#This shit was so jarring I thought she was possessed by a demon

[empyrean-thrones]

Anyone who read Iron Flame recently, can you help me understand something about Violet real quick?

In chapter 21, she goes on this unhinged rant justifying the war college’s ableism and social Darwinism mentality by saying that watching her squadmates die was good because it made her desensitized so she could leave Liam’s body or whatever. After venting about his death to Rhiannon, she says this:

This is meant to parallel Xaden’s gauntlet thing in the previous book and him dehumanizing her in front of everyone by calling her a literal weapon. Okay, whatever.

My issue with this scene is that it directly contradicts what she says about the slaughterhouse college in chapter 4.

What made Violet go from starting to believe that Bàsgiath was a death factory to her defending the authoritarian empire that killed her friends? What changed her perspective?

[quitealotofsodapop]

[Silly au idea]

Hmm... I'm most intrigued by The Split Soul Route - partly from the oddball and what sort of Nature Vs Nurture can occur here - but I also think the Found Baby in the Dumpster AKA The Bao Route is cute too. Because that's how Pigsy got MK and by the time the group could/does realize who Bao is, they've already gotten too attached to do anything to her.

[In the Shadowpeach route of my "Reincarnated LBD" au idea;]

But I do love me an immortal killing daughter of the Great Sage. Hard choice. Maybe a poll is needed.

[basically Macaque ends up "holding on to" the wild un-reincarnated soul of LBD]

Considering the shit she did, I doubt that he's just 'holding on to', that monkey probably put the soul in a jar and is shaking it like a madman several times a day - like Tom from the Chuck Jones era of Tom and Jerry in the invisible Jerry episode. But more maniacal laughter.

[Will it attach itself to the recently-reconcilled Sun Wukong and Macaque, becoming Yuebei Xing like in the au? Shadowpeach screaming ensues.]

HMMM!

What if they didn't know? Certainly, a ton of adrenaline petering off and a near end of the world could make everyone a little less observant of a stray soul going for a new host?

Don't know what she could even do in that form, but stay tucked away and wait for the chance to get a new body - like, unless she can manage to make Mac horny enough to go to SWK for relief and that's how they make the kid (sort of exes-with-benefits and maybe figuring-it-out-hate-sex), BUT!

By the time Macadoodle figures out he's got a bun in the oven - that's when the Brotherhood thing is happening. He was gonna tell SWK that day, but it all got derailed like the trains in Persona 5, so he kept it to himself until it got resolved.

Then he tells SWK, maybe after the beach party? Just, putting the other's hands over the still-small-bump and him putting it together.

TMKATI-Mac got lucky he didn't indulge too much in his first pregnancy...Yuebei Route-Mac did not get so lucky. Maybe as a sort-of final 'Fuck you' from LBD? XD

They'd figure it out later, but, like in the Bao Route, they're too attached.

And asking Pigsy for help/advice a lot. Pig-daddy raised a good kid, so they're taking notes.

current posts on the "Reincarnated!LBD au"; here (og post + very cool idea for the Ironbull side), here (shadow twins got made on accident), and here (Shadowpeach done goofed).

I'm leaning towards the "Split Soul" route cus I like writing around the chaos of the gang realising that there isn't just *one whole* super-ancient demon soul floating around. Almost mirrors the situation with the Rings of Samadhi.

Basically in her death; LBD attempted to "Piccolo Junior" (ty @dorothygale123) herself into a fresh new body - only for her soul to splinter into pieces. Two were able to be caught in the direct aftermath and stored away for the meantime - but Reincarnation has a 49 day deadline, and if those days pass without a solution the Underworld will repossess the soul fragments themselves.

So whats easier than for the Fragments to become New Souls instead of potientially reforming into LBD? ¯(ツ)/¯

[What if they didn't know? Certainly, a ton of adrenaline petering off and a near end of the world could make everyone a little less observant of a stray soul going for a new host?]

Hehehe.

Lets just say the adrenaline of fighting your possessed former-mate, making him remember what he's fighting for, and showing your parental side, is a Big turn on for a certain pair of monkeys.

But yeah, no one paid attention to how many Soul Fragments got formed in the aftermath.

[-that monkey probably put the soul in a jar and is shaking it like a madman several times a day-]

The thought of Macaque's storage solution for part of LBD's soul being a jar is hilarious. MK probably yells that he's "just making her angry!" when he catches him doing it.

Of course this form of torment is the reason Maccadoodle realises that the soul fragment is suddenly missing after he and Wukong make up...

Downside; Macaque does spend S4 el pregante and not telling anyone. First person to realise whats up is Nezha, who found out completely on accident. ("I turned my back for ONE SECOND, and you and Sun Wukong have two infants, with one on the way?!").

Also at least one member of the Brotherhood smelled that something was Off with Mac and mentioned it to the rest of them. Azure had a blue-screen error moment when he tried doing the math. Mac still kicks asses when he decides to fight, even with Peng taking a moment to mock his "egg-burdened" appearance. Peng gets shadow-slapped into the horizon.

[Then he tells SWK, maybe after the beach party? Just, putting the other's hands over the still-small-bump and him putting it together.]

Omg thats the perfect scenario for how Mac tells Wukong about the baby. They're sharing the shade, in addition to a pair of sleepy shadow monkeys, and Mac just takes Wukong's hand when he's offered the peach popsicle and brings it to his middle.

Wukong's eyes blink gold for a second before he starts sobbing with joy. Lots of loud, gross, sappy kissing ensues.

Bonus+: In theory each of the four New Souls represents an aspect of LBD that was too great for one little kid to inherit.

Yuebei (aka the Shadowpeach baby): Is much like how she is in the TMKATI au. Is a big, kinda-ugly, baby who's started cooking around the time of S4. Messy black fur, pale skull-shaped face marking, six ears and a shocking amount of strength for a newborn. Represents LBD's wrath.

Bao (Freenoodles): Dumpster piglet. Found in the trash during the post-battle clean-up of the noodle shop. Looks like the chubbiest little piglet with wispy white fur & black spots. Was assumed to just be a street urchin orphaned/abandoned in the chaos of LBD's destruction. By the time they realise Bao is even a Fragment of LBD, she's already Freenoodles pride and joy + MK's beloved baby sister. Represents LBD's hunger for power.

Guǐhuǒ (Ironbull baby, name suggested by @aokolpvxs): PIF and DBK planned to have a big big family together long before the complications with Red arose. So when Red Son explained to them about this little unreincarnated soul needing a "home"... who are they to turn down the chance at having a second born after so long? Red didn't even suggest it to them, they insisted. And you *know* that little half-bull princess is gonna have DBK wrapped around her little finger before she even arrives. Represents LBD's pride/decorum.

Shísuàn (Spider gang baby): Part of LBD's soul that got trapped in spider silk, and by-proxy became a spider (specifically a Diving bell) demon egg. Egg is lime green and about the size of a basketball. Despite initial reservations, the whole gang are soon fighting over who gets to name/take care of the spiderling inside. At least until the ginger-haired spiderling hatches and starts screaming with colic. Huntsman finally ends up asking Sandy and the Monkie Kid gang for help once the late nights get too much for him. Turns out the baby spider was just gassy. Has specific "favorites" among the gang, which includes new friend the Scorpion Queen. Represents LBD's mischief/discourse.

The Mayor is hanging around too. Got to keep an eye on where His Lady is after all. Gets beaten up by the gang the second he shows up anywhere. Later even gets beaten up by "His Lady" in the form of baby Yuebei deciding he failed the vibe check.

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

YES!!! I LOVE this!!!! Granted I love all you work. Thank you so much! I would love a part 2 if you are willing. Thank you again!

babe....i don't think you understand.....this idea has possessed me....i had to purge it from my brain like a demon....

prepare yourselves y'all she LONG (4k words even just in bullet points...i am incapable of shutting up)

just some warnings: there is some explicit content (fairly vague descriptions of oral (f receiving), pinv, and m masturbation) so please 18+only minors DNI

“Whatchya got there?” Jake asked when he squatted down beside that little girl with the bright blonde hair on the beach.

He half expected her to run away or start crying. But instead, she turned to him with the widest grin he had ever seen and opened up her tiny fist to show him the cowrie shell she found.

Now that he was close, he could see the resemblance more and more. She had his mom’s nose — but that was Ronnie’s smile through and through. 

“Momma told me to find her a pretty!” she exclaimed.

“I think you did,” he chuckled as he watched her bring the shell up close to her eyes so she could inspect it further.

He forgot until that moment that Ronnie loved seashells. He recalled that massive jar she kept by her front door that was filled with them. He remembered a few of those shells he had put in there himself.

“Your mom’s gonna love it,” he told Maisie because it was true. 

She narrowed her eyes at him, little eyebrows furrowing down in a nearly comical way. God, she was expressive. “You know Momma?”

“Uh — yeah. Yeah, we’re…” Jake didn’t get to finish. 

At that moment, Rooster walked up and carried Maisie away. Leaving Jake staring at the little imprints her feet made in the sand

Then Ronnie told him the truth that he already knew. Maisie was his. He was a father. And she didn’t tell him because she thought he didn’t want this. 

Responsibility, a family.

And up until maybe twenty minutes ago, she was right. Jake had always been career first, everything else second. He had to be the best, he had to prove his father wrong, he had to appear strong.

But then that little girl smiled at him and suddenly making Admiral one day didn’t matter in the slightest. He wanted to see her smile again. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to get to know her. He wanted to watch her grow up and be there when she fell down and lift her back up and maybe even love her if she wanted. 

That night, he called his mom. Grace Seresin was a woman who always seemed to have answers. Who always seemed to guide with a gentle hand. (though she did reprimand him lightly for getting a girl pregnant and leaving)

“What’s her name?”

“Maisie.” It was the first time he said it out loud. And suddenly he was crying. “Momma, I…I don’t know what to do.” 

“Well, son, your bed’s been made. Now you gotta lie in it.” classic southern stuff. “But you can make up for it now, if that’s what that baby’s momma wants. This has been her’s and her’s alone for four years, she may not want you around. But the least you can do is try. For that little girl.”

It hurts something inside him that Ronnie may not want him to have anything to do with their daughter…He would understand if she did. 

But he wants to try. God, he wants to try cause he may have only had a few seconds with Maisie but he was in love with her already. And he would be the first to admit that he never stopped having feelings for Ronnie, either. 

Jake gets her address from Penny, and the next afternoon he’s standing on her porch with a stuffed t-rex in his hands. He started to regret the toy as soon as he rang the doorbell. 

Is this what dads did? What if she didn’t even like dinosaurs? Was Ronnie going to think he was trying to buy Maisie’s affections? Shit, shit, shit, shit.

Ronnie opened the door and was honestly surprised to see him standing there, nervously clutching that stuffed animal behind his back like he was trying to hide it.

“What do you want, Jake?”

“I-I just wanna talk. Really talk. Can I come in, please?”

Ronnie stared at him long and hard for a moment, but then she finally relented and moved aside for him to come in. “Maisie’s taking a nap, so…”

“Is she, uh — She in kindergarten yet, or?”

“Pre-K. She does half days.”

It hurts him that he doesn’t know that. Doesn’t know anything about his own daughter. 

He felt like an idiot as he held up the stuffed dinosaur. “I brought this. Kinda realizing it was a bad idea — “

“No, she — she loves dinosaurs actually. She keeps begging me for a real one.” Ronnie nodded for him to follow her into the living room. “Come on — let’s sit.” 

Jake set the toy down on the coffee table as Ronnie sat at the end of the couch, legs tucked up under herself just like she used to do all those years ago. It made Jake smile as he sat down too, leaving a few cushions between them. 

“I’m actually glad you came. I’m sorry about what I said yesterday. I had no right to keep her from you.” 

“No, you were right. I made it clear I didn’t want something like that and then I just ran off. I should be the one apologizing.” She doesn’t say anything, and he takes it as a sign to keep going. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry you had to do all this alone — “

“I wasn’t alone. Bradley’s been in Maisie’s life since day one.” 

Jake felt a jealous pang go through him at the thought that Rooster saw all his daughter’s firsts and he didn’t.

“I’m glad you had somebody.”

They talk for a little while. Maisie was a good sleeper, so they had plenty of time to catch up. Ronnie told him Maisie’s full name and he smiled knowingly. She talked about when Maisie said her first words and took her first steps. How she was so smart and kind and had a wicked sense of humor already and was stubborn as all hell. How she loved little animals and dinosaurs and wanted to be a “palomimist” when she’s older, just like Alan Grant in Jurassic Park (her favorite film, for some reason, since Rooster watched it with her)

Jake finally finds the courage to say, “I know I just showed up. But I…I would really like to meet her. Spend time with her. Only if you want. We-We take this at your pace. What you think’s best.” 

This nearly made Ronnie cry. Because Maisie was four. She went to Pre-K with other kids. She saw other kids get picked up by their dads and listened to them tell stories about their dads. Ronnie just got her comfortable with the idea that some people just didn’t have dads, or some people didn’t have moms. That was just life. 

And Maisie accepted it in that way children do. In that way that was gonna come back and bite Ronnie in the ass sooner rather than later. 

But it scared Ronnie to have the two of them meet. Really meet. Because Jake could just up and leave again. He was only here for a few weeks and then he was going to be gone. She couldn’t do that to Maisie. She couldn’t do that to herself. Yet she also knew what it was like to grow up without a father. And maybe she couldn’t do that to Maisie either.

“You can meet her when she wakes up.” Ronnie’s heart shattered over the way Jake’s face lit up. “But I don’t want you spending time with her alone. And…And we’re not telling her that you’re her father. Not yet.” 

Jake agreed to her terms. He would agree to anything if it meant he got to see his daughter, see Ronnie, just a little more. 

He missed her. He didn’t realize it fully until he was sitting on her couch but he missed her. He missed the way she laughed with her whole body and wasn’t afraid of anything, even raising a baby by herself. 

Maisie walked into the room a few minutes later. Jake sat up a bit straighter like his CO had just walked in, hands fidgeting over his jeans as he watched her trudge through the room — eyes barely pulled open as she went directly for Ronnie. 

She climbed into her mom’s lap, head leaned into her chest as Ronnie wrapped her up in her arms. Jake couldn’t help but wonder how Ronnie must have looked as she held baby Maisie in her arms, as she felt her kick inside her belly. 

Never before had Jake wanted to punch himself in the face so much.

“Good nap, Bean?” Ronnie asked as she kissed those blonde curls.

Bean. Her nickname was Bean.

Maisie only whined in response. She was always quiet and cuddly when she first woke up. Ronnie chuckled softly as she looked up at Jake. 

And he just melted as he watched them. 

After a few minutes, however, Maisie seemed more alert and finally awake. She crawled off of Ronnie’s lap, a smile lighting her features as she walked up to the coffee table. She reached out to the stuffed t-rex Jake brought, but then she quickly retracted her hands as she looked back at her mom for permission.

“It’s for you, Beanie, go ahead.” Maisie was quick to turn back around and snatch the stuffie off the table, holding it up by the tiny arms with an excited face. “My friend Jake brought it for you.” 

Maisie turned with the dinosaur caged against her little chest, that massive grin on her face once more. Then she said matter-of-factly, “I know you.”

Jake lifted his eyebrows, heart pounding in his chest, “You do?”

“Yeah! Remember? The beach!”

“But did you introduce yourself to my friend?” Ronnie asked.

Maisie responded immediately. She shoved the toy under one armpit and walked up to Jake, sticking out her little hand to him with an overly serious expression. “My name’s Maisie Carole Bradshaw and I’m four years old!”

Ronnie slapped a hand over her mouth to keep in her laughter. Jake shook her tiny hand with a smile. “Nice to meet you, Maisie.”

Jake stayed the rest of the afternoon. Most of it spent with Maisie dragging him around the house and the backyard, showing him her room and where she liked to play. And Ronnie watched them with shaking hands. 

She didn’t let him stay for dinner, and he understood and accepted that. 

But any spare second he got after that was spent with Ronnie and Maisie. Coyote was the only one who really questioned him about it and Jake told him he would explain when the dust had settled. Over what he wasn’t entirely sure. 

He went with them to the beach, to the grocery store, came over to play with Maisie in the backyard, he even came over when it was dark out when Maisie begged him to come and watch Jurassic Park with her. 

It scared Ronnie how easily the two of them seemed to get along. How amazing Jake was with her. How gentle and caring and sometimes downright funny.

It made something well up inside her as she watched him chase Maisie down the beach, carry her when she got too tired, listen to her as she cried about something small, hold her hand as they walked through the farmer’s market, as she watched him be a dad in those small ways

Something she thought he never wanted or really could be

And it was making her fall in love with him all over again

It all became too much though when Ronnie finally let Jake stay for dinner.

Maisie always helped Ronnie cook. She had one of those silicone knives that are safe for kids to use. Ronnie directed Jake and Maisie both to cut up the fruit while she worked on the main dish.

But Jake was doing it “wrong” and Maisie just had to correct him, “No, Daddy, not like that! Gotta do it like this!”

Jake and Ronnie both froze, stared at each other from across the kitchen island. Maisie was none the wiser. She didn’t even realize what she said. The weight that something like that could carry.

Dinner was awkward, and once it was done, Ronnie told Maisie to go play by herself for a while so they could clean up.

Ronnie just stood there, staring into the sink full of dirty dishes, her mind racing. 

“You — You haven’t told her, have you?” Jake asked quietly. 

“No. No, I haven’t. I think it’s…It’s because you’re the only man that’s been in her life besides Brad. I didn’t…I didn’t know she was thinking about you like that.”

He could see that Ronnie was about to cry, and before he could really put any more thought behind it, he was pulling her into his chest — wrapping her up in his arms. And she went willingly. Arms tucked to her chest as she buried her face into his.

Everything was moving so fast, it felt like. And Ronnie wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready for everything to change. She wasn’t ready for it to be anything but the little world she had forged for herself and Maisie. 

But it felt right to see Jake with her. Scratched at some longing Ronnie didn’t even know she had. 

And it felt good to be held. To feel loved, supported, and respected as a woman and as a mother. Ronnie hadn’t been with anyone since Jake — in every sense of the word. Guys didn’t wanna go out with a pregnant girl and once she had Maisie she just didn’t have time.  

She lifted her head from Jake’s chest and he smiled down at her softly, so softly. He wiped her tears away with his thumb and her mind was made up.

“We should tell her,” she whispered to him, and the look on his face was priceless. 

And so they did. They sat her down in the living room and told her that Jake was her father. And she took it in stride like all little kids seem to, accepted it and made it a part of herself without question or complaint. 

That night, they watched Jurassic Park again, and Maisie fell asleep on Jake’s chest. 

Ronnie let him do bedtime, talked him through it softly as he carried Maisie back to her bedroom. Told him how she liked her blankets and to turn on the sound machine. And Ronnie watched from the doorway, tears streaming down her face, as Jake sat on the edge of her bed and kissed his daughter on the forehead. As he whispered that he loved her. 

But just before he could ask if he could stay, Ronnie said, “You should go.” 

Jake huffed, but again, he understood. He accepted. One step at a time. At Ronnie’s pace. 

She saw him out the door this time. Followed him out onto the porch with her sweater wrapped up tight around her. And before he turned to head to his car, she grabbed him by the hand and kissed his cheek.

They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment — searching, wondering. Then Jake caught her lips with his own and she groaned into the kiss. 

That same heat and passion from four years ago was quick to resurface as Jake backed her up against the siding of the house, his tongue begging for entrance against her bottom lip. She opened for him easily, her hands clutching his face tightly as he explored her. 

He slotted his thigh between her legs and he moaned softly when he felt that subconscious grind of her hips. But eventually, they had to come up for air. But Jake couldn’t get enough, his lips slid across her cheek to her jaw to the line of her throat. 

But then Ronnie shoved lightly at his chest, and when he pulled away she was smiling up at him, “Goodnight, Jake.” 

Then she slipped away from him and practically scurried back inside the house, closing the door behind her. And all he could really do was laugh to himself before heading for his car.

Bradley was informed that Maisie knows Jake is her father. But up until this point he had been keeping his distance so the three of them could figure this out. Let us not forget: Brad knows what it’s like to grow up without a father too. And he loves that little girl more than anything, he wants her to have everything that she deserves, and that includes a loving, present father. 

So Brad came over for dinner. Because Maisie begged him to meet her daddy who flies planes just like him. And when he sees the way that Jake looks at his niece? The way Maisie looks at him??

It stirs something inside Brad. A kind of relief maybe. Not that he’s relieved to not have the “responsibility” of Maisie. She would never be a burden to him. But relief that Maisie maybe finally had the father that she deserved. One that loved her, one that would do anything for her. And Brad could see that was how Jake felt.

But Brad also noticed the way Jake looked at Ronnie, too. Like she hung the damn stars. And Brad knows.

So when dinner is done and they’re all outside in the backyard, Ronnie and Maisie catching fireflies and the boys standing on the porch with a couple of beers, Brad gave Jake the talk. 

“Listen, I’ve been Maisie’s Rooster her entire life. I held that little girl five minutes after she was born. She was tiny — I could hold her in one arm, and it was terrifying.” He noticed the guilt flash over Jake’s face. “I’m not sayin’ that to hurt you, man, I’m just tellin’ it like it is. She’s as much mine as she is Ronnie’s. I love Maisie. I would do literally anything for her. Even shoot you outta the goddamn sky.” 

Brad said it so casually, around the lip of his beer, that it made Jake gulp. 

“So if you hurt either one of them, step even a toe outta line, well…You know what’ll happen.” 

“Daddy!” Maisie suddenly screeched from the yard, “Look at my fireflies!”

She was standing there with her legs spread apart and squatted down like a sumo wrestler, glass jar filled with fireflies held over her head. Jake laughed despite the fear of God Brad just put in him. Then he stepped out onto the grass to get a closer look, to wrap his arm around Ronnie’s waist and tell her how scary her brother could be. 

But then everybody’s ships out for that mission. That mission that Jake and Brad both danced around whenever they were with Ronnie and Maisie. That mission that Ronnie understood was dangerous. 

Jake came to her door in his dress whites and Ronnie swears she had never felt so hollow. Not even when she sat in her bathroom alone, crying, holding a positive pregnancy test in her hand.

“When I come back — “ there was that vague navy-man promise that Ronnie knew all too well. “I wanna be with you. Really be with you. I wanna be here when Maisie wakes up and I wanna be here when she falls asleep. And…And I wanna be with you, Ronnie. I want all of it. Screw my career.”

Ronnie is still apprehensive. Because it’s not just her heart on the line anymore, it’s Maisie’s too. “Jake, I…”

“I’ll be gone for a few weeks. Just — Just think about it. And know that I love you both, so much.” 

She let him hug Maisie goodbye, who knew enough from when Brad would go on deployment what was happening. She gave him back the t-rex plushie to keep him safe. And Jake swears he doesn’t cry.

Ronnie watched him pull out of the driveway with Maisie crying quietly, her little arms wrapped around her mom’s leg.

It’s not until a week later that Ronnie’s mind is made up. 

