#but in doing so lost the innocent farmer he was

[frozenhi-chews]

My current mental state rn

[motomamita]

fugitive!könig × naive!farmer!reader

warnings: smut, +18, no condom, innocence kink, breeding kink, baby trapping, virginity loss, female reader, dub-con!!

fugitive!könig who managed to escape the law, after committing several crimes, and now travels throughout the country hiding his identity.

On one of his many trips he ends up arriving at a small town, almost lost in time, where its few inhabitants live off their animal farms and orchards. Apparently no one had televisions, and the few radios only broadcast music that was overshadowed by static. This ensured that no one there would be able to recognize him and gave him the opportunity to stay and rest for a few hours.

Tired of walking and extremely hungry, König sat down in a small cafe to have a drink. The people around him looked at him strangely, not only because they didn't know him but also because of his intimidating appearance. His back was broad, he had long legs, and the muscles in his arms were noticeable even though he was wearing a wind jacket that covered him. However, no one seemed to be bothered by his presence, the people there loved tourists and König seemed completely like one.

When it was time to pay, he noticed that he had ordered and consumed more than he could afford. He was about to offer some of his "camping" knives in exchange for the money he was missing until a figure approached him.

"Don't worry if you don't have the money to pay." you spoke with a sweet voice and doing everything possible so that Konig would not feel embarrassed. "I sell the fruits to the owner of the place so I'm sure I can reach an agreement with him."

König was fascinated by you. Not only because of your timely friendliness but also your very natural and almost unique appearance that was very difficult to find in other places. You were wearing a jean gardener, some comfortable shoes and you were carrying a basket that minutes ago was full of fruits and vegetables from your garden. König looked down, somewhat shy and not knowing how to react to you, the truth is that during his escape he had not met many friendly people.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to ask you for anything in return." You smiled when you saw that no words came out of his mouth. "Here we greatly appreciate tourists and travelers, after all they are the ones who keep this small town from turning into a ghost town."

You invited König to take refuge in your small house for as long as he needed before leaving again for another place. König accepted, surprised at your remarkable naivety in letting a complete stranger into your house and providing him with all the care.

When he arrived, you showed him where the shower was and what his room would be where he could rest. You left a clean change of clothes on his bed and selflessly went off to make dinner. Once he cleaned, König followed the delicious smell and came to the kitchen where you were on your back stirring a large pot of what seemed to be a stew. You were so focused that you didn't notice the presence of the big man behind you. he thought about how easy it would be to cut your neck with one of those long knives you had there. But the idea quickly disappeared when you turned around and a wide smile formed on your face when you saw him.

That stew was the best he had tasted in a long time, so much so that he served himself 3 plates, leaving you totally pleased. The next morning, König didn't really know exactly what to do. He could stay one more night and wake up in the middle of the night to raid your entire home, even leave after having a trip with you. He was hesitant, and that hesitation turned into doubt when you offered to cut his hair and trim his long beard, which he accepted.

That same afternoon König sat down to drink a lemonade made by you while he watched you harvest super large, red strawberries from a distance. He fixed his gaze on the way your pants hugged your butt in a tempting way and how you hummed a melody quietly that he couldn't make out. A tingling appeared in König's tummy and he suddenly noticed an erection growing inside his pants. You looked so pretty, so innocent. It was obvious from afar that you didn't kill a fly and that your care for him was sincere.

The days passed and König seemed to have no intention of leaving, that didn't bother you at all. Now he helped you with the heavy work on the farm, carrying large amounts of hay on his shoulder and feeding the animals. His favorite activity was watching you milk the cows, fantasizing about your hands and the way the milk dripped from them.

His approaches to you intensified, taking advantage of the slightest opportunity to touch you or rub against you. he soon discovered that you had no idea about any sexual activity, acting confused at his double meaning words and insinuations. You were the perfect muse to fulfill all his fantasies without anyone being able to stop him.

Your parents had died a long time ago, leaving you alone in charge of the big farm and all the obligations of the adult world. That led König to think that life on that farm couldn't be bad. He knew how to handle hard work well and you did everything you could to teach him and please him. The idea of ​​starting from scratch, with you there, totally convinced him.

You were a healthy, hard-working woman and you needed someone like konig with you. But König needed to have something that would force you to keep him there with you, forever and that would confirm the mutual love that you both had to give each other. That's when he found the solution: he had to get you pregnant.

That afternoon he made a point that you wouldn't leave the stable until you were full of his cum. He started by complimenting your dress and how pretty that color looked on you. Then the caresses that increased in intensity until he managed to let you be carried away by him and his carnal desire. Now he had you under him, with your skirt up and your underwear hanging from one of your feet. Out of desperation, König only lowered his pants to his heels, even with his work boots on. You were on a large pile of hay, sweating from the great summer heat and moaning loudly.

His thrusts were brutal, making their way inside you that you barely had time to understand everything that was happening. The pleasure was so much that you could barely think about anything other than König's gaze and the way his balls slapped your ass.

"Oh, baby. You're so so tight.. And wet, shit" König groaned, sighing loudly at the pleasure your pussy was giving him. "Tell me, how did a cute little thing like you stay a virgin for so long, huh?" You opened your mouth to answer but only moans came out. "Uh? Talk to me, sweetheart, talk to me.."

"I.. I don't know.." you managed to say, overstimulated by everything. König's rough shirt rubbed against your clit, giving both pleasure and pain. König was so big that he covered you with his entire body, leaving you with almost no place to breathe air other than his breath.

"Uh? Don't you know? These farm boys are idiots... They wouldn't know how to please a pretty thing like you..." König cut off his sentence to get even closer to you and kiss you, putting his tongue inside your mouth. You tried to keep up with him but that triggered the kiss to be even wetter and hotter for him.

"König.. Give me more, please!" He smiled as he heard the urgency in your broken voice. You looked so pretty like that, almost not understanding what was happening but still pleased and eager for him to give you even more.

He, ready to please you, grabbed your legs and raised them to your shoulder, adopting a new position. His thrusts continued, his fat cock forcing its way into your no longer so virgin pussy and the simple sound of your skin slapping together made your warm walls embrace him. Not really knowing what to do, you brought your hands to König's big, muscular shoulders, feeling a few scars on them.

"Oh, my pretty little thing.. I'm going to fill you inside and you're going to be the prettiest mom in this whole damn town.." You dug your nails into his shoulder and your gaze was filled with confusion. "You like it, huh? You're going to make me so happy, isn't that what you want?"

You hesitated for a few seconds, not sure what he meant but his cock rammed even deeper into you leaving you almost without any thought. Tears formed in your eyes from the pleasure and absolute adoration with which he looked at you.

"Come on, mommy.. Make me happy, carry my precious baby.."

In the same way that König had managed to get his way in prison, he had gotten his way with you. Now you both lived together as a couple on the farm, happy and with a baby on the way inside your fertile womb.

[deathbxnny]

*Yanqing angst lurker sneaks in*

Congrats on the followers.

May I please request Yanqing and Jing Yuan Headcannons with an S/O who came from a planet that the Xianzhou ravaged/killed? Like, their planet received Yaoshi’s blessing and were healed (still going to die of old age, but not in a painful way) but then these massive ships came down from the sky and killed their people? Their people, who were farmers and weavers and storytellers who stood no chance of fighting back.

The absolute betrayal they feel when they learn that their partner took pride in that?

Oof, imma break that boys heart.

(They don’t plan to hurt anyone on the Xianzhou. They literally just trying to live with the trauma and survivors guilt.)

Oooh I really love this idea, Anon!! Thank you for the request and I hope you'll like this!<33

Content: Heavy angst, talks of vague trauma regarding survivors guilt, non-descriptive genocide, hurt/no comfort, established relationships, break ups?, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!!

((Not proofread))

》YANQING

You tried your best to tell yourself that Yanqing would never feel pride in your people's genocide. You were so awfully desperate to believe in it, despite never having the courage to ask him directly. He was so proud of who he was and what the Luofu stood for. You knew it was foolish in the end to wish he'd think what happened was wrong... but somehow, you still felt shocked and heartbroken when he expressed his pride.

He didn't know any better, it's just how he was raised, you reasoned again, and yet your rage came as a surprise to the both of you. Perhaps it was because you were sick of hiding who you were in fear, the terror and guilt all consuming as you attempted to bury it within you with whatever was left of your past identity. It hurt to be a human when it was stripped from you the second your peaceful planet became the enemy.

Yanqing was shocked by your outburst, of course, all pride melting off his shoulders in horror. He never expected this from you, and most importantly, he never expected his own s/o to be a part of the enemies he was taught to hate so much. It pulled the veil of deceit off his head and made him question everything he had ever been told. Who was the real enemy here? It broke him to realise that the Luofu had actually done something wrong. He never thought that that was possible.

He watches you run off crying, his body frozen in fear from the betrayal and uncertainty of what to do with himself now that he knew the truth. Yanqing doesn't follow you immediately, mainly because he'll be too ashamed to show his face around you. He felt disgusted with himself and therefore takes a while to reflect on his and his people's actions, which eventually leads him to go question the general with a certain air of vengeance for the lies he'd been told.

He'd accept you breaking up with him with a heavy heart, knowing that it was ultimately for the best. Yanqing would never tell anyone about your identity, deciding that he'd simply atone and, in turn, protect the last person from an innocent planet they had wronged as a form of self punishment. He understands your pain and vows to wait for you, even if you'll never forgive him.

》JING YUAN

The general was proud of himself and the Luofu for all it stood no matter what. Every battle he was in, whether won or lost, he wore on his chest proudly all the same. With that said, I still doubt he'd agree with a complete genocide of a planet, even if he publicly would have to. And he knew what you were from the day he met you as well. Not that he let you know that.

His guilt only slowly developed over time for what he believed was a horribly wrong act against people who couldn't even defend themselves. But the worst of it was seeing the effect it had on you, the person he loved more than life itself. He had sworn his soul to you, and yet there was something so twisted with how he had to stand so tall and string for the decisions of his own people. He was disgusted with it way more than anyone would expect him to be. It made him near self-deprecating.

He was waiting for your outburst, for you to finally explode and tell him how much you hated him and his people. He acknowledged that your people accepted the blessing out of necessity and who could blame you in the end? You did what was best for you, even if it was deemed as wrong. But despite knowing all that, he still stayed to be a hypocrite when you did finally yell and scream at him in rage over making an insensitive comment at a dinner gathering.

He doesn't go after you when you break off the relationship, his heart aching for him to move, to chase you down, and plead for forgiveness. But this was all a part of his plan. He wanted you to leave the Luofu and go somewhere where you could be happier, where you wouldn't be reminded of your pain every day. Even if it was without him.

Your identity is a secret, one not even the worst torture could get out of him. He may be betraying his own people now as well, but as you leave him behind in his office, he comes to the realization that he was used to it by now.

Alrighttt... I hope this was okay, Anon!! I made it super angsty, but it also just fit too well. Thank you again for the request btw!!

[justpoliteconversations]

Fool's Bet [Hyrule + Reader]

You made a bet you shouldn't have. And almost lost.

Just something to share while my brain fizzes for while on the rediscovered trash heap. This is pretty rough, but I'll take some time later to edit it.

Masterlist

TW: Choosing not to disclose. Read at your own discretion.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise. Linked Universe is the fan creation of jojo56830.

---

It was those eyes. That damned honey sweet gaze shimmering under thick, dark lashes and lighting up the delicate constellation of freckles dusting tanned cheeks beneath. It was the glossy tears (fat and shiny and fake as hell, but so damned pretty against the wide round of his dark eyes) rimming those lashes like a string of pearls.

It was the way earthy brown rings melted into golden specks of starlight peeking through the warm swirl of honey and chocolate. How light and shadows intermixed and brought forth an innocent (deceitful) glimmer of pleading. Like fairy chimes in the night. Soft as a whisper, sweet as peach flesh.

Dangerous. Tempting. (Chime.)

Trusted.

"Please." Hyrule pleaded (whispered? chimed?), those bewitching (enchanting) eyes locked on yours. Brows softened and pulled just so into an expression so beguiling, so ingenuous, it pulled a sweat to your own (manipulative, pointy-eared little bastard. damn fairy-borne liar and trickster). "I made it for you!" (Chime.)

You hesitated (a mistake. a death sentence).

Behind you War's quiet curse felt like tiny fairies' feet dancing upon your grave. Sky's mumbled prayer the solemn temple bell tolling over the final, sacred grounds at dusk.

Time gazed upon you with pity. And glee. The light of mischief shining in his hooded eye like moonlight on still water.

(Fairy boy, indeed. May cuccos sully your boots next you rest, farmer boy.)

Hyrule smiled softly then. Lower lip wobbling, the tip of his nose and curved sharp of his cheekbones flushed pink. Ears pinned tight against his thick, dark curls. Beautiful little waves that fluttered in the wind and curled softly against his face and delicate neck.

(The very picture of harmless vulnerability.)

(The perfect little mask. Hiding a gleeful little smile caged around a fae giggle.)

(Chime.)

Your heart thundered at the sight of it, and you swallowed thickly around the knot pulsing in the tender flesh of your throat. Your wide, searching eyes scanning, pleading, begging.

Eyes glanced away from yours in shame (Twilight having to step away entirely, lest he be drawn into a battle he has no chance of escaping unscaved. so moved to compassion as he is by your plight). Though some meet yours with amusement (may your pantless legs be besieged by ticks, bunny boy. And your beloved winds blow seagull shit into your hair, sailor).

(Chime.)

Warm (uncomfortably so. like sitting too close to an open flame), callous-roughened fingers touch the sensitive skin on the back of your hand, drawing you out of your internal cursing (and panic). And from one breath to the next, your lock eyes with the man (fae-borne. liar. trickster. trusted. enchanting) once more and your fall back down into the depths of an emotional whirlwind.

The gleam of honey and gold and enchanting (bewitching) (chime) light swirl in the melting warmth of brown. Dazzling and beloved.

Something is put in your hands. Warm (too warm) fingers wrap around yours.

(What is that?) (Chime.)

"It's good." Hyrule says (whispers? echoes? chimes?) reassuringly, brows still so pleading and eyes so sad. So sad. So sad.

White, straight bones caged by slips of pink, curled flesh. Gold and honey and-

Your hands are moving. Your eyes have not (cannot) break away.

"You can do it." Hyrule encourages (whispers? echoes? chimes?), his hands on yours. Moving. Guiding. (Chiming. Chiming. Commanding.)

A gasp. Someone has to support Sky as he goes feint. Legend's eyes are wide and intently focused. Bright, bright blue and fixated on the atrocity (and curiosity) being committed in front of him.

It's lost to you.

Your mouth opens. The gold is so strong now. Stronger than the honey. The brown. The light.

Stronger than you.

(You're salivating like a dog.)

"What in the Goddess' name are you doing?" Four was suddenly there (where did he come from?), his hand snatching your closed(?) fist away from your face (when had it gotten there?). His expression twisted in some unreadable combination of amusement and frustration. "Hylia give me the strength to deal with these fools."

The gold vanished. Hyrule's eyes dimmed to dark, honey brown. Expression relaxing into a small, embarrassed and natural grin (bright and warm as sunshine. nothing like the intoxicating honey sweet of before). "Don't be mad, Four! They bet me 50 rupees I couldn't charm them into eating my rations!" Four made a face that clearly expressed how much he didn't approve of such an idiotic wager.

None of that mattered to you though. Because you were free once more. Of body and of mind.

And you were holding to most putrid slab of meat you (and probably any of the chain besides Hyrule) had ever come across. The congealed grease of the half dried meat ribbons oozing between your fingers and weaving cold, shinning paths of pinkish-orange gelatin down your wrists and one unfortunate elbow.

On your bottom lip. Something cool dripped down your chin. Down your neck. Pooled at you collarbones.

Twilight, keeping his distance (from the horrendous stretch more than anything) but with eyes full of concern, cast you a pitying glance. "You okay there?"

Eight pairs of eyes found you. Just in time to watch you empty your stomach contents all over your grease streaked hands and boots.

Unsurprisingly, Hyrule was the only one who was surprised by this sudden turn of events. "The Meat!"

And somewhere in the forest, leaning over a freshly hunted buck, Wild's hand twitched with the unexplainable impulse to pinch Hyrule right on the ear. Hard.

---

Time to rest now.

[fangirleaconmigo]

Lambert and the Tribute

Ok. Hear me out. You know how there is the porny/smutty trope of the witcher who saves a family/town from a dangerous beast? And the towns folk are like, well, we don't have (or want to spend) money, so, here is our young sexy innocent but eager son/daughter as a tribute? *cue porn music*

So as usual last night, I was thinking about blorbos and shit instead of sleeping, and was like...how about we turn that trope around a bit? (not that there is anything wrong with it, I just like fiddling with tropes)

I present to you my concept, and I'm using Lambert for this because as I thought of it, I could hear his voice in my head.

