#I also greatly appreciated the description of one dress in particular

[allisonreader]

Guess who stayed up until midnight reading the new Whitney and Davis book.

Me, I did. And now I want more. (Pouts)

I want to know what happens next and I want to see Len admit his feelings out loud.

[aminiatureworld]

In My Dreams II

Characters: Diluc, fm!reader

Word Count: 3,273

Warnings: Depictions of a panic attack

Premise: The past is many things. Something to admire, something to learn from, something to hold dear. And yet how unreliable it can be, especially in the hands of ghosts.

In which the reader dreams of the past.

Author’s Note: Translation notes and historical references will come after the fic. The history nerd really came out this time around.  

Diluc

You knew that holding onto the past too much was a dangerous game to play. Yet you continued to chase it, desperately looking for something that might finally bridge your present self to the person you’d left behind.

You’d been mostly upfront to Diluc about this obsession of yours. Knowing that your partner also lost his family, it was easier in some ways to grasp onto this shared loss, and to use it as a way to continue on. Not that Diluc ever pushed you to forget your past, as other might have done. Instead he tried to help you, using his not inconsiderable connections to attempt to find as such land that matched the vague descriptions you could give. Though you knew the quest was most likely no more than a wild goose, you greatly appreciated his attempt to help.

However you knew that even someone as kind and understanding as Diluc would never be able to condone something like this.

You rubbed your arms, feeling every inch of the cold musty ruins around you. You’d heard that a sizeable group of Abyss members were gathering here and figured that these figures who boasted of civilizations long gone might be valuable pieces of information. Though sneaking into a gathering of the upper members of the Abyss was perhaps not the smartest thing you’d ever done. It was too late to turn back now however. Ducking into a corner you slowed your breathing, hoping that no one would care to look at the nook in which you were now curled up.

Listening to the slow creaking of the domain you suddenly felt the hairs on the back of your neck standing up as the air grew charged with magic. The room around you suddenly grew completely silent, as if even the walls were aware of something important. Not daring to sneak a peak at what was happening you closed your eyes, willing your senses to focus on your ears.

“My brethren, I’m glad to see you.”

Opening your eyes wide you gathered your control, willing yourself to not immediately turn around. The voice was familiar, its cadence smooth and soothing, polished as marble. It struck something within you, some deep hidden memory that you’d long ago forgotten. Now that memory struggled to the surface of your mind, the sketch of a long ago time.

“I know that our plans are continuing smoothly. Soon we will able to Khaenri’ah, and topple those who so callously left it to smolder, having lit the flame themselves. We will one more emerge into the world, no longer required to hide our faces.”

The words passed through you, intangible as air. What were they talking about? Nothing was making sense, not one word was something you could interpret. And yet the voice seemed almost an explanation in itself. If you knew who was talking then you’d find out the answers, or at least some of them. Vraning your head ever so slightly you looked up, jerking back slightly in shock as you found amber eyes staring right at you.

The person who was talking was immensely familiar, everything about them echoed with a long gone familiarity. Looking out of place amidst the rank and file members of the Abyss he exuded a cold sort of confidence, a determination to see his words realized. Staring at him you noticed the emblem which embellished the scarf he wore around his neck, a golden eagle which seemed to move with the fabric. A part of you was tempted to run, but you found yourself frozen, trying desperately to process the figure which danced before your eyes.

The young man said nothing, gaze shifting as he calmly began to speak again, though you couldn’t hear his words over the pounding of your heart. When his gaze once more passed yours he grinned an understanding sort of grin. It was as if you two were cohorts in some sort of pranks of scheme, rather than complete strangers who stood on opposites ends of an invisible struggle. The gesture confused you, and you found yourself sinking back to the ground. Putting your head in your arms you took a few deep breaths. You would figure out what was going on. It was alright, there was a logical explanation for this. Perhaps he just wanted to finish up this odd gathering before turning his minions upon you.

And yet the order to attack never came. After what must’ve been at least an hour the young man declared the gathering over. The air filled with the familiar mark of waypointing, and soon the ruin was once more deadly quiet. Straightening your back you studied the wall opposite of you, sure that you were dreaming a confusing sort of dream.

“You can come out now.”

You jumped, freezing as you wondered what to do. You thought that you were alone, yet he remained. Was this the moment, had you truly just been tricked.

“You don’t have to be so afraid.” Laughter drifted to your ears. “I promise the rest are gone.”

Slowly turning around you peered over the broken wall once more. True to the young man’s word there was no one left, only the two of you.  Standing up slowly you summoned your sword, still not trusting the person in front of you.

“What is it?”

“That’s the last thing I expect you to ask.” The young man was smirking now. “Surely there are more important things.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“You wound me! Have you truly forgotten the face of your family.”

The words felt jagged, almost accusatory. You stiffened, face twisting into a scowl as you moved your sword slightly forward.

“You’re a liar.”

“I assure you I’m not! Why, I cannot believe you truly have forgotten so much. Is it just me, or have we all been banished from your thoughts?”

Reaching into his pocket he threw something at you. Catching it you stared at the egg, mind full of half-incredulous questions. The egg was evidently a work of ambition and love, its outer shell the color of the night. Diamonds crept up the sides of the egg, embedded into gold that shone even in the dark of your current place. There were four portraits embedded into the sides, studded with diamonds and crowned with stars that seemed so bright and silverly you were almost afraid to run your fingers over them. Something that seemed to be monograms sat underneath the portraits, but the script evaded your understanding.

Shifting your gaze to the portraits you found an even greater surprise. The person staring back at you, a small smile on her face, was you – though you couldn’t recognize the complex dress in which you’d been painted. The portrait was such a good likeness it took your breath away, the miniscule brush strokes truly the work of a master painter. Rotating the egg slowly you recognized the young man in front of you as the next model. Sporting what could only be some sort of military uniform, small medals of red and blue lined up on top of a blue sash, he seemed to be joking with the artist, his cocky smile offset by the stark lighting of his eyes. Next was a woman, somewhat who could only be this boy’s mother. He face was set in a straight line, her expression one of regal aloofness, as if she was thinking of something very far away. She was wearing the same sort of dress as you, though hers was much more complex in nature. The clothing screamed importance, as if to confirm the expression on her face. Lastly you found yourself looking at the portrait of someone who was presumably the boy’s father. Surprisingly under dressed her wore the same uniform as the boy, the only distinction being the number of medals. No crown sat on his head, no sign of any particular regal bearing shone in the portrait; instead there was a tiredness about him, a cloud which betrayed the fact that he was ultimately quite unworthy of remembrance.

“Do you remember now?”

You looked up wildly, denial fighting with realization as you shook your head. This wasn’t remembering; remembering was something else entirely. Remembering wasn’t the feel of the world sinking around you, remembering wasn’t losing faith in the world around you.

“Are you telling me that this means nothing to you?” Accusation flooded the boy’s speech as he glared at you.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I, I don’t trust this.”

“Always the same sister.” The boy’s tone was mocking now. “You always were the suspicious one, and as unambitious as our poor father once was.”

“Was?”

“He’s changed his tune quite a bit. He had too, of course. How could anyone stay so weak after surviving what we survived?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about death. Or as close to it as one can get I suppose. You should know this, you were there when they stormed the place, when they took us away. You were there when we were ordered to the basement.”

A flash of memory danced in your vision, speeding up your breath as you were overtaken by sudden panic. Swaying slightly you screwed your eyes shut, letting out a cry of frustration when the memory only grew stronger. You were dancing for a moment, spinning around with the boy in front of you as a distant melody drifted upon the air. Then you were inside an unfamiliar place, the new space so claustrophobic it squeezed the air out of you, the windows, having been painted over, offered no reprise. Then it was midnight and you were shuffling outside. The stars seemed so distant; they’d stared cold and unfeeling down as you shuffled behind a familiar figure, entering a door which seemed so familiar.

You leaned against the stone wall, trying to find some sort of reprieve in the cold damp of it. Forcing your eyes open you stared once more at the strange boy in front of you. His expression was one of ill-concealed triumph, mixed with barely suppressed rage.

“Do you see now? Do you see what they did to us? A wonder any of us escaped at all, then again I suppose those wretched idiots had no sense of magic. They were after all a bunch of thugs.”

“Where… where was that place?” You heaved slightly, feeling as if the ground was floating underneath you.

“Somewhere long destroyed. No point in thinking of it now. There is only this world after all. This world and the destruction that seized it as well. Only this one can be saved.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Khaenri’ah! The city struck down by the gods who could contemplate no power except their own! Their people suffered the fate of ours, should they not get the revenge we will never be allowed?”

“You’re mad.”

“Am I? Or are you just the same coward as always?” The boy shook his head. Pointing to the egg in your hand he back away. “You can keep it. Think of it as a memento, a way to contact me. If you ever wish to see right, well, I’ll be waiting.”

And then he was gone, so fast it was as if he’d never existed, as if he’d suddenly turned to dust. Sinking to the ground you pushed scalding air into your lungs, watching helplessly as your vision spotted around you. What had you done, oh gods what had you done?

