of DELICATE and QUIXOTIC though. i hope they get acquainted here in COMPLEX 1 / APARTMENT 0215 / FLOOR 3 ; HE seem(s) to have a lot going on with HIS job as a PATISSERIE OWNER/NUTRITIONAL SCIENCE STUDENT. ( ez, 21, she/they, gmt. )

     well hey there !! im ez but you fellow dallyeogers can call me ezzy, i have been in dallyeog before so some may remember me as having someone v different to my new bb i bring u now, i joined before with miss tam carmen !! anygays i return with this lil angel who i am all ‘ i say that’s my baby and i’m proud ’ over already even tho i literally came up with him like two days ago. you can find his pinboard here ( which btw i fuckeN love like he’s so aesthetic to me u go king ) and i made him a lil playlist which u can vibe to here. you can learn more about him under the cut but he’s a super soft-hearted gentle dove of a muse and quite...simple for me ?? sdhdh that’s not the right wording but U GET IT djjflg he isn’t super full of angst or trauma he’s just kinda viBIN livin his best life so that’s fun !! but ye without further ado: 

so as u kno from his app he owns a patisserie, it’s his lil babey and he is very dedicated to his craft and makin sure all his ideas for the place and the baked goods he sells are like rlly quirky and avant-garde. like he is so passionate about it u dont even KNOW, he tries to make sure most of the stuff on his menu is something like fun and new u wouldn’t get at just any old patisserie or cafe and that it’s super varied and also kinda aesthetic af? the place is very like trendy. it’s called patisserie d’elysian cause ya know he’s an extra biTCHH and proud.

he has three pupperino’s. all as adorable as each other, snickerdoodle is his golden lab and often ppl shorten it down to snickers, butterscotch is his dapple daschund pup, shortens the name to scotchie often. toulouse is his fancy toy poodle boi, shortens the name down as toto. if u are on the shortened name basis with his pups then u can consider urself one of his close pals. 

he’s actually adopted by his aunt but she raised him like she was his mother so that is what he considers her, she’s on his mother’s side but they are half-siblings. in terms of first name reasoning as well she just liked eunha as a name and didn’t even think about how it is traditionally for a female, she liked that it meant gift from heaven so it stuck. his father is still around, he’s just quite elderly so it felt like a better living situation for him to be raised primarily by his auntie. unfortunately his mother has passed on but no tragic story, she just went peacefully in old age. 

he dyes his hair quite often, it’s currently like a really pastel blue with black streaks consistently throughout like lil ones so it looks super cool. but he’s also had it be a more electric blue, lilac, and a duck egg kinda faded silvery blue. it’s naturally dark brunette. has brown eyes kind of a hazel hue. 

his style is kinda androgynous ig?? he just lives for soft retro fashion, lots of color in his wardrobe but also lots of tapered short and t-shirt fits frequented, sweater vests, rolled up jeans, high skater boi socks, soft jumpers with shirts, shirts in bright colours or satiny texture worn over plain white t-shirts, cardigans, pastel denim jackets, jeans with printed patterns on like clouds, flowers etc, favors yellow and blues. sometimes does eye makeup, occasionally wears heels bc he’s a baddie or super heeled boots/chunky shoes. 

obsessed with music, can play violin and guitar. he’s a big mitski and rina sawayama fanatic, likes anything that sounds peaceful or calming or has like a good fun vibe to it. also likes the trademark gay icons like carly rae jepsen, lorde, etc. he’s not ashamed. obsessed with mamma mia movies. but also likes rap which is rlly funny cause its like the bad bitch female rappers only and like he’ll listen to it while arranging his sock drawer or making his bed or something ajdjdj it’s like hype anthems for being a baddie and a hoe and he’s just doing his night sleepy routine adkfkf. 

showers, blankets, music, baked goods especially bagels are his happy places. 

very much a sensitive lil romanticist, falls in ‘love’ like five times a day, he just likes to giggle and smile around pretty people and admire the artwork hnghdh, he’s like yeARNS though ya know?? like he’s all i will flirt by making prolonged eye contact, i made you a playlist, this song makes me think of you etc. it’s either memes as flirting with him or elaborate love letters u never know what ur gonna get akdkd. 

