#moose are unnerving

[bam-monsterhospital]

newfoundland is a magical place.

it's so easy to forget that 'oh right. we're in newfoundland' when i get up before dawn, look outside and catch movement, only to see a big ol heckin rabbit scampering around in the yard, and i freak out with glee because OMG A RABBIT AAAAAAAAA.

but this is newfoundland. of course there are animals.

this is the same place where the other summer kait and i had to pause our late-night marathon watching to see if the weird sounds outside were a sick cat, only to see at the end of the road a goshdang fox was just moseying around, trying to get some lady attention.

it always takes me by surprise.

especially the other week when there was an honest TO FUCK, GODDAMN MOOSE. A HECKIN MOOSEN. OUT BEHIND OUR PLACE. WHAT. I SAW IT MOVE BEYOND THE TREES. I SAW THE ELDRITCH MONSTROSITY. IT WAS SO QUIET AND STEALTHY.

ffffffffffffffffffffuck, even when i remember 'ah right, this is newfoundland, nature's everywhere', i still don't expect close encounters WITH A HECKIN MEGAFAUNA. PREHISTORY'S STUBBORN HORROR REMNANT. FOREST FAE UNPREDICTABLE GIANT HERBIVORE NFLD MASCOT. MOOSE. AAAAAAAAAAAA.

[happy74827]

The Demon With A Heart

[Crowley x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: When Crowley saves your life, you can't help but think it was a little more than self-interest.

WC: 1858

Category: 99.9% Sexual Tension (lmfao), 0.01% Fluff + Angst? {TW: Mentions of Demons (obvi), Murder}

Crowley is too iconic not to have fics. I said what I said.

『••✎••』

You didn’t know how to react. It was as if your tongue was taken away, and you couldn’t talk, no matter how much you wanted to thank the man.

No, the demon.

You stood there with wide eyes, staring at the King of Hell, Crowley. He looked the same as before: a clean suit, a snarky comment, and a look of disgust on his face. But, instead of being on the opposite side, he was wiping the blood off of the angel blade he used to kill the angel that jumped you.

He just saved you—The King of Hell.

The very man who told Sam and Dean countless times that he doesn't do anything for free and doesn’t help people without getting something out of it. Yet, here he was, standing in front of you, not asking for a single thing.

The thought was a bit unsettling.

"Purely out of self-interest, darling," He says, breaking the silence and putting the stolen blade into his jacket. "Call it a favor that I plan to collect in the future."

He was about to leave, but you couldn’t let him go. Not without a thank you, at least. You didn't want him to think you didn’t appreciate what he did.

"Crowley."

The man turns back around, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.

"Thank you."

The corner of his mouth turned upward, forming a small smirk. He didn’t say anything but rather kept his eyes on you for a second longer. He then disappeared, leaving you in the dark.

And it did leave you in the dark. For days, weeks, months. He never came for that favor, and he never brought up what happened. In fact, he barely talked to you at all. It was always towards the Winchesters.

You began to believe it was nothing but a dream. That Crowley somehow didn't save you. The angel was a fake, and this was all some sick joke. It felt like gaslighting.

But you knew what happened was real. You remembered the blood splatter and the dead corpse. The way his face contorted when he pierced the angel's heart.

It was all too real.

So, why was he ignoring you? Why did he pretend that it never happened? Was he going to hold it over your head? Or was it just the fact that the King of Hell did something nice for a human?

Was it because he… cared?

One night, you got your answer. It was a quiet night filled with books, tea, and soft music. At least, it was before those idiotic brothers decided to tear down the bunker in search of some book.

You couldn’t remember the exact reason they needed it, but you were too tired to argue. So, you stayed in your room and tried to fall asleep.

That is until the lights went out and the emergency lights kicked on. Okay, now you were annoyed. You got up, slipped on your shoes and a coat, and walked out of your room.

"Alright, what did you two-"

You paused mid-sentence, eyes falling onto the figure in the library. The man was facing the opposite way, but you knew exactly who it was. The familiar black suit and hair gave it away.

"Crowley…"

"Hello, Darling,” he replied, turning around and smiling at you. It was almost unnerving. He didn’t have a malicious aura or even an evil one. Just... a smile.

You looked behind him and noticed… well, nothing. You were expecting the Winchesters to be with him, and yet, it was just him.

"Where are the boys?"

"Moose and Squirrel? Ah, they're off somewhere, doing... well, you know. Something heroic, I suppose. Figured I’d stick around… enjoy the scenery."

That’s when you looked up and understood what he meant. He was stuck, quite literally. Those devil traps they put everywhere finally did something good.

You half-expected him to bring up that 'favor' he was talking about or maybe even just demand to get out of there, but he did neither. Instead, he looked at the ground and sighed.

At the moment, the King of Hell looked just like a caged puppy, sad and alone. If he wasn’t such a… demon, you might have even felt bad for him.

But, you left him in there, strolling along to the kitchen to find some kind of light. You were not giving up your two hours of reading due to power loss.

As you shuffled through the cabinets, looking for any form of match or lighter, the lights flickered back on.

So that’s where the Winchesters were.

You shrugged and turned back to your room but stopped at the entrance to the library. Crowley was still there, but this time, his face was twisted. He was clearly pissed.

"Why did you do it?" The burning question you wanted answered for months finally came out. Crowley stopped his little fit and turned towards you, a confused expression on his face.

He looked like he had no idea what you were talking about.

"I do a lot of things, Chipmunk. You'll have to be more specific."

You walked towards him, resting down the candles and book on a nearby table. You didn’t know why, but the need to confront him was growing.

"Save me all those months ago."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

You were getting closer, now only a few feet from him. Crowley, however, didn’t back away. Instead, he watched as you moved, his expression unchanging.

"That angel could’ve killed me, yet you came out of nowhere and stabbed him. I know you don't do anything out of kindness, so why did you do it? What do I offer that no one else does?"

Crowley stayed silent for a while, not giving any indication of answering your questions.

You thought it was just a lost cause until his expression changed. It was subtle, but you caught it. The corner of his mouth turned down, and his eyes widened, then narrowed.

He almost looked ashamed.

"It's just like I said. Self-interest." He spat out, his voice sounding like venom. You almost took a step back. It still sounded like the same old Crowley, but his tone was different.

You decided to call his bluff.

"I don't believe you."

Crowley raised an eyebrow, a smirk coming across his face. He was amused by the sudden attitude, but it didn’t last long.

"And what makes you say that?"

"I saw the way you looked at me after you saved me. Hesitancy, almost. Like you were unsure. As if..."

The King of Hell stared at you, waiting for the last part of your statement. He was eager but not for the answer. No, he knew what you were going to say.

He was just waiting to hear it come out of your mouth.

"You care."

Those words hung in the air, both of you processing it. Crowley continued to stare at you, the smirk disappearing, leaving his face neutral. He had a blank expression.

A silence grew, the atmosphere turning awkward. It wasn't until the demon let out a loud sigh and looked to the side that it was broken.

"You’re really pulling on the heartstrings, Chipmunk,” he muttered, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "If I had one, I'd say it was aching."

"Do you?"

You knew what you were implying. Crowley was the King of Hell, the ruler of the damned. He was the furthest thing from human, yet he could walk among them and, sometimes, be mistaken for one.

Was it possible for him to be human or even have emotions?

Crowley looked at you and frowned, clearly not liking the topic. But he didn't deny it. It was a strange sight—the King of Hell, frowning and silent.

It was almost adorable.

"I'm not asking for anything. I just… want an honest answer."

"Well, I am a demon, love,” He stated, his tone changing to a more playful one. “Honesty isn’t quite in the job description."

"Crowley."

You were starting to get impatient, and it showed. Your voice was firm, and your posture was tense. You wanted an answer, and you were determined to get it.

The demon in question let out another sigh and looked at the ceiling as if praying for a quick escape.

"You're a pain, you know that? It's exhausting." He grumbled, rolling his eyes. "But, I suppose, since you asked nicely..."

The man looked at you, his lips pursed. He was still hesitating, which only made you more curious.

"Yes, I care. About you. Happy?"

You blinked a few times, processing the information. Did the King of Hell, the person known for not giving a shit, just admit he cares?

"I-" You started, not knowing what to say. It was a surprise but not an unwelcome one. Crowley wasn't exactly a bad guy, well, a demon.

"Do you actually mean that?"

"Now that…" Crowley started, his voice low and deep. He leaned towards you, making you back up, but the wall soon prevented you from going any further.

He was inches away, his breath hitting your face. You could see his eyes staring into yours—a pretty brown, like a mocha latte.

"…Is the kind of question that will get you in trouble, love."

You weren’t sure what he was planning, but you didn't care. The way his eyes were looking at you, the smirk on his face, the closeness...

He was probably expecting you to back away, but he was wrong. You were an avid reader, obsessive even. This scene wasn't new, nor was it shocking.

The only shocking part was the fact that you were the one in it. And, well, the fact that you didn’t mind it.

"Unlike you,” you whispered, a small smirk on your face. "I don’t care."

Your response made him pause for a moment, squinting his eyes and giving you a confused look. It only lasted a few seconds, though. Soon, he understood, and a chuckle escaped his lips.

