#The Secret of the Urn

[chernobog13]

The Secret of the Urn (1966)

Three years after he last appeared on the big screen, the one-eyed, one-armed Tange Sazen returns in yet another retelling of The Million Ryo Pot (1935).

This time Sazen is portrayed by actor Kinnosuke Nakamura.  Nakamura-san is perhaps most famous in Japan for his portrayal of real-life samurai legend Miyamoto Musashi in a series of 5 films.  Those films are more popular in Japan  than the better-known-in-the West Samurai Trilogy, starring Toshiro Mifune as Musashi.

Nakamura-san plays a Sazen far different than any version seen before or since.  Gone is the family friendly, smart-alecky curmudgeon that audiences had enjoyed through various incarnations since 1935.  Instead, this Sazen is manic, harsh, and extremely dark.

This film did to Tange Sazen what Man of Steel (2013) did to Superman: sucked all the fun out, and made him dark, edgy, and depressing.

Japanese audiences weren’t having it, and proposed sequels were abandoned.  In fact, for the first time in decades, it would be several years before Tange Sazen returned to the big screen.

[cinemajunkie70]

If Hideo Gosha only had made Three Outlaw Samurai, that would have been enough, but he also made Sword of The Beast, Hunter in the Dark and another personal favorite, Goyokin! And there are still so many I need to watch and more importantly want to watch! Please join me in wishing a very happy birthday in the afterlife to the very great Hideo Gosha.

[dallasdoesntexist]

there’s something so beautifully ironic about reading literature about the follies of those who live lives of aestheticism, and then committing your life to that very same idea.

Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all /

                Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

[sunnykeysmash]

[sparky-cryptidcrafts]

Zak: "I yern for the urn" ⚱️

Tut: "THOSE are canopic jars and no you DON'T! There's no hot cheetos in the urn zak!"

(I keep thinking about how he kept his stomach in that jar and dropped food into it to feed it like some weird pet. Imagine Bluetooth hunger pains)

[gullei]

Shop our handcrafted custom engravable bullets jewelry sets that can be used as urn/cremation memorial gifts for loved ones. 

[five-rivers]

adequate peace

Phic phight for Lumi!

.

Human language lacked the words to adequately describe the physical appearance of the King of Ghosts.  This was sure to be a temporary deficiency.  When a human lacked the vocabulary to describe something, they either generated new words or stole them.  Still, for the moment, the deficiency persisted.  

A human attempting to describe the Ghost King might, after a struggle, settle on vast.  This, on top of being inadequate, would also be incorrect, a product of human conflating of importance and size. Serpentine might also be chosen, or mustelidine, for the King's relative length and width, although those were largely a matter of perspective.  Some humans might focus instead on individual, more easily grasped, features, such as the hair, which was the color of sunlight falling on snow after being cast through ice, or the eyes, which were the glowing green of uranium glass under blacklight.  Still others might fail to register those at all, and have difficulty perceiving the King in the proper dimensionality, resulting in things like limbs appearing to clip through wall, or even in the King being invisible, imperceptible, but doubtlessly present.  

Those with somewhat greater measure of wisdom might instead attempt to describe the King's regalia.  The cloth cut from dazzling night, clinging to every curve, flowing, diaphanous, silky, folds and layers holding secrets unknown and unknowable.  The crown, a blazing circlet, a corona of light, the sun, eclipsed.  The ring of office, adorned with the skull of a lesser, and therefore conquered, creature.  The staff, like a tower, like a needle, like the slender trunk of a sapling, not fully grown, but rich in potential.  The sword, sharp enough to cut the fabric of spacetime, light enough to hold in one hand, a perfect void, made to divide both what was and what was not.  

Or, to protect themselves and their sanity, a human may choose to focus on the King's surroundings, rather than the King's person.  The throne, which cradled the King’s body, grave, urn, and memorial, bones on an altar, a sacrifice.  The great cathedral of the King’s receiving hall, the branches of which reached up to the cosmos, the roots of which reached down to the shadows of subconscious thought.  They might look out the windows, and gaze upon the kingdom, that great kingdom of the dead, that kingdom which everyone would be a citizen of, soon or late.   

But even those were not comfortable to contemplate.  Not for long.  

It was easier by far to examine, and therefore describe, the King’s mental state.  There was nothing esoteric about it, after all.  

Mental breakdowns were perfectly within human understanding.  

Danny had been crowned only hours ago.  If he’d had a choice, he wouldn’t have been crowned at all, but as Skulker had told him years ago, the Ring of Rage and the Crown of Fire contained entities with a will of their own.  Danny had been chosen, and they weren’t going to take no for an answer.  

Thus, his current predicament.

As soon as he’d been crowned… as soon as the stupid thing had touched his head…  It was like his body evaporated off of him, and into this.  This thing he could barely understand, but could feel so, so much.  This thing that was him, undeniably and completely, and which was so alien, so divorced from what he understood to be himself, that he couldn’t even begin to think about it.  

He wasn’t bigger.  He wasn’t smaller.  When he counted his limbs, he had the right number.  When he touched his mouth, he had only one.  One mouth, one nose, two eyes, two ears.  Nothing had been removed.  Nothing had been added, except for those infernal crown jewels  That’s what he felt when he checked.  

But he could see forwards and backwards, both down and up.  His lips were closed but he was singing, speaking, babbling, screaming.  He could feel feathers as they brushed against the throne and through the walls of the keep.  Scales scraped against stone.  Stars and nebulae tangled in his horns and antlers.  

He didn’t have any of those.  His skin was intact, fleshy, and pink.  His skin was stretched to infinity, and transparent as glass, galaxies swimming beneath it.  

He couldn’t breathe.  He had to breathe.  He was breathing, but the aurora spilled past his lips with every gasp.  

In his mind’s eye floated the Earth.  A blue pearl against the black.  The Infinite Realms stood out like emeralds on a chain, each one precious.  

He curled in the great cradle of his throne, trying not to feel, trying not to think.  He was not.  He could not. 

Three years since he had really been human, and he’d never expected this.  He’d never dreamed of this.  He’d never wanted this.  

Like this, he couldn’t even pretend to be human.  

He clawed at the Ring and Crown, but even with so much power, what could he do against the very things that granted that power?  They didn’t go away, even when he reached for his living half.  They clung.  They constricted.  They were weights and chains he wanted to cast off.  

“Daniel.”

No, said Danny, although he didn’t know how.  His word echoed.  

“Daniel, you will injure yourself.”

He sobbed.  

“Please, Daniel.”  A cold hand wrapped around his wrist.  It was a hand that was three hands.  Or, rather, three versions of the same hand, layered upon itself and twisted through time.  

“I don’t want this,” said Danny.  

“I know, Daniel.”  Shifting robes tickled the edges of wings that were not there.  A tail curled at the base of the throne, and another hand laid itself against Danny’s knee.  “You are overwhelmed.”

Until Clockwork had said it, Danny hadn’t known it was true.  But there was so much here, and all of it was him.  

