#real ones know i tend to ask what people's muse(s) smell like

[princetorn]

Royce’s manifestations are usually accompanied by the scent of gasoline, burnt rubber, cigarette smoke, fresh sweat, blood, Brylcreem and cologne – the cologne being outdated or old-fashioned by modern standards.  In life, there were three fragrances he commonly reached for:  

1. Occasionally, he helped himself to his father’s bottle of Pinaud Clubman.  It is scented with orange, sour-sweet lemon, bergamot, geranium, lavender, jasmine, patchouli, musk, oakmoss and vanilla. 2. His go-to was Knize Ten, known to be James Dean’s preferred cologne.  It carries notes of bergamot, petitgrain, galbanum, tarragon, carnation, iris, jasmine, orange blossom, clove, leather, patchouli, sandalwood, vetiver, musk and vanilla. 3. Finally, Royce received a bottle of Chanel Pour Monsieur for his sixteenth birthday and tended to wear it on special occasions.  Scent notes include verbena, neroli, orange, cardamom, coriander, basil, ginger, oakmoss and cedar.

[santi-u]

[ bie thassapak hsu, demi-man, he/they ] Look who just landed! SANTI AMARIN-ZHAO, I sure hope you packed all you need. Perhaps you’re not worried as the CEO of X ACADEMY. The city has plenty of spots for a 29 year old SIGHIR like you. You’ll be known in the city soon enough as THE PEACEMAKER, being CHARISMATIC and INSTIGNANT. 

❯ tags — interview — bio — headcanons — wanted connections & plots

OOC Information

Fayn / PST (Vancouver, Seattle, Los Angeles) /  They/Them 

Muse: Santi Amarin-Zhao 

Tagging System: here

Interview: here

Muse’s Statistics

Full Name: Santi Amarin-Zhao | สันติ อมรินทร์ | 兆三緹

Nickname: Silk / Xiao Ti (小緹) / Titty (lmao)

Date of Birth: 28 May 2376

Gender: Demi-Man

Pronouns: He/They

Sexual Orientation: Queer

Romantic Orientation: …Ask him when he’s drunk. (Queer)

Current Age: 29

Modification: Sighir (Classified) Human :)

Affiliation: X Academy

Birthplace: New Jakarta

Current Neighbourhood: Sora

Occupation: CEO of X Academy, Philanthropist, Insider Threat, Dog Papa :)

Known Languages: English, Thai, Mandarin Chinese, Japanese, Bahasa

Appearance

Faceclaim: Bie Thassapak Hsu

Height: 6'0"

Eye Colour: Dark brown, almost black

Hair Colour: Naturally black, tends to dye it dark, reddish brown 

Clothing Style: Has an extensive suit collection, surprisingly only a fraction of which are custom tailored. Wears more eccentric and femme-leaning blazer choices when feeling up to it. Tends to wear layers and long sleeves even during warm weather. Wears a hat to disguise himself in the Slums. Occasionally wears glasses.

Jewelry:  Watch he inherited from a mentor. Occasionally wears a bracelet and necklace with no real sentimental meaning, just only for the vibe. 

Tattoos: N/A

Marks/Scars: An innumerable amount of scars all over his body, even his face, as a result of testing done on him. They’ve all healed nearly perfectly thanks to his Sighir powers, and as a result, they’re nearly imperceptible / basically invisible unless you know what you’re looking for and are literally up in his business. He doesn't usually let anyone get that close, physically or emotionally.

Modifications: N/A

Scent/Fragrance: Tom Ford Ébène Fumé — overall woody and smoky; has notes of incense, palo santo, black pepper, violet leaf, leather, and labdanum

Personality

Positive Traits: Charismatic, compassionate, loyal

Neutral Traits: Guarded, resourceful, analytical

Negative Traits: Hyperindependent, manipulative, self-destructive

Peeves: His lunch getting double booked, expense reports, interviews, people who pet Khoi without asking Khoi if he’d like to be pet, people who don’t respect nature

Fears: A particular part of the city he now avoids going to at all costs; locked, windowless rooms; his parents; vulnerability

Skills: Partnership management, B2B commerce, research design, organizational management, public speaking, tying the perfect tie in one shot, being able to tell what kind of spices were used in a dish, inhuman-like terrifyingly high pain tolerance

Goals: Autonomy and control over his own fate

Favourites

Likes: His black golden retriever (Khoi), a tasteful accent pocket square, street food, boba, bugs (butterflies in particular), a certain Overseer :)

Dislikes: The smell of antiseptic, stainless steel furniture and decor, loss of control 

Hobbies: Cooking, going out to Bartori or the Marwar Market in disguise to eat street food

Habits: Sleep talking, overworking, checking the app on his phone to make sure Khoi is okay at home

One Cherished Item: The chrysalis of a butterfly he helped raise in secret from a caterpillar when he was a child

Biography

UNN's Class of 2405: 30 Under 30 Interview with Santi Amarin-Zhao, CEO of X Academy

Date: September 12, 2404 Time: 13:57 PM NJT Location: X HQ, Santi’s Office

The interview takes place in the sleek, ultra-modern headquarters of X Academy, a towering structure that dominates the skyline of New Jakarta. The office is a blend of glass and metal, with a panoramic view of the sprawling city below. Santi sits behind a minimalist desk, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp, betraying the meticulous mind behind the polished exterior. The interviewer, an experienced journalist from the United News Network, is acutely aware that this is more than just a profile piece—it’s an opportunity to peel back the layers of one of Mars' most enigmatic young leaders.

Interviewer: "Santi Amarin-Zhao, thank you for joining us today. It's not every day that we get to sit down with one of the youngest CEOs in New Jakarta's history. Let's start from the beginning—being born and raised on Mars is still not an everyday occurrence, and especially not nearly three decades ago. How has your upbringing shaped the leader you are today?"

Santi offers a warm smile, the kind that has won him the admiration from many of the million citizens of New Jakarta, but behind that smile is a carefully crafted persona. He knows exactly how to play this role, the heir to a legacy of power and innovation.

Santi: "Thank you for having me. My upbringing was nothing short of a privilege, and I recognize that every day. My mother's side was instrumental in the initial colonization efforts, and my father's side were some of the original Braax mine owners. Their combined legacy is something I take very seriously. Growing up, I was always taught that with great power comes great responsibility—not just to my family, but to the people of New Jakarta."

As he speaks, Santi’s thoughts drift momentarily to his childhood, where lessons were taught not in classrooms, but in boardrooms. His mother, a brilliant scientist, would often take him to meetings where breakthroughs in Martian terraforming and mineral research were discussed, while his father, a shrewd businessman, exposed him to the intricacies of corporate strategy. From a young age, Santi learned that every action, every word, was a move in a larger game—a game he was expected to win.

Interviewer: "That's a powerful ethos to live by. Many would say that you were born into success, but you've clearly worked hard to maintain and build upon that legacy. What drives you to keep pushing forward, especially in such a high-stakes environment?"

As the interviewer asks this, Santi leans back slightly, as if contemplating the question. The truth is, the drive to push forward comes not from ambition alone, but from a deeper, almost primal need to assert control over a life that has always been orchestrated by others. But that’s not something he can admit out loud.

Santi: "You know, it's easy for people to assume that everything was handed to me on a silver platter, but the reality is far more complex. Yes, I had opportunities that others might not, but I was also held to incredibly high standards. From a young age, I was taught the importance of hard work, and that success is not just about what you achieve, but how you achieve it. I’ve always believed in leading by example, which is why I make it a point to be in the trenches with my team, whether it's working late nights on a project or navigating the complexities of our latest research initiatives."

He recalls the countless nights spent in the labs of X Academy, not because he needed to be there, but because he wanted to understand every aspect of the institution he would one day lead. He wasn’t just a figurehead—he was determined to know the ins and outs of every department, every project. The long hours weren’t just about work; they were about proving, perhaps to himself more than anyone else, that he was worthy of the legacy he was born into.

Interviewer: "It's clear that your work ethic is something you take pride in. Let's talk about X Academy. Under your leadership, it's become a beacon of hope for many in New Jakarta, especially with the rising tensions in the city. How do you balance the pressures of being a public figure with the responsibilities of running such a pivotal institution?"

Santi’s expression shifts subtly—a flicker of something deeper, darker. He knows that the public sees him as a beacon of hope, a leader who can unite the fractured city. But the truth is, the very tensions they hope he will resolve are often of his own making. He is both the architect of chaos and the one who brings order, a duality that he keeps hidden beneath layers of charm and calculated sincerity.

Santi: "Balancing those pressures is definitely a challenge, but it's one I embrace. X Academy was founded with the goal of advancing scientific research for the betterment of all Martian citizens, and that mission is something I take to heart. At the same time, I understand the power of public perception. People are looking for someone to believe in, especially now, and I’m grateful that they see me as that figure. However, it’s not just about what I can do as a leader, but what we can achieve together as a community. Creating opportunities for all, committing to public good—these are not just slogans, but guiding principles in everything I do."

He remembers the latest crisis he orchestrated in the Akumu Slums—a small piece of information, leaked at just the right time, setting off a chain of events that sent shockwaves through the city. It was a dangerous game, one that could easily spiral out of control, but Santi thrives on the thrill of it. The chaos serves a purpose; it keeps people looking to him for solutions, reinforcing his role as the indispensable leader.

Interviewer: "You've been dubbed 'The Peacemaker' by some, yet New Jakarta is far from peaceful, if we must be honest. How do you reconcile this title with the realities of the city?"

Santi knows this question is coming, and he’s prepared. The irony of the title isn’t lost on him—it’s part of the persona he’s carefully cultivated. He is the Peacemaker, but peace, as he defines it, is a tool, a means to an end. True peace would leave him with nothing to control, nothing to fix, and that’s a reality he’s not ready to face.

Santi: "The title 'Peacemaker' is both a compliment and a burden. Peace is not just the absence of conflict but the presence of justice and opportunity. It’s no secret that New Jakarta faces many challenges, from economic disparities to social unrest. But these challenges also present opportunities for growth and innovation. My job is to navigate these complexities and find solutions that benefit the city as a whole. Sometimes, that means making difficult decisions that aren't immediately popular, but I always have the long-term prosperity of New Jakarta in mind."

As he speaks, his mind wanders to the many nights he spent alone in his office, staring out over the city. From this vantage point, he could see everything—the glittering towers of the elite, the sprawling slums below. It was all part of a grand design, one he was orchestrating from behind the scenes. Every conflict, every resolution, was a step towards a future only he could envision.

Interviewer: "There's a lot of talk about the criminal underworld in New Jakarta, particularly in the Akumu Slums. How does X Academy fit into this picture, and what steps are you taking to ensure that your initiatives aren't just a band-aid on a larger issue?"

Santi’s smile doesn’t falter, but inside, he feels a spark of satisfaction. The criminal underworld is a complex web, one that he’s intimately familiar with. He’s not just aware of it—he’s a part of it, a shadowy figure pulling strings from the comfort of his high-rise office. But that’s a truth he’ll take to his grave.

Santi: "The situation in the Akumu Slums is one of the most pressing issues we face, and it’s something I’m deeply concerned about. X Academy's role is to provide education and resources that empower people to create better lives for themselves, but we can’t do it alone. That’s why I’ve been working closely with the Overseers and other city leaders to address the root causes of these problems. It’s not just about education; it’s about creating a sustainable ecosystem where everyone has the opportunity to thrive. As for the criminal circuit—let's just say, we're keeping a close eye on things and doing everything we can to ensure that X Academy’s work is part of the solution, not part of the problem."

He remembers the recent heist at one of X Academy’s facilities, a heist that the public believed was a tragedy. What they didn’t know was that Santi had orchestrated the entire event, leaking the location of the facility to a rival faction in the slums. It was all part of a larger plan, one that would ultimately strengthen his grip on the city. The stolen research was never meant to be used—it was a decoy, a test of loyalty and competence for those who would carry out his orders.

Interviewer: "Lastly, with everything you've accomplished so far, what does the future hold for you and X Academy? How do you plan to continue your family's legacy while also making your own mark?"

Santi pauses, considering his response carefully. The future is something he thinks about often, but not in the way most people do. For him, the future is a canvas, one that he can shape and mold to his liking. His family’s legacy is the foundation, but the empire he’s building will be his own.

Santi: "The future is bright, but it’s also uncertain—and that’s what makes it exciting. My family’s legacy is something I’m incredibly proud of, but I’m also focused on carving out my own path. For X Academy, that means continuing to push the boundaries of scientific research and making sure that our work has a real, tangible impact on the lives of the people of New Jakarta. Personally, I’m committed to staying grounded, to listening to the needs of the community, and to never losing sight of the values that brought me here. My goal is to make sure that when people think of X Academy, they don’t just think of a name—they think of a force for good that is changing the world for the better."

As he finishes, Santi glances out the window, his mind already racing with the next steps in his plan. The interviewer thanks him for his time, and Santi responds graciously, but his thoughts are elsewhere. The interview is just another move in the game, another step in a carefully plotted journey that only he knows the destination of.

Interviewer: "Thank you, Santi. It’s been a pleasure speaking with you, and we’re all looking forward to seeing what you accomplish next."

Santi: "The pleasure’s all mine. Thank you for the opportunity to share my story."

As the interviewer leaves, Santi sits back in his chair, allowing himself a rare moment of introspection. He’s come so far, but there’s still so much to do. The city of New Jakarta is a complex machine, and he’s the one turning the gears. The future he envisions is one of power, control, and legacy—his legacy, not just his family’s. And he won’t stop until every piece of the puzzle falls into place.

End of interview.

[shelby-love]

SIRIUS BLACK

A little Bit of Amortentia

Requested: yes

Prompts: none

Warning(s): none this is a certified fluff piece (2.3K words)

Author’s note: I had so much fun writing this! Harry Potter is such a great world, and I’d love to explore more of it. Requests for HP are OPEN!!

P.S for everyone wondering Remus is actually my favorite out of the Marauders

~

"Well I still think you're missing out," Lilly stated after a long rant and because of how sweet she was, she had decided to stop her mouth right at that sentence.

You only laughed lightly, pushing through the student body with Lily Evans hot on your robe. "Sneaking out to Hogsmeade is something I'm fine with missing out on."

She shook her head, determination settling hard in her brow. "That's beside the point."

"Then what is the point?" You asked, hugging your textbook closer to your chest. When you noticed that the auburn-haired girl was no longer by your side you bunched your brows together and turned around. "Lily? Lily, what are you doing?"

Her eyes were wide, bright green eyes blazing at you. "You seriously have no idea?"

You had idea of course. So much so that you felt embarrassed by the mere thought of it…

Him.

"Come Lily. We're late for Potions."

She shook her head and followed you reluctantly, only because she knew that your professor would surely be disappointed if you two showed up late. Lily and you were after all, Horace Slughorn's favorite students.

"This isn't over," She mumbled.

Perhaps for her it wasn't. Lily Evans tended to see the best in all people. It was the good in her that made her give in to James Potter little after Christmas this year after hating him her entire schooling at Hogwarts.

"He matured a lot," she would tell you, and while that might have been true for James it surely wasn't true for the boy you laid your desires upon.

Sirius Black.

Either he was purposely ignoring you, or he really was a dimwit.

***

"Amortentia is the most powerful love potion in the world. It is distinctive for its mother-of-pearl sheen, and steam rises from the potion in spirals." Horace Slughorn informed, keeping a safe distance from the steaming love potion. The rest of the girls in the class not so much. Each of them neared the potion little by little with a boy in mind. Lily and you both shared the same thoughts as those love-obsessed girls – only you didn't show it. Despite having boys in mind, Lily and you stood put.

"Lily, dear, how about you come here and tell us what you smell?"

You hard-pressed your shoulder against hers as she smiled shyly, obvious to what she was going to smell. James Potter stood at the other end of the assembly of students, looking at his lovely girlfriend with pure adornment.

For a second, they had you wondering if you could ever find love like that.

"Do you know why I asked Lily to tell us what she smells?" Horace asked, sending you a look that had a simple meaning.

"Because the potion is supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts us…" You answered quickly, just like he wanted you to.

"Marvelous Y/N. Good job," Slughorn praised you whilst ushering Lily to tell you all what she smelt. From the corner of your eye you managed to catch James' sly smirk as his eyes darted from you, to his very uninterested friend.

Sirius Black.

You swallowed, focusing your eyes on your best friend that stood in front of the potion, holding her hair so it doesn’t fall into the potion with a face as red as a tomato. "Vanilla, freshly cut oranges and –"

He cheeks flamed even more if that was even possible. She dashed away from the love potion and stood back next to you without revealing the third thing, although everyone knew already. James was grinning like an idiot. "What was the third smell?"

She shyly turned her mouth to your ear, "James' quidditch uniform."

You laughed out loud before Lily shushed you down frantically.

It was all fun and games until Horace called out for you, "Y/N would you mind telling us what you smell? Don't be shy now, come."  

