#and lmk if the image descriptions need any changes

[wiseheartedloki]

Gravity Falls - The Axolotl

Dipper and Mabel and the Curse of the Time Pirates' Treasure! / arthoesunshine tumblr / Bell Hooks / tordenvejr tumblr / Gravity Falls - Journal 3 / Tourist Trapped - Gravity Falls / Virgil: The Aenid / Richard Siken: Snow and Dirty Rain / Virginia Woolf: Flush / Gravity Falls - Journal 3 / David Jones

[songofwizardry]

i stumbled across a Rumi quatrain on tumblr today and it reminded me to go looking for my favourites, so here's a few, all taken from Kulliyat-e Shams-e Tabrizi, with the caveat that i do not speak Farsi and I have read them all as translations only. more notes on translation at the end, but all of these are translated by Zara Houshmand, and taken from the archives of The Iranian.

#1771

#57

#1584

#1316

and the note on translation: these are of course not the Coleman Barks translations, the most popular English translations. i think the orientalism and... de-Sufi-fying and de-Muslim-ifying of the Barks translations and a lot of English-language and Western perception of Rumi is much more discussed now (Jawid Mojaddedi, who is writing a translation of Rumi's multi-volume Masnavi, says, "The Rumi that people love is very beautiful in English, and the price you pay is to cut the culture and religion.") if you're interested, Persian Poetics has a great twitter thread about it and their website has text, audio, and video resources where they've talked about it. and this article from Ajam Media is a short read and an interesting comparison of a few different translations.

if you enjoy Zara Houshmand's translations, she has a book of translations of Rumi's quatrains, Moon and Sun. there's many translations of Rumi's works not by Barks, that prioritise different things: you can 100% find a translation that isn't Barks, and Rumi's work is. so beautiful and so much better when you are not reading whatever uhhh... interpretation Barks came up with.

[lmk-oc-competition]

LMK OC COMPETITION 2: ROUND 2 BRACKET

Hello, hello!! The round 2 bracket is here!! (Slowly yet surely.. we'll be able to make out the names at some point)

Polls will go up on September 16, 9 PM EST. See you all then!

ALSO. THIS IS THE LAST REMINDER. For anyone who wishes to change their description and/or image, you will need to DM me. I will provide you with a link to a google form that allows you to update any information you wish. Even if you're not quite ready to fill it out yet, ask for the link now if you know you'll be changing anything because I will be going to sleep in a bit and the form closes at 9 AM EST tomorrow!!

View the match-ups and creators below the cut!!

LEFT SIDE:

Yin and Yang (@tacoelmo) VS Yue (@kirbysdreamlands) [link to poll]

Aether (@stardust-haven) VS Hoshiyoru (@stardust-xoxo45) [link to poll]

Hazel Dragon (@zellia-rambles) VS Diane (@0xxjustdianaxx0) [link to poll]

Cháoliú (@mysticmonkiee) VS Mingyue (@yum3naps) [link to poll]

Reya Nina Januri (@fayeangel25) VS Jun (@camhues) [link to poll]

Ari J (@dragonnerd) VS Jī Tuǐgū (@tsa-smth) [link to poll]

Chenguang (@twinklecupcake) VS Heng Tao (@starrbee) [link to poll]

Ao Hai Wang (@turquiosescales) VS Huli Shaoxing (@reagansragepage) [link to poll]

RIGHT SIDE:

Ji Daiyu (@azora-ink) VS Xuè Shé (@yingjiaoyue) [link to poll]

Xiāo Lixúe (@keykittygirl) VS Fu Xiao (@endipuff ) [link to poll]

Jie (@manonim) VS Diedie (@lmkobsessedmoth) [link to poll]

Yahui Liao (@shepherd-to-the-stars) VS Blossom (@blossomnightshade) [link to poll]

Bell (@deadzonedenizen) VS Yangwu Jin (@littlethingsrae) [link to poll]

Liu Xing (@pacifity) VS Daiyu Sun (@sally-demon) [link to poll]

Eku Lin (@ekukovsblog) VS Kali (@tinyfieryghost) [link to poll]

Xīnghuā (@shatteredstarsart) VS Lǐ Nà (@violina08) [link to poll]

Good luck everyone and have fun!!! :D

[gladlypants]

Hey! I uploaded a ton of lots to the gallery today (id: gladlypants) Some were recent builds I was doing while I was waiting for GT, some I just furnished today, some I built last summer before HSY released and forgot about, and then vault Cleo’s grandparents’ house. I had a lot of fun practicing building over the last few weeks!  :) 

It’ll take me a bit to get all of these tray files up, will have to go back and take interior screenshots and all that. There are names of each and short descriptions under the cut, numbered like the screenshots, cuz I just felt like talking about em, and gallery images suck. I’ve playtested most of these at some point, except Charles E. Cheese’s, the shells, and the Batchelder house.

Lmk if you want any of these now for your new pack gameplay and I’ll shoot you a temporary dl.

1. Charles E. Cheese’s - Heavily branded for the feline version of Chuck, Charles! It’s a restaurant and I haven’t playtested it, sorryyyy, but I don’t foresee any issues. There’s a pizza vendor kiosk inside too if you want to change the lot type or have typical Dine Out problems. Intended as a kind of party space for kids. The upstairs feels a little chaotic to me but maybe not idk. ♥

2. Raymond’s Noodles - A little local noodle restaurant I built for a sim named Raymond I was playing in a recent rotation save. It’s small and cute. ♥

3. The Schneider House - a big ol’ traditional style Windenburg house. I was also playing a household on this lot, and I really loved it!

4. Batchelder Craftsman - I love the style of this house. Named for Batchelder tiles, which I am pretending this one has throughout! (reference)

5. Gray 2 Story Craftsman - The household I played the most in my rotation lived in this house and I love the layout, so it’s probably my favorite of the Craftsman shells I built, even if it is a little plain looking on the outside. It has an awesome, huge main bedroom suite! 

6. Green Family Craftsman - f*ck those rooves. This one has a a sunroom and a bedroom for grandparents/stay-overs. (reference)

7. Blue Craftsman - Built this one like a house my sister-in-law lived in here for a long time, it’s a common style and layout in older neighborhoods where I live.

8. Black Victorian Shell - It’s supposed to a small detached row house. I built it with the idea of using it for renting to roommates but you can use it however you like obviously.

9. Cleo’s Grandparents’ House - a desert mcm! Still has the camper in the yard that Cleo + Devon lived in before they got locked in the vault.

10. Single Mom House - I built this for one of my gallery households, who is a single mother and teenage daughter. It’s a little shabby, with some craftsman features and some Hispanic decor for them.

11. The LaFollette House - also built for one of my gallery families, a single military dad and his two daughters. I intended this one to be the same as the Single Mom house, but remodeled to be more modern and spacious.

12. The Gilbert House - for a gallery household, it’s a little retro inside!

13. Split Level Family Home - also for a gallery household, this one has very feminine style decor, except for one of the bedrooms for a teen, and a huge unfinished basement (just walls.) 

^^ Also this “Colorful Craftsman Shell” that I forgot about and don’t think I’ll get around to furnishing/finishing it anytime soon. It has a bonus attic room. You’ll need to move the back door, place it on a bigger lot, or lower the foundation because I didn’t leave space for steps there. 

And a big modern “apartment building” with one furnished unit and a gym and indoor pool downstairs, which is kind of unfinished but idk if I’ll get back to it.

Sorry for the wall of text, thank you if you read it all. ♥ 

[salemshotspot]

THE ONLY MEDICINE I NEED

Razor Ramon x 123 Kid

WORD COUNT: 1.1k

DESC: Razor is the only thing that Kid can think of when he can't sleep [BASED ON THE BELOW MESSAGE FROM @outsiderswolfpac]

WARNINGS: Not Proof Read//Implied Anxiety//Mentions And Descriptions Of Sleep Problems//Brief Mentions Of Self-Hatred//Implied Paranoia And Delusions//Mentions Sleep Medication//Mentions Of Not Taking Meds//Mentions of Self-Destructive Behaviour

A/N >> Drop writing requests in my inbox and lmk if you'd like to be tagged/untagged in any future fics :)

TAGS: @prettyboymichaels-ao3 @outsiderswolfpac

Enjoy!

——————————————————————————

Sean defeatedly picked up his phone to check the time, the harsh blue light of his phone causing his eyes to wince; 3:48am in obnoxiously large white digits mocked him. It was the one thing Sean had always hated about himself, ever since he can remember he hasn't been able to sleep. It started at a young age, he was around six years old and he would be overwhelmed with visions of his roof caving in on him while he slept so he did his best to stay awake, almost as if staying awake would somehow ensure this wouldn't happen. He was certain he'd grow out of it, then he turned thirteen and was plagued with nightmares so graphic he still to this day shudders at the thought. Although Sean knew deep down his fears were irrational he couldn't shake them, he couldn't shake the correlation in his mind between sleep and danger, what if he goes to sleep and something bad happens to somebody he cares about? What if he went to sleep and never woke up again? He couldn't comprehend sleep as peaceful, the idea of being alive but not conscious for hours never sat right with him, it terrified the most vulnerable depth of his being.

All of this changed once Sean met Scott, there was something about him which calmed Sean, something about him which made the world stop in place, allowing Sean to feel both safe and calm enough to entertain the idea of sleep. Scott knew this; although he didn't know the exact details as to why Sean found it so difficult to sleep or why Sean needed sleep medication he knew Sean always slept much better while he was around. Both Sean and Scott were staying in a hotel in preparation for an upcoming event and Scott had insisted they book a room together, claiming it's a smart idea money wise, not wanting to let Sean know that not only does he wanted to keep an eye on him but also Scott found himself able to sleep happier when he had Sean safe with him. However the hotel had no rooms which had two beds meaning they had to book separate rooms which, although he didn't want to admit it, worried Scott, leading him to give Kid a spare key to his room 'in case of emergencies.'

From the second they had booked their rooms Sean was determined to not use the key Scott had given to him, Scott was a very straight forward man which is why Sean knew he wouldn't give him a key to his room if he wasn't completely serious about Sean being able to use it at any time so why was Sean so hesitant to do so? Maybe it was his sleep deprived mind attempting to further destroy him but Sean couldn't shake the vivid image of Scott's face painted with anger as he spoke in a mocking fashion; 'you call you struggling to sleep an emergency?' Sighing, Sean came to the conclusion that Scott's ridicule would be easier to stomach than any of the thoughts which were stopping him from sleeping so, grabbing a pillow as an extra barrier of comfort between himself and anything outside of his room, Sean slowly made his way to Scott's room at the other end of the eerily empty hall.

Once at the intimidating door which blocked him from Scott, Sean found himself paralysed, tears threatening to overwhelm his eyes, the idea of being so vulnerable with Scott, admitting to him he couldn't sleep because of a list of incomprehensible factors was almost too much for Sean, he couldn't bring himself to entertain the idea that Scott might actually throw this back in his face. Shaking his head in an attempt to shake the very idea from his mind, Sean muttered under his breath, 'no, Scott wouldn't do that, not to me' before bringing his shaky hand to the door handle to let himself into Scott's room after attempting to quietly unlock the door.

Slowly closing the door behind him, Sean's eyes scanned the room both searching for Scott and checking there was no danger in an attempt to quell his deafening thoughts. If Sean wasn't so worked up he would've smiled and chuckled softly to himself when his eyes landed on Scott who was deep in sleep, Sean has always envied how welcoming sleep was to Scott, what was it about him that made him so much more worthy of the warm embrace of sleep? What was so undesirable about Sean which made him so repulsive to the very concept of rest?

Hugging his pillow tightly, fear and embarrassment overcame Sean as he instinctively turned to leave, the idea of bothering Scott feeling foolish to him now. Before Sean could leave he heard a gruff voice in the dark; 'Sean? Is that you?' In any other situation Scott's voice being so gruff from waking up would've caused Sean's heart to flutter but Sean's self-inflicted guilt just caused tears to fall onto Sean's sunken face as he spoke; 'Scott I'm so sorry for waking you up please don't be mad' Sean's voice fell to a whisper 'I'll leave you to go back to sleep I'm so sorry.' Scott, not fully grasping what was happening shifted in bed and patted the empty space next to him, when Sean stayed stood up Scott muttered sleepily; 'are you getting in or are you going to keep watching me sleep Kid?' A wave of relief washes over Sean as he softly smiles and gingerly walks over to Scott, rolling his eyes at Sean's pace Scott gently grabs Sean once he is in his reach and pulls him down to the bed, instinctively pulling Sean close to his chest, happily humming as he caged Sean in his arms.

A few moments of peaceful silence passed before Scott yawned softly and questioned 'did you forget to take your meds?' To which Sean weakly answered; 'didn't want to take them, it just felt' his voice trailed off 'it just felt like a bad idea Scott' Sean admitted, unable to properly explain to Scott how taking his meds wasn't something his mind would let him do. Scott hummed in understanding; 'tomorrow morning give me your meds, I'll make sure you take them' he stopped once he heard how harsh he sounded, quickly changing his tone, 'I hate seeing you like this Kid, I want to make sure you're looking after yourself and if you're not then I'll do it for you.'

Before Sean could answer, Scott was already asleep once more, even in sleep holding him close, the security of Scott's arms and steady breathe quickly lulled Sean into the sleep he was so desperately craving, Scott assumed he was hearing things in his tired state but he was sure he heard Sean mutter an 'I love you' while the two men fell in and out of sleep.

