#give me strength; I go outside and people are way more even-headed but my god online it's awful

[aeolianblues]

I'm trying not to block people. But there's only so many times I can go 'give people the benefit of the doubt' and then click their blog and what's literally the third or fourth post on their blogs? They talk about middle eastern people like savages who can't control their violent urges. And of course, more than half of them are Americans. After posing for 20 years, the masks that temporarily went up when anti-war activists criticised the American war in the Middle East are slipping, some of you never really believed brown people to be your equals did you? Get the fuck off my blog.

[crushedbyhyperbole]

Whiskey on the Tongue

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: You are the forbidden fruit Dean had always wanted to taste, and when you steal his whiskey the way you do, he is powerless to resist.

Words: 2.2k

A/N: This is my first ever Supernatural fic after having started watching the show just before Christmas. I know I'm late to the game but is it ever really too late to start loving a fandom? I've tried to make the reader generic in every way other than being cis-female, and Dean finding her hot.

It's been an absolute age since I wrote anything and probably longer since I posted anything here on Tumblr but I'm getting back into it now. Hopefully this finds its way to people in the Supernatural fandom who love a bit of Dean smut.

I hope you enjoy and, as always, I value your comments and feedback.

Warnings: Smut, explicit smut, alcohol consumption, mentions of people who have passed away, profanity as standard with pretty much everything I write.

*** Minors do not read or interact - 18+ content ***

Dean let his head fall back against the headboard, clenching his fists to try to distract himself from the deep ache in his left leg.  It had been falling asleep for well over an hour now, but he didn’t want to move and disturb you.

The door to his room in the bunker was closed.  Locked, in fact, though he did not remember doing it.  You didn’t comment or so much as move when Sam brayed on the door and tried the handle, calling out for Dean to return his book.  The very book that was in your hands right now.

“I need that book back, Dean.”  Sam grumbled.

“Not now, Sammy!”  Dean called back, hoping his little brother would just go away.

“I’m researching Nephilim to help Cas with the Kelly situation, Dean.  It’s important.”  Sam became more insistent.

“I said NOT NOW, SAM!”  Dean hollered with a kind of finality that even Sam wouldn’t argue with.

Outside the door, Sam huffed and stalked away.  Dean looked down to see you looking up at him from your position, lay on his bed.  Your head was resting on his left calf, his leg bent with his foot tucked under his right knee.  You had your knees up with your foot tapping along to his banging playlist, your jeans tight around your thighs and with your head tilted back he could see all the way down the deep V of your t-shirt.

He was going to hell.  Straight there.  Do not pass go.  Do not collect two hundred dollars.  And he probably deserved it.

He snapped his eyes up towards the ceiling but it was too late, he could feel himself stirring uncomfortably in his jeans.  If Bobby was alive he would have skinned him raw just for having you in his room.  Bobby was always protective of you, his niece.  You were only a couple of years younger than Sam but Bobby had made himself very clear that you were off limits.

“If you touch one single hair on her body, I’ll make you regret the day your balls dropped.  Do you hear me, boy?”

Bobby Singer.  That man did not mince his words.  And to this day, Dean had taken that threat as gospel.  Even now that Bobby was up there with the Angels, that son of a bitch would find a way to keep his word.

You shifted, causing a painful twang to shoot up his leg.  The reflexive grunt he failed to stifle made you look back up at him, giving him that glorious view again.

Dean decided he could die like this.  If having a dead leg was a legitimate threat to his life, he would go out happy with the view of your rack in that lacy black bra he could see within the V-shaped window of that too-tight t-shirt.

He raised his eyes, once again to heaven, asking Bobby to forgive him or give him strength or something because – god help him – he wanted to take you right then and there.

It wasn’t unusual for you to seek him out after a case when you didn’t want to be alone, but you didn’t want to talk.  You would just sit while he drank, reading or working on spells.  You said he quieted the noise in your head.  Hell, he wasn’t going to argue, you were a sight for sore eyes every time he came home.  You were wicked hot and sexy in a non-slutty way.  Not that slutty was bad.  Dean liked slutty.  But that wasn’t you, you were different.

A drink.  That’s what was missing.  Dean needed a damn drink, especially if you were going to torture him by laying on him all evening.

He reached over to his bedside unit, for the bottle he kept in there for special occasions.  A bottle of twenty-five-year-old Speyside single malt that he liberated from the British Men of Letters on his last interaction with Ketch.

The pour made you stir again but it wasn’t until he raised the cut crystal tumbler to his lips did you move.  Your hand came up and claimed the glass from underneath, twisting it as you sat up so as not to spill any.

“Where’s yours?”

The cheeky glint in your eye had him pursing his lips in mild annoyance.

“Don’t pout.”  You lifted the glass, turning it until the mark left by his lips touched yours and you sipped, looking him straight in the eye.

Dean’s jaw went slack.  The glisten of the whiskey on your lips and the satisfied hum you made when you swallowed – he swallowed unconsciously when you did – made his mouth go dry.  He had never seen you like this.

You moved to kneel on the bed and walked your way slowly closer, giving his leg a tap; an instruction to move it aside.  He did, causing pins and needles to infest his nerves like ants swarming on a log to escape a flood.

Knelt between his spread legs, you brought the glass to your lips again, sipping at the amber liquid.  You leaned in.

Dean watched you, breathing shallow, attention rapt.  You hadn’t so much as touched him, yet every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire in the best possible way.  The closer you got the shallower he breathed until he was almost holding his breath, looking down his nose at how close your lips were.  His eyelashes looked to flutter against his cheeks just as yours did when you brushed your whiskey dappled lips against his.

He refused to lick where you had been.  He couldn’t.  As soon as he tasted, he would pounce, and…

“Don’t.”  He croaked out when you moved to lay your lips on him once more.

You looked confused but at least you didn’t look hurt.  He couldn’t bear it if you looked hurt because of him.

“Bobby…”  Was all he could say through his constricting throat.

You smiled then, full of amusement, lips brushing against his, you whispered “he’ll understand.”

Dean tried not to respond to you but you coaxed his lips apart and teased your tongue to meet his, short circuiting his brain.  The taste of the scotch and the sweetness of your mouth made him groan.  He had fantasised about having you for years, but never did he think it would be you seducing him.

His hands on your hips guided you roughly to straddle him, the bulge in his jeans pushing up against you as you settled.  He took the glass from your hands and downed the contents, his eyes on yours as he dropped the glass carelessly on the bedside unit.

Your lips met his again but this time you devoured each other, tongues stroking together, moans stifled by each other’s mouths.  He trailed his hands up your body, dragging your t-shirt along with them.  Finally, he could see what he had been having glimpses of this whole evening.  Plush breasts cupped in scant lace that was completely impractical for a hunt, Dean realised, like you had meant to come here like this.  You had intended this from the beginning.

He tore at the lace, dragging it under your breasts to free them, shoulder straps slipped down.  Pawing at them like he had never touched a tittie before, all he wanted to do was suck and nip and nibble.

Your breathy sigh was divine, and the moan that followed was filthy.  You cupped the back of his head as he took your nipple into his mouth and sucked hard, pressing him further, asking for more.

While he worked on your breasts you undid his belt and fly, reaching into the front of his shorts to release him from the awkward angle at which he was trapped.  You stroked him, firm but slow, feeling him for the first time.  You had always wondered what he had going on down there that every woman he had ever been with would come back for more at the drop of a hat.  You weren’t disappointed.

Dean lifted his hips, you thought to allow you to push his jeans down but instead he flipped you, making you squeal.  Once under him, he ravished your breasts anew, pinching one nipple hard while licking and sucking the other.  Soon you were a mewling mess, hips writhing, begging for something he hadn’t given you yet.  Excited that he had taken control away from you, you watched him sit up and yank your jeans down, lifting your legs until they were bare.  Your knickers followed and he spread your legs without preamble, lowering himself between your thighs until his hair and eyes were all you could see above your mound.

“Jesus Christ of Nazareth!”

You groaned as he suckled against your sensitive spot.  Fuck, he was good with his tongue.  Everything about him was good except his image.  Bad boy Dean Winchester.  He was every woman’s wet dream.  He had been your wet dream since you were seventeen.  But now you were plenty old enough and finally getting what you wanted.

Bobby had told you to stay away from him when you were a kid.  Dean had a reputation as a ladies man even then, but he respected your uncle Bobby enough to keep his distance… until now.

Dean dipped two fingers inside, creating pressure in exactly the right spot.  You gasped and gripped his hair as your pleasure began to crest, tugging on it for dear life.  He looked up at you then, to see your eyes closed against the intensity of it, neck and face flushed red with your oncoming orgasm.  When it came, the pulsing of your core was his sign to slow down.  He left off his suckling and stroked you through the pleasure, watching you all the while.  You were a beautiful mess.

“That’s my girl.”  He praised you in that deep rough tone you adored, helping prolong your climax until you took his hand away yourself.  “Are you ready for me?”

You nodded, allowing him to lift your knees up and stroke the weeping tip of his cock over your swollen clit.

From the front pocket of the jeans he still wore, he pulled a foil packet with Trojan embossed on it.  He was swift with its application, aiming his tip just so.

When he slid home, your eyes rolled back and you reached to grip his forearms.  It was something Dean would never get tired of seeing but it felt that much different with you.  You were the forbidden thing he had always wanted but could never have.  Even now he didn’t know whether he would come to regret this.  God, he hoped not.

Balls deep in you, he leaned forward to kiss you, wrapping your legs around his hips.  His instinct was to fold you in half and pound the living shit out of you, but you were already overwhelmed and he wanted to make this soft for you.

“Tell me what you need.”  He spoke softly as he nuzzled your neck.

“Just you, like this.”  You sighed.  Who knew Dean Winchester was a considerate lover.

His slow, measured thrusts brought you closer to the edge, your core fluttering each time, he could feel it.  It surprised him how quickly is climax built at this pace, but the added connection you both shared seemed to turn him on.  He would never give up Busty Asian Babe porn but he could get used to this with you.

You didn’t close your eyes against the pleasure this time, you watched him come undone above you, gasping as his orgasm made his legs and arms shake, muscles clenched tight to keep his weight from collapsing on you.  When he swelled you dug your fingers into his hips to pull him deeper with each stroke, and when he spilled you also came, eyes fluttering shut finally.

Dean knelt up, slipping the rubber off as soon as he was clear of you and, tying a knot in the end, tossed it in the direction of the trash can.

“Shot.”  You said with a smile as the sticky bundle went straight in the can.

He quirked and eyebrow and give you a slightly smug lopsided smirk that said:  What can I say?  I don’t miss.

When you moved to sit, he stopped you.

“Here, lemme get that.”

“Thanks.”

He stripped his t-shirt off and used it to clean up the wetness between your legs.  Though none of it was his, it would still dribble when you moved.  Afterwards he tucked it under your ass and flopped down on the bed at your side, moving his arm behind your head so you could rest it on his chest.  You were both content.  Both had goofy grins on your faces.  Both disbelieving that you had finally gotten what you wanted.

A loud knock at the door started you.

“Are you done?”  Sam said.  “I need that book.”

“NO!”  You and Dean shouted back in unison, laughing afterwards.

“Bobby’s gonna kill you.”  Sam called back through the door.

“I KNOW!”  Dean yelled gruffly, pulling you closer.

There might be a time in the future where the ghost of Bobby Singer came to make him regret the day his balls dropped and, if it happened, Dean would be happy to see him again.  In the meantime, you and he could work on a whole bunch of reasons to make the cranky old bastard come down from up high for a visit.

Dean pulled the sheets over both of your heads, nibbling at your neck until you moaned his name.  Aside from the roar of Baby’s engine, he had found his new favourite sound.

[l0cal-catb0y]

Hero!Ghoap x God!Reader brainrot

this is mainly about ghoap cuz i didnt focus on them in the first post and they deserve love too!! and i wanna add backstory :33 based off this post i made and i think i want them to be childhood friends!! (its one of my favorite tropes im sorry </3)

once again this is just word vomit !! not my best but it must be shared :DD but also!! let me know if you have any ideas for what reader should be the god of cuz i really have no ideas and i wanna add more details to them!!

definingly have the vibe they would've meet by running into each other playing in a field when they were very young and just ended up sticking together. simon found comfort in johnny's presence and just sort of started following him everywhere he went with johnny just completely okay with dragging this boy around cuz!! he gets to have fun with his friend!! :DD sadly though they have to have reason to become fighters for plot reasons </33 their village gets destroyed, burnt and looted with few survivors left. theyre both distraught and angry with johnny openly wanting to track down the people behind the attack and fuck them up (simon too but hes silent about it) maybe johnny starts getting ready to start that hunt without telling anyone but simon can just read him perfectly and just pulls him aside to tell him that he's coming too.

