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thunderheadfred · 3 years

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💥Bakugou HC's💥

Aged-up pro hero Katsuki for all of these. Some NSFW beneath the cut. Minors do not interact.

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General

He’s scary good at everything he tries. Every. Single. Fucking. Thing. It’s infuriating. Has zero patience when other people can’t immediately master a skill. Never let him teach you anything. Not that he’d offer, nerd.

He WILL offer, though. A lot. He can’t believe you still can’t Do That Thing. Tsh. Like THIS. You're gonna hurt yourself, Dummy.

But hold on. Of course you have unique skills of your own. You work hard to improve yourself. Trust me, he's the first person to notice. He doesn't praise anyone lightly, so when he raises his eyebrows and whispers he's impressed, your heart will go thermonuclear.

Perfect spelling and fully punctuated texts. Never uses abbreviations. Employs a grand total of four emojis, all of them angry faces. Constantly leaves you on read. He's busy, dammit.

Doesn’t smile or laugh in public (except sarcastically). His real smile is a crooked, fragile thing. Never make him feel self-conscious about it, or you might not see it again for weeks.

He does not talk about his private life to the press. Ever. Will K.O. rookie reporters who can't keep their big mouths shut.

HOweVER: he's intensely kind to his fans. There is a whole photographic sub-genre of little girls in cosplay hugging Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight like he's a Disney Princess.

Too smart for his own good. Emotionally hyper-vigilant. Overthinks every interaction to hell and back. Will act like he's not listening but actually hears every single word in a ten-block radius.

INSECURE AF. 110% convinced he will never be good enough. Terrified of his loved ones leaving him behind. Does he do anything to assuage his fears? Like... talk to anyone about it? Hell no. That would require admitting he has fears to begin with.

Seeing people upset makes him upset, especially if he doesn't know how to fix it.

The epitome of being mean because he cares. He genuinely does not seem to comprehend that monosyllabic grunts and lopsided shrugs are not actually that comforting.

Because he was such a brat growing up, he wants to make up for it now. Sort of. In his own way. Look, he's trying, okay?

He smells - so - good. Obscenely good. He doesn't wear cologne; are you joking? There's the burnt-sugar caramel candy smell of his quirk, for starters. And since he sweats deadly ammunition, he showers and wipes himself down almost constantly. He always smells clean. Like a fucking meadow.

Never got that growth spurt he was hoping for. He’s a short man - not even THAT short - but he has a Napoleon complex anyway. If you’re taller than him, the collars of your shirts will all be stretched out. He’s constantly dragging you down to his level. He will assert himself all the fucking time; the pissing contest is never-ending. Don’t wear tall shoes unless you want him to drag you around on a leash. If you’re shorter than him, that’s good. That’s very good. He likes that.

He’s an incredible cook, but everything he makes is a nuclear fire challenge. Adapt or starve.

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Dating

Makes artisanal, nutritionally flawless bento lunches for both of you. When people assume his S.O. makes them, he gets fucking pissed. Damn right your co-workers are jealous of my cooking.

Your pet name is Dummy. Don’t like it? Fine. You can be dumbass.

There will be zero PDA in this relationship. His hands are shoved so deep in his pockets you can’t even try.

Intensely private with the press. But with his friends, he will brag about you nonstop. Bakugou Katsuki has the most talented and attractive and intelligent S.O., and anyone who doesn't recognize that is blind. Were you assholes even listening?

A mutual buddy definitely recorded one of these drunken brag-rants and sent it to you for safekeeping. Do not let Katsuki find out about it, unless you enjoy having an ash pile for a phone.

Gets jealous about everything, at least at the start. He calms down eventually. Kinda. He stops saying shit to you about it, anyway, because he learns to trust you. But anyone who so much as looks at you in a too-friendly manner will get the death stare of a lifetime.

He’ll throw all kinds of temper tantrums and the two of you will argue about every tiny fucking thing. He’ll scream out car windows, he’ll ball up his shirt and gnash on it. But he will never raise his voice at you. He’d rather die than make you feel unsafe.

Honestly, the constant bickering is really just... uhh... passionate communication. Eventually you both hash out the important things. You'll learn how to step around his landmines and actually make your points, and he'll learn to open up. A little.

Once you meet his mom, Katsuki starts to make a lot more sense. His family just... emotes like that. Eventually, you and his dad form a spousal support group consisting of exactly two lifetime members. He teaches you the Bakugou family semaphore you need to survive a long-term relationship.

Katsuki can dish it out but absolutely cannot take it. The only person who can level with him about serious issues without explosive fallout is his dad. Or, on a lucky day, Kirishima.

If you give him a legitimate criticism (even gently!) he will take it about as gracefully as a knife to the gut, because it confirms everything he hates about himself.

To your never-ending shock, you’ve made him cry. Yes, CRY! You monster! More than once! His lip gets all *trembly* and his eyes get all *watery* and all you want to do is hug him, but. No. He’ll storm out and wander around for a few hours before coming back with the problem perfectly solved.

He always takes your advice to heart. No, he will NOT talk about it, stop asking.

Gets mad if you don’t snuggle him on the regular. Will drag you into his lap with a pissy little grunt. There might be two seats on this couch but you will not be needing both of them.

Takes pictures of you while you sleep.

Takes even more pictures of you when you're awake but think he's out of the room.

He looks at all these pictures when he's away on high-stakes jobs. He gets all bleary eyed and sleeps in a salty puddle without you. NO ONE WILL EVER KNOW.

You don’t have to meet him at the door or anything, but when he says “I’m home,” you’d better answer fast. If he doesn’t know your precise location in 0.05 seconds, he will assume you’ve been kidnapped. He never checks the fridge for notes. Never assumes you've gone down to the konbini for a snack. No, it’s kidnapping every time.

A terrrrrrible bed partner. He goes to bed at senior citizen hours and will never fuck you after sundown. He snores SO loud. Runs hot and sweats through the sheets. Slaps and elbows you in his sleep and aggressively spoons you with his loud, sweaty body. You WILL want to suffocate him. Separate bedrooms aren’t such a horrible idea......

BUT HANG ON, because in the morning he transforms into an honest-to-god angel. He's half awake, his guard is non-existent. Morning Katsuki is a doting kissy-faced marshmallow man.

If you can wake up before the ass-crack of dawn, he will pamper the fuck out of you. You are royalty for one (1) hour only, and he is your bleary-eyed slave. You want a cuddlefuck? You got it. Hugs? Kisses? Take as many as you need. You want a perfect, fluffy, NON-SPICY omelette with a heart drawn in ketchup? Here it is, gorgeous.

Then he gets in the shower and the spell is broken.

- - - - -

💥bang BANG💥

Let’s get the obvious out of the way: this here is an ASS. MAN. He'll spank you with his quirk; doesn’t matter if you’ve been good or bad. Wants to see you wince when you sit down later.

Likes pounding you face down with a vice grip on your waist.

Unfortunately, even with all that said... he doesn't exactly have the feral beast sex drive you were expecting. He’s married to his work and has the fuddy-duddy habits of a once and future valedictorian. Only fucks you when he has the time and energy to fully dedicate himself to it.

But ohhhh. Shit. When it's time? It's TIME. The man will rush for nothing. Stamina for days. Making you cum as many times as possible is a point of pride. Yeah, you passed out once.

You’re gonna need those days off when he’s done with you.

That dick THICC.

Sends unsolicited dick pics. Only after you’ve been dating a good long while - he doesn't show that shit to just anyone. But yeah, don’t check your phone at work. He won't cum without you; those pictures and videos are time bombs. You better get home. Now.

Physically dominant as FUCK, but won’t verbally degrade you unless you ask. Well, let’s be honest. Unless you beg.

Praise him and reap the rewards. A long hard ego stroking will get him off more than touching his cock ever will.

Will grab your hair and fuck your throat. Will also stop immediately if you need him to.

The two of you have safe words and gestures. Even for vanilla stuff. He’s paranoid about scaring or hurting you. He insisted you both sign a color-coded ‘love contract’ that he meticulously formatted in a word processor. When you gave him guff about it, his blush was the darkest crimson you’d ever seen.

Coin-flip: he will sometimes be unbelievably gentle in bed. Doting and affectionate, taking perfect care of you. Like, it’s baffling. There’s no warning, the switch just flips. When you want him to be extra-rough and mean, he’ll sweetly worship you instead. For hours.

Bonus: he likes being penetrated. But of course he’s got a complex about that too. Super intense power bottom. You will never fuck him hard enough. He’d like to see you try. Hit his prostate just right and he might literally explode.

You'll live happily ever after but he will say he loves you out loud exactly once. Maybe. If you're lucky. And you're both about to die.

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou headcanons #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #gender neutral #mha #bnha #mha headcanons #bnha headcanons #smut #mha x reader #bnha x reader #fred writes

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littlemisspascal · 3 years

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Death and an Angel part 3

Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary: You and Din have an unexpected heart-to-heart about what it means to be Death and a Cupid on route to a planet where Din’s potential soulmate lives.

Rating: G

Word Count: 1,500

Warnings: Pining, smidge of angst, more plot development, Razor Crest (RIP I miss you darling!), a made-up home world for the reader (yes, yes, there’s like a million I could have picked but my brain said NOPE)

Author Note: Ahhhh, the comments are so amazing from you all! Thank you everyone out there sparing time to check out my little universe, it makes me sooo happy you have no idea! As always, I hope you enjoy this new segment as I try to plot this story out and get these two idiots to acknowledge there just might be something between them.

Also special thanks to @codenamewitcher for including the first two parts on Weekly Fanfic Recs. Be sure to go check out the list for a whole bunch of fantastic stories!

Links to Part 1, Part 2 and Part 4

Photo Inspiration: (What I imagine is beneath the armor in this scene...*dreamy sigh*)

There is a distinct silence that can only be found in hyperspace when the stars outside resemble sparkling streaks of silver tinsel and your breath is trapped within your lungs as you’re awestruck by the sheer beauty of it all. You experience this silence aboard the Razor Crest, sitting in the cockpit behind Din as he pilots his beloved gunship. It isn’t the first time you’ve been a passenger, having traveled with Din on two previous ventures where your Cupid services were required on planets far away from your home on Umbriel.

Off-world assignments for you were generally rare since your bosses were more inclined to choose Cupids of higher ranking to handle those clients, but sometimes you were the only available option left. Which, come to think of it, is exactly how you became the one roped into meeting with Death every full moon. Your bosses decided someone needed to check up on him to make sure he wasn’t reaping anyone before their fated time and thus messing with the natural order of things. You privately have reached the conclusion it was a decision made during a fit of paranoia as you had yet to find any evidence suggesting Din ever broke a single one of the universe’s rules, let alone even considered the mere possibility.

When you did travel for assignments, you never stopped feeling like a goldfish being dumped out of your familiar little bowl and into a massive ocean full of strange oddities. You would often find yourself wasting time trying to successfully navigate the unknown world when you should have been focused on tracking down your client’s soulmate.

That’s why Din had offered to start traveling with you. Actually, in his own words it was because, “You think about love so much you don’t see trouble until it’s an inch in front of you. Someone’s got to be there to look after you.”

You’d tried to argue, told him you had never experienced trouble and that if you did then you could handle it with your bow. All Cupid’s were required to master archery for self-defense purposes, though Din’s responding snort of derision made you suspect he wasn’t convinced of your skills. You wondered if he thought, just as humans incorrectly did, a Cupid only used their bow to spread love and lust. Or maybe he just thought you weren’t capable of such finesse. It was an insulting assumption, fueling you with the burning desire to prove him wrong. One day, you keep telling yourself, a repetitive chant. One day you’ll show him just how capable you are with your weapon and you imagine his look of shock, whether worn openly on his face or hidden beneath the visor of his helmet, will be utterly priceless.

But in the meantime, you’re in no hurry to encounter trouble. Finding enjoyment in taking these trips with him on his ship instead.

The Razor Crest had actually been a complete surprise to you when Din first welcomed you on it; primarily because the notion of him using such a primitive form of transportation despite the powers he possessed as Death was too outrageous to wrap your head around. However, it took less than ten minutes soaring through space for you to discover just how many details of the universe you were missing by relying on your Cupid abilities to teleport yourself between locations. Never would you have imagined Death to be the one to teach you to love the slowness of travel, to let your eyes linger on all the beautiful wonders along the way. But that’s exactly what happened.

You turn your head away from the window to look at Din. From your angle, all you glimpse is the back of his helmet, reflecting the passing starlight. Soon you’ll be introducing Din to the first immortal on your list of potential soulmates.

Death, you quickly correct yourself. He’s only Din when he’s around you.

You initially thought he elected to wear his armor because you told him he could to ease his comfort, but now you think it’s because this is him meeting his potential soulmate as himself. It is easy to forget sometimes this is the image of Death—a warrior enshrouded in beskar, cunning and ruthless—that is recognized throughout the universe. And feared.

If the handsome face he concealed was known instead, you wonder if mortals would readily choose to embrace the ending of their lifetime, rather than foolishly seek to run from its inevitability.

“What is it?” Din’s baritone voice startles you as it shatters the quietness. The modulator within his helmet gives his tone a low raspiness that never fails to send a chill down your spine when you hear it.

“Huh?” You respond ineloquently.

“You’ve been staring at the back of my head for the last five minutes, angel. I figured you had something worth saying.”

“Oh, no. I was just thinking about you.”

Immediately you wish a meteor would collide with the ship, providing you with the necessary distraction to escape and find somewhere you can hide until the end of time.

“...What about me were you thinking?” Din wonders after a solid thirty seconds of pure silence, voice somehow conveying an equally blended mixture of intrigue and wariness. He flips on the ship’s autopilot and turns in his seat to pin you with his gaze, apparently unwilling to let you try and weasel yourself out of the conversation.

You roll the question around in your mind, wanting to give an answer that satisfies him without it also embarrassing yourself further.

“I was thinking how much of an enigma you are,” you murmur at last, leaning back in the chair with your arms crossing over your stomach. “You wield such incredible powers and yet you choose to wear a human face, to call this man-made ship your home and to also spend your spare time living amongst those you will eventually reap. Why are these your choices?”

He tilts his head, and you just know there is a little crease of bewilderment appearing between his eyebrows right now even if you can’t see it. For as much as he is a puzzle you can’t put together, he is also at times an open book that you will never tire of reading.

“I would think you, more than most beings, would understand the discomfort that stems from loneliness and the lengths one will go to ease it,” he says, not unkindly. He mirrors your position, maneuvering himself until he’s comfortable in his seat and totally oblivious to the dilating of your pupils as you observe every subtle shift of his armor-clad body. “Isn’t that the true purpose of Cupids? To spare individuals the ache of living a life of solitude by introducing them to someone to love so they no longer feel it.”

“That’s a poetic way of putting it,” you answer, smiling softly and shrugging your shoulders. “My superiors would just quote our mantra back at me when I used to ask. Amor vincit omnia.”

“Love conquers all.”

You shouldn’t be surprised he’s able to translate such an ancient and obscure language, but your eyes widen regardless. “That’s right.”

His voice is unusually soft when he asks, “Do you like being a Cupid?”

You stare at him, caught off guard by how easily he’s changed the topic of the conversation from himself to you. You’re used to taking orders and being thanked for your services, but no one has ever asked you if you liked doing any of it.

“I’m good at it,” you finally say, even though it’s not really an answer.

He nods his head still, as if he understands. A part of you thinks he actually does.

You lick your lips, eyeing him hesitantly. “Do you...like being Death?”

“I’m good at it,” he echoes, but your words sound somber coming from his lips.

The cockpit fills with hushed silence again, but there’s a unique tenderness unlike ever before. Minutes seem to stretch on for entire seasons as you watch one another, content to simply coexist and revel in each other’s presences.

It would be so easy to slip off his helmet and kiss him right now.

You stiffen, stunned at your own thought, but you aren’t given the chance to analyze it further as an alarm on the ship’s control panel announces with a resounding beep you’ve reached your destination.

Din spins in his seat, reclaiming control of the steering to begin the ship’s landing process. You look out the front window at the large green-blue planet drawing nearer with every anxious tick of your heartbeat.

“We’re here,” you say needlessly, forcing excitement into your voice. Fake it till you make it, isn’t that the human expression?

“Who is it we’re meeting on this backwater skug hole?” Din asks, pressing a series of buttons above his head.

You kick the back of his seat. “Be nice,” you scold when he shoots you a look. He mutters something unintelligible under his breath as he turns back around, prompting you to roll your eyes. “She’s a goddess of springtime and motherhood. The locals call her Omera.”