“You do not need to stay here,” said Clockwork, gently.  There was kindness there, and a thread of something like possession.  The words came from a well of great experience, deep and dark.  “Look up.  Anywhere you can see, you can go.  Go, and find peace from this.”

“But not forever,” said Danny.  

“Nothing is forever,” said Clockwork.  “But once you find peace from this, you may someday find peace with this.  It is a long road–” here, Clockwork placed a hand on Danny’s cheek, “--but know that time is on your side.”

Danny bit his lower lip, teeth both flat and fanged, and a motion like a nod stirred the inky fabrics of his cerements.  He looked up, and all his eyes were filled with stars. 

[louscartridge]

the secret four months. matt sturniolo x gn reader.

requested by- @fandomxs1

summary- y/n and matt are in a secret relationship. not even matts brothers know and one question unlocks everything. 

cw- mention of a dog dying, shy/flusterd matt, secret relationship, gn reader, nick hitting matt, i think thats it. 

“not really a question but my dog just died and it sucks. its quiet, almost weird without him” nick reads yet another confession thing.

you were in another car video with the boys where people would submit questions, things they need advice on, ect. i know, original. 

you were the first one to answer. “what my dad did for me is i have this necklace.” you say leaning forward and showing the camera the necklace. whenever you were in a car video you and matt sat in the front and nick and chris were in the back. chris and nick never knew why matt insisted on you sitting in the front, they just assumed it was a ‘ladies first’ respect type of thing. “and its like.. a mini urn. it has half of my dogs ashes in it and my dad has the rest. so if you think having something like that would help, you can do that maybe.”

“and like- you know, dont be like rushing trying to get another dog or pet or something. just take your time. you might not ever want to get another dog you know? and thats fine too.” chris added.

after a few more questions this specific one didnt get an audible answer right away.

“so im dating this guy but he wants to keep our relationship a secret and at first it was cool and thrilling and it still is but im scared itll get boring i guess and well loose interest.” nick reads.

you and matt look at each other for a couple seconds, him slightly smirking. you two quickly look away from each other when you notice chris was looking at the two of you, trying not to laugh. 

“....what was THAT?!” nick askes abruptly loud leaning it to the console of the front seats. 

“what was what?” you laugh.

“you and matt! looked at each other. like REALLY weirdly.”

matt nervously laughs blushing a bit.

“and matts blushing!” chris squeals pointing at matt.

you snort out of how long theyve been completely oblivious. 

“do you want to tell them or should it?” you ask to which matt just responds by sinking down into his seat. “ok i will then. me and matt are daitingg!” you enthusiastically say with jazz hands. 

nick turns his head, still in the center console to look as matt. “mAatuh!” nick yells hitting matt. 

“stop hitting me i didnt do anything-”

chris pops his head in-between the space of the car doors and the passenger seat to look at you. “and you didnt tell us??” chris talks over nick, his face being extremley close to yours. 

“well the conversation never came up! what were we supposed to do? just randomly come up to you and be like ‘were dating! ok wanna get some food?”

“shut up!” nick yells leaning back, back into the middle seat. “were all talking at the same time and i cant understand anyone! matt, how. long.” nick asks making you laugh slightly at his wording.

“ok really y/n?”

“four months.” matt mumbles smiling. 

“FOUR MONTHS??” nick repeats loudly making all of you laugh.

“YEAH!!” matt says matching the loudness of nick voice.

you feel chris fall into your seat and hear his breathless laughter.

“TWO MORE MONTHS AND ITLL BE HALF OF A YEAR MATT!” nick continues. 

“i know that, i know how many months are in a year.” 

“congratulations you love birds!” chris sarcastically rolls his eyes. “i hope you know ill still be flirting with matt. i dont care” 

“chris!” 

“we need to answer the question!”

[sgrplumditz]

Simon falls for Johnny’s wife…

render by @ave661

a/n: I’ve been working on this for a hot minute, but ended up having it sit in my drafts for a couple months :(. these images were released and it definitely struck a chord in my delulu mind. hence why i decided to finish it..

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"I've got a bad feeling about this one, Johnny," she said to the Scott with a shaky breath. Their toddler clinging to his mother's leg while keeping a tight grip on his father's finger. His little hand too small to grip the entirety of his hand.

She couldn’t help but notice his worrisome sigh as he looked for the comforting words, "Eh, don't you worry, Darling. I always come back don't I?" he replied enthusiastically as he embraced her figure, his chin resting on the top of her head and his free hand caressing the back of his son’s head. Johnny always knew how to comfort her, but she couldn’t shake her nervousness and doubtful thoughts as he said goodbye to her husband and the father of her only child.

The memory of their final interaction as a family replayed in her head continuously as the rain created soft tapping noises on her black umbrella. The pattering of the water creating an almost hypnotizing effect on the new widow that kept her mind on the only aspect that was left of her late husband -- memories.

The toddler, a three-year-old boy, who like most of the time clung to his mother's body. Except this time he was fully embracing his mother, his little face placed into the crook of her neck as the pair stood together at the outdoor memorial service. She could only stare blankly at the urn that held the remains of the love of her life. Through her observant stare she took note of the simple, yet lovely set up of white roses, numerous awards and medals. All of which surrounded a framed photo of her Johnny — her favorite photo. A candid picture snapped of the blue eyed, dark haired man by his wife — the woman he kept a secret from his work life. Not out of shame, or malicious secrecy — Johnny loved his wife and his child. Love them so much that he couldn’t be bothered ever putting them in any sort of danger.

She could feel numerous pairs of eyes prying into her and her son as she stood amongst the medium sized crowd of individuals. She assumed all of them were teammates, Co-workers, or people simply paying their respects. she knew he was a highly decorated soldier, but he was far more than that. None of them knew about his personal life, and nobody knew about the widow and small boy he had left behind. Nobody but Captain John Price knew about Soap’s little family. In confidence, Soap had asked Price to maintain word of his wife and son under the rug of the sake of their safety. Although they were hidden, he always carried pieces of them with him wherever he went — attached to his dog tags were two small and silver flat pendants that had been engraved with his wife and son’s fingerprint, his wedding band usually accompanying them on the same chain whenever he was deployed.

When Johnny was home he never removed his ring. He would often complain about how difficult and stubborn the piece of jewelry was when it came time to remove it for work. Johnny thought he was as discrete as he could be when it came to protecting the two most important people in his life, but there was a certain masked individual who took notice of the tan line that marked his left ring finger, the sudden dark under eyes and disheveled appearance that started 3 years ago when they would meet early in the morning for briefings, and when he caught sight of a vomit stain decorating the left shoulder of his black t-shirt — he just wasn’t one to pry.

Those same observant eyes were glued to the grieving widow and the blue-eyed toddler.

Her mind was pulled out of thoughts as Price approached her with a warm and tender expression in his eyes. In his hands were the dog tags, along with his keepsakes of his beloveds and in a small box was the wedding band. All of his personal belongings packed neatly into a box. Price knew he didn’t have to say anything to her for her to know that he was paying his respects to Johnny’s wife. Prior to the memorial service she had made it clear to Price that she wanted him to keep his ashes. She found they would get at least some closure from releasing them.