—————————————————————————— A/N >> I feel like whenever I finish a fic ten more appear in my drafts

[galacticgarlic]

Mcyt Pride Day 2!

[ID: Lineless, digital art of the content creator Snifferish. She is sitting with her legs in front of her, one curled under the other. She has one hand down by her side, rested on her foot. The other hand is up by her face, holding her phone as if ready to take a picture. She doesn’t have any facial features, her body being mostly nondescript.

Snifferish is wearing a pink cropped sweater and ripped blue jeans. Their calves and feet are cut off from view, so you cannot tell the type of shoes they’re wearing. They have two round pins on the chest of their sweater. One pin is in the genderdoe colors, the other is the progress pride flag. They have a genderqueer flag draped over one of their feet.

The background of the image is a blurry swirl of pink, purple, and blue.

Finally, there is a pale purple watermark in the corner that reads, “LordLaurance”. End ID]

(General disclaimer that none of this series is meant to speculate on creator’s sexualities, genders, or labels. I did also include many allies in my list, and I respect that they have said that they are not LGBT. They are simply here as a celebration of allyship.)

[deliciousmicroplastics]

[ID: First image: Britney Spears in her ...Baby One More Time music video, captioned, “MY lower back IS KILLING ME”

Second image: From the same video, captioned, “I must confess so are my knees”]

[phantomcodes]

TEYANA | fansite theme by sage static preview & code / rainbow preview / live preview @lgbtqcreators​ event 01 — get to know the members / this theme is inspired by pride & some of my fav lgbtq+ musicians, happy pride month!!

read this post before asking questions consider supporting a gay nonbinary woc this pride month ♡

main features (more info below the cut):

navigation bar w/ blog icon, up to 3 extra links, menu button, & scroll to top

left sidebar with sections for:

an uploadable image or blog icon, title & url, custom description

optional: members, links, event, schedule, affiliates, projects, & stats

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color gradient with 3 color stops or a toggle-able rainbow color gradient!

toggle: rainbow, featured posts, slideout menu, every sidebar section, circular side image, hover tags, & glow effect

540px post size & 0px, 5px, or 10px border radius options

custom description, post margin, google font, title font, & font size

responsive design

everything except the affiliates section can be edited in the customize panel -  there’s no need to change anything else in the code

terms:

reblog if using

do not repost/redistribute or claim as your own

do not remove the credit

credits page

featured posts

uses an image url - includes image, title & link

up to 3 featured posts

sidebar sections

the image will automatically adjust to fit the full width of the sidebar (400px) & whatever your image height is

if you choose the circular side image it’s 200px x 200px

if there’s no sidebar image uploaded it will default to your blog’s icon

blogs section

this section will automatically populate with the members of your blog

it will show the blog icon, url, & title

links section: includes up to 8 links

event section: uses an image url, includes a title and button to show a short description & up to 3 links

schedule section: up to 4 timeline/schedule lines with space for a date and short description

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this section needs to be edited in the code

search ‘edit here’ - there are notes in the code showing the format

projects section: up to 4 projects with a title and adjustable progress percentage

stats section: up to 6 stats & an optional additional description/disclaimer box

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up to 6 updates with an icon and text

the ask box is below the updates, it will only appear if you have asks turned on for your blog

menu faq: up to four questions/answers

general

there’s a million color options & options in general on this theme and ik that can be overwhelming sometimes! if u need any help or want advice on how to customize lmk

if you want a coding customization (ex. day/night, a header, changes to the sections/slideout menu, etc.) you can commission me!

minor customizations you make on your own for personal use are fine, if you’re not sure if a customization you want is allowed send me an ask

[poptod]

The Old Gods

Description: Jack has to get close to a powerful suspect. Jack also ponders upon his humanity.

Notes: genuinely didnt meant for this to get so long, my apologies, i just like writing conversations bc i never get to have them.  also! I hate myself so much for writing supernatural fanfiction in the good year of our lord 2021. its not my fault, it was the only show i could watch with my cousin that we both liked. anyway! lmk if you like it i could do a part two WC: 11k

+

The nearest library could hardly be called a library. A more accurate description would be a collection of books––a small collection––that could be read freely but never taken from the library itself. There was little need within the Winchesters to visit the library, considering they had one in their home filled with mythical lore, but the records of Kansas and neighboring cities and states were detailed thoroughly in the nearest library.

Jack knew a great many things; inherent natures and laws of the universe, the experience of power and of fear, both before him and within him. Many things he'd seen deserved to be feared, exposing him to dangers often unheard of amongst regular children.

Three months into existence, however, Jack liked to think he knew more than he did when he was born. This was because he'd spoken to more people, experienced more things, and learned select things about his mother, his father, his family, and strangers. Still, there were things that puzzled him––the age of the world was clear in his mind (4.543 billion years, four months, 22 days, 6 hours, and 52 seconds) but how humanity progressed into what they now were astounded him.

"Humans started as... these creatures with unending curiosity," Castiel explained to him, his hands folded neat in his lap but hidden by his too-long trenchcoat sleeves. "Ceaseless innovation. They started without language but they always had kindness. I think.. that's why God favored them, at least at first."

"So... kindness is a form of.. intelligence?" Jack asked slowly, his brow furrowed tight as he stared past his father.

"I believe so," he said, shifting in his seat. "Kindness drove these animals to building homes, to conversing with one another, to creating a better world for descendants they would never know. It's quite beautiful, actually."

"Am I a part of that story?"

Only half-human, only half-alive, only half the story, belonging to nothing concrete. Jack wasn't really human, leaving him alone in his species.

"Yes," Castiel said without hesitation.

Civilization first started off in a number of areas. The first book Jack found dealt with the fertile crescent northeast of Africa, where Mesopotamia brought forth a number of societies, of cultures, meshed together over the course of thousands of years. Sumerians were one of the first to build their cities, creating writing, the wheel, and the plow in their haven apart from the unpredictable and often violent wild.

But no––the next book Jack found stated that Jericho was the oldest city, west to the fertile crescent near the shore of the Mediterranean and the Dead Sea. The citystate was independent from any other power, often becoming abandoned from raids only to return to high populations, as humans flocked back to the spring water that still poured from inside the earth to this day.

Over the rest of the day spent in the nearest library, Jack learned there was no single spot in which civilization was created and then spread from. The Nile in Africa brought forth Egypt, the Indus river in Pakistan birthed the Harappan civilization, and the two rivers Yellow and Yangtze in China created the first asian cities. From there villages, towns, and cities spread like mold across the earth's surface, eventually bringing humans to inhabit every continent and nearly every environment known on earth.

There were far too many things to know, and the strain of reading on his eyes eventually forced him to retire for the day. He hardly understood anything yet, but the librarian was understanding as to his prolonged stay, and wished him a good evening when he left. He beamed a bright smile despite the strange pain growing behind his eyes, and waved good-bye.

Dean gave him painkillers when he got back to the bunker after Jack thoroughly (and unnecessarily) described his headache.

"Humans are... strange," Jack said, his brow furrowed in deep thought. He rested his elbows on the table, leaning over an empty bowl of cereal.

"Not wrong, but, care to elaborate?" asked Sam, who was sitting across from him at the kitchen table, a newspaper and pen in his hand.

"Castiel said you created the first cities out of a desire to.. to protect each other, and to keep yourselves safe. And then the first thing you do when you meet other cities is to go to war with them."

Sam sucked in a sharp breath, leaning back as he set the newspaper aside. This would take a little more concentration than a passing ear.

"People are scared by things they don't know," Sam began only to be cut off.

"Why?"

"They don't know if it's dangerous. You didn't trust us, at first, either. We didn't know whether to trust you. Remember?"

"Oh," Jack said softly.

"Yeah. But you're right," he said with a long sigh. "It's strange. We're... strange."

"Are humans inherently good?"

"I don't think anyone is inherently good," Sam said, and Jack straightened his posture, suddenly confused by his claim. "Every person – every thing, every living thing has – has the capacity for good and evil. It's really just up to the individual to decide which side they want to give into."

"Am I a good person?"

"First off, you're not really a person," said another voice from the doorway.

Sam and Jack both turned at the same time, meeting the eye of Dean, who had yet to change out of his bathrobe despite it being 2PM.

"Second off, you haven't been alive long enough to be a good person," he continued as he entered, an empty coffee cup in hand.

"Dean –" Sam began, only to be cut off.

"What? It's the truth."

The coffee machine buzzed loudly once Dean pushed a few of the buttons, setting his cup beneath the nozzle. He muttered something to himself before turning back to the kitchen table.

"Anything strange in the paper?" He asked, leaning against the counter.

"Maybe," said Sam.

He grabbed the paper again, delving into the details of a nearby missing persons case that soon faded out of Jack's state of mind. His thoughts were still absorbed in his existence, in his beginnings, and how they compared to the beginnings of humans. At least with angels he knew everything; that was how angels were born. Knowing everything.

Jack remained seated at the table when Sam and Dean left, still stewing in his thoughts that he imagined would never go away. It was half an hour later when the two brothers returned, this time fully dressed, and packed up on their way to the car.

"We've gotta go find some local records," Dean said.

"So we're headed to the library," Sam finished, and the two gave each other odd glances at the coincidental synchronicity.

"I was there a couple days ago," Jack said, suddenly perking up. "Can I come with you?"

"Sure, just don't get in the way," Dean said with a dismissive hand, already leaving the doorway.

Sam pursed his lips, letting out a bitter, almost apologetic chuckle before he followed.

He liked the middle seat. It didn't have a seatbelt, but he wasn't sure what seatbelts were for anyways, and the middle seat allowed him easy access to see both of the Winchesters. Dean never spared a glance in his direction while he drove, but Sam offered awkward, curt smiles.

Technically Jack could just fly to the library in an instant, but the drive into town was pretty, lined with the colors of autumn. Recently winds had taken up a more brisk edge, marking the absence of birds that flew in packs overhead. He scooted to one of the window seats, craning his neck awkwardly to look up and out of the glass, grinning at the ravens flying through the orange and gold trees.

The librarian showed the three men where the records were kept, directing them towards missing persons cases when they requested it. While Sam and Dean thumbed through the records, Jack returned to ancient history books, studying art and images from Vedic India.

There, amongst the carvings printed on soft paper, he found something rather odd. He stood from his position on the floor, still staring intensely at the print as he walked over to the table Sam and Dean sat at.

"Hey Jack," Sam said as he sat down, gently placing the book on the table. He scanned Jack's hunched posture before he asked, "something up?"

"I found something... strange," he said, his brow still knotted neatly above curious eyes.

"Yeah well, join the club, kid," Dean said with a groan, wiping his face with his hand.

Jack opened his mouth to ask what they'd seen, but Sam answered before he could speak.

"There's been repeated attacks, kind of," he said, waving his hand vaguely. "Once every ten years a couple of kids go missing. Always two kids, always on the same day of the year."

"And another anomaly," Dean said, reaching over to a stack of papers and slapping them on the table in front of Jack.

Big, black words displayed the newspaper title, and below it, the date of publishing. January 4th, 1967. The main article dealt with a concert happening in a nearby city, and the image printed with it displayed a number of concert-goers, most of them in their teens or early adulthood. Hidden behind several other people, a familiar face appeared––the librarian. Unhindered by time.

"Is that..."

"Big boots over there?" Dean asked, pointing with his thumb in your general direction.

You were sorting through a stack of books, but as Jack looked down, he found you were wearing rather large boots. The ends of your pants drowned in them.

"Do you think they're related?" Jack asked as he turned back to the Winchesters.

"Possibly," Sam said with a nod. "Bit early to tell. But, uh..."

Sam trailed off as his eyes focused on something past Jack's shoulder. He, as well as Dean, turned to meet your eyes that quickly darted away once all three of them were looking at you.

"I think I have an idea," Sam said.

Dean and Jack curiously tilted their heads to the side at the same time, though when Dean noticed that, he fixed himself immediately.

"I think they have a thing for you," he said in a much quieter voice.

"Me?" Jack asked, pushing his finger into his chest.

"Yeah. You could get a little closer and see if something's up."

"Are you seriously setting up Jack with a fuckin' demon, for all we know?" Dean asked flatly, earning an odd look from Sam, who had never heard Dean protest putting Jack in danger.

"Dean, Jack's dad is a demon-angel thing. I don't think it's a big deal," he said.

That seemed to shut the older Winchester up.

"Hm," Jack hummed as he debated the idea. "I also found something strange."

"Oh, right," Sam said, clearing his head with a shake. "What was it?"

"It was also... the librarian," he said with a deep frown. "In one of the books."

He pushed forward the textbook, opening it to reveal the page in which he'd found your face. The stone expression was remarkably similar to your traits, from the curve of your nose to the positioning of your eyes, and the small, polite smile on your lips.

"I found it in the history section," Jack explained. "It says it's from Vedic India."

A quick Google-search later, Sam was reading out the age of Vedic India.

"According to this it says the Vedic age was approximately around 1500 to 800 B.C., so... about 2,500 years ago."

"Wow, this fucker's old," Dean snorted.

Sam shot him a look over the top of his computer screen.

