#IN THE PATCH ABOUT SPACE TRAVEL

[aromanticasterisms]

khaenri'ah focused patch ohhh my god

[vivalasthedas]

nothing will make you realize how broken, and how bad, the sims 4 gameplay is quicker than trying to play the sims 4 without mods.

[sparrows4bats]

If Damian realises how he feels about Jon first, that man is a storm of romantic gestures, just not conventional ones.

Everything he knows about romance comes from Shojo Manga and Talia Al Ghul.

Damian doesn't realise he has fallen in love with his childhood friend until they are both adults, and he is patching him up after an mission gone wrong.

Jon has a gash on his forehead, and when Damian goes to stitch it, Jon flinches back from the kryptonite infused needle. He grabs Damian and falls back against the bed he is sitting on, essentially pulling the young doctor onto his lap.

Damian is there sitting on top of his best friend when he realises that maybe what they had wasn't entirely platonic. At least on Damian's end.

Thank God Jon is too tired to listen to his heartbeat.

Damian flushes bright red at the position but moves back. He continues to do his job, like a professional, even if he calls Jon a crybaby when the man flinches.

Afterwards, when he is alone, Damian allows himself to replay the moment and realises he's in love with with his best friend.

He imagines Jons smile, the warmth of his arms and his wit. Damian has to sit a moment when his legs shake.

The revelation feels life changing, but at the same time completely normal. A natural progression, as if loving Jonathan Kent was always inevitable.

He doesn't know when he started falling, but he is sure there's no going back now. Damian is his mothers son. Love this deep is a lifetime affliction.

The question becomes what will he do about it?

If Damian does nothing, he gets to keep what they have, and he gets to be Jons' best friend. It's a treasured title. But is it enough?

Can Damian stomach watching Jon fall in love with someone else? Is he good enough to content himself with being close but never what he wishes in Jons life?

Damian, at heart, has always been a little selfish. And he has never wanted anything as much as he wants Jon.

He knows himself well enough to understand that being just Jons friend will never be enough, not when Jon is his everything.

So it's an easy choice. He is going to the court Jonathan Kent. He is going to succeed no matter the cost. It is the most important thing he will ever do.

So, Damian starts to plan.

He considers approaching his siblings for help but quickly discards the idea. He is playing for keeps, and his family has a questionable track record with long-term romantic relationships.

They'd also probably tease him mercilessly.

So Damian decides to do this by himself.

He starts by sending gifts, a new camera, and new clothing that Damian would love to see Jon wearing, one one memorable occasion a special watch Damian designed that patches Jon into the Watchtower and earth phone networks instantly even in outer space.

Jon is grateful and starts giving gifts back, particularly pretty gems and weapons he finds on his travels. Damian hoards each trinket covetously.

Next, Damian initates private time between them. Dinners at restaurants Jon loves and quiet nights in that let Damian imagine a future of domesticity and safety. He goes so far as to make Jon a key to his apartment and delights every time he arrives home to find Jon waiting for him.

Jon stays over most nights, and Damian makes him sleep in his bed with him after he complains about the couch.

Damian ends up in his arms by morning. Jon having lifted him onto his chest during the night. It leaves Damian with butterflies and a sense of rightness. Jons arms become his favourite place to be.

He defends Jon honour, at a gala a socialite starts to flirt with his Farmboy while he is wearing the tux Damian bought him. It is unacceptable behaviour.

So Damian casually gets the woman to leave them alone. (She cried and ran out after Damian deduces her affair with a married man.)

It has the added bonus of he and Jon leaving afterwards for takeout on a nearby rooftop.

Finally, Damian decides to try and touch him more. Carefully at first, just little brushes and faint little touches here and there.

Damian lays in the kryptonitians lap and hugs him more. He holds his hand as they walk together and leans against him during movie nights.

Jon blushes and smiles. He even reciprocates the affection, and it is difficult not to kiss him, but all the best romances develop slowly, so Damian must be patient.

He wants Jon forever, not a quick fizzle of desire.

The choice, however, is taken out of his hands when Damian walks into his apartment to find Jonathan Kent blushing and pacing with his head in his hands.

He stops suddenly when he notices Damians presence.

"You!" Jon is striding over to him.

"Me?" Damian is very confused, and Jon is so close, face mere inches from his own.

"I can't take this anymore!"

"Take what?" Damian fears the worst that Jon is here to tell him that he has been too forward. That he doesn't feel the same. That he is going to leave, and Damian feels dread like he has never known before.

"The Teasing! You keep acting so sweet and touching me all the time!, and it's all I can do not to bend you over the kitchen table or get down on one knee!"

Damian, for possibly the first time in his life, has no words.

"It's not fair! Damian, you are so gorgeous and smart and funny it's so frustrating, so I need you to give it to me straight. I will never bring this up again, but do you want more? Will you let me date you and love you?"

Jon looks nervous now, but Damian can see the earnestness in his eyes.

"Yes," Damian brings his hand up to Jons face with reverence. "I love you, Jonathan Kent, but I have to warn you if we date. If we take this step, I may never be able to give you up. You are a part of me, I couldn't change that even if i wanted to, and I'm yours in anyway you want me."

Jon smiles at him, his blue eyes gleeful, and he pulls Damian closer until he can rest their heads together. "Mine."

Then Jon finally kisses him, it's full of passion and Jons desperation, Damian only pulls back because he needs to breathe.

"Just for the record, I love you too, and if you think there is any world where I'm leaving you, you're crazier than I thought. I listen to your heartbeat every day. I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you."

Damians heart soars. "So I know you said something about the kitchen table, but I think the bed will be much more comfortable."

Jon growls and lifts him off the ground. Damian laughs as he is carried through to the bedroom they now share most of the time.

Success has never tasted sweeter.

[yearningaces]

So...

You know how if you're (American) in another country, and find another American and all the sudden it's like 'Hey! Friend! Friend! That's my bestie!' That person could be from an entirely different state but all the sudden you're similar around the unfamiliar so you're buddies!

Does that happen with monsters?

Better yet-

Say you're a human, the only human being hired onto a large cargo ship that travels planet to planet through space. Most of the others you work with are so different in appearance and species you sometimes don't know even if some of them have eyes, or just use a form of echolocation.

Still! It's a nice job, you're given respect due to your status as (a deathworlder) a human, and you're settling in nicely the first few days.

There's a pack of aliens you haven't met yet though, The Aslai.

Huge creatures with a semi-humanoid appearance paired with patches of striped fur across varying parts of them. A maw that unhinges in three distinct separation points, fur tipped tails that vary with color, and slightly elongated limbs.

Of course, the Aslai are the engineers. They work in the sub-floor deck where the machinery and engines are stationed. Heavy creatures with prehensile tails that can lift just as much as their long, burly arms. Creatures made to be strong, and with vast intelligence, the Aslai are perfect for such jobs. Most times they flock to them, truthfully.

Like how winged and levitating aliens prefer jobs that involve them leaving the ship where they can move freely through open space with the right gear.

The first time you see one of the Aslai, they're walking with heavy boot steps to the mess hall. You both freeze in the hall though.

For you? It's got a human-ish face and you're experiencing one hell of a level of the uncanny valley effect in real time.

For Hesh, you look like a softer, mini version of the Aslai. Their tail flicks in excitement and with heavy steps they draw closer. A brighter fur pattern than their fellow Aslai, they're noticeable by anyone. They croon in a low gruff tone, reaching out and prodding at your arms, legs, cheeks, happily babbling in some method of communication you can't exactly understand.

It's when the other three Aslai suddenly appear with different fur patterns and facial structures, mimicking the first one that you seem to realize they're 'cooing' over you. Like if you saw a stray cat on the way home...

You're about to say anything when one of the botanist -a Threxacord by the looks of its mandibles- speaks sharply, "Don't you have somewhere to be, human??"

Technically it's right... You're not at your post, but you were told by your immediate boss you could go on lunch. You don't have a chance to explain that though, not when the second largest Aslai lifts you up and sets you on its shoulders.

"Don't talk to our human that way." The rough, crackley voice is a shock to anyone who hears it, but the pack of Aslai seem comfortable. You can only hand onto the horns atop it's head to keep in place as a different one continues, each on the same thought process.

"Drunum, shouldn't you be tending to your artificial soils?" It's more of a throaty growl than words, but the irritation is clear.

It's only when Drunum hisses as it retreat when the Aslai you're semi-surrounded by relax, looking over at you with bright, fanged grins. They seem to each be muttering variations of the same phrases.

"Oooh, little Aslai! Honorary Aslai!"

"Are you a meat eater too? I bet you're a meat eater-"

"You're warm blooded, that's great! So am I!"

"Look, you've got five fingers too! No claws, but that's okay!"

The pack easily brings you to the mess hall, deciding then and there you're one of them. Just a tiny version. Practically cousin species!

I was going somewhere with this

[deerboybreeder]

LONG fucking fantasy below the cut whoops. Tw for rape, drugging and stalking ♥️

I move to a small town in the middle of nowhere to completely restart my life. The community is small and tight knit, but thankfully extremely accepting, so me being trans is a non issue! Or at least, people have the decency to not say anything about it to my face. I feel welcomed in this town, though I spend a lot of my time improving the patch of land I moved onto and less talking to residents, even though I've met nearly everyone.

I start getting letters in the mail, complimenting me in sweet, flowery language. It makes me feel special, but there's no return address, so I can't write back. But over time, the letters get more possessive. Once, the letter describes my body fairly graphically, in all the most complimenting ways, but it's clear they saw me working shirtless in my garden, tits free to the wind. My land is huge and fenced in, someone would have to have jumped my fence and gotten very close without my noticing to see me doing that.

I start spending a little less time at home and more time in town, hoping to make some connections to keep my mind off my "secret admirer", who started recently describing how beautiful and motherly of a man I would make swollen with his baby. I don't tell anyone about it, embarrassed by the content, and the fact that despite the obvious escalation, it makes me wet to think about all this attention. I'm not beloved by the town, but I make a few good friends.

One day, a year to the day I moved into town, a package shows up at my door. Its from my secret admirer, a very small bottle of wine with a letter attached. Praising all my accomplishments this year, in detail, in order. Singing my praises and wishing for even more in the upcoming year. Against my better judgement, I accept, and take the wine inside.

I generally am a lightweight when it comes to alcohol- I learned that recently, out with friends at the local bar. One had bought me a drink and I needed help home afterwards, and the friend that bought me the round felt so badly about my state he walked me home himself. But I had nothing else to do that day, so I poured myself a glass anyway.

I don't drink often, so I didn't recognize right away that something was wrong. Didn't notice that I was fading in and out of consciousness on the couch until one moment I was watching a documentary on wilderness survival, and the next it was about space travel. My body was heavy, I could barely move, so the couch would have to do that night.

I almost chalked it up to overindulgence when my front door opened.

It was a small town- I had no reason to lock my door. Even my secret admirer hadn't made mention of wanting to break in, just lamented that they couldn't work up the courage to approach me first. But apparently, this was how they chose to do it.

I yelled, a slurred and disoriented thing. Time was runny, and I didn't even have time to process running before they were on me. A mask, sunglasses and a ball cap obscured my attackers face, hair seeming meticulously tucked into the cap to further obscure their identity.

I tried to struggle, but I'm small and they're much bigger- not to mention the wine that I realize must've been drugged. They shush me, clearly altering their voice so I wouldn't know who they are- small town, after all.

They pull up my shirt, tangling me in it and covering my face so I can't see them. Everything is running together, and at some point they've taken my pants off too, Im lying naked before them. Everything narrows down to sensations that run together. A mouth sucking on my nipple, my attackers hands running reverently down my body. They're murmuring words I can't understand because my head is swimming from the spiked drink. Their fingers find my wet and waiting slit, and they thumb over my tdick, and despite myself I make a strangled noise.

Then, I am aware of their cock at my entrance, and I get another burst of fighting, but it's useless. They shush me, kissing the side of my face through the fabric of the shirt around my face, and promise to be gentle as they push themself into my dripping cunt. They moan openly into my ear, muffled by the shirt, and start playing with my tits while they rape me.

Everything is blurry, I keep slipping in and out of consciousness, only to wake up and find that they're still fucking me. They whisper praises, saying they wish they'd done this a year ago when I first moved in, how much of a tease I was working in my garden shirtless or changing in front of the window. How we were going to be so happy together, how excited they were to realize I had a womb they could fill. How they'd start with one, but they knew I would look heavenly round and heavy with their baby for the rest of my life.

I don't know how much time passed, them using my pliant body like a cocksleeve. They were mostly true about being gentle, aside from the bruising on my hips where they held me down. They came against my waiting cervix at least once, but it all ran together for me. After cumming inside me, they gently rubbed my stomach over my womb, scratching the trail of dark hair that sprouted over the year taking testosterone.

I wanted to cry, but they stayed inside me growing soft for a while, gently fondling me or kissing my body. Eventually, I blacked out entirely.

The next morning I couldn't pretend it was a dream- I was left tangled up in my clothes, though a blanket from my room was draped over me and my TV turned off. My cunt was sore and I had the world's worst hangover. I stumbled to the shower and tried not to throw up.

I didn't want to be alone, so after my chickens were fed I went down to the friends house who helped me home that night. He had been so kind, and we'd started getting close. He had even dismissed a mutual friend making a joke about taking advantage of me the night he helped me home- he'd just helped me to my bed and left. I could trust him.

He knew something was off the moment he saw me, and ushered me inside. He got me water from his fridge, and sat down with me to let me talk.

