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merymoonbeam · 2 years ago

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The Wild Hunt-Fionn-First Gods

Disclaimer: I'm not saying I'm right about all of this. Just theorizing here.

This is gonna be long post so buckle up...

Because this is a long post I’m gonna write what I’m gonna talk about in this post. Also not every myth points to one thing and not every thing we have in the books are inspired just one thing. To me it looks like sarah used different myths from different countries and connected them all together.

The Wild Hunt myths and how sarah might use them for plot for the next books and crossover

First gods are still running free in the world

Narben is actually a spear not a sword? Or fourth dread trove is a spear?

Fionn is not dead but sleeping?

Fionn is(was) the leader of wild hunt and betrayed the Daglan.

Let’s start....

The Wild Hunt

It is described like this in mythology

The Wild Hunt is a folklore motif that occurs in the folklore of various northern European cultures. Wild Hunts typically involve a chase led by a mythological figure escorted by a ghostly or supernatural group of hunters engaged in pursuit. The leader of the hunt is often a named figure associated with Odin in Germanic legends, but may variously be a historical or legendary figure like Theodoric the Great, the Danish king Valdemar Atterdag, the Welsh psychopomp Gwyn ap Nudd, biblical figures such as Herod, Cain, Gabriel, or the Devil, or an unidentified lost soul or spirit either male or female. The hunters are generally the souls of the dead or ghostly dogs, sometimes fairies, valkyries, or elves.

and this is from Acosf

“The Daglan delighted in terrorizing the Fae and humans under their control. The Wild Hunt was a way to keep all of us in line. They’d gather a host of their fiercest, most merciless warriors and grant them free rein to kill as they pleased. The Daglan possessed mighty, monstrous beasts—hounds, they called them, though they didn’t look like the hounds we know—that they used to run prey to ground before they tortured and killed them. It’s a terrible history, and much of it might be elaborated myths.” (Acosf)

I think the reason we got Valkyries plot in Acosf sarah is going to connect to wild hunt. But the whole Wild Hunt plot is not only about that.

In Acosf we met Lanthys. He is one of the First gods. (thank to @lesolehabitantdelalune for showing me this quote because without her I wouldn't catch this.)

Cassian took a bite of food. A good sign that this, at least, was acceptable territory. “When you lived in the human world, you had legends of the dread beasts and faeries who would slaughter you if they ever breached the wall, didn’t you? Things that slithered through open windows to drink the blood of children? Things that were so wicked, so cruel there was no hope against their evil?” The hair on her neck rose. “Yes.” Those stories had always unnerved and petrified her. “They were based on truth. Based on ancient, near-primordial beings who existed here before the High Fae split into courts, before the High Lords. Some call them the First Gods. They were beings with almost no physical form, but a keen, vicious intelligence. Humans and Fae alike were their prey. Most were hunted and driven into hiding or imprisonment ages ago. But some remained, lurking in forgotten corners of the land.” He swallowed another mouthful. “When I was nearing three hundred years old, one of them appeared again, crawling out of the roots of a mountain. Before he went into the Prison and confinement weakened him, Lanthys could turn into wind and rip the air from your lungs, or turn into rain and drown you on dry land; he could peel your skin from your body with a few movements. He never revealed his true form, but when I faced him, he chose to appear as swirling mist. He fathered a race of faeries that still plague us, who thrived under Amarantha’s reign—the Bogge. But the Bogge are lesser, mere shadows compared to Lanthys. If there is such a thing as evil incarnate, it is him. He has no mercy, no sense of right or wrong. There is him, and there is everyone else, and we are all his prey. His methods of killing are creative and slow. He feasts on fear and pain as much as the flesh itself.”(acosf)

So we learn quiet a few things from this quote.

Lantys is a first god.

First gods were near-primordial beings who existed before the High Fae split into courts, before the high lords.

They were beings with almost no physical form, but a keen, vicious intelligence.

But some First gods remained, lurking in forgotten corners of the land.”

These are all important.

Later we find that Lanthys was a part of the Wild Hunt.

“Oh, I do not think so,” Lanthys seethed. “I rode in the Wild Hunt before you were even a scrap of existence, witch from Oorid. I summoned the hounds and the world cowered at their baying. I galloped at the head of the Hunt, and Fae and beast bowed before us.”(acosf)

Before we dive more into to the Wild Hunt I wanna show this.

The description of the First Gods (with almost no physical form, lurking in forgotten corners of the land.”)reminded me of something. I think this is a scene as a fandom we find not important but I think it might be one of the biggest hints?

that scene happens in Acofas. In Mor's chapter.

But Mor scented nothing, saw nothing. The tendril of power she speared toward the woods revealed only the usual birds and small beasts. A hart drinking from a hole in an iced-over stream. Nothing, except—.There, between a snarl of thorns. A patch of darkness. It did not move, did not seem to do anything but linger. And watch. Familiar and yet foreign. Something in her power whispered not to touch it, not to go near it. Even from this distance. Mor obeyed. But she still watched that darkness in the thorns, as if a shadow had fallen asleep amongst them. Not like Azriel’s shadows, twining and whispering. Something different. Something that stared back, watching her in turn. Best left undisturbed. Especially with the promise of a crackling fire and glass of wine at home. “Let’s take the short route back,” she murmured to Ellia, patting her neck. The horse needed no further encouragement before launching into a gallop, turning them from the woods and its shadowy watcher. Over and between the hills they rode, until the woods were hidden in the mists behind them. What else might she see, witness, in lands where none in the Night Court had ventured for millennia?(acosf)

She sees a shadows... and what we know about the first gods? with almost no physical form.

She was in the lands where none in the Night Courth had ventured for Millennia... what we know about the first gods? lurking in forgotten corners of the land.

Did she saw a First God? Are there more like it? Why mor was the one to see it? I will talk about mor more later in the post but a little hint... it is interesting that The Morrigan is called ""great queen" or "phantom queen" in myths.

Okay back to Wild Hunt.

In Wikipedia it shows that in different countries the leader of the wild hunt is different.

I'm gonna talk about two of them in this post.

Brittany: Arthur

Ireland: Fionn mac Cumhaill and the Fianna; Manannán—also known as The Fairy Cavalcade.

Brittany:Arthur

We are starting with Brittany:Arthur. (I added the wiki page if you want to read about more because I can't talk about everything.

I think Sarah used this legend as a part of Gwydion-TT-Narben.

Arthur was the King. I think the most popular myth about this is Excalibur and Sword in the stone(some stories say they were one and the same)

Excalibur is the legendary sword of King Arthur, sometimes also attributed with magical powers or associated with the rightful sovereignty of Britain. It was associated with the Arthurian legend very early on. Excalibur and the Sword in the Stone are not the same weapon, though in some modern incarnations they are either the same or at least share their name.

Now let's look at Gwydion.

“Some strains of the mythology claim that one of the Fae heroes who rose up to overthrow them was Fionn, who was given the great sword Gwydion by the High Priestess Oleanna, who had dipped it into the Cauldron itself. Fionn and Gwydion overthrew the Daglan. A millennium of peace followed, and the lands were divided into rough territories that were the precursors to the courts—but at the end of those thousand years, they were at each other’s throats, on the brink of war.” His face tightened. “Fionn unified them and set himself above them as High King. The first and only High King this land has ever had.”(acosf)

From Hosab we know that Gwydion is actually Starsword.

It was its twin. The Starsword began to hum within its sheath, glittering white light leaking from where leather met the dark hilt. The dagger—.The male dropped the dagger to the plush carpet. All of them retreated as it flared with dark light, as if in answer. Alpha and Omega. “Gwydion,” the dark-haired female whispered, indicating the Starsword.(hosab)

Other things we know about Gwydion(Starsword)

That your son, not you, retrieved the Starsword from the Cave of Princes in Avallen’s dark heart. That your son, not you, stood among the long-dead Starborn Princes asleep in their sarcophagi and was deemed worthy to pull the sword from its sheath. How many times did you try to draw the sword when you were young? How much research did you do in this very study to find ways to wield it without being chosen? (Hoeab)

like Arthur, Ruhn was the one to pull it out.

But we know that the sword actualy belongs to female heir of Theia.

“Theia was dead by that point,” Aidas said flatly. “Pelias slew her.” He nodded to the Starsword in Ruhn’s hand. “And stole her blade when he’d finished.” He snarled. “That sword belongs to Theia’s female heir. Not the male offspring who corrupted her line.”

@offtorivendell talks about this in this post if you wanna read it. Theia's secret legacy

so how this connects to Truth-Teller and Narben?

Arthur had two other weapons.

A dagger and a spear.

Other weapons have been associated with Arthur. Welsh tradition also knew of a dagger named Carnwennan and a spear named Rhongomyniad that belonged to him. Carnwennan ("little white-hilt") first appears in Culhwch and Olwen, where Arthur uses it to slice the witch Orddu in half. Rhongomyniad ("spear" + "striker, slayer") is also mentioned in Culhwch, although only in passing; it appears as simply Ron ("spear") in Geoffrey's Historia. Geoffrey also names Arthur's shield as Pridwen; in Culhwch, however, Prydwen ("fair face") is the name of Arthur's ship while his shield is named Wynebgwrthucher ("face of evening").

We know that Truth-teller and Gwydion(Starsword) are twins. Alpha and Omega. (I made a post about this. You can find it here Alphan&Omega)

Now... Narben. We know little about Narben.

“Amarantha destroyed one,” Amren said. Cassian started. “I never heard that.” Amren amended, “Rumor claimed she dumped one into the sea. It would not come to Amarantha’s hand, nor the hands of any of her commanders, and rather than let the King of Hybern attain it, she disposed of it.” Azriel asked, “Which sword?” “Narben.” (Acosf)

"Narben was even older than Gwydion,” Rhys said. “Where the hell was it?” (Acosf)

Narben’s powers had not been the holy, savior’s light of Gwydion, but ones far darker. (Acosf)

Rhys studied her blade. “Narben is a death-sword. It’s lost, possibly destroyed, but stories say it can slay even monsters like Lanthys.” (Acosf)

These are all the things we know. It is a little bit sketchy that Sarah had given us so little information about it.

Also it looks like she is using Arthur's weapons as an inspo for Gwydion and Truth-teller...which one is missing? A spear. So that makes me question if Narben is not a sword but a spear? Or the Fourth dread trove is a spear? 👀

now...we are done with Brittany:arthur as the leader of the wild hunt. this other part is more in depth with the where I think the story is going.

second leader of the wild hunt we are going to talk about :

Ireland: Fionn mac Cumhaill and the Fianna

Ireland: Fionn mac Cumhaill and the Fianna; Manannán—also known as The Fairy Cavalcade.

Fionn mac Cumhaill , often anglicized Finn McCool or MacCool, is a hero in Irish mythology, as well as in later Scottish and Manx folklore. He is leader of the Fianna bands of young roving hunter-warriors, as well as being a seer and poet.

He was a seer...So is Elain. 👀👀

He is often depicted hunting with his hounds Bran and Sceólang("raven" and "survivor”), and fighting with his spear and sword.

in this it is mentioned that he hunts with his hounds. and has a spear? another spear mentioning. Narben is a spear? Or the Fourth dread trove we haven’t found yet is a spear?

From what lanthys said there were hounds in Wild Hunt in Acotar.

and nesta says that the hounds Lanthys showed her in the vision looked like the beasts from Court Of Nightmares.

Nesta could see the portrait Lanthys wove into the air around them. She saw herself on a black throne, a matching crown in her unbound hair. Enormous onyx beasts—scaled, like those she’d seen on the Hewn City’s pillars—lay at the foot of the dais. (Acosf)

and these are a few description of the hounds on the Hewn City's pillars.

Great, scaled black beasts were carved into those gates, all coiled together in a nest of claws and fangs, sleeping and fighting, some locked in an endless cycle of devouring each other. Between them flowed vines of jasmine and moonflowers. I could have sworn the beasts seemed to writhe in the silvery glow of the bobbing faelights throughout the mountain-city. The Gates of Eternity—that’s what I’d call the painting that flickered in my mind. (Acomaf)

We at last came to a throne room of polished ebony. More of the serpents from the front gates were carved here—this time, wrapped around the countless columns supporting the onyx ceiling. It was so high up that gloom hid its finer details, but I knew more had been carved there, too. Great beasts to monitor the manipulations and scheming within this room. The throne itself had been fashioned out of a few of them, a head snaking around either side of the back—as if they watched over the High Lord’s shoulder. (Acomaf)

and we have the prophecy from acomaf

Life and death and rebirth Sun and moon and dark Rot and bloom and bones Hello, sweet thing. Hello, lady of night, princess of decay. Hello, fanged beast and trembling fawn. Love me, touch me, sing me. (Acomaf)

continuing with Fionn...

Fionn in the myth literally has the same name as the high king we learned about in acosf.

Is it a coincidence that Fionn is the leader of Wild Hunt in myths and we have Fionn in Acosf who rose up to Overthrow the Daglan?

Was the Fionn, from acotar, the leader of the Wild Hunt in acotar?

Rigelus mentions that the fearsome warriors they built were traitors. They joined the Fae and overthrow his siblings.

“Can’t you?” The cold voice slithered through the intercom. “You are Starborn, and have the Horn bound to your body and power. Your ancestors wielded the Horn and another Fae object that allowed them to enter this world. Stolen, of course, from their original masters—our people. Our people, who built fearsome warriors in that world to be their army. All of them prototypes for the angels in this one. And all of them traitors to their creators, joining the Fae to overthrow my brothers and sisters a thousand years before we arrived on Midgard. They slew my siblings.” (Hosab)

moving onto myth again. I will be doing a little bit paraphrasing.

In the myth Fionn is the son of Cumhall mac Trénmhoir. Cumhall was the leader of Fianna. The Fianna were a band of warriors also known as a military order composed mainly of the members of two rival clans, "Clan Bascna" (to which Finn and Cumall belonged) and "Clan Morna" (where Goll mac Morna belonged), the Fenians were supposed to be devoted to the service of the High King and to the repelling of foreign invaders. After the fall of Cumall, Goll mac Morna replaced him as the leader of the Fianna, holding the position for 10 years.One feat of Fionn performed at 10 years of age according to the Acallam na Senórach was to slay Áillen, the fire-breathing man of the Tuatha Dé Danann, who had come to wreak destruction on the Irish capital of Tara every year on the festival of Samhain for the past 23 years, lulling the city's men to sleep with his music then burning down the city and its treasures. When the King of Ireland asked what men would guard Tara against Áillen's invasion, Fionn volunteered. Fionn obtained a special spear (the "Birga") from Fiacha mac Congha ("son of Conga"), which warded against the sleep-inducing music of Áillen's "dulcimer" when it was unsheathed and the bare steel blade was touched against the forehead or some other part of the body. This Fiacha used to be one of Cumall's men, but was now serving the high-king.After Fionn defeated Áillen and saved Tara, his heritage was recognised and he was given command of the Fianna: Goll stepped aside, and became a loyal follower of Fionn, although a dispute later broke out between the clans over the pig of Slanga.

Keep Tuatha Dé Danann in mind because I'm gonna use later on--soon.

There is a mention of High King. We know that Fionn was the first and the last high king acotar world saw.

Moving onto Fionn’s death from the myth.

According to the most popular account of Fionn's death, he is not dead at all, rather, he sleeps in a cave, surrounded by the Fianna. One day he will awake and defend Ireland in the hour of her greatest need. In one account, it is said that he will arise when the Dord Fiann, the hunting horn of the Fianna, is sounded three times, and he will be as strong and as well as he ever was.

He is not dead but sleeping. He will wake up when the horn is sounded three times. And you know who just arrived at Acotar with the horn tattooed to her back? BRYCE. Is this all crossover is about. To wake up Fionn from his sleep? This is how the crossover is going to affect the Acotar world? Is Fionn good or bad?

