#the pen behind the sword [ooc]

[betrayingcrown]

/ well. I still exist. Tempted to either return or make my barnabas here 👉👈

[waloedsteel]

/ did i just realize i dont have icons prepared for barns? yes. very much

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Not Without You Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester xf!reader, Dean POV and Reader POV

Summary: A cursed crown, teenagers, an evil goddess bent on revenge, and two best friends who have secretly been in love for years. What could go wrong?

Word Count: 11.7K

Tropes: Angst, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers (Eventual), Cursed Objects, Supernatural Scenarios.

Warnings: Fluff, Flirting, Cursing, Violence, Drama Mutual Pining, A little bit of self deprecation (Dean), Sadness, Angst (it's me are y'all surprised?). KIDNAPPING (or adult-napping?), Older Dean? A little bit of a fix it fic to the ending of Supernatural, Reader is also a hunter but a bit soft, Reader likes to cook and tease Dean, Sexual Innuendo, Sexualish thoughts? Dean might be a little bit OOC.

A/N: Hey y'all I started writing this fic for @chevroletdean's 500 follower celebration! She made the super awesome moodboard pictured above! I'm not going to lie I didn't mean for this to be more than one part, but I couldn't stop.

Internal monologue is in first person and is in italics.

Here In A Forest Dark and Deep, I Offer You Eternal Sleep...

There is a place where the sun dare not go, where shadows slip and curl over smooth rocks glazed with dew, where the river boils and froths with white, and where a snarl of branches twist and tangle overhead.

A place where the wind breathes through the eaves, sending leaves to scuttle and crackle over stone. A place that no one man can find. A place that time no longer touches.

An ancient place deep and dark and full of secrets.

A hidden crag overgrown with grass and vine where darkness writhes, silent, restless, shielded from sun and storm. Waiting in the broken remnants of a forbidden grove lost to time.

She slumbers there.

Forgotten.

Buried.

Nothing more than a myth from a world bathed in blood and silver. The cave rumbles with the memory of times forgotten. The clash of swords, the sharp tang of blood, the caw of the birds that feasted on the fallen, the roars of men scorned, and the cries of despair from the women left behind to waste into nothing waiting for them to return

Still she sleeps.

Enrobed in emerald.

Entombed in cobwebs.

Waiting in the still silence for someone to speak her name and call her forth from this forgotten tomb.

And when the world burns she will claim what is owed her.

Dean POV

Dean couldn't put his finger on it, but something was wrong.

Frankly, in his life something was always wrong, and years of him living out on the road chasing after things that went bump in the night meant that he was usually better at pin pointing directly what that was.

But not right now.

Right now, Dean Winchester felt like a cardboard box that went toe to toe with a semi-truck.

He groans to himself as he stirs from an unfit sleep, feeling the bones of his arms pop as he stretches them above his head, groaning again before settling down into the creaky bed. He'd been up late researching a case, the evidence of which was strewn all over the small motel room he was inhabiting.

Scraps of paper, books, and printed newspaper articles were in different stages of crumple all over the bed and the small table under the front window was covered in papers and stacked high with ancient books, kept company by a week old half-drunk bottle of beer and a greasy bag full of stale fries that stagnated nearby. A broken pen drips black ink from the table in a steady thump, the sunflower shaped stain growing steadily across the musty red carpet.

Dean presses his palms into his eyes, with another groan, the throb of his head like a thunderclap.

Fuck, I drank too much last night.

He had.

Dean was stuck in a rut and he'd thought that by drinking a little more, maybe he'd be able to crack the case that had held him hostage for the past two weeks in the armpit of America, but he still had nothing.

Zero, Zilch, Nada.

The three murders that had caught his attention two weeks ago now mocked him from every angle of the disheveled motel room. He'd exhausted every option, read every page of his dad's journal, called every number in his phone, but no one seemed to be able to find a connection between the three men who were killed.

The only person he hadn't called was Sam.

A frown pulled on the end of Dean's mouth at the thought of his brother. He hadn't spoken to him in… Dean scrunches up his face trying to remember the last time he talked to Sam.

Can't have been more than a few days? Okay maybe a week-

The thought of his brother made a dull ache throb in the center of his chest, the guilt that Dean was trying to ignore coming to the surface when he was still half asleep and vulnerable.

Things were different now.

Dean didn't want to bother his brother with something like this, not when Sam was living the white-picket fence American Dream out west with Eileen who was pregnant and due any day. Dean knew that his brother didn't need the extra stress, Sam had a new job, he was moving on from all of this, and Sam didn't need a reminder of the life he used to have. Not when Sam had a new life that made him happy.

And not when Dean didn't know who he was or what he was hanging on to anymore. Sometimes Dean wasn't sure if he was still chasing after things that other people ran from or after the young man he used to be.

Dean was reminded of that every morning when he woke up, the gray flecks in his hair and beard that had become more prominent, the crows feet beneath his eyes rimmed with dark circles, and the way his back and knees cracked when he stood up. Dean was still in good shape, but lately he was feeling his age more than anything else.

Maybe it was because everyone else was moving on and he wasn't sure who he was anymore.

The lack of sleep didn't help, but Dean had been dealing with it all the way he usually did, by pushing down his feelings into the deep dark hole where they wouldn't see the light of day. The same feelings that began to unravel in the middle of the night when all was quiet and kept Dean from the sound sleep he so desperately needed.

Dean sits up a little too quick and sighs to himself when his head spins. He was in desperate need of coffee, or something to make the hangover stop. He sniffs the air, still not opening his eyes, and runs his right hand through his hair shaking through the blondish-brown strands.

The strong smell of coffee and cinnamon floats through the air making Dean’s stomach rumble.

Shit. I want it so bad I’m imagining it. Oh wait no. Maybe I’m having a stroke. Is that toast?!

"Morning Sunshine." A familiar voice sing-songs. "How'd you sleep?"

Dean's head snaps up to the small kitchenette, while one of his hands instinctively goes for the gun underneath his pillow.

You're standing there with a wide smile on your face, a spatula in one hand, and wearing one of Dean's favorite t-shirts over a pair of blue jeans. Your eyes sparkle with mirth at the sight of Dean, hair mused from sleep, eyes just a little manic in surprise at your greeting.

Dean blinks for a second, not sure if it's really you or if he's still dreaming. The cold metal of the gun shoved under his pillow grounds him. He says your name hesitantly. "What are you doing here?"

"I was in the neighborhood. Thought I'd drop in, see if you were eating trash." You gesture with the spatula to the greasy brown paper bag on the table by the door and the large pile of to-go boxes in the trashcan. "Something you want to confess to?"

"Those aren’t mine officer." Dean cracks an easy grin holding up his hands in surrender, the gun forgotten.

It felt good to smile. Dean couldn't remember the last time he had.

"Still a bad liar." You roll your eyes and turn back to the hotplate. "I'm borrowing your shirt, because it was pouring when I got here and my duffel got wet. And before you say anything, I know, I know I should get a new one, but it's my lucky bag! And my lucky bag just so happens to not be waterproof."

Dean spots your duffle by the front door where it's split open and multicolored clothes erupt out of it. He leans forward to look into his bathroom, catching a peak of your clothes hanging from various places to dry. Something stirs in the pit of his stomach when he sees a collection of bras hanging from the towel rack, and he tries to avoid getting too excited at the image of you wearing them.

Dean and you had been best friends since you were both twelve. His dad and yours had served in the war together, a fellow soldier who stumbled upon the supernatural in his own right. And every few months your dad and Dean's would plop Sam, him, and you in front of a tv in a motel room and go off to get a drink. They'd be gone for hours, while Sam, Dean, and you gorged yourself on junk food and late-night TV.

And despite what Dean thought about girls at that time, you were cool. You knew just as much about cars as he did, you too were obsessed with rock music, you knew how to handle yourself, and you weren't afraid of anything.

As the two of you grew up, you never lost touch. You’d text each other from the road, complain about your dads, exchange mix tapes of music that you’d burned (Dean had a whole box under the front seat of Baby that was purely music you'd given him), shared motel rooms, joined each other on hunts, and you’d call him whenever you could, talking for hours into the night so long that Dean would close his eyes and pretend that you were laying there right beside him instead of miles away.

Dean loved it when that happened. When his mind wouldn't shut up and he needed something to distract him, and all it took was you calling in the middle of the night to send him off into the sweet abyss of sleep while he imagined you laying beside him.

Dean didn't know how you did it, but you always seemed to know when he needed you, almost as if you had a supernatural alarm that went off in your head whenever he was lonely.

Which was a lot especially now that Sam was gone. And usually Dean would try to find someone to occupy his time at a local bar, but lately he hadn't wanted to, all he'd wanted was to talk to you. Every time that something happened, you were right there, the person that Dean always needed when things went to shit.

But it wasn't just in the bad.

Whenever he and Sam were out on the road, sometimes you'd bump into them calling it a 'happy accident,' and Dean and you would lay on his bed at a motel talking and listening to a mixtape through a walk-man, sharing the earbuds just like you used to when you were teenagers lounging in Baby's backseat drinking milkshakes and eating French fries. And when Dean woke up in the morning with his body curved protectively around yours while you curled into him, your soft breath on his neck and his face buried in your hair, it felt right, as if you belonged there in his arms.

But despite everything the two of you had been through, you were just friends.

A thirty-four year friendship and Dean didn't want to mess that up. He'd messed up so many things in his life, lost so much, and he couldn't lose you. You were more than just his friend, you were his family as much as Sam. And Dean knew that his feelings had passed friendship forever ago, but he refused to act on it.

Not when Dean was sure he wouldn't recover if you ever cut him out of your life.

So Dean did his best to pretend. Pretend that he didn't imagine a life with you beyond all of this, beyond all the running, and the hunting. Because Dean would never admit this out loud, but he was tired.

He was so tired and sometimes when the world slowed down and there was only the quiet of the night, the buzz of the whiskey in his system, and the whisper of your voice in his ear, Dean imagined more. He imagined what it would be like if the two of you had something like Sam and Eileen, what that would look like, if it could happen.

Dean wasn't sure that he'd ever be able to have what his brother had. If he deserved that. He'd tried with Lisa and he still couldn't think about her without feeling an ache in the pit of his stomach.

Sometimes Dean wondered if you wanted that too. He'd heard you talk about slowing down in the past, finally settling down, getting away from all of this, but other than a handful of boyfriends that Dean never once got along with (including one whom he broke his nose), Dean had never seen you try.

He wished you would. Not that Dean wanted you to be with anyone else, just that Dean wanted you to be safe, not out along the road God knows where dealing with this shit alone. He'd been doing this as long as you had and he still knew that sometimes he needed help even if he didn't ever admit it aloud or want to.

Not to mention that lately all he could think about was you. His anxiety since Sam left had only worsened and his phone calls to you had gone from 3-4 a week to every day.

Dean needed to hear your voice. He was an addict of the worst kind, but he didn't care. Not when hearing you say his name was like a soothing balm, a cold beer after a long hunt, a hot shower that made each muscle un-tense and unwind, and a strong but steady hand braced against his shoulder.

But being here with you in person, couldn't compare to that feeling.

"But I'm pretty sure this is mine and you stole it." You continue, thumbing the soft fabric at the bottom of the shirt with your free hand, oblivious to Dean's train of thought. "Been looking everywhere for it."

"No way!" Dean exclaims getting out of bed. "That's my Metallica shirt. Got it twenty years ago."

"I remember buying this shirt from a vendor young enough to be my son, who kept mispronouncing the name of the lead singer, while you complained that we were missing the opening song." There's a flash of silver from a knife as you begin to cut up a handful of strawberries with a practiced precision, twirling it in your hand once for show.

"We were missing the opening song." Dean laughs. "And I paid for it!"

"Yes, but you said you wanted to get me something and I wanted to get a shirt before the concert, because who knows what would be left over after!"

Dean only shakes his head at you. "I think you're just getting old Sweetheart. They say the memory is the first thing to go." Dean smirks, while you give him a death glare over your shoulder.

"Say what you want," You point the knife at him in a cute, but threatening way, "but you've had custody of this for twenty years, and now it's my turn."

Dean rolls his eyes, before his gaze sweeps through the small kitchenette and he notices the collection of plastic bags on the counter. It looked like you’d brought enough groceries to feed a small army despite there being only two of you. You always did that whenever you showed up, toting food that Dean wouldn't usually have around. He frowned at the prospect of eating vegetables.

But Dean didn't care, you were here and that's all that mattered. And he also hoped that the large amount of groceries meant that you would be staying with him for a while.

He'd missed you more than he realized.

Sure the two of you talked on the phone at least four times each week and Dean always got a random text from you at sometime during the day, but nothing compared to being here with you.

He approaches slowly, sniffing the air again while he tries to figure out what you're cooking and if he'll eat it. Dean wasn't sure he'd like it. Not that you were a bad cook, but over the past few years you'd been trying to get him to eat a little healthier. Sneaking vitamins into his burgers, making things that had less grease and more greens, and Dean would sigh and eat every bite because you told him to.

Of course you would complain almost as much as he did about eating healthy. You weren't exactly a health food nut and loved fast food, but you knew that Dean rarely got a good home cooked meal and Dean thought it was kinda cute when you'd show up toting bags filled with fruits and vegetables out of the blue talking about A1C numbers.

He stops about a foot behind where you're fusing with a frying pan on the stove, turning over some white object with the spatula.

"Hey." Dean says softly, leaning back on his heels.

You turn around to look at him, really look at him. "Hi." Your smile makes Dean a little weak in the knees.

The hug that follows sets Dean on fire.

You pull him in tight, nuzzling your face into his chest with a happy sigh, while Dean curves his entire body around you. It was moments like this that Dean thought that you were made for him, because there was a little you-shaped nook under his jaw that allowed him to rest his chin on the top of your head while he squeezes you just as tight against him.

The smell of cinnamon and something citrusy comes as he holds you closer, the same perfume you'd had since you were sixteen, the one that you always left behind when you stayed with him. Sometimes Dean found himself using the pillow you borrowed when you left, inhaling the smell of your shampoo until it faded and there was nothing.

When you were with him Dean actually slept, as if just being in your presence made all the anxiety and the memories of the past fade away.

He could feel a melancholic feeling bubbling up in the back of his throat as he holds you, something he can't name, but embraces. Dean feels your hands slowly rub up and down his back in a soothing motion that makes him tighten his grip and lean further into you so heavily that you stumble back a little step.

When you laugh Dean feels like he's in heaven.

