#and are the oldest heirloom of their house

[anghraine]

I headcanon that Dúnedain of both the North and Gondor have a considerable number of ... like, low-grade magic trinkets that they often don't know the provenance of.

This stuff isn't at all on the scale of the palantíri, though some were definitely brought from Númenor (mostly because people would carry them around for luck). There's some stuff that they got from Elves, especially in Dol Amroth and Eriador. There's some they crafted all on their own, like Merry's dagger or Boromir's horn. There's some they make and then place virtues on (whatever that means).

But even the jewels of this kind aren't like mini-Silmarils, they're more like mini-Elendilmíri—there's definitely something going on and they seem just a little too bright at times, but a lot of the inheritors of those kinds of gems have never been able to figure out what they're supposed to do beyond that. And sometimes the answer is "nothing," some of these things were just crafted to be nightlights for scared children that would also look nice when they got older. Sometimes this stuff helps with tracking in a minor way, or things like that.

Gondorian Dúnedain also seem to know about the One Ring, but in my headcanon, their understanding starts out with: "oh, so like Grandfather's ring that shines when he gets lost? but evil."

[zeninsama]

also naoya and i have four babies if u care. five if you count his most special baby, his hairless cat lovingly named chicken.

[malvoile]

Me and the Devil ; i

ɪᴛ ʀᴀɪɴꜱ ᴏɴ ᴄᴀʟᴀᴅᴀɴ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ʀɪᴘᴘᴇᴅ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɴᴇꜱᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴀʀᴋɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱʜɪᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ɴᴇᴡ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ.

word count: 7k warnings: arranged marriage, politics, graphic scenes of blood, violence, & death of family. trauma, past abuse (harkonnen&feyd rautha warning) not much else. mutual mistrust. notes: hi! tysm to my new followers ily all <3 here's chapter one remastered of this fic [originally posted on @tremendum ] - (inspiration for reader's family is taken from the family of tsar nicholas ii, so if it feels familiar that's why.) feedback very much appreciated :)

prelude series masterlist

Penitent Crimes of Retaliation;

“In accordance with the legal doctrine of the 'Reprisal Accord', as sanctioned by the High Court of the Landsraad, attacked houses are granted the right to retaliate against proven offenses committed against them; This action shall such be labelled as ‘Penitent Crimes of Retaliation.’ 

Under this mandate, should sufficient evidence be presented, the aggrieved house may initiate a retaliatory strike and is sanctioned to engage in warfare against the offending party. While reparations for damages incurred during the conflict are mandated, perpetrators shall be exempt from criminal sentences ensuring a balanced recourse within the framework of inter-house disputes; as deemed by a jury of the Great Houses Major and Minor at court."

- From the Reprisal Accord, Office of the Padishah Emperor. Imperium, 10041. 

There was once a time when green was your favorite color. 

You'd enjoyed a childhood of it – Peridot stones glittering upon headdresses, jade figurines, the velveted forest of winter dresses; halls draped with verdant portraits of the faces which came before you, and before you, and before you – all shroud in that forested pride; an ancient thing, to know the ground of the planet and to take life from the same roots as the trees around you. 

A life cushioned in the nested hearth of mountainside and jade pools of glacier; and of course the breathstealing height of the sacred Pine. Viridescent flicks of the woven banner of your house, waving in the snow-whipped wind; A snarling green wolf upon grey armor, a hall of decadent verdant heirloom stones. 

And in the three months each year when the ice melts off the lower glaciers – the glacial lakes, thawed into that deep emerald green. Your brother, your sisters and you, charging with wild hollers and flailing limbs as tutors and soldiers alike chased after you; scolds and yelps of fear dying on chapped lips as young bodies leapt into the glossy pools, rippling screams through the woods. 

In the yawning abyss of childhood, there’s always been that lingering haunt color; When the men of a faraway House Major arrived to retrieve your older sister, she'd been shroud in that very same sacred pine-satin. An elegant dress, you remember quite clearly – draped in gold and jade, haunting the mouth of the ship in her shining emerald headpiece as she turned to wave goodbye for the last time.

A constant source of home, perhaps; and a reminder of the ever-churning yield of abundance the planet gifted your family. Gifts of life, spurting through the ice, growing over centuries within the warm breast of mountain caverns – miners returning to the villages and towns surrounding the castle, hands stained with verdant dust. Green, that gift of life.  

Even at your sister's funeral. 

A glossy forested casket, laid to rest in the ground of a foreign planet – the wind was sharp against the dark emerald veils of the women of House Bourbon the day you said goodbye to your sister. 

Killed by the birth of her first – a son. You became the oldest of your siblings that day. 

It was an honor, your parents had told you through tears as the earth swallowed the emerald peeks of casket through handfuls of dirt; an honor to serve your family, to serve the Sisterhood, to serve the Imperium. 

Years churn on, as they always do – and somewhere across the Imperium, perhaps a new life has sprouted ,evergreen above the plot where your sister lies in eternal rest. But you can hardly stand to look at green anymore. 

No, instead, you mostly see black.

They'd sent you away to make for your house a fortune; a son, they'd wished, for your sake - and, by whispers of your Lady Mother, a daughter – but the nest you made was one of fear and survival; a place crawling with shadows and monsters and deadly smiles. 

Your na-Baron. 

If Feyd-Rautha ever had a semblance of hesitancy, it was when you first met four years ago. You were at the end of your seventeenth year and he, freshly eighteen – a cordial boy by at least Harkonnen standards; escorting you with an arm held out, eyes malicious and teeth glinting but nonetheless tamed to curved glances and sickeningly sinister grins. 

He'd even called you Lady Bourbon those first few months on Giedi Prime. 

Perhaps in many ways, you can consider yourself lucky. Even if only for your bloodline, or the power laced through the syllables of the name you come from – or even, Maker forbid, in some way for yourself – Feyd-Rautha has indeed taken special care of you. Perhaps he does care for you – the care a panther reserves for his chosen prey. 

Despite his endless vanity, he still has stooped so as to admit he waited too long to claim you as wife; a feat which, in some way, might bring him just a step higher in the chokehold his family holds the Imperium – and you, with tongue as sharp as your mind, know when to push and when to dissolve into those dark shadows he loves so much. 

So you’ve let him stew in fury, avoiding eyes and sneaking from column to column; ears pressed to oaken doors with a trembling hand. 

The accusations had come from Baron Vladimir; House Bourbon has been stealing the precious refinery codes, committing treason against the trading accords along the Harkonnen-dominated exportation route. And perhaps, he thought, you’ve been the one to plot against your beloved future family.

But Feyd-Rautha knows better – knows you'd never dare betray him for the sake of your life or purely through the denial of access. Feyd was, after all, the one to demand a public execution of your family and, in the same breath, redirect your sentencing to imprisonment. As if you weren't already. 

Don't look away. See what we do to scum, my pet? 

Hatred flows thicker than blood; and perhaps if you'd had your blade this morning, you would have finally plunged it right into the junction of creamy skin upon his neck, right there in the stands. 

You were, in some ways, relieved when their bodies hit the sand fast. You've never seen your brother's skin so reflective as you did this morning; and the black sun, oppressive as it is intense, still could not hide the blood that had seeped from him.

A deafening roar of the crowd still did not muffle the glistening cries of the two girls; the ones no older than seventeen and nineteen, the ones who carry your nose, and your hair, and your laugh, and your blood. The crowd could not muffle the sharp loss of breath as the blades slid slow across the seam of their necks to spill that which you share so intrinsically. 

You'd swallowed thickly, twitching to look away, gasp – to cry; but any semblance of pain was concealed under layers of unbudging, seething hatred. There is no space here for anguish; Your na-Baron would love it too much.

Why don't you leave me with them, then? You'd hissed through your teeth.

Though he was wild and psychotic, growling with hunger at the bloodsport in front of him, he heard you for what you'd said. Feyd's fingers pulled your hair hard, forcing your chin up towards his crazed stare. A sickly glint in the black sun, his teeth shone with hunger. 

You'd have me throw you to your Wolves, and lose my prize? He'd tutted, kissing your forehead with a sickening sweetness; enough so that the servants had turned away their spider-black gazes. They didn't care much for the acts of affection you'd occasionally show one another – they know just as well as you that in a world marred by ugliness, any glimpse of beauty becomes a hauntingly grotesque show of power. 

He'd snarled, a growling rumble through the chanting crowd of spectators screaming kill the Wolves; His breath was hot against your cheek. You're mine to keep – there's plenty of life left for you to serve.  

He'd held your hand tight as they slit your father's throat – he was too drugged to put up a fight worthy of retaining his life; after minutes, his blade fell. It was then both of your sisters, swift deaths prolonged only by the wisps of prana-bindu that remained in their muscles’ memories, by the screams that heightened the jeering crowd in bloodthirst. Next came the assassination of your brother; the Tsarevich, the boy whose grasp on his knife shook as he looked up towards your seat helplessly. 

Your mother had fought as much as she could in her drugged state – a Weirding Woman, whose flashing arms and darting legs outsmarted the Harkonnen fighters for far longer than what must have been expected. A Ginaz fighter until the end. 

You saw it all with nails torn into your palms; the Harkonnens are ruthless, and Feyd-Rautha had sat calmly beside you with a sickly grin. 

Your mother met the slow knife’s blade against her throat. It should have finished quickly – but in your horror: The neckline of her gown was too high, and too thickly inlaid with encrusted heirlooms. 

Bless their voided souls.

The emeralds that tore from her gown as she'd spilled her blood to the sand sent a ripple of pain out of your throat; and Feyd had buried his face in your neck, teeth sharp and gaze glued to your own ruby blood beading out of your clenched palms, blackened in the sun's light.

If anybody would have bothered to look before burning the bodies, you know they'd find all the family diamonds sewn into the fabric of their clothing. Centuries of your House, melted away.

And Feyd-Rautha had drank up your agony with his lips, smiling as his hand wrapped around your throat. 

Now, alone and away from the thick industrial air, your chambers are cold and suffocating.

There are screams coming from the hall – not the kind that you've grown to associate with your na-Baron testing his new blades, but the kind that comes with danger. With change. 

As it turns out, you are not Feyd-Rautha's to keep any longer.

A loud noise outside of your quarters jolts you from your bed with shaky legs, whispering to yourself. They're coming for you. The sheets are crisp against your awaiting, tensed body; the blade gifted to you on your nameday three years ago by your husband-to-be grasped in your palm; still tainted with the ghost of your own blood.

Your whispers reverberate in the empty room, a spiny crawl of black moulding curling around your bed and awaiting the coming voices. "I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me–”

Your voice shakes, despite yourself. Air puffs from your lips as your blood rushes - few things remain from your early days of training, before you were sent off to become a Harkonnen; This remains a relic.

A loud clash outside – blades against the failing force of shields.  

For a moment, a hand grasps your arm; ghost-white and possessive, it claws at your skin, voice rumbling through your mind. Don't look so sad, my pet. 

The door to your chambers begins to slam with an external force; Soon, the soldiers will enter, and you will do what must be done. 

The hand squeezes upon your wrist harder – you bite back a cry. I will never let them keep what is mine. I will find you again. 

You almost wish he will. 

Slow as a predator, you rise from the sheets; a preparation for a fight that will end before it begins. A fight that has already been won.  

Even when the hand upon your arm is gone into the shadows, succeeded only by a whispering ghost of bruises clutching your skin, you do not stop the old prayer; in fact, you hardly notice that you're saying it at all. 

Even as the doors give in. 

"-and when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing – only I will remain–” 

The soldiers arrive in a burst of splintered doors and smooth movements; the one at the front, flanked by only two others clad in Atreides-tan armor, triggers some faint memory from a lost childhood. 

He moves towards you in the sickeningly familiar stride, and it fills you with rage. 

Duncan. Why did you wait so long? 

It is too late. You lunge, snarling like the wild beast you've become; You fight, because that is the only thing you know how to do. It is the only thing you have left. 

Your blade falls within minutes and you're taken by the man from your past not a minute after; you're on a ship, watching the black Opiuchi B disappear in an hour. 

“My Lady.”

There is a buzzing downfall of drizzling rain that slides over the umbrella’s spine above you. The air here is thicker, laced in salt and terra; the voice snaps your mind back to the ground. Wind whips the veil draped over your head as you step forward stiffly, arms sore and eyes heavy. 

The dress you wear, salvaged from your family's old castle, is dusty and pressed. 

It clings to your skin, drowns you, as the rain falls. A staff of House Atreides holds the umbrella above you, shielding the intricate detailing inlaid along the trim of the dress as you walk. 

The dress upon your shoulders is as tight a cage as the one you inhabited on Geidi Prime; and though it was an effort of good intentions, the Atreides' insistence of providing you with the necessities for you to perform your Sabberon's traditional customary mourning rituals has left you with a prickled spine and a saturation of spite bleeding into your heart. 

Your family may be gone, but the ghosts of their deeds remain with you; a hard goodbye to give when you alone remain to pay for their transgressions. Still, you have found yourself draped with the veil, the dresses, the jewelry; you, alone on a strange planet with the symbols of their crimes, of their betrayals, of their poisoned love. It's what they would have wanted. 

It is a death march from the hangar into the covered acceptance hall – banners of Hawks climb high towards the ragged cliffs, whipping and cerulean in the afternoon light. And ahead, stoic and proud, the members of House Atreides await you.

Your hands brush against the dark velvet – a texture you have not felt in years. It is odd, you notice, to catch the light of your skin not wrapped completely in black fabric; It has been many years, too, since you found yourself in green. 

It is with a prickled glance that you slow your pace behind Duncan Idaho – the man turns and glances at you when you begin to ascend towards the House members, but you can't bear the look of unfamiliarity that flickers over him when he looks at you now. Your chin remains high, your eyes over the line of cliff climbing towards the sky. 

Duncan, after these years, still looks the same – perhaps less tall, but that has more to do with your growth than his own; You, however, are not the same girl he last saw on Sabberon. Your hackles raised, your talons flexed within your palms: A coiling beast of hatred backed into a corner.

There is a coastline far beyond the hangar – and it calls to you quietly; a vast thing, cerulean, cold, and deep. You’d been otherwise occupied when the ship entered atmo to Caladan this afternoon; the sea remains something only within your mind, a figment whispering of golden lips and curling tides in the corners of your dreams. 

An urge strikes you as you begin to ascend the stone stairs towards the welcoming party; and subtly, you crane your neck outwards to catch a glimpse of that sea – a crashing call in the distance, the circle of gulls cutting through the clouded rainfall. But there is no ocean within sight; only jagged cliffs which rocket hundreds of feet above or drop off sharp below. 