“Hey, Bean, can I talk to you about something?” Maisie just continued to color, but Ronnie knew she was listening. “What do you think about Daddy staying with us when he gets back?”

This made Maisie drop her crayon and finally look at her mom. “Forever?”

“Yeah, baby, forever.”

“That would make me very happy!” She had gotten into the habit of saying that lately, something she picked up from a show Rooster let her watch. 

But it made Ronnie laugh as tears built in her eyes. “That would make me happy too, Bean.” 

So when the carrier came back into the harbor and Jake was back on American soil — he swore his heart stopped when he saw Ronnie and Maisie standing at the pier waiting for him. 

He knew what it meant. And he ran to them. His love. His life. His little girl. His family. And Maisie ran to meet him, jumped up into his waiting arms and screamed at him about staying with her and Momma forever and ever. 

Jake’s tears fell when he caught Ronnie watching them, her own tears streaming down her face as Bradley put an arm around her shoulder.

The rest of the squad was confused when they heard Ronnie’s little girl calling Jake “Daddy”. But once they heard it they couldn’t unsee it. How did they not see it before? The kid looked just like him.

Jake let Maisie go so she could reunite with her Rooster and he took a weeping Ronnie into his arms. Held her tight as he whispered how much he loved her. Thanked her for letting him in. Told her how he was in this till the end. 

And she told him she loved him back. No matter how much it still scared her. No matter how much everything was changing. She loved Jake Seresin. She loved their daughter. It was the three of them against the world now.

That night, Jake sleeps over. He brings all his stuff and Maisie is so excited despite being so tired. Both him and Ronnie do bedtime together, and it feels like how it was always supposed to be.

He offers to sleep on the couch.

But Ronnie leads him back to her bedroom. Lets him climb into her bed. 

And her breath shakes as she straddles his lap, as she holds his face in her hands, as his wide palms glide up her thighs to the soft flesh of her hips.

“I love you,” she repeats to him and he smiles. 

“I’ve always loved you, Ronnie Bradshaw.”

They kiss slow and tender. Strip each other down to nothing and explore everything that’s changed in four years. Jake certainly got bulkier since the last time she saw him this way. He was no longer that lean pilot she messed around with. And Ronnie…Well Ronnie had a baby since the last time she was so vulnerable to him. She had stretch marks on her belly and hips from carrying Maisie — and does the body ever really snap back after being pregnant?

But Jake worshiped her like a goddess that night. Kissed every single one of her stretch marks and left some marks of his own in his wake. He called her beautiful and she felt it. 

She had forgotten how good he was with his mouth. He brought her to bliss with his tongue and fingers twice before he let up — wanting her to be fully ready for him and feel every ounce of his love. 

And when he finally sunk into her, the pain was evident. It had been so long. But Jake was patient, kind. Kissed at her tears and waited to move — even if it felt like his very nerve endings were on fire. 

So this was what it was like to make love instead of just fucking each other. Everything was amplified, everything was sweet, everything was more. 

Jake threaded his fingers through her own as he moved slow and gentle, as her hips canted up to meet him, as he dragged sloppy kisses across her chest and whispered about how he thought about her for the past four years. About how sometimes, late at night in the quiet of his bunk, he would touch himself to the thought of her. Always her. It made her gasp and come apart around him.

After the success of the Uranium Mission — both Jake and Bradley are given promotions and stationed at TOPGUN as instructors. 

And six weeks later, Ronnie hands Jake a positive pregnancy test.

Maisie was going to make an amazing big sister. And Jake wasn’t going to miss a single thing this time.

[we-have-bangtan]

I summoned you

Random one-shot #3

Pairing: demons!OT7 x witch!reader

Genre: fluff, fluff and more fluff, poly au

warning: swearing, its hella longggggg. <33

Part 2

Synopsis: The seven most powerful demons in the world were summoned for the first time in over a hundred years only to find out that their summoner is a little witch who was being hunted by witch hunters. She seeks protection from them but at what cost?

“Who the fuck summoned us?” Hoseok groaned feeling the familiar pain of transformation go through his body, “I don’t know but it better be worth it, I’m getting too old for this shit” Seokjin groaned as pain shot through his veins, black, bat-like wings erupting from his back as he fell to the ground in pain, the scars on his body burning up.

          Namjoon wasn’t much better either, biting into a pillow as burning pain took over his head, his horns and fangs coming out for the occasion, it had been over a hundred years since they had last been summoned and they were bearing the pain of not transforming in all there years, Jungkook hissed as he felt his tailbone extend out of his body, piercing through his skin to form a tail.

Jimin and Tae held each other as each of their left eyes glowed bright, screaming as they changed from black to red, “I hope it isn’t an accident again or I’ll eat them alive” Jungkook groaned as he pulled himself off the ground grimacing at the pain that shot through his body.

Yoongi was the only one not in pain because he had been living in his demon form for a few years now, he didn’t have to transform.

“The spell was lost, I don’t know how someone is summoning us” he informed as Seokjin opened the portal to the mortal world, the portal would take them to where ever they were being summoned.

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 Y/n anxiously stared at the pentagram she had drawn on her cottage floor, she’d be over if this spell didn’t work. She could hear the villagers approaching, could see the glow of their torches from her window. They were climbing up the hill, coming for her life, this spell was her only way of living.

She didn't know why the villagers had turned on her so easily when she had never done anything to them. She had kept her witchcraft confined to her cottage and its surroundings, but they seemed to have found out, she would blame the church people for that, because they were at the beginning of the uprising egging the villagers on.

They had almost caught her an hour ago when she had gone down for supplies, her arms were bruised from their assault but she had managed to escape from them, but she could run anywhere except her cottage.

She couldn't run anymore, there was no where to run now, she either had to stand and fight, which she was too weak for, or she had to perish, which she was too stubborn for so she had taken to the last resort, the demon spell.

Her magic wouldn't be enough to Wipeout all the people who were marching up the hill to her cottage, they'd burn her on the stake if they caught a hold of her, it would be a death with no pride or honor.

She felt the air shift around her, the salt grains blowing here and there and the candles flickering, the wind picked up speed outside as a portal opened directly above the pentagram and a demon fell out, falling to the ground with a thud and a groan. She moved to help him up but quickly stopped as a scream came from inside the portal before six other demons fell on the first one. Chaos ensured as each of them yelled at the other to get off their wings or tails or any other body part, she loudly cleared her throat to grab their attention making seven pairs of eyes snap to her.

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"Did you summon us little girl?" Namjoon asked as he took in her condition, she was awfully malnourished, her arms bruised and frail, she was a timid little thing who he assumed wasn't much younger than Jungkook before he had been changed into a demon. The girl nodded, holding a wand in her hand, a witch, Seokjin realized before he focused on her arms, “How did you summon us little witch” he asked, he was pretty sure the spell to summon them was a 21+ spell and she barely looked 18+ to him.

           “with the spell of course although I didn’t know it would summon seven of them, I would have drawn a lager circle had i known” she mumbled making Yoongi gawk at her statement, “HOW THE FUCK DO YOU CAST A SUMMONING SPELL WITHOUT KNOWING HOW MANY DEMONS IT WOULD SUMMON?? WE COULD HAVE RIPPED YOUR THROAT OUT THE MOMENT WE SHOWED UP HERE” Hoseok barked, snapping his fangs at her.

 “I know, no need to be an arse about it” she retorted as Hoseok stared at her in disbelief, “well then why did you summon us little witch?” Taehyung intervened, “I need help,” she stated plainly. This piqued Jimin’s interest, they all were clearly thinking the same thigh judging from the look in their eyes, they were mates, he knew how they thought, “Are you sure you can pay the price for our services darling” Seokjin remarked sweeping his eyes over the mostly bare cottage. 

            This girl was clearly living alone, a cauldron with coals under it sat in one corner of the house and a winding staircase lead up to attic which he assumed was her bedroom. Clothes hung to dry near the fire place in another corner of the house, her cupboards were mostly empty other than a loaf of bread and a tin of something he couldn’t recognize. She clearly didn’t have much to give.

“What is your price?” She asked, Yoongi admired her guts, she was clearly working hard on trying to seem unafraid, although she failed miserably, at least she tried. The seven of them thought for a while when they head a loud bang on the door. The girls eyes widened in fear, “they’re here” she cursed as she cast a colloportus spell on the door, “hurry up please” she pleaded, “what’s going on? what help do you need?” Jungkook asked as Seokjin place a shield over the door blocking the people from coming in for a short while.

                “They’re hunting me and i want them gone” she revealed, the boys looked up at her, “how sure are you that we won’t rip your throat once you set us free from this circle” Yoongi asked, “I don’t have anything to lose if you kill me the moment i let you free, I don’t have much to live for anyway” she answered, “we’ll discuss the price once we’re done” Namjoon warned as she cast the aqua eructo spell, a stream of water sprouting from the tip of her wand, wiping the circle of salt away just as a window shattered, glass spilling everywhere.

               “Jimin, get her somewhere safe” Namjoon commanded his mate, the younger demon nodded dutifully before stepping forward and wrapping an arm around her waist, positioning his wings, “hold on tight” he warned as he too to the air, going out through the back door of the cottage, taking her to the roof of the cottage, “stay here while we sort that stuff out” he told her, taking off to join the others.

        They possessed the humans, making them kill each other or they’d simply burn them to a crisp, she had expected them to be strong and powerful, but not this powerful, powerful to wipe out all the people who had come to attack her. She didn’t pay much heed to the humans who ran into the forests, she didn’t care where they went as long as they didn’t come near her or her cow, Morphus, who was currently in the shed, a little away from the clearing she lived at. 

  She noticed one of the church men trying to climb the roof to get to her but she quickly jinxed him, making him fall off the roof. Half way through the battle, Yoongi called in quits because the boys could deal with it without him, he joined Y/n on the roof top, folding his wings carefully to not hurt her, “Why don’t you just move from here, go fin some other forest to live in” he asked, leaning back on his hands, looking up at the sky, “there’s no where else to go, I’ve been running for too long” she answered and with that all conversation subsided as they both watched the others fight, Yoongi noticed a few people running for the forests and jerked up to go after them only to be stopped by Y/n, “let them be,” she said and he obey’d.

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It didn’t take the demons long to finish everyone, they all gathered in her kitchen, Jin and Taehyung were hurt, but nothing big, just minor wounds according to the two demons but she insisted on tending to their injuries with a warm cloth and some potions, “this will scar” she told Jin, feeling guilty all of a sudden, “one of a million, don’t worry” he smiled as she wrapped his almost fully healed hand up.

“what is this?” Jungkook asked as he peered down the mug on Y/n’s table, “banana milk” she answered as she turned to Taehyung to wrap his wound up too, Jungkook took a sip of the milk before downing the whole mug, “do you have more?” he asked, looking like a child who wants an extra treat, she nodded, getting up to pull out a jar full of it from her cupboard, handing it to the boy, she didn’t seem the least bothered that a demon boy was drinking up all her banana milk. 

“so what is the price I have to pay? if you’ll hurry up, I have cleaning to do” she said looking at the dead bodies scattered all around her house, some even on tree branches. The boys looked at each other, “We’ll need some time to discuss” Namjoon said on behalf of them all, “you do that and I’ll clean that up” she said, grabbing her wand and leaving the house.

“So, what now?” Namjoon asked once he made sure she was far away from them, “I don’t think she can really give much, she barely has anything herself” Hoseok said, scanning the room again, “This place is nice tho, although she could use some more things in it” Seokjin admitted, looking around the peaceful cottage, it was clean, and would look beautiful if it wasn’t so bare, “it is” Namjoon admitted when Jimin’s piped up, “I don’t like the fact that she lives like this, she could die any moment and no one would notice, maybe we can come here more often” he suggested, already planning all the things he’d bring here from the underworld, Namjoon nodded, “it has been way too long since I’ve actually seen the sky, donno why mortals have to have all the good things when they die so easily” he huffed as he looked out of the window, looking down at the valley in which the village nestled.

        “I have an idea hyung, why don’t we use her place as a sort of abode, she can offer her house to us when ever we want in exchange for our services” Taehyung offered and Namjoon and Seokjin agreed, it would be nice to come to the mortal world often, “is everyone fine with that?” he asked the others, none of them rejected the idea and soon enough, Y/n was called back in.

   They explained what they wanted and she just stared at them, dumbfound, “why would you want to come here when you can live luxuriously in the demon world?” she asked, “the demon world is not all its cooked up to be” Jimin answered.

It took a little convincing (threatening) to get her to agree but she did.

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The boys were common visitors to her little cottage, each of them would show up on their own accord and timing with their own reasons, often in their human form, she had been surprised to see how much more handsome the seven of them were in their human forms and she had told them so.

             They would show up with little things that she would need around the house, sometimes unnoticeable and sometimes ridiculous, they’d bring her small fancy plates and saucers, fabrics and potion ingredients and even a new wand once before they progressed to bringing bigger things like vases and pillows and rugs despite her protesting.

Namjoon was the first to show up at her door with a book in hand to see books about the seven of them scattered on her table. They had stopped popping up directly inside the house after Y/n had yelled at them for freaking her out, “reading up on us I see” he commented as he dragged a chair to sit, “I��ll have to because i literally don’t know anything about the seven of you” she mumbled as she read on. They both read their books in silence before Y/n offered him tea which he accepted gratefully.

  Seokjin and Jungkook were the next one’s to show up because they were hungry, she served them with honey bread and maple syrup. Seokjin showed a keen interest in cooking, offering to help her out while she cooked for the three of them, since then, he’d show up during meal times to eat with her and cook with her, it became something the two of them got used to and one of the greatest things Seokjin would miss once she had passed.

   Jungkook and her bonded over banana milk, the boy couldn’t get enough of it, even taking some back to the demon realm only to come back for more the next day. They both would wander the forest in search of bananas and maple trees and make the banana milk together, he was the most frequent visitor that even Morphus had started to recognize Jungkook who would sit next to Y/n when she milked the cow every morning.

Tae and Jimin would often come together just to mess with her and to make a fool out of the villagers down in the valley. They went herb searching together in the forests. They’d pick flowers for the house and they even dug up a well for the little cottage to use.

Hoseok would also come by often just to gossip with her, telling her about all the events in the demon world, they both would talk over tea and little cakes about Namjoon’s snoring and Seokjin’s new obsession with bad jokes. On days which were not too hot or too cold they’d set up a table outside and just bask in each others company.

Yoongi was the last to visit her, and even when he did visit, he decided to take a nap only to get back up complaining about how bumpy the mattress was before vanishing off and coming back with a new mattress. They’d nap together on days Y/n didn’t have anything to do, and had been found wrapped up with each other by the other quiet often. 

They’d all come together once every few days to have lunch and dinner and to talk and play, enjoying the sun and grass and flowers before they had to go back to the demon world.   

It was funny to see the seven strongest demons be so gentle and ind to a little human girl, weaving flower crowns for her and laying their head in her lap, taking cat naps together.

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They seven boys got quiet attached to the little witch, trying to meet her as often as possible and be as gentle as possible to her. Imagine their surprise when Namjoon walked in on a sorcerer sitting on one of the chairs as Y/n made him a cup of tea. 

“A demon!” the sorcerer shrieked as Namjoon came inside the house, Y/n slowly turned around to see Namjoon standing st the door, greeting him with a smile and a kiss to his cheek, “Namjoon-ah meet my mentor, the great Sorcerer Potter” she introduced as Namjoon felt a green knot form in his chest, he was sure the rest of his mates felt it too because a portal opened not soon after, tossing the 6 other boys into the mortal world, all of them looking eerily calm, “why is he here y/n? he questioned, “he just came to visit” she explained, “then why is his smell all over you?” Jungkook demanded, grabbing her wrist to get a scent of her.

“get lost” Yoongi hissed at the sorcerer, the powerful man shrieked as he apparated to who knows where. ���Y/n,” Hoseok said, taking her hands in his, “did he touch you” he asked, his voice low, she shook her head, no, no one had touched her, thank the demons, Jimin thought as he enveloped her in his arms, overpowering the sorcerer’s smell with his own. “good, don’t let anyone touch you except for us little witch” Seokjin mumbled as he placed a kiss on her forehead, she hummed in agreement as they all bundled up in her cozy cottage, now a lot more comfortable and colorful than before.

They loved her but they couldn’t have her because demons didn’t deserve happiness, it was a curse on them, they weren’t meant to love, only hate and kill because even if they loved y/n they’d inevitably end up with a part of their heart hollow because demons couldn’t love little witches because demons were immortal while witches would meet their end soon enough.

None of them laid with their little witch because it was forbidden but they did caress her, they held her close and made her feel warm and loved by each of them, they were tender and careful with her, trying to spend every moment with her and while that might seem like too much for a mortal, it was a mere few moments for immortals and they tried to carve her memory into their hearts and minds so they would never forget her despite how much time passed by.

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The eight of them spent 86 years together, Y/n passed due to illness at the ripe age of a hundred and twelve years with a smile and her seven demons surrounding her when she too her last breath.

The demons wished she’d reincarnate bu they didn’t keep much hope in that because demons wishes were never fulfilled. But they lived on with the memory of the little witch who had summoned them and had carved herself into their cold, dark hearts.

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Y/n's cottage

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First try, how was it? let me know!!!!

[thiswasinevitableid]

sea monster indruck nsfw? maybe including one of them masturbating while fantasizing about the other one and confessing all their dirty thoughts as they're actually having sex? scary protective monster is also always hot if you're down for that

Here you go! I wasn’t able to fit in everything, but this one was fun!

This is all the hangman's fault. 

Indrid could be pleasantly dead right now, not trapped in a gibbet on a clifftop, if the man had bothered to check his ropes ahead of time. But no, instead he failed to see the rats had been gnawing on them and the blasted noose snapped clean off the instant it took Indrids weight. To the villagers, this was a sign that Indrid was indeed a witch (and the son of a demon, a rare charge that drags his poor, deceased mother into this mess). To Indrid, it meant a new set of bruises and the worst possible death. 

They locked him in the gibbet, the Atlantic crashing in angry, grey waves far below them. The man on his right is dead, eyeballs already plucked out by an enterprising bird, and the man on his left is getting there. If his visions are accurate, Indrid has a good five days of suffering the elements, the wild-life, and his own hunger and thirst before he joins them. 

A lifetime of visions breeds resignation in the face of fate, so he closes his eyes, follows the futures of luckier men as a temporary escape. The screams of his neighbor rouse him with a start. Their source is wholly unexpected. 

Looming at the edge of the cliff is an immense monster. From his vantage point, Indrid spies the creatures’ lower body still submerged in the sea, making it well over a hundred feet tall. It’s skin is green, it’s fingers webbed, and it’s crowned by a frill of wave-shaped spikes. The face is humanoid, with green eyes and hair of black water and a squid-beak where a mouth should be. Strange tentacles appear and disappear along its torso, as if they have not made up their mind as to whether they wish to exist. 

The monster sighs, “Fuckin hate it when they leave their dead like this. Unsightly, and I ain’t sure it’s good for the seagulls to be eatin humans.”

“The dead and, ah, almost dead do not enjoy it much either.” 

Upon hearing Indrids voice, the creature peers into his cage, “Huh, guess you ain’t dead. Either of you.” He turns his eyes on the other condemned man, who starts screaming again, “why’d they stick you here?”

“Witchcraft, specifically foresight and dabbling in ‘black magic.’ Well, that and a failed hanging” He tilts his head to show the visitor the rope mark. 

“Damn, that looks like it hurts. Wonder if I can..” the tip of an immense claw extends towards him. There’s a crackle of power that makes his ears pop, and the monster pulls his hand back, “nope, fuck, was hopin it’d be a small enough thing to do.”

“I beg your pardon?”

The monster sighs, “Long story short, my kind ain’t able to interact in an, uh, altruistic fashion with humans unless they’re acolytes. Can’t even open that damn cage without gettin zapped. Never mind that some of us don’t even wanna be old gods or whatever the fuck, still ain’t allowed to help. Maybe if I get a real big stick..”

“How does one become an acolyte?” Indrid presses his face to the front of the cage.

“Uh, you gotta swear loyalty and servitude to me, specifically, and the ‘old gods’ in general, live in a place I set up for you, and do stuff when I need you to.”

“Very well, are there specific words of the oath or…”

“Whoah, hold up now” the creature raises his hands, “this shit is real bindin’, rather you not rush into it.”

“Given the alternative is death, a rush is rather necessary.”

“All I’m sayin is you might wanna think for more than two seconds before you agree! And there might be other ways for me to get you out.”

“Do..do you not want an acolyte?” Being rejected by a sea monster feels like a fitting end to his life. 

“Not really. It ain’t personal or anythin; I’m just now leanin into the whole god thing and I still ain’t all that comfortable with parts if it. Last thing I want is an acolyte who saw me as ‘not as bad as death.”

“And the last thing I want is to die of exposure, so we are at an impasse.”

The monster clicks his beak once, “Okay, here’s what I’ll do. You take until sunset to think over whether you wanna be stuck servin’ this” he gestures to himself, “for a long-ass time, and we’ll go from there.”

“Very well.” Indrid resigns himself to several more hours of misery as the creature sinks from view. He glances at the other prisoner, “what do you think? He seems very considerate for a sea monster and I for one would like to keep living.”

The man stares, babbles incoherently for a moment before shouting, “You, you conversed with a devil! You are a witch, just as they say!”

“He spoke to both of us.” Indrid blinks, puzzled. 

“I closed my ears to his lies, you offered yourself to his wickedness! Speak no more to me from your black tongue.”

“Hmmph” Indrid does his best to ignore the ongoing beration. He’s not sure the creature is a god, but then again the creature seems uncertain on the matter himself. Serving a maybe-god seems no worse than serving the king, a life among the depths no less tolerable than his small home in a town torn to pieces by accusations of witchcraft. 

After a time, the storm clouds fulfill their purpose, a downpour battering him from all angles. Then a shadow falls over his shut eyes, and no more rain touches him. 

“Seemed awful rude to leave you stuck in the rain while you thought things over.” The god explains, one massive hand shielding the human. 

“Many thanks. Ah, I do have one concern about being your acolyte. Would...would I have to hurt anyone?”

“Don’t think so. I ain’t fond of hurtin folks, and if someone did need to be hurt, seems real strange to make the tiny human do it.”

Indrid puts on his most hopeful, charming smile, “I am very cold, very hungry, and my whole being feels as though it’s been stomped on by a team of horses. Perhaps I could give my answer early?”

A chuckle, like bubbles in deep water, “Hard to say no to that face. Okay, you got a deal. I checked with Joe while I was gone, to make sure I knew the right thing to do if you said yes. I’m gonna say the oath, and you’re gonna repeat it.”

Indrid nods, makes his way laboriously through the incantation in a gurgling language he does not know. The god patiently guides him along, cracks open the cage when the last word is spoken. 

“Do I get to know your name? If it was one of those words, it will take me some time to master it.”

The monsters’ cheeks rise, suggesting a smile, “You can call me Duck. It’s a nickname. C’mon” he holds out his hand, “let’s get you outta the rain.”

