#are real human beings making their own decisions instead of a collection of words and images designed to serve various aspects of a narrati

[parasitoidism]

the reason i specifically try to avoid any and all persona related leaks is because if I hear anything about a persona 1 2 or 4 remake it's going to pre-emptively kill off a substantial number of my braincells. different reasons for each game

[nellie-elizabeth]

Writing Patterns

Rules: Share the opening of your last ten published works or as many as you are able to see if there are any patterns!

I was tagged by @ajna-eye-cogitations, thank you!!

[A note that when I picked the last 10 published, I skipped over all my short one-shot collection fics that I've been posting for years now, since those are cases where each chapter is its own individual story. So I just stuck to stuff outside of that!]

where the real road lies

Grief doesn’t feel like anything. Or— well, it feels like a lot of things, but nothing you can pin down. Maybe it’s one of those human experiences that can only be talked about in metaphor. Like, it feels as if my heart’s being ripped out of my chest, or it feels as if someone’s scooped me out, left me hollow, plunged my very soul into darkness. It feels as if, as if, as if.

(can't) get back again

It’s not a decision either of them is actually making. That’s what Michael tells himself when it happens for the first time, that he didn’t decide and Alex didn’t decide and in fact fighting the inevitability of it would only be adding more pain into a world already saturated with suffering.

small town halloween night

Maria gets home before Rosa, on Halloween night. They’d both picked up shifts for their parents, Maria at the bar and Rosa at the diner. It’s not the worst shift Maria’s ever worked, but she can’t help but feel a little melancholy on her drive home. A whole night of watching people her age, people she went to school with, cluster together with their friends, doing cheap shots... A year ago, that had been her. A year ago, dressed up with her skin out, doing shots in her friends’ kitchen, laughing at the movies and getting rice in her hair.

tell me that we belong together

September 2011 Michael always gets a little nostalgic about Roswell right before leaving it behind for a while. School’s starting in just a couple days, and that means saying a temporary goodbye to mornings like this one, lounging in their favorite booth at the Crashdown, the sounds of Arturo making their breakfasts carrying through from the kitchen, jukebox playing some song Michael only recognizes because he’s heard it playing in this very diner countless times over the years. They have their local haunts in Albuquerque by now, but he’ll always be a hometown boy at heart, and for better or worse, this is his hometown.

a work of fine art

Quentin Coldwater has fuzzy arms. It’s one of the first things Eliot notices about him as his volunteer life model settles down on the couch, crossing said arms across his chest in a nervous, nearly defensive move. It’s like he’s trying to fold his body into an origami box so all the outside parts will be on the inside, safe from Eliot’s eyes. But looking at the man in front of him is rather the point, so Eliot looks his fill, careful to catalogue every detail, despite how he can practically feel the waves of energy coming off of Quentin’s body, the frozen full-body cringe as he attempts to deflect the attention. Eliot indulges in it, keeping his face carefully neutral instead of giving in to the smile building up inside of him at the rather lovely display. Squirmy, awkward, cute naked boy, and Eliot gets to stare at him for a full uninterrupted evening. It must be his birthday.

tales from a bookshop

The bookshop has always been something of a sacred space for Crowley. Scratch that— not sacred, certainly not sacred, who the hell said sacred, honestly. And no more is it Hell’s cosmic opposite, profane, it’s only that— well, blast it, it’s only that A.Z. Fell & Co. booksellers has always been an important place for Crowley. Significant. Precious, maybe, though even the taste of such a word makes him want to scream profanities at someone who doesn’t deserve it, just to get the tickle out the back of his throat.

Shelter

The first thing Quentin did most mornings was locate the most excitable, energy-filled dog he could find in the kennels, and take the little terror out for a brisk, damp jog. Damp, because the Seattle air always seemed to be damp no matter the temperature. Brisk, because Quentin was not a jogger and a solid twenty minutes was usually as much as the lucky canine in question was likely to get out of him. He did this because he was usually the first person to arrive at work and he didn’t feel like making awkward chit chat with the night shift people, and also because it seemed a kindness: by the time his bosses Margo and Fen had shown up after their leisurely morning coffee routine, the most excitable of their furry residents had already had some of their energy burned away by Quentin’s efforts.

under the desert sky

Beyond basic necessities, the items Alex brings with him on their trek to the Grand Canyon are a fully stocked iPod, car charger, and a stitch-bound notebook slipped into the front pocket of his backpack. Michael brings his restored Nikon FM 35mm and six rolls of film.

the lengths that i would go to

Summer 2010 It’s early, so early that the sun isn’t up, the air around him still and quiet. Alex is awake, and for a second he doesn’t quite know why. His body is conditioned to wake early each morning, but this is something different. There’s a strange awareness, where paranoia meets familiarity. Alex knows, as consciousness filters into his brain, that there’s someone else in the room with him. He also knows, without having to open his eyes, that there is no threat, because it’s Michael. The bed shifts, and Alex blinks into the dim light, looking down to see Michael crawling up the bed towards him.

it might change my memory

June 2022 It’s Bonnie, of all people, who calms everybody down. Not Isobel with her power to mentally soothe, or Dallas with his preacher training and inviting sensibility. Not Liz with her practical, scientific mindset, or Michael, the one person in this room who theoretically has all the pieces of the puzzle and actually has a chance of knowing what the fuck is going on. It’s Bonnie who cuts through the excited, confused, unintelligible babble and says, quite loudly for such a small woman: “Okay! Seems like we have a situation! Everyone should sit down. I’ll make tea.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wow, okay, this was really interesting to see! It looks like a very common approach for me is "short, catchy sentence" followed by longer paragraph expounding on it. Like -- "Grief doesn’t feel like anything." or "The bookshop has always been something of a sacred space for Crowley." or "Quentin Coldwater has fuzzy arms." This is true across all the fandoms I write in!

It's crazy that only one of these ten examples has any dialogue in it at all, because I tend to think my dialogue skills are really sharp! I should start more stories off with it lol.

Tagging whoever writes and wants to participate! @portraitofemmy, @prettyboysdontlookatexplosions, @awildwickedslip, @spiders-hth-is-an-outlier, @r-dtoblack

[insideoliviasmind]

Tonight, we write.

The world is chaos, and it is out of our control. Straight to my core I believe the world will begin to erupt into Word War 3. And who knows what that will entail, but I agree with what Donald Trump recently said, "this is not going to be a regular war... army tanks running back and forth shooting each other... this is weapons of mass destruction, the likes of which nobody has ever seen... this is obliteration... this is not war like we are used to... annihilation". I heard what he said and I felt what he meant. I believe that unfortunately, science and chemistry has gone too far. Humankind is in possession of unthinkable WMD, that can most likely wipe out entire country(ies) with a single click of a button. And who is going to make this decision? Who gets to decide who lives and dies? Who gets to decide who is right or wrong? No human is perfect - but how many of us will die as a collective punishment? Who will click the button first? If there were a vote, how many of us would vote against? Why would you ever vote for death if peace was an option? Imperialism or peace?

Which of us will be conscripted? Will it be my brother, your brother, my father, or your father? My neighbours son, or your neighbours son? Which of us will die? Who will live? Which religion, or entity will be next to rule the world? What are they planning? What are they hiding? But that's the funny thing about this system, we never truly had a say, did we? That is way out of all of our control. Our fate is in the hands of the rich and powerful.

I am shocked at the silence within the "real" world, while we are on the brink of Nuclear warfare and WW3. No country is safe at this time. We are also live streaming the genocide of the beautiful Palestinian's in Gaza. And yet we are forced to go to work everyday, like the government slaves that we are. Depending on where you work you probably aren't even allowed to talk about it. I would probably be reprimanded just for wearing the keffiyeh. And I would never wear it as an insult towards the Jews or the people of Israel. I am wearing my heart on my sleeve for Gaza. I think about the people of Gaza everyday. I think about how misguided humankind has become, while we justify killing each other. Killing each other in mass numbers. Developing weapons that quite frankly we just shouldn't have. What is happening within the world is a breach of human moral code. It is a 4k display of our blatant lack of regard for one another.

As corny as this might sound, I don't hate Israel. I do not hate the United States. I do not hate Russia. I do not hate North Korea, Iran, Yemen, the UK, Sweden. I hate nobody. In fact it is quite the opposite, I love everybody. I have a true love for mankind, and the beautiful planet we have been blessed with. And the truth of the matter is, we are destroying it and taking it for granted each and every day, while all of our lives get shorter, and shorter. While the life expectancy of our planet gets shorter, and shorter.

Why can't we live in peace. Just live and let live. Let's not colonize, threaten, steal, enslave, imperialize, collectively punish, label, murder, or judge one another. Instead, why can't we all just step out the front door and take a breath of fresh air to see how lucky we are to even be here in the first place?

Even before reverting to Islam, I always thought that no human being should have the right to decide when another should die. I believe that this a decision for Allah SWT to make.

Ever since I declared my Shahada, I have been more at peace with things that are out of my control. It is largely possible that I could die tomorrow at the hands of my own people (humankind). I can accept my fate, however, I am terrified.

How are you feeling about our world today?

[10blue10]

The Evolution of Dragons Pt 3

Okay let’s be honest, I was gonna make this third part regardless of who was interested. Because I find it fascinating, and that’s what matters! So this third part will be about the evolution of intelligence and sapience in dragons. With some help from my partner-in-crime @arourallisreborn again XD.

Sapience is defined as ‘possessing or being able to possess wisdom’. Okay, so what counts as wisdom? Cambridge dictionary defines it as ‘the ability to use your knowledge and experience to make good decisions and judgments.’ Then again, humans are sapient and I wouldn’t say we use our knowledge and experience to make *good* decisions, at least not all the time. But oh well.

To make things more clear, sapience is about reason. Can dragons reason?

There’s plenty of evidence that they can. Over the course of the shows, for instance, we get several moments of the riders dragons solving problems of their own accord without being trained or instructed to do so. For example:

The other dragons rescuing Hiccup and Toothless from the Outcasts.

Barf-and-Belch knocking over the Eruptodon statue to stop the lava.

Barf-and-Belch saving Hiccup from the hunters to repay a life debt.

Meatlug calling to other Gronckles to help feed the real Eruptodon.

Toothless deciding to knock a dragon proofed ballista off a cliff instead.

Stormfly rescuing Garff from the Slitherwings.

Hookfang deciding to help protect the female Nightmare’s eggs.

So how would the dragons have evolved this level of intelligence? Let’s use this video on intelligence by Kurzgesagt as a baseline for dragon intelligence.

https://youtu.be/ck4RGeoHFko

The Intelligence Toolkit

Basic Tools

Information: even the ancestors of dragons had senses that allowed them to gather information about their surroundings and the state of their own bodies.

Memory: early dragons could probably remember stuff like how to avoid predators, where to find food etc. It’s likely that they would have lived in flocks for safety in numbers, so they would also need to remember their flock mates.

Learning: when dragons evolved the ability to fly, their young would still need to learn this new skill through repeated attempts until they mastered it. The same goes for their breath weapons, which they’d need to learn to control.

In fact, as arourallis put it, flying itself takes a lot of brainpower, and so does socialisation. The same would apply to swimming. Moving in three dimensions (whether in the sky or the ocean) requires spatial awareness, especially if the dragon is manoeuvring past obstacles like trees/sea stacks. Socialisation involves, well, social skills. All of this would be part of their Library of Knowledge - the collective memories and learning of an individual dragon.

As for dragons who feed on other dragons, there’s no way of telling what, if any, rationalisations they might have. My personal theory is that because these dragons are either solitary (Death Songs) or live in single-species packs (Changewings), hunting other species for food is instinctive but they might be ‘rationalising’ it as an in-group vs out-group divide. In other words, dragons that are weaker and not part of Their pack are fair game to be hunted.

I’m gonna wrap it up here because I don’t have much left to say lol. It’s harder to investigate the evolution of intelligence in dragons since we don’t even fully understand how it evolved in humans, let alone other non-human animals.

Huge thanks to everyone who’s liked and reblogged the posts in this series!

[unoisveimved-un-proffesional]

Well, I didn’t exactly miss that. I never shot at it at all, never attempted to remedy the real issues. I mean I have before, just, not here and not now, and so I never covered the real issues, and I don’t think anyone could immediately fix that. This real issue is something far more deeply ingrained, wide reaching, and abstract than anyone at any level except the very tops (and possibly the collective might of everyone at the bottom) could ever hope to fix.

Your reblog right here is the perfect take down of every single moving part to this hastily constructed idea, and shares my exact thoughts of antithesis towards it, and I thank you for this very well put together response. I was going to bring up how, potentially terrible it could be, create an antithesis of my own, but you’ve done such a great job at it, I need only to reference your words.

The idea I had certainly isn’t bad, but is not without incredible fault and potential for mishandling and failure as a direct result of its implementation, and otherwise still needs working on.

My NEW idea on the other hand, well, I shouldn’t have opinions on the quality of my work, and should let it stand on its own. I recently saw a Sonic Frontiers mod that replaced the default Sonic model with a cartoony shader one based on the Sonic Adventure Artwork made by Yuji Uekawa, and it’s, really good! But it also got the awful gears in my head turning, and brought me back to the idea of a Dynamic Approach. Rather than going even harder in the same direction, changing direction could provide more benefits.

I know it’s not a problem for most people, but it felt a little uncanny how realistic everything looked in Frontiers in comparison to everything that didn’t look very realistic. I was once opposed to the “So it’s like Breath Of The Wild.” crowd, and still am, but honestly I understand it more now, mostly in regards to aesthetic and scenery. I feel like they could’ve added a lot more if they wentt for a more Sonic Style approach to the overworld, put less time in making it look realistic and more time in making it feel like a giant level, as I’d once expected, as opposed to a giant plain with level bits and portals to levels dispersed throughout. Of course also giving it an extra 3 months to bake, come on.

The root problem to Frontiers development, which lead to that emptiness you spoke of, is the bold new venture and undertaking that was developing an Open-World, for the first time! I think so many resources and time was put into that overworld, that by the time it was over, the release date was too close to allow for proper filling of that overworld and fine tuning of the mechanics, and executives ultimately and sadly in charge of those decisions were not willing to reschedule. A tale as old as Sonic Team History, and perhaps, Gaming History, nay, Human History. Too small of a timeframe, not quite enough resources, and too big of an idea. Ultimately it comes back to exactly what you said, what could they have properly done if they were awarded additional time, what could they have filled these empty spaces with. What if the holiday release date could’ve been like, Valentines Day, or Saint Patty’s, B and C lister holidays compared to Christmas, the ultimate consumer holiday, I know, but I mean, umm (actually where I was going with this…) ANYWAY! That about sums up my thoughts here, which roped back around to being yours, so, maybe it would’ve been better to just reblog the original post plain (which I did! Wooo! Cake and eat it!).