Having found the information they were looking for, the Winchesters began to pack up their belongings and their scribbled notes, shoving them into their bags or into their many-pocketed coats. Jack, on the other hand, prepared himself for talking to you, hoping his ineptness towards social situations with humans wouldn't be too obvious. He swallowed through the knot in his throat, taking a shaking breath in an attempt to steady himself.

It didn't work.

"Dean, what am I supposed to say to them?" He whispered when they were already approaching the front desk, his palms growing sweaty.

"I don't know, their job or something? Something normal," he very unhelpfully advised.

"Thanks for letting us stay for the day," Sam said with a polite smile, handing back one of the printed out records you'd fetched for them from beneath your desk.

"Not a problem. You keep quiet. I like that in a reader," you said, smiling back as you glanced between the three of them.

None of them moved, and your expression turned to mild confusion. Dean had to jab Jack in the side to get him to speak. He opened his mouth to protest, but Dean motioned something to Sam, and the two of them quickly left for the car, leaving Jack alone while they 'situated' themselves.

"I, um..." Jack started before he was ready.

The silence felt wrong, but the silence after saying something was much, much worse. Whatever came into his mind first would have to be what he said.

"I like your job," he said, keenly scanning your expression for any hint of your thoughts.

You paused, clearly taken back for a moment, before you broke out into a chuckle, looking down to your hands as your face flushed.

"I like it quite a lot, too," you said with a grin, looking back up at him. "I've always been interested in becoming a librarian. Granted, I didn't quite imagine it in Kansas, but it is pretty here."

"Where did you imagine it?"

"Greece, actually," you chuckled, and he smiled as well, his heart thumping with a sudden haste. "I was heartbroken to hear the Library of Alexandria was burned down."

"The Library of Alexandria?" He repeated, tilting his head to the side again.

"Haven't heard of it?" You asked.

He shook his head gingerly. Was he supposed to?

No matter––you explained in full what the Library of Alexandria was, when it was created, when it was burnt, and the loss it caused amongst human society. He listened intently, frequently asking questions you were happy to answer. When Jack glanced out the library window, he found the impala gone, and realized Sam's plan had, in a way, worked.

"Are there.. any books about the library?" He asked once you completed your short story.

"Yes, but I don't want to hold you folks up –"

It was then you looked out the window as well, finding the two large men had abandoned the smaller.

"Oh where'd they go?" You said in a curious, high voice.

"Don't worry about that, I... have a bus," he said, earning a strange look. "I am... I ride buses."

A beat of silence passed.

"So the Library was in Greece?" He asked, and your earlier mood returned.

You brought him––with much excitement––to one of the rows in the library filled with simple textbooks for primary school kids. Other rows of your well-tended library were occupied by old books, their bindings worn and frayed at the edges from continuous use. Pages were turned yellow and were soft beneath his fingers, but despite their age they were rather hard for Jack to read and understand, meaning his discovery of children's comprehensible textbooks was a giddy one.

Jack wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to be looking for when it came to you. What counted as suspicious? You continued to speak with him even after the sun set behind mountains, that could be a sign you were trying to gather information on him, as well. That could also mean you liked him. Was your friendliness suspect?

"- and the Phoenicians were really only called that by the Grecians. The name came from the purple dye that they're famous for, some root word for 'purple people' in Greek is Phoenicia," you explained, moving your hands expressively despite the fact that Jack's eyes were set dead on the textbook on the floor in front of you. Paragraphs of words surrounded modern depictions of ancient people and their art.

"So what was their actual name?" He asked as he looked up to you.

"Canaanites. From the land of Canaan."

"... you know a lot," he said, looking back to the page as you chuckled.

"It's just memory," you said with a shrug.

"Can I... can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Do you know anything about mythical creatures?"

Surely this would reveal something, Jack thought––you might react poorly, in which case you could be the monster, or you might react in complete knowledge, which... could also mean you were the monster.

"A little," you said slowly. "Why do you ask?"

"I have an interest, in myths and monsters," he said, almost smiling again.

"Oh man, I have a show you're going to love."

Far in the back of the library, a hollow, steel door led to a small break room, the carpet inside being a dark, scratchy grey against his palms when he sat down. There were no chairs in the room, but an old TV sat on a cheap cart plugged into the nearest, bare wall. On the opposite side of the TV was a dull blue counter that stretched from the door to a window covered by plastic shingle curtains.

You snatched the remote off the counter, pressing a large, red button that had the television buzzing to life loudly. The screen sparked, static radiating around it as a thin line of white brought life to a Netflix loading screen.

After several minutes of waiting for Netflix to load and then typing a title into the search bar, a show called Myths and Monsters was before him. He let out a laugh as he realized what had sparked the connection––he'd literally spoken the title.

Would an ancient being or monster know how to work a TV?

Castiel could work a TV.

Kind of.

The first episode began to play and you took a seat beside Jack, crossing your legs neatly beneath you. A few minutes in, rain pattered lightly on the roof, followed by sudden winds that battered the now pouring rain against the window. Jack watched through the side of his eye as you smiled at the change in weather.

That was suspicious.

Late in the evening, when night darkened the land and heavy thunderclouds darkened the sky, he left the library. He stood in the threshold between the warm light on your desk in the otherwise dark room, and the falling rain outside. Yellow-orange streetlamps illuminated the sheets of rain and the nearby bus stop, but you still stopped him, holding the door open as you both stood motionless in front of one another.

"I have a car, I can drive you home," you offered, gesturing over your shoulder to a door in the back that led to a private parking lot behind the library. "I'm not sure if the bus runs this late."

Extended time with you would be good, and he imagined your face illuminated by dim dashboard car lights would be better than good––great. Beautiful. You had wonderfully warm features. But you couldn't know where he lived for a number of reasons; if you were the monster, that was giving away a hiding place, and if you weren't, you would wonder why he lived in such a strange place.

"Thank you, but it's alright," he said. "I like the rain."

A small smile stretched across your plush lips.

"So do I," you said, and the two of you bid good-bye, retreating into your respective dark.

He gave a thorough rundown of the events proceeding after Sam and Dean left, and the three of them––Sam, Dean, and Castiel––listened closely. Dean already filled Castiel in on the rest of the case, and the two brothers were eating at the long table in the bunker's library.

They stared at him in silence when he finished.

"Sounds like a regular kid," Sam finally said.

"Ah don't be so sure about that," Dean said, raising a single brow. "What did you say the monster probably was?"

"A – a fae, or something," he said.

"Fae's good at lying," Dean pointed out, earning a reluctant nod from Castiel.

"He's right. Fairies are remarkably good at acting," he said in his low, grating voice.

"So... what next?" Jack asked.

"We'll keep looking into the case more, and you can probably ask the librarian out on a date," Sam suggested, earning an agreeing remark from Dean. "You can keep them distracted while we search their house."

"Do we know where they live yet?" asked Dean.

"No, but it shouldn't be too hard to find out," Sam said.

Jack watched the brothers for a moment, his mind emptying of answers as to what a 'date' was.

"What's a date?"

"Oh Christ," Dean muttered, moving immediately to his feet and leaving the room.

Sam let out an exasperated sigh at his brother, turning to Jack to explain what a date was, what were appropriate date activities, and how he should act when asking you out and when being out with you.

"Okay," Jack said with a nod despite not really understanding. "What are dates for?"

"They're between people who are interested in.. getting to know each other," Castiel said as he took a seat beside Sam across from Jack.

"So... like when Dean and I went driving."

"No. Not like that," Sam quickly said. "Not like that at all. If – if a guy is interested in a girl, like interested in having her be his girlfriend, then he might ask her out on a date. It's a romantic thing."

"The librarian does seem to be interested in you, from what I’ve heard," Castiel said with a pointed look in Jack's direction.

"I think you've got a shot," Sam agreed, nodding.

Jack thought for a moment before he said, "okay."

A few days later––Dean insisted he only try a few days later, saying anything less was damaging his honor––Jack returned to the library, lighting up when he found you were still working at the small front desk, your nose buried in a large box full of papers. Large, round glasses were hanging off the tip of your nose, and you pushed them up to your eyes when they slipped further off.

The door clicked softly shut behind him when he entered, scanning the room as if there was another reason he was there. You watched him the whole time, continuing to when he approached you, something obviously on his mind.

"I was wondering..." he trailed off, losing himself in your bright, expectant eyes. When he realized he'd fallen silent, he added the first thing that came to mind––a lie. "... if you could show me where the... books are."

You chuckled before you said, "which ones?"

"Maps," he said, smiling as he came up with something actually substantial.

Of course, it wasn't asking you out, but at least it was talking to you. He would have to do that later, though he supposed he'd have to do it that day or he would be disappointing the Winchesters and Castiel when he came back to the bunker without even trying to complete their orders.

"We don't really have a maps section, but I might be able to help you if you tell me the time and place you're looking for," you suggested for him, and he nodded slowly.

"Yes. Please."

"So what are you looking for?"

"Oh. Right, uh.. Greece and Mediterranean," he said, repeating subjects from the last time you'd spoken.

"Mediterranean sea?"

He nodded.

"What year?" You asked.

"Uh..." he drew another blank, "two... hundred."

You seemed reluctant to ask the next question, but it was necessary; "before christ or after?"

"... before."

"Alright," you said with a soft snicker, moving around your crowded desk area and towards the bookcases.

Your stride slowed as you approached a certain shelf, shifting up onto the tips of your toes to reach the highest books. Jack thought of offering his help, but he wasn't much taller than you––if at all––and he didn't know which books to get down.

Four thick books ended up in your arms, and you heaved them over to the nearest table, letting them thump down heavily. You spread them out, flipping rapidly through the pages till you found the proper maps you seemed to have memorized within each of the books.

"This one's about 900 BC to 200 AD, so it's got a bit wider of a range. Includes the bigger cities. This one is.. 1500 BC to 300 BC, so a little bit within range, has a lot more cities," you said, moving from one textbook to the next while Jack stared at you, enamored by your plush lips.

He barely even noticed that you finished your explanations, nor your quick words mentioning you should probably return to your studies and leave him to it. But he reached out on instinct, grabbing your wrist and tugging gently, convincing you to turn back to him. Your eyes, still bright, retained that same patient expectancy as his previous evening with you.

"I... could you talk to me?" He asked, oblivious to the implications read clearly by you.

"About what?" You asked in return as you stepped subtly closer.

"About fairies."

You paused, your eyes widening slightly.

"The ones from Celtic folklore or... like modern media fairies?" You asked slowly, slinking down into a seat you situated to face him.

He did the same, his feet planted firmly on the floor as he watched you, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Just... the oldest versions of fairies."

You nodded, again slowly as you pursed your lips.

"Well the oldest mentions of them in literature actually comes from ancient Greece, from the Iliad, by Homer," you began, immediately using your hands expressively as you spoke. "Those weren't Celtic fairies, though. Greeks considered creatures like satyrs and such to be fairies, as well, so... generally fairies and the fae as we think of them now came from Ireland and Scotland."

"Where are they?" He asked with a head tilt.

You stuttered for a second, your eyes flying across the room until you stood, returning to the shelves. He watched with much humor as you read the book titles at a frightening pace, fingers flipping over the bindings till you pulled one down.

"Here, world map," you said, and though he didn't notice, you didn't comment on the oddity of not knowing where Scotland and Ireland were. Almost everyone knew where those two countries were; or, at least, the general area.

"In Ireland fairies are seen as simply... mythical people. Great warriors and poets, or witches, they're all considered part of the fae in Celtic culture. In Scotland, though, fairies are more dangerous, essentially being creatures that feed off humans in one way or another," you continued. "Like... banshees, those are Scottish, and jack o' lanterns."

"Jack o' lanterns?"

He'd heard of banshees before; they were mentioned a few times by the Winchester brothers.

"Not like the Halloween pumpkins," you said, but when you were met with further confusion, you slowly said, "...and you don't know what those are either, do you?"

He shook his head reluctantly.

You spent the next two, whole hours talking to him, going over any question he had no matter how much you thought he should've known the answer to begin with. Jack relaxed into that feeling, into that ease, while suspicion grew in your own mind. There was no one of his age and stature that didn't know the questions he posed. Still, you found yourself unable to pin any such wariness of manipulation onto such a polite boy.

Engrossed fully in whatever you had to say and rarely speaking himself, Jack absorbed a number of facts about the fae. About their trickery and mischief, about their magic, how different species had different thoughts on humanity. Considering the lengths you knew about other subjects, none of what you told him occurred to him as suspicious. You seemed, again, to be a dedicated––but human––scholar.

When at last he exhausted his questions, both on and off topic, he began a build-up of courage. Asking someone out for a case should've been much easier than this, or at least that's what he thought. Dean mentioned he'd done similar things for other such cases.

Jack's face scrunched up in deep thought despite the silence between you.

"Are you alright, Jack?" You asked.

"Oh. I'm... fine," he said, nodding his head in a way that didn't convince you all that well. "I – I wanted to ask you something."

You nodded, gently helping him along.

"I know we don't know each other that well, but... you.. interest me, and.." he trailed off once more. It was difficult to tell a lie that was technically the truth. "I was wondering if you wanted to go with me. On a date."

He expected a number of things from you––perhaps anger, perhaps embarrassment, perhaps shock, but you just chuckled, leaning back in your chair. His brow furrowed at your odd reaction. Were you laughing at him?

