#like I’m never wrong about anything apparently it turns out I’m just a vessel for truth

[normanbased]

there’s a lot of stuff in that book that I think is 100% just the author bashing Tony nearer the latter half of his life/career, and it has some honestly really strange language in parts, so I’m not entirely sure I’d recommend it — but some of the early interviews with his partners/friends and the pre-Psycho (even pre-film debut) stories are fun to read about!!

Regardless, I got all the info I needed 😭🙏 and I STRAIGHT UP don’t care if it’s not true, I’m taking it as gospel. Ain’t like Tony’s around anymore to challenge it 💀💥

[phantomwritezstuff077]

The Runt - Billy the Kid

Warnings for this chapter: Jesse Evans, swearing, slight misogyny?, mentions of abuse, PTSD

Chapter Ten

The next day, Laurie, Billy and Pat galloped through the plains in the direction of where Jesse and his gang were apparently now residing. Artax whinnied with glee upon feeling the wind in his mane, tossing his head around like an energetic colt with a snort. This caused Laurie to smile a little bit, she was feeling incredibly nervous about reuniting with Jesse, so it felt nice to have her best friend distract her for a moment, but she couldn’t help but let her mind wonder back to how Jesse might react to seeing her after all these months.

Would he be mad at her?

Would he hate her more than he already did before she left?

As they approached the ranch, a man stood up with a shotgun, he seemed ready to shoot them dead until he recognized Pat and called out to his buddies, letting them know that their comrade had returned with guests. Artax skidded to a stop as Laurie turned to Billy, she was visibly nervous and Billy could tell right away. The outlaw gave her a reassuring smile and nod, letting her know that it’ll be okay. It helped a little bit but it did not completely calm her nerves.

“Jesse, you may wanna come out here,” a man that Laurie immediately recognized as Bob called out into the house, taking a drag of his tobacco filled cigarette as he did so. Laurie took a deep breath, stroking her horse's fur as she waited for Jesse to come out. Her heart was pounding and she felt like her blood vessels were going to burst due to the adrenaline. 

Jesse walked out of the house, a cigar in his mouth. It was hard to tell what he was thinking when he saw Laurie and Billy on their horses, standing side-by-side. Laurie took another deep breath before she spoke.

“Hi, Jesse,” she said, adjusting Artax’s reins in her hands. Jesse didn’t say anything as he took a drag of his cigarette, Laurie recognized the gaze that was plastered on Jesse’s face.

And it was safe to say that the blond son of a bitch was beyond pissed at her. 

“We met Pat Garret here out on the road, minding our own business,” Billy jumped in, trying to take Jesse’s glare away from the already nervous teenager. Jesse just hummed in response as Billy looked around at the small ranch. “It’s a neat little hideout.”

“Oh, I like it. Real private,” Jesse answered, throwing away his cigarette, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walked over. “You remember the boys?”

“Sure do,” Billy answered, his horse subtly taking a step forward, almost acting like a shield for Laurie. “This okay, Jesse?”

Jesse simply smiled at Billy, nodding his head. “Sure it is, Kid. I’m really glad to see you, Billy. And I’m even more happy to know that Lauren is safe.”

“She prefers Laurie,” Billy said to Jesse, who simply nodded with a shrug.

“Surely fate’s brought us back together again,” Jesse continued, “You gonna ride with us this time?” Jesse looked over at Laurie. “And actually stay with us?”

“Depends, you gonna treat Laurie like a human bein’ now?,” Billy asked, glancing at Laurie and then at the cow that was in the process of being prepared for food. “Also depends on what you’re cookin’.”

“Rustling John Chisum’s cattle. You’ve heard of John Chisum? They call him the Cattle King of America. He’s got cattle here in Texas, in New Mexico, all over Lincoln County. He is one rich son of a bitch, and we’re making good money selling his cattle to the army,” Jesse replied, “And as I’ve said before. I am gonna make it my life’s mission to make it up to Lauren for how I treated her. It was wrong.” He paused for a moment. “You two back in?” 

Laurie immediately called bullshit, she knew he didn’t regret a single thing when it came to how he treated her. Men like that never feel bad for what they do to the people who trusted them. But she nodded, saying yes for Billy’s sake. Because either it was to stay with the gang or go to some shitty orphanage. 

The red headed girl dismounted Artax, stroking the stallion’s neck before gently leading him to the water trough where she began to untack him. She gently tugged the bridle off of his face, giving him a mint before hanging it up on the fence post when she heard someone behind her. Laurie had memorized footsteps long enough to recognize it was Jesse who was approaching her. The young teenager whipped her head around to face him, she was still like a jumpy doe because of him.

“Runt,” Jesse said.

“Jesse,” Laurie sighed, hearing the all too familiar nickname never got any easier. Artax pinned his ears upon seeing Jesse, the stud never liked Jesse and the feeling was mutual on Jesse’s end as well.

“The hell were you thinkin’, running off like that?,” he hissed. Laurie took a slight step back, afraid that he would hit her again.

No, he wouldn’t do that.

Not when there were so many witnesses.

“I’m sorry, okay?,” Laurie responded, swallowing as she turned back around, undoing the cinch on Artax’s saddle. Jesse would’ve said more if Billy didn’t walk over to them, leaning on the fence as he tilted his head to the side.

“Just getting reacquainted,” Jesse reassured, seeing the look of suspicion on Billy’s face. Billy nodded, the look on his face screamed ‘better be.’ 

Laurie removed Artax’s saddle and rested it on the fence before gently putting a rope over the horse’s neck and leading him into the small pasture, but Artax didn’t leave Jesse unharmed. The stud purposefully stood on his foot and once that was done, he swished his tail, directly hitting Jesse in the face, whinnying in amusement. Laurie giggled quietly, secretly giving him a treat for that as she let him go into the pasture. 

ⅠⅠⅠⅠ

Later that night, Laurie sat at a table with Billy, eating her dinner quietly while the two friends engaged in conversation. She wasn’t really contributing anything but she knew that the two older men knew that she was there and that she was also listening. 

“What happened to Barbara?,” Billy suddenly asked, Laurie lifted her head upon the name. Even though Barbara did little to nothing to stop the ongoing abuse that Laurie would receive from Jesse, she also couldn’t help but wonder what happened to her, especially because she hadn’t seen her around. 

“Oh, you know, she, uh… moved on,” Jesse explained, “She left not long after Lauren ran off.”

“Moved on to where?,” Billy asked, wanting to know more as Laurie reached over, taking his whiskey and drinking it. 

“If you must know, she got herself a job as a schoolteacher,” Jesse sighed, getting a little annoyed at the constant stream of questions about his ex. “Can you imagine that? Miss Jones.”

Laurie shrugged, putting the bottle down and sharply inhaling. Her head becoming fuzzy as the alcohol clouded her mind, she shook her head, feeling rattled. SHe really needed to stop stealing drinks.

“Actually, I can,” Billy chuckled, smiling a little bit at the thought.

“Is that right?,” Jesse responded, “You didn’t think for a second that she was too beautiful just to waste her life as a teacher in school?”

“It ain’t a waste, Jesse,” Billy countered, adjusting his posture in his seat. “There are plenty of kids out there who would kill to be able to learn how to do stuff like readin’. Besides, Barbara was always a teacher. Shit, I think she taught me and you more than we could ever know.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Jesse scoffed, “What do you figure you can learn from a teacher in school you can’t find out for yourself?”

“Reading,” Laurie suddenly said, the alcohol she had just consumed making her a lot more confident now.

Jesse just shrugged once more, not really wanting to hear anymore of this as he got up. Billy looked over at Laurie, confused at her newfound confidence but when his eyes landed on the whiskey bottle he shook his head.

“Lightweight,” he sighed, standing up and helping the drunk teenager to her feet, taking her to where she would be sleeping that night. 

A/N:

LAURIE IS MY BABY

Artax's beef with Jesse is my new favorite thing ever

Will Laurie find her Mama? Or is she gonna remain motherless?

Tag:

@slutforsnow

[shadowofroses]

Jujutsu Kaisen

No pairing

Warnings: Language, Gojo is his own Warning, Sakuna is his own Warning, Satoru’s future daughter. Randomness

Part 2

Story idea:

Gojo (Name) snow white haired woman with (Color) eyes, Inherited the 6 eyes, not Limitless. At least you thought you didn’t get limitless you never managed to master it. There was only so long Satoru could keep you a secret. Especially since your mother wasn’t too bright and gave you the Gojo last name on paperwork.

That painted a pretty little target on your head ever since you were born.

Changing your last name wouldn’t help either due to the fact that paperwork for it to change existed.

Especially when you were dumped at Jujutsu High as an infant, paperwork and all.

You were a bright girl, the only thing you weren’t expecting is to randomly coming across a Cursed user that managed to send you back in time.

What was worse? You were now in a time where the Cursed user that sent you back wasn’t even born yet.

Popping out of no where in the middle of a Volcano Domain, you blinked when suddenly you were brought into Limitless. You stared at a white haired man talking to a Volcanic head curse, with a teen in his other hand.

You watched as a blue eye locked onto yours. The Pink haired teen shocked by your presence as well. Next thing you knew the Domain was gone, and the Curse’s head was underneath Satoru’s foot. “I’ll deal with you in a second.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Cool it Pops, If there was anything for you to deal with you should have wrapped it before you tapped it.” He raised an eyebrow as well at that. “I simply took a wrong turn in Aberquercie”

“Huh?”

Later on:

“Uh Gojo…”

“What?” Both you and Satoru responded causing the man to look down at you. “You want me to believe you’re a Gojo?”

You only deadpanned, “What you can’t tell with your “Special Eyes?” Shoko is already working on the blood test you said.” Yuji was holding on to the cursed corpse while watching you two. You looked around, “What, can’t afford to give us a boardgame, at least give Us Uno or something.”

Satoru sighed, “You two have movies, isn’t that good enough?” As his phone rung and he picked it up, “Gojo here.”

You rolled your eyes, and looked to Yuji, which he looked back, “So do we have Human Earthworm 2 at least? I’ve been itching for a classic.”

Yuji’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, “Hell ya we d—-“ You watched as the Corpse landed a punch in his jaw and you winced at the impact.

“Yeah….sorry about that…”

Yuji only grumbled, “It’s fine I’m used to it.” Moving to put the tape in when Satoru hopped onto the couch between the two of you, placing his arms around your shoulder and Yuji’s.

“So, I’M A FATHER! You going to congratulate me?”

“WHA-“ Yuji got sucker punched again.

Satoru laughed and wrapped his arms around you from the side, and wiggled, “Apparently (Name) here is my daughter~ Why didn’t you tell me?”

You raised an eyebrow. “I called you Pops.”

Satoru’s mouth rounded, “OOOOH. So what landed my beautiful Princess here?” You noticed an eye open on Yuji’s cheek and you didn’t acknowledge it.

“Curse User I was fighting had the ability to time travel and here I am.”

“Time Travel?! Hohoho, find him for me so that I can go back and kick some Sorcerers ass for locking me away. Or hell to find a better Vessel!” You tilted your head towards Yuji as you saw another mouth.

“One, this is what….2018? That Curse User isn’t born yet, and I don’t think he knew what year or time he sent me to, the kid panicked cause he thought I was about to kill him.

Satoru wiggled his fingers at the eye, “No Gojo would help you out in that way Sukuna.”

However you shrugged, “I’m about as big of a wild card you are Satoru…”

“ITS DAD, POPS, FATHER, DADDY NOT SATORU TO YOU YOUNG LADY!”

Of course he was no different from your time. For some reason you found the younger version with the same personality to be draining. “Just for that I’m helping out Sukuna.”

“Heh.” From Sukuna as Yuji sipped from his can of soda. “YOU’RE GROUNDED!” From Satoru.

[vortship]

@normalestxhumanxzim​ con’t from discord

Zim stared as she spoke, Zim stared for what felt like almost TWO YEARS, eleven months, and TEN DAYS. Perhaps it even was that long to him. He listened, though as Zim did it was mostly for the sake of finding any moment and any reason to interject. After all, Zim's best method of convincing people to do what he wanted them to do was to just insult them repeatedly. To his credit, this mostly worked, but not for the reasons perhaps he thought they did. Nevertheless, Hal was allowed to explain herself. He partially also had to consider what a dweezil was. Perhaps it was good actually? He'd have to look into it.

"GRRRR, I KNOW WHAT YOUR NUMBER IS!!!" The irken shouted back, narrowed angry eyes glowered directly into her soul. He had no idea what her number actually was and paused for a moment, expecting her to call his bluff for some reason. A bluff that was only particularly relevant to him and him alone.

Seemingly punctuating Zim's statement, one of the nacelles had fallen off of voot, collapsing off of its hull unceremoniously and simply rolling off the landing pad and exploded, much to Gir's apparent joy. The invader exhaled a brief sigh of exhaustion before gathering himself and continuing. "Anyway, heheh... I'M NOT GETTING ANOTHER SHIP!!!"

Zim exploded, edging closer to Hal. "Children like you these days have NO concept of value! Though perhaps nothing else could have been expected from a... Filthy VORT!" It was clear Zim had to think for a moment on which xenophobic insult to use, he really settled on that, huh? "The V2 may be an older ship, but its strategic value is unparalleled. You don't need personality matrixes if you're a skilled enuff pilot anyway!" Zim recalled singlehandedly piloting super amazingly through an astroid field, keeping up with Tak. Forgetting the parts where he almost died. "Besides, back before you were even born I was modifying my voot, piece by piece. To say that it even resembled the V2 is sheer ignorance. Besides, when I was being chased by those HORRIBLE, horrible space monkeys on Lebuloan nine, IT TOOK OUT THEIR WHOLE INTERCEPTOR FLEET!!!" Clearly, he was quite proud of this thing. "We're fixing it and YOU'RE HELPING!!!"

Her number... now that she thought about it was that even a thing? They'd always just barked 'Nima!' at her when the guards wanted her attention; tall, intimidating Irken soldiers. Sometimes it was hard to remember Zim himself was one of them, minus the tall part. Perhaps her mind should be falling on that whole gratitude thing again. It could be worse, it could always be worse. Zim might be Irkens at their most maniacal, but he wasn’t Irkens at their most awful. 

Ones and zeros... ones and zeros. 

That’s all they were, right? No matter how much they seemed like people. They were nothing but vessels of war and misfortune, this one was no different. Folding her arms, the child flinched as a piece of Zim’s precious Voot exploded right in front of them. A look of shock turned into an annoyed glance at her screaming ‘boss’.

“You need another ship! What’s wrong with just getting their ‘snackliests’ to send you one!?”

For that matter, why did their ‘snackliests’ never check in much? She had a lot of questions, none of which she at all trusted Zim to answer. What did they want with Earth anyway? It was so far from basically everything. It didn’t even have any other habitable planets around it! And it’s people could barely visit their own moon. She quirked a brow at Zim’s reminiscing. Everybody knew Irken tech was just Vortian tech with red paint, running about a hundred cycles behind. 

“Children like me? You sound like a sad old man.” she teased, “I never said anything about the personality matrix! That would just make more you... which sounds awful!”

Her mind wandered to Halship and she shuddered. No. No personality matrixes ever. Ugh, now he had her yelling. Just a big yell-off. They happened at least once a day. Before she was even born, huh? Zim in a Hal-less world. It was probably much quieter. She wondered if he’d hated Vortians back then too, or if it was a hivemind thing brought about from conquering them.

“Ugh fine.” what choice did she have, really?, “But we’re listening to K-Pop the entire time, really loud.” 

[quaranmine]

The Babysitting Game

They say it takes a village to raise a child. Well, Grian doesn't have a child but he does have an egg and a village. That’s basically the same thing, right?

Grian acquires an egg. His friends help him.

No romantic relationships or content warnings. Mainly fluff! Hermits: Grian, Mumbo, Pearl, and Scar. My first publish fanfic since 2016 and my first hermitcraft fanfic :D ao3 link and some inspirations to be linked in a reblog

Words: 2862

•·················•·················•

"What if I touched it really quick?" Scar asked.

"No, don’t-don’t touch the egg," Grian said seriously. "Look, I even made a sign! It specifically says ‘Do not touch.’" He gestured to the sign in question, but Scar ignored him.

"Can I rub it?" he said. The man leaned over it, studying the object carefully. Grian hadn’t known where to place the egg when he got it, and it was just sitting on an anvil for the time being. He didn’t even have a starter house yet, but clearly he was going to need something soon if he was going to protect the egg from some of the more . . . mischievous residents of their Boatem village.

“No, don’t touch the egg! Scar-” Grian walked closer, hands outstretched, just in time to see Scar reach out with his hand and pat the egg.

Vworp!

The egg disappeared into thin air.

Dragon eggs had a tendency to do that. It was a survival tactic--Grian didn't really know how it worked, but just as endermen could teleport away from danger, so could the egg if it were touched. Now whether or not Scar was dangerous remained up for debate…

Scar giggled. "Oh, where did you go?" he sang, hunting around the area.

Well, he COULD be pretty scary sometimes.

"Scarrrr," Grian whined, helping him look. "I told you not to touch it!"

"It's over here!" Scar shouted, finding the egg at the bottom of a small slope nearby. "Just one more time…." He reached out again.

"No!" Grian said, slapping his hand away. "Look, you've got to pick it up the right way." He demonstrated, carefully lifting the egg and placing it in a pouch slung over his back. He had hurriedly stitched it together not too long ago, worried that transporting the egg normally might break it. “If you do it roughly, you’ll scare it and it’ll teleport away again.”

"I see!" said Scar.

"Now, please, don't touch the egg.”

"Oh," Scar said. He straightened. "You're really serious about this."

Grian glared. "I am."

"I'm sorry, I just thought it was funny!"

Grian sighed. "It's okay, Scar. It's just--this thing is a baby, it needs to be handled gently! You can't just go around scaring it! What if it falls into a hole or something?" he hissed.

"Oh my god," Scar laughed, "you're its mother now!"

"No, no, I'm not!"

"You are!" Scar cried. He suddenly stopped. "Oh no, didn't you kill its mother?"

"Well it doesn't know that!" Grian snapped. "Truthfully I didn't realize there would be an egg! And I couldn't just leave it, you know! Here, look at this." Grian gently withdrew the egg from its pack, and Scar moved closer. He held it up to the sun. "Look at that."

The sun shined dark red through the deep purple shell of the egg, making it glow within. In the middle, the silhouette of a curled up creature was illuminated. Blood vessels radiated outward, and at the bottom there was a blank space that Grian assumed was air. The egg’s shell was too thick for any detail to be made out, but the processes happening within were clear. Grian was enchanted with it.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

"Wow," Scar breathed. "There's actually a dragon in there! What're you gonna do with it after it hatches?"

