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uncouth-the-fifth · 22 days

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pythia, a supernatural rewrite. bloody mary, rough draft.

read it on ao3.

words: 6k notes: hi y'all! yes, you read that chapter title right - this is a little unconventional, but since I've unfortunately shifted hyperfixations and have drifted away from SPN, I thought I would post what I have for the next part of pythia. since I'm moving into resident evil land, I'm not sure if I'm going to come back to this fic—but I absolutely didn't want to leave you guys empty-handed!! I'm so so sorry that this fic will go unfinished (for now), and I'm so grateful to those who were along for the ride with me. I have so much love for all the people who motivated me through writing this fic. all of you are beyond kind!! and I hope you enjoy this dose of pythia content, featuring some of my notes and process-work, lol. I only had a few heavy chunks of the beginning written, but the prose for this chap (ironically) started to get into the meat of what I really wrote this fic for—psychic bullshit between reader and Sam. It was just too plain juicy to not share!! All of my spn fics will remain up, but if you keep up with me, expect lots of Leon Kennedy bullshit and tomfoolery. Again - thank you so much for your endless love and support, I had so much fun writing what I could of season one!! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this unfinished chunk of silly/ansty Christmas drama :)

EAU CLAIRE, WISCONSIN - Dec 21st, evening.

Sam drops the stack of glossy, brand-new legal pads into his lap, and flashes his brother a plain smile. “Thanks, Dean. I needed more of these.” From your spot seated on the living room rug, you twist your rings and wait for Dean’s witty reply. With all those notes you’re always makin', Sammy, I’ll hafta buy you some for New Years, too. You wait for him to make a crack about the gift he got Sam, something about diaries or his brother’s girly handwriting.

Instead, Dean shrugs, “Well, then there ya go.”

Voila. And with that, the feeble threads you’d tried to braid into a proper Christmas are cut. Without a word, your Mom picks up the little wooden jewelry case the three of you had thrifted her and recedes into the dark hallways of the house. Dean peels himself out of his seat to clean up. Sam sighs, picking at the plastic seal around his legal pads. Hilariously, this all plays out while Paul McCartney chimes about what wonderful Christmastime he’s been having from the radio in your kitchen.

Technically, you hadn’t just been celebrating Christmas. No, you managed to completely bomb both Christmas and the sacred Winter Solstice sabbat that the Proctors had been celebrating for a bajillion fucking years. The special sabbat that would have a real spiritual effect on you for the next couple months.

You’d given it a good ol’ college try. First, you’d painstakingly picked out gifts for the boys and your Mom. Good ass gifts, too, that you’d been hiding in your duffle since summertime. Hell, you’d been looking for the Eagles album you bought for Dean in tape form for at least two years. (Cool, Dean had said, half alive in his armchair after your chupacabra hunt in Illinois. He was at the ugly front end of a cold. He’d sniffled, Don’t have this one.) And knowing that this would be Sam’s first Christmas without Jess—the one person who had given him any kind of good holiday when he was away from home—you’d poured extra love into his gift, too.

He’d been begging you to read Frankenstein since high school, and you’d dodged it because sometimes books that pushed too far into the “classics” category could lose you. Mary Shelley got a little wordy at times. But you were a big girl with a big brain, so you’d read the whole thing for Sam… and annotated the whole thing for Sam…

He’d taken one look at your labor of love and murmured, “Good. Glad you read it.”

…Yeah. You had half a mind to check if he’d been replaced by a clone, hearing that. Fifteen-year-old Sam would have melted into a babbling, ecstatic mess if someone had carefully combed through one of his favorite books and shared their thoughts on it with him. Bare minimum, you figured he’d at least enjoy having his own copy of Shelley’s work. All his other books had been lost in the fire.

But you’d given the book to a Sam who was twenty-two, not fifteen. Fine. People changed.

The boys being a collective bummer was something you could deal with. Sam was always sullen around the holidays, and you couldn’t exactly be mad at Dean for being exhausted after a stressful hunt. But your Mom…

Beth used to make Yule her bitch. When you were a kid, come December 1st, the Proctor House could easily have been the center of all Wicca celebrations in the world. If working retail during the holidays tested one’s love for festive music, then the non-stop winter songs bouncing off Beth’s vinyl player would’ve made Santa beg to hear something else. Every room would gush with the smell of evergreen branches and holly. Your family’s altar, the home of all the love and joy for the season, would be lush with offerings and presents. The candles you lit as a family to welcome the light of the new year would glow in a neat row—your little silver candle, your mother’s tall red one… and the biggest. Your Dad’s.

Now, your Dad’s candle was tucked away with the rest of the unused decorations in the attic. From your spot on the floor, you couldn’t help but stare at your piss-poor excuse for a family altar. Beth hadn’t “had the time” to find the table runner your great-grandmother had embroidered just for that space. The small bouquet of mistletoe you’d brought sat pathetically on the wide, barren surface, framed by your family’s dollar-store candles: silver for you, red for Mom, and twin green candles for the boys.

It was stupid. Really, you shouldn’t have cared so much. You were almost twenty-five, and the older you got the less people cared about silly, trivial things like a single holiday out of the year. That was just a fact of life.

Still, an ugly ball of bitterness sat in your gut. She couldn’t have tried to decorate? Even out on the road, you’d still found ways to make today a little special for the people you loved. Did she really have such little strength left in her? You’d dragged the boys up to Wisconsin with you so your Mom didn’t have to be alone. Was it really that impossible, after eleven whole years without your Dad, to try and be happy?

Fuck this. Yule isn’t over yet. There’s still time for you to squeeze some life out of today, and you’re going to start straight at the source. You find your Mom in the kitchen, mindlessly swiping invisible crumbs off pristine counters. When she senses you paused behind her in the kitchen doorway, clutching in both hands the gift she got you this year, the radio suddenly needs to be toyed with. Then cleaned. There are gray strands in her hair that shine like tinsel in the low kitchen light.

“Hey,” you say, your voice bright and christmas-card perfect. “I don’t think I got to say thank you for the gift.” (You did. More than once already.) “It’s been a bit since I read this one.” The gift in question is your Dad’s second edition print of The Shining. It’s even older than you are, with soft, petal-thin pages that reek of that wonderful old book musk. Rolling the flexed and cracked paperback between your hands, your Gift automatically picks up the distant echo of the hands that had touched these pages when they were new.

When you were little, you’d always found it kind of strange that your Dad considered this book his favorite. He was a sweet, soft-spoken person, and the mental image of him indulging in uncensored horror novels didn’t mesh with the Ray preserved in your head. Having since grown up and read it for yourself, you understood that it was less about the gore of the Overlook and more about “the shine;” the array of psychic abilities that kept five-year-old Danny Torrance alive through the book.

Years of having book-club with Sam had trained you to form cultivated opinions about the stuff you read, but The Shining existed in a realm that made it hard for you to describe how you felt about it. See, you had Danny Torrance’s shine—on the same level, too, enough shine to power the decades of ghostly ballroom parties and mob conspiracies inside the Overlook for a century. Seeing your Gift put onto a page so nakedly and cinematically made you uncomfortable. Yet, feeling the weight of your father’s book in your hands, standing in the kitchen he hasn’t touched in a decade, you know that it must’ve comforted him. Back then, surrounded by a psychic mother-in-law, girlfriend, and daughter, it would've been impossible to survive without a little shine of his own. You’re sure that your Dad's Gift was faint and unimpressive next to the psychic blackholes of your Mom and Grandma. Just enough to know if you’d skinned your elbow or had a nightmare. On the days that you came home from school tear-streaked and ruddy-faced, Dad would be waiting on the porch with soup.

You can still feel the faint psychic imprint of one of his whiskery kisses on your face. You don’t have many vivid impressions of him left to feel; none that haven’t been rubbed again and again, like the hollow of a fingerprint smoothed into the face of a rock over time.

Your Mom gives a non-committal hum at your attempt at conversation. Not because she doesn’t care—you can feel how much she cares from across the room—but because she’s tired. Adult Tired, like when she’d turn down your pleas to play together as a kid. Not tonight, baby. Momma’s exhausted.

“Mom,” you say, sounding as glossy and clean as a brand-new cookie tin. You open your mouth to say more, maybe to start in on one of your long-winded book-rants that had everyone wondering where Sam had suddenly appeared from. You know the answer, but you ask anyway, “This was one of Dad’s favorite books, right? I vaguely remember him talking about the hedge animals.” Beth accidentally hits a button as she’s dragging a rag over the shiny front of the radio, forcing Paul McCartney to have yet another wonderful Christmastime. She doesn’t look at you.

“Yup. But you knew that already, honey.”

C’mon. Nothing? She won’t even throw you the smallest, most pathetic olive branch? A psychic battle occurs. You get so frustrated all at once that your throat closes up, and that frustration balloons out into your family kitchen like the expansion of a bomb. You push. There is no give. The bubbling stormcloud of grief and loss hanging around Mom is there, then it’s not. The side of the kitchen your mother stands on is suddenly a void of absolute nothingness, empty of any feeling whatsoever, good or bad. She’s cutting you off from reading her—and protecting herself from your explosive emotions, as per usual.

Beth keeps cleaning the radio, her back to you.