awful sense of humour, loves his friends more than anything on earth except his pups, would fully live in a huge house of just like his pups and all his closest buds for all eternity. likes fruits way too much, enjoys puns about fruits way too much. milkshakes, sushi, orange hues and bus rides are some of his absolute favorite simple pleasures of life. clouds, flowers, salt lamps, the sunrise over the sea, skateboarding, fresh soda, teddy bears, busy street markets, parasols, fish tanks with exotic fish, sorbet, bike riding, polaroids, record players, rain at night against floor to ceiling windows with a fresh steaming pot of tea on the desk beside it and warm fresh sheets from the laundry on his bed, ponds, skateboarding. all little joys in life that give him like the biggest pleasure dopamine hit in the world. 

his cousin actually owns a florists so he has flowers just littering his apartment like a lot and it just looks like he has ten million suitors from the late eighteenth century attempting to court him but no all these flowers are from him to him or worse from his aunt djfjg she sends him some for valentines every valentines, pls help him, pls send him flowers. 

studies nutritional science and he fucken hates it. do not ask him shit cause he doesn’t KNOW OKAY? he doesn’t understand it either. he took it because he needed something to go alongside the passion for baking that was a real ‘qualification’/job so that is the only reason he’s doing it. no point doing a baking degree after all when he’s already a baker with a business, he’s super young still he gotta keep his prospects open. so YAH. he’d rather be doing culinary arts but eh. nutritional science sounded better and more logic based. the real miracle is he still gets top grades all the time even tho he spends his life like wtf am i even doing is this even legit akdkdk. school is the worst thing in the world for him watch his mood instantly deflate the second its brought up. 

despite being a quixotic, he’s a lil afraid of intimacy. like oh god does he love it, those small touches and acts of affection u kno? the subtle things that normally go unnoticed, eye contact, brushing of hands, linking of little fingers, rubbing a thumb, kissing eyelids or foreheads or palms or shoulders in little gentle pecks, back massages and rubs or finger tracing patterns absent-minded, shoulder massages, laying your head on someone’s shoulder or on their lap, knocking knees together, exchanging a small glance only the two of you get before bursting into laughter, smiling into kisses, napping together, having blankets placed over you warm and fresh, or towels put ready like it, someone making you something they know you like a lot. that’s his sHIT. but like he’s terrified still, someone skimming their fingers on his skin makes his breath hitch like he’s a scandalized and alarmingly aroused victorian woman sjdjd. he’s literally still a virgin, he hasn’t even had his first kiss okay my baby is delicate be gentle with him akdkd but he still LIKES PASSION AIGHT kfkf. 

real soft spoken, honey tinted voice like i shit u not this boy talks like he’s an angel sent from heavens above to guide you to the paradisaical garden of eden or some shit akdkd. ur gonna fall in love with eunha’s voice before u even fall in love with any other part of him like his adorable beaming smile or stunning eyes akdkf. 

has dance parties around his room when getting ready in the morning, listens to bella’s lullaby unironically yes from twilight yes u heard right, bit of a himbo streak sometimes in his obliviousness djfjf. quite silently subtly funny actually much like jacob himself. 

he is gay, afraid of driving, cannot do math, blanks out often and he is valid for all of those things. has a collection of cartoon and disney animal movie dvds. has a dream notebook. always has blue painted nails in some kinda shade. 

does not enjoy turning in assignments bc he is scared he’ll fail, avoids looking at his grades for weeks after they’re released and hates knowing that they’re out. 

cannot dance, dances often. collects vintage stuff esp clothes and mostly sweaters. likes midnight trips to corner stores and fields where he can just lay and look at the stars. makes friends rlly easily but has super bad performance anxiety. cannot ever have a messy room like even the tiniest bit messy. even like clothes being stacked on a chair instead of away. 

bakes peanut butter, banana and choc chip muffins (they r called monkey bites normally) whenever he’s super stressed. if u want to cheer him up when he’s anxious or stressed then u should give him french lavender honey, chia seeds and caramelized pear on toast/bagel. it is his comfort food. he fancii when he needs a pick me up. treat urself and all that.