"Well, I haven't exactly thought that far--I just want to worry about keeping it safe first. I mean, what do you even do with this thing?" Grian put the egg back in its satchel, and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I suppose you keep it warm and safe but, like, I don't know what else-"

"I could help!" Scar said.

"You were just playing with it!"

"Hey," Scar said defensively, "that was before I knew more about it!"

Grian rolled his eyes.

“What are you guys doing over here?” said Mumbo, wandering over. Grian just knew he’d been up to something, and sure enough, there was a new tree next to his little collection of chests. Grian wasn’t very bothered by it, because he already had a plan to get Mumbo back for it.

“Grian is just showing me his new baby!” Scar teased. “He’s a mom now.”

“I am NOT its mother,” replied Grian tiredly, but he smiled at the sight of the other man.

“A baby?” Mumbo asked, choosing to ignore the rest of Scar’s statement.

“A dragon egg,” Grian answered. “I found it in the End.” He paused for a moment, feeling almost bad. “After I killed the dragon.”

“Grian! You’ve orphaned it!” Mumbo sounded scandalized.

“Why do you all keep bringing that up!?” he defended, glancing between Mumbo and Scar, who both gave him disapproving, albeit playful, looks. “I know you’re Mr. Peace, Love and Plants this time, but we’ve always killed the dragon in every new world!”

“Well, I guess that’s true, but it is a little sad isn’t it? You’re taking care of it but only because you killed its mum.”

“Yeah,” was all Grian said. The dragon always needed to be taken care of in each new world they visited, and while it was always a bit of a shame, he’d never really contemplated it that much. After all, he normally wasn’t the one who fought it--that last time in Evo aside. He didn’t really know what he had gotten into but he felt deeply like he needed to protect this egg. It was like a tug in his chest, drawing him into the egg and telling him not to let go.

“Show him the egg!” Scar said.

“You just want to see it again,” Grian replied, but pulled the egg out of the satchel again anyway for Mumbo to see. The surface of the egg wasn’t smooth, like a chicken’s egg, but bumpy. The purple spots almost seemed to glow, and occasionally little violet particles drifted off of it. Grian felt like he could stare at it in awe all day, and apparently his friends felt the same.

“How’re you going to keep it warm?” asked Mumbo after a moment of admiring it. “That satchel isn’t going to be enough, and to be frank, I don’t see you spending any time sitting on it, even if the mental image is pretty funny.”

Grian rolled his eyes at the comment, but thought about it. How would he incubate it? He may have had wings, but he didn’t know anything about eggs, other than that it was a safe bet to assume it needed to be kept warm. “I'm not sure, actually.”

“Hey, let me design something for you!” Mumbo said excitedly. “I could probably use some redstone and make an incubator of some sort for you.”

Grian smiled. “I’d really appreciate that.”

Asking Mumbo to create a contraption for him--what could go wrong?

•·················•·················•

“I’m not wearing this thing, you know.” Grian said, holding the contraption while Mumbo wheezed with laughter in the background. The design that Mumbo had come up with was essentially a backpack with heating elements strung through it, except for one thing . . .

“You-you wear it in the front,” Mumbo choked out, wiping a tear from his eyes.

“Yes, I see that,” Grian replied, unamused.

“Like a swaddle!”

“Yes, I see that.”

Mumbo laughed harder. Grian had to begrudgingly admit that it was well designed, however. It would fit the egg perfectly, keep it warm, and most important it was mobile to ensure that he could take the egg with him. It was thoughtful, especially since Mumbo knew Grian was quite protective of it.

“I’m not wearing this thing,” Grian repeated. “I’m not going to let you all laugh at me while I walk around the server with an egg swaddled to me!”

“I thought you’d say that,” Mumbo chuckled. “Here, you can switch the straps around and turn it into a backpack.” He unclipped the straps and moved them into the new configuration.

“Thank you, Mumbo,” he said gratefully. “This will certainly do the trick.”

“Glad to hear it mate,” Mumbo replied. “Now, while you’re here, may I ask why there is an incredibly tall tree on top of my camper?”

“Sorry, got to go!” blurted Grian, snatching the backpack from Mumbo’s arms and flying off in a burst of feathers.

“That’s unfair, I don’t even have an elytra yet to go chase him down with,” muttered the man as he watched Grian disappear.

•·················•·················•

Grian sat in the grass in front of his starter home and rubbed his eyes wearily. He was exhausted. Is this how all parents feel? he wondered. Was he just uniquely unqualified to be one? After all, this was only an egg! It hadn’t even hatched yet and he was already tired of keeping up with it.

Carrying it in the backpack was heavy, and Grian tired out quickly. It was hot on his back, and Grian found himself having to take breaks to avoid overheating. It was also cumbersome, and he found it difficult to build with as it shifted his weight. He almost fell off the roof once while building it! Of course, having wings meant that Grian could catch himself easily, but it had still given him quite the scare. Dragon eggs were pretty sturdy, and would teleport themselves out of danger if possible, but he was still so paranoid about breaking it. And now there was the Boatem Hole to worry about--what if it teleported itself into the void? These things kept Grian awake at night.

But if he left it...well, just like Grian had a tendency to lose items in his chest monsters, he also had a tendency to forget where he placed things. He had been forced to go back and rescue the egg from some place he’d left it more than once, which he wasn’t exactly proud of. What sort of parent forgot their child?

. . . He was definitely not admitting to being its parent.

Oh God, what did I get myself into?

“Hey Grian, what’re you up to?” came a voice, interrupting his thoughts. He looked up and saw Pearl standing over him. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and her hands were in her hoodie pockets. She took a seat on the ground next to him, and followed his gaze overlooking the Boatem village. “What’s on your mind?”

“This--this egg,” said Grian. It sat next to him in its backpack, still radiating heat. “I don’t know what to do with it. I’m just so tired of carrying it around!”

“I have to admit,” Pearl said, “I didn’t expect you to immediately adopt a baby dragon the very next time I saw you.”

“Yeah, well, it was an accident.” Grian groaned. “I don’t know what to do with it now, let alone when it hatches!”

Pearl thought for a moment. “You know, the rest of us are all here for you. The other hermits would be happy to help out, I’m sure.”

The other hermits . . . well of course they would. If it was one thing they were all good at, it was supporting each other. Scar had already taken a particular interest in the egg, although Grian was still a little suspicious of him scaring it again. Mumbo had specially designed an incubator for it. Pearl was visiting him to check up on him and offer help.

All Grian had to do was convince himself to let it go. To let them help.

“I know that but . . .”

“But what? Have you had any reason to believe they wouldn’t?” Pearl asked.

“Well, no.” He thought for a while. He thought of how his friends would lend materials when needed, or how they’d help replace someone’s armor and items if they were lost. He thought about the days where they all teamed up and chose one hermit to help out, and he thought about all the things they did for the good of the entire community without even being asked.

His desire to protect the egg was strong, and putting it into the hands of another person almost felt like simultaneously a betrayal of the egg itself and the biggest leap of faith he could take. But the hermits were good at leaps of faith, because someone was always there to catch you.

“You think it’d be okay?”

“I know it’ll be okay,” Pearl replied. “I haven’t been here very long but from what I’ve seen, I know they’d all help. They wouldn’t hurt it. They might be a little mischievous sometimes,” she said, glancing at Scar’s house, “but they know how important it is and would be happy to help. They helped you before, didn’t they?”

Pearl was right, of course. Nobody on the server had any desire to hurt the egg. He trusted that. If there was anyone that he could trust, it was them.

But how would he get them all to essentially sign up for babysitting?

An idea struck him, and Grian scrambled to his feet. “Pearl, you’re brilliant. Thank you!”

She blinked, a little startled. “Always happy to help.”

•·················•·················•

Grian stood back, admiring his work. A near perfect duplicate of the egg that was currently sitting in the backpack slung around his shoulder, but at a much larger scale. It was built out of obsidian blocks and crying obsidian for the spots, and if Grian was pretty proud of how it looked.

If Grian knew anything, it was that his friends loved minigames. And Grian was not above gently exploiting that fact to get a little help--just like barge game from the last world, where he managed to get his friends to help mine out the stone from next to his mansion. Just slap the title of “game” on something and you could get a hermit to sign up for anything.

“Now . . . I just have to write the signs on the inside.”

The game Grian had come up with was officially called Tegg--he needed to stay on brand with his tag games in every world--but he’d mentally been calling it “The Babysitting Game” for a while now. Because that’s what it really was--each hermit who signed up would also sign up to watch the egg and keep it safe. He set to work outlining the rules.

RULE ONE: Protect the egg and keep it safe.

RULE TWO: Keep the egg incubated or it’ll die.

RULE THREE: Keep a close eye on the egg.

RULE FOUR: Call Grian if it starts to hatch.

Satisfied, he wrote out the rest of the instructions. Because it was a game, he wanted to make it fun for the hermits too, so he’d decided to make it like a scavenger hunt. People were allowed to take the egg, provided they adhered to the rules, and were encouraged to hide it and keep it safe. Otherwise, someone else who wanted to have it could get it. The safer the egg was, the less likely for someone else to find it. The winner was whoever had the egg the longest when it finally hatched. Grian didn’t know how long that would take, but he didn’t want to miss it either, hence rule four.

Yep, totally outsourcing his babysitting onto his friends.

Grian squinted at his wall of signs, before placing one final sign at the bottom: Grian will track the game and has final say on points and rules!

“That should do it,” he mumbled. He still wanted to keep an eye on the egg, to make sure that he knew who had it and how many people’s hands it had gone through. After all, he was the one ultimately responsible for it.

Grian pulled the egg out of the backpack and carefully placed it on the ground. He’d somehow made a habit of just speaking to it every now and then--he had no idea if the little dragon could hear anything in there, but he liked to think that it could. “Hey there,” he whispered, and stroked the top of the egg. “Some new people are going to start taking you pretty soon, but it’s okay. They’re going to give me some help and make sure you’re safe.”

He paused, taking in the little room he’d made and the wall of signs he’d written with meticulous instructions for the egg’s care. It may have been the first thing he’d built for this egg, but he had a feeling it wouldn’t be his last. A baby dragon was a commitment and for the first time Grian really let himself think about what that meant, beyond just an egg that he had to carry around. Would he house it? Train it? Let it stay by his side? Would he love it?

I think I already do, he thought.

He thought of the hermits--their mischievousness, their pranks, their hard work, their friendship, and their goodness at heart. They were his family, now. What was one more addition?

“It’s okay,” he whispered to the egg. “I trust them all with my life, but more importantly, I trust them with yours.”

[robininthelabyrinth]

lwj never really forgives his family's involvement in the siege, how does this manifest during the thirteen years?

If it had only been the pain in his back, the agony of punishment and icy chill of his family’s disappointment, Lan Wangji might have put it aside; he was accustomed to matters of discipline, and had known what he was likely bringing down on his own head when he had done what he did.

He knew his family loved him and only wanted the best for him, even if –

Even if.

But when Lan Wangji ran away from the jingshi to look for himself, finding only a small child, feverish but still capable of a little bit of babbling, still able to tell the story of what had happened – when he found the traces of blood on the ground, Wei Wuxian’s from when his power had backlashed on him – when he saw the bodies in the blood pool, already rotting –

They had kept this from him.

They had kept this from him on purpose.

They had all known.

For the first time in his life, Lan Wangji didn’t want to go home.

He knew he didn’t have a choice, of course. He had nowhere else to go, and the boy’s fever needed to be treated – but he didn’t want to go home.

“Is he all right?” a voice asked from behind him.

Lan Wangji turned, surprised: it was Jiang Cheng, who might very well rank at the top of people he didn’t want to see right now. He had led the siege against Wei Wuxian –

He looked awful.

Eyes full of broken blood vessels, with deep circles beneath them; skin sallow, even grey, as if he’d been stabbed and allowed to bleed out dry. He looked as though he was very nearly a corpse himself.

Jiang Cheng scowled when Lan Wangji didn’t respond.

“Is the boy all right, Hanguang-jun?” he asked, his voice raspy and harsh. “Is he – is he…”

His voice cracked.

“He lives, but he has a fever,” Lan Wangji said, ignoring the steadily increasing pain on his back. He had not been well when he’d escaped from the jingshi, not well at all; the doctors had estimated at least a year to recover, if he didn’t do anything to strain himself – after this outing, it would likely be three. The discipline whip was not kind. “Why do you care? Didn’t you execute the others?”

Jiang Cheng laughed, voice suddenly spiking into something high and horrible, and Lan Wangji abruptly became aware that Jiang Cheng was also, politely speaking, not well. No discipline whip for him, no, but something had gone wrong in the man’s brain – Lan Wangji might almost suspect a qi deviation, if only he hadn’t lived through a war.

If he hadn’t seen what grief could do to a man. How it could hollow them out while they still lived.

“I didn’t,” Jiang Cheng choked. “I didn’t – I told my people to gather them up, to take them back, we were going to interrogate them…at the time it happened, I was – not there.”

“Not there?”

“A coma, apparently,” Jiang Cheng admitted. “Not especially heroic, but then they do leave it out of all the stories: the great Jiang Wanyin, who took up arms against his own shixiong, then swooned like a blushing bride at the sight of – at the sight of –”

“The body.”

Jiang Cheng covered his eyes, shoulder shaking. “There wasn’t one left.”

Lan Wangji shuddered.

“Nothing to put in the memorial hall at home,” Jiang Cheng said. “Even his personal items, they fought over them like dogs, like they were trophies – someone stole Suibian, you know? I only managed to keep Chenqing because I fell on it. It rolled over to me. It was still –” He wavered, then laughed again, very nearly crossing the line between merely hysterical and actually insane. “I had to clean it.”

Lan Wangji had wished he had been there, at the siege, thinking that if he couldn’t save Wei Ying, he could at least die by his side, in his defense. He thought now, for the first time, that perhaps he was glad he wasn’t.

“Did you mean to kill him?” he asked, and Jiang Cheng shook his head mutely. “You led the armies so that you would have first rights to the spoils. To the prisoners.”

To one prisoner in particular.

“Nie Mingjue would have backed me,” Jiang Cheng admitted. “He obeys the rules of war – the largest faction leads, the leader claims the first prize. He didn’t want to be there, but I needed someone to support my claim to be the leader, I threw all those dead Nie cultivators at the Burial Mounds at him until he agreed…he cursed Sect Leader Jin to his face when he found out what they’d done with the rest of the Wens. I wish I’d done the same.”

“Your sect –”

“I wish I had done the same,” Jiang Cheng said, and there were tears dripping down his face. He didn’t notice them, didn’t bother to wipe them away; he had clearly become accustomed to the feeling. “At least then Wei Wuxian would be less burdened. He’s dead, you know.”

Lan Wangji knew.

“I think he must have died a long time ago, and I just never noticed,” Jiang Cheng said. “I was too blinded by my anger, by wanting to kill the Wens. I ignored it all. My shixiong died long ago, and in his place there was another person, the one who did all those things – I never understood why he did it, any of it. He once swore to me that he’d stay by my side, help me rebuild the sect, and then he turned his face away from me and never told me why, acted as if we were strangers, as if I meant nothing to him…and yet, when we were alone, he still talked as if he were the Wei Wuxian I knew.”

He shuddered, shaking hands reaching out to clutch at his sides as if he were suddenly cold.

“It never made any sense,” he mumbled, and maybe he really had lost his mind. “He said he’d stay by my side, but he didn’t; he said he wanted to do the right thing, but he – he killed all those people. So many people. He killed jiejie. He widowed her, then killed her, and – I don’t see how that’s doing the right thing. That couldn’t have been him, could it? Could Wei Wuxian, my Wei Wuxian, really have done all that?”

Lan Wangji didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to help – there was nothing he could do to help.

The only person who could help Jiang Cheng was already dead.

Thinking that, Lan Wangji decided to take his leave, but the barest hint of movement sent an abrupt spike of agony though his back, making him stagger; he had been standing too long, and movement was now a problem. He had promised himself he would only come for a moment, just long enough to see with his own eyes what had happened, and then he’d return – and then he’d found little A-Yuan, he’d known his time to stay was running out, he’d meant to leave, but then there was Jiang Cheng –

“Hanguang-jun? Hanguang-jun! Lan Wangji!”

The world went black before his eyes.

When he opened them again, he saw – some incredibly ugly drawings, etched into a wooden bed frame as if with a blunted dagger. He had never before seen anything quite so immediately repulsive to every aesthetic sense he possessed and yet somehow still oddly charming.

“You’re awake, then?”

Lan Wangji turned his head.

Jiang Cheng did not look noticeably better, though he had at least changed clothing; he was drinking a cup of tea with calming herbs, the uncontrollable tremor in his hand sloshing the liquid inside.

They were at the Lotus Pier.

“You brought me back?” Lan Wangji asked.

“The boy wasn’t the only one with a fever,” Jiang Cheng said. “Thirty three lashes with the discipline whip, and you went into a place as rotten as the Burial Mounds – you were almost asking to get sick.”

Lan Wangji could feel that his back had been well-bandaged, well-cared for – Jiang Cheng must have called a doctor. People would know, then, what he had done and what had been done to him in return - his reputation would be ruined, his family’s attempt to save face by claiming that he’d retreated into seclusion would be exposed for the lie it was.

He wished he was petty enough to be bitterly pleased by the thought, but all he felt was sick.

“No one will know if you don’t want them to,” Jiang Cheng said, almost as if he could hear Lan Wangji’s internal debate – he couldn’t, of course. Jiang Cheng was no Lan Xichen: he couldn’t read Lan Wangji’s expressions at all. “My Jiang sect’s Doctor Qin might as well be mute, for all he talks; he’s never said anything to anyone about anything other than medicine in the entire time I’ve known him. But he did say you shouldn’t be moved. For – a while. A long while.”

Lan Wangji wasn’t surprised; that was about what he’d resigned himself to expect. “When will my family come to pick me up?”

Jiang Cheng snorted. “The doctor didn’t say anything about you being deaf. Didn’t you hear me? You can’t be moved. You’re not going anywhere.”

Lan Wangji stared.

“No one uses this room, anyway,” Jiang Cheng continued, purposefully ignoring Lan Wangji’s incredulous gaze. “It’s off-limits to everyone, for good – sealed off. Might as well put you here, where I can keep an eye on you and make sure you’re not getting into trouble; I’m just across the hall.”

Across the hall –

The ugly drawings, the style suddenly breathlessly and painfully familiar.

This had been Wei Wuxian’s room.

Jiang Cheng wanted him to stay here, at the Lotus Pier, in Wei Wuxian’s room.