Your rage bubbles out of you all at once. One day! One day out of the entire fucking year, the day your Dad always made special, and she can’t even pull herself together for that. You know you should be a good daughter and empathize with the woman who made you, but you’ve been a good daughter about this since you were twelve years old. Eleven Yules have gone by since your Dad passed. Just for one measly moment, you want to talk about him like he’s not a corpse rotting in the living room.

And the worst part is that Mom knows that. She’s known you’ve felt that way all day, a slow-bubbling pot building to a boil across the room. The two of you can always feel each other. You’re the only two who can; she’s the only other radio tower that can receive your station in its purest quality, and yet she has the gall to shut all her signals down.

“Fine!” You burst out, making the conversation physical.

It should feel good to yell, really. After the slow, ungratifying day you’ve had, you’ve been a shaken soda bottle waiting to implode. Instead, since you’re the crazy person yelling at nothing for no reason in the kitchen, your anger booms out of you and fizzes out in the same breath like a faulty firework. Fine. Fuck all of this. If you can’t beat em’, join em’. If everyone’s determined to rot the day away, then you’ll go wallow in self-pity the Proctor-Winchester way, too. Merry fucking Christmas, and a happy fucking Yule.

There is no satisfying door to slam on your way out of the kitchen. You take a sharp right down the front hall, hoping to veer up the stairs and slam your feet down on every single step up to your room. If your Mom wants to live forever in the year your Dad died, by all means—you’ll even bring home your thirteen-year-old self and her childish tantrums, just for time-accurate ambiance. Sam’s standing frozen just outside the kitchen archway, and you catch his deer-in-headlights look as you go peeling around the corner. You’re still keyed up with enough lashing rage to spare, so seeing him, just as hollowed-out and not there as your Mom, only feeds your pyre.

As you get to work thoroughly stomping the staircase to death, you hear him go into the kitchen and ask Beth about soup for Dean’s sore throat.

Upstairs is even more painfully quiet. Through the floor, Paul McCartney muffles down to a cheery mumble. All old houses shift around a little, but yours settles like it's alive, clicking, creaking, swaying. You don’t look at the portraits of Proctor women up the stairwell. The dusty grandfather clock in the hall watches you with its stained glass face, and you’re so lost in your own head—

—and Dad’d be so pissed we didn’t decorate the altar or listen to the Tull Christmas album, he’d riot, he’d talk some sense into her—wouldn’t think any of this is stupid— —that you don’t hear it when it chimes. Muscle memory plants you right in front of your bedroom door. Having a good cry under the covers sounds like a perfect end to the night, right? And yet you stop. Your hand drops on the knob and stays there, unmoving. Maybe it’s your Gift, or good old-fashioned human instinct knowing when something in the home has been nudged two inches to the left, but the air in the hall tastes staler than usual. A draft? Your gaze is pulled all the way down to the opposite end of the hall, where the untouched, stately storage room door is ajar.

Your Mom probably left it open. Maybe she’d gone in there to hunt around for all the heirloom Yule decorations, only to rediscover Dad’s football memorabilia or Dad’s engraved cigarette case and go bolting out of the room. —everything’s different without him, Sam and Mom and Dean too. So am I. Everything’s twisted—without him— Still riding the whirlwind, you stomp from one end of the yellowing, starry zodiac carpet (Aries) to the other (Pisces), the floorboards squeaking under your weight. You push the door and it goes shuddering into the darkness. This was one of many rooms in the house that Mom had banished you from as a kid, mostly as a way to shoo you away from the hunting world. It’d given you this insatiable fascination with it as a result, but when you tug the chain to turn on the closest lamp, what it illuminates doesn’t come close to the spectacular stories you’d made up in your head.

It’s just a room. It has windows and shelves and old things, some from your childhood, some from your Mom’s. Some from even further back than that. The closest fascinating thing is a shiny gold blob poking out of your baby things, which turns out to be Sam’s eighth-grade mathlete trophy. You had no idea what possessed Mom to come up here so often. There was no way she wasn’t in here at least a couple times a week; the tall metal storage shelf where she immortalized your Dad’s things was never dusty, and yet the whole room reeked of rotting books and insulation. You shove the box with Sam’s trophy aside with your foot until it skids out of your way, and then send the heavy door shut behind you with a wall-shaking bang.

A flurry of dust hails down from the ceiling. You cough through the cloud, wandering in your blindness towards the neat row of plastic storage tubs labeled with your Dad’s name. Clothes. Misc. Books. Maybe that’s where Mom had gotten your new copy of The Shining from, halfway through one of her sacred meditations over Dad’s things. You drop a hand onto the cold lid of the tub. Nothing, not even the slightest psychic imprint, reaches back.

What is she even holding onto anymore? You try the clothes next. The rounded corners of this bin have been scuffed gray from how many times it’s been pulled off and then pushed back on its shelf, again and again. The case feels as lifeless to you as it would for anyone else, but you try your luck and slide it out onto the floor. It comes loose with a solid thud.

When you were old enough, Beth would sometimes send you up into this room to grab things (spell ingredients, books you didn’t keep downstairs). You would run full-tilt right up until you hit the storage room door, then pass inside like a stranger in a dangerous realm, watching where you stepped and always, always keeping your Dad’s shelf in the corner of your eye. On brave days you would pick up his silvery cigarette case and roll it between your palms. It grew harder and harder to feel him each time, the ghost of him whittled down like a rock made round by the current of a river.

When you crack off the lid, you expect some kind of smell. You don’t remember what he smelled like, but you have a few guesses—cheap, vanilla-sweet aftershave, or maybe the woody stale smell of cigarette smoke you know you shouldn’t love. Maybe both. It doesn’t really matter. The neatly folded stacks of your Dad’s old shirts and jackets don’t smell like a damn thing. You dip your face into a holey band-shirt with the sleeves scissored off, but all that comes back to you is the rotten smell of dusty insulation. He’s here—he’s right here in front of you, right in your fucking hands, and yet the whole world is dead of him. You can’t sense even a sliver of him left.

The same old reservoir of despair pushes and pushes at your composure, wiggling through your cracks, widening them with a hundred thousand tons of pressure bearing down on you a minute. It is a day by day task to handle the reservoir. You like to think you’re good at handling it, at patching the cracks as they come and letting them breathe when the moment calls for it. But when you lift your face from the bin, the leak springs—really, genuinely springs, like it hasn’t in years.

You fall back onto your haunches, swallowing back sudden stinging tears. The bin and its askew lid go shrieking back onto the shelf with a lash of your foot.

The music downstairs stops. You can’t tell how long it’s been.

When his death was fresh, and you were stuck deep, deep within the reservoir, you’d wondered if it would always feel this way. It got easier, right? And in many ways it had—on most days you could talk about your Dad without it hurting, letting the dam’s water run. The battle was still there, but it was a burden you were proud to carry if it meant his memory lived on in you. He would want you to be happy, your Mom used to urge. So you gave being happy your best shot, loving and giving as much as you could.

That’s what frustrated you so endlessly about your Mom. She’d been right; your Dad would’ve wanted the two of you to move on, and yet she still entombed herself in the bottom of her reservoir far too often. There was no release, no acceptance with her. The dark part of you that wanted to pass blame wondered if this was all because of John, and how well Winchester grief happened to mingle with a Proctor’s. How would your mother’s life be different, if the evil that’d taken Dad hadn’t been put down a week later? Would she be just as hellbent? With your knees sore from pressing into the floor, you knew the answer. You knew if the thing that’d taken Sam or Dean from you was right in front of you, you’d chase it until you were in your own grave. You knew that even after it was dead, you would be digging your nails into the backseat of the Impala and clawing for every psychic molecule of them left in the leather.

And that’s what scared you—was she just going to be chasing Dad forever, til’ there wasn’t a wisp of him left in the world to feel?

Something dawns on you, thudding through your mind like a rock dropped down a chute. With limp hands, you slide The Shining towards you on the worn wood floor, part the pages with your thumbs, and press your nose into the binding. There’s the smoky, earthy scent of old paper first… then something just underneath the surface that no one but you and your Mom can pick up.

Old books. Yes. Yes, that’s what Dad had smelled like.

You’re seated on the floor of the storage room, back pressed to one of the ancient metal shelves holding up your gramma’s VCR collection, when a blot of the future is tossed at you. Cheap deodorant and lemon cough drops.

Around a minute later, the stairs beyond the door squeak under someone’s weight. Even without the roulette glimpse of the future, you can tell by the footfalls who it is. Heavy knuckles rap the door and come straight in without waiting for an answer. Behind him, the silence of the rest of the house is even heavier.

You try to sound like a reasonable adult, but the mopey teenager slips out anyway. “Thought you were sick, Dean.”

He artfully dodges your point. (Dean is, after all, a master of the craft.) You don’t look back at him, but the lemon cough-drops glimpse you got of him creates a clear picture: Dean’s whole body listing into the door frame, one hand on the knob, his face lacking its usual color. His cheeks have graduated from stubbly to scruffy, neglected. “Hey,” he says. It’s the, okay, you’re done cooling down, let’s have a grown-up conversation kind of hello.

You don’t know what to say back. You’re not sure if you can have any kind of conversation right now.

Dean rolls with it, trying to decide if this silence is begging for a subject change or a heart-to-heart. You’re not sure what he goes for when he says, “I had an idea.” “Did it hurt?” You joke. Jokes you can do.

