#specifically his first 3rd life skin

[aureachaos]

Scar, wearing his red life skin from double life: So about my abs...

Cleo: Why is every conversation we have about your abs?

Scar: I don't know. Something to talk about

Etho: I've seen 'em bigger before

Cleo: Yeah, they're better when they're bigger, Scar

Scar: Fine, I'll look for a different skin with bigger abs

[seneon]

sword cane this sword cane that. how about rayne making a sword for you out of his sword cane abilities???? it's fine because he has millions of other swords. he's like gilgamesh but sword version.

★ master of swords, rayne ames.

notes. actually, gil's gate of babylon is full of swords 😭also happy birthday to rayne (march 3rd), i am totally not late bc my phone got confiscated but wtv😈

RAYNE AMES is not fond of the idea of making a weapon for you. especially if you abilities are those of elemental nature. your magic wouldn't really suit a sword. but you have been begging for him to teach you how to wield a sword for the longest time. probably from the moment during your first time knowing him during the entrance exam.

this time, rayne gave in and decided to make and forge you a new sword based on your ability. fresh and new, a piece he hasn't used in his battles before. since you have an ability that pretty much only needs to be around certain elements, he made sure your blade is as thin but as hard as steel, so you could figure out a specific style for your swordsmanship.

his allowed his magic do all the forging, styling, creating, and last but not least, giving it life. the only thing rayne did was controlled his magic to be as minor as he could so he wouldn't accidentally tickled something and end up with one of those big and powerful swords of his.

rayne made sure to present your dream sword to you nicely. he put the effort of also making a box with red velvet cloth to place inside just to keep your sword safe. a scabbard was included in the package too, for he absolutely fears if you might accidentally slide the blades against your skin whenever you are not paying attention.

how attentive of rayne, to pay such tiny details out of care and worry for you. he might regret forging such a weapon for you, but he doesn't regret that he could get to see the magnificently bright smile painted on your face upon receiving it. you were like a ball of sunshine when he handed you the weapon, shining and radiating nothing but pure happiness that it made rayne melt on the inside.

if you are happy and get to put such a huge smile on, that is surely enough for the divine visionary of the sword cane.

© SENEON 2024 ♰ do not repost, alter, or translate.

[tsukimefuku]

the letter ꕥ higuruma hiromi

summary: reader writes a letter for an absentee. one that she will never send.

tags: f!reader, implied past relationship, higuruma x reader, angst, break up, longing and general heartbreak.

wc: 1k

notes etc.: this is actually my original style of writing in my native language before i began writing in 2nd(?) + 3rd person pov on ao3 and tumblr this year. it’s different from what I’ve written so far, but I hope you guys enjoy it. the style translation was hard, holy shirt. song → shake it out (florence + the machine).

ꕥ collection of stories: "jujutsu partners au" → masterlist

i like to keep my issues drawn ꕥ it’s always darkest before the dawn

I was debating if I should start this with “hey, Hiromi”, “hi, Higuruma”, “dear” something, and I still haven’t arrived at an answer. The first sounds too casual for what we have become — and what are we now if not strangers? The second, however, is just too impersonal, and I don’t need such a stinging reminder of how much I’m not entitled to your first name anymore. At last, “dear” to start a letter is just tacky.

Alas, I digress.

I don’t quite know what possessed me to pick up a pen and a piece of paper (analogical, just like you’ve noted me to be) to blurt out the swirling hurts in my mind, but I guess I still had a lot to say, even if you weren’t here long enough to hear it.

Here goes nothing.

You might be wondering how I’m doing (at least I hope so), so I thought I’d let you know.

Tonight, more specifically, I’ve been for an insurmountable stretch of time — were it hours? Minutes? Days? Out of my priorities, tracking time has not been one of them — staring at the empty vacuum making its presence known by my side. It seems to mock my stare, that longs, against all odds, for a miracle — for you to simply materialize right there, out of thin air.

Seriously, you should see the mess you’ve made when you left.

You left an emptiness of shoes, black suits, wet towels on the bed, cup marks on the furniture, scratches of morning beard, warm legs under the covers — an emptiness of body that has been giving me nightmares. You came in, flipped everything upside down, blew up my walls and made so that every edge, vertex, color and smell of this heart and bones surrounding our leftover life would incessantly scream for you.

It’s like my misery extended beyond myself and resoundingly expanded against the walls of this house.

But… even though I wish you were here with every tiny part of myself, I couldn’t ask for you to stay. I know it wouldn’t be fair. You’d never ask me to betray myself, and the least I could do was to love you in the same earnest way. 

You wouldn’t be the man I loved if you didn’t go. I wouldn’t be the person you loved if I asked you not to (I apologize for the past tense, it’s one of those truthless comforts I’ve decided to give myself for the time being).

You still linger here, though. I still keep your gaze close to my chest, your face pressed against my skin, your warm voice caressing the edge of my ear and your hair stroking through my fingers, even if it’s just my soul pretending for a minute.

A long minute.

You know, it has been hell without you here. The couch cushions wrap around me like your arms, the bed always bounces by the time you used to get up, and the kitchen smells like your favorite take-out meals (because God knows we’d set fire to this building if we so much as dared turning that stove top on). The window reflects two back at me when only one is looking at it, and my hiking boots are dearly missing those black oxford shoes. My coat hanging on the edge of the closet is also dearly missing your crumpled black ties sprinkled around the room (of course you took weeks to properly wash and organize them — when you ever did).

Oh, and the bed.

The bed is just not the same without that stupid, ridiculous blotch of water your towel would always leave on it.

A huge chunk of our house is missing.

I know I can’t let my selfishness kidnap you from what you need to do — and I do know you need it. But damn, sometimes it’s hard to fight the urge of hopping on the first train your way, grabbing you by your wrist and asking you to become once again part of my wallpaper, my duvet, my pillows. Just promise me you’ll make all of this pain worthwhile, even if you ran away with ten thirds of me.

Ever since you left, though, I learned a few tricks to mask your ever so present absence. I can pull the pillows towards the middle of the bed, eat in the living room and read in the kitchen, being sure to slowly put all my pieces back in place. 

It’s harder to notice an empty chair across the table when you willingly choose to sit on the ground.

However, I didn’t want to do that. Not today. Call it insanity, clarity, or just meet me in my madness like you always so kindly did.

Today, I wanted to let you invade me, come into my house with my full permission and go on turning everything upside down once more. That way, I can almost feel you there. To me, at least for now, that’s good enough (or as good as I know it’s gonna get).

Your muted way of sharing our space could be so, so silent. That quietude brought me the deepest of peaces.

Unfortunately, I never anticipated the silence from your absence would be so loud, and not peaceful at all. It has been hammering at my breathless heart for days. 

I miss you.

I love you, too.

***

With a sigh, you put the pen down and stared at the paper sheet for a minute, your own calligraphy so foreign with a pain you hadn’t let out properly ever since Hiromi… actually, Higuruma stepped out that morning.

Considering your options, you resigned, and pulled the letter in a crinkled messy ball, tossing it in the garbage can.

No need to talk to a voluntary absentee. No need to bother him, either.

You got yourself back up and picked up two pairs of keys, the blue buttoned shirt and made your way out of the apartment, not failing to hear the rumbling echo the door made when it slammed closed.

An echo that only happens in truly empty places.

[mielwriting]

Venti's Disney Princess Traits are Lore-Relevant

Credit to Ashikai, specifically in their YouTube livestream discussing the Genshin 3.7 preview stream

So, in the stream today, Ashikai mentioned the idea that Mondstadt is a city of fairytales - with Klee being Little Red Riding Hood, Razor being the Big "Bad" Wolf, and Lisa being a storybook witch.

Finally, my interest in the old versions of fairy tales is relevant!

I believe Venti is Snow White.

Plenty have joked about Venti having a "Disney Princess Moment" when he talked to animals (as witnessed by NPC Sage). I wanna focus on his preference for Apples.

(Venti liking eating the Christian symbol for Original Sin is a whole separate essay, that I believe others have written before)

I believe Venti represents Snow White, the 7 dwarfs the people of Mond, and the Traveler the prince. Who's the Evil Queen? Uncertain.

What Happens in Snow White Again??

Snow, a princess so-named because of her pale skin and black hair, is sentenced to death by her stepmother, the evil queen. The queen wants the hunstman to kill Snow in the woods, and bring back Snow's heart, either as proof that she's dead or so that the queen can eat it to achieve immortality. Snow begs for her life, and escapes to live with the 7 dwarfs. The queen finds out, disguises herself, and, in the original tale, makes 3 attempts to kill her:

1st, with a corset she laces so tight, Snow can't breathe. 2nd, with a poisoned comb she runs through Snow's hair. And finally, with a poisoned apple.

In the first 2 attempts, the dwarfs return, unlace the corset/remove the apple, and Snow wakes up quickly. In the 3rd, the dwarfs cannot figure out what's wrong, and believe she's dead. She is asleep until the prince happens to come by, and wakes her up (how he does this varies by version).

How Does This Relate to Venti?

To my knowledge, Venti has fallen asleep 3 times after achieving archonhood: once after the fall of Decarabian, once after the fall of the aristocracy, and once after the fight with Durin.

After the first 2 sleep periods, the people of Mond were able to wake him up with their prayers. After the 3rd sleep period, he was badly poisoned, and was only healed after the Traveler came along and purified him.

Exactly how/why Venti sleeps so long is unknown to us, but now I'm inclined to say it's involuntary, and in fact caused by Celestia, in order to keep him complacent.

The Evil Queen, Seeking Snow White's Heart

Mayhaps the Evil Queen wanting Snow's heart, and getting a false one, is representing the Tsaritsa sending La Signora to take Venti's gnosis, and (in this case) getting a fake gnosis. This supports the theory that Venti did indeed keep his real gnosis.

Or, to keep with the timeline and happen way before he goes to sleep:

Mayhaps it represents the Anemo Authority.

Maybe it represents the time powers he has thanks to Istaroth, and even Celestia doesn't know the true extent of Venti's power.

[apollyonsdarksecrets]

The Fall

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

Summery: She’s reserved, emotionally cut off, and spiraling down a dark path; one she can’t get out of on her own. Aaron Hotchner may be her only help, but at what cost? When he shows up to her hotel room, contact in hand, she realizes it may be more than what she bargained for.

Warning: 18+ Only MDNI SMUT. Language, BDSM, Dom Aaron, emotionally detached reader, typical CM violence, childhood trauma, abusive father figure, age gap (reader 25 Aaron 40) doesn’t line up with a specific time line, use of Y/n because story is set in 3rd person for the first half then switches POV, last name for reader is Smith,

Specific Chapter Warnings: David being a tease(?), blood, dog attack, robbery, Typical CM violence. Hospitals, (let me know if there is something I missed)

A/N: so these next two chapters are long because I had to take a SUPER long chapter and split it in two. So be thankful I could have just kept it all in one part 😂.

Present Day

The first few things you notice, as your conscious slowly pieces itself together, is that your face is unbearably cold. The AC unit under the window is humming loudly as it pushes the air around, chilling the room like you’ve left the window open. The next thing you gather is that every other part of your body is warm, almost burning. But with the soft pillow under your head, the weight at your back, and how your body has shaped into the mattress, you could care less. This is the most comfortable you have been in years, every ounce of tension smothered away by the heaviness above you.

Then that heaviness moves.

Your eyes snap open with the flood of last nights events, overly aware of who exactly lays behind you. Aaron’s head is pressed against the back of your neck, little puffs of warm air skimming your shoulder, his heavy arm wrapped around your waist and a thick thigh pressed in between your own. His breath is even and deep, seemingly still asleep, and you silently thank whoever is out there for the moment to collect yourself and figure out what you should do next.

What you should do is get up.

What you should do is get the hell out of this room with your tail between your legs.

What you should do is call everything off, the embarrassment you’ve endured enough to last you two life times.

You close your eyes, sucking in a deep breath, because as much as you should move you can’t force your body to do so. The smell of Aaron’s cologne is filling your nose with each breath, then just underneath is a hint of musk that is undeniably all him. It’s intoxicating, it makes you want to bury your face into the pillow and never leave.

“You’re doing a terrible job of pretending to be asleep.” Your entire body jumps at the sound of his deep voice, making Aaron chuckle behind you, a chaff kiss pressing to your shoulder. “I’m sorry.” He mutters warmly.

“It’s-it’s fine… I was just-.” You push the covers down, starting to get up when Aaron’s arm tightens around your middle, holding you in place as his lips find the smooth skin of your throat, right where your shoulder meets.

“Aaron…”

He nips at your skin and you suck in a breath, his hot tongue soothing over the tender spot before he repeats the process further up your neck. Aaron sucks at the soft skin just above your necklace, just where your pulse is and you whimper at the sensation, your eyes fluttering closed. “We-We need to get up… it’s probably time to-.” Your words are swallowed by a thick moan, your head falling back as he finally finds that sensitive spot just bellow your ear. Aaron takes advantage of this new discovery, sucking and nibbling gently as he rolls you onto your back. His large frame settles between your thighs, trapping you in.

Your hands find his arms, squeezing the tense muscles as his weight presses you down into the mattress, your mouth opens in a silent moan, your eyes fluttering against the pleasure clouding over your mind. “Aaron… we can’t do this.” Your words are half hearted, contradicting your actions as your palms travel up to his shoulders, pulling him in as his plush lips pepper the underside of your jaw.

“Why can’t we?” He mumbles, resting his weight on his forearm, his other hand finding your hip. His fingers dig into your skin, his palm pressing into your bone angling your hips to his liking. Aaron lifts his head at your lack of response to find your lips parted in a quiet pant, your eyes closed as you drink in the feeling of him. “Hmm?”

“We could… so much trouble if we keep doing this…”

Your breath catches in your throat as his hand slips under your shirt, smoothing up your side and spreading wide along your ribs. Aarons thumb just barely brushes along the bottom of your breast, all of your senses zeroed in on the small area as the digit rubs back and forth.

“Then stop me.” His voice is laced with a growl, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that can only be described as feral. Your front teeth clicking together, noses bumping, moans filling each other’s mouths as your hands find home in his hair, tugging at the short locks desperately. Clauses smooth over the hard peak of your nipple, sharp hips grinding down into your own, and his erection presses firmly into your mound.

Aaron groans loudly, the noise reverberating through his ribs and into your own. Your thighs squeeze his hips with each slow canter, dragging himself along your soaked core. Every sensation is building into a frenzy under your skin to the point you feel like you will burst into a million little pieces.

The shrill ring of a phone sends everything to an abrupt halt. Aaron is off of you and picking up his phone before you can even take your next breath. “Hotchner.” You blink drizzly up at him, the sudden change in everything leaving you with whip lash. Aaron stays seated between your thighs, one hand kneading and squeezing the soft fat, stroking your leg as he speaks. His voice nor his face give anything away of what just transpired, leaving you astounded as you’re left trying to catch your breath. The way he flips script so easily almost a little unsettling.

You can faintly make out David’s voice on the other end on the line, a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding blowing through your nose. You draw your leg up with the intention of leaving the bed but Aaron squeezes your thigh and he shoots you a glare, silently telling you to stay where you are.

Reluctantly you drop your leg back against his pajama clad thigh, tuning out most of his conversation with the older man as you fix your shirt, pulling it back down over your stomach where it had ridden up. “Right. We’ll be there in an hour.” He ends the call, tossing his cell onto the bed leaving his hands free to explore the outside of your thighs with a gentle touch.

“We need to get up.” Your voice is soft, low and thick, your eyes darting down to where his hands have come to a stop.

“Who did this?” His eyes, unusually dark, catch you by surprise when you look up at him in confusion. You’re about to ask him what he means when you feel his thumb rubbing back and forth around the jagged raised scars on your thigh.

Aaron watches how you mentally shut down, your features once soft and dopey now are stony, your gaze turning sharp as your eyes narrow. “No one.” You force yourself to sit up and move away, your back pressing into the cold, wooden headboard.

“You don’t fit the profile of someone who would have hurt themselves.”

You roll your eyes, your nose scrunching with disgruntled anger. “How would you know? Besides, Derek says we aren’t supposed to profile each other. So don’t.”

Aaron moves closer, the bed dipping in making you slip towards him as his hands land on your knees, balancing himself with a soft squeeze. “Those are Derek’s rules, not mine. You don’t seem like someone who would have hurt themselves because you continuously push through your problems, you tuck them away so that they don’t affect what you have set your mind to.” His hand slips down your thigh again, going for the scars that plague you endlessly. “So, I will ask you again. Who did this?”

Your pulse picks up, your breath sticking in your throat like a candy you forgot to chew, as his fingers brush your numb skin once again. “I don’t want to talk about it.” You push his hands away, and Aaron sits back on his heels as you scoot to the edge of the bed with a wince. The memories of last night aren’t the only reminder of what happened, a deep seated soreness is there too.

Aaron sighs, a bit of annoyance latching onto his words as he speaks. “How is any of what we are doing supposed to help if you won’t open up to me? It’s not a sin to show vulnerability, or emotion.” His fingers brush your wrist but you jerk away, spinning on your heel to level him with a rough glare.

“Yes it is. Showing those things, when you are a person like me who came from nothing, gets you no where in life. My emotions are not the reason I pulled my life around in high school, they are not the reason I received valedictorian in college. No amount of tears earned me my work ethic. That was done by me without any of those things. I was fine keeping my mouth shut, my emotions locked away, and going about my life as I should. It was you who decided otherwise!”