"Was that what you wanted to ask me when you first came in?" You said through your giggles, your soft skin glowing in the warm, early evening light.

"... yes," he said, huffing out his own chuckle as his eyes fell to the floor. "I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize," you said with a grin. “You’re the one who had to listen to me ramble.”

"So.. will you..?"

"Yeah," you chuckled, nodding. "I enjoy your company as well."

A smile made a permanent home on Jack's face as he returned to the bunker, his official mission having been successfully completed, and his hands still burning with the touch you left as he walked out the door. While most of the town smelled like baking pies and cinnamon cider, the bunker carried no such warmth, and smelled more like rotting leaves than anything else, though Sam lit a couple apple candles in his room. The scent filled part of a long hallway.

He found his fathers all sitting on a single couch, facing a television that had some sort of film playing on it through the static. Jack silently stepped round the nearest chair, taking a seat beside them, and watching on intently. A soft, high note hummed from the speakers.

Red, ratted curtains pulled way for sunlight streaming through dust-filled air. The wooden windowsill had a vase in which a single, molted flower sat, most of its petals having fallen off long ago. But that wasn't where the camera stopped; it halted above the image of two women tangled in sheets similarly worn down as the curtains were, requiring many patches over large holes. One had their face pressed to the other's neck, her nose nudging a sharp jawline owned by still sleeping eyes. Their limbs were knotted tight together, chest to chest, and a quiet, sleepy melody humming out of the smaller's pale lips.

Jack frowned. He'd never seen two people so physically close together. The nearest thing he'd seen was Dean and Castiel hugging, and even that was reserved in a way. This was pure trust––pure peace, and he found himself wondering if it was entirely fictional, or if such happiness could really exist in the world that at times felt poisoned.

Maybe it did exist if you found a way to smile that brightly.

He earned a whole other course of schooling once he announced their plan was successful. Dean clapped him proudly on the back, shooting a dirty grin that Sam countered with clean praise. Even Castiel seemed to be proud. Jack beamed at that, his heartbeat now pounding at the thought of three days from now; when he had planned the date.

In the meantime, the brothers stayed up for most of the night, though they looked much worse for wear that morning than Jack after he stayed up with them. Researching faes was actually a little easier than a lot of other monsters––there were many articles about them, and a deeply-engrained fear of changeling children had led to thorough documentation on the fae realm and its inhabitants. Jack was still a little slow at typing, so Sam captained the computer research, while Jack sped through the books in the bunker's library. Dean looked through articles and stories in newspapers searching for any hint of where they children might be kept if they weren't immediately killed.

The more he read about fairies, about their habits, their composure, and their lies, the less he could picture you as one. Originally a fairy brought to mind someone beautiful and fair, or someone like you, with dazzling eyes that could stop an archangel in their step. But the sharp teeth and wicked, wirey hair didn't sound at all like you. He'd felt your hands––once brushing over his––and there were no claws or stinging sensations that lingered in your touch. Still, the Winchesters probably knew better than him, and he pushed the feeling aside.

In the next evening, after Dean took a long day nap, Sam and Dean set to packing up their tools and tricks once more, tossing them into the back of the impala with the rest of the permanent fixtures. Jack watched as they did this, his hair still neat and clean despite not sleeping or washing up for two days.

"Can I come with?" He asked in the politest voice he could manage.

They were headed off to the library under the cover of night. After hearing about several back rooms Jack noticed during his time there, a reasonable question was posed––was there more information you could be hiding?

"Uh –" Sam began, only to be cut off by Dean saying –

"No. If we get found, that's fine, but if you're with us, we lose your relationship with her."

Before Jack could reply Dean climbed into the drivers seat, followed by Sam clambering in beside him. He had issues getting into the car at times. The engine stuttered to life, and Sam waved good-bye through the windshield as they pulled and drove the car away.

Jack frowned, his brow knitted together again.

"Bye," he said, but he was the only one to hear it.

Castiel would be back soon. He decided waiting in the library would guarantee he'd see Castiel as soon as possible, something he desired, as there were a number of new questions he wanted to pose to the elder angel. Thousands of years his senior, Castiel must've had answers––some sort of insight to some strange impulses, or simply comfort against 'wrong' thoughts.

Technically your library was private, meaning others weren't allowed to take your books away from the building, but you allowed him to take something home under the assurance of a guarantee. He would return it next time he saw you, a promise that clearly meant a lot to you going by the ease that overtook you when he said 'okay' with a signature, sweet smile. The only reason you leant the book to him was because it contained information you considered thought-provoking, thoughts about how humanity evolves, and how technological advances could change the actual anatomy of the human mind. Some of the claims seemed to him to be a bit of a reach, but others brought him interesting points.

The metal latch on the door let out a resounding click as the door swung open, Castiel standing behind with wild hair and a stunned look about him. He flung the door shut before running down the stairs towards Jack.

"Have they gotten back from the library yet?" He asked as he approached.

"No, they left..." he glanced at the clock, "a couple hours ago."

"Hmm," Castiel grumbled. "That's a long time for them."

"Should we go help them?" Jack suggested, setting your book aside as he stood straighter in his chair.

"No, we'll give them some more time. See what happens," he said before he set off, jogging into the hall.

Jack sighed as he slumped back into his seat, almost mourning the death of an easy excuse to go see your library. And Castiel left before he could ask him anything. Dean had a point, though––if they were caught and he was with them, that would ruin your relationship entirely, and that was something he, for some reason, despised.

It took another hour and a half before Sam and Dean were waltzing back in from the garage, tossing their duffel bags aside and shucking off warm, autumn jackets to side chairs. Something must've given away their presence, as Castiel was quick to reenter the main room.

"How did it go?" He asked.

"Like shit," Dean said, not even bothering to stop as he passed Castiel.

"We didn't find anything," Sam clarified. "Whole place was clean."

"Well.. maybe it's at their house," Castiel said almost gingerly, turning to keep his ever-vigilant eyes on the elder Winchester. "All the tools and... stuff."

"Yeah, that's what we're hoping," Dean said as he disappeared into the hallway.

"When did you say your date was again?" Sam asked, turning to Jack, who blanked for a moment before he answered.

"Two days from now," he said.

"Alright, well... we'll see what happens," he said with a nod, setting his hands on his hips. "Hopefully find where they might be hiding the kids."

Dean reentered with a bottle in hand, taking a quick swig as he settled down into one of the cushier chairs.

Jack's heart sped when his fingers began to fidget together, squirming restlessly in front of him. Questions still lingered on the edge of his mind, and answers from anyone would do him well, though he was well aware Dean would probably be reluctant to offer any advice to him.

"Could I ask you some questions?" He asked in the general direction of Cas, who happened to be standing right beside Dean. Castiel opened his mouth to answer.

"Sure," Dean said before he could speak. Castiel promptly shut his mouth after that.

"I know this shouldn't get in the way of the case, and it won't," Jack said as he took a seat opposite Dean. He and his brother shot each other glances. "I just have strange... thoughts, when I am around the librarian. Impulses, kind of."

Dean, who had raised the bottle to his lips, paused at those words and set it down instead, a decision that shocked both Sam and Castiel.

"What kind of impulses?" He asked in a flat voice.

"I want to... eat them," Jack said slowly, his brow furrowed deeply as he looked at the ground. When he looked back up, all three men were staring at him.

"You want to what??" Castiel asked.

"Like.. put my mouth on them...?" He tried.

"Wait – you mean kissing?" Sam asked as he shifted his weight between his feet.

"N... no, I don't think it's that," Jack said, though he was growing even less sure of himself with how they continued to gawk at him.

"You want to make out with the fairy?" Dean asked with a look that screamed 'unbelievable'.

"Maybe?" was the best answer Jack could offer.

Dean sighed, rubbing his face tiredly with his free hand.

"I don't want to.. encourage these thoughts," Castiel said, "but they might help on your date."

"So I should kiss them?"

"Maybe at the end of it," Sam suggested.

"And... how do I kiss?"

"Fuckin' –" Dean muttered under his breath as he stood, leaving the room with annoyance in his scowl.

The three of them––Jack, Sam, and Castiel––watched Dean round the corner and disappear.

"Ignore him," Sam said.

Sam, with some help from Castiel, patiently re-explained the happenings and ongoings of dates, from conversation topics to activities often done on dates. Sam assured Jack that he needn't do anything dramatic, over the top, or especially original, since Jack 'wasn't actually going on a date,' a phrase that made him a little sad for a reason he couldn't identify.

A bouquet of chocolate roses lay in his hands, the neon and florescent lights of the convenience store flickering and buzzing above him. Sam insisted a good way to start a date was with a gift––conventionally flowers, but the second Jack saw the chocolate roses he was entranced. He'd never seen candy in the shape of something real. Surely you would be delighted by the art, as well. Sam was less sure than he was, but allowed him to buy it with a chuckle, muttering something about how he wouldn't need to get chocolates anymore.

"Now remember," Sam began as he adjusted Jack's collar, "blood-soaked iron is what kills them, but since we don't have that right now, I think iron should hurt them."

"Forks, fire pokers, metal pipes... those usually have iron in them," said Dean.

"And if you get into a fight, just get out of there," Sam finished.

"No hanky-panky, either," Dean said.

"Dean," he hissed, slapping his brother's arm.

"What's hanky-panky?" Jack asked, furrowing his brow.

"Nevermind, just––be safe, have fun," Sam said with a smile, patting his shoulder.

The brothers dropped him off at your house before circling the block in search of a good vantage point. He took a shaky breath as he climbed your steps, soon rapping his knuckles on the plain, wooden door. It was a bit of a task trying to swallow, but he managed to push past his tight throat and put a smile on his face.

Footsteps sounded, growing closer until the door opened, revealing your wide eyes and the olive green silk you wore, draping elegantly from your chest down to your feet. A heavyweight scarf rested upon your shoulders. The warm light of the hallway behind you illuminated the loose strands of your always messy hair, but the sight still had his lips parting as he gasped softly. He felt suddenly out of place in his simple button-down, pants, and everyday jacket, shifting his weight almost uncomfortably as he found himself at a loss for words.

"You look... really nice," he said rather awkwardly, gesturing vaguely to your outfit with a dopey smile.

"Thanks," you said, chuckling. "You look nice too."

He stared for another moment before he suddenly remembered the chocolate and foil roses in his hands.

"I got these for you," he said as he handed them to you, scanning every inch of your reaction. "Sam told me to get flowers, but I think this is better, ‘cause then you get to eat them."

"You actually can eat roses! They just don't taste very good," you giggled, fixing your hair as you took them, a blushing smile still on your face. "I do like chocolate more, though."

"Oh, good," he said, his shoulders finally falling from their tense position. "I hope you don't mind walking. I don't know how to drive."

"I like walking, actually," you said as you walked past him, trotting down the front steps of your house. He followed along, his soft brown hair flopping like a puppy's ears over innocent eyes. "I like taking walks at night, but I don't take them a lot. It's kind of dangerous."

"Why?"

"A lot of people aren't very nice, or they're down on their luck and make poor decisions. I don't want to get hurt or mugged just because I like wandering around."

"Why would someone hurt you? You're such a nice person," he said with a frown.

"That doesn't mean anything," you laughed softly.

Food wasn't a particular attraction of Kansas, but few things were. The amount of restaurants in town was high, most of them serving a very similar menu containing lots of meat, barbecue, pie, and sometimes funnel cake. None were all that classy, so Jack took you to a place that Sam recommended––a nearly 24 hours open cafe whose kitchen was always open, and who hosted quiet, live jazz on select evenings.

You and Jack spoke of a number of things while you walked, none more interesting than any of your previous conversation topics, as you seemed to want to stay on the topic of him as a person rather than the history you usually rambled about. You asked who Sam was, which he explained as one of his fathers, at which point you asked who the second was. He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should tell the truth or formulate a more normal-person lie.

"I... my mother died in childbirth," he said, his voice uncharacteristically low and quiet, murmuring with the sureness of his trust in you. "My father, Castiel, takes care of me, with his brothers, Sam and Dean."

"Oh. I'm sorry," you murmured, and he opened his mouth to give the usual speech––it's alright, I've gotten used to it––but you continued with, "it's an honorable way to die."

He paused to absorb your words. No one had ever said that before.

"Yeah," he finally said. "I guess you're right."

"So what's your father like?"

He sucked in a breath, forced to once again decide between a truth, a half-truth, and a lie. Like with most things, he took the middle road.

"My genetic father isn't... I don't talk to him," he said.

"Oh."

"But Castiel is good. He always tries to do what's right. I'm still trying to learn about this whole.. being-alive thing, from him."

"I think we all are," you chuckled.

You ended up ordering for him when you finally got to the cafe, standing in line for only a few minutes before you were looking for a table. He had trouble understanding the menu, often asking you what things were, and eventually you had to gently push him on to let the next people in line have a turn. If this bothered you, it didn't show.

Piano and saxophone played in time with one another, their rhythms and melodies dancing around the beat of the drummer. Scant, warm light shone from above, illuminating the haze of clouds drifting from smokers, most of whom stood in the corner, nursing the embers as they watched the musicians play. Jack tapped his foot to the beat against the dark oak floor.

You joined him a moment later, two coffees in hand and your coat draped over your arm.

"Have you ever been here before?" You asked as you took a seat, casting your jacket over the back of the chair after you set the coffee down.

"No, I don't really get out much," he admitted.

