#three guesses as to who my patron saint is

[wizzdot]

The Patron Saint of One Way Trips

Ch7

Description: PROGRESS IS MADE!!! Whoop!!! Anyway, Gaz and Soap are briefly sad, little bit more Cap in this one - he is starting to warm up and,as the pack alpha, this is important!! Laika is still very hard on herself, but I think Laswell gives her some words of wisdom. And guess who the pilot is that John stands and chats to the entire heli ride. No other than big Nikolai 🫶🏼 he will feature properly soon but enjoy his little peep into the story in this chapter.

*Laika's POV*

We load up into the jeep. I am quick to claim the same spot that I sat in for the ride here, keen not to have much interaction with the 141 pack. They hadn't really said much since I went and opened my stupid mouth. I feel Gaz shuffle into the seat next to me, too busy distracting myself by looking out of the window. There looks to be nothing for miles. Just trees and snow. You'd die out there in the wilderness my brain laughs. Not that I was thinking of running... I start to wonder where exactly it is we are. I don't even know the location of my cell.. just that we are in Russia. It's cold. I try not to take comfort from Gaz's hoodie. But I'll appreciate it while I still have it.

The jeep lurches forward. I glance up and see that Ghost is at the wheel this time. He bumps it off of the curb and accelerates onto the road, wheels spinning slightly due to the snow. I try to relax. The tension in the car could have been cut by a blunt knife. Even Soap was quietly staring ahead. My eyes betray me, filling with un-shed tears. I watch the scenery pass from the window, trying to blink away the threatening onslaught of tears. It starts to itch. I just know my eyes are red and my face is puffy. Pathetic.

The car ride seems to pass by in a blur, or maybe I passed out, I can't really tell. The next thing I see is a large concrete clearing with a helicopter and a few - three - jeeps, all identical to the one we are in. The snow had been pushed to one side, leaving a huge mound. I stare at it. Ghost hits the brakes and the car slows to a halt. The captain steps from the car and walks toward the first car in the queue of three.

He taps the window and the door slowly opens, revealing a woman. It must be Laswell. The woman who has read my file.I stare at my knees, trying to just dissociate. Johnny jumps from the car, Gaz sliding out after him. It leaves just me in the back - and Ghost behind the wheel. I know that he is staring at me from the rear view mirror, I refuse to move. I hear a tap on my window. I don't react. The door opens slowly. It's the woman.

"Y/N Y/L/N?" she queries. I turn into a statue. My eyes blinking rapidly, trying not to break down. "I'd like you to follow me" she instructs. I resist the urge to whimper in fear. Instead opting to obey. Disobedience will get you punished - my brain helpfully adds. I reach for my seat belt and press the button, releasing it. I turn and step from the car - she holds the door open for me. She leads me to the helicopter and up the ramp. I trail after her with my head down, dejected, as if I was on a tight leash. It's all so loud. The blades of the helicopter spinning, the pounding of my heart and the voice screaming at my inside my brain. It's almost unbearable.

As I make it to the top of the ramp, I see Price talking to the pilot. Gaz and Soap are sitting quietly beside each other. Soap has his head rested on Gaz's shoulder. He looks.. sad? I hear heavy footsteps from behind me. Ghost. He walks past me and sits down beside Soap, leaving a small gap between them. He looks tense. He stares at me, the eye-black around his eyes making him look even scarier to me. I stare back with big, nervous eyes and a trembling lip.

"Y/N, I'm Station Chief Kate Laswell - CIA." She seems to pause, possibly waiting for me to respond. What was I supposed to say? It's nice to meet you? - a few seconds of silence pass before she continues - "Task-force 141 were sent to Siberia with the objective to recover intel from the Russian terrorist group that, as far as I understand, you were an operative asset for, yes?"

Silence

She sighs. "I am a firm believer in justice, Laika" the use of that name snaps me out from my stubborn depressive state but I don't let it show, I remain stoic. Justice. Justice would be death. Me being killed for my crimes. "You cannot go back and change what has happened - but - I strongly suggest that you start here - with me, right now - and you can help change how this ends. What do you think?" My brow furrows. What does she mean? She must notice my confusion because she speaks up again. "I've spoken, at length, with the Captain, and we both believe you are not at fault in all of this. We want to help you Laika. But we cannot help without your cooperation".

I meet her blue eyes for the first time. She smiles at me gently, "what do you say? Will you help me? Help us..?" She gestures over my shoulder. Gaz and Soap are looking over, clearly spectating but as soon as I turn to glance in the direction Laswell had pointed, they snap their heads away and act casual, as if they weren't listening in on the conversation. Ghost looks wholly disinterested, verging on pissed off. The Captain is leant against the wall of the helicopter with his arms crossed. As I meet his eyes, he gives a quick, strangely boyish for a mature Alpha, smile and a sharp nod.

I turn back to Laswell and meet her eyes for only the second time. "What do you need me to do?" I ask quietly, voice cracking slightly. I decide if they want my help, and if they're truly the good guys this time, that I will be there obedient little hell-hound. I will do whatever they ask of me until I die or not needed any longer. This way, I would atone for my sins.

"I need you to help us, you have skills we could use, and I need you to tell me everything that they have done to you. I believe they've been dabbling in war crimes. We need to burn them to the ground. Who better to help us than their own creation? You, Y/N - you were never truly bad, were you? I can tell by your file. There was so many things you did 'wrong' - you were constantly disappointing them, weren't you?"

Wow! I thought I was making progress, now she is just slating me for how useless I am.. What the fuck?

"Disappointing them with your good nature and persistent resistance to orders - even when drugged. Disappointing them by somehow surviving every single one of the suicide missions they sent you on. You were never their asset. Never willing to comply. I know what they did to you. I'm not sure if you will remember more once the drugs have left your system - but you are strong. Stronger than you think."

Oh.. OH - It was a compliment. I feel lighter. My heart warms me from the inside. I realise that this is the first time I have felt my own warmth. Independent warmth. It's coming from me. I feel real again. Probably only fleetingly, but it's nice while it lasts, huh?

The captain suddenly appears beside me. I nervously side-eye him. "You in?" he grumbles, his raspy voice cutting through me like a knife. I nod hesitantly. "Words please. Need you to say it." He smiles again. "I'm in" ... "Captain" I add afterwords. He pats my shoulder twice, gently. "Kate will fill in your paperwork, answer her questions, it won't take long. Go and sit with the boys. We are about to take off". I nod and move to where I'd been told to sit. I step around Ghost, and sit a seat's space away from Gaz and Soap. I buckle my seat belt and rest my head back against the wall, breathing deeply.

*Gaz's POV*

I'd walked back into the safe-house just as Laika was trauma dumping details of some sort of mission to Johnny. Cap and Simon were already listening in. Nosy fuckers! Cap lifts a finger to his mouth, as if to say 'shhh' and then nods his head to the side toward Laika and Johnny. I'm not sure how this had happened. I'd left her waiting at the door just five minutes ago. What the fuck?

But jesus, her memory of that mission was bad. I'd been through lots of shit during my time, but it sounds as if she has just been through trauma after trauma. I want to step into the room and wrap her in a hug and keep her away from the rest of the world. I would never hurt her like that. Somehow, Johnny seemed to be doing an alright job of keeping her from fully losing it.

When she finishes and looks up at us, I have nothing to say. My heart aches for her. I was literally rooted to the spot. Everything happens quickly after that. Cap tells us to load up and get on the road. I feel a small flame of hope when Laika moves to my side of the car thinking she wanted to sit next to me, but instead she was avoiding me for the entire drive. She didn't look at me once. She didn't even move when Soap and I slid out of the car once we had arrived. We must have broken her trust by listening in when she was venting to Soap. Or she just didn't want us near her. I felt ashamed of myself.

I can tell Soap feels the same way. We go to the heli and sit down, stewing in each others' moods. We'd fucked up. Big time.

*Soap's POV*

She was pissed at me. I shouldn't have pushed her to spill her secrets. Stupit' bastard that I am. And to make it worse, they'd all listened. I was too caught up in her, to even realise that my pack had collected at the doorway. Poor lass was heartbroken. She ignored us and went back into her bubble, refused to even look at us.. We'd well and truly fucked it.

Gaz and I had discussed it and decided to not push her again until she approached us first. Gaz said it was something along the lines of letting her 'take back control'. I'm not a patient man, but I will try my best to behave.

*John's POV*

I'd sat up all night reading the parts of her file that Kate had sent over. Simon disappeared for twenty, or so, minutes saying he thought he had heard something. Wasn't until we'd practically surrounded the poor lass in the living room this morning that Ghost accused her of looking for something that wasn't hers. Turns out it was a fucking hanky. She had nothing left but a hanky and she had left it in Gaz's jacket. I needed to speak to Kate about her. She was no terrorist. Not in my book.

When I came downstairs with my bag, ready to leave, I heard her weeping to Johnny. My grip on the door frame had started to splinter, drawing blood from my hand. I was angry. Not at her. Never at her. But at what they'd put her through. The file didn't go into this sort of detail. I had an idea. I asked Simon to drive - deciding that my time was better spent messaging Kate. I had had an idea.

When we arrived, I made sure that I was the first to greet Kate, away from the others. "Go easy on her, Kate. She's sensitive. Needs fixed up.. she's been put through the mill with those bastards". Kate nodded and promised to go steady on her and agreed to my plan. I'd asked Kate if Laika could temporarily join us at our base to help us learn about the Russian's - their habits and weaknesses. Kate agreed that she could be valuable. I nod, but behind the 'Captain' persona, there was different reason - I want to keep her safe. She needs a bit of help right now. And the boys seem to like her.

*Simon's POV*

I had listened to the asset's little chat that she had with Johnny. Sure, she'd been through some shit, but haven't we all?

I could see the cogs turning in Cap's brain. The Captain has a habit of finding strays. Hopefully this one doesn't stay for long. Let's just hope they are right about her and she doesn't turn out to be a rat.

I was pissed off that Johnny clearly liked her. I wanted to get back to base, have a cuppa and read a book. Switch off for a few hours. But this - this was a disaster waiting to happen.

*Laika's (Y/N's) POV*

Laswell stands across from me as the heli lifts into the sky, she holds one of the straps that hang from the ceiling. Gaz and Soap are looking excitedly between the two of us. Laswell waves a clipboard. "Few questions, then I'll leave you alone. Promise" she jokes. I nod, "You can leave some of these out if you don't know the answers - we will run tests when you settle in at base, but answer what you can please". I nod again, but this time mutter "ok".

"Name?" - "Y/N Y/L/N or Laika"

"Address? - we'll leave that blank for now, Birthplace? -" I intterupt, telling Laswell my place of birth before she left that section blank too.

"Presentation" - "Don't know.. but probably Beta" She nods at my answer.

She continues asking similar questions, like date of birth, blood type, medical conditions and so on and so forth.

She then flips to the other side of the paper, which concentrates more on military training and active duty history. "I think that will do for now. John will test your fitness once you've settled in. It'll be tests like a five kilometer run, target practice and hand to hand combat - just so he can decide how best to use your skills. Does that sound ok to you?" - "Yes ma'am" I reply.