Rigelus says that the horn was stolen from his people. The Daglan. And the wild hunt was their way to terrorize the fae. And if fionn betrayed them and rose againts them...he might have stolen the horn from them?

In the myth Fionn was the leader of Fianna.

Fianna were small warrior-hunter bands in Gaelic Ireland during the Iron Age and early Middle Ages. A fian was made up of freeborn young males, often aristocrats, "who had left fosterage but had not yet inherited the property needed to settle down as full landowning members of the túath". For most of the year they lived in the wild, hunting, raiding other communities and lands, training, and fighting as mercenaries. Scholars believe the fian was a rite of passage into manhood, and have linked fianna with similar young warrior bands in other early European cultures

Fian was a Rite of passage into manhood? does that sound familiar? hello...Blood rite.

“What’s the Blood Rite?” “What it sounds like.” He rubbed his neck. “When an Illyrian warrior comes into his full power, usually in his twenties, he has to go through the Blood Rite before he can qualify as a full warrior and adult.

It seems like sarah took inspo from here.

And you know which mountain is sacred for Illyrians...RAMIEL.

and you know how ramiel was described.

Ramiel. The sacred mountain. The heart of not only Illyria, but the entirety of the Night Court.

Cassian soared toward it, unable to resist Ramiel’s ancient summons. Different—the mountain was so different from the barren, terrible presence of the lone peak in the center of Prythian. Ramiel had always felt alive, somehow. Awake and watchful.

Felt alive somehow? Is it because Fionn is sleeping in there? With Fianna?

Ramiel rose higher still, a shard of stone piercing the gray sky. Beautiful and lonely. Eternal and ageless. No wonder that first ruler of the Night Court had made this his insignia. Along with the three stars that only appeared for a brief window each year, framing the uppermost peak of Ramiel like a crown. It was during that window when the Rite occurred. Which had come first: the insignia or the Rite, Cassian didn’t know. Had never really cared to find out. (Acofas)

The thing Cassian says about the insignia is really interesting. Which one came first? The rite? or the insignia?

We know that the courts took place after the fall of Fionn in Acotar.

Rhys’s eyes flicked to Ataraxia, then to Cassian. “Some strains of the mythology claim that one of the Fae heroes who rose up to overthrow them was Fionn, who was given the great sword Gwydion by the High Priestess Oleanna, who had dipped it into the Cauldron itself. Fionn and Gwydion overthrew the Daglan. A millennium of peace followed, and the lands were divided into rough territories that were the precursors to the courts—but at the end of those thousand years, they were at each other’s throats, on the brink of war.” His face tightened. “Fionn unified them and set himself above them as High King. The first and only High King this land has ever had.” Nesta could have sworn the last words were spoken with a sharp look toward Cassian. But Cassian only winked at Rhys. “What happened to the High King?” Feyre asked. Rhys ran a hand over a page of the book. “Fionn was betrayed by his queen, who had been leader of her own territory, and by his dearest friend, who was his general. They killed him, taking some of his bloodline’s most powerful and precious weapons, and then out of the chaos that followed, the seven High Lords rose, and the courts have been in place ever since.”

My theory is that...THE SECOND DAUGHTER was the first ruler of night court.

Did she come back to Acotar and was the first ruler of the Night court? @silverlinedeyes talks about in "The Illyrians—A (Crack) Theory" how illyrians might be demons from hel and the second daughter came back to the acotar with them.

in Hosab we learn that Theia was the queen who betrayed Fionn and she crossed to Crescent city. She had two daughters as far as we know. Helena and the second daughter. What we know about the second daughter is that...she vanished into the night. With Hosab we know that Ruhn and Rhys looks similar...maybe because they came from the same lineage? Ruhn is descendant of Pelias and Helena. So if the second daughter came back to acotar and was the first ruler...that makes ruhn and rhys a distant relative? so that explains why they look the same.

Aidas laughed coldly. “Your celebrated Prince Pelias, the so-called first Starborn Prince, was an impostor. Theia’s other daughter got away—vanished into the night. I never learned of her fate. (Hosab)

The winged, dark-haired male who stepped in behind her … Bryce gasped. “Ruhn?” The male blinked. His eyes were the same shade of violet blue as Ruhn’s. His short hair the same gleaming black. This male’s skin was browner, but the face, the posture … It was her brother’s. His ears were pointed, too, though he also possessed those leathery wings like the two other males.(Hosab)

so there is that.

Which had come first: the insignia or the Rite, Cassian didn’t know. Had never really cared to find out.

Back to Ramiel. Ramiel has a stone on top of it. A sacred stone.

Cassian snorted, but his words were serious. “There’s a sacred stone atop it. Touch the stone first, and you win. It will transport you out immediately.

Before we dive into the stone. We have to talk about Tuatha Dé Danann. I mentioned when I was talking about Fionn.(Also danann...Ruhn Danaan. Hello.) (@offtorivendell talked about Tuatha Dé Danann in her dusk court post so if you wanna read it I will add here.)

The Tuath(a) Dé Danann , meaning "the folk of the goddess Danu"), also known by the earlier name Tuath Dé ("tribe of the gods"),are a supernatural race in Irish mythology. Many of them are thought to represent deities of pre-Christian Gaelic Ireland.

In Irish mythology, *Danu is the reconstructed mother goddess of the Tuatha dé Danann (Old Irish: "The peoples of the goddess Danu"). Though primarily seen as an ancestral figure, some Victorian sources also associate her with the land.

so they are a folk of the goddess Danu. and she is a mother goddess...interesting. We have the Mother in acotar 👀🤭

the members of Tuath(a) Dé Danann.

Prominent members of the Tuath Dé include The Dagda ("the great god"); The Morrígan ("the great queen" or "phantom queen"); Lugh; Nuada; Aengus; Brigid; Manannán; Dian Cecht the healer; and Goibniu the smith, one of the Trí Dé Dána ("three gods of craft").[5] Several of the Tuath Dé are cognate with ancient Celtic deities: Lugh with Lugus, Brigit with Brigantia, Nuada with Nodons, and Ogma with Ogmios.

The Dagda...sounds familiar—The Daglan.

“The Fae were not the first masters of this world. According to our oldest legends, most now forgotten, we were created by beings who were near-gods—and monsters. The Daglan. They ruled for millennia, and enslaved us and the humans. They were petty and cruel and drank the magic of the land like wine.”

and mor. I talked above how Mor was the one seeing one of the "first gods" so it is connected to that.

Other things I think are important about Tuatha Dé Danann.

The Tuatha Dé Danann are described as a supernatural race, much like idealized humans, who are immune from aging and sickness, and who have powers of magic. The powers most often attributed to the Tuath Dé are control over the weather and the elements, and the ability to shapeshift themselves and other things. They are also said to control the fertility of the land; the tale De Gabáil in t-Sída says the first Gaels had to establish friendship with the Tuath Dé before they could raise crops and herds.

Weather and Elemental magic? Sounds familiar. Rhys talks about how the high fae once more elemental.

“Once, the High Fae were more elemental, more given to reading the stars and crafting masterpieces of art and jewelry and weaponry. Their gifts were rawer, more connected to nature, and they could imbue objects with that power.” (Acosf)

and shapeshifting. Rigelus talks about how the Fae from bryce's world could shapeshift.

“Not your kind of Fae, of course—your breed dwelled in a lovely, verdant land, rich with magic. If it’s of any interest to you, your Starborn bloodline specifically hailed from a small isle a few miles from the mainland. And while the mainland had all manner of climes, the isle existed in beautiful, near-permanent twilight. But only a select few in the entirety of your world could shift from their humanoid forms to animal ones."

They are also connected with fertility of the land.

Prison island.HELLO

According to legend, the pegasuses had come from the island the Prison sat upon—had once fed in fair meadows that had long given way to moss and mist. Perhaps that was part of the decline: their homeland had vanished, and whatever had sustained them there was no longer.

So Pegasus were originally from Prison island but whatever had sustained them there was no longer? So... Prison island is dusk court and they were the ones sustaining the fertility of the land but when they vanished they took the magic with them because there was no more Fae to sustain it?

and this is about where Tuath(a) Dé Danann lives.

They live in the Otherworld, which is described as either a parallel world or a heavenly land beyond the sea or under the earth's surface. Many of them are associated with specific places in the landscape, especially the sídh mounds; the ancient burial mounds and passage tombs which are entrances to Otherworld realms.The Tuath Dé can hide themselves with a féth fíada ('magic mist') and appear to humans only when they wish to.

and these are a few description of Prison island.

I stared up at the sharp grassy slope of the small mountain, shivering at the veils of mist that wafted past. Behind us, the land swept away to brutal cliffs and a violent pewter sea. Ahead, nothing but a wide, flat-topped mountain of gray stone and moss. (Acomaf)

Velaris had been brisk, sunny. This place, wherever it was, was freezing, deserted, barren. Only rock and grass and mist and sea. (Acomaf)

also it is interesting that Avallen in CC is also an island and they have the power to use shadows and mist...

But rumor claimed Ruhn’s magic was more like those of his kin who ruled the sacred Fae isle of Avallen across the sea: power to summon shadows or mist that could not only veil the physical world, but the mind as well. Perhaps even telepathy. (Hoeab)

Another reason his father resented him: beyond his Starborn gifts, the bulk of his magic skewed toward his mother’s kin—the Fae who ruled Avallen, the mist-shrouded isle in the north. The sacred heart of Faedom. (Hoeab)

And bryce notes when she comes to Velaris that they wear clothes like they do in Avallen.

The petite, dark-haired female with angular eyes like Fury’s drew up short. Her red-painted mouth dropped open, no doubt at the blood all over Bryce’s face and body. This female was … Fae. Clad in beautiful, yet thoroughly old-fashioned clothes. Like the stuff they wore on Avallen.

so sarah seem to take one thing from the myths and use it in several parts and try to connect them in some way—we will see how they all connect together in the books 👀.

and we lastly have the part I will connect to Ramiel... the four treasures of the Tuath(a) Dé Danann. (Also four threasures... four dread trove. It is not connected to them but it is funny lmao)

Dagda's Cauldron

The Spear of Lugh

Claíomh Solais (The Sword of Light)

Lia Fáil (The Stone of Fal)

Side note: @offtorivendell is going to make a full post about all of these four treasures and she is going to dive more into lugh’s spear being narben and gwydion being the sword of light. So keep your eyes on that 👀🤭 I will tag it when she posts it. Here is the post

Cauldron..I MEAN. It literally explains itself.

The spear of Lugh:

No battle was ever sustained against it, or against the man who held it.

This is one of the other reasons why I think Narben or fourth dread trove might be a spear not a sword.

Remember what Amren said about narben:

“I don’t know, but she found it, and when it would not bend to her, she destroyed it. As she did all good things.” It was as much as Amren would say about that terrible time. “It was perhaps in our favor. Had the King of Hybern possessed Narben, I fear we would have lost the war.”

Claíomh Solais (The Sword of Light):

The Sword of Light or Claidheamh Soluisis a trope object that appears in a number of Irish and Scottish Gaelic folktales. The "Quest for sword of light" formula is catalogued as motif H1337.

The sword may be rendered in English as the "Sword of Light", or "Shining Sword".

HELLO GWYDION/STARSWORD.

Narben’s powers had not been the holy, savior’s light of Gwydion, but ones far darker.(acosf)

The Starsword sang with light, her power flowing into it. Activating it. And nothing had ever felt so right, so easy, as plunging the blade into the bony chest of the wounded Reaper. It arced, bellowing, black blood spurting from its withered lips. (Hosab)

Also Sword of light is described as this.

No one ever escaped from it once it was drawn from its sheath, and no one could resist it. The sword is also described in the Tain legend as "Nuadu's Cainnel"—a glowing bright torch.

You know what that reminds me of.

With shaking fingers, she put it back into its sheath. Dimmed its light. But the Starsword still sang, and Bryce had no idea what to make of it. Of the blade that had slain that which was unkillable. (Hosab)

Lia Fáil (The Stone of Fal):

This is where it gets interesting for Ramiel.

The Lia Fáil; meaning "Stone of Destiny" or "Speaking Stone" to account for its oracular legend) is a stone at the Inauguration Mound (Irish: an Forrad) on the Hill of Tara in County Meath, Ireland, which served as the coronation stone for the High Kings of Ireland.

Coronation stone for the High Kings. Fionn was a high king. 👀

Ramiel has a stone on top of it.

Cassian snorted, but his words were serious. “There’s a sacred stone atop it. Touch the stone first, and you win. It will transport you out immediately. (Acosf)

and it is a living stone. that sang to him.

But when he’d touched the onyx monolith, when he’d felt that ancient force sing into his blood in the heartbeat before it had whisked him back to the safety of Devlon’s camp … It had been worth it. To feel that. With a solemn bow of his head toward Ramiel and the living stone atop it, Cassian caught another swift wind and soared southward.(acofas)

so Lia fail is speaking stone and Cassian felt the sacred stone on top of ramiel sing into his blood and describes it as the living stone.

In myths it is said that the Lia Fail has powers.

The Lia Fáil was thought to be magical: when the rightful High King of Ireland put his feet on it, the stone was said to roar in joy. The stone is also credited with the power to rejuvenate the king and also to endow him with a long reign.

Does this sound familiar? It is like the gates in Crescent City. They took power when people made a wish and this way Bryce was like a gate because her powers comes from the gate.

“Your power came from the Gate—with a shit-ton of firstlight mixed in. So your magic—beyond the light, I mean— needs to be powered up. It relies on firstlight, or any other form of energy it can get. You’re literally a Gate: you can take in power and offer it. But it seems the similarity ends there. The Gates can store power indefinitely, while yours clearly peters out after a while.”(Hosab)

So what if the stone is keeping Fionn alive in Ramiel? what if it's feeding him? Or is the stone on top of ramiel is a daglan creation and under ramiel they have their feeding point like in hosab?

Also Lia fail is connected with Fianna. As I mentioned they were the warriors that served Fionn.

It is from this stone the Tuatha Dé Danann metonymically named Ireland Inis Fáil (inis meaning island), and from this Fál became an ancient name for Ireland. Fál in Old Irish means several things like hedge, enclosure or king, ruler. In this respect, therefore, Lia Fáil came to mean 'Stone of Ireland'. Inisfail appears as a synonym for Erin in some Irish romantic and nationalist poetry in English in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries; Aubrey Thomas de Vere's 1863 poem Inisfail is an example. The term Fianna Fáil ("the Fianna, warriors, or army of Ireland"; sometimes rendered "the soldiers of destiny") has been used as a sobriquet for the Irish Volunteers; on the cap badge of the Irish Army; in the opening line of the Irish-language version of Amhrán na bhFiann, the Irish national anthem; and as the name of the Fianna Fáil political party, one of the main parties in Ireland.

this is from what I added to fianna. > Scholars believe the fian was a rite of passage into manhood, and have linked fianna with similar young warrior bands in other early European cultures

In blood rite they try to touch the stone on top of Ramiel. In Fianna they have fian which is a rite to passage into manhood. Fianna is connected with Lia Fais(speaking stone) and Ramiel has a stone on top of it that sings.

So I think that's all. Thanks for reading.

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sxftkxssxs · 1 year ago

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How do you think the main 6 would react if MC was related to one of the courtiers (sibling or child of) and they still had a relatively good relationship with them, like hanging out over tea or freindly bickering ect. Bonus if its valdemar cause they're probably the scariest out of all of them xx

//I love your HCs BTW xx

I just went ahead and used Vlademar! If you do want versions with the others then I'll gladly do that! I'm glad you like my writing <3

M6 with a Mc who’s a sibling of one of the courtiers

Asra

...You're actually related???

