#now w these bits of lore. book ??? and a half seems to take place after book 3 but before book 6

[moe-broey]

I have. So much power. Esp w the ability to use any portrait I want for any class. Which maybe was always the case? But the funniest example here is Bruno. The Medic. That armor in his portrait? Just for show. He's only allowed to wear extremely tearable fabric. As the gods intended. It's part of his curse, you see,

Also Moe voice "Yo who the fuck invited your undead dad to the function??????"

[thelostguardianau]

The Lost Guardian- Chapter Eight

“Heed the Silenced”

(Authors note: aha.. yknow I should probably stop making promises for this fic. Months later, w/ a chapter that doesn’t have Thomas in it, three different outlines down and i’m really just at the mercy of this fic at this point xD considering midway through writing this chapter I had to cut and rewrite an entire scene i’d spent a month on bc I’d decided that Dee had a chance at redemtion that added an actual direction and a tangable end goal to this story. So. Yeah. And!! A loud Thank You!! to @bumblebeekitten for helping me bounce ideas back & forth for this au and being my beta for this chapter!!)

Character Info & Art:

Patton | Logan | Roman | Virgil | Remy | Deceit | ??? | ???

Chapter Seven | Chapter Nine

Fandom: Thomas Sanders Sides

Pairings: Eventual Polyamsanders (LAMPR/CALMR-a.k.a LAMP/CALM + Remy ‘Sleep’ Sanders)

Warnings: THIS CHAPTER IS KINDA DIALOG HEAVY!(sorry) Currently depicted as morally grey Deceit(subject to change in future chapters), though the side of Deceit from his first appearance doesnt make an appearance in this chapter and it is explained why, mentions of past betrayal and dark descriptions of bodily concepts, curses, limitations, and changes only really explained as possible through the lore of this au. Deceit speaks in riddles because he has to, ominous warnings. Virgil still isn’t okay mentally. Mentions of indifference to death, lack of selfworth or self preservation. (Let me know if I need to add anything!)

[[MORE]]

Brown eyes flutter open at the chilly breeze of a fan, and the ravenette’s mind comes to realize that he’s been moved from resting on his stomach to laying on his back. Groggy from his much too short nap, it takes a few moments to realize there are no warm bodies near him or under him, no breathing or chatter of familiar voices to sooth him.

The room, he realizes, is empty.

The room itself is, in fact, not Remy’s bedroom at all.

Shooting straight up, Virgil’s first clear thought is that he’s back at home. At his apartment, this time in his hoodie yet still roughed up from his latest ‘adventure’. The scene is eerily familiar, and yet he knows this time that work is not where he needs to be. It’s already daylight and his mind now knows this familiar scene, he should feel alone. Yet, this time he can hear the sound of honking cars and people, his loud neighbor from upstairs stomping around.

It doesn’t make sense as he walks to his window and peers out to see vague cars and people, he can’t even seem to make out any individual faces. It’s grey and raining outside, but there is no pattering sound against the foggy window. ‘What’s happening?’ Virgil wonders.

“Life seemed so simple a week ago, even months ago, did it not..?” A familiar voice drifts from behind him. Ice cold fear shoots down the ravenette’s spine as he recognizes the voice.

“I can hardly believe you were able to leave it, your routine. It was your everything, back when you came to terms with what you had left. Am I wrong, Virgil?” Whirling around to face the voice, Virgil finds the terrifying ex-Guardian sitting on his couch looking quite at home, if a little sheepish.

“What do you care?” He spat back, stepping back against his window.

“I am only looking out for you, you know. I have been protecting you all your life. Of all people I think I would know what is best for you, don't you think? We are connected after all, you and I.” The man sighed, making a surrendering motion with his hands.

“Why would I trust you?! You tried to kill me yesterday!” Virgil growled. “Why--h-how are you even here!?”

“False, my dear Virgil. I tried to warn you. Sure,” The guardian rolled his hand as he spoke, “I am forced to have a round-about way of speaking my truths, it is just part of my consequences it seems. But how else was I going to get you to listen to me after the others fed you lies about me? I do sincerely apologize for my other half being rough, though. I cannot quite.. Control.. Him.” The guardian tilted his bowler hat down to guiltily hide his eyes, regret briefly twisting his expression.

Finally the Guardian stood, dusting himself off as if his immaculate attire had acquired dust from just existing in his apartment. “I needed my physical body to reach yours and make our soul connection strong again, so that my soul could reach yours. However.. The pain I caused you was far from my intention. I am deeply regretful that it came down to.. That awful encounter.

“To answer your question though, Virgil, I am here because I created ‘here’. A realm made to form this illusion of being home, sweet home, just on the corner of the little street you had come to live on for the past year. It is all my doing. Where you stand is simply an illusion only you and I can access, a manipulation of your dreams and memories. The only place where the real me can talk to you mostly unhindered.” The guardian gestured to his surroundings.

“It takes only one person to flip your life on it’s head, a matter of hours to make the decision of a lifetime, and a matter of days to have completely changed your life’s direction,” He turned to Virgil, and looked him straight in the eyes, feeling distant and lost.

“And only a matter of years to succumb to the depression of the lonely consequences..”

Virgil blinked at that. The sad, longing tone had him thrown for a loop; it almost felt like the Guardian wasn't even quite talking to Virgil. “I-What..? I.. I don’t understand.”

The Guardian shook his head, snapping out of it and refocusing himself. "Nevermind that. It is time I talked to you for real, if you will have me?" The Guardian held out a hand politely, though there was no real expectation for Virgil to take it.

After a pause, Virgil gave a slight nod, still suspicious of the other's intent. The Guardian returned the nod, and his hand fell to his side.

“I am limited to the time that you rest and for now I will not be able to explain myself thoroughly, so, I ask you to understand that I do not expect you to trust me when I am done. I honestly do not expect you to ever trust me. With the mistakes I have made, I firmly believe I would not deserve it.”

Virgil blinked in surprise, not having expected his captor to admit to his faults straight off the bat.

“Okay.. Well, we’re here, might as well hear your side of the story. So.. Shoot.” Virgil said lightly, distrust and suspicion still evident in his tone and stance.

“I would assume at this point you are well aware of how the story you have been told paints me as the villain, a mastermind seeking power, immortality, and revenge? At least, that is what I am led to believe is still the story, it has been many years since I have heard the tale first hand… And... Well. Would that not be so lovely?” Virgil made a face, eyes narrowing in confusion.

“I am serious. Life would be so much easier if it was all black and white, true or false, good and bad, would it not? If those who meant well knew everything and those malicious few could not corrupt anything?” The Guardian frowned a bit, frustrated with his words that couldn’t seem to cooperate with him.

“Would it not be lovely if I could talk to you without fighting to keep from turning every honest thought into a question or theoretical statement just to let it be said? That my words could hold a meaning not forcibly disguised in the forms of fables and riddles?” The Guardian looked down lamely, his words tapering off in agitation. For a moment, Virgil waited as the Guardian was silent, contemplative. Then, the next moment the Guardian’s face scrunched up in sadness and his words were soft as he placed a hand over his golden wrist markings.

“My story is complicated, and twisted with shades of grey. One could say what I did was an attempt to keep you safe, another could say that what I did was outlandish and impulsive, and stupid. But no one will be able to tell you that what I did went according to the plan I had... at first. No one will tell you that my intention was to save you, to keep your fate safe. No one will tell you that my plan was ruined. Because there is no longer anyone who remembers what happened that night except for me,”

The Guardian’s eyes flicked up to meet the ravenette’s, a hurt look passing over his face as he continued. His steady voice now just barely trembled with uncertainty as he continued.

“No one but me and the soul who wants so desperately for everyone to forget. The soul who ripped my own in two to bury the secret, and ruin you and I both.”

“My final warning is this: Beware of the man who carries the world on his shoulders unflinchingly, he will be watching you closely. You have immunity to his power thanks to our connection, you might use this knowledge well to find the truth that lies in plain sight. However, your fate lies in the decisions you chose to make with this knowledge, I can only warn you of what might come.” The Guardian nodded solemnly, choosing to finish his cryptic warning there.

Virgil stood there, reeling with the information. Sure, he definitely wasn’t completely convinced he could trust this cryptic stranger, Guardian? Foe? Friend? Virgil wasn’t really sure what to call him anymore. But damn, his life was already so fucking crazy, this was all just fucking crazy! He could just be dreaming for all he knew.

But… Deep inside, he was hoping he wasn’t.

This was, well. This wasn’t what he’d been expecting to hear when facing the man whose, er, body? Had originally tried to strangle him? Now he’d heard his sob story and, well, Virgil wasn’t that easy to fool, but he’d also been told that it wasn’t expected that he’d trust the guy even in the end and he didn’t really want to.

He’d been on the path to death for so long, and then just two days ago everything had changed. So much was happening, it was frankly exhausting. What the fuck was he, some book protagonist? Couldn’t he get a little time to think about all this before he went crazy?

Still, something under all his incredulity begged to hear the guardian out. He vaguely wondered how Stockholm Syndrome worked before he gave in a little. What difference did a little more crazy make in his life at this point?

“Fine, I’ll heed your warning, or whatever the fuck. But only if you can tell me what you mean when you said that this guy ripped your, uh, soul? In two.” Virgil huffed, partially relaxing. It was odd how comforting he found it to be, floating in this weird feeling imaginary world, where he could interact with objects that weren’t real. It felt like he was really standing in his home, and yet it was just built from memory.

The guardian’s solemn expression formed into a grim smile, eyes distant once more before nodding. “I will do the best that my words will allow.” Virgil nodded, and waited for the now very familiar stranger to gather his words and take a breath. Then he began, his markings lightly flashing gold.

“You find yourself whole one day, as you have always been. To be whole of body, whole of mind, both human and guardian in nature. To have conscious thought and control over your whole physical being and soul..

“You find that yourself and others of the winged variety are capable of separating your soul from your being, though only the most Elite can do it well. You find out the family you made would soon be in danger. You then find yourself lost and alone when you once had a home to call your own.

“You find yourself knowing a truth, a perilous truth. Your home is in shambles now that you are gone, yet they do not know it. This truth is at fault, but the blame is not fully your own in a world built on lies.

“The source of truth tucks itself into blankets of grey, drawing itself further from discovery with each passing day. Now only you know the truth. The source of the truth finds you, it seeks to hide you too.

“You find yourself split one day, as you have never been before. Forced apart from the body, trapped within the mind. Guardian in nature, to have conscious thought and your dying soul trapped within, a false mind piloting the puppeteered confines of a broken body with a blind goal.”

“You find you cannot control what you used to, you are a prisoner to a body that is no longer your own, mostly unconscious to the world around it. Crazed by the false emotions that fuel it.”

“The you that used to be is no longer, and has not been for over a hundred years. The world that knew you knows not of what you’ve become. Knows not of the shackles that bind you.

“The you that used to be is no longer, and will never be again.” The Guardian finished, hesitant yellow eyes meeting Virgil’s carefully. Phantom goosebumps trail down Virgil's arms as the final sentence strikes a cord in him.

Virgil found he really wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, the rawness in the other’s tone spoke volumes of the sore spot they’d reached.

“Your body rests, but your mind also needs time to process today. I shall see you when you next rest, though only if you wish to seek me. Rest well knowing that you will not be scooped from your safety once more, as I hope I’m never to do so again. And...” The guardian paused, considering their next words very carefully.

“I know it is selfish to ask... but, I hope and wish that Thomas is alright, after all this time... Do take care of him, would you?”

Virgil paused and stared, finding only concern and longing in the guardian’s expression. And, well, fuck. What a way to pull at a guy’s heartstrings.

“Er, yes. Yeah. I’ll try my best.” Virgil gave his signature mock salute, the Guardian tipping his hat in return.

“Trying is all I could ever ask of you, Virgil. Rest well, you will need it.” And with that final sentence, the world around Virgil gently grew dark, and he sunk into the comforting arms of sleep.

Despite it all, Virgil still found his mind vaguely conscious. Sluggish at best, but awake nonetheless.

He figured it was likely some lingering effect from the Guardian’s dream realm, but didn’t dwell on it. His life had way too much else going on to be debating the side effects gained from Guardian powers.

First, he’d been pretty damn convinced two days ago that he was going to be a goner by the end of the month. Completely resigned to die believing that his very existence was scorned by the world he’d been unwillingly born into.

Then Patton had stumbled onto his shitty apartment’s roof, found him in all of his resigned and depressed glory, and changed his life forever.

They’d mostly skipped the whole ‘Human nature is a series of life, death, and rebirth’ spiel that guardians were known to give in these situations because... Well, It wasn’t like they’d really had time to address it before the truth about his soul had come out. That he wasn’t exactly human to begin with.

Virgil didn’t think that Guardians had ever had a situation like his before. There wasn’t a protocol for comforting a kidnapped guardian soul. It’d never been a possibility before!

So it wasn’t surprising then, that Virgil didn’t have any better of a time processing it.

His whole life, all that he’d known to be true, all that he’d believed in? Everything had been uprooted and turned on its head. He’d apparently been living a life that was not supposed to be.

Perhaps for the first time in two days, Virgil realized that the thought of his death at the end of the month had not been consistently worming into his brain. It had once been something he could never seem to stop thinking about.

The death indicated by his soul timer was now perhaps the farthest thing from his mind.

Perhaps the strangest thing so far was that he wasn’t alone anymore. He’d possibly had more physical contact with other people in the short two(three?) days since this adventure started then he’d had in the past 16 years.

And wasn’t it just the cherry on top that he’d also gotten nearly choked out by the very guardian accused of kidnapping his soul in the first place? And now he was considering trusting the damn guy.

Virgil hollowly wondered why he even cared.

Why did he care about staying alive now when he’s spent his whole life believing he never would? Up until two days ago, that belief had still been true. But now? Avoiding death was the goal, Logan had stated as much.

Really, would Virgil lose anything by trusting the banished guardian? Even if the guardian was trying to trick Virgil and got him killed, what difference would it make? That’d always been the goal before. What did he, Virgil, really have to lose?

If it happened that Virgil lived past his twentieth birthday, if he became a guardian like he was supposed to be in the first place. Would he want that? Did he want that?

He wasn’t sure. Didn’t know if he ever had been.

His life had been built on resignation to the inevitable. Nothing seemed to motivate him towards liking or hating that possibility. He was just that.

Indifferent.

And wasn’t that just the greatest revelation of the night? Finding out that you’re indifferent to living or dying.

Once this was all over, if Virgil lived that long, he would make a note to see a therapist. He knew very well that this kind of mindset was unhealthy to keep. It just couldn’t be helped that the nineteen years he’d lived with this particular affliction couldn’t be fixed by a few extra hugs and comforting words.

Even if he didn’t like the fact that death sounded like the more peaceful option.

His thoughts paused, mentally sighing at the downward spiral he’d caught himself in. It was tiring, and going nowhere.

‘For now,’ he decided, ‘I’m just going to see how this plays out. The Guardian said that none of the others remember the truth, or whatever. So, It’s a ‘he said-they said’ situation right now...’

‘I’ll have to keep an eye out for the guy that he warned me about, then. Who knows if he's as dangerous as The Guardian made him out to be. It’s hard to tell with the weird way he has to talk..’

Virgil paused again, a realization striking him. If he could have groaned, he would have. Not once had he been given or even remembered to ask for the name of said Guardian. What was he supposed to call the rogue Guardian now? He couldn’t just keep calling him The Guardian!

Amidst the disbelief of such a slip up, a foreign yet familiar feeling prodded questioningly at his conscious mind. Adding confusion into the mix of emotions, he returned the feeling with a questioning thought of his own.

He briefly heard the Guardian’s whispy voice once more, now acting with permission.

“You may call me Janus”

Then all at once, Virgil woke up.

.

.

.

Chapter Nine

[cajunquandary]

Whispers of the Desert

Pairing | Reader, Sam, Dean

Summary | When the reader takes time for herself in the mountainous desert of far-west Texas, the last thing she expected was to have to fight for her life.

W/C | 6100

Warnings | Canon-level violence, blood, drowning and nightmares. It’s angsty.

A/N | Several years ago, I took a trip to Big Bend State Park, which is the setting for this tale. While there, my better half shared some folklore from his heritage. This was written in part for @supernatural-jackles​ SPN Bi-Weekly Writing Challenge. Prompt is in bold. Happy spooky-season, y’all.

The can of beans bubbled gently over the open fire. You stirred them carefully, as not to spill the contents or allow them to burn on the bottom. Little else is worse than burned beans. Using a well-worn cotton kerchief, you reach quickly to remove the can from the flames, cussing to yourself as the smoldering metal burns straight through the thin cloth to your fingers. The can lands next to you on the ground in a whap, a few rebellious beans jumping overboard as the can tipped and wiggled to a stop. You place the burned digits in your mouth one at a time in an attempt to suck the zinging pain away quickly then give up, wiping them on your dusty jeans with a sigh of resignation.  

The sleepy spotted hound to the left of you continued to snore, exhausted from the heat of the day and the journey thus far. You’d been hunting for months straight without so much as a full night of rest and decided to take a weekend to yourself, far away from humans and monsters. You smile at the dog, glad to have such a loyal companion. Training him had been surprisingly easy, you reminisced while blowing on a spoonful of dinner-in-a-can to cool it.

You don’t quite remember when you stopped being a “normal” kid, if ever you were, and became a hunter. There was no dramatic intro, no amazing story—only a few ghosts and some salt. You sniggered at the thought, recalling how you’d been hooked on the Supernatural books as a kid, reading well beyond your grade level. So, when the time came that you actually confronted the supernatural in real life, you already had the answers. It was easy. You still weren’t sure about all the larger plots, like apocalypses and the Winchester boys, but the basic lore was solid.

Just a few years ago, you remembered being so lonely that it was throwing you off your game. Even though you craved human contact, you could never give more than a one-night stand on occasion. Loving me is a death sentence, you replayed over and over in your mind.

After a not-so-great hunt, you limped into a shelter, asking for the dog least likely to ever find a home. A puppy was unceremoniously thrown into your arms, the staff begging you to take it and go, as they were already struggling and couldn’t afford to keep a dog like this for long. Walking back to your old blue truck, you looked down at the small, fragile thing. Spotted all over, ears floppy and forlorn eyes that broke your heart. “A mutt,” they’d called it. One that just wouldn’t be wanted in that town. A runt and only surviving pup in a litter from a mix of a large, skinny hound dog and an even bigger, meaner pit bull.

As he’d grown, you trained him to hunt as well, bringing home bits of monster so he could learn the different scents and be able to tell you what may be approaching before you were caught off guard. The mutt grew up strong and confident with a huge loving heart.

On the rare occasion you make a public appearance in a town—any town—young children would come running to him, pulling on his ears and shoving their hands down his throat. He loved the attention. You couldn’t help but to smile, thinking that he would have been the perfect family dog, then sink into heart ache, realizing that the life you led would never allow for such a thing… that the two of you would likely both perish bloody at the hands of beasts.

You were scraping the bottom of the can now, grateful for the nourishment, when a shadow crept closer, curious of this new thing in its home.

Mutt sensed you stiffen and slowly turn your head to the midnight intruder. His hackles raised as he sniffed the air, a low, nearly inaudible rumble beginning deep in his chest as a warning. The waning light of the fire cast short, fleeting glimpses of the visitor. You dropped your shoulders and relaxed. It was only a coyote. Most people would be frightened by the animals if confronted in such a way, but you were familiar with them and with their mannerisms. You gently laid a hand on Mutt to reassure him that all was well. He trusted you fully, hackles lowering slightly, standing down.

The coyote lowered his head, sniffing towards your discarded can. You locked eyes with the scavenger, mirroring its movements. Its jowls drew back slightly, revealing short, sharp teeth in a smiling sneer. You drew back yours as well, baring your teeth and adjusting your features until your brows furrowed and eyes dared it to move closer. After a moment, the wild dog went back to a resting face, blowing from its nose and licking the air in peace. On swift, silent paws, it turned and trotted away in defeat, using the light of the Milky Way to guide it to its next meal.