"Just Kate is fine - and Laika, or Y/N I should say.. Welcome! Any issues, you know where to reach me" she smiles and extends her hand for a handshake. I shake it nervously, breaking eye contact. She then offers me a padded envelope. I take the envelope and she immediately turns away and walks towards where the Captain is standing, behind the pilot.

I slump back into my seat and open the envelope. It's a phone! I switch it on, using the pass code Laswell had included inside the envelope to unlock it. It has the SAS symbol on the lock screen, and a few contacts already entered. Captain John Price, Sgt Kyle Garrick, Sgt John MacTavish and L.T Ghost. Shit, was that his real name?!.

I can practically feel the desperation of the two Sergeants sitting next to me. Since when did they get shy? I think to myself. I decide to be brave, now that we were to work together. I look at them both and they immediately smile, hopefully. What are they hopeful for?! I am confused.

"uhm.. sorry if" - "WE'RE SORRY" they both near enough shout in unison, cutting me off. "Wh-what?" I ask, completely confused.

"We upset you, we didn't mean it.. forgive us?"

"You didn't upse- what??" I shake my head, trying to collect my thoughts "I thought you hated me after hearing how I'd killed the young bo-" - "NO!! That's not... no.. we shouldn't have listened in.." Gaz explains. "And I shouldn't have kept pushin' ya to tell me everything.. Sorry Lass.." Soap apologises.

"Can we stop with all this bullshit and shut the fuck up." Ghost huffs, halting the back and forth conversation about who was the most sorry. Helpful as ever.

Gaz and Soap smile at me and Soap taps the seat that remains unoccupied beside them. I shuffle over from my seat to sit next to them. Soap immediately puts his arm around me and pulls me closer.

"Mmm, still smell of Tobacco, lass.. You'll be driving Cap crazy walking about like that ya' ken?"

WAIT WHAT???!

[themetaphorgirl]

the Lockwood & Co tag on twitter today is about Arif, so I figured I would share a snippet from a fic I started a while back!

(I’ll post more things soon, including a Patron Saint chapter that’s in progress- it’s just that on top of everything else we just found out our landlord is selling our house and we have to move, which is…a lot! I’m big stressed! but I’m trying to write!)

———

The bell over the door jangled merrily as it opened and a light breeze ruffled the “grand opening” banner hanging overhead. “Hello, welcome!” he called from behind the register.

A little girl zipped ahead of her family and made a beeline for the candy display. “Ooh, Daddy, look!” she chirped, gazing at the jars of lollipops and taffy.

Her father held the door open as he ushered his wife inside. “Just a second, Jessa,” he laughed. “Wait for us to catch up.”

“Oh, it’s lovely in here,” the wife said. She had a blue and white striped baby sling crossed over her chest and she absently patted her baby’s back as she looked around. “Imagine, just a few months ago this was a taxidermist’s shop. This is…this is a drastic improvement.”

“Fewer things staring at you from the window,” her husband agreed.

He grinned. “Glad to hear it,” he said. He held out his hand. “I’m Arif, nice to meet you.”

“Donald Lockwood,” the young man said, shaking his hand firmly. He was in his thirties, tall and thin, and a pair of silver glasses perched on his nose. “This is my wife, Celia, and our daughter-”

The little girl ran over to them. “Hello!” she said, holding onto the edge of the counter and raising herself up on her tiptoes to be seen. “I’m Jessica Lockwood, I’m six years old, my favorite color is pink. What’s your favorite color?”

Arif blinked. “Um…green, I suppose,” he said. “That’s not a question I’m asked often.” He grinned. “But I could have guessed your favorite color.”

Jessica beamed at him. She was dressed in a pink romper and a pink floral shirt, with pink socks and a pink ribbon tied in her dark hair. “I’m awfully fond of pink,” she said. “My bicycle is pink, I rode my bicycle all the way here.”

“We live a few blocks over on Portland Row,” Donald explained. “It was a nice evening and we thought we’d take a walk before curfew.” He ran his hand lightly over Jessica’s hair. “Especially since this one has been so patient waiting for us to take her out on her bike.”

“We’ve been busy because we have a baby now!” Jessica said. She ran over to her mother, who was wandering around the shop looking at the shelves. “Mummy?”

“What, my darling?”

“I want to show Mr. Arif our baby!”

Celia Lockwood laughed and walked over to the counter. She was shorter than her husband but still rather tall and willowy; her long dark hair was tied in a loose braid down her back and her dark brown eyes were identical to her daughter’s. “Sorry, I got a bit distracted,” she said. She drew the edge of the wrap back. “Here he is, although I’m afraid he’s fast asleep right now.”

“That’s Ani,” Jessica informed him.

“It’s Anthony, actually, but we didn’t factor in a six year old’s inability to pronounce that name properly when we made that decision,” Donald said with a proud smile.

“Well, hello, Anthony,” Arif said to the sleeping baby. “How old is he?”

“Three months,” Celia said proudly. She ran her fingertips lightly over the soft dusting of dark hair on the baby’s head. “It’s been a bit of an adjustment getting used to having two children in the house, but Jessica’s been an angel.”

Arif crossed his arms and leaned on the counter. “Oh, so you’ve been a very good big sister?” he asked Jessica. She nodded solemnly. “Well, very good big sisters deserve treats.”

He went over to the bakery caseline and took out a vanilla cupcake topped in pink strawberry frosting. Jessica’s eyes went owlishly round. “Oh!” she said. “Thank you!”

Donald picked her up and set her on his hip so she could see better. “That looks like it was made for you,” he laughed. He kissed her cheek, then wrapped his arm around Celia’s waist. “Here, you pick out something too, dearest.”

“Ooh, there’s too many options,” Celia said. “Everything looks so good. Do you make everything yourself, Arif?”

“My wife and I do, yes,” he said. “We’ve been trying to open a shop of our own for years.”

“Well, I have a feeling we’ll be giving you a lot of business,” Celia said.

She ended up choosing a slab of shortbread glazed with caramel and Donald picked a slice of German chocolate cake, and Arif packaged everything up as neatly as he could. “Mummy, what about the baby?” Jessica said. “He needs something too.”

“Not yet, darling, he’s still too little,” Celia said. “He needs to be a bit older.”

Arif rang them up for the cake and the shortbread, but he stopped Donald’s arguments before he could get started. “The cupcake is on me,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it.”

Nevertheless Arif caught Donald dropping several bills into the tip jar on the counter before he picked up the box, much more than the cost of the cupcake, but even if he hadn’t it was worth it to hear Jessica chattering happily to her parents about how excited she was. Through the window he could see her clambering onto her little pink bicycle; her parents followed behind her hand-in-hand, Donald holding the bakery box and Celia patting her sleeping son’s back.

“Nice family,” Arif said aloud to himself as he cleaned imaginary crumbs off his brand new countertop. “Very nice family, hope I see them again soon.”

[cowboyfromh3ll]

Ameliorate

(John Marston x Fem! Reader smut)

Warnings: none besides smut

I decided my first actual post would be John Marston related because I love him and he's my babygirl 🩷 (he is my favorite)

There was nothing pleasant about Saint Denis. At least not to John. As soon as he walked in, the city seemed to burst around him. It was the rousing hub of Lemoyne, teetering on the edge of pleasurable and wild. Stone paved streets, Victorian homes, large gated manors and estates occupied by industry magnates and crime lords putting on ornate facades. Flashy shops, extravagant theaters, lush parks, and bars in abundance. The crowds overwhelming, smells shocking; The miasma and smog of industrial factories, petrol, gas, horse dung, and somewhere in the mix was the smoky scent of restaurants.

It seemed as though Saint Denis was the only place where the wealthy and thieves alike could coincide. He could at least fit in somewhere in the equation. He would’ve never imagined himself ending up in a place like this. In fact, he preferred staying away from all this ‘civilization’, as Arthur once said. If it weren’t for the fact that the gang had been practically forced to move further east, he would’ve never come here to begin with. But alas, with more and more threats coming to the gang, John found himself here. He figured he might as well familiarize himself with the city, opting to go out on his own.

But one thing about Lemoyne, was that the heat and humidity was like being punched in the face by a sauna. John knew of the heat here, but the crowds and atmosphere only seemed to make it worse. He hadn’t even been out long and he was sweating his ass off.

John walked towards one of the many bars with the intention of cooling off, unfortunately finding himself surrounded by people of obvious higher social standing than him. He had never been one to put too much thought into his appearance, but the stark difference between his simple beige vest and dirt stained jeans to the three piece suits and sumptuous fabrics of silk lined dresses of the patrons was jarring. For a moment, he actually looked down at himself, making a subtle attempt at dusting himself off before walking further in.

He approached the expansive wooden bar and sat himself on a polished leather stool, clearing his throat awkwardly to get the bar tender’s attention. He had never felt more out of place in his life. But on the bright side, maybe he’d be able to get some sort of lead here, as risky as that was. He ordered himself a whisky, but he was surprised to discover this place also served as a restaurant.

John hadn’t even picked his whisky up, too preoccupied with the several dishes whose names he had never even heard of before on his menu; eventually deciding on lobster bisque, something he had never tried.

As he was about to hand the menu back, a sly little vixen slid onto the stool next to him.

“Make it another whisky, and a plate of beignets.”

John could barely register the add-ons to his order as he became aware of your presence next to where he sat. You had an endearing yet mischievous look in your eyes that’d made John second guess every interaction he’d have with you. You wore fashion typical of rich folk around here. Wide frilled skirt with a tightly fitted corset hugging and accentuating your figure. Your decorative accessories alone were probably worth more than anything he had in his satchel.

“Excuse me?” He finally said.

“You’re excused.” You chimed playfully, picking a beignet off the plate that was served before you. John could only wonder how entitled and stuck up this complete stranger must’ve been to order things for themselves under his tab.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He narrowed his eyes.

“I’m not doing anything. You’re the one who’s treating me!” You batted your lashes.

John swore to himself, attempting to restrain himself in fear of causing a scene. Especially when he was already calling so much attention to himself by simply existing there.

Normally, John wouldn’t have the patience to entertain someone so upfront and entitled in such a calm manner, but he’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t attracted to you. Your features were downright angelic, your wealth obvious not only in how you dressed but how you took care of yourself. Your strongly scented shampoo and perfume wafting to him and intoxicating him like some sort of spell.

“So what’s an angel face like you doing chatting up a complete stranger like me?” He asked, sipping his whisky. You couldn’t help but giggle.

“‘Dunno, you looked interesting. Way different from all the guys ‘round here.” You responded. John wasn’t sure whether or not to take it in a good way considering the state of his appearance. But you found the roughness of his features so attractive. You couldn’t help but find yourself chatting him up. What you intended to do, he wasn’t sure, but he wanted to see where this could go.

“Shouldn’t you be talking up some rich boy?” He asked through a mouthful of lobster. You shook your head.

“They’re so boring. I’m looking for someone more… fun.” You punctuated your sentence by rubbing your leg next to his. John swore he heard himself gulp as he watched you bite into another beignet, the powdered sugar cascading down your plump lips and onto your shirt. He didn’t falter for a moment though, wanting to return the same energy. He would do anything to not let this moment slip from his fingers; it was like whistling on a hunt for a rabbit that would run away if one didn’t go in for the kill.