"Missed me huh?" You murmur into his shirt, but you don't let go of him.

More than you know.

"Nope."

"Liar." Your body shakes with your giggle as you pull back to look at him, still not completely releasing him. "I missed you too."

"I know. You can't live without me." Dean smirks.

He watches you raise an eyebrow to challenge him.

"Says the guy holding on so tight he's going to snap my spine." You joke, but Dean watches something flash in your eyes that isn't humor, and you gently release him so you can touch his cheek. Your thumb gently traces over his cheekbone, palm cupping his strong jaw.

Dean swallows at the sudden contact, his heartbeat fluttering like a damn teenager, but he can't stop himself from leaning into your hand. Despite your time as a hunter, the palm of your hand is soft, your touch reverent as you cup his jaw, not bothered by the prick of stubble that Dean is sure you can feel.

It was longer than usual. Dean kept putting off shaving, it had been a few days and he was sure that you were clocking the beard.

"I was worried about you." You say with a soft sigh, a worried frown on your face.  "You sounded bad on the phone last night, and when I called Sam he said you've been dodging his calls."

"I'm fine." Dean sighs, but he knows that you can see right through him, that there's no point of trying to lie. "And I have not been dodging his calls! He just happens to call at the worst time."

"Uh-huh. Well how come whenever I call, you pick up?"

"Because you have better timing than Sammy, always have Sweetheart."

You roll your eyes at him, but don't move your hand from his cheek. Dean watches your gaze soften as you study him, eyes tracing his features in a way that always makes Dean feel stripped bare, open, and vulnerable.

"Really Dean. How are you?"

He sighs again, debating if he should try to lie again, but he knew that it was fruitless. You knew him better than he knew himself, not to mention you could always tell when he was lying. Your internal lie detector for his bullshit was practically mystical. Dean never understood how you did it, just that he hated it.

Not really.

"Don't try to lie. We both know you can’t do that to me." You narrow your eyes, brow furrowed, but you don't lose the concern that hangs heavy in your gaze.

"I'm a little tired." He admits reluctantly.

"I could have told you that."

"Shut up." Dean snorts out a laugh, but then raises his own hand to touch the dark circles ringed under your eyes. "How long did you drive to get here?"

"Few hours." You shrug.

Dean's frown deepens. Just as you could tell when he lied, Dean knew every tick you had. The twitch of your upper lip, the subtle tilt of your head, the arch of an eyebrow- Dean knew you better than he knew himself.

"Fine, ten but-"

"Are you kidding me? Ten straight?! You should be asleep, not cooking for me."

Damn it she always does this. She always runs herself so thin.

Of course this was also the same thing that you'd said to Dean countless times and he never listened. It was different, he was him and you were you.

You were more important.

"I like cooking for you Deanie." You pinch his cheek with a grin, using the stupid nickname you made up for him years ago. Usually it makes Dean roll his eyes, but not tonight. He missed you so damn much that it makes him smile. "Plus I drank way too much coffee on the way in and I have so much energy. I'm waiting to hit the wall. While you were asleep I also thought about reorganizing your bag, but I didn't want to snoop through your dirty underwear."

"Hasn’t stopped you before." Dean smirks.

"Shut up, I do not snoop through your dirty underwear. Just your clean clothes for shirts that are mine."

"It's not yours and you're not keeping it!"

"It is and I am. Now sit down." You shoo him away to the small folding table that you'd pulled down from the wall and set for breakfast. "I would have woken you up, but you're like a damn grizzly bear in the morning so I thought I'd play it safe and let you follow your nose."

"For the fruity taste that shows." Dean chuckles.

"You can remember the Fruit Loops commercial, but you can't remember to not eat fried food at every meal?"

"Priorities, sweetheart."

“Dean I’m serious. We’re not kids anymore, you can’t eat how you usually do without consequences. You know that cheese looks exactly the same in your arteries as it does on a plate and I-" You continue to chatter, subtly scraping a spatula along the bottom of the pan on the stove, but Dean doesn't hear any of it.

Yeah. We’re not kids anymore.

He thinks to himself as his eyes trace your figure. Dean could still see the shades of the girl he met when he was a boy, the one with the bright eyes that always saw through him and the wide smile that made him feel like his insides were molten lava.  The same girl who knew whenever Dean needed her, the same girl that always made sure he was taken care of, the same girl who always had his back, and the same girl that Dean had loved since the moment he first saw her.

Sitting there, watching you cook in the small kitchenette Dean couldn't help but admire the woman you became. Although you were only a few months younger than him, age had been kinder to you than him.

The few gray hairs that wove through the hair you had tied at the back of your head were like braided silver, the curves of your figure softened by a gentle hand, and the smile lines on your face only made you look kinder, softer. Nothing like the hunter Dean knew you were. There were signs of wear around your eyes that Dean didn't like, the permanent dark circles that curved under your eyes a little more prominent this morning, but you were still just as beautiful as the day Dean met you.

And even though you kept saying that it was your shirt, Dean was trying not to focus on how good you looked in his clothes or how it made him think that you looked like you were his.

The thought makes an uncomfortable feeling rise in his chest.

As much as Dean wanted you, there was another part of him that whispered that you deserved better than him, that out there was a man who was worthy of your love, not him. Not someone broken down from years of hunting, not someone who barely knew who they were anymore, and not someone who would only drag you down.

“Dean did you hear what I asked?” You say raising an eyebrow.

“Nope.” He clears his throat, shaking off the feeling that makes his heart sink into the pit of his stomach.

You huff out a sigh as if you're not surprised. “I asked when was the last time you ate something green?”

“Last night.”

Dean watches you narrow your eyes in suspicion. “A piece of lettuce on a burger does not count.”

“It’s green-“

“And I bet you picked it off.”

“It left it’s essence behind!”

“Ah yes essence of wilted leaf. How nutritious.” You huff out an annoyed sigh, but when you turn back to him there’s humor flickering in your eyes. “Here.” You place a plate in front of him. “Egg white omelet with spinach and onions, a piece of bacon, fruit salad, and oatmeal.”

Dean wrinkles his nose in disgust and mashes his spoon down into the oatmeal like a toddler, squishing it around on the plate.

This looks like brains.

“And if you eat it all," You continue as you turn back to the counter for the glass decanter of coffee. "I’ll give you an extra piece of bacon.”

“Real bacon?” Dean perks up at the thought.

“Yep. 100% heart attack inducing, cholesterol raising, pig bacon.”

“Fine.”  He grumbles.

“Good boy.” You snort setting down a cup of black coffee to the left of his plate. “You know, Sam didn’t give me any trouble when I used to make breakfast for him too.”

“Sam’s a health food freak. I wouldn’t be surprised if he and Eileen are vegan now.” Dean says beginning to shovel the omelet into his mouth.

He fights the urge to moan out in pleasure. He wasn't expecting it to taste so good. You were always a good cook, but Dean still hadn’t expected this to taste anything like this.

Dean glances up and sees the triumphant smile on your face. "Good huh?"

"It’s okay." He mutters through a mouthful of egg and spinach.

"You're insufferable." You throw a grape at him. "But I don't think they're vegan. Eileen's got the ultimate diet now. None." You sigh mournfully, trailing one hand down to your stomach, squeezing and make a face. "Oh to be pregnant and not worry about gaining the extra weight. I swear I've been trying to exercise more, and it does absolutely nothing-"

"I think you look beautiful." The words slip out of Dean's mouth before he can stop them, and he tenses, fork frozen halfway to his mouth.

"Aww." You lean over to pinch his cheek with a sweet smile. "Thanks Deanie. But no amount of flattery will get you any brown sugar for your oatmeal."

Dean laughs a little too hard for that to cover up his slip, but something inside sinks a little bit when you don't react to his compliment. He wished that you believed him. The uncomfortable feeling comes back, this time pinching just under his rib cage. He hated when you spoke that way about yourself, and Dean noticed that you had started to say things like that more and more as the years crept by.

Making faces at your reflection and making subtle comments under your breath mocking all the ways your body had changed and aged. But the truth was, you were beautiful, always had been beautiful to him. And even though you could never see it, Dean did. He thought that the years made you only look better, aged you like a fine wine as cliche as that sounded.

"Okay. I am going to take a shower and wash the road off, then we can talk shop and figure out how to solve this case."  You say walking over to your duffle, sorting through for your toiletries bag.

"And how do you know I haven't solved it?" Dean asks, glancing over his shoulder at where you're bending over your bag.

He's trying not to stare at your ass, he really is, but damn it those jeans are his favorite. Somehow they're worn in just right, accentuating the natural curves of your body and your butt. He swallows the lump in his throat and starts to think about taxes, AI, Clowns, the skin that shapeshifters leave behind- anything to avoid the situation happening in his very thin sweatpants that would leave absolutely nothing to the imagination if his mind kept going down the road it was.

Damn it. Get it together Winchester.

"The beard is kinda a dead give-away." You straighten from the duffle, cocking your hip to the side, and lean back as you look through the smaller fabric bag of toiletries in your hand, looking for something that Dean can't see.

Dean clears his throat, trying not to notice the way your boobs are pushed out from your chest as you lean back.

Sam’s chubby imaginary friend. That ridiculous suicidal teddy bear. Rowena- Okay wait that last one is not helping.

“You don’t like it?” Dean clears his throat.

It’s so hot in here.

“Oh I love it. Very sexy. Like a lumberjack who lives under the highway.” You smirk. “But when I’m done I kinda hope you take one too.”

“Why?”

“Because you also smell like a lumberjack who lives under the highway.”

“I thought I’d commit to the role.”

“Very convincing.” You start to walk to the bathroom, but when Dean turns around to his plate he feels your arms go around him once more. “I missed you Deanie.” You whisper on a soft breath, burying your face in the space between his shoulder and his neck.

Dean inhales another gulp of your perfume like an addict, relaxing into your embrace. It was the first time he could remember in a long time feeling relaxed, probably since the last time he saw you a few months ago, when you were helping him on a vamp case and saved him from a near miss with a twisted piece of metal.

Dean didn't like to think about 'what if,' but you did. And after when the two of you got back to the bunker, Dean remembered you hugging him and refusing to let him go for a while. It took your favorite mixtape that Dean burned for you when you were seventeen and sitting on his bed for an hour after to help you relax, until you fell asleep curled up against Dean muttering things that he couldn't understand into his chest.

He sighs to himself feeling the tightness of your arms around his body, leaning into you. “I missed you too sweetheart.”

Reader POV

"I cannot believe that you couldn't figure out this was a vengeful spirit." You snort, grabbing the shovel that Dean holds out to you.

The half moon above the cemetery bathed the tombstones in a silver glow, washing the concrete slabs white beneath its rays. The wind that sifted through the trees overhead held the chill of winter, rustling the branches, and sending the loose leaves down around where Dean and you were standing at the back of Baby.

It had taken you exactly forty five minutes to solve the case that had taken Dean two weeks. Maybe it was because luck was on your side and a fourth (not so lucky) victim was found this morning, or maybe it was because Dean was well…

You bite the inside of your cheek as you examine your best friend.

Dean looked bad.

You had heard it on the phone last night when he talked to you, sensed it in the way he spoke. The long pauses, the heavy sighs, even the words he was using… you knew that something was wrong.

And it scared you.

It scared you even more when Sam told you that Dean was dodging his calls. That was also never a good sign.

So you packed up in the middle of the night, abandoning the case you were on, and took a ten hour drive to get to Dean. You'd driven far longer for far less, but you didn't care.

When you'd lock picked the motel room door and seen the mess Dean was living in, it only justified the drive. Yes, Dean was usually a little more messy than you, but this was different.

The stacked to-go boxes and bottles of whiskey in the overflowing trash can, the empty beer bottles scattered around the room, the mess of his clothes on the floor, and even Dean himself. The stale smell of him and the beard were dead give aways for you. It broke your heart. You knew that Dean was lonely, had been for a long time, even when he was with Sam at the bunker, but now was worse.

Making him breakfast had made you feel a little better, seeing that he still had an appetite for something that wasn't in a bottle was comforting, but you knew that you weren't going to leave him anytime soon.

You were going to prolong this visit for as long as you had to, to make sure your best friend was okay. Dean was the only person you had left, besides Sam, but Sam was different than Dean. Sam was better at handling his emotions in a healthy way (most of the time), but Dean, no way.

If suppressing your feelings was an Olympic sport, Dean would be a gold medalist a million times over.

Besides, Sam had Eileen now, and that meant Dean was going to have you even if you annoyed him to death.

The thought of you being to Dean what Eileen was for Sam made butterflies erupt in the pit of your stomach. You knew that it was a complete cliché, the stuff of rom-coms and hallmark movies, falling in love with your best friend, but you had.

You can't exactly remember when... Okay you could.

When you were fifteen and Dean and Sam got dropped off at Bobby's, and Dean and you spent the night listening to mix-tapes in Baby's spacious backseat with your legs kicked up over the back of the front bucket seat sharing a milkshake. You remembered looking at Dean with the sound of Open Arms by Journey playing through the headphones and admiring the way the moonlight kissed his skin and how the starlight brought out the flecks of gold in his eyes.

But you couldn't act on it.

Nope, nope, nope.

Dean was Dean. And you didn't want to mess up the thirty four year friendship the two of you had by doing something stupid by confessing that you were in love with him and wanted to spend the rest of your life with him.

You did.

The past few years as you'd gotten older you'd been thinking about settling down. Finding something a little more permanent, maybe finally trying to sell some of those paintings you'd been doing since you were a kid. The ones that your dad told you were a waste of time and Dean only encouraged by stealing the good paint and brushes from art stores to support your hobby. The backseat of your Bronco was loaded down with sketchpads bursting at the seams and each time you took a turn, there was always the roll of an oil pastel or a half-empty bottle of watercolor paint flying somewhere beneath the seat.

It would be nice to actually have a place to paint for real, maybe a small house or an apartment where the sun streamed through the open windows and a cool breeze rustled the hair at the nape of your neck while you lost yourself in the brilliant colors on the canvas. Somewhere it didn't feel like you were running around in circles doing the same thing over and over again, somewhere you could build a life with someone…

The problem was the only person you saw yourself building that life with was standing in front of you holding a shovel and a can of gasoline. And you knew that Dean didn't see you as more than a friend.

But could you blame me?

The years had been kinder to your best friend than to you. He'd grown so much from the little boy with the mischievous green eyes into a man with ruggedly good looks, freckles over his cheeks that kept Dean's boyish qualities, broad shoulders, and a sinfully perfect mouth that made your throat tight.

