#Sky: yeah? what is i-- is that my tombstone.

[skyward-floored]

Just realized in IAU they uh. they probably had a funeral for Sky, huh.

[shallowseeker]

Pre-13x06 Tombstone moments were among Jack's best

Jack’s Heaven was the car ride to Dodge City

(Image from Naomi Aria)

Some fun observations about the scene:

They stopped for food at an adorable dog-theme diner called "Skipper's Beach Cafe"

Which....BEACH. The ghost of happiness -> toes-in-the-sand beach!

Anyway, it's adorable that they're lost, but it's also a little sad that the very act of getting lost is what led them...to the symbolic beach.

But wait! On the other hand, the specter of this beach COULD BE a false beach promise, symbolizing that whole "checking out and running away" temptation

When viewed as such, it makes SAM's proximity to Skipper's Beach Diner / Miracle / False Salvation a little disturbing, especially when viewed with the 15x20 finale in mind; it could be a figment

It could be read either way, that SAM's the only one who finds salvation by becoming lost and not adhering to a plan; OR (since Sam's app sucks) it's a danger sign, that Sam's off-road "checking out" is being led to a false dream. Apps tend to give instructions and steps, but maps must be interpreted in a spatial context

This would imply that Dean/Cas + Jack are actually the ones finding their footing here (at this moment in time in the story, anyways)

But back to cute things: Sam's phone app sucks ass & he's not happy about it

Sam is even whining about it, which makes me think that his whining in 12x12 Stuck in the Middle (With You) is totally a legit thing that Sam does often, because Jack has no reason to exaggerate here (God bless my annoying, tall man-child)

In this memory, Cas gets associated with maps, as he pulls an old-school map from the glove compartment and hands it over to Dean

(Cas is often associated to maps; he is the navigator-commander to Dean's captain-of-the-course to Sam's field marshal)

Cas is that holy North Star, the symbolic "North is up"

He's the thing that the boys put their faith in; a family protector; "angelic defender"; the thing that grounds Dean in particular

We see this dynamic again later, in 13x21 Beat the Devil. That is, Dean & Cas, as a UNIT, get the bearings for the group:

DEAN (snapping into business mode): Yeah. Thought we’d get spit out in the same spot, but this isn’t it. All right, well Charlie -- the other Charlie -- said that Mary and Jack have an outpost in Dayton. SAM: Okay. Let’s get our bearings and head that way. Cas, where are we? CAS (closing his eyes and concentrating): Uh, Kentucky. Northeast Kentucky. Or what used to be Kentucky. DEAN (looking at the sky then pointing): Which means that’s north. Okay, so Dayton’s that way. Roughly. Two days by foot but...that way. SAM: All right. [The group begins to move towards where Dean pointed.]

In AU earth, in later episodes, Cas even draws a map for them to reference as they go; Cas is keeping them grounded

Overall, Cas helps Dean get his bearings, and together, they help the group get their bearings (especially when Sam's way isn't working--in 13x06’s case, the app).

So, in 13x06, after Cas hands Dean the map, Dean is calm, maybe even grounded for the first time since Cas died.

Immediately, Dean begins teaching Jack to "read a map," perhaps taking on the role as PARENT TO JACK for the very first time (Jack and Dean have known each other ~20-25 days at this point). Dean is passing down the legacy of wayfinding.

Side note: Jack is shown gobbling down a burger, the thing that CAS loves in 5x14 My Bloody Valentine, and the thing that Dean makes, even as late as 15x14 Last Holiday (specifically with the goal of getting Jack out of his room):

SAM: What’s with the apron? DEAN: Burgers! But the pilot light keeps going out. It’s like the third time this week. Between that and the hot water, I thought this place was supposed to be state-of-the-art. SAM: It was, in the 50’s. DEAN: Hhm. Ah, Jack come out of his room yet?

Here in the 13x06 scene, when Jack crams the burger in, Dean nags him.

It's a contrasting callback to their first real "meeting" in 13x02 ("You can slow down, you know. That stuff’s not gonna disappear.")

The warning against eating too much, too fast, is a nod to parental nagging, sure, and that's cute.

But it's also tacitly associating Jack to overconsumption, which a key motif to both his Nephil-status and status as a rival, Usurper-God (not to mention, his zombie obsession):

[in Jack’s Heaven, working the case from 13x06 Tombstone, Jack gobbles a burger while the rest of TFW stand by Baby researching their route to Dodge City with their food laid out on the car’s hood. Sam is in the background on his phone] DEAN: Jack, take it easy. You don't have to cram it all in at once, right? SAM: Still no signal. DEAN: Yeah, 'cause I told you, that app blows. CAS [emerging from the car with a map]: I found this in the glove compartment. DEAN: Ah! Old school! A real map. Let's find our way to Dodge City. C'mere, Jack. I'm gonna teach you how to read a map. So, rule number one-- rule number one-- rule number one-- JACK: Dean? DEAN: North is usually up. [the sun appears to flicker on and off, and Jack looks up at the sky] JACK: Something's wrong. [Jack leaves his personal heaven and wanders out into the stark white hallway of Heaven, where the lights are also flickering. A tidal wave of black goo fills the hallway and chases after him as he runs away.]

He's recalling Dean specifically here, in order to get his bearings. He's using the wayfinding skills symbolically gifted to him by Dean & Cas.

It gives more weight to Dean & Cas in the prior scene, because this skill allows Jack to see the truth (about Heaven, about The Empty).

[cyber-dump-171]

Chapter 15: Divine Fury

Left for Carnage (Twisted Wonderland x Reader)

← Chapter 14 | Masterlist | Chapter 16 →

WARNING: N/A.

Note: Hello everyone! This chapter was meant to be posted earlier but this week has been wild from my computer dying to an entire day without light because of a storm. But hey, we’re here! Savanaclaw’s arc starts next chapter and remember that if you want to be notified whenever I upload a chapter, you can find the tag list on the masterlist. Enjoy!

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You open your eyes to find a vast sea of darkness. No stars or clouds are dancing in the sky, just a black void that eerily yet quietly calls your name.

You turn your head to the side, focusing on the ghostly hues of white and dark green grass that act as your temporary bed. It's a strange sensation, to be lying on top of it without feeling the annoying and pointy blades of the lawn poking and stinging at your exposed skin, causing itchiness and irritation; instead, you feel nothing, only a bizarre sensation of floating and dizziness alongside the heaviness of your eyelids, a silent plea to just close them again and drift off into a deep sleep.

Yet, you ignore those signs, your curiosity taking the lead, wanting to find the answer to the question as to where you are. You get up from the ground, discovering that you're still in your pajamas and barefoot, and turn your body towards the north, only to encounter the ominous void that acts as a wall, preventing you from seeing what's beyond this place. You look down at the ground, finding that a few meters away from where you are, the grass ends, swallowed by the darkness. It's as if you're on an island, but the sea has been replaced by the night sky, and all that remains is a small patch of land, isolated from the rest of the world.

‘Yeah, I'm definitely dreaming.’

You turn around and let out a soft gasp as you witness the small yet dilapidated structure that lies in front of you. A cemetery.

There are several graves hidden behind a thin cloud of mist, in the middle of the structures is a path of gravel and muddy earth that leads to a small church made of dark oak and brick whose color looks worn, almost gray. The wood of the building looks rotten and is full of holes of different sizes, the dirty windows are broken and some pieces of glass are scattered on the lawn, and an unknown structure that sits on the highest point of the roof is rusty and split in half, its counterpart nowhere to be seen.

‘Even a small gust of wind could cause that building to collapse.’

Intrigued by the sinister scene ahead of you, your feet move of their own accord as you traverse the rather small graveyard, though you notice at the distance that some of the tombstones have also been swallowed by the darkness. How far does this graveyard extend? You hear the crunch of the stones and earth beneath your feet, though your brain panics as you can't feel the texture of the elements touching your skin. The sensation of floating returns as your footsteps feel more like small jumps that remind you of the video of the first man landing on the moon.

Your gaze falls on the graves near your path. They're incredibly old, with faded words and unintelligible epitaphs carved into them, their structure showing various cracks filled with small cobwebs and moss.

Some of the tombs still have offerings placed in front of them, or at least what's left of them; the years have reduced many of these items to complete dust. Wilted flowers with delicate and dead stems, rotten items of food infested with small bugs, letters reduced to a tiny pile of mush or their contents completely erased by the rain, and some pictures that held memories of the dead no longer show their faces, only a semblance of what was once a happy remembrance.

However, something caught your eye when looking at one of the graves. The date... these people died away centuries ago. You crouch down, careful not to step on the remains of some candles, your fingers gently brushing on the stone.´

In loving memory of: Opal Vaughn. (1276 - 1302) Beloved wife and mother.

And then the next one…

Here lies: Sebastian Caldwell. (1285 - 1302). Loved by all

Wait… you recognize that last name! The Caldwells are the only other family of nobles that live in Sleepy Hollow. Unlike your family's home, which is tucked away in the mountains and surrounded by lush forest and tends to be more introverted, the Cadwells live in a huge house near the center of the village and have a more prominent presence in society. They're practically known for running the whole town, with their children holding high positions such as mayor and head of the Neighbourhood Association.

They have invested much of their money in making Sleepy Hollow a tourist destination, funding the International Museum of Medicine, attractions that highlight the more macabre aspects of the town, and they even organize the annual town fair. Recently, however, you have noticed that many of the buildings have fallen into disrepair or have been completely abandoned, such as the police station which you recently visited.

You got along with the eldest son of the family since he was around your age and he was nice and told good jokes. However, your meetings with him became more complicated and less frequent as your father had the bright idea of picking petty fights with the Caldwell patriarch. In the end, you and he went off to live your own lives and you lost touch. You look back at the grave and think how impressive it is that the Caldwells have kept their surname for so long.

You keep looking at the epitaphs on each of the graves in this row, even glancing at some of the tombs behind you. The text in some of them is incredibly difficult to make out, however, you reach the conclusion that each tomb has a different date of birth, but they all have something eerily similar that twists your stomach into knots:

All these people died in the year 1302.

You stand up quickly, stumbling a little due to the force you placed on your legs and the wobbly, slippery terrain. That date gives you a feeling of déjà vu. You don't know if you've seen it in a history book or heard about it somewhere, but something is telling you that this number is important.

You squeeze your eyes shut and try to concentrate, digging deep into your brain to find that particular date somewhere in the vast library of information stored in your mind. But your train of thought is interrupted as you are startled by the sound of the dilapidated church doors slamming open, echoing against the outside walls of the building.

Taking a few steps back to get some distance between yourself and the entrance, you squint your eyes to see what's inside that may have caused the noise. In real life, your first instinct would have been to run out, get a good distance away from the place, and perhaps call for reinforcements, since setting foot inside the house would most likely mean death. However, you are aware that you are in a kind of lucid dream; the lack of sensation of textures and the feeling of floating, but being aware that this place is not real, are the first indications that you are dreaming.

This does not mean that you want to set foot in the frightening church, but rather you want to keep your sanity and not have your heart explode or burst out of your chest because of some fright from whatever or whoever is roaming inside that building.

You begin to creep slowly towards the building, ready to bolt in the opposite direction if anything jumps out of the church. Details of the interior become clearer as you realize that it is a wreck, which explains some of the damage done to the exterior, such as the holes in the walls and windows.

Pews and tables have been split in half or thrown against the wall, sending small pieces of wood flying all over the room; a simple, quaint chandelier that once hung from the ceiling is now completely smashed to pieces on the floor; pieces of cloth that may have once belonged to mantles are scattered around the room; and the few paintings that once adorned the walls have huge gashes on them.

But what catches your eye is the large object that sits in front of the altar. It's a coffin, one that from the looks of it was built with really cheap wood judging by the prominent scratches and the thin quality of the material. The lid has been busted wide open, the hinges barely holding on to the material by only two tiny and rusty screws, you also notice from the angle that you're standing on that there's no padded cloth inside of the hexagonal box.

It reminds you of the “plague caskets”, a somewhat crude term used in Sleepy Hollow to describe coffins used during plagues or other disasters. In your hometown, they were known to be funerary boxes made of common and cheap wood, such as pine, and their utility was, as their name suggests, an object that could be quickly mass-produced and used to store the bodies of the deceased when catastrophes struck. So, needless to say, your rotten curiosity has once again taken the reigns.

You carefully maneuver your way toward the middle of the room, avoiding the shards of glass and the splinters from the wood, completely forgetting that you can't feel anything. After a bit of tiptoeing through the disaster, you're finally a few steps away from the coffin, a familiar combination of nerves and anger settling deep in your stomach as you begin to lift your head to see who's inside. But you let out a sigh as a sense of relief washes over your body when you realize that the only thing inside is a dusty but very elegant jacket and a dirty handkerchief.

"The body is sitting right here, human," the momentary relief is gone as your entire body jumps at the sound of the voice dripping with malice. You quickly turn around and take up a defensive position, ready to strike whoever has suddenly appeared behind you.

Your heart beats loudly in your ears as your eyes focus on the figure sitting on one of the pews that managed to survive the unknown disaster that swept through the small building. The man sits in a slumped position, his head hanging low as his long red hair spills over his face, obscuring his features, his wrists resting lazily on his knees as his hands sway loosely but gently with the movement of his body, and your eyes widen as you see the pale, long set of nails he sports that could easily tear through flesh.

Before you can even mutter a word, you hear the person grunt in annoyance as his shoulders become tense. "You really gave me a good beating. You did so much damage that it took me way too fucking long to get in touch with you," he murmurs in a low tone, standing up as the bones in his neck crack loudly. You freeze in horror as you feel an angry and murderous aura emanating from the mysterious man, bright purple eyes peeking out of his hair to stare at you.

"Who-" you can barely get the words out as the incredibly tall man slowly approaches, his footsteps echoing in the empty church and filling you with even more fear. How is this possible? You're not easily frightened after all you've been through, but this man's mere presence makes you tremble with terror!

"What do you want?" you finally manage to sputter out some words, your eyes never leaving the man who has finally stopped a few inches away from you. He leans down to stare directly at your face, and you try to shake off your nervousness and put on a brave face. Whoever this person is, he's probably enjoying seeing you tremble with fear, judging by the small but very prominent smirk that adorns his lips. "Not so brave now, are you?"

After a stare-down that lasted a few seconds, but seemed like hours to you, the man lets out a snort before lifting his head and stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets. "Enlighten me, faithful servant of the night, do you not recognize the power that stands before you?" his sudden change to a more 'polite' language gives you whiplash as the fear disappears from your body, replaced by utter confusion. "Am I... supposed to know you?"

You did not think that your genuine question would irritate the man any further, though you're proven wrong as his eyes light up in anger and he opens his mouth to reveal a set of very pointy teeth. "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, STUPID HUMAN? You destroy the jewel that gave me life, weaken my host and destroy my glorious form, and yet you don't remember me!?" this man is a lunatic. He turns and stomps over to the pew, harshly taking a seat and making the wood creak under his weight. He reminds you of a child throwing a petty tantrum, especially when he starts mumbling incoherently as he stares daggers at you.

Yet, the mention of a jewel and a host brings forth a surge of very fresh memories, and your eyes widen in pure confusion and surprise as you stare at him. "Are you... some bizarre incarnation of Guddommelig Raseri?" at the mention of the divine beast, the man jumps to his feet, joy lighting up his face as he laughs out loud. "BRAVO! YOU DO HAVE A BRAIN!" he shouts, and you finally understand why you felt so much anger coming from the man. After all, the beast is the pure form of anger and recklessness itself. However, as you narrow your eyes another question pops into your head.

"But aren't you supposed to be... you know, more... beastly?" your hands help you to visualize your question better, using your index fingers to act as fangs as you make a "scary" expression. The man stops his celebration as he once again stuffs his hands in his pockets, and the angry expression returns to his pale face again. "Ha! I would, if it weren't for the fact that your damned powers have torn my mighty form apart!" he spits once more with malice, a scowl on his face.

"I'm getting distracted. I don't want to be here with you for long, so let's get on with the introductions," the man spreads his arms and makes an exaggerated bow, the aura of fury once again invading the walls of the church. "As you already know, I am Guddommelig Raseri, the Divine Beast of Fury and the King of Fire. I welcome you (Y/N) (L/N), to my own memento," the beast says, and you move a little closer out of curiosity. "Memento?" you question with a slight tilt of your head, Raseri nodding with a wide and menacing smile.

"That's right, you goblin. I have summoned you to my memento, a place that only exists in the dream space. We divine beasts have the ability to place our consciousness in our favorite memories, where we can regain our strength and rest," you ignore the man's insult, preferring to concentrate on his explanation of this unusual place. Before you can ask anything else, Raseri continues. "Even though I want to pulverize your damn skull for what you did to me, I have summoned you here because I recognize that you have a power that few humans are lucky enough to wield... and..."

The man makes a disgusted face and sticks out his tongue as if he were going to vomit. After a few seconds of Raseri continuing to make stupid faces, you let out a frustrated sigh and prick the bridge of your nose with your fingers. "Stop your nonsense and spit out what you have to say. I'm tired of your act and your insults," you mutter the last part, completely fed up with the childish and eccentric behavior of this divine beast. The man turns to you with a furious expression, letting out a short sigh of anger. "SHUT UP! This is not easy to admit, much less to someone who is my enemy..."

Sighing in frustration and rubbing his hands roughly over his face, Raseri finally spits out the words stuck in his throat. "I need your help," he mumbles softly, embarrassed and disgusted by what he has just said.

You, on the other hand, are completely surprised. Your eyes widen and a broad smile spreads across your face. ‘Ah, this son of a bitch. He has the balls to ask me for help after he spent every second insulting me.’ You're about to open your mouth to taunt the divine beast, but he silences you, knowing exactly what you're going to do.