"How come?"

"I don't.. really have friends," he admitted, again, though this time much more reluctantly. He'd heard that generally people respected you more if you had friends.

"That's alright," you said, leaning back with a soft smile made only more alluring by the dim, red and orange light. "I've found it's more fun to stay in than to go out sometimes. Everything becomes the same after a while. You can drink at home, you can dance at home, sing, host parties..." you sipped from your steaming cup, ".. so, obviously, I don't go out much either."

"You have friends, though?"

"Not really," you chuckled, glancing down. "Books last longer than conversation, generally."

"Then... why talk to me?" He asked, attempting to meet your eye with that knot still tucked into his brow.

"Because you came to me."

Soon your conversation was halted by a server bringing out your food. You made sure to thank him as he left, before hungry eyes settled eagerly upon your funnel cake. Unwrapping the napkin, you set the orange cloth on your lap, revealing your silverware. Jack followed your lead, copying your motions near exactly down to you rubbing your hands together excitedly.

He'd never tried funnel cake before, leaving him to melt as he took his first bite.

"Good, isn't it?" You chuckled through a full mouth.

He nodded ardently.

The crowd began to thin halfway through your meal, turning thick conversation to quiet murmurs confined to singular tables in corners and shadowed areas. Jack still had yet to find anything incriminating about you, an answer that led only to other questions, ones that flew wildly around his head.

You didn't seem human––at least, not entirely. There were things you said that hinted to something else, a knowledge within that was a little too wide for the lengths of a human mind. That and your soul; what he could see of your soul was strangely colored, florescent holographic, and warped far more than normal people's usually were––almost as warped as Sam and Dean's souls now were. Bright, yes, but warped. Something had happened to you.

But there was nothing bad within you. Darkness tinted the edges, the edges so often scraped by the world around you––the world around both of you––but the center within, where your heart emanated, was clear. It was actually rather beautiful; you were rather beautiful.

He wished he could tell you without seeming strange.

"What do you think about most, Jack?" You asked, pulling him away from his thoughts.

He instantly stuttered, as what he'd been thinking about was you, but he couldn't say that.

"Just.. uh, my, uh.. my place in the world," he said, tapping the end of his fork on the old wood table.

"Like your job, or your purpose as a human?" You asked as you sipped from your third refill of coffee.

"My purpose, sort of," he said, his eyes flickering to the ground. "I have a lot of responsibility. My father thinks I'm very powerful."

Was that giving too much away?

"What does he want you to do?"

"He wants me... to stay alive," he said, earning a soft chuckle from you that had a smile spreading across his own face. "I think he wants me to be safe and happy."

"That's a wonderful goal," you said with a grin. "And there are so many ways to achieve that."

So far he'd only found ways to achieve the opposite––how to antagonize the world by existing, how his grandfather wanted him dead, how his genetic father would use him for any power grab he posed. If you wanted to feel at risk of dying at any moment, he knew a thousand ways to do it.

"I haven't really found any," he said quietly.

You paused before you asked, "do you want my advice?"

He nodded, hesitantly at first, but sure of himself when you smiled softly.

"Always be kind to others. Mind your own business unless someone is getting hurt, and if you have to get your hands dirty, do it for only a second. Then get the hell out of there and wash yourself clean for the next hundred couple years," you said.

There it was again. A hint of something more. In passing conversations Jack heard from strangers, no one spoke like they lived history. Not like you did. And he'd wager no historian spoke with the sense of memory that you did.

"Anything specific make you realize that?" He asked, unable to stop himself from chuckling.

You looked his age––sometime in your 20's––but you spoke like an 80 year old. Something about that facade appeared humorous to him. He also looked your age––sometime in his 20′s––but he spoke like a 10 year old far more than he liked to admit.

"Family drama," you said dismissively. "I've been steering clear for a while now."

Did fairies have families?

Well, if you were a fairy, you could just be lying then.

Jack frowned. If Dean or Castiel were here, they would know what to say and think.

"I understand," was what he said instead.

The impala was still parked near the house by the time Jack was walking you home, a sight that nearly sent him panicking. Sam and Dean wouldn't want him to do that. So he clenched his fists in his pockets, his shoulders tightening ever so slightly as he tried to slow his pace in a way you wouldn't notice.

But you did. Of course you did.

"You alright, Jack?" You asked, matching his pace.

"Yeah, I just..." what was something normal to say? Something he could back up – "I meant to ask you something, but I didn't ever... find the time to."

"What was it you wanted to ask?"

He shivered as a brisk wind picked up, the dry, orange leaves on the edges of the sidewalk passing quick by his feet in the breeze.

"Do you think everyone feels this lost in life?" He asked, barely audible above the wind.

"There's a little bit of you in everybody, just like how there's a little bit of everybody in you. You're capable of the same things that a murderer is just as you are a... a hero, or a martyr," you said, taking time to think before you spoke. "Humans are remarkably similar, you come to see after a while. And even Gods face these questions, these wonderings of their origins and their purpose, if their creations are everything they're meant for or – or if they're doing something wrong, and they should be doing something else instead."

He continued to stare at the ground as you walked slowly side by side, brought out of his intense expression by something soft flopping over the back of his neck. His heart thrummed as you stopped him there, turning him to face you, and looking him in the eye as you fixed your scarf on his shoulders. The effect was instantaneous––his shoulders relaxed and the stress fell from his brow, absorbed in the warmth of your gesture.

"Whatever you're going through," you gave him a pointed look, telling him silently to not deny this truth, "is worse and better than what other people go through. It may not be the best but it's probably not the worst."

Your advice, though insightful, didn't mean much considering his problems had to do with the continued life or prompt execution of the entire universe by a bitter, old man. But the main point remained; there were more painful deaths than his, just as there were better ways to die than he would or will. He may not be facing the best circumstances, but they could be much worse, and the fact that normal humans often asked the same questions he did was more of a comfort than he thought it would be. Perhaps he really was connected to his mother in that way.

The steps creaked beneath your shared weight as you both approached the front door of your house. You opened the door, stepping partway through the threshold before you turned to him, hesitation lacing your open mouth.

Behind you, Jack managed to spot two shadowed figures running across the hallway towards what he presumed to be a back door. His eyes widened imperceptibly and he pursed his lips, quick averting his gaze back to you.

"You're special, Jack," you said quietly, scanning him with a careful look. "Don't let bad circumstances own you. You only get so much time in this world."

"You're very kind," was all he could managed to respond with. "Thanks for... going out with me tonight."

"Of course. I like talking to you."

"I'm glad you do," he said with a sheepish chuckle, one you mimicked as you fixed your hair.

"I'll see you again soon?"

"Yes, I – oh," he interrupted himself, remembering your scarf still enveloping him, "this belongs to you."

"Don't worry about it," you said, taking his arms and settling them back down to his sides. "It's kind of cold out tonight, and I'm assuming you're walking home... aren't you?"

"... yeah," he lied, blood rushing to his face at the thought of taking a piece of you home.

"Then I'll get it back another time," you said, smiling.

You hesitated to close the door again, and instead you gingerly moved forward, raising yourself to press a single, soft kiss to his cheek, the edge of it just barely touching his lips. His mouth parted in surprise, but before he could say anything you shut the door.

He walked back to the impala completely starstruck.

"I don't think they're dangerous," Jack said, restating what he'd said earlier to Sam and Dean on the drive home––he just couldn't see you as suspicious. Strange, yes, but not murderous.

"If what you say is true, though, then this is quite likely a fae," said Castiel as his eyes flickered from Jack to Sam and Dean.

"See? Facts are facts, kid," Dean said, pointing to Castiel with a smile.

"Hexbags, crystals, actual photos with them from, like, 1890? And the amount of plants," Sam continued with a slight shudder.

"How many plants were there?" Castiel asked, frowning sternly.

"Too damn many," Dean answered for him. "The point is, we gotta interrogate that thing."

"They didn't do anything wrong!" Jack said, his voice tripling without his knowledge.

Everyone in the room reacted accordingly––stiff postures and sharp breaths as the golden light faded in his eyes.

"Jack..." Castiel began hesitantly, his voice quiet and low.

He barely uttered out an 'I'm sorry,' before he turned and left, disappearing down the hallway and into his room.

It took him nearly a whole day to leave his room, having spent most of the time alone to brood and ponder over his actions, and whether or not he was being manipulated by a fairy creature. He couldn't deny the fact that there was a chance he was wrong and he was under your control, thus landing him with the only sane decision, somehow; trust Sam and Dean.

Silence surrounded him as he padded through the bunker, headed towards the kitchens after not eating for nearly 24 hours. Technically he could live without food for much, much longer than that, even without sleep, but it wasn't a particularly pleasant experience.

When he reached the kitchen he also found it empty. In fact, the whole bunker sounded empty, leaving all the cereal for him. He smiled.

Sam and Dean returned before Castiel did, though after their return they hid away doing 'private business' in the basement area. Jack tried to ask what it was they were doing, but Dean curtly brushed him off, sending him back upstairs to go clean up the mess they left in the kitchen after a quick, midnight dinner.

As he was scrubbing the dishes, a door lock clattered in the distance, marking Castiel's return. Now that the fort was manned again, he could sneak off to see you in the morning. Castiel informed him that showing up at people's houses at midnight could be seen in a very bad way. He knew you wouldn't judge him, but he still didn't want to embarrass himself, and it was only a few more hours to wait till dawn.

He could fly. He could also ask Sam or Dean to drive him (while he could also ask to drive Baby, he knew the answer would be an ardent no), but the grey clouds promised rain, and the smell of rain hitting the leaf-covered earth pleasured his mind. With your scarf wrapped around him, he could avoid the cold as well.

His feet were a little tired by the time your library came into view, though still warm in the crisp air from fuzzy, woolen socks. The frayed edges of your scarf fluttered about chaotically in the wind as he noticed something rather odd––the library wasn't open. None of the lights were turned on, the chairs were still atop the tables, and you were nowhere to be seen. He had left the bunker a little early, but you always opened by 5AM at the latest, and it was 8 now.

For several minutes he hadn't a clue as to what to do, meaning he stood motionless in silence in front of the glass door, his head tilting slowly to the side in confusion. Maybe you woke up late––that would explain it. You were perfectly safe in your bed, dozing after a good night's sleep, completely unharmed.

But things rarely worked out so easily for Jack. Your home was empty, no sign of your disappearance left as your shoes, jacket, keys, and wallet were still left by the front door. In a sudden panic at the thought of your absence, the world around him flickered for a split second before he appeared in the bunker's war room. Knowing the usual fate of the people he cared about, you were probably being hurt, perhaps kidnapped by the actual fae who'd been killing the children, or lost of your own volition in a forest you wandered too far into.

"Castiel." Jack grabbed the angel's coat sleeve, stopping him on the way to the stairs. "I went looking for the librarian and they're missing."

"Missing?" Castiel repeated with a grimace. "Did you check the library and the house?"

"Yes, I couldn't find them."

"They might be headed for the children," he said, sending a pang through Jack's heart that he ignored.

"Is... is there a way to track a fae?"

"There's no spell I know of," Castiel said, his gaze falling to the floor as he scanned his mind. "But if it's a magical creature, it may carry a sort of... a sort of scent."

"A scent?" Jack furrowed his brow, wondering if something could carry your scent.

Something you'd been around a while. Something like your books, or your bed, or –

Jack jumped after he realized he was still wearing your scarf which, despite its' time with Jack in his room, still smelled of you. He shoved it into Castiel's arms, but he only gave him a confused look.

"It's their scarf," he explained.

Castiel spared him from the embarrassment of explaining how he'd gotten it.

He held the crumpled scarf in his hand up to his nose, intaking a deep breath with closed eyes. Jack hadn't ever heard of this kind of tracking, which was odd since he inherently knew most things about angels, but he would never distrust his father. What he did distrust was the churning feeling in his chest, as though a curved knife had impaled itself in him and twisted slowly through his skin.

Doubts pervaded both angels almost immediately as Castiel followed the trail. It led near to the stairs, but took a harsh turn and went into the hallway, leading them further into the bunker.

"Are you sure this is theirs?" Castiel asked as they hurried down the hall.

"Positive," he said, earning a sigh and a nod from Castiel.

They continued, this time less sure of themselves, as the scarf continued to lead them through the bunker, trotting down stairs till they landed in the base floor. Here the walls, ceiling, and floor were made of thick cement, allowing their footsteps to echo around the empty halls.

Jack picked up the pace and Castiel followed, running after the trail that ended right in front of the dungeon door. The torture room door, where monsters were locked up, and sometimes friends as well. A sort of fury was boiling in his blood despite his earlier acceptance of the Winchester's plan. Keeping you here in secret was never something he agreed to.

Without even fully realizing it, Jack was wrenching open the handle, the door whizzing open and slamming against the wall with a resounding crack. There, in the center of a pentagram, you were bound to a chair with thick, iron chains, your molted form flanked by Sam and Dean. The latter carried a knife in his hand, one covered in dripping blood. Sam whirled around at the sound of the door opening, meaning he was the first to see Jack's glowing eyes, and the suddenly panicked expression on Castiel's face.

"What are you doing to them?" Castiel growled with wide eyes, taking long, quick steps over in front of you. Without hesitation he undid the restraints, letting you fall down to the floor.

"Cas, they're a fae," Dean said, his tone stern and curt.