"Touché"

You truly believed you were about to lose your chance with the man upstairs, but loud footsteps interrupted you.

"Crowley, you slimy son of a bitch! If you’re not here, we are going to-"

Dean stopped talking as he rounded the corner, seeing you and Crowley close. His expression was shocked, almost comical.

"The hell is going on here?"

You and Crowley both turned to look at Dean, a look of annoyance on the King of Hell's face. Sam came around the corner as well, sharing the same look of confusion.

Crowley gave you one last glance, a bit of disappointment in his eyes, before taking a step back. His attention moved on to the two hunters, his usual smile returning.

And despite the annoyance in the air and the confusion, the only thing that came across your mind was another question that you were sure would take control of your sleep schedule once again.

"Hello, boys," He purred, his arms moving to his side. He was back to his old self, not showing a single sign of what happened moments ago.

Had the beauty thawed the beast?

[woso-dreamzzz]

Big Bed II

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: The Big Bed at Bayern

Magda doesn't know when everything changes.

She can't quite put her finger on it. She knows something is different but she doesn't know what it is.

It's not until she's helping you read your bedtime story that she realises what it is. You've had an awful day at school. You've had another one of your wobbles and didn't settle until the receptionist called Magda and Pernille so you could hear their voices. You'd stuck the rest of the day out though and it had clearly drained you because you were sullen and sad and even a kick around in the garden couldn't cheer you up.

You're just going through the motions when it comes around to bedtime and you crawl into bed and let Magda help you read your bedtime story.

"I love you," She says softly, kissing you on the forehead.

"Love you," You echo as she shuts the door.

Magda's not really sure why she's still awake gone midnight. She's got training tomorrow early in the morning and a match in a few days. She needs to be well rested for both but she finds that she's still got her lamp on and is staring at the door.

"Magda," Pernille groans," Turn off the light. I'm tired."

"Just a minute," Magda says," Just a minute." She can't tear her gaze from the door no matter how hard she tries.

"Magda, please," Pernille says," We've got training tomorrow."

"Right, yeah. Training." Magda begrudgingly flicks off her light.

Pernille's asleep in a few minutes but Magda can't seem to get comfortable. At every creak in the house, she glances at the door automatically but nothing ever happens.

The alarm clock flashes two in the morning and Magda gets up.

Her feet take her automatically to your room. It's exactly how she left it which is what unnerves her.

You're curled up in the very centre of the bed with girl-swan and girl-moose tucked under your arm. You look more peaceful than earlier and Magda kneels down by you and brushes the hair out of your face.

You fidget a little bit, scrunching up your face before you settle again. You smack your lips together a few times before going still.

There's a part of Magda that feels empty. She doesn't know why this is unnerving her so much until she slips back into bed.

"What's wrong?" Pernille asks, rolling over," You've been restless."

The words come out of Magda's mouth before she even stops to think about them.

"Princesse hasn't come in tonight."

"What?" Pernille blinks the sleep from her eyes. "Magda, she's sleeping. Why would she come in?"

Magda's eyes sting with tears and she digs her nails into her palms to stop them from spilling. "She had a bad day at school. Whenever she has a bad day she comes to sleep with us."

"Magda," Pernille says," I thought you didn't like it when she sleeps with us. You said it was making her co-dependent."

A few tears slip down Magda's cheeks. "She's still little. Pernille, why doesn't she want to sleep with us?"

"She's growing up," Pernille reminds her," We both knew she was going to outgrow this eventually."

"But why now?" The tears are flowing now, wetting Magda's cheeks as she buries her face in Pernille's neck. "She's not grown up yet. She's still a baby."

"Magda," Pernille says softly, gently running her fingers through Magda's hair," She hasn't been a baby for a while now. She's growing up and sleeping with us is something she doesn't really need anymore."

"But it's out of nowhere," Magda replies," She's just stopped!"

"That's okay." Pernille gently scratches at the back of Magda's head. "She's being a big girl. Haven't you always called her a big girl?"

"She's too big," Magda complains," She needs to stay little forever and that includes sleeping with us!"

"She can't stay little forever," Pernille reminds her," She's going to keep growing, Magda. There's nothing we can do about it."

Magda's silent for several long excruciating moments before she moves out of the bed, grabbing her pillow and a blanket nearby.

"Magda, where are you going?"

"She was sad earlier. She had one of her bad days. She might not think she needs the big bed but she does. I don't want her to wake up and not get comfort because she suddenly thinks that she's too grown up for it."

"So you're camping out on her floor?"

"Yes."

Pernille shakes her head in disbelief and knows that this is something that Magda won't be swayed in. She sighs. "Don't disturb her when you go in and we still need to be up for training tomorrow."

Magda's out the door immediately.

You're just as she left you and Magda places down her pillow. Her back won't thank for in the morning for this but she doesn't care.

Just because you're not going to the big bed doesn't mean you can't still get the comfort you usually get from it.

[paramountinplace]

🍓 - feel free to ignore this! no rush at all! perhaps a fic abt little van struggling very badly with nightmares like you mentioned in the last fic, abt the wolves, and lottie/nat/both comforting her?

Gameboy Prince - Little!Van

Summary: As requested above! Van has trouble getting back to sleep after a nightmare, but Nat and Lottie know just what to do. Sorry if this is a little short, but I hope you enjoy regardless!

Natalie's eyes flew open and she shot upright, scanning the room as she tried to figure out what had woken her. She was laying horizontally at the end of a bed, head propped up on a soft pillow. Her gaze fell on two bodies and she remembered where she was: sprawled across the foot of Lottie's bed. Van lay on one side, curled into herself and wrapped around her favored moose teddy, while Lottie lay propped up against the headboard next to her, arms crossed over her chest like she'd nodded off on accident.

She realized what had woken her when Van's body jolted and she made a scared little noise, curling further into herself as did did. Nat's brain caught up to her and she remembered why she was sleeping at the foot of Lottie's bed like a dog.

"Van," she murmured, getting to her feet so she could crouch down by the side of the bed. "Hey, wake up, bud."

Van had been struggling with a rough bout of nightmares, brought on by some unknown trigger. She hadn't been able to go much longer than an hour without sobbing herself awake, half-delirious with fear and exhaustion.

Careful not to put her hands too close to Van's face, Nat gave the redhead a slight shake.

"Van!"

Her voice got through to Lottie, despite not yet waking Van, and the other woman sat up with a gasp. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes quickly and winced sympathetically when she realized what was going on.

"I'm gonna go get her juice," she said quietly, pushing herself to her feet.

Nat nodded, shaking Van a little harder as her distressed noises picked up. The sounds had started to become words, broken pleas for Tai and Lottie and something that sounded a lot like Mama. Her hands had come up to shield her face protectively.

"Van!" She finally raised her voice to a shout, relieved when it was enough to startle Van out of whatever terrible memory she'd been trapped in. Van scrambled back from Nat, hands out in front of her in the way she tended to do when woken unexpectedly, but she stopped as soon as she recognized who was in front of her.

"You know where you are?" Nat asked gently, rising to sit on the edge of the bed. Van nodded, breathing hard.

"Lottie," she whispered, probing at her cheek with one hand.

"That's right," Nat replied. "Were you having a scary dream?"

"Uh huh." Van's voice was shaky as she nodded. She looked like she still didn't quite believe she was awake yet, frozen awkwardly in the middle of the bed as she glanced around the room skittishly.

"I've got the blue cup which—" Lottie paused as she came back into the room and saw Van awake, expression morphing into one of gentle openness. "Hey, baby."

Van's carefully blank mask fell away as Lottie drew closer and she didn't hesitate when the other woman opened her arms, setting the lidded cup of juice on the nightstand as she sat back down on the bed. She curled up against Lottie's side and dropped her head down against her shoulder, still strangely silent.

"Lotta dreams tonight, huh?" Lottie murmured, reaching for the cup. She offered it to Van, who just stared at it, chewing on her lip.

Lottie exchanged a questioning look with Nat, who just shrugged, equally as confused. They were used to tears and stuttered breathing when Van woke up from nightmares. The still silence was a little unnerving.

"You want a story, bud?" Nat asked, cozying up on Van's other side. "You can even help me tell it."

When her question got no response, Lottie jumped in.

"I'd love a story, Nat," she said, bringing the juice up to Van's mouth for her. The redhead took a few sips before turning away to bury her face in Lottie's shoulder. She sighed, tightening her arms around Van as she nodding to Nat to start up the story.

"Okay, well, once upon a time or something," Nat began. Lottie shot her a heatless glare and she smirked. "There was a little prince who needed to go on an adventure to find something very important for his friends back at home. So he packed up all the things he needed, like a compass, and some water, and his Gameboy—"

Van turned her face out of Lottie's shoulder just a little at that, one eye finding Nat in the dark.

"—into his rucksack for the journey. It started off great. He was just flying through the woods like a champ, finding all sorts of cool things. He found blue frogs and a turtle that played the trumpet—"

"What in the world?" Lottie muttered. Van hushed her, turning a little more towards Nat as she did.

"—and tons of other awesome shit like that."

"Don't say shit," Lottie groaned.