As Price drew her small frame in for a polite hug her son grew restless in her arms. She knew he was too young to understand that his father was gone, but it was clear that he was uncomfortable and upset from the lack of him. "Mama, it's cold" he fussed as he smushed his face farther onto her neck, "and your feet are getting wet. You're gonna catch a cold". She gave Price an apologetic smile as she turned her attention to her son now — Price had taken it as a signal to retreat. He now stood with two other men.

She couldn't help but smile at the innocence and kindness that exuded from her son. She gently patted his back to soothe his discomfort, "How about we get out of here and get some lunch?" she tried to speak in her most joyful tone, but even then it was coated in sorrow. The boy did not catch on to her somber response, and instead eagerly nodded his head as he perked up to look at his mother. That is when she realized how similar their son, Samuel, looked to his father. He mirrored him in nearly every aspect -- the eye shape and color, the dark hair, and even the mannerisms were similar. This could all be a fragment of her imagination -- she thought. Maybe it was part of her grieving process. She missed him so much that she began to look for him and could only find him perfectly in their Sammie. She was so consumed by her thoughts, that she had not realized the single salty tear that slipped out of her eye and down her cheek. Samuel hated to see his mother cry, he quickly brought his tiny hands up to her cheek and wiped it away with a slightly heavy palm. Usually, he would verbally comfort her — as best as a toddler could do, but all he did was lean forward to place a gentle kiss on his mother's forehead, "This always makes you feel better when Daddy does it". Does -- in present tense.

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She could not tolerate being at the memorial service for much longer, and neither could Samuel. She had buckled him into his car seat and handed him a strawberry and banana squeezable fruit pack and crackers to ease his rumbling tummy in the meantime.

However, as she closed the car door and turned her back to face the crowd of people one last time she was instead met with a tall, burly build of a man. His face was hidden by a balaclava, leaving only his eyes on display. But the rest of his face was not necessary to note that he was also grieving. She noticed him within the crowd of the memorial service as well -- she assumed that was one of Johnny's friends, but did not bother to congregate with anyone since Johnny kept his personal life completely separate from his work life. And if she was being honest with herself, she did not have the emotional stamina to socialize with people that spent months out of the year with her late husband.

"Sorry. Can I help you with something?" she asked the brute man. She stared up at him with her eyes slightly shut to avoid water from getting into them.

"He’s Johnny’s" was his only reply. For a moment she only blinked and stared at him and noted the heavy English accent. The mention of her late husband’s name stung as she now was fighting back tears. Yes, he is Johnny's son. His pride and joy -- was what she wanted to say, but she could barely muster up the strength to nod her head.

She could tell that the individual's lips tightened into a line by the way the fabric of his mask slightly stretched. "My name is Simon. I was a friend of Johnny's..." he attempted to continue speaking, but all he did was nervously rub the back of his neck. "Johnny meant a lot to me, a real friend of mine..." he trailed off again.

She knew he was grieving, but it was a different type of pain. She sensed guilt within his sadness, but she knew better than to ask about any specifics. Her kind nature and maternal habits took over as she saw Simon struggling to find his words. For whatever reason this man decided to make himself emotionally uncomfortable to introduce himself, she figured there would be no harm in easing his mind.

She knew who Simon was since Johnny would bring up his friend "Ghost" every now and then "I know who you are" she smiled warmly trying to be the emotional rock between the two, "How about you join us for some lunch. I think Sammie would love to talk to and get to know his Uncle Ghost" she spoke eagerly in an attempt to lighten the mood -- something that was usually Johnny's role.

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The three of them sat in a booth within a homely diner. The rain had completely let down at this point, the large drops of water hitting the roof of the diner with loud individual pats. Her hands were wrapped around a warm mug of coffee as she stared out the window watching blades of grass be temporarily smooshed by the inclement weather. The waitress had refilled her mug causing her gaze to turn towards her, her eyes softened and she gave the waitress a subtle nod to thank her. It was then that she realized that her son was wearing the ghost mask that was once on Simon. There was a glimmer of joy in Sam's eyes as he stood on the booth and gently hopped toward his mother to show her the "cool mask".

"I look so cool!" he exclaimed which only caused a chuckle to leave both her and Simon's mouths as the toddler's face was completely exposed through the eye hole on the mask -- his features obviously too small to fill the mask in the same manner. Upon hearing the slight laugh she turned to look at Simon, who she was surprised to see with dirty blonde hair. He was overall a handsome man, something that anyone would notice at first glance, but his eyes always conveyed a lot of emotion. Right now it was amusement tinged with pain as he stared at Sam. She knew he also noticed how strongly he resembles Johnny, and a part of her found comfort in knowing that she was not grieving alone. The way he looked at Sammie made her feel warm. She sensed that Simon knew Johnny deeper than most of the people at the memorial service — knowing that she found herself smiling at the thought of her being able to cherish Johnny’s memories with someone else.

The waitress had arrived with everyone's meals. Sam did not hesitate to dig into his plate. The toddler abruptly grabbed the bottle of syrup and drenched his pancakes in it. His careless behavior causing some of it to spill onto to the table, "Use your table manners please" she spoke sternly, but softly to the boy as she slipped him a napkin and a set of covered utensils.

"He looks just like him" he spoke in a gentle and respectful tone. His eyes rested on Sam -- who was now too focused on using his utensils properly to pay attention to the conversation happening in front of him.

Her hand wiped a strand of dark stray hair away from his forehead before she turned her attention toward Simon, who was now looking at her, "Yeah. Carried him for 9 months and he's got the nerve to look just like his father" she shrugged with a pained smile — her attempt to lighten the mood once again failing, "but I wouldn't have it any other way".

Simon took note of the sorrow hidden within the smile as his own face mirrored it out of empathy.

A few minutes had gone by and Samuel was still working on his meal, Simon had quickly eaten his, and she played with her food, tossing it around all over her plate in a desperate attempt to distract herself. How embarrassing would it be to break down at a family diner. "You should eat your lunch" he spoke. The deep voice dragging her out of her spiraling thoughts.

She glanced down to look at his empty plate and her contrastingly full one. Casually shrugging off his suggestion she set her fork down and let out a soft sigh, "I'll just take it to go. I don't really have an appetite at the moment" she spoke in a casual tone — too causal of a tone. She was normally a social person, the type to be able to engage in conversation with any type of person for hours. Her personality was magnetizing in the sense that she was an incredibly open minded person, which only made her a vessel for hundreds on conversations, all of different topics and tones — a quality that Johnny loved about her. She was one of the few that would keep up with his mindless thoughts and nonsense ideas. That is where she was at the moment. In her mind she was thinking about the woman she was before she got the gut wrenching knock at her door. The knock where she was told by Laswell and Price that her husband was gone. “Killed in Action” were the words they used. “He died saving the world” was something Price added.

