#I drew this lights off so its probably dark af

[memphyy]

the calling

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “EALS-AF.”

Hope you guys like this one. Things are heating up and getting exciting. A lot of moving parts so bare with me :) 

“What happened!”

“You know-”

“What happened! What happened with our plans, our agreement, what happened to everything we have worked to gain that you would go behind my back like that!”

“We did what was necessary.”

“What was necessary, what was necessary! You killed one man. ONE man and pissed off the rest of the universe, how does that accomplish anything.” The voiceless turned in a sharp circle, calming down and taking a deep breath, “You know what, nevermind, it doesn’t matter. You have never listened to me and you will never listen to me, and I know that. And because of your stupid pride, you will die. I got what I wanted.”

The burg queen gurgled angrily, “Watch your tongue maggot.”

The kree waved a wing at her, “Oh dry up you old hag!” He turned in a circle, “I told you what you needed to do to win this war. I told you what needed to happen, a division between the GA and all of its factions, especially humanity, but what did you do, you brought them together. As of now my sources say that more than five members of the GA council have agreed to declare an all-out war on you and your home planet.” HE turned back to look, “Do you really think that you can stand against Humanity, The drev, the Tesraki, the rundi, the gromm AND the Celzex! The Celzex alone could atomize your solar system without a second thought on their furry minds.”

The Burg queen was silent now, and it seemed as if it was only just beginning to dawn on her what exactly she had done.

THe Kree shook out his feathers, “Well, no matter. As I said, I got what I wanted. The voiced have been discredited and the Kree will not be joining the galactic assembly.” HE opened his wings, “Good luck waging war against the entire universe. I will enjoy watching your pathetic race perish from a distance while I take my next steps against the kree nations.”

***

The rundi charwoman looked out across the Irus Capital launch field, where a thousand different ships of half a dozen different alien species sat on the tarmac figures running about in wide circles as they prepared themselves for the upcoming siege.

Beside her stood the president of the UN, the Tesraki Prime minister, The Gromm Chancellor, the Drev representative and Lord Celex of the Celzex who sat moodily on the shoulder of the Drev representative glowering out across the tarmac.

“Is there a problem, Lord Celex?” She wondered, shifting her feet in worry.

Lord Celex was one of the most powerful beings here, probably second only to herself, and probably even greater than the human UN president. He had the most capable weapons in the galaxy, and at a distance could destroy entire solar systems. If he were to back out of the deal now, than their future was far more uncertain.

It seemed strange that the small, colorful creature was to have so much power, but at the same time almost fitting.

“I am not convinced of this course of action, chairwoman. Our act of war must have already reached them. If they wanted to surrender they would have already done so, sending a messenger will only open us up for attack.”

“Sending an envoy is how it has always been done and how it will always be done.”

Lord Celzex snorted but did not disagree with her, “Then I wish to send one of my ships. There is a greater likelihood they will survive, as we all know the burg do not follow the rules of engagement like the rest of us. They are likely to attack as soon as the engagement is over.”

“Very well Lord Celex, the envoy will be yours, but do not attack before an attack has been made against you.”

The small ball of fluff shook his head, though in shaking his head it was more like shaking his entire body. “If you insist, chairwoman.” He tapped the Drev on the shoulder with his foot, and the Drev held out one of each of his upper and lower hands. Lord Celex used the Drev’s hands like a ladder hopping from shoulder to hand to hand and then onto the floor before waddling away.

From the corner of her eye, the chairwoman could see the UN president looking hungirly after Lord Celex, not hungrily in the way she might heave first assumed, but she had been told by humans in the near past that Lord Celex was very ‘cute’ and that your average human wanted nothing more than to cuddle one into submission.”

For some reason, the thought reminded her of the commander, and her mood drifted downwards once again. A lot of people assumed they were going to war on the behalf of the commander, but that was not the case, if it had just been one man and a one time attack, they would have been upset, but they would not have retaliated.

Diplomatic relations were sometimes more important than the life -- or in this case -- the death of one man.

No, this had been building for a while, with their constant breach of GA sanctions, protocols and laws, their direct attack on the Gromm homewrold and Earth. In fact, her approval rating had dropped in recent years, sited mostly by her apparent liability to respond to the burg threat and retaliate against their poor behavior.

She had been hoping this conflict would all end, but she coulsee now that that was not the case.

She should have done something sooner.

Ahead of her, A column of humans marched by, their feet pounding against the ground in time with their war chant.

The ground shook as they passed, and the entire airfield seemed to turn to watch them, it was a good demonstration and reminded the GA soldiers and officers of the human power on the battlefield. 

The war was soon to commence.

***

Mistress Rizex Sat at the helm of her ship, watching closely on her instruments as burg airspace drew closer in her vision. All around her other Celzex sat in rapped attention, ready to fire their weapons if anything were to go amiss.

She tapped her foot slightly as the distant stars drew closer.

“Burg ships detected, mistress.” 

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she stared out at the darkness.

Lord Celex had not sent her for no reason. Other than being his longtime consort, she was also one of the greatest Celex generals the world had ever known, and likely the universe. 

He knew she understood how this was all supposed to end.

She would be pleased to oblige his wishes.

She was very good at sending a message.

“Mistress, we are being hailed by a burg command ship, shall I take the transmission.”

Her ears flicked slightly, “Yes.”

She waited for only a moment before the hologram rose up before her. The ugly creature towered over her by many feet, though she was not intimidated in the last by its size.

“You are entering Burg restricted airspace, turn around or be terminated.”

One of the technicians caught her eyes from across the room, and she gave them a subtle nod of acknowledgement before turning to look at the ugly creature. She ignored it’s warning and continued, “I am Mistress Rizex of the celzex and envoy of the Galactic Assembly, and on behalf of the galactic assembly, I wish to wonder why you think it is appropriate to enter GA restricted airspace and fire on our people, but do not rant us access in the other direction.”

The Burg hissed and chittered, “I am not interested in your politics, maggot. I am simply interested in your death. The GA can leave.”

She tapped her foot some more, “The GA will not leave. Let this be your official warning Burg, tell your queen that the GA has declared war. All trade agreements and sanctions against the Burg nation are henceforth dissolved. Any protections that your people may once have enjoyed have now been removed.” She trend to look at the rest of the bridge crew, “You are no longer welcome.”

The creature hissed and jeered, “The GA does not scare us.”

“Than you are as stupid as you are hostile.” She said, not one for diplomatic words, “And I warn you here and now that if the Burg nation does not cease and desist, we will destroy every last one of you without hesitation and with great prejudice, what say you.”

There was a pause for a moment. She could see the Burg look away from her, glancing towards someone she could not see.

In turn she looked to her bridge crew, who she could see were already ready like the warriors that they were.

She waited patiently, like the hunter that she fancied herself to be.

“I say…. THIS” Proximity alarms fired, just as she expected them to, and she did not even flinch as the rest of the floor jumped into action firing only second after the Burg. The space between their two ships was rocked with a bright flash of light and a sudden eruption of debris, that darkened almost as soon as it had brightened.

Four burg missiles had been terminated before they even made it to her cruiser.

Her ears twitched.

The Burg looked almost shocked.

She leaned a bit closer, “Do you wish to know what I say?”

The burg turned just in time to see her smile before giving the order.

A pulse of bright blue light radiated out from their ship in all directions, cutting across space. In almost the instant that the blue light touched them, the Burg ships rattled violently and then atomized.

One moment five burg ships guarded the borner, and the next five burg ships were completely vaporized, nothing more than dust on the edge of the solar system.

All around them the lights went dim, and their life support warning began to screech.

All power had been used up by the attack.

That was fine.

Behind them a rift opened and their ship was grappled by the second command module and hauled back into the warp,.

That should make enough of a statement about what the GA thought of the Burg and their tactics.

***

I woke up to something nudging my foot.

Opening my eyes I was still soar, and in pain, but it was far better than I could have hoped for. It took me a while to remember where I was and what I was doing, but the soft white bed of down reminded me, and I looked up to find one of the Omnidroids -- strange alien species that had rescued me from a hostile alien planet -- standing over me, all five of it’s trunk-like legs resting against the ground.

I looked upwards towards the top of it’s body where the slightly bulbous protrusions sat. I assumed that was it’s head, and if it had eyes, that was the most likely spot to find them.

It nudged my foot again, and I sat up.

As I did, one of its legs was lifted forward, and in it’s star, shaped hand it proffered me a strange object.

Whatever it was it was brightly colored, and when I took it, I was hit with a mildly sweet scent.

I sniffed at it, and looked up at the creature.

I couldn’t tell if it was looking at me.

Well… this was a bit of a problem. I was sort of assuming that it was offering me food, but if it wasn’t,  was I about to put something nasty in my mouth? And then there was the other factor of wondering how it even knew what I had ate. I left my detection device back at camp, so there was no way for me to test it myself.

There was, of course, always the chance that it had used some kind of unknown technology to scan me and figure out what I would be interested in eating, but, I hadn’t really seen a whole lot of technology aboard this ship, at least not in the traditional sense.

The ship itself was a silver ball, nothing more. The walls were bare, the floor was bare, the ceiling was bare. Light seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere at once. There were no buttons or dials or knobs or levers of any sort to be seen. The air seemed to have a strange misty quality to it, and a part of me wondered if there weren’t just thousands of nanobots floating around doing all the work.

Of course that was probably just my big dumb science fiction geek brain talking.

Either way, they didn’t have any sort of technology that I recognized, so it was either concealed, or so advanced it was beyond my comprehension.

That was a thought.

 The most advanced species in the GA was a tossup between the Vrul and the Celzex, though for different reasons.

But this was something beyond that.

It was still staring at me, and I glanced down not sure about this whole fruit thing, but I guess there was only one way to find out.

I dug my nails into the outside of the thing and began peeling away the skin. In that way it felt sort of like an orange. I watched the omnidroid while I worked, but it didn’t react negatively.

I kept peeling.

INside was slimy and wet,  but when I sniffed at it the smell was sweet, somewhere between a Kiwi and a strawberry, though its innards were a strange blue purple color.

I peeled off the rest of the skin and then took a tentative bite.

It was so sweet it made my face hurt, and my mouth water.

I swallowed just a tiny bit and waited.

And waited 

And waited.

My stomach growled.

I took another piece, and waited some more.

After about half an hour I determined that the fruit was safe, and shoved the rest of it in my mouth surprised at how hungry I was.

Once done, I picked up the rest of the skin,and shrugging, offered it to the omnidroid.

What Can I say, I wanted to be a polite guest.

It didn’t move for a little bit, an action that I wasn’t sure was hesitation or not.

But eventually it took the the scraps and headed out the door.

I was left alone again and returned to my curled position on the soft white fluff.

What was I going to do? They seemed nice enough, though if I couldn’t communicate with them this was no better than prison.

Escape was in order, though how I was going to manage to do that was a mystery.

As of right now though, I didn’t know where I was, who I was with, and what they planned on doing to me. They didn’t let me out of this room, though I wasn’t sure if that was because I was a prisoner or something else. They didn’t really treat me like a prisoner. All evidence to the contrary seemed to support the fact that they were trying to keep me alive and healthy.

Medical care and food and all.

But then again maybe they were just really nice to their prisoners most of the time?

Hmm

What would Captain Kirk do?

Probably something stupid.

What would Captain Reynolds do?

Also probably something stupid 

What would Han Solo do?

Also something pretty stupid, awesome and reckless, and he would look sexy as fuck while doing it. 

I nodded to myself. It seemed as if my course of action had been decided for me, the council had spoken, and all the great space ship captains of the past were speaking to me through the ages.

The only way I was going to get out of this was by dong something pretty stupid but awesome and reckless at the same time, bonus points if I managed to make it look sexy while I did.

Although lets be honest, that last one is a tall order for me.

Most of the time I just look like a moron 

I sighed and stared up at the ceiling.