"No, they're not," Castiel replied, his own voice equally as sure. "I can't.. blame you, for not knowing this. You're only human. But it's obvious to me."

Sam opened his crossed arms, waiting for the angel to explain himself. Meanwhile, Jack regained his composure after being shocked by Castiel's actions, and made his way over to you, kneeling at your side. You'd been cut in a few different places––nothing too grievous, at least not by Winchester standards––and drops of your blood painted streaks down your sweaty skin.

"They're an Old God," Castiel finally said, but the words were followed by silence.

"We're just supposed to know what that is?" Dean asked gruffly.

"I thought your brother might," he said in a quiet voice.

Dean unfolded his arms, shifting his weight as he cast a glance to his brother.

"Old Gods are... ancient deities created by wandering bands of hunter-gatherers in your past. They got their power from their worshippers, not from Chuck, which... made them very different, to say the least," Castiel continued, still keeping his voice soft as he raised his hand above several of your wounds, stitching the skin back together with his grace.

"I've heard of hunter and gatherers," Jack said as he recalled some of the books in your library. "They wandered in bands of around 50 to 100 people."

He earned several unimpressed stares.

"Well – if they got their power from worshippers, how's this one still alive?" Sam asked after a moment of silence.

"I don't know," Castiel admitted. "I've never met this one before."

"Okay, just because they're not a fae doesn't mean they aren't the one that killed those kids," Dean said, interrupting their short conversation.

The iron knife still twirled in his hands; the only weapon against fairies. Jack kept a close eye on it as they spoke.

"An Old God would never hurt a human," Castiel said with such an intensity that no one had any choice but to believe him. “And besides,” he turned back to you, “they would’ve lost their powers long ago when humans stopped believing in them.”

Your eyes listed open while you lay in Jack's hold, the swirling image of your friend coming lazily into view.

"... Jack?" You mumbled, struggling to keep your eyelids up.

His gaze shot down to you, eyes widening at the sight of your movement.

"Hey," he said softly, hushing you when you tried to speak. "Are you okay?"

You mustered your strength to nod.

"I'm assuming you're an agricultural God," Castiel said after a moment of watching the two of you interact. "You look to be around 12,000 years old." He looked up to Dean and Sam. "That's how old agriculture is."

"Yeah, I know," Sam scoffed, but Dean remained silent.

"Do I really look that old?" You asked, laughing through your slurred words.

"Your soul does," Castiel answered.

You hummed weakly in response, drifting back into unconsciousness, your body going limp in Jack's arms.

Jack healed what remaining injuries you had, using it partway as an excuse to touch you. His palms set flat on the cuts, and with you far off in your dreams, you didn't feel the burn or the relief of his healing. He thought first to bring to his room to lay you on his bed, but Sam gently suggested that you should be put in one of their many spare bedrooms.

Castiel and the Winchesters attempted to take his mind off of you, but it wasn't long before he was back at your side, waiting for you to wake up again. He scanned your body constantly with his mind, searching for any hidden injuries he might've missed the first time around. The case remained unsolved, the children still missing and the culprit unknown. Your disqualifying left the Winchesters with no more suspects, but Jack couldn’t bring himself to worry about a creature that wouldn’t strike again for another ten years when you wouldn’t wake up to his voice calling your name.

It took hours until you stirred again, eyes fluttering into a half-open state as they fell to Jack. He had his head hung low, his elbows leant on his knees, and his hair drooping in front of his face.

"I was created in Turkey," you rasped out through a dry throat.

At the slightest sound his head shot up, eyes widening with a spark upon seeing your soft smile.

"It's a country, by the way," you mumbled, correctly assuming Jack didn't know the country, and only knew the bird. "At a place they call Gobekli Tepe, now. The people of the land would... would gather there, and share their cultured seeds, and the magic needed to make them grow."

"Magic?"

"Simple water and sunlight," you said with a weak chuckle. "It was magic to them. Everything was."

You fell silent before you said, "I miss them."

"Were they different? From people now?" Jack asked.

"Very," you nodded assuredly. "But there are some people, nowadays, that remind me of them."

He chuckled quietly. Warmth spread from your touch when you reached forward, just barely gracing his hand with yours. He took the initiative, entangling your fingers together, and watching intently as your thumb ran over the back of his hand.

"You are a new God, aren't you?" You asked, narrowing your eyes curiously, with no sense of hostility.

"I'm... I'm a nephilim. Lucifer's son, actually, but I promise I'm not like him," he said, gripping you tighter.

"A nephilim?" You asked with a frown.

"The son of an angel," he clarified.

It was the first time he was able to tell you something you didn't know instead of the other way around.

"I've never heard of angels."

His brows raised in surprise.

"Really?" He asked.

"I haven't really kept up with the world as of recent. When did angels first appear?"

"I... don't know," he said after wracking his brain and finding no answer. "Castiel might know."

"Castiel.. Castiel, that was your father, right?"

"Yeah. The good one," he said, earning a chuckle from you that brought a blush to his face.

"He is another God?"

"Another angel, yes," he nodded. "(Y/N), I... I have so many questions for you."

"About what?" You asked skeptically, giving him a playful glare.

"About humans, mostly," he said. "I mean, I've already been asking you questions, but now I know you have a lot more answers than I thought."

"Yes, well, I do keep my memory stored in a mushroom," you muttered beneath your breath.

Jack frowned. Was that normal?

"Can you tell me about them?" He asked, just barely masking his eagerness.

"My people?"

He nodded, and you smiled softly, your eyes glazing over as you recalled thousands of years past.

[gay-otlc]

Keepers of the Chaos (Chapter 4)

Summary: Tam, Linh, Keefe, Biana, and Fitz are part of the tiny fandom for Keeper of the Chaos, and Tam and Linh's podcast convinces some of their other friends to watch it as well. The group finds themselves strangely invested in this show, where students at Tumblr High School who work together to write about an elf named Sophia, cause incomprehensible chaos, and fight their rival Pinterest High School.

Content warnings: Cursing, descriptions of disturbing images, lmk if I should add something else.

Notes: thon/thons Fitz, ae/aer Biana, ce/cer Livvy, my beloveds

Read on AO3

Fitz Vacker used to like the color teal. Thon wasn't entirely sure why; well, it was just a nice color, what other reasoning did thon need? Regardless, no matter how much thon liked teal, thon was in no way prepared for... that.

Against thons better judgement, thon had listened when thons sistaer Biana insisted they watch this new show, Keepers of the Chaos, with aer, Della, and Della's then-fiancee-now-spouce Livvy. Thon enjoyed the show, sure, but the chaos... the chaos in that show. It had been expected, of course, but not that much. Considering that, Lynn was the character that resonated most with thon, because her attempts to get the keepers under control felt a lot like when Fitz had to deal with Biana, Keefe, and Sophie... and the headache those three gave thon. Especially when Dex came into the mix as well.

Yeah, Lynn resonated with Fitz a lot, and thon sometimes wondered how she dealt with such chaotic spice. Being aroace, that was one problem thon wouldn't have to deal with. But unfortunately, thon still had chaotic friends, and turned to analyses of Lynn's motivations to cope, writing elaborate dumbles essays about the way she tried her best to record the events of the keepers and round them up. Thons other favorites, like Jan and Appie, were also fun to write analyses about, but with considerably less projection.

(There were a few characters thon didn't even have to project Judaism onto, like Sam and Ref, which was a welcome change from usual process.)

But no matter how much chaos Fitz had to deal with on Biana, Sophie, and Keefe's part, at least they hadn't started the Finnapocolypse.

...yet.

Oh, season one, episode nine. The season finale. Fitz had really expected some sort of battle with Pinterest High School, made a compilation of all the foreshadowing, and thon would have much preferred that.

The intro, as always, had been great. Things went downhill quickly. Unaware of the consequences, someone joked that Finn, the elf who found Sophie, was like Dobby saying "You're an elf, Sophia." Then, some horrible monster suggested that they photoshop Finn's trademark teal eyes onto Dobby's face.

It was like an explosion had taken place among the Keepers. Around half the fandom went mad and jumped on the chaos train, editing Finn's teal eyes onto any image they could get their hands on; John Cena, Shannon Messenger, the Mona Lisa, a cracker, and so much more. Many of them even wore sleep masks with teal eyes over their faces, temporarily blinding them, but they considered it worth it. The other half simply watched, with opinions varying from amusement to absolute horror.

Biana found it hilarious. Fitz... slightly less so. It was a love hate relationship with that episode, and really with that whole show.

As though he'd summoned aer, Biana's voice called "Oh Fitzy!" Ae appeared in thons doorway soon after.

"Yeah?" thon said.

"Guess what today is!"

Fitz racked thons brain. "Shit, is it your birthday?"

"No."

"Mom's birthday?"

"Still no."

"Uh... Livvy's birthday?"

"No, though cer birthday is coming up next month, so do keep that in mind."

"It can't be their anniversary, they got married last June and it's January, so..."

"It's January eighteenth!"

"What does that signify?"

"THE FINNAPOCALYPSE!!!" Biana yelled. "It happened January eighteenth in the show, remember?"

"You're a dedicated fan."

"So are you, you just don't like the Finnapocalypse."

"Fair. But you are making a pretty big deal out of this."

"Well..." Fitz sighed as ae continued. "Keefe and I had this idea."

"No."

"You didn't even let me finish!"

"Hell no."

"Check dumbles! And you need to change your profile pic!"

A gnawing feeling of dread grew in thons gut, but thon wanted confirmation, so thon sighed and picked up thons phone, logging onto thons dumbles, @lordofthesnuggles, and went do the dashboard. Everyone's profile picture had Finn's teal eyes edited on. Fitz sighed and logged off.

"Oh, you can't escape just by escaping dumbles! Come downstairs!"

"Why would I do that?"

"Mom made ripplefluffs to lure you out."

"Dammit!" said Fitz. It... it worked. As thon walked into the kitchen, thon questioned thons choices; were ripplefluffs worth this? Livvy had a teal eye sleeping mask on cer face, and handed Biana one. Ae put it over aer eyes. With a sigh, Della handed Fitz a ripplefluff. Thon took a bite and buried thons head in thons hands. "Why are y'all like this," thon groaned.

Biana ignored thon, singing out "We're gonna have teal eyes in the end!"

[ambersky0319]

Intrulogical wear Remus goes over to Logan's house, turns out he's a GAMER and they play Doki Doki literature club and goofily voice it over but then they kiss. -H anon

Okay, it isn’t the prompt exactly but I still really love this, and I hope y'all enjoy too! (Btw, despite the warnings below this is pretty fluffy! The warnings more so pertain to DDLC itself(Also this is pretty much a human AU))

Warnings: Spoiler warnings for Doki Doki Literature Club, suicide mention/description of a character’s suicide, lmk if I need to add anything else bc I’m unsure

Masterpost 

——————————-

Remus was surprised when Logan had texted him, asking if Remus wanted to join Logan in playing a game he had recently gotten. People didn’t normally ask Remus to join things (aside from Logan himself, as they were dating), so Remus accepted immediately. Logan told him it would be one of those longer games, so Remus brought some stuff so he could stay the night.

Logan greeted him and his eyes seemed to light up. Remus wasn’t used to seeing Logan in anything but his usual polos and jeans and ties. He hadn’t expected for Logan to greet him in his pajamas already.

“Well, are you just going to stand there or are you gonna come inside?” Logan asked, smiling faintly as Remus ducked his head, walking into Logan’s apartment.

“What are we going to be playing?” Remus asked, setting his bag down where Logan had pointed, not far away from the couch. Remus soon joined Logan.

“Have you heard of Doki Doki Literature Club?”

Remus wrinkled his nose. “Sounds like a game Roman would like instead.”

“I think you’d prefer it, actually.” Logan said, getting the game set up. Remus got comfortable. He wasn’t really a gamer himself, and was quite surprised when he discovered that Logan loved video games. “It’s technically a dating sim, but from what I hear it covers quite a few dark themes. I’ve been avoiding a lot of spoilers for it though because I wanted to be able to play it myself first.”

“Why’d you invite me, though?” Remus asked, watching as the loading screen appeared. The warning appeared, and Remus furrowed his brows. “You also read the content warnings, right?”

“Yeah, none of our triggers are on there. Also, I invited you because I thought you might like it! It has a lot of dialogue and I thought you’d have fun making up the weirdest voices for the characters.”

Remus laughed lightly. “Okay, I trust you.” Logan gave him a bright smile, one Remus knew only few people saw. And that alone made his stomach tie into knots and feel like a jumble of saw despite having seen that smile dozens of times before. Logan turned back to the TV and hit I Accept, letting the main screen for the game come up. A bubbly music filled Logan’s apartment, and Remus couldn’t wait to get into it.

-

“Oh my God, I’ve got a bad feeling-” Remus gripped Logan’s arm as they continued. A few hours had passed already and things were starting to get weird. They had just gotten through an emotional scene with Sayori (Remus’s high-pitched voice for her made it so difficult to get through) and it was the next in-game day.

And Sayori wasn’t in the school.

“Of course something would go wrong right before the festival,” Logan stated, pushing up his glasses. He hadn’t said anything about Remus practically clinging to his arm.

