#i got one of the wood burning tools but instead of using it to. burn wood. im just using it to melt the edges of the cording

[oflgtfol]

bracelets as a christmas gift for michaels coworker #1

[stellaluna33]

Stella uses power tools!

The sides are about one whole inch thick of solid walnut, and when you see walnut classified as a "hardwood," WELL... They aren't kidding. 😅 I drilled large holes at each corner of the rectangular opening to be able to start cutting with the jigsaw (and to make the corners nice and rounded), and... it took FOR. EV. ER. to get anywhere with it, haha. I had to keep dipping the bit into a cup of cold water like a blacksmith or something (and it made a little "hissssss!" every time) because the metal got so hot it was LITERALLY burning the wood! (There was actual smoke. And the wood was getting dark and burnt. 😅). BUT WE PREVAILED! And I learned a lot! (Thanks to my husband for walking me through it and then abandoning me so I would be forced to actually do it myself and experiment instead of continuing to timidly fret "Is this ok? Am I doing this right?" 😂 I'm not being sarcastic! It was good for me, haha). And now the "music corner" looks so nice and clean and is no longer a horrible mess of cat litter and electrical cords! Yay! I feel like an Actual Adult now. (No, this is not our entire music collection, haha. The rest needs to be dusted and organized and transferred. Hence the Literati-esque argument over filing systems. 😂)

[tobyislame]

some more ticci toby headcanons

once again consider this a headcanon salad i'm still figuring out how to format these

- in my canon he's from minnesota. he just feels like a minnesotan

- also in my canon he lives in a shoddy little abandoned cabin in the woods (header image is along the lines of what i think it would look like). the mansion still exists he just chooses not to reside there cus he'd much rather have his own space that he can control

- never has the big lights on in his house cus it makes him crazy. instead there's just headless lamps/lanterns/candles strewn all over

- best believe the place is messy as shit. imagine if a 16 year old boy was allowed to be a homeowner. yea pretty fucking vile right

- his place just smells like raw wood and weed you walk in it just slaps you in the face

- all of his clothes have that vague cigarette smell on them

- he smells like pinecones and wet soil (on a good day)

- thinks axe masks the fact that he hardly showers unfortunately

- also thinks just using mouthwash is the same as brushing your teeth unfortunately

- honestly he's just super shit at taking care of himself, especially since his body lacks the tools to queue him in on some stuff

- like how cipa causes him not to feel hunger. he can't recognize when he's hungry so he often goes way too long between meals

- he has a little notebook where he keeps track of when he eats. it's meant to help him know when he should eat something but he consistently forgets to keep up with it

- he just isn't equipped with any of the tools necessary to take care of himself, both physically and mentally. he's in pretty bad shape, some extra help would probably do him good

- realistically with how much he disregards self-preservation he'd be fucking dead by now so he isn't entirely helpless. he knows he's accident-prone so he keeps first aid shit with him at all times, he knows blood means bad and that he should probably stop what he's doing that is making the blood happen, he knows to scan over himself every once in a while to check for unnoticed injuries and such, etc etc.

- cus of the gaping gash in his cheek he has to eat foods that are compatible with his disfigurement. he also always has to drink through a straw

- he does not like waffles. he does like pancakes however

- interestingly those with cipa have a lower sensitivity to capsaicin so he eats spicy stuff like a fuckin CHAMP. someone gave him one of those samyang noodles to try yk the one that's hot as BALLS and he was just like "i mean yea it's good"

- he's kind of just always covered head to toe with bandages. i think he'd have an excoriation (skin picking) disorder so he HAS to keep his arms and hands wrapped up, otherwise he'll just obsessively pick/bite/gnaw at his skin

- the rest of his body is perpetually scattered with bandaids and such on account of how scraped up he gets just being himself

- on the night of The Incident he got caught up in the fire. flaring up his chest and a section of the left side of his body are burn scars. there are a conglomerate of reasons as to why toby doesn't like to have his shirt off in front of ANYBODY and that's just one of them

- his motor tics tend to be on the more violent side (throwing things, hitting himself, hitting others, etc). however, he's learned how to sort of guide his tics from being one thing to another if that makes sense? idk i'm speaking from my own experience here and tics are a really difficult thing to put into words but like. if he can tell he's about to throw the thing that's in his hand he'll take that feeling and try to turn it into something smaller, so instead of throwing the thing a less destructive tic will occur instead. if any of that made sense

- more often than not he's got an earbud in or his headphones on listening to music. he finds that it makes it much easier for him to make his way through the world. that and when he's listening to music he's noticed that he hardly ever tics (usually) so yk that's also a bonus

- spends a lot of his time climbing trees and hanging out in them. also spends a lot of his time trying to make friends with the animals of the forest. he's gotten a lot better at knowing how to approach raccoons and possums and stuff. he likes to leave food out for birds and squirrels and such

- it's funny because he tries to be this hard-ass dude but as soon as he spots a deer he becomes the most gentle thing on earth in that moment. he'd probably grab your shoulders whispering all like "oh dude deer- shhh shh" and force you to crouch with him and stuff lmao

- he's dubbed the one rabbit in those woods that isn't afraid of him "dandy warhol". yea he's real good with names

- he leaves food trails for dandy that lead to his house because he thinks that's how people get pets. he does not realize he's also leading every other animal in that forest to his home

- he may be stupid .

[selamat-linting]

its been a while since i write abt terrafirmacraft... well its because i've been busy rebuilding the house. its a two story house with a wing dedicated for cooking and forging. the roof was burnt down twice until i replaced it with mudbricks instead of wood blocks. it also has a basement where i kept barrels of limewater, tallows, and preserved foods. limewater is useful for a lot of things, but right now im using it just for leather. tallows are candles. turns out whale hunting is a lot easier than i think. i crossed the ocean many times during my move, and some of them lingers and follow you on boat. candles are better light source than torches. you cant exactly hang it off the walls or ceiling, but it lasts longer. i'll be using candles until i finally get materials to make lamp glass.

as i get settled, i started farming. plants grow better here, and i can forage things from the forest, but they overheat fast so i need to provide crops with lots of fertilizers. i planted tomatoes, but i forgot they need a stick to prop them up. and then i find some animals, a cow, horse, and a llama i think? idk. i also got some chicken but it dies lol.

the cow was probably the worst animal i had to drag back. theyre so stupid! i brought three, but only one survives because one of them escaped the leash and ran off while the other fell in a hole and gets bit to death by crocodiles. i hate crocodiles so much, theyre demons that trap you in swamps.

winter came, and i started preparing for a trek to find graphite. i found a bunch of coppers, cooked, don my leather armor, i vaguely remember that there was an exposed bit of rock that might contain graphite in one of the lakes near my super super first base. i spent at least one and a half prospective pick just to get graphite. its tedious, long, and arduous. i think it took me two weeks to get it. i play the game in 2 hour duration twice a week so yea im a casual. its super satisfying to hit a super large stack though and coming home with a bonus of pyrite and beets. also now i know how to mine deep underwater <3

my plan here is to make glass for lamps and jars. to do that i need tools like paddle, jacks, blowpipe, and gem saw. i need brass to make jacks. and for gem saw i would need gems like pyrite and brass rod. to make brass you need a tin and copper and a way to process said tin and copper to be brass. by that i mean i need a crucible. its made out of fire clay. fire clay is made out of kaolinite clay and graphite. i just need One Thing.

but of course finding kaolinite isnt as easy as it sounds. it took me a week before i start using cheats. i already live SOMEHWERE where kao is supposed to spawn. but all i see is sylvite and saltpeters. its drudget i use locate biome to see other places like highlands and old mountains that might give me what i need, but so far i found zero. im starting to think my world just doesnt have kao. so i just give up and type give tfc:kaolin_clay.

i gave myself just enough to make a crucible. i made my brass rods and once i got it, i have to weld and work said rods on the anvil to make my blowpipe.

i blew all my coal and brass ingots to zero results. i just suck, suck so bad at working the anvil. so i took a long break. i didnt touch tfc for quite a while. i focused on making gifsets and such. but i get bored with only dabbling with photoshop so i look up tips on anvil working on tfc. there's no way around it. the mod is meant to slow you down and make you learn and explore. some suggested i practiced working on an anvil using copper. some suggested i work on other shit before coming back to the anvil.

so, i went back, and realized how much i neglected my house. my animals still doesnt have a barn. i havent fixed the burned kitchen roof. my bookshelves are empty. my leather armor have been worn down to a nub. my inventory shelves are a mess. i havent restored the decorations that got burned down on the third (or was it fourth?) house fire. i went to work slowly fixing those things. i made copper armor again, a helmet and boots. to tell you the truth, i think i did metalworking better when im just going by vibes instead of overthinking the maths.

im gonna complete the armor i wear, but for now i think i want to make a proper barn first and a warehouse. as i was working, the chest near the forge caught fire. i realized then the space im working in is too small. i need to make a storage space and a building dedicating for forging.

[hawkepockets]

i’m finally getting to those tav asks. thanks everyone who sent one!! the lovely @dragonologist-phd asked for #1, which includes birthplace & family, and i Got To Thinking in too much detail, much too much detail by far, too detailed, so here’s a separate post for just those elements.

jove grew up in baldur’s gate. they did have a clan, but it wasn’t a biological family unit—it was an all dragonborn craftsmen’s guild! most members were copper, brass, red or gold dragonborn who used their fire or acid breath to manipulate metal and glass. jove wasn’t born with that skill. their mother was a vagabond blue dragonborn, and although jove inherited their father’s brassy scales, they also manifested their mother’s electrical breath type, which wasn’t of any use in metalworking. the clan was warm to insiders but highly competitive and proud of their handiwork, and judged members’ worth almost solely by what they could craft. jove knew they’d be fed and cared for, but only tolerated, unless they excelled at a trade.

as a teenager, jove struck up a friendship with ritika estis, a much older gold dwarf metallurgist from a rival crafting guild. estis taught jove how to use a dwarven forge to work with metal, glass, and jewels using tools instead of relying on naturally heatproof hands and melting breath. estis was tough on jove, working them hard and giving praise sparingly, but every compliment meant the world to the young dragonborn. she built up their confidence to apply for a jeweler’s apprenticeship with their clan.

but estis also noticed that despite their dogged devotion to learning their father’s trade, jove was much more moved by folk songs and carved wood than any bauble made for a baldurian noble. jewelrymaking made them focus and sweat; music made them tap their foot, twitch their tail, and part their lips to try to taste it. it was a different kind of love. the day jove won their jeweling apprenticeship, estis went to them and, in a rare moment of open encouragement, urged them to forget the forge and learn to make music and instruments instead.

jove took up a secret, second apprenticeship with a human master luthier, learning to craft and repair string instruments and, tentatively, how to play the fiddle with their big, clawed hands. when the clan found out, jove was pressured to choose one trade and master it, instead of burning themself out to fail at both. with the self-assurance they’d learned from estis, jove committed to making instruments. many of their older clanmates were deeply embittered toward ritika and her guild for molding a promising young metalworker just to turn them against the family trade, but jove was happy.

after years of practice under the luthier, jove achieved the rank of journeyman and started to make gold for their clan selling handcrafted string instruments and repair services. they were much better at working on instruments than playing them, but had achieved enough skill on the fiddle to play gigs at local taverns and make passersby smile at them on festival days. they were more than content, and would have lived happily as an amateur musician and aspiring master luthier in the gate for the rest of their days.

and then came the bar fight.

fights weren’t that unusual for the cheaper inns and alehouses jove played music at, but this particular brawl started with a human woman harrassing a tiefling bachelor party, talking loudly about how they brought crime and sour luck on baldur’s gate, and shouldn’t be allowed to marry lest their offspring overrun the city. when she implied they killed and ate human children, one of the prouder and drunker tieflings took a swing at the woman. she reacted as though she’d been attacked, unprovoked, by the whole party, and other non-tieflings sprung to her defense. within seconds, the taproom turned into a battlefield, and within minutes all the celebrating tieflings were senseless on the floor. when the guards arrived, it was the tieflings who were arrested for disturbing the peace.

jove watched the whole thing, their bow sliding uselessly off the strings, unsure what they could do short of belching out a cone of lightning that would hit attackers, tieflings, and bystanders indiscriminately—so they did nothing.

when they told their master what happened, he was unsympathetic to the tieflings, saying that the other humans had taken things too far but that they hadn’t been wrong about the “foulbloods.”

jove got up before sunrise, stole their favorite of the violins they’d crafted and a simple glaive from estis’s forge (she would have given it freely if they’d woken her to ask, but jove couldn’t risk talking to her—if estis was as callous about the tieflings as their other mentor had been, it would break their faith completely), and left baldur’s gate. they’ve been roving the sword coast ever since, a vagabond like their mother, determined to protect strangers’ right to live and celebrate life loudly, especially those from “monstrous” races. this became the foundation of their paladin’s oath.

they’ve gotten rusty on the fiddle. but on the night of celebrating peace between the druids and tieflings, they’re compelled to play again.

[gazlocked]

Prologue - Quietude

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Nikolai x John Price

𝐱: alternate universe - different first meeting, construction worker john price, mail carrier nikolai, mentioned kate laswell + her wife, slow burn, light angst, mentions of death. 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈 (3.6k words)

series masterlist || next: chapter 1

When John first moved into town, he was certain about the comforts of silence.

It was a complete one-eighty from the restless, crowded cities he grew accustomed to—a quaint area surrounded by nature on the outskirts of a historic town. John had always been fond of nature, so when he found a one-story, two-bed, two-bath with a crisp green door and a thick woodsy yard, he didn’t hesitate to claim it as his own.

It wasn’t too secluded, not to his liking anyway, but John still had a job to do. The thirty minutes allocated to drive to the nearest city for work had to be the exception. Regardless, it was quiet here, providing the comfort he had longed for.

Working as a contractor meant his ears were constantly being bullied by the cacophony of drills and saws, slamming wood, and grating metal. Even on the nights he would spend acquainting himself with his new front yard, his ears would ring dully, a consequence of his novice years. He had been stubborn and had to learn the hard way the importance of earplugs.