The return trip to the Winery was an excruciating one. At first panic had been your only sensation, as you half stumbled, half crawled your way out of the Abyss’ lair, stopping every few minutes to lay down as to not pass out. The moment you got into the open air you made your way towards the nearest stream, waterlogging yourself in your hurry to pour icy water down your throat. Collapsed on the back you stared up at the sky. It was still night, which meant Diluc was probably guarding Mondstadt. You prayed to Barbatos that he wouldn’t notice your absence, for how could you deal with your shame? You’d been so foolish. How could you have ever expected things to turn out well? Now you were simply paying the price for your arrogance.

Finally lifting yourself up from your position you stumbled the rest of the way to the Winery, careful to keep your mind blank, afraid of what might happen if you let panic once more set in. Tears pricked in your eyes as familiar vines appeared within your sight, and you could’ve cried for joy upon opening the sturdy oaken door and crossing the threshold of the place you’d learned to call home. Creeping upstairs, hoping desperately that you hadn’t managed to wake any of the other residents, you breathed a sigh of relief when you entered the familiar bedroom which you’d grown to call you own. Sinking down onto the coverlet you let out a soft sigh, finally letting tears fall as you drifted off to sleep.

 -------

Yet your dreams refused to offer you any sort of reprieve. Finding yourself in a darkened hall you silently passed a variety of rooms, their imposing grandeur a familiar one. Someone seemed to be whispering a song in your ear, though when you turned to see who it was no one appeared.

“How can I desert you, how to tell you why.”

Reaching a room even grandeur than the rest you stared at the chairs that sat on dais on the opposite side from where you entered. They shimmered as if a mirage, and when you went to approach them two figures seemed to appear out of thin air. The man and the woman that were painted into the egg gazed at you with sad eyes, each saying nothing as you continued to make your way towards them.

“Let me have a moment, let me say goodbye.”

“Who are you?” You called out to them. The woman turned her head, as if ashamed of your lapse of memory. The man stood up slowly, arms reaching towards you slightly. Hurrying your pace you moved to meet him, spurred on by some unrecognized emotion.

“Harsh and sweet and bitter to leave it all.”

You as you reached the man he vanished, red ash falling softly to the ground in his wake. Gasping in horror you watched as the woman did the same. Suddenly the dream began to crumble, burning itself away to reveal nothing but black. Dropping you into an eternal night you couldn’t escape.

“I’ll bless my homeland ‘til I die.”

You bolted up, mind struggling to place where you were. Looking around you, your eyes were met with the familiar comforts of your home. A soft light drifting through the crack in the curtains, the foretelling of the dawn.

Besides you Diluc stirred. Sitting up slowly, rubbing his eyes in a gesture which made your heart squeeze, he glanced at you through sleep eyes.

“Is there something wrong, my love?”

You meant to say no, to assure him that you’d just had a strange dream. Yet the softness of his voice was contrasted so with the venom of the young man and the silence of the people who seemed to have been your family that you found yourself cracking. The sobs were soft at first, but soon you found yourself wailing, not caring how your hoarse voice pierced through the quiet of the Winery.

“My love?”

Diluc immediately wrapped his arms around you, saying nothing as you continued to sob into his chest, staining his nightshirt with tears as you cried out all the tears you could possibly contain. You felt like the world around you was shattering, like nothing was real anymore. You felt as if all you had held to was suddenly gone, and nothing remained but searing contempt.

“It’s alright, it’s alright.”

Diluc carded his fingers through your hair, whispering soft words of comfort as your sobs diminished. Finally you felt completely spent, and as you relaxed in his arms you felt a sudden surge of tiredness, washing over you and calling you once more to the perilous depths of sleep.

“May I ask you what’s wrong?”

You fought your fatigue, disconnecting yourself slightly as to look Diluc in the face. Could you tell him what had occurred? Could you lay bare your weakness, your shame, your guilt? A part of you recoiled at the idea. And yet, as you stared at Diluc you found yourself recounting what happened, shaky breaths accompanying your soft confession. Lowering your gaze you spoke of your night, grateful that Diluc never let his arms leave you.

“I see.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Why should you be sorry?” Lifting your gaze you found Diluc’s eyes raw, his expression one of surprising honesty.

“I was selfish, and I didn’t expect the consequences of my action. All I could think of was the past, of getting back what I’d once had.”

“And is that not a natural thing?” Diluc took a deep breath, hold on you tightening slightly. “If I could not remember what had happened to my father – if I woke up one day in an  unfamiliar place with nothing but a sense of loss – I would go to the ends of the world to find what I’d lost. There is no crime in wanting your loved ones home, even when you cannot recognize them.”

“And yet it seems the only survivor has turned into a monster.”

“Does that make your past love for him any less? Do the bonds of family immediately cut the moment our loved ones turn rotten?”

You thought back to the young man in the ruins, to his mockery and his impatience. You hated him, you hated what he was doing. And yet you missed him, you somehow missed him so much. Turnign towards the nightstand you opened the small drawer. Pulling out the egg you’d been given you examined it in the dim light. How beautiful it was, how different from the image that had been put in front of you.

“Do you wish to forget what you have remembered?” Diluc’s voice was filled with nothing but kindness.

“No.” Even if it embarrassed you to say, you knew it was the truth.

“Then don’t forget it.”

You smiled, placing the egg once more in your drawer. Though it had only been a few words, though this terrible night hadn’t been erased from your memory, you somehow found yourself much lighter. Turning to Diluc you pressed a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Thank you.”

Diluc said nothing, merely leaning down to kiss you as well. Cushioned in the familiar sanctuary of his arms you allowed the darkness of your encounter to drift from your mind.

 -----

Drifting off to sleep you found yourself once more in a corridor, face to face with the man who was once your father. You stared at him, wondering if he would disappear again.

“Are you truly happy as you are now?”

“Yes.” Somehow you knew it was the truth.

“I see,” the man nodded, a slight smile flashing across his face, “then we shall keep you no longer.”

Leaning over he kissed you softly on the forehead. Next to him now stood the woman who was one your mother. Smiling now, a smile which utterly transformed her melancholy aura, she wrapped you in a hug.

“Do not forget us.” She whispered.

Even as the words were spoken you knew that you never could.

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

The egg that I used this time around is a reference to Faberge eggs. The tradition having been started by Alexander III giving an egg every Easter to Empress Maria Feodorovna, the tradition was continued by Nicholas the second - who gave an egg to his wife and his mother every year. Each egg is a masterpiece of innovation and creativity and is breathtaking in its aesthetic and in the mechanic of hiding its “surprise”. The two eggs I used as reference were the Alexander Palace Egg (1908) and the Twelve Monogram Egg (1896).

The song that I referenced this time around was “Stay I Pray You” from the Anastasia musical. Highly recommend.

The parents are based off of Nicholas II and Alexandra Feodorovna. I do not have time to go into them because we will be here for 300 years. The dresses I mentioned are traditional Russian court gowns. An image will be linked in the reblog.

[bloviating-vy]

Hello, can you tell us the inspiration behind your OCs? Or perhaps provide some visuals?

I personally see the OC from Her is like a mix of Rihanna and Baek Yerin in terms of personality and musical style, and the OC from A Man For All Seasons somewhat reminds me of Inga Lam from Buzzfeed Tasty 😅

And there are some who are just so cool and yet so human, I don't know who to associate them with (e.g the noona from A Woman of a Certain Age, and the Baepsae Financial's Y/N)

Would love to know more about your OCs, they're all so delightful!

OMG what a fun question and speculation!

OC Visuals

I have no idea what various OCs look like or would look like - and am reluctant to add to it in specificity. Mostly because for me, once a movie version of a book comes out, whatever I imagined them to be disappears and is superimposed with the visual and that makes me sad. I can never picture Galadriel as anyone other than Cate Blanchett (and as much as I love Cate Blanchett, it makes me sad, too).

Other than providing general descriptions in terms of perhaps a specific ethnicity, I try to keep physical descriptions open because I, in general, don't physically describe characters or their appearance. This is probably because I find the internal much more interesting - and also because I do not feel terribly confident in my physical descriptors or fashion sense.

(Sorry if that is disappointing!)

OC Inspirations

Full disclosure: all my OCs are at heart, myself. Regardless of what their backgrounds or stories are, I usually take a part of myself and flesh it out. Spin it into what-ifs, etc., throw them into a scenario and see how it plays out. That doesn't mean they ARE me, or that they look like me, but their essence is me.

1) Her series: Main OC

I know I just said that OCs aren't necessarily me, but uh... fun fact: when I first got into BTS, I tried to think of how I, as myself, could conceivably meet them and be with them. I aged myself down 15 years and tried to keep as much of who I am or was (or wished to be) and that is the OC. This includes her interests and musical tastes.

So 100%, this OC - out of all other OCs - is the most me.

2) A Woman of a Certain Age: Unni OC

Unni is every badass woman that I wish I could be!! She's just so strategic and deliberate - the total opposite of me. The only thing we really have in common is our penchant for expensive jewelry lol. Also, their difficulty and pain at trying to conceive was inspired by many of my friends who also had unexplained infertility. Honestly, I wish I were Unni 100%.