Sure he had died saving the world, but her and her son’s was destroyed. She was never a selfish person, but in that moment she wished the world would burn if it meant he was in her arms instead of merely a memory. She hadn’t noticed until recently that tears were flooding her cheeks and spilling onto her meal. Simon had been observing her for a moment as she watched her fall into deep thought, but once he saw her tear stained face he acted quickly.

He swiftly took his wallet out of his pocket and placed a $50 bill on the table to cover their meals and a decent tip, “Come on” he spoke in a demanding voice, his tone remaining soft enough for her and Sam to remain calm. Sam was oblivious to his mother’s current state as he had now distracted himself with the crayons and the kids menu.

She looked at Simon as she attempted to regain her composure. It was long gone, she was an emotional mess at the diner — exactly what she was trying to avoid. “It’s alright.” he coo’d as he took Sam into his arm. With his free hand he guided her out of the booth and to the exit.

He took the initiative to get the mother and son home as soon as possible. The three of them approached her car, “Get in and take a few deep breaths, yeah?” he instructed while simultaneously holding the door open for her. Sam had been buckled into his car seat, which Simon struggled to figure out, but the toddler being incredibly intuitive had seen his mother and father do it hundreds of times and was able to talk Simon through it.

If that had happened under different circumstances she would have been able to congratulate Sam and let him know how proud she is of him, but she was far from being in that state of self awareness and state of mind.

She was a wreck in the passengers seat of her own car. She was heartbroken in the passengers seat of her own car. The severity of it all finally setting in making it nearly impossible for her to get ahold of herself.

Is she just exhausted from the days leading up to the funeral? A weeks worth of concealed emotions finally spilling out in front of her. She is definitely overwhelmed, but this time she subconsciously feels safe and secure enough to let go of her broken front.

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Months had gone by since her meltdown in front of Simon, and he never once brought it up. He was well aware it wasn’t something she was proud of, nor did she want to talk about her grief. Simon had been coming around her and Samuel a couple times a week just to check in on the pair. He felt it was his responsibility to keep them safe now — the least he could do for his recently deceased friend. Everyday he spent with the two of them he realized why Soap had kept them a secret. They were truly too special to put into any risk; especially her. She was a walking breath of fresh air, not something anyone encounters often in their lifetime, especially not in their line of work and the lifestyle it supplies. Now it all made sense. Johnny was always the most eager to return home when they’d be out in the field, said he had “something special” waiting for him, but everyone would shrug it off.

He grew to understand Soap’s decision to keep his family hidden from the world he worked in.

Even though Simon was consumed in his own thoughts he was still able to be completely alert as the mother and son played on the playground.

Her laugh. It stripped him away from his spiraling memories and muses. His gaze snapped to her body on the floor covered in wood chips, she had clearly tripped and stumbled while playing with Samuel. She was laughing at her clumsiness, laughing at how attentive Samuel was to his mother as soon as she hit the cushioned floor, “Sammie, I’m okay” she soothed him as he clung to her — small and gentle laughs leaving her full lips as she reacted to the entire scenario.

That was the first time Simon had heard her laugh.The sound of her sweet tone intoxicating to him. He couldn’t get enough, is what he mentally told himself as he walked over to her to help get back on her feet. Her soft and polished hand nestled and firmly gripped onto his rough and calloused one as he pulled her off the ground.

Guilt lingered in his being upon realizing how much he liked being around her, but he needed to be there for them. The conflict was clear within him, and something he figures he’ll eventually learn to accept and move forward with. He knew he would have to set aside his audacious feelings to respect her and more importantly to respect Johnny. He would be there to protect them as much as she allowed him. He wasn’t planning on getting emotionally attached to the the pair, or her alone.

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Later that same evening, Simon had made the decision to pay her and Sammie a visit. He stepped out of his car with a bag of Chinese takeout in his hand. Chinese food had become the only thing she would willingly eat ever since Johnny passed. A swift hand smoothing his plain black t-shirt before he began walking toward her front door, but as soon as his hand left his clothing he realized what he was doing. Bringing her favorite food to her and her son with no real reason to be seeing her, checking his appearance — something uncommon for the typically aloof man. A lingering hint of guilt settled in the pit of his stomach as he treaded towards the front door of her house. No, Simon was only supposed to be there for the mother and son duo as an aide during this severe loss. He felt that’s what he owed to Johnny since he felt partially responsible for his death. A cocktail of traumatic thoughts and memories invaded his mind . The grip on the take-out bag grew stronger, the same strength being felt in his chest as his heart pounded in its cavity

Upon reaching the front door he heard what sounded like a glass had broken — as if it had fallen off of a surface, which isn’t a big deal, she had a bad habit off leaving glasses on the edge of countertops and tables, but the yelp that followed only made Simon react in the most instinctive manner. He rushed inside the house and into the kitchen where she was found with a dish towel wrapped around her hand and a grimace on her face. Her nose scrunched in reaction to the pain.

Simon raised an eyebrow at her as he approached her with swift and long strides. His demeanor was urgent, alarmed and slightly panicked as his body was still in a reactive state from his memories, but how could she know that? She stared at him with the same expression, but she had more reason to. His breathing wasn’t heavy but it was slightly sporadic. At the same time, it was still controlled, his body was tense, but most significantly, his eyes looked panicked and unsettled. “I didn’t know you’d be visiting tonight. You should have let me know,” she spoke casually as she continued holding pressure on her fresh wound, “Or else I wouldn’t have-“ her words stopped flowing when Simon grabbed her hand and began to examine the brand-new cut. She watched his concerned expression lighten when he confirmed that the abrasion was small enough to heal on its own, “- let my mom take him for the weekend.” She finally completed her sentence when his large brown eyes met hers.

She knew exactly what was happening to him. She recognized the wide, alert eyes, uneven breathing, and tense mannerisms. This was a common occurrence that she witnessed Johnny experience. Her husband was gone, but there were constant reminders of him everywhere -- and one thing she hated seeing was Johnny struggling with his PTSD. Just like Johnny, she couldn't tolerate seeing Simon in the same condition.

Using her unharmed hand, she grabbed Simon's calloused one. Her movements were gentle and fluid as she guided their hands to the left side of her chest. With his palm now resting on her chest she looked into his eyes before speaking in a nurturing tone. "Slow and steady. Count it for me" she said as she placed her own hand over his chest. It was then that she noticed how hard and fast his heart pounded. "I’ll count yours until we match pace. One, two, three..."

Eventually, Simon counted with her, his heart rate slowing gradually as his mind remained distracted from the trauma and focused on her. On her beating heart, on her nurturing voice, on her full pink lips, on her long dark eyelashes, on her soft delicate hands. Her. His mind consumed by images of her, his newfound serenity.

Simon cannot help but feel guilty, but his pleasure and serene state strongly blinds him from this feelings. This is exactly what he didn’t want, but he can’t help but relish in it.

[random-thot-generator]

Dirty Little Secret + Pt. 4

JOHNNY 'SOAP' MACTAVISH x FEM READER

-

Summary: You think the worst is over until you go on your morning walk and realize your troubles have just begun.