You'd stupidly thought that over the years your crush would go away, but it only grew. And you didn't know how Dean did it, but the age looked better on him than it did on you. The flecks of silver in his hair made him look even more devilishly handsome, the crinkles around his mouth that shown with his easy smile, and the beard.

That damn beard.

Yes, you'd also thought that Dean looked adorable with his hair all mused from sleep, but the beard. You'd been trying your hardest not to stare at him this morning when he woke up.  Made an off-hand joke about how the beard made him look like a lumberjack and homeless, but by the stars that beard made your brain short circuit. Not to mention coupled with the signature Dean Winchester smirk and the brilliant shine of his emerald eyes… fuck. It was like a walking Michelangelo sculpture. Each time you captured the planes of Dean’s face with charcoal, lead, or paint never seemed to compare to the real thing.

But you knew that your little crush was the exact kind of thing that could throw a monkey wrench into the most meaningful relationship you'd ever had in your life, so you pretended it didn't exist.

Pretended that each time you saw Dean and he wrapped his arms around you didn't make you feel like you were coming home, pretended that you didn't sleep the best you ever had curled up in his arms at night, pretended that you could not see a future with him outside of all of this with a stupid white picket fence and a baby that had his smile and mischievous green eyes, and pretended that you weren't in love with him.

More importantly, you pretended that being his best friend was enough.

That being said you did allow yourself the indulgence of cooking for and taking care of Dean. You didn't care how much he complained or how much you didn't like salad, you knew that Dean needed to eat a good heart-healthy, home cooked meal once in a while. And you didn't care if you had to force feed it to him.

Dean Winchester is going to live to be a hundred and five damnit!

"Whoa. You don’t get to judge me for this, not with that super sniffer you have glued to your face." Dean pokes your nose with his fingertip. "How was I supposed to smell the differences in the wife's perfume and the perfume of his mistress?"

"Vanilla and Lavender are two very different smells." You shrug, shouldering the shovel.

In hindsight smelling the corpse at the crime scene was probably not your best move, but the smell of vanilla that wafted up when Dean flicked the victim's collar was so obvious you couldn't keep your mouth shut. And after smelling the strong scent of lavender on the victim's wife had only confirmed your suspicion, that he had been cheating on her.

Everything else had fallen into place, finding the newspaper article about a man who had died in the same way as all of the men forty years ago, talking to the man's son who told Dean and you through tears of his father's sins against his mother who had disappeared a few days before his father was found, and following the trail to the town cemetery was the final step in the process.

Salt and burn. Just like clockwork.

Truth be told you were a little bit disappointed on how quickly you solved the case, now you were coming up with excuses for you to stick around with Dean, maybe even go back to the bunker with him for a bit.

You knew that Dean didn't love to stay there as much as he had. The emptiness only reminded him of Sam's life somewhere else, but you were willing to stay there with him forever if that's what it took.

Even if that meant watching Dean charm the pants off every co-ed on the East Coast.

Because that's going to be so fun for me.

"I thought that somebody as slutty as you would be an expert in women's perfume." You muse with a smirk to hide the hurt at the thought of Dean with someone else.

Him going off with Lisa had hurt enough. That had been a long year.

Sure Dean still called and texted, but it was awkward. You didn't want to step on Lisa's toes. She was his girlfriend and he was living with her. The one time that you'd come by to stay with them for a few days had been one of the most awkward experiences of your life.

For one, when you'd showed up Lisa had been surprised that you were a girl because apparently Dean hadn't said anything to clue her in about that. And when you made dinner for all of them as a thank you for letting you stay, the whole time there had been this weird energy sitting in the dining room with the four of you, like a giant purple elephant that you couldn't see, but you could feel behind you squeezing it's trunk around your chest.

The last straw had been when you accidentally overheard a conversation between Dean and Lisa where he was trying to convince her that he'd never been more than friends with you and she didn't believe him.

"Did you just call me a slut?"

"Yep." You reply.

The cemetery was eerily silent. Somewhere off in the distance you could hear the sound of the ocean, the harsh crash of water against sand and the jingle of the ships at the docks in town where the water gently lapped against the strong wooden boards of the seaworthy vessels. The cloying smell of salt came on the wind that pulled almost playfully at your clothes, beckoning you to the darkness of the vast sea in the distance.

"Takes one to know one sweetheart." Dean calls from behind you before he slams shut the trunk of Baby with a loud 'thunk.' "Not all of us are blessed with a super nose. And unlike you I don't go around smelling dead people. I don't even know if there's a name for that fetish. Kinda feels like necrophilia."

"It's a blessing and a curse."

The beam of light from your flashlight brings a yellowish glow over the smooth tombstones, each one beaten soft by the wear of rain and wind.

"My gut says over there." Dean nudges his arm into yours towards the right.

"Your gut couldn't tell this was a vengeful spirit, why should I trust it now?" You raise an eyebrow, flashing the light into Dean's face.

He squints his eyes at the offensive beam, but it does little to make him look ugly. There was nothing that could do that. You were speaking from experience because you'd seen your best friend covered completely from head to toe in blood and guts and you'd still wanted to lay a big one on him.

Maybe there's a support group online for people who are in love with their best friends. Because I should join that.

"One time I've been wrong-"

"Phoenix." You say immediately.

Dean frowns at the memory. "Okay two times I've been-"

"Tallahassee."

"You're just listing state capitals." Dean sighs heavily.

"No, I am listing places in which you've been wrong. If you want I can call Sam to cross reference my sources."

"Don't call Sam." Dean pushes past you and begins to walk to the right with you following behind him.

"So are you going to tell me why you're dodging his calls?" You ask, sweeping the beam over the tombstones again to see if you can find the right person.

"I am not dodging his calls!" He shouts increasing his speed.

"Dean." You gently catch the back of his flannel.

He stops dead in his tracks, but does not turn around.

"I know you." You whisper. "I know when something is wrong. Come on."

There was something wrong, you knew it the moment you picked up the phone last night before you drove ten hours to get to him. Felt it in your bones. The hard part was just getting Dean to tell you.

"Come on what?" Dean half-turns to look at you. There's something lurking in his eyes, a flash of vulnerability that makes your heart break for him.

The shovel you have no longer seems important, so you lean it against a tombstone and tug on the bottom of Dean's shirt until he turns around to face you.

"It's just you and me here. There's no cameras, no canned audience, no one else. Talk to me." Your hand falls on the arm that Dean is carrying the gasoline in, smoothing the fabric of his leather jacket.

He hesitates for a moment, long enough that the wind picks up and rustles through his golden brown hair. It too seemed just a little longer than he usually kept it, and you fought the urge to run your fingers through it.

"I didn't want to bother him with all this." Dean mutters. "He's out there living his life, a real life, something that he's always wanted and he doesn't need me dragging him back into all of my shit."

"Dean-" You sigh. "He's your brother, you're not bothering him-"

This is so much worse than I thought.

"I am." Dean shakes his head. "He's moved on and I'm still here doing all of this and I-"

"Hey." Your hand moves up to cup his cheek before you can stop yourself. The prickle of stubble beneath your hand is familiar, reminds you of when you would wake up in the morning before he did and his chin would be resting on the top of your head while your face nudged into the space between his shoulder and his jaw. The little place against his throat where you always fit. "You're not going to bother Sam by telling him about what you're doing. He loves you and he's worried about you and I am too. And yes he's doing something different, but what you're doing is a life too. It might look different, but what you're doing matters."

Dean frowns a little, but doesn't answer.

"Dean." You say his name, this time bringing your other hand up to hold on to the other side of his face. "Just because you don't work in a fancy office or have a white picket fence does not mean your life isn't a life. It is. Everyone finds their own way. There isn't one carbon cut copy about what life is supposed to look like. No one can tell you how to live it, the only thing that you should care about is if it's a life that makes you happy." Your thumbs drift to his cheekbones gently brushing back and forth in a soothing movement.

"Does it make you happy?"

Dean's question catches you off guard. He hadn't asked you that in a long time and certainly not before he'd had at least one or two drinks. Dean's shovel leans next to yours and he reaches for your wrist, the warm roughness of his palm against the skin comforting.

You think about lying, but you know that Dean will only clock it. You hated how much Dean knew you.

Not really.

"I mean-" You clear your throat. "Lately not so much." Your hands drop from the sides of Dean's face, but he doesn't release your arm. His thumb gently smoothed over the skin on the inside of your wrist, comforting you the way you had comforted him. "But being here with you is making me feel a bit better. It always does."

Why did I say that? That’s way too much-

"Me too." Dean breathes.

Electricity dances between the two of you, curling up your arm where Dean still has his hand around your wrist gently cradling it between the two of you. And you see something flicker behind the warm, familiar gaze of your best friend, a ghost of something that you can't put a name to.

His words reverberate in your head, vibrating through your skin, bringing a warmth through your body and sending the butterflies in your stomach fluttering.

Dean hasn't looked away from your face, his gaze focused as if he's waiting for something, watching for one of your ticks, but he won't find one. Not when Dean is looking at you the way you always wanted him to. You reach out to lay your hand against the front of his shirt, feeling the gentle beat of his heart beneath the palm of your hand.

Is this really happening?

Thunder rumbles in the distance over the sea, a storm brewing, the flash of lightning shattering the spell between the two of you.

"We better um- get this done." Dean clears his throat, releasing your wrist to find the shovel once more. "Don’t want to get caught in the rain."

"Yeah-" Your voice comes out a little high and squeaky. "Right."

The buzz of whatever the hell that was still thrums beneath your skin as you follow behind Dean, looking from tombstone to tombstone, trying to shake it off. And much to Dean's chagrin, his gut was correct, but he doesn't gloat, he just starts digging.

There's a part of you that wonders if it's because Dean is dwelling on what almost just happened- if there was an almost. You still were a little bit fuzzy about that. Your best friend was far from shy, when Dean wanted something he took it.

The silence grows between the two of you as you start to dig, so you decide to break it.

“How about after all this we drive out West and do some recon on Sam and Eileen?” You say, shoving the shovel deep into the hard earth.

“Really?” Dean asks with a grunt throwing a shovel of dirt over his shoulder.

“Yeah. We can stalk him when he goes to work, test out his security system at his house- just like how we used to when he was at Stanford.”

Dean and you had taken a few trips out West when Sam was at college. You'd always wanted to see the west coast and your dad was letting you go solo just as John let Dean solo. So naturally the two of you met up along the road and decided to cause some mischief.

It had been a nice trip, the feeling of the warm sun on your skin, the wind in your hair when Dean rolled down Baby's windows while the sound of classic rock pumped and hummed through the speakers. It was the closet you had come to a vacation, and something the two of you desperately needed. During the day you'd sit nestled in the front seat of Baby with a sketchpad perched on your lap that you didn’t have to hide from your dad, who told you that should be doing something else, something that mattered. At night Dean and you would share a motel room and when you'd woken up Dean was always on your side of the bed with his head buried in your hair, murmuring things in his sleep.

It was also nice to not worry about your dad for a while. He was as hard on you as John Winchester was on Dean, and you'd cut him out of your life a few years ago. Last time you heard from him was a voicemail two years ago telling you that he'd settled down somewhere in Texas and that he wanted to see you, but you couldn't.

Things hadn't ended well between the two of you and it was Dean who had blocked your father from getting closer to you while he shouted things over Dean's imposing figure that made you want to squeeze your eyes shut and turn away from him.

"That was a fun trip." Dean half-smiles.

"It was." His smile is encouraging. You noticed that in the time you'd been here Dean had been smiling more often, but you were still worried at him.

“You’d do that? Go with me?" He sounds hesitant.

"Of course I would do that for you Dean." You nudge him with your elbow. "I’d walk through fire for you, you’re my best friend. I would sing karaoke to 'Girls Just Want to Have Fun' for you." You hesitate. "Well maybe after a few drinks, but I would still do it."

He snorts. "I'd pay to see that sweetheart."

"Mhmm. And this time we'll be sure to bring sunscreen. Can't have you turning into a lobster again."

The only downside of the trip was that Dean had refused to wear sunscreen when the two of you stopped along the road at one of the beaches, and he'd turned the color of a tomato. Of course later when you were slathering him with aloe at the motel, dragging your hands down his arms and over his face, you could feel your own cheeks heating with your blush.

"How was I supposed to know that the sun was so damn powerful out there?!" Dean exclaims.

"Because I told you! You never listen to me."

"I do too listen to you!" He thrusts his shovel down into the earth with an increased enthusiasm, but instead of hitting the earth, there's a loud 'clunk.'

Guess we found it.

"No, you don't." You say as you crouch down to uncover the coffin with Dean.

"You know what? I'm not talking to you for five minutes."

"Toddler." You mutter under your breath. "You're a bit old for the silent treatment."

He doesn't answer and you roll your eyes again.

When the body is salted and burned, the warmth from the fire flares up from the grave, warming the chilled tips of your fingers, but you still shudder in the cold breeze. Dean's jacket comes down around your shoulders so fast you didn't realize that he noticed you shudder.

"Can't have you catching a cold Sweetheart." Dean flashes a signature grin that makes your knees weak. "Come on, let's get back to Baby. We can plan out where we're going on this road trip."

As the two of you make your way back through the cemetery, you see the beam of a flashlight on the other side of lot coupled with the high pitched squeal of laughter as it sweeps across the smooth weather beaten stones. Another rumble of thunder shakes the sky, rattling your teeth and vibrating against your skin.

Dean and you crouch down on instinct, and he makes a hand gesture.

You look at him confused.

The laughter gets closer, the people weaving through the graveyard, running after one another, oblivious to Dean and you.

He makes the hand gesture again.

"What?" You whisper.

He makes the gesture again.

"Dean, this isn't charades. Use your words. I can't understand what you're saying."

He sighs. "I was trying to tell you that it's okay, it's just kids." Dean whispers back.

"You could have just said that, you didn't have to make the gestures. Especially because you're the only person who understands them."

"I am not the only-" Dean huffs out a breath. He turns his head to watch two teenagers run by, giggling and laughing all the way as they do.

"Come on Shawn!" A girl shouts with a cackle lost on the wind, her blonde hair like a beacon, turning silver in the moonlight.

"I don't think we should be here!" The boy who you assume is Shawn shouts back, the beam from his flashlight flickers against his glasses.

"Don’t be such a wuss." The girl yells back over her shoulder. The lithe imprint of her form small and petite a contrast to the boy who stumbles behind.