...

So, Lambert comes back from the hunt, exhausted, out of breath, bruised, cut up, but triumphant.

He stands in front of the penniless farmer with the gnarly severed head of a beast. He has saved all of their lives. Because of him, life continues.

But the poor farmer is clearly distraught. He is a young man, early twenties, and is like...thank you so much Mr Witcher sir, we are mighty obliged. But sadly, tragically, we have no money. The harvest was lost, and we are hungry as it is.

The poor farmer tries to explain. Sir, I would gladly offer you my sexy and eager but wide eyed and innocent daughter as tribute, but tragically, my kids are too young to be sexy tributes. Mr. Witcher, they simply aren't reproductive age yet.

And the farmer is standing there, just anxious as hell about what the witcher will demand instead, like, will it be his young bride? His beautiful raven haired wife? They're basically newlyweds still and so very much in love. He can't abide the thought! He's racking his brain, is there anyone young and nubile and teen of aged in the next town???

And then he realizes fuck, WORST OF ALL, I hope this fucker doesn't want the law of surprise because that never ends well. Inside, this man is screaming, please do not take my kids in any capacity.

But isn't that what witchers ALWAYS want??? Children to make into MUTANTS????

So this poor (in every sense of the word) guy is stammering and angsting, but Lambert isn't paying any attention to him. He literally has not said a single word to him. He's not even looking at him. He's leaning a little to the right and looking past this guy, over his shoulder.

The farmer starts to get annoyed. Mr. Witcher, he thinks, I'm struggling here, help me out a little.

Lambert drops the nasty monster head with a thunk and turns back to the guy. Lamb is not particularly put out. He knew this family was poor. But still. This doesn't have to be for nothing.

He wipes the bloody sweat off his forehead with his arm and nods behind the man.

"What about him? He game?"

The farmer looks like his brain has just blanked out. He stares in silence. He slowly turns and looks behind him. Then he turns back to Lambert, waiting for him to laugh or to clarify. Lambert just stares at him expectantly.

"Well?" Lambert asks.

The penniless farmer is like.. "You---you want...m-...m-"

The young farmer doesn't wanna say it because that can't be right and he doesn't wanna embarrass himself. But Lambert is not helping him out at all. He's just looking at him like he's an utter dumbass, just waiting for him to get his shit together. "Spit it out, man."

Farmer tries again. "Mr. Witcher, sir. Are you saying that you want...my... FATHER?"

Lambert looks back at the object of his fascination. An older man is working, hauling bales of hay, loading them up in a wagon. And this man is like, mid-fifties, barrel chest covered with gray hair, full beard, inhospitable expression, overalls, dusty boots. He's thick, muscled and hard, he's covered in sweat, he's got calluses, he looks exactly like a man that's been busting his ass in the fields for more than a few decades.

As Lambert stares at the father, his expression starts to look a little hungry. "Is that your pops?"

"Uhhh yes?' The farmer's voice kind of screeches into a higher register.

Lambert shrugs. "Ok, well yea, your pops then. Ask 'im if he's game. Go ahead. I ain't got all day."

The young farmer just swivels, his eyes still in disbelief, still thinking he's going to humiliate himself. He wants the ground to open up and swallow him. He is starting to think maybe his youngest kid would make a good witcher after all. But Lambert is waiting and doesn't look perturbed. He doesn't look like he's kidding.

"Uh, dad?" The farmer is well, well into adulthood but his voice still cracks. But his dad hears.

The big older guy drops his bale and turns around. His eyes are sharp and hard. "Yep?"

The young farmer swallows. "Yes, um, father, the witcher here saved us."

"Obliged." The older man's voice is low, gravely, and he sounds like a man who does not suffer fools.

Lambert nods, an eager twinkle starting to gleam in his eyes. "Glad to help. It's what I do."

The young farmer continues, "And well, you know, we don't have any money to pay him. What with the bad harvest and all."

The dad nods, waiting. He's quiet too, not helping the young farmer out at all. So the younger farmer soldiers ahead. "So, father, he, the witcher that is, was wondering, um, if you would, um, want to be the uh..." he takes a breath and tries to say it fast, "tribute."

The young farmer almost faints from mortification. He's waiting for his dad to laugh at his idiocy. To shout at him. To kick his ass.

But what the Dad does is slowly raise his eyebrows. Then he turns purposefully towards Lambert. He switches his weight a little to one of his hips, and just quietly begins to look Lambert up and and down, assessing him with extreme interest. He is silently just raking his eyes from the top of Lambert's head down to his toes.

Lambert's grin gets wider, like it gleams, because at this point, he knows he's in. If the man is checking whether he is his type, then well, he's good with men. And Lambert just knows he'll be this man's type. Why wouldn't he be for fuck sake?

When the older man's gaze gets to his crotch, Lambert gives his prick a cocky little squeeze and licks his lips.

The older man grunts, and if the young farmer didn't know it was an interested noise, he certainly does when his father gives Lambert a wink. "Name's Abe, young buck."

The young farmer whispers several prayers for the gods to deliver him from this moment.

"Hi Abe," says Lambert, just eager and smug sounding as shit.

Abe takes his gloves off and hands them to his son as he passes him. He only says three words. "Don't wait up."

Lambert chuckles to himself, and there is a little hop in his step as they walk off together, since he is already anticipating the cock in his ass and could not be more overjoyed. Abe slides his hand down Lambert's trousers and squeezes his ass possessively.

The younger farmer just stands there with his jaw dropped. He had no idea whatsoever that his dad has this side to him. That man silently and stoically raised a family of seven children with his dearly departed mother, rest her soul. All his father ever did was work. You think you know a person. Honestly.

Lambert and Abe are long gone, and the son is still standing there in shock, when his beautiful young bride comes out of the house with a toddler on her hip. "Where did father go?"

The young farmer always likes that about his bride, she calls his dad father. "Yes. Heeee, um, went to pay the witcher for his services."

The young bride is surprised, she didn't know that father had money after the poor harvest they'd had, what with the locusts and all that. But oh isn't that a nice surprise, she thinks. "Well how generous of him. What a kind and giving man father is."

The young farmer puts his arm around his beautiful bride and pulls her in tight. "You know what my darling," he says, "it didn't seem like he minded in the least."

---the end

(and if any of you talented writers out there wants to write the sex scene, I would pledge my eternal friendship and love to you)

[chickenkurage]

"Warm (S)now"

Summary: Everyone knows Snow doesn’t have the best universe out of all of them. They just didn’t know it was to this extent…

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Found Family.

*~*

Kit: Cursor Alan

Vee: Teen Alan

Feathers: Duck Alan

Noogai: Artificial Intelligence Alan

Snow: Creator Stickman Alan

Oji: Farmer Alan

*~*

It was difficult for Alan—erm, Snow—to admit that he felt envious of the other Alans he was currently sharing a space with. The question lingered in his mind: they all appeared to be remarkable individuals. He found himself unable to ask them to stop recounting their tales from their world, because he secretly wished he could remain in their company.

"My Chosen loves to annoy my Dark," Oji chuckled, while Vee nodded in agreement, giggling softly. "Mine too. They actually have a great bond. My Dark enjoys crafting origami in his spare time," Vee added with a gentle smile. Amidst their conversation, Snow remained quiet, biting his lip, his eye twitching as he fixed his gaze on the television screen.

It wasn't that Snow despised their discussions; he genuinely enjoyed learning more about them. Yet, at times, he longed for their conversations to take place in his absence. He couldn't help but feel envious upon hearing about the deep connections they shared with their respective Chosen and Dark. In contrast, he returned home to a silent PC, while they all led busy lives on the Outernet.

Lost in his thoughts, Snow felt a sense of numbness creeping over him. The voices of Vee and Oji seemed to fade into static, their words blending together as he focused on the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat, trying to suppress the stinging sensation in his eyes.

"S-Snow?" Oji's touch on his shoulder jolted him back to the present moment, causing him to look at the other individual with a start. "Yes?" Snow responded, meeting Oji's gaze with a mixture of surprise and confusion. Oji studied his expression for a moment before shaking his head.

"Never mind... What about you? How is the relationship between your Chosen and Dark?" Vee asked eagerly, his eyes sparkling with anticipation as he turned his attention to Snow, his radiant smile making him inwardly cringe.

Should he reveal the truth? Admit that he was clueless about what his Chosen and Dark were up to at that very moment? "Vee is still so young," Snow mused silently, gazing into her bright eyes and wishing he possessed the same innocence.

With a forced smile, Snow replied, "Yeah, they get along well." Vee's enthusiastic cheer filled the room, "That's amazing! It's so heartwarming that in every universe, Chosen and Dark are friends." Oji chuckled behind his hand while Vee nodded vigorously, "It's mind-blowing! I can't wrap my head around how all of this is real!" He exclaimed, squeezing his cheeks in excitement.

"It's like having our own personal DJ, right?" Oji remarked with a smile. Snow's smile faltered, a shadow passing over his face briefly before he turned his attention back to the TV, concealing his reaction. A bitter taste lingered in his mouth as thoughts of his own abandoned DJ resurfaced.

*~*

Snow was sure Kit was some kind of version of him, except a cat. It wasn’t weird for Snow, it was oddly endearing. He always had a soft spot for cats after all,

"Here, can you scratch behind my ears?" Kit asked eagerly, sprawling on Snow's lap and wriggling around like an oversized cat. Snow observed him with a gentle smile. "Sure, come over here," Snow beckoned with a wave of his hand, prompting Kit to scoot closer with a delighted giggle.

As Snow scratched behind Kit's ears and then pet his head, Kit purred with excitement. "You almost do it the same way as my Second!" Kit exclaimed happily, lying contentedly on Snow's lap and gazing up at him in admiration. "Your Second... pets you?" Snow asked, arching an eyebrow as Kit burst into giggles.

"I used to be a cursor, Snow. They all used to pet me and cuddle me," Kit beamed, reminiscing. Snow wrestled with the impulse to retort, "Well, I wish I were a cursor then," but instead offered Kit a strained smile, gently petting his head. "That's adorable," Snow responded as Kit giggled.

"They still show me affection even though I'm a stick now! Dark and Chosen give me hugs, Vic helps me sleep at night, and Second loves playing with my hair," Kit sighed happily, curling up on his side, facing away from Snow.

"Is that so?" Snow inquired, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Mhmm, I adore them so much," Kit affirmed, releasing a small giggle. Snow merely shook his head silently. "That's wonderful," he replied, his voice tinged with numbness and weariness.

*~*

Snow found some comfort in the fact that Noogai had no ties to his own versions of Second, Dark, Chosen, and Victim. Initially, this realization had stirred feelings of guilt within him, but it also lessened his envy of the others. After all, it wasn't just him anymore, in this situation, was it?

As he watered the flowers, Snow emitted a frustrated sound from the back of his throat. Beside him, Noogai had Feathers perched on his head, both diligently tending to the flowers with meticulous attention to detail, counting the seconds for each plant to receive adequate nourishment.

A bead of sweat trickled down Snow's neck as he sensed Feathers' gaze upon him.

Among all the versions of Alan, Feathers stood out as perhaps the most intimidating. Despite being stuck in the body of a duck, Feathers possessed an uncanny ability to read them all, and above all, he relished "confrontation"... Snow couldn't help but shudder internally.

"Snow," Feathers called out, causing Snow to whirl around so quickly that he almost feared he might strain his neck. "Yes?" Snow responded, his voice tinged with nervousness as Feathers scrutinized him, studying his expression.

"Are you alright?" Feathers inquired, his gaze fixed on Snow's face.

"I'm fine," Snow replied with a nervous chuckle, swallowing anxiously as he turned back to the flowers. Perhaps he was simply afraid that Feathers would judge him for harboring such thoughts. 

It felt incredibly selfish to wish that there was an Alan out there who shared his struggles. Snow couldn't help but wish that he wouldn't feel so out of place or burdened by the inability to foster positive relationships with his own versions of Chosen, Dark, and Victim.

"Are you absolutely sure?" Feathers prodded, scrutinizing Snow, who nodded so vigorously that if his head were a ball, it might have rolled away.

Their attention shifted to Noogai, who suddenly slumped, dropping the watering can to the ground. Feathers flew towards Snow, landing in his open arms. "Charger," Feathers muttered in disappointment, glancing at Noogai, who had once again forgotten to charge his body.

Snow echoed, "Charger."

As Feathers departed to fetch Oji, Noogai stirred, turning to face Snow and giving him a nod. "You owe me," Noogai stated before heading back into the house, leaving Snow gaping in surprise.

*~*

It was one of those nights again, a gathering where everyone opted to stay over, forming a circle and delving into discussions about their lives in their respective universe. As Vee began to speak, seated next to him, Snow felt beads of sweat forming on his brow.

"What should I share?" Snow pondered, resisting the urge to bite his nail, turning his attention to Vee and the rest of the group who listened intently.

"I never realized the Hollowheads all thought I was a 35-year-old man this whole time!" Vee chuckled, prompting laughter from the others. "How did that happen? It's oddly surreal to picture myself as a child now," Feathers remarked, as Oji chuckled, picking up a feather from the ground and gently placing it in Kit's hair. 

Kit had dozed off midway through the conversation and was now peacefully sleeping on Noogai's shoulder.

"Well, technically, I never had the chance to tell them, but they didn't ask either, so I assumed they knew," Vee confessed, a blush tinting his cheeks as he rubbed them, eliciting a chuckle from Oji. "It's quite adorable, isn't it?" Oji remarked, to which Vee responded with a small laugh and a nod. "I'm grateful that we're all friends now, in fact... brothers!" Vee cheered, prompting applause from Oji.

Snow felt a bead of sweat trickle down his neck as Vee concluded his tale, glancing back at everyone as they turned their attention to him, his heart racing. His pulse quickened even more when Feathers shot him a meaningful look. 

"What about you?" Oji smiled warmly as Snow scratched his cheek, attempting to conceal the slight tremble in his hands from the nerves.

For once, Snow was grateful to be seated on the floor, knowing that he would be bouncing his leg to release some of that pent-up nervous energy.

"Uh, well... mine is actually quite nice," Snow began, cringing inwardly at how unimpressive it sounded. He noticed Oji and Feathers exchange glances, while Vee raised a curious eyebrow. "And then... what else?" Vee inquired once more, his eyes filled with anticipation, prompting Snow to avert his gaze, scratching his cheek as he delved into the recollections of his time with the Hollow Heads.

Snow's eyes widened as a particular memory surfaced, one of his favorites.

"Me and my Dark used to bake together at night. Our baking sessions often stretched until 3 am, and we would leave a spread of food on the table for Second to discover upon waking up," Snow recounted with a smile, evoking giggles from Vee. "That's incredibly sweet!" Vee remarked, as Oji grinned in approval. "And there was this one time I pulled a prank on everyone, especially the Color Gang. I was so good at feigning innocence that Second never even suspected me," Snow added, chuckling softly at the memory.

It felt as though those moments had just passed like a fleeting dream.

"Well, there was this one time when I fell ill inexplicably. Chosen, Dark, and Second nursed me back to health," Snow recounted with a grin, though inside, his heart ached at the memory. The thought of rekindling those connections filled him with longing.

"Snow," Vee said softly, his tone tinged with sadness. Snow turned to him, puzzled, only to realize that Kit had awakened and everyone was gazing at him with somber expressions.

"You're crying..." Kit remarked, a small frown creasing his brow. "H-Huh?" Snow gasped, feeling tears trickling down the back of his hand. He hastily wiped them away, casting an embarrassed glance at the group. "Uh, um... that's embarrassing," Snow stammered, clearing his throat and diverting his gaze, the room descending into an uncomfortable silence.

"Snow... we understand that there are things you can't share with us. We're not pressuring you, but remember, we're here for you," Feathers expressed, waddling over to Snow and giving his knee a comforting pat.

Snow turned to face them, his cheeks flushing. "Oh... Th-thank you—" His words were cut off by a yelp as everyone, except Noogai, leaned in for a group hug. Oji rolled his eyes playfully as Noogai detached himself from the charger and joined in, enveloping them all in a warm embrace, causing Snow to sniffle.

"Wow—uh, thank you, guys," Snow managed, his voice breaking with emotion, as they all shared a laugh. "Dog pile on Snow!" Kit exclaimed excitedly, and they all piled on top of Snow, who let out a joyful laugh, falling onto his back as his friends surrounded him.