Operation EALS-AF was underway 

(Escape Awesomely and Look Sexy AF)

[syubub]

SEOKJIN SOULMATE READING

~disclaimer: this is for entertainment purposes and simply my interpretation. Not to be taken as fact!

Seokjinnie seokjinne Jin Jin jinnie.

My very fine fellow sag it is your time now.

So for starters: energy color. Its honestly fascinating? I've never seen a more dynamic color? It gives off more of a feeling rather than a color and the best way I can describe it is like a spring sunrise/sunset? Its got a lot of colors but its very refreshing and warm at the same time. I could not for the fucking life of me find a picture on all of Google that looked anything like it but these two are the closest?

It's crazy really how cool that is to me.

Anyway. So things are normal, doo doo doo going up to his little platform, offer energy blah blah blah (Jin has a box of energy? Flowers? Idk but its cute, infront of a "wall" thing? Anyway I get past it) and ask him if I can do a read and stuff and so he connects.

Now. His soulmate shows up once we connected and connected to me as well? Its like I had two little energy connection strings attached to my forehead. His soulmates energy is cute af.

Anyway, I asked if there were any messages that they'd want to share and I shit you not I let out the most unattractive sound ever.

"I'm his better half"

Soulmate has jokes! Honestly so cute and hilarious.

Onto cards. For personality/signifier I pulled the empress. This is one heck of a cool energy. This is someone that has a lot of abundance, especially in their mindset! This is also someone with a very nurturing and caring personality but don't be fooled! They are not afraid to drop kick you to Mars if they need to. Most likely fire and earth energy (the wands and pentacle cards beside the empress) (probably some in Taurus in there tbh)

As for the other personality cards I drew daughter of swords, 2 of swords, fool rev. And 3 of swords. Now this shows that this person is very curious? This is someone who has a lot of new ideas and has a rather... unique way of connecting/communicating with people. This is someone who is likely guarded at their core and hard to get to know due to past heart ache. This person can also be a bit reckless and even directionless at times. A weird line popped in my head while doing this reading, "the line of morality isn't always a straight but rather a thin grey line thats been smudged at the edge." I'm not sure where that comes from or if it really comes from anywhere at all but to me this is really interesting. No, it doesn't mean that his soulmate is a serial killer. I think it means that this person is deliberate in their beliefs and doesn't take outside influence to determine their moral compass. This is so cool.

Now. Relationship. Protection, value your self worth, akasha, progress not perfection and stand strong in your faith. They have a very solid relationship! They take the time to support eachother and are very generous with their time together. They uplift eachother and help eachother grow. Definitely a confidence boosting couple. They also hold eachother accountable! Theres also a feeling that Jin gets really blushed around this person! Cute af.

Onto messages his soulmate has for him! We have, take time for yourself, figure shit out on your own and make it rain. I think this is his soulmate telling him that he needs to define himself by his own standards and treat himself like the fucking king that he is! He needs to work out his own shit without being told how by other people in his life! He needs to make himself happy. Enjoy the hobbies that he has and to live for himself. Do whatever it is he needs to recharge himself!

For character cards we have dilettante, addict and exorcist. This person might be a life coach or maybe an art/music therapist? Or at the very least the type of person that everyone goes to for advice because they just have a way of telling you straight up, "here is your problem. Fix it." This is also someone who dabbles in the arts for funsies. Likely has a billion hobbies and thus has at least a million skills!

Feature cards: dark hair, light eyes, purple, fashionable, funny, acts of service, gifts, younger, feminine and hard working.

For the other little cards I got: it will come, thinking of you and truth.

Now onto the last cards. We have: what do you feel and she sees, she knows. This is cute. These are both messages to seokjin. So from what do you feel, there's a line that says, "Do you know how unique you are? How your path is your path to be chosen, lived and created- only by you? Someone else cannot become the source of your decision making power without negative repercussions for both of you in the long run." There's another quote I like from this same card that says, "you are at a crossroads in your journey and the choices you make at this time-even simply choosing to do things a little differently, without much drama associated with the decision-are powerful triggers for some great magic to enter your life." Jin has a lot coming up for him in the future and his soulmate is saying that the choice is his. He can live how he wants.

In she feels she knows it says, "The situation you find yourself in right now might not be one of joy, but in time you will understand more of the bigger picture. You will come to see why things are happening as they are, and how you are being helped on to the next stage of your path-even though it may look like an obstacle right now." I think this means something to him in a lot of ways but specifically in terms of the state of the world and his impending military service. He might be down because he's not sure if he'll be able to perform for army in person before service. Theres a lot of thoughts in his head but his soulmage is saying that things will work out and its happening for a reason. Also there's a big chance of him realizing something really important about himself in this time!

Overall his soulmate is awesome? Definitely a force to be reckoned with.

Also the feeling of theor energy is so so so so so domestic and cute and fun! They have their serious moments together but they prefer to keep it happy and light and fun because they understand eachother so well that they hardly need to have "serious talks". One look conveys everything that needs to be said and they deal with everything accordingly!

I love love.

[ayankun]

coffee shop au bitches (working title)

here, have this rough draft of the first half of part 1.  consider it proof of concept.  (the concept is Destiel Coffee Shop AU, but actually good) (”good;” YMMV)

9.3k words; Cas is human like everyone else so to compensate I made him socially anxious af; there’s a brief unpleasantness wherein someone in customer service gets harassed so watch out for that I guess; Cas is also carrying a lot of baggage (literally and metaphorically) and it’s vague for now but a little wearisome so GLHF I promise when it’s done-done they all get the kind of happy endings they deserved from the show

The town of Lebanon, Kansas sprang up without warning, its tree-lined streets shockingly claustrophobic after the three hours of patchwork browns and greens streaming by the smudgy window, the rolling plains uninterrupted to the very ends of the earth until the blank blue September sky finally picked up where the horizon left off.

Castiel felt his eyes strain, forced to reel in his thousand-yard stare, as he squinted at the blur of tidy little houses perched along Lebanon's brief outskirts.  He blinked away from the window and pushed himself to his feet, sidling carefully into the aisle to pull his duffle down from the overhead rack.  In short order, the bus turned onto the tidy little Americana main street and rolled up to a tidy little bus stop, and, reaching back into his seat to retrieve his briefcase, he squinted out at this, too.  

The screech of well-worn brakes, the brace against the final lurch of inertia, the hiss and clack of the doors at the front and back folding open; with no more pomp and circumstance than that, Castiel's journey reached its end.  Clutching the handle of his briefcase and slinging the straps of his duffle over one shoulder, he edged down the aisle and nodded his thanks to the driver on his way down the steps.  Finally, Castiel planted his sensible shoes on the cracked sidewalk, looked carefully up and down the stretch of unremarkable, middle-of-nowhere civilization, and wondered what the hell he thought he was doing here.

The bus shrieked and rumbled back into the non-existent late afternoon traffic, a thick gout of black exhaust signaling its farewell, leaving Castiel behind before he had a chance to change his mind.  He watched its departure absently for half a moment, road-weary and numb.  Then he hiked his duffle a little more snug against his back, turned around, and began an unhurried stroll the shady two and a half blocks back to the motel on the south side of town.

---

"Been expecting you," the woman behind the counter said the second Castiel pulled open the glass door to the motel office.

He paused, looked over his shoulder, saw no one among the growing shadows of the motel's empty parking lot, no one except a trucker hopping out of his cab parked at the gas 'n sip on the opposite corner.  Castiel watched him jog across the street towards the Biggerson's, the lights of its enormous, highway-facing sign flickering on in welcome, and turned back to shoulder his way inside.  "I did reserve a room over the phone," Castiel said, approaching the counter, "And I was told that a few . . . personal items would be held for me at the front desk?"

The woman, Billie, according to her name tag, responded with a nod, less in answer to his question and more in the way one does when one is not surprised by what they've just heard.  She pulled the keyboard to the old desktop computer closer to herself with one hand, and held the other out, palm up, to Castiel.  "ID and credit card."

Setting his briefcase down on the floor, Castiel dug inside his overcoat's interior pocket for his wallet.  By rote he thumbed out the military ID to give her, but at the last second his heart gave a sharp little twist and he drew it back.  Her lips twitched, nonplussed, but she waited patiently until he handed her his driver's licence instead.  She studied the picture on it for a second, mouthed the name, and carefully considered the face on the photo compared to the face on the man in front of her.  He shifted his feet nervously, thinking he should have just given her the first one, if only to avoid looking any more disreputable than he already did.  

Evidently their hangdog looks matched to her satisfaction, though, and she snapped the plastic down onto the counter, shifted her attention to the computer to check him in.

"Room's yours for the week," she read off the screen as he retrieved his licence and put the credit card down in its place.  She slid it over to herself without looking, only glancing down to read the numbers, obsidian black fingernails clacking proficiently over the ten-key peripheral plugged into the side of the keyboard.  "Checkout's at eleven on the 25th."

When she slid the card back over to him, Castiel palmed it off the counter, put it back into the wallet behind his IDs (driver's license on top), tucked the wallet back into his overcoat.  "Um.  I'm not exactly sure yet -- I may need to extend my stay."  Absently, he wondered why he sounded like he was apologizing for it.

Billie looked up from the computer screen at him, neutral.  "Whatever you need.  We can do you by the week, month, whatever.  Got your card on file, so you just let me know when I should stop charging it."

Castiel tried a smile he didn't feel, thinking as he did so that he probably shouldn't have bothered with one, what with how it seemed to crumple his face in unnatural ways.  "I will let you know, thank you."

She pulled a blank key card from a drawer and ran it through the machine to code it for his room.  "Here you go," she said, slapping it onto the counter with another plasticky snap, "Room 401."

"Thank you," he said again, taking the key card and putting it into his coat's front pocket. She held up a hand to keep him from running straight off to the room, a slightly unnecessary gesture, since he had no intention to do so.  Not without the banker's box that she was now pulling out from under the counter.

It was sealed with tamper-evident tape, noticeably intact as she spun it 180 degrees so he could also see his name and a brief description of the contents inked with a tidy hand in the space provided on the lid.  Billie pushed the box toward him and then tapped a nail over one of the items on the contents list.  "She's parked out front."

Castiel peered down at the item she had indicated.  "Keys," it said, rather cryptically, in that unfamiliar, efficient script.  He nodded.  "Thank you."

He bent to pick up the handle of his briefcase, letting the duffle fall farther across his back as he did so in order to free up space under his arm for the banker's box.  It worked, albeit inelegantly, and he felt a little foolish as he fumbled the box off the counter and turned to go.  He felt even worse when Billie said to his back:  "I'm sorry for your loss."

No part of him wanted to say "thank you" again, so he just paused long enough to indicate that he had heard her, and then went out through the glass door and back into the shadowed parking lot without saying a damn thing.

---

Room 401 opened into a concise sort of entryway that pointed him toward a small kitchenette lit primarily by the glare of the Biggerson's sign falling in through the window.  The space featured a round table with peeling laminate, two plastic-and-stainless-steel chairs, a sink and a microwave and a loudly humming fridge.  It was downright lavish compared to the accommodations Castiel had shifted between for the better part of his life.

The banker's box went onto the table, to be ignored until the time came Castiel felt ready to pry inside.

He shrugged his duffle off onto the end of the bed, the briefcase going onto the floor at its foot.  Successfully offloaded, Castiel turned and sat beside the duffle with his hands in his lap, looking at the boxy little TV set sitting on top of a banged up little dresser; at the dusty looking armchair shoved back in the corner to his right, under a dusty looking lamp; at the dim alcove immediately to the right of the TV, keeping discreet the bathroom sink and mirror and the door to the toilet and shower.

He didn't know what to do now.

Twisting to look at the digital clock on the bedside table, he marked the time with no real interest.  Just after 6:30.  Not enough daylight left to try and find his way around town, too early to sleep.  Not that he really felt compelled to do either of those things.  Not that he felt compelled to do anything.