Duncan stops just before you; Your spine straightens once more, vision concealed in hues of pine and evergreen as you take in the retinue standing before you. 

Duke Leto Atreides at the center; a man with peppered age, a tall pride and commanding stare – beside him, a woman in a gown of the same deep cerulean – Lady Jessica.

A flood of knowing penetrates you the moment your eyes find hers; through the veil she stares at you, before flicking her sight beyond you, to the Reverend Mother who’d travelled with your retinue as per High Court orders. A voice curls in the back of your mind, stalling your heartbeat for a slow moment.  Hello, sister.

Your lips purse as you look to the right, stood tall next to Lady Jessica; a boy intense in stare and proud in ceremonial uniform, eyes already awaiting your gaze with a sharp curiosity. Paul Atreides.

The son to whom you're now destined.

Even from your obstructed vision, there is no hiding such sharply beautiful features – a sculpted visage kissed with a smattering of freckles from the Caladan sun, pale from the weather; a curve of pouted lips, full, furrowed brows – curled dark locks and eyes wide and just as penetrating as his mother's. A properly handsome heir, you allow your heart's skip; But Maker, you realize as he solemnly watches your veil shift in the breeze, those eyes are so green. 

And most peculiar – within them, there is no hunger; nor hatred, no inkling of emotion besides a giveaway twitch of curiosity in the dragging gaze over your shrouded form. Some ancient stirring in your chest, a hibernated anger, a desire to bare teeth towards such an unassuming and altruistic stare – though you do no such thing, remaining balanced upon your feet and tense with the coiled hibernation of an awaiting serpent. 

There are eyes upon you with each movement of breath from your chest, and it stirs your fear in a way you’ve not felt in a long time.

It was easy to go unseen with the Harkonnens; by nature of arrogance and brashness, they paid no mind to the girl hiding around the shadows, slinking through the halls with a dark stare but blood that still bleeds green. The Atreides are no fools, and you are not one to think so; where Harkonnen honor lacks, Atreides honor flows in abundance. Though still, any such action that might come from a place of intrinsic value sets your teeth to edge. 

The Great Houses of the Landsraad have charged you to leave your nest of shadows, and you have done so. You have been shipped to a new world, a new chain to which you will forever be shackled.

You have learned to find the betrayal of emotion that lingers within the stare of men like Feyd-Rautha and Vladimir Harkonnen – the hunger, the greed, the danger; you have learned to sharpen your edges with the blade of their power, and you know now what your place in this galaxy must be. 

And yet, Paul Atreides: His stare betrays no emotion but duty; a foreign thing to you in these times, though as you scrutinize the twitch of his brow or the brush of eyelashes against cheek, you find yourself struck wary and off-balance. 

He does not have that wolfish hunger in his stare that you’ve come to know – in truth, if not for the boyish pout of his pink lips and his freshly-shaven jaw, you might have dared mistake him for his father; A Duke. 

You might have remained in your study of your betrothed if not for the echoing voice of Duke Leto speaking your name. A snap of your gaze towards the man in front of you as he nods warmly, “Welcome.”

It is an effort to bow in return to him, wincing through your stiffened muscles as your headpiece chimes with your movements. 

“We are honored to welcome you to Caladan.” It is an exceedingly polite, humane tone with which he addresses you; you, a stranger who has been delivered from the protection (which itself might even be a laughable term) of their sworn enemy. 

Though despite the sincerity, you find yourself struck with a stinging embarrassment: There is no honor to your presence, not anymore. 

It gives you a moment to gather your expression, however hidden behind the veil it may be – perhaps they can't quite make out your face, but Lady Jessica watches closely. She sees.

You take a sharp breath, swallowing away the lump of emotion in your throat. 

“Thank you, Duke Leto.” It is steel which grinds the melodically polite veneer of your voice; and without a hesitation you turn to greet the Lady of the House.

“Lady Jessica, it is a pleasure.” 

In response you are offered a smile as warm as the Duke’s voice; there is a flicker of understanding which floats along the line of blue in her irises, and it compels you to continue, “Thank you for welcoming me to your home,” You finish, hoping the steely reflection within your voice does not bleed unto the other ears. 

The rain falls quietly overhead, sliding over the high-drawn ceiling of the open acceptance hall. “We understand that these are trying times,” Lady Jessica begins; your legs feel weakened in a moment of shortened breath, though she finishes in a quiet nod. “We are relieved to have you on Caladan.” 

The spin of worldchange has caught up with you at the reminder of such trying times – a day and a half’s travel between systems behind you, and yet the deaths of your family meet you still with a fresh sickness of shock each time you close your eyes. Your headdress chimes lightly when you bow your head once more in appreciation of her words. 

The welcome feels rather intimate, in this moment – a retinue of four strong flanks behind you: Duncan Idaho, the Reverend Mother, and two Atreides soldiers; and before you stands the Duke and Lady, their Heir, and a party of five men in Atreides uniforms. Your eyes sweep them efficiently – no weapons; a surprising show of trust, knowing who indeed you have just been delivered from the clutches of. 

Perhaps they'd thought they'd be taking in some injured little dove; a cooing thing, wings clipped and battered by the ferocious boy who'd gifted her with a knife plunged between her ribs on her eighteenth nameday. A bitter thought. 

The scar that lies just below your breast on your right side is not a reminder, but instead fate carved into flesh – it does not ache; it hums with the echoes of pain grown to purpose.

It echoes of the months spent thrown into a pit under the glaring black sun; Not the arena that rang in the end of your family, no – this pit is smaller, with one large seat for the na-Baron himself; one not with a crowd of vicious jeering but with drugged concubines and slaves clutching blades to service his na-Baroness. 

A place to watch his pets play. 

Your eyes glance to the curved wounds scabbed over your hands – little half moons, skies of pain, etched into the palms of your hands. Destruction: the only thing you and Feyd-Rautha may have ever had in common. 

Unfortunately, you endured; a hard lesson, to live with Harkonnens, to be one of them – and with a clip of fear, you worry you may never be able to unlearn. 

It has been long enough for a bout of thunder to rumble up in the heavens above; you turn to the young man who stands next to Lady Jessica.

Your betrothed watches you in a peculiar tilt of head – subtle, but analytical; a gaze so green you have to look away, nodding slightly as you speak once more. “My Lord,” your heart thuds in your chest uncomfortably, wondering if he, too, will be as displeased as Feyd so often was when you spoke to him; though Paul does not so much as move as he inhales softly, eyes coasting over your jaded silhouette.  

“My Lady.” He returns the formality with a voice much softer than expected; your heart is struck with a cool unease, distrust tightening its clutches around your throat.

A silent moment hangs thick between you; it is only then that you see the tense coil of Paul’s shoulders – surely a mirror of your own. Defiance, your mind tells you. Though Duncan Idaho’s voice cuts through your observations quickly. “We have much to discuss.” 

Cutting to the chase, as always; you are relieved for the attention to fall off your presence as you let out a short exhale. “Yes–” though the Duke lifts a brow, eyes caught on the lump of gauze which wraps around Duncan’s bicep, concealed by his uniform. “���Idaho, Do you need to see treatment?” He questions the Swordsman. 

As Duncan laughs, your shoulders tense; and before you can consider some quieter death, he begins to speak. “No. Harkonnen blades are sharp – but so are Lady Bourbon's nails.”

It is immediate, the prickling of eyes which befall you from all sides, and a heated stare from your betrothed that you steadfastly ignore for the sake of glaring at Duncan. There is a smirk growing on his lips as the Swordsman addresses you. “You fight differently than I remember, Little Bourbon.” 

An old nickname, unearthed from the catacombs of the life you once lived in the wintered palace of Sabberon; a nickname so cherished in your youth and so foreign now that it knocks the air from your chest. Resentment curls within you at the warmth upon his tongue. 

The shame floods you just as fast as the pride does, and in the aftermath, you stand just as rigid as before, hands clenched into the velvet of your skirt, seething under your veil. 

There is no hiding the shock upon the Atreides' countenances; before them stands some monster, some savagery wrapped up in a gown and a pretty smile hidden beneath a veil. 

It had been a habit – rabid hounds don't tuck tail when cornered, do they?

Nonetheless, you smile tight behind the veil, trying not to think of the life you've just left – of what cold life lies ahead. 

When you respond, your voice is frigid. “It has been a long time, Duncan.” You muse; Paul’s piercing gaze of green penetrates the veil, but you ignore him. 

“Threats demand evolution.” 

The rain is gone into mist by the next day.

It rolls in fog along the moors outside, taunting an echo of tides far below the castle – in the morning room, forks scrape over blue-plated China. A grandfather clock lives in the corner; the seconds pass in quiet, insistent ticks. 

A cleared throat, a swallow of water – air blown across a plane of steeped tea. 

Your eyes burn from exhaustion.

To your relief, your arrival last evening held no such time for small talk – you were whisked away by the service staff to make sure your quarters were comfortable; in the minutes you’d been given to yourself, you’d found the clothing of a former life – dresses, tops and trousers of yourself, your sisters and your mother; the dressings salvaged from the Castle on Sabberon in the week leading up to the trial at Harko Arena. 

All washed thrice of soot and rubble, hanging in wait of your touch within the wardrobes in the room. A sickening feeling had haunted you the moment you’d slipped your mother’s old ceremonial ferronnière and hair chain; the reflection of your stare in the mirror resembling too close the sharp gaze of her own. And that feeling had lingered in the shadows of your room still as you shut away the diadem of gold and emerald, the gowns, the old trousers your sister would wear to ritual; your eyes, burning along the skyline in the distance as you locked the wardrobe with trembling fingers. 

Late in the evening, you'd attended a meeting in a small conference hall. 

There, sat across from Paul, Masters of War and Swords and Strategy, a Mentat, and Lady Jessica, the Duke had asked you questions, ensuring you were not harmed – and perhaps more importantly, trying to ensure there was no malicious intent to your presence. It was in your sleepy haze you first detected the twitching motions of Lady Jessica's hands, the flicking gazes of the others as your voice carried to them. A war language, you’d realized quite quick. They think I am lying. 

You'd only been there for ten minutes before you were escorted by a handmaid back to your chambers, where you sat without rest through the night. 

Truthfully, you're breaking fast this morning with Lady Jessica and Lord Paul out of courtesy; You were up far before the sun had teased the horizon this morning, staring emotionless at the ghost who stood in the corner of your new chambers. 

He is not a new visitor; in the hazy world between waking and dreaming, you’re well used to the ghost – how he smirks by the foot of your mattress, whispering with sharp teeth, with sweet memories, with promises of blood and pain. You’d grown used to his presence, and you’d remained upright for most of the night – until something moved in the corner of your vision, and you screamed. 

That had woken one of the servants.

She came in with her head tilted down, holding a pitcher of water; you asked her to stay.

Her name is Hestia; close enough in age if not younger, as she must be merely twenty – the silence was hesitant but not wholly unpleasant as she’d sat, wary but willing as you shared the pot of tea brought for you. 

It wasn't until she'd brought you breakfast a few minutes later that you realized the staff must have been informed of your ancestral customs before your arrival – she said nothing as you ate silently, staring out towards the coast of rocky cliffs and rolling moors you could just barely make out from your chamber windows. She’d helped silently to smooth your hair under your veil as you’d drawn it in preparation to leave the room; and with a beat of hesitance, you’d almost admitted to her you did not wish to wear it. 

Now, you sit quite similarly; hands perched in your lap, tea in front of you untouched as the food on your plate. 

Your future husband sits across the table from you – with a motion sluggish and ruminating, he pushes the omelet around on his fork. You find the boyishly restless knee from Paul, one which  shakes the table just slightly, jilting your glass full of water. 

A polite and quiet conversation follows; some throw off observation of the weather this coming week, how you seem to have brought the sunshine – a comment that makes both you and your betrothed share a sharp glance; heat following the sudden shared connection. 

Efforts to bring you into such discussions are met with your polite, quiet words – and after a short time, a woman enters and whispers something to the Lady at the end of the table. Nodding, Lady Jessica takes her leave with a pointed look at Paul, suggesting he might escort you around the castle to settle you in.

Some cold dread licks its way up your spine, though you force yourself to nod – to adapt. “–If you have time, my Lord, I'd appreciate it.” 

He seems equally pricked by his mother’s suggestion, though he hides it quite well – a quiet, chivalrous demeanor suits his striking features, and you find your distrust mounting in some self-preserving effort. 

Lady Jessica’s leave brings a gust of air through the morning room, and soon you’re met with the scent of forest; a warm soap, sharp with the efforts of Caladan’s bright ocean salt and wooded hills to the west that lingers upon his skin. Your face flushes in the heat of the sudden morning rays, exposed by a gap in the clouds. 

It's silent for a few moments as only the two of you remain; Your food untouched, his half-eaten. 

The wall behind Paul boasts an intricate geometric wall of wood and empty-space; a fascinating architectural choice which complements the beauty of Caladan’s moors – you find yourself intent on tracing each line laid before you, ignoring the glossy glint of Paul’s hair in foresight. In the silence of youthful discomfort, the quiet feels inescapable – until it isn’t. 

“Are you one of them?”

His eyes trace you when you return to his visage. Them?

In a slow realization, it occurs to you that Paul might assume you are just as bald and sickly as each Harkonnen; that perhaps their soil, so poisoned, might have penetrated the evergreen veins that carry your life to each part of you – might have wilted the very things that make you so uniquely yourself. 

You shake your head, thankful for the lack of chains upon the crown of your head today; you are not a Harkonnen, and you never will be. 

Perhaps that would have been the preferred choice of words, but instead from your lips fall a curt sentence: “I have hair.” 

In the morning light, you glance at the skin of your arm; The skin that boasts arm hair, none of the sickly pale skin that knew of no clean air nor healthy sunlight – your skin, glowing with real melanin and health.

It is a brash choice to speak with such frivolity; You'd not dare speak so freely on Geidi Prime – stars, you'd never have spoken this freely at home on Sabberon, either – but there is no home anymore. 

And if you've learned one thing in your years since coming of age, it's that the Great and Noble Houses of the Landsraad are crawling with perjurers, fabricators; Paul is likely the same. 

If the Atreides boy must be wed to you, you cannot help that; They can dress you, insist on your traditional customs – but you will not go down easy. No matter how cold the home, you can be colder – you are more than the bones which hold you up; crueller than the demons that kept you in their ghostly grip for four years. 

Though at your words, Paul’s cheeks flush a peculiar pink – and his lip twitches in a momentary lapse of stoicism. A lost battle, it seems, as you are rewarded with a small, boyish grin flickering over his visage. “No,” he starts again, eyes penetrating your own somehow, even beneath the layers of green that wrap around you. His breath comes in a short exhale, “Not Harkonnen,” His elaboration grows quiet as he continues, “I meant…Bene Gesserit.”  