I told him everything. First about the rape that night, then elaborating to the stalker in tears. He looked horrified, and let me sob in his arms. He was so kind to me, so good to me. I told him I didn't want to be alone. He offered to move in with me for a little while, to make sure nothing else happened. I agreed immediately, and he started packing up his things right that second.

His time spent moved in was nice. I got up early for my chickens and garden, but somehow he was always up earlier, making me coffee and breakfast. Some days he even watered my plants for me, just to be kind. He was sweet, always there to support me. He slept on the couch with no complaints, and even held me close when a noise outside had me convinced the stalker was going to break down the now locked door and rape me again.

The admirers notes slowed. They first were promises of coming back again, to see my "beautiful fertile body" up close again. Then threats when my friend moved in. Then nothing. I thought the nightmare was over.

I had chalked up the throwing up to a traumatic response and the drugs working their way out of my system. When it continued I didn't think much of it. Attributed the weight gain to my friend fussing over me and making sure I ate well. But the slightly round look of my stomach unsettled me, so I bit the bullet and took a pregnancy test.

Positive.

I was in hysterics when I saw the lines, and my friend ran into the room asking if I was hurt. I just shook my head and showed him the test, and he took me into his arms. We both know by this point it was too late to abort in the state this town was in, and travel costs put it out of the question if I could go out of state to have it done.

My friend assured me that it would be alright. That he'd help me through this. That he'd even help me raise the baby if I didn't want to be a single father.

Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones, maybe it was the kindness he'd shown me this past month or two. Maybe it was the way he looked up at me, having knelt down in front of me to make his promise of support. But I kissed him. I had fallen in love with this man, who'd taken care of me in my time of greatest need. And with the way he kissed me back, he'd fallen for me too.

It was like a switch was flipped, like he had been holding back this entire time. I invited him into my bed, and every night his hands were on me. I loved the way he felt, so happy to have someone else touch me after what happened. Every touch was adoring and reverent, he made me feel like a prince. Id beg him to cum deep inside me and breed me, and he'd get a look in his eyes when he pounded my cunt. It helped me pretend it was his baby growing inside me, especially when he'd put his hand on my growing stomach protectively.

Our relationship moved quickly. We were dating for only three months when he proposed to me, but it felt like three years. Gladly I accepted, and it took only two months to set up the wedding. He handled everything, insistent I just relax because he didn't want to stress out the baby. I was heavily pregnant at our wedding, and I heard a few murmurs about it being a shotgun wedding. I let them gossip- I hadn't told anyone about my attack, and I didn't care if they thought we were just getting married because I got knocked up. My husband and I knew the truth.

Those final few months were hard, but my wonderful husband took such good care of me. Doted on me hand and foot, took care of the chickens entirely, and with winter setting in soon I didn't need to tend the garden at all. This loving wonderful man cared for me through every stage of this unwanted pregnancy and turned it into the start of a beautiful life. It was like a scene out of a romance novel.

My labor was hard, but he was there through it all. Fussing over me and ensuring I got the best care. It hurts beyond words, the baby huge and heavy, but I managed. A sweet baby girl.

He was overjoyed. The next two months spent in a sleepy newborn haze, of course. But he was always there, at my side. He cooked dinner, kept the house tidy, watched the baby as I tended the chickens, our main income aside from a few residuals from some old novel he wrote years ago. He didn't even ask for sex, knowing I was healing, even if I wanted to regardless of doctors orders. But we waited.

The anniversary of the attack came and went, and he held me through my sobs. Reminded me that even if the experience was horrible, we had our beautiful daughter, and our beautiful relationship, because of it. And he was right. I was able to leave it behind.

As time wore on, he continued to be an amazing husband. Attentive in daily life, wonderful to our child, and absolutely fantastic in bed.

Nights spent after the baby was sleeping entwined in each other. His cock buried to the hilt in my needy cunt, his mouth on my heavy milky tits. Some nights, id let him take Polaroid photos of me impaled on his cock, or sucking him off, or stroking my tdick as his cum leaked out of me. I never saw where he kept them, but the idea that my body was so important to him he kept photos around made me feel good and loved. I never needed to ask with him, he somehow always knew what I needed, and I was often marked with hickies along my body from him. He said he was claiming every part of me.

A few months into summer, I felt off again. This time I didn't wait, and took a pregnancy test right away. Positive again. We weren't trying explicitly, but we weren't preventing it either, especially not with how I begged him to breed me every night. I told him, and he was overjoyed. I felt like I was in a fairy tale.

We decided to turn his old stuff into a playroom, since the nursery itself was small. I set to work on it in the mornings, while he was making breakfast. It was a lot to take down and move, so it took a while. While emptying his desk to have him move it to storage, I found a little cardboard box. Curious, I opened it up.

At first I thought it was the dirty photos he had taken of me. The idea of him alone in his study, fucking his hand to these photos when working late on a new story made me shiver. But then, under those photos were more. Candid shots of me out with friends, even before the baby. I hadn't gotten out much after the baby came, not like I went much of anywhere after the attack. These photos were old.

Then, the ones from my home. In through the windows while I was changing. My shirtless working in my garden. Me reaching for a gift wrapped bottle of wine.

With shaking hands, I set the box down. My husband, unbeknownst to me, had come up behind me. He wrapped his arms tightly around me, in a way hours ago I would find protective but now felt like a vice grip.

"What's the matter, love?" He asked, as he placed a hand over my womb, once again full of his child. "I told you we were meant to be. That you would look beautiful heavy with my baby for the rest of your life. I know you think so too. Why else would you beg me to breed that fertile, beautiful body of yours again? Just as I said before. If it weren't for that night, we wouldn't have our daughter, or our marriage. I just wish I'd done it sooner."

[wildwestdean]

enmity

based on both this request by @nochedie, and this request by @somethingsomethingcranberries! thank you so much for sending these in! 🤍🤍

summary: this wasn't the first time a hunt had gone wrong. sure, the injuries dean patched up for you were a little worse than usual, but it was nothing new - so, why was he so pissed off about it?

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

word count: 7.1k+

warnings: working a case/hunting, mentions of missing kids, gore, blood, reader gets injured, stitches + motel room first aid, descriptions of wounds, swearing, angst, hurt/comfort, nicknames, yelling, fighting, mature themes, kinda slow burn but not really, minor self-doubt (reader), dean acts like a dick, name calling (stupid, idiot), best!friend sam, mentions of pain killers, alcohol consumption, confessions, idiots in love, fluff, brief mention of age gap

You sat in your motel room with books and papers scattered across the bed, and a plethora of tabs open on your laptop.

“Anything?” you asked with a sigh, looking up at Sam who was across the room - the table he sat at practically mirroring your bedspread.

He huffed and set his book down, leaning back in his chair while running a hand through his hair. 

Your shoulders slumped at his reaction, a frustrated chuckle escaping your lips. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then.”

He shook his head, glaring at the pages in front him before meeting your gaze. “I don’t get it. At all.” 

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing in confusion. “Get what?”

Sam’s eyes widened, and he waved his hands over the littered table. “This! This whole case. I mean, there’s zero background for this- this- whatever it is!” he exclaimed. 

“Okay, maybe we should just take a break? Dean should be back with the food soon...” you trailed off as a passage suddenly caught your attention, fingers tapping atop your knee as you scanned the page.

He noticed the shift in your demeanour and sat up straight, looking at you intently. “Did you find something?” he asked hopefully. 

You shook your head as you glanced at him. “No, I don’t think so, but-” you cut yourself off, feeling unsure, but you could practically feel him watching you, his eyebrows raised as he waited for you to continue. “What if we’re looking in the wrong place?” 

“How so?” he questioned. 

“Okay, well,” you started. “Right now we’re looking for things that are common around here and travel in groups. Like werewolves, demons, or vampires, right?”

Sam nodded his head, looking at you as if you were losing your mind. “Yeah…” he said slowly. 

Huffing at the fact he wasn’t following, you carried on. “So, right now we’re looking for groups of monsters. Monsters that are likely native to this area. Maybe that’s why we can’t find anything,” you tried to explain. 

Sam nodded, eyes lighting up in realization. “So… you’re not only thinking this is something mainly solitary, but also not typically known to show face around here? Like Lamia?”

“Yes, exactly! Technically there’s multiple, but-” 

“There were only two found around here,” Sam finished for you, clearly deep in thought. 

Folding your arms over your chest, you leaned back against the headboard. “What do you think?” you asked softly. 

He grabbed his laptop and placed it in front of him. “I don’t know,” he sighed. “Seems like it could be a good shot, though.”

You smiled once more, gathering up the abandoned books and loose papers just as the motel door creaked open. 

“So, what did you nerds find out while I was gone?” Dean asked, clicking the door shut behind him.

You opened your mouth to answer, but Sam beat you to it. “Girl wonder over there may have just found us a good lead,” he said, eyes still locked on his computer as his head jerked in your direction. 

Dean beamed at you as he set the bags down, settling for the empty chair across from Sam when he couldn’t find any free space on the table. “That’s my girl!” he cheered. “What did you find?”

Trying to prevent a blush from blooming across your face because of his comment, you focused on organizing the piles of research in front of you. “Sam’s giving me too much credit, I didn’t even find anything concrete.” 

Dean walked over and sat down on the other bed, a look of interest on his face. You shifted nervously as he accidentally brushed your knee along the way, feeling your heart rate quicken like a smitten teenager. You glanced up and caught Sam’s eye, and his gaze darted between you and Dean before resting on his laptop screen, a tiny smirk playing at his lips. 

“Tell me what ya got,” Dean said, popping open a bottle of beer that seemed to appear out of nowhere. 

You shrugged dismissively. “Like I said, nothing concrete. I just suggested to Sam that we were looking in the wrong place.” 

Dean shook his head, taking a sip of his beer. “You already lost me.” 

“I mean, most things we’ve hunted have come in swarms, and were typically common to the area. I suggested that perhaps we were hunting a singular thing, something foreign, like when you guys took down that Lamia,” you supplied, standing up with a stack of books to move out of the way. 

You could practically feel Sam’s smirk behind your back as you set things on the dresser. Ever since you realized that, when it came to Dean, you felt something stronger than your adopted kinship, you confided in Sam. He’s been one of your best friends and confidants for as long as you’ve known him, yet a small part of you regrets telling him; he still refuses to let you live it down, and is smug as shit about it at every possible moment. Between him, and the fact that your behaviour is growing increasingly uncharacteristic around Dean due to the fear of your own feelings, it won’t be long until Dean realizes that something is going on.

Dean laughed softly behind you, and you were thankful he couldn't see the smile that grew on your face because of the sound. “Assuming I even remember what the hell this Lima-”

“Lamia,” you and Sam both pitched in to correct him. 

“Whatever,” Dean huffed. “What makes you think this thing is some lonely foreigner?” 

Shrugging your shoulders as you set the last book down on the stack, you thought about it. “I don’t really know,” you said, spinning around and walking back to your bed. “Just a hunch, I guess? I mean, I could be really off base here.”

“Nah, your hunches are never wrong, sweetheart,” Dean told you, bringing his bottle to his smirking lips. 

You heard Sam snicker, and you sent him a death glare before declaring that you were starving. 

Setting the bottle on the nightstand, Dean eagerly stood up and grabbed the bags. “I got your favourite,” he declared, sporting a proud grin as he brought it to you. 

“Thanks, De,” you said earnestly, matching his grin as you took it from him.

One quick glance confirmed that he didn’t forget a single detail of your order, and you felt your heart swell about three sizes. 

“Sammy?” Dean asked tentatively, looking over to his brother now; the remnants of his smile still lingering.

Sam shook his head, keeping his eyes locked on his screen. “You can go ahead, I’m not all that hungry right now.”

Rather than argue, you and Dean simply shared a look and shrugged before digging in. The three of you brainstormed some more while you ate, resulting in Sam sending you and Dean an occasional look of ‘stop talking with your mouths full, it's disgusting’ - which only encouraged you both to do it more.

Eventually, Sam had all he could take and shut his laptop with a groan. “I’ll be in my room,” he muttered, all but storming away to the room next door. 

He always got his own room whenever he could, given that not only was he often up late with a lamp burning to carry on with research, but he was also always up before the sun to go for a run if the case allowed for it. It was now more than ever, though, that you assumed he got his own room to also just escape the pestering from you and Dean. 

You both watched him march out of sight for a moment before Dean turned to you, the corners of his mouth twitching. 

“It’s just too easy sometimes,” you giggled. 

He couldn’t help but snort a laugh, a grin taking over both your faces as you high-fived. 

The two of you carried on together for the rest of the night; working on the case a little more, coming up with new ways to mess with Sam, settling onto your bed to watch a few episodes of your favourite show - one that he always complains about, yet refuses to miss a single episode of.

It was the same as every night. 

Only this time, you could’ve sworn that he sat a little closer to you. That he laughed a little harder at your jokes. You even thought that you saw more fondness than usual reflected in his gaze whenever he turned to smile at you.

Yet, you didn’t dwell on it. You couldn’t dwell on it. 

It was a dangerous game to think that he saw you the way that you saw him, and it was a game you refused to play. 

A few days later, you were all seated around the room again, growing increasingly frustrated over the lack of answers. Children kept disappearing, no one knew why, and panic was rising. 

You scrolled through the page, sitting up straight as something caught your eye; and you noticed Sam do the same a few moments later. 

“Gurumāpā!” you both yelled, looking at each other. 

Dean looked up from the book he was searching through to stare at the two of you. “Uhh... gesundheit?"

“The Nepalese bogeyman,” you confirmed, ignoring Dean’s confusion. 

“You really think?” Sam asked. 

You spoke quickly, excited yet unsure “I mean, I don't know. It could be. It’s our best shot. Stories vary here and there but the moral is the same.”