Warnings/Tags: Profanity, angst, explicit language, light dub con- Soap steals a kiss, reader is feelin' it, but she's pissed about it, Johnny's a cheeky git, No use of Y/N

(Notes: Sprinkled just a wee, teensy tiny bit of spice in this one, but nothing to clutch your pearls over. Aunt Rue's just settling in to enjoy the show now.)

Word Count: 1.5K

-

You were shaking with barely contained rage as you let yourself in the bakery the following morning. Aunt Rue called out to you, as usual, then came out of the back when you didn't answer right away. You couldn't. You were choking on your own fury.

"What's the matter, love?" she asked, eyeing your flustered state.

"I ran into bloody Johnny this morning, that's what!" you snapped, marching back to the office.

Rue trailed after you, watching as you stripped off your jacket with angry, jerky movements and threw it at the coat tree. "He didn't leave, then?" she asked, tone mild.

"Apparently not," you gritted out, stomping past her and back out to the front.

After that little scene with Johnny the day before, you had finally come clean with your aunt about him, so now she knew all the sordid details, but to your surprise and dismay, her only advice had been, "Talk to him, lass. 'S the only way you'll find peace."

You thought, at the time, that her advice was useless. You thought Johnny would go back to Hereford after confronting him about his other bird. You thought wrong.

Still fuming, you started prepping behind the counter, banging and slamming things around, muttering under your breath as your aunt watched on in amusement.

"The lad's certainly got you riled up this morning," she commented, which did nothing to improve your current disposition.

"He's bloody infuriating," you snarled, banging the lid back on the water urn. "The fucking cheek of him!"

Rue pressed her lips together to keep from grinning. She waited until your back was turned before asking, "Well, what did he do to get you so, um... worked up?"

Your shoulders tensed, hands stilling as you felt heat creeping up from your chest. "Nothing," you eventually muttered, then stomped off to hide in the stock room, away from your aunt's keen eyes.

-

In truth, you were incensed the moment you spotted Johnny jogging along the boardwalk that morning. Almost twisting your ankle on the loose pebbles of the beach, you'd stomped your way up the stairs, scattering a small group of seagulls pecking around a trash bin. Your voice sounded similar to their high-pitched squawks when you confronted him.

"Why are you still here?"

Johnny stood panting in front of you, sweat trickling down his brow and cheeks, his tee damp and clinging to his thick chest and arms. He huffed at you, pulling up the tail of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, exposing his firm abs, happy trail on full display.

"An' good mornin' to ye, too, bonnie," he replied, looking you up and down with a crooked grin. "Yer lookin' good t'day."

"Don't start with me, Johnny. Why are you still here?" you demanded.

He sauntered over to the railing and braced his hands against it, extending a leg out behind him as he started doing his post-run stretches. Muscles bulged and flexed beneath a layer of fine, dark hair, distracting you despite how angry you were.

Damn him.

He peered at you over his shoulder, grinning. "Place is sorta growin' on me. Quiet little village, ocean views, good people. Beats the hell outta Hereford, tha's fer sure."

You leaned a hip against the railing while he continued with his stretches, crossing your arms over your chest. "Shouldn't you be gettin' back to your lass? I'm sure she's missing you by now," you snarked, tone bitter.

He huffed again, shaking his head. "Christ. Dunno wha' ye thought ye saw, hen, but I've no' been wi' anyone else. Not since you," he added, the look in his eye heated. Hungry.

"Bullshit!" you hissed at him.

There was a momentary flash of anger in his blue eyes, but then he smirked. "Think yer the one bullshittin', hen."

"Fuck you and your bullshit! I saw her with you!" you snapped, jabbing a finger at him.

He was on you in the blink of an eye, caging you against the railing, hands gripping the rail on either side of your hips as he leaned into you. "Describe her to me, then," he purred. "Tell me 'bout this new bird o' mine."

"Fine," you gritted between your clenched teeth. "She's taller than me, slender, long, curly dark hair… pretty. You took her to the coffee shop near that Thai place."

He gave you a quizzical look, then recognition dawned in his eyes and a smirk curled up his lips. He reached for the small pack at his waist and took out his phone. Tapping at the screen a few times, he turned it around for you to look at a pic he'd saved. "This the bird yer talkin' 'bout?"

You stared at the image of the same young woman you'd seen him with him all those months ago. You'd never forget her face; it had been seared into your brain like a brand.

"Yeah, that's her," you mumbled, looking away.

He turned the phone to look at her pretty face himself and sniffed in amusement. "Aye, Sorcha's a bonnie lass. Looks jus' like our mam."

'Our mam'???

Wait...

You snatched the phone out of his hand to scrutinize the image up close, a sick feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. Her hair was a shade lighter than Johnny's with auburn highlights, but the eyes… the same shape, the same Prussian blue shade. The longer you studied her pic, the easier it was to see the family resemblance. Looked like that devilish little smirk was hereditary, too.

Ah, bloody hell…

You couldn't meet his eyes, embarrassment making your whole body flush hot. You handed his phone back, all that righteous anger pumping you up now deflating like a balloon. Slanting a sulky look at him, you gave in with begrudging acceptance. "How would I know that you had a sister?" you muttered, averting your eyes again.

Johnny sighed, putting his phone away. "Ya could no' have kenned it 'cause I never tol' ye," he admitted, his tone contrite, not gloating, like you expected. "There's a lot I should'a tol' ye, bonnie. A lot I should'a asked, too."

He tipped your chin up to look into your eyes, and you knew he was about to kiss you; you had seen that same look on his face a thousand times. You turned your head, hands pushing at his chest. "No. Don't," you whispered, voice wavering.

"Sweetheart, dinnae be mad," he cooed, cupping your cheek. "Now that ye ken the truth, we can—"

"We can what, Johnny? Go back to how things were?" There was a distinct warble to your voice now, tears already pricking at your eyes. You huffed out an exasperated breath, shaking your head. "No. I can't go back to that. I won't."

You pushed past him and started walking at a clipped pace, steps hurried. You needed to get away from him, get your head clear.

"Bonnie, wait!" he called, jogging after you. "C'mon, hen," he pleaded, taking you by the arm. "We can work this out. Jus' give us a chance."

You yanked your arm out of his light grip and glared at him. "I gave you two years of my life, Johnny. I can't do this anymore," you sobbed out, breath hitching.

He drew his hand away, a pained expression on his face. "Bonnie…"

"It's too little, too late, Johnny. Just… go home."

You again tried to walk away from him, but then his hands were at your waist, spinning you 'round and tugging you against him. You pushed at him, tears now slipping down your cheeks. "What are you doing?"

"Testin' a theory," he murmured, then his hand was cupping the back of your head, and he crashed his lips to yours.

Say what you want about Johnny MacTavish, but the bastard knew how to kiss. He had you melting against him in an instant, overwhelmed and clinging to him, no longer pushing him away. His tongue licked into your mouth, and he groaned, arms tightening to mold your body to his.