But he had to do something, though, didn't he?  He had to keep moving forward, in whatever small way he could manage.  He had to.

With a long sigh that seemed almost to empty him completely, Castiel got to his feet.  He pulled his overcoat off, went to the alcove closet to hang it up, stopped at the sink to splash some water on his face.  He took a moment to appreciate his appearance -- mournful and aggressively unkempt after two solid days on the road -- before stepping out of the alcove to retrieve the briefcase.  He opened it on the bed and slipped the laptop out, digging around for the charger, and brought both to the dresser, setting the laptop to one side and plugging it into the outlet he found by tracing the TV's power cord.

He stood there, hunched a little over the open laptop, waiting for it to wake from its hibernating state.  He could check his email, at least, or scroll through the news he'd missed while in the air and in taxis and in the air again and in buses that sailed too quickly through isolated islands of 4G signal that lit up only a single bar before going dark again.

His desktop loaded, the wallpaper a heavily-filtered photo he'd pulled from who-knew-where:  just an expanse of faded teal, adorned only by a single, old-fashioned kite, bold and bright with primary colors, pinned there on the sky by an unseen breeze for all eternity.  He had set it a long time ago and never changed it; the image was a small comfort, though for what reason, he couldn't tell.  It wasn't his memory.

The fleeting sense of well-being provided by the tranquil wallpaper faded as quickly as it had come.  The only Wi-Fi network in range was named "Big D's iPhone" and it was locked.  Castiel refreshed the network scan a few times, hoping to see something that looked like it was related to the motel, but nothing else appeared.  He fished his phone out of his pocket for a second opinion, but it, too, displayed just the one fishy looking hotspot and very little 4G, even though he swung it around like an idiot, dowsing the room for a signal, watching the littlest bar wink at him no matter which out-of-the-way corner he took it to.

He even found himself squeezing between the table and the window, pushing the curtain aside as if the radio waves were having trouble making it through the few millimeters of dusty fabric.  He knew better, but it couldn't hurt.  In the Biggerson's lot, catty corner to the motel, a sleek black muscle car came to life with an animal growl, and he watched it prowl out onto the street and streak out towards the highway, taking Big D's iPhone with it.

---

It wasn't Billie manning the motel office when Castiel made his way back inside.  He didn't know why this should surprise him, but the fact that his expectations had been subverted in such a minor way somehow made him stutter his step as he entered.

The woman lounging in the office chair with her boots on the counter didn't wear a nametag.  She did look up from her magazine -- Knives Illustrated -- but only for a second, just a cool, cursory glance to let him know that she knew he was there and also that she wasn't too bothered by it.

"Howdy there, Clarence," she drawled.

Castiel didn't look over his shoulder, this time, but he did falter to a premature stop halfway to the counter, searching the vast middle distance as he tried to quickly figure out if he had enough information to parse the greeting.  He didn't.

"My name is Castiel," he informed her cautiously, eyes lifting to meet hers over the cover of her magazine.

She turned a page.  "Knew it was something hokey like that."

"Yes, well . . . hello," he said, brow furrowing.  She turned another page and he pulled his hand down over his rough five o'clock shadow, a token from his time on the road.  He probably should have cleaned up before leaving the room, but here he was.  He stepped forward, "Excuse me--"

"You're excused," she sing-songed at him.  The magazine dropped just enough to reveal her razor-sharp grin; it was not too dissimilar to the image on the front cover.

"--I was wondering if you knew where I might find a decent Wi-Fi signal in town."  He arrived at the counter as he was speaking, and placed both his hands palms down on its surface.  When she didn't stop looking at him, he picked his hands back up and dropped them to his sides.

She went back to the magazine.  "Depends.  Business or pleasure?"

"Alright," Castiel said, defeated, hands clenching irritably at nothing, "I apologize for having bothered you.  Enjoy your evening."

He turned his back on her, and wasn't going to stop even when he heard the magazine slap closed and her boots clump to the floor, but still that's exactly what he ended up doing as she called, "Hold up, C."

It was the impromptu nickname more than anything, since hearing it inspired him to send a pinched look of consternation back in her direction, where she was now leaning towards him with her forearms planted on the counter, her straight dark hair falling over one shoulder.  "I was only having a little fun," she told him once she was sure she had secured his attention, "We don't get fresh meat like you too often around these parts, and a girl's got needs.  How could I resist?"

"That is a very forward way to speak to a customer," Castiel intoned, the dip of his head turning judgemental.  He'd seen looks like that before; his skin crawled when they were for him.  His hands balled up and flapped open again, trying to shake it off.  "Good night."

"Best bet's the Roadhouse," she told him just as he reached out to push open the door.  Again, he paused, against his better judgement, and she took that as her cue to continue, "Just head on up Main Street, you can't miss it.  If you hit the prairie, you've gone too far."

Castiel ducked his head, hiding the twitch of a small, rueful smile at the joke that slipped its way in at the last second.  "Thanks," he said, more to the half-opened door than to anyone else.

"You watch yourself out there, fresh meat," she hollered a parting warning as the door swung shut behind him, "The freaks come out at night."

---

Castiel walked back to his room to get his overcoat, taking in the rosy hues of twilight that striated the western sky dead ahead of him, chewing over the likelihood that the insouciant woman meant what she'd said.  He couldn't imagine that a small town like this would be terribly dangerous after dark, but, then again --

Stopping at the door to 401, he carefully prodded his better judgement into at least considering taking the car -- he looked at it from the corner of his eye, trying not to dwell too long on the idea that its previous owner would have left indelible personal traces behind -- and, sure enough, he wasn't ready to go digging.  Not in the box, and certainly not in the car.

Castiel gently shook out the fist he had made, swept his eyes over the brilliance of the western sky, and decided he was in the right kind of mood for a walk.

He unlocked his door, entered the room to grab his overcoat, stuffed the laptop back into the briefcase, exited again, pointed himself towards Main Street without giving the car another thought.

---

Turned out she was right about one thing, the Roadhouse was impossible to miss.

From the way the neon sign lit up the rustic wood siding of the cowboy-chic exterior, he half worried the establishment was a bar of some sort.  The windows were dark, the shades drawn down against the setting sun, so he only could only make a guess based on what the exterior looked like.  Hesitating on the sidewalk under a street lamp, Castiel squinted up at it and waged a minor civil war with himself as to whether it would be worth it to go in and find out.

He slowly turned around on the spot, in his little pool of light, casting up and down the nearly deserted street for some kind of sign that would help him choose one way or the other.  Small town Kansas didn't seem to have much going for it, in the way of nightlife; from what he could tell, the storefronts looked exclusively like the little mom-and-pops one would expect from the heartland -- the highway-adjacent Biggerson's the evident exception -- and all of these were either closed or closing.

He completed his inspection, coming face to face once again with the Roadhouse.  On the one hand, it purportedly had Wi-Fi, his current mission being to locate the same.  On the other hand, it looked like a bar, and he didn't want to walk in there with his out-of-towner face, with his uncool overcoat and his briefcase, and specifically avoid ordering alcohol.

He was just coming around to the idea that he could very well survive off the grid for a night when a pair of headlights attached to a shadow came roaring down from the north end of the street at him, the car banking into a smooth, undoubtedly illegal U-turn in the middle of the block, slinking confidently into the open space directly under Castiel's street lamp.  The engine cut off, then the lights, and then a man was ducking out of the driver's side, slamming the door shut behind him.

Castiel was stuck.  He hadn't counted on this particular type of social awkwardness, caught loitering on the street without anything to say for himself.  He averted his eyes, expecting the man to pass him by and go on with his business, but to his increasing embarrassment and frustration, the guy stepped up onto the sidewalk and shoved his keys into a pocket of his green canvas jacket and definitely didn't continue on his way.

"Coming or going?" he asked.  The voice was something of a deep growl, but the tone was friendly enough.  

Castiel looked up to be polite, or, at least, to be less weird.  "I don't know," he found himself saying.  Any chance to possibly come across as a reasonable human being was thoroughly smashed, he thought.  He couldn't talk his way out of this one, even if he tried.  Especially if he tried.  "I've only just arrived," he added.

The guy looked him up and down, not in a lecherous way, or even in a macho, sizing up the competition way; just an unguarded appraisal of his bus-rumpled appearance, the suspicious looking briefcase, the disconcerting way he was caught standing in the dark looking at the door of a place without going in.  The inspection was over in a second, and concluded with a good-natured nod and an open-handed wave that clearly said, "yeah, I figured out that much on my own."

"Well, we don't bite," the guy said aloud, slapping Castiel hard on the shoulder, making him rock from the impact and almost exactly undermining the sentiment.  He immediately turned and stepped up to the Roadhouse's door, hauling it open and beckoning back at Castiel to get his ass inside.  "C'mon, at this rate they'll be closed before you make up your mind."

If Castiel had been looking for some kind of sign, this was clearly providence's way of sending him one.

Even so, he realized he had started moving forward to accept the invitation without consciously meaning to, and, well, he had a lifetime of conditioning to thank for that.  Castiel, ever the good little soldier, taking orders at face value, instead of thinking for himself.  He frowned a little on the inside -- remembering to briefly tug a smile of thanks on the outside -- until the wave of warm, coffee-scented air hit him in the face along with the unavoidable understanding that the Roadhouse was not, in fact, a bar.

The relief of this revelation was powerful enough to enable him to put his weird little hangups back inside the box where they belonged, his outside smile going soft and honest around the edges, and he ducked his head sheepishly at the guy, who had followed him in.  Automatically angling himself towards the register, as one did one when one entered a coffee shop, he said, "I was informed there was Wi-Fi here.  Just not what 'here' was.  'The Roadhouse' sounds -- I thought perhaps it was a bar."

His honesty caught himself off-guard, uncertain as to where the need to explain himself to this stranger came from, exactly.  It was probably because he had already demonstrated the kind of small town friendliness that made Castiel feel like it would be read as rude if he didn't attempt a bit of smalltalk in return.  The guy looked like a nice enough sort of person to meet halfway; about Castiel's age, a little younger, perhaps; kind of a non-threatening good-ol'-boy with his ripped jeans, plaid flannel, and his not-quite-scruffy-not-quite-clean-cut style.  Castiel thought that maybe he could survive being social for a minute or two, with someone like this.

Instantly, this thought hit a bump in the road, as his new friend twisted a funny look at him.  "Got something against bars?"

Castiel dropped his eyes and tried to ignore his obvious misstep while he drifted into the back of the line, behind a towering mountain of a man in a black leather jacket.  Castiel wasn't short, by any stretch of the imagination, but the two men hemming him in were both taller still.  He thought about his answer to the question, flicking rapidly through the options, but wasn't able to pick one that was both simple and truthful before the guy abruptly leaned in.  This startled Castiel, who instinctively shifted away a half step, shoulder bumping up against the glass that separated him from a shiny brass espresso machine.

The guy didn't notice his discomfort, having breached Castiel's personal space to say in a stage whisper:  "If it's rough company you're worried about, nothin' to be afraid of, around here.  The real seedy joints are across town.  Ain't that right, Tiny?"

At this last, he straightened up and raised his voice some, directing the question straight past Castiel.

Castiel turned his head to see the huge leather jacket man fixing the tall canvas jacket man with a full-bodied glare.  He also, at this time, took in the man's shaved head and appreciated the twisting serpent logo coiled on the back of the jacket.  He shifted even closer to the espresso machine, clearing the space between the two men as best he could.

But "Tiny" didn't otherwise react, just turned back and stepped up to the register, boots heavy on the wooden floor.

"Wi-Fi's pretty decent here, yeah," Castiel's companion went on.  Castiel looked back to him, surprised to see him relaxed and indifferent, like he hadn't just specifically tried to antagonize a 400-pound member of a biker gang after dark.  "And the lattes are alright.  Fair warning:  your choices are pretty much either that or black coffee, those're the only things the kid can't mess up too bad."