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH AND LET ME EXPLAIN!" he shouts, frustrated by your expression, while you just let out a slight laugh, the Cheshire cat grin never leaving your mouth. "Ugh, I was summoned out of the blue a week before your foul presence appeared. But instead of appearing in my beautiful beast form, I possessed a human," he explains with a sigh, closing his eyes as he leans his forehead on two of his fingers. "It's an insult to us to share a body with a human. After all, we have so much power that we could rule the heavens... but this possession... it wasn't something I did voluntarily. Someone forced me to possess that weak human. And I couldn't even fight my captor back for control."

You let out a small gasp of surprise. This was no joke. Ancient texts and legends explain that Divine Beasts are indomitable animals with such power that they can fight and win against all-powerful gods and wipe out humanity in an instant. There's a reason they ruled ancient Twisted Wonderland for so long, and it took millions of men and some good strategy on the part of monster hunters to put them to sleep. Even that didn't stop them, they woke up several times and wreaked havoc, and again it took too much manpower to defeat them.

"Someone with enough power to control a divine beast is terrifying. With that power they can cause too much destruction," you mutter under your breath, your eyes blank as a thousand thoughts run through your head. Raseri nods his head in agreement and continues his story.

"It's good that we at least think alike... Whoever it was, they took so much of my power that the spell you casted practically obliterated my physical form and a good part of my soul. There was hardly any traces of my power left, so when you fell unconscious, I was able to escape the hands of my invisible captor and merge what little was left of me with your soul," upon hearing the beast's declaration, your hands shoot up to cover your chest, near where your heart beats a thousand times an hour. He did what!?

Your blood boils in anger as you want to punch this guy until he stops talking. Raseri, however, raises his hand to rudely silence you. "Don't worry, I won't do anything. Well, I really can't do shit. It already took me too long to bring your consciousness to this memento, I only have a short time left before this disappears completely. Besides, I don't feel like dealing with another stupid human, much less someone like you," he comments with a tired tone. Meanwhile, you frown and cross your arms, wanting to know what you could do in this situation. 

"Alright, but why do you want my help? Don't even think you're going to convince me to find you another host or vessel so that you can cause more chaos, you already pissed me off so much," you reply somewhat frustrated, the surprise that the power of a divine beast now resides in your soul not fading from your mind. He simply responds with a short laugh.

"No, you idiot! As I told you, I'm currently too weak to possess a body," he finally lifts his head to look at you with an intense stare. "I want you to stop whoever brought me here. I have a feeling that the bastard will also involve my brothers and sisters soon enough and will hurt them as the captor did to me," he sounds genuinely worried at the mention of his siblings, his expression dropping as dark thoughts most likely plague his mind. "I also feel that this asshole probably stole my power to bring Ulykke here, for what purpose? I don’t know, but I feel that the bastard will soon make his appearance," his voice shakes at the mention of the ultimate divine beast.

There is something strange about Raseri’s statement. He regarded the other divine beasts with warmth and even concern, calling them siblings even though the legends describe that each beast was born from a different source and ritual, but at the mention of the ultimate divine beast he shudders with fear and disgust.

"Is Guddommelig Ulykke also your brother?" you ask quietly, his purple eyes widening in surprise before quickly turning to anger. "That asshole!? No, not in a million years will I call him a brother! That bastard is an omen of death and he won't hesitate to kill us all!... he has no regard for us, we are nothing but stepping stones for him," he whispers the last part, the angry and furious façade  slipping away.

You're shocked to find that this divine beast is incredibly complex regarding his thoughts and emotions. It's almost as if he's a human being who was cursed and transformed into a terrifying monster with so much power that he throws away his emotions and uses a trait to instill fear in anyone who crosses his path, wreaking havoc on innocents. Yet, in this dream plain, he reverts to a human form, a thing he considers weak and stupid, but he copies the same traits of those same mortals, spewing his feelings for people he holds dear or he detests. You’re truly mesmerized by Raseri, though he’s a complete asshole.

You approach him with a blank expression, wanting to know more about his plan and what he has in mind. He seems to understand your silent plea and continues to speak. "You will most likely have to fight my siblings soon enough, and while you can control the power of darkness, you will be pulverized if you go up against one of them alone, especially since you are still grasping at straws for your unique power," he explains. 

"So when it's time to face one of them, call my divine name and summon the fire that once burned down hundreds of nations and ruled over the world. Rage is a powerful element, and when combined with your unique power... Oh, I shudder in excitement at what magnificent combination of power humanity could witness in that battle!" his eyes shine brightly as he begins to imagine the battle that will take place in the future, a huge smile painted on his face

You, on the other hand, let out a long and exhausted sigh as you rethink the situation. Yeah, that admiration for Raseri’s complexity? Gone. You’re angry since it seems that there's no room to even refute the offer since this divine beast’s power is already deeply embedded inside your soul. From the way he put it, it's a command on his part that you will have to use in battle if you want to preserve your life and not suffer a brutal death at the hands of a divine beast.

'This motherfucker left me no choice in this matter. Thankfully, at least it gives me some comfort that I can protect myself better in the next battle. Though I'll have to tell Malleus of this development, hopefully, I don’t get myself into more trouble,' you think before turning to the young man, wanting to ask him a few more questions about the situation.

But as your eyes focus on his figure, you let out a gasp of surprise as his form begins to blink in and out of reality, his legs becoming more transparent. “What’s happening to you!?” you ask in a panic as your eyes dart around the room when pieces of rubble begin to fall from the ceiling. The room suddenly begins shaking, as if an earthquake had suddenly appeared on this small, isolated island.

The man looks down at his transparent legs and simply smiles and lets out a long breath, his reaction completely the opposite of yours. "Finally! Well, our time is running out. Any last questions, human?" Raseri celebrates, your hatred and anger coming back in full force as you stare at him in utter confusion.

You have thousands of questions fluttering in your head, yet your brain momentarily freezes when you see Raseri's body starts to disappear. At the last moment, you remember all the graves that are outside the church and the date of death engraved in all of them, the year 1302.

"What does your memento represent!? Why is it a graveyard!?" you ask agitated, your brow furrowed as you watch the divine beast's expression turn neutral. Suddenly, a macabre smile spreads across the face of the divine beast, showing its sharp teeth as the man watches you with a sadistic expression.

"Outside there are a total of 876,478 tombstones, you can't see them in their entirety because, as I told you, I was left with little power to project the entire memento. All those people... were the ones I killed when they summoned me for the second time to this world… That is the proof of my power and my nature as a divine beast. Goodbye and good luck (Y/N)," with that last message, Guddommelig Raseri , and his memento vanish from your sleep, leaving you floating in a black sky, confused, dazed, and tired.

You open your eyes once more but this time, rather than being greeted by a void, is the ceiling of your bedroom. It's time to wake up, you must get ready to leave for Sunset Savannah.

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Tag list:

@r0texe @hellokittykuroo @d3nz3lm0rn @alureasoley @kirmalight @xxrabbitcultxx @warcelia @lucian-kinnder @maximumphantomlover @hillichurl @keqingsfavbestie @stardustgreydragon​ @raimenshko​ @h0n3ysgh0st​ @valveii

[fratboykate]

💀💀 poor baby nat 😂😂

I'm looking at your new AU bodyguard and loving it, widowed Yelena and celeb Kate ufff the angst BRING IT and I know you can man that CFAU chapter 👀🤚🫠🙃 so much you can work with this AU specially that they get divorced like 😬😵 yeah anymore you can share I'll be here 😄❤️

Well, y'all were begging for wedding stuff the past couple of days so here...have 3k of BGAU wedding things 😈

---

Yelena navigates the now familiar, labyrinthine ways of the vast military cemetery. The mid-morning sun casts a gentle glow over the seemingly endless rows of pristine white tombstones that stand with unwavering decorum. A soft spring breeze makes the hair that escapes from the blonde's braid dance in the wind. In the distance, a flag flutters with dignified grace, its stars and stripes unfurling proudly against the azure canvas of the sky.

Yelena clutches a delicate bouquet of lilies and roses as she approaches the particular resting place she's come to know intimately amidst the sea of marble markers. She places the stunning bouquet atop the headstone, feeling the coolness of the marble against her fingertips.

"Hey...Sorry that it's been a second and that I can't stay for long. Things have gotten a little...crazy."

Yelena's shoulders tense up, a subtle but unmistakable sign of her nervousness. She rolls them in response, trying to loosen them up.

"Tomorrow’s the day. It's weird...yeah. It's weird. When I say 'my wife' after tomorrow, it's not going to be about you anymore."

Yelena pauses then chuckles.

"You're probably laughing at me right now. I can hear you laughing...I can still remember your laugh...She's not...She's not replacing you. But she's good for me. At least, I think she is. She drives me crazy and her entire life is a circus. Being in the circus is definitely not easy, but I still think she's good for me. Your dad says she is. He’s met her. I didn't force him or anything. He insisted...They get along really well too and it weirds me out a little every time. Maybe I should’ve told you before I introduced my new...before I introduced her to your dad. It was strange...All of this is strange."

Yelena glances at her watch, her eyes briefly fixating on the time.

"I have to go. I still need to pick up my suit. Cutting it close, I know. It was too long last week, so they had to keep working on it."

Yelena lingers, torn between the urgency to leave and a reluctance to part ways.

"I'm not replacing you."

The statement is more for her sake than anyone else's. It's a reminder as much as a declaration to the empty space around her. The words echo within Yelena's mind, a mantra she silently repeats as a desperate plea of self-assurance. She clings to the hope that if she continues to tell herself, and if she says it enough times, it will become her truth.

"I have to go."

Yelena takes a deliberate step forward and kneels in front of the headstone, her movements guided by a mixture of reverence and trepidation. Her fingers trace the intricate inscription etched into the smooth marble.

"Natasha Alianovna Belova. Daughter, wife, friend, and hero."

The words, carefully carved in elegant script, encapsulate the essence of a love that transcends the boundaries of time and mortality. Yelena's eyes fixate on the word "wife”, her hand hesitating above it, suspended in a fleeting moment of contemplation.

Feelings surge and collide within Yelena's heart, an elaborate dance of love and loss that intertwines with cherished and painful memories.

The weight of the past, the yearning for what could have been, and the dogged embrace of the future combine to create an emotional tapestry that envelops her very being. She leans her forehead against the cool marble, finding solace in the connection she can still feel with the woman that lies here. With a deep breath, Yelena rises before turning and walking away.

Tomorrow, she starts a new chapter, one that Natasha will never be a part of. Although the profound legacy of their love is intricately woven into each of Yelena’s atoms, Natasha cannot be a part of Yelena’s new life. Their story officially ends here, but Yelena’s now continues with someone else.

As she steps away, leaving a piece of her heart behind, Yelena dries her eyes with the back of her hands to stop the tears that threaten to escape from falling.

---

Yelena drives past the imposing security gate leading into the sprawling three-story mansion she now calls home. This multimillion-dollar masterpiece nestled in the Hollywood Hills embodies luxury, from its meticulously manicured grounds to its lavish interiors adorned with exquisite artwork and breathtaking architectural details. Every facet of this palatial residence exudes opulence, serving as a testament to Kate's unrivaled success. Basically, it’s everything Yelena is not.

The house buzzes with a frenzy of activity as Kate’s staff scrambles to orchestrate the final touches for the wedding of the year. The air is filled with the hum of spirited conversations and the rhythmic click of high heels against the polished marble floors. Amidst the commotion, Sam, Kate's trusted and efficient assistant, materializes by Yelena's side, radiating a sense of urgency and purpose.

Yelena braces herself, fully aware that her fiancée's emotions have been wildly unpredictable over the past few weeks.

"Kate's freaking out."

"What about this time?"

"The flowers. Planner sent her a picture of the venue as an update, and Kate hates the flowers."

"Solutions?"

“We have less than twenty-four hours. There are none. She wants to change them to gardenias. Where are we going to find five thousand gardenias today?"

They look at each other, both understanding the enormity of the task.

"You need me to talk her down."

"We need you to talk her down."

Yelena chuckles and shakes her head.

"Where is she?"

"Studio."

"Let me talk to her. I’ll check in when I have an answer for you."

Sam nods, visibly relieved.

"How many gardenias do you think we can realistically get today?"

"I've called every florist in LA County. Between them all, maybe a thousand."

"Do you have the pictures Kate saw?”

Sam rummages through her pocket, retrieving her phone and pulling up the pictures. Yelena examines them intently.

"Okay."

Yelena turns and walks away, ready to find a way to salvage the situation.

---

Yelena enters the state of the art home studio and finds Kate, her forehead pressed against the piano, repeatedly tapping a single key with her pointer finger. Yelena can't help but cackle at the sight.

Kate turns to the door and offers a depressing grimace.

"Why did you let me pick hydrangeas?”, Kate laments.

Yelena chuckles and shakes her head while approaching. She tenderly runs her hand down the brunette’s back as she takes a seat on the empty corner of the piano bench.

"The hydrangeas look fine."

Yelena reassures her, leaning in to gently kiss Kate's lips. But Kate's frown only deepens, and she gives Yelena the most pitiful puppy eyes.

"Our wedding is going to look like ass and everyone is going to be there. Oprah's coming!"

"Don't remind me, please, or I'll start insisting on eloping again." Yelena teases, trying to lighten the mood.

"It has to look perfect." Kate retorts, her voice tinged with anxiety.

"It will. It does. I saw the pictures. It looks beautiful."

"It looks awful."

"I think you're spiraling again."

"I'm not." Kate whines pathetically. "Where were you? I was texting you."

"Last minute errands." Yelena replies, hoping to deflect the question.

"Did you get your suit?"

“Uhum. All ready."

"Is it perfect?"

"I look very hot." Yelena tells her in jest with a playful smile.

"It's easy to make you look hot. I need to know if it's perfect now."

“Kate Bishop, the suit is perfect. They fixed everything and it looks great.”

"Good. I can only handle one disaster at a time."

Kate sighs and Yelena repositions herself to face Kate directly, gently cupping her face in her hands.

"Hey..." Yelena speaks softly and tenderly. "I'm no flower expert, but I think they look great."

"Sam snitched, didn't she." Kate grumbles.

"I may have seen her on my way here." Yelena admits with a rascally grin.

"She's getting fired when we come back from the honeymoon." Kate declares, but her tone makes it clear she’s (mostly) joking.

Yelena chuckles.

"You love Sam. Don't fire Sam. What if we mixed in gardenias with the hydrangeas instead of replacing them completely? Would that help?"

"I don't know...........maybe???”

"Can I tell Sam to get on that? It's getting late, and I'm sure they're going to need time to make it all happen."

"I gueeeesssssss."

Kate looks at her fiancée pathetically, with a mixture of helplessness and whining in her voice. Yelena fishes her phone out of her jacket pocket and sends a quick text to Kate's assistant.

"See? Dealt with. Problem solved. I'm sure Oprah will approve."

Kate grouses some more.

"What if everyone thinks our wedding is lame?"

"Kate, I've seen how much this wedding cost. I'm pretty sure it's impossible for anything involving that many zeroes to be ‘lame’."

"You obviously think it's lame." Kate pouts.

"Lame? Not at all. Excessive? Entirely. I would've been fine with an officiant in the backyard."

"That definitely would've been lame."

They look at each other and burst out laughing.

"Oprah would've judged us." Yelena quips with a teasing smile.

"Not at all Oprah-approved.”

"Does it make me sound like a jerk if I say I don't care what any of them think? As far as I'm concerned, tomorrow is about you, and if you're happy, then we did good."

"Just about me?" Kate questions, scanning Yelena's eyes, trying to find even an ounce of hesitation in them.

"Revisit my previous point about the trashy poolside wedding."

"I know. I know. You hate that I'm making you do this."

"Hate is a strong word. Simply not what would've been my first choice."

"You hate it."

"I don't, but I can't pretend I'm not looking forward to putting it behind us. It's been a little intense."

"I'll make it up to you during the honeymoon." Kate suggests with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Well, when you put it like that...it's been TORTURE, borderline traumatic. So much to make up for. So, soooo much."

Yelena jokes, playing along. Kate smiles, finally relaxing in Yelena's embrace.

"Don't take advantage now." Kate surveys Yelena's face attentively. "By this time tomorrow, you'll be my wife."

Yelena nods, a soft smile on her lips.

"Unless you get cold feet...or Oprah objects."

"I'd punch Oprah in the face if she did. I've been trained by the best now. Can land a very good punch."

Yelena chuckles.

"I'll be sure to warn her to keep her opinions to herself then because you HAVE been trained by the best and that black eye you gave me proves it."

"You said 'swing like you mean it', so I did." Kate shrugs with a smile.

"All those hours of training...so you could knock out the most beloved woman on TV. Who knew?" Yelena laughs.

"Can't say I'm not putting everything you taught me to good use." Kate replies with a smirk.

"Of course."

"Of course."

Kate leans her head against Yelena's chest while Yelena wraps her arms around her, pulling her closer.

"We can still call it off."

Yelena suggests and Kate raises an eyebrow, looking up at her curiously.

"You want to call off the wedding?"

"No. Not the whole thing. We could take the jet to Vegas or something. I'd still be your wife by this time tomorrow but with zero of the stress."

"But I want to show you off! Are you kidding me? The super hot Special Ops Marine said 'Yes' when I asked her to marry me. I want the whole world to know. I also want the world to know how sexy you look in that uniform."

"I only enlisted because I knew I'd look sexy in uniform."

"Duh," Kate responds with a playful eye-roll.

"Obviously."

They burst into laughter.

"I’m sure I’m being insane but I just want tomorrow to be perfect," Kate confesses earnestly.

"It will," Yelena assures her.

"Promise?"

"If it isn't, we can blame Oprah."

Kate’s lips curve upward before she pulls Yelena’s face down toward her and delivers a soft kiss.