“He takes disobedient kids,” Sam agreed with a nod. 

Dean shut his book with a snap. “Great! So, where do we find it, and how do we kill it?” 

You opened your mouth, but had nothing. You looked at Sam, but he only shrugged. 

“Awesome,” Dean sighed, resting his cheek on his palm as he dramatically threw the book back open to flick through the pages. 

“Are we sure about this?” you asked suddenly, having two heads snap to attention. 

Dean spoke first. “Are we ever?”

“Dean’s right, most of the time we barely have a leg to stand on,” Sam added. 

“I know, but,” you started to say. “Why’s he here? He’s supposed to be secluded on a field in Nepal. It doesn’t make sense he’s here.”

“Nothing ever makes sense,” Dean said, rubbing his eyes. “This is the best lead we’ve had so far, we can’t turn back now. For all we know, someone could’ve found a way to summon him- hell, or smuggle him here.” 

Sam nodded. “It has happened before,” he reminded, and you all took a silent moment to remember that case before shuddering. 

“We’ve done a lot more with a lot less - so come on,” Dean said, tapping a finger on your laptop to get you to keep reading. 

You obliged with a heavy sigh, and silence stretched on for a few more hours; all of you painstakingly searching through any book or entry you could get your hands on. You, working on finding a possible location this thing could be camping out in, while they tried to find a way to kill it. 

You considered it a lucky break when Dean announced he may have found something, thus allowing him to help you when Sam took it upon himself to dive deeper on what was discovered. 

After a few more hours, you all found yourselves outside of town and surrounded by nothing but abandoned farmland and its ramshackled buildings.

“Great, so… now what?” Dean asked, surveying the expanse of seemingly endless land. 

“I guess we split up? Try and find any kids first?” Sam suggested with a shrug. 

Opening your mouth to respond, you were quickly cut off by Dean. 

“No,” he said firmly, taking a subconscious step closer to you. “We don’t even know if what we’re after is what we think we’re after.”

“So?” you asked, glancing up at him. “It wouldn’t be the first time.” 

“No,” he repeated, shaking his head. “I don’t like it. We stay together until we get a better feel for what’s going on.” 

“Well, let’s go then,” you declared, slinging your duffel over your shoulder and strolling down the path. 

The brothers were hot on your heels, the only sounds to be heard being the gravel under your shoes and the birds up above as you explored the property.

“This isn’t gonna work, Dean,” Sam huffed after a while. “This place is massive and we’re wasting time. It’s gonna be dark soon.” 

“He’s right, De,” you agreed softly. “We need to split up.” 

“Fine, okay,” Dean sighed, running a hand over his face. “Do not do anything stupid. Call the second you find anything, got it?” he added with a pointed look; seemingly only directed at you.

“Yeah, I got it,” you said in annoyance. “I’m not an idiot.” 

“I never said-” Dean started to argue before Sam interrupted with a loud groan. 

“Guys? Can we, like, not do that now? Kinda life or death here.” 

“Right, yeah,” Dean grumbled with a curt nod. “No one get dead,” he muttered, choosing a direction and walking off.

You and Sam exchanged a quick glance before following suit, heading off in your own directions. 

The sun was getting lower and lower on the horizon, and you grew increasingly frustrated as every single place you checked came up empty. 

You were just about ready to start landing punches on some unsuspecting barnwood when you heard it. It was quiet, distant, but unmistakable. 

Someone - or something, you guessed - was in the next building.

It was dark. 

Dark and quiet. 

Why was it so dark? 

The sun still wasn’t set as you stepped into the barn, and that was only moments ago; wasn’t it? 

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as you tried to recall what happened: the noise that caught your attention, the apparent nesting ground you came upon, the footsteps behind you, the struggle, the fight, the searing pain as you were sent flying.

A small whimper escaped you as it all came back, breathing rapidly as you realized you were alone with no idea what was happening outside these creaking walls. You tried to move, but searing pain shot through you, a hand instinctively going to your side to instantly become warm and slick. 

“Dean?” you tried to call out, but his name only came as a broken sob. 

Choking back tears, you forced yourself to calm down so you could listen to your surroundings; yet all you could hear was your own heart pounding in your ears. 

“Dean?” you tried again, but it was like all the air was being stolen from your lungs. 

Taking a big breath, you forced yourself to your feet with a yell, bracing yourself on the closest beam you could find as you fumbled for your phone. Panic continued to rise within you when you realized it wouldn’t turn on, and fear for the boys’ whereabouts turned your blood to ice. 

Moonlight was filtering into the barn through the slats, piercing the darkness around you just enough to help you see the way out. You didn’t know where you’d go once getting outside, but you knew you just had to get outside. Forcing yourself to move once more, you pushed off the beam and trudged through the rubble and debris, heading towards the opening you had squished yourself through to get in here. Shoving your way back out, however, was not as easy, and you couldn’t help but let out a scream as the wood pressed into your wound on the way through. 

Suddenly, you heard your name being called. It was soft, like an echo in the distance, but you recognized the voice - you would know it anywhere. 

“Dean-” you attempted to call in return, but you still couldn’t find your voice. 

Once you were completely outside, you made your way in the direction you thought he was in, trying to keep pressure on the wound as best you could; thankfully, it didn’t seem to be bleeding too badly. Your head was absolutely pounding, and you weren’t sure if your vision was blurry, or if it was just too dark to clearly make anything out. Nevertheless, you carried on, using Dean as a beacon to guide your way. 

The second you saw his familiar silhouette appear up ahead, you knew you were safe. You knew you could finally let yourself give in to the pain and exhaustion, collapsing to your knees with a heavy sigh. 

You faintly registered him yelling out your name before sprinting towards you, his voice growing louder as he got closer.

“Hey,” he cried out, skidding to his knees in front of you. “Hey, look at me. Look at me,” he pleaded, cupping your face in his hands in a desperate attempt to try and meet your gaze.

“The barn,” you said urgently. “I tried to-”

“It’s okay,” Dean hushed you, shaking his head. “It’s okay, you’re okay, we got it.” 

“You got it?” you asked hazily.

“We got it, sweetheart,” he assured, his fingers brushing away your hair to try and examine you better. “It’s over, you’re okay.”

“I don’t feel okay,” you admitted quietly. 

Your vision grew even cloudier, and you didn’t know if it was your consciousness slipping away, or more tears starting to flow. 

“No, you’re okay,” he said shakily, wiping away what must have been tears. 

You nodded in response, but the movement caused your breath to hitch as the pain grew worse, and your hands shakily reached up to grab his wrists in a feeble attempt to stop everything from spinning. 

It was at this exact moment he noticed your hands were painted with your own blood, and the fear that surged through him as he glanced down made him want to throw up. Quickly slipping his flannel off, he wrapped it around you with unsteady hands, tying it tightly after warning you it might hurt.

“See?” he asked nervously, swallowing thickly. “It’s not even that bad, alright? It’s not that bad.”

The fact that it was too dark to properly assess the damage was setting his nerves on fire, and at this point he didn’t know whether he was trying to convince you or himself that everything was fine. 

He doesn’t even remember calling out for Sam, yet he must have, because his brother was suddenly skidding to a stop beside him after finally finding you.

Sam took a moment to assess you himself, though once realizing there was nothing that could be done right here and now, he decided it was time to move. 

“Can you walk?” Sam asked you, trying to keep his voice steady. 

“Not as quickly as you two gigantor’s can,” you admitted, huffing a bitter laugh. 

Neither of them laughed with you, and they shared a pointed look that you couldn’t see. 

Dean dug in his pocket, pulling out his keys before tossing them to Sam. “Get the car and start heading our way. We’ll meet you.” 

“Got it,” Sam nodded, sprinting away. 

“Alright, let’s get you up, sweetheart,” Dean announced softly, grabbing you as firmly as he dared. “Ready?” 

With a tiny nod of your head, you let out a groan as he helped guide you to your feet, letting you lean heavily on him for support. 

“Good,” Dean encouraged. “Good. How’re you feeling?” 

“Tired,” you breathed out, resting your heavy head on his shoulder. 

“Okay, hey,” he called, gently lifting your head back up. “I’m gonna carry you, alright? But I need you to stay awake. Can you do that for me?” 

You really, really wanted to say no. It seemed like he had three heads, all dancing around in front of you, and all you wanted was to close your eyes. You didn’t understand why you couldn’t. 

“Why?” you asked, clearly confused.  

“Can’t let you sleep until I check out that head,” he told you, getting ready to scoop you up into his arms as gently as he could. 

You were somehow even more confused. “My head?” you asked, before letting out a strangled gasp as he picked you up.

“It’s bleeding,” he pointed out, swallowing down the lump that formed in his throat.

As if in a way of question, you gingerly brought your fingers up to the side of your head - only to flinch in response as you came in contact with what must’ve been another wound. “Oh.”

It wasn’t long before the world around you became aglow with headlights, and Sam pulled to a screeching stop before rushing to help Dean get you in the back seat.

“Are we close to a hospital?” Dean asked, placing your head on his lap as Sam spun the car around. 

“Not at all. The motel’s our closest option right now,” answered Sam. 

“Fine, then drive faster,” Dean ordered, running a hand through your hair. 

“I’m going as fast as I can, Dean,” Sam grumbled. 

“Well, I said go faster,” Dean replied curtly, before fully turning his attention back to you.

He focused on keeping you talking as Sam sped towards the motel - discussing the latest episodes of your show the two of you had watched, how there was a new movie playing that he wanted to take you to see once back at home, that during the drive back home he’d stop at that cute cafe you spotted on the outskirts of town earlier this week; anything that came to mind, he said it.

There were multiple motives behind him doing so: to keep you distracted from the pain, to keep you awake, to keep him distracted from your pain, and to try and gauge how bad that head injury was - so far, it didn’t seem to be so much damaging as just a nasty blow. It wasn’t bleeding anymore, and the wound by your hip wasn’t bleeding as much, so he was hoping all it would need was a few good stitches once he could look at it. 

The panic he had felt since first finding you was finally starting to subside, yet he had still never been so thankful to pull into a dingy motel parking lot before. After carefully leading you to your room, he and Sam both took turns to evaluate your wounds and current condition. 

“Looks worse than it is,” Sam told you, letting out a breath of relief. “Definitely gonna be sporting a nice goose egg for a while, maybe a stitch or two, but your head seems fine.”

“Oh, yeah. Totally fine,” Dean pitched in, sarcasm dripping from the words. “What about that nice gash on her side - what would you say that is, Sammy? Four, maybe five inches?”

“Dean,” Sam chastised, shooting him a warning look. 

“Oh, here we go. Sammy the protector,” Dean muttered, heading to gather the first aid kit. “Well where the hell were you when she got turned into Raggedy Ann, huh?”

“Where was I? Where the hell were you?” Sam spat back with a scoff. 

“I was the one who didn’t want to split up in the first place!” yelled Dean, snatching a bottle of liquor off the counter to use as a disinfectant.  

“Guys?” you cut in, hoping to stop them before it escalated. 

“What?” they both shouted, turning their attention to you 

“Oh,” Sam said, realizing he was now yelling at you. “Sorry,” he added awkwardly, clearing his throat. 

Dean, on the other hand, remained quiet as he approached you. His face was as dark as an impending storm, yet his hands remained as gentle as the touch of a summer breeze while he tended to you.

Time stretched on, and the silence that now filled the room was almost harder to bear than the needle Dean was currently threading through your skin. You cast a glance over at Sam, hoping for some reprieve, but he looked just as helpless as you were. 

“Did you end up finding anyone?” you asked tentatively, addressing the room instead of either Sam or Dean.

“Sam brought a couple kids over to the station while I looked for you,” Dean informed, voice as taught as the suture he pulled through for one final knot. 

“That’s good,” you replied, wringing your fingers together. “What about-” 

“Everything got dealt with, alright?” Dean interrupted, cutting the excess material off with a harsh snip as he finished his stitching. 

“Okay,” you said, feeling like a scolded child. “Look, I-” 

Your words got stuck in your throat as Dean stood abruptly, tossing everything aside before storming over to the sink. You watched as he stiffly scrubbed your blood from his hands, the silence becoming as overbearing as before until Sam broke it. 

“Look, you just…” he trailed off, as if he were testing the water before continuing. “You really scared the hell out of us.” 

“I’m sorry,” you said, mainly because you didn’t know what to say. It’s not like you meant to get attacked, for crying out loud. 

“Sorry?” Dean barked, whipping around to face you. “You’re sorry?” 

You stared at him, watching as the fury swirled in his eyes while you thought of what you were supposed to say. 

“Okay- maybe we should all take a breather here,” Sam quickly jumped in, trying to diffuse his brother’s anger. 

“No, I don’t think so,” Dean said, dismissing the idea as he stared daggers at you. “I think we should go ahead and talk about what a goddamn idiot you were back there!” 

The words felt like a slap in the face, and they hurt more than anything else you endured tonight. “I was not an idiot.” 

“No?” he asked, stepping towards you. “Because last I checked, you were supposed to call us if you found something! Not go blindly running in to meet who knows what without any fucking backup!” 

“Oh, please!” you groaned, already fed up. “Just how was that gonna work, Dean? I just stand there and wait for you guys to show up while potentially letting some innocent kid bite it? I had to check it out!” 

“It was stupid!” he shouted back. “You wanna check it out solo, fine, but you still drop a dime! We had no idea where the hell you even were!” 

“Guys, c’mon,” Sam pleaded, desperately wanting to put an end to this. 

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean spat. “She needs to own up to her mistake.” 

“It wasn’t a mistake!” you yelled. “I’m not in this gig to play it safe, I’m in it to save lives.” 

