#i also wish i could work more on the lore post i put on pause... i could always start writing it out

[flowerakatsuka]

as much as i love seeing my niblings, not really having the energy or time to draw while they're visiting makes me feel like i'm coming apart at the molecular level.

[fleursdemeduse]

Remembrance AU: Everything Is Blue

I've been trying to post these every 30 notes, but that happened within hours on the last post, so I'm sorry for not being done with this sooner and for how rushed it feels.

Warnings: Arguing ; Mention of Death ; Mention of bombs ; Unrequited[?] Love ; Memory Loss ; Slight Stalking ; Angst

Words: 3.7k

You hadn’t spoken to him since that incident after the festival. You knew your harsh words you had all but screamed at him had driven a stake between the two of you. It hurt so much more to think about now. You had berated the brunet when you saw him. He had messed up and you needed to let him know just how much. But when all that had left his lips in response had been a sullen “I’m sorry.”, your anger at him just increased.

“For what? I want to hear you say it.” He didn’t have a right to suddenly look so morose when just minutes earlier, you had found him cackling to himself over plans. Your form had loomed in the doorway of where he kept the wooden desk. You didn’t dare step foot into the room where such a stranger waited. His smile hadn’t been the same one you had known all this time and you actually flinched at the sight of it. You felt like prey. And now, after he had chased after you when you had turned to storm off, he thought he was allowed to look like he had been caught doing something he knew he shouldn’t have been? He had already told you the worst, even if he hadn’t done it.

“Everything.” The answer had caught you off guard. You hadn’t expected him to be so earnest in his apology. At your lack of a response, he had just shook his head, rubbing his eyes. “I have so much work to do.”

He turned to walk back to his small “office” and you reached out for him. “Wilbur, please-”

“Don’t follow me.” His voice was firm. That had been the first, and only, time he had used such a tone with you, but this had also been the first, and only, time you had yelled at him. You tried to hold back the sound that escaped your lips. You wanted to chase him anyways, but you had a discussion with Technoblade that needed to happen.

It wasn’t like you didn’t want to talk to him afterwards. You wanted to mend the great divide that seemed to loom between you two. But he didn’t seem to. He never spoke to you after that. Communication always came from another member; Techno or Tommy, more often than not. And now? Now you would never be able to fix things.

You still remembered the look in Technoblade and Tommy’s eyes when you told them you were on both of their sides. Techno had never once lied to Tommy or Wilbur about never wanting to re-establish L’Manburg, but putting Tubbo in the position of president had been done so fairly democratically. If anyone had had a problem with him inheriting the position, they could have voiced it. Instead everyone had cheered. You couldn’t fight for either side you loved so much when they were both right. Not after watching the third person you held closest to you get slain by the man who was supposed to be his father. You couldn’t lose either of them too.

Techno was a comfortable constant in your world. He was warm, funny, and the friendship between you two only seemed to grow with each passing day. You could ask him for anything in the entire world, and he’d give it to you with very little questions asked. So you helped him leave after Tommy and Tubbo set to rebuild L’Manburg. He was ready to change, he had said so himself. So much violence and carnage had left his hands permanently stained with blood. The voices didn’t help at all. You knew that. If you hadn’t have felt the need to help Tommy and Tubbo with the next phase of their life, you were sure you would have stayed in the arctic with him, away from everything that had happened. He had been more than happy to share the cabin he wanted to build with you. There would be a farm, he said, and animals. Your company was so nice, he wouldn’t mind sharing it every day. But despite how wonderful that offer sounded, you could only remind him that Tommy and Tubbo were still children and required more guidance than he did. He didn’t look happy about it, but let you go anyway with the promise that you’d come visit often.

As if anything could keep you away from your best friend.

When you returned, Tommy had sent you back to Pogtopia to collect the loose odds and ends that had been left there. It wasn’t much, just things that he had thought would help. But he couldn’t leave the process to run the errand. You were more than happy to do it for him. You knew he wouldn’t want the reminder of Wilbur, his mentor and brother in almost every sense of the word, being gone so soon.

When you had descended down the familiar walkways, you marveled at all of the buttons still left there. It felt more like a museum exhibit now than the place where the rebellion had bloomed. Aside from what you pilfered, everything had been, and would remain, untouched. Lingering in each of the “rooms”, memories about all that had happened in such a short amount of time started to haunt the quiet base.

There was a small chest in the corner of your alcove, however. One that hadn’t been there when you had left the night before the final stand for reconnaissance. You had been supposed to report back what you had found, but you had chosen to send Wilbur a message over the comms instead and visit the old library you had once called home rather than return and deliver it orally. Your leader wouldn’t have noticed either way. You were still back in time, so it didn’t matter, even if he had.

You knelt beside the wooden chest, opening it carefully. A sword sat inside, wrapped in a faded and torn brown trench coat. You ran your fingers over the material gently. The one Wilbur had been in during his death was a darker brown and wasn’t as worn. Why he had left it here, in a chest in your room, wrapped around some stupid sword? You pulled out the bundle, carefully unraveling the blade so as to not tear the fabric that held so many memories. lore was inscribed on the handle and you watched the blade shine with purple enchantments. Why in the world was this here? Your lips trembled as you remembered hearing Phil’s murmured recount of what had happened in the button room.

Had Phil not been there, would he have asked you to slay him with the very sword you held?

You dropped the weapon, hands clutching at the fraying fabric of the trench coat now in your lap. You hugged it to your chest, wishing its owner were here instead. It smelled vaguely of dirt and ink and the smallest amount of sap. There was no trace of the gunpowder you remembered perfuming his skin last time you had seen him in it. Was this how he wanted you to remember him? A former president who smelled of the dirt and sap from the country he loved and not the TNT he’d destroyed it with? A poet who spilled ink on himself rather than betrayed his friends? An elder brother who left quiet gifts for his friends and loved ones even if he didn’t know if he’d be able to see them accept it?

Tears stained the fabric as they fell off your chin like the rain that hadn’t seemed to come. Not even the heavens would mourn your friend who had fallen victim to the corruption he had sought to eradicate.

For the first time in a very long time, you felt completely isolated and alone.

L’Manburg rebuilt itself steadily. Phil had been a great asset to everything, and with the efforts of everyone, the place was just as thriving as before. You had made more friends beyond those who had helped in the rebellion. Your relationship with Tubbo growing more and more as time went on. He was a bright spot whenever Tommy or Techno were busy or otherwise couldn’t see you. You may have been close during the time of Pogtopia, but now it felt like you had adopted another little brother. It felt like you had taken the place Wilbur had left.

Tubbo would come over for tea sometimes, advice others, but more often than not, he came with new conversation points and stories about his week. He had been holding out on you. He might have come across as smart before, but the child was a downright mad scientist when he was broken out of his shell. You were glad he had been chosen as the president, even if it kept him so busy. You just hoped the power wouldn’t corrupt him the same as the two that came before him.

A small smile crossed your lips when you saw the boy across the river separating the two of you. You didn’t know he would be out and about today. You had just finished visiting Tommy, in fact. You would have invited him along. You raised your hand to wave but paused. There, peeking out from behind him, was the faded visage of a familiar beanie. Nausea settled in your stomach. Everything suddenly too hot and too cold. That couldn’t have been him.

Cold and empty black eyes turned their attention on you and you were suddenly reminded of a sword wrapped delicately in a warm trench coat tucked safely in your ender chest. You fled before Tubbo could see you too.

You avoided the spirit for weeks. Niki told you of how kind the apparition was when you bought pastries from her. Tommy mumbled about how forgetful the man was whenever you two had your weekly dinner. Techno described to you the odd personality the ghost had taken on whenever around. But you still refused to see him.

He, however, wanted to see you.

He was determined. After you had run from him so many times when he had tried approaching you both directly and indirectly, he sought for alternative methods to see you. The former president found that invisibility potions were the easiest way. He could follow you through the streets discreetly, see the expressions on your face when you talked with your other friends, stare into your eyes when you daydreamed at the docks and imagine you were looking into his once more. If he tried really hard, he could imagine that it was all directed at him.

Ghostbur missed you and he couldn’t remember why you refused to speak to him. You two had been so close. Did Alivebur do something bad to you to make you not want to even look in his direction? You wouldn’t even let him ask.

The rain had finally come around once you had stopped actively mourning. It was ironic, really. You predicted that the storm would be around for at least a few hours. Which was good. Crops needed watering and the air had started to take on a dryness that made your throat parched even with vast amounts of water.

You hadn’t predicted he’d come around with the storm.

Raindrops fell in torrents against the wooden pathways and dirt outside. It was a calming sound. You almost wished for some soft guitar to play an accompaniment to the natural percussion. The thought brought a sour taste to your mouth. Tommy had the instrument now, but the thing was old. Strings were rusted from many nights in the rain without being properly dried and the bridge had shifted from so much neglect. You wondered if the ghost could still play. You’d never find out, but you still crushed the curiosity the moment it had crossed your mind.

A loud knock echoed through your home, disrupting the incomplete symphony and you removed yourself from the warm couch you had been curled upon. You opened the door a little, trying to not flood your home with the storm that unleashed it’s wrath outside. A yellow sweater and red beanie came into view, but they sizzled in the downpour and looked almost like they were melting. Tubbo had told you of his weakness to water, why was he out in this weather? Why was he at your door?

“It’s pouring rain, what are you doing here?” You hadn’t meant for your tone to be as icy as it was.

“I didn’t know where else to go.” You took a small breath, closing your eyes as you tried to talk yourself out of allowing him inside. The small hiss of rain hitting his jumper filled your ears and you released the breath in a sigh as you failed to convince yourself. The door swung open wider and you stood to the side. After a moment, you looked at him again.

“Get in here before I leave you out there.” You watched the ghost scramble to rush out of the rain, and you watched him silently for a moment before closing the door behind him. Brushing past the ghost, you walked to your kitchen. You hoped some tea would soothe your nerves and the ghost would be quiet. Phil had given you a small bag of chamomile herbal tea that had lavender buds in it. He said it was to help with sleep and reduce stress and you couldn’t help but think he had gifted it to you for this exact moment.

You waited for the water to heat on the furnace. Once the bubbles slowly grew and rose to the surface, you pulled the pot off and turned before startling. Wilbur had been right behind you, watching the water as well. You recognized the feeling of hot pain quickly grow on your chest and you gasped, setting down the pot on the counter as you moved to pull your shirt away from the scarred flesh to prevent further scalding. Wilbur had yelped as well, some of the water having sloshed onto him. You looked up to him, eyes wide when you saw his arm start to melt.

“Sorry, are you-” The words died on your tongue when his eyes met yours however. The feeling of crying immediately replaced your concern. You missed his brown eyes. The ones that looked into yours so attentively when you were talking. The ones that flashed with his emotions, even when they were kept off of his face. The ones that looked like melted honey in the sunlight and rich chocolate in the torchlight. You hadn’t realized your vision had become blurry with unshed tears until you watched the grey blob of his hand put something into your own.

“Have some blue. It’ll be okay.” You stared at the mass in your hand, the small blue pile growing darker and darker. You looked up at the ghost, confused. “It’s blue!”

“Yeah, Wilbur. It is.”

“No, no it’s called blue. It starts out translucent and then slowly turns blue as it absorbs your sadness!” You scoffed, setting it on the counter next to the pot.

“Obviously it doesn’t work.”

“It does! You’re not gonna cry anymore, are you?” You turned to look at him again, freezing when you saw his smile. That stupid smile that shouldn’t have been so wide on his ashen face. You shook your head, turning back to put the water into your mug. It had cooled a little, but that was alright. It would brew okay still.

“Why are you here, Wilbur?”

“I told you, I didn’t know where else to go.” You slammed the pot onto the counter with a little more force than was probably necessary.

“But why me? You finally want to talk to me now? After everything you’ve done?” You spun on your heel to glare at the ghost that floated in your kitchen. The water on your shirt was cold now and sticking to you, but your face felt so hot. His smile dropped from his face and he looked stricken.

“I did something to you?” You bit your lip, feeling your throat tighten. How could he not remember?

“You ignored me for so long, Wilbur! I tried so hard to make things up to you after our fight, and what do I get? A stupid sword and a coat with too many memories attached. Like that would ever make up for anything! You know what?” You reached into the ender chest that sat in on the counter, throwing the bundle at him. “Why don’t you have it back, then? Load of good it does me!” You sniffled, feeling tears prick your eyes. You laughed a little, wiping at them with the back of your hands. “I feel so stupid. I missed you so much and yet you’re right here in front of me. So why doesn’t it feel like you’re you? Why doesn’t any of this make me feel better?”

The feeling of something cold touched your cheek. It was like cool morning mist before the dew and it felt nice against your flushed skin. You felt your lips tremble when you realized the ghost was holding your cheek just like he had the night before the festival. They didn’t smell like anything this time.

“Because I’m not Alivebur. I’m Ghostbur. We’re different.” You heard the sound of your tears fall against his hand before you felt them, but he didn’t pull his hand away. “I don’t remember what happened between us before he died, but I do remember you were very important to him, [y/n]. You’re very important to me.”

“You don’t remember anything?” You sniffled, starting to move away from his touch. His hand dropped back to his side.

“I remember a lot of things, but I don’t remember why you’re mad at me.” A half-laugh tumbled from your lips, but it sounded more like air than anything.

“I wasn’t truly mad at you until you blew up everything and died, Wilbur,” You paused. “-Ghostbur. What do you actually remember, then?”

You didn’t miss how the correction made a smile bloom once more on his lips.

"I remember saying I'd die for you multiple times." A snort escaped you and you shook your head, pressing a hand to your mouth and looking away from the apparition before you.

"I didn't think you meant literally. That was always my job, wasn’t it?” You felt him pull away your hand gently and hold it. The feeling wasn’t unpleasant, but you didn’t like it. His touch lacked the soft tangibility it once had and it was just another painful reminder.

“Let’s go sit on the couch. I want to talk to you again. I want to catch up.”

You nodded, your tears starting to dry a little.

He guided you to your living room, perching himself on the sofa before waiting for you to sit as well. The air felt tense as he pulled you into a conversation. After a while, the wind and rain slowed and were a quiet hum compared to the easy laughter and sweet smiles you two shared. You avoided the heavy topics. The ones that would make this kind dream dissolve back into the harsh reality that awaited you later when you couldn’t pretend like nothing had happened. Once the lull on his side of the conversation lasted too long, however, you turned to look at him. You were met with a warm gaze that held the spark of something you didn’t even know could present itself in the dead eyes of your once dear friend.

“[Y/n]?” You hummed in response. “I’m so glad I came here. You make me feel alive. For the first time ever, I feel like I can breathe. It feels like everything was so devoid of colour, I didn’t know what it meant until now.”

You laughed a little. “That’s not my doing, ‘bur.”

Ghostbur stood and moved to look out your window, watching the sun slowly set. You hadn’t realized the storm had stopped until you saw the golden light wash him in a warm glow that made him a vision to behold.

“[y/n]?” You hummed again, reaching to finish your tea that had been remade over the hours. “Why didn’t you love me?”

Your heart stalled in your chest. You turned your head and watched the ghost slowly turn to you and you furrowed your eyebrows. What was he talking about? “Please don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you didn’t know.” Your mouth was dry, but you set the mug back down.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ghostbur. We were friends. Of course I loved you.” He shook his head.

“Not in the way that I wanted. I-” You watched him fish some blue out of his pocket and play with it. “I really loved you, [y/n]. I wanted you to be by my side through everything. But when you seemed to continuously choose Technoblade, I felt like I couldn’t say anything. Now, you’re hurt by what Alivebur did. I know other people haven’t truly forgiven me for what he did. I haven’t either. And I don’t like hearing about it, but it still hurts.” He looked so sad, the blue in his hands growing darker and darker. “We can’t even be together now because I’m a ghost.”

Suddenly his eyes lit up like he had remembered something. You watched him immediately turn and make his way to the door. Navy blue pieces forgotten on your floor. “That’s it! There’s so much work to do.”

The memory of soft apologies spoken in a ravine echoed in your ears. Your heart picked up speed and you stood, reaching out for him as if to stop him as he pulled open your front door. “Ghostbur, please-”

“Don’t follow me.”

How many times would you have to hear that before the words didn’t hurt anymore?

[ag-celestina-gorillaz]

Daisies and Daffodolls Day 17: Book Series

Sorry I've been MIA a lot. I've been busy doing sewing stuff (next photo challenge I'll prepare a few weeks in advance). But anyways, I took a pic of Celestina in what would be her meet outfit. Celestina's story is different in many ways than other AG characters. For one thing, she's my Gorillaz OC as well, so her story involves some Gorillaz lore as well, and her story starts at age 11 in middle school in 2016 and goes to at least 2020 when she's 15. Basic outline, Celestina is a cheerful creative girl living in Orbitz Ohio. She was raised by her mom Sharon and her stepmom Mia, (they got married in 2015 when gay marriage became legal in the US), and her dad is Stuart "2-D" Pot, the lead singer of the British band Gorillaz. In her story, Celestina faces many changes, such as her Mom starting a new paramedic job, her dad returning to England to reunite with the rest of Gorillaz to record Humanz, as well as starting her first year in middle school. I'm actually planning to write a whole book, maybe more, about Celestina, and post the chapters here on tumblr. I think I'll go ahead and post the first chapter here as a preview, but I'll post the full story later, maybe with illustrations.

Summary - It's the year 2016, and Celestina is starting her first year of middle school.  While she's excited for a fresh start of the new year, she's also nervous.  School uniforms, more classes, more teachers, and new classmates.  Unfortunately, the school year starts out on a sour note, she barely shares any classes with her best friend, and in homeroom class, she gets paired up with Lucy Phillips, a cold, aloof, yet mysterious, new girl from Britain.  Meanwhile, things aren't easier at home either, her dad ends up returning to the UK to reunite with his fellow band members to record their next album, and her mom begins work at her new paramedic job.  But when Celestina begins to get close with Lucy, the new girl's iciness starts to melt, and they both learn they have more in common than they thought.  

Celestina's Family and Friends

Celestina Damon - An excitable 11 year old girl starting her first year of middle school in the year 2016.  

Sharon Damon - Celestina's mother, a practical, but cheerful, lady.  She starts working a new job as a paramedic.  

Mia Lucci - Sharon's wife and Celestina's stepmother, a funny and kind woman, she's always there when Celestina needs advice.  She runs and works at The Leaning Tower of Pizza pizzeria with her twin sister Gina.  

Stuart "2-D" Pot - Celestina's father, and lead singer of the British band Gorillaz.  He isn't quite wired like other people, but in his own 2-D way, he's very deep, and he's also got a big heart.  Despite the troubles that come with being a long distance parent, he loves Celestina immensely and tries to be in her life as much as possible.  

Kailey Green - Celestina's next door neighbor and best friend since childhood.  A smart and sweet girl, if a little awkward.  A self proclaimed theater nerd.  Often gives Celestina the nickname "Lessie".

Lucy Phillips - A new girl in Celestina's homeroom, who's family arrived from Britain.  She seems mysterious and comes off as cool and guarded, but in reality, she's a little shy, and becomes much kinder and sweeter once you get to know her.  

Chapter 1

New Year, New School, New Hope

The alarm clock on the bedside table chirped on and on as Celestina Damon slept in, nestled in her soft, pastel colored, blankets.  She was dreaming a wonderful dream; Celestina, rocking a sparkly, purple, galaxy print dress, was singing in front of a sold out crowd on her first performance.  Fans in the crowd were holding handmade signs and cheering her name.  Here she is posing for pictures with fans!  There she is signing autographs!  She finishes her last song of the show, wishing the audience a good night.  The crowd erupted into a thunderous roar of applause, fans shouting her name "Celestina!  Celestina!  Celestina! -"

"CELESTINA!!! WAKE UP!!!"  

That did it!  At the sound of her mom's voice, the young girl jolted up from her bed with a start. "Gah!" she exclaimed.  Her wavy blue hair was messy and needed brushing, and she was no longer clad in galaxy print, but rather, blue and white pajamas with panda bears printed all over.  Celestina ground the sleep out of her eyes and smashed the "stop" button on her alarm. 

"Okay, I'm awake Mom!" said Celestina, slightly irritated.  Her mom chuckled.

"Hey, if I let you have your way, you'd be asleep until lunchtime." laughed Mom.  "I told you not to stay up too late."

"I didn't stay up late!" Celestina protested, "I'm just, not used to waking up this early."  She was kinda right.  Today was the first day of the new school year, after three months of staying up and sleeping in later than usual, it can be hard to get back on a schedule.  

"Fair enough," said Mom, "but I can't always be around to make you wake up, especially now, you understand?"  Celestina nodded.  What her mom had meant was that she just got hired to work as a paramedic at a new ambulance company, which meant that some days she had to go in early.  Unfortunately, it also means that she would come home later after working many hours, some nights possibly after when Celestina was supposed to go to bed.  Luckily, today was only her orientation, which wouldn't start for a few hours, so her Mom could drop her off on her first day of school, but she was still dressed in her work uniform, black boots, navy blue pants with lots of pockets, and a wine red shirt with the ambulance's logo embolized on the left breast, and her curly blonde hair was tied up in a long ponytail.  

Speaking of uniforms.  Not only was Celestina starting her first day of school, but it's the first day of a new school, specifically, middle school.  Okay, so technically this school is a combo middle and high school, so not only does she have to deal with the 7th and 8th graders, but also all the high schoolers as well.  And all the students have to wear uniforms.  Actually, the uniform itself wasn't that bad, it was pretty cute, the top was a rich shade of purple with a white collar and ribbon, and a white pleated skirt that fell below the knees, had a "sailor suit" sorta look to it, kinda like what an anime character would wear.  All the same, Celestina couldn't understand why she just couldn't just wear her regular clothes to school, you know, like everyone did in elementary school.  Sigh, another change to have to get used to.  Mom caught Celestina eyeing her uniform.  

"Well get dressed, hon." said Mom, "And come downstairs for breakfast.  I think Mia made some chocolate chip pancakes!"  Mmm, just the thought of those pancakes made Celestina's mouth water.  

"Okay, you win." laughed Celestina, giving her mom a hug.  "I'll be down in a few."  After Mom had left the room, Celestina got dressed, brushed and pulled her long wavy blue hair into a ponytail, using a hairband with two pink poofballs on it.  Before she left to go downstairs, she looked toward the corner of her room, and saw Scratchy, her fluffy gray bunny, stirring around in her cage.  

"Hey there Scratchy!" she cooed, giving the bunny little pats.  She then slipped a little chew treat for her to play with.  "Be good while I'm at school, okay?" 

The young girl grabbed her backpack, filled to the brim with school supplies, and headed downstairs to the kitchen.  The aroma of chocolate chip pancakes and maple syrup filled the room.  Mom had seated herself at the kitchen table, eating her small stack of pancakes, and Mia, Celestina's stepmom, was busy flipping the pancakes at the stove.  Her mother, Sharon, and Mia have only been married for less than a year, but Mia has lived with Celestina and her Mom her whole life.  They probably would have married sooner had it been allowed before last year!  Mia is a pretty lady, tall, tan skin, and shiny dark brown hair, and she's a great cook.  Her and her sister Gina (Aunt Gina to Celestina), run a pizza place called Leaning Tower of Pizza.  