Wonderful, amazing, love of his life, related to Vlademar??

He's filled with a mix of disgust, surprise, and confusion.

Why that one? Out of all of them he despises Vlademar the most.

He does try to not fight or be salty towards him at least, which is only slightly successful.

If Asra runs in on you two catching up over tea he'll be absolutely flabbergasted. Vlademar?? Crazy experiment doctor chatting over tea?

He'll always come with you when you go to see your sibling, and in doing that he learns a lot about the both of you and your relationship.

Julian

downright terrified

you’re?? The sibling of Vlademar??

he’s spiraling, and there’s a 80% chance he will faint

he’s always been intimidated by Vlademar even before he met you, and now it’s even worse

Julian will be sweating buckets around them. No questions asked.

It’s very weird seeing you banter with them, though. He never thought he’d see the Vlademar so relaxed and having a good relationship with someone.

Vlademar has threatened Julian more than once just for existing around you, and then tries to act like he was joking when you come around.

Nadia

You have to be kidding.

You're related to the craziest of the courtiers? Why couldn't it have been Vulta!?

She's stressing, growing metaphorical (and possibly literal) gray hairs.

As long as you both won't be a thorn in her side, (and you don't turn up in a ditch somewhere), she doesn't mind you two having time together in the palace.

She finds it incredibly awkward when she runs in on you two having some friendly bickering. This is still the same Vlademar right? You didn't replace him with someone on the streets of Vesuvia?

Nadia will try to spend some time with the both of you together, but she usually sits out on your little get togethers.

Muriel

He's not very pleased with this information

Vlademar was literally a follower of the devil??? And now you're fighting them over if a pastry tastes good??

Muriel would definitely hold some resentment. If you really do want them to get along he'll try his best.

Inanna in turn, also despises Vlademar. She'll never stay in a room alone with them.

He doesn't really like spending time with your sibling, they unnerve him.

Inanna will accompany you if she has to, especially if it'll ease Muriel's worry.

Portia

She's shocked

Portia is more easily introduced to them as your sibling, but she definitely holds a grudge against how her brother was treated during the plague and how cruel Vlademar can be

She doesn’t often hang out with the two of you together, but if you ask her to she will!

She learned how to fake pleasantries from working at the palace, and she puts them to use here

Pepi sits in your lap, making you look like an evil villain.

Lucio

again, why that one?

He never really liked Vlademar (or any of the courtiers)

You just had to be related to one of his past (Demonic?) "friends" didn't you?

He doesn't like being near Vlademar at all. Lucio will completely leave you two to be by yourselves.

Melchior likes to stay with you though, and will definitely growl if you two start bickering too harshly

Mercedes is with Lucio, screw hanging out with Vlademar!

#asra alnazar #the arcana lucio #the arcana game nadia #asrathearcana #headcannons #julian devorak #the arcana #the arcana imagines #the arcana asra #asra the magician #nadia satrinava #nadia #portia devorak #the arcana game #the arcana julian #arcana #julian #asra #portia x apprentice

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the-one-0 · 2 years ago

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You know that one scene in game where valrius spills his drink on MC on purpose? How do you think the other courtiers and Nadia would react if MC got up without saying a word and proceeded to pour their own drink right on valirius head and leaned in real close and said “oops”? I saw a scene like this in a show and thought it was the most badass thing ever xx

(Sorry for the misspelling, I’m god awful with their names)

Oh, yes, I saw that scene. :)

Well, it's going to be fun!

Countess Nadia

As a well-bred ruler of the state, she is extremely amazed. Even more: she's in shock. Moreover, it is unclear why exactly she is more in shock – from Valerius' antics or because of the way the MC answered him.

The surprised Countess runs up to MC and Valerius, wondering what happened, who first started this whole nightmare and for what purpose it was set up. Of course, the question is: "who started it first?" rhetorical. She squints irritably at the blushing Valerius, who clearly did not expect that this act would be noticed.

Nadia reprimands the culprit first: "Consul, I did not expect this from you, your behavior is unacceptable and from this day on I forbid you to appear in rooms where others gather with a glass of wine" – even such a harmless remark can hurt Valerius' self-confidence.

After talking to the adviser, she slowly turns to the MC and already addresses them, with the same stern expression on her face. Yes, the Countess is strict, but very fair and wants everyone to get what they deserve. "MC, I understand that you are angry at Valerius because of this terrible act, but try not to do it again. This is not worthy of any reaction. Now let me deal with your stain on your clothes."

As a result, Valerius, hurt by pride, goes to wash his hair and grumbles, and Nadia leaves MC next to her to discuss what happened. She intends to have this conversation with both MC and Valerius when he gets himself in order.

"MC, I am very ashamed of my adviser, I apologize for his antics. I'll talk to him and try to make sure he doesn't try to embarrass you anymore."

Nadia will definitely make Valerius apologize to MC. And the MC will also be obliged to apologize for what he did: she doesn't want people around her to conflict or hate each other.

Quaestor Valdemar

They are not doing anything to stop what is happening. Seriously, they absolutely don't care about this brawl, they just act as a silent observer who came to watch an unfunny cheap performance.

Not a single emotion flashes on their face, but their eyes are closely watching both MC and Valerius. But at the same time Valdemar is not on anyone's side.

When the MC takes and pours wine on Valerius' head, the reaction still appears: they laugh softly, hissing into their fists, squinting their eyes. It's almost impossible to see or hear.

Since their face is hidden by a medical mask, it is difficult to determine: is Valdemar funny or are they just snorting contemptuously? Oh, no, it's really something like a laugh. They haven't had this much fun in a long time.

At the end of this meeting, they will not say anything to MC or Valerius, but they will remember this case for a long time.

Valdemar could not resist and nevertheless inserted their remark: "Valerius, you should not have taken this fatal step. Your pride is wounded," and then spreads into a wide toothy smile that can be seen even through the mask.

In their opinion, this is a good way to put the arrogant Valerius in his place, so they have nothing against it.

Pontifex Vulgora

Get ready. Their laughter will shake the whole room, and Valerius' rage will become uncontrollable, because "no one dares to laugh at the supreme consul!". But Vulgora clearly doesn't care.

"FUCK, VALERIUS, NOW YOUR HEAD LOOKS LIKE YOU'VE ALREADY HAD YOUR SKULL CRUSHED!"

They catch judgmental glances at themselves, but they don't care at all. They laugh uncontrollably, flavoring their laughter with prickly and witty comments. Finally, this reception has become less boring.

Vulgora does not care about the condemnatory views and comments of everyone present. In a fit of emotion, they can hit something in a hurry and it will definitely suffer.

For example, it can be a vase. And it will be noisy until the Pontifex releases them and they come to their senses, or until the Countess calms them down.

But even after that, they will remember this situation for a long time and make rude jokes on this topic.

Vulgora are even proud that they did not miss this reception and saw the spectacle while being at the forefront.

Preator Vlastomil

Looks at the spectacle with a bit of surprise. Not that what was happening was important to him, because all this time he was busy looking at the worms that he carried in the folds of his clothes and woke up only when he heard Valerius's indignant scream.

"What's going on here?! You are scaring my children!" – he is outraged, for the most part, not by what the MC did, but by the fact that because of Valerius, who began to resent loudly, his worms hid back in the folds of his clothes and now refuse to come out again.

When he sees Valerius doused with wine, he is not thrilled. Now there is a smell of this drink around, because of which his worms will definitely not crawl out now.

However, he is still watching this scene. After all, what else does Vlastomil like besides worms? That's right, gossip. Fresh gossip. Therefore, he discards indignation and collects material for gossip related to Valerius. This is a great reason to put him in front of everyone in an unfavorable light.

Do not be surprised if in a few days the whole palace will be talking about it. Vlastomil, of course, if he is suspected, will say that he has nothing to do with it, but since he is the only most avid gossip here, you should not believe him.

Valerius' reputation has suffered because of him.

Procurator Volta

Like Vlastomil, she wasn't particularly interested in this meeting. She was fascinated by the food she had secretly brought into the room and was just eating all the time.

Exactly until the room was filled with the smell of poured wine on Valerius' hair. She giggles softly, unable to contain her laughter. Valerius is always so proud and arrogant, and now he's so awkward and funny.

"Now Valerius smells so nice of the drink!" – she squeaks.

If Vlastomil is the main gossip of the palace, then Volta deservedly takes second place. Together with him, she, occasionally laughing, and discussing with him all the awkwardness of the incident.

When the performance is interrupted by Nadia's remarks, Volta quickly loses interest in this small scandal and returns to eating again.

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duchesssoflennox · 1 year ago

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MARRIAGE OF KING HAAKON VII AND QUEEN MAUD OF NORWAY🥺🤍💍

Prince Carl, the second son of then-Crown Prince Frederick of Denmark and Princess Louise of Sweden, was born at the Charlottenlund Palace on August 3, 1872 and was christened Christian Frederik Carl Georg Valdemar Axel. Maud, meanwhile, was the youngest daughter of Albert Edward, Prince of Wales (later King Edward VII) and Princess Alexandra of Denmark. Both Frederick and Alexandra were children of King Christian IX of Denmark.

At a young age, Carl was not expected to become king because he was a second son. So, he built a career in the military, where he served as a naval officer at the Royal Danish Naval Academy in Copenhagen. Maud, meanwhile, was the liveliest of Edward and Alexandra's three daughters. She fell in love with Prince Francis of Teck, the younger brother of her sister-in-law, the future Queen Mary .Francis and Maud exchanged several letters, however, as time passed, it became clear that the love was one-sided as Francis had no interest in Maud.🥲💔

As cousins, Maud and Carl often met, especially during family gatherings. Rumours eventually circulated within the family that the two might get married. Carl proposed during a reunion at Fredensborg Castle and Maud accepted. Their engagement was announced on October 29, 1895. Princess Alexandra was initially hesitant of the engagement because Maud was 3 years older than Carl, She only relented when she realized that Carl would prove to be the right husband for her sea-loving daughter.🌊🤍

The engagement delighted Queen Victoria (Maud's grandmother). According to Queen Victoria's Maid of Honour, news of their engagement “…caused much excitement at Balmoral…and has been the cause of much telegraphing…The Queen is delighted and healths were drunk at dinner.”

The wedding was set on July 22, 1896. The wedding was almost delayed after Prince Henry of Battenberg's untimely death, but it was finally decided that the wedding should go on as scheduled and that Princess Beatrice (Maud's aunt and Prince Henry's wife) and her children would not attend. European royals converged in London for this wedding. Members of both the British and Danish royal families were present, as well as their Greek, German, Russian, and Swedish relatives. The bride wore a simple dress fashioned by Miss Rosalie Whyte of the Royal Female School of Art. It had a long train and was made of pure white English satin which was woven in Spitalfields, a section of London known for its weaving. She wore the Princess of Wales' wedding veil and instead of a tiara, she adored her hair with flowers.

Queen Victoria recorded in her Journal: ‘After the Benediction, Maud came forward to her parents & then to me & I kissed both her & the Bridegroom’.

the famous royal painter LAURITS REGNER TUXEN painted the wedding using the photos taken at the wedding! Queen Victoria gave the painting as a present to Maud's parents, the Prince and Princess of Wales.🥺❤️‍🩹

#haakon vii #queen maud #Princess maud of Wales #Prince carl of denmark

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snobgoblin · 5 months ago

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Valdemar so brushable!!! Brushes them like a Barbie doll brushes them like a Barbie doll. Maybe Valdemar in a ponytail?? Honse card matchy matchy? Sorry I have weird mood today hahaha (it's fine but everything is just so funny to me )

let me say I am so happy you guys like long hair!Valdemar because long hair and Valdemar are two of my favorite things to draw

anyway here's you brushing their hair and also them with a ponytail

#asks #anon #snoobgoobles #arcana spam #long hair valdemar #<- gonna start keeping track of these #imagining youre one of the plague doctor interns #quaestor valdemar

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uselessvaldemarsimp · 4 months ago

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thank you for your service

Dorian. Dorian. It's not that complicated Dorian. It's not that hard. look- hey look at me. look at me Dorian.

#long hair valdemar goes hard

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runwayrunway · 1 year ago

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No. 16 - SAS (Scandinavian Airlines System)

I mentioned this was coming beforehand. Today we’re diving into a livery that has a lot more going on than you might think at first glance, a haunting portrait of what Lufthansa’s livery wants to be - the livery of the only airline to be mentioned in more or less every YTP ever made, SAS!

This isn't actually the modern livery, sorry. I'm a fraud. This is an anachronistic 2007 Avro RJ that apparently even back then had a livery basically all but identical to the modern one save for the lack of the SAS text. It still bodies Lufthansa and then some. I just had to find a place to slide it in because it's a very funny image that I love very much.

Legally known by the extremely catchy name “Scandinavian Airlines System Denmark-Norway-Sweden”, SAS was founded in 1946 as a consortium of the national carriers of Denmark, Norway, and Sweden. This makes it among the very few airlines to currently serve as the flag carrier of multiple countries.

It’s been around for nearly 80 years, but it’s only had four liveries in that time. I mention these because I think it’s worth contrasting with Lufthansa, which bled off traits over the decades until it was nothing but a dry husk. Unlike the slowly putrefying decrepit corpse which is Lufthansa, SAS is a young adult trying to find her identity who can't stop dyeing her hair different colors and deciding she hates it. Let's talk about those phases, and where we ended up at the end of it all.

1946 - The Original

image: Bene Robió

This picture is of a modern plane, OY-KBO “Christian Valdemar Viking” (all SAS planes have names ending in ‘Viking’) wearing a retro livery, but it contains the only part of SAS’s original livery of any interest at all.

If we zoom in we can take a look at the end of the cheatline, where it morphs into the figurehead of a Viking longship. This is a nifty little touch that represents their national identity and is itself sleek and nicely designed.

And it looks even better on the 747.

It’s also the only notable thing about this old livery, so it’s not worth lingering on for too long. I thought it was worth mentioning because it's neat, but this livery was literally adopted when they very first began flying - in 1946! At that point it was pretty rare to see airlines have any livery at all aside from their name painted on bare metal. This was actually above and beyond for the time.

image: towpilot

It didn't look half bad on the DC-3, either. This was a consistently nice style and for its era I would say it was pretty good. But are we judging by the standards of the time? No.

So, for the time I would probably have given it a high grade. But it is not the time.

So I am giving it a C-.

There are still things to like about the longship design, don't get me wrong. But there is just literally nothing else going on, and it's not enough to have the only piece of your livery that's actually identifiable be so small and easy to miss.

1983 - Belly Stripes

image: Lars Wahlstrom

In 1983 they swapped to this livery, commonly known as “belly stripes”, designed by the iconic Landor Associates, prolific purveyors of liveries. It’s a pretty abrupt change, isn’t it? I like this livery, actually. It’s nice, if understated. The stripes are specifically the colors of the Norwegian, Swedish, and Danish flags. Apparently they worried the figurehead would be hard to understand (fair) and the association with Vikings might be bad optics (yet they continued to name their planes this way).

Like I said, it’s nice. It’s fine.

This, like the original livery, is something that can be evaluated by modern standards or by those of its time. In 1983 majority-white liveries weren’t as ubiquitous as they are now and planes still frequently had cheatlines and all-over color and even bare metal fuselages so the bare white plane with the tiny bit of color and the nice font was actually something of a statement. Even by modern standards it’s executed a lot nicer than many similar liveries, but the market is just so saturated that it only really works in the context of its time, I think. Having a plane be nearly all white is no longer an artistic choice. It's a non-choice. And that's the world I live in, and that has to color how I look at this. But all the same...I can't tear myself away from it. In photographs from the time it is as pristine as newly fallen snow.

So I'm giving it a B.