You smiled and shook your head. Though during the day, the mountainsides and valleys looked barren and empty except for cactus and an occasional pile of wild grasses, the nights were always vibrant and teeming with life. Off in the distance, a chorus of howls echoed off of the cliffs and across the canyon below, rising and falling, sounding off in one direction, then another, then both. Cool winds of night lifted the solemn song through the air, carrying it for miles as if it were a raptor weightlessly gliding over the terrain.

Mutt released a tired huff, a bit of caliche dust stirring in a small curling puff in front of his nose. You killed the now flameless glowing embers with a swift kick of dust and your boot, smooshing it until the ash was cool. You climbed into the front seat of the truck, Mutt right on your heels. He laid next to you on the faded carpet as you sprawled across the bench seat and kicked off your boots. Folding your arm under your head, it was merely seconds before your mind fell to black.

 The largest owl you’ve ever seen haunted your dreams. It was persistent and aggressively following you, swooping and diving towards your head. As if being shrouded in a spell, where you could only move sluggishly as if in water and your mouth could fall open but emit no sound, was terrifying enough, the owls face would morph continuously between that of the animal and of a young woman whose face twisted in unnatural ways. More than anything, you were angry—angry at the being, angry at yourself. Frustration pushed at the seams of your sanity as your mind and body fought each other when they should have been unified and fighting against the feathered behemoth. The shape-shifting head seemed to whisper a steady string of words you couldn’t understand.

The more you labored, the heavier your limbs grew and a thick fog began creeping at the edges of your brain, poisoning every thought and emotion until there was almost nothing left. Nothing but absolute, bone-chilling, illogical fear. Quick, panicked breaths drew fire-hot air into your lungs, but you could not longer even writhe in the pain with your body completely paralyzed—suspended high above the black silhouette of desert. Every cell in your being began to swell and pull, tearing apart. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you felt it being ripped from your body.

Your soul.

With the last bit of strength left within you, you forced your eyes open.

Mutt whined as you came to, suddenly upright and back in the safety of your truck. The first rays of sunrise were creeping up over the horizon. You looked down, feeling coming back to your body in waves of numb tingles. You were soaked in sweat and nausea overcame you. Barely opening the door in time, you leaned out over the step and released your stomach violently, heaving for some time until there was nothing left. Right then and there, you swore off canned beans for the foreseeable future. Mutt laid his head on your shoulder, licking the beads of perspirant off your temple in concern.

When the retching and trembling stopped, the stars had been all but chased away and replaced by the soft, subtle rainbow hues of morning. You groaned and rolled over, staring at the cab roof and planning your recovery quickly. Starting a day out here already dehydrated and weak could be a death sentence.

The wind kicked up, blasting a sweet relief of fresh air into your lungs. Whistles and other unexpected noises on the breeze were fairly normal, especially during daylight exchange, but you could swear you heard the distant hoots of an owl. Mutt didn’t seem to hear anything, so you shrugged the spooky feeling off and put the keys in the ignition, ready to head into the nearest truck stop for a shower and a sports drink.

 About an hour later, you pulled your sputtering, rattling truck into the stop and parked next to a shiny black car. With windows rolled down for Mutt, you stepped out and around to get a better view of the old beauty. It was an Impala, probably a ’67 if you were to guess. You loved old cars, always wanting an El Camino for yourself one day. Even your truck was old—a faded and mildly rusty baby blue Ford. Your eyes traced and admired the curves of the car, the shine of the chrome and the matching leather interior. Everything was in perfect condition, as if it just come off of a show truck. You knelt down until you were on hands and knees, peeking up under the front of the car, taking note of the lack of rust underneath and original suspension. In all, you were impressed.

You straightened back up on your feet, adjusting your wide-brimmed hat back in its place. You went rigid, suddenly feeling a presence too close behind you for comfort. You spun on your heels, feet spaced and ready to defend yourself. It wasn’t often you had to, but once in a while, a particularly ignorant man would try to get a little too fresh with you—the small woman travelling alone.  

You weren’t prepared for this.

Only inches away, a very tall, very handsome man in flannel stood cockily, a bag of donuts in one hand, beer and jerky in the other. You slowly lifted your gaze from his chest up to his face. Shaded green eyes caught yours like a spider would a fly—you were ensnared and unable to focus on anything else around you. The rest of the world fell away bit by bit as you performed in this staring contest. He slowly popped a little donut in his mouth, the pastry filling his cheeks and dusting his lips and collar with white powder. He chewed slowly with a poker face.

“Nice car,” you managed to choke out.

The tension between the two of you was palpable now. The freckle-dusted man continued to chew, responding with a throaty, mumbled “Mhmmph.”

The door to the building opened with a ring-ding, startling you from the awkward competition. You took a step back, breaking the stare and following the alert towards an even larger man walking towards you, face buried deep in a local map. “Hey, Dean, get this—”

His eyes snapped up, assessing the standoff before him, and he shook the hair out of his face. His eyes were nothing like the other man’s—they were softer, drawn together inquisitively, the sun highlighting the different shades of green, blue and brown folded and swirled around black pupils. He stopped next to the passenger door and cocked his head to the side. “Uh, Dean. Everything alright?”

Without so much as wavering his intense regard, Dean answered the taller man. “Yeah, Sammy. She’s just admiring the car.”

Sam rolled his eyes and huffed. “Dean, we don’t have time for this. Let’s go.” He waved amicably in your direction and settled into the Impala. You crossed your arms and turned back towards Dean after shooting a smile at Sam.

A little more confident now, you returned back to your game of glares. “Can’t take a compliment, Dean?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Yeah, it’s my baby. I put a lot of work into her. Thanks.”

The man continued to stand there, looking you up and down and eyeing you warily as if you were about to explode. You shrugged off the strange encounter and turned away, throwing a “have a good day” his way before you entered the welcome air conditioning of the store.

As you pre-paid for your shower and sports drink with the clerk, you could still see the man standing there out of the corner of your eye, watching you cautiously through the window.

You took the key and headed off towards the back of the building, ready to wash away the night terrors and bizarre encounter.

When you reached your private bathroom suite, you closed and locked the door then set down your backpack and turned on the hot water in the clean, sand-colored tiled shower. Steam started to fog the mirror, but you glimpsed yourself before it went completely white. Horrified, you wiped at the mirror. Your eyes were bloodshot and there was dried blood, almost black, that had trickled down your nose. Your veins were prominent and unnaturally blue, spiderwebbing across the thinner areas of skin. Your pupils were blown wide. You reached up to touch your face, confused, but your hand wandered to an itch under your ear. You leaned in closer and angled your head to see that blood had seeped from your ears as well.

You hastily stepped into the drumming water and tried to scrub away the knowledge that the nightmare may have been more than just that.

 Back at the Impala, Dean watched you through the window, unmoved from the spot he’d caught you sneaking around the Impala. When you were out of sight, he slipped into the driver’s seat, hinges protesting with a squeak.

“You okay, dude?” Sam asked.

Dean set his snacks down between them. “No, Sam. Did you see her face? I found her creeping around the car. I didn’t see any hex-bags, but I think she’s a witch.”

Sam shook his head in disbelief. “Dean, she just looked like she had a few too many last night and maybe got in a fight.”

Dean shrugged, not willing to argue with his brother. One of his favorite things about Sam was also the worst—he always saw the good in people and, all too often, was blinded by it.

He turned up the music and peeled away from the truck stop, ready to put some distance between them and you.

 You walked back to your truck, fully refreshed and looking much more like your normal self. Mutt stood up in the front seat, tail wagging and you couldn’t help but grin back at him. As you popped up next to him, you pulled out your phone to search for the nearest library. It was time to figure out what the hell happened last night.

 The library wasn’t too far—another town over about a half hour away. It was a relatively small place, with only two computers and a few rooms. What it lacked for in size, it certainly made up for in quality and quantity for the research you required. Mutt walked silently by your side through the long, narrow passages between bookcases. Just before you reached the end, one book caught your eye.

Folklore of West Texas

You pulled it from the shelf, a familiar green eye arresting yours once more where there should have been another book on the opposite shelf. Startled, you took a stumbling step back, spine crashing into the full bookshelves behind you and digging in uncomfortably. Mutt stood at attention then, low growl emanating from bared teeth towards the stranger on the other side. You dropped your free hand to him, knowing that if he made a ruckus, you’d both be kicked out. He quieted, but still leaned into you, rigid and on high alert.

Dean rounded the corner quickly, looking down at the hackled dog and drawing his hands up quickly, as if mildly scared. “Mind calling off the attack dog?”

“Only if you tell me why you’re following me.”

“Following you—what? You’re following us!” He hissed, barely above a whisper.

Sam trotted up behind you, footfalls heavy on the old hardwood floor.

He looked from you to Dean to Mutt then to the book you were holding. Ignoring his brother’s strange demeanor, Sam asked kindly, “Hey, uh, mind if we borrow that book from you? The librarian pointed us towards it. It for research—important research.”

You gripped it tighter, suddenly feeling quite cramped in the small space and wanting to run the other direction, away from these crazy people. “Sorry, uh… Sam, is it?”

He nodded, small, thin, friendly smile coasting his lips.

“Sorry, Sam, I need it urgently. I uh… I have a paper for my college class due in like four hours and I haven’t even started. Maybe come get it tomorrow?” You hoped they would accept your lie and let you be.

Sam sighed. “Maybe we can share? There’s seating over by the computers. You can write and when you’re not using the book, maybe we can?”

You had to hand it to him, he was thoughtful and it would have been a good compromise. Unable to think of another excuse, you nodded in agreement.

 After a few hours of searching through the book and the internet, through the library computer, you found a promising lead. Something called a Lechuza bruja, a type of witch or spirit well-known around the Texas-Mexico border.

The whole time, you could feel the eyes of the men as they bore into you, watching your every move.

You stood quickly, numb legs stretching and ready to carry you away from the situation. You smiled and tipped your brim at the men and quickly walked back through the maze of shelves and to your truck. The afternoon heat hit the parts of your face not shadowed by the black hat. Once in the vehicle, you opened the cooler to check your provisions. Hmm, running low. Next stop—the market.

 Sam and Dean whispered with each other, huddled so close that their heads were nearly touching.

“A lechuga?”

Sam huffed. “No Dean, a Lechu-ZA. We aren’t fighting lettuce.”

Dean hung his head in his hands, dragging them across his hair and back down, rubbing his temples. “Frickin’ witches man,” he mumbled. At least for Dean, lettuce and witches were held in the same regard—both revolting.

 You were glad to be back out in the wide-open human-less landscape. You cracked open a cold beer from the cooler and let the fizz glide down your throat, both cooling and warming you in delightful ways. Sunset was fast approaching and painting wildfires through the sky. Atop your plateau, you could look down and see Texas to the North and East, Mexico to the South and West, and the Rio Grande snaking between them, forming an oasis along its banks. You were close enough to hear the constant, deep rumble of water. You closed your eyes, imagining people from a thousand years ago listening to the same sound.

Letting the peaceful daydream fade away, you set the beer on the hood and went to rifle through the tool box in the bed of the truck. You pushed aside the smaller items of necessity and heaved a large bag of salt over your shoulder with a grunt. You painstakingly dug a shallow trench with your heel all the way around the vehicle, filling it with an unbroken line of salt along the way.

After you prepped the truck for a sleepless night potentially fighting away ghosts and witches, you climbed into the bed of the truck with the cooler and opened a bag of jerky. Mutt enjoyed his kibble and curled up next to you, happy and relaxed, innocent of the danger that would likely find you tonight.

As the temperature dropped and the familiar refrains of coyotes filled the air with music, your eyes grew heavy. You curled into yourself, pulling the rough blanket over your shoulders. You looked up at the stars, trying to tally the larger ones to keep yourself awake. There were so many that the dark sky was not truly black anywhere—everywhere you looked there were more. Every time your eyes adjusted and focused on a dark spot, you could count even more of them as they appeared.

 Everything was true black and silent, as if you’d gone blind and deaf. This was not the desert you knew. You turned and felt the ground with your feet, trusting that your tall boots would block any cactus or unfriendly critters. You shuffled forward and tried to call out to Mutt, but the words caught in your throat. It began to constrict, as if something had you in a vice grip, crushing your windpipe from the inside out. You reflexively tried to breathe deeply, but fell to your knees, scratching at your throat, panic rising. Your eyes bugged and strained, desperate for any miniscule bit of light. You blinked hard, just to verify that your eyes were indeed open. Gasping for breath, your lungs burned and you fell onto your side, convulsing as if drowning. As numbness creeped its dark tendrils through your body, and you began to sense gravity fall away.

You continued to struggle, allowing fear to set in. Off in the distance, a light appeared. Like a shooting star destined to destroy worlds, it hurtled towards you. In mere seconds, the bright, glowing owl was there, once again sporting the glitching face of a woman contorted in sickening ways.  The owl dwarfed you, calmly flapping its wings and whispering those strange incantations that drew such agony from your breaking body.

It floated closer to you, and in the light, you could see your hair suspended as if you were fully submerged under water. When the monstrosity got within arms reach with open beak, you reeled back and punched it right in the eye.

 You woke with a start, Mutt pawing at you and barking violently. Urgently.

Shaking off the nightmare, you could taste blood in your mouth. Tears had run down your face at some point, and you hurriedly wiped them away.

The blinding light of the full moon revealed otherwise—blood. You were bleeding tears?

You withdrew a kerchief from your flannel pocket and wiped your face as you scanned the salt line. The wind had blown away several areas. You looked up at the sky and tried to calm Mutt, who was trembling for the first time since he was a small pup. The full moon snatched the breath from you, and your chest heaved. It looked exactly like the eye you’d just punched in your dream.

The night was far colder than you’d expected, the chill reaching down to your bones. That was it.

It was time to leave. This was not something you could fight on your own. You jumped from the bed of the truck and Mutt joined you in the cab. You tried to start the truck, but the engine just sputtered. You tried a few more times, then nothing—as if the battery had died.

“No no no no no,” you cursed, hitting the steering wheel with both fists.

Time seemed to slow to a stop, Mutt frozen mid-bark and facing the windshield.

A large gray owl landed on the hood and its striking yellow eyes sent shockwaves through you—overwhelming pulses of anguish. You screamed, mouth falling open and eyes shutting against the spell, trying to break its hold. A vision of a small child drowning in the river filled your mind. It was screaming, choking, begging for help.

When your eyes opened, the screams of the child urged your feet forward faster, now running full speed through the desert.

You were not in control of your body anymore, but merely a hapless passenger. Your feet betrayed you and you went tumbling down the side of the cliff, catching every sharp rock and thorn on the way down. If you had your wits, you wouldn’t have been able to move, too broken to continue. The rush of the water nearby caused your veins and arteries to constrict and pulse at a dangerously high rate. Adrenaline coursed along with your blood and you rolled and stumbled towards the river once more. In a kicking leap, you crashed into the frigid waters searching for the screaming child. The shrieks were so loud that they rattled your brain and hurt your ears, threatening to consume you. You thrashed against the strong current.

The owl screeched and swooped down, tearing at your drenched hair. The freezing black water helped ground you enough to realize that there was no child—only the horrid cries of the bird.

The Lechuza, you reminded yourself. Just as you reached for the vial of salt in your pocket, the witch-owl dove into the water, catching the back of your collar in its sharp beak, dragging you to the depths with it. Its eyes glowed, the only visible thing in the dark waters.

 Dean pulled the Impala slowly up to your truck, eyes locked on the salt circle. “Shit!” He shouted as he threw Baby into park. He bounded from the car towards the abandoned vehicle. He whipped back around towards Sam.

Sam picked up the blood-soaked kerchief in the bed of the truck and gave it to Dean. “I think we’re too late,” Sam noted, his voice faltering with the worry rising in his throat.

“I didn’t know she was a hunter! How did we not know?! The signs were all there!” Dean cursed and kicked the tire violently, throwing firsts in the air as he gripped the soiled kerchief. Of course, he blamed himself. In fact, the only reason they were out there was to gank you. Until this moment, they’d had no idea that you were another victim and not the bruja herself.

Mutt whined and cried a high pitched imperative. Dean ran back to the Impala with a long string of creative curses, retrieving two shotguns and extra witch-killing bullets. Sam opened the truck door and Mutt spilled out.

“Here boy, here,” Sam called to the frantic dog. “Take her to us. Go get her!”

Mutt seemed to understand and took off towards the southwest, nose close to the ground and paws practically levitating across the rough earth. Dean tossed the extra gun to Sam and they raced off, following the dog’s brays. They carefully descended the cliffside, sliding partway down and narrowly missing a large crevasse. The men watched in horror just as the large owl drug you beneath the waves.

 You thrashed violently against the authority of the currents and the essence of pure evil leeching into you through osmosis. Once you were fully saturated in the foul concentrate, the Lechuza Bruja reared its ugly head back, screeching at a decibel that whales would envy, resounding through your entire being and threatening to shred you to pieces. Whether it was the spell or hypothermia kicking in, your limbs grew stiff and immovable. Your lungs screamed for air until you couldn’t fight it anymore.

In that moment, you felt your very soul being stripped away, and in the void, water filled your lungs. The pain only lasted a moment more before you started to sink towards the rocky bottom, bits of freshwater weeds outstretching soft, welcoming arms. You blinked slowly one last time, looking up at the disappearing monster above you as it emerged forcefully from the opaque waters. With the fading light, you closed your eyes, ready to greet your reaper. Your limp body fell to rest with a soft thud into the bed of river grass.

 Sam dove into the water immediately, shoes and shirt flying off in a frenzy along the way. Just as he submerged, Dean angled the shotgun full of salt pellets and hit the fleeing bruja like a game of skeet. The nasty beast crumpled at his feet but did not stay still long. Dean dropped the shotgun and withdrew his pearl-handled pistol. The man-sized owl stood and flared its wings, beak agape in a blood curdling scream. Without hesitation, Dean aimed carefully and shot it center mass twice then between the eyes once in rapid succession.

The creature exploded in a ferocious affair, leaving only dust and feathers behind. Dean held his arm up, coughing into the crook of his sleeve. When the particles settled, he rushed towards where Mutt dug at the bank, barking and whining, careful not to touch the water.

“C’mon Sam,” he prayed, pacing impatiently. Just as he thrust off his own shirt and shoes to rescue both of you, Sam broke the shallow waves with a loud gasp. He held you in one arm, treading towards shore with the other. With a waterlogged body, you were more than a typical deadweight. Dean grabbed onto you when he was close enough, about waist deep in the river, feet sliding on the slippery stones. He traded a glance with Sam to make sure he was okay. Sam nodded between coughing fits.

He would be alright, but he couldn’t say the same for you. Your eyes were half open and far away, likely lost on this plane. Dean set you down on a sandy patch devoid of sharp protrusions and slammed fists on your chest. You were cold and blue.

“No no no, shit! Come on!” He yawped into the waning night. He started CPR. In desperation, he rolled you on your side and slapped your upper back hard. Your lungs rejected the water, projecting it up to a few feet away. Shallow, agonal breaths shook you furiously, your limbs going into straight, fixed positions. He sighed a minor breath of relief then picked you up and slung you over his shoulder, hoping more water would drain that way. The boys scrambled back up to the plateau where they reached the Impala in record time. Your body still racked and spasmed, trying hard to intake oxygen but still unable to expel all the water on its own. Dean handed you to Sam and jumped in the driver’s seat, breaking his “no dogs in the car EVER” rule as Mutt joined him in the front. Sam slid into the back, still pumping your chest when needed.

Dean grimaced as he flew as fast as he could down the winding, bumpy excuse for a road through Big Bend. He checked his phone, waiting anxiously for a bar of service since the nearest hospital was almost three hours away by car. “Sam, is she—?”