“Well I don’t know what you initially saw in me but I could give you something worth your while.” He smirked. He dipped his thumb in the powdered sugar, moving to cup your cheek with the same hand. He smoothed over your cheek, feeling the supple and soft skin. As he expected, you turned your head in his hand, taking the sugar coated thumb into your mouth and sucking ever so slightly. The inside of your mouth was as soft as satin and as warm as a freshly fried beignet. John could hardly breathe as he watched you lap at the thumb lasciviously, far longer than necessary. He finally retracted his hand, watching the way you momentarily chased the touch before settling back into your seat. He felt the blood drain out of his brain and into his dick as his mind blanked on what to do.

You noticed the effect you had on him, flashing a toothy smile. He became encapsulated by your plump lips, eyes lingering on them for too long. He jerked suddenly when he felt your hand slide up his thigh, just shy of a few inches from his cock.

John could hardly remember how he got into a room upstairs with you, his mind veiled with a fog of lust so thick, it was comparable to the fog of the bayous. The two of you were all over each other the instant you made it into the room. His hand found its way to the back of your neck, yanking your forward so your lips could meet. Your lips molded together like clay as you both parted your mouths almost in unison, a beautiful display of like-minded desperation. Teeth clashed and tongues slid up against each other, and you made sure to suck on his tongue as he moved back slightly.

You both tasted the whiskey on each other’s tongues, and you made a note of the taste of cigarette smoke on his. He moved back to look at you, cupping your face again like he did before, instead this time he moved to slide two fingers past your lips. You accepted them ceremoniously, wrapping your lips around them and looking at him through your eye lashes. His dick twitched against his jeans as he watched your head bob down slightly on his fingers, the digits disappearing into your velvety mouth. He gasped softly, almost moaning, and he willed himself to slide his fingers in as far as he could into your mouth. John nearly jumped for joy when he realized you didn’t gag, no matter how far down he pushed.

He began thrusting his fingers In and out of your mouth, enjoying the slick sound coming from your throat. John swore he could get off on that alone. But how could he pass up the opportunity to take up a treat such as yourself who was practically presenting themselves on a golden platter to him.

John pulled his fingers out slowly to observe the strand of saliva that connected him to your sweet pink gullet. John’s cock was so hard he thought it might burst, and in another moment of animalistic desire, he pushed you onto the bed, crawling on top. You giggled at his assertiveness, and you thought to yourself how you found exactly what you were looking for.

The two of you sat up, clumsily undoing his belt together. Once you heard the satisfying click of his belt coming undone, your lithe hands worked his zipper open and pulled down his pants. You hooked your fingers on his drawers and pulled, the underwear hitching on his erection before slipping completely over it. You buried your face next to his cock, and at once you were enveloped in the scent of sweat, unruly black curls brushing against your cheek and nose, and the soft skin of his throbbing cock against your face. You looked up at him as you grasped his cock with one hand, slapping it against your cheek playfully before opening your mouth and repeating the same ministration on your tongue. John let out a guttural moan, intertwining his fingers through your hair.

His eyes nearly popped out of his skull as he watched you envelope his cock whole in one go. The sounds he let out were downright embarrassing. The feeling of wet muscles sliding over his cock was almost too much to bear, and you felt his fingers tighten in your hair.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart…” He gasped, a pathetic attempt at composing himself.

You pulled your head back up, slowly, making sure to see the way his face contorted as you hollowed your cheeks. After watching you repeat this same ministration a few more times, the fondness of orgasm began to lurk up behind John. His body trembled almost uncontrollably, and he found himself pushing your head down, holding you there. The tip of his cock slid deeper into your throat, which seems to contract and close around him. There was a sick enjoyment he got out of watching your nose buried in his curls as you sputtered for breath. He pulled you off before it became too much for you, allowing you a moment to breathe. Several strings of saliva connected you to him, some breaking and drooling down your chin. He pushed his cock up against your lips, using his free hand to slap you on the cheek a little.

“I never got your name sweetheart.” He said.

You had to move your face slightly to the side to answer.

“(name).” You responded.

“Well I’m John sweetheart, now let’s get you out of those clothes.”

[pagodazz]

idk if youve been asked this before, but id love to hear any songs you might associate with vinvan or vinbit? i plan on rewatching the series soon and i need music to rotate them in my mind to.

okay omg so I literally have like a hundred playlists for them but I'll show u my mains and I'll give a few specific songs

Mind you I've had these for like 2 years now so don't judge me TOO BAD FOR MY SONGS... I've gone through many phases

okay so I actually am putting alot of song recs so I'm adding this so I'm not annoying

For Vinnie and habit I'm gonna start you off with something crazy...

Want you gone from the portal game BRO CHELL AND GLADOS ARE LITERALLY VINBIT CODED YOU DONT EVEN KNOWWWW. this song was in my top 3 in my Spotify wrapped HELP so...

Some rotten man by the taxpayers, that one has a later vinbit feel to me. Like idk, their more domestic period. It's from Habit's pov to me bc "I know I must've been your bad habit." I also really like the "Because the ring I got you wouldn't fit," because in my hc habit got vinnie the ring he messes with in threes company.

Corrupting my better half By Harley poe

June 10th by My ruin. Just the vibe is full of infatuation and want and it's so OUGHHHDHDH man... it's so them to me you don't even KNOW.... and especially the lyrics.. just think about it and you'll get it... It's from Vinnie's pov ofc

I've got a lot of habit pov idk why.... ...

Guys eyes By Animal Collective

The world we knew (over and over) By frank Sinatra

Guess who by Screamin' Jay Hawkins

You Made Me Love You (I Didn't Wanna Do It) By Screamin' Jay Hawkins

The purple bottle by Animal collective

Might just tell you tonight By the Scissor sisters

4° By TOOL

Can't help myself by Feline (Vinnie pov)

Angel By That dog

Gagged and Tied By That dog

Wolf By Veruca Salt

Vinvan:

Alot are kinda from Evans pov but I think it'll be obvious who's who

Good loving outside by Animal collective

Pure morning by placebo

Even an ugly man By Hawksley workman

Fake plastic trees By Radiohead, Now yes this is so Vinnie about Evan but have you ever thought about this being Evan looking at Vinnie and thinking of Steph and being like "I won't do what I did ever again." yk? yk.

Bang on the doldrums by Fall out boy

I've got all this ringing in my ear and none on my fingers by Fall out boy

The patron saint of liars and fakes By Fall out boy

sunset in reverse By ribbon fix

Sweet by Cigarettes after sex

Sad prayers for guilty bodies By La dispute

Burden In My Hand By Soundgarden

God Machine By Acid Bath

I Wanna Be Your Dog 2 By AJJ

I could always eat your brain by Harley poe

Sorry By crazy town

Not your fault by awolnation

-----------

bonus extra playlists

[sgtmickeyslaughter]

FICTIONAL WORLD TAG GAME

thanks for tagging me @energievie

---

favorite fictional character from a movie? maybe Winona ryder in girl, interrupted. or Winona ryder in heathers, or Winona ryder in Edward scissor hands, or Winona ryder in -

favorite fictional character from tv? I guess I'll say Mickey Milkovich, even though the real answer might be Carmela Soprano

favorite fictional character of all time? Castiel, he's been my favorite for years even when I've hated supernatural. he might be the angel of thursdays but he's the patron saint of Weird Hot Girls™️

if you could be irl friends with any three fictional characters, who? Veronica from shameless, Dale cooper from Twin peaks, and Charlotte from sex and the city

favorite fictional couple: Gallavich hands down

okay, you can only choose one fictional character to get stranded on and island with: Dana scully from the x files

one fictional world you would hate to be a part of: anything scifi tbh, esp an environment thats very sterile

one fictional world you would love to be a part of: whatever worlds hayao miyazaki is coming up with

your “HEAR ME OUT” fictional couple: I know no one on here will need to hear me out on this, but Kandy i love them so much someday ill write a kandy fic i promise just you wait

and finally, something you’re looking forward to this week?

weathers great, im spending a lot of time with friends and i have a new watercolor set coming this week, life's pretty good

tagging @mmmichyyy @mybrainismelted @mickeym4ndy @mickittotheman @em-harlsnow @spookygingerr @creepkinginc @softmick and anyone else who wants to play and tag me

[the-starless-reader]

Death by a Thousand... Stars?

I've been going through my notes on Siege and Storm, and one particular detail stood out. It's an excerpt from the prologue:

[...] they stood together on deck, picking out constellations from the vast spill of stars: the Hunter, the Scholar, the Three Foolish Sons, the bright spokes of the Spinning Wheel, the Southern Palace with its six crooked spires.

The note says: Double-check the constellations! Alina's bedchamber has a star-speckled dressing screen! The Darkling's bedchamber has constellations on the ceiling!

And then I remembered my notes on Ruin and Rising. And guess what? The monastery of Sankt Demyan, otherwise known as the Spinning Wheel, was turned into an observatory 'a few hundred years ago'. Double-check the constellations!

[...] the bronze columns were constellations—the Hunter with his drawn bow, the Scholar bent in study, the Three Foolish Sons, huddled together, trying to share a single coat. The Bursar, the Bear, the Beggar. The Shorn Maiden wielding her bone needle. Twelve in all: the spokes of the Spinning Wheel.

It's been abandoned 'for over a century'. This version of the Darkling is approximately 120 years old. Coincidence? I think not. Sugar had been rationed in Ravka for the last hundred years, which can only mean that the current war had started around the same time he'd made himself known again.

But what about the monastery? I think that the Darkling was the one who'd turned it into an observatory. My only proof is a tale found in The Language of Thorns. It's a story about his half-sister Ulla, titled When Water Sang Fire. Our Youngling was the seer's apprentice in the lost city of Söndermane, a scholar cloistered in the Prophetic’s Tower. A stargazer!

At each level the apprentice named another subject: history, augury, geography, mathematics, alchemy. Ulla hoped they’d wind all the way to the top of the tower, where she knew they’d find the famous observatory.

However, stargazing wasn't his only preoccupation there. But we'll come back to that later. Double-check the constellations! Let's get back to the twelve spokes of the Spinning Wheel.

The Hunter with his drawn bow? That's Sankt Petyr, with his still-burning arrows. The Scholar bent in study must be Sankt Dimitri. The Bear is obviously Sankt Grigori. The Shorn Maiden wielding her bone needle is probably Sankta Vasilka, the first firebird.

What about the others? Thirteen Saints were shown on the massive triptych behind the altar in the original Lantsov chapel, where the first Ravkan kings were crowned. Thirteen Saints were featured in the original version of the Istorii Sankt’ya. But there are only twelve spokes, twelve constellations. Who's the odd one out?

Sankt Demyan is most certainly not, and here's why.

According to The Lives of Saints, the site of Sankt Demyan's death is the tallest mountain in the Elbjen. He was the nobleman who owned the land upon which a cemetery stood; and when the birches started to obscure the path, he had his servants cut a new one. When the rains came to disturb the cemetery, Demyan designed the aqueduct around the graveyard, diverting the water to irrigate the fields. But the people still complained.

He was desperate to please them. He asked the Saints to raise the cemetery up to the sun itself, so it would no longer be obscured by the shade of his previous creations.