Things had already starting getting a bit weird. But after learning Sayori had depression, and then promising to be there for her and saying they love her and not checking up on her in the morning…

“Hate the main character,” Remus muttered as he loosened his grip just a bit on Logan. “Honestly, like… Depression doesn’t work like that. Wish I could just hit him over the head with a bat. No! My morning star!”

Logan laughed. “You mean the one you stole from the museum.”

“No, the one my grandma gave me.” Remus rolled his eyes.

“I think dropping a few tons of sand on him would be better, honestly.” Logan stated, and before Remus could react they continued.

“At least he feels a little guilty, still doesn’t excuse it though,” Remus says, uncrossing his legs as they begin to feel tingly.

“You kind of left her hanging this morning, you know?” Logan reads in the calm voice they were using for Monika, and Remus and Logan exchange a worried glance.

“Oh… Oh no, no no… Sayori…” Remus buries his face into Logan’s shoulder, half of it at least. He still wanted to see what happened. They finished reading Sayori’s poem and Remus felt worried and he wished he could just grab Sayori and hug her and protect her himself.

Logan wraps an arm around Remus, holding him close as the game pans back to the houses, and they go to Sayori’s house. A sick feeling rests in both of their stomachs.

“Oh no, no no no no….”

The suspense was getting to Remus. He loved gore and horror but he hated the suspense in the few games he had played and the movies that felt with these topics.

“You alright?” Logan asked, looking to Remus worriedly. Remus nodded.

“Anxious about what we’re about to see,” he muttered, and Logan nodded, bringing the arm wrapped around Remus up to brush through Remus’s hair. The music was quiet and although Logan was worried as to what was about to be on screen, he just showed it less. He waited until he felt Remus relax slightly to continue.

They continued on, and after they opened the door-

“I knew it!”

“Oh God!”

They both jumped back, Remus burying his face again into Logan’s arm as Logan faced the door, only glancing back at the screen where Sayori hung. The music that followed just sent dread through them both.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Remus muttered as they sat back up to continue reading the narrative. “Poor Sayori, oh my God.” Remus rubbed his eyes as the loading screen came back.

“Hey, it’s different.”

“Huh?”

“Sayori’s place on the screen, it’s all glitched out. And the new game button.”

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa I hate this but I love it,” Remus laughs slightly, trying to get his racing heart to get back to a normal rate.

Logan rubbed his back, his heart also beating quickly. He opened up the files for the game, remembering that it was something you should do. Remus watched as Logan went through the game files, first opening a file called hxppy thxughts.

“Holy shit-” Logan hissed, melting into Remus’s warmth as Remus held him tighter. On the screen was a drawing of Sayori hanging, almost looking as though a child drew it.

Remus leaned forward to close out the file. “Should we check anything else?”

“Sayori was really glitched. The characters, maybe?”

Remus hummed softly, before opening up the character files. “No! Ooooh…..”

Remus fell back into Logan’s arms. “This is freaky!”

Logan laughed slightly at that. “It’s only being freaky now?”

“You know what I meant! It having an effect on the files!” Remus huffed. “I can’t believe she was deleted!”

They left the characters file, and instead scrolled through all the other ones, just to be certain they didn’t miss anything. They discovered a file which someone was talking about deleting Sayori, that it was probably better and that they hoped they didn’t break the game.

Remus buried his face into Logan’s shoulder again, groaning slightly. “There’s still a lot of the game left, huh?” He asked. Logan nodded..

“Want to save it for tomorrow?”

“Let’s see how the game is with Sayori deleted. Then try to sleep, probably being haunted by the image of Sayori hanging there in our nightmares.”

Logan made some form of noise that sounded like agreement, and he shifted so Remus could rest his head on Logan’s chest as they continued. He had one arm wrapped protectively around Remus though, whether for his own comfort or Remus’s, neither knew not cared. Remus just shuffled closer.

They continued, starting a “new” game, and got caught up yet again in the narrative, fascinated and terrified with how the game continued, with the game correcting itself without Sayori. It was more difficult to keep up their silly voices. It did lighten the mood though.

It took awhile to get used to it all, especially only just recovering from Sayori’s death.

“Something about Monika is the most off,” Remus said. Logan nodded as he saved the game, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

“She’s a really interesting character, that’s for sure.”

Logan turned off the TV, the only light now being a dim lamp. He stretched, and Remus didn’t think the nerd’s bones could pop any louder.

“Think we should head to bed, then?” Logan asked. They had snacked throughout the game, and weren’t that hungry. Remus could feel his face warm slightly.

“You sure?”

“I don’t see why either of us should sleep on the couch. Unless you’re uncomfortable with it, then you can have the bed and I can sleep out here!”

Logan smiled warmly, brushing some of Remus’s hair out of his face. Remus swallowed before smiling softly himself. No one besides Logan would ever want to be this close to him.

“I’m down to share a bed.”

Logan kissed his forehead before letting Remus go change into some pajamas.

Logan was already in bed by the time Remus had finished getting ready, and almost hesitantly Remus climbed in beside him.

“You’re certain you’re comfortable with this?” Logan asked. He really wanted to make sure Remus was okay with this, he didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

Remus slung an arm over Logan’s waist, cuddling close. He nodded. “Yeah. I just don’t want to take things too fast.”

Logan pressed another kiss to the top of Remus’s head. “That’s understandable.” Logan made himself a bit more comfortable. “Just let me know if you ever get uncomfortable, yeah?”

“Will do.” Logan smiled and took off his glasses, leaning over Remus to place the glasses on the nightstand before turning the light off. On the ceiling, dozens of glow-in-the-dark stars. Remus pressed closer to Logan, sighing in content.

Soon enough, both were asleep, dreams wandering back to the game they had been playing.

——————————-

Taglists

Just ask if you wish to be added, removed, or tagged/not tagged in certain content! (Pssst- Make sure to specify!)

TS Taglist

@treasureofpriam @theloveliestsweetspongy @tacochippy @anderswrites @romanknite @0beansprout0 @random-fandom-dragon @daflangstlairde @princerhubarb @that-one-ts-artist @heyitsmeimjustkindahere @aromanticandaromatic @deliciouslycrookedme @batpinkstudentpersona @avocados26 @fandomloverangel @red-eyes88 @adarkgreensoul @analogicallythinking @thatreallyawkwardpotato @insanegoldie2 @gothams-lil-sweet-potato-pie @alexkittycat1 @len-art-trash @faithyfander @an-absolute-failure @lexilucacia @o-hello-its-me @fearthesmolpotato @moxiety-my-love @thatonenerdphotographer @diadems-arewornon-capita @morrogirl9024 @thefandomnerd15 @sulphur-and-honey @aroaceagenderfluid @brain-iak @theoneandonlydork @sidesareathing @surohsopsisofclouds @dissappropriation @demigodbookdragon @too-many-fandoms89 @a-soul-among-the-stars @croftersgamer @thenaiads @theyluna-womoon @logic-with-a-pinch-of-deceit @willowaudreykeyes @nafsbluebery @stopitanxiety @deceitnotyeet @underthesea73 @jackscareington @askrae-the-fander @enby-ralsei @stinkyboiremus69 @cas-is-a-hunter @catolicabuena 

Intrulogical Taglist

@cress-the-fander @worm-does-shit @jadedmidnight @virgilisacinnamonroll @ohgeneralmygeneral @asthmatic-trash-bastard @remusownsmyuwus @alexinthebathroomataparty  @diadems-arewornon-capita @the-bethanista @demigodbookdragon @theunknoen @theyluna-womoon @logic-with-a-pinch-of-deceit @underthesea73 @homestuckiscontagious 

[chatbotsupportofficial]

How To Describe Visual Content: A Short Guide For Chatbotters

Hello, everyone! It’s Mary!! So, I figured I would start this out with a quick explanation on what Image Describing is, since some of you may be unaware of what it is and what it’s used for.

Image Descriptions give accessibility to visual content for people who use screen readers (example: blind people) by providing detailed descriptions of what’s going on in a photo, gif, or video.

Being that this is a roleplay community, it’s very rare that you’ll see people come by who use these tools. But, I feel like, since it’s also a writers community, it’s very useful to know just in case.

Let’s start off with an example description of...This gif of Yves from LOONA. Since it’s fairly simple overall.

[ ID: A gif of Yves from the girl group LOONA. She’s pictured from the shoulders-up, facing the camera. Her hair is long, brown, and falling over her shoulders. She’s wearing a colourful knitted jacket with a white, collared shirt underneath it. She is shown with a toothy smile, giving a thumbs up to the camera with her right hand. The background is an old-looking room with concrete floors, there’s a ballet bar behind her, and behind that is a window that overlooks a city. END ID. ]

Now, let’s tear that description apart and explain the contents. 

I usually list descriptions in this general order. But you may change it up if you want.

Content type

Name of idol

Group type

Group name

Direction/where they’re looking

Hair description, usually going in the order of length, colour, and then style

Clothes

Expression and movement

Background

Watermark (if there is one)

If there’s multiple pieces of content it goes like this after that. Don’t include the direction if they’re not pictured the same way in every piece of content.

Content Name 1: Direction/Where they’re looking, clothes if they’re different, expression, and movement.

Content Name 2: Same thing as before. Let’s say there’s only two. You would put your closer at the end of this one. END ID. ]

Misc. Explanations

[ ID: . This is the start of the description. It’s so people know that this is a description of the content right from the start. Other variations of this could be Image Description:, [ Image Description: ], ID:, really anything works as long as it gets the point across. ID stands for Image Description.

END ID: ]. This is the end of the description. It’s so people know that the description has ended and the next additions (if there are any) aren’t part of the ID. As well as that, some screen readers (cough cough my own screen reader) tend to ignore periods and just pretend that they don’t exist, therefore making a run-on sentence.

Movement and How Do Other Things

“How do I describe movement????” You may ask. Well, first of all know your lefts and rights. Second of all, be very observant. You don’t need to provide extensive detailed descriptions of how they’re moving, just a simple “they’re giving a thumbs up” will do. Anything works, really.

You can practice describing movement by doing those actions to see how those movements feel. For example, throwing a ball at a wall could feel forceful and lively, so you would describe it as such.

Most of all, you don’t have to be good at writing, nor do you have to ID anything. But, anything and everything is so helpful to providing accessibility. You could even do just [ ID: a gif of Yves from LOONA. ] and that could be more than enough.

I really hope this provided some basic help. If you have any questions don’t be afraid to shoot me a DM or send an ask!

A little plug here, but if any of you are interested in this kind of thing and would be interested in helping provide IDs in the k-pop community in general, feel free to contact my main @trans-nct! I’m always looking for more help.

Love,

Aunt Mary

++++++++++++++++

Neices and Nephews: @sororityxseungyeon @npc-haechan @yourdaddychan @hunter-chaeyoung @domyukhei @urdogsbots @amazingspiderhan @yourcupidchuu @badboyjinie @loverboi-hyunjin @eboyfelixbot @sydney-oc @soft-hyunjin-chatbot @subbyjwoo @daddyxuxi @leextaeyong @sweetandsleepyjamie @camboy-superm @chef-jeonghan @madmanwoodam @troye-yerin @loverboyuta @gryffindorxjeno @yandere-lia @mafia-chaeyoung @fallenangel-oc @caretaker-johnny @dancertenbot @roseanneholmes @fratboyyuri @joyinwonderland @stylistjane @deltarune-xiaojun @lynxshua @kim-sehyoon-cb @yeojinsheight @jinsoulinwonderland @heartbrokenxxheejin @chatwithchuu @immortalxhyejoo @subby-jinsoul @cheshirecat-chuu @xoyves @cutieheejinnie @kidcorejin @fairyofcherry @yanlee​ (I’m currently making a new tag list, if you would like to be added please lmk!!!) 

[writinginstardust]

How do you make your masterlist link just say masterlist?

Hi! Okay I assume you mean the link in my description so I’ll do my best to explain it but lmk if it’s something else. 

It’s pretty simple really, you just need a few bits of html and the web address for your post or the web page you want to link to. 

So, first things first, go into the blog customiser/editor (not the mobile style one, pretty sure it only works on the desktop site) and on the left you’ll have this

The description section is the only thing you need for this. This is what mine looks like but obviously all those horrible addresses don’t appear in my actual description.

What I’ve highlighted (below) are the bits of html you need to type out (except that random f that got caught)

And highlighted below this are the things you change for whatever you need.  The first is where you put the full link for whatever post or page you want to link to, the second is where you put what you want the link to say - this is what appears in your description an is the only part of everything typed that will be visible if you typed everything correctly.

In case the images aren’t loading for any reason, here’s basically what you need to type out: <a href=“[Insert link here]”>[Link title here]</a>

I hope that’s easy enough to follow, I’m not the best at explaining things

[phantombones]

VICTOIRE WEASLEY really is the spitting image of DICHEN LACHMAN, right? For someone only TWENTY-SEVEN years old, VIC has been forced to endure so much. Yeah, that 1/8TH VEELA has been scraping by at the sanctuary since MARCH 2028, working as a SOLDIER in the DIVISION OF PROTECTION. SHE identifies as GENDERQUEER and is known to be RELENTLESS and SELF DESTRUCTIVE but also LOYAL and STRATEGIC. Best of luck surviving through this. 