I like the belly stripes livery. It's a neat and unique way of showcasing the flags. It's cleanly executed. I like that the stripes are diagonal instead of straight and that they're aligned with the letters, which are also in a very nice typeface. I just wish it existed in a less Eurowhite-saturated environment where it could shine to its fullest.

I somehow never noticed how adorably stubby the pre -30 DC-9 models were. Thankfully this has been remedied. Just look at her. Like a really round bird hopping through the air.

I think it’s interesting how, while Lufthansa slowly lost creative interest but only ever became a different design altogether in a sort of Ship of Theseus way, SAS fully overhauled their livery multiple times. They’re definitely trying to find something that works for them, regardless of the cost. They refuse to rest on their laurels. I admire that mindset, and it’s not ended badly so far.

And then it was 1998.

If you look very closely you can see something horrible in the distance.

No, okay. It can't be as bad as you're making it out to be, you say. And you are a fool for saying this.

Oh no. Oh no. Sweetheart, what happened to you?

So, this is really really bad. Really really really bad. This looks like it was designed with the same philosophy I used to design original characters in middle school - oh, I like this color, let me add it without considering the overall balance or composition. This design was made by people who were paid to make it.

This has almost all the features I hate most in a livery, all the way up to the abrupt color transition at the tailfin, but an additional one: that absolute atrocity right at the front. If you’re confused what I’m referring to, I don’t blame you - they made it nearly invisible. If you squint very hard, though, you can see ‘SCANDINAVIAN’ above the windows and ‘AIRLINES’ below it, completely illegible due to being painted in a silver color barely darker than the main fuselage itself.

It looks amazingly funny with rear-mounted engines, though. That's her fanny pack.

All I can really say is: why. Why did you do this? Why.

I am actually somewhat ashamed of how little I noticed this when out in the wild. It’s a testament to the sheer saturation of mostly plain liveries with a hint of red and/or blue that this monstrosity blended into the background and evaded my notice. (And in my defense I’ve never been to one of their focus cities so sightings have only been in passing.)

This might sound harsh, but I'm about to say this and stand by it. Here is a better SAS livery from the same time period.

With the engine covers on it looks like one of those plastic tips they put on toy pistols. Also, doesn't keeping the red engine caps defeat the purpose if you also have red engines, since they're meant to be clearly visible so you don't accidentally try to use the plane with them on? Do they not have a different color available for red engined freaks? Many questions.

That's right, SAS's 1998-2019 livery fails the Star Alliance Test!

What is the Star Alliance Test, you ask? It's very simple. Star Alliance is an airline alliance - basically a club for the world's most elite carriers to hang out in and codeshare. The three major alliances all have special liveries that they might have a couple planes from each of their members wear.

I hate alliance liveries. I think airline alliances should be represented by a little symbol on the airline's standard livery, not the other way around. I would like to know what airline this plane is from before I know if it's a member of OneWorld or SkyTeam. And if I need to know that they usually have a symbol for the alliance somewhere on the plane anyway.

The Star Alliance logo on a SAS ATR 72, directly behind the cockpit window and in front of the door. If you really squint you can even see the words 'Star Alliance' written underneath it.

Star Alliance is my least favorite. SkyTeam's livery actually looks pretty good. OneWorld's is the ugliest at base, but it lets the airline keep some of its branding at the back of the plane, which makes me hate it less. So Star Alliance loses by default. (Let me know if you'd like a full review for these, though.)

The Star Alliance Test has exactly one question. Would I prefer that all this airline's planes were forcibly repainted into Star Alliance liveries instead of allowed to remain in their current state?

In this case, yes. I very much would. And that means there's only one grade I can give to this livery.

F. See me after class.

That's right. Fly away. Ideally to get repainted in something more presentable.

The 2019 Overhaul

(To clarify, when I compared Lufthansa to SAS in my post about them I did not want to imply that they literally copied SAS - their revised livery obviously came out a year earlier, and they were definitely developed privately around the same time to keep up with modernized trends surrounding livery - they’re just similar safe, non-revolutionary concepts that SAS executes a lot better.)

I don’t normally buy the whole ‘the darkness must come before the light’ line of thinking, but SAS clearly does. Because even here, in this abomination, are the building blocks for what would become something reasonably decent. And, in 2019, SAS made that happen.

Those are engine covers, by the way. There's no red on the engines. There's actually a tasteful silver trim under there.

So, this is what we've achieved. At first glance, it looks pretty similar to Lufthansa, but the closer you examine it the clearer the differences become.

First, the white fuselage. Well, actually, that’s not the case for SAS. It looks white in bright sunlight, but it’s actually an off-white beige (Pantone 9083C). You can see that in this picture of an SAS plane parked next to a SWISS plane, and when you put a bunch of Scandinavians in crisp white shirts in front of it.

image source (left): Daniel Ross | image source (right): SAS

I mean, no, it’s not exactly neon pink or anything, but it’s still a noticeable change in tone relative to other planes, and that means it’s a decision someone made. And that makes me happy.

I think the world has begun to somewhat agree with me on the whole non-integrated-tail-colorblock being bad to look at, because SAS has also extended the stripe of blue down to loop under the rest of the fuselage. Honestly, if I were them I would have made it wider so it covered the full empennage on t-tail models, but that might make it look weird in its own way - I’m not here to design liveries, I’m here to complain about them. I just think it's still a bit too small to make the jet look fully balanced with the big SAS at the front.

The awful red engines have been replaced with a far more tasteful alternative - silver with a blue stripe at the front and silver trim on the very front edge. I like that a lot. No criticisms.

The silver text has been kept, but it’s been reduced from a bunch of small letters to just a very large SAS, which is a lot clearer even when in low contrast. It’s difficult to nail down my thoughts on this. Obviously it’s an improvement, and I wouldn’t want it to be removed entirely, and I’m not sure if a more solid, emphatic version, maybe in the same blue as the rest of the livery, would actually be better or not. I think I overall like the silver wordmark? As long as it’s not a really bad angle it’s visible enough, and it adds something a bit interesting. Even if it is illegible at least they also have the name on the tail. It probably helps that it’s only three letters long. Still, nobody is going to be confused about what airline this plane belongs to.

I think the wordmark looks its best on turboprops wearing the livery. I honestly feel like most good jet liveries look awkward on props and vice versa, but this transitions very well. Not many major airlines still fly props, and almost none of them adapt their liveries well to them, but the wordmark fills the space really nicely on the shorter fuselage of the ATR and the high wings break up the line in a way that looks pretty darn nice to me. More airlines need to fly props, and they need to take notes on how to make a livery work for them.

Aside from the too-small amount of blue, my one real outright complaint is the very small Noto Sans(?, unsure) ‘Scandinavian’ written on the engine nacelles. It feels pointless and looks out of place. It looks extra out of place because the rest of their livery is in Rotis semi-serif, and the combination really clashes. It’s a little baffling, because they certainly have the option of just using the SAS logo again - the only other place they use the full ‘Scandinavian’ is on the belly. My personal suggestion would be bringing back the longship figurehead for the engines, but that’s just me. It just looks more like a watermark than a design feature.

Look, I never said I loved the SAS livery, but someone clearly designed it. The implementation is still a little shaky in parts, as if the airline is regaining its footing after the red engine years, but it’s stumbling towards being good and it’s just short of the point where it can sit down and rest and reflect on its progress.

SAS gets an overall grade of C. Which is also what the GPA of the other three came out to, I think! My calculations are admittedly a bit improvised.

Makes Lufthansa look like chumps, though. I think we can all agree on that.

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greyspirehollow · 24 days ago

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MURDER AT THE HOSPITAL Chapter 6

Warnings: None that I can think of; please let me know in the comments !; emotional ????

I would rate this chapter and the overall fic 16+

Vulgora’s fingers drummed on the police car’s steering wheel, as they let out a long exhale through their nose. They had parked in Rick’s average, almost cliché Heart District neighborhood, and were planning on interrogating his wife. They looked at the house they were facing; the 23rd. They then glanced at Liam, who they’d taken with them, and talked to him:

“So. I did some thinking, and… I’ll be having Julian and Valdemar join in on the case.” – they feared they would’ve forgotten to tell him if they had waited after the interrogation – Liam seemed slightly surprised, though.

“Really? You’re accepting their help?” He inquired, his eyes widening slightly.

Vulgora was quick to huff, not wanting to admit that yes, and that they didn’t mind a little extra help with the investigation. “It’s only a way for me to keep a very close eye on our top two suspects. I don’t trust the policemen currently doing that.”

Liam raised an eyebrow. “Weren’t you the one to pick them?”

Vulgora felt their face redden in embarrassment, and they quickly stammered out, their voice ever so slightly raising: “Yes, well, uhm, I changed my mind!! I’m more competent for the job anyway! Now get out of that car and let’s get this interrogation over with.”

With that, they and Liam exited the car, slowly walking towards the little middle-class house across the road. The morning sun cast a pale yellow glow onto its facade, the blue wooden blinds closed for most of the windows. Since winter was approaching more and more each day, dawn occurred much later than usual, explaining that early morning feel around 8 AM. As Vulgora stepped on the porch to knock on the door, Liam stood a little behind, and took the opportunity to light himself a cigarette. He turned around and looked at the relatively quiet neighborhood, taking in the calm and quiet atmosphere. He looked at the smoke he exhaled hit the light golden rays of sunlight, appreciating the feeling of the moment. When, after a minute or two, no one answered the door, Vulgora opted for the doorbell. This time, after three minutes, the door was answered. A woman of about thirty appeared in the doorway, her face weary with many tears cried. The dark circles under her eyes were almost as dark as her tattoos, which covered her neck and arms. Her long brown hair looked like they hadn’t been brushed in a little while, and her nose piercings seemed to sparkle in the light of the morning. Liam didn’t miss the Medusa on her left arm, as well…

“Miss Averton?” Vulgora spoke up, trying to make their voice less loud than usual – surprisingly enough –

“That’s me.” The woman answered, her voice tired yet firm.

“Central Vesuvia Police Forces,” Vulgora continued, holding out their badge for her to see. “we’d like to ask you a few questions about Mister Ronald Averton, if that’s alright.”

“Oh…” Her shoulders relaxed, and she nodded, opening the door wider for them to step in. “Yes, come in… Take your shoes off too, please.”

Liam threw his cigarette before following Vulgora in the house, both of them taking off their shoes as they were asked. The floor tiles felt cold, even through their socks, but none of them commented on it. The anthropologist took the liberty to look around a little bit, just trying to gauge what kind of couple Rick and his wife were. He could see a few movie posters in the living room around the TV, a huge shelf of only DVDs, another one filled with CDs, and even some VHS tapes. He couldn’t help but be curious about those, but it was too early to search the house for clues yet, without a warrant. On the black couch a few pillows and blankets were carelessly thrown, and not too far from it, on the floor, was a colorful, soft and cushioned little play area, with toys and plushies on it. Liam quietly made his way in he reached the dining room, which no wall was separating from the kitchen. The interior felt surprisingly sober, yet it also had a touch of personality with the plants resting in handmade pots by the window and the slightly eccentric shaped glasses on the table. Eventually he went over to sit at said table, next to Vulgora, and watched as their host sat down across from them as well. She rested her arms on the table, the faintest hint of tears in her blue eyes as she seemed to collect her thoughts before Vulgora started with the questions.

They pulled out Rick’s folder as well as a notepad and a pen, mentally going over what they wanted to ask her. They took a deep breath and started simple.

“Name, please?” they clicked their pen.

“Christine Averton. Or Chloe. That’s what friends call me…”

They nodded. A nickname, just like Ronald. Interesting.

“Could you tell us what Ronald was like?” They continued.

Chloe paused before answering, her voice soft and full of longing:

“He was a sweet man. Loving, careful… We had grown up in the same neighborhoods, near the Flooded District – back when it was flooded, and full of that red disease –. We… Started dating in college, which is also when we actually started really being near each other on… A daily basis. I mean- even if we grew up around the same areas, we wouldn’t go outside often and I hadn’t seen him much before. Uhm…”

Her voice shook slightly as she continued…

“He proposed to me three years after our first date. And… And uhm.” She cleared her throat. “Excuse me…” she paused again. “He was gentle. Friendly. Only defensive when he needed to be, and either way, he’s never laid a hand on me. Never.”

Vulgora nodded as they took down notes. Seemingly no violent tendencies, relatively healthy relationship.

“And do you know if he had any… Enemies?” They asked, ready to write down again.

Chloe shook her head softly. “No. I mean… He did have people he disagreed with, everyone does. But he was never the problem. No, if anything, he was the solution, the good one, and others tried to silence him for that.”

Vulgora’s brows furrowed slightly.

“Others such as who?”

“His family. They were… Oppressive, I believe is the right word. Stepping in their house – mansion, even – was like stepping in a tyrant’s kingdom. They were all so… Austere and… It was almost frightening, those people dressed like they were all going to a funeral; I pitied his sisters, I really did. The poor girls weren’t allowed to speak unless given permission, and had to keep their eyes away from other people…”

Vulgora raised an eyebrow. Strict family then… Well, that was a little unexpected.

“And… Do you think they could be responsible of Rick’s death?” They asked. Liam noticed her shaky sigh and the slight quiver of her lips.

“It’s horrible to say, but I wish they were the ones who did it… Like this everything would be… Clear and easy to figure out. But no. No, they didn’t kill Rick…” Chloe replied.

“Do you… Have idea who could’ve done it then?” Vulgora asked, still writing down notes.

The woman paused, thinking. The way her brows knitted together, it seemed nothing came to her mind. She shook her head in a negative gesture.

“Alright, then uh… Can you tell me a little bit about his work? Colleagues and such?”

Chloe nodded as she started speaking:

“He worked at Tower. The factory isn’t that far from out neighborhood, and he’d walk there in the morning and come back in the evening. Uhm… Sometimes he would hang out with a group of colleagues. I mean he called them colleagues, but only one worked at the factory with him – a certain Big Bill. He… Is part of a small group of… Uhm, I don’t even know what to call them. I’d say they’re a gang, but… They have yet to commit any actual crimes besides vandalism of abandoned cars.”

Vulgora perked up slightly at that, and circled the name once they’d written it down in their notepad. They definitely had to look into that later…

“Have you ever seen this ‘Big Bill’?” They inquired, leaning in slightly. Chloe shook her head.

“Not enough to give you… Any good information. Uhm… He’s fairly tall, he was taller than Rick, and had short, spiky black hair and… That’s about it, that’s all I remember.”

Vulgora nodded, writing down the information.

“Anything we can get is good information, in my opinion…” They were about to ask something else when all three heard some distant babbling noises. Chloe sighed slightly and stood up from her seat, walking out towards a room which was out of both Liam and Vulgora’s view. They stayed quiet until the woman’s return, letting everything they’d learned so far sink in. That Big Bill was definitely a key clue at this point of the investigation, maybe the biggest they had yet. Chloe then came back, carrying a baby boy of maybe barely a year old in her arms. His wide and curious black eyes scanned the room, and both Liam and Vulgora, as he babbled again. Chloe sat back down in the chair, sitting the baby on her lap. Liam felt very self-conscious all of a sudden and averted his gaze. Vulgora seemed somewhat unfazed.

“What’s this little guy’s name?” they asked, their tone bordering on cheerful.

“Elliot.” Chloe said with a slight smile. “He’s got his father’s energy, I can tell you that…” she gave a slight amused huff, and Vulgora smiled slightly. Liam looked at them, somewhat dumbfounded, but didn’t ask any questions.

As the interrogation went on, it seemed all three of them weren’t really going anywhere. There really was barely anything to work with, except the family, and to be honest, Vulgora wasn’t even sure they were going to go interrogate them. From what Chloe told them, Rick had more or less cut them off, meaning they probably didn’t know much more than she did. But then again, you never know. They sighed and leaned back in their chair, stretching their arms above their head.