"Pancakes, comin' up!" shouted Mia to Celestina.  Mia still spoke with a New York accent, despite the fact that she's been living in Ohio for at least 15 years.  She served the girl her pancakes before sliding her own onto a plate.  Celestina took her breakfast to the table and poured on the sweet maple syrup.  She cut a piece and took a bite, mmmm, was so good.  Her smile fell slightly looking around the room.  She couldn't get used to the empty space at the table.  

"What's wrong?" asked Mia, noticing Celestina's frown, "Don't you like chocolate pancakes?"

"I LOVE them!" exclaimed Celestina. "I just wish Dad was here to have some."  Mia and Susan exchanged a look of understanding. 

"You miss him don't you." said Mia.  Celestina nodded. 

"Yup!" said Celestina.  It was actually more than that.  She paused a bit, trying to think of how to put it into words, "I mean, I dunno, I guess I'm also a bit worried, you know, about him leaving again."  Celestina's eyes looked down at her pancakes.  Talking about stuff like that always made her uneasy.  

Celestina's dad, her whole family life in general really, was, well, unusual to say the least.  For one thing, her parents weren't married when her mom had her, in fact, they split up shortly before Sharon found out she was pregnant.  Whatever, no biggie, there are lots of kids whose parents are like that, people who have children before they got married, or had kids and didn't stay together.  However, it was even more complicated in Celestina's case, because her mom is American and her dad is British, meaning it's harder for her to see her dad on a regular basis because he lives so far away.  Also, her dad is famous.  Celestina's father is none other than Stuart Pot, better known as 2-D, the lead singer of Gorillaz.  Yes, that 2-D!  It's been awhile since the band did any songs together though, the last album, Plastic Beach, was released when Celestina was 5, but a couple years before that, something else happened, and that's what worried Celestina.  For a short while after Celestina was born, 2-D would often call the house to say hi, sometimes even visit.  But after a visit that Dad made sometime when she was 3, he had gone on a trip somewhere, and suddenly vanished.  Her mom tried to keep calm around her when she asked where Dad was, but even as a kid, Celestina could kinda tell that her Mom was worried about him.  The sudden release of a new Gorillaz album didn't help either.  At one point, her Mom told her stories that 2-D and Murdoc Niccals, the band's foul mouthed, green skinned, bassist, were taken by pirates and trapped on an island called Plastic Beach, an island in the middle of the ocean made of garbage and spray painted pink.  Looking back, Celestina wasn't sure if this all really happened or if this was something Mom was making up, but she knew something happened that made her dad unable to contact her for awhile.  Shortly before Celestina was 8, her dad had called her on the phone for the first time in years.  

"Celestina, is that you?" said 2-D in his thick Londoner accent, "You sound so big!  How old are you now?"

"I'm gonna be 8, Dad!" answered Celestina proudly, "I'm a big kid!" 

"8!?  Wow!  You really grew up!" exclaimed 2-D, Celestina could hear the tears caught in his throat. "I've missed you so much!" 

After a brief vacation, or "holiday" as her dad called it, in Guadalupe, he visited Celestina and the family for the first time in a while, right in time for her 8th birthday.  And since then, he had been able to keep in better contact, and came to visit Celestina in person more often these last few years, as if to make up for missing out for those last 5 years.  She even got to fly with him to England one time and met her grandparents, David and Rachel Pot, for the first time at the amusement park that Grandpop had owned.  This year, 2-D stayed in the guest room for a few months, he was able to keep Celestina company during the summer while Sharon was taking paramedic classes, and Mia was working at Leaning Tower.  2-D had been helping Celestina with her budding interest in music, teaching her how to play her new blue Melodica, a small keyboard with a flute-like pipe in it.  When they weren't practicing, the father daughter duo would watch scary zombie movies, or listen to some older Gorillaz songs on Celestina's old CD player.  On June 23rd, the whole family, and a few of Celestina's friends from school, celebrated her 11th birthday with a bonfire cookout in the backyard.  It was a wonderful summer.

But all this fun and excitement of summer had to come to an end.  It was now time for school, and just as well, Dad left to go back to England, rather suddenly at that.  Somehow, one of his old band mates, Noodle, the guitarist and the only girl in the band, (and Celestina's favorite band member, next to Dad of course), ended up getting back in contact with him.  Apparently, the band was getting back together to make a new album called Humanz, which would be released sometime next year.  Like always, Celestina was sad to see him leave, but she was also worried too, maybe because a part of her is scared he would go missing again.  

Sharon put a comforting hand on Celestina's shoulder.  "It'll be okay," she reassured her daughter, "He said he's gonna text us when he arrives to meet the others.  Plus, he said you can visit him during spring break."  

"I know," nodded Celestina.  She finishes up her pancakes, thinking about everything going on.  Mom's starting a new job, Dad's going back to England, I'm starting a new year in a new school, and we have to wear uniforms!  So far so good, she thought sarcastically.  She rinsed her dirty plate in the sink and slipped on her black flats to meet Mom out in the car.

"Are we taking Kailey today?" asked Mom.  Kailey Green is Celestina's best friend and next door neighbor.  

"No, Mrs. Green wanted to take her this morning," answered Celestina, "but she's picking both of us up after school."

"Okay, good," said Mom, "let's get going, you don't wanna be late," she checks her watch "and neither do I!" she laughed.  Celestina gave Mia a hug goodbye.

"Have a good day at school, rockstar." said Mia lovingly.  "I'm coming home from Leaning Tower about an hour after you get home from school, okay girlie."

"'Kay 'kay, I got it." smiled Celestina.  She gives Mia a fist bump, complete with a little explosion sound effect.  

"You have a good day at school," then she turns to Mom "And good luck with orientation Sharon."  Mom gives Mia a loving kiss on the cheek.  

"Bye honey," said Mom grabbing her keys.  "I should be home by dinner tonight."  Celestina and her mother wave goodbye to Mia before getting in the car.  As Sharon drove on to the school, Celestina sat in her seat nervously, her breakfast doing flip flops in her stomach.  

"Are you doing okay back there?" asked Sharon, looking at her daughter in the rearview mirror.

"I dunno," she answered.  "Honestly, I'm pretty nervous.  Middle school sounds kinda scary.  All these classes, new teachers, ugh, no recess, school uniforms," she grimaced.  She had so many thoughts, so many "what-if's", that they started coming out one after another.  "What if I don't like my teachers?  What if me and Kailey don't have any classes together?  What if all the classes are too hard?  What if I get bullied by the older kids?  What if -" 

"Celestina!" said Mom suddenly, "sweetie, sweetie, it's alright." She took a deep breath before continuing, "I know this isn't something you want to hear, but I kinda know how you feel.  I was nervous starting middle school when I was your age.  And, if I'll be fully honest, I can relate to how you're feeling right now.  I'm a bit nervous starting this new job."

Celestina looked up in surprise, "You are?" she wondered.  "But you said you were excited."  Mom gave Celestina a loving smile.

"And I am," answered Sharon, "But I have so many mixed feelings.  I'm worried I won't be good enough, I'm worried the boss could be a jerk, or that I won't like my co-workers.  So many things can go wrong.  But," she paused before continuing, "There are also good things I'm looking forward to as well.  I'll be able to use the skills I worked hard learning in all these classes, I'll be able to help people, I'll be bringing home a little more money, which means we will be able to go out more often." she said with a smile.  "It's normal to be scared and nervous, it's okay in fact.  But you also have so many good things to look forward to.  Yes you have more classes, but you get to have more classes you enjoy, like music and art.  And even if you don't have any classes with Kailey, you'll always be able to see her because we're neighbors.  If you're having a problem, whether it's classes, mean kids, or even a mean teacher, you can always come to me or Mia.  I just want you to know, even if the bad things do happen, there are also a lot of good thing to come, I want you to remember that."  Celestina thought over what her mom had said.  She did have a few good points.

"I did hear that the music department puts on a school musical every year," said Celestina, feeling a bit more hopeful, "And there's all these fun clubs".  Sharon's eyes lit up.  

"See, there you go!" said Mom. 

"It just seems like so many things are changing at the same time." Celestina admitted, "it just feels so fast, I feel like I can barely take a breath."  

"I know, it sucks, it really does." said Sharon in an understanding tone.  "The funny thing is, is that the only thing that never changes, is that everything changes."

"That's so confusing to think about!" said Celestina laughing.  

"Ah, but that's the truth," said Sharon with a chuckle.  "But you know what else will never change?"

"No what?" asked Celestina.

"I'll always love you," Mom answered warmly, "The same goes for Mia, and for your dad, we will never stop loving you.  You are our child, and nothing will ever change that."  

"Aw mom, I love you too!" she exclaimed.  At that moment, Celestina's cell phone chirped with a new message.  Oops, better silence it before class, she thought, making a mental note.  But seeing who the message was from made her smile.  

"Ooh I got a text from Dad!" shouted Celestina in excitement.  The text read "i made it to studio 13 in london.  about to start recording for the new album.  I miss you already, but i'm happy to be home again.  russ, noodle and murdoc say hi.  say hi to your mum for me.  love you little panda bear."  Celestina smiled at the mention of the special nickname her dad gave her.  Attached with the message was a picture.  It was a group photo of the whole band in what looked like the inside of a recording studio.  Celestina had yet to meet the other band members in person, but she knew who they were from the music videos and interview clips on YouTube, and from a few stories from her dad.  There was Murdoc Niccals, the band's bassist, and probably the biggest troublemaker of the band.  He has an odd scrunched up nose, and green skin and black hair, sorta made Celestina think of the Gangreen Gang from The PowerPuff Girls.  Then there was Russel Hobbs, the drummer, a heavyset black man from New York, with bright white eyes lacking pupils, a result of being possessed by a demon when he was young.  He seemed to be the voice of reason in the band, and when he speaks in interviews, he has a gentle voice.  Then there was Noodle, the guitarist, and the only girl in the band.  Celestina almost didn't recognize her at first, she's so used to seeing her in the music videos back when she was a kid or a young teen, and now she's a beautiful grown up woman!  Noodle was not much older than Celestina is now when the band released their first album, and according to her dad, when they were first looking for a guitarist, Noodle traveled from Japan all the way to England, in a FedEx delivery crate, and gave such an epic explosive guitar solo, that the band ended up giving her the part on the spot.  Celestina likes to imagine that if they were the same age, she and Noodle would be great friends.  And in the middle of the pic was her dad, 2-D himself.  He's tall and wiry, the tallest of all the band members in fact, he has spikey blue hair, and due to two separate car accidents (which were Murdoc's fault), he lost his front tooth, and his eyes were injured, they now look like blank black circles.  Murdoc gave him the nickname 2-D because his black eyes made it look like he had "two dents'' in his head.  Surprisingly, her dad liked that nickname, at this point, the only people who really call him Stu anymore would be Nana and Grandpop, as well as Sharon and Mia.  People would often describe her dad as, well, not very bright, sometimes saying he's thick and calling him names like "space cadet", but Celestina doesn't like any comments like that.  To Celestina, her dad has his own 2-D way of thinking, and his creativity with making music is where he shines the best, and he's got a kind heart.  In the attached picture, all four band mates were smiling (even Murdoc), and that made Celestina happy, seeing her dad and his old friends all back together.  

"That's great!" said Mom, "What does the message say?" 

"Dad said he got to England safely, he's excited to work on songs again, and that he loves and misses me, plus he sent a pic of him and the rest of the band." said Celestina.  "Oh yeah, Dad says hi, and so does Russ, Noodle, and Murdoc."

"Aw that's awesome!" replied Mom, "See, I figured he would make it there okay.  How do the other three look?"

"Murdoc is as green as ever," Celestina replied with a laugh, "Russel pretty much looks the same, but Noodle looks so different!  She's a grown up lady!"

"Yup, I believe it," said mom with a chuckle.  "Oh man, I haven't seen her since you were a baby, she was still a teenager then.  Grown up so fast, both of you." she said with a sigh.  "It's good they seem to be doing well." She paused, thinking, "I got an idea.  We're almost there, why don't we take a few back-to-school pictures of you when we get there, and you can text them back to your dad?"

"Ooh I'd love that!" said a delighted Celestina.  She was quiet for a bit before continuing.  "Hey, I know I was sad before with Dad leaving, but, well, it's also really cool that the whole band is back together and they'll make more songs again."

"I know, I can't wait to hear them," agreed Mom, "but like I said earlier, it's okay to feel sad about missing him.  Just don't forget that there are also a lot of good things to look forward to."

"I understand," answered Celestina.  Mom had just pulled up to the school.  There it was, Orbitz Public School.  Mom was lining up to park at the entrance where the middle school classes were.  While Celestina had seen the school many times when going on errands with her mom's around town, today the building somehow seemed larger and more intimidating.  Her breath slowed down and her hands grew sweaty the closer they got to the entrance.  Mom had found a parking spot and Celestina nervously left the car, carrying her backpack.  

"This place is way bigger than South Lincoln," remarked Celestina, referring to her elementary school.  Sharon gave Celestina's hand a comforting squeeze.

"I know it's scary," said Mom. "But you got this."  Even though Celestina was still nervous, she somehow felt a bit better with her Mom hyping her up.  

"I got this!" repeated Celestina.

"You're the star of your own stage," encouraged Sharon, "You knock 'em dead!"

"I'll knock 'em dead!" repeated Celestina, feeling pumped.  "Oh yeah, let's get that picture taken to send to Dad" she remembered.  Celestina and Sharon walked around to find a spot with good lighting in the courtyard. 

"Ooh, we can take one here," said Celestina, handing the phone to her mom.  She struck an adorable Sailor Moon style peace sign pose in her new uniform with the school in view in the back.  After the picture got taken, she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder.

"Huh," said Celestina, before turning around to see her best friend, "Oh hey there Kailey!"

"Hi Lessie!" greeted Kailey, using the nickname she used for Celestina since they were little.  Kailey was wearing the same purple and white school uniform that Celestina was wearing.  She kept her short brown hair in her natural curls, and her red square glasses framed her blue eyes.  The giggly girls greeted each other with a hug, before realizing that both their moms were standing by with their phones.  

"Smile you two," said Mrs. Green.  Both girls smiled for the camera with their arms around each other.  

"Perfect!" exclaimed Sharon before handing Celestina her phone back.  Celestina then quickly sent both the pics to her dad with a special message.

"So glad you made it home safely Dad.  Mom and Mia say hi back.  Today is me and Kailey's first day of school.  Can't wait to see you again, and maybe meet the rest of the band (even Murdoc lol).  Have fun recording.  Love you lots!  We got this!"

Shortly after she sent it, her dad replied with another quick "I love you", and Kailey got Celestina's attention.

"C'mon Lessie," said Kailey, "We still need to get our schedules."

"Oh my, that's right!" exclaimed Celestina.  "We gotta get going!"  

The girls gave their Moms a quick hug and said goodbye, and headed into the school.  Celestina still felt a bit nervous, but she felt a lot better than this morning.  She headed inside the front doors of the school with Kailey, walking through the purple and white crowd of students, feeling determined to take on the day no matter what happens.  

"Celestina, you're on!" 

[its--me-alex]

Imagine Sam Winchester - missed opportunities

Request: “ Sam and reader having the holidays alone in the bunker, basically anything a holidays fun day would include but my only specifics for this vague request would be some type of snow activity and maybe some mistletoe, it doesn’t snow where i’m from and snow stuff is always really fun!! 

Super sorry if it’s too vague, i feel bad asking for anything too specific and kinda embarrassed even tho it’s anonymous, hope you have a happy holidays :)”

A/N: Please don’t ever feel bad or embarrassed about your requests. Writers like myself are estatic whenever we get one. Also I know it ain’t christmas anymore but here is the story anyways, because why not. It isn’t as holiday-ish as intended but still: Enjoy!

Words: 1,619

Memories in italics

POV Reader:

“Almost two goddam months.I really need to get over this! Seriously y/n, there are more importat things than....” you halted your thoughts hating that you couldn’t get over it.

Looking up you felt an immediate wave of regret. Over there sat Sam, looking on one of this oh-so-boring lore books, being calm as ever, as if christmas eve hadn’t happend. You on the other hand couldn’t even sit quietly next to the younger Winchester without having your mind becoming a mess.

It was the evening of christmas eve. Dean who wanted you to “get your shit together, finally stop to eye-fuck his brother and rather do the real thing” left the two of you to “get some beer”. Unfortunately he got stuck on the road because of some “car problems”, which left you and Sam alone in the bunker to celabrate christmas.

Trying not to remember that Dean told you very specifically to ask his brother out you try to keep your hands steady while you stand next to Sam to prepare your dinner. Looking at him out of the conner of your eye, you saw that he was as collected as always.

“Why would he be nervous anyways”, you asked yourself: “it isn’t as if the two of you had never been alone together”

But you were fidgety anyways, knowing what Dean wanted you to do. “He dosen’t like me that way. Why does Dean what me to embarrass me like that to him?!”, you thought.

“y/n? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, sure just thinking ‘bout stuff, y’know?”

“Oh-okay. Ahm.. I’m done with cutting the vegetables . You?”

You tested the nuddles and said: “Yeah there done.”

You already feared the strange atmosphere, that you expected at the dinner table, but to your surprise everything went perfect. As it was normal for the two of you you had one great conversation topic after the next, half of them making you laught the other half being some deep shit.

After you finished dinner, you cleaned up and decided you wanted to have a glass of whiskey in the liberay.

Sam went there first and you moved back to your room to check on your phone quickliy before you wanted to join him.

Going into your room you screened it, for where you phone is. You found it on your nightstand. While walking back to the liberary where suspected Sam was already waiting for you, you turned it on.

There where endlessly many notifications for misssed calls from Dean. As you just wanted to click on the button to hear what he had to say, eventhought you weren’t sure if you wanted to hear him asking how far you and Sam made it with the talking-about-your-feelings, you saw Sam standing in the door to the liberary looking up.

“Ahm... you alright there Sammy?”, you asked gigerly, competly forgetting about Deans calls.

You just wanted to go passed him, as he grabed your arm softly.

“Well.. Y-you know I... actually ahm”, he paused.

Now extremely curious of what had the fearless and calm hunter Sam fucking Winchester so out of his head you looked up too. Above your heads there was a miseltoe with a small note in Deans Handwriting “Since I know you two I herby give you a push.”

“He’s having a strange humor again, eh?”, you tried to laught it off knowing that you would possibly catch fire if his lips were to touch yous.

“Ha! Yeah, but y’know, he will know if we don’t ... so that”, hawking he took a deep breath and then looked you directly in the eyes.

Suddenly he softly grabbed the back of your head. Everything started to be tingeling and your breathing became eratic as his other arm found his way around your waist to pull you more into him.

Trying to steady youself you put both of your hand on his firm chest, feeling his strong muscles underneath his ugly christmas sweater.

His eyes were still focused on yous as he took a deep breath. You had to swallow hard as he bend down a bit to be on your hight.

All your thoughts were gone and your heart was fluttering so much it almost hurt as you were anticipating his next move.

He broke the tensed silence between the two of you with a whisped: “Is this ok?”

Swallowing hard yet again you answered in a raspy voice: “Y-Yeah”

Slowly, giving you any chance to escape, his face came closer to yours. You reacted by parting you lips slghtly. Then you felt his shallow breath on your face as you both closed you eyes gradually. When you could finally, almost feel his clapped lips on your soft ones ....

BOOM!

Thinking back to the day of christmas eve you sighned heavily. Dean had interrupted you right befor you both could finally have what you had craved for for years. To be fair, there was a problem with witches that couldn’t wait, since they were attacing Lebanon trying to catch children who were feeling “true happiness” to sacifice them to some god of theirs.

Needless to say that you fought them hard, but still some of them escaped far away. It took you until yesterday to kill them all, before Dean decided he would drive throught at night, if that meant he cold spend the next night on his memory foam. Currently he wanted to get some  groceries since all you had was to old by now.

Thinking of the devil, Dean came throught the bunker door with two big bags full of things.

“Whoa, Dean! Are we gonna host some party or why did you buy the whole store?”, Sam asked, snickering at the sight of his brother struggeling those two big, heavy-looking bags.

“Ha-ha, Bitch. So funny. There was a sale at the shop from which we get our weapons and ammunition. So I bought it!”, Dean exclaimed.

“Bought “It”?“, you asked curious but still amused.

“Ahm, everything he had. He-he”, Dean ducked his head as if he just now noticed that what he bought might really be a bit too much. Knowing Dean you asumed he really just had that realisation.

As Sam gave his brother the famous bitch-face Dean replied: “You know what: I did the shopping, you do the carrying stuff part. Theres lots still in the trunk.”

Huffing Sam and you realised that descussing this would take longer than to just carry all in.

As you were gettting up Sam reacted by saying “O-oh no. You don’t need to help. I got this. It’s very cold outside.”

“We are quicker if we work together. I’m just gonna put a jacket on.”

As you took a step outside of the bunkers main entrance there stood the impala. It’s shiny black hood looking impressive on the white background.

“Did you knew it had snowed?”

No. But it’s great isn’t it?”

“Yeah!”

After that short exchange you both started to carry in one heavy bag full of ammunition and weapons after the next.

As you just walked outside to check if there was another bag left, you felt something hitting your back.

Turning around quickly you saw Sam standing there and failing to look innocent.

“You shouldn’t have started a fight you can’t win, Winchester!”

“Oh really? What do you what to do about it?”

Reacting to his sassy words you quickly grabbed a hand full of fresh white snow and threw it in his face.

“How about that.”

“Oh you are in for it y/n.”

With that a heavy snow fight brock out between the two of you. You would always dodge his snow, something he couldn’t.  

Just as you wanted to throw another snowball at him, you looked around but couldn’t see him. Right when you wanted to yell at him, that you would go back inside to drink something warm, secretly hoping he would come out of his hideout, so you could throw another load of snow at him, you got tackled from behind. 

Hunter instincts kicking in you throw that (fairly heavy) person off of you, turn around and press them into the ground with your full weight on your arm holding them down at their troat.

“Look who’s there.” you hear Sams voice close to your ear.

“Shit! Sorry Sammy! I didn’t... Sorry”

As you tried to get off of him you first took your arm away from his neck.

“It’s okay. I’m gonna make the best outta it.”

With that he turned you around yet again, so he was laying on top of you. However he was, other than you, very carful to not put his whole weight on you as he reached for something in his pocket.

“When we were coming home earlier, I spotted something that had me reminded of how much I wanted - no still want ... something.”, he stuttered.

As you just wanted to ask whats the matter, he showed you the miseltoe under which the two of you had almost kissed months ago.

“Ever since this evening I was barly able to hunt down those witches. I tried everything y/n, and still... all I could think of was how good you smelled, and how soft you lips looked, how perfect your body felt under my hands, how much I wanted to... “

You stopped him by pressing you lips to his in a loving kiss, just as you had dreamed of so often since you fell for him. And just like you imagined it was perfect. Both of you could only concentrade on this very moment as you both fullfilled you deepest wish of being together that way.

Breathing heavily you answered: “ Yeah, me too.”