What this may mean however, is that the next game should be even better. It would be an uncharacteristic move of Sonic Team, but if they didn’t go for a bold new idea, instead taking the Nintendo approach of fine tuning the original idea and using the previous game as a base to build off of and improve, (actually, kinda like they did with Sonic 1 to 2, opposite to 1 to CD where CD took a far more experimental approach and both succeeded and failed because of it, ultimately culminating into Sonic 3, and Knuckles, and Sonic 3&Knuckles. Nearly perfect Thesis Antithesis Synthesis right there). which maybe directly because of the flaws of Frontiers. Maybe by fully baking a new game in the Frontiers style, with extra time, experience, and a base, it could look like a very different game from Frontiers itself, because half the stuff Frontiers was supposed to have, was transferred to this Sonic Frontiers 2! Making banana bread out of rotten bananas as it were, new ventures from missed opportunities!

Committing 100% to this approach is sure to fail, but maybe like 75%ing it could really work out. (Following my trend of going back to the symptoms and not the causes I know, but I have pages and documents of socio-economic crap I’ve been writing reading and editing for a couple months, so sorry for leaving it at Capitalism Bad, don’t know what to do about it right now, while I take that time to pursue more enriching thought experiments and cleanse myself of the nightmare that is this bastard child of the unholy three way of philosophy, politics, and economics, before plunging back into that hellhole as my career path and education (I wanted to be an artist/writer/video game designer) ((i just wanted to talk about my obsessions real quick before visiting my fangame and fanfic documents, im really sorry this post really caught me between school work and play, and i chose play (my definition of play is probably why i don’t have many friends (-_-)))) (i’m stealing your post again! damn it i didn’t mean for this reblog to be so long! (Note To Self: parentheses inside parentheses is a cool idea, but quickly becomes annoying the more you push it))

The takeaway being 1. You’re right about everything all the time (not sarcasm, being serious) 2. Yeah Sonic Frontiers was pretty good, but maybe it could’ve been better, here’s hoping for Sonic’s Next Frontier. 3. Capitalism is bad. And 4. I either need medication, intoxication, a journey to the mountains of Tibet, or an exotic mixture of those. Really I just need the only thing demanded of me in this maddening, spiraling infernal world, money! Looping nicely back into Takeaway 3, and your original point! 🎉🍾🥳🪅🎊

And with that, I need to sleep.

As much as I love Frontiers, in retrospect there are some parts of it that feel GLARINGLY unfinished. I mean there's the obvious lack of polish and the pop-in issue but the more I think about it the more Rhea Island sticks out to me as unfinished.

There's so much space, so many little details and bits of ruins everywhere, but the lack of platforming structures like the ones on the other islands makes it all look really empty in comparison. There's only a few platforming sections (mostly rails) between the towers to get you from one tower to the next faster, and that's pretty much it.

It really feels like there was meant to be much more going on with that area, yet the only thing you do is go from tower to tower, have a bit of plot happen, and immediately move on to Ouranos. You aren't made to explore at all despite the ruins and such scattered about and the very important plot stuff happening. That combined with how the whole thing with Sonic's cyber corruption was resolved makes that whole section of the game feel rushed.

I just can't help but wonder what could've been, had Sonic Team not been under time constraints. It's kind of sad honestly, knowing that there could've been more planned for that area that we never got to see because of the deadlines they had to meet.

Man fuck crunch culture fuck holiday releases I want my game out when it's done dammit

[letarasstuff]

Unbreakable Bond

(A/N): This is based on this post and this tiktok

Summary: A big age gap between Aaron's children doesn't have to mean that they are unable to form a strong bond

Warnings: Mentions of Haley's death and failed relationships

Wordcount: 1.8k

✨Masterlist✨

_________________________________

His life took turns Aaron never expected. It’s not the “Oh, mh, well that was unexpected”-type of turns, I talk about the “God played Cards Against Humanity with angels and decided to make it happen for someone”-type. But looking back he would not want to change a thing.

After Haley and Beth he was convinced that God, the Universe, something out there shared the opinion that romantic love isn’t the right thing for him and Aaron accepted that fact. Even more when he and Jack went into witness protection. I mean, when you are worried about the life of your family being in danger because of a stalker, you don’t think about the beautiful neighbor, who lives next door, right? Right?

Well, without going into too much detail, Hotch did think about her and she about him and vice versa. Everything went good until Aaron received the message that the team found the stalker and that it was safe to come back. He decided to come clean to his girlfriend. They talked about the possibility of moving back to Quantico.

In the end they decided in favor of the move, the final argument was the surprising announcement of her being pregnant. Hotch wants to raise their youngest where his and Jack’s roots are located. But he decides against taking a position at the BAU, instead taking a desk job in order to be more at home. He also has the opportunity to work from home after little (Y/N) was born and continues to do so until she is old enough to go to Kindergarten. Even then he takes two days the week where he stays home. Aaron learned from his decisions and mistakes he made in the past and wants to live up to them and be a better father and husband than before.

And Hotch keeps it to this day, six years later. It’s (Y/N)’s first day of school, while Jack just graduated high school and goes off to college in a few weeks. Even though they have an age gap from twelve and a half years, their parents are sure there are no other siblings with such a strong bond.

Ever since his baby sister’s birth Jack is her biggest supporter, protector and friend. Her first word was his name, though it was more of a “ACK!”, but that’s the best nickname he ever got. As soon as (Y/N) was old enough to comprehend the concept of movies, he introduced her to Star Wars. Since then lightsaber wars out of cardboard pipes are not uncommon. Last Halloween they even dressed up as Chewbakka and Han Solo. You get three guesses on who was who.

“JACK!” (Y/N) runs into her big brother’s room with an excited expression on her face. “Daddy promised to buy me a real lightsaber after I read ten books! With lights and sounds and all! Isn’t that cool?” Jack smiles. Aaron did a similar thing with him. For a certain amount of books he got a reward they discussed beforehand. This way he felt motivated to read and improved writing and reading skills.

“This is awesome. I think that means we have to go book shopping together, what do you think?” (Y/N) is not only the cool kid that has an older brother, she is also the cool kid, whose older brother has a drivers license, a car and a part time job. She nods with big eyes, speechless, because the offer sounds like heaven to her. Getting books and one on one time with Jack after he was really busy with school for weeks? This has to be heaven.

“Ok, then you put your outside clothes on and I’ll tell Dad about our plan.” At that the little girl rushes to her room, not wanting to waste any more time. Jack makes his way down to the kitchen, where Aaron wipes the table from lunch down.

“Dad, I take (Y/N) to this bookstore in DC and we’ll probably go eat ice cream after that. Is that alright?” Hotch looks up at his son. It still feels like yesterday as he told Haley that Gideon is a big no as a baby name. Now he is all grown up and just a few weeks away from the next big chapter in his life.

“Of course, just let me get my wall-” Jack cuts him off. “No need, I want to use this as a kind of goodbye thing. At least until Thanksgiving.” Aaron knows what he means. It’s his last day before he goes off to college and just a couple more until the first classes begin. The family still hasn’t told their youngest exactly what’s going on. Else she would refuse to go to school and go on with her day, insisting on using all the time they have until Jack drives off.

Two hours later the siblings leave the bookstore, both of them having a bag in their hands. Of course Jack's heavier, but both he and the cashier assured (Y/N) that they lift the same amount of weight.

“Uncle Spence will be excited when I tell him that I read Harry Potter, he told me so many good things about it”, the girl gushes. Jack nods, indicating that he is listening. Of course they also picked books that are not that advanced. Still, no sister of his shall grow up without knowing the beauty of the wizarding world. Also, secretly he is hoping for her to turn out as nerdy as he is so they get more things to talk about. His next step is superheroes, especially the Marvel ones.

They converse until they get to an ice cream parlor and order both their usuals. “Do you think you are ready for me to tell you something important?” The older one asks after they sit down at a table. (Y/N) nods, confusion taking over her face.

“Uhm, you know how I graduated from high school? I’m done with school, but I want to get a degree, but for that I have to go to college. It’s pretty far away so I can’t come home for a few months. But I’m back home when Thanksgiving is and also for Christmas.” It doesn’t matter what Jack says, a sad frown has formed on the little one’s face. “Oh. And after Christmas, will you leave again?” He nods and explains when he is off from college and when not.

“We can always skype and write letters. How does that sound? And when you get your first phone, we can even text.” That (Y/N) lights up a bit. For her first year of school she got a stationary set and is eager to use it to this day.

“I’m going to miss you so much”, she says hugging her big brother. Jack pats her back. “I’ll miss you, too.”

The goodbye the next day is a heartfelt matter. Everybody cries, especially (Y/N). She can’t fathom a scenario where her brother isn’t there for her all the time.

The following weeks are also hard for the family. The youngest refuses to sleep alone for the first three days after Jack’s leave. She is more closed off and mainly just does her school work or reads the books he bought for her. By the time Thanksgiving is only away for another two weeks, (Y/N) has read through all of them at least two times.

Her father already ordered the lightsaber he promised her. Unfortunately shipping takes several months, so the little girl still has to wait patiently for her reward to arrive. In the meantime she works on getting the next and she is already pretty close to the comic book collection she wants.

“Sweetheart, can you set the table, please? Your Mom will be here soon from grocery shopping and she will need help getting them from the car into the house”, Hotch calls for his daughter while stirring in a pot.

The little girl nods, putting her stationary set and pens aside to do as her father asked. She is in the middle of answering her brother’s last letter, telling him that she is now the one that usually has to read aloud for the class because of her advanced skill for a first grader.

Just as she sets the last piece of silverware down the doorbell rings. “Sweetie, can you please open it? This should be your mother.” Happily (Y/N) runs up and turns the door knob. Over the last few months she hit a small growing spurt and is finally tall enough to reach it without standing on her tippy toes.

“Mo-” She nearly chokes on her own saliva. The one at the door is definitely not her mother. “JACK!” (Y/N) runs up to him and jumps onto his leg. “Hey Princess. I thought now that you read your books, we need to hold the most amazing lightsaber fight in history.” With a mischievous smile he pulls two from his back, giving one to his baby sister.

It is the most epic fight in history between an elementary schooler and a college boy. They can only be stopped by their parents announcing that it is a tie between both of them and that they have to sit down, else the food gets cold.

The following weeks mostly consist of (Y/N)’s joyous laughs and cuddling with her big brother. She even insists on him sleeping with her in her much smaller bed. On his last night before going back to college, the little girl turns to him in the middle of watching her favorite movie in the living room.

“Do you promise not to forget me when you are away? Because I alway think about you and tell my friends so much about you. I told them you are a hero, my hero, just like Daddy. They wanna meet you because of that.” Jack has to hold back tears at her statement.

“I also think of you so much. All of my friends at college are pretty jealous of me having such a sweet baby sister. Maybe one time you can visit me and I can introduce you to them.” The thought of that makes (Y/N) smile and is a little consolation to the thought of her brother leaving again.

Aaron watches the interaction going down, happy to see the strong bond between his children, despite their age gap. This is nothing like he and Sean were and that is a relief for him and the worries he had in the beginning. It is a sign that he did do some things right as a father.

Taglist:

All works:

@dindjarinsspouse @big-galaxy-chaos @jswessie187

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl @herecomesthewriterwitch @ash19871962 @ellyhotchner

[narrators-journal]

Game over, but a little to the left

A commentor jokingly asked for the last chapter of my fic Lets play a game from the boys’ perspective, which was just a very neat idea, so I treated it like a request!

The proper last part: Here

The twins mutually agreed not to go after you right as soon as the game was called to a start. No, that'd be no fun, they couldn't watch you squirm and broil in your paranoia if they did that. So, they instead waited, watching you from a distance whenever you were out, or maybe screwing with your dreams again, just to keep you on edge until Ingo decided enough time had passed.         "They're getting comfortable, this would be the perfect time to strike," He pointed out, making his grinning twin nod.