When he finally broke the kiss, he peered down at you, eyes hooded with desire. He took in your dazed expression and smirked, looking smug as hell. He then let you go and stepped back, wiping the spit from his bottom lip with his thumb, the look in his eye pure sin.

"Best get on t'work, bonnie. Yer goin' t'be late."

You blinked, head still a little hazy, brain slow to process what he had just done. Oh, but when it finally sunk in, you were spitting mad.

"Ooh! You— You bloody arsehole!" you seethed. Growling, you spun on your heel and stalked away, a string of profanities left in your wake.

Johnny laughed, elated after that telling kiss. "Be seein' ye soon, bonnie!" he called after you.

You threw an angry glance over your shoulder, only to see him blow you a kiss and give a cheeky wink before turning and jogging back the way he came.

Fuck!

You'd never get rid of him now, you thought, as you hurried towards the bakery, trying your best to ignore the dull ache in your core and the damp patch in your knickers.

-

part 3 part 5

[chernobog13]

The Secret of the Urn (1966)

Yet another remake of The Million-Ryo Pot, this time the one-eyed, one-armed ronin Tange Sazen is portrayed by veteran samurai actor Kinnosuke Nakamaura (in Japan his portrayal of legendary swordsman Miyamoto Musashi in a 5-film series is,considered better than Toshiro Mifune’s in the Samurai Trilogy).

This film is directed by Hdeo Gosha, a master of chambara (Three Outlaw Samurai - both the film and television series, Sword of the Beast, Goyokin, Tenchu).

The film also stars Tetsuro Tamba, aka the hardest working man in Japanese cinema, and known better in the West as Tiger Tanaka in the James Bond flick You Only Live Twice (1967).  Tamba-san had also portrayed Tange Sazen: in a 1958 television series, and in the film Tange Sazen: The One-Eyed Swordsman (1963).

For thirty years prior to this film Tange Sazen had been portrayed as an irascible curmudgeon with a heart of gold.  He was basically your stern, yet kind-hearted, uncle who was always looking out for the underdog.

This film changed that.  In the spirit of the 1960s, when many heroes became anti-heroes (or downright villains), Tange Sazen became the monster that his enemies always called him.

Nakamura-san’s Sazen is unhinged, manic, bloodthirsty, and out for himself.  In the context of the film, which depicts how he lost his eye and arm as the result of a betrayal, this new attitude is understandable.  A trauma like that would leave anyone unbalanced.  I mean, that’s how Batman got most of his rogue’s gallery.

But, as fine as the film is - and it is very good indeed - Japanese audiences were not quite ready for this new Tange Sazen.  The long running Toei film series starring Ryutaro Otomo as a much friendlier, almost comedic Sazen, had only ended a few years prior.  Otomo-san’s portrayal was still fresh in many people’s minds, and the new Tange Sazen was just too jarring.

Perhaps not surprising, then, this was the last Tange Sazen film released in theaters.  The character would only return on television in a new series (1970) and several made-for-TV movies.

One of those TV movies, Tange Sazen and The Pot Worth One Million Ryo (1982), was directed by Gosha-san.  It was his remake of The Secret of the Urn, this time starring Tatsuya Nakadai (Sanjuro, Sword of Doom, Ran, Goyokin) as Tange Sazen.  The story remains essentially the same, but Nakadai-san’s portrayal of our hero is much more balanced; nowhere as manic and menacing as Nakamura-san’s.

[peggy-sue-reads-a-book]

Listen, I’ve said this before but The Song of Achilles from the POV of Achilles would literally not be a work of art. No ‘half my soul’ this ‘golden urns’ that. No. Hell no. It’s a furry little journal with a heart shaped lock he keeps under his mattress called Diary of the Specialest Boy in the World and let me tell you it’s dumb. Achilles is so dyslexic he mainly communicates in stick people, for one thing, and for another his poetry about Patroclus is cringe AF. The nudes he’s sketched of Pat? Also not that good. There are no secrets at all in the diary, it just has a little lock so he could give Pat the key. Patroclus read it once and took a shot every time Agamemnon was spelled a new way and had to hide the damn thing upon his beloved’s return from battle and come up with yet another excuse for his day drinking.

That being said I live for first person Achilles POV fan fiction. Live. For. It.

[commander-krios]

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel the same as I do, then I’ll leave you alone.” for revan and canderous? :D

I... I finished it?? OMG I did it! I hope this was worth the wait, I'm so sorry this took so long. Warnings for graphic violence and descriptions of death/corpses.

Read on AO3

“We need to talk.”

Closing her eyes, Yuehai breathed in through her nose, trying her hardest not to give in to the anger that swelled in her chest. The coarse red dirt of Korriban stained her feet, dirtied her robes, burned her skin as she knelt to retrieve the stone urn half buried. “This isn’t the time or place.”

Gravel crunched beneath Canderous’ boots as he stepped closer, his shadow dwarfing her as she pried the urn from the ground. The HK droid had walked off to patrol a few minutes before, leaving the two of them in the heated silence. The Mandalorian hadn’t said a word during most of their trek through the tombs or the caves, but now, when they were so close to getting off this dreadful rock, he had to open his mouth.

“Revan-”

With a hiss, she glared up at him, furious at the use of a name that died with her past. “Don’t call me that.”

Those grey eyes she swore didn’t haunt her dreams slanted in her direction. The unforgiving sun left his skin burned as he stood there, but not once did he complain of the pain. Stubborn to the end. Something they had in common, at least.

One of many things, her mind taunted, dark whispers fading as his gaze brought her back to the conversation. It was a strange thing, to feel desire for a man that she might’ve killed in another life. To think that one look into his eyes kept her from falling to the dark again.

“Revan is a part of who you are, even if you’re ashamed of it.”

“You think I’m ashamed of who I am? Who I was?” She stood, shaking some of the dirt out of those hideous black robes the Academy gave their students. “You know nothing about me.”

“That’s a lie.” Canderous crossed his arms over his chest, not backing down even as her fingers flexed, tempted to strangle him where he stood. “We are the same. Even you can’t deny that.”

No, she couldn’t. 

And that was part of the problem when it came to this thing between her and Canderous. They were warriors, scarred by blade and hands stained with blood, capable of both terrible destruction and great deeds. Their lives were built on war, sustained by death, only to fall at the height of their power.

Whenever she looked at him, she saw the past. 

Canderous stepped closer, the space between them thinning to nothing. The sweet pungent scent of sweat mixed with the rusty smell of dirt, turned red by years of blood seeping into the ground. When he reached out with a steady hand to brush his fingers over her dark hair, she dropped her gaze to a scar on his neck, jagged, white, and she wondered, not for the first time, where he’d gotten it. His rough fingers brushed her cheek and she couldn’t stop the immediate reaction to his touch, closing her eyes and leaning into his hand, wanting to feel more of his strength.

“Look me in the eyes.” He commanded, refusing to back down when she did without argument, his eyes like molten metal, no light in their depths, only darkness. “Tell me you don’t want this, that you don’t feel the pull that’s between us. Tell me to leave you alone and I will.”