I feel like along their hunt they would stop and take care of anyone that were causing issues, probably with just small trouble makers but as they become stronger and more experienced they deal with whole gangs of people (they end up getting the names ghost and soap along the way somehow) they become more renowned for their strength and victories that even cities far off know them!! im thinking the group that destroyed their village became an army and overconfident to the point of disrespecting the gods (probably not all but definitely some big ones) so when ghost and soap become bigger names they are given the upperhand with the backing of the gods who wish to put the group back into place. they basically get to the level of demigods !!

romance wise though,,, giggles,,, somewhere along their journey after a hard fight they would confess while patching each other up, the concern for each other far outweighing the fear of rejection <33 the gentle touch of making sure theyre still there and the whispers of love would be so soft after they know its a mutual love omg. their routines change a little afterwards too!! like simon giving johnny little trinkets to have in his pockets (probably something handmade when he cant sleep) and johnny braiding part of simon's hair before a fight (maybe he braids a piece of simon's hair into his own braid and his hair into simon's?)

I don't think they would actively worship one particular god? they would give offerings every so often as thanks for the blessing or in hope of getting some luck with something (finding info or just having good weather) but they are mainly on their own for the most part. yes they are favored more than others but it doesnt mean the gods really care about them yknow? they both know theyre just a means to an end for some of them :((

so when you start looking out for them theyre both just :OO you actually care about them outside of what they can do!! you help them with small things!! your watching eyes comfort simon when he cant sleep!! you guide johnny to peaceful areas for him to relax and draw at!! you send your associated animal to keep watch if they ever both crash after a fight!! they start to add stuff to their routines that relate to you in some way :33 making crafts of your symbols and having one with them for "good luck" or making a small spot for you at every camp they make or talking to you (aka the open air of your spot) about their plans and what they wanna do next!!

idk man brainrot and lack of sleep are getting to me!! im going to rotate these two in this au in my head for the next month ^-^

[vanilladrpepper]

Heya! 2, 7, and 8 for Wolfwood

HIHIHIHIHIHI SPOILERS AHEAD

2. Favorite canon thing about this character?

freed birddddddd. freed birdddd.

^ thats a short catchall i wont lie bc theres so much to discuss that i love abt him in canon like . the details oaughg the intricacies im an insane man . but my number 1 thing that encapsulates what i adore about him in canon is the freed bird extra bc it provides a look into his past thats been (mostly iirc) just alluded to prior to it, and it allows him a moment to interact with someone younger than him and with someone that he took care of and on top of that its in the time (i think) after he defected from the eom, when he was still rough as can be and purely focused on survival. so its a nice contrast with the following volumes that showcase wolfwoods latter development and its just . its so good. i constantly think about the . the panel about the luxurious cage wait let me get it

screenshots from trigun-manga-overhaul

the chapter in and of itself perfectly encapsulates wolfwoods faults and strengths when it comes to his worldview and its technically one of the first times someone challenges his worldview head on - maylene doesnt lay down and take the easy way out, the safe way out, while wolfwood sees it as the only way for her to go - because anything else is too much of a risk and ultimately hes got a bleeding heart. even in the midst of a gunfight, maylene stands her ground, not caring for wolfwoods idea of safety over happiness, regardless of how he came to have that idea. its also a classic showing of how different things couldve turned out - if wolfwood had been adopted out like maylene, would he have retained his worldview? would he have instead agreed more with maylene? if maylene had dealt with the eom, would she have more of a pessimistic worldview?

regardless of that - another huge thing i adore about the chapter is the bird metaphors that get attached to wolfwood, where up until now its not too obvious, not too crazy - but the chapter posits the question to both the reader and wolfwood - is it worth sacrificing your autonomy for safety? is it better to risk your life to be free of any outside control? is it better to hurt and trip and fall or to stay inside a bubble where you could suffocate at any point? i adore it sm hes so ajkbvhjfdbvjhdbv

7. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you like?

I ADOREEEEEE WHEN PPL GIVE HIM SOME HEALTHY WEIGHT. GIVE HIM A TUMMY RIGHT NEOWWWWWW !!!!! LOVE HIM BUT PLEASE NIGHTOW PUT SOME MEAT ON HIS BONES . also i love when ppl give him long hair <3 literally THEEEEE wolfwood design choice everrrrrr .

8. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you despise?

i hateeee when ppl make him suave and smooth all the time and like. a heartbreaker etc bc ill be honest it is notttt realistic to him. hes a fucking loser . PLEASE he can have his moments from time to time but for the comedic effect - immediately have him fuck up somehow. he pulls off one good one liner and then runs into a streetlight in the parking lot or eats sand and wipes the fuck out. what brings to mind is a scene from trimax;

this one from volume 10. literally pages before he drops dead and seconds after he says this:

like i get wanting to write just serious shit (because lbr trigun especially trimax lends itself to leaning into serious shit heavily) but when it comes to fanworks, wolfwood is often made to be just . a little too serious if ykwim. like in some fanworks his stuff lands too often to make sense for his character. let him be a failman loserguy for a second <3

another thing i despise. the weird microaggressions and weird racism around how some people portray his character in fanworks and fanon - specifically in reference to making him like. ungodly aggressive or like. making it weird as hell :sob: pisses me off for real like please just write him normally im begging oh my god

[yuri-official]

give me a pitch for korekiibo!!! i wanna hear! :)

OKAY SO

Korekiyo's whole deal is being obsessed with the beauty of humanity, right? Studying how different people behave under different circumstances, sort of observing from the outside. Despite the love xe feels for humanity, there's this sort of alienation. Xe ends up watching everyone else from the edge of the room during class events, xyr this kind of tall, dark, unnerving presence with greasy hair and a mostly obscured face and unconventional interests. In a lot of xyr interactions with the rest of the V3 cast, xyr classmates seem really uncomfortable or even actively distrusting of xem.

And Kiibo's matches up really well with Korekiyo's, their through line is how disconnected they feel from humanity despite being like. The ultimate reflection of everything humankind is. Kibo aspires to be more human, and feels outright offended when their classmates insinuate that they're less than human, or that their life doesn't have the same value as any other person's. They feel like they need to be useful or provide something of value to their friends in order to deserve a place in their circle

(side note I am Not going to use he/him for either of these characters ever. transfem Kiibo + nonbinary Korekiyo supremacy. these are mostly the versions of them i’ve made up in my head anyways so who cares that's all shipping is anyways)

Korekiyo would be the perfect person to affirm Kiibo's value as a person and humanity imo, while Kiibo is a good in-point for Korekiyo to start socializing with more of their friends. I won't take this as an opportunity to shill for my Korekiibo fanfiction, but I have a whole speech from Kiyo written out talking about how Kiibo is the culmination of humanity's desire to share the experience of sentience etc etc

Robotlover Korekiyo Shinguji, you can pry this headcanon from my cold dead hands. What's more human than something created by humanity the way they were created in the image of 'god'? etc

It's really cute!! Korekiyo Does Not Shut Up but thankfully Kiibo loves listening, and there's a lot of substance in what xe says. Even if it rambles for an hour on end, there's information to be gained there, and that applies especially to Kiibo. I think xe would be really interested in the ways Kiibo tries to be more than just the ‘Ultimate Robot’, how they strive to be as close to humankind as they can despite being a robot.

I think Kiibo and Korekiyo would find comfort in each other's shared distance from their peers, too. Korekiyo clearly has a very non-traditional or even distorted view of intimacy and relationships, and likely an extreme discomfort with feeling like xyr out of control. Xe likes to be the person who has information and knowledge to give in xyr relationships, kind of taking up the role of teacher in most conversations in canon.

Kiibo is sort of new to the whole idea of interpersonal relationships, but still goes out of their way to seek out that king of intimacy, as shown in their free time and love suite events. They seem like the type to be eager to learn, which fits perfectly with Korekiyo's affinity for teaching. I can imagine them cuddling while Korekiyo infodumps for hours on end about the entire history of fortune telling or something lol

And now: Things I Just Think Are Really Cute About Their Dynamic

- Consider that Kiibo could probably pick up Kiyo and have xem perched on their shoulder like a weird bird if their strength limiters were turned off. That beast probably weighs about as much of a stack of paper cups wearing a military uniform, xe’ll blow away like a napkin if you roll down the windows of a car on the highway

- Korekiyo is Wife Guy: Evil Edition in my mind. Xyr the type to send xyr partner flowers and the first unlucky person to upset that partner a pipe bomb. Kiibo finds this very reassuring but is working on helping xem find ways of expressing affection that aren’t also felonies

- Korekiyo says things like ‘I think if I were to eat you you would taste like strawberry shortcake’ and Kiibo is just. Okay ❤️ Yay ❤️ All of xyr compliments are incredibly unnerving but Kiibo finds them endearing anyways

- The visual contrast between the two is just. Augh. Tall and flowy and gorgeous and a little terrifying and 5’3 robot with spiky white hair and chunky armour and shounen protagonist demeanour. They are so Connecticut Clark and Malfina to me

- Korekiyo is a BDSM aficionado and Kiibo does not know what sex is

- THIS IMAGE. KIIBO IS THE ONLY PERSON IN THE GAME THAT KOREKIYO CALLS ‘MY DEAR’. I AM INSANE ABOUT THIS

i have. more

so much more

Thank you for coming to my ted talk

[vvatchword]

In Which I Get Zooted (and Talk about Paradise Lost for some reason)

Part 2 (View Reblogs for Flavor) ->

I am reading Paradise Lost again. Jesus christ it is so good. The first time I read it I had to get used to Ye Olde Englifh Poetic Conventionf and didn’t do very well. Fortunately, I read lots of early modern English in the distant past—it’s like a language I’ve mostly forgotten. That means that repeated exposure has reopened the prose to me. Eventually, I’m going to have to pick up a book about John Milton himself, because there are definitely some alien theological and historical points whizzing right over my head.

I don’t know what it is about Paradise Lost. Reading Dante was painful outside the Hell part… Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress makes me want to kick him in the pants. or die (Dante’s cuntiness goes a long way, that said)

But like every time Milton writes a Satan speech you just wanna do a fistpump. Just the most conniving, fascinating character. Every other fucker in the “good” section pales by comparison. Hell—I’ll just say it: all of the devils are beautifully written. They feel like real people. Half of the time, you’re nodding along with them, and there’s a point where you have to kinda look over your shoulder at Milton, like… buddy do you have any idea what you are SAYING.

The way that everyone talks about Paradise Lost, you’d think the whole goddamn text was about Satan. It’s not. Three of the ten books focus on Satan. All the others are about the war in heaven, Adam and Eve, or the Fall. Look here: if all we had were the books about Adam and Eve and God’s tried-and-true, this would still be great literature, but it’s greater because the stilted, proper characters clash against what are supposed to be our villains. We are literally being forced to ask the question: WHY do the devil and his minions sound like the people we’d rather know? If Milton’s God were real, I’d be straight-up scared of him, okay. I’d be in the “shit shit shit I hope he doesn’t see or think of me ever” camp.

Fun fact about Paradise Lost: people got mad at it for presenting the devil so well. They assumed that Milton was pro-devil somehow. This is because people have been bad readers since the beginning of time.

Milton is not pro-devil. He’s fallen into the problem that everyone has with writing God, which is: we have to explain why life, an extremely chaotic dumpster fire, is actually according to Divine Plan by a Big Guy Who Loves You! (Really!), but the more you try to explain the Plan the more you have to explain why God isn’t doing X or Y, until finally you have so many asterisks that essentially your religion is *teleports behind you*

So not only can no one read, no one can admit the real problem: how fucking shitty god and the angels are by comparison, and how they are, by all rights, being written correctly.

See, how ELSE could Milton have written God et al, that’s really the question. He does his best, and he’s very, very good at it. Look, I’ve read a LOT of religious texts over my life—and across the board, God is represented this way. CS Lewis wrote some wildly enjoyable fiction, but every time Jesus or God has to show up without the handy-dandy Aslan mask, everything stutters to a halt.

There are even points in the story where Milton has to tell you why what a devil is suggesting is sinful. For example, here’s the devil Belial giving his suggestions for how to deal with God now that all the devils are in Hell. So far, he has suggested not acting at all: God’s power is not only great in strength, it is great in cunning. He cannot be tricked; he cannot be beaten. So why not just wait it out? Don’t poke the tiger. Maybe the tiger will show mercy someday, if the devils don’t get used to the pain eventually:

“This horror will grow mild, this darkness light, Besides what hope the never-ending flight Of future days may bring, what chance, what change Worth waiting, since our present lot appears For happy though but ill, for ill not worst, If we procure not to ourselves more woe.”

Uniquely among the other devils—Moloch, Mammon, Beelzebub, and Satan all speak in this Book—Belial gets an addendum.