Off the guy's nod over Castiel's shoulder, he obediently turned and saw the referenced kid -- in actuality, a young, sandy-haired man of about seventeen or eighteen -- working the espresso machine on the other side of the glass.  The milk frother hissed demonstratively for a moment, the kid's face pinched in comically serious concentration on the task, but when he shoved the arm back into the off position, he looked up to see who was watching him and broke out into one of the purest smiles Castiel had ever seen.

"Hello!" the kid said, sunnily, like Castiel was his closest friend and not a literal stranger gawking at him like a zoo animal.  The hand that had been operating the machine was summarily raised in greeting, palm forward, fingers wide.  He radiated a positively angelic energy that instantly made Castiel feel at ease, despite the anxiety of the last several minutes, somehow even despite the soul-crushing weight he'd brought with him to town.

"Hello . . . Jack," Castiel replied, after realizing he could make out the kid's name tag pinned to his apron.  Pinned to their apron, rather, as he belatedly noted the "they/them" pronoun declaration stuck on underneath the name with white label tape.  He smiled, the desire to return just a small portion of the hospitality he'd received so far rising ferociously inside him, one of the strongest emotions he'd had the pleasure of feeling in recent memory.  "I've been informed I should try one of your lattes."

He nodded at the stainless steel carafe of foamed milk in the kid's hand, and they looked down at it as if they'd forgotten it was there.  "Oh!  Yes, I suppose you should."  They poured the milk into a waiting paper cup of espresso, face contorting back into that look of supreme concentration for only as long as it took to pour, smiling back up at Castiel the second the task was done.  "I'm still learning how to make everything, but I'm getting better at the basics."

"Yeah, you are," the guy behind Castiel said, in that manner of speaking that was as aggressive as it was supportive.  Jack grinned shyly, ducking their head at the praise, and shuffled the drink off to the pick-up counter on the other side of the register.

Castiel looked back over to see the guy grinning after the kid, and a thought hit him.  "Are you their . . . parent?" he asked, tripping and catching himself on Jack's pronoun only slightly, a very jarring rush of panic hitting him in time to swerve around using the word "father," just in case gender-nonconformity ran in the family.

The . . . person met Castiel's eye and then looked away, shrugging a little.  "Oh me?  Nah.  I mean.  Sorta.  We're kind of just, looking after them, I guess you could say."

The use of the first-person plural pronoun seemed like something Castiel would pry into next, were he the prying sort.  Instead, he very, very briefly wondered what the average household looked like in Lebanon, Kansas, these days, or if he'd just stumbled into the exception on accident.

A hand was extended his way, along with a name.  "Dean," Castiel was told as he accepted the handshake, "He/him, in case you were wondering."

Castiel let out an inward sigh of relief, and the guy winked before adding:  "Aquarius.  Stones, not Beatles.  Star Wars and Star Trek, but not the garbage that came out after the nineties."  Dean let Castiel's hand go with a chewed-on smile and something of a self-deprecating eyebrow wag.  "That's basically all the important stuff you have to know about me up front."

"Castiel," he returned, "And . . . I am also a man."

Dean snorted a short little breath at that, eyes bright.  He rubbed his chin, scratching through the close-trimmed stubble.  "Castiel, huh?"

Castiel pressed his lips together and took a moment to take stock of the state of his shoes, squaring himself for the inevitable question about his uncommon name, but for once it didn't come.  Dean didn't have the chance to ask it.  When Castiel glanced up, Dean was looking over Castiel's shoulder in the direction of the register, all traces of his friendly disposition replaced by a cold scowl.

As one did, Castiel, too, turned to follow Dean's gaze, searching out the source of his sudden displeasure.  For a second he assumed it had something to do with Jack, maybe getting into some difficult situation with a customer, but at a glance he saw that he only had it half right.  Instead of Jack, it was the young woman behind the register, who pulled her wrist out of Tiny's pawlike grasp as Castiel watched.

Castiel's throat closed up, his second-hand anxiety over the situation momentarily flooring him.  Embarrassed, he looked away, out over the sparsely populated cafe, everyone he saw slowly doing the same:  turning back to their screens and their friends, pretending nothing had happened.

Everyone but Dean, Castiel saw as he finally looked back up at him.  Dean was still watching Tiny closely, his brow drawn down and his mouth set in a firm line.  He flicked his eyes down to Castiel when he caught him looking, and did a stuttered double take when he realized he had accidentally leveled that glare at him.

Dean relaxed his expression into something more neutral, obviously seeing the stress on Castiel's face; while Dean was clearly angered by Tiny's overreach, Castiel couldn't help but project a grim ache that he didn't want to name.  Dean's head tilted, as if he was slowly cottoning on to the depth of Castiel's discomfort the longer he looked at him, and Castiel saw his jaw clench the moment before they both looked sharply back over at the register, hearing the woman's voice rise, frustrated and disgusted, over the country twang of the canned music pumping through the coffee shop's speakers.

"You kiss your mama with that mouth?"  The young woman had taken a full step back into the space behind the counter, dodging out of the way of Tiny's reach.  Castiel could see fire in her eyes, and barely registered Jack standing nervously on her other side.

Tiny laughed, a rolling chuckle that filled Castiel's gut with acid.  The huge man leaned up against the counter, shoving a shoulder as far as it would go into the open space next to the register, and curled his hand around the far edge of the counter.  "Why, you jealous?  How 'bout you pucker up, sweetcheeks, let me show you what you're missing."

In an instant, the nerves and disgust flushed out of Castiel's system, and in its place a white-hot righteous anger swirled up.  His hands twitched, settling for fists, and he took a lurching step forward, his briefcase swinging roughly into his leg, the emotion spilling out of him in a growl of "Hey, asshole--"

"Yeah, alright--" Dean growled at the same time, taking the same step forward, bringing him even with Castiel, the two men suddenly a solid wall staring daggers into Tiny's back.

"Stay out of this, Dean," the young woman said, fierce.  The tone in her voice caused Jack to flinch, snatching back the reassuring hand they'd been tentatively reaching her way.

Tiny heaved himself off the counter, turning to face them slowly, deliberately, letting them appreciate his size and giving them ample time to reconsider the hill they might be about to die on.  Castiel's chin went up, eyes narrowed.  At his side, Dean sniffed and thumbed his nose, aggressively nonchalant.

A devil-may-care smile on his face, Dean put one arm wide.  "No can do, Jo.  There's a quick way to handle huge, steaming piles of human garbage like our friend Tiny here," he said, making stabbing motions with his hand at the man in question, "and I'd hate to see you lose your job over a broken jaw."

Castiel glanced sharply up at Dean, trying to gauge the realistic chances of an all-out brawl going down right here between the novelty mugs and the last of the day's homemade baked goods.  Lebanon, Kansas was quickly proving to be something other than the sleepy, middle of nowhere hamlet he had assumed it would be.  

In fairness, though, he had been warned that the freaks came out at night.

Dean didn't exactly look ready for a fight, though, loose-limbed and calm, fixing Tiny with a cocky grin that was daring the biker to make the first move.  Castiel forced his own shoulders down, his fist to relax around the handle of the briefcase he was gripping like a weapon.  He cut his eyes over to Tiny, who was equally not rising to the bait, just sneering at them for what he was reading as biteless bark.

"Like to see you try, pretty boy," Tiny said, digging in his heels.

Castiel frowned, seeing that the situation had ground into a stalemate before it had even started, two immovable objects sizing each other up, both content with the fact that the one who either struck first or walked away first would make himself the de facto loser of the conflict, one way or another.  Even so, Castiel strongly felt that neither of these two would be the type to walk away.  He raised a hand, palm out, and tried to press some sense into the moment before one of them exhausted their patience and decided to throw a match onto this powderkeg.

"No one has to try anything," he warned, making sure Dean knew he was included in the list of people encouraged to stand down, "Let's all conduct ourselves as civilized people.  Please, just leave the young woman alone, let her do her job in peace."

Tiny peered down at him and made it clear it wasn't about to back off just because a stranger in a rumpled trenchcoat asked him to play nice.

Dean, meanwhile, licked his bottom lip and looked like he might actually be considering his options.  He nodded, ducking his head as though coming to an overdue realization.

"See, I know Tiny's mom," Dean said, raising his eyebrows at Castiel.  

Castiel dropped his own right back at him, a suspicious squint pinching his face as he felt in his gut that the situation was about to spin off the axle in some unforeseen way, despite his best efforts to prevent that exact outcome.

Dean went on, unperturbed, sliding one hand into his pocket as he half turned away from Tiny, like he was just carrying on their friendly chat from before, like they didn't have a behemoth of an audience listening in.  "And I know she would be appalled -- shocked, even -- if she found out what her son was up to when she ain't looking.  Sweet old Martha, she's been in hospice for what, six weeks?  Seven?"  

He swiveled suddenly and jabbed his free hand at Tiny--  "Please, correct me if I'm wrong--"  Back to Castiel, he tapped his own chest twice to demonstrate-- "The ol' ticker's just not what it used to be, or so I hear.  Can't imagine what a bit of bad news might do to her delicate constitution."

As he said this last part, Dean's arm fell, and with it his cheery facade.  He rolled his head Tiny's direction, offering him one of the coldest, meanest looks Castiel had ever seen on a person.

All seven feet of Tiny was now quivering with a quiet kind of rage, his boiled egg of a head going pink as he struggled to hold it in, to not lose the game of chicken he and Dean were playing.  "You're not gonna tell my Ma nothing, you hear me?"

Dean exploded forward a half step, a finger viciously stabbing the air in the vicinity of Tiny's face.  "You stop being a dick, and I'll have nothing to tell," he roared.

"Dean!" Jo shouted over the top of him, slamming her hands down on the counter.

Everyone in the coffee shop flinched.  Castiel felt himself hang his head, feeling the sting as if he himself had been scolded.  But he'd made himself a part of it, stepped in and got involved, hadn't been able to prevent escalation.  He looked out of the corner of his eye at Jo, thinking that maybe he should apologize, but she was just glaring at Dean with hard eyes and a furious shake of her head.

"Out," she ordered.

Dean ignored the way she obviously meant him, and swung an open grin Tiny's way, canines and tongue showing.  "You heard the little lady."

Jo grit her teeth.  "Both of you, out.  We don't need your kind of trouble here."

Something about what she'd said or how she said it got Dean's attention.  He dropped his arms to his sides with a slap of canvas on canvas, twisting her way with a schoolboy pout pulling down his face.  "C'mon, Jo.  You know I didn't mean it.  You know me.  I would never--"

"Save it," she cut him off.  "Jack's shift ends in twenty-five minutes.  Go wait in the car."

There was a second where Dean gaped, fish out of water, at the order, but the cool, commanding look that came with it forcibly shut his mouth with an audible click and he reared back, bumping into Castiel slightly.  "Alrighty, then," he huffed, stomping the wrong way through the line and on towards the door without looking back.  

Castiel watched his boots retreat over the polished wood of the floor, heard the bang of the door being slammed open with more force than absolutely necessary, then tilted his head to catch Jo giving Tiny the same icy treatment.

"What are you waiting for, then, an invitation?  Go on, get.  And if you try something like that again, trust me, I won't bother with your Ma.  I'll go get mine."  She smiled, sweet and sharp, leaned forward over the counter, right into Tiny's personal space, to make sure her point wasn't missed.  "And we can see how many bones she can break before the Sheriff hauls her off your dead body."

An ominous kind of tension straightened Castiel's shoulders, surprised at Jo's candid threat, doubtful that hers would work where Dean's had failed.  After a moment, though, Tiny heaved his bulk away from the counter, gave Castiel a dirty look, and similarly made his inglorious retreat into the night.

