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youthereader · 8 months

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Near Zero part 7

PAIRING: cillian murphy as j. robert oppenheimer x fem!reader

SUMMARY: 1.4k words. Brought on as part of the Manhattan Project, your old physics professor sees you in a new light.

RATING: E; barebacking, oral (f receiving), infidelity, age gap (10+ years), secret relationship

A/N: Although based on real life characters, this is J. Robert Oppenheimer as played by Cillian Murphy, a fictional character, and does not intend to be accurate. This is merely for entertainment. This is the second of two parts in Santa Fe. Essentially filler. Also shoutout to @goldcoastsunset for being such a sweetie about this fic, it helped a lot.

masterlist

You wake, short bursts of light over several seconds – your eyelids fluttering in a sunbeam – sensing Robert beside you. He absently puffs at the lit cigarette between his lips as he reads the newspaper.

You draw in a breath and he glances down at you, small smile forming. He’s naked like you, his bare legs crossed at the ankles under the thin sheet that covers you both.

You sit up, eyeing the newspaper.

“Reading about Naples,” he murmurs.

“Anything good?” you reply, snatching up a matchbook from the side table. You turn it over, snapping off a match to light a cigarette you retrieve from your pack.

“Uprisings.”

You nod, thinking of Mussolini. Then Churchill, then Roosevelt. You suddenly wish you were back in Los Alamos working, but shut your eyes against it, attempting to squash it.

“We can talk about it here,” he adds, and you meet his eye again. “To an extent.”

You hesitate, chewing your lip, cigarette smoke rising. You take a puff, exhaling roughly.

“It would help me sleep at night if we knew how close Heisenberg was to building a bomb.”

Robert gives a single knowing nod. The silence that descends between you is not uncommon, and in this case, not unwelcome. You muse, smoking away until he’s finished reading and folds his newspaper. He taps your bare arm with it, a corner of it brushing your nipple.

“You slept quite peacefully just now,” he murmurs.

“I wonder why.” You twist slightly to put your cigarette out, moving back to give him your full attention, shifting to lie on your side.

His eyes dip to your topless upper half once more, and you love that mischievous streak of his. He brings it out of you, too, with so little effort.

“Robert.”

“Yes, darling?” he says.

“May we fuck again?”

He laughs, looking down, and then puts his own cigarette out. He moves closer to you, hand brushing your bare stomach. He feigns a seriousness.

“Yes, I suppose we could…”

You kiss him for once, not wanting to wait a second longer. He smiles into it, your lip between his two, and then he takes over, his hands deep in your hair as he rolls you onto your back. Your legs spread and you sigh, your hands on his sides, rubbing up and down. Your nails sink into his back when he kisses your neck, warmth spreading to your toes.

You glance down at your naked bodies, the way his cock stands to attention already, so eager. It’s the third time you’ve done this today. You experiment with your nails, digging in, and he grunts, retaliating with a nip to your shoulder.

“Please,” you whisper.

He kisses you hard, kisses you until you pull away to breathe, and he shuffles down your chest, his fingers splayed on your stomach. You meant to beg him to fuck you, but he hasn’t done this today yet, moving down to kiss your mound, thumb you open to lick up the cut of you.

You gasp at the first contact of his mouth, heels digging into the mattress. You think you might combust if you look at him for too long, his eyes swinging up to meet yours. Your plea dies on your lips as he buries his face in your cunt, tongue spearing you as he wraps his arms around your thighs, keeping them open.

“Oh…”

Your hand finds the back of his head, attempting to anchor yourself to the Earth, unable to keep the sounds inside anymore. You moan, remembering to shut your mouth, which seems to only encourage Robert’s talented mouth.

The pleasure rolls over you, a cresting wave, and you come, hips lifting off the bed as your back arches. The sound you make is strangled and muffled behind your hand but undeniable.

He pulls back with slow kisses to your inner thighs, mouth glistening when he ascends to meet you in a rough kiss. The filthiness of it emboldens you, makes you push against him to shove him onto his back, your leg over him in a second.

You pant together, your hand on his cock, pumping him as you share another hasty kiss.

“Darling—”

His words are cut off when you take him to the hilt, his eyes rolling back for a beat before he regains control, his hands vices on your thighs as you begin to ride. He stares up at you as you take everything from him, your hands on his chest, feeling his hammering heart beneath your fingers.

You wish you could do this forever. Heartbreakingly, this might be the last time for a while before you can have this time alone. You lean over him, sharing a breath as your mouths don’t quite shut in filthy kiss after filthy kiss.

You’re hurting yourself, loving this with him. The damage you have done is too much.

You sense his end, sweat on your skin, unsure of whose it is. You pull back enough for him to slip out of you and wrap your hand around him, bringing him off, his arms curled around you. You think of the mess, smelling your shared arousal, knowing it will be there for hours.

Yet it’s not enough. It may never be enough. Your throat tightens at the thought, and you attempt to pull away, but his arms lock you in.

“Stay there,” he whispers. “Stay.”

For the first time, your eyes sting with emotion. What stirs inside you can’t be let free, not now. It would ruin this weekend with him. You shake your head, before melting back into a kiss you share.

Robert plays with his empty pipe on the tablecloth, nodding every so often as a fellow scientist talks. Your own conversation with Feynman is quite alike. You are both struggling to concentrate.

You cut Feynman off suddenly, glancing up at a waiter that passes by the table.

“Excuse me, may I have another drink?”

The waiter nods at your empty martini glass and then departs, your focus back on Feynman.

He snorts. “They’re weak.”

“Compared to Los Alamos, of course,” you reply with a smirk. “One day someone’s going to go blind in that town from all the homemade gin.”

Feynman gives a shrug, before resuming his long-winded tale. You half listen, watching Robert. He pauses and looks your way, your eyes meeting.

“Yes,” he says absently. “But it’s getting quite late. I should head off soon.”

He only elaborates once your martini arrives, and the waiter is out of earshot. You pick up your drink, taking a steady gulp.

“Have another one, Oppie,” Feynman says.

Robert gives a little shake of his head, eyes on you again. He gives the table a short tap with his pipe.

“I’m off to Chicago in the morning.”

Your whole night has been like this, dreading the end, though it hadn’t been that entertaining. Everyone was sluggish at dinner, despite there being such a fuss about it, leading up to this visit. Santa Fe is wonderful, but your mind is elsewhere.

“May I walk you back to the hotel?” Robert asks, pulling you back from your reverie.

“Yes,” you say, and pick up your drink, draining it.

You’re past caring about whether or not there’s an excuse for Robert walking you back to the hotel. Feynman and the others near your part of the table seem to have moved on as well, by how they settle back into conversations. You rise from your chair, following Robert out.

Being invisible, being less than to some of these men, works out for you.

Robert takes your hand when you’re on your floor. He walks you back to your room, only letting you go when you unlock the door, both of you slipping inside. He doesn’t remove his coat, lingering by the door.

There’s a mirror beside you, above the dish you place your hotel key in with a clatter. Your eyes meet Robert’s mirror self and he looks sadder.

He moves to your side, so you face the mirror together. He then takes off his hat, placing it on your head, his arm around your shoulders.

“Look at us,” he says.

You both smile at one another. You know you miss one another already by the way his smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes. He is somewhere else, like you, endlessly thinking.

“Look at us,” you whisper, an echo.

It is easy to be busy once you return to Los Alamos. You bristle when Teller argues with someone with abandon and you hunch over your desk with a perpetual cigarette, jittery with too much bad coffee.

You’re lonely, but you’re often too tired to notice it. A couple days after Santa Fe, you tear open a letter marked from your mother, but recognise the writing easily as Robert’s.

You are in my dreams.

Ooh boy. I'm gearing you up for future angst. It obviously gets much worse. But hopefully you still stick with this story! Let me know if you enjoyed it. Reblogs and replies really encourage me. 🥺❤️

Taglist: @indulgence-be-thy-name @forgottenpeakywriter (hmu if you'd like to be added)

#j robert oppenheimer #near zero #cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfiction #fem reader #cillian murphy x reader #oppenheimer x reader #oppenheimer x y/n

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zelda-without-a-licence-plate · 6 months

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I. CANT BELIEVE. I FORGOT TO POST DARUNIAS FINISHED REDESIGN ON HERE. I DONT SEE IT ON THE BLOG ALREADY SO I MUST HAVE FORGOTTEN...... AUGH....

ANYWAYS sob here is Darunia's official redesign for the OOT rewrite full notes and thought process below the cut:

All my goron designs involve giving them less cartoonish and caricature-like features and proportions, so of course that was the first thing I tackled here. I made him very square-and-solid looking. I wanted him to have an appearance that read both as very dignified and also very personable. One should be able to tell at a glance that he is someone who commands a great deal of respect and is worthy of that respect, while also being approachable and trustworthy. Simultaneously larger than life and down to earth. His expression is stern, but with an undertone of warmth. In the original game, Darunia seemed to me like a character who wasn't really meant to be taken seriously, but for our version we want to give the opposite impression. When Darunia speaks, you will listen. I intend for him to be a character that commands respect both from the other characters around him and from the audience as well.

Aside from that, his defining characteristics remain, especially his beard and hair which are what make his silhouette most easily distinguishable. Rather than changing very much I mostly just added more, like his accessories, clothes and tattoos. Many people in the past have pointed out that the gorons, in oot especially, have many elements that appear to be based off various cultures from across the African continent, but again, especially in oot, that was done rather insensitively. So I also decided to look to the west African region in particular for some inspiration for my Darunia redesign. I ended up using mostly references from Ghana after searching through a few different sources, and the traditional clothing there influenced how I dressed Darunia, like with the brightly coloured and patterned cloth of his waist-wrap thing and his sandals-- which from now on I have decided to draw all gorons wearing sandals. The cloth Darunia wears is not fully patterned like those from Ghana since I played around with a few different patterns before settling on this, but in the future I may try drawing something more 1-1.

His tattoos are also based off the Adinkra symbols. Researching the Adinkra symbols was very exciting and interesting for me, and there were many that were perfectly suited for the things I had planned. I didn't want to just copy them directly, so I made slightly altered versions of some of the symbols with their original meanings. My hope is that anyone familiar with the Adinkra symbols would easily recognize them as the source, and be able to tell which fantasy versions are derived from which real ones, with or without the meaning listed alongside it. The ones I referenced for Darunia specifically were the Dwennimmen, meaning humility and strength, the Akoben meaning vigilance and wariness-- which is depicted on his necklace-- the Nkonsonkonson meaning unity, or brotherhood, and the Aya meaning endurance and resourcefulness. The anvil symbol, the one representing Temna/creation/ingenuity, is one I invented imitating the existing symbols' style. I chose these for their meanings, which I feel represent Darunia's character well, and seem like the kinds of things he would value and choose for himself to wear.

The red tattoo sleeve framing the goron ruby is meant to represent streams of lava flowing down the mountainside. This one single element gave me more grief than any other part of the redesign, I went though so many drafts of just that one tattoo and it was what caused this redesign to take so long! Though now that I have emerged victorious from the bloodstained battlefield (clip studio paint), I am very pleased with the final result!

Also, you may notice that the ring on his left thumb looks remarkably like the game's power bracelet. That's because it is the power bracelet! If you'd like, you can wait until we reach that part of the fic to learn what the deal is there, or if you're feeling impatient and don't mind some light spoilers, you can read Darunia's character profile for our rewrite here on world anvil, which is one of the few I've actually completed lol

#mod car #art #my art #oot rewrite #loz ocarina of time #redesigns #oot:tas #loz oot #oot darunia #darunia #goron redesign #oot rewrite has dilf content for the dilf likers

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alix-is-o-a-k · 1 year

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alix!! fluff fics are always a nice start, and I’ve had painting my room on my mind. you could get the nark boys painting nick’s earth-apartment? lark started painting when mercedes got him into art therapy (henry suggested it to merc, but yk how lark is) and does little flowers on the baseboards, maybe?

anywho, best of luck with posting fics!! I’ll be sure to hype you up :)

ASBSINSOA THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! This was soooo fun to write! (Went a little longer than I meant it to lol)

“Lark? What’re you doing here?”

Nick’s standing in the open doorway of his new apartment. He’s wearing black shorts and a loose grey tank, both splattered with dark red paint that could be mistaken for blood from some distance.

“Uh.. sparrow told me you were painting your apartment and I figured- do you want some help?”

“Yes.”

Nick opens the door wider and steps back to let Lark in. Splattered on the walls in uneven brush strokes are streaks of the same red paint on his clothing. The color’s dripping from the walls onto the floor.

“Nicky, what the hell is this?”

Nick’s face goes red and he scratches at the back of his head. “I… can’t paint. You know that.”

“Nick, this is an absolute disaster- were you seriously not planning to get anyone to help you?” Lark looks at him incredulously.

“I thought I could do it! And you’re here anyway!”

“Luckily for you,” Lark grumbles, picking up one of the abandoned paint brushes on the floor “let’s get started.”

Nick picks up the second brush and follows Lark’s lead, bringing the brush down in even strokes along the walls. They’re finished with the first in half the time it would have taken Nick, and Lark puts his brush down with a sigh, running a paint-covered hand through his hair and smearing the color into the brown strands. Nick laughs and Lark looks at him questioningly.

“What?”

“Nothing- just, your hair.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“You’ve got paint in it, see?” The demon brushes his hand through Lark’s hair and purposefully smudges the paint even more. Lark lets out an outraged noise and picks up his brush, flinging the droplets of paint at Nick, who raises his arms in front of his face to protect himself.

“Oh you are so on.”

The two begin to wrestle, the paint staining their skin and clothes until, panting, Lark collapses on the floor. Nick pins him down with one hand, sitting on his legs to keep him from moving.

“So you admit I win?”

“Fine, you little shit,” Lark pushes Nick’s hand off of his chest and leans up to kiss him. Nick happily melts into the kiss and lowers the two of them down until they’re parallel with the floor, Nick’s arm wrapped around Lark’s waist.

“Got you,” Lark whispers into Nick’s ear and his pulls his hand from the demon’s face. Nick touches his cheek and grins when his hand comes away red.

“How dare you,” he says playfully, and stands up. Lark makes a noise of protest, but Nick just sticks his tongue out and heads towards the bathroom to wash the paint off. When he gets back, Lark’s doodling something in pink on the base of the wall, and Nick crouches next to him to watch. The moment Lark sees him he turns bright red and smudges the paint.

“No I wanna see! What were you drawing?”

“Nothing!” Lark says hurriedly. Nick narrows his eyes but changes the topic.

“Where’d you learn to paint anyway?” Nick asks, sitting against the wall to look at Lark.

“Art therapy. Mercedes signed me up for it a few years ago.”

Nick lets out a noise of contentment and the two sit in silence for a little longer until Lark leans over and presses his lips to Nick’s again, and then Nick’s up against the wall as the paint from Lark’s hand bleeds into his shirt.

Below them, just barely visible is a couple of doodled flowers, with N+L written in pink.

—————————

hope you enjoyed it! I haven’t written in a while, sorry if it’s bad lol

#Alixwrites #dndads #dndads season 2 #dungeons and daddies #dndads s2 #Writing ask #fanafiction #Nark #nark nation

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junkydrawr · 11 months

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Well, it's been a while, so here's another Snively scene for ya'll. Just a little bit of Snively's childhood.

Oh yeah, I'm learning Spanish so I just tossed some random thing in there. Lol

"How come you don't use your real name?" Tails twirled in the water.

"I don't like it."

"What was it again?"

Snively lifted one foot from the water, watching the silt slide from his toes. "Colin."

"How come you like Snively better than Colin?"

"I wouldn't say I like it better. But it's the lesser of the two evils."

"Colin isn't that bad," said Tails. "My real name is Miles...now that's just dorky!"

"No, it's fine. It has sophistication." Snively wiggled his toes back into the mud. It felt nice.

"What's sophistication?"

"Class. Polish." Snivey rolled his eyes. "I realize Sonic is your idol, but must you emulate his vocabulary incompetence...?"

"I got no idea what you just said." Tails splashed one of his namesakes into the water, sending spray Snively's way.