Thus Belial with words cloth’d in reason’s garb Counsel’d ignoble ease, and peaceful sloth, Not peace.

I can just imagine Milton reading it out loud to a friend and then that friend saying, “Hey, that Belial guy has the right idea!” and it’s like the tenth time that Milton has read this to someone only for them to look at him like, “Yeah, why not?” so Milton grumpily flops down at his rustic table with a quill and he’s grumbling about how everyone is a fucking idiot since he most clearly counsel’d IGNOBLE ease, and peaceful SLOTH, not PEACE, fuck thee, Thomas, thou slipshod bastard

In sharp contrast to Belial, Moloch—the first speaker—suggested fighting God until he just erased the devils from existence. Which is, you know, a mood.

It’s like the only way that you can represent god in fiction is as a one-dimensional cardboard cutout. The religious are terrified of judgment even while writing him and every time he shows up he’s boring and constipated. Of course we like the devil better: he’s more likely to give us a fair shake. God would fucking crush you like a beetle in slow-motion, ensuring you felt every pang, and he’d talk about how great he was the entire time he did it, and how he loves you, actually. Oh he loves you so much. There went your liver! Juiced. with love

So well are the devils written—so sensible, so motivated, so grounded—that the final devil to speak comes out of left field. Let me set the stage:

So far we had Moloch—future child-eater—suggest eternal war, with the aim of dissolution; Belial, who’s just like, why not chill and let the future bring what it may; and Mammon, who expands on that with “let’s actively seek ways to enjoy ourselves, altering everything around us until we form a world that meets our needs.” All of these devils focus on the pain of Hell, the loss of “bliss” (which I’m assuming is meant to imply both feeling and place: painlessness and Heaven, specifically), and the disgusting idea of returning to God, who they abhor.

Beelzebub brings up the idea of finding Earth, one tiny little planet that God made with a special creature called Man, and fucking around with it.

I had gotten so into the devils’ speeches—I was very zooted—that I had to do a double-take and then run back to re-read them.

“Bub, baby,” Belial should have said, “what the actual fuck are you talking about.”

Perhaps this is only me, but I couldn’t help but think of the vastness of creation, and the absolutely miniscule goal that the devils chose for themselves. The devils fell for nine whole days and nights, and Earth supposedly lies past dangerous voids and environments past understanding. It’s a big step down: go from fucking with the Creator to the Created, and not just any Created: some dumb human babies.

It’s the first break with the devils’ characters, and it doesn’t make a lot of sense.

to be CONTINUED.....

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

“Flesh and Blood”

Part 6 :The Hunt (Part 1)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Pairing: Prince Aemon the Dragonknight x Fem. Reader (Northerner /House Stark | Third Person POV)

Themes: Soft | Some sensuality

Warnings: Kissing | Alcohol use | Mentions of sexual activity | Brief mention of violence

Word count: 3.2K

Summary: Aemon and y/n join the others when they go off to the Kingswood for a grand hunt.

Minors DNI,. You are responsible for the media you consume | 18+ | Rules and tag form can be found here.  

It was still dark outside while Aemon quietly made his way to the Sept. Guests were slowly pouring into the outer yard, all in anticipation of the hunt. At the break of dawn, they would depart.

But not yet. There was still time, and Aemon wanted to make the most of it. He peeked inside the cold marble interior and found it empty. Pleased with this discovery, he found two new candles, one purple and the other a blinding white. He lit them before bringing them to the likenesses of The Father and The Mother. Aemon placed one at the feet of each before closing his eyes and bowing his head. He prayed, grateful for the second chance that had been given and for his wife's opening her heart to him. Aemon silently thanked the Mother and Father for smiling down on his efforts to save his marriage. The air within the Sept was still and cold. The prince was confident he was being heard. Light of heart by the end of his devotions, he searched for another candle, a brilliant red one. He lit it and placed it at the feet of the Warrior. Aemon closed his eyes and prayed again for a successful hunt and for his arrows to fly true.  

The door was thrown open, and a gust of wind followed the intruder in. Aemon opened his eyes even as his hand went straight for the handle of his sword. He surpressed a sigh when he saw who the interloper was.  

"Noble kinsman!" Baelor cried in greeting. "Come to pray, I see!"

 "Good morrow, your grace." Aemon stood to attention and bowed his head. "Yes, I have come to pray. And to give thanks for favors granted."

"I have heard," the king replied as he searched for candles for his own use. "Your wife is returning to your side. But I hear she wishes to return to the old ways?"

"She merely wishes to pray to the Gods of her people," Aemon said. He turned to face the likeness of the Warrior again. He prayed even more and asked for the strength needed to deal with his cousin. "I see no harm in it." 

Baelor was less than pleased. "Meaningless idolatry, I call it. If I had my way, I would cut down those blasted trees and make the Northerners bend the knee before the Seven who are One. Alas, the council and your father and even my lady wife think differently."

With plans for her engagement, her sister’s coronation, and everything else, Elaena did not have time to speak to Aemon about a regency in Daena’s name. It was unnecessary, however. He was starting to see why his father was helping the queen with the claim. If Baelor remained king after Viserys surrendered to the Stranger, he would begin wars with the North and the Iron Born.

And it would be the entrails of Southron warriors decorating the hulls of Iron Born ships and the Weirwood trees of the North. Not garlands of winter roses and bones from whales that had been hunted. 

"The North will not bend the knee. Not now." Aemon reminded the king. "Our dragons are all dead, and the sun is setting on our once glorious dynasty. We cannot afford more wars. Let the North keep to their ways, and we to ours. The realm will thank our family for it." 

The king huffed in disappointment and shook his head. "You surprise me, kinsman." Baelor lit a candle for the Father and walked toward his carving, his bare feet making no sound as he padded over the smooth floor. "I took you for a pious, believing man."

"I am a pious, believing man," Aemon replied respectfully, choosing a different way to appeal to the king. "I simply refuse to be a foolish one. War with the North will end only in bloodshed and with our armies decimated. And you, as a believing king, must consider the cost to your subjects. Have a care for them, your grace. They are weary of war. The Seven will reward you greatly in the afterlife if you do."

Baelor smiled, a slow creeping smile that made Aemon feel ill. Still, his words took hold of the king. 

"Perhaps you are right," Baelor said, oblivious to Aemon's sigh of great relief. "I shall turn my eyes to the building of the Great Sept. Yes. That is what matters."

Another meaningless cost thrust upon our subjects, Aemon thought sadly. But at least he is no longer thinking of war. 

"Indeed," the prince agreed heartily instead. "That is what matters."

Baelor bowed his head to pray. Aemon, seeing his chance, made his way back out as silently as he could manage. He breathed more freely in the brisk air and turned his eyes to the pale streaks of dawn. He made haste and returned to his tower, passing the Godswood along the way. He had to speak to the servants before leaving. Changes had to be made before y/n came back with him. 

The prince stopped before the Weirwood tree when its leaves rustled softly with the wind. He brushed his fingers over his lips and still felt the imprint of his wife’s on his own.

Y/n's kisses had been soft and sinful. And yet, Aemon no longer found cause to hate the parts filled with sin. Kissing his wife felt as natural as breathing. Holding her felt natural. And touching her. Aemon turned his hands and gazed at his palms. There was nothing there, but he could still feel the warmth of his wife’s skin against his. He had felt her tremble. Heard her moan. Unraveled and gave himself to the wildness growing within him when she sighed his name. Had it not been for the festivities, he would have taken her back to their chambers and carried her to bed. If he had been like his brother, utterly reckless, he would have taken y/n right there beneath the shade of the Weirwood tree. He looked at the tree and the dappled light all around it. And remembered his dream.

It was the same dream he had since he first saw her swimming back at the Cerwyn Manse. Aemon chased y/n around ancient trees, oblivious to the bite in the air and the frost crunching beneath his feet. She would tease him, goad him, and laugh when he caught her. And he always, always captured her. She felt perfect and soft in his arms. He would kiss her until her laughter died and kiss her until she moaned. He would lay her down beneath the shade of a gnarled tree and drown in her warmth. 

"Aemon," she would whisper while he lost himself in her. Her hands would brush over his hair as he feasted on her lips. She would sigh softly again. The sound chased him to waking and the cold light of day. In his still sleep-like state, he expected to find y/n beside him. He did not, and disappointment spiraled through him, making him feel empty. 

He heard her laughter again. This time, it was not in his dreams. Y/n had come running when her youngest cousin decided to wander around the Godswood.  

"Marna!" She cried softly. "Get back here!" 

Marna wriggled free of her cousin’s clutches and raced down the pathway in a gale of laughter. She ran straight into Aemon and stopped.  

"Lift!" She ordered, and raised her arms, thinking he would take her onto his shoulders like he often did whenever he called over at the Cerwyn Manse.

"I believe you thought of exploring?" He grinned and crouched down to Marna’s level. His wife’s cousin had the look of the North. A lean, long face, thick brown hair, and pale gray eyes. They were softer and kinder now, but that could change soon enough. Life in the North tended to do that.  

"Yes, she did," y/n replied, her hands on her hips. "And she will be in trouble if she does not return. Go on," she urged when Uther came in search of his youngest sister. "Go back to your brother." 

Marna pouted and returned to her brother in a huff. Aemon broke out into a wider grin when the little girl grumbled the entire way. Y/n turned to him, a smile on her lips. Aemon did not give her time to speak. He slid his arms around her and kissed her lightly on the neck. Y/n was startled but slowly melted when he pressed his lips over hers. Her mouth tasted so sweet when she shuddered and parted it for his tongue, her hands grasping at his tunic. Voices were heard from outside Godswood. The prince finally drew back, albeit very reluctantly.  

"Six months wasted because of my hard-headedness," he murmured and stepped away. Someone else had walked into the Godswood. It was Viserys. He called Aemon and y/n over. The time had come for them to leave. "I should have kissed you long and deep on our wedding night; I should have kissed you every night and day. I should have loved you often and held you after. Will you forgive me?"  

"Perhaps," she replied shyly, her eyes twinkling. "If you went down to your knees and groveled. I always did love a good grovel." 

Aemon laughed and led her back to the outer yard to join the others.  

Several hours of hard riding later, the Kingswood came into view. Lord Commander Hardyng and the palace guard kept a careful eye as they led the royal family and their guests down winding paths lined with pine and birch and fir. The air was crisp and cold, even as the sun rose higher and higher in the sky. The breath of rider and horse mingled while they rode down one beaten path after another until they reached a clearing near a clear pond.  

The field was filled with flowers and awash in a riot of color. Servants had ridden a day or two before and prepared the many tents that would be needed. Daena had ridden ahead as well, along with her sisters. They were standing by the entrance to the campsite, ready to greet their guests in Baelor's name. The smell of roasting meat hung in the air. It was just as well, as everyone was already tired from the ride, and more than one stomach growled. 

Several giant aurochs had been roasting since the morning. Kitchen boys basted them with honey and herbs while turning them on immense wooden spits. The meat crackled and split even as it cooked. Trestle tables and benches had been arranged amid the tents, and dishes piled high with olives, bread, cheese, and wild berries had been set out for anyone hungry.  

Aemon found a place beside Elaena and waited for y/n to join him. He smiled, kissed her hand when she sat beside him, and formally introduced her to his cousins.  

"We are putting the dragon skulls back," Eleana said. "My sister insists on them being treated with the respect they deserve. They will be arranged all around the throne room. My sister wants them that way on the day of her anointing." 

"Atop marble plinths and surrounded by hundreds of lit candles? It will be a most glorious sight, to be sure." 

"That is what we all hope for."

Conversation died while courses came and went. A hearty mushroom soup. Delicate little tarts filled with spinach and cheese. Roast fowl and vegetables. Fish caught fresh from a nearby river and cooked in lemon and herbs. Then came the course of meat. Aemon carved a generous portion for his wife, smiling while she ate with a hearty appetite. Servants walked around tables, filling cups with iced wine and ale and cold water. Minstrels sat to one side, strumming and singing, and filled the evening air with sweet melodies.  

It was wondrous, even as morning gave way to evenfall. The cares of the past were forgotten, even if it was for a short while. Aemon glanced at his wife, pleased to see her talking with the queen and her sisters.  

Such a pity, he thought, when he heard Daena eagerly talk about her plans for the future. Danny and y/n would have gotten along well had fate not intervened. 

By now, the city was well aware of the trial by combat. Jonnel and Edric fell to Lord Stane, just as many predicted. With the swing of a sword, y/n had become heiress to Winterfell and the future Lady of the North. She would have to leave after her sister visited King’s Landing and had her fill of the city. No one knew how much longer Cregan Stark had left in this world.  