He shouldn’t, of course. His duty was clear: he should return home.

Lan Wangji thought about returning home – to the cold and empty jingshi, where there was nothing left that reminded him of his mother but his memories; to his uncle who loved him but did not trust him, who had helped kill the one he loved; to his brother who had all but lied directly to his face about it.

He thought about not having to return.

His fingers relaxed. He hadn’t even realized they were tense.

“How is the boy?” he asked, and some of the tension in Jiang Cheng’s shoulders released; he had been afraid that he would refuse and insist on leaving at once, Lan Wangji surmised. For some reason, Jiang Cheng wanted him to stay.

Lan Wangji thought he might know why. They had spent all those months searching together, side-by-side, those months when Wei Wuxian had disappeared – thrown into the Burial Mounds, though they didn’t know it at the time. Being side-by-side with Jiang Cheng again felt almost like being back then.

When they still had hope of finding him.

“He’s fine,” Jiang Cheng said, then frowned. “Depending on your definition of fine, anyway. He’d had a very high fever for a long time – by the time I got you both back here, he’d fallen unconscious; the doctor says he’s lost his memory.”

Lan Wangji thought about the things the boy had babbled about, the stories he’d told of the last moments of his family, the things he’d seen…“Good,” he said. “Better that way.”

“Never use two words when one will do, do you?” Jiang Cheng grumbled in a tone that had faint ambitions of sounding disgusted. “I guess I’ll just have to adjust to that…I’ve told my people that he’s yours, you know.”

Lan Wangji blinked. “Mine?”

“I couldn’t tell them he was surnamed Wen, could I? So it’s Lan Yuan, at least for now. Up to you if you’d prefer to keep your reputation intact by saying he’s a cousin, but it’d be easier if you claimed him as your own – that way no one could separate you. You visited Yunmeng during the war, I could say the mother was someone here. It wouldn’t be hard.”

Lan Wangji’s first instinct was to protest – A-Yuan was Wei Ying’s son, if anybody’s, not his own – but…no. The boy could not live at the Lotus Pier with the surname Wei.

Lan Yuan. It wasn’t a bad name.

He nodded his assent, and Jiang Cheng finished his tea in a single grim-faced swallow, standing up.

“I don’t suppose you told your family where you were going, did you?” he asked, and looked bitterly amused when Lan Wangji shook his head. “I figured as much. No one saw me bring you in, and no one ever comes here; the only ones allowed in the family quarters are my people, through and through. Unless anyone asks, I’m not answering. Let your family worry for a while; it’ll do them some good. You’re the best they have – they shouldn’t take you for granted.”

Lan Wangji wasn’t the sort of person who knew how to be pleased at other people’s misery, the type to be warmed inside by the spite of you hurt me now I’ll hurt you.

It was fine, though. Jiang Cheng would do it for him.

“Thank you,” Lan Wangji said, and didn’t say anything about telling his family where he’d gone. Jiang Cheng’s lips twitched in a smirk for a second. “Can you pass me the pouch I had with me?”

Jiang Cheng huffed and passed it to him. “You can’t play that thing all day and night,” he warned when Lan Wangji pulled out his guqin. “I’m just across the hall, remember?”

Lan Wangji nodded.

“And…”

“I will wait until you have returned before playing Inquiry.”

“Like I even want to talk to him,” Jiang Cheng muttered under his breath, but he didn’t deny that that had been what he had been on the verge of requesting. “It’s just a nice tune, that’s all. Catchy.”

No one had ever described Inquiry as ‘catchy’ before, and Lan Wangji suspected no one ever would again.

“The boy’s still sleeping, but I’ll bring him here when he wakes,” Jiang Cheng said, changing the subject. “I’m hoping to bring Jin Ling here, once in a while – I think Sect Leader Jin will agree if I hint strongly enough that I’ll consider leaving my sect to him if he lets me. I don’t really know how to deal with babies, though.”

“We will figure it out,” Lan Wangji said, and allowed his (totally unjustified) confidence to sooth Jiang Cheng’s ruffled feathers. It wouldn’t be that easy, of course – Jiang Cheng was still walking the tightrope on the verge of insanity, Lan Wangji was nearly crippled, and his family would be frantic once they realized he wasn’t coming home. Staying here was a stupid idea. Stupid, and spiteful.

It felt good.

[starlight-starwrites]

MA’AM 🥴 if you write about armorless Din going swimming I think. I just might lose. my mind 🥴

jump in

din djarin x reader wc: 2.3k warnings: heights, deep water, there is just fluff and it is dumb soft note: keep! i am so sorry this took so long im sure you’ve forgotten this ever even happened but i said i would do it and finally here it is 😂

feat the gorgeous gif by @bestintheparsec that inspired it all

The rock is hard and rough under your bare feet, and it does nothing to encourage you. When you lean forward to peer over the edge below, you see Din’s form treading water some ten meters below you. Maybe a couple more. He holds onto a small raft with one hand where the kid sits, attention torn between splashing the water and looking up at you.

It could be done, you reasoned. You had just watched Din jump, throwing himself off the ledge and looking almost graceful as he dived headfirst, plunging into the depths before emerging at your side, hovering before giving you a wet kiss. Now all you had to do was jump.

You stare down at the both of them and the beautifully crystal-clear waters. Oh stars. It was a long way.

“Are you going to do it?” Din’s shout reaches you where you teeter over the drop, still debating. “You know you don’t have to!”

You can hear the taunt in his voice. When he had landed in the water, soaking both you and the kid, Grogu shrieked in delight while you cowered and grumbled about the spray. He had surfaced right next to you, bright eyes and the largest grin you’d seen on him in a long time. You’d praised him for it until he suggested you try the same.

Not a few minutes later and now here you stood, but with higher stakes. Of course he’d let you back out. He wanted to win.

“Shut up!” you yell back to him, cursing that you ever agreed to this. He made it look so easy, like it wasn’t really that high at all. It didn’t seem that high, not when you were still down below.

You curse him again, backing away from the edge and toward the slanting shale you climbed up.

“It’s okay, there’s no shame in backing out!”

Mother be damned, Din.

You stand back a few paces away, out of sight from the boys. You take a deep breath, ready to jump if only to prove him wrong. Blaster fire and dogfights didn’t scare you, a little jump shouldn’t either. You would be fine.

It’s important to be careful running barefoot on rock but you do it, carefully taking notice of every little detail. The dip in the ledge, the puddle of water, the perfect place to launch yourself and the speed at which to do it.

It should have been flawless.

To your credit, your form was impeccable for never having done this before. Din said it himself, though much later. You finally got out of your own head enough to do it, flying off the rock and flipping in the air. A real head over heels flip that you wish could have been caught on holo.

It’s a shame you have no blasted idea how to dive.

You hit the water with a straight back, the smack nearly bringing you to tears if not for the fact your head was already under the water, and you started to sink. It hurt. It really kriffing hurt.

But at least you won.

Din’s at your side in a moment, not hesitating to reach before you go any farther, pulling you back up to the surface with a strong arm. He still treads water even while holding you, another hand carefully reaching to steady the kid’s raft before continuing its motion.

“Are you alright?” His face is pulled tight in concern, wet hair pasted to his forehead. You appreciate how expressive he is without the helmet. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to it.

You wince when his hand grazes your back, but you brush it off, letting the cool water soothe the sting. “Fine,” you gasp, shaking your head clear of water. “I’m okay.” You grin when you realize exactly what you just did.

Din gently nudges the kid’s little boat forward, pulling you closer to his other side as he tries to bring you back to shore.

“Din, it’s alright, I’ve had worse, really,” you wrap your arm over his shoulders, “we can stay, he’s having fun.” Sure enough, Grogu laughs delightedly at the increased speed of his vessel, happy to enjoy the water from a dry spot.

Din stops, letting the raft slow to a stop too before looks over you. “Are you sure?” He reaches forward, water droplets falling from his fingers as he reaches for your face, pushing your hair back. The touch is gentle and affectionate, and you take a moment to catch your breath and clear your lungs. When you press a kiss to the palm of his hand, his lips part and you watch his eyes dart over your face.

You smile, finally pulling away to tread water on your own.

“Looks like you’re cooking tonight,” you say.

“Looks like I am.”

“So what’s it going to be? Ration packs are off the table.”

“Then you might have to starve.”

“The agreement was to cook, Din, not just open a package.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he smiles softly at you, slowly pulling his attention back to the kid. He’s been patient through your exchange, only threatening to jump into the water once you both look to him.

For a kid that hates getting wet, Grogu sure was hell bent on chasing anything that moved. When you had walked up to the sparkling lake, he spotted a small frog-like creature and immediately set off. He nearly got the three-legged beast before it leapt under the water, and your poor son fell in after it.

It must have been the most unpleasant experience he ever had with the small tantrum he gave, but apparently it was not enough to keep him from trying to enter the waves again. You had sat on the shore next to Din then, focusing on drying him off while Din fashioned the small raft. His mood has seemed to greatly improve since then.

“Maybe you can catch a few of those little frogs and roast ‘em.”

Din makes face, wrinkling his nose at you and pushes the kid closer to you. You receive him and gently slow him down, smiling at the boy as he giggles, before pushing him back to his father.

“I think only one of us would like that,” Din says, reaching to slow the raft once again, smiling when Grogu reaches for his face as he tries to keep his balance. He lets the kid float for a moment, and Grogu reaches to dip his fingers in the water before shaking them off to splatter across Din’s face.

You smile at their interaction, swimming over to join them. The kid finds a nice distraction while lying down on the raft, patting the surface of the water then aggressively trying to rid himself of the wet. You meet Din, and he easily wraps his arms around your waist while you wind yours over his shoulders. Your damp top sticks to you, your bare legs brushing against Din’s in the water.

It’s nice to be able to enjoy a moment like this, just the three of you in the middle of nowhere. The kid is happy to explore, and you’re just happy to rest in Din’s arms. You let your head fall to Din’s shoulder, watching your son as Din keeps the both of you upright.

“I knew you could do it.”

Din’s words interrupt your thoughts, but you don’t miss his teasing tone.

“Yeah? Then why would you take the bet?”

“Well, I didn’t think you would do it.”

You laugh, your head tilted back so you can feel the sun shine on your face and your chest press to his. He studies your face, a matching grin on his own. You don’t know what he sees, but he looks so much happier, lines erased, eyes finally rested. Your plan to take a few days to yourselves has done more good than he’d be willing to admit.

He pulls you close, eyes dropping down to your mouth. It’s easy to be called into the pull of him, always has. So as soon as you note the way he looks between your lips and eyes, you lean in, meeting him in a sweet kiss. His lips are soft, taste like the salt of the water. The two of you stay like that, floating and turning, holding tight to the other. You pull away slightly, forcing your eyes to open, only to be met with his smile again.

For just a moment, you let yourself get lost in it, the way he is still soaked from his jump, jaw unshaven for the past few days. His hair is getting longer now, and you think you might offer to cut it for him again. Or maybe you’ll let him grow it a little longer.

The kid coos, pulling both your attention back to him. He’s drifted in the time you were distracted and waves a long blade of grass at you he didn’t hold before. He almost looks put out as he sits on the little raft, not amused to be left to entertain himself.

Din sighs, a content sound, that pulls at your heart.

“Hold on to me,” he says, arms slipping from you even as you tighten your grip on him. He leans back in the water, you on his chest, and begins to swim backwards toward shore, pulling you with him.

You reach Grogu in less than a second, support his boat so he is pulled with you. Din continues to reach back, pushing the water forward to bring all three of you towards land.

“You’re a strong swimmer,” you note. He seems in his element, even if he wears nothing but an old pair of shorts. Free of the helmet, of the armor, there’s always been some trepidation. It’s gotten better with just the two of you around, but here, he really seems as though he is just himself.

“I should hope so, with all the training I did.” He grunts as he pulls you up, both of you finally able to stand waist-deep. The kid comes to float between you, and he stabs the water with his blade.

“You trained to swim?” You wonder how that would work. “Did you do that with the armor?”

“Sometimes,” he pushes himself back, finding a seat as the water reaches his chest. You nudge the kid towards him. “We did all sorts of drills but learning to swim is important. People think with the armor, it’s easy to drown a Mandalorian.”

He quiets after that, and you fall silent too. You remember the terror of seeing him prodded like an animal in his cage, certain he would drown if you didn’t do something. You silently thank his leaders for those drills.

“I assume that’s not the case with you,” you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

“We have to learn to swim in the armor. I was lucky,” he stops to smile at the kid, gratefully taking the grass he offers him, “I knew how to swim before I put on the armor.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, suddenly concerned. “What did they just put you in suits of metal and throw you in whether or not you knew how to swim?”

Din wiggles the grass blade above Grogu’s head, making the poor kid frustrated as he tries to grab it back.

“Din?”

He looks at you sheepishly. “That’s…not far off.”

“Oh Maker.”

“They made sure we were okay,” he defends. “The best way to learn is to do, so we did. It saved my life later.”

You shake your head, still a little shocked. “I can’t argue with that.”

You wade through the shallows, coming to sit in the sand next to him, resting your head on his shoulder. The sun is lower in the sky, just peaking above the mountains that rise on the other side of the lake. The breeze is warm, but you’ve adjusted to the cool water now, only slightly shivering when the air kisses your wet skin.

Din leans into you too, his free hand coming to rest on your bare thigh. He’s relented the grass back to the kid, who now quietly sits, twisting the blade into an attempt at a knot. He huffs in frustration, but you admire the way he furrows his little brow and only focuses harder.

You let your eyes wander up to the man you lean on, appreciating the curve of his jaw, the stretch of his neck, the way he fondly stares down at your little green gremlin who has now taken to shoving the grass in his mouth. You let a hand fall to Din’s thigh, feeling the muscle as you move your hand, appreciating the chance to touch his bare skin so easily.

He notices you’re looking eventually, turning to you with a quirk of his lips.

“What?”

You smile again, just happy to look at the way he looks down at you, brows pinched and small pout of his lips. You tilt your chin just a little, and his lips are on yours again. You kiss him softly, once, twice, thrice. You don’t tire of it, being able to share affection without concern.

“Oh nothing,” you whisper against his lips. “Just thinking about the gorgeous view.” His mouth curls into a bashful smile, and you don’t miss the tinge to his cheeks. “Also thinking about the gorgeous view scrounging up some dinner…”

Din groans, but when you both check on the kid, you see him attempting to shove anything within reach in his mouth. You laugh as you both move into action, Din coming to hold the child while you quickly pull the dirty object from his mouth. The three of you stand now, where the waves meet the sand at your ankles and the last rays of light warm your skin.

“Come on,” you say, letting Din pull you to his side as he takes Grogu up in his other arm. “Let’s see if you’re as good a cook as you are a swimmer.”

.

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[astralpenguin]

@transnaturalweek day 5: t4t

1.5k, ao3 link

“Cas?”

Cas had known that Dean wasn’t asleep yet, and he’d known that Dean’s sleeplessness was coming from more than a simple bout of insomnia. Cas didn’t like to read minds, but he didn’t need to read Dean’s mind to know that Dean was thinking very hard about something. He also didn’t need to read Dean’s mind to know that Dean would speak up about whatever it was when he felt comfortable doing so.

Ever since he’d dragged Cas out of the Empty, Dean had been making a point of being more open with Cas about his thoughts and feelings. Even if it took him a while to get there sometimes, he’d still try. All that Cas had to do in return was give Dean the time he needed to do it on his own terms.

And it was looking like something was bothering Dean right now, and Dean was ready to talk about it right now.

Cas had his arms wrapped around Dean, and Dean’s back was pressed up against Cas’ chest. Dean liked falling asleep in Cas’ arms, and Cas was always more than happy to oblige. He liked having Dean asleep in his arms.

He hummed to let Dean know that he was listening.

“You know how you’re an angel.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

Dean broke Cas’ hold on him and rolled over to face him. “Okay, smartass,” he said, a smile on his face.

“Sorry,” said Cas, smiling as well and not feeling sorry at all. His goal with that comment had been to put Dean more at ease and make him smile, and he’d succeeded. “Continue.”

“Angels don’t have genders,” said Dean. His smile from moments ago had faded and his voice was steady. “And you’re an angel. So you’re not a man, right?”

“Dean-”

“This isn’t another sexuality crisis,” Dean continued, talking over Cas. “I know I’m bi, and I’m good with you being. Well.” He gestured at Cas. “Guy shaped. I’d probably be pretty bummed if you switched vessels at this point, actually. But-”

“Dean.”

Dean stopped talking.

Cas put a hand on Dean’s waist. “Angels were not created with a sex or gender,” he said. “And while it’s true that the majority of angels were always, as you used to put it, ‘junkless’-”

Dean shook his head. “I can hear the quote marks in your voice, man.”

“-I don’t think that the same can be said for me anymore,” Cas continued. “I’ve inhabited many vessels since creation. Some male, some female, and many that weren’t human. None of those other vessels were ever truly comfortable. None of them ever felt like they were my body. This one does. It’s the body that I was in when I lost my grace, it’s the body that I’ve been resurrected in more than once, and it’s the first form that the Shadow took inside the Empty in order to communicate with me. It probably helps that I’m the only one in this body. I’m not possessing anyone anymore. But I would also be ‘bummed’ if I had to change my vessel. I don’t think that I would be comfortable inhabiting any body other than this one.”

“Okay,” said Dean. “That doesn’t necessarily mean you’re a guy.”

Cas squinted. The nuance there wasn’t something he’d expected Dean to know. “You’ve been researching this.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact.

“Shut up.” Dean looked away, towards the ceiling. “Just. It doesn’t though. Right?”

“You’re right,” said Cas. If Dean had been researching the topic of gender in humans, to the point where he’d grasped this particular point, then there was likely a reason for it. Cas wasn’t going to push him on what that reason was. If Dean wanted to share, then he would. In the meantime he had no problems with answering Dean’s question. “Someone’s body does not dictate their gender. My gender does not rely entirely on my body, although for me it is a factor. I don’t know if I’d consider myself to be a man today if Jimmy wasn’t one. But I do know for sure that I was created, as an angel, without a gender, and now I do have one. I’m a man.”

Dean nodded in understanding.

He was still looking at the ceiling.

“Dean?”

“If it’s not just your body that makes you a guy, then what else is there?”

Cas paused as he thought about it. “It’s difficult to describe. Mostly it’s just a sense of rightness from viewing myself as such. Describing myself as a woman feels wrong, as does saying that I lack gender entirely. I’m a man because that’s what I am, and because I never want to be anything else.”

Dean nodded again. “That makes sense.”

“Does it?” said Cas. “I wasn’t sure that it did.”