“Drive faster, Dean.”

The car gained air a few times, until at last Dean slammed the breaks to a sliding halt, atop a peak near the park exit. He dialed 911, pleading with the operator to send a helicopter to them like yesterday.

Minutes passed.

Dean paced outside the car, searching the sky and spinning in circles, the first rays of morning shining in his eyes. Sam pulled you from the car to the ground when you stopped breathing again. This time, he started CPR and you didn’t react.

Ten minutes.

Sam sang the Bee Gees under his breath, struggling to hold tempo and arms shaking in exhaustion. Mutt lay by your side, eyes closed and whining softly.

Dean kicked and punched at the world around him, screaming curses into the sky and towards himself, tears coming freely now as he felt the full weight of his guilt. He’d allowed another hunter to die because he couldn’t see past his own pig-headedness.

Fifteen.

Sam collapsed, arms shaking with exhaustion. Dean picked up where his brother left off with torturous thoughts raging rampant through his mind.

The long-awaited sounds of a helicopter in the distance graced their hungry ears. Sam jumped to his feet, waving wildly. He helped guide the crew to a clearing just a few yards away. Dean shielded you from the flying debris.

Two medics quickly wrapped you and continued CPR. In seconds, the helicopter was pulling away towards the rising sun.

Dean’s hands were clasped together atop his head, but internally, he was imploding.

 Your eyes opened slowly, blurred vision confusing your already muddled mind with distorted images. You winced against the cool, damp cloth brushing against your temple. You groaned as your body woke in stages, each one more painful than the last.

A solid, warm hand wrapped around your forearm. You clenched your fist in response, a sharp sting in the top of your hand. “Shhh, shh shh. You’re okay. You’re at the hospital,” the soft yet gravelly voice whispered reassuringly.

Bringing your other hand to your eyes, you roughly wiped and rubbed until you could see more clearly. You started to gag and heave at the tubes connecting your lungs to a breathing machine. You pulled and flailed, panic striking fight or flight into you once again. Nurses rushed in and your eyes followed them wide open and wild. They carefully withdrew the apparatus and strapped your limbs down, replacing it with a much gentler nasal cannula, and lastly lifting the bed so that you were sitting up slightly.

You tried to choke out questions, but the more you tried, the more it hurt. You gave in to frustrated silence and took in your surroundings. Dean was there, hovering closely, tears at the corners of his red-rimmed eyes and an apology already spilling from his mouth.

You shook your head, confused, and motioned for something to write with. He handed you a small whiteboard and expo marker.

Who are you?

“Dean Winchester.”

You looked at him, unbelieving that it could be that Winchester—the one from the Supernatural books. It was only a story, right? Yet it was all right there—the character description, the car, and even Sam. Erasing your last question, you sloppily wrote a new one.

‘The’ Dean W.? SPN Legend?

He chuckled lightly. “Yeah, that one.”

You took in the view of your body—wrapped nearly head to toe in bandages, some of them still bloody.

What happened?

“You don’t remember?”

You shook your head no.

He recounted his version of the night, looking over his shoulder to make sure there were no prying ears.

You could tell it aggrieved him—the whole thing. You didn’t blame him of course; you’d almost wondered the same about him and Sam, suspecting that they may have been the evil bewitched spirit.

Sometimes, hunters die.

He placed his palm over the scribbled words, eyes cast down. “No. Not like that, not when we can stop it.” You squeezed his hand then shoved it away lightly.

I forgive you.

The words brought the large hunter to his knees. When he found the strength to lock eyes with you once more, you gave him a thin, strained smile. Looking at the band on your wrist, it was obvious he’d guessed your name and age. You jotted the correct information down and showed it to him. He smiled back.

“Nice to formally meet you, Y/N.”

You, too. What now?

Making sure the room was still clear, he leaned in. “Now, we get you out of here. Sam has your dog back at the motel. You owe me a deep clean for my car, by the way,” he quipped.

Teaming up with the Winchesters wouldn’t be the worst thing, you considered. It sure as hell beat living this empty, lonely life.

Mutt could finally have a family.

As Dean expertly snuck you out of the hospital, you weighed the pros and cons of associating with the two most wanted men on the planet. Your decision came when the Impala pulled up to the door of the first-floor room where Sam stood out front, Mutt by his feet looking happy and well fed.

Through everything, we found each other. That’s all that matters.

Come Heaven, Hell, or Beyond. You owed them your life.

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ALL ABOUT THAT DEAN:

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[cursewoodrecap]

Session 23: Medical Ethics

Y’all ever been to college?

Our new friend Vigdor has just pulled a pale, twitching human leg out of a poster tube, sheepishly admitting to Valeria that it’s his own.

Valeria blinks at it. “Well, it doesn’t appear to be bleeding demons, so that’s good?”

Shoshana sticks her head in the door, and has to pause to take in the sight. “Uh, bruh? Bruh? I have questions. Is that yours? I mean, like, yes, you HAVE it, but was it attached to-“

“That’s a bit tricky? It was amputated twice.”

“Twice?!”

“Once from me, and then, well, um. Once from an amalgam of sewn together body parts?”

(Gral and Shoshana pile into the room, because Oh, Lore?)

“When I was in the swamp, we were fighting a bunch of zombies led by this particularly nasty undead guy. We called it the Wailing Wight. At first it was just the usual undead hordes, but then a local leatherworker was found, torn apart and harpooned every which way, half his limbs torn off and stolen. After that, we started getting attacked by stitched together abominations cobbled together from human and animal pieces. I was there just trying to help the villagers, being a doctor and all. But that’s when I lost my actual limbs.”

“They got stolen, like the leatherworker’s?”

“I had to chop them off. Which, for the record, is not a fun time? The Wight’s harpoon has a kind of poison that rots everything it touches. So I had to amputate or, like, die. So I cut them off and his zombies, uh, stole them. And I managed to get one back? Kind of a long story. I don’t know how I recognized it, but – I guess I know my own leg like the back of my hand? Now I’m taking it back to Sturmhearst. There’s a weird fluid inside it; I want to study what’s going on with that so we can take care of the nastyboy in the swamp.”

“Well, I am generally against nastyboys,” says Shoshana, poking his foot in the ticklish bit. It squirms at her.

We’re headed to Sturmhearst anyway, so traveling together seems reasonable. We think about taking Fun Key Shortcuts, but that could backfire spectacularly, so we’ll play it safe and go the normal, boring way.

In the morning, we head downstairs. The inn is trashed. The stalwart barkeep Rene is not there; instead there’s a young elf sweeping out what debris he can. As we grab breakfast and the young fellow thanks us over and over for saving his friend’s life, Vigdor awkwardly wanders around casting Mending on chairs and tables that got a little too close to the tentacles and chainsaws. Shoshana doesn’t really do non-destructive magic, but she slips the barkeep some gold for repairs.

Vigdor’s too lopsided for a horse, so he’s gonna hop on in our cart. He’s very taken with the Eyegis, poking at it with fascination. “You can see the blood vessels in the eyes, despite no source for a blood supply! Do they have tear ducts? Have you ever seen the shield produce tears? Can you make it cry?”

Valeria gets very uncomfortable with this line of questioning and turns the eyes back into painted ones, put off by a Weird Stranger gettin’ all up in her business. Gral distracts him by asking about his fancy metal limbs.

Vigdor goes full technobabble on how the runes and machinery work. “Well, there’s three different kind of magical actuators on each joint, and they act as conduits for the dilithium crystals-” He knows the details secondhand from Bjork and none of us speak robotics, so if he ever needs serious repairs he’ll have to bring them back to Sturmhearst for the engineers to take a look at.

Valeria knows a bit about Jotunn runesmithing, but she’s never heard of it working to this degree of precision; before, she’d only heard of stuff like boats that row themselves, or a peg leg that has a little extra articulation. These are fully actuated limbs!

Val checks if the limbs are the same metal as our space wrench, but nope, they look like completely normal everyday metals. She’s not gonna inspect further, because she has RESPECT, unlike SOME people.

(“Hey, I didn’t try to pry the eyes open or anything!” Vigdor protests.)

She does notice one thing, though: Valeria recognizes runes from most magic systems even though she doesn’t know them well enough to use; her sister studied magic for a long time, so she knows what they look like. There’s one elaborate rune that appears on both Vigdor’s forearm and leg that is of no origin she’s ever seen.  

“How long’d it take Bjork to build this thing?” Shoshana asks, squinting at Vigdor’s kneecap.

“Well, I was unconscious for a good bit of it so…between a week and 2 months? He was already working on it when I, uh, had to amputate.”

“…did you KNOW you were gonna wake up with those things on?”

“Oh! Yeah, yeah. It took a while ‘cause the original blueprints they found were for somebody, like…really short for a human or really tall for a halfling? Something in between. Bjork had to resize the whole model to fit a human.”

“He, uh, FOUND blueprints?

“I can’t imagine he’d have made blueprints for a person who didn’t exist? It was all proportioned very strangely. I don’t know too much about it, you’d have to ask Professor Bjork.”

(One of the players asks if the strange rune, perhaps, says ISTC in a language the characters don’t know. It DOES, and we’re all very pleased with ourselves for previous-campaign references.)

The long road stretches on before us, and we have plenty of time to talk as we spend a week or two heading north toward the coast. We fill Vigdor in on the four flavors of Curse and the concept of the Prisoners, and that we suspect there’s major Key nonsense going on up at the university. (Heh heh, “major key.”)

Vigdor and Shoshana bond over being locals. Why are foreigners so weird about trolls?

Vigdor really, really wants to look at Twombly’s glasses. We explain to him that the Key could take his desire for knowledge and turn him into a cackling, dimension-hopping madman with a few extra eyeballs. He still wants to play with the glasses. Valeria protectively hides the Key map, just in case, flashing her Hunt fangs at anyone who asks about it.

After like a week of pestering everybody, Vigdor gets to look at the glasses. Disappointingly, when not looking at the Key map, the colorful lenses just make everything look slightly more those colors. Maybe Gral’s lutestrings look weird, but that could be the placebo effect. He tries flipping around the many lenses in different combinations, and finds that all of them make him look absolutely ridiculous.

Eventually after many days of travel, we can smell the ocean and the distinctive stench of a large number of humans living in one place. Vigdor takes in the familiar sight of his college hometown. Shoshana is dumbfounded that this many people can live on top of each other, while Valeria thinks it’s a quaint little town.

Up to the west, Sturm Castle squats on a cliff above the city, like a big hippo of knowledge. It looks like it was once a reasonable castle shape, but it’s had new wings and towers built onto it haphazardly until it’s a weird sprawling network of jammed-together architecture. By the edge of the cliff, in one of the more sensibly-built sections, a majestic lighthouse beams out over the bay. In the city below, the largest building appears to be a grand temple, with its roof carved in the shape of an open book. The perimeter of the city is outlined by strange wooden and metal towers, two or three stories tall with conical brass roofs.

Eh. It’s only got one castle, so it can’t be that good of a city compared to Aurentium.

Our cart is briefly stopped for a quick examination at the gate by a friendly city guardsman. He’s flanked by two of the same enormous owl-masked guards we saw accompanying Quercus and Ulmus. “Hi, welcome to Sturmhearst, folks! What brings you here?”

We all awkwardly try not to look at Vigdor’s leg bag.

“I’m, uh, here to visit Dr. Emily Thorpe?” he tries.

“Oh, visiting the university. Don’t need yer life story. Where you stayin’? I can recommend some inns. Oh, and check out the Scholar’s Temple while yer here!” He hands us a brochure from the Sturmhearst Tourism Board and steps back. “ALL RIGHT BIG GUYS, LET EM THROUGH!”

The owl guards don’t move.

“Oh, uh, I mean –“ He fishes in his pocket and pulls out a whistle. “Lemme see if I can remember how the doc told me to do this.” He blows a few sharp notes on the whistle, and the owl guards promptly step off the road to let us through.

Huh.

Vigdor makes an investigation check on those guards, who definitely weren’t around back when he was in school. They’re pretty bulky for humans – no, honestly, they’d be bulky even for goliaths. He’d heard a story from Professor Bjork that the school was hiring goliath mercs and dressing them in owl masks, but the professor had sounded like he hadn’t believed it much. Supposedly they’re silent because they don’t speak the language, but Vigdor’s pretty sure Bjork speaks Jotunn, so that excuse doesn’t quite hold up.

Once we’re out of the guards’ earshot, Gral pulls a huddle. “Vigdor, the Key’s a more recent influence, so let us know about anything new or significantly more abundant – that’s where we’ll need to search.”

Vigdor hmms. “The big brass towers weren’t here before. And the owl guys didn’t used to be a thing.”

Gral cuts another glance back to the owl guards, considering. “…How much of a faux pas is it to remove a Sturmhearst person’s mask?”

“I mean, if you’re dealing with the plague, it’s kind of a dick move? And dangerous? But most people – it’s like, the same rudeness of grabbing someone’s hat or jacket. For some people it’s badge of honor or superiority, y’know, how amazing they were to get through the gauntlet of Sturmhearst. But mostly it’s a practical tool of the job. We’re not, like, afraid to show our faces.”

Gral nods. “So you wouldn’t have to duel them, then.”

“W-what?”

“Oh, with bards it’s like ‘you are not deserving of your title’ and you have to duel about it. You know, like, how dare you slander my name, I’ll have to fight you for my honor?”

“Oh, uh, no, nothing like that. The mask is proof of office, that’s all.”

Before we get investigating, though, it’s late and we should rest. Vigdor wasn’t a palling-around-town type, but he rolls a nat 20 and knows the best inn in the city – not one of those touristy places on the square; the best-kept-secret on a side street that only the locals and regulars know about.

We have a lovely night around the docks of Sturmhearst. Shoshana spends like fifteen minutes just staring out to sea, because they MAKE boats that big???? This much water even EXISTS????? There’s a dragonborn ship from Aurentium, a goliath ship from Jotunhein, a couple of Galwan freighters, and even a ship crewed by colorful macaw aarakocra. (History check: while the Aquilians mostly died out, some of the ground-based aarakocra cultures survived. Valeria’s met macaw traders before in Aurentium; they tell lots of stories and do GREAT impressions.)

Valeria, meanwhile, holies some ocean water. They say Galwan clerics swear by holy seawater; salt repels demons, right? It’s gross harbor water but, whatever, it’s holy now. She also beats a sea captain at Man-go, presumably dock style. The inn’s equipped for foreign travelers, so it’s got a whole bar of draconic and goblin spices!

Gral, meanwhile, discovers the inn is near a bath house and enjoys finding out what a sauna is.

Morning comes, and Sturmhearst U awaits. Vigdor knows the main campus has the colleges of Engineering, Science, and Medicine, while the satellite campus across the bay houses the college of Ethics, which includes humanities like economics and history.

Valeria rolls for Order of the Rose knowledge. The Order actually has an arrangement with Sturmhearst when they’re working in Valdia – whenever the Order is sent on disaster relief, some Sturmhearst ethicists are sent to help coordinate. Valeria’s never worked with them personally, but the impression she’s gotten from her fellow knights is Not Great. From what she’s heard, they’re supposed to do triage and help direct the knights, but it seems like they spend the whole time sitting around debating absolutely horrible things. “Hey, if we brewed up some necromancy, could we use the skeletons of plague victims to transport supplies without spreading the infection?” Apparently they just sit around in corners debating whether that kind of shit is kosher or not, without ever actually DOING anything.

Also ethicists wear white instead of black like most Sturmhearst scholars, which is just pretentious. We then poke fun at an Order of the Rose knight calling anyone else pretentious.

Vigdor studied at the College of Medicine; he’s a doctor. But that’s not where he’s taking the leg.

“Why not Medicine? I mean, it’s a human body part, innit?” Shoshana asks.

“It’s…I have some concerns…regarding the, um. So, along with this leg, my arm was stolen, right? Not long after the arm was stolen, the sewn-together amalgams got a lot, uh, cleaner.”

We stare at him.

“…as if whatever stitched them together had my medical training.”

…oh.

“I’m a little hesitant taking that info to the College of Medicine,” he admits.

“Why?”

“There’s a lot of ‘for the greater good’ stuff with the College of Medicine sometimes. The College of Ethics keeps them in check. Anyway, there’s actually this thaumochemist I want to take a look at it.”

(We’d know the discipline as alchemy, but she hates that. She’ll go on a whole tirade about it. Somebody yells “Full Metal Thaumochemist” and we accidentally take a commercial break. We’ll never get tired of that joke.)

More of those owl guards are at the door, supervised by a businesslike white-coated member of the College of Ethics. His mask is a bit more abstract than the ones we’re used to; not modeled after a bird face like the regular scholars’. He lets Vigdor in with no problem, though he’s a bit suspicious of the rest of us. We’re with a doctor, though, so he’ll let it slide. “Welcome to Sturmhearst, may your visit be enlightening.” He does the same whistle we heard before and the guards step aside. Gral’s a string guy, he can figure out the notes easily enough but he doesn’t whistle.

“Nothing goes on here without Ethics knowing about it, huh,” Gral observes.

More owl guards are stomping around, some carrying heavy objects. Vigdor knows where he’s going, but asks an owl guard for directions, as an experiment. The owl guard doesn’t even notice him. He steps in front of the guard, who just steps around him very politely.

The castle is a nightmare to navigate, like Hoeska, but we have an expert tour guide. “The old keep, the part that used to be a castle – that’s where all the 101 classes are and the whole working hospital. All the additions are laid out super weird, and then there’s the tunnels underneath. The Chem students had WILD parties down there, they brewed up all SORTS of stuff. The lighthouse is a real lighthouse, but it’s also where admin is, and the dean’s and headmaster’s offices. Oh! DO NOT cross the librarians. Each college has its own library? Like, theoretically they share the whole collection, but which college keeps which books is kind of a blood sport…”

Shoshana and Gral hang back, feeling out of place. “Bards don’t really have a college, exactly?” Gral explains. “It’s more of a pilgrimage. I met the elders of each village and they imparted wisdom upon me?”

Shosh feels like an uneducated hick even by that standard.

We take a hairpin turn in one of the Science buildings and run into Professor Quercus! Or at least someone with a bird mask and a similar voice, chatting with some other masked scholar. “Ah! Yes! We made a lot of excellent discoveries before we started to run into problems – you see, there hadn’t been an event in some time, but if we could get in there to the source, we could really – well, my goodness! These are the people I was telling you about, who gave me such wonderful notes!” Quercus turns to us, sounding rather delighted. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you here. Welcome to the world of knowledge! What brings you here? I thought you were having adventures and derring-do!”

“Well, it turns out our adventures led here!” Gral tells him.

Quercus nods enthusiastically. “I’d show you around, but I rather need to speak to the bursar! If you need anything, I’m sure you can find my offices without too much problem. And please, if you’ve encountered any interesting monsters, I’d love to hear details! Especially if you have samples!” Despite his keen excitement, Professor Quercus rolls a four and fails to notice our Shusva accessories.

“If you ever need a cup of tea and a biscuit, you’re welcome to stop by my office! I’d be more than happy to speak with you! And if you could do me a favor – well, I wouldn’t mind having you with me when I speak to the bursar! See, our expedition to Holzog has hit a bit of a snag. The events with that mist stopped happening, you see. Luckily, we managed to identify which house you were going to, and we were all set to investigate, but then the Baroness put a squadron of those damnable Condotierri to prevent us getting in – “

Gral shrugs, deliberately casual. “I don’t know why you’d go back; there’s not much to see besides what’s already in the notes.”

(Vigdor immediately rolls insight to see if Gral is lying. Unfortunately for him, bards are excellent liars.)

“Anyway. The bursar’s giving me an earful about continuing to fund the expedition. I’m considering withdrawing from Holzog and asking him to redirect the funds into a different project! For example, lots of interesting monsters have been seen around Barroch lately!”