There was shouting and boisterous laughter. Aegon was growing louder with each cup of wine he drank. From time to time, Aemon could see him teasing and getting bawdy with the serving girls. He felt grateful that Alys decided to stay back and keep Naerys company. The sight of her husband fondling the women around him would have wounded her deeply. Aegon grew even louder and drank even more than he ate. A serving girl walked past him. Aegon demanded a kiss. She readily obliged. Others were watching. Many were talking, their eyes not at all kind. Aemon rose, thinking his brother had gone too far. 

"Come sit with me, brother," he called softly. "We have not had time to talk together." 

"No," was all Aegon said before turning his attention back to the serving girl. Aemon went over to him and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Aegon turned and shoved him so hard that he fell onto his back.

"Some Dragonknight," Aegon spat, then guffawed when Aemon dusted himself off and stood up. "I can still best you, little brother, even when I am in my cups," he said, turning to face y/n. "I pity her for being wed to one such as you." 

Aemon bristled. He bit his tongue, thinking the blow to his pride would be worth it if it meant Aegon not making a complete spectacle of himself in front of the court.  

"I will take care to pass on your commiserations to her," he retorted sharply. "Now come, sit, and eat with father and myself." 

"I…" 

"You are disgracing yourself in front of the court." 

Aegon grumbled and shrugged. "Oh, very well then," he muttered. Aemon sighed in relief, pleased that his appeal to Aegon's vanity had succeeded. "I will sit and eat and behave myself." 

Viserys was watching his oldest with barely disguised contempt. He said nothing to Aegon but turned to whisper something to the Lord Commander. Servants stopped serving wine and ale to the prince after that. 

"Are you hurt, husband?" Y/n asked quietly. She reached over and dusted specks of grass and dirt out of Aemon’s hair.  

"Just a blow to my own pride," Aemon began. He searched for his brother and found him helping himself to the bread and meat. "I am well, I assure you." 

The rest of the evening drifted peacefully. Minstrels came and went, and the court fool walked around the tables making crude noises and singing sharp-witted songs that made everyone laugh, even the one at the receiving end of his mockery. Aegon finally stopped eating and fell asleep with his head on the table. Lord Commander Hardyng had him carried back to his tent.  

The moon had risen and hung high in the sky. Someone lit a bonfire to keep everyone warm. The feast went on. Servants carried trays laden with sweets: stewed fruits and pears soaked in wine and cakes covered in thick, sugary frosting. The queen walked around the tables, talking to courtiers and guests of the crown.  

She is improving, Aemon thought. Daena praised the Dornishmen for their realm’s defiance against the dragons, spoke to the YiTish ambassador about the customs of his people, entertained the children of several others, and made them laugh. She introduced her sisters to others before finally making her excuses and leaving. Aemon glanced at his wife. Her eyes had grown heavy, and she was the only one remaining from her family. Uther had gone to help his mother put the younger children to bed.  

And Aemon did not want the night to end. 

"Would you care for a late-night swim?" he suggested. "The river is just beyond those trees. I was told the water was calm today." 

Y/n agreed. "Pray give me a moment. I need to change and fetch a pelt." 

The lake was not that far, but Aemon left word with the Kingsguard so they would not be disturbed. Lord Commander Hardyng winked and said, "About time something happened," under his breath. Aemon went red in the face but took his words in good spirits. 

Y/n had gone ahead and was already in the water, clad in a simple cotton shift. Aemon stood in the shadows, content to watch. 

His wife was as comfortable in the water as in the saddle. She glided through the water without a care in the world, turning her face up and paddling. She wanted to gaze at the moon. Her shift drifted and spread out in the water. His eyes traveled over her body. The prince drank in every inch he saw, from the exposed flesh to the hair limned by moonlight, and found his wife to be the answer to every young knight's dream. And she was his, bound to him by oath. He went forth, not wanting to miss another moment.  

"This is not the first time I have found you like this," he declared, and walked onto a nearby tree that had fallen into the water after a great storm. "I am starting to think you are part mermaid, wife." 

Y/n laughed and swam over to him. "I am not part mermaid, to be sure. There is not a drop of Greyjoy blood in my family. Or perhaps there is, and no one knows of it." 

Aemon smiled and sat back on his haunches. The bark was stout and strong, and its leaves had already rotted away in the water.  

"Are you all right?" She asked again. "I was so worried when Aegon pushed you. I thought he was going to reach for his sword." 

"I am well," he replied, more than a little alarmed that he had not stopped to consider that his brother had a sword by his side. Aemon swore to never be so careless again. "My brother will forget everything come morning and complain of awful head pains to anyone who would listen." 

Y/n laughed again and swam further away. "Will you not join me?" she asked. "You did suggest we swim." 

Aemon smiled and stood up. "I did," he said, before slipping out of his boots and stripping off his clothes until his breeches were all that remained. "And I will join you." 

A mist slowly crept in over the water. They kept close to the fallen tree, paddling and laughing and splashing each other whenever they could. Silver moonlight mingled with the flickering golden light of little fireflies. The soft hum of insects and water lapping at the shore were the only sounds that carried with the breeze. Aemond drank deep on the magic of the night, and he found he could not keep his hands away from his wife. He kept touching her, and kissing her, and he found her lips to be as sweet as always. He would have done more had the mist not thickened. Y/n shivered. It was frightfully cold.  

"Come, wife," he said, wanting to take her back to their tent, where it was warm. "Our tent and a good night’s sleep awaits." 

If you enjoyed this, please consider commenting/reblogging it!

[traumacatholic]

hello, i hope you’re having a good night, (or day! it’s nighttime where i am.) please, disregard this if the mental labour is too much i completely understand. tw: su*cidal ideation, blasphemy

i’ve haven’t requested a prayer of anyone in almost 10 years, so i feel a bit nervous doing this. i’m a bit of a prodigal daughter type. may you please pray for my mental health? i have been struggling with su*cidal ideation again and in waves that make it harder to cope with my strategies. do you have any verses that comfort you in bad mental health episodes?

and, of course if it is not too much, may you please pray for my faith in living/God? of course, i have a support system that i readily use so i am in no immediate crisis, please don’t worry for me in that way- but with what i’ve done i feel too irredeemable to turn to a church in person. lied, stolen, blasphemed, was selfish, all acting out because of my mental health like a teenager. if it is theologically not too late for me, please pray for strength to believe in God, get over my su*cidal thoughts, and confess once more.

thank you very much, I hope you are safe and warm this winter. Your blog is a solace, it provides the comfort that church used to bring me when I attended. Your faith journey is beautiful to watch.

thank you for sharing yourself even when it is hard. I appreciate you, we all do <3

- prodigal daughter (S.)

Of course I will pray for you, may God bless, guide and comfort you.

When it comes to pursuing God, we must understand that we are not just pursuing a God that is off in the distance and uninterested in us. Any time we take a step towards God, no matter how small. He takes ten steps towards us. Our faith is a dialogue, a dance almost, with God. We are constantly taking steps forward and backwards from God, and God is always pursuing the person that earnestly desires a relationship with Him.

Something that I have found useful with this blog, is over time developing the skill of being nice to myself. I think in a lot of ways, it can be very easy to be nice to other people that are going through problems. We can comfort them, we can soothe their wounds. Because we are removed from the situation. It's a lot harder to be nice to ourselves, to give ourselves the basic decency and respect that we extend to others.

I want you to take some time to think. Would you seriously tell someone else that they couldn't have a relationship with God because they had lied in their life? Or because they had stolen something? Or because they got angry or upset with someone? Because I don't think you would. I think you would very earnestly try and say that you know, like the Prodigal Son, if you desire that repentance and that relationship with God - then He welcomes you back eagerly. That nothing you could have said or done would have put you so far away from Him that you could never be reconciled to Him. We need to extend these nice words to ourselves also! Because we do believe in these things for other people, but it can be difficult to believe in those things for ourselves. Almost as if we are existing outside of everyone else. But we're not. We are never so far removed that the promises God speaks to other people are something that we can't attain so long as we pursue it.

As for Bible verses that can be of comfort: "Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? And not one of them is forgotten before God. Why, even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not; you are of more value than many sparrows." -Luke 12:6-7

“For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.” -Jeremiah 29:11

 “We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.” — Romans 8:28

 “Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God, so that he may exalt you in due time. Cast all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you.” — 1 Peter 5:6-7

 “Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.” — Philippians 4:6

“Do not fear, for I am with you, do not be afraid, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my victorious right hand.” — Isaiah 41:10

“I have said this to you, so that in me you may have peace. In the world you face persecution. But take courage; I have conquered the world!” — John 16:33

Something that I would particularly recommend for you is to re-read the Parable of the Prodigal Son. Read also the Book of Job, and try to make your way through the Psalms. I think a lot of what these parts of the Bible have to offer, would be of great benefit to you. Remember also that you can use the Psalms as prayers. A Psalm that is a part of my daily prayers, and one that may be of comfort to you is:

Psalm 50 (51)

Have mercy on me, O God, according to Thy great mercy; and according to the multitude of Thy compassions blot out my transgression. Wash me thoroughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin. For I know mine iniquity, and my sin is ever before me. Against Thee only have I sinned and done this evil before Thee, that Thou mightest be justified in Thy words, and prevail when Thou art judged. For behold, I was conceived in iniquities, and in sins did my mother bear me. For behold, Thou hast loved truth; the hidden and secret things of Thy wisdom hast Thou made manifest unto me. Thou shalt sprinkle me with hyssop, and I shall be made clean; Thou shalt wash me, and I shall be made whiter than snow. Thou shalt make me to hear joy and gladness; the bones that be humbled, they shall rejoice. Turn Thy face away from my sins, and blot out all mine iniquities. Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me. Cast me not away from Thy presence, and take not Thy Holy Spirit from me. Restore unto me the joy of Thy salvation, and with Thy governing Spirit establish me. I shall teach transgressors Thy ways, and the ungodly shall turn back unto Thee. Deliver me from blood-guiltiness, O God, Thou God of my salvation; my tongue shall rejoice in Thy righteousness. O Lord, Thou shalt open my lips, and my mouth shall declare Thy praise. For if Thou hadst desired sacrifice, I had given it; with whole-burnt offerings Thou shalt not be pleased. A sacrifice unto God is a broken spirit; a heart that is broken and humbled God will not despise. Do good, O Lord, in Thy good pleasure unto Sion, and let the walls of Jerusalem be builded. Then shalt Thou be pleased with a sacrifice of righteousness, with oblation and whole-burnt offerings. Then shall they offer bullocks upon Thine altar.

We must also understand that faith is an action, it is something that compels us to act in particular ways. Even though your prayers may feel dry, they are still of benefit to you. Pray even though you might not want to. Spend time with the Psalms even though sometimes they might just feel like words on a page. Because you will begin to find comfort in these things, healing too. And I think sometimes the act of forcing ourselves to get up in the morning and read a little. Take some quiet time for ourselves before going on our hectic day is really important. And after a time, it stops feeling like so much of a chore and we can grow and appreciate it in new light.

If you feel your anxiety building up, try turning to the Psalms. Sometimes just that visual stimulus can stop our anxiety from spiralling. And of course, there are so many Psalms about asking God for healing, for comfort, for strength. And I think they will be of good use to you.