Your stomach chills. 

His eyes seem to know the words which whisper around your mind, and a faint sense of memory gnaws at the cage within your head. After only half a moment’s hesitation, you shake your head. “No, my Lord.”

It must be what he expected – he does not so much as blink; though a flicker of knowledge passes over his face and he closes off, eyes flashing. 

You are – despite your resolve – coaxed by his expression to continue, “I suppose I was…” Your hand tugs the sleeve of your gown. 

“–Or, I was supposed to be.” 

Your tone, unemotional; Paul bites back the suspicion that climbs up his throat. He’s no fool; he saw the glances between his mother and you, however short – in those breaths, the buzzing of his mother’s whispers behind shut doors, her eyes quaking and steadfast in the same. 

And, of course, the lapping memories of dreams upon a beach of consciousness; a face beneath a shroud, a whisper from golden lips, a pathway dimly lit and forked into the foggy horizon. 

He stands when you rise from your seat.

The dress you wear is unlike any he’s seen outside of your culture’s books; a waterfall of emerald that pools and flows – some frozen-limbed weeping willow, kissing the face of a thawing lake. He offers an arm to you, and you loop yourself to him with only a breath of hesitation. 

Your voice comes again from those lips so hidden behind the veil of pine. “I was supposed to be a lot of things.” 

Your voice is undeniably beautiful; strong, cold, unwilling. Polite, yes – but calculating, aggressive. Coiled in a nest, watching, waiting to strike. 

She tells the truth. 

His mother had signaled during the council the night before a dissection of your honesty; Yet trust is a fragile thing, and as much as he places faith in Duncan and his father, the thought lingers of distrust. 

He saw the claw marks you'd left upon Duncan; a man you've known since you were a young girl. By decree, Paul is now bound to you in marriage; but he has spent endless hours unraveling the Harkonnens — their cunning, their strategy, their thirst for power – and yet, according to Duncan, the Baron and his brutish nephew simply let you go, unscathed and unpursued. 

It gnaws at him, such inexplicable mercy from a house that knows no such thing.

Paul’s wariness does not bleed through his posture, as indeed it does not with you: You walk with your chest out, back as straight as a soldier’s; your words are cordial, indifferent. 

Halls pass as he murmurs a light overview of the castle’s history, introducing you to Houseworkers as you stop to greet them; he is rather surprised by your indifferent charm that seems to enrapture the workers and scare them all the same; he wonders, then, what this life will be like, when you become the Duchess and he Duke. 

A revolt in his heart; one childish and quelled by duty and understanding – and by his father’s words, burnt sharp into his mind. 

Duty often requires us to navigate paths we may not have chosen for ourselves, Paul. You may not always like her, but you will treat her with the respect and care befitting of a future wife. 

Love may come to you in other ways. But you will marry her, you will respect her, and when the time comes, together you will sire an heir.

Outside the walls, it is quiet – the wind is calmed, the tide drawn by the looming moon in the morning sky; you and Paul share no more than one unintentional glance broken up by wind-warmed cheeks and a softly cleared throat. 

It is not until he escorts you along a path that winds down out of your sights that he notices your change in demeanor. Beside him, you take a deep breath, footsteps faltering as you slow – a blink of concern until he follows the direction of your veil towards a clump of moss sprawled across the earth. Curiously, Paul slows to a stop beside you.

For a moment, you stare down at the dirt and fallen tree limbs, the grassy field and rocks; though as if an invisible string pulls you upwards, you snap your head, voice sheepish behind your veil. “Apologies, my Lord.” You start to turn, “I've read of plants like this, but never seen them before in person.” 

It is an odd moment in which Paul comes to understand: He knows what Giedi Prime is like, and your homeworld, from what he's read in the books on Sabberon, is mostly Glaciers, forests, and high altitudes. 

The notion of you finding interest in Caladan’s flora and fauna is as bizarre as it is endearing – and so instead of moving along, Paul bends to grasp a bit of moss from a fallen trunk. 

Your veiled visage tracks him as he returns to his full height; The earthy dirt spreads between his nimble fingers, green and soft against his skin. You watch him silently, curiously.

“It absorbs up to twenty times its dry weight in water,” He explains in an echo of an old ecological lesson, pushing the spongy material with the nail of his thumb. “Banks of it grow just around the brackish tidepools below the castle.”

Your interest, piqued, causes your head to crane slightly from your small height – he can tell, even without seeing any part of your face, that you are fascinated; it brings him a moment of pride. 

At his gesture towards the coastline just peeking below, you follow in a slow move of interest, breath coming soft from hidden lips. He watches the side of your silhouette flutter in the breeze. “Am I allowed to see?” You ask stiffly, arms hanging at your sides.

An odd request – one which penetrates any semblance of protectiveness for his homeworld and instead strikes alarm in his chest. What such monsters do you come from that you must ask such foolish questions? 

He lets the moss fall back to the stump, brows furrowing. “You are to be Lady Atreides one day.” His voice does not reveal any hint of his resistance to this fact, and for this, he is grateful. “You do not have to ask permission to see your own land.” He finishes, cheeks warm with the insistence of the seabreeze and the alarm which still thuds through his heart. 

You have grown quiet – in the rushing blow of wind, you are still as an evergreen. 

The wind from the sea whips in misty breaths even this high; inky tresses swirl around his vision and are swept away by his own hand – there are no words from you for several very long breaths, in which you clear your throat. 

“I…do not feel well.” Your voice is sudden, thick with some hint of insistence – though your spine does not bend, it does not yield; a small breath as your head cranes up. Paul sees a glint of eyes through the ripple of green. “Please, if you would excuse me.”

It is not below Paul to entertain your fib – for your sake, sure; but rather for the growing weight of bitterness that festers in his chest each time he thinks of what is to come. Paul escorts you to your chambers in a tense silence that echoes only the footfalls and the swishing of velveted fabric. 

You slip into your chambers with a polite and half-whispered thanks to his looming frame. Paul watches the fabric of your dress curl around the corner as the door shuts. 

Upon his return to his own quarters, Paul catches Hestia; a girl known long before she began working for the House. He requests she bring you some bread and cheese, and send Dr. Yueh to check on you once more.

An insistent tapping grates in his mind as he stalks the corridor towards his rooms; a clock from halls away, ticking away the seconds – hands clench, flex; an itching shiver down his spine as he turns corner towards his chambers. A flicker of green around the corner just across the hall sends his stomach to tense, stilling in a moment of suspicion; hackles raised, Paul blinks away paranoia as a Houseworker trims a houseplant. A hand swipes over his visage, massaging his eyes. 

Threats demand evolution. 

The memory of your voice pierces his thoughts – and without a second thought, he turns heel and makes towards the training room, fingers itching for a blade. 

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[winchesterwild78]

The Hunter pt 2

Master List

Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader (together), Sam Winchester, Jodie Mills, Bobby Singer x Reader (Uncle/Niece)

Warnings: fluff, oral sex (female receiving), SMUT (protected sex), language, angst, hurt feelings

A/N: I’ve been working on getting some stories out and it’s driving me crazy. I’m turning this one into a series, probably short(ish), not 100% yet. This story came to me after starting Supernatural again. We all know how Dean feels about relationships, but let’s just pretend he finally gave in. 😀 

This is my own work, please do not take it or copy it without my permission. It’s based on characters from Supernatural, but doesn’t follow the timeline completely. I wrote it fast and edited it fast. Please overlook any errors. 

Minors DNI 18+

The three of you made your way back to Bobby’s house. Sam carried the food in as Dean got out of the Impala and walked over to your car. He looked it over and whistled. “Y’all did an amazing job on her sweetheart.” “Thank you. Maybe after we eat I can take you for a drive.” “Yeah, I’d like that. Look, Y/N, I really am sorry for how I acted. I’m not good at this and sometimes I say and do stupid shit.” “I get it. I’m sure it was hard hearing your dad and Bobby say those things about you. We all carry crap with us and deal with it in our own ways.” You stepped closer to him, “I can think of something you could do to make it up to me.” You smirked at him. “What’s that darlin’?” “Kiss me.”

Dean leaned you against the car and pressed his body against yours. He slowly took your head in his hands and placed his lips against yours. You could taste the whiskey he had been drinking. The kiss deepened and you moaned into his mouth. 

“Dean, I need you, I want you.” “Oh sweetheart, I want you too. We just have to be smart about it. I don’t need Bobby or my Dad chopping things off.” You giggled, “No, we definitely don’t need that. Can I come to your room or you come to my room tonight, after everyone else has gone to bed?” Dean leaned his forehead against yours, “Anything for you, birthday girl.” 

“Hey, Y/N, where are you kiddo? Food’s getting cold.” Bobby yelled from the door. “Coming, I was just showing Dean the car.” Dean kissed you again and you smiled, “Later baby. I can’t wait.” 

The two of you walked towards the house and Bobby was standing at the door. He looked at you and then at Dean and shook his head. “So Dean, how’d you like the car?” “She’s beautiful. Y’all did a great job on her, Bobby.” Bobby looked at Dean and then at you, but didn’t say anything. He just let out a little huff. 

All of you sat down to eat dinner and just chat. Bobby told you he had one last gift to give you, and thanks to John he was able to get it for you. “Now, this is something your parents had for years, they lost it on a hunt years ago when you were little. Think of it as a family heirloom. Your father bought it for your mother the day you were born. You smiled and nodded. 

Bobby handed you a small box that was wrapped. Inside the box was a heart shaped locket with a diamond in the middle. Inside was a picture of your mom holding you on one side, and your dad holding you on the other side. Tears fell from your eyes. “Oh Uncle Bobby, this is perfect! Thank you!.” You leaped up and threw your arms around him. “Well it was John and Dean who actually found it, but you’re welcome honey.” You hugged John and Dean next. “Thank you both so much. This means more to me than anything.” You placed a kiss on John’s cheek and on Dean’s. 

Bobby and John knew right then you were smitten with the oldest Winchester brother. They both looked at each other and sighed. Bobby brought out the pie with a candle in it and they all sang “Happy Birthday”. You made a wish and blew out the candle, making eye contact with Dean. You didn’t think Bobby saw it, but he did. 

After the pie was gone, the evening was drawing to a close. You were getting tired, well that’s what you let everyone believe. You thanked everyone again and told everyone good night. Before you went upstairs Bobby pulled you to the side, “Y/N, I see how you’re looking at Dean. I know I could tell you to stay away from him until I’m blue in the face, but I know you’re just as stubborn as I am. So, all I’m going to say is be careful. He’s a great guy, but he has so many walls up and I don’t want to see you get hurt.” You hugged him, “I know Uncle Bobby, Dean definitely has walls up, but we all do. The ones that you’re meant to be with are the ones strong enough to kick those walls down. You, Mom and Dad raised me to be strong, and I think I’m strong enough to kick down his walls. I love you, Uncle Bobby.” “I love you too, sweetpea, and I trust you. Go kick those walls down.” You smiled, nodded and went upstairs.

A few minutes later in your room there was a knock on your door. You opened the door to see Dean standing there in his t-shirt and gray sweatpants. “Hey sweetheart, you mind if I come in?” “Not at all.” You smiled and stepped to the side. As soon as you closed the door, Dean’s lips were on yours. You moaned into his mouth as his hands ran up your body.

You both laid on the bed as his hand continued to explore your body. Goosebumps erupted over your skin and his lips left a trail of fire any place they touched. You felt the slick pooling between your legs and an ache you knew only he could satisfy. Dean pulled his shirt over his head and off his body in one fluid pull. Your hands trailed over his toned chest and across the freckles that scattered across his sun kissed skin. “Dean, should we wait until everyone is asleep?” “Dad and Bobby went to the bar and Sammy is asleep. I’m all yours.” 

Your breath hitched. “Are you okay? We can stop if you want to.” Dean asked. “No, I’m fine, just a little nervous.” “I’ve got you baby, and if at any time you get uncomfortable, we can stop.” You nodded, “Okay, Dean.” 

Dean pulled at your shirt and removed it. Since you were ready for bed you didn’t have a bra on so your perky breasts were exposed when he removed your shirt. “Damn you’re beautiful.” You blushed as Dean’s lips trailed to your breasts. His hands cupping them as his lips peppered kisses on them, and his tongue licked your nipples. You moaned and threw your head back as he licked and sucked. 

Dean kissed down your torso to the hem of your sleep shorts. He looked up at you through his eyelashes and you nodded. He hooked his fingers in the waistband and pulled your shorts and panties down in one pull. His hands gently spread your thighs apart and he kissed up your legs. As he got to your folds he looked up waiting for permission. “Dean, please. I need to feel you. I want you to make me cum.”

Dean took his fingers and softly parted your folds, finding you already dripping wet. He licked a strip up through your folds to your clit. You sucked in air and moaned his name. Dean loved hearing you moan his name. He began to lick and suck your clit and you wiggled under him. He slowly inserted one finger into your dripping wet pussy. You moaned and arched your back. He slowly moved his finger in and out as your breathing became pants and you moaned. Dean inserted another finger and hooked both upwards causing you to moan louder. 

“Shh, we need to stay quiet sweetheart.” He grinned as he continued to pump his fingers and licking your clit. He would lick and suck as he pumped his fingers. Your hands pulled his head deeper into you and you moved your hips. You were fucking his face as he pushed you towards your release. “Dean, I’m gonna cum.” You breathed out. 

Dean lifted his head, “Cum for me baby. Cum all over my fingers.” He pumped and licked until he felt your release. He grabbed your thighs holding you as he kept licking, causing you to moan loudly and your body shake under him. By the time you were coming down from your release, your body was over sensitive. 

You had boyfriends in the past eat you out, but damn it if Dean Winchester wasn’t a gold medalist in it. You had never felt that good after that before. Dean removed his fingers and hovered over your body and kissed your lips. As he leaned over you could feel his arousal on your thigh. 

“Dean, please, I need you.” “Are you sure sweetheart, we don’t have to go any further.” “Yes, Dean. I’m sure. I want you, I need you.” Dean stood up and took off his pants and boxers. His large, hardened cock sprang free. You licked your lips and took in the sight of him. He was much larger than you had ever had, but damn were you excited. 

You felt an ache form between your legs that seemed to beg for him. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

You nodded and handed Dean a condom from your side table. He ripped the package with his teeth and you giggled. He pumped himself a few times and slid the condom on. Climbing back on the bed, he positioned himself between your thighs and lined himself up. 