“Yeah, and then I’m the one who ends up with your blood on my hands!” he cried out. 

“Oh, do you always have to be so goddamn dramatic?!” you asked. “Don’t act like getting hurt isn’t part of the job. You’ve got over a decade on me, Dean, you should know that better than I do!”

He laughed sardonically, shaking his head as he backed up to lean against the counter, hands rubbing at his face. “I just don’t understand how you can’t see how fucking stupid you were.” 

“Ah, yes,” you replied saccharinely. “Stupid little me. Just a naive girl who can’t do the job, huh?” 

“That’s not what I’m saying!” he barked, rubbing his face in exasperation. 

“No?” you asked incredulously. “Then tell me, Dean! What the hell are you saying, huh?” 

“God, just- you know what?” he asked, shoving himself off the counter. “Screw this. I’m done here. I’m getting my own fucking room for the night,” he muttered, storming away. 

Before you could even blink, he was slamming the door behind him. You must’ve made a move to follow him, because you suddenly felt a hand lightly grip your wrist as Sam kept you in place. 

“Just leave him to cool off for a bit,” Sam told you quietly. 

You wanted to argue, to rip yourself from Sam’s grasp and go find Dean, who was likely pacing around outside in an attempt to blow off some steam. Yet you knew it was best to do as Sam said; Dean didn’t want to listen right now, and following after him to try and talk would only make things worse. 

“Yeah,” you said belatedly, slipping from his hold. “Okay.” 

“Do you need any help?” Sam asked, watching as you gathered your things for bed. 

“I’ll be fine,” you told him, shaking your head. 

“Alright,” he sighed, not fully believing you but knowing better than to call you on it. “I’ll go next door and grab my stuff. I’ll stay with you tonight.” 

“Sounds great,” you said, despite not fully listening to him. You were too focused on trying to hold yourself together until you made it to the bathroom, letting the emotions run through you as soon as you were locked inside. 

Time seemed to slip away from you while you were in there, lost in thought while the water melded with your tears as you cleansed yourself both physically and emotionally. It was only when Sam knocked on the door with a call of your name that you finally came to your senses. Once you assured him you were fine, you quickly finished up. 

Doing your best to avoid eye contact with Sam, you made for your bed as quickly as you could move. Hiding yourself away in the safety of the blankets, you hoped to avoid any further discussions of this entire event. 

You should’ve known better. 

“You do know we need to talk about this, right?” Sam asked softly. 

“Do we?” you asked in return, staring up at the ceiling. 

He sighed, and soon after you felt the end of your bed dip under his weight. “I meant what I said. You scared the hell out of us.” 

“I didn’t mean to,” you said meekly, keeping your eyes trained on the stain above your head. 

“I know that,” he said calmly. “I’m sure Dean does, too, but-” 

“Does he?” you cut in incredulously. 

Sam sighed again, falling silent as he weighed his response in his head. “Yes. C’mon, you know Dean - hell, probably even better than I do. He was more scared than he was angry, and I think you know that.” 

“Well you were scared, too, weren’t you?” you asked, finally turning your gaze to his. “You didn’t try ripping my head off.” 

“That’s because my biggest fear didn’t almost become reality tonight,” he said simply, giving you a look as though you should understand; which, you didn’t. 

“What?” 

“Look,” Sam started, carding his fingers through his hair. “Death is part of the job, right? We all know it’s the risk we take with this life. But you… if I’m being honest, I don’t even know what the hell I’d do if I ever lost you; you’re my best friend, the annoying little sister I never had, and I love you. But Dean… him losing you… I don’t know if he could ever come back from that.”

You stared at him carefully, his words echoing in your head as you searched his face for any insincerity - you didn’t really know what to say once you found no trace. 

“I’d like to get some rest, if that’s okay,” you finally settled on. 

Sam smiled sadly, knowing you didn’t believe him. “Sure,” he agreed, squeezing your calf affectionately before standing up. “I’ll check on you in a few hours, okay?” 

“Okay,” you nodded, tucking the sheets up under your chin. “Night, Sammy.” 

“G’night,” he responded gently, quietly getting himself ready for bed as well.

It was torture. Pure, never ending torture. 

You had been laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, for hours, unable to sleep a wink. 

Not only was your mind still reeling from your fight with Dean, but you weren’t able to get comfortable; the stitches in your side pulled every time you shifted positions, sending a new wave of pain through you that even the painkillers you swallowed down earlier did little to conceal. 

Letting out an irritated huff, you tossed the covers off and slid from the bed to search the dark for your shoes, doing your best to not wake Sam - all you wanted was some fresh air, and you didn’t want to deal with his questions or insistence he go with you. 

After shrugging on a flannel that Dean had left in his haste to get away from you, you carefully slipped from the room and did your best to make sure the door shut silently in your wake. 

“Running away?” came a voice from behind you, making you jump out of your skin as you whirled around. 

You came face to face with Dean, who was leaning against the trunk of his beloved car, one hand shoved deep in his jacket pocket and the other holding a can of beer. The moonlight cut through the darkness, mingling with the fluorescent and neon lights to cast an otherworldly glow upon his face. 

“Why?” you asked tightly, folding your arms over yourself. “Hoping you won’t have to deal with my stupidity anymore?” 

You may as well have slapped him for the way your words made him flinch, and he fixed his gaze on the can in his hand. “You know that’s not how I meant any of it,” he muttered guiltily. 

All you could do was scoff, biting back your snippy response in the hopes of trying to avoid another blow out. 

“Why are you out here?” you asked after a few moments of silence. “Thought you got your own room.” 

Dean shrugged, chugging down some beer before jerking a thumb in the direction of the upper level. “I asked for one, but all they had was one up in the corner.” 

“What, too many stairs?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

He shook his head, falling silent as he stared at the puddle by his feet. “Just… too far away.” 

“From?” you asked, taking a few steps to lean against the closest pillar. 

By the sigh he let out, you could tell he didn’t want to answer, yet after a small stretch of silence he finally looked up to meet your gaze. “You.” 

“What, not mad at me anymore, then?” you questioned, hoping to mend this bridge. 

“Oh, no. I’m still fucking pissed,” he instantly admitted. 

“Right, well, spare the lecture this time,” you replied with a scoff. 

“You just don’t get it, do you?” he snapped, setting his can down on the trunk. 

“You wanna know what I don’t get, Dean?” you quipped, glaring at him. “Have you always thought I was such an incompetent hunter, or did your opinion of me just suddenly change?” 

“That is not-” he started to argue, before taking a calming breath. “That is not what I think,” he finished, more quiet this time. 

“Could’ve fooled me,” you muttered with a roll of your eyes. 

“Okay, you wanna know how I see it?” he asked, shifting his stance a little straighter. 

When all you did was meet his gaze with your own look of determination, he carried on. 

“You almost died!” he said adamantly. 

“No, I didn’t!” you denied, throwing up your hands in exasperation. 

“Well you may as well have!” he yelled, palm slamming down on Baby’s exterior in an outburst of rage. “You disappeared! You disappeared, and I couldn’t find you, and when I did-... I mean what else was I supposed to think, huh? I find you on your damn knees, covered in your own blood, and I can’t even see how bad it is because we’re literally out there in the fucking dark. So you know what? As far as I’m concerned, in that moment, you did almost die.” 

Stunned into silence by the intensity of his words, all you could do was watch the storm of fear and fury dance behind his eyes before he turned away. 

“I thought I was gonna have to watch you die,” he muttered, choking on his words as he braced his hands on the car to steady himself. 

“I-” you tried to speak, but all words failed you at that moment. 

“And I know, okay?” he carried on desperately. “I know that this job, this life… that’s the risk. And me? Hell, if I go, I go, I can make peace with that. But I’ll be damned if I get to keep on living and you don’t. I’ll be damned, if I have to sit there and watch you die.” 

“Dean-” you tried again, feeling like an idiot for not being able to form a proper response. 

“Look, I- I overreacted okay? It’s what I do, I know that, but-” Dean cut himself off with a sigh, quickly wiping at his eyes before the tears had a chance to appear. “I can’t- I can’t handle the idea of facing a world without you in it.” 

“You’ve… I mean, I don’t understand,” you admitted with a chuckle of disbelief. “I’ve been hurt before.” 

“Trust me, I know,” he sighed, finally returning to sit against the rear end as he fixated on the ground before him. 

“So… what made it so different this time?” you hesitantly asked. 

Dean’s gaze slowly lifted from his boots to your face, and the look he gave you was one you’ve never seen before. He held your gaze as he stood tall, easily closing the space between you two with just a few steps. He reached out to carefully brush your hair away from the gash on your head, tucking the strands behind your ear. Your breath hitched as his fingers gently traced your skin, his touch lingering as he examined your wound. 

“Guess I just reached my breaking point,” he whispered, letting his palm rest against your cheek. 

“What does that mean?” you found the courage to ask. 

“You know what it means,” he replied, reluctantly pulling his hand away. 

“Say it anyway,” you pleaded, heart hammering in your chest as you fought to steady your breathing. 

He shook his head, averting his gaze as he cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I don’t think I can.” 

“I know you can,” you encouraged, trying your best to catch his gaze. 

He closed his eyes as if to brace himself for what he was about to say, yet he only stayed silent. When the silence began to stretch on into minutes, you knew it was time to give up. 

“Okay,” you concluded, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in your chest from the jagged edges of your now broken heart. “Have a good night, De.” 

He let you turn away from him. He let you walk the few feet to your motel room door, but he couldn’t let you go back inside. Despite being an irreligious man, your name fell from his lips like a prayer, stopping you as you grasped the door handle

“I’ve been in love with you for longer than I even care to admit,” he confessed. “Yeah, maybe I went a little crazy earlier, but you know what? You make me crazy. The idea of losing you makes me crazy. The fact that you’re selfless enough to risk your life so easily makes me crazy. I can apologize for the way I handled it, for the things I said, but I will not apologize for being scared about losing you, okay? I just won’t.” 

“Dean,” you found yourself saying once more, feeling like you were moving in slow motion as you returned to stand before him. 

“Never thought I’d actually tell you that,” he announced, letting out a nervous chuckle as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “I get it if you don’t-” 

“I love you, too,” you admitted quietly, cutting him off. 

“What?” he asked, blinking in shock. 

“You aren’t the only one who’s been harbouring that secret,” you told him, laughing softly. 

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but it was Sam’s voice that called out first. 

“Hey, I’m really happy for you guys and all… but could you just, like, shut up and kiss already or something? I’m actually trying to sleep in here.” 

It took you a few seconds to realize he was calling out from inside your room, and the realization that he likely heard the entire conversation caused laughter to bubble up from your chest and burst from your mouth. The sound was only short- lived as Dean captured your lips with his, rendering you quiet with a searing kiss that made you so weak in the knees you would’ve crumpled had he not been holding you.

You wanted to kiss him forever. You wanted to stay here with his lips on yours, his large hands framing your face as your small ones rested on his chest, for the rest of your life; and you would have, had the burning in your lungs not forced you to pull away for a proper breath.

He refused to let you go, pulling you in close as he rested his forehead against yours. You wished time and space would cease to exist as you stood in his embrace, slowly catching your breath; though as far as you were concerned, the two of you were the only ones to exist in this moment.

“Wait, hold on,” he said, pulling back to look at you, dancing his gaze between you and the door to your room. “Has he been in there this entire time?”

“Ever since you left, yeah,” you told him, a little confused by his sudden question.

“So his room’s been empty?” he asked, a little annoyed.

“Uh- yes?”

“So you’re telling me I’ve been standing out for hours, looking like a creep and getting drizzled on, when I could’ve been using his room?” he questioned.

A laugh escaped your lips without you meaning it to, but the longer you took in his annoyed expression the more giggles you let out.

“Well, it’s your own fault for storming out,” you told him with a laugh.

He rolled his eyes as you carried on laughing, shaking his head as he let you go. “The things I do for you,” he muttered under his breath as he checked the door next to yours.

“Aw c’mon, you’ve had to do worse while on stakeouts,” you pointed out, watching as he swung the door open to Sam’s former room. “Although, I’m not usually the one you’re watching - wait, or am I?” you added playfully, grinning mischievously.

“Just shut up and get in here,” he sighed, holding his hand out to you as he fought off a smile; though the twitch in the corners of his mouth gave him away.

You made your way over to him, ready to take his hand in yours as you continued to tease him. “Can’t help but notice you didn’t say no.”

He rolled his eyes once more, clasping your hand and pulling you into the room so swiftly you let out a squeak of surprise. “You,” he said, kicking the door shut as he took your face between his palms. “Are a pain in my ass.”

You grinned, placing your hands on his wrists. “Yeah, but you love me anyway.”

“Yeah,” he said softly, running his thumbs across your cheeks. “I really do.”

taglist: @roseblue373, @snowayumi, @iluvdeanwinchester, @winharry, @star-yawnznn, @jc-winchester, @chevroletdean, @angelblqde

if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist, please let me know!

[florencemtrash]

The Graveyard Shift: Chapter IV

Simon Riley x f!Reader

Summary: Simon Riley is a lonely grave keeper in Victorian England who puts a marriage proposal ad in the London newspaper. He's ready to make his house a home, but can he convince his new wife that he can be her safe space, or will the secret she carries threaten their newfound happiness?

Warnings: abusive marriages (not Simon), allusions to SA (not explicit)

The Graveyard Shift Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

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Simon cut away bundles of purple and white heather from the fields behind his home, wrapped them in butcher paper, and tied them with a stretch of cord in the prettiest bow he could manage. 