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

Also check this out:

https://its--me-alex.tumblr.com/post/637948228780933120/headcanons-castiel-how-he-fell-for-you-he-met

[dirty-holy-things]

The Space Between (your heart & mine)

Chapter 21 has been posted to Ao3, and below to Tumblr.

Catch up on chapters 1-20 on Ao3.

Notes: This fic is 18+ and explicit. This chapter is smut-heavy, but also delves into some SW lore, including my interpretation / extrapolation of Grogu's history with the Jedi. Overall, a soft, happy, smutty chapter - figured we were due one after an extended absence and so much emotional upheaval.

Likes and reblogs are endlessly appreciated!

Words: 6.0k update.

If you'd like to be notified about fic updates and / or upcoming projects, please fill out my taglist form!

“I don’t know much about the Jedi Order,” you began, a look of consternation on your face. “What I do know, is from what I’ve read in the few books that talk about them. The Jedi followed the light side of the Force, what’s commonly considered to be the good side. They had opposition though — the Sith followed the dark side. They continually fought, one side occasionally coming out on top of the other, but there was rarely any actual peace… or balance.”

Balance. You had spoken often about the emphasis that Ixxith placed on balance. Din had heard of both Jedi and Sith, however his knowledge was woefully slim; but he could see how these two powerful religious groups could have brought a shattering, tearing conflict and chaos into the galaxy, each one believing that their ideology was right.

“Grogu trained with the Jedi Order, until they fell. Their downfall seems to have come from their own… pride, or complacency, or something — and the Empire and the Sith took over. Grogu saw…” You paused, looking down to the small green face that was buried in your arms, nestled into the blanket. Grogu’s ears drooped, and he made a small, sad sound.

Din felt something ache in his chest, like a pulled muscle.

“Grogu saw many of his friends, other younglings — or foundlings — killed by a Jedi who had turned to the dark side.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, and Din could hear the tears that were hovering on the edge, teetering and threatening to spill over.

This ship had seen enough tears for today.

"I can’t think of any greater happiness than to be with you all the time, without interruption, endlessly, even though I feel that here in this world there’s no undisturbed place for our love, neither in the village nor anywhere else. And I dream of a grave, deep and narrow, where we could clasp each other in our arms with iron bars, and I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us anymore.” - Franz Kafka, The Castle

While there had been times in his life in which Din regretted having to remain concealed from you, this was not one of them. He had never had to account for any of his facial expressions before, and the expressiveness that was concealed by the mask had worked out in his favor this time. He had been incredibly nervous and worried when he heard your whimpers and cries coming from the bunk; he tried to wake you up gently, tried to reassure you, but it seemed as though you had disappeared from him yet again — this time into some sort of nightmare that he was powerless to save you from. He could imagine that the look on his face in that moment would have only scared you further, showing all of the pain and worry that had been steadily cresting into a tsunami since finding you in the alleyway. He felt as though he had spent the last several days walking on eggshells, terrified that something, some misstep, might take you away from him — and this was a kind of fear that was new to Din, having never before held anything that would be painful to lose.

When you finally woke up, tears still streaming, he could feel a piece of his heart break for all of the pain that you had carried throughout your life. He thought you had been doing better over the past several weeks and months, as your spirit seemed to grow brighter and more carefree; but it was naive of him to think that the pain had gone away entirely. It had receded, like the tides, but like the tides, it would always come back; sometimes gently, sometimes crashing, but it was a piece of you and always would be.

He had also been surprised to see you wearing a jacket to bed; he didn’t recall having seen it before, and he didn’t recall you getting up to put it on. It was odd, and he vaguely intended to ask you about it at some point, but it was lower on the list of his priorities at this time. His focus had since shifted to getting both you and the kid to Tython safely; while he couldn’t teach the two of you about the Force, he could try and bring you closer to the knowledge and the peace that you were seeking.

Grogu had agreed to this new expedition, after returning to the Razor Crest and discussing the options that were available. You and Grogu both appeared to be nervous, but also excited as you pondered what this could mean for your futures, both shared and independent. The three of you seated in the familiar cockpit of the ship, the air surrounding you all felt somewhat charged or electric, almost as if Din could feel it on his tongue — what was that? Excitement? Hope?

“I don’t know how quickly — how quickly someone may be able to sense us, or find us. Or if we’re supposed to stay in that spot until somebody does?” You wondered aloud, slouching back into your seat in the cockpit. Grogu was resting in your lap, playing with the buttons and ties on your jacket as you bounced your knee nervously, jostling him slightly. He cooed and laughed up at you, and Din watched your eyebrows raise up in surprise. He wished he had some way to participate, to share this communication and bond that you and the kid had.

“Well, I suppose you’re right — we really haven’t thought this through too much, but we can figure it out.” You sighed, your hand coming up to absentmindedly rub Grogu’s fuzzy green ear.

Figure what out?

Din felt excluded from this conversation, being as he could only hear one side of it; but he worked to remind himself that this Force stuff was a unique tie that you and Grogu shared, one that he shouldn’t intrude on. Din knew that the two of you would share many of the same hopes and fears, that would come along with this blind step that you would be taking together. He couldn’t resent either of you for this, and truthfully, he was thankful that he had no such ties to the Force. It was intriguing, but seemed to cause just as many problems as it solved.

Leaning back slightly into his seat, he watched the way you watched the stars, loving the peaceful scene that was unfolding here within the walls of his ship — was it really his ship anymore? You and Grogu had just as much claim to this space as he did. He watched the way that Grogu smiled up at you, leaned his head into your chest, clung to you like a child would cling to its mother. He watched you tuck your feet underneath you, nestling closer into yourself as you often did when you were cold. Smiling to himself, concealed by the helmet, he grabbed the soft blanket that had been kicked to the side of the cockpit so many days ago; he shook it out gently and reached over to drape it across the armrest of your seat. You didn’t seem to notice in the moment, however, as your focus had been drawn away from the stars, and back to the child in your arms.

You hummed lowly, wrapping Grogu more securely into your arms. “No, I don’t think we need to worry about that. They came to the same end that the Empire did.”

The both of you were worried about something, Din could sense it in the room, despite the words of reassurance and confidence that you shared with Grogu. “They?” He asked, gently stepping into the conversation.

Your back straightened considerably at his words, almost as though you had been so wrapped up in your conversation with Grogu that you had forgotten Din was there. “Oh. Grogu is — was — worried about what could happen, if… if it isn’t a Jedi that finds us on Tython.”

Din stayed quiet, allowing you the chance to elaborate if you wanted. His silence seemed to encourage you, as you turned the seat to face him, to better carry out the conversation. The blanket that Din had tried to give to you earlier fell into your lap, and you smiled at him as you wrapped both Grogu and yourself up in it.

He wanted to wrap up in that blanket with you, in bed, feel your body against his — he blinked rapidly, trying to return his focus to the subject at hand. Now was not the time.

“I don’t know much about the Jedi Order,” you began, a look of consternation on your face. “What I do know, is from what I’ve read in the few books that talk about them. The Jedi followed the light side of the Force, what’s commonly considered to be the good side. They had opposition though — the Sith followed the dark side. They continually fought, one side occasionally coming out on top of the other, but there was rarely any actual peace… or balance.”

Balance. You had spoken often about the emphasis that Ixxith placed on balance. Din had heard of both Jedi and Sith, however his knowledge was woefully slim; but he could see how these two powerful religious groups could have brought a shattering, tearing conflict and chaos into the galaxy, each one believing that their ideology was right.

“Grogu trained with the Jedi Order, until they fell. Their downfall seems to have come from their own… pride, or complacency, or something — and the Empire and the Sith took over. Grogu saw…” You paused, looking down to the small green face that was buried in your arms, nestled into the blanket. Grogu’s ears drooped, and he made a small, sad sound.

Din felt something ache in his chest, like a pulled muscle.

“Grogu saw many of his friends, other younglings — or foundlings — killed by a Jedi who had turned to the dark side.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, and Din could hear the tears that were hovering on the edge, teetering and threatening to spill over.

This ship had seen enough tears for today.

He reached a gloved hand out towards you and the kid, and it came to rest under Grogu’s small green chin. Din noticed the wiry white hairs that protruded from it, and he marveled at the idea that something so small and childlike could somehow be older than him. Grogu blinked heavily and a fat tear rolled down his chubby cheeks, landing on the leather that covered Din’s palm. Grogu’s small hands reached out towards Din, his lower lip quivering slightly, and instinctively Din moved forward to pick the kid up, pulling him into his chest. He could feel the small thing shaking against him, and he held him closer, needing to make him feel safe and secure in any way that he could. For all of their travels together, Din had kept him safe, had never left him; and despite his inability to truly communicate with the kid, Din loved him, and trusted that Grogu knew that he loved him.

Din shifted Grogu’s small body in his arms, before reaching out to place his other hand against your knee; he gave it a small squeeze, a gentle reminder that you and Grogu were not alone here. He understood how terrifying it felt, having no sense of what may come next, having little agency in the narrative of your life. He had been in this place before, as a foundling, and wanted to offer you both the support and consolation that he would have wanted for his younger self.

Din watched you smile up at him, a small, sad thing; a shallow breath escaped from his chest as he watched you continually put up a brave and confident front. You always fought to put on a brave face, whether that brave illusion was for yourself or somebody else.

“The Sith fell when the Empire did. They’re gone.” You said softly, reaching out to clasp Grogu’s small hand in yours. “And while I may not have met her, I trust this Ahsoka to lead us to a safe place, not into harm’s way.”

Grogu nodded, his wrinkled skin and large ears rubbing against Din’s chest plate. Din could feel him begin to relax as he continued to hold him closely. Grogu had liked the one Jedi he had met in his travels with Din, and Din had to agree with your declaration of trust. Din hadn’t felt particularly fond of her, but she had proven to be honest and trustworthy so far — and that went quite a ways in Din’s book.

“How about we get you to bed?” You asked, an eyebrow raising with a smile as you looked on at Grogu. “We’ve got a ways to go before we reach Tython, and I think some time to rest may do you some good.”

Grogu gurgled a sound that Din assumed to be positive, or some sort of agreement, and watched as you pushed yourself up from the seat that you had been reclining in. He couldn’t help but notice the way that your pants clung to you, as the blanket fell away from your frame; he bit the inside of his lip as he passed the kid back to you, noticing the way that the soft, sensitive skin of your chest and neck was on display. Maybe putting the kid to bed was a good idea, he reasoned, as he felt something stir in his stomach.

He watched you as you turned to walk out of the cockpit, enjoying the way that your hips swayed with every step that you took; he loved the dips in your hips, loved the movement of your thighs, loved watching the muscles move together flawlessly in a way that lured him into a hot, heady, overpowering trance. His body seemed to take over, take control, and he felt himself rising up from his seat to follow you, needing to be close to you. He needed to touch you, needed to taste you, needed to feel you.

His mind was occupied by explicit images of you, images that stood out in stark contrast against the sweet scene playing out before him; you were humming and patting the kid’s back, rocking back and forth on the same hips that he had just been fantasizing of. Grogu’s eyes were drooping, and Din watched you sneak the wampa into the kid’s waiting grasp. He leaned against the doorframe, watching the saccharine sight unfold, watching the two people that he loved the most share this moment of security and tranquility.

A more primal part of him was trying to rush this scene along, wanting you to place the kid in his cradle so Din could have his way with you; he hoped that you didn’t hear his sigh of relief that escaped when you finally put the whimpering kid into his bed. The way that you bent over, positioning your ass directly in his line of sight, made him think that you had, in fact, heard it, and knew full well what you were doing.

After he heard the cradle close, he couldn’t help himself from stepping forward and into you, loving how your body immediately pressed itself backwards into him; he felt his heart beat pounding with ferocity as he felt the curve of your ass pressing against his thighs and his half-hardened cock. His hands snaked across your body, moving from your waist to trace their way across your stomach and down to your center. He couldn’t help but notice the way your breath hitched in your throat, and he pinched you ever so gently, your shoulders and backside pressing even further into him.

He used the placement of his hands to guide your willing body back to the cockpit, much to your surprise; the two of you had grown accustomed to the makeshift bed on the floor, but Din had another plan in mind. He loved the way that you grinned up at him, trusting him and leaning into this new experience with him.

Din guided the both of your bodies towards his seat in the cockpit; sitting down into the aged and shaped leather, he guided you down onto his lap and groaned as he felt the pressure of your body pressing against his stiffened cock. His hand instinctively traveled up the length of your spine, pressing into you, before coming to tangle into your hair; he gave an experimental tug and reveled in the whimpering sound that he received in return. Your hands moved upwards to rest on the beskar helmet, a subtle request to take it off; but Din shook his head ever so slightly, and he knew that you understood.

You arched your back as you sat up on his lap, your hips driving into his as you grinned wickedly at him. You may not be able to kiss him, may not be able to nip and bite at his neck as you normally would, but the sight of you bathed in the starlight of hyperspace was something otherworldly. His hands moved upwards to cup your breasts, loving the way that he could feel each breath you inhaled; his thumbs pressed into the soft flesh, and you leaned into his touch with a whine. He dragged his gloved hands across your chest, pulling away the soft fabric that had kept you concealed from him, and watched the way that your nipples raised in response the cool temperature of the cockpit.

Din groaned underneath you as he continued to push your shirt down and off of your chest, until it was entirely removed from your arms and resting loosely around your stomach. “You’re the most beautiful thing in this galaxy, cyar’ika.”

You smiled at him prettily, and he loved seeing the way that the stars streaking past you glittered in the depths of your eyes. He let you bring both of his hands upwards, noticing the way that your small hands barely wrapped around his, and then you pulled off the gloves that had kept him separated from the warmth of your skin. You brought one hand to rest on your breast, and another up to your face; he watched you curiously and excitedly as your mouth parted, taking both his index and middle finger into your mouth.

He gasped as he felt the familiar, soft heat of your mouth against his fingers; his hips bucked up into yours, his throbbing cock needing the stimulation; he could feel you smiling as you sucked on his fingers, and he groaned at your devilish and intentional teasing. His hand that was not currently buried within your mouth palmed your breast with ferocity, his thumb stroking the raised bud of your nipple; under normal, darkened circumstances he would take the bud in his mouth, dragging his hot tongue across it, but he had chosen to leave the helmet on this time and would not be able to use his mouth against you. He would just have to explore some new avenues.

He groaned in disappointment as you pulled away, before realizing that you had moved just enough to undo the belt that was slung across his waist. He watched you shift the rough, utilitarian fabric of his pants lower and lower, until his cock sprung forward from the fabric. He loved the greedy and excited look in your eyes, as you gazed on at him as if he was the only sight in your sky.

You sank to your knees before your small hand came up to grasp his cock, and he hissed through the modulator at the sensation; for all of the years he had spent in isolation, with no physical company except for that of his own hand, he relished in the still-unfamiliar touch of another person, of you. He wanted nothing more than to kiss you, to press his lips against yours, and yet he had chosen to keep the helmet on, a piece of him intrigued by what may occur between your bodies in the absence of this type of contact.

Your eyes flicked up at him, a devilish glint present as your lips wrapped around the girth of his cock, tongue tracing across it hotly with a pressure that felt both heavy and unholy. Every inch of you was fucking incredible, and he couldn’t help himself from reaching out to grab a fistful of hair. Din couldn’t deny that he loved the way that your mouth sank down even further onto his cock as his grip against you tightened.

Din felt an undeniable tension and heat spreading throughout his body, and with a gasp he pulled you up and away from his throbbing cock; he had other intentions for you, intended to fill that sweet, beautiful pussy with his thick and lengthy cock, intended to fill you up with hot ropes of cum. And yet — seeing you here, on the floor of the cockpit, saliva dripping down your chin while he held onto you by a fistful of hair — well, the sight threatened to undo him right then and there.

He let his head roll back, eyes closing; it felt nearly impossible to tear his eyes away from you, but he needed a minute to regain some composure before losing himself.

In his moment of respite, you had apparently grown impatient with him, and he felt the heat of your mouth against his balls; you rolled your tongue across them and Din felt a curse slip past his lips. He growled as he felt you begin to suck him further into your mouth, your tongue keeping up its ungodly, torturous movements. His hand that was still fisted in your hair yanked you back with some force, as he gasped desperately for air; and while he had almost felt bad about the way in which he had pulled you off of him, the pleased and preening look in your eye told him that you had played him, that you had gotten exactly what you wanted.

“Up,” he growled, his hand moving away from your scalp to help guide your flushed and burning body away from the floor as he remained seated. You complied, and Din thanked the gods, thanked the Force, whatever was out there, that you hadn’t chosen this time to be stubborn. “Strip,” He commanded, his voice hoarse; he gestured towards your few items of clothing that had been pushed askew. He needed them off of you, needed to see the way your skin would glow for him underneath the stars, needed to see how you would glow when you came on top of him.

You obliged his request, and he watched the last pieces of your clothing fall to the floor — and he was right in his previous assessment about your beauty. You looked positively angelic bathed in the light of the stars, with your body brazenly on display in the windows of the cockpit, and yet with nobody except Din and the galaxy to witness it. You drew your arms in closely around your form, wrapping them around your chest as you fought off the chill; Din chuckled softly, continually amused by how somebody so devastatingly hot could always be so cold.

You rolled your eyes at Din’s laughter, and that irrespective gesture made some sort of red heat flare up in his chest; he sat up taller in the seat of the chair, and despite his seated frame he was nearly at eye level with you. He spread his legs out widely, his cock standing erect, and gestured with an uncovered hand to come here.

You approached with a grin, your legs moving to rest on the edge of the seat, by his thighs, but Din had other intentions. Right as you were about to sit down on him, he grabbed you by the waist and spun you around, until you were facing away from him; and he was treated to the sight of your hair tumbling in disarray, and the sight of your perfect ass pressed against him.

You gasped at Din’s sudden and unexpected movement, and Din felt your body momentarily tense up underneath his hands; he chuckled again, smirking just a bit. He snaked a hand down across your stomach and to your center, pulling your willing body even further into his as he guided the tip of his cock into the tight heat of your cunt. “Relax, cyar’ika.” He murmured, before forcefully pulling your hips downwards to push his entire length inside of you.

You cried out at the intrusion, but Din could feel the way that your body responded to him, could feel the way that you opened up and blossomed for him as you always did. He still marveled at how you managed to take him all, knowing that the sight of your tight pussy taking the entirety of his throbbing cock was one of his favorite sights to see. He lifted you up by your hips, hands gripping into your soft skin, as he shifted your weight before pulling you back down onto him. He loved the way your back arched for him, loved the breathy, needy cries that you exhaled with each thrust upwards and into you.

Din reached a hand forward to spread your legs further, guiding them to rest on top of his, allowing you the ability to ride him and regain some measure of control. His hand found its place between your thighs, his large, calloused fingers tweaking the sensitive bundle of nerves that he had learned how to play like the finest of instruments; he groaned as he felt you tighten and spasm above him, gripping the thick and throbbing length of his cock. You were fucking incredible, more beautiful and perfect and sensual and dirty than he ever would’ve thought he would deserve.

“Do you like that, sweet girl? Like riding my cock right here, in the cockpit? Earning its name, isn’t it? What a sweet, dirty girl you are for me.” Din whispered, one hand continuing to trace pressured patterns into your clit while his other hand came up to tangle itself in the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling your head back towards him, before your hot cheek came to rest against the freezing beskar of his helmet. Despite the barrier offered by the beskar, he would’ve sworn that he could still feel the heat of you against his cheek, as if nothing had been separating the two of you. Whether it was here in the cockpit, or in the casino on Canto Bight, you had always managed to look past all of the beskar to see the man underneath it.

Din loosened his grip on you, giving you the opportunity to choose what to do from here — and as your hands came outwards to rest on Din’s knees, giving yourself the balance necessary to continue to ride him, he knew that he was a goner, knew that he’d do whatever you asked of him. He liked to play, to pretend that he was in control, and yet as he watched your body move against his in the starlight, he understood that sense of power was an entertaining illusion, but at the end of each and every day he was entirely enchanted by you. He would give you any pleasure, any comfort that you asked, he would give you every single star in the sky — he would give you his name, make it yours; he would give you any sight of him that you desired. Any sight, were you only to ask.

He felt his cock twitching as you continued to draw your body back down and into his; there was a tightness and a heat spreading like wildfire through his chest, coursing through his body and brightening and sensitizing every nerve. He groaned and a curse fell from his lips, as his body continued to react instinctively to the incredible sensation of your pussy clenched tightly around him; his hand ripped away from its place between your thighs, and his hand cracked sharply against your ass. He loved the way his palm stung with the impact, loved the way that he watched the soft flesh ripple and quake beneath his hand. This was a good angle, worth repeating.

He could feel your body tightening above his, could feel the way that your muscles were coiling in a familiar way that he had grown to love; he growled in your ear, the modulator making it seem even more ferocious. He offered one more sharp slap against your backside before his fingers resumed their rightful place against your clit, but this time with increased pressure and pace, determined to make you cum before him, determined to feel the way you would soak him with your orgasm before his rapidly-approaching release.

“Din— D-Din, fuck, please,” you whimpered, and he sat up in the seat before wrapping an arm around your chest, pulling you into him tightly, to the point where he wasn’t sure where his breaths began and yours ended. Maybe he couldn’t give you all the stars in the sky, but he could give you this, would spend every day of his life giving you this, making you feel blissful and adored in a way that he trusted only he could.

He nestled his covered head into your shoulder, continuing to hold your burning body against his as he fucked up and into you; his other hand continued to stroke against your clit, each movement making you quake against him in a way that he loved and burned into his memory. His breaths became heavy as he felt you tightening around him; you were positively burning now, your skin hotter than the stars that flew above you, and Din knew you were getting close from the way that you cried and keened at his touch.

“That’s my good girl,” he whispered, working to coax you even higher as the two of you chased that orgasm. “Want to feel you cum on my cock, sweet girl, want to feel you cum for me. You just love the way I fuck you, don’t you?” He fought off the waves of pleasure that were licking against him as he wanted to bring you to that peak, wanted to know your needs were taken care of. He would always take care of you, even though he knew you’d never need him to.

You gasped, your breaths becoming increasingly more shallow and desperate as you continued to burn and tense beneath his touch. “Want — want you to cum for me, c-cum inside me, please, Din — want to, need to feel you cum for me—“

Your desperate pleas for him to cum were going to be his undoing — he had understood that he could never deny you what you wanted, and fuck if this wasn’t included in it. He tried to fight it, the valiant piece of himself wanting to get you there first, not wanting to be selfish in this pleasure. “Gonna cum for you, but please— be a good girl, cum for me first, cyar’ika —“

“What does that mean?” You asked curiously, momentarily drawing his attention away from his impending orgasm. This brief shift in attention allowed for him to catch his breath and turn his focus back to you. He brought his hips upwards into yours with an almost bruising force, continuing to drive his desperately aching cock into your throbbing and clenching pussy as he fought to get you there.

The two of you were gasping and sweating, the previously-cool air of the cabin now burning with the undeniable heat of desperate, loving bodies — and your hands came to rest against Din’s, holding them against your flaming skin, as you whispered a small, simple request to him. “Cum with me, Din, please.”