Dean leans so close to you that his nose is pressed into your hair, his breath a warm exhale against your ear. "You wanna mess with them?"

A shiver travels down your spine with Dean's close proximity and you hope that he doesn't feel it. “You have to ask?”

“Come on.”

You leave your shovels and supplies behind, following behind the teenagers who laugh as they make their way through the lines of tombstones, but then something happens. They vanish.

"What?" You whisper in confusion, sweeping your eyes over the end of the cemetery. It came to an abrupt stop over a cliff that dropped off into the ocean over a thousand feet below. "Did they jump?"

The wind is harsher here, pulling and tugging at your clothes as if inviting you to fly with it, to jump into the darkness beyond and sink into the depths of the black sea below that writhes and splashes.

"This way." Dean tugs your elbow and turns you to a small set of steps that leads down the side of the cliff.

Okay. Maybe this was a bad idea.

Dean and you follow down the steps, unable to hear the laughter over the crashing of the waves against rock below, where the water rubs the stone smooth. And just when you think the steps will end, they twist and curve back into the cliff, depositing Dean and you in a cave.

"I still don't think this is a good idea Kayla." The boy, Shawn says. You can hear the tremor on the edge of his voice.

She obviously doesn't listen to him.

"Hey look at this!" You hear a girl's voice say. "I'm Queen of the world!"

Dean and you peer around the wet wall of the cave.

It's a crypt.

The walls further in are lined with bodies embalmed and wrapped in soft cloth, the musty smell of death wafting out to where the two of you are. Armor, chainmail, swords, and axes sit in neat piles to the left of the room, shining in the dull light of the beams. Various intricate designs are carved into the walls, semi-circles that entwine and tangle over the hewn stone, shining in the yellowed beam of the flashlights. 

The two kids from the graveyard are standing just a few feet in front of Dean and you, the boy has his back to you while the girl with the blonde hair who you guess is Kayla stands proudly on a rock wearing a crown.

You're sure that she must have found it a few moments ago, but something about it feels wrong. The crown is made of a silver metal, each point encrusted with emeralds that seem to absorb the light in the room rather than reflect it. Odder still is that for something sitting in a crypt, it doesn't look old, it looks brand new, not covered in the thick layer of dust like everything else in here.

Kayla wears it proudly, posing for an invisible camera. A low hum vibrates through the cave, hidden to the untrained ear beneath the distant rumble of thunder, and the crash of waves outside.

But you can.

"Dean." You mutter.

"I feel it too."

"I'm definitely wearing this to prom! Who cares about that plastic tiarra? This is a crown." Kayla giggles, taking it off to admire it in the light. "Oh look there's something written on it."

Oh no.

Before Dean and you can step forward to shut her up and stop her from pulling an Evil Dead, she begins to read the inscription. You have no idea what language it is, just that this is not good.

As soon as she finishes the last line, every single torch mounted on the walls flare to life without being lit.

Oh shit.

Kayla screams, throwing the crown down to the stone floor, clutching her hand. Her palm is seared a bright red, the imprint of the jewels forever etched into her skin.

"Kayla!" Shawn shouts rushing forward to see if she's okay.

"You just had to do it didn't you!" Dean says not bothering to hide as he comes out from teh mouth of the cave. "You just had to read the inscription off the creepy crown!"

"Who the fuck are you?!" Shawn stutters.

"Well I'd say I'm your worst nightmare, but I'm pretty sure we're about to meet whoever that is." Dean throws a knowing glance at you, but you're not focusing on that.

Because the entire room has gone silent. You can no longer hear the rumble of thunder, no longer feel the power of the storm brewing outside, no longer hear the sound of the crashing waves against the rocky cliff outside- there's nothing.

Just an eerie silence that hangs thick in the air.

The temperature in the room drops, sending a shiver down your spine, and goosebumps puckering against your skin while the hair at the back of your neck stands straight up."What the hell is going-" Kayla begins to sob, her ruined hand clutched to her chest, but Dean shushes her.

Shadows flicker and move around the edges of the cave, shifting into the forms of men and women running together like oil over water, rushing towards the crown that lies a few feet away.

The woman forms from the shades, born of darkness, of flesh and shadow as the dark imprints weave together, twisting and knotting, creating her from nothing.

Her skin is almost translucent white in the firelight, her hair a darkly woven web that tangles over her shoulders, while her eyes glow a menacing green. There is a necklace at the base of her throat, a strong mesh of iron to match the crown on her head and a collection of emeralds each one the size of your little finger.

The corpses that line the wall tremble in their cubbies, the rattle of bone and metal, and the stale smell of decayed flesh filling the room as they stir.

"Holy shit." Shawn gulps.

You can say that again.

Her robes are old fashioned, dark green, woven from strong fabric and imprinted with a twisted silver thread that forms sigils of stars and moons,  the garments flowing out behind her on some invisible wind that drifts through the crypt, but only seems to touch her. She makes no move towards you, only watches, her eyes piercing in the firelight.

The sound of the thunder outside is back, shaking the walls of the tomb and making the light from the torches flicker over the cold walls of the crypt.

Dean and you draw your guns at the same time, a reflex given you have no idea who or what she is.

You mentally go through the filo-fax in your head categorizing her into classes of what she could be. Comparing her to things you'd seen along the road. If not for the green robe she could be a woman in white. The way her skin is so sallow you can see the criss-cross of black veins beneath and the way her hair falls over her shoulders. But there's something about her you can't place, some throb of energy in the room that scuttles over your skin like a swarm of cockroaches, feels different than any other creature you've come along.

The woman's form flickers once as if she's not quite in the room with you, the motion sends a rustling through the bottom of her skirts, and the crypt fills with the smell of wet earth and dead leaves.

Dean pushes you behind him, a subconscious action that the woman clocks with a twitch of her bottom lip. Her head tilts just slightly, eyes narrowing a fraction.

We have to get the kids out of here.

"Look. We don't want any trouble-" You begin to say as calmly as possible.

Being diplomatic felt like a good idea right now or at least a good enough idea to buy you some time.

The woman moves faster than you thought possible. There's a terrible flash of green light and you feel an invisible force hit you in the center of your chest, propelling your body backwards through the cave. Dean shouts your name, but it sounds far away. Your stomach plummets with the few seconds of weightlessness, before your head hits the rock wall sending a jolt of pain through your body.

You lay there stunned, listening to the sound of the kids screaming, unable to move for a few seconds. Your mind is hazy, memories of the past slipping into these few moments.

The smell of the Impala, the soft scritch of a pencil against paper, the feeling of Dean's arm over your shoulders, the soothing motion of a paintbrush stroke-

You gasp as you come back to reality shaking your head once, twice to clear itself.

The kids are no longer in the crypt and you guess that the screaming you heard was them running for their lives, instead the woman floats in the center of the room, her hand clasped tightly around Dean's throat. She appears to be examining him, her eyes trace his features, unaffected by Dean struggle to get free.

A cold feeling of fear trickles down you spine, a raindrop in a thunderstorm finding the curves and plains of your back, melting snow against warm flesh.

"Put him down." Your voice is hard, the gun in your hand heavy as you train it on the woman.

She turns to look at you.

The rumble of thunder outside shifts to a higher pitch, a crisp sound, the clash of swords and the roar of a battle-cry merging into the howling of the wind.

"Now." You say.

Her mouth opens, and a language you don't know vibrates through the stale air, the sound of her voice is musical, a soft lullaby. The edge of her triumphant smirk curls back to reveal pearly white teeth, but she doesn't release Dean.

Your eyes flick to where Dean struggles in her grasp, his own emerald gaze focused on you. The fear you see in his eyes is not for himself, you know that. Years of hunting together, you knew that your best friend couldn't care less about himself, not if it meant you were hurt.

"Dean-" You whisper.

You didn't know what to do. You had a hunch that the rounds in your gun wouldn't do anything to her, and Dean and you had left the salt in the cemetery overhead, not to mention the iron knuckles you usually carried were still on the front seat of Baby where you'd left them.

And the lady was covered in iron so you doubted it would do anything to her.

"It doesn't have to be this way. We can talk this out. Just put him down. Please." You say it as calmly as you can, trying to think of something anything to do, but nothing comes.

The woman's smirk deepens. "No, more talking." Her voice slips into something harsher, speaking English through a thick accent.

The ground beneath her feet opens, the sharp sound of stone cracking while the crypt trembles around you, sending you stumbling to the right as the cave begins to tear itself apart.

Before you can do anything, the woman drops into the cavernous fissure dragging a struggling Dean with her.

"DEAN!" You shout, throwing your gun to the side and grabbing for his hand as he's pulled into the earth.

Dean gasps your name, his hand tight in yours, as the woman works her way down his body to hold tight on to his ankles. She hangs there in the space below, smile triumphant, as she playfully tugs on Dean's body as if it's a game.

"I'm not gonna let go okay?" You grunt, tightening your grip on his hand.

The weight of his body and the woman is too much, almost ripping your from it's socket, but you can't let him go. Not when Dean is the only person you have left. The ground beneath your body begins to crack, the stone flaking off to fall into the dark chasm below. You can't see the bottom, the cold hand of fear closing hard around your throat.

Dean says your name again. "It's gonna be okay."

"What?"

"I promise that it's going to be okay."

"I know it's going to be okay because I'm going to pull you up!" You struggle, tugging hard on his arm as you squirm to try and shuffle your body back on the ground, but it only makes more cracks spread and more earth fall into the chasm. "And then we're going to send her back to wherever the hell she came from."

His lips are pressed into a tight smile, eyes flashing with something melancholic you can't place. "Sweetheart. I promise that it's going to be okay. You just have to let go."

"No! I can do it!" You shout back, tears burning and falling from your eyes. "I-"

More of the bodies fall from the crypt into the chasm, disappearing into the darkness around Dean. The ground beneath your body shifts as more of it falls away. And you know at any moment you'll get dragged in too.

Dean looks down at the woman who hangs from his legs enjoying the scene in front of her, her dark eyes glinting as her green robes float out around her, then back up at you. The cold determined look in his eyes familiar.

"Dean please, I can't do this any of this- not without you!" You sob as you see the plan form in his mind. "So no to whatever you're thinking!"

"The only thing I'm thinking is how beautiful you are sweetheart." He flashes a signature smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "And that I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"

He lets go, the final flash of his eyes the last thing you see before the darkness swallows him whole.

"No! DEAN!" You scream his name, prepared to dive in if that's what it takes, but the ground closes, shutting up the cavernous mouth that swallowed your friend, smoothing over so that there's nothing left but the cool stone floor of the cave.

Leaving you alone in the chill with the rumble of thunder and the crash of waves against stone, smoothing away the rough edges and taking them out to sea.

A/N: Please don't hate me for the cliffhanger 😅 Or for yah know, throwing Dean into a ravine... I promise that this one will have a happy ending. Eventually?

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated. I love hearing what y'all think and the comments keep me going! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for the next part please let me know!

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @livya99 @mrsjenniferwinchester @zepskies

@angrydragon90 @waynes-multiverse @kr804573 @maddie0101

[incorrectdmp]

DMP SERIES FINALE PT 2 OUT OF CONTEXT SPOILERS

well. it’s the end of an era. can’t say this is gonna be the *last* ooc spoilers because i may do one for the epilogue and i ever decide to do another full binge of the show i may go back and do all the episodes before i started doing these as a fun lookback/theme of the binge to separate it from my last but. we sure are here and at the end.

BUT FIRST, blog update:

before we start i wanna say my game plan going forward is in fact to keep up this blog. again, sorry for the lack of maintenance outside of OOC spoilers while prep for the finale happened, as you saw there was. a lot. i’m gonna say i’m gonna truly start giving this blog a fresh coat of paint and repairs IN THE NEW YEAR, because i need some time to crash and also it is in fact the holiday season.

I’ll probably be fixing the tag guide more thoroughly than last time i did, and start dedicating some actual time to finding more quotes and gaining a more fresh and up to date backlog. most of my quotes in the backlog are very much the dynamics and circumstances as they were late s3/early s4 and i wanna make sure everyone’s development shines through. i may add some new tag categories to specify whether this is during void or post-void interactions, as certain characters are not able to interact during post-void, and circumstances changing allows for certain things to be more likely to happen.

and finally for updates, i’ll put this behind a spoiler as it is episode spoils:

i will be adding a chaos van tag. if chaos van ends up being an actual project that happens i am more than willing to continue doing incorrect quotes for it, and it will probably feature a fuckton of new characters to add to this blog. i will probably have to separate tagging into two distinct groups: one for dmp and one for chaos van if this does indeed happen, but for now when i make the chaos van tag it will be stuff pertaining to the hypothetical interactions and vibes of that ending, until an actual project may be more on the horizon or a possibility.

anyWAYS on with M E M E S

Charlie dies of Typhoid

Cant believe gcmillicutty is fucking dead

LET THE DOG IN GUYS THEY WANT IN THEY SMELL PRISONER’S DILEMMA 

Sad ste D: 

Dmp is my favourite anime

THIS SURE IS SOME JRPG FINAL BOSS SHIT

Chicken goat eboy body

Alex gets a splitscreen of him talking to himself

CHILD ANGY

Ezra be like: “one of us had to be drawn from a cursed angle and it’s gonna be me”

Charlie’s reached it. Her final form. 