He’d taken care to scrub at the grime around his neck and beneath his fingernails until the skin was pink and raw. The rest of him… well there was only so much he could do. He knew his hair was shorn too close to his scalp to be fashionable, his clothes rugged and patched by hands that knew not the delicacies of stitching and mending. He lacked the narrow frame men always had in the fashion plates that sometimes passed through town and he would never be able to afford the kind of velvet decorum that might excite you. He could only lower his cap and pull his scarf higher up his face and hope for the best. 

“I’ll be back soon, boy,” he murmured, scratching once behind Riley’s ears before locking the gate behind him. He took the dirt path down the hill, past rows of gravestones that bobbed on waves of grass and heather bristling in the breeze. A few mourners regarded him as he passed, planting bulbs he would be responsible for discarding after they’d bloomed and died. 

He walked quickly, eagerness clear in his steps as he clutched the flowers tightly to his chest. 

This was really happening. 

He scarcely remembered speaking to Farmer Brown, or the awkward words of encouragement offered by the old, weathered man before he was hitching the horse to the carriage and setting off towards the train station. In hindsight, he should have realized how odd it must have been for Farmer Brown to open his door to the reclusive grave keeper gruffly explaining how he needed to borrow a horse and carriage to bring his wife home from the train station. 

He spent the entirety of the trip wondering about his wife. She likely wouldn’t appreciate the ricketiness of the seat or the constant jostling of wheels over dirt tracks and gravel. She might turn her nose up at the strange bouquet he carried or complain about the sun beating on her head. He hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella, only a jug of water and tiny tin of tobacco he sometimes chewed in the fields when he was tired. His new wife might not like that habit, but he could learn to stop. 

The train station was a short, squat building painted over copper green with pale yellow sidings. Soot stained the floorboards inside where hundreds of feet had trampled, but the air was clean and sweet. The train from London hadn’t arrived yet, so Simon made his way outside to the tracks where a little boy wearing a newsboy cap and his mother squinted at the time table. The little boy was startled when he caught sight of Simon from the corner of his eye. He tugged on his mother’s orange skirts, eyes traveling up and up and up towards the sliver of tanned skin left exposed between his scarf and cap.

“It’s impolite to stare, Matthew,” she scolded him while subtly pushing the child behind her. 

Simon stood, large and imposing, outfitted entirely in grays and muted blacks. When the waiting became too much, he sank into one of the benches so that he would be large, imposing, and marginally closer to the ground. 

Finally he heard the whistling of an approaching train. 

A small crowd spilled out from the open doors and he rocketed up to his feet.  Well-dressed men and women in fanciful gowns in every color of the rainbow flitted along with conversations about food and business and gossip trailing behind them like silk from a torn dress. But none of the women matched the photo Simon carried in his pocket. He took it out at one point, just to check that his memory had not failed him. 

It had not. 

He had looked at the photograph too often and for too long to have forgotten the curves of his wife’s face. 

But then a figure came to the train car’s door, struggling to hold onto a bonnet and two carpetbags as the wind sent tendrils of hair flowing over her cheeks and forehead. The bright midday sun caught the edges of her hair, framing her face in a halo. Deep eyes stared out from a smooth, solemn face, shadowed by a plain straw hat. Her grey-blue cotton dress was similarly plain, shoes sturdy and well-worn. 

Her eyes flitted around nervously, skipping over Simon in favor of the handful of men still milling about the train station. He ripped off his cap, pulling down his scarf beneath his chin though it left him painfully vulnerable. When he stepped forward with his flowers grasped in trembling hands, he didn’t miss her slight intake of breath or the way she leaned away from him. 

“Y/n Riley?” 

It took her a moment to recognize her new name, and even longer to look into his eyes and recognize his face. He’d sent an impossibly blurry photograph along with the signed marriage papers — strong, crooked nose, pale blonde hair, and thick brows laid to rest atop deep set eyes. But the photograph had failed to capture just how… large he was. 

He blocked out the sun. His shoulders flared out broad and wide as wings beneath a worn gray coat, pulling at the ragged seams of his clothes. His legs and chest were better suited to a tree than a man and he bowed beneath the weight of his own body. Calloused hands with short, cracked fingernails clutched a bundle of heather wrapped in butcher paper and tied with cord to his chest. 

“Mrs. Riley?” He asked again. His voice was gruff and low, rumbling with the same timber of the train as it left the station. 

She was stuck here. 

With this man. 

This… this stranger.

“Mr. Riley,” She finally breathed out. Miraculously, her voice came out even. 

His shoulders moved like mountains. Up and down with a sigh of relief as he lumbered forward. “Let me get your bags.” He traded her the flowers in exchange. 

She was wound up tight as a bird in the jaws of a dog. This close up she could see his light brown eyes and the scar that spliced his right brow at the corner. A similar mark slashed through the corner of his mouth like lightning, pulling down at the skin in a perpetual half-frown. His lashes were so pale they looked tipped with frost. 

The tintype had only shown his neck, face, and cropped shoulders and he’d had a solemn, kind enough face that she’d agreed to the marriage. Seeing him now — the strength and violence he could be capable of — she was frightened. She thought back to the papers signed and sealed in some court office in London, her own incriminating signature on the line as she handed over her life to this man. Suddenly it all seemed so foolish. So stupid a decision she could scarcely believe it. 

Her shoulders curled in like lit paper as she followed mutely behind her husband all the way to the carriage. 

“Here,” he murmured in that gruff, sandpaper tone of his. He held out a large hand, skin weathered and thick and scarred. She stared at it dumbly. “To help you onto the carriage, darling.” 

She shied away as though he’d lifted his hand to her and he felt what little confidence he had crumble into dust. Her hand was delicate in his as he gently helped her into the carriage before pulling himself into the narrow seat beside her. 

Carriage was too fancy a word for the cart the horse pulled along the bumpy path. There was ample space for hay bales and bushels of harvest, straw poking at her legs through her stockings and dusting the wood flooring where Simon lay her bags, but only a narrow slab up front for a driver and their passenger. Y/n found herself squeezed impossibly close to the edge of the seat on one side, and impossibly close to Simon on the other. She could feel every muscle of his arm and shoulder pressed against hers, feel his warmth radiate through his clothes as he pulled on his scarf and hat before clicking his tongue between his teeth and urging the horse ahead. 

He drove in quiet concentration, stealing glances at his new wife like she was a shadow on the wall that would change if he looked too closely. She had accepted his flowers and gently smoothed the butcher’s paper he’d wrapped them in. She rubbed one tiny velvet petal between her fingers, occasionally bringing up the flowers to breathe in. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, when they were halfway to home. It was the first thing she’d said since getting in the carriage. 

Simon wanted to melt at her voice. Maybe it’d been too long since he’d seen or heard a woman, because it seemed like a dream the way her words, few as they were, wrapped around his chest and squeezed. 

Silence held them like a vice. Simon was afraid he’d scare her further with any questions, and Y/n was unused to speaking before she was allowed. So, she cast her gaze outward, watching the yellow-green fields ripple and twist down half-paved roads dotted with green tin and slate gray roofs. Squat family homes huffing smoke in the air fell further and further apart as they slipped deep into the countryside. 

“Almost there,” Simon’s voice rumbled in the quiet. His shoulders swayed from side to side with the cart. “Another ten minutes or so.” 

Now she paid more attention to the roads. To the houses and taverns where people milled about, staring with interest at the blonde haired man who passed them by before quickly looking away. 

The townspeople didn’t like Simon’s work, necessary as it was. Death seemed to cling to him, to his dark clothes and dark eyes. Even the scarf he so often wore above his mouth to protect from dust made him look grim and skeletal. The limestone chalk kicked up from carving gravestones would settle around his mouth, forming a strange toothy smile against the black fabric. 

Only one man waved as they passed. A priest as long and willowy as a stalk of spring grass standing in front of a modest church. 

Simon leaned down to Y/n’s level, gesturing with the reins. “That’s Father Hughes. He was the one who put the advert in the paper for me.” Y/n remained quiet, much to Simon’s displeasure. “I’ve much to thank him for.” 

At the far edge of town gravestones began cropping up, some filed down to nubs from weather and time like molars. Others were new, shining and tall with angels pointing to the heavens with their downy wings. But all were well kept. The grass was trimmed short. Not a weed was to be found. 

Simon dropped down to the ground first, wiping his palms clean on his trousers before helping Y/n. “This is it. Home.” 

Her breath stuttered to a stop in her throat. She hadn’t been expecting something so… pleasant. It was a small cottage that no city-goer would ever envy — a few small rooms, a modest kitchen, and just enough tilled land in the backyard for some herbs and hearty vegetables before the forest began creeping in. Two goats milled around the front yard, snacking on greens and staring with boredom at the new arrival. 

But as she walked through the rooms, she marveled at how clean and well-kept everything was. The walls had been washed recently, smelling of lemons and salt. The floors swept and windows cleared of any grime. But it was also lonely. Blank, empty spaces sat in rooms sparse with furniture. There were no pictures. No trinkets. Only the occasional bone half-trapped under chairs and the bedframe. 

“I’ll have to go return the horse and cart now to the neighbors.” Simon left the carpetbag at the foot of his bed — her bed — and put his cap back on. “The vanity and wardrobe are all yours.” What a strange word — yours. Hers. “I’ll leave you to get settled.” 

He walked to the threshold of the room then paused, glancing back. Y/n stood in the middle of it all, still as a corpse, like if she so much as breathed something would break. He wished she would sit on the bed. Maybe riffle through the drawers and examine the contents of his home and his heart. But she did nothing, only stared at the two pieces of furniture he had declared hers.

Then she blinked as though waking up from a dream. “What would you like done while you’re gone?” 

“What?” 

She hesitated. “The chores… what would you have me do today?” 

Something in Simon’s stomach twisted horribly. “Nothing.” He was almost offended by the question. “Cleaning’s done. There’s reserves in the kitchen and in the cellar if you’re hungry.” He took off his cap, wringing it in his hands, then walked forward, gently kissing Y/n’s forehead. He was so slow and gentle Y/n thought his lips were butterfly wings. “Rest. You can put your things away today if you’d like or wait until tomorrow. Get cleaned up. Get settled.” 

He didn’t want to leave her. Not when she was looking at him with so much careful suspicion in her eyes. So much apprehension and fear. Like a stray cat ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. 

“I’ll be back soon. Promise.” Then he hurried out the room. He needed the horse and cart returned as fast as he could. 

Y/n put her clothes away in the wardrobe, cramming everything as tight as she could to one side. She took up only one drawer and — after much consideration — put away her hair brush and the few personal affects she possessed into the vanity. Then she folded up her carpet bag and hid it in the far back corner of the wardrobe. 

There was the matter of her pin money. She didn’t know what Simon would think of it, but her husband (former husband, she reminded herself), never liked her having her own coin. After some digging around the house she could find no suitable hiding place. 

But there were the woods. 

She hiked up her skirts, tying them off above the calves with string from the kitchen, then found old tins empty of tobacco lying forgotten in the cellar. She shoved what little money she had into a tin, wrapped it tightly in scraps of fabric, and put that into another tin box. Then another. It wasn’t much, but she knew how to survive on little.  

She hurried to the woods, searching for old squirrel holes or abandoned fox dens to hide her treasure. There was a slip in the trunk of a tree she could just barely reach while standing on a log, moss-laden and dry. She dug around carefully, opening the slip until it was wide enough to hide her money box and all her hopes, then covered it again. She marked the spot with a stone, recognizable only to her, then ran back home, praying that Simon had yet to return.

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[impish-baby]

Ooo what about a group of fae caregivers who have been watching reader for a while and deem that this baby can’t go on longer without being taken care of, to then lead the reader out into the woods to never get them go.

Love your work btw :))

Fae!!! My favorite honestly, I hope this is alright! ^^

Come along now, run away from the humdrum. We'll go to a place that is safe from greed, anger, and boredom - Fae caregivers x reader - ☘️

The woods have always felt like a second home to you. Towering trees that stretch into the clouds, babbling brooks, it's all so much more tranquil than your busting town. Sometimes, it even feels like the forrest cares just as much about you as you care for it. It's silly, you know, but it makes you happy.

The rumors of fae are forever present, but they do nothing to deter your longing for the wild. Old wives' tales are all they are, whisperings meant to keep children from wandering too far from home and getting lost. Even if there's truth to the stories, it's none of your business. Really, you just need to be polite (something you should already do) and guard your name, it isn't that difficult.

Leaves crunch underfoot as you travel the familiar path into the woods, the changing of seasons obvious. You're a little sad to see the green go, but it is only nature's coarse. The autumn season gives way for lots of good harvest at least, basket in hand in hopes of bringing a few spoils home. As you travel deeper into the trees, the sun is eventually swallowed by the canapy, beams of light being the only thing allowed through.

A fox catches your eye for just a moment, the creature staring at you from the undergrowth. You can't resist the urge to wave politey, so you do so before it scampers back into the trees. No matter how many times you see one, they're still so beautiful.

Everything is really, that's why you've found yourself crouched in front of a patch of mushrooms reaching out of the forrest floor. They're pretty, a light brown with frilled gills..

"I hope you aren't going to pick them, those are poisonous, they don't make for very good eating.."

The sudden voice from behind you causes you to fall flat on your bottom, a melodious laugh following. "Oh dear, I didn't mean to startle you.." they offer you a hand up, giggling all the while. "Are you alright, darling?"

You manage a nod as you're helped back onto your feet, thanking the man quietly. He's tall, probably taller than anyone you've ever met, and jewelry covers his form as if his beauty didn't speak for itself. His rings catch the light as he raises your hand to his lips.