"Sorry, sorry. Don't say shit, Van. Anyways, the little prince was having a really good time on his journey so far. But, when it started to get dark, he figured he better put up for the night because he didn't want to run into any of the big night creatures."

Van looked a little scared at that, nestling back into Lottie more. She'd turned all the way around to face Nat, back flush with Lottie's chest and her arms laid over Lottie's where they were resting around her waist.

Lottie didn't say anything, even if she did give Nat a look.

"He started up a fire, cooked some yummy food, and fell asleep. But then, in the middle of the night, he heard something that woke him from his peaceful slumber. It was...the night creatures," she said, waving her hands vaguely. Van giggled at the face Nat pulled, drawing her eyebrows up and baring her teeth.

"Here's the thing about the little prince," Nat continued, dropping her hands back down to her lap. "He'd had run-ins with the night creatures before. They gave him a big ole' mark on the side of his face with their magical powers, which everyone in the prince's kingdom thought was super cool, even if he didn't like it very much. But he wasn't about to let the night creatures get away with attacking him again. He dove for his rucksack and grabbed his Gameboy."

"Ooh," Lottie exclaimed, giving Van a little nudge.

"The little prince's Gameboy was actually a magical device with, um, special powers granted to it by a—uh—a wizard! Yes, a wizard had blessed the prince's Gameboy with powers to protect him at all times because he was a very special little prince. So, he grabbed out his Gameboy and aimed it right at the night creatures that were snarling and growling at the edge of his camp. He pressed the A button and wham, a glowing beam of light shot out and disintegrated the night creatures!"

Lottie was doing a poor job at hiding her amusement with Nat's story, but Van looked so into it that Nat didn't care. She mimed pointing a device at a corner of the room and made an explosion sound effect.

"Bam! After that, all the night creatures knew not to mess with the little prince, or they'd be disintegrated by his magical Gameboy, so he was able to get a full-up nights sleep and continue on with his very important journey with no issues," Nat finished, nodding to herself satisfactorily.

"Good story, huh, Van?" Lottie asked, mouth still twisted up in a smile. Van nodded, relaxing back against her chest. She'd sat up in excitement as Nat's story had reached its peak, but she was looking much sleepier now. "Maybe we need another one."

"Aw, Lot, c'mon," Nat groaned. She'd had to work to scrap together ideas for the last one. "Maybe some other time, yeah? We should try sleeping again."

Her suggestion made Van whine in protest, fighting Lottie's arms around her waist to sit up again, but Nat gently guided her back down with a hand.

"We can have another story if we wake up again," she soothed. "But it's late, buddy."

"Nat's got a point," Lottie agreed.

Van hung her head sadly, still silent but obviously not wanting to go back to sleep.

"Here," Nat ventured. "What if we all just lay down? You don't have to sleep if you don't want to, but I gotta rest my back. It's been acting up lately."

They managed to get Van laying down, sandwiched comfortably between the two of them. Nat knew full well that once Van was horizontal and Lottie's hand was rubbing soothing circles on her stomach over her shirt that she'd been asleep again in no time.

"Alright, little prince," Lottie murmured as Van's eyes started to droop. "Sweet dreams."

"Mm, get them night creatures," Nat added sleepily, feeling Van's head drop against her shoulder. "Give 'em hell."

"Don't say hell," Lottie hissed.

"She's asleep," Nat protested quietly.

"Still," she replied. "Good story, though. Thinly veiled."

"My specialty," Nat yawned, feeling her own eyes drift shut. "Night, Lot."

"Goodnight, Nat."

[kittenquasar]

I think about rewatching Return to Oz since it was a childhood vhs movie I liked but then I remember the perverts on wheels

The headhunter

Dorothy gets electroshock due to her "delusions" about oz

The Gump, a living moose head on a couch

The gnome king, the shape-shifting mineral based entity that rules Oz now

And lastly, my favorite and most unsettling of the bunch; Jack Skellint-, I mean Jack Pumpkinhead who was supposed to be a fully animated character but due to budget cuts had to be reworked as an unsettlingly real puppet with an unchanging expression and real human voice!

Some of the shots with him are truly strange feeling, but he's nice.

I like Return to Oz a lot. It was so incredibly dark and strange compared to the original. I watched a video essay once where he went through and identified that the filmmakers incorporated literally dozens of childhood fears into the movie. It's meant to be unsettling and unnerving. Highly recommended

[shadowonwater]

[Look Outside] Just a Guy at the End of the World

AO3

A fic about my oc, Guy Deere, experiencing the beginning of the apocalypse.

Words: 1,407

Told in 2nd Person

Canon typical body horror

Picture this:

You wake up, it seems like a regular day, brush your teeth, take a shower, and put on clothes. You’re about to make breakfast but something’s been bugging you all morning and it’s not the literal bugs that like to bite you at night. Because today really isn’t a regular day. It’s the first day of the apocalypse but you don’t know that yet. What you do know is that outside the closed curtains you’ve been hearing the strangest sounds and the light that’s been able to make it through is the wrong colors. You’ve known since you first opened your eyes that something was wrong. Curiosity gnaws at you. But outside you can hear something else being gnawed on. You pushed off dealing with whatever is going on outside because it’s too god damn early to deal with.

Something smacks against your windows, a wet smack. Your mind goes to birds that can’t tell the difference between air and see-through objects. The chitter chatter that is almost human but is still bird rises in volume. You don’t want to deal with this, whatever it is. There’s another smack. The window cracks. You have to deal with this. Before it gets in and makes you deal with it. You get up and you grab one of your guns before you approach the window in question. Attached above the window is a deer head.

The trophy above quietly gazes down at you with glass eyes. Your first kill. Fitting when your last name is Deere. Some of your hunting buddies would make jokes about shooting you. Other people would cringe or feel unnerved, but Guy Deere, you, have known them for so long and have a similar messed up sense of humor. You know they would never shoot you and you would never shoot them. But soon you will have to shoot one of them, but you don’t know that yet.

You throw open the windows, gun in hand, ready to shoot. You drop your gun in shock. The outside is beautiful. The outside is not right. The outside should be trees. Should be grass. Should be a few visible animals. The sky should still be early morning dark.

The sky is rainbow. The sky is a giant eye. The grass is not grass. The grass is reaching tendons. The trees are wrong. One of them was lungs. Another was a fused lump of birds. There was something between a bear and a moose eating something that was just a pile of flesh and eyes and loose bones.

You take a step back. You feel sick. You feel lightheaded. You feel something is wrong with your body. Your flesh feels loose, like it’ll slip right off your bones any minute like some ill fitted jacket. You worry that if your nausea causes you to throw up, your whole stomach will fall out of your mouth. Everything is wrong. You are wrong.

And then something that used to be a bird smacks into the window. It’s not a bird any longer but the tongue of something else. The glass cracks a little more and the trophy gets knocked off the wall.

In the future you will thank your lucky stars that the trophy fell right onto you. It’s hard to imagine what sort of grisly mess you would have become otherwise. But in that moment all you know is pain. Not just the blunt force of something knocking into your skull, but the burn of something eating through your skin.

Your screams are muffled as the deer skin covers your face. It burns and inches. You try to pull it off but that hurts even more. So you let go of the deer head and pound your fist into the ground just to do something. You curse and curse until something is wrong with your mouth. It feels as if your mouth had just been zipped up like a coat of a jacket. You continue trying to verbally express your pain but your lips won’t move. And then they do. They slowly came apart like trying to remove a sticky wad of gum from something. You can scream again but it’s so much louder because there’s nothing covering your mouth anymore. Your mouth is wrong. It’s so much longer. But it can scream all the same.

One by one you lose the ability to feel parts of your face and head until suddenly it comes back, but different. Your ears are too long and they can move. Your nose is too far away. There are two things growing out the top of your head. And lastly are your eyes. They’ve been dark this whole time, covered by the skin of the deer. It feels like your eyes are being moved, pushed, to where they don’t belong. Your eyes ache the whole time like some strained muscle. Both your eyes reach some sort of blockage but they both continue to push forward until… pop! You can see again. And down falls two dark marble eyes and clack on the wooden flooring.

You breathe and breathe out of a mouth that shouldn’t be yours. You wanted a moment to catch your bearings. But you can’t. The bird tongue is still pounding against the window. You hastily grab your gun and shoot out the window. The monster shrieks out of multiple mouths and stumbles back before trying to rush at the wall of your cabin with its whole body. You keep shooting until it stops moving. And then shoot it a few more times for good measure. 

The moose-bear looks up from what it’s eating and for a moment you worry that it’ll target you as well. But whatever passed through its mind it decided to go back to eating what it already had. But something else was hungry. A tentacle covered in a countless number of eyes reached out from beyond the dark of the forest and grabbed the newly dead monster and dragged it back inside.

You want to check the mirror but you already know what you look like. The deer head was your head now. You wouldn’t end up seeing it until a few days from now, when you tried to check the house of a friend after managing to trek through a now alien landscape for several miles. You had checked every house you came across, the houses of your neighbors as far as rural neighbors go.

Your friend was still there. But they weren’t your friend anymore. His house looked almost normal. Most of the houses were either destroyed or warped beyond recognition of what a house should look like, one was made of throbbing meat, another looked like a Picasso painting, and so on. Your house was probably already destroyed by now. You grabbed as much as you could, stashed into bags. Things needed for survival. You had to leave behind your dvd collection.