Charlie is finally free of redesigns

Wow i love Hopes and Dreams from the hit indie game Undertale (2015) by Toby Fox

Time to bullshit a cosmic horror story with the POWER OF FRIENDSHIP BABEY

ITS CHARLIE’S TURN TO BREAK THE FOURTH WALL

This is the only time charlie’s won in her entire life

GEEEEEEET DUNKED ON

FUCK the black stars, all my homies hate the black stars

“The black stars aint shit” -stephen

Black stars smoothie

Cant believe charlie just adopted ezra from her rat NFT bro brother

Thorin, an 8 year old child, be like: “yeah ill keep my memories of dying dozens of times because i wanna watch scary movies”

Ezra be like: “can i have anime wings pls”

Longinus selfie stick

One final “you have ten minutes”, just to fill everyone with primal fear

GET IN THE BACK STE

EZRA BE DAMMED IF HE HAS TO BE IN THE BACK FOR ANOTHER GROUP SHOT

Percy is 100% not aware he was not in frame

Stephen has the mii music playing in his head at this moment

One doc smile, as a treat

Stephen is a smart man, but every minute he spends with the awakened they rub off on him and he loses another brain cell

CG be like: fuck this shit i’m out

VALEZRA MIXTAPE IS FIRE

The crane/reid bloodline now spans MULTIPLE UNIVERSES

The pen is mightier than the sword but nothing is mightier than these hands

Valezra be like:

On god? On god. (you cant see it but im crying)

EZRA BE GETTIN THAT PRINCESS PEACH

King jock jock

CHOCOLATE THUNDER AND CARAMEL CHAOS

ITALIAN MUSIC FOR EZRA REPRISE

The crane/reid family: known for FIGHTING GODS

And then doc’s heart grew three sizes that day

I cant believe sprite’s gonna have to be brought to pravum

Artorius ponders the orb:

Artorius “penis hands” lynch (no i cannot BEGIN to explain the context of this)

Ezra Crane: Prince of Bel Air

Bring technology into pravum, but not enough to kickstart capitalism

Hailey gets infinite god power: asks for a ham sandwich

BYE HOES

T MOBILE NEVER DIES

Hailey giving yugo gambling info like

SO LONG CAPTAIN LASAGNA o7 

Damn you hailey making me think my phone is winning

Yugo playing the long con, waiting 7 years to plan that phone call

Its better than being a colour

Coffee and prunes

Ive never cried more over mac and cheese and hot dogs

HONORARY DETECTIVE HERNANDEZ

Wow smh juniper CANT just live in the void?

Dorkus Fucking Dies.png

Yknow what, fuck you *unkills dorkus*

Fish soul got SNATCHED

TREE BROTHERS

Theres no choice, doc told you to. You have to now

SOUTHERN MOM RETURNS

Dorkus slides in on heelies like

Ranch (not farm)

Percy, like the rest of us, gets to suffer drawing charlie’s redesign

“TIME IS A HUMAN CONSTRUCT ANYWAYS BYEEEEE”

MORE KISS

Grace garden’s priorities: taking the chair with her

The world’s worst heirloom: cutaux 

PAT. THE. HEAD.

Great we got a new handshake meme format

KISS PT WHATEVER WE’RE ON

HES HOME YOUR HONOUR. I WILL CRY. 

Doc told charlie to go to horny jail 

YA TRAUMA IS GONE WITH THE POWER OF GOD

Aaaaaaaallll according to plaaaaan

CG slipped on his ass and was like “yeah i meant to do that”

Get In The Van.

The second worst van in the multiverse

Me since the episode where the van was introduced:

One more stupid ste and stupid percy for the road (literally ig)

Special thanks to our dear friends kevin mcleaod and john bartman

YES CG WE ARE CRYING WHY DO YOU ASK?

And finally:

When i ascended i took dreamland with me

[thatringboy]

The Way A Soul Lives - TWST

To write some Diasomnia angst has been a goal of mine for a while and seeing the new official book and the Diasomnia boys made me want to finish

I’ve only ever written angst a few times, so this was a nice practice. I hope I didn’t go too OOC here, but I think I’m good. I tried a new writing style here that I’m not that confident in, so feedback is very much appreciated!

Warnings: Magic, self inserted theories about Faes, fight scenes, blood, death and the angst associated with that

Word count: 1,615 (a new record I think!)

Sebek enjoyed the night shift. There was always something invigorating about walking around the Draconia castle when only dim torches and moonlight lit his path. A hand on his sword hilt, he quietly marched up and down halls, sometimes stopping in the Royal Library to glance at a book, and always passed by the rooms of the royal family.

However, his blood turned to ice when the Fae noticed a haphazardly opened window and mud tracked on the floor near it. He turned on his heels and ran back towards the room of his fellow guard, taking into account that the muddy footprints were not those of a humanoid.

~~~

Yuu sat down on the blanket and a frown tugged at their lips. “So why did you drag me all the way out here? It’s freezing!”

Cater laughed and pulled his coat on tighter. “Because there’s a Meteor shower tonight and there’s gonna be some fireworks to celebrate the end of Spring Break! Don’t worry, the others will be here soon and we can take some pics for Magicam.”

Principal Crowley had allowed Yuu Prefect to leave Night Raven College for the week of Spring Break and the magic-less human somehow got dragged to the mountains of Pyroxene where the snow had not yet melted. Yuu spent the week posing for cameras with Cater and Vil and learned how to snowboard thanks to Jack’s tutelage. Grim enjoyed the attention he was receiving during the trip and showed his gratitude by becoming a makeshift hot water bottle inside of Yuu’s thick coat.

Two figures approached the clearing. The shorter one talked with their hands in an annoyed voice. “All I’m saying is that you and the potato could really become a modeling duo! You two have the natural talent and certainly the looks.”

The taller figure grunted and sat down next to Yuu. “Not in a million years will you find me modeling sports clothing. Oh, hey Prefect.”

“Hey Jack.” Yuu sighed and looked up at the stars that were starting to appear. The constellations in Twisted Wonderland were different from those on Earth and they seemed to draw large coherent pictures across the sky. Vil sat down on his own blanket and opened his mouth to argue with Jack some more, but Cater closed his mouth.

“The show’s about to start!”

~~~

Sebek knocked on Silver’s door as quietly as he could. He could hear his fellow guard get out of bed and step to the door. Silver opened the door partially and opened his mouth to protest the rude awakening, but Sebek covered it before the human could make a sound.

“There’s an intruder.” Sebek whispered. “I can take the South stairwell to the young lord’s room if you take the West and go get Master Lilia.”

Silver nodded and grabbed his pen. The two men silently went in their directions, Silver to the west and Sebek to the south, and stepped into hidden passages. Sebek broke into a full sprint and exited the passage to see that Malleus’ door was open. A feeling of dread set into his stomach as he tip-toed near the door. What he saw sent a shiver of terror down his spine.

Standing over the sleeping figure of Malleus was a creature made of flickering and ever-changing shadows. From within itself, it produced an awful looking hand with claws the size of kitchen knives. Sebek moved without thinking and drew his sword as he ran to the side of the bed. He swung his sword in a graceful arc and removed the clawed appendage from the monster. It reeled back and shrieked horrifically, making Sebek cover his ears and making Malleus bolt awake.

The dragon Fae assessed the situation and dove out of bed for his staff, but the monster put itself between the two. The amputated limb shook violently in the air before it seemed to regrow itself. Sebek lunged with his sword and put himself in front of Malleus. “Go! Silver and Master Lilia are on their way! Get to the panic room!”

Malleus nodded and ran from the room. Sebek returned his focus on the monster. He had trained for this very scenario for a good portion of his life and he certainly wasn’t going to back down now.

~~~

The night grew colder, but the fireworks were worth it. Yuu clutched onto Grim’s warmth while Cater and Vil shared a blanket and watched the colorful lights explode in the air. Jack, having a naturally high body temperature, didn’t understand the discomfort of his companions, but thankfully didn’t tease them about it. He was sure that if he brought it up, his tail might receive a wicked pinch.

Cater had his phone up taking as many pictures as he could of the show while Vil had only taken a single selfie. Yuu sat in awe of the entire situation and was suddenly very grateful that the Principle had permitted this vacation.

Ew, was Yuu Prefect grateful for the actions of Crowley? The thought disgusted them and made them shiver more than the cold. Grim looked up at them “How cold are you, you weak human!”

Yuu frowned and hugged Grim tighter. “Very.”

Jack leaned forward from where he was sitting. “Here comes the finale! You’re in for a treat, you two.”

Grim and Yuu looked up to see a firework explode above them. A shower of gold sparks rained down as a second firework went off, sending red and blue streams everywhere.

“Truly beautiful.” Vil whispered. He got his phone out and snapped another picture. Yuu assumed that he would be sending it to Rook. Cater laughed and pointed to another firework that was about to explode. It went off and a brilliant lime green glow filled the night sky. Yuu agreed with Vil - the sight was the most beautiful thing they had ever seen.

When the lights faded, Yuu noticed that the stars were all out, blanketing the sky with billions of small lights. Jack laid down on his back and looked up at the sky. “What do you know, the Draconia Constellation can be seen this early in the year. That’s usually a Summer Constellation.”

Yuu looked up and sure enough, a large portion of the stars formed a dragon in the air. “Draconia, like Malleus’ family?”

Cater sat back as well, taking the shared blanket with him to the distress of Vil. “That’s the one. The longest Fae line in the world.”

Grim looked up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Vil raised his eyebrows. “I keep forgetting that you are not of this world. Let me explain this for you.”

~~~

Sebek could counter the physical attacks of the monster, but he hadn’t expected it to start hurling fireballs at him. He hissed and kicked himself a little bit whenever a fireball set something of Malleus’ ablaze, but he forced himself to keep his head in the fight.

Where is that lazy Silver? He should be here by now!

The monster jumped up and landed on the bed. Sebek pulled out his pen and fired a bolt of magic, but the mass of shadows absorbed the spell and made that horrible screech again. He grimaced and swung again, ducking under another fireball and was surprised that his sword made contact with something solid, but bounced off.

This creature, it’s changing to match my attacks! Come on, Sebek, think!

He grit his teeth and rolled across the bed, diving behind it to use as cover. If he kept the monster focused on him, it wouldn’t make a break for the door.

The door...

Sebek peaked his head up and noticed that the monster was loading another fireball. He ducked to avoid being hit and made a mad dash for the exit, throwing a rather large textbook that probably held ancient spells passed down from the Fairy Queen herself. Sebek hated to see such literature shredded before his eyes, but he decided that in the moment this would be acceptable behavior.

The monster recovered faster than he had anticipated. It’s claw lashed out as Sebek almost crossed the threshold and knocked him aside. His head hit the side of Malleus’ wardrobe and he felt a stinging pain in his right eye, but other than that was uninjured and got back on his feet. It slashed out again, but Sebek narrowly avoided the sharp talons. His energy was drained and even if he could raise his pen, he would possibly overblot from casting a single spell. He could run for the door again and risk impalement or stay in the corner and be burnt alive. Sebek’s mind, despite the chaos around him and his time running out, started to think of his friends at Night Raven College.

What would they do in his situation? Deuce and Jack would rush in head first, Ace would attempt to create a distraction, Grim would just made more fire and Yuu Prefect probably wouldn’t have even gotten themselves into this mess. Not to mention Epel would probably do any of those things based off of his slightly unpredictable personality. There was little doubt that Epel would also charge the monster, but there was no way of knowing for sure.

Sebek tuned back into reality as a fireball narrowly missed his face. The stinging in his eye and blood trickling down from his scalp made it hard to focus, but his adrenaline was still pumping. He was still standing. He was still fighting.

“Sebek!”

Someone called from the door. The guard - and the monster - turned to see a horrified Silver standing there, his pen clutched tightly. Sebek’s heart froze. He wanted to tell Silver to run, but Sebek’s voice became caught in his chest. The creature of shadows began to prepare another fireball, but Sebek’s body reacted quicker. He dropped his sword and tackled the monster. The two clashed until Sebek managed to force it out of Malleus’ window, but the monster held tight and Sebek felt gravity pull him down to the courtyard below.

~~~

“While most stars outside of constellations are celestial spheres of noble gases and other elements, the stars in constellations are actually souls.” Vil sat back on his hands and looked up at the dragon shaped image in the sky.

Cater sat back up, letting Vil snatch back the blanket. “Oh yeah! My mom explained this to me! Every time a fairy dies, they join their family constellation in the stars!”

“Unlike mortal souls that go to the Isles of Lamentation when we pass,” Vil continued. “The Fae’s immortal spirits are placed in the heavens to dance for all of eternity, or so the legend goes. Some stories say that the Fae came to Twisted Wonderland from the stars and so to the stars they return, but I for one just believe that this is a beautiful story.”

Yuu thought for a second. “So then what about shooting stars?”

Jack put his hands behind his head and got comfortable on the ground. “Nope, those are just regular comets or asteroids or whatever you call them.”

“Fascinating.” Yuu whispered. “Where I come from, stars are just flaming balls of gas in space. I shouldn’t be surprised that magic goes as far as constellations, but I am.”

Grim cleared his throat. “Wait, what about wishing stars?”

Vil put a hand to his chin to think. “You know, I’m not entirely sure. It could be that the magic of the fallen fairies could be the ones granting the wishes, but I don’t believe anyone is sure.”

“One of the universe’s many mysteries.” Cater’s voice dropped to be almost inaudible.

Yuu looked back up at the Draconia Line constellation. “There’s a hole in the dragon’s heart except for that one bright star, is that one Maleficent?”

Jack nodded, which was hard because he was on the ground. “The area around her is probably being reserved for her immediate family, so one day in a thousand years, Malleus and Lilia will join her and maybe even Sebek if he wasn’t too stubborn to die.”

Yuu laughed. “Yeah, that’s Sebek.”

~~~

Everything hurt.

Sebek was sure his arms and several ribs were broken, but other than that he landed from the seventh floor quite successfully. He attempted to sit up, but his body ached too much.

The shadow monster laid prone on the stone next to him. Sebek hoped it was finally dead. His inhuman vision let him see Silver and Lilia looking out the window he had tumbled from. Lilia vanished and reappeared next to Sebek, looking down at him with a sad face.

“Forgive my tardiness, young man.” Lilia knelt down next to Sebek and began to mutter a healing spell. A wave of warmth rushed over Sebek as the spell took hold over his body and he felt very tired.

“What is that thing?” Sebek looked at the monster. Lilia glanced back at it and shrugged. “I suppose a demon created to take the life of our young prince. You did well holding up against it for so long, I’m sure there’ll be a medal waiting for you when you wake up that you can show to all your companions at school.”

Sebek liked that idea. He imagined wearing a new medal proudly for a week to boast about to his friends.

“Oh Jack what did you do over the break?”

“I was just snowboarding at home.”

“Well I single-handedly fought off a demon and saved the young lord’s life!”

If it didn’t take so much energy, Sebek would have smiled from the thought.

Lilia finished his spell and offered a hand for Sebek to stand. It took effort, but the taller Fae got to his feet and leaned against his mentor. They began to walk away from the body of the monster, but out of the corner of his ever vigilant eyes, Sebek swore he saw it move.

Time seemed to slow down for Sebek. He shoved Lilia to the ground, earning an angry protest from the older Fae, and turned to face the monster as its claws sunk into his chest, tearing away his armor like it was paper.

The healing spell must have dulled his senses because Sebek didn’t feel any pain from the attack. Instead, he just looked up at the night sky and the Draconia Line constellation looked back down at him. The monster retracted its claw and Sebek slumped to the ground. He wasn’t aware of the pool of blood that was forming around his knees and he wasn’t aware of the blood curdling scream that came from Lilia’s lips, nor was he aware of the beam of magic that ripped the monster in two.