“Welp. I think we’re done here, miss…”

Chloe nodded and stood up from the chair, walking up to Vulgora. “Do you mind holding him for a minute…? I need some fresh air.” she said, making one of Vulgora’s eyebrows raise in disbelief. They were about to reply with something snarky, but decided that this was not the moment. They sighed and stood up, adjusting their uniform slightly.

“Alright, give ‘im to me.” They said. Chloe nodded and carefully placed Elliot in the cop’s open arms, the baby protesting for a brief minute before settling against Vulgora. They comfortably scooped him up with one of their strong arms, the child now securely resting against them. And they did it… In the most natural way possible somehow, as if they did that their whole life. Liam blinked in surprise but again didn’t comment, and watched as Chloe stepped out of the house, onto the porch, closing the door behind her.

He decided, after a few seconds, to join her outside – both to make sure she was ok and to keep an eye on her, just in case she remembered something. He quietly stepped outside himself, making sure not to stand too close to her. He pulled his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, tilting it towards her in a silent question. She shook her head.

“I stopped ever since Elliot was born…” she said softly. Liam nodded.

He was about to light one for himself, but… It somehow felt wrong. He decided against it, putting the cigarette back in the pack and putting the pack back in his pocket. Silence settled between them both for a little while. Well… There wasn’t much he could say, but he did feel the urge to say something.

“… He’s sorry.”

He blurted out. He didn’t know where that came from. He barely even noticed he’d spoken, and if it weren’t for Chloe looking at him, he probably wouldn’t have heard himself. She observed him for a moment, conflicting emotions in her gaze; offense, disbelief… But eventually it was overcome by softness.

“It does sound like him… Apologizing for things that are completely out of his control.” she smiled slightly. Liam only nodded, not daring to look at her. But maybe he should’ve have. Then he’d have noticed a hint of something in her gaze – the curious understanding that crossed it, as if she knew – or guessed – something he didn’t. They air felt… Thick with something, for a brief moment. Something that reminded Liam of when he’d approach cats and they’d hiss at him. It only lasted for a few seconds before it subsided, leaving him slightly confused, but he didn’t pry further. Then only he looked at Chloe.

“… Will you be alright?”

He asked. The woman kept her eyes on the houses across the road, seemingly thinking it over. But after that she gave a sincere, gentle nod. Liam nodded as well, in response, and after a few more seconds went back inside the house, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Inside, Vulgora was still holding Elliot with one arm as they went over the notes they’d taken during the interrogation with the other.

It was around 9:45 AM when they bid goodbye to Chloe and Elliot. Vulgora gave the woman an encouraging pat on the shoulder and a sincere smile, before they walked back to the car with Liam. As he buckled his belt, the man couldn’t help but tease:

“Someone has a soft spot for tatted ladies, I see.”

Vulgora rolled their eyes.

“You’ve got the wrong idea.”

“Suuure.” Liam replied with a slight chuckle.

“No, I… You know, I know what it’s like to be a single mom.” they paused, wondering if they should elaborate any further. “… My mom raised me by herself.”

Liam’s smile faltered and his eyes widened slightly. He hadn’t expected that at all.

“… Dad died on the battlefield when I was three.” another pause. “And Mama followed five years ago.” they rested their hands on the steering wheel, wondering if they should shut up. “… I don’t know, I always felt like I needed to protect her. Maybe that’s why I joined the army, maybe I hoped to… Get back at the world for hurting her like that, I really don’t know…”

By that point Liam was just… Speechless, his heart going out to the police officer. He didn’t know what to say, so… He said nothing.

“...And- aaAARGH over with the depressing stuff!! Let’s go drink something!” they eventually said angrily, starting the car’s engine and driving back to the center of the city, towards the Rowdy Raven.

Author's note: yes, YES, SHORT ASS CHAPTER I'M SO SORRY :'(((( I just really didn't know what else to say in this one, I think it makes a nice little transition or smth I DONT KNOW I THINK ITS OK!

Again, feedback is greatly appreciated !! I hope you still enjoy the story just as much as I enjoy writing it /gen /srs !!! <333

#the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana a mystic romance #modern au #julian devorak #pontifex vulgora #quaestor valdemar #apprentice liam #murder at the hospital #original story #the arcana oc #the arcana courtiers

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senashenta · 1 month ago

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Counting Scars

Title: Counting Scars

Pairing: Destiel

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Sex. Just. All the sex.

Summary: Three years after their first meetup in a motel in Amarillo, Texas, Dean and Cas are used to traveling to meet up with each other every couple of months or so. This time it’s in Raleigh, North Carolina, where they spend (most of) a weekend locked up together in a (not so) cheap hotel, making up for lost time and reaffirming their love for one another once more… until Dean’s DAD stops by unexpectedly to pound on the door and drag him away for a JOB, anyway.

Notes: Okay so the Horror High series was originally supposed to just be four fics: Horror High (10 chapters), Cheap Motel (one-shot), Counting Scars (one-shot) and then Storm Season (which is going to be X-number of chapters long, but I’m hoping around 10 the same as Horror High.)

But somewhere along the way other one-shots, Cerulean Blue, Everything I Do, and Falling Stars, just kind of… cropped up in-between Horror High and Storm Season. So, then the series was up to SEVEN fics. UNTIL. More one-shots appeared that take place AFTER Storm Season. SEVEN of them. And now the series is up to FOURTEEN fics, two of which have multiple chapters, and I have DUG MY OWN GRAVE, here! And all for a series with an EXTREMELY small following, so I’m pretty much writing it all for myself! :D;;

ANYWAY.

Top!Dean and Bottom!Cas the same as the rest of this series. If that’s not your jam, feel free to back out now. I just happen to like them that way. Also, gratuitous smut abounds!

On a personal note, I’m having a really rough go of it right now and my writing is pretty much all I have at the moment. Destiel, Lambden, Geraskier, Hijack and Valdemar are getting me through some tough times. Comments and likes help cheer me up, if you’ve got the time and inclination. (If not, thank you for reading, anyway.)

HORROR HIGH et al TUMBLR MASTER POST HERE.

COUNTING SCARS By Senashenta

[Days Inn, 3201 Wake Forest Road, room 16. Love you.]

Cas was rather stumped by this one because the hotel he was looking at simply wasn’t… shitty enough. Usually the Winchesters picked the cheapest, weirdest, most run-down motels they could find to fly under the radar, and while this hotel wasn’t five-star by any means, it certainly wasn’t run-down. It was nicely kept. It was clean. It was two stories. It had a pool (albeit one that was closed for the season.) Cas was frankly confused as hell, after three years of these little meetups.

But he was at the right address, according to his phone, and Cas had spent the last twelve hours on a bus from Tallahassee, Florida to Raleigh, North Carolina to meet up with his boyfriend-slash-lover, so finally he just headed into the hotel and asked for directions to room sixteen from the friendly and polite woman manning the front desk. Once he was pointed in the right direction, he headed off, and when he reached room sixteen, he only hesitated slightly before knocking.

There was scuffling from the other side of the door and then Cas could hear it being unlatched. Dean yanked the door open to grin at him hugely, then grabbed at the front of his trench coat and pulled him inside, closing and locking the door again behind them.

Cas hefted his backpack off his shoulder and dropped it on the ground, looking around the—nice—room with complete bafflement. “What’s with the…?” He gestured to the whole room, the plush bed with soft, comfortable linens, the fancy furniture—the balcony—with obvious confusion.

“Oh. I—ah.” Dean glanced around, then shrugged with one shoulder and rubbed at his hair almost awkwardly. “I just thought it’d be nice, for a change. Don’t you think? And the cost doesn’t really matter, I mean, it’s all on fake credit cards anyway. So.”

Cas watched Dean shift on his feet, still bordering on awkward—and finally smiled, just soft and fond. “You didn’t have to do this for me, you know.” He said quietly, even as he eased closer and ducked in to give Dean a kiss. “I’m happy just as long as we’re together. But this is… it’s nice. Thank you for thinking of me, Dean.”

Dean relaxed on his words and tilted his head to return the kiss. “I’m always thinking of you.” He told Cas with a smile, bumping their heads together lightly. “You’re almost always on my mind.”

Three years of being a couple and most of that time having to meet up in random places around the country, in cheap motels, to eke out time together over too-short weekends while spending the rest of their lives apart—it hadn’t dulled their relationship one bit. Cas and Dean were perhaps closer than ever, emotionally speaking, if not in geographical terms, and that always stood out glaringly when they did manage to get together.

Now, with Dean being twenty-one years old (Cas was still twenty and would turn twenty-one in four months) they were still solidly a couple, neither of them planning on going anywhere any time soon. Neither of them could really even imagine life without the other, even with the occasionally troublesome manner of their relationship.

Certainly, it would have been nice if they could have had a “normal” life together. Dated the “right way”, maybe even shared an apartment. But Dean was still a Hunter—would always be a Hunter—and Cas simply… wasn’t. He couldn’t go on the road with Dean even if he wanted to, and Dean’s dad wouldn’t allow it anyway. Besides which, Cas was midway through his post-secondary education at Florida State University, so he couldn’t exactly be touring around the country. He would have to drop out of school. School that his father was paying for.

As it was Cas was taking days off from school (and his part-time job) every two or three months to meet up with Dean like this. It was easy, in university. No one called truant on you, as long as you kept your grades up—which Cas did, of course. Though his first-year roommate from when he’d been living in the dorms, Alfie, had asked him where he kept disappearing to on more than one occasion.

When they couldn’t meet up, they texted, and called, and video chatted. Cas and Dean were in nearly constant communication, except when Dean was on a Hunt—then he turned his phone off, for obvious reasons. It was the times when he tried to call and it went straight to voicemail that Cas found himself worrying, even though Dean assured him that he was fine. He was always fine.

Now, Dean reached to take his hand and tugged Cas through the room and over to the balcony, pulling the door open and nudging him outside. Dean followed him out and leaned against the balcony railing with a smile. “It’s only the second floor, but we get a view of the garden, which I guess is nice? If you’re into that sort of thing. What do you think?”

Cas stepped up next to him and rested his hands on the railing, looking around, taking in the view. “It is nice.” He confirmed with a smile, and then, again, “thank you for this. I mean, I’m… happy. To see you in any cheap motel in this country. But this is special. Something different.”

“For our anniversary.” Dean said softly, a little smile on his face when Cas blinked at him. “I bet you didn’t think I’d remember stuff like that. But a month ago was the anniversary of our first date.”

“When we went to Maggie’s for dinner and then made love when we got back to my place later. And I mean made love, not just sex.” Cas laughed quietly; his expression fond at the memory. “My first real date ever and I absolutely let you go all the way. Does that make me easy?”

“Oh, the easiest.” Dean agreed with a grin.

Cas laughed again, a blatantly happy sound, and bumped sideways into him gently. “You love me anyway.”

“I love you because of it.” Dean corrected, teasing.

Cas rolled his eyes and swatted at Dean’s arm, then pushed away from the balcony and turned to go back inside, Dean following along behind him. Once he was back in the room he hung his coat on the rack by the door—there were, for some reason, two jackets already hanging there—and then wandered over to climb into the absurdly comfortable bed. He waved for Dean to join him.

Dean crawled into the bed with him, and after a moment of adjusting the two of them settled with Dean on his back, one arm tucked around Cas, who was cuddled into his side warmly, one of his own arms flung across Dean’s chest, his hand toying with the front of Dean’s t-shirt absently.

“So, how are Sam and your Dad?” Cas asked once they were comfortable, “Did your Dad freak out again when you said you were coming here?”

“He always freaks out.” Dean sighed, his hand rubbing at Cas’s shoulder gently. “Let’s just say he’s not your biggest fan.”

“He doesn’t even know me.” Cas grumbled.

“I know.” Dean squeezed his shoulder and sighed, pulling him even closer.

Cas shifted against him and buried his face in the crook of Dean’s neck with a huff. It bothered him, that Dean’s dad didn’t like him just on principle alone. When people were together, loved each other, like he and Dean did, then wasn’t it natural to want the other person’s family to approve of you? Then again, from the sound of it, John Winchester didn’t approve of much.

At least Sam liked him, that much was true. Cas had always had a good relationship with Dean’s younger brother, ever since they had met. And while Sam was getting stubborn and (more) opinionated now that he was seventeen, rebelling against his dad and just generally getting in trouble, Cas still had a high opinion of him. He thought he always would.

Pressing a kiss against the side of Dean’s neck, Cas finally just changed the subject completely and asked, “why are there two jackets by the door?”

“There are three. One of them is your ridiculous trench coat.”

“Smartass.”

“Better than being a dumbass.” Dean grinned up at the ceiling, then told him; “my old jean jacket from high school is on its last legs. Dad gave me his old leather one, it’s still in good shape, but…” He trailed off slightly and glanced down at Cas, “that patch you got for me is still on my old one, and I was hoping you could swap it over to the leather one, while you’re here…?” Then a pause and he added, “Dad’ll be pissed I defaced his jacket, but whatever.”

Cas made a soft sound in his throat and glanced up at Dean in surprise. “You want to keep the patch?”

“Of course.” Dean gave him a gentle hug. “It keeps me safe.”

Cas was quiet and still for a moment because—that was the first thing he had ever given his boyfriend, besides peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Something to protect him. And even years later, Dean apparently still treasured it. It was a wonderous thing. After a brief pause to consider that, Cas shifted against Dean’s side, shuffling so that he was half-laying overtop of the other man, and leaning down for a kiss. “I love you, Dean.”

“Mm.” A hum against his lips and Dean angled his head to deepen the kiss; “I love you, too. More than anything.”

As often happened between them, one kiss led to more, which lead to Cas pushing Dean’s shirt up, urging him to take it off, and Dean doing the same with him. They both eased back long enough to strip out of them before coming together again, making out like it was the end of days.

Soon enough they were taking their pants off, too, as well as their boxers, pressing together, completely nude and loving the feel of their bodies against each other in the soft sheets. When Cas mumbled something about lube, Dean extracted himself from the younger man and the bed long enough to go to his duffle bag and dig it out. Of course, Cas had brought some, too, just in case—he always did—but Dean never forgot.

Cas took the brief time Dean was gone to settle on his back and slide a hand down to palm at his own cock, then closed his hand around it and started stroking, head falling back and breath starting to come faster. When Dean turned around, lube in hand, to that sight, he cursed softly and just watched for a moment before swallowing and heading back over, climbing back into the bed.

Prep was easy now, with so much practice behind them, and Dean knew exactly what he was doing, working his fingers into Cas carefully but deeply, stroking against his sweet spot as much as possible just to watch him jerk and hear him moan. He would never get over that.

They had long ago stopped using condoms; after the first accidental slip-up it had seemed pointless, and they were in an exclusive relationship. They trusted each other, so it was fine. Besides, Cas privately liked the idea of Dean coming inside him—though he had yet to express that out loud.

Now, Dean pulled his fingers away, sliding his slicked-up hand up Cas’s thigh, leaving a streak of lube in its wake—but before he could push Cas’s legs father apart and settle between them, Cas sat up, grabbed at him and pushed him onto his back, then climbed on top of him and—oh. Okay. This definitely worked, too.

Cas straddled Dean’s hips, reaching down to fist his boyfriend’s cock and give it a couple of strokes before holding it steady, lining up and sinking himself down over it, taking Dean deeply into his body. And then he sat there for a long moment, just breathing heavily, his hands braced against Dean’s abdomen, kneading there restlessly as he adjusted. Dean’s own hands came up to grab at Cas’s thighs, gripping there tightly.