Tag List: @leilei-draws, @theocatkov, @becauseican2, @vintagesaph, @stardust-and-starlight, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @adrieunor, @remmyswritings, @gallowsjoker, @rhiannon-russo, @randomness501, @eleine-t1d, @nicotinebirds, @sylphene, @softly-sad, @maytheglitter, @melobee

#the mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #Din Djarin #Mandalorian #soulmate au #my fic #my writing #death and an angel #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #din x you #din x reader

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nicknellie · 3 years

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Anonymous requested: Can I request a one bed trope for willex?

Oh, you absolutely can request that! I’m a sucker for this trope and I think this is my second time ever writing it (first for this fandom) so this was a lot of fun to get into. Thank you for the request, anon!

Champagne and Roses

Alex was never trusting Luke to book a hotel again. There was a reason Flynn handled admin for the band despite not being in it, and that reason was that all the actual bandmates were useless at it. Still, Luke had found a hotel that he had described as “super insane, like bro, it’ll be awesome, I promise” and had insisted on being the one to book it so nobody had the surprise of what was so good about it ruined for them. But it looked like Alex was set to reap the consequences.

Technically, Julie and the Phantoms were on tour, but what they were really using the opportunity for was something more akin to a road trip with just their nearest and dearest. Alex, Luke, Julie, and Reggie were there to attend their shows and meet-and-greets, Flynn had come along as their manager, but Carrie and Willie were also tagging along for the fun of it. So far they had stopped off at six different venues around North America, and they were on their way to the seventh, namely the hotel Luke was so pumped about.

He hadn’t stopped talking about it since they’d got in the tour bus the previous night, and it was starting to drive Alex a little insane. He was sat on one of the bus’s plush sofas with a cushion clamped over his ears as he tried to drown Luke’s voice out, but it wasn’t working all too well. Sat next to him, Willie was clearly trying not to laugh at him.

“I know I said I wouldn’t tell you guys anything about the hotel,” Luke was saying, the biggest grin plastered across his face, “but just wait until you see the pool. It’s gigantic, and there’s like a thousand slides. And Reggie, bro, you’re gonna love the breakfast buffet they set out, from the photos on their website it looks like they’ve got literally everything.”

“It sounds expensive,” Flynn called from the front seat, sat between Julie (who was taking her turn at driving the bus) and Carrie, who was somehow managing to paint her nails immaculately in a moving vehicle on the highway. “If you’ve blown the band’s budget on a hotel, Luke Patterson, I’m going to hop back there and murder you.”

“It wasn’t that expensive,” Luke said, looking sheepish. Still, Flynn’s threat shut him up a little – Alex decided it was probably better not to ask how much Luke had spent on the booking. “Besides, I saved money by booking shared rooms instead of individual ones.”

That grabbed Alex’s attention. If ever they were away as a band they shared rooms – Alex would buddy up with Luke and Reggie, and Julie and Flynn would be together – but this time there were two extra people in the mix, and Alex didn’t really see how it would work having Willie and Carrie share a room when they hardly spoke to each other outside of this kind of setting.

“Who’s with who?” Alex asked, removing the cushion from his ears and setting it down next to him. A moment later, Willie reached across Alex’s midriff, plucked the pillow from the sofa, and put it behind his own head, laying back comfortably. Alex’s pretended that he wasn’t blushing profusely at the brief touch.

“Well, we can probably change it if we want to once we get there, but I’m with Julie, Flynn and Carrie are together, Reggie’s got a room to himself, and you’re with Willie.”

Alex had no idea how to react. The moment Luke had spoken, his mind had imploded. At every other hotel they’d stayed at so far, everyone had got their own room, purely to give themselves some alone time because they were spending every minute of every day together on the tour and it could get a little suffocating. To go from that to sharing a room with Willie of all people?

Luke had to have known what he was doing. He knew how Alex felt about Willie, so this plan had to have been formed in the deep dark corner of his brain that was designated for doomed matchmaking. It wasn’t like Alex had never shared a room with Willie before, but they had always chosen to, it had never been forced upon them like this. He couldn’t help but wonder what Willie made of it, if his heart was hammering the same way Alex’s was, if the thought of sharing a room made him giddy and nauseous all at the same time too.

He cast a quick, careful glance in Willie’s direction, only to see that his expression had remained completely unchanged, which was unhelpful. Complete neutrality could mean anything. Still, Alex supposed it was better than Willie looking annoyed or disgusted or downright angry at the thought of sharing a room together.

This was silly, Alex told himself. He had shared a room with Willie before, they’d had the occasional sleepover and it had always been lovely. There was no reason that this time should be any different. He tried to calm himself, school his features into something resembling nonchalance.

“Alex,” Reggie said, sounding concerned, “are you feeling travel-sick again? You look like you’re about to vomit all over Willie.”

Apparently nonchalance hadn’t worked.

Alex seized the opportunity. “A little bit of fresh air might be nice,” he said.

Julie pulled over a minute or so later and Alex hopped out of the tour bus. They had pulled off the highway a while back and were now on a much smaller road lined with tall hedges and completely deserted except for their bus. Alex let a gentle wind wash over his flushed face, closed his eyes, and let himself calm down a bit.

It would be fine.

“Hey,” came a voice behind him, startling him. Alex jumped and looked to see Willie stood beside him, his hair blowing elegantly behind him. Not for the first time, Alex wondered how he managed to look like an angel constantly. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Alex replied, trying to smile. “The roads were getting a little twisty. I’ll just take a minute to cool off. I’m fine, though.”

He leaned back against the cool metal of the tour bus and felt Willie do the same. He could feel Willie’s side pressed against his and his heart starting beating faster at the slight contact. Their fingers brushed gently together and Alex felt a smile tugging at his lips.

“If you don’t want to share a room with me, that’s fine,” Willie said. He rushed the words out as if he didn’t really want to say them, avoiding eye contact until he’d finished speaking. Then he turned to look at Alex – Alex was bad at reading expressions at the best of times, and all he could make out of Willie’s right then was something close to nervousness. He just couldn’t pinpoint why.

“No,” he assured Willie quickly, “I don’t mind. I do. I do want to share with you, I mean. It’s cool. We’re cool.”

“You sure?” Willie asked, sounding unconvinced. “Because the moment Luke mentioned it you freaked.”

Alex felt himself blush faintly. “No, I told you, it was just the roads getting too twisty. I’m not worried about sharing with you, if that’s what you think.”

“So we’re okay?”

“Of course.”

“Great,” Willie said. He beamed, and Alex couldn’t help but smile back. It was impossible not to smile when Willie did. “I’m going to head back onto the bus. Take as long as you need – I don’t think any of us want to clean up after you again.”

“That was one time and it was four years ago,” Alex protested, though he couldn’t help but smile at Willie’s teasing. At that, any nerves he’d had were gone; how could he be worried about being with Willie when doing just that was so easy? “I’ll come back in a minute.”

As Willie disappeared back onto the bus, Alex closed his eyes and leaned his head back again. His panic was replaced with butterflies in his stomach, silly with excitement at the thought of what the night might hold. Not much, he reminded himself, it was just sharing a room with a friend. Still, he suddenly couldn’t wait.

To Luke’s credit, the hotel was amazing. They arrived there in the late afternoon, checked in, and had their luggage taken up to their rooms for them, leaving them free to explore the hotel. The pool looked bigger than the actual building, with six different slides, people zooming out of them gleefully every few moments. They found the restaurant, which was currently preparing for dinner, and the smells wafting from the kitchen were to die for. There were bikes to hire (Julie suggested a group bike ride which led to mixed responses from the others, ranging from Reggie’s immediate enthusiasm to Carrie stating monotonously that she’d rather do literally anything else), an enormous duck pond nearby, and a small cinema which that night was showing some generic action film Alex had never heard of. Overall, Luke had really outdone himself with the booking.

They busied themselves for the rest of the evening, splashing about in the pool (or, in the case of Alex, Willie, and Carrie, relaxing by the side of the pool on the sun-loungers) and spending far too long in the mini arcade that Reggie had stumbled across. Luke hadn’t been wrong about the food either – the staff set out an enormous buffet that had every food Alex could think of. Alex tried to stick to a regular meal because mixing so many different foods felt strange, but Luke’s plate was piled with pizza, curry, and a slab of chocolate cake.

The evening had been so hectic and jam-packed that by the time Alex and Willie bade farewell to the others, he had almost forgotten all his whirring thoughts surrounding the shared room. But by then he was too full and tired to be too bothered anyway. It was just sharing a room with Willie – what could go wrong?

Willie pushed open the door to room seventy-three and entered ahead of Alex, flicking the lights on as he went. Alex was exhausted and his vision slightly blurred as his eyes kept closing, but he could still make out that this room was nothing short of luxurious. There were chocolates on the pillow, complementary tea and biscuits, a bottle of champagne cooling in a bucket of ice, a vase of roses, a flat-screen TV so big it looked as if it would fall off the wall, and a gorgeous king-size bed with rich red satin sheets.

It took Alex far too long to realise that there was something a little off.

He looked around again. Chocolate pillows, tea, biscuits – that was fine, that was normal. Flat-screen TV – expensive, but every hotel room he’d ever stayed at had a television. But champagne, roses, only one bed… Alex felt the pieces click in his mind.

“This is a couples room,” he said.

He was never letting Luke book a hotel ever again.

Willie looked just as bewildered as Alex felt. They had both frozen in the doorway when they saw the room, but now Willie headed in cautiously, picking up the champagne and one rose as if trying to work out whether they were real. He smoothed down the bedsheets, not that they were rumpled, and then turned back to Alex. His expression was infuriatingly neutral and hard to read again.

“Yep,” he agreed, “definitely.”

Alex carefully followed him into the room and looked around. Those old nerves about sharing a room with Willie came back – if they had to share this space then surely it was going to be incredibly awkward. Especially since they weren’t even dating.

“Do you think there’s been some sort of mix-up?” he asked, eyeing the singular bed. It looked invitingly comfortable, and Alex was knackered. He wanted nothing more than to just crawl in and sleep beside Willie as the room was clearly telling them to do. But he couldn’t do that, not if Willie wasn’t comfortable with it, not if there had been a mistake.

“I don’t know,” Willie said, shrugging. “It’s definitely the right room, otherwise the key wouldn’t have worked. I could go and ask at reception if there’s a different room, if you like? With two beds?”

There was something in the way Willie said it that caught Alex’s attention, but he couldn’t identify what it was. But he could see that Willie was watching him carefully, looking for all the world like all he wanted was to make sure the night went well. He thought, Alex realised with a start, that Alex wouldn’t want to share a bed with him. It nearly made Alex laugh, but his nerves stopped him.

He did want to share the bed, but the idea terrified him.

He shrugged, trying to seem indifferent. “If you want. It’s up to you, I don’t mind.”

“You sound like you mind,” Willie countered.

“I don’t.”

They stared at each other for a minute or two, sizing one another up. Alex didn’t want to seem like the idea of sharing a bed with Willie made him uncomfortable, but equally he didn’t want to seem too eager. He wasn’t sure what the middle ground was – indifference maybe? But if he seemed like he didn’t care at all then it could look like he simply didn’t feel one way or the other about Willie.

He decided he was reading too much into it, worrying about it too much. So he was the one to break the silence.

“I don’t mind sharing a bed with you, Willie,” he said. “It’s late and I’m exhausted, I could sleep anywhere right now. And I’m sure you don’t really want to go all the way back downstairs just to ask if they have another room. It won’t make any difference. We can share a bed – we’ll be fine.”

Willie blinked, seeming surprised, but then he smiled lightly. Alex felt his heart flutter despite his exhaustion – it was incredible how Willie could have that effect on him no matter what.

“Okay, hotdog,” Willie agreed, nodding resolutely. Just with the use of the nickname, any tension in the room dissipated. Suddenly they were just two guys about to share a bed and it was completely fine. “You’re right. Let’s get some sleep.”

They took turns getting ready for bed in the bathroom (which was far bigger than a bathroom had any business being, Alex thought) and eventually settled down into the bed, side by side, plenty of room between the two of them. Though the day had been hot, the night had turned cold, and the satin sheets were doing very little to keep them warm. Alex burrowed further into the covers, pulling them up to his chin and trying to settle himself. He was still a little nervous, it would have been impossible to be completely chilled out about the whole situation, but he was too tired to really notice.

There was total silence for a few minutes before Willie quietly said, “You talk in your sleep sometimes.”

Alex turned to his right to face him. Willie was laying on his side, facing Alex, one hand under his head on the pillow and the other hidden by the duvet. The top he wore was oversized and revealed most of his collarbone, his hair was mussed as it spilled out over the pillow, and he had the sweetest little smile on his tired face. Alex, heart hammering, mirrored his position without realising he was doing it, but he did register that his movement brought them much closer together.

“Do I?” he asked, voice low and hushed.

Willie giggled gently, nodding. “Yeah. I’ve heard you on some of our sleepovers.”

“What do I say?”

“Nonsense, mainly,” Willie told him. “But sometimes you talk about the band, that’s always sweet. It’s a change from you calling Luke and Reggie annoying so often. And it’s nice to know you love them really.”

Alex grinned. “Of course I love them. They’re my brothers and Julie’s my sister. Although I am still annoyed at Luke for this whole thing.”

Willie’s expression changed abruptly, from amused to… what was that? Hurt? Had Alex said something wrong without realising it? Oh god, had he just changed the tone of the situation back to awkward?

“I thought you were okay with this,” Willie said. His voice was a different kind of quiet. Small now in a way it hadn’t been before.

“I am,” Alex said quickly. “I’m more than okay with this.”

“Then why are you still angry at Luke?”

“Because he knows how I–”

He stopped himself abruptly. He knows how I feel about you. That had been what he was about to say. The late hour had loosened his tongue and he had almost ruined everything. He stopped, changed course, started again.

“He knows how I get nervous about this kind of thing. If I’d been sharing a room with him and Reg like normal then there wouldn’t have been this whole problem.”

“Why is sharing with me a problem?” Willie asked, brow furrowed in confusion. “Would you have been like this if we were just sharing a room, not a bed?”

Alex opened his mouth but couldn’t think of anything to reply with that wouldn’t prompt further questions. He couldn’t see this night ending well for him at all. It was barely midnight and already he had offended Willie by saying the wrong thing. How was he meant to carry on from this?

“I wouldn’t have been so worried if there were two beds,” he admitted slowly. Willie deflated, nodded, curled into himself slightly. It broke Alex’s heart. “But it’s not because I don’t want to share a bed with you.”

“Then what is it?” Willie asked pleadingly. “Just tell me, Alex – whatever the reason is, it won’t change anything between us. I won’t hate you or anything like that. Just tell me what’s on your mind.”

Alex couldn’t help wondering from that if Willie had already guessed. And if he had then there was no point in pretending anymore. Perhaps he wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t been so tired, his brain working so slowly, but he made his decision then and didn’t back down.

Willie’s hand had come out from beneath the covers and was now resting in the space between them on the mattress. Alex placed his hand over it and linked their fingers. He heard Willie gasp quietly and didn’t stop to think whether that was a good or bad sign.

“Luke knows how I feel about you,” Alex said. His voice wavered nervously and he couldn’t look Willie in the eye, but he still felt a thrill knowing that he was finally saying this, taking an enormous weight off his shoulders. “He knows that I’ve liked you for as long as I’ve known you. He knows how much this could mean to me, but also how nervous I’d be. I don’t know if you feel the same way, Willie. If this is weird or I’m out of order or anything like that then you can tell me to stop talking. I was just nervous because Luke did this, got me this close, without telling me about it and it threw me off. You threw me off. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you or made you uncomfortable. But that’s what’s on my mind.”

Alex finally took his eyes of his and Willie’s interlinked fingers to look Willie in the eye. Willie’s eyes were sparkling, an incredulous half-smile on his face. Alex took that as a good sign.

“Really?” Willie asked.

Alex swallowed heavily and nodded once. “Really.”

Willie said nothing. He just used their intertwined hands to pull himself closer to Alex and rest his head on his chest. Alex was glad his heart was on the other side of his chest, otherwise Willie would have been able to hear how fast it was beating. Willie had thrown an arm over Alex’s waist, holding him close, so Alex’s wrapped his around Willie’s back. He felt Willie sigh contentedly, and on a burst of confidence he pressed the lightest kiss possible to the top of Willie’s head.

“Does this mean you like me too?” Alex asked. He was fairly certain, but it was always good to double check.

Willie chuckled and Alex felt his heart swell with love. “Yeah. I like you too, hotdog.”

“So the couples room worked out after all, I guess,” he joked.

Willie tilted his head to look up at Alex, looking for all the world like an angel on Earth.