"Deal."

The kiss quickly escalates. As clothes start to come off and their movements grow more urgent, Kate and Yelena’s hands and limbs inadvertently press the piano keys, producing melodies that reverberate through the room and serve as the soundtrack to their last romp before becoming wives. The rhythm of their lovemaking harmonizes with the playful notes, their bodies becoming one with the music.

---

Kate Bishop's wedding to her former bodyguard is a lavish extravaganza that surpasses all expectations, cementing its status as the wedding of the decade. The sprawling California estate is adorned with opulent decorations and surrounded by pristine gardens, transforming the venue into a fairytale paradise. The air crackles with electric anticipation as an extraordinary ensemble of celebrities — A-List Hollywood icons, chart-topping musicians, the occasional royalty, and other influential figures — effortlessly mingle, exuding an aura of elegance in their exquisite attire and dazzling jewelry. Aware that this is a gathering for the crème de la crème of the entertainment industry, paparazzi strategically line the venue's perimeter, stealthily capturing candid moments of the exclusive guest list. Across social media platforms, a frenzy erupts as hashtags and trending topics ignite, capturing and disseminating every glamorous detail, ultimately ensconcing the wedding as the hottest topic in town.

The ceremony takes place under a magnificent floral arch of hydrangeas and gardenias. Yelena, resplendent in her crisp Marine Dress Blues, stands at the altar, radiating confidence. Her breath catches in her throat the moment Kate makes her entrance, a vision of ethereal beauty in a custom-designed gown that seems to make the world pause. Gasps of awe ripple through the crowd as Kate glides down the aisle, her presence commanding attention and stealing hearts.

The moment they stand face to face, their eyes lock and suddenly, the stress of the last few months feels justified. The exchange of vows is a series of heartfelt promises, spoken with the utmost sincerity, accompanied by tears of elation from both the couple and their guests. As the officiant pronounces them partners for life, the new wives seal their commitment with a passionate kiss.

The outdoor reception space is a sight to behold, adorned with cascading, sumptuous floral arrangements and ornate table settings. Kate and Yelena enter the reception, each wearing a different custom-made outfit than the ones they wore at the ceremony. Kate opts for a party-friendly short, form-fitting dress, while Yelena looks dashing in her flawlessly tailored suit. The room buzzes with laughter and animated conversations that continue for hours.

A seemingly endless array of culinary delights awaits the guests, each dish a work of art meticulously crafted by world-class chefs to delight the senses. Exquisite champagne and top-shelf liquor flow freely, with heartfelt toasts raised to the newlyweds and the beginning of their remarkable life together. The dance floor transforms into a spectacle of elegance and high energy as celebrities showcase their moves to the tunes spun by a world-class DJ. Special performances by all of Kate's favorite artists add an extra touch of star-studded thrills to the celebration.

Long after the moon casts its glow upon the brides and their guests, the wedding reception draws to a close. As the echoes of laughter, music, and other people gradually fade, Kate and Yelena find themselves in a quiet corner, locked in a silent embrace, savoring the intimacy of the moment. With whispered words and lingering touches, they bid farewell to the spirited celebration that marks the beginning of their forever.

The next day, Kate and Yelena set off on their much-awaited three-week honeymoon to the idyllic paradise of the Seychelles. The secluded beaches of their villa’s private island offer a sanctuary from the world, and after months of hectic wedding prep, they finally get time to revel in each other. Surrounded by lush tropical landscapes, they find themselves immersed in a haven of serenity and romance. Here, they surrender to their deepest desires, exploring the depths of passion and intimacy. They have sex. Lots of it. But their honeymoon extends beyond the confines of their bedroom. They embark on adventures, including snorkeling coral reefs teeming with life, sailing through crystal-clear waters, and basking in the sun's warmth on secluded beaches. As the days pass, the Seychelles becomes the backdrop for their growing bond. Their love deepens with every stolen glance, every tender caress, and every heartfelt conversation shared under the open skies.

When their three weeks draw to a close, Kate and Yelena return home, eagerly anticipating the road ahead, knowing that their love will continue to blossom and thrive as they start a lifetime of shared escapades and boundless happiness.

---

Unfortunately, that "lifetime" they envisioned proved to be depressingly short-lived. A mere thirteen months after their wedding, Kate finds herself in her studio, sitting at the same piano where they made love the night before their wedding, except instead of basking in the warmth of Yelena's body, she now clutches a pen and her trembling hand hovers above a stack of divorce papers.

Tears cascade down Kate's cheeks. Everything here is a painful reminder of the dreams and promises that unraveled over time. Once filled with ecstasy, the room now reverberates with the distressed sounds of her anguished sobs. And amidst the suffocating weight of heartbreak, Kate is forced to confront an agonizing truth — she doesn’t even have anyone else to blame. She’s the reason why they’re here.

[penelopetheconartist]

Coral Island fanfiction by a Rafael simp.

Greetings. I have written in my google keep app while bored at work some fanfiction about my farmer Penelope and certified soft boi Rafael. I only edited it enough for it to make sense. The fic is slow-burn and lighthearted as I am not a fan of too much drama lol. I have a few more google keep notes and there is a vague timeline I am following.

Tentative title Orange Porch Light

Trigger warning- some references to anxiety.

Penelope has been on the island for 24 hours. She started a small garden and has been working on cleaning up her land. She was over it today so she made herself a coffee and went for a walk around the island. She gathered some wild flowers on her walk. It was still early so not many ppl were up and about. She found herself passing the carpenter and walked down the path that looked like it was going back into the town. Penelope saw another flower and knelt down to smell it. Rafael was in the cemetery cleaning up the grave stones. There's something about cemeteries and early mornings that are so perfectly peaceful. He finished one stone and stood up to see a new face just up the road sniffing a flower. She was little and looked even smaller in her crouch. She had a gentle smile on her face as she enjoyed the flower.  She was really beautiful. He realized he was staring and he suddenly felt like a creep. That made him stop, he got back to cleaning the tombstones and hoped she wouldn't come this way since he got himself all flustered now. Penelope picked her new flower and started to walk towards the cemetery. As she approached the cemetery she saw a man cleaning the tombstones. He looked very focused and Penelope felt her hands get real sweaty. He was pretty. She told herself not to stare. "Good morning", she called acting as cool as she could. Rafael looked up, "Oh, hi there", He said shyly. His mind immediately started to tell him to act normal. "I'm the new farmer, Penelope." She reached out for a handshake. Rafael smiled a little and stood to shake her hand, "nice to meet you. Uhm I'm one of the blacksmiths. Rafael." "Oh cool! Nice to meet you too." Penelope was still trying not to stare. He was tall, this pleased her. Her smile was so cheery and her eyes were like a clear winter sky, she was much more beautiful close up. Rafael could feel his cheeks turning pink and he had butterflies in his stomach. "Uhm where is your shop?" She asked. "Oh, just behind the cemetery", Rafael gestured over his shoulder, "I work there with my brother. /" Penelope nodded, "good to know. I may to need to come by later today....my tools are..... Kind sad." "We can definitely help", Rafael smiled and rubbed his neck, "Do you like the island so far?" He asked, forcing himself to make conversation. Penelope sighed, "the island is beautiful. But my plot of land kind of sucks." He grinned and shoved his hands in his pockets, "yeahhhhh, that area has been neglected." Penelope dug her toe into the ground, "no kidding.... I should probably get back to it", she handed him one of her many flowers, "it was nice to meet you Rafael. I'll see you around." Rafael took the flower a little surprised, "yeah Uhm I'll see you around Penelope." She smiled and walked down the path to town. Rafael stared after her until he couldn't see her anymore. He sat down with his flower and twirled it between his fingers. He bounced his leg, why did the new farmer have to be so pretty?? How will he be able to do business with her when she's so cute??? He felt a crush coming on and groaned at himself. Penelope returned to the blacksmiths that afternoon. Her axe was in bad shape but she had hardly enough money to get a new one. Hopefully they can make do with what was left. Rafael was no longer outside. She briefly inspected the business hours outside and was glad to see their hours seemed fairly normal. When she entered, someone she hadn't met yet was at the counter, probably the brother. He too was quite good looking with real nice hair, she thought. But Penelope was really hoping to see Rafael again. Good morning, this other blacksmith greeted, oh hey you must be the new farmer! That's me, Penelope said shyly. This brother is the outgoing one. You're way cuter than I expected. Penelope awkwardly shifted, "uhm okay." Also the flirty brother.... "I'm Pablo", he smiled. Penelope, she mumbled. She just wanted the axe looked at, not to be flirted with. At least, not by this blacksmith. "Oh Penelope!" She turned around and saw Rafael coming in from the other room. "Oh you two have already met", Pablo crossed his arms sounding almost jealous. "Uh yeah. Just this morning", Rafael smiled shyly at her. Penelope could feel a blush rising up her face, he was so cute. "Well how can we help you?" Pablo said. Rafael walked past Penelope and stood next to Pablo. Penelope placed the axe on the counter, "uhm. This is junky.... I don't have a lot of money at the moment but is there anything you can do to salvage what's here?" "Oof that is junk", Pablo said as Rafael picked it up. Rafael gave it a quick once over, "we can make this better." Penelope smiled in relief and Rafael felt his face blush so he tried not to look at her. "Uhm, I can have it ready tomorrow morning? Is that alright?" Pablo could see that Rafael was succumbing to his shyness and he could see Penelope was also blushing. Ooooooh shit, he thought, they're CRUSHING!! Penelope nodded, "yeah that's great!" "Cool! We'll see you tomorrow Penelope", Pablo said extra cheery aftet his quick observations. She waved and Rafael waved too. Pablo smirked at his brother, "so she's really pretty hey?" Rafael cleared his throat but looked away pretending to be nonchalant, "uh yeah." Rafael was bad at being nonchalant and Pablo always could tell when he tried too hard. Rafael attempted to hide his blushing face by finding something to do. Pablo knew him too well, but decided to wait to bug him. They did have quite a bit of work ahead of them. The next day Penelope busted her ass all morning doing land clearing and tending her garden. She was done close to lunch time and realized she hadn't gone to get her axe yet. She was wiped out. After she picks up her axe, she's gonna relax hard for the rest of the day. "Oh, hi Penelope", Rafael greeted smiling politely. He was behind the counter and Pablo was working on something. "Good afternoon", Pablo called and got back to work. Penelope smiled, "hey guys." Rafael grinned and placed her axe on the counter, "it's all ready for you." Penelope yawned but tried to hide it, "thanks. What do I owe you?" Pablo took a quick glance at them interacting and Rafael was blushing again. Pablo laughed to himself and kept working. "Do you still have lots of work to do?" Rafael asked shyly. Penelope picked up the axe, "yeah but not today. I'm too tired to do much else." Rafael nodded. He had noticed she looked a little wiped out compared to yesterday. She must not be used to the physical labor yet. "Yeah make sure to take breaks." Penelope took the axe, "ha I'll try." She said bye to them and left. Penelope came in a few times over the week. Pablo tended to make himself scarce because he 100% noticed Penelope and Rafael were crushing on each other. Rafael noticed that each time Penelope came in she looked even more exhausted. He would never say anything about it other than the casual don't work too hard when in reality he wanted to force her to rest with a blanket and tea

[vynegar]

luke 2nd anniversary SSR, part three

no matter what, I will always be drawn to you.

same disclaimer and notes from part one.

youtube link to Axr’s video of the card story

links to other parts: one two

more tot translations here

do not repost

[PART THREE]

[31:34]

???: Hey! What are you two still doing here?

A shout came from nearby, and Luke and I turned toward the man jogging toward us. It was the manager of the cemetery.

Manager: It's already closing time.

MC: (Closing time?)

I lowered my head and checked the time; it was indeed almost evening. At some point the rain had stopped, so I lowered the suit jacket and shook out my sore hands. The sunlight was no longer dazzling, instead illuminating us gently.

Luke: Alright, we'll leave now.

MC: (I can't believe it's closing at such a critical moment... What bad luck.) Luke...

Luke: Let's go home for now. We really can't stay any longer.

Luke took my hand, and we faced the tombstone once again. The stone base was wet, the scent of trees and earth was in the post-rain air, and it was comforting somehow.

Luke: Mom, Dad, we're heading back for now. We'll come visit again next time.

MC: Yeah, don't worry. Everything will get better.

--

[32:30] Streets outside the neighborhood

We were just in time for rush hour when we left the cemetery, so Luke and I ended up deciding to walk home. Because our conversation earlier was cut short, we both had a lot on our minds and were silent on the way back. It was dusk already, the sunset staining the horizon with layers upon layers of gold and orange. A bird streaked by and I subconsciously followed its shadow, gazing towards the horizon.

MC: (Wait, that's...) Luke, look, it's a double rainbow!

I instinctively tugged at the hem of Luke's jacket. In the splendid sky, a double rainbow arched across the greater part of the city, warm and magnificent.

Luke: Have the skies cleared up?

MC: Yeah, the skies are clear now. (1) Luke, do you still remember the double rainbow we saw last time we were on Nosta Island? (2)

Once, on that isolated island with "buried" gold, Luke and I had seen a unique miracle together.

MC: Do you still remember what you said back then?

Luke: "In the future, can we go to more places, searching for more miracles?" (3)

As if he had thought of something, Luke's expression gradually changed from the somewhat subdued look it had had until now. I took the opportunity and made him face me.

MC: Luke, I know it's pointless to say anything more, but I want to tell you that... whether it was back then or right now, my answer is always the same: yes. But one thing is different: back then we were just childhood friends, but in the future... I want to be at your side as someone even closer to you. No matter how things end up... I’ll still accept it, gladly.

Luke: !!!

Luke looked at me, his expression changing. Then, he suddenly took my hand and began to run.

 [33:57 Home]

Luke led me back home at the fastest speed possible. He hung his suit jacket on the back of a chair and let me change clothes, then entered the bedroom. In that time, he didn't offer a word of explanation.

MC: (Is Luke... okay? Was what I said just now... a bit inappropriate, like I was forcing him?)

I thought for a moment, then saw it was already dusk and decided to make something for dinner. After Luke had relaxed a little, I could talk to him about it.

MC: Is there any food at home?

I opened up the fridge. Besides frozen food, the only fresh ingredients were tomatoes and eggs.

MC: (I forgot, with Luke's culinary ability... how could there be ingredients in the house.)

I searched through the kitchen cupboards and was able to find a jar of orange jam. I opened the lid and smelled it; it seemed fine.

MC: (I remember there was toast in the cupboard downstairs, maybe we can first get something in our stomachs before we order takeout.)

Having made up my mind, I closed the cupboard. When I turned around, however, I realized that Luke had already been standing behind me. He held in his hands the ring box that I found earlier, his face blushing faintly.

MC: Luke, how did you...

Luke: MC, I have something to tell you.

He lifted his head and held the box forward.

Luke: I think Aaron's already told you, that I made this box for you. At the same time, I also made a ring.

MC: Luke...

Luke: But I don't think he knows how... conflicted I felt, the entire time when I was making them. I knew in my mind that it was wrong to make it, that I couldn't ask for more... but I just couldn't control myself. And I couldn't help but imagine what you would look like wearing it.

MC: ...

I couldn't help but want to reach out and touch Luke, but he shook his head and gazed at me. His expression gradually relaxed. The faint light of dusk slanted in through the window, falling onto his eyes.

Luke: Back then, I thought a lot. I thought about our reuniting, about our present, about those past eight years. And then, I thought about our childhood. Ever since I was a kid, I was always that "obedient child". I always felt that instead of my own feelings and needs... it was more important to protect your parents, to protect you. I had to be brave in order to not make people worry, in order to protect you. For so many years, that was what I thought. Maybe it’s made me unhappy in the past, but life goes on… Slowly, I got used to comforting myself that way.

MC: ...

The next moment, though, Luke's tone changed again.

Luke: But now, I'm becoming more and more unable to fool myself. MC, what do I do?

MC: Luke, you don't need to fool yourself.

Luke: That's right.

He suddenly laughed.

Luke: On the way home, I thought a lot. I can't deny it, you've... swayed me yet again. When it comes to you, it doesn't matter if I hide it or hesitate, it'll all just disappear in the end. Those eight years apart already proved that distance and time won't pull us apart. And my hesitations and avoidance made me realize that, no matter what, I will always be drawn to you.

MC: Luke, you...

Luke: MC, I don't fear fate. But I underestimated your determination, and my own greed. Will tomorrow be my last day? I don't know, but at least today, I want to make a decision just for myself –

Luke got down on one knee in front of me, raising the ring box. He pressed on the small bird, and the box slowly opened to reveal a ring. The sunset cast a golden glow on the perfectly-cut diamond, which sparkled in front of me.

MC: Luke...

I looked in shock at everything before me, my hands unconsciously gripping my skirt. After what felt like both an eternity and an instant, that uncertain heart was finally set in place, then slowly filled with joy.

Luke: MC, you are my key that can always, unfailingly, open up my heart. I don't know if this is the right decision, and I don't know if I'll regret this in the future. But just like Dévouement, the word I inscribed on the ring without a second thought: I'm willing to devote both my past and future to you; to carve your name onto both my heart and soul. And it's only now that I've decided to face it openly. Not for anyone else, just for myself. I want to put this ring on your finger, I want to walk alongside you and make the most of our time, 'til death do us apart. So, MC, will you...

Luke paused, then earnestly began again:

Luke: MC, please, once more, let me officially become your family.

There was a warmth on my cheeks, and I furiously wiped away the tears. Don't cry, you can't cry – that's what I told myself. Because I wanted to smile in this moment, I wanted Luke to know that I was happy. I reached my hand out towards him.

MC: Yes. Luke, let's continue on together.