He groaned and the tension that had been building within his body came to a head, as your body tensed to a shatter point; as he felt an avalanche of pleasure an relief crash through him, he felt your body crashing in pleasure against him, your pussy gripping him tightly and soaking him with the waves of your orgasm. He felt his release spreading within you, loving the way that he buried his spent cock and his cum deeply inside you; there was something primal and instinctual about this release that made his skin crawl with an animalistic kind of satisfaction and pride.

Your body was shaking against his with the combined sensations, and Din’s grip shifted from a constraining, desperate grasp to a more soft and gentle one; he cradled you against him, and as your burning body came to rest against his beskar, he suddenly resented it for the distance it created. He wanted to feel you entirely, wanted to drink in every single second of bliss that the two of you shared, unsullied and undiluted by the anonymity he had fought for years to maintain. He shifted the positioning of his arms so one was cradled under your shoulders, and another was wrapped underneath your knees. He brought your relaxed and shaking form up to rest against his, needing more contact than what he had previously allowed. “Keep your eyes closed,” He murmured quietly.

“Please.” He added softly.

Din watched your eyes flutter closed and while he missed the sight of them, missed the starlight reflected in them, he wanted something else more. He reached upwards to pry the helmet off of himself, having suddenly felt quite suffocated by, it despite the excellent filtration and air quality it offered him. He needed to fully be here in this moment, with you. He dropped the helmet to the floor, the solid beskar setting off a clanging sound that echoed throughout the cockpit, but he didn’t care — all he cared about right now was kissing you.

His lips found yours with a surety and confidence that made his heart soar; he felt attuned to your body, to your desires, and he loved this newfound physical familiarity that he had developed; he had never known anybody this intimately before. He kissed your lips, your nose, your cheeks, your eyelids, your forehead, everything that he could reach, relishing in every second and sensation of contact that he was allowed.

Tightening his arms around you, he pulled you upwards and into his chest as he stood up from the chair in the cockpit; he felt you gasp in surprise against him, but then you relaxed into his grasp, trusting him, and also being exhausted from your previous indulgences. His pants slung lowly around his hips, he carried your naked form forward and into the cabin of the ship, moving towards the fresher. The two of you were a mess, dampened by sweat and the release of orgasm, and there was nothing in this galaxy that sounded better than a shower.

You had kept your eyes dutifully closed until the darkness surrounding you grew even darker, as the light in the fresher turned off. Din couldn’t see hardly anything in here, but the years of familiarity gave him an advantage that allowed for him to turn on the water and guide your bodies into it, without so much as a stubbed toe or a misstep.

“You never answered me earlier,” you said quietly, your voice holding a sort of… nervousness, that caught Din off guard. He stayed quiet for a moment, trying to sort through what had transpired in the cockpit. You seemed to take his silence as an invitation to elaborate, and Din was continually grateful that you often made the effort to speak up and initiate. “You didn’t tell me what that word meant; you called me cyar’ika. I’ve never heard that before.”

Din pulled your body closer into his, loving the way that the two of you fit together so flawlessly. “I thought you could understand almost any language,” he teased, as he relaxed into you and the water that flowed down across your bodies.

“It’s Mando’a, isn’t it?”

Din nodded.

“I’ve never heard anyone speak it before, not until you.”

Din felt a sort of pressure in his throat; being still somewhat unfamiliar and removed from his own emotions, he struggled to allow himself to feelthem, and it was nearly impossible to identify them. He wasn’t sure what this feeling, both physical and emotional was, but… he didn’t dislike it? No, he actually quite liked the idea of sharing a first experience with you, of having something that would permanently connect him to you — even if life someday took the two of you apart, he knew that you would always think of him whenever you heard someone speak his language. “Words in Mando’a often have… many meanings.” He paused, trying to find the right words to share. “It means… Beloved. Darling. Sweetheart.”

Din could feel your breath catch at his quiet admission, and as you whispered a response, he hung on your every word.

“I’ve never heard anybody speak that to me before either.”

***

Taglist: @knivesareout @tanzthompson @stageleftlauren @greatcircle79 @bdavishiddlesbatch @who-is-a-heretic-now @mesmorales

[kamikui]

Onmyoji Movie

HI so I watched the Onmyoji Movie based off of the game last night and . . . . that sure was something!

In all honesty despite the weird path they decided to take, I actually enjoyed the movie. The music and detail in the scenery was amazing, I LOVED the costuming for a lot of the background characters esp in the Demon Realm, and a lot of the easter eggs that were hidden were nice. 

BUT. but. As someone heavily invested in the lore of the game (especially concerning Ibaraki) how they decided to deal with the movie was like. really confusing. It genuinely felt as if NE gave the directors a cast of characters and let them do what they wanted from there w/o any prior knowledge of the game.

(spoilers down below)

Before I really pry into that though, I’ll kinda note some of the characters.

Seimei/Qingming was actually my favorite. I think this is sort of an unpopular opinion right now, but his characterization was so nice even if it sorta leans into the basic drama hero type personality. In the game Seimei is supposed to be you/the player, and not everyone is going to have the same interpretation of him-- and that’s what the movie felt like, a different interpretation. I will say I didn’t really like them making him related to their version of Orochi. I believe the snakes name was Xiangliu? I can’t remember, but I didn’t see the reason in that. 

If anything, keeping him a fox and having a version of Tamamo no Mae popping up to offer advice to help with the situation would’ve been nicer, and that’d keep more of Seimei’s backstory kept in tact-- because asides from him becoming an Onmyoji apprentice at a young age we literally do not know shit about him. And legit I wouldn’t necessarily mind bc it’s a movie, you’re not going to get everyone’s backstory within 2 hrs, but we can’t really get attached to him.

Yao Bikuni/Baini was. Hm. I like her as a character in the movie, but I don’t like where she’s placed as a character in the movie. She’s a Seer? in the game and tbh it should’ve stayed that way, like I honestly can’t see her willingly working for one clan. “But how would she--” In game she is also influenced by Seimei pretty heavily, as in the in game chapters she believed he would be able to kill her. Up until she got manipulated by Orochi, she stuck to his side. With the Stone plot in the movie, if it put him in danger she would be there in order to try and help him, OR, try and pull him to join Orochi if they went that route. And they KINDA tried to hint at it when Seimei “died” with Orochi using her image, but like. come on man. Let Yao be evil for a little bit.

That being said I didn’t like the Master & Shikigami bit with those two, or the implied romance they tried to pull with them. Canonically Seimei legit brushes her off and when shes like “ohhh you’ll kill me right” hes like “lol sure” and thats IT. Literally any form of romance that’s tried at Seimei he brushes it off. he’s not into it he’s an amnesiac.

The “Oh if you become my shikigami you won’t become evil” thing was :/ to me as well because again, canonically, even though Seimei is being taunted he can contain the Kitsune part pretty well even when he wasn’t aware he was kitsune. Like I think the part as a kid was a good bit to add since it’s when he’s first being exposed to Onmyoji type stuff, but like. idk idk I couldn’t vibe with that power dynamic while they were trying to hint romance.

Continuing on with Hiromasa/Yuan Boya and Kagura/Shenle, again considering this is a movie, I’m somewhat content with their characters.

I really liked how energetic this Kagura was, and given they weren’t able to do her actual backstory, I liked the one she was given. Her introduction in the movie was really great too-- and compared to Hiromasa I felt they gave her a little more attention? Which like fine, but not so good for Hiro.

They didn’t even. Discuss his archery skills at any point which was disappointing. The most plot relevance he (and honestly Kagura too) had was finding Seimei while trying to arrest him but that’s it. And yes they showed some of his skill while he was fighting Kamaitachi, but that’s the extent of it. AGAIN i’ll consider the fact this was a movie and they didn’t have enough time to fit EVERYTHING in, but since they gave Yao and Seimei so much attention you would think they’d be able to spare some for the other two protagonists in the game. 

Before I leave those two tho I’m still trying to figure out what the fuck happened in the end. Like did hiromasa get promoted in some form? was he given credit for what happened between the demon realm? Why did he separate from Kagura since they got close during the movie? I guess like bc work duties but still. I have no idea tho like i was sitting there not processing a single thing. Regardless I did like Hiro and Kags acting like siblings despite in this canon them not being related (at least it’s never clarified).

Ok so before I dive into the whole mess that is the Cimu/”Ibaraki” character, stuff on side characters.

While I didn’t like the outfits for Sakura(? Momo? Both of them?) or Chocho, I liked the roles that they held as sort of trainers for the rest of Seimeis shikigami. In fact I liked the whole courtyard ordeal in general. I have my own worldbuilding thing that has a similar theme so seeing it being used canonically was pretty nice. I do wish we could’ve seen more SSRs or even SRs though. Like, why couldn’t Aoandon be hanging out in the courtyard to give gossip to Hiro & Kagura? Yamakaze or Shishio hanging out in the forest, or like. bruh even Jikikaeru as the boss in the Showdown considering he runs that in game. 

I did like the fish man! I really did, but literally everything about him could’ve been Jikikaeru, I don’t think it’s that hard to make a frog man. 

Also as mentioned previously it would’ve been nice to see Tamamo make an appearance considering he makes random ones every now and then. The Mujou Brothers could’ve helped the shikigami when they were escaping Seimeis courtyard, Shiranui could’ve been an entertainer while they were traveling through the demon realm, HAKU??? couldve been one of Seimeis shiki?? literally anyone. They have all these misc characters in the background but barely any of them resemble in game characters.

GOD EVEN KOSODENOTE COULDVE BEEN THERE . . . . at the scene where Kagura was messing with jewelry and clothing . . . Koso couldve been the seller. Aobozu could’ve worked at the shrine . . . . I just. Man.

ANYWAYS . . . pulling from that and going into whatever the hell Cimu is. god.

So according to casting, Cimu is supposed to be Ibaraki. But the thing is. There’s only like. 3-4 Elements about Ibaraki that goes into him. Everything else is Shuten which i honestly find pretty funny?? Take away the homophobic jokes and combine the gay coded character into his love interest. Which I mean that’s better than making them brothers but at what cost.

anyways. Cimu previously being an onmyoji but turning evil -> shuten previously being a monk and turning evil. The design of the hand that Cimu uses as transportation -> SP Shutens design where he sits on two hands. Red hair -> shuten. The horns, eye color (minus scleras), arm getting chopped off, and his ambition to grow stronger are really the only parts of Ibaraki that’s in the character-- and even then you could say Shuten has a similar ambition of growing stronger. It’s just so scuffed. 

ALSO IT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE. literally it doesn’t make sense when you look at the characters.

Why couldn’t they just stick with Kuro Seimei considering the fact that this Ibaraki works with Ootengus and Yuki Onna/The Snow Queen? They could’ve given Seimei a twin brother to work off of this. But like if they really wanted to keep Ibaraki and Shuten, they could’ve made it that Shuten was being manipulated by Orochi and Ibaraki was serving him, because there’s a LOT of shit you could do just with Shuten by himself. Legit no reason to combine the two since they’re BOTH heavily marketed characters. 

Legit like, Shuten being controlled, given Ibaraki’s loyalty to Shuten he would most likely follow him no matter what, and even like. Have a form of Momiji to kind of help out-- probably at a heavy expense of Shuten doing something for her, but still. like i LOVED the snow queen, I loved this interpretation of yuki so I wouldn’t want to get rid of her, but they shouldve went with Seimei 2 instead of “ibaraki”. It’s just so much and it doesn’t make sense. 

Now orochi himself and how that was handled was like. Okay I guess. If anyone was being talked to through their head at the time it should’ve been Yao Bikuni considering she allies with him in canon at one point. but like whatever. I did think the end was neat where Seimei forced him into becoming his shikigami, like I liked that whole process. Otherwise all antagonists were pretty underwhelming.

I also was not fond of the ending where like Seimei just turns away at the broken bridge. Like does this mean the Demon realm is completely cut off now? just fix the bridge. Also does Seimei just fuck off?? I know theres a scene where he’s standing on the roof but. i dont know. 

Regardless the movie was great, I had fun watching it. When ibaraki came in I accidentally paused the movie a couple of times while spamming screenshots. Even tho hes like kinda ugly but that’s ok. There WERE some angles where he was hot as hell but otherwise they did his actor so dirty. The horns were just. God I won’t delve into that bc this post is long as hell BUT. BUT. THE MOVIE WAS GOOD. just not if ure into the lore for the game LMAO.

Ok that’s it for now bye

[powertothefan]

Coffee

A Stanford Pines x Original Character Fic

Hazel DeForest belongs to @evaroze

Stanford Pines is property of  Alex Hirsch

This was something tossed together after discovering the adorable OC known as Hazel, she’s so cute and I love the design of her~ So, I did a little dabble of when both her and Stanford were in college and their first official conversation. I hope I wrote her write, as I have been a little rusty in my writing, Far too long since I posted something here that was worth the read. Anyway, please share any thoughts or feelings you have as long as it’s constructive. 

Hazel was wandering the commons of the college that morning, a little on the early side. She left the door early that morning to do some research at the library for one of her papers. Just because Backupsmore wasn’t her first college pick didn’t mean that she wasn’t going to put in the effort! She wasn’t as dressed up as she usually would be, just a simple blouse and shorts. She had pulled on a pair of flats as well before herring her hair up in a big ponytail and tossing on her bright pink glasses. With her messenger bag full of notebooks and pens, she was ready to go anywhere

Glancing to her watch, Hazel checked the time. Her first class of the day wasn’t until mid morning, so she’d have plenty of time to get some work done before classes that day. Most of her dorm mates were sleeping in from yet another party. She honestly couldn’t believe it. Just because they were at Backupsmore University didn’t mean they could party the semester away. Who did that anyway? Not her! No, definitely not. 

Hazel was terrible with social interaction. In truth, she would have probably never gained any friends unless they proactively were the ones to speak with her first. She knew a few other people, mostly from those forced social circles they did as an ice breaker during the first weeks in the dorms. Otherwise, her friend group was very, very small. She was fine with that though, most of the people she did know the names of were not people she would actively spend time with. They drank and partied and blew off their classes as if they could afford to do it. Hazel didn’t have that luxury. Every penny counted! Still, a very itty bitty part of her wished that she didn’t have such terrible social anxiety. 

It would have made trying to introduce herself to a certain someone easier. 

Huffing to herself, she let her thoughts pass on as she got to the library door. Stepping inside, it was calm and quiet. It was a massive place too. For a second choice college, it had an outstanding collection of literature. Likely because they didn’t have much of a sports team to spend money on. Either way, the ability to have such a vast collection of books at her disposal made her studies all the easier. Especially with her focus on mythology. She never would run out of resource material for her papers. 

As she walked further into the library, she realized that it was very empty. In fact, there was really no one around at all, save for the librarian. Then again, it was a Monday. No one ever got up before classes on Monday, unless they were someone like her and super focused on their studies. It was all the better really, she’d have the whole place to herself. Wandering further into the library, she hurried to the folklore and mythology section. It was her element, her one true oasis. No one and nothing could take it away from her-

“Oof!” Hazel sounded as she smacked right into something. She hadn’t been looking where she was going, instead skilling the shelves as she walked past them. Just as she was stepping back out into the open areas beyond the shelves, she collided with someone, and hard. Books were flying, paper scattered by the ceiling fans, and the two moving forces pushed off the courses and onto the thin and worn carpet. Laying there, Hazel had to take a moment to breath, that impact hurt! Carefully, she groaned while sitting up, rubbing her side where he was sure she was charged into an elbow. 

“Oh, gosh. I”m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going!” A deep voice said, A shadow overcoming her as a hand was offered up. “I was carrying too many books, and couldn't see a thing. I shouldn’t have assumed I was the only one here.”

The tone was upset, clearly more so at themselves than her. There was some obvious disappointment in their own carelessness. However, it was also very familiar...too familiar. 

Not really thinking as she grabbed the hand, she was dizzy and shaken still, she was easily pulled right back up to her feet. With the bright ceiling lights no longer glaring down right into her eyes, Hazel could focus on the man who helped her up. As she locked her gaze on their face, about to give them a stern talking to for being so reckless in such a sacred place, her throat swelled and her heart stopped. 

Stanford Pines... It was like an arrow to the heart, struck by a cupid with a sniper rifle. So accurate that it fried her brain. Stanford Pines was everything Hazel had ever wanted since high school! Originally, he was supposed to get a scholarship of some kind and head off to some amazing college. Instead, he ended up going to her only affordable pick. She had wanted to try and be good and say hello. He had been her obsession throughout all of high school after all, not that he even knew she existed back then...Hazel never had the heart to speak. Now, as an adult, and independent, she had told herself she’d try.

And boy, did she try. 

They had gotten classes together, unknowingly of course because she hadn’t realized that he had any interest in the fields of mythology or folklore. They were English heavy studies after all, not the wonderful sciences that he seemed to be skilled in. Part of her knew that he was aware that she existed, he often waved at her with that handsome smile. However, every time that she saw him, with that grin and cute sweater vest, the ability to talk was replaced with the need to nervously vomit. In all cases since the semester began, she flat out ran away before she could lose her lunch to her anxiety. Not exactly the best way to say hello. 

Now, here he was, his glasses skewed off a bit from the impact and his large hand wrapped firmly around her’s. Only a foot apart, both a little shaken from the impact but still breathing...or at least Ford was. Hazel couldn’t get her body to continue their usually automatic functions. As Ford seemed to get himself resettled by fixing his glasses, Hazel felt herself just melt at his touch. They were rough, but not painful, Just worn from all his tinkering and building. They were so large too, and not just because of the extra finger which she had always found to be an adorable addition to an adorable man. 

Ford had really grown up, a lot more than she was prepared for. 

“Oh! It’s you!” He said suddenly, bringing hazel back down from the second hand high of his existence. Breathing in suddenly, she blinked, her mind rushing forward to catch up to the conversation. “M-Me?” She weakly said, her voice still a little breathless from the lack of air in her lungs. 

Stanford turned a slight shade of pink, giving a nervous smile of sorts as he tried to correct himself. “I mean, I recognize you from the folklore seminar class. ‘Folklore and Its Effects on Modern Development.’ You..ah, You sit in the row behind mine.”

His tone had gotten a little meek, almost as if the man was becoming uncertain of himself as he addressed her. Why was he getting nervous? She was the one having an internal battle between heart and brain!

Wait.

He was talking to her...Stanford Pines was physically talking to her! He knew she existed! The man she had been obsessed with for years knew they were in the same class. Holy crap! She needed to speak, to say something, anything. For the love of god open your mouth Hazel DeForest! 

“Ah- RIGHT!” She said very loudly, her face going bright pink as her mind finally caught up to current events. “Rightrightrightrightrightright. I remember! You did the opening argument statement about how folklore was only lore until people could collect it! It lost the folklore touch when people found out it was all fact.” She blurted out, saying just about anything to show that she wasn’t a brainless zombie. 

“Ah, well, it's true! Once something is discovered to truly exist, it isn’t lore. It’s Science. That in turn means it can’t be categorized as lore but as a truly existing species. The professor was not really impressed with my reports for that debate session but he didn’t flunk my report either so I guess my point was valid enough!” Stanford said, seeming to pick his tone back up while in a subject he could work on. “Anyway, sorry for running you down. I was walking to my table with more books and...clearly got over zealous.” It was then that Ford looked around, causing Hazel to pause and do the same thing. Oh, they had made a bit of a mess...The books were scattered all over, some having flown far enough to land on top of the shelves! His notebook was crumpled nder a couple and the pages from it seemed to have scattered to the winds, still being carried off by the breezes of the fan. 

“H-here, I’ll help clean up.” Hazel said, pausing a moment as she then looked down at their hands, which were still tightly held together. Ford noticed this too, and quickly let go with a nervous chuckle before roughly clearing his throat. “Yeah, thanks. I’ll start over here.” 

The pair turned away from each other, Ford kneeling down to grab and gently fix the books near his feet. Hazel did the same, grabbing a couple and fixing the pages before gently setting them on a nearby table. She then also started to snatch up the flying papers, trying to keep them from wrinkling any further as they continued to flutter at her feet. It took a minute, but with the two of them collecting they were able to get it cleaned up easily. The last book was picked up by Hazel, her eyes a little dazed until she read the title. Instantly, she was back to her usual self for a second. 

“Ah, It’s here!” She said suddenly, causing ford to look up as he grabbed the last few books from their places on top of the selves. “Hmm? Something catch your eye?” “This book, I’ve been trying to get it for ages but every single time I get here it’s pulled off the shelves! I need it for my report on the correlations of folklore creatures and their real life potential counterparts. It has a segment on how folklore creatures and mythological monsters are created based on a person seeing something for the first time and using other animals to describe it! I wanted to read it for my paper and reference some of it’s points on how artistic interpretation cannot be trusted unless done while actually in front of the creature.” She rattled, her tone serious and smooth as her intellectual side kicked in, a finger moving up to adjust her glasses for a second. “Oh, You’re referencing it as well?” Ford asked, coming closer and putting the last of the books on the table. “I originally grabbed it because I’ve been trying to get it as well. Whoever has been hoarding it just got it back over the weekend. I’m using to further my argument that just because we depict creatures in a certain way does not diminish their potential existence. The author has a wonderful part about the statues of medusa actually and how they believe that medusa is a real being, but her hair was misinterpreted.” “I came here this morning to borrow it...Looks like you beat me.” Hazel said, suddenly feeling herself getting shy again. 

Damn it, Hazel. This was your first real conversation with Ford and you were going to blow it because you couldn’t keep the talk going! What was worse, she had gotten up for nothing. Ford got the book first. Even if she wanted to, she didn’t have the heart to try and ask him to let her borrow it first. So much for getting a head start on that report. 

“Do you wanna borrow it?” Ford asked suddenly. 

“What?” Hazel squaked, not prepared for that statement. 

“Well, I don’t have classes until mid-morning. That’s our Folklore course. If you don’t mind just using it this morning, you’re more than welcome to take whatever notes you need from it while I’m referencing other books. I technically already checked it out but if you need it now you can keep it until after classes. Then meet up later to give it back?” Ford asked, his tone strangely hopeful. 

Was he- Nooooo, naw he couldn’t be...maybe? 

“Um, well...I really do need the book for a few other things besides just the research. If it's not an issue I guess we could meet at the coffee shop off campus? The one with the big tables? It’s very dead in the afternoon on Mondays, so we could meet up after all our classes for the day and I’ll try to quickly get the notes I need before giving back the book. The library gets too busy later in the day anyway for me to focus.”

“Heh, yeah, I have to move my work back and forth from the dorm to here because the afternoon library people. However, I can get coffee later! I’ll need it anyway for my second wind of research. So coffee, after the day's classes?” 

“Yeah, coffee!” Hazel said, suddenly finding herself smiling as her cheeks turned a bright pink. 

Ford seemed to also, his own lopsided grin making Hazel’s heart flutter harshly in her chest. Stanford quickly stacked his books back up again, still grinning a little before carefully turning so he could see Hazel beyond the still massive stack of literature. “Alright then, I’ll get back to my work. I’ll see you for coffee.”