It honestly felt nice too. He wiped his face. It might be pleasant to simply sit down, let the water flow up to his chest. He'd probably be covered in sand afterwards. Not so pleasant.

"I think you should use Colin." Tails nodded seriously. "Snively sounds like a joke. Like...sniveling."

"...but isn't that what I do?" Snively smiled crookedly. Hazy memories surfaced like the glittering sand beneath the water.

He was nine and his father was the Minister of Justice. Father attended galas and parties and meetings and other boring things. Usually, Colin Jr stayed home. Tonight, his father decided to drag him along.

Snively was not pleased. He'd have to don his suit and tie, those stupid shiny shoes that hurt his feet...and be around droning, pretentious rich people for endless hours.

At least the food was usually good.

Father stopped by the leather armchair where his son was lounging with a book.

"Hijo, tienes que hacer listo." (Son, you have to get ready.)

Snively sneered without looking up. "Yo no entiendo." (I don't understand.)

Father insisted on his enrollment in Human Multicultural Languages. It was another class to nap through. Father liked to grill him with random phrases in various languages of Earth. (Of course, random phrases was all Father knew.)

When Snively had asked to drop out, his father had gone on a tirade.

"We must preserve our heritage," he growled.

"But we're from England."

"The heritage of our species! The glory of Homo Sapiens!" Colin Sr tilted back his head arrogantly, his fire-hued hair gleaming in the chandelier lights. "Our people are meant to conquer the stars, boy!"

Oh Gods. Snively resisted an epic eye roll. It'd only earn him a slap.

Father loathed the fact that Common Mobian was prioritized over Human languages on all levels of schooling. They were both fluent, naturally. When your species was only 3% of the population, you had to assimilate or remain insular, and that was not an option when the majority controlled all of the resources as well.

"You do understand me, Snively! Now answer properly!"

He sighed and struggled for the words. "Um...Que hora hace lo empiezar?" (What time does it start?)

"It starts at seven. You have an hour to get ready and you look a mess." Colin Senior fisted a handful of his son's shirt, drawing him close. "You had best not disgrace me, Snively."

Snively cringed. "No, daddy."

The gala was some stupid fundraiser, something to do with raising money for the Overlander cause - the group that believed they shouldn't bow to the Mobians.

War was on the horizon, but such things were surreal to a nine year old boy who had his hands full with a critical, loveless father, schoolyard bullies, classwork and studies.

Snively managed to snag a glass of wine from a passing server. He sipped from it, brushing his hair from his eyes. Oh, it made him feel burning and tingling. He liked it.

The air was thick with the scent of rich hors d'oeuvres, silver confetti, gold balloons, clashing perfumes. He scratched at the red tie at his neck and sat at an empty table.

Look at this silly lot. He eyed all the men in their suits, the women in their fancy dresses and overdone makeup, all the breasts pushed up and begging for attention. A server paused and offered him delicacies from her silver tray.

Oh yes. Small weiners wrapped in brioche, pinky-sized shrimp, and tiny snack cakes!

"Thank you, I will." He took the entire tray.

"Excuse me, young sir-" she huffed and he aimed a finger across the room. There was Father, shaking hands and blabbing with other stick-up-the-ass bigwigs.

"Oh, would you like to tell my daddy on me? He's right there."

She blanched, hurrying off.

He smiled in bratty enjoyment, then sampled the plate. Well, perhaps it was worth being dragged here. But after a while, he was full and bored, and this dreck of a party was still carrying on.

I wish Uncle Julian were here. He sighed, leaning back in the chair. Uncle would have so many witty and funny things to say of all this! Snively giggled. He imagined Uncle's commentary in his deep voice. Look at this group of overstuffed turkeys, my dear boy. Ah, has that woman over there smuggled melons into her brassiere?

I wish Julian was my father instead...

He tried to squash the frequent, sorrowful thought and stood, restlessly wandering the gala. He ended up passing near his father, still chatting with other pompous arses. People of wealth and influence.

"Oh my," cried an elderly woman showing too much skin. "Is this not your son, Minister?"

"Jolly right!" Another man, decked out in Overlander military garb, pulled Snively in by the shoulder. "This is the lad."

"Ah yes." Colin Senior beamed with false pride. An equally fake hand of affection patted his son's other shoulder. "My darling boy, my golden child."

"What a fine-looking young man."

Snively resisted a sneer. Think that's the first time I've heard that one.

"My pride for him knows no bounds."

"And what is your name, son? Named after your father, are you?"

Colin Senior nodded, drawing his son closer, his hand kneading on the back of his neck. You'd best not disgrace me.

I hate being named after this clod.

I hate how he's pretending to love me.

The golden child smiled sweetly, his blue eyes sweeping the group. "Oh yes, sirs and madames. My name is Colin as well...but honestly, I far prefer Father's nickname for me."

Father's hand tightened on his nape. A warning.

"Oh, and what is that?" The elderly woman leaned forward.

Colin Jr beamed radiantly. "Why, Sniveling Bastard, of course. Snively for short."

The old woman gasped, and all the assembled eyes stared at his father. Colin Senior sputtered, red creeping up his brawny neck, as he fumbled for an out.

"Um...ah...heh...ah...the boy is such a joker. Such talent for wit."

There was forced laugher, and Snively slipped away as his father desperately tried to save face.

He retreated to the bathroom, where in the stall, he bent over and laughed until tears streamed down his face.

He shed a different sort of tears later in the privacy of their manor home.

It had been a while since Father had thrashed him with his belt, and he struck especially hard tonight.

Snively curled painfully in bed, sniffling and wiping tears. His rear and thighs burned with swollen welts...but inside...he glowed.

I can't wait to tell Uncle about the look on Father's face. He giggled softly, gingerly rolling to his other side with a pained gasp.

Yes, he would be sore for days...but he was full of appetizers and the darkness of pleasurable spite. Welts would fade, but the memory would never lose its sweetness.

The recollection of Daddy's humiliated, fumbling face made him chuckle. Colin Jr had fully embraced his hateful nickname from then on, stabbing it like a needle into his bastard father.

He sloshed his hands in the cool water. "No, I shan't ever use that name." He let his hands still, seeing his pitiful reflection staring up. "Snively is who I am."

Tails twirled again. "Maybe you can make up your own name! Something you like!"

The small man grinned. "All right. Snively the Grrrrreat."

"Yuck! No way!" Tails splashed more water his way.

----

A/N: So that's my take on why Snively sticks with his nickname instead of given name. He really should make something else up though hahaha. (Also, I just realized I didn't make it clear, that Colin Sr only called his son 'Snively' (and variants of) in private.)

(Also Humans being 3% of the population might be an overestimation. In my storyline Mobius and Earth are seperate and the Overlanders immigrated from Earth to Mobius over a period of several hundred years until they ended up blowing up their home planet. Bummer. Lol. Anyway, it's a minor detail since that shit's in the past, right?)

#snively #junkysnivfic #SatAM fic

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baiboop · 8 months

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Sharing my Heart

Chapter 5

Adam swims over to the dock at a rushed pace, hoisting himself out of the water.

He tosses his head around, shaking the water out of his hair, he then wipes his face off with his hands, blinking hard to get the droplets of water off his eyelashes.

After his brief dry off, Adam starts to feel his stomach lurch, he feels antsy and nervous.

What will this development mean for him?

Adam runs his hands through his damp hair a couple times, attempting to soothe the intense dread that is starting to envelope his mind.

He continues running his fingers along his scalp, taking deep breaths. He needs answers, he needs Micheal.

Adam is annoyed at his own thoughts, the thought that he needs Micheal. He wants to be able to just, know things, without the help of some asshole archangel.

He wants to figure it out on his own, because that’s what he’s always done, and because he doesn’t need Micheals help for anything.

But that isn’t true and this isn’t something he can figure out on his own.

He does need Micheal’s help.

Adam bites his cheek, half in annoyance, half in hesitation, before he calls out for Micheal.

“Micheal?” Adam pauses. “Micheal!” He says again, looking around the yard to see if Micheal popped in anywhere.

“Micheal, hello? What’s going on, talk to me!” Adam is shouting now, pacing the yard dripping wet, in just his boxers.

“Micheal, you need to tell me what’s going on, please. I heard they have Sam, are we gonna fight soon?” Adam deliberately chose to use the word ‘we’, even though he knew that what he really meant to say was ‘you’.

Adam won’t really be doing any fighting at all, he knows that, of course. Still, he didn’t want to admit that out loud, so he chose to use the plural pronoun instead of the singular.

Adam halts, watching the surrounding area, still positive Micheal will appear somewhere near him.

Any second now…

With Micheal disproving Adams previous belief and with seconds turning into minutes, he starts to get impatient. Adam puts a hand on his hip and draws his face into a tight scowl.

“Micheal. Hello?” He calls out again, dragging out the vowel at the end of the word.

He stands there, restlessly, waiting for Micheal once more.

Being ignored severely worsened Adams anxious state, he couldn’t understand why Micheal wouldn’t come see him for something so important.

He started to feel really mad, being left in the dark like this wasn’t improving Adams opinion on Michael.

Now that Adams hand was on his hip his fingers felt the cotton of his boxers and just how damp they were.

His hand moved from his hip and down to the edge of his boxers, with the other hand joining on the opposite side.

He hunches over a little, wringing the water out of the saturated fabric.

Glancing at his jeans laying on the dock, Adams anxiety is sidelined, he even feels a tiny bit grateful Micheal didn’t come when called. A light blush dusts his cheeks, as he thinks about how embarrassing it would have been if he had to face Micheal in just his underwear.

He wanted Micheal to take him seriously, after all.

Adams momentary embarrassment dulls his anger and dread.

The partially more indifferent (but still semi-pissed) emotional state he’s just entered, helps him realize he needs a couple minutes to collect himself and figure out what exactly he wants to ask Micheal.

That way he won’t get caught off guard and is more prepared than the last time Micheal spoke with him.

Adam sits down on the grass, eventually falling to his back and laying out in the sun.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, letting the heat dry his body and burn off his minds haze of annoyance.

His mind initially races, with thoughts of the fight and the damage it will do to earth.

He thinks about the aftermath, when he finally gets his mom back and can go back to his normal life. Will there be enough earth for them to have a normal life? Would he even be able to enjoy a normal life after all this, or would things just be too different? He thinks about college, and if he would even want to go back and finish his pre-med courses.

But after those thoughts subside Adam focuses more on a check list of questions:

Is Sam okay?

Will we be fighting the devil soon?

Will Sam die with the devil?

What if we lose?

How bad will the fight really get?

How are you planning to kill Lucifer?

Can angels even die?

And so on.

Twenty minutes later he feels ready.

Adam opens his eyes back up, propping himself up on his hands and squinting at the glint of the water hitting his eyes.

He places his hands on his boxers smoothing out the sun-dried wrinkles and feeling the fabric to make sure it was fully dry.

He stands up, walking towards his shoes and pants. He picks up his jeans and pulls them on over his now warm, and slightly grass stained, boxers. He leaves his shoes sitting at the dock and goes back inside to grab his t-shirt.

He makes his way the ranches nearest door, the front door, and he opens it. Adam walks inside, greeted by the scenery of the kitchens dining room table.

The house had quite a strange layout, with the front door leading into the kitchen/dining room. Adam had noted this when he was a child, no other house that he had been in had a front door that lead into a kitchen, it was always into a living room or foyer.

Ignoring his minds useless thoughts, Adam grabs the black t-shirt off the top of the old, glossy, wooden table, pulling it over his head. He eyed the flannel and jacket that were strewn about, on top of the table.

He takes ahold of both garments, readjusting them and draping them on the corner of one of the chairs so the area wouldn’t look as messy.

After his tidying up was competed, he made his way over to the sliding glass door in the living room. He opened the door, walking down the three steps that lead out onto the patio and looking out at the large fields that sat just before the tree line started. He could feel the hot concrete under his bare feet and instinctually shifted his weight in reaction to the abrupt temperature change.

Adam walked over to the black, metal table and chairs that sat upon the large stone patio, and pulled out a chair, a crude scraping noise sounded as he did so.

Sitting down, Adam gazed out at the vast fields of grass that were found behind the quaint ranch home. The blades of grass moved like water under the afternoon breeze, capturing Adams full attention and mesmerizing him for a brief moment.

Adam clasps his hands together, closing his eyes and breathing in through his nose before he starts to call out for Micheal again.

“Micheal.” Adam starts, a new found calmness apparent in his voice. “Micheal it’s Adam, please, could we talk about what’s going to happen?”

He surveyed the area around him looking out for Micheals identical figure.

After, what Adam counted to be, seventeen minutes elapsed, finally did Adam hear Micheals voice coming from behind him.

“Hello, Adam.”

Slightly startled, Adam turned his head over his right shoulder, viewing Micheal.

Micheal had seemed relaxed enough, he stood with rigid, unnaturally straight posture, but despite the body language, he looked at Adam with a passive look splayed on his face.

Adam chalked his weird posture up to the fact that angels probably didn’t understand body language.

“Hi, Micheal.” Adam retorts, blinking a couple times trying to remember his line of questioning he so vigilantly had prepared.

“What is going on out there? Did you already fight? Is Sam okay?” Adam rapidly questions, standing up and turning to face Micheal.

“Everything happening outside has remained relatively similar to as it was before your possession. No, I have not fought yet. Sam, I presume, is doing fine. Lucifer is not so petulant as to have intentionally harmed his true vessel.” Micheal retorts, carefully answering all three parts to Adams question.

Adams eyes shifted to the side, away from Micheals expressionless face, he thought about Sam for a moment. Was Sam trapped in his memories too? Or had Lucifer simply put Sam to sleep and tucked him away, so he wouldn’t have to deal with him

“Well, what are we waiting for? It’s your biblical destiny or something isn’t it? Let’s go kick the devil’s ass.”

“What I am waiting for, is communication. I am waiting for confirmation of Lucifer’s whereabouts. We have intentions to meet at a designated spot, where we shall commence our battle, however, I cannot simply trust my brothers words.”

“Why does that even- Well, okay fine whatever.” Adam said, furrowing his brows. I mean, a fights, a fight, right? If they had to be all formal with a designated meeting place, so be it. Adam thinks to himself, before starting his next question.

“When this is over you’re letting me go, right? I get my mom and life back, correct?”

Micheals offers, what could be categorized as, an inquisitive look to Adam.

“Of course, Adam. Our plans have remained stagnant. After this, you will be revered by heaven for your service. We shall return your mother to you promptly. I can personally vow, no harm shall come to you and you shall be safely returned to your ‘old life.’”

This response restores some of Adams confidence and soothes his nerves a bit. “Alright, Good. Well how-“ Adam was cut off by Micheals abrupt continuation.

“Adam, I apologize, but I must go. I have important matters to attend to before I meet with my brother. As you are aware, this task is quite important and could take some time to complete. You know all that is needed. Your safe return is promised, I will protect you Adam. But now, I must depart from this conversation. I cannot afford to waste any more of my time with frivolous activities, such as this.” Within the the second Micheal uttered his last consonant, he was gone.

Adam paused for a long moment, staring at the empty space on the patio where Micheal had been standing. He slowly processed Micheals whole exposition. He felt the mornings previous anger creeping back up on him.

Balling his hands up into fists Adam began his rant.

“Frivolous. Frivolous? Of course, this has no value to you. Of course, it’s frivolous to you, but it had value to me! This was important to me Micheal!” Adam said aloud with a childish tone of ire in his voice. The empty space in front of him not making that great of a listener.

“Un-fucking-believable.” Adam continued his tirade aloud.

“You can’t take five minutes out of your eternal life to explain, to the guy who you’re currently wearing, what the hell is going on? You’re such an asshole Micheal!”

Adam turns to the chair behind him forcefully pushing it back into the table.

He hits his fists against his forehead and

let’s out a frustrated sigh.

Adam thinks of the way Micheal had worded it, he so politely and eloquently told Adam that he didn’t matter, and was wasting his time.

“Damn it. Dean was right, angels are dicks.” Adam mutters to himself.