Luke took out the ring and carefully placed it on my finger, as preciously as if he were making a vow. The great stone in my heart fell with a crash, and with immense relief I leaned into his embrace, standing on tiptoe to softly kiss him. It was as if I could share all my feelings and love with him this way.

Luke: ...

Luke froze but quickly took the initiative. My hand that was holding him slowly slid down as we kissed, until I could barely support myself against the counter. Luke wasn't very clingy. After the kiss, he slightly backed away from me. He stroked his finger on my lip, and subconsciously began to frown again.

MC: Stop frowning...

I wanted to smooth out that frown on his forehead, but he gently caught my hand. There was a different kind of light in his eyes – like restraint, but also desire.

Luke: If we keep going...

MC: Then what’ll happen?

Luke ignored my teasing. I knew that even now, Luke was still hesitating. I wanted him to think more for himself, but Luke had been burdened by the shackles of "others" for over twenty years. This wasn't something that could be changed with just one heart-to-heart, but that was alright. No matter how long it took, I would be there for Luke the entire time. Bring Luke happiness, starting from right now –

MC: (Still frowning. Guess I'll have to sort you out.)

I sneakily dipped my finger into the jam, and while Luke wasn't paying attention, I smeared it onto his nose.

Luke: ...

MC: Luke, today’s our engagement day. What kind of a fiancée looks so sad on a day like that? Therefore, I’ll have to punish you.

As I spoke, I smeared a bit of orange jam on Luke’s face.

MC: This is punishment for frowning in the car. And this is punishment for frowning in the cemetery. And this is punishment for… ah!

Luke suddenly leaned in close and rubbed against my nose. Of course, then my nose also got stained with sticky jam.

MC: That’s cheating!

Luke: Is it? But you never explained the rules.

MC: Wait…

Without waiting for me to defend myself, Luke’s face had already nuzzled into me. I wasn’t going to be outdone: cheeks, nose, chin, collarbone… I made sure every bit of exposed skin on Luke got smeared with jam. We turned each other’s bodies into a battlefield. Right now our thoughts were occupied with strategizing and conquering territory, with no room for anything else. Gradually, jam covered every inch of exposed skin, and the faint sweet scent of oranges wafted through the air. As we messed around, Luke had trapped me in front of the kitchen counter, pressed up close against him.

MC: That’s enough… we’re completely covered in jam…

[41:40]

Luke: It’s just jam… I’ll “clean it up.”

MC: Ah… wait!

Before I could react, Luke had already lifted me onto the narrow kitchen counter. If I leaned back, Luke would press forward, and there was no escape for me. He moved toward my throat, and his warm, uneven breath tickled as it fell on the hollows of my neck. I turned my head slightly, my body subconsciously leaning back once more.

MC: Luke…

Probably because we were immersed in the orange-scented atmosphere, my voice had turned sweet as well.

Luke: If you’re always moving around, how am I supposed to clean you up?

Luke’s arm encircled my waist. His palm slowly moved upward, and every inch of skin that he touched, burned. Wind rushed into the room, chilling my exposed skin, and I shivered lightly. The next instant, Luke licked the jam on my neck.

MC: !!!

As if I had been shocked, I tried to retreat, but the hand at my waist was blocking my path.

Luke: So sweet…

MC: The jam?

Luke: The jam… and also…

His warm tongue followed the tracks of jam, leaving a soft feeling on my neck. The experimental licks turned into kisses and I gradually grew weaker, almost losing my grip on the jar of jam. An unfamiliar elation enveloped me, the bliss and expectation spreading throughout my veins and bones. My awareness gradually blurred, until the only thing I felt was Luke’s scalding lips. My heart pounded like I had been flung high in the air, and was rapidly plummeting down. My body felt out of control as well, the weightlessness extending from my heart to my limbs.

MC: W-wait…

Luke backed off from me.

Luke: What is it? Are you uncomfortable?

MC: …It’s not that.

It was hard to say no while we were intertwined. All I could do was stare motionlessly at Luke. The corners of his eyes glistened with moisture, tugging at my heartstrings. In a flash, the clamor of emotions found an outlet and poured out.

MC: It’s not that it’s uncomfortable, it’s… it’s not enough… Hugs and kisses aren’t enough to fill the distance between us. But we’re already so close…

Right after I spoke, I felt Luke’s hands tighten slightly, bringing me closer to him. His eyes, still with that watery gleam, were staring at me. I couldn’t withstand that kind of gaze from Luke and tried to avert my gaze, but couldn’t bear that either, entangling with him…

Luke: Then let’s get closer… even closer. Whether it’s jam, or your feelings all in a mess… I’ll take responsibility for “cleaning it up”. All you need to do is look at me, and leave everything to me…

The close kisses once more descended on my clavicle up to my throat. Luke curled his tongue, swallowing the remaining jam bit by bit. After a few tries, these kisses gradually intensified, becoming hotter, longer. I couldn’t help but lean my head back and pant, like a fish outside of water. Amidst close contact and kisses, we succumbed to each other.

I couldn’t hold onto the jam any longer and allowed the glass jar to fall from my hands. In the moment, even the sound of shattering glass was alluring. Shadows swayed in the light, the evening sun slowly dimmed, and the night that belonged to us was just beginning.

[END]

(1) This phrase can be used as an idiom meaning a period of hope or peace after a turbulent time.

(2) Events from his Iridescent Heartbeat SSR.

(3) In Iridescent Heartbeat, this line is translated as "In the future, can we go to more places, searching for more adventures?" I edited it slightly for accuracy and to fit better here.

Sidenote: If you want to go back and read my analysis of Luke’s mother’s favorite poem in the context of this card, here’s the link to the post.

[x-heesy]

Ph̶̨̢̺̪̻̱̞̓̓͊ͅư̵̛̞̙̩͔̭̠̅̈́̊͆͝c̶̡̙̙̞̊̅̋́̒̔̈̑̑ķ̴̢̨̻̲͖͋͌̏͛̕ y̵̧̛̝͙̪̘͑͋͌͂̓͌̉ͅe̵̯̞̎̈́̀͑̂̓̽̕͝ǎ̸̹͔̅̈́͘: ǵ̷̦̈͐̓̀̉͌ǎ̸̹͔̅̈́͘ṋ̷͆̽̍͊ǵ̷̦̈͐̓̀̉͌s̶̢͎̮̝̭̫̞̏̒͛͗͜t̵͎̳̠̏͐͒͆̐ǎ̸̹͔̅̈́͘ r̵̠͖̂̀̄́́̕ǎ̸̹͔̅̈́͘p̸͎̝̲̬̗̳̺̥͗͌̑̽͑̍̈͒

Yeah

Cut the head off the basilisk, in the grass hunting

Anybody coming after me, get no pass from me

Oh my god, this is blasphemous, they don't blast for me

Just trying to get this fast money, you a crash dummy

Fill my heart with the darkness, I feel like Ansem

Get them grumpy at the game, oh, they're Arin Hanson

SP where I came boy, I stay advancing

CRT ghosting, I am Danny Phantom

Shit, I'm going off on tangents, still I get the cosine

Lay them on they back, wait, that shit is no lie

Younging's stepping to me saying that my shit is old time

I've been Lo-fi since before you called it Lo-fi, bitch

In a bull fight pit, trying to hold my shit

Wave a flag same color as a old spice stick

Read the scrolls I writ, how you've grown to exist

What is Jar Jar Binks, to the four five six?

When I die, put the bullet on my tombstone

Sorry, who are you? Couldn't tell like this a new phone

Covered up in gold, buried underneath a dark sky

If you're trying to rob me you're gonna have to find the clue scroll

Pharaoh cloth wrapping me, caught in this catastrophe

You ain't been the same since we dropped, boy, that's sad to see

Captains at the wheel, you don't want to be a casualty

Lost in my lane, if you're hating, get the savagery

Doubled up on bad investment

Probably try if I had contestants

Got 'em gasping like asthma breaths and

They all mad, looking sad and desperate

Love the looks that I get, when I pass pedestrians

And all the words that you got ain't

Mean shit when the devil speak in Latin

You can possum and piss on yourself when he passing

'Cause it's all in the fist, like the heart of the dragon

You a passionate kid, but you old now, what happened?

Want my cash little bitch? Didn't think so

Please don't ever hit me up on my cellphone

Said my cash low, bitch? Didn't think so

Better get the price right, this ain't Plinko

Want my cash little bitch? Didn't think so

Please don't ever hit me up on my cellphone

Said my cash low, bitch? Didn't think so

Better get the price right, this ain't Plinko

I want that cash money, rap money

Everything is trash money

Bitch, I feel like Jimmy Neutron

'Cause I got that blast on me

Watch my wrist, it does glisten, fridge

You is just a pussy bitch

I can tell 'cause your mom's dressed you in that Rip and Dip

Yeah, welcome to the Black Parade

We saving face like labor day

We doing shit the fatal way

You cannot keep up with the pace

It's cloud mac with that booky shit

Music biz, lucrative

Bitch, I feel like Harrison

I'm a fucking fugitive

Bumping MCR, Sony MDRs on me

I fill up every bar fully, feel my empty heart

Jody Highroller never love a bitch, could've made the league

Rap game whoever, just throw a name on the beat

The flow is ever discreet, I am anything but

Like our denim we tough, so tie an enemy up

And I'll fry them granted he fucked, the ire in me is spilling over

Akin to cobras how I spit before I kill them slowly

Rest in peace, tearing throats open like they mezzanines

Blow like Desert Eagle let the smoke up out my chest to breath

Keenly coded with the meanest kinda motus

And the coldest soul eroded no condolence 'til I'm older, got a

Callous style it's all malice a foul paladin

Silence I found solace in sliding these sly talons in

Blessed with maligned madness and chatter that chall acquiesce

Black is my soul agonous bragging, we so back in this

Want my cash little bitch? Didn't think so

Please don't ever hit me up on my cellphone

Said my cash low, bitch? Didn't think so

Better get the price right, this ain't Plinko

Want my cash little bitch? Didn't think so

Please don't ever hit me up on my cellphone

Said my cash low, bitch? Didn't think so

Better get the price right, this ain't Plinko

Bǎ̸̹͔̅̈́͘s̶̢͎̮̝̭̫̞̏̒͛͗͜i̴̛͕͍̤̐͆͆͂̇̈́̍̍͊l̵̡̬̹̙͕͍͙̜̂͌̾i̴̛͕͍̤̐͆͆͂̇̈́̍̍͊s̶̢͎̮̝̭̫̞̏̒͛͗͜ķ̴̢̨̻̲͖͋͌̏͛̕ b̵̧̙̮̰̜̳̟͈̞̓̀͋̅̓̔ͅy̵̧̛̝͙̪̘͑͋͌͂̓͌̉ͅ Ce̵̯̞̎̈́̀͑̂̓̽̕͝m̵̖͌̈́͜͠e̵̯̞̎̈́̀͑̂̓̽̕͝t̵͎̳̠̏͐͒͆̐e̵̯̞̎̈́̀͑̂̓̽̕͝r̵̠͖̂̀̄́́̕y̵̧̛̝͙̪̘͑͋͌͂̓͌̉ͅ Dr̵̠͖̂̀̄́́̕i̴̛͕͍̤̐͆͆͂̇̈́̍̍͊v̷̛̼̣͍͈̮̉̾͗̄̋̉̄̀̄e̵̯̞̎̈́̀͑̂̓̽̕͝

@bigbonzo @boanerges20

[diabolikpersonals]

yuma chaos lineage endings!! I liked this route!!

euphoria end:

we meet kino who just waltzed out of the dungeon no problem. he admits that although he’s caused a lot of problems for fun, he isn’t the mastermind behind all this. he doesn’t know what’s going on either, but now that yuma & yui got everyone’s memories back, they’ve won, right? so he’s like “I bet the mastermind is listening, u should try yelling at him.” and yuma does indeed yell at the sky, like “I won, u sick fuck!!! I got everyone’s memories back!!! and if u take em away again I’ll steal them right back, over and over!!!”

…miraculously, yelling at the sky works. when they “wake up,” everybody is in karl heinz’s fancy glowing chess room, back in the real world. socrates appears as a ball of blue glowing light and he’s like “yeahh this was all my doing, it was a trial of adam and eve” etc etc. yuis like “um, who are u??” and he says “a friend of the vampire king.” and explains his whole plan (which we heard about in the prologue so it’s not a surprise gdkdhdk). then yuma is like “shes in love with ME!!! no matter what” and socrates is like aw ok :( and he disappears. yuma and yui celebrate the fact that theyve finally returned to the real world, and yumas like “yeah. we’re back. I…”

and then he COLLAPSES. and starts SNORING. he nearly gave me a heart attack, but he’s just exhausted and he fell asleep lol. afterwards, everyone gets their daily lives back ^^ we end on a sweet scene of the mukamis + yui hanging out in the garden like usual. yuma feeds yui a strawberry mouth-to-mouth. he smiles at her and she pouts and there’s the cutest cg in the entire world.

“I have my brothers and I have you. I protected everything important to me.” go yuma!! good for you!!

labyrinth end:

yui brings kino food but he’s not in his cell anymore!! he shows up, hits yui and runs off with her. yuma spots them and chases em down, and now that the three of them are outside, he casts a magic seal on the mansion. the people inside cant escape anymore, soooo…kino sets the mansion on fire :’D yuma cant get in to help them!! yuma and kino fight, and yuma wins (I think yuma killed him). when yui wakes up, she smells burning flesh. there’s nothing they can do to break the seal.

nobody survives. yuma and yui are left all alone, and yuma talks to the mukamis’ tombstones as if they’re still alive. there’s no escape from this place, so they’re just stuck here. yuma says it’s ok, he’ll stay here with yui forever, ruki and the others too ^^

the scene ends with socrates talking to himself. he’s like “man, was that fucked up or what? karl heinz is gonna be so mad at me :/“

[sugisyakult]

i was tagged by @sebfreak thank you! <33

17 questions, 17 people

Nickname: mal

Sign: libra

Height: 5’2

Last thing i googled: “chainsaw man shirt” lmaoo

Song stuck in my head: a cloudy sky by DOES

No. of followers: 56 (small but mighty)

Amount of sleep: uum idrk, i’ve been falling asleep a lot earlier than what i was and waking up earlier too. i would say i’m back to my regular 8 hrs of sleep

Lucky number: tbh i have no idea

Dream job: either an actress or a fashion stylist. more so a fashion stylist now bc that’s more attainable than an actress i think

Wearing: jeans, flannel, coat, and my totoro hat

Movies/books that summarize me: titanic, braveheart, tombstone, pride and prejudice, and the infernal devices. i just put the movies/books that have had the most impact on me

Favorite song: i cannot answer this bc i have too many, but i have been really obsessed with evil by interpol

Favorite instrument: i think violins are really pretty and the piano

Aesthetic: couldn’t tell ya tbh lol

Favorite author: hideaki sorachi and cassandra clare

Favorite animal noise: the noise that bunnies make when they’re sniffing with their noses

Random: yeah i don’t really have a lot of followers to tag bc most of them don’t use their tumblrs anymore so idk if i’m going to be able to tag 17 people

i tag: @corabloom13 @runaway-kotarou @pollojo21 @luosaragi @yorowenzuya @aika-2100 @dacryops @abelowaveragebeing @y-y-yorozuya @kyuubel @yuerin

y’all totally don’t have to do this if you don’t want to!!

[anonymous-dentist]

Or: a Halloween Honq fic.

-

It's funny, see, because when Karl wakes up, he doesn't know where he is.

First, he's blinded by the light. He spent so long in that box that his eyes don't know what's hitting them. Moonlight, he thinks. If it was sunlight, he'd be dead. (He doesn't know how he knows this, but he does.)

Second, once his eyes have adjusted, he just plain doesn't know where he is. The air smells foul and the moon and stars in the sky are barely visible. No clouds in the sky, but something is covering the moon and the stars and Karl doesn't know why he wants to see the moon and the stars so badly, he just does. He's been in that box for... a while. He doesn't care about the sun, but the moon?

Third, there's a man staring at him. Karl doesn't recognize him, but he also does, in a way. His eyes are the same as that one guy's. That one guy. The guy with the gun, that guy, the dead guy (Karl made sure of that.) But it isn't him, because this guy isn't dead, for one thing. For another, this guy looks ten years younger. Twenties, maybe, but the circles under his eyes and his sunken cheeks are making him look older.

"What?" the man asks. His voice is gravelly from disuse and exhaustion. Karl wants to wear it like a blanket.

"I could-" Karl breaks into a cough before he can say anything. He doubles over with his fist to his mouth and his lungs heaving. "Shit. I could ask you the same question."

"No- I mean- what?" the man stammers. He sounds confused. He and Karl are going to get along famously. "You're dead!"

"Am I?" Karl asks. He can't quite bring himself to sit up yet, his head is swimming so badly, but he looks up at the man with a tilted head. "What year is it, then?"

"Uh," the man says. He takes a step back, and then another. The shovel in his hands shakes along with them. He shakes his head. "No. No way. What?"

Oh, great, he's an idiot. Probably. Maybe? Maybe he's smart, but what kind of genius digs up a grave? (Because Karl has to be in a grave, and the box he is sitting in has to be a coffin, and he could have sworn he was in bed just a minute ago.)

Karl rolls his eyes and slowly, slowly, settles against the backboard of his coffin. It's not padded, but he supposes that corpses usually can't afford the luxury. Who buried him, he wonders. Connor, probably. Who else would've done it, Foolish?

He looks the man over one more time. Weird trousers, weirder shirt. The knit cap on his head looks like it's seen better days. His shoes and hands are caked in dirt, probably from Karl's grave. His trousers are dusted over. His shirt is soaked with sweat.

There are a great many things that Karl doesn't know right now. He doesn't know where he is, or what year it is, or why he died, or how he survived it. He does know, however, that the scared little man in front of him is possibly the most gorgeous person that Karl has seen in his entire life.