The head of his cock was pushing inside you. You both moaned and gasped as he started to push in. You moaned. It was a little bit of pleasure and a little bit of pain. He was stretching you like you’d never been stretched before. You grabbed his biceps and dug your nails in. “You okay, sweetheart?” You nodded yes. Dean continued to push in slowly. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight. I need you to relax a little bit more sweetheart.” He leaned down and kissed you deeply. He could feel you relaxing more so he kept pushing. “Dean, please just push in, all the way.” “Are you sure?” You nodded yes, and before you could say anything else, Dean bottomed out with one thrust. You screamed in pleasure and Dean buried his face in the crook of your neck. “Sorry sweetheart, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I need a minute or I’m going to cum right now. You’re so tight.” 

You moved your hips under him and he started to move. His movements were slow. He would slowly pull out and push back in slowly. He didn’t want to hurt you and he wanted to give you time to adjust to his length and girth. When he felt your body relaxing and adjusting more to him, he started to move a little faster. 

“Oh Dean, you feel so good baby.” He kissed your lips. “You feel amazing around me, Y/N. You’re so beautiful.” With each thrust, each kiss, and each touch of his hand your heart filled with so much love for him. You knew you would do whatever it takes to keep him safe and to tear down his walls. He was yours and you were his. In that moment the only people who mattered were you and Dean. 

Dean lifted your legs onto his shoulders and the change in position caused him to hit your g-spot a little more. Sending you closer to your next release. As Dean continued to speed up you felt yourself closer to cumming again. “Dean, I’m gonna cum again.” “Oh baby, just let go, cum around my cock.” He kissed your lips and you felt your release rush through your whole body. As your walls clenched around his cock, he sped up chasing his release. He came with a grunt and spilled his seed in the condom. 

As he finished he pulled out and kissed your lips. “That was amazing, Y/N. Are you okay?” “God, yes Dean. That was incredible.” You kissed him again as he stood up grabbing a tissue and removing the condom. He threw it away in your trash can and crawled in bed beside you. 

He pulled you close to his body and wrapped you in his arms. He kissed your forehead as you laid on his chest. You listened to his heartbeat as your fingers danced over his anti-possession tattoo. “Dean, thank you. That was incredible.” “Oh sweetheart, you don’t have to thank me. That was more than incredible. I’ve never felt like I was going to cum that fast before. You are perfect.” You smiled and kissed his lips. “I could get used to this. Making love to you and then laying in your arms.” You whispered hoping you wouldn't scare him away.

“Me too, Y/N, me too.” “Dean, would you ever consider moving away from your dad and Sam? Like maybe in here with me?” Dean sat up in the bed and looked at you. Panic flooded your brain instantly. “Well, I hadn’t given it much thought, but I don’t know if Bobby would like that too much. But yeah, I’d consider it, if Bobby was okay with it.” You looked shocked, “Really? You’d be willing to move in with me?” 

Dean turned and looked at you, “Of course I would. This (he motioned between the two of you) wasn’t just a one and done thing. I want to be with you. I’ve never wanted to be with anyone ever, but with you I’d give up everything.” “Oh Dean.” Tears filled your eyes as you kissed him. 

When he pulled back his thumb wiped the tears away, “Shh don’t cry sweetheart.” “They are happy tears, Dean. I just can’t believe you’d be willing to stay with me. Of course, I could always go with you too.” Dean’s head spun around, “What?! You’d leave home for me? To go on the road with us?” “Yes, Dean. I’d give up everything for you too.” Dean kissed you again and pulled you back down with him. “Come on sweetheart, let’s get some sleep. We will figure it out tomorrow. Tonight, let’s just be here together.” You nodded in agreement and laid your head on his chest. 

You listened to Dean’s heartbeat until your eyes got too heavy and they finally closed. Dean listened to you as you fell asleep in his arms. He smiled and felt his heart warm when he heard the soft snores coming from you. He couldn’t shake the feeling he was starting to fall for you. It scared him but excited him too. He’d never felt like this about anyone. Could he really leave his dad and Sam to live with you, or could he really let you leave Bobby to go on the road with him? These questions plagued his brain until he finally drifted off to sleep holding you tight. 

Around 3 am the door to your bedroom creaked open. Bobby saw Dean’s bed was empty and knew he’d find him with you. His heart sank when he saw you laying on Dean’s chest and Dean holding you tight. He knew he couldn’t keep you two apart now. At first he was going to wake Dean up and tell him to get the hell out of your bed, but he saw you smiling in your sleep and heard you sigh softly. He saw how Dean’s grip on you tightened when you sighed. He knew, of course he knew. Both of you were falling in love. “Balls!” Bobby said before he closed your door softly. 

He walked downstairs and told John “We’ve got a problem.” “Dean’s with her, isn’t he?” Bobby shook his head yes, “And the problem is they are already falling for each other.” “Damnit Dean! I told that boy to keep it in his pants. Bobby if I would have known this was going to happen I would have told Dean to stay away.” “Hey, John, it's nobody’s fault. They are young and are going to do whatever they want. We just need to figure out where to go from here.” “We will talk to them in the morning. I’m beat. Night John.” “Night Bobby.” 

The next morning you woke up late. It was about 10 am and you felt strong arms wrapped around you. Dean was sleeping next to you, holding you in his arms. You smiled and snuggled closer to him. He started to wake up and pulled you tighter. “Where do you think you’re going, sweetheart?” “Well, I need to pee, so hopefully the bathroom.” You giggled. “Fine, but come back, please.” You leaned over, kissed him, “I will.”

You grabbed some clothes and threw them on and headed to the bathroom. You walked back towards your bedroom. When you got to your door you saw Dean stretched out on your bed with the blanket draped over his hips. His toned chest exposed to the chill of the room. You bit your lip.

“Like what you see sweetheart?” Dean grinned with his eyes still closed. You closed the door and climbed on the bed, “You know I do.” You placed a soft kiss on his lips. He pulled you down into his arms, eliciting a giggle from your lips. “Dean, we really should get up. Do you want to be the one to explain to Bobby and your Dad why you’re naked in my bed?” “If they don’t know why I’m naked in a beautiful woman’s bed by their age, I don’t know what to tell them.” He smirked. “Dean Winchester! You know what I meant.” 

He laughed and pulled you closer, “Yeah I know, I’m just not ready to leave your side yet.” You sighed and laid your head on his chest. “I know, me either, but if we don’t get up soon they will come up here.” Dean grumbled and you giggled.

There was a knock on your door and you froze. “Hello?” “Hey, sweetpea, you and Dean get dressed and come downstairs, we need to talk.” You looked at Dean with wide eyes and he smirked. “Okay, be down soon.” “Shit! Dean, how did they know?” Dean chuckled, “Guess there’s no need to keep it a secret, huh?” “Dean, it's not funny. Bobby sounded pissed.” “It kinda is, sweetheart.” You playfully slapped his chest, “Dean, you’re terrible, now get up and get dressed.” 

A few minutes later the two of you walked downstairs hand in hand and were met with tense jaws and even tenser stares from Bobby and John. You squeezed Dean’s hand and he pulled you closer to him, “I’ve got you, sweetheart.” 

Bobby stood up and got in Dean’s face. “I thought I told you to stay the fuck away from her, Dean!” You jumped at the sound of his voice. You’d never heard him that angry before. You stepped forward a bit, “Bobby, I’m an adult, I can be with whoever I want.” You seemed so small beside the three towering men. Most people would be intimidated, but you held your own. 

“Sweet pea, it’s not a matter of being an adult, I just don’t want to see you hurt.” “Bobby, I love you, but you can’t protect me for the rest of my life. You’ve always told me what good hunters and men the Winchesters were, now you’re telling me Dean isn’t. So which is it? Is he good or not?” Bobby looked between you and Dean and knew he was fighting a losing battle. Before he could say anything else John stepped up and punched Dean in the face. You gasped and when Dean turned his face back he was bleeding, but didn’t react. Bobby had grabbed John and pulled him back. Dean’s jaw clenched and he looked over at you and saw tears in your eyes. He let go of your hand and stormed out of the house. You looked at Bobby and then over at John. “I can’t believe you two. Dean is an amazing person. He practically raised Sammy because you, John, were too caught up in your own grief and need for revenge to be anything that resembled a good father. He had to be mom and dad to Sam. You owe him so much because he raised himself and his brother FOR YOU! Uncle Bobby, I know you mean well, but I’m an adult. You didn’t have a problem with Alex, and he tried to force me into his car. Dean never once forced anything. I pursued him. Even last night before we had sex he kept asking if I was sure. Now that is the kind of man I want to be with. Sure he’s had a past, but which one of you can say you haven’t. Now if you will excuse me, I’m going to find Dean and check on him.” 

Before they could say anything else you walked away and found Dean standing on the porch. When he saw you he pulled you into a searing kiss. He heard you defend him. He pulled away and looked at you, he cupped your face, “Thank you. Nobody has ever defended me like that. Thank you, sweetheart.” He kissed you again.

“I meant every word of it. I don’t know what this means for us as far as where we are headed to live, but I’ll follow you wherever you go, Dean Winchester.” “Good, because I’m not going to let you go, ever.” He kissed you again and could feel so much love between you two. 

Later that afternoon, you and Dean had decided to go off together. Just the two of you, hunting and living together. He couldn’t bear the thought of being with John after what happened, and he knew Bobby needed space. You were in your room packing a bag when Bobby came to the door, “Sweet pea, you don’t have to leave. We can figure this out.” Bobby’s eyes were pleading with you and it broke your heart. “Uncle Bobby, I’m not leaving for good, Dean and I just want to be together, work on our relationship without having to deal with everyone else’s opinions. I love you and you will always be home. I promise.” You hugged Bobby tightly. He kissed the top of your head.

Dean came to your room to grab your stuff. Bobby turned towards him, “Dean, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said. There is no excuse for it. She’s like a daughter to me and it’s my job to protect her. Well, it was. Now it’s your job. I know you’ll protect her no matter what. Keep her safe, bring her home every once in a while, and take care of yourself too. Your father was out of line hitting you like that. I’m sorry son.” He pulled Dean in for a hug. You had tears in your eyes looking at them hugging. 

“Well sweet pea, where are y’all headed?” “Not sure yet, maybe East. I’ll call you whenever we stop and let you know. I love you, Uncle Bobby.” “I love you too, sweet pea. You make him take care of you.” “I will, and he will. I know he will.” You hugged him again and handed Dean your bags.

The three of you walked downstairs and Dean headed out to your car to put the bags in it. Sam was standing there, “Dean, take me with you two. I can’t be with Dad. We’ll kill each other. You know that.” Dean sighed, “Yeah Sammy, I know. Sammy, I want you to apply to school. Get out of this life, go be a lawyer or whatever you want to be. I know you can do it. Meet a girl, get married, have kids. Be normal.” Dean pulled Sam into a hug, “I love you baby brother. Stay with Bobby until you get into that school.” “I love you too, Dean.” 

You stood in the living room and hugged Bobby one last time. John was standing leaned against the doorframe not saying anything. He was just staring. Dean walked in and walked over to Bobby and pulled him in for a hug. “Bobby, I need you to let Sammy stay here and make sure he applies for college. He’s too smart to stay in this life. He deserves a normal life.” Bobby shook his head in agreement. Dean thanked him and started to walk away.

As the two of you approached the door John stepped forward, “Dean, Y/N, wait.” You both stopped and turned around looking at him. “Look, I’m sorry Dean. I shouldn’t have hit you. I was out of line.” Before Dean could say anything you stepped in between them, “John, you were definitely out of line hitting him. I hope you take some time and reflect on yourself about the kind of father, man you want to be. I know Dean loves you, but it’s my job now to protect him and if that means protecting him from you I will. I’m in love with your son, and will spend the rest of my life proving to him what an amazing man he is. A lesser man would have laid your ass out after punching him, but not Dean. You see, that’s the kind of man he is. He knows when to fight and when not to. Hopefully that’s a lesson you learn too. Goodbye John, I wish you nothing but the best.”

You looked up at Dean who was still trying to process you saying you loved him. Smiling softly at him, you kissed his lips, “I’ll be outside.” You knew he needed closure so you left to give him his space to find it. 

Dean stepped towards John, “Dad I forgive you. I just can’t be with you right now. Maybe later down the road the three of us can hunt together, but right now I need to be with her and have space from you. I hope you understand.” He hugged his father and started to walk away. “Dean, for what it’s worth I know you’re a better man than I am. You take care of that little firecracker. She loves you and I can tell you love her. Be safe, and always know I will answer when you call.” Dean nodded and headed outside. 

The two of you climbed into your car and Dean started her up. He took your hand, you looked out your window, waved at Sam and Bobby and Dean drove away. You two had no idea where you were going, but you knew you would be fine as long as you had Dean by your side. 

Part 3

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[canisonicscrewyou]

Good news everyone: I didn't go home with my family's annual Yankee Swap Bear Curse.

Hilarious news everyone: There is now, after about 44 years, a second identical Bear in play, and somehow my dear oldest sister went home with BOTH of them.

You see, my maternal family's perhaps most prized family heirloom is a broken, plastic bear on a bicycle that at some point in its life was meant to be a novelty toilet paper roll holder. You put the roll on, you grab some TP, he does a little bicycle while you pull, teehee. One year it was gifted in our Yankee Swap, a Christmas tradition much older than the Bear, sometime in the late '70s to early '80s. My Great Aunt Peg hated it so much she regifted it the next year. Someone else went home with it. Two years later, the Bear is hidden inside of another gift, and goes home with someone unnoticed. We forget who. There used to be a list of years+names, just like we used to still have the box it came in, and it used to have a part to hold your roll of TP. Now it's just a Bear on a bicycle.

It gets passed around yearly in a game of vicious deception by hiding it in some way. Usually inside of another gift. And, since it IS a Yankee Swap, the recipient of the curse can bestow it upon someone else. Horrifically so. Fights have started at the table over being swapped the Bear.

Because nobody wants the Bear in their house. And nobody wants the responsibility of keeping track of the Bear for an entire calendar year, remembering sometime around November 1st, if they're lucky, that THEY went home with the Bear. And now they have to figure out where they have stored him begrudgingly since last Christmas, and also what the FUCK they're going to do with this stupid Bear to put one over on the rest of their family and make sure it doesn't end up in THEIR house over the next year, too.

And you know what?

That's the Christmas spirit, baby.

[eglerieth]

All these posts going around saying that by Din’s logic, the Darksaber belongs to Sidious, here’s my take

the Mandalorians are all gathered together in some cave somewhere. Someone realizes that ownership of the Darksaber was decided on the second Death Star. Din summons Luke because someone mentioned that he was the last person to see Sheev alive.