“It did. I get what you mean.” He paused, still not looking at Cas. Swallowed. And then whispered, “Sometimes I don’t want to be a guy.”

Cas waited for Dean to continue. When it became clear that he wasn’t going to without prompting, Cas said, “You don’t have to be one”

And Dean spoke.

“I know. Damn it Cas, I know. But sometimes I am a guy. A lot of the time I’m definitely a guy and the concept of being anything else doesn’t even occur to me. And then sometimes I think that I don’t want to be a guy at all. And sometimes I think I’d like to be a woman, and I was sure that this was something that everyone thought, because who wouldn’t want to be a chick sometimes? Except I mentioned it to Garth the other day, and he said he’s never wanted to be a woman, or to be anything other than a guy, and apparently most guys never want to be anything else. So I looked it up. I thought that surely Garth was wrong, ‘cause I love the guy but you’ve got to admit he’s a bit of an oddball. But no. He was right. Most guys never want to be anything else. And some of the websites I looked at said that not wanting to be the gender you were born as means you’re not that gender, and that’s even more terrifying, because if I’m not a man then what am I?”

As he said this last sentence, he finally looked back at Cas. There was more fear in his eyes than Cas had seen in a long time. Since their ordeal with the Empty.

Cas put his hand on Dean’s cheek and gently brushed his thumb over Dean’s skin. Dean relaxed some at Cas’ touch.

“You are, first and foremost, Dean Winchester, and the people who love you will love you regardless of anything else. I will love you regardless of anything else.”

Dean relaxed even more at that, like it was something he’d needed to hear.

“I cannot tell you what your gender is,” said Cas. “That’s something you need to decide for yourself. However, to me, it sounds like your gender is not always fixed in place. It changes. Would you say that sounds right?”

“I-” Dean snapped his mouth shut and shook his head.

“Let me rephrase,” said Cas. “Would you say that the gender you want to be changes from time to time?”

Dean nodded.

“Okay.” Cas leaned in and brushed his lips against Dean’s. Dean kissed him back, just as softly. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”

“But it’s not normal,” said Dean. “Most people just want to be one thing.”

“Dean,” said Cas. “You live in an underground bunker. You have saved the world on multiple occasions. You are in a romantic relationship with an angel. There are significantly more people who experience some degree of gender fluidity than there are who share many of your other life experiences.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Yeah I know. It’s just....” He trailed off. Shook his head. “This is scary. I thought I knew something about myself and now it turns out I was wrong, and-” He cut himself off with a yawn. “Man, I'm tired.”

“Then sleep.”

“But-”

“If you like,” said Cas, “after you’ve slept we can look into this some more. There’s no rush or pressure for you to come to any conclusions or apply any particular labels to yourself, but exploring and discussing this some more may bring you some comfort.”

“Yeah,” said Dean. “I think it might.” He paused. “We?”

“Of course,” said Cas. “Unless you’d prefer I leave you to it yourself. That wouldn’t be a problem.”

“No!” said Dean. He curled his fingers into Cas’ t-shirt and gripped it tight. “No, I want you with me for this. If that’s okay?”

“It’s more than okay,” said Cas. “I’m here for you and with you for whatever you need.”

“Thanks, Cas.” He closed his eyes and buried his head in the crook of Cas’ neck, mumbling something into Cas’ skin. If Cas weren’t an angel, he never would’ve been able to pick out any of the words. As it was, it sounded suspiciously like Dean had said ‘love you too’.

Cas smiled. It was always nice to hear Dean say it.

[chaoticforever]

Playboy Having Fun Part 2 | Yandere Dean Winchester x Playboy! Reader x Yandere Sam Winchester

A/N: Part 1 right here!

Fear. 

Was one emotion that you never felt. 

How could you feel fear? You were someone who smelled fear from a mile away, not someone who has it. It also has to do with how you were trained to be. You were trained to be a soldier, a warrior, a fighter who can take anyone out and can break someone with their own words. 

Just how you were made to be. Eons ago. 

You, along with Castiel were one of Heaven's strongest soldiers, and one of the most powerful Angels in the Garrison. 

The two of you always fought side by side, protecting each other and taking care of any demons, or other creatures who would get in your way. You both led armies at one point and did a hella good job at it, too.

You loved being an Angel of the Lord. Well, that was until he came along. 

Caleb. 

Another angel that was created by your father to assist you on missions when Castiel had missions he needed to go on alone. 

You and Caleb had spent many decades with one another. Fighting and smiting various beings, and even going to earth sometimes when you both had nothing to do, but sit at the park and watch over your father's creations. 

He even kissed you at one point which was weird at the time and made you feel something that you weren't supposed to feel.  

Unlike Castiel, you actually understood human behavior and emotions, having spent a lot of time watching over them. 

And when Caleb saved you from a demon attack, you felt that emotion again and knew what that emotion was. 

Love. 

You were in love with Caleb and this was a huge problem because you were not supposed to feel human emotions, but you were somehow able to. 

You'd hope Michael wouldn't find out.

He was the Viceroy of Heaven since father was absent. He could either lock you up, or banish you from Heaven. 

So, you decided to ignore these feelings. 

They would surely go away soon and everything would be okay again. That was what you thought at first before one day, Caleb confessed that he somehow developed feelings for you. 

Michael found out and flipped out. He liked Caleb, but couldn't have him in Heaven anymore, so he banished him to earth and erased his memory. He was reborn and would live a human life. 

You were so pissed at Michael and wanted to hurt him for that, but knew that you wouldn't win that fight. You may be a powerful angel, but Michael was an Archangel, making him way more powerful than you. 

Feeling hurt and confused, you called on your father and begged for him to send you to earth and be reborn as well, but with your memories kept. 

You wanted to be with Caleb again and didn't even care about being an angel anymore. Father had abandoned all of you, so he could at least grant you this one wish from wherever he was. 

And that he did. 

You were reborn again and still had the memories of your former life along with a vessel that was yours forever. 

As you grew up, you met Caleb again in college, of course he didn't remember who you were, but you were at least hoping he'd remember his former life. 

Since he didn't remember you, you took the liberty of being his best friend instead. You'd rather keep him as your best friend since he couldn't remember and became a playboy to hide the feelings that would remain unrequited. 

In all of that has happened, you never felt fear. Not the fear of losing Caleb, or the fear of not returning back to Heaven, so what was Castiel on about that? 

That was a good question. 

"...What?" You asked, setting your drink down on the table, "What did you say?" 

"It's Sam and Dean," Castiel said once again, "They have grown an obsession towards you and also put up angel sigils that stops me from entering the bunker. It's best if you stayed away from them." 

You blinked at the angel and massaged your temples, letting out a sigh of frustration. Now, this was starting to get out of hand. None of the people you slept with ever acted this way. Were you really that hot? You knew the answer to that, but you were not going to fear these little humans. 

"Castiel," You sighed, "I appreciate your concern, but I'll be fine. Their obsession with me will go away eventually once they realize I'm not into them." 

Castiel shook his head, "Don't be so sure of that, Y/N. Don't ever underestimate the Winchesters. They are dangerous and my grace is running low, so I might not be able to protect you if they come after you." 

"And you shouldn't underestimate me either," You retaliated, "Don't forget that I was one of Heaven's strongest soldiers, you as well." You reminded him. 

"But I still have my powers. You don't." He pointed out. 

"That's true, but I still have my skills   and intellect from my life as an angel. That didn't go away, not to mention that I can still see your true form if I want too." 

Castiel sighed, it was so hard to reason with you. You were too stubborn to see that something is clearly wrong with them. 

You were his oldest friend and he didn't want anything bad to happen to you. 

"Just please make sure that you carry your knife around all the time cause humanity is causing me to weaken." 

"Jeez Castiel! I'll make sure to carry my knife around. Damn, why did those writers have to make you, a strong angel so weak throughout the seasons." 

"What?" 

"Nothing, man! Now, go wherever you go, or you can sleep in the guest room."

Castiel went to the guest room that he would sometimes stay in when he came to visit you. He mostly stayed there when he would lie to the Winchesters and tell them that he had Heaven business to attend to, or when he didn't feeling like being bothered by them. 

You drank the rest of your glass before walking into your room and crawling into bed, putting your phone on the charger. 

You put the covers over your body and closed your eyes, feeling yourself about to drift off to sleep. As you began drifting off, everything that Cas told you came rushing back to you in an instant. 

Their obsession would go away, right?

XXXXX XXXXX 

Multicolored lights flashed on the dance floor, as dancing sweaty bodies pressed up against each other. Music blared throughout the club as you danced to some of the songs with a bunch of people's eyes on you. Apparently, you were the main focus tonight, but you loved it. You've always loved attention, and the spotlight. 

Castiel had insisted for you not to go back to the bar you met the Winchesters at, even though you told him that it's been a week and nothing has happened to you, he was still cautious about it, so you ended up going to this bisexual club that has recently opened. 

Alex ditched you when he got here, seeing a hot girl somewhere, and Caleb works the night shifts, unfortunately. So, you decided to dance by yourself with the exception of people looking at you. 

A pair of large arms wrapped around you, taking a huge sniff of you, "Damn, you look so sexy out here. You're definitely teasing almost everyone in here with the way you were dancing." 

You turned your head slightly to see a dark skinned man with brown eyes and curly hair. This man was absolutely handsome. 

"Elliot!" Someone shouted through the loud music and you saw a woman with brown hair and hazel eyes along with glasses walking up to you, "I thought we were going back to your place to have some fun," She whined and turned to stare at you when Elliot didn't respond, "Well, that's not far, Elliot! This guy is freakin' hot!" She exclaimed, and you felt heat crawl up to your face. 

"I'm sorry Candance, but this guy is too hot to pass up." He responded, not letting go of you at all as she rolled her eyes. 

Though, she couldn't blame Elliot. 

You were freakin' hot. Like supermodel hot and she would love to have one night with you herself. 

"Or," You suddenly spoke up, and Candace turned to face you while Elliot lifted his head up from your neck to look at you, "How about we turn this into a threesome instead?" 

"I'm down for that," Elliot said without a second thought and turned to face Candace, "Are you down for that?" 

She pondered at that thought. To have a chance with these two muscular men. There was no way she could pass up this opportunity. 

She nodded, "Sounds like a good idea." 

Elliot unwrapped himself from around you and took a hold of your right hand, leading you out of the club as Candance took a hold of your left, going with you guys. 

Some bodies pressed up against you when you were leaving, but you didn't mind despite feeling their eyes on you. 

Introductions of names were made as all three of you exited the club along with Elliot and Candance glaring at some people who tried to take you. 

Exiting the club, the cool breeze hit your face and you loved the way it felt since you were in that club with a bunch of sweaty bodies. 

"I think you both should be warned," Elliot spoke, which caused you and Candance to look at him, "Most people call me The Punisher when were in bed together." 

"Punisher? And why do people call you that?" You asked and Candance nodded. 

"That I would have to show you." 

"Are you a bad boy?" You teased. 

Elliot smirked, "Something like that." Oh, you wanted to know why he's called the punisher. 

"Get away from Y/N, and we won't hurt any of you." A gruff voice insisted and to the right of you, there they were. 

The Winchesters. 

You huffed, "Why are you guys here?" 

"We came to bring you home." Sam said, taking a step forward as you backed up behind Elliot and Candance who stood in front of you protectively. 

"And I told you both already that what we had was a one night stand, that's all."

"It was more than a one night stand," Dean argued, clearly stuck in his own delusion, "That night showed us how much you love us, and how much we love you. You're coming home with us and you're going to love us." 

"You guys are freakin' sick!" 

"Were sick?" Sam scoffed, "Us loving you with both our hearts means that were sick? I think you're the sick one and your ours, okay? We love you and you're coming with us." 

Elliot pushed Dean and Sam back a few feet with one hand, and they stumbled back slightly in this alley, "He's not going with you guys. You heard the man, he doesn't want anything to do with you both, so it's time for you to bounce." 

The brothers shared a brief look with each other before pulling out 2 guns, aiming it at Elliot and Candance as Candance screamed. 

Your fight or flight instincts kicked in, and you kicked the gun out of Dean's hand and kicked him where the sun don't shine. He fell down, clutching his groin. 

You went to kick the gun out of Sam's hand, but he was quicker. He moved the gun out of your reach and hit the gun over your head, knocking you out. 

XXXXX XXXXX 

When you awoke after some time, you saw that you were chained to a bed and was in a room that you didn't recognize. 

The room wasn't big, but wasn't small either. Pictures covered the creamy colored walls, and you saw a map of the town you resided in. Red dots were covering certain locations and you realized that those were the places you had been. 

Seems as if The Winchesters has been watching you long before you had that one night stand with them. 

The door opened and Dean walked in, seeing that you were awake. 

"You're finally awake, my little prince." He walked over to your side, grabbing the back of your head and tried to kiss you on the lips, but you moved your head to the side and got your cheek instead. He looked disappointed, "Don't be like that, sweetheart. I'm sorry that Sam hit you over the head, but you had it coming." 

"Dean, please just let me go," You pleaded. You never pleaded for anything in with the exception of your father, but you were willing to plead if it meant that you could leave, "I don't belong here." 

"Actually, you do belong here," Sam entered the room and kissed you on the forehead, "And the reason for that is because we need to protect you. We both have watched you from afar for a long time and infatuation turned into an obsession once we saw how many people are attracted to you. We can't let you leave. We lost so many people in our lives and we can't lose you, too." 

"Too many people," Dean chimed in, "And we refuse to lose you too, so we decided to lock you up here for our eyes only. We love you, Y/N. We want you as ours and to never share you with anyone else." Dean kissed you, on the lips this time, "Do you love us, too?" 

"I. Hate. You. Both. So. Much." 

Boy, was that the wrong thing to say. 

Their eyes widened in anger, and Sam grabbed your chin roughly, making you face him as you tried your best to make sure that you didn't look scared. 

Sam grinned at you, "We are going to have so much fun breaking you down. And you're not going to have a choice, but to love us." Sam walked out of the room and now it was Dean's turn to grab your chin roughly. 

You will break for us, sweetheart. And you'll love us the way we love you. Your playboy days are over. We promise to cherish you and love you for as long as well all shall live, and your going anywhere, my little prince. Ours forever."

Dean left the room and you stared at the wall ahead with a complete blank stare.  

You let out a sigh. How did this happen? How did you go from a playboy just having fun to getting kidnapped by two crazy obsessed hunters? 

You tried calling out to Cas, but there was no answer. 

An unpleasant feeling made you feel like you weren't getting out of this situation. 

But you did have an upper hand against them because there was a little flaw in their plan to break you down until you break completely. You couldn't be broken. 

After all, how can someone with no soul be broken?

XXXXX XXXXX 

[harfanfare]

Heart Competition 💕

It is the fifth pint of beer, and there is no sign that it is the last one.

Kaeya stares at the beer, its golden surface waves slightly. His hand is trembling as if the weight of the drink was too much for him. In the reflection of the glass vessel, he sees his face;  eyebrows furrowed by grief or anger – he hasn't figured it out yet – and corners of his mouth twitching, once up, to keep an impression of happy guest, once down, when his muscles refused to obey him.

Being out of control of his own body made him also incapable of flirting, the art he practised years in the bar, that some could assume that Kaeya did it mostly to get on Diluc's nerves.

Oh, right. Diluc Ragnvindr, the star of today's event.

Through a glass pint, half-filled with alcohol, Kaeya sees the distorted silhouettes of the bride and groom, in honor of which this whole party was held.

Loud, quite unexpectedly large for the groom's tastes, the event was a mixture of attempts to make the lady in the veil the happiest woman in the world, but with some balance. This party was also a sign that Diluc won't even consider future marriage offers, having such a sweet wife on his side.

[Name].

[Name] Ragnvindr, from today.

A girl who came to Mondstadt a few years ago and stole the attention of a Cavalry Captain at the first meeting.

At first, it was just another entertainment; he flirted with you, being so natural in this as if it was his personal dialect he used everyday. Well, it wasn't far from wrong. After few minutes the blush couldn't leave your cheeks, leaving your face painted with a rich strawberry scent. He teased you even more until you realised you are too engaged in conversation and cocked your head at the side, trying to hide a blush behind your hair.

And then something went wrong.

You've spent too much time together, and each moment made Kaeya fall in love with you. He didn't know, he doesn't know yet, but his heart started to be blind and slowly started heading towards you every time you smiled at him.

One day he noticed that his heart no longer belonged to him.

If he could turn back time, he would surely try not to fall in love with you. Or he would do everything not to let you meet his not-really-encouraging-to-spend-time-with-and-vice-versa sworn brother.

Really, he could give up taking you to the tavern when he knew that his red-haired relative was right there. At that point, he just felt the need to show you to everyone and wordlessly inform them "she is precious to me, and I will defend her with all my might."

Apparently, Diluc didn't notice the aura of his intentions because he was genuinely interested in a person who would stand up with his brother's quirks („These are secrets," Kaeya corrects every time someone points it out) and without a shadow of a doubt could talk about his disadvantages as advantages.

"You have quite an interesting way of looking at the world," Diluc admitted at one of your random meetings. They happened often; you two even started suspecting each other of tracking each other, but then accepted the fact that whenever any of you will be in a flower shop or going to the library, you will meet the other one on your way there.

"Or I'm pushy because I'm looking for the other bottom in everything," you said, smiling. Diluc also almost smiled in response. "You too, are completely different from Kaeya's descriptions.”

"And... what did he say about me?"

"I'm sorry, but if I told you, you probably would never sell him any alcohol again."

"There, who are you talking about, you two?" Kaeya appeared behind you.

He approached, behaving rather carelessly, though he felt like some invisible force was tightening on his throat. You two looked so good together that with every memory of your view, the needle of jealousy and desperation was sewing through his heart.

And what bothered him the most was the fact that Diluc seemed to like you very much.

Of course, he wanted you two to have a good relationship, but the fact that you spent a lot of time together was very, very, very difficult for him.

Kaeya takes another sip of beer, which this time seems extremely bitter on his tongue. He winces slightly but takes another swallow.

He must have delayed his love confession too much.

A day, no, a few hours would be enough, and everything could've been different. If it weren't for that one evening, when Kaeya decided that he must tell you about his feelings, he would definitely be better without your announcement that you would like him to help you figure out how to confess your love to Diluc.

The heart you've taken from him was broken into pieces. It being overwhelmingly delicate in your hands, was most likely destroyed inadvertently.

...And so, he helped you with your love confession.

After all, he lived with this guy for several years and knew more or less his preferences. Probably, even without his help, Diluc would have accepted your feelings without batting an eye. Kaeya spent a lot of his time watching redhead, and he could tell that these frequent glances towards yourself weren't only a coincidence.