With that in mind, Karl offers a smile and a wave. "Good evening!"

The man pales. "Oh my God."

Karl frowns. Is it something on his face? He doesn't remember looking that bad in life. Maybe he rotted?

As if reading his thoughts, the man weakly raises a hand to his own mouth and says, "Uh, you have. Uh."

He sticks two fingers down from his lips like fangs.

Oh.

That explains a lot.

Karl nods, eyes wide. "Oh, yeah, that explains it."

"Explains what?"

"Yeah, so if you don't bury someone right, they'll come back as a vampire." Karl sighs and crosses his arms. He winces slightly; oooooh, he's stiff. "I don't know who buried me, but they didn't do a very good job of it."

"Vampires are real," the man says, voice incredulous. Which is stupid because Karl is literally right in front of him. "Yeah, okay, vampires are real. What's next? Werewolves? Fucking demons?"

He raises his hands to the sky and drops his shovel, stumbling to sit on a nearby tombstone, rambling to himself words that Karl doesn't really care to listen to. Complaints, mostly, only a little panic, boring. This is all boring, actually. Karl never wanted to be a vampire, but, if he did, he would have wanted his first appearance to be a spooky one. Screams of terror or something, not some random guy in weird clothes talking about unionization of all things. What the hell even is a union?

Karl clears his throat and repeats, "What year is it?"

The man raises his face from his hands looking completely and utterly exhausted. "What year is it?"

Karl nods. He'll be patient. This guy seems like he's going through a lot at the moment.

Eventually, he gets his answer: "1987."

Karl's mouth falls open in shock. Last he checked, it was...

"I've been dead for three hundred years," Karl whispers.

The man shrugs, uncertain and almost uncaring. "Sure? I thought you'd be fresher. That's why I'm here."

"You're a grave robber?"

He shakes his head. "No, I'm a grad student. I'm trying to get my Ph.D. in bio science, and-"

"And so you're digging up graves?"

Karl doesn't know what a "grad student" is, or a "Ph.D.", or "bio science". But he's pretty sure that grave robbing is a pretty bad idea all around. That's how you invite the devil into your home. Or hysteria.

"No, I'm-"

Karl looks down at himself and his open-air coffin. "Yeah, but you did. I'm here."

The man grits his teeth as he responds, "I'm conducting an experiment. If I can bring some dead shit back to life, I'll basically be guaranteed a diploma."

Oh, God. Not only is this man a crazy man and an idiot, he's also a necromancer.

Karl nods along slowly. "Riiiiight."

"I'm being serious! I know how to do it! I just gotta get the body parts. But nooooo, you just had to be in the one grave I've managed to get access to all month!"

Karl shrugs. "Not my fault you picked a vampire's grave. Sounds like a you-problem there."

The man puts his head back in his hands with a sigh. "I'm doomed. If I can't get a body to practice on soon, I'll be kicked out. Worse, I'll have to move back in with my ex."

Karl winces. "Ew."

The man nods somberly. "Yeah, ew. Do you know how hard it is to break into cemeteries around here? It's fucking impossible."

"Well, I'm sure it can't be that hard. You just gotta go about it the right way."

"What right way? They're cemetaries."

"Well, not to brag, but I am a vampire now. I'm a supernatural creature of stealth, power, and precision."

Karl watches as the man slowly raises his head, eyebrows furrowed. He really is handsome, Karl thinks. He wonders if people in 1987 are cool with handsome men or if they burn them at the stake, too.

"What are you saying?" the man asks.

Karl hums and nonchalantly rubs his muddied fingernails against his even muddier shirt. "I'm saying that, as a thank-you for digging me up, I'll help you with your... degree."

Whatever that is.

"You... who are you, exactly?" the man asks, and that is the question, isn't it?

Karl forces himself to his feet, tripping over thin air as he unsteadily climbs out of his coffin and stands upon the Earth for the first time in three hundred years. He towers over the necromancer in front of him even as the necromancer stands, shovel firmly gripped in both of his hands, as if that can do anything.

Karl bows with a flourish just the way Foolish taught him to, the way rich men do (and how rich does this guy have to be to be in school?)

"Karl Jacobs at your service," he says. He glances up and bites his lip coyly. "Undead and available for your every need."

The necromancer looks at him confusedly, warily, before nodding and adjusting his grip on his shovel. "Right. Okay. Sure. Why not."

He sticks a hand out. "Quackity. Just... just Quackity."

Karl stares at his hand, unsure what to do with it. He smiles, eventually, and takes the hand in his, and brings it up to his mouth.

(The slap to the face he gets in response is well worth it, he thinks. He saw how this 'Quackity' turned red. It's just going to be a matter of whittling him down.)

[playlistjunkie]

The 99 Best Halloween Songs Your Party Playlist Needs ASAP

Cosmopolitan - 8/3/23

Bloody Mary - Lady Gaga

I Want Candy - Bow Wow Wow

Superstition - Stevie Wonder

Werewolves of London - Warren Zevon

Halloween - Misfits

Highway to Hell - AC/DC

Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps) - David Bowie

The Number of the Beast - Iron Maiden

Dracula's Wedding - Outkast

Is It Scary - Michael Jackson

Cemetery Drive - My Chemical Romance

Dracula - Gorillaz

Paint It, Black - The Rolling Stones

Heads Will Roll - Yeah Yeah Yeah

Unholy - Sam Smith ft. Kim Petras

Goo Goo Muck - The Cramps

Haunted - Taylor Swift

I Love the Dead - Alice Cooper

There Will Be Blood - Kim Petras

Nightmare - Halsey

Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites - Skrillex

Monster - Lady Gaga

Take What You Want - Post Malone

Disturbia - Rihanna

Feed My Frankenstein - Alice Cooper

Everyday Is Halloween - Ministry

She Wolf - Shakira

Bury a Friend - Billie Eilish

Dracula’s Wedding - Outkast feat. Kelis

Ghostbusters - Ray Parker Jr.

Monster - Kanye West feat. Jay Z, Rick Ross, Nicki Minaj, and Bon Iver

Spellbound - Siouxsie and the Banshees

Season of the Witch - Donovan

All Around Me - Flyleaf

Tombstone, Baby - Peaches

Somebody’s Watching Me - Rockwell

Monsta’ Mack - Sir Mix-a-Lot

Witchy Woman - Eagles

Enter Sandman - Metallica

Love Potion No. 9 - The Clovers

Black Magic Woman - Santana

Suspiria - Goblin

I Was a Teenage Werewolf - The Cramps

Debaser - Pixies

Rhiannon - Fleetwood Mac

Time Warp - from The Rocky Horror Picture Show

Release the Bats - The Birthday Party

X Files - Génération TV

Dead Man’s Party - Oingo Boingo

Howlin’ for You - The Black Keys

Shadows of the Night - Pat Benatar

Cold - The Cure

Ghost Ride It - Mistah F.A.B.

I Put a Spell on You - Screamin’ Jay Hawkins

Hungry Like the Wolf - Duran Duran

Halloween Theme - John Carpenter

Monster Mash - Bobby “Boris” Pickett & The Crypt-Kickers

Bela Lugosi’s Dead - Bauhaus

Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby - Cigarettes After Sex

Night - Zola Jesus

The Haunted Man - Bat for Lashes

Red Right Hand - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

Never Land - Sisters of Mercy

Tainted Love -Soft Cell

The Devil Went Down to Georgia - Primus

Psycho Killer - Talking Heads

Werewolf Bar Mitzvah - Tracy Morgan and Donald Glover

(Don’t Fear) The Reaper - Blue Öyster Cult

Turn Off the Light - Kim Petras feat. Elvira, Mistress of the Dark

Ghost Town - The Specials

(Ghost) Riders in the Sky - Johnny Cash

Are You Ready for Freddy - The Fat Boys

Living Dead Girl - Rob Zombie

Devil in Me - Halsey

Zombie - The Pretty Reckless

Seven Devils - Florence and the Machine

Black Magic - Little Mix

Kill V. Maim - Grimes

Brujas - Princess Nokia

Mothercreep - FKA Twigs

Hang Me - Tancred

Haunted - Beyoncé

Bring Me to Life - Evanescence

Stranger Than Earth - Purity Ring

Bitch - Allie X

Roses - ABRA

Chimera - HANA

Gemini Feed - BANKS

Baby You're a Haunted House - Gerard Way

Zombie - The Cranberries

Spooky Scary Skeletons (Dma Illan Remix) - Andrew Gold

The Monster - Eminem feat. Rihanna

This Is Halloween - from The Nightmare Before Christmas

A Nightmare On My Street - DJ Jazzy Jeff and The Fresh Prince

Antichrist - The 1975

I'd Rather Be Burned As a Witch - Eartha Kitt

I Was All Over Her - Salvia Palth

Baby One More Time - The Marías

Thriller - Michael Jackson

[the-everlasting-downpour]

XII. — Tid och Minne.

It was a rather gloomy day. It was only four o'clock in the afternoon, but the lamps were already being hastily lit. A blanket of gray clouds stretched over the entire capital; there was no chance of the sun appearing. It was cold; M., dressed in his coat and pants, endured with ease the attacks of a frosty wind that reddened his ears and face, not to mention J’s father, always wrapped in his thin tunic, whose son was buried today far in the back of the capital's cemetery.

The tombstone read: «J G. Silk. 03.09.1977 – 11.10.2024». M. had no particular opinion about the death of one of his acquaintances. He was sorry that he had died, he was sorry that the time he had spent working side by side with him was behind him, but he didn't consider the very fact of his death to be a big deal. People die every day; his death simply stood in line with the other deaths of others.

The wind was raging. J's father, once again wrapped in the collar of his tunic, turned his head toward M.; there was an understandable and at the same time intolerable bitterness on his face.

— Are you still working at «Sixth Lynch»? – he asked.

— Yes, – M. answered. – And it's gotten severely harder to keep it alive. I’m on my own.

J's father rummaged in the tunic’s pocket, found a keychain, accompanied by a «Sixth Lynch» logo charm, and handed it to M.. He looked at it, and then at J’s father.

— Look, – he said, – I'm sixty-seven years old. I can't do it; it's been twenty years since I worked in that bar. So please...

His hand shook finely. His face lowered, and an aged tear glistened. M., no longer hesitating, took the keychain and put it in his pocket.

— I'll take care of «Sixth Lynch», – M. said.

J's father whimpered, wiping tears from his eyes with a sleeve.

— Thank you... – was all he could say.

M. walked over to J's father, wrapped one arm around him, and led him toward the exit of the cemetery. A tear in the clouds appeared in the sky, from which blue heavenly blood trickled.

The next day, as the October sun warmed the top of his head with its pale rays, M. knocked on the door of the Players' family's new home. His hands were freezing, even in the pockets of his warm coat. His hair was in his eyes; M. shook his head, and most of it went behind his ears. The door latch clanged and clicked a couple of times; the door opened, and Cube appeared in the passage.

— Oh! – he said, seeing a familiar face on the threshold. – Good morning!

— Morning, – M. replied simply, and stepped inside. Cube held out his hand, and M. shook it, and took off his coat.

— What winds brought you here? – Cube asked.

— The one’s that pass beside your doorstep, as you can see, – M. answered, hanging up his coat.

They went into the kitchen. Cube poured the kettle and put it on the stove, and M. sat down at the table, feeling a little awkward.

— It's a new school year, – Cube said longingly. – The time flies so fast… What kind of tea do you want, by the way? – Cube turned his head toward M..

— Black tea, with no sugar, – M. answered.

Cube poured two mugs of black tea and put them on the table. He sat down and sighed.

— I'm here with a business proposal, – M. said.

— Oh, yeah? – Cube said. – What kind of a proposal?

— A friend of mine, who ran a bar in the capital, recently died. My father, in view of his inability to run the business, handed the bar over to me. And even though I'm doing well, it can be hard sometimes. Simply put, I need an employee.

— Is that why you came to me? – Cube asked jokingly.

— I don't by any mean insist. If everybody's busy, then...

Cube held up the fingers of his hand on the table, and with that gesture stopped M.'s speech.

— Triangle! – he shouted, and his voice sounded like thunder on a summer night.

A shuffling sound was heard from the second floor. Then down the stairs to the first floor came Tri, dressed in baggy pants and a T-shirt.

— What is it? – he asked, a little worriedly.

— Our dear friend needs an assistant, – Cube said, pointing to M.. – Are you ready to help him?

— Why, of course! – Tri answered simply.

Cube looked at M..

— That's it, – he said.

So simple, thought M., and rose from his seat. Cube noticed that the mug was still full of hot black tea.

— And you didn't drink... – Cube said.

— I didn’t mean it, – M. said, glancing at Cube. Turning his gaze back to Tri, he asked him, – Are you busy right now?

Tree nodded.

— Okay, then get dressed up, – M. said and waved his hand like a director. – I'll show you what's what.

Tri was very easy to get into the role. The clothes fit him perfectly, his hands moved easily and freely, and his friendliness to even the most unpleasant faces was abundant. It didn't take M. more than a week to train him; when he thought about it, he remembered his time with J – he had been training him for about a month. The reasons were obvious – busyness, fatigue, personal problems. The most important of these problems was reluctance. Knowing this, M. proved to himself once again that desire is the engine of everything.

Today was full of clients. People of different ages, builds, voices, and pronunciations of individual words all came in, either to re-love the times when life seemed simple and did not require such actions, or just to give a symbolic start to a prolonged bout of binge drinking. Three looked at them and could not understand why people needed it; M. did not try to understand, because he realized that this is something that can only be understood by being the one who dared to do such an act, requiring the whole person.

This day was no different from the previous ones. The bar greeted and said goodbye with its dark oak walls, the dim warm light of the Illich bulbs, the eternal homophobia and the clatter of glass against glass. Behind the bar, illuminated from behind by the back-lit liquor rack, two bartenders who looked different from each other but seemed to have a single consciousness worked gracefully, dressed in beautiful suits that were covered by aprons with the logo printed on them. Above the racks, lit by the same pleasant light that faintly radiated from the bulbs, full of assorted alcohol, the assortment was painted on long chalk boards, which included both the commonly known drinks and some exclusives.

Amin, who had come to this bar after his work as a professor in the TSC, tired but still in possession of himself, was not new to this environment, these faces, this assortment. Now, however, it was just a bar, no longer having behind it the function of a kind of headquarters that it had served during the undeclared war with the unknown. Dressed in a new black coat, he walked in like some kind of special agent and sat down at the bar. After briefly greeting the bartenders, he looked at the assortment.

The drink that caught his eye was the «Mint Mountain». He asked M. about the drink.

— Just mints dissolved in vodka, – M. replied. – It's nothing special. Except it'll be the mintiest you'll ever have.

Amin, after thinking for a while, took out his wallet and put down a ten-jsab bill, saying in passing:

— Get it prepared for me.

M. took the bill from the counter into his apron pocket, then pulled out a jar of translucent whitish liquid from under the counter, poured it into a small shot and placed it in front of Amin. At first he stared at it for a couple of seconds, not understanding how quickly it was in front of him. He took the pile with his fingers and sniffed its contents. It smelled like carpet cleaner. Exhaling sharply, Amin tipped the Peppermint Mountain into his mouth.

For the first couple of moments, the peak of the hit of concentrated peppermint was so enormous that the only thing Amin could do was just sit and stare into the counter. Then the senses came to their senses, but in the same instant the vodka kicked in. The confusion, the confusion of feelings, the incomprehension – he experienced it all at once. It took about ten seconds for the feelings to pass. His mouth, throat, and nose were left with this concentrated mint.

Amin inhaled.

— This is the mintiest thing I've ever had! – Amin said, trying not to laugh. – You know those cooling gels you rub on the sore spot? Breathing tastes the same.

Amin and M. laughed. When the laughter ended, Amin immediately got serious.

— Listen, – he asked, – how do you fight boredom?

— I work, – M. answered, – read, go for walks, meditate, socialize… There are a thousand ways to fight boredom.

— It's just that I can't find a place for myself right now. When the war was over, the old life was behind me, and I looked forward to the new one. But it never came.

— Because you didn't do anything to make it happen.

Amin made no reply. After saying goodbye, he disappeared behind a door with tinted glass. M. washed the empty stack and put it next to the others to dry.

It was getting dark outside. People walked back and forth. The establishments near and across the street lived their lives, the lives of visitors and workers. The wind pulsed with its usual pendulum; ears and face reddened and grew cold. The cigarette in his cold fingers slowly smoldered and crumbled. The sky was dark blue, ready to go into a long November hibernation. The sun was shining as best it could, giving off the last of its summer warmth.

M. took a drag and let out a huge cloud that lived only a second and dissolved into the October air. There was a «Closed» sign hanging on the door to «Sixth Lynch» on the inside, though the hour of closing didn’t arrive, and the door itself was unlocked. Three inside was wiping down the tables; today it was his turn. Then he disappeared into the back room and came out of the bar ten minutes later, dressed in his street clothes. After saying goodbye to M., he went home, disappearing around the next corner.

When Tri disappeared, M. turned his head in the other direction and saw Lycan Tropi. He was dressed in an unbuttoned jacket, with a knit sweater underneath, and jeans; on his head was a hat with slits for all his head parts. When he saw M., Lycan smiled wider than before and hurried at full speed toward him.

— Oh, dude! Long time no see! – he said, shaking M.'s hand. He glanced at the door sign and asked: – Already closing?

— People walk around and look at the sign and think it's closed, – M. said and grabbed the handle. – But between you and me... – Then he opened the door and came in; turning to Lycan he said to him: – Come on in.

Lycan went in and closed the door behind him. M. lit another cigarette and went behind the counter. Lycan sat down and put his folded hands on the hard wood of the counter.