That was just it. She couldn’t do any of those things. Because no matter how much she wanted to deny this old bastard the satisfaction of being correct in at least one thing since he joined her crew, Yuehai knew she’d never speak those words. Because they were lies. 

And Revan was many things, but a liar, she was not.

The telltale feel of the dark side washed over her suddenly, skin prickling uncomfortably, the hair on her arms rising before three Dark Jedi appeared in the distance over Canderous’s shoulder. They strolled casually down the hill to where they’d been secreted away, red lightsabers glowing bright even against the bloody sands of Korriban.

“I almost feel guilty for interrupting such a lovely moment.” Heavy sarcasm laced every word, not a trace of sincerity in the voice that spoke from beneath the dark hood.

Not that she’d expected any.

Yuehai couldn’t see their faces, but she could see the pale skin and black veins that were common in dark side corruption. She sighed, stepping around Canderous at the same time he turned, her sabers in her hands without hesitation. “More of you? Didn't you have enough of getting your asses kicked on Tatooine and the Leviathan?”

One of them hissed at her, spitting curses before stepping forward, as if he could strike fear in the heart of the woman who had destroyed the Mandalorians and destroyed the Jedi. “You are nothing without your Jedi, traitor. With her battle meditation, the Republic will lie before our feet, nothing more than burned rubble and broken bodies.”

She eyed the Sith’s form, making a mental note of how he favored his left leg: an old injury or perhaps he was tortured as punishment for a failure. The cause did not matter when she could benefit from the weakness. “Your master is the traitor and I will see him kneeling at my feet before I end his life.”

A crimson lightsaber slashed through the air, a wide arcing swing that was full of rage and little control. Yuehai lifted her hand in a single fluid motion, the blue lightsaber in her left hand blocking the first swing while the one in her right, one that glowed with an amethyst crystal, found its home in the Sith’s chest. With a downward thrust, she cleaved him in two, leaving a smoking mass of flesh where a person had stood a moment before.

The Sith that had spoken howled in fury, stepping forward with a raised hand, electricity crackling at his fingertips. Blocking with one of her sabers would only work a few times before the lightning overpowered her, but she didn’t need much time to close the distance.

If she was truly Darth Revan, she doubted any of these Sith had the power to kill her. They were nothing more than ants to crush beneath her boot.

Canderous opened fire, his repeater leaving multiple smoking holes in the Sith furthest away. The scent of burning flesh assaulted her nose only briefly before Yuehai used her connection on the force to leap into the air, lightsabers posed to strike. The Sith got his saber up in time to block the attack, but she didn’t let up, slashing and pushing the Sith back until he was practically pressed against a outcropping of stone, nowhere left to go. 

The electricity built to a maelstrom beneath his skin. Shadowy whispers of imminent danger tickled at the back of her mind but she ignored the warnings, striking out with her right saber. It met the Sith’s in a shower of red and purple sparks, the blades hissing as they made contact. She pushed as hard as she could towards his left side, the weight of her form pressing against him, her muscles straining beneath thick, itchy robes. The Sith tried to pivot the sudden movement, but his weakened leg almost buckled under their combined weight.

She saw the terror flash in his gaze when he looked at her, blue eyes turned hazy, yellow, a mark of the Sith. There was no doubt that he’d killed innocents, done evil in a galaxy that had suffered enough. Here, in the sandy wasteland of Korriban, under the shade of tombs of greater Sith, this man would die and Yuehai felt not a fraction of pity for him.

He hesitated to release his hold on the lightning with her body so close. If he did so, he’d be caught in the crossfire, frying him as well as himself. As he fought against being overpowered, Yuehai spun her second lightsaber, severing his hand from the rest of his body.

He screamed as the stump smoked, blood sizzling as the wound cauterized, and Yuehai stepped out of the way so Canderous had the perfect shot. It was over within seconds, the Sith all dead at her feet, her breath coming in puffs, her lungs burning from the exertion. When she turned to face the Mandalorian again, her hair fell into her eyes, obscuring his image slightly. 

Nothing could hide the flash of his eyes as he watched her across the battlefield. After a moment, the tension eased, and he slung the repeater across his shoulder before crossing the distance between them with purposeful strides.

“Don’t-” She warned him, lightsabers still hanging at her sides, the heat felt through her clothing even with the brutal Korriban sun beating down on her. She didn’t know if she intended to use her weapons or not, but all thought fled her mind when he pressed her against the stone at her back.

He was pigheaded, impossible, irritating, and one of the most stubborn bastards she’d ever met and yet, when he slipped his strong hands around her waist, his hot mouth against her own, she knew that she was lost. The kiss was hasty, intense, leaving every part of her burning, the desire for more lingering when he pulled back.

“You are the greatest warrior I have fought against, Revan.” He told her with a conviction that almost had her heart singing in her chest. Yuehai knew what the feeling was even if she couldn’t remember ever feeling it before. It terrified her. “And the greatest warrior I have ever fought beside. I will continue fighting at your side until you have no more use for me.”

With a groan, she shut off her lightsabers, clipping them to her belt once more. Damn him. “Stubborn bastard. This misplaced devotion of yours is going to get you killed one day.”

The smallest of grins crossed his lips, fleeting, brief, disappearing as quickly as it’d appeared. So quick it was that she thought she might’ve imagined it. “Dying in battle, with or against you, would be an honor.”

It almost sounded like he was teasing her.

“Will it be such an honor when I suffocate you in your sleep?” Squinting up at him, she tried to keep the frustration out of her voice, but she saw the quirk of his eyebrow at her words.

The whir of machinery broke the silence that fell, the familiar sight of HK-47 returning from his patrol. At the sight of the bodies scattered around them, the assassin droid pivoted towards her almost offended. “Statement: Master! You killed meatbags without me. Query: How could you?”

Yuehai bit her lip, trying not to laugh at how human he almost sounded and instead, tucked her hand into Canderous’, enjoying the rough calloused skin against her own. They still needed to find the Star Map, but they were so close, Bastila’s rescue nearly at hand. Then… maybe then the future might actually be a possibility.

[satureja13]

Escape from Batuu (The book Jack found at the Library) This is the story about the lovers Val and Jino. They lived happily together in their little housing at Batuu.

Val and Jino loved each other dearly. Jino was so beautiful and amazing, Val couldn't get enough of him.

And Val was a very talented mechanic. They couldn't have been happier.

Until the First Order got note of Val's talent and recruited him as TIE fighter pilot and mechanic.

And then Lt. Agnon saw how beautiful Val's love Jino was. Lt. Agnon knew of his master's fondness for pretty men and so he claimed Jino for his master. Of course Jino rejected. But Lt. Agnon threatened him that the First Order (with Val as squadron leader!) would destroy his home planet, shouldn't he give in, and put him under arrest...

Jino and Val were devastated. Their happy life had crumbled to pieces.

The following night Jino sneaked out and they met in secret. Val: "Don't worry. I have a plan."

Jino: "I love you." Val: "I know."