"Only you seem alone in such a grand crowd," says Venti, who sat next to him. Like many other guests, he wears an elegant white shirt with frilly sleeves and black trousers. There is some blush on his cheeks, but even after drinking since the start of the wedding reception, he still manages to look serious.

They haven't talked very often, but as many times they sat together in the tavern and found good drinking companions in each other, they weren't as much of strangers as many could suppose.

"I am being happy for the bride and the groom from a distance," Kaeya replies with harshness in his voice that makes it sound like a growl.

Such a quick excuse could not deceive a poet as skilled in heartbreaking stories as Venti. "I know how losing someone hurts."

Kaeya doesn't ask what he meant. In his head one moment was still playing on repeat; the one when he took you to the altar. He really didn't feel anything, when he was leading you to the groom, who wasn't paying attention to anything but you.

The moment you let go of Kaeya's hand and walked the next steps in that white snow and princess-like gown was the most striking one. With every tap of your heels against the floor, the distance between you two was growing wider.

Kaeya looks at Venti, who rises from his seat and pats him on the shoulder before walking away. He could swear he saw him mouthing “good luck” before disappearing between guests.

It didn't take a minute before you appeared next to Kaeya with a beaming smile on your face.

"Are you having fun?" You ask, and he forces himself to send you a smile, even though for a moment the corners of his mouth trembled uncontrollably.

"Of course," he replies with an eagerness that he tries to raise in himself.

He starts to look for a topic that isn't going to betray his cloudy head. At least not now, when everyone should rejoice for the sake of a new relationship.

His gaze falls on a glass of white wine, which you held in your hands.

"Ah, right," you pick up his gaze. "Diluc chose these wine because he said you somehow recommend that one. He also said they are good for toast."

"Oh? Why don't we raise a toast [Name]?" Kaeya replies, pouring the wine into his glass. He turns to you, now stiffly holding crystal vessel uncomfortably between his fingers.

"What will we raise it for?"

Kaeya cocks his head lightly as if he's trying to come up with a good reason. His gaze wanders to your face, and then he swiftly looks away.

Of course, he knew what he should say in this situation and accept that fact, he wanted to do away with.

"Toast for," He raises a glass, you echo him. A few other guests start to lift their glasses as well. "The bride and her life alongside the man who won the heart competition."

[vbee-miya]

✧︎How To Shift✧︎

disclaimer : before I start explaining anything you have to know that everyone’s shifting experiences and adventures are UNIQUE and different for what you will / you have experienced.

part i || currently on || part iii

➺︎ How I prepare for a successful shift

Background knowledge : before I successfully shifted I did some prior research to what shifting was. I made sure that it was something I would feel comfortable doing. Though at that time I didn’t really care for whatever shifting was. TikTok made it blow up, but it’s not the best source of information. Rather I went through articles back in 2015 actually and shifting realities have been a thing. So with this knowledge I thought I would put it to the test to see if it was actually real or not. First time I did it it was no good. I just ended up falling into a deep *lucid dream.

* note - lucid dreaming is when the dreamer is aware that they are dreaming and is able to gain control over the dream, the dream narrative, and the environment. the thing people confused about shifting with lucid dreaming is because both feel vivid and real. Mind you this, that was also me. But in my opinion what separates lucid dreaming to shifting is that the reality doesn’t change. In lucid dreams the reality stays the same as the current reality that’s why usually when you wake up you didn’t wake up in the same place/position as when you started. As for shifting your body stays stil and it’s only your consciousness that is moving around. if you watch naruto think of Ino Yamanaka. She’s able to move her consciousness into a different body than hers almost resembling a ‘different reality’ and while she does this Shikamaru Nara or Chiji Akimichi have to make sure that the body not only gets harmed but is moved. So that the consciousness can have an easy pathway to go back to the ‘original vessel.’

Making sure you have a proper environment : lucid dreaming wasn’t just one thing that caused me to fail in the shifting process, but it was also because I didn’t have the right environment to do so. I’m Filipino and in most traditional Filipino households. They’re loud. Shifting requires medication and focus. And I’m the type to not be able to focus in such loud areas. So making sure that you have a comfortable safe place to prepare for you shift is ideal.

Experimenting with different methods : remember when I said that everyone has different shifting experiences? I meant that in actual terms. there’s at least over 5+ ways/methods to shift. and I tried five of them and I only one felt comfortable to my liking. Which was the raven method. In much simpler terms it’s where you make sure your in one spot and you make sure that your limbs aren’t touching each other so almost like a star fish laying down. It’s silly, but there’s ways to not make it look so pathetic looking I guess. But as I was stating earlier there’s many ways/methods. And YouTube has plenty of them explain different process in much better ways.

Getting into the mindset : yes before I shifted I had no faith or motivation to push myself to shift. that’s one of the reasons why I wasn’t able to shift well. because I’d keep giving in. I really just didn’t care. However when I found out about affirmations and scripting I hated the idea of doing it because I wanted to shift just like that without the need to keep scripting. But I tried it and around the second maybe third week of doing this alongside the scripting it also didn’t work. So then I found out about subliminals. I figured using a meditation audio would help and it made the process go smoothly, but at the cost that the process of me shifting and getting into my consciousness would take a really long time since I’m not really spiritual. So accessing my deep inner consciousness was hell. Another thing that helps is when you say you affirmations when you do decide to meditate and such. Affirmations or messages like “I will be safe, I will have a safe shift, I can shift.”

Short story on how I shifted : To make a long story short eventually I tied the raven method, 30 minute meditation audio, then a certain subliminal audio over 10 minutes long in queued (so I wouldn’t have to have any problems of getting out of my meditation phase), and saying the affirmations and manifestations at the back back of my head I was slowly able to feel myself falling deeper into my consciousness, but it’s funny because I didn’t feel like I was going to fall asleep. Eventually the deeper I went the atmosphere around me started shifting slightly. I wanted to open my eyes but I knew that’ll eff things up so I waited. I kept getting deeper and deeper as the reality and atmosphere around me started to change. My head felt like it was getting clear my body temperature was actually heating up which apparently isn’t something that’s too rare to experience when first starting to shit. Anyways so going back to the first post/point can’t quite remember when I said this, but when starting to shifting you want at least some confirmation that you’ve shifted so in my case it was that I’d feel mist like drips on me. And I did. Next thing I knew I was walking through the gym doors my vision was hazy and I saw Shinsuke Kita in front of me and I low-key have ptsd from him.

The “importance” of scripting for beginners : i was arrogant enough to think that I wouldn’t need to script, but turns out I did. It helps a lot actually. Um to summarize what I want to say if you just shift willingly with out any prior knowledge of what you’d do. You’ll end up like me in my first shift to HxH. Something will go wrong and it’s not like a lucid dream where you can erase that. The bodies and such in that shift will know that such thing happened. Of course as the shifter you have the power to change that once you come back to your cr script that such thing never happened then shift back to your dr. Scripting is also important for just mentally reminding yourself why your there. So as I got used to the process of shifting I was able to shift without using the subliminals/meditation audio and I was able to reduce my affirmations by what I wanted to ensure happens during the shift. Rather then saying like oh “I’m the manager for Inarizaki high”or “I’m a smart student and school is easy.” Like as I continued to shift I didn’t need to say things like that. It was more of like “in this shift, this time I have to remember I have to talk to so and so.”

Anyways that’s kind of all I have to say about shifting. I hope this helps some people for more clarifications and such you can always ask google. 🧍🏻‍♀️ but ask me as a last resort because if not I’d probably end up confusing you more. Have a lovely rest of the day 💜

[tennessoui]

#18 Prompt: Ohio in Pre-Slash,16/17 year old Anakin has had a crush on his Master for awhile but knows/thinks Obi-Wan would never return his feels. He's almost completely given up and is think about maybe finding a substitute outlet. Then Obi-Wan gets amnesia while they are stranded on an uninhibited planet. Their Locator Beacon only giving off a general area. Obi-Wans amnesia leaves out the Code, and that he's Anakins teacher so the Boy calls him Master so he MUST be Obi-Wans pet/slave.

ahh so i could easily see this going dubcon and smutty and if i were better i might have gone that way too but instead i made some pining fluff but i hope you still like it!!

18. Waking Up With Amnesia (Hurt!Obi-Wan, underage!pining!Anakin, misunderstandings)

Anakin does his level best to land the ship gently, he really does. But he can’t work miracles here, and the locals had damaged their hull quite effectively when they had shot at them as they descended from atmo.

Friendly negotiations, yeah right. When Anakin gets his hands on these guys, he’s gonna show them exactly how friendly Anakin can be. But first he has to make the landing. And then he has to make sure his master is okay. Failure on either of these fronts is not an option.

His master had just gotten up to go to the back to grab their identification. They had been talking, seriously for once and without anger or impatience laced through their words--he’d said he was proud to have him as his padawan, that Anakin had grown into a young man anyone would be fortunate to know.

Anakin had turned to watch his master leave, his shields raised high but his eyes stripped bare. He’d be eighteen in two months. Somehow he’d made it through most of his time as a Padawan already. With his impending adulthood comes the realization that he has no more time for words of anger or scorn, not directed to his master at least. In a few years at most, Obi-Wan would be free of him by all Jedi rules and obligations.

Now more than ever he has to convince his master to want to keep him around. It’s a grueling task, made more difficult by how terribly difficult Anakin had been in the last, say, nine years. What with his pod-racing, his temper, his pride, his stubbornness--his huge and achingly obvious hero worship turned crush on the older Jedi.

But he can’t lose Obi-Wan, can’t even stand the idea of his master leaving him. The idea of missions alone while his master cavorts around the galaxy without hm--with another Padawan?--is absolutely intolerable. No. He has to convince the Jedi to want him as more than a Padawan. To want him as a friend, as a partner.

(In his wildest fantasies, as more than that, too.)

But now, as if the Force has heard his thoughts and is punishing him, the ship is crashing and his master has been hurt somewhere behind him but he can’t check without losing control of the vessel completely. He just has to--land--on this wide stretch--of karking sand.

It’s not his best landing, but they’re on the ground at least. The first thing he does is, of course, throw off his own landing protector and rush to Obi-Wan’s side, pulling his body out of the mangled remains of their ship and into the light and heat of outside. His master is unconscious, but he doesn’t seem to be bleeding terribly nor fatally. Now, and only now, he thanks the Force.

That’s when he notices the startling wet and spreading red across his master’s usually pristine robes.

Never mind, he tells the Force, fumbling with Obi-Wan’s belt in a panic. He needs to treat the wound, which means he needs to see it, which means he needs to get these outer robes off, as well as his master’s inner tunic.

“If I’m ever undressing you again, I swear to the Force you better be cognizant,” he mutters to himself as he rips at the fabric of the thin undershirt. “So many layers and not one of them protects you from debris, how is that fair?” He continues as he pushes Obi-Wan to the side far enough so he can see the man’s bare shoulder and the cut itself. It doesn’t look deep, at least, but it is long, spanning at least Anakin’s entire hand.

How much bacta do they have? Is their distress beacon working? Does Anakin want it to be working? Half of him thinks no, because what if the locals show up to finish them off? Half of him thinks yes, because he’d love to get his hands on the creatures responsible for Obi-Wan’s current state now.

It’s a very un-Jedi thought, but Anakin can’t even feel bad for it. He goes back into the wreckage of their ship--and he knows already he’s going to hear about this from the Council, as if anyone else could have done better--and grabs their first aid kit.

There’s bandages and bacta and that’s the important thing, he reminds himself. He’ll fix up the wound and then worry about why Obi-Wan hasn’t woken up yet.

But. Well. There’s not a great way to patch it up. The only thing he can think of is to give Obi-Wan’s form a solid thing to lean his head against while keeping his lower back pressed against the durasteel. It’s an awkward angle, but any other would result in Obi-Wan getting a face full of sand, and Anakin wouldn’t do that to his worst enemy, let alone his master.

Look. There’s no delicate way to put it. He straddles his lap and brings his head so it can rest on his chest as he works.

Of course this is when Obi-Wan begins to stir. Anakin tightens his hold on him and tries to send feelings of relief and calm through the Force. He needs Obi-Wan to not startle away from him until he finishes putting on the bacta. They can be embarrassed about this later. They’ll laugh about this later.

“You’re fine, Master,” Anakin murmurs at what he decides to take as a garbled word of confusion. “I crashed the ship, you can punish me later.”

Anakin can feel Obi-Wan’s signature spike around him, but he’s too intent on his task to figure out what specifically his master is feeling.

“What--” Obi-Wan mumbles, hand coming up to brace his head.

Anakin leans back as he finishes, tapping gently on Obi-Wan’s cheek until the man lifts his eyes to look at him. They’re dazed and confused.

“Master?” Anakin asks.

Obi-Wan’s brow furrows. “Master?”

Now Anakin’s getting very worried. “How many fingers am I holding up?” he demands.

Obi-Wan blinks. “You’re...not holding up any fingers,” he says, words becoming clearer the longer he talks. “I’m sorry

“Master,” he says slowly. “How are you feeling?” “Confused,” Obi-Wan says. “And...worried. And sick. Why are you calling me that?” “Calling you what, Master?”

“That. Master,” Obi-Wan looks sick just saying the word. Anakin scrambles up off his lap and kneels in the sand in front of him.

Panic clogs at his throat, making it even harder to force words out. “This isn’t a funny joke, Master.”

Now Obi-Wan looks distressed. “I’m not joking!” He looks wildly around and then clutches at his head in pain. “I don’t know who you are. Who I am. And I need you to stop calling me master because it’s making me feel sick to my stomach knowing that apparently I’m the kind of person who owns slaves because I know it’s wrong.”

Anakin blinks. It’s a lot to process. “You don’t remember?” is the first thing he says. He wants to say anything or anyone or perhaps the Jedi Order you’ve been a part of since you were a baby, but instead what comes out is, “Me?”

“I don’t remember myself, how am I supposed to remember you? Did you expect me to?”

Anakin stays quiet because well. Yeah. He hadn’t thought anything could really truly make his master forget him. Not time, not distance, not anything. Looking at Obi-Wan looking at him now without any sort of familiarity feels like all of his worst nightmares coming true.

His master glances down at his half-dressed state and then back to Anakin suspiciously.

It’s a harsh expression without the fond exasperation that usually hovers in the back of Obi-Wan’s eyes when he sees Anakin.

“What were you doing?” Obi-Wan asks him. “Why were you...touching me?”

“Nothing!” Anakin yelps, knowing that is the worst response he could have given. “I mean. I was tending to you, Master.”

He winces as soon as the words are out of his mouth. Ah, kark.

“Don’t call me that,” Obi-Wan snaps, looking furious. Anakin wants to explain that he can’t not, that Master is as much as Obi-Wan’s name to him as Padawan is Anakin’s. “You mean to say I’m such a terrible person that I don’t just own a slave but a pleasure slave?”

Anakin thinks he must be blushing to the roots of his hair. “No!” he yells, much louder than he intends. “No, you don’t own me, M--Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan mouths his name as if it’s a new word. Anakin is about to break into hysterical laughter.

“I’m your apprentice,” Anakin forges ahead. “We use Master as a term of respect for our teachers.” He adds, “I was tending to your wound,” just so Obi-Wan doesn’t next think that Anakin was trying to take advantage of him or something. There’s only so many misconceptions he can deal with in one sitting, especially with the amount of panic that’s raging through his brain.

Obi-Wan looks achingly hopeful. Anakin supposes that without the memory of years of emotional suppression training, he’ll be able to see what his master is feeling more easily. He wonders if he could get Obi-Wan to laugh or smile. He’d kill for one unbridled grin from the other man, although there’s nothing joyful about the situation they’re in right now.

“You’re the best man I know, Obi-Wan,” Anakin tells him softly. “I know you don’t remember right now, but I promise you’d never do that to someone. You’re good. And honest and brave and kind and…” he trails off and looks away, crossing his arms over his chest as he’s hit with the reminder of everything he stands to lose if Obi-Wan’s memory loss can’t be undone. “We’ll get this fixed. It’s just temporary. I won’t let it be permanent.” He says the last part fiercely and mostly to himself. “I won’t.”

Obi-Wan smiles, just slightly and reaches out a hand. Perhaps his need to comfort a distressed Anakin is simply instinctive. “I believe you,” he whispers back. “I trust you.”

Anakin beams. And then he thinks of something else. For a second, he wonders about whether or not he should ask the question that’s burning up his mind, but he needs to know now that he’s asked himself. “Ma--Obi-Wan, why did you think that I was. Um. A pleasure slave?”

Obi-Wan’s blush is a thing of wonder. It could single-handedly keep them both warm on Hoth itself.

“Because of how we were positioned when we woke up,” Obi-Wan mumbles, burying his face in his hands. “And because you look like that.” The last part is said from behind his fingers.

Some sort of unfamiliar fire lights itself in Anakin’s stomach. “I look like what?” he prompts, barely daring to breathe.

But this Obi-Wan must not remember why he shouldn’t always be straightforward with the truth, especially to Anakin who he’s said he trusts.

(Obi-Wan trusts him!)

“Beautiful,” Obi-Wan says, so hushed and embarrassed that Anakin almost can’t hear it over the sound of his heart beating.

Inappropriately for their current situation, Anakin wants to crow in victory as the flame inside him grows larger.

Obi-Wan trusts him. At least on some level. Instinctively. And a part of him, stripped of his Jedi code and teachings and lifestyle, thinks that Anakin is beautiful.

He puts a name to the burning in his chest. It’s hope.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Dolls’ Eyes — A Jaws AU

Pairings: established Peggy/Steve, developing Brunnhilde/Carol Rating: T Chapters: 14/14

Summary: Tony Stark snapped his fingers and the vanished half of the universe returned, but Thanos escaped the battlefield, fleeing into space. Now that he’s virtually powerless, most of the Avengers consider chasing him all over the universe a waste of resources, but Peggy Carter—newly deposited in the 21st century—is determined to finish the job. Brunnhilde and Carol Danvers have the same idea.

When scattered rumours of fresh killings escalate to the death of one of their own, the three women team up to defeat Thanos once and for all.

read the prologue

read ch. 1 one / 2 two / 3 three / 4 four / 5 five 6 six / 7 seven / 8 eight / 9 nine / 10 ten 11 eleven / 12 twelve / 13 thirteen / 14 fourteen

After everything, Carol wasn’t surprised that Brunnhilde put up a fight over being told to just rest. Carol reminded her that she was lucky to be alive, to which Brunnhilde responded that it wasn’t anything like luck, and went on to list the incredible, lifesaving properties of her fine armour, explain the enhanced durability provided by her Asgardian biology, and enumerate all of the injuries she’d previously sustained that were apparently worse than being electrocuted half to death, and then nearly drowning while incapacitated. Carol didn’t believe half of it, but it was kinda hot when Brunnhilde bragged.