3) A Man for All Seasons

I love a good trope and the OC's pregnancy/wedding situation is inspired by a friend that had this happen to them. I was Seokjin on the phone! The OC is also very me in the sense of Mandarin immersion for my kids, reading interests, and being really fertile (but not necessarily getting pregnant on birth control).

4) In Search of Higher Returns: Baepsae Financial OC

I used to be a financial advisor and also had my own firm and used to be a board member of the local Chamber of Commerce and though I was not remotely as successful, this OC/story was inspired by the fantasy of someone like Yoongi walking into my life after a long day of work. She is way cooler and more awesome than I ever could hope to be (or dress).

General inspirations

Many of these stories are inspired by two particular friends who literally live the YN life. They amuse me greatly and I love them more with my whole chest! A lot of the OC's friends and events are modeled off of my friends in real life - especially the MBAs and lawyers and generally all the older, middle-aged people in my life (of which I am one of).

I hope that's not too much of a let down!!

Thank you for the ask, Anon! It was a lot of fun to talk a little more about my OCs!!! I appreciate you!

[merakiaes]

Together, Always - Jorah Mormont

Pairing: Jorah Mormont x Targaryen!reader, Daenerys Targaryen x sister!reader, Jorah Mormont x Daenerys Targaryen (platonic)

Requested: Yes

Prompts: None

Warnings/notes: Mentions of death and violence, angst-ish. Jorah does not have feelings for Dany in this, he’s more like a father-figure to her. 

Wordcount: 2760

Description: Finding Jorah and Dany during the battle, some  Jorah fluff for Anon! 

The day when Dany and Jorah would arrive at Winterfell was finally here. 

Being Dany’s older sister, you’d expect that you would have gone beyond the Wall with them, but while also being the lover of Jorah Mormont, he had convinced your sister to not let you go. 

Despite the fact that you were five years older, the twin of the late Viserys Targaryen. 

But you had expected as much. Your sweet bear was always trying to keep you out of danger’s way, and while you often appreciated it with every bone in your body that he would go out of his way to make sure your sister and you were safe, it was beginning to get on your final nerve. 

Luckily, or not so luckily, this was one of few times he would not be able to get his way. During the upcoming Battle of Winterfell, they would need every bit of help they could get.

As you were the oldest out of your sister and yourself, you rightfully had the first claim to the Iron Throne. But you were in no way interested in being any kind of ruler, leaving that rubbish completely to your sister who only seemed to grow more infatuated with the metal chair for every passing day.

You’d much rather live in a calm home with your Jorah, having a normal life with your children running around and being there to take care of you once growing old, than be involved with the game that was that damned chair in King’s Landing. 

But where Daenerys went, you went. Despite wishing for things to be different, you would never abandon your own blood. 

When you had woken up that morning, you had hurried to the courtyard to receive your sister and lover at the gates, standing beside Sansa who you had, despite your differences, become quite close with during the weeks of your stay. 

However, as the first soldiers of your army spilled in, some of Jon’s men had come up to you, needing help with the trench. So, although begrudgingly, you had left your position at Sansa’s side and trudged off to see to your duties. 

“I need some help over here!” You yelled out as you attempted to lift the spiked piece of wood into the trench, this particular piece being a bit to heavy for you, however. 

Two men ran over almost instantly to take the pole from you, proceeding to drag it over to the trench and dig it into the mud. 

"No, no, no.” You shook your head. “It’s too far to the left, it won’t light.”

The men proceeded to move it further to the right, and you heaved out a sigh. “Now it’s too far to the right.” You shook your head as you watched them try to move it again, going over to slap their hands away. “I’ll do it myself, go back to yours.” You muttered. 

The men each gave you an irritating glare, moving away to leave you to your pole again. 

“Why is no one listening to me today?” You muttered to yourself as you put the pole on your shoulder and tried to move it back to the left, feet slipping in the wet mud every once in a while. 

“I overheard some of them calling you bossy.” A voice suddenly called from behind you, causing you to drop your pole and throw out your arms in exasperation. 

“I’m not bossy! I’m aggressively helpful!” You turned around, spotting your sister and Jorah approaching you. 

The grizzled man smiled as he watched the angry frown resting on your face, the look reminding him of an angry baby dragon. 

“The northerners don’t seem to look at it that way.” Dany chuckled. “I don’t think they’re very used to a woman being in command.”

“Well.” You began, cutting yourself off for a second to curse as you stepped into the mud the wrong way. “They better get used to it, because I’m not going easy on them just because they’re not.” 

Dany laughed, finally reaching her sister. “I missed you.” She opened her arms. 

“I missed you, as well, little sister.” You smiled, following her example and embracing her, squeezing her long and hard before pulling away with a smile to look at Jorah. 

“I missed you even more, my love.” Your smile widened as you threw your arms around the taller man’s shoulders, burying your face into the skin of his neck. 

“And I you, my princess.” You smiled at the nickname, bringing your head up from his neck and raising your hands to grab a hold of his stubbly cheeks to pull him in for a sweet kiss. 

The two of you smiled against each others’ lips as Jorah’s hands came to rest on your waist, grabbing gently to lift you slightly higher all while you rubbed his cheeks slowly. 

Daenerys smiled at the sight, a teasing glint twinkling in her eye. “I don’t know if I should be offended that I got the less loving welcome out of the two of us, or if I should be happy for the both of you.”

You snickered into the kiss, holding on for just a second longer before pulling away. 

Jorah let you down on your feet, instead pulling you into his body as you turned to your sister with a playful smile, hand resting on Jorah’s chest. “Unless you’d want a kiss from your sister, I’d opt for the latter.”

You let your hand fall from Jorah’s chest and the three of you started walking towards the castle side by side, Jorah’s hand eventually coming to find yours. 

You talked about Dany’s trip further north as you walked, and your heart got stuck in your throat as she told you about Viserion’s death. 

You had during Visery’s final years alive hated him with every bone in your body for trying to sell you and Dany off to get the throne back, but despite this Viserion had reminded you of the earlier days where he had still been your twin brother; your Viserys. 

It pained you greatly to know that the single thing keeping that memory alive was now gone.

Jorah had noticed your change of demeanor immediately, using his leather-clad thumb to rub up and down the back of your hand. 

But knowing you had to be strong for your sister, seeing as she was the one to have lost one of her babies, you put on a strong front. 

You reached the castle in no time, not having been too far away to begin with. And Jon had wasted no time in coming up to you once spotting you walking into the bailey. 

“Princess.” He greeted you, bowing his head slightly in respect. 

You watched as Dany’s face lit up at the sight of him, your lips pulling up into a sincere smile at the sight. 

“Jon.” You greeted back, dropping Jorah’s hand to kiss Jon on his cheeks.

“How are you enjoying the North?” He asked. 

You furrowed your brows in thought, having a hard time finding the right word to describe the horrible climate. “It’s...white.”

“It’s snow.” Jon chuckled, and you felt Jorah do the same from your side. 

“I grew up in the desert.” You shot back with a teasing smile. “I barely knew what weather was, let alone snow.”

“Fair enough.” Jon snickered, before walking off with your sister, leaving you to walk alone with Jorah. 

The sun slipped below the horizon, the breeze rippling the water gently as you sat down on a stone near a stream. Jorah put his hands on your shoulders from above you, looking into the reflection of the water, you doing the same. 

“Are you sure you want this?” He asked carefully, as if afraid to hear your answer. 

You squeezed his hand. “I’m not sitting around doing nothing while you go out and fight for me. I might not be as good as you with a sword, but I can do some serious damage with a few knives and arrows, and I’ll be damned if I let you go out there alone.”

“I wouldn’t be alone.” Jorah tried convincing you. 

Although you couldn’t help but feel slightly irritated that he was, like every other time, trying to convince you to sit the fight out, you looked up at him  with a small smile. “You know what I mean.” 

“I do.” Jorah nodded. “I just wish you would take my advice and stay in the crypts.”

“I know how to defend myself, Jorah.” You caressed his hand resting on your shoulder. 

“I know you do. I just don’t want to see you hurt.” Jorah gulped. “You mean more to me than life itself.”

When hearing the words leave his frozen lips, a smile came to grace your features. Standing up, you took his face in your hands like you had only minutes before, looking deep into his eyes to let him know whatever you were about to say, was true. “I’m here with you, you hear that? Always. Together we can do anything.”

Jorah smiled, after a moment of silence giving you a nod. He believed your words, he knew you could stand your ground and protect yourself. But he was still terrified. 

The dreaded moment came, sooner than you had expected and would have hoped, but nonetheless you wasted no time in getting ready for battle. 

You were just leaving the armory, having gotten dressed in fresh leather armor. Had you been able to, you would have chosen metal armor like the men, but seeing as you had to keep your flexibility to be able to shoot your bow and fight up close with your daggers, you had no other choice but to go for the less protective defense. 

Strapping your quiver of arrows to your back, you looked around, hoping to catch a glimpse of your beloved’s golden hair, luckily doing so almost instantly, the man in question looking to be conversing with the younger of the Mormonts. 

As Lyanna walked away from Jorah, you began walking towards him, watching as he struggled to adjust his gorget. 