With that, Ford smiled again and headed off, hurrying back to his work table but making sure to take the time to check each eye before moving past. Hazel stood there, clutching the book to her chest as the gears in her head turned, trying to comprehend what just happened.Coffee, she was going to get coffee with Stanford Pines. A cute cafe~ Where people sat together close and chatted over lattes and teas. So, she didn’t actually drink coffee, as she preferred tea, but that didn’t matter! She was getting coffee with Stanford Pines!

Slowly, she took a few steps into a shelf area so that she wouldn’t risk being seen, before falling to her knees in giddy delight, covering her mouth to make sure her excited giggles and squeals did not echo throughout the whole place. Looking back to the book that she set down, she snatched it up again before darting out of the place with a high skip in her step. She had to get as much note taking done as she could, as she knew that she probably wouldn’t be able to focus on her work if she was sitting across from Stanford...But that was a problem for future Hazel, current Hazel had work to do!

[its-a-spn-thing]

It’s Just The Wind

Title: It’s Just The Wind

Summary: The reader and John live together, but when he leaves to go on a hunt, you have the apartment to yourself. During an intense wind storm, you get a surprise visitor

Pairing: John x Reader

Warnings / Rating: 18+ only please. Smut. Fluff. Possible burglar? Teasing. Extra fluffy and sexy John

Word Count: 4,171

A/N: I know John is not fluffy in canon. I just like to fantasize about a caring, fluffy John Winchester. I hope you do, too! 

Beta’d by the lovely @bobasheebaby

Here’s my masterlist

Read this fic on AO3

The couch was beginning to form an indent in the shape of your behind when you finally decided to get up and make yourself something to eat. You hummed the theme song to Dexter as you dragged your slippered feet across the tile floors of the kitchen. When you opened the fridge, you saw a post-it note stuck to the two-liter bottle of Diet Pepsi. He must have known that was the first thing you were going to reach for.

You smiled to yourself, ripping the yellow note from the plastic bottle. “Y/N,” the note was written sloppily. You could tell it was rushed, but also thoughtful. “Please don’t forget to eat while I’m gone. Something that doesn’t come in a package. I’ll be back as soon as I can. John.”

You bit your lip and chuckled to yourself, bringing the sticky note to your bra-lass chest, knowing that he really cared for you.

When you finally heated up a Lean Cuisine, even though John specifically asked you to eat a real meal, you scurried back to the couch. You set the glass of diet Pepsi on the end table, along with the steaming plastic bowl of low-fat chicken alfredo. When you sat down, you covered yourself with the blanket that you threw to the other side of the couch. It was still warm, thank God because your living room couldn’t seem to warm up.

It didn’t take long for your dinner to cool-off, and as you ate, you flicked through Netflix to find something to watch. You’ve watched the entire first season of Dexter, you needed a break, seeing as how this was the second time you’ve watched the show. How I Met Your Mother popped up, and you decided to put that on. You needed something mindless.

A few episodes in, the wind began to howl and the tree in front of the window was quaking against the glass. You hated wind, especially when you were home alone. When you were a child, wind and thunder terrified you and that fear followed you into adulthood. You thought back to your childhood home, waking your parents up out of a sound sleep because you swore you heard a scary noise. Your mother would tell you that it was “just the wind” but you never believed her.

Now, the floors in your old apartment would creek with the smallest bit of wind. When the furnace would kick on, or the ice machine would whir, you always got scared. That was the great part about having John around. You scared easily, and he was always there to comfort you. Right now, though, you wished he wasn’t out on a hunt. It was ironic that your entire life your parents told you that there was no such thing as ghosts, or boogeymen, and now you were dating someone who hunted those things you were told didn’t exist.

You weren’t interested in hunting. You were interested in the lore, though. So you were the brains and John was the brawn. He would tell you if something came up, something strange, and you would do research on the case. Even though John was a seasoned hunter, he enjoyed the help. Usually he would sip on his beer at the kitchen table and watch you on the other side of the table with your nose buried in your MacBook. 

You thought back to the first time the two of you figured out how your system would work. He was tired, he just got done hunting a Rugaru outside of Denver. Exhausted was an understatement for how he was feeling that night. He was still covered in blood and dirt, but he was gone for a few days. He wanted to stay up and spend some time with you.

The brightness of your laptop shadowed your face, the reflection of the website you were on reflected in your eyes. John smirked his perfect white teeth, and licked his lips before bringing the bottle of Bud Light to his freshly moistened lips. You noticed his smile, and looked up at him without lifting your head at all.

You cleared your throat, and looked back down to the computer screen. “Something funny, Winchester?” He smiled once more, somewhat wider this time, his dimples sinking in but barely noticeable. They had been almost completely covered by his salt and pepper beard. “No, nothing’s funny sweetheart.” You raised one of your eyebrows, puzzled by what he could possibly be smiling about. He just got back from hunting a Rugaru, alone, and now he was looking for a nest of vampires. You thought he should have been more on edge. Not John though. He always kept it calm, cool and collected.

“Just,” he paused, trying to find the right words to say, “just thinking about how we should make this a thing.” He took another sip of Bud Light.

That night was the first time the two of you made love. And it was so good, that the two of you didn’t want anyone else. It was just the two of you. You were a team.

Now though, you were lonely. Snuggling with your blanket, listening to the howling of the winds that were now getting stronger. The windows in your place were creaking, and the weather app on your phone said that the wind gusts were expected to go up to 75 miles per hour.

Your eyes widened when you saw the time. It was almost midnight. “Shit.” You paused the episode of How I Met Your Mother, got up and locked the door, turned the lights and TV off, and moved into your bedroom. You pulled the comforter of your queen sized bed to the side and slid in. You reached for your Roku remote on the nightstand as you covered yourself up with the comforter. The episode of How I Met Your Mother resumed, and about five minutes in, you drifted into sleep.

You dreamt of John for what seemed like hours before the loud crackles of thunder and bright flashes of lightning flashed through the blinds of your bedroom. You couldn’t have been asleep that long because Netflix was still playing. It hadn’t asked if you were still watching. You reached over for your phone, but it was dead because you had forgotten to plug it in before falling asleep.

You sighed and pulled the blankets off, plugged your phone in, and walked to the living room to check the clock on the cable box. 1:36 a.m.

The rain and branches were tapping against the glass. The lightning was getting brighter, and the thunder was getting louder. There was no chance in hell that you were falling back asleep, so you put on a pot of coffee and came to grips with the fact that going back to dreaming of your man was out of the question.

You missed him. You thought of him as you sipped your coffee on the couch. You didn’t care to watch any more TV, so you just sat with your legs tucked underneath you, watching as the rain drops covered the windows.

It didn’t take long for your coffee to cause pressure on your bladder, so you set the mug down on the end table and got up to use the restroom. The porcelain was cold against the flesh of your ass, so you made it as quick as possible. You turned the light off to the bathroom and made your way back to the couch until you heard a rustling at your apartment door. Panic struck and you quickly, yet quietly, ran to your bedroom, locking the door behind you.

John told you to always keep something for protection close by. He offered to give you one of his guns, but you didn’t trust yourself with a firearm. So, you made do with a baseball bat, a wooden Louisville Slugger. It was heavy in your hands when you retrieved it from your closet, and even though you had to swing it with both hands, you held it with one, grabbing your still dead phone with the other. You cursed at it, throwing it on the unmade bed. You wanted to call John, but you had no means to do so.

You had to protect yourself.

You heard footsteps through the living room, through the hall, and finally approaching your bedroom. The door knob slowly turned and whoever it was attempted to open the door but was stopped by the lock. The door shook as they tried to enter, and then you heard a deep, familiar voice.

“Princess?”

“John?!” You quickly ran to unlock the door, still holding the bat in your hand. The lock disengaged, and he swung it open as soon as he heard the lock switch.

When you saw him, dirty leather jacket and muddy lace up boots still on, you threw the bat onto the hardwood floor with a clunk, and jumped in his arms. “John.” He held you tightly as you breathed in the smell of leather and cigarettes. “You scared me,” you squeezed him tighter, gripping on to the rough leather, “I didn’t know you were going to be home.”

He set you down, but you still gripped on the lapels of his unzipped jacket, breathing in his scent. “I texted you, and called you,” he cupped the right side of your face with his palm and you nuzzled in closer to his hand. “I figured you were sleeping, I didn’t want to wake you.”

You closed your eyes and tucked your lips in. “I’m an idiot,” you said, looking down, realizing that your phone had been dead and John tried reaching you.

He chuckled, his smile slightly upturned to one side. He reached out to hold your arms and walked backwards towards your bed, gently pulling you with him. He sat down on the edge of the bed, spreading his knees to you can stand in between his legs. “Why weren’t you sleeping, princess?” He asked as he lightly ran his fingers up and down your arms, sending shivers up your spine. You didn’t respond, you just nodded your head towards the window, lightning still flashing through the blinds. “I figured,” he stopped caressing your arms and shook his jacket off his shoulders, throwing it to the ground. “That’s why I decided to drive home tonight, and not tomorrow morning,” he kicked his boots off and laid down on the bed, pulling you next to him.

You giggled when he pulled you next to him with ease. “I know how much you hate storms,” he sighed, closing his eyes. “Come here, sweets,” he pulled you closer. “Let’s get you to sleep.” You didn’t want him to fall asleep before you, so you nuzzled in his neck, peppering light kisses under his ear, and along his jaw.

“John,” you whispered.

He opened the eye that was closer to you, keeping the other one closed while looking down at you lazily. “What baby?” He said quietly with a sigh, pretending to be annoyed, but you could see a smile start to form. He closed his eyes once more, one arm around you, and the other was above him with his hand under his messy-haired head.

You nudged him, wiggling your body closer into him, and he chuckled loudly causing vibrations to fill your body. “Y/N,” he said warningly, “you know you’re going to get more than you bargained for.”

You looked up at him, causing him to turn his head and open both of his eyes. His pupils dilated when he met your gaze, as did yours. “God, Y/N,” he brought the arm that was under his head over to your face, swiping back to entangle his fingers in your hair. You were both now facing each other and your heart was beating out of your chest. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” He paused and you didn’t respond, you just stared at his lust-filled hazel eyes. “How perfect you are?”

You closed your eyes, and hid your face in the pillows. John hated when you hid your face, when you tried to deflect his compliments. “Woah, woah,” he leaned up on his elbow, and took his free hand to guide your face away from the pillow. “You know I don’t like that,” he said, and you stared at him blankly, shrugging your shoulders.

Your eyes were getting heavy as John held you close. The sound of his breathing and the feel of his heartbeat was like a lullaby to you. You closed your eyes, succumbing to your exhaustion. John lightly hummed the tune of a song that was familiar, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on what it was.

The deep, throaty humming was making your eyes even more heavy. He watched as you drifted off to sleep. “Y/N,” he said quietly, but still the depth of his voice carried through the bedroom.

“Hm?” You responded sleepily.

“You are beautiful,” he whispered quietly in your ear, not letting you ignore his compliments.

“Thank...” and you were finally asleep before you could finish your thank you.

*************************** You woke up as the light entered your blinds. The wind had stopped, as did the thunder and lightning. The ground was still wet from the rain, but the sun was finally making its way through the clouds.

Your eyes were still closed, reaching for John but you were greeted only with the sheets and pillows. When you realized he was no longer next you, you opened your eyes and quickly got out of bed. You walked down the hall to the bathroom, the door was closed and you heard the shower running, and John quietly singing. You smiled as he sang Fleetwood Mac.

Quietly opening the door, you bit your lip, trying to surprise him. Once you entered the steam filled bathroom, you shut the door, hoping he didn’t hear the click of the latch. The deepness of John’s voice as he sang The Chain brought comfort to you, but it also brought a tightness to your core. That was one of the things that turned you on about John - his voice. He could turn you on with just one word.

Once your were naked, you wanted to look at yourself, but you were unable to see much through the steam that covered the mirror.

You quickly pulled back the shower curtain, and John immediately stopped singing.

“Keep going, I love it,” you said, stepping into the shower behind John.

He was rinsing the shampoo out of his salt and pepper hair when he gripped your waist, pulling you tight and planting a long, hard kiss on your lips. “Good morning, sweet pea.” He broke the kiss and pulled you under the hot water, letting your hair get wet. “Good morning, hot stuff.” Once your hair was saturated with water, you reached for the bottle of shampoo that was on the ledge of the tub.

“Let me,” John said as he took the shampoo bottle out of your hands, squeezing some into the palm of his hands. You didn’t say anything, you just turned your back to him and tilted your head back to give him more access to your head. Once his hands were covered in shampoo, he gently massaged it into your scalp. His fingers worked in circular motions, letting it lather in your hair. You moaned when he hit certain spots on your scalp, behind your ears particularly. John smiled in fulfilment, knowing he was giving you pleasure when you closed your eyes and moaned deeper.

Water trickled down your breasts when you rinsed the shampoo out of you hair, and John watched as your nipples hardened underneath the cascade of water. You lifted your arms to put conditioner on your freshly washed hair and he took the opportunity to kneel down before you to take your exposed nipples in his warm mouth.

“John,” you gasped his name sharply and ran your fingers through his wet hair. He didn’t say anything, he just continued flicking your nipple with his tongue, and gently grazing them between his teeth. “Fuck, John,” you said his name once more, and he stopped this time, lifting you up with ease and pushing you against the wet wall of the shower. Once he had a good grip, and knew you were flush with the wall, he lifted your legs around his shoulders one at a time. If you had been any taller, your head would have been touching the ceiling.

You moaned when your legs opened around his broad shoulders, his hands on your hips so you didn’t fall. You held on to his head as he nuzzled his nose along your folds. “Baby girl, you smell so fucking good.”

“Please, John,” you closed your eyes and submitted to his touch. He opened your folds with his tongue, his hands were occupied by holding you up, and took your swollen clit in his mouth the same way he did with your nipples.

You gasped when your nub was welcomed by his warm, wet mouth. He alternated between sucking your clit, and lapping his tongue from your pussy and back up to your clit. You moaned loudly when his tongue covered your sex, up and down, over and over again. Just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore, he would start sucking your clit once more. He removed one hand from your hip, momentarily making you lose balance, but quickly finding it when he wrapped his arm around your back, gaining control over your hips once more. Still sucking and flicking your clit, he entered one long finger into your dripping core.

“Fuck, baby,” you felt your orgasm form in the pit of your stomach, causing your cunt to tighten around his finger. John stopped sucking for a moment to look up at you and smile, entering a second finger. You looked down to meet his gaze, returning a quick smile before your eyes rolled back and your mouth opened wide as you got closer to your release. John quickly went back to working your clit with his mouth, fucking you with two fingers when he saw the need in your eyes.

Your pussy clenched tighter around his thick fingers, and your orgasm formed in the pit of your stomach. Every nerve ending tingled, and you released all over John’s fingers, covering them with your juices. “That’s it baby,” he continued fucking you with his finger as you climaxed. “Good girl.” He set you down on your feet once the aftershocks ceased. He grabbed your face and kissed you hard, opening his mouth to wiggle his tongue with yours. Your taste lingered on his tongue, and you moaned when you tasted the salty-sweetness of your own pussy.

“Don’t you taste so fucking good, princess?” He broke the kiss, and quickly reached behind him to turn the water off. After pulling back the shower curtain, he lifted you up and you wrapped your legs around his wet body, kissing him and moaning into his mouth. Your bodies were slippery with water, causing you to adjust and hoist yourself up against John as he carried you to the bedroom.

There was a trail of wet footprints on the hardwood floors that went to your bed. He threw you down on the bed roughly, but not rough enough to hurt you, just enough to show you that he’s in charge now. When you landed on your stomach, you went to turn around so you were on your back, but he stopped you as you attempted to turn. “No baby,” he grabbed your hips and pulled them so your ass was higher in the air. You body was cold as the warmth of the water disappeared, and goosebumps permeated your skin. His large, warm hands caressed up the back of your legs to bring warmth, and he delivered a quick slap to your right ass cheek.

“Let’s warm you up, yeah baby?” He asked as he took his bulging length in his fist, stroking himself as precum formed along the tip. “Fuck, you are just so sexy,” he leaned over you, biting down on your neck, your shoulder, and kissing down your back. When his lips reached your ass, he bit that as well, making you shriek and giggle. He stopped stroking himself to push your legs open by your knees.

Lightly tracing his fingers along your folds, you wiggled your hips, trying to get him to deliver a firmer touch. “John,” you whimpered. “Please.”

His cock was still in his fist when he ran the velvety tip from your ass, down to your clit, and back up again. “Fuck, fuck,” your breathing was picking up, and you didn’t know how much longer you could take the teasing.

“Tell me what you want, baby girl,” John said, his voice was rough and sultry. Even though you couldn’t see him, you could tell he was smiling.

“Fuck me,” you said weakly and desperate. You turned your head to your shoulder, trying to get a visual of him in your peripheral. “Please John.”

And finally he buried his long thick cock deep into your dripping cunt with one thrust. You shrieked loudly as he hit your g-spot. He quickly withdrew his cock completely, running his hand up your spine. Once he reached your scalp, he took a handful of your hair, pulling your head back. Without releasing his grip of your hair, he buried himself inside you once more.

“John,” you said with a loud moan. “Please, please fuck me faster.”

He didn’t thrust, he didn’t move. He just kept his cock inside you, and it felt like he was in your stomach. “You want me to fuck you fast, Y/N?” He thrusted, but he was moving painfully slow.

“Yes!” You shouted, but he didn’t pick up the pace. “Please!”

“You’re going to have to ask nicer than that, baby girl,” he said, still moving at the same pace.

You moaned, grinding your hips up and down, trying to find some relief. John withdrew again, pulling your hair harder and delivering a hard slap to your ass. “I said ask nicely, Y/N.” You gasped in pain and pleasure as his grip on your hair got tighter.

“John,” you breathed in loudly. “Please, please fuck me,” he ran the head of his cock up and down your sex again, enjoying every minute of his teasing.

“That’s more like it.” He submerged his cock deep into your core again, this time thrusting harder, faster and deeper. He hit your g-spot with each thrust, and he let out a croaky grunt when you squeezed around his shaft.

The ramming of his length became too much to handle, and you couldn’t speak, you couldn’t moan. All you could do was clutch the sheets with white knuckles.

He didn’t stop fucking you when you went silent; he knew this was a sign that you were getting close to climax. “Don’t cum yet, baby.” You moaned out in frustration. You were just about to ask permission to cum.

You pressed your body closer to him, allowing him to bury himself deeper inside you. “Fuck, Y/N, your pussy is dripping.” He grunted, fucking you faster now. “You are so fucking close, huh?”

“Yes!” You cried out as he fucked you. “Please!”

“Okay baby,” his thrusts were rapid, and you moaned, almost screaming. “Cum with me.”

Within seconds your pussy convulsed in another orgasm. You moaned, screamed and cried out in pleasure and then you felt his warm seed pool in the small of your back.

He didn’t say anything, he just lightly tapped on your butt before walking away to get you a towel and a warm washcloth. John wiped the pool of his cum off your back with the dry towel, and gently wiped your folds and thighs with the warm washcloth.

Once you were both cleaned up, he grabbed a pair of boxers out of your dresser, and laid down next to you. You were facing him, laying naked on your side and he gently ran his fingers up and down your back.

He smiled when you smiled at him, leaning in to kiss you gently. “You really are stunning, Y/N,” John said quietly, almost a whisper. “You’re never going to change my mind.”

You rolled your eyes and nuzzled into him, breathing in his scent of body wash and sweat. You loved the way he smelled. Even when he smelled like whiskey, or cigarettes. He was home to you, and every time you smelled him, you were warm, happy and content.

“I love you, John.”

He closed his eyes, because he loved you too, sometimes so much it hurt. He kissed your lips deeply and lovingly. “I love you too, honey.” He gently pushed your chin up so you were looking in each others eyes. “More than you’ll ever know.”

Tags: 

@maddiepants @leatherandapplepies @idreamofplaid @supernatural-took-me-over @iopenthegates @mummybear @coffee-obsessed-writer @thoughtslikeaminefield @ladywinchester1967 @risingphoenix761 @waywardafgrandma @closetspngirl @team-free-will-you-idjits-67 @kittenofdoomage @evansrogerskitten

[bifacialler]

creativenicocorner replied to your post “Yesterday I tried to draw “The Knife” meme comic, but with Strickler,...”

There's a The Knife meme comic?? omg! OOF the idea of Strickler being Toby's to go weird guy is so /adorable/ to me! In the show there's hints that Toby was trying to learn magician tricks (like his gentleman's top hat that Aargh eats) How adorable would it be to have Strickler and Toby just sitting around and Strickler's showing Toby some slight of hand tricks, and talking about how rad Houdini was

...You know what, I raise you one. Let me crack my fingers.

It starts with Tobias - because very many things in Walter’s life now include Tobias - who stands in his doorway with a determined look, while Walter himself has one arm full of a sleeping toddler, another with a self-help infant related books and a lot of confusion, no hands required.

“What do you know about strange dudes with glowing eyes?” says his neighbour and Walter simply doesn’t know what to say to that. 

So instead his eyes glow a bit brighter. His wings twitch.

“Are you serious right now, Mr Domzalski?”

“Not your kind of dudes with glowing eyes,” the child waves his plump hand. “The other kind.”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

The boy looks around. “...if you let me in?”

And thus Tobias Dolzalski invades Walter Strickler’s Barbara’s their home.

When Walter rips himself away from the book it’s 30 minutes later, and is accompanied with a slight panic that it has been that long and he forgot about tiny human people who have a potential of bumping into corners and falling down and hurting themselves with every single thing they could find.

“Got anything?” his guest calls from somewhere in the living room. 

“Yes, I-” starts the changeling, and then pauses, greeted with a view of Tobias, propped in front of the TV on the carpet, his back pressed against the coffee table, Walter Jr (name pending) sleeping on his lap, Otto’s head propped against his knee, and Nomura, as energetic as ever, wobbling to his side to present another “drawing”, and greeted with an excited “wow, this is amazing, you are so talented, I might take this home and put this on my own fridge”. 

So instead, Walter Strickler says: “Do you babysit?”

Toby’s head turns and beady eyes narrow.

“Depends on how much you are paying.”

“I might be the owner of the biggest library of the the supernatural and troll lore in this State, Tobias. Consider your next words carefully.”

Domzalski considers. Nomura draws on his face. 

“Throw in a burrito and we have a deal.”

The next one is Ms Scott and her wishes are far easier for Walter to work with. 

“Toby says that you are bored and need babysitters, and I need a decent history teacher because the new guy sucks.”

Walter doesn’t know the new guy, but he is definitely far from being bored. In fact, boredom would be a welcome change. Or an excursion into high school history, for that matter.

“What makes you think you are qualified, Ms Scott.”

“Toby and I were the only ones not to murder our flour baby within week last year. Also you have-” she leans in and Stricklander, all six feet of stone and wings of him, stumble back. “-apple sauce on your face. You need all the help you can get.”

That he can’t argue with. 

He also doesn’t understand what is with his students and burritos.

After that they just... appear. 

Mary Wang and her math, for some reason. 

Palchuk with Spanish and extra special girl problems (”because like Doc Lake is super fine and asking Coach would be embarrassing”). 