With that, the two waited until you left your friends' home again and followed behind like a pair of shadows. The entire time you shopped though, Ingo had to hold onto his brother's coat collar to keep the hyperactive demon from pouncing too soon.          "Emmet, wait. This is too social of a situation to confront her. We'd seem like stalkers," He reasoned while they sat outside in the darkest part of the still-crowded store parking lot, watching the entrance of the shop you had gone into. However, his brother lashed his pale tail at being told to wait,           "It's not like we live on this plane of reality, what consequences could befall us?" He pointed out in return, and the older twin had to admit he was right. Their dimension wasn't very different from the human's reality, but it wasn't like a pair of demons collecting on a deal would be punished there, so whatever fine or prison time they'd get here wouldn't follow them home.          "Alright, poor choice of focus, instead, they can get a lot of help very easily if we go in there and confront her now." He tried again, receiving another impatient tail lash from his twin. Ingo couldn't blame Emmet for his impatience, the same frantic energy crackled beneath his own skin. They'd been waiting a painfully long time for you to finally give them a challenge, and now that they were so close to being able to collect, it was only natural that Emmet would be over-eager to play. It's how he'd always been, he preferred action and getting his reward that moment, while Ingo was more patient and cautious, not as flexible with his planning, but a bit more thorough. That was why the two of them were such a good team usually, they balanced each other out. Seeing you stroll out of the store with your arms full of bags and no clue of the duo watching you though, almost had Ingo forgoing the precaution of getting you at least a little alone first.            "So, are we gonna keep them, or just take their soul?" Emmet asked as they followed you out of the parking lot and a bit down the road to your car.           "Well, once we have their soul bound to us, we can do whatever we wish, so there's no real difference," the grinning twin jabbed him with his tail, "But, maybe it would be fun to play human for a bit. It'd be more entertaining than just keeping them in our dimension, keep them from getting snatched by other demons, and might lead to them trying to escape." He mused, watching his brother's eyes widen when he picked up what the frowning brother laid down. The decision was sealed as the two crossed the road to be opposite your car, getting a bit ahead of you in the process. From that vantage point, the twins watched as you put your bags away, and went to drive home. Only to pause like a deer in headlights the second you noticed them. Once again, Ingo had to go and stop his brother from simply charging at you, grabbing him by the tail so he'd stop halfway across the street when you glanced back over to be sure. The way your pupils blew up to the size of the moon had the older twin's blood thrumming.          "Good evening Ingo, Emmet. What brings you out here at such an hour?" You asked, the hint of a quiver lacing your words despite your attempts to seem calm while keeping them in place.           "Oh, nothing much." Ingo said when his twin didn't reply, "We were just out to get some fresh air, what about you?" Doing a much better job at hiding how much he wished to swoop down on you like a starved vulture when he spoke.           "Just needed some groceries, my friends were out all day but forgot to get them," You said, though your eyes flicked from the older twin to the younger, who Ingo supposed was purposely unnerving you, or mentally willing you to blink slowly enough for him to get closer, which gave the other half an idea,           "Oh, we're sorry to interrupt. We don't mean to keep you," he promised sweetly, taking advantage of his difficulty in grinning to hide the unspoken please turn your back to us. between his words. However, instead of taking the offered opening to politely hare off, you just leaned back against your vehicle, your eyes swimming with the animalistic urge to run from the predators, as well as a deliciously difficult sparkle.           "Y'know, I think I'll just keep talking to you two for a while. Nothing I bought needs to be rushed home. It's fine." The twins adored a challenge, so they did appreciate your refusal to take your eyes off of them so easily, but it was a double-edged sword. Ingo could wait you out, even with how his blood burned with the urge to just pounce on you already, but Emmet wasn't the biggest fan of waiting games, and it didn't take the older brother's experience with him to tell that the white-clad demon wouldn't last too much longer before getting antsy and resorting to cheating. So, with a glance between them, a silent plea of can we now?  and a silent agreement, they began to close in. As per the rules, they couldn't step closer with you looking at them, but that didn't mean they were technically frozen to the spot, they could still move. So, they split up, Emmet going to stand on one side of you, Ingo on the other. However, you quickly caught on to the move and jumped up to get them back within your line of sight, but that was fine.           "I'm not stupid, you two." You chided, making Ingo itch to unravel that smug lace around your words, but Emmet was quicker,          "That's up for debate." the older twin let out a little laugh at that, but, naturally, you didn't find his siblings' waning filter as amusing. After that, another moment lapsed with you in thought, so Ingo took the chance to glance back at his brother, Remember your manners, Emmet. Was the wordless warning he gave, noticing that once again his brother's tail was out, hiding in his coat, but occasionally lashing just into view while the younger twin seemed to psychically retort, I'd be breaking no rules if I moved whenever they looked at you. Which was true, technically the rule was whenever you looked at them, and since there were two, they could take advantage of your poor wording, but Ingo scowled more at his sibling, Technicalities go both ways. Don't encourage them to get creative. Emmet turned his attention back to you with a huff after that, and Ingo's attention was snatched back when he realized you were beginning to back up. At long last, something resembling a chase was happening! A painfully slow, patience-devouring chase. On one hand, they had to commend you for your creativity. Not everyone would have the balls to go through with walking backward down a midnight street with two demonic creatures prowling along with them. However, the glee of the challenge level increasing only made them want to catch up to you more, to put you under their ownership so that they could thoroughly enjoy and reward you for being such an annoying piece of prey. Our strategy's going to need to change tracks at this rate. The darker-clad brother mused, only half-listening to your exchange with Emmet, but he seemed to tune back in at the most opportune time. He glanced back over to you just in time to see the swiftest flicker of your gaze behind you again, subconsciously trying to ensure you didn't trip or get hurt with your back to any obstacles, but he saw the glimmer of hope catch in your eyes too, seemingly born from the approaching business that spilled artificial light onto the shadowy sidewalk. What perfect timing.   You still had a small distance before reaching safety, so Ingo idly drifted closer to Emmet to tap his hand covertly. As twins, they didn't need to conspire aloud, so all it took to be sure his brother was aware of the new plan was Emmet's responding tap before they were forced to a halt with you. The older twin was swift to note how the slash of bright light seemed to accentuate your predicament. You stood, fighting to keep your breathing steady, in a pool of false security, while the brothers were stopped just shy of it. It was a fun contrast indeed. For one, suffocating moment, the brothers could see you weighing your options. Maybe you could sense how they were silently willing you to try for the building. If you did, it didn't stop you, because you took those risky odds and bolted for the doors, Emmet racing after you with his brother only a step behind, only to be frustratingly halted by the jiggle of the doors when you slammed your back against them. Teasingly out of reach by only a few inches or centimeters.           "Golly, would you look at that? I-I need to use the restroom." You babbled out, your chest heaving from your sudden dash and the thundering of your heart that was near audible to the twins, "I think I'll pop inside and do that real quick. You two stay out here, kay?" With that, you located the doorknob and got inside, doing your annoying damnest to not remove your eyes from the demons on the stoop. Where they watched you back up and chat to the receptionist. It irked them slightly to see you chatting so casually to a low-level demon like that receptionist, but the twins didn't have time to dwell on it. After all, they only had a small window to split up, with Ingo staying outside to catch any escapes and Emmet going in right after you. Strategies like these were why they were so often seen in black and white. Emmet being more noticeably colored and forward kept a human's attention, while Ingo's darker colors allowed him to bleed into the shadows and sometimes be forgotten about. Which made them very effective in their games. As did knowing the tendencies of humans as they did. Ingo circled the building, monitoring all of the windows you could slip through, especially the bathroom window, knowing you were likely to try that method of escape first. However, when he took advantage of his inhuman senses to track you through the wall and heard you going through a second door in the bathroom, he instantly changed tactics and went to find his brother.             "Em, they're hiding in the bathroom." He reported as soon as he walked through the door, unsurprised to see his twin looming over the weaker demon, his snow-colored tail poised to stab him if he dared move, even when the demon looked at his brother,             "Should we just go in there?" He asked, his trademark grin twitching with concern,             "No, for all we know they're truly indecent. It won't get us any brownie points to barge in and see them like that," Ingo pointed out, making Emmet's tail lash, slashing the weaker demon across the face as he turned to face the older twin with hands on hips,            "They could also be gargling bleach! What then?" He challenged, glaring his brother down as he came over to banish the tail back into an incorporeal state,             "Then their soul is ours by default. They won't get to heaven for this game, so there's no point in fretting over them harming themselves." He assured, though his twin still gave him a dirty look, even with the grin he wore. Ignoring it, Ingo crouched down to the lesser demon his brother had been intimidating,             "Sir, are there any alternative ways out of that restroom? Other than the window?" He asked, and while he kept his voice calm, he did nothing to hide the undercurrent of a threat he held. It probably helped that Emmet still stood beside him with his unnerving smile.             "Um. There's the window, the door, and a big vent in the janitor's closet in there. Other than that, not that I'm aware...Sirs." The receptionist listed, visibly relaxing when the twin in black nodded and stood again to speak to Emmet.             "I'll go back outside, you can go in there in a moment and track them through the vents, right?" the white-clad twin nodded,             "I can be verrry sneaky, I learned from the best, after all." He chirped, making the older sibling snort and smack his shoulder lightly with his hat,             "Then try to force them outside, I'll be there to cut them off." With that, they split up once more, leaving the receptionist to return to his work and pretend the encounter didn't happen. Despite the bleeding gash on his cheek now. While he circled the outside of the building like a vulture, Ingo used his inhuman senses to once again track you, only occasionally catching hints of his brother's presence behind your noises now and then until the twin in black paused right outside of the alley, able to normally hear you get the vent open and wriggle yourself out in a fashion that wasn't head first onto the trash littered, rocky earth below.             "Hello dear~" he heard Emmet sing, naturally taking the surprise of his presence to taunt you. However, it wasn't until he heard the metal thud of your body against the dumpster followed by you hitting the ground that he stepped into view. He fully expected you to skid to a halt when you finally saw him, maybe turn back and instinctively run the opposite way, so when you not only didn't hesitate but dove between his feet. His brain failed to react fast enough to catch you. Instead, Ingo caught Emmet in the younger twin's attempt to grab your ankle, sending the elder brother toppling onto the younger and giving you an opening to escape.          "Get the fuck off!" Emmet growled, hissing when his brother's scramble to get back to his feet got his hand stepped on,          "I'm trying! Quit- Don't you fucking dare bite me!" Ingo hissed back, punching his sibling in the head before finally just rolling off of his brother to avoid his twin sinking his fangs into his ankle. Once back on their feet, the two looked out onto the street to watch you run with a new dose of adrenaline.             "Well, that was a first." Ingo huffed, making his brother hum,             "It was! We reallllyyy need to be sure to thoroughly thank them for this game. It's been forever since a human was this fun." Emmet giggled before taking off after you. Thanks to being as tall as they were, the brothers didn't struggle to catch up to you in a full sprint, even without their enhanced speed as demons, but they were sure to not catch you fully. They got back to where they had been, hot on your heels, but neither took the final step it'd take to grab onto your clothes and drag you to the pavement. Instead, they let you run, listening to your increasingly ragged breaths fill the cold night air, relishing their personal methods of using the energy this game gave them on you while you fought to reach a closing supermarket. That's why the brothers let you hurl yourself through the glass and slowed themselves to a stop instead.             "Holy shit, are you alright?!" An employee asked while you scrambled across the now-bloody glass shards, but Ingo stepped in to put a halt to his help,              "Don't worry! We've got them!" he promised, listening to you take off into the maze of products with his twin following after. "They're our partner, this is all a game. No need to worry." He continued, the mention of this being some sort of game making any other closing-shift employees opt out of pursuing you and Emmet. Good.             "What the fuck kind of game is this? They're cut!" The employee who'd tried to help you said, holding out the paper towel wad they'd used to staunch as much blood as they could to the demon, but he just nodded,             "I'm aware, and I will be sure to remind them not to take our games so seriously, but I promise they are fine. Thank you for the help though," After that, Ingo simply spent his time guarding the front door and soothing the humans in front of him. He could trust Emmet to hunt you down alone, he wasn't required to give chase any further, and when he spotted Emmet a distance away with you held triumphantly in his arms, he gave up on his platitudes to the employees in favor of walking over to his brother.            "So, are they alive?" He asked, reaching out to check your pulse while his brother gave a happy nod,            "They're just very exhausted! Their legs gave out as soon as I grabbed them, they couldn't have run much longer if they tried." The younger brother chirped while the workers still worried at a distance,            "Well then, do we take them to our home, or theirs?" Was Ingo's next question,            "Theirs, I don't want to go home yet." was Emmet's choice, and while Ingo was eager to get you settled into a home a little more...suited for them, his twin had been the one to catch you, so it was only proper he chose where they waited for you to wake up. Besides, you could always be relocated later. So, the two just left the store with you, ignoring the humans who tried to stop them before the approaching cop cars could show up.

[anempressofmars]

The Psychics of Mars

"Electropsychism, sometimes called Quintessence, is the fifth fundamental force of physics. The phenomenon went undiscovered until the early 1980s, when human scientists began to study the bodies and minds of Martians. It is responsible for all psychic abilities, including extrasensory perception (ESP) and telekinesis.

The long and short of it is that little self-replicating particles called psions produce something called electropsychic radiation, or psy (Ψ). While the human body only has an output of 0.6 Ψ - indistinguishable from the background - Martians produce up to a whopping 24.116 Ψ."

-Parapsychology Made Easy, an general instructional book by Mike Waters, publ. 1995.

"The Martians call themselves the ruuk amah - the "persons of the whole." The concept of the gestalt identity is deeply ingrained in the red planet's culture. It can be found as a common motif of Martian creation myths, in so-called "elder mind" tales.

They involve a group of people existing in a pre-social state of nature, in which they are parts of a gestalt consciousness or hive mind. A deity or spiritual being then appears from the sky and pulls them apart. Afterward the people gain individuality but lose their sense of collective identity, leading to war, plague, and famine.

The hospids, the early ancestors of modern Martians, are primarily eusocial pursuit predators. Its dominant social paradigm features an individual, with well-developed cognitive abilities, serving as the center of a rudimentary group intelligence. Other members of the intelligence have limited cognition when alone, but participate in consciousness when in proximity to the center.

These tales may thus display some genetic memory of prehistoric cultural development. It is clear that group consciousness and intelligence was the norm until very late in Martian evolution. A remnant persists today: Martians suffer greater rates of disorganized thinking, intellectual deficit, psychosis, and mood disorders when apart from others of their kind.

The most accepted theory suggests that individuality developed abruptly c. 30,000 BCE during the emergence of behavior modernity. Another theory suggests it may have occurred as late as the agricultural revolution."

-Comparative Mythology for the Red Planet, by American psychoanalyst and sociologist Dr. Meghan Simpson, publ. 2005.

"My men can fight Martians when they hide in their machines. It's not a morale issue. This is not Uri Geller bullshit, either. It's real. You know it. There is something unnatural about them. We are being chased like cattle or cats. People come back wrong after treating with them. They are seeing things in the night and hearing whispers. My people are not mad, and neither are yours.

I'd rather talk about this face to face. Even if we cannot trust our own senses we must trust each other. We have seen the same mystery. We're in it together now."

-From the letters of Sgt. Andrew Wilson of the W.V. Army National Guard, dated Feb. 8, 1980.

"The Martians have a word: tsuradám. This word has no precise earthly translation. Some will explain it means authoritarianism, or populism. "Rule by a personality cult, fascism," Arthur-Ambers dictionaries tells us. None of these capture the depth of menace or depravity the Martians speak of.

For the Martian, authoritarianism is no real vice. The governments of the red planets are strict. While wide personal autonomy rules on a local level, national and international governments alike have centralized decision making bodies, recognize the personal rule of a World-Empress, and participate in an stratocratic system of patronage politics.

In ancient times, Mars was a planet ruled by military despots. An era of constant conquest and war. The Martians ruled by the sword and the mind. No regulation or ethical debate held the peculiar gift of telepathy in check. Instead, the Age of Thralldom prevailed, a time in which Martian states were subject to the absolutist dictates of gestalt consciousness.

A crude translation might be hive-archy. Tsuradám is Martian mob rule: semi-voluntary hive-minds central to Martian reactionary politics. The religious ecstasy of participatory mind control."

-A Study of Martian History and Culture, by Dr. Stephanie Maxwell, publ. 2002.

[ngkiscool]

This round is about the fandom favorite humans - Anathema and Newt! The focus is about the about the beloved couple, no other characters. All stories are rated G or T, and the description will include word count as well.

As always, my inbox is open for suggestions, ideas and recs for stories that focus on supporting characters (as in, Aziraphale and Crowley are not the main ones). Self recs are encouraged!

A Witchfinder's First Date by @be-kind-to-each-otter - rated G, 584b words. Summary: It's Newt and Anathema's first real date. He wants to impress her with a good time and, after some technical difficulties, he does.

Whatever Happens, I'll Leave It All To Chance by QueridaMyDear - rated G, 2.2K. Summary: Newton wasn’t sure if the lavender bundles in every room was an offshoot of Anathema’s upbringing or not. He had his suspicions about the crystal collections scattered on every last surface in the cottage, but couldn’t bring himself to ask. Ever since Anathema had made the decision to stop being a Descendant, the lack of foresight and structure had her on edge. Uneasy. Terrified. She had wound up falling back hard on other habits gleaned from her upbringing. A tendency to collect crystals for their spiritual power. Crafting spells in little bottles that Newton was forever finding tucked away onto shelves, in his car, outside the front door, and inside his sock drawer. He didn’t mind it, not if it calmed her down and brought her comfort. But she seemed to be spiraling. Losing control.

The Cracker by Luinlothana - rated T, 641 words. Summary: While Christmas crackers were always a part of the holiday celebration for Newt, he had to admit, one should be a bit concerned when they are provided by a demon. A bit of Christmas fluff with Anathema and Newt.