“One moment.” Indrid moves to the other gibbet, undoing the lock, “you can get free if you wish. If anyone asks how, tell them it was the witch.” With that, he settles in Duck’s cupped palms, the skin smooth and cool to the touch. 

“Down we go.” Duck sinks. 

“Wait, how will I bre-” water fills his mouth, but only for a moment. A clear bubble forms around him, let’s him gulp in air as Duck dives further into the sea. More jarring than the spell is the sight of the monster unfurling behind him. He assumed Duck had legs, but instead his lower body is that of a sea-serpent, green with bronze rings and undulating in the dark waves. 

“Like what you see?”

“Yes” he wonders what touching that tail is like.

“Yeah, this is a real beautiful part of the sea. If you want, some time I can take you further out; some spectacular lookin creatures out there. Here we go, home sweet home.” They surface at the base of a much shorter cliff, Indrid woozy from the change in depth. Three cottages--one red, one gold, and one blue-- stare back at them from a grassy hill. 

“Let’s see if I can do this” Duck sets Indrid on the ground, closes his eyes, and hums. The world shudders and splits, and then a fourth, emerald green cottage sits alongside the others. 

“Ha! Pretty damn good for a first effort.” His frill flickers with silver light.

“It’s wonderful.”

“All yours. You get yourself settled, I'm gonna go find out from the others what else needs doin’ now that I got an acolyte.” He lowers himself so the two of them are roughly face to face, “see you soon, Indrid.”

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The cottage holds more possessions than Indrid’s ever had in his life, including a large feather bed that he stretches his aching body across before falling asleep and dreaming of seaweed twining up his legs. 

Voices from the window rouse him some hours later. At the side of the red cottage sit three other humans, two of whom are at work in a vegetable garden. Indrid ventures down to introduce himself. 

“Hi!” One, a woman with golden hair, waves to him, “you must be Indrid. I’m Dani, this is Barclay” she points to the bearded man harvesting potatoes, then to a tattooed man polishing a pile of gold and silver jewelry, “and that’s Boyd.” 

“Pleased to make your acquaintance. You are all acolytes as well?” His stomach rumbles and Barclay pauses his digging to slide him a basket containing bread and cheese.

“Help yourself, those are leftover from lunch. And yeah, we are. Or were, in Dani’s case.”

Even with foresight, Indrid is surprised when the woman says jokingly, “Got promoted to ‘wife’ a few months.”

“Congratulations.” It seems the appropriate thing to say, given her smile, “ah, what exactly do you all do for your gods? Duck is rather unclear on the details.”

“Some of it is spellwork. Beings like Duck have some innate power, but they can get more of it from an acolyte doing rituals or making offerings. Joseph, that’s my monster, Duck, and a few others aren’t sold on the idea that they’re meant to destroy humans, so they spend a lot of time keeping other monsters from doing just that. Our spellwork gives them an edge. Other than that, it really depends on who you’re working for; I spent a lot of my first month helping Joseph understand that hauling himself up onto a random dock to ask questions is not the best way to learn about humans. Boyd spends a lot of time maintaining Ned’s treasure.”

“Only because he bloody tricked me into workin for him. Just bidin my time until the deal runs out. You hear that Chicane!” Boyd yells towards the water, “don’t care how much you steal, I’ll get my share and run one of these days.”

To Indrid’s ear, the sea laughs in reply. Boyd grumbles and returns to his work. 

“He’s just annoyed because he and Ned thought they could outwit each other; Boyd was on a prison ship bound for Jamaica and Ned offered him an out. Apparently they spent hours haggling over the terms.” Dani leans closer, whispers, “Boyds left twice, comes back every time saying he’s bored without someone to challenge him.”

They talk a while longer, Dani promising to bring Indrid some hens and a goat from town, Boyd giving him some firewood, and Barclay explaining the network of sea caves in the surrounding hills. When there’s a knock at the door, he opens it expecting another human and jumps when this is not the case. 

“Evenin’” Duck smiles as he slithers into the house, “brought you a few more things.”

“You got smaller.” 

“Can change my size some, though this is about as small as I can get.” He’s still two heads taller than Indrid, who notes that the ceilings are just high enough to accommodate him, as if the god built the cottage with visits in mind. 

Duck sets a bucket of fresh oysters in the kitchen along with a large slab of butter, some milk, and some sugar, “Had one of my human friends bring me these. And, uh, I made you this” he holds up a cloak in the same colors as his tail. It fits Indrid snugly, shutting out the chilly air and making him feel rather grand indeed. 

“C’mere” Duck pats a kitchen chair, “lemme take care of your neck.”

Indrid sits, shudders when webbing and claws rub sticky balm into his skin. The gods hands easily encircle his neck, a realization that stirs heat deep in his stomach. Duck talks as he works, a meandering story about a shipwreck, and Indrid finds he enjoys his manner of speech. The initial discomfort of the touches subside, the balm washing the pain in his neck away like a wave erasing a message in the sand. Cool hands wrapped around his throat turn as comforting as the fire crackling in the stove. 

“That looks like it healed. Good” Duck’s beak fondly nips his ear, “gotta make sure my servant is in good condition.”

“Mmmm” Indrid bumps his chest with his head, hoping for more; tomorrow he’ll ask the others if it’s commonplace for an acolyte to lounge in the coils of their gods lap like a housecat. 

The beak touches his ear once more, biting it lightly with little kissing sounds.

“Huh'' two tentacles catch Indrid as he tips sideways, his body deciding that the earlier nap was not enough rest, “didn’t think you’d find that soothin. Did it by accident, it’s how my kind show affection.”

“S’very nice” Indrid mumbles, dimly aware of being carried. 

“I’ll keep that in mind. Y’know, in case I need to reward you for somethin.” Duck lays him in bed, pulls a thick blanket over him, and bids him goodnight. Indrid is sound asleep before the door closes. 

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“Ngahka miskato--ah! Give that back” Indrid wrenches his spectacles free from hold of a far too inquisitive octopus. The creature squirts him with water, then disappears back into its pool. 

Each of the gods has a sea cave in which their acolytes perform their rituals. Since the processes involves ancient, dark magic, all manner of strange sea life makes its way to the caves. Some, like the octopus or the seals that bob in the distance or flop on the rocks to nap, are known to him. Others might be classified as indescribable horrors from the deep, though Indrid thinks they look like crustaceans with a few too many limbs or the offspring of an eel and devil fish. 

His oath to Duck allows him to read the spells, and his pronunciation is improving. Duck’s requests center on defense; letting himself take greater damage from an enemy, be better able to protect his friends, that sort of thing. Indrid even found a ritual that gives the god new cloaking abilities, which he’s used to make the cottages disappear on the hillside and thus keep curious townsfolk away.  He also found one that allows Duck to remain out of water for well over a day.

The Duck who visits him in the cave and the one who stops by his home may be radically different sizes, but his disposition is constant. He talks about the kelp forests and the animals, about his annoyance with his supposed destiny as “destroyer of all man.” He conjures fine clothes from seaweed, furniture from driftwood, and brings Indrid newly made grins embedded with fresh pearls. 

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one serving you?” Indrid will tease.

“Way I see it, we serve each other. Don’t care what that fuckin oath said.”

Indrid is feeding his hens one evening when his luck catches up with him; his human friends are all standing at the edge of Dani’s house, peering anxiously around it’s corner and down the hill. Joining them, he sees a crowd marching with torches and an assortment of lethal farm equipment. 

“What the fuck are they doing? You were just in town today and everything was fine” Barclay glances at Dani, who shrugs, worried.

“My visions tell me that as they get closer we will hear them yelling about witches and that I will recognize many of them. I suspect my fellow gibbet-occupant told them about Duck.” He sighs, “I’ll try to lead them on a chase, get them away from all of you.” 

Indrid runs into the evening before the others, or his own common sense, can stop him. Keeping to the cliffside, he lets them glimpse his hair and his red glasses, both used at the trial as proof of his wicked nature. His plan is to take a secret tunnel down into the caves, but his visions alert him a moment too late to the fact there are two, not one, groups of villagers. He’s outflanked on the cliff, holds up his hands to show he means no harm.

“I understand my continued existence alarms and confuses you, but that is no reason to go running about with weapons. Would you kindly leave me alone?”

“No, witch, we will not.” The head of the party shouts over the wind. 

“I have a name, you know.” He grumbles, looking behind him and wondering if his status as an acolyte grants him immunity from death by falling in the water. 

“You have already confessed to your black work, and we have on good authority you have made a pact with the devil. There is nowhere to run, and if you come quietly I promise we will hang you properly this time.”

“And if I do not?”

“We shall see to it that your body is scattered about this cliffside before the night is out.” The mob moves forward and Indrid stumbles back, the earth giving out beneath his feet. 

He lands with a yelp in a smooth, large hand. As Duck rises more fully from the waves, the crowd freezes, struck dumb with fear. 

“Y’all ain’t gonna touch him, y’hear? Indrid’s under my protection and in case it ain’t obvious, I could smoosh the whole damn bunch of you without breakin a sweat. So, what you’re gonna do is turn around and go back to your village, and I’ll forget this ever happened. If you come after him again, I’m gonna start taking out ships in your harbor. We clear?”

The panicked flight of the mod downhill suggests he’s made his point. 

Duck carries Indrid home, joining him in the cottage once he can fit through the door. The monster follows him upstairs, pulling him into his arms.

“Thought I was gonna lose you.”

“That makes two of us.” 

Duck nuzzles the top of his head, “You mind if I stay here tonight? Little worried some of them might get it into their heads to come back and hurt you.”

No futures show this, but Indrid nods all the same. Duck curls up near the bed, not leaving until the morning sun shines through the window. He does the same the next night, and the night after that, and soon it’s been two weeks of the god talking softly with Indrid as the human falls asleep. 

When Indrid shyly asks if Duck will join him, his monster lays as comfortably as he can on the right side of the bed. Indrid is now used to waking up with a tail looped around his leg or a tentacle clinging to his arm. 

------------------------------------

Indrid is just drifting off when the covers slide aside and weight slithers up the bed. He opens his eyes; Duck is on his side, facing him, annoyed. 

“What troubles you, my dark excellency?” Indrid nudges Ducks’ lower belly with his toes. He’s taken to calling Duck increasingly absurd things, and the monster calls him “faithful servant” or “esteemed attendant” in reply. 

Tonight, Duck just sighs, “Y’know how I was supposed to do somethin important tonight, bein’ that it’s the second full moon in the month? Turns out that somethin was, ‘spread my seed among the beds of men’ so our kind will gradually overrun the surface.” He clicks his beak with a snort, “don’t that sound fun?”

“No.”

“Smart little thing, ain’t you?” Duck teases, cups Indrid’s chin, “Yeah, I said no. Problem is, apparently a second full moon makes my whole body wanna fuck, which is why that prophecy was supposed to happen tonight.”

Indrid looks down, sees something rippling under the skin at the upper part of Duck’s tail. 

“I’m gonna try sleepin it off.”

His visions give him courage; Duck turns him down in most futures, but none of them end in death or bodily harm, which at his point in his life is all he asks. 

“Or you could, ah, allow me to help you.”

Green eyes blink, slow and calculating, “‘Drid, that ain’t part of your job.”

“No…” Indrid scoots across the sheets, tentatively runs his fingers up Duck’s side, “but that is not why I’m offering.”

“No?” The rest of his tail joins them on the bed, curving so it traps Indrid against him, “Then why are you offerin, sweet human of mine?”

“Because I, ah, I want, that is I would very much like to know you in that way, and I thought it was allowed based on the others, I apologize if it’s not, I did not mean to-” He freezes as Duck cups his face, nipping his ear and throat with a kissing noise.

“‘Drid?”

“Y-yes, my lord of the depths?” He’s breathless, drowning in Duck’s gaze. 

“Stop apologizin and take off your clothes.”

Indrid flails until nothing is between him and his monster. 

“Thats better” Duck’s voice deepens, washing over him like rough waves, “now, come serve your god.” He pats what Indrid thinks of as his waist, the point where his human qualities disappear entirely. 

“As you wish” Indrid tries for a coquettish smile as he straddles him, but it gives way to surprise as the slit in Ducks skin parts. 

“I was not expecting tentacles. Which, given the rest of you, was naive.”

“Not usin that future vision of yours to see what’s comin’?” The webbing of Duck’s fingers is like velvet as it caresses Indrid’s chest.

“It is difficult to focus on such things when you are here. You command my attention. You always have.”

Duck flicks his tongue across Indrid’s lower lip, “Now that kind of devotion I could get used to.”

“It is yours whenever you want it.”

A tentacle emerges from his side, petting Indrid’s face, “My Indrid. You been so good for me, so faithful and true. Letting me babble about seaweed and when my claws through that pretty hair. And you just keep gettin better.” 

“Please” Indrid rests his head against Duck’s chest, hugging him as best as his size will allow, “please teach me how to serve you this way too.”

“I can do that. You don’t gotta lift a finger.” Several of the tendrils that comprise his cock twine together to form a single appendage. The tentacle on his face gains a twin and the pair slide down to his ass, parting it.

Indrid’s thighs are uncooperative, struggle to get and keep him in the right position to sink down. He curses, reaches down to adjust only for a thicker tentacles to bind both wrists and yank them up above his head. 

“Uh uh, I said no finger-liftin and I meant it.”

Indrid moans, his cock filling as he discovers there’s no way to free himself. He expects Duck to guide him into place with his hands. The end of his tail encircles Indrid’s hips while his claws trace arcane shapes on his skin. 

“I, I did not know it was quite so dextrousOH, oh god.” The tip of that strange cock pushes in, pulsing little by little to stretch him open without pain. 

“Right here.” Duck nibbles his hair with that same kissing sound, “I got you. Take such good care of my faithful human.”

“Oh god” Indrid can’t come up with anything else to express the sensation of Duck sinking deeper into his body, of how safe he feels stretched out and stretched open in the monsters hold. He tips his head back with a cry as Duck bottoms out and his cock moves fluid and disjointed all at once. It’s pulsing, thrusting him full on each inward push, yet it’s individual tendrils curve and curl within him independent of the whole. 

“More, oh god, please, please never ever ever stop.”

 A fond chuckle, “That good huh? Maybe that prophecy was wrong. Maybe what I’m supposed to do is fuck you full and then drop you in town so you can spread the word of how good my dick is. Be my consort and prophet all in one. Get everyone clamorin for the chance for me to fuck them.”

“No” Indrid squirms, petulant, “you’re my master. Not theirs.”

A louder laugh this time, “You gonna take the amount of fuckin I was supposed to do to a whole town yourself?” A tendril curls around Indrid’s aching cock. 

“Yes” He wails, rolls his hips “you may have me as often as you please, I want you too, I’ll, I’ll be your faithful servant always.”

“You’re already somethin better; you’re my ‘Drid.” Duck twists the tendril and Indrid’s lost, his orgasm knocking breath from his chest and tears from his eyes as white spatters the green of Duck’s abdomen. 

“That’s it darlin, lookit you bein so good, cummin for your master. Think it’s time for you to make good on your promise to take whatever I give you.” The tail lifts Indrid up and down as Duck cums, the monster not so much as pausing before thrusting his hips harder, “fuuuck that’s good, my perfect servant, my ‘Drid, takin me so well.”

Indrid sobs as another burst of cum enters him and a strange feeling fills his chest; he’s buzzing with blindingly bright power. It’s coming from Duck, he knows this, and in the haze of his submissive state he understands the depth of his divinity.

“Duck” he whimpers as more tentacles twist around his limbs, the god losing himself in his pursuit of pleasure, filling Indrid until his belly twinges and his eyes fight to remain open. When the god groans out the humans name a final time, Indrid is so enveloped by him he wonders if they’ll ever fully disentangle. 

The monster carries him to the washroom, Indrid still squirming on his cock, and gently pulls him free to set him in the tub. A flick of his hand fills it with warm seawater.

“You okay?”

“I doubt I will be able to walk tomorrow.” Indrid smiles to show he relishes this fact.

“Guess I’ll be spendin tomorrow waitin on you.” Duck joins him in the tub, coiling protectively around him as he washes his chest and thighs.

“I thought I was the servant here?” Indrid cuddles closer, kissing Duck on the tip of his beak.

“Nah. Far as I’m concerned, we take care of each other.”

[imgonnagetkilledbynutstink]

Mcelroy quotes

"OH GOD OH FUCK HES GONNA EAT MY BONES" "YOUR TOUCAN BONES"

"Toucan Dan the spooky badooky toucan man"

"Listen kids, people are gonna try to give you guns all the time, but theyre no cool. Listen to Toucan Dan. Chili dogs"

"I wish we had lorenzo music on call" "i think he passed away" "... i wish we had lorenzo music on the planet, then"

"WELCOME TO THE STARSHIP FUTURE TIMES"

"I come for you in the sleeping hours!"

"Is he your son or your husband?" "My sonsband"

"Can i be strong?" "I think you are strong" "no i need to be stronger... like king of the universe strong"

"Gonna put you in this prison toilet... cause thats what you are, you're a stink man" "garbage boy" "garbage boy stink man"

"She looks like a human goldfish"

"No eyelids??? WHY IS THAT AN OPTION!? YOU NEED THOSE"

"Hey whats going on in here??" "NOTHING, TRASH HULK. ME AND METAL HUSBAND ARE COOKING YOU A MEAL WHICH I WILL FEED YOU IN BABY BOTTLE CAUSE YOU. ARE. MAN. BABY"

*types in "pam the existence eater"*

"COME TO ME MY SHAUN-STER"

"HAS ANYONE SEEN MY VERY LITTLE HUSBAND!?"

"Hes not my love child anyways. My love child is like, a can of peas back at home"

"HES LIKE A ROTTISERIE CHICKEN"

"HAVE YOU BEEN TO MY FOREST OF SONS??"

"Did you literally do anything to trigger that?" "I tried to turn everyone into dogs and i get why the game wouldn't like that!"

"HONEY I SHRUNK THE YOU"

*types in "set underwear to no"*

"The force of these things being birthed from my womb is gonna push me through the ceiling"

"HES LIKE A HUMAN BOTTLE OF OLIVE OIL"

"I want his soul in a jar so i can put it on my desk"

"OH... YEAAAAH GHOST DAD"

"My boy Stevo's gonna drink an alligator's weener"

"Please stop throwing me off if tall shit"

"Having been recon- dont- pit- stop- throw- dont- throw- if you- dont- stop- throw-"

"You're on some next level shit. I gotta start throwing my children"

"Great bones, man" "thats a high quality set of bones in that goblin"

"You ready to make some genuine wrestle boys?"

"My perfect baseball son"

"I CAN SEE HIS MOUTHY MOUTH GUMMY WORKS"

"Aw beans, i look like a real goober"

"Thats true... thats a real good point griffin, i guess ive never blamed god for rats before"

"Holy shit... LOOK AT RAT BABY'S MADDEST HOPS"

"I dont knwo what you want me- i goofed up very good"

"This isnt my grandpa's Dark Souls" "no its your grandma's Dark Souls if your grandma is a witch that hangs out behind the Arby's"

"Hey dude? Your desk is pizza. Like, i dont want to tell you how to do your thing... but your desk is pizza"

"That movie is piss... that movie is piss. End of sentence, end of thought"

"It looks like you're falling into a portal that is a man"

"Hey guys, its president Obama. Ive been watching the entire time, and no"

"Thats my hero wood"

"He looks like a skin diaper"

"Like if Bill Nye amd Bill Nye had a baby with a mushroom. What would that look like? And the answer is a sad dinosaur"

"JUSTIN, THE BLOOD DINOSAUR IS BACK"

"I cant believe i have to play this normal!"

".... HOW DID THAT GIVE ME MORE PANTS!?"

"Youve taken me to two sex dungeons amd this is the worst place youve taken me so far! Its full of demons and it crashes my computer!"

"Im gonna get some poppy corn" "no we cannot stay here" "im staying and im getting some fucking poppy corn"

"Tonino's, i was possessed by the bad chair"

"I think these two people are about to have sex- should we go? Should we go? Should we go? Should we go? I just shot myself off the space station"

"I just clicked on your wings and it asked me if i wanted to finger your wings??" "Where are you?" "I think im in hell?"

"Theres so much nudity in Second Life! Its like 🎶everywhere you look there's a breast or three🎶" "🎶on the same person🎶"

"Oh god the anime vagina's back... its right next to a place called Muddy Country"

"I lost what makes the boy mayer a boy mayer... now he just kinda looks like a man mayer"

"I hope thats not disconcerning for them... to see a skateboarding pizza man and a trash boy"

*types into chat "pizza crime is eternal"*

"I just made myself kinda a boy hat?" "Well the good news is, now she has a reason to drink"

"WHATS UP EVERYBODY, I THINK DOGS SHOULD VOTE"

"I just told them i think its so progressive that they let skateboarders in and they booted me"

" ive made kinda a pizza party prison- like a personal panned pizza party prison?"

"The music is actually so loud im kinda having a panic attack" "to southern country?" "Yeah"

"I simply cant" "you can't?" "Not with the Bart"

"Someone has a sign with trump holding all the chaos emeralds"

[ghostnebula]

Sincere and Dignified

“Eddie's twenty-first birthday + The entire Losers' Club + Las Vegas + Being in love with your best friend = Well, exactly what you'd expect.”

[read it on Ao3]

(or here)

    Eddie’s birthday is in November. Which makes him the youngest member of the Losers’ Club. Which makes him the last Loser to turn twenty-one.

    Which means they go all-out to celebrate, since it’s the first time they can all (legally) celebrate together. And because they’ve kind of forgone “proper” twenty-first birthday festivities for everyone else, so no one would ever feel left out. Finally, no one needs to be left out of it.

    They’ve all been living together for over three years now, they’re all getting close to graduating from college, and they all saved up for this one, because this is pretty much it. The last big, fun, tangible milestone in their young lives. The last “new” thing they’re earning the right to do (legally) after driving and voting. You bet your ass they go ham on Eddie’s birthday plans.

    That’s how they end up in Vegas. Several long weeks of planning, lots of money they scraped together into jars over the last few years ready to be spent, checking and double-checking every class syllabus to make sure no one misses anything important on Friday (they have to be at their hotel in time for check-in or, between Stan and Eddie, someone will pitch a fit). Then they’re all piling into Ben’s station wagon with as little luggage as they could manage to bring for a weekend trip (the station wagon is “spacious”; it is not a fucking miracle vehicle).

    Roughly ten hours later (five hours for driving, two for check-in plus cramming all their crap into the motel room and then attempting to organize it, one for figuring out and agreeing on where to even start with the partying, two more for getting ready) Eddie Kaspbrak has his first legal drink as a proper twenty-one year old, on this night of November third, and there’s no aftertaste of guilt like usual. He’s got Richie pushing shots into his hands, Mike making sure he’s eating some snacks once in a while so he doesn’t get too trashed too fast, Bev directing bartenders to make the most delicious fucking drinks he thinks he’ll ever taste in his life (Porn Stars, or something else inappropriate like that).

    He has Bill, the oldest, practically under oath to stay sober (at least for tonight) so there’s one semi-coherent Loser present to keep the rest of them safe and sane until he can drag them all back to the motel.