Suddenly your voice isn’t your own, it’s hauntingly familiar, piercing the back of your mind like talons from a bird who has caught its prey. You don’t see the room around you anymore, just the never ending darkness that suffocates relentlessly.

The brackets around Aaron’s mouth soften, his eyes turning pitiful and you think that’s the worst part of it all. “Baby…”

“I want to go home, Aaron.” It takes great effort to not let your voice crack as pressure bears down on your chest, making it hard to breath. You’re sure if you keep standing here it will all be for nothing.

“Okay.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

You’re the first to board the jet, the cabin is only a few degrees warmer that the air outside, making you pull the sleeves of your purple turtle neck down to cover your hands. Despite hardly saying anything else to each other Aaron still made it a point to pick out the clothes he wanted you to wear, then helping you carry your bags to the car. The ride had been silent and uncomfortable, the boundaries that you thought were in place are now blurred, and a new type of nervousness has burrowed into your bones.

You pick the couch at the far end of the plane, pulling out one of the blankets JJ keeps in storage for weather like this. You ease into your seat, a long sigh escaping as you drop your head back against the wall, mentally and physically exhausted.

“Well, good morning.” David’s chipper voice fills the cabin and you force yourself to lift your head and meet him with a smile. Aaron is on his heels with a new folder in hand. His work never finished.

“Morning, how was seeing your friend?”

“It was good.” David nods his head, stopping in front of you, smiling crookedly. “We had just enough time to catch up on life until the next time I am in town.”

“That’s great.” You say genuinely, your head tilting slightly. Your smile falters as his brown eyes narrow, your back stiffening as David reaches out, gripping your chin between warm fingers. He tilts your head up and hums softly, his grin returning at full force as his eyes gleam with knowing.

“Well, now isn’t that a pretty sight. Make sure not to get that snagged on anything, gattina.”

Unbridled embarrassment fills your stomach, spreading to the top of your head and down to the bottom of your feet. Your jaw slackens in David’s grip and he chuckles, squeezing your chin before stepping back. Aaron looks up his eyes darting between the two of you. “It took her a minute to agree to wear it. I think she likes it though.”

Your head snaps in his direction, your cheeks reddening with rage but David speaks first. “Oh I’m sure it did. The feisty ones always put up a little fight.”

The fact that they both are speaking as if you aren’t sitting feet from them has you seeing red. You jam the necklace under the collar of your shirt, pulling the blanket up to your chest with a huff. Your narrow eyes bore into Aaron’s who holds your challenging stare, an eyebrow cocking in question. You curse yourself repeatedly as you drop his stare, refusing to acknowledge him or David again for the rest of the trip.

When David sends Aaron a smirk he finds the raven haired man staring at you with a mixture of amusement and possessiveness.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Two and a half uncomfortable hours later you are finally dredging your way back into the bullpen. Your extra bags are packed into your small silver car, refusing the help of the two men, and as you surround yourself with the familiar sounds of rustling papers, ringing phones, and jumbled chatter; you finally feel some tension ease away.

Dropping into your chair at your desk you stretch out your arms, noticing the stack of folders on the corner by your computer. No matter how much you do, there is always more paper work.

“Hey, sweet cheeks.” Derek Morgan drops into his own seat across from you, dressed in a too tight white t-shirt and an impish grin on his face. He rests his elbows on the desk, his muscles flexing as he watches you drag your eyes from him to the folder in front of you. There was no denying he was a very handsome man.

“Good morning.” You singsong back, flipping through the manilla folder, eyebrows creasing as you scan the text.

“How was Jenny after we left?”

You take a second to respond, carefully choosing your words. “She was really good. She was open and talkative, I don’t believe there will be any psychological impact that will affect her life. I’m sure as she grows older and understands more and more of what happened she will seek someone to talk with but for now… she is doing very well.” You prop your head on your fist, your eyes rolling up to meet his. Morgan nods thoughtfully, rolling a pen between his fingers as he leans back in his chair, rocking slightly.

“That’s good. I couldn’t stop thinking about her after we had left.” Right there. That was what made Morgan such a good profiler to you. Not only was he the power of the team, no door standing a chance around him, but he also held a big heart which overflowed with compassion.

You nod, dropping your attention back to your folder when another voice joins in. “That’s new.” Garcia suddenly appears behind you, her bright red fingers plucking at the arm of your sweater. Everything in you stills for a moment, before you force yourself to react, licking your lips and turning to the bubbling blond with a smile.

“Oh uh yeah, it is.”

“And so are those pants! They look good on you.” Garcia’s smile has always been the most infectious thing, despite what comes across her many monitors daily, she always a is a ray of sunshine. Her quick wit and humor making it impossible to dislike her in the slightest. The cheerleader you all need.

You nod again, feeling your cheeks heat under both of their intense gazes. “I kinda did a little shopping after the case was finally wrapped up.”

Morgan makes a noise and Garcia shoots him a leveling glare behind her pink glasses. The color being the main theme of today’s outfit, from her pink 50’s styled dress to her pink heels and makeup.

“What? I’m surprised is all. But good for you, Y/n. You needed to treat yourself.” He holds up his hands in surrender, waving them slightly.

"Y-Yeah you aren't wrong." You amend, glancing up to the landing behind him as movement catches your eyes. Arron is watching the three of you with a slight smile.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The day felt as though it had dragged on and on, more and more profiles of children and young adults to sort through. Deeming who is top priority for therapy based on the severity of their cases. Finally you are able to close out your computer, leaning back in your chair with a groan. The office is shrouded in darkness, a few emergency lights humming lightly and the amber glow of the offices above you the only lighting.

You can’t help finding Aaron’s office, the door is open and so are his blinds, but there’s no way of seeing him from where you sit. You bite the inside of your cheek, wondering if you should just leave or if you should go to him. You had never discussed how things were supposed to be in the office asides from being discreet. Nothing can be more discreet than just leaving as usual.

Your cellphone suddenly vibrates on your desk, and you aren’t left to wonder any longer. A text from Aaron pops up on the small screen and you find yourself hesitating to answer, your eyes darting around the office to ensure your privacy.

Aaron Hotchner: “How was your day?”

You roll your lips together before typing back a quick reply, something fluttering in your chest.

Y/n Smith: “Same as always when we are in the office. Just paperwork.”

It’s not a forward answer and you find yourself chewing at your cheek again.

Aaron Hotchner: “Did you eat lunch?”

Fuck. Y/n Smith: “I didn’t … but I was planning on having a big dinner when I get home from picking up Bruce.”

You swallow thickly, your eyes flickering to his windows where you can practically see the pinched set to his dark eyebrows, his eyes narrowing as he reads your message.

Aaron Hotchner: “Make sure that you do. Remember some of our rules extend to the work space and that includes eating three means a day if you are able to. Now, are you going straight home?”

Your face flames with heat, again glancing around to make sure no one can see your mild embarrassment from being reprimanded.

Y/n Smith: “No, I’m going to go pick up Bruce first.”

Aaron Hotchner: “Call me when you get home.”

You take a breath, one you didn’t know you were holding and begin to gather your things.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Nearly two hours later you are finally pulling into the driveway of your small one story home, your car shaking with the force of Bruce’s excitement. You laugh as he whines, his tail wreaking havoc on the seat back behind him. You grab your keys and phone, leaving everything else for later. “You ready? Who’s ready to be home?” The high pitched toddler talk you reserve souly for your over grown puppy makes Bruce bark, the car shaking more as he shifts on his paws. “Let’s go then!”

You step out and he instantly follows, circling you before going ahead and running back, like he’s asking you to go faster. You both make your way to the front door, bantering one-sidedly as you unlock the door as you debate dinner.

“Chicken noodle?” He whines as you push the door open, letting him go in first. “No? Well then how about a pasta bake?” You toss your things onto the door side table, closing and bolting the door behind you. Bruce yips, his tongue lulling out the corner of his wide mouth, almost grinning as you lead him into the living room. “Ooo what about fish sti-.”

You stop abruptly, halting in the middle of your living room, as your focus lands on a man lumbering at the entrance to your kitchen. He’s shrouded in the darkness of the small area, his clothes different shades of grey and his face is obscured from a ski mask. In one hand he holds a large trash bag, in the other what appears to be your silverware.

Bruce’s growl snaps you from the impromptu staring contest you’re having with the man, the hairs on his body standing on end as his posture shifts. His stance widens, shoulders dropping , ready to protect. Though fear sizzles through your blood like acid you react before the intruder does, your hand snapping for the gun at your hip only to fumble over air. The realization that you have left it in your car knocking the air from your lungs. The man steps forward and Bruce’s growl intensifies, placing himself in between the two of you.

“FBI. You need to vacate before you do something you will regret.” You force the words out, your voice loud and stern, even as your tongue stick to the roof of your dry mouth. You hover your hand over your bare hip, hopping it will psych the man out as his eyes flicker between you and the dog.

He takes a step forward and you fall back one, Bruce retreating with you, the knowledge that you know he will attack on command giving you courage you don’t have. The giant holds up his full hands, his eyes darting behind you as he speaks. “We aren’t here to hurt you lady.”

“We?”

You don’t have the luxury to ponder what he means when something crashes over the back of your head. The sound of glass shattering fills the room, your knees hitting the hard wood floor soon follow. Black swims over your vision as you fall forward, barely catching yourself on your hands, the sting of glass cutting into your palms making your cry out.

A hair raising snarl rips through the room, Bruce launching himself at the man who just ambushed you from behind. Your ears start to ring and you gasp, trying to clear your vision as you sway on your hands a knees, you bloody palms slipping on the floor. A gut wrenching noise fills the air, teeth shredding through fabric and meat and a scream that makes you flinch.

Rough hands grab at your arms, hauling you up and the world around you swims and tilts, your head falling limply against your chest. There’s a thud and a whine that makes bile rise into your throat as you’re dragged towards your linen closet, mumbling negatives as you try to fight back.

“Shut the fuck up.” The man holding you shakes you by your shoulders, rattling you and your consciousness slips farther away. “Get the fucking door Mac.”

Mac. Mac. Mac.

Your sluggish brain chants the word as you’re hauled over to the dark closet, your body dragging across the floor. “Don’t… please…” With a loud sneer you’re stuffed in, unsure if the darkness surrounding you is from the door slamming shut or the last of your consciousness slipping away.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Aaron stares down at his phone where it sits on his desk, silently willing the screen to light up as he taps an uneven tempo with his pen against his thigh. The final folder he needs to go through is laying untouched in the small metal basket, his attention fixated on the out of date cell Garcia is constantly hounding him over.

It’s nearing three hours since you left the office, and an anxious feeling is bubbling in his chest, squeezing his lungs and heart. You should have called by now, the text he sent an hour ago never answered. Were you ignoring him? Had something happened on your way home? A million different outcomes are ricocheting off of each other inside his skull.

“Hotch?” David’s voice makes him jump, spinning around in his chair to face David leaning in his doorway. “Everything alright?”

Aaron rubs his thumb across his fingers, a comforting tic he developed many years ago when he still lived with his father. Sighing Aaron drops his gave back to his phone. “I think something is wrong.”

David’s eyebrows inch up and he takes a few steps into the blandly decorated office. The only personal touches are the awards lining the dark walls and a few pictures of Jack. “What do you mean?”

Aaron takes a deep breath, “Y/n… She hasn’t called and I’ve already messaged her once…” Aaron bites his lip, shaking his head. “My gut tells me there is something wrong and I can’t get rid of the feeling.”

David only takes a moment to contemplate, nodding his head as he grabs the door. “Then we need to go.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

"HELP!" Your fists pound into the door, desperation and fear cracking your already strained voice.

How long has it been? Minutes? Hours? The darkness surrounding you gives no answers away, and no matter how hard you push and pound on the door, there is no give.

It's all of those lonely dark years all over again, suffocating, hindering, debilitating. You scream for Bruce but there is no answer on the other side, no noises to let you know he is okay.

You’re cramped in the small space, the shelves above you preventing you from standing, the space becoming more and more claustrophobic. Tears choke your labored breathing, curling into yourself, deflating into sobs.

"Please... Please help me..."

*~*~*~*~*~*

It didn't take long for the two men to find your small white home, the faded numbers on your teal mail box still visible in the dying light of the setting sun. Aaron is overly aware of how the large black SUV stands out among the lower class suburb, but there doesn't seem to be a soul around to notice as he and David step out into the cold air. The house is dark on the inside, the front porch illuminated by the single strand of soft glowing Christmas lights that wrap the banister.

Aaron had called you once before leaving the building then again when they pulled onto your street, that creeping feeling of dreed now worming its way through the deepest parts of his guts. David glances to Aaron before leading the way to your door. It's painted the same sun-kissed color as your mailbox, but when David knocks it swings inward under his heavy fist.

Both men automatically draw their weapons, David glancing to Aaron who gives a curt nod before he pushes the door open all the way. In front of them is a long hallway, three doors on the wall to their left, an archway at the very end and another to the right. David gestures to the doors and Aaron veres to the right, noticing the small table with your cellphone on top. He turns the corner sharply, gun level and narrowed eyes scanning the dim room, the only light filtering in through sheer drapes.

The living room had been turned over, furniture pushed around or completely toppled over, once neatly placed books now litter the floor. There’s a pile of glass at his feet that looks like it had once been a vase, everything in his immediate vicinity is speckled with blood. A broken lamp lays on its side, the bulb flickering hauntingly, casting shadows about the room. Aaron can hear David on the other side of the wall, his steps just as measured and cautious in case someone is still lurking.

He makes it across the room, the trail of blood growing in volume, right at the entrance to your kitchen. It’s staining the walls and checkered linoleum floors, and Aaron can smell the copper tone in the air. His heart beats unsteadily, fear gripping him as he scans the trashed room spotting the blood soaked door. Making his way over he peaks out the window, finding a small, dark back yard.

“Clear!” He tells to David, who parrots the word back. Aaron’s heart is thumping wildly, his thoughts crescendoing, but as he is about to move away from the door a soft whine reaches his ears. He pears out the glass once more, this time a dog comes into view. He’s large, black and brown and Aaron can see blood covering the dog’s muzzle as he paces back and forth on the small patio, staring at Aaron expectantly.

Swallowing thickly Aaron looks around, grabbing a dish towel off of the counter and using it to turn the sticky door nob. The dog bursts through the door before Aaron can fully open it, bolting into the living room, David comes around the corner in time to see Aaron following the furry beast, his phone in hand ready to call the police.

The dog leads Aaron to a door tucked in the corner of the room, where he is pawing and whining at the white wood. There’s a china cabinet pushed tight against the door, bloody handprints smeared across the side and Aaron’s stomach drops with the realization. “Dave!”

The two men rush to the piece of furniture, heaving it away, Aaron’s hands slipping against the side of it. Once there is enough room Aaron throws open the door, his gaze meeting stacks of blankets and towels until his eyes drop to the ground.

You’re curled into the small space at the bottom, your arms thrown over your head, your shoulders shaking with each heaving sob. Instantly Aaron is taken back to just a few days ago when they found Jenny tucked into the crawl space. Bruce makes a gruff noise behind Aaron and the man drops to his knees in the doorway, relief and anger pooling in his soul as he takes in the state of you.

He reaches out, his fingers barely brushing your shoulder making your entire body jerk with a startled scream. Your head snaps up, eyes wild and unfocused as you press yourself further into the wall. Aaron holds up his hands, his voice taking on a soothing whisper. “It’s me, baby. It’s just me and David.” Tears relentlessly spill down your ruby cheeks, your chest rising and falling so fast and uneven that Aaron is afraid you are are going to hyperventilate.

Before he can say anything else though, you are scrambling towards him, throwing yourself against his chest with so much force you knock him backwards. His arms wrap around you and you let out the loudest sob he had ever heard, your fingers digging into his shirt, clinging to him like a lifeline and you were stuck in an endless dark sea. Bruce tries to nudge his head between your bodies, his tail wagging slowly, as David takes a few steps back dialing 911.

Aaron gently strokes your hair, his eyes close as relief washes over him. “You’re safe, everything will be okay. We’ve got you.”

A strangled noise leaves your throat as you press your face in closer, your fingers shaking around the fistfuls of his shirt. “I-I… I got jumped.”

“Shh, it’s okay, you don’t have to talk right now.” Aaron whispers, Bruce moving around to the other side, laying his head on Aaron’s thigh. Aaron drops a hand to the dog’s head, scratching him softly. “Good boy, you’re a good dog.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

The neighbors began to a merge when the police lights filled the night sky, whispering amongst themselves and speculating what could have happened to their most quiet neighbor. Inside, the house is consumed with near chaotic energy. Bright flashes of lights from cameras, men yelling back and forth to each other across the house. People getting samples of the blood left, picking up pieces of your home, your life, to place into evidence baggies.

And in the center of it all sits you. You’re curled up on the couch, Aaron’s arm wrapped around your shoulders as Bruce lays on your feet, a middle aged EMT checking your blood pressure in front of you. You hadn’t stopped shaking since you left the closet, the adrenaline pumping through your system making it impossible to sit still.

The woman in front of you, her black hair slicked back into a small pony tail, her flawless dark face scrunched in concern; shines a small light into each of your eyes. “Your pupils are dilating like normal, but I would feel more comfortable if we loaded you up and took you to the hospital for further evaluation.”