A part of you wanted to say "Yes, professor I would mind." but the other more rational, and smarter part of you had tied your hands behind your back in defeat. Lily gave you a push and sooner than later you found yourself standing over the love potion.

"I-I smell…" You inhaled slowly, the potion's fumes filling you up. Several different scents found their way into your nostrils, making you have a hard time deciphering them because of the sensual overdrive they gave you. "Roses…the smell of sea and-"

"Oh no," you mumbled, barely audible for everyone but yourself.

"Was there something you wanted to say dear?" Horace asked, having heard your mumbling barely.

"No…I um, smell petrichor," You stated somewhat awkwardly but very, very quickly. "You know, um, when the r-rain hits the ground…"

"Ah, yes," realization dawned upon your professor. "A lovely smell. A lovely smell indeed. Very well, miss Y/LN thank you. You may go back to your place."

Lily Evans waited for you, beaming, "Mind telling me what the third smell was?"

"Shut it Lily."

"But I told you mine!"

***

You glanced at the sign above the pink looking door and sighed. Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, it said. You had known about this small tea shop that was located on a side road off the High Street in Hogsmeade Village even before you had arrived at Hogwarts. A boy from Hufflepuff had taken you there on a date once, sometime during your fifth year. It wasn't an especially pleasant memory, being cramped and surrounded by snogging couples at only 15 with a boy you didn't particularly like that way. Nevertheless, it had happened, and there was nothing you could do about the lingering memory.

The overall cute place was owned by Madam Puddifoot; the same woman who dearly welcomed you in the moment you stepped through the door.

You hoped to spot Lily there, after all that's why you were there. When the front of your little notebook changed under the influence of the Protean charm, you knew it was Lily instantly. While the Marauders had their own tricks, maps and such, Lily and you had thought of something far more practical. It would do you good, the charm, as it was expected to be known by every student that wants to take the N.E.W.T.

A win-win situation that was.

But although Lily Evans was nowhere to be seen, you still decided to sit down, trusting her not to pull any tricks on you. Save for the snowy weather, your day has been good so far and you didn’t want anyone to disrupt it.

Cautiously, you sat down and leaned against the plush sofa, discarding your scarf and coat along the way.

"What can I get ya lovely?" A sweet woman asked, hearts practically swimming within her irises. A pale pink apron with daisies was secured tightly around her waist, dolling her up prettily.

"I actually won't be staying, I'm waiting for-" You started, although you were sure in the fact you were going to have to buy gilly water at the very least. Even waiting comes at a price here.

But that didn't seem to be the case as the bells jingle and a dark figure waltzes through. The ladies' man, a member of the Marauders that had the most beautiful features pursued by impeccable dark hair and grey eyes walked in without a care in the world. Sirius didn't know it, but he had your toes curling every time.

You immidiately glanced around the cute shop, seeing nothing but loving couples.

No lone girl in the shop save for you.

Realization struck you in the gut and you swallowed, wanting now more than ever to disappear into a hole…or turn into a little bird and fly away.

His eyes swept across the stuffed shop, getting attention of several girls who were obviously there on a date. Boys exchanged distasteful glances between themselves, sensing Sirius to be an equal competitor that could easily give them a run for their money. "Y/N?"

You dared to say his voice softened upon seeing you. "Sirius."

Sirius' smile widened teasingly. It looked like the smile he would give his best of friends.

But you didn't want that. Not that you would tell him that.

He glanced around the shop once again before slipping into the free chair opposite of you. Without a care in the world, he stripped his snowy coat off his shoulders, his muscles tensing under the movements.

You swallowed.

"I'll have some butterbeer thank you," Sirius said, pulling out a generous amount of sickles for the waiting waitress you forgot was even standing there.

"And the lovely lady?" She mused, giving you a wink.

"Pumkin juice." You choke out.

Like a real gentleman, Sirius halted your attempt to pay for your drink with a raised hand and a wink.

Why does everyone keep winking?

You shook your head at the rogue thought.

"4 sickles young lad."

Sirius handed her the coins and she disappeared, leaving a trail of literal hearts whisking underneath her steps. "Talk about exaggeration."

Sirius' low chuckle at your random comment had you flustered immediately.

"So –" You both voiced at the same time.

"No, you first." You said quickly, brushing some misplaced strands of hair out of the way.

"You can go fi-"

You gave Serius the look you would usually give Remus and James many times on many different occasions; the one that said not to argue with you. Only this time it felt like a completely different look. It intrigued the stubborn boy even more; dragging him deeper into the pit of feelings he had for you.

"Fine," he said, casually twining his fingers atop the table. "I have a question."

"Um…o-kay."

He smiled at your nervousness and decided at that moment to just blurt out the question that's been nagging him since it happened. "What did you smell during potions yesterday?"

"Y-you mean when I smelled the Amortentia?" The strongest love potion ever created that had the ability to reveal ones biggest attractions with a simple sniff. “That potion?”

"Mhmm," he said. "If you tell me what you smelled, I'll tell you what I smelled."

"You must be bloody joking," You exclaimed. Almost everyone knew that you smelled someone. Not just the rain and roses. Someone.

Unlike with Lily, they had no idea who it was.

No one knew save for Lily who probably told James.

Who probably told Remus?

Remus, Peter…

Sirius.

A million thoughts raced through your head. What at first was a blind date will turn out to be the biggest prank the Marauders ever pulled on someone. The biggest prank in Marauders history. You were sure of it.

"I-I should go," you muttered, grabbing your bag and coat in a haste to get out.

Sirius' eyes went wide in alarm, "What are you doing, Y/N? Where are you going?"

"Away from you," You said sternly. "I don't plan on being your new plaything so just leave me alone."

"Woah, woah, woah. Why would you think that?" He asked with what looked like genuine confusion as he held your hands in a vise grip to stop you from leaving.

"B-because…" Words stopped coming once you realized.

Telling him the reason behind it would ruin everything.

"Because you like me?"

You stared at him in shock, eyes widened to the size of a quidditch snitch. No, a bludger. "I don't know what to say to that."

Sirius outright laughed at you and your attempt to conceal what you both already knew, "Look…"

You swallowed.

"I like you too Y/N."

"I know, so let's just forget this ever happen- Wait what did you just say?"

The two of you were, unbeknownst to you in that moment, holding hands atop the cute table, looking like a real couple at that moment to anyone who walked into the shop.

"I like you," He repeated slowly, more audibly for you to comprehend this time. "I know I've been a…"

"Bully," You butted in quickly.

"No I wasn't!"

"Severus begs to differ," You reminded.

"Whatever," Sirius brushed you off, tightening his hold on your two hands. Warmth seemed to come off him in waves, making it all the more comfortable to be in his hold. No wonder girls fawned around him. "What I'm trying to say is – the four of us were idiots, and you were the girl I thought I didn't deserve."

You almost melted.

"So, when I saw what James has with Lily," He confessed. "I wanted that…but with you."

"So why didn't you come up to me?"

"Thought you'd reject me," He said quickly.

"True."

The way he looked at you had you tumbling down your brain for word, "B-but you've changed… And I like you too Sirius."

"I'd like to take you out somewhere else," Sirius proposed. "If you'd have me."

"Of course," You smiled, for the first time freely. "I'd like that very much."

Never in a million years would you have guessed this would be happening; Sirius standing behind you, helping you with your coat…

And holding your hand on the way out.

"You still didn't tell me."

“Tell you what?”

"What you smelled in the Amortentia."

The question didn't sound so attacking as it did 10 minutes ago, and you felt like you could answer it with more ease. "You really want to know?"

"Yes, I would like that very much."

"Fine," You stopped somewhere in the middle of the square, feeling quite brave and bold. "You."

He didn't look surprised, maybe relieved more than surprised. The relief shone in his grey eyes, you could see it. His long black hair blew against the wind that swept through Hogsmeade in a wildly matter. Sirius seemed closer now more than ever as he gazed into your eyes. Whilst you probably looked crazy in the cold wind, the weather only seemed to compliment the once a big troublemaker before you.

"Good."

You creased your brows, "You didn't tell me what you smelled."

Sirius chuckled, "You of course."

Pleased with his answer, you let him do something you've been dreaming about for quite some time.

He kissed you.

The kiss felt electrical, making your body go haywire. Sparks, as cliché as they sound, they were there, present from the moment the kiss started and until it ended. Sirius had his warm hand against your cold cheek, bringing you closer than ever before.

You hadn't shared this with any other boy save for the one you were with right now.

You didn't have what Lily and James did because their love was theirs and theirs only.

Sirius and you will build a love of your own. Something characteristic to you two only. Here in Hogsmeade, or wherever in the world. A long life was ahead of you and you, now more than ever, felt like you could do anything.

Even pass the N.E.W.T.

~

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MASTERLIST

[corferox]

* what do you think my muse smells like ?  •  accepting !

@spiritmaiden​ : ooooooo ooh! for post calamity, depending on what he cooks maybe he has small bits of the scent of whatever spices he used in a dish? :0

YES this is so accurate honestly ! goron spice is the new old spice, let’s be real. & then he also just carries it & a bunch of herbs freely in his pack too before he cooks it ? boy probably smells like a musty hodge - podge. love that for him.

@somnium-led​ : Pre-calamity, I think your Link would have smelled a little like how I imagine Zelda would have smelled — a bit like lavender and lily, with maybe hint of vanilla o: Post-calamity, I think he'd smell like lemongrass, and the lavender would remain :]

LIKE HOW ZELDA WOULD HAVE SMELLED. i cry. that’s such a soft scent, i love it. & then the inclusion of lemongrass ? i’m chicken tender & obsessed, this is so s o f t.

@albrich​ : link smells like : sword metal, grass, wheat, the pervasive tang of stasis lingering at the back of your throat that's something bittersweet and cloying

the pervasive tang of stasis. YOU GET MEEEE. between the weaponry & the sheikah runes, i definitely imagine he has sort of a lingering metallic-y scent. very unique.

@wordhost​ : pre calamity: silent princesses, freshly clipped grass. post calamity: petrichor and the aftermath of whatever he's been cooking

i love all of these ones that include his cooking because i imagine that is DEFINITELY a big contributor to how he smells, but since he cooks so many different things it’s kinda hard to pin down the specific scent. then all the natural scents you included ? i love this so much.

@bransles​ : i think he'd smell like sweat and dirt, but like. in a good way. i like to think the scent of the mountains would cling to him, too. link just smells like. wilderness. and its a very earthly kind of smell. as if he were one of the plants himself if u feel

YESSS YES YES. link just smells like the wilderness / as if he were one of the plants himself. i’m gonna weep this is so good. you hit the nail right on the head, good lordy. the places he travels clinging to him too is so big brain. gosh he really does probably smell like SO MUCH & it probably changes day by day too. m a n.

@luxdea​ :  you know that metallic scent that lingers after you hold metal for too long or keep it on your person? pre-calamity i think he smells like that, maybe with a hint of burning from sparks made from weapons hitting each other or other people's armor. i think when he starts travelling with zelda after becoming her knight, he smells like grass, and it lingers but it's so faint that you would have to get close to him to notice. zelda tends to notice that before the metallic scent, because she's always so close to him. post-calamity i think it almost flips. the metallic scent is the fainter one. he constantly smells like grass and sweet flowers but the smoky scent from a cooking pot overpowers them all, lingers in his skin and his hair. combined he smells like a campfire, wood burning outside in the summertime

PRINCE. THIS MADE ME WEEPY. the way it inverses pre & post calamity ?? the way him becoming zelda’s knight & traveling with her causes him to shift, somewhat ? i definitely think the way link smells changes a lot over the course of botw’s timeline. it paints the story of his development, & i think you described that story so so so well. aughh i’m gonna be thinking about this for a while.

——

honestly, i want to print all of these asks out & eat them DFLAKJSDKLFJ they’re all so good & paint so many unique pictures that i think are all true to my link in different ways & at different points in time. thank you all so much for sending me stuff <3

[rubiesintherough]

(( @residualed​​ sent --- answer all of the rough childhood questions for your muse with the most childhood trauma!! ))

( tw’s for trauma, child abuse, child neglect, violence toward children, death, and selfharm mentions )

oh, oof.... okay, here we go. hard to choose, but i think imma go with... melody

does your muse blame themselves for their trauma?

hard to answer, because both yes and no... she realizes that her parents were just pieces of shit who would’ve done all those things to her regardless of how she acted, but --- caused mostly by the fact they kept telling her this directly to her face --- there is a part of her who wonders if she was the one responsible for it... who wonders if, maybe if she’d been quieter, more polite, more obedient, they wouldn’t have hurt her. At least, not to the extent they did. 

does your muse suffer with nightmares of their trauma?

sometimes... for her, it usually only happens if she’s already really stressed out or upset when falling asleep, then her brain plucks those traumatic memories up and drops them back in the forefront. 

what triggers does your muse have from their childhood?

anyone grabbing her by the chin, no matter their intentions... she will go absolutely feral, resorting to anything, even biting, to get away.  Same thing goes for someone grabbing for her hands / arms. Similar reaction, she’ll twist, pinch, scratch, whatever it takes to get them to let go, no matter what intention they had in doing it. Also, the smell of burning or burnt food is a trigger and will immediately make her feel like throwing up. People being angry at her... but, she’ll also go out of her way to push other people’s buttons, because the feeling of being triggered by someone being genuinely furious at her, that adrenaline fear, is a feeling she... likes isn’t a good word for it, but it’s the closest I can think of right now. It’s a rush. It allows her to be angry back. It’s a familiar feeling, no matter how bad it feels overall, it validates her belief that people are awful, that her trauma is real, and it almost gives her permission to let loose and be crueler, ruder, angrier back. 

who in their life was most responsible for your muse’s trauma?

her parents. She rarely met anyone outside of them. 

has your muse ever been officially diagnosed with ptsd, c-ptsd?

nope. Needless to say, her parents weren’t very invested in looking after their child’s mental health... 

what was the worst / most traumatic moment in their childhood?

actually, even will all the others in mind, i’m going to say it was the act of  killing her parents. It’s not something she regrets, and she feels it was fully justified... but it was still an extremely traumatic event. 

how old was your muse when they realized they had childhood trauma?

probably around 13-14. She didn’t have a word for it, and didn’t fully understand the topic of trauma, but she understood enough to know that her childhood was wrong, and messed up, and that she wasn’t okay because of it. 

how does your muse react to being triggered? ( disassociates, becomes angry, etc. )

anger. Anger is protective. Snapping at other people, driving them away from her, physically lashing out so people keep their distance... it keeps everyone away from her. And, if they’re away from her, they can’t hurt her.    She does also disassociate, but this only tends to happen in moments when she is badly triggered... but, instead of what some disassociation looks like, she doesn’t go quiet, or mentally drift / get a thousand yard stare, she just gets shaky... really shaky, like she’s freezing to death due to how adrenaline hits her. It’s the same thing that happens when she has a panic attack. 

what coping methods  ( healthy or unhealthy )  did your muse learn during their childhood?

see above. Anger is the one she uses most. It’s definitely not healthy in the way she uses it, though... but she doesn’t know any other way.  She will also use physical pain to cope: smashing her hand into a wall, for instance.  And she will destroy things around her to get the anger out, which is especially dangerous, considering the power she has. She won’t just throw things. She will light things up, has destroyed entire concrete columns with a flare of electricity when at her angriest... definitely unhealthy but, again, she doesn’t know any healthy ones. 

does your muse want their abuser(s) to face consequences? Or would they rather forget any of it happened?

they already did. She made sure of it. 

was there anyone who was a shining light for your muse? Ie. was there any adult who they could genuinely rely on / trust?

unfortunately, no. She was rarely allowed to even leave the house aside from school and occasionally visiting her friends’ houses, but that was few and far between. And there was no one in either instance that she trusted enough to tell... especially because her parents had told her, repeatedly, that if she told anyone, they would find out and it wouldn’t end well for her.  Of course, there were teachers or other parents who asked about visible bruises, but Melody explained them away by saying she’d been helping with yardwork, etc. And no one cared enough to look further into it. 

[soyforramen]

Kill Your Boyfriend

“A little girl wants revenge; a real woman moves on while karma does her dirty work for her,” Alice said primly as she set another bowl into the cabinet.

“Did you read that in Reader’s Digest?”  Gladys asked sourly and shifted the steak on her face.  A scowl be more apt, but it would only pull at the skin around her eye, and she’d had more than enough pain for the night.  

She lowered it only for Alice to swoop in and press it further against Gladys face.  This time Gladys did scowl, damn the pain.  With a smug smile, Alice returned to emptying her dishwasher (oh how far she’d come from hand washing dishes in the back of the Wyrm; and yet Gladys hadn’t moved an inch).  If it wasn’t for their shared history - intimate and professional - Gladys would have sucker punched Alice and taken the good silver on her way out.  

“Platitudes are all well and good, but I’d say now’s the time for a reminder as to why men shouldn’t hit women.”