Yes, definitely, we want him to go somewhere that’s not a Tempting Key Portal. Valeria and Gral tag-team Persuasion checks to sell him on interesting cases of monsters we’ve heard of around Barroch. If we’re fuzzy on the details – well, all the more reason to have someone get out there and take a closer look!

Quercus is rather taken by the idea. “If you would, Mr. Duu –“

“Um, actually, Duu is the tribe, my family’s name is-“

“-yes, if you could write me some letters, I might find it useful making the acquaintance of the locals while setting up camp. Sturmhearst hasn’t established an official relationship to your people yet’”

Gral agrees to write up a formal letter explaining the mission of Sturmhearst and the expedition to make introductions a bit smoother; the word of a bard will go a long way in gaining the cooperation of the orcs of Barroch. He’ll do a personal letter of introduction for Quercus, and a general letter to Shieldeater’s administration to explain who the heck these weird bird people are.

“Wonderful! Bring it by my office!” He gives us directions that make NO sense to anyone but Vigdor. We’re pretty sure several of those compass directions aren’t real words?

“Oh, and if you see an angry tall woman stomping around, tell her I’m not here! She’s mad at me for some reason I can’t discern. Good day!”

He scuttles off, presumably to hide.

We definitely want the gossip on that – Ulmus was mad at him about funding, and she definitely dissed his field of study. Is this what academia is like?

Vigdor confirms that the professors have all kind of weird beefs, interdepartmental politics, and personal feuds. “One of my professors gave me a B- in amputation – shows what he knows – purely because I was taking some classes outside the College of Medicine and he got all offended. It’s a lot of politics and bullshit, they’re all more concerned about their careers and publishing than actually important stuff.”

We find a door with a brass plaque: Dr Emily Thorpe, Thaumochemist. There’s a paper list tacked to her door with a list of courses: “Intro to Potion Brewing,” “Principles of Alchemy Thaumochemistry”

Vigdor knocks. “Yes, who’s there? Come in!” a voice calls.

“It’s Vigdor! Vigdor Gavril!”

“Ah, Vigdor!” A halfling woman in the requisite bird mask waves from behind a counter where she’s handling a set of proper Movie Science bubbling beakers and flasks. “Yes, you sent me that letter! You had something ‘interesting’ for me!”

“Yes, and you will see why I couldn’t be more detailed!”

She notices his metal arm as he starts pulling open his heavy waterproofed case. “Oh! I heard that Professor Bjork was giving you his prototype! How’s it working?”

“They’re loud and heavy and uncomfortable sometimes, but I have limbs! Can’t complain! But then I, uh, found one of my limbs again.”

He goes over to an open table and pulls out his entire-ass leg with a flourish, plus vials of hair and blood and strange unidentified liquids. Her eyes widen.

“Ah, this is yours!” She watches his toes wiggle. “Well, you don’t see that every day.”

“Yeah, I found it stitched to some kind of unholy undead abomination.”

“And that explains the Knight of the Rose. Hello, Kyr.”

“Kyr Valeria Argent, at your service!”

“Dr. Emily Thorpe, at your service as well, I guess? Pardon the mess in my lab, it’s not much but it’s home. Hand me that vial?” She pulls out a syringe and takes a sample of not blood, but oily black liquid, from the leg. “It will take some time, but I can write up a thaumaturgical profile without much difficulty. Do you mind if I keep it?”

“You can hang on to it. But I would appreciate discretion.”

“Yes, this will stay between me, your friends, and – oh, this is Hugo, he’s my teaching assistant. He’s been helping since the school was mobilized.” She turns to Vigdor’s clearly uneducated hick friends (not you, Valeria, you’re very fancy) and explains:

“In times of crisis, the University turns from education to innovation. Were this a disease, we’d be researching cures! If demonic, we’d be researching weapons or dimensional banishment. We haven’t really received direct orders this time, so everybody is doing their own thing, which I can’t say I mind. Mostly I’ve been helping other researchers with the practical application of their theorems.”

She scribbles out a hasty list. “Hugo, if you can go to the library and put these books on order? The Vigmar and the Auspelius especially would be useful, but don’t let the librarians kill anyone over them. And the Principles of Advanced Anatomy – tell them I won’t ask. But I do need it.” The grad student nods and hustles out of the room.

(Shoshana insights, out of paranoia. Hugo’s a good egg, though he might refer to thaumochemistry as alchemy.)

“Now, Dr. Gavril, do you want this leg back? How intact-“

“Want it back? Like, in the abstract, or on my body?”

She pulls out a vial of bubbling acid. “I’d like to put some of this on it and I’d like to see what happens.”

He blanches slightly. “Uh. Um. I have some proprietary-“

“Aw, no acid then,” she grumbles, stowing the acid with an audible sigh.

“Only do something you would do to living person’s leg. That they would survive!”

“How would I know? I’m a chemist, this is only, like, my second dead person!” She pauses. “…well, fifth.”

Shoshana starts looking around at all the alchemy equipment curiously. Everything here is clearly labeled with numbers, and letters that feel like numbers, and complex formulae, which hedgewitch potionery doesn’t really account for.

There’s a knock at the door. “Ah, that must be Hugo. Come in!”

Valeria instinctively body-blocks the leg from view.

It is not Hugo. In walk 3 white-clad ethicists. The gentleman at the front is in fancier robes – we suspect he’s the kind of fellow who has tenure – and he wears a powdered judge’s wig atop his mask. We immediately don’t like it. His two companions peer around the lab – one has a jeweler’s loupe built into the lens of his mask, and the other is carrying a big chime with runes carved into it, clearly a magic item of some sort.

“Dr Thorpe,” the leader intones.

“Sorbus,” she replies disdainfully.

“I see you have guests, is now a bad time?”

“Is it ever a good time?” Emily makes a point of tending to her samples and beakers busily.

“I suppose not. We have come to ask a few follow-up questions. Have you been visited at all by Professor Matthias Macker? Has he followed up on the project you were working on together?”

“I told you, no! I had no potions strong or precise enough for what he needed, and he’s never spoken to me since. That was months ago!”

“And no one has seen him since then. You understand why we need to know what you discussed.”

“Yeah, not since you quarantined the whole surgical wing!”

“That is not what I’m asking about. Has Macker’s assistant Greta Ruble visited you?”

“No. She’s a good kid, though, don’t hassle her.”

“We are simply making sure she is not a danger.”

Emily sputters angrily. “A danger to who?!”

“I cannot tell you that.” He turns to Valeria. “Kyr, it is always a pleasure to see a member of the Order here. I suppose if you’re here we can be assured nothing… unethical is happening,” he says, unpleasantly oily. “I am Professor Rigmor Sorbus of the College of Ethics; I lecture on legal and judicial ethics. These are my assistants, Charles and Pippin.”

Valeria bows with the precise degree of politeness required. “Kyr Valeria Argent, at your service.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance. In these times of mobilization, it falls to us as ethicists to supervise our colleagues’ noble efforts. Please, I implore you: if you see anything untoward or suspiciously unusual, I request you report it to the nearest representative of the College of Ethics.”

Emily butts in. “What happened to Eric Pelbort, his other assistant?”

“Mr. Pelbort has transferred to the College of Ethics and is assisting us with some research. We will let you know if that changes.” He tells her dismissively. “Kyr Argent, the College of Ethics has always been proud of our long association with the Order, and I would like to extend our deepest condolences for the tragedy of the Crusade. Should you have need of any assistance whatsoever, do not hesitate to ask. Our offices are on the satellite campus across the bay. If you were to visit, I’m sure many would love to speak to a paladin of the Order of the Rose.”

“We have business here, but I might be able to make time to stop by,” she equivocates.

“Very well. I will let you all get back to whatever it is you’re doing with that leg,” Sorbus says, turning neatly on his heel and taking his leave, his toadies hurrying in his wake.

(Yes, you guessed it: That was Professor Rowan, with his Tort Wig and his assistants Pip Loupe and Chime Charles.)

“Those guys give me the creeps,” Emily grumbles. “They used to be fine, but lately they’ve been doing this whole inquisitor act.”

Vigdor’s always known these guys as douchey blowhards. But now they’re douchey blowhards with AUTHORITY.

There’s always been a divide between Ethics and the other three colleges roughly the size of the harbor! The sciences don’t believe in debate, they believe in experimentation! Anyone who can spend an entire week talking without action is wasting time and breath. The College of Medicine thinks even less of them – they just get in the way of progress!

(IRL we all respect medical ethics, but Sturmhearst WAS founded on a fine tradition of graverobbing and leeches.)

Vigdor is primarily a surgeon, or he was, when he had two fully functional hands. (Two players at once: “HE GOT DR STRANGED!”) He had quite a few classes with Macker, the chair of the surgery department. Most people didn’t like the guy, except his surgical grad students who would defend him to the death. A bit of a hardass about proper procedure, but that’s probably not a bad quality for a surgeon. He was a local institution, so it’s pretty alarming he’s somehow gone rogue.

“His whole lab was quarantined?”

“The whole teaching wing, actually,” Emily tells us.

“Are there people in there? Some kind of sickness?”

“Not that I’ve heard. Ethics just put guards outside the labs and blocked everyone from going in. They’ve done it to a couple places around the school recently. The excuse is that someone was doing ‘unsafe experimentation’ that’s ‘poisoned the area’ or something?”

Wack. “How long have these quarantines lasted?”

“They don’t really end? A couple stopped after a few months, but some have been there for a year! Nobody goes in or out. Sometimes the white coats go in, but it’s pretty rare and they don’t stay long.”

“Is that what all the guards are for? Where’d they all come from?” Vigdor asks.

“Medicine used to be the ones, uh, hiring them.” (A quick insight roll notes that she hesitates on the phrase “hiring.”) “Lots of them still answer to whoever they were originally assigned to. But recently Dean Chidor from the College of Ethics took over that whole program, so a lot of the newer ones answer primarily to the ethicists. I mean, they all dress the same, so it’s kinda hard to tell? I haven’t asked a lot of questions, I’ve been trying to keep my head down since the whole thing with Macker.”

“What actually happened with him?”

“He’d been acting weird for a while,” she confides as she starts sticking pins in the leg and wiring them to a voltage generator. “He’d been working on something, some kind of extreme surgery – I think he was looking into a method of surgically removing Curse corruption. He was hitting roadblocks, though; he called in me and Alma Ulmus, who’s a College of Medicine bigwig.”

“Yeah, we met her in Bad Herzfeld!”

“I heard she’s here again, stalking around the halls complaining about funding. She knows more about his project than I do. Anyway, Macker sent me requirements for a healing potion he was gonna administer as part of some surgical procedure. I couldn’t get anything as powerful or precise as he needed. I’m a thaumochemist; I don’t know medicine that well. So it was beyond me to do that amount of gross tissue damage repair as controllably as they wanted it. I mean, I made some pretty nice innovations as far as the theory of potioncrafting, I’m hoping to get published as soon as it goes to peer review.

“But I couldn’t do what he needed, and eventually I got shut out of the project. Then one day he vanished. Alma set off for Bad Herzfeld and Macker stopped coming out of his lab. His assistants were still going in and out, but not long after that, the ethicists quarantined the place.”

“Has anyone else been quarantined?” Valeria asks.

“People from all three colleges got hit. I dunno about other ethicists, I haven’t heard about them quarantining anything of their own. But everyone else has. A group of engineering students were building a defense system to be deployed out to the Scar, and all of them got quarantined. Here in my department, Dr. Vilman – remember him? Stupid goatee, did a lot of stuff with crystals? – got shut down. Sometimes they quarantine the whole lab; sometimes they just shut down a project and everyone working on it gets a ‘guest lecture position’ over in Ethics. Sorbus said they got one of Macker’s assistants, Eric Pelbort. He had another one, Greta Ruble, but I guess she’s given them the slip.”

Emily’s got experiments to do on that leg, so we’ll let her get to it. As we head out, Gral asks one last question. “What’s up with those guards, by the way? Why do they only respond to those whistles?

“Uhhhh,” she says, as we fail our persuasion check. “They, er, don’t speak very good Valdian. Mostly foreigners, goliaths, the like. The whistles get their attention.”

Gral sighs and doesn’t push it. Vigdor’s already making plans to pickpocket a whistle. Valeria, since she has a direct invite to talk to the ethicists, considers the unheard-of paladin approach of Just Asking Them Directly.

First, though, Vigdor wants to check out the quarantine of Macker’s lab; he knew that professor well, and we’re all curious what’s been going down.

We walk on over to the surgical wing to case the joint. There’s a single owl guard blocking the hallway, presiding over a small barricade. A pleasant sandwich board sign states “Area quarantined by College of Ethics, apologies for the inconvenience.”

We try to walk in and the enormous guard holds out a hand to stop us. Shoshana tries to wiggle around him, like a cat trying to get at your dinner, but he impassively blocks her every move.

Gral tries a smoother approach. He begins with small talk; the guard doesn’t even twitch. He starts asking prying questions about the surgical ward. No response. Fine, then: he switches to Orcish, a sinister undertone weaving through his voice as he uses Words of Terror.

An insight roll reveals completely unchanged body language.

“Either they’re immune to fear or not a humanoid,” Gral reports back. “Not a single emotion. Definitely not goliath mercenaries.”

“Tryin’ to talk your way into the surgical wing?” says another chatty passerby. “Good luck. They got all the medical cadavers locked up in there and they won’t let us in.”

(Cadavers? Oh shit, we bet that’s the guard factory, theorize the players.)

“Oh, are you a med student?”

“Yeah. I work with Professor Herberts, or I used to, anyway. We needed a couple cadavers to do this comparison study about spleens; we got some weird ones from out in the wood, we compare spleens to see if place with thing don’t worry about it; need control spleen. And then these BIG DUMB IDIOTS wouldn’t let us in, and Herbert got transferred to the College of Ethics all of a sudden. He’s been gone a couple months.”

“How long do professors usually transfer for?” asks Gral.

“I mean, they usually pop over to give a lecture or two and come back by the end of the day.”

(Vigdor happens to remember that the College of Ethics also runs an asylum. They live in a big spooky castle and do dissections with guts and stuff, it can do a number on your head! Some of the ethicists have branched into the field of psychology. No reason to mention this when people are having extended stays on the ethics campus, of course…)

The student shrugs. “I gotta get to lecture. If you manage to get in there, any chance you can bring me back a couple spleens?”

We wave goodbye noncommittally, though Vigdor insists he can pop a spleen out of a corpse like a yolk from an egg. He’s a good surgeon!

Anyway, Vigdor went to school here, and the dice are on his side; he knows a side path through an old abandoned classroom into the surgical suite. He pops the lock on the door easily; all the undergrads used to go this way when slipping into lecture late, to get past the TA keeping track of tardies.

The guard is in earshot but facing the other direction, and he’s not even blinking, much less scanning around. Gral casts Silence on us and our very clanky party slips by easily.

Shosh sticks her head into the TA’s office. Nothing really stands out, but she swipes some interesting-looking notes from the desk drawers to look at later.

Meanwhile, Gral and Vigdor go into Macker’s office. The desk is an absolute mess, which is very unlike the guy Vigdor used to know. There are wheeled chalkboards crammed into the office, covered in scribbles and anatomical diagrams. Paging through the notes and glancing over the chalkboard, Vigdor makes a decent medicine check and can at least figure out what problem Macker was working on.

Based on what Dr. Emily told us, Macker’s trying to develop a surgical procedure. The issue is that whatever he’s doing would cause so much physical trauma that it’d kill the patient, and he’s looking for some way to prevent that. There are lists of healing options: formulas, spells, potions, nonmagical stabilization methods to keep the patient alive while various tissues are extracted from the body.

Gral’s unimpressed. Healing methods? That’s pretty tame for forbidden knowledge.

To Vigdor’s experienced eyes, this stuff looks mega-advanced and highly experimental, but Gral’s right – it’s not anything you’d scramble to censor.

Weirdly enough, the place doesn’t look ransacked, only disheveled and a little dusty. Macker’s notes haven’t been moved since he was here. Maybe this isn’t what the ethicists were after?

We head to cadaver storage while Valeria keeps watch. Cadaver storage is creepy as hell, but only because it’s, y’know, a room full of cadavers. A lot of the bodies, kept stable with Gentle Repose, appear to be Cursed, but that’s hardly weird. What’s so crazy they’d keep it hidden from everyone?

Vigdor opens the door to the dissection labs, Gral’s Silence deadening any ominous warning he might have had from the room beyond. Yes, the table here’s been recently used, and the bizarre symbols scrawled on the chalkboards have spilled onto the surrounding floor and walls, but Vigdor’s eyes are drawn to where the chalkboard peels away like skin to reveal a strange, multicolored, impossible space. The floor begins to take the shape of a stone hand that projects out into the shimmering void, joining a daisy-chain of enormous hands that form a walkway out to a marble platform floating in space.

Gral takes his Silence spell with him and runs to get Valeria.

Eyes starry, watching entire worlds and impossible shapes spinning through iridescent mists, Vigdor takes his first heady hit of Key taint.

As we cut session, Valeria considers that the ethicists may actually have a point.

[onlyplatonicirl]

OKAY ALSO ABOUT THE EARLIER TCOTI CHAPTERS

(please read the whole thing if you read tcoti *sobs my eyes out*)

I wrote those chapters a year and a half ago. I was in no way connected to the actual content creators of the fandom and I didn’t have a tumblr account, or a discord, or any social media other than ao3. So going back and rereading certain chapters, I realise that Ink is a little out of character, as is Paperjam and several others.

Now that I’ve been on tumblr for around 3/4 of a year and I’ve been in touch with a lot of the major content creators, I’ve learned how to better write the characters. (I really only started using this site regularly to reach out to other writers in the fall of 2019. Before then I was writing tcoti just for fun with no connections and no social medias, and i didn’t really think that many people were reading it.)

PLUS my plot is a lot more intricate and complex than it was when I first started writing. I’ve added in a lot more things along the way in my main outline.

(This is going to be a very long story, im suspecting over 500k, and I refuse to split it into different books like the simple series because im a bit of a stubborn ass :^3) 

But I really really really don’t want to go back and rewrite a lot of the older chapters, because I don’t have the time for it and frankly I don’t care that much. A lot of people seem to enjoy the characterization in the earlier chapters, as off canon as it may be.

So for the sake of my own sanity in having good characterization, I’m just going to say that:

1. The reason ink was so emotionally stable in the first few chapters was because the council has found a way to stabilize his emotions. This takes place a hundred years after the X event, and the Omega Timeline probably doesn’t want someone with crazy unpredictable mood swings running around, so they found a better way to stabalize his vials. Now he doesn’t actually have to go out to different AUs to pick up his paints - what he uses are synthetically manufactured emotions, and unlike paints, anyone can drink them and feel the effects. He can pick them up like a prescription weekly/when he runs out or whatever. They keep him a lot more stable than paints, which explains why he was acting so mature and (slightly) less scatter brained.

2. PJ... okay so im so conflicted with him because from now on I’m going to write him canonically correct. from now on, but in chapter 3 he was shown has having a very toddler like, hyper personality and I’m scared of writing a complete personality shift from that. I might go back later on and make slight adjustments to PJ’s personality, but let’s just say PJ doesn’t do good with sugar highs :^)

(I am aware canonically he only eats art supplies but the whole point of fanfic is stretching canon to your own liking so congrats PJ eats normal food now too. (as well as art supplies sometimes))

so yEAH dont read too deeply into the first few chapters. I didn’t know what I was doing

All the canon lore stuff is happening n o w. 

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[my-proof-is-you]

The Cost of Protection - Ch. 13

Summary: Pain, bruises, and cover-up. You had come to accept that this was now your life. He was cruel, but you had to stay with him. It was the only choice. That is, until you meet the green-eyed stranger that refuses to let it go… You have protected others for a long time. Can you learn to be the one to be protected? Can you trust two strangers that say they won’t let anything bad happen?