Ricardo. Jovial. Had a gambling problem. Was a bit of a sore loser. Kept you company when you needed it after your dad died from a heart attack. All of that which made Ricardo, Ricardo, was lost. Instead he was something of far too many limbs. He looked like a rubber band ball made out of arms. The arms reached out for you, clawing and scratching. And you shot at it, having to hit some core in the middle of the mess. The core was a flesh lump all the limbs were coming out of. You only realized it was him after the fact. Tattered bits of his clothing were scattered on the arms. But on the core was Ricardo’s favorite hat still perfectly intact. It was one of those silly “fish fear me” hats that Ricardo insisted on wearing despite the fact that he didn’t fish. You put the hat in your bag.

Your reflection was exactly what you thought it was. You but with a deer head. If someone didn’t look close enough they would probably mistake it for a mask. Why you? Why did you get off so lightly? When just about everything else you’ve seen has been so warped and mangled. Why do you get to almost look like yourself? Why are your thoughts still yours? Could you snap one day and think yourself a deer? Surely there must be someone else out there who hadn’t lost their mind.

So you kept going. And hoped.

[ask-postcrash-curly]

(Psst! Curly! Another fire warning for this one. It's brief, though. Starts at four minutes ten seconds, only lasts for about fifteen seconds.)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hAK9uxwCOM4

(Thanks for the warning.)

So his name's Wylder and he's making a wilderness guide? Hmm. Suspicious, yeah? Right, this seems normal thus far. Where's the twist? Hey, there's a moose!

That's not a bear.

...I genuinely don't know whether all those plants are real or not.

How are you meant to avoid sounds? Once you've heard 'em you've heard 'em.

Doesn't sound very hallucinatory... Can't really get those on film.

Oww, fuck. One two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve thirteen fourteen fifteen— Okay, we're good. Thank you again for the warning.

Fuck wait is there another fire coming—? ...Maybe not? Cheers. This person may be fucked though. Ah well.

...The silhouettes are really unnerving. Why do they move that way?

Gah.

[dvchvnde]

You let the thoughts pass by as you reach for his old bible amongst the stack of books he left for you. You pick it up gingerly, the cover tattered and worn. The spine is broken, snapped beyond repair. You're not much of a believer in pristine book collecting, but the state of it leaves you feeling an odd assortment of pity and intrigue. 

The scent of him is thicker on the cover. Robust. You hold it to your nose and inhale. It smells ashy, of old cigarettes and charcoal. Pine. It makes you feel a little dizzy. The potency of it is strong, gluing to the fibrils of your lungs where it soaks, stains them with the sticky tar of his masculine smell. 

The cover is made of old leather. You peel it back, and run your fingers along the inscription inside. To our boy, it reads, the scratch of ink pressing hard into the soft give of the hide. May he always find the answers he seeks. 

This seems to be a hope he'd taken to heart. Blue lines bleed through the thin pages. Underlines, highlights. Sections smeared with oil and ink, blurring the words together as he thumbed across them over and over again. The margins are filled with his own notes. Doodles. Insights. He fills space with ink. Musing over his own questions, and underlining the answer he finds.  

It almost feels intrusive. Voyeuristic. Had he not left it amongst the pile, you might have closed the book and put it away for the sake of his own privacy. But it draws you in. Ensnares you. His questions grow broader, the subject evolving. The answers he finds in the pages become less and less frequent. 

It feels—

Lonely. 

His despondency shows vividly when he covers the words in art. An entire page bears the face of a woman. The likeness is shaded around the eyes, in the arch of their nose. It must be his mother, perhaps. Maybe a sister. You turn the page, marveling at the artistry line in dark charcoal. A rifle. A bird. A skull. Cigars, scotch. Dog tags. A cross. Bible passages with toiling lines circled around them. Notes. Little insights stenciled into the margins. 

Another page speaks about head trauma. Brain injury. Bullet fragments. Low caliber. tbi is circled in blue with lines branching out from the side of the curve. impaired thinking. memory issues. personality changes, depression. 

remarkable the cognitive recovery is stenciled in between the passages over and over again, as if he was reinforcing this notion to himself. 

It's jarring. Uncomfortable. 

The next several pages are even moreso. It screams its loneliness into the thin paper and you read each divot until you can't anymore. Until the words run together, and stop making sense. It's all nonsensical. Scribbles, doodles, and numbers that mean nothing to you at all. Unnerved, you go to put it away—

Something catches your eye. 

It's a photograph. 

A younger version of Johnny, maybe. Shaded in black and white. He's barefaced, too. Beard shaved down to a thin dusting of stubble, an odd sight compared to the thick tangle of hair you're so used to seeing on him. His hair, too.

A mohawk. The shorn sides cropped as close to the skin as he could get. The top coiffed and styled for the photo. His asymmetrical hairstyle makes sense now. You trail your finger down the slope of his jaw.

You deep an indent underneath. Ink pressed tight to the thin page, bubbling up from below. You tuck the photo of him, all cocksure and rough around the edges, back into the seam before turning the page.

And it doesn't make sense. Not at first. A series of small sketches cover the page, littered across it like small pondstones leading to the bottom. Nahanni, you know. Recognise the magesty of this gorgeous park. You follow the trail, thinking distantly of your old art teacher in school and the magnetism of the gaze, and—

The bottom is a black circle. Needlepoints cutting through the curves. Sitting in the centre is woman. She sits in the valley watching a moose graze at the bottom of knoll, and in her hand sits an apple—

"What'd ye got there?"

[resquices-of-godhood]

Chapter VI: A respite from the politics

First << Previous <- Next ->

"Are you sure we can trust him?" Leoda asks to Gayne, still unsure about the idea of leaving Wolfgang with the former Bishops as the doors close, while the owl operates the controls of the platform.

"Again, Leoda, if he wanted to act, he would have done so already." Gayne responds. "Even if the Bishops I fell weren't crippled, they were still much weaker than they should be because of the constant war that reduced the supply of devotion. We are talking about a god that had, at the very least, over six centuries of uncontested access to an entire continent's worth of devotion, and one that is known for diversifying his growth." They point out to Leoda.

"Try seven centuries, Lord Gayne." Baines interrupts. "He waited a century and a half before sending the ships."

"Point taken." Gayne says as acceptance for the correction. "But that still means that he is much more powerful than anything we have faced. Not only were the Bishops of the Old Faith sharing territory with each other, they were either crippled or locked in a stalemate, both of which can cause stagnation." They continue from their previous point. "We might stand a chance if we fought together, but that assumes he doesn't just erase our position from the map with whatever he has here instead of facing us directly."

"He doesn't seem like the type for either of those approaches, Gayne." Leoda points out, to which the Goat nods.

"Indeed, but he wouldn't have come here personally to talk to us if that was his intention." The current god of War points out. "Not when he could send someone undercover to undermine us in different ways. I can't really say what his plans truly are, but he is not hostile to us, at least not for now."

"If I may, I have more experience working under him, Your Lordships." Baines asks for permission to speak up, which is granted by Leoda with a gesture. "While I myself cannot claim to comprehend his plans, Lord Wolfgang is not one to attack without negotiating or being attacked first. When we first met, he knew immediately I was bespoken to another crown, and yet his first move wasn't to approach me with threats, but with a proposition that benefited both of our goals." He recounts for the two. "What he is doing here is not much different... Besides the show of force, of course, but he needed to set a solid first impression."

"Well, he certainly succeeded there. I don't want to find myself in a war with him within the next century or so." Gayne admits. "Changing subjects, though. He said he has options for food storage here in the cult?"

"That he did, Lord Gayne." Baines confirms as the platform start aligning to the balcony behind the temple. "We can go look at the building themselves, or look for the information here in the library. So long as damage is not incurred to the information in here, anyone is welcome to come learn in this place."

"I would say I am more of a tactile learner, so..." Leoda says to Baines as the platform comes to a stop. "I think I will take the tour option."

The owl nods, then gestures towards the door, starting his way towards the exit right after. The two bearers follow after him.

As they stepped into the temple room, two figures were standing by the entrance. One being the terrifying visage of a necroframe, the huge bipedal frame enveloping a sarcophagus in its center, the skull face and antlers of its moose occupant visible from the hole on the sarcophagus, meant to permit the occupant to "see" without use of sensors.

Besides that unholy machine stood a smaller deer, although she seems to be one of the followers that appear to be completely mechanical. She is wearing a ceremonial robe.

"Lord Leoda, Lord Gayne, Baines." Says the deer as she bows down to the gods, her voice soft, natural sounding, in contrast to her metallic visage. "We were waiting for you."

"Waiting us for what?" Gaynes asks, unnerved by the presence of the necroframe.

"The Wolf has sent for us to accompany you during the time you spend here." Said the necroframe, his deep voice clearly synthetic and robotic, unable to shift away from the monotone it carries. "We are to make sure no harm are to come to you or the cult."

"Well, that, and answer any technical questions you might have." The deer responds. "There are things that very few among our cult knows about, and our Lord has requested that we provide such details to our divine visitors, should they request it."