“It’s also a good time for you to think for once,” Alice snapped.  The china dishes let out a scream as she slammed another plate onto the stack.  She reached for a large butcher’s knife and shoved it into the block.  (Eighty, ninety bucks easy for a slab of wood, Gladys thought.  Bougie wood for the bougie, upscale lifestyle Alice had been scheming her way into since kindergarten.)

“If you go after him now -“

Gladys leaned back as the steak knife in Alice’s hand came too close to her face.  She reached out and pushed Alice’s wrist down towards the kitchen island least this problem be solved by an inadvertent stabbing.

“-you're the only suspect,” Alice continued. “Keller will have you in handcuffs and behind bars -“

She held up a hand to keep Gladys quiet.  Instead of saying every dirty little thing she was thinking - about Keller, handcuffs, and Gladys’ past indiscretions with the blonde woman - she let her smirk say it all.

“-and who would look after your son?  His father in the ground, you in the pen.  He’d be in foster care in a day.”

Gladys mused on this, wondering if it was too late in life to start writing country songs.  She sucked on her teeth and winced.  One of the back ones was lose, probably courtesy of when she’d been thrown against the bathroom sink.  God damn FP and his alcoholic fits.  It was one thing for a man to hold his liquor; it was another for him to pour it out onto his wife.

The Cooper kettle screamed (robin’s egg blue, polished and shiny as if it had never been used; 45 easy from Box and Keg, with coupon).  Alice turned her attention towards it and began making the suburban equivalent of a shot of good whiskey.   Gladys would have killed for a shot of anything right now, but PTA, Home & Garden Alice frowned on fun like mixing valium and alcohol.  Serpent Alice would already have three prozac and a tequila sunrise ready for her.  

“So what would you suggest, since stabbing him through the heart is off the table,” Gladys said.  She turned the steak over and sighed at how cool the other side was.

Alice pursed her lips while she loaded the dishwasher full of pots and pans from the earlier family dinner.  The one Gladys had crashed by knocking on the backdoor, blood streaming from her face, her eyes red and clothes torn, a sleeping child cradled in her arms.  Before the in-laws could see, Alice had whisked her upstairs for a change of clothes and first aid.  Gladys didn’t know what had been said, but it wasn’t more than a few minutes before Jughead had been laid down in the crib next to Betty, and she’d been taken downstairs and seated at the island, a hearty slice of apple pie a la mode set in front of her.  

“Stay here a few days.  Let it be known you’re out of the house and you’re not going back.  Spread a few rumors about who F.P.’s been working with,” Alice said.  “Maybe pick up a night shift at Pop’s.”

Her focus was on the caked on grease that defiled her pristine life, but Gladys knew the gears were turning in her head.  Alice always was the schemer, the planner.  She’d had her entire life planned out when reality sunk in that the Smiths weren’t in the same zip code as the Cleavers, let alone the same country.  If one wanted a plan, one that wasn’t necessarily foolproof, but smart enough to fool ninety percent of the population, Alice Smith was that person.

There was one small hitch, though.

“Where am I going to stay in the meantime?  The trailer park’s out, and couch surfing with a two-year old tends to get old real quick.  Especially since most of my friends are more likely to have needles lying around than milk.”

Alice waved off her concerns. “Hal’s going on some retreat, Find Your Inner Masculine Self, or some other insecure ego trip for the next month, so the basement will be free,” Alice said.  She let the water drain out of the sink and picked up two cups of tea.  One she sat in front of Gladys; the other she took with her as she sat down at the island.  “And I could always use some help with the girls.”

It was tempting.  A stable roof over their head and three squares a day.  More than F.P. ever provided them.

“What’s the catch?”

Alice shook her head, a coy smile on her face.  “No catch.  Only …”

Gladys raised an eyebrow.  She set the steak down on the styrofoam container.  “Only?”

“You let me help make F.P. disappear.”

“There a history there I should know about?”

Alice blew on her tea and took a small sip.  Her eyes closed as she savored the flavor.  Gladys’ question hung in the air, unanswered.

xxxx

Dead tired, feet aching, Gladys punched out from her ten hour shift at Pop’s.  It hadn’t been terrible, pretending as if F.P. didn’t exist.  She’d been acting as a single mother for the last year and it was easier when she didn’t have to pick up after him as well.

It was actually quite nice. Or at least, playing house with Alice was.  While they’d both respected each others boundaries, there were plenty of times Gladys wanted to break them, and Alice didn’t make it easy.  Whether it was a rekindling of old flames, or whether it was Gladys’ own complex about people who treated her kindly, it didn’t matter in the end.  Alice was married (ten carrot ring, rose gold, priceless and worthless depending on who you asked), and disgustingly happy about it, and Gladys refused to take that from her.  

She bid Pop’s a good night and stepped out into the humid night air.  Right on time, Alice pulled up to the diner in her eyesore of a wood paneled station wagon (not even worth casing, it was so ugly).  Gladys sunk into the faux leather seats and let her eyes shut, the smell of grease and burnt coffee staying with her even after they’d crossed the railroad tracks.  Tonight, though, Alice took a left instead of a right.

Gladys cracked an eye open and watched the quaint brick work turn into tall, dark pines.  She turned to Alice whose expression never wavered.  

“Al?”

“Do you still want to go through with this?”

Gladys sat up in her chair and stared at Alice.  She didn’t need to ask what she meant.  “Seriously?”

“Dead serious.”

“Alright then.”

Alice pulled off the road just outside of Greendale, the road lit by the light of a hole-in-the-wall bar.  Rows of motorcycles lined the parking lot.  The drunks had spilled out of the double wide building and were lounging around the porch, loud enough to wake the dead.  While they waited for the party to die down, Gladys wondered how much time Alice had spent tracking his movements, how much energy she’d expended on this side project of hers.

Country rock whispered around them, punctuated with the hoots and hollers of men all too eager to spend their meager paychecks on booze and women.

“Why do you care so much?” Gladys asked.  She didn’t expect an answer.

“About him?  Or you?”

Gladys chuckled.  Of course Alice would see right through her.  She always had been able to.

“Both.  Neither.  It’s not like we parted on good terms.  And I didn’t exactly keep up with the Christmas cards.”

Alice pursed her lips, her gaze still laser focused on the horde of people, escaping their own problems.  These were the people they’d been raised with.  In other parts of the country they’d be white-trash, rednecks; here they were blue-collar workers who’d been left behind as corporations moved overseas at the behest of ever growing profits.  They’d been left to fend for themselves among the corpses of dying towns, unwilling to leave behind the lives their father’s had left them.

“There he is,” Alice said.  

She shifted the car into gear and let it idle as F.P. swayed down the ramp and greeted everyone he passed.  Gladys always said he’d be good in politics, if he wasn’t so easily swayed by a shot and an easy fix.  Five minutes later and he was at his bike.  It took him three tries to start it up, and she knew he was at least ten beers in.  He roared out of the parking lot and the station wagon quietly followed behind.

“Now what?” Gladys asked as the darkness enveloped them again.  

Alice was quiet, focused on her prey.  The dashboard light illuminated the cab, casting eerie blue shadows around them.  

“All right, surprise party it is,” Gladys said.  

Bored, she put her shoes up on the dash.  Alice swatted them down.  

“I just had it detailed.”  

Alice took a sharp breath in as the motorcycle came to a slow stop off the road.  The station wagon passed it, and Gladys turned to watch as F.P. staggered to his feet.  They turned right onto an off road, and Alice pulled over to the side.  Calmly, she turned the engine off and stepped out of the vehicle.

The gravel crunched beneath Gladys’ plain white sneakers, loaned to her from Alice’s full closet, as she followed Alice around the car to the trunk.  Gladys let out a low whistle at the sight.  Everything from a crowbar to a battery operated jump starter to an emergency blizzard kit.  Hal Cooper made sure to take care of his wife’s every on-road need.  

Alice reached in, her grey cardigan riding up as she reached for the shovel tucked neatly in the back.  Gladys took it from her and watched as Alice surveyed her options.  After a moment, she picked up a tarp and an axe, the sharp edge gleaming in the brake lights.   It lay naturally in Alice’s hands, another well worn tool in her arsenal of getting what she wanted out of life.

In the red brake lights, Alice looked like a macabre angel of vengeance.  Grey cardigan, black cigarette pants, pearl drop earrings.  She was dressed for a potluck.

It was that moment that Alice’s plan revealed itself, and Gladys couldn’t help but chuckle at its perfection.

Alice Cooper, helicopter mother of the year, had selflessly takin in a childhood friend after she’d been battered.  Caring, kind Alice, who spent two Sundays a month volunteering at the homeless shelter, trying to get her friend back on her feet.  Vicious enforcer of her HOA and PTA rules, Alice would turn in her own mother-in-law for rolling through a stop-sign, had picked up Gladys from work and driven off, presumably to take her back to the picture perfect lifestyle on Elm Street.

How on earth could anyone imagine that she’d let a dangerous person near her family, let alone aid and abet in a murder?

With a smirk reminiscent of the old Alice, the one Gladys would eagerly kill for, they stepped into the woods where F.P. was last seen.

“Let’s go kill your boyfriend.”

[ancientechos]

7, 8, 9 and 12!

30 Uncommon Character Development Questions (closed)

Thank you for the ask @windup-dragoon! Cut for length.

Edit: I’m really sorry, I don’t know why the cut isn’t working. The post shows that there’s a “keep reading” cut when I’m editing it but when it’s posted it’s just...not there. I’m sorry.

7. How does your character perceive themselves? Positive? Negative? Neutral?

Answered here!

8. Are they a quick thinker or do they need time to sort through their thoughts?

Laurelis: Depends on context. Normally she takes her time to think through things. In times of stress she can surprisingly be quite effective, however, at making on-the-fly decisions. With less important decisions, or with things she feels could affect those she loves, she can be very self-doubting which results in extra time.

Brigid: Typically thinks on her feet. She will take a moment to assess the situation and act in the way that seems most appropriate. She does not like dilly-dallying, because she believes it wastes time; however, she can see the wisdom in slowing down in certain times, and she is not impulsive.

Arianna: Takes her time. If she’s not handing off the decision to someone else, she frequently overthinks in an attempt to make sure the outcome is favourable for all involved. In general, after ShB at least, she is decent making decisions that do not seem to have a direct effect on other people. If it feels like she is making decisions that do have a direct effect, however, she hesitates.

9. Does your character dream or are their nights filled with an empty blackness? Describe a dream they’ve had or a night they couldn’t sleep and what they did to preoccupy their time.

Laurelis: Laurelis’ dreams vary wildly. Some are pretty normal everyday things, ones where she wakes up and is confused to be in bed because it had felt so very real. Some are about her friends or loved ones, while others are about people she’s never before met in her life. At times her dreams can become very strange and imaginative. So long as they’re not nightmares, she likes thinking about them when she wakes up.

Brigid: Her dreams are typically pretty mundane. Most of the time she doesn’t remember them, and would tell you she didn’t dream at all. Any nightmares she has are usually of the primals she’s faced in the past, or consist of unpleasant things happening to her family.

Arianna: Often fantastical in nature. Generally, her dreams tend to give her ideas for her stories or various dreamworlds she wanders off to. Occasionally, she (unknowingly) dreams of her past life in Amaurot. She typically doesn’t remember nightmares, though her dreams do sometimes veer into horror, with some concerning the fall of Amaurot (though these are never consciously recalled upon awakening).

12. Describe 5 unusual characteristics your muse has.

Laurelis

Carries rolanberry lassi with her at all times.

G l a m o u r p r i s m s.

Frequently has conversations with her fairy, who is typically quite shy but enjoys hearing her talk.

Very good at discerning the emotional states of others around her; highly empathetic.

Occasionally hums to herself while doing mundane tasks.

Brigid

Knows quite a bit about a lot of different sorts of wood.

Very good at almost anything handsy such as metalwork, handling most weapons, etc.

Can identify most animals by their tracks.

Good at telling apart poisonous and edible plants and mushrooms.

Exceptionally good at telling when someone is lying.

Arianna

Selectively mute.

Can typically identify herbs by look and feel if not simply by smell.

Heavily dislikes cut flowers as gifts or otherwise. If they must be given, potted will suffice.

A people watcher; good at understanding body language.

Keeps an obscene amount of books and journals.

[coffee-obsessed-writer]

The Devil in Disguise, Pt. 3

Dean Winchester x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Dean’s on the run from escaping a prison where a job went south. Sam is in the wind. With nowhere to go and an injured leg, Dean takes refuge in the only place he could find—an old remote cabin. Normally empty for long stretches, Dean happens to stumble in the same day that the cabin’s owner returns. After a rocky first encounter, Dean comes to believe that a distant connection they share could be the thing that saves his life and gets him back to Sam. But will it happen before Y/N’s finance, a prison guard at Green River, finds the secret she’s hiding in the woods?

A/N: The fic was inspired by the song “The Devil’s Backbone” by The Civil Wars. This is part 3 of 5 written for multiple bingo cards that go for both chapters. Set around S2 (Folson Prison Blues). New tag lists are at the end of the fic. I have tag spots open, let me know if you want to jump on or off for SPN (Dean and/or Sam, or RPF for Jensen)

Warnings: (Part Three): Language, Mild angst, Hints of abuse, Drinking, Smut (18+ only)

WC: 5.7K

*Banner created by me. I do not own any of these pictures.

Dean didn’t say much to her for the next couple of hours. After [Y/N] helped set him up in the bathroom so he could take a makeshift shower, he made his way to the kitchen without any assistance, albeit very slow. She tried to help him hobble his way along, but he insisted on doing it himself. Once he was clean and his wound was tended to, she placed down a big bowl of chili and a hunk of cornbread, warmed and oozing with butter. He thanked her and as the fragrant spices filled his nose, his stomach rumbled fiercely. Dean dove in and greedily ate every bite until the bottom of the bowl was so clean it was hard to imagine there was much in it, to begin with.

“I guess it was good?” she asked with a half-amused grin. 

Dean leaned back in the chair and groaned along with the wood. He smiled, satisfied, and patted his stomach. “So good. I feel like I haven’t eaten real food in, well, forever.”

“Can’t imagine your meals at Green River were exactly gourmet. Then, living on soup and protein bars the last couple of days couldn’t have done much for your taste buds…” she trailed off and shrugged, rising from the table and clearing his dish. 

She seemed different, like something in her was changed by the earlier encounter. Despite their close moment after Derek left, Dean felt like she was holding something back; maybe it was the need to cry or just the urge to rage, but even he could feel the shift in her mood without her saying a word about it. 

He sat quietly and watched her move around the kitchen, cleaning dishes, putting away the rest of the food. Silently going about her business, and yet, he could almost see the wheels in her head-turning. His own thoughts kept going to what he overheard while in the closet, but also, to the closet itself. A lock on the outside, sure, why not… but one on the inside could only mean trouble. But, was it trouble for [Y/N] or someone else? Unable to keep his thoughts to himself, Dean leaned forward on the table but didn’t look in her direction at first. “Can I ask you something? And, I don’t mean to pry, but... my curiosity is piqued.”

She stood at the sink, and just when he thought she wouldn’t say anything, [Y/N] turned around and he could already see she knew the questions he wanted to ask. She still didn’t speak, just used her expression to grant permission for him to ask.

“Alright…” he started then turned in the chair and did his best to stand with a bit of weight on his injured leg. He didn’t wobble this time, though held onto the table for support and now that he was secure, his gaze focused on her. “Why is there a lock on the inside of a closet door in your bathroom? What were you trying to hide from?”

[Y/N]’s gaze fell to the old hardwood floor, but that half-amused smile stayed on her lips as she considered her answer. Finally, when she lifted her (y/c) eyes, Dean saw years’ worth of pain and heartache in them. It didn’t make him sad for her, but instead anger at the people who were the cause of it. 

“My father used to hit my mom. She put it in there one day when he wasn’t around so I could have a place to hide if I needed it.” Her reply was so matter-of-fact and calm, that Dean had to take a moment to process what she actually said. 

“He what?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“He hit her, a lot. We lived here for a few years when I was very little. He had been asked to leave his prior parish, so my mom fixed this place up for us to live in until he found a new one. It was her grandfather’s cabin. So, she loved the place and was thrilled to live here for a while.”

“Guessing your dad didn’t care for it,” Dean spat, the words leaving a bad taste in his mouth just as the impression of her father did.

“Nope. Not even a little. He drank, got violent, took all his frustrations out on her. You know how it goes. Eventually, the offer from Green River Baptist came through and here we are. We moved out of here and down into the house adjacent to the church, and she installed one there, too.”

“Did he ever hurt you?” Dean’s question had more of a punch than he intended, which didn’t go unnoticed by her. 

“No. Well, once, but not like he hurt my mother. Once we were moved into the new church, his outrages stopped for the most part. ”

Dean shook his head and inhaled slowly, trying to still the rage he felt towards her father. “Your mom… where is she now?”

“Residing in Green Valley cemetery. Remember I said I had family there?”