There’s his opening. After a beat, you’re—

—fucking lobbed with a foam football. Like you’re fucking twelve. Dean’s throw arcs straight towards your head and bounces clean off the top, a perfect spiral. You yelp in outrage, and before you can think you’re following where the stupid ball went so you can clock him right in the face with it. Asshole. It loop-de-loops on the floor around an old dining chair, and you clamber on your knees to fish for it.

Just when you get the toy in your hands and you’re about to demolish him with it, Dean ducks behind the doorway, chuckling, “Woah! No face shots! You wouldn’t bash a poor, sick guy’s face in, would’ja?”

God. You can’t fucking believe him. If anyone else did that…

You lower your hackles and drop the foam toy into a basket, far out of reach of congested troublemakers. When his shining eyes appear in the slit of the doorway again, your cheeks are aching with an impossible smile. “You’re lucky it’s Christmas, loser. What is it?”

Dean hesitates a moment more, just in case you’ve got something else to throw at him, then joins you in the storage room with the evil little oily smile you love. The same dust cloud that got you earlier descends on him in a rough coughing fit, but this lets him get a good look at the little mess you’ve made: the book on the floor, your Dad’s things open and askew. When he clears his throat for the last time, he looks pained.

For your sake, you pretend it’s an empathetic kind of pained. And you know that’s a part of it—Dean doesn’t enjoy seeing you and your Mom like this. But it’s an unfortunate fact of your life that you will have four times as much context for him than he will ever have for you. Just breathing the same dusty air as him, you know he’s been nursing a sinus headache since Monday, one that’s made his head feel like it’s chock-full of stuffing, and that Sam made him canned chicken noodle soup—and at first he felt a little smug making Sam play nurse, until he stewed on it more and—

—hate it when he gives me that dead-eyed look, like he can’t even pretend to care anymore. Like he’s just dragging himself through this for our sake. Poor kid scares the shit outta me. Is this how it’s always gonna be? Sammy aching over her, night after night after night—

You know just touching the bins holding your Dad’s things that on a icy February afternoon in 1994, fifteen-year-old Dean had picked up the plastic tubs for your Mom from the store.

So when he gives you that pained look, you know it’s part-concern, part-fear. If this is what you look like eleven years after your Dad’s passing… if John never comes home from his hunting trip, is this what Dean will become? The loyal son, waiting and waiting on that porch for a man who would never come home?

Your whole life, you’ve felt like you were becoming more and more like Dean; lately, it feels like he’s becoming so much like you. Your last four years on the road together had slowly but surely melded you together.

“Okay, so, Yule’s a fire festival, right?” Dean grasps around in his memory for the yearly history lesson your Mom gives about the Wicca calendar. “Uh, we lit candles… I thought about burning Beth’s Muppet Christmas CD with my lighter a couple times. That’s about all the fiery, burny-stuff we did today.”

“I love the Muppets Christmas album,” you pout.

“After the millionth partridge in John Denver’s goddamn pear tree, you’d change your mind,” Dean swears. “But I was thinkin’—we got the firepit in the backyard, marshmallows, and I think I could put together some vodka shots. Then we can blow em' out and eat em' with the s'mores.” Your eyebrows raise. Only he, of all people, could take your sacred family traditions and twist them into such a wonderful, stupid-ass thing. Maybe it’s ridiculous, but… there is chocolate and graham crackers downstairs… and with how cold it is outside, a fire would be perfect… It’s the best blend of weird Proctor-Winchester traditions you need to save Christmas and Yule. Dean takes your silence as glowing awe. “Exactly. I told you, I'm a fuckin' genius. Helluva way to start the wiccan year, right? You in?”

You’re well aware that this is an elaborate plan to coax you away from your moping. Still, it’s just too Dean to turn down. “...Hell yeah.”

At first R hopes that it’s just her and Dean, and that Sam and Beth keep their grief to themselves. But then she realizes how cruel and selfish she’s been—everyone grieves in their own way, and just because she works through it by talking about it doesn’t mean it will work for everyone. It’s not good that Beth is holding on so tightly to her loss, but that doesn’t mean R wants to leave them out.

Lead this into a touch of psychic!Dean and how he has a teeny tiny second sense for what she needs, just like her Dad did. Just enough shine to get by.

R and Dean come downstairs and invite Sam and Beth to their campfire 😀

Or, at the very least, all the psychic happenings in the house echoing between them; if Dean's sharper instincts were as psychically heavy as a shadow falling on grass, then Sam's Static was six feet of snow in an arctic blizzard.

It tingles all the way up to your shoulder when Sam touches you. And that, oh, that was a whole new can of worms. As they get dressed for the snow outside and assemble the s'mores and flaming shots, you try not to head down that train of thought again.

Every time you’ve glanced at Sam these past few weeks, you’d been unable to hide from what you’d sensed there—from what you’d seen in the demon, and what you now knew to be completely and utterly true after reading its mind.

Sam had It. The Gift, the Shining, whatever the fuck you wanted to call it. Not the vague imprint of psychic-ness from loving one or sharing the Impala with one for four years; full-on, unlatched, REDRUM, I-saw-it-before-it-happened psychic abilities. In the weeks you'd had to sit with that revelation, you'd poked carefully at Sam from afar. Obviously, you knew what a fucking psychic felt like. The five-year-old Sam who'd cut Dean's gum out of your hair had not been psychic. Yet this Sam, twenty-two with three-fourths of an ivy league law degree under his belt, was as psychic as a fucking—well. You. He was just as psychic as you.

Without even a sliver of the same control or even understanding of—of what he had, yes, but you were confident that if Sam was pushed, he could reach into your mind just as easily as you could reach into his. There had been a shift, then. At six, having gum cut out of your hair, you had been decidedly less psychic than you were at twenty-four. So Sam had gone through the Proctor Rite Of Passage; some terrible moment had cut him deep, deep enough to pull a new kind of blood to the surface. After Jessica, he had been... yeah.

It was fucking crazy. And yet it also slotted perfectly into some of the weirder things you understood about Sam; about who he was now and the vague, strobing flashes you got of his future. It freaked you the fuck out. Did Sam know? Did anyone know, besides you? Had your Mom recognized that spark in Sam, the same way she'd seen it in you? Had John?

And the plain existence of the Gift in Sam begged the question—why? Had he just happened to drop from the tree as a different kind of apple? Or was this something you could trace back to his mother, the same way it traced back to yours? Had Mary…?

The implications of that took pretty much everything you understood about Sam and Dean’s life, lined it up on the chopping block, and cleaved it in two. Needless to say, thinking about it made you sick. How could you even begin to bring this up to them?

You cursed your abilities with all you had. There were nights when you sat on the bathroom floor, wishing you could dig in with your nails and rip out whatever had put It in your head. Never in a billion fucking years would you have wished It upon anyone else; especially not Sam, good, selfless, wonderful Sam, who already ached so deeply for other people. Seeing their future, too? And even more often, seeing it and being helpless to change it?

He used to cry over squashed spiders as a kid. You'd felt a whole lot more than just spiders die.

…Beside that shuddering horror was another, far more selfish feeling. As scary as the implications could be, when you thought less about the Winchester family and more about your relationship with Sam, you were… excited. Relieved, even.

There were only four people in the entire world that you could share your Gift with. One of them has been six feet under for over a decade. Your Gift was a clingy, possessive creature, too. It was maybe two steps shy of being an eldritch horror. It poked through Dean’s dreams when you slept beside him, sucking them up like cigarette smoke. It breathed down Sam’s neck wherever he went. If you wanted, no one could lie to you—all punchlines and stories were spoiled for you, you knew when people found you annoying or pretty or stupid. If that particular Proctor gene had skipped you, then maybe you’d be able to form relationships with people where you didn’t immediately, intrinsically understand who they were and why. Dean would say, You need a drink. You would know without asking that he meant, You scare the ever-living hell out of me n’ I know I can’t hide it from you. Fucking hell, kid, I wish I could.

You knew you were a freak. The tiny human vessel for the lashing, bubbling, soul-melting, cosmic weight of a star about to bloom into a black hole. Only your mom would ever understand what it felt like to exist on the fringe of time, between the exhaustive influence of the past and the vast, spotty expanse of the future. You were a tool to men like John; an anomaly for men like Bobby; and a responsibility to men like Dean.

But Sam… Your best friend Sam, he’d always tried to understand. Maybe he’d never fully get it, but the point was that he tried to. You remembered sitting with him on the curb outside your old high school, the concrete thrumming with music from the junior prom you’d both left behind inside.

How either of you had gotten dates was a miracle. You, the class weird-freak-emo punchline, and Sam, on his fourth round being the new kid that year, were two peas in a pod. Your date had never picked you up; Sam’s had escaped with her friends long before their first dance. Neither of you were very broken up about it.

The future had sprawled in front of you that night as clear as could be. You must've sat and talked on the curb for three straight hours, pressed together at the hip with Sam’s blazer around your shivering arms.

He was always beautiful in the boy-next-door kind of way, dimples popping with every good smile and freckles rising out of the too-short sleeves of his button-up. But that night he’d been fucking Helen of Troy, and the roar of the past and future slowed to a halt around him.

Do you really see the future all the time? Every second? Sam had curiously tilted his head, sending a gleaming swish of chocolatey hair out of his eyes.

Swallowing hard, you’d hesitated, Not every second. But a lot, yes.