He laid his hands upon the soil, and the earth began to shake. The ground rose higher and higher, until the highest mountain was made. The cemetery was intact, but his own family crypt was broken. The people accused Demyan of disrespecting his family name by using dark magic, and the angry mob stoned him to death. He became known as the patron saint of the newly dead.

Sankt Demyan's miracle was the creation of the highest mountain in the northern Sikurzoi.

But why is this important? Because the Sikurzoi mountains cover most of Ravka's eastern and southern border with Shu Han. And the Spinning Wheel is located in the Elbjen, which is the Fjerdan name for the northern range of Sikurzoi. More so, it's the place the first firebird came from. And that firebird is Ravka.

But what if I tell you that the first Taban queens also come from the highest mountains of the Sikurzoi range? The palace of the Taban dynasty has the Court of the Golden Wing. You know who else has golden wings? Sankta Vasilka, the first firebird.

It's said that the borders of Ravka were sketched by the firebird's flight. Its rivers run with the firebird's tears. And when one of her feathers fell to earth, the young warrior picked it up and carried it into battle. No one could defeat him, and so he became the first king of Ravka.

But where are the stars? The old Taban queen resides in the place called the Palace of Thousand Stars. Even before the first Taban queens have come to their rule, Sankta Neyar was already one of the Six Soldiers, the sacred protectors of the Shu Han.

Remember the constellations? The Southern Palace and its six crooked spires? The Spinning Wheel? It's all there, written in the stars.

And the Starless Saint knows that.

His bedchamber is built on a hexagonal plan, like the temples of Ahmrat Jen. His dark wood walls are carved into the illusion of a forest crowded with slender trees. The birch trees, like the ones growing around the cemetery. He almost died there, once.

Demon in the wood. Demyan in the wood.

The domed ceiling above his bed is spangled with chips of mother-of-pearl laid in constellations, to create the illusion of the Spinning Wheel. The ebony screen in Alina's bedchamber is speckled with mother-of-pearl stars, too. It was probably brought from his rooms, as only his chambers are furnished in ebony.

It's death by a thousand stars...

[stagkingswife]

You are the patron saint of peacful respite because of your spiritual shelter and psychopomp work

It said anons, so three guesses who I am :)

Given that you said in Discord you were going through and ordaining everyone saints, I would be shocked if this wasn’t Rowan.

But I will happily give this my patronage!

[jodellejournals]

here comes the bride!

not me — not yet. today, after work, i decided to go to the saint clement’s church. it’s the nearest church from home. i know it’s a saturday but churches are not only for sundays, right? so i went alone and upon entering its castle-like gates, i noticed that there were too many people in it. could not be a sunday mass. then i heard soft music. i saw gentlemen and ladies clad in their barongs and gowns in green motif. ah, a wedding! as a little girl (and even until now), weddings fascinate me a lot. it’s a union of two people who love each other unconditionally and a start of their happily ever after. i took a few more steps and a cameraman in his element comes into view — but wait, there is an even better view. i looked where the cameraman is pointing his camera and the bridal car came into sight. i looked even more closely and saw the beautiful silhouette of the bride from her veil, tiara, and the side view of her face. she must be the fairest of them all. it’s her special day, after all.

i entered from the side door of the church. i then kneeled on the pew and said my prayers all while the people were busy preparing at the main entrance. after which, i proceeded to a room full of saints on the side of the church where you can light candles there and say your petitions. so i lighted three candles with each respective petition and walked in front of saint jude’s replica. he is my patron saint. praying his novena never ever fails, like, ever. i suggest that you ask for his intercession if you wish for your prayer to be granted. oh, it’s such an honor to be named after him. yes, i was supposed to be named jude but since my mother found out that i was a girl, i was named jodelle instead.

i then came out of the room to see that the bridal car has now moved forward just outside the church’s main entrance. i guess this is it. the moment everyone’s been waiting for. just a few minutes before she walks the most important walk of her life as a woman who wished to be married and finally say her precious “i do!”. how romantic. *swoons in a very girlishyly way* just like the movies. but of course, i did not witness it because i was hurrying up to go home, watch my favorite show, and have some much needed me-time. so before i walked away, i looked inside the bridal car and wished the unknown bride to me a happy married life — from one woman to another — from one human to another. nothing wrong with wishing people well, right? the world needs more of it.

as i crossed the street and walked on the side walks, i heard a romantic song playing. can this day get any more romantic? it’s ‘from this moment’ by shania twain if i am not mistaken.

from this moment, life has begun from this moment, you are the one right beside you is where i belong from this moment on.....

here’s to happy ever afters. here’s to true, unconditional, steady love. here’s to knowing that one day, i am going to find mine — and i know it will be forever.

[impala-dreamer]

We're All Irish Tonight

An SPN Fanfic

~Dean has been pining for Y/N for months now, and he thinks tonight might be the night things finally get going...~

Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester, OCs

1344 Words

Warnings: Jealous!Dean, BAMF!Reader, Fluff. Drinking

A/N: Thought you could all use a fluffy drabble today so I banged this out for ya. Happy St Patrick's Day!

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The crowd was buzzing with faux Irish pride, only about ten percent of the patrons able to boast any actual connection to the Emerald Isle. But it didn’t matter- tonight, everyone was Irish. The bar was crowded three deep and the trio took turns wading through the sea of drunken green to wave down Chris, the bartender, and order more rounds. 

Y/N was nursing a Guinness like it was poison, but knocking back whiskies like they were the cure. 

“I hate this stuff,” she said behind a hiccup, voice carrying over the throng and across the table to Dean, who was the picture of calm with a thick, foamy mustache. “Tastes like bread!” 

He laughed and licked the head from his lips. “Then why do you keep drinking it?” he yelled back, leaning over the table to get closer to her. 

She shrugged and batted her lashes innocently. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just a dumb floosy at the bar tonight. Besides, everyone’s Irish on Saint Patty’s Day!” 

Seated between them, Sam laughed and rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling for the thousandth time like the third, unwanted wheel on a scooter. “I’ll get you something else when I get back up,” he offered, smiling sweetly at Y/N. 

She was too drunk to really care, but they were having fun. “Nah.” Pushing her chair back, she stood with the pint, downed the rest in one gulp and amazingly did not choke. 

Dean watched her in awe, his green eyes wide, his plump lips gone slack. “Damn.” 

Y/N slammed the empty glass down and cheered. “Whoo! Next one’s on me, boys!” She winked at Dean before turning to the bar and squaring her shoulders, preparing to fight through the noisy masses. 

Dean sat back, staring at her ass as she left. He rubbed his hands down his thighs and whistled with interest. “Ya know, Sammy, tonight might be the night.” 

Sam, having heard this more than a dozen times in the last two months, rolled his eyes and went diving into his beer, hoping to drown or find an escape hatch at the bottom. “Yeah, sure, Dean.” 

“What? You don’t think it’ll happen? Tonight is perfect. Drinks, music, tons of people.” Dean smiled to himself, thinking of the prospects. “Maybe we’ll go for a walk later, find a quiet spot… yada yada… see what happens.” 

There was no help at the bottom of his glass, just a fishbowl view of the grimey table. Sam sighed. “Sure. Just like last week and the week before and that time in Oswego when you were so sure you were gonna hook up. Give it up, Dean. She’s not into you.” 

Dean took it all to heart and slumped down in his chair, crossing his arms. He pouted and then scoffed. “What do you know anyway?” 

Up at the bar, Y/N was waiting for the pints to be drawn, and she herself had drawn some attention from a group of fratboys in various shades of green. One in particular, a blond with pretty blue eyes, was leaning in pretty close, the stench of whiskey and weed on his breath. 

“Come on, baby,” he cooed, pressing himself against Y/N’s shoulder. “You gotta let me pinch you.” 

She spun and lay a playful looking hand on his shoulder while actually pushing him back a step. “Really? And why’s that?” 

He laughed. “Ya ain’t wearin’ green!” 

Y/N licked her lips and gave him another shove backwards. “How do you know?” 

The man ran his hand down her back and moved in again. “I don’t see nothing green on ya, sweetheart.” 

She reeled him in a little closer, whispering. “Well, maybe you just can’t see it over my clothes…”

He sucked in a quick breath through puckered lips and went for it, nearly tumbling over her for a kiss. 

The crack of Y/N’s palm against his cheek rang through the bar like a lightning strike. 

Dean’s head popped up and his eyes narrowed. In an instant, he was at the bar, shoving people aside to get to Y/N.. 

She was standing in the middle of a crowd of morons, one hand on her hip, the other wagging through the air. 

“Don’t you fucking touch a lady without her permission,” she snapped, glaring up at the boy like the Headmistress of a boarding school. 

Blondie got smart and sneered. “I don’t see a lady here,” he barked, arms wide open, looking for a fight. Her handprint bloomed like a rose on his cheek. 

Dean unclenched his fists and his jaw. “Hey! She said back up, buddy.” 

“Who you calling ‘buddy’, pal?” 

“I ain’t your pal,” Dean spat. “And you best take your candy-ass out of here before I paint your other cheek.” 

Dean stepped in, the fratboy countered. Y/N cocked a brow, watching the display. 

The asshole backed down. “Eh, she ain’t worth it anyway.” 

Dean’s shoulders relaxed, but Y/N did not. Stepping between them, she cracked her fist against his other jaw, nearly knocking him over. 

“I am too worth it, ya jackass!”

Sadly, Chris had no choice but to kick Y/N out of the bar, and Dean found her moments later, walking towards home in the chilly night air. Her arms were wrapped around her middle and she walked slowly, kicking at the sidewalk. 

Dean shrugged off his jacket and hung it over her shoulders, startling her a bit. 

“Oh! Hey…” 

He smiled and stepped in front of her to close the top button lest the jacket fall off. She looked terribly small and precious in his oversized coat; too precious to be walking home alone by herself. 

“Ya left without us,” he said, hoping to get a laugh. 

She sighed instead. “Yeah, well… I didn’t want to ruin your night out. Not anymore than I already did, anyway.” 

Dean laughed. “Ruin? Are you kidding me? Watching you beat the crap out of that guy was the highlight of the evening. Hell, of the week.” He turned and slung his arm around her, enjoying the closeness. 

“He really was being a dick. You didn’t see but he was a little grabby…” 

Dean skidded to a halt. “I’ll fuckin’ kill him…” 

“No, no!” Y/N laughed and grabbed his flannel, turning him towards her again. “I was very impressed how you came to my rescue like that.” 

He bit his lip, gazed down with hope in his eyes. “Y/N, if I know anything about you, it’s that you don’t need rescuing. But still, if he comes near you again, I will stab him in the throat.” 

Another laugh knocked her head back and Dean couldn’t stand it any longer. Without a plan, without a thought, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. The moment was brief but not without the shock of truth and they both gasped when space lengthened between them. 

“You… kissed me.” Her eyes were wet and her skin was flushed. Her fingers curled tighter around his flannel. 

He blushed, licked his lip, dipped his chin. “I did, yeah.” 

Stunned, she hung there for a long moment, eyes caressing his face, unable find any words at all. 

Dean grew anxious and cleared his throat. “You’re thinkin’ about laying me out like you did that asshole, aren’t you?”