“Oh,” Dean replied awkwardly and shifted weight off his bad leg, “yeah…”

“Here, come on,” [Y/N] said, and quickly dried her hands on a dishtowel before moving to help Dean. “Come sit in the living room. There’s a fire going and then I’ll put the kettle on for hot chocolate.”

“Got any booze to throw in there?” Dean asked hopefully.

“I do, but you can’t have any. Not while on those meds. I need you clear-headed as you can be.”

Dean sighed heavily. “Awesome, thanks Nurse Ratchett.”

“Yeah well, you’ll be thanking me should Derek show up again. Cause I guarantee the next time he does, he’ll have a shotgun in hand.”

“Peachy,” he mused and rolled his eyes as he slung an arm around her shoulder as she helped him walk into the living room. 

Once in the living room, she let him go so he could sit on the couch then turned to tend to the fire. That was when he really watched her closely; from the glow of the flames against her face, tracing the lines and curves of her body, right on down her tight jeans to her wool-socked feet. He was so curious about so many things--including how she would look sans the layers of the thermal and flannel she wore--but had no idea whether he should or could even bring himself to ask. She was a stranger to him, but yet, he felt close to her in a way that even surprised him. 

Dean watched every move she made and studied her face as she seemed to be lost in the dancing flames. When she snapped out of it and turned back to him, he didn’t try to look away or pretend he hadn’t been watching her. 

“What?” she asked nervously, “why are you staring at me?”

“Just watching you work the fire,” he replied casually, though they both knew it was much more than that. 

“Ok, weirdo,” she snarked and turned to go into the kitchen. 

“So, can I ask you something else?” Dean called out to her, and when she didn’t respond, he twisted his torso to see her moving about the kitchen. 

She just finished filling the kettle and gently rested it on one of the burners then turned it on. “Ask me whatever you want, Dean. I have no secrets.”

“You got me,” he replied, his wide, toothy grin made her chuckle.

“Other than you… what do you want to know?”

“What the HELL are you doing with that guy?” 

“Derek?”

“Yeah, Derek. Derek is a douchebag.”

“Well aware, thanks.” She continued on making the hot chocolate, and when she retrieved the bottle of rum from the pantry, Dean couldn’t help but smile when he saw her pour a small shot into each mug. 

She was quiet for a while, long enough that the kettle began to whistle and he assumed it was her way of avoiding the question. Dean wouldn’t push her, not when she was doing all she was for him, but he couldn’t take his focus, or his eyes, from her. Nor could he understand how such a beautiful woman, with skills and balls of steel like her, would stay with an overbearing shithead like Derek and that being based on only hearing a few minutes of their lives together. 

[Y/N] came back into the living room a minute later with two steaming mugs that smelled heavenly of chocolate and liquor. 

“If you end up having a reaction to your meds with that shot of rum, it’s your own damn fault,” she said and handed him a mug before sitting on the opposite end of the couch, one leg tucked beneath her. 

Dean smiled smugly and sipped at the piping hot liquid. “I’ll take my chances, thanks.”

She stared into the fire for a beat, and when she finally turned back to him, he realized that she wasn’t just being quiet, she was thinking; most likely trying to phrase her answer to his question.

“I met Derek in high school. My mom had died by then, the incident in the church with Deacon had happened, and I was a wild kid. Summer before sophomore year, I met Derek at church. His family just moved here and my dad set me up on a date with him… a good Christian boy.”

“Oh, I bet that date was gads of fun,” Dean mocked and licked the chocolate from his lips. 

“It was, actually. Derek wasn’t as good of a Christian boy as he pretended to be. We went out drinking at the pits in the woods, and had a great time.”

Dean raised his brow in surprise. “I certainly didn’t expect that answer.”

[Y/N] chuckled but it was flat and sad. “It didn’t last. We dated for two years, and by the time we were about to be seniors, in his head, my father already had us walking down the aisle. The second I graduated, he wanted to marry me off and get rid of me. By then, Derek wasn’t exactly the guy I thought he was and I was so ready for it to be over.”

“So, why are you still with him all these years later?”

She shrugged. “When you are mentally beat down and told you’ll never do better than what you got after so long you start to believe it.”

Dean swallowed hard and felt his teeth grind together in an attempt to bite back words he had no business saying to her. As they sat there in the heavy silence following her words, he was seething in anger that anyone could think of her as anything but wonderful.

“That’s horse shit, you know,” he said softly, raking his teeth over his bottom lip in frustration. 

“Yeah, well… tell that to eighteen year old me who was getting kicked out of her house and forced to live with a guy who I didn’t want to be with, or be homeless.”

“Well okay, but you're clearly not eighteen anymore. You work? Right? Have money… why stay?”

“It’s just not that simple Dean. I wish it were, but it's not. Besides, what do you care? In a few days or two, you’ll be able travel and I will somehow get you back to your brother. Speaking of… I guess we should talk about that. How do you wanna--”

“Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Change the subject. I’m not letting this go, [Y/N]. That guy is a massive dick. I have known plenty of guys like that in my life. Bullies, all of ‘em. Chances are if he hasn’t raised a hand to you yet, he will.”

She raised her brows subtly and didn’t look him in the eyes. He knew what it meant, but didn’t want to press her. Truth was, he didn’t have any right to get into her business, but yet…

“[Y/N], I’m not trying to--”

“I know,” she interrupted, but it was quiet, almost a whisper. 

Dean moved closer to her, ignoring the burst of discomfort it caused in his leg. He left a bit of breathing room, but reached out and placed a hand on the bend of her knee. He waited a moment to see if she would recoil, or react negatively to his touch. She didn’t. 

“No, you don’t know,” he said. “I won’t tell you what to do, but sweetheart, you do not need that guy. Not for a damn thing.”

Her eyes slowly came up to meet his and he could see the conflict brewing in them. Despite the temperature, she gulped down the hot chocolate and placed her mug on the small table beside her. Without saying anything, she got up, Dean’s hand falling back to the couch, and went into the kitchen only to return a moment later with the bottle of rum. She sat down in the same position, only much closer to Dean; close enough that her knee was gently pressing against the side of his thigh.

[Y/N] took a quick pull of the brown liquor and winced as it trickled down her throat. She passed the bottle to Dean, who looked between it and her with uncertainty.

“My very beautiful nurse said it would screw with my meds,” he shrugged, flashed her his most charming smile. 

“She’s an idiot. Get drunk with me, wouldya? Cause honestly, after these last few days I could use it.”

Dean placed his mug of hot chocolate down on the other table and took the bottle from her. The taste of the rum was like heaven on his tongue, but he knew he had to pace himself. She wasn’t wrong about keeping a level, clear head, yet the allure of getting drunk with her was something he didn’t want to pass up, either. After spending the last few days down with an infection and fever, Dean knew he couldn’t be too carefree with his actions. 

Passing the bottle back to her, she took a shot from it, her (y/c) eyes intently watching him. “I don’t want to talk about Derek. Tell me a story, Dean. Tell me about what you and your brother do. What other creatures or monsters have you killed?”

Dean scoffed and stammered a moment before he could formulate an answer. “I--Well… why? Why would you want to hear those stories?”

“Because,” she shrugged and drank from the bottle again before passing it to him, “at least what you’re doing seems important… meaningful. Me… I am a bored soon-to-be housewife who likes to pretend I write important things when really it’s just a bunch of bullshit.”

“I doubt that,” he replied, keeping his green eyes locked with hers as he raised the bottle to his lips. He was feeling the effects of the alcohol quickly; could feel it coursing through his veins and an overwhelming need to touch her rose with it.

“Just tell me a story,” she laughed, “I don’t want to think… I want you to distract me, please?”

“Alright,” Dean nodded and gave her back the bottle. She took a healthy pull from it, placed the cap back on and reached over to leave the bottle on the floor beside the couch. The fire crackled and popped in the background while Dean tried to think of a case to tell her about; one that wouldn’t be too dark or heavy, but he was struggling because they all were like that. She thought what he and Sam did was important, and maybe it was, but it certainly came with a hefty price.

“This one time Sam and I had to join a traveling circus,” he shrugged and felt his heart warm as she broke into a disbelieving smile.

“Seriously? What was going on there?”

“A killer clown, or so we thought. Thanks to a little help from a friend, we found out it wasn’t so much a clown but a rakshasa--”

“A what?!” she snorted, the alcohol clearly affecting her as well as she tried, and failed, to repeat the word. “A rakssha--rakeis--a what?!”

“A rakshasa… a spirit, shapeshifter of sorts that likes to feed on humans. This one had set up shop in a traveling carnival. Passed itself off as a clown, got kids to let it in the house and then would eat one of their parents.”

“Oh,” [Y/N] said, wrinkling her nose in disgust, “gross.”

“Yeah, very,” Dean chuckled, his tongue darting across his lips while looking at her. It was an involuntary response, but he could see her watching him closely now, too, and he didn’t hate it.

“What else, tell me more,” she requested and leaned forward enough that he could see a spark of life returning to her eyes. 

Dean recounted a few other cases he and Sam had worked over the years, keeping them short and sweet, and mostly ones where there was a happy ending. He left out the demon stories or the time when Sam had to put down a woman after he’d fallen for her because she had been bitten and turned into a werewolf. He went more in-depth about the case they worked for Deacon, too, and other times he’d been in their lives. [Y/N] listened attentively, her eyes never leaving his face and the more he talked, the closer she got. 

What felt like hours later, she moved off the couch and once again tended to the fire. From the corner of the room, the CB radio crackled to life again, making both Dean and [Y/N] freeze, then catch the other’s nervous gaze. They waited silently through the unintelligible voice mixed with static, waiting to see if one would make sense; if Dean’s name was the topic of the call or if--

“[Y/N].... you…*static* ...up. Now! Over.”

Dean saw her face fall the minute the voice was clear enough to understand. Her whole body stiffened, a coating of fear mixed with anger taking hold of her expressions and forcing her to walk towards the CB. He realized as she got closer that she still had the fireplace poker in her hand. Even from across the room Dean could see how tightly she was gripping the iron weapon, her knuckles turning a ghostly shade of white.

[Y/N]’s free hand darted out and snatched the handle from its base and gave a quick look over her shoulder. Dean nodded, his way of agreeing to be quiet. She drew in a deep breath and pressed the button. 

“I’m here. Over.”

It took a minute, but the voice came back clearer this time. “What the hell you thinkin’, girl? You better get your ass back to town... *more static* ...ing. Storm’s …. *static* ...for days! Over.”

There was another moment of hesitation on her part before she pressed the button and spoke again. “I’m not a God-damned child. I’ll tell you what I told Derek. I’m fine. I will be back when I am back. Over and out.”

Without hesitation, she turned off the power to the radio and gently placed the handle back in its cradle. [Y/N] stood motionless, still holding the poker with a fierce grip as if she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to use it or not. She finally moved, turned back around to face him and that’s when she noticed the poker in hand. Paying it an absent glance, she gently laid it back on the rack and shook the haunted thoughts from her mind. 

“I don’t wanna tell you what to do, but maybe turning that off isn’t a great idea,” Dean suggested carefully. “It’s kind of our early warning system, you know?”

“You’re right,” she replied, and went back to the radio to switch it back on, then maneuvered a few of the controls so music began to play through the small speaker on the unit. “There, at least that’s better to listen too. And it’ll flash when something’s trying to get through.”

“Who was that?” Dean asked, unable to quell his curiosity. 

“My father. Derek probably left here and went straight there. They’re always conspiring something,” she muttered.

Dean nodded and tried to think of something he could say that would change the sudden change in her demeanor. Seeing how her father’s voice alone affected her, made him just as disgusted as he had been when he saw how Derek’s presence changed her. [Y/N] was a special kind of woman, how she was so mistreated by the men in her life left him baffled and angry.

Before he could think of something to say, she spoke up first as she knelt down by Dean’s injured leg.  “I should check your wound…” 

“You’re just surrounded by douchebags, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” she replied and began to pull up the bottom of the sweatpants when he leaned forward and put his hand on her shoulder. 

“My leg is fine,” he said. “I mean, if you’re just looking for a way to get me to take my pants off, I can think of better ways, sweetheart.” He knew he was being blunt, and while he certainly wouldn’t turn down the mysterious beauty, he was only trying to get her back in that light-hearted, easy-going way she was before the CB had gone off. 

[Y/N] laughed but then caught his gaze, and in it, he saw that maybe his comment wasn’t as laughable to her. 

“Is that so?” she asked and stopped pulling up his pant leg, but didn’t remove her hand from his ankle. He could feel her feather-light touch on his skin and desperately wanted her to touch him everywhere. “And just what way would that be?”

Dean chuckled and needed to decide how far he could, or should try to take this. He was injured, after all, and she was a stranger with two very aggressive men in her life. Getting involved with her in any way was only going to mean trouble. But then she looked at him, challenging his comment with nothing but the tick of her brow and the pout of her lip; subtle, but sexy. He knew there was only one way it could go.

“Well, you could come back up on the couch and let me show you…”

Dean’s heart was pounding, unsure of how she would react. When [Y/N] slowly rose from the floor and stood before him, he sat up straighter on the couch silently praying she would take him up on his offer. Everything in the room seemed to shift at once; the fire popped and hissed as it caught a new log ablaze, the song on the radio ended, the first few notes of Unchained Melody started on some distant AM station, and [Y/N] was slowly removing the flannel she wore over her thermal shirt, and tossing it to where she had been sitting on the couch. 

“You shouldn’t say things like that if you don’t mean it,” she whispered, her expression unreadable, but intense. 

Dean reached out for her hands, pressed his palms into hers, then laced their fingers together before gingerly pulling her forward and gauging her resistance. When she didn’t fight him at all, he continued guiding her closer which forced her to straddle his lap, or she’d fall on top of him. She did so without any hesitation, but hovered over his lap and kept her eyes locked with his. He wished he could read her, get a feel for what exactly she was thinking. Though he had been with plenty of women over the years, she made him nervous; more surprising than that was that he liked it.

“Who says I don’t mean it?” he breathed, more taken with her with every inch closer she came. “If you’re uncomfortable, or you want to--”

“Shut up,” she huffed and leaned into him, her lips pressing to his while his hands released hers and immediately went to her ribs, sliding down to her hips and holding onto her tightly. 

Her lips were soft and sweet and heavily laced with the taste of rum. She kissed him with a tempered need; he could feel her wanting more, just as he did. Yet there was still a hesitancy to how she pressed her mouth to his. Wanting her to feel comfortable, he let her set the pace and happily followed with every step further she took it. [Y/N] sank down lower on his lap, her hands sliding up his chest, towards his neck; her fingers locking together behind it as her thumbs gently rubbed against the sensitive spot behind his ears. 

Dean moaned softly into her kiss and wrapped his arms around her back, slowly lifting the back of her shirt and lacing his fingers together against her skin. She parted his lips with her tongue, her need beginning to overcome the shyness of their first encounter. [Y/N] didn’t stop Dean when his hands moved up her back and unclasped her bra; she didn’t protest when he began to lift the thermal shirt up just enough for him to feel the bottom curves of her breasts. Through all this, she only kissed him deeper. For as much as he wanted her, and as much as he would hate himself should this derail their momentum, Dean pulled back from her suddenly. 

[Y/N] was surprised, her breath coming in short spurts, her hands still clinging to his neck. 

“What? What’s wrong?” she asked, desperately searching his face for a reason. “Is it your leg? Are you in pain? Is it me?”

“No! No, absolutely not… you… you are…” Dean exhaled heavily and licked his bottom lip as his fingers kneaded into her skin and his dark, lustful eyes drank her in, “... you’re perfect. It’s just that, you don’t know me, not really. This… this can stop if you want, I don’t want you to blow up your whole life because of one night.”

“Dean, if I am going to implode my life, I can’t imagine anyone else I would want to do it with. Besides, how is this any different from if we’d met in a bar and had a one night stand? Hm?”

Dean considered her answer and shrugged. “I guess it’s not.”

“It’s not. And right now, I don’t care about anything outside those doors. I just want to feel good. Can you make me feel good?” she whined softly.

“I think I can help you out there,” he smirked, his tongue again running along his bottom lip as he sized her up and imagined the things they could really do if not for his bum leg. “But, huh, I’m not playing at full capacity here, so…” he trailed off with another shrug, but she didn’t miss a beat. 

“Well then I guess it’s up to me then, isn’t it?” she breathed and leaned in to kiss him again. 

Within a minute, Dean pulled off her thermal and her bra with it, her chest bare and glowing in the light of the fire. He trailed his mouth in soft, lingering kisses across her neck and down to her chest, while his hands traced the lines of her skin delicately. He could feel himself getting harder as she moved in the slightest bit against his lap. By the time his mouth had found her nipples and her hands were pressing his face into her chest, he was fully erect and desperate to feel more of her.

[Y/N] must have felt the same because her hands unlocked from his neck and roughly ran down the length of his torso, coming together between her legs, and palming his erection through the thin layer of cotton sweatpants. The moment he felt the pressure of her hand against his dick he inhaled sharply and growled low, relishing in her touch. They continued that way for a minute, kissing and touching and rubbing and grinding deeper, until [Y/N] couldn’t take it anymore. 