CHARACTER INSPO: Mercutio ( R+J, some book influence, LITERALLY the only I really need ), Kady Orloff Diaz ( The Magicians ), Sara Lance ( Legends of Tomorrow )

PINTEREST: [ x ] 

Before I get into descriptions about her, I believe her function in the Order, and now the Division of Protections. Then after the breakout. Just some quick points about the NOW. After that will be characterization and base: 

 Was a Dragolonist traveling all sorts of places, living out her dream. She would consistently come home to visit her family, the love of her life Aster, who’s relationship I’ll get into more. When everything started to happen, she moved back home, finally settling down in Aster’s place ( it became theirs ) when it was once just a temp home. She didn’t sleep as she worked as a strategist for the Order, constantly thinking of ideas and plays, often visiting her family members at all hours of the night, patrolling, making sure they were okay. 

Aster Lestrange ( unless the name is diff PLS LMK JO ) and her were first friends because they watched as she struggled to charm her hair the way she wanted ( she’s NOT the best at Charms, especially when it came to hair coloring charms ). Here was this person, who offered to do her hair, who saw her chaos and found it intriguing. Who saw her in her entirety, the dark, the angry and she fell in love with them before she even knew she had. They were her best friend ( besides her bffs Nova & Lexie and all her lovely family members ) and were together. After school, she was constantly working on taking her career off the ground, but practically had all her things at Asterion’s. Vic didn’t want to get married at first, not a for a few years, but the fact was? She loved them and she knew that they were her soulmate. Her red string. They got married and Vic truly wondered why they hadn’t done so earlier.

 When the outbreak happened, she was scared and went to her dragon reserve in Romania to make sure the dragons were protected and her work archived and protected as well. She helped pioneer the movement to Hogwarts I imagine, and on the way, Aster died saving her life. At least, she thinks they died, as they protected her from an attack, was hurt, and just left. She knew them, she knew how much they cared about her but she aches and she hurts. Victoire broke down the minute she was safe in Hogwarts, the first time she’d cried that way in years, crying for what was probably hours. There’s a hope, because if anyone could still be alive it would be Aster who was brilliant beyond compare. Even though it’s nearing a year since she’s last seen them. Victoire doesn’t move on, doesn’t dye her hair different colors anymore as Aster had done it for years, even though it’s part of her it’s her version of mourning. Her hair back to it’s blonde reminds Victoire who she’s fighting for her besides her family, it’s the only grief she allows herself because she pushes forward. She has no option but to do so. 

The anger that had been quelled and somewhat more under control for years, reared it’s ugly head with a vengeance. Victoire became a soldier because she was a dueling beast on the field, coming back from every mission covered in blood, guts, everything often using the knife collection she has on top of magic.  I imagine that she’s also very much a fighter for them and protects people on supply runs, and while she wants to join the Government sector sometimes, she thinks of how much better Aster would be at the job instead. She has ideas, and her mind is strategic, but there’s not much strategy they can do when their main focus is on survival. While Vic tries to distract herself, when she’s not bothering & checking up on her family, she’s constantly training with with her wand and an array of muggle weapons. Over the last 8+ months, she’s sharpened her combat skills, learning all she can, pushing herself to exhaustion, because she can’t lose anyone else. She refuses to lose anyone else. 

Vic’s personality is a mixed bag, something I’ve described below, but the way she is with people she loves and trusts and vastly different to people she doesn’t. She fluctuates from loud and crass, to charming and easy to get long with, to angry, aggressive, and combative. Childlike to serious, all of this at the drop of a hat. Her emotions are all over the place, she knows it, and without a war propelling her and just endless killing and surviving she doesn’t think she’ll be able to get a handle on it soon. Vic is ride or die loyal, the family member you ask to help you bury a body, the family member who’ll fight anyone at any time for you and a hell of a lot smarter than she acts.

Character Name: Victoire Apolline Delacour-Weasley

VICTOIRE: Twenty-seven years of hearing stories about those who died on her ‘birthday’ before her. Over a decade of not celebrating it when she realized what it meant to others. Of course, she understands that this is the burden she carries – while her cousins bear namesakes of those who had fallen before them, she is the painful reminder of the day they lost people – so they could win freedom. She is the h e l l f i r e that is left after a victory, scorching technicolor brutal memories into the minds of those who were left behind. Still, she is a Victory none the less, and her family adopted her May 2nd, when she was a baby. They chose her instead of the pain, they named her after the good instead of seeing the bad. Though she’s an Aries, the day is both a special day of happiness & a day of reflection. A bitter reminder.   APOLLINE: The french derivative of the name Apollonia which comes from the Greek god, Apollo. Apollo, the god of the sun, prophecy, music, beauty, healing, poetry, plague and so much more. It could be said that Victoire is her own brand of beautiful – of course the Veela genes help ( or do they? ) but if there’s anything she’s gotten from this namesake it’s the love of music. She’s sure that if she wasn’t going to work with dragons when she was older it would be with music – something she practically speaks as a language. The name might sound too flowery or too soft for Victoire – but her grandmother from which she was given this name was still a Veela. She still had the siren song that was deadly to almost associated with her name. Still, just because Victoire is comparable to a constantly raging storm – she has times where parts of her mother and grandmother comes out.   DELACOUR: While she embraces the Weasley, Victoire also embraces her mother’s French heritage. If there’s anything of her mother, of this side of the family that comes out – it’s when she speaks French. She refuses to call her mother anything but maman, and will quickly switch to French around her during Weasley-Potter-Lupin gatherings at the burrow to make her feel even a little more comfortable. For Victoire, the Delacour name embodies softness and embodies femininity that she’s not always connected to. It reminds her that she’s not been alone in being discriminated against or objectified, that others understand what it’s like to be in her place to some extent. It’s then that she’s able to embrace the girl, that she’s able to feel like one and not always so at war with her body and herself. WEASLEY: If the other parts of her name didn’t already come with enough precedence – perhaps the name ‘Weasley’ was the icing on the cake. She couldn’t be prouder to be a Weasley, no matter how much fussing her grandmother does or how everyone is in everyone’s business – Victoire knows she is lucky. Vic is well aware of how privileged she is & how her infamous family of blood traitors are lucky to have the life they do. Even though she looked different from her immediate family, so did so many of her other extended family members. She took comfort in the fact that Weasley-Potters were a mixed bunch, in personality, in races, in ideals, and her being different was celebrated. There may have been a thirst to know her heritage the older she got, one that would later be quenched, but her real family were the Weasley’s. They chose her, they were better than her blood family ever was, not that she could remember them.

Pronouns & Gender:   She/Her or Gon/Gons. Victoire identifies as Genderqueer

gender dysphoria tw

C h a n g i n g. From the minute Victoire was born, she was always fidgeting, always moving and her first display of magic was at 4 years old, when she tried to change her hair blue like Teddy’s. Instead, it changed her beautiful crop of dark brown into a dirty blonde. Often, she’d find herself envying Teddy’s abilities to change, feeling uncomfortable in her skin and angry that it wasn’t as easy for her. As she grew older, she came to understand  what her body was, what it would be and that she’d never be able to change herself like Teddy or change herself at all. Any change that she’d make would be permanent and she found herself not wanting that in the slightest. Not wanting to limit herself because while Victoire loved her feminine side  – there was something she felt growing in her soul that was just … something else. She felt there was just so much else she couldn’t define. Masculine, feminine, in between, she felt  comfortable in the fluidity of it all. It didn’t have a label but it became her, it was her, and it was confusing but it was who she was. Victoire did research and after a while the closest thing she could find to what she felt her gender was the term: genderqueer. Of course, after she realized this she told her parents, getting nothing but support from them. A reason they’ve let Victoire dye her hair so much and wear clothes that some parents would have heart attacks at, is so she feels like she has an option to be who she is. Even though they know that their child will be who she is with or without their permission, they figure helping her along the way in a world where there are many people who are against what her gender is & think it’s unnatural. They are Vic’s parents after all and after a war where they lost family and friends who gave their lives so their children could have freedom  – it seems trivial to ever fuss over something like gender. At twenty seven, Vic is more comfortable in herself but still struggles. She keeps it to herself instead of talking about her own dysphoria because it seems trivial compared the apocolypse going on around her, compared to so much else.

About/past: ( SELF HARM MENTION, VIOLENCE MENTION, MISOGYNY MENTION )

Stoℜm with skin. The performer. { Secret Strategist }. Masochistic with sadistic tendencies because she is just so filled with A N G E R ( being sexualized at a young age, her ass pinched on her first Hogsmeade trip, and so so much more that she doesn’t have a language to explain it in — only violent actions ). N o t that she’d let you know.  Warrior, no, VALKYRIE more of a DRAGON than a girl ( if she ever was a g i r l in the first place ), fiercely protective of the people she loves — and if you dare mess with her family, friends, or any of the sort, you better run for oblivion.  V I C T O R Y in her veins that she will hold onto until her dying breath.

Victoire Weasley is more than just a simple human being, she’s the true embodiment of what it means to be a storm with skin. Enigmatic even.

Victoire is quite sure of who she is, what she wants in life & what she will get,she’s quite sure of everything that she is —-

                 …but in those moments she blacks out in pure rage — she’s not so sure.

She’s h o r r i f i e d. In those moments where she looks for pain like she’s a drug addict and it’s her next fix, she mortified. She can’t remember how it quite started – a punch to the wall there after a fight, a purpose slap in the face, anything that released the rage she had. Victoire didn’t dare release it on the people she loved because she’d never be able to forgive herself for that, but it grew. The feeling grew and soon she had to hurt herself. But she can remember when she knew. When she needed reminders, when she needed blood and big bruises to litter her body. It’s something she’s so ashamed of, that she hasn’t let on to anyone. A reason Victoire craves fights and sometimes throws them is because of this masochistic need to hurt herself, to take a break from the anger – just letting people beat her to unconsciousness. Her anger is so great, so c o n s u m i n g, there’s the small hope if she finds a way to release it somehow – it’ll go away.

               “I will always scare; and more than anyone else — myself.”

It was in House of Serpents that she learned there is grey. There is moral grey, and it’s where she lives. With a heart so big, so W I D E, that even she doesn’t realize it’s part of the reason her anger can consume her. Feeling things for Victoire Weasley is never half arsed, it’s full arsed, and her passion, her ambition, could be the death of her. Her ambition to save the ones she loves, to protect her family. F a m i l y. A word redefined by Victoire fucking Weasley.

But when you meet her, she’ll s m i l e. She’ll laugh, she’ll charm you if she needs to and she’ll talk about the fact that Freddie Mercury is much more interesting than John Lennon, thank you very much. How Johnny Cash, Jeff Buckley, Arctic Monkeys, HAIM, and Aerosmith should be listened to at least once a day and how if she wanted anyone’s singing voice besides Freddie’s, it would be Hayley Williams, no doubt. She’d take off her shirt to show you the tattoos that run down her back, tell you about the ones that s n a k e down shoulders, arms, legs and how they’re ones dedicated to each and every one of her family members. For her best friends. For the person she loves. With child like w o n d e r m e n t and pure genuine glee, she’ll talk about her dragon, Mercury, and how her and Hagrid had planned to try to start a campaign to get real dragons at Hogwarts — or at least they had. Never has she doubted being a Dragonologist and never has she had so much peace.

                    Then, the war broke out bringing Inferi with it. 

She had to put herself together, she had to keep herself more composed. Louis needed her. Dominique needed her. Aster needed her. They all did. 

& she is now a hurricane. Controlled chaos because despite it all, she was a Slytherin for a reason. She’s manipulative, cunning, a silver tongue used mostly for words, and she felt she needed to become some sort of matriarch. There were crushing expectations that were supposed to do just that but  were thrown out the window since day one. Now, the expectations of being Victoire Weasley must be embraced. Now, they are because her family needs her, and she finally can be what they wanted her to be. A leader of sorts. Their VICTORY. Beneath the chaos is kindness she shows to people, is the gentle touch and wise words that make you wonder — who exactly is Victoire Weasley?

Maybe she was born for battle. Valkyrie. “Fear doesn’t shut you down, it wakes you up.”

( For once, the storm that c o n s t a n t l y raged around in Victoire’s mind started to quell, a soft smile dawning on her face like a pink sunrise. The memory rushed back to her, it calmed her.

“I remember the first time I visited Uncle Charlie in Romania. And the dragons. So many fucking dragons.” Blue eyes light up, because this — this is her niche. Her favorite area to talk about, it’s what she knew — dragons.

“I remember seeing fire and just — I wrote to everyone everyday, I made Uncle Charlie take a million bloody pictures of me. Coming home, I wouldn’t shut up about them. I’d even forgotten to dye my hair that summer. Look —” She shrugs, the smile blossoming into something so genuine, so effervescent, the personification of someone who talks about what they’re passionate about, really. “ — I’ve gone there every summer since. And I’m going to let you in on a little secret, “

For a moment, Vic’s sure that she’ll open up, actually let someone in on a piece of her special world, in a crevice of her mind. But she can’t. She can’t talk about the fact that going to Uncle Charlie’s is the only place she feels calm, where she doesn’t feel a war in her brain that translates into bruised knuckles due to bar fights. How she likes the pain, that maybe she’s masochistic, deeply so. No, instead, there’s the m i s c h i e v o u s glint in her eyes as she simply says, “ — the Romanian Longhorn is much prettier than they are dangerous. “

            The same couldn’t be said for Victoire Weasley. )

A hurricane, in the middle of a chaos, who came to find that maybe she was born to fight.