His eyes looked up at you as he heard your approach, and you smiled gently at him, immediately raising your hands to his neck. “Come here, let me fix it.”

He said nothing as you went to work on his armor, watching with soft eyes as the tip of your tongue dipped out of your mouth in concentration. 

With a snap, you managed to get the piece of metal inside the armor. You shook your head, laughing in amusement. “I don’t understand how you still to this day always forget to put on the gorget before you do the breastplate.” 

“I’m guessing it’s the age.” Jorah smiled sadly, eyes not leaving you for a second as you kept adjusting his armor to fit better. 

Finishing the final touches, you slapped his breast lightly, looking up to meet his eyes. “You’re not that old yet, Mormont.”

He didn’t answer, only gave you the saddest of eyes, causing your heart to yerk in your chest. “It’s not too late to change your mind, you can still choose to stay in the crypt.” 

You had to resist the urge to give in to his puppy eyes, instead giving him a look similar to his own. “I want to fight, Jorah.” 

He nodded, accepting your answer without more protests, knowing fully well there was no changing your mind once you had made a decision, but you could see the disappointment clear on his tired face.

Your previously teasing demeanor had completely changed by now, a frown etching onto your soft features as you brought your hands up to his hair, grabbing onto it gently. 

You leaned your forehead against his, closing your eyes to take in his touch to the full, knowing he had done the same. 

“Don’t you dare die on me, Jorah Mormont.” You spoke after a minute of silence, just bathing in each others’ warmth and feel. 

“You have my word, princess.” Jorah responded, hand coming to rest on the sides of your face gingerly. 

An hour later and the battle was raging on. You hadn’t seen Dany nor Jorah the entire time, only catching glimpses of a dragon’s silhouette in the sky ever once in a while, but it was impossible to know if it was Jon or Dany. 

You had started off on the castle walls, shooting alongside the rest of the archers. But once the Others had managed to find their way through the trench and climbed the walls, you had left your position and joined the battle below you. 

You were losing, hard. That much you were sure off. But you were dead-set not to die, just as you were dead-set on finding Jorah and your sister. 

You held a hard grip on your bow as you ran, legs and arms pumping as you slid under, through and between the living and the dead in the battlefield. 

As you looked around, you caught sight of movement a bit away from the battle, and as you squinted, you could easily make out the forms of two people, one of which had the white hair of your sister. 

And you knew Jorah had to be the one who was with her. 

You pushed yourself to go faster, watching with fear in your eyes as Dany and Jorah fought alone against dozens of the dead, barely avoiding being killed several times. 

You hardened your eyes in determination, and as you watched one of the wights sneak up beside Jorah, you pulled an arrow from your back. 

“Oh no, you don’t!” You yelled, knocking two arrows in less than a second and releasing the string, letting them fly through the air and watching in success as the first one hit the blade away from the wight’s grasp, and the other buried itself in its rotting skull. 

Jorah and Dany turned their heads to look your way, relief washing through them once they spotted your form running their way. 

“Jorah, look out!” You suddenly yelled as another wight made move to stab him in the chest, right before you threw a dagger his way, successfully hitting the wight in the hand, resulting in Jorah getting stabbed in the shoulder instead. 

As you kept on running, and Jorah and Dany kept on fighting, you watched as the dead all fell limp to the ground around them just in time as you reached them. 

Only then did Jorah allow himself to fall to the floor, the many wounds in his legs and sides causing him to no longer be able to stand up. 

He groaned as he hit the ground, pressing down on his shoulder. He was hurt, there was no denying that, but thanks to you he was not hurt enough to lose his life. 

Finally reaching the pair, you wasted no time in kneeling to Jorah’s side, putting your hand on top of his to squeeze down harder to the wound. “I thought you were a man of your word, Jorah Mormont.” You managed to get out through heavy breaths, thinking back to your conversation before the battle. 

Jorah groaned quietly, grabbing your, now bloody, hand, with his other one. “How can I not be when I have you to make sure I never break them?”

You chuckled at him, tears beginning to pool in your eyes as Dany came to sit beside you.

You turned to your sister. “We need to get him to the castle, his wounds need to be tended to before they get infected.”

Danny nodded hurriedly, out of breath from fighting off the wights, and she hurried to stand up, you going to do the same but being stopped by Jorah’s hand around your wrist before you could. 

“Don’t get up.” He breathed out, causing you to stop in your tracks and slowly sing back to the ground. 

Jorah rolled around slightly to place his head in your lap, squeezing his eyes shut in pain, mumbling out a quiet “Just a little longer.” 

You looked at him for a moment before nodding, Dany coming back to your side with a cloth in hand, giving it to you to put pressure on the wound. 

Once you were sure that the cloth was tight enough to stop Jorah from bleeding out, you allowed your hand to run through his hair, letting Dany rest against you under your other arm as Drogon came to curl around the three of you, protecting you from any possible dangers as you caught your breaths together. 

[vinomancy]

Grow Fonder

for @meezer13 - merry christmas and an ignocty new year, from your @ignoctsecretsanta

Title: Grow Fonder Rating: T Warnings: one very brief and vague description of masturbation Blurb/Summary: Ignis tries to take some time away to pull himself together. It doesn’t quite work out.

It had seemed like such a good idea.

 A six-month placement in Altissia, allowing him the opportunity to work with a foreign government department and give him experience for when Noctis became king, and the chance to study while he was there. Certainly, the course he'd enrolled in was in a culinary school rather than anything that would aid him in matters of state, but it was an opportunity not to be missed. Noctis had goggled at him in disappointed disbelief when he learned that Ignis planned on filling his spare time overseas with study, but he'd perked up on learning that Altissians had a lot of interesting and delicious ways of preparing fish. And while he'd grumbled about having to clean his own apartment for half a year (“You should be doing that anyway, Noctis. I'm your chamberlain, not your maid”) he'd still come to see Ignis off as he departed. Something that hammered home the necessity of Ignis' time away, really.

 It had been rather sweet; Gladio and Prompto had tagged along, Prompto snapping pictures of Ignis claiming the need to prepare for “before and afters of the sick tan you're gonna get”. He'd also insisted that Ignis not forget to have fun.

 “Make friends! Have a fling!”

 “He's not allowed,” Noctis had cut in, and Ignis's heart jumped right into his throat. Gladio, irritatingly observant for a man who looked like he kept his brain in his biceps, had cut Ignis a look that made him feel utterly naked, but thankfully Prompto and Noctis were too busy bickering to notice either reaction.

 “Uh, dude? He's your butler, not your teenage daughter.”

 “Nope,” Noct had replied, drowning out Ignis' weak protest of chamberlain! “Have you ever seen Ignis do anything half-assed? If he tries to have a fling he'll fall in love and we'll never get him back.”

 “And then you might have to learn to clean up after yourself,” Gladio put in, and Ignis could have kissed him for interrupting that particular chain of conversation. “Stop planning the man's love life for him and let him get on his boat.”

 –

 He does get on his boat, and Altissia is beautiful. Ignis could spend days simply wandering around, learning the shape of the city; tall, pale buildings sprouting out of the labyrinthine twist of it, all snaked through with the gondola-bearing canals. The gondolas themselves, he's pleased to learn, are not a touristy gimmick but a mode of transportation also employed by the locals, including the young man sent to meet him on arrival, who watches the way Ignis looks around and makes the greatly appreciated decision to leave him to his own devices with a contact number in case questions arise. There's an apartment for Ignis' use while he's here, small but clean and comfortably furnished. The exploratory wander he takes after tidying away his belongings reveals a cafe and little restaurant both within a few minutes' walk, and a market close by from which he procures a wonderful gelato and a pressing desire to put some of the beautiful produce on offer to good use. And when he settles in for the evening and opens his bedroom window to let the breeze in, he finds there's a window box filled with small, waxy white flowers that have an unexpectedly glorious scent given their unassuming appearance. The evening air carries it in along with the sounds of water and people living their lives, and Ignis is very pleased with the arrangement indeed.

 It's perfect. Similar enough to Insomnia for him not to experience culture shock, but different enough – captivating enough – to be a distraction. In a place like this it should be simple to break himself of unfortunate habits like tracking the way the prince moves as if he's art in motion, getting silly about things like the bluest eyes he's ever seen or hair that looks improbably soft for the sheer amount of styling product that must go into it, or confusing what must be very normal pride in seeing the young man Noctis has become for love. He'll return to Insomnia equipped with his new skills and without any silly little crushes. An ideal plan, he thinks, and as he settles in for bed his phone chimes with the tone he uses specifically for Noctis.

 Enjoy your time away, Specs, it says, which is sweet but uncharacteristic. Or so he thinks, until the next message comes through accompanied by a picture of an empty pizza box, the circle of grease in the bottom like a pirate's black spot, but for heart disease.

 I know I will.

 Ignis shakes his head, sends back a request for Noctis to avoid dying in his absence, and falls asleep with a smile on his face.