No, all Sebek was aware of were the beautiful stars inviting him to dance with them.

~~~

Yuu could see the stars from their bedroom in Jack’s house. After packing up for the night, Yuu, Grim and Jack said their goodbyes and returned to the log cabin. They had packed their things for their return to school in the morning, but while the cat-like monster slumbered peacefully on the bed they shared, Yuu found themself staring at the stars again.

They also found themself feeling a pit of dread well up in their stomach. It was cold like a clawed hand reaching up and tearing them apart from the inside. There was no reason that Yuu could think of to have this feeling, but it made them wonder if returning to Night Raven College would yield another overblotting upperclassman.

Yuu pushed the window open and a cool breeze ruffled their hair. They looked up at the dragon constellation and squinted before their eyes widened in confusion.

Yuu didn’t know how or why, but the bright star in the heart of the dragon was now joined by a smaller star that shone just as bright.

[beneathshadowsrp]

Nightmare of Elm Street: Day 2

When the black cats prowl and the pumpkins gleam…

May luck be yours on Halloween.

For centuries, All Hallow’s Eve (or Halloween) has been the night for all of the things that go bump in the night to walk among the human and mortals. Over the years, the meaning behind Halloween has taken many interruptions and forms depending on each culture. But, in North Carolina, in a little town called Shadow Falls, one of the states most popular ghost stories reign. In Sleepy Hallow, they may have the Headless Horseman, but down south, Shadow Falls is the town devoted to the Siren of the French Broad. Tourists come from far and wide to catch a glimpse of the ghost with the long dark-hair out in the water and to try their luck to hear the call of her song. In Shadow Falls, townsfolk are urged to for their difference to fade away over the next few days and come together for a day of ‘unity’ and ‘acceptance’. But, not everyone looks at Halloween this way…

This is the list  of the activities happening on Day 2 of the event. 

The event will be concluded on October 20th at midnight EST. It will however only cover October 17th to the 20th in game play.

The tag for this event is #shadowhalloween1. So, please remember to tag all event related threads, pictures, outfits, etc. as such. Also, remember when posting a starter, to use both the event tag as well as the start tag. This event is mandatory, because of all the plot drops we will be having. If you do not want to participate, you do not have to, but we ask that you put your character on Hiatus for the time being or message the main, so that we can be aware if you and another player want to have your characters doing a private thread where they’re away for the weekend instead of participating. Also, because of this, we have decided to close acceptances off during the two weeks of the event.

PLEASE LIKE THIS POST AFTER YOU’VE READ IT. For any questions or concerns regarding anything about the event please feel free to message the main. And note that as per any major plot, if you want to INJURE your character, KILL an NPC (human or Supernatural),  or any other MAJOR plot related occurrence during this event, YOU NEED TO MESSAGE THE MAIN FIRST TO ASK FOR APPROVAL. And last but not least, just have fun!! We hope you enjoy this event just as much as we enjoyed making it for you!

ACTIVITIES for DAY 2 aka Halloweekend:

So, what’s happening in town on Day 2?

We have several activities for citizens to take part in listed below. Feel free to post starters in any order which you like. For example, feel free to make a starter about a party and then later post one about a prank. The times associated next to each activity are just in case you want to describe if it was sunny out or your character is grumpy that it’s super early etc.

Clean up Crew/Silent Dance Party:

After all of the teepeeing and pranks that were pulled last night, the mayor has sent out a request for volunteers to help get the town’s streets prepped and ready for trick or treating. So if you’re an early bird or someone whose house was hit last night, make your way down to town hall to borrow some industrial trashcans, replacement decorations, and have some morning bagels, pumpkin spice lattes, and mini pumpkin pies all courtesy of the Pie Hole. Thanks to the Shadow Falls Public Library, the town will also be renting out headphones that you can pick up to par-take in a silent dance party of sorts in order to make the town clean up just a little bit more fun! So, jam out to some music and help get the streets all suited up for today’s activities.

When: 8 to 10 am.; Where: Town Hall

The Haunted House:

The corn maze and hayrides will still be running all today, as well as, the Spookfest Street Fair. But, with an added bonus of one of the largest Haunted Houses this town has ever seen. The entire Library (including the street outside of it which has been transformed into a zombie run inspired obstacle course that you’re welcome to go through) has been transformed into an incredibly interactive experience that is sure to give you goosebumps. All of the proceeds from the tickets will go to new books  and each floor of the Haunted House has a different scare level.

Participants: Don’t worry if you’re a scaredy cat, the first floor of the building is the part of the Haunted House that is for all ages from kids to adults. If you have the heeby-jeebies from only that, feel free to leave through the back entrance. But, if your a horror fanatic or a haunted house enthusiast, take the elevator up to levels 2 and 3. If you make it through all three levels, you’ll not only get a sticker and a pen that looks like a syringe, but bragging rights for all your friends.

Volunteers: If you have signed up to work the Haunted House, then you will be transformed into a scary monster of your choosing and be given a post where you can jump out and scare whoever is walking through. You can be a severed head in a fake dinning room table or one of the zombies in the zombie run. Just remember, you’re not allowed to touch the participants just as they are not allowed to touch you and don’t forget to say boo!

OOC: Because the SpookFest Street Fair is still going on, the added stuff about witches and sirens are still in effect today too.

When: 10 am to 7pm;  Where:  Shadow Falls Library

Trick or Treating:

No one can forget one of the most popular parts of Halloween being Trick o’ Treating! And it’s no secret that in Shadow Falls, the best street to hit during your candy run is Elliswood Avenue. This picture-esque street is dominated by upper-middle-class families who love to compete for the best-decorated homes each year. It’s famous for the elaborate decorations and king-sized candy bars. It’s a perfect street to take the little ones trick-or-treating. Your character could be a resident of Elliswood Avenue, someone who appreciates the effort, or a chaperone for some kids for part of the night. (For a better idea of the houses on Halloween, check out these links [x] [x] [x]). There is even a magnetic sword in a stone at the street sign where young and old can try to see if they are the ‘chosen’ one.

Temporary Freedom: Once again, every supernatural in town has temporary freedom. If a species would like to walk around freely with their wings stretched out, reveal their fangs, etc. The risk of being caught for indulging in supernatural pleasures and appearances is low seeing that many hunters and cops cannot distinguish the difference between species throughout the weekend. Yet, cops are still on duty, patrolling the streets more heavily than usual, so even though supernaturals won’t be arrested for wandering around in their true form, hunters and supernaturals don’t get the complete freedom they have during the Full Moon (aka killing and feeding on other people in the streets is a no, no).

When: 5pm to Midnight;  Where: Elliswood Avenue

The Monster Mash:

On night two, there are one again two separate parties you are welcome to attend:

Neverland: Neverland will be putting on an all out costume party. Come donning your scariest garbs, your sparkliest make-up, or your cutest couples costume. There will be THREE main categories: 1. Best Couple’s Costume (can be funny, extra spooky, or cute!) 2. Scariest Overall (the scariest costume of the night.) 3. Cleverest Clown (not actually a clown costume, but a costume that the judges deem hilarious or clever.) Tag your character’s costumes with #shadowinspos and #shadowhalloween18

When: 8 pm to 2 am  Where: Neverland Speakeasy

Saints and Sinners: For those looking to indulge in the more hedonistic aspects of the night, Saints and Sinners is the place to be. With live musical performances and generous bar tabs, this is the club to live out your dark fantasies. Bring your costume, or as others would put it “lingerie with animal ears,” grab a drink, and hit the dance floor.

When: 9 pm to 2 am  Where: Saints and Sinners Club

Open Carry

Open Carry: The open carry policy is still in effect, so after the clock strikes 9 pm, the open carry policy begins. This means that you are allowed to take whichever alcohol beverage you’d like the streets as you wandered through the night. And for Vampires, special drinks will be offered all weekend with blood infused in it thanks to the Local Blood Drive and to the Hamlin Group’s newest creation- blood tablets. Drop one tablet into a glass of water and it instance becomes artificial blood for you to enjoy.

When: 9 pm to Midnight. Where: All Over Town

The Siren on French Broad Spotting:

Last but not least, as the time ticks to midnight and the fog rolls in, make your way down to Elm Street, the Trails, and the Pier to catch the Siren show on the water and a glimpse of the ghost herself. The show won’t start until 2 am, but if you’re smart, you’ll try to get there early to grab a good seat and get some good old fashioned hot dogs, turkey legs, and other traditionally american style food from the Devil’s Diner food carts set up along the water.

When: 11 pm to 1 am, Where: Over the Water

[thetradeway]

Session 34: 27 Feb 2021: “DO NOT DRY HUMP THE GNOME!”

Mina has flu and may or may not join, so I take Kessler for her. Sophie has made the best soup ever - it contains three of Matthew’s favourite ingredients. Garlic, butter, and salt. Where were we? Blue Alley! We killed a minotaur! Sticky stairs! I remind Ed about the joke he told; “Gosh, I’m brilliant.”

There is some creepy-ish music. There are more stairs; Ahleqs throws a copper at them to see if anything eats it. They look plain to Gideon; there is no carpet. He tiptoes forward, and nothing happens so we descend. There is a door; Kessler knocks on it. It doesn’t appear locked. Is there anything on the other side that sounds like a unicorn statue? An ethereal whinny…?

Melaina hears nothing. Kessler suggests someone try Mage Hand. Gideon: “Why do a mage hand when you could use your normal meat-hand?” Well, Kessler is rather attached to her meat hand. Inside the room is a stepped dais in the middle with what looks like a pork chop on it. No - it’s a gem, with a sword suspended above it, point down. There are carvings on the wall. There are words inscribed around the dais. Gideon: “Dwarven words?”

DM: “No, dirty human words.”

Gideon: “Then I don’t care, I’m not reading them.”

The words read thus: “Power pulses within me, and only a living warmth may move me.”

Brothers Charity and Carl approach the dais. Melaina thinks the gem is very shiny. How high is the sword? Just above it. Living warmth, eh? Could we fart it off the dais? What’s the range on Melaina’s farts? (Probably not as far as Meemoo, who is not allowed ‘with gravy’ any more.)

Ahleqs would rather walk away and leave the gem, but even he is reluctant. “It’s probably magic, isn’t it?” 

Brother Charity takes the crystal. Woah - what?

He has a crystal now; that’s the good news. Ah.

The bad news is the flying sword that attacks. Its blade lifts up toward Brother Charity’s face - and it has advantage. It is trying to take his eyes.

Melaina wishes to support this endeavour; Brother Charity forgives her.

“I didn’t apologise.”

She shoots anyway and hits the sword - how-de-do-dis! It drops to the floor with a clatter.

Charity notices two things about the gem that he recovered. There are two iron gates in it, but other than that is shitty quality. With her passive perception Melaina spots two abnormalities in the wall. She investigates one of them, and sees a secret door in the wall. Not so secret now.

She thinks that if she manipulates the stone in some way, it will open. It opens! “Ah! Coo.”

Behind it is a cosy room with nine goodberries in a bowl on the table. We are told it would be an excellent place to rest. On the wall are the words “WHAT, MIGHT, AND.” (Last week we found some words on the wall which said “THIS, TOOL, WITH”.)

There are faint runes carved into the perimeter of the table. There is a box; Melaina wants to investigate that. With her eyes, first. It’s fine quality, wooden, hinge topped. 6x12 inches. Like a large jewellery box. She checks it for traps. “Again with your eyes?” “Er, yes.” It doesn’t look trapped. She Mage Hands it to try and open it by flipping the lid up; but not before taking a step back.

No trap goes off. The runes around the table glow a bit brighter temporarily. She will have to step closer to look inside the box.

The runes seem magical. Brother Charity makes an Arcana check on them, with a decidedly average result. He thinks it might be transmutation magic.

Gideon, excitedly: “Oooh! OOOH! I specialise in that!” He can see that the magic of the runes will alter anything put on the table in some way, but he’s not sure how. “Will the bowl turn into a duck, if we remove it from the table?” He lifts it up, but nothing seems to happen. He marches it to the other side of the room with his arms outstretched.

He makes a perception check on the goodberry bowl. Charity: “Have they changed into badberries?”

Nothing really happens to them. Gideon returns the bowl to the table, gets out an ink pen and places it on the table. Not even with a flourish, just very gingerly. Perception check; when he put it down, he thinks a bit of the wood around the nib of the pen looks a bit paler. He puts the pen back in his pocket.

Hmm.

Duncan, doing Brad Pitt in Se7en: “What’s in the box?” Brother Charity takes a look, anticipating a creature jumping out and attaching to his face. DM asks how he’s looking at it; is he leaning over it? (Sophie, OOC: “I don’t like that question.”)

There is some kind of shadow moving around in the bottom of the box. Charity picks up the box and takes it away from the table. As it passes over the runes a bright light emits from the box.

Melaina, disdainfully: “You idiot.”

Roll initiative!

The thing is a will-o’-wisp, and it goes first, hitting brother Charity for 12 lightning damage.

Tarragon Thorn Whips it with a natty 20 for 12 magical piercing damage. Melaina shoots but misses, and makes a hide attempt at Disadvantage because of the bright light from the wisp.

14 misses. Kessler shoots twice and misses both times, to a hearty chuckle from Gideon.

Brother Charity does a Vampiric Touch on it. (Woah.) It takes 11 necrotic damage and he gets some health back. (Is he a vampire?) Wait - it’s resistant to Naughty Touch attacks so it takes half damage and Charity gets half of that returned to him as health. Is Brother Wandering Hands done?

Duncan OOC: “Pull your cassock back down and get out.”

Ahleqs casts Shatter. He uses a Sorcery Point so as to avoid Melaina, Brother Wandering Hands, Gideon and Tarragon. The Wisp fails its save and takes 6 thunder damage - but it halves it. Ahleqs could make a run for the door? He has some friends/meat shields; he raises himself to a full crouch and cowers where he is.

Grease Wizard delves deep into the recesses of his massive brain to see if he knows anything about will-o’-wisps. He can do an Arcana or a History check? He chooses Arcana. 12?