Adam walks back up the steps and into the house, walking through the living room and down the hallway that connects to the kitchen. He heads towards the mud room, praying some of his grandfathers tennis shoes would be in there. He’s sick of those stupid hand-me-down combat boots, and he wants to take a walk to blow off some steam, which is hard to do in clunky boots that are a size too big.

To Adams pleasant surprise there was a pair, a beat up pair of white (currently yellow, with age.) nikes that were probably from the mid 1990s.

He slipped the shoes on with ease, luckily for Adam, his grandfathers feet were only a half size smaller than his and these shoes specifically, being so worn down, were practically true to Adams size.

Once the laces were double knotted, the way Adam liked, he walked out of the door next to the mud room.

The door connected to the garage, he peered around his mental version of the inside of the garage, looking at what items were inside. No new, white, 2001, Toyota Sequoia was found in the garage, but a plethora of gardening supplies and landscaping equipment remained. He mentally logged the items that he saw, telling himself that he’ll come back and look through them. But at the moment, he was way past ready to get out of there.

He stalked out of the garage, eyebrows still tilted downward in anger, and into the side yard. He looked over his options of pathes, choosing the path behind the apple trees to go for his walk down.

Adam thought this path would be the most therapeutic, as it was the same path he and his grandpa rode four-wheelers down every august. They would attach baskets to the rack at the back off the quads, using bungee cords. After they were secure, the two of them would fill the baskets to the brim with apples. The path behind the main three apple trees lead to a back-plot with around seven more apple trees. It would take him and his grandpa, ten to twelve trips to get all the good apples back to the house.

Summer of 1997 Adams grandpa let him run the apple stand with him, he said Adam was his ‘best and cutest good luck charm for business.’ He was definitely on to something because they always sold a lot more apples with little Adam around.

Country folk just can’t resist cute kids selling produce, who knew?

Adams walk started off at a brisk pace, even through his fond memories, he couldn’t shake the annoyance he felt at the whole situation. How was Micheal just gonna leave him in the dark like that? It genuinely bothered Adam, that the fight could been happening outside right now, and he would never know.

He would just be walking down some trail in the beginning of summer, while the outside world is getting ripped to shreds.

Adams stomach turns, annoyance being replaced by worry.

He paused his walking for a second to breathe and calm down.

Once composed enough again, he continued his walk.

Adams eyes were fixated on the ground, he just couldn’t grasp the idea that the fight was bound to happen soon. No matter how many times he’s goes over the weeks past events, it just doesn’t seem real.

A fight between the archangels Micheal and Lucifer. That’s just… Not normal. Adam thought to himself, biting his cheek.

Eventually his path lead him to the asymmetrical row of apple trees. The gorgeous, brown bark of the trees was accompanied by lively green leaves and mostly ripe apples. Which Adam was puzzled by, it was late June, the apples shouldn’t be ripe until the end of August. He ignored this, ‘what’s not broke’, and all that.

Adam walked up to one of the smaller trees, closing his eyes while he ran his hands along this bark. This isn’t real. He reminds himself, but he can’t believe it. It feels so real, it’s hard for him to convince himself he’s stuck in his mind while an immortal celestial being does who-knows-what with his real body, out there.

He leans forward placing his forehead against the cool bark of the tree, audibly sighing, as the rough bark collides with his forehead. He lets out another sigh, before turning around to lean his back against the tree.

He stares out at clearing to his left, on either side of it is a colorful array of different trees, shrubs, wild flowers, ferns, baccates, stumps and mushrooms. None of these (except for the wildflowers and probably some mushrooms) were visibly found in the clearing itself.

Adam slid down the bark, feeling it tug at his t-shirt. He sits down into a criss-cross position at the base of the slim apple tree.

Adam closed his eyes as his head fell into his hands, he shook his head slightly, palms pushing in on his eyes, giving the appearance of fuzzy patterns and lightning behind his eyelids.

Maybe, just maybe, Micheal knew what he was doing. I mean, he had guaranteed Adam safety right? Maybe, Adam should just trust Micheal on this… Obviously Micheal was like, a billion-year-old creature made of celestial light, or something, he’s gotta have some credibility. Right?

Adam lifted his head back out of his hands, tilting it up until the back of his head hit the bark. He felt slightly defeated but he was ready to accept that maybe his outburst was a tad bit unjustified. I mean, it was definitely rude for Micheal to leave mid-conversation and basically say it wasn’t important enough for him to stay, but… Adam honestly didn’t know what was really going on outside. Maybe there was something really important Micheal had to do.

“Okay, Micheal. You win, I will trust you. I’ll just wait it out, you take care of it out there. Oh, and don’t lose, capeesh?” Adam spoke to the memory-generated blue sky, hoping Micheal got his message/apology.

He felt a reassuring warmth momentarily engulfing him, Adam took that as Micheals response and acceptance of his apology.

That tenderness sparked the small beginnings of a smile that tempted at Adams features. He didn’t fight and let the smile take shape, while closing his eyes, resting under the tree for a couple minutes. Or just until he felt like moving again.

——

Adams opens his eyes, lifting his previously slumped head and stifles a yawn.

He blinks a couple times, scrunching his eyes in an attempt to re-adjust his tired eyes to the bright afternoon sun.

He furrows his brows when the light does abruptly reach his eyes.

He sifts in his seated position, stretching his legs out in front of him, they felt really uncomfortable, like pins and needles.

His eye lids still felt heavy and his body wasn’t fully awake. He felt like he had just been sleeping.

He had just been sleeping. (Or at least, exhausted himself into a relaxed enough state to simulate what sleeping is like.) Holy shit, he did it. He finally broke his no-sleep streak.

Adam rejoices a bit internally, at the accomplishment of the rest he had been working so hard at, for days. Real sleep or not, this was the closest he’s felt to being actually rested since his possession!

Adam breathes in the afternoon air, still in the same clearing that he had fallen asleep in. The grass and weeds are beautifully vibrant shades of green. The whole scene looks lively and this pleases Adam, it was a beautiful thing to wake up to.

Once he finished taking in the scenery, Adam hoists himself up using the ground and tree behind him for stability.

He stumbles a few times, his legs still asleep and his body not being used to having to come out of a resting state anymore.

He starts his quarter-mile walk back to the ranch, taking his time to touch the trees he passes and watch the moving clouds.

By the time Adam is over half way home, the fingers of his right hand are sticky with sap from over thirty different trees. He chuckles to himself, wiping his hand on the rough denim of his jeans. It takes a good couple minutes to get a sufficient amount of sap off his fingers, but once it’s off he puts his hands in his back pockets to help resist the urge to touch more trees.

Despite his groggy feeling he’s doing his best to enjoy the afternoon, it’s not everyday you get a perfect recreation of an insanely fond, important childhood memory.

He was especially taking his time since he’ll be out of this mind-scape soon, he wants to soak up the memory and enjoy it for the little time he has left.

Adam feels a pang of anticipation as he thinks of the impending fight and silently prays (to no one in specific) that it will go well and in his and Micheals favor.

At this point in his walk he’s starting to feel a little sluggish, accrediting this to his body adjusting back to the routine of sleep, he ignores it and continues on his path for another couple minutes.

Suddenly he starts to feel himself rapidly declining, a familiar melodic ringing is filling his ears and making his head pound. His brain starts to feel fuzzy, like it’s trying so hard to focus on something that’s just out of reach from perception.

He clutches at his head, staggering, his walk is now down to just a few steps per minute.

He stays still, wondering to himself if sleeping is actually really bad for his body in here, or if maybe sleeping interferes with Micheal some how?

Why else would he feel so sick, he had to have done something wrong?

The ranch was now within eyeshot.

“Come on, Adam. Just a little more.” Adam speaks, reassuring himself and taking another couple steps forward. The uneven forest ground did not help with Adams case of vertigo, it just made it harder to orientate himself.

When Adam was about to breach the tree line and enter the mowed portion of his grandparents lawn, he stumbled once more, tripping and falling to his knees this time.

Now crouched on his knees, Adam is holding his head on either side, clenching his jaw and fighting the urge to put his forehead down, right in the grass.

His body swayed back and forth as he tried to maintain his crouched stance. He felt like he was going to throw up, even though he knew that was impossible since he hadn’t eaten in days. He spit into the grass, fighting the urge to dry heave.

He felt a strange sensation in his ears, and the previous ringing started to morph into faint sounds of speech.

“It’s good to see you, Micheal.”

Adam hears the words, but can’t comprehend them straight away, the voice sounds familiar and he tries to place it, but before he can, a response is given.

“You as well. It has been far too long, brother.”

This time Adam recognizes the voice, it’s his own voice. His own voice, but not his own words. It’s an odd realization to come to that Micheal is talking, not him.

He’s heard Micheal speak using his voice before of course, but the combined headache and disorientation is making it ten times weirder for Adam to think about.

“Can you believe it’s finally here?” Adam places the voice the second time, it’s Sam.

The return of his hearing is closely followed by his sight. Cloudy images fill his eyes as his mind works to stitch them all together.

He starts to see Sam, who is standing directly in front of him (Micheal). Sam is dressed in just about what you would expect, a faded out, blue and grey flannel with a taupe utility jacket, brown boots and dirty denim jeans. Adam recoils slightly, at the fact he isn’t viewing Sam, but Lucifer. He winces at the thoughts flooding his mind. Micheal will have to kill Sam.

He wonders if Sam is in there, somewhere, having the same conflicting feelings about Adams body.

“No, Not really. I have been waiting millennia for this, it is surreal the moment has finally come to pass.” Micheal sighs before he finishes talking, something Adam notes as being deliberate, seeing as angels don’t have any use for breathing.

“Are you ready, brother?”

Adam hears a muffled, deep sigh coming from Sam, or Lucifer. Noting that he too is taking accustom to human speech patterns.

The whole conversation thus far, sounds like it’s in another room or underwater. There’s a faint ringing behind all the words and Adam can tell he isn’t on the same physical plane as the scene he’s observing.

“As I could ever be.” Lucifer responds.

“Part of me wishes, we didn’t have to do this.”

“I as well, brother.” Adam feels Micheals solemn sincerity. He can tell that Micheal feels regrettably about the fight that is to take place.

“Then why are we? We don’t have to do this Micheal. Dad is gone he can’t make us-“

Micheal cuts in, denying Lucifer the right to finish that sentence.

“Oh, you know why.” Micheal sneers at his younger brother.

“I have no choice- After what you did.”

“What I did? What if it’s not my fault?” Lucifer counters, a look of exhaustion evident on his vessels features.

“What is that meant to suggest?”

“Think about it, Micheal. Dad, he made everything. Which means he made me who I am. God wanted the devil.”

“And?”

“And.. And why? Why make us fight? I just can’t figure out the point.”

“What is your point, Lucifer?”

“We are going to kill each other, and for what? One of dads tests? We don’t even know the answer. We’re still brothers, let’s just walk off the battle field.”

“I am deeply sorry, little brother. As much as I feel remorse for the way things have turned out, you have dug your grave. I cannot allow you to walk away. I am a good son and faithful solider, I have received my orders and plan to see them through.”

“But you don’t have to, you don’t have to see them through.”

“What? You presume I am to rebel? Now, after all these years? I am not like you, Lucifer.”

“Please, Micheal.” Lucifer begs, his vessels eyebrows were furrowed. The expression was eerily similar to the one the real Sam always wore, it made Adam shudder slightly.

“Please what? You know, little brother, you have not changed. Always blaming everybody but yourself. We were together, we were happy. But you, of your own will, betrayed me, betrayed all of us, and you made our father leave.”

“No one makes dad do anything. He is doing this to us, and what if it was not of my own will?”

“You are a monster Lucifer. I have to kill you.” Micheal stated, sliding a sliver dagger, with a twisted blade out of his sleeve. Glaring a menacing look towards Lucifer, and taking a braced stance.

“If that’s the way it has to end… Then so be it.” Lucifer responds, sliding a similar blade out of his sleeve, it’s silver like Micheals, with the same twisted blade but looks to have a different handle and markings.

Lucifer shifts into a wide stance to match Micheal.

Adam watches through he and Micheals eyes as Lucifer starts to circle around Micheal, Micheal matches Lucifer’s walking pattern, and they now are stalking around each other, wordlessly.

Adam can feel Micheals power surging through him, his focus shifting completely to Lucifer as he channels his grace wholly into his objective.

The redistribution of grace feels odd to Adam, he can feel Micheal pulling away from him and directing his attention elsewhere.

Adam frowns as he looks at Sam, he feels really bad about the fact that Micheals going to use Adams own hands to kill Sam. Not that Micheal is specifically gunning for Sam but unfortunately the guy Micheal does want dead, is wearing Sam, and Adam can do the math on the collateral.

Adams nerves are killing him, along with the pounding of his head, and he breaks into a cold sweat. He wants to look away, he doesn’t want to see Micheal take a life.

Micheal lifts his blade advancing towards his brother, but stops mid strike. Now Micheal and Lucifer are both looking to the right, their attention grabbed by the faint sound of an engine purring and Def Leopard’s ‘Rock of ages’ starting.

“What the hell?” Adam says audibly to himself as he watches the impala pull up and into the cemetery.

Dean throws the car in park and steps out.

“Howdy, boys.” Dean looks at both archangels curiously and pauses.

“Sorry am I interrupting something?” He says, a coy look on his face as he turns to Lucifer. “We need to talk.”

Lucifer pauses, slightly dumbfounded and glances over to Micheal. Micheal only meets his gaze for a moment, fixing it back towards Dean. Lucifer steps forward in Deans direction and clicks his tongue.

“Dean, even for you, this is a whole new mountain of stupid.”

Adam actually agreed with what the devil said. I mean showing up here? Now? It was practically a certain death sentence for Dean.

Dean rolls his eyes and dismissively says, “I’m not talking to you, I’m talking to Sam.”

Micheal cuts in, taking a few steps in Dean direction.

“You are no longer my vessel, Dean. You are irrelevant to this fight and have no right to be here.”

“Adam, if you’re in there somewhere, I am so sorry.” Dean looks truly apologetic, Adam doesn’t doubt his sincerity. He frowns to himself, deepening the lines in his face. He feels so bad, he just wants this to be over. He can’t imagine what Dean must be feeling right now. Adam resolves, after minor consideration, that Dean must be here to commit suicide-by-archangel, and he wishes he could call out to Dean to tell him that he’s sorry as well.

“Adam isn’t home right now.” Micheal said tensely.

Adam could feel the grip of Micheals grace reaching back to him and holding on. He wasn’t exactly sure what Micheal meant by that.

“Well, then you’re next on my list, buttercup. But right now, I need five minutes with him.” Dean nods his head in the direction of Sam and Lucifer.

“You ill-mannered, pretentious man. You are no longer apart of this.” Micheal says with sharp malice apparent in his voice. He starts to close this distance between him and Dean, fully planning to end Deans life right then by snapping his neck.

“Hey, ass-butt.” Adam hears a gruff voice call out.

Castiel, he remembers the voice as Castiel’s. He starts to wonder what Castiel meant by ‘ass-butt’ but his thoughts are run short by the sight of Castiel throwing what appears to be a molotov cocktail directly at Adams head. Before he has time to think he feels a searing hot pain. It’s absolutely nothing like the heat of Micheals grace, it’s pure agony.

He can feel his flesh burning, his real flesh, his entire body becomes engulfed in flames, while it’s one of the worst pains he’s ever felt, (next to being eaten alive, which so far takes the cake.) it doesn’t hurt near as much as it should.

Micheals presence in the vessel and Adams banishment to the inner sanctums of it, have severely dulled Adams connection to his real body. In fact this is the first thing he has felt from the outside world since his possession, meaning it must’ve really hurt. He mentally thanks Micheal for being there as a buffer so he doesn’t have to fully feel what it’s like to be lit on fire.

Moments later he feels the cooling effect of Micheals grace working overtime to heal his flesh wounds.

He can’t hear anything anymore, he can’t see either, even the inner world falters for a moment before coming back into view.

There is no muffled voices, no visions of Castiel or Sam or Dean, no anything.