Castiel wondered what was going to happen now between the two men, whether they were going to carry on in the street or just back off to lick their wounds until their next meeting.  He hoped Dean had sense enough to actually get in the car, at least.

"Next!"

Distracted from the errant thought of the well-being of a near stranger, Castiel turned to see Jo smiling at him from behind the register, the picture of award-winning customer service, and nothing like the stone-cold demon who had seconds ago threatened to have her mother bludgeon a customer to death.  He stepped up to place his order, thoroughly cowed.

"I apologize for the scene, for my part in it," he told her quietly as he leaned to one side to set the briefcase on the floor at his feet, reaching for his wallet.  "You clearly didn't need us to butt in, but still, I hope you're alright."

She waved his apology away, shaking her head.  "Nothing to be sorry for, it's fine.  Small town like this, hard for some folk to avoid bumping into the folk they shouldn't be bumping into.  It happens, you handle it, you move on.  What can I get started for you tonight?"

Castiel offered her a small smile, feeling it press a little tight around his eyes, his misplaced guilt swirling harder at her need to project such a tough exterior.  It was unfortunate and unfair that the world demanded the thickest skins from some people more than others, and his heart ached in a vague, nameless way, wishing there was something he could do to alleviate the need for someone so young to have constructed such a defensive worldview.

Off her expectant look, he willed himself to remember what he ought to be doing in the here and now.  He gave the menu board on the back wall a cursory review, not really consuming its contents in any meaningful way, until he looked down and caught Jack's eye from where the eager barista floated at a respectful distance between Jo and the espresso machine.

Castiel smiled, this time with notable ease as he remembered Dean's earlier suggestion.  "A small latte, please.  It came highly recommended."

"You got it," Jo nodded, punching the order into the register and pulling a cup from the stack.  "Your name?"  She looked up at him, reaching into a mug with a missing handle to fish out a Sharpie.

"Uh, Castiel," he supplied, and spelled it for her benefit, just in case.

"Castiel," she repeated, as most did when confronted with his name for the first time, trying it out for themselves, "That's got kind of a Biblical ring to it, doesn't it?  Don't tell me you're some kind of guardian angel?"  

"Hardly," Castiel murmured, dropping his gaze to focus on pulling the correct currency out of his wallet.

Jo passed the cup with his name on it to Jack, who immediately took it to the espresso machine and got to work, that same serious look of concentration commandeering their entire face for the duration.

"Anything else for you today?" she asked.  

It was one of those scripted niceties that Castiel truly appreciated about by-the-book social interactions.  A perfect sequitur that spared him the effort of trying to come up with one on his own.  "Do you have a password for the Wi-Fi?"

She nodded, slipping a business card sized piece of paper from a loose stack next to the register, and handed it over in trade for the cash he gave her in return.  As she punched open the till and dug around for his change, he glanced down at the code.  It read "N@turomDem0nto," which, as far as Wi-Fi passwords went, was certainly one.

The till banged shut with a ring, Jo handing him back his change.  Seeing his bemused look as he inspected the hotspot info, she explained, "Sorry, I know it's a little out there.  Our IT guy, Ash, he's a bit of a supernatural freak."

"I see," Castiel said agreeably, though he felt fairly certain that there was some additional piece of trivia he was missing to be able to recognize the significance of the unintelligible string of letters and numbers.  He put the paper into his pocket, dumped the loose change from his palm into the tip jar, and retrieved his briefcase.  "Thank you."

Jo's eyebrows came down, not unkindly, as her lips pursed in baffled amusement.  "No problem," she laughed, shaking her head at him.  "Jack'll have your drink out in a minute."  She waved him in the direction of the pickup counter, and Castiel went gratefully on his way, looking forward to the upcoming stretch of time where he didn't have to make small talk, or try to avoid physical altercations, or accidentally say "thank you" after tipping.

The remaining patrons of the Roadhouse appeared to have cleared out since he had last looked, but whether this was due to the late hour or the recent potential for violence, he couldn't be sure.  Castiel thought about Dean waiting for Jack out in that beast of a car; thought about Tiny (or men like him) lurking out on the streets.  

He pulled out his phone, noting the time as he thumbed to the Wi-Fi settings.  Again, the hotspot listing was sparse, just the one named after the Roadhouse -- finally, full bars -- and, to his muted surprise, "Big D's iPhone."

He was still looking curiously at the cafe's curtained windows, in the direction where he knew that sleek black muscle car with the animal growl was parked under a street lamp, when a bright voice chimed behind him:  "Here you go!"

Sliding his phone back into his pocket, Castiel turned to face Jack, finding a bloom of warmth filling the hollow of his chest to see them sliding his latte over with an exceedingly proud look on their face, certain of a job well done.  Right on the drink's tail, Castiel was surprised to see a small plate with a piece of apple pie being pushed his way as well.

He held up his hand to stop or question the freebie, thinking he hadn't done anything today to have earned getting rewarded with pie, but Jo popped up at Jack's side and gave him one of those looks he already recognized as meaning he wouldn't be allowed to decline.  His bottom lip pursed, he reached out and obediently pulled the plate the rest of the way over with one finger.

"At closing time, we either have trash all the leftover perishables or give 'em away," Jo explained.  She nodded down at the plate with something of a wicked grin, "Normally I'd be packing this up for Jack to take home for Dean, but here's hoping I can teach him something by revoking his pie privileges for one night."

Castiel's eyes went wide, and his hand flew off the rim of the plate as though it had burned him.  Before he could figure out a way to articulate how uncomfortable it made him to know he was stealing someone's pie, Jack laughed and shook their head.

"No, it's okay, really.  Sam's always saying Dean needs to watch what he eats.  So, you're helping!"  They chirped this last bit with a scrunch of the eyes and a jerky shrug of their shoulders.  Jo backed the assertion, a tilt of her head and a jag of her brow to say Castiel really didn't have the room to argue with either of them on this.

"Ah," Castiel said, eyeing the pie like it was a plate full of gold, feeling completely unworthy, "If that's the case. . ."

He looked up, met Jo's and then Jack's eyes, and told them solemnly, "I appreciate it."

Jack's endearing smile crinkled onto their face again, and Jo patted them on the arm.

"Hey, we're all set here," she said to Jack, "Why don't you clock out a little early, okay?  I won't tell my mom."

Castiel kept his small smile to himself, busied himself shifting his briefcase to his other hand as Jack eagerly tripped off to head out for the night.  Still, he lingered a little at the pickup counter, not missing the guarded way Jo eyed the front door, which gave nothing away as to what kind of trouble might still be skulking in the night on the other side.

She caught him noticing, which was fine, because his thoughts were running along similar tracks.  It gave him the cue to share his own.  "Um," he started, glancing away, "Would it be a problem if I stayed until closing?  There's, uh, no Wi-Fi at the motel."

When he looked back over at her, shy, she was giving him a soft eye roll with her mouth screwed up to one side to hide some kind of smile.  She chewed on the inside of her cheek a moment, then looked heavenward with a good-natured sigh.

"You know, for a guy who swears he's not a guardian angel--"

Behind her, Jack, who had traded their apron for a colorful windbreaker, swung through the half-door at the far end of the counter, on the other side of the espresso machine, and called out a chipper, "Good night, Jo!  Good night, sir, hope you enjoy your drink!"

Oh.  Castiel hastily lifted the paper cup, Jo waving her own goodbye as Jack trotted across the shop floor towards the exit.  He took a sip of the latte, cringing a little to discover that it was still far too hot to drink without caution; even so, he smiled at Jack and gestured with the cup.  "It's very good, thank you."

He was treated to another of those full-face, joyous smiles, and then Jack was out the door and Castiel was left alone with Jo, his scalding latte, and his unearned pie.  He thumbed the lip of the plastic to-go lid, only half-certain she had approved of him sticking around now that she was on her own behind the counter.  For all she knew, he could be just as rotten as any of them, just biding his time until--

"Please help yourself to our Wi-Fi for as long as you'd like," Jo told him, fixing him with a kind, if ever-so-slightly bemused, look.  

He nodded his thanks, and, using the bottom of his drink, shifted the pie plate over to the edge of the counter where he caught it in the fingers of the hand already tucked under the handle of the briefcase, maxing out his awkwardness in doing so.  Jo was biting her lip, watching the juggling act unfold before her, but she didn't otherwise comment.  With a short smile of parting, Castiel fled -- cautiously -- to a small table at one of the shaded windows, far from Jo and close to the door.

As he went, the sound of a car engine, startling in both how loud and how familiar it seemed to him, rumbled up through the coffee shop's backdrop of picked guitars and singing fiddles.  By the time Castiel took a seat, it had already roared off into the distance.  He was glad its driver seemed not to have run into any further trouble, after all.

Drink settled, pie settled, Castiel himself settled, he set the briefcase on the floor beside him and clicked it open just enough to drag the laptop out from the pocket. He slid it onto the table between his other items, determined to connect to the Wi-Fi and check his email, to do the one thing he had ventured out to do, even if only to say he had.

As suspected, he now saw no trace of "Big D's iPhone" nearby, and carefully punched in the access code to the Roadhouse's network.  The computer connected without fanfare.  Dutifully, he clicked on his email app and watched the logo splash pop up over the muted periwinkle of his desktop wallpaper.

While the program loaded up, he reached out and pulled the pie over and dug a chunk out of it with the fork that had been so kindly provided.  The first bite reminded him that he hadn't eaten since Kansas City, and his focus narrowed to the singular task of slicing and chewing until there was nothing left but crumbs stuck to the cinnamon-sugary tracks his fork made as it scraped over the plate's inexplicable cowboy boot pattern.

Returning the plate and fork to the table with a sigh, Castiel took up his latte, now sufficiently cooled, and sipped this while flicking his fingers over the laptop's trackpad, disinterestedly scrolling through his inbox.  The loss of a few of his taste buds notwithstanding, he found he was able to appreciate the quality of Jack's handiwork, and he felt retroactively absolved for the preemptive high marks he'd given.

He stopped scrolling.  Not that he'd been paying attention to the task anyway, but thinking about the young person's ineffable good cheer and the mercurial temper of their guardian had him staring at the curtain as if he could see straight through it, into the street and the night, imagining the shine of the street lamp off the hood of that dangerous-looking car.

He drank the rest of his latte while absorbed in the expanse of his mind's eye, the limitless vistas of the day's bus ride peppered with half-remembered moments of the evening so far,  impressions of the short stretch of Main Street Lebanon he'd traversed, the faces of strangers blending one into the next into the next.  There was one face in particular that he kept circling back to, though, and one moment that was sharper than the rest.

Standing under that street lamp, waiting.  Waiting for--

"Sorry to interrupt," Jo said, tentative, seeming to materialize at Castiel's table.

He whipped his head away from the window -- had he really just been staring blankly at the curtain this whole time?  What must she think -- and pushed back his chair to try to get with the program.  "Sorry -- you've probably been waiting--"

She laughed and held up her hands, and he slowed his frantic sweeping of his belongings from the table.  "Whoa, there.  I was just gonna give you a five-minute heads up, is all.  Didn't mean to spook you."

Castiel perched the briefcase he had snagged from the floor onto his vacated chair, and gently slid the laptop back inside.  "I'm fine," he said, snapping the clasp closed, "please don't let me hold you up."

"No worries," she told him, and when he darted his eyes over to her, she was giving him that slightly amused, slightly puzzled look she'd been giving him since he walked in.  She cleared his plate and cup from the table and made off with them.  He picked up his briefcase and pushed in the chair, standing purposelessly there at its side.

She looked back over her shoulder at him, seeing him not leaving.  "Five minutes," she said again, "and then I'm going to let you walk me to my car, okay?  You seem sweet, and I just can't help feeling like you'll have an aneurysm or something if I walk out there alone."

"Sorry," Castiel repeated.  He frowned, suddenly very invested in the stitching on his briefcase handle.  "I've overstepped again."