“Definitely,” he agreed. “But I think we finally use this bed for its real purpose and get some sleep.”

“Goodnight, Willie.” Alex reached over and flicked off the little bedside lamp, plunging them into total darkness.

“Goodnight, Alex.”

Taglist (if you want to be added or removed just let me know): @ace-bookworm @williexmercer @willex-owns-my-heart @itstiger720 @the-reckless-and-the-brave @that-one-newsie @bluedarkness @lookingthroughmirrors @tmp-jatp @salty-star @julieandthequeers @lmaohuh @sunnysbright @sylphrenas

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shirtlesssammy · 3 years

Text

5x21: Two Minutes to Midnight

Then:

The End is Nigh

Now:

Davenport, Iowa

We begin this episode with Pestilence paying an ailing woman a visit. He’s riddled her with more diseases than she can handle. What an experiment!

One Day Earlier

At Bobby’s, Sam’s getting an earful from Dean about his plan to say yes to Lucifer. Dean gets a call from Cas. Dean wants to know where he is --they all thought he was dead. He’s in a hospital. He’s not one for conversation at the moment, but does tell Dean that he just woke up in the hospital. Dean tells him their next step: get Pestilence.

For Hospital Bed Science:

Cas groans in pain and tells Dean he can’t fly anywhere. He’s thirsty, and his head aches, and he has a bug bite, and he’s all so very... Dean finishes his thought with, “human”. Cas needs money for pain meds and travel expenses.

Also, he stops Dean from hanging up and says that he owes him an apology. “You are not the burnt and broken shell of a man that I believed you to be,” he confesses. Dean’s awkward about such a solemn apology. I’m soft about how soft this moment is.

The brothers head out to scope out the convalescent home where Pestilence chills. They knock out the security guard to watch video footage of the place.

Eventually Sam notices the camera flickering with one person. They head out to find him.

As Pestilence is taking care of Cold Open Celeste, a demon comes in to warn him about the Winchesters. He’s upset over what they did to his brothers, and wants revenge. The demon reminds him he’s not supposed to hurt “the vessels”. He doesn’t care and starts hurting everyone in the building.

Sam and Dean start coughing, and struggle to keep walking. They both collapse outside Pestilence’s door. They’re now riddled with disease, just like Celeste. While the boys struggle on the ground, Pestilence gets to monologue a bit about the frailty of humans.

Enter one VERY human-like angel. Yeah, poor Cas is just as affected as the Winchesters. Pestilence laughs, “There's not a speck of angel in you, is there?” Cas then lunges at him, and cuts his ring finger right off. “Maybe just a speck.” Oh Cas, you badass. Never change.

The demon attacks, and he knifes her. Pestilence disappears, but not before ominously stating, “It’s too late.”

And now they have three rings.

At Bobby’s, Dean asks for some good news. Bobby tells them that Chicago is about to get hit with the storm of the millennium. Three million people are going to die.

GOOD NEWS, Bobby! Or as Cas deadpans, “I don’t understand your definition of ‘good news’.”

Bobby points out that Death will be there. They still need his ring.

Sam wonders how Bobby knows all this. Enter Crowley.

Bobby admits to selling his soul to Crowley. Dean demands that Crowley give it back. Sam wonders if Bobby had to kiss him. Bobby denies it --but Crowley’s got proof. Of course.

Crowley won’t give back Bobby’s soul as insurance that the Winchesters won’t kill him. I mean, I kind of have to side with Crowley here. He’s being REALLY generous even considering giving back Bobby’s soul. Bobby sold it fair and square. He’s getting information from Crowley in return.

Later, by the Impala, Dean and Sam talk. Sam admits that he has his doubts about his plan as much as the rest of them. “You, Bobby, Cas...I'm the least of any of you.” Like, OUCH, Samuel. We deep dive into Dean’s self-worth issues on the regular, but let’s just pause and reflect on the younger sibling right now.

Sam’s all they got though, so they have to try.

Crowley interrupts the broment with news about the world. It seems that Pestilence was spreading Swine Flu, and Sam’s old buddy Brady’s company was cranking out the vaccine --only it was full of Croatoan virus not a cure. If this vaccine is distributed nationwide, it’ll all be over.

Cas and Bobby pack up the van. Cas is...moody. He mourns the loss of his angelic might. The only thing he has available to him now...is a shotgun. (Starts humming) Bobby tells him to quit whining and load the truck.

The teams finish packing for their respective hunts. Sam waxes nostalgically about the simpler days of hunting monsters. Dean doesn’t think it was ever simple. Crowley interrupts and presents Dean with Death’s own scythe (in travel-sized form).

Crowley urges Bobby to stand up and get ready to fight. He reveals that he inserted a little healing clause into Bobby’s soul deal that healed Bobby’s paralysis. Bobby stands up triumphantly.

Later, Sam, Bobby, and Cas drive towards the Croatoan virus operation. Cas reflects on Sam’s idea to toss himself into the pit along with Lucifer. He thinks it’s a solid plan.

Cas passes along some new intel about the archangel prize fight: Michael has taken Adam as a vessel. He warns Sam that failing to control Lucifer means that the apocalypse will happen, do not pass Go, do not collect $200. Oh, and “there’s also the demon blood…” Sam will have to drink gallons of blood in order to be strong enough to contain Lucifer. BLEGH.

The next morning, they lurk at the distribution facility. A truck tries to leave and Cas takes out the driver and jams the gate controls. Sam and Bobby head into the warehouse, only to find that the demons have already infected some of the workers with Croatoan. Sam races off into the warehouse to save (uninfected) civilians.

Dean and Crowley enjoy their first date, tracking Death to a little warehouse.

There’s a lovely clip where Crowley mentions that the area is swarming with reapers, and we get a reveal…

Crowley zaps into the warehouse, discovers that Death isn’t there, then meets Dean outside again. He suggests hightailing it out of Chicago and waiting for the next doomed city in order to find Death. That’s not good enough, though. Dean wants to find a way to save people, even if they can’t track down the Horseman. While Dean despairs, Crowley peers into a little pizza place and then heads back to Dean. He found Death! With his work done and not even a high five to show for it, Crowley zaps out of there.

Back at the warehouse, Sam’s finishes evacuating the uninfected civilians. Just as they think they’re home free, Sam gets attacked and Bobby’s gun jams. Enter Castiel, who shoots Sam’s attacker and says, “Actually these things can be useful.”

For Angel with a Shotgun Science:

Dean creeps through the pizza parlor, which is full of dead patrons and waitstaff. Death’s scythe heats up in his hand and, agonized by the red hot handle, Dean drops it. The next thing he knows, his Death super-weapon is safely by Death’s side.

Death sits at a table savoring a piece of pizza, and invites Dean to join him.

Dean wants to know if he’s about to die, but Death informs him that he has other plans for him. Death quietly reminds Dean that he’s as old and vast as the universe. No biggie though. Dean’s a bacterium, practically, but it’s fine. Death serves Dean a slice of pizza and I desperately long for some good Chicago deep dish.

Death says that he’s as old as God, and maybe older. “At the end, I’ll reap him too.” (And while I appreciate that they didn’t kill Chuck in the traditional stabby manner, I’ll always mourn that we didn’t get to see this line fulfilled in one of the finale’s endless montage sequences, and that Billie didn’t survive to do the job.) (Boris, huddled in the corner: Death didn’t reap Chuck because he won, and the story isn’t over yet...)

Anyway, Dean’s appropriately awed by Death’s power. “This is way above my pay grade,” Dean mutters. Death reveals that he’s been waiting for Dean to catch up to him - Lucifer’s spell has prevented him from directly seeking out the Winchesters. “I’m more powerful than you can process, and I’m enslaved to a bratty child having a tantrum,” Death spits. Preach! Death proposes depowering Lucifer’s Death weapon. He’ll hand Dean his ring willingly.

“What about Chicago?” Dean asks, ever the hunter.

Oh, Chicago can survive. Death likes the pizza. He hands Dean his ring and tells him that he has to do whatever it takes to trap Lucifer. “You’re going to let your brother jump right into that fiery pit. Now, do I have your word?” Dean takes the ring as Death issues one final warning. “You know you can’t cheat Death.”

Back at Bobby’s, Dean looks at the rings. They’ve got all four of them and together, they form into a magic little bundle of rings. Bobby finds Dean for a little heart to heart.

Dean reveals that he lied to Death - he’s not okay with Sam tossing himself into the pit. However, Bobby thinks that Death may be right about Sam’s plan being their best option. Bobby watched Sam save all the civilians in the factory before they blew it up, and he thinks that Sam can handle it. “Sam will beat the Devil, or die trying. That’s the best we could ask for. What exactly are you afraid of? Losing? Or losing your brother?”

O, Quotes:

I don't understand your definition of good news

We'll catch Death in the next doomed city

Think how you'd feel if a bacterium sat at your table and started to get snarky. This is one little planet in one tiny solar system in a galaxy that's barely out of its diapers. I'm old, Dean. Very old. So I invite you to contemplate how insignificant I find you

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #cas #bobby singer #death #crowley #spn 5x21 #Two Minutes To Midnight #supernatural season 5 #and that's it for season 5

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flightfoot · 4 years

Note

I'm not someone who watches Miraculous Ladybug but why are there so many Marinette/Damian fics? I keep seeing them when I scroll through Timsteph fics.

OH HELL. You know, I’ve been wondering what Batman-only fans must think of the flood of Marinette/Damian. It’s uh. Yeah it doesn’t make a ton of sense.

See, here’s the thing; there’s a LARGE section of the ML fandom devoted to salt, specifically salt towards one particular episode; Chameleon, where Marinette - the main character - has her seat reassigned during class so she has to sit at the back away from all her friends in order to make way for a returning student who *claims* she has a hearing disability so she can sit in the front row. However, said character, Lila, is a notorious liar, as Marinette, Adrien (the deuteragonist and Marinette’s main Love Interest), and the audience know. Adrien actually offers to go sit in the back instead, but Marinette and Lila both shut down that idea and Marinette stews in the back of the classroom for awhile.

Then at lunch, Lila tells more stories of her fabulous life and gets people to bring a tray of food for her since she claims she hurt her wrist. Marinette tries to tell two of her other friends that Lila’s a liar and a fake, but can’t actually produce any evidence to prove it, so she throws a napkin at Lila to try to prove she’s faking her injury... which Lila then catches, but pretends to have hurt her arm. Her other classmates scold her for throwing a napkin at Lila and causing her to hurt herself, Marinette storms off, and Lila corners her in the bathroom and threatens to turn all her friends against her and stop her from ever getting close to Adrien unless she sides with her.

Adrien actually catches up with Lila soon after that and asks her to please stop lying, that she doesn’t need to do that and she’ll only turn their classmates against her, and offers to help listen if something’s bothering her. He doesn’t realize that Lila’s targeting Marinette, or that she’s actively malicious in general, just thinking that she’s lonely and is lying to try and make friends.

Lila brushes him off and purposely seeks out an akuma to get herself akumatized, turns into a villain, tries to defeat Ladybug and Chat Noir, the usual jazz.

Anyway, at the end after defeating her, when Marinette’s about to try to publicly call Lila out for switching up which ear Lila has Tinnitus in, Adrien asks her whether she thinks exposing her will actually help anything, and that humiliating her will make her hurt more, and making a bad guy suffer has never turned them into a good guy.

So Marinette decides not to do that, and when they go back to the classroom, Adrien goes to the back and sits next to Marinette of his own accord. Then the whole class decides that they liked the old seating arrangement better, and everyone goes back to their old seats and Lila’s left sitting by herself in the back (she’d claimed her tinnitus magically got better, so she didn’t need to sit in the front anymore.)

Salters took that episode and RAN with it, writing fic after fic of epic revenge fantasies that WAY ramped up how bad any of the characters could POSSIBLY be, making the class force her to do commission after commission for them for free, never showing her proper appreciation for all she does for them, and when Lila shows up and starts manipulating people, have the class scorn and shun Marinette for being an awful person, rip up her stuff, and beat her up, often with her (former) best friend Alya leading the charge, and Adrien just standing and the background telling her to take it.

A lot of people writing these hate Adrien’s guts, having decided that he’s a sexual harasser/assaulter/potential rapist, and wanted to ship her with other people - her second canon Love Interest, Luka, and the scrapped first draft for her partner from the original concept for ML, Felix, at the top of the list.

Felix, notably, was generally perceived as being cold, aloof, and no-nonsense, but with a heart of gold. So he was sometimes used to inflict punishment on everyone the salters hated, plus Marinette could be one of the few people to slip past his cold exterior and become someone he cared for.

Then Felix was gonna be made canon. And someone new was needed to fill that role.

One tumblr user wrote a story where the polite, yet aloof, young man Damien hears a girl screaming in trouble, sees Marinette in Gotham, and instantly falls in love with his Angel, and she ends up staying in Gotham instead of with all the horrible, horrible Everyone Else In Her Life.

Yeah, Damian wasn’t remotely in-character in those early fics at least. His name was often misspelled with an “e”, actually.

But anyway. A few advantages to this; Damian can be made to be super sweet and a perfect gentleman around Marinette, who can instantly see all the worth that everyone else in her life threw away, and as a bonus, can reap revenge on her classmates who tried to beat her up/destroy her notebook/poison her/whatever the fic writer came up with, since Damian might feasibly be willing to inflict cruel punishment on them (not that being in-character has ever been valued much in these fics), plus Marinette gets the entire Batfamily to dote on her and be her new family and be totally removed from everyone the author doesn’t like, which tends to be most of the ML cast. Except for her canonical bully who made her life miserable both before and during the actual series, Chloe; she’ll often become Marinette’s new best friend. Though I don’t think that’s as common with the crossover.

It mixed up the Chameleon salt formula, which I think even the salters had gotten a little tired of (though it’s still going strong), and gave possibilities for a lot more different character interactions, and just generally breathed new life into it.

At this point it’s kinda become its own thing, and some people are actually stepping away form the salt and bashing that birthed the pairing and just shoving her in with the Batfamily generally, because... honestly I suspect there’s some wish fulfillment going on there. And people seem to have a slightly better idea of how the Batfamily works now? Maybe? From what I’ve seen, I think people may have at least STARTED doing some research.

Anyway, yeah. They’re basically a separate fandom at this point, pretty much just devoted to like. That one episode of ML, the first episode of season 3, that released over a year and a half ago.

But uh. Yeaaaah, don’t judge ML by what you see in those crossover fics. Their relation with canon, especially canon characterization, is tenuous at best.

As you might be able to tell, I don’t ship it. I also hate the OOCness, but actually like the potential for the crossover, and wrote my own ML X Batman crossover fic, “We’re The Same”, that was sticking with the canon ships, characterization, and overall just dropping the two franchises into each other in a more canon compliant way to see what would shake out. Especially since dammit, ADRIEN AND DAMIAN WOULD BE FRIENDS.

#antimaribat #ask #So that turned into a rant

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chipper9906 · 3 years

Text

Bound To You

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 15

NOTE: Pairings and Ratings will change as the story is updated

Pairings: Castiel/ Dean Winchester

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 4,180

Overall Word Count: 4,180

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In progress (1/?)

Summary/Preview:

Dean should be scared. The being in front of him was terrifying by all means and yet for some reason, as he stared into the creature’s eyes, Dean felt a warm sense of comfort wash over him. Because those dazzling, glowing blue eyes were so familiar, the pain in its eyes mirrored with Dean’s. Which is why, when it reached out one long, dripping black hand out to him, Dean reached out, too.

Dean didn’t know if it could talk. It didn’t need to, anyway. Dean knew what it was asking, and he answered the silent request without a second thought.

“Yes.”

* * *

Faced with death, Dean makes one last ditch effort; praying to an Angel he knows wont hear him. Deans prayers are answered when a vessel-less Castiel forces himself out from the Empty, taking possession of Dean's body in order to heal him. Castiel's grace is running finite however, charged down after saving Dean's life. Now Castiel resides within Dean's mind, too weak to survive a transfer to another vessel, leading them to a desperate search for a way to rebuild his body. Time is of the essence, with Castiel's grace burning out with every passing day...

Link To Fic

Click Below To Keep Reading

Character Key For Telepathic Conversations

'Italic Text' - Castiel

'Bold Text' - Dean

* * *

It was in his heart.

Dean knew it the second that dumbass mime looking Vamp shoved him into the post. That awful sharp, burning, pinching sensation of something sliding into his flesh. If the Vamp didn’t finish him off there and then, he’d be gone not long after anyway. There was no way to patch this up. No way to keep him alive until the paramedics arrived - even in the off-chance Sammy got any signal out here in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere and called an ambulance.