— How's it going? – Lycan asked, still smiling. – I heard you hired Tri to work for you.

— Yes, I did, – M. answered and put away the extra ash.

— And how is he here?

— Good. He's in, like he's been working here all the time. He works on weekends and occasional holidays, sometimes he takes over for me. I pay him half the day's receipts, which is a lot, considering we're getting pretty popular.

— Really? That's great. And I'm in a new music band now. «The Revelation». Post-metal.

— That's good.

It was warmer in the bar than outside. It was getting hot in his jacket and sweater, so Lycan took off his jacket and folded it over his legs. M. took a drag, released large clouds of smoke, and deposited the excess ash in the glass ashtray.

— By the way, – Lycan said, – what about J? I don't think I've seen him in a while.

M. was silent. He put out his cigarette and left it in the ashtray. He spread his arms wide. He looked down. Only then did he answer:

— J… didn’t make it to today.

— Really?! – Lycan wondered.

— Two weeks ago. Car accident.

— God... Unfortunate. His dad, if he's still alive, might feel alotta grief.

— His father, by the way, is the one who gave me the main keys to the bar.

— That shows you were close to them. Almost like a son.

— Yeah, well...

It got really sad. The dim light of the bulbs and the smell of tobacco accompanied this sadness, imposing an unaccustomed October street melancholy that one usually experiences when going out in a coat on a windy day.

— To hell with that sadness, – Lycan said. – I and Blixter completed the move a couple of weeks ago. And, interestingly enough, we moved into the same high-rise building as you.

— Really? – M. smiled.

— Yeah! – Lycan perked up and smiled. – We see and hear you leave your apartment all the time. We understand it by the sound of your keys jingling and the sound of your shoes.

M. nodded. The smile on Lycan's face disappeared again, the sadness rolled over once again.

— I guess, – Lycan said, – you're sad without John, aren't you?

— Not really, – M. replied. – He died, yes, but it happened a long time ago. I don't really think about it.

— I understand that, but... but he was a good friend to you, wasn't he?

— Yes. So was J, Reekis, Eugene, and even Melissa, who gave me my first experience of meaningful love. I don't know anything about her, but everyone else is already up there, in heaven.

— Yeah... That's why I have so many friends. So I can insure myself in case one of them dies.

— That's true, but the value of a single individual out of your friends list is so small that you don't notice it. When you can count your friends on the fingers of one hand, then you realize the value of each and every one.

Lycan didn't answer. M. was silent as well. There were no thoughts, no thoughts came to mind. The smell of tobacco slowly weathered, it became almost imperceptible. M. took the right bottles from the rack behind him, mixed «Cuba Libre», and poured one for Lycan. He thanked and drank in a gulp, setting the glass down.

— We want to do a little tour in the capital, – Lycan said. – Play in craft bars, restaurants, cafes, other eateries. So I was just walking down the street to the places we marked, asking the owners about the gig. And so, I wanted to ask...

— Do it, – M. said, interrupting Lycan. – It's been a long time since anyone's performed here. The stage is all yours.

— That's neat! – Lycan said with a smile and took out his phone. – I'll write to the band that I've made a deal with you.

M. nodded. Soon Lycan left him, and a couple of minutes later M. got dressed, locked up the bar and went home. The following week, «The Revelation» successfully performed at «Sixth Lynch».

It was yet another workday. «Sixth Lynch» was full of people, the usual alcohol-fueled buzz; it was even a little stuffy. The work went on as usual; the drinks were easy and relaxed. Different kinds of music played in my head, incomprehensible, but working as a kind of force which helped me to concentrate. Life flowed its own stream, nothing changed, but that was okay.

At one point M. had to leave the bar. He answered an incoming call, talked to the man on the other side, and put the phone back in his pocket. After standing outside for a while, he decided to catch his breath a little, so he took out his cigarettes and smoked. He let out a few clouds of smoke, watched them dissolve against the blue sky, and suddenly noticed the sky itself – the gradient of shades of blue on it, the heavy clouds that hung over it. He pulled out his phone and wrote down: «From light blue to dark blue, the sky stretches overhead. Leaden clouds hung heavy on it. Somewhere near the horizon the sky was shining. The day is light and relaxed. I want to...»

Here his thought was cut short. He did not know what he wanted and whether he wanted to want at all. He had to leave the thought unfinished, incomplete, written down as a piece of text in the memory of the phone, tucked away in his pocket. The cigarette had finally decayed by this point, and M. tossed it in a nearby trashcan.

Glancing around, among the colorful, geometrically varied shapes, he noticed a familiar orange female figure, dressed in a light denim jacket, T-shirt, regular jeans, and sneakers. It was Circle, walking down the street among the others in pristine ease, just as the deep universe had intended. When she saw M., she hurried like a Lycan toward him, but did not stop when she was quite close, and deliberately crashed into him, at once wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace.

— Hel-lo! – she said, rubbing her face against M.'s clothes. Then she lifted her head and looked at M. – he saw a distinct spark in her only eye. She continued: – How are you doing? We haven't seen each other for so long!

— That's right, – M. replied, and put his arm around her: one arm around her back, the other around her head.

They hugged for about five seconds. Then Circle was able to contain her joy and unrestrain M. from her hug.

— Tri works here now, right? – she asked.

— Yes, – M. answered. – I was talking to your father about the possibility of getting one of you to help me.

— I see! And I'm rushing home from my volunteer movement. Restoring cultural sites. I'm more of a publicity gal, to be honest.

— That's understandable.

— What about you? You dropped out of college and you're working here now?

— Yeah. Took my documents the day before yesterday. It's a good day-to-day business.

— I hope this bar doesn't die like the others after a couple of months.

— I hope so, too.

That's when M. remembered about his gift. Circle had recently celebrated her birthday, and everyone close to her, whether it was her brothers, her sister, Lycan and Blixter, or even her fellow volunteers – everyone close to her had given her something, at least some trinket or a really useful thing. M. also had his own gift for her, but he had not been able to give it to her for a long time. Now was the right moment, and he pulled out from behind his back her coveted item and handed it to her.

Just seeing what was being held out to her, she sighed with overwhelming happiness that swept a typhoon through her body. She could not contain her happiness; her almost childlike hands shook and her breathing became intermittent, somewhat nervous. She took her present and, glancing at M. for a moment, hugged him sharply, squeezing him in her arms as tightly as she could.

— Thank you! – she said, repeating the word over and over again. – Thank you a million times! You have no idea how long I've been looking for this book!

She gave all her happiness free rein, her arms wrapped around M. trying to convey this happiness, she even kissed him on his bristling cheek, trying to convey this happiness, but she forgot that this happiness, this naive, childish happiness, is not transmitted by anyone or anything. After a couple of minutes, she parted from M. and went home, happier than ever, while M. watched her try to disappear into the crowd, shining like the last star.

The laminar flow of life continued. The sun and the moon changed places imperceptibly, the days grew colder and colder, the hum and the stuffiness of the bar were identical to those of the previous days-even the faces of some of the customers were the same. Three finally got into the bartender's life, stopped asking unnecessary questions. M., on the other hand, went through the day after day, trying not to think about when this working day would end.

Today the bar had to close due to technical problems. A maintenance minivan had already arrived at the bar, now inspecting the interior and wiring. M. had to let Three go, and he himself began to stand at the entrance, waiting for the hour when the door could be opened for everyone. Cigarette after cigarette smoldered, their count was long lost. The sky was blue overhead, shimmering with all sorts of shades; it was beautiful weather for October.

Different people were moving in different directions, dressed differently, with different shaped heads, with different moods and thoughts in their heads. With different lives, with different aspirations, with different awareness of the time and the environment around them – exactly the same people and nearby attractive institutions. And in the midst of all this flow, M. found himself watching – as he is now, standing on the shore, smoking a cigarette, waiting for something of his own to happen and doing nothing – just watching the different people moving in different directions.

At one moment, however, in this overarching stream of people, he noticed a head with a familiar shape. In addition to the head, he was also able to discern through the people the style of dress, the manner of walking, and even some of the mood that accompanied the person walking. He was so riveted to the image that he didn't even notice that he dropped the bull from his fingers. It was Penti, beautiful in her coldness and cold in her beauty.

In the meantime she had long since walked into these streets, where people and eateries with various stores surrounded her right and left, and had spotted an equally familiar M. standing outside a familiar bar. Inwardly she rejoiced that fate had led out such a path, where she would meet a pleasant face along the way, and, holding the image, began to move toward him. Soon she separated herself from the direction in which a dozen other people were walking beside her, and approached him.

— Hello, hello there! – she said, smiling with an eye.

— Penti, – said M., smiling with his mouth. – How's it going?

— Things are going as they are. Separated from the family business and found my own job. Some students had set up a micro-publishing company, which they set up in their apartments, and they needed a translator and editor – and I love literature, so I contracted to help them. They called it «Telluria». I'm translating the first book that's will come out.

— That's wonderful news, Penti. I'm glad you were able to find people to your liking.

— I'm glad I did, too.

M. coughed, and his throat, irritated from smoking, didn't like it – it began to hurt.

— You should stop smoking, – Penti pointed out.

— It won't go away, – M. said.

— Are you sure about that?

— More than sure. That's not the point. I used to work in micro-publishing, too, by the way.

— Oh, really?

— Mm-hmm. We had a company, was called «Theorema». I was fourteen when a few of my classmates decided to go into serious business. I did the typesetting, editing, proofreading. We put out about fifteen books, each print run of fifty or a hundred or two hundred books – and each one was numbered. Nothing was reprinted, nothing was republished. «Theorema» lasted three years, until we graduated from high school.

— That must have been an interesting business, wasn't it?

— Of course it was. I meet people whose talent cannot be measured by the measures we are accustomed to. Those who really know what they are doing. I have every copy, even signed versions.

— And which author would you say was the most unique?

— A certain Iorn. Released one book in a print run of – attention – ten books. Ten, no more, no less. Each one was signed, and those who had time, took it. And after the last book was bought, he was never heard from again. Lately, though, he's been sending me excerpts from his new works.

— Iorn, huh? I know that writer. I read his first novel, which someone, out of the goodness of their heart, made as a PDF file. Very interesting, even. But complicated. «Zim & Bee Flying Calling Cards», by the way, recently released his newest novel, «Manfix», in a very limited edition.

— Really? Then I should get it.

— That's for sure.

The joy slowly slid off Penti's face. She wrapped herself in her coat, she felt cold and uncomfortable, but the huge M. man was not the cause. Something opened up inside, bursting at the seams and beginning to devour piece by piece. Though it didn't show on the outside, M. noticed this apocalypse of her inner world. Not wanting to watch his girlfriend suffer, he asked:

— Is something wrong?

For the first few seconds Penti looked away, unwilling to answer, but then she began to speak:

— I am afraid. Not only for myself, but also for my friends, my colleagues. Still, it's a huge undertaking to be a publisher – for us people just learning the basics of the business... Scary. It's just scary. Scary to think about what's in store for tomorrow.

M. took a step closer to her.

— Fear is a fleeting thing, but a necessary one. The best thing you can do is concentrate on the life of your newly minted micro-publishing company. And yet: everything goes by, it says on Solomon's ring, and this too shall pass.

Penti, seeing how close they were to each other, how close their hearts were, put her palms to his chest. Through the covering of her clothes she could feel his heartbeat-quiet and slow. She lifted her gaze to M.'s face, and in his eyes, hidden behind the covering of his silky hair, she saw that fatherly warmth she could not find in Cube. She stood on her tiptoes and touched her lips to his. The cold was no longer a hindrance, and fear dissolved under the oppression of all-encompassing love.

It was evening. The streets were deserted, the cars didn't ride the roads, but many of the establishments on this street continued to work no matter what, keeping dozens of tired people outside their windows and walls, discussing the latest news over food and drink. The sky was turning orange, holding the last remnants of today's sun, which was already disappearing over the horizon, changing watch with the moon.

«Sixth Lynch» bar, for all its attractiveness compared to other establishments, had few people. All the patrons could be counted on their fingers. There was no shouting onstage, no blowing on the saxophone, no impossible guitar and bass lines, and no mockery of the official setup. Because of this calm atmosphere, M. let Tri go, giving him today's paycheck, while he himself engaged in a slow killing of time, doing useless things without any motivation. He would have left himself, but the keys to the bar were in his pockets – and besides, closing hour was still a long way off.

Being wearing headphones, M. didn't hear the door open; however, he felt a new look on him that he hadn't felt in a long time. When he took the headphones out of his ears and looked at the new visitor, he was taken aback and surprised – it was Square, dressed as he had dressed during their war. He looked calm and sleepy, not haunted by the aura of insecurity and paranoia that M. had seen when he first met him.

— It's a nice evening, – Square said. – Be a friend and get me some cognac.

M., defying surprise more than required, masterfully poured him cognac in a faceted low glass. Square sipped, put the glass back on the counter.

— It's been a long time since we've seen each other, – Square noted, looking at his cold hands.

— Yes, a long time... – M. said and glanced at Square. – I see you've fully adjusted to normal life by now. You look like you finally got some sleep.

— I certainly did. I'm even looking for a job. I don't want to work in the family business, it's not for me. But, lately, I'm the one that's been holding it together. Me and Blixter, to be exact.

— What happened?

— I, though still working, moved in to Blixter and Lycan new apartment, Circle, though still working, is more immersed in the national culture than ever before. Tri works for you, and Penti became an editor at this micro-publishing company that her classmates started. But, good riddance, Blixter has brought Lycan to us – this guy is very fast, but he's a tightwad.

— There's a balance to be struck.

— That's right.

Square emptied his glass and handed it to M.; he washed the glass, wiped it down, and set it next to the others.

— I see you're not particularly bothered by what's going on around you, – Square said.

— How do you come up to that conclusion? – M. asked.

— I've never seen you worried about anything in your life. Not even when we were at war with those... «Phoenixes of Paradise». In our social circle, you always stand up as some kind of bastion of steadfastness and calm. I'm even jealous of that, I'll be honest.

M. smiled and lowered his gaze. Taking a breath and looking at Square, he said:

— Life is something we can't completely control. We don't know where we're going to wind up or what challenge we're going to be presented with. The only thing we can do is stand on the bank of that river and watch our lives flow, the lives of our loved ones flow, and the obstacles that rise up from the bottom of that river.

Square didn't respond, only nodded and stared again at his cold hands.

— Look, – he said, – can you give me a pack of cigarettes? I ran out of mine.

M. looked at him for a couple of seconds. Then took an open carton of cigarettes out of the drawer, half-empty, and gave one pack to Square.

— Thanks, – he said, and put the pack in his pocket. – I'll be sure to give you the cash equivalent later.

— You don't have to, – M. replied and smiled.

Square shook his hand and left the bar. The doorbell was ringing unnaturally loud this evening.

Blixter strolled through the nighttime, October-colored capital. He had no hope of meeting anyone, much less at this time of day, and this walk was no more than a routine, something he repeated day after day as part of the routine, the eternal mechanism of his life. He was attracted by the cold white light, he was attracted by that excessive emptiness and silence of the streets of the night capital in which you could hear the stone owls, he was attracted by those jaundiced light burning windows with no one in them. He was drawn to the isolation, that loneliness.

Blixter can't remember the first time he's been out on the night streets of the capital. He won't remember which cigarette he smoked. He won't even remember what street he is on, yet at a certain point he felt he was right where he needed to be. As he looked around, he realized that this street was familiar to him--right and left, behind and to the horizon far ahead, stretched various shops and eateries, most of which were closed, and some of which were keeping the last sleepless people alive. Among the sparse burning windows he noticed a familiar warm light.

Blixter moved toward the light like a moth, and soon reached its source, a neon sign in warm colors that read, «Sixth Lynch», with the same logo. Through the tinted glass no one could be seen-even the interior was very hard to see. Blixter yanked on the door; surprisingly, it was open; after looking around, he stepped inside. There was a grave silence inside: the stage and tables were empty, and the TV, perpetually broken, didn't show the capital news or soccer games. Behind the counter stood M., who seemed to be rubbing the same glass endlessly, hoping to discover some truth in its repetitive glitter. He noticed Blixter. With a shy smile, he said to him:

— Hello.

M. merely nodded in greeting. Blixter sat down at the counter as close to the exit as possible, embarrassed and thinking that his presence here was undesirable. If it were, however, M. would have kicked him out at once and locked the bar from the inside. Pulling away from these thoughts, Blixter stared at the texture of the wood that had been used to make this bar, which had stood here for decades.

— Can't sleep? – M. asked, standing across from him on the other side of the counter.

— Not really, – said Blixter. – I made myself a habit to go outside in the dark

— I see. How was your move?

— It was all right. Only now I have Square living with me instead of Lycan. Lycan moved in with his own mother when he found out she was sick.

— I see. I hope this illness is not critical.

— I hope so too. How are you?

— Days go by, and I don't complain.

— Typical, – Blixter smiled.

— That's my life, – M. smiled back. – Friends and acquaintances live their lives, and I live mine – and all these lives are intertwined so neatly that you never notice that a chance encounter is the outcome of that intertwining.

Blixter nodded, unable to find the words to respond to the thought. Suddenly, the smile disappeared from his face, and he became sadder and more melancholy.

— Look, – he said, – I came here to say one thing. I've thought about it long and painstakingly, even though I'm a man of little knowledge for a lifetime, but still...

Blixter raised his head and looked at M..

— Thank you, – he said. – For everything. And for helping me to understand life in a way I never could before. And for helping me to get me out my family’s ticks. And for helping us in that war. For everything. Without you, no one could have done it | not me, not Square, not Amin. No one.

M., looking up at the ceiling, whose bearded, tired face, filled with dim lighting that made it far more mystical, sighed.

— Yes. That's what it was all about, – he said to himself. – All roads lead to Rome... The moment had come, I will have to tell him.