"You may call me Briar, might I have your name?"

He doesn't falter for second as you shake your head, asking him to call you a nickname instead. "Oh, I get to choose, do I?" Brair rubs his chin like he's deep in thought before springing forward and playfully tapping your nose. "Sprout then, you're just a little thing, it suits you.."

You aren't the happiest about it, but you're in no position to protest. Briar only smiles and steps away, no longer in your personal space, but waiting for you. "Are you out to pick berries perhaps? I know a great spot. I was about to fetch some myself, actually.."

He's expectant, tilting his head at you. "We'll have to go away from the path, but I promise, they'll be the best thing you've ever tasted.." You're reluctant to veer away from what you know, but Brair assures you he won't get you lost, and the promise of goodies is tempting..

You think his smile can rival the sun with how bright it is when you agree, Brair taking your hand in his as you begin to walk into the thicket. It feels right almost having your hand in his, it's strange, you've only just met but he seems familiar. Like you've always known him.

"My friends and I are having a little bit of a party, actually.." He hums, swinging your intertwined hands back and forth. Brair laughs again when you ask about it, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. "A welcome home party, I suppose. One for a beloved member of the family.."

It feels like it takes no time at all to come across the bushes he was referring to. The path, however, is long gone. You don't notice, attention captured by Briar guiding you to sit beside him. He was right, the berries are like nothing you've ever tasted before. They're the sweetest, nothing compares to the burst of joy they give you when you sample one.

By the end of picking, your fingers are stained pink as well as your mouth. Briar hadn't snacked on the fruit like you did, only smiling as you had your fill. "See? Good, right?" He hums, brushing your hair away from your face. "You know.. I'm sure we'll have much more yummy food at the party, I'd be delighted if you came. " Briar pays no mind to your instantaneous about not wanting to intrude and.. and if the rest of the food is as good as what you just ate..

"Perfect.." Briar is already leading you away, although you're unsure when you started walking again. "Ohh, I can't wait.."

You can hear music in the distance, the sounds of merriment beckoning you home.

[toxileaf]

griefer has that gamer rizz

[Y0. C0M3 0V3R T0 MY CR1B. 1 G0T SNACK5.]

sent 30s ago

(1.1k words cross-posted to Ao3 || Griefer/Reader)

Looking up from your phone, you gaze back at the doorway in front of you, the entrance obscured with vines and leaves.

You've been here once before, for a vastly different reason than now. Now, you're stood in front of his "cribs" door not as an enemy, but as a friend. After a second of pause, you decide to make your presence known with a yell, seeing as there was no door.

"Griefer!" Shouting to the other side of the wall, you try not to sound too loud, lest you bother the Woodsmen. "I'm here!!"

A few thunks and bumps could be heard from beyond the vines, followed by fast the thumping of steps approaching the entrance right before Griefer pops out through the foliage.

"Y- Y0-!! 1- UH- D1DN'T 3XP3CT Y0U T0 B3 *THAT* QU1CK!1? I T3XT3D Y0U L1K3, 0N3 M1NUT3 AG0 DUD3...???????"

His clothes are messy, jacket haphazardly put on and belt halfway undone. Was he not ready when he sent the text?

"Of course I got here quickly, I've been here before!" I try to give him an easy smile, attempting to dissuade his tension. Maybe I should have waited a bit longer before fast-travelling here...

"?? THAT5 N0T WHAT 1 M3ANT?" He cocks an odd look at you.

"BUT W3LL- 1F Y0U W3R3 *THAT* 3XC1T3D T0 533 M3..." A wide smirk spreads across his face as he flushes and looks to the side in pride.

"H3H. 1'LL 5PAR3 Y0U TH3 3MBARRA5M3NT, PUNK." With the same signature smug swagger, he turns around and leads you into his place.

You take the time to give it a proper look, being unable to fully observe the place the last time you were here.

There's still the same likely-stolen card displays and posters on the wall riddled with grammar mistakes, but there's a rather noticeable decrease in the number of half-drunk or empty soda cans around the room.

It seems he pulled himself at least the slightest bit together after being cured from his Venomshank-induced affliction. It widens the smile on your face a little to know this.

"4LR1GHT, T4K3 A 53AT. Y0U W4NNA PLAY 50M3 BR1CKBATTL3 PARTY?" You look over to him to see him by a couch and TV set-up. It didn't seem new, by the look of the patches on the couch and fading stickers on the TV, but it definitely wasn't there before. He likely brought it up from his actual home.

Taking a careful seat on the couch, wary of any stains (which upon further inspection, the couch was surprisingly free of. maybe he just took it off some random person's doorstep..? the idea of GRIEFER having a stainless couch is impossible to you.), you take in the wide array of snacks on the coffee table. Including a good amount of The Special's... for some reason?

You remember giving a copy of the recipe to Mayor Thaniyel, just in case, but you didn't expect it to ACTUALLY be used.

...Did getting transformed back somehow make Griefer acquire a taste for onion rings and compost? Odd. So very odd. But upon looking over the other offerings laid out, any true discomfort is immediately dissuaded. You greatly appreciate the presence of a good pie.

Griefer hands you a controller, snapping you out of your thoughts. You take it, and he sits down right next to you, his own in hand. He's surprisingly close, actually. Maybe he just doesn't have many issues with personal space.

The two of you load up a party game and get to playing. He, of course, knows all the little tricks and gimmicks to get an edge over you in any competitive mini-games.

"L0L. G3T PWN3D N00B- 0H, H3Y, CH3CK TH15 TR1CK 0UT!" Griefer constantly showed off his skills to you, while you just smiled and nodded, asking after to show interest.

You didn't totally care about video games like that, but you liked seeing him happy. Everytime he showed you something he thought was cool, he had this adorable smile on his face... It made you happy as well. So you let him continue on.

Though there were no windows, you could see the time in the corner of the screen growing later whenever you hopped from game to game. But neither you nor him got much more tired, on account of the sugary snacks he supplied you two with since the afternoon.

Though, even though you could tell Griefer definitely wasn't getting more tired, you noticed *something* was bothering him. He would look away all awkward each time your eyes met, and fall into silence like he was thinking hard about something.

After a bit, it seemed like he finally mustered some courage, and he piped up with a stutter.

"..UH.. L- L00K..-!! 1 CAN D0 TH15 TR1CK W1TH 0N3 HAND!!!" Griefer keeps one hand on the controller, pulling off a "51CK 360 N0-SC0P3", while he swiftly slides his other arm around you, his hand grabbing your shoulder and pulling you in.

Being all the more closer to Griefer, you notice his skin flushing red, and could almost hear the pounding of his heart. It surely couldn't be the sound of your own, since it felt like it had stopped in your chest.

A heated silence passes, almost feeling like an eternity and a half, before he quietly speaks to you. The warmth of his breath hits the top of your ear, sending countless shivers down your back.

"UH.. Y- Y0U'R3 0KAY W1TH TH15, R1GHT..?" You finally notice your half of the split-screen is red, text saying you lost the round. It takes you a bit before you can gather yourself to give a response.

"Yeah-!! Totally! I- I like this!" You panic while responding, and you panic after responding. Why did you say it like *that*!?

While you're wrapped up in your own mortification, Griefer sets down his controller beside him, and moves in closer to you, both his arms now wrapped around your shoulders.

"TH3N.. L3T5 G0 FURTH3R, Y3AH?"

[HAHA FADE TO BLACK PUNKS im not writing smut jjst yet]

You slowly wake, trying to roll over in bed until you're stopped by something warm and sorta leafy pulling you in. Then you remember the bed you're in likely isn't yours at all, though you don't recall actually getting on the bed...

"Hngh... Griefer.." He greets you good morning by nuzzling his face into your hair, leaving kisses atop your head.

"Dude, gross... Your morning breath stinks.." You whine and try to turn away from him, right before he wraps his arms around you even tighter and his lips move down from the top of your head to your ear, giving it a small playful bite.

Writhing around even more, he has the audacity to laugh at your distress while you're captive in his arms.

"G00D M0RN1NG, BAB3..."

originally started writing this to write making out with griefer sloppy style but i lost the horny halfway thru so. another day it is. maybe i shall update with smut who knows but 4now this is all u guyz get. and i know ull eat it for u r starved,.,.!!! as am i. hence why i wrote this. lawlz.

[nanamimizz-archived]

tags: 18+ minors dni / fem reader reader/set little aways after act 2/ thigh riding / budding relationship with established feelings / the wizard doesn’t cum in this its not about him rn

synopsis: you have a matter you only trust gale to attend to.

Gale thought he was used to being special.

Or rather, feeling like he was. A wizard prodigy, the apple of his mother’s eye - a Chosen of Mystra. Yes, Gale was quite used to being special.

Oh, by all the good gods was Gale wrong. Something he usually doesn’t admit so readily. You - the shimmering sun of his bloody, dirty and miserable patch of existence chose him out of the myriad of faces they have come across, you sought him out. There is a connection between the two of you, everyone who sets eyes on you always sees how your’s are on him. And Gale has always been the pinning fool; always has been and always will be with how many time his hand brushes against yours as your party travels the horrors of whatever awaits them.

Usually he’s the one making some sort of move on you, using his penchant for verbosity to regale you with all sorts of magical mishaps and you always sit there listening to sweetly. You smile at him, showing your teeth and crinkling eyes and Gale knows he belongs to you entirely. It’s only until now does Gale realize just how deeply you belong to him in return.

You sought him out, clearing your throat at the flaps of his blue tent asking if you can come in. He sets away his tome, and looks at you with something smitten dancing in his gaze. He can hear faintly the chatter of your shared companions as dishes are washed and stored, the rumbling of Lae’zel sharpening her blade and Wyll recounting a tale of hunting down some beast or another to Astarion, Shadowheart and Karlach.

A moment of privacy, no one will wonder where it is that you are - he realizes.

“Anything I can do for you - consider it most enthusiastically done.” Gale says, voice kind and soft with no bells or whistles like you first met. It makes you laugh fondly, and your eyes flicker from the ground to meet his with a smile so warm it feels like waking up to the sun cresting over the sky on his face after a long night. A little devious dance of mischief appears on your face and your voice deepens, dipped in humor.

“Oh really? Anything at all?” You ask, drawing close enough to him to wrap both your hands around his bicep. You tilt your head, hair following the motion and making it spill over your shoulders in the most beautiful way it makes his chest ache. Gale’s adoration must painted on his face in a way even you can pick it up with the way you grow shy and avert your gaze. His thumb places itself on your chin snd his nudges you to look up at him and his digit rubs at the soft skin lovingly. His eyes are dark between the two of you, the warm brown lost to the eclipse of his pupils as he looks down at you.

“Oh yes, anything at all.” Your eyes are wide and he can feel the warmth his words brings to your face. He smiles and you look up at him with bitten lips and your fingers gripping his sleeve.

“Anything?” You ask again, leaning into him and he can catch a whiff of the vanilla perfume you have been rationing this entire trip. He usually would think of as impressive but right now he finds the scent so heavy he can taste it when all Gale wants to taste is you. He dips his head down to meet yours with how it’s been tipping up and he only speaks when you feel his bottom lip brush against yours.

“Anything.” Your eyes go lidded, usual sparkling and bright there is a timid dim to them. Like there’s something you want and are still thinking on how to ask. Your lip is felt against his and Gale breaks into shivers when you speak.

“Even a kiss?”

Gale doesn’t have a response, instead leans into your space - the scent of vanilla and the warmth of the sun radiances imbrued into your skin. He has been kissed by the mouth of divinity so many times before but nothing compares to this.

Not even rose-water.

You are so gentle with him, moving your lips with deep presses and just barely letting your tongue touch his lips. Until he takes your chin in one hand, tilts you head up to kiss more directly - to feel your tongue slip into his mouth and for them glide past each other. You shiver, he feels it and he groans at how you tremble from just a kiss alone. Your hands are mighty with how they gripe at his robes, rising on the tips of your toes to kiss him more and more.

More passionately, deeper with your head turned to the side and he delights in how weak you turn when he sucks on your tongue. You part not because you want to but because you must - the air is sweet to your lungs but you find that you don’t care for it. Not when what it is that you want is here, right in front of you with lips flushed pink.

“Is that all you needed help with?” He chuckles, letting his thumb rub against the skin of your shoulder that is exposed from your night clothes. You shake your head, and come closer to him to rest your forehead on his chest.

Right where the orb sits. Right where his heart beats.

You can feel its weight, a faint thrum of magic in tandem with his heartbeat that pulses against your skin.

“I’ve been having a problem of a - intimate persuasion. And I,” you pause to lift your gaze up to him with your face still pressed to his chest. “I only trust you to help me with it. If you want to.” With eyes flickering away in a bout of timidness you fail to note how pink Gale gets at the confession - teeth digging into the skin of his lip as he whispers to you his enthusiast consent. It’s a blur, how he sits on you on his lap with his thigh pressing against your cunt.

You’ve bunched up the skirts of your nightgown, and Gale stiffens at the sight of the sweet cotton panties that you wear. A pretty pale blue, with lace at the trim against the flush of your thighs - he wonders if you’ve soaked them before, playing with your cunt on your lonesome in your tent. He wonders if you’ve thought of him while doing so. His leg shifts to get more comfortable and he feels it ; how it brushes against the forth-most part of your pussy, and how you tense.

Something in Gale grows wicked, and his hands are at your hips moving you at just the right angle and at just the right pace for you to flush. Your eyes grow misty and you are tucking your face against his neck so he doesn’t see how your jaw drops at how good it feels. Gale hums most amused at your timidness, chuckling into your ear as he pets your hair.