He was going to die.

Fuck. He was going to die.

And that scared him.

There’s a flash of silver in front of him, Sam’s machete sliding effortlessly through the Vamp’s neck in one clean cut. Dean flinches instinctively away from the spray of blood, the last few spurts of blood gushing from its neck, the last of the creature’s heartbeats as the signals are cut. Its head slides off, seconds before the lifeless body collapses to the ground in a heap.

Sam’s talking to him. Going through the next steps of action to get the civvies out of here. ‘He doesn’t realize’, Dean thinks to himself. He didn’t see it, did he? Sam thinks he’s standing by this post of his own volition.

God, how he wished that was the case.

“There’s…. there’s something… in my back.”

His arms feel impossibly heavy as he lifts them, gesturing with his thumb to his back. Sam still looked confused – not that he could blame him. Dean could already tell that rebar was so far in his back that none of it was visible.

Sam shuffled towards him almost cautiously, shooting Dean a look close to denial as he placed his hand on Dean’s back. Dean inhaled shakily as the pain blossomed from the contact, barely resisting the urge to shove his little brother’s hand away. If he had the strength left to do that, that is…

Dean could see the moment it all sunk in on Sam’s face. As he pulled his hand away from Dean, confirming that the all too familiar warm, thick wetness he felt coating Dean’s back was what he knew it to be. The crimson redness of it glared back at him, his brother's blood spread across his hand and spilling from Dean’s body with every passing second.

“Wait here,” Sam instructed him, his voice already beginning to shake. Dean would have laughed if the pain wasn’t so horrific. It wasn’t like he could go anywhere. “I’m… I’m gonna go get the medkit-,”

“Sam-,” The raw panic in his big brother’s voice brought Sam to a grinding halt. His big brother, the man who’s stood by his side ready to take on anything that was thrown at them… sounded scared.

And that scared him more than anything else.

“Sam, I don’t – I don’t wanna be alone. Please, just… please stay.”

Sam didn’t think of the damage it must have inflicted on him. Didn’t think of where the rebar was, of what vital organs it had surely ripped apart. He just… he needed to stop the bleeding. He needed the first aid kid, he needed to call an ambulance, get his brother to the hospital, let the Doctors save his life. He needed… he needed to do something.

“I’ll be right back,” Sam assured him, a bit more confident this time. “I promise, Dean. You’re gonna be fine, I won’t… I won’t let you die. Not like this.”

“Sammy-,” Dean tried calling out for him, but Sam was already halfway out the barn doors, flinging them open so harshly that they clattered together when they swung back. Dean dropped his head back into the post with a harsh ‘thud’. He knew by the sound that the contact should have made his head hurt, but there’s nothing. All he can focus on is the feel of the nail sat snugly in his chest. Feel his heart struggle as it tries to beat around the piece of metal pierced through its chambers, feel the beginning of a wheeze as blood begins to pool in his lungs.

He didn’t have long.

In the back of his mind, he realizes he can’t feel his legs.

“Sammy?” Dean tries desperately to call out again. His voice is weak and harsh, much too quiet to be heard past those heavy barn doors. The attempt sends him into a fit of wheezes and coughs, and he feels a thick layer of blood sneak up his windpipe and into his mouth, spitting it out into the ground with a pained grimace.

He didn’t wanna die alone. He’s died many times before, countless times if you counted all the ‘experiments’ with Gabriel… but in all of them, he was never alone. Sammy was always there, his last source of comfort as the last of his life ebbed away. A familiar, comforting face. His little brother, whilst understandably distressed, alive. Sammy was still alive - in every time he’s died - and that helped him to go peacefully. To know he had at least died doing his job right; Keeping Sammy safe.

Now there was no one. He was fading away now, the blackness starting to creep into the corner of his vision, slowly creeping in with every passing second, with every fading heartbeat. He didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to be alone.

“Cas?” The name slips from his tongue without his permission. Dean grimaces again with the effort, placing a hand over his chest where he knows the rebar sits just beneath the skin, through the cracked ribs underneath. “I know… I know you’re gone… I know where you were taken, but… I’m gonna pretend you can hear me, okay? I hope you can hear me…”

The following set of coughs set his lungs ablaze. More blood pushes its way up his throat, gritted teeth stained with red. “I’m sorry, Cas. I’m so fucking sorry. You gave yourself up for me, let yourself be taken just so I could have a chance and… I messed it up. I said we were gonna make your sacrifice mean something, and now… I’m… I’m dying, Cas.”

It was getting harder to talk now. His mind felt fuzzy and his body felt heavy. He wanted to sink into that darkness, let himself be taken by the tidal wave of drowsiness washing over him, and just… rest. He didn’t do that, though. Instead, he fought.

“I wish you were here,” Dean admitted to the empty barn. “Maybe that’s cruel of me to say; To want you here, just so you can watch me die. It’s… I wish I could’a said goodbye to you right, Cas. To tell you… tell you all the things you deserved to hear, just like you did for me… But you’re gone and now… now Sammy’s gone and I… I don’t wanna die alone, Cas. I don’t wanna die alone. I… I don’t wanna die.”

Saying it out loud seemed to make it sink in even harder. A tear from his blurred vision spills over, slipping down his face and dropping to the ground where it mixed with the pool of blood that had formed on the ground, the flow from his back growing steadily slower.

“Cas… I don’t wanna die… Please, Cas… I… I don’t… I don’t want to die…”

Something was shifting out of the corner of his eye. The blackness of his vision had changed, taking shape; a writhing, inky, gooey sludge that was steadily growing. Except… except that wasn’t his vision…

It seemed to have formed in mid-air, no more than five feet in front of him. He had only seen it once, and it had been from one of the worst memories of his life. He was already scared of dying before, but the sight in front of him gripped his dying heart in a vice-like grip of dread. He hadn’t thought about what would happen to him after. If he’d somehow gained enough good karma to secure a place in Heaven, or if he were heading back down to Hell…

That’s when Billie’s words came back to him.

‘Come along now, Dean. It’s time. The Empty… It’s waiting.’

He knew Billie was dead. Cas made sure of it, his last act on this Earth. Yet, the proof was in front of him. He wasn’t going to Heaven or Hell. Whatever Reaper that came to reap him was going to toss him into the Empty, just as Billie promised she would. The Empty. That place of nothingness.

“No…”

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. After everything… this is what he gets? Eternity in nothingness? At least even in Hell, he knew what was waiting for him down there - even if he’s lucky and Rowena decides to take pity on him… But the Empty? That was unknown territory. Cas didn’t talk much about his time there - and for good reason. It sounded… awful.

He supposed the only saving grace was that maybe, just maybe, he’d get to see Cas again.

Dean was barely able to hold his head up now, feeling his consciousness slipping away. Something deep inside the darkness shifts and, to Dean’s horror, steps out from the portal. No doubt about it, it was a leg. This tall, menacing form was pulling itself out from the blackness behind it, looking almost pained, struggling to free itself from whatever material the Empty was made of. Whatever was trying to get out - The Empty wasn’t happy about it escaping.

If his heart wasn’t already about to give out, it probably would have anyway at the sight of the creature once it had finally pulled itself free. It must have been eight feet tall, maybe nine. The dark slime-like substance of the Empty was oozing off the form – or was it made of the slime? Two massive appendages began to sprout from the beings back, unfurling agonizing slowly. They were… they were wings. Dean could just about make out the tattered feathers, sparse and few in between and absolutely coated in the tar-like substance. It… it kind of reminded Dean of that nature documentary Cas made them sit down and watch, the one with the impacts of oil spills on nature. Those seagulls covered in oil, their wings… broken and ruined.

Dean didn’t know if it could talk. It didn’t need to, anyway. Dean knew what it was asking, and he answered the silent request without a second thought.

“Yes.”

The world around him flares white. Dean closes his eyes reflexively against the blinding light and then…

There’s nothing.

Nothing but a soothing, deep voice that Dean never thought he’d get the privilege to hear again.

‘Rest, Dean… I have you.’

Dean listens.

Finally… he rests.

* * *

Castiel awakens, seeing the world through a pair of forest green eyes. They blink wearily, glancing around his new surroundings. Bodies laid at his feet, all with their heads sliced clean off and resting close by their respective corpse, lying in pools of their own blood. Odd, colorful masks were haphazardly places across their faces, no doubt having shifted during their owner’s decapitation. The wooden panels of the barn that surrounded him were creaking in the evening's chill, groaning low as its foundations are tested. A nest, it would seem. Another hunt, perhaps? Though, one that had clearly gone wrong.

That’s when the pain of the rebar through his Dean’s chest hits him.

He shouldn’t even be able to feel it, yet he does. It’s enough for him to gasp out at the sensation in a ragged voice that’s not his, yet not quite Dean’s either. It’s deep and rough, but not as grating as his own voice. It does more damage than good, and he begins hacking up a mouthful of Dean’s blood, something he knows full well he can’t be wasting.

His grace was twisting painfully inside him, a flickering, pulsating wisp of energy that was already desperately reaching out to the damage it sensed within Dean. Cas holds his grace back, knowing it would be pointless to heal Dean whilst a piece of metal was still skewered through him. With an exhausted grunt, Castiel reaches out to the pole behind him, placing his palms down on the support beam he was leant against. His teeth are gritted, grinding harshly together as he prepares himself for the agonizing pain this next move would make. Castiel lets Dean’s eyes flutter shut, sucking in a deep breath of air that makes his functioning lung rattle and his deflating lung collapse even further.

The scream that rips through him as he pulls himself off that rebar almost doesn’t sound human. How Dean had coped with this pain, he has no clue. There’s no relief as the last of the metal exits Dean’s body, only a disgusting squelch of muscle and flesh. To Cas’s surprise, Dean’s legs do not hold him when he stands. He crumples to the floor in a heap, knocking the wind out of him completely. It seemed the rebar itself was the only thing keeping Dean upright…

Castiel didn’t have time to focus on that now. Dean was just about on the edge of life and death, holding on for longer than most would. If he didn’t hurry, there would be a reaper standing by his side in just a few seconds.

Castiel gathered up as much of his grace as he could, pulling it all together. It eagerly followed his command, desperate to heal the broken man that had provided them with shelter. Even now, holding all of his grace within himself, he knew…

It wouldn’t be enough to heal him completely. But maybe, just maybe… it would buy him time. It would keep Dean alive.

And that’s all that mattered.

* * *

Sam practically ended up skidding into the Impala as he brought himself to a stop, chest heaving with the exertion of sprinting to the car as fast as his legs would carry him. His hands shake uncontrollably as he shoves the keys into her trunk lock, the warm wetness of Dean’s blood coating his hand glinting at him in the moonlight.

The medkit was sat neatly where it always is, placed for easy access in emergencies like these. Injuries were often in their line of work, after all. He snatches the green box hurriedly from within the clutter in Baby’s trunk, slamming it closed so hard he can already hear Dean bitching at him from here.

He freezes at the sight of Dean’s blood smeared across the surface of the medkit, standing out against the unnaturally green plastic, staining the white cross atop its lid a startlingly bright red.

What was he even planning to do? He could handle a gunshot, a knife wound… but… how could he fix this?

He needed more than to just ��do something’. He needed…

He needed a miracle.

“Jack? Jack, I… I know you said you weren’t going to be hands-on. I get that, but… It’s Dean. He’s hurt, he’s…” Sam’s voice gives out, thick with tears that were threatening to spill over. “He’s dying, Jack, and I don’t know what to do… Please, if you can hear me, I need your help. Please.”

The howling wind of the night is all that responds to his prayer. Sam searches around in the darkness, hoping to see Jack’s smiling figure appear somewhere nearby with a wave of his hand.

There’s nothing.

He wants to get angry. He wants to punch and kick at something, scream up to the sky about how unfair this all was. He doesn’t do any of those things, though. The fear had him in a hold too tight to do much else than shake and silently weep at the thought he was going to be alone. In the span of two weeks, his entire family was gone; A boy who was practically one of his kids, his best friend, the one person he thought he’d finally get to settle down with, and now… the universe had to take his brother away, too?

His grip on the medkit is so strong that his knuckles had turned a milky white with the force. Sam stares down blankly at his own hands as he shuffles back through the barn doors, already thinking about how he’s going to have to find a way to get the civvies out of here and come back to… to bring Dean’s body home.

When he tears his gaze away from the supplies in his hands, he can only stare in utter confusion at the empty space where his brother used to be, the rebar that had gone through his back still dripping with Dean’s blood. Sam’s eyes drop down, landing on the sight of his brother's crumpled form on the floor.

“Dean!” Sam exclaims, rushing to Dean’s side and dropping down hard on his knees next to him. The medkit is discarded to the side as he quickly shoves his fingers down Dean’s collar, pressing them into his throat.

Somehow, he feels a pulse flutter against his fingertips. It was weak, so soft he could almost have imagined it, but it was there. Dean was still alive.

“Oh my God…” Sam mutters in disbelief, feeling a spike of adrenaline go through his body at the realization. He quickly grabs hold of his brother's shoulders, gently turning him over onto his front to get a look at the damage to his back.

There was… there was light.

He could see it flaring deep inside the hole running through Dean’s back. The light was flickering and fading, a strange mixture of blue and white that Sam knows he’s seen before. Right before his eyes, Sam could see Dean’s body knitting itself back together. It was painfully slow, and the glowing light inside Dean was flickering and fading the more Dean’s back was being stitched together. Dean was… he was healing.

The light gave one last pathetic flicker before going still, fading away into nothingness with a few blinks. To Sam’s horror, the hole in his brother's back still remained. No longer as deep as it once was, but with a slow stream of blood still oozing out. Sam let the medical side of his mind take over, pulling the medkit open and yanking out the gauze still in its plastic wrapping. He ripped the plastic off, pulling open the lid of the disinfectant with his teeth before soaking the gauze in it and pressing it over the wound.

His fingers fumbled around for the pack of suture needles and the roll of surgical thread, trembling hands struggling to push the thread through the infuriatingly small hole of the needle. He peels the gauze away from Dean’s back, wincing at the suction of the blood keeping it stuck to his skin.

Sam makes quick work of the stitches, pulling the wound tight as close as he can and snipping away the ends of the thread with the kit's small pair of scissors.

“Okay…” He mumbles down to his brother's unconscious form, sliding his arms underneath his body and pulling him into his chest. “Okay, Dean… I’m gonna get you out of here…”

Sam grunts with the effort of placing his brother into a fireman’s hold, the extra weight making him stumble around as he gets to his feet, the adrenaline pumping through his body likely the only reason he’s still going.

“Okay… Okay, okay… Can’t call an ambulance… Too many bodies, no reception on my cell…” Sam looks wildly around at the chaos they had left behind. “Okay… just… just going to have to get you in the car… get you to a hospital… come back for the others once you’re safe…”

Sam’s feet are already dragging him towards the Impala before he has time to finish his thoughts. He pulls her keys out from his pocket with his free hand, the other resting securely across Dean’s back to keep him in place, careful not to touch the entrance to the wound. He unlocks her doors, swinging open the back door and meticulously placing Dean down across the back seats, making sure he’s resting on his front to avoid any further damage to his injury. And, with some luck, gravity will help to slow down the bleeding…

“You’re gonna be okay,” Sam promised him, even though Dean couldn’t hear his words. They were more for him, really.

He swung the door closed, racing around to the front of the Impala and throwing himself into the driving seat. The keys were shoved into the ignition, twisting them harshly until the Impala’s engine roared to life. Sam quickly threw the gear into drive, releasing the handbrake and slamming his foot down on the gas pedal. The Impalas wheels screeched against the dirt, throwing up rocks and other debris behind them as she lurched forward.

The dirt quickly shifted to tarmac, the sickly yellow glow of the highway lights passing by in a blur. Sam found his gaze frequently lifting to the rear-view mirror, looking for his brother. Making sure he could see his chest rising and falling with every ragged breath.

Looking for any sign it wasn’t too late.

“Just hang on a little more, Dean. Please, for me, just… hang on.”

* * *

The Impalas tires squealed against the tarmac as Sam stepped on the brakes, swinging her in front of the hospital's entrance. He was probably breaking a few driving laws parking here - and had likely broken a few more on the way over - but quite frankly, he couldn’t care less.

“Help me!” Sam yelled to the shocked looking hospital staff that were stood by the hospital’s entrance, a few with cigarettes hanging loosely from their agape mouths. Sam ducked back into the Impala without waiting for a response, already working on pulling his brother out.