For the first time since arriving here, he felt enveloped in warmth and love.

*~*

Fun Fact: Snow (CS Alan) as of now is in the start of Arc 3 (!!)

Another Fun Fact: Noogai still forgets to charge himself and Oji is usually the one to do it for him (or remind him)

That's all! :D

[underground-secret]

The Hunter and The Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: The group investigates the case of a maniacal ghost inhabiting a long abandoned Texas farmhouse known as `Hell House'. They believe the ghost is the spirit of a deceased depression-era farmer who killed his family, but they soon realise it is something far more powerful.

Warnings: Cannon violence, mentions of suicide and sh within the cannon story, a guy being a little icky.

Credit: While I’ve had the idea for a certain part of this story for a while i’m still going to give credit to @arjwrites for it because she wrote something pretty darn similar, even more than just pretty darn so yes check their work out and stuff.

Tag List: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra @fablesrose @ada--44 @bonkydarnes @star-yawnznn @crazyunsexycool @onlyangel-444 @seninjakitey @mystic-mara @mxltifxndom @stilesxreid @chaotic-luvrs @tiggytaylor @deanwasscaredbyacat @imaginexred

Word Count: 11,341

Hell House

(Masterlist, Previous Ch, Next Ch, Outfit Board)

The Impala cruises down the interstate, yellows, and browns passing by as the hot Texas sun beams through the opened windows. Hair blowing back in the wind and tickling my skin, my sunglasses perched on my nose as I nod along to the Blue Öyster Cult song that played quietly on the radio. If Sam wasn’t peacefully sleeping, head leaning far back against his seat and mouth hanging open I’d ask Dean to make the song louder—it was a really good song though I prefer (Don’t Fear) The Reaper over Fire of Unknown Origin any day.

Dean stretches an arm back, leaning over the seat to grab hold of a stray plastic spoon left on the seat beside me. He places the spoon in Sam’s open mouth. He chuckles to himself as he thumbs through his pocket for his phone, flipping it open and taking a photo. I scuff and roll my eyes at the sight as my hand finds its way into my bag where I pull out my digital camera, “Do a pose,” I whisper to Dean. He checks the empty road in front of him, slowing the car significantly before half turning and spilling widely with a thumbs up, I try not to laugh as I take the picture. I nod to him in confirmation that I got it, he puts his attention back on the road, putting more pressure on the gas pedal, glimpsing at Sam to make sure he’s still asleep before his fingers find the knob on the radio and turn the music all the way up. “Fire of unknown origins…took my baby away!” he sings loudly.

Sam jerks awake, arms flailing around in panic as he spits out the spoon. Dean air drums along to the song, fingers hitting the steering wheel, grinning as Sam wipes his mouth of drool. He turns down the music, an unamused look on his face, “Ha ha, very funny.”

Dean chuckles, “Sorry, not a lot of scenery here in East Texas, kinda gotta make your own.”

“Man we’re not kids anymore, Dean,” he complains, “We’re not going to start that crap up again.”

“Start what up?” Dean asks, feigning innocence.

“That prank stuff. It’s stupid, and it always escalates,” he clarifies, very annoyed with the little prank. But he was right, it did always escalate. I have heard many stories of the things they did and they were not pretty. As long as I didn’t get caught in the crossfire, they could go at it all they wanted, “But you’re never too old to do stupid things,” I add.

“Aw, what’s the matter Sammy, scared you’re going to get a little Nair in your shampoo again, huh?” Dean teases, grinning like a madman.

“Alright, just remember you started it,” Sam warns, smirking right back.

“Bring it on, baldy,” he taunted.

“Ok, but don’t make him bald again, that would be so tragic. Every guy with pretty hair gets a buzz cut and it’s like an angel lost its wings, it’s horrible,” I butt in.

“That’s the point,” Dean chuckles, probably reminiscing on the first time he did it to Sam and how much worse it would be now as an adult than when he was a kid. “Anyways where are we?” Sam asks, apparently not worried about the danger surrounding his hair.

“A few hours outside of Richardson,” he answers, “Gimme the lowdown again?”

Sam pulls out the file he created, printed papers neatly held in a manila folder, “Alright, about a month or two ago this group of kids goes poking around in this local haunted house.”

“Haunted by what?” Dean asks.

“Apparently, a pretty misogynistic spirit,” he answers. I sigh, these kinds of spirits made for an incredibly annoying job, “Why are they always misogynistic? Literally, go kill anyone else! Or, spice it up and kill guys too.”

“Take that up with the spirit,” Dean says.

“Yeah, no thanks, I like living,” I retort with a smirk.

“Well, legend goes, it takes girls and strings them up in the rafters,” Sam continues, “Anyway this group of kids see this dead girl hanging in the cellar.”

“Anybody ID the corpse?” Dean asks, also getting back on track.

“Well, that’s the thing. By the time the cops got there the body was gone. So cops are saying the kids were just yanking chains,” Sam elaborates.

“Do you think they were?” I question, it wouldn’t be the first time kids lied about this sort of thing as a prank or for attention and coverage, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. But, on the other hand, if you're looking for something to happen in a known haunted location there’s a good chance you’ll get something. “Maybe, but I read a couple of the kid's first-hand accounts. They seemed pretty sincere,” he answers.

“They made the papers?” I ask, taken aback a little. Though it made sense for the case to likely make the papers, it would be surprising for accounts like that to be taken in main news articles, it’d be seen as a waste of time. “No,” Sam responds without making a sign he would elaborate.

“Where’d you read these accounts?” Dean pushes. Sam smiles, his cheeks just turning the slightest shade of pink, “Well, I knew we were going to be passing through Texas. So, um, last night, I surfed some local…” he drags before getting the rest out quickly, “paranormal websites. And I found one.”

I give him a questioning look, it’s hard to take those sites seriously, especially when it's hard to weed out the crazies from real accounts. But even more than that, in the case such sites are speaking the truth, then it was putting said people in danger they wouldn’t know how to solve, which meant a whole lot of stubborn and ignorant people. “And what’s it called?” Dean asks, smirking as if he knew where this would lead.

“HellHoundsLair.com,” Sam almost mumbles, obviously knowing how illegitimate and silly it sounds.

“Lemme guess, streaming live out of Mom’s basement,” Dean muses, and like any sane person I can’t help the laugh that escapes my chest. Sam, somehow, manages to just grin, “Yeah, probably.”

“Yeah. Most of those websites wouldn’t know a ghost if it bit ‘em in the persqueeter,” Dean adds.

“What’s a persqueeter?” I ask, the word slow and clumsy on my tongue. My eyes squint slightly as I try to figure it out. “It’s a—“ Sam cuts him off, “That’s not important right now,” he starts and I frown at not getting my answer, “Look. We let Dad take off. Which was a mistake, by the way. And now we don’t know where the hell he is, so in the meantime we gotta find ourselves something to hunt. There’s no harm checking this thing out.”

“Alright,” Dean gives in, “So where do we find these kids?”

“Same place you always find kids in a town like this.”

Guy 1: “It was the scariest thing I ever saw in my life, I swear to God.”

Guy 2: “From the moment we walked in, the walls were painted black.”

Guy 1: “Red.”

Girl: “I think it was blood.”

Guy 1: “All these freaky symbols.”

Guy 2: “Crosses and stars and…”

Guy 1: “Pentagons.”

Guy 2: “Pentacostals.”

Girl: “Whatever I had my eyes closed the whole time.”

Guy 1: “But I can damn sure tell you this much. No matter what anybody else says…”

Girl: “That poor girl.”

Guy 2: “With the black…”

Guy 1: “Blonde…”

Girl: “Red hair, just hanging there.”

Guy 1: “Kicking!”

Guy 2: “Without even moving!”

Girl: “She was real.”

Guy 1: “One hundred percent.”

Guy 2: “And kinda hot. Well, you know, in a dead sort of way.”

“Okay!” I exclaim, “And there’s the necrophilia!”

“And…how’d you find out about this place anyway?” Sam asks.

“Craig.”

“Craig.”

“Craig took us.”

I prop my sunglasses on top of my head, pushing some of my hair back from my face, as we walk into the record shop ‘Craig’ works. Considering each person's answer, and how they hardly matched up, I couldn’t even fathom what Craig would tell us. But in all fairness their responses, while…odd, did make sense considering there are about eight things that affect the observation of an eyewitness.

The bell above the door once more as it closes behind us. Whether Craig would be helpful didn’t take away from the beauty of this record shop, the stands filled to the brim with all sorts of vinyls neatly sorted into separate genres. “Fellas,” a spiky-haired brunette greets from behind the counter, “Can I help you with anything?”

“Yeah, are you Craig Thurston?” Sam asks as we move closer. “I am,” he confirms.

“Well, we’re reporters with the Dallas Morning News,” Dean begins, “I’m Dean, this is Sam and Y/N.”

“No way. Well, I’m a writer too. I write for my school’s lit magazine,” Craig informs.

“Well, good for you Morrissey,” Dean remarks a little rudely. I ignore his comment, hoping it won’t discourage him from speaking with us, “So, we’re writing an article on local hauntings and we heard you would be someone to talk to.”

“‘You mean the Hell House?” he asks.

“That’s the one,” Dean answers.

“I didn’t think there was anything to the story,” he admits and frankly he has a right to be suspicious. “Why don’t you tell us the story?” Sam suggests.

“Well, supposedly back in the ‘30s this farmer, Mordechai Murdoch, used to live in this house with his six daughters. It was during the Depression, his crops were failing, he didn’t have enough money to feed his own children. So I guess that’s when he went off the deep end,”

“How?” Sam pushes.

“Well, he figured it was best if his girls died quickly, rather than starve to death. So he attacked them. They screamed, begged for him to stop but he just strung ‘em up, one after the other. And when he was all finished he turned around and hung himself. Now they say that his spirit is trapped in the house forever, stringing up any other girl that goes inside,” he explains.

“Where’d you hear all this?” Dean asks the logical question.

“My cousin Dana told me. I don’t know where she heard it,” he answers, his expression dropping a little, “Ya gotta realize, I–I didn’t believe this for a second.”

“But now you do,” Sam finishes, giving him an understanding nod.

“I don’t know what the hell to think, man. You guys, I–I’ll tell you exactly what I told the police, okay? That girl was real. And she was dead. This was not a prank. I swear to God, I don’t wanna go anywhere near that house ever again, okay?”

******

Mud sloshes beneath my shoes as we walk up the muddy path to the dark-wooded house. It was a simple house with a rickety porch in the middle of nowhere. “Can’t say I blame the kid,” Sam comments.

“Yeah, so much for curb appeal,” Dean jokes.

We soon split up, taking a little peek around the bleak property for anything at all. Sam and I meet up halfway and walk back to the front, meeting up with Dean and his EMF reader. “You got something there?” I ask, playfully nudging into him. He taps the reader, the EMF level not changing, “Yeah, the EMF’s no good.”

“Why?” Sam asks.

“Maybe you need another walkman to toy with,” I guess, only half teasing. His green eyes shoot to mine, “This baby’s foolproof, nothin’ wrong with it,” he defends.

“Mm,” I hum, “Then why is it ‘no good’ now?”

He gestures upwards, my eyes following the overhead power lines, “I think that thing’s still got a little juice in it. It’s screwing with all the readings.”

“Yeah, that’d do it,” Sam agrees.

“See!” he wiggles the EMF reader in front of my face, a wide smile curling on my lips, “Nothin’ wrong with it.”

I place a hand over his, pushing his hand and the reader down from my face, “Sorry! I just think your whole DIY thingy is adorable,” I laugh.

“It’s not adorable. It’s genius,” he defends.

“Fine, it’s adorably genius,” I correct, having a hard time keeping the stupid smile off my face.

“You two ready to go?” Sam asks. I turn towards him, his arms crossed over his chest, and his lips pursed together in that silly, sassy way he does it. I know what he’s insinuating by the way he says it and the way he’s impatiently waiting. But, I don’t want nor need him to bring that up again, let alone now, so I respond, “Born ready.” Before moving away from Dean and stepping up on the porch, my hand reaches for the doorknob.

I turn the knob and push the door open, letting more light crawl into the dark home. The sunlight creeps along the floor, stretching its arm as far as it can reach inside. The walls are a grayish-blue wallpaper littered with graffiti and the occasional hole, the windows are broken but the soft yellow glow of the sun still makes itself known through the plastic wrap covering it. There’s still some furniture left behind, an old red chaise sofa pushed to the wall, a fallen tree lying in front of it. Quite the house. But, it’s clear it was beautiful once, and in some odd way, perhaps it still is. “Looks like old man Murdock was a bit of a tagger here in his time,” Dean whistles.

“And after his time too. That reverse cross had been used by Satanists for centuries but this sigil of silver didn’t show up in San Francisco until the ‘60s,” Sam informs, pointing at a painted cross with a circle around it.

“That is exactly why you never get laid,” Dean comments, staring at his brother.

“That is a very weird thing to say,” I reply as Sam takes a photo of the sigil, “And that was a very fun fact.”

Dean shrugs, moving to another wall, “Than—“ Sam tries to say as his brother cuts him off, “Hey, what about this one, you seen this one before?” He gestures to a symbol of a cross with a dot in the middle, the bottom stroke looking like an upside-down question mark. “No,” he says simply.

“Me neither,” I shake my head.

“I have,” Dean informs, “Somewhere.” Sam reaches out to the symbol, rubbing it, he pulls his hand away and looks at his now fingers, “It’s paint. Seems pretty fresh too.”

“I don’t know. You know I hate to agree with authority figures of any kind, but….the cops may be right about this one,” Dean says. And while Dean was quite the skeptic when it came to whether cases would actually be our sort of cases, for him to say that, to even possibly agree with the authority was big. “Yeah, maybe,” Sam mumbles.

Then, suddenly there’s a rustling or shuffling noise from the next room over. Immediately we move into action. Dean grabs a hold of my wrist and pushes me beside him as he takes position near the door, Sam taking the other side of the door. Our backs flat against the wall, Dean nods his head at his brother before they burst through the door. Immediately, they stumble back, shielding their eyes from bright lights and the shouts of…two guys. I move in after them, moving around Dean to be involved in the seemingly unthreatening situation.

Two short guys decked out in all sorts of gear stand before us. “Oh, cut. It’s just a coupla humans,” the one with black hair scuffs, wearing huge goggles on his head—maybe night vision, and a studio light in hand . The other guy holding a camera switches it off. “What are you guys doing here?” night vision questions, eyeing us. “What the hell are you doing here?” Dean shoots right back.

Night vision laughs, “We belong here, we’re professionals?” he answers as if it should’ve been obvious. However, the only obvious thing here was how stupid they looked. “Professional what?” I ask, somewhat confused. Night Vision smirks, reaching into one of the many pockets on his beige vest before pulling out a white card, “Paranormal Investigators,” he identifies, handing me his little card. I take it from him, looking at him skeptically, “There you go, take a look at that, beautiful,” his eyes sweep over my frame slowly, stopping too long at one too many areas. “Oh, you gotta be kidding me,” Dean grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“Wow,” I say plainly, “Ed Zeddmore,” the night vision guy nods his head in confirmation “and Harry Spengler, so professional they have their own business cards for their website,” I throw a look at Sam and Dean, “HellhoundsLair.”

“You guys run that website?” Sam asks in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Ed smiles confidently, practically beaming in his boast.

“Oh yeah, yeah, we’re huge fans,” Dean says sarcastically, a stupid grin on his lips.

“And ah, we know who you guys are too,” Ed claims, all high and mighty. Once more I’m confused by this dude. “Oh yeah?” Sam challenges, looking at him sharply.

“Amateurs,” Ed explains and immediately Dean walks away in lost interest, rummaging through cabinets instead of really listening. “Looking for ghosts and cheap thrills,” he continues. I cross my arms across my chest, “Right…” I drawl sarcastically, “‘Cause I just love a cheap thrill.”

“I can give you an…ex-expensive thrill,” Ed winks smoothly despite the words coming out awkward and choppy. His eyes drop to my breasts that peek out from my top, staring at them like they’re the only things in the room. I grimace, cringing as I unfold my arms in hopes it will help…it doesn’t, “Oh…that’s not, um…no…”

“Well, if you guys don’t mind, we’re trying to conduct a serious scientific investigation here,” Harry speaks up.

“Yeah, what have you got so far?” Dean asks, sauntering back over.

“Harry, why doncha tell ‘em about EMF?” Ed suggests proudly, chin raised.

“Well…” Harry says before Sam cuts him off, “EMF?” He tries to keep a smile off his face as he clearly tries to play dumb. These poor guys.