Surprisingly, when he did finally start to move, Cas rocked his hips slowly, deeply, in a warm rhythm—usually when they fucked like this it was hard, fast and rough. This time Cas drew it out, rolling his hips sensually, all slow-building heat and delicious friction. This was new, different—but not at all unwelcome. Making love in an entirely surprising way.

Dean released one of Cas’s thighs and reached up to thread his fingers into the other man’s hair, pulling him down for a kiss—then another, and another—before Cas broke off to bury his face in Dean’s shoulder, still rolling his hips, panting softly.

Usually, their lovemaking was over almost too quickly, but this time seemed to last forever, long and drawn-out and delightfully kinetic, Dean’s hands roaming Cas’s sides and back and Cas working them both to their peak while panting into his shoulder, still, until Dean began carefully thrusting up to meet his movements, at which point Cas pushed himself up again, throwing his head back with a gasp. “Dean…!”

“Shit, Cas…!” Dean panted out a curse, hands dragging to hold by Cas’s knees while Cas’s rhythm sped up—and he brought one of his own hands up to grasp at his own cock, beginning to jerk off along with everything else. Dean just cursed again, watching him under half-lidded eyes, licking his lips at the sight. “So fucking hot…!”

Cas whined at that, just a token protest, but didn’t stop moving, didn’t stop stroking at his himself, until a long few moments later when he tensed up abruptly, and came with a sharp cry, spilling sticky come over Dean’s abdomen. Even though he was done, though, he continued to move, rolling his hips down against Dean’s until the older man reached his own climax and came with a muffled groan of his own, deep inside Cas’s body.

Only then did Cas climb off Dean, then ease down to start licking at the streaks of come that speckled Dean’s abdomen, cleaning them away with his tongue. Dean bit back another moaned curse at the sight, and when Cas was done, licking his lips absently, he drew him up the bed and tucked him into his side.

“You’ve never done that before…”

“Seems rude to leave it and make a mess of such nice blankets.”

Dean chuckled and rubbed a hand along Cas’s side warmly. “That’s very considerate of you.”

“I try.” Cas yawned slightly and nuzzled down into Dean’s shoulder with a quiet pleased noise, “did I ever tell you… I actually prefer no condoms?”

“No.” Dean sounded surprised. “Why?”

“Mmm… because I like you coming inside me.” And it struck Dean that Cas must have been tired—from the bus trip there, from the sex, from a combination of things—because he wouldn’t just say something like that, normally. Now, Cas continued softly, his voice almost a mumble, “feels like you’re marking me, somehow. Claiming me. I like when you claim me.”

Dean adjusted his arm around Cas a little, tugging the blankets up around them with the other one. “You’re mine and I’m yours. We don’t share each other.” He reminded Cas quietly, tone amused.

But Cas was already drifting off and didn’t even realize he was falling asleep until he woke up some time later.

-- --

When he did wake up, Cas breathed out a long, contented sigh. His head was still resting on Dean’s shoulder, his arm across Dean’s ribs, and Dean’s arm around his waist. Neither of them had moved, so Dean must have fallen asleep, too. Cas hummed to himself and let his hand slide along Dean’s skin gently. The older man didn’t even twitch—he was clearly still sleeping.

Fingers light, touch soft, Cas began petting along Dean’s chest and abdomen, pausing every time he reached a scar, mapping them, keeping a mental tally in his head as he trailed his fingertips along them gently. Nine. He counted nine scars on the front of Dean’s torso alone—and that was if you counted the two little parallel jorogumo ones as one. If not then it was ten, and that was…

Cas understood Dean’s job. The importance of it. And he was so proud of his boyfriend for doing it. But that didn’t mean he didn’t hate it a little bit, too. Every time they met up and Dean was carrying more scars, something in Cas’s gut twisted up. He hated seeing the evidence of all the times Dean had been hurt, even if some of them were now a long time in the past.

Now his fingers touched gently across a newer scar by Dean’s ribs; it was still raised and pink, obviously fresh, and he sighed softly, wishing there was something he could do. Some way he would wipe the slate clean, get rid of all the awful marks for good, like magic. Dean didn’t deserve to carry around all these reminders of pain.

“…what are you doing?” Dean’s voice came out thick with sleep and he finally shifted slightly under Cas’s touch, stretching and then ducking to drop a kiss against the younger man’s hair.

Cas smiled a little and smoothed his hand against Dean’s ribs. “Counting scars.” He replied simply, without any more explanation than that.

“Naturally.” Dean chuckled, still settled back in the warm blankets on the comfortable bed in their surprisingly nice hotel room. “Mm… do you remember what you were saying, before you fell asleep?”

“No… what was I saying?”

Another soft laugh. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter. You know what I was thinking?”

“What were you thinking?” Cas looked up at him.

“The downside to this place? People might actually bitch to the management about the amount of noise we make while we’re having sex.”

A soft laugh and Cas leaned up for a kiss. “So, let them complain to management. We’re not doing anything wrong.” Then he settled again, his hand going back to tracing abstractly against Dean’s chest, like usual, and he said, “so, I looked up Raleigh while I was on the bus here. Have you ever been here before?”

“Yeah. Rugaru case a couple years back. Didn’t get to do much sightseeing, obviously.”

Well, yeah, okay, that made sense. Cas tapped his fingers against Dean’s chest with a soft hum. “Well, they’ve got the Natural History Museum,” He said, “and the Museum of Art, and the Arboretum. And—and I can practically hear you yawning already, stop that. I know those aren’t really your things. But they also have a huge farmer’s market, which I know is also not your thing, but I was hoping we could stop in tomorrow, if that’s okay with you? It’s got vendors from all over and it’s supposed to be great…”

Dean chuckled softly and told him, “Cas, if you wanted, I would go to all those things with you, even if I was yawning the whole time. Besides, the Natural History Museum would have dinosaurs and stuff, right? That could potentially be cool. It’s the kind of thing Sammy used to always want to drag me to.” Then a pause and he added, “and we can absolutely go to the farmer’s market tomorrow. A new date to commemorate our first date back in high school.”

A smile at that. Dean really did remember even the little things. It was still amazing sometimes. Cas tipped his head to press a kiss by the older man’s clavicle. “I’ll try to get that patch swapped over tonight, if you ever let me out of this bed.”

“Mmm…” Dean made a considering sound before tightening his arm around Cas’s waist. “We have all weekend to get that patch done, and this is a very nice bed, especially with you in it.” He joked, but then paused before asking, “do you actually still carry needles and stuff around with you?”

“Mmhm,” Cas agreed, “needles, thread and a seam ripper in my backpack at all times, you never know when they might come in handy.”

“Unbelievable.” Dean grinned down at him. “Did you know I adore you?”

“It may have come up from time to time.” Cas laughed, and lifted his head again, leaning up for a kiss. “I adore you, too, you know.”

“Happy anniversary.”

“Yeah. Happy anniversary.”

-- --

Some time later found them tangled up in bed (again), still stripped to their skin and Dean working Cas over as diligently and with as much attention to detail as he would give to any job on the road—absolutely focused on the younger man, who was arching and gasping under him while he kissed, nipped and licked his way down his body.

Cas had one particularly sensitive spot just under his navel that Dean liked to exploit every chance he got, and now was no exception. He nipped there lightly just to hear Cas gasp, then began sucking sharply, pulling up a little, purple bruise, all the while Cas made little “ah, ah” sounds and squirmed, his hands buried in Dean’s hair and his erection more than evident.

Dean laved his tongue over the pretty new bruise before ducking down to suck the head of Cas’s cock into his mouth, rubbing his tongue over it firmly. Cas moaned and tugged at his hair—and they had talked about the hair-pulling before, on multiple occasions, but the other man just couldn’t seem to help himself. Not when they were doing this, anyway.

So, Dean just ignored it for now and eased deeper onto Cas’s cock, sucking down the swollen shaft heatedly and with a pleased-sounding hum in the back of his throat because—he liked doing this for Cas. Sucking him off. He liked the taste and feel of Cas’s cock in his mouth—and especially liked the sounds the other man made while he did it. And if you had asked him, a few years ago, if sucking dick would be one of his favorite things to do? You probably would have gotten punched. But now? Now it was a completely different story.

“Ah… a-ah, Dean…!” Cas had his head back and his eyes squeezed closed, as if watching Dean go down on him would tip him over the edge immediately. Dean’s own eyes flicked upward, and he smirked around the cock in his mouth, just easing deeper, then starting to bob his head in easy motions, and sloppy.

Another few moments of that, of him giving Cas an unhurried blowjob and Cas squirming under him, and Dean pulled off his dick with a soft wet noise, huffing and licking his lips. Green eyes scanned up and down Cas’s body—Cas was sprawled out, obviously loose-limbed and pliant, breathing hard and a little, pinched expression on his face, somewhere between pleasure and pain—perfect—and Dean grinned before stretching to grab the lube from the bedside table.

“You ready for me, Cas?”

“…always.” Cas managed, his expression shifting into a little quirk of a smile and eased his legs father apart to make the next part easier for his boyfriend.

Dean settled himself half-propped between Cas’s raised knees and slicked up the fingers of his right hand, then capped the lube and dropped the tube off to the side to be retrieved later. For now, he focused on easing the first finger into Cas’s body, pushing deep and crooking it slightly to rub against the other man’s prostate. He could feel when he found it—but also knew because Cas gave a jerk and a moan.

And Cas took this part so well, so sweetly, always had, even the first time when he had been a total virgin and neither of them had known what they were doing with stretching him out. He had been patient, even then, when Dean had been tentative and fumbling with his fingers—nothing compared to the way he was now.

The second finger made Cas gasp out another moan, one of his hands down and pulling at the blankets now while the other one had returned to fisting in Dean’s hair, fingers tangled tightly in the soft strands. Two fingers was usually where they spent the most time, Dean toying with his sweet spot and drawing out the agonizing pleasure until Cas thought he might cry—until he was panting out sobs, sometimes.

Because Dean loved nothing more than to watch Cas completely unravel in front of his eyes, come entirely undone, fall apart like a marionette with its strings cut. Cas was beautiful in the throes of pleasure (he was always beautiful, but still) and Dean could never get enough of him that way (or any way, he supposed.)

The third finger was almost cursory, just to make sure that Cas was stretched out enough for his cock, though they had attempted going with just two in the past and Cas had admitted the added stretch and burn of the following penetration hadn’t exactly been a turn-off. Dean had filed that under Duly Noted for future reference.

Now, he just continued stretching Cas out for another endless couple of minutes, until the younger man was pulling at his hair (again with the hair-pulling) and breathlessly begging him to fuck him. And Cas rarely used that exact word, so when he did, Dean paid attention. He pulled his fingers back and wiped them on the sheets absentmindedly, then sat back on his heels and considered, licking his lips before patting against Cas’s hip gently.

“Roll over, Cas. Get up on your hands and knees.”

“Wh—” Cas began, but then just changed his mind, obviously figuring it out, and swallowed thickly, then carefully turned himself over onto his stomach—and lifted up onto his hands and knees. He swallowed again, glancing over his shoulder at Dean to ask, “is this okay?”

Dean just nodded mutely because it was more than just ‘okay’, already lifting up onto his own knees and lining himself up to push his own throbbing cock into Cas’s slick body.

They had fucked like this before, over the years, but only a handful of times, so it was still very new and different—and it would be fucking, there was no making love in this position. Cas’s face was flushed a dark red and his back was bowed slightly, his hands fisted in the blankets—and he just adjusted himself when Dean pushed into him, sliding his legs farther apart and moaning deep in his chest.

Dean took just a moment, his hands petting softly at Cas’s hips, to let him adjust, and then he started to move, a few slow, shallow thrusts at first but quickly picking up the pace until he was fucking into Cas hard and deep, their hips slamming together every time he buried himself to the hilt in the younger man.

Cas started out trying to keep his moans somewhat muffled, biting on his lip, eyes closed and head hanging, entire body jostling and jerking while Dean pounded into him, but soon he found himself panting out gasps and moans that just got louder the more time passed, until he was next thing to shouting, voice cracking, going hoarse around the edges with each cry.

Eventually, Cas’s arms, already shaky, gave out on him, and he half-collapsed forward into the pillows with a shout, hips still in the air but now at least able to muffle himself into the covers while Dean continued fucking him totally and thoroughly, the other man’s hands grasping hard at his waist now.

Cas scrabbled for purchase in the bedding, finding none, and eventually ended up grabbing at the headboard of the bed, his entire body jostling up and down along with Dean’s thrusts. His other hand, meanwhile, slid down between his own legs to start stroking at his own cock, slick and spilling precome in slippery blurts across the sheets under him.

There was nothing but animalistic want and need, here, and both of them were more than fine with that, at least for the moment. Dean continued thrusting into Cas hard, almost roughly, one hand coming up to shove his hair back out of his face before returning to Cas’s hip—until finally his climax edged up on him, and he backed off a bit, waiting for Cas’s telltale cry. He didn’t want to come before his lover, leave him hanging.

Dean didn’t have to wait long. Cas kept jerking at his own cock until he fell over the edge a short time later, coming over his own fist with a wrecked wail—and then Dean started thrusting harder again, working himself to the peak and over, swallowing a too-loud shout when he finally came hard and deep inside the other man.

Chest heaving, Cas waited for Dean to pull out of him, then carefully eased down onto his stomach. Dean shuffled around to lay next to him, settling on his side facing Cas and letting one hand drift down his back, gentleness in harsh contrast with what has just transpired between them.

“I’m sorry,” He apologized after a few minutes of them catching their breath, “that was…”

“A lot.” Cas mumbled, still face-first in the pillow. He finally turned his head to look at Dean—and just smiled, a little lopsided. “We don’t do that very often.”

“Because I’m afraid of hurting you.” Dean admitted, hand resting at the small of Cas’s back now. It moved when Cas began to shift, rolling onto his side to face Dean properly. “The last thing I ever want to do is hurt you, you know that, Cas.”

“Mm,” Cas agreed, “but I can handle some rough sex once in a while.”

“Cas…”

Cas sighed and lifted a hand to stroke along Dean’s cheek, his touch soft and reassuring. “Dean, it isn’t like you treated me like one of the monsters you Hunt. You just fucked me. Really thoroughly. You didn’t hurt me. I liked it, you liked it. So don’t feel bad. We can even do it again some time, just...”

“Just?”

“Just… notice. A little bit of notice, if possible. This time kind of came out of nowhere.”

Dean finally flashed a grin, “it did for me, too. Sorry.”

“If I’m walking with a limp later, I’m blaming it on you.”

“I accept full responsibility if I broke your ass, Cas.”

Cas rolled his eyes, but leaned in for a kiss, warm and affectionate. When they parted, he asked, “you think I could raid the minibar? I need a drink.” And then, to clarify; “a non-alcoholic drink. A ten-dollar bottle of water or something.”

“Oh,” Dean waved a hand in the direction of the minibar in question, “I already broke into the thing before you even got here. Have at.”

All Cas could do was laugh.

-- --

Later that night, in-between bouts of having sex—or making love, as the case may be—Cas sat down (on his miraculously unbroken ass) and removed the embroidered pentagram patch from Dean’s old jean jacket, which was very obviously on its last legs. The patch itself was worn, too, but mostly just faded with age. It was still recognizable for what it was. Cas sewed it onto the shoulder of the leather jacket with practiced hands and was done in no time, smiling to himself as he handed the jacket over to Dean to be inspected.

Dean seemed pleased, if the kisses he received as payment were any indication.

The rest of the night was spent just enjoying each other’s company, watching a shitty movie on the television and calling out for pizza to be delivered for dinner at nearly ten o’clock at night. They ate it sitting on the disheveled bed with the box between them, laughing and talking the entire time.