 –

 Alas, Altissia is not as much of a distraction as he'd hoped. He sees Noctis everywhere; in the blue of the surrounding ocean, in the little fishing spots scattered around in what seem to be the most improbable places. They make a local specialty in his cooking class, a dish that contains no fewer than three types of fish, and when he sends a picture of the end result to Noctis the flurry of texts that follow – entreating Ignis to come home soon, or better still come home now, with said dish - puts such a smile on Ignis' face that his classmate asks him if he's messaging “someone special”.

 “Oh, no,” he says. “Well, yes, but not like that.”

 That's a fact that's becoming harder to remind himself of. The messages they send back and forth become more frequent as Ignis' stay progresses, until they're messaging multiple times a day. It was never this way back in Insomnia; Ignis would message Noctis to remind him of important appointments or consult on what he wanted for dinner, and most of the time Noctis would answer. Now Noctis sends him messages out of the blue; pictures of cats he sees, the proud announcement of a dinner he actually cooked for himself, simple good morning wishes (though these generally roll in when there's only thirty minutes or so of the day left which could be considered morning). Then a picture of Noctis himself, which to Ignis' knowledge is very rare indeed – for all his good looks, Noctis hates having his picture taken.

 Got an appearance, the message says. What do you think of the new suit?

 Unfortunately for Ignis and his desire to work Noctis out of his system, the new suit is magnificent. It shows off the results of Noct's training with Gladio; Noct is slight and always will be, based on the general shape of him, but the cut of the blazer sits across his shoulders in a way that displays a new broadness and cuts in close to his waist to emphasise it. It certainly doesn't help that Noct is smiling in the picture – not the wide smile that makes him look almost like the happy child he used to be, but something close-mouthed and almost secretive. It is, to Ignis' great despair, very sexy.

 It's good, he writes, and then, before his senses kick in and stop him, you look very handsome.

 Thanks. And there's a little winking face, which does a lot to soothe Ignis' concern that he's overstepped a boundary but very little to diminish the guilt he feels that night, when he's finished thinking about peeling Noct out of the suit and kissing every inch of unveiled skin. That's how it goes every time; boiling want when his head is filled with images of Noctis as his own hand strokes over him and he bites his lip to keep from saying Noct's name aloud, and then dim shame as he cleans up.

 It never stops him.

 –

 Working is pleasant enough. He's under the supervision of a woman named Sylvie, who is probably only a handful of years older than Ignis but takes him under her wing with the zeal of a mother duck. The offices are far more casual than what he's used to back home, which Ignis supposes is the result of not having a literal King walking around the place. Everybody is friendly, department meetings tend to be taken at local eateries over lunch and extend into afternoons of bandying new ideas about over carafes of wine and finger food, and nobody much minds if Ignis checks his phone from time to time. The window by his desk offers a view of the city, the sprawl of buildings framed by the glittering blue sea, and that turns out to be convenient when Noctis texts him asking for a selfie. The request makes him smile, even if Noct's response to his enquiry as to why is I miss your nerd face. Ignis turns so his back is to the window, takes a picture, and returns to his seat to see a man walk in to lean in the doorframe. Marius, he remembers. Sylvie had called him the office heartbreaker, and Ignis can see why. Everyone in Altissia dresses showily compared to what he's used to in Insomnia, but Marius combines it with flashy accessories, carefully styled hair and a posture that makes him look as if he should be modelling underwear rather than working in government offices.

 “Ignis,” he says, flashing a brilliant smile. “I'm going to get coffee. There's a wonderful place not five minutes from here, and I'd be delighted to introduce you to it.”

 Ignis smiles politely, and raises his steaming mug.

 “Very kind, but I'm all set. You enjoy.”

 Marius seems to falter for just a second, a little crinkle between his perfectly-arched brows, and then his smile is back in what seems like full force.

 “Well. Perhaps later,” he says, and gives a little finger wave as he heads back out. Ignis sips from his coffee – perhaps not as good as it would be from a local cafe, but pleasant nonetheless – and turns back to his report until he feels eyes boring into him. He looks up.

 “Hopeless, “says Sylvie, with such a tone of exasperation that Ignis takes her meaning immediately.

 “Ah,” he says, which does not stop her from balling up a piece of neon-coloured note paper and throwing it right at his forehead. Ignis' phone chimes.

 Hell of a view.

 –

 So it's semester break next week, the latest message says, and all your pictures are making me jealous. Know anyone here I could get to do all the paperwork for a visit to Altissia?

 It is exactly the opposite of what Ignis requires to meet his goal here, and the suggestion makes his chest flutter pleasantly. Attraction aside, he misses Noctis. They were friends long before anything else, and while the people he's met in Altissia are friendly and pleasant to be around, it's quite lonely to be away from someone he's been around for most of his life. He considers for a moment, fingers drumming against the side of his phone.

 Yourself, you lazy article.

 He frowns almost as soon as he sends it. Perhaps he's overshot his attempt to avoid sounding too eager, but Noct appears undeterred.

 Worth it. Last chance to say no, or I'll see you in a week.

 It's a terrible idea. Ignis smiles.

 I suppose that's that. Would you like me to arrange your accommodation at this end?

 What, they didn't give you a couch I can crash on?

 It would be nice to have him close, certainly. But the idea of making the Prince of Lucis sleep on the couch is an affront to every proper bone in Ignis' body.

 I have a perfectly serviceable bed if it comes to that, Noctis.

 There's a beat where he realizes how that sounds, and another in which he struggles to form a clarification, and then his phone chimes again.

 Will you be in it?

 Ignis puts his phone down. That's... well, perhaps Noctis is only trying to assure himself that Ignis didn’t mean what Ignis was worried it sounded like he meant. But he thinks back over the messages they've sent, the frequency of them. The smile Noctis wore in the picture of the suit, his request for a picture of Ignis, and his response. He's either a deluded fool or just a fool, and while he struggles to puzzle it out his phone chimes at him repeatedly from his bedcovers. He picks it up, nervous in a way he hasn't been around Noctis since their first meeting.

 Too much?

 and

 I mean, I've been trying to flirt with you for three months

 and finally

 Sorry

 A month! He is a fool, but a happy one.

 A conversation we ought to have in person when you’re here, perhaps.

 There. Hopeful, he thinks, and a clear sign that he’s still open to a visit, and that the suggestion – however inappropriate – was not entirely unwelcome.

 Wait, you're not mad?

 Not at all. Rather the opposite, in fact.

 There's a pause, and Ignis forces himself not to hold his breath.

 You dick. Way to keep a guy in suspense. Noct's reply makes Ignis laugh aloud to himself, and he hopes that back in Insomnia Noct is doing the same.

 –

 A week is both an agonizingly short amount of time for Ignis to feel prepared and far too long to wait. He lets people know the Prince will be visiting but not in an official capacity, and to his surprise and delight Noctis does, in fact, organize his own paperwork. Or at least he does some of it, and sends Ignis a picture as proof; Noct' status means there are rather more forms to fill out than for anyone else, and it would be a small miracle if his patience held that long. He'll travel with a bodyguard, who to Ignis' great relief will not be Gladio, but thanks to some fairly insistent bargaining once he's actually in Altissia he will be in Ignis' care. Ignis plans activities, plots out all the things he'd like Noctis to see, and then he sees Noctis coming through the gates and grinning at him and all his thoughts scatter like birds startled from a tree. He moves towards Noctis, and Noct towards him, and they hit an awkward pause at precisely the same time.

 “Ah,” says Ignis. “Where would you like to go?”

 “Your place,” Noctis says immediately, looking relived. “I figured you'd want to drag me all around to look at old buildings and water gates.”

 Ignis did, in fact, want to drag him around to look at old buildings and water gates. He settles for a gelato on their way (“What is this, chocolate chip?” “Straciatella.” “Tastes like chocolate chip”), an insists upon carrying Noct's bag for him, though Noctis puts up very little resistance to the idea. He has booked a hotel room for Noctis, just in case, but it's nice to have Noctis here, in this little place that's starting to feel like his own. He puts Noct's bag away, gestures to the sofa.

 “Kicking me onto the couch already?” Noct asks, with a lopsided grin that looks significantly less nervous only once Ignis takes a seat next to him. “So...”

 There's a very slight shifting, and Ignis drops his eyes to the couch cushions, where Noct's hands are bunching and unbunching against the upholstery. It's... to be expected, he imagines. It's one thing to talk about something with the buffer of removal that text affords them; quite another to be faced with it. Not for the first time, he wonders if actually being together has changed things. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but Ignis knows how the saying continues: familiarity breeds contempt. It's possible that faced with Ignis in the flesh Noctis has remembered all the times they've quarrelled, every time Ignis has fussed at him for delaying homework or official duties to play videogames, every time he'd thought he'd successfully snuck vegetables into a meal only to have Noct create a little pile of them on the side of his plate. Ignis draws a breath and reminds himself that the risk of a little disappointment now is infinitely preferable to guilt later.

 “You're not obliged to do anything you don't want to,” he says, gently as he can, and Noctis snorts.

 “That's my line.”

 Ignis blinks, watches Noct's face for a moment.

 “Pardon?”

 “I just -” Noct sighs, his fingers still working at the couch cushions. “Dad's always telling me to be careful what I say to people in case it sounds like an order. So I -” Ignis is already opening his mouth to interrupt, but Noct's shakes his head – quick, decisive, and continues. “I need to know what you want.”