Blixter was troubled by M.'s words. His fingers shook slowly, but not from fear – from the cold that hovered in the bar.

— What happened? – he asked.

M. lowered his gaze to the bar and looked at him out of the corner of his eye, through his hair.

— Blix, – M. said. – There's something I forgot to tell you.

— And... what is it? – Blixter asked.

— Nothing, between September of the previous year and this day, is real. Well, «nothing» is too harsh a word, – M. lowered the iron curtain on the rack of bottles. – «Most of it» would be a more accurate description.

— What do you... mean...? – Blixter asked.

— You know exactly what I mean, Blix, – M. said, putting his hands in his pockets. – Every story, whether it's a thriller, a love story, or a detective story, has main characters and secondary characters. In this story, the main character is you. Everyone else is a secondary character. If you follow that logic, then I'm a minor character, too, right?

Blixter nodded silently.

— You are far from the truth, my friend, – M. said as he looked Blixter in the face. – I'm not in the scheme of things. I'm just not.

— What do you mean, «not»? – Blixter was surprised. – I can see you.

— That's a clever point, – M. said – You can see me, yes, but most meetings are just an attempt to reconstruct the details of what happened. All this history is your history, your autobiography, all these days that have passed inexorably by are your tale of days gone by.

Blixter's gaze drooped. Fear and terror slowly enveloped his mind, enveloping and embracing him like an unpleasant friend.

— I'm not a secondary character, – M. continued. – And definitely not a protagonist. All the actors in this play were predetermined. I'm not in this play, I've been added on top of the existing scheme without giving me an exact description.

Blixter was silent. M. sighed.

— I'll give you an example. Remember when I rescued Square? How I went in there with a bat? How I came to Amin's house with a bag full of guns and with Square on my shoulders?

Blixter nodded every time he asked the question.

— I was here that day, – M. said. – In this bar. Working. It was a pretty rainy day, that's right. But I wasn't where I was according to your version of reality.

Blixter remained silent.

— That applies to all the days I was, in your version of reality, killing people. All those days I was here.

It's all too much, thought Blixter. I don't understand anything.

— How did you... – Blixter said, – come to this?

— On a late August evening, when you and I were watching the moon, I became some kind of protector for you, a guardian angel, always standing by and watching. But in fact, from the days that followed, I became separated from you. I lived my own life. I met you and everyone else, though rarely. And that «suicide»... To say the least, it had a metaphorical purpose. It served as my attempt to put a stop to my eternal appearance in your version of reality. But it was in vain. I realized that this is no way to solve everything, that it takes the right day, when the end is already in front of you. That day is today.

M.'s theories and thoughts were slowly spearing into his head, shattering the ephemeral reality he had constructed for himself. The thoughts in Blixter's head were interrupted one by one. The chronology of events turned inside out, and the events of the past days were not settling in his mind.

— You have blood on your hands. You have the smell of gunpowder on your clothes. You have eyes as straight as the horizon. You have the mind of a reckless warrior. It was all you. – M. sighed. – And a good phrase I said at the beginning of my arduous pilgrimage.

— What was it? – In a shaky voice, Blixter asked, glancing at M..

— And I, and all this entire world – we are nothing but someone else’s thought.

To the Table of Contents. / To Ch. XI.

[withlovewriting]

Love In The Art Of Flowers 3: White

Chapter Three: White, New Beginnings.

Summary: I close my eyes to old endings, and open my heart to new beginnings.

Characters: Frank Castle x Non-descriptive Reader

Words: 2034

Warnings: Mentions of loss, and guilt. Fluff.

Previous Chapter: Yellow

Next Chapter: Lavender 

Masterlist

They were dead. They were all dead. 

His plan had come to fruition, and he had been successful. The only issue? He didn’t necessarily presume he’d survive. He had no plan for what he’d do when it ended. 

So... Now what?

He’d made plans with you for later, offering to pick you up after work knowing damned well if he didn’t, you end up staying there late and work yourself into an early grave.

He ignored the irony.

Wandering around the small shop, his hands grazed against soft petals, as smooth as silk, his brow wrinkling as he looked over his options.

“Looking for something specific?”

Frank turned towards the woman, her hair graying at the roots but a warm smile that reached her eyes. She felt almost Grandmother-ly, “Uh, just browsin’ for now.”

“Alright well, if you need any help, or if you decide on your own, I’ll be over by the till.”

Frank sent her a polite nod, before continuing his search.  Glancing at the large tin bucket, he picked up a bunch of white roses, lifting them to his nose and taking a deep breath. He eyed them for a while, unsure whether or not to buy them, and decided to continue around the store for a while.

As he reached the back wall, his eyes caught a small, but pretty bunch of flowers already wrapped in a neat bow.

Peonies. 

His nostrils flared as he sucked in deep breaths through his nose.

In. Out. In. Out.

His hand reached out against his will, fingers lightly grazing the petal. When was the last time he bought Maria flowers?

When he genuinely couldn’t recall, he couldn’t help but feel like a piece of shit.

“Oh, peonies. Beautiful, aren’t they?”

“Yeah... Yeah they are.” He picked up the small bunch of white flowers, and was certain he could feel his heart beating through his chest.

“The roses are lovely too. My supplier was very happy with them this season.”

Frank simply nodded in agreement. As she watched Frank’s eyes dart between the two flowers; roses in his right hand, peonies in his left, and a large lump lodged in his throat that he was unable to swallow down.

“Can’t decide between the two?” The owner smiled up at him.

Merely grunting, he shrugged his shoulders. It wasn’t that simple.

It never was.

Frank made his way up the long, winding path. Normally he was indifferent to the walk, didn’t care for it either way. He’d walk with purpose up the hill, head down and unapproachable in every way. Yet today...

Today he made his way slowly up the hill, his feet dragging as if he were trying to put off his arrival. He took a moment to look around... A field full of the dead. A few words on a tombstone to define someone’s whole existence. And what for? When you’re dead... You’re dead.

Frank decided to keep his eyes on the ground once more.

Crouching on his haunches, he dusted the loose dirt from the stone, his finger tracing the engraved letters.

Maria Elizabeth Castle

Three little words that made his whole body ache, his heart tighten and his chest heave. 

He didn’t dare look at the two other graves next to it. 

He stayed for a long time, the sky bursting with new colors as dusk settled in, dark purples and dusty pinks melting into the burned orange and soft yellows that would eventually be buried completely with the almost black sky.

He knew what he was here to do, but much like when she was alive, Frank couldn’t find the words. At least, not the words he felt she deserved.

How do you tell the person that you intended to spend the rest of your life with, growing old and wrinkled as your grandchildren ran around in the same home their parents -- your own babies -- were raised in?

How was that anything other than a betrayal?

But she had left him, first.

He had to push the anger down, physically swallow it before he forced it’s way out of him. She hadn’t chosen to leave him. She was taken from him, and his anger at her was misplaced. Unfair.

And after so many years of marriage -- even though many were spent physically away from each other -- he knew her well. And she wouldn’t have wanted him to sit by her grave every evening, drowning his sorrows into a bottle of Jack as he cursed the world around him.

She would want him to find peace, however he could.

And maybe that was by putting down those who caused the same type of pain he was dealing with to innocent people. Murderers, kidnappers, drug dealers, rapists. They deserved it. 

But sometimes... 

Sometimes he found peace in places he’d never of expected to, ordinary and probably even mundane to some people but for Frank...

He felt undeserving. But she would want him to have peace.

In any way he found it.

With his last thought, Frank stood, pressing his fingers to his lips and then his fingers to the grave.

A farewell kiss. An apology. 

A part of him would always want to scream and sob and curse at the thought. But every day, little by little, that was chipped away at. His binding and unbreakable chains no longer being tussled and pulled, the action itself futile.

Instead, it seemed they were simply unlocked.

A key in the shape of late night movies, shared cartons of low mein, sipping cold beer from the bottle in some rundown dive bar. Sneaking in late to steal back his own damned dog and being caught. The long nights at the launderette, legs swinging from where you were perched, waiting for the spin cycle to finish because your stupid machine had packed up and -- despite Frank’s warnings -- you had tried to fix it yourself.  

Finally, Frank placed the flowers down in front of the headstone, his other hand lingering on it, as if this would be the last time he’d see it. 

Eventually, he made his way back down the hill and to his van, checking his watch after he strapped in his seat belt. He would still be early.

You tugged on the paper sheet, drying your hands before throwing it into the trashcan next to your table. Another day done and dusted, and you were even leaving before some other members of staff, something both they and yourself were slowly having to get used to.

Pulling on your coat, you turned off the light and slipped out of your office, ready to say goodnight to Patricia, a sweet older woman who manned the reception desk for you, but you stopped once you’d turned around.

You knew Frank was coming to pick you up from work, but he’d never actually stepped foot inside the building. At least not when other people were there, and he wasn’t bleeding out all over your floor.

“Frank?”

He could sense your confusion, and it made him switch his weight between his feet. Unsure of what to say, he simply lifted up the small bouquet of white roses, holding them out towards you.

As a small smile stretched across your lips, a matching one found its way onto his.

“Goodnight.” Patricia smirked, peering at you both from over her rounded glasses.

As you walked towards his van and clambered in -- bag in one hand, flowers in the other -- you waited until he’d settled himself in besides you,

“Thank you for these, but you know that by actually coming inside tonight, you’ll have Patricia gossiping for weeks.”

“Aren’t you her boss?” Furrowing your brow, you turned to him and nodded. His face remained stoic, “Then just fire her.”

Huffing out a sigh, you hit him lightly with the bouquet, “She’s also my friend.”

Shrugging, Frank smirked, “And so am I.”

“You’re an asshole, Castle.” You smiled back at him, waiting for him to start the van up and head off in the direction of your favorite Chinese takeout.

You’d both settled down on the small sofa at your place, a standard Thursday night. Chinese from a carton, a film playing in the background, and a bottle of beer or two to wash it all down. 

“It’s so stupid. Why would you run upstairs?”

What had started as a small grumble during the first kill, was now a full blown tangent about the stupidity of these films. Yet you still chose to watch them, time and time again.

His eyes scanned between the movie and yourself, a small chuckle leaving his lips when he saw your disgruntled face, “I mean, people do stupid things when they’re scared.”

Turning to him, you were practically pouting, “What’s got into you tonight?”

“Hm?” 

Turning yourself around on the small sofa, you looked him over for a moment, “You always join in with me about the stupidity in these films. What’s got you in such a good mood?”

He turned his own head, eyes full of warmth as they took in your features, the only light in the room coming from the screen. 

Leaning towards the table and grabbing his beer -- a quick pat to Max’s head when it popped up from the floor -- he had the last few sips before settling back on the sofa, eyes on you as you still watched him.

“Just... Feeling a lot lighter today, I guess.”

Accepting his answer, you shrugged and turned back to the TV, “Won’t be if you keep putting beer away like that, Castle.”

Frank stretched as the films credits rolled, the names whizzing past too fast for his weary brain to really take in. Not that he cared, either way.

You’d dropped out about 30 minutes before the end, not that it was unusual at all. He couldn’t even remember the last film you’d managed to watch from start to finish.

He stood and decided to clear the coffee table before taking you to bed. He was almost certain you did it on purpose. One time he was sure that he saw an eye open slightly. He just never found it in himself to wake you, not when he knew how chaotic your life could be.

So instead, he threw out the cartons, left the empty bottles on the side to throw out tomorrow, and gently carried you to your bedroom.

Thankful that you’d already changed into a pair of sweatpants and a loose fitting top when you’d arrived home, he simply tucked you in under the covers and made his move to leave, but something caught his eye.

On your small chest of drawers -- the one he’d had to fix for you last week when you tugged it way too hard and broke the runner -- was the small bouquet of white roses he’d bought you, sitting pretty in a clear vase.

The florist was right, they really were beautiful.

Making his way to them, his fingers brushed against them gently, as if he was scared to knock any of the petals off. 

He’d spent so long fighting his demons, trying to make the people that were responsible for the death of his family pay, that he felt like tonight was the first time he’d really been able to stop and take a breath. As he turned towards you, his dark eyes unusually soft, he finally felt it.

When he’d sat at his wife’s grave earlier, quietly speaking to her, expressing his misplaced guilt, he’d finally come to terms with the fact that she wouldn’t rise up out of the grave and answer him, no matter who he pushed away, or what he did.

He’d killed the bastards responsible for their deaths, put them in the ground just like they’d done to his family and whilst he would never, ever call them a burden, he couldn’t help but feel his chest become lighter as he walked away from the graveyard.

It wasn’t a goodbye, it was just the chance of a new hello.

Peace, he thought to himself as he watched the moon gently caressing your features. That’s what he felt now.

Peace.

[sortasirius]

what makes you think the writers want deancas? not trying to be an asshole, i'm just genuinely curious as to why you think that. i know berens' episodes are pretty heavy with subtext so i can see why you'd say that he wants it, but i'm not so sure about the rest of the writers/dabb. it seems like meghan isn't a huge fan either, given her "they twisted it so fast" tweet :/ of course she's a very new writer (think she's only writing one ep this season?) but still

OKAY this is a great question, welcome to my dissertation.

I’m going to address the end of your question first. Meghan is actually DeanCas positive, she has been for quite a long time. She actually, a few years back, posted a picture of her reading a literal book about Destiel and captioned it “writing reading” or something like that.

This whole thing just comes out of a boiling over of tensions because of how nasty fandom twitter can be. Like I said here, I think this has just gotten blown out of proportion, they shouldn’t have posted all this randomly disparaging stuff, but also like...can you blame them? The fandom is a lot, we always have been, and they’re probably also under a gag order not to talk about the finale, and are annoyed that people keep asking.

So nah, Meg is not anti Destiel.

To the first part!! So let’s take a look at the show runners since Cas has been around.

Seasons 4 and 5: Kripke

Seasons 6 and 7: Gamble

Seasons 8-11ish: Carver

Seasons 11ish-15: Dabb

So starting with Kripke. Okay, yes, I will be the first to admit that we have some pretty incredible Destiel moments in these seasons, but it’s less directly written into the plot and much more from Misha and Jensen’s uhhhh ~chemistry~. The only times it was directly written into the script was when the episode was handled by someone like Edlund (“On The Head Of A Pin,” “The End,” “My Bloody Valentine”). And you have to remember, if in season 5, there are moments here and there where you’re like huh that’s suspiciously romantic dialogue, remember that Cas took Anna’s place. Anna was supposed to be endgame for Dean, but due to a myriad of issues and Misha’s general greatness, Anna was replaced with Cas.

Onto 6 and 7. Hmmm. Gamble. 6 and 7 are my two least favorite seasons and that’s no secret, and that’s not only due to the plain old weird shit in the overall storyline, but also that homegirl killed off Cas in s7 and then Bobby like four episodes later. (Also it ALWAYS rubbed me the wrong way they couldn’t have Baby in that season lol). We still had some great DeanCas moments, but again, it wasn’t really written into the overall arc (until they had to change the end of season 7 because of tanking ratings and bring Misha back lol, anyone remember the fact that Dean kept Cas’ jacket and would randomly dream of him? Yeah.). But we still had those moments, those distinctly romantic moments, probably the best example in these two seasons is from Edlund again, specifically “The Man Who Would be King,” I wrote a little about that here.

We move onto Carver, who gave us, at this point, the most overt DeanCas season with season 8 (season gr8 is a better name imo), and this is the first time Dean and Cas’ relationship is directly written as an arc of the season.  I mean, you have everything in Purgatory, Dean “seeing” Cas everywhere, the fact that he felt so guilty that Cas stayed in Purgatory that he manipulated his own memories to think that he was the one that failed Cas, because he couldn’t comprehend that Cas would want to leave him, and let’s not forget Dean snapping Cas out of Naomi’s hold on him in “Goodbye Stranger.”  It was a very obvious shift, not enough to alert the general audience, but more than enough for most of us in fandom.

It’s also important to note that this is when Andrew stopped co writing with Loflin and started writing his own episodes (”Hunter Heroici” anyone?)  I like Loflin fine, but Dabb was able to stretch his legs a little bit more once he stopped co-writing, and we also began to see some DeanCas themes in his solo episodes.

In any case, them and their issues being a big part of the seasons continued with Carver, and Berens entered the scene, his first episode (”Heaven Can’t Wait”) is one of my favorites, with human Cas and the fanfiction gap and Dean and Cas just generally being awkward and funny and sweet.  This is Bobo’s FIRST episode, remember that.  He comes right out of the gate with it.

Also in Season 9, this is when Dean takes the Mark of Cain, and the Cas/Colette mirror is born, so obviously, Dean and Cas are the fabric of the season once again.  This is also the season where Metatron says Cas is “in love with humanity,” and then immediately refers to Dean as Humanity so uhhhh yeah.

Onto season 10, Dabb and Berens continue with their greatness (I could write pages on the DeanCas date in “The Things We Left Behind” alone).  And then we have one of the best scenes in the entire show in “The Prisoner” where the Cas/Colette mirror continues and Dean, driven by grief and pain and rage and the Mark, still doesn’t kill Cas.  He still can’t kill Cas.

Season 11 is important because it takes choice away from both Cas and Dean, and shows us, as the audience, how much losing each other takes out of them. We saw in season 10 how much losing Dean takes from Cas, but what about Cas losing Dean?  Dean loses his choice with his connection to Amara this season, and loses even more when Lucifer reveals he’s been possessing Cas, and plays on Dean’s connection to Cas like a mockery.  It’s also worth noting that, similarly to season 8, Dean breaks out of the connection with Amara when he’s worried about Cas, and that’s something that even SHE is surprised by.

But then season 12, the beginning to the Renaissance.  This is when we get the writer’s that become important for what Dean and Cas are today, and, truly, why I believe they want canon Destiel as much as we do.