"So, he doesn't trust us after all." Leoda points out as they cross their arms.

"It would be foolish to trust other gods, specially those that bear the crowns of those that killed my Master." Says the necroframe, while the deer just sighs.

"Please, don't mind him. His time serving in the god wars left him severely mistrustful of other gods." She tries to deescalate the situation. "Although it would be unwise to leave guest unattended by someone from the cult. While Baines is a trusted guest, his loyalty still lies with the Red Crown, a conflict of interest we cannot ignore, no offense meant."

"None taken, Sophie." Baines replies to the mechanical deer. "Averitt probably should leave the talking to you, though. Even if they are not the same Bishops from the god wars, it is still not a good idea to antagonize god killers." He adds, this time looking at the necroframe. If the comment had any effect on the undead controller of that unholy machine, he didn't show it.

"You know them?" Leoda asks to Baines, who nods.

"Indeed I do, Lord Leoda." The owl replies. "Averitt is the necroframe that carried the Gray Crown for millenia, while Sophie is the oldest Apostle created by Lord Wolfgang."

"Question: what is an Apostle?" Asks Gayne, interrupting the introductions a bit short.

"We Apostles are disciples who chose to gave up our mortal bodies in favor of mechanical ones that can house our souls indefinitely." Sophia explains.

"Hold up! I thought that Wolfgang did not create other necroframes!" Leoda protests at the new information.

"That is correct. No new necroframes have been made since my Master fell to the previous god of Death." Averitt speaks up. "Apostles are not necroframes."

"While the procedure is based on the creation of necroframes, the creation of an Apostle is an entirely different process to a fundamental level." Sophie continues the explanation. "The only similarity is the binding of the soul of a disciple, and even that is very unlike the torturous process a necroframe has to go through."

"Instead, we go through something similar to the ascension ritual. The soul leaves the body of the aspiring Apostle, at which point we have the possibility to just move on to the afterlife that awaits us." She continues to explain the process. "Those with strong enough will are able to move into an Apostle Chip, a small electronic component that can host a soul, and what can control an Apostle Unit, which is the completely robotic body that you see me using."

"I don't know if that is much better. It is still messing with the natural cycle." Leoda responds, unsure of how to feel about it.

"Well, so is resurrecting dead followers." Gaynes points out. "If anything, the whole process giving a choice between departing or staying to the soul is still less forceful."

"Bringing our followers back is not the same thing!" Leoda protests. "They are still the same people when brought back!"

"So was I once I woke up again after the ritual." Sophie responds to Leoda, her tone calm in an attempt to pacify the Lamb's anger. "But you have to understand that we do not have access to the ritual of resurrection, so we have no other way to preserve one's life besides relying on technology."

"I guess it's at least not mutilating the body, but I still don't like it..." Leoda says as they cross their arms.

"Understandable, it does subvert the natural order, after all." Sophie adds, before gesturing towards the door. "So, shall we show the cult grounds in full?" She invites, changing the subject away from the topic.

While Leoda is being pouty, Baines and Gayne take the initiative in taking the invitation, so the Lamb soon follows the two. Averitt and Sophie follow right after them.

The owl's steps are naturally silent due to his feline lower body, while the clip clop of the hoofed feet from Sophie and the crown bearers are drowned by the heavy footfalls from Averitt's frame, as well as the noise caused by the mechanical components that compose it as he moves. A far cry from the silent and graceful movements of the robotic deer follower.

"How are you not outraged by all that, Baines?" Asks Leodas as they come out of the temple.

"Two reasons, Lord Leoda. One: I have been around this cult for a while, so I got used to it. Two: I might not share the same values about death as you do, Your Lordship." Baines replies as they move towards the farms as their first stop. "During my time as a vessel, I focused more on funerals, so my followers got used to the idea of death as something to not be afraid of, for their rest was assured. Should a soul wished to be brought back, however, I did so. I don't see the Apostles as being that different from what I did, since they had the opportunity to pass on, but chose to stay from their own will."

"Yes, but what about the artificial body deal?" Leoda presses, having understood the spiritual side already.

"The original body is composted into fertilizer after the ritual, regardless of success." Sophie responds. "At the point where we go through the ritual, our bodies are usually unsuitable to sustain life for much longer, be it by wounds, sickness or plain old age. It's a last act of commitment to the cult before one stops being mortal."

"Sounds like a pragmatic way to not end up with a huge graveyard after a century or two." Gayne points out what the likely real reason might be.

"For My Lord, perhaps. Me and most of the other followers see it as I described, however." Sophie counters. "And in either case it benefits the cult, so the real reason matters not."

While they continue the discussion, a nearby necroframe turns to see them, revealing a squirrel's skull poking out of the sarcophagus. Spotting the crowns, its mechanical upper 180 degrees around the sarcophagus, the mechanical arms folding up as to become curse launchers as it starts to approach with hostility.

Averitt is quick to notice it, however, and moves to intercept the hostile necroframe. "Stand down." He orders to his fellow necroframe.

"Standing orders are to engage other crown bearers." The second necroframe responds, their voice just a deep, synthetic and monotone as Averitt's, having stopped only to resolve the conflicting orders.

"New orders from the Gray Crown: crown bearers are not to be engaged in the fortress unless they attack first." Averitt conveys.

The other frame remains still for several moments, before turning its frame back into traversal mode. "Standing down, awaiting further orders." They finally say.

"Return to the rehab room and wait for further instructions." Averitt orders, waiting for the other frame to start making their way to the library before returning to the group.

The others were watching the interaction, with Leoda looking more tense than the others.

"He is here to make sure no harm comes to us or the cult, Lord Leoda." Baines reminds them of what the necroframe had said earlier.

Leoda grumbles a bit in begrudging agreement as the group starts to move again, not far from their first destination.

As Averitt catches up, Gayne moves a bit closer to the necroframe. "They are stuck in the war, aren't they?" The Goat asks.

"Explain." Averitt requests, wanting confirmation of the meaning of the question.

"That frame still think they are in the middle of the god wars." Gayne says as the group stops by the closest silo, letting Leoda study the external part while asking questions to Baines and Sophie. "They haven't moved past the the day They Who Know fell."

"That seems accurate." Averitt answers, though if the mention of Theodoar's death affected him, he did not show.

"What is it like?" Gayne asks after a little while. "Being a necroframe, I mean."

Averitt turns his sarcophagus to look at Gayne, before straightening it back in the frame. "It's... Maddening." He responds after a little while. "Your entire body hurts constantly, but you don't feel pain. You can touch without feeling anything. You live, yet you are dead." He tries to convey the contradicting sensations that he experiences.

"It's impressive that you haven't succumbed to the madness yourself." Gayne replies to the explanation.

"My faith and belief in My Master is the only thing keeping me sane." Averitt retorts.

"So, you don't recognize Wolfgang as the god of technology, despite giving him the crown of your master?" Gayne prods further.

"Incorrect." Averitt responds to the prodding. "Wolfgang is a capable and competent god. His accomplishments are proof enough of that. He is not, however, the god of technology I worship."

"I see." Gayne replies, some ideas of how he could exploit that, if needed.

"Do not think that you can exploit my relationship with The Wolf. I am still loyal to his cause, even if I do not agree with how he lets his morality limit the possibilities of development." Aaaand those ideas went out of the window with Averitt's addition, as if sensing what Gayne was thinking.

"What gave you the impression I was thinking of such a thing?" The Goat tries to deflect.

Averitt once again turns his sarcophagus to face Gayne. "Do not attempt to fool me. I know well how the Purple Crown operates." He responds.

"Alright, I'll give you that one." Gayne admits as they raise their upper hands in defeat. "But you cannot fault me for looking after my own, can you?"

Averitt once again straightens the position of his sarcophagus. "I do not." He says, understanding the Goat's angle.

They both remain silent after that, quietly watching as Leoda keeps studying the the building, asking questions about how it works, how to retrieve materials inside, how to keep it dry, etc.

There's a bit more of the same as they move to see cellars, smokers, drying racks, and other lower tech options. The path Baines is taking is somewhat deliberate, avoiding anything that requires electricity or other forms of energy not readily available in Phemura to function.

After sharing the blueprints with the infant gods, Baines moves to show the other parts of the cult. Most of it are basically higher tech versions of the buildings already present on Leoda's, but it still fills the two caprine with wonder at how things are the same, yet so different.

This only intensifies as they come to one of the runways, where some of the scouting unmanned aerial vehicles are returning to land. They are too small to fit someone inside, being controlled remotely from somewhere in the fortress. Those miniature planes are brought to what looks like a small hangar, too small to fit more than two of them at a time, though they seem to just keep coming and going in, as if there was no limit of capacity. Of course, there's no known magic that would allow such a thing, not without a strong tie to a domain, so there must be something moving the drones out of the way.

Besides the runway are several pads that seem to be able to be moved up and down, though the how and for what purpose remains a mystery to Leoda and Gayne. They are, however, big enough for a manned (and possibly armed) version of the unmanned planes to fit atop of it.

By the time they finished looking the UAVs land, it was starting to get dark already, too late to cross the cult grounds to see the other runway, or see the outskirts of the fortress, so they start making their way back to the temple.