Adams curiosity is killing him. What is happening? Why did he basically just have a mini black-out? He strongly considers calling out for Micheal to see if everything’s okay, but he can still feel Micheals presence around him and decides if something was really wrong, he wouldn’t be able feel Micheal anymore. As long as Micheal’s alive, Adam is safe.

Anyway, Micheal probably can’t afford to be distracted at the moment, so he’ll have to stay strong a little while a longer, just a little longer. Adam emphasizes the fact that the amount of time left before this is over is minuscule, it reassures him and comforts his feelings of fear.

Upon Adams return of auditory clarity a couple minutes later, comes visual clarity as well.

The real world starts to materialize into Adams field of vision. This keeps his previous anxieties at bay.

It’s cloudier and much windier than the last time he was able to see, which is odd since he’s positive it had been less than ten minutes.

When Micheal turned their head, Dean came into view, slumped against the impala, face bloodied.

Another turn of their head revealed a giant gaping hole in the cemeteries ground creating a vortex of insanely strong wind. This hole is situated just behind Sam and Lucifer, who are standing dangerously close to the edge.

Adam cant understand. This entire thing is far beyond his comprehension, but a giant hole? What did they intend to do with that? He doesn’t get any of this, what is going on? Are they fighting? Is Micheal winning? Why is Dean there? Again his confusion arises the desperate urge to beg Micheal for answers. This time he clearly understands now is, most definitely, not the time for him to be pestering.

“Sam!” Micheal is yelling when he speaks, trying to project his voice over the loud wind gusts coming from the sink hole near Sam. Near.. Sam… Sam?

Micheal called him Sam? Is that not Lucifer like Adam had thought? He was sure he heard Micheal address him as Lucifer but now he’s addressing him as Sam? Really, what was going on?

“It will not end this way. Step back, Sam.” Micheal says moving towards Sam and outstretching his hand.

“You’re going to have to make me!” Sam responds, aggressively and wildly, resembling a cornered animal.

“I have to fight my brother, Sam. Here and now. It is my divine destiny and duty to heaven. This is Gods will, stand down.” Micheal warns.

There’s an extremely tense silence in the air as Sam thinks of his response, eyes sporadically darting between Micheal and Dean.

Sam meets Deans gaze as Micheal watches, after one last longing soulful glance is shared with his brother, Sam closes his eyes. He starts stretching his arms out and tipping himself backwards into the mouth of the open earth.

“No!” Micheal yells in a guttural tone. Adam feels Micheals upset rip through him, like lightning.

Micheal frantically grasps out for Sam’s jacket, grabbing ahold of the grubby worn down cotton near Sam’s neck and right shoulder.

He grips so tightly Adam can see the skin of Sam’s neck, that Micheal has ahold of, turning white.

Sam’s eyes meet Micheals and he parts his lips, seemingly starting a sentence but no sounds are uttered.

He grabs onto Micheals arm, tugging hard. The combined force of the wind sucking them down and Sam’s firm grip pulling them into the hole, coerces Micheals loss of his vessels balance. Their feet leave the ground, the shock was evident on Micheals face as he stared into Sam’s eyes. Adam could feel Micheal’s panicked emotions and watched as Sam unclenches his fist, letting go of their jacket as they fall in.

Micheal is screaming in anger, the entire fall down. Micheal’s intense animosity was clearly broadcasted within the tone of his yelling.

After an excruciatingly long coupe minutes, they hit the bottom. Adam doesn’t feel the fall although he can tell they must’ve been falling fast, as they left a crack in the floor where they landed.

Adams eyes are greeted, only momentarily, with a vision of the cage designed for Lucifer.

#sharing my heart baiboop #midam #spn #supernatural #the girls are fighting #swan song

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scentedsoulducknerd-blog · 2 years

Text

Twins

Harper was furious. How dare they hurt his sister? She did nothing to them.

This is an AU of Player's kids in the future.

All characters belong to the creator of Carmen Sandiego except for the twins and their mother. I don't own any of them.

Harper was furious. How dare they hurt his sister? She did nothing to them.

They were evil. Tiny demons, if you will. Although, not as evil as some of the people their aunt Carmen had to deal with.

Harper sat at his desk, looking at the red colouring pencil in his hand. When was the last time they saw her? It must have been at least a good few months.

He tapped his pencil against the desk, shaking with rage. The page in front of him empty, a blank space, mocking him.

They had been given an assignment, to draw someone that inspires them. The only problem was, he had a few people that inspired him and he couldn't choose which one of them he should do. His father, his mother, his sister or, his aunt Carmen. They all inspired him, so who to choose?

He didn't know what his father did exactly, nor did he his aunt, but all he knew was that his dad was amazing with technology and that he helped his aunt to change the world. One step at a time.

His mother was a writer, an author, and she created amazing stories for children and adults alike. All it took was a spark of imagination and the story flowed out like a dam breaking.

His sister, his dear sister, who had been put through hell and back because some arrogant people can't accept change. She meant the world to him, and he'd go to the ends of the Earth to protect her from any evil that came their way.

The teacher walked around the room, inspecting every child's drawing, as if he was expecting some Picasso level painting, because each time he laid eyes on one of the children's drawings, his eyebrows fell down into a crease, scowling at the child's drawing, almost disappointedly.

The teacher wasn't really a work of art himself however, and neither were any of his many 'paintings' that were hung up on the walls, each in a wooden frame.

The man had gelled black hair, although it looked more like he'd been whacked across the head by an octopus, with the amount of gel that was in his hair. He had dark blue eyes, that look more grey than blue at most times, and big, dumbo like ears. His face was covered in wrinkles, a sign that the man was indeed old. What was he now? Late fifties? Maybe sixties? Possibly seventies? And yet, here he was, still teaching a bunch of six year olds basic maths and showing them how to draw what most of them already can, stick figures. Honestly what was he expecting from them when he asked them to draw someone who inspires them? Hyper detailed realistically accurate coloured version of the person? Come on.

He wore a two piece suit, both pieces black, and brown, freshly polished dress shoes. He also had a black handle bar moustache. He looked like he had been plucked out of one of those old films he had seen his parents watching, from the nineteen-thirties perhaps. Seriously, this was a school, not some grand ball thrown by the Queen of England, or another important figure of society. There really was no need to be dressed so formally.

Harper made eye contact with his sister and she smiled and waved at him. He grinned. It was nice to see her so happy. Suddenly, he heard someone clearing their throat, and he froze. Rosy's eyes widened as well, and she mouthed an apology at the fact that she had distracted him.

"Mr Bouchard, care to explain to me as to why, we are half way through our lesson, and yet your paper is still blank?" He heard the voice behind him ask. He winced, he really couldn't have drawn a line or something to make it seem like he'd done some work?

"I'm sorry Mr Williams but I've got lots of people that inspire me and I can't pick one." He replied, turning to face his teacher, eyes darting around the classroom, looking for a way to escape the patronising gaze of the man before him.

"If I do not see anything on this page," he pushed his finger down onto the page, crinkling it slightly. Even the way he talks is posh, "by the end of this lesson, then I will have to call your parents in. This is the fourth time you have not done work because you 'could not decide on someone'. It is really getting old and I am getting tired of your excuses Mr Bouchard."

Harper's eyes widened. They couldn't call his parents! They were already busy enough, and troubling them and causing them more problems over something as stupid as not doing a drawing was ridiculous.

"I'll have something down by the end of the lesson Mr Williams." He said, finally making eye contact.

"You better had. You do not want me to call your parents in because of something this simple, do you?"

Harper shook his head.

"No Mr Williams"

"Good. Get to it then."

He didn't have anything down. So, here he was sitting in the headmasters office, waiting for his parent to arrive.

Mr Williams was stood next to the headmasters desk, arms crossed. He didn't look very happy. Sat next to him was the headmaster. Harper was looking down, embarrassed, hoping this will be over soon.

"Mr Bouchard, I thought you had said you would have something down by the end of the lesson." Mr Williams remarked.

Harper looked up.

"I know. I'm sorry. I couldn't-"

"Decide on who to draw. You keep saying that, and look where it has gotten you."

"Now now, he feels bad as it is Mr Williams, you don't need to make him feel worse." The headmaster told him.

"I was gonna say I couldn't think of where to start." Harper mumbled.

"What was that young man?"

"Nothing sir."

The headmaster was a chubby man about the age of 40, and yet he was growing grey hair on the sides of his head and balding on top. The man wore a pink striped shirt, with blue suspenders over the top. Harper couldn't see the bottom half because of the oak desk between them.

Bookshelves scattered the walls on either side of him, most mainly empty, with a few bits and bobs here and there, and some filled with books.

There was a knock on the door, snapping Harper out of his train of thought.

"Come in" the headmaster shouted.

The door opened. There were his parents. He made eye contact with his father and looked away immediately, ashamed.

"We came as soon as we could. What's going on?" He heard his mother ask.

"Mr and Mrs Bouchard, please, take a seat." The headmaster asked, or demanded.

His parents both looked at each other worriedly, and then proceeded to sit in the other two chairs there.

"What's all of this about?" His father questioned.

"Nothing too big, so there's no need to worry, Mr Bouchard. It's just about Harpers schoolwork." He reassured his parents.

"What about it?" His mother chimed in.

"It has recently come to my attention by Mr Williams here," the man in question raised his hand, "that Harper has not been doing his schoolwork and has been making stupid excuses as to why." The headmaster remarked.

"Is this true Harper?" His mother asked.

"Only my art work, mum. I do everything else! Plus, it's only happened four times, like, once a month or something like that!" Harper replied.

"Wait wait wait," his father waved his hands up and down, "you mean to tell us that you called us," he moved his hands to refer to himself and his wife, "to the school just because our son hasn't done what, four pieces of work? There gotta be a lot of other kids that don't do it either. I mean, they're six for crying out loud!"

"Parker." His mother warned, her voice low. She put her hand on her husbands shoulder gently and smiled at him lovingly, in order to calm him down, so there isn't a scene caused.

The man's eyes widened. She never called him by his real name. It was always by his code name, Player. She really didn't want to make a scene.

"Yes. Other kids haven't done work as well and we'll be calling there parents in as well but Harper resists against his teacher so we've had to call you in first." the bald man told them.

"This is ridiculous" Player mumbled. His wife elbowed him, and gave him a glare. He rolled his eyes.

"How does he resist?" The woman asked.

"Uhh Mr Williams? How does Harper resist exactly?" The headmaster looked to the man.

"Umm... well... he gives me a lot of lip and doesn't participate in physical activities when I tell him to." Came his reply.

"There's a perfectly good explanation for that Mr Williams" the dark haired female said.

"And what is that explanation, Mrs Bouchard?" He said, looking down his nose at her. Judging by the stories he'd overheard from the twins on the playground, they were both reckless, adventurous and clever people. It was obvious that he didn't particularly like Harper, and because the two young adults in front of him were his parents, he didn't particularly like them either. They raised their child wrong. They should raise them to treat their seniors and their superiors with the respect they deserve. Harper and Rosy had none for him.

"Harper has been advised by his doctor to take it easy if he's hurting" the woman crossed her arms.

"If he's hurting? That's got to be the stupidest reason for a kid taking a break or not participating in activities. What is he? An old man like me? Because if I'm not allowed to get out of doing it with the students, neither should he." The man laughed and wiped a tear that came to his eye.

"Mr Williams! The doctor informed me of this and I have told you this as well. It seems you've forgotten though." The headmaster scolded.

"Forgotten what? That he" the man pointed at Harper. He looked down embarrassed. "shouldn't be doing Physical Education because he's 'hurting'?"

"No I informed you on why his legs hurt."

"And why is that?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Because he's an amputee." Player said to him. "He wears prosthetics. He's been to school with crutches before and a wheelchair. The reason he was told not to all the time is because he experiences phantom pain. Is that all you need us for, to mock our son for his disability and waste mine and my wife's time?"

"Even so, he still gives me lip when I tell him to stop making symbols with his hands to Rosy." Mr Williams was flustered at getting called out. Oh how he hated this family. He just wanted one reason to get one of the children in trouble.

"You mean when he's signing what you're saying so she can understand?" The woman asked.

"Signed? As in sign language?"

"Yes. Rosy's deaf and although she has hearing aids, she still needs a little help to understand because they don't magically make her able to hear." Player glared at the man. "Is that all?" He looked back to the headmaster.

"Is that all Mr Williams?" The older man asked.

"Yes" He grumbled.

"You may all leave now. I'm sorry for the inconvenience. I thought we had a different issue at hand." He told the family.

"Thank you" both of the parents said. They rose from the seats, and Harper followed and left the office.

"Unbelievable" Player mumbled, shaking his head.

"Did I do something wrong?" Harper asked, looking up at his father.

"No Harper you did nothing wrong. Your teacher just forgot about you and your sisters disabilities, that's all." He patted his son on his brown hair. Harper grinned at him and he smiled back.

They walked to the inside entrance of the school where Rosy was sitting on one of the blue chairs, swinging her legs. When she noticed the door open she looked up and smiled.

"Is everything ok? Did Harper get in trouble?" She asked, cocking her head to the side.

"No sweetie, he didn't." Her mother replied.

"Are we going home now?"

"Yes we are."

She walked to the door and opened it, signalling for them to go before her.

As the twins were walking in front of them and talking amongst themselves happily, Player decided to make conversation with his wife beside him, who was holding his hand.

"It's a good thing Red didn't want to do a caper today huh?" He laughed. She smiled.

"Yeah, lucky us. Otherwise I'd be stuck dealing with that man on my own." She chuckled.

"I would've come as fast as I could if I had to help Red, but I'm assuming you already knew that, didn't you Iris?"

"Yep. You'd do anything for the twins." He glared at her.

"And you."

"Oh you can spare some love for me now too?" She put her hand on her chest. "I'm honoured." She teased.

"No I don't think I will anymore, you've taken it for granted too many times." He looked away, feigning offence. When he looked at Iris however, he couldn't keep it up and they both burst into laughter.

The twins looked behind them to see their parents giggling to themselves.

"What are they laughing at?" Rosy asked, turning to her brother.

"I have no idea. It could be anything really." He said.

"Yeah you're right."

The next day at school when Harper walked into the classroom he made immediate eye contact with Mr Williams. Harper looked away awkwardly, cheeks red and biting the inside of his cheek. He sat down in his seat and got out his blue pencil.

"You got taken to the headmaster's office yesterday, didn't you?" The girl next to him asked.

She had long curly black hair that had been tied into pigtails with red bobbles. She had a blue and black striped shirt, and black leggings.

Harper raised an eyebrow.

"How do you know that?" He asked.

"Yesterday. Mr Williams told you that you needed something on your paper or he was gonna get your parents. You didn't have anything by the end of the lesson." She told him.

"You were looking at my work?"

Her eyes widened and she turned red.

"Yes. I was." She muttered.

"Why?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"I was gonna ask you about who you drew but then, y'know, you didn't draw anyone."

"Why did you want to ask me about it?"

"You ask lots of questions. I've been wanting to be your friend for awhile but I didn't know how to talk to you."

"Oh." He stuck his hand out in front of her awkwardly. "I'm Harper."

The girl just sat there looking at his hand.

"You're supposed to shake my hand hand and tell me your name after." He told her.

"O-oh. Sorry." She laughed awkwardly. She grabbed his hand and shook it. "I'm Frankie."

They both smiled at each other.

Mr Williams cleared his throat and began the lesson, narrowing his eyes and glaring at the Harper as he began to sign to Rosy.

"What are you doing?" Frankie whispered, after noticing Harper signing.

"Rosy's deaf so in lessons I sign what the teachers saying so she can understand." He whispered back.

"That's sweet of you. But wouldn't it of been easier if you were sat next to each other?"

"It would be, but Mr Williams sat us in these seats and when I tried to tell him he dismissed it."

"Oh"

They both went back to listening to the teacher again.

At break time, the students all filed onto the yard, going to their friend groups. Harper walked towards Rosy.

"Harper wait up!" He heard someone say. He turned to find Frankie running towards him.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"Playing with my friend. Where are we going?" She said, like it was the most the most obvious thing in the world.

"I'm trying to find Rosy."

"She's your sister, right?"