Again, the head tilt, then the swish. His gaze was innocent and intrigued. No existential dread, no sweeping sense of fear. Just plain curiosity. Not even morbid curiosity. Sam had asked, What about right now?

Sam’s cologne—oh god, his cologne—was steaming off his borrowed jacket and floating around your head in a wonderful rosy fog. You’d poked at the future. Sometimes things came back, sometimes they didn’t. That night, the future had come back tasting like Sam’s vanilla chapstick and junior prom punch, and your face had gone up in flames just sensing it. He’d waited for an answer. You’d blurted out the plain truth: In a minute or two, you’re gonna kiss me.

This kind of absolute, unshakable certainty about the future had made other hunters’ blood run cold. You’d braced yourself for Sam’s displeasure or worse, his fear. But instead, there were those dimples again, and Sam had the gall to bat his lashes at you and delightedly ask, Really? That’s what the magic eight ball has to say?

His big hand had dropped onto your knee and you’d squeaked out a shrill, Signs point to yes!

Sam loved the stupid magic eight-ball joke. You could feel him smiling about it as he kissed you, kissed you, hand-on-knee, his face tipping down to yours, the shitty school punch staining his lips as the two of you connected. At fifteen and sixteen respectively, this was the first kissing that either of you had ever done. It’d been wetter and warmer than you’d expected, and Sam’s vanilla chapstick had left the slightest print on your mouth, one that your tongue swiped over obsessively for the next month. Your Gift had chased him for weeks after that, silently and invisibly swarming him every time he entered a room.

Back then, your mind had been on the Curse. But now, you thought about what had led to the kiss in the first place. Sam hadn’t kissed you on a night when your Gift had been crammed down deep where it could bother nobody but you. He’d instead chosen the precise moment where your Gift was most raw, one of Its fingers coming down from the sky to press against the pulse of the future. It was small, but at a time in your life when you’d wanted to claw your Gift out with your bare hands, Sam had gotten the smallest glimpse of It and had fallen in love.

You couldn’t help but see this thing inside him, his Static, and feel the exact same way. His powers were twisted and unavoidably demonic, and yet you kind of loved them. It made perfect sense to you. No one really understood you like Sam did. Now, it's clear why.

tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1 @lacilou @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl2 @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoon @poeticsorcery @deansapplepie @rennydenny @babydollfoster @badlandsbrunette @hallecarey1 @pplanetcaravan @notanotherthembo

#uncouthspn #spn #supernatural #sam winchester #user uncouth #sam winchester x reader

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vigilbutts · 4 months

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uhhh i saw people doing these so why not. anyways.

Additional stuff below readmore

Kalla is great for cuddling with and she can even become a furnace if you're feeling cold. A very fluffy snuggly furnace. She loves picking people up and fighting or wrestling with people... and holding people... Very hands-on gal. Get manhandled, nerd (but only if you're down for that). Just... don't let her cook anything. It will be both burnt and undercooked at the same time. There is also a chance she won't know it's a romantic date instead of a platonic date, because she is kinda dense. Lastly, don't mind the flames, they won't hurt you.

Luis gets a bit awkward on dates or when talking with new people because he is a bit of a workaholic and does not socialize all that much. He hates dressing up and doesn't care too much for overly fancy settings, so this WILL be a "casual" date...with lovely food they've cooked just for you (and if you like eating fish, he will catch them himself! for you!). It is an expensive restaurant high quality meal, without the expensive restaurant. They will also fall asleep during cuddles (he loves naps... and is afflicted with permanent sleepy bitch disease). May potentially show you his knife collection.

Aster is a big fan of making things go boom, so, naturally, that will be included in any date she goes on. But hey, you get a personalized fireworks show in the middle of nowhere (the only place she's allowed to make boom happen 😔). Also, she might even give you a piece of shrapnel she thought was cool. Or a rock. Or a piece of dragonbrand if yall really hit it off (yes, it would be a piece of her brand, chipped right off her hair branches). She doesn't really get what dates are beyond 'romantic stuff' and her love language is explosions and whatever cool thing she just found.

Senna will bring honey as a little date treat to share. She doesn't talk much and is very quiet when she does speak, as she prefers to Observe and listen. If you like to talk a lot, she will let you do it! Also, bonus points if you ask her about her interest in bees, she will hit you with the bee hyperfixation beam. Also, yes, the honey she brings is from her bee friends, and she will tell you all about the bees' favorite flowers.

The Ladies is your regular everyday overpowered sentient magical anomaly (mesmer flavored). She is very chaotic by nature of being a bundle of sentient magic, but she means well. Also they will be wearing a different outfit every time you look away. Because fuck you, magic wardrobe change. Also, she should not be the one organizing or planning the date, absolutely do NOT let her have that responsibility. She doesn't even know what a date is supposed to be like 😭. Also when you date The Ladies, you are also dating their clones. Because the clones are them, they are the clones. It's fine, dating her is like having 50 partners but they're all the same person.

Mesmer!Luis is less shy and awkward than his canon counterpart when it comes to dating, but is also slightly less of a romantic. He also doesn't have quite the same hangups around dressing up (but he will be very unhappy if he can't "dress" a little slutty with his illusions) and fancier settings! He will only cook you a little dessert treat and not a whole meal, but will let you touch his chest or biceps, if you like. Absolute cuddle fiend and he's warmer than a human should be, but it's fine, promise. This version is also less likely to fall asleep, but the chances are still decent enough that he might! Could be convinced to show off and flex his fun little mesmer tricks, if asked.

Beans is just a lil creature! This gremlin is not supposed to be charr in their usual form, so they are a little awkward and clumsy with this new form. May whack you with it's tail, that thing is sososo long compared to the tail it is used to. It will probably drag you into some wild adventure or scheme. It will also break the 4th wall and get very Meta. Beans is also very fond of memes and bright colors.

Alice has been a ghost since King Adelbern betrayed his people and bound their spirits to fight for an eternity against the charr. Alice is not fully bound any longer. In her free time, she enjoys a bit of sparring and... well... all this freedom is new so she doesn't know much about her own likes and interests beyond that! Also, she is like, really cute. If she likes you enough, she may even take off her helmet for you. She may also be subject to outbursts as she fights to keep control of herself. It would be Very Bad if the Foefire takes over (I advise running, if such a thing were to happen).

#text #some of these nerds have canon partners but! this is for funsies #had to include the silly meme options #also sorry i like taking character screens in mistlock for the lighting!!!! lmao #gw2 #valentines meme

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eldritch-spouse · 9 months

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Pinnie, MAGUS is my dear darling. He is so fucking terrifying and that fries my fight or flight response so fckn much. He rubs my brain good and I will proceed to provoke a hyperfixation on him for the time being. (You can put all my Magus asks together dw, if you find them xD)

1. I meant for Magus to feed me, not feed me. Y'know, Vesper style.

2. I wanna see shiny fishes and cool ocean fishes with my horror of the deep bf.

3. Glauk is bestie material, I will play along w/ him like a fucking clown to entertain Magus.

4. Imagine telling Magus that humans eat but small ocean dwellers like shrimp and crabs (but boiled) Or telling Magus what seasoning is xD

5. If you have thought that far yet, how is their dick? Is it one of the tendrils like some octopi? Or is their slit like normal? 1 or 2? (Feel free to ignore if you haven't gone that far yet, or jump it)

6. Will Magus allow a threesome w/ Santi?

7. Imma grab any part of him as soon as he is near me, istg, I have fear of drowning (but the horny is stronger) in fact, I will hug whatever is closest bc my life depends on it. Doggy style is supposed to be a fucking position not my lifeline to survive in the ocean.

8. DOES MAGUS EYES GLOW IN THE DARK? DOES ANY PART OF HIM DOES? OMG FLORESCENT DICK /J

9. I will offer Magus my soul for a kiss, open that mouth boo. Imma declare my love to him instantly, I'll be cheesy and awkward bc that is a classic me move. And maybe ruin the mood but hey, the offer still stands, and sweat can't be sensed underwater.

9.1? Would I be doing harm to Magus if I kiss stain his face? Would he let me?

10. How would Magus react to Glauk approaching/walking(swimming?) in while he is fucking us?

[An essay, hmmm. I'm putting several more small mer asks under the cut.]

1) I understood, I just wasn't feeling it too much.

3) Glauk is a good mer to bother if you want to know more about Magus. They're genuine friends, even if Magus is oftentimes too much of a nasty grump to be nicer to Glauk.

4) He's vaguely disgusted by the concept of burning food, but he'll sooner come around to the concept of seasoning as a whole. You can introduce him to brand new flavors! Although he hates sweetness.

5) See this ask.

Magus is packing something quite long, as is necessary for his species. There is no way you'll ever fit all of that inside you, not even if he was shrunk to your level. It's very slippery and wriggling and looks almost ribbon-like. In great contrast to the rest of his body, it glows brightly in the water. Magus' orgasms are lengthy and your little body definitely can't handle it all.

6) Depends.

If the incubus presents himself in a submissive manner, then yes. Magus will be in control and take both of you. Santi is to never leave any sort of mark on you (be it scratching, biting or bruising).

7) A tendril will do then.

8) Magus is a lot like Breg, in the sense that his eyes remain covered behind a membrane like patch of skin. They don't glow.

9) He may not scent sweat very easily, but provided you're still sweating, he might taste it.