There we go, guys. I finally managed to get this one out. Sorry for the delay.

As always, separator made by @lambouillet

[29drats]

tagged by @hanniopeia

rules: drop a mid-story line from 10 of your fics and tag 10 people. (if you don’t have 10, post what you got! WIPs are fair game too)

tagging @sportspuckball @toxotesjc & anyone else who wants to, because I forget which of you are writers here

my answers below the jump!

posted fics

find your way home (mattdrai)

He looks at Matthew like that all the time, and if Matthew hasn't noticed already, he will and then Leon will have messed up again, because his stupid feelings keep spilling out and now anyone who sees this photo will see the way Leon wants to make his home inside Matthew's heart.

another dream (mattdrai)

When Matthew arrives at the cafe, it's completely empty aside from a bored server and Leon Draisaitl. Draisaitl is big enough to take up the whole space, though. Just huge, like when you see a picture of a moose beside a car and realize they're actually prehistoric monsters. But, like, a hot moose.

searching the stars (sashew)

It's a strange feeling, being out so far past current human habitation, out where space reminds them that humanity is a fragile, breakable thing. The CEF pilots hurl themselves into that space over and over again, in search of fame and glory, but also looking for something more fundamental than that. They're like little sparks flying up from a bonfire, lighting the vast darkness, even if it's just for a moment.

a beautiful way (sidgeno)

None of it felt real, compared to the immensity of trees and water and sky. They wouldn't let Sidney get anxious about Geno's visit or what he was going to tell Taylor and his parents. He sat on a strip of rocks at the edge of the pond to eat his snacks and drink some water. Minnows darted in the shallows; a heron landed in the treetops. Sidney watched it all happen and let the clear bright day fill him up until there was no room left for anything else.

fall so deep & true (mattdrai)

Somewhere between finding Matty in that hotel hallway and watching him run into Keith's arms, Leon had started to care about the kid. He didn't expect that to happen, but here he is anyway. Charmed against his will by the way Matty loved hockey and his family, the way he leaned against Leon with such perfect trust.

at love's table (sidgeno)

Sid was so important to him. More important than anyone else in the world. They'd been there for each other in almost every possible way, and Zhenya hadn't realized, until now, that it was love that he was feeling. Not love for a teammate or friend, but Dr. Lin’s kind of love. Sergei and Ksenia’s. A partnership, in every sense of the word.

WIPs

The Case of the Haunted Lighthouse (sashew)

In the morning light, all of the ghost hunting from last night seems kind of ridiculous. Like they’re the fucking Hardy Boys or something, instead of a third of a professional hockey team.

the long way home (Sid/Claude)

Whatever had been between them was never just one-sided, even though Sidney preferred not to dwell on that fact. Of course it wasn’t, couldn’t be. That wasn’t how soulmarks worked, after all. The positive feeling had to be mutual, even if it was only for a minute.

Portland Schooners: Jamie (original fic)

It's always a weird feeling, skating with new lineys. A little unnerving, like when you were a kid and had a new tooth growing in and it wasn’t quite what you expected to feel against your tongue.

Portland Schooners: Tyler (original fic)

Summer’s still clinging on for now, so Tyler rolls down the window on his way home. His left shoulder feels a little tight today–he needs to talk to the trainers about that–but he’s feeling pretty good about where he’s at, about the way the team is shaping up. Maybe, he thinks, caught in a sudden burst of optimism, maybe this will finally be their year.

[skylarmoon71]

Castiel (Supernatural/Grimm) - Short Story - Chapter 5

~Meanwhile with Crowley~

“The woman is still unconscious. The Winchesters will be coming soon, what do you want us to do?”

Crowley’s eyes drifted between the bed in the room, back to the demon.

“We wait, fall back. I’ll call you when I need you.”

The man nodded, disappearing in a second and Crowley grinned.

“What wonderful luck that you should fall right into my lap love, I suppose I should thank Squirrel and Moose. That sister of yours will make a handy pet.”

His gaze shifted when the door was kicked in and in march the very people he was waiting for.

Dean held the demon blade and Castiel was at his side, angel blade in hand. Sam stood at your side protectively. Your eyes lit up when you saw Diana.

“Diana, you’re alright!”

She yawned, stretching with a playful smile as she sat upright.

“It took you long enough, I was starting to think you forgot about your own sister.”

You rolled your eyes and Crowley narrowed his.

“How are you awake?”

She just grinned.

Crowley was liking this less and less.

“No matter, I’m sure we can make some arrangements to make the both of you comfortable.” 

He lifted his hand, snapping his fingers, but nothing happened. When he did it a few more times without any luck, you sigh. Diana jumped off the bed with a giggle as she strutted right past him. The second she was close you hugged her.

“Geez, don’t ever do that Diana, I was worried.” She returned the embrace with a smile.

“I’m sorry. I was searching for you with no luck. Then this British old guy showed up. For a moment I was going to blast him into space but he started ranting about a woman that sounded just like my little sister. I figured I could kill two birds with one stone.”

Sam, Dean and Castiel were still trying to get past the fact that Diana had so easily walked away from Crowley.

Said demon looked a bit stressed.

“What did you do to my demons?”

“I sent them back home. Do you want to join them?”

The amethyst glow of her eyes made him unnerved and in a matter of seconds he was gone. When her eyes returned to normal they were still there staring.

“Can I just say that you two are freaking awesome!!”

Dean sounded way too excited and Sam just gave that usual look. Overall you could tell he was relieved.

Everyone looks a bit more relaxed.

Diana is talking animatedly about how she duped Crowley. Leave it to her to make this all into a game.

“I can’t believe they fell for that. Monsters in this universe sure are gullible.”

You’re surprised she made the connection so quickly.

“So you knew that we jumped into this place.”

She nods.

“I knew the second I landed here. I tried looking for you but It’s harder to track here. I was ready to swipe a car and do a cross country trip but that English guy showed up and did the work for me. Now we’re here. I really didn’t think the spell would be so cosmic.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t just blindly ran some ancient incantation we could have avoided all of this.”

“Well it worked didn’t it?”

You’re still frowning.

“So is someone finally gonna tell us what this big spell was that blasted you into our universe?” Dean’s inquiry had Diana practically lighting up and you shook your head vigorously.

But of course she wasn’t one to keep her trap shut.

“It was a love enchantment.” She chirped.

You just place your palm over your face, embarrassed.

“Excuse me?”

She was still smiling.

“The spell that we did, it’s used to connect soul mates. My sister here doesn’t seem to love anything other than hunting and saving the world. She won’t admit it but she’s a hopeless romantic. She refused to go on any of the blind dates I set up so I took matters into my own hands.”

You’re still very much annoyed.

“It was reckless, I told you I don’t need help.”

“That’s what you say, but what I hear is Diana, please help me find my soulmate. So I did. It worked too.”

Now they looked intrigued.

“It did?” Sam quizzed.

Diana nods, turning to Castiel with a smile.

“He’s her soulmate.”

She lifted her hand, and the red string that appears on your pinky is a bit startling. Castiel lifts his own hand, staring in awe at the bind that connects to the both of you.

When your eyes meet that rush of heat throughout your chest is back with a vengeance.

“No way…” Dean mutters.

“I know, it’s incredible."

She lowers her hand and it all seems to dissipate.

“Although I knew the spell would work, I didn’t think it would be someone from a different universe.” She wears a sad smile, because you know she realizes that you both have to head back home.

“I’m sorry (Y/N).”

You can’t really get mad at her. Her intentions were good. All she wanted was for you to be happy. She’s always been like that, trying to help, to ensure that you’re taken care of. You supposed it’s older sibling syndrome. You smile, shaking your head.

“It’s alright Diana, thank you.”

You turn back to the boys.

“I guess this is goodbye. “

“Man, it kinda sucks that you’re leaving. We could use some of your freaking juice. Did you see how fast Crowley ran away? It was hilarious.” Dean is laughing and Sam shakes his head with a smile.

“Thanks for all the help, I hope you guys make it back safely.” He states. 

You nod, eyes finally moving back to Castiel. His expression shows conflict. You feel a bit guilty for not telling him the whole truth, but you had good reason. It’s not like you fully believed in the whole soulmate theory.

“Sorry that we dragged you into this mess.”

There’s not much that you can say but that. He takes a step closer and you expect him to say something, but his hand touches your cheek and that azure glow is back. You might be imagining it, but you’re almost positive that you can see him, truly see him. Almost like you're perceiving his true form.

“I didn’t imagine it, you can see me..”

You nod.

“I can, you’re..you’re so beautiful…”

He smiles, one that emits such a warmth that feels very much angelic. You’re certain just being this close is enough, but when he leans in and kisses you, you’re positive that you’re in heaven.

It’s so tender and extraordinary in every sense of the word. Your hands grip into his coat as you pull him closer and he welcomes it. All you can feel in that moment is him.

“Maybe someday..we will meet again.”

It’s the very last thought that rushes by before it all seems to fade away. 