Jo pushed open the swinging half-door of the counter and regarded him from across the coffee shop floor.  "I'll let it slide, this once.  Just don't make a habit of it," she told him with mock-gravitas, fighting back a telling smile before disappearing into the back.

It was a joke, he could tell, something to dispel the awkward energy Castiel had fomented up around himself.  It worked, just a little, and he took a deep breath and let it out in a quiet sigh at himself.  Anyway, he could promise her that, and easily.  He didn't know exactly how long he'd end up spending in Lebanon, Kansas, but it wasn't like he was planning on sticking around forever.

He shuffled his feet, waiting on Jo's return, and willed himself to imagine opening that sealed box.  Digging out the keys to the wide, boxy, gold-colored Lincoln Continental.  Climbing into the driver's seat and watching this speck of a town vanish in the rearview mirror.

He wondered what tape would be playing in the deck, or maybe what radio station it was still set to.  What the scent of the air freshener hung over the mirror was, and whether the built-in ashtrays needed to be emptied.  What he might find forgotten under the seats.

All at once, a full-body shudder rolled over him, overwhelmed by all these questions with answers he couldn't yet face.  

"Ready?"

He looked up as Jo crossed to the door and flicked the bank of switches to shut off the overhead lights, leaving them both shadows lit faintly by the glow of the displays on the equipment behind the counter.

Ready?  Not in the slightest.

"After you," he murmured, reaching out to push the door open.

---

Castiel showered with military efficiency, the rushing water just about drowning out his empty thoughts.

He changed into his sleepwear mechanically, put himself into the bed, and flicked on the television because there was nothing else left to do.  The day was finally catching up to him, and his body ached as it reluctantly gave itself over to the support of the mattress.  His bones felt heavy, his eyes raw.  He flipped channels without comprehending anything he saw on the tiny screen.

Maybe it was the jangle of espresso in his veins, or maybe it was his internal clock's confusion regarding what time zone he'd ended up in, or maybe it was his white-knuckled refusal to find out what his subconscious had in store for him, but it was several long, dull, droning hours of late-night soaps and infomercials before Castiel finally let go and allowed himself to sleep.

[noblehcart]

1, 6, 7, 11, 15, 16, 18, 19, 21, 22, 24, 27, 29, 30

1. What was your first impression of the roleplay community on Tumblr? And what’s your impression of it now?

I honestly don’t remember what my first impression was? It was so long ago and I think I was just in the DC comics fandom. I wanna say it was mostly welcoming but there was a clear hierarchy of what rpers rped with who (aka they had standards and ohgod i was terrible at it so i don’t blame them for not rping with me?) My impression is that you’re gonna get different receptions based on your fandom and every fandom has its hookups, not even considering the whole HC/mainstream acceptance of whats-what in a fandom. Getting into a new fandom is terrifying af. 

6. What are your thoughts on the current roleplay trends on here right now?

I REALLY wanna try to do a pinned post thing, but I don’t know how? I like that a lot of blogs are getting super simple and minimalistic? Like before the more complex a blog the better it was- which is sort of a shallow concept but lbr often times a nice blog theme kinda gives you a hint about how serious an rper is. but i’m glad its simplifying now for ease, visibility and just accessibility. i used to get sooo lost on people’s blogs trying to find pages.

7. What is the one trend you miss the most that’s no longer popular or seen as much as it was before?

only for the sake of ease for me? the old 100x100 icons. i know the thing is now is like 60x60 and honestly i do like it better because its not quite so distracting as larger icons and its only made to hint at expression (relying on icons to carry the emotion of a thread is such a bad thing) but dear lordddd making icons is just a pain and its easy to copy & past 100x100s.

11. What made you start wanting to roleplay?

a friend on deviantart got me into it? prior to that i just wrote fanfic and drew and they were like hey rp with me??? and i was just....”what’s that?”. its been mostly cool ever since?

15. What’s your impression on blogs who are selective/private?

first impression: ohthankgod they get me. because guys i only have so much energy and spoons and attention span. i cannot do just open to everyone i’m sorry. mental health safety rail here. 

16. What do you expect from others when they want to roleplay?

send me an ask, like a starter or hmu in the ims- its that simple. mostly though i need good mun-to mun communication? i love plot heavy stuff and if its just an occasionally ask here and there then i won’t be as involved as you may like so just come talk to me? i don’t bite and generally i always ship the ship so come at me folks. 

18. What’s the one thing you want to try the most on your blog?

i don’t have anything specific? generally darker threads? i used to go pretty dark, but i have drawn a line and also i’m older so i think i’m in a better mental health state and in knowing whats cool and not? so yeah gimme darker twisted stuff like toxic relationships, torture, mental manipulation...ect. if me and my rp partner are good with communication i think i can rp just about anything? other things just having more action threads? i miss the action of writing like with dc comic muses sometimes? not that my muse was ever action tendant, but there were moments i miss it? 

19. Give us a headcanon about your muse that you never shared to anyone else or wanting to explore deeper.

nothing is coming to mind at the moment except one line about luka which is sorta an obvious statement but i thought of it the other day and i’m like tHI SIS IT. THIS DESCRIBES HIM. and it is simply that  ‘he’s a scared boy trying to be brave’. like this is my luka epiphany and im sure other people noticed it before i did. 

21. What is it you prefer: angst, fluff, or smut? Why?

I love it all, but lbr.....its angst. angst gives you more room for feels and growth. pain is an excellent stimulator for darkness and light. you grow or you fall and honestly its fantastic to see which way your muse leans into. 

22. If you could recommend at least five blogs to your followers, who would they be?

@walkingshcdow, @lordofthestrix, @sheresists, @madeperfect, @operagheist

24. Where do you draw your inspiration from?

the original show itself? generally i work off of there and just follow the feels to fanvids, music and other aesthetics to inspire.

27. What songs do you listen to when wanting to get into the mood of roleplaying?

generally the soundtrack to my muses’s orignial fandom or fandom adjacent stuff. or music from its timeperiod. 

29. Which fandom(s) do you wanna roleplay in/crossover with but you’re too afraid to approach?

ohgod. i don’t have one atm? maybe other historical blogs or blogs based on highfantasy or mythology. those guys always seem so cool and they seem so great. 

30. Other than roleplaying, what’s your favorite hobby?

watching videos and reading probably? then writing. lmaoo

[whoisbxcky]

‘Till Next Time, Doll.

summary: Bucky is fatally wounded on a mission and you’re forced to say goodbye. 

pairing: bucky x reader

word count: 2k

warnings: death, blood, angst, my own breaking heart if you squint 

author’s note: Should I have written this at 2am after copious amounts of red wine? No. Did I? Yes. Gets a little cringe in the last paragraph but I needed something to giggle at after writing this.

Sometimes, there’s no warning at all.

In the chaos of battle, stray bullets and flying shrapnel are easy to miss. Especially for those who aren’t gifted with enhanced senses or reflexes. Y/N grimaced as a bullet that was meant for Natasha flew just centimetres away from her left ear.

“Y/N, you good?” Came Romanoff’s voice over the comms. Y/N grinned, dodging a Hydra agent who had snuck up behind her while she was distracted, her fist connected with his jaw while her right leg snuck in behind his own, the impact causing him to fly back onto the floor. Her heel came down with a sharp crack onto his face, leaving him out cold, and likely in need of a good plastic surgeon’s contact details.

“Living the dream, Nat. Although, I have to say, if you want me taking bullets for you, you’ll at least have to buy me dinner first.” Y/N responded, a devilish smirk over her face as she gunned down a few more Hydra agents coming in from the left corridor.

“There something we should know about, Y/L/N, Romanoff?” Tony’s voice came muffled over the earpiece, he was clearly out of range, probably flying around somewhere outside the warehouse, but his point was made perfectly clear.

“Only in your dreams, Tony.” Nat quipped back. Y/N let out a half laugh, ducking for cover as bullets rained down of her from the right, third floor. She yelped as one grazed over her thigh, cursing enough to make a priest turn red, before reloading her pistol. A low, gruff voice over the comms made her stop in her tracks as she moved to fire back, her brows furrowed in half anger, half pain.

“Y/N, stay where you are, I’m coming to back up.” She couldn’t help but smile slightly, the reassurance of that voice in particular making her light up despite the myriad bullets flying past her head at that moment. Bucky had caused that reaction in her from the moment she laid eyes on him two years ago, when she’d first found herself in Stark Towers, relocated from S.H.I.E.L.D on Nick Fury’s orders. It hadn’t taken long for the pair to grow close; Bucky had appreciated the way Y/N had treated him like a person right off the bat, rather than the ex-killing-machine the rest of the world seemed to view him as, and he’d opened up to her after just a few months of late night run ins in the communal kitchen. Y/N had seen something incredibly human in the super soldier, she always told him it was his eyes, something buried deep in them, that had first drawn her to him. But Bucky never really understood what she meant by it. Nevertheless, over time their relationship had reached a fever pitch, and for the previous nine months they’d been inseparable.

That closeness had transferred into their work lives, and it was not uncommon to find one abandoning their position to rush to the other’s aid when things got hairy. No one really minded though, seeing Bucky find some happiness in the world that had brought him to his knees so many times was a gift, and no one was going to complain about it.

The sound of cursing in Russian and some pained screams alerted Y/N to her beloved’s arrival. It wasn’t long before his head appeared around the side of the stone pillar she had leapt behind. His eyes showing the concern, and then relief, that his grin tried to cover up.

“Sleeping on the job, doll?” He offered her a hand, which she took gingerly as he hoisted her to her feet. His hands came to rest on her waist, his eyes scanning her over head to toe, analysing the extent of her injuries.

“Someone mentioned dinner and I got side-tracked.” Y/N shrugged, flashing Bucky a sharp-toothed grin as she dusted herself off, before giving his shoulder an affectionate squeeze.

Bucky chuckled lightly, his hand trailing up her arm until it reached her face. His fingers were hooked gently under her chin, tilting it to face him and he smiled lovingly down at her. “We should be wrapping up here soon, once we get home, I’ll get dinner going. I’m thinking steak, with that bottle of red from your birthday, sound good?”

Y/N couldn’t help but practically beam back at him. God, she was so in love with this man. And so loved by him. She never thought she’d feel so loved while in the middle of a miniature war zone. But being with Bucky, no matter what the surrounding, always made her feel at home. “That sounds perfect, Buck, thank you.”

“Anything for you, Y/N.” He pressed his lips against her forehead in a quick, but meaningful kiss, before reloading his rifle. “Come on, let’s go and find the others and get the hell out of this joint.”

Y/N nodded in agreement, checking the magazine of her pistol once over, before stepping out from behind the pillar to do one final sweep.

Y/N did not have any super-powers. No gimmicks, or tricks. Nothing that made her extraordinary. She was a skilled markswoman, and proficient in hand-to-hand combat. But none of that would have allowed her to notice the sniper who had lined up a shot over her heart from across the warehouse, until of course she heard she gun go off.

Time tends to move incredibly slowly when it’s your final seconds, and Y/N could to little but stare in shock, as the bullet sliced through the air, barrelling straight for her chest. There was no time to run, no time to duck even, not for a regular old human like her.

A dull thud alerted her to the fact that the bullet had hid its target. A flash of red across her vision as blood sprayed from the exit wound. She was only vaguely aware of a scream that she would later realise was her own.

Sometimes, there’s no warning at all. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Please… Bucky, please don’t leave me.” Y/N sobbed into his chest, her hands gripping uselessly at the torn fabric of his suit. She could barely look at him, looking at him… Seeing him like this… The colourless face, the distant eyes… Looking at him made it real.

“I don’t have a choice, doll.” His voice rattled in his chest as a barely-there whisper left his lips. Y/N could hear the blood pooling in his mouth, feel the strain in each of his breaths. He was fading. Fast. “You have to let me go, Y/N-”

“No.”