She suddenly rose from his lap, quickly unbuttoned her jeans and took them off, tossing them aside with the rest of her clothes. She stood in front of him, slotted perfectly between his knees in only her pink cotton panties. [Y/N] slowly knelt in front of him and ran a finger along the waistband of his pants, carefully peeling them back over his engorged member. She took him in one hand, the flesh on flesh contact causing him to exhale slowly. It was when she brought her mouth to his dick, and lightly kissed the tip did he close his eyes and roll his head back against the couch. Letting her tongue linger on along the shaft, she licked down to his balls before lifting her head and gently removing his pants all the way; taking special care around his wound.

[Y/N] again stood in front of him, but Dean couldn’t wait for her to resume her place on his lap. He gripped his dick and began to massage himself as she watched, and the way she watched made him want her even more. Just as she removed the last piece of clothes, he sat up and with his other hand reached out for her. Neither of them spoke, as he once again guided her on his lap and as she hovered over him, he dragged the tip of his cock through her warm, wet folds and felt himself go weak at the sensation. 

Her breathing became shaky as he continued to pushing and pull himself through her sex, brushing her clit delicately at first. But after a few times, even he couldn’t take the teasing anymore. 

[Y/N] bent her head down into his neck, her teeth nipping at the lobe of his ear as she begged him in a needy whisper, “Please, Dean… don’t make me wait another second.”

He complied, gladly. Dean let go of himself, and grabbed her hips, rocking her in a way that he could slip into her and filled her with the first thrust upwards. She cried out, but not in pain. It was as if the instant euphoric feeling of him inside her needed to be released so she could concentrate on the rush that followed. 

Dean rocked her slowly on his lap, while his mouth toyed with each of her nipples, taking turns lavishing each with attention. His moans were muffled by her chest and he found himself completely lost in how good it felt to be inside her. Her hands were wrapped around him, her nails digging into his back, then his shoulders, pressing him as close to her as she could. Her hips moved in rhythm with his, as her mouth fell open and her eyes closed. 

The sounds of heavy breathing filled the room, muffling the Righteous Brothers pouring from the radio, and even drowning out the sound of the fire. 

“Fuck,” Dean grunted, his lips snarling into a smiling as she moved her body faster when he cursed. He used the pad of his thumb to rub her clit, the instant he touched her there, she whimpered, her whole body melting at his touch. 

“Oh… GOD… fuck, Dean! Feel so good…” she panted, her head rolling back then around so her chin fell to her chest. She was riding him with speed and purpose, the need to climax so great and so close she let go of him to grip the couch for better leverage.

“Damn, baby,” Dean mewed, unsure of how much longer he could go before he would cum. She felt so good on him, and even though that final push towards orgasm was downright euphoric, he didn’t want it to end yet. 

He finally released her clit and grabbed her hips tighter, pushing and pulling her into him as roughly as he could. One last time and he felt her walls flutter and spasming around his cock as her body began to tremble and his name didn’t just fall from her lips, but rang out like church bells, followed by a string of expletives that would easily get her sent to Hell. 

It was all he needed to cum, and though he tried to move her off him before he did, she finally resisted him, intent on taking his release inside her and crashing her lips to his as he did. 

Dean held onto her for dear life, his mouth falling away from hers as he buried his head between her breasts. She held him there and slowed her movements against him, finally coming to a stop and letting her body relax, but still not moving from his lap. He lifted his face to see her, she was sweaty and beautiful, her hair falling around his face, causing some of her features to linger in the shadows of it. He reached up and tucked a hair behind her ear. 

“Well? Feel better?”

[Y/N] absently licked her lips, then revealed and small, impish little grin. “Dunno… I think maybe we should go back to the bedroom and try again. Just so I know for sure…”

“Well I am absolutely good with that, but--”

“But, what?” she asked, an ounce of doubt moving into her eyes. 

“But, as much as I wanna be the romantic guy and carry you in there, I’m gonna need you to help me hobble that way. I do believe you just drained any strength I had left in my leg.”

“Oh,” she said and moved off him, clearly panicked. 

“No… sweetheart… I meant that in a really, really good way. Whatcha say you help me up and we take this back there,” he smirked and nodded towards the bedroom off the kitchen.

“Happily,” she grinned and moved off his lap. 

Standing in front of him, she held out her hand and helped him rise from the couch. The pain in his leg was noticeable, but not nearly as much as it had been before. She left her clothes behind and slung an arm around his waist as he slung his over her shoulder.

“Just one request,” she said as they made their way to the bedroom.

“Anything.”

“This needs to go,” she demanded, tugging at his shirt. “I want to feel all of you this time.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he complied and quickly discarded the shirt he’d been wearing, tossing it behind him, not caring where it landed. “For you sweetheart, anything.”

Everything Tags: @sorenmarie87 // @yallgotkik

SPN Tags: @kazosa // @wings-of-a-raven // @closetspngirl // @idreamofplaid// @screechingartisancashbailiff // @linki-locks11 // @winchesterxfamilybusiness// @spnhollis // @sandlee44 // @stoneyggirl // @clarinette07 // @negans-wife // @deans-baby-momma // @hobby27 // @breereadsthings // @katehuntington // @81mysteriouslyme // @mrswhozeewhatsis // @deathofmissjackson// @lauravic // @aomi-nabi // @akshi8278 // @whereismyangel-damnitdeanshare// @coffeebooksandfandom // @rebelminxy // @22sarah08 // @fictionalabyss// @adoptdontshoppets // @blackcherrywhiskey // @babypieandwhiskey // @maddiepants // @lefthologramdeer // @his-paradox // @unlikelygalaxygiver

[thevalicemultiverse]

Get To Know the Muse(s) -- Alice & Victor

season:  Alice -- early spring; Victor -- late spring

color:  Alice -- blue and red; Victor -- blue

pie:  Alice -- strawberry; Victor -- apple

fruit:  Alice -- strawberries; Victor -- apples

ice cream flavor:  Alice --  strawberry, chocolate, Neapolitan; Victor -- chocolate, Rocky Road, Cookies & Cream

breakfast food:  Alice --  pancakes with syrup; Victor -- French toast and hard-boiled eggs

alcoholic drink: Alice -- Nothing; Victor -- Nothing (neither of them drink)

soda flavor:  Alice --  Dr. Pepper; Victor -- root beer

scent:  Alice -- Floral scents, catnip; Victor -- Tree scents, dog smells

flowers:  Alice -- Roses, lilies; Victor -- daffodils, bluebells

animal:  Alice -- cats, rabbits; Victor -- dogs, butterflies

movie:  Alice -- The Truman Show (I think she’d find the main character relatable, and the whole movie fascinating); Victor -- Ghostbusters (a fun sci-fi/fantasy about busting ghosts! He also likes the sequel and the reboot)

tv show:  Alice -- QI (it’s a show about weird facts and suchlike; right up her alley); Victor -- Castlevania on Netflix (I have personally not seen it, but I’ve heard good things, and it’s about vampires and kick-ass lady magic users and going up against evil -- he’d probably enjoy it)

book: For modern verses, anyway: Alice -- Monstrous Regiment from the Discworld series (she likes and relates to the main cast a lot); Victor -- Dragonsong from the Dragonriders of Pern series (he’s always wanted a pet dragon, and he relates to Menolly more than he thinks he should)

fairy tale: Alice -- Cinderella (she has a whole new appreciation for what the title character went through after Houndsditch -- also the mental image of Bumby getting his eyes pecked out by birds in the appropriate versions); Victor -- Snow White (he can’t help but feel a kinship with the princess who shares his color scheme -- plus he’s sometimes wondered if running off to a house of dwarves in the woods wouldn’t be better for him than his home life)

genre of music:  Alice -- “moody” songs (like with heavy bass beats, dark lyrics, stuff like that), but she’s also fond of parodies; Victor -- classical (especially piano numbers), big musical numbers

genre of movies:  Alice -- fantasy, comedy; Victor -- sci-fi, fantasy

genre of books:  Alice -- fantasy, mystery; Victor -- fantasy, horror

Pick one.

hot or cold: Both prefer hot

juice or soda: Alice prefers juice; Victor is more likely to get a soda

tv or movie: Both would pick movie 

movie or book: Both would pick book

late night talk shows or reality tv: I don’t think they’d like either, but if there was nothing else on, I think they’d pick reality TV -- might be more interesting, should provide plenty of opportunities to mock the television

twitter or instagram: I think both would prefer Instagram; Twitter would provide too many opportunities to annoy them

trees or flowers: Alice prefers flowers; Victor prefers trees

philosophy or psychology: Both are more into philosophy (Alice in particular doesn’t like psychology for what I hope are obvious reasons)

ocean or lake: Both are more familiar with lakes, at least in the real world; the Deluded Depths are fun in Wonderland, though!

water park or amusement park: I think they’d both prefer an amusement park, though one with water rides would be a good compromise

cats or dogs: Alice is a cat person; Victor is a dog person

fresh water or sparkling water: Both prefer fresh water

sugar or honey: In tea, I assume? I’d say both prefer sugar, though they both will eat honey

cookies or candy: Both prefer cookies (though Victor will definitely not say no to candy)

bath or shower: Alice prefers showers; Victor likes baths (even if he’s too long for most bathtubs!)

morning or night: Both tend toward night (even in verses where one of them doesn’t have to be nocturnal)

running or walking: Both like walking (particularly together); both tend to end up running from something at some point. XD

piercings or tattoos: Eh, I can’t see either of them getting either. . .but if it came down to it, I could see both going for a tattoo over piercings.

frozen yogurt or ice cream: Both prefer ice cream, but this doesn’t mean they won’t eat frozen yogurt

vanilla or chocolate: Both prefer chocolate

caramel or butterscotch: Both like caramel

art or music: Alice falls on the art side; Victor falls on the music one (though he’s also an accomplished artist, and Alice likes his music a lot)

t-shirt or button down: Alice is more likely to wear a plain t-shirt; Victor prefers a button-down

text or call: I think both prefer text -- less pressure that way, and Victor in particular finds it easier when he can do a draft or two of what he wants to say

ghosts or aliens: Both prefer ghosts (and are more likely to encounter them everywhere except my Sims game)

Have they ever.

ridden a motorcycle: Depends on the verse, but I’ve stated in the past I like the idea of Secundus!Alice getting her own steampunk motorcycle and roaring through the streets with a mildly-terrified Victor XD Most of the time, though, neither of them have.

stolen something: Again, verse-dependent -- most of the time, I’d say no for both, but the Catch Us!pair probably steal things from their victims, and just for survival purposes, while Londerland Bloodlines!Alice will occasionally pick up “vendor trash” to sell to Fat Larry. (Not so much once she starts getting money from more legit sources, though.)

eaten an entire pizza by themselves: Alice, probably not. Victor, yes. XD (Though it was over an entire night)

made a prank call: I can’t see either of them being the type, so no.

broken a bone: Somehow, neither of them have. Victor is as shocked as anyone about this. (Though he has sprained his ankle.)

fallen asleep during a concert or movie: A concert? Not to both? A movie? Not in theaters, but I can see them maybe falling asleep watching a super-late movie one night at home. (Cute mental image, actually.)

walked out of a movie because it was so bad: I personally think they’d stick it out to give it the MST3K/Rifftrax treatment (quietly) unless it properly offended them. So neither has done so yet, but it’s a possibility.

been on the phone with someone for longer than 2 hours: No, if only because I can’t think of any situation where they would have to be.

dined & dashed: Traditional form? No, neither. But Londerland Bloodlines!Alice has occasionally had to just grab a convenient person to drink from when she was low on blood. Sort of counts?

held a gun: This is verse-dependent -- the vast majority, no. But I’m sure the Catch Us pair have used guns on occasion (if their victim has one to wrestle away, anyway), and Londerland Bloodlines!Alice learned how to shoot to protect herself on the mean streets of L.A.

ding dong ditched: I can’t see either doing this -- except maybe Catch Us!pair, or Londerland Bloodlines!Alice, as some sort of distraction while they do something else. (LB!Alice is a master of Obfuscate, after all. . .)

gone skinny dipping: Nooope for both. Nope no never.

cried during a movie: Yes, though Alice generally hides it a bit better than Victor. She’ll only openly cry if she’s alone, or with people she trusts (generally Victor, add in Victoria, Emily, Lizzie, Bonejangles/Sam, Richard, and Christopher depending on verse).

smuggled food into a movie: Alice would, Victor wouldn’t -- but only because Victor can consistently afford concession prices. And to be honest, he’d probably help Alice smuggle in food if she asked.

lied to get a job: No -- if only because neither of them has ever had to (Victor of course comes from super-rich stock, and Alice generally either has a job given to her/forced on her, or picks something she knows she can get without lying)

practiced lines in front of a mirror: Victor has, for when he has to be Social with his parents -- it doesn’t usually help much, as his anxiety gives no shits about how much he practices. I can’t think of a situation for Alice to do so, but maybe if she needs to rehearse something difficult to say sometime. . .

tried to see how many marshmallows they can stuff in their mouth at once: Not as of this writing, but somehow I think they might at some point XD

been kicked out of somewhere: Yes, though for different reasons -- Alice because she was making a scene while stuck in Wonderland; Victor because his parents were making a scene and he was “collateral damage.” Oh, and I guess Victor was essentially kicked out of Burtonsville in both Forgotten Vows and Secundus. . .and then decided he never wanted to go back anyway

been on a blind date: Does a blind arranged marriage count? Actually, in more modern verses, the two sets of parents WOULD set the kids up on a date without introducing them first, so -- yeah, I guess Victor has. Alice, no. 

ghosted someone: No -- unless you count Alice disappearing from Houndsditch as such in the “Catch Us If You Can” verse. Victor’s probably been ghosted once or twice by women who didn’t wish to continue their acquaintance. Not a pleasant experience.

bragged about something they haven’t done: Victor, no. Alice. . .edge case, as she’ll brag about stuff she’s done in Wonderland, not the real world. Which, considering the stuff she can pull off in Wonderland, I say -- let the woman brag.

said i love you without meaning it: No, neither. Alice only says it when she means it, and Victor has meant it every time he’s said it.

gotten in a fight: Yes to both, though how often depends on the verse. 

fallen asleep on a bus: I can’t see either of them doing it, if only because I don’t think either would ever feel comfortable enough to fall asleep. Too many people and not exactly plush seats are not conducive to rest.

Miscellaneous.

how do they take their tea or coffee:  Alice takes her tea with a couple of spoonfuls of sugar and a quick dash of milk; Victor puts so much sugar and milk into his it can barely be called “tea”

what is their ideal date: Depends on the verse, but a few favorites are going to the park on a picnic (Forgotten Vows and Secundus); either going dancing or staying at home for a private dance party (Cuddlepile); and going to the movies (Londerland Bloodlines). I’d also like for at least one skating date to happen in some verse. XD

what are some of their guilty pleasures: Alice has probably read and enjoyed some romance novels -- it’s a guilty pleasure in the sense of “Lizzie would probably never forgive me for reading these.” XD Victor, depending on the verse, has penny dreadfuls or comic books, which his mother disapproves of but he reads on the sly. He particularly enjoys superheroes and horror stories.

longest they’ve stayed up for: This would be dependent on verse, but I’m sure that both of them have stayed up at least one entire day for some reason at some point

greatest talent: For Victor, it’s definitely his piano skills -- he’s got a nice well of natural ability, and he’s put in the practice to get really good at it. For Alice, it’s storytelling -- she knows how to weave a good yarn, helped a lot by that active imagination of hers!

strange habits: Less “strange” and more “informed by her past trauma,” Alice tends to triple-check every fireplace in her current home to make sure it’s out before going to bed. Yes, it was deliberate arson that took down her family home, but she still gets antsy over leaving flame attended. She also tends to rock on her heels when in deep thought. Victor of course has his tie-pulling and general fidgeting when he’s nervous -- I can’t think of anything off the top of my head that he might have that is stranger.

first job: Alice’s would be her stint at Bumby’s -- she was maid and dogsbody in exchange for her keep and a smidgen of salary. Victor -- well, does helping his father do the books at his fish business count?

can they do a handstand: Alice probably could if she practiced enough, though I don’t know how long she could hold it. Victor could only do it against a wall, and even then he’d probably tip over after a couple of seconds.

can they cook: Yes -- they both have a baseline of “I can make a couple of edible items,” and improve from there. Victor in particular grows to like baking.

do they have allergies: Alice does not, but Victor is allergic to artichokes. Nothing life-threatening, fortunately, but it does result in an itchy rash all over his face and neck if he eats them.

do they believe in love in first sight: Alice never did -- Victor is willing to believe at least in attraction at first sight, thanks to his experiences with Victoria and Emily. He’s not sure about true love, though.

have any special talents: Well, I already mentioned playing piano for Victor, and storytelling for Alice. They’re also both quite good artists! Alice works in pencil, while Victor works in quill pen and ink. Victor is also a MASTER at climbing, thanks to finding that going vertical often helped him get away from his bullies growing up. And I’m sure Alice’s way with sarcastic comments must count too. :p

Tagged by: @hamelinbound

Tagging: Taken me long enough that I’m sure most people I would have tagged have been tagged. Take this as a general “if you want to do it, feel free!”