[lordgrimwing]

Illness/Fading #01

[For C+C week hosted by @candcweek. Prompt: Words unspoken]

Celegorm sat in the armchair near the fire. He stared at the flames, eyes open but unfocused, blinking slowly and occasionally as though it took great effort. They looked painfully large in the sunken skin of his face. His thin shoulders trembled under the thick moose fur Nerdanel draped him in before leaving with Elrond to collect herbs. A shallow breath caught in his throat and he coughed once, weakly and thin.

Curufin looked up from where he was shelling walnuts at the dinner table, instantly alert. He set the nuts aside and stood up. Stepping quickly to the armchair, he knelt at his brother’s side. “I’m here, Celegorm. Do you need something?” He asked, laying a callused hand on his brother’s knee.

No response came to the question. He wasn’t expecting one, not really. Celegorm hadn’t said a thing since they found him in the mud and rotting leaves of spring, foot caught in a snare and nearly dead. Curufin clasped his bony fingers, cool despite the warmth of the room.

“You’re so cold,” he murmured, rubbing the hands between his own to warm them. The perpetual chill was unnerving but so much was unsettled on the mountain these days.

Celegorm wheezed again, breath crackling wetly in his chest. Curufin pulled the heavy fur more securely around him, then stood and pushed the chair, brother and all, closer to the fire in the hearth. The wooden feet screeched across the floorboard worn smooth by decades of familiar feet.

A minute passed, marked by a clock nailed to the wall. When the family was young and the children still growing up, that spot on the wall held no clock. They’d debated for a long time before deciding to mount it. Fëanor mistrusted everything that had to be brought from town more and more, worried that they might somehow disrupt the tenuous safety they’d carved out of the thickening shadows. Time, though, was becoming a tricky thing, as malleable as snow on some days and as unholdable as water on others. The clock kept them on track. Celegorm continued to shake.

The mid-autumn sun streamed in through the open windows, warm and soothing.

Curufin looked at the depleted stack of firewood to the side of the hearth. He touched Celegorm’s knee again. “I’m going to get more wood for the fire. I’ll be right back.”

He rose and left, making the short trek out the kitchen door to the nearest woodshed. The sun warmed his back as he collected an armload of fuel. 

Three chickens ran over, racing to search for bugs and spiders disturbed from the pile. The plump birds clucked and grumbled happily amongst each other, content in the safety of the glen. 

On the way back inside, he spied a lone dog sitting between the open doors of the barn. It had a short, wiry coat and ears that were perpetually half-cocked, one flopping more than the other. The last of the once numerous hounds, this one lived a spoiled life compared to its past packmates, feeding on table scraps and even receiving pats and belly rubs from the younger family members. Elros developed a particular fondness for the animal after Celegorm’s second disappearance. 

(There was a fight that evening. Nothing had been right since Celegorm came back and Fëanor finally confronted him about what he’d been doing in town, about the woman he tried to kill. There was yelling and shouting and the argument moved outside until Celegorm, seething about how Fëanor cut them off from the world in their isolated home and taught them to fear what they had every right to enjoy and experience for themselves, tore the charms and protective necklaces from around his neck and threw them at his father’s feed. He’d left after that. Didn’t so much as say a word to anyone else, just took his horse, whistled for his favorite dog, and rode away.)

Returning, Curufin piled the wood in the metal woodbox before setting several on the fire. He sat back on his heels, watching the wood catch until he felt uncomfortably warm so close to the flames. He turned back to his brother, still huddled in the chair, sunken features pinched with unvoiced discomfort. 

Surprisingly, Celegorm had moved slightly while he was gone. It wasn’t much, just a slight shift in his seat, but it made the fur slip off one thin shoulder.

Curufin wiped sweat from his forehead. He reached out and fixed the covering. “Hey, now,” He said, voice unexpectedly thick and prickly in his throat. “You won’t stay warm like that.”

Celegorm shook under his hands. His gaze drifted down and to the side of the chair as he blinked slowly, like someone on the cusp of sleep. Perhaps he would. He slept so little.

Leaving him alone, Curufin went back to the buckets of walnuts at the table. He worked quietly. When he next looked up, he found that the fur had fallen again. With a sigh, he got up to fix it with a small apology for not getting it right the first time as he tugged the edge tight and touched it between Celegorm’s other shoulder and the back of the armchair. Despite the heavy fur and fire, he hadn’t started sweating at all, which was a little disconcerting when Curufin’s shirt felt uncomfortably damp against his skin. With his brother securely tucked in, he turned around and went back to the table.

By the time he sat down, the fur was once again slipping down.

He sat and stared at it for a long moment. 

Not once in all the months since they’d found him trapped out in the woods had Celegorm done any but the most basic things on his own. He could chew and swallow soft foods and liquids, relieve himself, and occasionally move his eyes, but not once—as far as Curufin knew and everyone would know if things changed—done anything more complex or meaningful on his own. One night, he’d overheard Nerdanel, Caranthir, and Elrond discussing the possibility that Celegorm couldn’t do things for himself after the thing twisting the mountain out from under them toyed with his body for so long, after he was bound to it for so long. Curufin walked away from that conversation and quickly set about repairing loose planks in the hayloft. It was one of those tasks he once found horridly tedious and always left for one of the others to do (the chore usually ended up in Celegorm's hands, since he spent so much time around the barn anyway). 

Which was to say, he knew he wasn’t doing this intentionally. He knew Celegorm, his daring older brother when he was a child, his confidant when Celebrimbor was a baby, his friend and companion during the long years as the world slowly spiraled out of control around them, wasn’t letting the fur fall to make him come back over. He knew that but it was so hard to not give it meaning as he slowly stood and walked back across the room to join him.

He stood in front of him. 

Celegorm sat unresponsive, leaning slightly to one side so his shoulder rested against the upholstered side of the chair. His eyes were as vacant and unseeing as ever, lost where none of them could reach him. There was a little bit of space on the seat beside him, next to the side the fur kept falling from.

It was so very hard to not see it as something more—to not give it meaning.

Sometimes, though, it doesn’t matter if something should have meaning because it does and that can’t be helped. 

Curufin sat in the open spot. It was tight and he had to sit half-turned on his hip to fit without ending up on top of Celegorm. He shifted and twisted and trapped his strong arms around his trembling brother and pulled him onto his lap. With a little more adjusting, he had him curled up comfortably against his chest, still wrapped up, with Celegorm’s blond head resting just under his chin.

“There we go,” he murmured. “I know–” he struggled. “I know you aren’t asking to be held, but I hope you don’t mind.”

Curufin could get no more words out after that, so he closed his mouth and let his cheek fall against Celegorm’s hair. He exhaled slowly, recalling the way his hair used to smell.

Caranthir found them like that an hour later, both sound asleep.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Would you please be able to write about the kids and their comforts (toys,cuddlies,animals, even people etc..) like for example I know princesse and her girl swan and bear her koda plush.

Love your work btw :))

Obviously, Princesse has girl-swan and girl-moose and Bear has Koda. Cub has a lion cub plushie because she's a little lion too! She's also got Bagheera too. Liefje has her goblin shark toy. It's super ugly and it genuinely unnerves Beth but she can't bring herself to throw it away. Peanut has a bunny that she really likes and a baby blanket that she makes little blanket caves with when she gets overwhelmed.

Tesoro doesn't really have comfort items but she's very attached to Alessia. She's almost co-dependent at times because she loves her big sister so much and always wants to be around her. Rugrat's comfort item changes practically every week but it's whatever book is her favourite at the time. She likes to carry it under her arm or in her backpack everywhere. Nena's is Ingrid. Ingrid is who she goes to when she needs comfort because her sister gives her the best cuddles. Bean doesn't really have anything specific. She's fairly good at self regulating but a cuddle from Leah never fails to make it all a little better

Munchkin has Myle. They love each other so much and Munchkin is always happy with her doggy best friend. Chook has her Spinosaurus plushie and Helen while Gremlin's got Coopurr.

Right now, Angel only has Steph and Pequeñita has Alexia. Bug doesn't have any specific but Bug Hugs from her mums are the best way to cheer her up. Bubs gets lots of cuddles from her mums and her sister too when she's all grumpy. Älskling doesn't really need a lot of comfort but Frido will swear up and down that she's the one that keeps Älskling calm. Sunshine, of course, has her new mums. They're very clingy with her.

Skatt has that god awful ladybug toy that makes Ingrid want to rip her ears off. Bebita regulates herself quite well but she does have her special baby blanket for when she gets overwhelmed.

Pipsqueak's older than the others and doesn't need to rely on much for comfort but she does worm herself into cuddles with Ellie. She'll never admit that it's for comfort but Ellie knows.

Sadly, sad kid central (Kiddo and Bambi) don't get a lot of comfort. Bambi, of course, had her trains but they feel kind of tainted now so they don't bring as much comfort as they used to. Kiddo doesn't have much either. Her happy place used to be her mums but now they're not together anymore, she's still adjusting.

[red-leader-langfeldt]

sorry if that last ask is too personal, I don't mean to pry. If it is, we can change the topic

Which food do you eat the most for Jól? I remember my parents ordering moose meat for big special occasions when I was growing up, it was my favourite :]

No worries. I appreciate the curiosity and I am willing to share. My one boundary is that I would prefer not to talk about my family, which I am sure you can respect.