He remembers that they are immune to Lightning and Poison. Good to know. He yells it out for the rest of us. (He’s a Dragon’s Dogma companion. “Goblins hate ice and fire both!”)

Brother Carl punches it.

DM: “Are his punches magical?”

Matthew, OOC: “Not in so many words.” Carl misses, and looks shapelessly sad about it.

The wisp attacks Brother Charity but misses. It passes through him (opportunity attack - Charity misses) and goes through the wall aiming for Kessler. Tarragon makes a Thorn Whip attack but misses.

Melaina is still hidden - but she moved, so she’s not. She rolls a crit fail on her stealth check and sneezes. She shoots anyway but misses.

Kessler uses her thunder gauntlets but the thing is resistant to thunder damage as well. She gives Gideon a mouthful for not telling us all that.

Brother Charity can’t move out of the room because Melaina and Carl are in the way. Melaina could have moved but she chose not to.

DM: “None of this would have happened if you hadn’t made her tall northman boyfriend leave.” Melaina, hotly: “Shut up! I don’t care about that!”

Ahleqs wants to shoot an Eldritch Blast over people’s heads. DM is feeling somewhere between sympathy and pity for him this week so he lets him try, but he misses. Less of the sympathy, more of the pity now.

Grease Wizard is all sideways, hold on… Gideon is behind the wall and can’t see it, but he is told that the wisp is attacking the goblin. He is blocked from leaving the room by a very large Carl, who is, Matthew tells us, six foot five.

Ed as an idea strikes him, OOC: “How tall was Gunna, because I have a suspicion…”

Ahleqs wants to know if we can set Carl on fire? Is he a person or a collection of sticks? He is a person with a rich inner life and we absolutely cannot set fire to him, Matthew informs us.

Gideon has another think about wisps for his turn. He can learn six (SIX??!) of its damage resistances which are: acid, cold, fire, necrotic, thunder, non magical bludgeoning, and the sniffles.

For his turn, little Carl (Beautiful, innocent Carl) does punchin! He hits for five bludgeoning, which is non magical. Charity can take his held action now that Carl is out of the way; he casts a spell to make his weapon magical. “Shhelelelelelbllblelellh?” Yeah!

The wisp goes invisible. Ah, what?

Tarragon casts Faerie Fire where she last saw it, but the thing doesn’t reappear; either it made its save or it is no longer in the area where it was when it vanished.

Melaina and Kessler both hold attacks for if and when the thing reappears. Brother Charity does the same.

Ahleqs wants to make it so he can see his chums; as he moves, the wisp makes an opportunity attack and reappears! Ahleqs drinks a potion. (Ed’s computer dies a death. I make tea while it reanimates.)

Does it count as a magical attack if Gideon Greases his own fists and punches it? DM: “No, that’s closer to magical gimpery.”

He has some magic stuff in his inventory - he could use one as a magical improvised weapon? He pulls out a spell book and bonks the wisp with it. It’s not his own spell book, it belonged to a necromancer, he goes to great pains to tell us. He makes a STR check and fails, swinging the book and stumbling into a wall.

Brother Carl. Matthew is checking something of his… Carl makes his attack at Advantage, which means attackers get Advantage on him. (That sounds like a Reckless Attack. Is he a barbarian…? He hasn’t Raged so far...)

The wisp makes a shock attack at Gideon, but misses.

Tarragon Thorn Whips it with a nat 20 - it flickers and dims a bit, but is still glowing. Melaina hides behind the door frame and leans around the door for a Sharpshooter shot; but she rolls a ten and misses. Kessler misses twice with her crossbow again. 

(There is some discussion about sidekicks; Mr Pickles isn’t Ahleqs’ sidekick so much as his line manager.)

Brother Charity blocks the doorway; Melaina pinches him. He starts clambering over a settee. From atop it, he can shoot an Eldritch Blast at the thing but misses. With a 17.

“Why come?”

That’s wisps for ya.

Ahleqs is up. Ahleqs, resignedly: “Yeah, I am.” He’s still a bit close. He decides to chance it and try ToC. He prevaricates; “Everyone is in there.” He changes him mind and does an Eldritch Blast, but misses with an 18. (18 misses??! This thing has a ridiculous AC. It’s the first thing we’ve fought that’s harder than Kessler to hit)

Gideon discards the book. Can he buff someone with a spell? Wait - no, he’s going to hit it with the book again instead. 17 misses.

Brother Carl rinses and repeats with a 23 punching attack. (Are his Gauntlets of Helm magical? No, but they have little eyes on them.)

The wisp makes an attack on Gideon but misses. It passes through the wall again, and a bunch of us get opportunity attacks.

Tarragon debates casting Moonbeam on her turn but decides to go with Thorn Whip again, believing the wisp to be near enough to death that she doesn’t want to waste a second level slot on it. She hits with another nat 20. It flickers again and is looking decidedly dimmer.

Melaina tries another Sharpshooter attack but misses. Kessler does her Thunder Gauntlets and hits once, misses once.

Brother Charity climbs off the sofa and sheleleeheheidihgghglbblblwehs it but misses.

Ahleqs, searching for the wisp: “Where is this damn thing… OH GOD THERE IT IS”. He does an Eldritch Blast at it, hitting for a 24, and 9 points of force damage - how-de-do-dis!! He’s so unused to doing dis that he has to think before describing the death. It goes brown and falls to the ground, rattling as if there’s a ball bearing in it.

Charity: “Now this box I picked up. It’s not a box of Summon Will-o’-Wisps?” He makes an Investigation check - a nat 1. He spends a few minutes holding the box and steadfastly refusing to look at it.

Melaina and Tarragon, while moving around the room, have noticed something off about another wall. Melaina investigates with Guidance from Tarragon for a 26 total.

(How poorly is Ahleqs feeling, level 1 poorly or level 2 poorly? Level 1 should do it. Brother Charity healeth his wounds.)

The wall opens to reveal a mounted crossbow - the string has snapped but there is a silver bolt still loaded. On the wall is inscribed, “CAN, DO.”

Here are the words we have so far: WHAT, MIGHT, AND, THIS, TOOL, WITH, CAN, DO.  

Melaina goes for the bolt (it’s shiny) and triggers a pressure plate trap with a nasty acidic fluid that squirts into the room. She makes her CON save and is fine.

Brother Charity takes the bowl and the goodberries. “There’s going to be another will-o’-wisp, isn’t there.”

No, but the DM asks him to explain exactly how he does it. He picks it up, pours the berries into his pocket and sticks the bowl into Brother Carl’s pack. He now has nine goodberries.

Tarragon and Brother Charity investigate the wall and find another room. Tarragon goes in. There is smooth, featureless stone as if mined from a single piece of rock and transported here. On the west wall there is writing: “A soft touch.”

The door slams shut, trapping Tarragon, Ahleqs, and the Brothers inside.

Gideon, outside: “Well - they’re dead. Pub?”

The others can’t hear any noise from inside. All of us inside notice that it’s so quiet we can hear the blood in our ears. Every tiny sound is amplified. We all (inside) roll d100s and then initiative.

Oh no…

Ahleqs begins babbling, incapable of speech or spells. Tarragon has to use her action on each of her turns to attack whoever is nearest. Brother Charity is incapacitated and can only scream, laugh or cry. Brother Carl will do anything anybody tells him as long as it isn’t destructive.

Oh shit.

Ahleqs holds his hands up to cast and babbles some nonsense; nothing happens.

Gideon doesn’t know what to do. He examines the door to see if it’s been locked by magical means. He can sense magic at work on the other side of the door, but nothing on his side.

Tarragon hits Ahleqs but gets a nat 1 - good for him, bad for her. She rolls on the crit fail table and her weapon’s damage is halved until she gets it fixed. Well, balls.

Carl doesn’t do anything because no-one has told him to do anything. Melaina tries to pick the lock - she rolls a 29. DM, laughing: “Fuckin’ hell!” The door is open. Brother Charity screams.

Tarragon rolls another d100 - now she is babbling and can’t cast spells in addition to having to attack whoever is nearest. She attacks Ahleqs again and gets another nat 1. (What the entire shit.)

Carl doesn’t move or do anything. Gideon readies a spell in case anything nasty comes through the door, but wisely, won’t go in. Kessler readies another attack. Ahleqs leaves the room, trying to tell us all to get out, but only nonsense emerges from his mouth.

Melaina doesn’t know what to do. She stands in the doorway and tries an Arcana check on the room. With a 21, she can see there is some kind of magic in this room that causes madness, and the longer a person is exposed the more serious the effect is. She shouts at the Brothers to leave. Now that he has orders, Carl can leave - but Brother Charity is still rolling around screaming, incapacitated.

Tarragon makes a dirty 20 WIS save and the madness passes. She sits in the corner and thinks about what she’s done.

Brother Carl can leave, but he has to roll a d100 and a d10 because he starts his turn inside the room. He must use his action on his round to attack the nearest creature.

(Gideon is up but Ed is not responding. We skip him for now and move on.)

Ahleqs makes his WIS save - his babbling is starting to cease and he can feel the spark of magic returning. Melaina, staring at Brother Charity who is still screaming and rolling around on the floor: “Oh god, I’m going to have to go in and drag him out, aren’t I?”

She makes a STR check to try and drag him out from as close to the door as she can manage, but rolls a 3. Fuck! She leaves.

She didn’t start or end a turn in the room so she doesn’t have to roll, but Brother Charity does - again. Now, he is Frightened of everything. He would be forced to use his action to flee from us all, but he’s already Incapacitated. Instead, any attempts to rescue him will be made at Disadvantage.

Tarragon sheepishly Healing Word’s Ahleqs from across the room, in spite of the fact that she didn’t actually hit him. She moves back toward the door so she can make an attempt at rescuing Charity on her next turn.

Carl punches Melaina with his Gauntlets, but misses. He makes a WIS save - a nat 20! The madness starts to pass.

Gideon moves back a little and readies a spell just in case. Kessler stands watch. Ahleqs’ madness passes. He makes an Insight check, but doesn’t know he was speaking gibberish the whole time, and wonders briefly why no-one responded to his advisements to leave the room. He can move closer to the door, but doesn’t have enough movement to get in and out of the room in one turn to make a rescue attempt. He could assist someone else…?

Melaina will have another go at a rescue. She rolls another 3. Goddammit.

Brother Charity rolls another d100, but he’s been in the room so long that the DM tells him that he’s rolling on a different table now. Then he rolls 3d10; for a total of 8. (Matthew, OOC: “For the next 8 years, you believe yourself to be: a chicken!”)

DM: “This is an odd one.” Oh dear.

Uh oh. Whatever happens doesn’t happen yet, but it will affect him for the next 40 hours. We brace ourselves.

All of us except Kessler and Gideon notice that the terrified screaming has stopped.

Charity believes he is under the effect of a love philtre - the next creature he interacts with, he believes himself Charmed by. Tarragon, not knowing this, makes a rescue attempt.

Oh…

Oh no…

The rescue attempt fails, which is probably just as well from Tarragon’s point of view.

Brother Carl is back to normal now. He can make a rescue attempt if Tarragon lets him through - she does, and he just sort of strides over her, but ploughs through her and knocks her over. She falls prone. Carl manages to rescue Charity, picking him up and carrying him out of the mad room.

Charity approaches Tarragon and gives her an awkward hug; she disentangles herself. He goes for a peck on the cheek. She is utterly weirded out by this and takes a few steps back from him.

Charity, probably to himself: “This is going to mess with my vow of celibacy…”

DM: “Do not dry hump the gnome!”

We take a long rest. 8 of the 40 hours pass…

Nothing happens to disturb our rest. Or - wait… We have to roll something. Carl rolls a d4 on his watch; which passes without incident. Melaina takes second watch and rolls a 4. She makes a perception check. She hears little tiny feet pattering across the stone; then a small blue hand reaches around the doorway.

Brother Carl must pick an item at random in his bag and tell the DM what it is. We’re being robbed by smurfs!

The bowl he recently acquired is lifted in a blue hand. Melaina silently aims her bow at it. She hits, and gets sneak attack damage. Melaina: “That hand’s coming off.”

The owner of the hand screeches, but doesn’t let go of the bowl. What does she want to do?

“Oh… fuck it, I’ll fight it.”

Ahleqs and Tarragon awaken at the shriek. There are more blue goblinoids outside the room. Initiative!

Another hand comes around the corner and pinches something else from the still sleeping Brother Carl - this time it gets a dragon chess set. Since he’s just been robbed again, Carl makes another perception check - at disadvantage because he’s asleep. He fails and continues to snore.

Tarragon Thorn Whips the closest one and kills it - she shouts at the goblinoids to give back what they stole, giving the others another chance to wake - at disadvantage. Since it is the voice of his one true love, Charity makes a straight check. He fails, but he is having an awkward dream.

Melaina and Tarragon get a good look at the creature as it rifles through Charity’s pockets now. It’s wearing a little tunic that says ‘cleanup crew’. It steals some incense from Charity.

(Ed pops out because he’s exhausted, so Sophie takes over Gideon for him. Not too difficult, as he’s asleep.)

Melaina can’t get out because Stupid Carl is in the way. He is difficult terrain, but she can clamber over him. She does so, using all her movement. She shoots one of the retreating goblinoids in the back with a 24 for 17 damage, knocking him clean off his feet. He is horribly wounded but not dead. He turns and shakes a nasty bony little fist at her. Just your friendly neighbourhood robbin’ bastards.

Ahleqs usually sleeps in the foetal position, so he’s probably prone when he wakes. He does an Eldritch Blast - how de do dis! “It explodes like a wet sack of custard.” Ahleqs looks at his hands, horrified.

Tarragon leaves the room but can’t see anything; she holds a Thorn Whip. Melaina runs after the goblinoids, who have made a break for it. She dashes and finds them, but can’t do anything on her turn now.

Ahleqs goes after them and does an Eldritch Blast. He does 7 damage with his second blast; not quite enough to kill it. “Shall we just let them run away?”

Tarragon dashes but can’t see them. Melaina moves and shoots another one in the back with a natty 20. She does *clears throat*

FORTY ONE POINTS OF DAMAGE.

How-de-do-dis?

“He explodes.”

We retrieve the stolen items from the soup that remains of the goblinoids.

Melaina: “Well, that’s my watch done, I’m going back to bed.”

That’s a good place to call it, so we do.

[lolimnotherelol]

Mightier than a Sword

ooc; starter for @irroche​

A new trend has swept over Garreg Mach in these early autumn days of the Horsebow Moon. Various notes have been springing up around campus. Some claim to be looking for love. Others simply want to yell into the void about a frustrating assignment they’ve been given. And yet others might bemoan the presence of ghosts in the monastery’s halls… The letters are many and varied. The one thing they have in common is the fact they are all anonymous, and there is an implicit understanding that discretion is required to play the game. Will you take up a mystery pen pal?

There was a saying in Fodlan culture that went something along the lines of “practice makes perfect,” Petra recalls, her quill casting slow but deliberate shadows across the smooth parchment set before her. As the evening sun surely sets behind the monastery walls, so too does she come to a close in her letter, holding it before a candle -- its wick by now near the end of its own journey -- so she may read her practiced scrawls.