Luke: yes?

Din: Emperor Palpatine was the last person to own an heirloom that makes a person the leader of my people.

Luke: Um… I don’t know much about your people, but… given that you live in this galaxy, I’m assuming the Empire hurt you in some major way. I’m guessing you are averse to his possessing this heirloom.

Mandalorians: *nodding

Luke: also, he was a Sith Lord, so, again, not an ideal king

those scattered Mandalorians that actually know what a dar’jettii is: 😳🤯😳🤯- no wait that makes sense

some random Mandalorian: also, he’s dead, right?

Luke: yup, definitely dead. I watched him get thrown a reactor shaft myself.

Armorer: by whom? The darksaber is won in combat, so whoever killed him gets it

Luke: Darth Vader

Mandalorians: yeah, that’s not much better. And he’s ALSO dead, right? Who killed HIM?

Luke: …The Emperor

Mandalorians:

Din: if the Emperor killed him, how did he manage to kill the Emperor?

Luke: the Emperor electrocuted him, and then he threw the Emperor down the reactor shaft, and meanwhile the electricity from a few seconds ago was shorting out his life support suit, and then he died in my arms. It was actually very emotional.

Everyone, who thought Luke had managed to walk out of the throne room because he somehow killed the two most powerful people in the galaxy:

Luke: yeah, no, I basically just stood there and got provoked and then electrocuted. I’d be dead if Vader hadn’t died to save me.

Paz: why would he do that?

Luke: because he’s my father.

Mandalorians: 😲

Luke: I don’t let on about it because people might have some things to say about the hero of the Rebellion being the son of the Empire’s worst enforcer.

Armorer: It does not matter who your father is, only what kind of father you will be. This is the Way.

Mandalorians: This is the Way.

Luke: Thanks. I like that.

Paz, who is a Viszla, the House that held the Darksaber for centuries: The Darksaber can also be inherited. Wait- does this make you Mand’alor?!

Luke, with even more horror than Din had in that position: no no no no no. I’m not even Mandalorian, and even if I was, I have enough to do with rebuilding the Jedi order, which isn’t going so great, thanks for asking. The last thing I want is to get involved in any kind of political stuff. That’s my sister’s job.

Mandalorians: you have a sister?

Luke: yeah, Leia Organa

Mandalorians: the Hutt Slayer?!

Luke: I- yeah, the Hutt slayer. Not how she’s usually introduced…

Mandalorians: *agreeing that the renowned Hutt Slayer would be a much better Mand’alor than this jetii twink*

Bo-Katan, who actually knows something about the New Republic: But isn’t Senator Organa a leading member of the New Republic? We don’t want Mandalore to be part of the New Republic.

Luke: Leia is one hundred percent Alderaanian. Her allegiance may be to the New Republic, but her culture and beliefs are her own.

some random Mando: if you’re her brother, are you from Alderaan too?

Luke: no, doofus. I’m from Tatooine.

Din, trying to improve his small talk: I have a friend on Tatooine. Boba Fett? He’s the leader now.

Luke, choking: BOBA FETT’S ALIVE?!

Din: you know him?

Luke: he captured my brother-in-law, froze him in carbonite, and sold him to Jabba. We had to spend a year away from the war effort to rescue him!

Din: *awkward*

Armorer, trying to steer the focus back to the Darksaber: Are you the firstborn, or your sister? The Darksaber passes to the oldest child.

Luke: I don’t actually know. We’re twins, and have no idea who was at our birth who can tell us. Maybe my father would know? I’ll ask him now.

Mandalorians: isn’t he dead?

Luke: yeah, but I can talk to his ghost.

Mandalorians:

Luke summons Anakin. Grogu whimpers and hides behind Din. To everyone else, Luke is talking to thin air.

Luke: hello father, do you know if me or Leia is older?

Anakin: of course not, idiot. I didn’t even know either of you existed until a few years ago!

Luke: oh, right.

Anakin: Obi-Wan would know. He was the one who stole you from me.

Luke: really, father, we’ve gotta work on your tact.

Anakin: why? Obi-Wan was the kriffing Negotiator, not me.

Luke: he was called the Negotiator?

Bo-Katan, wincing at a million memories and knowing exactly who they’re talking about despite only hearing one side of the conversation: I could never get my sister to shut up about Kenobi. Insufferable jetii, always hanging off her arm.

Luke: Ben was a Mandalorian’s escort?!

Armorer: Ben is a Mandalorian name. Was he Mandalorian?

Luke: 😲

Luke: I don’t think so…?

Bo-Katan, reminiscing: I’m pretty sure my sister gave him that name.

Luke: My nephew was named after him. I can’t believe my nephew has a Mandalorian name.

Mandalorians: nephew?

Luke: yeah, he’s adorable. Here, I have pictures. *starts showing pictures of baby Ben Solo*

The Mandalorians, being Mandalorians, are utterly won over by the smallest Skywalker. The idea of Leia is a leader is growing more popular. Luke summons Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan: hello there, Luke. What the hell are you doing in a cave with a gajillion Mandalorians?

Luke: Hi, Ben, we just wanted to know, was I or Leia born first?

Obi-Wan: You. I’ll never forget it. You were both such beautiful babies.

Luke: …right…

Paz, staring at the wall where he thinks Obi-Wan is but is actually Anakin’s elbow: What did he say?

Luke: I’m older -

Luke: Oh.

Luke: Kriff

Din: Dank Farrik

Everyone else: *thinking the same thing but to polite to say it*

Bo-Katan: although…it could still be won in combat.

Luke, ringing up Leia on his comm: Good evening, dear sister. Would you mind flying out to the location on my transponder and kicking my ^*s?

Leia, all blue and wavy on the comm: I never mind kicking your %#s, Luke, but why?

Luke: if you do that, you can be king of Mandalore!

Luke: 😀

Leia:

Leia: Are you kriffing kidding me?! Do you know how hard it is to keep the New Republic from collapsing? And raise a force sensitive baby with shady idols? And save my husband’s skin from every criminal he runs afoul of every other day? I most certainly will not become the monarch of some random nation I’ve never been apart of!

Mandalorians: 🙁

Han, over Leia’s shoulder: so we’re not fighting the kid? I was looking forward to that!

Chewbacca, towering over Leia’s head: *wookie noises of agreement *

Armorer: Actually only the challenger would be fight- *comm cuts out*

*a few minutes later

The Falcon is heard overhead. Han, on comms: We came anyway, kid. I was bored today.

Chewie leaps out and tackles Luke with a bear hug, almost breaking his ribs.

Luke: can’t- breathe- chewie-

Chewie releasing him and patting him on the head: *hello in wookie noises*

Mandalorians:

Chewie, in Shriwook: *what?*

Mandalorians:

Din silently unclips the Darksaber from his belt and hands it to Chewie.

And that’s the story of how Chewbacca became Mand’alor.

[serious-tabaxi]

Ok, so, This is all set within the fictionally metropolis of Midnight Park, a city of 10 million on the shores of the Maryland coast. Midnight Park is a very divided place, with the tech moguls of the Silicon Heights looking over the squalor of Hooverville, the lush gardens, parks, and graveyards of Greenbelt being leeched of life from the smog of the Production Quarter, and the ever-watchful eye of their heroes of the Luminary Society just can't pierce through the shadowed allies and tunnels their rival villains lurk in.

First up on the hit list is Squall, Dr Simon Gale, the oldest of the villains who looks a bit like an cantaloupe balancing on top of a bowling ball, or some hybrid of that guy from those Boom Beach ads that was a meme a few years back with classic Eggman or Doc Ock. They were bullied for their looks during their childhood (especially by one Benedict Bright who you'll see later) and would grow into a meteorologist and climatologist, top of their class. Unfortunately, they were cursed to became one of the first to realize the potential dangers of climate change back in like the 90's and nobody took their observations seriously, reminding them of their childhood torments. In a fit of rage, the used experimental equipment for inducing artificial rainfall to turn a light drizzle into a pounding storm, flooding Midnight Park and dawning the modern age of heroes and villains. Unfortunately, they're ego would only grow and they'd slowly begin to see themself as the arbiter of natures wraith and be blinded to the cruelty of their actions.

Next up is Tox, Dr Garrett Adams. Dr Adams wasn't anyone special, just some humble chemist working for Venture Chemicals Co in the Production Quarter. That all changed during Squall's storm though. The floodwaters caused the chemical vats to burst and spill, dissolving several workers alive whilst Garrett was stranded in the rafters above where they're body slowly absorbed the fumes. Their skin and fat began to melt off their muscle and bones as it turned to wax from chemical exposure, soaking in chemical fumes and radiation as Adams used what first aid supplies he had to stave off death. By the time the floodwaters receded, Him and the chemicals had become one, a congealed mass of atomic tallow and luminous green organs within in endless agony that warped his mind into nothing but an abyss of hate. hate. hate. hate.

Then is Everyman, Tomas Jackson. Jackson was some unremarkable middle-aged conservative man who believed in standing for what you think is right and a growing resentment for the government. That was, until, some random no-name crook broke into his house and stole a family heirloom, his grandmother's old necklace, at which point he attempted to follow shotgun in hand to get it back. When he couldn't and the police also failed to find it, he was filled with rage and vowed to take makers into his own hands. Doning a home-forged steel helmet, gloves, trenchcoat, and voice changer, they set off into the night with a shotgun, a dream, and a very black-and-white sense of morality. These days, many of his fellow hands-on right wingers have donned similar costumes and joined him in his secret lair, the Halls of Justice, to find, torture, and execute whoever they deem guilty.

Mister Bones, Benedict Bright, was a bully growing up, especially to a young Simon Gale. His parents own a large carnival boardwalk by the name of the Bright Time Mile in Founder's Bay. His father died when Benedict was in his twenties and gave him control over the park. This was not a good idea as Mr Bright thought that the fear on the faces of others was just the funniest thing ever and slowly but surely made the park more thrilling, more threatening, more terrifying so he could laugh at the helpless scared children. He got a degree in sociology so that he could be even better at scaring people until they lost their minds and had his engineers work on developing advanced animatronics capable of free motion and though. Eventually, the Bright Time Mile's fear factor was toned down significantly to attract new guests and Mr Benedict started to dress in a more fitting costume, red and black with skeletal bodypaint. However, soon after this refurbishment, reports started to come out. Of of man in a black and white pinstripe suit, skull-faced gasmask, wide brimmed hat, oversized blood-stained mallet, and a simple wand loaded with a radioactive isotope that would melt the flesh right off your bones, and this man would chase you down without relent or remorse laughing at your screams until you could scream no more or grew too brave, at which point they'd get bored and leave.

Amp, Ruby Neumann, was the daughter of a German immigrant and was a lover of all things adrenaline-pumping, especially hardbass music. When they reached adulthood, they attempted to start a band, Bloodboil, but it never got off the ground. After that, she became a audio engineer and pioneered some interesting techniques. During a job under Benedict Bright to try to create audio disks that hum at just the right frequency to cause hallucinations, the hero Technopath broke in and gave chase, causing the equipment to short out and drive several other workers deaf. She escaped but lost the research for the disks but came to realize something; being chased... is actually pretty fun. She crafted a custom sound-suit covered with speakers that sounded at a frequency that could shatter stone and a sonic blaster that would rupture flesh and became a mercenary for the various gangs of Midnight Park, serving under them for the ultimate thrill.

And last for the villains is Krake, Richard Steinman. you already know about them. A cosmetics surgeon and geneticist who helped transgender and non-binary people transition until they had an otherkin awakening themself and was hit by a gnawing, insatiable longing to be an octopus (or, rather, the BODY of an octopus, they already were one in mind) even though they knew that they could reach reach it until Squall's storm created Tox and Midas, neither of which can really be considered human anymore and gave poor Steinman hope that they can achive their heart's desire with enough equipment, chemicals, and test subjects and so set up a secret lab in the Midnight Park underground where they performed inhumane experiments attempting to crack the code of transformation, eventually managing to figure it out and partly turn themself into an octopus, the happiest day of their life, but now aware of the toil they've reaped on the innocent citizens of Midnight park, all the friends they've lost and traded for power-hungry gangsters who wanted power for cheap, and these days they cry themselves to sleep every night,

However, now, it's hero time.

First is co-founder of the Luminary Society, Silver Sentinel. Henry Steele was a car mechanic in Founder's Bay until getting a new job as an engineer for Benedict Bright at the Bright Time Mile designing animatronics. He did this for some time before slowly realizing that what Bright wants aren't just animatronic mascot characters, but androids, semi-aware fake people, and that just didn't sit right with them and so they left, turning back to their old work for a while before bumping into an Everyman recruiter who conviced them to serve under the forces of "Justice", taking a box of mechanical limbs from their old job and created a primitive suit of power armor to boost his strength. After about a month though, he realized that Everyman was just a butcher, killing any who he arbitrarily deemed "Guilty" and moving one actually without doing anything to make Midnight Park a better place and so, left them. He wondered guilty and aimless for some time before meeting Coldheart and founding the Luminary Society to atone for their past sins, establishing a strict code of honor to make up for it.

Of course, Next up is Coldheart. Emeline Eaton was a skier, the best in all Midnight Park in fact. She would ski down the slopes of Appalachia every winter preparing for the day she could enter into the Winter Olympics, her personal dream and everyone believed in her. One winter when she was setting off, a strange man in a hazmat suit approached her, not a single snowflake on their body preaching how fit she was. She listened, confused, until the figure proclaimed how much he DESPISED health as they took off their hood, revealing the vile molten features of Tox right before Emeline punch him right in the face in response, only for Tox to merely laugh as the chemical cocktail begain to make her flesh melt too arm-first. She fell on the ground and rolled down the slope, slamming right into a frozen lake. She awoke later that month after the thaw with bluish frostbite skin and discovered that no level of cold effect her anymore but if she were to ever rise above the freezing point, she'd begin to melt like Tox. She lived for a week sleeping in mall freezers and walking around with a sack of dry ice tied to her back before meeting Silver Sentinel, who rigged up a crude insulation suit to keep her cool and together they formed the Luminary Society.

Midas, Dr Gianni Agneas, was a quantum physicist specializing in using particle smashers and accelerators to transmutate old or synthesize new elements. He was working on an experimental device he named the Philosopher's Engine that could transmute any one substance into any other when Squall's storm hit, lightning striking the side of the lab and causing the machine to go haywire spouting particles and radiation until it exploded, knocking Gianni out in the process. When they awoke, Everything left in the ruins had been transmuted, including themself, they had been turned to a scintillating rainbow of elements such as lead, bismuth, and sulfur and whatever they touched would itself be transmuted into something different. After a few years as a medical oddity, they had learned to control their powers, being able to choose what they turned what into, joining the Luminary Society and turning enough trash into gold to allow them to buy an abandoned observation tower to turn into their headquarters, the Luminary Spire.