Eli and his strange fascination with everything supernatural. 

Shannon who just wants to help (it’s concerning, and Walter considers calling her parents, but then remembers that he is not, NOT, their homeroom teacher anymore and there might be questions).

Some new children Strickler has never met before, brother and sister, apparently, who come because “everyone is doing this” and they ask him what babysitting is and why would you sit on the baby, but are saved by Tobias and his bag of tricks, which turns his living room into a impromtu amature magic show (where Walter even shows a few things he picked up along the way, even if made difficult with a lack of sleeves).

“Tiny humans funny,” says Aaargh, a pile of very hard rocks in the hallway, all three of Strickler’s adopted children climbing all over him. 

“Don’t you have-” Walter stars, and almost has a heart attack (can he have them? in his troll form?) when Otto slips, but is deftly caught by a hand the size of Otto himself. “-patrolling to do? Is that what you two do now?”

“Have time,” replies the fearsome general of Gunmar’s legion, and delicately trots like a megalithic pony from one entrance to another, in a choir of excited shrieking.

“Why is there a group of teenagers in the living room playing Uno?”

Barbara’s long fingers wrap around the mug, and she breathes away the rising  steam.

“Babysitting,” Walter shrugs, and checks on the batch of burritos, slowly getting ready in the over.

“All of them?” 

“Well, Tobias is definitely babysitting, not sure about the others.”

Barbara’s eyes search sharply into the congregation, finding all three infants tucked in amongst larger children. 

[”Wow, Palchuk, No-No plays UNO better than you do. High five, sister. ...okay, ewww, now someone pass me a tissue.”]

“They miss Jim,” she mutters. Her eyes fill with something soft and quiet, and Walter’s wing, unconsciously, unfurls over her shoulders. His bony hand covers hers.

They stand, silently, in the kitchen light, until someone shouts “UNO” and the rest emit a combined groan.

Barbara rests her head against his chest.

“We need to rework out budget around all these burritos.”   

[autumnslance]

For the fan-fic ask thing, number 3 in "Walk In the Wilds."

Walk in the Wilds

3: What’s your favorite line of narration?

My first longer fic in years, and the first real multi-chapter narrative I posted to Ao3. It helped work back up a lot of the writing-brain-muscles. Also seemed to  give people the impression I can write Thancred half-decently.

I feel like going chapter by chapter on this one; there’s a lot I still like. Since that makes this one pretty long, under a cut it shall go:

Chapter 1: Life - I spent a lot of time on this before nervously posting, knowing I was committing myself to at least try and complete the fic, which I had a general outline for, helped by having a lot of it told to us secondhand in game and lore references.

Where was it even safe to go? If the Crystal Braves had turned on them, Revenant’s Toll was out of the question. He dismissed Coerthas immediately; he was cold enough already, and did not want to entirely freeze—or worse, have his extremities become instantly frostbitten and fall off—upon arriving at Lord Haurchefant’s doorstep. Thancred could not imagine the Elder Seedseer agreeing with this insanity, though the thought of appearing before the child-like padjali—even if some were far older than himself—in this state made him wince. Never mind that Kan-E-Senna had been his attendant healer after Operation Archon and had probably seen everything anyway; she was the Elder Seedseer, for gods’ sake.

Limsa, then. Hells, on most days, no one would notice an underdressed—or undressed—man on the docks. Pirates were not exactly known for shyness. The Sisters would take him in, he knew; put stabbers back in his fambles and put their wattles to the ground and sniff out the truth in the darkmans. Yes, his old hometown was the best place to go, and while some may think to look for him there, they would not find him among the other shadows—or they would regret it if they did.

Special Mention goes to the interpretation of Thancred’s perception of the Lifestream.

Chapter 2: Water

He was almost surprised that losing his magic bothered him less than the thought of losing his marks did. Magic was helpful, but never his primary craft—not like Papalymo, Y’shtola, or Urianger, all experts at the weaving of spells and creating their own. Thancred had ever relied upon his own wits and practiced skills to get by, and thank the gods for that now. No, what bothered him was the thought of the Lifestream wiping away such an intrinsic piece of his identity as a Sharlayan Archon, not when he had fought so damned hard to be accepted by the scholars and earn that rank among their number.

All because Master Louisoix had believed in a scrawny dock rat that had tried to lift his purse.

Chapter 3: Bear Necessity

Thancred was not exactly a woodworker, so getting enough strips of the proper length was proving more difficult than he had anticipated. Still, only half-listening to one of Beatin’s expositions (before finding a way to excuse oneself and vanishing before the man caught a second wind) had actually come in handy.

He wished he could remember if the timbermaster had said the bark was edible or not. In Thancred’s current state, it was looking far too tempting.

AND:

He could really use some of those shinobi smoke bombs to help him disappear, as the bear lumbered into the open, saw him, and roared while it charged. Not the friendliest creatures, these Dravanian bears.

Chapter 4: Colony - The Vath were difficult, y’all.

Thancred nodded and stepped forward. Except just then the world tilted sharply and smacked him in the face. The beastmen clicked and shouted, and he was surrounded by a few pairs of stick-like legs, then lifted, and then half-carried into the colony.

He heard the nutkin chittering somewhere behind him, and he tried to tell the Vath not to eat his little friend.

Chapter 5: Nightmares - Please give Thancred closure about his possession, SE, kthnx.

I’m still pretty happy with the whole chapter; I was eager to get to it, and spent quite a bit of time with it.

Chapter 6: Unavoidable - About remembering Y'shtola:

He pushed the memory of her away again. She always came with the sensation of rushing winds and of being caught helpless in a rapid river, and they weren’t so much clinging to one another as they were one another, until she suddenly threw him onto the bank while she continued on, and he felt his loneliness even more keenly.

Chapter 7: Reunion - I feel like people–including the devs–often forget Thancred is a Sharlayan educated scholar.

Thancred was oddly annoyed he could no longer sense the aetheric shift. Still, he was a scholar of Sharlayan, and this was an opportunity for study. He pulled his bandana aside to see just what, exactly, the summoning looked like to his altered vision.

He decided quickly he might regret such curiosity later, but for now, observation was necessary, though he longed for his goggles to record the view; his colleagues would delight in such data.

AND I’m still pretty pleased with the descs/Thancred’s perceptions of the Warriors of Darkness, the Scions, and Ravana’s summoning.

Chapter 8: Catch Up - Worst final chapter/epilogue title ever.

He nodded; Alphinaud had been thoroughly detailed in his telling, up through the attempt to follow the Archbishop into the Sea of Clouds, running into the bloody Emperor of bloody Garlemald, and including a skyfishing fight against a primal in the shape of a giant, feathered, flying whale.

Thancred still wasn’t sure he believed that last part.

AND on hearing news of Lahabrea:

The world paused. “What?” Was that his voice? It sounded echoing and far away.

[velvet-tread]

so revisiting octavia blake (especially after what we’ve seen of her in s5e06 tonight)... what’s your understanding of octavia blake, in relation to bloodreina and also as one of the most disliked characters in the fandom?

 TW – there follows some discussion of abuse so if that is one of your sensitivities, I wish you well and recommend caution with what follows. Are you asking if I still stan Octavia now she’s Blodreina? Because the answer to that is complicated but basically yes. For clarity: stanning, to me, doesn’t involve nailing my colours to the mast and then contorting myself into ever more unlikely shapes to justify every single thing my fave has ever done. It’s possible to love and emphathise with a character, while also acknowledging the terrible things they’ve done or are. Maybe I don’t need to tell you this, but maybe others need to hear it: don’t let ANYONE shame you for loving Octavia. And by that I mean if someone tries, just tune them tf out. They don’t get it, they never will. They aren’t worth your time and energy. Let that truth set you free. So yeah, I still love Octavia, with all her flaws and her sharp edges. I can’t love Blodreina, but while Blodreina is certainly Octavia, Octavia is not Blodreina. Blodreina is the very worst of Octavia. Spoiled, demanding, hard, judgemental, imperious, unyielding, cold, unempathetic and very, very violent. She is the culmination of the story of a non-person, disempowered and locked up under the floor, coming into being and being handed a sword. And power. So much power. She is a product of necessity. She is an amalgamation of Jaha’s lessons, Indra and Kane’s guidance, Kara’s support and Gaia’s teachings. She has a god complex which, imo, can only go the way of Mount Weather. By which I mean it will probably consume everything in its path before blowing to smithereens and taking at least one of our faves down with it. But while Blodreina is certainly real, let’s not get carried away with OCTAVIA IS REVEALED AS FOR THE MONSTER SHE’S BEEN ALL ALONG. Deep breaths everyone, and maybe a sip of water. Blodreina is a persona who enables Octavia to carry out the most monstrous of deeds (hi Jaha!) and live with it. Has Octavia drunk the Blodreina Koolaid? Most certainly. But Octavia embracing her worst is not the same has Octavia being the worst. Also see: Bellamy season 1 and season 3a. Would you look at that A PARALLEL WE LOVE PARALLELS. Blodreina serves a purpose for Octavia-of-the-butterflies too. Because this show is this show and we are never more than a few monologues away from “love is weakness”, Blodreina is also a protective casing that locks away Octavia’s grief, her pain and her misery, her loneliness and self-loathing, along with her vulnerability and empathy. It seems super obvious to me that Octavia’s personal journey this season, apart from trying and presumably failing to keep Wonkru intact, will be about disassociating herself from Blodreina. And that, probably, won’t come without falling spectacularly from grace and facing her pain, and reckoning with the things she’s done. Also see: Bellamy seasons 1-4. Huh. What happens when the exoskeleton crumbles? What’s underneath? What will Octavia-who-washed-Lincoln’s-wounds, come to think about Blodreina and the things she’s done in the name of her people? How will she confront the agony of being Octavia Blake, naked, piteous and vulnerable, the girl under the floor who was denied existence?

I want these things for Octavia. I want the narrative to subject her to the most abject moral scrutiny because that is what you should want for the characters you love. It’s what makes them interesting. It’s what makes them matter. ALSO SEE BELLAMY FOREVER. Now I’ve been in this fandom long enough not to expect many others to see it this way. We are balls deep in moral monochrome here in the Bellarke fandom, and while that gives me pause for a sip of tea and a short prayer to the patron saints of patience, it’s not a situation that anyone can change, least of all me. And why would I? People are free to engage with the show how they want, as long as they stay in their lane.

And look, I get why some people can’t see past some of her sins. I, too, have characters that I dislike with varying degrees of rationality. But objectively, Octavia’s level of moral turpitude is at about the same level as any of the main characters. That’s just a fact. People’s personal preferences, while as valid as any other preference, are just that: subjective opinions. Where I start to sip my tea and raise my eyes to the heavens is when people start presenting their subjective opinions as objective FUCK YOU AND YOUR INBOX truth and thanks but no. It seems to be fanon lore now that Octavia is unempathetic and…it just makes no sense. This is the girl who was filled with wonder at Earth, who refused to let Jasper die even when everyone in camp wanted him to. She saw the humanity in Lincoln when Bellamy, Clarke and Raven could not. She saw the humanity in humanity when all anyone wanted to do was kill each other until they burned in Praimfaya. Wonkru exists because Octavia inspired them with her faith in them. The only way it begins to make sense is when you consider Octavia’s actions through the prism of Bellamy’s experience – which 8/10 is how the BC fandom at least views the show. (Also valid btw. I also project onto my faves! Bellamy among them! But see above for subjective opinion vs objective fact.) With Bellamy, the lack of empathy is real. Octavia, or at least the Octavia of seasons 1-4 high key struggled to see Bellamy as a fully realised person with desires and feelings of his own. But, while this sucks for Bellamy, from Octavia’s perspective it is entirely understandable. No matter how young Bellamy seems to us, to Octavia he is her parent figure. How many of the people on here haven’t put their parents through hell from time to time? I shouldn’t have to point out the bleeding obvious here, which is that teenagers who care deeply about animal welfare, trans rights, LGBTQA+ rights, poverty and climate change can also go through phases of being absolutely fucking awful to their parents. Often, that’s because in our world, teens are subjected to an unholy amount of pressure with which they struggle to cope, and the overspill of that hurt lands on the people responsible for them. It doesn’t make them bad people. And, yes, that can, occasionally, tip over into emotional and, more rarely, physical abuse but we don’t usually call it that. We call that “teenagers being fucking awful” and I am 100% sure that this is the context the writers room is working from. Do I think it’s acceptable, or justified? Hell no. But it’s important to take these narrative threads in the context of the real-world understanding of the people who develop them. This show isn’t created in a vacuum. Now work the scenario I outlined above into a post-apocalyptic landscape with 2x traumatised victims of systemic injustice, one of whom was locked up by the other because of that injustice. Yeah. What is so interesting to me is that the blind spot Octavia has wrt Bellamy – the blind spot that denied him access to the empathy she showed everyone else - has come into play again now she’s Blodreina, but in a different way. After 6 years of having everyone kowtow to her, and after vowing not to love, suddenly Octavia is making concession after concession for her brother at huge personal risk to herself.  It might not seem like that to us, or to Bellamy (and legit! I get why, from Bellamy’s POV), but to Octavia it must seem like she’s trying SO HARD to give him what he wants within the framework of what she thinks is achievable. Consider love is weakness. Consider that she throws herself into his arms on sight, in full view of all of her people. Consider being the arbiter of life and death for 6 years. Now consider Bellamy asking her to trust him. She does and is rewarded with a sonic blast. Bellamy delivers her an ultimatum about Echo, and she concedes. She fucking concedes! When has she ever willingly conceded on anything and ESPECIALLY NOW SHE HOLDS THE POWER OF AN EMPEROR? It’s fairly obvious from the Blake siblings sparring session that Bellamy was the symbolic winner. He got through to her. Octavia NEVER forgives. But she offers Echo – the woman whose sins Octavia will never forget - a way out. When Echo and Bellamy refuse, does she banish Echo? She could do. She’s Blodreina. She’s used to doing whatever the fuck she wants. But, no. She accepts the alternative, and even helps Echo on her way. Yes, it’s brutal and Blodreina-y and serves a double purpose but still, she helps her. She’s not doing that for Echo.  She’s doing it for Bellamy. No, she’s not doing it with a winning smile and a cuddle, but that’s not Blodreina’s style. She tries to thank him for saving them, in the only way she knows how. She reaches out, and he lashes out with cold anger. And perhaps it’s deserved. No, it’s definitely deserved, but GODDAMMIT that was a “you’re dead to me” level of cruelty. Can I just roll back a second and talk about how co-dependent the Blake sibs are? Cool. A friend (I can’t remember who, sorry) once said that Bellamy and Octavia carried their cage back down to Earth with them. And for seasons 1-4 that is absolutely what happened. They are spectacularly co-dependent. Bellamy depends on her to give him purpose, and a direction and reason to live. Octavia depends on him to absorb the overspill of her hurt, to push against, to take the blame for all of the ills in her life. It sucks for them both, and they’re TRAPPED, so terribly trapped, and neither is the other’s jailer but neither can walk away either. And just, what strikes me about the interactions we saw in the sneak peek for 507 is that maybe, FINALLY, Bellamy has broken free of their co-dependent relationship.  He may not even realise it yet, but he has completely re-centred his world around Spacekru now. And I think, that if push comes to shove, he will prioritise Spacekru above Octavia, even if it hurts them both.  It doesn’t mean he loves Octavia any less, but after 6 years of love and support and peace and quiet, Bellamy has broken out of the cage. Bellamy is free. Excuse me while I cry tears of joy. But Octavia isn’t free. Octavia hasn’t had 6 years of peace and support and love. Octavia’s life has been marked by trauma from the moment of her birth, and the trauma hasn’t let up for a single goddamned second it just keeps coming and coming and coming until all she has is her walls and an alter-ego and the hope that she can keep Wonkru together and her brother by her side. Believe me when I say that Octavia is still very much trapped inside the cage which Bellamy has now vacated. IT IS ALL VERY HEARTBREAKING OKAY. IT HURTS. So yes, I still love Octavia and I am ready to see her again when Blodreina falls.

[jacktherph]

Actually, instead of a shoutout, could we get your opinion on the rp please? Thank you!

hi there @kismetrpg! i’m happy to give you an opinion. since you didn’t specify private, i will post this on my blog. feel free to ask me to take it down if that was a mistake.

NOTE: all opinions expressed here are mine, jack’s, belonging to jack. i make no claims to knowing what is best for every group – i only offer advice based on my experiences, what i’ve seen in the community, and my personal knowledge. no one person knows what is best for you or any group other than yourself; because you were the one who put all of this together in the first place. so take everything i say as a suggestion, and remember that you have accomplished so much!!

and if you have any questions, want feedback on something specific, or want elaborations on anything said in this opinion, don’t hesitate to message me!!

this isn’t just an opinion, it’s a shoutout and a rec! @kismetrpg looks like a really cool new supernatural-themed rpg set in new orleans, y’all!! with a unique lore, awesome factions, and tons of different species to take on, this is an rpg worth checking out!! they open on january 5th!

start: 1.20 | pause: 1.21 - 1.25 | end: 1.36TOTAL: 12 minutes to read all pages (please don’t take this as a measure of anything, I simply time myself and am a speed reader)

Before I say anything about the group and pages, this is a blanket recommendation: Read up on Apostrophe Rules and go through your pages with an editing eye. I’m definitely guilty of mixing up my apostrophe rules sometimes but I definitely noticed a lot of mistakes in pages like your plot. Fixing these can improve the overall professional atmosphere of your group!

My first impression was this: this is definitely a group I would have considered joining when I was looking for rpgs to check out!! You have a lot of lore, great details and descriptions provided, and the blanket plot seems really interesting. This is a fascinating looking roleplay, so I want to give you my kudos. Well done! The main is very clean, minimalist, if that’s what you were going for. All attention is definitely diverted to the heading image. Unfortunately without seeing the advertised “supernatural rpg” font, I wouldn’t know this group has supernatural intentions based solely on looks. I don’t know if you planned/wanted that, but I wanted to include that in case you were so inclined. Your sidebars are clean-cut and to the point and will, no doubt, fill up with things once you open I’m sure. I do like the blanket trigger warning on the top of the About–I don’t know if some might deem it entirely necessary, but you want potential members to know what they’ll be looking at before they delve into your info, and I respect that.

A word on your Navigation: I don’t know if, in your theme, you can divide the navigation up more than by two headings, but if you can I would recommend it. Personally, I would divide it into: “Before Application,” including plot, rules, app, forms, etc / “Lore,” (or similar title) including your info on the Council, Silence, bestiary, locations, etc / & “After Applying,” with what you have. If that doesn’t appeal to you, I would say just try and reorganize the links? Why I say this: because jumping around from lore, lore, to app info, to lore, to form info, all in the top was kind of confusing for me. I get having the most important things first but it did seem a bit mish-moshed.

Your Plot is spot-on. You gave me background, you gave me current happenings, you gave me how things went down, and that’s excellent. One thing: think about including a paragraph on when/how/why the Council was formed? I think that would wrap it all up nicely and send a potential member into the “Chapter One” section seamlessly. Because I was suddenly like “wait who are these guys?? Where did they come from??” when I saw their name. Just a thought. As a writer I adored how you put it in as a “Chapter.” Something about the word choice really made me feel like I was entering at the beginning of a story by applying.

Your Rules are standard and fill every criteria for base lsrpgs that I, personally, am aware of. Your last bullet-point in “God Modding” however brought up a curiosity that you might want to think about putting somewhere in your lore: the rock-paper-scissors effect of the supernaturals. Who beats who? Who has a natural weakness to who? Etc etc. Just something to think about? I like that your Activity Check window is 48 hours. Very appealing to people who want to join but also worry about Check limits. QUESTION: At the top of your Rules, you say this is a “canon and original character roleplay.” What canon? I couldn’t find a fandom influence–not a blatant one. If you don’t mean from a fandom, you might want to rephrase to avoid people applying with fandom canon characters. If you mean YOUR canon, might I suggest “an original canon and original character roleplay” instead?

I don’t really feel like I can give an opinion on your Lore pages – after all, the Lore is yours. But it all reads very simply, cleanly, and to-the-point. I feel like if I have any questions they are easily answered by hitting up the main, too. (And as an admin of an rpg with a lot of lore, just be prepared to answer questions that are answered already, semi-often. It happens, am I right? ;) ) Something that would be cool: snippets from the Holy Book of the False Silence. HERE a popular video game, Dragon Age, wrote actual verses from their in-world “scripture,” maybe you could too. It would be very immersive and exciting for people who are Followers!

I love your Location page – plain and simple. There’s pictures, info, territory info, even economy info! You really did your research on the Big Easy, huh? That is great because it can mean potential members will feel immersed. I also like that you included a form for new locations to be added; it makes the members feel more included for sure.

And your Bestiary makes me melt. Firstly, I love the theme. You provide a great deal of information and also the essentials needed; a good balance for people who have a species in mind and people who are species-shopping! Great images, great aesthetic too. But one thing: the Bestiary is very dark compared to the main and all other pages. That struck me. Would you consider going lighter with it, or going darker with the main? Something to give it a balance.

Your app is smart and clean – asks for the necessary info on the character but that’s it. I don’t really understand what you mean when you say “Be calm!” at the top but if you like it, it doesn’t change anything. Simple apps have their benefits for sure, especially on the person reading and reviewing them. Personally, I’d recommend adding a question or two unique to your group, but that’s just a suggestion. It works well either way.

So about your Follow List… it confused the hell out of me, I’m going to be honest. Some characters had blogs, some links were dead, who are these people? As I understand it you haven’t opened yet? I’m a little lost at what to say here because I don’t want to make assumptions, ramble, and be wrong. So if you want to talk that one out together, feel free to message me! Otherwise, that confusion is an outsider’s opinion and might extend to potential members as well. Your Events Blog showed information from 4-5 years ago though, and I’d recommend either archiving it or deleting those posts because it does make a knee-jerk implication that you’ve already begun things.

My FAVOURITE THING about this rpg: your plot and lore. While supernatural-themed rpgs are still pretty common in the rpc, you took your idea with a fresh heart and great twists and the vitality of it is definitely something that I can see giving you a good membership, as well as great stories to thrill those members with. Main plots, side plots, factions; all things that make a great lsrpg in Jack’s book™.

My LEAST FAVOURITE THING about this rpg: you have a lot going on–a good thing–but somehow when I return to the main it feels a bit… hollow. Maybe that’s because you’re still prepping and not-yet open. Maybe that will change when you get events and plots going. Unfortunately I can’t quite describe it, and please feel free to disregard this as rambling, but I feel like something needs to solidify this group in my mind and heart. Something in the story, perhaps, that leaves me craving to know what will happen. But you’re probably working on that with your plots, I’m sure.

Overall, this is a group with potential brimming from the proverbial cauldron. You have a lot going on and a lot to finish up and already some great generated interest. I think anyone who looks at this group can feel like they have a new world to play in, but also the comforts of the supernatural rpg genre to form a community within. I wish you the best of luck, admin!!