“Electromagnetic field?” Harry responds like we’re idiots, “Spectral entities can cause energy fluctuations that can be read with an EMF detector,” he turns around to rummage through his backpack before producing the gadget, “Like this bad boy right here.” He turns the box on, adjusting the antenna. A knowing smirk crawls on Dean’s face, we obviously know they won’t see anything, at least not anything accurate. “Woa. Whoa. It’s 2.8mg,” Harry announces, eyebrows shot up.

“2.8,” Ed exclaims, “It’s hot in here.”

I have to bite my lip to keep my laughter back. Dean whistles in admiration, Sam remarking a “Wow,” with a hint of irony.

“Huh. So you guys ever really seen a ghost before, or…” Dean asks.

“Once,” Ed declares, “We were, uh…we were investigating this old house and we saw a vase fall right off the table…”

“By itself,” Harry finishes, emphasizing it with a firm head movement. “Well, we, we, we, we didn’t actually see it, we heard it,” Ed backtracks, stumbling on his words, “And something like that..it uh…it changes you.”

“Mm, I’m sure it does,” I play. They were total idiots, they’d be lucky if they don’t get themselves killed. Dean nods, his voice bored and unamused, “Yeah. I think I get the picture. We should go, let them get back to work”

“Yeah, you should,” Ed replies, crossing his arms clumsily across his chest. With his back turned towards the naïve boys, Dean widens his eyes at us, nodding his head towards the door in front of him. “Oh but, um,” Ed stammers, looking at me, “If you wanna stay we can show you the real deal.”

Sam and Dean seem to pause in the doorway. I try to hide my shock and disinterest behind a tight-lipped smile, “Oh…no thanks…” I spin around, more than ready to leave. But, just outside the doorway, I pause, spinning back around to end it with, “Seek happiness in tranquility, and avoid ambition, even if it be only the apparently innocent one of distinguishing yourself in science and discoveries.” I smile even as confusion falls upon their faces and when I turn back to my boys a similar expression graces theirs.

Yet, only as we descend the steps of the old house do they break. “Did you just quote Frankenstein to them?” Sam asks, his brows twisted with confusion as a boyish smile pulls at his lips. I skip down the last step, “Maybe…”

I catch Dean's eyes rolling, he mumbles something beneath his breath before mumbling just a little louder, “This is why I’m the only one who gets laid.”

Sam and I move as one, walking down the stairs of the library. Dean approaches us, his eyes flicking over us. “Hey,” Sam nods to him. “Hey. What you got?” Dean asks as we hit the last step.

“Well we couldn’t find a Morechai but we did find a Martin Murdock who lived in the house in the ‘30s,” Sam explains, summarizing our findings.

“And, he did have kids but only two of them, both boys, and there’s nothing on him killing anyone,” I add. Our findings only supported the theory that this was nothing more than a story, maybe it wasn’t our kind of job.

“Huh,” Dean hums, most likely thinking the same thing.

“What about you?” Sam asks as we approach the Impala. Dean rounds the car, speaking over the top of it, “Well those kids didn’t really give us a clear description of that dead girl but I did hit up the police station. No matching missing persons. It’s like she never existed. Dude, come on, we did our digging, this one’s a bust alright. For all we know those HellHound boys made up the whole thing.”

“I really hate to agree and blame this on faulty witnesses and a scary story, but…we really do got nothing,” I nod. I don’t know what those kids saw, maybe it was some sort of prank or being scared and seeing something that wasn't there, either way the story was likely made up.

“Yeah, alright,” Sam surprisingly agrees. He’s usually the one to be stubborn on this and see it out, or just have a feeling that we should see it out. So, for him to agree was more than confirmation. “I say we find ourselves a bar and some beers and leave the legend to the locals,” Dean suggests, a smile on his lips. He gets into the car, and before I can round the car Sam grabs my forearm mouthing a ‘just wait.’ I give him a confused look, brows furrowing, but he leans down to peer into the car through the window and instantly I know this is a prank.

I roll my eyes but I too peer through the window, might as well see the outcome. He turns the key in the ignition, and immediately Latina pop music blasts from the car, loud enough to hear clearly from the safety of outside the car. He jumps, his fingers fumbling for the key in the ignition but instead, the windshield wipers turn on. He shouts something but all we can see is the moving of his lips, the music too loud. He quickly reaches for the volume dial, hitting it the music ceases, his shoulders drop a bit as he hits off the windshield wipers too.

Finally, I round the car as Sam bursts out in laughter. I get in and a moment later Sam’s opening his door and sitting. He licks his finger and draws an imaginary ‘1’ in the air, then points to himself. Fire might as well have ignited in Dean's green eyes as he gives his brother the dirtiest look, “That’s all you got? Weak. That is bush league,” he challenges.

The early morning sun breaks the horizon, painting the sky a soft orange. The lights of emergency vehicles spin in colors of red and blue, police officers move around, a filled body bag being rolled away on a stretcher. We missed something.

“What happened?” Dean questions another bystander, there’s a small group of people that watch the scene from behind the yellow caution tape. “A coupla cops say a girl hung herself in the house,” the man answers.

“Suicide?” Sam asks.

“Yeah. She was a straight-A student, with a full ride to UT too. It just don’t make sense,” he explains and he’s right it doesn’t make any sense. Of course, you don’t know what’s going on behind closed doors, but to come to this specific run-down house with haunting rumors to kill yourself is odd. For whatever reason the man walks away, maybe leaving the scene after realizing there was no point in being here anymore. “Whaddaya think?” Sam asks, shoving his hands in his sweatshirt pockets.

“I think we’re wrong about this not being our kind of job,” I answer, we must have missed something.

******

Darkness cloaks us as well as the thick bushes we crouch behind. We wouldn't be hiding if it wasn’t for the cop car parked outside the old house and the two cops standing around. “I guess the cops don’t want anyone else screwing around there,” Sam comments. It makes sense for them not to want stupid teenagers coming around or another teen to kill themselves here, as horrible as it sounds.

“Yeah but we still gotta get in there,” Dean responds. It’s why we were here, after all, try to figure out what we missed. The cops had been around the place all day, nighttime was supposed to be a clearing. A cool breeze rustles the leaves softly and chills my body, a contrast to the heat earlier in the day, I pull my sweatshirt closer in an attempt to fight off the coolness.

“I don’t believe it,” Dean grumbles randomly. I turn my head to follow his line of sight, and just a couple of feet away are the two idiots from before. They approach, decked out in all sorts of gadgets, more than before which I hadn’t thought possible. They whisper to themselves and shush each other, I wouldn’t be surprised if they started laughing in the way you do when you're trying to be quiet, and yet everything is suddenly funny. “You gotta be kidding,” I mumble.

“I got an idea,” Dean says. He rises slightly, turning towards the cops. He cups his hands around his mouth, “Who ya gonna call!” he shouts. Ed and Harry look around frantically, muttering to themselves, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. “Hey! you!” one of the cops shouts, eyes locked on the two boys before him and his partner heading straight for them. “Freeze!” the cop warns. But one of the nerds yelps a “run!” and they turn around quickly before hauling it. “Get back here. Hey,” the cops shout before following them. Our laughs blend together despite trying to hold them back. But we use this opportunity to make a break for the house, our shoes hitting the ground hard.

Quickly we get inside and immediately Sam is taking the duffle bag off his back, jumping straight into action. Dean and I take out our flashlights that were hidden in the waistband of our pants and concealed by our jackets. The lights of our flashlights go on, illuminating the dark home just enough.

Sam breaks out the rifles, handing one to each of us. The rock salt is already locked and loaded. “Where have I seen that symbol before? It’s killing me!” Dean exclaims, his flashlight hovering over the symbol of the cross with a dot in the middle, the bottom stroke looking like an upside-down question mark. “Come on, we don’t have much time,” Sam urges. There’s no saying when the cops would stop their chase and if they’d come to check inside.

We move through the house quickly until we find the basement, moving down the stairs just as fast. Racks of shelves practically take up the whole basement, rows of them. Each one dusty and cornered with cobwebs, all kinds of glass jars filled with questionable liquids. “Hey, Sam. I dare you to take a swig of this,” Dean says, holding up a particular jar filled with a pale red liquid of some sort. There was no way of knowing what that liquid or any of them are without a lab and some testing, which naturally we don’t have. “What the hell would I do that for?” Sam shoots back.

“…I double dare you,” he grins. Sam just shakes his head, going back to looking around. A rustling noise draws our attention towards a cabinet but before we can investigate it a rat pokes its head out, squeaking before running away. “I hate rats,” Dean grumbles, lifting his feet up as the rat scurries away.

“You’d rather it was a ghost?” Sam questions, one eyebrow quirked.

“Yes,” Dean deadpans. I roll my eyes moving forward, “Do you think these jars are old pickled stuff or, like, bodily fluid stuff?” I ask, casting a glance over my shoulder at Dean. But before I can take another step, I’m yanked back suddenly, my breath catching as the belt loop of my shorts is sharply tugged. In an instant, my back slams against Dean's chest just as the shelves in front of me crash down with a deafening shatter. An axe buries itself in the spot where I had just been standing.

The sound of gunfire explodes in the room as Sam fires off two shots at the spirit of the old farmer, but it does nothing to stop him. Heart pounding, I whip my gun up, the weight familiar in my hand. Without hesitation, I pull the trigger, aiming at the spirit now dangerously close. Mordechai goes up in a mist, disappearing, “What the hell kind of spirit is immune to rock salt?” Sam exclaims.

“This one apparently!” I shout, moving from Dean's hold as he urges us towards the stairs. But Mordechai appears again, he smashes his axe down, catching the shelves and bringing the jars crashing down on Dean, glass shattering all around him as he goes down with it. My heart pounds in my ears, adrenaline rushing through my veins. I raise my gun, steadying my hands before taking my shot, rock salt explodes from the gun, hitting its mark but still doing nothing to the spirit. The spirit instead turns and charges at Sam. Shot after shot reverberates through the room emanating from Sam’s gun, “Go! Get outta here!!” Sam yells.

I rush towards Dean, shotgun hanging at my side. The glass crunches beneath my shoes as I pull Dean up, dragging him by his forearms. He grunts as he gets to his feet and if we weren’t being chased by a farmer ghost right now I’d take the time to dust the glass from his jacket. Instead, I grab hold of his hand and drag him behind me as I bolt for the stairs.

The axe seems to come down somewhere else in the room, electrical whizzing noises following it, but I ignore it as we shuffle up the stairs and be-line to the front door. We bolt out the door, caution tape breaking as Dean breaks through it, nearly stumbling down the steps.

A camera is immediately pushed into our faces, the nerds of course behind it, “Get that damn thing outta my face,” Dean commands, an arm raised to block its view.

I lay on my stomach on Sam’s bed which I’m temporarily stealing to research. An arm beneath my chin props my head up, my legs kicking slowly in the air back and forth, as I try to find any info on my laptop sitting in front of me. Dean sits on his bed, sketching something on a little notebook as his brother sits at the table with his laptop researching too.

“What the hell is this symbol? It’s buggin’ the hell outta me,” Dean grumbled, hitting the book down to his leg, “This whole damn job’s buggin’ me. I thought the legend said Mordechai only goes after chicks.”

“It does,” Sam confirms.

“All right. Well, I mean, that explains why it went after you guys, but why me?” Dean questions. I roll my eyes at his sneakily placed joke, if the legend was right then it should’ve only gone after me, jokes aside. “Hilarious,” Sam responds, “The legend also says he hung himself but did you see those slit wrists?”

“Yeah,” Dean says but I certainly missed it, though I was busy trying not to get chopped by an axe. “What’s up with that? And the axe too,” Sam points out, “I mean, ghosts are usually pretty strict, right? Following the same patterns over and over?”

“But this mook keeps changing,” Dean adds. Sam types away on his laptop, the keys satisfyingly clicking, “Exactly.”

“Maybe we got a different breed of ghost here,” I suggest, throwing the idea out there even though it’s unlikely. Sam shakes his head, “I’m telling ya, the way the story goes—“ I peer at him over my laptop at his sudden stopping, his face scrunched, “Wait a minute,” he says.

“What?” I ask.

“Someone added a new post to the Hell Hound site,” he informs, “Listen to this. ‘They say Mordechai Murdock was really a Satanist who chopped up his victims with an axe before slitting his own wrists. Now he’s imprisoned in the house for eternity.”

“A story changing over time makes sense, like a game of telephone. But a spirit that changes with it?… Can they do that?” I ask.

Dean suddenly sits straight up, eyes locked on his drawing of the symbol we saw. “I don’t know,” Sam answers, then huffs as he leans back in his seat with his arms crossed against his chest, “Where the hell is this going?”

“I don’t know but I think I might have just figured out where it all started,” Dean announces

******

The bell above the door dings as we enter the empty record store, the only person there being a bored Craig. Good thing he’s working today. “Hey, Craig? Remember us?” Dean begins an unamused smile on his face.

“Guys, look I’m really not in the mood to answer any of your questions okay?” he responds looking deflated.

“Oh don’t worry. We’re just here to buy an album, that’s all,” Dean reassures. He saunters over to the ‘rock’ section of records, flicking through them until he finds what he wants. He lifts it out and up. “You know, I couldn’t figure out what that symbol was and then I realized that it doesn’t mean anything,” Dean explains, directing his words to Sam and I as we approach the counter, “It’s the logo for the Blue Oyster Cult.” He turns his attention to Craig, pressing the album record of Club Ninja onto the counter, “Tell me Craig, you, uh, you into BOC? Or just scaring the hell outta people?” The boy in question's face drops, his eyes dropping to the album before landing on Dean again. “Now why ‘n’t you tell us about that house…without lying through your ass this time,” Dean orders.

Craig sighs, “Alright, um. My cousin Dana was on break from TCU. Ah, I guess we were just bored, looking for something to do. So I showed her this abandoned dump I found. We thought it would be funny if we made it look like it was haunted,” he explains, “So we painted symbols on the walls, some from some albums, some from some of Dana’s theology textbooks. Then we found out this guy Murdock used to live there so we…we made up some story to go along with it. So they told people, who told other people. And then these two guys put it on their stupid website. Everything just took on a life of its own. I mean I, I thought it was funny at first but…now that girl’s dead! It was just a joke, you know. I mean, none of it was real, we made the whole thing up. I swear!”

“Alright right,” Sam says softly, ending the conversation. We have our information now, or at least a direction. None of it’s real and yet, somehow, it’s very real.

******

“There you go,” the nice barista smiles, handing over our drinks. Dean takes two of the coffees while I take my latte, “Thank you so much,” I beam, placing a nice tip in the little plastic jar.

We make our way to an empty table. Sam immediately pulls out his laptop, wiggling around in his seat and fixing his jeans with a grimace on his face. “Dude, what’s your problem?” Dean asks, calling him out.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” he denies in the least convincing way ever.

“Are you sure?” I ask, eyes sweeping over him, “You look really uncomfortable.” But he just nods his head even as he adjusts himself one more time, “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

“So, ahh, alright keep going,” Dean moves on, “What about these Tulpas?”

“Okay, so there was this incident in Tibet in 1915. group of monks visualized a golem in their head. They meditated on it so hard they brought the thing to life. Outta thin air,” Sam explains.

“What? So, they manifested it?” I ask. I know manifestation and intention are powerful things but for a whole being to come from it sounds bizarre. “Wait, I guess that makes sense considering that just the belief and fear people have and or give off in reaction to a spirit gives it more power,” I think out loud, answering my question.

“So?” Dean counters.

“That was 20 monks. Imagine what 10,000 web surfers could do. I mean Craig starts the story about Mordechai, then it spreads, goes online. Now there are countless people all believing in the bastard,” Sam elaborates.

“Does the HellHound site actually have that many people looking at it?” I question, I mean people believe whatever they see. And it’s not like these things don’t exist, it’s just that Ed and Harry certainly weren’t finding it. “Unfortunately,” Sam quips. That many people would be impressive if not for the idiots that are behind it all. “Are you trying to tell me that just because people believe in Mordechai, he’s real?” Dean speculates.

“I dunno, maybe” his brother answers, shifting in his seat like he or it’s uncomfortable.

“People believe in Santa Claus, how come I’m not getting hooked up every Christmas?” Dean points out.

“Cuz you’re a bad person,” Sam deadpans, replying a little too fast, “And because of this,” he turns his laptop around to show us a photo of a complex symbol, “That’s a Tibetan spirit sigil. On the wall of the house. Craig said they were painting symbols from a theology textbook. I bet they painted this, not even knowing what it was.”