Warnings: Rape/Non-con; abuse

**I do not own any images or gifs

Masterlist

You

A few weeks had passed and the shock of Jeff's death was starting to wear off a bit. You were still having panic attacks--though you tried to hide them. It wasn't that you didn't want Sam and Dean to help you, it was just that you didn't want to be a burden to them. They had already opened their home to you, and asking for a shoulder to cry on multiple times a day didn't seem like something a good guest would do. So, you hid in your room a lot. Any time you felt one coming on, you would make an excuse and hide. It was the only thing you could think of doing.

You were pretty sure Sam and Dean knew, though.

Often times, when you would come back after finally getting yourself under control, they would give each other a meaningful look--using their 'secret brother language' to say they knew you weren't okay. It probably didn't help that the panic attacks were accompanied by uncontrollable crying, which was clear in your face when you entered the room.

Not only were you having attacks, but sleep was nearly impossible. You would have nightmares, but what was almost worse was when you couldn't fall asleep because your brain wouldn't turn off.

What if he didn't really die? It's possible. Sam and Dean have died multiple times, and they're still here. Could he get in? Could he get to me again? Would he find my family?

Then you would think, God I'm insane. I can't believe the boys even put up with me. I must be such a burden to them.

And on and on it would go.

You were in your room sitting on your bed, reading one of the lore books from the library. You heard a light tap on your door.

"Come in," you said softly, not looking up from your book.

"Hey Y/N, you busy?" Dean asked.

"No, what's up?" You looked up from your book. You honestly almost started drooling. Dean wasn't dressed any differently than normal, but for some reason you couldn't take your eyes off him. His tall frame was leaning in your doorway, his arms crossed. You could see the lines of his muscles in his forearms, and his flannel shirt sleeves were rolled to just below his elbows. He wore jeans that were distressed--probably from hunting, not bought that way--and a black tee. His eyes were a bright, mossy green, and he had stubble lining his jaw.

"Hello, darlin, you there?" He asked, pulling you out of your trance.

"Y--Yeah, what did you say?"

"I asked if you wanted to go for a drive with me to get some dinner," he said, a bemused smile on his face.

The thought of spending time alone with him made you both nervous and excited. Nervous because you really hadn't been thinking too carefully about your feelings for Dean--what with the crushing panic you were under half the time--and excited because, well, hot damn.

"Uh, sure, I'll go. Let me just get my jacket."

----------

Dean

Dean was back where he felt the most at home: behind the wheel of his baby. He had asked you to come with him to get dinner because he could tell you were stuck in your head a lot lately. No matter what you said, Dean knew you were still struggling. It was such a perfect day outside that he was hoping fresh air and open roads would do you some good.

Dean looked to his right where you were leaning back in the passenger seat, your feet propped up by the window. You had it rolled down, the sun shining in and the wind causing little tendrils of your hair to fly around your face. You were singing along to the radio--"Renegade" by Styx. You leaned your head back, eyes closed.

So damn beautiful.

You looked at Dean who quickly pretended he wasn't looking at you. He didn’t want to come off as the creepy guy who preyed on newly-single-broken-ish-girls.

“You got something you wanna say, Romeo?” You said, giving Dean a small smirk.

“Nothin, darlin. You just look really pretty is all,” Dean replied, his eyes dashing from the road to you. He felt his cheeks warm at the admission. He wasn’t sorry, though. Even if you didn’t feel the same way about him, you deserved to hear that you’re beautiful.

Dean chanced a look at you. You had put your head back again, eyes closed. You had a light smile on your face. Dean felt his heart beat a little faster and he was glad you weren’t creeped out by him.

“So where are we going anyway?” You asked.

“To a diner,” Dean replied.

“A diner? We couldn't have gone to the one five minutes from home?”

“No, we couldn’t. This diner is kick-ass, trust me,” Dean said. You chuckled, shaking your head.

“Okay, Winchester. But if it sucks, you owe me.”

----------

You

“Oh my God. I literally cannot eat another bite. That was the best pie I’ve ever had in my life.”

"Right?" Dean said, his mouth full of apple pie and whipped cream. A little got on his chin and you reached across the booth and wiped it off with your finger. You stuck the finger in your mouth, licking it off. Dean’s eyes widened a bit. You had to admit—you liked teasing him.

“So, I bet you’re just dying to know if your little tactic worked,” you said, raising an eyebrow.

“W-what? What are you talking about?” Dean asked, his eyes everywhere but on yours.

You softened your voice, leaning in a little and placing your hand on his. “Dean, I’m not an idiot. I know you took me here to get me away from my own fucked-up brain.”

"Well, I--I'm sorry, Y/N. I wasn’t trying to make you feel tricked or anything, I—“

“Dean, it’s fine. It worked,” you said with a smile. “Turns out, distractions are good.”

Dean’s mouth lifted in a half-smile. “They are very good,” he said, turning his hand over so it was holding yours. You loved the feeling of his big, warm, calloused hands in yours. You felt a little pang of anxiety shoot through you, though, and pulled your hand away slowly. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Dean. You did, obviously. But you were scared. Any relationship can start out great, your inner voice said. Just wait till he shows his true colors. You thought it was probably right, though your gut was telling you that you could trust Dean.

“So, uh, you wanna head back?” You asked, placing your hands in your lap.

Dean surveyed you for a second with slightly narrowed eyes. Smiling, he said, “Sure. Who knows what trouble Sammy’s gotten into by now.”

@my-soul-is-the-moon @vicmc624 @riverdalesserpent

[fanficreadingcorner]

Silence Pt. 2

Author: Rachel

Words: 4330 words

Warnings: It alludes to depression but nothing serious, grief

Authors note: So this is it guys, the actual part 2, I hope you enjoy it.

Silence Pt.1 for those who want to catch up.

Summary: It’s been a few months.

“I don’t need an escort to the bathroom Michael” you said through gritted teeth, arms crossed obviously annoyed. I was never good to get on a pregnant ladies nerves

“Of course you do, I must stand watch outside” He said calmly like it was the most normal thing in the world to follow your sister in law around like a damn shadow.

“No you don’t” You signed exasperated. “It’s bad enough that I literally can’t go anywhere without you, I’m only going to the bathroom you don’t need to stand puppy guard outside the fucking bathroom door”

 At that Michael tilted his head a little to the side, looking very much like a puppy and said those 6 words and made you start crying “I’m not guarding a puppy though” and his face promptly morphed into a face of shock when tears started to stream at your face. He really didn’t understand humans, especially one like this. She has been mad just seconds ago what happened?!

“Um, Y/N?” he asked, hoping you wouldn’t start yelling at him. He looked around the restaurant and saw people staring, an old lady even shaking her head at him in disgrace and then mouthing ‘how dare you’ at him . Wait what? How dare she! She had no idea what was even going on, it wasn’t any of her business, well other than the fact that there was a pregnant lady crying in front of him and she hadn’t been until a few minutes ago, ok maybe this did look bad.

“Hey um, I’m sorry, you can go to the bathroom alone if you want?” he said confused turning to you, hoping to get you to stop crying, it happened quite a lot ever since ‘the incident’ as they had started to call it.

Sniffling you started to calm down and nodding your head you got up and went to the bathroom leaving a very confused Michael behind. In your defense he knew that this happened a lot but he never quite understood it, neither did you really. The hormones were messing with you quite a bit, not to mention the angel half messing with you. It was hard to be emotionally stable for you. Not to mention that you constantly had a headache, it was hard to get used to the noise, Michael helped sometimes with the pain but it would always come back rather quickly. A cruel reminder of not only what you had gained that fateful day but also what you had lost. How did people live with so much noise it was horrible, sometimes you missed being deaf, although you wouldn’t have minded if, well if things hadn’t ended so poorly. You constantly thought back to that day, permanently engraved into your brain, as well as your arm. You could only think what his voice would sound like if he wasn’t dying.

Sighing sadly you quickly washed your hands, drying them you looked yourself in the mirror. Your belly slightly swollen and only 3 months in. Sam had said that was odd considering that generally people only started showing at the 4 to 5 month mark and that was when most of the growth happened he said. You loved the child in you, having affectionately named them peanut, but you couldn’t imagine raising the child without the love of your life. Gently resting your left on your bump you observed the ring on your finger, the constant reminder that you wouldn’t, no couldn’t fall in love with anyone. You went and opened the door, pulling a smile on your face. Well look on the bright side at least you had convinced Michael to take you out of the bunker.

Ever since that night he had followed you closer than your own shadow would. Claiming it was his right and duty to take care of his brother’s wife and child now that he wasn’t around. It was actually kinda sweet and you had taken to him as one of your best friends although there were instances when it was exhausting to try to teach him everything about human culture and him hanging off you like a sloth on a tree. But it was nice and you felt secure so it was all good.