“This is what you needed, isn’t it?” His voice is deep, much deeper than when he’s recounting his mystical mishaps from his academy days. “Reckon you got tired doing the work?”

You nod, with a whiny mewl of a yes as you moan at the heat in your stomach. You’re wet and you are sure Gale can feel it against his pants. Your slick makes a wet stain on his velvet sleepwear - when you murmur your embarrassed apologies the wizard is quick to sweep away your hair and press a kiss to your heated cheek.

“Don’t apologize, it’s not a problem.” He tells you with a soft tone. You tremble with how he looks at you, with dark and heated eyes. Gale grips at your hips enough to make it ache and he moves you at his pace. Faster and harder than before and it makes pleasure sing in your blood.

“Next time you need this sort of attention, come find me alright? I’ll help you.”

It’s half a love confession and half isn’t. Gale doesn’t think he can stomach the idea of you asking anyone else for help with this sort of problem. You can’t imagine having anyone else touch you like this. You don’t think you will ever want someone else after this.

You come with all heat and fire. Your cunt is pulsing and sticky with your clit aching. Body still shaking, you don’t realize you’re being soothed by Gale’s soft praise and petting of your head. It’s kind, the way he touches you like you are a fragile little thing.

“There, there - sweet thing. You did very well.” he murmurs into your ears, huffing amusedly when the kiss he plants to your ear makes you shiver. You pull away to look at him with wide eyes, whispering about him - your gaze landing on the stiffen that is apparent against the material of his pants. All he does is shush, kissing you with such tenderness it makes your eyes go lidded. “There will be another time for that, for us. Sleep now.” He murmurs to you and you find your eyes growing shut.

[sweeneydino]

Hi!! Love all the stuff you have on this blog!! I was wondering about your wrong parent AU, how would this change how the boys grow up, like with more of a motherly presence than their rat dad (though maybe she is just as a “sensei” as splinter…who knows XD) or is this like a time travel situation? AAA sorry im excited about this awesome AU!!!

Anywho, sorry for my ramblings I don’t write asks very often and there is no pressure to answer! Thanks so much for all the cool things you do! Lol I love seeing your stuff on my dash :D

It'd be a lot different! I guess I can list a few I thought of,,,

So, Rat!Mom.

She’s still a bit paranoid (how can you not be with the Shredder actively trying to find out what happened to you, where you are, and if you're actually dead), but shes more focused on trying to give her kids as normal of a life as she can and definitely not hiding all her stress underneath endless piles of work.

Mikey plays alot of games and is more adept at cooking, Raph's painting more often and always trying to help his mom with cleaning(yes, hes a mama's boy), Donnie is creating and creating and always wanting to go bigger, and Leo and Karai(yes, Karai :]) play fight alot(so many wars...) when they aren’t watching Space Heroes 24/7 or trying to explore outside the home.

Then, maybe during one of her dumpster dives, she finds some convenient "Chris Bradford" training tapes that they start to gain an interest in ninjutsu. She's not too pleased with it, but since they enjoy it, she tries to be more open to it(she conflicted)

They do go out and about earlier than Canon(with a curfew), meet April earlier too(her and her dad are a little different), and Karai and April become BFFS. (Unless...)

The kids still call her sensei or variations of mom, which ones? Probably all depending on what they did.

Now, fighting bad guys? She did not raise them for that /hj

In reality, when she sees her kids scratched up from fights topside, they are usually pretty quick to inform her what happened(except for two). They get carefully patched up, and scolded before being told to rest for a while(grounded). Which is definitely not so she can keep an eye on them.

And she is certainly not stressed whatsoever👍

Also…

“She was as beautiful as she was kind, and as kind as she was intelligent”

- Splinter

…probably meaning emotional intelligence, or somethin but i think itd be fun if she was just…. Fred.

As in Traps galore, I mean imagine it-

You're Chris Bradford, greatest actor (and martial artist ig) of all time, and your chasing what you presume to be your bosses stubborn former lover,(who you kind of hate ngl) and then you think you have her cornered, just for the ground to cave in beneath you cause whoops, she boobytrapped the whole place.

She can still be emotionally intelligent too, but the traps are staying.

Other than the traps, I do think Rat! Shen will have some other types of self-defense training during the time she was in hiding. Girl is not risking shit.

When it comes to VS. Shredder bits, she'd definitely use everything she can to her advantage, especially her rat abilities. Climbing, gnawing, scratching, hissing; just get the fuck away from her and her kids.

There’s no planned ships atm (other than Shen x Yoshi, but that's the point- hes ded anyway)

Lastly, Im thinking of probably at least three separate versions or “alternate timelines” for the WP au, or two divergents of the wp au canon lol. One where the original turts find Shen and her turts pre-adventure, one post-adventure and/or during the shredder kidnap arc(i will not elaborate) and the least timefuckery timeline where Rat mom and her babies gotta march on without future “assistance” 🤷 im sure they’ll be fine(they willllll)

Thank you all for being interested in this ^ ^ "

I actually don't have much planned for this since it was just another random idea(you can probably tell hdgdhdg), but I'm always happy to see everyone's ideas! It helps a lot with my scattered-brain--

And one FINAL, final thing

Im not sorry.

[heavenbarnes]

“He’s here again.”

You could swear the girl from reception says it like she knows something. Like there’s some swirling inside joke that everyone was in on,

except you.

Instead, you were left with that swirling feeling in your stomach as the elevator traveled to reception. A swirling that should’ve been laced with fear, but wasn’t.

One that was gripping tight in your stomach as the doors opened and you were eclipsed by a sun wearing blue tradesman’s clothes.

Ugly bastard.

Mean face with a shorn head, snarled lip and cauliflower ears. Tattooed arms like battering rams and tree trunk legs leading to steel cap boots like anvils.

And he was here for you.

“Um- I’m not actually in facilities.”

You could’ve cursed yourself for sounding so small. You’ve lead meetings, addressed crowds, argued points with a voice like cracked thunder.

But he takes one step towards you and,

“B-but that’s okay, I’ll take you.”

And he doesn’t say a word, just grunts as he steps into the lift with you and you feel the tension spring.

He never says a word.

He met you for the first time three years ago, the girl from facilities was on maternity leave and you happened to be the lucky duck who sat beside the reception door.

Three years later you’d changed floors and you hadn’t even seen him for at least six months. But he still asks for you.

“He always asks for you.”

You’d shushed your colleague, boasting about being helpful and having a tendency to be in office more often than not.

“Probably doesn’t want to remember another name.”

“Then how do you explain the time he refused the job when you were off sick?”

You don’t explain it, you actually try not to think about it.

When the doors open on the floor with the broken toilet, he follows you along the hall like a dog.

Like a hound.

The floor shakes every time he puts his boot on it and he actually manages to make you feel very small against picture windows.

Your colleagues look away when he walks past.

The sign for the ladies toilet at the end of the hall is like a beacon of hope, you can let him in and leave him be and then pretend to be on a phone call when it’s time for him to leave.

Until you get inside.

The sound of running water from the broken cistern echoes off the walls as you show him to the cubicle.

“It’s that one.”

He gives you a look that says “no shit” before he lowers his head to step through the stall door. He must hear your shoes scuff against the floor as you break for your exit.

“Stay put.”

You tell yourself you’re just shocked it’s the first time you’ve heard his voice. He’s British, Mancunian you reckon. Caught you by surprise.

That’s why you obediently spin on your heel and press your back to the wall.

No other reason.

You listen to the sound of grating porcelain as he removes the cistern lid and messes about with the flushing mechanism.

Your eyes catch him in the mirror, watching the way his back flexes under his work shirt as he reaches a bloody great paw into the water.

“Piece of shit.”

Second thing you’ve ever heard him say. Granted, it’s under his breath but he definitely said it. You try not to show any expression lest he have eyes in the back of his head.

Wouldn’t put it past him.

The sound of running water stops but you can tell by the huffing and puffing that he’s not fixed it, you can tell by his next outburst he’s not even close.

“Cunt of a thing.”

You almost let a smile slip onto your face before you’re blanching at the sound of your name.

“In ‘ere.”

He’s the mutt, he’s the hound with sharp teeth and clipped ears. He’s mean and he’s nasty and he’s not good with others, definitely not house trained.

But it’s you whose ears prick up at his call and immediately walk to join him in the small space. Show dog.

A retriever, running towards the sound of a gun.

The cubicle is small enough as is but with Simon (the embroidered patch on his shirt tells you, he’s never actually given you his name) in here it feels like a coffin.

You end up with your back to the wall again, this time with his elbow all but digging into your stomach. He’s got pieces of the flusher in his hand and he’s sending them your way.

Obedience in spades, you’re letting him place the dirty parts right in the flat of your hand.

Getting you as dirty as the rest of him.

“Oh, okay.”

You catch him look at you out the corner of his eye before he huffs, again, and reaches right back into the cistern.

He almost looks disappointed, dissatisfied- like he’d hope you’d put up more of a fight with him. Like you’d shove the metal right into his chest and really give him something to huff about.

But you leave your hand out stretched and let him pick from it at his leisure. Take from you as he pleases.

(He wonders if that’s a transferable skill)

To your delight (and his dismay) the toilet is back in perfect order and after three test flushes you can both leave the tiny fluorescent cave you’d been inhabiting for the last fifteen minutes.

“Um, do you need to go back upstairs or are you good to go?”

He dries his hands on the thighs of his trousers before he stares at you blankly. He snarls his lip in a way the makes the scar above it stretch and you wonder if it hurts him.

(If it does, you wonder if that’s why he does it)

He turns without warning and suddenly it’s you following him back down the hall. Struggling to keep up, pretty pampered little dog following this great big mutt around on his heels.

“Need t’go down to my van- I’ll show you.”

You could probably stop walking here. It would’ve been very easy for you to break to your desk and honestly? He probably would’ve let you.

“Oh, you don’t need me to access the garage.”

But you’re following him to the elevator anyway and you think you see that same air of disappointment drift across his features as he realises how easy you’ve made yourself.

“Don’t tell me what I don’t need.”

[these-posts-arent-real]

Oh StarClan... your dash has turned into warrior cats again.

#sorry <3 #this one has parts that are based off of that #one post rhats like "if there were cat-people #do you think calico tboys would try to dye over their patches"

2 notes

🔁 🍲 ex-thundrclan-kipper Follow reblogged

🍲 ex-thundrclan-kipper Follow

Me & Night (my mate)!!!

🏞 trouttail-prefers-bass Follow

:O Kip's mate has finally been revealed!!! And his name is Night? Cooool.

🍲 ex-thundrclan-kipper Follow

Yeah haha. Technically his full name is Night Hunter, Bringer of Darkness, but it feels so weirdly formal calling him that, so I usually stick to just Night.

#life #kittypet #collar tw #cw collars #id in alt text

8,504 notes

🛤 carnation-stem-02 Follow

I find it really funny when I see cats on here vaguepost about big blogs. Like cmon mouse-brain everyone here knows who you're talking about. Just say their name.

#this is about that one mommy blogger shitting on kipper the kittypet #btw #in case some of you couldnt tell #would be funny if it wasnt so stupid

12 notes

🔁 🐍xviper-the-fagx reblogged

🥬 rxttencatmint Follow

Hahaaaaa.... my mother found out ive been slowly dyeing my ginger patches black...

🪺 robbbinpaw Follow

Why would you do that??? Being a tortie is so cool, I wish I had ginger patches! They're so pretty, why do you want to get rid of them???

🥬 rxttencatmint Follow

Uhm. Gender dysphoria??

Like. I know cis male tortoiseshells exist but they're so rare that most cats take one look at me and go "oh, tortie, must be a girl" and that hurts.

🪺 robbbinpaw Follow

OH STARCLAN im so sorry Rot i wasnt even thinking about you being trans, I probably sounded really insensitive... I do understand what you're saying now.

Didn't even ask, how did your mom take it? Does she know why?

🥬 rxttencatmint Follow

You're fine <3 I get it. And no, she uh.. has no clue why I did it, she thinks I'm in my "emo phase" or something.

🐍 xviper-the-fagx

Uhh unrelated but what do you use to dye your fur?? Asking for... science...

#"science" meaning i am also a tortie tboy #well technically i'm calico but ykwim

46 notes

🔁 🦋 lalala-bluegaze Follow reblogged

🦢 gentlesong-momof17 Follow

I can't be the only one here who thinks it's unfair to allow kittypets on this site. Posting pictures of themselves and their mates inside of the twolegplace, influencing the young kits on this site to abandon their Clans... surely everyone else sees the problem with this as well.

This is Clanblr, not "Kittypetblr". This was specifically made as a space for Clan cats to connect, not for kittypets to push their lifestyle on us.

They're going to convince our kits to abandon their home and their belief in StarClan just for a more secure life.

#EXACTLY #I only recently found out ex-tc Kipper was a kittypet #it was so upsetting to me because i've always loved his wood-scratch art #to find out he's a clan-abandoner was so saddening

2,447 notes

🔁 🐍xviper-the-fagx reblogged

🌻 l1llyst3m Follow

The recent drama surrounding Kipper the Kittypet is sad and I hate that he's being bashed just for existing, but it's also incredibly stupid. I believe the cat who wrote the original post said something like, "it's CLANblr, not KITTYPETblr," and then something about belief in StarClan and I just... do you even realize how many Clanblr mods are non-Clan and/or don't believe in StarClan?

To name a few, @s-t-a-r-burning is former WindClan now rogue & openly an atheist, @theshadowhaseyes has been a kittypet his whole life, and @ssuunnrraayy-p has made zir entire blog about how ze travels from one Clan to another & doesnt consider zimself a Clan cat. Those are all mods. "It's clanblr no-" shut up. Just shut up.