[mmriesoftvat]

i have wanderer character analysis under the cut. please watch this trailer for reference!

so we have this angle in the beginning of the trailer. i really like the mood around them, with the storm signifying the trouble that's about to come. either representing him bringing the trouble, or the fatui giving him trouble. but regardless, the environmental storytelling is really good!

i also really like his pose here. the bird isn't a source of irritation for him. his main irritation with the bird + wind is that it almost knocked his kasa off. but right now ultimately, he's nonbothered.

but then you have this. his head is angled, and even without eyes showing, you can see that he's more annoyed over having his path blocked than being harassed. the stance is a very clear "you're annoying me, move" type of stance. and the way he just goes "two big strong fatui, asking me to be their chaperone. is this some kind of joke?"

because now we can see his whole face. he hasn't lifted a hand to either of them yet. he hasn't done anything except glare. which means he's not going to act unless directly threatened. which is, interestingly enough, what happens next!

a bullet is fired at wanderer here. because the two fatui aren't actually interested in a guide, they're lookign to pick a fight, and they think wanderer is an easy target. but here we have his first display of strength: he effortlessly uses the agent's weapon to block the bullet. and i'm pretty sure that expression is more resignation than actual anger or irritation. more like "ugh, i have to waste energy on these guys?"

and when we see this in the next scene, this is really interesting to me. i don't know if the light reflected in his eyes is from an outside source (the flash from the gun, him activating his anemo powers), or if it's internal. Because the way his eyes are glowing are purple. my thoughts on this are that there's still some traces of his former self in there, OR MAYBE it's a result of him being ei's creation. she's the electro archon, and electro, at least mainly, is colored purple for convenience sake. part of me thinks that the god he aspired to be never fully died when he was reincarnation, and maybe he relied on electro for too long for it also to be completely erased. he's essentially two people in one body, both halves learning to come to terms with each other. i just thought this shot was really interesting, because it's clearly the harbinger we're expected to see, and not the wanderer.

this is the second display of strength. because while yes, wanderer is using his anemo here, he's barely touching the weapon to keep it at bay. this tells me his anemo is just as strong as he is. and i wonder what exactly is giving him that strength. is it being a puppet? or is it the previous incarnation of his god self coming into play here? or is the anemo enhancing what strength he already has? because this shot has me wondering just exactly how strong wanderer is. he's barely using any force behind this defensive move, while the agents are putting their all into it.

i mostly liked this shot for the jab to the throat before he was grabbed by the throat. power move, wanderer.

the next display of strength. this is my favorite part and the whole reason i wanted to analyze the trailer. because it took zero effort for wanderer to grab him by the throat and yoink him high into the air. he's using only one hand to not only hold the guy up, but hold him higher than his own height. his own body is very still and even relaxed, i'd argue, while the fatuus is clawing at wanderer's arm and shaking.

there's no doubt that the fatuus is strong, considering he was using a hammer as a weapon, but the difference is astounding. because it doesn't even look like wanderer is using his full strength. he's still very unbothered by the whole thing. still doesn't care enough.

and then you get this shot where his eyes glow a very vivid blue. i don't know if this is just a trailer visual for the audience to see him using his vortext ult, or if it's in game. but if it is in game, i find it very interesting to note, because to me it means he's fully embracing his new lease in life, embracing the anemo that he was given. personally i'd like to think it's an inverse/canon bit, to demonstrate how powerful his anemo really is.

but also interestingly enough, in the following shots, we get this quick frame:

it's really hard to tell what color his eyes are glowing, but i'm going off of context clues and saying his eyes are shining purple again. the glitching, the black and white with traces of purple? to me that screams balladeer/scaramouche. so he HASN'T left behind that side of him. this, to me, says he's embracing both sides of that personality within him and melding them into one. he's still the ruthless balladeer he spent ages of his life being, and he's also the innocent wanderer that worked at a fruit stand. this series of glitchy frames ALSO tells me that he's weighing his options and deciding on the right course of action. should he be the balladeer and kill the fatui? or should he be the wanderer and leave well enough alone?

cause through this all, he was acting in self defense.

this is the sternest he's looked through the entire trailer. the crossed arms and the mini lecture of "you were looking for trouble and got what you asked for."

this is both scaramouche and wanderer speaking. he didn't hurt them too badly, he just gave them a lesson the fatui are unlikely to forget anytime soon. and even in this image he doesn't look entirely that mad, either. annoyed, yes. but it also vaguely looks like he's still smiling.

because through the entire fight, wanderer was laughing. he was laughing, because this was a game to him. a chance for him to test out his abilities on people. the fatui got a fight, and he got to show them why that was wrong. of COURSE he'd laugh.

which is probably why he left them alive at the end and continued on his way. because he didn't need to murder to prove a point, he'd already made it the second they started antagonizing him. wanderer knows he's strong and can outlast anyone in a fight. he barely has to lift a finger in order to make some devastating blows to his enemies. if wanderer wanted to obliterate someone, he would do it easily.

but i also wonder where that strength comes from. does it come from being a puppet, from having an anemo vision, or does the blood of that mecha-god still pump through his veins even after erasing himself? regardless, he's still very clearly one of the strongest characters.

also i'd like to point out real quick, that i feel like his fight with cyno in the recent darshan championship was a callback to this. because back then, wanderer didn't care enough to take a fight seriously, and with cyno he was clearly holding back and not taking it seriously. probably out of a need to not actually kill his opponents, especially since they weren't enemies to begin with.

[blackvahana]

NSFW warning. Explicitly detailing gorey sex. Thanks.

I get a night with him, finally, where I can be myself and play hard. I am overwhelming, I am Death, I AM - thanks phone - I am Destruction, I always have to restrain myself. I keep returning to a form lately of being laughing crows, bordering on scream-laughing. When I made that weapon of mine I felt so giddy and crows heads writhed and pierced out from my head and I was laughing. Laughing. Red has been scream-laughing over battlefields before in red slaughter and I feel it in my blood. No, I feel it in my skin, my hands. This is no past tense. I am that. My energy boils with piercing, violent laughter in a thousand voices. All I can do is laugh.

Here, though. He was sat wiping blood from the trishula I used to spear myself and... More. Oh. Finally. We dance around gore, just like there's a fine line between BDSM and abuse, there is one between Astral goreplay and outright violence. We know that line. We know what it's like to be the Carrion Crow eating bodies, we know where the line lays between that and lovers inside each other's bodies.

Pierced, penetrated, stabbed with his tendrils thick and black. My body gives way like clay around him, blood licks him, organs are eyes which watch him and from which tendrils of sight trace his form. Not the cold steel of swords but the colder flesh of abyssal aquatic life. "Deep" no longer describes it, he doesn't go "deep" he fully leaves the other side, through like a machine cutting holes and stitching flesh - and yet so smooth, so laced with organic suggestions. His coding speaks to mine, even in externally violent action every bit of his form tells mine at every moment that this is intimate, this is not the cold detachment, this is being alone on the long Irish beach in autumn. He tells me at every point that he is answering my call.

Penetration. Every hole you have has it's own feeling, every place you fuck receives it in its own way. Vagina, anus, mouth, all have different feelings. The guts don't differ. Sentimental almost, the feeling of being grabbed from inside, almost drowned out by the overwhelming that comes from any other place so thoroughly explored... It brings organic self-states to the surface. My own form, my own self, I'm learning my languages: eyes bubble forth from my organs and I am what they call eldritch, my mind is the beach, eldritch is where metaphor becomes indistinguishable from reality, where vision becomes manifest self. I am not playing pretend. The incomprehensible gathering of eyes and tendrils and wings and hands are mere metaphor for what I am, because metaphor has to stand between reality and my truth. The Almadia keeps being shown in masks as if it was exactly like what is shown, because even God wonders what I look like.

My own body is an excitable oil lamp, pierce it with enough displacing strength and the fire will flow into the oil, it will catch fire, it will explode. I grab with the gore exposed now to him, abstracted, like a painter took a portrait of my human form and tore it open to reveal layers and layers of deep red clays. I grab, I am extensions of my own viscera. I hold each and every tendrils pierced into me, pull it closer, push, twist, grab.

I asked him whether what I was seeing was what he was seeing, he showed me. Oh, I know, I felt it. My own guts and blood turned to tendrils-cum-tongues-cum-intestines, some obscure and unknown sort of flesh manifestation of ancient non-carbon-lifeform. I was strangling him almost, run up and down him in flower-petal arrays of some kind of...

But none of this touches on what I want to talk about. Just kidding, all of it does. In a space between, the Mental, we fight-play, but in the Astral the Almadia expands into the maths of the universe. Untold doors open, boats are sent to the shores far and wide. Emanations happen. The Mental here and now is the people outside the cave and the Astral is the shadows on the wall, what I do in the Mental, the intense sex of opening bodies is a ritual of opening gates. Its violence-love is the shadow on the way for I move when I am unseen; I distract God with the revelation of my body splayed and displayed while I take his Trident-Key to the Locks and alter my reality with my own hands. Time waits for no man, but I have been early.

[steeltraptrainer]

There is light in the windows. The family is in. Ferro hesitates in knocking. Long enough that they get noticed regardless. The sound of a good few chains being unlatched, before the door opens.

"What are you lingering for?" A pause. "Wait... You two... Still alive, then." Gascoigne leans in the doorway, eyes still bandaged, and teeth still fanged. "Good. Come in. Don't linger on the doorstep, that is bad luck."

"Love? Who is at the door?"

"Our two helpers." The scuff of shoes on the floor as they sheepishly enter. "Leave your weaponry at the door, we have a rack for visiting hunters."

"Will do. Is... uh. That Henryk guy alright?"

"Yes. A bit worse for wear, but alive." Gascoigne chuffs, and shakes his head a bit. "That foolhardy idiot could have been the Crow's latest mark, and you saved him. Thank you."

"No need. We don't like the idea of killing people. It makes our skin crawl." Giacomo grimaces.

"Not so strange, for novice hunters." A raspy voice they had never heard before calls out. "Why are you here?" Henryk. Lichtenberg scars all over, and tired eyes. But alive indeed.

"Wanted to check up on you and Gascoigne," Ferro mutters. "We just... Just got through Old Yharnam. Were at the old Workshop Gehrman established.

"That place is still standing?" Henryk raises an eyebrow. "Damn miracle. You two are busybodies." A look up and down Ferro. "Where'd you get that attire?"

"Dream Messengers." Ferro gestures. "We're both Moon-Scented."

"Two of you? At once?" A wince from the old man. "May you two keep going."

"Planning on it."

---

They talk for so long. Just... relax a bit. A needed breather. When they leave, it's with Viola's laughter at Ferro's clothes in the back of their minds. It was nice. Almost made them forget about the horrors outside the door.

"Shall we?"

"Witches?"

"Witches."

---

"EYES ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE THERE!" Ferro screeches, lunging out of the way. Dear fucking god. "THIS IS THE MOST FUCKED UP TAILORING EVER!"

"FERRO! SPARKS!" The small explosion of electricity does almost nothing to the witches, but it does clear the arena of Mad Ones. Small wins, at least. Ferro twirls the weapon in his grip around, before stepping forward, rushing the witch. On the side, Giacomo does the same. The witches fall.

"Ugh. Never again." Ferro shudders. "Let's get that rune tool, and then return to the dream. You had an idea for getting me a new weapon that isn't this cane."

"Ayup. If the Chalice Dungeons are even remotely the same, we can get you a Burial Blade. Scythe and sword in one."

"Sign me right the fuck up. I want crowd control."

---

The Doll barely sees the two hunters. They greet her (as is their custom), before they entrench themselves in the Pthumerian labyrinth. She is curious why. They clearly have a plan. And so she sits and waits. They will likely come back with a not small amount of Blood Echoes. Good. They will need strength in the fights yet to come.

When they tumble back into being, The Doll can just about see their wounds fade away. However, they have huge grins on their faces, laughing. There is a weapon in a harness on Ferro's back that she has only ever seen Gehrman hold. Curious. She wonders how he would react to it.

"Do you need my help, Good Hunters?"

"Oh, yeah! Ferro's got a new weapon, and needs some help to match it."

"Very well. Give me your hands, please. Now shut your eyes..." Oh, they had so many blood echoes. More than enough to make Ferro a more than adequate wielder of this weapon. She would love to see him dance with it one day.

---

"You got a weapon in mind that you want, Momo?" Ferro asks, eying his new weapon. It's comically large within his hands, but he knows how to hold it safely and surely. And he saw Gehrman up in the workshop sputter and choke like he had seen a ghost.

"Yeah. Won't be able to get it until after we take care of the Vicar though. It's the Whirligig Saw."

"Sounds cool. Show it to me when we're back home?"

"Yeah, sure." Something to happen sooner rather than later. After all,

T h e y

W a k e

U p

[unearthlytwilight]

24E. oh boy we're really in it now

important: implied animal cruelty. if that makes you uncomfy, skip this one. if not, all aboard for part one of the fetch quest!

Eliwood and friends infiltrate Bern castle and... hide in a bush. I'm imagining a Scooby-Doo-esque head stack

Desmond tells her to go play, then gets pissed at Zephiel for being a loving brother. he accuses him of wanting to see Guinevere dead and tells him and Murdock to fuck off. classic Desmond *laugh track*

Sonia shows up and helpfully exposits on the Fire Emblem's location. nice. she senses someone but Desmond says "don't worry it's my kid", which is convenient. anyway, she leaves

Guinevere is upset that Zephiel is gone. Desmond, in a rare display of non-jackassery, offers to play with her, but she declines.

(one reason I love these GBA cutscenes is that the portraits move left/right across the screen easily, making them more dynamic. above, Desmond moves closer to Guinevere and she backs away from him. it reflects action in a way you just don't get with models)

anyway, Guinevere goes to find Zephiel and gives Desmond her baby fox to hold. I think we all know where this is going

Desmond does love his daughter, but it doesn't make him any better. usually you see "oh the villain has a loved one" as easy sympathy points, but not here. kinda refreshing

cut to the lords discussing how bad the situation is. they decide to bounce, and then we cut to Ninian and Nils outside. Ninian is worried because they've been in there for a while

you're a little late, Nils, they got their A last chapter. also, rare Ninian exclamation point

they get surprised by this lady, Vaida, who they can't sense because something something Nergal did it. she's looking for the two, and the lords catch up and call her a lackey. honestly hilarious

Vaida says nuh-uh and tells her troops to attack.

side note: there's a well-known exploit known as the "mine glitch", where if you close the game when a mine goes off and then input a series of buttons, you can control enemies. Vaida's spear is coded to give its wielder big stat buffs. guess what people do

the combat's not so bad. there are wyvern reinforcements near the shops in the top right, but otherwise it's definitely manageable

but before we get to that, Pent and Louise join! Pent gives us a Heaven seal, used to promote Hector or Lyn.