9.1) Magus won't stop you, but he'll automatically clean his face afterwards. Not with his tongue, the products you apply taste distinctly awful. He doesn't like them much, but the huge mer understands they're some type of land-dweller mating display. Sometimes.

10) If Magus is in heat, then he'll automatically stop and shield you, letting go to quickly give chase and possible eviscerate Glauk. However, it's hard to miss the scent of a mermonster in rut, so Glauk absolutely steers clear of his larger friend.

During standard periods, neither Glauk nor Magus will be bothered if the other walks in on sex, though this doesn't necessarily mean the other is invited to participate.

In his mouth.

He does have one.

What is any good way to survive a yandere? Generally, give into their affections.

The more submissive and cooperative you are in key moments, the more they're willing to learn how to accommodate you.

*Magus

Usually, I don't care when anons mangle my characters' names, it's even become a bit of a joke.

However, there's a Magnus floating around that I did not create, and I don't want people to get confused.

#Magus oc #Glauk oc #mellsfern

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theriu · 6 months

Text

River Reads Midnight Sun

Chapter 2: Open Book

In which Edward faces his fears and spends an agonizing amount of time hyperfixating on Bella.

<-Chapter 1

So we jump into chapter two AND next week, as it has been six days since Edward (shockingly) succeeded in leaving town forever (citation needed)! He is chilling (ha) in a snowbank, staring up at the stars, which are truly magnificent. Or he knows they would be, except he can't quite see anything except Bella's face. Yes, the girl has haunted him straight to (checks location on a map) oh he's in ALASKA, okay! I wasn't sure where Denali was, but I was PRETTY sure even Edward couldn't drive a car to Russia. (You'll see why I considered Russia in a minute.)

Anyway, the "unremarkable" face of this girl he's literally never spoken to directly has been haunting him for six days, which is indeed troubling. While he is brooding on this, the thoughts of a new character come leaping towards him. This is where we meet Tanya, a vampire with silver skin, blonde-but-almost-pink curly hair, amber eyes, and full lips. Mary Sue Tanya is stunning and exquisite, at least from Ed's memory, since he still can't see past the face permanently branded on his eyeballs.

So anyway, Mary Sue Tanya does a cannonball into Ed's snowbank, burying him alive with snow but not burying the image of Bella. It becomes clear that she has been crushing on Ed and is sad he will be leaving soon and doesn't return her affections, although he is very polite and gentlemanly about it.

(Honestly, I liked her well enough until we got to the "I'm not used to rejection" line, and then she starts sifting through the memories of all her human male conquests next to the actual mind reader who she is attracted to, to which I say WOMAN REALLY??? I don't think making the guy you like EVEN MORE UNCOMFORTABLE than he's already admitted you kinda make him is an effective way to gain his affections?!)

ANYWAY, thankfully they get off THAT subject quickly and have a really quite nice conversation, wherein Ed apologizes for getting her hopes up by coming to her home territory and Tanya tries to be a good friend. We see a mention of her "long-lost Russian accent," thus my uncertainty about location, and she tells him she knows he won't keep running from his mystery problem because he's the type who faces things head-on. Mary Sue TANYA then runs away across the snow, so light and fast she doesn't even leave footprints, suggesting a connection between vampires and wood elves.

Encouraged by this pep talk, Gary Stu Edward also gets up and runs footprintless across the snow, determined to be brave and go back and face those "bewildered chocolate-brown eyes," and hopefully not eat the girl attached to them.

SCENE CHANGE!

Edward's back in town, and his three vampire siblings/classmates are huddled around him as they head into the lunchroom, being quite adorably protective, honestly. Alice is trying to foresee any problematic eventualities, Jasper thinks it's funny that EDWARD is the one everyone's fretting over instead of him, Emmett is acting like a bodyguard, and Ed is just exasperated with all of them.

To his surprise, nobody at school is thinking about them, suggesting that Bella didn’t blab about his black murderstare from last chapter. After all, a normal human would have asked around about it, because humans and especially teens all like to feel NORMAL and FIT IN and be a "featureless flock of sheep" and WOW, should I be more annoyed at Ed or the author for this intense bias against high schoolers?! But of course Bella isn't like those OTHER kids, she doesn't do things like talk to people when something weird happens!

About this time, Bella walks in and Alice is all, "Act human!" To which Emmett responds by taking out the snowball he compressed into an ice chunk with his superstrength and chucking it at Alice, who casually deflects it across the room at superspeed, where it cracks a brick. This does, ironically, draw attention away from them. Everyone is annoyed at Emmett, which is fair, but also, ALICE COULDN'T YOU HAVE JUST CAUGHT IT INSTEAD OF POTENTIALLY SHOOTING SOMEONE?

Ahem. So Bella's in the lunch line, and Mike Newton, Regular High School Guy And Insignificant Human Rival, is worried about her. Ed starts also worrying about if she might be sickly, what with her translucent skin. (Are we 100% sure BELLA is human?!) The vampires do a slightly better job of acting natural, and Edward decides to refer to Bella as “Bella” and not just "the girl,” "as if she were the only girl in the world," which is HILARIOUS considering where we all know this is going!

After eavesdropping on Bella and Jessica whispering about him looking at her (Bella thinks he's mad at her, after the whole murderstare incident), Bella hunkers under her hair and avoids eye contact, although Ed thinks she keeps twitching like she WANTS to look at him. Then, at long last, lunch ends and everyone starts going to class. There is another internal struggle while Ed reviews what all of his vampire family members have advised about this situation. (Emmett sounding the least helpful, as he has apparently encountered two such delicious-smelling-people incidents that... uh... sound like they did NOT go well?) But Ed is determined to prove to himself that he has the self-control to sit through biology without murdering Bella, so off he goes.

(By the way, Rosalie complains she doesn't want to have to move because they're almost finally out of high school. Again, why are you pretending to be high school students?! It's not like you'll age whether you're there or not?! HOW DOES THIS HELP YOUR COVER??)

Edward gets to Biology to find Bella at their table, doodling randomly. He decides to introduce himself. He gets briefly lost in gratuitously detailed descriptions of her eyeballs and how they are simultaneously like chocolate and strong tea, and how could anyone so frail be deserving of his unwarranted hatred last week? He's also holding his breath, but has enough air in his longs for a reasonably lengthy conversation AND a short laugh, during which Bella is... surprised/startled that he called her Bella? Because her dad introduced her to everyone as Isabella? But she's apparently told multiple people since she got here that she prefers Bella? So he probably could have learned that even without his super vampire eavesdropping powers? WHY is this weird enough to be suspicious, and HOW does it indicate she is intuitive?

Well, the book and Ed believe she is insightful and intuitive, so I guess we should just go with it. Ed does eventually needs to breath so he can talk, and even though just breathing through his mouth is like tasting the FIERY COALS of her deliciousness, and their brief moment of making skin contact is like an ELECTRIC SHOCK, he manages to continue acting normal.

By the way, along with being unconventionally if lopsidedly pretty and smelling delicious, Bella was also in advanced-placement biology at her previous school and Knows Science! Edward realizes this must mean she is ESPECIALLY intelligent for a human, which of course makes perfect sense. After all, she was the first student in two years to look him in the eye long enough to notice they'd changed from the Murderstare Incident's I'm-going-to-eat-you black to today's calmer I'm-probably-not-going-to-eat-you-except-by-accident amber/gold! My friends, may I remind you this man previously admitted he has two medical degrees, a thing that probably required some amount of physically attending college. I really wonder if Ed's standards would be more realistic if he ever once SOCIALIZED WITH HIS HUMAN CLASSMATES.

In an effort to maintain normalcy, they talk about the weather. Bella does not like the cold and wet of Forks. She clearly does not like being in Forks at all. She is vague and grumpy about why she came here, and Edward is so obsessed curious that he may implode (this is the actual word used). We learn (agonizingly slowly) that her mom remarried—and no, Edward, Bella DOES like the guy, he's nice and a minor-league baseball player; and no, Edward, her mom DIDN'T send her here, SHE sent HERSELF here so her mom could happily travel with her step-dad rather than unhappily stay home with her! Ed is certain by now that Bella "isn't like other humans" because he keeps guessing her story arcs wrong and she's just so CONFUSING and UNPREDICTABLE, and this can't possibly be because he's about 100 years out of practice having a normal conversation without a cheat code into the other person's brain.

(Okay, to be fair, there are at LEAST two moments of self-awareness where Ed wonders if he'd be this bad at reading everybody without his mindreading powers. We should give him points for that.)

But despite his difficulties, he DOES figure out that Bella is unhappy, mostly by her sending out signals that a rhino could decipher. When he confronts her with this observation, her response is, "So?" And after meditating on this for an unusually brief paragraph, Ed realizes THE ANSWER:

"She was selfless."

I'm sorry, guys, I need to break for a second, that's the first part that made me laugh out loud. Can someone lend me a combine to harvest all this corn.

(Side Note: As previously stated, I have not read the books or watched the movies, so I could be biased by the negative side of the fanbase. But my general impression of Bella has not lent itself to "selflessness." BUT, it is only chapter two and I am only going off of general hearsay! The amount of poorly concealed disgruntlement is not impressing me, though.)