“Man, what are the chances of that?” I mumble.

“Now that sigil has been used for centuries, concentrating meditative thoughts like a magnifying glass,” Sam continues, ignoring my comment, “So people are on the HellHounds website, staring at the symbol, thinking about Mordechai…I mean, I don’t know, but it might be enough to bring a Tulpa to life.”

“It would explain why he keeps changing,” Dean replies. Sam grimaces, adjusting himself again, one too many times for it not to be concerning, “Right, as the legend changes, people think different things, so Mordechai himself changes. Like Y/N said before, it's like a game of telephone. That would also explain why the rock salt didn’t work.”

“So what does work?” I ask, “If that’s even a thing here.”

“Why don’t we just, uh, get this spirit sigil thingie off the wall and off the website?” Dean suggests.

“Well, it’s not that simple. You see, once Tulpas are created they take on a life of their own,” Sam explains. In conclusion, stupid teenagers draw random symbols on a wall to scare others, somehow choose one that uses belief, it becomes a big legend, scary fake farmer kills people, and it’s our problem now. The chances of all that genuinely have to be so low. “Great,” Dean remarks, “How the hell are we supposed to kill an idea?”

Sam itches around his hips and shuffles in his seat again, “Well it’s not gonna be easy with these guys helping us. Check out their homepage.” He clicks on a couple of things before a video of last night plays, “Since they’ve posted the video their number of hits have quadrupled in the last day alone.” God, I wish we could just hit them in the face so hard.

“Hmm,” Dean hums, “I got an idea. Come on.”

“You do?” I ask though that little glint in his eye is enough proof. “Where we going?” Sam adds.

“We gotta find a copy store,” he answers. We rise to go, grabbing our to-go cups of drinks and Sam grabs his laptop before itching and wiggling, “Man, I think I’m allergic to our soap or something,” he complains. A stupid grin stretches on Dean's face, laughing as he walks away. “You did this?” Sam says through clenched teeth. And if Dean's confusion to laughter isn't an answer then I don’t know what is. “You’re a fucking jerk!”

“That is some evil shit,” I comment. I don’t even know when he had time to pull his prank but it definitely beat the car thing Sam had pulled. “Oh yeah,” Dean smiles, satisfied.

******

“I think Y/N should be the one to bait them,” Sam reasons as we walk towards the trailer. Dean has his whole plan which requires fake papers, a copy machine, and some lying. What more could you want? “Do I have to?” I ask, “They’re, like, all weird.” But really I mean creepy or gross.

“Yeah, I can do it,” Dean defends.

“That’s the point though, they’ll listen to her ‘cause she’s a girl and those two look like they haven’t interacted with one before two days ago,” Sam explains. I laugh shortly, “Ha, they definitely didn’t, at least not a real-life one,” I then exhale, “Alright fine I’ll do it.” It’s not even a big deal to begin with to be fair.

We approach their trailer, a little garden flamingo standing tilted in the grass and a couple of foldable lounge chairs sitting about. Dean pounds on the door, fist-hitting it repeatedly. A squeal comes from inside before someone calls out, “Who is it?”

“Come on out here guys, we hear you in there,” Dean responds.

“It’s them,” one of them whisper-shouts, too bad we can hear them. But there’s a click and the door opens up a crack, both their heads squeezing to stick out the door. “Ah, would you look at that! Action figures in their original packaging,” Dean remarks, looking right over their head to peer into their trailer, “What a shock.”

“Guys, we need to talk,” Sam starts.

“Yeah, um, sorry guys. We’re ahh, a little busy right now,” Ed responds, adjusting his glasses.

“Okay, well, we’ll make it quick. We need you to shut down your website,” Dean says bluntly.

Ed laughs, almost like a bark, “Man, you know, these guys got us busted last night, spent the night in a holding cell—“

“I had to pee in that cell urinal. In front of people. And I get stage fright,” Harry adds in, eyes jumping around like he’s paranoid or anxious.

“Uh..thanks for sharing that with us…?” I respond, smiling awkwardly.

“Well, why should we trust you guys?” Ed asks, crossing his arms.

“Look, guys. We all know what we saw last night, what’s in the house. But now thanks to your website there are thousands of people hearing about Mordechai,” Sam explains.

Dean adding, “That’s right. Which means people are gonna keep showing up at the Hell House, running into him in person, somebody could get hurt.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Ed nods slowly, rubbing his chin. “Ed maybe he’s got a point, maybe…” Harry adds softly.

“Nope…” Ed decides and Harry’s demeanor does a full 180 as he says “No,” too.

“Right, so you have no morals,” I conclude, “If—no, not even if, when someone gets hurt their blood’s on your hands.”

“We have an obligation to our fans, to the truth,” Ed defends.

“Well, I have an obligation to kick both of your little asses right now–” Dean threatens through clenched teeth.

“Dean,” I cut him off, holding him back with a hand on his shoulder, “It’s not worth it, god knows you can give ‘em one hit and they’d be crying back to their mommies. Hell, I could tell them that thing about Mordechai and it wouldn’t matter, they just don't care.”

“We should just leave,” Sam adds.

“Whoa…whoa…” the idiots say, interest peaked.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dean gives in. With that, we turn back around and begin to walk away, purposely moving slowly. “What you say about…?” Ed asks, trailing after us. “Wait…Wait.” We turn back to them, an unamused look on my face. “What thing about Mordechai you guys?” Harry asks, trying to be nonchalant.

“Don’t tell ‘em,” Dean warns me.

“Not even if they agree to shut down the website?” I ask.

“They’re not going to do it, you said so yourself,” Dean reasons. I sigh, shaking my head, “You’re right.”

“No wait!” Ed rushes out, “Wait. Don’t listen to him, okay? We’ll do it. We’ll do it.” Like fishes on a hook getting reeled in.

“It’s a secret, Y/N,” Sam reminds, his voice as serious as can be. I look up at the two nerds, their eyes sparkling with intrigue, if they were dogs I'm sure their tails would be flicking behind them, “It’s a pretty big deal, you know. It wasn’t easy to find, so we really have to have your word. You have to promise you’ll shut it all down.”

“Totally,” Ed says. I pause a moment, eyeing them as if I’m really considering it before nodding at Dean. He pulls out some folded papers from the inside of his leather jacket, handing it over to them. “That’s a death certificate from the ‘30s,” I explain, “We found it at the library and according to the coroner the actual cause of death was a self-inflicted gunshot wound.”

“That’s right, he didn’t hang or cut himself,” Dean confirms, emphasizing our “find.”

“He shot himself?” Ed asks, a little skeptical as he looks up from the paper. “Yup, it’s all right there,” I answer, “With a .45 pistol. To this day they say he’s terrified of them.”

“Matter of fact they say if you shoot him with a .45, loaded with these special wrought-iron rounds, it’ll kill the sonuvabitch,” Dean adds. They snicker like school girls, the apples of their cheeks brightening with their smiles. Harry spins and bolts it to their trailer, Ed moves more slowly as he follows behind as if he’s trying to play it cool. “Harry,” he mumbles through his teeth, “Slow your roll buddy. They’re gonna know we’re excited.”

“Dude!” I exclaim, laughing a bit as Dean pops a stolen fry into his mouth, “You just finished your food, leave my fries alone.” But he shrugs with that charming smile on his lips, his arm resting on the booth's top, practically stretching out. The golden crisp of oil goodness is hardly missed with a sight like this. He turns his attention to the woodwork of an old goofy fisherman holding a big fish, a string dangling from it. He reaches up and pulls the cord, the fisherman’s mouth moving up and down as it laughs this obnoxious laugh. I myself try not to laugh as I sip on my soda.

Sam reaches up and pulls the cord again, the laughing stopping immediately, “If you pull that string one more time I’m gonna kill you,” he threatens, looking up from his laptop. In all fairness Dean had pulled the cord at least twice already since we’ve sat down, and yet, to me, it was funny every single time. The kind of stupid humor or even stupidly contagious laugh that made you want to snicker. The threatened man across us deadpans, staring at his brother as he slowly reaches up and pulls the cord again. The fisherman barely has time to laugh himself before Sam is pulling it to stop, glaring at Dean. It's like a standoff. Dean snickers, “Come on man, you need more laughter in your life. You know you’re way too tense,” he reasons.

Not having it, Sam gives him a dirty look. Clearly not amused nor having any desire to be amused. Dean sighs, seemingly giving up on his conquest, “They post it yet?”

Sam turns his screen towards me, an easier thing to do then all away around, as he angrily stabs at what’s left of his salad. My eyes scan the screen, immediately landing on the new post, “‘We’ve learned from reputable sources that Mordechai Murdock had a fatal fear of firearms’” I read and I have to admit their choice of words is awfully intelligent sounding, “Hey, look at us, we’re reputable sources,” I point out.

“Reputable copying machine,” Dean corrects a shit-eating grin on his lips. They had fallen into his exact plan, of course they wouldn’t shut down the website regardless of what they promised (good thing it wasn’t a pinkie promise), and of course they would take any information like starving dogs and post it as soon as possible. ‘Obligation to their fans, the truth’ as he had said. “Alright. How long do we wait?” Dean asks.

“Long enough for the new story to spread, and the legend to change,” Sam answers, “I figure by nightfall iron rounds will work on the sucker.” He picks up his beer bottle and holds it up to us, taking the small victory we gently clink our drinks together in a silent ‘cheers.’ “Sweet,” Dean grins, the light reflecting off of the glass beer bottle, gleaming at its base as it’s tilted up to his lips. I’ve never really understood why one would drink before a hunt, not that one bottle would do anything to him of all people, yet, when his lips are on the rim that sort of thing doesn’t seem to matter. Another interesting thing, drinking has never looked so attractive as it does on him. But perhaps that’s the bias you have when you like someone, somehow everything becomes attractive.

The bottle finally clanks to the table, his hand still wrapped around it. But when he lets the bottle go his palm sticks to it, fingers stretched out he shakes his hand around like the bottle will fall off. It doesn’t. Sam loses it, cracking up even more as Dean says, “You didn’t.”

A little tube of super glue is raised up, “Oh, I did!” he laughs, pulling the cord this time, the fisherman laughs again.

“All I’m saying is as stupid as they are, I do feel bad for them, one of these days they’re gonna wind up dead,” I reason, walking with Sam the short distance back to his motel room.

“Yeah…” he shrugs, “But it’d be on them, I mean they haven’t ran off yet, not even after seeing Mordechai.”

I hum, absorbing his words, “That’s true.” The door is open just a little, like it didn’t close fully behind him when he had left to come get me from my room down the hall. I push open the door, “Do yo—“ my words die in my throat replaced with a gasp as cold water dumps on me. A bucket thumps to the floor, just barely missing my head. My hair and clothes drip as I ball my fists at my side, shock from the sudden cold still rattling in my bones as I shake slightly. “Dean?!” I scold.

“That was not meant for you,” he replies, eyes wide as he sits up in his bed.

I got caught in a prank meant for Sam. But didn’t he know Sam was getting me and that there was a chance that I would walk in first instead of him, which is exactly what had happened???!! I exhale, trying to rid myself of any frustration or annoyance. “I’m so sorry Y/N,” he adds.

I laugh, moving a wet piece of hair behind my ear, “You are so getting it.” My shirt clings to my skin, shoulders bunched up from the feeling. Sam chuckles behind me, I turn slowly towards him and immediately he tries to cover it with a hand over his mouth, “Oh you too Sam, you’re not safe. His hand and face drops, “Why me? I didn’t do it?!”

“No, you're right,” I nod, “But you’re part of the reason it happened, your little prank war.” I look between both boys, “You’re both gonna get it, you Winchesters better watch out,” I threaten. I huff moving past Sam, “Now if you’ll excuse me I’m gonna go change before I start stripping in front of you two.”

“I mean—“ Dean calls out and I can hear the grin on his face before I yell back, “Don’t even think about it!” I shuffle off down the hallway, and only back in the safety of my motel room do I fix my situation. I snap my fingers and instantly it’s like nothing ever happened. There’s no need to change when I can do something like that, but what I can do in the privacy of my own room is think of how to get them back and execute it.

******

Early night cloaks the sky, the sun just barley below the horizon as we head to the Impala. A comfortable silence envelopes us. I stop before opening the back door of the Impala, crouching down to re-tie my shoe as they get into their respective sides of the car. The doors seem to shut in sync.

One, two, three, four, five. The doors are being shoved open and they tumble from the car coughing and covering their noses. I stand with a smirk as the smell of rotten eggs escapes the car. “What the hell?!” Dean yells. Sam reaches back into the car, pushing the seat forward to find the source. He fishes out a puffed up square, he holds it by the corner, “Really?”

“Oh, wow, how’d those get there?” I ask, folding my hands in front of me. He gives me a dirty look before throwing the fart bomb to the side. “Real childish,” Dean remarks, holding up his own puffed up fart bomb. “Which part?” I ask, “The pranks or putting fart bombs beneath each of your seats?”

“The bombs, dumbass,” he replies, throwing the little puffed square at me. I laugh, as it hits me in the chest, kicking it away when it hits the floor, “Childish and yet still funny.”

“Yeah if you think gas chambers are funny,” he mumbles.

Our guns are drawn, eyes sharp, brain and body on high alert now that we’re back in the house. The cops had been outside like the night before, but instead of using the idiot ghost hunters as bait Dean had used the stolen fisherman from the diner that he somehow stole. Its current home is now somewhere deep in the woods, a mechanism set up so that it consistently laughs. They were drawn into the forest like pirates drawn to sirens, except what they’ll find is not an attractive mermaid but an obnoxious fisherman.

“I barely have any skin left on my palm,” Dean comments.

“I’m not touching that line with a ten foot pole,” Sam mumbles.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, usually people say that about something. Like ‘I wouldn’t touch that with a ten foot pole’ but there was nothing brought up regarding touching something. “He’s tryna lead us into an inappropriate joke.” Sam explains. The gears slowly turn in my head, cogs rotating trying to figure out what joke, “Oh! You mean masterbation!”

“Yeah,” Sam sighs, and if he hadn’t had both hands trained on his gun I'm sure he’d be pinching the bridge of his nose like a disappointed father.

“So you think old Mordechai’s home?” Dean asks as he move into another room, switching topics.

“I don’t know.”

“Me either,” a voice suddenly says from behind. I spin swiftly around, gun trained.

“WOAH! WOAH!” Ed yells, him and his buddy shuffling back with their hands raised. I scuff, lowering my gun. And of course they’re decked out in their goofy gear. “What did I tell you?!” I exclaim, looking at Sam.

“What are you trying to do, get yourself killed?” he asks the doofuses.

“We’re just trying to get a book and movie deal, okay?” Ed answers.

“Look, the only time you’ll ever be written about is when your obituaries are in the local newspapers,” I spit, not caring how harsh my words are. But Ed doesn’t look defeated or deflated, instead his eyes seem to sparkle, “You are so hot,” he says softly. I drag a hand down my face, sighing, “What part about any of this are you not getting?”

“Why I don’t have your number yet,” he answers. I shake my head, walking away. This is just ridiculous now. “Alright, that’s enough there buddy,” Dean says, placing a firm hand on the guy's shoulder.

Then, the sharp noise of metal on metal comes from behind a door but inches from us. The door to the basement. As if in sync, thinking the same thing, our guns are immediately raised, body and mind back on high alert. “Oh crap,” Ed mumbles and with some shuffling and shoving each other they wind up crowding behind us. Or cowering, if you will. “Uh guys, you wanna…you wanna open that door for us?” Ed asks.

“Why don’t you?” Dean remarks unamused.

Suddenly, the door bursts, wooden shards exploding everywhere as Mordechai bursts through the door holding his axe. Screams and gunshots clash together, the dissonance cracking the atmosphere. I pull the trigger over and over, working at the mechanics of the gun until the cartridge is empty, until there’s nothing left to give. It’s no surprise when the old farmer wavers and disappears into mist with the amount of bullets shot between the three of us, but the real question is did it work?

Once more, we seem to share the same mind as we reload our guns quickly, shoving bullets into the chamber before splitting up. It’s all wordless, movements and thoughts that have been implanted into our mind long before there was even a comprehension of the fact. Every part of my being is on high alert, eyes scanning the room for the spirit. I clear the dusty shell of a room I walk into when I hear a squeal.

Immediately I spin right back around, rushing into the room I stood in only moments ago. I nearly bump into Sam as we meet back in the room only to find Harry on the floor with a shattered camera in front of him. “Hey!” Dean shouts as he enters the room from the opposite side of us, “Didn’t you guys post that B.S. story we gave you?”

“Of course we did,” Ed defends, helping his friend off the floor.