As It Began by Euterpein - rated G, 502 words. Summary: Netty Pulsifer reflects on the past year after the apocalypse-that-wasn't.

Third Time's the Charm by @supergeek21- rated G, 879 words. Summary: Three times Newt's plans to propose to Anathema go wrong, except that one time it goes right.

Choose Your Faces by HopeCoppice - rated G, 1.6K words. Summary: Agnes still has prophecies to impart. And a professional descendant has a decision to make.

desperate measures by illea - rated T, 578 words. Summary: The sun fracturing through the dirty glass walls of the greenhouse threw shadows across Anathema’s workspace. In the fading light, the purple flowers of the Aconitum napellus looked almost blue. It was far too beautiful a plant to be so poisonous, but Anathema supposed that was what she loved best about it.(In which Newt will do anything to coax Anathema away from her greenhouse).

Great Expectations by ngk_is_cool - 1.7K, rated T. Summary: Newt is trying to impress Anathema. Things are not going well.

On Monday by Thejellyfish - rated T, 2.1K Summary: On Saturday, the world almost ended. On Sunday, Anathema made a decision about her future. On Monday, Newt makes one about his own.

Foreign Country by @unproblematicme - rated T, 730 words. Summary: Anathema struggles with her new life without prophecies.

Authors - if you wish that your Tumblr account will be tagged, instead of the AO3, please comment or DM me the handle. Thanks :)

Bonus - master list with all past recommendations!    

Thanks for reading, and remember - sharing is caring!

[yunahosk]

psychic staring effect | yan childe x reader

i wrote this when i was tired and had no idea where the story was going to go. had some trouble translating too >.<

this is sort of like a modern au but only because it involves google and a phone.

warnings: stalking, sayings like ‘someone is behind you.’

psychic staring effect:  the psychic staring effect (sometimes called scopaesthesia) is a supposed phenomenon in which humans detect being stared at by extrasensory means.

how to tell if you’re being watched

“This is stupid.” The words laced with annoyance come from your mouth as you glare at the typed in words sitting in Google’s search bar. A sigh of defeat releases and you lean back against the frame of the bed.

That stupid feeling. It’s like your brain is telling you you’re stupid for even thinking such things in the first place, but at the same time is the one alerting you that such things aren't normal. Waking up with an indent on the opposite side of the bed, hearing two sets of feet tap against the pavement as you walk when it should only be one, leaving the shower and seeing hearts on the steamy mirror.

It's been awhile since you visited the Northland Bank, a trip that was only meant to help your friend ask for a loan and to give you reason to leave the house. However, the trip only cemented your commitment to staying home. After that trip, you swear you can see a figure always lurking behind you, though when the chance comes to get a glance at the mystery, the culprit reveals itself to be, well no one.

You feel like an idiot even thinking such things in first place, its obvious: nothing is there. Nothing at all. But it’s a feeling you can’t shake off. Unexplainable things are happening, finding a large bag of mora on your kitchen counter doesn’t just happen, though when searching for the culprit there is nothing but your own shadow behind you only helping to convince you that you’re slowly going insane.

It’s been like this for months. Something you can’t simply shake off. 

Though, whether you should convince yourself it’s all a hallucination or that the gut feeling inside you is true, that's a decision for when the time comes. Instead, you choose to set it aside for the night in an attempt to get some much needed rest after a long day.

It’s a reoccurring dream. One that seems to end so fast yet when you wake up hours later it proves to be the contrast.

In the dream you find yourself standing in a bathroom, staring at the loading search screen on the phone below you. A feeling of panic is in your body but you’ve never found what the cause of such a feeling was. Someone is behind you, you know it. But the most you’ve ever seen of him is a single red earring. That’s the only glimpse you can ever get of the mystery man, for when you turn your head to identify the person you find the scenario ending just as fast as it started. 

Your eyes open in the same place you were before: the comfort of your own bed.

 A sigh comes from your mouth as you roll over, smothering a pillow over your head with a groan. “Dammit!” You yell into the pillow, quickly removing it and throwing it to the side. You lay still, staring at the ceiling above you before reaching your hand out to grasp your phone.

Curiosity always gets the best of you. And it’s evident as you quickly type away at the screen.

who are the people in our dreams

Our mind is not inventing faces – in our dreams, we see real faces of real people that we have seen during our life but may not know or remember.

You’ve lived in Liyue your whole life, never traveled out of the land and practically know everyone in Liyue Harbor like the back of your hand. But, you can’t pinpoint a red earring. You swear you’ve seen it before but no one comes to mind.

“Someone you may not know.” You mutter to yourself, perking an eyebrow at the screen.

That is the most logical explanation, but even something about that irks you. Why would someone so irrelevant like a stranger, be so present in your dreams?

You had met him a few weeks ago. He had claimed to be a toy seller from Sneznhaya, an unusual occupation for a man carrying around a bow and arrow, however you put no question towards it.  A kind man he was, always doing lavish things for you, helping you with hard commissions, and letting you ramble upon him. And that's just what you were doing as you find yourself rambling onto him right now. 

“Look, it just feels like someone's been watching me, even on the way here I swear I could just feel it,” You state to your friend, Tartaglia, leaning against the counter as he prepares snacks “a-and I swear someone is watching me but whenever I turn there's no one there!” 

“You’re probably just imagining things, I’m sure you’re just stressed with everything going on.” He hummed, glancing up from the food he was preparing to raise an eyebrow at your current predicament.

“But that doesn’t explain hearts on the bathroom mirror! Or even a bag of mora on my counter!” You ramble in distress, resting you chin on your hand.

“Maybe your secret admirer is a ghost?” He laughs.

“Tartaglia!” You groan, glancing up with a glare.

“Ok, ok! It’s probably just left from when your niece visited. You’re fine! As for the mora, well maybe you just misplaced it?” He smiles, turning around to grab a bowl.

Your breath tightens at his words. When did Tartaglia get word you had a niece? You've known each other for only a few weeks at most. You last saw her some months ago.

He turns around at the sudden silence, his blue eyes narrowing with a playful smile as he regards your body language intently, holding his gaze for almost too long. Quickly pulling yourself together you force out a laugh.

“A-ahaha! You’re probably right, I do misplace things easily!” You laugh, trying to play it off. He stayed silent in response, simply staring at you as if he was trying to analyze something.

“Indeed.” He stated, turning around once again to continue his previous task.

“Your house is really nice, you must make a good living to get a home with a view of the shore.” You smiled, trying to ease the tension in the room. Leaning off the counter you make your way across the room towards the large window that displayed the ocean before you. 

“It’s worth the view, I’d say.” He chuckled, glancing from the kitchen to your figure across the room. You smile, glancing down at the window sill decorated with small trinkets.

“You didn’t tell me you collected starconches.” You chuckled, trying to keep the conversation as if nothing happened seconds ago.

“I need to take you down to the beach sometime soon, it’s beautiful this time of season to collect shells.” Tartaglia hummed. As you analyzed the row of seashells your eyes made contact with a familiar red gem.

Your eyes widened, staring down at the earring. The earring in your dreams.

“Definitely! Hey, um I have to go to the bathroom, what direction is it?” You turned around, reaching for the phone in your pocket. He paused, turning around with a smile and staring at you, his gaze lasting a tad too long for normal and humming.

“Just around the corner!” He smiled, and you followed just that.

There's a familiar feeling to the one you've grown used to these past months. Knowing your being watched. Feeling the gaze of eyes on your figure from afar.

And as you walk away from Tartaglia you feel just that.

Your eyebrows furrow as you enter the small room, your breathing becoming more rapid by the minute, as you desperately seek answers to the question that has been weighing on your mind ever since seeing the red gem. Pulling out your phone you tap your thumbs rapidly against the screen.

can dreams predict our future

Waiting for the results load, your breathing accelerates, panic setting in. Letting your hand touch the granite on the counter, you pause. Realization hits you as you realize you have experienced this feeling in your dreams. 

The panic in your dream. 

Reaching for your phone with shaking hands, you pick up the device now with text present. As you scan the top result, your breath quickens as you do a double take of the words before you.

Precognitive dreams, in simple terms, are any dreams that give you information about the future you wouldn't otherwise have.

You can feel it.

You can feel the stare.

Someone’s behind you.

The weight change on your shoulder becomes evident as you feel hot breath hitting your neck. When you slowly raise your head to look in the mirror you find yourself frozen in fear.

Red hair and blue eyes stare back at you as a red gem dangles from his ear, his chin rests on your shoulder, glancing down at your phone.

“How cute, you've been dreaming of me?”

[96thdayofrage]

What is Critical Race Theory?

Basically, Critical Race Theory is a way of using race as a lens through which one can critically examine social structures. While initially used to study law, like most critical theory, it emerged as a lens through which one could understand and change politics, economics and society as a whole. Richard Delgado and Jean Stefancic’s book, Critical Race Theory: An Introduction, describes the movement as: “a collection of activists and scholars engaged in studying and transforming the relationship among race, racism, and power.”

Kimberlé Crenshaw, one of the founding members of the movement, says Critical Race Theory is more than just a collective group. She calls it: “a practice—a way of seeing how the fiction of race has been transformed into concrete racial inequities.”

It’s much more complex than that, which is why there’s an entire book about it.

Can you put it in layman’s terms?

Sure.

Former economics professor (he prefers the term “wypipologist”) Michael Harriot, who used Critical Race Theory to teach “Race as an Economic Construct,” explained it this way:

Race is just some shit white people made up.

Nearly all biologists, geneticists and social scientists agree that there is no biological, genetic or scientific foundation for race. But, just because we recognize the lack of a scientific basis for race doesn’t mean that it is not real. Most societies are organized around agreed-upon principles and values that smart people call “social constructs.” It’s why Queen Elizabeth gets to live in a castle and why gold is more valuable than iron pyrite. Constitutions, laws, political parties, and even the value of currency are all real and they’re shit people made up.

To effectively understand anything we have to understand its history and what necessitated its existence. Becoming a lawyer requires learning about legal theory and “Constitutional Law.” A complete understanding of economics include the laws of supply and demand, why certain metals are considered “precious,” or why paper money has value. But we can’t do that without critically interrogating who made these constructs and who benefitted from them.

One can’t understand the political, economic and social structure of America without understanding the Constitution. And it is impossible to understand the Constitution without acknowledging that it was devised by 39 white men, 25 of whom were slave owners. Therefore, any reasonable understanding of America begins with the critical examination of the impact of race and slavery on the political, economic and social structure of this country.

That’s what Critical Race Theory does.

How does CRT do that?

It begins with the acknowledgment that the American society’s foundational structure serves the needs of the dominant society. Because this structure benefits the members of the dominant society, they are resistant to eradicating or changing it, and this resistance makes this structural inequality.

Critical Race Theory also insists that a neutral, “color-blind” policy is not the way to eliminate America’s racial caste system. And, unlike many other social theories, CRT is an activist movement, which means it doesn’t just seek to understand racial hierarchies, it also seeks to eliminate them.

How would CRT eliminate that? By blaming white people?

This is the crazy part. It’s not about blaming anyone.

Instead of the idiotic concept of colorblindness, CRT says that a comprehensive understanding of any aspect of American society requires an appreciation of the complex and intricate consequences of systemic inequality. And, according to CRT, this approach should inform policy decisions, legislation and every other element in society.

Take something as simple as college admission, for instance. People who “don’t see color” insist that we should only use neutral, merit-based metrics such as SAT scores and grades. However, Critical Race Theory acknowledges that SAT scores are influenced by socioeconomic status, access to resources and school quality. It suggests that colleges can’t accurately judge a student’s ability to succeed unless they consider the effects of the racial wealth gap, redlining, and race-based school inequality. Without this kind of holistic approach, admissions assessments will always favor white people.

CRT doesn’t just say this is racist, it explains why these kinds of race-neutral assessments are bad at assessing things.

What’s wrong with that?

Remember all that stuff I said the “material needs of the dominant society?” Well, “dominant society” means “white people.” And when I talked about “racial hierarchies,” that meant “racism.” So, according to Critical Race Theory, not only is racism an ordinary social construct that benefits white people, but it is so ordinary that white people can easily pretend it doesn’t exist. Furthermore, white people who refuse to acknowledge and dismantle this unremarkable, racist status quo are complicit in racism because, again, they are the beneficiaries of racism.

But, because white people believe racism means screaming the n-word or burning crosses on lawns, the idea that someone can be racist by doing absolutely nothing is very triggering. Let’s use our previous example of the college admissions system.

White people’s kids are more likely to get into college using a racist admissions system. But the system has been around so long that it has become ordinary. So ordinary, in fact, that we actually think SAT scores mean shit. And white people uphold the racist college admissions system—not because they don’t want Black kids to go to college—because they don’t want to change admission policies that benefit white kids.

Is that why they hate Critical Race Theory?

Nah. They don’t know what it is.

Whenever words “white people” or “racism” are even whispered, Caucasian Americans lose their ability to hear anything else. If America is indeed the greatest country in the world, then any criticism of their beloved nation is considered a personal attack—especially if the criticism comes from someone who is not white.

They are fine with moving toward a “more perfect union” or the charge to “make America great again.” But an entire field of Black scholarship based on the idea that their sweet land of liberty is inherently racist is too much for them to handle.

However, if someone is complicit in upholding a racist policy—for whatever reason—then they are complicit in racism. And if an entire country’s resistance to change—for whatever reason —creates more racism, then “racist” is the only way to accurately describe that society.

If they don’t know what it is, then how can they criticize it?

Have you met white people?

When has not knowing stuff ever stopped them from criticizing anything? They still think Colin Kaepernick was protesting the anthem, the military and the flag. They believe Black Lives Matter means white lives don’t. There aren’t any relevant criticisms other than they don’t like the word “racism” and “white people” anywhere near each other.

People like Ron DeSantis and Tom Cotton call it “cultural Marxism,” which is a historical dog whistle thrown at the civil rights movement, the Black Power movement and even the anti-lynching movement after World War I. They also criticize CRT’s basic use of personal narratives, insisting that a real academic analysis can’t be based on individually subjective stories.

Why wouldn’t that be a valid criticism?

Well, aren’t most social constructs centered in narrative structures? In law school, they refer to these individual stories as “legal precedent.” In psychology, examining a personal story is called “psychoanalysis.” In history, they call it...well, history. Narratives are the basis for every religious, political or social institution.

I wish there was a better example of an institution or document built around a singular narrative. It would change the entire constitution of this argument—but sadly, I can’t do it.

Jesus Christ, I wish I could think of one! That would be biblical!

Why do they say Critical Race Theory is not what Martin Luther King Jr. would have wanted?

You mean the Martin Luther King Jr. who conservatives also called divisive, race-baiting, anti-American and Marxist? The one whose work CRT is partially built upon? The King whose words the founders of Critical Race Theory warned would be “co-opted by rampant, in-your-face conservatism?” The MLK whose “content of their character” white people love to quote?