This is the first season with Dabb’s writers: Davy Perez, Meredith Glynn, Steve Yockey, and of course Bobo all come in with their incredible talents and gave us episode after episode of good content.  “Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets” is probably my favorite, probably the best example of what I’m saying.  An episode where Dean is called out by an enemy directly, told to “roll the dice” on Cas’ life.  And Dean won’t, it’s not even really a hesitation.  And this comes from a character that has known Dean for ten seconds.  I also wrote more in depth about this episode here.  There are also some.....distinctly domestic details we get this season, specifically in “The Future” (written by Berens and Glynn) with the mixtape.  The most tropey of tropes mixtape.  Yeah, I’ll just leave that one here.

And then season 12 ends with Cas’ death, but also with the parallel between Sam and Dean with Jess and Cas.  Sam literally has to drag Dean away from Cas, just like Dean had to drag Sam out of his burning apartment in the pilot.  The episode drives it home in every way that it can: Dean is the one left kneeling by Cas’ body, while Sam goes to find out what is upstairs.  Dean is the one who stares at the sky, finally broken.  This isn’t a random thing, this is Dean’s whole arc, it’s the entirety of the beginning of 13.  Dean’s pain, his anguish, his anger.

Season 13 starts with them burning Cas, with Dean, who has begged God to bring him back, who has split his knuckles punching a door, standing, staring at Cas’ pyre with brokenness on his face.

I mean.....

Anyway, season 13 is where it gets interesting (well, I think all of this is interesting but I’m a writer nerd so).  So Cas comes back from the Empty in “Advanced Thanatology” written by Steve Yockey, and then a wombo combo of “Tombstone” by Davy Perez next (”Brokebacknatural” as the PR said at the time).  Listen.  This is the part that SPN crossed a line that they couldn’t come back from.  With Cas being Dean’s “big win,” the fact that Dean and Cas watch movies together, “I told you, he’s an angry sleeper.  Like a bear.” Talked about it here.

This is where, in my opinion, the network stepped in, but the damage was already done.  They had already established that Cas was Dean’s big win, that Dean’s poor coping was not due to Mary’s disappearance, but solely due to Cas, and that Dean and Cas have more married energy than anyone else.  The network had nixed blatant canon at this point, and they writing room had been pushing the boundaries of what the network would allow. 

After these episodes, we see a marked drop off of DeanCas heavy scenes.  They’re still there, still a part of the fabric of the season, but not as...obvious as it had been in early season 13.

And this continued through season 14, we’re back to scraps of Destiel scenes here and there, but to me it always felt like there was something bubbling under the surface, something distinctly unsaid in the themes of the season, even after the walk back of obvious “Dean and Cas are in love” scenes.

And then we get to season 15, which, y’all know I talk about all the time.  What’s important here is that Bobo and Glynn are both executive producers, calling more of the shots than ever before.  Additionally, it’s important to note that, though they only co write occasionally, Glynn and Berens refer to each other as “work husband” and “work wife.”  Each episode has just turned up the volume, and, not for the first time, but certainly the most obvious, Dean and Cas ARE the season.  Sure, they’re trying to beat God, they’re trying to finally find peace, defeat the final big bad, but really?  This season has been about Dean, and Dean’s relationship to Cas.

And not only do we have obvious and clear Destiel in nearly every episode, but we have episodes like “Last Call” which canonize bi!Dean (wrote about that here).

And, maybe most importantly so far, we have “The Rupture,” the breakup, and “The Trap,” Dean’s confession (both written by Berens).  And here’s the thing.  These episodes feel connected, but also feel like they’re missing something.  Beren’s last episode is 15x18, “The Truth.”  We’ve all spec’ed about what could happen in this episode, and I think *I* know what it’s leading to.  But for it to be leading to that, it means that the network has to have approved what we’ve all been waiting for years for.

Who got this change to happen?  Who got the network to change their minds?  It wasn’t us.  It was them.  I am fully convinced that Dabb and Berens quite literally put their careers on the line for Dean and Cas.  They believe in them, they’ve shown that from the beginning, but the only thing standing in the way was the network, never allowing them to take the final step. 

So, to answer your question: I think the writers want canon DeanCas because they’ve already shown us that they do.  Take a look at their episodes, at Dabb’s, at Beren’s, at Glynn’s, at Perez’s, at Yockey’s.  They’ve been telling us what’s going on with Dean and Cas for years.

Sure, I’m not in their heads, I guess I don’t know for *sure* that this has been their thought process, but if we put it all together, from the marked shift when Dabb fully took over in s12, to the change right after “Tombstone,” to the new shift, the blatantly romantic shift in season 15, what else is there?

I’ve said for a long time that we, the SPN fandom, are beyond lucky to have the writer’s that we do.  They’re all going to go on to have prolific careers and we were lucky to get them at the end of our little show.  I give them a lot of credit for what we have in the show today.

Just remember, they’ve been telling us in all of s15 who Chuck is.  He says he’s the writer, right?  But a writer who doesn’t have control of his characters?  A writer who wants to do the same ending over and over because it “works”?  That doesn’t sound like a writer, it sounds like a network exec.

They’ve been showing us what they want for years, and the way s15 is going?  I think they may have convinced the network to let us have it.

[x-heesy]

Hell y Ass 🤘

Gif mood board 🏄‍♀️

Yeah

Cut the head off the basilisk, in the grass hunting

Anybody coming after me, get no pass from me

Oh my god, this is blasphemous, they don't blast for me

Just trying to get this fast money, you a crash dummy

Fill my heart with the darkness, I feel like Ansem

Get them grumpy at the game, oh they're Arin Hanson

SP where I came boy, I stay advancing

CRT ghosting, I am Danny Phantom

Shit, I'm going off on tangents, still I get the cosine

Lay them on they back, wait, that shit is no lie

Younging's stepping to me saying that my shit is old time

I've been Lo-fi since before you called it Lo-fi, bitch

In a bull fight pit, trying to hold my shit

Wave a flag same color as a old spice stick

Read the scrolls I writ, how you've grown to exist

What is Jar Jar Binks, to the four five six?

When I die, put the bullet on my tombstone

Sorry who are you? Couldn't tell like this a new phone

Covered up in gold, buried underneath a dark sky

If you're trying to rob me you're gonna have to find the clue scroll

Pharaoh cloth wrapping me, caught in this catastrophe

You ain't been the same since we dropped, boy that's sad to see

Captains at the wheel, you don't want to be a casualty

Lost in my lane, if you're hating, get the savagery

Doubled up on bad investment

Probably try if I had contestants

Got 'em gasping like asthma breaths and

They all mad, looking sad and desperate

Love the looks that I get, when I pass pedestrians

And all the words that you got ain't

Mean shit when the devil speak in Latin

You can possum and piss on yourself when he passing

Cause it's all in the fist, like the heart of the dragon

You a passionate kid, but you old now, what happened?

Want my cash little bitch? Didn't think so

Please don't ever hit me up on my cellphone

Said my cash low, bitch? Didn't think so

Better get the price right, this ain't Plinko

Want my cash little bitch? Didn't think so

Please don't ever hit me up on my cellphone

Said my cash low, bitch? Didn't think so

Better get the price right, this ain't Plinko

I want that cash money, rap money

Everything is trash money

Bitch, I feel like Jimmy Neutron

'Cause I got that blast on me

Watch my wrist, it does glisten, fridge

You is just a pussy bitch

I can tell 'cause your mom's dressed you in that Rip and Dip

Yeah, welcome to the Black Parade

We saving face like labor day

We doing shit the fatal way

You cannot keep up with the pace

It's cloud mac with that booky shit

Music biz, lucrative

Bitch I feel like Harrison

I'm a fucking fugitive

Bumping MCR, Sony MDRs on me

I fill up every bar fully, feel my empty heart

Jody Highroller never love a bitch, could've made the league

Rap game whoever, just throw a name on the beat

The flow is ever discreet, I am anything but

Like our denim we tough, so tie an enemy up

And I'll fry them granted he fucked, the ire in me is spilling over

Akin to cobras how I spit before I kill them slowly

Rest in peace, tearing throats open like they mezzanines

Blow like desert eagle let the smoke up out my chest to breath

Keenly coded with the meanest kinda motus

And the coldest soul eroded no condolence till I'm older, got a

Callous style it's all malice a foul paladin

Silence I found solace in sliding these sly talons in

Blessed with maligned madness and chatter that chall acquiesce

Black is my soul agonous bragging, we so back in this

Want my cash little bitch? Didn't think so

Please don't ever hit me up on my cellphone

Said my cash low, bitch? Didn't think so

Better get the price right, this ain't Plinko

Want my cash little bitch? Didn't think so

Please don't ever hit me up on my cellphone

Said my cash low, bitch? Didn't think so

Better get the price right, this ain't Plinko

Basilisk by Cemetery Drive

[cj-sparkss]

the night we met -

masterlists

note | some more angst, im sorry😭 um idk how to write song fics but i think this is how?!?!?! if not i apologize- but yeah this is one of my favorite songs and it inspired this sad story so here. warnings | mentions of death, cursing category | angst, fluff wc | 1.9k+  pairing | levi ackerman & reader song | “The Night We Met” by Lord Huron

Levi didn’t plan on falling in love with you.

Hell, it was the last thing he intended to do. 

And then I can tell myself Not to ride along with you

But he still found himself falling deeper and deeper, everyday he saw you. And before he knew it, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. 

It all started one day when Erwin came to his office, knocking on the door while Levi was doing paperwork. “You will be getting a new comrade added to your squad, hand picked by me. She’s one of the best. You both will be fighting side by side,” He had said. 

Levi didn’t know what to expect, and he definitely wasn’t expecting one of the best, someone handpicked to join the Levi squad by Erwin himself to be so… so kind. Because really, who could be that kind and generous in this type of life that you lived in? 

Take me back to the night we met

He remembered the day you both met. You had waltzed into Levi’s life, all smiles, a happy look always painted on your face. You were always helping everyone, reaching out a hand and offering your shoulder to your comrades who were hurt, even if you were hurting yourself. And on top of that, you never expected anything in return. Not at all. You acted on all these kind actions, simply out of the goodness of your heart. Levi didn’t understand that. How could you be so nice, without even receiving anything in return? You were so innocent, so good. Levi even had to pinch himself a few times before he actually came to believe it. 

And then eventually, with all your kindness, your warm smiles directed at him that would make his heart flutter every time, you had worked your way into Levi’s heart. 

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you

-

Rubbing his slender fingers on his temples, Levi sighs, feeling a headache coming on due to his endless hours of working on paperwork. He reaches a hand out to his cup of tea, grabbing it and bringing it to his lips to drink, when nothing falls out. 

Oh. Right. He finished his tea an hour ago. 

Groaning, Levi places the tea cup back on the desk. He glances at the mountain of paperwork sitting on his desk, sure to take hours more to complete. Even with the countless hours he has already been working, not even half of the paperwork was completed. Looks like it was going to be another night with no sleep. Exasperated, Levi runs his veiny hands through his jet black hair, his bangs falling in front of his face. Picking up his pen, he begins to write on his current paper  in front of him, when he hears  a knock on the door. He raises an eyebrow in question. Who would be coming to his office at this time of night?  

Another quiet knock. “Levi?”

“Who is it? Name and business.” 

“It’s me.” The corners of Levi’s lips twitch up. He can recognize that soft voice anywhere. “Come in.” You push open the door with your left hand with a creek, a teacup in the other. Levi’s grey eyes follow your figure as you walk towards his desk while you give him one of your warm smiles. Wordlessly, you place the hot cup of tea on his desk, moving the empty one to the side. You take a seat on the other side of the desk, across from Levi and you lift half of the stack of paperwork and place it in front of you, grabbing a pen.

“What are you doing?” Levi’s deep voice makes you look up at him. Placing your elbows on the desk and cupping your cheeks with your hands, you tilt your head and give him a reassuring smile. “Is it not obvious? I’m helping you with your paperwork.” 

Levi glances behind your head to the clock ticking on the wall. He looks back at you, the same bored expression on his face, but dark bags evident under his steel eyes from a lack of sleep. “At 12 AM? No.” He shakes his head. “You’re not going to get enough sleep.”

“Levi, look who’s talking. You’re not going to get enough sleep. I knew you were awake, you always are. And I'm not going to let you pull another all-nighter doing an endless amount of paperwork. So I figured,” You connect your fingers together, stretching your arms out and cracking your knuckles. “Why not do it together?” 

Together? Levi hasn’t heard that one before. No one he knows would willingly take half of his paperwork like you just did, and work on it with him… together. He feels… He feels… happy? A weird sensation flutters in his chest. Levi hasn’t felt like this before, what’s happening? 

“Tch, brat,” He mutters under his breath while lifting the cup of tea to his mouth, basking in the steam rising and the hotness. He knows how stubborn you are. Once you put your mind to something, there’s no changing it. 

You only laugh, picking up the pen once more and getting to work. Levi gets to work as well, but every so often his grey eyes flicker to your face, admiring your determined state. He finds himself studying how your brows furrow when you are focused, your teeth sinking in on your bottom lip. A small smile grows on his face, shaking his head at how determined you were to help him. 

You guys continue on for a few more hours, enjoying each other’s silent company, only casual conversation sparking a few times. 

Levi’s eyes land on your face again, and this time instead of your determined face, your eyes are shut closed, head resting on your folded arms against the desk. You fell asleep. Levi looks on his desk to the remaining paperwork, it’s only a bit left. You really did save him time, and stop him for what would be another night without sleep.

Sitting up from his chair, his legs walk over to you. Levi’s strong arms lift you up from the chair, carrying you bridal style. You stirred in his hold, softly grasping the front of his shirt with your fist. “Levi?” You mumble out, eyes half lidded. At the tone of your soft voice, Levi looks down at you in his arms, his black bangs falling in front of his face. “You were so stubborn and hell-bent on helping me, and you fell asleep anyways. Who does that?” 

You only softly laugh at Levi’s words. Despite the bitter tone, you know him well enough to see that he’s only looking out for you behind the whole facade. In your half asleep state, you let your hand fall to your lap as Levi carries you out of the office and to his bedroom. “Sorry Levi…” 

After what you assume are few turns and a door opening, your back comes in contact with a soft, pillowy material. Already knocked out, you don’t see Levi tucking you into bed, or placing a soft kiss on your forehead, his soft lips lingering for a few moments. 

Levi lays next to you, watching your chest slowly rise and fall back in calm, synchronized breaths. Murmuring a soft thank you, Levi thinks to himself that he wouldn’t want anyone else bringing him tea at night. 

-

When the night was full of terrors And your eyes were filled with tears

Levi wasn’t the only one that fell deeply in love. The man that everyone knew as the stoic, clean obsessed captain, you fell in love with too. 

“You’re too kind for your own good.” Levi would tell you. 

“Everyone deserves a little kindness.” You’d tell him back. 

Levi knew that one day your unlimited kindness would come back to bite you in the ass. And it very much did. 

-

“NO!” Levi’s usually calm and bored voice now screeches as your body falls from the sky. He catches you in his strong arms, the intensity of the impact bringing the both of you to the hard ground. 

“Why? Why the fuck would you do that!”

You had noticed your comrade about to be slapped out of the sky by a titans hand, while they were slaying another leading them not to sense the upcoming danger. On a whim, you used your own gear to rush to them and push them out of the way, letting yourself get hit instead. Unfortunately , Levi saw the whole scene go down above.

Holding you in his arms, dark blood seeping from your open wounds, you give Levi one last sad smile. “I love you Levi. Take care of yourself. Please… for me,” Were your last words.

Levi had watched you die in his arms. He couldn’t do anything to save you. Humanity’s strongest, just witnessed the love of his life get stricken down.  And in that moment, humanity’s strongest felt anything but strong. 

And then in that same moment, you were gone from his life. 

When you had not touched me yet Oh, take me back to the night we met

-

“I’m sorry it’s been a while since I’ve visited. Life has been pretty shit like usual.” Placing his handkerchief on the ground before him, Levi kneels on it so he doesn't get his pants dirty. Laying your favorite flowers on your tombstone, he sighs, tracing his hands over your beautiful name. “How was your day today?”

Silence.

“Mine was okay. Four eyes wouldn’t leave me alone like always.” Furrowing his eyebrows, Levi thinks of all the events that have happened since you were gone. “The brats are still as annoying as ever. Eren has been practicing with his titan, the others working on their combat skills, Sasha still stealing meat and eating lord knows how much food.” He almost smiles, thinking of the people he has grown fond of. “Nothing really new though.” 

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you

Levi runs a hand through his jet black hair, closing his eyes. “We miss you. I miss you. A lot. I was humming your favorite song today. It reminds me of you. Wish you were here to sing it.” His mind flashes back to memories of when you would walk around singing your favorite song with your angelic voice, how he would act annoyed with it but secretly he really loved hearing your voice. How everyone else would join in with you and the atmosphere would instantly brighten up. Levi wishes he could go back to that now. 

Take me back to the night we met I don't know what I'm supposed to do

“Some things are a little different. People are duller without your smile. Things are less fun.” Tears fill his eyes. “Tch, only you would be able to get me so emotional.” He brings a shaky hand up to wipe his eyes, but more just keep on coming. “I- I think I see you sometimes. When it’s late at night and I’m doing paperwork, I look up and there you are, sitting across from me helping. The same angelic smile as always.” He misses seeing your smile. 

Uncontrollable tears pour down Levi’s cheeks, his sobs racking his chest, shoulders shaking up and down.

“I love you so much.” He stands up, picking up his handkerchief and placing it back in his pocket. He bows his head, bangs covering his eyes, face full of sorrow. “I told you that you were too kind for your own good.” 

Haunted by the ghost of you Take me back to the night we met