    He has a wad of cash in his pocket, a chunk of his savings from the past year, ready to blow on booze and gambling and whatever the fuck he wants, because it’s his birthday, so he’s allowed to do whatever the fuck he wants.

    It’s safe, and more importantly, it’s legal, and most importantly, it’s Vegas. He never thought he’d ever have the balls to set foot in a place like this -- the kind of place his mother would demonize when he was a kid. Drinking, before he left Derry and his mom and the vice grip she had on his life, was completely out of the question, let alone getting hammered in a casino in Sin City, of all fucking places, under the care of the “evil little shits” he calls his best friends.

    He more than lets loose. He lets twenty-one years of virtually non-stop anxiety unwind in one night.

    When he wakes up the next morning, hung over for the first time in his life, it’s almost worth it. Bill’s the only motherfucker awake already, being that he’s the only one who doesn’t have several bottles of vodka et al. to sleep off, and he’s draped across the ratty arm chair in their ratty motel room, channel-surfing with the television volume as low as it can get. The light burns Eddie’s eyes, still, when he lifts his head and -- instead of turning, his head just kind of lolls on his shoulders until he can look at Bill properly.

    He wants to ask him to end his suffering, which he can only assume he has yet to see the worst of. Suddenly he understands why aspirin exists. He wants Bill to pump him full of painkillers until he stops feeling like he’s made of electrified cotton. Instead, he says, articulately, “Guh.”

    Bill turns his attention from Scooby-Doo to where Eddie is half-lying, trapped under the weight of Richie’s arm and half his chest. Richie is snoring away, glasses askew on his face, a cooling puddle of drool soaking Eddie’s shoulder. It’s gross, but he can’t really complain at this point. He’s accustomed to it by now.

    “Ah, he lives.”

    “Ugh,” says Eddie.

    “I bet,” says Bill. “So, do you want a recap of the events of last night, or did you keep your promise and remember every life-altering decision you chose to make?”

    Bill’s voice, which he’s hardly putting much effort into keeping down -- owing to the fact that all his effort is being channeled into trying not to laugh, and Eddie can’t even begin to fathom what’s so funny -- is causing the other Losers to stir. His splitting headache doesn’t want him to try to figure out what’s funny. He must have fried a metric shitload of braincells with all those Porn Stars last night, or whatever the fuck sugary booze Bev was pouring down his throat before everything went hazy.

    “Life-altering?” he repeats after a few moments, as Richie’s arm finally stops crushing him. It’s the only word that really stands out to him in the jumbled mess of hangover discomfort his brain is fighting, and it should cause him anxiety but he’s more worried, right now, about drinking some water. Richie sits up beside him, yawning.

    Bill hums. He looks terribly pleased with himself, which can be good or bad depending which side of the story you’re on, and Eddie’s got this sneaking suspicion he’s on the wrong side, here. “Yeah, that life-altering thing I tried to talk you two dipshits out of for longer than the actual ceremony took?”

    “Ceremony?” Eddie asks, trying to feel back through his poor, poor brain to remember anything after slot machines and vibrant chatter and deceptively sweet beverages being passed to him. Richie’s head drops onto his shoulder as his arms wrap around Eddie’s waist. “Guh,” he says into the fabric of Eddie’s rumpled shirt. Habitually, Eddie reaches up to pat him consolingly on the head. Richie’s not one for mornings.

    “Why don’t you take a look at your ring finger, birthday boy?” Bill says, but Eddie’s already frozen, because there was a flash when he raised his hand and he’s not entirely sure he’s believing what he’s seeing, and where the fuck did he even get the ring anyway, let alone a ring as nice as this? “Or, sorry, I should say: Mr. Tozier?”

    Eddie... mostly ignores him, in favour of smacking Richie a few times on the skull to get his attention, hangovers be damned. “Richie,” he hisses, heart going a mile a minute. “The fuck did I do?”

    Richie grumbles some kind of complaint, lifting his head from its safe space on Eddie’s shoulder, and when he follows Eddie’s gaze he lets out a kind of... laugh? More of a squawk, really. His left arm jerks off of Eddie’s waist lightning-quick, and then he’s holding up his own hand beside Eddie’s to show off their matching rings. “Oh my god,” he says, quiet (for Richie). A little bit of tension melts out of him. Then, “I think you mean, ‘the fuck did we do?’”

    “Oh my god,” Eddie squeaks, and Bill loses his battle and dissolves into peals of laughter, remote slipping out of his hands and landing somewhere on the floor. “Bill, you were supposed to be babysitting.”

    It takes a while, but Bill manages to regain his composure long enough to say, “Well forgive me, but you were a man on a mission. I distinctly remember a lot of, ‘we’re practically dating anyway’ and ‘no time like the present’ and ‘Bill, if you don’t step the fuck off I’m gonna shove this ring so far up your nostril you’ll be sneezing gold until you’re ninety.’ What was I gonna do about it?”

    “Oh my god,” Eddie says again, red-faced, mortified, heart still going-going-going. They aren’t dating, though, is the problem, and yeah, he’s always had this stupid little idea in his stupid little head that they might as well be, but he’s never asked, because he wasn’t sure if he should. Wasn’t sure if it was safe. Wasn’t sure if Richie wanted something proper or to just stay very, very close friends until the grave. They weren’t dating, and now they’re married, and ohJesusMaryandJoseph why did he let himself get so drunk last night?

    He doesn’t expect Richie to be resentful or anything, but he’s also an anxious mess by default, and post-drunken-haze Eddie is a different, apparently less chill person than mid-drunken-haze Eddie, because he doesn’t remember having this freakout last night.

    He doesn’t think that Richie will be pissed about it, necessarily, but he’s terrified that Richie’s going to want to... undo this, somehow.

    He expects regret.

    He doesn’t expect Richie to slide his hand against Eddie’s so that their rings clack together, letting out a soft little, “Aw,” as he does so, or to press his scratchy, stubbly face against Eddie’s cheek to plant a kiss there, or to say, just as quiet and soft as ever, “We’re married, Eds.”

    “Is that okay?” Eddie asks, heart in his throat, wondering if he somehow forced Richie into this when he wasn’t in full control of his faculties.

    “More than okay,” Richie says. “Is it okay with you?”

    Eddie nods dumbly, staring at their rings again, wondering what the fuck possessed them to make such a rash, life-altering decision like this, yet understanding all too well that his love for Richie is too big to contain and it has to spill out in little doses like this, or it’ll probably kill him, or make him go crazy. “Yeah,” he says finally, nodding perhaps too fast. “Yeah, Richie, it’s more than okay.”

    He turns in Richie’s arms to kiss him properly, apparently not for the first time, and just the action brings a couple snippets of last night’s escapades abruptly to the surface.

*

    “$25 Weddings,” a pink neon sign outside a squat white chapel proclaims, “Sincere and Dignified.” And below that, in smaller, baby blue lettering: “Can provide: Flowers, Rings, Witnesses, Transportation, Attire...” The list goes on. It’s a wonder Eddie is coherent enough to read it, let alone comprehend it, but he’s rounding on Richie, whose arm he’s hanging off of, with the best fucking idea already leaping from his lips.

*

    “Ffffffuck Kaspbrak,” Eddie slurs as a reluctant Bill helps him slip on a suit jacket, fiddling with the purple clip-on bowtie Richie threw over the divider at him. “Fuck Kaspbrak, right, Rich?”

    “Right,” Richie says enthusiastically -- probably too enthusiastically -- from the other side of the thin wooden divider that separates their “changing rooms.”

    “Fuck that name,” Eddie decides, nodding to himself. Bill takes the bowtie out of his hands with a sigh, and Eddie lifts his chin to let Bill fasten it to his shirt, grumbling all the while about how stupid they both are. “And fuck my mom.”

    “Fuck your mom!” Richie shouts. There’s a beat of relative quiet, then, “Not, like, fuck your mom, obviously. Fuck... you, maybe?” And then Bev’s raucous laughter echoes through the whole room.

    Eddie can’t help laughing with her, even though Bill’s insisting he stay still “so you can at least look semi-presentable for your pictures, c’mon, Eddie, this is a big moment for me, too.”

*

    “How are you the bridezilla, here, Bill?”

    “Could you please just work with me here, I swear to-- agh!” (More laughter from Bev. Stan saying something incomprehensible but loud and boisterous. Mike trying to shush them.) “I’m just trying to make sure this is actually special since you absolute buffoons refuse to just wait and do this right.” Is Bill fucking crying?

*

    Richie’s tongue down Eddie’s throat, over and over and over: in the chapel; in a bar; in front of the bar; just before Bill drags them away from the casino they’re trying to sneak back into and instead towards the station wagon he’s doing his best to herd the Losers to; in the station wagon; in front of the motel.

    Bill prying them apart with minimal assistance from a piss-drunk Ben who insists he’s “helping,” telling them once again that they are not allowed to consummate their fucking marriage in public, and especially not allowed to do it in the motel room all seven of them have to sleep in--

*

    He hears Bev’s little “aww” behind him somewhere as he and Richie break apart, and Stan’s grief about how fucking early it is “for this shit.” Eddie can hear something like a smile in his voice, if not just plain old amusement.

    “We’re married, Rich,” Eddie repeats incredulously, and Bill is saying something about their marriage license in his wallet because neither of them can be trusted, but Eddie couldn’t care less about licenses or whatever, because Richie’s smiling down at him in that way that makes his heart feel too full. And he doesn’t mean to, but a choked noise bubbles up out of him, almost a sob, maybe a laugh. Tears burn in his eyes.

    But that’s alright, because Richie’s crying already, and he wraps himself bodily around Eddie, rolling them over so he’s squishing him into the mattress while he kisses all over his face and his throat until Eddie’s squealing with laughter despite his agonizing hangover. He almost feels too good to care about it now, but he’s definitely getting some water and painkillers into his system the second the weird high he’s feeling subsides.

    “Okay, okay,” says Stan, standing above them suddenly, swatting at Richie’s shoulders. “You’ve had your fun. Noisy assholes. We were too drunk for proper congratulations last night. Move over.”

    All the Losers squeeze themselves onto the queen bed, somehow, and water bottles and aspirin get passed around. At some point Bill gets up to start the coffeemaker and comes back with (good fucking lord) their “wedding photos” in a crisp manila envelope. They’re just as gaudy as he expected. Leave it to Richie to find the ugliest possible outfit for his literal wedding.

    Eddie gets hugs and shoulder-squeezes and cheek-kisses from everyone, over and over, and Bev actually cries for about ten full minutes while she holds him, then at least ten more while she holds Richie, and then Ben cries, and... well, they all end up crying all over each other, but it’s awash with joy. “We’re happy for you,” they keep saying, and Eddie’s happy for them, too. He didn’t expect to accidentally do things this way, but he has to be glad it happened.

    “God,” he says a while later, shaking his head as he sips sugary coffee from the mug he and Richie are sharing (this room is meant for four people, max, not seven, and is equipped accordingly). He’s still examining a picture of Richie attempting to give him a piggy-back ride out of the chapel. Bill is visible in the background, eyes red and puffy, a wad of tissues clenched in his hand while Mike tries to console him. Eddie has been making fun of him for about half an hour now. “My mom would flip if I told her about this.” But the thought doesn’t scare him. He doesn’t get scared of her anymore. Not like he used to. Not when he’s so far away and he feels so safe with these six idiots who bring so much joy to his life.

    Richie’s thumb rubs over the skin of his lower back where his hand has crept up Eddie’s shirt. “Good thing you don’t have to,” he says, and that familiar mantra of “You never have to see her again,” bleeds through, plain as ever.

    Eddie hums. Passes the coffee back to him. “I know. But... I kinda want to. Just to watch her head explode,” he says with a shrug and a grin, earning a chorus of easy laughter from his friends. He stares at the ring on Richie’s finger as Richie throws back the rest of their coffee, something warm and familiar blooming brighter in his chest.

[goodomensblog]

Afterward - Part 15

A Good Omens Choose Your Own Adventure Fic

Here’s how it works:

I’ll write a scene.

At the end of each scene, you’ll be presented with 2-3 options for what the characters will choose to do next.

Comment or reblog to vote for your choice. I’ll count all votes after the first 24 hours after each update is posted.

Read: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14

(#3 wins because y’all love chaos, don’t you? Totally understandable. I love it too.)

Afterward - - - Part 15

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Beelzebub, lord of flies, master of tyrants, patron of demon worship, and prince of Hell, is having, by their own estimation, a pretty shit day.

“I think I’d honestly rather die,” Beelzebub groans, as Crowley hauls them impudently up onto his skinny back. 

“I’m saving you, you ungrateful lump of flies, whether you like it or not.”

And Beelzebub, who is having the unfortunate realization that they are too weak to so much as wriggle their way out of this humiliating position, settles for flopping over the demon Crowley’s shoulder in such a way that the black, clotted blood dribbling out of their mouth splats grotesquely down the front of Crowley’s shirt.

“Thank you. Thanks for that,” Crowley says, grabbing underneath Beelzebub's legs to hike the demon a little higher on his back.

“Welcome,” Beelzebub replies, and more blood dribbles out.

Snatching the jar of Hellfire from the table, Crowley clutches it to his chest. With his other hand scooped behind Beelzebub’s leg to keep them in place, he kicks the door open and prowls, piggy-backing Beelzebub, prince of Hell, into the halls of Heaven.

Beelzebub, bouncing with Crowley’s every loping step, has closed their eyes. Head lolling forward, they’ve half given into the encroaching darkness, when Crowley’s annoying, incessant mutterings drag them back into full consciousness. 

“-now for this to work, I’ll just have to-”

The jar lid pops open. Hellfire leaps up, red flames lapping at the edges of the jar and the nearby grasping fingers. Beelzebub can feel it - the rich, tantalizing heat, and slumps forward, breathing in the fire’s acrid scent.

Crowley carelessly drops the jar, and it clatters across the floor as eager flames wrap around the demon’s wrists; they twist, winding up and around his forearms. It’s at that point that Crowley resumes walking. He does nearly trip over the dropped jar, but manages to stay on his feet with a skip and a hop. 

With each step, Crowley mutters sibilant syllables beneath his breath. They are rich as velvet, coaxing the fire with ancient, saccharine promises.

Beelzebub is generally repulsed by Crowley, but not enough to resist perching their chin on Crowley’s shoulder when the first flickers of flames slide over Beelzebub’s dangling arms. They sigh, going limp with relief as revitalizing flames sink into their skin.

Crowley continues walking and chanting and only stumbling occasionally. And Beelzebub hates Crowley, they really do, but they have to admit - he’s not bad at coaxing Hellfire. Beelzebub can feel the healing warmth of the flames sinking into the marrow of their very being. 

“You awake, Lord Buzziest?” Crowley asks, hiking up Beelzebub from their slowly sliding descent down his back.

When Beelzebub opens their eyes to a completely unfamiliar hall, they have the abrupt and horrifying realization that they had indeed drifted briefly to sleep. While being piggy-backed, no less. Would the humiliations never cease?

“Of course I’m awake,” Beelzebub grouses, digging a bony knee into Crowley’s side. “And no nicknames.”

“Alright, alright,” Crowley says, hands up. “I’ve given you all the Hellfire, by the way. Is it working?”

Beelzebub straightens up, pressing a hand against their chest. Eyes closed, they draw a long breath in. Breathing out, they tip their head from side to side, cracking their neck.

“Yeah,” Beelzebub answers, fingers splayed across dry, cracking blood. “Starting to.” 

They hadn’t expected the Hellfire to make them good as new, but it has at least kick-started the process. Beelzebub can feel the infernal energy within themself stirring, slowly mending what had very nearly been irreparably broken.

“I’m looking for Aziraphale, or Gabriel - or I guess, really anyone,” Crowley says, the tension in his voice embarrassingly undisguised. “They’re not where I expected them to be. At least based on the earlier racket.”

Beelzebub’s lip curls in disgust at the emotional display, but nonetheless closes their eyes, spreading their awareness wide. 

Heaven is... not exactly what Beelzebub remembers. Not that they remember much. But somehow, in those blotchy, indistinct recollections, it is brighter, louder, warmer. Safe. 

And there definitely wasn’t a malignant, pulsing thing in the central courtyard. 

“The thing is in the innermost courtyard,” Beelzebub says, opening their eyes. “Don’t know if your stupid angel’s with it.”

“Alright then,” Crowley replies, and promptly sets off in that direction.

He’s halfway down the corridor before Beelzebub fully processes the significance of Crowley’s unilateral decision.

“Hey! Hey! Hold up!” Beelzebub says, weakly digging their heels underneath Crowley’s ribs. “I don’t want to go near that thing. Put me down!”

Crowley doesn’t slow. “Can you walk on your own yet?” he asks, yellow eyes rolling up behind his dumb glasses.

The tingling ache in Beelzebub’s extremities suggests they probably cannot. It’s infuriating and humiliating and Beelzebub wants to die.

Crowley takes their silence as an answer. “Guess you’re tagging along, then,” he says with a grim smile.

“I hate you. With the entirety of my being.”

Whistling, Crowley walks faster.

As they approach the courtyard, the air begins to feel heavy, and it tastes - tart, cloying, rotten. Beelzebub’s lips curl back, and they warily suck the air between sharpening teeth.

“Demon Crowley,” Beelzebub orders, fingers curling over his shoulders as their sharp gaze scans from left to right. “Go slowly.”

Crowley, for once in his miserable existence, listens. Rolling through his steps, he prowls cautiously into the courtyard.

It’s exquisite - if you’re into uninspired pale flagstone and modern, geometric looking decorative fountains. The bodies on the ground don’t at all fit with the aesthetic.

The Archangel Gabriel is slumped over the edge of the fountain, golden blood sliding down his arm, dripping into cloudy water. The second figure is crumpled closer to the center of the courtyard - as though they’d put themselves between the archangel and whatever had been attacking him. The second one, though further away and also face down, is obviously Crowley’s angel - Aziraphale.

Crowley makes a pitiable, strangled sound, and Beelzebub just knows he’s going to charge out into the courtyard. Nails shifting to claws, Beelzebub digs them into Crowley’s shoulder.

“He lives, Crowley, I can feel the flicker of life from all the way over here,” Beelzebub hisses at his ear. 

Beelzebub can feel Gabriel’s life as well, a bright flare of energy at the fountain’s edge.

“Do not rush in,” Beelzebub continues, clenching at cloth and skin, “Something watches from the shadows.”

Crowley stiffens at that. Head tilted, he slowly, carefully, pulls down his glasses. 

“Who’s there?” he calls out.

Beelzebub shivers, the hairs on the back of their neck rising, one by one. Not daring to breathe, not daring to move, Beelzebub watches the space they know a creature waits.

At the courtyard’s edge, a figure unfolds itself from the shadows.

It is...an angel. The short, balding one. Sandalphon, if Beelzebub recalls correctly. 

Beelzebub and Crowley watch as the angel Sandalphon strolls out of darkness. His pale, pudgy hands are folded in front of his stomach, and he narrows his eyes, chin tilting inquisitively up as he inspects them.

Crowley looks from that angel to his angel, and Beelzebub digs their nails deeper into his flesh. Do not move. Do not move, Beelzebub thinks, squeezing.

Sandalphon tilts his head and speaks. “The angels fought me. And then they ran from me. At least, they tried to.” 

The voice that emerges from his throat is layered and ringing and it leaves Beelzebub with more than a passing inclination to shove their claws deep into their own ears, if only to make it stop.

“I thought I’d conquered all of Hell,” Sandalphon continues, lips quirking in puzzlement, “and yet here, in Heaven of all places, I find two unconquered demons wandering about.”

“Conquered?” Beelzebub growls, mind racing. 

They’d fled Hell after Satan had gone mad and started attacking his Princes. At the time, everything had been a giant fucking mess, and Beelzebub had made a tactical retreat to recover. Hell had been chaotic, sure - but conquered? 

Crowley cuts in before Beelzebub can say another word. “You’re not Sandalphon, are you?”

The thing smiles wide, revealing the angel’s ostentatious gold capped teeth. “I’m wearing Sandalphon. Just like I’m wearing Satan. And the demons and angels who weren’t quite quick enough.”

“Satan-” Beelzebub breathes, trembling. They’d thought he’d been bespelled. or some level of possessed, but this was - unforgivable.

“And God?” Crowley cuts in, voice sharp.

The thing tilts its head in a jagged, unnatural jerk. “She disappeared before I could get my hands on her, I’m afraid. Awfully cruel of her, I say, abandoning all of you like that. Though I suppose you two are rather used to it.”

“What the fuck are you?” Beelzebub snaps.

“Oh!” And the thing wearing Sandalphon like a second skin gives a start, “I didn’t introduce myself, did I?”

Sandalphon’s head dips forward. From the back of his neck, pale, twisting limbs unfold. Like spider’s legs, bent and folded back over themselves, they jerkily unfurl. There must be at least eight, and at the end of each limb, bony, clawed hands splay - reaching. The pale, sickly limbs spread out, lifting a creature which emerges from the back of Sandalphon with a frankly horrifying squelch. The thing is limpid and waifish, and watches them with black, eternity old eyes.

“Dear creatures of this poor, dying universe, you may call me Entropy.”

“Entropy?” Beelzebub hisses.

As Crowley says, “This universe?”

The thing smiles, and it’s mouth is a void. “Everything ends, honey. I hop from place to place, returning universes to the nothing from which they came.”

“Why?” Crowley asks.

“Why not?” the thing answers, void smile spreading across the lower half of it’s narrow face.

And then Crowley is unhooking Beelzebub’s arms. When he lowers them down, Beelzebub hates how their legs, still embarrassingly weak, give out beneath them. Teeth gritted, Beelzebub kneels on cold flagstone.

Crowley steps away, turning toward the abomination of limbs and hands.

“Demon Crowley?” Beelzebub calls when he takes a careful step forward.

“Gonna get Aziraphale,” Crowley says, soft.

The thing - Entropy - looks down. Round eyes unblinkingly survey the courtyard. 

“Aziraphale,” it says, singing the name in that horrifying voice. “Is he the soft looking one? He did put up a formidable fight.”

“I’m taking him with me,” Crowley says, low and dangerous.

The thing laughs and it’s so awful Beelzebub has to physically refrain from flinching back. “No. No you’re not,” it says, and laughs again. “He’s strong. And I need the strong ones. I like wearing them best. And if I’m not careful, even the strong ones-”

The clawed hands encircling Sandalphon squeeze. Within moments, black cracks are crawling ominously over the angel’s form. The air begins to whine. Then, with a pop the angel’s form folds in. He shatters into a cloud of black and gold dust that falls silently to the floor.

“Oops,” the thing exclaims.

Beelzebub and Crowley stare, mouths open and the pile of angel at the creature’s feet.

That kind of power is...Beelzebub can’t conceive of it. Not that they have time to try. Before the last Sandalphon dust speck has fallen, Crowley launches into motion.

“Shit,” Beelzebub breathes, because this is not a fight any angel or demon can win.

Crowley gets to Aziraphale before the creature does, but he only just has time to drag Aziraphale aside before a clawed hand spears down, piercing clear through the stone tile. Crowley, scrambling, drags Aziraphale back, avoiding a second stabbing hand.