"Yeah, she's my older twin sister."

"Older? It seems like you're the oldest. You're always worrying about her and trying to help her."

"We take care of each other." He smiled gently.

"Take care of each other? How does she help you?"

"When it comes to my disability." He raised his trousers leg up and she gasped as she saw the prosthetic leg.

"Wow. I had no idea." She looked back up to him.

"That's kinda the point." He laughed.

They turned the corner to find Rosy sitting on the floor, with her head down. She was sobbing quietly, holding her ears. Harper and Frankie's eyes widened.

"What happened?!" He shouted.

She didn't respond. Harper crouched down and gripped her hands. She gasped and tried to escape until she looked up and saw it was her brother.

'What happened?' He signed.

"They ripped my hearing aids out." She whimpered.

"WHAT?!" He yelled.

Frankie put her hand on Harper's shoulder and gave him a sad smile. He pulled her hands from her ears, with much resistance from Rosy. Finally, he managed to keep her hands down and gasped. Her ears were bleeding. Frankie bent down to look and gasped as well. Harper's hand clenched and his knuckles turned white. They did this.

#carmen #sandiego #carmen sandeigo netflix #carmen sandeigo 2019 #carmen sandiego player #player #Carmen sandiego fanfic #fanfic #story #writer #player carmen sandiego #twins

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mendessi · 3 years

Text

The Temporary Fracture

Druig x Eleni (female oc)

Summary: Eleni is impaled during battle with a Deviant and with fear that she is dying, she shares something important with Druig

Accepting requests(:

SPOILER WARNING: DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN ETERNALS (well i guess not really but just be aware)

“They’re gonna write legends about her, you know.” Eleni said as she watched Thena greet small smiling children in the streets of Athens.

“Maybe they’ll write legends about all of us.” Druig answered. He looked over at Eleni, a small smile on his face, affection in his eyes as he watched her. “Legends about the beautiful Eleni and her deadly scream. What a wonderful protector she was, how much the people loved her. Should I go on?”

“No, you can stop there.” Eleni shoved his shoulder with her own, her cheeks turning slightly pink.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, El.” He said.

“What credit is there to give?” She looked up at the sky, admiring the stars, wondering which one of them was closest to home. “You guys are all so great. Sometimes I wonder what I’m here for.”

“They call you the Goddess of Wind, did you know that?” He said. He pulled her arm gently to make her face him. “You’re one of the strongest out of us, how could you ever doubt yourself, my love?”

Her stomach tied up in knots at the idea of being “his love”. He called her this all the time, but it was a mere nickname to her. She didn’t take it seriously, but anytime he said it, he meant it with his whole being.

“Goddess of wind, huh?” A smile tugged at her lips. Though she found her power quite useless, the rest of the team couldn’t be more grateful to have her. She was more useful than she knew. Druig’s comment was correct. Her scream was deadly and more importantly she could control wind, which was helpful in a battle against Deviants.

“Did you know that all of the legends about banshees are also about you?”

“Yes.” Her smile dropped. “And they’re all written about these god awful, terrifying creatures.”

“That’s just because they don’t know all you’ve done for humanity.” He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Two Deviants breaking the Northeast barrier.” Kingo grabbed both of their shoulders, yanking them in the direction of the fight. Once they reached the wall, the Deviants had just made their way over it. Kingo began drawing up the power in his hands to use against the monsters and Eleni used her hands to manipulate the wind to kick up sand around them to block their vision.

The Deviants were weak so the fight didn’t last very long. It only took a split second for the worst to happen. Eleni had just put the last Deviant down with her bare hands and she figured that was enough. Just as she turned her back to the lifeless creature on the floor, she felt a searing pain through the center of her chest. The Deviant had just enough life left in it to stab it’s tail through Eleni’s armor. She fell to her knees as her eyes met Druig’s. She barely noticed Kingo move around her to kill it for good. Druig sprinted to Eleni’s side, catching her before her head hit the ground.

“We need to get her to Ajak.” Kingo said.

“This looks really bad, Kingo.” Druig placed his hand on her chest, trying to control the bleeding.

“Look, she’s going to be fine. None of us have ever died.” Kingo told him, but he wasn’t very convincing. Even he could tell that this injury looked beyond repair if they didn’t get to Ajak within the next ten minutes.

“I don’t want to move her. It could make things worse. Go find Makkari and bring Ajak. Now.” Druig tried not to show his panic but looking down at Eleni’s pale face made him feel a type of fear he had never felt in his entire time on Earth.

“We don’t die.” Eleni’s hand reached for his face, but he grabbed her hand and held it at her side.

“Don’t move.” He said through a shaky breath. Eleni did feel a slight panic rising in her chest at the thought of dying. They all presumed it was almost impossible to die, yet here she was on the ground in Athens.

“I need to tell you something.” She said, the metallic taste of blood on her lips. She was gently trying to manipulate the wind into her lungs so she wouldn’t stop breathing because every breath was getting harder.

“Tell me after Ajak fixes you up, okay?” Druig looked down at her, and tears brimmed his eyes for the first time since they had been on Earth.

“It’s important.” She squeezed his hand and a small smile played at her lips.

“It can wait.” He did his best to hide any signs of anxiety but she knew him better than anyone. He was afraid of losing her and she could sense it. She could also sense that the air was filling her lungs slower and slower.

“I love you.” Eleni said, not an ounce of regret weighing on her. If she was in fact about to die, she didn’t want to leave this world not saying the one thing that had been burdening her since they arrived. She loved him with her whole mind, body, heart and soul and she’d be damned if he didn’t know.

“Yes, I love you too.” Druig smiled. He of course didn’t understand that she meant she was in love with him, not just that she loved him. They all loved each other at the end of the day (whether they said it or not, the love was there) , but Eleni and Druig’s love was always different.

“No.” Her eyebrows furrowed when she noticed he didn’t understand. “I love you.” She coughed as blood dripped down her chin. When his eyes softened and she saw that he finally understood, she smiled and let her eyes flutter closed. The sounds around her blurred and her hands stopped moving, no longer manipulating air into her lungs.

To Be Continued...

Druig Masterlist by Mendessi

#eternals #druig x reader #druig x makkari #druig imagines #druig oneshot #mcu #marvel

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reanimatedcourier · 4 years

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How to Write Indigenous Characters Without Looking like a Jackass:

Update as of December 26th, 2020: I have added a couple new sections about naming and legal terms, as well as a bit of reading on the Cherokee Princess phenomenon.

Boozhoo (hello) Fallout fandom! I'm a card-carrying Anishinaabe delivering this rough guide about writing Indigenous characters because wow, do I see a lot of shit.

Let's get something out of the way first: Fallout's portrayal of Indigenous people is racist. From a vague definition of "tribal" to the claims of them being "savage" and "uncivilized" mirror real-world stereotypes used to dehumanize us. Fallout New Vegas' narrated intro has Ron Perlman saying Mr. House "rehabilitated" tribals to create New Vegas' Three Families. You know. Rehabilitate. As if we are animals. Top it off with an erasure of Indigenous people in the American Southwest and no real tribe names, and you've got some pretty shitty representation. The absence of Native American as a race option in the GECK isn't too great, given that two Native characters are marked "Caucasian" despite being brown. Butch Deloria is a pretty well-known example of this effect. (Addendum: Indigenous people can have any mix of dominant and recessive traits, as well as present different phenotypes. What bothers me is it doesn't accommodate us or mixed people, which is another post entirely.)

As a precautionary warning: this post and the sources linked will discuss racism and genocide. There will also be discussion of multiple kinds of abuse.

Now, your best approach will be to pick a nation or tribe and research them. However, what follows will be general references.

Terms that may come up in your research include Aboriginal/Native Canadian, American Indian/Native American, Inuit, Métis, and Mestizo. The latter two refer to cultural groups created after the discovery of the so-called New World. (Addendum made September 5th, 2020: Mestizo has negative connotations and originally meant "half breed" so stick with referring to your mixed Latine and Indigenous characters as mixed Indigenous or simply by the name of their people [Maya, Nahua].)

As a note, not every mixed person is Métis or Mestizo. If you are, say, Serbian and Anishinaabe, you would be mixed, but not Métis (the big M is important here, as it refers to a specific culture). Even the most liberal definition caps off at French and British ancestry alongside Indigenous (some say Scottish and English). Mestizo works the same, since it refers to descendants of Spanish conquistadors/settlers and Indigenous people.

Trouble figuring out whose land is where? No problem, check out this map.

Drawing

Don't draw us with red skin. It's offensive and stereotypical.

Tutorial for Native Skintones

Tutorial for Mixed Native Skintones

Why Many Natives Have Long Hair (this would technically fit better under another category, but give your Native men long hair!)

If You're Including Traditional Wear, Research! It's Out There

Languages

Remember, there are a variety of languages spoken by Indigenous people today. No two tribes will speak the same language, though there are some that are close and may have loan words from each other (Cree and Anishinaabemowin come to mind). Make sure your Diné (you may know them as Navajo) character doesn't start dropping Cree words.

Here's a Site With a Map and Voice Clips

Here's an Extensive List of Amerindian Languages

Keep in mind there are some sounds that have no direct English equivalents. But while we're at it, remember a lot of us speak English, French, Spanish, or Portuguese. The languages of the countries that colonized us.

Words in Amerindian languages tend to be longer than English ones and are in the format of prefix + verb + suffix to get concepts across. Gaawiin miskwaasinoon is a complete sentence in Anishinaabemowin, for example (it is not red).

Names

Surprisingly, we don't have names like Passing Dawn or Two-Bears-High-Fiving in real life. A lot of us have, for lack of better phrasing, white people names. We may have family traditions of passing a name down from generation to generation (I am the fourth person in my maternal line to have my middle name), but not everyone is going to do that. If you do opt for a name from a specific tribe, make sure you haven't chosen a last name from another tribe.

Baby name sites aren't reliable, because most of the names on there will be made up by people who aren't Indigenous. That site does list some notable exceptions and debunks misconceptions.

Here's a list of last names from the American census.

Indian Names

You may also hear "spirit names" because that's what they are for. You know the sort of mystical nature-related name getting slapped on an Indigenous character? Let's dive into that for a moment.

The concept of a spirit name seems to have gotten mistranslated at some point in time. It is the name Creator calls you throughout all your time both here and in the spirit world. These names are given (note the word usage) to you in a ceremony performed by an elder. This is not done lightly.

A lot of imitations of this end up sounding strange because they don't follow traditional guidelines. (I realize this has spread out of the original circle, but Fallout fans may recall other characters in Honest Hearts and mods that do this. They have really weird and racist results.)

If you're not Indigenous: don't try this. You will be wrong.

Legal Terms

Now, sometimes the legal term (or terms) for a tribe may not be what they refer to themselves as. A really great example of this would be the Oceti Sakowin and "Sioux". How did that happen, you might be wondering. Smoky Mountain News has an article about this word and others, including the history of these terms.

For the most accurate information, you are best off having your character refer to themselves by the name their nation uses outside of legislation. A band name would be pretty good for this (Oglala Lakota, for example). I personally refer to myself by my band.

Cowboys

And something the Fallout New Vegas fans might be interested in, cowboys! Here's a link to a post with several books about Black and Indigenous cowboys in the Wild West.

Representation: Stereotypes and Critical Thought

Now, you'll need to think critically about why you want to write your Indigenous character a certain way. Here is a comprehensive post about stereotypes versus nuance.

Familiarize yourself with tropes. The Magical Indian is a pretty prominent one, with lots of shaman-type characters in movies and television shows. This post touches on its sister tropes (The Magical Asian and The Magical Negro), but is primarily about the latter.

Say you want to write an Indigenous woman. Awesome! Characters I love to see. Just make sure you're aware of the stereotypes surrounding her and other Women of Color.

Word to the wise: do not make your Indigenous character an alcoholic. "What, so they can't even drink?" You might be asking. That is not what I'm saying. There is a pervasive stereotype about Drunk Indians, painting a reaction to trauma as an inherent genetic failing, as stated in this piece about Indigenous social worker Jessica Elm's research. The same goes for drugs. Ellen Deloria is an example of this stereotype.

Familiarize yourself with and avoid the Noble Savage trope. This was used to dehumanize us and paint us as "childlike" for the sake of a plot device. It unfortunately persists today.

Casinos are one of the few ways for tribes to make money so they can build homes and maintain roads. However, some are planning on diversifying into other business ventures.

There's a stereotype where we all live off government handouts. Buddy, some of these long-term boil water advisories have been in place for over twenty years. The funding allocated to us as a percentage is 0.39%: less than half a percent to fight the coronavirus. They don't give us money.

"But what about people claiming to be descended from a Cherokee princess?" Cherokee don't and never had anything resembling princesses. White southerners made that up prior to the Civil War. As the article mentions, they fancied themselves "defending their lands as the Indians did".

Also, don't make your Indigenous character a cannibal. Cannibalism is a serious taboo in a lot of our cultures, particularly northern ones.

Our lands are not cursed. We don't have a litany of curses to cast on white people in found footage films. Seriously. We have better things to be doing. Why on earth would our ancestors be haunting you when they could be with their families? Very egotistical assumption.

Indigenous Ties and Blood Quantum

Blood quantum is a colonial system that was initially designed to "breed out the Indian" in people. To dilute our bloodlines until we assimilated properly into white society. NPR has an article on it here.

However, this isn't how a vast majority of us define our identities. What makes us Indigenous is our connections (or reconnection) to our families, tribes, bands, clans, and communities.

Blood quantum has also historically been used to exclude Black Natives from tribal enrollment, given that it was first based on appearance. So, if you looked Black and not the image of "Indian" the white census taker had in his brain, you were excluded and so were your descendants.

Here are two tumblrs that talk about Black Indigenous issues and their perspectives. They also talk about Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people of Australia.

However, if you aren't Indigenous, don't bring up blood quantum. Don't. This is an issue you should not be speaking about.

Cherokee Princess Myth

"Princess" was not a real position in any tribe. The European idea of monarchy did not suddenly manifest somewhere else. The closest probable approximation may have been the daughter of a chief or other politically prominent person. But princess? No.

Here is an article talking about possible origins of this myth. Several things are of note here: women from other tribes may have bee shoved under this label and the idea of a "Cherokee Princess" had been brought up to explain the sudden appearance of a brown-skinned (read: half Black) family member.

For a somewhat more in depth discussion of why, specifically, this myth gets touted around so often, Timeline has this piece.

Religion

Our religions are closed. We are not going to tell you how we worship. Mostly because every little bit we choose to share gets appropriated. Smudging is the most recent example. If you aren't Indigenous, that's smoke cleansing. Smudging is done in a specific way with ceremonies and prayers.

Now, a lot of us were forcibly converted. Every residential school was run by Christians. So plenty of us are Catholic, Baptist, Anglican, Lutheran, etc. Catholicism in Latin America also has influence from the Indigenous religions in that region.

Having your Indigenous character pray or carry rosaries wouldn't be a bad thing, if that religion was important to them. Even if they are atheist, if they lived outside of a reserve or other Indigenous communities, they might have Christian influences due to its domination of the Western world.

Settler Colonialism and the White Savior Trope

Now we've come to our most painful section yet. Fallout unintentionally has an excellent agent of settler-colonialism, in particular the Western Christian European variety, in Caesar's Legion and Joshua Graham.

(Addendum: Honest Hearts is extremely offensive in its portrayal of Indigenous people, and egregiously shows a white man needing to "civilize" tribals and having to teach them basic skills. These skills include cooking, finding safe water, and defending themselves from other tribes.)

Before we dive in, here is a post explaining the concept of cultural Christianity, if you are unfamiliar with it.

We also need to familiarize ourselves with The White Man's Burden. While the poem was written regarding the American-Philippine war, it still captures the attitudes toward Indigenous folks all over the world at the time.

As this article in Teen Vogue points out, white people like to believe they need to save People of Color. You don't need to. People of Color can save themselves.

Now, cultural Christianity isn't alone on this side of the pond. Writer Teju Cole authored a piece on the White Savior Industrial Complex to describe mission trips undertaken by white missionaries to Africa to feed their egos.