So, in spite of Carol’s efforts, Brunnhilde kept getting up the second her back was turned in order to haul bodies off of Thanos’s ship. As they started to fix everything Carol had broken (including a patch job of that hole in the roof), a scan of the local environment informed them that almost all of the life on this planet was aquatic. They left the stack of corpses on land. Whatever water critters were around, they didn’t need toxic eyeball goo leeching into their habitat.

Carol caught Brunnhilde shaking out a twitching arm and made her sit to do electronic repairs rather than manual labour. (Carol had that handled anyway, plus, she knew where all the bodies were because she was the one who’d left them there.) Brunnhilde protested that she was the captain. Carol came way too close to saying not of this ship, but stopped herself. Instead, she suggested Brunnhilde do like any other captain would and let her underlings take on the grunt work. That got a smile, if not verbal agreement.

Thankfully, Peggy was a fast learner; Carol explained the basics of what she’d done to wreck something and Peggy quickly understood how to walk back the damage. They worked their way through the ship, staying at neighbouring stations so Carol would be there if Peggy had questions, and Peggy would be there if (when) Carol had messed something up so badly that it needed four hands to fix.

“Maria would’ve been great with this,” she said without thinking, holding up a fistful of wires while Peggy tinkered beneath.

“Maria?”

It was easier to talk about her than it had ever been before. Like with the repairs, she could tell that Peggy understood without Carol having to do much more than gush over how good Maria had been at fixing stuff, how thorough she’d been with the plane she’d kept in the hangar on her property, how reliable, how trustworthy, how patient…

“Yes,” Peggy told her with a smile. “She sounds like she was wonderful.”

“She was.”

But when the two of them had finished their circuit of the ship and Carol went to tell Brunnhilde they were good to go, she wasn’t there. Carol panicked, worried that Brunnhilde had overheard all her praise of Maria and somehow missed the tone of a person who was in the late stages of grief, who had accepted the worst and was keen to keep living, maybe even loving.

When she couldn’t find her on the ship, she jogged down the ramp, intending to look for her outside. The second she turned to face the water, she spotted Brunnhilde coming towards her from the escape vessel. Carol ran out to meet her.

“What’s all this?” she asked in a tone of amusement, because Brunnhilde had her arms full.

“Food, Peggy’s jacket, a couple beers that didn’t get smashed when Thanos rammed us, uh…” She tried to examine the rest of the pile she was carrying, but it teetered and slipped; laughing, Carol scooped a few things out of her arms before they could end up in the shallow water.

“I thought you might’ve taken off on us,” she said lightly.

“I didn’t think you thought I’d be capable of that after getting zapped.”

“I was just…”

Brunnhilde walked close, pressing her arm into Carol’s.

“I know. I would’ve been the same way if it’d been you.”

“I don’t even know if I can get electrocuted,” Carol said.

“I’m not gonna recommend trying it for fun,” Brunnhilde told her. “Anyway, I used all my discs on Thanos and I dropped the remote in the water somewhere… You’d have to go to Thor with your request, ask him to bring the lightning down.”

“Straight to Thor?!” Carol laughed. “That seems a little extreme.”

“Or you could just stand around outside in New Asgard during a storm and wait for it to happen naturally.”

“And why would I need to be in New Asgard specifically?” Carol asked in a teasing voice. “I could get struck by lightning anywhere.”

She watched Brunnhilde flounder but couldn’t get an answer out of her, not on the way to the ship, not while she was distracted with Peggy asking her a slew of health questions, and not while they were trying to figure out how to get this humongous spaceship off the ground with a crew of only three people.

As they made their rocky assent, Carol was too busy to wonder whether Brunnhilde had heard her talking about Maria before she’d left the ship to scavenge from the escape craft. They had just broken through the atmosphere, blue sky giving way to black, when Brunnhilde spoke.

“Love’s like war.”

It was so sudden that Carol snorted a laugh.

“Ok, poet,” she said. She was tempted to devote some time to getting Thanos’s ship to play her music, if only to put on ‘Love Is a Battlefield’ for Brunnhilde. To let her know what had been said on the subject already.

She smirked to herself when Brunnhilde continued, clearly not giving a shit about her interruption or joking criticism.

“It is.”

“What do you mean?” Carol asked more seriously.

Brunnhilde shifted in her seat, engaging different protocols for outer space travel. Carol noticed the tremor had gone from her arm.

“You do better in both because of experience,” Brunnhilde said, looking straight out the viewport. “Anybody who can’t appreciate the benefit of falling for someone who’s been in love before is a fucking idiot.”

“And you’re not a fucking idiot.”

“I hope that isn’t a question.”

Carol smiled and shook her head. They flew in silence for a while.

“When we get back,” she said eventually, peering shyly over at her captain, “I owe someone important to me a visit, but then I’m coming to see you. Just a heads-up.”

“Vaguely threatening.”

“Sorry.”

“No,” Brunnhilde told her, grabbing her forearm to get her full attention, “I liked it.”

Heat raced up Carol’s neck until she was blushing as bright red as her suit, or the dumb acid burn on her arm.

Just then, Peggy’s agitated voice came from the other end of the wide flight deck.

“Someone’s coming right at us!”

Before Carol had the chance to say what the hell? or who? or again?, an incoming message threw a distantly familiar face up in front of them, hovering in the form of a hologram.

“Hey,” Carol greeted. “Small universe.”

—

Peggy had never thought to imagine what Gamora might be like. She’d had an account of Peter Quill’s affection for her from Rocket, but had recognized that a portrayal of the woman that crew had known—the woman Peter had loved enough to forfeit his life in the quest for reunion—couldn’t be fully accurate. At best, the Gamora they described would be one layer removed from the real person. The Gamora they had known and the one whose hologram had just appeared before Peggy, Carol, and Brunnhilde were a handful of years and a thousand experiences apart.

It seemed absurd to Peggy that this woman may wish to harm them, but she really ought to have considered it.

“Was it your distress signal I picked up?” Gamora asked flatly, eyes locked on Carol in the pilot’s seat.

“Umm… yep.”

“And you still require assistance?”

Carol glanced at Brunnhilde, then over to Peggy, who nodded. They certainly had worked wonders, she felt, in getting this massive spaceship off the planet, but who knew how many things could go wrong between here and Earth? Peggy doubted either of her shipmates had told her the half of it. They were simply short-staffed, too few fingers available to plug any metaphorical leaks they might spring on the journey.

“Yes please,” Carol told her.

With a nod, 2014 Gamora went from unknown quantity to ally. Peggy sighed in relief.

The three of them were transported directly from Thanos’s ship to Gamora’s. The process was quite indescribable, Peggy thought. Tingly, quick, with a bit of a lurch as she rematerialized on an entirely different flight deck from the one she’d just left. Had the transfer been instantaneous? Had she, perhaps, ceased to exist for a moment or two? She was full of questions but unsure to whom she should direct them.

Gamora, while welcoming in deed, was somewhat inscrutable when they met her face-to-face. Standoffish. Unsure of herself, Peggy realized. Immediately, she warmed to the woman. She had been in her place herself once, sort of, if not precisely in her intimidating boots. It hadn’t been so long ago that she’d been ferried through time to find the world completely changed. What Gamora needed was a reason to trust them the way they were trusting her.

“I take it you killed my father?” Gamora asked plainly once they were aboard.

Oh dear. It seemed they weren’t off to a very auspicious start.

Brunnhilde stepped in front of Carol, who’d just been opening her mouth to speak, presumably to claim responsibility.

“I was the captain,” she stated. “Thanos was killed on my orders.”

“Uh, no, not explicitly,” Carol argued.

“Anyway,” Peggy piped up, “I’m the one who shot him in the head.”

“And he was only vulnerable to that because I electrocuted him to within an inch of his despicable life and his helmet fell off,” Brunnhilde countered.

“On a planet I flew us to,” Carol reminded them.

“We’ll be sharing the blame,” Peggy informed Gamora on behalf of her crewmates.

Gamora cocked her head consideringly.

“And if it’s approval?” To their universal silence, she explained, “I know what he was capable of in my time, and I saw enough of Earth to get a general idea of what he was set to accomplish if he wasn’t stopped.”

“Were you out here hunting him too?” Peggy took a step towards her.

Directing her gaze away from them, Gamora blinked rapidly, looking momentarily confused and upset. In the next second, she’d hidden any outward hint of those feelings.

“I should’ve been,” she said, “but I’ve never been able to stand up to him like I should have. After I left your planet… for a while, I wasn’t looking for him. But I began to see signs. And then Peter Quill came.”

“Peter!” Carol said. “You saw him? Did you talk to him? Rocket never said—”

“No. I just watched. I followed him for a while. I knew he was looking for me. He was so… loud.” Gamora made a face. “Leaving word for me everywhere, telling traders and transports that he was my boyfriend. He was an idiot, but an entertaining idiot… I barely noticed that I’d stopped keeping track of Thanos until he just showed up…

“I was a coward,” Gamora went on. “I saw my father intercept Peter’s ship and I knew what would probably happen, but I couldn’t put myself between the two of them. Was I supposed to stand up for this guy when I’d never been able to stand up for myself? I was raised to be cruel, to think of myself, that attachments formed to accomplish anything but the acquisition of power make you weak. I know Thanos killed Peter. It’s my fault he’s dead.”

Peggy stood in front of her, refraining from placing a reassuring hand on Gamora’s shoulder when she gave her cagey eyes.

“It’s not,” Peggy told her firmly.

“I only heard your distress signal because I heard Peter’s first,” Gamora said. “I went onboard after my father had left; it was days before I could force myself to do it, maybe longer. I used his communications system to speak to his crewmates on Earth.”

“You must’ve just missed us leaving,” Brunnhilde said.

“That’s what he told me. He said three more morons had left the planet, on their way to hunt down Thanos.”

“And you’ve helped us,” Peggy said, tone insistent. “If you do feel any responsibility for what happened to Peter, then surely you should also believe that you’ve redeemed yourself by saving our backsides.”

Gamora’s eyes squinted as though she were in pain.

“I owed him more than this and I hate it,” she said, jaw clenched. “He was no one to me. He knew someone I’m never going to become.”

“Shhh. I know,” Peggy said soothingly.

“I don’t see how that’s possible. Have you ever had someone tell you they love you when it feels like it’s impossible that they even know you? That whoever they loved had to be a different person from who you are?”

Peggy’s shoulders fell. She could feel the bittersweet smile on her face.

“Actually, yes.”

Gamora appeared surprised to have been brought up short in such a manner.

“Do you have any advice?” Peggy urged softly.

For a minute, Gamora was quiet, staring hard at the wall. Peggy could feel that the others had backed away, giving them time and space when Gamora’s stream of information had been diverted by the confusing grief she was obviously experiencing.

“Whatever lengths he goes to because he thinks you’re better than you are…” Gamora finally said, turning her head to look Peggy in the eye. “Try to be worth it.”

“Got it.”

Peggy folded her hands together, pressing her right palm to her wedding ring.

—

They were about to get underway, their new crew of four on a significantly smaller, though sleeker, ship. (Brunnhilde didn’t mourn for the one they’d left in the shallows; it had served them well, first the Asgardians and now the team responsible for the death of Thanos.) However, staring out the viewport from the seat in which she’d been installed as the effective second-in-command, Brunnhilde didn’t feel right. The sight of Thanos’s ship just hanging there in space unnerved her. It would be better if no trace of the Titan remained.

“Let’s blast it,” she suggested to the deck at large.

“Thanos’s spaceship?” Peggy checked.

“Yes.”

“Well,” Carol said, “we aren’t near anything. There’s nothing for the debris to hit…”

Brunnhilde smiled slightly and looked to the captain.

“Gamora? Do you have any weapons on this ship that could do the job?”

“There is one thing I’ve been saving for a special occasion,” Gamora said, gaze fixed on Thanos’s ship. “First, we’re going to need to get clear.”

She piloted them away—away from the planet, away from the ship. Part of Brunnhilde wanted to request the honour of launching the torpedo Gamora was setting the coordinates for, locking it onto her late father’s final vessel, but she was already satisfied with the role she’d played. Let Gamora take this final, symbolic step. It was like Thor’s hideous couch; Brunnhilde had helped him lug the thing into the open air, but permitted him to drop the match (once she’d soaked the cushions in lighter fluid, just in case it wasn’t sufficiently saturated in spilled beer). She would content herself with watching it go up in flames.

And it did. It was an impressive explosion, scattering wreckage in a wide perimeter Gamora had kept them outside of. They were briefly silent as jagged hunks of metal twisted in the void.

“That’s one way to get the stink of dead bodies out,” Carol noted, and Brunnhilde turned to her, shoulders shaking with laughter Carol quickly joined in on.

They flew for some time, and it was good just to relax, to stretch in her seat and tilt her head from side to side so that her neck cracked horrendously and Peggy said things like “good lord!” while Carol laughed her ass off. Brunnhilde remained alert though. She couldn’t help it. In the old days, with the Valkyrie, there’d been a certain relief when the battle in which they’d been engaged was done, but they’d only known true rest once they’d returned to Asgard. Home. The last time she’d been on a ship bound for Earth, the atmosphere had been one of intense grief, muffled weeping in the corridors. They’d known Earth as Midgard and had little admiration for its country of Norway, chilly with fog and swathed in the bleak colours that reflected their inner emptiness. Nothing they loved was there—not their people, not their gleaming towers and soaring statues. How could it ever possibly feel like coming home?

Brunnhilde had honestly believed she’d lost her ability to experience that feeling, that, without her sisters-in-arms, the sensation was lost to her. Yet, despite the tension she still carried from the fight, she felt it easing. She felt herself longing for home, her little house at the water’s edge. For the chance to return to her people as their king and announce a great evil defeated. Maybe this tension was only anticipation after all.

In contrast to the fruits of her own contemplation and revelation, Gamora’s private thoughts had left her expression mournful and roving. Brunnhilde exited the deck to relieve herself and find something to eat in Gamora’s stores, and when she returned, she addressed her.

“You’re not taking us all the way to Earth, are you?”

Gamora flicked her gaze sideways to assess her. Brunnhilde knew there was no judgement to be found in her face, so she stared back calmly.

“I’m taking you to Quill’s ship. Thanos, in his infinite arrogance, didn’t damage it. Maybe he thought he might like to return to it some time and claim it as part of his fleet. It’s a tribute to how much I continue to feel my father’s influence that I planned to do the same. Not build a fleet, but go back. There’s something about that ship… I find it comforting.”

Brunnhilde frowned thoughtfully.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take it and leave this one for us?”

“No. What I felt when I was onboard, examining it and… and removing Quill’s body for space burial… that was just a feeling of, I don’t know, another life. There’s a group on Earth for whom that ship means something. And it’s the only thing they have of him. I couldn’t keep it.”

“One of those people is your sister,” Brunnhilde said carefully.

“Yes.”

“I tried to talk to her, but she doesn’t like me very much. I don’t blame her,” she added as Gamora gave her a wary look. “She was upset.”

“Nebula is at her most dangerous when upset, and she’s always upset, so she’s always dangerous.”

“She was upset about Peter’s death. But I think also because, without him, no one was out here looking for you.”

Gamora stiffened.

“If she really wants to find me, she can come look for me herself. I’ll be ready.”

“She doesn’t want to fight you,” Brunnhilde said. “She misses you. I think. It’s really none of my business.”

“Why would you wish to get involved in our family affairs?” Gamora’s voice was more curious than accusing. “Besides murdering our father, of course.”

Brunnhilde sighed before answering.

“I’ve lost many people I cared about. I don’t have a family anymore.” She glanced over to see Carol and Peggy bent over a screen together, Carol’s sudden snort infecting Peggy until they were both laughing. “I mean,” Brunnhilde corrected herself, “I didn’t.”

When they arrived at the Benatar and Gamora transported Carol and Peggy off her ship, Brunnhilde motioned for Gamora to hold off a moment on removing her.

“If we don’t meet again,” she said, sticking out her arm for Gamora to grasp.

Gamora gripped her tightly and nodded.

“I think we might though. I thought about it and realized it’s easier for me to find Nebula than for her to find me.”

“I may have left you her coordinates.” Brunnhilde released Gamora’s arm. “Enjoy Missouri.”

She joined Peggy and Carol on the Benatar, pausing to bend over Carol’s seat to surprise her with a deep kiss before she took up her own position. She brushed stray strands of hair back out of Carol’s dancing eyes.

“I’m going to have to redo your braid,” Brunnhilde told her.

“Oh, we’ll have time. We’ve got quite a road trip ahead of us. Luckily… Peter left us his tunes.” Beaming, she started up a song with a bright beat.

Brunnhilde smiled and went to her seat, fastening herself in as Carol readied the vessel for launch.

“You know,” Peggy said thoughtfully, slinging her jacket over the back of her chosen seat, “before all of this, I was actually quite afraid of outer space.”

Carol laughed.

“I can’t imagine why.”

[rainbow-shine]

i'll never wear your broken crown, but in this twilight our choices seal our fate

An alternative s4 in where Dean has powers and that changes everything and nothing. Dedicated to @wormstacheangel and inspired by this headcanon.

It started with little things.

So little that Sam wouldn't have noticed them had it not been for the fact that he couldn't help but look at his brother like a hawk lately, partly to comfort himself that he had Dean back and partly to make sure his brother wouldn't find out about his extracurricular activities.

Dean doesn’t gets hurt anymore.

Sam felt his heart stop inside his chest when he entered the kitchen at Bobby's house and found Victor's ghost with his hand embedded in Dean's chest. With a swift movement Sam fired, the ghost disappeared and Dean fell to the ground.

Completely unharmed.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked either way. Dean gave him an unimpressed look before saying no.

The thing was, Sam had seen Olivia's corpse, had seen the corpses of the rest of the hunters. Right now Dean should be bleeding to death on the floor, his heart ripped from his chest, but instead he was just catching his breath like he'd just taken a good hit.

Sam, at that time, thought it was a fluke.

But it kept happening.

They had a dangerous job and the threat of the apocalypse only made the monsters worse, but Dean was always unharmed. Not a single mark stained his body and the times something or someone managed to hurt him, those wounds always disappeared in less than a day.

"You test him, right?" Sam whispered to Bobby, as soon as Dean went to buy something for dinner and Sam stayed with the excuse of researching something on a new book.

"Who?"

"Dean," Sam clarified. “After he was resurrected”.