Anyway, Ed guesses that she doesn't really like her situation but doesn't want people to KNOW she doesn't like it. He continues to marvel at how positively he feels towards this girl, how discerning she is, how *cough* selfless she is, not like an "average martyr" who would actually tell someone she's not 100% happy with her SACRIFICE. Bella gets annoyed, which Ed finds amusing, so there's another adjective for the list. But then she says she's annoyed because she's so easy to read, and Edward can't believe this, because he's never had to work so hard to read someone before! Again, this couldn't possibly be because she's the first person in 100+ years whose mind he can't read!

By the way, Bella also seems to be oblivious immune to the usual red flags normal humans feel around vampires! Ed tries smiling dangerously at her, but the teacher breaks up their conversation with actual classtime, so he gets to angst for a few paragraphs about why he shouldn't find this girl interesting and how dangerous this is for her and yet how MUCH he wants to know more about her. And also trying not to kill her when her thick, black hair flips in his direction and drives his vampire nose bananas.

He books it as soon as the bell rings, having survived the encounter without murdering anyone but with so many new questions about this unremarkable, shy, frail, unmindreadable-yet-highly-face-readable, delicious-smelling, selfless, quietly disgruntled human girl.

(Side Note: I have learned a new word!

"Attar—a fragrant essential oil, typically made from rose petals."

Ex: "Again, I gasped at the clean, wet air outside as though it was a healing attar."

*loud sighing noises*)

So after that brief break, he goes to class with Emmett. Emmett, IMMENSELY HELPFUL EMMETT, asks how it went, questions if it wouldn't be easier to just get it over with, reassures Ed that everyone would understand if he messed up (GIVING IN IS NOT THE SAME AS "MESSING UP," EMMETT), and then vividly visualizes a time he experienced a really good-smelling woman and ate her. Between his earlier blasé-ness about not "wallowing in guilt" over past mistakes and this section's lack of anything indicating regret about that incident, I take back any nice things I might have said about this guy. Emmett, YOU. ARE. THE WORST.

It's so bad that Ed has to bolt out of class AGAIN, although it doesn't help that Emmett follows him and continues to suggest maybe Ed should just get it over with if it's so bad, can Alice or somebody please come punch him. Ed finally gets him to leave and hides in his car. Then, "like an addict" (his own words), he searches the whole school for thoughts about Bella. From his car. My GUY, just how UNREASONABLY powerful ARE your mind radar skills???

He finally locates Bella in gym class, because Mike, who is mad about Ed talking to her, is thinking in logical, complete sentences (as one does) about how satisfied he is that Bella doesn't seem interested in Edward. He also conveniently remembers her asking "what was with" Edward last Monday (after the Deathstare Incident). So apparently Bella isn't QUITE abnormal unique enough to stay totally silent when she encounters a weird thing (not that Edward notices). Ed's response to his annoyance over Mike's satisfaction is to blast "violent music," which seems the opposite of helpful to me.

We end the chapter with Bella coming out of school and heading to her rusty old truck while Ed watches her creepily from his car. She almost hits another student's car when she locks eyes with him, and Ed has to laugh at her sudden increased driving vigilance, as if she might be DANGEROUS! Because of course it's RIDICULOUS to think that BELLA could be dangerous to ANYONE in ANY vehicle, as if the driver's physical frailty has any bearing on the damage a truck can do when crashing into cars or non-vampires at speed.

AND SCENE!

I'm gonna be honest, guys, that one was a couple degrees more agonizing than the first chapter. I dread how much more I'm going to hear about Ed's conflicting desires to eat Bella and be attracted to her simultaneously average yet fascinating allure. She's just so unusually unique and smart and intuitive and selfless and shy and frail and inspires protective instincts, you see, and she's not like ANY OTHER human he's ever encountered, even though we have evidence now that sometimes certain vampires just find certain humans irresistibly delicious, and we can probably extrapolate that those humans were somehow immune to vampire powers, too.

I also highly question Bella's above-average "martyrdom," considering she dropped her guard pretty fast around the cute stranger and basically broadcasted how unhappy she is with her decision, which makes it feel a bit like she did what she did so she could feel good about herself rather than because it was the best thing to do? Being selfless doesn't mean COMPLETELY ignoring your own needs, or justify using your good deed as an excuse to have a poor attitude. Of course, considering that half her traits that Ed notices and marvels over are actually fairly normal, I don't think any of us feel a strong need to trust his assessments of her character.

Next up is CHAPTER THREE: RISK. I'm sure it will feature Edward being very level-headed and undramatic. I think I need to build my endurance back up for this one. (And thanks for the likes and comments so far, they really help keep me motivated! =D)

Chapter 3->

#River reads midnight sun #twilight #vampires #edward cullen #bella swan #satire #literary analysis maybe?#My word there are 29 chapters and an epilogue #Lend me your strength yall #River reviews

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ashes-onthewind · 1 month

Text

Guess who has a brand new hyperfixation~

It's this game called dirty crown scandal (yes, it's a bl dating game, I'm sorry) and!! I have very strong opinions and many headcanons.

(I'll add as much as I have energy for in reblogs)

#dirty crown scandal #ash rambles #ash posts #ash has autism probably

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emeritus-fuckers · 7 months

Note

Hiii, I'd like to request a match up !!

First of all, sorry if it's written weird, English is not my first language and I'm in need of a few days of sleep lmao :') also this is very long because I have no idea how to write concisely to save my life, so, sorry for your eyes? brain? Idk but sorry

1 - I'm AFAB genderqueer, might be a demigirl ? idk gender is confusing. anyways, I use any pronouns because I'm extra like that lmao, and I prefer my sexuality to stay unlabelled for now

2 - Papas !! (they're so silly I love them)

3 - I'm rather small (163cm/5'4") and kinda pudgy. I would not say I'm plus size but I'm definitely thicker than average, especially around my hips and thighs (stretch marks n cellulite gang WYA). I used to be very insecure about it but thankfully I got better at loving myself (still working on it but I'll get there eventually). I'm also getting a tattoo on my upper left arm very soon (inspired by Kafka's Metamorphosis because yes) and hopefully some more piercings (I only have triple lobe for now). my hair's light brown and very short, I buzzed it back in August and I'm growing it out. Yes, I do have a terrible case of bed head. I also trim my eyebrows to be very short, makes it easier to do my makeup. Almost forgot to talk about my eyes, but basically they're blue-ish green and usually overshadowed by the huge dark circles I have. I don't dress according to one particular style, although I enjoy being in full goth fashion, makeup and all. I would probably describe my style by 'satanic grandma' because as much as I love my band shirts and inverted crosses, I also cannot live without my extensive collection of grandpa sweaters and ugly ties.

4 - I'm an introvert - and an awkward anxious ball of nerves at that, but I don't mind stepping up to the task in social situations if the people I'm with are not comfortable ordering food/asking a question. I usually am very cautious of how I act with new people I meet as I am autistic and don't want to 'scare them off' or make them uncomfortable. However, if we vibe, you get to know the still anxious but also very silly me. I especially love coming across other people that are on the spectrum, because we usually have a certain understanding of each other's way of acting and just be silly together. Speaking from experience with my closest friends, at least (not generalizing autistic people !!).

5 - I've been hyperfixating on Ghost for a good while now, but apart from that I'm very much interested in art. Learning about it of course, but also making it (I'm in art prep class rn and it's kicking my ass, send help). Drawing, writing, taking photos, making zines and stuff... hopefully after prep class I can get into a proper art school and study illustration, and maybe look into becoming a graphic novel author. My favorite artists would probably be Dora Maar, Gustave Doré and Gustav Klimt tbh. I also have an interest in geopolitics and history, especially in the Middle Ages' witch hunts and black death, but also in more recent topics such as the satanic panic. Basically all things occult and satanic. I also love internet horror media such as ARGs, like My house.wad or the Hypnagogic Archive. Music taste wise, I listen to everything, but my favorite genres are hard rock and metal. I'd say my all time fav artists are Ghost, Slayer (South of Heaven walked so that Year Zero could run, change my mind), Iron Maiden, SOAD, Twin Temple, Radiohead, alex g and Mitski.

6 - I'm a huge cat person but I also very much love crows and rats and reptiles and overall all the animals that would seem weird to keep as pets. Also I love love LOVE having deep conversations about complicated philosophical topics at night in a calm spot at a party or smth, specifically while drinking off-brand soda. Idk why I included this, I just thought of it and I'm too tired to question how my sleep deprived brain thinks right now.

Sorry again for the huge wall of text, y'all are the best !

Have a good day/night !!

This post is part of the 1000 followers match up event. Entries for the event are now closed.

Your match is...Copia

He's all for helping you love yourself, he'll kiss any part of your body you are insecure about and everyday he tells you how amazing you look. The thing that really makes it work is that he means it, you can see the sincerity in his expression.

He can also be an awkward anxious bundle of nerves. But what is so cute is that both of you try and step up for the other in social situations. You see Papa Emeritus IV come out a lot at those times.

You vibed immediatly with him it was just an instant connection. He just got you, and you him. He treasures that so much.

He will help all he can with your art class prep. Like whatever you need. If you want him to just keep you company he's there, if you need models he'll get his rats to pose with him (it's just adorable). Or if you need to work super hard he'll bring you food and drinks to keep you going.

Sometimes he joins you but drawing isn't his strongest skill so it's a good giggle, he can laugh at his mistakes and he enjoys seeing you smile at them. Other times he'll sit and write songs as you work, he wrote one about you just the other day.