[megastarstrike]

Playing Detective

@saioumaexchange gift for recipient #77, who asked for “ a hanahaki disease fanfic! like shuichi or kokichi has the disease. or pregame kokichi and shuichi or both????” I was your pinchhitter and im not too familiar with pregame so i just chose to go with hanahaki. hope you enjoy your gift!

CW: kind of graphic imagery? not really but i thought it was worth noting

Kokichi Ouma was not stupid. Sure, there was that one time he bumped straight into a pole after one too many all-nighters, last year when he got sick and refused to visit the nurse until he collapsed in the middle of class, or a few months ago when he was helping Angie with art and accidentally drank out of the paint cup, but he definitely wasn’t stupid.

But after watching his close friend run to the bathroom, he couldn’t help but feel as if he was missing something.

Kokichi stared at the chair in front of him where Shuuichi once sat, twirling the straw in his drink absentmindedly. They had been studying together (and by studying, he meant talking while having books out) when Shuuichi suddenly shot up from his chair and darted to the bathroom without a word. How urgent was his issue if he didn’t so much as excuse himself from the table?

Moments later, Shuuichi returned to his seat and offered him an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that.”

“Wow, do you really think my face is so ugly you had to vomit?” Kokichi said. Tears welled in his eyes. “You’re so mean, Shuuichi! I thought you loved me!”

“I-I didn’t—”

Kokichi dropped his act when Shuuichi burst into a round of coughs. All he could do was bite his tongue and hold the other’s hand, hoping that his presence would be reassurance enough.

Once the coughs stopped, Shuuichi spoke again with his lips pursed and brows furrowed into a painful expression. “I must be getting sick. Don’t worry about me.”

It felt like a lie, but it clearly wasn’t. Was it a half-truth? Or was it not a truth at all?

“Nishishi! I would never worry about you,” Kokichi laughed.

“Ah… right.” He averted his eyes and lowered his head to scan through the textbook in his hands, not noticing that the book was upside-down.

“... You know that was a lie, right?”

Shuuichi gave him a tight smile. “Don’t worry about it, Kokichi.”

Yet Kokichi worried.

*

All the tissues in the classroom had run out despite it not being flu season. People shot Shuuichi pitiful looks. Sounds of retching in the bathroom weren’t uncommon. Everything was suspicious, but perhaps the most suspicious was Shuuichi running out of the classroom with no warning and the teacher letting him do so.

Kokichi frowned.

Shuuichi never missed class if he could help it. If he suddenly ran out of the classroom without even letting the teacher know first, something must be seriously wrong.

He nudged the person to his right. “Pst, Miu, you think Shuuichi’s skipping class?”

Much to his delight, Miu didn’t care enough about the class to ignore someone talking to her. “You really think that weak ass emo has the guts to skip class? You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Then what else do you propose, Miss I-Forgot-My-Invention-To-An-Invention-Fair?”

“Okay, that was one time. Also, where do you think all that vomiting is from, the fucking sky?”

“That was two times and you know it.”

“Ouma, Iruma, please pay attention,” the teacher called, bringing their conversation to a close (though they would continue to kick each other under the table until class ended).

If that wasn’t confirmation that Shuuichi was sick, Kokichi didn’t know what was. Vomiting meant the sickness must be serious, and the sheer amount of tissues he went through meant the symptoms were frequent. He didn’t have any medical training other than two health classes he was forced to take in junior high, but he didn’t need any to know that this illness was taking a toll on his friend.

So Kokichi made preparations.

*

“So you’re telling me you want me to distract Shuuichi while you lockpick and investigate his room, violate his privacy, and find who knows what in there?”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

Maybe Rantarou wasn’t the right person to assist him in morally gray activities, but he was the only person who Kokichi trusted could keep his mouth shut and trusted him back.

“You can’t just, you know, ask Shuuichi what’s wrong?” Rantarou asked.

Kokichi scoffed. “You really think Shuuichi’s gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“Right, good point.” He hummed and tapped his fingers against the wall. “I’ll do it, but if Shuuichi asks me what’s going on, I’m answering honestly.”

“Don’t worry, he’s already used to me snooping around his stuff.”

“For your sake, I hope so.”

And that was the end of that conversation.

*

Shuuichi paused. “Kokichi’s totally going through my room right now, isn’t he?”

Rantarou hesitated but eventually sighed and crossed his arms. “Yeah, sorry for not telling you sooner. Just thought it would be for the greater good.”

“It’s fine. He won’t find anything anyway.”

“... You expected this, didn’t you?”

Shuuichi shot him a weak smile before bursting into another round of coughs.

*

Lockpicking wasn’t the hard part. Kokichi had been doing that since he knew what a lock was. The hard part was Shuuichi being a clever bastard and cleaning his room in anticipation for the inevitable.

Looks like Shuuichi’s learned something from me, Kokichi mused as he shut the door behind him.

The floor, while usually riddled with loose papers and pencils, was cleaner than Kokichi thought a floor could ever be. The blankets on the bed were set in an almost robotic neatness, and the desk was cleared of everything. If Kokichi didn’t know better, he would have assumed the room was abandoned.

But Kokichi had another trick up his sleeve. He unzipped the backpack slumped next to the desk, only to see normal books and school supplies.

His heart fluttered. Shuuichi really knew him well.

Kokichi looked down into the empty trash can nearby and frowned. Trash was only taken out once a week on Sundays. As conscious of himself as he was, there was no way Shuuichi could make it through more than a few days without so much of a tissue in the trash can. So where else would he hide it?

Under the bed. Of course, he would cram it under the bed.

Kokichi took a deep breath, preparing himself to find anything before lifting the mattress the slightest bit.

The smell of dry blood and traces of vomit smacked his nose immediately. Flattened tissue boxes were scattered underneath the bed in a pile of bloodied tissues and flowers. It felt as if he had walked straight into a dumping ground for a hospital, only the dumping ground would be much less disgusting than what was under the bed.

Despite all his instincts screaming at him to set the mattress back down and run away from the horrid smell and sight, Kokichi reached under the bed and took out the cleanest flower he spotted. He turned it over in his hand, frowning at the traces of blood and a faint hint of vomit on the petals.

The original petal color appeared to be a dark purple. Petals were bunched up in the middle and slowly decreased in frequency as it reached the outer edges of the flower. A short, green stem protruded from the flower, though it wasn’t tall enough for him to hold it by the stem.

Judging by the blood and vomit still present on the flower and Shuuichi’s frequent bathroom trips, he had most likely been throwing them up. But why would he be throwing up flowers? What kind of medical condition would warrant that?

As much as he wanted to solve everything without explicit outside help, there was no way Kokichi could identify the flower or the condition online without giving personal information to someone he didn’t trust.

So he stuffed the flower inside his scarf, made a mental note to wash his clothes soon, and left the room as he had found it.

*

“When are you gonna tell him?”

Shuuichi blinked, caught off guard by the question. He turned towards the concerned face and gave her a smile, though it didn’t seem to ease any of her worries. “Don’t worry about it, Kaede. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

“Everything will be even finer if you just tell him what’s up with you.”

He had to admit that was true. But just because it was true didn’t mean he had to follow it.

“I’m sure he can figure it out on his own,” Shuuichi said. His smile grew warmer. “He’s one of the smartest people I know, after all.”

Kaede frowned. “You’re just avoiding having to have the talk, aren’t you?”

“... Maybe.”

*

Kokichi slammed the plastic bag containing the flower onto the table in front of him, and he was suddenly grateful he hadn’t decided to procrastinate his hygiene. “What’s this flower?”

The girl sitting across from him gave him an exasperated sigh. “Kokichi, you’re my friend, but you can’t just interrupt my anime binge sessions. I planned this session out weeks ahead of time.”

“Aw, pwease, Tsumugi? Pwease help your wittle buddy out,” Kokichi whined, summoning tears to his eyes.

“Oh my god. Never speak like that again.”

“Only if you help me out.”

“Fine, fine.” Tsumugi tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before picking up the bag, investigating every detail. Her face brightened. “Oh, this looks like a purple carnation! There was this one anime where—”

“Booooring. You know a medical condition where people throw up flowers?”

Her eyes drooped. “Oh. That’s more depressing. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

“Yeah, sure. Can’t be any worse than what Miu says every day.”

“Hanahaki disease.”

Kokichi furrowed his eyebrows and frowned. “Hanahaki disease? Isn’t that only in fiction?”

“It’s typically portrayed in fiction because it’s rare in real life,” Tsumugi said, “The victim needs to hold a strong love for someone they seemingly don’t have a chance with. But the strong love needs to be as intense as the belief that their love is unrequited, and that’s the part that gets the majority of the population. Symptoms are coughing, vomiting flowers, stuff like that. The flowers tend to represent who the victim loves.” Her gaze turned sharp. “Are you suggesting there’s someone at our school with hanahaki disease?”

“Pfff, what? No way,” Kokichi said, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms behind his head. “Can’t a man be curious?”

She poked his cheek. “It’s plain to see you suspect someone of having hanahaki. Is it Shuuichi?”

“... Maybe.”

“It totally is. I’ve noticed it, too.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Someone as boring as me can observe people without being suspicious,” Tsumugi said. Her gaze fell on the flower. “Purple carnations mean capriciousness. I’m certain you can take it from there.”

Kokichi bit his thumb, deep in thought. It was scary how much Tsumugi knew about the situation, but he had already suspected she knew something; She was the person he went to for help, after all. If everything she said was true, that would mean Shuuichi loved somebody enough to contract hanahaki disease. But who could that person be?

Tsumugi frowned. “Oh my god. Don’t tell me you still don’t know who it is.”

“Yeah, I totally know who it is. Don’t worry about it.”

“That’s when I worry most. But fine. Tell me who it is.”

“It’s definitely… I lied. I have no clue who it is.”

She sighed and rested her elbows on the table separating them. “Think about it. The flowers are purple, and they match a specific kind of dark purple that matches the hair color of somebody in our class. There’s only a few people in our class who match the definition of capricious, only one that prides himself on being that. You’ve been playing detective for long enough.”

Kokichi analyzed the clues one by one before it clicked. “Wait… you’re telling me that Shuuichi likes me? So I was the one hurting him all this time?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it that—”

“I can’t believe that bastard didn’t even tell me I was hurting him. He didn’t even tell me he had this disease! Why would—”

Tsumugi grabbed his sleeve. “Stop right there. You’re not one to jump to conclusions, and you’re not gonna jump to one now. Who are you, Kaito?”

Kokichi stopped, his face blanking.

Her voice softened. “I know you’re worried about Shuuichi, but you need to calm down before you confront him, or you could send him into a panic. Make a plan first. You like making plans, right?”

He nodded.

“Then make a plan, think about it, and then go confront him. It’s plain to see you care about him a lot. Don’t mess this up.” She smiled and patted his shoulder. “Now get out of my room. I still have anime to watch.”

Even though all the strength had left his body, Kokichi mustered up a smile and saluted her. “Aye, aye, captain. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

*

It was two days later when Kokichi finished planning and moved onto the execution.

“Thanks for bringing me out here,” Shuuichi said, looking up at the blue skies ahead of them. “I really needed to get out for a while.”

Kokichi turned back around to him with his arms folded behind his head. “Of course, you do. How long have you been cooped up in your room?”

He laughed, but his voice was devoid of humor.

They walked into the courtyard and took a seat on a bench, chatting as they watched the water fountain stream endlessly. Birds chirped in the background, and to Kokichi’s relief, no students were nearby. The grass beneath their feet was wet with dew from the rain yesterday. It was the perfect atmosphere to put Shuuichi at ease.

Step one completed.

Kokichi licked his lips, steeling himself for a conversation he wasn’t prepared to have. “Hey, Shuuichi, you mind explaining something to me?”

Shuuichi tensed. “Wh-What do you need?”

Step two completed.

Kokichi’s voice caught in his throat. His mouth moved, but no words could come out. So he pulled the bag containing the flower out from his scarf and held it out to him. His gaze moved up to meet his eyes, and his voice fell to a whisper. “What is this?”

“I-I…” Shuuichi’s eyes darted from the flower to Kokichi and back to the flower. His fists clenched and unclenched, and his breath grew unsteady.

Then Kokichi’s plan fell apart when Shuuichi began to cry.

“I-I’m sorry!” Shuuichi sobbed, holding his face in his hands, “I’m so sorry!”

Shit. What was he supposed to do?

Kokichi scooted closer to him and held onto his wrists, prying his hands away from his face. “Shuuichi…”

“I knew you would figure it out. I just didn’t want to tell you myself because I’m a coward.”

“Shuuichi, no—”

“You shouldn’t be comforting me, you should hate me for—for keeping this from you for so long.”

“So how long have you been keeping this from me?”

Shuuichi took a deep, shaky breath and dared to meet his eyes. “Um… a month?”

“A month?”

“Yes. Then it just got worse and worse from there. L-Like I said, I’m really sorry for not telling you. I should’ve just told you from the beginning, but…”

Kokichi reached up to wipe a stray tear on Shuuichi’s face. “Shuuichi, it’s okay. It’s really okay.”

“No, it’s—”

“These flowers are for me, right?”

Shuuichi gulped and nodded.

“Then if I say it’s fine, then it’s fine.” Kokichi gave him a gentle smile and flicked the top of his head. “I thought you would be smart enough to know that. That’s one of the reasons I fell for you, after all.”

Shuuichi’s breath hitched, and his eyes widened. “Wait… you like me? You’re not lying?”

“Jeez, you really have that little faith in me? Would I lie about something like that?”

“Yes.”

“Ouch.”

“But… you’re not lying now, are you?”

Kokichi rolled his eyes. “I literally tell you that I love you, I broke into your room to figure out what was wrong with you, and I’m here now. Take a wild guess, Shuuichi.”

“To be fair, you do that every day.”

Kokichi raised an eyebrow.

“Oh… Oh!” Shuuichi laughed. “How did I not see that until now? God, I’m stupid. I’m so, so stupid.”

“But I still love you anyway,” Kokichi purred, wrapping Shuuichi into an embrace. “I love you, Shuu-i-chi~”

“Y-You really mean that? You really mean that. Oh my god, you love me.” He backed out of the hug, sniffing and wiping the tears away from his eyes.

“Aw, are you crying?”

“I—” Shuuichi doubled over, coughing and hacking as bloodied flowers spilled out onto the sidewalk. The pile grew larger with each cough, seemingly endless until a pitiful final petal floated down.

Kokichi wrinkled his nose at the pile. “Really? That’s how much you love me? That’s a shame.”

“H-Hey, it hurt.”

“I know, I’m just joking.” He stood up from the bench and held a hand out. “Now that we’re boyfriends, we should go prank the nurse!”

Shuuichi’s face reddened at the title, but his lips curled up into a smile. “Is this your way of getting me to go to the nurse?”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

Shuuichi took the hand and stood up, though he only held it tighter when they began walking. He planted a kiss on the side of Kokichi’s head. “I’m glad you’re my boyfriend.”

Kokichi froze before jumping into action and swatting his face away from his head. “Ew, gross! At least wash your mouth out before kissing me. You didn’t even clean up that mess you left back there.”

“... Oh, I didn’t—”

“Let’s go to the nurse first. I don’t want to look at that again.”

Shuuichi turned around to glance at the pile of blood and flowers then turned back to Kokichi with a smile. “Me neither.”

[wily-one24]

I hope there's not a question limit per ask lol... Paint it Black: 3, 4, 5, 11, 12, 14 and 15 (or as many of those as you feel like answering lol)

Okay, two things.

A. Of *course* there’s no ask limit. I am an attention whore and will talk all day if you encourage me. Ask away!!

B. WTF tumblr? When I reposted that, it was a paragraph basically saying “ask about my fic!”, but now there are NUMBERED QUESTIONS? What? Where was the second half of that post when I came across it in my dash? 

ANSWERS

3. What’s your favourite line of narration?

Oh geez. How the hell am I going to answer that? I have favourite lines per chapter, I have favourite lines per scene! Each part I’m reading at any given moment happens to be my favourite. Every time I reread it, I find something new... and... maybe I suck for saying this... but I think “you’re a fucking genius”, then I get all sad, because I think that was probably one of the last great things I’ll write. I’ve been going downhill ever since... but anyways, to seriously answer your question, I’ll give a few examples... 

 - That face off scene between Regina and Snow, where Snow claims her father was a good man and Regina answers “To you!”, the entire scene is charged and emotional and brings up so much shit between them that was never explored in canon. 