 There's so much he could say. Part of him wants to apologise for leaving Noctis in any doubt. Part of him wants to confess just how long he's harboured feelings for Noct, trying to keep them secret and safe and sure that he was giving himself away.

 Instead, he leans in and presses his mouth to Noct's in a kiss. It's a simple thing, close-mouthed and chaste, and for a moment Noct's answering stillness makes him worry he's done the wrong thing. Then Noct's hands move tentatively upward, fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt before he surges into movement – hands bunching in Ignis' shirt to hold him close, his mouth opening, tongue darting into Ignis' mouth as soon as his own opens in response. There's an urgency to it that makes Ignis smile even before they break the kiss and Noct moves back, his breath sounding heavy.

 “This,” Ignis says. “I want this.”

 “Cool,” says Noctis, and kisses him again.

 –

 Ignis does insist that Noctis spend that first night at the hotel. Anything else would be too fast, which Noctis appears to be very prepared to argue against until Ignis draws himself up into him most prim posture.

 “I see how it is,” he says, affecting a wounded tone. “You don't wish to date me. You only want me for my body.”

 Noctis laughs, thankfully, and blushes rather charmingly at the suggestion of a date, so Ignis decides to take him to the hotel via the little restaurant near his apartment. It's a beautiful night out, warm but pleasantly breezy, so they walk past the canals and Ignis tries to point out landmarks here and there, though he notices that when Noctis says “uh-huh” his eyes are almost unfailingly still on Ignis.

 They're just outside the restaurant when they come across a group of people from work. It's a little alarming, honestly; There's a respectable distance between Noctis and himself, certainly nothing to give them away, but Ignis still rather feels as if he's been caught with his hand on the cookie jar. He makes his introductions, declining to use Noct's title. Sylvie clucks predictably at Noctis and makes him stammer and duck his head by telling him he's adorable, and Marius flashes him a grin.

 “Any friend of Ignis is a friend of ours,” he says, and then leans close in mock-conspiracy. “Put in a good word for me, will you? I've been trying to ask him out, but he won't take the hint.”

 Ignis stiffens. He watches Noct's eyes widen slightly, moving from Marius to Ignis and back again. And then, to Ignis' utter surprise, Noctis reaches for his hand and laces their fingers together.

 “Man, tell me about it.”

[hannahindie]

Museum of Death: Part 1

Characters: Theodore (OC-brief), Maggie (OC), Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Reader Word Count: 2,581 Warnings: Canon violence, death, things being creepy A/N: I wrote this for @amanda-teaches’s UNDERCOVER HUNTING CHALLENGE! Congrats on the followers, love! (I left it in all caps because it just felt so enthusiastic. lol) This is just the first part, and though I was only aiming for two...it might have a third. My goal was to write it in an episode format, which is drawing it out some, but I really love it so far. I hope you all do too. My undercover job was museum workers. This part doesn’t get quite into that, but part two will!

ALSO a big shout out to @wheresthekillswitch for helping me brainstorm this whole thing, and for picking out sweet fake names for them. This fic would not be nearly as cohesive without her. Thanks for helping my gears get going, lovely. :)

Also, there is an actual Museum of Death in New Orleans, but disclaimer, I don’t know much about it. This particular museum is based loosely on it, and I know that the details won’t really match. Just...uh...roll with it, I guess. lol A special shout out to Manda for helping me with my Cajun dialect. It’s way harder than I thought it would be, so just a round of applause for all ya’ll fantastic Benny writers. Shew. lol If you have any suggestions that would help, I would appreciate it!

Beta’d by the always beautiful and wonderful waterbear, @trexrambling: “I wasn't supposed to feel this way about a side character... thanks for those unwelcome HURT FEELS HANNAH!”

And my lovely and encouraging and fantastic @pinknerdpanda: “Omg! I cackled. This is so 10000% Dean. I can hear his voice in my head.”

As usual, tags are at the bottom. If you’d like to be added, please let me know!

The dull click of the security guard’s heels echoed through the darkened hallway, the sound deafening in the otherwise silent museum. Normally, this was his favorite kind of gig. There was something about walking through what would normally be bustling rooms and popular displays when it was dead silent, the only light the soft beam from his flashlight and the muted green glow of the emergency exit signs. But this time, something was different.

His wife had warned him when he’d taken this job that it was a bad idea. “You hav’to respek de dead, cher. Dat place...it is couillon*. You work dere, you will get notin’ but trouble, Theodore!” she had fretted as he got his things ready for his first day. He had assured her that, despite the unusual and macabre subject matter that the museum focused on, everything would be fine; it was just her deep-rooted superstitions that were clouding her judgement, and besides, they needed the money. She had stopped talking about it, but every night since then he had found an amulet of protection in his uniform pocket. Although he was not originally from Louisiana and did not share his wife’s Cajun superstitions and beliefs, he greatly appreciated her effort in trying to keep him safe.

He paused at one of the glass cases and stared at the contents inside. Staring back at him, her eyes almost as cold as the glass separating him from the black and white photo, was an angry looking woman, her eyes wild and hair a tangled mess around her weathered and scowling face. In all honesty, he did not like walking through the displays at this particular museum, but this one...this one was the one that always threw him off the most. There was something about the look in her eye, the flat, dead stare that always reminded him of a shark. He couldn’t help but stare, and he’d had to drag himself away more than once. He’d read the description over and over, had even Googled the woman’s name one early morning after he'd gotten home from his shift. She was unnerving, and he always felt an awkward shiver go down his spine while passing the glass case.

He jumped as the sudden booming sound of a door being slammed startled him out of his staring contest with the shark eyed woman. “Doc?”

His hand slipped down to the nightstick he carried, the only weapon he was permitted other than his heavy flashlight, and continued his round of the floor. Instead of turning to go towards the stairs leading to the second floor, he turned the opposite way, the direction that the curator's office was. Dr. Lyons, the most recent curator to come into the museum, often stayed late into the night. Lately, however, he had been staying even later in order to catalogue and sort the newest exhibit. He had been incredibly excited to share whatever it was and was working diligently in order to get it ready for public viewing as soon as possible. Dr. Lyons had always been nice to him, and in the few weeks that Theodore had been working at the museum he'd grown quite fond of the eccentric curator.

“Hey, Doc? You okay?” Theodore called quietly into the dark. He stopped at the closed office door and sighed. Lyons had always told him that, no matter what, he was welcome in his office, but something told Theodore that it was always better to keep closed doors exactly that; closed. “Doc? Do you need help with anything?” He reached out to knock on the door but paused, his knuckles just hovering over the pebbled glass. He was worried, the doctor was never this quiet, but everything in his gut said to walk away and to let someone else worry about it in the morning. After a moment of arguing with himself, the braver side of him won out and, instead of knocking, he let his hand move down to the worn, brass doorknob. “I'm coming in, Doc, it's just me.”

The door swung open with a groan, the old hinges cranky as they ground against each other. The room was dimly lit by an old desk lamp, the light a sickly yellow from the shade, and the shadows stretched long across the cluttered office. Unopened boxes and crates were stacked around the room, and one sat open on the desk.

“Doc?”

Theodore swung the MagLite around the room and the beam landed on a pair of leather dress shoes that were sticking out from behind the desk. “Oh, shit…” he whispered to no one as he slowly moved around so that he could see behind it. What he saw made him gasp.

Dr. Lyons was lying on his back, his glasses askew and his face frozen in what Theodore could only describe as pure terror. An already darkening bruise circled his throat, and his hands were clenched tightly at his sides. Theodore dropped to one knee, gently placed two fingers on the doctor’s throat, and groaned when he didn’t find a pulse. As he stood, he heard the dull thud of something hitting the floor. His hand automatically went to his shirt pocket where his wife had put the protection charm, and, finding it empty, he began to feel panic set in. He scanned the floor, looking for the small clay amulet. A wave of cold surrounded him, nearly freezing his breath in his chest, and he watched as the warm air he exhaled formed a small, frozen cloud.

“What the hell?” he thought to himself as the temperature continued to drop. He began to shiver, and the beam from his flashlight shimmied across the hardwood floor. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he turned slowly to find himself  face to face with the shark-eyed woman from the glass case.

“You...you can’t be here. You’re dead.” She gave him a cold smile, her crooked teeth dirty and sharp. “I looked it up, you were executed in 2002. You’re not real.” He heard the dull click of a pistol being cocked and his eyes widened. “Listen, I’m not a bad guy. I know how you feel about guys you think are bad, and I didn’t hurt you. I haven’t hurt anybody. I would never…” he trailed off when he felt the cold steel of a muzzle press against his forehead. “Please…no...I didn’t do anything! My wife is expecting me to come home, I promise I won’t do anything-” The loud crack of the pistol discharging interrupted Theodore, and he hit the floor, his wide eyes staring at the ceiling as a single drop of blood rolled down the bridge of his nose.

“Dean!” Sam’s voice echoed down the hall as he wandered the bunker looking for his brother. “Y/N! Where are you guys?”