“Move faster you idiot,” Beelzebub shouts.

“Trying to,” Crowley yelps, yanking his angel another several feet back, barely avoiding the third strike.

He’s not going to make it, Beelzebub realizes with a sinking certainty. Crowley has always been a slippery one, but this thing - this Entropy - is like nothing Beelzebub has ever encountered. It has the strength to casually turn an angel to dust, and Crowley was half-exhausted when they entered the courtyard. 

Beelzebub should get the hell out of here - while the Entropy creature is preoccupied with Crowley. 

Bracing their hands on cold stone, Beelzebub, rises on shaking legs. Their legs burn - and not in the good way. Clenching their jaw, Beelzebub sways, remaining determinedly upright. They take an unsteady step back, away from the chaos in the courtyard.

Behind them, Crowley screams.

Beelzebub, shaking with effort, looks back.

Crowley is on the ground, one leg speared by the creature’s clawed fingers. He’s pushed Aziraphale behind him as the creature, balanced on pale, spindly legs, rises above them both. It’s speaking, void-black mouth stretched in that wide, unsettling grin.

“Poor, poor demon,” it croons, and presses the claw deeper. “Abandoned by God. Left to rot in Hell. And then you didn’t even fit in there did you? What kind of outcast doesn’t even fit in with the outcasts?”

The claw twists and Crowley gasps.

Beelzebub closes their eyes, clenching aching muscles in an effort to remain upright. If they are going to escape, it’s now or never.

“I do want the angel,” the creature says, it’s porcelain face looming over Crowley, “but don’t you worry demon - I’ll mercifully end your miserable existence.”

Beelzebub moves.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A creature calling itself Entropy is revealed! It seems to have plans to end this universe, and has already single handedly conquered both Heaven and Hell (yikes). Entropy intends to use Aziraphale and to kill Crowley, and Beelzebub is left with a choice. Beelzebub will…

Fight. Mustering their remaining strength, Beelzebub will show this Entropy abomination the hell a real demon is capable of raising. It’s not that they care about Crowley (or his stupidly nice angel)….they just don’t want to feel like they owe him.

Flee. Beelzebub is a survivor. They are injured and weak and they are not about to enter into a fight they have little hope of surviving. Sorry Crowley….it’s nothing personal. (Note: this will result in an immediate POV shift)

Please comment or reblog to vote! :) 

(also, I absolutely love all of you who have been taking the time to explain the reasoning behind your votes. It’s always interesting to see where you all are coming from!)

Part 16

[angstyaches]

Come Back to Me Pt.2

Come Back to Me Pt.1

All of my OCs? At this time of day, is this part of a public park with one wielding a Ouija board, one possessed by a demon, and one unconscious on the ground?... May I see it? 

I’ll shut up now.

CW: fainting, hunger/disordered eating mention, panic

Swallow the World: The Ouija Board, Pt. 4

“No, don’t!” Charlie gasped, throwing out his hand. 

He swallowed and closed his fingers into a fist in panic, realising he’d been about to use his telekinesis to push away the guy Shayne had been calling Elliott. He wasn’t even sure how that would work, and thinking about it was making his stomach feel queasy. 

“Just – please don’t touch him,” he said. 

Elliott scoffed. “I’m not going to hurt him.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Charlie said. “It’ll panic him even more.”

Elliott blinked slowly, like Charlie’s words were giving him a migraine. “You’re already touching him. He’s basically in your lap.”

“Yeah, but he knows – he knows it’s me. I think.” Charlie squeezed Shayne’s hand, despite it being limp now. Please, please know it’s just me.

“Look, I know he hates my guts, but we’re family. Kind of.” Elliott looked down at Shayne and motioned upwards with his hands. “We should be getting his legs up, so the blood can go back to his head –”

“No, no, please, just give us a minute.” Charlie’s voice was shaking with tears that were threatening to choke him. “Can – can you go get Rin? The girl talking to your friend. I think he’s worried about her, so if she comes back, maybe –”

“Right. Alright,” Elliott nodded before heading in the direction of the table where they’d seen Rin.

Shayne had stopped shaking as soon as he’d fallen unconscious, but that had been when Charlie had started. He still wasn’t really sure what had happened; he’d barely scraped together enough mental and physical strength to ease Shayne down to the ground and hold him there, still clutching the hands he’d been forced to hold as Shayne put himself between Charlie and what he’d perceived as danger.

“What the hell’s going on, huh?” Charlie whispered gently, easing Shayne’s head back against his chest as it started to roll back.

“Oh my god, what happened?” Rin gasped as she ran up and dropped to her knees next to Charlie.

“I don’t know, I – I don’t know. He fainted on me. Have you got any water? Shit, Rin,” Charlie said, his voice getting louder, his thoughts growing more panicked now that there was someone to voice them to. “I knew he’d been skipping lunch at school, and I assumed he was eating at home, but –”

“Hey,” Rin said, pulling out her water bottle and quickly patting Charlie’s arm. “Calm down, okay? This isn’t your fault. Here, hold onto his head. Let’s lay him down properly.”

Shayne made a soft whimpering sound and tried lifting his head as they moved him. Charlie shifted across the grass, setting Shayne’s head in his lap. Rin lowered her face so she could examine his, and she frowned when his eyelids fluttered open and shut again.

“Hey, babe,” she said, laying a hand on his cheek. “Everything’s alright, see? We’re all fine.”

“You – you can’t…” Shayne’s head began to roll forward off Charlie’s knee.

“Hey, stay with us, okay?” Charlie pleaded, holding him a little more firmly in place. “We need to know what’s going on with you.”

“Nothing,” Shayne managed to say. “I-I’m fine.”

“Babe, you’re after fainting,” Rin snapped, unscrewing the cap from her water bottle. She held it to Shayne’s mouth, not letting go even when he half-heartedly put a hand up to the bottle. She clicked her tongue as he took weak sips. “You’re a wreck. We should’ve left you at home.”

Charlie opened his mouth to say something, but instead glanced over to see Elliott talking with the hooded figure who’d been sitting with Rin. They were standing about twenty feet away, and the hooded guy smiled tightly when he caught Charlie’s eye. He took a step forward, despite Elliott trying to put out a hand to hold him back.

“Hey, how’s he doing?” the boy asked in a soft voice. He knocked back his hood to reveal bright mint hair that he’d tied in two little bunches. Hugged to his chest was a long, flat package wrapped in brown paper.

Charlie blinked at a sudden sharp stab of pain behind his left eye, similar to the pain he got when threatened with a warding jar. The demon, Charlie Two, was clearly unhappy with whatever was in that package, and Charlie One knew exactly what it was.

He felt Shayne tilt his head and look up.

“Charlie, don’t – don’t touch that thing, it’s –”

“I’m not, I’m not,” Charlie whispered, never taking his eyes off the seller. He curled his fingers into Shayne’s hair, making sure he wasn’t exerting himself.

“If it’s his blood sugar, I’ve got something that might help -”

“No, Fee,” Elliott scolded, snatching away whatever was in the mint-haired boy’s other hand. Charlie hadn’t been paying it any attention. “You can’t give those to humans.”

“He’s not all human, you said.”

“Well, he’s not a vampire either, boo.” Elliott reached for the seller’s hand and drew him a few feet back across the grass.

Charlie looked at Rin. “Did he just say –?”

Rin nodded, widening her eyes and mimicking opening her mouth to reveal fangs.

Charlie blew out a breath from between his lips and leaned forward to get a look at Shayne’s face. His eyes were still fluttering open and shut weakly, like he was trying to stay awake but just couldn’t.

“No wonder you were worried about us,” Charlie said. He looked at Rin again. “He was saying something about these guys knowing Madelyn, or – or Madelyn knowing something about us. About me, maybe. He wasn’t very coherent.”

The way Shayne suddenly closed his fingers around Charlie’s told him that he’d heard him, and that he was right about what had paused him to panic. Charlie was certain his heart was pounding against his ribs, so close to Shayne’s head, but he tried not to think about that, and focused on gently squeezing his hand back.

“Well, Felix, with the hair,” Rin was explaining, “he said it’s the Aldridge vampires that are watching us, and he seems to feel really bad about it. Does any of that mean something to you, Shayne?”

Shayne let out a shaky breath, moving his hand away from Charlie’s and pressing it into the grass instead. He carefully started to push himself upright, glancing gratefully at Rin as she supported his shoulder. 

Charlie hadn’t realised his legs had started to go numb; as Shayne had fainted into his arms, Charlie had knelt, trapping his ankles beneath both of their weight. He unfolded his legs in front of himself, draping his arms over his knees. 

“They’re a different clan, but I bet Madelyn’s still – still…” Shayne looked like he was slumping forward, but Charlie could see he was just trying to get his bearings while his body still felt so heavy. “Fuck. Sorry. I feel weird.”

“Aw – hey, we know,” Rin assured him.

Charlie nodded, trying not to look too horrified at the deathly colour in Shayne’s face. He didn’t have to look at it for too long, because Shayne turned again so that he could rest his forehead against Charlie’s shoulder.

“Been trying to – to keep your house safe,” he mumbled. “Too many demons, Charlie, so many. Fuck, I – I can’t – I’m trying –”

Charlie’s head tingled, and he looked over his shoulder just before Felix cleared his throat next to them. Elliott was hanging back and rubbing at his forehead. Charlie felt a bit nauseous, and couldn’t take his eyes off the wrapped Ouija board.

You don’t like that thing either, huh? No, we don’t.

“We, um, we’d like to offer you a lift back home, or wherever?”

Felix glanced between Charlie and Rin, offering a nervous smile. Now that he knew to look for them, Charlie could just about make out two short fangs.

“Elliott will be the one driving,” Felix said. “I’ll be the one apologising profusely to everyone present, so there’s that to look forward to.”

Charlie swallowed thickly as he glanced at Elliott and noticed the impatient glance that he was throwing Felix’s way. He had never seen Shayne as panicked as he’d been before fainting, and family or not, it had all started when Elliott appeared. That wasn’t something that could be so easily shaken off.

He looked down at Shayne, who hadn’t moved his forehead from Charlie’s shoulder. Taking the lift seemed much more desirable than trying to get him home on the train, Charlie reckoned, as Shayne let out a small sigh.

“Charlie, my stomach hurts,” he said, almost inaudibly.

Charlie’s breath caught in his throat.

No shit, your stomach hurts, he thought a second later. You think maybe it’s from digesting demons, and starving yourself, passing out, and not talking to me about –

He felt like he might black out himself, or else burst into tears. You tried to tell me, didn’t you?

“It’s okay.” Charlie closed his eyes for a moment, putting his hand on top of Shayne’s as his fingers curled weakly into the grass. “We’re gonna get you home. Then you can tell me everything.”

[mysterious-prophetess]

BnHA/MHA Thoughts in Light of recent chapters

I’ve let myself have more time to digest 287 so here are some more thoughts and personal opinions. I reference an previous post-linked here- a couple of times..

1) Shigaraki is never going to be free of a vestige of AfO trying to take over at anytime. This is due to the fact that AfO explained that his version of vestiges/lingering bits of genetic memories from stolen quirks only left him whenever he got rid of those quirks. Shigaraki is not about to get rid of the quirk called All for One since he is Izuku’s foil and Izuku is the holder of One for All. 

Therefore, it doesn’t matter what Shigaraki does to that mental form of AfO, as long as he as that quirk, he has that vestige just lurking, waiting. 

It’s pretty much the closest to a form of demonic possession the BnHA/MHA universe has. Which, leads me to my next train of thought.

2) What will become of the AfO in the real world locked up in Tartarus now that his original quirk is in Shigaraki like a trojan horse virus with part of his consciousness in it. 

We know he has a “copy” of his old quirk but since he was the original holder it doesn’t seem to be as...lessened as any other copies he’s given out before--see Nine from the second BnHA movie of very questionable canon. I phrase it like that, btw, because it just doesn’t quite fit the same way the first one does. I digress, back to AfO the Potato Bastard in a cell. Either he is going to go braindead/just plain dead or something else is going to happen. Something big.  and it’s not going be seen coming because Horikoshi is tricky. 

My bestie pointed out, Horikoshi’s favorite tactic to keep fans off balance is the “distract and drop” method wherein he’ll go from one very exciting thing to another. It’s a good trick and he does it well without it feeling jarring within a story. So, we might not find out for awhile if anything has happened to AfO the person during all of this. So what’s the something big?

 I still think he’s going to prison break. I felt that since he was locked up. Will he be a focus? No because Shigaraki vs Izuku is the focus. We’re in a sequel to an All Might vs AfO the man story and we’re still missing a lot of pieces from that tale. AfO missing his original quirk is still diminished a lot like All Might without One for All, which is another great parallel going on but I just feel like there is something else to it. I just don’t have enough in text clues to figure it out.

3) The Secret of One for All is going to end up known. 

Maybe not all of the secrets but if we go back before Izuku went head first into a fight against Shigaraki, One for All was something being spoken about, even if people weren’t quite sure what it was. They knew it was something Shigaraki and the villains were after and once something like that is out there should be people digging into that phrase and whatever it is. I can’t fully remember how it was spoken about and my online source doesn’t let me go back more than two chapters prior to what is posted (I’ve gone legit for manga translations) but I’m half sure that someone who survived the rampage will still remember that One for All was something Shigaraki was after. 

4) From the way the manga’s been cutting back to Ochako, she and Toga are going to have a head to head and it’s not going to be pretty but it’s going to be major for Ochako’s character. 

This is because she has been cut to a lot in these past several chapters and showing up in art for these chapters despite not having her turn with “screen time” for the Jaku arc. I also think that Ochako isn’t going to approve of Twice’s death but her answer is still going to push Toga over the deep end. 

5) We are going to get Dabi vs Endeavor-probably. 

I listed this so far down because it’s one of those things that I think is semi-obvious because it was set up after the High-end Nomu gave Endeavor his come-to-kami-moment (and made him realize what shit dad he was). Dabi will either go off on his own and pick this fight or it’ll be an ambush on the retreating Shoto as he tries to get his injuried friends and father to safety and Endeavor shows he’s not as down for the count as he appeared. 

6) More explanations from my first post about why I now think DfO is dead in the water.

Firstly, I love that theory so I’m not trashing it. It’s a fun theory full of angsty goodness.

Secondly, 

I’ll elaborate in less vague terms now that I’ve had time to let this digest. 

AfO the malevolent vestige inside the fight between the quirks called Izuku “worthless” which is what gave me Master Xehanort vibes because he called Sora a dull, ordinary boy” at one point in one of the numerous in-between-quels prior to KH3′s release. 

So, AfO the vestige thinks Izuku was a bad choice because he was a “worthless” boy unworthy of the power he coveted. Like I said in my other post, this is what sinks DfO because even at his angriest, AfO the person and the vestige never seemed to call first OfA worthless even at his most pissed. He’d called first OfA pathetic, though. 

Which means this might be partly a red-herring or AfO the vestige is warped by Shigaraki’s hatred of Izuku. AfO the vestige could also be warped by his hatred of his brother refusing to submit AND the fact that Izuku now has something he desperately covets which leads to this sour grapes moment of “you chose someone worthless” with the added unspoken caveat of ‘worth less than me who wants it more.’

First OfA also called out AfO on his tactics of just seeing people as tools he could use. I wouldn’t put it past AfO to have spawned an offspring for the science and been disappointed by a “worthless quirkless” child. So, there is still some slight hopes but I am not optimistic but that’s ok. 

AUs were made for those things that aren’t canon and AUs are my favorite things about fandoms.

[adobe-outdesign]

The Big Grand DCTL Review/Critique

In my previous liveblog I said that I’d do an overall review/rating kind of thing to summarize my thoughts on the book, so here you go.

No Spoilers: So I’ll preface by saying the book isn’t bad. It has it’s... moments, but it’s pretty enjoyable overall. The FNAF books, for example, were fun to read but they were also a hot fucking mess. This is not a hot fucking mess  - it has its flaws but it’s pretty decent over all.

Spoilers below the cut:

The Canon-ness of the Book

I would like to say first off that I really don’t think this book is meant to be 100% canon - not to say it isn’t canon, but I don’t think it’s supposed to lie up with the games perfectly.  It was approved of by Kindlybeast, but they didn’t write it - Adrienne Kress did, they just helped to develop it.

To explain better: There are a lot of contradictions in this book with the main lore. Some are more minor and could potentially be waved away, but others are extremely glaring. Here’s a short list of the ones that come to mind:

In the book, the Ink Machine is secret and almost no one knows about it. In the game everyone knows and actively complains about the machine on a daily basis. In the Employee Handbook, there’s even a memo from Joey proudly introducing the Machine to everyone.

The book claims you put ink into the Machine and it changes it in some way (effectively running on ink). In the game, it seems to produce ink itself - Joey’s memo kind of indicates this, as does the blueprints, and Wally’s “who really needs that much ink anyway” makes less sense if they’re putting ink into the machine rather than it making the ink.

Plus on Thomas’ board he has a list of the gallons of ink produced each day, with the highest amount written with exclamation points - if it ran on ink this doesn't make sense, as to get 423 gallons of ink he would’ve had to have put 423 gallons of ink into the thing to begin with.

Sammy is wildly OOC in this, as he’s basically a feral asshole throughout the thing, while in canon his merch description calls him a “decent person” and he generally seems agreeable most of the time, except for when he’s annoyed. The book even claims he doesn’t refer to women by their last names, while Susie’s tape tells us the exact opposite (as according to her he referred to Allison as “Miss Allison Pendle”).

Bertrum is also OOC in this - in canon, he’s extremely egotistical and hates Joey for multiple reasons. In the book, they’re buddies (even hugging each other) and Bertrum seems more humble. He doesn’t even correct Joey on calling him “Bertie”, when he had an entire tape about how much he dislikes being called that in the game.

The timeline for this part is also very wrong - it’s treated as if they just met (which could explain why Bertrum doesn’t dislike him yet)... but Bendyland was in progress for years before the studio went to hell, and he even has his BATDR tape (wherein he’s actively disliking Joey) dated years before this book takes place.

This also makes it kind of impossible for him to be the octopus ride like in canon, because he literally just joined the studio when Joey started killing people (and keep in mind that designing and building a ride like that would have taken at least a year or two).

The ink is, for some reason, somewhat alive, able to move around on it’s own and possess people. This was never indicated in the game, ever.

Buddy wakes up as Boris. In the game, stuff like Grant’s tape indicate the ink creatures wake up and then transform (the files even have an unused transformation tape from Wally, who’s likely our Boris). You can kind of headcanon around this one if you try though.

At the end, Norman and a few background characters die. Joey says he didn’t use the machine on them because they had been infected by the ink for too long and didn’t have souls any more. This means that, according to the book, The Projectionist cannot exist (as Norman wouldn’t have had a soul to use and Joey outright says he couldn’t/didn’t use the machine on them in the first place).

Some of these are pretty minor, but some of them are extremely glaring and even casual gamers would pick up on this stuff.

Basically, we have two options: Either Kindlybeast doesn’t know their own story/characters too well, or they didn’t require this to line up perfectly with the games. Except the first option doesn’t make sense, because they’ve recently published stuff that contradicts what’s said in this book in favor of matching the actual lore from the games, proving they do know their own story.

For ampel, Bertrum’s BATDR tape, which lines up with the game’s lore and corrects the mistakes in DCTL, was released in March - long after this book was in production. The thing about the Ink Machine being secret was also disproved in the recently-released Handbook, which instead says they employees do know about the Machine, just like they do in the game. So Kindlybeast do know these things don’t line up with canon.

I think basically they approached Adrienne and were like “hey, can you write a prequel novel based on our game?” and while they offered her some guidance, she mostly just did her own thing based off of it (she even said it felt like working on fanfiction while writing it) and Kindlybeast liked it and published it. It’s an adaptation of the game and its lore, done by a new person - things tend to change in adaptations. I don’t think they needed or cared if it lined up like puzzle pieces, they just wanted a good story, which they got. It is canon... but it’s also not, if that makes sense.

So for our intents and purposes I’d consider this semi-canon - take what you can as canon (which is most of it, as the most major contradictions also tend to be the shortest scenes) and ignore the stuff that doesn’t line up with canon, unless otherwise stated by Kindlybeast or confirmed in BATDR.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

Overall, I’d say this book is about 70% good and 30% bad. When it is good, it is really, really damn good - but when it’s bad it leaves an awful taste in your mouth that’s hard to get rid of.

The Good:

Like... the majority of the book, really

Buddy and Dot are wonderful characters with strong personalities. They’re super likeable, bring some much-needed heart into things, and have great chemistry.

While some of the aforementioned characters are majorly OOC, the ones that are in-character (Joey and Norman are good examples) are amazing - every scene with them is gold and the book really fleshes out their personalities.

Some of the new lore tidbits are great, and help explain some things in the game (like how Lost Ones are created) or are just interesting (like Sammy drinking the ink and the idea of the ink being able to infect people, which sounds like something that could have directly come from the games).

The book goes into way more depth about what being a cartoon/ink creature is like, which is some much-needed exposition and is extremely interesting.

It also has a ton of heart and good intentions. I was worried about it being overly dark, but if anything it has far more sweet moments than depressing ones.

The Bad:

The contradictions I mentioned above. Some of them are easy enough to ignore, but some are incredibly jarring and take you out of the story (and make it impossible to take it as 100% canon without breaking the space-time continuum).

I kind of mentioned it above, but the stuff with the ink being alive and possessing people comes right the fuck out of nowhere, has nothing to do with the game lore, is completely tonally dissonant to BATIM as a whole, and literally has nothing to do with the plot of the book, like, at all. It feels like a few pages from a Venom novel got mixed in with the early draft and no one remembered to remove them before publication.

The racist shit - it’s only like 1% of the book, but when that 1% of the book ruins a really good character it’s a pretty big deal.

A random NPC dies for no reason and this death has more relevance to the plot than Norman, who dies off-screen.

Also consider: They could’ve found Norman first, Buddy runs off to get back to his house, Norman follows and gets killed via neck snap. Fixes both problems at once.

There’s very little tension during the horror moments because we already know Buddy will die but not until the end and that Dot will live.

The Ink Demon acts more like an xenomorph than the Ink Demon in this - his behavior is bizarre and it feels pretty generically horror movie monster-ish compared to how he acts in the game.

The Ugly:

The B-plot with Buddy’s grandfather should have been cut. I know that sounds harsh, but really think about it: what effect did it have on the plot? It only crosses with the A-plot twice, and both times nothing came out of it. It gives Buddy a chance to learn how to draw and he goes through some character development, but I find it hard to believe that couldn’t have been accomplished by expanding the A-plot.

The main problem is that A) this is a BATIM novel so we want to see the studio, not Buddy’s relatives at home, and B) it makes it kind of slow towards the middle, wherein the stuff with the studio barely progresses while we keep cutting back to the B-plot.

I didn’t dislike reading it or anything, but it makes the plot flabby, and slicing it out would’ve given us much more time in the studio and the characters we like rather than trying to juggle two plots at once, effectively streamlining it and making for a more cohesive story.