Slowly, she shook her head and smiled. “Actually, I was thinking about kissing you back…” 

Their lips met under the streetlight, with the noise from the bar lost in the background. Dean wrapped his arms around her, keeping her close while she slipped her tongue between his lips, tasting, exploring, begging for more. 

When she let him go, he looked down, awed and drunk and happy for the first time in a long time. 

“Well, I guess today is lucky after all,” he whispered. 

Y/N shook her head, laughing gently. “You’re not Irish, Dean.” 

He inhaled deeply, pulling in the memory of the moment as his arms tightened around her. “Baby, tonight, we’re all Irish.” 

2023 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@aditimukul @agirlwithdemonblood @amanda-teaches @akshi8278 @alwayskeepfightingsweetheart @b3autyfuldisast3r @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @because-imma-lady-assface @bloodline1632 @charred-angelwings @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @covered-byroses @djs8891 @deanwinchesterswitch @deansyahtzee @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @iamsapphine @idreamofdeanie @ilsawasanacrobat @impalaspixie @jawritter @justcallmeasmodeus @kazsrm67 @kittenofdoomage @leigh70 @lovealways-j @lyarr24 @mariekoukie6661 @maggiegirl17 @mistressofallthingsgeeky @pandaxo79 @peachy-vans @rachiem4-blog @roseblue373 @sacriceria @samwellwinchesterthebrave @sexyvixen7 @spideysimpossiblegirl @spnexploration @stevekempscocktails @the-wounded-healer05 @thoughts-and-funnies @vulgar-library 

[hologramcowboy]

List of things I am, gathered from my haters:

Condesceding - I get this one often, you've been warned. Nevemind how atrociously condesceding the ask I was responding to was, nevermind that I may be responding to a death threat or simply being assertive towards someone rude, I am always, always, always condesceding. Because, after all, how dare I reply to an ask I got sent? I mean who the hell do I think I am?

Hypocritical - Because I run a gossip blog I guess? You do the math on that one cause I'll confess my head hurts, anyway, consider yourself officially warned and nevermind the three very legal disclaimers on this site. lol

Ugly - Especially in Jensen's eyes! They can read minds, hearts and bodies and they know what Jensen likes! Oh my! ;) ;) I am extra amused by this one though for the love of Thor I can never share why.

Arrogant - This is true, I study a whole damn lot which mean yes, at times I am arrogant but I think in this case they mean God like level arrogant so please play my ego up, K? 🤣 Think female version of Thor meets Old Hollywood Diva. Let's accept nothing less than that.

Crazy - Nevermind how I go to therapy frequently despite excelling in my life because I take care of my well being, no, I disagree with Jensen so I must, in fact, be crazy. In fact, based solely on the fact that I'm a woman stating a controversial opinion I am, by default, crazy. You' ve been warned.

Bitter Jared Stan - Jared is at the moment more successful than Jensen on every level but apparently I'm "bitter"? Cause that word so matches my personality. 🤣 Anyway, this one is a huge compliment. I consider Jared an Ambassador of Humanity which is what a real Artist is, I deeply admire him so I'll be your Bitter Jared Stan, baby! ;)

AA - That's right, not only am I am bitter Jared Stan, I am also an Ackles Army member, even though I never joined nor subscribed to this particular sect and even though I am the patron saint of roasting AAs. I guess it's one of those Bitter by night Star by Day type of things?

Jensen Hater - Left the best one for last for logical reasons, look at the one above, yeah, make it make sense.

To summarize, I'm like the female version of Soldier Boy but hotter, with Thor hair and old hollywood glam vibes or as some poor AA once tweeted "why do they write like a James Bond villain". 🤣

Now, all kidding aside, just wanted you all to know that sometimes, in some moments of life, I am all of those things: sometimes I snap at people and am rude it I haven't slept in days or am in a high tension situation with jerks ,etc, sometimes I am arrogant because I focus too much on my strengths and ignore my weaknesses just like other times I am scarily humble because I do the opposite, sometimes I am crazy because I run with unrealistic expectations and forget to balance my perceptions, sometimes I'm ugly because I have a bad day where I look bad, pick a horrible outfit or I'm in a terrible mood so I lack charisma, sometimes I'm a Jensen hater because he honestly does some pretty mean, short sighted, inconsiderate things sometimes and in those moments I hate him, sometimes I'm at the same level as an AA with the infatuation I generate towards him, I'm always a Jared fan just like I'm always a Jensen fan. My point is, depending on context, situational awareness, dynamics, I absolutely can be these things, I am human, after all.

There is no human that is always kind, always light, always good( that would truly indicate insanity because it would indicate unbalanced perceptions and mania), we all have moments and moments, it's how we handle them that matters. Hypocrisy is stating otherwise.

I know I started off funny and ended on a serious not but I just felt like saying that I'm far from perfect but this blog doesn't pretend to be anything it's not, I'm very transparent so if you disagree with anything on here please unfollow. There is never any reason to expose yourself to content that doesn't resonate with you.

Sending everyone lots of Love and I hope that, while we have fun on this blog, you also focus on your own personal legend rather than getting caught up completely in the stars you admire because you also have a contribution to bring and it is unique, please always remember that. I know fandom can get pretty toxic, please stay in touch with your core. 🤍🤍🤍

[modernmagdalene]

Saint and Crystal Associations Part 2

Once again, I’m posting this as a potential resource for other Christian witches or Christian mystics (whatever you call yourself). These are my own personal associations, not official associations of any Christian denominations, so if they don’t feel right for you feel free to use different crystals with different saints. Thanks and enjoy.

Saint Francis of Assisi --> Amber

Francis is best associated with Amber. While not technically a crystal it still is used in a lot of crystal magic. Francis is a very complex saint who helps with a lot of different things: voluntary poverty, helping the poor, antiwar, and oneness with nature. Amber is very old and connected deeply to the earth. It helps with grounding, clarity, patience, wisdom, dissolves negativity, eliminates fear, and balances emotions. All things Francis needed to leave his life of privilege behind and follow God. I think it represents much of who Francis is and can help support the same virtues that Francis represents. 

Saint Brigid --> Opal

St. Brigid would be associated with Opal. Brigid is a saint that is very connected to the goddess Brigid. Their stories are extremely intertwined that you can’t really talk about without the other. Both are connected to fire, love, and hope and that’s all things Opal is connected with as well. I also personally tend to associate Opal with the divine feminine and Brigid connection to a goddess makes that work as well.

Saint Julian of Norwich --> Moonstone

Julian of Norwich I said in a comment that I associated with Lapis Lazuli but then relaized I was already using that crystal with St. Perpetua and Felicity. So I did some more research and decided that Moonstone would work really well for Saint Julian of Norwich. Moonstone is obviously associated with Lunar magick and the moon is also regularly associated with femimine energy. Which works wonders with St. Julian who often depicted God as femimine. One of the things that made her contraversal. St. Julian of Norwich had visions and was a prolific writer. Moonstone helps those seeking wisdom and strengthens psychic abilities. St. Julian of Norwich is also a known cat lover so have moonstone carved into the shape of a cat is even better. 

Saint Mary MacKillop --> Obsidian

(Trigger Warning Mentions of sexual abuse in this.)

Mary MacKillop is the first saint of Australia and one of my favorites! Mary MacKillop reported a priest who was abusing children and not longer after a friend of this priest used his connections to get her excommunicated. Her excommunication was eventually lifted. I have always admired her strength and resilience. That’s why I chose obsidian for her. Obsidian shines a light on the negativity and clears it away, helping us to choose the path leading towards light and love. It is also a protective stone as it used to be used for weapons. If you need to fight the devil obsidian is up there with tourmaline as an excellent crystal to clean house.     

Saint Raphael the Archangel --> Ametrine

St. Raphael the Archangel is another favorite of mine. If you use a Protestant Bible you might not have read about him. Raphael is featured in the Book of Tobit which is only in Catholic and Orthodox Bibles. The Book of Tobit is an epic love story between Tobias and Sarah that also features thievery, exile, and fights with demons. Where Michael and Gabriel tend to appear to humans briefly then leave. Raphael, disguised as a human, travels with Tobias throughout the whole book. Raphael is most associated with healing and I connect him to the crystal ametrine. Ametrine is associated with healing, harmony, strength, balancing physical and spiritual life, and aids in contacting spirit guides. This works with Raphael’s connections to healing. Furthermore, Raphael’s role guiding Tobit and being a spiritual being working on earth makes ametrine perfect in helping to connect with him. Use this stone and ask him to help find balance in your practice and assist you with finding spiritual guides.

Saint Rita --> Smoky Quartz

St. Rita is the patron saint of impossible tasks. She is someone I rely on when I really need to overcome an obstacle or problem in my life. She is also prayed to when someone has a deadly illness or serious problem helping with things that seem impossible to deal with is just her jam. Because of this I associate her most with smoky quartz. This crystal is super powerful and is a great grounding and balancing stone. It absorbs negative energy like a sponge (because of this it should be cleansed often-ish use your best judgement). It’s so useful and can even cleanse other crystals. It keeps all the negativity away from you which is something that one really needs when dealing with impossible situations.

Saint Mary Magdalene --> Celestite

Mary Magdalene is one of my favorite witchy women in the Bible. She wasn’t scared away like the other disciples when Christ was crucified, she was the first to preach about the resurrection, and was active in preaching and teaching others about Christ. One of my favorite stories about her comes from the Orthodox tradition where she was preaching to Emperor Tiberius Caesar about Christ and turned an egg red to prove to the emperor that Christ’s story and power was true. I associate Mary Magdalene most with Celestite. Celestite raises spiritual vibrations, promotes spiritual growth, and aides in communication with the spiritual realm. This crystal also boosts self-worth and self-expression, all things Mary Magdalene had in abundance. Mary Magdalene also seems to be the most connected to the spiritual world out of all the apostles (with the exception of maybe John) so this crystal is perfect for her.

Saint Joan of Arc --> Bloodstone 

St. Joan is a warrior and protector. I also consider her a trans and/or genderfluid saint who will naturally protect trans and genderfluid peoples. Because of this I associate her most with bloodstone. Bloodstone promotes justice and strength, it is also good for healing and renewal, but bloodstone is probably best known for boosting spells and banishing spirits. Or as I prefer to use it, boosting protection spells and banishing TERFs.

Saint Francis de Sales --> Kyanite

St. Francis de Sales is one of my favorite saints purely because he is the patron saint of writers and I am someone who greatly enjoys writing. Kyanite is the crystal I use with this saint. It promotes creativity and also dispels negativity aka those negative thoughts that tell you that you can’t write. It’s also supposed to sharpen your focus which can be especially helpful with writing or any creative work, especially if you are easily distracted like me.

Saint Anthony of Padua --> Amazonite

St. Anthony was one of my grandmother’s favorite saints and probably the saint I use the most in day to day life. He is the patron saint of lost items. He was a devout priest and taught students from a book of psalms. He once tried to preach to people who refused to listen to him. He instead decided to preach to the fish who all started to gather near the shore to listen to him. When people saw this they decided they should listen too. So you know when in doubt preach to fish I guess. Anyway, I associate St. Anthony with amazonite. Amazonite helps sharpen the mind, aids communication and promotes good luck all of which are great attributes for learning and teaching, finding lost items (that’s the good luck bit), and aiding communication could help you talk to people or fish, your call. 