He got so excited when he found out you had an interest in the middle ages, witch hunts and black death. He literally squeaked with joy and you discussed it long into the night, while drinking lots of off-brand soda.

He also finds some really cool books for you to read from the clergy library, occult, satanic panic and so on, it's all there.

Written by Nyx

#anon #ghost band x reader #ghost band #ghost bc x reader #ghost bc #papa emeritus iv #copia x reader #copia #papa iv #match up event #match up #papa emeritus iv x reader

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all-i-do-is-live-in-daydreams · 7 months

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loki has become such a complex character and has TWICE NOW gone through pretty well done character development. first, throughout the thor movies. second, through his own tv series loki.

there are of course things that I don't agree with or disliked. one of those things being, well... sylkie. I'm not gonna go on a giant tirade or anything, but just know I fully disagree with the choice and find it weird. moving on from that thought process, we enter season 2 which brings back my hyperfixation and a brand new thought process which means ANALYZING !! :D feeling like a true tva analyst.

Yes, there are a lot of people, including me, that didn't like loki and sylvie as a pairing and still don't, BUT!! I've started seeing it through a new lense. Which adds to Loki's character which of course I love!! I love character development and details! Loki is not familiar with love, romantic or platonic, in a healthy way or in a way that would make him knowledgeable in a lot of the different aspects of it. He's been so completely separated from anything like that in so long and as we see, he's going through a lot of new emotions while being in the TVA. He's exploring himself more than he has in a very long time and confronted some things about himself that ik he tried to keep buried. He's also experiencing new relationships. Such as a new friendship with Mobius or a partnership/friendship with Sylvie. Two different people, he has two strong connections with. Sylvie is someone he can relate to, someone who can understand him like no one else and Loki has never really had that. I don't think he had that even with his own mother, as close as they were. And so of course he's going to feel strongly about her!! He's going to form a strong connection!! An attachment! And it is an attachment. That's obvious in the way that he's so reluctant to let her go. Why he keeps thinking of her and bringing her up. Loki is going to be feeling things he's not used to feeling and being unfamiliar makes it hard to discern what exactly you are feeling.

(speaking from my own experience, emotions are hard to discern for me, what I'm feeling, and sometimes I grow very attached to a person just bcuz I can relate and I dont have that very often and I desperately dont want to lose that.)

Loki is just going through a lot of emotions in a short span of time with no time to stop and think. Loki isn't in love with himself, with Sylvie. He may love her, yes, but not in love.

#loki god of mischief #loki odinson #loki series #loki laufeyson #loki tv series #loki tv show #loki tom hiddleston #loki marvel #marvel loki #loki mcu #mcu loki #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #mobius mcu #mobius marvel #mobius m mobius #mobius #mobius and loki #sylvie #sylvie laufeydottir #id like to go into his amd mobius relationship as well but that would need its own post #i might not make that one just because idk of i could keep it going down one straight road #instead of turning in a hundred different ways #but just know their relationship is one of my fave things and i love how theyve portrayed it so far #im also afraid if i go into it peolle will then just think im sayibg all of this about sylkie bcuz i ship something else #in reality i had all these thoughs on syklie before i shipped these two #i didnt ship them until a little after s1 ended #loki #tom hiddleston

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scottishaccentsareawesome · 2 months

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Yes I have a brand new hyperfixation/obsession/fandom I've entered into

No it's not really related to the reason you probably originally followed my blog

No I will not tone it down, but I may still blog about the reason(fandom) that you originally followed my blog for

Interests grow and change, apologies should not be necessary

#fandoms #community is my new obsession but I also still blog about TGM and TG #I've always been a multifandom blog and this is what multifandom means

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oflights · 7 months

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20 questions for fic writers

thanks for the tag, @teledild0nix; your post was great! also @phoebe-delia tagged me on this post a bit ago; i loved reading these so much! at this point, i'm not sure who has or hasn't done this yet, so i'm tagging anyone who sees this and wants to try it!

How many works do you have on ao3?

54 across 3 fandoms!

2. what's your total ao3 word count?

1,382,065 😵‍💫

3. What fandoms do you write for?

right now it's just drarry; i have also written for hockey RPF and before that, The Social Network, but a lot of that fic is locked on livejournal. before TSN i wrote drarry 😬 which is also locked lol i'm sorry

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. up the arbor to your door (and more) - Hockey RPF (2,889) 2. all the western stars - Drarry (2,819) 3. Bloom - Hockey RPF (2,759) 4. Brand New Colony - Hockey RPF (2,558) 5. Morning to Wake You - Hockey RPF (2,056) my sid/geno hockey RPF era from 2012-2014 was pretty consistent! i do think all the western stars is about to overtake the top spot though, which is insane when you realize those fics are 9 years vs. barely 18 months old 😧

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

yes!! i make every effort to, though sometimes i get overwhelmed (i've fallen off a bit with The Star Splitter and it makes me super guilty!!! i need more hours in the day lol)

6. What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

i am a happy ending aficionado!! i guess if you ignore the fix-it epilogue, the answer is we hid in catacombs, which is probably the best sid/geno fic i wrote. it was a breakup fic, of course, i remain obsessed with those!

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

i really cannot think of any standout happy ending hockey fics so for this one i will say along each garden wall. sugary sweet ending after what was a genuinely sad narrative; i think i took to heart the people who were like "Close Behind was so angsty we needed more happiness to wash it down!!" and while i felt like that didn't really fit Close Behind, it worked for this one.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

ha. yes! people were Not Happy about Close Behind. someone told me that i should tag it as the main pairing being Draco/Astoria and add an Ambiguous/Open Ending tag, which was very interesting and wrong. some comments i get are just odd, though. like someone got mad at me in The Star Splitter comments for naming a stuffed dragon Orion, who i guess was Sirius' abusive (?) dad?? i had no canon memory of that (and why would Draco care about that???). another person just objected to the entire premise of the fic, which i suppose is fair play if the premise of the fic is an actual philosophical argument, but yeah. it takes all sorts!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

i do! i like writing smut! happily, yes smut! i don't go too deep into it in every fic, though, and with drarry i've often let myself get more into plot than figuring out the best smut places. i'm in a spot mentally where i really want the smut to contribute to the plot in a significant way, which i think is a result of taking a two year fanfic break and reading nothing but literary/historical fiction in those years? idk i need to write more, it's a total shift from when i wrote hockey.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

yeah, no, not for me!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

i've had some plagiarism incidents, and i guess i ask for this as a serial fic deleter, but some of my fics are on wattpad and i'd prefer they weren't lol.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes! a good few.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

nope

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

lol i cannot answer this question truthfully. my all-time favorite ship is just whatever i'm hyperfixated on at the moment! drarry is probably a contender just because i circled back to it after years away. (am i in a getting back together fic with drarry??)

15. What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

i finish all my wips 🙂 honestly this is not a flex, i am terrible at abandoning projects and my brain will not let me off the hook ever.

16. What are your writing strengths?

hmm. i think characters, especially large casts of characters! i love to write big ensembles and flesh out characters even in big or small roles, plus their relationships with each other. i also think that i'm much better at giving my worlds/stories a sort of aesthetic now, if that's a writing talent? this is def a new thing to drarry for me, since i took that long fanfic break and wrote/read a bunch of original stuff.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

i work at it, but i still don't know that i'm the best at describing things. i'm better at describing settings than people, that's for sure. i get bored with endless descriptions of someone's eye color and i find myself needing to justify character description with narrative relevance, which is silly.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

i'm a big proponent of '"[English words]," he says in French.' Or like, 'He says something in French', if the POV character wouldn't understand it. i feel like it's less immersion-breaking and more fluid. i write in several languages but wouldn't expect readers to, and i normally write such a close third person perspective that i don't necessarily want the readers to have a translation of a phrase that the POV character wouldn't have, you know?

19. First fandom you wrote for?

i think officially it was veronica mars?

20. Favorite fic you've written?

i'll do one for each AO3 fandom! for TSN, it was Mulligan. for Hockey RPF, Contrapositive. and for Drarry, no surprise, Close Behind.

#oflights #tag game #fic writing #this was fun!!

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tommyssupercoolblog · 3 months

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5plat00n Idol AU!!!!

my hyperfication is hyperfixating

AU! Tmmy is an Octoling and AU! S3án is an Inkling (I asked my s3án for input on the littol design actually. oh em gee,,,,, this is so pog we are so pog they are so pog,,, our OCs,,,who are us but also not us like not direct splatsonas really??? secret third thing)

They're Idols who end up working together!!! S3an has been in the buisness longer but Tmmy is really popular on social media and gets picked as like, a fresh new update to their lineup.

S3an ends up taking a liking to Tmmy like almost immediately tho, i think like right after this comic maybe they talk and it's immediately "oh ur my bestie for life we are so twinning"

They both swear and say stupid shit on their live so it ends up having to be part of their branding because. there is no way management can get them to calm down and the fans seem to like it anyway!!!

but yeah they get along great on set and end up becoming inseperable n shit, you can assume what happens yk you get the gist it's just a cool setup/premise for stuff

workplace romantic comedy anyone??? YES?????

and u can wear their merch as gear in turf wars <3

#tommy's og art wow #tommy's OG ART WOW #septicinnit #names censored to avoid mean people #do you still have to do that for d/5/m-p adjacent stuff???#i assume so. they scare me

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rekindle-the-sun · 1 month

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brand new blog let's fucking gooooo

rekindle the sun

basic info

・ kaoru , eurus , dante

・ they / neos + ask

・ med. recognised did sys

・ introject heavy

・ anti-endo

・ audhd + c-ptsd package

・ phys. disabled

・ eng. speaking & leaning bp.