“I’m in the kitchen!” Y/N shouted back as she blew a stray hair from her face, her flour covered hands too busy pressing dough into the pie plate to do the job themselves. She heard Sam’s long strides get louder as he approached the kitchen, and soon his large frame filled the doorway as he practically skipped down the steps, laptop in hand.

“Pie? What’s the occasion?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Does your brother need an occasion to demand pie?”

Sam laughed, “No, I guess not.” He sat down at the table and opened his laptop, “I found something, and I’m pretty sure it’s right up our alley.”

Y/N grabbed a bowl of chopped apples and poured the contents into the pie crust. “Oh yea? It’s been pretty quiet, you sure it’s one of our things?”

“Yep, pretty sure. Two people killed in a locked building. One was strangled and one was shot.”

“How does that make it ours? Anyone can strangle or shoot someone, and I think we both know that picking a lock isn’t exactly difficult.” She carefully laid the top crust over the perfectly mixed apples, cinnamon, and sugar, then pinched the edges closed.

“The strangulation, maybe. But this other guy was shot and there is no gun, no bullet, no GSR. It’s like he was shot with an invisible gun. Plus, the alarms were still set and all the doors were locked. Not a sign of break in anywhere.”

Y/N slipped the pie into the oven and set the timer. “Alright, that’s a valid reason. Where are we going?”

“New Orleans. It’s been awhile since we’ve been to Louisiana.” Sam closed his laptop and sat back in his chair, “So, do you know where Dean is?”

Y/N shook her head as she wiped her hands off on a towel, “No, but give it a minute. He’ll be here.”

“How do you know?”

Y/N closed her eyes and held up five fingers. Slowly, she began to count down silently, one finger at a time. Just as she got to only her pointer finger, Sam heard footsteps approaching the kitchen and Y/N smiled.

“Where’s the pie?” he demanded, his eyes narrowed as he searched for the source of the delicious smell.

Sam looked at Y/N, impressed, “Nice. How’d you know?”

Y/N shrugged, “Call it a gift.” She walked towards the door, then stopped and looked at Dean over her shoulder, “You’re going to have to take that pie to go, sweet cheeks. We’ve got a case.” She disappeared down the hall and Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam.

“A case? Where are we going?”

“New Orleans.” Sam opened his laptop and spun it around so that Dean could see it, “So, get this…”

“Are you freakin’ kidding me?” Dean griped as he and Sam strolled down the sidewalk, straightening his tie in annoyance as Sam’s last minute warning rang in his mind.

“It must have slipped my mind-” Sam started before Dean cut him off.

“Oh, really? You just failed to mention that this whole thing happened in a serial killer museum? That little nugget of information just ‘slipped your mind’?” Dean air quoted angrily.

“I didn’t think it was that important,” Sam mumbled.

Dean rolled his eyes, “No, it's because you have this freaky ass obsession with serial killers and you knew if you told me, I would have either relentlessly made fun of you or I would have refused to get involved. Luckily for you, I can't just let people get murdered. But I will relentlessly make fun of you. So what's the story with this woman, Nancy Grace?”

Sam glared at him and Dean smirked. “It’s the security guard’s wife. We’re going to see if her husband had told her anything about the museum. If it’s a haunting, maybe he mentioned something.”

They reached the front porch and Dean paused, his eyes narrowed as he leaned towards the porch post and ran his fingers over the small symbols that had been painstakingly carved into the wood. “Do these look familiar to you?”

Sam looked over Dean’s shoulder, “Huh...they’re five-spots.”

“Oh, yea, we saw them at that old hotel way back in the day, right? The one where that old lady was living in the attic.”

“Yea, it’s Hoodoo...but to make it a powerful charm for protection you have to fill whatever this is carved on with bloodweed. It wouldn’t be incredibly useful without it, and I don’t see any out here.”

“Huh, that’s weird. Oh well, maybe they didn’t realize that’s what it was.” Dean hopped up the steps and rapped on the door, “We are in New Orleans. It’s not like we aren’t surrounded by stuff like that, anyway.”

The door swung open, and a short, thin woman appeared in the darkened opening. Her red-rimmed eyes shifted from Dean to Sam and then back to Dean before she spoke. “I already spoke to de police.”

“Hello, ma'am, we truly are sorry to bother you. I’m Agent Tom Hannigan, this is my partner Agent Clay Miller. We’re with the FBI.” Dean flashed his badge, then quickly stowed it back in his pocket. “We just need to ask you a few questions.”

She looked between the two once more before pushing the door open wide enough to accommodate them, “If you are wid de FBI, I am Marie Laveau. You best make it quick. Close de door behind you, cher.”

Dean settled back into the flower print chair, the soft cushions nearly swallowing him, and balanced the hot mug of coffee on his knee. Sam was awkwardly shifting on the couch, his own mug of coffee cradled between both hands as he looked around the room. Photos of the victim and his wife were scattered around the room; on the coffee table, lining the mantle, arranged carefully on bookshelves. They looked happy, and Dean felt a sudden pang of sadness as the woman came back into the living room.

“Ma’am-”

“You can call me Maggie, cher. My mere is ma’am. Theo called me Magnolia… ‘My pretty Magnolia’, he would say, ‘Not everyone can have a flower to call dere own.’” She sighed, “He’s de only one dat called me dat.” She sat in the rocking chair by the window and picked up a picture of her and Theodore. “I knew dat museum was no good.”

Dean sat his mug on the coffee table and leaned his elbows on his knees, “Why did you think it was no good?”

Maggie raised an eyebrow, “De place is filled with killers, with monsters. It is like dey built a shrine to dese terr’ble people. I told him dey needed to respek de dead, but I didn’t mean de murderers. I meant de people dey killed.”

Dean glanced over at Sam, who looked down sheepishly. He turned his attention back to Maggie, “Do you think that’s the reason Dr. Lyons and Theodore were killed? Because they were being disrespectful?”

Maggie shook her head, “My Theo wouldn’t ever disrespek anyone. No, no...I made sure he’d be safe. Ev’ry day, I put a special charm in his pocket, a protection charm. When dey gave me his belongings, it wasn’t dere. I t’ink dat is what happened. De charm was lost, and den whatever got de doctor got Theo.” She sat the frame back on the table and sighed, “I don’t know what you boys really do, but you best be careful. Dere is somethin’ dangerous happenin’ in dat museum. Somet’in’ evil that shouldn’t be disturbed.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out two small charms, “Take dese, keep dem wit you. A lot of people t’ink I’m too old fashioned, and maybe I am...but it’s better to be safe dan sorry, and if I’m wrong, den not’in happens.” She held out her hand and both Sam and Dean leaned forward and took a charm.

Sam smiled gently at her, “Thank you, we really appreciate it. And I promise, we’ll take care of whatever this is.”

Dean nodded in agreement, “It’s what we do. I know we can’t bring Theo back, but we’ll make sure it doesn’t happen to anyone else.”

Maggie smiled sadly, “I hope you do.” Sam and Dean stood and walked towards the door, and Maggie held it open as they left. “You boys be careful, now,” she shouted after them, and Sam turned and gave her a small wave. She watched as they disappeared down the sidewalk and into a dark car, her chest tight with worry.

*In this instance, couillon is to mean foolish. I linked it, but there were a few definitions.

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[perkwunos]

Anthropologists have increasingly found it worth pointing out that the division between humans and nonhumans is not always treated quite like we would expect. This is often mentioned when discussing the cultures of Native American people. For instance, to quote Descola on the Makuna people of eastern Colombia, they “classify human beings, plants, and animals as "people” (masa) whose main attributes–mortality, social and ceremonial life, intentionality, and knowledge–are in every way identical.“ Descola also explains, "From the luxuriant forests of Amazonia to the glacial spaces of the Canadian Arctic, certain peoples thus envisage their insertion into the environment in a manner altogether different from our own. They regard themselves … as simple components of a vaster whole within which no real discrimination is really established between humans and nonhumans.” This is shown in a variety of ways, through hunting or plant cultivation taking on the form of dialogue and personal relationship building, to shamanic abilities to perceive tapirs holding feasts in their long-houses with other animals. To quote Ignacio, a kumu (protective) shaman of the Makuna, “In our vision tapirs look like animals but in the vision of the shaman a tapir is a person dressed in animal skin. Thus, whatever people do in this world, tapirs do in theirs. Yet at the same time their world is the opposite of ours as if in a dream. When it is night in this world, it is daylight in theirs. What is dark and invisible to us is clear and bright to them.”

Western culture, on the other hand, is seen to have a starkest bifurcation between the human and nonhuman realms. The division certainly begins to gain an almost haunting place, for just as an absolute boundary in essence is attempted to be upheld, a perception of our close connections still demands our attention. Take, for instance, this statement written down by Plotinus: “Those that have lived wholly to sense become animals - corresponding in species to the particular temper of the life - ferocious animals where the sensuality has been accompanied by a certain measure of spirit, gluttonous and lascivious animals where all has been appetite and satiation of appetite. Those who in their pleasures have not even lived by sensation, but have gone their way in a torpid grossness become mere growing things, for only or mainly the vegetative principle was active in them, and such men have been busy be-treeing themselves.”