So far, separating himself from the sound pollution had already proven helpful.

Much like this afternoon, as he quietly studied his empty living room with pursed lips and narrow eyes. A finger tapped against the belt loop of his jeans as his hands rested on his hips, deep in thought as birds chirred outside his window.

“Couch could fit here,” he mumbled to no one, tracing the open space with a calculated precision as if a measuring tool was built into his sights. “Or would it look better…there?”

He brought a hand up to his forehead, rubbing calloused fingers back and forth in frustration. The lines in his palms were deep, containing stories of all that had been wielded, fixed, or created over the years. The healed cuts littering his skin sang out the verses of the hard work—and hardships—they had managed.

But being a contractor didn’t automatically make him an interior designer. Only one person came to mind when he needed help figuring out the fine details of such aesthetics.

John took wide strides to the counter that divided the living room from the kitchen. He grabbed his cell from the ledge, punching in the lock code with his thumb before navigating the contacts. He worked the flesh of his bottom lip between his teeth as he listened to the rings, hoping against hope that the six-hour time difference wouldn't be getting in the way.

Just when he was about to hang up, deeming it pointless to leave a voicemail for something this trivial, the line connected.

“Your timing is impeccable. Per usual.”

That last part was meant to be sarcastic, John was sure of it.

“I could use your expert advice,” he scratched at his temple. “You busy?”

“I just got to my studio. What’s up?”

John pulled the phone away from his ear and switched to a video call, greeted by the face of his oldest friend, Kate Laswell. He flashed her a quick, close-lipped smile before flipping to the back camera, giving her a clear display of his living room.

“Kind of stumped on where to put the couch when it comes in,” he sighed. Kate hummed as she leaned forward, watching from a large desktop monitor.

“I was thinkin’ either here,” he pointed a finger in the frame, outlining a space against the wall before pointing adjacently, “or here.”

Kate furrowed her brows, and John could see the gears turning in her head.

“What kind of couch is it?”

John flipped the camera back on his frowning face. “Pardon?”

“Is it a sectional? Loveseat? How long is it? Is it curved?”

He rubbed at his beard, wiping away the childish grin that tried forcing its way across his lips at her wording. Instead, he said,

“Sectional, I guess.”

A solution was offered in a slew of terminology that John would later find himself looking up. She told him to “let it float”, and to center the couch so it would divide the room on its own. Reminding him to account for a TV stand whenever it would arrive.

John grunted. Kate was the expert on this, after all.

“And while you’re at it? Grow up,” she rolled her eyes, but John could see the corner of her mouth twitching upward.

They had spent another few minutes with check-ins. John asked about her wife, Charlotte, and the two followed a routine that became easier to navigate with each day now being a sea apart. They had been on call for almost ten minutes before Kate had to start her day, scheduled to meet with a client.

“Residential,” she tilted her head with a nonchalant shrug.

“You always knew how to handle ‘em. Give Lottie a word for me, yeah?”

And then John was in silence once more.

—

He decided to shift gears and get out of the house to enjoy his day off. Not that he had anywhere to lounge in the house, aside from his mattress and a wooden rocking chair on his porch that he purchased on his first day in town.

John climbed into his truck and drove off, using his surroundings to navigate the historic downtown area. After about a minute of looping the same two blocks, he found parking along the side of the main road and eased his truck parallel into the space.

Even walking the strip, it was still far more quiet. There was peace between the brick-and-mortar shops as people came and went or lingered in the outdoor sitting areas. John balled his fists in his jacket pockets, continuing his stroll with no real destination. He had been here for three days now—he was determined to get familiar with the area sooner rather than later.

He took in details, remembering this particular street as the one where he found the thrift shop. It was serendipitous; he had been driving home from getting groceries when he realized he didn’t even have a place to sit. Just as he was about to give way to his frustrations, THRIFT caught his attention. Curious, he had turned into the lot and walked out with a well-crafted, and even better persevered, wooden rocking chair.

And for no more than five bucks.

To his relief, the open sign was plugged in and flashing, beckoning him to enter. John answered without hesitation, finding a little more energy in his steps as he drew closer.

Without any reason other than being painfully observant, his eye caught on a white transport truck parked parallel in front of the shop. There was a large, orange decal of a symbol he immediately recognized as Postal Services.

He couldn't help but linger on the dark grey line stretching across the side of the transport, tracing it down to the dent in the bumper. He counted the digs into the metal doors. Four, from what he could see. And through the clear tint of the window, John could also see the mess of the cab. A string of beads hung from the rearview mirror, supporting a pair of aviators. The floor was littered with crushed cans of energy drinks, with a plastic shopping bag used poorly for trash. John scoffed quietly to himself as he pushed into the shop.

A bell chimed overhead as he opened the door, but John was not properly greeted today. The owner didn’t look up, engrossed in a fast conversation with the customer at the front counter. The guest wore a tan leather jacket over the broad stretch of his shoulders. Raven-black hair nearly touched the wrap-around collar, slicked back and shiny from what John could only assume had been gel.

There were brief switches between English and what sounded like—and was quickly confirmed to be—Russian, causing John to perk up unintentionally as he sidestepped the displays of furniture. He could decipher a few of the terms, a skill he picked up some odd years ago while working with a man named Yuri, a contractor from his old team. He gossiped and gave John a hard time more than anything, but was a damn good asset before going independent.

John picked up on the terms “friend” and “bullshit”, though not in the same sentence, and decided that the two were close, especially to be sharing such informalities. The whole time, the raven-haired man kept his back to John, who shifted on his feet near a display of antique cameras longer than he intended to. He was cradling a wide-point lens when a voice raised in his direction.

“The Captain!”

It was the shop’s owner who called out to him. John looked up to find that the other man was no longer at the counter, and instead striding to the front of the shop. He set the lens down carefully and stretched his fingers, taking the man’s place at the counter.

As he approached, he could smell the cologne from where Raven stood. It was a deep, intoxicating musk that made John’s eyebrow twitch with curiosity. He glanced off to the side, swearing to himself that he saw the bulk of the man unmoving in the corner of his eye for a beat before disappearing with the chime of the bell.

“With all due respect, why Captain?” John asked, shifting his focus back to the conversation. The owner gave a wry grin, his square, angular face carrying faint signs of humor within its wrinkles.

“You bleed command. Just like my military days,” the man explained through a thick accent, leaning forward on the counter with his elbows. “You are good to your soldiers, yes?”

John tilted his chin up, watching the owner on his elevated perch. “If by soldiers you mean contractors, then yeah. I suppose I am.”

“Like a good Captain. Though you are not military?” There was genuine surprise in the man’s tone. John reached for the back of his head, scratching through the shorter hairs.

“I’m just a simple man who loves to build,” he replied sheepishly. “Father was SAS, if that helps?”

The man made a dismissive sound, a soft ‘pah’ in the back of his throat, with a quick wave of his hand that made John smile. “How is old seat treating you? Up to standards?”

“Oh, it’s perfect! Fits well on my porch.”

“Very good.”

John wandered through the displays for some time, having to constantly remind himself that he wasn’t there to shop, before waving a swift goodbye and returning to the streets.

The postal truck was gone when John stepped outside, but as he continued to pop in and out of the neighboring shops, he would see the deep, dark lines against white paint rounding corners up ahead.

On route, John thought passively.

The sky was pink overhead, giving to the setting sun as time crawled later into the evening. It wasn’t until John passed the bookstore again that he decided to turn around and find his truck.

—

In his kitchen, he hummed as he searched through the freezer for the night’s dinner. Always on the move and indecisive, John struggled to find cooking enjoyable. Instead, he settled for instant meals that allowed him to spend less time meal prepping and more time getting things done. It would be lasagna this time.

As he waited for the oven to heat, John picked through notifications on his phone. There were emails for upcoming projects, potential clients reaching out for his services, or references to contractors he had worked alongside. An update pinged then, reminding him of the moving company that would be arriving with more furniture from his previous flat. There was a soft grumble in his throat as he set an early alarm, then another for safe measure.

John carried a plate weighing a serving of lasagna to his porch and lowered into the rocking chair, sighing as it leaned back with him. He ate to the sound of wood knocking together, rhythmic and in tune with the easy beat of his heart.

With each forkful, he made a mental note of the area. The street was lined with houses of similar stature, all with quirks of their own. From his porch, he watched a sedan cruise down the street and turn two houses down, unloading a family. Across from that, John could see an older woman putting away equipment in her garage. The people were friendly enough from what he gathered in his brief introductions, even as they each lived in their own bubbles.

John remained on the porch long after he finished his dinner, rocking gently with his hands over his middle, fingers interlocked, and watching the setting sun. The sky resembled a grapefruit; blood oranges and dull pinks reflected off wispy clouds until the dying light was finally snuffed out.

The temperature dropped progressively, materializing John’s breath into faint puffs of heat under his nose. A shiver crawled up and back down his spine as the wood of the chair grew cold under him, the final encouragement to get him into the house.

Warmed by a quick shower, John kneeled down to his mattress. He hated how long it took to get down to and up from the floor, a displeased grunt echoing against the barren walls of his bedroom. Three days, and now three nights of an exerting climb.

This will be the last of it, he reminded himself as he pulled the covers up to his chest.

In the previous two nights, sleep came as swiftly as death. John would settle under the duvet, a quilted blanket thrown across his feet for the added warmth, and fall to the weight of unconsciousness.

Tonight was different.

On the third night, John stared blankly at the window as he lay awake. He had been so eager to revel in this new comfort that he had completely disregarded the presence that often followed. It was a different kind of weight falling over him, creeping between the blinds with the moonlight and working its way into bed with him as he tossed and turned.

So accustomed to the noise, he was ill-equipped for the raw loneliness within the newfound silence. No obnoxious residents to knock against a shared wall. No shrill cry of distant traffic. It was just John and the strange twist in his chest, an uncertainty he decided to store away for later.

That night, he nodded off to the ringing in his ears.

—

“Easy on the door there, mate,” John instructed, choking down the tension in his voice the best he could. He rubbed a hand down his face, pushing away sweat and smoothing down his beard with a deep sigh.

If he had to remind these muppets to be careful one more time, he might end up telling them to leave the furniture in the yard and finish the task himself.

John busied himself with setting boxes in their respective rooms instead, lingering in the kitchen to watch the front door as the movers came in and out of the home.

It was a considerably large team for the task at hand; four younger men split into pairs to carry the big pieces inside, but it got the job done by noon.

John did his best to ignore the scuff on his front door as he waved the moving team goodbye, jaw tight as his eyes landed on the line of black on the green paint. He took a damp rag to the imperfection, rubbing tight circles along the length of it. Only when the scuff melted away to nothing but shiny paint did he consider it fixed.

Box cutter in hand, John got to work.

He started in the front of the house, putting away smaller items first to get boxes out of the way. He worked diligently, humming and grunting to the sound of ripping cardboard and sellotape.

John would occasionally stop for a break, checking his phone to answer texts from Kate before starting again in a new room. The spare bedroom was the most challenging, planned to be treated as an office space. He would need a wide desk and enough storage for the hoard of paperwork he handled.

Another addition to his growing list of things to get.

John moved his head on a swivel, carefully assessing his belongings and the space granted to them. He clicked his tongue before descending over a box and pushing it against the wall.

Later, he decided.

In his bedroom, he had stripped his mattress of its bedding and flipped it on its side when he got up in the morning, giving the movers room to set the pieces of his bed frame. John kneeled amongst the carnage of wood and metal bolts, a bag of tools to his left as he pieced the slats together and assembled his bed.

This was what he was most excited about—to finally be elevated from the floor. He bit back a smile as he twisted the Allen key between his fingers, tightening one of the bolts snugly in place.

The previous night lingered mildly on his chest, that small inkling tainting his mind when he woke to his alarm.

He was happy here. There was no doubt about it, but John didn't pride himself in being so domestic. Where he could adjust to a grueling work schedule and the demands on his clients, that much didn’t come as easily within his own four walls.

He built homes, not settled in them.

When that feeling returned, demanding to be sorted, John sat back on his knees and let the tool fall from his hands, hissing when he noticed the ache of his fingers from gripping and twisting too tight. He cursed under his breath as he exhaled, ribs tight around his lungs.

“Pull it together, John,” he gritted, rubbing the back of his forearm across his brow. “S’just a bit of housework.”

But the pep talk didn’t quell the oncoming wave of thoughts, flooding him with memories of his childhood with his father. He could go months, nearly years, without thinking of the man. At the drop of a dime, he was back in his teens and arguing at the kitchen table.

There was hardly a point to any of the arguments—not that John cared to try and remember them in detail—but each one meant something and weighed heavier than the last as the chasm between them deepened.

John’s father treated him like he was a soldier under his command and not a child, pushing him around and squeezing him within the confines of unrealistic expectations. And at every turn, John rebelled back, losing himself on more than one occasion in the journey of acceptance.

It hit him at that moment why his heartbeat had increased, his mind sneaking away so abruptly. Father was SAS, he had told the old man.

John couldn’t recall the last time he mentioned his father so casually, cursing himself for allowing that to be what opened the wound. If it was ever closed in the first place. He brought a hand to his chest, scratching at the flesh over his sternum with a clearing of his throat before snatching up his tools and resuming his work.

Domestic life never came easy, but he would try. He promised himself that much, for his own damn sake.

John bit down on his tongue as he worked, eyes narrowing on the final leg of the frame as it continued to refuse to fit. He twisted the bolt in place, sweaty fingers slipping around the tool until he could hear the wood split from the force, but the leg remained loose.

“Fuck me,” he groaned, dropping the tool back into his bag. He released his death grip on the leg and lowered the corner to the floor, testing a little of his weight against it. It wobbled just as he thought it would.

When he lowered the mattress and slotted it in place with the frame, he was satisfied enough when it didn’t give too much of a sway. He cleared the extra nuts and bolts and put away his tool kit.

As he carried his bedding to the laundry room, John wondered what his father would think of the life he made for himself. After spending most of his life in the British service, John’s father passed away just before he graduated with his Bachelor’s—a goal he decided on before turning to his current career. It was to prove a point.