She heard the strain in her own voice. It didn’t sound like her. This voice sounded broken, empty. Like the voice of one who had accepted the imminent future laid out before them. She couldn’t, she couldn’t accept a world without James Buchanan Barnes in it. She wouldn’t.

Why? Why hadn’t she moved faster, been more cautious, done something differently. Why had Bucky stepped in front of her, his superior reflexes giving him the ability to get in front of the bullet that was meant for her. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense to her right now. This was wrong, wrong, wrong.

“I can fix this, Bucky, I can fix this. Please- Just, please let me-” She tore the fabric of her shirt, clumsily pressing it over the bullet wound in his chest, her eyes blurry from the tears that cascaded over her cheeks. However, she was cut off by Bucky’s hands on her wrists, their grip a wiry strength that didn’t feel like him. Didn’t feel warm, strong, comforting. It felt fragile. Distant. No, no no, no.

“Y/N, hey, stop it.” His voice was firm, as firm as could be in between the ragged breaths that made his shoulders tremble with each inhale. “Let me see you, look at me, baby.”

Quiet sobs racked Y/N’s chest as she drew in a shaky breath. You have to be strong, for him, you need to pull yourself together. She slowly raised her head, her eyes meeting his as she roughly wiped the tears from her face. Her hands clutching his own with a certainty that wasn’t there before. A promise.

“I’m right here, Bucky. I’m not going anywhere.” She managed to force a smile for him, it was barely there, but it was met with one of his own. Bucky had always loved Y/N’s smile. No mater how dark his mind became, no matter how broken and beaten he felt, her smile, glowing like the summer sun, was his light in the darkest of places. He raised a trembling arm to her face, his arm, his own flesh with his weak, final heart beats running through its core. His palm rested against her cheek, his fingers trailing down her features, blurry eyes drinking in every minor detail of her face, as if they could be etched into his memory beyond the constraints of mortality.

“Hey, Y/N…”

“Yeah, Bucky?” Her hand found its way over the top of his, slick with his blood, but she didn’t care. She gripped onto him tightly, savouring the feeling of his skin against hers, her eyes trying desperately to take in every detail of his eyes, steel blue and full of the hope for a better world than the one he’d leave behind. The eyes she had called home for so many years.

“Y/N… If there’s… If there’s a life after this one-” Bucky paused for a moment, struggling to take in a breath, his hand slipping into Y/N’s hair to stroke it softly. He could no longer mask the pain on his face, the fading light in his eyes. “If there’s a life after this one, let’s meet up again in it.” He smiled at her through the pained expression on his face, his breaths becoming shallow and rapid. His grip in her hair felt weaker than it did a moment ago.

Y/N’s heart rose into her throat, threatening to leave her body entirely. The impending numbness was close, and she was vaguely aware of her mind shutting down around her, but for this moment, this one sweet second, there was only her and Bucky. A fresh wave of tears trailed down her cheeks, mixing with the blood from her hand there, and she smiled through the pain, nodding her head in agreement with him.

“I love you, James Buchanan Barnes. I will love you until the end of this life, and all through the life after that, and the one after that. I love you.” Her words tumbled out in between her sobs, as if saying them could make him stay, even just a second longer.

Bucky’s eyes were still now, still fixed on hers, but the light in them was all but gone. His smile was fading into an expression of peace, and she thought she must have imagined his voice, as the barely-there whisper almost went unheard in between her shaky breaths.

“I… love you… Y/N…-” And with that, her name on his lips, a silent promise to himself that one day, somehow, some way, he’d say it again, he slipped away.

All throughout the warehouse, there was silence. Not even the wind dared take a breath. Bucky’s eyes stared at nothing, his expression that of one who is blissfully absent from the triviality of being. Trembling fingers reached out, slowly drawing his eyelids closed. Lips stained with dust, blood and tear marks pressed against each eyelid once, before settling on his lips, which had already grown cold. Y/N held the fallen solider in her arms for what felt like an eternity, rocking backwards and forwards with him gently. But her face, once a picture of joy, hope, fear and sorrow, was entirely expressionless. In the silence of the room, she made a silent vow to Bucky, to herself, to the universe. She may not have been able to save the love of her life, but consequences be damned, she would avenge him.

[callistochan87]

Seeing how much I can write before I have to leave, after days of fighting with my scanner (it assigned itself its own IP address, because that’s the kind of printer it is)

Day 2, Kailyn: Did this once. Tried to add shading and fucked it up. Did it again to make sre I wasn’t giving @erinhime83 complete crap, because she doesn’t deserve that. Her neck in Round 2 is long af but it’s not terrible. I always like seeing redheads with pale eyelashes (like super ginger, chalk-white redheads), so I picture Kai with pale (light brown/blonde) eyelashes even though I never really draw her with those (dark brown at best), which is why I didn’t colour them in. Trying to actually use inks in some fashion like I see other people doing, rather than just...outlining?

Day 3, Maeve: I realize I work better with ref pictures. Literally just use the one Anijel provided. Can barely remember what her hair looks like. Was it wavy? Shit, I think @erinhime83 drew it wavy. Try to stick some wave in there. Does this coy look even fit her personality?????

Day 4, Eric: I really liked Sabrina the Teenage Witch when I was younger. I tried watching The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina but really had a hard time getting into it. Long story short, since I tried to use ref images, referenced (sort of) a picture of Harvey from StTW because come on, that was young me’s crush.

Then I remmebered something @erinhime83 had told me about the multiverse concept I had going on in CS, like what if there were “counterparts” to the original cast that weren’t the exact same, because the circumstances were different? (Different spouses and different combination of genetics, but they’re still their parents’ children?) A N Y W A Y what if Eric’s grandfather, in the Delta universe, also had a grandson, who was also, coincidentally, named Eric or something pronounced very similarly? And he bears a very slight (VERY VERY SLIGHT) resemblance to the Eric os the “main” CS-verse? is it Eric Delta or is he his own person? (Spoiler alert, Prime Eric was referenced from 90s sitcom Harvey; Delta Eric was referenced from whoever plays Harvey in the Netflix Sabrina)

Day 5, Christine and Eric: Ironically, this was also referenced from a Chilling Adventures of Sabrina still. Not great. These are doodles at best and I’m not worrying about proper placement or sizing, so it’s...okay but probably falls apart when you look at it. also nice travelling eye Chris’s got going on there

Day 6, Kailyn and Dylan: My original plans for @erinhime83‘s birthday pic were sort of scrapped because of the Inktober stuff, so the least I could do it...something nicer than the other stuff. It’s not bad. I kind of wish the pencil underneath had erased a lot more cleanly, but maybe I can scan and print this (onto some thick cardstock or something), and hope to God that inkjet ink plays well with markers, because it is nice in concept. I don’t like how Dylan turned out because his face looks weird but the concept it nice, and I need to do something

Day 7, Lochlann: Again, just...use the exact same reference picture as @anijeltaventry gave you? Is this even accurate? I have a feeling he doesn’t have that much beard (see above about actually wanting to use inks in a way) but it’s...okay? the hair looks nice. It’s a bit of a struggle when I haven’t drawn him before.

Day 8, Dylan: Look, I don’t know who this even is, I just struggled to think of some media franchise I could Google for decent ref images and for some reason Shadowhunters came to mind. So, this dude, who’s pretty attractive, this dude is Dylan now

I could see Dylan being the Nereid equivalent of a super blond person is all I’m saying. And the waves...well his hair isn’t really wavy but my God how could I say no? He looks nicer here than in the Day 6 picture so I’m happy

Day 9, Serena: I’ve been playing off and on with the Erebian designs for some tinme...in my head...so clothing-wise (Asian-inspired) is fairly accurate, Serena;s actual design not sure about. It’d be more obvious with colour and not inks, but...one step at a time.

Day 10, Aerona:  I referenced a rando image on Google. Don’t know why because I already have a decent way of drawing her and this isn’t it, doesn’t really look like her. Not terrible, just not...Aerona in my head? But ink-wise, not bad at all.

[highland-tails]

Division: Chapter 1

“As she turned to leave a sharp rattling sound above her head drew her attention. The tabby she-cat glanced up to watch the leaves on the maple tree twist and shudder fiercely in the wind. A small cluster was suddenly snatched off the tree, torn away by the wind. Fowl counted nine flaming red pieces as she watched them hurtle through the air, straight in the direction of the far-off mountains.” Read Chapter 1 of Division below, or check it out on Wattpad here!

Fowl opened her eyes slowly, head spinning with the remnants of her dream. Weak shafts of light shone between the rotting walls where she had built her nest. Her jaw split in a yawn as she recalled what she had witnessed seemingly moments ago. A group of four starlit cats had been gathered around the base of a glowing oak tree, their heads bowed together as they spoke quietly amongst themselves. But why had Fowl been there to witness this seemingly private conversation? The tabby she-cat shook her massive head, thick strands of fur billowing around her as she heaved herself to her paws. This wasn't the first time Fowl had dreamed of starry cats in unknown places- she was all too familiar with Starclan, a group of deceased ancient cats with strange powers and countless moons of knowledge. For reasons that had always been somewhat of a mystery to her, StarClan had been walking in her dreams since she was a mere kit, watching over her. Fowl reluctantly pushed herself out of the space she slept, pricking her ears and taking in her surroundings. She had made her home in an abandoned Tree-Nest; a small twoleg structure that gripped the trunk of a thick tree, suspended many fox-leaps off the ground. One corner of the Tree-Nest had a square shaped hole above ground, which Fowl was able to tuck into and protect herself from wind on the colder nights. The Tree-Nest itself was decently sheltered from the elements. It had only two large holes in it; one which was quite high up and far too small for a Twoleg to fit through, and another which was almost the height of the nest itself. Lost in her thoughts, Fowl picked her way across the soft floor, stretching her stiff limbs. She thought back to the dream; the hushed voices of the mystical cats sat heavy in her mind and she couldn't help but to wonder who they were. Something about them seemed to be incredibly important. She remembered them speaking of a curse, and her fur prickled along her spine. She let out an impatient hiss as she stepped outside, shaking her head to clear her mind of the dream all together. I've told them a thousand times. Fowl thought in annoyance. If they want to tell me something, tell me. No vague messages. Determined to push the dream out of her mind, Fowl quickly scrambled down to the base of the tree; hopping on the low hanging branches before landing with a dull thud on the soft forest floor. She raised her head and scented the air, hoping to catch an early morning meal after a long night of rest. Almost instantly the scent of a cardinal hit the roof of her mouth, and Fowl dropped into a hunter's crouch to follow its trail. She quickly spotted the little red bird a few pawsteps away and observed it for a moment, before springing and biting hard on its neck. The creature gave a loud screech before going silent. Fowl finished the bird in a few gulps before straightening up and wandering off, thoughts going back to the dream. No matter how hard she tried focusing on other things her mind kept flashing back to the four cats crouched together and speaking in anxious tones. It seemed as though they were saying something important, something that Fowl couldn't help but to think was something she needed to know. Lost in thought, Fowl didn't realize where she had wandered to until the strong scent of twolegs hit her nose. She quickly trotted over to a thick patch of bracken and dropped into a crouch, eyes narrowing as she observed the twoleg nest in front of her.