"Of course I test him, Sam," Bobby hissed. “Do you think I'm stupid?”

"No, it's just…" Sam stopped speaking, realizing that his arguments at the moment would sound more like conspiracies. The fact that Dean was apparently untouchable wasn't exactly a bad thing.

"What?" Bobby asked sharply.

"Nothing," Sam replied, quickly coming up with an excuse. “It's just that I feel like there's something different about him”.

"Sam, your brother just came back from hell. Literal hell,” Bobby exclaimed slightly condescending. “His mind is trying to process a trauma that, as far as I know, no one has ever experienced. You can't expect him to be the same as before, because he won't be”.

"I know, Bobby."

"Then stop complaining".

So Sam stopped. After all, Dean was still Dean and the fact that nothing could hurt him was just one more reason for Sam to do everything he could so that nothing that could reach him.

•●•

The first time Dean went to sleep after being rescued from hell, in the uncomfortable but familiar couch in Bobby's house, he dreamed of a light.

A light so bright that he felt it might be able to melt his eyes out of his sockets, but at the same time it was warming a part of him that always seemed to be cold.

A light that was comforting and gentle. A light that meant love and salvation.

That night, in an abandoned barn in Illinois, Dean knew that he hadn't been dreaming at all.

•●•

When he was a kid and dad decided to start taking Dean on hunts, Sam used to kneel by his bedside and pray that god would keep his brother safe.

After Jess appeared nailed to the ceiling and their apartment was consumed by flames, Sam began to pray for forgiveness.

The day Dean was dragged to hell Sam stopped praying, because he knew that no one was listening to him.

But then Dean was saved. Dean was saved by an angel and Sam felt his faith restored. How he couldn’t have faith when an angel had achieved what he had been trying to do for months?

But apparently Sam Winchester couldn't have good things, because again his faith was destroyed and the angels, as Dean had said, were nothing more than dicks with wings.

The boy with the demon blood.

The curse Azazel left on him and the only chance they had to truly stop Lilith.

There was fear in Dean's eyes.

And that hurt so much more than anything the angels could have told him.

His powers were a curse, but he had stopped Samhain thanks to them. They may not have saved the seal, but an entire city was beginning their day with nothing to worry about thanks to them.

Sam was doing the right thing. He truly was.

It didn't matter that no one seemed to agree with him.

•●•

"Let me guess, you're here for the ‘I told you so’" Dean said, turning on the bench to look at the angel sitting next to him.

“No”.

“Well, good, cause I’m really not that interested”.

"I am not here to judge you, Dean." The angel's voice was surprisingly gentle and Dean tried to ignore the way the light from his halo suddenly looked alluring. Dean hadn't told anyone, not even Sam, what he could see.

Because Dean still wasn't entirely convinced that he hadn't gone crazy.

Big black wings curved slightly around both of them as they chatted and Dean, for a moment, stopped seeing Castiel, the righteous angel of the lord and only saw Cas, someone who looked as lost as Dean felt.

"I don't envy the weight that’s on your shoulders, Dean," Cas whispered. “I truly don’t”.

Then Cas leaned into him and Dean felt his mind short circuit for a second, because the angel clearly seemed to want a kiss. But no, Cas stopped an inch from touching his lips, simply watching him simultaneously with the blue eyes of his vessel and with the hundreds of curious eyes of his true form.

“What…?” Dean's question was interrupted by something coming from Cas' lips and colliding with his. Dean instinctively parted his lips and allowed Cas to give him whatever he wanted.

It wasn't liquid, but it wasn't a gas either. It was tasteless and Dean didn't feel it pass down his throat or vanish in his mouth. His heart raced and he felt… safe. Blessed.

As soon as it started it was over and by the time Dean managed to control his heartbeat, Cas had vanished and no one seemed to have witnessed what had happened.

•●•

Ruby didn't like Dean.

For many reasons, some more obvious or justifiable than others. But for the sake of the role Sam had to play, Ruby forced herself to cooperate with the older of the Winchesters.

But this was too much.

The mere presence of Dean made her feel like there were cockroaches crawling all over her body. His soul had taken on a new glow and Ruby didn't want to know what kind of things Dean was doing with his angel to have that kind of purity.

"I think there's something wrong with Dean," Sam confessed and Ruby could feel the fear making his voice shake or maybe the shaking came from the blood that was still running down her arm.

"What are you talking about?" Ruby asked sweetly, almost genuinely concerned. If it were up to her Dean would still be rotting in hell, but Sam was on his way of doing a miracle and Ruby felt that someone like that deserved all the happiness and satisfaction in the world. Even if it meant having to put up with Dean Winchester.

"He looks different," Sam said. "I think the angels are doing something to him. My brother would never have..."

"What?" Ruby prompted. "Would never have risked his life for an angel?"

"Well, no".

Ruby had a sudden epiphany that they weren't talking about Ana.

"Maybe the angels are… purifying him," Ruby suggested. "I mean, you know what he did when he was in hell".

The idea of ​​Dean, brave and kind Dean, torturing souls in hell and enjoying it was too funny to be true.

"It's something more than that".

"What do you think it is?"

"I don't know!"

Ruby thought that they had already wasted a lot of time talking about Dean, so she decided to silence Sam with a deep and dirty kiss, climbing onto his lap and thinking that heaven could purify Dean as much as they wanted, because she would see to it that Sam was more powerful than they could ever imagine.

•●•

The angels had taken his brother and Sam swore he was going to kill them as soon as he found them.

Wasn't it enough that they were manipulating and corrupting him, they also had to make him relive what happened in hell?

Dean had protected him from many things. Dean, his older brother, had taken it upon himself to give him a childhood that he never allowed himself to have. Dean had been in the front row of his school play. Dean had made him tomato rice soup whenever he got sick. Dean had put a wad of money and a cell phone in his bag when he had left for Stanford.

Dean had sold his soul to save him.

So now it was Sam's turn to save his older brother.

•●•

"For what it's worth," Cas murmured against his lips. Dean was shuddering with what could be fear or perhaps anticipation. "I would give anything not to have you do this".

•●•

Sam had killed Alistair and Dean was furious.

Hundreds of emotions were piling up in his mind and he wasn't able to understand how his brother could be so stupid to not see that his powers were changing him for the worse. Dean could feel that something was wrong with Sam and his little brother didn't seem to mind.

"I did it to save you!" Sam insisted, throwing his hands up as if Dean was going to lunge at him despite still being slightly dizzy from the hospital drugs. "I only used my powers to protect you when the angels couldn't!"

"Cas did the best he could."

"Really?" There was a note of hysteria in Sam's voice. "Are you going to defend him?"

"Sam..."

"He forced you to torture Alistair despite knowing what you did in hell!"

"He had no other choice!"

"He's using you!"

"But at least he has never lied to me!"

The lightbulb in the room exploded.

Both brothers froze and Dean could see that Sam was breathing heavily and refusing to meet his eyes.

"Sammy?"

"I'm going to get some air," was all Sam said before he practically ran out of the room.

Leaving Dean wondering if things between them would one day stop being so broken.

•●•

Dean's eyes glowed blue.

Angelic blue.

Sam had to save his brother before it was too late.

•●•

The first time Dean healed him, Sam felt like something inside him was burning.

It had been a hunt like any other. No seals threatening to break, no angels or demons. Just the two of them against an angry ghost, just like old times.

Except the ghost was really angry and by the time Dean managed to burn their bones, Sam had been thrown into several graves and several trees and he was sure the back of his head was bleeding.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, running up to him and gently laying him on the ground, with his head in his lap, examining the severity of the injury. Sam felt like a little kid again, feeling safe next to his big brother.

For a moment, there was no apocalypse or arguments. Just the warmth of his brother's body and gentle fingers running through his hair.

"Dean, I'm fine," Sam managed to say. "You know how much head injuries bleed. It's less serious than it seems".

"I know, Sammy".

And then Sam felt the soft strokes on his hair turn into flames and a gasp escaped from his throat. The pain lasted only a second and by the time Sam regained awareness of his surroundings, none of his injuries were still hurting.

"What did you do to me?" Sam hissed, pulling away from Dean and standing up quickly and nearly falling back to the ground from the wave of nausea that washed over him.

"I… I don't know." Dean looked as terrified as Sam felt. "I just wanted to make you feel better".

Dean wasn't normal anymore. Whatever the angels had done or were doing to him was changing his brother.

And Sam no longer knew if he could save him.

•●•

"What's happening to me, Cas?" Dean asked. Trying to convince himself that his little brother was safe and that even though Lilith had escaped, she at least hadn't made any deals with Sam.

"You're changing," was Cas' soft reply. "A metamorphosis, a revelation".

"Am I not human anymore?" Dean asked with his voice showing the terror he really felt.

"You're always going to be human, Dean," Cas reassured him. "Every saint, every messiah, was as human as you".

"I don't deserve this, Cas," Dean gasped, closing his eyes to avoid seeing Castiel, his wings and halo, his eyes and his light. He wasn’t worthy of witnessing the greatness of an angel, not this angel at least.

"Do you still think you don't deserve to be saved?" Cas whispered and Dean trembled slightly as he felt a warm hand gently touch his chin, forcing him to look up and open his eyes. Cas was looking at him so adoringly that Dean felt like he was going to combust in any minute. "Do you think you don't deserve to be loved?"

This is love? Dean almost asked, but instead he connected his lips to those of the angel in front of him and tried to ignore the way in which, for the first time since he had been dragged to hell, he felt pure.

•●•

Castiel couldn't keep doing this.

Heaven had lied to them. Castiel had delusionally believed that he was keeping Dean safe, that he was rendering him immune to demons, healing his wounds and protecting him from all danger.

When in reality Castiel had only been poisoning him.

Shame mingled with guilt within his grace. His wings were flapping as fast as they could, pulling him towards Dean. Trying to warn him about what heaven was planning. Trying to save him from the hell Castiel had condemned him to.

The angels found him first.

Castiel felt how his wings were imprisoned and how his entire being seemed to be consumed by the most absolute pain.

"Take him to Naomi," ordered one of his superiors. "Fix him as soon as possible".

The last thing Castiel felt was the bond he had begun to form with Dean being brutally ripped apart.

•●•

No demon could touch him and surprisingly that wasn't the strangest revelation Dean had that day.

No, the fact that the demon that tried to touch him in Jimmy Novak's house let out a scream of pain as he held onto his burned hand paled in comparison to everything else:

Seeing Sam, his baby brother, throw himself on a demon to drink her blood, broke his heart in a way that Dean couldn't even begin explain.

After that, seeing how Cas looked like his wings had been passed through a shredder while his true form's eyes seemed dull and unfocused only served to make his wounded heart surrender completely.

Dean was practically invincible, but right now, with the broken pieces of his heart trying to stick together, he felt more fragile than any glass.

•●•

Bobby wasn't having a good day.

No, that wasn't good enough, Bobby wasn't having a good life.

But this day was particularly bad.

No matter how much he wanted to ignore them, Bobby could still hear Sam's delirious screams. And to think that the boy who had entered his house years ago, hiding behind his older brother and observing everything with big eyes full of curiosity, was now going through a detoxification process for having consumed demon blood, was something that Bobby could hardly tolerate.

The fact that Dean was a mess didn't help much either.

Dean appeared to be a shadow, drowning in alcohol and carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Bobby wondered if there was something wrong with him too, for on more than one occasion the lights around him seemed to flicker and his eyes seemed to emit a strange light.

What had these two idjits gotten themselves into now?

•●•

Dean didn't know what else to do anymore.

"She's poison, Sam," Dean said, praying his brother saw reason. Sam just gave him a wry smile.

"What about Castiel?" Sam hissed and Dean instinctively took a step back. "Is he poison too, Dean?"

They had both lied to each other and here were the consequences.

"Cas is an angel," Dean replied. "He's just protecting me".

"What makes you different from me?" Sam asked. "Tell me, why are you allowed to be a freak and I'm not?"

"Sam that's not how things are..."

"Of course they are!" Sam yelled. "All my life I have been the freak of our family, I never fit in with you and dad, and I was ready to accept that I'm different from you, but it turns out that you are the same freak as me!"

"It's different and you know it, Sam," Dean tried to argue. "Cas never made me drink his blood, he never made me promises too good to be true, and he never made me addicted to anything".

"Why?" Sam asked, sounding exactly like the scared little kid who had believed that the monster under his bed was real. Dean felt his heart ache. "Why if we are both freaks I have to be the monster?"

"It's not too late, Sam," Dean pleaded. "We can still stop this. No angels and no demons, just you and me. Like before".

"I… I can't do that, Dean," Sam denied.

"Of course you can," Dean insisted, moving slowly toward Sam. "Say goodbye to Ruby, return with me to Bobby's house and we will find a way to end it all. I just want you to be okay, Sammy".

Sam's skin began to burn the moment Dean placed his hand on his arm.

No.

"Sammy?" Dean didn't recognize his own voice, he felt like his body had ceased to be his. A witness of his worst nightmares. A tear ran down his cheek. "Sammy, please".

The blow hurt less than the implications of what just happened.

•●•

It wasn't fair.

None of this was fair.

The place where Dean's hand had touched it still hurt. A reminder of what he had sacrificed for the greater good. A mockery of what he had lost by trying to be a hero.

But he couldn't stop, not now that he was so close to ending it all. Not when it was only a matter of hours before Lilith tried to break the final seal.

Ruby's presence was a comfort with the same intensity as a punishment, because Dean hadn't trusted him the way she did, but still Sam wanted the presence of his older brother.

That part of him that had believed for years that his older brother was a superhero right now wanted to run up to his brother and beg for forgiveness.

But Sam was no longer a child and his brother had made a decision.

It was time for Sam to made his, too.

•●•

The angels had kidnapped him. There was no other way to describe what they had done to him, but Dean had made a promise and he planned to keep it. So he stayed there and listened to what the angels told him.

But the moment Zacharias leaned toward him, his movements clinical and expressionless in a way Cas' had never been, Dean couldn't resist the urge to seal his lips, lower his gaze, and take several steps back.

"Dean," Zacharias sighed, as if Dean was a little kid who didn't want to eat his vegetables.

"No," Dean refused and before he could regret it he added. "I want Castiel to do it".

The expression on Cas' face was heartbroken.

"Very well," Zacharias agreed, before ordering Cas to come over to him.

With Cas' lips so close to his and with the warmth of what he now knew was grace enveloping his body, Dean wondered if Sam had been right and Cas had been poisoning him too.

Perhaps both of them had poisoned each other.

"You're almost ready," Zacharias marveled when Cas broke away from him. "Everything will go according to plan".

Dean wasn't so sure about that anymore.

•●•

"Sam," Ruby said, her dark eyes showing a panic Sam never remembered seeing. "Time is running out, are you going to do it or not?"

With Dean's voice telling him that he was a monster echoing in his head, Sam knew he really had no other choice.

•●•

"You know what's real?" Dean asked and didn't wait for an answer before grabbing the lapels of Cas' trenchcoat and slamming his lips against his.

Cas seemed to freeze for a moment before reciprocating the kiss with intensity. His black wings curved around both of them and Dean felt the heat of his halo brushing against his hair. Invisible hands caressed his skin and hundreds of eyes watched him adoringly.

"This is real," Dean gasped as they parted. "This, us, people, families— that's real. You're gonna watch them all burn, Cas?"

"What would you have me do, Dean?" Cas whispered. His wings trembling slightly.

"Get me to Sam," Dean said. "We can stop this before it's too late".

"I do that, we will all be hunted," Cas replied. "We'll all be killed".

"If there is anything worth dying for... this is it" was all Dean could say.

Dean barely had time to react before he was being pushed into one of the walls and kissed desperately. Dean raised his hands to tangle them in Cas' hair and parted his lips the moment he felt Cas' tongue touch his lower lip.

His body accepted Cas' grace with ease.

"We have to find Sam, we have to stop him from killing Lilith," Cas told him when they parted.

"Why?" Dean asked, feeling a little dizzy. "Lilith is going to break the final seal".

"Lilith is the final seal," Cas said. "She dies; the end begins".

•●•

Sam had never felt a power like this.

It was all about to end and he could finally have the life he deserved. His nightmare would end and everything Azazel had planned would be in vain. Sam would use the powers that hell had given him for good. He would use the demon blood that ran through his veins to prevent the apocalypse.

And maybe, when things finally ended, Sam could apologize to Dean and all of this would be nothing more than a bad memory.

Lilith was smiling and Sam was eager to erase that smile once and for all.

Finally, everything was about to end.

•●•

Castiel was committing treason.

He didn't even think twice before vanishing Zacharias and carrying Dean as quickly as his wings allowed him to the house of the prophet of the lord. It was the only chance they had to find Sam and stop the apocalypse before it started.

"You guys aren't supposed to be there," said the prophet, frowning. "You're not in this story".

"Yeah, well..." Castiel said. "We're making it up as we go".

Castiel then took a moment to look at Dean, his soul shining as bright as the sun and cradling his grace as if he never wanted to be without it. Castiel felt a wave of affection for the human he had rescued from hell, for the man who had kissed his lips like a lover.

He sensed the archangel's presence long before he appeared and Castiel knew that they had run out of time.

Regardless of whether the prophet was watching them, Castiel pulled Dean to share a heavy kiss. A kiss of regret for lost time. A goodbye kiss.

"I'll hold him off!" Castiel gasped against Dean's lips, allowing most of his grace to flow to him. If Castiel couldn't protect him, at least he would make sure his grace did. "I'll hold them all off! Just stop Sam!"

Dean connected their lips one last time.

"Good luck".

In the end, Dean had been right. This was something worth dying for.

•●•

He had been too late.

•●•

"I was the best of all those sons of bitches!" Ruby yelled, a maniacal smile curving her lips. "The most loyal!"

Sam had stopped listening to her, just staring in horror at what he had done.

This is not how things are supposed to be. This shouldn't have been the end of this. He had made a stupid mistake, he had been arrogant and he had been naive. Sam had only wanted to protect the world; he had only wanted to take some of the burden off his brother's shoulders.

Sam, for once in his life, had just wanted to do something right.

"You're too late," Ruby scoffed and Sam felt like he might start crying when he saw his big brother.

"I don't care," Dean hissed and Sam could only watch paralyzed as Dean placed his hand on Ruby's forehead and she started screaming, her eyes on fire and the demonic essence of her fading.

"I'm sorry," Sam sobbed. "I'm so sorry, Dean".

Dean couldn't even look him in the eye.

"We have to get out of here," was all Dean said. "Let's go, Sam".

"Dean," Sam gasped. "He's coming".

Dean ignored him, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the exit.