All of it was to prove a point, and his father wouldn’t even know it.

Not liking the heat of pride and spite burning in the pit of his gut, he closed that thought off immediately and shoved the load into the machine.

—

John fell asleep on the couch before his bedding could finish washing.

Golden daylight spilled into the living room, basking him in a faint warmth as he lifted his head from the armrest. He stretched out his neck with a grunt and rolled his shoulders back, peering out one of the windows to see the last traces of the sun before it laid itself to rest.

Having his furniture now, John knew he didn’t need to eat his dinner on the porch, but that didn’t stop him from carrying a warmed plate of lasagna to the front door out of a comfortable habit.

John stopped in his tracks, looking down at the small stack of mail taking his place in the rocking chair. Staring back at him was a bright white slip, branded with the orange symbol in its corner. Postal Services.

Welcome to the area – N.

John blinked, reading over the note again until he couldn’t ignore the smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“How quaint,” he chuffed, carrying his mail inside.

read 'the walls we call home' on ao3

series masterlist || next: chapter 1

𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬. 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬 / 𝐝𝐢��𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 / 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐞.

[draconicsplendor]

Oh, hi! I can help!

So many of the game mechanics make no sense (why does digging a 2x2 hole and filling opposite corners with water make an infinite source that won't run dry? Why are sand blocks, gravel blocks, and mobs the only things affected by gravity? WHAT DO YOU MEAN STRING CRAFTS WOOL AND THE COMPASSES DON'T POINT NORTH?)

Unfortunately dropped items disappear after a few minutes, but I've explained some other stuff under the cut:

Minecraft Tutorial from a Very Casual Player

Bed

You've already got a shelter, crafting table, and furnace, which is great!

Your next course of action should be making a bed.

You can use the string you've been gathering to make 3 wool blocks, which can used along with 3 wooden planks to make a white bed. But it's easier to kill sheep for their wool instead, since they drop entire blocks of the stuff. If you had iron, I'd suggest shearing them, but most people can't afford to be humane this early.

[Insert crafting recipe image)

You should target white sheep, since those are the easiest to find, and you need all 3 wool blocks to be the same colour when you make a bed. We can dye it a fun colour later on, but for now, a plain white bed will serve you just fine.

You can right-click the bed at any time of day to respawn near the bed when you die, and skip the night. I'm assuming you know this (Kevin is referring to CallMeKevin, right?), but trust me, new players die A LOT. You'll thank me later.

Lighting

Monsters can spawn in your bases if they aren't well-lit. It used to be light level 7 or below, but now they'll only spawn in complete darkness (level 0). I'm telling you, kids these days have it too easy. No more being chased out of your own strip mines.

Wooden pickaxes can mine coal, and I'm assuming you have one if you've already made a furnace. Combine your coal with a stick (which is crafted with two wooden planks of any type) and you have a few torches that will never ever burn out.

[Insert image]

You can also use wooden planks, sticks, or your old wooden tools to smelt logs into charcoal and craft torches that way, but most players don't, because burning logs feels a lot more tedious than mining (even though it's not). And it's usually better to save wood to use as a building material or emergency fuel at this stage in the game.

Put a couple torches in your base, and a couple scattered around it to avoid morning jumpscares.

Tools

Now it's time to make a wooden pickaxe, shovel, and axe (or 3 of each to be safe, they break quickly). Shovels aren't as necessary, but there's a lot of dirt and gravel underground, your hand is slow, and all tools break faster if they aren't used for their specific purposes.

Gather some stone and wood to make sticks, and make yourself some tools. Stone shovels and axes can break all the same stuff as their wooden counterparts, but they're both faster and more durable, and your shiny new stone pickaxe can mine copper and iron.

Ignore the copper for now, and mine down to anywhere between Y=24-Y=56 for some iron. But Y=16 has the most.

If you're playing Java Edition (Windows, Mac, Linux), you can press F3 to enter the debug menu, which has the XYZ coordinates and the coordinates of the block your feet are mostly in:

The scribbles cover the unimportant info about my computer. I find the block coords easier to read so they're what I highlighted.

If the debug menu doesn't open, try alt+F3, or temporarily switch every function key to its alternate by pressing fn+esc and THEN F3. If you use the last one, it can be switched back by pressing fn+esc again. My computer's function keys double as volume and brightness controls, so I have to switch often.

Complicated? I know. But it's easier on Bedrock Edition (which is on every platform, including Windows, Mac and Linux, but you can play cross-platform with console and mobile players. Just go into the world settings and enable this:

Which is gonna put this beaut on your screen:

This may make you think of Cartesian coordinates, where Y is the north/south coordinate and Z is the up/down coordinate, but you are wrong. Everybody is wrong in the block game. The Y coordinate goes up and down for reasons not even Jeb knows.

Or perhaps he does, but the knowledge would make us too powerful...

Farming

GOD I'm getting tired. Just smelt whatever raw iron you find, make a bucket with 3 of the ingots, dig trenches for the irrigation every 2 rows or so, use the bucket to fill the trenches with water AND now you need a hoe to till the soil. After a while you'll notice the soil has become darker which means it's saturated with water, so it won't dry out as long as the water is there. It should look something like this:

The fences aren't necessary, but helpful if you want to stop animals or monsters from trampling them.

Now plant your wheat until it's mature, then harvest by punching it. And you can use it to make bread, hay bales, and not much else on its own. But the food is nice.

Mature wheat should look like this (unless you're using a texture pack or playing an older version):

I hope this helped! I can't help with any redstone stuff or the ender dragon fight but I do know grow plants, make house, and find rocks.

Started playing Minecraft. I blame Kevin.

I only just found out how to make a shelter to survive the night. I could have made stone tools but i got killed and lost my stuff (didn't want to go back during the night to get them)

[eclipse-studios]

Tutoriel Bendy Props (Part 2 )

Hello and welcome ( back ) onto this ongoing series of BATIM props tutorial. Today, we’ll make the radio ! And a working one.

This time, Orion was a big helper. He deisgned the patterns, took all the measurements and worked out a way for that radio to swing !

This tutorial will only cover the radio because the process is kinda different from the other props ( that you can find here ), we took extra time and care because we DO wanna listen to Sammy Jam on loop. Best OST, can’t change my mind.

So, you’ll need :

EVA Foam, 5, 7 and 10mm ( or you can use cardboard. Like really, don’t feel pressured into buying those pricey materials if it’s JUST for the radio. Go ham on empty amazon packages and have fun. )

Foam Clay & Kwik Seal, those two are to buy only if you’re using EVA foam. They’re meant to seal the irregularities in foam.

Contact Cement & Hot Glue. Same here, Contact Cement is hardcore glue and isn’t that useful for cardboard, so use Hot Glue instead ! If you use extra-strong glue ( the ones in tiny packages ), be really careful not to put any on your skin ( it burns like hell ).

Yellow Ochre & Black acrylic paint

Cutter & Rotary Tool

little pieces of wood ( like lollipop sticks. )

Snap buttons

Strap ( anything from a rigid piece of cloth to leather is good for what we’re doing here. )

Hinge ( take it from a small box you don’t use anymore. oh, and maybe a screwdriver. )

a mini speaker ! the only thing you’re supposed to buy for the craft. Purchase the cheapest speaker you can find, since low quality speakers perfectly replicate the “no bass” feel of old radios. :)

If you’re looking for the cosplay materials we talked about, visit CosplayShop ( especially if you’re from Europe since they’re Belgian ), but don’t forget, you can use cardboard !

Step 1 : The pattern

The first thing to do is figuring out the pattern. If you already have your Bluetooth speaker, take it in account for the overall size of the radio.

You don’t need to understand all that complicated stuff, Orion figured it out for you.

Sorry for the shaky hand, I did it with my PC’s trackpad.

Step 2 : Cut the foam around your pattern.

The face and back sides will be cut in 0,7mm EVA Foam ( High Density ) ; then you cut the grill cloth in thinner foam, or using a real cloth. It’s important that part stays thin, for the sound to come out of it.

Above, you also have the pattern for the relief, that I also cut in 0,5mm Foam. Use a cutter for this !

The buttons are just two cylinders. Since they don’t need to be working, they’re pretty simple to make. Just make sure you don’t use a material that’s too thick, else it’ll be hard to bend.

The depth of the radio is just a 10cm wide piece of material, cut to the right size, that’ll vary with the perimeter of your own radio : don’t bother with the calculus, just test and cut a bit more each time until you got the right size.

After everything is cut nicely, you have to glue it with hot glue or contact cement. For perfect seams, I recommend you sand it gently before filling the holes with Foam Clay or Kwik Seal.

Now that your radio is in 3D, you have to make the base ! Use rigid, thicker foam / cardboard, or double it and stick it together. There should be around a centimetre between the edge of the base and the edge of the radio.

Now, don’t glue it if you wanna have access to the speaker inside. Screw and / or glue the hinge in order to open it. Place the hinge on the back side of the radio.

Now, the inside of the radio ! You gotta put a strap to stitch the speaker in place : we used a piece of leather but anything will do. To make it sit nicely, you can build a base to put it on. We built ours with both small pieces of wood and foam, because foam is easier to glue on foam than wood.

Now, it’s painting time ! This step is explained in the first part of these tutorials, but I’m sure you can figure it out with reference pictures !

Ta-da !

We personally use this radio as a prop when roleplaying to develop our Alternate Universe, Eclipse Studios ! By the way, we’re working on a new comic I think people will love…

Don’t forget to ask me if you need help for your own props, since I keep all my patterns and techniques.

I hope you enjoyed this post and this technic radio, and I’ll tell you soon about Eclipse Studios !

[ihaveafandom-problem554]

Hey, could I request a upper three x milf reader. Like she's rui's human møther replacement, but she genuinely cares for her family. Shw calls oni her little 'koibito', or her sweetheart, and spoils all of her 'children' when she goes down to the village with sweet treats to make and little toys?

I read this so many times with the biggest smile on my face.

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

Older Spider Brother = Ani (It was the name I found on the Wiki)

Older Spider Sister = Ane ( Her name was actually Ane not Oni, I might go back to naming her Oni though-), Koibito (Sweetheart)

Ok lets just say Ani can switch from his spider form to a human-looking form

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

You exited the small market filled with your koibito's favorite pastries and sweets as you entered another market, this time filled with Ani's favorite snacks.

This continued until you had everyone's favorite snack or play thing.

Straight to the woods you went after finishing buying everyone’s desires. You lived near the Mountain where it was rumored to have demons.

Anyone who walked in never came back out.

Who ever did later died days later, their last words being

"I was disturbing their perfect family"

You only smiled at the thought of it happening to you. Your smile getting bigger at the words 'perfect family'.

You stopped walking once you reached a hot spring with clean spider themed kimono sitting next to it. You placed the treat filled bags under a tree as you took off your current kimono. Now undressed, you took a short bath in the hot spring to wash off all the wisteria from your body.

Once finished, you put on your spider kimono and grabbed the bags and proceed to walk towards your house.

And Once you open the door, the first thing you heard was-

“WOULD YOU STOP EATING MY SNACKS YOU FREAK!” Your spider daughter yelled at her older spider brother. Ani’s only response was to spit his poison at her and laugh. Thank goodness Ane missed just barely.

“WHAT THE HELL YOU PRICK!? THIS ISN’T FUNNY” Ane yelled. “Ani, What have I said about using your poison in the house? And apologize to your sister” You say as you walked inside.

Ani scoffed, “Why should I? She called me a freak-OW” he screamed as he turn into his more human like form to touch is head that just got backhand slapped. 

“OW! What was that for!?”

“Apologize to your sister, like your dear mother had ask.” your husband, Akaza, demanded as he held a sleeping Rui. Ani held the back of his head once more before reluctantly turning over to his sister, who now wore a smug smirk across her face. 

“Hmph, even though your very poor when it comes to apologizing. I guess I’ll take it.” Ane taunted. “Ok now your asking for more poison-”

“Keep the poison to yourself, or else you don’t get to see what’s in the bag” You threaten holding up the multiple bags you had in your hands. The two spider siblings quickly rushed over to you to see what was in the bag.

Treats, toys, tools (You don’t understand why they want those) Different teas and baked goods.

When the spider siblings walked away with their new belongings, you went over to your husband and youngest child. The second you sat down next to them, you got forced right back up.

“Akaza, I’m fine!” You playfully complained. “Nope, Stay still”

You giggled at Akaza being concerned for you. He checked you up and down to see if you had any bruises, cuts, burns, scratches, rashes, literally anything that doesn’t belong on your body.

As he looked around your body, you started to pose for him. “Can you stop posing, I can’t find any-”

“I’m putting on a show! you should be grateful!”

“Eh- Pose once more I need a camera!”

“Ani...broke the...last one with his poison..” A sleepy Rui said snuggling deeper into Akaza’s hold. “Hi Rui! how was your day?” You say taking him from Akaza. “Father backhand slapped Ani 13 times today”

“Why did you count?”

“AKAZA!”

“WHAT!? He can take it!”

“We spoke about this!”

“He’s a lower rank 2 in the making, he has potential!”

...

Both You and Rui gave Akaza a disappointed look.

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

No this is not ending yet. I just lost the courage to continue writing this so here are some headcanons..

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

Affection towards Older spider brother, Ani

Someone put a warning anytime this guy shows up like damn

- .....

- See, it's hard enough to even strike a conversation with him

- He favors Akaza more than you

- And he has no shame saying it out loud

- But-but even though he can be an ass, he has a weak spot for the snacks you buy him and when you cup his face

- He can't take physical affection well

- He's the only one who doesn't know what to do when you hug him, so he just stands there

- He loves the snacks you get him

- very different from human meat

- He doesn't like the toys you get him so he gives it to Rui

- But if you get Ane toys he takes hers and claims that her toys are better

- Do you take care of his spider underlings?