It sat in a secluded spot, with a thick growth of forest on three sides and a clearing in the front. By the stench Fowl knew that was where a small, dirt thunderpath was located. At the back of the nest a smooth path of stone was laid out, leading to a jumbled twoleg garden that was heavy with the scents of various herbs and flowers. An impressive maple tree had also taken root in the soft grass, resting between the back forest and the garden. It's shining red leaves glowed a fiery color in the early afternoon sun. Fowl watched the Twoleg nest for a bit, crouching low in her hiding place and enjoying the warmth of the thick sunlit air. Suddenly, with a loud clatter, the back door opened. Fowl caught only a glimpse of a long twoleg arm outstretched, holding the door open as two cats trotted out. One had dark fur with a white belly while the other was completely black, head to toe. Fowl let out a soft purr, seeing her two kittypet friends tread carefully out into the garden. Once both of them were outside the twoleg let the door close with a loud slam, causing Fowl's ears to twitch from the unpleasant noise. The tabby she-cat listened to the sound of the twoleg lumber away before letting out a soft hiss, attempting to alert the kittypets to her presence. They didn't seem to notice her; the black one was sniffing at the flowers in the garden before reading forward and chewing on a few leaves. The other was pawing about curiously, raising his muzzle to sniff the air. Fowl exhaled in annoyance that the kittypets hadn't noticed her presence. She pushed her way out of the undergrowth warily, eyes keeping a close watch on the twoleg nest. She didn't have a particular fear of the twolegs, as she knew some were harmless. But some she knew, were not. Fowl padded over to the black and white cat first, who didn't seem to notice her presence until her nose almost touched the tip of his tail. Upon seeing her shadow behind him he whipped around, ears plastered flat against his head and yellow eyes wide. His mouth was open and his white tipped paw was raised af if he intended to swipe at Fowl, before he realized he recognized the Loner and instantly relaxed. "Fox Dung!" He spat, forcing his fur to lie flat. "You should give a cat a warning before sneaking up on them like that!" "I did warn you, Whiskers." Fowl spoke politely. "And if your ears and nose weren't stuffed with twoleg scent you might've noticed me." Whiskers waved his paw dismissively, already over the excitement. His sister came bounding over at the disturbance, purring at the sight of the Loner. "Oh hello Fowl!" She mewed, bright green eyes sparkling. "It's nice to see you!" "Hello Flower." Fowl responded, moving to sit and drawing her fluffy tail over her paws. "You seem to be enjoying the nice weather." Her whiskers twitched as she smelled the scent of herbs oozing from Flower's dark pelt. "Oh yes." Flower responded, mimicking Fowl's position and sitting delicately in the grass. "I almost caught a bee in the garden! But I remember when Sheldon down the road got stung and his nose turned three times its size! So I left it alone." The three cats purred in amusement together for a moment. "So what brings you here?" Whiskers asked Fowl, before licking his paw and drawing it over his ears. Fowl hesitated at the question. She had known Whiskers and Flower for some time and in fact, had practically raised them. She was quite close with the kittypet siblings but she didn't particularly enjoy telling them about her dreams. They knew of Fowl's connection to StarClan but being the kittypets that they were, often dismissed her interactions with the starry Warriors as nothing more than an overactive imagination. Fowl admitted that had she not been meeting with the mystical cats since she was a kit herself, she most likely would dismiss their existence as well. A strong gust of wind buffeted Fowl's fur and she realized the two kittypets were staring at her, waiting for an answer. "Err..." Fowl meowed. "I had a strange dream." At once both of the kittypets shot each other glances, which Fowl knew meant they were preparing to dismiss her dreams before even hearing them. Fowl suppressed a sigh, digging her claws into the short grass beneath her paws. Can't you at least pretend to care? She thought in frustration. "Well..." Whisker meowed uncertainty. "What happened?" Fowl glanced between the two, wondering if she should even bother. She closed her eyes and inhaled before pouring out what she had witnessed; starting with the darkened cave before moving onto the mysterious conversation, and finally ending with the four cats disappearing into the moonlight.

Whiskers and Flower blinked at Fowl as she finished, neither looking as interested in what the dream could mean as Fowl felt. "Is..that all?" Flower asked gently, trying not to sound rude. "Yes." Fowl responded. "And I know it's not a lot but it was still so different than any of the other dreams I've shared with StarClan in the past. These cats seemed important- and whatever they were talking about seemed important." Both kittypets looked unimpressed as Fowl continued, desperately. "There was a curse!" She added on. "Surely that's a cause for concern?" Whiskers stood up, stretching casually. A small butterfly fluttered above his head and he glanced at it, distracted for a moment before responding. "I think you're just looking for things to stress over." Whiskers meowed in a relaxed tone, lazily turning his gaze back to Fowl. "You probably ate some bad prey before sleep- that's the real curse." Fowl gave a disappointed sigh. Of course Whiskers wasn't interested- he never was. "I'm sure you have nothing to worry about." Flower added on, shooting her brother a sharp look. "Your dreams have never led to anything bad before, right?" Fowl shrugged. Her relationship with StarClan may have never led to anything too serious, but she couldn't deny that it began out of tragedy. Another gust of wind blew, stronger than the last. Whiskers and Flower ducked their heads down and gave annoyed yowls as they were almost knocked off their paws. "This is no weather for us." Whiskers called over the rushing wind. "It's cold!" Flower whined. The two kittypets offered the Loner friendly mews of goodbye before dashing back to their twoleg nest, yowling to be let in. Fowl watched them sprint away, fluffing up her thick fur against the wind. As she turned to leave a sharp rattling sound above her head drew her attention. The tabby she-cat glanced up to watch the leaves on the maple tree twist and shudder fiercely in the wind. A small cluster was suddenly snatched off the tree, torn away by the wind. Fowl counted nine flaming red pieces as she watched them hurtle through the air, straight in the direction of the far-off mountains. She stared for a few moments more before ducking her head and running into the forest, hoping to find some shelter from the fierce wind among the thick trees. The ominous rumbling of thunder followed her as she sprinted back to the Tree-Nest, and Fowl found that she had a hard time getting the sight of the distant maple leaves out of her head. 

[baekkxong]

Empty Promises

Pairing: EXO Baekhyun X Reader

Genre: Angst

Warning: Swearing

Word Count: 1,244

A/N here it is, anon! I’m so sorry it’s pretty angsty at the end, if you’re not happy with it you can drop me a message and I’ll re-write another happier one. I’m just not amazing at fluff lol

Also I feel like this photo is perfect bc while I was writing it, this is exactly how I imagined baekhyun to look in my head. Maybe because he looks daddy af in it

Slamming the car door shut, you struggled with the grocery shopping in your arms. You’d gone out to do some evening shopping while leaving Baekhyun to look after your two year old son. You battled with the door to pull down the handle while balancing five full bags of food. The door swung open and you awkwardly took a wide step inside. Humming contently, you weren’t prepared for the distress you’d walk in on.

You entered the kitchen, looking forward to discarding the shopping down in its usual position on the table and relieving your arms from the weight. Instead, to your surprise, the table was adorned with scattered paperwork. Some stood in attempted neat stacks, while the rest seemed to just be displayed in completely random messes, getting as far as the chairs and the floor. You frowned, placing the bags down on the tiles so they were leaning against the kitchen counters instead.

“Baekhyun?” You called out. Being a mother, you couldn’t help but feel the nerves rise in your body at the idea that something was wrong. Why was there such a mess in the kitchen and where were your husband and son? The hairs began to stand up on your skin and you stepped out the kitchen, calling for Baekhyun again. You half-jogged to the living room where you spotted him sitting on the sofa. He was leaning forwards, eyes closed, his elbows resting on his thighs while he seemed to be massaging his temples gently.

“Where’s – ” you began.

“I put him to bed,” Baekhyun replied curtly, his eyes flickering beneath his eyelids. You let out a short sigh of relief.

“What happened in the kitchen…?” You mused, a finger coming to toy at your lips.

“It’s just… work stuff. I’ll clear it up later.” He was barely moving, only his lips to utter the words that seemed to have no real depth.

“Is everything alright? At work?” you questioned.

“Mmm,” he grumbled, drawing his hands from his head and pressing his palms together, letting them lean against his lips. It looked like he was praying.

“So, it’s not?” you presumed. Baekhyun sighed and his eyes finally opened to flick up at you, still standing in front of the doorway.

“Y/N, my work isn’t of your concern. Go back to cleaning the kitchen or something.” You scoffed.

“Excuse me? Of course it’s of my concern; this is an income that practically supplies our son’s future!” You hissed, bringing your hands up to your waist. He glared at you from the sofa, dropping his arms and standing up. Your eyes bore into each other as the tension in the room seemed to become substantially thicker.

“Seriously though,” he began. “Go and find something else to do other than harassing your husband.” Baekhyun drawled. You felt your brows twist into an ugly frown. You were used to Baekhyun using you as a stress relief – unfortunately only occasionally in ways that made you both feel better – but today you felt it was unnecessary.

“Harassing an unfit husband and even less fit-for-purpose father? All I’m trying to do is stop you from spiralling into becoming the typical corrupt businessman who drinks his life away.” You spun away from him and left the living room.

The attitude you’d provoked had worried you. It was like prodding a fire and watching the flames burst up into the air. You lightly padded up the stairs to your son’s bedroom, before quietly entering and settling yourself down on his bed. You watched as he peacefully breathed, his chest rising and falling steadily.

You studied his face. Your son had certainly inherited Baekhyun’s soft and sweet features. His innocent eyes, rounded cheeks and beautiful plush lips that were parted ever so slightly. He was loud, often confident while always managing to make you laugh. He was basically a mini version of his father. However, this side of Baekhyun rarely made an appearance anymore. You only ever saw it in your son.

Feelings of protection seemed to bolt and shudder through your body while you gently stroked his hair. It wasn’t as if you thought Baekhyun could ever be a threat to your son, it was just the argument had put you on edge.

You weren’t sure how long passed, your son’s calm breaths acting as the only source of time. You rested your head against the wall, a hand snaked under the covers caressing your son’s wrist. The door clicked open and you opened your eyes to meet a pair of apologetic dark irises.

Baekhyun only opened the door slightly, as to not let through too much light. The yellowish light that escaped through enhanced the angelic shadow behind him. Or maybe it was devilish. His face seemed to say otherwise as he shyly allowed his lips to turn up at the corners ever so slightly. He extended a hand out towards you. As you pulled yourself up from the bed, you watched his smile widen further and the crinkles by his eyes that you loved so much decorate his skin.

You felt his hand clasp yours and he pulled you out the room, leading you to your shared bedroom. Without letting go, he sat himself down on the end of the bed. His legs opened for you and you stood in front of him. He pressed his thighs against you and let his hands come to your waist.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed. You stayed silent. “I know I’m a piece of shit, a sorry excuse of a husband and a fa-”

“No. No you’re not. Baekhyun you’re a wonderful husband and an amazing father. Our son adores you. What I said earlier was rubbish, and I’m sorry for that too,” you burst out, almost decomposing in his arms. Baekhyun looked slightly shocked for a moment. “You’re going through a rough patch at work. We all do, and soon it’ll be alright again,” you said, your fingers winding round strands of his jet black hair.

You briefly remembered that shopping left unpacked in the kitchen, probably going off by now.

Baekhyun nodded.

“It is pretty rough at work. There’s just so much shit to get through.” You recalled the sheets all over the floor.

“I can help,” you offered.

“Babe, you have your own work to do.”

“Baek, it’s honestly fine. You just need to reach out to me, to ask. Of course I can help.” You couldn’t stop the smile mirroring Baekhyun’s own small smile. He tugged downwards on your shirt, suggesting he wanted you closer.

You lowered yourself onto his lap and rested your hands around the back of his neck. He held you tightly and pulled your closer, letting his lips meet yours. Your lips moved desperately against his, wantonly. You’d craved his attention for a while and you sunk into the rhythm of his mouth upon yours. You became putty in his hands.

He drew back, sighing contently. It had ended far too quickly. “Right, let’s tackle those papers.” You stood up again, returning to your position earlier, standing between his legs. His hand clasped onto your wrist as he looked up lovingly into your eyes. His chin was tipped upwards towards you, a pretty smile tugging at his lips.

“I promise I’ll change. I swear.” You masked your concern with a reassuring smile and a slight raise of your shoulders.

You’d fallen for one of his empty promises again.