Martin Luther King Jr. literally encapsulated CRT by saying:

In their relations with Negroes, white people discovered that they had rejected the very center of their own ethical professions. They could not face the triumph of their lesser instincts and simultaneously have peace within. And so, to gain it, they rationalized—insisting that the unfortunate Negro, being less than human, deserved and even enjoyed second class status.

They argued that his inferior social, economic and political position was good for him. He was incapable of advancing beyond a fixed position and would therefore be happier if encouraged not to attempt the impossible. He is subjugated by a superior people with an advanced way of life. The “master race” will be able to civilize him to a limited degree, if only he will be true to his inferior nature and stay in his place.

White men soon came to forget that the Southern social culture and all its institutions had been organized to perpetuate this rationalization. They observed a caste system and quickly were conditioned to believe that its social results, which they had created, actually reflected the Negro’s innate and true nature.

That guy?

I have no idea.

Will white people ever accept Critical Race Theory?

Yes, one day I hope that Critical Race Theory will be totally disproven.

Wait...why?

Well, history cannot be erased. Truth can never become fiction. But there is a way for white people to disprove this notion.

Derrick Bell, who is considered to be the father of Critical Race Theory, notes that the people who benefit from racism have little incentive to eradicate it. Or, as Martin Luther King Jr. said: “We must also realize that privileged groups never give up their privileges voluntarily.”

So, if white people stopped being racist, then the whole thing falls apart!

From your lips to God’s ears.

[astaroth1357]

The Demon Brothers (Minus Asmo) at Their Worst  Pt. 1 (Lucifer, Mammon, Levi)

To the anons who gave me this idea, here it is. Unfortunately, I can’t say I’m all that happy to bring it to you, cause yikes this hurt to write. I’m grateful, however, because I believe I’m better for it. You shouldn’t always stay in your comfort zone. I left out Asmodeus for personal reasons. Regardless of my ability, given the nature of this challenge, I don’t feel comfortable with writing nor posting graphic content of sexual violence and chose to refrain from doing so. Please do not ask for this to be written at a later date, I will politely refuse then as I am now.

Check out the Masterlist for more.

Warnings: THEIR SINS HAVE BEEN TAKEN TO AN EXTREME (AND ALL THAT IMPLIES), Abusive/Controlling Relationships, Violence, Threat of Human Trafficking, Drowning, Angst, Regret, Suicidal Thoughts

This is all for the purposes of fantasy and in no way an endorsement for these behaviors in real life. Be nice (and smart) with your lives, my friends.

Intro: Maybe the MC should have known better. It should have sunk in a long time ago that they were in incredibly risky territory... They should have remembered that these men, though they call them friends, family, and perhaps even lovers, are still demons at their heart and core. Each of them are the embodiment of some of the worst behaviors man has to offer... MC, there are some people you just shouldn’t date, even if they love you, and now you suffer the consequences...

Lucifer

It’s not difficult to see how Pride can go awry. Self-confidence and dignity are wonderful things, but let them build up unchecked and all manner of petty, vindictive behavior can surface from within a person... 

Lucifer is far from immune to these flare ups. In fact, he falls victim to them so often that they may as well be ingrained in his personality. If you do anything that mocks or belittles him, even if it’s small, you’ll get a reaction. One that’s usually more severe than offense calls for...

The MC knew this going into a relationship with him. Supposedly, they knew all the no-go zones, too. Don’t make fun of him or Diavolo, don’t mention the Fall or his back, don’t call him a nag... That sort of thing.

What they hadn’t expected was the full brunt of the expectations suddenly leveled on them.

To say Lucifer was demanding would be an understatement. Everything about him had to be poised, powerful, collected, and perfect. Whether he realized it or not, these expectations bled into their relationship as well.

It started with him nitpicking little details... The way they stood, how they styled their hair, maybe a comment or two on what they ate. But it progressively got worse...

Suddenly he found problems with the way they dressed, what they listened to, what shows they watched, even how they greeted him in the mornings!

Before too long, nothing was right to him… Nothing was good enough. They were his other half, his biggest vulnerability, and in order for him to feel secure about that they had to be perfect… However Lucifer defined it.

They listened to him at first. Though his comments stung, he could be so loving too… He truly made them feel special. Like he wouldn’t be trying so hard if it were anyone but them...

But pretty words and kind actions could only go so far. They couldn’t completely erase the vitriol being tossed at them day after day… 

Slowly, with every little change, they could feel themselves start to dwindle… The choices they made felt foreign, the lifestyle they held became draining, and then one day they realized they didn’t even look right anymore… They were no longer the person they wanted to be. 

Lucifer was doing what he set out to do: train them, break them, then mold them into something new... So they could be perfect...

Just like him.

One day, however, they just couldn’t take being the person he wanted anymore...

He found them in their bedroom just before a party that Diavolo had been planning for weeks. Their hair wasn’t fixed and their clothes were a mess. His frustration nearly skyrocketed until he saw their face, vacant and broken, staring blankly straight ahead…

He couldn’t rouse them. They wouldn’t move no matter how much he shouted, threatened, or swore...

….they didn’t even budge when he begged…

His brothers eventually noticed something amiss and took them away. Their disgust with him was fairly evident… They probably would have tried something had he not been the strongest.

He had taken something wonderful and squashed it... Hurt someone he truly loved and ruined what they could have had to protect his damn ego…

Lilith, his brothers, and Satan especially… was everyone he tried to care for just bound to end up broken too…?

The MC’s recovery was slow. They had a lot of damage to repair and a whole new identity to build. He stayed out of it as much as he could, burying himself in work and seeing his brothers less and less...

He’d done enough damage to them anyway...

Mammon

The Greedy, Scummy Second-Born… Words to etch on his tombstone. Mammon had heard it all before from all angles: the demons above him, below him, hell even a passersby on the street would know his face and his laundry list of a rap sheet...

The one person who seemed to look past all that was MC.

He truly didn’t know what sort of karma he’d gained or luck he scored to have them in his life. They didn’t just see him at his best side, they made him want to fix his worst...

But that’s easier said than done, isn’t it?

The sad truth is Mammon is a gambler at heart. Oh he loves the money, the riches, fine things, and the bling but what else does he enjoy? The rush.

There’s nothing like that feeling of triumphant when the dice falls your way or the pure exhilaration of a close bet. When all cards are on the table and everything’s stacked against you, eking out that win can cause a head-rush better than any orgasm he’s ever had... The higher the stakes? The better the high.

But maybe he went a little too far…

It’s one thing to bet Grimm, he can make more of that in a night. It’s another to bet items, harder to replace but not impossible. People…? Well. If you want high stakes…

MC was actually with him that night when he made the “great” decision to bet his most valuable treasure on poker match. He was running out of Grimm and thought that the added risk would make him play better…

He thought wrong.

MC hadn’t been at the table at the time he made the deal, but they had come back just in time to see him get his ass handed to him. He lost. Spectacularly.

When the other demons there came over to encircle MC, it already felt like his world was crumbling down around him... The look of confusion, then hurt and betrayal in their eyes forever seared themselves into his memory.

“You bet me in a poker game?!”

It sounds almost comical, but he knew what the demons were planning to do to them wasn't. And just seeing the way his human’s wrist snapped when one of the men wrenched their arm from them confirmed it.

He wouldn’t let them get away with that. When the threats escalated to violence, he took his share of punches but in the end he was left standing.

The MC was furious. He had just whittled their entire existence down to a bargaining chip and one that he tossed away carelessly…

Yeah, he’s truly a scumbag, isn’t he?

They didn’t talk to him for quite a while, despite him begging for forgiveness. There was always a part of him that wondered why he even bothered… He had done it before, and in another gambling-induced high he would probably do it again…

They’d honestly be better off without him...

Leviathan

It’s, frankly, quite difficult to be the Avatar of Envy. Every day Levi feels uncomfortable in his own skin… Like he doesn’t measure up to this or that or like he’s not worthy of being in the meager position afforded to him. He preferred to hide himself away and try not to dwell on it… but then MC came along…

For once, he felt like he had something. Something truly special. Something one of a kind and like no other… He couldn’t point to any of his brothers and say that they had something better, hell, he couldn’t even point to Diavolo and say that he had a finer version.

No. He had them. The one, the only, MC. Better than all the rest. His only great accomplishment in his miserable, pathetic life...

… so why did they keep leaving him…?

It didn’t hurt that badly at first when they’d tell him they couldn’t go watch some new anime with him because they had other plans. Sometimes they’d go off shopping with Mammon or have lunch with Beel… That was fine. Understandable.

At least that’s what he’d tell himself.

After a while though, he started to feel lonely… rejected… Was he not good enough for them? Surely that had to be it, right?? A miserable shut-in otaku with someone like them? What a joke!

Any time he’d voice his insecurities, they’d always say the same things: “No, don’t be silly!” “I really do want to be with you.” “I love you, Levi. Don’t you believe me?”

No. He didn’t. With each passing hour spent away from him, time where he would get shafted for one of his brothers instead, he believed them less and less…

Soon all he heard was lies…

Something possessed him that day. MC had just missed their third live stream in a row in order to be with his brothers instead. Which one was it? It didn’t really matter. He felt the stinging pain of isolation all the same…

When the MC walked into his room they had no way of knowing that the festering hatred and inadequacy that had been stewing in him for months was about to spill over. His anger was so quick to spark and their human body too weak to resist...

It was only once he realized how long he had their head forced under the water of his aquarium that he finally let them up for air.

He was stepping over himself to apologize, stammering incoherently through his tears how he just lost control and didn’t know what came over him!

His brothers weren’t forgiving. Not in the slightest. Each of them seemed to want to beat him within an inch of his life and he didn’t blame them… If he could get away with it, he’d march himself into the sea and let it serve as his rightful prison…

His punishments were severe, but not unending, and soon he was back in his room again. Now he never leaves it and the MC is never allowed back in, even if they want to be.

He now, truly, doesn’t deserve them at all...

Link to Part Two: Satan, Beel, Belphie

[equizona]

Shielding Embrace

Fandom: Obey Me!

Characters: Mammon

Format: Drabble

Warning(s): Mentions of abuse(?) Angst(with a happy ending), crying, swearing, calling Lucifer a stuck up little bitch, OOC.

Summary: MC is tired of hearing Mammon get picked on so often, by his own brothers no less. As the second-born demon has always protected them, they think it's their turn to protect him.

Note: I wrote this a while ago, since I'm tIRED of Mammon getting bullied all the time. He deserves better-

"Diavolo, stop being such a scumbag Mammon-"

It wasn't uncommon that the brothers would call the second-born mean words. Scumbag was their favorite, along with dumb or stupid. You agreed that he didn't always make the best choices, but they were always so cruel about it. It never gave off the vibes that they were only joking either. It was like they meant every word.

You hated it with your whole being. Mammon had been the nicest to you, and he had been the one who had been there with you since the start, ever since Lucifer made him your 'guardian' in a way. He wasn't the best at showing his emotions, but you could tell he cared. Sometimes, it felt like he was the only one who cared.

You wanted to shout, or scream at them, for all the cruel things they would say to him. He deserved better than that. He was their brother, so why were they always so mean to him?

"MC? Are you okay?" You were forced out of your mind by Satan's annoyingly Loud question that brought the attention of everyone at the table to the two of you.

You remember when he tried to kill you. You remember when all of them tried to kill you. You remembered when Belphie actually killed you.

All those times never quite left your mind, and you could still feel the fear you felt in each of those situations. Mammon was the only one of them you felt completely comfortable with anymore, as he was the only one who never seemed to lose control and attempt to harm you.

You decided you wanted to stand up for him like he stood up for you all the time.

"Actually, no, I'm not. What's wrong with you guys?"

Satan's eye twitched, and it was oddly satisfying. You could see all of the brothers about to speak up about what you'd said, though you didn't give them that chance.

"I don't understand why all of you keep calling Mammon a scumbag. Is it because he's greedy? 'Cause if that is the case, then I want to remind you that greed is his sin. He's the avatar of greed. And I mean, why get mad about him for that? As far as I remember, all of you don't ever try to deny your sins."

You didn't feel satisfied just yet, so you decided to continue. You wanted to make them feel just as horrible as you assumed Mammon felt each time they threw those words at him.

"I mean, Lucifer is a stuck-up little bitch with too much pride and he can't ever seem to apologize or see that it's his fault no matter how obvious it is. Leviathan is constantly envious of everything to the point it can be fucking unbearable. Satan has extreme anger issues, and gets angry at the smallest things and Asmo is constantly flirting with people and usually not stopping until he's in their pants. And please, don't even get me started on Beel. Then of course, Belphie just seems to never bother lifting a finger to help anyone. But I never see anyone complaining about all of that, do I? It's not like any of you do anything to deny the sin you are assigned to, so why do you expect Mammon to do it, hmm?"

You raised your eyebrow in a judgemental way, just to add that extra spite. You could clearly see Mammon's shocked expression.

You preferred watching the reactions of the others more though. Beel looked guilty to some degree, Asmo looked offended, Levi and Belphie looked annoyed at the whole thing while Satan and Lucifer looked downright pissed.

You could see that Mammon was about to say something, probably about how he was okay and you should calm down, and Satan looked ready to snap and attack you, again. Though neither of them had the chance to react before Lucifer stood up while slamming his hands down on the table, glaring at you.

"Excuse me? Run that by me again, won't you?"

You'd normally apologize and leave the room to do something else, but you were tired with their bullshit and this just seemed like yet another way you could call them out on it.

So, you gathered up all of your courage and looked Lucifer straight in the eye, glaring at him as well, despite the fact you knew it would have little to no use.

"Or what? Are you going to try and kill me again? Because let me remind you that all of you have attacked me before, except Mammon. Oh, and of course, one of you actually managed to kill me. Remember that, Belphie?" You shot him a mean look, and at least he seemed to have some guilt over the situation.

"And you know, Lucifer probably would have killed me before as well, hadn't it been for Lord Diavolo. Oh, but you never quite did apologize for that, did you? You never apologized to Luke for attacking him either, did you? And it's because you have so much pride. Because you're so high and mighty and you can never do anything wrong, can you? Ah, but nobody ever tells you that, do they? Because they know it's the sin you represent and they know it's a part of who you are."

Lucifer blinked at you, shocked, and nobody else seemed like they were going to say anything either.

"Actually, in my opinion, I think Mammon is the least 'scummy' and 'lowlife' person in this room. And he somehow managed to be the one with the most control. Seriously, at this point I'm certain that you all only ever say those things to him because you all know you're the real lowlives and you're just too pathetic to admit it."

You didn't want to stay there anymore, and since they all seemed to shocked to say or do anything, you stood up and quickly made your way to your room, though it wasn't long until someone was knocking on your door.

"Uh, human..?"

Mammon's voice.