Eliwood, you gotta believe in yourself. do I have to come over there

pov: you're a castle guard and see this shit happening five feet away

apparently [tactician] is famous in Bern. nice little personal detail

Hector gets the promotion because he capped strength. Heath also caps strength. who even needs the Vaida spear

sage crit! Pent says there can only be one

(somewhere, Priscilla and Erk got their B. Priscilla gets jealous of Erk because his previous employer was a lady, but Erk is all "oh god no I hate her." meh. at least this one has characterization? 5/10)

the bottom-left village has a hammerne staff from ...Ursula. surprised? me, too. Sain I don't think she's girlfriend material

anyway! after 11 turns, Vaida decides she's had enough of this and peaces out. Eliwood and the gang follow her, courtesy of Lyn

Lyn and Hector really do have that sitcom frenemy relationship

next time: we spy on the spies and figure out really obtuse character select requirements!

[queen-of-deans-booty]

The Great Escape: Part One

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: canon angst and violence

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated.

The search for Kevin has lasted a whole month, and it's still going. No one has seen him, heard from him, and his GPS signal isn't giving anything off. He either must have turned it off or he's not on Earth. It's crazy to think that he's not on Earth, but there is a very possible idea that Crowley took him.

Maybe it wasn't all in Kevin's head.

You haven't brought this up with the brothers because you have other things on your mind. Like Robert. You're standing outside of his door yet again, but you can't seem to go inside.

"You need to let it in," Dean says from the left of you.

It takes a moment or two for you to respond, and when you do, your voice is beyond sad.

"Do you remember what it was like for me when my dad died? I turned my back on my family and Joanna when you and she needed me the most." You turn to Dean with a sad look in your eyes. "I can't afford to do that again. We have two children now; I don't get the chance to break down. Our kids deserve more than a mother who is a crying mess on the floor. It's gonna hurt if I let it in."

"It's going to hurt more if you don't," Dean sighs.

"I don't care. You of all people should at least understand that."

You leave Dean's side and head to the library where Sam is. He is looking worse by the minute, and you can't do anything about it. This isn't something that can be fixed with soup and fever medicine. Sam should take a step back from the trials, but then you won't be able to close the Gates of Hell.

It's too late for you or Dean to start the trials over.

Dean heads to the kitchen to make soup for Sam even though it may not help. Joanna is eating her breakfast at the same table Sam is sitting at, and Maryann is in her baby swing on the floor. Joanna placed her lucky blanket over Sam's shoulder, and he hasn't removed it since it feels warm.

Dean enters moments later with a tray of food in his hands.

"Alright, here we go. John Winchester's famous cure-all kitchen sink stew. There's enough cayenne pepper in there to burn your lips off, just like Dad used to make."

Sam pushes the tray of food away, but you're not having it.

"Sam, eat the damn food. It's been three days since you last ate. Stop being a baby."

"Yeah, mister," Joanna scowls at her uncle. "Eat your food."

Sam stares at her before dragging the tray of food to him. He takes a bite and relishes the taste of it. Before you know it, it's all gone.

"The bloody handkerchiefs, the fever, and the shaky legs... This is not good," Dean sighs.

"Well, I'm not good, and I'm not going to be good until we can start moving again. Until I can start the third trial."

"Trial? I wouldn't let you start a moped. We're on the rails with this thing, okay, and the only way out of it is through it, believe me, I know. You know how bad I wanna slam the door on all those sons of bitches, but you gotta let me and Y/N take care of you, man. You gotta let us help you get your strength back."

"He's right, Sam."

"This isn't a cold or a fever or whatever it is you're supposed to feed. This is part of it all. Those first two trials are not just things I did. They're doing something to me. They're changing me, Dean."

Sam's laptop makes a noise signaling he got a new email.

"It's from Kevin."

"Thank God," you whisper.

Sam opens Kevin's message with the subject line "WATCH THIS VIDEO NOW". He clicks on the link and it's a video of Kevin inside Garth's houseboat before he disappeared, obviously.

"Sam, Dean, Y/N. I've set up this message with some software on a remote server so it'd send itself to you if I didn't reset it with a command once a week. Which means I didn't reset it this week, and there's only one reason I wouldn't. Which means if you're watching this, then I... I'm dead. I'm dead, you bastards! So screw you, screw God and everybody in between!" Kevin takes a breath or two before continuing. "Crowley must've gotten to me, and the one thing I know is that I won't break this time. Not sure how I know, but I do. I've been uploading all my notes and the translations, and I'm sending you the links so you can get all of it. You guys are gonna have to try to figure out the rest. I'm sorry." Tears ghost in his eyes. "I know it was my job, but I couldn't... I'm sorry."

The video ends, and your heart hurts for Kevin who you brought into this life. He was perfectly fine at college, and you sucked him in. Tears of your own fall for Kevin, but Dean is the most pissed out of the three of you.

He angrily swipes a stack of books off the other table, scaring Joanna and Maryann.

"Damn it!" he yells.

Dean leaves without another word, and you know he needs to take a walk and calm down.

"Mama? Is Daddy okay?" Joanna asks.

"Daddy's fine. Just finish eating your food."

Sam prints off everything Kevin sent over, and it's enough to cover every inch of the entire library table. Dean comes back an hour later on the phone with someone.

"Yeah, I know you haven't seen him, Keel, nobody has. Well, if you talk to Garth, just have him call in."

"Is Garth still MIA?" you ask.

"Yeah."

"How about the other prophets in line? I mean if Kevin is dead, then won't one of them be activated?"

"Not a peep."

"Isn't that a good thing? If there is no news of a new prophet, then Kevin isn't dead. Kevin turned into one because Chuck died. It happened immediately. We'd hear news of a new prophet, so Kevin must not be dead," you kept the hope.

"You saw the message, Y/N."

"That doesn't mean anything. All that means is that he couldn't reset the software. Crowley took him, I just know it."

"Regardless, here we are. No lead and no tablet. We should've moved him here."

Kevin's notes must have something here, so you have to go over every inch of them until you find something you can use.

"There it is again, every time," Sam mutters to himself. He holds up a few papers with the same symbol on it. "I know this symbol. Now, Kevin has it down as sort of like a signature for the Scribe of God. It appears every time Metatron makes one of his, like, editor's notes."

Metatron was discovered when you first encountered Kevin Tran in the hospital with Castiel after he took Sam's pain away from the wall cracking in his head.

"I think I've seen it before. I mean, it was a long time ago. It was one of my humanities courses at Stanford."

"They taught the Word of God at Stanford?" you chuckle.

"No, it was an overview of Native American art. I think it's a petroglyph.

A petroglyph is a rock carving. People would carve images into rock using a stone chisel.

"This one belonged to a tiny tribe in Colorado. It says here they held onto their scrap of mountains when all the other tribes fell to the white men. This glyph was a territorial marker with the closest translation being: 'messenger of God'." Sam takes a moment to think about what he just said and gets excited. "Guys, we have to go there!"

"On that hunch? You can barely function," Dean shakes his head.

"I'm only gonna get worse. I mean, until we get back to the real job, until we find the third trial, we're out of prophets! We're not gonna figure out what Kevin couldn't! I'd say we go to this messenger of God who wrote it in the first place!"

"He does have a point," you side with Sam.

"You think this Metatron is hiding out in the mountains with a bunch of Native Americans?" Dean scoffs.

"Yeah! Yeah, I do."

"It doesn't hurt to look," you shrug.

"Whatever."

Dean slams his book shut and leaves the library to get the car ready. You get the kids ready whileSam tries to get himself ready. Zeus is going to stay behind again, but you make sure he has enough water and food to last you however long this trip will take. It takes all of thirty minutes to get ready and all of eleven hours to travel to New Mexico where this "Messenger of God" is supposedly hiding.

You three walk inside with Joanna walking next to Dean and Maryann in her stroller. There is a bell on the desk that you ring, and moments later, the hotel clerk walks out from the back room.

"Hello, we'd like a room, please. Preferably with two rooms."

Sam wanders the front lobby, but he doesn't look too good. He flinches as if he hears a loud noise, but there isn't anything that is making a loud enough noise to flunch from.

"Did you hear that?" Sam asks you and Dean.

"Hear what?" you whisper to him.

"He has the flu," Dean chuckles at the clerk, taking the keys from him.

After getting your room assigned to you, you three head over to the room on the first floor. Sam immediately grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and sits down on one of the beds.

"Mama, I'm hungry," Joanna whines.

"Okay, eat this. We'll get more food later."

You reach into your bag and hand her one of her snacks, but she throws it on the ground and it goes everywhere.

"No, I don't want that!"

"That is not how you behave. You're in time-out. Go sit in the corner," you say sternly.

"Daddy!"

"You heard your mother."

Joanna whines but does what she's told. She sits in the corner and pouts. You use your magic to clean up the mess, then you grab Maryann since it's time to feed her. You have formula to use since all of your bottled breast milk is in the freezer back home. You settle into the sofa chair when you see Joanna start to move from her spot. Dean leaves to check out the hotel while you feed your daughter.

"Joanna Beth Winchester. Stay where you are."

"We're the only guests in this whole place," Dean says when he returns. "The last entry in the registry was in '06."

"Hey, do you two remember when Dad took us to the bottom of the Grand Canyon, on that pack-mule ride?" Sam smirks. "You're, uh, mule kept farting, just— l-letting go."

"Dude, you were like, four years old. I barely remember that," Dean scoffs.

"You rode a farty donkey," Sam laughs.

He is definitely delirious, you'll give him that.

"Okay. Y/N and I are gonna go check out the Two Rivers Tribal Museum and Trading Post."

"Yeah! I'm gonna follow the hotel manager, Dr. Scowley-scowl. He's like a villain from Scooby-Doo," Sam giggles.

"Okay, you're staying here and getting some sleep."

"Yeah, I can do that too."

Sam falls onto the bed and is quick to sleep.

"We're not leaving our kids with him. We're taking them with us. Joanna, are you ready to come out of your time-out?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to throw another tantrum?"

"No."

"Come on.

You and Dean get the girls ready and head over to the Museum where the clerk is more than happy to talk about the Native American history.

"The people of the Two Rivers tribe came to this land centuries ago. A land that was harsh and stony, but the mighty leader told his people that they must stay here. He claimed that this was the home on Earth of the great spirit's sacred messenger, and that if they'd make offerings, their blessings would be many."

"What were the offerings?" you ask. "What did the great spirit's sacred messenger ask for?"

"Stories. He asked the people to tell him stories."

You're about to ask another question when your phone rings. Sam is calling, and you pick up immediately.

"Sam? Are you okay?" However, you don't hear anything on his end. "Sam? Are you there?" You look at Dean and shake your head. Something is wrong. "Excuse me. We need to be going. Thank you for your time."

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[managician-tls]

Basketball at Dusk - Confrontation 3 (9/10)

The final part of this chapter made me cry a little... I had so much trouble picking what screenshots to use! botaasu are such a sweet senpai-kouhai pair.

Featured characters: Botan, Asuka, Himari, Renren

Location: Gym

Botan: 150 to 0.

After the 150th point, I haven't kept proper track of the score.

It might be good to wrap things up here. The sun seems to be setting down, too.

Asuka: No, n-not yet! Just a little more, I've almost got it!

Botan: You're just bluffing.

I think you've tried your best, Momochi-san. However, it's important to know when to give up, too.

If you push yourself any further, you're going to get hurt.

Asuka: I don't care about that!

I'm here to stop you from quitting, Komacchi-senpai, that's all there's to it!

There's nobody else to do it... Nobody but me!

That's why, if I give up here... I'll be a disgrace, to both myself and the rest of the club members!

Botan: I see. But the passage of time is cruel, you see?

The sun has set already. It'll become dark soon.

This'll be the last play of the match.

Asuka: I won't give up until the end...

I look up to you, Komacchi-senpai, so I don't want you to leave.

Until the very end, I'll fight with all I've got!

Botan: I see. Okay, then. Since this is the end, Momochi-san — my last shot will be a farewell gift, from me to you.

Asuka: A farewell gift? No, this is no farewell!

From here on, I still wanna play basketball with you, Komacchi-senpai!