Technopath, Nathan Sutton, isn't from Midnight Park, he's not even from the east coast. Born in the state of California as the son of the tech billionaire Dell Sutton of Telekinetics Inc, Nathan never faced much hardship growing up and so spent most of their time reading comic books and watching movies. They were big fans of stories about cowboy and pirate vigilantes and secret spies infiltrating the lairs of megalomaniacal masterminds. After hearing of the Luminary Society following the purchase of the Luminary Spire and their growing awareness of their father's love of money over them, he underwent an experimental surgery to have Telekinetics Inc technology installed into his body, becoming a cyborg with built-in radios and electromagnets granting them powers like remote usage of electronics, telekinesis, and more before moving to Midnight Park and applying for the Society several times before getting approved as their youngest member. Silver Sentinel is something of an idol of theirs and they seem potential in the young cyborg and have taken them in as a pupil.

Nightshade, real name Sophia Burke, always preferred plants to people. Plants wouldn't bully you for being weird, plants would always listen to what you have to say, plants would never be "too busy" to pay attention to their child. As she grew, she got a degree in botany and toxicology whilst studying abroad. When she came back however, She discovered that her parents had been murdered. No matter how strained there relationship, she still valued their lives and so went out to try to find the killer, Using her knowledge to blend into the plantlife and apply subtle poisons to their enemies to render them inoperable. Eventually she found the culprit; Everyman, Her parents were corrupt it turns out and had been engaging with drug smuggling for the black market and he couldn't let that stand. Shaken to her core by that discovery but still wanting to put a stop to Everyman's crimes and not believe that they're strong enough, she joined the Luminary Society to train, though her willingness to kill give her a strained relationship with the rest of them.

And that's it. That's them, my boys!

i imagine at least Menoa would, in response to Everyman's semi-fascist outlook, make himself into a hero called "Nuance" that would show up to every attempted murder, and debate the murderer in the middle of them attempting to do the murder.

meanwhile Akari would be the one who actually prevents the crimes.

sorry i'm thinking in terms of me ocs.

[densi-mber]

A/N: Happy first day of Densimber to you all! As always, we begin with decoration day. Thanks to @mashmaiden for collaborating on this story.

***

Traditions Come and Go

“Baby, I told you I could get that,” Deeks said, hurrying towards Kensi as she toted a storage container of Christmas decorations through the house.

“It’s not that heavy,” Kensi insisted, shifting the box out of his reach as he attempted to take it. “You’ve been doing everything around here for weeks. Or at least attempting to. I can manage this.”

“I don’t want you to strain yourself.”

“Baby, I appreciate that, but just because I’m pregnant—”

“32 weeks pregnant,” Deeks interjected smoothly. Kensi sighed, accepting his point.

“Yes, I am. I can also squat with a 15 pound dumbbell in each hand,” she reminded him gently. “I don’t think this is going to strain me.”

“Ok, touché.” Deeks grinned self-deprecatingly. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok, I know you mean well.” She stretched to lean over the container and kiss him. “And who knows, in a couple weeks, I might change my mind and want you to do everything.”

“You just say the word,” he said, stealing another kiss.

***

Rosa arrived home just as they were unwrapping the now dozens of decorations they’d collected over the years. An entire bin is dedicated to various ornaments Roberta had passed down.

“Oh, I’m glad I didn’t miss everything,” Rosa sighed, hurrying to set her backpack and shoes to the side. She’d woken up early to pick out a tree with Kensi and Deeks before heading out for classes.

“Like we’d start without you,” Deeks scoffed. He patted the spot on the couch next to him. “Grab a seat and start unwrapping.”

“What is this?” Rosa asked, grimacing at a freshly revealed horse with pink hair and an oddly creepy expression.

“Grandma Deeks’ idea of a joke.”

“She said it was a family heirloom,” Kensi added.

“I don’t remember seeing it last year.” Rosa turned the ornament from side to side, seeming caught between interest and mild disgust.

“Yeah, that’s because we usually never, ever take it out,” Deeks explained. He took it from Rosa, tucking it back in with the rest of the unwanted and boring ornaments. “I’m thinking maybe this year it should meet with an unfortunate and tragic end. Do you think a fiery death is plausible?”

“Or we could just pass it on to our beloved oldest child,” Kensi suggested with mock innocence. “Keep the tradition going.”

“Oh, no thank you,” Rosa said quickly, raising her hands as she chuckled nervously. “I’m good. Though I wouldn’t say no to that aqua one over there.”

“That’s one of my—mmm.” Stopping mid-thought, Kensi rubbed a hand over her lower ribs, wincing for a few seconds.

“Was it croissant or donut this time?” Deeks asked.

“Donut, I think,” Kensi replied, arching her back. “I swear these kids are practicing for a soccer match with how much they kick.”

“Are you ok?” Rosa checked.

“Yeah, they’re getting stronger, but I’m fine. I guess they just wanted to join in on the fun.”

“But maybe hang out for a couple more weeks,” Deeks suggested, resting his hand over Kensi’s stomach.

“So, do you want to put the outside decorations up when we’re done here?” Rosa asked once they had lights strung around the tree.

“Actually, since things are going to be extra crazy this year with all the baby prep, we decided to just decorate inside this year,” Deeks explained.

“But you love Decoration Day.” While initially bemused by Deeks’ excitement last year on December 1st, Rosa had quickly been caught up in the general festivities and greatly enjoyed the entire premise.

“I do, but it’s only one year.” Deeks couldn’t deny he was a little disappointed at the thought of missing out on one of their traditions. He knew they’d barely notice though as everything picked up in the next few weeks.

“You know I’d help,” Rosa offered. “I can hold the ladder and even go on the roof if you want.”

“I really appreciate that, Rosalind, but you have your classes and finals to study for. It’ll be ok.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It’s not the first time it’s happened,” Kensi said. “The year we moved here, we were so busy packing and going to showings that we never got around to it.”

“Next year we’ll just have to do something extraordinary to make up for it,” Deeks suggested.

“Now, that worries me a little bit.” Not sounding worried in the least, Kensi pushed herself off the couch.

“Where are you going?”

“To get those Christmas cookies you guys made,” Kensi replied. “You should never decorate on an empty stomach.”

[crusaderfortruthiness]

Ask game but only prime numbers >7

I cannot believe you made me google lists of primes for this.

(11) What's something you saved up for and then regretted buying? hmmmmm… I'm a big impulse purchaser so I've bought lots of amazon junk that I ended up not using or needing, but anything I've had to save for I've thought a lot about and liked. I guess my upright plug-in dyson. It's hard to maneuver and awkward. If you're going to get a plug in, the canister dyson is much better and easier to use.

(13) Which filter are you most likely to go "eh, it's probably fine" when you find out you need to change it? Definitely my house AC and car cabin AC filters. Especially because I got a new car and the cabin AC filter is a PAIN to change. This is a bad idea by the way! I almost broke my home AC because the filter was too old and restricting air flow

(17) What's a movie you saw recently that you liked? NOSFERATU 2024!!! It was so good! And I'm not really a goth/horror/romance person. I also saw the animated movie Flow, which was excellent.

(19) What's your go-to tape? I use black duct tape from gorilla for heavy-duty stuff. Clear plastic packing tape for light-duty, and painter's tape for delicate surfaces. For setting up Frosthaven, which is a complex board game with lots of tiles that sit on top of the board, I discovered a very weak scotch tape that's awesome for temporarily sticking cardboard pieces to each other without ripping the pictures up when it's removed.

(23) Paper bags, plastic bags, or reusable bags? Re-usable bags all the way. I'm very good about using them and always have an extra in my car. I do occaisionally grab a paper bag anyway, because I use them as car trash bags.

(29) Go-to holiday card format? I don't send holiday cards.

(31) Do you still own your first car? Absolutely not. That was a beautiful navy-blue honda accord but my parents sold it over 10 years ago.

(37) Do you still listen to the same music you listened to in high school? Definitely. I rarely delete things from my playlists, so it ends up as this layered record of my listening habits over the years.

(41) What's the oldest thing you own? Some fancy pens and other small heirlooms I inherited from my dad, which are 20-30 years old.

(43) Favorite book you've read recently? Recently re-read both Spinning Silver and Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrel. Both of these are in my Top 5 books EVER, and reading them whips every single time.

(47) Lamps or overhead lighting? LAMPS. This is a thing I've learned from my current partner. I still use overhead lighting in certain situations where I really need to see, like packing or playing games, but otherwise it's dimmed lamps. Our whole house has hue smart bulbs, so it's great for diffuse, dim, warm lights.

(53) What's worse, the DMV or the Social Security Office? I've never been to the SSO, so I guess the DMV, but I've never had a horrible experience there either.

(59) If you died and your ghost was stuck in the outfit you're wearing right now for the rest of time, would you be happy with it? Yeah sure. It's a polo and jeans and my work boots. A pretty standard outfit for me.

(61) Do you have a favorite brunch spot? I do! La Guadalupana in Houston. Very no-frills, but delicious mexican breakfast and coffee on the weekends. In Austin, it's cafe Magnolia, but unless you get there early you're going to be waiting for about two hours on the weekend.

(67) Do you keep any stuffed animals on your bed? I do not. I do sleep with four pillows though. One under my head, one under my knees (or between if I'm on my side) and one big one on either side of me to hug. It's super comfortable and great for my back.

[egittae]

crafanc y llew

“-and then I alongside Areadbhar will push through everyone in the frontline, like this! Boom, go Areadbhar!”

“While your excitement is admirable my boy, verbal commands towards your lance are, in the end, redundant. Spare your breath.”

“What does ‘red-un-and’ mean, Lord Father?”

Large, scarred hands grabbed the boy from under his arms, taking him so he could sit at his father’s lap. Legs still far too short to reach the floor, swaying mindlessly- heels every now and then hitting the lower part of a large stick he had found earlier, now held between his knees in a light grip. Areadbhar, or so he had declared it. Its wood dented by small hands, portions close to splintering from instances where he had held onto it far too tightly as the young prince marched into a fantastical battle known only to his mind. 

Lambert only had half of his attention dedicated to his father’s explanation on morphology and a gentle correction to his misspelled word, the other half still too busy on the many scenarios playing in his head. His future self, a powerful, strong king in silver armor cloaked in azure and rich furs, mounting a tall war horse proudly displaying the insignia of House Blaiddyd- and the blason of Faerghus. One hand securing leather reins, the other holding on to his family's heirloom and Faerghus’ prized royal relic, Areadbhar. Before him and his mighty frontline, a horde of faceless enemies lining the opposite side of the field, tensions high as both sides waited for the first battle cry announcing the battle’s start. And of course, it's snowing. 

His evening routine always ended up by the relic’s altar, one way or another. Tiny boots raced up the throne room’s staircase, passing by the stone gazes of his ancestors as they guarded his path as well as a line of soldiers that by now knew to step aside for him.

The boy had never really understood why Areadbhar was kept chained to a rock. It’s a lance, it can’t run away. Or can it? That would be fun, if it could. 

He never really understood why he felt the need to come here almost every day, either. It was just something he felt like doing, a mysterious pull drawing him to behold a weapon that would be his in the future.

“Do you wish to hold it, Lambert?”

His father’s voice echoed from a shadow, moonlight having not yet reached the entirety of the room through the skylights. The boy first glanced at his father, then up at the relic again as the older man slowly approached. Pondering his choices, or rather wondering if there would be any catches if he said yes. Lambert never actually tried to wield Areadbhar- much too young, his tutor as well as his parents had declared. You may wield it in training once your juvenescence begins to blossom into maturity, a sentence way too complex for him to even begin grasping it. 

Or, ‘once you become a teenager’, or so Tewal, one of his father’s oldest advisors, stated.

His father offering that he holds it now of all times was odd, but exciting. There was something just so thrilling about being given permission to do something he knew he shouldn’t.

“Yes!” Lambert chirped without hesitation. “I mean- yes please, Lord Father!”

A pause, and there was no catch. The boy’s heart raced in excitement as the king walked up to the lance’s altar, unlocking its chains and cradling it on now gloved hands. With his father slowly approaching him with Areadbhar in display, Lambert couldn’t help but quickly wonder why he couldn’t wield it now- or rather why even touching it was off limits. He knew how to use a real lance, having grown old enough to replace all of his wooden and training ones for blades made of iron and some even of steel despite his age being composed of a single digit. Areadbhar was maybe taller than the weapons he owned, but he was strong enough to hold it for sure. So why?

“You may not take it from my hands, my boy. It knows to reject you, if you do.”

“Yes, Lord Father.”

There was always this talk of the lance knowing what to do, what to think- a talk he never really understood. The closest he had was a lance imbued in thunder magic but it was, in the end, just a weapon like any other. It had no will of its own.

The idea that Areadbhar may have a modicum of awareness made it even more elusive- and exciting.

It had an odd smell.

Pungent, unlike the woody leather that emanated from his bedroom’s small armory. Perhaps calling it ‘stinky’ would earn him a knock on the head for being disrespectful towards an item so important to Faerghus, but that was more or less it. It wasn’t rust, earth, sweat or blood. Its pole was too covered in a strange type of leather, aged and worn but somehow just as solid as a new model. A single pale hand touched Areadbhar’s jagged blade, fingertips rosy from the cold, feeling the strange texture and engravings on the material.

“Lord Father…it looks blunt.” Lambert frowned in dismay, inspecting the blade closer. It wasn’t like the sharp edge of steel wielded by the guards, rather it resembled the uneven ends of a broken rock. Maybe sharp, yes…but not like a sword or a proper lance. “The blacksmith has to take a look at it, it’s not gonna cut anything like that!”

The king didn’t answer right away, urging the prince to look up in an attempt to urge the man to say something.

“Pray tell, Lambert. Why do you think I have ever allowed you to have access to Areadbhar?”

Slightly annoyed by the deflection of his please, the boy pouted and hummed. “Because…it’s too big for me to use? Sir Verras told me it was really ‘powerful’ so…I think it has magic, and I’m not really good at magic yet?” All lackluster responses with a pinch of honesty. Lambert had been educated on the relics by now, but to say he fully understood what they did was an incorrect assessment. He had only ever seen Areadbhar in use perhaps once, his father wielding it in training as he prepared for a skirmish somewhere close to the Ruskas- and to Lambert, it seemed like any other lance except it had some odd energy within it. Magic, maybe.