- No

- Akaza's really aggressive with him

- In his eyes, Ani is a lower moon in the making

- So, the second you leave the house

- Akaza enters the house to train him

- Ani loves Akaza more than you because Akaza allows him to spit his acid/poison around the house

- Yes you come home to holes in the walls

- Your little koibito

- Such an angel

- She favors you more than Akaza

- Loves literally anything you do

- Vows to become just like you

- You love to hug her the second you get the chance

- And she always accepts them

- She always by your side

- Loves to be held by you on bad days

- You both love to snuggle with each other

- Akaza loves to take pictures of you two when the both of you fall asleep

- Akaza doesn’t know what to with ‘little women’ so he spoils her with treats before bed (Which you forbid)

- For some strange reason, he’s an expert on hair, so he does Ane’s hair all the time

- If she wanted something you already said no to, she’s going straight to Akaza to ask the same question because she knows he’ll say yes

- Akaza also loves to carry her on his back

- But of course, this won’t be Akaza if he didn’t think she’ll be a perfect lower moon in the making

- So yes, she has to train too

- “Hug me”

- “Hold me”

- “I want affection”

- “Mother, carry me”

- “Father, Mother is choosing Ane over me... She claims she no longer loves me-”

- He’s adorable

- and clingy

- VERY clingy

- Needs to be held at least 9 times a day or else all hell is set free

- Doesn’t have a favorite

- But if he had to choose it would be you

- But then it’ll be Akaza

- He can’t decide

- He loves it when you sit down with him

- Mainly because he sees it as an opportunity to climb on you to cuddle

- “Jesus, Akaza can you stop trying to train the kids into being lower moons?”

- “I’m not just training them to be lower moons...Rui would make a great upper moon! He has-”

- “Potential? Yeah Akaza baby, no, that’s not happening”

- Once you leave, its training time

- He’s very aggressive when it comes to training Rui

- He personally thinks that Muzan mis-ranked the moons, he believes Rui should be lower moon 2 at least

- Akaza just wants his kids to be upper moons like him

- But they do have their cuddle moments

- Doesn’t understand why you bought him plushies

- But Once you offered to take it back and get him treats instead, he didn’t want to give it back

- ....

“Before you go out into the village, put wisteria all over your body to rid off any demons. I saw a hot spring not too far from here. Wash off the wisteria before you come in here”

“Ok Akaza”

“Always take the route Rui showed you. No shortcuts”

“Ok Akaza”

“Do not get injured on the way here. We might have to train harder if-”

“Akaza..Please shut up”

- You love him, but he’s very protective

- Sometimes he won’t let you leave the house

*Insert Protective Hugs* 

- You also have to train with the family, so Akaza doesn’t have to worry about you defending yourself

“NO! Baby look. The second the guy looks at you, you must give him a uppercut and break his nose. Then you tell him, if you ever look at me again.. I’ll get my stronger than Kokushibou sexy ass husband to beat your ass.”

“......I’m not doing that.”

“....Could you at least say it?”

- You have to start cuddle sessions because he sees it as a sign of weakness (he loves them though)

- He also loves the snacks you get him

- He loves Training  taking care of the kids

- He does the dad thing where he puts the all the kids on his back and does push up!

- Douma teases him for having a lower moon family

- Douma loves to come over To eat you

- Don’t worry Akaza deals with him

- Ngl Kokushibou also comes over

- Ani’s first reaction to him was-

“This motherfucker got 6 fucking eyes... Allergy season must be a pain in the ass-”

“ANI! Don’t say that to guests!”

- Kokushibou likes Ani for an odd reason

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

I think I went off topic-

[painsandconfusion]

Whump Prompts: Sand

Whelp. You asked for it.

Whumper buries Whumpee in sand at the beach. At first it doesn't seem so bad, but Whumpee soon realizes they cant move. They cant even wiggle their toes. The weight of the sand packs in around them, stealing away their breaths and holding them tight. "W-whumper please - this isn't fun anymore." "What do you mean? This is tons of fun.

Whumpee forced to walk through the desert. The blistering sand burns against their bare feet, but they are drug on anyway. Unable to pull. To fight. To stop. even if they try, the sand slides under them, letting them be drug easily by their captor. (@whumpawink Tielo vibessss)

Whumpee is frantically scrambling away. Whumper knocks them to the ground, and they clutch and random fistfuls of sand, chucking them over their shoulder. Whumper cried out and lets go as it litters into their eyes.

Whumper tries to make Whumpee as uncomfortable as possible to keep them on edge at all times. One of their more subtle methods is filling Whumpee's clothes (especially socks) with sand. (This one courtesy of @wormwriting - you may have meant it as a joke but I love it lol).

Whumper gets a standard sander. They hold it to Whumpee's thigh. "This can stop anytime. You know what I want to hear." They turn the device on. It hardly takes a few seconds for the skin to rub away. Then the blood starts to mist off the edges of the vibrating tool. Whumper only presses in harder as Whumpee screams.

Whumpee claws at the sand, desperately digging in the desert to escape the burning sun. The sand wedges under their fingernails, cutting and searing, but they keep going. Clawing down down down in their delirium until they find cool dirt. They get in the hole. And start to fill it up over them.

Whumpee who has to sprint barefoot across the sand in their escape. It shouldn't be painful - sand is so soft and smooth - but it burs. Tiny fragments of glass slicing into their skin. Rubbing the tender soles raw as they force themself to keep running, desperately trying to ignore the numb burning.

Whumpee using their finger or a jagged stick to write their name in the sand. A name they no longer own. One they cannot speak. They stare at the letters, praying it will feel familiar again. Like them again. Whumper's footsteps approach, and Whumpee quickly smooths over the word before Whumper sees it.

Whumper forces Whumpee to eat sand as a punishment. Whumpee writhes and tries to claw away as Whumper wrenches their jaw open, scooping fist-fulls into their mouth. It sucks away the moisture, sticking to their throat. They can't swallow it. Their mouth won't work. Instead they inhale, choking on the razor sharp particles that cut against the insides of their lungs. Whumper lets them fall back, sputtering, coughing, gagging on the sensation.

The way the sand pulls Whumpee's steps back. The faster they run, the harder it is to move. The surface is too soft. They can't kick against it to run. They sprint and sprint, sand flying up behind them, yet they hardly move.

Quicksand. Whumpee holding as still as they can as they slowly sink. Whumper stands nearby. "Looks like you got yourself into a predicament. Is this really better than me?" "Help me!" Whumper laughs. "Do you think I'm going to save you after the shit you pulled? You're going to have to at least beg a little."

Whumper puts Whumpee in a box. Lower the box into a hole. Whumpee doesn't know what's happening. They're kicking and screaming and clawing at the wood paneling. They finally put two and two together as sand starts to pour onto the box. It seeps in through the slits in the wood planks. They inhale it, couching and sputtering. They scream, begging Whumper not to do this. Whumper just keeps shoveling, burying them alive.

Whumper rubs a mixture of sand and water over Whumpee's skin. It's not bad at first....but they don't stop. They keep rubbing and rubbing and rubbing. First it stings. Then it numbs. Then it burns. Whumper doesn't stop when Whumpee starts bleeding. Whumpee writhes against their restraints, begging Whumper to stop, but they ignore it.

Desperate, exhausted Whumpee trying to pick the sand out of their hair. They scratch and scrape, but the itching doesn't fade. They grit their teeth, trying harder. Squeezing their clearly eyes shut as they scratch and pick. when they open their eyes, their fingertips are bloodied. It still itches.

.

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @jadeocean46910 @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @tropes-for-my-md-daydreams @batfacedliar-yetagain @suspicious-whumping-egg @lav-whumps @wormwriting @meowsikbox @villainsvictim )

[keysmashingfantasies]

Bloody Comfort

pre borderlands!Niragi x fem!reader / Niragi x fem!reader

A/N:  i feel like i only post Marvel on this blog and i missed my show so here it is, finally an AiB fic! :D also, minigame: how many alice in wonderland references can you spot? also also, bloody comfort is an awesome name for a band and if you do name your band that, i want my money. enjoy the fic! also also also i didn’t proofread SHIT so sorry for any grammar mistakes.

trigger warning: bullying, mentions of violence (nothing too graphic, i think but beware nonetheless), death (graphic. i mean, i’m not that good of a writer but still, beware), very slight mentions of nsfw, especially torwards the end, niragi (HE’S A WARNING OK), niragi having disturbing thoughts (what else is new. but fr, ok), sliiiiiight yandere niragi torwards the end. (also I tried not to describe in too much detail the bullying that niragi and the reader suffer in the fic so it wouldn’t be too sad). 

@dreamingofanisland here it is bestie! 

Niragi couldn’t pinpoint when he stopped being sad and when he started getting angry. From a suffocating hopelessness came a desperation he could only describe as feral. He often fantasized about just jumping over his desk and strangling each one of them to death but his thoughts quickly ended with Niragi envisioning himself being overpowered and beaten. He started to not only get angry at his bullies, but people in general. Things. Life.

How could so many people turn a blind eye? How could life be so unfair to give people like this the upperhand and not him? Not him that clearly deserved it? This world was backwards.

-

He knew he was fucked when he saw the bat, and although he braced for the impact he couldn’t help but fall to his knees and wince at the sickening sound that the baseball did in contact with his nose.

He just sat there and while all he wanted to do was to rip their throats with his teeth all he did was to endure a few more punches before they left with a promise that there would be more. He sat there trying not to cry with sheer frustration. His papers were scattered around, the left arm of his glasses was broken and his pristine black outfit was now covered in dust from the gravel, his hands scratched. He could taste blood on his tongue and he felt a sick satisfaction, pretending for one moment that it was another person’s blood he was tasting.

“Do you need help?”, a voice woke him from his violent daydreams. Suddenly everything boiled over and he felt an overwhelming anger rise inside of him. In a blink of an eye he was standing up, yelling at a somewhat blurry image of a girl who he towered over, even more as she shrunk under his anger. If he wouldn’t be so busy screaming profanities, he would be madly aroused.

“WHAT, HUH? CAME TO SEE THE SHOW? TO LAUGH AT ME?”, he was furious, and as he approached her, she proceeded to walk back.

“No. I just wanted to help”, she said. It seemed another flash and suddenly he could see a bit clearer. Although startled, she didn’t seem afraid of him, and was extending him a tissue. “Your nose is bleeding”, she said, and Niragi wanted to scoff at her for stating the obvious. But she was being kind. And as angry as he was, kindness wasn’t something that he could say no to. He tried his best to control his shaky hands as he took the tissue from her hands and carefully dabbed his nose, as she ducked to collect his papers, and tuck them back into his bag.

“Saw what they did to you. ‘m sorry”, she mumbled. Niragi wanted to strangle her out of sheer embarrassment.

“And you just took some popcorn and enjoyed the spectacle?”, he spat.

“I wanted to help but I wasn’t sure what to do. Would you rather if I had called someone?”, she asked. He breathed once, twice. She wasn’t mocking him, but was unnervingly calm. Something about her being calm while he was practically foaming at the mouth had him seeing red and suddenly he regret having wiped the blood off of his lips.

“No”, he said, calmly. “No, I wouldn’t. Sorry. I have to go”, he said, ripping his bag from her hands with such force that he tugged her arm with it.

“Wait! I mean what I said! I want to help!”

“You, help me? What are you going to do, huh? Be my bodyguard?”, he mocked her one more time. He couldn’t help himself, his brain got used to this. Fight or flight. His adrenaline was pumping and everytime he was around school grounds he looked over his shoulder.

“Hmmm, sorta? Not exactly but I could show you a place. A safe place”, she said. He just looked at her.

“If we get there and it’s a prank of some sort I’ll let you punch me. Square in the face”, she said.

“Are you insane? You just go around letting people punch you in the face?”, his mouth was quicker than his brains and suddenly he felt his face grow hot at the irony of what he had said. But if she noticed it, she didn’t mention.

“Let me help you”, she said.

And he did.

He followed her through a wooded area near the school grounds after walking through a hole in a fence.

He was getting ready to beat you to the punch and hit you so hard that you’d bleed as hard as he did, until you stopped until you reached a very underwhelming toolshed with a padlock.

“We’re here”, you said, and he realized that she sounded different. All this time she was on edge. ‘Of course, Suguru, you threatened the girl like, 3 times’, said the voice in the back of his head. She pulled a key from her bag and the padlock opened easily and they heavy chains fell to the ground and she pushed open the door, going inside. He hesitantly followed.

The inside is nothing as he thought it would be. For starters, it was surprisingly clean and  it didn’t smell bad. And instead of tools and brooms and leafblowers, it had bean bags, blankets, a table with a radio full of knickknacks in the corner and a chair that had clearly seen better days but looked comfortable none the less. The girl walked to a corner of the room and his eyes followed her as she closed the door, which had small sharpie drawings on it. She reached for a white box and settled it on the floor between the two bean bags, and reached inside a very small thermos to pull out an artificially blue isotonic drink and settled it down too. Then from the plastic bag he previously assumed was trash, she pulled a bag of chips.

She then patted the bean bag next to hers. “Welcome to my clinic”, she said, placing the white box on her lap.

-

After an entire afternoon of bonding over unhealthy food and an impromptu first aid rescue, Niragi learned that her name was Y/N, she was a year below and that this little world she created was her refuge from the girls in her class that picked on her.

“I found this and decided that it would be nice. No one’s using it, it’s far from everything. It’s on the Beheaded Woman’s territory”.

Niragi heard the rumors through his bullies. “One day we’ll drag you to the Beheaded Woman’s woods and fucking kill you”.  After further investigation, he learned that allegedly a girl was dragged through the woods and beheaded with a blunt axe.

“I made the rumors up. I had to make sure no one would find my safe haven”, she explained. “And once you write something in the girls’ bathroom stall, there’s no turning back. It’s out there and it’s truth”, she sighed. “I would know”.

He wasn’t the most up to date in all the gossip but she told him her story. The rumors they spread, the things they did to her. She almost seemed amused. He in turn told her his story. By the end of it, he could kill someone. She then offered him the other key to her safe haven.

“You can decorate it too. Don’t tell anyone else and make sure to lock it after you use it. Use it as much as you want, just make sure they don’t follow you, okay?”

He took the keys with shakey hands, a knot on his throat. Another type of adrenaline was pumping through his veins. When a few moments ago there were a fast white heat, coursing through him like an electric current, this was slow and almost overwhelmingly warm, like molten lava.