Colonialism has always been about the acquisition of wealth. To share a quote from this paper about the ongoing genocide of Indigenous peoples: "Negatively, [settler colonialism] strives for the dissolution of native societies. Positively, it erects a new colonial society on the expropriated land base—as I put it, settler colonizers come to stay: invasion is a structure not an event. In its positive aspect, elimination is an organizing principal of settler-colonial society rather than a one-off (and superseded) occurrence. The positive outcomes of the logic of elimination can include officially encouraged miscegenation, the breaking-down of native title into alienable individual freeholds, native citizenship, child abduction, religious conversion, resocialization in total institutions such as missions or boarding schools, and a whole range of cognate biocultural assimilations. All these strategies, including frontier homicide, are characteristic of settler colonialism. Some of them are more controversial in genocide studies than others." (Positive, here, is referring to "benefits" for the colonizers. Indigenous people don't consider colonization beneficial.)

An example of a non-benefit, the Church Rock disaster had Diné children playing in radioactive water so the company involved could avoid bad publicity.

Moving on, don't sterilize your Indigenous people. Sterilization, particularly when it is done without consent, has long been used as a tool by the white system to prevent "undesirables" (read, People of Color and disabled people) from having children. Somehow, as of 2018, it wasn't officially considered a crime.

The goal of colonization was to eliminate us entirely. Millions died because of exposure to European diseases. Settlers used to and still do separate our children from us for reasons so small as having a dirty dish in the sink. You read that right, a single dirty dish in your kitchen sink was enough to get your children taken and adopted out to white families. This information was told to me by an Indigenous social work student whose name I will keep anonymous.

It wasn't until recently they made amendments to the Indian Act that wouldn't automatically render Indigenous women non-status if they married someone not Indigenous. It also took much too long for Indigenous families to take priority in child placement over white ones. Canada used to adopt Indigenous out to white American families. The source for that statement is further down, but adoption has been used as a tool to destroy cultures.

I am also begging you to cast aside whatever colonialist systems have told you about us. We are alive. People with a past, not people of the past, which was wonderfully said here by Frank Waln.

Topics to Avoid if You Aren't Indigenous

Child Separation. Just don't. We deserve to remain with our families and our communities. Let us stay together and be happy that way.

Assimilation schools. Do not bring up a tool for cultural genocide that has left lasting trauma in our communities.

W/ndigos. I don't care that they're in Fallout 76. They shouldn't be. Besides, you never get them right anyway.

Sk/nwalkers. Absolutely do not. Diné stories are not your playthings either.

I've already talked about drugs and alcohol. Do your research with compassion and empathy in mind. Indigenous people have a lot of pain and generational trauma. You will need to be extremely careful having your Indigenous characters use drugs and alcohol. If your character can be reduced to their (possible) substance abuse issues, you need to step back and rework it. As mentioned in Jessica Elm's research, remember that it isn't inherent to us.

For our final note: remember that we're complex, autonomous human beings. Don't use our deaths to further the stories of your white characters. Don't reduce us to some childlike thing that needs to be raised and civilized by white characters. We interact with society a little differently than you do, but we interact nonetheless.

Meegwetch (thank you) for reading! Remember to do your research and portray us well, but also back off when you are told by an Indigenous person.

This may be updated in the future, it depends on what information I come across or, if other Indigenous people are so inclined, what is added to this post.

#fallout 3 #fallout 4 #fallout 76 #fallout new vegas #fallout 1 #fallout 2 #fallout: new vegas #ozhibii'ige

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pelideswhore · 2 years

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consider this post a submission for the 30 day hc's that @godsofhumanity makes. i can finally join because i finally have enough to say about the deity :D (editing eden: okay maybe i had too much to say)

Prometheus

PART I | PART II

appearance-wise, Prometheus is relatively unassuming. he's as average as you can get when you're literally a god. dark brown to black hair, brown eyes, not particularly tall or muscular, but he is very charming, which makes him attractive

before the Titanomachy, Prometheus was very lowkey. he had tons of cousins and siblings, chaos reigned and he knew better than to draw attention to himself, so the higher-ups (aka Kronos and Rhea) never really noticed him

Prometheus is, as his older brother, very protective of Epimetheus. he only really had that sibling-bond with him, not with atlas or anything. Epimetheus often got himself in a lot of trouble by not thinking things through and at first Prometheus used to be annoyed by Epimetheus for making dumb decisions, but he eventually grew to love him. instead of scolding him for those decisions, he started giving him advice and genuinely wishing the best for him

that's why, when the Titanomachy started, Prometheus' first instinct was to make sure Epimetheus was safe

towards the start of the war, he stayed lowkey, but once he had sussed out the vibe and was sure the Olympians would win, he took the chance and dragged Epimetheus to Olympus

Zeus was suspicious to begin with, but Prometheus was able to convince him with his charm and cunning manipulation. at the start, Prometheus was really only using Zeus so he and his brother would be safe (kinda like my idea of odysseus x penelope but thats a story for another day) but after a while he actually grew to like him

just generally, odysseus and prometheus are similar. Prometheus helped win the Titanomachy the same way Odysseus helped win the Trojan War

from then on, Zeus and Prometheus were inseparable. everything they did, they would do together. they spent the equivalent of their 20s just causing bullshit everywhere, even tho that's not typical for prometheus

fast forward, post-titanomachy: Zeus is now king of, well, everything and it's a lot for a young guy who wasn't even raised royal and really just wants to have fun. he hasn't married Hera yet, and Prometheus is his only escape, the only person with whom he can really let loose and not be king, just some guy for a moment

i have been totally neglecting epimetheus since i brought up zeus, and while, yes, i do think epimetheus might have faded into the background when prometheus befriended zeus, he was still very important, and their relationship didnt change

while Zeus was still just looking to relax with Prometheus, Prometheus himself had matured even more. he was probably given the role of Zeus' royal advisor or something and took it very seriously

Zeus asked Prometheus to create mankind more or less as a joke, 'for old time's sake', something to lighten up the mood and their relationship. he didn't expect Prometheus to take it so seriously, but Prometheus did.

after humans were created, Zeus and Prometheus spent even less time together, as Prometheus started living on earth, and Zeus felt betrayed. he felt as if he had lost a friend to some lowly, unworthy mortals, so when Prometheus asked to give them fire, he declined. there was no way he was going to let Prometheus give them more power. after all, he spent so much time with them even when they had none. what would he happen if he gave it to them?

to put it shortly, zeus had first child syndrome

by now, Zeus and Hera are married, which is kind of important because he needs children for the story to continue. his disagreement with Prometheus also put a strain on his relationship with Hera

Prometheus didn't really understand why Zeus couldn't move on, similarly to how he couldn't understand Epimetheus making dumb decisions. he decided to steal the fire, because his creation meant more to him than anything at all. he knew he would have to pay for it, but he would do everything for his mortals.

when Zeus found out the fire was gone, he was destroyed. he refused to believe Prometheus would go so far as to steal from Zeus until he looked below and saw Prometheus laughing and dancing with his mortals (derogatory) around a campfire

anyway it seems i've been writing too much. to be continued, click here for part two

#i am realizing this is more me reciting a story than actual hc's but if you read between the lines there are some head-canony stuff as well #plenty of zeus hc's as well fsr. no one asked for that #greek mythology #greek myth #prometheus #zeus #epimetheus #titanomachy #hera #ancient greece #mythology #greek gods #mythos

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supercorpkid · 3 years

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It’s crossover season - Part 1

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader, Iron Man x TeamMate!Reader, Captain America x TeamMate!Reader, Doctor Strange x TeamMate!Reader, Thor x TeamMate!Reader, Black Widow x TeamMate!Reader, Hulk x TeamMate!Reader.

Word count: 2570.

For the Marvel fans: this is supposed to be happening between Age of Ultron and Civil War.

You’re in the living room with your moms. It’s Friday night and it’s Kara’s turn to pick the movie. It comes as no surprise when the three of you settle on the couch to watch Wizard of Oz, black and white version.

“Hey, you don’t want to miss this part!” Kara says when you stand up, so you can go to the kitchen to pick up more soda for yourself.

“You are aware this movie is not exactly new, right?” You ask and hear Lena’s chuckle in response.

“Can you get more wine for mom, baby?” Lena asks and you agree with your head, making your way to the kitchen despite Kara’s protests.

You finally picked up the soda can, wine bottle and some chocolates for the road when you hear a loud noise in the living room. You use your super speed to get there, and see Kara being pulled by a portal. But not any portal. Not Barry’s portal, or Cisco’ dimensional portals. Something completely different you never saw before.

“Momma!” You drop everything you’re holding and run to the portal, pushing Kara out of the way. So the portal sucks you in, instead.

“Kid, no!” You hear Kara’s voice and you see her on the other side, but it’s too late. Wherever this portal is heading to, you’re going.

“You’ll find me!” You yell back. And both of your moms faces disappear. “Please, find me.” You whisper.

You fall on the floor with a loud thud. You look around to four guys and one woman staring at you from across the room. You sure never saw them before. There’s a table in the middle. One of them is standing in front of it, staring right at you. He has dark hair, a weird beard style, and you can see something blue glowing on his chest, even though he is wearing a shirt. That’s guy number 1.

Guy number 2 is next to him, in much fancier and weirder clothes. He is wearing a cape (capes are lame, did he not get the memo?), and he also has a weird beard (you’re starting to think it’s fashion).

Sitting behind them is a red haired woman, all dressed in black. She has her legs up the table, giving off an ‘I don’t care about anything’ kind of vibe.

Next to her, guy number 3, is wearing a blue shirt very tight around his muscles, he is definitely the strongest, but his baby blue eyes give you the idea that he is sweet.

And last, guy number 4, is in the back. Arms crossed over, in his lab clothes and glasses. He looks like the sweet science guy.

“A kid!” Guy nº 1 says pointing at you, like no one else can see you’re sitting there in front of them. “I said: find us back-up, and you bring me a child, Strange?”

“I don’t think the child is supposed to be here.” Guy nº 2, or rather cape-guy, answers back.

“No shit, Einstein! It’s a kid!” Guy nº1 snaps back.

“Language!” You and Guy nº 3, baby blue eyes guy, make chorus.

“Great! Just what we needed, a mini Steve Rogers!”

“I’m not a kid!” You finally find something worth saying and you see some eyes rolling at that information.

“Excuse me, miss. The adults are talking.”

“Rude.” You stand up, putting your hands on your waist. “You’re the one who brought me here, mister…?”

“You don’t know who I am?” Guy nº1 asks, so full of himself.

“Should I?” Your answer makes all of his friends smile and try to cover up. He exhales, exasperated.

“I’m Tony Stark, kid.” You blink at him, like he said literally nothing. “I am Iron Man.” He answers like that sentence is supposed to impact you somehow. You shrug and look behind him. To the man with a cape.

“Doctor Strange.” He says with a nod. “I’m the one who brought you here.”

“Banner. Um, Bruce. Bruce Banner.” Lab coat guy answers. He seems sweet looking lost between these people, so you smile at him.

“Steve Rogers.” Baby-blue-eyed guy waves. “Captain America.”

“Natasha Romanoff.” The only other woman in the room adds. “Black Widow.”

“And we are the Avengers.” Mister Stark says and you bite your lips at the information. Should you know who the hell the Avengers are? You never once heard of them, and they all look too normal -except for Cape-guy- and too powerless. Although they could probably be thinking the same thing about you now, so you shouldn’t judge. For all you know, sweet small lab-coat guy in the back can be the most powerful ‘the Avengers’ of all time, and break you in half in one snap.

“Well, ‘the Avengers’ it’s very nice meeting all of you. But, well, if you all don’t mind, I would like to go back to my house and to my moms, please and thank you.” You say and Stark just sighs pointing at Strange.

“Strange, get the kid back to her moms and find someone who can really help in this fight.” He is looking less annoyed, and more tired. “We could seriously use some back-up for this.”

You furrow your brows at the sound of that. You can’t believe you’re even thinking about this, but then the words come out of your mouth before you can think twice or hold it back.

“I can be back-up.”

That could make anyone roll in their seats laughing, but they’re trying to be respectful, so Natasha covers her mouth so you don’t see her smile. Steve looks down with the same smile playing on his lips. Banner almost smiles too. Strange seems to study you for a second. But Stark is laughing hard at you. Ok, again, rude.

“What’s so funny? You said you need back-up. Cape-guy over there brought me here for a reason. I’m offering.”

“No offense kid, but you’re like 12.” Stark says and you roll your eyes.

“Offense very much taken, I’m 16!”

“Yes, well, you’re still a child who wants to go back to her mommies.” He mocks you, making you squint your eyes at him.

“Mister Stark, sir. May I ask what your powers are?”

“Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.” He says with a smirk on his lips.

“Oh, that’s it?” It’s time for you to smirk back. “I get now why you need back-up.”

“WOW!” That’s what leaves the whole group’s mouths.

“She’s got you there, Tony.” Banner chimes in, and you smile at yourself proudly.

“Oh really? What are your powers, smart mouth?” He asks thinking he has won, and that only makes you sorry for him.

“Genius, billionaire, I can’t really say that I’m a playboy, but I am a philanthropist.” Your smile comes after your feet leave the floor. “Also, I can fly.”

“So can most of the team.”

“Oh, then I guess most of the team also have super strength, super speed, freeze breath, heat vision, x-ray vision, invulnerability and draw their energies from the sun.”

“Holy shit.” Natasha says and you smile when you look at everyone’s impressed face.

“I think the child is supposed to be here.” Strange says and you agree with your head.

“She’s still a kid.” It’s what Stark says. “Cap, care to jump in here?”

Baby-blue-eyed guy stands up, walking towards you with a soft smile on his face. You smile back, landing on the floor.

“Ever been in a battle, kid?” He asks.

“Sure!” It’s what your mouth says, but deep inside you’re thinking this is insane. They didn’t want you; they didn’t go for you. They wanted your momma, who has real battle experience. You fought empty spaceships and won. Yay you. You have literally no other experience besides this one.

“Can you give us a minute?” Cap asks and you agree with your head, watching them going back to the table and closing the door in front of you. You sit on the floor, waiting for their decision. You want them to want you. It’s a weird feeling, but you want to be needed and respected, especially for your powers, since you don’t have a lot of that going around back home. But at the same time, you feel very scared of walking into a battle (is what he called, right?) with people who could definitely be your parents.

“She’s a kid, you guys can’t be seriously considering this.”

“She has more powers than all of us together, Tony.”

“You didn’t care about that when you recruited Wanda.”

“Wanda walked in on this by herself. Strange, how did we end up with a kid?”

“My magic was to bring someone powerful enough to help. She’s here. Which means she is powerful enough, otherwise the portal wouldn’t have pulled her here. I wasn’t aiming for a kid, but if a kid is what we got, we have to make-do.”

“I agree. She can be helpful.”

“Cap?”

“I don’t know guys, she-she looks twelve.”

“Steve gets it!”

“But she isn’t. She is sixteen. And she wants to help.”

“She is invulnerable, you know.”

“Fine, let’s take a vote. Who thinks the smart mouth should stay?”

You lower your glasses to see their hands. Natasha, Cap, Bruce and Strange raise their hands. You smile proud of yourself. Yeah! But also, no! Did you seriously just walk in a battle -that has nothing to do with you- on purpose?

The door opens a while later and you stand up, looking at ‘the Avengers’ on the other side. You have the biggest smile on your face.

“Oh, did I forget to mention I have super hearing?” You raise one eyebrow, and Stark sighs.

“Of course you do.” He rolls his eyes. “Do you even have a superhero name?”

“I’m Superkid.”

“It has kid in the name, I can’t take her seriously.” He bites back and looks around. “Come on, Strange, let’s try to get Thor back.”

“Wait.” You run after the two of them. “Mister Cape-guy, can you, um, just tell my moms I’m safe?”

“Don’t worry.” He reassures you. “I left a card.”

They resume walking and you look back at the rest of the team, still staring at you. You take a deep breath, and walk back to where they are.

“So, where am I?” You ask, looking at Cap, who just looks dumbfounded by your question.

“You’re on Earth, Superkid.”