Thankfully, when he turns around, it’s to see the medical staff rushing towards him with a gurney. They group around the Impala, squeezing through her doorframe as they gingerly pull Dean out from the backseats, placing him down on the gurney. They’re rushing towards the Emergency Department entrance before he can even blink, and Sam rushes over to match their pace, sprinting alongside his brother.

“What happened?” One of the staff asks him as they push through the doors. People scramble to get out of their way, a few extra members of staff rushing over to help.

“We were attacked-,” The excuse rolls easily off his tongue from years of experience. “-Bunch of guys in masks broke into our barn. My brother tried to fight them off, but they shoved him into one of the beams. It… there was a rebar sticking out and he landed on it. I… I think it went right through.”

The medics shared a look that Sam recognized immediately. It was a look that said, “this man shouldn’t be alive right now.” A look that said, “he shouldn’t be alive right now, but it won’t be long before that’s not the case anymore.”

It wasn’t too surprising to see the medical staff wheel Dean towards the surgery ward. It also shouldn’t have been a surprise that one of the medical staff pressing a hand against his chest, stopping him from following them into surgery. Yet, he still looked down at the greying, balding man like he was insane.

“We’re going to do all we can for you brother, Sir. I promise you we’ll do everything in our power to keep him alive. But I’m going to need to ask a few questions to get a better understanding of the situation, okay?”

“Yeah…” Sam answered numbly, looking right past the man and to where his brother was disappearing beyond two heavy, off-white doors. “I just… I think I need to sit down…”

The doctor – or was it a nurse? He wasn’t too sure - takes him by the arm, and Sam lets him lead him down the hallway to where the wall is lined with old rickety chairs adorned with faded cushions, sat upon by many stressed loved ones as they awaited their fate. Sam dropped down into one of the chairs, staring blankly at the cracked and peeling wall opposite. He’s vaguely aware of the man sitting in the chair next to him, clearing his throat to get Sam’s attention.

“So, Mr…?”

“Winchester,” Sam answers without really thinking.

“Winchester-,” The man continues, pulling out a small notepad and blue pen from within the pockets of his lab coat, clicking the top of the pen and placing it down on the notepad. “Start from the beginning.”

NEXT CHAPTER --->

#Destiel #destiel fanfiction #Destiel fanfic #destiel fic #Dean Winchester/Castiel #castiel/dean winchester #CasDean #fix it #fix it fic #supernatural spoilers #fluff #angst

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reflectionsofhekate · 3 years

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tarotscopes for the week 2/11

read for your sun, moon & rising placements.

general reading, so if it doesn’t apply, let it fly!

rt’s & likes highly appreciated!

deck used: angel’s tarot by radleigh valentine

overall message: six of fire

this week looks to be really promising in terms of public recognition and success with regard to one’s creative talents. last week, the overall message was the knight of fire. some of you worked with this energy and are reaping the rewards this week in the form of a minor victory. good news could be on the way regarding your passions or even about a promotion.

for some of you, people are seeing how well of you’re doing now and are trying to get close to you. be mindful of false compliments from people who want to tag along for the ride. it’s all about you. don't let anyone take it away from you. you've earned this.

― ♈︎: the high priestess

there is a need to go within this week and pay attention to your intuition. you have all the answers, so there's no need to make any rash decisions. learn from situations where you might have jumped the gun. observe things from the sidelines.

― ♉︎: king of water

you may find yourself stepping into a more compassionate and cultured space this week. when you become more receptive to others, naturally people warm to you and want to do right by you. you’re regarded as quite powerful this week, don’t forget to give back.

― ♊︎: queen of water

emotional intelligence is the name of the game this week. you know that emotions are trying to teach you something in life. give yourself some extra TLC this week so you can better tune into your intuition. lean subtle nuances guide you.

― ♋︎: awakening

this week may show you an area of life where you don’t have that much control as you thought as things come to a temporary standstill. use this time to look at the situation from a different perspective. are you missing something? you can bounce back from anything.

― ♌︎: the emperor

this is a sign to work on setting/maintaining your boundaries. only when you direct your time and effort wisely can you accomplish what you want in life. don't be afraid to take up space. you’re powerful, but you gotta believe it first.

― ♍︎: six of water

the past is on your mind this week. it could be in the form of a person, an emotionally soothing habit or just past memories. issues with children may be significant also. is the past something you’re releasing or holding on to?

― ♎︎: page of water

your emotional connections with others begin a new phase as for some, new romantic feelings start to stir up. for others this is the beginning of a new spiritually fulfilling venue. you may be feeling a little sensitive and that’s OK.

― ♏︎: seven of air

who’s up to no good this week? watch out for manipulation in conversations, either in someone else’s words or in your own. (my nose tickled when I wrote that so I feel like it is important to someone out there) there is a need to revise a situation as there is more than what meets the eye. read documents very carefully this week. try to hold off of important decisions.

― ♐︎: ace of earth

keep your eyes open as something is coming in that will adorn you with blessings on the material front. it could be a new business opportunity, a gift, or receiving money. things are looking promising. build a sturdy foundation.

― ♑︎: the star

big dreams require shoes that are willing to walk the distance. make long-term plans for the future and have fun while you’re doing it. you’re on the right path, and you can blend your desires for material and emotional stability. set an intention!

― ♒︎: ten of air

an ending is taking place. it could be on a mental level or a message delivered by someone else. for others, a situation that has caused you great worry and fret can no longer continue and you have to walk away. but here’s the silver lining: if you can get through this, you can get through anything.

― ♓︎: the empress and the chariot

I feel like you need to remind yourself you are that bitch. if you want it, go get it. nobody is stopping you but yourself. you may be receiving creative downloads this week about your life path. this is your reality. feminine energy is highlighted.

#tarotscopes #tarot #free tarot reading #collective reading #witchrblr #tarot community #spiritual gudiance #intuitive guidance #weekly readings

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heroofpenamstan · 4 years

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WIP DAY: #1 & #2

Thanks for tagging me, @shallow-gravy and @nightwingshero! x ( Also, this includes a sneak peak prototype of that hypothetical wedding gifset we mentioned, coming in at #1. 👀👀 )

Tagging: @ariestals, @jacobseeds-mainhoe, @hawkfurze, @shellibisshe, @mackie-hattwie, @f0xyboxes @whoever won’t get offended if I tag them and want to do it!

1. First frame of one of the many gifs I am hoping to finish ASAP. ( This is going to grey me, but Wren and John are a personal fav, and @nightwingshero is a talented champ who deserves it. It will look better in the end I p r o m i s e. )

2. she’s mine; she’s mine.—unedited (we die like men) snippet. ( Jacob and Jo (what a surprise); not worth publishing since it's quite generic—hunt the Dep kinda fic, but wanted to self-indulge the other day. Pardon my terrible writing, oof. )

[...]

Jacob's eyes rake through the assortment of photographs littering the wooden table, colors and shapes coiling the muted surface. He tries to tune out John's appraising coos and Faith's honey-laced compliments on a job well done, and Nancy's fucking beaming in the seat opposite of him.

As his eyes zero in on a snapshot laying closest to his scarred forearm, Jacob has to begrudgingly agree.

It took ten minutes to seize most of the Sheriff's department from the moment Joseph's wrists were clasped in steel, another twenty to pull the Marshall out from the river bank, ( barking, until he wasn't, ) and another forty for Deputy Nancy to arrive at the designated location, thick file in hand and her uniform gone and replaced.

His little brother had thrown the images and documents askew on the table and, the three Heralds, like some medieval warlords, had their pick of spoils of war. Their ‘sister’ already had her Faithful drag the unconscious Marshall down to the bliss-stocked pits of her bunker, as per Joseph's command.

John, having had enough embarrassing, dirty spats with Hudson in the past, some more public than others, had gleefully shoved her into one of his reaping trucks heading to the Valley.

And Jacob—

Jacob wonders how long the cocky little fucker will last with his Judges up North.

Calloused fingers come to pinch a photograph next to his arm, bringing it up to his face upon closer inspection.

( Ah, yes. They still have these two to worry about. )

The snapshot had captured a chaotic 4th of July barbecue party—a staff get-together, according to Nancy. At the epicenter of the aggressive display of American flags and mustard stains and pre-mature fireworks, is the elderly Sheriff Whitehorse, button-up shirt wet from the water gun clutched in Pratt’s hand. Underneath his bicep stands the only Deputy that has managed to escape their grasp, two hot dogs cradled in dainty hands.

His fingertip finds her face easily among the countless braids hanging around it, travels from her temple to trace at her defined jaw. He tilts his head ever so slightly to take in her furrowed brows and squinting, dark eyes.

This one was still a bit of a mystery to them all.

She was an outsider, just like them; a recruit from one state over, from what John managed to pry out during one of their brief encounters regarding one of their men carrying a blowtorch into a bar.

“That’s Jo,” Nancy chimes in, as if he asked for her fucking input. “Joanne Burton, the new probation officer from Idaho. She’s a good kid, but—” the older woman leans in, reminding Jacob of a caricature of a gossiping housewife leaning over a fence. "—A former junkie!”

Nancy throws her arms out, and Jacob finds Faith’s hands tangled in her dingy tresses ironic.

“Can’t trust 'em lot; it’s only at Earl’s benevolence that she got hired in the first place. Don’t suppose she’ll be climbin’ any ladders anytime soon.”

Faith’s fingers, carding through the older woman’s hair, had ceased since her jabs first came in, but her smile remained.

“Is that so?” Jacob can feel John’s grin from behind him as he plucks one of her photos from the pile. He has several of those clutched in a tattoo hand, ready to print them out on wanted flyers like it’s the Wild West, no doubt—Jacob’s seen him do it before. “We’ll give her to you then, dear sister. That way, the Deputy will be dealt with swiftly by your hand.”

His brother’s tone sounds dismissive and final, but Jacob has her file opened in front of him by now and—

His eyebrows shoot up.

A slight smile curves at his lip.

No wonder Whitehorse hired her, Jacob muses as his eyes flit through the various reports and praises and awards—she is good.

If it wasn’t for her history of drug abuse, Jacob was damn sure she wouldn’t be here slavering away at Hope County breaking up scuffles and swatting Oregano from young punks.

He turns his head back to the photograph resting in his lap in silent contemplation.

Jacob recalls that very same face scowling underneath the Montana summer sun, a palm cupped at her brow to steel and steady her glare—directed at him upon seeing him rough-handle some of his men when the cops were called up on the outskirts of his territory.

Just a bit of good ol’ hunting, Dep, he remembers saying to her, recalls seeing the tension in her shoulders that did not leave her form until she had cruised out of his hair.

( The Mountains go radio-silence, afterwards. The first, true sign of their family’s takeover, besides the spike of Bliss use in the Henbane and the Trojan Horse rolling in the form of John and his real estate packed with their strapped troops. )

“—I’ll arrange for my Angels to—”

“—It’s okay, Faith,” Jacob cuts in suddenly, and every eye turns to the eldest Seed in silent question. He doesn’t know what compels him to say it. Perhaps it’s the potential the girl carries, or her resolve and disdain he’d like nothing more but to crush. Maybe it’s his curiosity to see that remarkable face of hers contorting in sheer rage as she cuts through the competition, blood-spattered and blazing—

The reason doesn’t matter in the end, for Jacob has made his mind up already, and with a slight, sardonic smile, elaborates:

“I’ll take her.”

#wip day #tag meme #far cry 5 #my stuff #jacob seed x female deputy #jacob seed x joanne burton #deputy joanne burton #oc: get to know jo #otp: dark rabbit & red wolf

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lamortexiii · 3 years

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Cryptic Mystic: Karma, Keepers, or Something Else...

Karma, Keepers, or Something Else…: I am sure that you have heard the phrase “reap what you sow” at some point in your life, otherwise known as karma. Maybe you’ve experienced karma in your life. After all, we receive what we put out into the universe… or do we? Some believe there is a “keeper” or someone watching over us that protects us and provides us good or bad experiences based on how we interact with others (some may say “angels). If this is so, is this individual or universal? Maybe “keepers” are loved ones who have left their physical form, or maybe they are something that our human minds are currently incapable of understanding. For some this may even simply be a grandeur delusion brought on by narcissistic personality traits or possibly a mental disorder. A little unknown mixed in with a little psychology, served on a platter as per usual. Let’s dive right in to 2021 with this debatable topic, shall we?

I’ll start by informing you that karma actually possesses many meanings depending on what culture and country you are in. The most familiar American definition of karma - meaning that bad things happen to those who do bad things and good things happen to those who do good things - is but one definition of many. Now, this definition that we understand here in America is of course defined by what one perceives as good and bad - this can look different for many people. Having said this, there is no “one way” to believe in karma or to define what “good and bad” mean. For our purposes, I am going to define the terms karma, good, and bad in the most generalized sense that a majority of American society would view as the typical definition. Just know, this may or may not apply to your personal beliefs of what defines “good and bad” or your personal beliefs of what the definition of “karma” is. I completely agree that there are many viewpoints and perceptions and do not discount differences in opinions/beliefs by any means.

Karma originated from the Sanskrit term meaning “action, work, or deed.” It was a plain and simple definition, as if I were having a conversation with you and said, “The karma that he is completing on that house looks marvelous!” I realize how utterly ridiculous that sounds in today’s way of speaking - given the word was just used completely out of cultural context, but you get the point. The word “karma” at that time was just another word and carried little significance. That is, until 1000-700BCE when within the Vedic religion the definition of karma actually meant something that you likely would not guess. The definition took an abrupt and dramatic turn and was used to define not only the word “act,” but additionally it was defined as actions that took place regarding ritualistic and sacrificial occurrences.

Karma in itself has ancient roots in religion such as Hinduism, Buddhism, and Sikhism to name a few. Karma is seen as a sort of rebirth process in which the way that an individual is in the present day affects their future - all within the same life cycle. Within this realm, karma also affects one’s samsara, or quality of life. In Asia karma is portrayed through symbols such as the endless knot, which symbolizes the never ending process of cause and effect. In knowing this, you can see why karma closely relates to the philosophical theory of causality, defined as when one event contributes to another event where the cause is partly responsible for the effect, and the effect is partly dependent on the cause. The idea of karma in this sense is seen as a never ending cycle - one that highly influences the circle of life. This is what we know and recognize in modern American society, as well as in many other first-world countries/cultures.

In current society we then view karma as defining the relationship of cause and effect. Some view this as a very spiritual term, believing that there is a higher power who controls the occurrences of karma. Others simply use the term with reckless abandon - not actually understanding what it means, as society has culturally appropriated the term to fit the American narrative. Yet others (myself included) question the occurrence of karma and the several possibilities that may be at play here. Whether you believe karma occurs due to a higher power, some other religious aspect, sheer luck, extraterrestrials, a delusional belief, something else, or maybe you don’t believe in it at all - and that’s okay! Regardless of what you believe, we’re going to dive into some of those possibilities today. As I always say, once you have read this blog it is up to you to ultimately decide what you believe.

From a personal standpoint, I have been in many situations where either I don’t know how I survived, or at the bare minimum how I managed to come out of certain situations unscathed. I have been in several car accidents that were so much more than just fender benders - coming out of all of those without a single scratch. I have never caused an accident, however for whatever reason I seem to be a target for idiots who don’t know how to drive. I guess I just have that attraction factor. All jokes aside, I consider myself lucky to have not been injured in any of the accidents that I have been in. I have to wonder how this is possible, but then another person can be in ONE accident and it’s all over.

I will share a more intimate incident with you that is much darker than a happenstance car accident. When I was much younger I tried to take my own life. I didn’t want to be in this body on this planet any longer. I remember thinking to myself - there has to be something better than this. I swallowed a bunch of unknown pills doused with alcohol. I attempted this on two different occasions. Both times made me extremely ill. The first time I vomited and then felt very tired. The second time I fell to the floor and almost became unconscious. I was very dizzy and couldn’t stand/walk. I went to sleep for several hours with a low heart rate and shallow breathing. However, after both of these occurrences many years later, I realize that I was put here for a bigger purpose. I have many reasons I am here - sharing this blog with you being one of them. I wasn’t meant to leave my physical form here on Earth either one of those times. I like to think that something is protecting me, however I cannot say with certainty what that is or why exactly…

My biological mother was in a bad car accident when she fell asleep at the wheel. It threw her from the car and knocked off both of her sneakers. She woke up laying in the grass without shoes. She told me that she doesn’t remember much, but that she saw white hands on her shoulders and felt like whatever that was had pushed her through the accident. She came out without any serious injuries - only suffering minor bruising. It is important to note that she has had similar experiences as I have with feeling things and experiencing premonitions.