The ending (like the last 5 chapters) is a hot mess in multiple and varying ways:

Sammy shows up and... gets knocked out by a projector. Which is funny, but it amounts to nothing plot-wise and makes Sammy’s whole appearance kind of pointless

Killing off a bunch of characters, one of which was a main character, off-screen

The weird Venom shit that has nothing to do with the plot of the books or the games and amounts to nothing

Bendy acting fairly OOC, especially with how he goes about killing people 

Buddy grabs the idiot ball bard by trying to drown a creature made of ink in ink, then standing right near the spot so he can be grabbed and killed

Not only does the “can’t use them because they had been infected for too long and no longer had souls” thing not only raises the aforementioned plot hole with the Projectionist, but it raises a plot hole in the book itself: When the other are exposed to the ink they die, but when Sammy drinks the stuff he turns into a Lost One. Which one is it?

Keep in mind that that was more bullet points in those 30-some pages than I have for the entire rest of the book

There are only like... two actual horror scenes in the book, and one of those is the climax. While it makes sense that too much couldn’t have happened before the ending, it feels like there could have been more than that.

Not all of the characters from the games appear. I know it’s a tall ask but it’s also easy to see how they could have been integrated, and some of them could have easily taken the roles that were given to NPCs instead.

I feel like this book would be more engaging as a non-fan, as the plot tends to progress like a mystery, with you learning a bit more about what’s happening with every scene in the studio... except as a fan you already know what’s happening, so there’s little to keep you engaged until you get into that nice juicy lore at the end.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s lots of little details that tell us new info and the character interactions are great, but a lot of the scenes are just like “Surprise, Sammy is crazy!” and it’s like thanks, we already knew that. The mystery is supposed to build and move the plot forward, but there’s effectively no mystery.

Overall Rating

I’m worried this review is going to come across as overly negative, as it’s much easier to critique what’s wrong than it is to say “this part was good!” like 200 times. But all of the stuff I was talking about that’s an issue? That’s like... 30% of the book, maybe less. Some of the most problematic scenes you could literally remove and loose nothing plot-wise (which is frustrating but you know). The bulk of the book is very good, the lore stuff when handled correctly is amazing and it even provides some extra answers that we didn’t have before, and the characters are great.

Overall, I’d give the book a solid... 7/10, I think. Not perfect, but pretty damn decent all around. If you’re a fan, I’d highly recommend picking up a copy if you haven't already.

[ladylynse]

Happy birthday, @sapphireswimming! I wrote you a superphantom fic. Also...this got away on me. A lot. It was supposed to be short and--well, not sweet, more angsty, but still. Now it’s just shy of 6 K.

Note: More swearing and threats than actual violence.

-|-

Bewitched: [FF | AO3] Sam and Dean thought they were dealing with some centuries-old he-witch. That isn’t quite the case.

-|-

The signs had been more along the lines of impossible robberies than bloody murders, but Sam and Dean had been fairly sure they were on the trail of some centuries-old he-witch.

The creep changed his name in every town, though he was still recognizable by his out-of-place clothes and snake oil schemes. He was able to get into places that were locked up without leaving a trace, grab whatever he wanted, and disappear. Between appearances, he dropped off the grid. He seemed a little too good at that to be human, or at least an ordinary human, so when Sam saw that newspaper article and put two and two together, they’d decided to take a road trip to Michigan and check him out before he skipped town. Just to be safe.

Now?

Dean wasn’t so sure about any of that now.

If the guy was a witch, he sure as hell wasn’t using any magic to save his ass. He wasn’t even trying to fight them. He was cowering in a corner, trying to hide from their guns behind a wooden table. Dean and Sam both had different weaponry and ammunition on them—silver and iron bullets and even slugs packed with rock salt, though only Dean had a sawed-off shotgun with him, strapped to his back—in case they were wrong about what kind of monster this guy was, but….

Dean met Sam’s eyes, and Sam nodded and pulled out a flask of holy water. Probably not a demon—even with their reputation, most demons seemed to think they could take them and those that didn’t would’ve smoked out by now—but better to be safe than sorry.

Dean kept his pistol steady as Sam approached just near enough to toss the water onto their target. No burning. No smoking.

Crap. Maybe he was just a human monster after all. They hadn’t tried him with silver yet, but—

The door opened behind them. Dean spun around while Sam kept an eye on their target and found himself facing down a young girl, who promptly opened her mouth and screamed. Shit. While this cabin they’d tracked their target to was far enough away not to worry about more unexpected company, nothing in their intel had indicated that the guy had a kid. He couldn’t even remember someone matching her description being seen with him.

She wasn’t terribly old; thirteen, maybe, or fourteen or somewhere older than ten and younger than sixteen. He’d worry about her appearance—jarring red eyes and hair whiter than any platinum blonde dye job he’d seen before, which stood out against the black outfit—if their target wasn’t also doing the coloured contact thing. And the outlandish clothes thing.

Dean lowered the gun—not too far, since he knew better than anyone that even kids could be a threat if they were possessed by the right demon—but enough to hopefully stop her from screaming her head off if she was just an ordinary human girl. “Hey, it’s okay, this isn’t—”

Scuffling came from behind as their target stood up and Sam cocked his gun. “They’ve come for the final act,” the guy said. Gleefully. As if he were enjoying this.

Dean had no idea what the hell that was supposed to mean, so he risked a glance over his shoulder at Sam, who looked equally confused.

And then the last of their plan went sideways.

He didn’t see the blast that sent the pistol flying out of his hands, but he felt its heat. The girl wasn’t holding anything anymore—he couldn’t even see what she could’ve used to pack such a punch—but her stance had shifted. She wasn’t scared; she was focused. Hands balled into fists, feet apart, standing lightly and ready to move. To fight.

Salt rounds still hurt like a son of a bitch, especially close range, but better to bruise her than pull a knife. Besides, she wouldn’t know the ammo wasn’t going to do any lasting damage.

She didn’t react when Dean readied the shotgun. Hell, she didn’t even try to stop him. Didn’t attack, even when he’d been preoccupied. Which made zero sense, especially if she thought he was going to attack her.

He heard Sam moving behind him, shifting to better cover his back. The guy they’d tracked down still hadn’t tried anything, cryptic remarks aside. Definitely not a witch. Neither of them would still be armed if that were the case. But he had to have something up his sleeve.

He didn’t seem to recognize them—hadn’t called them by name, hadn’t seemed overjoyed or overly terrified by their appearance, now that the opening act was over—but that didn’t seem to matter to him. He hadn’t called them out as hunters, either.

But he also wasn’t trying to run, wasn’t trying to throw something at them or otherwise distract them so he could have a chance to get away. He hadn’t told his kid to run. Heck, he hadn’t even tried to keep their attention on him instead of her. Some parent that guy was. Or guardian. Whatever. Dean was pretty sure he’d make a better father than that dude, and that was saying something, considering how things had gone the last time he’d tried going domestic.

Sam was talking. Trying to calm the guy down. As if their target were the one holding the gun instead of staring down its barrel. There’s no way that was going to work. Especially since— “You’re responsible for all those robberies,” Dean said to the girl.

She grinned. It looked…wrong. Feral. It was an expression that belonged on a demon, not a kid.

“Christo,” Dean murmured, even as the man started ranting about payment. The girl’s eyes never went black, and she didn’t flinch. She was human after all.

Or at least not a demon.

“Don’t move.” That was Sam’s warning. If the guy was smart, he’d listen. Even if he managed to get the jump on Sam, it wouldn’t be enough to get out of here unscathed. They were used to taking on monsters. If these were ordinary people—

“Why don’t you light it up for the finale, my dear? Put on a little show for our…guests.”

Dammit, whatever that meant wasn’t going to be good.

Behind him, Dean was vaguely aware of a fight starting up—Sam had made a move or vice versa—but he was more concerned about the fact that the girl’s hands had caught fire. Not fire fire, some kind of green flame that smelled like burnt ectoplasm and hummed like electricity, but still something that shouldn’t be engulfing bare flesh.

The girl—or whatever she was—took a step forward, and Dean pulled the trigger. She staggered. And then she began to laugh. He shot her again.

He was definitely thinking more monster than girl now, which meant the other guy— “Sammy?” There’d been a crash a while back, and he didn’t know—

There was a grunt. Then, “Human. Out cold.”

“Yeah, well, I got a live one.” The salt wasn’t doing much to slow her down, not that it necessarily would, depending on what she was. She still hadn’t attacked him yet. She was giving him time to reload. Why?

Dean blinked, and the girl vanished.

Before he had a chance to complete his turn, he heard Sam’s surprised yelp.

That was why.

Jeez, she was fast. “Salt barely slows her down,” he yelled. Then, since he couldn’t see Sam through the hole he and the other guy had left in the wall, “I’m coming through.”

The room was tiny, barely two and a half feet wide despite running the length of the cabin, and was stuffed with jewels and gold and other valuables. Things that could be melted down or easily recut, reset, and sold off. Splinters and larger chunks of wood from the false wall were easily visible. Their initial target, as Sam had said, was out cold, looking like his head had cracked against a safe when they’d broken through the wall.

But Sam wasn’t there.

And neither was the girl.

Shit.

XXXXXXX

Sam hadn’t seen her move. He’d just felt someone grab him and then…nothing. He was conscious. Wide awake. But suddenly he couldn’t feel the floor beneath his feet, and then there was no floor beneath his feet and he was moving through the wooden wall as if it were just a hologram.

Reality crashed back a few seconds later when he hit wet ground with enough momentum that he skidded a few inches into a tree. The girl he’d glimpsed interrupting them earlier stood over him now. Even if it hadn’t been cloudy, he was pretty sure he’d have been able to see her glowing.

He’d think ghost if it weren’t for the fact that she was solid. He’d felt her. And he’d been thrown enough times by pure power, magic, or sheer force of will that he knew what that felt like, and this hadn’t been that.

Although he still wasn’t entirely sure how she’d thrown him through a wall without taking it out. A ghost wouldn’t have had an issue getting through, sure, but the pain and the damp made it pretty clear that he was still alive.

Sam started to get up, but the girl was suddenly on top of him again, pushing him down. She was surprisingly strong, even for a monster. He tried to twist away, and she just pressed harder, intent on shoving his shoulders into the tree behind him. With a jolt, he realized that if she could take him through a wall, she could just as easily take him partway through a tree.

He took more than one swipe at her, but his hands just passed right through her. Even clawing at her hands as they pinned him did little good; he could certainly feel something, the barest skin contact, but nothing substantial. He scratched at her, trying to inflict the only harm he could, but she didn’t flinch.

“Should I take your heart first?” she asked. Her smile revealed sharp teeth—not like a vamp’s or a werewolf’s, nothing so obvious, but they were unsettlingly long and uncannily pointed, too far past normal to be dismissed with the things he’d seen.

“He’d like that, I think,” she decided. “Your heart. And then your head. For what you did to his.”

He had to distract her. Give Dean enough time to figure something out, assuming she hadn’t taken him out first. Sam didn’t know what she was, if she was a human hopped up on some kind of monster juice, a monster with a human mask, or something in between. He started on a generic exorcism in case her powers were demon-related—

—and felt her hand in his mouth, holding his tongue, not so much as blinking when he closed his mouth. “I could rip this out.” Her head tilted. “Not quite an eye for an eye, but he wouldn’t mind. He wants me to be inventive. He encourages it.”

She wasn’t forcing him back anymore. She was still on top of him, lighter than someone her size should be but heavier than before, as if she were letting him feel more of her true weight—or forgetting that she was. He wondered if that meant more of her was solid again. She wasn’t using her strength to pin him down. If he could knock her off….

She released his tongue and sat back. “But if I do that now, you’ll never be able to apologize to him properly.”

He swallowed. “Couldn’t do that if you tore out my heart, either.”

She laughed. “I just need you to be able to talk. You don’t have to be alive for that.”

Unfortunately, he knew the truth of that, though there was no guarantee he’d ever come back as a ghost if she killed him.

Which, given what she’d done so far, he knew she could do.

“I’d still need my head.”

She seemed to consider this for a few seconds and shrugged. “Easier to find if you’re not in pieces.” She planted her right hand on his chest, directly over his sternum. “Still doesn’t mean I can’t—”

They heard the gunshot at the same time.

He felt her body weight vanish.

And then she shrieked, and her weight came back for a moment before she was off him, flying back towards—

Dean.

Sam scrambled to his feet.

He needed to help, but he didn’t know what was effective against her. Salt barely slows her down, Dean had said, and Sam had never lost sight of her. She wasn’t a ghost, but this wasn’t just magic, and even demons experienced some limitations when they took someone for a meatsuit—namely, they couldn’t just pass through walls like that. So what the hell had they walked into? They didn’t have time to do more research now, not when—

Sam ducked as Dean fired off another shot and ran, keeping low as he circled well out of Dean’s way. Not that that would help much with the speed that girl moved. Whatever kind of monster she was, she wasn’t new to the game. She had a handle on her abilities, whether she’d been turned early or born that way.

There was a flash of green and then a string of Dean’s curses. Sam didn’t need to stop running to see that Dean’s gun was on the ground and that the lichen-coated rock around it was scorched. He dove for it, but the girl was faster.

She only had a hand on it, but it was enough to make him slide right through it.

“What the hell do you want?” Dean bit out as the girl pointed the gun in their direction.

Sam got to his feet again, moving slowly and raising his arms so she knew he wasn’t going to go for any weapons that probably wouldn’t be effective anyway. Salt rounds might not kill them, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be shot, especially from this distance.

“You hurt him,” she said. Her grip on the gun wasn’t sloppy; whatever else she could do, she knew how to use a firearm. Great. “You need to apologize for that.”

“We’ll apologize,” Sam said, hoping to assure her now that she wasn’t at his throat, but she turned the gun on him and narrowed her eyes.

“You hurt him,” she hissed again. “I’m supposed to protect him, and you hurt him.”

“Hold up, you’re supposed to protect him? You?” Dean’s incredulous voice immediately drew her attention. “Shouldn’t it be the other way around? I mean, you’re just a kid.”

Sam knew what Dean was trying to do. Even though he wasn’t sure it would work, he pitched in. “Hey, you’re, what, thirteen? Fourteen?”

“I’m….” For the first time, she was hesitating. “I’m…. It doesn’t matter. I have to protect him. And you have to pay for what you’ve done.”

Sam glanced at Dean. He wasn’t the same person who’d killed Amy Pond in cold blood just because she’d been a monster. If this girl hadn’t actually killed anyone, if she was only threatening to now because they’d hurt her father, guardian, whatever, then….

“Look, kid, me and my brother, we’re good at first aid. We have to be in our line of work. So if you want to help your old man, you could start by letting us look at him.”

“He’s not my father,” she snapped. “And you’re the reason he’s hurt!”

“It was an accident,” Sam said, honestly enough. “We weren’t trying to kill him.” He’d seemed human, after all. And the explanation for all those robberies was in front of them. “I didn’t get a good look at his injuries, but—”

“Then fix him,” she said. “Fix him or I’ll hurt you like you hurt him.”

Sam met Dean’s eyes. They both knew how desperate she was, how likely she was to shoot them because of some perceived slight, and not necessarily with the gun in her hands. Still, they didn’t have a choice. If they couldn’t figure out what weapons would work on her, talking her down was their best bet. And if they couldn’t talk her down, if she flew off the handle, then they’d just have to throw everything they had at her and hope something worked.

“We’ll do everything we can,” Sam promised carefully. “We just need to look at—”

The girl rolled her eyes, tossed the gun to the side, and grabbed each of them by the arm. Sam wasn’t any more prepared for the sensation of moving through solid objects despite knowing it was coming, and it was disorienting to suddenly feel the wooden floorboards of the cabin beneath his feet.

He wasn’t surprised when Dean cursed and reached to steady himself on the opposite wall. Sam hadn’t felt the wind despite how quickly they’d been moved, which was in drastic contrast to every time a demon or ghost or witch or whatever had thrown them across the room.

“The hell was that?” grumbled Dean.

The girl glowered at him, so Sam knelt as best he could to check on their original target. He already had a goose egg, but the blood made it look worse than it was; it might not even need stitches by the time they cleaned him up. Sam did a quick once-over, but nothing else seemed to be amiss. “Help me with him,” Sam said, trying to manoeuvre so he could pick up the man without having anything else stacked in this place come tumbling down on them.

Dean grabbed the man’s feet, and he mumbled something as they hefted him. The girl was quick to sidestep as they carried him back to the main room—some open-complex living room/kitchen combo that they’d mostly trashed when this mess started—and dumped him on the couch. Dean went to get a wet cloth, and the girl’s gaze followed him.

Which gave Sam the opportunity to slip off and pocket the man’s pendant without either of them—the man or the girl—realizing. It bore engravings he recognized but couldn’t immediately identify, and he suspected it might tell him more about the girl and what sort of monster she was. The man was more cognizant when Dean returned, water and rag in hand, and Sam looked at the girl. “What’s his name?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

“Then what’s your name?” Dean shot back.

“Just fix him.”

“Just fix him,” Dean mimicked under his breath as he started to dab at the blood on the man’s head. “Look, I’ve got this. Head back to the car and see if you can find anything useful.”

Sam glanced at the girl. “Is that okay with you?” He knew what Dean was really asking—call someone, do some research, just see what he could find out—and he knew the girl would—should—assume Dean was just asking him to see if they had any supplies that might help.

She nodded once, and he hurried out before she could change her mind. He could always bring back the suture kit, and if he didn’t wait too long….

There was a small red stone set in the pendant, but it didn’t look like it belonged there. The gem itself was all sharp edges, more a shard than anything else, and the claws holding it in place looked to have been bent in with pliers. It was rough. Crude. Even the markings around it were homemade. Whoever had done this certainly wasn’t an expert at it.

They did, however, know what they were doing when it came to the runes themselves. Now that he got a better look at them, he could guess what they were for, despite modifications he hadn’t seen before. Most people knew better than to try to control ghosts.

Whoever Dean was trying to help inside was clearly not one of those people.

And the girl….

Possessed, maybe? An unwilling vessel for a ghost? Or a witch whose spell had gone wrong? She looked young, but that didn’t mean anything if she was a witch. Magic could explain what she could do, dragging them through solid walls like that. If he salted and burned this thing, maybe the ghost—

“You’re not helping.”

Sam jerked, dropping the pendant, and he turned around in time to see the girl’s expression melt from anger to confusion. Her feet and then hands and knees hit the ground. She was shaking. Panting.

He knelt and pocketed the pendant and the larger pieces of the red centerpiece—glass, he now realized—that had shattered when it had hit rock. “Hey,” he called softly, not wanting to touch the girl in case she snapped and did more than just threaten to tear out any important body parts, “you okay?”

She glanced up at him and scrambled backwards, flinging up pine needles and acorns in her haste to put some distance between them.

But it wasn’t enough distance for him not to notice how young she suddenly looked.

How scared.

Like someone who’d been possessed by a demon and suddenly found themselves free.

Considering her eyes were green now instead of red, that theory might still hold some water—even if they really were dealing with some kind of ghost and not a demon.

“My name is Sam,” he said, smiling at her. “What’s yours?”

“Dani.” The response was whispered. “I…I don’t…. I don’t know what….”

“It’s okay, Dani. My brother and I are here to help.”

She didn’t look convinced of that, but she didn’t shy away when he got back to his feet and walked over to help her up.

Instead, she stared at the pocket where he’d put the pendant. “What are you doing?”

“Helping,” he repeated.

She shook her head slowly and looked up at him again. “Not with that. Da— My cousin told me about that. About the gem that could do that. I didn’t think there was another one after he destroyed it. I thought I was safe.”

“And I just want to help you be safe.” Even if she was a monster, as long as she stopped this and didn’t kill anyone, hadn’t killed anyone, well. He couldn’t exactly fault her for what she’d done while she’d been possessed. His track record wasn’t good on that front. “Trust me.”

“I can’t trust you when I don’t know what happened,” she retorted, some of her earlier fire resurfacing. She climbed to her feet, ignoring his offered hand. “Where are we?”

“Michigan.” They weren’t really near any towns, and unless she knew the area—

Her breath hitched. “Oh, crud. I don’t know how long it’s been. The last thing I remember was that magic competition in California, and—” She broke off. “This has to be Freakshow. Have you run into Lydia or any of the other ghosts? They’re not still with him, are they?”

Sam blinked. All things considered, she was taking this remarkably well. “Who are Freakshow and Lydia?”

She made a face at him. “Lydia’s another ghost,” she said, her tone making it clear that she thought he wasn’t keeping up with her. Before he could question her on the fact that she’d said another ghost, she continued, “Freakshow’s the creep who had the gem that could control them. Us. Give it here and let me see it. The amulet thing, I mean.”

Sam raised his eyebrows but didn’t comply. “Us?”

She rolled her eyes and reached for his pocket, and his hand went through her arm when he tried to stop her.

Definitely not human, as if he’d needed any more proof.

But the fact that she withdrew her hand holding the pendant meant she wasn’t an ordinary ghost, either, even a relatively recent one with strong ties to her former life.

Ghosts couldn’t exactly transfer their intangibility to other objects, let alone travel long distances without being tied to anything in particular.

She studied the pendant for a few seconds before looking back up at him. “Do you think I can burn this?” she asked, and before he could answer, her hands lit up with that green fire again. He jumped back, and she said, “No, don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you.”

He wanted to believe her.

She was just a kid.

But he knew appearances could be deceiving. He knew the tricks monsters played on people. But she didn’t seem concerned that she was showing him her hand, showing him what she was, and she seemed to take the fact that he wasn’t freaking out himself in stride. Was it possible she was on friendly terms with a hunter? Could she have figured out what he was by his interest in the pendant, the fact that he and his brother were here? He hadn’t said that they were the Winchesters, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have put two and two together if she had any connections within the hunter community.

For all he knew, she could’ve run into Garth at some point after he’d been turned and learned which hunters she could trust.

“You have to salt and burn things to destroy them when they’re associated with ghosts,” he said quietly.

She stared at him. “Really? That’s what you think?” She glanced at the unharmed pendant, shrugged, and tossed it in his direction. He dodged, not sure if it would be hot when he didn’t know what kind of fire she could wield, and let it hit the rock at their feet. “Fine. Salt and burn it then. Just get rid of it and that stone.”

She didn’t make a move to run away or go back inside, just stood there with her arms crossed, so he grabbed the supplies from the trunk, wrapped the remains of the pendant in a cloth doused with lighter fluid, salted it, and set it on fire. He remembered the symbols well enough to be able to draw them again later and see if there was anything like them in the books the Men of Letters had written. Right now, he didn’t want to disobey her and wind up fighting an angry spirit who didn’t follow the same rules as the rest of them.

She was gone when he looked up again, but as he hadn’t heard any screaming, he figured that was by choice.

Hopefully, he’d taken the steps to making an ally and not an enemy.

XXXXXX

“Where’s the amulet?” the creep on the couch screeched as he lunged at Dean and tried to go through his pockets.

Dean, naturally, swore and fought back.

And blamed Sam.