You stare at her blankly for a moment, trying to focus on her words as the rest of the officers clatter around behind you. Aaron squeezes your hand, making you look up into his pinched face. “Oh… yeah, yes.” You mange, looking back to the woman. She gives you a gentle smile, a smile she has probably perfected with her job.

“Alright hun, let’s get you up.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

It’s no secret that the entirety of the team hates hospitals. The fact that they are walking into the unknown of a sterilized building, with its overly bright lights and white walls, sets their nerves on edge. Everyone had gotten the same phone call from David, explaining that you had been attacked and were being taken to the hospital for further examination. Every single member of the team dropped what they were doing to get there, to get to you.

Morgan and Garcia are the first to arrive, having been just a few streets over at a local dive bar. The clicking of Garcia’s heels is loud in the otherwise quiet atmosphere. Morgan’s large hand rests on the small of her back as they follow the directions of the receptionist, the instant relief they felt learning that you were in a common room like a flood of cold water on a hot day.

As they round the next corner Morgan’s eyes land on an open door just down the short hallway. He drags Garcia to a stop, his mouth falling open in stunned silence. “What?” Garcia’s snaps, the incredulous look she gives him wiped away when he points.

Just ahead they can see you perched on the edge of a hospital bed, a white sheet pulled across your lap, your forehead resting against Aaron Hotchner’s sternum. He’s rubbing slow circles against your back with one large palm, and they are able to make out the slight movement of his lips as he speaks with you in a hushed voice. Your arms are thrown around his waist, bobbing your head to whatever is being said before you lean back to look up at the older man. Aaron leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead and Garcia nearly collapses on the spot, her hand flying to her mouth to keep any noise from escaping.

“What in the…” David steps out of the room before Morgan can finish, pulling the heavy wooden door closed behind him as he spots his coworkers. A small smile tugs at his lips as he ambled over to them, meeting them halfway in the hall.

“What was that?” Garcia hisses, rushing up to the older man as fast as her heels will allow.

“That… was none of your business.” David says nonchalantly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans.

Morgan scoffs, keeping his voice low in case either of you were to open the door. “That was most definitely something. How long has this been a thing? And with Hotch of all people?”

David finds it difficult to hold in his chuckle at the incredulous look the male gives him, even harder still when Garcia slaps Morgan on the arm. “Be nice.”

“Look. It isn’t my place to say anything, but,” He pauses to gage their faces. “It’s quite new. Now, coffee anyone?”

David strolls away without letting them get another word in, whistling a tune from an old opera. Garcia turns to Morgan with a bright smile, her excitement barely contained making her shoulders and hands shake. Morgan rolls his eyes and gestures to the door.

After Garcia is able to calm herself down Morgan pushes the door open with a soft knock. Aaron is now seated across the room, and you’re slouched on the bed with an ice pack pressed to the back of your head. You look up as they enter, your normally clear eyes red and puffy, your hair disheveled and your nice new clothes wrinkled. You looked shocked to see them, glancing back and forth between the pair.

Garcia rushes you, dropping her bag on the bed and swallowing you in a tight hug. The discomfort you would have felt just this morning at the sudden embrace isn’t there as you hug her back just as tight. “Oh my gosh… are you okay?” You nod as she pulls back, her eyes scanning your face.

“Yeah… just a slight concussion. They are bringing me my discharge papers soon.” You smile weakly up at Garcia, your eyes jumping to Morgan.

“Heya, sweet cheeks.” He says softly, Garcia moving to the side as Morgan takes a seat on the edge of your bed by your legs. He reaches up and touches your chin softly as he scans your face, looking for whatever it is he needs to be reassured you’re okay. “What happened?”

You fiddle with your ice pack for a moment, a knife of embarrassment slashing through you as your shoulders slump forward. “I got home and there was a man robbing my home. I… I left my gun in the car and since I was so focused on the man in front of me I didn’t see the other guy come up from behind. He knocked me over the head and…”

Aaron watches as you shift in your spot, your throat working as you swallow, trying to force the memories and emotions down. “I passed out. I know Bruce got one of them though, my house is covered in blood.”

“Bruce?” Asks Garcia.

“My dog.”

“That means he will be headed to one of the hospitals, a dog bite can be nasty and they might not be skilled enough to take care of it on their own depending on where he got bite.” Morgan nods his head thoughtfully, turning to look at Aaron.

“I already have the local police canvassing the nearest hospital and urgent care phacillities. We will have a blood match if he goes anywhere.” Aaron’s face is lined with worry and anger, a mutual feeling growing in Morgan’s chest.

“Good. Do you remember anything at all about the two men?” Morgan turns back to you, watching as you pick at the itchy blanket in your lap. It’s unnerving seeing your normal stoic persona cracked in half, and yet he’s relieved to know that there is some emotion underneath.

“I only saw one of them, and even then he was wearing a ski mask. His hands were white, his voice plain, he was very tall though, took up most of my foray into the kitchen… one of their names was Mac.”

“We can work with that.” Garcia reassures you, her hand rubbing your back. You nod, the door to your room opening at the same time to reveal a worried looking Reid, JJ, and Prentiss.

As well as they can, they try not to swarm you; each of the women giving you tight hugs and words of relief. When Reid finally makes his way to you, you pull him in for a hug, the shock on his face enough to make most everyone chuckle.

By the time the nurse comes to discharge you, she’s met with a room full of FBI agents. She smiles a little nervously at everyone as she makes her way to you.

“Here you go. Now, get a lot of rest, that means both mentally and physically. Come back immediately if there is any sudden change in your condition, vomiting, dizziness, strong fatigue.” Everyone is nodding along to the nurses instructions, as if they will be the ones making sure you follow doctors orders.

“Thank you.” You take the papers flipping through them as she leaves. Aaron watches you, your body still taught, despite the defeated set of your shoulders. He wants nothing more than to get you alone and finally talk about everything that had happened. To see if you will open up to him.

“Do you need a ride?” Garcia asks, standing up from her chair.

“Oh um no thank you. Hotch and Rossi drove me here, they said they’d take me back to my neighbors house who offered to let me and Bruce spend the night.” The lie that rolls off of your tongue is so believable even Aaron is questioning if that’s what you think will really happen once you’re out of here.

Garcia only nods, throwing an arm around your shoulders and hugging you once again.

*~*~*~*~*~*

ONE LAST CHAPER YOU GUYS 😭😭😭 it’s coming very soon. Like probably tomorrow or the day after I’m crying. 😭😭😭

Tag List: @kneelforloki @hmett20 @axionn @ncis0mrs0gibbs @morgthemagpie @zaddyhotch @little-miss-cherry-cola @fandomawesomness @heart-breaker8 @aad1993 @obsessed-oops @supercriminalbean @lex13cm @rosiehale23 @emptybagofchips77 @icarusgloom @imr0nni3 @cashtons-wife @mojo366 @mrsgweasley @hotchners-wifey @lelevs @normaltuesdaynight @tgskitten @char-jlhewitt @shinebrightlikeafanbase @emobabeyy @bunbunbl0gs @turtleshavesoulmates @mrs-ssa-hotch @balariie @eveyez-exe @nachofriess @aangell333 @wisdomcrys

[noperopesaredope]

I've Finally Figured Out Why Curly's Skin-Thing Frustrates Me

I was talking to someone earlier about how people sometimes refer to Curly as "corpse-like" and why that might be offensive to burn victims, and I was trying to explain why some people might think that way. I think after that conversation, I was finally able to articulate what frustrated me about Curly's burn situation. He doesn't look like he actually has burn scars.

Here are some real life 3rd degree burn scars (sorry if some of them have a before and after photo, they were the best I could get):

Here's also a diagram of burn severity just as extra stuff:

They appear very different from Curly's scars. They are more...wrinkly doesn't seem like the right word? They do not seem to have straight lines that flow in a specific pattern, and are more vein-like than anything. A lot of them also have a more regular skin tone. Whether pink or not, they are not the shade of deep crimson red that Curly's are. They overall look completely different in many ways. One might argue that different types of burns and different degrees cause different scarring, and I agree with that. In fact, having looked into burn scarring a bit more, I believe that Curly's scars may be 4th degree or higher, as it went past the skin.

Let's look at a few:

I have found an example of a real world burn survivor with some similarities to Curly:

(Honestly really liked this video, especially since it taught me a bit more about burn survivors when I first watched it a few years ago)

He, like Curly, had a disfigured mouth and eyes and whatnot. It shows that some of Curly's injuries are realistic, such as his mouth and probably his eyelid. However, his burns still look very different. All of them look much more similar to each other than they do to Curly.

In general, I have not yet found an example of burn scarring that looks similar to IRL scarring. I believe that's one aspect of this, but there is a second, bigger part. The big issue here isn't just that Curly doesn't look like he has burn scars, but that he does look similar to one of those medical textbook muscle diagrams.

His burns are a lot more fleshy and have a certain pattern to them that regular burns (even the most severe ones) don't. They follow lines across the body and take on a certain shape, whereas usually burn scars aren't quite like that. In face, the look a lot like the actual muscle structure:

(The bandages looking a bit like bones certainly doesn't help with that)

On top of it all (and this has always drove me insane), he is specifically described as having no skin. Even the most severe burn survivors have something. They have skin, or at least some sort of layer between the muscles and the outside.

According to all my research (and trust me, I tried), it is physically impossible to live without skin. You will die.

To me, Curly doesn't appear to have actual burn scars or even look like he was burned. Hell, before I knew anything about the game, I never would have guessed he had been burned. Instead, he looks more like his skin was peeled off, not burnt off.

A metaphor I used while talking to the other person is that Curly is like seeing a character who supposedly broke their spine, but then you learn that their entire spine actually disintegrated into nothing and they have literally no spinal cord. And you're like "wtf how is this bitch still alive" because you can live with a damaged spine but you cannot live with zero spine at all.

People don't think of him as a burn victim because there are no burn scars. In fact, I often forget he's a burn victim because he doesn't appear to have any actual burn wounds. Like, all his wounds don't look like burns of any kind. They look more like those medical textbooks. Thus, people see him as "corpse-like" because no living person with burn scars looks like him (at least, not that I can find). Because he literally looks more like a diagram of muscle structure than he does a burn victim. His design is unrealistic in a way that make people horrified.

He literally, in every possible way has no skin.

And that is why so many people are freaked out by him.

[redwineandtarot]

your first impressions of your future spouse

hi! today i am back with a topic that i love to read about a lot. we will take a look at your first impressions of your fs. because this your first impressions, they may not reflect the truth wholly. take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. i would love to hear your feedbacks <3

🥀paid readings🥀

Disclaimer: My readings do NOT replace any professional advice. Use your own judgment while making decisions. You have your own free will. Take everything I say light-heartedly. All of my readings are for ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES.

pick a pile

piles 1-2-3

i do not own these pictures

pile 1

You will see them as relationship-material right off the bat. You will think that they are charming. However I'm not seeing that this is love at first sight. They may be your type or just a generally attractive person. A person who most people find attractive.

You will think of them as a loyal person. Maybe when you first meet them a situation has occurred and they showed their loyalty to a loved one (i'm seeing especially friends). 

You will think that they are a team player. Again im seeing they value their friends a lot. 

You will see them as a well-accomplished person. Maybe they are in the peak of their career or approaching it when you meet them. You will think that they are an ambitious person. 

Some of you may meet them at 23 or 32 years old.

You will somewhat be confused about this person. Like you see parts of them but they don't show all of their complex personality. 

You will see them as a generous and empathic  person. Maybe you will hear someone talk about their donations to some charity or good deeds in general.

Possibly around the time that you meet they will be going through something fated/karmic. To be more specific, they will leave or have left a situation that ended a cycle in their life. And this will be a huge change for them. This probably saddens them. But this is for them to reach their purpose in life. Sometimes we need to leave behind some things that are dear to heart to move forward. This is what they are doing.

They have broad shoulders. You somehow think that they can run fast? lol. For some they may have longish hair. Their hands may be bony. 

There may be flowers where you first meet.

They will come off as a balanced individual.

Your meeting is fated.

the prominent energies in their birth chart: moon x3, 3rd house, 2nd house, 4th house, taurus, leo, scorpio

the song i got for you: moonlight - agust d

thank you for reading <3

pile 2

You may meet them at university or somewhere people seek knowledge. Or you may meet somewhere people seek for rights or justice. They may be a professor for some of you. Or just someone people go to seek knowledge.

You will see them as an open minded person. In your eyes they will be wise but they will think like “All I know for sure is that I know nothing”. 

Deep down you will feel that this is your soulmate. However you may not realize that feeling or disregard it because it's irrational to you. 

They have a really airy vibe to them. You will think that they like change and value their freedom a lot. You will think that they are not afraid of change. They are not afraid to leave something if that thing does not serve them anymore or if something harms their freedom. You will also think that they are an ambitious and rational person. And that they are not afraid to chase after what they want.

You will see them as a person who can offer great things and you can lay a great foundation with. They seem really reliable to you. However you may see them as hard to gain. Like hard to get their attention because their head is always somewhere.

You will see them as a hard working person. And that they believe in themselves and their dreams. 

Off topic but their love language may be gift giving. Again off topic but the book “Alchemist” by Paulo Chelo came to my mind.

Their skin may be on the darker side. If they are a woman they may be small and a little chubby. If they are a man, they may be buff. They may come from a hot country.

the prominent energies in their birth chart: venus, mercury, sun, 10th house x2, 4th house, libra x3

the song i got for you: greedy - ariana grande

thank you for reading <3

pile 3

At first you may hear gossip about them like them being someone unreliable. People probably like to gossip about them a lot.  They may be struggling to let go of something when you meet them. They may have a hard time forgiving someone and moving on. 

You will think of them as intoxicating and addicting. Like their energy does not leave you. You will feel a great pull for them physically and emotionally. (Especially physically). They probably feel this too. However you both will ignore this. Especially the more masculine one. The more masculine one will be puzzled by this attraction almost. But really the pull between you two is INSANE. Pile 3, oh my god. 

You may think that they are holding back something or hiding something, either from you or from themselves. (Do not worry they are not a cheater and this is not a person that they are hiding.) It is more like an aspect of them. Like their shadow self that they were taught was something to be ashamed of. 

You will think that they are a successful individual. 

You will think that they find the most peace at home. For some of you you may go to their home the first time you meet and love their home. I was talking about this physical attraction and for SOME of you, you may sleep with them.

This is the type of love that changes people.

They may have very prominent eyebrows and a sharp nose. Their eyes are most likely on the smaller side. For most of you they have pale skin, however for some of you I still see darker skin tones. Their back muscles may gain your attention. 

the prominent energies in their birth chart: sun, mars, moon, 7th house, 10th house, 8th house, taurus, pisces, aries

the song i got for you: bang bang bang bang - sohodolls

thank you for reading <3

[ireallyliketalldarksultrymen]

!!! <3

since you didn’t specify a ship, i assumed you wanted mumscott! hope that’s okay :3 (vote mumscott at @scottsmajorshipbracket and i’ll write you stuff!)

—

Scott love autumn. Honestly, there wasn’t an aspect of it that didn’t appeal to him.

The temperature drops in numbers, a break from the Sun’s searing rays prior. The chill is a perfect excuse to knit an unreasonable amount of sweaters—whether it be for Mumbo or Gem and Impulse. (Mumbo tells Scott he has more than enough, which he struggles to believe. What’s a dozen hangers more?)

Dark green leaves brighten to oranges and yellows. With a new start, they sink from branches and pile onto sidewalks. Whenever he and Mumbo stumble upon one on their morning walks, Scott makes sure to take his time walking through the pile, relishing the crunch of leaves beneath his boot heels.

Apple picking allows Scott for a breather. He often finds himself cramped in his office, hunched over his laptop for hours on end. 

Luckily, his boyfriend has the better sense of self-preservation between the two, and commonly takes Scott for a walk to the orchard a couple blocks away. Picking apples from each tree relaxes him, and they offer brainstorms for new recipes.

And speaking of recipes—cooking! Don’t even get him started. Though Scott loves creating hats and sweaters, baking pastries is one of his comfort activities. Cinnamon muffins drizzled in blueberry glaze were his forte, and while he sieves the purée from the fruit’s skin, he can’t help to be grateful for Mumbo constantly tending to his garden.

And despite everything that makes Scott’s favorite season amazing, there’s one specific thing that stands out among others.

Fireflies churr softly, heating the air as they flicker about. From behind berry bushes, crickets chirp non-stop, it becomes drowned out from the rippling wind.Here he was, down on Earth. While he lightly sways on a hammock with Mumbo, Scott could practically see every constellation there was.

After trekking the grassy hill yards away from their house, the managed to set up the sling, wrapping the cords around two trees parallel to one another. Following a bit of struggle, the two managed to settle into the hammock together.

(They had more unsuccessful attempts than Scott would like to admit. Whenever Mumbo proceeded to sit after him, there’d be a shift of weight that would cause Scott to fall from his side. He’d be lying if he claimed his and Mumbo’s bodies weren’t shaking with laughter)

He lay against him, cheek pressed against the softness of Mumbo’s sweater. With his arms wrapped around his torso, Scott grins against his chest.

Rich, dark navy pooled above them, speckled in polar dots that formed various figures. The first Scott saw were two pointed boulders different in size connected to each other by a line.

Cetus, he believes it’s called.

His eyes shift to another. There’s a squid with a squared body, only three arms coming out of it. Scott isn’t so sure what it’s called.