Saint Valentine --> Rose Quartz 

St. Valentine did a lot but he is most associated today with marrying couples in the Christian church during the height of Roman persecution. So naturally I associate him with rose quartz, a crystal that promotes love and fertility, dispels loneliness, opens the heart to compassion, and even strengthens faith. The perfect stone for this romantic saint. 

Saint Scholastica --> Citrine 

St. Scholastica was the twin sister of St. Benedict, and was the founder of the women’s benedictine order. As someone who went to a benedictine college I have a fondness for her. If you are a storm witch in particular I think this might be the saint for you. At one point Benedict and his monks visit Scholastica and her nuns. Scholastica didn’t think she would live long enough to see her brother again after this meeting so begged him to stay the night, but Benedict didn’t want to spend the night outside his monastery and told her he couldn’t. So Scholastica prayed and a massive thunderstorm suddenly came making it unsafe for Benedict and his monks to travel. And here is my favorite bit:

“Realizing what had happened, Benedict reproached her: "What have you done, my sister?” Scholastica answered simply, "I asked a favor of you, and you refused to listen to me. So I asked my God, and He, more generous than you, granted my request.” Once again Scholastica’s pleas won the favor she was seeking.” 

With Scholastica I associate the crystal citrine. Citrine is all about manifesting change, protection, creativity, and success all things she needed to live the life she did.

Saint Dymphna --> Blue Lace Agate

St. Dymphna is one of my favorite saints and she is one I utilize often. She is most associated with mental and emotional illnesses. If you are a spoonie witch this is the saint for you. Because of this I associate her most with Blue Lace Agate, which helps people express themselves (helpful when going to therapy or a doctor) and also helps with dealing with any sorts of fears or anxiety. (Reminder: That utilizing this saint and crystal is meant as a prayerful way to ask for help dealing with mental and emotional illness. It is not a replacement for therapy or meds.)

St. Sara-la-Kali --> Jasper

St. Sara-la-Kali is the patroness of the Romani people. She is said to have helped the Three Marys of the Bible arrive safely in Gaul after she had a vision of them arriving. She used her dress as a raft and helped the women get to shore despite the tumultuous waves. She was also extremely generous and often collected alms for the poor. I associate her most with jasper. A crystal native to Romania it aids in peace and wisdom and also is particularly helpful during times of transition by providing stability and protection. It also supports perseverance and acceptance, something we definitely need Sara's help with right now.

[therealvinelle]

What other non-extinct magical species do you think exist besides vampires, shapeshifters, and like 3 children of the moon?

Not a lot.

More, I have absolutely no way of guessing here. We’re never given any hints or indications that creatures other than vampires, shapeshifters, and Children of the Moon exist, which means I’m as at a loss as you are.

I do think that, on the whole, since the world of Twilight appears identical to ours, that there can’t be any creatures left that would attract too much attention as they would have been discovered by modern technology. Sirens, for instance, would be found out by fog lights, cameras, recordings, you name it. Mermaids, on the other hand, could get away since much of the ocean remains unexplored.

This all being said, I can speculate.

Two things come to mind.

Gifted humans

I haven’t written the meta on what gifts are yet, but I’ll just state that I think gifts  are magic. We see them adapt to a human’s needs, personality, or trauma, all according to what suits them best, and I don’t think the gift a vampire has is random. What a gift is appears to be malleable, as people with extreme needs (Renata, Bella, and Renesmée) will have gifts protecting them while others will have their gifts turned into something different if the incentive is strong enough (Jane and Alec). This points to gifts at the core being magic, capable of adapting a new state should the human bearer need it to. For vampires this malleability is lost, what you have is much more powerful than what you had as a human but you’re also stuck with it.

With the possible exception of Jane and Alec (good things happened to people who were kind to them, bad things to people who were cruel, and when they died it was their intent that turned these gifts into something else), humans are not able to control their gifts.

What I’m saying is, within the Twilight world some humans are magical. This is extremely rare, but it’s the best explanation I have for gifts.

Now onto thing the second.

Legends: where do they come from?

So, within the world of Twilight, most myths about vampires are fabricated. Coffins, bats, Christian iconography, a lot of it was made up by Aro. Unfortunately they couldn’t get wash these myths clean of the blood-drinking, the immortality, the something happening in the sun, or the incubi.

More, we see again and again in canon hat there are humans who know, legends are told. The fact that the blood-drinking couldn’t be erased entirely from myth is telling enough on its own.

No, vampires have left their footprint on human mythology, much to Aro’s chagrin.

Which is our door to speculation about which creatures still exist out there. Because if vampires left a footprint on mythologies within the Twilight world (which I remind you appears identical to ours, at least up until 2006), it is fair to assume other creatures have as well. It’s canon that the Children of the Moon did.

So, then, what can we assume?

First of, we must assume that a lot of mythic creatures identified as non-vampires, might actually have been vampires. It’s canon that the Egyptian pantheon was actually just Amun and his buddies, and I think that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

Off the top of my head, the following creatures or afflictions could be vampires, at least the ones with a penchant for creative hunting:

Siren Otherworldly beautiful voices that lure in sailors to their deaths. Now, the legends say sirens are as hideous as their voices are beautiful, but that could be a warning among sailors, and even if it’s not it works since vampires are so inhuman-looking.

Nøkken The most beautiful man, sometimes horse, you ever did see, and he will lure you to a watery death.

Troll Far-fetched, but trolls are terribly strong and turn to stone in the sunlight. Within the world of Twilight, trolls could be the result of a game of telephone.

Ghost People long dead are seen again, walking around in their old houses. they disappear.

Possession Someone once a member of community screams in unimaginable agony for days, becomes a terrfiying demon, kills everything in sight, speaks so quickly it’s unintelligible, appears and disappears out of thin air, and is decidedly animalistic with snarls, growls, and crouching.

My point with all this being that in a world where vampires have walked among us for thousands of years, they’re going to have left a lot of footprints in our mythos.

But, as it’s unlikely they’re the only ones, there are myths one may assume arose from elsewhere.

Now, I can’t speculate as to what creatures might have inspired these myths. As I demonstrated above, and canon shows with vampire myths being as far removed from real vampires as they are, these myths are only going to contain one grain of truth, possibly a very distorted one at that.

But there are some creatures that come to mind that seem directly contrary to vampires, Children of the Moon, and shapeshifters, and as such might be pointing towards another creature entirely.

I’m getting tired, so I can only think of two examples:

Changeling A child is stolen by fairies, who replace it with a fairy-child. This child is wicked and unnatural (doesn’t grow, might have a beard or too long teeth). Easy to think immortal child, except the whole point, the core, of changelings is that they trick parents into caring for them, and they’re hard to distinguish. Immortal children will eat their parents if they get within 500 yards of them.

Nisse Moody, mischievous, yet fairly harmless, the nisse is at his most abstract a patron saint for your farm. Give him his oatmeal and he’ll milk your cows, fail to do so and he’ll poke holes in your milk bucket.

I’m not saying the changeling or the nisse were or are necessarily real in the Twilight world, but it’s not impossible either. Mostly, though, these two above are only examples, my point is that as vampires, Children of the Moon, and shapeshifters all made it into legend in the Twilight world, it is a fair assumption that legends not concerning these three might hold a grain of truth as well.

[themetaphorgirl]

the Patron Saint kids watch Encanto

(Bear with me, my writing skills are ✨rusty✨)

—————

Dave paused the movie as the end credits started to roll. “Well, that was cute,” he said. “Wait, Penelope, are you crying?”

“Of course I’m crying!” Penelope said, wiping at her cheeks. “How are you not crying? I always cry at Disney movies.”

“I don’t,” Hotch said without looking up from his laptop.

“Me neither,” Dave added.

James tossed a kernel of popcorn at him. “Ninth grade, we watched Coco and you bawled your eyes out,” he said.

“So did you!”

“I never said I didn’t!”

Penelope took off her glasses so she could wipe the tears from her eyes. “I can’t think of a single Disney movie I didn’t cry at,” she said.

JJ wrinkled her nose. “You cried at the Cars franchise?”

“Okay, I can think of three Disney movies I haven’t cried at,” Penelope said. “But this one just like…gets to me. I think I’m a Dolores. Or a Mirabel.”

Emily shook her bag of Doritos and squinted into it. “Well, I don’t cry at movies, and also, I’m an only child, so I don’t think any of this family generational trauma stuff applies to me,” she said before tilting the bag towards her mouth.

“No, you’re a Mirabel,” Alex said. “The loner kid who just wants to be special and appreciated, and you don’t think that’s you?”

Emily choked on Dorito dust. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Alexandra,” she said. “Ouch.” She stared at the floor, wide-eyed. “Ouch.”

“Okay, so you’re Mirabel, so I’m Dolores,” Penelope said as she popped her glasses on.

“What about me?” Derek said. “Who am I?”

“I think you’re Camilo,” Penelope said. “You’re charming, you’re funny, and you always act way different based on whether you’re hanging out with us or the football people.”

Derek grinned. “Yeah, that sounds-“ he started to say. His smile dropped to a frown. “Hey, wait a minute.”

Penelope turned to JJ. “You’re Isabela,” she said. “Little Miss Perfect, but literally the most stressed about it.”

JJ sighed heavily. “I mean, you’re not wrong…”

“What about me?” James said.

“You’re Agustin,” Penelope said immediately. “You’re the most accident prone. And you love everybody.”

“Aw, how come he gets a nice one?” Derek said.

“Yours was still nice, and also you won’t get stung in the face by bees repeatedly,” James said.

“Good point.”

“Does that make me the mom?” Alex said. She sighed heavily. “I’m always the mom lately.”

“Well, you are his mom,” JJ said, nodding towards Spencer playing with his legos on the floor. He yawned heavily without bothering to cover his mouth and didn’t look up.

“But you can’t be Julieta, you can’t bake,” James said. “My dad tried to teach her to make chocolate chip cookies and they were bad. So bad.”

Dave shuddered. “Ugh, I remember that,” he said.

Alex rolled her eyes. “They weren’t that bad,” she protested. “They were edible at least.”

“They tasted like wet cement with a little burned chocolate on top.”

“You might not be Julieta, you might be Luisa,” Penelope said.

“Oh, no, he’s Luisa,” Alex said, squeezing Hotch’s arm.

Hotch looked up from his laptop. “Huh?”

“Oh my god, you’re right,” Penelope said. “Oh, he’s definitely a Luisa.”

“I don’t think so,” Hotch said.

“Don’t lie, Aaron, I saw you tearing up during her song,” Alex said.

Hotch’s ears turned red. “My contacts were bothering me,” he said.

“Sure they were, buddy,” James said, patting his shoulder.

Spencer looked up from his legos. “So who do I get to be?” he asked.

“I think you’re Bruno,” Dave said. “If any of us is going to grow up to be a quirky uncle who lives in the walls, it’s going to be you.”

Spencer’s mouth dropped open. “I don’t want to be Bruno!” he said. He scrambled to his feet. “I want to pick somebody else!”

“You’re smart enough you could probably guess the future,” Derek added.