“You know, that didn’t sound all that convincing,” I quip, looking at the destroyed camera. There was no saving that thing and I don’t think any amount of insurance would help it. “But then our server crashed,” Harry corrects.

“So it didn’t take? Dean asks, eyes a little frantic.

“Ummm,” they hum in unison, the noise high pitched as their eyes jump around the room to look anywhere but the gruff man across from them. “So these, these guns don’t work?” Dean laughs darkly, running a hand down his mouth.

“Yeah,” Ed breathes.

“Great,” he murmurs, “Sam, any ideas?”

“We are getting outta here,” Harry declares, no longer concerned with documenting the truth—not that they could. “Yeah. Come on,” Ed agrees. Harry grabs hold of Ed before they run past Dean into the next room. And not even a moment later does girlish screams come from that room.

Yet despite how annoying they are, and all the trouble they’ve caused, Sam and I follow after them. Mordechai corners them against the front door, the boys cower against the door screaming “The power of Christ compels you,” over and over, louder and louder. “HEY! Come and get it you ugly son of a bitch,” Sam taunts. And for whatever reason Mordechai turns and goes after him instead. Sam leads the spirit away from the boys giving me the time to move to the idiots at the door.

I motion for them to move and quickly they shuffle away. I grip the door handle and give it a hard pull, maybe using just a little power to give me more help. The cool breeze blows in as I hold it open for them, the shuffles and grunts of fighting close by, “Go!” I command, pointing out the door. They shove each other as they stumble onto the small porch, Ed turns back before they reach the first step, “So, is your number still on—“

“NO!” I shout, slamming the door in his face. I spin around only to find Sam pressed against the wall with the axe against his throat, pushed higher and higher off the ground until his feet dangle. Immediately I lift my gun and shoot one, two, three, four, five times, glad that the angle I occupy is viewing them at their side. Mordechai disappears in a mist once more, Sam falls to the ground holding his neck as he coughs, but this time I know the spirit isn’t gone for good.

Unfortunately I don’t leave room to ask if he’s okay as I swing around the nearest walkway, “Dean?!” I call, I don’t know where he went off to and I don’t want Mordechai to take advantage of him being alone. “Right here, sweetheart,” he answers, appearing from the next room over. He holds a little metal can of something and when he splashes it around the room as he approaches me I know it must be some flammable liquid.

He nudges me forward, forcing me around before leading me with a hand on my lower back. I move away from his touch to help Sam up from the ground. “Mordechai can’t leave the house, we can’t kill him—we improvise,” Dean explains, shaking what’s left of the can of kerosene.

“Arson…yay,” I answer, watching as he dumps the rest of the liquid. Just then Mordechai appears at the far end of the room, axe raised, he charges at us, “Go, go, go!” Dean directs. I follow after Sam, running to the front door. I hear the flick of the lighter, the clinking of it falling, and the swoosh of flames going up.

We make it outside and down the short steps just as the building quickly ignites in flames. It spreads quickly in the old house, orange and yellow brightening the darkness as the flames lick at the rotting wood. “That’s your solution? Burn the whole damn place to the ground?” Sam exclaims, rubbing at his neck.

“Well nobody will go in anymore,” Dean reasons, “I mean look, Mordechai can’t haunt a house if there’s no house to haunt. It's fast and dirty but it works.”

“Well what if the legend changes again and Mordechai is allowed to leave the house?” Sam counters.

“Well—well then we’ll just have to come back,” Dean stammers, clearly not having thought of that.

The flames consume the entirety of the house, at least it seems that way. It won’t be long till it’s nothing but ashes. The only thing that’ll be remembered is the legends of a man who did not exist, that is if people care to remember at all. And all the while the real story of Martin Murdock and his boys will continue to be forgotten by this town and history. “Kinda makes you wonder. Of all the things we hunted, how many existed just cuz’ people believed in them,” Sam ponders, the words swirling in the air and lingering like the smoke filling the sky.

“I’d rather not think of that one,” I mumble. Our ‘job’ was complicated enough, it didn’t need another layer. We didn’t need another thing to keep us up at night.

The boys had decided to make a stop to see Ed and Harry before leaving town. I’m not really sure why, I certainly would’ve gone on just fine without saying a farewell. But, atlast we sit at a picnic table in the trailer park, the boys in question walking over with very full grocery bags. “Man, I got the munchies right now,” Ed comments, talking to his friend. Then, his attention turns to us as they stop at the table, “Gentlemen. Gentlelady,” he nods, and I have the suspicion that if he were wearing a hat he would’ve tipped it at us.

“Hey guys,” Sam greets with a simple smile.

“Should we tell ‘em?” Harry asks Ed, stupid smiles on their faces.

“Hey, might as well, you know, they’re going to read about it in the trades,” Ed points out, chin raised.

“Yeah? What’s that?” I ask, looking up at them. I can’t imagine what they’re gonna say. “So, this morning we got a phone call from a very important Hollywood producer,” Harry tells us, pride dripping in his voice.

“Oh yeah, wrong number?” Dean remarks, ripping a laugh from my lips before I can stop it.

“No, smart-ass. He read all about the Hell House on our website and wants to option the morton picture rights. Maybe even have us write it,” Ed boasts, shoving the stuffed grocery bags into their stuffed car, their trailer hitched to the back. “And create the RPG,” Harry adds.

“The what?” Dean asks.

“Role playing game,” I answer. Dean's eyes turn to me, confusion written in his irises, “What?” I defend, “Can’t a girl know things?”

“You know the lingo,” Ed admires, hearts practically shining in his eyes, “Anyhoo, ahhh, excuse us, we’re off to la-la land.”

“Well, congratulations guys. That sounds really great,” Sam says.

“Yeah. That’s awesome, best of luck to you,” Dean adds. And it’s that that makes me suspicious. It didn’t seem like he had said it sarcastically and from how irritated they had made him I doubt he would mean such a thing sincerely. It’s fishy. “Oh yeah, luck. That has nothing to do with it. It’s about talent. Sheer unabashed talent,” Ed corrects, chest puffed out. I decide to keep my comments to myself, let them have their delusions.

They hop into the overfilled car and start pulling off, “See ya ‘round,” Ed says from out the window, “Call me!” he adds, finger gunning at me. I cringe but ultimately ignore it, I will not be calling him or thinking of them in any degree. “Wow,” Dean exhales, standing up.

“I have a confession to make,” Sam declares, standing up too, hands shoved in his pockets.

“What’d you do?” I ask, laughing.

“I, uh…I was the one that called them and told them I was a producer,” he confesses, a smile trying to pull on the corner of his lips. I can’t help but laugh. It’s certainly a cruel prank and yet so deserved. Dean laughs too, “Yeah, well I’m the one who put the dead fish in their back seat.” Sam joins in on the laughing too, it’s kind of hard not to with the ridiculousness of it all. “My god, you guys are evil,” I smile.

When the laughing dies down Sam says, “Truce?”

“Yeah truce,” Dean agrees, “At least for the next 100 miles.”

[beansthough]

New g/t fic Concept:

A borrower grows up and currently lives in a western themed antique shop.

He lost his family at a young age and with what little survival skills he had he learned to survive and has been on his own since.

The only skill he knew for sure was to stay hidden from Beans, because if you got caught then surly you would meet death or worse. His family had made a fine example of that.

But the one constant in this borrowers young life without parents to raise him is the never ending playing of old westerns on the many retro t.v.’s He sees these characters in himself and the many ways the these hero’s survived the Wild West.

His favorite film was about a simple boy named Jessie. Jessie just like the borrower grew up with very little and no family, he lived a very hard life.

But when Jessie was falsely accused of stealing the towns cattle and money, the boy has to go on the run and become the ultimate gunslinger, cattle roper, and hero to prove his innocence and find the real culprit to save the town.

And the borrower swore there was no better film on this earth. Jessie could do anything and be anything. Not to mention Jessie’s actor was in many other western films where he was this unstoppable hero.

So from then on the young Borrower decided he himself would be called Jessie, and he would live up to his name. He dressed like him, talked like him, and tried his best to live like him, while all the while hiding from the many beans who entered the shop.

And so the Cowboy Borrower was born…

—————-

Katie is a young woman who had just recently inherited a small amount of farmers land and the simple cottage that came with it. She’s ready to start her new life with her college friends the town over to help support her.

After living in her new home for about three months she has managed to start to raise chickens, a single dairy cow, of course her trusted barn cat Lucy.

It is after these three months that her college friends invite her on an outing to go antique shopping, and with at a glance at an empty shelf and her friends calling her how could she decline on a fun outing.

The group had just finished walking the square of this small town when a certain antique shop caught the young women’s eye. It was almost completely western themed.

It was no secret that Katie’s house was decorated in almost every fashion imaginable, but she did have a western collection that she would like to grow, and what better place to do that then here?

It was in that shop that she found truly the best find. A whole set of cowboy themed tea cups with a matching picnic blanket and basket, and the best part yet was the adorable tiny cowboy doll inside.

;)

My good people I give to you:

The Antique Cowboy

[idkwhyimhere5462]

It is not uncommon for Zane to repress or lock away memories. We see it many times such as Decoded, The Quest for Lost Powers, Virtues of Spinjitzu (I’ll get into that later). Zane does not like processing the traumatic things that happen to him and it’s very prevalent. Also, yes I’m talking about Zane again, shut up.

The first time we see it is in season four where he does not seem to understand that he died. He knows that he is not in the same body but he does not want to connect himself to White Ninja. He does not want to accept that he died. He gives himself an entirely new identity, the Titanium Ninja, to avoid those thoughts, and he locked the memories away. We see them again in Decoded in the form of the Ninjigma.

At first, we are led to believe whatever is hacking Zane created it and then the others learn that Zane himself created it. This is foreshadowed with Nya telling Zane he has gaps in his memory. Zane simply tells her his memory bank is damaged, but seeing what’s inside the Ninjigma, we know that isn’t true. He didn’t create that to hide away the virus, it was to hide the memories. He doesn’t even remember creating it, wanting his future self to never find it.

Next, the Ice Emperor. Sixty years of being someone you aren’t, being a cruel tyrant to innocent people, tearing apart families as you desecrate an entire ecosystem by placing it under an eternal winter. Zane, who’s entire purpose is to protect those who cannot protect themselves, did all of that. He had to live with those memories, until he doesn’t. He locked them away, refusing to let himself even think of it. That is why he “recovered” so quickly next season. No one speaks of it, and Zane does the same. If he pretends it never happened, it he locks the memories away deep enough, maybe he can convince himself that it didn’t. The next time we see them is in “The Quest for Lost Powers”. (I literally love this book so much. Farmer Cole my beloved.) Pixal tells him that maybe his lost memories are the key to getting his powers back.

Zane is afraid, he does not want to look at them, afraid to face himself as the Ice Emperor again. He carried these around for years, not allowing himself to face the facts. They aren’t gone though, only shoved into the recesses of his mind. Finally he accepts, he faces himself as the Ice Emperor and finally learns to forgive himself.

Virtues of Spinjitzu is the next time. Wu asks the Ninja if they remember the Six Virtues of Spinjitzu. None of them remember. Wu asks Zane how he doesn’t remember, he has a perfect digital memory after all.

Zane claims he had to put some of his memories offline to clean them up. We know that in “The Quest for Lost Powers” his memories are still all messed up. He probably accidentally threw that memory in with some of the Ice Emperor ones and didn’t want to rifle through them to find it again.

And finally, season fifteen. After realizing locking away memories has consequences where he had trouble remembering things he did not mean to lock away, he needed a more reliable way to avoid processing his emotions. Hence, the emotion meter.

This is something everyone finally saw. Zane couldn’t hide this from anybody. Nobody liked it, but what could they do? They could only stand and watch as their brother, pupil, and lover, take away any humanity he had. Even after Nya became human again, he kept it off, still wanting to avoid any future negative emotions. He learned from Sally that he needed emotions, even bad ones. He turned them back on and allowed himself to process his feelings again and then later forgiving himself in “The Quest for Lost Powers” and finally truly being a fully developed character.

Some people say Zane was already developed in season four, but I wanted to highlight the behind the scenes development that I’ve never really seen people talk about. Zane was never a developed character until “The Quest for Lost Powers”. He hid away memories and avoided confrontation with himself. He wanted to be there for his siblings and that only led to him barring himself off from helping himself. He believed if he had his own problems he couldn’t help them.

At least, this is how I see it. I wanna know other’s opinions on the behind the scenes development with him. See ya.

[hailbop1701]

Random Star Trek Headcanon:

Bones keeps everything his friends give him. He keeps up the cranky cantankerous image, sure. But you can see the little gifts littered throughout his office.

Sulu gave Bones a plant. He takes care of it, talks to it, and sure as hell makes sure to keep it alive.

Chekov gave Bones a Russian nesting doll. He keeps it on a shelf with his books and old medical texts. A pop of color against old brown leather.

Scotty gave Bones a bottle of whiskey. A very old bottle. Bones keeps it in his desk drawer for the really good days, or the really really bad.

Uhura gave Bones a couple of coffee mugs that he uses often. One she found at a farmers market in San Francisco. Crafted tin with bull horns etched on it with the words "Do no harm, But take no Bull". Another is clay, crafted in her hometown in Kenya. Adorn with colors and patterns. He loves them.

Spock gave Bones a piece of Vulcan. An ancient statue that depicts a healer and guardian of the innocent. It's a part of Vulcan's history before Surak. Well, the good parts before Surak anyway. Bones keeps it on a shelf behind his desk with a few pictures of his family, and friends.

Jim gave Bones something very important. Nothing material. Kirk gave Doctor McCoy to boldly go and save, inspire, nurture, and care for not only the crew of Enterprise but so many others across the universe. These accomplishments hang on his wall. Awards, combinations, and the smiling happy faces of everyone he had helped. And the smiling faces of the people around him, his friends, his family.

So despite his fear of space and flying through the unknown he is eternally grateful and would follow Jim Kirk to hell and back. He would follow any of them.

So he keeps everything he is given no matter how silly or insignificant.

When the Enterprise went down on Altamid he was heartbroken for all the people they had lost. When everything settled and crew members were patched up, healthy, or mourned he went back to Altamid with the recovery crew. He officially closed the cases of the missing and dug out everything of sentimental value himself.

[caliburn-the-sword]

how the FUCK is tinkerbell canonically a teacher at auradon prep?? just because she's a fairy it doesn't mean she's good lol. like apply this logic to gaston for a minute. yes he is a raging misogynist and the villain of his movie, but from the perspective of all of the MEN from the village that went to go kill the beast (because that was NOT just gaston) a weak, elderly man that had been missing for a period of time suddenly returns, terrified, and claims that his daughter has been kidnapped. who WOULDN'T want to go rescue her the instance they hear this?? so gaston is sent to the isle of the lost for, in his eyes, trying to rescue an innocent girl (for the ulterior motive of claiming her as his wife,,, ew). we know that all evil minions also got sent to the isle of the lost, but you really want me to believe that they sent ALL the men of the village to the isle too?? those were fathers and husbands and brothers just doing what they thought was right, saving a girl from a predator (without the same ulterior motives as gaston). how fucked up is that?? all those FAMILIES torn apart for a misunderstanding?? that would literally be so traumatic. it's also such an extreme punishment too because these are literally your average french farmers, tailors, etc etc that are getting lumped in with ruthless, vile, sadistic murderers like the evil queen and what not. yet TINKERBELL, who tried MULTIPLE TIMES to kill a LITTLE GIRL, gets to then go and be a TEACHER in a high school surrounded by children, and not anywhere near the isle?? make it make sense

[kerubimcrepin]

Liveblog - Dofus, livre 1 : Julith [PART 11]

As I've mentioned, Kerubim and Julith have Beef.

As far as she is concerned, whether he was behind her framing (he wasn't) he is one of the people to blame. He defeated her that fateful day, and then she never saw her son again.

I've already went into detail, on the way "killing" her has affected him, (A mixture of horror and duty. Killing a mother and making a child an orphan for the sake of a city. Being grateful for her dying because it made him a father instead. Feeling awful for that thought.) but it is interesting, how he reacted to her turning out to be alive, when he killed her with his own hands.

Seething. Perhaps even coping.

This is chichala, which we had seen. I suppose he uses it to buff himself up before the boss fight. Drinking alcohol before a fight is very much RPG logic.

Sadly, there are no interesting buffs to it in-game:

I think a lot about the way Kerubim, Joris, and Atcham would be characterized in video game logic, by the way. I still have no working theory of how the hell their fighting styles would synergize. Would Joris be their buffer/debuffer? Their glass canon? Both? And do any of them take ranged weapons on missions...?