“You ready?” You ask finally reaching the table you were at before crying over not being able to go to the bathroom alone. Nodding Michael got up, having already paid for the meal while you were in the bathroom it would seem. Leading you outside he opened the passengers door letting you sit inside before shutting the door and going over to the other side and sliding into the driver’s seat.

~~~~~~~~~~Le Time Skip~~~~~~~~~~

           Arriving back at the bunker you quickly left the car and walked into the bunker.

“Sam, Dean” You yelled turning into the library just in time to see Sam chuck a book as far away from him as possible and Dean quickly change the screen on his computer to something you did not actually want to see. Sighing heavily you knew exactly what was going on.

“Guys” You said letting the silence hang in the air, your disappointment evident. The boys had been doing some pretty extensive research since that night. They had looked through everything, googled, dug, traveled, everything they could possibly do to try and find, something anything to get Lucifer back. Of course they had thought, well it happened once, they could find a way for it to happen again, right? They had kept at it until you had realized that you had started to show, the day you saw the baby bump you had finally broken down taking Sam’s book and chucking it across the room yelling at them to stop trying, he was gone he wasn’t coming back and you just needed your brother there with you to help you with the baby. Michael to sum it up was terrified he had never seen anything like it, 3 hunters hugging with you crying hysterically in the middle.

           But as much as you hated to admit it they hadn’t given up, they had told you to your face that they would and in front of you they put up a face of having completely moved on from the topic but you knew better. You knew that they kept looking whenever you weren’t around or in sight, there were subtle hints, but nothing lost on you, a website accidently left open, a book who’s page had coincidently been left open on lore ranging from death to angel feather, Sam asleep on a book what when you tried to grab it would wake up so fast that he would yank it out of your hands before you got a good claiming he wasn’t done with it before running off, Dean constantly checking in on Cas, asking if how the hunt was going when really you knew the only hunt he was doing was hunting down God. Discarded notes that you saw in the trash, crumpled up but with words and indicated what they had been writing down to keep track, until it was useless to their fruitless search, taking it in their hands they would crumple it un and throw it away to keep looking. You knew, you had been witness many times to their research, you knew how it went.

           Taking a deep breath you started talking, “We talked about this” you said quietly placing a hand softly on your belly subconsciously. Something you noticed you had started doing when you needed comfort.

           “Um w-w-what are you talking about” stuttered out Dean, always the one to try to lie his way out of it to spare your feelings, even if he acted like he didn’t care sometimes. “We were just, here, you know, researching normal hunt stuff” he said motioning to everything around him.

           “yeah um” Sam chimed in clearing his throat before continuing “Hunt stuff” he parroted. He really was a terrible liar. You pressed your lips tightly together knowing they were lying, why were they so stubborn.

           “Guys” you started out “Cut the bullshit I know you’re still looking, I’ve seen it, I may have been deaf most of my life but I’m not stupid ok, I thought I told you to stop looking, he’s gone, he’s not coming back and I need to accept that fact if I want to be a good mother, I can’t j get caught up on this, I loved him with my entire soul and yeah it hurts that he’s gone but right now I need to focus on something else, and this isn’t helping, please guys, I just” cutting off you quickly put a hand over your mouth to stifle the sob coming up from your very soul “I just need you” You could feel the tears slowly roll down your cheeks at your words, your voice getting more desperate as you had finished saying what you needed to. God, it hurt, it really hurt, how much you had loved that man, well angel, and how much you missed him. Words could not describe the pain you had been feeling these past few months. You wished that things had gone differently that night but it was how things were and you couldn’t do anything no except hold your head high and hope that the little peanut you were carrying would be as healthy as possible, that nothing would go wrong. You had already lost Lucifer and you were sure as hell that if you lost peanut, you would not be getting back up.

           When no one spoke and at least Sam at least had the decency to look ashamed you turned around and walking away you said “I’m going to my room” effectively leaving them in silence to contemplate exactly how what they were doing was affecting you. Once he knew that you were really gone Sam let his head fall into his folded arms onto the table a heavy sigh escaping his lips. How he hated seeing his sister like that, sure they weren’t blood related but they still loved her as such. I had been hard to accept Lucifer dating her but he still clearly remembers the day he realized that Lucifer actually loved her, the look in Lucifer’s eyes while he looked down at a sleeping y/n in his arms after a particularly tiring hunt, it was like a blind man seeing the sun for the first time, full of wonder and love it actually made his heart hurt from how sweet the moment was. And he kept seeing that face he realized later, over and over again, every time that he looked at you. And you would look at his the exact same way. A match made in heaven, soulmates, destined for each other, the perfect couple. He kept seeing that face whenever he would close his eyes, feeling guilt consume him for not being fast enough for not doing enough that night.

           And then to see her like this, barely keeping it together. He hadn’t seen that look on her face for roughly 3 months the look of true happiness of pure love towards someone. He briefly wondered if he would ever see it again, when he quickly corrected himself. Of course he would see it again, they would get Lucifer back one way or another. They had to.

           “We can’t give up on this Dean” he mumbled from in between his arms, moving his head so that his chin was resting on his folded arms to look across the table at Dean. He knew what your wishes were but he just couldn’t give up, someone had to have hope for this, even if it wasn’t you. Sure Lucifer had done unspeakable things to him but he had seen that change and he had seen the he really could be a good man.

           “I know Sam but, what about her, I don’t want to cause her more heartache than she’s already had to go through, it’s not” Dean sighed while leaning back into his chair dragging his hand down his face. “I just, I don’t know” he said. Dean cared, he cared a lot even if he didn’t show it as much as his brother and that was ok, he showed it in different ways. It was the little things he did, like bringing home banana cream pie instead of his favorite when he knew you were sad or had had a hard hunt. Noticing the things you craved and going out buying them and handing them to you at just the right times the latter a more recent development considering your pregnancy. For God’s sake the man bought your monthly supplies usually dropping them off on your bed about a good week before you were scheduled to start, just in case, along with snacks. And especially when he had pulled Lucifer aside and told him everything he would do to him should he every break your heart and Lucifer had promised not to ever, saying something along the lines of, she was special before and she’s worth everything to me now. Guess that promise was broken, and worst of all, Dean couldn’t even make good on his promise.

           “What about you Michael?” asked Dean, the archangel had been uncharacteristically quiet since the whole ordeal, just standing by the door looking at the boys. “Have you found or do you know of anything?” pressed Dean when Michael remained quiet. At that the archangel moved towards then sitting down on a chair at the end of the table. Clasping his hands together and putting them on the table. Raising an eye brow Dean looked over at his brother as if to silently ask him what the hell Michael was doing while Sam sat up straight suddenly interested in what the angel had to say. At that Michael opened his mouth and started talking.

           “I have told you anything and everything I know concerning the situation, you have looked for everything you possibly can, going through the Library twice, Cas is out looking for or absent Father and I have seen how y/n has been affected by the situation. Do you think I have not TOLD YOU EVERYTHING” yelled Michael by the end his voice raising dangerously high and slamming his hand down at the end of his sentence as if to emphasize his words. Both brothers gulped having the decency to look a bit ashamed but at the same time it couldn’t have hurt to ask right?

“I want my brother back as much as you want to see y/n happy, I regret what happened in that Barn, I should have arrived earlier, I know I should have it was also my fault I had been watching them, I had seen my brother happy but the one day I turned around to do something quickly is the day things go wrong so don’t think this isn’t weighing on my mind as heavily as yours. The least I, we can do is watch her and keep looking, doing anything. I know Cas is looking he’s close, he feels it, we just, we need a little more time” Michael finished with a soft sigh taking his hands and clasping them together again, staring at them as if being in deep thought when really they knew he was just thinking about what he could have done differently .

           “and how much more time do you think we need?” asked Sam

           “I don’t really know” responded Michael, shoulders slumping, silence suffocating the air around them.

 Meanwhile

             Stepping into the ballroom, Cas quickly took in the surrounding area, people coming up and patting him on the back congratulating him. Hmm, weird he had never been to one of these before without one of the Winchesters, he wondered how he was supposed to act without drawing the least amount of attention to himself. Mulling it over quickly he decided that acting like himself would probably be the best option and the most believable. Walking around he kept his eyes up high, this would have been easier with Sam he thought, he could easily see over people. But pushing aside his thought he kept pressing forwards through the crowds of people. He had honestly forgotten how many people could show up to these things, the numbers had only grown since the first time they had come to one of these.

Finally managing to get to the other side of the venue before finally finding where he needed to be, he quickly read the sign placing right outside the door confirming this was the room, stepping  into the smaller room filled with chairs he silently took one in the back drawing as little attention to himself as possible. Glancing at the clock on the wall and remembering the time this was supposed to be over he realized he had to wait another 30 min before he could finally get closer to who they wanted, couldn’t really do it in front of a bunch of, what was it that Dean called then, civils? Whatever, the case was he had to be wary. So he sat and waited, as it turns out It dragged on much longer than needed, he knew he was here and was doing this on purpose, there was no other explanation. As soon as this was over he got up and made his way over to the man he needed. Silently following him although, he was sure he knew he was here. Finally stepping into a room Cas followed, slipping in and hiding behind curtains until the security left.

“It’s ok guys, you can go stand outside” said the man as he waved his hand dismissing the two body guards. Once Cas heard the door click he stepped out to see the figure of his hunt pouring a glass of whisky for himself and Cas. “Well, if it isn’t Castiel, to what do I owe your visit” he asked while handing Cas the drink, looking down at the offered drink Cas made no move to grab the drink while the man shrugged and said “suit yourself, more for me” before drowning both cups quickly, Cas just kept looking at him waiting for him to finish. “Well, I’m all ears” said the man slumping down into a chair in the room.

“You know exactly what I’m here for” Responded Cas clearly a little ticked off with what was happening right now.

“Hmm can’t say that I do” said the figure while throwing a ball up and down, something that hadn’t been there before.

“Fine then” said Cas moving to grab him. “Then I’ll show you” grabbing the man by his arm his quickly whisked them away leaving a tennis ball to bounce a few times on the carpet having been left behind.

 Back at the bunker Sam, Dean and Michael had started to search again after they had taken food to you and made sure you were asleep, the baby really did drain a lot out of you and you were tired and hungry all the time. They were all startled when Cas suddenly appeared on the table with a man.

“Shit!” Yelled Dean dropping the book he was reading, “Cas you can’t just….” He trailed off looked at who Cas had brought with him.

“Holy Hell” said Sam not believing what his eyes were seeing.

“Hell is not Holy” Replied Cas very confused as to why Sam would even say such a thing.

“It’s an expression Castiel, it’s something humans say when they’re shocked about something” replied Chuck sliding off the table. Taking a look at Dean his eyes wandered over the bunker library before finally landing on Michael. “My son” He replied teary eyed, not believing what he was seeing.

“Father” replied Michael with a slight bow of his head

“I wasn’t sure it would work or that it had” Continued Chuck while he kept looking at his son, releasing a breathless laugh. “I’m so glad it did, tell me are your other brothers alive as well, how are they?” clearly excited he went up to his son and just waited for him answer, happiness written over his features until he saw Michaels features fall. “What, what is it?” he asked looking around to catch the Winchesters looks, seeing sadness written all over their faces.

“It’s… complicated father” replied Michael not sure how to tell him.

“There’s a reason Cas has been ‘hunting’ you, for lack of a better term” piped in Dean putting air quotes around the word hunting. Chuck turning back to look at Michael who just pressed his lips together and gave as stiff nod.

“What, what’s happened, tell me” demanded Chuck. The man, nay the God had barely figured out that his spell had worked to bring his 4 oldest children, he needed answers, did something go wrong, was Lucifer making a mess again? Or was it Rafael this time, maybe Gabriel was on the run again. Or maybe Michael was human, and that’s why he was with the Winchesters but that was impossible he could clearly see the grace in him, what had these men so worked up.

“It’s about…” Sam started before being cut off by a very drowsy, very angry female voice coming from the door frame.

“What’s he doing here” You snapped out. The loud noise in the library having startled up awake, so you had done the only logical thing, get up and investigate, you certainly weren’t expecting this and to say you were angry was an understatement, you were livid. You thought you had made yourself very clear.

“We uh” stuttered out Dean

“Hello y/n” greeted Cas after not having seen you in a few weeks.

“Y/N” said Michael

“It’s not what it looks like” yelled out Sam. All the yelling at the same time brought a sharp pain to your head, bringing your hand up to your temple, you closed your eyes and made a noise of protest. All four of them shut up and you felt, rather than heard someone come up to you. You didn’t know that anyone could be that quiet, it was refreshing to actually use your other senses rather than just relay on your hearing, you had missed feeling the vibrations through your feet. Looking up you came face to face with the  one man you had never expected to see. Your fiancés father, your would be father in law. Everyone was quiet while they took in your interaction, a silent conversation using your eyes rather than words, something you hadn’t done since Lucifer had died. Chuck quickly looking you over taking special interest on your left hand resting on your swollen belly. He swallowed thickly before looking up at you. And that’s when you saw it in his eyes, he knew, he had figured it out.

“You know,” Chuck started out “The first time Lucifer saw your soul, he was but a millennium old and he stole it from the vault, I don’t know how he did it, but seeing you now.” He paused and taking a hand he reached up and wiped the tears streaming down your face, the ones you hadn’t noticed had started. “I’m pretty sure you had something to do with it too, and yet you were still just a soul” he said while shaking his head as if looking at an endearing child who had done something wrong but just couldn’t tell them what they had done was wrong.

“He always said that this soul” he said while placing another hand right over your heart “was his soul and he would find it one day, I’m just glad he did” he finished taking you in his arms and letting you sob freely into his neck, gripping him tightly as sobs racked your body both sinking to the floor. Clutching onto him, your hands gripping his shirt tightly while he rubbed your back soothingly to try to get you to calm down. “It’s ok y/n, we’ll get him back, you need to calm down, it’s not good for the babies” He said. The words getting lost on you in your grief but not on the two angels and the Winchesters who gave each other looks, eyes wide. No wonder you were already showing so early.

“It’s ok y/n” He kept repeating like a mantra. “We’ll get him back daughter, we’ll get him back” he said while holding you close and letting you cry it all out. With only one thought on his mind. Lucifer was coming back again, he had to, he would find a way, not for him this time but for his son’s little family. He had to.

 Finally calmed down enough, Michael had picked you up and set you down on the couch where you feel asleep quickly exhausted from crying, arms wrapped protectively around your stomach and blanket draped over you, the only blanket that still smelled of Lucifer thanks to Michael who had done some weird stuff so that no matter how much you washed it, it would still have his smell, obviously it was your favorite and the one that brought your most comfort.

“Ok, what do you have, what have you found, I need anything and everything if we’re going to be able to bring him back, nothing is off limits” he told the boys quickly glancing over to you, doing a double take when he saw a black smudge on your arm, it couldn’t be, he arm shouldn’t have survived. It should have been burned off, unless. He quickly walked over and taking your arm he slowly tuned it, looking at the clear impression of his sons feather on her arm. They really were soulmates weren’t they. Setting his face he knew that there was no going back on this now, he would make it happen if it was the last thing he did.

[mischiefmakingmuses]

LD:AU {Ch1} - Spirits Awoken

Sherise watched the clock on the wall tick by slowly. One minute, thirty-five seconds. One minute, thirty-four seconds. Every time the second hand moved, she felt her excitement level rising. It was Halloween, and once school was out, she’d make preparations for that party she’d been waiting all month for.

“Sherrie, can you calm down a bit...? You look like you’ll bolt out the door the instant the bell rings...” Yenten, her best friend, sighed. “You’re making me a little anxious, not gonna lie.”

“I can’t help it, Ten, tonight’s gonna be absolutely stellar!” Sherise balled her fists. “I’m gonna get ready for the best night of the year, in forty-two seconds...forty-one seconds...”

“Cripes, don’t starting counting the seconds!” Yenten uttered.

The teacher continued to prattle on with her lesson as the countdown continued. And finally...three seconds...two seconds...one second...!

Brrrrriiiing!

“ALL RIGHT!” Sherise shot up from her chair like a rocket. Everyone just stared at her, even the teacher. After an awkward silence, she slowly picked up her bag and books. “...sorry.”

“Hmmph. Someone’s in a hurry,” local rich girl Gess huffed. Sherise just glared at her, which didn’t faze her in the slightest. In fact, she just got a shit-eating grin on her face. “Oh, by the way! Ms. Green! Didn’t you say there’s an assignment we have to do over the weekend?”

“Oh! Indeed there is! Thank you for reminding me, Gess!” Ms. Green clapped her hands together. The entire class groaned, especially Sherise who immediately sank back into her chair.

“You totally did that on purpose,” she hissed.

“Whatever do you mean?” Gess asked, trying to play dumb. “I just didn’t want Ms. Green to forget about our important assignment due on Monday!”

“Remember, class! Your assignment for this weekend is a five page essay on any myths or legends of Feridae of your choosing! That’ll be all! Dismissed!”

~*~★~♥~★~*~

“Y’know, I really hate Gess sometimes,” Sherise grumbled. “Who wants to write an essay on ghosts and myths? That stuff isn’t real!”

“Well...I mean...I guess you can’t really prove whether it’s real or not...” Yenten nervously quipped. “But...you don’t think it’s interesting at all? I think it’s pretty cool!”

“It just doesn’t feel logical to me! A lot of the legends don’t make se--oh, cripes, look who it is.”

Sherise and Yenten stopped walking as they were approached by Gess.

“What do you want, Gess?” Sherise asked bitterly. “You trying to ruin the rest of my day or something?”

“Oh, I just couldn’t help but overhear how someone like you, a total Halloween nut, can possibly not enjoy the rich lore of our world!” Gess did a noblewoman’s laugh. “Maybe instead of prepping for some dumb Halloween party...”

“Hey!!” Sherise interjected. Gess continued.

“...you should go check out that haunted mansion at the end of Drawn & Quarterly? Prove that the legends are such rubbish like you say they are...! Or are you too scared?!”

“I’m not scared!” Sherise cried out, throwing her hands up. “It’s just illogical to me!”

The two parties began to bicker, as a strange boy in a mask approached them.

“Oh...hello...sorry...did I hear...you talk about the mansion at Drawn & Quarterly...?” he interrupted.

“OK, two things. One, who the hell are you? Two, yeah, what of it?” Sherise placed her hands on her hips.

“Oh...hehehe...my name is Desley...and I’m just interested...you want to go to that mansion...? I hear...there’s a room with a singular burning candle...out of 100 total...it’s said that the previous visitors played a game of Hyakumonogatari Kaidankai...but got too scared and didn’t finish...they say that if you put the candle out...a monster will appear...” Desley slowly brought his hand up to the mouth on his mask and giggled softly. “Maybe it’s real...but maybe not...”

“Even better!” Gess cried out. She pointed at Sherise and Yenten. “Alright! If you go and put that candle out...I’ll do your homework for a week!”

“Deal!” Sherise wasted no time accepting the bet. She grabbed Yenten’s hand. “C’mon, Ten! We’re going!”

“W-wait, why am I getting involved in this?!” the boy called out as his friend dragged him behind her.

“Ah...there they go. Hehehe...” Desley slowly started shuffling in the direction the duo went off in. He turned to look at Gess. “I hope you’re ready...to uphold your promise. Hehehe...maybe you shouldn’t be so much of a bully...I could’ve easily given this offer to you...”

“Excuse me?!” Gess snapped. “What did you call me?! Get back here, you little masked gremlin!”

“...oh...you should be happy my friends...weren’t around to hear that...but...I feel like you won’t be able to evade their detection forever...hehehe...”

“Hey! Are you threatening me?! Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

“Haaa... Auf Wiedersehen...” Desley continued on his route without looking at the girl screeching behind him.

~*~★~♥~★~*~

“I heard that the monster that shows up at the end of a game of Hyakumonogatari Kaidankai is called ‘aoandon’,” Yenten explained as he kicked a rock along the sidewalk. “But usually, people don’t finish the game because the atmosphere grips them with fear and they give up before telling the hundredth story.”

“But...aoandon can’t be real. Can they? So that means that they get so close to their goal and they just, stop? What a load of bunk,” Sherise scoffed.

“Maybe you should keep a lid on your skepticism until we’re done...”

They stopped in front of the old mansion at Drawn & Quarterly. As expected, it was dilapidated and looked like no one had even so much as opened the door for decades. Yenten gulped.

“Sherrie...are we really doing this?” he whimpered. Sherise harrumphed.

“Yeah, of course we are! Don’t you wanna stick it to Gess for once? Look, all we gotta do is go inside, find the candle, put it out, and bam! We’ll be done, Gess’ll do my homework for a week, and we can get to the party in time!” Sherise saw no issues with this plan.

“OK, OK...let’s just get this over with...”

The duo stepped onto the pathway towards the decrepit and rotted front door. There was a lock on it...Sherise gently held it up to inspect it, only for the lock to detach from the door completely. Startled, she yelped and dropped the lock, which fell to the floor and shattered into pieces. She glanced over at Yenten, who merely shrugged.

Going inside, the entire mansion was covered in dust and cobwebs, and the air was musty and hard to breathe. Sherise found herself lifting the collar of her shirt over her nose just to stop herself from getting a lungful of rotten wood particles.

“Yuck. This really is the funk of forty thousand years, isn’t it?” she groaned. Taking a step forward, the floorboards made a creak so loud it could wake the dead. The girl facepalmed. “I feel like the mansion is going to disintegrate if we so much as breathe.”

“You wanna stick it to the people who didn’t finish their games of Hyakumonogatari Kaidankai or not, Sherrie?” Yenten muttered passive aggressively. “Don’t get cold feet now.”

“Alright, alright...sheesh...”

The floorboards continued to creak unceremoniously as the two students made their way through the mansion, the cacophony enough to drive even the most holy of saints crazy. And, unfortunately, their search lasted for a good half hour or so, seeing as there were many, many rooms to check and not a candle in sight.

“I’m getting really tired of this,” Sherise wheezed. “Where’s this room at?”

“I can help you with that.”

Sherise cried out in shock and ended up falling into Yenten in her panic, sending both of them to the floor. After regaining their composure, they noticed that the voice belonged to Desley, the strange boy from earlier.

“Desley? Where did you come from?” Yenten asked, coughing out dust that flew into his mouth. “And how didn’t we hear you coming?!”

“The floorboards were too loud...” Desley murmured. Waving his hands in front of him, he giggled. “It looks like you two are kinda, lost, though...so I decided to help. By any chance, did you think to check the basement...?”

“B...basement?” Sherise uttered.

“Yup...if you’ll get up and follow me, I’ll take you there...hehe...”

“OK, then...” Sherise picked herself up and dusted off her pants before offering Yenten her hand. “Sorry about that, Ten...”

“I-it’s OK...” the boy responded, blushing. He took her hand and Sherise yanked him up. The duo looked over at Desley, who nodded and began to walk off. Admittedly, his steps were meticulous and light, making much less noise than they had been earlier.

In only a matter of minutes, the masked boy led the two to a staircase leading down. At the very bottom of the stairs, a very faint, blue light could be seen.

“Watch your step...”