“Why are you doing this? Being so nice to me?”, he whispered as if it was a secret, as if this moment was another fantasy, a deer that’s easily spooked. He had fantasized about this too. A safe haven, an ally. A friend.

“Because we’re the same, you and I”.

-

You hated him. You hated him with a burning passion. What was at first an act of pity, born from the empathy you felt by seeing someone go through what you did, quickly became a friendship and like a disease, it spread to beyond your safe haven. You would spend your free time together, walk home together. You became friends. And what did he do? Exactly what he told you he would.

“Sometimes don’t you wish to disappear?”, he whispered to you once.

“Yeah. Like, run away? Yeah, I do”, you replied agreeing with him.

 ‘You’re the only one that understands me. We really are the same’, he would say. What at the beginning of your budding crush on him gave you butterflies on the stomach now made you want to throw up.

You lost your only friend. You despised the sound of music now, because every single song you heard, you shared with him. For the same reason, you didn’t enjoy your favorite movies anymore. Your bullies banded together to target you. And the worst part of all, is that you couldn’t even care. There was no silver lining anymore.

“Don’t you get furious?! Don’t you want to hurt them, make them pay?”, he said as he watched you apply concealer to a bruised cheek.

“I mean, I get angry but I try my best to not let it get to me. It’s what they want. I despise those people, I can’t get in a funk because of them���, you said nonchalantly.

But you had loved him. And now you felt like even moving around was an herculean task, like you were almost dead trying to get to safety. But there was no safety anymore.

Ironically, you started to understand him more and more after he disappeared. The anger, the hatred. How could anyone just follow their lives? When there’s people like you just suffering through yours?

Suguru Niragi was an illness, a parasite. He carved his way under your skin and into your heart, laid eggs of his hate on your veins and sucked you dry of your life’s essence. Then, after you were a shell of a human, he disappeared out of thin air, leaving you alone. Leaving you with those people. Leaving you to die.

And you were still in love with him.

-

You thought you were finally insane when it happened.

The streets were empty. Absolutely no one. You wondered for a moment if you felt so alone that your mind convinced itself that that’s exactly what had happened, if any moment now you would be locked in an insane asylum for running around and screaming until you throat got raw.

It took you two games to understand what was going on. You made sure to change clothes. Running shoes, leggings and a warm hoodie that you never let the hood down. You decided to significantly shorten your hair after you saw a man pull a young girl by the ponytail in a spades game. You loaded a backpack with food and bottles of water, anything you could find. And an axe that you took from an emergency box from the building you slept in.

It was on your 5th game that it happened. You saw people die in these games, but none of it was hands on for you. You just watched your back and hoped to win and let whoever was running this show take care of the rest. Honestly, you didn’t even wait to know if anyone even survived. You were done doing that.

When you got there, there were five people already. They banded together and whispered amongst themselves as you passed them by and grabbed a phone. Probably just a group of friends that got stranded at the same time and decided to stay together. You clutched you axe harder.

You didn’t even realize that you had zoned out until you heard hollering and four guys heavily armed walked you by. Where the fuck did they get guns? One of them let out a boisterous laugh that reminded you of someone that you wanted desperately to forget. You couldn’t even get over him during fucking Saw? That sound made your skin crawl.

Registration closed, said the mechanic voice. Difficulty: 8 of clubs. The first 5 players will be the first team and the last 5 players will be the second. One team must eliminate the others without losing any players. Both teams will be identified by the color of your screen, and will have one minute to hide.

You saw the armed guys’ screens light up red. You sighed in relief as yours did too. You made sure to keep your head down and thank whoever that not killing teammates was a part of the rules. They seemed amused and absolutely calm, and the guy with the rifle laughed again. You were shaking by now.

When the minute started, everyone bolted in different directions. You didn’t even look back to see if your teammates had accompanied you but by the sound of your footsteps crushing leaves, you were alone. You decided to go back after a while, looking around. A lamppost. Huh, lamppost it is. You leaned against the cool metal and focused on the silence. The minute had ended but they were still hunting. You didn’t come across anyone, which was good. After a while, all you could hear were distant gunshots.

You looked to the floor, only to see a shadow approaching you quick. You barely had time to dodge before a man hit you behind the head with a rock. You reacting made him lose his balance, falling to the floor and letting go of the rock. You looked at him. It was one of the boys from the other team. He had on a white button up blouse and a black hoodie. His hair had fallen over his brown eyes and he looked so scared and so alone.

This will have to do.

You didn’t stop, suddenly lifting the axe and bringing it down was like an automatic thing.

“I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU! HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO ME? AFTER ALL I’VE DONE FOR YOU! YOU ABANDONED ME IN A MINUTE, LEFT ME ALONE IN THAT HELL!”

You didn’t stop when he started praying and then screaming. You didn’t stop when he started bleeding profusely or when the strength of your movements made your hood slide down from your head. You didn’t stop when his head got detached from his body and if you weren’t so angry, you would’ve listened tfootsteps. You didn’t stop until you had made mincemeat out of his face. Just for the sheer audacity of reminding you of him.

He looked at you from afar while you looked at the body of the boy whose skull you just had destroyed, a maniac, victorious smile on your face. You were pretending the boy was him. You really thought he had abandoned you? He would be absolutely heartbroken if he wasn’t so aroused. That’s what he always wanted to see, the instincts that you tried to push down. You were right, you were both the same. He wanted to lick that blood off of you, use it as lube to take you right there. When he first arrived at the Borderlands, when he first killed someone and liked it, he thought you would be disgusted by him. But look at you now. You were here, perfect for him, soaked in blood, feral. He’s never been so hard.

“Y/N”, he said.

“Niragi?,” you said. He ran to you, held you even when you fought back, even when you screamed bloody murder that you were going insane, begging to die already, even when you passed out on his arms. He licked a drop of blood from your neck.

“Let me take you to our safe haven”, he whispered against your skin.

[simonalkenmayer]

This may be a stupid question I can google but what the eff did people do before things like lighters and matches? I just lit a spliff from a candle and thought “I bet that’s been done eighty bajillion times”

Ahhhh

Well, this is going to be some text eh?

Firstly remember that there were some other things going on around then and in accordance with the “mobile fire” question. We had no other way of lighting, first of all, than candle or lantern. Just keep that in mind. Because of this lighting issue, it was not uncommon to simply go to bed when it got dark and wake up when it got light. Very convenient. A trifle boring, especially in winter when nights are long.

Track your movements around the house. How many times do you adjust lighting by turning on or off a switch, using an audio command, dimming, changing color or tone, or hell, even just clapping your hands. None of that could happen. Instead we’d light a personal light source during the onset of evening, and then you’d carry it around with you for personal lighting.

Kerosene lanterns were very popular for this, as they could be dimmed by turning a little knob to the side. The knob rolled the wick up to make it shorter. The end of the wick is supplied with oil, and the little nib goes to a blue flame. If you wanted to get up for any reason, you could turn the wick back out, the light goes up and burns orange. The reason these were popular, is because lighting in the middle of the night was one of the most annoying experiences, before that type of lantern was invented.

Some homes would keep one candle lit, a good sturdy fellow, usually home made, to act as a kind of base from which people could light their own personal stubs. Usually it sat in a very heavy candlestick had a glass shade, on a landing or in a window (before curtains. Most buildings had shutters instead of glass during certain times). But it was almost inevitable that the light would go out at some point when you need it most.

The solutions?

Well allow me:

Solution 1: metal tongs to procure a coal from the fire and use it to light tinder. Tinder is like…well a bit like shredded wood. It is dry and grassy so it will catch a spark quickly. If you didn’t have a hot coal to catch the tinder, you would use either flint and steel striking tools, or a little contraption that makes sparks. Looks a bit like a big safety pin, which it is, except that where the head is, would be the little striking bit. Either way you must either have a previous fire or a spark. You’d light the tinder, burn yourself carrying it to a slightly bigger but more stable piece of wood, catching that, then catching the candle or lantern. It was annoying, it resulted in injury, and it often caused fires.

But remember I said there were some other things going on?

Think about the temperature of your home. It’s set on a neat little doohickey called a thermostat. Sounds very posh when you say it. That bugger is a computer that turns on and off your heating system, whenever the temperature goes above or below your preferred temp. Before that we had to feel it out and then walk over to the controls and change them. She’ll before that, there were no controls. You had to go down into the cellar and light the furnace, or… start a fire.

Most homes kept at least one fire going most of the day. In fact, the last thing one did before bed, was make sure the fire would either burn down during the night, or was out and stamped completely. The point is, there was no way to regulate temperature except to have a fire one could either build up or “turn down” and easily opened windows. To that end, there were a few things practically every home had beside the fire.

More logs (these varied in size because thinner burns quicker. Most often these were stacked in some kind of box or metal rack near the fire but away from it.)

Kindling and twigs (used to fill in space and catch swifter, for longer burning flames. This was usually kept with the logs in a bundle, basket, box, etc.)

Tinder (usually kept in its own box. You were very fancy if your tinder box was tin)

Strikers (again this could be a little tool or two bits you knock together. Little fire starter sets were a very popular gift, usually packages together in a decorative box or pouch

Tools like tongs, pokers, prongs, shovel, so on

Pail to catch bits, hood ash or sand. Useful if putting out a fire

Spit

Pot rack (just a hook that could hold a pot

Now the problem is, the chimney was also actually evolving at the same time, and fire maintenance was even more difficult in crowded places like London , or in buildings entirely made of highly flammable substances like wood, pitch, and hair (yes hair. It was mixed into plaster to strengthen it or into the lime used to patch. It was even used as insulation). Believe it or not there were wooden chimneys for a bit. Didn’t work out so well. Also turns out smoke itself is flammable. I know that seems stupid, but no. Smoke is black because of the debris in it. That debris is still particles of flammable material. If the temp is high enough and the smoke doesn’t choke out the oxygen point, a chimney of smoke can actually explode and take out the side of the whole structure. Because homes were built of a wooden frame filled in with lath (strips of wood) and plaster (hair). The chimney and fire structure would then be tacked on wherever needed, and connected the fireplaces of upper and lower floors. You could hear conversations easily that way. Did you also know that while making a roof out of pitch (tar) and sticks does make for waterproofing, it also makes for infernos of death? Smoke goes out of chimneys. Get too many embers moving up it and they float out and down. This is what caused the Chicago fire, for example. After the Great Fire of London, caused by a bakers oven fire not going completely out, the laws changed to mandate specific things for the common good—no more pitch roof, no more jetties (these are overhangs that were Cantilevered outward such that upper floors were bigger than lower. Often buildings on opposite sides of the street would damn near touch. Some parts of London were always dark because of this. The streets could be tunnel like, and this made for easy fire movement. No more wooden homes. Slowly brick and stone became easier, bricks changed to meet demand, and so on.

Let’s recap:

Every house had a fire going in their kitchen or main room from which to light a candle or lantern. This process was cumbersome. It was very common to knock on a window or door, have someone stick a head out, ask to borrow a coal, and have giant iron tongs with a burning lump on one end stuck in your face for your trouble. But if there was no fire to be had, one would use either a striking set, or tool, or even a lens (yes we knew how to do that but it only works on sunny days).

Controlling fire is a constant hazard, and the history of how cities have handled that is actually a fascinating one—similar to water security. I know it sounds like the most boring subject but I promise it isn’t. Water rights alone make up the vast majority of major conflicts on earth believe it or not. In any case, I still think that most average people were far far more competent with fire than is the average person today.

Now you may also say “wait a moment Simon. How did you get this all done if there was water” and there was always water. Remember the climate has also changed. Water and weather were a constant issue. Yes, damp did make getting a fire going sometimes utterly impossible just as it still does. When this happened chum…only two solutions. 1. Dry out your kindling and wood by any means necessary. 2. Burn in something like a fire place or barrel, that has been kept dry. You’d often see people wrapping tinder in waterproof things like waxed wool or leather. It was absolutely annoying. Hence matches.

But one other key fact: fire was also seen as being a purifier. It was even believed that it could kill “miasmas” which were clouds of noxious fumes? that supposedly carried disease (we didn’t know about microscopes or particles yet) so at public events, it wasn’t uncommon to have fire barrels near the entrance not just to draw with light, but to sterilize folks as they came in, and provide heat for those milling about. In fact, during the plague, fire barrels were scattered throughout the city to kill the disease. So during that time, London was both well lit and a fire hazard in a drought.

Charming.

But let’s talk about the match because this is actually fascinating. Recall that my education and life was lived mostly in Europe. My experiences may be older than yours, but they bear remarkable similarity given the reach of Catholicism. At any rate, I was both tickled and astounded to discover (years ago obviously) that the Chinese invented the match literally 1000 years before the western world. Phosphorous is combustible—and Chinese history tells of little pine sticks that were impregnated with phosphorous. They have to be ground against something to obtain the friction necessary to light the phosphorous, or be touched to a reasonably hot ember.

There was a not too small flirtation with chemical matches, which had little crushable vials and the feeling of taking your life into your own hands scientifically., a kind of early precursor to today’s lighter, I suppose.

But yes…

That was how we did it. It was damn annoying.

Luckily, I see in the dark and do not require warmth like you all do. I’ve never had a house burn down in my care. I take fire safety seriously. But I suppose if you had lived through all the fires I have, you’d be cautious too. These days there are large wild fires that threaten cities, and that is something no one can stop, unless we tackle climate.

Ah but to your mention of the spliff and candle—when tobacco took hold of Europe, it was not uncommon to see little tobacco care sets. They were usually assembled by the person over time and laid out on the table in say…a drawing room or office, as a kind of nod to both the ostentation and wealth. Usually there’d be a tobacco box, pipe tools, striker, tinder box, candle/stifle, and a little pair of tongs for grabbing embers to light.

But yes, most people smoked via the hood old cable or tongs methods. I’d personally always begin my pipe by plucking an ember and laying it over the opening on my pipe. Puff like that for a minute or so, and you have both a lit pipe, and a little lump of coal.

Anyway, I hope that helps.