They probably do. It'd be kinda dumb not to. Personally, I like to imagine that Atcham would be the one using those, most of the time. He has that "skyrim stealth archer" vibe to him. (Though they're all melee users, through and through.)

Despite how smug he is at a couple of moments, he really was struggling during this fight.

My honest reaction whenever Kerubim does this fucking face is just:

This is very much a "deeply mentally ill adoptive father (who inadvertently ruined his child's life by adopting them to atone for his sins + because he was abused as a child) fighting through an army for his child before dying in their arms and saying they're the only good thing he ever had" look for him.

Another reason that one has to support both women's rights and wrongs when talking about Julith, is that, like.,.. what was she playing at, here? There are two possibilities:

That she would destroy whoever has the dragon's soul and set it free, giving her an advantage.

That Kerubim would shield that person.

Either one is good. :)

Either way she was perfectly willing to risk/attempt blowing up a random, innocent person, who was hiding from her.

My personal headcanon is that while Julith is physically stronger than Kerubim, she lost ten years prior because she couldn't stop thinking about The Baby. Where were they taking Joris? Did Bakara leave with him? Is Joris alright? Didn't Jahash give him to this cat man, who was now trying to kill her? What the fuck is going on, who did this, why, why, why?

I imagine seeing him lose for the exact same reason brings her great pleasure.

the nonbinary slay here was insane

Guys I think this might be bad for Joris's long term mental stability.

On a more serious note, I think there should be more content about Joris fucking hating Julith. During the movie? There's too much going on to work out what he feels.

But after? He has all the time in the world to hate her for everything she did.

I do think that he probably grew up and found whoever framed her to take revenge on/to get justice. But hating her, and wanting to clear her name of the crimes she DIDN'T commit so she could have some peace in death, so that people would stop smearing her name, — are two things that can coexist.

Like to slap his bald scaly head, reblog to slap his bald scaly head.

Kerubim never changed his stupid ass baka "George George the Farmer Farmer" name.

Though we've been knew.

BAD. I DON'T LIKE THIS.

AND she recognizes him by the blue eyes. AND, this implies that, for the entirety of the Dofus show, — and the entirety of Wakfu as well, since he, once again, has yellow eyes there, — he had dragon eyes.

Imagine being Simone, waking up at 3am, realizing because you forgot something in Joris and Kerubim's bedroom, sneaking in, and seeing this.

It also raises some questions about adult Joris, because we know he no longer has Grougalorasalar in him. The easiest explanation is that he spent so much time with the dragon, that after their final separation, his eyes couldn't change anymore.

After all, — the changes the dragon made to his height/skin/hair are permanent. It would make sense that, with time, even his eyes would be permanently altered.

I don't think it's a sad thing, by the way. Imagine going your whole life with beautiful brown eyes that look a bit like your adoptive father's. Then imagine suddenly having blue eyes (scary) and that they're your Dead Father's Who You Never Met but whom everyone misses. Like which pair of eyes would you choose? Because I think there IS a right answer to this riddle.

I think Julith has convinced herself that whoever took her and Jahash out wouldn't want loose ends, and that Joris was taken out as well, or something. Maybe that's why he wasn't really on her mind.

Mind you, this is a tinfoil hat headcanon.

This is so beautiful, to me... She was so emotionally stricken by seeing him again as his mother, that his father, who was both fatally wounded and stricken by seeing her perform deeply painful dark rituals on his son after traumatizing him, could land one last hit on her to save said son.

Julith has been a mother for a grand total of a few days to a month, while Kerubim has been for 10 years. Of course, her first concern is getting surprised it's him, and not that she hurt him. Because she couldn't even dream that she'd ever see him again.

There's a tragedy in that. She never even had a chance to learn how to be his mother, or who he is as a person, — she was the mother of an infant. Her love for him is far more theoretical than Kerubim's.

It's a love for Joris not as a person, but as a lost opportunity.

So she has no regrets about hurting him, — and she will hurt him as many times as it takes, if that's what it takes to get back her family.

[absolutebl]

hi!! i got into bl in 2020 and watched just abt all of them i could get my hands on back then, but i’ve slowly stopped watching them over the last couple years. i loved the feeling watching them gave me, tho, so i wanna get back into it!

my favorites are to my star, semantic error, 2gether, we best love, and tale of thousand stars! i don’t mind high intensity (like physical stuff) but i definitely don’t need it to enjoy a story! if you don’t mind, can you recommend me some newer bls (or gls!) i might like? i’d appreciate it a ton!!! 💕

my favorites are:

to my star,

semantic error,

2gether,

we best love,

tale of thousand stars

I would call all these pretty classic romance BLs. This mostly jives with my own taste so I'll pull some of my favorites for you.

Did you make it to Old Fashion Cupcake?

If not just GO WATCH THAT.

Otherwise...

2023 High Romance BLs to suck you back into the fold

Our Dating Sim (Korea Viki)

If you haven't watched this, it's a must. I actually handed out a 10/10. I NEVER do that. It's a perfect short form KBL, an office set reunion romance featuring geeks that really suits 8 eps with no fluff and no chaff. Just comforting and yummy. I adored every aspect from the casting to the pristinely simple premise to the quietly smooth execution. Sure it’s low stakes, but that makes it high domesticity and extremely warm and gentle. This is a fuzzy blanket of a story - a cozy BL.

From your list this one is most tonally similar to we best love

Love Tractor (Korea iQIYI)

Most of this country-set BL had me feral for the beautiful broken city boy and his hot young farmer. Hyung romance, puppy/cat pairing, open frankness meets jaded reserve, language play, water hose frolicking, only one bed, just all my favorite tropes. This show was basically a light-weight Restart After Come Back Home and I’m not even slightly mad about that.

From your list this is most tonally similar to semantic error

My School President (Thai YouTube)

GMMTV gave us a classic high school set Thai BL with tropes like messy boys singing their feelings that made this one Love Sick for the modern age with all the gentle sweetness and pining ache, but none of the dated damaging tropes or issues. Yes, we’ve seen it all before, but I still ADORED this. And there is a lot to be said for the classics being re-executed perfectly. This show was fantastic, it’s only flaw was the singing (and that’s my baggage). My favourite GMMTV BL offering to date. And yes, I've watched them ALL.

From your list this is most tonally similar to 2gether.

Our Dining Table AKA Bokura no Shokutaku (Japan Gaga)

Lonely salaryman and talented cook (Inukai Atsuhiro - Absolute BL et al) gets accidentally adopted by a college kid and his little brother. I was always gonna love the show if they stuck to the manga (which is very dear to my heart). And they did, paralleling it almost exactly. It’s a quiet & cozy little parable of found family alleviating loneliness. Possibly too slow for some but definitely high up there for me with the best of what Japan can do. It’s only flaw (if I dare say such a thing) is that it is not really “romantic.” Lovely & sweet but the romance beats are being used to build a family relationship, not couple intimacy, it’s OK with me, but not totally BL.

From your list this on is most tonally similar to ... erm ... none, this is a new creature. Might not work for you.

The New Employee (Korea Viki)

So good, SO QUEER, so soft, a near pitch perfect office BL with conflict derived from that setting. Also found family and a lesbian bestie. Sweet & innocent (and out) Seung Hyun scores the office internship of his dreams. On his first day at work he gets into it with his cool reserved (and also v gay) boss. As you do. Frankly? This is what I wanted from this new crop of office set KBLs ALL ALONG.

From your list this is most tonally similar to we best love

Unintentional Love Story (Korea iQIYI)

A boy who just lost his job due to faked corruption charges accidentally discovers his ex-boss's favorite artist, now a recluse. Evil manager offers him his job back if he can convince the artist to rejoin society. Instead, they fall in love. I found the artist character a bit stiff and reserved but Gongchan (maknae of B1A4) is a fucking GIFT as the harried salaryman - he carried this show (which I do not expect from the idol). He was luminous with extraordinarily expressive eyes, just drown in the emoting abyss. The external conflict, social tension and pressure is complex and beautifully executed, plus Korea gave us legit side dishes (NOT a love triangle, hally-fucking-luya).

From your list this is most tonally similar to tale of thousand stars

The Eighth Sense (Korea Viki)

One of the longest BLs Korea has given us and it feels more atmospheric gay coming of age romance than strictly BL. It’s got a bit of an age gap, country boy/city boy, stellar acting, complex characters, and leads with great chemistry and tension. It’s a bit chewy and sticky and less perfect than most KBLs (do I detect a touch of Taiwan?) This one deployed BL tropes (messy eater, shoulder sleep, protective seme, there’s even some hyung-slinging) but front loaded them with painful backstory and tons angst drives the 2nd half. This isn’t in the KBL bubble, there’s sharp edges and lots of triggers. For a BL the darkness of the content left me feeling unsettled (which is the only reason it didn't get a perfect score) but it does have a glorious ending and is HUGELY romantic, that counts for a lot.

From your list this is most tonally similar to to my star 1 & 2. But it's quite heavy so... make sure you're int the right mood.

[aissa-snapped]

The Heathen and the Christian

Ivar the boneless x reader ( OC)

Word count: 3401

SUMMARY:When a young anglo-saxon meets Ivar in the woods, she thinks he is a nice innocent boy, only to be shocked when she finds out who he REALLY is and what he is capable of.

A/N:This is my 2nd time writing with Vikings. I hope yall like it. I am also apologizing for (possible) mistranslations of irish and icelandic. I might do a part two to this series cuz i like how its going. Also not readproof

1-Oh Cernunnos god of the forest bless me and guide me.

2- WAIT

3-That one is mine

4- Do that again and you`re dead

Wandering the woods at this time of the year, gave any passer-by a spectacular and magical scenery. The rays of sunshine were breaking through the branches, illuminating the forest in the most wonderful ways. Summer was without a doubt the best time of the year. The weather was finally favorable for farmers, crops were flourishing and nature was thriving. But there was a downside to it. This season naturally brought along raiding parties coming from the north, with the intention of pillaging and eradicating every village in sight of any gold or treasure.

Villagers were adivsed to be extremely wary of their surroundings, and in case of any suspicious sighting to report to the guards.

Walking out of the small one-room cottage, Frigyth took her woven basket, hanging it on her left arm and took steady steps towards the neighboring woods that surrounded her village. She was a young maiden, '' ready to be married'' according to her parents, who took her tasks very lightly. She came from a typical peasant family, with three other sisters and one brother. She was at that age where she cared more about enjoying life than actually being helpful around the house.

She begged her mother days in a row to let her go harvest some berries from the woods, seeing as that was her only opportunity to explore nature and relax a tad bit. She took her already forming path that led her into a meadow, hidden from view by some on-growing bushes. She found a larger boulder, and took a seat in a dent, placing her basket next to her. She had plenty of time to finish her task, she thought, so for now she could enjoy a little bit of warmth.

Clasping her hands in a prayer-way, she took a glance around her, making sure she was alone, and started chanting an old prayer she used to hear as a child from her grandmother.

Ó Cernunnos Dia na foraoise

beannaigh dom agus treoraigh

mé tríd an bhforaois...

From a small distance, the prayer spoken by the girl was heard by a trespasser, that was lurking around in the woods seeking some alone time. Instead, the stranger took a detour and followed the voice, leading him into the hidden meadow. upon his arrival, he analyzed the young lady up closely, noticing how she had her eyes closed, and was in a vulnerable state. It would`ve been very easy for the young Viking leader to take his dagger out and kill her on the spot, which was what he should be doing, otherwise he risked getting noticed by the saxon girl, who in return would alert the whole village of the presence of Vikings.

Or perhaps he could kidnap her, get any valuable information out of her and THEN kill her. That seemed like a better idea.

The warrior got lost in his thoughts for a few moments that only when he heard the girl gasp did he snap back to the current situation he was in. The young woman that was not so long ago sat in a peaceful position was now standing up, grabbing her basket in front of her, as if she thought it would protect her from the unknown boy. You did not need to be a schooled noble to notice that the stranger`s attire was different from the regular anglo-saxon clothing, and the weapons well secured around the belt hugging his waist were a big tell-tale sign that she had just ran face to face with a Viking.

Frigyth was not sure what she could possibly do to escape this situation. If she ran, would she meet other Vikings? Or perhaps if she yelled for help, the barbarians would much faster come in to the aid of the mysterious boy and do her in. Her mind along with her heart were racing, blood pulsing through her whole body, as if it was preparing for whatever would happen next. Feeling a giddy feeling in her stomach, she spotted her way out, then she got into a running position, one leg in front of the other, slightly leaning on it and being ready to sprint at any given time.

The Viking however, seemed too lost in his tracks to think of what he should do to her. He was observing her. Long, curly hair, with a vibrant color that glimmered in the sun. He felt sort of... entranced by her?

Before he let her go, he wolf whistled at her, gaining her attention. '' I am Ivar.'' He spoke in a very thick anglo-saxon accent. Frigyth did a double-take, not being sure she actually heard him speaking in HER language. While on the outside she remained frozen, her mind was filled with multiple questions. Probably because she has never heard foreigners speak her language- or because she has never faced a norman before.

'' What is your name?'' Asked the Viking in an iritated tone. The young girl was not sure it was a good idea to tell divulge her full identity. But realizing she had no other choice, she defeteadly answered.

'' Frigyth.'' It was a simple and short answer, for which she hoped it would suffice. But by the looks on the warrior, he smirked slowly at her, watching with predator eyes as she was shifting uncomfortably her weight from one foot to the other.

'' What was that prayer you were saying earlier? It did not sound like your language.'' The maiden`s heart started beating at an alarming rate. Deep down she knew, that the prayer she was chanting earlier was considered heresy and it was forbidden among the christians. But it`s not like him, a Viking, would go and tell on her to a guard. After all, weren`t they pagans as well?

'' It`s an ancient language. I was praying to Cernunnos, the god of the forest, fertility. I- It`s forbidden to pray to any other god other than the One True God. But my grandmother used to tell me that the old Gods never left and are ever present.'' She finished, admitting what has been laying in her heart for many years, sighing in happiness when she mentioned her grandmother.

To say Ivar was shocked at the newfound information was an understatement. In all his life, he had never encountered a christian praying to a different deity. He was getting more and more intrigued by the girl, and the logical part of his brain that was constantly nudging him to kill her was shutting down completely.

The young leader-who had previously found a good sitting spot on the grass- nudged his head towards the empty place next to him, indicating to her to take a seat. With careful, calculated steps, she approached him, leaving a few centimetres between them, just in case he was going to strangle her, or who knows what else.

'' So... tell me...'' He trailed off, in hopes that the girl would tell him something about herself.

With frowning brows, she kept silent, waiting for him to continue with a question. Ivar rolled his eyes, and asked her about her family.

'' We`re but a family humble peasants .'' The Viking could tell she loved cutting straight to the chase, not giving out any other detail unless asked.

Gaining all the courage she could muster, she turned slightly towards him, asking the dreaded question.

'' Where did you come from?''

Raising his eyebrows, Ivar chuckled darkly, shaking his head softly.

'' I don`t think you want to know.'' He admitted cynically.

'' Will that get me in trouble?'' She asked shyly.

'' You could say that.'' Smiling softly, Frigyth directioned her eyes to the ground, trying to ignore the burning stares of the curious Viking whose hand was slowly reaching up to her face, pausing for a second and taking a hold of a piece of her hair, and twirling it around his finger -almost lovingly so- which made her flinch for a second, before relaxing back and letting him play with strands of her hair.

The atmosphere between the two was peaceful, even though there was silence, but it was a welcoming one, in which neither felt the need to interrupt it. It was as if an unspoken rule was set. Both simply wanted to sit down and get lost between the thousands of trees and take a break from their societal obligations. Ivar leaned back on his elbows, straightening his legs in front of him, to give them a stretch, which gave the girl a full view of his crippled legs. She widened her eyes in surprise, but quickly gained her composure when she noticed Ivar clenching his jaw in anger, averting her eyes elsewhere.

It felt like they were there for an hour or two, when Frigyth sighed sadly and stood up, clenching the handle of the backet in her left fist and started taking small steps towards the hidden entrance marked by two bushes with a beaten track in between them. Ivar frowned, his eyes following her figure sharply, similar to a wolf following his prey.

'' I should go.'' Looking at her feet, she was swinging the basket slowly in her hand, as if waiting for the boy to stop her from going, although, deep down, she knew she was running behind with her tasks and she was bound to return home eventually, and her mother would not be happy if she came back empty handed.

Ivar nodded stoically, breaking his eyes from the girl and with a loud groan, he rolled onto his back, and began crawling towards the girl, ignoring her stares of bewilderment at his methods of traveling.