From curled-up cats and ballerinas, to archers and swimmers, stars littered across the sky come together, embroidering pictures on dark felt. There’s only one word to describe this tapestry of stories. Beautiful.

Finally, his gaze meets a special one. To some, it’s nothing but a W, wide and lopsided. Just another meaningless marking found whenever you looked north.

But Scott? He knows exactly what its name is.

Cassiopeia.

The constellation of love. 

Scott tilts his head, allowing his eyes to shift to Mumbo. The gentle glow of the fireflies cast light over his face, soft smile on his lips visible as he gazed at the stars

There’s a warmth that floods his chest—one cozier than the crisp air. Scott shifts and reaches up to brush a stray curl from Mumbo’s forehead. The other looks at him, confused for a moment, but the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles once more.

And, oh, Scott isn’t sure he can resist anymore.

So he leans up, their lips meeting, soft and tender and just as familiar as leaves crunched beneath their feet, or the scent of apples wafting in the air.

As the other smiles into the kiss, Scott’s arms shift to wrap around his shoulders, fingers playing with the cotton of the sweater he knitted for Mumbo. 

—

and on ao3!

[leikeliscomet]

No, Ncuti Gatwa's Casting Isn't Regressive

Chapter 3 - Dancing Queen/Conclusion

‘I’ve experienced racism my whole life, and while I always believed in myself, always knew [racists] were stupid and uneducated, I guess it did misinform my view of how the world works. It makes you think everyone has that opinion and you’ll constantly have to fight through life – then you learn that you don’t: you can find a tribe, you can find your people.’ - Ncuti Gatwa for Elle

So with the treatment of Who’s Black men and the neglect of Black women in its representations of womanhood, consider the Fifteenth Doctor. A dark-skinned Black queer man, wearing a kilt and a bold smile, spinning to his heart’s content on the dancefloor. This is an image of Blackness, an image of queerness and an image of manhood and masculinity the show has never seen before. Gatwa is fully aware of this and has gone in depth in his interviews. He’s also addressed his Rwandan heritage and his family fleeing genocide against the Tutsi. Gatwa knows the feeling of being an outsider, heavily mirroring the revelation of the Timeless Child. Black Britishness is already a form of representation mainstream British media has only recently acknowledged and in this case, Black Scottishness is taking the forefront. Despite being a British cultural stape, Doctor Who’s been shy about representing Black Britishness specifically. We’ve had three Black companions, but little references to the culture (minus Ryan’s mention of grime music in Arachnids). We know Yaz is Pakistani. But is Ryan African? If yes, is he Nigerian, Ghanaian etc.? Is Ryan West Indian? If so, is he Trini, Bajan etc.? Is he both? What was Martha and Bill’s heritage? Many Black people in the British Isles are 2nd and 3rd gen immigrants, some of us are African, some are West Indian and some of us are both. Black British identity is complex as it is a melting pot of different African and West Indian cultures blended to create something new. Gatwa’s Black Scottishness provides this insight to Fifteen. Gatwa’s Rwandan heritage is included in Fifteen’s sonic too, with Gallifreyan symbols translating the phrase ‘the sharpness of the tongue always defeats the sharpness of the warrior’. Other Black cultural references have appeared for Fifteen too, with Gatwa noting his wardrobe is inspired by Black American HBCU fits. Even though it isn’t yet confirmed (and unlikely for series 14/season 1 seeing as there are no Black writers… yay!), Gatwa has shown interest in a Nigerian historical stating he’d love for the Doctor to meet the Orishas, goddesses of West African folklore. Again, with many different Black cultures not only is this an opportunity for representation but also new stories, new locations and new concepts the show has yet to discover. To fit in so many spaces but none at all is a perfect summary of the Black British experience and other Black experiences in Western countries.

“We choose our families. And the Doctor is a lonely wanderer, looking for their next adventure … I know many a gay man, MANY a gay man, I could describe that way!” - Ncuti Gatwa for the Guardian

Queer Black manhood and masculinity is rich and diverse and with this new era, we could see the tip of its iceberg. There have already been representations of this before in media such as Moonlight and Noah’s Arc so for a mainstream British show like Doctor Who to feature a queer Black man as the lead, we have the opportunity to show something special. With Nine and Jack’s kiss and Fourteen’s cosign of Isaac Newton already showing this potential, we could see a canon longer term mlm pairing involving the Doctor for the first time. And not only that but with a Black doctor for the first time. A queer Black man showing love and being loved is a reminder for queer Black people that universe-defying romance includes us too and that our DoctorRiver or TenRose moments can exist.

There is so much to look forward to in this new era and even more potential for the type of representation it can bring. So with that in mind, I hope the greater fandom at large can see this and that newer fans will get to experience that same joy we did when we first fell in love with this show.

‘This person survived a genocide. This person fits in everywhere and nowhere. I am the Doctor. The Doctor is me. I decided that I had to get this role’ - Ncuti Gatwa for Rolling Stone

<- Chapter 2

[gojossotoru]

Introducing the non-jock football player

Full name: Choi Joo-yeon

Nicknames: soccer girl (used by the jocks and some people. It was because she's, like, the first female football player according to them even though there are female football players in school before her), pretty boy (used by some male students and some female students as flirting or teasing. Due to her boyish looks and her short hair, she often gets mistaken as a boy and she gets really annoyed by it)

Preferred name: Joo-yeon

Age: 17

Birthdate: January 3rd

Sexuality: straight

Height: 6'1"

Race: asian

Ethnicity: Korean

Appearance: natural beige skin, dark brown eyes, short boyish black hair

Clique: non-cliques

Likes: football, gimbap, chocolate milk, music, handycams, romance movies, Korean movies, Korean TV shows, her hometown, jjajangmyeon, tteokbokki, sleeping, playing games, practicing, making her notes aesthetic, eating, food, autumn, yogurt with blueberries, vanilla ice cream, exploring around, cats, bunnies, aesthetic looking photos/pictures, exercising, skincare, fashion magazine, dramas, clean clothes, the smell of old books, showering, her friends

Dislikes: racism, discrimination, arrogant people, dirt, double standards, horror movies, cringey pick up lines, nudity on movies, math, studying, strong perfume scents, cafeteria food, people being mean to her, dirty clothes, unfunny 'jokes', being forced, Mr. Burton, bullies, coffee, sticky things, muds, loud thunder, impatient people, rude people, having bad odor, people who can't take a hint, unnecessary hate, misgendering her

Hobbies: listening to music, playing football, recording something (or someone) with her handycam for memories

Nerds reputation + status: 45%

Preps reputation + status: 29%

Greasers reputation + status: 39%

Jocks reputation + status: 53%

Bullies reputation + status: 10%

Non-cliques reputation + status: 80%

Townies reputation + status: 5%

Best friend(s): Pete Kowalski

Friends/Acquaintances: Kirby Olsen, Ivan Alexander

Enemies: Ted Thompson

Love interest: ?

Tropes: ?

______________________________

Background:

She was born in Seoul, South Korea to Choi Seok-jin and Kim Min-ah. Growing up, she watched every single football match with her parents who are both fans of football (but the father is more a big fan than the mother) and Joo-yeon became inspired by her favorite football player, Ahn Jung-hwan. In school back in her hometown, she was teased for acting like a 'boy' (she plays football and she sits with her legs spread, it's because sitting like that is comfortable for her) and having a little bit of the manners of a boy. Joo-yeon wasn't bothered by it because her classmates didn't tease her badly enough and didn't bully her for it, it was light teasing and she was okay with it. During middle school days, she had short boyish hair (and to this day, she still has it) and some people confused her to be a boy, that made Joo-yeon feel frustrated and told them that she's a girl in an annoyed tone of a voice. At the age of 16 after her grandma passed away and her father got fired from his job, Joo-yeon and her family moved to the United States, specifically moved to Bullworth, New England on November 17th due to job opportunities and her uncle (her father's side of the family) lives in Bullworth. When she got transferred to Bullworth Academy, Ms. Danvers called her 'boy' because of her hair and her tomboyish outfit (Joo-yeon corrected Ms. Danvers later), and lastly, the rest is history

______________________________

Personality:

She loves to sleep, literally. She would sleep anywhere, whether she's in a class or she's at a library, she would sleep without any hesitation. It's because when she's asleep, she can be in her dream world as her fictional self and can dream her own way. It's her own way of escaping reality and even if it's kind of a bad habit for her, she would still do it for the rest of her life. Besides sleeping, she's really active when it comes to sports but mostly football. She loves to practice it everyday to level up her football skills and it makes her feel better when she plays against someone, and she's really serious about football. She doesn't back down from criticisms and bullying, she insults them or even smacks them really hard with her school bag (or just kicks their stomach with her leg). She thinks they don't have anything to do other than being mean to her, she didn't even do nothing to them and yet, they're being mad for no reason. She's sensitive if someone yells at her and she can't help but to feel emotional and have tears under her eyes, she's been like that ever since she was a toddler. She's talkative, likes to talk about her life back in Seoul, South Korea and her interest in football and wanting to be a football player as her dream career but she would be talking nonstop and someone needs to interrupt her in order for her to finally stop talking or else she would go on forever. Although she dislikes studying, she still studies because 1. She hates failing and 2. If she fails, she thinks she'll not get into university. She takes school seriously and doesn't let any dramas and distractions get in her way. She loves recording with her handycam in school because she wants to keep the memories of her and those around her and wants to share it with her own future family growing up and to share what it is like to be in Bullworth Academy but not only she records in school, she also records at random places to save memories and for nostalgia. She's clumsy, Joo-yeon doesn't look around where she's going and sometimes she would fall to the ground, which makes some people who notice her chuckles or straight up laughing due to her falling, it makes her feel really embarrassed but she still isn't careful 'til this day

Overall, Joo-yeon wants to make memories in Bullworth (+ school) with her handycam and wants to be a football player in the future

______________________________

Infos about Joo-yeon:

--- just to clarify that she doesn't play American football!!! She plays football (soccer) 😭

--- and yes, she's available (for the explanation of '?' on the love interest and the trope part)

--- she wears the female school uniform, that makes people not mistaken her as a boy and rather she's just a girl with boyish short hair. But when she's in her gym uniform or her casual outfits, people who never seen her, know her nor notice her before will mistake her as a boy

--- even though she's a tomboy, she loves girly stuff such as makeup, clothing, doing her nails, etc. and she wears girly clothes sometimes

--- she speaks Korean and English but she's more fluent in Korean because that's her native language and for English, she's still learning and trying her best to be really fluent in that language (yes, she understands English and speaks English but not at the native level)

--- she gets mocked in school by several people when she speaks English because of her Korean accent. She also experiences racism in school and outside of school

--- she starts playing football when she was 7

--- she's allergic to dogs

--- a lot of female students have a crush on her because she looks like a boy (and those female students THINKS that she's actually a boy), Joo-yeon doesn't really mind about them having a crush on her unless they confess to her and she has to tell the truth to them. But there are some female students who knows that Joo-yeon is not actually a boy and still have a crush on her

--- when Joo-yeon is in her gym uniform, Mr. Burton would sometimes call her 'boy' (not that he cares about her actual gender) and in annoyance, she would correctly tell him that she's a girl

--- she talks to herself in Korean

--- she sleeps in classes most of the time and she sometimes doesn't get caught by teachers. But when she's not sleeping, she would be focusing on the teacher teaching in class

--- Ted Thompson is JEALOUS OF HER!!! He's jealous that she's good when it comes to sports and also jealous that she's a good football player (even though he plays American football)

--- people in school would be confused that she's not a jock due to her playing sports really well (especially soccer) and doesn't understand why she didn't join the jocks clique (she has her own reasons)

--- she can eat up to 5 noodles

--- her favorite TV show is Stairway to Heaven (K-drama)

--- she has a white bunny plushy with black glasses named "Bo-mi"

--- she really cares about her face and body that she has over 9+ skincare products

--- she exercises everyday if she's not lazy and has the energy to do it

--- after graduation from Bullworth Academy, she plans to go back to South Korea (with a permission from her parents of course) to go to a university in Seoul and after university, she also plans to be a football player in South Korea

--- she loves to make her notes aesthetic (the upper middle picture on the moodboard for reference)

--- she always has her handycam with her all the time just to record for high school nostalgia (or nostalgia in general)

--- Kirby thinks she's kind of cool unlike Ted and maybe the rest of the jocks

______________________________

Hiii!!! >.<

Idk if she's going to be my last oc but my head can't stop having ideas. So we'll see

Anyways I hope you like her and the faceclaim is Yoon Eun-hye as Go Eun-chan from Coffee Prince

Credits to lovelogs for the filter on the moodboard <333

[mayajadewrites]

Stained Red - Chapter 8

Time

WARNING: SMUT AHEAD

The Vigilante

Matt has a love/hate relationship with his heightened senses. In his office, he can hear every drop, every scratch, and every step.

He heard you texting, all day. The only thing he knew was that it wasn't him.

He would occasionally hear a giggle or two escape your lips.

That enraged him.

He wasn't the one making you smile, he wasn't the one you were talking to all day.

Matt knew you threw the note in the garbage. To be expected, but there was a sliver of hope that you would go into his office, engulf his nostrils with your sweet scent, and forgive him.

He should know better than to think it would be that easy to earn your forgiveness.

Matt has dealt with his fair share of situationships, but a real relationship? Never. He could get over girls faster than they could get under him. Sex was sex. But you, you're different. Every taste he got of you made him want you more. He didn't want to fuck you and leave. He also didn't want anyone else touching you, ever.

His hand formed into a fist as he heard your fingers tapping away at your screen. Matt needs to figure out how to tell you about his vigilante activities, and fast.

Princesa

The day goes by faster than usual, but your mind was still preoccupied with thoughts of a specific Murdock.

One thing for certain is that you do not give in easily, let alone give in first. Matthew could write a note every day to you for 20 years, each would end up with the same fate. Being stuffed in the trash.

Your long coat glided along the steps as you exited the office, a familiar voice filling your ears.

"Night, Fog." Matt's voice felt like silk to your skin. You stopped in your tracks at the top of the stairs - as if he couldn't sense that you were there already. "I know you're there. I'm not gonna do anything." Matt took out his cane, pushing the door open.

"What if I want you to?" Matt can sense the faux innocence in your voice. His mouth curves into a smirk before he heads out the door.

You were being manipulative and toxic at this moment, but your core was begging for Matt. So, we'll blame it on that.

His voice alone made your toes curl and your cunt throb with need. You've been wanting to have sex with Matt for awhile, and being mad at him for whatever reason was making you want him more.

"Matthew." You follow him out the door, jogging to where he was on the sidewalk.

Matt pulled you in by your coat, pressing his lips to your ear. "Don't tempt me." He gently nibbled on your ear before pulling away, leaving you speechless.

A few hours later

You've retired your work clothes for the day and opted for a low cut tank top, sweat shorts that barely covered your ass, and a slouchy cardigan on top.

As you sipped your 3rd iced latte of the day, you thought about Matt. For the billionth time.

Were you willing to push away his secrets to have him in your life still?

Maybe.

You: Matthew. Come over.

Seen.

You: Please don't make me look more pathetic than I already feel.

Matthew: Beg.

Where was the sweet Matthew that you knew?

You: Come over and I'll beg all night.

Seen.

A half hour passed, so you decide to go into your room for the remainder of the night. Your core was aching for attention and you were gonna give it to her with or without Matt.

Bzzzzz.

You hear your door buzz, knowing it could only be one person. You buzzed him in, leaning against your doorframe.

Matt's wearing a black coat, grey sweatshirt with matching pants (slutty grey sweats), with his usual glasses. He brought one of his hands to your face, caressing it gently. His other hand glided down your curves to the end of your shorts.

"You leave the house in these?" Matt growled in your ear, cupping one of your ass cheeks.

"Not in the winter." You whisper in his ear, pulling him into your place. "Why? They're cute, no?"

"You keep playing with me." Matt took off his jacket, slipping his shoes off at the entryway. "I can be sweet, but once you tempt me too much, I can't hold back."

Matt seemed... angry. Territorial, protective, and angry.

"I would love to meet the sour side of you, Matthew." You go into your kitchen, grabbing a glass for wine. You open the wine bottle with a 'pop' and start pouring.

You feel Matt's body against your back, and a familiar erection pressing against your leg. Matt starts kissing your neck, subtly leaving bite marks to your shoulder.

You wanted to protest his touch and make him work for you. After all, he's still holding secrets that you don't know about.

Sipping your wine, you pressed your ass into him, teasing him more. You heard a breathy moan leave his lips, your core throbbing. Matt trailed his hands to your neck, pressing his fingers against the sides gently.

Fuck.

His fingers made their way to your shorts, sliding into them.

"No panties today?" Matt whispered in your ear, caressing your lips. "Bad girl." He slipped two fingers into your pussy, catching you off guard. "You're so wet for me too."

Setting the glass of wine on the counter, you lean into Matt's chest, letting your body bend to his every want and need. His calloused fingers pumped in and out of you while his lips were attached to your neck.

He could feel your walls pulsating around his fingers as you moan his name. "Matt, I-"

Matt's fingers retreat from your pussy, leaving you feeling a void in your core.

"You fucking tease." You turn to face him, a smirk taking over his entire face.

"What do you want, princess?" Matt took his two fingers and slid them in his mouth, sucking on them gently.

Fucking hell. This man is going to ruin you.

When you didn't reply, he asked again.

"I can't read your mind, princess. Tell me what you want."