[anonymousewrites]

Of Two Worlds (Book 2) Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven: Tomb

Author's Note: Idk why, but I just...don't trust Tengen.

            “What happened to you?” Megumi furrowed his brow and gazed at (Y/N) in concern as she caught up with the group outside of Jujutsu High. He hesitated to touch her as he could see she was bruised and didn’t want to hurt her.

Oh, but he so badly wanted to reach out and demand she tell him who did this and where they were.

            “You look like you got into a fight,” observed Itadori.

            “Big curses,” said (Y/N).

            Megumi narrowed his eyes, and if his back wasn’t facing the others as he looked at (Y/N), everyone would have seen the dark look in his eyes. He didn’t believe her, but he stayed quiet. She might not feel comfortable sharing. “But you’re alright?” asked Megumi. (Y/N) nodded at him. “Okay, then.” Letting it go for now, he glanced at Okkotsu. “We should see Tsukumo-san and Maki-senpai now.”

            “Let’s go!” said Itadori.

            They walked down into a small cellar at the sides of Jujutsu High. Tsukumo was lounging on a small couch while Maki stood. She was a welcome sight, if not a surprising one. Her hair was chopped short, and white bandages wound around her head underneath large round glasses. Burns covered the skin that showed, and she wore a uniform with pants and a cape-like jacket instead of her old skirted one.

            “Maki-senpai.” (Y/N) lifted her hand in greeting, and Maki nodded back. “Tsukumo-san.”

            “Hello!” chirped Tsukumo.

            “Maki!” Okkotsu grinned at his friend. “Is it okay for you to move around?”

            “Yeah, no problem,” she responded coolly.

            “It can’t be helped with the burn scars. Even reverse cursed technique leaves a mark,” said Tsukumo.

            I wonder what scars Nanami is going to have…He was badly hurt, thought (Y/N). She considered her own curved scar on her shoulder from Ryo’s attacks. At least they don’t have to look bad. She frowned inwardly. Not that I really know what’s considering appealing or not.

            “I’d expect nothing less from someone physically gifted through heavenly restriction. It was her inborn physical toughness, not curse tolerance, that saved her life.” Tsukumo sighed. “It’s too bad about the business with the Head of the Family.”

            Maki shrugged. “Not like I was going for it.” She looked at Megumi. “Hey, what about Tengen-sama’s barrier?”

            Megumi nodded to Choso. “He has a plan.”

            “Between the doors and the tomb lies the cursed warehouse where Jujutsu High stores cursed objects and tools. It holds the remains of my younger brothers Noranso, Sho-oso, Tanso, Sanso, Kotsuso, and Shoso,” said Choso.

            No one really took a long time to name them, thought (Y/N).

            “Even if they are remains, with the six together, a side effect of my cursed technique should provide some guidance,” explained Choso.

            “Good!” Tsukumo smiled.

            “That’s fine…” Maki glanced at Choso. “But who’s this guy?”

            The group blinked as they realized they forgot to mention they had found a half-curse that used to be on Kamo’s side but now was helping them.

            Itadori thought for a moment. “For now, think of him as…my big brother.”

            “Yuuji!” cried Kamo, almost tearing up in joy.

            Itadori turned, embarrassed. “Let’s go.”

l

            “There,” said Choso, pointing at a door. “Without a doubt, my brothers sleep beyond those doors.”

            (Y/N) pulled them open and kept a lookout for any traps, but there were none as the doors swung out. Inside was a…yard? Forest? Trees stretched up into a dark sky and dirt and grass lined a path to a storage unit and the woods beyond.

            “Let’s go,” said Tsukumo. “Deep in, there’s an elevator to the tomb.”

            “I’ll return. Wait just a little longer,” murmured Choso, pressing his hand to the storage shed to comfort his trapped brothers.

            The group was quiet as they rode down in the elevator. When they stepped up and crossed a large stone room, Itadori frowned at the ground.

            “Bloodstains? What happened here?” he wondered.

            “It was eleven years ago,” said Tsukumo, thinking of the incident that ended in Fushiguro Toji’s death. She frowned. “Now that I think about it…that’s when everything began to get distorted.” She smiled. “Alright, the main shrine is up through here.”

            Choso and the Jujutsu High students were all left wondering what she meant as they walked further into the temple. After they immerged from a tunnel, they were left standing in a blank space of pure white. Tsukumo cursed.

            “There’s nothing here,” said Itadori.

            “Is this the main shrine?” wondered Megumi, raising an eyebrow in irritation.

            “No, it’s rejecting us,” said Tsukumo. “Tengen doesn’t interfere with this world, but I thought contact was possible now that the Six Eyes is sealed. I was too optimistic.”

            (Y/N) glanced at Megumi. She knew he was hoping to speak to Tengen so that he’d understand what Kamo was up to and could save Tsumiki from it. Her heart clenched as she saw the worried look on his face.

            “Let’s head back,” said Okkotsu. “Tsumiki doesn’t have much time.”

            “Leaving so soon?” questioned a new voice.

            Everyone’s heads whipped around as they saw the person? being? standing before them. They had a cylinder-shaped head with four eyes and wore shapeless white robes. It was Tengen in person.

            (Y/N) wasn’t sure why, but a shiver ran down her spine as she saw them. It was disconcerting being in the presence of someone who was as close to godhood as one could get, and no one really knew the extent of Tengen’s power. Not to mention she had heard of how the Star Plasma Vessel was needed for something but got killed eleven years ago. I wonder how they’re still, what word did Gojo use? Oh, yeah, “stable.”

            “It’s a pleasure to meet you Children of the Zenin, Michizane’s descendant, Death Painting Womb, Sukuna’s Vessel, and…” They looked at (Y/N). “Child of the Night.”

            “Aren’t you gonna say hello to me, Tengen?” asked Tsukumo, her usually boisterous personality replaced by a formal, serious one.

            “This isn’t the first time we’ve met Tsukumo Yuki,” he replied.

            “Why did you close off the Tomb of the Star corridor?”

            “I was afraid you might be in alignment with Kenjaku. After all, I cannot see into the human heart.”

            “Kenjaku?” questioned (Y/N).

            “The sorcerer who was once Kamo Noritoshi and is now inhabiting the body of Geto Suguru,” explained Tengen.

            Tsukumo scoffed. “That name suggests compassion and salvation. Gimme a break.”

            “Hey! Why do you look like that?” chirped Itadori curiously.

            (Y/N) and Megumi blinked at him simultaneously. He has guts cutting into an important discussion…

            Tengen smiled. “I may be immortal, but I’m not immune to aging. After five hundred years, you’d look like this.”

            The you grow another pair of eyes before you’re five hundred…? thought (Y/N).

            “Eleven years ago, after failing to merge with a Star Plasma Vessel, my aging accelerated and my self-awareness as an individual diminished. The very world became my self,” they finished.

            “And that’s why your ‘voice’ doesn’t proliferate,” said Tsukumo.

            Am I supposed to know what a “voice” is in this context?

            “Excuse me, but we came to ask about Kenjaku’s objectives and how to open the Prison Realm,” said Megumi.

            “Will you tell us what you know?” asked Okkotsu.

            “I wish I could simply say yes, but there is one condition,” said Tengen. “Okkotsu Yuuta, Tsukumo Yuki, and the Death Painting Womb. Two of you must remain here to serve as my guards.”

            “Guards? Aren’t you immortal?” asked Okkotsu.

            “Are you worried about the seal?” questioned Maki.

            “No fair! You haven’t even told us why or for how long we’d have to do it,” said Tsukumo.

            “So then shall I speak of Kenjaku?” offered Tengen. “His objective is to force the evolution of all human beings throughout the land of Japan.”

            “He told us,” said (Y/N).

            “But what exactly does he intend?” asked Megumi. “Why didn’t Kenjaku use your barrier that time and turn everyone in Japan into sorcerers via Idle Transfiguration?”

            “He lacks the cursed energy to do that. Cursed energy that has been refined through Uzumaki cannot return to the sorcerer. Triggering an evolution in each individual with a cursed technique is incredibly inefficient,” said Tengen. “The method of evolution that Kenjaku has chosen is the merging of humankind and me.” The group drew back in shock.

            “Is that even possible?” asked Itadori (though (Y/N) was pretty sure he didn’t really understand what that meant).

            “Isn’t that impossible for anyone but a Star Plasma Vessel?” asked Megumi.

            “Yes, the way I was before, but now that I have evolved for the past eleven years, it would not be impossible for me to merge with someone other than a Star Plasma Vessel,” they said.

            “With multiple people?” (Y/N) frowned.

            “I am not what you see before you at this moment. My evolved soul exists all around us. As I said, my self is now the world itself,” said Tengen. “A person who merges with me transforms into something greater than a sorcerer as a new being that is both there and not there. I possess barrier techniques, so I am unable to maintain this form and self-control even after evolving. However, if humankind evolves, and even if only one person rages out of control, the world will end.”

            Tsukumo narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

            “There would be no boundaries between individuals, so evil would spread instantaneously. The impurity of a hundred million people would flood the world. What just happened in Tokyo would happen to the entire world.”

            But it wasn’t humans in Shibuya. It was Kenjaku and his minions. (Y/N) sighed inwardly. Ah, well, Tengen is almost a god. They know more than I could.

            “Why would Kenjaku do that?” asked Itadori.

            “I do not know. As I said, I cannot read the human heart,” replied Tengen.

            “So why don’t you just refuse to merge?” questioned Maki.

            “That is the problem. Now that I have evolved, I am more cursed spirit than human being.” (Y/N) blinked in surprise. That made Tengen similar to her in not being fully human. “That makes me a target for Cursed Spirit Manipulation.”

            A shiver ran down all their spines as they realized just how easy it would be for Kenjaku to take control of Tengen if he got close enough to them. It would be the end of everything if he had that much power in his control.

            “Considering Kenjaku’s ability as a sorcerer, he might be able to seize me the moment we encounter each other. That is why my main body is rejecting everything at the Tombs of the Star Corridor.”

            “And the reason you want guards, right?” observed Okkotsu.

            “Yes,” confirmed Tengen. “Kenjaku is the second most powerful barrier user after me. I do not know when he’ll undo the seal on the tombs.”

            “Why now?” asked Tsukumo. “Kenjaku prevented a merging with the Star Plasma Vessel and forced your evolution and wants to consume and control you through curse manipulation. He appears to have ties to sorcerers like Sukuna, so he’s been a sorcerer for at least a thousand years. So why now?!”

            Tengen looked down. “I, the Star Plasma Vessel, and the Six Eyes are all connected by fate. In the past, Kenjaku has lost twice to sorcerers of the Six Eyes. The second time, he took no chances and killed the Star Plasma Vessel and Six Eyes less than one month after they were born. Nonetheless, on the day of the merging, the Six Eyes and Star Plasma Vessel appeared. After that, Kenjaku switched to sealing instead of eradicating the Six Eyes and began searched for the Prison Realm because two bearers of the Six Eyes cannot appear at the same time.

            “But then the unexpected happened fifteen years ago. A child was born of a human and a curse, from love, an emotion not known to create cursed energy. And yet a half-curse was born of it.”

[luimagines]

Do time or the other links smoke? Or drink? Or do some kind of drugs? I mean when your out heroing you're going to get alot of traum

Something they all at least somewhat have to try and take the edg off or do they have other ways of coping? I am sorry if this sounds like an ask,i was more along the lines trying to get your speculation on the matter

Masterlist

I see what you're saying and I do think that some of them would have had bad habits in the past but yeah-

They do need some time to take the edge off and refocus themselves in the present, but how do they do that in a healthy and safe way?

Let's talk about that.

I don't think I have all the necessary tags so go forth at your own discretion.

Time

Time would have definitely had a drinking problem that would have started in his Termina days.

He's never really felt the need to drink though- he only found that it would have kept him from going crazy.

But as he got out of there and talked more to Malon (and have his supply cut off- (just because he knew where to get it in Termina doesn't mean he knows where to get it in Hyrule, (nor would they give it to him, even if he did))), I like to think that he would have had to find other ways to calm himself down and think rationally through his thoughts and desires.

It happens by accident.

He was working at Lon Lon Ranch when he needed to go chop some wood and he found the repetitive and strenuous work, soothing.

He felt good. Accomplished even.

And a little disappointed when he was finished.

But he started doing that whenever he could and it became his main way to not only blow off some steam but to also calm himself down.

It helps with his anxiety and his need to help feel useful even when nothing is really happening that would require his assistance.

Twilight

Twilight finds that manual labor actually makes his anxiety worse.

He can't really find it within himself to get lost in it because he's already programmed for that to be a part of his day to day life anyway. So his brain can still go on and on even as he gets his chores done.

Twilight finds that a secluded spot with little distraction works best.

He's never really dabbled in other ways to deal with it nor has it come to his mind.

All he knew one say was that everything was too much and that he needed to be in a different area entirely.

No people, no noise.

He likes to hang out by small creeks or by the lake and fish if he really needs an excuse to do something.

Bonus points if he can rest with one of his favorite goats nearby, but that's few and far in between.

It's less meditation and more taking in the moment and letting time slip by for a change.

No to do lists, no action, no survival, no need to be on the run.

Just breath.

Warrior

Warrior would have smoked during the war but I don’t think he’d actually tolerate it all that well. I feel like he’d be more inclined to drink away his problems but with shortages left and right, and all efforts going into the war, there just wouldn’t be enough to go around.

So he’d smoke and hate it.

But it worked in a pinch.

Afterwards, whether through Mask’s and Wind’s influence or the end of the war, he’d want to find a way to quit.

It wasn’t easy but I feel like Warrior would attempt to quit cold turkey. Just drop the habit completely and what does he do when he feels the need arise again?

It’s actually little said than done, but he paints.

It’s less with ink and paint and more so, just moving his hands and a brush around.

If he happens to have a canvas it’s better but again, not easy to come around.

So what Warrior ends up doing most of the time, is taking a brush and some homemade ink from berries and brushing it over his scars. His favorite spot is the massive burn covering his left arm left behind as a gift from the Dragon Knight.