As for the food I eat, moose is a great meat. I certainly cannot blame you for it being your favorite. However, I never did have moose meat for Jól, although Jól meals are very meat-heavy. Traditionally, a multitude of farm animals would be slain sacrificially, in such a manner to offer a blood sacrifice to the gods. These animals would then become the heart of the main feast. Mutton, beef, horse, pork, fish, etc., all of it had a place at the table. As you can imagine, these ritualistic sacrifices were done away with by the widespread influence of Christianity back then.

These days, I try to keep it simple. I order myself a full animal’s worth of meat and repurpose every inch of it for my meals. In my case it would be impractical to have a variety of meats, since the heart of the original practice was a sacrificial ritual to the gods. So, I keep it to one animal. Say a prayer, honor the gods, and use the animal to its fullest potential. I always ensure not a single bit of it goes to waste.

Maybe this makes me sound silly, or strange. I would certainly understand if you found this unnerving. I find it difficult to align myself with the modern values of religion, and I prefer to honor the life on this planet my own way. Food waste is non-negotiable. A single animal provides me with more meals than just the three days of Jól, and I could not be more grateful for that.

[rainwaterapothecary]

"Unsettled" (A Serennedy Golden Compass au) pt. 2

[Pt 1][Quick Lore Explanation] ("Speaking aloud" - "Speaking telepathically between human and daemon")

A safe distance from the Arctic Islands Research Compound, 1947.

The agent’s blond hair was so caked in Dust-gathering solvent, grease, and sweat that it barely moved when he plopped his head down on the thick carpet of Luis’ safehouse. His ribs expanded slowly before contracting with a spasm as his massive, white wolf daemon copied his action right on top of him.

“Thanks, Cucciola.” He coughed. His daemon merely completed his inhale with a gusty, canine sigh.

”I missed you, let’s never fucking do that again.”

Leon nodded, his body awakening aches and scrapes with every centimeter that thawed.

Blue eyes blinked up at the cabin’s hewn-log ceiling.

“Panza was a moose.”

Laughter sounded from near the fireplace as Luis Serra settled the kettle on its hook.

“Sí, he was.”

“He was also a lizard.”

“A salamander, but yes.”

“I can be a monkey, too. Luis says it might unsettle people though.” A tiny, peach-fuzzed head came into view just in front of Leon’s eyes, causing them to cross as they took in the tiny monkey’s big eyes.

Then Panza pushed his eyes further apart as he morphed into a tarsier, just to fuck with their old friend.

It worked.

Swearing in enough languages that their entire block would have been proud, the ex-guard shoved himself backwards, dragging Fiorire’s bulk with him.

“Fuck, Panza, what is wrong with you?!”

The cheeky daemon made small noises that could only have been laughter before he bounced into the air and landed as a blindingly red macaw on Luis’ shoulder.

“Fanfarrón.” Luis smiled, offering the daemon a dried piece of fruit. Panza continued to make laughter noises in the unnerving way birds have.

Leon shook his head in wonder, dropping his skull back into the soft rug.

“You never Settled.”

Luis turned to him, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Would you believe me if I said yes?”

Leon was lucky for the arctic winds keeping him awake enough for this conversation. Even then, all he had in him was a dubious eyebrow raise.

The scientist chuckled again and settled himself, cross-legged, on the rug by his old friend’s head.

“He Settled for a while, shortly after Abuelo and I got back to Spain.” Thick, brown eyebrows furrowed at the sad memories.

“What, not enough ladies to impress?”

Luis snorted and ruffled Leon’s decidedly disgusting hair.

“None half as pretty as the rompecorazones I left behind in Harlem.”

Leon wrinkled his nose at the nickname.

“I’m sure Ellie was heartbroken.”

“Who?”

Leon hit his friend on the knee with the back of one hand.

“Baker’s girl, over by the plaza with the fountain.”

Luis genuinely had to think before any sort of face matched a name.

“She threw a rock at my head that one time, when we were buying rolls.”

“Oh!” Luis snapped his fingers as he aligned a memory with the name. Then he shrugged with a helpless smile down at his friend.

Leon looked between his gray eyes, trying to understand what was going on behind them before another thought shot to the forefront.

“Luis! You got a beard!”

The other man looked down as if to see the thing on his chin before beaming at his friend.

“Yes! Hormones are fascinating.”

“’S that why you were way up here? Working with hormones ‘r something?”

The light in the seated man’s eyes dimmed.

“Ah, no, I’m afraid. I…” His eyes wandered over to the low bookshelf filled with journals, both private and scientific. Another weak pat on his knee from the back of Leon’s hand brought his attention back down.

“D’worry about it. You got me out, ’s what counts.”

It was as if uttering the sentiment aloud made it real, and all the fatigue of the past four months- hell, since the end of the war two years ago were suddenly upon the emaciated man. Delicate, blond eyelashes fluttered closed as Leon fought for his thoughts.

“Ve a dormir, Sancho. We’ll keep you and Fiorire very safe.”

Whether it was the weight of the torture he’d been put through, the force of the Arctic weather in the prison he’d been kept in, the knowledge that his dearest friend was back, whole, and had survived the fucking war, or the comfort of being able to hold his daemon to his chest for the first time since he got caught smuggling kids out of their cells…

He only realized he’d fallen asleep when he awoke beneath a heavy blanket and a heavier wolf daemon. Her white fur caught the sunlight of the Arctic’s permanent noon as she conversed with her old friend. Panza was still in his bright red macaw form, standing with one leg on the back of a chair Luis had put by the bed for him. With the other foot he was motioning like Luis used to when they were kids and he got excited. Fiorire’s tail gave his consciousness away when it flumped twice in greeting. He buried his fingers deeper into her thick coat.

“He’s awake!” Panza called out behind himself, to where a brown blob that must have been Luis sat. Maybe Leon needed more sleep if his vision was this fucked.

“Shhh Panza, let them sleep, parlanchín.”

“Mm, no- M’wake.”

Warm chuckles sounded from that red clay-colored blob and Leon found himself smiling at the sound.

“You sound it, amigo!”

“Mentiroso.” Panza muttered, mutinously. Luis waved him off as he got to his feet and crossed the cabin on long legs.

What had little Luis gotten so tall? That sweater was a good color on him…

When Leon smiled up at Luis, the taller man felt his heart break at the sight of crows feet around those clear, blue eyes he remembered.

Leon had grown up without him.

Settling himself on the chair he’d parked beside the bed for Panza to perch on, Luis leaned forward to take in his friend, cataloging what damage he could see over the blankets and trying to push the fact that each hurt and abuse was inflicted on his Sancho. His baby-faced friend who had been thrown into a cage and torn from his daemon over and over just to further Luis’ own research…

He shook his head, curls that Leon remembers kept shorter than they were back in New York bouncing jovially. Europe had been good for the man, it really solidified his sense of style…

A startlingly warm hand settled on Leon’s forehead to feel for a fever and neither man addressed the wounded sound that left Leon’s lips at being touched. Luis flipped his hand over and felt his face with the backs of long fingers.

“Y’r sad…” Leon looked down at his own arms in perplexion when they didn’t heed his call to action. He had things he wanted to do. Like smooth out that concern line between Luis’ eyebrows.

Fiorire huffed, her doggy ribs expanding as she breathed…smack-bang on top of his arms. Traitor.

”You love me. Now calm down, your human is speaking.”

Your human.

Summer days spent jumping off swings and chasing one another through alleyways while they dodged returning seamen and laborers rushed past Leon. On those boys’ heels came the smells of Nonna’s cooking, just waiting for the two laughing scamps to wash their hands and their faces, say their prayers, then fill their bellies. A small boy weaving giant stories with the aid of his ever-shifting daemon: now a bird with island-bright plumage, then a coyote howling into the desert stars, later a tiny snapping crocodile…

Running along the pier until that boy disappeared from view, still waving where he stood holding tight to his Abuelo on the ship taking him away.

Leon blinked back to the present where that boy leaned over him, grown and filled with life, if sporting more worry lines than someone their age probably should. Not that the supine man had any room to talk, he was sure.

Chocolate curls diffused the light like the earth they had dug in until Leon’s grandmother had admonished them and Luis’ grandfather had pulled them aside and taught them to make things grow out of their bullish destructive tendencies.

“Leon?”

He was trying to focus on that voice, those eyes that were so familiar behind the curtain of Time.

Blue eyes slipped closed once again and Luis let him sleep.

---

A/N Panza is such a bastard, I love him.

Back to writing... I'm at least two posts ahead, so I should be able to upload as I feel like it. (The whole thing will be cross-posted on my ao3 when it's complete. <3)

For silly thoughts and previews - I've been tagging stuff for this au as 'serennedy daemon au'!

I only speak English, please be kind to me I'm going off of rules I learned when I was like 12. ;;

[Part 3]

[aokozaki]

You know that one photoset of a comedian talking about how theyr parents had some story about driving and seeing a Moose standing over the road and them driving under the Moose? And how the comedian was infuriated to realize that despite how unlikely it sounded, it was just about plausible?

That's how we feel about "Karen Araragi played Russian Roulette with a mob boss with 5/6 chambers loaded, which unnerved the boss so much he just leaves".