Instead of telling him, you had a different plan. You led him to your bedroom, laying down on your back once you reached the bed. Your fingertips slipped under his sweatshirt, feeling his abdominal muscles and chest.

"For a writer, you certainly say little words." Matt snaked his body on top of you, hovering his lips an inch from yours. "Princess, tell me."

"You, Matthew. You." You reluctantly say against your better judgement. Your heart wants Matt, but your brain is saying to investigate these secrets before giving yourself to him.

We will deal with the brain later.

"Are you sure?" Matt takes off his glasses, caressing your cheek softly. "I know I messed up, I-"

"Pretend that's not happening right now. I don't want to deal with it. I just want you."

Matt's pillow soft lips pressed against yours for what felt like the first time in years. His movements were no longer based in anger, but they felt passionate. His right arm wrapped around you, pressing you into him as you rested your arms around his neck, opening your mouth to let him in.

His tongue found its home in your mouth and his hand was holding your face. "I missed you." Matt moaned, removing his lips from yours.

You took this as an opportunity to take your shirt off, leaving you in a lacy bra that you shamelessly wore hoping Matt would fuck you in it. His hands immediately went to your tits, kneading them slowly.

"Oh my god." His head went back. "I have so many favorite parts of you, but these make the top 5 for sure."

"What about this?" You bring his hand to the inside of your shorts, letting him feel your needy core.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to fuck you. That pussy of yours is addicting." Matt slid your shorts off, throwing them on the floor. "Are you sure you -"

"If you ask me again I'm gonna make you watch me fuck myself because I'm done talking." You unclip your bra, letting your tits bounce free. You grab Matt's sweatshirt and pull it over his head impatiently. He pulled his sweatpants off, his underwear were next.

You've never seen Matthew's dick, but you knew it was immaculate. The dick print in his sweatpants told you all you needed to know.

His dick sprung out of his underwear, hitting his stomach. It looked fucking glorious, if we're being honest.

You felt the tip of his dick tease your entrance, your arousal mixing with his pre-cum.

"Fuck, do you have a condom?" Matt stopped, looking at your face.

"Do we need one?" You raise your eyebrow, trying to ignore your pulsating cunt. "Cause if you're fucking anyone else, please -"

"I'm not fucking anyone else. Are you?" Matt cut you off, tilting his head to the side.

"No."

That was enough for him to gently push his tip into you, your walls spreading slowly to his size. A moan escaped your lips involuntarily.

Matthew moved with purpose, creating a rhythm with his lips as he plunged deeper and deeper into you. You wrapped one of your arms behind his neck, the other was holding onto his bicep.

"Fuck, princess." He moaned, his pace quickening. You could hear the sounds of your pussy against his dick, your arousal drenching him. "I can't believe how wet you are from me."

Matt slammed into you, hitting the spot that made your toes curl and your heart pound out of your chest.

"Matthew-" You moan, which only makes his pace quicken. He continuously hits your spot, still stretching your pussy to his size. Your walls pulsate around him as the world evaporated and it was just you, Matt, and your bed.

"That's it, beautiful." Matt said in a low voice, leaving bites on your neck as he continued to pound into you. "You're mine now."

A 2nd orgasm came after he said that. A breathy moan filled the room as Matt was about to reach his high. You felt his dick twitch as his rhythm quickened.

"Where do you want me to cum?" Matt said, almost out of breath.

The toxica in you came out to play.

"In me." You whispered in his ear, dragging your tongue along his earlobe.

Matt moaned your name before pushing himself one last time into you, filling you with his cum. You swear you could see his dick in your stomach. Once he pulled out, you felt like part of you was missing, but Matt was still there.

He grabbed a towel from your bathroom and cleaned you off, making sure you were okay and happy. Your cheeks were red-flushed, and your pussy was filled.

"You make me crazy." Matt pressed his lips to yours, lifting your chin. "I need everyone to know you're mine."

Your neck started to feel sore, then you remember Matt definitely left some bruises there for you to remember him by. You wondered why now all of the sudden he was feeling protective.

"I want to know you're mine." You search Matt's eyes, inching your naked body closer to his. "You have to let me in, Matthew. No more secrets."

Matt looked down, pulling your body into his. "I will. Just, please, give me time."

Time is something that cost nothing, but feels like it could mean the end of everything.

longer chapter and some smutttttt! let me know what you think!!

[supernaturalscribe67]

Family Don't End in Blood

Words: 8,170

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: TFW x Trans!FTM!Reader [Platonic]

Warning(s): Transphobia, Homophobia, Slurs (f-slur/t-slur), Childhood Trauma, PTSD, Language, Mention of Childhood Abuse, Mention of Neglect of a Child, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Deadname mentioned ( [D/N] = Deadname )

Summary: 

The past is a crazy concept, isn’t it? A chain of events that happened before a certain time, constructed of words and actions that cannot be altered.

The reader lived a great life in the bunker. He had everything that he could ever ask for - people who loved him, a roof over his head, and the perfect support system. But, when a ghost from his past reappears, the reader must face his demons and come face to face with the two people who made his life a living hell; his parents.

A/N: The names and likenesses presented in this story are not meant to represent any specific person or persons. Feedback is much appreciated. DO NOT READ if any of the warnings are triggering to you! Keep yourselves healthy, keep yourselves safe!

Much love~

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The past is a crazy concept, isn’t it? A chain of events that happened before a certain time, constructed of words and actions that cannot be altered. People say to leave the past behind you. That it’s meant to be left alone, to be forgotten, in some instances more than others. One would assume that it would be an easy task to do such. You get sucked into the rhythm of day-to-day life and, suddenly, the past is irrelevant. It doesn’t matter what Carol K. said in the fourth grade behind your back to her group of preppy rich girls, or what you received on the last Halloween you ever went trick-or-treating before you realized you were too old. What happened, happened, and now you have to trek through your daily life like you know what you’re doing or what the future holds. 

A funny thing about the past is that it has a habit of creeping up on us when we least expect it. Most are in the form of a familiar song, simple words or phrases used in everyday speech, or a meal that one may not have had for years. Instances like that trigger nostalgia, sometimes bringing about good memories, while others remind people of the terrors that they had once faced. For some, however, the past doesn’t resurface at the mere mention of a street name or the town one used to live. Some are contacted by the ghosts of who they once were. The ghosts that still haunt the deepest crevices of their mind, shut away in a box as a form of comfort to get through life without having to relive the pain the spirits put them through. Sometimes those spirits get loud, and sometimes those spirits get out. 

(Y/N)’s ghosts broke out of his box a week prior, on a sunny afternoon that was spent cooped up in the Men of Letters Bunker. Everything about that day had been normal. He got up, made himself some breakfast, and watched some television while he relaxed before retreating to the quiet library with his computer. He took the time to scour the endless news articles in an attempt to find a hunt, something Sam was more adept at, but gave up thirty minutes in. Just as he was about to turn off his computer to find another way to occupy himself, his phone began to buzz beside him. The number on the screen caused his heart to stop, his skin to pale, and his eyes to widen. 

It was his ghost. 

She had broken out. 

He wasn’t going to answer. Everything in his body was telling him that it would be the worst thing that would happen to him if he picked up the phone, but morbid curiosity can make a person do things that they don’t want to do. So he picked up the phone and, for the first time in over a decade, he heard his mother’s voice. 

He wasn’t too sure how mentally present he was during the duration of the conversation, some of the things that they talked about were easily forgotten, but there were several things that he noted while they talked. Her voice was different since the last time they conversed, probably due to the Marlboros she snuck now and then behind the garage. He doubted she had broken her habit after he left. Her tone of voice was still the same, though. A sickeningly sweet voice that could fool anyone, and had fooled him more times than he could count on both of his hands. Even as they spoke, the voice was getting to him, telling him that things had changed. That they were different. That they were the way they were supposed to be. The other part of him, the sane part, told him how crazy he was for even thinking such thoughts. 

The major part of the conversation that stuck out to him was his mother’s request, something that caught him completely off guard.

“Why don’t you and your friends come down next week? Have dinner with us? It’s been so quiet since you left, and we really need to catch up!”

Lights flashed, alarms blared, and red flags were scattered around his mind. A warning sign to make up an excuse, to tell her that he had other plans, that they were far too busy to make a silly trip down to see his parents. Alas, the other part of him was whispering in his ear, begging him for closure. Begging for some type of reconciliation. Begging for the parents that he always longed for. What started as whispers had turned into screams. 

He blamed the curiosity for giving in. 

“Oh, that’s so wonderful, sweetheart! We can’t wait to see you! I know how happy your father is going to be. He’s going to be over the moon when I tell him he’s going to see his little girl again.”

It was easy enough to convince Sam, Dean, and Castiel to join him on his trip back to his hometown. Some questions were asked and some of them were answered, some with honesty, others with vague responses. He wasn’t sure he had completely recovered yet from the conversation. He wasn’t sure that he would ever be able to. Even the days leading up to the dinner seemed to slow to a snail’s pace, almost as if time itself had been affected by their phone call as if the universe tapped into his increasing anxiety. 

(Y/N) wasn’t fit to drive, his mind not yet returning to the present. Dean sat behind the wheel of his Impala, asking periodically for directions. From the backseat, (Y/N) would mumble out each response, his eyes cast out the window at the passing scenery. The words of the ghost repeated in his head as they drove. 

“He’s going to be over the moon when I tell him he’s going to see his little girl again…”

“...his little girl again…” 

“...his little girl…”

“...little girl…”

“...girl…”

GIRL.

(Y/N) came out to his parents when he was eighteen, and that decision changed the course of his life forever. When he walked in, the fear stirred inside of his chest like a hurricane about to strike the shore, he could never fathom what harsh words and actions would have come as a result of him doing so. The hurricane inside of his chest had been released into the house, sending a whirlwind of profanity and shattering objects every which way. He wondered if the living room still had the hole in the wall from when his father broke his mother’s antique vase against it. Going into the initial conversation, he expected some hesitancy, some disappointed looks, perhaps, but the outcome was far worse than he had ever considered. 

He met Sam and Dean by chance, having been on his own for several years at that point, and a victim of a witch gone rogue. He had heard rumors prior of Supernatural entities existing outside of the campfire stories children told at summer camp, but he never expected them to be real. His morbid curiosity kicked in after he was saved, and years later, he lived with the brothers in the bunker. His life was better, they accepted him for the man he truly was and he felt like he could be himself around them. When Castiel was introduced, he received the same heartwarming welcome that he had gotten from the brothers. He finally had a family that loved him and cared for him, and it was all he could have ever asked for. Life was going well. 

Then his box broke open. 

And his curiosity got the best of him again. 

Perhaps it would be different that time. The last time he did something on instinct rather than intuition, it got him into a wonderful, supportive family. Perhaps his parents had realized how serious he was when he came out to them. A decade is a long time to go without talking to your child. People can change. He had to believe that. Another part of him laughed. Of course, they didn’t change, why the hell would they suddenly decide to be supportive of you now? He wasn’t too sure about the answer. All he could do was have a small, sliver of hope that there was a chance that reconciliation awaited him. 

He needs to learn to lower his expectations. 

.~.

The Impala drove at a steady twenty miles per hour down the road, past the line of newly developed housing created about twelve years prior, and into the neighborhood filled with a mixture of tall and short houses dating back to the early 1910s. Back when (Y/N) was a child, it was the only part of the neighborhood that he knew, and from what he could tell nothing had changed much. Some new colored houses here and there, a fence or maybe two, but other than that, most of the houses along the winding road had stayed the same. Dead ends were still dead ends and the hills were still, undoubtedly, too high to climb over when the winter weather hit. He was thankful they took the trip during the summer. 

His childhood home was located down one of the sideroads in the deepest parts of the neighborhood. As they drove past houses, he could remember the names of children that used to live there, the times when they used to play together in the street or the creek that was a mile away. Those were good times, and a part of him wished he could relive them. He wondered what each of those children was up to. Either extremely well off or locked away for drug abuse. That was how most small-town children grew up. He was part of the small percentage that glided steadily in the middle of the chaos. He wasn’t a bum drug addict, but he wasn’t rich either. 

The house was almost unrecognizable. What used to be an ungodly piss yellow was now a basic blue color, edging on navy, with white trim. It gave the building a farmhouse-style aesthetic. The porch that wrapped around the front of the house had been painted recently, evident by how bright the white color was, and new foliage lined the driveway and walkway up to the front door, a mixture of bushes and flowers. They looked well taken care of. He gave his parents kudos for taking such good care of the exterior. He could faintly recall his mother mentioning something about retirement during their conversation, but he wasn’t certain. 

Dean pulled the car into the driveway, behind a new Ford F150 painted red. He killed the engine and the four of them sat still for a moment, the silence weighing heavy on all of them. Not much was said during the entire car ride there. Even AC/DC played low and was respectful of the preferred quiet. 

“This the place?” Dean broke the silence, turning his head to look at (Y/N). 

“Yeah…” (Y/N)’s voice was monotone, almost robotic. 

“You know, we don’t have to be here if you don’t want to.” 

(Y/N) finally tore his gaze away from the house to look at Dean. He shook his head. “I’m fine,” he answered, though he wasn’t sure how convincing he made it sound. 

“Alright, if you say so. Wanna lead the way?” 

“Yeah.”

(Y/N) took a moment before he exited the car. As he stepped out, he felt as if his body weighed a ton, as if rocks were tied to his ankles and wrists. Sam, Dean, and Castiel followed his lead. He wasn’t too sure how long it took to get up to the front door. It felt like he was walking through his past, year after year and memory after memory, from the time he brought all of the luggage in after his parents inherited the house from his maternal grandparents to the moment he was thrown out forcefully by his father with nothing but the clothes on his back and a small will to live. When he regained consciousness, he eyed the door cautiously. They had painted the door, too. It was now white, much like the porch and trim. 

Before he got a chance to knock, the door was yanked open, causing him to jump violently, eyes wide. 

Standing in the doorway was a short, stout woman, and it took (Y/N) a while to realize that it was his mother. The years hadn’t been nice to her. Her teeth were off-white, and her thinner lips cracked in a large smile that fit on most of her face. The wrinkles around her eyes, lips, and across her forehead were more prominent than ever, and it seemed as if she had neglected to dye her hair recently, slivers of grays poking through her roots. She wore a long-sleeved shirt, despite the heat, and a skirt that reached down to the middle of her calves. 

“(D/N)!” She exclaimed in a childlike voice, arms outstretched wide as she approached him. 

An uneasy smile made its way onto (Y/N)’s lips. “Hey, Mom,” he mumbled, returning the hug hesitantly. 

“Oh! Your voice sounds so deep, dear,” she giggled and pulled back, a hand placed gingerly against her chest. “I hope you’re not getting sick.” 

“Nope…not getting sick.” 

His mother narrowed her eyes as she reached up, fingers running gently through his hair. She hummed. “You know, I liked you better with longer hair. You just look like a boy now,” her nose scrunched. 

“Yeah…” 

His mother glanced between (Y/N) and the men standing behind him. She bit her lip in anticipation. “Well?” 

“Well?” (Y/N) furrowed his brows. 

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?” 

The question registered in his mind slower than he would have liked. He had honestly forgotten that Sam, Dean, and Castiel stood behind him. He turned his head sharply to look at them. 

“Right! Um, Mom, this is Sam, Dean, and Castiel,” he introduced them, gesturing towards each of them when he mentioned their name. 

His mother held out a hand to them individually, giving them a firm shake. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you all. As you know, I’m (D/N)’s mother, but you can just call me Clara. If you call me Mrs. (L/N), I’ll start looking around for my mother-in-law, and she’s been dead for years!” She howled in a high-pitched laughter. 

(Y/N) frowned. “Grandma’s dead?” He asked in a quiet voice. 

Clara’s laughter died quickly as she placed her hand on her cheek. The corner of her lips curled downward. She opened her mouth to speak but found it difficult to find the words she had been looking for. Finally, she reached an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders, pulled him close to her, and gestured with her head inside. 

“Let’s go see your father, sweetheart! He’ll be so happy to see you!” She smiled again as she pulled him past the threshold of the front door and into the house. 

Sam, Dean, and Castiel glanced at one another, their brows raised. (Y/N) had told them little to nothing about his family or the life he lived before they met. They weren’t even aware that his parents were still alive. In the world of hunting, living parents were a rare occasion. However, with the first interaction with his mother, they realized that his parents seemed to be dead to him, even if they weren’t buried six feet under. 

“Now I see why he hasn’t talked to us about his family,” Sam mumbled just loud enough for the two other men to hear before he stepped foot into the house. 

Castiel’s brows were knitted together in his signature confused expression. “I don’t understand,” he spoke in a voice that was as low as Sam’s had been. “Why did (Y/N)’s mother call him by his deadname?” 

Dean opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself. He reached over, clapped a hand on Castiel’s shoulders, and answered simply, “Because his parents are dicks, Cas,” before he followed his brother into the house. Castiel followed soon after, mulling over the answer. 

The interior was just as updated as the outside. It seemed (Y/N)’s parents put their retirement to good use. The old, rustic floors were replaced with newly refurbished wooden flooring with a dark stain, all of the furniture seemed to be less than five years old, each of the rooms had been given a fresh coat of paint to replace the wallpaper and wooden panels which were popular in the 1950s, and the ceilings no longer had bundles of popcorn strewn about. The wretched smell of mothballs had even dissipated and was replaced by a Scentsy that smelled of wildflowers. 