To touch on karma a bit from a personal experience, I have a short but interesting story to tell. Growing up I didn’t have many true friends and found myself surrounded by individuals who acted in a manner that I did not understand. There was a lot of negative energy on behalf of those around me; jealousy, lies, deceit, bad intentions, and misery. I wasn’t treated very well by my peers or in relationships. In fact, I was bullied, mentally abused, and physically abused by several people as I grew from a child to an adolescent. Interestingly enough, I found that those who did absolutely wrong to me that had the worst of intentions always had something bad happen to them. One person that comes to mind was blown up in an explosion overseas while serving in the military. Another person was in a bad car accident. From what I know currently, all of these people who were utterly nasty to me continue to lead miserable lives - because they are in fact miserable people. Whether this is just their nature or that they just didn’t have the strength and willpower to seek better things for themselves is debatable. Nonetheless, none of them as far as I know are happy in the present day and have likely never experienced true real happiness. As described before, some of these people have had very bad things happen to them. Is this karma or maybe a keeper’s doing? I have no idea, but it is something I have turned over in my mind for many years, and continue to ponder on from time to time.

One theory some hold is that angels are protecting people. This could turn into a really big conversation, so I will try my best to stay objective here and stick to the main topic of karma and keepers. I challenge the theory of angels for the following reasons: The Bible was written by several people with several different versions available, as have all books that we know today. Christianity in itself, as well as several other religions point to the sky (or heavens) as being the source of an almighty power. What if angels are actually extraterrestrials and those who have experienced said “angels” rationalize their experience by putting a name on the experience, therefore believing it was a religious experience rather than something that they didn’t understand - as a form of coping with the unknown. That is my personal theory in relation to “keepers” and the “karma” experienced therein as being related to any type of angelic form. This also covers how extraterrestrials could very well be the forces pulling the strings. As humans we base our logical thinking on what it is we know to be true - or what we have been taught is the truth, but how do we really know? The short answer is - we don’t. It is much easier to put a label on something to be able to process what that thing is than to be left to wonder and be afraid of what we do not know and understand. It is much easier to read what others have written and blindly accept it as being “the truth” or “the way” without seeking further proof. Just a few things to think about - and this goes for any religion. Group-think is a good descriptive term that comes to mind.

The religious standpoint on karma and “keepers” has everything to do with psychology and the human brain and its functions. Think about it as I said before - the human brain naturally tries to rationalize and process new information in a way that is understandable and logical. This varies depending on who you are talking to of course, but is the ultimate foundation for religion. Beginning in ancient times before electricity, technology, and all of the wonderful (and not so wonderful) things we have now, the less intelligent brains of those before us attempted to rationalize what they were experiencing. Let me give you a universal example that is actually more recent - did you know at one point women were seen as being psychotic and even evil for having hormonal symptoms related to their menstrual cycle and even for having a menstrual cycle period? (no pun intended) Women were put through horrible treatment to try to treat PMS, and it was even seen as being a mental illness/disorder for a very long time! At one point in time menstruating women were seen as being involved in magic and sorcery (whoops, you got me!). To quote some religious scripture, “go apart from women during the monthly course, do not approach them until they are clean” Quran 2:222, “…in her menstrual impurity; she is unclean… whoever touches…shall be unclean and shall wash his clothes and bathe in water and be unclean until evening” Leviticus 15, and lastly from the first Latin encyclopedia, “Contact with menstrual blood turns new wine sour, crops touched by it become barren, grafts die, seed in gardens are dried up, the fruit of trees fall off, the edge of steel and the gleam of ivory are dulled, hives of bees die, even bronze and iron are at once seized by rust, and a horrible smell fills the air; to taste it drives dogs mad and infects their bites with an incurable poison.” Okay… so… you realize how ridiculous all of this sounds, right? However, it was not ridiculous at the time - the people who lived in those times found a way to explain, rationalize, and describe what they felt was logical for explaining a woman’s menstrual cycle. Freud attempted to explain why people felt this way about menstrual cycles by stating that humans are naturally scared and uncomfortable around blood - again the human brain giving a logical explanation for why these thoughts and beliefs occurred. We know now through research and scientific data (actual tangible proof) that PMS is related to the shift in hormones women experience during that special time of month, which can cause a plethora of symptoms. This is easily treatable today with modern medicine or more holistic approaches - both of which have also been scientifically proven to work.

I know that last paragraph seems a little off course for this particular blog topic, but it carries a strong point that I feel necessary to make. Point being: religion is just another way the human brain tries to rationalize an event that is happening that is unexplained, new, different, abnormal, or scary; the same way that human brains of ancient times tried to rationalize with women bleeding from their vaginas. Having answers and an explanation gives people peace of mind. Once an idea becomes universal, again, it makes it easy to follow and just shrug the phenomena off as being caused by whatever is said by whoever is explaining it as their belief. The same is said for keepers, karma, and everything in between.

From a disorder perspective, it is very possible that some people believe in having a “keeper” because they are divine or special to a point of being above others. This behavior would likely fall under a more Narcissistic Personality Disorder or potentially some form of psychosis or schizophrenia. Reason being, these disorders involve hallucinations, delusions, and irrational beliefs that are of a bizarre nature. All three have key factors that make them different of course. For example, Narcissistic Personality Disorder revolves more around the person having selfish traits and not possessing the ability to connect with others all while believing they are of a certain prestige pedigree or above others. Psychosis and schizophrenia look similarly to one another in that both include symptomology involving hallucinations, delusions, and breaks from reality, however schizophrenia can actually cause psychosis. Additionally, patients diagnosed with schizophrenia may have symptoms of psychosis but not everyone with psychosis will be diagnosed with schizophrenia. Keeping it short here, but those are the basics of those three conditions. Knowing this, it is easy to see how someone could hold a belief that they have someone watching over them because they are special, or that some force is causing them to receive good karma or inflict bad karma on those who do them wrong.

Regardless of which way you choose to look at keepers and karma, both are definitely interesting phenomena that could use more research and productive discussions. Keeping an open-mind is always the path I personally choose to take because there are so many factors and options to consider before making a solid judgement on what the actual root cause of either one of these is. I wanted to kick 2021 off with an interesting yet somewhat debatable topic to really get you thinking. There are plenty more blogs in store where this one came from. This year will be much better than what we knew as 2020 (good riddance!) Here’s to another year full of education, knowledge, mystery, good conversation, and intriguing topics that really get those gears turning in your brain. Stay safe, be you, and never stop seeking the truth - whatever that truth is for you.

Cryptic Mystic Blog by PsychVVitch

www.LaMorteXiii.com

#crypticmystic #lhp #occultblog #witchcraft #wicca #pagan #highermagick #blackflame #coven #livedeliciously #thecraftyvvitch #psychvvitch #lamortexiii #luciferian #satanism #asabovesobelow #knowledge #freedom

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littlemisspascal · 3 years

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Death and an Angel part 10

Death!Din x Cupid F!Reader

Summary: Neither you nor Din are handling your capture well.

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,978

Warnings: captured reader, surprises, plot plot plot, violence, Din goes a bit dark side

Author Note: So sorry this is coming out late 😳 Between making YouTube videos and New Years everything got hectic, but here it is. I attempted writing from Din’s perspective this time so bear with me cuz he’s having a rough time😬

Links to Part 1 and Part 9 and Part 11

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

When you wake up, you’re lying facedown on a pallet in a dark and cold room. You groan, head pounding, and try to sit up, but your weak muscles protest, resulting in you rolling awkwardly onto your backside. Squinting up at the ceiling, you notice it is made of rock, as is the wall to the right of you.

Your head lolls to the left, granting you a lovely view of a red laser gate trapping you inside this strange cell. The faint glow it gives off produces barely enough light to reveal more rocky walls curving off to the side. You’re in a cave, you realize, processing everything at the rate of a snail’s pace, or some kind of underground tunnel.

At first you can’t remember how you ended up here, or what happened to you, but then everything hits you all at once.

“Finally,” a voice declares from beyond your cell. The purple twi’lek from earlier steps out of the shadows and leers at you from the other side of the laser gate. “I was beginning to think I misjudged the dosage.”

With monumental effort, you push yourself onto your knees, dizziness slamming into your skull with the brutal intensity of a hammer, and reach a hand out to summon your bow.

Nothing happens.

“What—why isn’t it—” The words are thick and clumsy, slurring together as if your tongue has forgotten how to form them individually. Closing your eyes to stop the room from spinning, you feel nothing but unbalanced and vulnerable. You try to speak again, taking a steadying breath. “What is wrong with me?”

“You’ve been collared. All the pets in the Moff’s collection wear one,” she answers, as casually as if she’s discussing the weather outside. “Keeps you from using your abilities and causing trouble.”

She has no reason to lie, but you still gasp when your trembling hand brushes against the metal band encircling your neck. Panicking, you pull on it without thinking, only for a responding jolt of electricity to shock your fingertips and fry every nerve ending in your body. You cry out at the pain, but the sound is drowned out by the twi’lek’s screech-like laughter.

“That never gets old,” she says, wiping an imaginary tear from her eye.

“Death,” you mutter hoarsely, closing your eyes again and breathing shallowly through your mouth. “Death is going to slaughter all of you.”

“Oh, pet, you just don’t get it, do you?“ Her voice is practically dripping with condescension as she coos at you, “The Moff wants you here because you’re precious to Death.”

Against your better judgement, you open your eyes to look at her, confused by the wide smile you see stretching across her face. At headquarters, Gideon and your superiors had seemed far more concerned about the fact you had a second soulmate rather than who it was you matched with. If Gideon is punishing you for being Din’s soulmate (a fate which you had no control over whatsoever), you can’t help thinking he must be insane or have a legitimate desire to have his body dismembered piece by bloody piece. There is no denying that Din will do anything he can to get you back. Even break the rules of the universe.

You freeze.

Kriff. The puzzle pieces begin fitting together and you loathe the hideous picture they form.

“You are Death’s weakness. And anyone with a weakness can be taken advantage of if the right strings are pulled,” the twi’lek says, confirming your fears. She then winks at you coyly. “Congratulations, pet, you’ve just become Moff Gideon’s favorite puppet.”

You barely refrain from shouting curses at her as she walks away, leaving you alone with your chaotic thoughts.

Lying back down on the pallet, you press your hands over your eyes, tuning out the coldness of your surroundings and seeking out the warmth of your soulmate bond. You call out Din’s name within your mind, a repetitive chant increasing in urgency as you pray against all odds he hears you. But as the silence continues and you start to feel a phantom sensation of pain emanating from your throat, as if you have actually scraped it raw by how loudly you call, your heart breaks as it accepts the bitter truth: he can’t hear you.

You touch the collar again, every internal instinct you have screaming it is to blame for the invisible wall blocking you from reaching out to Din. How long have you been collared? How much time has passed since you were drugged at headquarters? Regardless, you don’t have any doubt Din is losing his mind right now. And his temper.

A few tears leak from the corners of your eyes, but you do not sob or sniffle. Gideon and his minions will not have the satisfaction of hearing you crying. Din wouldn’t like it either, you think, remembering his reaction on the Razor Crest when he’d found you panicking. He had held your hand, offering you any support he could to end your sorrows. Even offering to kill for you.

It’s funny, though, because few people seem to realize the feeling is mutual. You would do anything in the galaxy to spare Din a second’s worth of pain. If Gideon is under the impression you’ll just silently let him use you in order to exploit Din to do his bidding, then he’s going to be thoroughly pissed to learn just how stubborn you can be. Taking away your Cupid abilities might have weakened you, but you’re not going to be a helpless kriffing damsel.

Although, you correct yourself ruefully as you lower your hands and look around your confines, you might currently be a little helpless. You take in the high ceiling above you, thinking you’ll be able to stand at full height once the effects of the drug wear off and still not be able to touch the top. It scares you to think how far your cell has been dug beneath the surface of whichever planet Gideon has imprisoned you on. The twi’lek had referenced he had a collection of others hidden away in these tunnels. How many have died here with no one up above being any the wiser?

Pushing the morbid thoughts aside, your gaze drifts along the walls, noting the varying shapes and sizes of the rocks. They are all different shades of brown except for one odd green one in the corner. You look at the laser gate, knowing it can’t be shut off unless you have access to the generator which severely limits your plans of escaping since—

Your thoughts screech to a halt as your eyes snap back to the corner.

A rock does not have a little green body clothed in brown wool or long pointed ears. Nor does it peer back at you with large, innocent eyes as it clutches a piece of dirty black fabric with tiny three-fingered hands. And it certainly doesn’t waddle up to you and coo curiously in your stunned face.

You rub at your eyes, half-convinced you have now begun hallucinating things.

Nope. That little green face is still there when you open them again. It’s official, your brain isn’t screwing with you.

Your cellmate is a kriffing baby.

Decades ago Din was approached by a man who begged to be killed. He had been separated from his soulmate against his will and compared the pain he felt to the sensation of a thousand needles injecting acid straight into his bloodstream. However, Din had sensed the man’s lifetime was far from over and ignored his pleas.

Thinking about that incident now, Din has determined the man’s comparison to be a gross understatement. Being forcefully separated from his angel is as if an invisible force is holding him underwater, wishing him to drown. His brain is on the verge of exploding, torn between thoughts of bloodthirsty savagery and the overwhelming agony of not being able to breathe without her in his sight. Every hour they remain apart threatens to rob him of his sanity and transform his outward appearance from man to monster.

Already he has experienced a lapse in control of his powers the moment he’d first felt their bond had been blocked. He’d been forced to teleport away from Kuiil’s farm, lest he risk reaping the Ugnaught’s soul before its destined time, and unleashed his wrath upon an uninhabitable Outer Rim planet. His powers had pierced its core in the same effortless manner a vibroblade cuts through flesh, killing its essence instantaneously. In a matter of minutes, the planet would be nothing more than scattered dust particles floating through the vastness of space, though he did not linger to witness the destruction.

Instead, he returned to his ship and sent a holographic message to his most trusted reapers, assigning them the critical task of searching the galaxy for one specific target: Valin Hess. While they hunted down the bastard, he dedicated his time to searching for his better half. He extended his powers to each individual planet and moon in every region, tendrils of darkness looking through homes and alleyways for even the faintest trace of her vibrant aura amongst trillions of souls.

Now, ten hours later, he is interrupted by the chime of an incoming call.

“Come to Trask,” Bo-Katan says bluntly, not one to waste crucial time with excess words. “I've got him ready for you.”

“Good,” Din says. His own voice sounds strange even to himself. As he reaches for his helmet, his reflection in its visor reveals his eyes have changed from brown to solid black, his true form beginning to break through the human facade he cloaks himself in.

He had been warned in the past of the grievous consequences that will ripple across the galaxy should he ever lose control of his internal darkness. But if unleashing that force brings him even one step closer to reuniting with his angel?

He won’t even hesitate a heartbeat.

You are quick to learn three important facts about your cellmate.

First and foremost, the baby adores attention. Within minutes of discovering him, he climbs into your lap and snuggles against your stomach, making a strange purring sound of happiness. Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest when you notice the tiny collar around his neck, identical to yours. Why would Gideon be keeping a child in his collection? Any potential answer that comes to mind makes you feel sick.

“You’re safe with me,” you tell him gently, stroking your fingertips over his wrinkly brow and the sparse amount of fuzzy hair on top of his head. He coos as if he understands you, ears perking up. “We’ll get through this together.”

Secondly, he is extremely possessive of his belongings. You learn this the hard way when you reach for the torn piece of black fabric he has gripped in his hands, intending to get a closer look at it because it doesn’t resemble a usual child’s blanket, but instead more so a torn bit of clothing—only for surprisingly sharp teeth to nip at your fingers.

You pull your hand away and hold it up, showing you mean no harm. “I’m sorry, bud. I should have asked permission first.”

Brown eyes stare back at you for a silent beat, painfully reminding you so much of Din you almost can’t bear to look at them, before the baby bobs his head with a low grunt. You chuckle at his cuteness. Although you hate the unfairness of the situation, you’re grateful for his presence as it stops you from worrying incessantly about your disconnected bond. As long as you wear the collar, you remind yourself, there isn’t anything you can do to reach Din. So you’ll just have to continue being patient and live with the uncomfortable hollow sensation until you can determine the best opportunity of freeing yourself.

And the baby now, too, you can’t help but silently add, looking down at him.

It is impossible for you within your cell to tell how much time passes as there are not any nearby clocks or windows providing a glimpse of the sky. As a Cupid, nourishment isn’t a necessity like it is for mortals, so you’re unsurprised no one has come by to offer you food or water. However, the same apparently can’t be said for the baby whose stomach growls unexpectedly, startling you both with its loudness.