It feels tingly and electric, static follows the brush and the muscles clench with energy from the contact but while it’s uncomfortable for a while, it’s also not entirely unpleasant and it’s soothing to watch and feel. And it grounds Warrior in the moment until he no longer feels the urge.

When the urge is gone, he still does it when he feel anxious and concerned. Late at night is typical time for him to do this, where no one would see him or his scars and judge him for it.

Sky

Sky in the beginning would have slept more than he did before.

He was already inclined to fall asleep easily before all of his trauma, but afterwards he seemed to lose motivation to continue with the idea that things would go back to normal. There was still a lot of expectation placed on his shoulders and it was frankly not something he wanted to deal with.

So he sleeps.

Now this turns into more of a problem with being able to stay awake and to stay concentrated. It’s hard for him to pay attention to anything beyond him and that won’t do, considering me still has to finish his schooling.

What Sky does more often than not to keep him tethered to the present moment is work with his hands. He’s already had the tools for wood whittling but he was never allowed to use them in class and it ends being a bigger mess sometimes than he’s willing to deal with in general.

Sky also has some small pockets of clay that he fidgets with to keep his hands moving and he can keep it under his desk so that it’s not that distracting in class.

It helps him focus and when he thinks about what he’s been through and what he plans to do next, it keeps him from getting overwhelmed.

Wild

I think Wild would have just gone silent and unmoving when he’s having a bad day.

Kind of similar to how he gets when’s trapped in a memory but for longer and he doesn’t eat or sleep. It could last days at a time. He doesn’t even move unless he’s prompted or dragged to the spot.

The lights are on but no one’s home you know.

There’s not a lot he can do when it happens. Everyone just has to wait for it to pass and hope that it passes quickly.

But Wild gets better with time to know the signs when of one of those days is coming.

It’s not much, but Wild like to hop on the back of his horse and just take off.

Feel the rushing wind on his face and through his hair. He’s a full gallop for a while until the poor horse gets tired. At that point he just goes to the nearest stable and exchanges horses to do the whole thing over again.

Sometimes, when that’s not enough, he’ll go base jumping from as high as he can get even using Revali’s Gale to get higher and free fall. Wild is pretty good at catching himself with his paraglider at the last moment and he likes to see all of Hyrule when as he reaches the ground again.

It reminds him that he’s done a lot of good, that he’s capable of doing more good and that life isn’t over just one ended.

Four

Unsurprisingly, sometimes Four gets too lost in his own for his own good.

He’s got a lot to think about and very little way to get it out.

Four would actually throw himself into his work to try and distract himself from the memories, the anxiety, and the guilt of not being enough time and time again even if he saved the day in the end.

This doesn’t help.

He gets so lost into it, in his attempt to stop thinking all together that he completely goes into autopilot and over works himself. Not in the sense that he pulls a muscle and has to take it easy  or end up sore and tired and regrets it. No, no. What I mean is that he’ll keep working for days on end.

No sleep.

No food.

Little water.

No fresh air.

It ends up being a hard habit for him to break. Especially since he finds himself continuously trying to fall into a blank mindset even while he actually works to get commissions done.

So what Four has to do is find something else to do. Four more or less always has to have his hands moving, so it’s hard for him to put something down and not working on it.

He likes jigsaw puzzles, he likes to read, but he also likes to make stuff.

So in the end, when Four feel a little overwhelmed and feels himself slip into a self deprivational state, he’ll stop and goes inside his house to do a smaller project.

So he bakes, he knits, he does his puzzels. It’s enough for him to feel productive still but quick enough for him to stay present and make sure he’s still taking care of himself until the restlessness passes.

Wind

Wind doesn’t really have bad habits. He’s still young and processing his adventures. 

I’m sure there’s alcohol on the pirate ship because pirates. But I don’t think he’d like it as much as some people want to write him.

Like, sure, a cup or two ain’t bad but I just can’t see Wind having a drinking problem. At least not now as everything stands.

In a few years it’s might be something he would need to be on the look out for if he’s aware enough but he was quite grasped the full implications of his position and trauma yet.

Because he’s just a kid.

He won’t know how twisted what happened to him was until he gets older and can he the age outside of his own mindset.

Wind has nightmares though and they’re ties when he gets memories that he doesn’t want to deal with at the moment- or ever again.

In the moment he thinks of his home, his grandma and his sister instead.

He thinks of his friends, both old and new.

The chain help with distracting him and he’s not above using them for the distraction when he feels that he needs one.

Wind also stretches a lot. 

When he was with Warrior, he got into some of the drills they were teaching the soldiers and for some of the nimble ones, they had to start with stretches and he likes it.

So when it gets particularly bad, he throws himself through the motions and holds the poses for a bit longer than necessary.

So yoga. He does yoga.

And it centers him, it clears his head and he feels better after.

Legend

Legend screams.

Legend cries.

Legend will go on a rampage and destroy a whole forest if he’s having a particularly hard day.

Sometimes he’ll go find something big and scary just to fight it. 

Blacksmithing is more a hobby for him at this point because it’s not something he can actually see himself doing in the future. It’s just to pass the time and help the day’s go by a little faster.

Legend likes to draw and when he’s tired after throwing whatever tantrum has taken over him, he’d go to a quiet spot and draw whatever he sees.

Sometimes, when he’s paying more attention to himself and he can feel himself getting frustrated and anxious, he takes a few days off.

He leaves his house and his items and goes up a mountain to think with some food, a notebook and some pencils.

He takes up map making.

Legend doesn’t think he’s any good at it, but with al the places he’s been, he tries to make a map for them by memory incase anyone he knows or will meet decides to visit.

His most carefully crafted map is of Koholint for... reasons.

It’s takes him an age and a half and he’s still not done with it, trying to get as much of it onto the paper as he can remember before he grows old and loses them entirely within his memory.

It’s a calming project he finds. He doesn’t feel sad when he does this for Marin for the people and their memory. It keeps them alive in his heart and sometimes he draws something on the map that doesn’t quite fit into his memory about the island but something tells him to keep it because it was there. Because he was only a visitor to their home.

The locals would know.

He feels good keeping them alive in some way.

It’s what she they would have wanted. 

It’s what she they deserve.

She They always wanted to travel and it’s better to have a map to do so.

He takes up map making.

Hyrule

I don’t think Hyrule’s... Hyrule has a lot of these methods to go around. He wouldn’t have been exposed to drugs or alcohol simply because there’s too little people for him to interact with.

And if he was, I don’t think he’s use them as a coping mechanism simply because they would be too difficult obtain and gather to be sufficient.

I think that Hyrule would actually hang out with a Great Fairies by her pool when times got particularly rough.

There’s something about the place that resonates with him and feels calming, safe and relaxing to him.

As a bonus he’s always welcomed so he can pop in and stay for days at a time if he ever needed to.

He does not stay there for days.

But he appreciates the offer.

Hyrule doesn’t stay for more than few hours at a time because he doesn’t want to attract any monsters to his safe spots but even if the fairies don’t use any magic on him, he’s always rejuvenated afterwards and he feel like he can take on anything.

And given the world he comes from- it’s needed.

[expectingtofly]

finally free, they drive

2k

day 1 of @thiscastielhasflown and i's follower celebration

prompt: diners/roadtrip

Twenty-four years ago in Mankato, Minnesota, Dean killed a wendigo with a bottle of Jack and a lighter. He told Cas this, how the flames lit the inside of the cave and his dad had to drag him out because he suddenly couldn’t move, how he stayed silent for a week even though his dad begged him to speak.

Seventeen years ago, in Monte Vista, Colorado, Dean burned the bones of a malevolent spirit that sliced a gash through his chest before he could swing an iron crowbar through her foggy figure. As he and Cas passed by the cemetery where he and his dad had dug up her remains, he could almost picture himself standing between the tombstones, his dad tossing him the lighter. Do the honors.

In Evanston, Wyoming, he and Cas stopped to eat at a diner that looked vaguely familiar. As they sat down at a booth in the back, waitress handing them their menus, it hit him.

“Pretty sure Sam and I went through here before.” He couldn’t remember what they'd been hunting. “Years ago. After dad. You know. Passed.”

And Cas was silent a moment before replying, "I wish I’d known you then."

Then he declared he wanted the French onion soup from the specials of the day, like he hadn’t just spoken Dean's thoughts aloud in his uncanny way of knowing exactly what Dean wished for before Dean knew it himself.

Sometimes, while passing semi-trailer trucks on the freeway, when the setting sun glinted off the metal partition between west and east-headed traffic, he wondered what life would’ve been like if he knew Cas when he was twenty-six. When he was so lonely, his chest felt like a vise at night, and he slipped out of mildewed motel rooms to gasp in chilly night air. When he sought out crowded bars because accidental nudges and jostles were substitutes for caresses.

What might’ve changed if he'd known Cas when he was twenty-two, when Sam left for college and Dad left with a cutting, Don't look for me. If, confronted with an angel then, he would’ve been able to believe in good things, if he would've kissed him to not feel so alone.

The radio played Dolly Parton at a diner in Des Moines, a young couple sat at the counter, Cas stacked small containers of strawberry jelly and orange marmalade into a tower, and Dean imagined sitting across from him when he was nineteen. But then Cas looked up at him triumphantly over perfectly balanced preserves, and the what-if's dissolved in a growing warmth in his chest. Cas had been right after all. Good things did happen.

They drove without a destination now that they didn’t need one, changing course frequently, turning off exits to follow signs for roadside attractions, homestyle meals, and scenic overlooks.

Prairie and forest, coast and desert. He'd traveled these roads before, but he was paying attention now. Everything looked different with Cas sitting by his side, when every glance to his right revealed Cas already looking at him.

Re-heated diner leftovers and slices of pie for breakfast, crumbs on the bed, brown bags in the backseat, lunch breaks at rest stops, sitting on the hood to unwrap grease-stained burger wrappers, kept warm from the sun coming through the car’s windows.

Baby had been his home for years. He'd learned her nooks, her curves, how best to settle on the benchseat and tuck his jacket against the door to wake without a crick in his neck.

Moving into the bunker, he'd claimed a room, made a space for every item he owned: a hook for every weapon, a box for every photo, a hanger for every jacket. The concrete walls and sterile bathrooms meant order, control.

He used to be afraid that if he let one item fall out of place, he'd lose his grip on the delicate thread which held him together.

Crackling radio in Omaha, searching for a station. Cassette-tapes pulled out of a box that he hadn’t rifled through since a time when angels were still a myth, god didn’t exist, and death was always close, but not someone they knew by name. Black Sabbath, Motorhead, Metallica. Then, out of Cas' pocket, his own “Top 13 Zepp Traxxs,” which he was surprised to learn Cas still kept, the words on the label faded.

“It was a gift,” Cas said, tucking the cassette into the deck and turning up the volume.

Busy diners where their food took ages to come to their table and Dean doodled on napkins to pass the time. Stuffed them into his pocket and forgot until he pulled them out while looking for change to pay for gas. A tiny Impala, a sun with dashes for rays, sigils, tiny flowers which Cas had added to the corners.

An argument on I-70 and sixty-two miles of tense silence. "If you don't speak to me, I can't understand," Cas said, voice quiet under the whir of tires on the road.

Dean changed lanes, watched a tarp flap over the bed of a pick-up truck. "I don't know how," he admitted.

Cas let out a breath that sounded like relief. "We'll learn."

He learned Cas liked brightly colored shirts labeled with the names of locations they visited, oversized because tight sleeves made him itch. He learned that the strangely named items on diner menus had backstories that owners behind counters were all too eager to share when Cas prompted them. He learned Cas hovered in doorways as if he was waiting to be invited inside, learned Cas knew every upbeat song playing over the radio in gas stations, had nightmares too, could stay silent for seventy miles then speak a thought aloud that left Dean stunned for seventy more.

He taught Cas how to pass the time on roads that stretched to the horizon. Name a movie for every letter of the alphabet. Name three items you'd take to a deserted island. Name everyone we've lost along the way—he didn't mean to begin talking about them, but they seemed closer than ever before on the open road, under a vast, cloudless sky. The wind whisked their names from their mouths, and Dean liked the idea of them still existing, here, around them.

A map open on his lap, Cas circled every town they stopped at, traced their route with a red pen. Folded and unfolded the page until the creases made the snaking lines nearly illegible. "I want to remember," he told Dean, and Dean traced the creases to feel their route under his finger. The steering wheel was warm under his palms, the diner floors sticky under his boots, the motel sheets stiff when he pulled them back from the headboard, and he told Cas, "Pinch me," in the dark of an eighty-dollar-a-night room. Cas touched his face and kissed him instead.

The rocky coast off of Oregon delighted Cas. He rolled up his pant legs, clutched Dean's hand as they walked unsteadily over the slippery rocks to step into the Pacific Ocean. The wind whipped his hair over his face and he pushed back the strands, grinning back at Dean. Sometimes at night, when Cas slept curled into him, Dean looked at the photo he'd taken of him and wished he had a place of their own to frame it.

Long phone calls to family and friends who told them to take their time, do not disturb signs hung on motel doorknobs, winding backroads and detours. He grew out his hair and told Cas he needed a cut. Cas twisted his fingers through the strands, and mused, "I like it." Dean kept it and noticed the strands curled at the ends.

A sign on the highway in Ohio read, "Hell is Real." He still had nightmares. As cornfields passed, Cas recounted seeing his soul for the first time, and sometimes Dean imagined he remembered the safety of Cas' wings as he pulled him out of the depths of Hades.

Cas got sick in Idaho, complained, voice echoing in the toilet bowl, "I told you that diner was not sanitary." Dean rubbed his back and told him he'd write a scathing review. In West Virginia, over a pile of spilled salt and stale fries that were probably nuked behind the counter, Cas told him he loved him. It wasn't for the first time, but his breath still caught in his throat.

They ate fried okra in Oklahoma City, beignets in New Orleans, and Dean requested Earth Angel on a jukebox in a vinyl and chrome diner in Wisconsin. Slid into the booth to press against Cas' side and watch him fill out postcards. Did you know dinosaurs once roamed where the Rockies now stand? Don't know when we'll be back. We bought new cassettes to add to the collection and I convinced Dean to let me choose the music. Still so much we haven't seen.