It was difficult to say if his answer pleased his father or not, the king choosing to remain silent. Annoyed by his father’s bizarre behavior, Lambert chose to focus on the lance once more- still confused by the blade’s less than optimal shape and uneven, thick corners. As pale fingers ran through every nook and cranny, his pinky brushed against the crimson crest stone.

Lambert recoiled his arm instantly, stepping back as if he had been burned. The king wordlessly walked back towards the altar, chaining the relic to its stone bed once more with the care a father reserves for tucking in his child to sleep before turning around to face the prince once more.

“Has that answered your question, my boy?”

Lambert held his hand close to his chest, unsure of how to define what he felt. But yes, he understood. Sort of- confirmation coming in the form of a slightly shaky nod. Never again would he harp on the topic, at least not directly, keeping the truth as something between him and the relic even as he was crowned king. It wasn’t the omission of a sin or a grave truth, but rather something that didn’t exactly need to be defined in words or said out loud to ears that didn’t need to know. 

It was why now, deep within Garreg Mach’s innards, his mind chose to unearth it. Face reflected on the shining steel of his brave lance, gloved fingers slowly inspecting each and every nook and cranny- but avoiding the edges as he knew they’d draw blood almost instantly upon contact. Reflected on the blade, the ice of his eyes looked colder, off tone. Lambert remembers Areadbhar, though its presence was scarce and far in the past. A hint that his weapon of choice had been something else, of gleaming silver rather than the relic’s jagged and rough profile.

The first step to mercy. Clean and direct enough to be easily healed by a medic, painless and quick enough if it must take a life. Honorable and reserved for those worthy of it. An unspoken statement, proof of its wielder’s virtues. A blunt weapon only marches onto the battlefield to make nameless and faceless victims.

Old, dull pain radiated from his neck.

“Not me.”

It will never be me.

Lambert has reached Lance A! You remember how to fight.

[jknerd]

NIMH AU: Mrs. Brisby

Full Name: Elizabeth Brisby

Species: Human->Im-Human (through influence of the Stone)

Age: 31~32

Gender: Female

Other Names: Mrs. Brisby, Lady Brisby, Eliza, Brisby Widow

Occupations: Seamstress (former), Fitzgibbon’s tenant (former), Matriarch of Brisby House

Residence: Fitzgibbon’s tenant house (former), Jonathan Brisby’s Wheeled Manor (currently)

Family: Jonathan Brisby (first husband; deceased), Teresa Brisby (oldest daughter), Martin Brisby (oldest son), Timothy Brisby (younger son), Cynthia Brisby (younger daughter), Auntie Shrew (maternal aunt)

Relationships: Farmer Fitzgibbons (first benefactor; formerly), Beth Fitzgibbons (acquaintance), Billy Fitzgibbons (acquaintance), Drago “Dragon” Welker (acquaintance), Jeremy Crow (friend), Nicodemus (benefactor), Mr. Ages (acquaintance), Justin (love interest->eventually, a possible second husband), Sullivan (acquaintance), Jenner (acquaintance->adversary)

Likes: Mementos/Heirlooms from her husband, embroidery, cooking, arranging flowers, outdoor activities with children, Justin’s assistances/company

Dislikes: Height (former fear), her husband’s absence/death, being bothered by suitors, Timothy’s sickness, becoming a burden, Jenner’s touches/threats

Elizabeth Brisby, commonly known as Mrs. Brisby, is a mortal widow of heroic man Jonathan Brisby, mother of four children; Teresa, Martin, Timothy and Cynthia. Prior to the marriage, Elizabeth was a normal girl working in the Fitzgibbons’ farm, greatly afraid of men as they usually approach her with indecent intentions, until she came across injured man named Jonathan Brisby. She brought him to her home and tended his wound. When he recovers to see her for the first time, he fell in love and a year later, they got married. He taught her how to read and write when she confessed she was illiterate. Through years, they had four children. However, when Cynthia was just a toddler, Jonathan Brisby fell to his death in midst of battle with his enemy, found dead in arms of Virgin Mary’s statue. 

It was revealed her and their children’s existence was kept secret from his allies; “the humans of NIMH”, except their leader Nicodemus. She was also left with the will by her husband; all his wealth, inheritance and possessions passed down to Elizabeth and their children, which allowed them to stay in a house Jonathan prepared before his death. Despite immense inheritance, Elizabeth kept it intact for the future of her children as she insist to work as a seamstress. At one point, Elizabeth visited her husband’s friend Mr. Ages as her son Timothy fell severely ill. Initially diagnosed with pneumonia, both noticed Timothy’s erratic breathing, avoiding the sunlight and become sensitive without his mother’s presence. Mr. Ages concluded this as the first stage of congenital stage of “IM-mutation” and suggested she need to move her house along with her husband’s allies to the new “bund of NIMH” where it was located in Thorn Valley. 

Not knowing of “IM-humans”, Elizabeth decided to ask for solution to Nicodemus as she journeys to where his people resides. Much to her surprise, the house her late husband has left was able to move with the hidden wheels and technology manifested with magic. At the old bund surrounded by rose bushes, she encountered one of the “IM-humans”, Justin, the guards’ captain. She recognized familiar faces from her husband’s funeral, especially Jenner, who is against with the “Thorn Valley Bund plan”. Meeting up with Nicodemus, she discovers the “IM-humans” were artificially created vampires through experiments of NIMH who were able to conquer sunlight, and Jonathan was one of them; hence why her children will inherit their father’s longevity in life and slow aging process, along with Timothy becoming just like him. However, the condition is that until Timothy’s symptoms are gone, he must avoid the sunlight for a while. She was surprised to learn that Drago Welker, the community guard and alleged murderer of Jonathan, was not responsible for his death and was warned to beware of the ones who approach her with dark motives. Lastly Nicodemus has given her the ruby necklace, the stone Jonathan left for her. While staying with the IM-humans of NIMH, Elizabeth develops a close bond with Justin who becomes a father figure to her four children.

However, in order for the “Thorn Valley Bund” plan to work, someone must drug Drago Welker to have their moving undetected. Elizabeth volunteers, much to dismay of Justin. But, she insists as she was told with directions by him and Dr. Ages; she must lure the community guard to drink the drugged beverage. As Mr. Ages and Justin as the two men would be assisting Nicodemus in moving the bund. Elizabeth recalled the “honey trap” female Im-Humans used to trick, so she decided to lure Drago with its method and successfully does so before she overheard Fitzgibbons discussed about calling NIMH (National Institute of Mystic Health) to hunt down “harmful vampires”. Alarmed, Elizabeth rushed back to witness her house immobilized and was abducted by Jenner. She learns that Jenner was the one responsible for it and killed Nicodemus, horrified of his intentions to take over Jonathan’s inheritance, possessions, and his widow to himself. In a brief moment of solitude, she told guilt-stricken Sullivan about NIMH as he successfully send the message to Justin. Learning of this betrayal, Jenner injured Sullivan and was about to rape Elizabeth, but stopped by Justin who came in time to save her. Elizabeth was seen watching in horror when Sullivan successfully gave a final blow at Jenner who fell to his death in a fountain below the statue of Virgin Mary, the same location her husband died. When the immobilized house of Brisby was about to fall, Elizabeth did not hesitate to shield her children from falling debris, but the light from the Stone formed a protective field sparing their lives.

Waking up, she found Timothy missing and frantically looked for him until she found him outside, completely healed and conquered the sunlight. In tears of joy, Elizabeth and her children hugged Timothy as the boy was spared from further pain of illness. Days later, as all her children wish to travel with their father’s wheeled manor that has later rebuilt, Elizabeth gave Justin the Stone as a promise to meet again. Witnessing the wrinkles and white streaks of hair rejuvenated, Justin smiled as there were implications she won’t grow old as normal human and they would meet again.

[wasteland-squog-baby]

Ok, so, This is all set within the fictionally metropolis of Midnight Park, a city of 10 million on the shores of the Maryland coast. Midnight Park is a very divided place, with the tech moguls of the Silicon Heights looking over the squalor of Hooverville, the lush gardens, parks, and graveyards of Greenbelt being leeched of life from the smog of the Production Quarter, and the ever-watchful eye of their heroes of the Luminary Society just can't pierce through the shadowed allies and tunnels their rival villains lurk in.

First up on the hit list is Squall, Dr Simon Gale, the oldest of the villains who looks a bit like an cantaloupe balancing on top of a bowling ball, or some hybrid of that guy from those Boom Beach ads that was a meme a few years back with classic Eggman or Doc Ock. They were bullied for their looks during their childhood (especially by one Benedict Bright who you'll see later) and would grow into a meteorologist and climatologist, top of their class. Unfortunately, they were cursed to became one of the first to realize the potential dangers of climate change back in like the 90's and nobody took their observations seriously, reminding them of their childhood torments. In a fit of rage, the used experimental equipment for inducing artificial rainfall to turn a light drizzle into a pounding storm, flooding Midnight Park and dawning the modern age of heroes and villains. Unfortunately, they're ego would only grow and they'd slowly begin to see themself as the arbiter of natures wraith and be blinded to the cruelty of their actions.

Next up is Tox, Dr Garrett Adams. Dr Adams wasn't anyone special, just some humble chemist working for Venture Chemicals Co in the Production Quarter. That all changed during Squall's storm though. The floodwaters caused the chemical vats to burst and spill, dissolving several workers alive whilst Garrett was stranded in the rafters above where they're body slowly absorbed the fumes. Their skin and fat began to melt off their muscle and bones as it turned to wax from chemical exposure, soaking in chemical fumes and radiation as Adams used what first aid supplies he had to stave off death. By the time the floodwaters receded, Him and the chemicals had become one, a congealed mass of atomic tallow and luminous green organs within in endless agony that warped his mind into nothing but an abyss of hate. hate. hate. hate.

Then is Everyman, Tomas Jackson. Jackson was some unremarkable middle-aged conservative man who believed in standing for what you think is right and a growing resentment for the government. That was, until, some random no-name crook broke into his house and stole a family heirloom, his grandmother's old necklace, at which point he attempted to follow shotgun in hand to get it back. When he couldn't and the police also failed to find it, he was filled with rage and vowed to take makers into his own hands. Doning a home-forged steel helmet, gloves, trenchcoat, and voice changer, they set off into the night with a shotgun, a dream, and a very black-and-white sense of morality. These days, many of his fellow hands-on right wingers have donned similar costumes and joined him in his secret lair, the Halls of Justice, to find, torture, and execute whoever they deem guilty.

Mister Bones, Benedict Bright, was a bully growing up, especially to a young Simon Gale. His parents own a large carnival boardwalk by the name of the Bright Time Mile in Founder's Bay. His father died when Benedict was in his twenties and gave him control over the park. This was not a good idea as Mr Bright thought that the fear on the faces of others was just the funniest thing ever and slowly but surely made the park more thrilling, more threatening, more terrifying so he could laugh at the helpless scared children. He got a degree in sociology so that he could be even better at scaring people until they lost their minds and had his engineers work on developing advanced animatronics capable of free motion and though. Eventually, the Bright Time Mile's fear factor was toned down significantly to attract new guests and Mr Benedict started to dress in a more fitting costume, red and black with skeletal bodypaint. However, soon after this refurbishment, reports started to come out. Of of man in a black and white pinstripe suit, skull-faced gasmask, wide brimmed hat, oversized blood-stained mallet, and a simple wand loaded with a radioactive isotope that would melt the flesh right off your bones, and this man would chase you down without relent or remorse laughing at your screams until you could scream no more or grew too brave, at which point they'd get bored and leave.

Amp, Ruby Neumann, was the daughter of a German immigrant and was a lover of all things adrenaline-pumping, especially hardbass music. When they reached adulthood, they attempted to start a band, Bloodboil, but it never got off the ground. After that, she became a audio engineer and pioneered some interesting techniques. During a job under Benedict Bright to try to create audio disks that hum at just the right frequency to cause hallucinations, the hero Technopath broke in and gave chase, causing the equipment to short out and drive several other workers deaf. She escaped but lost the research for the disks but came to realize something; being chased... is actually pretty fun. She crafted a custom sound-suit covered with speakers that sounded at a frequency that could shatter stone and a sonic blaster that would rupture flesh and became a mercenary for the various gangs of Midnight Park, serving under them for the ultimate thrill.

And last for the villains is Krake, Richard Steinman. you already know about them. A cosmetics surgeon and geneticist who helped transgender and non-binary people transition until they had an otherkin awakening themself and was hit by a gnawing, insatiable longing to be an octopus (or, rather, the BODY of an octopus, they already were one in mind) even though they knew that they could reach reach it until Squall's storm created Tox and Midas, neither of which can really be considered human anymore and gave poor Steinman hope that they can achive their heart's desire with enough equipment, chemicals, and test subjects and so set up a secret lab in the Midnight Park underground where they performed inhumane experiments attempting to crack the code of transformation, eventually managing to figure it out and partly turn themself into an octopus, the happiest day of their life, but now aware of the toil they've reaped on the innocent citizens of Midnight park, all the friends they've lost and traded for power-hungry gangsters who wanted power for cheap, and these days they cry themselves to sleep every night,

However, now, it's hero time.

First is co-founder of the Luminary Society, Silver Sentinel. Henry Steele was a car mechanic in Founder's Bay until getting a new job as an engineer for Benedict Bright at the Bright Time Mile designing animatronics. He did this for some time before slowly realizing that what Bright wants aren't just animatronic mascot characters, but androids, semi-aware fake people, and that just didn't sit right with them and so they left, turning back to their old work for a while before bumping into an Everyman recruiter who conviced them to serve under the forces of "Justice", taking a box of mechanical limbs from their old job and created a primitive suit of power armor to boost his strength. After about a month though, he realized that Everyman was just a butcher, killing any who he arbitrarily deemed "Guilty" and moving one actually without doing anything to make Midnight Park a better place and so, left them. He wondered guilty and aimless for some time before meeting Coldheart and founding the Luminary Society to atone for their past sins, establishing a strict code of honor to make up for it.

Of course, Next up is Coldheart. Emeline Eaton was a skier, the best in all Midnight Park in fact. She would ski down the slopes of Appalachia every winter preparing for the day she could enter into the Winter Olympics, her personal dream and everyone believed in her. One winter when she was setting off, a strange man in a hazmat suit approached her, not a single snowflake on their body preaching how fit she was. She listened, confused, until the figure proclaimed how much he DESPISED health as they took off their hood, revealing the vile molten features of Tox right before Emeline punch him right in the face in response, only for Tox to merely laugh as the chemical cocktail begain to make her flesh melt too arm-first. She fell on the ground and rolled down the slope, slamming right into a frozen lake. She awoke later that month after the thaw with bluish frostbite skin and discovered that no level of cold effect her anymore but if she were to ever rise above the freezing point, she'd begin to melt like Tox. She lived for a week sleeping in mall freezers and walking around with a sack of dry ice tied to her back before meeting Silver Sentinel, who rigged up a crude insulation suit to keep her cool and together they formed the Luminary Society.