Because, clearly, Sam had pickpocketed something their monster-turned-not-so-innocent-victim valued, and his little monster minion might still be hanging around invisibly and watching all this.

“I don’t have your freaking amulet,” Dean snarled, twisting the guy’s arm and finally succeeding in prying his hands off of Dean’s jacket. “Now sit your ass down and let me help you or I’ll just knock you out again to make my life easier.” He didn’t get hit with the freaky green fire the girl used when he said that, so he figured she was checking on Sam.

Just as well.

There was no way that would’ve gone over well, and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with the fallout. As if their lives weren’t messed up enough, things had to go sideways in the way that they always seemed to lately: unpredictably badly. Not uncharacteristically badly, sure, but bad in ways they couldn’t seem to account for.

“Give it back to me!” the guy shrieked, twisting so he could lash out with his feet.

Dean dodged and nailed him in the stomach with a well-placed punch that knocked the wind from him.

And then he felt the temperature in the room drop, saw his breath fog, and swore again.

He turned before the ghost girl had a chance to blast him in the back, but she wasn’t focused on him anymore. She was staring at the guy she was supposed to be protecting.

Even from across the room, he could see the anger on her face.

She wasn’t protecting him any longer.

She flew closer, not quite ignoring Dean but definitely not focusing on him, and shot ice out of her hands, neatly freezing the guy’s cloak to the couch.

He didn’t miss the fact that if she could do that, she could probably turn them all into popsicles, but she’d been careful enough to avoid touching skin.

“Freakshow,” she growled, “how long has it been?”

The guy—Freakshow was as good a name for him as any; he certainly looked like a freakshow—finally seemed to have caught his breath. “I don’t—”

“I’m not stupid!” she shouted. “I’ve talked to Phantom, and I know you’ve been doing it again, that you’ve been controlling me. How long?”

Freakshow didn’t seem inclined to answer, and when Dean heard Sam come in, he moved back to his brother’s side. “This is a new one,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed as he handed Dean the shotgun they’d left outside earlier, “tell me about it. The guy had this pendant with runes etched into it and some kind of glass that she seems to think he was using to control her.”

“Well, she’s icing him, not us. What kind of runes?”

“I didn’t recognize them, but from what I could guess, she’s not wrong about using them to control ghosts. I salted and burned the thing to be safe, so if she’s tied to anything, it’s not that.”

“But she’s not just a ghost. Ghosts don’t do all that.”

“She might be tied to a person.”

“Who, the freakshow over there?”

Sam shook his head. “She said her name was Dani, but maybe things aren’t that simple. What if Dani’s an ordinary girl who’s formed a connection with this ghost? It could explain why she’s sometimes tangible.”

“Sammy. Ghosts can’t do that. That’s not how possession works.”

“I don’t think it’s a simple possession. And we’ve seen a lot of impossible things. Dude, we used to think angels never existed. What if this is just something else we’ve missed?”

“If you’re suggesting we take her back to the bunker—”

“I need your help to return all this,” Dani said, suddenly appearing between them and dropping an armload of stolen jewellery and other treasures onto the floor. “I don’t know where they all came from, but I know they’re stolen.”

Dean glanced at the couch. Freakshow was bound and gagged with some glowing green stuff that must stick fast or he’d be working his way out of it already. Dani followed his gaze and just said, “We can drop him off at the nearest police station. He has to have a file.”

“So do we,” Dean said, “and I’m not getting my fingerprints all over that stuff.” Let the girl or ghost or human working with a ghost or whatever she was take the fall for that. He didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her, and he sincerely doubted she had a record—or would get one from this, considering what he’d seen her do.

Besides, why was a fourteen year old practically giving them orders?

Dani rolled her eyes. “Fine. There are some boxes in the other room, and I’m pretty sure his book is in that safe; I’ll crack it and do the packing. You two can deal with Freakshow.”

Scratch that. She was definitely giving them orders.

“You know we’re hunters, right?”

She pursed her lips. “I’d guessed,” she said, eyeing his shotgun, “but I’ve worked with ghost hunters before to catch the bad guys. Because I don’t want to be one of them. I don’t like it when people try to control me.”

Dean exchanged a look with Sam but knew better than to push it. “Fine. We’ll help you if you be straight with us. What the hell are you?”

“A ghost.”

“We’ve run into our fair share of those, and you don’t fit the bill.”

She gave them a wide smile. “Maybe you just haven’t run into my sort of ghost yet.”

“This isn’t our first rodeo. You can pretend to be a good guy all you want. Doesn’t make you Casper.”

The smile dropped off her face. “I’m not pretending to be good. I’m trying to be. There’s a difference. Not like you two are going to be saints if you have criminal records.”

“She got you there, Dean,” Sam murmured. Traitor.

“You can’t find a hunter with a clean record, kid, at least not once they’ve been around the block a few times.”

She didn’t bother to hide her dubious look. “I know a family of ghost hunters. The Fentons. And none of them have records.”

Dean glanced at Sam, but a quick shake of the head confirmed that he hadn’t just forgotten the name. Whoever the Fentons were, they ran in different circles.

Which wasn’t really a surprise, if these people specialized in ghosts and somehow managed to avoid the authorities.

Maybe they weren’t legit.

Or maybe they were about as good at their job as the GhostFacers, even if it was the family business.

“Fine,” Dean said again. “But if we’re helping you, you need to keep talking. And explain what you know about all of this.” He wasn’t about to turn his back on her, but he could cram Sammy into the backseat to babysit Freakshow and let Dani ride shotgun. Maybe by the time they actually made it somewhere, he could figure out what the hell she was.

Frankly, he still half-expected a reaper to pop out of nowhere and deal with her, but if they hadn’t done that when she was in killer mode, they weren’t going to do it when she was playing nice.

Maybe if he pretended he was on good terms with Billie and could get her to show, Dani would be a little more forthcoming. Assuming she even knew that Billie had taken over for Death. Even if the girl rightly didn’t believe him, the boast might be enough to annoy whichever reaper was on Winchester duty into showing themselves and putting in their two cents.

“Why don’t I just teach you how to really deal with ghosts and hook you up with some actual weapons?” Dani jerked a thumb in Sam’s direction. “He said something about salting and burning things? Seriously?”

“That’s what works,” Sam said, and she just snorted.

“Okay, look. We’ll deal with this first. You can play human for the cops, right, kid?”

“Better than you think I can.”

Sam’s eyebrows were raised, but Dean didn’t want to explain why he was caving with this. Why he was curious. Especially when he was—or at least had been--pretty sure it was just a story. He’d heard a lot of things while on the road with his dad, back in Sammy’s Stanford days, but the wild stories that had flown around the hunter circles some years back, originating out of Wisconsin….

It might be nothing but stories.

It might have nothing to do with this even if it wasn’t just stories.

But he damn well wanted to find out before this kid disappeared on him if he could.

Especially now that she wasn’t ready to kill them.

If she had been controlled before, then maybe, now that she was free of that, she’d make as good an ally as Benny had been. They could use more of those, especially with what was coming.

“Keep an eye on the bad guy, Sammy,” Dean said, walking over to pick up the pistol Dani had shot out of his hands earlier. “I’m going to do a final sweep of this place before we put it in our rear-view mirror.”

(see more fics)

[shoalfoodblog]

Earthshine, Chapter 2

Again, I don’t consider myself a writer whatsoever but I guess I’m following my compulsions. We’ll see how long I keep doing this, but yeah. Here’s more??? Sorry if it’s lame or anything is wrong, etc. Just doing this for fun~~~

Sesskag. 

First Chapter

Kagome had seen more battles than most decorated soldiers in her time. She’d waged a war against an unspeakable evil and lived to tell the tale. And from those experiences, she’d learned a thing or two about strategy. 

Information is everything. Namely; know your enemy. If you can think like them, you’ll be two steps ahead at all times and be able to guide them into your trap. 

Mostly Naraku had done this brand of bamboozling to their group, but that's besides the point because it worked. They’d all been tricked and lead like lambs to slaughter more than once by that creature. And while Kagome wouldn’t normally be molding her behaviors off a maniacally evil megalomaniac, desperate times called for desperate measures.

Not that she was desperate.

With her mind made up on seducing Sesshomaru, daiyoukai of the west, most powerful AND beautiful demon in the four territories, and veritable icicle, Kagome knew she had to think ahead. 

It was disconcerting to realize that if she were to list things she knew he liked, she wouldn’t even use up the fingers on one hand. 

1.) Fighting. She imagined he got bored defeating opponents so easily. He was a beautiful and deadly figure on the battlefield without match. The lack of worthy challenges probably explained all of the spontaneous “friendly” bouts with Inuyasha (which Kagome vehemently disapproved of, since it was her supplies she’d burn through patching up the battered half demon) over the past few years since Rin came to live in the village.  

2.) Knowledge. This one was subtler. When he’d seen some of her futuristic objects while visiting Rin, he’d ask her pointed questions, his intense stare giving no room for anything but a full and thorough answer. These were always followed by an almost inaudible hum of acknowledgement, and a swift departure. Kagome supposed dogs were often curious creatures, so why should dog demons be any exception? 

3.) Rin. This did not translate to humans as a whole whatsoever. Just Rin. He maybe tolerated some others, but he definitely didn’t like them. In all likelihood he held a quiet disdain, but Kagome figured she was at least in the ‘tolerated’ camp, considering he trusted her with his charge, so that was encouraging.

Thinking of Rin, caused Kagome to smile. Rin was a wonderful girl, even if she suffered from the effects of a serious case of hero worship for her Lord. Kagome remembered countless times where they’d spend time together, harvesting herbs and naming the blooms they came across. The now teenaged girl didn’t really have any female figures in her life, so Kagome filled in the roll by default. She genuinely adored Rin, and suspected Rin found a good friend in return. So really this point wouldn’t be an issue. 

As far as fighting went, Kagome was a decent shot, but sparring with the daiyoukai seemed like signing a death wish. 

Now. His curiosity. Kagome knew she was a novelty to him. Even if he wasn’t interested in her exactly but in the information she had about the future, it was at least a doorway in to some decent conversation. But what could tempt the stoic demon lord? He’d seen most of her futuristic belongings she kept in this era.

She really couldn’t, in good conscience, divulge information that could change the future, just in case this didn’t work out. So no politics, investment strategies, nor extreme advancements in engineering. 

Cultural tidbits would be safer. 

Music?

No. She imagined her tastes would appall him. Pop music with all of its thick instrumentation and driving rhythms didn’t exactly fit with her image of him and she’d rather appear dignified then explain why pop music was… well, popular in her era. 

Art? 

She would be the first to admit she didn’t know shit about art.

Food?

Kagome struggled to imagine Sesshomaru eating. Maybe she was guilty of putting him on a pedestal, but such a normal, everyday act seemed out of place for him. She’d certainly never seen him eat, but that wasn’t really saying much given the longest time they’d been in each other’s company was when he was fighting with Inuyasha. Also what could she prepare him that would be both impressive and appealing to a dog demon?

She decided to consult Rin. 

A direct approach was always best. Searching out her young friend Kagome inquired 

“Rin-chan. I was curious. What does Sesshomaru-sama eat?”

Rin stilled her hands, which were busy tying up herbs to dry in Kagome’s storehouse. Turning to Kagome, she gave the universal shrug of ‘I have absolutely no clue’ 

“Huh. Rin never saw him eat, now that Rin thinks about it. Or Rin just wasn’t paying attention.” 

Kagome huffed in frustration, maybe a little louder than she should have, because Rin furrowed her brow at her. 

“Why do you ask, Kagome-oneesan?” 

It was imperative Rin not catch on to her plans. She needed a reasonable excuse. One would appear any moment. Seem calm, you crazy woman.

“Oh! Well you see… I just wanted to offer him something as thanks for taking such good care of you all these years. I feel very thankful to have Rin-chan in my life. It may be too forward though… just forget I said anything”

Nailed it. 

“Rin is also happy she knows Kagome-oneesan! And is grateful to Lord Sesshomaru for bringing her to your village!”

She was clutching the fresh cuttings closely to her chest, beaming up at the older woman. The picture of earnestness. 

“I’m sorry but Rin doesn’t know what Lord Sesshomaru would like to eat! Rin only knows Lord Sesshomaru doesn’t eat human food. He told me when we first met and I tried to give him some fish, and other things”

Huh. Well, that was…less than helpful. 

“Don’t worry Rin-chan! I’ll think of something to give him. Don’t fret about it” Kagome tossed her a reassuring smile while she set about finishing their work. Reaching to tie the next bundle up to dry, Kagome, ever the optimist, was sure she’d think of something.

That was two weeks ago. She’d gained no ground since. 

Her brainstorming had lead her down very uncomfortable roads. She shuddered as she recalled that Koga’s pack used to survive by eating humans. And when she asked Shippo, he just shrugged and said dogs were “weird that way” but couldn’t provide any specifics. Sango said there just wasn’t a lot of research her village had done on dog demons since they generally stayed away from messing with human settlements.

Dog Demons. You’d think they’d be as easy to please as their mortal counterparts. 

Kagome was contemplating chucking a box of milk bones at the demon lord and taking her chances.

Maybe a change of scenery would shake an idea loose in her brain. It had been a while since she’d visited her family, and her childhood home always helped to clear her mind.

…

Sliding the door open to her family’s house, she was greeted by the sweet aroma of freshly baked goods. 

“Tadaima, Mama! Souta! Ojii-chan!”

“In here, dear!” 

Following her mother’s voice to their kitchen, she arrived in time to see her pull a fresh sheet of cookies from the oven. 

“Kagome! It’s so good to have you home! And with such good timing! I just made some peanut butter cookies. Would you like-“

Peanut butter. Lightning ricocheted through Kagome’s mind. Her breath hitched, and her eyes grew wide.

An epiphany held her in place. A eureka moment erupted across her consciousness.  

It couldn’t be that simple!

Glancing around, she spied the half-empty jar of peanut butter still out on the counter, a spoon jutting from the top. Kagome fumbled with the container, her hip bumping the table in her haste to get back through the well.

“-some to take to your friends?” 

And with that, the matron of the Higurashi family was left alone with a full tray and an empty room. Hearing the front door slam, she exhaled and began to wonder. Would her daughter ever settle down long enough to lay down some real roots? 

…

‘Peanut butter! Dogs loved peanut butter!’

Kagome swallowed a triumphant shout. It was the best idea she’d had yet. Even if it was the only idea she’d had. 

It had been 10 days since Sesshomaru had last checked on his ward, and since you could predict the tides based on the precision of his schedule, Kagome knew he’d be checking on Rin today at dusk. 

That gave her…maybe 20 minutes to catch her breath and set her trap.

Kagome clambered up the rope ladder they’d installed in the well, jar in hand, and made her way down the path towards her home. Upon rounding the corner to the field it was settled in, she noticed Rin, who often watched her home when Kagome was away, was siting by the entrance with a flower crown gently held in her hands.

The young girl perked up as she caught sight of her sisterly figure. 

“Kagome-oneesan! Welcome home! Rin thought you wouldn’t be back until tomorrow!”

“Ah - I uh, hello Rin-chan! Well you see I forgot to bring my mother - uh” glancing around she eyed the circlet of blooms in her young friend’s hands “Flowers! I was going to pick her some flowers!”

“Oh! That’s wonderful Kagome-oneesan!” 

She felt awful fibbing to Rin. But these were dire times. 

Kagome slumped on the stump near the entrance of her home where she would split wood for the hearth, trying to catch her breath. Rin sidled closer to her, then noticed the strange container Kagome had in her possession.

“What are you holding, Kagome-oneesan?” gesturing with her eyes towards the young miko’s grasp.

With an exhale, she lifted the container towards Rin. 

“It’s a snack from my home. It’s called Peanut butter. It’s kind of sticky, and nutty, but it’s not really made of nuts, it’s made from legumes I think? - I don’t know if we have peanuts here - and I’m rambling, It’s kind of sweet and salty. ” Noticing the spark in Rin’s eyes, she also added “Would you like to try it?”

“Oh! Could Rin?!” She leaned forward clutching the wreath to her chest. She was too infectious. Kagome entertained the passing thought that in the future, Rin would be able to wrap any man she wanted around her finger. 

“Of course! You might not like it however… I think it’s kind of an acquired taste.” Kagome retrieved the spoon from the jar, wiping any excess along the rim before handing it to the eager girl.

She popped the spoonful in her mouth. 

“It might be a little sticky, so don’t choke on the stuff.” Rin tried to pry open her mouth to respond but all that came out was a jumble of muffled syllables that had Kagome giggling brightly. Rin tried to talk between swallows of the sticky treat, but more stifled sounds escaped instead, which caused both women to erupt in peels of laughter. 

Neither of them noticed the third presence suddenly appear in front of them.

Sesshomaru arrived at the miko’s dwelling to discover the two human women in a puddle of frenzy, to such an extent that they both failed to mark his entrance. 

It was rare indeed for any being not to take immediate notice of the towering dog demon, so much so Sesshomaru wasn’t sure how else to gain the silly mortals’ attention. 

He set about employing the strategy he used in most of his dealings, thinking formidable thoughts and staring, sure his presence would speak for itself soon enough. 

He was wrong.

 The females were in hysterics. 

Wondering if, despite all reason, his imposing bearing had run thin Sesshomaru decided a more direct approach was necessary.

“Miko. Rin.” he intoned smoothly. Sesshomaru applauded himself when the females ceased at once.

The pair, now still, they turned to face the intimidating demon lord, fighting the urge to erupt into laughter once more. Of course Sesshomaru showed up right at this moment. 

“Lord Sesshomaru!” somewhat out of breath, Rin stood to greet her guardian. 

“Hn. This Sesshomaru trusts you’ve been well, Rin” He flicked his gaze over his charge, appraising her well-being.

“Oh yes, Lord Sesshomaru! We’ve just finished drying the spring herbs, and Kagome-oneesan has just shared a most interesting treat with Rin!” 

Gazing over the miko, he unabashedly sized her up, maybe for the first time, considering her fully. How long had Run bestowed the miko with that sisterly honorific? 

“Hn.” He swept his gaze over the woman, seeing as she fumbled with the strange container in her hands. 

“It’s nothing really, just a little something from my home” She waved her hand in mock bashfulness. Though flustered, Kagome hadn’t forgotten her self-appointed mission. She knew Sesshomaru was a curious creature by nature. She refused to give up more information than necessary. He’d have to come to her for answers. 

To Sesshomaru, the substance did not appear to be having any long lasting ill effects on his ward. Was it some sort of drug? Was this responsible for the fit of hysterics that descended upon the two? The miko stirred the thick mass in the strange pot she carried. Scenting the air, its aroma wafted towards him. It smelled unlike anything he’d encountered before. 

It smelled delicious. 

“Miko.” 

This was it. She had trained her attention on the demon lord and saw the moment the spark of curiosity flitted across his gaze. 

“Hai, Sesshomaru-sama?’ She continued to stir the peanut butter around in the jar, hoping the smell would be released more strongly into the air. 

“What is this substance you have given my ward?” He was the picture of disinterest, eyes gazing at some distant point on the horizon, busying himself by running his hand once across his mokomoko. 

Knowing the demon lord was painfully direct in all his dealings, Kagome realized he must be really tempted to put on this kind of show.

His actions confirmed her theory. She had him. 

“Would you like to try it?” Kagome offered him the handle of the heaping spoonful.

He would deny the small flare of his nostrils, and the twitch at the bottom of his mokomoko if anyone questioned him. 

“I do not eat human food, priestess” 

Kagome internally congratulated his commitment to his image. He even mustered a small sneer on his face. 

“Of course Sesshomaru-sama. How silly of me” Kagome smiled knowingly at the stubborn dog in front of her. Making a small show of it, she swiped a finger across the spoon and plopped it her mouth, humming in satisfaction, before setting the jar beside her on the stump. She could feel his eyes follow her movements.

“Well I’m sure you have more important things to do with your time, Sesshomaru-sama. I have a few things to take care of myself before nightfall, so I’ll take my leave. Safe travels. Rin, have a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow” 

“Yes! Thank you again Kagome-oneesan, Rin will see you soon!” 

Sesshomaru didn’t respond, instead turning on his heel,he departed towards the village, no doubt escorting Rin who trailed after him talking animatedly about something or other. 

Kagome didn’t call after them when she saw the jar of peanut butter was mysteriously gone. 

…

Elsewhere, with legendary control, Lord Sesshomaru, Ruler of the West and powerful Daiyoukai, resisted the urge to smack his lips when the miko’s strange and addictive morsel stuck to the roof of his mouth. 

The proud dog demon dissolved the empty plastic container with acid. 

There could be no evidence of his lapse of control.

[ambiencespectrum]

dave&rose youtube ghost hunters au let’s go

“we’re technically more gen paranormal hunters,” says the caption at the bottom of the video. it’s in brackets and red comic sans. it disappears as the shaky film pans to a girl with pale hair and darkly colored clothes more suited to a trip to a quaint local bookstore and cafe, rather than standing on a dirt road next to a decrepit fence around an even more decrepit building.

“A bit of a cliche to start the season off with,” says the girl, the video zooming in on her face. she raises an eyebrow, smirking. “But the classics are the classics for a reason.”

“who doesn’t love a creepy old asylum?” says the cameraman, and the video blurs and flips around to be too-close to his face. black shades reflect the lens back onto itself, hair pale as the girl’s blustering in the sudden uptick in wind. “it’s a fucking staple in horror media, has been since the dawn of it. nothing scares the shit out of people like the remnants of their fucked up treatment of the vulnerable and neurodivergent.”

“And ghosts,” says the girl off-screen. “And demons. Though, those could be applied metaphors in this context...”

the camera flips around again to focus on the girl, as the cameraman says, “shit, rose, why not both?”

the girl- rose- smiles in the manner of someone who knows more than anyone else present, is aware of that fact, and is feeling pleasantly surprised that a peer she’s deigned with her presence has grasped even an inkling of her thoughts.

“Both,” rose agrees as a bird call shrieks in the distance and the video cuts it off abruptly. it next shows rose walking in front of the camera and cameraman, leading the way into a semi-dark hall. the walls peeling paint, the floor cracking and lifting. the heels of her chic boots click as she walks, the beam of her flashlight swaying gently.

“A distinct lack of incomprehensible warnings scrawled across the walls,” says rose, shining her light upon an old smear that’s turned brown over the years.

“yeah, kinda kills the total package deal hype of an asylum,” says the cameraman. “like, what’s the point even if you don’t get at least a few death threats or cult phrases thrown your way?”

“Perhaps it will prevail yet, Dave. There is always possibility of poltergeist, or an apparition.”

“been there, done that. maybe some specter will finally have the intangible balls to go corporeal and possess your gothic little heart, raven madison.”

“That reference is vampires, dear heart.”

“tomato potato whatever. but, uh... if they don’t like your hentai octopi buddies...?”

“Then they may attempt to establish a connection with you.”