Early next morning

Lt. Agnon and Jino awaited the arrival of his master. He would take Jino with him and make him his.

Val and Jino made eye contact - and Jino ran over to Val's TIE Fighter!

And so they'd made their escape from Batuu!

Lt. Agnon's master was furious! Kylo Ren: "You will be mine, Jino. You will be mine!" Kylo Ren gave order to destroy Jino's home planet but unfortunately (or fortunately ^^') Jino's home planet was Batuu... ^^ And so he started to hunt Val and Jino through the Galaxy.

Val and Jino experienced the most wonderful adventures together and were always a few steps ahead. They never got cought and lived a very happy and very long life and found good friends. They swore each other everlasting love and even promised to find and love each other in their next lives. And after their death, their friends shot their urns into space. Where they travelled next to each other many lightyears - through wormholes, around suns and between galaxies... until they penetrated the atmosphere over Chestnut Ridge, became meteorites and crashed at Martha's Farm! On the very day Ji Ho and Vlad met for the first time at the Highschool in Copperdale!

Whoa...

From the Beginning  ~  Underwater Love ~  Latest 🛺 'Home crappy Home' from the beginning ▶️ here 📚 Previous Chapters: 🌴 'The Expedition' from the beginning ▶️ here 🎤 'Putting the Boys Back together' from the beginning ▶️ here 🥀 'Disbandment of the Group' from the beginning ▶️ here

[disabled-dean]

Happy New Years Beloveds <3333

This was my first full year in the spn fandom. Most of the fics I read were fandom classics, so they're damn near impossible to rank, but for psychological damage alone, I've gotta go with 91 Whiskey by komodobits as my top pick. The grip this one had on me, besties. It's so deeply rooted in the viscera of the war and experience of the body.

And This Your Living Kiss by opal_bullets.  Dean is a middle aged mechanic and secret poet who goes back to school to help his mental health. He ends up in class with Professor Novak, who's the foremost scholar of Dean's poetry. A classic for a reason <3 This one is so lovely and the poetry is gorgeous. Really a triumph. There's a recording of it on spotify too which is beautifully narrated. 

Spirit of the West by @urne-buriall. Read this one while working at my aunt's ranch and it Changed Me. So hard to put words to this one. Such a lovely study on Dean's relationship with himself and his sexuality, the violence of his upbringing, and the space that meeting Cas opens in his life. Immaculate, immersive vibes. Have it in hardback. 10/10.

Where Black Stars Rise. @urne-buriall stays winning!!!! It's a haunted slot canyon! Cas wears hiking shorts! What more could you want? Seriously though, the environment of this fic continues to occupy me. Stunning.

Under The Midnight Sun by Northernsparrow

Dean is a camp director for a research facility in Alaska, Cas is, seemingly, doing something scientific with the local birds. This one is so lovely and immersive in its worldbuilding, and I'm haunted by the endnote that says that the author first thought of the idea for the fic 15 years before it was finished, during a stay in Alaska. Just exceptional. 

Clean Slate by @demora00 . Dean comes back from Hell without scars or tattoos. An immaculate study in identity and dysmorphia. 

AITA for disapproving of my brother's high sex drive? By birdsofthesoul and PlaidIsTheBestPattern. Sam finds out that Dean is bisexual and spins out about having accidentally sex-shamed and micro-aggressed him for years. On reddit. A fucking DELIGHT. 

And many more!!! Love you all!!!! See you in the new year!!!!! <3333

[mimble-sparklepudding]

Cemetery Symbolism OC Questions

A little list of OC questions based on Victorian Graveyard Symbolism (obviously some of the symbols mentioned here had more than one meaning, or a meaning which changed over time, it's not intended to be exhaustive, merely illustrative of some themes). I hope you enjoy the list!

Skull - Mortality.

Does your OC often reflect upon their own mortality? Is it something which they fear?

Does your OC have a "bucket list" of things they would like to do (or places they would like to see) before they die?

Who is the most significant person your OC has lost? Have they fully processed their grief? Or can certain things trigger a flood of emotions?

Is there a person who your OC cannot bear the thought of losing? What lengths would they go to in order to keep them safe?

Does your OC observe any ceremonies or festivals of remembrance? Who do they memorialise? How does your OC feel on these occasions?

Harp - Hope.

Is your OC an optimist? Do they tend to believe things will work out for the best? Or do they prefer to anticipate the worst, in order to be pleasantly surprised if it does not occur?

If your OC could make one wish to change the world for the better then what would they choose?

Has your OC fulfilled the hopes of their parents or their community? How do they feel about these in retrospect?

To what does your OC cling to in extremes of despair or danger? A faith? A mission? Or something else?

Does your OC galvanise hope in others? How do they encourage or rally others when they fall to despair?

Heart - Devotion.

Does your OC inspire devotion in those around them? What form does this take? Adulation? Romantic attachment? Ferocious loyalty? Or something else?

Is your OC particularly pious? Do they follow a religious faith? Or did they once have a faith which they lost? If they are not religious then how do they feel about those who are?

Does your OC have an irreverent sense of humour, even (or especially) about the things which are important to them? Or do they treat such things with great solemnity?

Is your OC particularly patriotic? What does their country or other place of origin mean to them?

Does your OC remain loyal to those they love, regardless of the rights and wrongs of any given situation? Would they support them even if they were in the wrong? Even if they committed a serious crime?

Cherub - Innocence.

Is your OC particularly knowledgeable about matters of the flesh? Are they easily shocked or scandalised? Or are there relatively few fetishes, positions, or unusual uses of implements of which they have not heard - or possibly even attempted?

Does your OC swear in day to day conversation? Or only when they are startled or angry?

Did your OC have a sheltered upbringing? Did anyone educate them about sex and relationships? Or were such things not discussed? If their family did not give them this information then how did they find out?

Does your OC adjust their language or behaviour around children? Are there some topics they avoid discussing in front of them - like war or death - because they would prefer to shield them from such things until they are older?

What is something your OC has learned that they would rather never have known?

Tree - Knowledge.

Does your OC have much in the way of academic learning? If so then how useful has this been to them in their adult life? If not then are they ever jealous of those with more formal education?

Does your OC have a particular area of interest or expertise? Do they enjoy sharing this interest with others? Or is it something they prefer to keep private?

Does your OC learn from experience? Or do they seem doomed to repeat the same mistakes time and time again?

Do others see your OC as particularly intelligent? Or are they considered average, or even somewhat lacking, in intellect? How accurate is this assessment?

How well does their partner, sibling or other closest person in their life know them? Are there secrets they keep even from them?

Urn - Penitence.

What is the thing about which your OC feels most guilty?

Does your OC believe that a person can be redeemed even if they have committed heinous deeds? Or do they maintain that some crimes can never be forgiven?

Does your OC find it easy to admit when they have wronged another person? Do they find it easy to apologise?

Has your OC ever been punished for a crime or been compelled to do penance for a perceived sin? Did they feel this was just at the time? Has their view changed in retrospect?

When your OC has hurt or offended someone they care about, how do they tend to make it up to that person?