- The flashback of Emma’s tenth birthday (technically collectively, all of the flashbacks, really. They’re angsty as fuck, but so formative in their characterisation that sometimes I forget they’re not actually canon). I have this habit of tearing Emma down to her bare bones and then trying to build her up again. I actually do this with most of my main female characters, and I do apologise for that Buffy, Kaylee, Veronica, Emma, and Alex. You all deserve so much better than me. 

- The scene where Regina is alone in the castle and revisits the old chamber of Leopold’s. It’s hard to read but that is some weird little cathartic release right there. There is some great imagery that I don’t think many people allow Regina when it comes to her healing. Everybody tends to go the “being married to Leopold was a BAD THING” route, without ever really exploring the day to day soul destroying aspect of it. The reality of being the King’s prisoner wife. But giving her the ability and strength to revisit it, so she can finally acknowledge to herself how damaging it was, to close herself off from it both literally and figuratively, and then to be self aware enough to compare that situation to the one she has Emma in. That is empowerment. 

- The parallel scenes of Emma and Henry at the start and the end of the fic. The first being when Henry is so adamant to rescue Emma and curse everyone again just to take them back... and the last where you can see how much indoctrinated he is into the fairy tale land, how much he is drifting from “our world” being the real one, to the fairy tale land being his reality, and how his morality has shifted... but then... he also brings it back by getting vulnerable and shows his concern not just for Emma but for Regina... which also shows great advancement from the child like black/white morality of good vs evil he begins with to an acceptance of a more adult grey-area morality, his willingness to examine the facts and the truth to make up his mind. 

All the minor characters... Nancy (sweet, voiced Nancy), and Miss Edith (poor Miss Edith), Rachel, all the little characters that had such minor parts, but had such great effects in the lives of our main characters. 

Oooh, writing Rumple was fun. I got to write him as nobody really does. As that creepy reptilian imp from the first few flashbacks in S1. Before they really woobified him. The hysteric giggling, maniacal creature who smelled the air and exuded pure malice. It was really enjoyable writing him like that. 

Well, this went terribly off topic... anyway, yes, flashback scenes and confrontation scenes, be they between Snow and Regina, Emma and Regina, Regina and Maleficent, Emma and Snow, Emma and Henry... it’s in emotion that the true power of the fic lives. 

4. What’s your favourite line of dialogue?

oh, this is harder than the first. It would take me ages to reread this fic (and now I most likely am, thanks) to really go through it and cherry pick my favourites. But, if a line has happened to truly hit home and resonate with you as a reader, it most likely did the same for me. I remember quite a few times writing this fic, thinking “holy fuck!” and knowing, just knowing, that it was definitely the line to write. 

5. What part was the hardest to write?

The first two chapters. Up until the pivotal moment where Regina heals Emma, those were difficult to write and definitely difficult to read. I’ve had many readers tell me they were about to give up, bc it was too much torture porn to enjoy, but that moment specifically was a turning point for them because it built up the trust that I could and would reign Regina in beyond the point of no forgiveness or return. 

11. What do you like best about this fic?

I liked writing it. 

It took me to some pretty intense places. Fic writing, for me, has always been a form of therapy. I work through to some pretty intense fucking emotions through the angst of it all. Like, no, I have never been magically transported to a fairy tale land, collared, enslaved, and held against my will for the sake of my family and community’s lives... but if you look deeper in my life at the time, I had just been through a pretty horrific pregnancy that nearly killed me, my spouse and I separated, and I was left ill, recovering, and a single mother of a toddler and infant. I felt like I was being ripped apart from all angles, forced into a live of servitude for the betterment of everyone around me at the cost of myself. Even, though, like Emma, I didn’t blame them, it was still a period of mourning and loss.

I didn’t realise it at the time. This revelation happened years later when rereading the fic and trying to see where all the emotions had been coming from. It happens a lot with some of my more intense, dramatic, and (strangely enough) most popular fics. I don’t always see the correlation to my life at the time, but if I look back I can generally trace the rationality behind what my muse was trying to work through. 

12. What do you like least about this fic?

The polarisation. The controversy. That fucking chapter fucking four. I still cannot reread that chapter without having to take a step back and breathe. That scene has some good imagery, but even now sometimes I just skip it. It’s not worth the shakes or unease or... ugh, just thinking about it upsets me. 

I made a mistake in the tagging and I learned from it, but holy fuck was I attacked at the time and used as a sacrifical cow to the radfems. It was, honestly, surprising to me. Not only the reaction, but the harshness of it, all the accusation and personal attacks aimed at me.  

I mean, I knew the fic was always going to be confronting to some. It dealt with some pretty hard issues and subject matter. I had warned for all the violence and non/dub con. But... I didn’t expect or prepare for the backlash in including a male, even if the male used was... just used... and never actually amounted to anything more than a tool for Regina to control/bind/further entrench Emma to her own will in one scene. 

I, very naively, went into it thinking “surprise!”, and that an almost canon past pairing that was heavily explored in the actual show would not be controversial in the least. More fool me, I suppose. I definitely went back to re-tag it, I apologised. I am not sure what else I could have done, but to this day this fic is held up as an example of queer baiting and everything wrong with false lesbianism. And it is definitely used as an example by biphobic people as to why bisexual women cannot be trusted as we’re all “really straight women at heart”.

To be fair, I never explicitly labelled the fic as “lesbian”. I begin all my fics (no matter how AU or ‘out there’) from a canon stand point. Meaning, everything that happened in the show up to that point counts. Which includes every prior relationship both Emma and Regina had been in up to the Season One finale. Which, surprise, were with men!! 

14. Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic?

I don’t know if there’s anything they should ‘learn’, but I definitely hope readers realise that this is in NO WAY AN EXAMPLE OF A HEALTHY BDSM RELATIONSHIP. It is not meant to be a guide, a ‘how to’, or a ‘goal’. This is an incredibly fucked up way for two already fucked up characters, to find some kind of semblance of existence in a world/s stacked up against them from the very start. I didn’t think I needed to state that out loud, but apparently I had to. Many times.  

If not that... then definitely I hope perhaps some of the writing made people think about the characters more in depth, or differently, that it gave the reader a new way of thinking about the show and the storylines/characters in it.  

15. What did you learn from writing this fic?

Tagging. Tagging fucking matters. Tag properly. Like, just do it. 

In all seriousness, though... I think I learned a lot about my own trauma. 

I also think my writing developed throughout the fic. There is a definite shift from the first two chapters... you can definitely see where it became less of a short one off smutty fic set up and more of an in depth angsty character exploration of the soul kinda thing. 

I learned about set up and development and bringing in stray bits of plot development later in the story to tie up loose ends.  

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

Crashing Parties & Taking Numbers

Steve Rogers x OFC

Warnings: language

A/N: This is a commissioned story for @jasmineladjevardi , who I love and adore. Enjoy! Commissions are open!

Summary: Jasmine decides to crash a charity party, because there is a first time for everything. What she wasn’t counting on was the fact the party was a Hydra funded event and a certain Captain was there doing some undercover intel. 

Steve walked into the charity party, wearing a nice suit and tie, feeling a bit stiff, but alert. Alert was the key focus tonight because this so-called charity event was a Hydra cover up. Maria Hill had informed the team that a few high ranked Hydra officers’ wives were in charge of the whole event. So she was able to obtain tickets for the group and told them to keep their eyes and ears open. It was strictly an intel mission, no combat unless necessary. She wanted to get as much detail on any plans Hydra had going on and judging by the guest list she managed to score, there would plenty opportunity to do so.

Strolling through the room, Steve made his way to the bar, ordering himself a drink - even though it would have no real effect on him. It was all for show, plus he needed something to take the taste of disdain off his tongue. All these people that lived and breathed New York air,  laughing and drinking the night away.

How many were Hydra sympathizers? Hydra loyalist?

….

I faked my way through several dull conversations, eyeing the bar that seemed to drift further and further away. Why I was convinced crashing a charity party would be a brilliant venture was beyond me, but it did beat spending another night at home. I excused myself from the overly friendly older gentleman, who smelled like my grandpa and raced toward the bar.

As I approached the counter, I eyed a man leaning against it. He looked bothered and busy, so I ignored him and ordered a drink. Placing my clutch on the bar, I took out my cell and started running through my social media until a chuckle came from the man.

“These things tend to be pretty boring, huh?”

I smiled and tried to ignore how wonderfully attractive he was. “To be honest - wait, can I trust you?”

He laughed and looked down at the ground before grinning. “People say I’m trustworthy.”

“In that case,” I mused, moving a little closer to him. “I’m crashing this joint.”

“So you weren’t invited?”

“Say it louder for the rest of the crowd,” I teased, turning to the bartender and thanking him for the drink. “My friend was supposed to come with me, but she got stuck at work and I bought this dress for the occasion, didn’t want to see it go to waste.”

“It’s a pretty dress.”

He placed his glass down and glanced around the room, a look of distraction fell over his face. I reached for my bag and started to excuse myself when he stopped me by briefly touching my arm.

“I could use some company, my friends dragged me to this thing and they’re all scattered around.”

Seeing that I was planning to leave, his blue eyes, warm and friendly, they made me want to stay. Made me think spending some time with a complete stranger couldn’t be so bad, not when he looked like that.

“Sure, I have no plans and apparently no friends either. I’m Jasmine.”

He smirked and held out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Jasmine. I’m Steve Ro-”

Steve’s stopped talking and held tightly to my hand just as two men passed us. I eyed them carefully and by the look on my new friend’s face, he knew them and he definitely was not happy to see them. I tried pulling my hand back, but Steve was too occupied to notice.

“We have everything ready.”

“Good, I’ll send everything to Peterson. Everything is going as plan.”

Steve and I stood there listening, neither of us breathing, hands gripped together. My eyes stayed glued to Steve’s, which in turn were on the two men. I clutched the glass in my other hand and brought it to my lips, downing the drink.

"So, that’s my hand.”

My question broke Steve from whatever trance he was in and he quickly let go of my hand, apologizing.

“Sorry,” he smiled sheepishly. “You want to go walk around? Maybe we can find some food in this joint?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but the gentlemen next to me started talking again and I caught the last bit, a whisper that made me gasp. Steve’s eyes widen and he looked to the men, seeing something I couldn’t because he suddenly pulled me into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered before planting an over the top kiss onto my lips. I was stunned for a mere second, but the way his lips danced against mine, it was all too consuming. I slipped both arms around his neck and his arms moved around my waist.

“It’s Rogers!”

One of the men bellowed out and Steve broke the kiss, grabbing my hand and telling me to run. I jerked back and reached for my clutch before letting Steve pull me through the crowd. My feet pounded against the floor, blurting out ‘excuse us’ over and over as Steve pushed his way into a closed off hallway. The corridor was dark, so Steve lead me into a room and closed the door, rushing toward the window.

“Nat,” he said into his comm. “I’ve been recognized. It was Richards and Stanfield, they were talking about some plans.”

I looked at the door and grabbed a chair that was off to the side, doing what they do in movies and placing it up against the knob. Steve turned and chuckled, saying there was nothing to worry about.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The light coming outside the window hit Steve’s face, brightening the area around his eyes and it was like that, everything clicked.

“You’re Steve Rogers, Captain America,” I whispered in disbelief. “I thought you looked vaguely familiar, it’s the eyes.”

Steve laughed and moved to me. “I’m sorry to pull you into this.”

“Hail Hydra, one of the guys said that and I heard,” I explained, giving a little head shake. “I mean I’ve read the papers, the stories, but to hear those words...it’s bone-chilling.”

“I know, are you okay?”

He reached over and placed a hand on my shoulder, sending a warm feeling up my spine.

“Yeah, I mean, I’m talking to a freaking Avenger!”

“I’m just Steve,” he urged, his smile fading when the door knob started to turn.

Steve quickly grabbed me and rushed me to the corner of the room.

“Stay right here and don’t worry, I got you.”

“I’m sure you do,” I replied quietly, nodding for Steve to do his thing.

His eyes locked with mine for nearly 30 seconds before the door swung open, knocking the chair down, and he turned, reaching a hand around to pull me into his back. I shut my eyes but felt Steve’s body relax against mine.

“So we do all the work while you decided to slip away into this dark room with an unknown woman?”

“Romanoff,” Steve groaned as the lights turned on.

I opened my eyes and peeked from behind Steve, recognizing the redhead right away.

“Holy...you’re Black Widow. You are really beautiful.”

Nat smirked. “Oh, I like her Steve, can we keep her?”

“Very funny,” he muttered, stepping aside. “This is Jasmine, we met at the bar. She-”

“I blew his cover,” I admitted and Natasha laughed.

“She didn’t,” Steve insisted, giving me a soft smile. “So are we cleared or are we going to get an earful from Hill?”

“We’re good, I came looking for you, the car’s ready. We need to go debrief at the Tower.”

“Right,” Steve said disappointedly. He turned to me and asked if I needed a ride home.

“I drove here, but you could walk me to my car?”

….

“Again, I’m sorry for dragging you into all this,” Steve offered, tucking his hands into the pockets of his pants. “I just couldn’t help myself when I saw you standing next to me at the bar. Maybe I should have waited until after we got the intel we needed before approaching you.”

I felt the blood rush to my head and I laughed nervously, waving a chaotic hand in the air. “No big deal, this is what I get for crashing a charity party that apparently is a front for Hydra.”

“Well,” he shrugged, taking a step toward me. “I’m glad you did.”

“Yeah, I’m sorta feeling that way too.”

Steve smiled brightly and he scratched the back of his head. “Um, do you think I could get your number? I’d love to take you out on a non-Hydra outing sometime.”

I bit down on my lip to contain the beaming smile on my face as I nodded eagerly. “Yeah, Steve, I’d like that.”

Forever tag (tagging in everything I write, no matter the fandom)

@my-amazing-nerdyness @naih-reedus @maciiiofficial @casownsmyass @jade-taillia @fangirlextraordinaire @indominusregina @feelmyroarrrr @my-rainbow-wonderland @myhopeisinfinite @girl-next-door-writes @dontbeamenacetotheforce @melonberri @superisatomboyuniverse @xloudwhocares @crownie-sr @dracsgirl @moonlight53 @makemyownwonderland @dreamwhisper87 @trekken81  @barely-emily @winterboobaer @purelittleblueberry @goodnightwife @mishaissocoollike  @stormyfandoms@foreverybodythatunderstands23 @gallifreyansass @flirtswithdanger @yana-tardis-drwho @myplaceofthingsilove   @jchona  @alyssaj23  @blackhoneybucky @urbanspacedecay@castieltrash1 @hannahsakorax3 @imagine-all-the-imagines  @motleymoose @distinguishedqueenofbooks @kitkatgaming @fizzylollipop12 @iamwarrenspeace @darkmystress00 @lunarwolfrose  @kapolisradomthoughts @sisinia13 @swiggityswagness @takemetoneverland91 @to-pick-ourselves-up-7 @sarah-mos @rubynationwins@padfootorionblack @kaywolves @wonderlace19 @yourxaveragexslythergit @purelittleblueberry  @courtneychicken @rayleyanns  @whatmakesmebeme-tblr @thewinterwitch@avengersgirllorianna @holywinchesterness @tatortot2701 @brewsthespirit-blog @seabasschino  @lame-lozer @ex-bookjunky @travelwithwords @supernaturaldean67@thehuntchback @shoytai @besamiculo-puto @ign-is @zuni21798 @multipleuniversesinwriting@pleasantdreamqueen  @damalseer @10kindsofderp @hennessy0274-blog @jodoethr @s-t-r-i-k-e-us @seeing-but-not-observing @happyskywhale

[shelby-love]

STEFAN SALVATORE

Fatherly Joy of Letting Go

Requested: no

Prompts: “Aren’t you going to give me the ‘if you hurt my daughter, I’ll kill you’ talk?”; “Why? My daughter is perfectly capable of killing you herself, should the need arise.” 

Credits to @oopsprompts for the perfect prompts! You can find their post on my side-blog ( @fairy-archive ), I reblogged it!

Warning(s): none

Author’s note: I LOVE THIS (915 words wow!)

-

Tags(general): @fofisstilinski​​ @short-potato​​ @miranda0102​​  @httphiddlestan​​ @caromichaela​​ @xx-missunicorn-xx​​ @jemmakates​​ @lorenakaspersen​​ @scarletsoldierrr​​​ @theravenclawmarauder​​ @httphiddlestan​​ @tclaerh​​ @chefdoeuvre​​

NOTE: Because I closed requests for One Chicago, I will be opening new tag lists for other fandoms so people on my general tag lists don’t have to be tagged on my all posts. Makes sense? :) <3

Let me know if you want to be added to my TVD (The Vampire Diaries) and TO (The Originals) tag list!

-

Rebekah maneuvered the golden hairpins into your hair with what looked like actual struggle. "Could you stop moving for a second?"

"I'm trying." You mumbled through gritted teeth. Not only were the hairpins the sole reason your scalp was hurting, but they were also incredibly over the top. 

What kind of teenager wears gold encrusted hairpins from the 16th century to a first date in the 21st one. You, apparently.