“Right.” You laugh. “I meant, which Earth?”

“You mean there is more than one Earth?” Natasha asks and you shake your head agreeing.

“There are infinite Earths in the Multiverse.” You say, pulling up a chair and sitting across from them. “Mine is Earth-38, and the Flash lives on Earth-1, and the Titans on Earth-9, my cousin just joined. Oh, and there’s obviously Earth-X governed by the Nazis-”

“Wait, let me stop you right there.” Cap says, looking shocked by your revelations. “There’s an Earth where the Nazis won?”

“Well, Mister Cap, that’s what the multiverse is all about, isn’t it?” You clasp your hands in front of your body. “When a diversion event occurs, then a new Earth is created. Maybe you have a different name for that here, like alternative or parallel universe.” You look at Banner. “Elseworlds?”

“Right. Pardon us.” Cap says with a smile. “Well, Banner, I believe that big- brain of yours, is filled with questions for our big-brained guest. Don’t let us keep you from it. Nat and I will go get Sam, Bucky and Wanda.”

You wait for the two other Avengers to leave, and you look back at Bruce, finally sitting on the table.

“That’s a lot of people. Mister Stark, Cape-guy, Cap, Natasha, Thor, Sam, Bucky, Wanda, you…” You startle yourself when you count all of them on your fingers. That’s a hell of a team, bigger than the Justice League for sure.

“And it’s not even half of it.” He adds to your confusion.

“That’s a lot of super-heroes for only one Earth.” You look at him with puzzling eyes. “What is your super power, Mister Banner?”

“I-well-” He shuffles around looking embarrassed to say it. “You’ll see in a bit, I suppose.”

“Ok.” You decide to let it go; you don’t want to make him uncomfortable. “What are we up against?”

Apparently, you’re up against alien invasion. You make sure you ask a couple times (or more), if the aliens are actually evil, without informing you’re an alien too. But yes, a bad horde of aliens coming to this Earth very, very soon.

Banner has about 20 questions about the Multiverse. You try your best to explain to him what you know about it, but it seems like this time you’re not even in the same Multiverse. Is there a multiverse of a multiverse?

Talking to Banner is great. He knows so much; you feel dumb around him. Is this how Jamie and Maya feel when you’re explaining something a little too far from their grasp? You don’t know how much time you two are bonding over science, when you hear a thunder sound and lightning falling close to where you are, and run to the window to check what’s going on. Soon, you see a guy, hammer in hand with lightning coming out of it. You look back at Banner, who smiles shyly.

“That would be Thor.”

“Can I?” You point at the window. You don’t know exactly why you’re asking for permission. You just don’t want to seem impolite.

“Of course.” He says and you open the window flying to where Thor is. Oh, he is strong. And he looks extremely powerful. You can’t control the excitement when he turns to you.

“New member?” He asks and you shrug as your answer. “I am Thor, son of Odin.”

“Superkid, daughter of Kara and Lena?”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you Superkid-daughter-of-Kara-and-Lena.” Thor says with a puppy smile on his face. He puts his hammer on the ground and looks to the people coming from behind you to greet him. “Ready for battle?”

He reminds you so much of Kara. Puppy smile, blond hair, kind of dorky. You smile too, feeling your heart burst in excitement.

“I am now, Mister Thor.”

He pushes his cape out of his way, smile still on his lips, making his way inside the compound. You look at the way he walks, his muscles, long hair and red cape flying behind him. Wait, have you once said capes are lame? You take it back. Capes are the coolest! You look at his hammer on the ground with puzzling eyes.

“Mister Thor!” You call for him. He turns around to look at you, and the rest of the team also stops to watch you. You walk to the hammer, picking it up from the floor, and pointing at him. “You’ve left your hammer!”

“WHAT THE FUCK!”

Post-credit scene:

“Oh, how polite, they left a card.” Lena picks it up from the floor. “They kidnapped our daughter and left a card.”

“What does it say?” Kara asks, standing up from the floor, where she has been crying for the past two minutes.

“177A, Bleecker St. New York.”

“They left a puzzle?” Kara takes the card away from Lena’s hand. “They took my daughter and left a puzzle? What kind of villain does that?”

“It’s an address, Kara.” Lena holds her shoulder. “Don’t worry, honey. We’ll find her.”

Notes:

So @oncemoonie prompted a marvel crossover and I am having so much fun with this, I hope you guys are too, cause more is coming!

#supergirl #kara danvers #supercorp #lena luthor #supercorpfamily #kara x lena #kara x reader #supercorp daughter #supercorp fanfic #lena x reader #thor odinson #bruce banner #tony stark #natasha romanoff #doctor strange #steve rogers

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sarcasticfina · 3 years

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prompt: petrichor - @schedios

thank you so much for your donation! i'm sorry this took so long. i hope you like it! :)

donation details

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Bonnie stood in the middle of the lawn, her feet bare, and her arms outstretched.

Warm rain. It started with fat plops that landed on her face with no grace and grew into a downpour that was quickly soaking her through. The earth had been stone dry, brittle grass crunching underfoot, for months now. Just shy of setting fire, it seemed to walk the line between life and death. And just when the world could have been set ablaze, the rain came, drowning it of its woes.

Petrichor filled her nose as the dusty dirt turned to soft soil.

Her magic had been… off lately. It got like that sometimes. Magic was linked to nature in a way she didn’t always understand. She often wished Grams was still around. She could’ve taught Bonnie so much more about magic, what it meant, how it should be used, where it came from, and how to nurture it. Instead, sometimes Bonnie felt like she was piecing it together as she went. One thing she’d picked up on was that when the earth wilted, she could feel a weakness in her magic. Not as stable or as powerful as it could be.

Tipping her head back, she let the rain pool atop her eyes and crawl around the dips and curves of her face. Her fingers tingled and her blood buzzed. She could almost smell the sweet tang of magic in the air.

Renewal. Rebirth. Rejuvenation.

She could feel the earth sing as it was fed. Once dehydrated and desperate, now it opened its mouth wide and filled its belly.

That was how Damon found her; toes dug into the muddy grass, clothes clinging to every inch, hair hanging in heavy hanks down her back.

“If you catch a cold, I’m not spoon-feeding you soup.”

Her eyes opened and a slow smile spun across her lips. “Liar.”

The familiar weight of him pressed to her back and his hands slid around her waist, drawing her in. “Fine, but it’ll be Campbell’s. Nothing homemade. Just out of sheer protest.”

She rested against him, head lolling against his shoulder, and brought her arms in, hands stacked over his. “You’d be Googling the best homemade soups the second I got the sniffles.”

“Only because your delicate human constitution needs constant tender loving care.”

“Mmm. And you’re just the man to provide it, huh?”

“Well, someone has to.” He brushed a kiss against her temple and squeezed her. “What’s this little rain dance about?”

Bonnie’s gaze reached for the sky, only to blink rapidly as the rain continued to come down in heavy sheets. “I can feel it… In my magic. I can feel how much the earth needed this.” Taking a deep breath, she let it settle in her lungs and spread through her body, a warm hug. “I think I did too.”

Damon hummed. “A few more minutes… Then we should get you into a warm bath. And a cozy sweater. Maybe put on some tea. Get you a good book, you can enjoy the rain from the nice, warm house.”

“I’m not going to get sick,” she reassured, rubbing her hands over his forearms. “But if it’ll make you feel better…”

“It would. Can’t have my favorite witch down for the count.” He nuzzled against her neck and dropped a kiss to her shoulder.

They stood in the rain for a while longer, until her toes had grown numb and she’d begun to shiver. And then he was scooping her up bridal style— “You’ve got mud on your feet!”— and speeding her through the house. In a blink she went from the backyard to standing next to his oversized bathtub.

After he’d turned the water on enough to steam, he wiggled his eyebrows as he peeled her shirt off her while she worked at unbuttoning his jeans. “Get enough of the healing power of rain then?”

Glancing at the many pillar candles that filled his bathroom, she lit them without a word. They burned bright and loud for a moment before dying down to a warm glow.

Damon smirked. “Sexy.”

She laughed under her breath. “Seriously?”

“Oh yeah.” He tugged on her jeans, drawing her closer. “Non-verbal magic, fire, a bath fit for two… My kind of party.” He pushed the jeans off her hips, thumbs hooked in her underwear, and with a shimmy of her hips, he was peeling it all down her legs.

He climbed into the tub first with her comfortably tucked in front of him. He soaked a cloth in hot water and washed her neck and shoulders, arms and hands, and each one of her fingers. All the while, she listened to the rain pelt the window, her head resting on his chest. He drew her hands up and kissed the tips of her fingers, delicate and soothing. And this was its own renewal; its own healing.

The earth was fed, and so was she.

#bamon #bamon fic #schedios #fanfic #bonnie x damon #prompt fill

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drarrily-we-row-along · 3 years

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Day 55: Music

One afternoon Harry returned from work earlier than his boyfriend anticipated.

When he came into the flat, the sound of piano music drifted through the doorway and wrapped itself around him. The notes flowed together, floating around him and tugging at his gut, and Harry followed the music into the other room, imagining that Draco probably had the wireless on the old classical station that he liked to listen to when he got into a blue mood.

He was not prepared for his lovely partner to be sitting at a piano (that hadn't been in their living room that morning) with his back straight and fingers dancing over the keys.

He played with his whole body, and Harry was mesmerized by the way his hair long, blond hair swayed with his movement; by the way his long, elegant fingers stretched across the keys; by the way his hands seemed to move effortlessly over the keyboard.

He watched as Draco's body curved in on itself as the music got quieter, sadder; watched the way his presence seemed to expand with the music as it rose to it's climax. And he felt it all the way down his toes as Draco slowed the last few bars, his fingers drifting over the keys with great care, before landing on the final chord.

The last notes hung shimmering in the air and Harry's breath caught and held until Draco released the chord, lifting his fingers from the keys and foot from the pedal, leaving the room in silence.

"That was amazing," Harry breathed when he could finally call words to mind again.

Draco startled so badly that Harry feared he was about to fall off of the piano bench, "Merlin, Harry," he gasped, a hand clenched over his heart. "What on earth are you doing here?" he asked as he stood up from the bench.

"I live here," Harry replied.

"But you're early," Draco informed him, before casting a quick 'finite'.

Harry watched as the piano rearranged itself into the writing desk it had been earlier once more. "You play beautifully," he said.

Draco shook his head, "It's nothing."

"No seriously," Harry pressed, "You're so talented! I had no idea-"

"Yes, for a reason," Draco snapped.

(Read more below the cut)

Harry blinked, Draco didn't often use that tone with him anymore. They'd both worked hard to sand down all of their rough edges so they could stop carelessly cutting each other. They'd worked hard at communicating, at infusing the love they felt for each other into their words. He exhaled slowly.

"Sorry," Draco finally said, running his fingers through his hair, "It's nothing. Really. Can we please just drop it?"

Harry looked at him, looked at the desperate look on his face, and he knew what that felt like. When you weren't ready to talk about something that still cut you up inside. "Okay," he said with a nod. "But maybe not forever?" he asked.

Draco nodded once, "Maybe not forever," he whispered.

Harry gave him a little smile, "What are you thinking for dinner? I was thinking on my way home that I could go for some Thai."

-----------

It was six months before Harry managed to hear Draco play again, and not for lack of trying. As often as he could, he'd sneak out of work a bit early and head home, hoping to catch his boyfriend playing piano again but he didn't manage it.

Until the day that he forgot his lunch at home and decided to go home to grab it. He stopped dead when he opened the door because there was music drifting through the rooms again. Softer this time, sadder somehow. He tiptoed through the kitchen and into the living room, watching as Draco moved with the music and he was entranced once more.

Something must have given him away, because Draco's head shot up and he looked over at Harry. The notes faltered for a moment and Harry feared he was about to stop.

But he didn't, after a moment, he turned back and started playing once more, fingers drifting over the keys.

When the song ended, Harry couldn't help but whisper, "You're incredible."

Draco didn't turn to look at him, he stared straight ahead as he said, "When I was young, my parents insisted I learn an instrument." His pale fingers stroked lovingly over the keys. "All respectable, pureblood children learn an instrument. Even Greg learned how to play the french horn." He shook his head, "I hated it at first. The hours of practice, the lessons with the old woman who always smelled like mothballs."

An image of Mrs. Figg teaching piano sprang to mind but Harry didn't share it. Whatever Draco was trying to tell him was difficult for him and he didn't want to distract him.

"Eventually, I got quite good at it," he continued, and Harry could see that it was true. "I once told my parents that I might like to pursue music. They told me I was being ridiculous. My father said if I was going to play piano for a living, I might as well have been a squib and they might as well disown me."

"That's horrible," Harry murmured stepping closer and lightly resting a hand on Draco's shoulder in a sign of support.

Draco shrugged, "Not as bad as Auntie Bella," he confessed. "She heard me playing once and whatever it was, must not have struck her fancy because she came in and cast a spell that broke all of the bones in my fingers."

"Circe, Draco," he gasped, his hands unconsciously reaching for Draco's. He sat down beside him on the piano bench and carefully took his hands then pressed a kiss to each finger.

"My mother heard me screaming and came and fixed them immediately," he said, voice calm and steady as though this was all the most reasonable thing in the world. "But I didn't play again. Not for a long, long time. Not until we moved in here, actually," he added with a little smile.

"Why here?" Harry asked, looking around at the tiny flat they'd moved into together.

He cupped Harry's cheek and traced his cheekbone with his thumb, "Because there's so much of you here," he murmured. "Because you are music. I spend every moment I'm with you composing in the back of my mind. Songs for when we cook together, songs for when you wash the dishes, songs for when we clean the flat, for when you wake me up in the mornings just as the sun's rising. Songs for our nights together, for our fights with each other. Songs for the way you kiss me, the way you hold me, for the way you make love to me." He shook his head helplessly, "You are music, Harry."

Harry's hands cupped his face and he drew Draco's lips to his, kissing him breathless because he didn't know what he was meant to say. He didn't know it was even possible to feel this much, to love someone this much. "It's completely unfair," Harry murmured against his mouth.

"What is?" Draco asked, drawing back slightly to look at Harry.

"You have your beautiful music, and your beautiful words, and then I'm just completely awful at this."

Draco laughed, "What do you mean?"

"Just," he huffed, "I think that I made out a lot better than you in this relationship."

He shook his head and leaned in to brush his nose over Harry's, "Don't be ridiculous. I see it on your face and feel it in your touch; in the way you cast warming charms on my side of the bed before we get in. I feel it whenever you hold my hand when we're walking down the street, like you're proud to have me by your side."

"I am," Harry grumbled.

"I know," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Harry's lips.

When Draco pulled back, Harry asked, "Does this mean I can hear you play more often?"

"Only if you get me a real piano," Draco replied. "The weight of the keys is always wrong when I transfigure it."

Harry called out sick from work and went out to buy a piano that afternoon.

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

Day 54: There Was Only One Bed | Day 56: Phone Call

#100 drarry drabbles in 100 days #drarry #drarry drabbles #drarry ficlets #my writing #day 55 #thanks for the prompt!#Enjoy!

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izzyfandoms · 3 years

Text

A Sleep So Sweet - Chapter One

(This is not the first chapter. There is a prologue, linked in the A Sleep So Sweet masterpost)

When Emile discovered he was the soulmate of the prince of a magical species known as Beings, he did not know how to react. Beings were terrifying, powerful creatures, who often did not care for humanity, and, in their first meeting, his soulmate, the sleep prince, seemed to be no different.

Will Emile fall in love with his soulmate, or are they simply not meant to be?