You almost wanted to cry. He didn't usually knock, he preferred to just barge in with his stupidly cheerful attitude that never failed to make you smile.

"You can come in."

You voiced it quietly, a small part of you hoping that he wouldn't hear you and just leave instead, but seconds after he opened the door and let himself in.

He didn't say anything as he sat down next to you on your bed though, most likely trying to figure out what he should say in a situation like this.

What you weren't expecting was to hear the sounds of sobbing.

Worriedly, you say up and moved next to him, concern filling your entire body as you gently put your arms around his shoulders and made him lean on your chest.

"Hey, hey, shh, are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?"

You tried to make your voice as gentle as possible. You weren't entirely sure what to do, but you never liked it when he was sad. His negative expressions and tears always layed heavy on your heart, so much that it was almost unbearable.

"Did- did you mea-mean it-?"

He stuttered out after a few minutes of you running your hand through his hair in an attempt to calm him down. You frowned, not entirely sure which part he was asking about.

"Which part are we talking about specifically?" You questioned him, though you made sure that your voice was soft.

"All of it." As soon as he answered your question, he got out of your embrace only to put his hands around your neck for a hug. You grinned, hugging him back.

"Of course I was. You're the one that's been there for me since I came here, and while I can agree that you don't always make the best decisions, they don't always make the best decisions either. They are your brothers, and they should never be saying things like that to you. Actually, from now on, each and every time they say something mean towards you, I want you to come to me so I can smother you in my love and affection."

Oh shit, fuck, did you just-

"Wait- like- uh- no- uhm- like in a-a, uh-"

He moved away from you, and you wondered if he regretted that considering how red his face was. You'd probably burn your hand if you touched his face at this point.

"I'm sorry, but you're going to have to say that again."

You gave him a patient smile, wanting him to feel comfortable. You were almost certain that he liked you back, since he wasn't exactly very good at hiding it, but you hadn't wanted to act on it before now incase you made him uncomfortable or that you were wrong.

Though his reaction only made you more certain.

He took a few moments to collect himself, before trying to speak up again, though he didn't seem able to look you in the eyes.

"Do, uh- do you mean like- like in a, uh, a rom-uhm.."

"Romantic?"

You inquired softly, and to your delight he nodded, still not looking at you.

This wasn't exactly a side of him you saw often, since he would usually try and deny anything, but you were happy about it.

You moved to hold his face in your hands, though he still refused to look you in the eyes.

"If you want to. I'm not sure how you feel, since nobody but you can be certain about that, but I know I like you, and wouldn't mind smothering your face in kisses each day."

Your tone was playful, be genuine. You felt his face heat up even more, if that was even possible. He changed the direction of his gaze to look directly into your eyes, and you felt like you would get lost in the ocean his eyes had.

He leaned forward for another hug, and you grinned, barely taking a single second to process it before you were moving your hands to hug him back.

"I like ya too."

You grinned even brighter, squeezing him tighter. You didn't ever want to leave his embrace, and while you knew that you would have to face both his brothers and the world later, it would be a lot easier with him by your side.

[bukojuiice]

merry go round of life.

ೃ pairing: (magical prince! shoto todoroki x fem! reader)

ೃ  tags: howl’s moving castle au! studio ghibli au! 

ೃ warnings: slight angst, mention of endeavor and war.

ೃ part 1/2 of the howl’s moving castle au. 

ೃ word count: 3,807 words

ೃ  my nav  →  my mha writing masterlist  → my katsuki bakugo x reader smau

ೃ as the tags and the au suggests, this fic is pretty much the premise of howl’s moving castle except shoto is a magical prince. i’m super excited to complete the rest of this studio ghibli au series and i hope you enjoy reading!  ♡

ೃ  please do reblog if you enjoyed!! (feel free to add tags too because i love reading them and my heart swells with happiness when people love my work!) ♡

“Find me in the future!”

The voice of a young woman who he didn’t recognize. Amongst the shooting stars and the demons falling from the night sky.

Tonight was the night.

The grassy plains and the meadows that were surrounding the warm cottage that he called home. The loving home that he, his mother, and his siblings lived in. The home that kept him away from the real world.

Things will never be the same ever again.

This was going to be easy right? All he needed to do was trade his heart for the demon’s power and he’d see his father again right?

He’d finally see the real world. The magical world that he always yearned for.

Being confined in a cottage all his life did leave much to be desired. He couldn’t just run around the lush fields with his older siblings and learn magic through spell books all his life, can he? There were things out there that he had to discover.

Now that his mother had passed, his siblings vanished into thin air, and a letter sent by his father, the tyrant king of the Kingdom of Ingary, detailing that he must learn magic on his twelfth year, in order to secure a position of royalty and rule the land with him.

This intimidating man he had never met all his life, except seeing him on newspapers and in history books, would suddenly write a letter to him out of the blue- it must be urgent right? Maybe, this was his calling? Maybe the passing of his mother is the reason the king, his father, contacted him in the first place? Did the most powerful man in the entire continent know about his whereabouts all along?

Was he living a lie all this time?

Shoto needed answers. The king’s invitation and this letter was his only clue.

But, before that, he needed to learn magic and sorcery first.

He was going to turn 12 in a few month’s time, how is he going to do this? He can’t just snap his fingers and manifest magic on the spot, right?

“A m-meteor shower? I-in a few months?” The handsome young boy with half-and-half colored hair and the prettiest heterochromatic eyes, whispered to himself in disbelief. “Take your chance and meet a fire and ice demon who will give you their magic.” He continues to read along the lines of the tabloid, grabbing a worn notebook on the table next to him, and writing down every piece of information that entailed the phenomenon that was about to come. “It doesn’t say when though.” He continues to whisper to himself, his shoulders dropping in defeat as if he had just hit a slump.

The only hope that he was holding on to right now was his luck guiding him on that fated day.

And it did guide him. At a cost.

The fire and ice demon who were to give him his magical quirks, weren’t all that he had seemed.

In exchange for his humanity, he was to become the most powerful and the only wizard prince in the entire world.

Several years have passed. 

The once lost boy, who is now a famed prince, was in search for something again.

The effect of the demon taking his heart had made him soulless. Lifeless.

 Clinging on to material things and fake temporary pleasures in life were the only things keeping him going. 

The once newly crowned prince had wanted to escape his hellish kingdom, in search for peace and solace, a feeling that he did not experience while living in such a wide and empty space and with an estranged father who knew nothing but war.

His skills of wizardry grew stronger and stronger, expanding to more than just fire and ice; the magic that Calcifer, the demon whom he had made a contract with, bestowed upon him all those years ago. He had collected enough knowledge and learned enough encantations to get him out of this castle, and travel the world by his own blissful means.

Calcifer, the oh so powerful yet surprisingly comical demon helped him with his plans.

And what better way of an escape than with a magical moving castle?

This led to Shoto and Calcifer coming to another agreement that the demon would power the castle as long as Shoto would find someone in this world that would break the contract between them.

The prince and the demon were able to escape the confines of the castle scotch-free, however, it was not long until King Enji realized that the heir and the next in line to the throne, disappeared without a trace. Immediately warranting a search party consisting of his most elite soldiers. This prompted Shoto to adopt different identities and aliases, changing his appearance in every other kingdom he visited and lived in so he wouldn’t be recognized. Along his journey, he took in a sweet orphaned young girl, named Eri who became his assistant and apprentice.

The king was growing impatient. It had been a few years and his men have not found a trace as to where the prince might have gone. 

He was running out of options.

He wanted Shoto to excel. To be powerful. He never ever planned to see him or even bothered to send a letter telling him that he was the son of the most powerful king in the land, if the boy did not have anything special about him.

The magical genes passed on to the younger Todoroki by his sorceress mother. That’s all that he wanted. Use him. Use him for his power. Make him a prince, raise him, and then throw him away if he was of no use anymore. His son’s magical prowess was all he needed for his quest to conquer the entire world.

The only option he had left was to choose violence.

The king called up his war council and declared war on the neighboring kingdom.

If nothing was going to bring Shoto back, then conflict will.

With the entire continent falling into shambles, kingdoms fighting each other left and right, the peace and the freedom Shoto Todoroki had always wanted to achieve had become short-lived.

 He knew he was the reason why a conflict had arisen in the first place, yet, he couldn’t help but fight his father’s forces behind the scenes, and continue to run away, still seeking for permanent liberty. For a permanent home.

 He found his home.

In a simple girl working in her family’s hat shop.

And finally, Shoto had something to live for and to fight for.

 “Calcifer!”

“Shoto’s heart! It’s MINE!”

“Please! Let go!” You struggle to fight your way through the igniting fire coming from Calcifer and the ember that was about to consume the Witch of the Waste. Her old and wrinkled hands clutching on Shoto’s heart as if her life depended on it.

The remains of the moving castle continue to crumble, as the only power that was keeping it alive which came from Calcifer had become unstable as the Witch of the Waste was holding Shoto’s heart.

 “Put it back now! Please!” You try to fight back your tears, still trying your best to remain kind to the old witch yet she did not budge.

“It’s hot! It’s hot!” She continues to ignore your pleas, reacting to the delicate burning material that was on her hands instead. The grip that she had on Shoto’s heart had grown tighter and tighter and you had to do something to stop her.

 Time was ticking.

You look around the rubble and the debris, weighing out your options when a bucket of water had appeared in front of you. It was as if telling you that this was the only decision left to make.

  You take a deep breath and throw the bucket of water at the Witch of the Waste which also resulted in Calcifer, the demon who has manifested into a form of a destructive inferno for thousands of years, had been put out  just like a regular old fire. 

Like it was nothing.

There was a short moment of silence.

Eri was clinging on to you, looking for reassurance your face, yet you could not give her that. You hold her tight to try and help cheer her up just a little bit, while Heen, the old service dog given to Shoto as a gift, had his paws on your feet, as he did not know what was going to happen either.

The castle that was still moving with its last remaining energy, grinds to a halt.  

Is this it?

“(Y/N)!” You hear Eri call out. You open your eyes and see her hands trying to reach out to you. But, before you could reach her, the remaining part of the castle that all of you were standing on, split into half due to the lack of non-existent energy powering it. 

You feel yourself falling.

Heen, the dog, jumps to you before the latter remains of the castle subsequently falls down the cliffs of the Waste. You brace for impact until… you feel light. As if you’ve landed more comfortably than you thought.

You raise your head to take in your surroundings, aside from the few dirt and rubble sprinkled on your hair and on your dress, you were safe. Heen was safe too although the debris that was left of the castle was not salvageable anymore and there were no means to get out of this place with the few materials left.

It looked like there was no way out of here.

Tears swell in your eyes. All these frustrations and all this pain you had to endure because you wanted to save Shoto, was all for naught. Was there still a chance to save him at this point? Or rather, did you even ever have the slightest chance of saving him since the beginning?

Heen quickly trots all the way to where you were. However, you ignore him and continue to stare off into space, thinking about the careless decision you had just made and if what you did was even the right thing.

He barks softly, trying to get your attention, but you barely move a muscle. Even more tears forming in your eyes.

“Heen.. what h-have I done?” Your voice shakes, still trying to process everything that had just happened. “I poured water on C-calcifer… What if I killed Shoto too!?” You bent forward, kneeling down on the rubble around you. Drops of water began to pour out from your eyes, tears streaming down from your cheeks.

Hopelessness and Uselessness.

These were the only emotions you were feeling right now.

You continue to break down in your sorrow. The thought of doing everything in your power to help Shoto but knowing that nothing was enough aches in your heart.

He doesn’t deserve all this pain and anguish.

All you wanted to do was to help him.

Why was fate doing this to you? To you both?

All hope was lost until a glimmering light reflected on the remains of one of the magical doors still connected to the Castle.

Heen continues to bark at you until you turn your head to him and then notice the light glimmering from your ring. The ring with magical properties that Shoto had given to you, to keep you safe and to help you when things go awry.

“It’s moving?” You wipe your tears and stare bewilderingly at the ring that was vibrating on your finger. “Is Shoto still alive!? Can you lead me to him?” You ask softly, slowly regaining your hope and your confidence that maybe you can still save him.

You stand up from the ground, running to the corner of the cliff. The ring continues to guide you, it’s light reflecting on a door that was hidden behind the debris of an iron sheet that was once a part of the castle.

You push it down with all your might, Heen trying his best to help you. The metal sheet falls down with a loud “thud” and the blue energy emanating from the ring continues to glow brighter and brighter, the light pointing to the direction of the door.

You turn the knob, the ring trembles even harder. You slowly pull the door open and a sudden rush of wind blew across your face. The inside was dark and empty. There was nothing of interest here.

But, why did the ring want you to go inside?

You hold your hand to your chest, letting the ring guide your way through the darkness. You stretch your hand out to the pitch black of nothingness, and it ripples at your touch. 

It was a portal. 

Of course it was a portal. What else would it be? You thought to yourself.

You take a deep breath and with Heen following close behind you, you take a step into the darkness. Praying that this portal takes you to where you need to be.

You were keeping count of the passage of time. It’s been several minutes of you just walking in darkness. But, even if you turned back, was there even a place to return to? You continue to hold on to the little hope you have left. The ring still doing it’s best to guide you to where it was telling you to go as you continue to explore the endless cave of darkness around you. 

The ring starts to quiver again, as if it had caught a signal or had detected something. You walk faster, following where the ring was leading you until you catch site of a speck of blue light. Walking even faster, you arrive at the inside of a dimly lit cottage. 

It was old and simple. For some reason, it felt like you’ve seen this place before. 

There was a table at the center, with papers and books sprawled about, a bookshelf next to it, a worn bed at the side, and a hearth near the edge of the room. 

You approach the table to examine the papers that were placed upon there when the ring suddenly stopped shaking on your finger. Heen was barking at you again, so that you would turn your attention to him and see him scratching the door that led to the outside. 

“Heen?” You mumble, looking out the window. You approach the door he was trying to open without taking your eyes off the windowpane that reflected a gloomy and plain image of the night sky outside. 

You leave the cottage and suddenly, it dawned on you that this was the cottage that Shoto had lived in when he was a child. 

This is the same beautiful place he had taken you a few days prior. Yet, there was a sort of melancholy feeling to it. It felt lonely, barren, and there were no colorful array of flowers in the meadows. It felt like a major downgrade to the wonderful place he had shown you. Was it not true? Were the beautiful flowers and the serene view just an illusion? Was this the reality of the place he had lived in most of his life instead?

Before you could even fully process your surroundings, an array of shooting stars began to fall from the sky. It was burning blue and bright, it was ethereal but at the same time, terrifying. These were demons and magical entities from an otherworldly universe. Seeking to make contracts with human beings who wanted to learn more about magic. 

“This is the time where Shoto met Calcifer.” You whisper to yourself, still looking up the bright night sky, taking in the beauty and the wistfulness of this particular event and what happened to Shoto because of it. 