Her lettering was bold, the words evenly spaced and certainly discernable enough, but would they be understood as she intended them to be? Half an hour later after the letter had been sealed and tucked away hidden in a bushel of flowers within the greenhouse, Petra wonders if this practice would bear any fruit -- whether it would increase her skill in writing or find its way into the hands of a stranger at all.

The letter read as follows:

Dear stranger,

I have come a long way to be able to write this letter tonight -- in more ways than I can explain on one page -- and as such I am determined for my voice to reach you with these words.

Are you well? Have you eaten enough today? Remember to replenish your fluids during training and stretch every morning before starting your day.

As for myself, I find myself doing well enough for the most part. I must admit, however -- lately it is getting harder and harder to focus on the present. I miss home dearly and am seemingly unable to stop my thoughts from returning there. If only my body could catch up to my dreams... I would be far, far away from where I stand today.

Most days the thought of home brings me great pride and joy. On others, plenty of sorrow. On worse days, it fills my heart with a blackness that I fear.

Are you able to understand me? I truly hope so. I have spent too much time, wax, and parchment writing this.

Sincerely,

?

[harlockauxillia30k-blog]

Old Junk part 2

OOC, kind of. This story could actually still be completely canon. Since it has Palanquin, its set somewhere near the end of the pre-heresy crusade. When I penned this the idea of the centauri and harlock himself were both completely raw and unrefined.

2nd centauri star rifles

-grenadier (life guards?)

-better armed/equipped/trained than standard

 ///

‘Still alive, Harlock?’

A portly general waddled over to the captain, bedecked in all the regalia of his station.

Harlock immediately and crisply saluted, then bowed.

“It is an honour you recall this captain’s name, lord.”

“Humpf. Come, the ball is waiting.”

 Harlock walked in and felt immediately, somehow, far too old for this venture. His newly woven fine captains uniform stood in stark contrast to the centuries etched into his gradually thinning features, appearing positively gangly now from so long in space and one too many campaigns without proper logistics. The permenant bags under his eyes chafed somewhat at the application of powders to help conceal them, and he could feel the distant throb of arthritis in the joints of his legs as he watched young officers waltz and weave through the immense ship-board ballroom.

“I order you to enjoy yourself Harlock. Your units performance on Tector IV made it even to the eyes of our Astartes legionaires.”

Harlock casually glanced over at the representative of the lords in question, an Imperial Fist captain by the name of Allonzo Ruiz; his tanned complexion standing out among a throng of spacers.

Harlock nodded at the general. “Many thanks, General Adolfus. I will do that” and in so doing, walked down the spiral staircase. Naturally, at the sight of a medal, or upon seeing him discuss with the general, a fair maiden struck like a knife towards him, glimmering in a gold dress which featured miraculously expensive ‘spirit-weave’ that appeared perpentually caught up in an astral wind as sashes and the like twirled about her slowly.

“My lady…” Harlock said, tipping an invisible hat out of reflex, but altering his course to avoid the troublesome woman.

“Good sir, a word please. I couldn’t help but notice your discussion with the general. I do say sir you appear a fine catch for one such as I. Might I offer you a dance? I have heard upon terra it is becoming popular for the women to propose…”

“I’m sure the terran ladies do have experience with such things.” Harlock grumbled, his sharp mind growing dull at the thought of dedicating more time to this harlot.

“Quite. The dance, then?”

The woman took the temporarily distracted captains hand and led him to the ballroom floor. Harlock’s mind fell into a lapse as muscle memory performed a rather adequate waltz, drilled into him by years of training at a young age.

“My name is Vermillion Rose. But you may call me Rosie, if you prefer such low-gothic vernacular.”

“Fascinating.” Harlock twirled her around, and mentally stripped and re-assembled a las-gun.

“…And what is your name, sir?”

Just then, as the song ended, a true hero of the imperium arrived. “Captain Harlock! Good to see you here! The colonel would have a word. And who might this be? What a fine dress my lady! Is it a Saturn design-“

And like that, Major Augustus Greave relieved Harlock of the first of many of tonight’s living mines that so many insisted be called ‘the fairer sex.’

Harlock muttered a not unfeeling ‘thanks for the reinforcement’ toward the charismatic major and sorted himself through the maze of figures dignitaries and officers until he came upon the Astartes captain, and Colonel Tark Palanqin. Harlock immediately saluted, his hawkish features looking every part the model inbred noble hero of the imperium.

“Harlock. Good on you for holding the rearguard. Your name came up in conversation. The Astarte here would have a brief word.” The colonel said, somewhat dismissively. Palanqin was one of several unfortunate political enemies Harlock maintained. Harlock bore no real hatred for the man- giving his company the high risk assignments out of a mission list was one thing, and intentionally trying to kill his own men was quite another thing altogether. It was almost routine at this point, that Harlock’s company would be saddled with the hard assignments. Accepted.

The Astarte nodded, and Harlock immediately saluted.

“Sir.” Harlock said, with arguably as much if not more veneration for the super-soldier than he had mustered for the general, a change noticed even in the timbre of his voice. This man was a marine. Respect was demanded.

“I watched your defense. For common men, it was sturdy.” Captain Ruiz said, sizing up the comparatively toothpick-sized figure before him.

“This humble Auxilliary would know if his battle plan could be improved upon.” Harlock said, with genuine reverence. The Fists knew more about holding ground than anyone else- living or dead. Harlock was a man ever willing to prostrate himself in order to secure knowledge.

“Your right flank lacked sufficient fortification, your soldiers aim and use of suppressive fire was undisciplined, and the formation as a whole was critically understaffed. It was why I was impressed you held. Against such weaknesses, it required good command to hold the lines.”

Ruiz shifted his eyes to the colonel. “Which was why I was curious about the manpower part of the equation.”

The colonel, surprised to be included here, blinked. “Most of it had been evacuated lord.”

Ruiz shook his head. “That particular position demanded two companies of auxillia, or about three squads of Marines to hold competently against possible threats. Had that fort fallen during your retreat into orbit, our enemies could have broken the cordon and assaulted our logistics bases and supply depots- of both the legion and your auxillia. I’ve already written the report on what I witnessed. I merely need a name to pin the possible disaster upon.

Harlock cursed within his mind.

“That would be my fault, sir. I should have requested another company assist in the defense” Harlock said quickly, hoping to diffuse the situation. Such self flaggelation was common practice. It would not due for a nobleman to pass his blame, and moreover, the marine was correct; he should have filed the request. However, doing so would have invariably been countered by Palanqin- so there had been no need to busy himself in such a fashion.

Ruiz raised an eyebrow. “It is strange not to see the both of you attempt to curb responsibility. An honourable trait.”

Ruiz nodded, and apparently satisfied with his answer, turned to leave; his part in this pageantry apparently concluded.

Palanqin stepped forward. “Whatever happens, be it demotion or transfer, I am impressed you held that position, Harlock. You have my thanks for retaining your force strength, I look forward to replacing you.”

The old flame, hate, licked at Harlock’s heart. But he suppressed it with a caustic biting ice of acceptance.

“I suppose so. I shall ready my things and await the Legion’s judgement.”

The next day, an orderly delivered Harlock’s punishment; inclusion in the first wave of the planetary assault of Kell’s Reach. Harlock was quietly puzzled by the honour.

***

 “Five minutes till landfall sir.”

“thank you tech sergeant. The latest?”

“The dropsite is presently secured sir. Astartes drop pods are destabilizing the line. With your arrivial we will be one of the first companies prepared to advance.”

Harlock nodded, and secured his breathing apparatus, covering his eyes, nose, and mouth in a whirring metal and glass contraption.

“Such readiness is naught if it is squandered, Tech-Sergeant. Have the landing force advance. We will catch up in our tardiness.”

“But your security picket sir-“

Harlock turned to regard his technical sergeant, concern and worry clouding his copper skinned brow.

“That’s what you are for, tech-sergeant. My sword.”

Harlock extended a hand to the blade, and the sergeant secured it in harlock’s mag-locked gauntlet.

“Give Lieutenant Veers the opportunity to lead. I am eager to evaluate his progress.”

“Yes, captain. Three minutes now.”

Harlock stood silently as the Sergeant secured himself to a seat harness, as G-forces rocked the vessel. Harlock’s body was only kept upright thanks to tactfully placed mag-boots and the blade of his sword which he wedged into a grate.

Behind him, were the fifteen members of his command staff.  Harlock was unsure about them; all untested and unproven, much like Lieutenant Veers. Both needed a trial by fire, and a planetary invasion was an opportune place. Should failure occur, Harlock would take direct action. Learning exercises for the Imperial Auxillia were always taught in blood.

The landing craft slammed down, and the door opened. Harlock unjammed his blade and stepped out into the crisp, foul air of Kell’s Reach. Around him were the abandoned remains of his company’s landing zone; rough rapidly dug breast works, some sandbags, and simple dirt landing pads. Harlock noted the casualties- both his and of the Kellans, and glanced at the new hole in his uniform, followed immediately by an ear splitting ‘CRACK’.

“SNIPER! ENEMY SNIPER!” Tech Sergeant Dienes screamed, throwing himself behind an embankment to suppress the shooter’s estimated position.

Harlock exhaled, and ducked behind a slab of concrete.

“Tech-sergeant, organize your squad.” Harlock patiently reminded his subordinate, checking the status of his plasma gun. It was a sickness of the immature or stupid not to do so; one risked spontaneous destruction of the gun and the user should simple mechanical adjustments not be made from time to time.

Dienes physically grabbed his corporal, F. Lauzanne, and screamed for accurate rifle fire on grid hilltop 270. The dropship also complimented the present wave of fire by shooting its defense guns at the hill in question, before taking off again; on to another Auxillia unit.

“Tech-sergeant. Don’t abuse the corporal.” Harlock said, and gestured for a vox net caster. Quickly and easily Harlock cycled imperial data net codes, until at last he reached the fleet.

“This is Harlock actual, of the Second Centauri Star Rifles, requesting fire mission, Gunship, over hilltop 270 in sector C, fire for effect.”

A moment passed, and an inhuman voice replied back. “fire mission accepted, the Mechanicum serves in competence.”

Harlock glanced at his command staff and evaluated them. The security members were doing their job rather well. Evidently that hilltop had a number of hostiles upon it, in a bunker perhaps, hidden so as to attack an unwary landing force. Many of the fresh riflemen appeared dreadfully nervous as they fired upon their targets.

“Troop. Remember this feeling- the fear and the exhilaration. That is what the job is all about. Put your fears to rest, and suppress the target, but do conserve your ammunition. Steady alternating accurate rifle fire. I do not want to see long bursts wasted upon dirt.”

Harlock looked directly at Sergeant Dienes, who blinked and offered a slight shrug.

It was around this time the gunship arrived, blasting the hilltop with rocket and bolter fire.

“Now, troop!” Harlock shouted, over the din of the aircraft. “As the emperor did on Terra, we advance into contact. On me. Tech Sergeant, stay close.”

Harlock adopted a brisk jog through the mire of Kell’s Reach. The tracks left by his lieutenant were easy enough to follow. Time to find his company, Harlock thought cooly.

The party of warriors moved through the blasted terrain. On their way, Harlock’s heads up visor spotted several poorly concealed mines.

“No sweepers.” Harlock said under his breath, ticking his tongue in annoyance.

Further along, he discovered the sight of an ambush. It seemed his company had turned it around, but he counted 11 dead warriors of the 2nd Centauri, while only 4 dead Kellans remained. Awful conduct.

It was not long after that the din of rifle fire alerted Harlock and his companions to the remainder of the Company, arrayed behind light cover in a rough battle line, firing against a hidden force behind the ruins of trees.

“Tech-sergeant, the vox amp.”

Dienes handed it while breaking out his magnoculars to get a visual on the enemy as he ducked behind a mud wall.

“Cease fire on the line.”

The company did as ordered, recognizing the voice instantly.

“First Platoon, affix Bayonets!”

A sloppy thirty seconds later this was accomplished. Mentally, Harlock assigned a week of drilling to the entire company as penance.

“First platoon on me. Second and Third, watch the flanks, and await my signal!”

With that, Harlock bounded over the ruins of what was once a muddy retaining wall and dashed toward the shattered trees, first platoon in tow, lead by a certain Lieutenant Veers.

 Harlock nodded at what he found; mostly nothing. In time, a trooper discovered the body of a single sniper.

Immediately he ordered the platoon fan out to search for ambushers, and grabbed Veers by the collar.

“Ive given you the Centauri 2nd’s best, crack rifle unit, and led them into an ambush, then wasted multiple engagements worth of munitions on a single sniper, you ignoramus. I’m taking the first personally. You will be attached as a rifleman under Tech Sergeant Dienes for the duration of this deployment.”

The Lieutenant stammered, then grimaced. “Fething Harlock. House Galm will never forget what you did-“

Harlock lost composure, and violently slapped Veers with the back of his hand, then signalled for a trooper to come over.

“This man is now Corporal Veers, for the duration of this deployment. Take him to Tech Sergeant Dienes, and order a general advance. Congratulate Tech Sergeant Dienes on his field promotion to acting lieutenant of my command staff.”

[halfblood-hallestrom]

new tag dump because I have more tags now

[betrayingcrown]

/ tf is the weird red thing in the corner. also tiny pet peeve below

Okay but im lowkey '???' at ppl who go 'i take a while to decide to follow back so it might take a few weeks' like bestie. this isnt a gov decision to make me wait 14-21 business days for a follow back. I simply follow (back) based simply on vibes

[betrayingcrown]

/ sigh

jesus fuck im trying not to have jousha soured to me as a character because of one person

[betrayingcrown]

/ i shouldn't be this obsessed over barnabas but unfortunately i am

[betrayingcrown]

/ anyway. Like for a starter ig? (Multimuse pls specify which muse)

[betrayingcrown]

/ the way the ages for the rest of tge ffxvi cast were dropped. Cant believe barny is 70 but looks 42

[betrayingcrown]

/ tbd but im so down bad for barnabas its not even fair