For the first time in months, Dean's touch was no longer uncomfortable.

•●•

The apocalypse had begun.

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed - Episode 02

Warning: Spoilers for all 50 episodes!

(Masterpost ) (Previous Episode) (Next Episode)

Donkey Riding

way ho and away we go, donkey riding donkey riding way ho and away we go, riding on a donkey

Wei Wuxian and Apple are doing their best for the Ministry of Culture and Tourism. 

Xiao Zhan had trouble riding the donkey sitting side-saddle, so the Department of Questionable Practical Effects made him a fake leg to wear while riding regular style. 

Can you spot it? It’s very hard to spot. It is very convincing.

Simple Pleasures

Wei Wuxian takes his time wandering up the nearest mountain, and half of the cultivators in the land also wander up this mountain because...Night Hunting! The cultivators are hot and thirsty from walking because they forgot that they all know how to fly. 

Wei Wuxian relaxes by a well and listens to people stanning him. 

Also

I’m going to say it: Wei Wuxian never met a drinking vessel he couldn’t blow.

Everything is Beautiful at the Ballet

The actress who plays A-Yan is named Zhang Linran. She probably has studied dance since she was 4 and now she gets her big break which turns out to be feeding an apple to a donkey. So let’s pause for a second to look at how beautifully she moves.  

Reunions are Awkward, Part 1

Wei Wuxian meets up with one of his family members and it goes super well. 

I...like Jin Ling? He’s much less of a douchebag than his dad, his uncles Jin, Jiang, and Mo (the three stooges), and every damn one of his Jin cousins. He’s genuinely brave (his Dad’s primary good quality) and his hair is on fleek. He’s still a whiny diaper baby, but I like him. 

(much more after the cut!)

Then Jiang Cheng shows up, looking fine as hell and radiating peak arrogant-prick energy.

When he discovers that ‘Mo Xuanyu” stuck a piece of paper to Jin Ling, he tells the child to literally murder him. Excellent uncleing! A+++++ would recommend.  

“In fact, literally murder anyone who uses Yiling Laozu’s tools, like talismans, lure flags, or spirit compasses - basically murder everyone in the Lan Clan plus those other fanboys we saw coming up the hill. Then get out there and make some friends, goddamn it!”

These nets full of cultivators on this daytime night hunt are the only time we ever see anything in a net during a night hunt.  In fact dudes constantly go night hunting and the only prey we ever see is rock lady, murder turtle, and a couple of rag mops in the lake. 

You Are Not Qualified to Speak to Me

Also radiating arrogant-prick energy on this occasion is Lan Wangji. He has been using pettiness as a weapon since long before he met this Jiang Cheng turkey, and he *brings it* when Jiang Cheng tries to have a conversation with him.

Letting your eyes wander everywhere except to his punchable face while you ignore his passive-aggressive questions? Quality work. 

Dropping a silence spell on his child and then letting your own child explain it to him? Golden. 

Lan Wangji is never ever going to forgive Jiang Cheng for what he did on cliff day, and his silence here is as pointed as an ice pick. I suspect the last words Lan Wangji actually spoke to him were “Jiang Wanyin, stop it,” sixteen years ago. 

Jiang Cheng is actually the bigger person in this particular interaction, visibly mastering his temper and telling Jin Ling to take his medicine. 

Reflecting

Wei Wuxian hangs out by a beautiful river and hallucinates for a while. River Jiang Yanli is nurturing and River Jiang Cheng is pissed off, so there are no surprises there.  River Jiang Cheng thinks that Wei Wuxian is a promise-breaking douchebag. He’s not exactly wrong. 

Courtesy of convenient gossiping cultivators, Wei Wuxian discovers that the 16 year old arrogant kid from the Jin clan who his brother from the Jiang clan has custody of is actually and quite obviously Jin Rulan.

Well fuck I guess now I care about something, that’s inconvenient. 

Needing to help parent the child of the sister who parented him is what draws Wei Wuxian fully into his new life. 

As soon as he has this realization, Apple comes back from roaming around, and never gives him any trouble after this for the rest of the story. Which...probably doesn’t mean anything. 

Wen Gravesite

Does Wen Ning hang out here because it’s where he and his (dead) people came from? Oh great, now I am sad. 

Judging by all the leaves on this grave thingy I’m going to say that this grave tender dude is, ah, not very good at his job. 

Get him, Jingyi!

I feel like maybe we all focus too much on how Lan Jingyi is so hilarious and sardonic and not enough on how he is a such a biscuit. 

Soul Grass

As mentioned in the previous post, Chinese spiritual concepts don’t always translate well into English. Soul grass? Sure, why not. 

This is where Wei Wuxian’s Sherlock Holmes brain starts to work, although he still doesn’t remember really basic stuff about Dafan Mountain. Dying and changing bodies is rough on the old neurochemistry. This creates more opportunities for flashbacks, however, and if there’s one thing The Untamed deffo needs more of, it’s kissing flashbacks.

Temple Statue

Presumably grave-tender dude is also in charge of clearing away spiderwebs at the temple, because it’s not getting done. 

Jin Ling walks into the temple blaspheming at full volume. 

Since this isn’t a Greek story, he isn’t immediately struck blind for this. Then when he wishes for the statue to come alive, it obligingly does.  Everything’s coming up Rulan!

Wei Wuxian shows up to rescue all the kids by throwing talismans at the monster which does not tip anyone off to who he is. 

Baby Cultivator Babysitting

Lan Wangji chills out in the cultivators’ pavilion with Jiang Cheng and their mutual hate boners.

Meanwhile, Wei Wuxian forgets all about his nephew and turns into cool professor guy, explaining the basics of soul-eating to the baby cultivators and gleefully encouraging their fear of Hanguang-Jun’s punishments. 

Because the Lan babies are good filial children they are super respectful and engaged with this random adult who is lecturing them. They also - like their own Hanguang-Jun at their age - see and admire Wei Wuxian’s intellect. It’s easy to forget how extremely smart Wei Wuxian is, because of how extremely dumb Wei Wuxian is.

Lan Jingyi suddenly figures out Wei Wuxian is not crazy. 

Bis. Kit. 

Then Rock Lady shows up and Jin Ling sticks 6 arrows into her while Lans Jingyi and Sizhui stand around not bothering to draw their swords.

I see a lot of comments about the bad effects in the statue sequences but I think Rock Lady is all right. The figure animation is decent and the lighting is no worse on her than on everything else in the scene. Her hair is nice, for a rock person.

Admittedly I just finished watching Guardian which has CGI monsters so bad they may have injured my retinas and possibly also my DNA, so the bar, for me, is pretty low. Rock lady clears it with room to spare.   

Note: Wei Wuxian’s flute playing does zippity towards controlling the statue. Not sure what his plan was here.

Wen Ning Kicks Ass

Now we get to meet Wen Ning, who appears to be a stone-cold badass. Later we will discover how hilariously inaccurate that assessment is. 

While all versions of Wen Ning are delightful, this version of Wen Ning is also...strangely attractive? He’s got a Patti-Smith-Horses-Era vibe here, instead of his more usual lost-baby-dork vibe. And his dreamy “I have nails in my head” expression is intriguing. 

I mean, he’s not a total snack like zombie Song Lan or pre-zombie Song Lan or blind Song Lan or post-zombie Song Lan, but this look is a good one for Wen Ning, is what I’m saying.

Reunions are Awkward, Part 2

Lan Wangji, who has 99% already recognized Wei Wuxian because of the haunted sword and the fierce jawline and beautiful neck and tiny tiny waist, is summoned by his flute playing as inexorably as the Ghost General was. 

Jiang Cheng also recognizes Wei Wuxian and goes into full beatdown mode, thwarted (silently) by Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian attempts to preserve his incognito by sassing Jiang Cheng in as sibling-like a manner as possible. 

Hanguang-Jun’s Pro-Ghost Agenda Has Been Clear for Some Time

This Jiang/Lan fight is hilarious when you consider the implications.

Macroexpression vs. Microexpression

Mo Xuanyu brought Wei Wuxian back using sacrifice summons, a dark ritual invented by Wei Wuxian that he, most likely, did NOT show to Lan Wangji back in the day. So it’s a pretty safe bet that Lan Wangji doesn’t know that Wei Wuxian was gifted a body, rather than stealing one.

when your brother turns around, you must whip him you will never live it down unless you whip him

When Jiang Cheng lets loose with Zidian, it’s not just because he’s angry. He’s using purple power to force Wei Wuxian’s ghost out of the body he’s apparently possessed. And Lan Wangji instantly STOPS him from doing that.

Clan Leader Jiang: this person has been possessed, against their will, by an evil ghost

Future Chief Cultivator Lan: Counterpoint: I am banging the ghost

Flashback Time

Welcome to your 30-episode flashback!

Once I used to join in Every boy and girl was my friend Now there's revolution, but they don't know What they're fighting

Let us close our eyes Outside their lives go on much faster Oh, we won't give in We'll keep living in the past

Road Tripping to Summer School

Gosh I’m looking forward to younger, kinder, more relatable Jiang Cheng.

...prick. 

Incidentally, until now this episode didn’t know that Jiang Cheng has smile muscles, and neither did the person who glued his wig on for him.

I Like Rabbits

Here we have our first rabbit in a large collection of rabbit iconography that appears in The Untamed. 

Instead of sending everyone to the Wikipedia page for Tu'er Shen I’m going to take this opportunity to rec the short film Kiss of the Rabbit God by Andrew Thomas Huang (tw: blood, tw:body-mod cutting) which you can read about and watch over at  Nowness.com 

Particularly if you are a queer person of Chinese heritage, check it out. 

So. What the fuck are these? Are they food? 

Are they made from wax? Or corn starch? or pig intestines? 

Wei Wuxian runs off to get laid drunk and Jiang Cheng grumps about it. Jiang Yanli reminds him that being free is a Jiang Clan Rule, so really Wei Wuxian is following the rules by not following the rules. Does that mean he’s not free? My head hurts. 

Jiang Cheng: yes but grump grump grump

Jiang Yanli: Nothing bad will ever happen because of A-Xian’s choices, trust me

Outro

Wei Wuxian faint tally: one  Caught by: the cold hard ground

Soundtrack: 1. Donkey Riding by Great Big Sea 2. Living in the Past by Jethro Tull 3. Whip It by Devo

Fic prompt:  Lan Wangji’s internal monologue while he sits in the pavilion with Jiang Cheng 

If you write a fic from this prompt and want to share, please post a link in comments!

Bonus: Wang Zuocheng, macro-expression king

Episode 03 Restless Rewatch coming soon!

[qqueenofhades]

Modern AU Heartrender Husbands gives me the vibes of like they'll watch eurovision bc Fedyor wanted to and Ivan only begrudgingly agreed but in the end it's him who's standing really close to the TV with a bottle of beer loudly criticising the jury vote

Anon, your Mind. As 100% ever, I am so very easy to enable. As before, this is set in Phantom!Verse, and serves as a sequel of sorts to this (and as a further prequel to PEL).

Brighton Beach, 2014

It’s their first spring in their new home – they arrived in America in August 2013 and got this place, fittingly, right around Orthodox Christmas in January 2014 – and that means many things to them. Their apartment is in a formerly rent-controlled brownstone tenement right off the boardwalk, but prior to their arrival, it was occupied for fifty years by an old bat from Krasnodar Krai who apparently never, ever, threw anything away. (Fedyor is too scared to ask if she actually died in this apartment and her mummified corpse is lurking at the bottom of all the junk.) That is why he and Ivan were able to afford it, at least, but now that the weather is warmer, they have been spending all day cleaning, hauling boxes of crap to the dumpster, and trying in vain to get the smell of pickled cabbage out of the kitchen. It looks exactly like your Great Aunt Masha’s house, the one that traumatized you as a child and has never left your nightmares since. Home sweet home.

The upside is that the location is great, the apartment is surprisingly spacious and lovely – a big bedroom, a bathroom with two sinks and a deep claw-footed tub, a living room with high windows that let in lots of light, original crown molding and hardwood floors – and if it was located in the really chic parts of Brooklyn and inhabited by a tech-startup hipster rather than a Russian émigré spinster with definite hoarding tendencies, it would rent for some astronomical monthly sum. Fedyor has a three-ring binder full of paint swatches, sketches, furniture samples, and other plans to give it a total overhaul (he’s thinking a nice pale green for the living room?) But the one thing that spring definitely means is Eurovision, and it is just the ticket to relax from their grueling schedule of throwing boxes of junk away and hoping they don’t stumble upon a withered hand in a glass jar. He likes America and he’s excited for their new life, for all that they had no choice but to leave Russia in a hurry, but Eurovision is Eurovision.

Actually watching it, of course, is easier said than done. For one thing, Fedyor can’t find a blasted station that is airing it, when he could have just switched on the TV and found it right away back home. For another, Ivan is deeply dubious of the whole endeavor, having watched five minutes of it once when he was eighteen and turning it off in disgust, never to return. Fedyor spends a lot of time wheedling him to give it another chance. “Come on, Vanya. It’s fun!”

“It is a lot of homosexuals gyrating in leather to very bad music,” Ivan snaps. “They look ridiculous. And sound even worse.”

Fedyor glances at them – the fact that they’re sitting on the couch, he’s on Ivan’s lap with his legs draped over Ivan’s thigh, and Ivan’s arms wrapped around his waist – and coughs. “I’m not sure how to break this to you, darling,” he says, “but you are also a homosexual.”

“Maybe, but you would never catch me dead up there.”

“Of course not.” Fedyor rolls his eyes. “You might actually have to smile.”

Ivan makes a scoffing noise. Then he notices the full-on puppy-dog face that Fedyor is now giving him, and says, “Oh no. Oh no, Fedya. Do not look at me like that.”

“Why not?” Fedyor shamelessly snuggles closer. “Is it working?”

The predictable outcome is that Ivan grudgingly agrees to watch it with him, though they’re on American time now and Eurovision Song Contest 2014, held in Copenhagen, Denmark, is six hours ahead of them. Ivan thinks that it’s stupid to sit down and watch a lot of gyrating homosexuals in the middle of the day, when there’s still so much work to do, and tries to demand that they just watch the recording later. Fedyor says this is nonsense, you simply cannot watch a recording of Eurovision, and after a lot of investigation, finds the online streaming channel on his laptop and hooks it up to the TV so they can watch it there. Then he prepares his popcorn, his alcoholic beverages, and his glitter glasses, corrals his recalcitrant husband, and readies himself to experience pure joy. No wonder Ivan doesn’t get it.

However, the effect is both swift and remarkable. By the end of the first semi-final, Ivan is put out about the fact that Russia came seventh in the popular vote but was knocked down to eleven by the jury (this is evidence of an anti-Russian conspiracy, according to him) and when only Moldova, a tiny no-name non-EU former Soviet state, deigns to award them the full twelve points, he is openly incredulous. “Moldova?! That is all we get?! MOLDOVA?!”

“Well,” Fedyor says delicately. “There is that little situation in Ukraine, so I’m afraid we are not that popular right now.”

“That is bullshit,” Ivan grouses. “This is a song contest. The Tolmachevy Sisters are not Vladimir Putin. I am sure they have worked very hard to be here.”

Fedyor glances at him and wisely decides not to say anything. He is likewise a little peeved when the Russian contestants get booed by the Danish audience, but Ivan looks like he’s about to leap through the screen and throttle every single one of them. He thrusts out a hand. “Give me a drink, Fedya. I need it to suffer this indignity.”

Fedyor cracks the lid off a cold one and hands it over – there is the Brighton Bazaar just a few blocks away, stocked with Russian goods, so they are spared the ordeal of drinking Yankee beer – and Ivan takes a long slug. He thinks they can skip watching the second semi-final two nights later, since Russia isn’t in it, but Fedyor puts it on anyway. They both like Austria and “Rise Like a Phoenix,” sung by the bearded drag queen Conchita Wurst (there have been a few dumb comments about her from the usual suspects), but Ivan hits a fist on the arm of the sofa. “She was not better than the Russian girls,” he says loyally. “I still think that they should be the ones to win.”

“Right, well,” Fedyor says. “I think the only ones less likely to win are the Brits, and they never win, so we might be waiting a while.”

The grand finale, on May tenth, is an inadvertently hysterical exercise. They get up early and put on the pregame show, like the Americans do with their bewildering fixation on the Super Bowl, and Ivan gets even more furious when the Tolmachevy Sisters are booed again. “Are they not supposed to love everyone at this glitter bacchanalia? So much for the Scandinavians being tolerant and accepting people! The song is nice! They are nice girls! What is wrong with them?!”

“Come over here and give me a cuddle, Vanya,” Fedyor suggests. “Otherwise you will blow a blood vessel long before the show starts.”

Ivan growls like an escaped tiger from the zoo, but consents to sit down next to Fedyor. They both drink copiously once the festivities get underway, singing along loudly (and not that melodiously) to the various entries, Fedyor’s arm draped around Ivan’s neck as he sits on his lap and critically judges the acts before the official results pop up. Once again, the only twelve-point awards Russia gets are from former Soviet countries (Azerbaijan and Belarus) and Ivan looks like he’s going to have a conniption before Fedyor kisses him and he gets distracted for the next three minutes. “This is disgraceful,” he mutters, when they break away. “Not you, Fedya. Just the horrible way they have clearly rigged this show against us.”

“You know,” Fedyor says. “That’s Eurovision. You declare war on your neighbors when they don’t give you twelve points. Now they have the EU, they’re not supposed to fight anymore, this is the only way they can get all those old rivalries out. Just be glad that Australia isn’t in this year. You might have really blown a gasket.”

“Australia?!” Ivan shifts Fedyor to a more comfortable position on his lap and grabs for his third bottle of beer. “AUSTRALIA IS NOT IN EUROPE! It is not even anywhere NEAR Europe! WHY DOES AUSTRALIA GET TO BE IN EUROVISION!?!”

Fedyor laughs out loud. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Ivan says. “But this is still the stupidest thing I have ever seen.”

“Shh.” Fedyor nuzzles him. “Just give in, Vanya. Just give in.”

Ivan consents to turn his grumbling down to a simmer, and is somewhat mollified that Russia comes in sixth overall, which is better than even Fedyor thought they were going to do. Austria takes the champion’s crown, they can both agree that Conchita Wurst deserves it, and get up and dance around their still-junk-cluttered living room as she gives her bravissima performance. A few things have been thrown during the judging, but they can’t add much to the existing mess, and in Brighton Beach, “damage caused to the apartment because Russia got shafted during Eurovision finals” might actually be a legitimate excuse. As he leans against Ivan’s chest and grins into his neck, Fedyor has to admit that this place may just feel like home yet.