The trio carefully made their way down the stairs, taking care not to slip and fall in the dark. Upon reaching the ground, Desley walked off towards a room with its door slightly ajar; from here, the light was more visible. Sherise gently opened the door a bit more, letting herself into the room, with Yenten following behind her.

The room was filled wall to wall with a hundred candles, some more melted than others, and all but one extinguished. The lone flame flickered in the middle of the dozens of candles, seeming a bit forlorn in a way.

“There really was a lit candle...” Sherise gasped. Slowly, carefully, she made her way to the candle. Nearby, there was a candle extinguisher. Sherise took it in her hand, and steadily moved forward to extinguish the candle. However, she felt her arm being grabbed from behind.

“Just a second, you two...” It was Desley. He looked at both Sherise and Yenten before digging around in his pocket and pulling something out. In his hand were two gemstones. They were clear and colorless. “Here. These are for you.”

“What are they?” Yenten asked. He gingerly took one of the gemstones, only to cry out a bit. He’d cut himself on it. “Oh, no, I’m bleeding!”

“I am, too!” Sherise whimpered. The two looked at their gemstones. Their blood was drawn into the middle of the stones, which then formed a heart inside. Upon further inspection, the edges had smoothed out, making another cut impossible. “What...just happened?”

“Those...are Reversal Shards. You’ll need to take care of them from now on...and they won’t work for anyone other than you...now...you can extinguish the candle...and end this game of Hyakumonogatari Kaidankai.” Desley gestured to the lit candle.

Sherise was still curious, but did as she was told. Taking a deep breath, she topped the candle with the extinguisher, the flame going out with a soft fizzling sound. The room became entirely dark, and all was silent.

“...that’s all?” Sherise asked, pouting. “All this build-up and nothing ha--”

Before she could finish, all the candles lit themselves with bright blue flames. The flames danced off their wicks and joined together in the middle, causing Sherise to back up hastily, nearly knocking down Desley in the process. The flames grew larger and larger, swirling in the middle of it all.

“W-what’s going on?!” Sherise shrieked.

“You just summoned the aoandon, that’s what!” Yenten yelled in response, voice shaking.

The flames began to contort in shape, forming a figure within. First, a moderately sized glass and metal lantern appeared, containing a small flame inside. The rest of the fire burned away, revealing a flat creature wearing blue clothes. It was mostly white, with many blue stripes running down its body. As the last of the flames went out, the creature’s tail tightly wrapped around the handle of the lantern. It floated in place, seemingly asleep.

“Is...is that...” Yenten stuttered.

“The aoandon?” Sherise questioned.

As if activated, the aoandon stretched itself out and yawned. It shook itself, small puffs of blue ash swirling around in the air in small clouds. Finally, it opened its eyes.

“Ahhh...that was such a nice nap!” The aoandon shook itself again and stretched itself out to full length, its tail never letting go of the lantern. “Hmm? Hiya! Who’re you guys?”

“U-uh...I-I’m Sherise...and this is Ten--I mean, Yenten.” Sherise said, gesturing to her friend. Yenten merely gave an awkward wave.

“I see, I see! A pleasure to meet you both! I’m Sunny!” The aoandon held out a hand for the kids to shake. Not wanting to leave him hanging, both Sherise and Yenten shook his hand once. “Sew, I’m guessin’ you’re the reason I got woken up?”

“I...I guess so...” Sherise nervously answered. She fiddled with her fingers before speaking up again. “Hey, Sunny...are you really an aoandon?”

“Yup! But only on my father’s side! My mother is an ittan-momen, don’chino? I think I really take after her!” Sunny did a little pose to accentuate the statement. Both Yenten and Sherise were sweating nervously.

“Yes, actually, about that, Sunny...” Desley spoke up. “Your parents were the ones who asked me to find you. They’d noticed you stopped writing letters for a while...and thought something happened to you.”

“Oh, is that sew? Thanks for updatin’ me on the stitch-uation!” Sunny flew up very close to Desley. So close, you’d expect the boy to flinch--but he remained completely unfazed. “Though, I don’t think I know ya. Who are you?”

“My name is Desley...and it’s true, you were gone long before I was even born...I guess you could say I’m a bit of an intermediary...between the Wayside and the Trueside.”

“Hey, Desley? This is great and all, but...why did you get us involved? A-and I thought...if aoandon were really real, wouldn’t they be a lot scarier? I mean, there has to be a reason why people don’t finish their games of Hyakumonogatari Kaidankai! But look at Sunny! He’s positively adorable!” Sherise thrust her hand out, gesturing at Sunny.

“Aww, why thank ya!” Sunny chirped, blushing. “Buuuut, just the same as how not all humans are alike, not all monsters are alike, don’chino? Sure, there’s monsters and stuff who’re a real thread, but I’d like ta think a lot of us are lovely individuals.”

“In fact...it might be good for you to know that most of the figures in the myths and legends you find so illogical, Sherise...” Desley pushed up on his mask. “...are just trying to live their lives the same as humans are.

“But, they are quite often misunderstood...so most of them are invisible to humans as a means of defense...the only way to see them...is by forming a blood bond with a Reversal Shard...”

“Reversal Shard...like the ones you gave us?” Yenten asked. He’d already forgotten about the gemstones Desley had given them. He moved his fingers slightly to feel the Reversal Shard still in his hand.

“That’s right...” Desley leaned to the side and tapped his fingers. “As for why I got you involved...to tell you the truth...you just happened to be in the right place at the right time...I was already on my way to this mansion when I overheard your conversation. The thing is...aoandon are often spirited away from their homes in the Trueside when humans play Hyakumonogatari Kaidankai...but since they have a propensity to give up before telling the last story, the aoandon end up stuck between this world and the next...like Sunny here.”

“I see...but we put out the last candle, so he’s free now. So, job well done?” Sherise clapped her hands together. “Also...I guess we can just see ghosts now...?”

“Yup. Now then...it’s probably time I take Sunny home.” Desley gestured to Sunny to follow and he slowly began to walk off. However, he ended up turning around. “Although...since you two have formed blood bonds...and have Reversal Shards...you could help me escort Sunny home...and see the Trueside...what do you say?”

“Hmm...what do you think, Sherrie?” Yenten looked at his friend expectantly. She hummed and began to think, but was immediately interrupted by Sunny getting up in her face.

“Hey! Not ta influence yer decision, but I wooled really appreciate knit if ya came with us! Knit’s not often I make new friends...!” The ao-momen looked at her with pleading eyes, clasping his hands together. “Pleeeeease! Tonight’s also Halloween, wool all have a party! Knit’ll be a scrim!”

Sherise simply stared at the specter. Those big, sad eyes of his were absolutely adorable, but also, the cloth puns were getting a little out of hand. Part of her wanted to go solely to see how much longer Sunny could keep it up. She sighed and closed her eyes.

“There was a party I wanted to go to tonight...” Upon hearing that, Sunny’s expression fell. “But...I honestly think I’d have more fun seeing real monsters for once!”

“Yeeeeessss!” Sunny cheered. He flew about the room, zipping here and there with pure joy. He stopped in front of Sherise, positively beaming. “Then knit’s settled! We’re gonna have a party, all night long! With new friends! C’mon! I’ll race ya there!”

Sunny took off like a rocket out of the room, up the stairs, and outside of the mansion. Meanwhile, Gess had shown up with her posse, consisting of Emrit and Meryl.

“Hey, Gess...do you really think Sherise and Yenten went inside?” Meryl asked, looking exasperated. “It feels like we’ve been here forever, and I still don’t see them!”

“Oh, you know Sherise. She probably bit off more than she could chew, again,” Gess waved her hand dismissively. “Any second now, they’ll come out all wide-eyed because they saw a spider or something.”

Right at that second, Sunny came barreling out of the front door. However, since he was mostly invisible to Gess and the others, all that they could see was a ghostly blue flame charging out towards them.

“Wh-what is that?!” Emrit screamed. He jolted up from his spot and staggered backwards, nearly tripping and crashing back down to the ground.

“That’s it, I’m outta here!” Meryl squealed. Both she and Emrit dashed down out of the yard and into the street, leaving Gess all by herself.

“H-hey wait! Get back here, you cowards!” As the trio ran off screaming, Sherise and her friends just made it out the door.

“...was that Gess?” she asked.

“Looks like Sunny gave them a run for their money,” Yenten chuckled. Sherise grinned broadly and let out a triumphant laugh.

“Thanks, Sunny! Now I don’t gotta do my homework for a week!”

“Ehhh? What’s ‘homework’?” the ao-momen asked, flying over his new friends’ heads excitedly. “Aren’t we gonna party?”

“Yeah! Let’s get this show on the road!” Sherise cried out, pumping her fist in the air.

And so, Sherise and Yenten made their way to the Trueside. Of course, this was only the first adventure of many to come...

[thewitchwithoutvoice-blog]

REINTRODUCING

Aoi Shibunuri

“If I told you about her, the princess without voice, what would I say?”

Hello everyone! Aoi has gone through a bit of a change, and by that I mean she’s an entirely different race now. She was a Raen but I just wasn’t really...feeling it. I tried giving Midlander a go for a few days and holy biscuits does it feel amazing. Also Hyurs...under appreciated. So, I already posted one of these for the Raen Aoi, but I can’t for the life of me figure out how to edit the post itself so I will be reposting it instead of reblogging so that it isn’t a nasty block of text on top of another. There won’t be any changes really, expect for some physical changes. She’s still the same person, just a Hyur now. Thank you for taking the time to read this ^^

NAME: Aoi Shibunuri

AGE: Twenty-Six

RACE: Hyur (Midlander)

GENDER: Female

SEXUALITY: Demisexual

DISABILITY(s)?: Yes, she is mute from birth.

MARITAL STATUS: Single

SERVER: Balmung

physical appearance ––––

HAIR: Dark brown. Slight wave near the ends of her hair. She had shorter hair but it has grown quite long since. It has reached a bit past her hips currently. She likes to keep it down most of the time but sometimes styles it with the casual half up half down, sometimes a half french braid, leaving the rest to flow down her back. If she’s working, she likes to tie it up into a bun or a ponytail. 

EYES: Watercolor gray, depending on lighting, they can look endless and pitch dark.

SKIN TYPE: Darker shade of caramel with very soft skin and vitiligo from head to toe. She has flecks of moles here and there throughout her body. She enjoys bathing in oils so she has a healthy glow to her skin.

HEIGHT: Five feet Two inches

BUILD: She has a small amount of tone to her body, a bit thin with wider hips and a full top, an hourglass figure to be precise.

DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Head to toe, she has Vitiligo. She has two beauty marks on her face and then one on the edge of her lower lip on the left side. 

COMMON ACCESSORIES: Flowers, she enjoys having flowers in her hair and always seems to have fresh ones. She usually has her nails painted with rings adorning her hands. She always has one special ring she does no take off for any reason other than in her home, she was told it was her mother’s. Anklets, the prettier the chiming bells, the more skip to her step. Occasionally, she’ll wear a necklace, but not too often. She carries a satchel with medical supplies, herbs, potions, inkwells, gauze, quills and her journals. She also carries a one-handed wand on her person at all times in case of emergencies.

personal –––-

PROFESSION: Wandering healer/conjurer currently. It has been about a year and a half since she retired from the Adders as a combat medic. If she isn’t wandering, she always takes the time to visit home…Gridania. The Central Shroud is one of her favorite places to be, she’ll often mediate there, gather herbs and supplies, or enjoy being around the greenery.

HOBBIES: Reading, her head is always in a book. Her home is filled with books, stacks here and there in messy piles. She enjoys taking care of plants, much of her home is filled with them so often she will be watering them and possibly getting more (even though she knows she shouldn’t). Aoi enjoys dancing, she can get lost in it, but it is something she does when she is alone. Aoi plays the harp as well, she learned at a young age and finds it soothing when she feels stressed or anxious.

LANGUAGES: Common and Sign Language

RESIDENCE: Her home is a small apartment that she occasionally visits in between her wandering, she is not one for having large homes, she enjoys having a smaller space. It is filled with plants and books, in a corner, she keeps her large harp so that she can entertain guests. (But really...oocly I was given one by a friend in Shirogane but icly, I like it in the Lavender beds as she very much loves Gridania).

FEARS: Drowning. She never learned how to swim because she was so caught up in her studies while growing up, and whenever she was prompted to, she brushed it aside. She has other tiny little fears such as neglecting her duty of traveling around and healing and caring for others. She is not a big fan of insects such as spiders, anything creepy crawly makes her uncomfortable. Heights make her extremely uncomfortable as she can be clumsy, that and she feels dizzy being in high up places. She doesn’t like the feeling.

relationships –––-

SPOUSE: N/A

CHILDREN: N/A

LOVE INTEREST(S): It is...complicated.

PARENTS: Both mother and father are deceased. She was raised by her aunt from a very young age of about a year old.

SIBLINGS: She has no brothers or sisters, she grew up as an only child.

OTHER RELATIVES: The only living relative that she is aware of, is her aunt.

PETS: She has none currently, but she won’t easily admit that she kind of thinks her plants as pets.

traits –––-

extroverted / introverted / in between

disorganized / organized / in between

close minded / open-minded / in between

calm / anxious / in between (depends on situation)

disagreeable / agreeable / in between

cautious / reckless / in between (depends on situation)

patient / impatient / in between

outspoken / reserved / in between

leader / follower / in between

empathetic / unemphatic / in between

optimistic / pessimistic / in between

traditional / modern / in between

hard-working / lazy / in between

cultured / un-cultured / in between

loyal / disloyal / in between

faithful / unfaithful / in between

additional information –––-

SMOKING HABIT: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

DRUGS: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

ALCOHOL: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

possible hooks –––-

- If your character is an Adder or was associated with them, she was a combat medic for them before she retired! She will most likely approach you if mentioned, badger you if you are taking care of yourself and properly getting rest in between missions or shifts.

- If your character is mute or selectively mute and knows sign language (or just knows sign language in general), she will automatically approach with clear excitement in her eyes and a big smile! Her main form of communication is through writing, she does not meet many who know sign language so when she does actually meet those that do, it is a shock to her, a happy one!

- She is a wandering medic, so she is always aiding those that are in need of assistance, be it healing, child birth, or a serious injury, she will approach, very worried but ready to get to work immediately.

- These are just some thoughts I’m throwing out there, situations that I think my character would respond to, to give an idea (it’s super early and I haven’t slept..so they are not the brightest ideas). I am open-minded, if you are interested, don’t even hesitate to throw some of your ideas out there too, I would love to hear what you have to say as well! Working together to come up with an awesome hook or plot is the best part! ^^

what I’m looking for ––––

- Honestly, any kind of contacts! Be it friendships, job offers, rivalries, etc! I mentioned above that I was also looking for an RP FC so, if any of you are in need of a healer (additionally an alchemist, gotta level that up for RP purposes, same for botany), shoot me a message and give me some information about your FC and what you’re all about!

- I mentioned that I’m an open-minded person, so if you got ideas, shoot them my way, I love seeing what people can cook up, and it helps give me an idea of what I can too depending on the person(s) that approach me (character-wise, like personalities, backstories, what sort of plot you’re informing me about and how Aoi would fit into it).

✓ Will do temporary incapacitation, temporary imprisonment, walk-ups

✓ I don’t mind doing RP that is a bit dark, I like being pushed in different directions and it’s fun to explore. Things revolving voidsent (very little knowledge of it though, if you have the patience to give me some lore tips and pointers, I don’t mind one bit), drugs/violence/alcohol/language, I don’t mind at all, as long as it comes naturally with roleplay.

- As for longterm RP, I am not too sure about it, one way to find out is talking to me about it and giving me an idea of what you had in mind (especially if they involve long-term incapacitation, long-term imprisonment, or long-term disfiguration).

- I don’t mind lore bending at all, not one bit, as long as it isn’t anything too crazy or displaced. It is fun to be creative! So as long as it works and flows nicely with everything.

✗ I will not do ERP or anything involving rape. I don’t at all mind having my characters naturally building a romantic relationship (comes along with roleplay, fan of slowburn sort of stuff), but ERP is not my cup of tea so I’m putting this out there now, don’t ask me later, my mind won’t suddenly change.

oocly, I am –––

I am a fairly chill roleplayer, I enjoy in-game roleplay but I don’t mind at all if you would like to use Discord as well. It’s very convenient! I enjoy all sorts of RP as I mentioned above, if you would like fast-paced, I will do my best to keep up and adapt, I am more of a paragraph roleplayer and enjoy putting in a lot of details into my posts, but like I said, I can adapt, I’ve been roleplaying for about 11 years, I’ve been all over the place.

Don’t worry about responding to me asap or roleplaying with me constantly, like I said, I’m a laid-back person, plan with me, gush about characters and stuff, take your time. There is no rush, after all, we’re all here to relax and have fun! So if anything is troubling you, don’t hesitate to approach me about it!

I am on CST, and am usually on most of the time, my sleep schedule is all over the place so I’ll be on during the day, afternoon, night…like I said…jumpy sleep schedule. >w<

you can contact me via ––

Tumblr Messages!

Discord: Aoi Shibunuri#4857

In Game: Aoi Shibunuri

PS: Totally didn’t nab this from my friend, @ijazrahalffxiv, *sweats*, I don’t really know where he got this template from so the mysterious template shall continue it’s journey onwards!! Thank you for your time :D

[fromchaos]

50 ~little sarchengsey things~

1. who is the early bird/ who is the night owl?

well,,, they are all modern day teens, so not a single one is actually an early bird. normal bedtime for blue and henry is 1-2am, and gansey joins them when he thinks he can sleep. henry is best at mornings tho.

2. who is the big spoon/ who is the little spoon?

i’ve said it before and i will say it again: blue is the supreme big spoon. she hates being in the middle. if gansey’s insomnia is flaring up, henry goes in the middle. if henry’s claustrophobia is worse that night, gansey goes in the middle.

3. who hogs the cover/ who loves to cuddle?

they all love to cuddle when they’re awake/falling asleep, but they are all rude and grabby when they’re unconscious. the first few weeks they share a bed, blue regularly wakes up on the floor having pulled the covers so hard she launched herself off the side.

4. who wakes the other one up with kisses?

blue or henry depending on who wakes up first. blue cares more about morning breath, so she does it less often than henry. gansey has either been up all night and is too exhausted to be super affectionate or he’s too in his head when he wakes up naturally and sort of forgets the others are there. however, he very much likes morning kisses from his bf and gf U u U

5. who usually has nightmares?

HOO BOY. MORE LIKE WHO DOESN”T, AM I RIGHT LADIES?

6. who would have really deep emotional thoughts at the middle of the night/ who would have them in the middle of the day? 

even tho gansey has terrible insomnia, i feel like he usually distracts himself and tries to stuff down the deep thoughts in the middle of the night, though he will engage in deep discussions with blue at 3am bc she likes it. henry’s late night thoughts are just faux-deep shitposts. then the next day they’re looking at the world’s biggest rubber band ball and gansey and henry are having existential crises. 

7. who sweats the small stuff?

ganseyyyboyyy does (but i think he’s also weirdly more zen after his 2nd death). he’s haywire in everyday life and deathly calm in a calamity. blue will get stressed if there’s A LOT of small stuff all building up at the same time, but is normally chill. henry can seem like a bit of a mess under pressure but actually things work out weirdly well for him most of the time. (think dirk gently lmfao)

8. who sleeps in their underwear (or naked)/ who sleeps in their pajamas?

i don’t think any of them have proper pajamas? comfy t-shirts and underwear all around. especially henry and blue stealing gansey’s t-shirts and underwear to sleep in.

9. who makes the coffee (or tea)?

gansey and henry each brought their own french press on the roadtrip lmfao. gansey usually winds up making it tho because one time henry was dared to mix a monster energy drink and black coffee and chug it by lee^2 and it killed his taste buds and his caffeine tolerance so he makes his way too strong now. blue starts the roadtrip hating coffee but by the end she’s a caffeine demon living off of gas station sludge.

10. who likes sweet/ who likes sour?

blue likes the two together (idk i find yogurt a bit of both so). gansey doesn’t really have a taste for either; he likes blander savory foods. henry likes sweet things, but more rich-sweet than sugar-sweet.

11. who likes horror movies/ who likes romance movies?

i can’t imagine any of them being super into horror??? if they watch a horror movie it’s just to rip apart the lore for inaccuracy. gansey and henry like romcoms and have to bribe blue to watch them with them. gansey’s faves are love actually and notting hill, and henry’s are you’ve got mail and he’s just not that into you.

12. who is smol/ who is tol?

blue < gansey < henry

that’s pretty much canon, but body type-wise i think blue is chubby all-over, gansey is pretty solidly built w/ broad shoulders, and henry is skinny but with a small beer belly lmao.

13. who is considered the scaredy cat?

tbh i don’t think any of them really fit that role? and when they do it’s because they’re traumatized??? i just can’t see them teasing each other for being afraid because they all know TRUE BONE-DEEP HORROR.

14. who kills the spiders?

blue carries the spiders outside. henry screams and gets up on the couch. gansey either doesn’t notice or just freezes in fear.

15. who is scared of the dark?

none of them usually? but certain scenarios can give any of them flashbacks, so i’d say more wary than scared?

16. who is scared of thunderstorms?

i could see henry being a little afraid of thunderstorms? and gansey is autistic, so he HATES thunder but isn’t exactly scared of it.

17. who works/ who stays at home?

they all work, but i’m not sure any of them have traditional 9 to 5 jobs? when they have kids, they probably spend equal amounts of time at home taking care of them. blue travels less at that point, but is sometimes gone for longer periods of time that she makes up for with long periods of time spent at home.

18. who is a cat person/ who is a dog person?

they are all cat people. blue loves all animals, but if she were to get her own pets, they would be cats. i’ve written about it before, but they have so many cats. they adopt like 5 and feed all the neighborhood strays and let them roam in and out of their home.

19. who loves to call the other one cute names?

oh wow NO IDEA who could that possibly be???

20. who is dominant/ who is submissive?

literally the only person gansey could dom is ronan r u kidding me?? that boy is subbier than a 5 dollar foot long. (then blue and henry are about equally weighted toward dom, like 6 or 7 on a scale of 1 to 10)

21. who has an obsession (over anything)?

obsession is literally what brings them together. they recognize that intense passion that drives all of them in each other. none of them could be with someone who wasn’t completely obsessed with something because it shows a lack of that passion. also, they’re totally obsessed with each other.

22. who goes all out for valentine’s day?

is it weird that i think it’s blue? she goes on some tirade about the commercialization of valentine’s day, how it’s a bullshit hallmark holiday, how it makes single people feel less than, blah blah blah, so henry and gansey figure they should keep it lowkey and just have a normal date or something. BUT the day-of blue has made them both extravagant cards and thoughtful homemade gits. because authentic love is best honored with DIY. (blue contains multitudes, y’all.)

23. who asks who out on the first date?

this is hard?? what’s a year-long roadtrip other than one humongous first date to woo your third partner? but real talk, post-trk, gansey realizes he and blue have never had an official date but also the only place in henrietta is nino’s and u can’t go on a date to a place u work, so they just go out for drives like they did before. and drives turn into daytrips. and datetrips turn into “oh henry you have to come with, you’d just love this place!” and suddenly polyamory happens.

24. who is the talker/ who is the listener? 

this like,,, isn’t really how relationships work lmfao. gansey is the most genuinely extroverted (henry can be super extroverted obviously, but that’s 50% for show), but unless the topic of discussion is one of his special interests, he’s more of an active listener than a talker. but a conversation with these 3 is basically all of them taking turns ranting because they are all very opinionated and have a lot to say.

25. who wears the other ones clothes?

blue will steal ur clothes and transform them so completely u hardly notice. both her and henry like wearing gansey’s shirts as pajamas, but they are all such different sizes and have such different styles that actual borrowing isn’t all that common. (tho blue does make clothes for henry pretty often)

26. who likes to eat healthy/ who loves junk food?

i don’t think any of them are super obsessed or even like,,, concerned with eating healthy, and they all have a good appetite for junk. henry probably has the most balanced diet tho because mrs. woo made all the litchfield boys eat dinner together on weeknights. (think traditional korean cuisine meets deep south comfort food, both of which love their side dishes) meanwhile, blue’s idea of a balanced meal is the signature dish of each 300 fox way lady and a yogurt. and gansey is an autistic boy who has been feeding himself for a few years, so he eats the same 3 things in various combinations.