Botan: Too bad.

I'll be throwing the shot from here.

Asuka: T-This is...

Botan: Yes. With its high trajectory... It's a three-point shot that nobody can reach.

Sorry. Even though you're playing seriously...

Momochi-san, you won't be able to lay a single finger on the ball.

Because this shot will go in.

Asuka: We don't know that it will! We won't know until the end!

I say the shot will not go in!

I'll get under the goal and pick up the rebound! And so, I'll win!

Botan: You're wasting effort.

Even if you keep chasing and chasing after me... There's a gap beyond belief that you won't be able to bridge.

That gap — it's what people call "talent".

Asuka: N— No way...

Botan: The shot went in.

Sorry, Momochi-san.

It seems I might be loved by God himself, just a little.

Asuka: ...I lost. Losing feels this frustrating, huh.

...I'll put the ball we used away.

Himari: Mochimochi, Komatsu Botan, hol' up just a seeec!

Botan: ...What is it?

Himari: Take a good look outside the gym!

The sun hasn't gone down yet!

Don't you see it? At the foot of the mountain, there's the sunset, shining radiantly!

It's not gone yeeeettt!

Renren: Momochi-san, you did it, le ♪ With your strong will to not give up, you managed to seize an upset victory, le ♪

Asuka: F-For real...!?

Botan: ...I see. So, it's my loss?

Congrats. Momocchi.

Are you alright, fallen down on the floor like that? Want me to lend you a hand?

Asuka: Yeah... Just a little is fine, so...

I want you to hug me, Komacchi-senpai... Just for a little while.

Botan: Mm. I got you. Is it fine like this?

Asuka: Ah... Yes. Looks like I've used up all my strength...

I'm still inexperienced, huh... But, I'm happy.

Maybe it's because I'm relaxed now... But I'm kinda, growing... sleepy...

Botan: ...She fell asleep.

Everyone, I'm sorry for making you keep us company.

But, for the first time in a while, I really had fun.

Himari: ...? Hey, could it be that you...?

You lost on purpo... mmghn!? H-Hey! Don't go covering my mouth as you please!

Botan: Hm? I don't know what you're talking about... ♪

There's just one thing to say... I lost to Momocchi's passion when I was meant to lose, that's all.

So, to show my respect towards Momochi-san, it might be nice to call her "Momocchi", just for now ♪

Himari: ...I agree. Have a good look at Mochimochi's happy, sleeping face.

What tried to steal it away — it was none other than your own foolishness.

Botan: Mhm.

Himari: Well then, Lackey-kun and Ryusenji Renren. You two head home first, got it?

If you stay here much longer, you'll make that nagging Disciplinary Committee president angry at you.

Renren: That's right, de~ It's not good to get in the way of a master and her disciple, de ♪

Botan: Mm. Leave the rest to me.

...What a cute sleeping face, hm?

If you show me such a smile, I won't be able to go through with quitting anything at all.

No, that's not it. I won't say I'll quit, not anymore.

Since it seems Momocchi still needs me here.

Geez. You're one troublesome junior, aren't you, Momocchi?

...Thank you.

◀ Chapter 8 • all • Epilogue ▶

[ajokeformur-ray]

Happy birthdayyyy ~ Rose!!!!🎈🎉🥳🎊

A giftset for my dearest sister @rosesloveletters, without whom I wouldn't know what it feels like to go all the way across the other side of the world, alone, just to say hello to someone and give them a hug. It's stressful as all hell, but magical. Especially when you see them running towards you and you collide in the airport🥺(The gif is an accurate representation of what happened, with you being the redhead and me being slammed into but oh my god, take me back PLEASE🥺🙏😂)

Anyway, honey, happy birthday and I hope you enjoy what I've made for you here!! If not, I'm more than happy to make you something else too!!!🥺💗

First, a letter from me which almost had me in tears🥹❤️🫂

Second, some fics which I had way too much fun with!💗

I'm broke and abandoned, you are an angel // Commodus x Rose.

Summary: you fall back together after years apart, and neither of you can get enough of the other. Commodus is your strength in the dark, and you are Commodus' shining light. You're exactly what the other person needs, even after all of this time. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and sometimes, it solidifies bonds forevermore and reaffirms what you already knew: with your Emperor by your side, an eternity awaited.

This is the song which inspired the title and overall vibe of this fic

Word count: 2, 146.

It had been so very long since you and Commodus had seen one another. So vast an expanse of time that it felt like forever and yet no time at all simultaneously, missed chances and second chances for a life together running parallel to one another.

At first, it had been the right love at the wrong time, with people outside of either of your controls forbidding the love that you shared due to social standings and royalty etiquette but now, oh, but now, it was the right love at the right time. Nothing left holding either of you back, for it seemed that the gods had seen fit to grant yourself and Commodus another chance together, and who were you to defy them?

Who were you to defy yourself, to defy Commodus, in the face of one of the greatest happinesses you had ever known? And, indeed, it was to be a love for the ages, a love to be carved into great slabs of clay, and one which would withstand the test of time.

Though you had not been together, it had already lasted years as the two of you saw fit to love one another from afar.

The day that you had reunited with one another had been nothing less and yet nothing more than the very birth of serendipity; it had been unexpected but very welcomed all the same. As if by unspoken and yet mutual agreement from opposite sides of the palace, you and Commodus had almost collided together in the great hall, your feet on the ground, cracked cobblestones from which sprouted weeds and other plants desperate for life and willing to maintain it by any means necessary, but your heads remained firmly in the clouds. You were together only in thought as it had been for those torturous years gone by. Those days were now nothing more than a distant nightmare as you and Commodus almost instantly picked up where you had left off, but they had taught you much about yourself and about the world.

You were not the same Rose who had last had to leave Commodus, just as he had been much changed by your time apart, but you fell together as if you had never left one another's side. Learning to love one another again, meeting each other half way to everywhere, felt simultaneously daunting and yet completely natural.

"My dearest Rose." Commodus' soft and unassuming voice cut through you like a hot knife through butter, soothing the very same wounds it ripped open as he greeted you for the very first time.

"H - Highness." Commodus. You bit back on the name which wanted to spring forth from your lips, but you remembered your political standing at the very last second and saved yourself from a social faux pas which would have had horrific consequences. Or, it would have done, if you were not who you were, who you had always been: Commodus' greatest and only love.

"It seems our time has come, my love." Commodus leaned forward and his already soft voice slipped into a deeper octave as he said, "I shall come for you before long. Do be ready in your chambers. We have much to revisit."

You stared at him, wide eyed, uncertain, excited, but Commodus only nodded at you, his sea green eyes fixed upon your beautiful face, before he passed you by, a sea of royal blue following him wherever he led. Maximus led the rear of the long line of guards and royal presence, and he gave you a tight-lipped smile as he passed you by; his cloak brushing against you softly. Menacingly.

Commodus had always made you feel at ease, out of everyone in the place you called home. That thought made you wince somewhat, for though you lived in this place, it had not been your home since you had been condemned to a life without the man you loved the very most. Still, if he was to approach you now, then maybe he was to bring you home. To yourself, to a love you once lived, to him.

Your Commodus.

Yours.

Indeed, tragically, no one else had wanted Commodus, and so you had seized him for your own within just a moment, within a blink. People wanted a ruler, a gladiator, a King, they wanted many things except Commodus for the man he truly was. He was not a moral man, he was not a good man, as most in the city proclaimed, but he was desperate for love, desperate for the approval of his father, for Maximus' approval, for the love of those whom surrounded him day in, day out, saw the extent of his suffering and still did not love him.

No one but you, that is.

You, who saw him for who he truly was, and had walked up to him when the paths of your lives had converged, your hand slipping into his, your fingers interlocking with his own, and made his problems yours, just as he made your own his, too. Commodus had made you his and you made him yours, and that was as far as many within the city dared to look. They saw Commodus, a great man with great power, and they saw you, a beautiful woman with a heart of the rarest gold, and they wondered where the love came from. Had he corrupted you, had he... threatened you? Where had you the courage to lay beside him? To let him love you, devote himself to you, just as you did for him? But your bond was never for external evaluation, for your love was yours, and now, after all of this time apart, it was destined once more to be nurtured, so that it may bloom and have its time, forever, burning hot and blazing bright; like the heat of the sun on your hearts for a thousand years.

I would butcher the whole world, if you would only love me! Was a tragic, horrific confession made to his father and later repeated to you within the safety of your shared bedchamber. Commodus had always had to beg for love, he had always had to ask for a full hug, he had always had to bend and break his back for one scrap of approval, affection, kindness, from the people around him, but from no one more so than his own father.

With you, however, love came unconditionally, without strings, it came free and willing and easy, and so Commodus had clung to you, clutching at your shirt, fingers splayed to touch as much of you as he possibly could all at the same time, while your fingers delved into those dark curls and your lips pressed kisses to the very crown of his head; royalty was he despite the way he was frequently passed over for other people to rule, despite his birthright and his political standing. You were practically a goddess, worthy of worship, devotion, love, and indeed every day did he spend time making sacrifices to you, for you. They were not big sacrifices, and only you knew of them; no one else could read Commodus like you could (the truth of it was simply that no one wanted to read Commodus; he had been written off right from the very start as a hopeless case, his fate thrown to the gods before you had picked it up, dusted it off and kept it for your own, tightly tucked beside your heart).

The sacrifices made were surprisingly subtle once you and Commodus had met at his bedchamber and almost instantly picked up where you had left off; he spent a little less time working, choosing for love for you over his love of Rome. He spent less time in council meetings, he dismissed people five minutes earlier so that he could have a full hug from you, the two of you holding one another tightly to your chests as if, should you let go, you would once again be torn asunder and never again together. Commodus chose you, again and again and again, over everything and everyone, just as you did for him in your own ways and means.

You practically screamed your love at one another, even in a crowded room, and yet no one could hear you but each other. That was the way it had to be, the way it was meant to be, and you guarded your life and your love just as fiercely as you guarded Commodus, and he you. It had only been, to your rough estimations, about two weeks since the two of you had reunited, and yet it felt like neither of you had ever been forced to leave the other's side.

It was just as well, really, because the two of you had practically been attached at the hip, truly inseparable by mortal boundaries, ever since you had made the decision to continue your courtship, to spend your lives with one another. It was finally your turns to have the happiness you both had spent your lives dreaming of.

As was customary for the last few weeks - twelve days, not that Commodus was counting - the two of you were lounging on his luxurious bed in the early hours of the morning, the room all rich reds, blues, velvet duvets and silk pillows, a mosquito net surrounding the outer perimeter of the bed and protecting the two of you from flying insects, pests, and a clear view, even with the balcony and main doors open. Sunlight was golden and spilled through the open windows and curtains, casting a dark red halo around Commodus' head against where it rested on the pillows. Ringed hands stroked lightly up and down your arm, fingers gripped at tender skin with reverence as Commodus tried to touch as much of you as he could, always worried that you would be taken away from him within the blink of an eye.

Already, the perpetually dark circles under his eyes were much improved; they were mere shadows as opposed to looking like he had held a circle of ink against closed eyes. You reached up to stroke under his eyes and Commodus tilted his head so that he could press a kiss to the adoring palm of your hand. "I sleep well because I am loved." was a daily prayer of thanks he whispered against your skin, and every morning you only hummed contentedly and curled deeper into him. Commodus met you where you were and lavished you with kisses, his plump lips adoring and your skin willingly compressing under the weight of his affections for you. He never kissed you just once, no. His empress, his goddess, deserved more than just a single fleeting kiss. Commodus often liked to kiss you until his lips were numb from it, your face tingling and your hearts as full and as warm as they could possibly be.

"Being without you was like a... a crazed nightmare!" Commodus' voice was thick with unshed tears, unexpressed sadness and loneliness without you by his side, ruling with him where you belonged. "Father once said that it was like a dream, a frightful dream, life is..." he paused, his eyes looking through you as he got lost in his silent reverie, "and it's true. I have only you to share it with." You continued to stroke his face, your fingers tracing every soft angle and gentle curve of his regal face. You let him speak as he wanted, you didn't interrupt him, and this missed part of being with kept Commodus talking. "You know I love you, my dearest one." Another pause, as Commodus seemed to come back to himself, and then in a lighter, almost childlike tone, he said, "kiss?"

You smiled, for you always wanted to give Commodus your full and undivided attention, and to try to give him so much love that not only did he not know what to do with himself, but also, for all that love to make up for the lifetime which he didn't receive prior to you coming into his life. "You can have all the kisses you want." You kept your voice almost as soft as his was, loathe were you to disturb the peace of the moment, and gave him everything he wanted; more kisses than he knew what to do with.