The magic fingers bed at the King's Court Motel cost four quarters for fifteen minutes—three more than when he was younger, he griped to Cas. The vibrating massage didn't seem quite as relaxing as he remembered, but maybe he was just used to more magical fingers—this he accompanied with an exaggerated wink which made Cas roll his eyes.

The Impala broke down on Route 66, and the asphalt radiated heat as he ducked under the hood. Cas hovered at his side and he realized he didn't have the tools to fix her.

They ate lunch at a mom-and-pop’s restaurant as they waited for the mechanic to finish, and Cas gave him the pickle from his sandwich. "I'm sorry I never asked you to stay," Dean told him and wished he'd said it earlier. "I never wanted you to leave."

Cas gave him a sad smile. "It's in the past." He tapped his foot against Dean's under the table, and Dean hooked his ankle with his foot.

Cas parted the curtains in every motel they slept in, tilted his face to the sun beaming through the windshield, urged Dean to stop for a cardboard sign reading Fresh Strawberries $2. Reruns of The Three Stooges made Dean laugh until he wiped tears from the corners of his eyes, had to catch his breath. This happiness didn't seem so fragile, this time. When they turned on the TV tomorrow night three hundred miles away, The Three Stooges would play into the morning, and when he told Cas he loved him, Cas would say it back.

Crossing over rippling water or curving through wooded land, he and Cas spoke a cabin in the woods, a house on the coast, a home. Dean's head filled with the future instead of the past. Every mile that passed under their tires brought them closer to this dream—or so he thought, until he stopped at a red light, and Cas took his hand, and he realized home sat beside him now.

In a diner in Arkansas, Cas read from a menu, plastic corners curling, and commented, "No matter where we go, every place serves an iceberg wedge salad."

Dean replied, "I think I'm ready to stop driving."

He didn't know where they'd park the Impala for good, but he pictured somewhere with windows, patches of sunlight on the floor. The details didn't matter so much, though, not so long as he had Cas.

"For you to me are the only one," he sang over Robert Plant, glancing at Cas as he turned up the radio, wind whistling through the open windows, road humming under their feet. Happiness, no more be sad, happiness, I'm glad.

[getlostsquidward]

Divine Intervention

Irina Spalko x fem!reader

A/N: For the anon that requested another Irina fic, here you go! <3

Warnings: violence, blood, nudity

Summary: The knowledge-seeking woman gets what she wants, and more.

gif from here

“Tell me everything you know.”

“I want to know everything! I want to know!”

An ominous sound can be heard in the Akator. Debris of rocks from the ceiling was starting to fall, the walls of the temple were rotating, and there was a very bright light coming from above. Akator was slowly deteriorating, but Irina didn’t falter; spellbound by the creatures who will give her the knowledge she always wanted to have. The people around her either got away in time or were sucked in by the spaceship. She stood ground in the middle of the thirteen crystal beings, graciously accepting their great gift.

“Tell me. I’m ready. I want to know!”

A smoke-like thing transferred from their skulls to Irina, passing her the wisdom she so desired.

“I can see. I can see!”

The crystal skeletons started to merge, incorporating to form a body. “Cover it! Cover it!”

Irina was overwhelmed by the knowledge she had gotten. It was too much for her, a human brain to handle; her eyes started to burn, her body disintegrated and turned into ash.

-

Irina was woken up by the blinding ray of the sun peeking in between the tall big trees, in the middle of the woods. She touched her face, her arms, to check for any burns or wounds, but she found none. She also found herself… stark naked. No clothes, no shoes, not even her trusty rapier. Blindly believing that she was alone in this vast forest, she roamed around to find clothes and shelter.

She was incredibly hungry and parched, having walked for hours now. Her feet had small cuts now, her arms with insect bites, due to the absence of garments to protect her body. Yet, she doesn’t plan to stop searching even if the sun is setting down.

It was now dark, but she can slightly see a faint flicker of lights not far ahead. She followed the light, determined to get what she needed even if she had to kill someone if they refused. It was a two-story cabin, inhabited, based on the fruits and vegetables growing outside. She looked around the house, searched for another entrance beside the front door and windows. Irina found a back door, but it was locked. She stared blankly at the doorknob, wishing she had something with her to open the damn door that wouldn’t alert whoever was inside.

The knob clicked. Thinking that someone had opened it from the inside, she shuffled for a fighting stance, ready to attack. When the door didn’t open, she pushed it and peeked inside. There was no sign of people, and the lights were off. She peered in the dark, searched for something she can eat. There was none lying around, and instead, she met was some new shiny appliances.

Her eyes caught the knives in the corner, so she took one, just in case it was needed. The sound of stomping feet from the wooden stairs alerted the Colonel-Doctor. She hid in the dark and waited if the person was threatening enough to kill.

-

You skipped the last two stairs, rushing to the fridge to get a tub of ice cream. You skimmed the items inside, looking for something to snack on while you watch your favourite show. It was rather empty aside from the half-full ice cream tub, and some leftovers. You really have to get groceries tomorrow. As you closed the door, a sharp object was pointed at your neck. You retreat away until your back hit the table. You can faintly see the woman hovering over you thanks to the dim light from the kitchen island.

You slowly raised your hands on your head, “Woah, lady. What do you want? You wanna rob my kitchen? Well, consider this your unlucky day because there’s barely anything ther-“ you stop blabbering as she pressed the knife into your skin.

“I need clothes and food. And tell me what this place is.” Her thick accent sent shivers on your spine.

“Okay. First, this is my house, and well, we’re in the middle of nowhere; and this middle of nowhere is in the Y/C. I will get you clothes, but I need to get upstairs to my room. For the food, there’s a leftover in the fridge. I’ll heat it for you if you want. Please, just please don’t kill me,” you pleaded.

She stepped back enough for you to stand, but her hand grabbed your shoulder as a precaution as if you can outmuscle her. You walked towards the fridge to get her food and put it in the oven. After setting the timer, you head to the stairs, the woman still behind you. Once you got to your room she closed the door abruptly and gave you space to rummage on your closet. You don’t know if your clothes will fit her so you settled on giving her an oversized shirt and one of your comfy shorts. “Here,” you turned around to give her when you finally noticed that she was naked. “What the fu…” your eyes trail down her Alabaster skin, but abruptly faced away when she cleared her throat. Blushing from being caught, you merely tossed the clothes to her.

Gathering your courage to speak, you asked, “Lady, who are you and why are you very nude in my house?” You’re insanely beautiful too, and I mean that with utter respect.

“Irina Spalko. I woke up in the middle of these woods earlier. You can turn around now.” Once you did, she continued, “And thank you.”

“Well, I don’t really mind the company, as long as you don’t kill me, please.”

“Insanely beautiful.”

You stared at her dumbly, "What?”

“You said I’m insanely beautiful,” she said smugly, her lips tugging upwards on a smirk.

Now, what the fuck did she just said? “I- I didn’t say anything like that. You must be hallucinating, Ms. Spalko. Your hunger makes you hear things.” You scurried off downstairs to get as far away from her, and your ice cream. It must have turned to a puddle now.

You set her food on the table and wait as she took her time before following you out. She must be so sure that you wouldn’t take off and call for help.

The princess had finally descended, you thought as you watch her sit at the table and eat silently. “Colonel-Doctor. Not a princess,” she declared. You opened your mouth to speak but remained in an O-shape as no coherent words were coming out. “H-how- what- I- I don’t understand. A-are you a mind reader or something? A witch?”

“Neither. Just… a chosen one.” After that, she paid you no mind and continued eating.

You walked out of the kitchen, fearing that she would hear your thoughts again. Instead, you whispered to yourself, “What have I gotten myself into? I'm like a hostage in my own house, okay. I feel like the main character that dies first in a horror movie.”

You sauntered back in the kitchen and asked the woman, “I take it you’re staying here for the meantime? So do you wanna sleep in the living room or the guest room?” you probed. “I don’t really have much of a choice, do I? If I want to stay alive?”

She only nodded. “Thought so; Uhm, so, where?”

“Guest room.”

“Got it. If you’re finished, just throw the plate into the trash. I’ll ready the room.”

You just finished placing some sheets into the bed when she arrived. “Okay, housemate. Bed’s ready. It’s been a long day for the both of us, and I really wanna sleep now, so let’s settle what we have to settle tomorrow, ‘kay? Good night,” you finished your speech and closed the door. You leaned onto it and breathed out a deep sigh. When did you become such a hospitable host that you just let a dangerous woman into your house?

-

Sleep didn’t come to Irina that night. She tried to remember what happened before she got here. Right. They had returned the skull to Akator; she requested knowledge and they gave it to her. Her brain was overloaded with too much information that she disintegrated. Irina still remembers the excruciating pain, the feeling that someone was drilling holes into her head, the feeling of being burned, but here she was, alive and well. In the middle of nowhere, with someone who looks very vulnerable. You proved to be of use to her, so she won’t harm you… as of now.

Her mind drifted to you. How was she able to read what was on your mind just by sparing you a glance? Before, she needed to be close to the person as possible before she can read them. Her psychic abilities had her family ostracized; the reason she sought knowledge and her purpose. How about the doorknob? Did she do it? Did the interdimensional beings amplified her abilities, and possibly gave her more?

How many days have passed since she was in Akator?

64 years.

At first, she couldn’t comprehend how time had passed, seeing as she didn’t age one bit. But since Irina had encountered aliens herself, nothing was odd for her anymore.

“So you’re saying you’re from the ’50s?”

“Yes.”

“How did that happen?” you curiously asked. “I mean, one day, you’re in a temple in the ’50s, then you woke up in the woods in 2021?” she nodded. “Actually, you know what, whatever. I believe you. The world is in shambles right now and I wouldn’t be surprised anymore if aliens were real,” you finished as you parked your car.

“Here’s the deal, Irina. You’re a woman out of time, and so much had changed since you… since then,” you paused, “And you’re a very physical woman. Like I think if someone bumped their cart onto you you’ll tackle them to the ground, and I don’t wanna cause a scene. So, stick with me, please.”

So far, so good. Irina wasn’t causing a scene yet, except when she snatches out the item you were holding. She was intently reading the label and then muttering about how it wasn’t good for the body and then putting it back on the shelf.

The cart was nearly full; mostly food, toiletries, and some tools. Irina didn’t add anything save for a toy sword. Okay.

She was mostly quiet, but you see that her eyes silently wander around the place, on the people around, frequently landing on you. You spent shopping in comfortable silence, letting her absorb the state of the world. She may be listing off her questions in her head and then ask about them later.

You look at your grocery list and cart simultaneously, checking if you’ve got everything you needed. As you confirm that you’ve had, you gasped as Irina took your hand into hers and laced your fingers together. You looked at your joined hands, feeling how warm and soft her hand is. You remembered that she can read minds, so you jokingly asked, ‘What hand cream do you use?’, testing her ability once again.

“There are two men following us since we got out of the car. I doubt you noticed, but good thing you take so long in every aisle, I was able to confirm that they were indeed following us,” she whispered, her hot breath tickling your ears. “They intend to steal from you.”

Fear taking over you, you stammered “Oh. Stealing in the light of day, okay, uh can’t you do anything to them? Any more abilities? Clearly, you can defend yourself based on how you introduced yourself last night.”

“I could, but you said you didn’t want to cause a scene. And I wasn’t certain until now.”

“Yeah, I take that back. Do what you have to. I trust you.”

Irina found this as an excuse to measure her abilities. You continued to act normal, proceeding to the counter to pay for your groceries. They have no idea that you and Irina have noticed them already. The men split up, keeping themselves at a distance, as one queued at the counter beside yours. The other had gone out of your sight.

She planned to lure them into the alley at the back of the shop. Once you arrived, she had noticed the other man nonchalantly leaning on the wall ahead, waiting for you. You continued to walk slowly until you felt the second man behind you, effectively trapping the both of you in the middle of the back alley. The moment they got near, the man behind spoke, “You, the one with the bags. Give me your money,” he hissed, referring to you. “Your phone and keys. And no one will get hurt.”

You would’ve run for the life of you if there wasn’t another man waiting on the other side, flipping a knife. Eyes locked on Irina, you patiently wait for her instruction, hoping she wouldn’t turn on you and leave you alone.

“I won’t,” she murmured, side-eyeing either man at your side.

The Ukrainian wasn’t sure if her hunch was right, but if she wasn’t, she could still take both men with bare hands. She stared at the knife and envisioned it impaling on his stomach. The man’s grunt had confirmed her hunch as red stained his clothes, and blood trickled to the ground. She then pulled the knife out and willed it to pierce through the other man’s thigh. Once he was down on his knees, Irina’s hand that never left yours yanked you to run to your car. She gave them a last glance and hurled their bodies to the wall for safe measure.

Afraid that someone might have seen what happened, you started the car immediately and drove out. None of you spoke until you’re sure that you are far enough from the store. “What the fuck?” you blurted, adrenaline still coursing through you. “Did you- did you do that? No, no don’t answer. You definitely did. Uh, telekinesis and mind-reading? Any additional powers you’re hiding?”

You glanced at her, her eyes straight on the road. “Because if you’re planning to stay in my house for God knows how long, you might wanna tell me about them.”

She was silent for a while, contemplating her answer. “I don’t know if there’s more.”

When you didn’t respond, she told you everything that had happened to her since she was a child. How they were exiled in their village when her psychic abilities had manifested, how her own mother feared her for her naïve innocence, which led her to flee the village and search for answers.

You listened attentively, though lost yourself when she mentioned that she was part of the Soviet Union. You only hear and see on the internet how these people were trained, and uneasiness was creeping up. Her intentions weren’t clear; she hadn’t yet thought about what she’s going to do now that she’s in a society she outgrew.

When she noticed that you trailed off, she spoke, “I don’t use a hand cream.”

It was a good thing that you’re not stepping on any pedal right now because you would have pressed the brakes heavily. You raised your brow at her, amused, and a chuckle coming out from you. Though her eyes were still cold and impassive, a genuine smile tugged from her lips.