Clara led (Y/N) into the living room. The basic shape of the living room had been the same since he last saw it, except the large leather couch they once had was replaced with a beige sectional and the 20” box TV had been replaced by a massive 75” flatscreen. His father sat in the living room in his recliner, the same recliner he had when (Y/N) was a kid. His feet were elevated and a can of Bush Lite rested in his hand. 

His father didn’t age well, either. What had once been a full head of hair was now replaced by thin, silver strands that ran from either side of his skull in a comb-over. Age spots began to materialize across his face and hands. His skin seemed leathery and shriveled, his nails brittle. His fingertips were stained yellow, indicating he had started smoking, the same bad habit his mother couldn’t seem to break. They were perfect for one another. His back was slouched as he watched TV, a hump beginning to form near the base of his neck. For a man in his late fifties, his father seemed like he was hitting his early seventies. 

“Greg! Turn the damn TV off and come see your daughter.” Clara scolded. 

Daughter. The anxiety began to bubble inside of (Y/N)’s gut, but he kept it at bay.

Greg turned his head away from the screen and smiled. “Well, I’ll be damned, I didn’t hear you pull up.” He clapped his hands onto his knees and hoisted himself out of the chair. 

“Of course, you didn’t hear her pull up with that TV being so loud. I told you you need to turn it down.” 

“I can hear just fine, woman. You don’t need to tell me anything.” 

Greg shuffled over to the two of them and was quick to wrap his arms around (Y/N), pulling him close. (Y/N) returned the hug just as hesitantly as he had done to his mother. Greg reeked of cigarettes, and it was obvious that he smoked about a pack a day. At least his mother was good at hiding her addiction from outsiders. His father, not so much. (Y/N) tried to keep a straight face when he pulled away, despite the putrid smell. 

“I missed you so much, baby girl,” he mumbled as he patted (Y/N)’s shoulder. 

“Missed you, too, Dad,” though his tone said otherwise. 

“And these are (D/N)’s friends,” Clara turned towards the men behind them. 

Greg’s gaze turned towards them and straightened up almost immediately as if to make himself appear taller, more dominant. He stepped past (Y/N) and Clara so that he stood in front of the group. He held out his hand to each of them, exchanging names and handshakes. As they talked, (Y/N)’s eyes were cast down towards the floor. 

Shame was a mild word compared to how to truly felt. He had never told the boys his deadname. Never had he even considered doing so, but by dragging them to his childhood home, he had opened up a gateway of forbidden knowledge. The knowledge that he had hoped to keep in the back of his mind. Once his ghost opened up the box, she let everything out with it. He realized how much of a fool he was to pick up the phone. That the little hope that had bubbled inside of him was blind, that there was nothing to back up any idea that his parents had changed. They hadn’t changed. They had merely brushed his transgenderism under the rug as if that fateful night ten years ago didn’t occur. 

Clara’s voice pulled (Y/N) from his thoughts as her hands came up to rest on his shoulders. He jerked and looked over at her with a startled expression. Clara smiled. 

“Why don’t you and I go into the kitchen and finish up supper while the guys talk?” She asked in that sickeningly sweet voice. 

“Um,” (Y/N)’s mouth had gone dry. “Sure.” 

“Great,” her smile tightened. “We’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.” She turned to the four other men in the room. “Would you boys like anything to drink?” 

They declined her offer with polite, forced smiles. Clara then led (Y/N) past the archway, into the hallway, and toward the kitchen. Greg placed his hands on his hips and gestured towards the sofa. 

“Why don’t you boys have a seat? Make yourselves at home. I’ll be back in a moment. Gotta take a piss. The ol’ bladder ain’t what it used to be ya’ know.” He let out a deep chuckle and headed for the hallway. 

They watched as Greg left. When he was out of sight, the three of them walked around the sectional and sat down. The door down the hallway clicked shut, and the faint sound of a radio and fan could be heard. Dean licked his lips and leaned forward. 

“Alright, we have to say something,” he said. 

“Dean,” Sam began. 

“No, Sam. We now know why (Y/N) never told us about his parents. I mean, you saw the way that he was. Something had to have happened. He looked scared. That wasn’t our (Y/N).” 

Sam sighed. “I know what you mean, but…it’s not our place to say anything to them.” Sam shrugged. 

“I believe I agree with Dean,” Castiel folded his hands in his lap. “(Y/N)’s demeanor is not what I am used to. He’s secluded. I was unable to hear what he was thinking because of how…chaotic his thoughts were at the moment. I’ve never seen him like that before.” 

“Well then, what do you suggest we do?” Sam asked. 

They sat in silence for a moment, Sam looking over in Dean’s direction, Castiel doing the same, while Dean’s eyes were focused on the floor. His lips were pursed in thought. Both Sam and Castiel knew what Dean wanted to do. He wanted to yell at them, give them a true Dean Winchester what for. Tell them that they were some of the worst parents on the face of the Earth with some colorful language mixed in. However, Dean knew that there was a time and a place for behavior like that. Run-down bars were a perfect example, not someone else’s house. He knew that they couldn’t go into that fight guns blazing. They had to be careful about it. Malicious. 

Moments of silence passed before Dean leaned back against the sectional. He crossed one of his legs lazily over the other and ran his fingers through his hair. He listened carefully to the faint sound of radio chatter and fan blades from the other room. 

“I say we just…use his correct name and pronouns whenever we talk about him,” Dean shrugged his shoulders. 

“That’s it?” 

“Yeah…that’s it.” 

Sam poked his tongue into his cheek and nodded. “And you won’t blow up.” 

Dean shook his head. “Can’t promise, but I will try to be on my best behavior,” he held up a hand. “Scout’s Honor.” 

Sam sighed. “Alright. Yeah…” he nodded. “But if (Y/N) tells us to stop…”

“Then we stop,” Dean finished. “But I’m not calling him by his deadname.” 

“It truly doesn’t suit him,” Castiel said, head tilted and eyes cast off in the distance. 

“No, it doesn’t,” Sam agreed. 

“It’s settled then?” Dean asked. 

“Settled,” Sam and Castiel nodded. 

.~.

Dinner was served around 5:30. It was a simple meat and potato meal, some cheap excuse of a salad served in an antique salad bowl, greens, and dessert for the road. Everyone had gathered in the dining room, just off the living room. They also seemed to have renovated that room since (Y/N) left. Previously, they had a cheap wooden table with a couple of mismatched chairs scattered around it. Now, the dining table looked lavish, mahogany with a dark stain and extravagant carvings on the legs. The chairs were wooden, the same color as the table, with white pads on the backs and seats. The wallpaper had been torn off and replaced with a bright beige with dark trim. A chandelier hung above the table that appeared to cost more than most of the renovation. Tasteless picture frames hung on every corner of the walls, some containing old family photos while others had strange abstract paintings inside. 

Greg sat at the head of the table while his wife sat at the other end. (Y/N) sat next to his mother, Dean right across from him. Sam sat next to Dean and Castiel sat next to (Y/N). Each of them had a hearty serving of food on their decorative dinner plates. Greg dug into the food almost immediately as it was served, Clara was delicate with her eating, and everyone else was respectful and slow with their bites. Even Castiel ate some of the food, despite his celestial lack of taste. (Y/N) picked at his food, mostly, but ate a few bites now and then to appease his parents. 

“So, (D/N),” Greg started with a mouthful of food, a bit of gravy dribbling out of the corner of his mouth that he didn’t bother to wipe. “What kind of work did you say y’all did?” 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Gregory,” Clara scolded in a low voice, earning an eye-roll from her husband. “You said something about working in an office?” She looked towards (Y/N).

(Y/N) froze midbite. “Um…” he trailed. He had forgotten what it was he told his mother when they talked. 

“Something about hunters or something?” 

“Head hunters!” (Y/N) was quick to respond. “Right, right, um, yeah, sorry. Um…Dean and I are head hunters at Cerner. Sam works in the tech department and Castiel works in sales.” 

“Oh! That’s nice that you all get to work together! Now, Cerner, I heard about that place, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it is,” Clara’s face scrunched up. 

“We sell medical equipment and hardware, but we’re able to work from home since we live a couple of hours away from the main building.” 

“Ooo, medical equipment,” Clara cooed. “You must make a good amount of money.” 

“Yeah…some.” He mumbled and took another bite. 

Greg finally picked up the cloth napkin beside him and wiped the corner of his lips. “So where do y’all live, then? Since you get to lazily work from home…” 

“We live together near Lincoln, and the closest office is in Kansas City. It would just be easier to work from home instead of driving all that way.” (Y/N) said. 

“Wait a second…” Greg looked up at him. “Together?” He asked. 

“Yeah…we live in a house together.” 

Greg chewed slower. “I don’t know how I feel about my daughter living with three men.” 

Dean snorted. Eyes shifted over towards him. He looked up and glanced towards the head of the table. “He’s not so bad to live with,” he shrugged his shoulders. 

“He who?” Greg furrowed his brows. 

“(Y/N).” 

“Who?” 

“Your son,” Dean gestured towards (Y/N) with his fork. 

(Y/N) stopped. His heart raced rapidly in his chest as his parents’ eyes shifted towards him. In an instant, he was transported back to a decade ago. The same look that was on his parents' faces back then was on them now. His mother had a look of worry, while he could see that the veins on his father’s neck were enlarged. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were narrowed and small behind his bushy brows. The fear that overtook (Y/N) on the night he got kicked out began to flood back into his gut. He could feel the hurricane build. 

It died off when his father let out a deep chuckle, however, and the fear was replaced by confusion. 

“I see (D/N) has you guys roped into that transsexual bullshit or whatever.” Greg waved Dean off. “Sweetheart, aren’t you a little too old to be playing make-believe?” Greg’s voice was deep, demeaning. 

(Y/N) frowned. “It’s not make-believe, Dad. I’m a man.” (Y/N) spoke softly, as if he was even uncertain of himself. 

Greg laughed heartily. “You know, when your mother told me she talked you into coming home, I figured, after all these years, you would have gotten some sense into that thick head of yours. But, it seems like I was wrong. Maybe we didn’t beat you enough when you were a kid.” 

“Gregory,” Clara said between clenched teeth.

“I think you beat me plenty the night I left,” (Y/N) mumbled and took another bite, though he had already lost his appetite. 

“Don’t get lip with me, girl,” Greg growled. 

“He’s not a girl, Gregory,” Castiel chimed in, his voice calm and quiet. “His name is (Y/N) and he is a man. I believe you should respect that.” 

For the first time since he got there, (Y/N) looked over at Castiel, then to Dean, then Sam. The men that he had lived with for years were right next to him. His support system was in the same room as the people who had broken him down. He was no longer alone, no longer a scared little kid who was backed into a corner. With that thought in the back of his head, he felt the fear slowly dwindle. It was replaced with irritation. Parents were supposed to love and support their children through everything they experienced. Yet, all his parents did was cast him out once he got the confidence to come to them. The people, whom he was supposed to trust with his life, had turned to the people that he despised the most.

“Respect my ass. What happened to the respect for her parents!?” Greg dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter. “Do you have any idea what we had to go through to raise your ungrateful ass? Your mother had to drop out of college, I had to take on two jobs, and this is how you thank us? Do you have any idea the things that people have been saying about us since you left? How we’re failures for parents for letting you turn out the way you did? I couldn’t even show my face in Fred’s for the longest time after that.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Dad, that you couldn’t go to your watering hole and get drunk like you did every night. How dare they assume the worst of you,” (Y/N)’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“(Y/N), I think we should go,” Sam said in a small voice. 

Greg narrowed his eyes at Sam and then at (Y/N). He pointed a meaty finger at him. “You watch what you say to me. You’re in my house. Adult or not, I will smack some sense into you.” 

“Hey, that’s not-” Sam began. 

“Gregory!” Clara spoke louder. “That’s our daughter, you can’t talk to her like that.” 

“I am not your daughter!” (Y/N) spoke loudly, his fist slammed down on the table, causing the plates and cutlery to cling together. Sam caught his glass before it could spill. 

Clara raised her brows as she looked over at (Y/N). She frowned and reached over, placing her hand on his shoulder. “(D/N)...”

(Y/N) slapped her hand away from him. “(D/N) is dead!” He shouted and stood quickly. His chair was tossed back and fell onto the floor. 

The room fell silent aside from a gasp that came from Clara. Her hand shot up to her mouth, tears brimming in the corners of her eyes. All eyes were on (Y/N). He glared daggers at his mother and father. 

“She died long before you kicked me out. I thought, after all of these years, that you, my parents, would have changed. That you would see that it was not just some rebellious fucking phase you made it out to be. But I guess I was wrong. You two never changed. You two never got better. You’re still the same worthless, spineless fucks that kicked your child out all those years ago. You’re not parents. You’re garbage. White trash garbage.” 

“Hey!” Greg’s voice boomed as he stood from his spot at the table. “Don’t you ever speak to us like that,” he advanced towards (Y/N) but was stopped with a hand on his chest when Castiel stood between them. “Get the Hell out of my way. I bet you’re one of them faggot trannys, too.” 

As Greg placed his hands firmly on Castiel’s chest to undoubtedly shove him away, Castiel grabbed his wrist, flipped him over, and pinned him against the wall. Clara let out a shout, her eyes wide. 

“Cas!” Dean bellowed as he and Sam rushed over, their hands on Castiel’s arms as they tried to pull him off, but Castiel held on with all his strength. 

(Y/N) could see the anger in Castiel’s eyes. The blue that was once there was seemingly replaced by a deep, dark red. His jaw was clenched tightly, lips screwed together in a scowl. Clara rushed from her spot at the table and towards the archway leading into the hallway. 

“I’m calling the police!” She shouted, her voice echoing in the hallway. 

“Cas, let him go,” Sam said, a tone of urgency in his words.  

(Y/N) took a couple of steps towards them. He got closer to his father so that their faces were almost touching. Greg growled and tried to pull himself from Castiel’s grip, but it was futile. 

“How does it feel Gregory? How does it feel being outnumbered? To be weak? That’s all you are. You’re nothing but a weak, washed-up, lonely sack of shit. You need to start facing reality. You don’t have a daughter anymore. Never had one to begin with. At this point, you don’t even have a son. So I want you and Clara to lose my number. Pretend that I don’t even exist, and if you even bother to contact me again, best know that I’m going to make your lives a living Hell.” (Y/N)’s voice was low, deep, and dark. 

Greg said nothing. Instead, he let out staggered breaths, spittle dribbling out of the corner of his mouth. (Y/N) backed away. 

“Let him go, Cas,” (Y/N) said. 

Castiel glanced over at him for a brief moment before he let go. Greg went limp against the wall, holding his arm tightly to his chest. Sam patted Castiel’s shoulder and began to move him away from the scene. Dean grabbed (Y/N)’s arm. 

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Dean mumbled. 

(Y/N) gave a short nod, his eyes never leaving his father until the four of them quickly walked out of the room and towards the front door. Greg shouted incoherently down the hallway, but (Y/N) couldn’t he half-assed to care what it was he had to say. 

The sun was setting by then. The sky was painted a beautiful peach color that shifted toward the horizon to reddish-orange. They were quick to rush down the stairs and towards the Impala. Dean got in the driver’s seat, Sam in the passenger’s, and Castiel and (Y/N) got in the back. 

“Let’s get the Hell out of here. Clara was serious about calling the cops, and the porkers around here are crooked motherfuckers.” (Y/N) mumbled. 

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Dean said. 

He started the car and the engine roared to life. Dean ripped out of the driveway, tires squealing as they rushed down the neighborhood road. 

.~.

Twenty minutes out of town and the car ride was silent. No one would dare speak. The tension in the car was so thick that you could cut it with a knife. On occasion, Dean would look in the rearview mirror at (Y/N). Each time he did so, he could see that (Y/N)’s eyes were filled with a dead stare. His gaze cast towards the back of Sam’s head, eyes glazed over, as if he wasn’t even there. He was leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees, hands clasped together. 

Truth be told, (Y/N)’s mind was far from the present. The words that Clara and Greg spoke replayed in his head over and over again. His own words mere whispers over how loud theirs were. He thought about all that he had said to them. He had been holding in his emotions for ten years, hating what his parents had become, hating that they had turned their backs on him as soon as he needed them the most. He developed a heavy resentment towards them, something that he knew couldn’t be fixed from a simple dinner visit. 

But another part of him, the child-like voice that spoke in the back of his head, wished that things had changed. Wished for the parents that he so desperately wanted. Parents were supposed to watch out for their children, to protect them, and his parents had neglected to do so. They abandoned him. What worthless fucks they were. Still, it was hard for him not to want the good parents he had hoped they would be. To hope for parents who supported and loved him. He wanted his mother to just wrap her arms around him and call him her son. He wanted his father to clap him on the shoulder and tell him how proud he was. How brave he was to come out. None of that happened. He would never get the validation from his parents that he longed for. 

And he hated it. 

He knew that Dean, Sam, and Castiel loved him. Loved him more than his parents ever would, but he couldn’t help the desperate want that clawed deep within his mind. In a way, he felt ashamed for even wanting it. He had everything in his life that he ever needed - a support system, people who loved him, a place he could call home - yet he still wanted more. He felt greedy. Selfish. 

“Pull over,” (Y/N)’s voice was small and cracked. 

“What?” Dean asked. 

“I said ‘pull over’.” He spoke louder. 