'' I should probably go too.'' He responded and begudgingly so.

'' It was nice meeting you.'' Frigyth complimented, with a small voice.

'' We will meet again, christian.'' He winked at her, which caused the maiden to let out a nervous laugh, having no idea what he could have possibly meant by that, and on that note, they both departed their own ways.

Upon her arrival back home, she was welcome by her worried mother, who seemed to have a look of concern mixed with irritation displaying across her face.

'' Where have you been?! It`s almost dark outside. And what is this? This is all you gathered in all this time you were gone?!'' She pointed at her basket, which was barely filled with any berries.

Frigyth shrugged off the hand her mother had placed on her shoulder, sprinting inside the cottage. The one-room hut was warm and all her family was gathered round at the table, chatting lively amongst eachother. Her presence was sensed by her father, and one by one her siblings all paused mid-conversation, to look at the newcomer. Her father smiled warmly at her, motioning with his hand to take a seat next to him.

'' We were wondering when you would come back Frig. Your mother was worrying terribly.'' He laughed, patting her back twice.

'' And I had all the reasons to. You know what they tell us, the priests. The woods are no longer safe.'' Her mother huffed angrily, stepping into the cottage and slamming the door shut, checking the small window incorporated in it for any intruders that might be lurking outside their homes. She took her seat, next to her husband and continued eating her freshly cooked pottage.

Frigyth`s father let out a breath of air, rubbing his face with his face. The rebel daughter rolled her eyes, pretending to be oblivious to what her mother was saying. Should she tell anyone that today she has met and spoken to a possible Viking? If she did, then she would reveal to everyone that she had been slacking rather than actually gathering food for the family, and she risked losing the task she was given, and probably forced to return to her old duties, which were mostly around the cottage. So she took the smarted option, and never mentioned the encounter with the stranger.

'' I know. Aelflead and the other blacksmiths think that we are to prepare for an attack.'' The father confessed sadly.

'' What makes you think that, dad?'' The youngest sibling asked, with her curious natured eyes.

'' Because sweetie, we have been ordered by the king to forge as many swords and shields as fast as we can manage. But when we tried asking the guards why, he refused to tell us. They were all acting suspicious.'' He shrugged, ripping a piece of the wholemeal bread and dipping it in the stew.

Frigyth was starting to get nervous. What if they are about to be attacked? But again, Ivar did not look dangerous. Evenmore, he was crippled. Surely that meant he was maybe thrown out of his tribe and forced to die alone. And even if she decided to tell her family about her encounter, in what way would that help them escape the fury of a Viking raid?

The contact she had with the mysterious boy was what kept her awake most of the night, and by the time her body was exhausted and allowed her to fall asleep, the rooster was already crowing, alerting the family that it was dawn and that meant time to go back to work. However, something felt odd. While Frigyth`s family members were grumbingly getting out of bed, the young maiden heard screams and clanks of swords outside. When realization hit her, she alerted her family to be silent for a second in order for them to pay attention to what might have been going outside.

''Haeddi, take the girls and hide in the barn. Wilfred and I are going outside to see what is happening.'' The father instructed his wife. ''Here, grab this.'' He threw a newly forged seax to his son, and he took an old rusty looking blade for himself, gesturing with his head towards the door. '' Let`s go.'' With one solemn look, Frigyth`s father glanced at his girls, holding a strong and loving eye contact with his wife, silently reassuring her that everything was going to be all right.

When the girls were left alone, Haeddi looked at her daughters, trying to contain the tears threatening to spill from her eyes. '' We`re going outside. Stick close to each other. Once we reach the barn, find a hiding spot. Underneath the hay, behind it. I don`t` know. But do it as fast as you can. We don`t know what awaits us out there.'' The four girls looked at her mother, nodding shakily and following closely behind her towards the door. The mother was counting with her fingers how many seconds they had left before she would open the door and the chaos would start. Frigyth could hear the faint screams of terror coming from the villagers and once the door was open and they started running, everything went in slow motion. The action outside became more vivid. The shrieks and cries of pain were amplified and all of those made the girls run faster than they had ever done so in their entire lives.

Once they safely reached the barn, her mother grabbed the youngest offspring and she chucked them both behind some haystacks. The other two sisters went off climbing on a ladder and finding a safe space to bury in.

Frigyth was looking around, trying to find the first hidin place and duck under it, but to her terror, she was forcefully grabbed by her arm by a very muscular man, that looked like he could eat her alive. She gulped, eyes wide open and heart drumming against her chest, almost as if it was ready to jump out of her chest. He gave her an animalistic smile, that sent shivers down to her spine. Her sisters and mom were watching terrified from the hiding spots how poor Frigyth was going to get killed...or worse.

With an unmatchable force, he turned her around with her back facing him, and raising his axe and readied himself to cut her thin linen dress open, ignoring her pleas and screams to stop, but a powerful voice made him pause mid-action.

''BÍÐA!'' Both the cruel man and Frigyth turned their heads to look at whoever just stopped the brutal Viking. The girl couln`t believe her eyes. Sitting in a single seated strange looking carriage pulled by a beautiful white stallion, sat the very guy that around this time the other day she was enjoying her time with in the meadow.

''ÞESSI ER MINN!!'' Ivar approached the enormous barbarian and pulled him away from his victim by his hair, holding his dagger against his throat.

''Gerðu þetta aftur og þú ert dauður!!'' He spat with venom, letting go of him. When he looked at the shaken lady, he softened his eyes, offering a friendly hand for her to take. She shakily shook her head no, losing any trust she had in him.

Seeing how reluctant she was, Ivar huffed annoyed. '' If you come with me, you`ll be safe.'' He promised. She glanced back at her mother and sisters-who were terrifyingly and confusingly observing the interaction between the two-, looking back and forth between them and him. He instantly put two and two together, and rolled his eyes playfully. '' They will not be harmed IF... you come with me.''

But before she had any chance to speak, her father and brother came rushing to her aid. Wilfred, her brother, seemed unharmed, except for a few cuts here and there and some blood staining his blade, but her father seemed to have a pretty deep cut on his side, that was bleeding alarmingly.

'' STAY AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER!'' Her father yelled, pointing his old and chipped sword at the Viking.

Ivar mockingly raised both his arms in surrender, faking a terrified expression. After a few moments, he then grabbed his trusty dagger, swirling it smoothly around his finger and pointing behind him at the army that was currently ravaging the village.

''See that? I am the leader of all of them. I can order them to stop anytime if I want to. That is why I am asking YOU again.'' He pointed his dagger in Frigyth`s direction. '' Are.You.Coming.With.Me?'' He asked slowly, putting an emphasis on each word, to ensure he was being understood.

The curly haired girl looked with saddening eyes at her dad, who was still clutching his sword with all his being, as if believing THAT could actually help her, then at her brother, who was copying his father`s movements, but with less confidence and then at her mother and sisters, who were all shaking their heads no and crying silently, not knowing what the outcome of this woul be.

There was no backing out of this. She had two simple but impactful choices. She either went with him, probably ending up a slave, but at least her family was safe, or so she hoped. Or she could refuse, and get killed by the previous Viking.

With determined steps, she approached Ivar, making him smirk in victory. Her father yelled at her angrily to get back there behind him, but she was already climbing Ivar`s carriage. The young ruler grabbed her hand softly, guiding her to sit on his knees, that she now got to observe, were covered in some sort of metallic braces.

Once she took her seat in his lap, he stroked her hair with one hand, while whispering in her ear. ''Good girl.'' She sat frozen in his lap, letting him wrap a strong arm around her waist to keep her steady.

She took a one last glance at her family, waving sadly at them and struggling to keep her composure.

'' They will be safe, right?! You promised!'' She asked desperately, glacing back at her house, which was now growing to be more and more far away.

'' On my arm ring.'' He pledged, placing his palm over his bracelet for a moment, showing her that he was serious about his oath. Grabbing with one arm the reins and with the other gripping her tightly against him, he yelled something in Old-Norse to the other men, fleeing the village afterwards towards an unknown location to the girl, from where a new life was about to start for her. She could only hope it was going to be good.

[sassy-radio-hazbin-queen]

So I saw a few people do there own Smurfs au and I thought to myself why can't I? So this is based on a dream I had but what if Smurfette wasn't created alone. And what if Vanity, Jokey, Clumsy and Brainy were also Smurfettes created by Gargamel.

I mean Smurfette represents Lust

Vanity is Vain

Jokey is a Pranskter

Clumsy is adorable innocent but destructive

And Well Brainy he is known for a lot of trouble.

All these qualities can make them Naughties as well. Now this au is a Blend of the Cartoon and live action movie. Not the lost village.

Without further ado here are the girls

Vanity Smurfette

Second Eldest right after Smurfette. Gargamel named her after she wouldn't stop staring at herself in his mirrors. As a Naughty her Vainess is 100%. To the point where she would call her own Sisters ugly. However deep down she had some insecurities. This all changed when she was forced to hang out with Farmer. At First the Naughty hated working in the fields. However Farmer always treated her like a lady. And she had to admit to herself that he was very attractive. Because of his Kindness towards her she decided she wanted to become a real Smurfette.

She has a crush on Farmer but isn't to sure he actually notices her. ( He does he just to shy to approach a beautiful woman)

Her phobia is 🐍.

Favorite color Purple 💜

Next

Jokey Smurfette

Like her actual male canon character this girl loves Jokes and playing pranks. Even on her own Father Gargamel. Third Sister in line she sometimes felt completely invisible so she would do pranks to get attention. She suffers from Middle child syndrome definitely. When she gets to Smurf village she is helping her sister Smurfette wreck things in the village. However she still tried to make them laugh. She would exceed at almost all of them except a certain grump. No matter how hard she tried he would not laugh. This frustrated her. However she decided to make it her life goal. To make Grouchy Smurf laugh. It wasn't until he cracked a tiny smile that she decided she wanted to be a true Smurfette.

She has a crush on Grouchy, however she feels he will never feel the same way. ( He does his ego won't let him show it)

Oh and to Vexy and Grouchy shippers 😔. At first I shipped them too but now I feel the romance was rushed way too fast so I'm Pairing her with Marina. ( Vexy x Marina)

Phobia= 🤡 ( ironic I know)

Favorite color= Yellow 💛

Next

Clumsy Smurfette

Probably the most innocent thing in the entire world. Even when she was a naughty. Gargamel called her a mistake because of her innocent nature. When she arrived at Smurf village she didn't really want to cause trouble however trouble just seemed to follow her. She would accidentally wreck everything in sight. Being second youngest also meant her sisters were a bit protective of her. Of course she was always hurt by Vanity mean words ( she apologized once they all became true Smurfettes) To her surprise Handy seemed to like having her around cause even after accidently broke something she was willing to fix it immediately. When The Smurfs found out the Smurfettes were all Naughties. Hefty and Handy took it the hardest. Seeing Handy cry make Clumsy want to be a real Smurfette

She has a crush on Handy but is too shy to pursue it. She held it back when He started Dating Marina but when Marina broke up with him and starting Dating Vexy she fell in love with him again ( Handy did like her but he just fell for Marina he fell for Clumsy later though)

Phobia= 🕷️

Favorite color= Green 💚

Now for my personal favorite

Brainy Smurfette

She is the youngest of the Smurfettes something her older sisters minus Clumsy who she is very close to do. Because of this from the beginning she tried to act older than she was. Like Clumsy she was often bullied by Vanity however unlike her she didn't take it lying down. Her sisters were pretty overprotective of her at First. Now when she was created she was blind at first. She got her name through her personality not her glasses. Because of her blindness and brash personality she was causing the most trouble. Papa smurf however could tell something wasn't right and after the Smurfette collided with Gutsy Smurf even though she was right in front of him he relaized want was wrong. He gave her glasses so she could see. After that Brainy came to respect the village leader and even was interested in the magic he did. Because of Papas kindness and totally not cause she didn't want to be left out or cause she had a teeny crush on the Smurf she fell on she decided she wanted to be a real Smurfette

She has a TEENY crush on Gutsy Smurf. If you ask or tell her she loves him be prepared for a hours long speech on how there not compatible ( she is obviously lying of course 😊)

Gutsy likes her too but like Brainy don't tell him unless you want to be smurfed out of the village)

Phobia= 🌑

Favorite color= Red ❤️

And that's there story everything else plays out the same In the cartoon and movie with a few exceptions of course.

I decided to make there Birthday Smurfette debut.

Nov 21 ( not sure what year the smurfs took place)

There zodiac is Scorpio ♏

Thanks so much for reading ☺️ I hope you like them.

Smurfs don't belong to me and neither do these actually there just an Au version of them.

[jor-elsemissary]

Want

—————————

Martha Kent.

She was perhaps the most singular thing in his world that he could not acquire with wealth and power, or manipulate with words and charm. It wasn’t because of a lack of trying, no, she was simply something he did not want to ruin with his touch.

His presence was a poison that became more toxic the longer you stood beside him. A word from him could turn the most innocent person into a desperate man willing to kill. A few thousand Washingtons could buy him the time of day. A whisper in the shadows would ruin a man.

But Martha Kent?

She seemed immune to him. His charm and wit had only amused her. She was cautious with him, like she knew he was a viper waiting in the tall grass to strike. This farmer’s wife had a way to get past his ruthlessness and draw out a deep desire to impress her by any means.

In all his years, not even with Lillian, has he ever felt like offering his life for another. And yet that is what he had tried to do when Lincoln Cole had held them captive.

He knew then and there that he was in love with Martha Kent.

He would die for her.

“Martha…” her name was a reverence to be whispered lest some evil would hear and ruin all that made her who she was.

Her hand on his arm was like fire to his ice. It burned and melted away the armor he had crafted and wore for himself, leaving him feeling bare for her to see. He knew she sees through his flirtations and visits for what they really are and yet she does not ever send him away like some rejected suitor.

He comes back every time in the hopes that this time it would be different. This time she would invite him to stay. This time she would give him a kiss if only to greet him or say goodbye. But he leaves every time feeling hope for them and disappointed all the same.

He wanted her.

Not just simply to take to bed like he would have in the past. A conquest to mark like the many other women and girls. No. She wasnt something to conquer. She wasn’t a trophy to collect and add to his exotic collection.

Martha Kent was to be cherished and loved, and if he had to do that at arms length, he was willing to play the role of platonic lover.

He wanted her.

He wanted her smiles, the way it would crinkle the corners of her eyes and telling him how genuine and happy she was. He wanted her laughter, the sound of it like one of his piano sonatas he so liked to play. He wanted her gratitude for something he did that she approved. He wanted her approval like some abused school boy seeking validation.

He wanted her love above all else.

Because the love Martha Kent gave was real. It would not be born out of an arranged marriage so he could have her money. It would not be manipulated into her so that she would never think of a time when she did not love him.

No. Martha Kent needed to genuinely love him. He needed to hear her say those words with true meaning and affection. The one time she had said how much he had meant to her, it had sent him soaring so high he didn’t know what to say or do.

Her love, he knew, would have him riding cloud nine.

God, Martha Kent being just out of his reach was just enough to drive him to madness.

“Lionel?” his name on her lips always drew his attention away from whatever it was he was doing or thinking. “Are you alright?”

“I’m… sorry?” Why was she asking him that?

“You seemed… lost in thought back there?” Back there? Back where? Oh. Who had they been talking to before his thoughts drifted to about her?

“I… I’m fine. I just, was.” Lionel Luthor never got tongue tied around anyone before. But Martha had that way with him. She had the knack to cut short whatever thought he was going to express, pause, and rethink his life choices before saying something she wanted or approved. “I was just thinking about you.”

“That bored you have to use me to entertain yourself?” she gently teased and he wanted nothing more than to take her from this political event and tell her (and show her) exactly what he had been thinking about.

“Shall we exit stage left then?” he offered. “We’ve been here long enough to impress the right people and worry the rest.”

“Please.” Her arm linked through his and he guided them through the various guests of the party. “Even though I have been going to these for years now, I still haven’t gotten use to it. I suppose it’s all the false platitudes and promises that get to me.”

No matter how much he guides her through his world, he knows he will never get the farm out of her. Martha Kent is and always will be that Kansas farmer that he has come to cherish and love, and these people here have no idea whom they have amongst them.

“You never really get use to it,” he confesses, a smile on his lips as he admires her. “But you have come a long way and those people know that.”

Martha rested her head against his shoulder once they were outside and waiting for his limousine to arrive. He could feel her trust and affection in just that gesture alone. It was the small things like that which kept him going and hoping for more.

He wanted Martha Kent and he was determined to do things right with her.