・ FUCKING QUEER.

・ altenate between we / i pronouns

・ draw n' write sometimes, so that's fun

byi

・ cope w/ humour & poke fun at my own disorders

・ probably too open on the internet for my own damn good

・ shit at deciphering tone + can't take a hint for the life of me

・ art requests open ‼️‼️ i need stuff to occupy myself with

・ if something we enjoy is problematic, chances are we already know, but can't really do much about it if it's a major comfort media / hyperfix / special interest

・ for most medias, we kinda have to just enjoy the art and avoid giving the artist support until we can drag ourself out of it

・ don't care if you dislike a fanbase / piece of media that we like [would actually love to hear an infodump about why], just don't shit on us for liking it

boundaries

yes

・ requesting typing quirk translations

・ asking who's in front

・ 'doubles' + 'sourcemates'

・ religion talk

・ trauma jokes [of your trauma]

・ directly saying if something we do crosses a boundary / makes you uncomfortable

ask

・ flirting + sexual jokes

・ nicknames + petnames

・ trauma jokes [of our trauma]

・ requesting alters to front

・ source talk

・ venting to us without asking

・ venting about us at all in mutually shared spaces

・ having friends communicate your problems / boundaries rather than doing so yourself

・ treating introjects as source / like you know them personally because of their source

・ comparing introjects to source

・ treating our littles like literal children [unless explicitly stated to]

・ calling our alters "personalities"

・ shaming us for misunderstanding something

・ asking our triggers [good and bad]

・ endos + endo supporters [FUCK YOU]

links

・ public server

・ dm server

・ carrd

・ bundles

banner art creds ; prodotsukare

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vampire-caprisun · 9 months

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Accidents

Hey everyone looks like I have a new hyperfixation. Im completely ruined by this man and I don't even own the game yet so forgive any inaccuracies for the time being. I went ahead and made a character anyway with some very noncanon elements for the sake of interesting storytelling. Hope you like my trash!

Character is a female Drow Ranger named Inala

Warnings for violence

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"Had enough arseholes!?" Karlach shouted as she cleaved her target in two with a single swing. Gale provided her more cover and Astarion had jumped out from the shadows to violently stab a gnoll in the chest from behind tossing the corpse to the floor with a blood lust filled grin as he licked his dagger. Inala was protecting Gale providing coverfire and a well placed hatchet to the face of anyone who got too close for comfort. "Shit" she cursed as a boulder headed straight for their position and all she could think was to grab the wizard at her back and roll causing him to yelp in surprise. The drow was sitting on top of him and fired off another round of flaming arrows at the attacking gnolls who had saw an opportunity to lunge. The position looked rather compromising to anyone outside looking in but the ranger wasn't about to lose their magic user to being uncomfortable.

"Are you crazy! If I had been casting a fireball you'd be burning right now!" Gale shouted from below as she held off a particularly big opponent with a volley of arrows till Karlach could come in and engage.

"A thank you for not letting me die would have also worked!" Inala shouted back and rolled off him burying her hatchet into her enemies leg and tripping him to the ground. Adrenaline surged through the ranger's veins as she pivoted again to protect their wizard sending arrows through eyes and chests as more angry gnolls descended upon them. Inala yanked Gale up by the arm who was standing way too close to him for comfort. Gale sniffed and cocked an eyebrow. "Are you wearing perfume?!" He asked her absolutely baffled as to why she smelled like death and lavender at the same time. "Mind your business especially in the middle of a fucking gnoll camp. But yes I am." She spun around and shot another attacker once in the foot to pin them then slashed at their middle with her hatchet the sickening thud of organs splattered into the dirt. "Oh thats just delightful" the wizard gagged and conjured a blast of fire to clear the surge of enemies that had charged them. "Im just doing what you pay me for!" Inala laughed and swept her cloak to parry a blow, landing an ac blow to the side of the assailant's head. "No one is paying you! You're just being violent for the hell of it!"

"So I have fun on the job! Big deal!"

"Thats my fuckin girl!" Karlach shouted "What smell are ya wearin!?"

"I'll tell you the brand after, Karlach darling!" Astarion had suddenly appeared to protect their wizard's flank catching him off guard as Inala took her chance to vanish into shadows.

"Aww thanks fangs!" The teifling teased him and the vampire gave her a cute grin and rested his cheek on one of his daggers before maiming someone else.

"You're buying her perfume now?" Gale raised an eyebrow

"What's that supposed to mean? I am capable of being nice you know. Besides she did me a….*ahem*… favor." Astarion wiggled his eyebrows as he plunged his daggers backwards into an attacker.

"Oh yes we all know about the favors you're not exactly quiet about it."

"I told you everyone was going to fucking talk about this!" A voice in the shadows called out as a storm of arrows rained down upon the group.

"Who wants to bet she's blushin in the dark!" Karlach shouted.

"I'm going to fucking shoot you Karlach!" The trees rustled and branches snapped in the direction of the voice.

Astarion grabbed a fallen shield to block a spear turning his attention back to Gale.

"Jealous?" He tutted. "My my Gale what would Mystra think?" He let out a giggle half out of breath, dropping the shield and standing up licking blood off his arm.

"I don't need to be having this conversation right now in the middle of a literal fight." He scowled at the vampire. "Besides, at least Mystra cared about me." Gale said lowly. Astarion glared back at him and blocked another spear sailing towards the wizard, he twisted around and pulled a dagger to his companion's back.

"Remember Gale, to keep your hands to yourself when she rolls you to safety." He hissed and the wizard stared at him shocked at the off color display from Astarion of all people.

"Now whos the jealous one, vampire." The wizard spat but both kept professional.

What the fuck was that. Inala thought as she watched the exchange looking to pick off whoever was leading this large camp of gnolls. But that display she just witnessed had her palms sweaty and her entire face was probably flushed. She saw an attacker go for Karlach and fumbled, her arrow dropped to the ground pathetically. Astarion took notice and gave her a curious but mischievous half grin, the gears already turning in his head. "Oh I fucking hate him." The drow muttered to herself knowing his vampiric hearing probably picked it up. Astarion chuckled darkly and faced down another assailant.

Inala quickly took aim again, in his little moment Astarion had allowed two more gnolls to slip by them and he hadn't seen the second one yet that was approaching from behind, she took her shot and missed. Instead, the arrow grazed her paramour in the ass. The vampire let out a strangled yelp and turned to see what hit him, grateful he could even still stand. He saw the crow feathers sticking out from the arrow hanging in his left cheek and immediately knew the source.

He yelled at the trees absolutely furious "You fucking shot me! You said you don't miss!"

Inala immediately dropped from her perch, luckily Karlach had stepped in and the remaining gnoll were retreating. The vampire stalked towards his prey nearly running.

"I'm in danger-" Inala was able to breathe as his hand reached her. She was in his grasp before she could get a word in and their other two companions protested their ranger being dragged off when reinforcements could arrive at any minute but the wounded vampire was too heated to care.

Astarion had her slammed up against the tree she had been sitting in and a moment later his icy breath was prickling her skin through angry pants. "What the FUCK Inala!" He all but hissed at her. The drow fought back "What do you mean what the fuck? How about what the fuck was that with Gale!"

"You shot me!" He growled again.

"Oh great now they're having a lovers tiff on the battlefield!" Gale sighed. "Next time Inala wants to steal an powerful item from an entire fucking gnoll pack dont invite me if he's involved." The wizard groaned.

"Well she did shoot him in the arse." Karlach said matter of factly. And they both turned to search for more attacking gnoll.

Meanwhile their leader and the vampire of her affections continued to quarrel. Astarion pulled the arrow out and threw it to the side not even wincing when he did so.

"I've seen you hit butterflies midair how the fuck do you hit my ass!?" He continued to yell.

"Why would you think I'd want to hit your ass! I love your ass!" Inala yelled back

The silver tongued rogue attempted to spin a comeback but felt his white locks rustle with the breath of something large behind him. The ranger in his grasp went completely still.

"Oh shit" Inala whimpered. "F-found their leader." the huge gnoll behind them snarled at them and Astarion quickly pulled the both of them to the ground as the beast swung her axe. The force nearly took the tree down as the two assassins rolled away. Karlach and Gale had already begun to rush to their aide.

"Need a boost please!" Inala called out as she got up to run the giant gnoll had now freed her ax and turned her attention back to the pair.

"Fine just don't shoot me again!" Astarion yelled at her and hoisted her into the tree branch she was headed for the creature was almost upon them. The drow dropped on top of it then fired three arrows into the gnoll's head as it was nearly on top of Astarion. The beast dropped to the ground Inala sliding up to him with it.

"See didn't shoot you!" She panted

"You're going to be the death of me woman!" Astarion could do nothing but groan a sigh of relief.

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Wellp hope you all enjoyed my garbage I'll be working on more stuff with these two as I learn more about the game. No hate to Gale I just love to poke fun at him.

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x mc #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfic

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