Even though they talked almost every day, it seemed like they never ran out of things to say to one another, and that was one of the astonishing things about Dean. Or maybe not so astonishing, considering his life. He had a treasure trove of wild stories that, to anyone else, would just seem like tall tales, signs of a healthy imagination—but Cas knew better. He had lived one of those tall tales. He knew all too well that they were real.

And Dean never seemed to tire hearing about Cas’s own, mundane life. His classes at university, his friendship with Alfie, his job at the Gas-n-Sip, what he did in his spare time, what he talked about with Charlie, Jody, Garth, Jo or Kevin when he video called them (especially Charlie.) He was as fascinated by Cas’s ordinary life as Cas was by his extraordinary one. Cas supposed it was true, the grass was always greener on the other side.

Once they were finished eating and had raided the minibar again for (expensive) drinks, they settled in for the evening, just spending the rest of their time quietly—making love once more, just warmly this time, sensually, heat and passion and closeness before completion, before turning in for the night just before one in the morning—actually pretty early, for them.

When they woke up the next morning it was just before eleven and they were in a sea of plush blankets and pillows—and it was snowing, just lightly, outside the balcony window. Cas cuddled closer against Dean’s side, his head resting against the older man’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, and quietly watched the stray flakes falling for just a few minutes as he tried to commit that exact moment to memory.

Dean, meanwhile, had one hand up, his fingers stroking through Cas’s hair and making him hum out a contented noise. “It’s gonna be chilly out today. You sure your trench coat will be warm enough?”

Cas made a soft positive sound in his throat and let his eyes close over, enjoying the fingers through his hair. “It’s actually very warm.”

“Who knew?” Dean chuckled, ducking in to drop a kiss by his forehead and then settling back again. “I wish we could just stay here forever, Cas. Just the two of us, in this room, in this bed, for the rest of eternity.” He sighed softly, “I love meeting up with you like this—I live for it—but saying goodbye after just a weekend together is always…”

“It’s hard.” Cas agreed. “I don’t like it, either. But… that’s how it has to be. I think we’re lucky your Dad even lets you come meet me at all.”

“Only because I don’t ask permission.” Dean told him with a tiny quirk of his lips, “I don’t give him a choice. I just tell him I’m leaving, and I go. I don’t even tell him where to until you’re long gone again, just in case, though he’d good at tracking people, he could probably find me if he really wanted to. He yells every time, though. About how I’m being disobedient and insubordinate and all kinds of other words they taught him in the Marines.”

“Your Dad was a Marine?”

“Yeah.”

“Probably explains a lot.”

Dean laughed and allowed, “yeah, probably.”

They continued their soft conversation for a while, just cuddled up in bed together, before finally deciding that if they wanted to go to the farmer’s market, they had to get up at some point that day. So, they climbed out of bed and showered, cleaned up and got ready to go out, Cas pulling on his trench coat and Dean is newly-pentagramed leather jacket, before they disappeared out the door, leaving a “do not disturb” sign on the handle on their way out.

Cas’s phone once again came to the rescue in getting them directions to the farmer’s market and they arrived just after one o’clock. The market was huge, with at least a hundred different booths and vendors, and Cas perked up considerably at the sight.

“I go to the farmer’s market in Tallahassee sometimes,” He told Dean, reaching to take his hand as they began perusing the market, “but it’s nowhere near the size of this one. There’s one stall, though, this old Polish woman and her daughter run it? And they sell the best pastries and tarts…”

Dean smiled as he listened to Cas talk. He was already privately making plans to go to the Natural History Museum next, even though they hadn’t really discussed it. It probably wouldn’t be entirely up Dean’s alley, just like the farmer’s market wasn’t, but it would make Cas happy and that was the importa—wait, that booth had pies.

Thoughts derailed for the moment, he tugged at Cas’s hand, heading over to the booth in question, a long table that was absolutely laden with pies of all sorts. Rustic, homemade pies. Dean paused there for a long moment and then glanced at Cas, who was looking all sorts of amused.

“It’s your money.” Cas told him fondly.

Okay, but how was he supposed to pass this up? And they had a mini fridge back at the hotel. Dean kept hold of Cas’s hand, tugging him along as he wandered down the table, looking at the various kinds of pies they had before finally releasing his boyfriend and digging out his wallet. “How much for the strawberry-rhubarb with the streusel?”

“Fifteen, hon.” The woman behind the booth answered cheerfully.

And damn, that was an expensive pie, but he was going to buy it anyway. He fished out a twenty and handed it over, retrieved his change, stuffed everything back in his pocket, then watched the woman bag the pie up for him, taking it with a smile and a thanks when she handed it over the table to him.

Cas was standing a couple of feet away with a little smile on his face as he watched the entire transaction. When Dean moved away from the pie booth, he reached to take hold of the older man’s free hand again. Dean just asked, “are all farmer’s markets so expensive?”

Cas just shrugged. “Generally, yeah. But you get what you pay for. I guarantee it’s a really good pie.” Then another smile and he added, “you found something for yourself at the farmer’s market after all.”

As for Cas, he bought a couple of apples from one of the other booths and found a hand-knit sweater at another that he seriously considered buying for his father but decided against in the end—because he’d come into town with only his backpack, so bringing home bulky souvenirs could be problematic. The apples went into one of his trench coat pockets for now.

They just continued on down the first row of vendors and tables until they got to the end of the row where—

“Hey, kid.”

Cas blinked and glanced sideways when someone called to him, then almost opened his mouth to protest because he was twenty, damnit. Instead, he stopped walking and in turn tugged Dean to a stop as well.

The woman who had called him was seated at a smaller table. It had a dark purple tablecloth and a literal crystal ball sitting in the middle of it. To the side was a deck of tarot cards. The woman herself was maybe a little older than them, wearing a long skirt and wrapped up in a shawl against the chilly weather.

Cas regarded her curiously for a moment before asking, “yes?”

She shifted in her seat, gaze roving up and down Cas before flitting up above his head and then back down to his face. She said, “I can see your halo.”

Beside Cas, Dean snorted. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You two. You’re going to go through some very hard times.” She continued, and Cas frowned because was this her way of trying to drum up business? It wasn’t working very well. “Do you believe in soul mates? Because you two are strongly connected, and always will be, but… I see a lot of turmoil in your future. Things that may break you.” She hugged her shawl tighter around herself and offered them a vague smile, “you can get through it if you stick together, no matter what.”

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” Dean tugged at Cas’s hand, “c’mon, let’s get out of here, Cas.”

Cas just continued staring at the woman. Finally, he asked, “how long?” And then, to clarify, “how long do I get with him, before it’s over?”

She shook her head. “It’s hard to say, considering all the variables. What you are. Could be a few years. Could be an eternity. It’s really up to you two.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Cas, let’s go.”

But Cas tugged his hand free and dug out his wallet, pulling out a ten-dollar bill and depositing it on the woman’s table. “Thank you.” He said politely, before returning his wallet to his pocket and taking Dean’s hand again, allowing himself to be tugged away. Once they were far enough off, he squeezed Dean’s hand and asked, “you’ve never run into psychics, in all the Hunting and everything?”

“We have,” Dean grumbled, obviously annoyed, “but real psychics are one in a billion, and they don’t hock their wares at farmer’s markets, of all places. She was just screwing with us. And you gave her money for it.”

Cas was quiet for a long moment before adjusting his hold on Dean’s hand, threading their fingers together, and saying softly, “I don’t think she was just screwing with us. And she never asked for a dime, I gave her that money of my own free will. I think she was just trying to help.”

There was silence from Dean for a while as they continued walking the loop of vendors, not really paying attention to them anymore. Finally, he just blew out a frustrated breath and said, “I guess I just… didn’t like what she had to say. Is all.”

“Neither did I, really.” Cas admitted, tugging Dean to a stop again and easing close, leaning up to kiss him gently. “But we’ll be okay. We’re always okay, right?”

Dean finally smiled a little. “Right.” Then he bumped his forehead against Cas’s and asked, “you wanna drop this pie off at the hotel room and then go to the Natural History Museum?”

The younger man brightened at that, perking, and nodded. “I would love that, Dean.”

Dean’s smile brightened as well, and he angled for another kiss. “Alright, let’s go then.”

-- --

The Natural History Museum was surprisingly fun for both Cas and Dean, who turned out to have a bit of a secret thing for dinosaurs. While they wandered the prehistory section, he kept telling Cas which ones he thought he could take in a fight, which just made Cas laugh on more than one occasion. They had a good time. Cas bought a fossil shark tooth from the gift shop before they left, just because he liked it.

On the long walk back to their hotel they held hands and ignored the occasional dirty look they got from passers by. North Carolina apparently attempted to foster safety and equity amongst all of its citizens. Still, clearly not everyone was getting the message. But it was like that anywhere you went, really.

Over the last few years, Cas had travelled all over the country to meet up with Dean and not everywhere had necessarily been welcoming to them. Some places they’d had to stick strictly to their motel room and order food in, just in case—mostly because Cas was worried about someone starting a fight and Dean finishing it. It had happened in the past.

In Raleigh, the dirty looks were few-and-far-between, and no one seemed inclined to start anything, so they both felt safe enough to be out together and affectionate in public. Even if that got them accosted by strange psychics at farmer’s markets.

“What do you want to do tomorrow?”

Cas blinked out of his thoughts and glanced sideways at Dean. He hummed for a moment before shrugging. “We did my fun things today already. What do you want to do tomorrow?”

Dean grinned and leaned over to kiss him. “You.”

Cas rolled his eyes, but he was smiling too. That was kind of a given. “I think we can arrange that. Maybe even a couple of times.”

Dean laughed and bumped his forehead into Cas’s temple before returning to walking normally again. “Some day I’m going to tell Sam exactly how much time we spend in bed together on these weekends, just to see the face he makes.”

“Don’t you dare.” Cas swatted at him with his free hand, “your poor brother.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Mm?”

“Do you ever wonder, you know, about the amount of sex we have when we’re together?”

“I think it’s just because we’re apart so much. If we were living together, I think it would be different.”

“You think?”

“Yeah.” Cas glanced down, watching his feet as they walked. “I think being apart creates this… vacuum, almost. Between us. We’re just trying to fill that void. Make up for lost time.” He smiled a little, “make new memories to last until the next time we can be together.”

Dean’s hand tightened in his slightly. “Memories of you get me through some tough times, you know that?”

Cas looked up again to give Dean a smile. “Same here.”

Dean paused, then, tugging Cas to a stop and pulling him into a hug. “Don’t ever change, Cas. Just… always be like this. Always be mine.”

“I can’t promise I’ll never change. Change is part of the human condition, I think.” Cas hugged back gently when Dean sighed at that, “but I can promise to always be yours. I don’t ever want to be anyone else’s, not ever. And it’s been that way ever since we met, I think.” Easing back a little, he smiled at Dean softly, “I think that fortune teller at the market was right, at least about one thing. She asked if we believed in soul mates, and I… I think I do. And mine is right here, standing in front of me.”

Green eyes blinked at him in surprise—and then Dean was ducking in for another kiss, this time warm and wanting. Cas allowed it, kissing back in kind until they both broke away for air—and he leaned up to drop a kiss against Dean’s forehead.

“Let’s get back home, Dean.” Or, the hotel, anyway. “I want you to make love to me again.”

Dean’s reply was a muttered but enthusiastic affirmative and to take his hand again, threading their fingers together as they headed off down the street once more, this time walking at a little quicker pace.

-- --

Cas was straddling Dean’s hips again, but this time they were defiling the little two-seat sofa that came with the hotel room. Cas thought it pulled out into a second bed, but that was a moot point considering the two of them were sharing the actual bed, anyway. Regardless, now Dean was seated on it with Cas in his lap, Dean’s legs up and his feet braced against the coffee table—both to help hold Cas in place and, also, because this was that delicious position that rubbed Dean’s cock against Cas’s prostate constantly, made Cas absolutely lose his shit.

They both liked this position but for radically different reasons. Cas because of the frankly mind-blowing pleasure it provided, and Dean because watching Cas come completely undone the way he did got him off like no one’s business.

“This is not making love.” Cas commented almost idly, already breathing a touch hard from the foreplay alone. He angled his hips to rub his cock hotly along Dean’s and bit back a curse at the feeling. “Ah…!”

Dean rocked his hips upward lightly in response, then cast a glance toward the clothing scattered in a trail between them and the door. “I think ‘making love’ was out of the picture the second we got in here and you jumped me, Cas.”

“I did—not!” Another rock of Dean’s hips and Cas’s voice went high and tight. He swallowed hard and reached down to grasp at Dean’s cock, giving it a few loose strokes just to make his boyfriend groan. “I just—ah—helped you out of your jacket, that’s all.”

“Mmhm,” Dean’s head fell back, and he licked his lips, “and then my shoes, and my shirt, and my jeans, and my boxers…”

To be fair, it had definitely been a two-way street. They had hit the room and gotten the door closed and locked behind them—and then been all over each other what seemed like a breath later. There was no real way to tell who had instigated it, or who had taken whose clothes off, there was just the fact that now they were naked, Cas needed to be stretched out, and the lube was across the room on the nightstand.

There was kind of a collective pause when the two of them realized that last part, and it was followed by Dean cursing. Loudly. Then whining out a pathetic noise when Cas proceeded to climb out of his lap to retrieve the tube of lubricant. It was kind of important, after all.

When he returned, Cas just climbed back into Dean’s lap, straddling him again, and handed him the lube before whetting his lips and leaning forward into Dean’s chest, burying his face in the crook of Dean’s neck and closing his eyes.

They had never tried the whole stretching thing from this position before, and while Dean coated his fingers with slick with complete false confidence, Cas just breathed unsteadily against his boyfriend’s neck, entirely unsure how this was going to go. He was hoping well, all things considered.

When Dean reached down over Cas’s back and began carefully touching along the younger man’s entrance, Cas actually twitched slightly. Dean backed off immediately—and Cas chuckled against his neck, murmuring a reassurance that everything was fine: they had done this countless times before without hurting him, this time wouldn’t hurt him either.

Dean muttered a quiet agreement and went back to what he had been doing, carefully pushing one finger into Cas—then two—and eventually three. It was a process made more difficult by the angle he was working at, but the result was the same: Cas writhing and panting against him, arching and pushing down into his hand until the younger man finally, urgently, patted one hand against Dean’s shoulder and gasped out, “I’m ready… let me have you, ah… Dean…!”

“Cas…” Dean eased his hand away, sliding it up Cas’s back hotly and tugging him up to pull him into a kiss. “You know I’m yours…”

Cas whined out a pathetic-sounding agreeing noise against Dean’s lips, then kissed him again even as he eased back a bit, adjusting himself in Dean’s lap and sliding one hand down to grip the other man’s cock, holding it steady so he could line up and sink down over him—taking Dean into himself fully and deeply, with a long, low moan.

Then he just paused, back arched slightly and hands holding against Dean, one at his shoulder and the other at his chest. He panted softly, head falling back—and when he gave a little, tentative test rock of his hips he had to swallow a curse because the swollen head of Dean’s cock was pressing directly into his sweet spot.

But that was the thing with this position, it rubbed Dean’s cock all over his prostate the entire time they were fucking. It felt incredible but was so overstimulating it was almost too much to bear. It left Cas absolutely wrecked by the end. Not that any of that was a complaint… it was just a lot.

“Shit, ah…” Dean’s hands came down to rest against Cas’s hips and he rocked upward, just lightly, barely, but still drawing a soft whimper from Cas’s throat. “Cas… come on, move…”

Cas nodded mutely, biting on his lower lip, and braced himself against Dean’s shoulder and chest before starting to rock his hips, first slowly, almost hesitantly while he got used to the constant pressure on his sweet spot—then harder, deeper once he started to really get going.

He propped his knees against the couch on either side of Dean, with Dean’s knees up and holding him in position, and fucked himself deeply and thoroughly on his boyfriend’s cock, eyes closed and very quickly losing himself to the feeling of Dean against him, inside him, the pleasure that was absolutely pounding through him.