Spencer stamped his foot. “I don’t want precognition, that’s too much pressure!” he protested.

“Oh, that does make sense,” JJ said.

“I don’t want to get sent away and live in the walls!” he wailed. He ran to Alex, nearly knocking his Legos over in the process. “Alex, make them pick somebody else!”

She lifted him onto her lap and James covered his ears. “Has he gotten an N-A-P today?” he asked quietly.

“I know what that spells!” Spencer said, nudging James’s hands away. “I’m nine, I’m not an infant!”

“He sure hasn’t,” Hotch said. “And I don’t think he fell asleep last night until 3am.”

“Nope, he sure didn’t,” Derek said.

“See, that’s some Bruno shit right there,” Emily added.

Alex kissed the top of Spencer’s head. “You can be Antonio, how about that?” she said.

“But I’m not a baby!” Spencer protested.

“Neither is Antonio, he’s five,” Penelope explained patiently.

“I don’t wanna live in the walls,” Spencer grumbled as he cuddled against Alex.

“How about we just watch a different movie?” Dave said as he picked up the remote. He paused. “Wait a minute, who am I?”

“You’re that one lady who ran across town with her goldfish so she can tell everybody that Bruno killed it,” JJ said.

“What the hell, JJ.”

“No, no, I think she’s on to something.”

[tomicscomics]

***$5-and-up patrons can download this wallpaper at patreon.com/posts/58043586

The idea for a Halloween wallpaper where several saints dress up as classic horror icons was suggested by Will Herrmann in last month's suggestion box on Patreon.  He even suggested the three saints.  My favorite of his suggestions was Old Testament Joseph as Freddy.  Genius.  Thanks for the suggestion!  Maybe for next year I'll ask for saint suggestions and do a follow-up.

JOKE-OGRAPHY: 1. John the Baptist was beheaded by King Herod, so he's acting as the Headless Horseman. 2. St. Sebastian was sentenced to death by firing squad, but because everyone's guns weren't invented yet, they used arrows instead.  According to legend, he survived and was nursed back to health by another saint, but then he got sentence to death again by beating.  I guess he was resistant to piercing damage but not to bludgeoning.  Anyway, he's dressed as the ever-unkillable Jason, hockey mask and all. 3. Old Testament Joseph was a man who had prophetic dreams.  His father liked him better than all his older brothers, so he made him a coat of many colors.  He's dressed as Freddy, who could infiltrate people dreams, but instead of wearing Freddy's usual red-and-green, he's wearing his signature SWEATER of many colors, another of Will Herrmann's genius suggestions.

[thetriggeredhappy]

day 1 let’s fuckin’ go. everyone listen to butterflies by samsa

Day 1: Pursuit

“You seriously don’t have any better games than this?” Scout complained, looking back down at the board, doubtful. “Not even, like, a deck of cards? To play poker or somethin’?”

“Rather not play two-person poker, and I don’t like gambling anyways,” was Sniper’s reply, not glancing up from shuffling the cards.

“I mean, maybe Go Fish then, or Old Maid, or—or somethin’, not fuckin’… Trivial Pursuit.”

Sniper seemed to mull that over for a moment. “If you don’t want to play,” he started to say, hesitant, and Scout sputtered to cut him off before he could finish that thought.

“I, I mean, I didn’t say that,” he managed, still half-glaring down at the board. “Just, y’know.”

Sniper probably didn’t know, actually. Truthfully, Scout wasn’t much for… book smarts type games. Games that needed quick reflexes, talking quickly, theatrics, those he was a champion at besides his eternally bad luck, but facts and numbers and geography? Those he tended to sort of… fuck up beyond recognition. And he really, really didn’t want to look like a complete idiot in front of Sniper.

Kind of the worst case scenario, actually. But the worse worst case scenario was driving the guy away before even getting to hang out with him, here, the first time he’d ever agreed to one of Scout’s dozens of proposed hangouts.

Hell, he’d honestly gotten used to Sniper always saying no. ‘Nah’ and ‘Not this time’ and ‘Afraid not, sorry mate’ were three phrases Scout had heard at least three and four times a week for months, now. He’d started brushing right through it, stopped letting it hurt his feelings even, although he couldn’t help but get his hopes up, still. Invitations to team drinking nights and poker parties and carpooling with the guys to the movies or a bar or a casino, or more overt invitations to listen to new albums or go out to get fast food or to fairs or to concerts, he’d long since gotten used to those standard, polite rejections.

So he was surprised, then, when he’d delivered his offhanded invitation—“Hey, Snipes, all the other guys bailed on the rec room game night tonight, you wanna be there anyways?”—he hadn’t expected Sniper to hesitate for a few seconds before shrugging and saying sure.

Hell, he was halfway through his ‘yeah no problem no worries man’ before he even realized Sniper said yes, then it was fumbling the whole rest of the way.

Better to be an idiot friend than a distant acquaintance, maybe. That’s what he told himself.

A brief mumbled rundown of the rules went in one ear and out the other as he got preoccupied with looking over one of the cards, mind boggled by what the hell the letters and colors were supposed to mean. A short summary was nodded at vaguely, and apparently his poker face had been terrible all along, because Sniper shrugged and said that they could just play first to six questions right and tally up wins from there. Then they rolled a dice and Sniper, apparently, would go first.

“Alright, uh,” Scout said, squinting down at the little card. “What does a… he-leo-logist, study?”

Sniper thought about it for a second. “Er… the sun,” he replied.

“Yep,” Scout nodded, nudged a piece towards him. Sniper took it. “So, uh, you go again?”

“Yeah. Er… geography, this time,” Sniper mumbled, shuffling some pieces around in a way that probably made sense to people who actually knew how this board game worked.

“Sure. What’s… the country that has South America’s highest and lowest points?”

Another pause. “Bloody… Argentina, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Damn. Okay, next one,” Scout said, less concerned about the fact that Sniper was doing well and more worried at the fact that he was gonna do awful.

“Geography again,” Sniper determined.

“What natural… breakwater, is off the north… eastern, part of Australia?” he read, a little stilted, squinting at the letters, like that would help, for once. Silence, for a pause, then for longer. Scout breathed an internal sigh of relief, smiling a little. “C’mon, it’s your own fuckin’, uh… country, continent, thing, isn’t it?”

“It’s both,” Sniper said, and paused. “It… it’s not talking about the bloody, er… Solomon Islands, is it?”

“Great Barrier Reef,” Scout replied.

Sniper muttered a swear. “Overthought it,” he sighed, nudging the dice over to Scout, who rolled it. Sniper glanced at the number, moved the pieces, looked at a card. “Right. What craft uses a… kiln, and a kick wheel?”

Scout could’ve cried. “That’s, uh, pottery, sculpting,” he said, relieved.

A nod from Sniper, a piece scooped onto his side of the table, the dice rolled a few seconds later when he realized he was supposed to do that. “How many colors are in the rainbow?” he asked next.

Scout had to count off on his fingers for a second. “Uh, seven,” he said, and fist-pumped when Sniper nodded, scooping up another piece. “Even though it’s, uh, kinda bullishit. There should be six.”

Sniper’s eyebrows ticking up in confusion probably was a sign he should drop it, but instead he found himself spouting off.

“Because, uh, like, y’know, there’s—there’s the kinds of colors, right?” he said, backpedaling at his response of furrowed eyebrows. “Like, the basic ones, the, uh, primary colors, that’s red and yellow and blue, y’know? And then the other three, that you get from mixing those, like, uh, red and yellow is, uh… is orange, and then like, green, and purple, you combine ‘em, right?”

Sniper nodded slowly after a moment.

“But then you got, uh, fuckin’… indigo. In the, uh, in the list of colors, fuckin’, Roy G. Biv? Red orange yellow, green, blue indigo violet? And I know it’s, like, blue and dark blue, but I think that still sucks. If we’ve got indigo we’ve gotta have like, the other in- between guys. Know what I mean?”

“Don’t have much of an opinion on it, but, sounds like you’re making points,” Sniper said, and Scout shrugged, glanced down at the table, tapped his fingertips against his knees out of sight to try and let out some nervous energy. “Bloody, er… your turn, or mine?”

“Uh, mine,” Scout said, scrambling to roll the dice.

“Right. Sorry. Er…” Sniper read over the card. “Patron saint of Scotland?”

Scout swore under his breath, deflating a little, coming up blank. “Uh… hey, Demo!” he called, and heard a vague ‘aye’ from the kitchen. “Who’s the patron saint of Scotland?”

“My mum,” Demo called back, and Sniper snickered, at least, which softened the blow to Scout’s confidence considerably.

“Ah, fuck off,” Scout called back, and looked back at Sniper, smiling. “Saint Scrumpy, fuck, I dunno.”

“Saint Andrew, apparently,” Sniper shrugged, rolling the dice. “Sports question. The orange one.”

Scout tried to read the question before starting to say anything out loud, and found himself completely lost anyways. “Who was the first… Ch—Check-uh-slavarian… to win, the… Wimbleton…”

“No idea,” Sniper said outright, shaking his head at himself. “Don’t follow, er… what, the Olympics?”

“Tennis, I guess,” Scout shrugged, rolling the dice.

“Sports for you too. What did… bloody hell. What did second baseman Bill… Wambsganss, do all by himself in the, er… 1920 World Series game?”

“Oh, shit,” Scout laughed, “guy did, like, a triple play, and then hit into a double later that same game. That was the year some guy got hit in the head with a ball and fuckin’ died.”

Sniper was staring at him, clearly shocked.

“What?” Scout asked, rolling the dice. “I know baseball. And it was a whole thing.”

Sniper seemed to shrug it off, shaking his head. “What’s the Taj Mahal made of?”

“Fuckin’, I dunno, chocolate? What, that some kinda dessert? What’s that?” Scout scoffed, trying to play it off.

“It’s… it’s a place. Looks a bit like a castle? Like, er, like the Eiffel Tower, or Big Ben, tourist sort of thing?” Sniper tried, and Scout shrugged, and he shrugged back, rolling the dice. “Fair enough. One of the, er, Science ones. Green one.”

Scout looked at the card for a few seconds. “I… dunno how to say this word. Glue… glay… what’s that?”

Sniper leaned over, and Scout turned it towards him. “Glaucoma. Hits your eyes,” he said, and Scout nodded, and he took a piece, rolled again. “Brown one.”

“What are… catalogued, under the Dewey decimal system?” Scout asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“Books, library books,” Sniper mumbled.

“Jesus, are you—where’s the mirrors, seriously? How are you doing that?” Scout asked, and Sniper huffed something like a laugh, taking the piece, rolling again. “No, no, seriously. How the hell do you know half of these?”

“Geography, blue,” he prompted.

“Alright, I swear to god.” Scout held the card close as he read it, first to himself, then out loud. “What national capital is heated by underground hot springs?”

Sniper, to his credit, paused for a moment before answering. “Iceland’s. Reykjavik, it’s called.”

“I swear to god.” Scout flipped over the card, read the answer. “Oh, what the fuck!”

“I’ve bloody been there!” Sniper defended.

“Nah, fuck off, hold on—“ Scout picked up another card, reading another question. “Where in a tree does photosynthesis happen?”

“Leaves.”

“How do you know that so fast!” Scout demanded.