“haha, yeah, sure. come at me bro.”

the feed cuts again, with static this time as rose turns an amused gaze towards the cameraman. it comes back with a new person standing in the frame; sporting dark sunglasses despite the early evening and shadow filled room. he’s saying, “i swear to god, rose, if you drop my baby i’m making you buy me a whole new rig, sound sampler, mic, lens, custom bitchin’ paint job-”

“Do us all a favor and shut the fuck up, Dave,” rose says sweetly and firmly. he stops rambling, lips tugged down in a frown. rose continues, “Now, let’s get on with the part of the program subscribers click on our video thumbnails for.”

“why am i the god damn ghost nip again.”

“Because the Strider charms are irresistible to the common lingering spirit.”

dave scuffs his shoes on the filthy floor, his sigh echoing off the surrounding room. rusted bed frames litter the sides of it, rotted fabric clinging in places and showing traces of animal habitation. dave’s sunglasses glint in the glare of rose’s flashlight, hair a washed out white. “just ‘cause every ghoul from here to canada wants a piece of strider ass doesn’t mean i have to be bait every time.”

as he says that, a figure flickers into existence behind him, looming with hollow eyes and an overextended jaw. the video cuts as it lunges at him.

it comes back at a weird angle, with more red comic sans appearing on screen. “sorry for the shit footage, SOMEBODY couldn’t bother holding off exorcism foreplay.” purple text is quick to follow it, in comic sans as well. “You’re very fucking welcome for that, you enormously ungrateful asshole.”

the camera is clearly on the floor, giving view of only that and two sets of feet. rose’s boots now have scat stuck to one sole, and a handful of burrs on the back of her tights. dave’s hightops dangle suspended a foot off the ground, laces swaying as he hovers, the rest of him perfectly still in the air.

“Now, I understand it’s been very lonely here, Frederick,” says rose’s voice, “but the body you are currently residing within is already claimed for the remainder of eternity. It won’t be open for new tenants until it is well and gone to dust, I assure you.”

dave’s laces shake as his voice responds, all guttural screams far louder than he has ever spoken before.

“Now there’s no need for name calling,” rose says. “We’re two adults, having a civil conversation. The furthest ring’s heralds and doombringers and mindflayers own our family tree, so even if I wanted to give him to you, I quite literally can’t-”

dave’s voice explodes again in wordless sound, and the video is flipped and rolled. the film only steadies again after the camera has been sent skidding across the floor; now offering rose and dave’s full figures within the frame. from across the room, anyway.

dave hovers in the air, like he’s hanging by the neck and swaying gently on a noose. rose is faced away from the lens, fingers tensed into claws.

“That’s quite enough of that,” rose says snappishly, “he isn’t yours to keep,” and she grabs dave by his shirt collar to haul him downwards. she slaps her palm to his forehead and the video is dragged into darkness, extinguishing everything as its audio devolves into whispers and then speaker bursting howls. the silence that follows immediately after is chilling.

picture is then restored. it comes back inside a van, filled with travel bags, pillows, polaroid photographs tacked to the walls, precarious stacks of books and dead things in jars on top, and two disheveled individuals sitting shoulder to shoulder.

“so,” dave starts, voice gravelly, “turns out ghostly possession makes your mouth taste like death’s ass.”

“I told you so,” rose says primly. she has a bruised cheek, hair like a bird’s nest, and her black lipstick is smeared in the rightmost corner. she holds herself like a dignitary for it.

“fuck off, lalonde,” dave replies, running a hand through his even messier hair. his neck has a blooming bruise around it in the pattern of a rope, his shirt collar is torn at a shoulder seam, and black viscous stains the front downwards. “that was demonic conjuring, totally different field of freaky mindbody highjacking fuckery.”

“You’ll have to forgive him,” rose says to the camera, patting dave’s knee patronizingly, “it’s his first body-sharing experience.”

“i shared my body plenty, shared it in ten different states, i just pre-fucking-ferred sharing it consensually.”

“You, and I quote, said ‘come at me, bro’. In the presence of aggressive, tortured spirits, you might as well have writ permission in neon.”

“wow, wow. some feminist you are, victim blaming me for this. new low for you, rose.”

rose rolls her eyes. “Moving on with our review. The trip over had a decent number of well-meaning townsfolk warning us away from here, notably one who started crying halfway through. Unfortunately, I’ll have to dock points for the lackluster atmosphere of the asylum itself. It wasn’t as overtly foreboding as we’d been promised, and, again, the graffiti from its former residents failed to strike even an iota of fear into our hearts.”

“i got possessed though, which is sexy in theory but shitty in practice,” dave adds in a drawl. “kinda like communism and capitalism. got some sick air while i was at it, but i didn’t crawl on the ceiling even once. i did however get to hear the screams of the lost souls bound to the building and i think my new choker will last a few weeks at least. that’s worth a few points.”

“Agreed,” rose says amiably. “A solid 7.5 out of 10?”

dave shrugs. “about there, yeah.”

the video transitions to blank blackness, displaying with purple text “We are not professionals in any manner of speaking, but our death’s are more difficult to ensure than yours. Do not attempt this at home, do not attempt this with friends, do not attempt this if you value your mortal soul and fragile human psyche.” the message below that is in red text and reads “like subscribe and comment”

[womanoflettersinthebunker]

If Dean was angry when he saw John Winchester standing there, he was downright pissed when he saw Sam come into the room stiffly, followed by Singer holding a rifle aimed right at Sam's back.

Bullets didn't do anything against them, but they still hurt like a bitch and made their blood spill.

And that pissed Dean off to no end, the possibility of his brothers blood being spilled on the ground.

Especially when these people have already hurt him so much in the past.

Singer reached out and pushed Sam completely into the devil's trap, making him stumble slightly. Dean moved quickly to grab at him before he fell, wrapping his arms around his brother.

Sam's eyes met his and wordlessly they decided on something together, Dean barely nodded, tightening his grip on Sam.

Breathing out slowly Sam straightened up, turning so that the both of them could look at the hunters, Ellen came into the room as well, rifle aimed straight at them.

"Gangs all here." Sam said softly, keeping his eyes black, so did Dean. "Where's Jo? Doesn't she want to join?"

"Don't you dare talk about her." Ellen warned him lowly. "You tricked us."

"Wasn't really that hard." Sam with a hum, black eyes going to Bobby. "Especially you, throw in a little sob story about losing a woman important to you and suddenly you're as soft as anything."

Bobby jerked slightly, rifle shaking slightly in his grip. "I let you into my home, I let you into my research." he said lowly. "You used me."

"More like manipulated you, you had nothing that we really wanted." Sam told him, a bored tone to his voice.

"I want to talk to them." Winchester said, turning to look at Bobby and Ellen. "Mind giving us some privacy?"

Neither of them looked pleased but nodded, looking at Sam and Dean warningly; Sam rolled his eyes at that, before leaving the living room, going into the kitchen instead.

"You have nothing to tell us." Sam told him, cutting off whatever John was going to say. "Seriously, we don't care."

John swallowed hard. "I know that Marys dead." he said slowly, causing both Sam and Dean to flinch back slightly. "And I-"

"Who the hell told?" Dean demanded, eyes narrowing. "It wasn't their right to tell you or anyone about her."

"It doesn't matter who told me I had a right to know." John said, stopping when a sharp crack made the house shake.

"You have no right." Sam told him coldly. "You're no one to us, you're no one to her, you're no one in general."

John just stared at him for a long time, few moments. "I didn't...I never even knew that...she was pregnant." he whispered. "Back then...we-"

"I'm guessing this is before you tried to kill her." Dean injected, teeth almost barred. "I might've been a child but I remember that, I remember you trying to grab her and me."

John swallowed heavily. "I didn't know." he managed to get out. "I didn't know that it was...like that. I thought it was two demons possessing you both."

"She proved that it wasn't possession, she proved that it was her and it was me." Dean said darkly. "You didn't give a damn, you and your fucking holy water and your fucking exorcisms. You didn't give one shit. She had to grab me and run, run to make sure you didn't kill us."

Dean took in a great shuddering breath. "And then to make it worse? You sent out word to the hunting community to let them know about her and me. Pregnant, alone with a kid, and being hunted, she had to go back to hell to make sure that we were safe."

"I didn't have any other choice, I had no other option, I didn't know that-" John had started to say only for Sam to interrupt him.

"Again, we don't care." Sam said. "And most of all? You did have a choice, you could've chosen to stay with your family. You didn't. It doesn't matter what you think, it doesn't matter what you wanted. When it was needed the most, you didn't step up. You attacked."

“Now we have business to do and take care of.” Sam said, brushing his front off of imaginary dirt. “And we’d really like to get back to it.”

They could hear the front door opening and the hushed whispers of the others in the kitchen. Sam and Dean shared another look, feeling a small pit growing in Sams stomach.

Singer came back into the room and, heart stoppingly, he was holding onto one of the jars containing a soul.

"What the hell are you two doing with a trunkful of people's souls?" Singer demanded.

[acklest]

Jensen Ackles, AU!Michael!Dean, 14x10: Nihilism (and rambling about “range”)

Jensen was so fucking good, don’t even touch me right now, don’t even look at me. I mean, he’s always good, but with this episode, he kicked it in the ASS.

I don’t feel like I have enough WORDS for it. Behind a cut while I prattle on. (None of the gifs used as examples are mine.)

I watched the episode multiple times to see what Jensen was doing as Michael that so wasn’t Dean Winchester, because he was so fascinatingly NOT Dean. I know there are certain style choices that lend themselves to the differences, like his hair being parted on the other (wrong) side and the painstakingly dapper suits and the newsboy cap. Dean Smith (4x17: It’s a Terrible Life) had his hair parted on the wrong side, too. It’s some easy shorthand for “hey, something about this isn’t quite right.” (Like the French cuffs didn’t give it away.)

Demon!Dean was just Dean without the moral center. He was fun to watch, don’t get me wrong, for the brief time we got him. MoC!Dean was actually closer to what I thought Demon!Dean was going to be, so I enjoyed him more. Watching MoC!Dean massacre the Stynes was epic and so satisfying (and tragic I know because of the kid, I’m not like yay murder). As much as I love the real Sam and Dean, and I’m always happy when they get back to who they really are, these dark side digressions are so much fun because we get to see Jared and Jensen show off.

But there’s more to it than that. Jensen has said that his approach to each new script is instinctive (reads the script once or twice and decides what he’s going to do) and Jared is intellectual (reads it multiple times to feel like he’s really soaked it in). But here, I feel, Jensen has made some very deliberate choices. 

First, A Tangent: I watch different Dark Angel vids on Youtube and there’s usually a comment somewhere about how Alec and Dean are basically the same character, or Alec is Young!Dean. They don’t (always) come right out and say, “He can only convincingly play Dean-like characters”, but the implication is there. The two characters have some superficial traits in common, like sarcasm, physical comedy, Jensen’s face (can’t be helped). But even his face doesn’t really come into it once you hit the latter half of S1 because Jensen’s face changed a lot in the interim. His jaw got stronger, his face got broader. So I watched an episode of Dark Angel and immediately watched an episode of Supernatural (1x3: Dead in the Water). @deanscarlett​ helped me figure this out: Alec is out for out for himself, Dean was always out for anything but himself (except when it comes to pleasure-seeking, when he even allows it). Alec has his own psychological trauma (2x11: The Berrisford Agenda) which adds facets to his character’s mercenary pursuits, but once he locks down that perceived weakness (”I’m always alright”), you don’t really see him break down like that again. His programming is strong; he just buries it. But it serves a purpose: Max had written him off as a loss after she saved his life at the expense of not getting a cure to the virus (2x3: Proof of Purchase). It showed her that he wasn’t just a “happy-go-lucky sociopath”, that he had a story like everyone else, and that meant he deserved a shot at redemption. Alec was relatively unburdened (I mean... genetically enhanced master assassin... star torturer in HELL... Dean wins this round, I think) compared to Dean, who’s had ever-increasing weight on his shoulders since “Take your brother outside as fast as you can - don't look back. Now, Dean! GO!” Even young, Dean was never this carefree except maybe in his imagination or as a way to distance himself from others, or when he got really into the “I’m a badass I save people” part of it.

In this scene, Alec (if the character is Jensen’s age) is 23. He’s found a bunch of transgenics that fled from Manticore (the only home they’ve ever known) because of a fire. They’re all children, ranging in age from elementary school to early teens. He’s annoyed because they interrupted his sexy times in a motel. He’s very dismissive of them and spends most of those scenes throwing pieces of popcorn at one of the X7s, who are all small children. Creepy black-eyed hive-minded small children, but small children nonetheless. He makes smart remarks and rolls his eyes while Max tries to get through to the children to let them know that they should absolutely not go back to Manticore if they want to live. In just a few minutes, she takes apart their foundations: You don’t answer to me. You’re not a designation, you’re a person. You have a name now. You have to make your own choices.

“Why would Manticore try to get rid of us?” 

Alec answers:

Compare that to Dean as early as 1x3 Dead in the Water:

Dean doesn’t even talk the same way as Alec (except in the first few episode, while they were still getting used to their characters), and I don’t mean Jensen’s ever-more-gravelly voice, I mean the way he stubbornly pushes his jaw forward and talks out one side of his mouth or through his teeth. He has his mouth slightly open a lot. Sometimes he barely moves his mouth when he talks, speaking as if saying the words mostly to himself. Like 2x20 where Wishverse!Sam says “You slept with my prom date. On prom night.” Dean says, “Yeah that does kinda sound like me” while barely moving his mouth at all. Or in 4x01 where he holds up the empty liquor bottle and asks Bobby, “What, r’yer parents outta town or somethin?” That’s such a mushy line. He has a mush-mouth that’s only made mushier by hunter jargon and Dean’s... idiosyncratic way of speaking. If you weren’t in this fandom, would you know what I full-on Swayze’d that mother even meant? I always think of this (7x21):

(He can speak perfectly clearly when he wants to make a point, or when they’re pretending to be any kind of authority. I always think of the exchange in 5x14: My Bloody Valentine:

SAM: [mock sadness] That's when a dog doesn't eat-- That's when you know something's really wrong.

DEAN: [pokerface] Remarkably patronizing concern. Duly noted.

He can turn it off when he wants to. That Dean’s Master Adapter thing and it’s FUCKING HOT. Oh, I’m a production assistant now? Cool, aced it in a day. Oh, we’re in prison? This is fine, I’m gonna procure cigarettes. LARPing? Sign me the fuck up. Oh, we’re reporters? I can sound like a reporter. I’ve watched thousands of hours of television, I can mimic anyone. I can fake my way through almost anything. We’re in a different town two weeks from now, I can tell people whatever I want.

OH SHIT, DEAN TANGENT INSIDE OF A JENSEN RANGE TANGENT. Quick, make it look intentional!

Anyway, to me, Alec... Dean... not the same character. Going from one to the other was so jarring. For gifsets or edits where you want to show young Dean Winchester, it totally works for that. I mean, it’s Jensen’s face when he was that pre-Supernatural age... except that Jensen didn’t really look like Ridge Canipe or Dylan Everett when he was that age. (I love Dylan Everett. I don’t even care that his eyes are the wrong color.)

But something else Jensen does is put his own mark on roles that he’s given. Tom Hanniger wasn’t supposed to be as sympathetic as he turned out to be, and most people who watched it stated that they wanted someone else to be the bad guy (Axel was looking good for it) so that Tom would be okay. (Sorry if I just spoiled that for you.) Alec wasn’t supposed to be quite so likable, but that’s what Jensen brought to it. Even Kripke said early on that Dean was different on the page than when Jensen got ahold of him. He finds the heart of the character. Imagine if Dean Winchester had been the guy from the pilot this whole time, grossly leering at Jess to make Sam uncomfortable and defensive. 

Remember that Jess first says “Your brother Dean?” with a pleased smile on her face.

DEAN: [instantly leering] Oh, I love the Smurfs. [ogles cleavage] You know, I gotta tell you. [steps too close] You are completely out of my brother's league. [suggestive grin]

JESS: [smile fading, clearly uncomfortable] Just let me put something on.

[JESS turns to go. DEAN's voice stops her.]

DEAN: [isn’t discouraged by her discomfort] No, no, no, I wouldn't dream of it. [another leer] Seriously.

When I first watched that, I thought: “Pussyhound with control issues? That’s your brother’s girl, don’t be skeevy.”

But before long, you realize what it was: Contempt. He wasn’t interested in Jess. “I’m going to make you feel very unwelcome because who the hell invited YOU?” It’s very possessive.

Think about that first scene with Dean after “Easy, tiger!” and then Dean a mere 9 episodes later, in “Home”, trying to get through to John because he’s scared, his voice breaking, his eyes filling up. During that first scene, would you have predicted something like that? "My heart’s gonna break for this bossy bad boy creep.” In fact, by the third episode of the series, it has. Sam tries to make a note of it and gets shut down by Dean right away. "I’ll show you a little, but that’s all. Don’t test me.”

DEAN: You're scared. It's okay. I understand. See, when I was your age, I saw something real bad happen to my mom, and I was scared, too. I didn't feel like talking, just like you. But see, my mom—I know she wanted me to be brave. I think about that every day. And I do my best to be brave. And maybe, your dad wants you to be brave too.

Later:

DEAN: Oh God, we're not gonna have to hug or anything, are we?

It’s not until 2x20: What is and What Should Never Be where you see how Dean feels about Jess now that he understands how important she was to Sam: He hug-tackles her from out of frame, and if she never died... There were more layers of Dean revealed in that episode than Alec got his entire season. (Don’t even get me started on that episode, I’ll just start crying and I’m already so off course with this post.) 

Jensen took this role and made it as iconic as it is. He protects it.

I’m not saying another actor couldn’t have also “sold” that role and made it their own. What I am saying is, I don’t think that another actor would be playing the everloving fuck out of that role -- with all its twists and turns, advances and setbacks -- 14 years later with seemingly as much passion (if not more) than when they started.

But Jensen didn’t leave Dean in that swaggering, cocky, Han Solo place. He deepened the character, added layers, he shows us the cracks and the flaws. The show would NOT have lasted 14 seasons without these two actors. God, I only watch it to see what’s happening to them and see the ways they found to challenge themselves in otherwise unremarkable episodes. It’s like a troubled relationship where you’re like “No, I’m not watching it again ever” and then it texts you at 3am with “wyd” and suddenly you’re playing an episode and wondering about your life. 

I went into that long-ass, rambling, what-even-are-you-talking-about tangent to set you up for this:

Nihilism was NOT an unremarkable episode.

This is not like any other role that Jensen has played before.

There’s really no trace of Dean Winchester in Michael except the resemblance (and the daddy issues, I suppose). And even that’s played down with the neat hair, the suit, the artful "I know my best angles” way that he presents himself to people. There’s not even a trace of other characters that Jensen has played. It’s an entirely new role for him.

Michael carries himself elegantly. The perfect posture, the poise, the careful, graceful motions. Dean kind of slouches, looms, or does a parade rest sort of thing where he’s braced for whatever might happen. He’s got a big ambling swagger. He puts his feet up on tables or sits with his legs sprawled apart.

Michael eerily doesn’t blink as much as you would expect. As Dean, Jensen blinks a lot and closes his eyes, sometimes for a few seconds in the middle of a line, as if he’s processing his thoughts. I love it. It doesn’t start happening until S4 or so, where he wants to show the general weariness of the character. It happens the most when he’s angry or exasperated. But Michael is laser-focused.

Michael speaks very precisely and almost ceremoniously, like he’s selecting each word for the maximum impact. He has ALL the time in the world. Dean talks like... well, Dean. This is the big one for me. He just doesn’t SOUND like Dean, even though it’s the same damn voice. It’s in the cadence. He also holds his chin upright so his voice projects differently, and his jaw isn’t clenched like Dean’s usually is. His voice comes across as smooth and oozes condescension. 

Michael, in keeping with his wardrobe and (understandable) superiority complex is very fussy. While Sam, Cas, and Jack are talking, he’s speculatively opening and closing his hands in the background as if trying the cuffs, but he doesn’t even bother to struggle. While he’s talking to Cas during the big monologue, he absently picks a speck of something out from under a fingernail and neatly refolds his hands on his knee. He puts himself in those 3-piece suits. He has expanded to take up all of the possible Dean-ness and he’s very proud of his vessel. The human that used to be in control could not possibly matter less. As far as he’s concerned, Dean was his the moment he was even born.

Michael’s expressions are very different. Dean has a very expressive face. In one 5-second gif, you can identify a number of little micro-expressions he goes through. His face is almost never still unless something has gone very wrong. His eyebrows are all over the place. He’s squinty from having scowled for so long. He absently curls his lip when he talks. Because Michael doesn’t have all the trauma and worries that Dean has, he keeps his expression smooth. He looks completely dignified. Because he feels he has absolutely nothing to fear, his expressions are supercilious and disdainful.

Michael is very, very serene. He’s a BEING, and currently immortal. The things the “pig-filthy humans” are doing don’t really seem to concern him. “He's a gnat,” he says about Dean. He’s waiting them out because to him, they’re the blink of an eye. People keep trying to get a rise out of him, I think because he wears Dean’s face and they’re desperate to see a glimpse of him. Michael just doesn’t give a shit. Holy fire? Whatever. These cute handcuffs? That’s adorable. 

Look at the image below. There is no Dean at all, there is barely even a flicker of concern. His smile here is almost like, “You are naive and tedious. I’m just waiting for my army to get here. Might as well relax.”

I’m sorry, I’m just very, very excited and I’m so proud of Jensen. He was already brilliant, but this kicked it into a whole new level.

What killed me:

* Don’t interrupt me.

* Dean’s not home right now. Please leave a message.

* (”With these angel cuffs on, Michael’s under control.”) You keep telling yourself that.

* THAT CREEPY ASS SMILE after Sam says that the Impala’s trunk could hold Michael!Dean too. IT’S SO CREEPY WHAT IS IT

* I called them. [smiles, fake gasp of surprise] It’s a party.

* (”Sam, are we going to die here?”) ANOTHER CREEPY LITTLE SMILE like he could not be less intimidated if he tried.

* I can hear you. [they move about 5 steps further] Really?

* Remind me, Castiel, we’re west of Kansas City? (Dudes, he is an archangel, did you think walking into another room was going to keep him from hearing you?)

* Yeah, put a chair against the door. That’ll help.

* The last thing you’ll see is this pretty smile. AND HE DOES THE TONGUE THING THAT JENSEN DOES so in the small moment to me he was Evil!Jensen. I would read that fanfic. it made me SO uneasy.

* I’m in his head. LITERALLY.

* (”He’s lying.”) No, I’m not. And I can still hear you.

* God -- Chuck -- is a writer, and like all writers, He churns out draft after draft. (The way he sort of labors over every letter in the word “Chuck”, it’s so contemptuous, almost like he’s saying “Fuck”?)

* He never would’ve been so... anemic. [absently cleans a fingernail]

* [leans forward] Even God can die. Ugh, the chill that went down my spine.

* Cool science project. 

* When they put the electrodes(?) on him, he’s sort of glancing back and forth, HE’S SO AMUSED, he even laughs disparagingly. 

* Oh, Cas. I believe in you. LOL

* In there? You’re all mine. *audible swallow*

Ugh, if AU!Michael!Dean was a lotion, I would smear it all over my body.

Thank you for coming to my Jensen Talk.