You look out into the pools of water surrounding the cottage, the shooting stars falling down into the ground from afar. A shrieking yet soothing sound echoed around the area every time a star fell. 

You look up to see an unusual shooting star, shining brighter than the others. You continue to look on in awe until you feel the the ring on your hand quivering again, slowly disintegrating.

You were preoccupied with the ring suddenly disappearing that you had not noticed the big and bright star had already fallen down the ground near you, closer than the others did. The rays of the star reflecting brighter and more scintillating than the others. It was drawing you in, like that of a beautiful phantasm. 

You notice someone from afar approaching the star that had fallen. 

A young striking boy with half white and half red hair, his eyes shining bright different colored hues and his presence, even from afar, was so comforting to you.

This is the man you want to spend the rest of your life with. The man you want to save, the one who made you feel like yourself again, the one who loved you for who you are even though you transformed into an 80 year old grandma with a back problem. He has loved you in your darkest times. He has loved you for who you are. 

Will you be there to love him back? Just like he had loved you? 

You continue to watch the boy go around the star, examining it ever so curiously. From there, you feel the emotions that Shoto was feeling at the moment.

You could sense the loneliness and the feeling of isolation that Shoto Todoroki has felt all his life. 

“That’s Shoto...” You whisper once again, continuing to watch him from where you were standing.

 More and more shooting stars fly through the night sky, and you instinctively knew that something was going to happen.

You run down the stairs and sprint your way towards Shoto, ignoring the stars  falling down into the ponds, taking forms of dancing wisps, then changing into running pigmy as if they were trying to reach Shoto. 

Shooting stars begin to fall around you, barely missing you yet you continued to run with no care in the world. Saving Shoto was the only thing going on in your head at the moment and nothing will stop you from doing so. Something in the grass had pulled on your heel, causing you to fall and flail on the ground. The half and half prince was a small pond away from you yet a dark oozing liquid was taking a hold of you from below, preventing you from doing so.

Before it fully took a hold of both your feet, You quickly stand up from the ground, stomping your feet then backing away quickly. Another shooting star falls down from the sky, and you watch as it swiftly falls into Shoto’s hands. 

The sound of the fallen star shrieks and tingles your ears, and you had no choice but to watch in agony as the little Shoto begins to move his lips, talking to the demon known as Calcifer. He had a small smile on his face as he continued to speak. There was so much hope and innocence in his eyes, he was so excited to receive his magical abilities, blissfully unaware that he was about to make a deal that would be the cost of his humanity and his heart. 

All he wanted was to see family and go to places he’s always dreamed of. 

Was that too much to ask for?

Shoto slowly but surely, brings the demon into his mouth. There was slight hesitance but he gobbled it up then swallowed it. He felt a tinging pain as he clutches both of his hands to his chest, then coughing up Calcifer who had now become his heart. 

For a moment, it was as if time had stopped. 

You continue to look on but before you could try and run to him again...

Your ring shatters. 

A black hole appears from below your feet, slowly sucking you in. You try to move but your body doesn’t want to. Keeping you still, your legs swinging, as if you were in a body of water. All the color around you begins to fade to black, and so does Shoto and Calcifer. 

You turn to look at them once more, hoping they would hear you. Reaching your hand out to them. 

“Shoto! Calcifer!” In a last minute attempt to get them to notice you, You shout with all your might, tears welling up in your eyes again. 

The boy and the demon turn to you with doe eyes, catching your voice yet barely recognizing who you were and why you were there. The young Shoto continues to look at you, still wondering who you were, cupping Calcifer in his hands. 

“It’s me (Y/N)! I know how to help you now!” Shoto and Calcifer ceaselessly fade away, as you are consumed by the darkness.

“Find me in the future!”

Mundane life and a mundane everyday routine.

 Sew some hats, manage the store, hop on the bus, visit your popular sister in the bakery she works in and then head on home. 

This was your life.

Did you want it to change? Yes. But, did you have the will and the magical powers to do so? No. 

“It’s your life (Y/N). Do something for yourself for once will you?” 

The words of your sister will haunt you for the rest of the day. Well, She is right. But, this was your life. It was dull and uneventful. If this was your fate so be it. There was no point in trying to make it interesting at this point right?

You walk back on your usual route to the station, however, you had to rendezvous to another way to the station due to a road block. Guess life wasn’t being kind to your today isn’t it?

You pass by two soldier guards in an alley to the station. They looked bored and had nothing better to do and you had no intention of mingling with them, even if your sister told you to try and talk to more people.

“What a pretty girl. Want us to take you for some tea?” One of the guards attempt to flirt with you, trying to block your way. The other guard snickers at his friend’s tease.

“No. Please leave me alone.” You deadpan. Glaring at them and trying to let them know that they were crossing the line. 

“Oh you see. Ya scared her!” said the other guard, nudging his friend.

“I think she’s even cuter when she’s scared.” The guard replied, hitting his friend on the shoulder. 

You were about to run to the other direction when you hear a crisp and handsome voice from behind you, and a reassuring hand on your arm.

“There you are sweetheart. Sorry I’m late. I was looking everywhere for you.” 

To be continued.

[wormstacheangel]

15x18 coda fic...?

I had an idea that bugged me so I wrote it. What if Dean just...threw himself at Cas while the Empty was taking him? Then this happened. (comfort/fluff/first kiss)

No.

Cas looked back at him. A smile so big and loving but heartbreaking all at once was still on his lips.  

No. No. No.

Dean watched it all from the ground where Cas had shoved him to protect him again because that’s what Cas does. He protects him. He saves him time after time. Everything he has done has been for...him. He always knew that Cas made it pretty clear but he could never accept it. It made no sense for an angel of the lord to sacrifice so much for him, for him specifically, but here he was doing it again. Sacrificing his life once again but it’s so much different this time. 

“No!” A shaky cry came out of him as he half lunged and crawled to take a hold of Cas’s legs that were already covered in black goo. 

Dean can feel the goo start to envelop him as well and while fear was completely eating at him, there was nothing in the damn universe that could make him let go. He held his breath as he pressed his face into Cas’s thigh and felt the goo crawling up his neck to finally swallow them. 

Then it was silent. 

Dean felt like he just woke up but he knew only a few seconds had passed. His grip was still tight on Cas’s legs but the goo was gone now. He let out the breath of air that was burning his lungs before he even dared to look up, the glare was so clearly burning into the top of his head.

“Dean?”

Dean still wasn’t thinking clearly as he hid his face into Cas’s thigh. Clinging to him as he kneeled at his feet because Cas was still with him. He could feel a sob trying to escape from his throat but he just buried his face deeper into Cas. Letting the tears fall but still, the goodbye was not processing with him. He was about to lose Cas again but he’s right here. He was still with him.

“Dean?”

Cas pulled his white-knuckled grip off of him as he kneeled down to look at him but Dean couldn’t stand the separation so he pulled Cas into a strong hug. One that must have surprised Cas as he made a gasping noise while Dean hid his face into the side of Cas’s face. Feeling the tickle of his hair on his lips and nose. Breathing in the scent of rain, Cas always carries and lets one of his hands buried themselves into his hair while the other wrapped around his shoulders to hold him close. He has him. 

Then he felt Cas’s shoulders shake. His arms remained at his side as his chin rested on Dean’s shoulder. He could just picture Cas’s face and it made him squeeze his eyes shut as he let out his own gasping sob. His hand grasping at Cas’s coat afraid to let go. Afraid he would really disappear again if his hold loosens because he has his own confession to say but everything was overwhelming him. 

“Cas,” Dean took a shaky breath against Cas’s skin before he rested his forehead on Cas’s shoulder. “Tell me again. Say it again. I need to know...I need to know it’s really you.”

Dean didn’t move as Cas’s hands finally touched him. He started making soft strokes down his spine, comforting and warm. Not at all desperate the way Dean was holding him. 

“Dean, Chuck has no hold on me. You know that. I’m real. My feelings are real. We… we are real.” His voice was still calm but he could hear softness in them still. The way he was still holding back cries.

“Then say it again.” Dean pushed back just enough to take Cas’s face in between his shaky hands. Their eyes meet for the first time since being here and Dean had to fight back another sob as he meets those watery blue eyes. With his thumbs, he wiped Cas’s tears away and desperately said, “Please. I need to hear you say it again.”

He smiled again as he started saying his name but Dean shook his head as he let his head hang between them. A shaky breath or laugh escaping him as his mind still fogged up, nothing making sense anymore.

“No, wait, shh!” He shook his head as if everything would clear up but he was still feeling a bit dizzy. Not ready to hear the words and finally accept them. “Shit, fuck, I’m not ready. Wait”

He heard Cas chuckle, felt the shaking in between his hands, before he said, “You’re so stupid.”

“Gee thanks, Cas, and here I thought you loved me.” The teasing came out so naturally that it shocked Dean when those words escaped his lips. 

Of course, Cas would not skip a beat as he said, “I do - love you I mean - but I also think you’re an idiot at times. Like right now for instance.” He pulled Dean’s hands off of him but held them tightly on his lap. Dean looked up to meet his glare. “Jumping into the grasp of The Empty? Really, Dean?”

“Cas, I-I can’t lose you again.” Dean shook his head as he looked back at him. Watching Cas strain to hold back his emotions as tears continued to flow. 

“Dean, it’s fine. I was at peace with my decision. If it meant saving you,” Cas looked down at their hands moving them just enough so the desperation wasn’t showing. Cas sat back on the black hollow floor and held one of Dean’s hands. Held it as if they were going to go for a nice walk instead of discussing his own sacrifice. “I’ll do anything.”

Dean sat next to him, shoulder to shoulder as their hands rested on Cas’s knee. “So what? I’m supposed to willingly let you go?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Cas rolls his eyes as he uses his free hand to wipe his face. “I don’t want to argue with you.”

“Well, I do.”

“No.” Cas says firmly as he shakes his head. He made a move to let go of their hands but Dean only tightened his grip. Cas sighs as he looks down at their hands again before looking back at Dean. Softer but still an edge. “No, you need to leave.”

“He’s right you know.” Dean turns towards the familiar voice and sees Meg appear before them. Her smile wild and manic as she glared down at them. He instantly stood up to block Cas from her view. “No humans in my void.”

“I’m not leaving without, Cas.” He could feel Cas’s hand gripping at the back of his shirt, ready to yank him out of the way at the first sign of trouble. 

“Dean,” Cas started but Dean reached behind him to squeeze his wrist.

“Shut up.” Dean tells him before looking back at Meg or not Meg. “We’re kind of a package deal so you might as well throw us both back.”

She chuckles before she takes a shaky step towards them. “Humans aren’t supposed to be here. You shouldn’t be here. You’re being too noisy. Everything is too loud now!”

Dean pulled at Cas’s wrist to pull him in close. To just make sure he was there. “Then let us continue our conversation back at home and we’ll leave you alone.”

“No! Castiel and I had a deal.”

“Fine! Send me back alone but you’ll never get peace.” Dean threatened as he pulled Cas along with him when he took a step towards Meg. “You’re gonna deal with my stubborn ass poking at you again and again until I get him back. Cause trust me, sweetheart, I’m not someone who gives up easily. I killed Death already, twice, and you’re going to be next on my list.”

Meg just started to giggle, low and deep, before she started to full-on laugh. Throwing her head back before she looked back at them with her wild smile. She grabbed her head as she closed her eyes. “I just...I want to sleep! Let me sleep.”

“What if we promised not to bother you?” Cas stepped forward and away from Dean’s grasp. “We were all betrayed by Billie but what if we work together again. Help each other get what we want. You get your peace again and we-”

“You guys walk out of here?” Cas only nodded while Dean couldn’t stop himself from reaching for Cas, his hands grasping at his trench coat. She eyed them both. “I never want either of you or that...Jack, here again.”

“Got it. We can do that.” Dean says as he stands beside Cas. Looking over at him while Cas kept his eyes forward. Standing strong and confident while his face was a blank stare but Dean could see his mind running. “Cas?”

“We still need to defeat Chuck. I can’t promise I’ll make it out of that alive. I may be back here in a few hours or days after we return.” Cas doesn’t look at him as he talked but at Meg who was glaring back at him. “If you help us defeat him maybe we can all finally have peace.”

“How?”

“I summon you again.” 

Dean opened his mouth to argue but Cas shook his head at him, holding his hand out to stop him from talking but Dean instead took it. Intertwining their fingers together to let Cas know that if it’s a dumb suicidal plan again then he better be ready for him to follow him into the damn dark again. 

“I summon you when I am close to Chuck and you-”

“And I’ll bring him here.” Meg finished Cas’s sentence with a smirk. “Where he is powerless.”

“He has Amara in him so that would keep them both alive. Keep the balance.” Dean adds as Cas eyes finally turn to look at him with a smile on his lips as things start to fall in place. He squeezes his hand with a hopeful look because maybe, just maybe, they had a chance for some real happiness. 

“We got work to do then.” Cas tells Dean before turning back to Meg.

She looks back at them with a less strained and creepy smile before she says, “I’ll be waiting for your summon then? I’m still connected to you, Castiel, so I’ll hear you.”

Cas gave a solid nod while Dean didn’t like the sound of that at all. He was about to open his mouth to ask what that meant but then Meg waved her hand and they were in the dark again. 

Dean woke up face down back in the dungeon. He blinked awake as he sat up trying to get his head on straight when he sprang up to look for Cas, afraid he was left behind. That he was tricked and this was how he finds out that he actually lost Cas. He lost him before he could even-

“Oh.” Dean turns to find Cas passed out behind him. He was laying on his back with his tie draped across his face. He couldn’t help but chuckle wanting to add another picture to his collection but there were more important things to do, to say, right now. “Cas?”

He crawled over to him and moved his tie as he shook his shoulders to wake him. “Come on, sleeping beauty, time to get up.”

Cas groaned as his eyes tighten up before he opens them, squinting up at Dean with a confused haze. “Dean?”

“Yeah, buddy, come on.” Dean helped sit him but then he was pulled into an overwhelming hug. The relief that was running out of Cas was heavy as his grip was tight but for the first time, Cas turned his head to hide his face into Dean’s neck. “Cas?”

Cas shook his head and once again Dean felt the angel shake with silent cries. 

Dean held on to him as he tried to comfort him but his own tears were blinding him. Cas was here, alive and in his arms. He almost lost him again and just like every other time he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to go on. How was he supposed to care about saving a world that he wanted to escape from? Now, now everything was right again. Well, almost everything.

Dean pulled back just enough to look back at Cas’s red-rimmed eyes, the most he has ever seen the angel cry. 

“You’re a mess.” He reached over to wipe Cas’s face with his sleeve and that made Cas slowly smile before a choke of a laugh escaped him.