Midas, Dr Gianni Agneas, was a quantum physicist specializing in using particle smashers and accelerators to transmutate old or synthesize new elements. He was working on an experimental device he named the Philosopher's Engine that could transmute any one substance into any other when Squall's storm hit, lightning striking the side of the lab and causing the machine to go haywire spouting particles and radiation until it exploded, knocking Gianni out in the process. When they awoke, Everything left in the ruins had been transmuted, including themself, they had been turned to a scintillating rainbow of elements such as lead, bismuth, and sulfur and whatever they touched would itself be transmuted into something different. After a few years as a medical oddity, they had learned to control their powers, being able to choose what they turned what into, joining the Luminary Society and turning enough trash into gold to allow them to buy an abandoned observation tower to turn into their headquarters, the Luminary Spire.

Technopath, Nathan Sutton, isn't from Midnight Park, he's not even from the east coast. Born in the state of California as the son of the tech billionaire Dell Sutton of Telekinetics Inc, Nathan never faced much hardship growing up and so spent most of their time reading comic books and watching movies. They were big fans of stories about cowboy and pirate vigilantes and secret spies infiltrating the lairs of megalomaniacal masterminds. After hearing of the Luminary Society following the purchase of the Luminary Spire and their growing awareness of their father's love of money over them, he underwent an experimental surgery to have Telekinetics Inc technology installed into his body, becoming a cyborg with built-in radios and electromagnets granting them powers like remote usage of electronics, telekinesis, and more before moving to Midnight Park and applying for the Society several times before getting approved as their youngest member. Silver Sentinel is something of an idol of theirs and they seem potential in the young cyborg and have taken them in as a pupil.

Nightshade, real name Sophia Burke, always preferred plants to people. Plants wouldn't bully you for being weird, plants would always listen to what you have to say, plants would never be "too busy" to pay attention to their child. As she grew, she got a degree in botany and toxicology whilst studying abroad. When she came back however, She discovered that her parents had been murdered. No matter how strained there relationship, she still valued their lives and so went out to try to find the killer, Using her knowledge to blend into the plantlife and apply subtle poisons to their enemies to render them inoperable. Eventually she found the culprit; Everyman, Her parents were corrupt it turns out and had been engaging with drug smuggling for the black market and he couldn't let that stand. Shaken to her core by that discovery but still wanting to put a stop to Everyman's crimes and not believe that they're strong enough, she joined the Luminary Society to train, though her willingness to kill give her a strained relationship with the rest of them.

And that's it. That's them, my boys!

The boys. They be back in town?

[vortcxclub]

ZEPHYR ENTERTAINMENT is an entertainment conglomerate and record label founded and established in 1999 by the multi-millionaire businessman JUNG SEUNGCHEOL. The agency became known for its scouting and marketing formula, being able to turn almost anyone into stars. However, following the opening of his new hotel franchise IVORY HEIRLOOM in 2014, Seungcheol passed the company down to his oldest daughter, JUNG AERI.

༊*·˚. INFORMATION : THE BASICS

COMPANY NAME. zephyr entertainment

TYPE. public

INDUSTRY. music, entertainment, production

FOUNDED. february 24th, 1999

FOUNDER. jung seungcheol

HEADQUARTERS. seoul, south korea

AREA SERVED. worldwide

SERVICES. licensing, publishing, record distribution

༊*·˚. KEY PEOPLE : THE STAFF + MASTERMINDS

JUNG SEUNGCHEOL : FOUNDER, ORIGINAL CEO. 1972.

JUNG AERI : CURRENT CEO. 1991.

PARIS KHAN : HEAD CREATIVE DIRECTOR. 1993.

MALACAI GREEN : HEAD MANAGER TEAM. 1989.

LEE DONGHYUN : HEAD MANAGER TEAM. 1979.

TRISTIAN DAME : HEAD PRODUCER TEAM. 1991.

AUDEN SUNG : HEAD HAIRSTYLIST. 1993.

ALYSSA JIMENEZ : HEAD MAKEUP ARTIST. 1990.

LEON SIMMS : HEAD PRODUCER TEAM. 1992.

GREY HASEGAWA : SOCIAL MEDIA MARKETER. 1991.

RACHEL BOYD : HEAD CREATIVE DIRECTOR. 1994.

KALIYA RICH : HEAD CHOREOGRAPHER. 1990.

༊*·˚. SUBSIDIARIES : THE CHILD COMPANIES

PINK FRIDAY ❋ ࣪ ࣭ 2004 - fashion house, ran by friday escoffier

RAINDROP ❋ ࣪ ࣭ 2007 - acting agency and film production, ran by william averson

JADORE MEDIA ❋ ࣪ ࣭ 2012 - record label, ran by cho jisoo

༊*·˚. TALENT ROSTER : THE ARTISTS

CLICK HERE TO BE REDIRECTED TO THE TALENT ROSTER !

[the0maski]

Since Legend has the still demon possessed Majoras Mask, what’s their relationship?

Canonical that would mean Legend is a descendent of the Happy Mask Salesman. That would also mean the mask is like a family heirloom…?

And lets pretend for the sake of it, that the "possessed mask" are like the japanese deitys. Nor good or bad, it’s just depends how you treat them. This could mean that Majora isn’t evil or mad anymore. Over many generation they are considered so important that they would get passed on! Naturally, Majora became very found of Legends family, and very protective over the youngest family member who is treating him just right. On the other hand, there is another deity who is also very found of Legend. Exactly, the fierce deity aka Time.

(And yes, let for the sake of it pretend Time fuck up big time in Termina, and the moon was just part of an ritual to make him like all the other moon children, a deity)

So, the first time the chain end in Legends house, there is a very weird, very dark aura around a certain mask and the oldest of the hero, which no one like. Nothing ever happens, because let’s be honest, just because the both are lesser gods, doesn’t mean they have the brain cell. Time is waiting for Majora to do a move and Majora for Time. None does, but it puts the other heros in so much unnecessary stress!

Meanwhile Legend gets the unique experience of what would be two parents fighting each other over keeping child custody.

[walnutcookie]

What’s your take on an AU that expands on why Roguefort has their Pursuit of Lost Time costume?

inhales deeply

(this is very poorly explained im sorry)

okay so . I have made a whole story for pursuit of lost time/search for lost time because i am Neurodivergent and Yeah it probably is the farthest thing from canon but so is the rest of my fanon/hc au

for some brief context, when roquefort (aka roguefort outside of their thief persona) was 15 their family mansion (the blue cheese manor) was burned down due to *unknown circumstances. their oldest brother earl grey managed to grab hold of them and their younger brother eclair and tug them out of the burning house, and as they stared at their whole life burn down in front of them, roquefort notices a strange white feather drifting through the wind ,, they still remember that odd detail into adulthood

*originally my oc feather sequin burned it down cause it was funny but ive decided against that

Flash forward to when they are 35 !! aka 1 year before "present time" in my fanon

AUGH it would take too long to explain everything tbat happened before this point but . Long story short roque feels trapped because they have no real friends and their onlu source of human(cookie?) interaction that isnt their cousin cheesecake can only happen when they are phantom bleu . they feel so trapped because they cant be themself and their fans Scare them they are freaked out by the constant admiration and idolization !! also their self image has gone to shit . not that they ever had much confidence but theyve convinced themself they are unlovable unless they put on an act.

then its announced on television. their old family watch was found and auctioned off to an anonymous someone.

(their costume story says "A weathered heirloom of the Blue Cheese manor was auctioned away. Apparently, winding this unadorned watch transported the wearer back in time... Phantom Bleu is desperately in pursuit, going so far as to procure all timepieces in the city. What is your endgame, Roguefort Cookie?")

They snap . suddenly everything they can think about is that watch. that watch could save them, bring them back to a time where they were loved and maybe they could fix all of their past mistakes...

they dont remember how bad their family was to them. they lived in A Very abusive and neglectful household and they were not loved at all their older brother practically raised them but theyre just desperate to be free. the problem is that they Dont know what the watch looks like because it was so long ago so their solution is to just ! steal every watch in parfaedia Thumbs up

(walnuts story: The city is bustling with word of a serial thief who only swipes clocks, watches, and timepieces! With a new magnifying glass in hand, Walnut Cookie is in hot pursuit of Phantom Bleu, who has left a message: "I am pursuing lost time.")

walnut is close behind the whole time, always just barely out of reach though,, if she had been able to catch them she could have prevented A lot of suffering . at this time its not that drastic , clocks are a strange thing to steal and she doesnt know about their origins so she cant really piece together why theyre stealing all of these watches.

then comes timekeeper !

its awfully slow to get around, isnt it ? thats why she steps in and offers to help roguefort (in a Totally non-malicious totally helpful way !!!!). they havent had any luck stealing every single clock in parfaedia, so she proposes a new idea,, timelines/time travel

Infinite timelines means infinite watches!! theyll have all the opportunities in the WORLD to find their watch. or alternatively they could go back in time and just get the watch before its auctioned off , Right ??? yeaah timekeeper doesnt make it that easy she thinks its fun to watch them suffer so shes going to make it as hard as possible <33

she lends them an airship from the tbd which allows them to travel through time and basically just . Sits back and watches as they hoard hundreds of watches from different universes

walnut comes across this person named croissant (im.not sure how) and they realize Hey wait a mimiye . You're chasing after the person accompanying the one IM chasing after (croi wants to stop tk from fucking with the timelines im not that educayed abt tje tbd sorry) and thwy team up Wooo !! they are riding crois timecraft together and following tk and rogue but again theyre always Just barely behind them </3

timekeeper then ditches the airship and just Carries them through timespace to different universes and shows them The Horrors (trippy shit and everyon they love being subjected to death and torrutture Themself being subjected to that etc) and fucks with them by throwing rhem into random time rifts without caring if theyll hit the floor too hard . Yea ‼️‼️walnut Also sees some of this as theyre following the pther two but croi tries to shield her eyes

and then . Finally timekeeper is like "What if we just go back to when your family manor still existed and get the watch there ? :)" and then after watching through the windows for a bit they realize . they will not be loved here

they just did all of that for nothing. theyre fucking exhausted and running on nothing but adrenaline and they get nothing for it. and now theyre just pissed that their family was ever like that because they could have had a better life

Andthen timekeeper hands them . gasoline and a match. and theyre blinded by rage at this point they dont really think about what theyre doing. and looking at the flames growing doesnt feel any better. they just feel so hurt but they just sit a distance away watching it

and then they hear screaming. They see their brother dragging them and eclair out of the house.

and they see a white feather from their costume fly off of their outfit, flying in front of their past selfs face .

and now they realize what theyve just done. They werent thinking about what would happen after they lit it on fire. they thought of it as a simulation or something but they have just caused the event that first destroyed their life in the first place. theyve just caused suffering to themself, their brothers, their cousin, theyve killed a dozen different people including the ones who had never hurt them like their sister palmier . They just killed their fucking family Time loop babyyy

croi and walnut dont find them until this point, and theyre a little ,,, confused by the scene ?

walnut has Never heard of the blue cheese manor before. but she can see roguefort on their knees sobbing hysterically (which is WILDLY out of character for them SHE HAS NEVER EVEN SEEN THEM FROWN BEFORE !!!!) and she knows that this has something to do with their past.

unfortunately evej though this was a big hint to their true identity She did not have the resources to figure out much about it and it turned into a dead end </3 she was able to find the name of the house and the location and a name or two but she couldnt find the names of the kids . there was no listed cause for the fire (she would never guess that it was roguefort themself) so she couldnt really get anywhere with it . It was very surreal seeing phantom bleu like that though because,, at the time she was 11 and She didnt really. see rogue as a normal cookie?? like it was hard to believe someone so mysterious and flawless on the outside would have been through such a traumatic incident. she was SO hyperfixated on this she was so sure she would finally figurw out who tjey were

little does she know her history teacher could give her all the information she needs LOL

on rogueforts side they are just . Holy fuck girl they feel so insanely guilty they cant get themself to tell cheesecake . they cant admit to her that they were the one who ruined everyones life. they get home and they try to sleep and they just hear their clock ticking in their room and before they know it their hand is cut and bloody and theres glass shards on the floor (thye pumched the clock they have Clock trauma thye cannot stand that ticking noise it fills them with so much dread cheesecake cannot have clocks in that house anymore that arent digital)

also for the people who know who bleu is . Rogue shoved it in a box before they went on their watch stealing spree because it kept trying to stop them and so it wasnt there to stop them or help them during the whole thing.

Rogue has so many nightmares aftwr the whole thing Mostly of the screams they heard as they watched the flames eat up their childhood home and everyone inside

again this is Very far from canon i understand that like . if you look at a lot of the quotes it doesnt rlly make sense in this context but oh well i like my version i tjink rogue ahould be a murderer As a treat (i promise i dont suppoet murder)

[novaharpersworld]

Character: Ashan Tullis

Age: 23

Height: 5'9"

Weight: 145 lbs

Ashan Tullis is the eldest son of Edwin Tullis, patriarch of House Tullis, the oldest and richest of the Seven Houses of Soljoro.

Ashan (he prefers Ash) is 23, well trained in combat and dueling, in etiquette and manners, dancing, and educated by the greatest tutors. He is kind, hates the expectations of position put upon him as heir to House Tullis, and wants to make the world better. He sees the sufferings of the poor and working class and wants to help them.

He is also gay, and in a relationship with Mattis Glade, son of a middling merchant family. His father Edwin is an aggressive homophobe who hates Mattis and the "shame" Ash brings on the family.

Finally having enough, Ash's father decides to ship him off to Insturi to live among the Fae as diplomatic attache to the Soljoran embassy, in the hopes splitting him up with Mattis will force him to grow out of this "phase." When Ash says goodbye to Mattis, he gives Mattis House Tullis's sigil ring from when they were still a noble house, one of the last few heirlooms of house Tullis, as a sign that Ash will come back for him.

What Edwin Tullis doesn't fully understand is that the Fae are sexually and gender liberated. While any Fae is free to find their own gender and sexuality (provided it harm none), most are nonbinary or gender fluid, and go by they/them. They will have a profound impact on Ash, who gets stranded indefinitely among the Fae after a Soljoran stealth airship is shot down behind Insturin lines during an illegal reconnaisance flight that sparks an international crisis that threatens to spill over into war.