SHIPS: Remile, Date (Janus x Nate)

WARNINGS: N/A

GENERAL TAGLIST: @quillfics42 @aj-draws @phantomofthesanderssides @phlying-squirrel @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game @because-were-fam-ily @imtryingthisout @a-creepycookie @littlestr @spooky-scary-virgil @fuyel @mimsidoodles @soupgremlin @aroaceagenderfluid @birdsbookshiddeninrealbirdsskin @quirkalurk @gingers-trashy-stuff @iinyxtello @justaqueercactus @melodiread @mrbubbajones @pun-master-logan @gayturtlez @k1ngtok1 @yourneighborhooddisaster @alexxander-the-gay @full-of-roman-angst-trash @selfcarejanus

A SLEEP SO SWEET TAGLIST: @spellingwillbethedeathofme

Masterpost

A Sleep So Sweet Masterpost

Emile stared at the soulmark on his wrist, not daring to take his eyes off of it just in case it somehow disappeared. When it had appeared in the middle of the night – waking him up from his sleep – he had been shocked, of course, but he had also been tired, half-convinced it was only a dream.

But now he was completely awake, and the tiny crescent moon and stars were still there, like a small silver tattoo, but just a little bit shinier.

It didn’t even feel real, like he was still just dreaming. He ran his thumb over his wrist, like he was trying to smudge paint, but the soulmark didn’t even budge.

It finally hit him. This was real.

Oh, wow, he had a soulmate.

He had a soulmate!

Emile raised his hand to his mouth, finally letting out a delighted giggle.

“Oh my gosh,” he said to himself. “I have a soulmate!”

Wow. He needed to tell his dads.

He finally took his eyes off of his soulmark, looking around for his phone. He picked it up, turning it on and immediately opening the group chat he had with his two fathers: Nate and Janus Picani. They weren’t soulmates – soulmates were a rare thing, after all – but they were still deeply in love, and Emile had always hoped he’d get a love like that someday.

Now that he knew he had a soulmate, maybe that love wouldn’t be so far away.

Emile couldn’t help but let out another delighted laugh, almost bouncing up and down on the spot.

He began to type out a message to his dads.

Emile

Guess what!!!!

He then waited, his eyes flicking between his phone and his soulmark, checking that it hadn’t somehow disappeared in the last few seconds, which it had not, before he got a response from one of his dads: Nate.

Dad

What?

Emile

I got a soulmark!!!!

Nate immediately started typing again.

Dad

Woah really?

Emile

Yes!!!

Dad

Hold on lemme grab your other dad

Emile waited, practically vibrating with excitement. He lowered his phone, taking another look at the soulmark on his wrist. It was shiny, almost reflecting the light, and he could not help but smile just taking a look at it.

It almost didn’t feel real, like he was having a very pleasant dream, but when he reached over and pinched a bit of skin below the soulmark, he definitely felt it. It was real.

He smiled.

Father

Congratulations!

Dad

Can we see the soulmark?

Emile opened the camera on his phone, taking a quick picture of his soulmark and sending it to his parents immediately.

He then waited for their responses, seeing that both of them had started typing. Then, they both stopped typing at about the same time, and Emile blinked at his phone.

Why had they stopped typing?

He waited, but they did not start typing again.

He blinked, confused, and began to type out another message.

Emile

Hello?

Then Janus started typing again.

Father

Have you seen the news?

Emile

What news?

Dad

The news about the being prince

Emile stared at his phone, wondering what on earth this had to do with his soulmark.

Beings were powerful creatures – abstract things come to life, like fear or memory – and the Being royalty were especially so. Humanity was lucky that Beings were rare and tended to avoid them, as they were dangerous and often did not care much for them.

They were rarely in the news – often ignored by humanity, as if ignoring them meant that their danger was lesser.

Emile

What news?

He waited, staring at his phone, before he received a link from Janus. He clicked on it, and saw that it was a news article, titled: Being prince has a soulmate?

Emile stared at the headline for a few seconds.

How was that relevant to his own soulmark?

A pit began to form inside of Emile’s stomach, but he pushed down the immediate uncomfortable feelings.

No. This was just a coincidence. So many people had soulmates, though they rarely had Beings for soulmates.

This was just a coincidence.

He scrolled through the article, skimming over the information.

The Being prince – a magical being: sleep come to life – had found a soulmark on his body. This meant that he had a human soulmate, and he wanted to find them. He had made the announcement public, in the hopes that he would find his soulmate as quickly as possible.

Emile scrolled all the way to the bottom, and his heart stopped when he saw the image at the end of the article.

It was a single image of an eye – pitch black and surrounded by silver skin, with black hair peeking out from the top of the picture – and right in the centre of it was the now-familiar crescent moon and three stars.

Emile gasped, and his phone slipped out of his hand, clattering to the floor.

He almost wanted to swear, but he bit his tongue before he could.

This couldn’t be real. Now he was certain that he must have been dreaming. This... this was impossible.

His soulmate wasn’t a Being. They couldn’t be.

Immediately, there was a pang of guilt inside of Emile.

Beings might have been powerful, terrifying creatures, but who was Emile to judge them? Sure, some of them hurt people, but most of them never did, as far as Emile knew. Who was he to decide that all of them must be cruel and evil and dangerous?

If the universe had decided that a Being was his soulmate, then that Being, at the very least, had to be a good person.

Well, perhaps person was the wrong word, but they had to be good. The universe wouldn’t have paired him up with someone bad. They were meant to be!

Okay. Emile’s soulmate was a Being – a prince of Beings – and that was... not bad. Maybe it was even good! Maybe his soulmate was wonderful – the soulmate of his dreams! Maybe they would be perfect together.

No, not maybe, definitely. His soulmate was his soulmate. They had to be perfect.

Emile nodded to himself. Okay. This wasn’t bad. This was good! He didn’t need to continue his quest for true love: it was being given to him, right in the palm of his hand.

He took a deep breath, and then bent down and picked his phone back up.

He checked his group chat with his dads.

Dad

Thats your soulmark right?

Father

Are you alright?

Emile wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Was he alright?

He was excited about having a soulmate. He was terrified that his soulmate would be terrifying and cruel. He was guilty that that was the assumption he’d made about his soulmate. He was just conflicted.

He thought about it for a moment, but before he could respond, his phone lit up with an incoming call from Janus. He blinked, before he answered the call and lifted it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Did you read the article?” came Janus’s voice from through the phone.

Emile paused. “Yes.”

There was another pause, before he heard his other dad’s voice through the phone.

“Is that your soulmark?”

“I think so.”

“Okay,” Nate said, his voice calm despite what was going on. “How do you feel about that?”

“I... don’t know.”

“Okay, that makes sense,” Nate said.

“You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” Janus said seriously. “You don’t even have to meet him if you don’t want to.”

“I know,” Emile said. “But...”

“But?” Nate prompted.

“I don’t know. I mean- I mean he’s my soulmate, right? I know Beings are... scary. But... he’s my soulmate.”

“He’s a Being,” Janus said.

Nate sighed. “Jan.”

Emile frowned. “I mean, I know, but... he’s my soulmate. He can’t... he won’t be bad.” He took a deep breath. “I mean, how much do we really know about Beings? I know the stories, but they can’t all be bad! My soulmate... he could be good.”

“He is your soulmate,” Nate said. “And you’re the kindest person I know. I doubt you’d be saddled with a shitty soulmate.”

“Still, if he is bad, we need to keep him as far away from you as possible,” Janus said.

"I appreciate it, but I’m an adult now, dads,” Emile said. “I can take care of myself.”

Janus hummed like he wasn’t sure whether or not he believed him. Nate let out a laugh, and Emile heard a sound that sounded like he was clapping Janus on the shoulder.

“He’s right, babe. He’s an adult. We can’t protect him anymore,” he said. Emile could practically hear the amused smile on his face. “Just make sure to introduce your soulmate to us once you meet him. I just can’t promise that Jan won’t go all overprotective father on him.”

He laughed, and Emile laughed, too.

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he said.

In his mind, he imagined what it would be like to introduce his soulmate to his fathers. Hopefully it would go well. Hopefully his soulmate would get along well with his parents.

Would his soulmate be polite and serious? Or would he be funny and entertaining? Would they get along well? Emile certainly hoped so.

But maybe he was getting a little ahead of himself. First, he actually had to meet his soulmate.

Emile paused. How was he even going to do that?

“Gosh, how am I even going to meet him?” Emile said aloud.

Nate hummed in thought.

“I don’t know. Get yourself in the news?”

Emile’s nose wrinkled. “I would rather not.”

“Uh...” Nate said. “I have no idea then. But I know you’ll figure it out!”

Emile smiled. “Thanks, dad.”

“I need to get to work,” Janus said. “Let us know how finding your soulmate goes.”

“I will.”

“Love you!” Nate said.

“I also love you,” Janus said

Emile smiled again. “I love you both, too. Bye!”

“Bye!”

“Goodbye.”

Then, they hung up, and Emile was alone again.

His gaze was immediately drawn back to his soulmark. His eyes traced the curving shape of the crescent moon, and the three small stars that were underneath it.

The sleep prince was somewhere out there with that exact same soulmark just on his eye instead of his wrist. Emile wondered what he was thinking about in that exact moment. Was he thinking about Emile, like how Emile was thinking about him?

Emile could not help but smile at the thought.

Gosh, he couldn’t wait to meet his soulmate.

But first, he had to find out how to.

***

Emile had been on his computer for ages, searching for a way to find his soulmate, but the internet was mostly unhelpful.

There was a ton of research done on Beings, but it was difficult to tell what was reliable and what was useless. Beings were such a wide variety of creatures – some appeared out of thin air, some were once other things – research about one was unlike research about another. And most of the research was about what they were and how they worked, not about how to find them.

Emile sighed, reaching up and massaging the bridge of his nose. This was impossible: it was starting to seem like the only way to find his soulmate was to go through the same methods his soulmate had used to get the information public. And he really, really didn’t want it to come to that.

He was lucky that it was his day off today, so he had plenty of time to research.

Emile clicked on a new article, one labelled ‘Whispering Beings’, that he wasn’t too hopeful would actually be helpful. But he was still going to look, just in case.

His eyes skimmed the first few lines. Whispering Beings were a type of Being that could hear every whisper ever spoken. In fact, they existed in whispers; sometimes they didn’t even have a physical form, they switched between a human-like body to a whisper taken form at a whim. They could be summoned through whispers and used to send messages. Their physical forms looked cloud-like, not entirely physical and they were often benevolent towards humans.

Wait.

Emile suddenly straightened up, his eyes going back a few lines.

They could be summoned through whispers and used to send messages.

There. That was it.

That was how he was going to find his soulmate!

Emile let out a laugh. Finally, he was going to be able to find his soulmate!

Okay. Okay. Now, he just needed to figure out how to summon a Whispering Being.

His eyes returned to the article.

Whispering Beings could be summoned through whispers. Apparently, you could whisper something into the night sky, and – very occasionally – they would hear you. They would appear in front of you, and they would take your message and bring it to whoever you requested.

But they were rare. Your message needed to be interesting to them, or they would simply ignore you.

Well, Emile thought that his message was interesting enough. He was the soulmate of one of the princes of beings, surely that would catch the attention of anyone.

Okay. He could do that.

All he had to do was wait for it to become night, and then he would whisper into the sky. He would get his message to his soulmate; he was sure of that.

***

Emile had been waiting impatiently all day for night to come, and when it finally did, he was practically vibrating with anticipation. He couldn’t sit still, tapping his foot against the floor and his hand against his leg.

Was now the right time to do it? The sun had set, the sky was black, but what if he needed to wait until midnight? The article had been unclear, and every other source he had found had been, too.

What if it needed to be at a specific time? Midnight or 1am or 2am, something like that? Emile had no idea. He didn’t want to do it wrong.

After a moment of thought, he stood up. Okay, he might as well try now. If it didn’t work, he could always try again later. He could try as many times as it took for it to work. He would try all night if he had to.

He walked over to his window, opening it and feeling the cool night air wash over him.

The sky was black, speckled with stars, and the moon was full. Maybe that meant something. Maybe the full moon was something special and would mean that the Whispering Beings were more likely to hear him. Emile had no idea. He was really out of his depth here.

He was a simple therapist! He watched cartoons and documentaries for fun. He knew nothing about magic, and yet the universe had dropped a magical soulmate into his hands.

This was his life now.

Emile took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. He could do this.

Then, he opened his eyes. Okay, he could do this.

All he had to do was figure out what exactly to say. His brow creased in thought. What did he even say in this situation? What was the right thing to say to summon a Whispering Being? The article hadn’t exactly given instructions on how to summon one.

Well, apparently Whispering Beings heard every whisper, so maybe all he had to do was say who he was and they’d listen.

Okay. He’d give that a try.

He took another deep breath, before he began to whisper.

“My name is Emile Picani, and I’m the soulmate of the sleep prince,” he whispered into the wind. “I want to find him. Can you help me?”

He then waited. He waited and waited and waited, but nothing happened.

Okay. That was okay. He could just try again.

“My name is Emile Picani, and I’m the soulmate of the sleep prince,” he whispered again. “I want to find him. Can you help me?”

“I heard you the first time,” came a voice from behind him. It sounded like a whisper, but was somehow also loud and clear.

Emile jumped, spinning around so quickly that his glasses fell from his face.

Standing there, in the middle of his living room, was a blurry figure, that Emile couldn’t quite make out the details of him without his glasses. All he could tell was that it was white and vaguely human-shaped.

He bent down quickly, picking up his glasses and sliding them back onto his face. He stood up, and saw that the human-shaped figure was almost as blurry as they had been before he had put his glasses back on. They looked like someone had taken a cloud and pressed a man-shaped cookie cutter into them, but the clouds had seeped through the edges a little bit. They didn’t even have eyes or a mouth, despite the fact that words had come from somewhere.

“H- hello,” Emile blurted out, just a little bit terrified of the obviously-inhuman Being.

“Hello,” said the Whispering Being.

“What... what’s your name?”

The Whispering Being just stared at him for a few seconds.

“Beings don’t have names.”

“Oh. Right.”

There were a few seconds of silence.

“So, you're the prince’s soulmate?” The Whispering Being said.

Emile straightened up. “I... think so. The soulmarks match, so... yes.”

The Whispering Being tilted their head.

“Would you like me to bring a message to him?”

“Yes, please.”

“Alright.” The Whispering Being nodded. “I shall. What would you like me to say?”

Emile... hadn’t really thought about that. In his excitement to send a message to his soulmate – and his daydreams about what would happen when they first met – he hadn’t thought about exactly what he wanted to say.

“Um...” Emile said, fidgeting with his hands. “Tell him... tell him about me and tell me that I want to meet him.”

The Whispering Being watched him for a few moments, before they nodded.

“Alright. I shall do that. Is there anything else you need?”

Emile thought about it for a moment, before he shook his head.

“Thank you,” he said.

The Whispering Being nodded again. Then, they began to lose their form, becoming more cloud-like and less human-shaped, until the fog that was their body began to fade. They became translucent and then transparent and soon they were gone, and Emile was alone.

He stared at the spot they had been for a few seconds, before he let out a deep breath.

Okay. This Being was going to bring the message to his soulmate. Then, his soulmate would come and they would meet.

Emile could not help but smile just a little bit at the thought. Oh, gosh, he was going to meet his soulmate soon! He didn’t know exactly when, but if his soulmate had been so quick to put the soulmark in the news, then surely he wanted to meet Emile as much as Emile wanted to meet him.

They were going to meet each other for the first time soon.

Emile let out a little laugh, and practically bounced up and down on the spot, doing an excited little wiggle. He clapped his hands together.

Oh, Emile was so, so excited.

He wondered what exactly would happen next. Would the prince send the Whispering Being back to Emile, with information about a meeting place? Yes, that made the most sense.

But when exactly would the Whispering Being return? Emile had no idea. Maybe they would return again tonight; maybe they were busy and wouldn’t return for another few days. There was no way to know.

Perhaps he should have asked.

Emile shook his head. Well, there was no point in thinking about that now.

A cool wind came through the open window, and a shiver ran down Emile’s spine. He turned around, reaching out and shutting the window.

Then, when he turned back around, he yelped and leapt backwards when he saw that there was a new figure standing in the centre of his living room.

He was tall and thin – quite a bit taller than Emile, though that wasn’t difficult – with silver skin, black hair and solid black eyes. In the centre of his left eye was the now-familiar symbol: a silver crescent moon with three stars underneath it.

Emile gasped.

“You’re-”

The Being smiled, crossing his arms.

“I am,” he said. “Hello.”

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