245 notes

🧷 name-lists-by-theme

Theme: Water

as always, these work as either part of your name, but they are intended as the first part!

-Abyss

-Bay

-Bog

-Cove

-Creek

-Current

-Dew

-Fog

-Lagoon

-Lake

-Marsh

-Mist

-Pond

-Pool

-Puddle

-Rain

-Shallow

-Sleet

-Spray

-Splash

-Storm

-Stream

-Torrent

Keep reading

383 notes

🐱 berrrrry-o Follow

I think a lot of cats put way too much emphasis on the parts of the warrior code that dont matter, and forget the parts that do, like "feed elders and kits first" and "never neglect a kit in pain or danger"... I feel like those are significantly more important than "a warrior rejects the soft life of a kittypet," but maybe that's just me.

#berry yaps #I'm irritated by the kittypet drama going on on this site

16 notes

🔁 🛤 carnation-stem-02 Follow reblogged

🔲 sag3-chas3s-squirr3ls-deactivated

I feel like we don't talk enough about how SkyClan got chased out of their own territory during a time of crisis rather than all of the Clans trying to make room for everyone...

I mean, seriously. I know it's taught to all SkyClan apprentices, but I've talked to some of my friends from other Clans and they just. Didn't know that. They were never taught that the other Clans allowed SkyClan to be chased out due to territory loss.

🔲 sstep-xoxo-deactivated

:/ im pretty sure the whole thing about skclan being kicked out of their territory is just a conspiracy theory

🔲 sag3-chas3s-squirr3ls-deactivated

Imagine trying to tell a cat that they don't know their own Clan's history 💀

#ohh i finally found it again #that 1 fucker trying to say that skyclan's history is a "conspiracy theory"

20,056 notes

🌱 dirtdigger-23 Follow

:/ I do not like being stuck on the wrong site.

[jasminebythebay]

I've been staring at the Hearthian Models a lot and here are some notes

I've been staring at their models in the past few days for my art. The more I look at them the more details I discover haha. (Here is the link to the refs I've been looking at: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/18Me-eKLK8WZiByvGE6UCo1D4PwmCZfCi?usp=share_link) Some things I've noticed:

Based on Esker's ear floppiness, they're actually much closer to the other Founders' ages than to Gneiss, Spinel, or Tektite's ages.

Hearthian eyes are really colorful :0. I thought Esker had pink eyes, they actually have PURPLE eyes (maybe Arkose as well, but it's hard to tell because their eyes are almost all pupil and no sclera). Moraine's eyes are orange, Hatchling's eyes are orange-yellow, Hal's eyes are yellow skewed towards green, Porphy and Gneiss both have pink eyes, but Porphy's eyes are a lighter pink than Gneiss's, Marl and Rutile's eyes are green, and Tuff's eyes are blue. Most hearthian eyes are yellow, but even then the shade of yellow varies.

(this is based on a height chart, i couldn't actually pull the models in a 3d program to view so idk how accurate this is) Esker is WAY shorter than I thought, literally the same height as the Hatchling

Speaking of height, Hornfels is the tallest Hearthian, followed by Slate, then Riebeck. Hornfels and Slate are over a head taller than the Hatchling, almost 2 heads taller than Gossan and Feldspar.

While Solanum is very tall compared to most Hearthians, she is about half a head shorter than Hornfels and Slate. The Prisoner, if we measure all the way to the tip of their antlers, is twice the height of the Hatchling. Even without the antlers, they are about 75% taller than the Hatchling. They are so big :0

All of the Hearthians wear leather boots. The only two exceptions are Mica, who wears what looks like sideways geta sandals, and the Hatchling, who wears SOCKS (WHY??? THE VILLAGE IS BUILT AROUND A GEYSER, HAS A WATERFALL, AND MULTIPLE SMALL CREEKS. THE GROUND IS GOING TO BE MUDDY AS HELL). The Hatchling does wear boots when in their space suit though.

The Hatchling is the only traveler that doesn't have an Outer Wilds patch sewn on their space suit (which makes me sad :( maybe it's because they're supposed to get their patch once they complete their first solo flight? they'll never have a chance to earn their patch....). Esker also doesn't have one, but it's likely because we never see them in their space suit.

Proportion-wise, Hearthians are generally top-heavy. While the exact proportion varies (ex: Hornfels and Slate have almost perfect 50-50 upper-lower body ratios while Riebeck's legs are only half the length of their torso), Hearthian legs are usually about the same length as their torso.

Because Hearthians are top-heavy, their arms are also longer than ours. Their hands fall right below the crotch (just like in humans). Their hands are also really big. Human hands are approximately the size of our faces (from chin to eyebrow) while Hearthian hands are the size of their entire skull.

The third finger of Hearthian hands is thicker than the other two fingers, and all of their fingers are thicker than our fingers. It makes it easy to draw because we can use our own hands as reference without having to squish the bones in our palms to match Hearthian hands haha

I'm sure most of us have noticed that Hearthians have unique patterning. Common patterns include spots and leopard spots. Gossan is unique in that their spots form stripes. The color and density of the spots varies as well. Most of the Hearthians tend to have spots along the sides of their skull, their upper face and ears, and the sides of their neck. Hornfels has almost no spots, just some spotting along their eyes, ears, and neck. Spinel has spots that resemble freckles that cover their entire face, ears, and forehead, but has almost no spots on their skull. Gossan is again unique in their patterning as their spots are along the front of the skull and back of their neck.

Every single Hearthian has a unique eye, mouth, and skull shape, which is an insane detail to add from an art direction perspective. Every Hearthian is already distinguishable from more obvious design choices, like height and clothes, so unique face shapes are entirely unnecessary, especially since most players will probably never talk to the other Hearthians more than once, much less remember what they look like beyond the travelers. Some Hearthians have narrow jaws while others have squarer jaws. Some Hearthians have droopy eyes while others are doe-eyed. Some Hearthians have an upward tilt to their lips while others have a downwards tilt. Some Hearthians have a long oval face while others have a square face. Some Hearthians have resting bitch face while others have an easy smile. This are details that only insane people who stare at the Hearthian models for hours find *coughs*

TLDR; The Hearthians have a lot of cool unique features but only insane people would go out to find them

[yuukirita]

Sight part 3 (final)

A few hours into the night, BabyBee was given a space in the barn. He made the hay into a sort of berth like shape… sure he usually just slept on Optimus’s shoulder, but he could sleep anywhere if he tried. 

He was kind of glad he was left on his own for a bit. Especially when his Optimus Called again.

The portal wasn’t ready yet, Bee wasn’t just on another Cybertron this time, he was on a whole other planet, a bit harder to pin down. He was just checking up on him, making sure he was fine, again. They told each other good night. 

“Tell Elita-One good night for me… and that I miss her.” 

Bee could hear the smirk from Optimus “She heard you.”

BabyBee smiled as the call ended.

“em…” 

He jumped and turned around to see Megatron awkwardly standing there. BabyBee relaxed “You’re pretty sneaky for a plane, Megsy.” He talked like he was a friend. Because it felt good to call *a* Megatron friend.

“Yes, I have been told that one before. May I?” He gestured to BabyBee’s little corner. Bee nodded, allowing him to sit down with him in the cramped space. “How are you doing, young one?” 

BabyBee casually started climbing Megsy, having seen his shoulder as free real estate. “I’m good. Everyone here is super nice! Fluffy-ears is very cute!” Megatron helps him hop up to his shoulder, BabyBee makes himself at home and just rolls up in the crook of his neck. “I just got a call from my Optimus, it’s going to take a little bit before I can leave.” 

“How long does it usually take?” Megs didn’t think it’d been that long since BabyBee arrived- but maybe that was because he wanted him to hang around for longer.

“Like… a few hours?” 

Oh that wasn’t long- wait. “And how many times have you… visited other realities, young one?” 

Bee counted on his fingers- it had been a few… but he didn’t keep count. He shrugged. 

Megsy apparently didn’t like that answer and frowned. Then he silently took something from his subspace and put it on Bee’s back. It felt cool in a good way, Bee felt himself relax. 

“What’s that?” 

“An energon patch… It’s just occurred to me that you might not have had time to recharge properly since your journey began.” He explained as he rubbed small gentle circles over the patch, giving BabyBee soothing rubs. 

“oooh…” He yawned. “Thanks. I always forget to do that…” he felt himself falling into stasis “Can you stay here?” He asked Megsy “I dun wanna be alone…” 

“Of course, young one. Rest well.” Megsy said with a smile. Feeling privileged to be able to be the sparklings resting space. Meaning that he felt safe with him enough to do so.

He took so many pictures- Dot’s phone blew up all night with messages of him freaking out about how cute and precious this sparkling was. Using enough emojis to put Optimus to shame. 

During the night- most of the Transformers had huddled up in the barn… totally not to just stare at the sparkling. 

Morning came and Mo opened the barn to get Twitch and Trash- seeing all the Transformers together “Did you guys have a slumber party without us??? Outrageous.” 

BabyBee was given another energon patch- He really needed it. They hung out a little bit more, the human kids giving BabyBee some stickers to put on himself. They played some more before the humans had to go to work or school- Leaving the Transformers to themselves. 

BabyBee received a call soon after, telling him a new portal was soon to appear. BabyBee said good bye to fluffy-ears and told everyone he hoped he’d see them again… maybe on purpose next time. Cuz these guys were really nice! And… And maybe he wanted to keep seeing a version of the world where Optimus and Megatron and Elita-One became friends again… to give hope that his own could do it as well. 

The portal appeared. Optimus wished him safe travels and a quick return home. Elita-One gave him a firm nod, he nodded back. He gave Megatron a hug and left with a smile on his face. 

Where will he land this time? 

-------

So... Multiverse adventures. Everyone enjoyed that? mhm? Just a tiny sweet fic to satiate y'all while I'm out of the country while I don't have access to the internet. Hope yall liked it. C:

[littlelostmoon]

hi! can i request a luke x reader where reader is a medbay worker in the rebellion who meets luke when he needs an injury treated? (bonus points if he got injured in a really embarrassing way lol)

meeting luke as a med-bay worker a/n this was a really cute idea, hope i did it justice ♡ also i'm so scared of mischaracterizing luke it's not even funny . . . tags gender neutral reader. sfw. blood & injuries. extra fluffy.

you hear a low male voice coming from outside the med-bay. "go on, kid. quit whining and get in there."

"i told you, it's not that bad—"

a boy stumbles into the small main area of the medical base, a hand splayed along his back as if he'd just been shoved. you can practically see the thoughts turning in his head; he's sincerely hoping that the room is too busy to notice him. all hope dwindles from his eyes when you approach him per protocol.

upon seeing him up close, you recognize him from from descriptions that have made their rounds in the little community of two-hundred or so echo base personnel— the blonde-tatooine-farmer-turned heroic-pilot. you were rather new to hoth's medic workforce but didn't mind a popular face. he'd be just like any other (nervous) patient.

"commander skywalker, is that right?" somehow, you had gotten him to cooperate and sit on the small cot in your office; it's a humble space with an even humbler amount of equipment. due to shipments becoming... scattered, all 'advanced' gadgets were rationed out to the more experienced.

"that's me." he shifted in his seat. "but, uhm, you don't have to..."

you eye him and wait.

"just 'luke' is fine."

"okay, luke. are you here by choice?"

"no. a friend of mine, his name's han— made me come in here," he says.

pulling a pair of thin gloves on, you're finally able to eye the patch of dried blood on his forehead. it travels up to his hairline, matting some of the hair there. "i guessed as much. i see what han was concerned about, though."

he tenses up a fraction from the proximity, but you must move in to get a better look. from what you can tell, and with all things considered, the injury is minor.

you wring out a cloth and press it to the injury, lightening your touch when he winces. "that hurt?"

"no, no."

the both of you fall quiet as you clean the blood up— beneath it lies a superficial cut and a decent-sized bruise. he wordlessly allows you to apply some antibacterial solution to it, murmuring something about how happy he is that it doesn't sting. several minutes pass like this. you, lost in concentration. him, the stillest statue.

luke still avoids your gaze when you finish and pluck a small clear-backed bandaid from your drawer, one that wouldn't get stuck in his hair. "how'd this happen, anyhow?"

"is that important?" he asks, ruffling his hair on the unscathed side.

at first, you think he might be rude or secretive, one of those 'i don't need to tell you my business' types that sometimes make their way under your care. but when he glances up at you through his eyelashes, you can tell one thing for sure. he's embarrassed. you lean away from your work on his forehead and fold his chart over, holding it within view. "sorry, protocol. all injuries must be documented."

"oh, well," he flushes. "i was working on my x-wing. one of the other pilots accidentally dropped his wrench on my hand when i was under there."

your gaze drops to his left hand, which he's moved to his knee. the back of his knuckles do look a little purple. this doesn't explain it all, though.

he sighs. "i guess... it startled me, and i tried to sit up. you know, while under the fighter. still."

"okay." you turn a full one-eighty away from him, partially to scribble down what he'd just told you, and partially to hide your smile.

luke sees right through you, somehow. a complete stranger. "what is it?"

"forgive me," you whisper, a little confused by the ordeal. "i don't come across many stories like that."

a pause takes over the moment. he smiles for the first time since he entered the med-bay. it's rather sweet.

to make room for the other patients that are inevitably waiting to be seen (and to tamper down the little tiny tug in your chest when he smiled— you're a medic, for maker's sake), you spend the final minutes carefully bandaging his forehead and sending him on his way.

later, you subtly ask your favorite co-workers to call you in if luke skywalker ever stumbles through the door. you know, a second time.