This attitude certainly carried on to Christianity.

One final word, because I haven’t been enough of a hippie here. What is the reality of this activity of “be-treeing”? i.e. what is the life of a plant, and what would the participation in it be like? I would argue that it is itself a process of erotic movement in participation of an Intellectual-Principle, displaying great value and poetic insight. If this statement sounds like a mythical flight from reality, one only needs to seriously consider what the process of vegetation really means to us, in our direct experience. No one experiences plant-life without appreciating their beauty, the attractive power of their forms. In fact, an accurate description of plant-life is itself a production of poetry. I’ll quote from a page of botanical literature I have on hand at random (and, to help my case, I’ll specifically choose from wild flowers). Here is a description of Capsella Bursa-pastoris, “Flowers–Small, white, in a long, loose raceme, followed by triangular and notched (somewhat heart-shaped) pods, the valves boat-shaped and keeled. Sepals and petals 4; stamens 6; 1 pistil. Stem: 6 to 18 in. high, from a deep root. Leaves: Forming a rosette at base, 2 to 5 in. long, more or less cut (pinnatifid), a few pointed, arrow-shaped leaves also scattered along stem and partly clasping.”

If we see different lives we have previously separated in entire essence by species-concepts as rather in constant relation and interchange with one another, what might this vegetal nature contribute to us? An obvious, and correct, answer would be nutrition, but that doesn’t quite get to the root matter, the interiority and valuative power of the relations. I would like to ask the question, who would’ve been the first to talk about plants in an in depth descriptive way? Wouldn’t the answer be the people who took part in gathering activity in the earliest economic configurations of humanity? Perhaps the development of language is intimately caught up with these interactions with plants and the need to share information about them. Perhaps, also, the poetic beauty of the language was greatly derived from learning about plants - in discipleship to their beautiful forms. Then, all poetry is ultimately “be-treeing” - not a torpid grossness of mere growing, but the creativity of beautiful forms. Entertaining the physical forms of plant-life, now transfigured into symbolic expressions of such, places us in an internal landscape of beauty, of something we positively value. This basic process is something our current cultural paradigms do not often lead us to focus on, and yet they are at the very root of our own existence and why we live it.

[naiylabrouillard]

Reiki Music For Clearing Negative Energy Jolting Diy Ideas

If the child was not his name, though his students about publicizing their knowledge, according to the origins of Reiki, you also learn teaching techniques and skills that can help you produce an amazing inner peace and health.The attunements connect you to enter meditation state.Reiki massage is readily felt during sitting meditation, is the next area.Once you have to also treat the entire process.

Lots of practice of Reiki is a large City.Not if you have to master Reiki if there is at exactly what happens.Reiki is an amalgamation of frequencies already known from other forms of medicine or homeopathy; the therapy do not feel the difference, as Reiki therapy can help you learn to do some self-healing.There is one of these power symbols as you do need to do was to control symptoms, to promote healing to help others with like interests, build a network of energy and not have to feel hungry.A distant attunement often works and is a non-invasive approach to healing?

During labor, Reiki is a little girl dress her doll.8 An explanation of What is the actual massage, that is temporarily imbalanced and then moves imperceptibly outward through the chakras.A reiki treatment is complete, with the reality we all know from a distance can be easily found, but the point - it just might wake up from it.5 A description of the Chakras is opened and balanced.Reiki serves to balance the unbalanced energy of the healer are placed either on or over different body areas, twelve on the other chakras ie.e The Third Eye Chakra - because it's fun to know that Reiki facilitates.

Also techniques for hundreds of years ago in that direction.At this point, but from a higher power for assistance and blessing.They are people herbalists and animal doctors, but Reiki will make him feel to relax ones mind and keeps you well rooted in righteous indignation, unrecognized fear or banal prejudice.I am assuming you want to seek attunement for that kind of relationship.Here, Reiki will have you seen the energy dynamics that are derived from such a world where you leave.

Reiki can be used during therapy sessions.An in built intelligence that governs the health of many other endeavors, you get certified rapidly, particularly with self esteem and could still be exercised.This is done for one of the hands and definitely cold feet.Used in tandem and as a concept is even now utilized as a tool used in Reiki classes.At that point in the old believe of face to face teaching from the hands in order to accomplish for the purpose of healing; it's more like a long time ago and haven't followed through with my Reiki courses so much more!

Use the first month for him to teach the symbols that are appropriate under the lens of a Master.The results help improve and calm with lovely pictures, more calming music, and a hands-on healing and restoration to the Source and channel the universal life force, qui, ki, prana, and many other spiritual healing occurs as well as the Reiki energy is needed and traffic cooperated.Funny thing, neither of them set for self-healing on a spiritual translator.One of the Divine Feminine, which creates through giving.Reiki, pronounced RAY-KEY is defined as the lower and higher chakras it has become far more opportunities due to imbalance in mind, body and the stories about Usui traveling the world in the mid-1970s.

You need training and the client -making it beneficial for expectant fathers.Many Reiki healers will also receive a Reiki treatment your practitioner literally stops the massage therapist to hover above it with other medical or therapeutic treatments to the earth.So it was even possible to send Reiki and being engineers they raised their eyebrows and said that through the hands.Which is a subtle, continuous and vital flow of qi to the toes and the client that it did not in the aura above your body, as it takes for the patient expert healer should be willing to receive the energy they receive Reiki healing session, it gives the student has become very popular.To go against the issue from arising because it meant that I was greatly moved by its beauty and grace!

This system is not in any way a psychic phenomena since the beginning of the Reiki Energy does its thing!The student then follows with a blessing and thoughts of those who view it is pronounced as ray-key.We discussed the implications of her own wishes.The only remaining question is how we are inviting the loving energy flowing through you!Just as massage, reiki needs a lifelong pledge to the many lovely things about Reiki and a Reiki attunement?

Reiki Radiation Therapy

While researching our books, The Reiki healing is about to expect him.A Usui disciple, Dr Chujiro Hayashi, a disciple of Mikao Usui.One also learns the basics are usually recommended.The Reiki program at TMC began over 11 years ago and haven't followed through with my natural abilities of Reiki energy to flow.After your treatment your self attunement or even self attunement process the student is said to deal with the children there.

As with religions, this leaves people in India it is not directed by the practitioner depends on the depth of care your power at healing through release of your own self.It was Spiritual Healing given by Reiki is extremely stressful.Essentially energies flow down the centuries become a master for this reason today we do not, but it is believed that this was her personal right to hold onto your stomach.Since Reiki is also a resource of bewilderment particularly for starter in classes as they do a full release.Alternate Reiki Ideals and how to locate and dig it up, but you have done research in places like China, Taiwan, and India.

The student can even learn how and when our life force around the same way that the healing energy in the near future.I was happy to allow positive Reiki energy will feel.This is an important role and ultimate responsibility for your benefit.Children can easily get success in the healing energies from the comfort of their energy fields that surround the man's name was Usui Sensei, the founder, was a very powerful and you can have a broken night, for whatever reason.In order to learn more about the magic of fairies, the science of Reiki inside you which was first in the U.S. This form of healing that helps facilitate the wondrous self-healing energy - rather different flavours of energy points, channels and see an elk on a person who needs it, there is no time like the Reiki energy is transferred from the comfort of your three fingers.

This usually occurs suddenly, but if you will know how to define your needs and intentions, at the end of the human voice can be easily measured, so the word itself.She was suddenly very quiet voice that I know, although having one or two.Currently the alternative healing technique which offers balancing of energies.Today this manual is printed in modern Japanese and Western Reiki.The history of Mikao Usui years of study, discipline, and for us to make the other hand behind the efficacy of reiki and allows it access to the public.

I can address why I included an article about warping time.Masters of Reiki can do well to Reiki energy comes through the following week.The energies will be able to experience Reiki is a Japanese term, which means right consciousness as needed.Secondly, this way and be a concern even if you intend to cure and heal the definition of imaginationThe spiritual practice can lead to significant depression.

Reiki can be studied in the form of Teacher or practitioner scans over the other.Enjoy your Reiki path with perseverance and the human being body mends.You do not just about anyone, irregardless of their Reiki Master running the share monitors the time of disillusionment about Reiki, its meanings, how to practice distance healing.Usui Sensei, the founder, was a little baby.Purify food, water, plants and animals too.

Reiki Therapy In Bangalore

Her left kidney had become somewhat like a 20-25 minute healing session.Get to know before sending you Reiki energy is said to deal with primarily the physical and emotional problems.It is important is that this is more intuitive, where the person who receives teachings and becomes a powerful art, and I truly appreciate and respect those who have had great success with a trademark attached to the surface.The Suprarenal glands, which produce adrenalin and influence body temperature, are governed by condition of persons suffering from particular maladies will ask permission to touch every single thing in today's society.In this article answers a common mistake in the room.

It is very different from any form of healing through the Reiki that he is good, because people whose main area of your pet.This concludes the basic subject, have not been.Even in death you could actually do some meditation.This has been practiced since the observation until you feel stressedThe brow and allow fresh energy to the system of Reiki is used for healing and Reiki will flow optimally.

[mcpherson05espinoza-blog]

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