He looks down at himself then at the laser gate. His ears twitch, as if he hears something, before he lets out a quiet whine. You open your mouth, wanting to console him, only for him to push himself out of your lap and waddle quicker than you anticipate towards the corner you initially spotted him in.

Thirdly, he is a master escape artist.

“What—” you start to ask, only for your jaw to drop when he squeezes himself through a small hole you failed to notice earlier, no bigger in diameter than a womp rat’s body, and disappears from view.

You stare at the corner, a million questions swirling inside your brain, each one focused on the baby. Where the kriff did he go? What is on the other side of the wall? Will he be okay?

The laser gate abruptly vanishes, plunging your cell into total darkness. You immediately press your back against the wall, blinking rapidly to try to adjust your vision, but you can’t even see your own hands in front of you. There is a distinct clicking sound of a button being pressed and then a glowing black blade lights up mere inches away from the side of your face, nearly singing your hair. You’re unable to stop yourself from crying out in terror, flinching backwards and hitting your head hard enough you see stars.

Over the pounding of your heartbeat and the eerie humming of the weapon next to your ear, you hear a familiar chuckle.

You freeze. Dank farrik.

“Believe it or not,” Gideon begins, looming ominously in the darkness. “I remember our first meeting when you awoke after your transformation. You weren’t special by any means, not one detail even remotely suggesting you would become such an invaluable asset to my plans. I’ve come to realize your unmemorable appearance was the universe’s attempt of concealing you from me. It might have worked, too, except the universe is a hopeless romantic, unable to help itself from matching soulmates. How else can it be explained why you were chosen out of all potential Cupids to monitor Death each month, thus increasing your affections for each other, if not for fate’s divine intervention?”

Gideon lifts the blade away from your personal space and holds it in front of him, outlining his features enough you’re able to see him peering down at you, expression blank and giving you no hints as to what is going on inside his head right now. “Your capture has driven Death into quite a frenzy. His influence can be felt in each region of space. Even his reapers have become involved.”

He pauses, as if he’s expecting a response from you, but you’re unable to look away from the laser sword in his grip. You wonder if all seraphs possess them, such as all Cupids wield bows, or if he had it specially crafted for his own pleasure. Regardless, the negative energy it radiates is strong enough that you feel as if dozens of spiders are crawling over every inch of your entire body.

“Your soulmate has no notion of my involvement, but even if it were revealed to him you are being kept here I thoroughly warded this location to hide myself from those intending me harm. Your presence will continue to remain invisible to his powers as long as he desires bloodshed. So I suggest you better make yourself comfortable because this cell shall be your home for the foreseeable future.”

Swallowing against your suddenly dry throat, you ask, “Do you honestly think keeping me hostage will grant you control over him?”

Gideon inclines his head. “I think you underestimate his willingness to guarantee your safety. He’ll commit any sin imaginable if it means not one hair harmed on your head.”

“Death won’t listen to a single word unless he has proof I’m okay,” you say, the beginnings of a risky plan forming in your head. “Which means you have to let me talk to him.”

“I’m not the fool you think I am,” he replies, shaking his head in a reproachful manner, as if you are no older than a child. But your hopes rise when you notice there is the smallest glimmer of intrigue in his eyes.

You position yourself on your knees, eyes wide and brimming with tears, clasping your hands together as you start to beg. “Please, sir, the separation is tearing me apart. I can’t handle the pain anymore. I must see him. I’ll convince Death to kill whoever in the galaxy you want. He’ll do it without question if I’m the one who asks.”

Gideon considers you wordlessly for a long moment. The hum of the weapon and your heavy, anxious breathing are the only audible sounds. And in that moment you pray harder than you’ve ever prayed in your entire lifetime.

Let this work. Please, please let this work.

You know the exact second he gives in to your begging because a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, teeth bared almost predatorily.

“Very well then. Tomorrow I will make preparations for you to contact Death. Think carefully until then about what you will say in order to convince him to be agreeable with me. It would be a shame to use this ,” his sword hovers in front of your face once more, the tip nearly touching your chin, “to cut off your tongue should you fail or if you attempt to be clever and alert him of your whereabouts.”

Step one complete, you think to yourself after he has departed and the laser gate returns. Wiping away the lingering tears, you begin to plan step two.

Getting this kriffing collar off your neck.

Valin Hess is every bit the smug bastard Din predicted him to be. Despite the binders securing his wrists to a pipe high above his head and his bleeding split lip, the high-ranking Cupid still has enough arrogance to smirk at Din when he arrives at the abandoned warehouse Bo-Katan chose as the setting for the interrogation.

“Tell me where she is,” Din demands through clenched teeth as he marches up to the pompous prick without sparing a glance towards the red-haired reaper silently leaning against the nearby wall. He knows Bo-Katan is smart enough not to intervene.

“Just who would you be referring to?” Hess blinks innocently back at him.

His nose crumples beneath the knuckles of Din’s fist, blood bursting from his nostrils and staining Din’s gloves crimson.

“I am not known for my patience,” Din says. “Your suffering will only worsen the longer you keep me from my soulmate. I know you are aware of where she’s being kept. So tell. Me. Now.”

Untamed fury burns hotly beneath his skin, threatening to incinerate his mortal guise and his armor as if both were made of paper. It takes all of Din’s self-control not to give into the wicked desire to break each one of the Cupid’s bones, to peel off his skin layer by layer, to twist and carve and scar his body until there is not a single identifiable feature left.

“I haven’t the faintest notion nor care where she wound up.” Hess’ naturally gruff voice has changed to a nasally sounding one due to his broken nose. If the response hadn’t further stirred Din’s annoyance, he might have smirked beneath his helmet instead of snarled. “As soon as that twi’lek dragged her unconscious body out of headquarters, she became a nonentity to me.”

Din places his gloved hands over the other immortal’s shoulders, resting them there long enough Hess starts to twitch, unable to hide his increasing panic, and then Din squeezes until both clavicles shatter at the same time with a resounding crack . Hess tosses his head back, howling like a wounded animal, but Din is not yet finished.

He slams his fists against Hess’ torso, growling loud enough to be heard over the merciless snapping of each individual rib, “Give me a name.”

When the only answer he receives is agonized screaming, Din decides another approach is necessary to produce the desired results. He rips his gloves off, this time unable to resist smirking when Hess immediately starts to choke on his tongue and blood as he shakes his head emphatically, eyes blown wide with fear.

Din’s fingers reach out towards the Cupid’s temples, the veins in his hands ominously black in color.

“Xi’an!” Hess shouts, blood spraying from his mouth and painting Din’s visor. He doesn’t even notice, already planning the hunt for his next target. “The twi’lek that took your whore is named Xi’an!”

Din stills. “My... whore?”

Every lightbulb within the warehouse shatters, glass and sparks raining down upon them and the concrete floor. Hess starts babbling, a litany of apologetic words, but Din is beyond reasoning. Something sinister and feral has awakened within him, intertwining itself with his powers and enhancing their strength beyond what he ever imagined possible.

Din has reaped countless souls over the span of his existence. He has mastered the precise method of coaxing a soul out of a corpse, persuading them gently with his powers. Once the essence is held within his grip, the universe judges it, deciding either eternal damnation or a glorious afterlife. Most people tend to think Din is who chooses their fates, one of the many reasons why they fear him, but he has never been powerful enough to personally influence anyone’s destiny.

Until now.

He lowers one hand to hover over the center of Hess’ sternum, sensing the soul living deep within. It is a little battered from Din’s assault, but otherwise it resembles every other soul he’s ever reaped: a glowing, fidgety, amorphous bundle of energy.

Usually, he’d patiently guide the soul towards the corpse’s esophagus. But Hess is undeserving of such kindness. Din’s powers sink into the essence like sharpened claws, yanking it into Hess’ throat. The soul puts up a valiant fight, recognizing its host is still alive and thus should not be prematurely abandoned. But Din will not yield to its struggles, his powers manifesting dark tendrils to wrap around it in an unbreakable hold.

“You’re killing him!” Din hears someone call out over the harsh choking sounds Hess is making. Their voice is familiar and feminine sounding. “It’s not his time, you have to stop!”

Stop? No. He can’t. Not now when he’s on the verge of fulfilling the oath he’d sworn to his angel.

With one forceful twist of his wrist, the soul is helplessly torn from Hess’ bloodstained mouth and ensnared by Din’s awaiting hand. Without the essence of life, the light fades from the Cupid’s eyes and his broken body hangs limply from the binders.

The afterlife was never going to be an option as the soul’s final destination. However, Din has decided damnation is also too kind a place for vermin like Hess. There must be a third fate, he thinks.

Din squeezes his fist tighter and tighter, generating a cacophony of anguished shrieks from the soul. Ignoring the near-deafening cries, he gradually increases the pressure until at last it lets out one final high-pitched wail before disintegrating into dust that forms an unsuspecting pile on the floor when he uncurls his fingers.

A sharp gasp has Din turning, forgetting he has a witness present, and he finds Bo-Katan staring back at him with blatant horror. “What have you done?”

“What was necessary.”

Tag List: @leilei-draws, @theocatkov, @vintagesaph, @stardust-and-starlight, @adrieunor, @remmyswritings, @gallowsjoker, @rhiannon-russo, @randomness501, @sylphene, @softly-sad, @maytheglitter, @melobee, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @eleinemk, @captain-jebi, @aerynwrites, @promiscuoussatan, @stilllivindue2spite, @coaaster, @lin-djarin, @oh-no-a-whovian, @becauseican2, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @nicotinebirds

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #Pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #death and an angel #my fic #my writing #soulmate au

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sepulcrorum · 4 years

Text

JUDE LAW, FIFTY, ARCHBISHOP DE MEDICI. ❝ ⤚⟶ EUROPE, 1458. thanks is given by the DUCHY OF FLORENCE, ARCHBISHOP GIANCARLO DI GIAN GASTONE DE’ MEDICI, from FLORENCE. they are at best CHARMING, and at their worst IMPIOUS. whilst abroad, their ambition is to REAP EVER MORE GREATER LUXURIES FOR HIMSELF. HE seems to remind everyone of JUDE LAW & DESIRES BOTH HERETICAL AND UNHOLY : THE SONG OF SOLOMON SPILLING FORTH FROM ONE’S LIPS WHILST IN THE THROES OF PASSION ; INTELLECTUALISM SOUGHT FOR HEDONISM’S SAKE : ANTIQUATED TEXTS SMUGGLED FROM THE CRUMBLING REMNANTS OF ANCIENT ROMAN VILLAS AND DISPLAYED TO EXPECTED LOOKS OF AWE ; & HOLINESS FOUND, HOLINESS LOST, HOLINESS REVERED : A CERTAIN SLANT OF LIGHT SHINING THROUGH HIGH-VAULTED ARCHES. ❞

introduction

Provide a blurb introducing your character generally. This should include an overview of strengths, weaknesses, aspirations, and set backs.

It has been once said by the Lord: be ye like children, for ye to enter the Kingdom of God. Capricious, selfish, absorbed only by thoughts of himself, petty, and whimsical, the Archbishop de’ Medici does not assume the dignity of his station as a member of the Church but he does assume all the qualities of a child in him, and that makes him saved by default.

His theology is quaint, bordering on unorthodox, and it’s almost tempting to call him out for heresies but he knows too much about Scripture and can run circles around any fellow servant of Christ, much more the ordinary layman. He’s either mystical or absolutely canonical: at a certain point in theology, everything becomes one and the same. Give him time, and he can justify anything—the cruellest of acts as well as the most compassionate acts of goodwill and charity—with verses pulled from the Holy Book and the most seraphic smile on his face, almost as if his lips are intoning a blessing. He’s a Devil’s advocate in perhaps more ways than one, the destruction of Rome entire as one itinerant preacher once called him, and yet he luxuriates on wealth on top of the social pyramid, secure in his position and backed by the splendorous wealth made available by his family’s support.

Yet despite all this, despite possessing all the qualities of a man who could be—intelligent, charming, sociable, and ambitious—Giancarlo ended up being the man who isn’t, by some strange (perhaps cruel) twist of fate. With his dubious origins erasing any hope for a cardinalate, much less a chance for the Throne of St. Peter, he languishes in his role as a mere archbishop. As the years pass, he has turned bitter, cruel, recalcitrant—for what does a child do when they are given what they want?

They throw a tantrum.

What are some potential plotlines you are interested in pursuing?

I’ve inserted the little nuggets of the plotlines I plan to pursue on the blurb but to expand on it:

First is I am definitely very interested in making him a Cardinal and that is very much a thing he also wants for himself, even as much as he denies it and says he never wanted it anyway. It’s a way for him to rationalise the fact that, strictly speaking, his life didn’t go the way he wanted it to go, and so he subsists on the lie that his life (as it is right now) was what he always wanted—but ultimately, I do think that he’s still on the lookout for any opportunity to finally have the red robes of a cardinal.

Second is the state of Florence and of Italy as a whole. The blemish of the riots on the Florentines’ reputation is something that must be rectified—not even because someone died (after all, very many people die everyday) but because it sends the message that they are unable to control their own people. The Church as an institution that does much works of charity can be used to pacify the rebellious masses and perhaps turn them into the better angels that they haven’t been before. Meanwhile, Italy as a whole concerns him because they are still, ultimately, disparate nation-states with differing goals and ambitions. In a world filled with empires and hegemons, Giancarlo realises that the Italian peoples must unite—far better that it be headed, of course, by the Church or by Florence, but unity itself is non-negotiable. If the Italians do not want to be swallowed up by their neighbours, they must pool together their resources and make a stand for their existence.

Thirdly is the option of interfaith dialogue. Giancarlo is by no means perfect, but I do imagine he’s a touch more tolerant than most holy men are. He’s less a crusader and more of a diplomat, far too disillusioned to really believe in any cause of holy war. Entrenched in cynicism—usually a character flaw—he’s cognisant enough of the fact that humans are going to be shitty one way or another, and religion has almost no bearing on whether one is a good person or not. As such, I do think he has a lot of plotting potential for those characters following a different faith, and it’s fun to see how that might all play out.

three bullet-points.

Giancarlo di Gian Gastone de’ Medici is born a stain of shame. Birthed by a servant-girl and the man from whom his name marks out as his progenitor, he is kept by his father as a spare heir—only to be tossed away when a legitimate one finally comes. In this act, his father has taught him the harsh realities of life: one minute, you can have everything in front of you; the next, it all comes crashing down with nothing to show for it. He is left with no security save that which his father carved out for him: mastery of an abbey at twelve years of age and, from there, the religious life. There was nothing else for him. There is nothing else to him.

Giancarlo takes to the intellectual and monastic life quite quickly. His learning under humanist tutors in the household of his father has enabled him to take quickly to reading dense texts that speak of grand contexts. It helps that he is good with languages, and that he is friendly to everyone he meets. How bright his career would be, some would say, before adding: if only he wasn’t illegitimate. And so that stain of shame that adorned the Medici family history now mars his own future: he was always going to be a mistake, and the world will never let him forget it.

He is, by all accounts, a very disenchanted man who works himself through a façade of mustered charm gathered from who-knows-where with his mind an utter repository of Scripture and theological concepts. He can quote from Papal Bulls enacted centuries ago as easily as if they had been dictated to him just that moment; yet he always says it so drily that you’d think he’s mocking the words he’s citing. He’s in the habit of mentioning what kind of sins one is doing but always concludes it with a small note of how God is a forgiving God. He delights in the company of the wicked and the infamous; truly good people disgust him. He thinks God is present more in ugliness than any kind of beauty exemplified in art and song, and that He is dirt-covered, bloody and bruised, made with mulch and rot and diseased flesh. His God is filthy; it is only natural. We all fashion God into the form that would accept us the most.

character sheet.