Dean frowned and looked in the rearview mirror for a moment. Reluctantly, he pulled the Impala to the side of the backroads and placed the car in park. (Y/N) opened the door and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Dean and Sam looked at one another before they, too, got out of the car. Castiel soon followed. 

“(Y/N)!” Sam called. 

(Y/N)’s fists were clenched at his sides as he stormed down the road in long, smooth strides, away from the Impala, back towards the direction of town. 

“(Y/N), stop!” Dean hollered. 

(Y/N) didn’t listen. He kept walking. He only stopped when Castiel popped in front of him, hands placed on his shoulders. (Y/N) quickly brushed him off. 

“Get off me,” he growled, his voice not angry, but rather broken. 

He took a couple of steps away from Castiel, giving Dean and Sam enough time to catch up to them. (Y/N) stood between the three of them. He brought his hands up and wrapped his arms around his chest, hugging himself tightly. He shook his head and looked up at the night sky. 

It was a Waxing Crescent that night - God’s Thumbnail as his mother would have called it - and stars were placed meticulously in various parts of the sky. The good thing about the backroads was that there were no city lights to hide the true beauty of the sky by night. Every last constellation was visible. That was one thing that (Y/N) loved about living in the bunker. When he got tired, when he needed a break, he would walk outside, look up at the night sky, and just watch. Watch as the stars floated from one end to the other, watch as the moon shifted to welcome a new dawn. It was a mesmerizing sight. But, that night, it wasn’t comforting to him. Not like it should have been. 

“This is all my fault,” (Y/N) breathed out. He closed his eyes as his head dropped down. 

“(Y/N),” Sam reached forward, but (Y/N) pulled away before he could even touch him. 

“I was so stupid. So stupid to think that they changed. I just…I don’t know, I just had this little bit of hope inside of me that, after all these years, they would have seen me as their son. That they would have seen me for the man that I am. But I was wrong. I was so fucking stupid to believe that they would have changed. After everything that they did to me, after everything that they said to me, all I wanted was for them to tell me that everything would be okay, that they were going to stand by me through everything. That’s what parents are supposed to do, right? They’re supposed to protect their kids. They’re supposed to be by their sides through everything that they go through and they weren’t. They never were! They just sat there and berated me and threw me out because ‘how would the rest of the town look at us knowing that our daughter is nothing but a tranny piece of liberal trash’?” 

(Y/N)’s voice shook, and his eyes glimmered in the pale moonlight from tears that had appeared. 

“Well, you know what? I don’t need them! I don’t need those two washed-up, lowlife son of a bitches to look out for me. No, I got you three. I have three important men in my life who care for me, love me, and support me no matter what, even when I make a dumb decision on a hunt or when I make a fool out of myself trying to flirt with someone at a bar. I know that I can come back home to people who will be there for me no matter what. So you know what, Clara and Greg can go fuck themselves. They’re not my parents. They never were! I don’t need them!” 

His voice shifted to anger, but the shaking was still present. His tense shoulders relaxed and slouched. He reached a hand up to his face to wipe the tears away. His bottom lip began to tremble and, with his head cast down, he turned back towards the three of them. 

“How come they don’t love me?” 

Dean rushed over without a word and wrapped his arms around (Y/N), pulling him close to his chest. Sam was quick to move over to his side as well, his long arms overlapping his brother’s to embrace him. Castiel followed suit, hugging him more hesitantly than the others, but his grip was just as strong. (Y/N) collapsed in their arms, sobs falling from his lips as tears fell carelessly down his cheeks. 

“Hey,” Dean’s voice broke through the sounds of (Y/N)’s sobs. He pulled away from him, as did Sam and Castiel. Sam and Castiel kept a hand firmly on (Y/N)’s back, while Dean’s hands moved to his shoulders. “Don’t cry over them. They’re not worth it.” Dean reached up and slowly brushed a tear away from (Y/N)’s cheek. “We’re your family now, and we would never treat you like that. You deserve so much better.” 

“Dean’s right,” Sam chimed in. “You’ve gone through so much. It takes a lot of courage for someone to come out like you did, and for them to just throw you out like that…” Sam shook his head in disapproval. “We love you, (Y/N), more than anything.” 

(Y/N) sniffled and wiped the rest of the tears away. His cheeks were stained with the wet remnants of their trails and his eyes were puffy and red. 

“I’m not too good with…words or comfort.” Castiel began, hesitantly. “But I believe that it was a courageous thing to come back to your hometown and speak to your parents, even if it didn’t turn out the way you had hoped for. It takes a lot for someone to face the people who have wronged them in the past, and I must commend you on your bravery. Even though you don’t have the support of your parents with you, as Sam and Dean have said, you still have us. We love you dearly, (Y/N). You are who you are meant to be, and no one can ever change that.” 

(Y/N) lips slowly curled into a small, weak smile. “Thank you, all of you. For everything that you have done for me.” 

“No, thank you,” Dean nodded. “Dinner and a show? At least the show wasn’t as dry as Clara’s pot roast.” 

“Dean,” Sam rolled his eyes.

(Y/N) let out a light laugh. “She was never good at making pot roast anyway.” 

“I’m a better cook than her, right?”

“By a mile.” 

“That’s all I needed to hear.” Dean reached over and wrapped an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders, pulling him close. “What do you say we head back home, order in, and watch one of those terrible movies you like.” 

“One of those shitty romcoms?” 

“If that’s what you wanna watch.” 

“And I can pick where we order in from?” 

“As long as it’s somewhere where I can get a salad,” Sam mumbled. 

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sammy.” (Y/N)’s smile widened.

Dean smirked and gestured towards the Impala. “Come on, let’s head home.” 

The four of them made their way back over to the car, each of them getting in their respective seats. The radio blasted Metallica, the tension having been lifted from the air. The Impala’s engine roared as it sped down the backroads, leaving behind a past of nothing but misery and heartbreak, and heading towards a future of love, acceptance, and compassion. 

.~.

The past is a crazy concept, isn’t it? When you think about it, some people share more good memories than bad ones. They cling to their past self and wish for a time when they could go back and relive the glory days. Others tend to forget their past and look towards the future, hoping for a new light that would bring nothing but happiness and joy. 

If you had told (Y/N) a week ago that he would be one of those people, he would have rolled his eyes and laughed in your face. The past had clung to him like the plague, dragging along with him everywhere he went. It crippled him, not only bringing his self-image down, but his self-worth as well. The words that Clara and Greg spoke to him that night were forever engrained in his mind. And while they lingered in the back of his head now and then, a louder, stronger, boisterous voice told him otherwise. Told him he was cared for. Told him he was worth it. Told him they loved him. Told him he was exactly the person that he was destined to be. It was the voices of the men that he loved dearly. 

No longer were his parents the source of his nightmares. Rather, Sam, Dean, and Castiel were the source of his hopes and dreams. They were the heroes in his story that fought back the monsters that threatened to take him out, the knights in shining armor that saved him from the highest room of the tallest tower. The ones that rescued him from the brink of despair. The ones that saved him from a lifetime of hate. They were his protectors.

They were his family. 

“A wise man once told me family don’t end in blood, but it doesn’t start there either. Family cares about you, not what you can do for them. Family’s there through the good, bad, all of it. They got your back even when it hurts. That’s family.”

[journey-to-the-attic]

3rd anni req 1: lucifer / night dagger scene

ao3 link

note: what better way to kick things off than to make lucifer so very sad! this is based on lesson 38 of the original game, during the whole three-realms-imbalance-lucifer-amnesia arc. requested by anonymous - thank you!

little bit of context: in our version, the source of the imbalance is an 'aberration', which ik is the 'host' of - owing to the weird time stuff + exposure to extremely potent foreign magic, meaning she has the exact specific constitution that allows the aberration to form

∎ ∎ ∎ ∎ ∎

“I’ve told you everything I know. Do what you think is right - I trust you.”

Solomon tells me this, presses a cold blade into my hand, and leaves. Lucifer stands in his wake and stares at me in blank silence.

Do what you think is right.

For the first time since he woke up without his memories, I’m grateful that he doesn’t remember anything. I don’t think I could have looked him in the eye if they’d held even a shred more clarity.

“How much did you hear?” I ask.

“...enough.”

Ten frozen seconds tick by without a word. Lucifer steps forward - cautiously, as if approaching a stray dog - and slips the dagger from my hand.

I watch as he balances the blade between two fingers. It looks so fragile that it might shatter at a touch. A single ray of light glances from the sharp edge, into the red of his eyes.

He doesn’t flinch. “So this is the solution.”

He’s holding the blade just out of reach - just high enough that I can’t snatch it back. I wonder if he’s doing it on purpose.

“It’s only a last resort,” I say, without really processing it. “Solomon’s clever. He’ll come up with something else. He will, he— he has to.”

Lucifer’s eyes flash down to me. Slowly, he crouches down.

“...it’s strange. There are certain things that still haven’t disappeared, even if I’ve forgotten everything else." He smiles a little. "This house - I don’t remember how we came to be here. But I know it is where we've all been together, and I know it is where I want to stay.”

He reaches up, cradling my cheek in a gloveless hand. His skin is ice-cold - but I can only lean closer, grasping for comfort where it lingers, in the way that his thumb still moves in exactly the same soothing motion.

“I don’t remember who I must have been,” He says softly. “But the feeling remains. If this is what it takes to keep you safe, so be it. If we don’t fix this quickly, you’ll all suffer for it. I cannot allow that.”

I hate that he can make it sound so easy. When he presses the dagger back into my hand, I can’t fight it.

“Just close your eyes.” He cups his hand around mine, closing my numb fingers around the handle. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

And he points the tip into his heart.

My hand trembles. He holds it steady. He won’t look me in the eye, won’t raise his head - he keeps it bowed in supplication, waiting silently for the blow.

I can’t do this.

Lucifer doesn’t know how to die. I don’t want to be the one to teach him.

Do what’s right. Do what you think is right.

Do what’s right.

Do what you think is right.

I don’t understand. This is all to restore balance - but why? Why does it have to be like this?

The dagger needs power if the aberration is to be cut out with precision. It has to be done with precision if I don’t want it to tear me apart on the way out. Once torn from its only host, it’ll disappear.

...I should’ve put two and two together. It’s not that I’m special enough to need this whole fancy scheme. This is all a work-around for just how mundane I am.

Solomon hasn’t been telling me everything. Either he’s tricked me, or he’s tricked himself - into thinking that the only solutions for this end with me alive. He watches over humanity, and that includes me - so of course he wouldn't tell me. Of course he's decided that this is the best course of action, because he thinks he knows best.

The dagger could drain the life from my weak human body in an instant - no extra fuss. With that, everything would be fixed. But he's chosen something else. And for this version of the plan, Lucifer has to die instead.

I suppose Solomon doesn’t know me as well as I thought he did. Surely he’d realise that this is worse than anything else he could have asked me to do.

Do what’s right.

Or maybe that’s why he asked me to do it. He knows what would happen if I realised I had any other choice, and it goes against his very purpose to let me do it.

In fact, he's known for a while now. He's just pretended not to, and I haven't questioned it because it's so obvious. If it did work, he'd have brought it up, right?

And that's exactly what he was banking on. Too bad I've outsmarted him at this turn.

Do what you think is right.

I’ve made up my mind.

“No.” Before Lucifer can pull away, I reach up and seize the knife with my other hand as well. “I’m not doing this.”

His expression stutters. “What—”

“This is stupid.” I try to wrest it from him, but he holds fast. “Why are we doing this? Wouldn’t it be so much easier if I just—”

His eyes widen, and he interrupts sharply, “That is not an option.”

“If I'm gone, it all ends." I can't fool him. All I can do is try to reason with him. "I can fix this. I can give you your memories back.”

“And what do you expect me to do after that?!” His voice cracks. It feels as if the sound might break him apart. “You’ll give me my memories - and what will happen when I remember who I am mourning?!”

“You’ll carry on. You always do.” I try to look him in the eyes. He refuses to look back. “If I let you die— that’s thousands of years gone, and thousands more that you won’t have anymore. I know you - you'd want those memories back."

"Your family matters more to you than anything - you'd never want to forget them." I try to offer him a smile - just as he did as he prepared to tell me to kill him. "I'm not important enough to make you give that up."

He stops struggling. His expression is hollow. “...you are lying to me.”

"I know."

Stalemate. Neither of us will back down. Neither of us will let go.

My sleeve has slipped up. There’s a pin-prick of dark blue light winking up at me - a pact he once made to protect me.

I won’t make him do it. But I have to make sure he won’t stop me.

“Lucifer. Give me the dagger.” My head is clearer than ever before. “That’s an order.”

[mochiwrites]

if u had to prescribe a symbol to represent scar (specially 3rd life scar but love all scar iterations) what would u? like animal or concept etc. very fair if u don’t rlly have one but i’m trying to figure out how to represent his imagery in art without just like. sticking his minecraft skin on the canvas LOL

:o hmmmmm

my first thought was a cat paw since y’know, scar loves cats. but if we’re talking specifically third life scar…. you could always do his hat? I’ve seen a lot of third scar art where he’s got his hat, so I think that could work potentially

the other thought that comes to mind is a totem of undying. I feel like that gets tied to his character a lot because of how often he dies and stuff like that. but that’s for a more general scar I think dbfbgjijjhh

[naisaspalace]

Vedic astrology 101 p2

PS 1: hi i will continue my thread but this time i will make it longer! and realized that not only people that were familiar with tropical will be the ones that are searching for vedic so i will teach like i am talking to someone who is just starting to practice astrology.... i am apologizing to not thinking about this earlier.

the basics

1.1 Each sign with their planet ruler primarily signification: PS: I WILL ONLY MENTION THE GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS OF EACH I'M NOT LIMITING THE HOUSES AND SIGNS TO ONLY WHAT I AM WRITING HERE.

Mars

Mars, the red planet, is known for its dry and fiery nature. It is associated with masculinity and owns two signs, Aries and Scorpio.

aries is the natural significator of 1st house alongside mars and scorpio is the natural significator of the 8th.

the first house mainly represents yourself your, face your, physical appearance, your health, your ego, your brain, and can also indicate skin problems like acne and scars.

the eighth house represents death, longevity, debts, overall life problems such as depression and sudden events, and mental illness.

on the positive side, it can bring the native good intuitive skills.

he becomes exalted at 28 degrees in Capricorn and debilitated at 28 degrees in Cancer. he reaches moolatrikona (Great results) at the sign of Aries.

mars prominent nativity represents an appearance of high stature and a blood-red complexion.

this planet is closely linked to desires, ambition, and the senses. While it is considered a malefic planet, it also grants quick mental activity, extraordinary muscular strength, strong determination, and leadership qualities. "With Mars on your side, you have the opportunity to excel in any area of life you desire."

this planet rules the Tuesday.

Sun

In Vedic astrology, the Sun holds the position of a king, as it is at the center of everything. It represents the masculine influences in our lives, such as our fathers, husbands, and sons. The Sun symbolizes authority and our relationship with the government. While it represents our innermost self, we often only show our outer self or ego. It gives us the ability to lead, a desire for fame, ambition, optimism, and a strong will to overcome challenges.

sun rules the 5th and it represents creativity, fun, happiness, enjoyment, and love. It symbolizes your intellectual abilities alongside your ego and your potential to think outside the box.

the 5th also represents our silly romances and the way we flirt and also represents our children.

the sun is  exalted in  Aries 10 Degrees ,debilitated in  Libra 10 Degree, and reaches MoolaTrikona at Leo at 20 Degrees.

this planet rules the Sunday.

Mercury

In Vedic Astrology, Mercury doesn't have a specific gender; it takes on the characteristics of the zodiac sign it is placed in. Mercury holds the power of language and discrimination, so its negative influence can deeply affect a person. It also governs youth, playfulness, leisure, sports, and social connections.

Similar to the Moon, Mercury represents the mind in astrology, but it focuses more on the analytical aspect while the Moon deals with the subconscious.

mercury rules gemini and the 3rd house alongside virgo and the 6th

gemini and the 3rd house both represent our intellectual mind and our communication style alongside our elder siblings, our neighbors , small studies (school) and short travels

virgo and the 6th house both represent our daily routine and our enemies (open enemies) and our work routine alongside general diseases like the flu.

mercury exalts himself on his own sign virgo and gets debilitated at Pisces and reaches moolatriokona at virgo.

this planet rules the wednesday.

mercury is an eunuch meaning he (the planet) has no gender and he is young.

Jupiter

In astrology, Jupiter is often referred to as the "Guru" because it guides us from ignorance to wisdom. It represents various aspects such as knowledge, spirituality, religion, higher education, research, philosophy, and optimism. In Vedic Astrology,

Jupiter is also associated with children and is known as the "Putrakaraka". Its main characteristic is expansion, which means it amplifies the area of life it occupies in a horoscope.

For instance, if Jupiter is placed in the 11th house of income and gains, it tends to enhance wealth and prosperity. Jupiter is considered the significator of affluence, generosity, righteousness, inherent goodness, and wisdom.

Jupiter is also known as a benevolent planet that gives abundantly without any expectations. Its placement in a birth chart determines a person's spiritual beliefs, mindset, faith, religious inclination, and materialistic status.

jupiter rules Sagittarius with the 9th house and pisces with the 12 house

sag and the 9th house both represent higher studies like religious studies and college also represent our luck and the 9th house also represents the relationship with our father.

pisces and the 12th both represent the subconscious mind, which is the house of salvation and dissolution.

he gets exalted in  Cancer, debilitated in  Capricorn and reaches MoolaTrikona at Sagittarius.

this planet rules the Thursday.