“Yeah, well you don’t look so hot either.” Cas copied him, Dean’s face being wiped clean by the rough fabric of the dirty old trench coat. His smile slow-growing before he was grinning, dazzling, and beautiful as his fingers then replaced the fabric. Then the smile became a pout again as he tried to fight back more tears. “I’m so sorry, Dean. I didn’t want to leave you but I saw no other way to save you.”

His fingers reached to caress Dean’s face with no hesitation. Dean cloaked Cas’s hands with his own before he asked again. “Tell me now.”

Cas rolled his eyes as he shared his you’re-such-an-idiot smile. “Dean, are you sure this time?”

“Yeah, Cas, say it again.”

Cas features all soften as he relaxed while he looked into his eyes. There was never fear in Cas’s eyes while he took a deep breath. He looked so happy so...in love.

“I love you, Dean.”

Dean let go of the breath he must have been holding as he read Cas’s lips. His voice echoing in his head, trying to compare both of the confessions but they both sounded so confident. This time though it wasn’t a goodbye. No, this was just the beginning for them. 

Dean let his forehead fall against Cas’s own, a move that surprised Cas as he froze under the touch. He felt too overwhelmed with it all but it’s true. His angel loved him, the words that always were unspoken between them were finally out in the open. That whole speech was Cas. It was how he truly felt about Dean and maybe he wasn’t as good with his words as Cas but he could at least say it.

“I love you, Cas.” Dean fought the lump in his throat. “I love you. You...you have me. You always had me.”

“Dean.” Cas gasped out still unmoving as all of this was new territory for them but it wasn’t weird. It wasn’t uncomfortable but just unsure. Still hesitant. As if they both couldn’t believe they finally crossed this dumb line they drew themselves. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, dumbass,” Dean pulled back just enough that their noses touched but he wasn’t ready to be so far away from him just yet. “Are you?”

“Yes!” Cas said sounding half annoyed that Dean ever doubted him in the first place and half thrilled that he could finally say it. “It’s one of the few things I know for certain. I love you, Dean.”

“Cool. Can I…?” Dean wanted to ask but now he finally felt the embarrassment, the one that always crawled up his neck when they were found too close together. Lost in each other’s gaze and always drifting closer without words.

“Please do.”

Dean watched Cas's eyes drift closed and just when he got the confidence to lean in he heard his name being called out in the halls. Desperate and scared.

“Sam?” Cas turned towards the hall and heard Jack call back to him. “Jack!”

Dean let himself be pulled up by Cas before they were both almost tackled down by their kid. “You’re alive!”

“Barely,” Dean mumbled as Cas turned to narrow his eyes at him, telling him not to worry the kid so much. “We’re fine. How are you guys?”

Sam walked in then and they get the cliff notes of Sam and Jack’s missing person’s case. Then it was their turn to do the same, leaving out the whole them part out of it. Now they had to figure out how they can make Chuck bring all these people back before they shove his ass into the Empty. 

“Come on, we can check the town out.” Sam tells them and Jack follows right behind him. 

Cas was going to follow them right out the door but Dean then grabbed his arm to pull him back to him. Taking his face in his hands and before Cas could say anything, though his wide eyes made him believe that Cas wasn’t about to say anything to stop him, Dean leaned in to finally kiss him.

Letting himself melt against Cas as he has always wanted to. Moving his hands to wrap around his waist, under the coat and jacket, to hold him close to his chest. Wanting more as Cas carefully rested his hands on his shoulders as if not knowing what to do with them but he was so confident in the kiss as he moved his lips along with his own with the same eagerness.  

Then he pulled away too quickly as his hot breath tickled Dean’s lips. His bright eyes looking down at his lips then back at his eyes. “We have to go, Dean.”

“Okay,” Dean leaned down for a quick peek and he couldn’t stop his chuckle as Cas chased after his lips. “Let’s go save the world and then we can pick this up later. Deal?”

Cas nodded, flashing Dean a smile before he said, “Of course, Dean.”

“Guys! Come on!” 

Dean takes Cas’s hand squeezing it before they raced back down the hall to meet up with Sam. A last chapter in Chuck’s story starting but they knew they had the power to write their own ending because they are real. This is real. 

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 3

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

Winter soldiers on, the cold and occasional snow giving way to the promise of spring. Her birthday comes and goes, celebrated at her mother’s with her family as it had been before there was someone else to lay claim to her time on special days. The vacant spaces in her apartment that had been occupied by Ethan’s books and clothes, his toiletries, and VHS collection, begin to be filled by evidence of her new, single life. Her solitary toothbrush in the cup by the sink starts to look normal, the indent on her finger where his ring lived begins to fade, and the silence she arrives home to at the end of her workday becomes mundane instead of painful. Though this change was initiated and welcomed by her, change is always hard. She goes through the motions of being okay until one day in early April, she realizes that she is. The budding crocuses bring with them the optimism of a new life, another chance. A third chance, as it were, to get it right. Now she only has to figure out what right is.

Though they’ve always been close, she and Missy become even closer, taking up the space in each other’s lives that would otherwise be consumed by boyfriends or lovers. They are each other’s better half, sharing the minutiae of their workdays and staying available for unexpected illness or the need to move heavy furniture. While every human needs other humans to thrive, the Scully sisters fill that need with each other, shunning the idea of casual dating simply for the sake of companionship. There is no companion more perfect than the one who has known you since before you could understand the need for such a partner in life, and who is by your side not out of obligation, but because their soul is stitched so firmly to your own. They have always pledged their dedication to each other through thick and thin, and the new year of 1997 proves that to be a sincere promise on both their parts.

As such, they sit at their favorite local coffee shop on Sunday afternoon when Missy finally dares to ask her sister the question she’s avoided for the past four months. Not because she was afraid of her reaction, but because she knew Dana wasn’t ready to talk about it.

“Have you heard from Mulder at all?” she asks so casually that Dana flicks her eyes up and stares in disbelief, not sure that she heard her right.

“What?” Dana asks, her heart having lept for one single beat at the mention of his name.

“Mulder. Have you had any contact with him, or seen him?” Missy is misleadingly casual, acting as though this is not a question she’s been waiting months to ask.

“No,” Dana says flatly, her eyes dropping down to her coffee cup. “I wouldn’t expect to.”

“Does he know that you and Ethan split?” Missy asks next, her feet folded underneath her in the oversized armchair.

“I don’t see how he would,” Dana posits.

“Have you considered reaching out to him?” Missy tries, watching her sister for signs that she is going to shut the conversation down.

Dana shakes her head glumly. “After what I put him through, I’m sure I’m the last person he wants to hear from. That was nearly nine months ago, he’s probably long since moved on.”

“Have you? Moved on?”

Dana pulls in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I don’t know how to answer that. What does it mean, to move on?”

“Do you still think about him?” No assertions, just gentle questions, leading her sister to the conclusion she knows she needs to come to.

Dana nods softly. “All the time. Every day.”

“Then I think your answer would be no. You should contact him, Dana. It feels like unfinished business.” Missy has a thing about unfinished business. She believes it prevents you from achieving your full potential in life.

“Missy...what would I even say? ‘Sorry I broke your heart, good news is it didn’t even work out so it was all for nothing’? I don’t want to cause him more pain than I already have.” Her tone is resigned and defeated. Another regret she will come to live with, pinned to her lapel with a collection of other mistakes that she can never quite atone for.

Missy shrugs. “You know what I think. The rest is up to you.”

Missy is right. The trouble is, she doesn't trust herself to make these decisions anymore. She’s proven to herself that she doesn’t know how to make the right one.

———

“Excuse me,” a rough, nasally voice calls from behind her. She turns to see a red nosed young man in the doorway of the pathologist’s office, slumped against the doorframe with watery eyes. “I’m here to pick up an autopsy report, for, um...I think it’s Richards or something.”

Scully has worked with this courier before, and compared to his typical demeanor it’s easy to tell that he’s unwell.

“Are you alright?” she asks as she uses her feet to push her rolling chair over to the file cabinet, retrieving the report in question.

“Uh, not really, no. But if I call out sick one more time I’m gonna get canned.” He leans his head against the cool metal of the doorframe. She suspects he’s feverish.

“You don’t look well enough to work. Where is this headed?” she asks, still holding the file in her hand.

The young man blows out a stream of air and she holds her breath for a moment, not wanting to inhale whatever he’s infected with. He pulls a slip of paper from his pocket. “Hoover Building, Behavioral Science Unit. Agent Kissop.” He stuffs the paper back in his pocket and looks around, taking refuge in the extra chair near the end of her desk.

She feels a little flutter in her belly; what are the odds?

“I’ll tell you what,” she begins, “I was just about to head out for the day and I live in Georgetown, so I’m going that way anyway. Can I drop this off for you? You don’t look well enough to drive and I’d hate to see you on the news in the morning if you cause an accident.”

He sighs deeply, the biggest display of excitement he can muster. “Are you sure? I’d really appreciate it,” he says, his eyelids barely maintaining half-mast.

“No problem at all,” she replies, gathering her coat and purse. “You get home and take some Tylenol, okay? And get some rest.”

He nods weakly and she leaves him there, climbing into her car with the file and a pounding heart. She can’t help but feel like this is a sign. She’s been thinking about signs a lot lately, and she’s recently resolved to start paying attention to them.

———

Mulder stands beside the copy machine, doing his Wednesday afternoon ritual of fighting with the toner cartridge and cursing profusely. From around the corner, he can hear AD Kirkbride drumming up his own song of profanity, which is more of a daily ritual than a weekly one.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Kirkbride is shouting. “Now that dipshit is conning goddamn doctors into doing his pathetic job?”

Another much softer voice answers him, but Mulder can’t quite make out the words. He moves closer to the open door, bored enough to bother eavesdropping and seeing which of his colleagues is going to get their ass handed to them today.

“Yeah, I’m sure he is sick, that fucking lowlife. He’s sick every fucking week, it’s always something with him!”

“Sir, I don’t know what the history is between you and the courier,” answers the other voice, and it’s familiar in a way that makes him stop in his tracks, his stomach clutching in a mix of nervousness and excitement. “Can you direct me to Agent Kissop, please? Then I’ll be on my way and you can work it out with the courier service.”

It’s Scully. It’s her, he’s sure. He’s been dreaming of that voice for months, the soft sibilant S’s and the way her plush lips rest against her adorable overbite. Without thinking, he enters Kirkbride’s office and sees her standing in front of his desk with a file in her hand and an exasperated look on her face.

“Scully?” he asks, and she turns to him. Her hair is a bit longer, now just past her shoulders, and she’s wearing black slacks and a white blouse. She’s as beautiful as ever, maybe even more than he remembered. She doesn’t look all that surprised to see him. If anything, she looks relieved. Emotion boils up in his chest immediately and he feels his throat constrict.

“You know her?” Kirkbride asks, gesturing to Scully, and Mulder nods. “Great, then show her where Kissop sits so I can call the fucking courier service and tell them to fire that lazy asshat before I strangle him.”

Scully walks towards him and he turns wordlessly to show her out of Kirkbride’s office and down the hall to where Kissop sits. His heart is beating slowly but firmly, his pulse resounding in his ears. What is she doing here? Did she come here to see him? And if so, why? When they arrive at Kissop’s desk, Scully hands her the file and they exchange words that Mulder doesn’t bother to listen to. Then Scully looks at him hesitantly and slowly turns to walk away, towards the exit. He feels suspended, unsure if he can believe his own eyes that she is really here, and entirely conflicted over what to do about it if she is. He’s spent nine months trying to forget her, but she’s as real and alive as ever, standing before him. His self-protective instinct says to let her go, but his heart says to run after her.

“Quit standing here like a dumbass and go talk to her,” Kissop orders him, clearly picking up on some tension though she doesn’t have the faintest idea what’s causing it.

Shaken from his daze, Mulder follows Scully into the hallway.

“Scully,” he calls out, and she stops walking but doesn’t turn around. When he catches up to her, he touches her shoulder and she turns to face him with wet eyes.

They stand there for a moment, looking at one another, an expectant feeling hanging over them. He wants to touch her, to feel the press of her body against his again, but he doesn’t dare. That would seem like a relapse, of sorts.

“Would you have coffee with me?” she finally speaks, her voice small and unsure. It’s an invitation she is not at all confident he will accept.

“Okay,” he answers, and they walk out of the building side by side, silently.

They seem to understand without saying so that Mulder will lead them to where they ought to go, which is a little cafe called Burial Grounds just a block from the front doors of the Hoover Building. They stand in line stoically, tension crackling between them like static as they order something that will occupy their hands and give them a safe place to avert their eyes while they talk. They sit at a small table near the door and wait, glimpsing at each other’s faces and then away, summoning courage. Because this was at Scully’s invitation, it seems like she should have the floor.

“Ethan and I aren’t together anymore,” she finally blurts out, and his first instinct is to look at her hand, which is indeed bare of any jewelry. Next he looks at her face, considering her expression and whether she takes this to be good news or bad. She looks pained, but not about what she’s just said. She’s had this look on her face since he first spotted her in Kirkbride’s office. He’s unsure if he should be offering congratulations or condolences, and irritated that he’s being put in the position to figure it out, so he says nothing.

“I’m sure that I’m just about the last person you want to see,” she continues, her ocean irises tracing the logo printed on her cup. It wasn’t a question, but if it were he’d tell her that she’s the only person he wants to see, the only one he ever thinks about. The reason he can’t sleep and, when he does, the only thing he dreams about. “If it’s okay, there are some things I’d like to say to you. I understand if you don’t want to hear them.”

She flicks her eyes up to meet his for a moment and he nods softly, keeping his expression neutral. She returns her gaze to the skull and crossbones bearing the name of the coffee shop.

“I have always believed that life is about making the right choices. That we are presented with an ongoing series of options, opportunities and situations, and that we are tasked with determining the right choice that will put us on the path towards the best possible life. But as of late,” she pauses to take a sip of her coffee, stealing a glance at him before she continues, “I’ve come to believe that there is actually only one choice. One path we’re supposed to be on, and there are signs along the way to pay attention to. The choices might not always make sense at the time, but in the grand scheme of things, they are the ones you need to make in order to have the best possible life. Or the right life, the one you’re supposed to have.”

She pauses and slides her hand across the table, covering his with her own. The soft warmth of her skin electrifies him a little, sending a flush to his belly. She brings her eyes up to meet his, her brows knit with emotion as her chin gently puckers. She’s so beautiful it physically hurts.

“I ignored the signs,” she says tightly. “I made the wrong choice, Mulder. I thought I was doing the right thing, the best thing, but I was wrong. I’m so sorry that I hurt you.”

He feels his chest tighten, a telltale precursor to tears, and he looks away from her. Why is she doing this? To make herself feel better? She pulls her hand back and sniffs, then stands and slings her purse over her shoulder.

“Thank you for having coffee with me,” she says, and then he watches her leave. He sits there, staring at the pink lipstick that stains the rim of her cup, wishing she’d given him some more time to absorb it all. Wishing she’d never made the wrong choice.