Dean just leaned back and watched the show with completely blown pupils, Cas rolling his hips and rocking overtop of him, the younger man’s fingers digging into his skin as he moved, head back and mouth working, breathless gasps and soft curses and oaths; things Cas only said when he really got lost in their lovemaking—or fucking, as the case may be.

Cas, meanwhile, was completely lost in the moment, in the push-and-pull of Dean’s cock in him, jamming against his prostate every time he rocked downward. And God did he love Dean’s cock. Had since the first time they’d slept together—even before then, when he had jerked his boyfriend off under the bleachers at school. Now Cas just focused on the feeling of Dean inside him, hands kneading against Dean’s skin as he worked himself harder on the other man’s dick.

When Dean moved one hand away from Cas’s hip, down to wrap around his weeping cock, and started to stroke, the end was pretty much nigh. Cas gave a little, breathless cry and rocked his hips downward, firmly, a handful more times—before coming with a panted wail.

Then he collapsed forward against Dean, gasping for air against his boyfriend’s shoulder, and continued rocking his hips, little whimpers in the back of his throat when Dean’s erection bumped against his battered prostate, totally overstimulated now. He didn’t stop, though, not until Dean finally locked up and came with a guttural moan of his own. Cas’s hips slowed to stillness, then, and he slumped against Dean, entirely boneless.

“Shit, Cas…” Dean had his head leaned back against the back of the couch and his hands rubbed soothing little circles at Cas’s hips, then drifted down his thighs warmly. “Did I mention I love it when you ride me?”

“Mmph.” Came Cas’s oh-so-articulate reply. He had his face tucked against Dean’s neck and his arms mostly limp at his sides. Dean was still inside him, gone soft now, and while normally that bothered him a little, this time he didn’t even care. “Feels too good… when we do it like this. So good it hurts.”

Dean smiled a little, hands rubbing up and down Cas’s thighs gently. “’S why we don’t do it more often.” He admitted, “I know you can’t handle too much of it.”

“Feels fucking amazing…” Cas murmured, almost a protest. He smiled slightly and brought his hands up, pushing off of Dean’s chest to sit properly again. “It’s just…” He ran a hand through his hair, “a lot. That’s all.” Then he shifted, wiggling his hips just to see Dean’s reaction—and stifled a grin when his boyfriend groaned and gave him a look. Cas chuckled and eased off, lifting up and off Dean’s limp dick and then dropping down to sit beside him. “Next time don’t complain when I want you out of me ‘too soon’ after, then.”

“You can be a real jerk sometimes.”

“You love me, though.” Cas leaned into Dean’s side and Dean wrapped an arm around him, already lowering his feet to the floor.

The older man came back with: “yeah well, you love me, too, so we’re even.”

“Mm.” Cas hummed a happy noise, entirely too pleased with himself, wanting nothing more than to make this moment last forever. He wrapped an arm around Dean’s midsection and squeezed, a gentle hug. “You’ve got me there.”

They stayed there on the couch for a while, just sitting together and enjoying their post-coital bliss. Dean used his fingers to tidy up the come that was smeared across his abdomen, licking them clean afterward. Cas watched raptly as he did so, then leaned his head back down when Dean was done, closing his eyes with a sigh. Dean leaned his own head sideways to rest against Cas’s lightly.

A few minutes later they were both about to fall asleep and Dean forced himself to move instead, getting up and pulling Cas with him. Cas made a soft protesting noise, and Dean herded him over to the bed where they tumbled into the soft pillows and blankets, tangling up together in a mess of exhausted limbs, the moonlight streaming through the balcony window now.

They were both asleep in seconds.

-- --

When Cas woke up the next morning it was to the too-early rays of the sun, an empty bed, and the sound of Dean’s hushed voice from the other side of the room. Sighing to himself, Cas rolled onto his back and flung one arm up over his eyes to block the light as he listened quietly to what was obviously Dean’s side of a cell phone call.

He could hear Dean pacing back and forth restlessly as he spoke: “I can’t, I’m not available and you know it! …yes, I have priorities, they just aren’t the same as yours, Dad!”

And oh. No wonder Dean sounded so agitated. Cas lowered his arm away from his face and looked sideways, watching Dean pace. Finally, he turned onto his side to face the other end of the room and sighed again. This probably wasn’t going to be good. Arguments between Dean and his dad never were.

“I take four days every three months, I am trying, here, and you just won’t give an inch, it’s—no! Being with him makes me a better person, makes me stronger, I don’t get why you can’t see that!” Dean ran his free hand through his hair, frustrated, then; “damnit, Dad! I said no! Two more days and I’m yours again, okay?! I—Dad, stop, I’m not going to—”

Then a pause and he lowered his phone and looked down at it before turning around and pitching it at the couch. He followed that up by bracing his arms against the wall and leaning heavily against it, head hanging down.

Cas immediately climbed out of the bed and crossed the room quietly, stepping up behind Dean and sliding his arms around Dean’s waist from behind. Dean made a soft surprised sound and dropped one arm down to rest his hand against Cas’s where they were clasped over his abdomen.

Cas leaned his forehead against Dean’s back between his shoulders. “I’m sorry about your Dad.” He said softly.

“You heard all that, huh?”

“Some of it.”

“He wants me to bail on you early for a job.”

“Ah.”

“I said I wouldn’t do it, and now he’s royally pissed at me. I think it just… cements in him the idea that you’re not good for me.” Dean sighed and squeezed his hand around Cas’s, then carefully straightened up and turned around in Cas’s hold to wrap his arms around his boyfriend as well. “Did you know you’re a bad influence?”

“I’ve heard, yes.” Cas gave him a soft smile. “Your Dad will get over it. He always has before, right?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Dean agreed—and then dropped his forehead down onto Cas’s shoulder with a despairing moan. “He’s so pissed, Cas.”

Cas brought one hand up to thread his fingers through Dean’s hair, gentle and reassuring. “I do understand, you know, to a certain extent.” He said softly, “your Dad has been through so much, the whole thing with your Mom and… I know if anyone did anything to you, I’d be out for revenge, too. I wouldn’t stop. So, I get it, your Dad’s… obsession. With the demon, and the job. With teaching you and Sam, and keeping you guys close and safe.”

They had been together long enough, were close enough, that they knew pretty much everything about each other. Dean had told Cas about his mom’s death, the circumstances behind it, and his dad’s reaction to it, long ago. He had told Cas everything about his family—everything he knew, anyway, and Cas had done the same, though he didn’t have the kinds of secrets the Winchesters had.

“I know he doesn’t like me, and I know he’s never even met me and that seems unfair, even to me, sometimes, but…” Cas continued threading his fingers through Dean’s hair and tipped his head to press a gentle kiss by the older man’s temple. “He just wants to protect you and Sam, and in his view I’m a threat to that. I’m a distraction. I knock you off your game. Or at least that’s how he sees it, probably.” It did hurt, that Dean’s dad would never know him—never like him, but… “he��s just trying to keep you safe, right?”

“I know that.” Dean’s voice came out muffled against Cas’s shoulder, until he straightened up again. “Doesn’t make it any easier to deal with, though.”

“He probably won’t ever understand what we have,” Cas told Dean with a little smile, “so just… cut him some slack. He doesn’t get it, but he does care.” Then a pause and he asked quietly, “are you alright?”

“I will be.” Dean offered a little, vague smile and just pulled Cas into a tighter hug. “You always know what to say.”

Cas leaned in for a kiss, then started backing up toward the bed, tugging Dean along with him, until they both crawled onto the mattress and buried themselves in the covers, Cas tucking up into Dean’s side under the blankets. Outside, it wasn’t snowing like it had been the day before, but it was still chilly. Cas looked off out the window, his fingers toying with Dean’s pendant absently.

“No matter what your Dad ever says to you, just remember I’ll always love you, okay?” When Dean’s hand came up and the other man began playing with a few strands of his hair gently, Cas smiled and cuddled closer. “Always, Dean. There’s never going to be anyone else for me. You’ve spoiled me for other people.”

“That’s a lot to say of your very first relationship,” Dean commented, sounding amused, “that I ruined you for anyone else.” Then he paused before adding softly, “except I can say the same thing of you. I’ve told you before, you’re it for me, Cas. I don’t ever want anybody else.”

“Mmm.” Cas hummed out a pleased noise. “Then we’re in agreement on that point.”

The two of them fell silent then, just warm and comfortable together in their (for once) nice hotel room. Today was the last day, though, Cas had to catch his bus back to Tallahassee the next morning. And they didn’t have anything planned, after everything they had done the day before…

So they simply stayed in for the day, spent most of it in bed being intimate in one matter or another—whether it was having sex or cuddling up together or just talking and laughing together about nothing in particular—but also watched some more shitty television, and of course ordered room service because there was no point in staying at a decent hotel if they didn’t order room service at least once.

Dean had been completely keyed up after his conversation with his dad, but slowly over the hours they whittled away together he unwound, relaxing into the comfort and security of their relationship—of Cas.

When they fell asleep that night, it was after making love again—properly, deeply, with passion and feeling—and knowing that their time together was almost over. For the next few months, anyway. They held on to each other in sleep, almost as if to keep from being separated when the sun came back up.

-- --

At just after three in the morning, Cas and Dean were woken by a sudden and violent pounding on the door to their room.

Dean was up and out of bed in an instant, yanking on his boxers and hurrying to his duffle bag, going for his gun. Cas followed after him, scrambling out of bed and pulling on his own boxers, but then hung back while Dean went and positioned himself to the side of the door, up against the wall. He motioned for Cas to get down and Cas immediately followed the silent command.

More pounding. Dean cocked his pistol and called out, “who’s out there?!”

And another voice shouted back, “DEAN, YOU OPEN THIS GODDAMNED DOOR RIGHT NOW!”

Dean jolted slightly, then relaxed his grip on his gun and lowered it to his side. He waved for Cas to get up again, then, frowning the entire time, reluctantly unlatched the door and pulled it open. Dean was pushed to the side by the man who stormed into the room, and just made a frustrated noise before closing the door and locking it behind him.

“What are you doing here, Dad?!”

And ah, that explained… Cas shifted on his feet and forced himself not to take the instinctive step back that he really rather wanted to. Dean’s eyes were darting between his dad and Cas—but they finally settled on his dad when the older man set a harsh glare on him and snapped, “I told you I needed you and you refused to leave, so I came to get you! And here I catch you with your pants down! Literally!”

Dean made an annoyed face and held up the gun he was holding. “If it’d been anyone but you or Sammy they’d’ve been full of holes right now!”

“A gun won’t stop a demon, Dean.” John growled.

“I am fully aware of that fact!” Dean snapped, and stalked back over to tuck his gun away again before crossing to where Cas was standing and reaching to squeeze his hand lightly. “You okay?” He asked softly, almost under his breath.

Cas nodded—but that had just drawn John’s attention to him, and now he was pinned under the older man’s glare. He tightened his hold on Dean’s hand without even meaning to. “Um. Hi. I’m… Castiel. It’s nice to meet you… I think?”

John glared daggers at him, then turned his glare on Dean, who just glared right back. He continued holding Cas’s hand, defiant. “I’m not leaving until after Cas’s bus leaves tomorrow, Dad. I always see him off and this time isn’t going to be any different.”

“You’re ruined. This kid has ruined you. You’re a Hunter, Dean! You know better than this!”

Dean bristled at that. “Cas hasn’t ruined anything, he’s made my life worthwhile, Goddamnit!”

“Being a Hunter makes your life worthwhile!”

“I can be more than just a Hunter, Dad, I can have a life, I can—”

“Are you coming with me or not, Dean?!”

“I already said no, and I meant it! I don’t ask for much, but these weekends are important to me!”

Cas’s lips quirked into a little smile at that—and he tugged at Dean’s hand, turning to face him and pulling him into a brief kiss. “Hey,” He whispered, bumping their foreheads together gently, “remember what I said. He’s just worried about you, deep down. You shouldn’t completely ruin things with your Dad for me, especially since my bus is leaving in about… seven hours. Seven hours isn’t worth your whole relationship with your Dad, Dean.”

Dean hesitated and frowned. Across the room John was grumbling. “Are you sure?” Dean asked finally, “it’s seven hours, Cas.”

“Seven hours won’t kill either of us, just this once.” Cas assured him softly. “Just go.”

Dean hesitated a bit longer, but finally pulled Cas into a proper kiss, then let him go and stepped away, stooping to start picking up his clothes. “I’ll be ten minutes. Meet you in the car.”

John turned and unlocked the door, pulled it open—then paused and glanced back at Cas, a long, surveying look (Cas privately wished he was wearing more clothes in that particular moment) before ducking out into the corridor and slamming the door closed behind himself.

Dean was halfway to being dressed, already in his jeans and just pulling his shirt over his head. Once it was on and his dad was gone from the room, though, he returned his attention to Cas, moving back over to wrap his arms around the younger man and pull him close. “Are you sure about this?”

A soft, amused smile, and Cas nodded. “I’m sure. We can make up for it next time. Just go with your Dad on this Hunt and prove to him that I’m not quite the terrible influence he thinks I am.”

“I can’t believe he actually tracked me down and came here,” Dean grumbled, leaning his forehead down on Cas’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t have been subjected to that.”

“He has a temper,” Cas admitted with a laugh, then patted at Dean’s side and repeated, “just go, Dean.”

More grumbling from Dean, but he did lift his head up and go for one more kiss before easing away and turning to start shoving his things into his duffle bag. ‘Packing’, as it were. “You should get some more sleep, Cas. Enjoy the bed a little longer. The room’s already paid for. Sorry I won’t be walking you to the bus.”

Cas sat down on the edge of the bed with a smile. “You don’t have to apologize. I completely understand.”

Once he was done tossing everything into his bag, Dean shrugged into his jacket and pulled his boots on, then picked up the duffle and moved toward the door—only to stop at the last second and hurry back across the room to lean down and kiss Cas again, hard and deep. “Call me when you get back home, okay?”

“Only if you call me when the Hunt is done so I know you’re alright.” Cas countered with a laugh. “Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean pouted but scooted out the door anyway, leaving Cas to lock it behind him.

Cas stood by the door and looked around the room for a long couple of moments, trying to ignore the depression that was edging in on him already—and the anxiety that was gnawing at the pit of his stomach. He didn’t like to think too much about when Dean went out on Hunts.

Finally, he went over and crawled back into the now-empty bed, flopping on his side with a heaved sigh.

He was just settling in when his phone pinged with a text message. First just once, but that one ping was followed by a whole series of them in quick succession. Cas blinked and leaned up, reaching to the bedside table and pulling it over to read the new messages:

[I love you.]

[I miss you already.]

[Dad wants to know if I’m texting you.]

[Should I tell him?]

[I’m gonna tell him hang on.]

[Oh God he’s totally losing his shit.]

[His impression of you still isn’t great I guess.]

[I’ve got to go before he MURDERS me.]

[MURDERS.]

[Seriously I love you.]

[Talk to you after this Hunt is over.]

Cas laughed to himself, shaking his head, then typed out a quick reply:

[I love you, too. Take care of your Dad. Be safe.]

Then he set his alarm and put his phone aside, wrapping himself up in the blankets and doing his best to go back to sleep. In the end he was less successful than he would have liked to have been—but at least the bed was comfortable, and the blankets still smelled distinctly of Dean.

It was when he was packing up to leave the next morning that he remembered the pie, previously (miraculously) forgotten in the mini fridge. They had been so distracted by each other that neither of them had even had a single piece.

THE END

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #destiel #destiel fanfiction #nsft #spn #spn fanfiction #shut up sena #sena writes #counting scars by senashenta

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