They seemed extensive even with the fact that you were going out with a century old vampire.

Your lips twisted in distaste when you saw them glimmer under the light.

"These very pins were worn by Anne Knollys in the 16th century. A baroness. Gorgeous if you ask me." Your aunt spoke up, pinning another golden pin into your curls. "Here. All done."

You wanted to asked what the fuss was all about but then again... She probably knew the woman that had once owned the very hairpins that are stuck in your hair.

Rebekah had a way of making things extraordinary. Dressed in casual clothing - a t-shirt and a pair of jeans – it was your hairstyle that spoke volumes and told a story of who you were. Someone confident and naturally beautiful. "Wow."

"I know right?" She beamed, pulling you up with little to no effort. "Now the dress."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Pinch me."

She laughed, "I won't. Because you know it's real."

Getting into the dress was easier said than done. Rebekah was particularly keen on helping you in without moving a single hairpin. The flowy dress had a special shine to it. You looked great.

"You look gorgeous, my love." She mused with a small smile as she fixes the back of your dress.

"You really think so?"

"I bet he won't be able to take his eyes and hands off you tonight," Rebekah remarks, her eyes alight with excitement.

You grasp your dress in your hands and make your way down. Sure enough, light chatter makes its way into your ear as you descend the stairs.

Stefan Salvatore is standing in the grand foyer, talking quietly with your father and uncles. They all look tall and imposing, though Elijah, Kol and your father had a certain air around them. Older vampires, let alone the oldest ones, tended to have weight in their stares, as if the passing centuries had left a tangible heaviness behind their tale.

Stefan is standing in the middle of them with his back facing the staircase.

They cease talking as soon as the clicking of your heels enter their ears, and the smell of your perfume wafts through the air. Stefan turns around, and you feel as if all breath from your lungs was knocked out. You swallow shyly, still not quite unable to meet his stare.

His handsome looks don't deceive. The hero like hair is combed back and styled nicely in a way that made you sure he had help. Underneath the dark expensive suit, he's wearing a milky white dress shirt and a striped gray and deep red silk tie.

Stefan's eyes widen when he catches the sight of you. They rake you from top to bottom, from the golden pins to the tips of your black pointy heels, then back up again before settling to your eyes. Something flared in his eyes, exciting you for what's to come this evening.

He steps forward gracefully as you finish walking down the stairs. "You look beautiful, Y/N," he says before he brushes his warm lips on your knuckles.

"Have fun you two," says Elijah with a smile. Your eyes dart to the expensive bottle of wine he cradles in his arms. Very expensive.

No wonder he's letting you go just like that.

"Don't stay out late," reminds Kol, raising his index finger to Stefan.

"Do we have a curfew?" You ask him jokingly.

"Yes." He informs proudly. "Be back before midnight. I'll be here waiting with my shotgun."

Snickers and light laughs erupt within the groups.

Stefan Salvatore smirks, pulling you close to him. "Aren't you going to give me the 'if you hurt my daughter, I'll kill you' talk?"

He had directed his question at your real father. The one who really had the right to wait for you with his shotgun. Or fangs, in his case.

If it were any other man, he would have him dead before sunrise.

Unfortunately for him and fortunately for you – Stefan Salvatore wasn't just anyone.

Not even your dad could kill him thanks to the history the two shared long before you were in the picture.

"Brave as always, Stefan." Klaus mused with a smirk dancing on his lips.

"I try my best." Your date returned in the same matter with a gallant tilt of his head.

Your darling father walked toward you, only you, and took your hands in his like he had done countless of times when you were a child. Something felt different because he didn't want to let go. "You look dashing."

"Thank you, dad."

The kiss he pressed to your cheek was the seal of his approval.

"Why? My daughter is perfectly capable of killing you herself, should the need arise."

"Nik!"

"Relax Rebekah," He brushed her off. "This is me being approving of their relationship."

The air changed and you breathed in relief.

"Now," Your dad clapped. "Off you go. And like Kol said, we will be waiting."

His eyes glowed in yellow for effect.

Stefan only smiled tightly, gripped your waist, and maneuvered you to his flashy car.

"That went well." He muttered, once both of you settled inside and the leather scent of the car's interior seemed to overtake your senses.

"Stefan," you breathed, eyes glimmering under the moonlight. "It couldn't have gone better. Trust me."

MASTERLIST

[whiteclericmaris]

tagged by @dark-angel-of-muses (Thanks!)

A- age: 24 B- birthplace: Puerto Rico C- current time: 1:39 PM D- drink you had last: Water E- easiest person to talk to: in tumblr? @nierza and @quarkie. In real life it can be challenging. F- favorite song: Depends on the mood and lately I have had Dirty Paws by Of Monsters and Men stuck in my head G- grossest memory: Throwing up after having eaten something. I can still remember the yucky smell.

H- horror yes or horror no: horror no J- jealous of people: Mostly on having goals, I generally don’t have one outside of have fun no matter where I go. K- killed someone: No  L- love at first sight or should i walk back by again?: ??? What? Probably should I walk back by again as I tend to not comprehend social cues. M- middle name: None N- number of siblings: one younger sister O- one wish: ??? Currently just have fun like always. I wish to help people but I tend to be a klutz. P- person you called last: My Mom yesterday. I don’t remember what for but we were plenty busy with appointments. Q- question you’re always asked: “How old are you?” age “You look younger.” R- reason to smile: I can be mischievous sometimes and get nervous sometime and its my reaction. I like giving gifts to others and seeing their reactions. S- song you sang last: The spanish Shakira song that keeps being played in the radio. Lyrics that I can remember “Me enamore, me e enamore” T- top 3 fictional characters: Yuya Sakaki, Watanuki Kimihiro, and Ahiru U- underwear color: Blue V- vacation: Beach? Seattle maybe? I don’t know just having fun. Maybe a con sometime in the future.  W- when’s your birthday: August 29 X- x-rays: Yesterday for my arms Y- your favorite food: Pasta Alfredo with some chicken slices. Z- zodiac sign: Virgo

I am not tagging anyone but you are welcome to do this if you would like.

[castorsilver]

more cas plots ayyee~

casually adding more plots for Cas because I kinda wanted to think of some in relation to his powers? But feel free to still check out his original plots post and message me if you’re more interested in those. 

I. More fun facts:

likes to annoy people who are just as sarcastic as him 

is soft and nice if he thinks someone is innocent

fastest way to piss him off: mention Pollux in even a vaguely non-positive way. 0 – small angry garbage man real quick

avoids feelings 25/8

will have a pun on his gravestone

would die for his brother without hesitation

technically an intergalactically wanted criminal (for petty crimes)

has been arrested (on a distant planet) but used his powers to escape

terrified to take anyone else through a portal with him

acts like he’s the fucking best

thinks he’s a piece of shit

very low self esteem

thinks that caring for his brother is his only redeeming quality

surprisingly skilled swordsman (learned it while being a space pirate)

has lots of scars from being a space pirate (and from his dad)

thinks sex is no big deal

gets embarrassed at hand holding

reluctant space nerd

still might steal your wallet

if he did it as a “magic trick” he’ll return it

if he did it because you pissed him off, he won’t

really needs a nap

read his full bio

II. Powers:

First let me explain a general overview of Cas’ powers, along with my headcanons for them. 

Overview — The user can create, shape and manipulate portals, allowing them control portal size, location/destination, etc. Similar to teleportation in some sense, but the user is not limited to transporting themselves. If the user is skilled enough, they could transport other people, or even entire buildings, wherever they choose. 

Headcanons — (bolded information is the main point of each section, the rest are details.)

Cas has relatively good control over his powers. As long as he’s been somewhere before, he can usually open up his portal destination in the exact spot he wants. If he’s never been somewhere before, it’s a lot harder and may be hit or miss. 

He tells himself he lies about his powers because they’re too difficult to explain. In actuality, he’s worried about what people will think of them. After he read up on the ability and learned that — theoretically — he could send entire cities through a portal, he worried people (his brother) might be afraid of him. Pollux grew up afraid of their father — due to John’s rage and abuse of Cas — but Cas never wanted his brother to be afraid of him. 

He’s also quite afraid of the space between portals. I call it the Void. When you’re in the Void, you feel as if you’re nothing. Nothing can exist in the Void. No sounds, no smell, no light, no taste. No concept of time, no concept of movement. You don’t know where you end and where the Void begins. You’re hot, you’re cold, and you’re numb all at once. It feels like hours when you pass through it, but in reality it’s instantaneous. It’s a terrifying experience, to suddenly feel like you don’t exist. What happens if something gets lost in there? What happens if a portal opens, but it doesn’t have an exit? Cas is terrified of what can happen in the Void. It’s the reason he refuses to take anyone with him while he uses his powers, and it’s one of the reasons he went with the lie of “teleportation.” Because it’s just easier.

Cas is not actually powerful enough to create a portal that could absorb anything more than a small group of people, but he’s not aware of that. 

Portals can indeed be opened without an exit. The person wouldn’t cease to exist, but they’d be trapped in a sort of suspended animation until someone found them. Their exact location would vary, depending on where they were lost. 

The Void exists between multiple planes of existence, not just portals in this dimension. It’s a sort of Purgatory, an endless sense of nothingness before you reach your true destination. It’s not dangerous, but it’s creepy as heck. 

Portals exist naturally. They open and close with the bending and shifting in the fabric of space-time. They’re often what scientists might call “wormholes.” The Bermuda Triangle has tons of them. Cas can sense when portals have opened nearby. If one did open in a particularly crowded or dangerous location, he’ll close them so people don’t accidentally wander in and end up somewhere else. 

Portals are invisible to the naked eye. Scientific radar can detect changes in pressure, but other than that they are invisible. Traveling through them is instantaneous, even if it doesn’t feel that way. To the untrained eye, what Cas’ powers truly do look like teleportation. The biggest difference is that he has to be moving. He can’t be standing still and using his powers. He has to move through the portals, even just by taking a step. 

III. Plots:

Okay! We’re finally at the plots section! If you’ve made it this far then dear god you’re committed. All of these plots are specific to Cas’ powers, feel free to message me with as many as you want, and we can tweak them and customize them to fit your character(s)!

just passing through — When Cas was first starting out with his powers, he had some trial and error. One of his errors was that he ended up in a random person’s home. Most of the time he wasn’t seen, but at one point he was spotted by Muse A. They were shocked (perhaps angry, scared, or nervous) to have seen some 17-year-old suddenly appear in their home. (1-2 slots max)

accidental astronaut — Unknowingly to them, Muse B stumbled across a portal five years ago. It was one an 18-year-old Cas made and forgot to close. Muse B was suddenly on Montressor, with no idea how they got there. Cas found them and got them home safely. (However long it took for Cas to find them is up to you.) (1 slot max)

portal magnet — For some reason, unbeknownst to Cas, portals tend to naturally open up around Muse C constantly. He has yet to figure out why, but is determined not to let them go through a portal. He is always spending his time closing up the random portals that appear around them. (1 slot max)

delivery boy — Muse D heard about Cas’ teleportation and started asking him to get them things. Food (most likely), but anything Cas is able to carry. He always has to benefit from their delivery, either through getting some of the food or charging a fee, because he doesn’t do good deeds for free (usually). Maybe they sometimes hang out and eat their authentic Chinese food together. (1 slot taken, 1 still available)

teleportation expert — Cas always says he has teleportation. Up until now, it has never been an issue. But Muse E happens to know a lot about teleportation, and what Cas does doesn’t look like it. Whether teleportation is their power, someone close to them has it, or they just happen to be an expert on powers. They know that Cas doesn’t have teleportation. Whether or not they confront him on it is up to you. (1 slot max.)

portal playdates — When Cas was young — around the age of 12 — he used to use his powers to escape his father’s ship while everyone was sleeping. He always had to come back in a few hours, because he would never abandon Pollux, but sometimes it was nice to get away. One day he stumbled across a kid around his age. (4-5 years age difference range is preferable. Just because it’s hard to imagine a 12-year-old playing with anyone younger than 7 or older than 17) Muse F and Cas hit it off immediately. For the next six months, Cas would visit them to hang out. Now they’ve run into each other at WDA. Maybe they recognize each other, or maybe they don’t (either is plausible, it’s been 11 years.) But regardless, they’re the one person who saw a younger Cas, who had sincere moments of emotion and didn’t put on a mask. (1 slot max)

[realsuzylmt]

My Gramma Lu...and some Midnight Musings

I miss my Gramma Lu. I miss her little house on the prairie. I miss the memories I had there, growing up. I miss watering flowers, washing her car and exploring the property she lived on. I miss her smell. I even miss her funky old sofa bed, which she ALWAYS called a davenport. I miss how she always asked if we wanted creamed corn or how she'd make me fried spam or even bologna sandwiches. She ALWAYS had cookies and candy and she'd give me her last dollar if I asked for it...even if I was being a total brat and/or she did not have it to spare.

She was a true lady. She would ALWAYS try to make everyone around her as comfortable as possible. She'd obsess over people, asking if you were warm or cool enough or hungry or thirsty and proceeding to tend to your need, whatever it may have been. She would let me, a child, pick the radio station in the car. She'd sing along to songs she didn't understand by artists that she thought were terrible and not by any means honoring what she knew to be music.

She let me drive her car when I was eight years old...on the back roads near her house. She trusted me that much.

She kept a secret barbie stash hidden from my mother, just between her and my sister, until someone FINALLY gave me a barbie for my 11th or 12th birthday and then the whole stash of clothes and doll and such was bequeathed to me as my sister was too old to enjoy it anymore, but it still resided at her house. I was shocked that it had been kept a secret that long and that I had spent that much time and that many nights at her house and had never known of its existence.

She could play the piano wonderfully, even though she didn't think so anymore, because arthritis had taken over her hands and she would constantly comment on how she thought they were ugly and less than functional, telling me of the amazing things that she used to be able to do.

She ADORED Elvis....especially his Gospel music.

She would curse on a Sunday morning on the way to church, when she drove by the dairy and their manure gun wasn't quite aimed well enough and would "...get cow s#it all over..." her car that she had just washed the day before, because keeping up appearances was a must.

She LOVED her flowers. She'd spend so much time watering and nurturing them...and moving the potted ones inside every night and outside every morning.

I wish I had her plastic rain bonnets that she used to wear to protect her hair, because they were brilliant.

I miss doing pin curls for her on a Saturday during times when she couldn't afford the time or money to get into the salon for a permanent...never just a perm, she always called it a permanent.

I'm STILL sorry for the time she let me use one of her fancy glasses/stemware and despite her repeated requests that I be careful, I thought I was being funny and messed around and totally broke it...it looked TOTALLY intentional but was a complete accident. I was mortified. I know she forgave me and that it was around 24 ish years ago now, but it STILL bothers me that I hurt and disrespected her.

She was SO talented and special and loving and kind and giving...she would make the most funny and witty jokes. She could get red wine stains out of the church's communion linens and restore them to their white as snow status again, each week. She used a vernacular that is all but extinct now. She was a "crazy old bat" and the first one to admit it. A real and true kick in the pants. She would call me that and tell me that my grandfather would have thought I was, " a kick in the pants." She was STRONG and SO independent, yet humble and wise enough to admit to needing it and accept help when that time arose. I MISS her. 14 years later and I miss her so badly.

She passed just after I turned 18. I wish I had had more time. I wish I had asked more questions. I wish I had listened more carefully. I love you, Gramma Lu. Thank you for being the best gramma EVER to me.

My one and only biological and amazing grandmother that was alive to know, love, spoil and even spank me.

She was all of the things. She was magical. She never let you forget who Jesus was or how much He meant to her. And she was never afraid to die...even as her body slowly gave up the fight, though her mind was still as feisty as ever....because she looked forward to "...reclining on the breast of Jesus..." as she would say.

So in times like these, when I sit and remember what an amazing human she was, thinking about all that she experienced and trudged through in life whether it was joyful, tragic or just normal...that's how I imagine her...reclined on the breast of Jesus, waiting for us to come join her and the rest of our family and friends.

I'm blessed that God has given me the life He has and I will walk this path as long as He sees fit....but being one day closer to seeing her(and many others) again, brings me great joy. A joy that is indescribable and yet, so painful at the same time.

I heard this quote a long time ago and it still rings true in my heart...."we are not human beings on a spiritual journey, we are spiritual beings on a human journey."

This human journey (for those of you that are still reading, haha, thanks for hanging in) it's HARD and so scary and extremely exciting and beyond amazing and terribly sad at times. It can be any and all of those things. And so many people become overwhelmed with their emotions and do things to numb or tune them out or even worse, shut them off, by choosing to end their human journey.

But this human journey....it's magical. And these feelings we've been given...they are magical...even when uncomfortable, they are magical. So friends, when you are having trouble along your journey, remember that it is only temporary...even if it seems like forever...it isn't. Just hold on, push through and get to the other side of whatever you're walking through...you'll see. You are loved.

Thanks for reading my emotional, existential and somewhat religious midnight musings.

✌, 💕 and 💫, y'all.