Sincerely,Jack

[lollich0p]

Why you yes YOU should play S.T.A.L.K.E.R Shadow over Chernobyl

Stalker is one of my favorite video game series ever and it's my sworn duty as a fan to tell people to go play a game from 2007. Stalker is a post-apoc open world survival shooter. I first played it when I was very young on my dads computer and never finished it because I wasn't supposed to be playing it at all, and I always remembered it as a walking sim. It is only kinda a walking sim and the rest of it is a intriguing look at an unusual nuclear apocalypse.

Pros: It may be the severe radiation but I absolutely love the games story and was extremely invested in it when I actually played through the whole thing as an adult. It's just a fairly interesting take on a very bad situation. (I'd definitely recommend watching this lore video after you play/watch all of them it's one of my favorites) It has delightfully dated graphics (your menu is a pda :D) that may be a little off putting but if you like older games this one will definitely be a favorite. It has an amazingly desolate atmosphere and the textures, modeling, and map design really give everything a real but slightly unnatural feel, you will feel in danger most of the game in the best way. The game has a really good sense of humor where appropriate and I have to tell you I had the biggest smile on my face watching a translated jokes video recently. I really love the voice acting, both the english and russian sounds good (I wish I could turn on the russian v/o for everything imo) I really like the slower gun combat it feels very good, like every second of combat really means something (also you can get a sniper rifle so its a 10/10 for me) The game has an amazing ost my favorite is Cordon You know that video of some guy sorting his storage in re4? That's how your inventory works. (you also have a stamina run bar that is effected by how much stuff you're carrying) This game is so old it could literally run on a toaster. (if you play on max settings please turn you contrast back up or else the game looks like shit) It has multiplayer if you wanna hang out with the homies. Plus it's literally six dollars on steam.

Cons: Right off the bat I wanna say the devs tried to do nfts with the property, the fans complained and they didn't in the end but if that would prevent you from buying the game I want you to know. The game has a very small english speaking fanbase so finding content can be a bit hard This game has scary and upsetting visuals (mutants, dead guys, darkroom combat) The game can get very difficult at certain points, especially for a new player. The combat is brutal and realistic (if you get shot with bullets it hurts alot) and you're heavily rewarded for taking the slow careful route at all times, the npcs are very clever they can and will sneak up on you and shoot you full of so many bullets. The controls can be a bit wonky and take some getting used to, for me personally it kinda strains my hand to manage standing upright/crouched/crawling with the default buttons. The game doesnt pause when you're looking at you inventory or at your PDA which can be annoying if you aren't used to it. You know that video of some guy sorting his storage in re4? Thats how your inventory works. (you also have a stamina run bar that is effected by how much stuff you're carrying) The ai can be a bit janky because the game is old. Sometimes characters will get stuck repeating voicelines or continually run into walls. This game crashes sooo much it's not funny (save often).

Thank you for coming to my TED talk please go play stalker for all it's flaws it's still a great game that I think more people need to play. Also once again it costs as much as three cheeseburgers from mcdonalds.

[mary-magizoologist]

Dean in the Water | Part 2

Characters: Reader, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester

Pairing: eventual Sam x Reader

Words: 1949

Summary: Sam, Dean and you go to a small town called Lake Manitoc to investigate a series of weird murders, and the only leads you have are the ones given by a kid named Lucas. Based on the third episode of the first season of the show.

Warnings: language, show level angst and violence.

A/N: This is a new part of my Series Rewrite. Hope you guys like it! Please press the heart and consider sharing, and leaving some feedback, it’s what keeps me going. This is not beta’d. All mistakes are mine.

Catch up

Dead in the Water - Part 2

You go to the local park and you find Andrea, sitting on a bench and watching Lucas who is a little bit further coloring and playing with toy soldiers.

“Can we join you?” you ask her.

She looks up at you and smiles politely. “I’m here with my son.”

“Oh. Mind if I say hi?” Dean asks walking over to Lucas.

“Tell your friend this whole Jerry Maguire thing is not gonna work on me,” she tells you.

Sam and you take sit next to her.

“I don't think that's what this is about,” Sam explains.

“Will, you, uh…” you look at Dean, “Excuse me.”

You jog until you’re next to Dean and you get to Lucas.

“Hey, Lucas,” you smile at him.

“How's it going?” Dean asks.

Dean kneel down in front of Lucas and you sit on the floor. Lucas doesn’t look up to you.

“Oh, I used to love these things,” Dean tells while picking up one of the little toy soldiers. He imitates guns and explosions, making you smile, then tosses the toy soldier down and chuckles.

Lucas was still not looking at you.

“Are… crayons more your thing?” you ask him.

“That’s cool,” Dean says, “Chicks dig artists. Right Y/N?”

“Uh, sure,” you scrunch up your face,

Lucas has a pile of drawings on the bench. Dean picks up a few and you take a look at them, one is a big swirl and another is the drawing of a red bicycle.

“Hey, these are pretty good,” Dean compliments him. “You mind if we sit and draw with you for a while?”

No answer.

You both pick up a crayon and move to grab a pad of paper.

“I'm not so bad myself,” he continues.

“Well, I actually suck at drawing,” you giggle.

Dean sits on the bench, you sit on the floor, and start drawing.

“You know, I'm thinking you can hear me,” Dean started, “You just don't want to talk. I don't know exactly what happened to your dad, but I know it was something really bad,” he takes a pause. “I think I know how you feel. When I was your age, I saw something.”

He suddenly stops talking, you look at him and he seemed pensive.

“Anyway,” he continued. “Well, maybe you don't think anyone will listen to you, or, uh...or believe you. I want you to know that I will. You don't even have to say anything. You could draw me a picture of what you saw that day, with your dad, on the lake.”

“I believe you, too, Lucas,” you say to him. “When I was little, probably just a year or two older than you, I saw my mom dying. My life wasn’t the same ever since.”

He didn’t answer or look at Dean or you.

“Okay, no problem,” Dean said. “This is for you.”

He holds out to Lucas the picture he drew with stick figures.

“This is my family,” Dean explained, “That’s my dad. And that’s... That’s my mom That’s my geek brother. And that’s me,” he pointed at each person in turn.

Another pause.

“All right, so I'm a sucky artist. I'll see you around, Lucas,” he said leaving the paper down and standing up.

“This is me,” you told him, showing your drawing of a house and your stick figure family. “My mom and my dad. I lost him a few years back, too,” you trailed off.

Dean waited with you but you still got no answer from Lucas, so the two of you headed back to Sam and Andrea.

“Lucas hasn't said a word, not even to me. Not since his dad's accident,” Andrea told Sam.

“Yeah, we heard. Sorry,” Dean said and Andrea nodded in response.

“What are the doctors saying?” Sam asked.

“That it's a kind of post-traumatic stress,” she answered.

“That can't be easy for either of you,” you tell her.

“We moved in with my dad,” she explains. “He helps out a lot. It's just...when I think about what Lucas went through, what he saw…” she makes a pause.

“Kids are strong,” Dean reassures her. “You'd be surprised what they can deal with.”

“You know, he used to have such life,” she tells. “He was hard to keep up with, to tell you the truth. Now he just sits there. Drawing those pictures, playing with those army men. I just wish—” she stops and changes the subject when Lucas walks up to you carrying paper. “Hey, sweetie.”

He doesn’t look at either of you, just stands between you and Dean and hands him a drawing.

“Thanks,” Dean thanks him. “Thanks, Lucas.”

He heads back to the bench and the four of you share a look. You peek at the picture and it’s a drawing of the Carlton House.

Sam and you were driving around town to check on the Carlton’s.

“I refuse to believe there is lake monster out there,” Sam argued with you.

“I’m just saying,” you defended, “I mean, in our experience, if there’s a legend about a mysterious monster, it’s because there has to be something about it.”

“Yeah, but besides a weird picture here and there, there’s no lore.”

“Come on,” Sammy!” you chuckle, “How can you be skeptical? We deal with weird things that aren’t supposed to exist every day.”

“I stick to the lore…” he trailed off and you looked through the window when you saw an ambulance outside of the house.

“We should check what happened,” you told him and he parked outside.

Dean was in the motel room waiting for the two of you. When you got in he was sitting on the bed.

“So, I think it's safe to say we can rule out Nessie,” Sam states, walking to sit down next to Dean. You throw yourself on the other bed.

“What do you mean?” Dean asks.

“We just drove past the Carlton house,” you told him. “There was an ambulance, we asked some questions. Will Carlton is dead.”

“He drowned?”

“In the kitchen sink,” you nod.

“What the hell?” Dean asks, you shrug and Sam shakes his head. “So you're right, this isn't a creature. We're dealing with something else.”

“Yeah, but what?” Sam inquiries.

“I don't know. Water wraith, maybe? Some kind of demon?” Dean wondered, “I mean, something that controls water...water that comes from the same source.”

“The lake,” Sam states.

“Yeah.”

“That would explain why it's upping the body count,” you added propping yourself on your elbows. “If the lake is draining, it means it'll be dry in a few months. Whatever this thing is and whatever it wants, it's running out of time.”

“And if it can get through the pipes, it can get to anyone, almost anywhere,” Dean mentions standing up.

“This is gonna happen again soon.”

He sits down on a chair and starts putting on his boots.

“And we do know one other thing for sure,” Sam says, “We know this has got something to do with Bill Carlton.”

“Yeah, it took both his kids,” Dean added.

“We’ve also found out that Lucas’ dad, Chris, was Bill Carlton’s godson,” you tell him.

“Let's go pay Mr. Carlton a visit,” Dean says.

The three of you drove to the Carlton’s House. You walked around the house to the lake and you saw Bill sitting on a bench on the dock.

“Mr. Carlton?” Sam calls.

He looks up, and the Sam, Dean and you approach him.

“We'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind,” you tell him.

“We're from the Department—” Dean starts.

“I don't care who you're with,” Bill cuts him off, “I've answered enough questions today.”

“Your son said he saw something in that lake. What about you?” Sam started, “You ever see anything out there? Mr. Carlton, Sophie's drowning and Will's death—we think there might be a connection to you or your family.”

“My children are gone,” Bill said, “It's...it's worse than dying. Go away. Please.”

”What do you think?” Same asks while the three of you head back to the car.

”I think that poor man’s been through hell and beyond…” you make a pause, ”I also have a feeling there’s something he’s not telling us.”

Sam leans on the Impala. “So now what?”

You notice Dean going still next to you.

“What is it?” Sam asks him.

“Huh,” he mumbles, looking at the Carlton house. “Maybe Bill's not the only one who knows something.”

He pulls out the picture Lucas brought him, which is of the Carlton house. Dean looks at Sam and you.

The three of you go to Andrea’s house to talk to her. Dean thought we should talk to Lucas to learn something more about what was going on.

“I'm sorry, but I don't think it's a good idea,” Andrea says.

“We just need to talk to him,” Dean says.

You get inside the house.

“Just for a few minutes,” Dean asks-

“He won't say anything,” she states. “What good's it gonna do?”

“Andrea, we think more people might get hurt,” Sam said. “We think something's happening out there.”

“My husband, the others, they just drowned. That's all,” she said.

“If that's what you really believe, then we'll go,” Dean stated. “But if you think there's even a possibility that something else could be going on here... please let me talk to your son,” he pleaded.

Andrea lead the three of you to Lucas’ room. Through the doorway you saw him laying on the floor with toy soldiers standing around him, he was coloring. Dean looked at you and you nodded to him and entered the room.

“Hi, Lucas, “ you smiled down at him crouching. Dean mimicked your movement.

“Hey, Lucas,” Dean greeted him, “Remember us?”

You took a look at the drawings and noticed he made two more of a red bicycle. You frowned.

“You know,” continued Dean, “We, uh, we wanted to thank you for the last drawing. But the thing is, I need your help again.”

Lucas is drawing a person in the water. Dean grabbed the house picture and puts it down in front of Lucas.

“How did you know to draw this?” He asked. “Did you know something bad was gonna happen?”

“Maybe you could nod yes or no for us?” you added, but Lucas didn’t answer and kept coloring. “You’re scared. It's okay. I understand. See, when I was your age, I saw something really bad happen to my mom, and I was scared, too. I didn't feel like talking, just like you. But see, my mom—I know she wanted me to be brave. I think about that every day. And I do my best to be brave. And maybe, your dad wants you to be brave too.”

“I saw my mom dying, too,” you told him, “My dad picked me up from school and we got to our house. When we got in, we saw something really bad happening to her, and we couldn’t do anything to help her. Also, people didn’t believe us. I was really scared, I couldn’t trust many people except my dad. I tried to be brave, too, for him and for my mom.”

Lucas dropped his crayon and looked up at you and Dean. He hands you a picture of a white church, a yellow house, and a boy with a blue baseball cap and a red bicycle in front of a wooden fence.

Lucas drops his crayon and looks up at Dean. He hands him a picture of a white church, a yellow house, and a boy with a blue baseball cap and red bicycle in front of a wooden fence.

“Thanks, Lucas.”

Sam, Dean and you are in the Impala. Sam is holding the church picture, you are looking through the car window, you felt exhausted already.

“Andrea said the kid never drew like that till his dad died,” Dean pointed out.

“There are cases,” Sam began to mention, “going through a traumatic experience could make people more sensitive to premonitions, psychic tendencies.”

“Whatever's out there, what if Lucas is tapping into it somehow?” Dean stammered, “I mean, it's only a matter of time before somebody else drowns, so if you got a better lead, please.”

Sam lifted his hands in the air in surrender. “All right,” he exhaled, “We got another house to find.”

“The only problem is there are about a thousand yellow two-stories in this county alone,” Dean grunted.

You lifted your head from the window and leaned against the front seat, looking at the pictures in Sam’s hand. “See this church?” you added, pointing at the drawing with your finger, “I bet there’s less than a thousand of those around here.”

“Oh, the kid thinks she’s so smart,” Dean teased.

“You bet your ass I am,” you took your tongue out and smirked at him.

There was a small silence between the three of you before Sam started talking. “You know, um…,” he made a pause to think. You looked at him. “What you said about Mom… You never told me that before.”

“It's no big deal,” Dean dismissed it. Sam kept his gaze on Dean pursing his lips, waiting for his brother to say something else. “Oh God, we're not gonna have to hug or anything, are we?” Dean asked, faking annoyance.

Sam looked back at the front smiling, and then he turned back to look at you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking at you with his puppy eyes.

“Yeah, I am,” you smiled at him and then frowned. “Why?”

“You haven’t talked about your mom’s incident in ages, I just-” he made a pause, raising his eyebrows, “I just thought you might wanna talk about it.”

“No, no,” you stammered, “I’m fine, really,” you nodded at him.

“‘Kay,” he smiled, nodding back at you and looking back at the road.

You approach a white church which seemed to be the one from Lucas’ drawing. Dean holds up the picture and looks at it, you stand behind him, staring at it and trying to compare it with the scenario in front of you. There’s the church on one side and a yellow house right next to it and a wooden fence near the house. Sam looks at the two of you, then the three of you look up at the church and cross the street, walking to the house.

You knocked on the door and an old lady, Mrs. Sweeney, opened the door letting you in.

“We're sorry to bother you, ma'am,” Dean started. “But does a little boy live here, by chance? He might wear a blue ball cap,” he motioned with his hand, “Has a red bicycle.”

“No sir,” she answers head falling and shoulders sagging, “Not for a very long time,” she adds with a quivering voice. She looks up at us with watery eyes. “Peter's been gone for thirty-five years now,” she mentions, sighing.

She looks to the something on the side and you turn your head to follow her gaze. There’s a picture of a kid, who you assume is Peter, on the side table.

Mrs. Sweeney sighs before starting to speak again. “The police never… I never had any idea what happened. He just disappeared.”

You look to the other side when Sam points out a number of toy soldiers on a table.

Sam points out to Dean a number of toy soldiers on a table.

“Losing him—you know, it's...it's worse than dying,” expressed Mrs. Sweeney.

Dean takes a glance at Sam.

“Did Peter disappear from here?” you ask her, ”From this house?” you add.

“He was supposed to ride his bike straight home after school, and he never showed up,” she explained with a broken voice.

Dean picks a picture that was stuck on a mirror frame. There are two boys in the picture, one of them was Peter with a bicycle. He turns it around to check the back.

“Peter Sweeney and Billy Carlton, nineteen seventy,” he read out loud.

Dean, Sam and you are driving to Bill Carlton’s house.

Sam exhales loudly. “Okay,” he started, “This little boy Peter Sweeney vanishes, and this is all connected to Bill Carlton somehow.”

“Yeah, Bill sure as hell seems to be hiding something, huh?” said Dean.

“And Bill, the people he loves, they're all getting punished,” you mention.

“So what if Bill did something to Peter?” Dean asked.

“What if Bill killed him?” you add.

“Peter's spirit would be furious, it'd want revenge. It's possible,” he states.

Next Part

Please consider sharing and leaving any feedback, is very welcome!

Wanna be tagged? Send me an ask or a message (you have to follow me in order to be tagged).

Wanna read more? Check out my masterlist. Buy me a coffee? :)

Series Rewrite Tags: @andtheraincamefalling @cececolbert

@alwaysangelsofmischief @sinsandaesthetics @thekarliwinchester

@stevetrevorstardis @irishgirl1613 @thoughtfultidalwaveengineer

@cassiopeia-barrow @montser98

[profound-boning]

Something Special

@thecuriouscrusader’s 1k challenge prompt: “I was just scared that you were gunna realise you’re way better than me.” pairings: destiel word count: 2.5k tags: no warnings apply, canonverse, sam’s pov, dean/cas post break up, poor sam, happy ending only on tumblr

The phone rings a couple of times before Sam picks up.

“Hi, Dean,” he says, resigned.

“Hey, Sammy.” Dean’s voice is that weird, forced chipper that Sam hates, but that’s the only way Dean’s voice sounds lately. “You doing anything?”

“Just cutting up some vegetables for dinner.” He pauses. “What about you?”

“Oh, you know,” Dean says. “Same old.”

“Right.” He pauses again, waiting for Dean to elaborate. The other end of the phone is silent for a little while. “Dean…”

“It’s just not the same, okay? I don’t—I don’t really know how to cook for one anymore. Can I just come over—?”

“Dean, you know that I love having you here.” Sam sighs. “But you can’t hide at my place forever. Why won’t you talk to him?”

“Ain’t nothin’ to talk about, Sam.” Sam can hear the frown Dean must be sending him. “I told you that. We’re—it’s over.”

“Okay.” Sam draws out the vowels so Dean can really hear how disbelieving he is. “Well going forward, can you at least start coordinating your calls or something so you don’t try to call me in the middle of his again.”

“His—? What? Is Cas calling you, too?”

“Bye, Dean.”

“But what—?” Sam hangs up on his brother before he has to hear another word. He honestly never thought it would end up like this. Sure, he’d had to deal with a lot of sappy lovey-dovey stuff from those two. When they were all still living in the bunker, he’d even gotten an eyeful a couple of times and had to have a stern talk with both of them (separately) about common courtesy.

Sam getting his own apartment in the city had been an amenable solution for everyone. He’s still at the Bunker more often than not; they still collaborate on bigger cases and take road trips when they have to attend to something in person. Partial retirement suits them: Sam is working in construction and helping other hunters with lore, Dean is part-time at a mechanic’s garage and also managing an online forum about classic cars, and Cas can be found manning the desk at the library. They’ve got a pretty good life now.

Or they did up until Dean and Cas (and Sam is sure somehow that both of them managed to screw this up with a general plethora of stubbornness and not enough communication or patience) ended their relationship.

Sam had woken up late one night to the sound of knocking on his door. It had turned out to be a very sad-looking Cas, asking if he could please stay the night. He’d had a large suitcase with him though, which told Sam that Cas was anticipating being away for more than just one night.

But Cas is his friend—was practically his brother-in-law—so he’d had no qualms about letting the guy sleep on his couch. The following afternoon, he’d helped Cas locate a weekly motel near the library and he didn’t press for details.

He’d gotten little more from Dean, who called him while very drunk right after Sam had seen Cas safely to his new accommodations. But Dean was mostly just angry with Sam for ‘siding with Cas’ instead of him.

“You know that isn’t true,” Sam had said. “He asked for my help and I gave it. He’s my friend, too, Dean.”

“Shit, I know that.” Dean hiccups. “Fuck, I really—I really fucked this up.” He’d hung up quickly after that, but not before Sam heard a sob. Sam dropped by the Bunker in the morning with some Aleve, expecting to have to peel Dean off of the kitchen floor. Instead, he’d found his brother curled up in bed, clutching a pillow so tightly that it had made Sam’s chest ache to see it. He’d left the painkiller and a bottle of water at Dean’s bedside anyway and went to wait for him in the kitchen. Once Dean lumbered in, he made a pot of coffee and sat with his brother for a while. Didn’t get much out of him, just silent brooding and a muttered, “it’s over.” The puffy eyes said Dean was more affected than his words let on.

That was two weeks ago now, and Sam is at the end of his rope. He fields phone calls from both of them every day, has to make sure Cas is eating enough, and that Dean is getting enough sleep. It’s exhausting and it’s frustrating because he just wants them to be a happy family again. He was fine with being the third wheel when it was apparent how happy they were together.

So Sam plots. Neither one of them will talk about what happened; Dean gets teary-eyed at the mention of Cas’s name and Cas gets this look like he’s about to break something. Maybe if he can get them to meet up in a neutral location? They’re both wary of the Bunker and Sam’s place of course, and there’s no way he could trick one of them into going to the other’s place of work.

In the end, he is saved from having to come up with the perfect scheme by a nasty cold.

First of all, Dean insists that Sam come back to the Bunker in order to recover. What Sam had not anticipated was that Cas would agree with Dean on this, and so he was almost immediately ferried over by Cas while Dean was working. Cas helped arrange some things in Sam’s old bedroom and then told him to rest. From there, both Dean and Cas take it upon themselves to fret over him; taking turns with bringing cold medicine, hot soups, and other ‘necessities’—which is even more ridiculous given that newly human Castiel has never been around someone with the common cold. However, his gifts (suggested by the Internet) are much appreciated as warm socks are always useful at the Bunker.

One day, they accidentally arrive within minutes of each other. Sam can hear their startled yelps from his bed, where he is nestled under several pillows and blankets. They seem to accept that neither one is going to leave, however, and fast-walk to Sam’s room to deliver their gifts. When they push open the door they practically stumble in their haste to push past the other and reach Sam’s bedside.

“Here, Sammy, brought you mom’s tomato rice soup,” Dean says cheerfully.

“Sam, I noticed that you ran out of ginger ale yesterday, and I decided that getting more would be most beneficial for you,” Cas intones.

“Oh for God’s sake,” Sam mutters under his breath. These two will be the death of him.

Dean’s forced smile doesn’t falter. “It’ll be fine Sammy, just a little cold is all. Is, uh—is there anything else you need? I can head out—”

“That’s not necessary, Dean.” Cas puts the case of ginger ale cans on the floor by the bedside table where Dean’s soup is resting. “You stay here with your brother, I’ll—”

“Well, no, I mean… Cas, you don’t have to—”

“I insist, Dean, it’s—”

“Will you two shut up already?” Sam glares as best he can while his head is spinning. “I want you both here but not bothering me while I’m trying to sleep.”

They pause.