PS2: i am not using 100% of my own words to describe all the planets because i do not feel confident yet so this is all a mix of other people's thoughts with my owns all mixed up to help you guys.. I hope i can become more confident soon.

PS3: from venus to the end of the post i will be including my own thoughts mainly.

Venus

in vedic astrology, venus represents our 2nd house, the house that represents our face characteristics,our self-esteem and how we overall deal with money.

the 2nd house is represented by the sign of taurus the bull.

venus also rules the 7th house, the Libra house, which represents how we deal with relationships ... it can be with our husband, boyfriend, girlfriend, or wife, and also how we deal with partnerships like business ones.

[But Vedic astrology puts a lot of enfaces on the 7th house because on the chart overall the houses are divided into different categories that i will explore later on but eventually once you start to read the books and study you will see the 7th being often *only* described as the husband house

to explain this i will have to introduce a concept call "Kendra houses" the angular houses: 1,4,7,10 meaning the most important houses of a horoscope

1; yourself , 4; your home and emotions, 7; your partner or partneships overall and 10; your carrer. ]

now back to libra sign, here is where we find justice or try to make justice try to be fair. overall this is how i would describe libra sign.

venus gets exalted at pisces sign and debilitated at virgo and venus moolatrikona is at 0-15 degrees of libra.

the western deity of venus is aphrodite ( there are many deities but i just quoted one) and to vedic there is maha lakshmi :).

this planet rules the Friday.

SATURN

saturn is the karma planet, I would also describe this planet as the main difficulty of every person's life. because with Saturn there's a job that we cannot run from there's a responsibility that we must fulfill or at least work with to make our life better

saturn rules the 10 and 11 houses of the horoscope, the 10th house is the house of the Capricorn sign usually described as the goat and the crocodile

[ the 10th house is part of the kendras and represents our career, but its not the only way to find out about ones career goal or orientation]

the 10th is also our reputation, our karma, and what part of our lives is exposed to the world (we choose to make such parts public)

saturn signs are opposite the luminaries houses ( capri is opposite to cancer (4th) and aquarius to leo (5th)

capricorn, just like the other earth signs are usually keeping their mind busy to not pay attention to their emotions (because the earth houses are opposite the water houses.)

now the 11th house is the house of gains, the gains we work hard to receive. the house is represented by the aquarius sign which is often described as the antisocial sign BUT the 11th house is the house of social groups as well as social media

[the 11th is part of another group called trikona houses but i will talk more about this later]

what happens to Aquarius is that they often choose to be with social justice groups or something that can actually have a social impact that can end up helping other people, mostly the most unfortunate people.

"leo or the sun or the 5th = i should have attention vs aquarius or saturn or the 11th = I think we should have attention, we should be famous together. "

not saying that an aquarius cannot be egoistical or whatever other names you desire to call but usually they feel this inside urge to be a part of a group. (and i'm not calling leos egoistical)

saturn just like jupiter is a teacher but hes methods are harsher.. because he teaches us that most things can only be obtained by hard work and discipline

saturn represents the order but it also represents the thieves because one cannot exist without the other.

the 11th is the results of the expression or creative talent one have at the 5th, is where you find the result of such talents or hobbies.

saturn is exalted at libra and debilitated at aries and moolatrikona at 20 degress of aquarius

this planet rules saturday

and is also a eunuch, usually described as a old person who doesn't have libido.

MOON

the moon rules the 4th and the sign of cancer and is the most important planet of Vedic astrology because it can describe the nature of one's mind.

the fourth house represents our emotions, our home , our most private stuff ( like thoughts, dreams or anything one likes to keep private from everyone), and our mother or relationship with our mother and motherly figures.

how was my life when i was a kid? did i have comfort? did a had enough? was i happy? such questions are usually answered by the 4th Lord and/ or the moon.

how is my mental health? How do I usually deal with my emotions? i am happy or sad? how do i express my emotions? do i run from my emotions?

such questions, to me, are related to our fourth house and the moon.

i have to be honest i feel like the moon is so complex yet i have no words to simply describe it because I feel like the moon is everything

and also is related to our roots, like my birth country and if i overall find joy around my cultural place or dislike it

[ the moon is also magic, but i will expand this when i talk about the nakshatras]

the moon gets exalted at taurus and debilitated at scorpio and her moolatrikona is at taurus

this planet rules the monday.

PS4. so theres an exact degree for each planet dignity but i could not find them so i did not put them here because each place says a different thing.

1.2 the south and the north nodes of the moon

introduction:

rahu and ketu are the nodes that eclipse the moon

rahu is the artificial sun and ketu is the artificial moon

Mythology According to Indian Mythology, Lord Visnu had decided to make the Deities (the seven planets) immortal.  Visnu had churned up the sea in order to extract a sacred nectar called amrita, with the intention of making the planetary Gods immortal. Visnu had all of the planetary deities lined up in order to receive the nectar potion. However, a demon called Rakshasha, who was dragon-like in appearance had sneaked in and disguised itself as a deity, in order to become immortal. Once Visnu had realised that he had been fooled into giving the nectar to the demon he took out his sword and chopped the demon in half. The head of the dragon became Rahu and the tail became Ketu, but now they could not be killed, as they had received the nectar. When the nodes, Rahu and Ketu saw how angry they had made Visnu, they did penance to him and were eventually given planetary status. So Rahu and Ketu are a very powerful force that operates in our lives to control the karmic influences and situations through the Rahu Ketu axis. The symbol of Rahu represents the dragon’s head and Ketu represents its tail Following this event, Rahu and Ketu gained the status of planets, and could influence the lives of humans on Earth. Rahu and Ketu became bitter enemies with Surya (Sun) and Chandra (Moon) for exposing his deception and leading to his decapitation. For this, Rahu pursues them and attempts to consume the Sun and Moon. Since Rahu is the head without the body, the Sun and Moon exit from his throat when he tries to swallow them This recurring cycle creates the grahana, an eclipse of the Sun and the Moon, which represents the temporary revenge of Rahu..

so to simplify one asura ( sura meaning god and asura meaning demigod) drinks a forbidden potion that grants immortality and the sun and moon notice this and went to tell Vishnu proceed to cut this asura head and separate the head from the body

creating the rahu ( the head without body) and the ketu (the headless body)

in astrology rahu represents our future and ketu our past lives and the gifts we got from it.

rahu also represents illusions and false imagery and ketu represents overall detachment.

rahu and ketu are ALWAYS opposite to one another on the horoscope

example: rahu aquarius and ketu leo.

RAHU ( THE NORTH NODE)

rahu represents the head without the body, meaning it represents mind obsessions and material desires, as rahu is very materialistic.

rahu is the illusion, the maya ( illusion) one must break in order to advance

often we get confused, tricked and lost on whenever house rahu is situated at because hes often casts illusionary tricks on us (thru this area)

rahu is also responsible to fame and he can grant you fame

rahu is the north node meaning is our destiny or our overall purpose in live is to achieve such place (the house where the rahu is place)

rahu behaves like saturn , meaning he deals with drugs, poisons, over-ambition, power play, hidden knowledge BUT don't be confused because unlike saturn rahu is not a teacher but a trickster.

and rahu also co rules aquarius and the 11th. (because aquarius traditionally represents the 11th)

"Rahu's element is air. It deals with all aspects of air related activities air travel, Air accidents, Aviation, Pilots etc. Other significations of Rahu include students of Astrology, metaphysical knowledge, witchcraft, skin diseases, small pox, deception, politics, political manoeuvre, inventions, scientists, execution, diseases, disenchantment etc." - komilla sutton.

rahu also represents anything that is foreign.

by having a trickster nature rahu is said to have "joy" or find happiness at the 6th house, house of virgo yet this "shadow planet" or node have no dignity

many will say rahu is exalted at taurus and debilitated a scorpio , others will say he get exalted a virgo and debilitated at pisces but he does not have dignities. but this also depends like by which teacher you are studying because it can change a lot between this two

so rahu is good at 2nd house / taurus and bad at 8th/ scorpio

rahu rules 3 nakshatras: ardra (gemini), swati ( libra) and shatabhishak ( aquarius)

rahu is the agent of "maya" meaning hes purpose is to lead you away from the spiritual path or the ketu path.

i will expand more on other posts.

rahu day is saturday.

KETU ( THE SOUTH NODE)

ketu is a headless body therefore represents detachment since ketu doesn't have a head to think about things he only is able to feel emotions

ketu is similar to mars and co-rules scorpio/ the 8th

"Some of the signification of Ketu are Ascetics, assassinations, trouble through cats, clairvoyance, contemplation, desire for knowledge, deep thinking, imprisonment, poison, intrigues, magical powers, poverty, mysticism etc." - komilla sutton.

ketu is fire, the fire that purifies and his goal is to take us to the spiritual path yet his nakshatras ( constellations ) are often showing destructive behavior in other to reach such path.

ketu is represents the beginning, ketu rules the first constellation (ashwini, aries) that is said to mark the beginning of life

and by looking at ketu we can see which kind of talents one got from his past lifes (usually you see those child singers at an early age as an example)

one will only reach rahu thru ketu = meaning one will only reach one destiny if they works on their ketu

if Ketu is conjunct a planet is said that ketu blinds the planet, depending on the sing, house and planet the result can be either good or bad.

ketu is the opposite of rahu where as rahu likes material ketu doesnt like and so on..

ketu rules the nakshatras : ashwini ( aries) , magha ( leo ) and mula (Sagittarius) .

my personal description of ketu is that it represents our trauma those traumas we cannot, for some reason, leave or cure them, often trauma is described as our "comfort place" .. now before you say anything our comfort place is not necessarily the place where we find joy, our comfort place is the place that we are stuck at, often times, due to trauma many keep stuck and cannot move one and therefore one cannot progress and this is where i like to say that Ketu mainly can represent if is working negatively

im not saying that ketu causes trauma yet i like to use the trauma example to explain or at least try to explain how we behave on the are that ketu is at and to explain further i will use other ketu meanings

ketu also is detachment as ive mentioned but not explained yet.. we are detached from the are where ketu is at

example: 3rd house ketu is described by a person who usually types without paying attention, and speaks before thinking, if the person have brothers this person will not be found of them or have a good relationship... overall everything that is represented by the third house the individual will not feel like he should give attention to such matters like "ive already memorized the keyboard so i am not even paying attention" and thats why the individual cannot reach a better place like this person usually can be found of writing but they never actually make any effort to study about what i need to be studied to become a writer and therefore they never get better and this how it becomes a "comfort place" because they dont care enough to make such changes and until they do not make changes they will not arrive to their destination = rahu

and its not easy like you're basically telling a person to care about something they simply dont but that is where you will find the root of the problems.. just because you memorized the keyboard doesn't mean you will not make any mistakes and overall if you become better you can help many people as well

another personal characteristic is that ketu also brings obsessions but they are emotional ones, meaning those where your emotional state take control and you end up destroying everything.

PS5. overall i don't believe that i will make you understand the nodes because its not an easy subject but i hope i was able to help you at least understand a point or the basics

end of part 2 and yes it was longer and i took a long time to finish this i just hope i am able to help introduce people to vedic astrology

i will open my dms for questions and my readings are open as well.

part 1.

linktree.

[winwinwrites]

Is it Bad Parenting if a Sacrafice Kills itself?

Pairing: c!Foolish & Sacrafice the Totem, Foolish's Chat & Sacrafice the Totem

Word count: 1.3k

Summary:

Remember when Foolish had a 3rd Totem and chat called it Sacrifice, because Foolish didn't want to adopt it,,,well if not then I am misremembering canon but anyway here is some angst about that.

Tags: Emotional Whump; Heavy Angst; Hurt No Comfort; Self-Doubt; Self-Hatred; Self-Worth Issues; Body Dyphoria; Existential Crisis; Existential Angst; Open Ending; Child Neglect; Child Abandoment; It/Its pronouns for Sacrafice; He/Him Pronouns for Foolish

TW: ^^honestly all of that^^

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Is it bad at being a totem? Sacrifice thinks so.

Or at least it assumes it is, since it has nothing to go off from, it has to assume the worst by now. Sacrifice longs for things, oh so many different things, this longing inside it is like a flame which keeps it alive, but at the same time fuels the flames of doubt, of the disgusting feeling of selfishness.

It is uncertain if it should want things, is it even allowed to do so? Would it go against a totems nature to want rather than to give? It was made with a purpose, a purpose to serve and to grant its life to whomever it belongs to, but it is hard to fulfil that role if no one is holding onto it. What use does it have if just trapped in a chest?

What it wouldn't give, for the golden Hand to finally reach into that chest, reach into the void that imprisons it in a space where neither time nor space move. There was nothing here, just a stagnant silence, it itself almost feels like part of the unchanging state of the void. It was unbarable. Golden skin melting with the being of the darkness.

Every now and again when an enderchest is opened by its owner it is being teleported from the nothingness into that specific chest which was in use at the moment, but each time it is still ignored. Shuffled around to make space for building blocks and other rarities like heads.

Sacrifice doesn't know what is worse, to look outside whenever it is allowed a short glimpse of the outside, to look at the blue skies, rainy storms, shiny nights or inviting warmth filled with red; or even its owner, golden smooth skin marked only by decorative engravings, his green enchanting eyes mirroring its own, be enveloped by a sense of belonging and realise what it is missing out all the time while trapped in here or if it is just better to look away, but still feel the debilitating loneliness.

It pains it. The silence, but it isn't sure if the words of its father, if it is even worthy enough to call him that, when he first brought it to live were any more bearable. The doozers happily jumping around, urging its father to adopt it, to give it a name, but Foolish only getting frustrated at that, pushing it into the enderchest and telling the little workers that he would like a totem for himself to actually be able to use. The doozers call out Sacrifice, to Foolishes dismay.

And so it was named. Not by its father, its maker, but by the kind workers who saw something more than just another things to use.

Giving something a name means getting attached to it, giving it a life, to actually care about it. Sacrifice was neither cared for nor was Foolish attached to it, but having the doozers call out its name did give it a reason to hope that maybe one day their chants would reach its fathers ears and would make it be loved by the only one it cares about more than itself.

Calling Foolish its father was just a fantasy it likes to think about, a possibility that somehow, someway Foolish will look into the chest see it and exclaim how stupid he is for leaving his child behind like that. That one day mercy would be given to the small helpless totem and be called his child. It is a disappointing to think about really, every time hoping for it to be brought out for only another thing taking its place in its makers hands.

Something which adds to the tragedy of the totems situation is that it is conscious, it is aware, which wouldn't be the case usually. Totems are just in reality objects, just like any chest, stick, block is and will be, but the differentiating factor between its kind and a regularly thing is that it is infused with magic, with live giving magic and so when none other than a God was holding it for so long while subconsciously thinking of it as a child, or trying not to, it manifested into existence, but not enough to fully bring it to live. So while Sacrifice is trapped in its body, unable to move or even show any signs of life, a true totem in all aspects but in awareness.

It is a cruel joke forced upon it, being not only trapped in a prison of dark obsidian, the void, but also trapped in its own body as well. A cruel game life is playing with the totem, it never asked to end up this way.

Through its situation Sacrifice has a lot time to think, which is not really ideal for a small child like it was, left with nothing else to stimulate its senses other than its lonely being. It barely gets to see the outside world for no more than a few moments at a time, so what was it supposed to learn about the world? How is it supposed to experience the world, people, nature, concepts and all the different pleasures the world has to offer if trapped in here?

How is it supposed to think about something other than its father, which was mostly just make believe scenarios in its mind, made up, and its own incapability. It can't stop denying the fact that it is a faulty totem, a bad totem, a selfish totem.

A faulty child, a bad child, a selfish child.

Simply a totem that wants to live.

Is it too much to long for a fatherly embrace, but not in case there is a fight and it is just a plan B in case Foolish might not survive. Sacrifice wants to be loved, to be cared about, to experience what it means to have a family. People who it can trust, who wouldn't leave it alone, to not abandon it as soon as it was made.

Even if its existence isn't much, actually mostly lacking even, but the thought of not existing, dying, is a scary thing which it does not have to fight with, well that is until it is brought out by its maker to grant him another life.

But Sacrifice would perish for its creator, for its only light in the void. As horrible as the thought of not existing anymore might be scary to a child, it still depressingly agreed that it would not even second guess the choice between its existence and its fathers life. It would give up all lives in the world if it meant to save its father, maybe, just maybe if it proved itself to its father as worthy, as helpful, maybe then will Foolish accept it as its child, as his own blood and gold.

What if it isn't its intentions that were repulsive to its maker, but its appearance instead? Was it not shiny enough? The lack of sun surely did a number on it, but it doesn't think that anything has changed because of how little it has been handled in its life. Is it the dullness of its eyes, is the emerald not green enough? Does it lack in pureness? Sacrifice doesn't feel this way, it knows that the pillagers always used the best materials that they could provide to create totems to bring people to live or else it might not have worked, but maybe they didn't have the best materials at hand while making it? Maybe Foolish could see something a normal mortal like the pillagers couldn't see?

Maybe it just is a disgusting impure child that needs to be ridden of its dirty outside.

Every moment that passes makes the little totem more and more depressed, its thoughts mimicking the void of the enderchest and consuming it whole. If it could cry it would, but instead Sacrifice just screams out in its head until its mind ached and the fire of longing subdued.