“That’s just science class in school!”

“Fuckin’—who, fuckin’, rode on the raft with Huck Finn?” Scout asked next.

“The, er… runaway, Jim.”

“Oh, what!” Scout all but shouted.

“Scout, I read.”

“Nah, nah, you’re way too good at this game, either you’re like, cheating, or you on purpose picked this game because you’re, like, weirdly crazy good at it or something!”

Sniper’s expression went from amusement to that blankness again, and it only made Scout even more infuriated.

“I mean, seriously, did you pick this game on purpose because you just know all the cards? Did you just wanna do the game where you’d for sure win?” he demanded.

Sniper was fidgeting with his glasses, now, and to be honest, Scout wasn’t even particularly mad, just confused.

“I mean, shit, you’d think you just wanted too play this one so you could look smart and cool and shit like that,” he said. and saw the way Sniper shrank a little, and the lightbulb went off way too late.

A pause.

“Dude,” Scout said, fighting down a laugh.

Sniper mumbled something he didn’t quite hear, sinking in his chair.

“Alright, seriously, if you wanna look smarter than me, you really don’t gotta pull out the trivia questions. Pretty much any game works, you know that, right? I’ll make an idiot of myself playing, like… Uno,” Scout said. Sniper shrugged, still not looking him in the eye. “Okay. Here’s an idea. How about we play, uh… I dunno, Crazy Eights. And while we play I’m gonna keep grilling you on this random trivia shit because seriously, that’s totally nuts, man.”

Sniper hesitated for a few seconds before he finally nodded and straightened up, and in a way, they both won. Scout because he now at least knew he wasn’t the only one who was a total mess and way too worried about what other people thought, and Sniper because he could keep being impressive about random trivia knowledge. Apparently, he knew a bunch about geography and books and nature, and not a single thing about sports.

Scout accused him of trying to memorize the cards. Sniper laughed, properly, for the first time all night.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: The Right Direction.

Commission for the lovely @99shadowcat99.

Work Count: 1.8k

Pairing: Yandere!Hawks/Reader

Synopsis: Keigo’s never been one for routine. His life is too hectic, for that, and he just doesn’t have time for a real schedule. But, you do, and he likes that about you. Enough to keep nudging you in the right direction, at least.

TW: Death, Descriptions of Murder, Stalking, Breaking and Entering, Blood, Emotional Manipulation, Financial Manipulation, Gaslighting, Delusional Mindsets, and Unhealthy Dependancy.

It probably didn’t help that he hadn’t been in the best state of mind, when he first found you.

His industry could be stressful, sometimes, and Keigo’d already seen plenty of good heroes fall apart and shatter under the pressure. He tried to take it in stride. He was good at it, too, keeping the sparse remains of his decimated personal life separate from the constantly growing behemoth that was his career. Still, he had his moments of weakness, just like everyone else. Moments of weakness that led him to the threshold of a coworker's bedroom before he found an excuse to leave, to the highest rooftop he could find just to escape the noise of the city below, or in your case, the darkest corner of a well-worn dive bar, his vision blurring and his words slurring together before you saw fit to cut him off with a hand on his shoulder and a concerned smile.

Keigo didn’t have a reason to be as grateful as he was. He’d been drunk, but your call had been a precautious one, your jokes about avoiding a lawsuit from his manager too genuine to be completely disregarded. It’d been human decency to let him sleep it off in your backroom, and he couldn’t call you a saint for not turning him away when he came back the next day, and the night after that, and at least once a week for the month that followed. He was willing to accept that you’d been easy to latch onto. He liked your eyes, the way they crinkled at the edges as you laughed. Your voice was nice, easy on the ears, and he’d never been able to pin down your scent, like flowers and smoke and cheap liquor, all at the same time. It didn’t really matter why, though, and he didn’t like to think about it. He just liked you, a lot.

You were always there, always excatly where he needed you to be, and he appreciated that. He wasn’t going to tell himself there was another reason why he liked you so much. You were where you were supposed to be, always where you were supposed to be, and Keigo was close to loving you for it. Speaking off…

“Hey there, stranger.”

You were always right on time, too.

He pushed himself away from the cement wall just in time to feel you nudge against his side, your shoulder barely colliding with his. He knew your routine, by now. You always worked the closing shift, kicking out the last of your patrons and locking up a few hours after midnight before heading home, you route alresdy permanently engrained in his memory. It wasn’t uncommon for Keigo to wait for you, but you always sent him the same glance over your shoulder, the same teasing grin. You were a creature of habit, and he couldn’t say he minded. “For a busy man, you seem to have an awful lot of time on your hands,” You started, already turning away from him. “Our beloved Hawks doesn’t have any other adoring fans to grace with his presence?”

“None I like as much as you, sweetheart.” He didn’t miss a beat, but he let himself stumble as he followed your lead, earning a laugh and an excuse to hook his arm around your elbow, his hand finding yours soon after. It was a common gesture of affection between the two of you, but Keigo’s heart still beat a little faster, his face flushing and making him thankful for the flickering streetlights. “Let me walk you home,” He went on, if only for the sake of ritual. You’d stopped trying to politely refuse weeks ago, and it’d been months since he’d taken ‘no’ for an answer. “Patrol might be over, but I can still make sure nothing happens to my favorite civilian.”

“Oh, really?” Another mocking tone, a playful squeeze to his hand. You were the one to intertwine your fingers with his, this time, and Keigo forced himself to keep his eyes on the sidewalk. “And what, prey tell, are you afraid the world’s going to throw at me in the block between my bar and the train station?”

It was actually three blocks, three and a half if he counted the range he combed through meticulously every night before meeting you, but Keigo didn’t bother verbalizing the correction. “I’ve seen all kinds of things happen in a block,” He admitted, shrugging, trying to sound casual enough to come off as genuine. “A villain could go on rampage, someone could lose control of their quirk… Hell, a waitress with a vendetta could be burning your bar to the ground, as we speak.”

There was a slight pause, then a humourless chuckle. Just as he’d expected. “It’d be a good night to try. My boss might beat them to it, otherwise.”

Keigo hummed, slowing his pace down as yours began to falter. “I’m guessing there’s trouble in paradise?”

“Nothing I didn’t expect,” You sighed. He recognized your expression, the slight glare, the effortful frown of someone frustrated with their situation, but resigned to the inevitability of it. “I never thought I’d spend the rest of my life working at some sketchy, second-rate bar, I just… We’ve been losing business, and the place is falling apart, and he just seems so... so alright with it. It’s like someone’s paying him to run the place into the ground.”

Someone was. Someone was giving your greasy, gutless, greedy employer enough to last him well into retirement to do just that, to sit back and make sure you wouldn’t have to spend another day serving leering customers with irresponsible coworkers, but you wouldn’t want to hear it from him. You wouldn't understand why he was doing it. It’d break your routine, and you’d be thrown out of your little, familiar world too quickly. 

You didn’t need to know, so Keigo didn’t need to tell you.

“It’s not the only sketchy bar in the world,” He tried. “We could always use another warm body at the agency, if you’re interested. Just as something to tide you over, obviously, I… I wouldn’t want to overstep my boundaries.”

Like he’d said, you were a creature of habit. It took you half a second to shake your head, and another to relax, your next sigh one of fondness, rather than irritation. He glanced in your direction just in time to meet your eyes. Just in time to watch your gaze drift over his shoulder, towards the narrow, cramped sidestreet behind him, the one he'd almost been worried you wouldn't reach. Just in time to notice your smile fade, your mouth fall open, and just in time to catch you, as your knees buckled and anything you might’ve said was drowned out by a long, wordless scream.

He might’ve been a little over-zealous, in hindsight. The body would’ve probably been enough on its own, slumped over and bloodied, but she’d been yelling so loudly, thrashing and kicking and fighting long past the point of stubborn futility, and Keigo must’ve lost his temper somewhere between pinning her down and wrapping his hands around her neck. He’d put so much thought into it, too, using a knife rather than one of his feathers and letting her drag herself just far enough to be visible from the sidewalk before serving the killing blow. But, leaving her sprawled across the pavement, the wounds in her back still and the blood still pooling beneath her chest...

It might’ve been overkill. That was on Keigo, but he was sure you'd find a way to forgive him.

“She’s not.” It was short, blunt, straight to the point. You didn’t try to protest, and Keigo took to unlocking his phone. One of his sidekicks should’ve still been on-duty, and he wanted his agency on this before the police could get involved. It’d be easier, that way. Usually, a hero would only be called in after the crime’s already solved and a suspect’s been found, but no one questions the guy trying to solve the case. “But, we’re not going to let the same thing happen to you, alright? Some of my guys are already on their way, and I’m going to find the psycho who did this.”

Still, the carnage served its purpose. He could already feel you going limp, falling against him as you stared at the grisly scene, barely making half an attempt to push him away before digging your nails into his shirt, instead. “That’s… That’s my roommate,” You gasped, your voice shaking, all jagged fear and sudden terror. Momentarily, he wondered if he should’ve been more subtle. “She shouldn’t-- She’s supposed to be at home, I don’t know why she’d--” There was an abrupt pause, a hasty, choked silence. You slumped against him, letting Keigo wrap his arm around your waist, your earlier anxiety gone and replaced with numb, festering shock. You were trembling, by the time you continued, but for whatever reason, Keigo couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty. “I… I should check on her. She might be--”

There was a stilted nod, an uneven breath. “T-thank you, Takami.”

“That’s what I’m here for, right?” He allowed himself a small smile, a light tap to your side. “You’re going to have to stick around for a little while. I’ll try to make it quick, but if that really is your roommate, we’ll have to ask a few questions. Then you’ll be free to head home.”

Keigo could’ve laughed as you went stiff, your relief dissolving as swiftly as it’d appeared. “I… I don’t know if I should….” You were quick to trail off, to avert your eyes as your thoughts turned towards self-preservation. Keigo could already hear sirens in the distance, but he wanted to be selfish for just a little longer. Just a few more seconds, before he went back to being your concerned friend. Just your concerned friend, unfortunately. “Would that be safe?”

Of course not. He’d wrecked the place, breaking every window and decimating every lock, but you didn’t know that yet, so neither did he.

Rather than giving you a reassuring answer, Keigo only pulled away, moving to cup your cheek. “I mean, I should check it out first. That might take all night, though, and there’s something wrong, we’ll be lucky to finish this week,” He explained, watching your expression darken, clouding over with something between blind fear and impending dread. “But, I don’t know if I’d be able to focus with you in some shitty, unguarded hotel, either. And…” He let himself trail off before breaking into a small smile. Not disarming, but soothing. Just softened enough to encourage you to do the same. “You know I always have room for you back at my place. Only if you trust me to take care of you, of course.”

You barely hesitated before falling into him, wrapping your arm around his neck as you buried your face in his chest, words of appreciation mixing with cracked, half-choked sobs. Keigo welcomed it. Why wouldn’t he?

He was your knight in shining armor, your valiant protector. And you were his rock, his routine, the one thing that kept him sane. He deserved a little praise every now and then, didn’t he? And besides, he had to take advantage of his oh-so-heroic image while he could.

He doubted you'll be so grateful, once you find out just how much he’s done to keep you by his side.