In time, the two of you would get up and face the world, its cruelties, and the seemingly never-ending to do list which awaited you. But right now, right now, you were in Commodus' embrace and he was in yours. It was all you had ever wanted for years and now that the two of you were together again, you would fight all the tigers and gladiators of the world if it only meant staying together.

Fighting for a chance // Terry x Rose (parental) & Linus x Rose (mentioned).

Summary: you're working as hard as you can as often as you can, treading through water and feeling like you're going nowhere. Your daddy's been there, and he knows how to get you fighting for the chance which has always been yours. There is nothing Rose Benedict can't achieve when she puts her mind to it, when you put your mind to it.

Word count: 1, 594.

Terry Benedict's face was hard to read, even for the most seasoned staff members of the Bellagio who manned the poker tables. He was stoic, calculated, he said what he meant and meant what he said, when he spoke, people listened. He was a formidable figure, he cut such an impressive air around him that people parted like the Red Sea when he moved through the aisles, hallways and stalls of the casinos, and no one dared go up against him - except the Ocean's Eleven. They were your best friends, your family, and sweet Linus was the most beloved of the bunch.

Terry's face was hard to read, sometimes impossible when he employed the use of a decades-long practiced poker face, but even so, when he walked into his office and saw you leant back in your desk chair, your pen held loosely in your hand and your other hand playing with your hair as you stared at nothing, looking through the financial records you were analysing, his face practically crumpled. That is to say, he went from a neutral expression to a very notieable downwards tug of his lips, and he straightened his already straight tie and brushed lint which wasn't there off his shoulder.

Only you could so thoroughly crack through his composure.

Terry stood there watching you for just a moment, his dark eyes held an intimidating look to all but you. No one knew Terry like you did, no one, and so when you snapped out of your thoughts and saw your daddy looking at you with that look on his face, you knew that he was simultaneously filled with concern, pride, love, and in the back of his head was he working on a solution to your troubles. Your daddy had always been an enigma, but he was most proactive when there was something wrong with his casinos, or with you, his daughter.

You were both his greatest pride and joy; you and his section of the Las Vegas strip had grown up together, all of your greatest developmental and life milestones had been punctuated, accentuated, with Terry's empire growing right alongside you, and the Bellagio was your favourite casino, just like it was your daddy's.

Terry's eyes met yours from across the room and his question, to ask after you, died in his throat. He could see how you were, and it made his stomach twist. You looked as overwhelmed as Terry often felt himself; he had seen that current look on your face reflected within his own eyes so many times over the years. You were so much his daughter that it caused him the sweetest pain a lot of the time. He only ever wanted the best for you, he only ever wanted you to be safe, happy and healthy, he only ever wanted you to know that he loved you for all that you were, all that you ever would be, and that no matter what, you were and would always be a Benedict. With all the words in his throat but nothing to say except things he knew you already were saying to yourself, he simply said, "you look as stressed as I feel."

Your workload always increased at this time of year and it was all you could do to keep up with it. You often relied on your previous experience of being a manager to help you to cope with the seasonal demands, but you could only take so much before you started to rip into yourself; eating a bit less or skipping meals entirely, and other 'miniscule' sacrifices which built up into one great big thing which meant more to your daddy than anything else in the world, including his casinos:

Your happiness.

It wasn't that you were unhappy right now, but you were well on your way to losing a little of that glint in your eyes, that something which existed in Terry's, too. Terry had always wanted to protect you, he had always wanted to preserve the parts of you which he knew you were proud of; the parts of you that you held close to you and showed only to him and extremely lucky people; like Linus.

You nodded and leaned forward in your chair, putting pen to paper again as you continued to make notes on the financial summaries of the quarter; with April quickly approaching, you needed to make sure that all financial affairs were in order and cross-referenced across all three casinos. It was a lot of work and all you wanted to do was make your daddy proud. You would do anything to make that happen, you did do anything to make it happen, and even if Terry told you over and over and over that he was proud of you, he knew that you didn't just need to hear it from him. You needed to see it.

Terry left the room momentarily to grab one from the meeting room adjacent to his office. It didn't escape your notice that he let you stay in his chair and went and got himself an ordinary one, and the smile on your face when he came back into his office made him feel like he was doing everything right, just by being your daddy. "Show me what you're working on." His hand landed on your shoulder and his fingers squeezed tenderly, doing his best to show and tell his pride so that no matter which way you looked at it, you only felt loved.

"I'm just going through and sorting out all the - " you filled Terry in on what was happening and he nodded attentively, leaning over your arm to make his own notes or press the tip of his pen into the page so that it left a visible dot; a sign to come back to that part later on without making the page unnecessarily messy.

Every time your breath caught in your throat or you raked a hand through your hair or you put your pen down harder than you usually did, Terry's hand slid onto your back and rubbed across your shoulders, back and forth as gently as possible. Just once, then twice, and then his hand would pause in the middle of your back, stationary until the next time you showed signs of things getting up on top of you. "Just breathe, it's not so scary as all that. Just ink on a page, numbers on a spreadsheet. Easy when you know what you're doing."

Terry sat beside you while you worked, all those long hours and tense moments which usually only you witnessed, seen now by your daddy.

After some time of sitting with you, he pulled his own work towards him, and you worked together, shoulder to shoulder, passing documents and booklets and spreadsheets to each other, erasers and pens and laptop chargers and every other piece of stationary you needed traded hands. Hours ticked past without either of you noticing and soon, your work for the day was done. You hadn't completed everything on the to do list, but that was okay. That was human, and whether you got everything done or some of them or none of them, Terry was proud of you. What got done today got done, and what didn't could wait until tomorrow; it was a harsh lesson soaked in suffering and self-sacrifice, but it was a lesson nonetheless, and one everyone had to learn at one point or another.

Terry's own lesson had been served with sickness from stress many a time over the year, and he did not want the same thing for you, and so for every day you threw yourself in work, he was there too, working beside you, his hand on your back or shoulder, his pen moving just as fast as yours, his workload even more demanding but he handled it, he handled it, and he knew that you could too. Rose Benedict could handle anything the world threw at her, and everyone knew it.

"I'm proud of you," Terry's voice broke the silence of the room for the first time in hours, and you would have jumped if you hadn't been looking at him already. "This... this isn't easy, I know, but you're trying. That's already giving you an advantage over most others." His hand curved to your shoulder again and squeezed before he tugged you across to rest your head on his shoulder. You curled into your daddy's side and he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his dark eyes staring at the closed office door. Someone would walk in soon, he just knew it, but he wanted to have more uninterrupted time with you than was typically afforded to him within a day; until day turned to night and the hours became your own.

Broad daylight or midnight or every stress-filled hour in between, Terry was there for you, and he loved you, so much. He often thought of you that he couldn't have been prouder if he tried and yet, somehow, he always proved himself wrong. Just as you proved wrong all the things and people who said you couldn't do it, though Terry expected nothing less of his daughter.

Rose Benedict could do anything she put her mind to, anything. You had the weight of the world on your shoulders, it was true, but Terry was ready and willing to help you to bear at least some of the weight. Whether he held some of it or all of it, he was proud, always.

There we have it!!! Your online gifts are doooooone ~ !!! I am playing around with some more ideas though so my hand may just slip in the next few days and post some more things for you!! Your physical gifts are in the works still; there's one in the post and then another project I'm working on, and I'll ship them as soon as everything is ready for you!💗I am so grateful to you for existing, for being you, for being my sister. I love you immensely and I miss you even more than that. I hope you enjoyed these gifts, and if not then PLEASE let me know and I'll write you some more things to go with the other projects in the works!!!💗🫂I love you loooooots and lots, honey; happy birthday!!!🥳🎉💖

[nuoyipeach]

Five Senses: Part 1

Chapter One

Yuta couldn't take it anymore. He needed to find his soulmate, his lifelong partner. No it wasn't for anything romantic, at least not for vampires, especially when you're a royalty. He's waited so long, but not once has he felt anyone was the right person, and by now was sick and tired of holding parties to meet more people.

Right now he laid in his bed groaning into his pillow in pain. If he didn't find his soulmate soon, his health would deteriorate even more, and he'd be the first royalty to actually die. His half brother stood aside shaking his head, earning a light smack from his own partner, now his beloved wife, who mind spoke to him.

Talk to him!

How? What's there left to do?

Idiot!

Hey! You married this idiot.

Sadly yes.

Taeyong pouted as his wife looked at him mad, then sat next to Yuta herself and tapped his shoulder.

"Yuta, take the medicine for now." she spoke softly. She was always kind, not just to him but everyone. She tugged him to get up and take the medicine the doctor claimed would at least keep him painless, but everyone knew it wouldn't save him.

And so he gave up. "What's the point Seulgi? I might as well be in pain. At least it'll take my mind off the fact that I'm dying."

Taeyong groaned hearing him and smacked his butt. "Stop saying that already! You're not going to die. You'll find someone, I promise."

Yuta got up and stared at him angrily. "IT'S EASY FOR YOU TO SAY!" he yelled, groaning again when his body hurt even more. Seulgi quickly got his medicine and forced him to take it before letting him collapse into his bed again.

"Listen Yuta." she spoke. "I know for a fact that you will not die, at least not before meeting your soulmate. You know I grew up with humans, and if there's one thing I learned from them is that no one dies unloved."

Seulgi wasn't a regular vampire. Her father was killed during a clan war, so her mother moved to live out of the clan to raise her more normally, and she loved it. The way she met Taeyong was something humans would call fate, as the two accidentally held hands in a club and both their five senses worked, the slight pain they had gone.

"It doesn't matter Seulgi..."

"Yes it does. Look, all you've done is stay inside the grounds and had parties to see people. In my opinion, it's time you go outside and explore."

Yuta groans again, this time Taeyong leaves getting annoyed by his stubbornness. Seulgi rolls her eyes at the two, then turns back to Yuta cocking her eyebrow.

"Well if you won't do it, I will."

The next thing he knew, Yuta was standing in the middle of a playground. His eyes widened as he took in the surroundings of children running around while adults walked or sat on the benches chatting.

I'll kill you for this Seulgi!

Well at least I'll die knowing I helped out!

Ugh!

Giving up, Yuta simply walked around in this foreign land, and realised Seulgi was right. He never stepped outside their lands, so seeing children lining up for an ice cream truck was a surprise.

Humans...

He shook his head and walked away, strolling around the place until he reached a more quite park. No one was really there, just passing by from time to time. Suddenly, he felt a stabbing pain in his chest. It's happened again, he crouched onto his knees as his hand grabbed the part that hurt. He didn't have the medicine, or enough strength to teleport back to his room.

"Oh My God!" he heard someone shriek and footsteps getting louder as the person ran towards him. "Are you OK? Should I call an ambulance? Hey, look at me!"

Soft hands grabbed Yuta by his arms and turned him around so his head laid on the their lap, and he got a glimpse of them. Suddenly, the pain receded, and he was able to make out the lady holding him.

"Do you need help? Wait, I'll call the ambulance." she spoke, and it felt as if it cured him. The more she touched him, spoke to him, the more he looked at her, his pain reduced.

It can't be...

"Wait..." he groaned and held her hand with her phone as she nearly called the ambulance. "Don't... They can't... do anything..." he said as he slowly sat up. The lady helped support his back, and his pain receded even more at the touch.

There were two more things he had to check, smell and taste. He looked at the hand he held and pulled it to himself, sniffing her wrist. The lady's eyes widened and she screamed.

"Pervert! What are you doing!?!"

Yuta held her hand tight again, panting as the pain was still there, just in his chest. "Please listen to me. What are you?"

"Excuse me?"

"What are you?" he asked again with pleading eyes. The lady sensed he wasn't a pervert, at least she hoped he wasn't with the way his eyes softened.

"I'm a store manager."

"A human?" he asked, causing her to look at him bewildered.

"Why? Do I look like a monster to you?" the lady asked cocking her eyebrow. Yuta sighed and shut his eyes, and once he opened them again she gasped. "You're..." she trailed off, bewitched by his red eyes.

"Please, let me kiss you." he cut her off. "Let me kiss you just once, and if it works I'll tell you everything."

Something about his eyes captivated her, she didn't know what came over her but she nodded. Yuta gently cupped her cheek and pulled her in, kissing her lips.

Until it happened. His fangs poked through, and he tasted her blood. And he knew for sure she was the one.

His soulmate.

The lady froze at the piercing feeling in her lips, not even blinking when he pulled away and stared at her. He sat up more properly and wiped the blood smudge off her lips, sucking it off his thumb after.

"Do you believe in soulmates?"

"I..." she staggered. "Maybe..." she managed to whisper. Yuta pursed his lips and slowly stood up holding her hand, tugging her to stand with him. He snaked an arm around her waist and smiled a little apologetically.

"What's your name?"

"Park Sooyoung..."

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