27. who takes a long shower/ who sings in the shower?

blue is used to taking super fast showers with orla banging on the bathroom door, and gansey is perfectly perfunctory when it comes to hygiene, so henry. he makes 45 minute pop-filled playlists for his showers.

28. who is the book worm?

gansey. the others love reading and learning for sure, but gansey is the one with the overflowing bookshelves, half full of books he hasn’t read yet. and blue and henry like listening to him rambling about his recent reads like a human audio book because he’s a pretty good storyteller.

29. who is the better cook?

henry is the best cook, and he makes most of their meals once they’re settled down and living together. litchfield definitely had a chore wheel and all the boys took turns helping mrs. woo cook. gansey is used to eating takeout all the time, and blue only eats yogurt.

30. who likes long walks on the beach?

blue!!! she sees the ocean for the first time on the road trip and loooooves it. she’ll let the boys bury her in the sand without fuss because it’s like a lil warm cocoon. she doesn’t go too deep in the water, but she likes standing where the waves break and looking for signs of life underneath the sand. henry and gansey grew up taking vacations to tropical beaches on the reg, so it’s nothing novel or special for them, but they love seeing it through blue’s eyes!!!

31. who is more affectionate?

well i think it depends on the type of affection?? (warning: this is really fucking gay) henry is the most verbally affectionate with all the nicknames and the affirmations and the enthusiasm. sometimes he’s more reserved with deeper emotional statements, but he’s never cold or distant. blue is the most physically affectionate, wanting to be constantly touching and feeling her boys beside her. she always has an arm around someone’s waist or a hand on someone’s knee to ground them and herself. and with gansey it’s all in the eyes and the gestures. he’ll look at them like they’re magic and then suggest the perfect thing they need right at that moment. 

32. who likes to have really long (deep) conversation?

blue and gansey have really long deep conversations together where they dance around and circumnavigate the issues. henry cuts straight to the point in deep conversations because he’s been thinking about the thing for ages and just wants to get to the point and know their answers already.

33. who would wear “not guilty” t-shirt/ who would wear “sin” t-shirt?

oh jeez. either blue and gansey wear “not guilty” and henry wears “sin” or gansey and henry just dress normally while blue wears the “sin” t-shirt while trying to look her most badass?

34. who would wear “if lost return to…” t-shirt/ who would wear “i am…” t-shirt?

the boys definitely wear “if lost return to blue sargent.” someone has to be the sensible one.

35. who goes overboard on the holidays?

they probably all do in their own special ways. blue spends all of december making gifts for her loved ones that are filled with love and couldn’t come from anyone else. gansey gets people the one big perfect present he definitely spent way too much money on. henry overwhelms them with multiple small presents, each inspired by an inside joke they share or an offhand comment the person made and winds up spending as much as gansey.

36. who is the social media addict?

idk if he’s a social media ADDICT, but henry uses social media the most. blue grew up without a home computer or a smart phone, and gansey uses both for only 3 things: schoolwork, research, and GPS. so henry is really the only one that uses social media a Normal Teenager Amount. and he loves memes.

37. height difference or age difference?

height difference. i’d say gansey has 6 inches on blue and henry has 6 inches on him, so sometimes when they stand or walk together they look like cellular bars.

38. who likes to star gaze?

all of them. stargazing is one of their go-to date activities, especially for blue and gansey since it reminds them of their early days. they both have special individual things they do with henry too, of course.

39. who buys cereal for the prize inside?

either blue or henry depending on the prize. blue never got prizes as a kid bc they only bought generic cereal in the big plastic bags, and now she is living The High Life (more like the small luxury millennial life). henry is probably the one that first points out the cereals with the best prizes. gansey eats the cereal because he lovs the cronch.

40. who is the fun parent/ who is the responsible parent?

i feel like they have pretty good balance here?? gansey is a professor/writer so he stays at home with the kids most often and is about the same proportion of stern/pushover with them as he is with ronan in canon lmfao. the more deeply involved in a project he is, the more he can be convinced to let the rules slide. 

henry is an environmental activist with a nonprofit and an occasional lobbyist, so he has much more typical 9-5 hours. he is probably much more fun than gansey, but their kids think he is insufferably, adorably uncool with his retro pop music and graphic tees under blazers and nicknames. 

blue does ecological field research for weeks at a time and then comes home and writes papers for the next few months. she has 2 competing desires as a parent: 1. make up for lost time with lots of spoiling and 2. make up for lost discipline and moral instruction with lots of discourse.

41. who cries during sad movies? 

gansey and henry cry really easily at sad movies but like,,, rarely cry over real life stuff. meanwhile, blue is the opposite because she’s pretty bad at suspending her disbelief when interacting with fiction.

42. who is the neat freak?

i think blue and henry butt heads a little bit here because blue likes for everything to have its place and hates actual mess and unclean things BUT her idea of neat is a lot more cluttered and homey, very much inspired by 300 fox way. henry doesn’t clean often, but when he does he wants things to ACTUALLY be neat and tidy and put away. 

meanwhile, gansey has his office where chaos rules and only he knows where anything is.

43. who wins the stuffed animals at the carnival for the other one?

they probably go to a carnival or town fair on their road trip and gansey and henry compete to get blue stuffed animals (only 50% ironically) and blue gets mad and gets her own damn stuffed animal and then for good measure one for each of her boys.

44. who is active/ who is lazy?

idk about “”active”” as in fit and sporty but blue likes to keep herself busy. she always has 5 projects going and likes to get out of the house at least once a day even if it’s just for a walk around the block. gansey has homebody phases and active phases. henry feels like he works pretty hard and has enough adventures to justify a little bit of lazing about the house.

45. who is more likely to get drunk?

i mean, on the road trip if they’re drinking, they pretty much always all get drunk together unless a designated driver is needed in which case they take turns. gansey has the lowest tolerance tho, so he’s always first to get drunk.

and while henry and gansey are at school together, blue gets a lot of midnight facetime calls from her boys, sloppy drunk and over-affectionate and cute.

46. who has the longer food order?

it’s definitely gansey, and it’s definitely 50% a picky eater thing and 50% an entitled rich white man thing. like, okay, gansey ii seems like a good dad but he’s definitely that guy whose like “i’m a paying customer i deserve to get exactly what i want and am paying for,” and gansey sort of grew up seeing that as pretty normal, so he gives all sorts of unnecessary extra instructions to the waiter.

blue’s like “u know u can just tell them u don’t want pickles or onions on the burger, right? u don’t have to teach them step-by-step how to grill it. the waiter isn’t even cooking ur burger, tho know she is definitely spitting on it.”

henry chimes in a very helpful “yeah, stop mansplaining the burger.”

47. who has the more complex coffee order?

henry. gansey likes black coffee or ridiculous fraps, no in between. blue gets really simple coffees and totally makes them over at the counter w/ the cinnamon and vanilla and cocoa shakers. meanwhile, henry has to inquire as to whether the beans are ethically sourced and ask about all the specials and what is most popular and what does the barista like best and after all that just gets the thing he saw recommended on instagram the other day.

48. who loses stuff?

losing stuff? excuse you, this crew’s game is FINDING (bunch of hufflepuff wannabes). the only exception is gansey pulling a velma with his glasses.

49. who is the driver/ who is the passenger?

they rotate on the road trip because like,,, u gotta. but i think gansey likes driving the most, and henry likes it the least. when they’re in college and blue comes to visit, she does all the driving in her ecopig. henry always calls shottie no blitz because the passenger seat comes with all the best jobs: music duty, navigation, hand-holding, feeding french fries to ur s.o. in the driver seat, etc. if blue’s not driving, she actually likes the backseat best most of the time bc she can fully stretch out across it lmao.

50. who is the hopeless romantic?

ALL of these fools. have you HEARD their narration?!

[how2to18]

IN FOX SEASON: AND OTHER SHORT STORIES, her debut collection, Agnieszka Dale exhibits a knack for opening lines. They are sometimes titillating: “For sex with Manolo, Bianca went to the Vatican Gardens” (“One Less Button”); sometimes scatological: “Shit came by the house, unannounced, like a bomb” (“A Shit Story”); and sometimes troubling: “It was Christmas, which should have made it easier to do the killing” (“The Christmas Pig”). The best, such as that from the wonderfully captivating story “Hello Poland,” combine character, imagery, and conflict in one tightly worded package: “On the way up the escalator, a Warsaw escalator, breathing Warsaw air, Jan sees women’s buttocks.” In that one sentence, we not only get a sense that Jan is slightly overwhelmed by his surroundings, but also a sense of his personal drivers. And yet, despite the narrator’s repeated references to his healthy libido, Jan is not entirely lecherous. The story, like so many in this collection, is more serious than it first appears.

Besides studying the posteriors of the women around him, Jan studies their faces. He has returned to his homeland after a lengthy absence, hoping to find his daughter, Poland, who went missing when she was still a child:

He wants to see her, he wants to find her, now. But there are only women here, just women. He imagines women as girls. Each woman as a girl in a pink coat. A girl called Poland. Like a country. A lost country, his lost girl.

In those few lines we start to develop what will be, by the end of the story, a deep sympathy for Jan, who has been exiled for half his life, yearning for the daughter he left behind.

Very quickly, though, we begin to question what Jan’s reality is, for what at first seems familiar territory — our reality — quickly begins to reshape itself into something altogether more unsettling. We learn that Jan, who has been exiled since the final days of General Jaruzelski’s rule in the 1980s, is 180 years old. With that one discovery, tensions begin to rise.

Returning home after many years’ absence, Jan views the changes that have taken place with a stranger’s eye. This new Warsaw is far cleaner than he remembers and, thanks to the User Experience regime that governs every aspect of life, it is far safer, too. With added vitamins and amino acids, even the cigarettes are healthy. Of course, we soon come to feel that this seemingly benign regime, where every action is user-tested and -retested, and every reaction is analyzed, is every bit as authoritarian as Jaruzelski’s. Something dark seems to lurk beneath the shiny surface.

Jan’s anxiety, too, is made palpable as he considers what fate might have befallen his daughter. By fleeing across the border into exile, he has failed to protect her these long years. The guilt and the longing have never left him:

God, this feeling again, of panic, of anger, in his stomach and then deeper than the stomach, the black hole inside his stomach. The endless universe of his stomach which can’t get tense, it just can’t, because his stomach is not an organ anymore, it’s just this vast emptiness, with his daughter inside, like he’s devoured her over the past decades, with his endless worry about her, her absence, or her undefined presence, somewhere. His daughter is now this little stone, it seems, rotating in his stomach, around the orbit of the stomach’s lining. He always feels her.

Jan is not the only character in Fox Season to be troubled by deep angst. In fact, if there is one overriding sense that fills the pages of this book, it is this. Anxiety washes over Dale’s characters like a tsunami. There is anxiety of the domestic kind, concerning children and parents and partners; anxiety about war and the possibility of war; anxiety about immigrants; and anxiety about deportation. Dale, whose formative years spanned Poland’s transition from communism under General Jaruzelski to democracy with Lech Wałęsa, immigrated to Britain in 2003, shortly before Poland joined the European Union. As both a Polish national during those turbulent early years and a Polish immigrant during these, it comes as no surprise that her art is one of tension. She has passed on her own little worry stones to her characters.

In “A Happy Nation,” written as a first-person monologue, a Polish immigrant to Britain receives a late-night visit from an immigration officer. The narrator addresses the officer with wry humor and quickly turns the tables, interrogating him much more effectively than he interrogates her. While her voice remains subdued, however, her concerns are clear. Again, the opening lines deftly hint at the narrator’s fears and at a larger, unspoken story: “I don’t believe this is an emergency for Great Britain, officer. It’s just a crisis, you know, a little crisis. […] It’s just an inconvenience.”

“A Happy Nation” is a response to Brexit, Britain’s decision to take control of its borders and leave the EU, which has left many European immigrants feeling insecure about their future. The unnamed narrator has lived in Britain for many years. She is married to a Brit, and her children are also British. By all accounts, she is fully assimilated and could easily, if she put on the accent, pass for British herself. But it is this ability to “pass,” she deduces, that is the real problem. “You can no longer tell me from the Others,” she challenges the officer, adding, “I could be White Other, or I could just be white.”

Along with the standard categories of “White” listed on job applications and census forms in the United Kingdom (English/Welsh/Northern Irish/Scottish), there is a tick box labelled “any other White background,” often shortened to “White Other.” It’s a box that seems specifically designed to minoritize those who choose it and to engender feelings of displacement. Like the United States, though, Britain has always been a nation of immigrants. As well as immigrants from former colonies, predominantly people of color, the country has had immigration from Europe for over a thousand years. By the second generation, it is almost impossible to distinguish these paler-hued immigrants from “indigenous Brits.” Having found the true reason for the nation’s concern, the narrator continues probing the officer:

[W]hat if I am actually a little better than you? Not much, just a little. A little cleverer. Funnier. Prettier. More organised. Not much. Just that tiny bit. Yes, it must feel like I am keeping you on your toes.

If immigrants prove to be “that tiny bit” cleverer — as is often the case — then the natives would be forced to up their game, “to become greater than great,” or risk being superseded.

By the end of the story, the narrator’s anxiety has gotten the better of her. She has talked almost non-stop, as nervous people often do, but now she is reconsidering her position. She has spotted the gun, poorly concealed beneath the immigration officer’s coat — which is, in turn, a sign of his anxiety, and also that of the nation. In an ironic twist, she recognizes the Slavic origins of the officer’s name, and sees that he has become White British, a status that he is willing to protect.

At barely a page in length, “What We Should Feel Now” is by far the shortest story in the collection, but the unease it exudes is not lessened by its brevity.

“Do you not like me here?” I ask the shopkeepers, doctors, policemen, politicians, and friends.

“Of course, don’t be silly. We love you. You are like us, you are part of us, you know. Always have. Always will.”

But the narrator, anxious to be accepted, is not so sure people are telling her the truth, imploring them to “[t]ell me how I’m like you.”

As in most of stories in this collection, there is a deep uncertainty about the future here, shown through others’ attempts to reassure the narrator she is welcome, and by the narrator’s claims that she is impervious to some unstated but troubling incident that has happened before the story begins: “We don’t feel love right now, but we shake hands. We’ll get through this, you say. We’ll just get on with it. I say it too.”

The stories in this impressive debut collection are often quite odd — generally in a good way — with peculiar and perplexing endings that demand a second reading. At times, they are both humorous and poignant; at others, as wars and rumors of wars ride the darker undercurrents, they seem disturbingly portentous. Dale’s perspective as an “Other” allows her to depict her adopted home in vivid and unfamiliar ways. It is, above all, the anxiety she expresses about our shared future that makes the biggest impact on the reader and keeps her stories — which begin so strikingly — alive beyond their final lines.

¤

Loree L. Westron is an American writer, educator, and reviewer, living on the south coast of the United Kingdom. Her work has appeared in publications including The London Magazine, Western American Literature, and Short Fiction in Theory and Practice.

The post “Do You Not Like Me Here?”: On Agnieszka Dale’s “Fox Season: and Other Short Stories” and Immigration Anxiety in Britain appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

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[thewitchwithoutvoice-blog]

Aoi Shibunuri

"If I told you about her, the princess without voice, what would I say?”

Hello everyone! First of all, thank you for taking the time to read this, I appreciate it very much. Now, allow me to introduce you to Aoi, she’s my little bean and I am looking for RP contacts and an RP FC as well. I hope this gives you all a bit of an idea of what she is like. I recently moved from Mateus here to Balmung, I did have Aoi ver. 1, but since I moved over, I wanted to start fresh. Thanks again! ^^

NAME: Aoi Shibunuri 

AGE: Twenty-Six

RACE: Au Ra (Raen)

GENDER: Female

SEXUALITY: Demisexual

DISABILITY(s)?: Yes, she is mute from birth. 

MARITAL STATUS: Single

SERVER: Balmung

physical appearance ––––

HAIR: Light brown. Slight wave to her hair. She had shorter hair but it has grown quite long since. It has reached a bit past her hips currently. Half up, half down french braid sometimes or just simply half up, half down with a long braid running down her back. 

EYES: Black, depending on lighting, they can look endless and pitch dark.

SKIN TYPE: Medium Tan(Amber) with very soft skin and bright scales. She has flecks of moles here and there throughout her body. She enjoys bathing in oils so she has a healthy glow to her skin. 

HEIGHT: Four feet Eight inches

BUILD: She has a small amount of tone to her body, a bit thin with wider hips and a full top, an hourglass figure to be precise. 

DISTINGUISHING MARKS: From head to toe, her scales are pearlescent. Her horns and tail aren’t entirely, they have flecks of luster and shine here and there. 

COMMON ACCESSORIES: Flowers, she enjoys having flowers in her hair and always seems to have fresh ones. She usually has her nails painted with rings adorning her hands. She always has one special ring she does no take off for any reason other than in her home, she was told it was her mother’s. Anklets, the prettier the chiming bells, the more skip to her step. Occasionally, she’ll wear a necklace, but not too often. She carries a satchel with medical supplies, herbs, potions, inkwells, gauze, quills and her journals. She also carries a one-handed wand on her person at all times in case of emergencies.

personal –––-

PROFESSION: Wandering healer/conjurer currently. It has been about a year and a half since she retired from the Adders as a combat medic. If she isn’t wandering, she always takes the time to visit home...Gridania. The Central Shroud is one of her favorite places to be, she’ll often mediate there, gather herbs and supplies, or enjoy being around the greenery. 

HOBBIES: Reading, her head is always in a book. Her home is filled with books, stacks here and there in messy piles. She enjoys taking care of plants, much of her home is filled with them so often she will be watering them and possibly getting more (even though she knows she shouldn’t). Aoi enjoys dancing, she can get lost in it, but it is something she does when she is alone. Aoi plays the harp as well, she learned at a young age and finds it soothing when she feels stressed or anxious. 

LANGUAGES: Common and Sign Language

RESIDENCE: Her home is a small apartment that she occasionally visits in between her wandering, she is not one for having large homes, she enjoys having a smaller space. It is filled with plants and books, in a corner, she keeps her large harp so that she can entertain guests. 

FEARS: Drowning. She never learned how to swim because she was so caught up in her studies while growing up, and whenever she was prompted to, she brushed it aside. She has other tiny little fears such as neglecting her duty of traveling around and healing and caring for others. She is not a big fan of insects such as spiders, anything creepy crawly makes her uncomfortable. Heights make her extremely uncomfortable as she can be clumsy, that and she feels dizzy being in high up places. She doesn’t like the feeling. 

relationships –––-

SPOUSE: N/A

CHILDREN: N/A

PARENTS: Both mother and father are deceased. She was raised by her aunt from a very young age of about a year old. 

SIBLINGS: She has no brothers or sisters, she grew up as an only child. 

OTHER RELATIVES: The only living relative that she is aware of, is her aunt.

PETS: She has none, but she won’t easily admit that she kind of thinks her plants as pets. 

traits –––-

extroverted / introverted / in between

disorganized / organized / in between

close minded / open-minded / in between

calm / anxious / in between (depends on situation)

disagreeable / agreeable / in between

cautious / reckless / in between (depends on situation)

patient / impatient / in between

outspoken / reserved / in between

leader / follower / in between

empathetic / unemphatic / in between

optimistic / pessimistic / in between

traditional / modern / in between

hard-working / lazy / in between

cultured / un-cultured / in between

loyal / disloyal / in between

faithful / unfaithful / in between

additional information –––-

SMOKING HABIT: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

DRUGS: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

ALCOHOL: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

possible hooks –––-

- If your character is an Adder or was associated with them, she was a combat medic for them before she retired! She will most likely approach you if mentioned, badger you if you are taking care of yourself and properly getting rest in between missions or shifts. 

- If your character is mute or selectively mute and knows sign language (or just knows sign language in general), she will automatically approach with clear excitement in her eyes and a big smile! Her main form of communication is through writing, she does not meet many who know sign language so when she does actually meet those that do, it is a shock to her, a happy one!

- She is a wandering medic, so she is always aiding those that are in need of assistance, be it healing, child birth, or a serious injury, she will approach, very worried but ready to get to work immediately. 

- These are just some thoughts I’m throwing out there, situations that I think my character would respond to, to give an idea (it’s super early and I haven’t slept..so they are not the brightest ideas). I am open-minded, if you are interested, don’t even hesitate to throw some of your ideas out there too, I would love to hear what you have to say as well! Working together to come up with an awesome hook or plot is the best part! ^^

what I’m looking for ––––

- Honestly, any kind of contacts! Be it friendships, job offers, rivalries, etc! I mentioned above that I was also looking for an RP FC so, if any of you are in need of a healer (additionally an alchemist, gotta level that up for RP purposes, same for botany), shoot me a message and give me some information about your FC and what you’re all about! 

- I mentioned that I’m an open-minded person, so if you got ideas, shoot them my way, I love seeing what people can cook up, and it helps give me an idea of what I can too depending on the person(s) that approach me (character-wise, like personalities, backstories, what sort of plot you’re informing me about and how Aoi would fit into it).

✓ Will do temporary incapacitation, temporary imprisonment, walk-ups

✓ I don’t mind doing RP that is a bit dark, I like being pushed in different directions and it’s fun to explore. Things revolving voidsent (very little knowledge of it though, if you have the patience to give me some lore tips and pointers, I don’t mind one bit), drugs/violence/alcohol/language, I don’t mind at all, as long as it comes naturally with roleplay.

- As for longterm RP, I am not too sure about it, one way to find out is talking to me about it and giving me an idea of what you had in mind (especially if they involve long-term incapacitation, long-term imprisonment, or long-term disfiguration). 

- I don’t mind lore bending at all, not one bit, as long as it isn’t anything too crazy or displaced. It is fun to be creative! So as long as it works and flows nicely with everything. 

✗ I will not do ERP or anything involving rape. I don’t at all mind having my characters naturally building a romantic relationship (comes along with roleplay, fan of slowburn sort of stuff), but ERP is not my cup of tea so I’m putting this out there now, don’t ask me later, my mind won’t suddenly change. 

oocly, I am –––

I am a fairly chill roleplayer, I enjoy in-game roleplay but I don’t mind at all if you would like to use Discord as well. It’s very convenient! I enjoy all sorts of RP as I mentioned above, if you would like fast-paced, I will do my best to keep up and adapt, I am more of a paragraph roleplayer and enjoy putting in a lot of details into my posts, but like I said, I can adapt, I’ve been roleplaying for about 11 years, I’ve been all over the place.

Don’t worry about responding to me asap or roleplaying with me constantly, like I said, I’m a laid-back person, plan with me, gush about characters and stuff, take your time. There is no rush, after all, we’re all here to relax and have fun! So if anything is troubling you, don’t hesitate to approach me about it!

I am on CST, and am usually on most of the time, my sleep schedule is all over the place so I’ll be on during the day, afternoon, night...like I said...jumpy sleep schedule. >w< 

you can contact me via ––

Tumblr Messages!

Discord: Aoi Shibunuri#4857

In Game: Aoi Shibunuri

PS: Totally didn’t nab this from my friend, @ijazrahalffxiv, *sweats*, I don’t really know where he got this template from so the mysterious template shall continue it’s journey onwards!! Thank you for your time :D