“I could go see what’s in the kitchen?” Cas wonders. “Or straighten up a bit?”

“That’d be great, Cas. We can take turns.” Dean smiles warmly at Cas and for the briefest moment, Sam feels like things are back to normal. Then the skin around Dean’s eyes tightens and he drops his gaze, staring at the blanket covering Sam’s shoulder. “I’ll see—see you in a bit, then.”

Cas had been smiling right back at Dean but, noticing the shift, drops into a frown, too. But he agrees and slips out of the room quietly. Sam lets his head drop onto the pillow.

“Honestly, Dean, you’re—”

“Shut up, Sam.”

Too tired to argue, Sam pulls the blankets tighter around himself and dozes off. He stirs once when he hears his bedroom door open. He wakes up a bit later; Cas is sitting in the armchair nearby with a book open in his lap, but his eyes are clearly not focused on it. Sam clears his throat.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Oh. Hello, Sam” Cas closes the book. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Not particularly.” He eyes the table and notes that Dean’s soup has gone. “Soup’s in the kitchen?” Cas nods. “And my ginger ale?”

“Ah, no, there’s one here.” Cas rises and takes a few steps in order to grab a can from the case on the floor. Sam appreciates the gesture.

“Thanks, Cas.” Sitting up, he takes a careful sip. “Dean’s still around?”

“Yes,” Cas replies. “Cleaning, I think.”

They’re quiet for a moment and Sam observes his friend. Cas is sitting again, his shoulders hunched, and his whole demeanor droopy. His hair doesn’t look as soft and shiny, he has bags under his eyes, and his skin is kind of pale like he’s not really getting enough sleep or drinking enough water.

“How are you feeling, Cas?”

Cas looks up at him, and Sam tries to convey with a look that he doesn’t want to hear anything about ‘I’m fine’ or that nothing is wrong. Cas seems to get the message, and he sighs. “I’ve been better. This… It’s been difficult to adjust.”

“Adjust to what?” Sam prods.

Cas closes his eyes, a pained expression crossing his features. “To a new life. A new identity, even. I’ve… Being part of your family was my identity. And now…” He trails off.

“Cas,” Sam starts gently. “First, you are still my brother. No matter what.” Cas opens his eyes and meets Sam’s stare. “I care about you a lot. Pretty much like how I care for Dean, to a certain extent. That’s why I can see how much this is hurting you two.”

“Sam—”

“No, I know that it is. I don’t know what happened since neither one of you will tell me. But I know that it sucks and that Dean is hurting just as much as you are.” Sam takes another sip of ginger ale. “Maybe talking to him about it could help.”

“There is… nothing to discuss,” Cas says. He’s so sad and Sam wishes he could strangle them both. “Dean has made that very clear.”

“Talk to him,” Sam insists. “He’s hiding it from you but he can’t hide it from me. At the very least you both could get some closure.”

Cas looks thoughtful but he doesn’t respond, and Sam doesn’t either. He lies back a bit on his pillows and is quickly asleep again. The next moment that he’s conscious, he’s curled up on his side, facing the wall instead of the rest of the room. But he can hear both Cas’s and Dean’s low voices coming from that side; he doesn’t dare change his breathing, praying that they’re actually going to talk to each other instead of driving him crazy.

“You said this wasn’t what you were expecting. That it wasn’t what you wanted.” Cas audibly swallows. “That I’m not what you wanted.” If that’s truly what Cas was led to believe, Sam is going to smack Dean.

“What?” Dean nearly cries out but he seems to stifle himself at the last minute. “Cas, no. No, that’s—that’s the opposite of what—. I didn’t mean you, Cas, damn it.”

“Then what were you trying to say, Dean, there’s only so many ways to interpret—”

“I’m not what you want, Cas.” Oh boy. There it is. “You may not see it now but you will and I—. It’s killing me to sit here just waiting for it to happen.”

Sam knew that Dean has some lingering self-esteem and abandonment issues but this is far more serious than he’d feared.

Cas sounds livid but he’s still trying to keep his voice down. “Is that a joke? Since when do you get to tell me what I feel? What I want?”

“Cas—”

“No, you listen. Everything that we have been through together and I was just biding my time waiting for a chance to leave you? That’s ridiculous. That’s so stupid and you—you broke up with me because you thought I was going to break up with you? What kind of logic is that?”

When this is over, Sam is going to give Cas the biggest hug.

“I was just scared that you were gonna realize you’re way better than me.” If Sam could see Dean’s face, he’s sure his brother looks like a hurt puppy, and Cas probably looks like he’s going to start throwing punches. That or the kind of soft, concerned look he gets when he fusses over Dean. Turns out these two have been pining for the other all this time because of a simple miscommunication. Have been making Sam miserable over nothing.

“There is not a single way in which I am better than you, Dean. And you’re not competing for my affections and I’m not settling for you.” Sam can picture Cas making air quotes with his fingers. “We’re in this together.” There’s a beat of silence and Sam thinks he can hear Cas shift in his seat. “I mean, we were. When we were… together.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees sadly. They’re silent once more.

The silence continues.

When are they going to make up? Sam waits.

It’s still silent.

Is—? Seriously?

“Oh my God, are you two for real?” Sam wasn’t going to say anything but holy shit if they can’t figure it out after that little revelation he’s going to go out and find a wraith or something to kill him on purpose. Put him out of his misery. He wraps himself up with as much dignity as possible since he’s smothered in several layers of blankets and kind of stinky from sweating out his fever. But he still musters up a good glare and points at his brother and his best friend. “You two are going to go to Dean’s old room and talk about how you’re still madly in love with each other, then you’re going to kiss and make up, and then we can all move past this bullshit.”

Dean and Cas look first at him and then at each other, eyes wide. When they make eye contact, they both blush and look away. It’s like dealing with teenagers.

“I’m serious,” Sam threatens. “I’m not fielding one more phone call from either of you about this.”

“You… would you want to be together again?” Cas peers over at Dean. Dean stares back at him, mouth agape.

“Of course I want that. Why would you ever think—?” The rest of Dean’s sentence is swallowed by Cas launching himself out of the armchair, planting a kiss on Dean’s mouth and cradling his cheeks. Sam has a brief moment of finally before Dean starts responding enthusiastically.

“Guys,” Sam barks. “Dean’s old room. Go. And don’t wake me up again until dinner.”

“Okay, Sam.” Dean is a little too distracted to actually look at Sam, he’s too busy beaming at Cas, who is blushing bright red. “We’ll be—”

“Would you just get out of here already?”

They stumble out the door, hand-in-hand.

Sam sighs and gets comfortable again. He definitely is the long-suffering younger brother and really deserves some special recognition for his contributions, but at least he gets to see Dean and Cas this happy. And after everything they’ve been through, that is truly something special.

[perpetually-jungshook]

Without You: Bloodstone (Part 17)

Genre: AU, bts!werewolf, fantasy, angst

Warnings: language, violence, suggestive content

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: Werewolves, contrary to popular belief, are usually gentle creatures. Except for a very specific set of circumstances, they would never hurt a human (on purpose). The few unfortunate times when mistakes were made put a permanent dark mark on the beasts and people began labeling them as monsters. What the human population failed to recognize was the fact that they were protecting us from something much more sinister. Luckily, a few survived and the gene was passed down hereditarily until one day finding its way to me… in the form of my best friend.

Link to: Storyboard (reference pictures) | General lore post Prologue | Previous | Masterlist | Next

Loyalty is often as blind as justice should be, as unstable as a lightning storm ought to be, and as misplaced as an opinion in the truth.

Chapter 17:

I stare at Jimin’s closed door, coming to a crossroad in my mind. I could give up on him. It would be so easy to start treating him like everyone else, ignoring Jimin except when absolutely necessary. It would be easy, yes, but it’s not something I want. Even if he’s rude to me, he deserves to be treated with the respect of a human being… in the metaphorical sense. Because he’s a werewolf, not a human.

With a reluctant sigh, I return to Jungkook’s room.

The next few days are uneventful. My raven haired friend is busy with training and the rest of the pack, often accompanied by Munhee and sans Jimin, spend time outside the bunker with him. I see the outcast boy with the coffee colored hair once every twelve hours or so when he asks if I’ve eaten or humorlessly if I feel like I’m dying, the answers to which are usually yes, then no. Halsahm remains silent.

I have no time or lack the opportunity to pull Namjoon aside and ask him about the second type of bonding Taehyung had mentioned, but there’s no rush on pure curiosity. My attention is elsewhere, namely on getting someone to take me to the Hepatica field.

I would ask Jungkook, but he seems to be getting more and more exhausted with each passing day and if I were to get in trouble, I wouldn’t want it to effect him (especially with his hypersensitive nature). I would ask Taehyung, but he (along with the rest of the pack) would likely side with Munhee, the person I’m hoping to gain information on while performing the divination. Well, it’s not so much “information” as it is seeing whether or not she’s lying to me or hiding something, which might be a concept that’s hard to swallow for the wolves that have imprinted on her.

This leaves Jimin, who is less than willing to cooperate.

“How many times are you going to ask me?” he whispers harshly as soon as he answers his door. I don’t like badgering him, but with each day that passes, the innate fear increases in my mind. Could Munhee be indoctrinating Jungkook? Controlling our minds? It sounds stupid, but we’re dealing with real magic. I need to know we’re safe.

I shrug, unable to meet his gaze, “How many times will it take for you to say yes?”

Jimin groans, jaw jutting forward as he stares at the ceiling, “So you’ll leave me alone if I take you to this stupid flower field?”

I nod fervently.

“Fine. I’ll come get you as soon as everyone else is asleep.”

I have to suppress the urge to cheer. I’d tried to appeal to logic, sympathy, and was on the verge of resorting to outright begging. Who knew Jimin would be motivated by the selfish drive to be left alone? Whatever works. I won’t complain.

“Do you want to know-?”

“No, I don’t care about what you think you’re doing. Just don’t die and get me in trouble.”

“I promise I’ll try not to.”

“Good. Now stop pestering me.”

Jimin closes the door in my face. Again. At least this time I definitely have his help. With a small sigh, I go to Jungkook’s room a little relieved, but also a little nervous. I’ve secured the means, but what about the end? I hope I’m being suspicious for no reason, but what if my fears are validated? Or worse, what if I can’t perform a divination?

It’s only worked once out of the few times I’ve tried. What if I can’t…?

I shake my head and push it to the back of my mind. I’ll have to cross that bridge when I get to it. For now, I need to focus on getting there first.

“Eun?” Jungkook pokes his head out from behind the bathroom curtain.

I give him a soft smile, “Right here, Kookie.”

His expression brightens in relief and it hurts me to think that if he wakes up at any point tonight and finds me missing, he’d go into a blind panic. I’ll just have to be quick…

Pushing my fingers through Jungkook’s damp raven black hair to get it away from his eyes, I press a light kiss to his forehead and even in his sleep, a smile pulls at his lips. With the utmost care, one small movement at a time, I untangle our legs and shift to perch on the edge of the bed, waiting for Jimin.

How will he know when everyone’s asleep? Better question, will Jimin even remember to show up? Ideally, he would appear right when I ask this question. But he takes his sweet time and I’m sore from sitting still when he opens the door an hour later.

“About time,” are the words I want to say, but I keep them to myself, instead giving him a grateful nod.

Slipping on my shoes and picking up my backpack, I follow Jimin to the main mistletoe doors, opening them for him. My companion doesn’t wait for me, ascending the stairs without looking back. I have to jog to catch up with him, afraid he’ll leave me behind for some strange reason, but I find the boy with the coffee colored hair waiting just outside the shack.

“Where are we going?” he asks, already sounding annoyed.

“It’s a Hepatica field-”

“Yeah but where is it?”

I take a deep breath, knowing he’s about to get angry with me, “I don’t know. I was hoping you could… smell it or something.”

Jimin’s eyes bug, “It’s not magic. I can’t just sniff the air and tell you where some stupid Hydrangea-”

“Hepatica.”

“Who cares? That’s not the point. I can’t just lead you to some random spot in the middle of the forest without at least knowing what the scent is.”

He has a point.

My voice gets small, “It was by a stream.”

“Congratulations. There are dozens of streams.”

I suddenly wish I had paid more attention to my surroundings or at least had some sort of inkling of a direction, even vaguely.

“It was the first place we met the pack- Jungkook and I,” I offer.

“I wasn’t there.” He can’t even help me a little bit? But then: “Wait, are the flowers purple?”

“Y-yes,” I stutter as Jimin suddenly starts forward.

“I know where it is.”

“Sunbae, you’re walking too fast,” I stumble to keep up, eyes widening as his muscles ripple.

Jimin pauses and pulls off his sweater, tossing it to me and transforming in the blink of an eye. One moment, he appears as human as Munhee and me. The next, he’s a massive lupine creature, features like a wolf, stance almost like a gorilla but a tad more bipedal, probably looming over eight feet tall on its hind limbs with long, shiny coffee brown fur. Its legs stretch the elastic of the shorts it still wears, tail peeking awkwardly out of one of the leg holes. The juxtaposition of images is almost humorous.

The wolf’s head swivels back, eyes narrowing in an emotion reminiscent of distaste. Is it waiting for another piggyback ride? I can do that. Stuffing the sweater into my backpack, I climb on and wrap my arms around the creature’s thick neck.

I’m better prepared this time, at least in terms of knowing what to expect. Hanging on for dear life, I bury my nose in the wolf’s fur and squeeze my eyes closed, trusting it- no, trusting Jimin. The thought of asking why he abruptly figured out where the field was crosses my mind in only a fleeting thought as its powerful claws dig into the gravely earth and propel us forward, but once we’re moving, I can only concentrate on holding on while the wolf’s muscles flex semi-rhythmically beneath me.

I count the passage of time in forcibly even breaths, my heartbeat and the creature’s movements too sporadic to be reliable. Still, my waning strength is the only markable progression with my eyelids clamped shut.

Eventually we slow to a walk and I allow myself to take a look around. I have no idea where we are, but I do know we’re not in a field of Hepaticas.

“Sunbae?” I look at the back of the wolf’s head with concern. I don’t know much about wolf mannerisms, but whenever an animal has its ears pinned back against its head, I’m under the impression that it’s distressed.

It takes a hesitant step forward, sniffing audibly, as my eyes scan the trees around us. I can’t find anything, but that doesn’t say much. About to tighten my grip around the creature’s neck, I’m surprised to find my toes meeting the ground as Jimin returns to his human form. I let go and step back, legs wobbly and arms achy, but able to keep my balance.

“Do you smell it?” Jimin asks, voice raspy as he breathes heavily.

“It?”

“The sulfur.”

I inhale deeply, but can’t pick up anything beyond the rich scents of the forest.

“It’s faint. Old,” he observes, looking around carefully and explaining before I can ask, probably anticipating my question and not wanting to be annoyed. “Sulfur means a demon was here… incorporeally. It doesn’t have a host body yet.”

“Should we leave and go tell the others?”

Jimin shakes his head, “It’s gone already. No point. The field is just up ahead.”

I resume walking, my companion falling into step behind me. The chorus of crickets and the light breeze are reassuring, but I sneak a look at Yoongi’s watch nevertheless. It ticks along normally. I start to relax. No demons. Between the leaves in the trees, I occasionally catch sight of the moon. It’s not full, but I still can’t help glancing over my shoulder at Jimin, who meets my gaze with an unabashed coldness.

The odd thing is, despite throwing around mistrust for everyone who has only been kind and helpful, I feel no suspicion toward Jimin. He could give me a cliched “You fool, you ventured into the middle of the forest with me alone” and I still wouldn’t necessarily be as scared of him as I am of Munhee. At least I know where I stand with Jimin. He’s rude, but he’s fairly transparent. He also has full control of his werewolf form.

“Sunbae, can I ask you a question?”

“Will you continue bothering me if I say no?”

I decide to be honest, “Probably.”

He scoffs, “Then ask away.”

I can’t tell if he’s finally growing fond enough of me to open up or if he’s just irritated enough to crack, though I’d place my bet on the latter option. I clear my throat quietly, “Why do you stay with the pack if you hate them?”

I don’t know what makes me ask this. Curiosity maybe. But every time I’m alone with Jimin I guess I tend to inadvertently want to solve the puzzle that’s his backstory. If only he’d tell me right out. If only he’d stop closing himself off…

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Didn't you just say something about answering me on the principle that I'd just keep asking so you might as well save yourself the trouble?”

Jimin lets out a huff, “It’s just complicated.”

“I’m a good listener,” I offer quietly, hoping he can hear the reassuring smile in my voice.

There's a small pause as he either rolls his eyes or contemplates his answer. Jimin’s reply comes just as the trees part, revealing the Hepatica field, “I guess I don't know. That's the problem.”

His words are startlingly genuine and almost soft. This encourages me and I match his tone as I walk into the small clearing, feeling the flowers and their stems crunch under my feet, “Maybe it's because you know being with people you dislike is better than being with no one at all.”

I take extra effort to make sure there's nothing aggressive or derisive about my comment and he seems to pick this up, grunting a quiet, “Maybe.”

A soft warmth spreads through my chest. Progress.

But with that, Jimin’s mood predictably freezes over again, his eyes narrowing, “Well, do whatever you need to do so I can go home and sleep.”

“Okay, just give me thirty minutes.”

“You have fifteen.”

I don't know if I can push that time limit or if he will literally just leave me behind at the fifteen minute mark, so I immediately set to work. It takes me five minutes to find the instructions and set up, leaving me ten to get the information I need. My leather bound book said divination could come in the form of spirits, whispers, weather anomalies, or visions. This seems like a ridiculously wide variety with no rhyme or reason. But I'm not about to question it.

I stare at the bloodstone, specifically at the slight shine on its naturally polished surface from the moon.

Okay. Time for a vision.

Now.

N…now?

Maybe not a vision, maybe a whisper. So I need to ask a question? I can do that.

Where is Hal-?

Something shimmers in the crimson speckles of the bloodstone, but it’s not like the doors in the hallway. This isn’t a matter of existence or perception. The changing patterns seem to reach into my mind, playing with my thoughts.

I’m staring at the stone and yet… I can see something else. Light flickers in my eyes and it’s almost like I’m seeing double, but not really. There are not two bloodstones, not four hands holding it, but rather two completely different settings vying for control of my attention. I’m seeing what I know is in front of me, but also the hallway to Munhee’s workshop? At the very edge of my relatively limited line of sight, I can just make out the sigil on the door.

Excitement rushes through my veins and causes the vision to ebb, so I take a deep breath and reign in my emotions, trying to concentrate.

Okay, I’m in front of the door, but the book said nothing about how to actually navigate these intangible settings. Do I step forward? Do I just think about stepping forward? The one other occasion I’d been able to successfully perform a divination, it had been a brief, vague vision. The image of a cluster of small red berries had flashed behind my eyelids. I still have no idea what it means or if my brain had just conjured it up because I had wanted to see something so badly.

But this? I’m in new territory. I try for the literal step forward first, but my body does not move. Alright, a mental step forward it is. Nothing happens. Frustration prickles at my nerves, and the sigil on the door becomes blurry. Focus, Eun.

I try to clear my mind. To keep the green fire going, I’d had to concentrate, pour my attention onto the flame in my palm. Could this be similar? The door. I just have to see what’s behind it.

The world moves. Not my feet, not the floor, the entire ground seems to shift beneath me and it takes every ounce of willpower I have to not panic, which might increase the disorientation or pull me out of the vision altogether. I pass through the barrier like walking through mist. The edges of my vision are dark. I can’t see the walls and the shapes in the room are vague, ghostly, not that there’s much to look at. Superimposed like a papery film over the flowers at my feet and the bloodstone in my hand is a strange, circular symbol drawn onto the concrete floor of the room- no, the prison cell. The little girl sits directly over this symbol.

Her legs are pulled to her chest, face buried against her knees, a curtain of bedraggled, knotted hair hiding her expression. She sits completely, eerily still.

So Munhee was telling the truth. Halsahm is being kept in the bunker. But-

The girl twitches. A chill crawls up my spine.

Eun? Is that you?

That voice.

Her curtain of hair shifts slightly. My thoughts swim, getting murky.

You’ve come to see me.

“Get out,” I whisper, registering but unable to comprehend why my own voice sounds like it’s simultaneously muffled, yet coming through a tunnel.

But Eun, you’re the one who’s in my room.

Her head snaps up. Crimson eyes. A piercing scream fills my ears. I’m not sure if it’s mine or hers or just a side effect of whatever is going on and me collapsing, but I hit the ground hard, the bloodstone dropping into the sea of purple flowers.

“Hey. You alive down there?”

My eyelids flutter open to find Jimin bent over me, looking more annoyed than concerned.

I sit up slowly, the trees at the edge of the clearing blurring in and out of focus. The skin beneath my nose feels wet and I reach up to wipe at it, puling my hand back to find blood. My voice wavers, “Why do I feel like I got hit by a car?”

“I punched you.”

“You what?”

“You were whispering nonsense and your eyes rolled back. Then you started chanting some crap like ‘Halsham,’ which is never really good. So I punched you.”

I tap the length of my finger against the bottom of my nose again, “There wasn’t a better way to get my attention?”

Jimin shrugs, crossing his arms, “Probably. But it’s been seventeen minutes and I want to sleep.”

There’s a part of me that wants to hit him back, punch him hard enough that all my frustration at his brashness and coldness could finally have an outlet. Yet I would never do it. Not because I’m afraid of retaliation, but because I couldn’t. I refuse to be that type of person.

He doesn’t offer to help me up, but I don’t expect him to. I get to my feet and wobble for a moment, the ground tilting, making me shake my head to clear it. My shoulder aches. Sliding the collar of my shirt a bit to the side, I notice the deep red mark of a fist sized bruise.

Jimin had punched my shoulder. Smart. There will be less questions that way. But what about the nose bleed? Maybe a side effect of divination? Or… the image of those vividly red eyes crawls to the front of my mind.

How real was that interaction? I hadn’t actually been in that hallway or that room. Jimin and I are (dare I guess) miles from the bunker. And yet. I stare at the drying blood on my hand.

“Okay, get your stuff. Let’s go.”

I don’t complain, following his instructions, picking up my bag and scouring the Hepaticas for the bloodstone. As soon as I find it, I drop it into my backpack and walk over to Jimin, climbing onto his back.

He doesn’t transform.

His skin feels pleasantly warm, even through the material of my sweater, and he smells of the forest and slightly of sweat.

“Why Hepaticas?”

I barely hear the question, but don’t waste his time by asking him to repeat it, “I don’t know really… strong smells help me concentrate and I just like them I guess.”

Jimin grunts in acknowledgement and starts walking, the telltale cracking of expanding bones permeating through the trees. I close my eyes and try not to focus on the strange sensation of rapidly growing muscle and hair brushing against me. As we make the journey back to the bunker, I can only hope that Jungkook didn’t wake up while I was gone.

✩✩✩♔✩✩✩

EOPQ 21: More of a curious question this time... why did you start reading this series?? 😊

Send me your theories/answers here. Or just come say hi ;) ~🐰 xx Please include the End of Post Question number upon submission, thank you!

Support me/Donate and get some super rad 😎 rewards

Much love ~🐰 xx