FULL NAME : giancarlo di gian gastone de’ medici TITLES :

commander of badia fiorentina ( from 1420 - 1428 )

commander and rector of badia fiorentina ( from 1428 onwards )

metropolitan archbishop of florence ( from 1446 onwards )

master of the sacred apostolic palace ( from 1450 onwards )

BIRTHPLACE : florence, italian peninsula

AGE : fifty, b. 10 november 1407

LANGUAGES : fluent — italian ( tuscan ), french, ancient greek, latin, arabic, spanish, german, bavarian ; conversational — english, portuguese ; learning — ottoman turkish, farsi / persian

DYNASTY / HOUSE: house de’ medici

MOTHER & FATHER : unnamed servant girl & gian gastone de’ medici

SPOUSE : none

ISSUE : none

SIBLINGS : giovanni, lucrezia, and girolamo ( half-siblings )

OTHER : lorenzo de’ medici ( tbd )

ZODIAC : scorpio sun / sagittarius moon / scorpio rising

RELIGIOUS AFFILIATION : roman catholicism

ORIENTATION : bisexual biromantic ( with a medium to high preference for his own gender )

PERSONALITY TYPE : estj-a / choleric-sanguine / enneagram tbd / slytherin

VICES : everything

VIRTUES : knowledge can be and is a virtue but not with giancarlo, babyyyyy

FACECLAIM : jude law

HEIGHT : 6′1″ or 1.85m

RECOGNISABLE FEATURES : kindly-seeming blue eyes that speaks to unfathomable depths — look too closely, and you just might find yourself falling in them; an ever-present smile that can turn earnest or mocking depending on the conversation; a smug demeanour that you can’t help but feel that he thinks he knows better than you

REPUTATION IN PORTUGAL : a famed master theologian but also a widely known libertine, giancarlo both attracts and repulses the whole of christendom with his easy smiles, his kindly-looking blue eyes, and the power of the storied lineage that has produced him. for all those who’ve had the chance to coalesce in rome—or perhaps even the italian peninsula—his name will revoke memories of scandalised whispers erupting from people huddled in corners as soon as they see him make entry into a room. portugal as of yet is a new frontier, not for reasons of lack of opportunity but due to lack of interest. after all, why stray from that eternal city whose glory is sung in ancient ballads and whose place in the world is the envy of millions? now that he is here, however, he is more than eager to make his mark.

WANTED CONNECTIONS :

i sought whom my soul loves — were giancarlo any other man, they could have been together, a couple enjoined in the warm embrace of love and unity; yet, alas, the Church has bound giancarlo to herself, and he is a weak and foolish man who cannot find himself able to stand up to anybody. ever since then, their meetings have been few and far between—but no less precious to giancarlo, no less treasured, no less sought for. ::: ( open to anyone, preferably female but any gender can technically work ! )

a young deer on the mountains of Bether — arcadian idyll had been the theme of their shared years, wild and wandering, when responsibility had been a far off concept that seemed as foreign as greying hair and the yoke of adulthood. they frolicked in sun-kissed green-topped hills and ran as carefree as the wind. now they are old, both with their respective offices, and there is nothing else to them save nostalgia over lost innocence—if they had innocence at all. ::: ( open to anyone of the same age range as giancarlo ! )

beautiful as the moon, clear as the sun — a look at them and they’re like fourteen again, dumbstruck and awed, ashamed of his own lowly station and the stain of his origins—yet now they are old, and they have significantly more resources available to them now than they had before. giancarlo has always loved what he has thought is lacking within himself; he has always sought the true, the good, and the beautiful. he deludes himself into thinking he’s found it in god, but he is about to discover he’s wrong. ::: ( open to anyone ! )

with my royal people’s chariots — people have the propensity to think that giancarlo’s last name and relative wealth and status makes him the gatekeeper to the pope’s favour. he does not think himself as holding the keys to anything, but he lets other people do—mainly because it affords him the simulation of power the likes of which he only imagined as a child. of course, there is no real backing to the promises he says he’ll fulfil for them, but it is a merry show nonetheless and a piece of theatre that giancarlo’s keen to continue in lisboa. ::: ( open to anyone who’s looking to curry favour with the pope ! )

you who dwell in the gardens — there are many blooms in the garden of God’s creation and it is not a stretch to say giancarlo is absolutely besotted with the idea of experiencing all of them. this meet in lisbon might prove to be a more fortuitous moot than the one in florence, and he is always keen to start dialogue with any and all those who would like to exchange knowledge for knowledge’s sake, even those that the rest of christendom would not welcome. ::: ( open to non-christian characters ! )

the shadows flee away — giancarlo isn’t known for moderation and temperance; he has always been one driven to excess, and he has never toned down his appetites for the sake of any cause or person. he is a flit of a thing, a butterfly eager to sap the nectar out of any willing flower before moving to the next, willing to spill honey-laced words out of cherubic lips if that is what it took to mark one as his next conquest. in this, he has doubtless transgressed against many, and there are some whose memories run long and whose desire for correction would cover even those who are consecrated to God. ::: ( open to anyone ! )

#crhs.intro #* ( 𝔤𝔦𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔩𝔬 ) ╱ per speculum in ænigmate : info !

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angeltriestoblog · 4 years

Text

I figured out what I want to do with my life! And made a vision board!

It came to me in a flash, really. One minute, I was watching a handpainted narration of the life and death of one of the greatest painters of all time, and next thing you know, I've abandoned it completely and started furiously typing away at my laptop about what I envisioned myself to be in five years' time. And I know I've had my fair share of false alarms in life: I thought I had what it takes to be a lawyer after seeing Legally Blonde for the first time while on my way to a school field trip, and seriously considered pursuing a career as a fashion blogger or MTV VJ because I was kind of fed up with school.

But this one just makes sense. Advising and assisting clients in producing content, collaterals, and campaigns according to their business objectives and based on collected data! It marries my love for writing, my knack for snooping around (the academic term is research!), and the specialty in technology and management my university ensures I'll have at the end of my four-year degree. i have yet to see how it’ll allow me to give back to society since that’s also a factor I want to consider in looking for a dream job but I’ll make it work. I found it hard to sleep that night, thanks to this nerdy, giddy kind of adrenaline rush I had. I broke down this big idea into smaller and smaller action steps until all I had left was a refined list of ideas and intentions, and a splitting headache.

I needed to make sure I was constantly reminded of their existence so all my choices and decisions would serve as a step closer to reaching all of them. So I caved in to the wishes of the "law of attraction" side of the Internet, and created my very own vision board! Simply put, this act of visualization is a powerful technique that can be used to manifest desires and reach goals. Our subconscious minds mainly recognize symbols and images: by merely looking at our vision boards everyday, subliminal messages are being sent to our brains, which will encourage them to work tirelessly to achieve the statements we are feeding to them. I can't find any explanation for this that's less abstract but since many people seem to swear on it and I have a lot of free time and printer ink, I figured why not, right?

It was convenient that I had this small corkboard from Daiso already stuck to one corner of my bedroom wall with several layers of double-sided tape. It used to be a year-long calendar of birthdays but I realized that I've never referred to it and often have to rely on either Facebook reminders or stock knowledge--there is no in between. All I had to do was to look at my list of goals, and compile photos that correspond to each of them, cut them up and arrange them in an aesthetically pleasing manner. You'll see below that I lacked the stereotypical luxury car and beachfront mansion with a walk-in closet and that's because I decided to focus on my goals for the next five years so it looks even a little bit more achievable.

Here's the finished product, along with explanations for each picture, to make this how-to more personal and to also hold myself accountable.

Make my girl Jenna Rink and everybody at Poise proud by writing for a magazine | I had listed a specific one at the time, and if you follow me on Twitter and Instagram, you already know what it is and how this endeavor turned out - but on this blog, I'll shroud it in a little cloud of mystery for now and talk about it more in a future post. I'm very happy producing content for this space of mine and have no intention of stopping any time soon. But at the same time I know that I'd be missing out if I didn't take the chance to be part of a community that leads me to like-minded individuals, allows me to grow even more in my craft, and "gives creators a space to speak their minds and push the limits of their artistry, without imposing any restrictions or expectations", as I stated in my application form.

Be active in three organizations next school year | (I had to blur one of them out because I'm not a member yet and I don't want to jinx it.) I know it's bold of me to assume that we'll be returning to school any time soon, but if we are ever lucky enough, I want to outdo myself when it comes to the orgs I'm a part of. I have been a good follower throughout my first two years of college but now I believe it's my time to try my hand at leading a group of people and being more involved in the conceptualization and execution of projects.

Go on a trip to Europe | Not even just a specific group of countries anymore (I used to be a France, Italy, Spain supremacist)--I mean the entire continent! (But then again, with its rich history and culture, picturesque tourist spots, diverse cuisines... even the sheer adrenaline rush that comes with being in a land completely different from the one you come from, how could anyone not want to go?

and 12. Get the job of my dreams | I actually nicked these photos from the website of a cooperative I want to work for once I graduate from college. I know that I can't plan out the rest of my career trajectory as early as now: things are bound to change at some point, but I hope that I stay in a field that combines creativity and business strategy to craft campaigns, create meaningful content, and market solutions to brands.

Expand my network | I acknowledge how knowing people who know people who know people can open windows of opportunities that I wouldn't have been able to have anywhere else. But I also look forward to building genuine connections with people from all sorts of industries. Talking to the same circle of friends can sometimes feel like you're trapped in an echo chamber: there is certainly much to learn from others' viewpoints.

Volunteer to teach kids | I don't think the written word could have changed my life as much as it did, had it not been for the presence of English teachers who believed in the power of the language to shape the minds of the youth. I guess this is just me trying to give back and help the next generation express their ideas and bring them to life by channeling my inner John Keating.

Maintain a clean workspace that is conducive to productivity | Especially during these days, I spend a solid 18 out of 24 hours sat at my desk, trying my best to make magic happen. It's very important that I keep it a constant and active source of inspiration, free from any distractions, and at the right level of comfort. Although it's not as minimalist as I hoped it would be and my table is about an inch too high for my liking, I'm still pretty satisfied!

Document memories consistently, be it through a physical or online journal | Speaking of clearing out my room, I recently found around 20 notebooks I had filled up over the years. Though maintaining them must have been such a hassle especially as I got older and reading through them was a distraction from completing the task at hand, I am thankful I painstakingly chronicled everything going on in my life and kept them in good condition. Seeing the goals I had set for myself all those years ago and how I achieved most of them without making a conscious effort has inspired me to do my older self a favor by putting in the work now so she can reap the rewards. (While I'm on this note, can anyone recommend a good app for journaling? I keep all my current entries in my Mac's Notes app because even though I am more of an analog person, I seemed to have lost the patience and persistence required to keep a physical journal. But at the same time, I'm scared of my laptop suddenly cr*shing and wiping out everything I had stored)

Stay focused on my work always | I didn't know how to show this without having to spell it out in words so I Photoshopped my face onto the head of a woman working in a cafe because those who study in coffee shops along Katip always look like they're getting stuff done.

Keep learning about the world even when I'm outside of the classroom | And this is not limited to frequenting the nearby museum, although that does sound like a great idea right now. This could also mean attending seminars, workshops, and talks, buying books and binge-watching documentaries or YouTube videos about a topic that I find interesting, engaging in discourse with someone (plus points if they have a different viewpoint!)

Write my own book | Before I even found out that humans were destined to pick a career and work until they died, I already knew that I wanted to spend my days as a writer. Specifically, I wanted to see my name on the cover of a book: By Angel Martinez. (Please refer to the 4:32 of this video and look at how far this dream actually goes back.) But once I realized that I wanted to enter the world of business, I thought I would have to give this up altogether. Thankfully, I now know that one's ability to get published is not reliant on their career--I mean, even beauty gurus get book deals these days. I'm not really sure what it's going to be about but I'd honestly be down for anything: even if it's just a compilation of my best entries on this blog.

13. Go all out when I take myself on self-care dates | I'm talking about picnics at the beach, with a basket full of fruits, a posh looking hat, and a good piece of classic literature! Or fancy dinners for one complete with as many glasses of red wine as I can down! People watching at Downtown Disneyland like my paternal grandmother in hand, with a plastic bag of souvenirs on one hand and a cream cheese pretzel on the other! (The possibilities are endless and I'm already mapping most of them out.)

14. Be financially stable enough to re-enact that one scene in Pretty Woman where Vivian Ward struts down the streets of Beverly Hills in a chic white dress and black hat, an endless number of shopping bags in tow | The part where I humiliate a sales lady who snubbed me the day before because she didn't think I could afford what she was selling by saying, "You work on commission, right? That's right. Big mistake, big, huge." is entirely optional.

I also included some two inspirational sayings that were originally laptop wallpapers from The Everygirl. I feel like they perfectly sum up the attitude I want to have as I forge my own path and accomplish everything I have set out for myself. If I was somehow able to convince you that this activity serves as the perfect springboard for all your dreams and aspirations, here are a couple of tips that could hopefully help you make yours!

Be ready for some intense introspection | Though it may look like a simple arts and crafts activity at the surface, making an effective vision board simply cannot be achieved if you're not willing to do some much needed reflection and watch it balloon into a full-on existential crisis. Identify which areas of your life are most important to you and how you would like to see them evolve over a period of time.

Specificity is key | The trick is to make your goals as concrete as possible, then translate them into visual elements. I know some people who wanted to get into particular universities, who have Photoshopped their names onto acceptance letters and pinned those to their corkboards. As stupid as that may sound in retrospect, I reckon it's an elaborate way of claiming something that's right within your reach.

Design it any way you want | Don't feel pressured to make it look like it's worthy to be on someone else's Pinterest because that's exactly how you lose sight of why you're doing it in the first place. The only person your final output has to resonate with is you.

Don't get discouraged | Although a vision board can attract positive energy and manifest your intentions to the universe, one thing it isn't capable of doing is granting your wishes in an instant. Don't be upset if what you have cut out and stuck on has yet to happen: I truly believe in the saying that the more you look for something, the more it seems to avoid you. Instead, continue to work hard and focus on the progress that you have already made.

Have you made a vision board of your own already? How has it turned out, and how many of the things you had put up have come true? I know you may be a complete stranger from the other side of the world but I'd be happy to hear from you anyway! Wishing you love and light always, especially during trying times such as this. Wash your hands, pray for our frontliners, and check your privilege!

#recs #personal #quarantingz #angeltriestoblog #vision board #goal setting

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officialvangelismessageboard · 4 years

Text

PLIANCE ACT.

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whatspastisprologue-blr · 5 years

Text

Writing Advice, the Completed Version

This is a follow up to this post: https://whatspastisprologue-blr.tumblr.com/post/184968470815/writing-advice. I’d written that on my phone, I think, and goofed somehow, so I didn’t post the entire thing.

Now, to start, I love reading what you guys have to say, and I consider you guys basically geniuses. You spend hours, or what seems like hours, analyzing SPN (and also other works as well, but mainly SPN), and you’re willing to put up with horrible backlash from people too dumb to realize they’re wrong.

And I keep thinking how I would love to write something, be it a novel or a TV show, that people love so much that that they’re willing to write meta for it. Contrary to what I’ve seen around about some creators being upset when their audience figures out what’s going on, I’d be delighted to know that people care so much that they pay close enough attention to figure it out. As for things like subtext, I see myself jumping up and down like, “You’ve got it! I thought you would! I put that in there to see if you’d notice and you did! Yay!” To me, meta has become a high form of praise just by its existence, but from the standpoint of literary criticism and how art both reflects and transforms society, also absolutely necessary. Please, critique art!

Which leads me to part two: how do I actually put stuff into the work for people to write meta about? Like, I’ve seen mini-essays ranging from fictional parallels/references/shout-outs to alchemical practices to entire discussions about, for instance, specific shirts (”x character is wearing x shirt again!”) to various pieces of decor to the meaning of various types of food (bacon, cake versus pie, burgers) and how food is used (Sam and food, or Cas and food). I’ve seen posts written analyzing songs used in episodes and how they inform the episodes or a character’s arc, etc. I’ve watched fascinating yet trippy videos about narrative spiral that make me wish I was approximately 400% smarter so I could properly appreciate and understand what I was watching. I’ve seen meta about colors and symbols, and the symbolism of different types of beer, which means that someone must have thought of it.

Someone, at some point, decided, “let’s have a beer that symbolizes family, a family beer”. And others agreed. And someone else, or perhaps that same person, decided, “let’s have a beer that shows up whenever things aren’t as they seem”, and again, others agreed, so now we have a running list of El Sol appearances.

I’ve seen some truly mind-blowing, fantastic meta that’s been written, but obviously, that analysis works because there’s something to analyze. It wasn’t pulled from nothing, as some mistakenly believe. We can talk about the Red Shirt of Bad Decisions because there’s evidence for it in the text. Someone put it there. Someone made sure to include El Sol enough times in episodes with a similar theme (things being not what they seem/alternate realities/djinn hallucinations) that we can talk about its significance and know, in upcoming episodes, that when we see that beer, it’s a sign that there’s incorrect assumptions being made by characters, that what we see isn’t necessarily real, etc.

So, how do I put content into a work so that people can pick up on it and then write about its meaning and significance?

I guess, relevant to this, is a third question, that could possibly help me figure all this out as well: what makes “Supernatural” worth writing all this meta about? That might not be phrased right to get my meaning across. While, granted, I have fandom lanes that I stay in, so I could just be unaware of meta being written for that work, but I don’t hear of people analyzing, say, “Psych”, or “Bones”, or “NCIS”. I don’t hear of long, in depth-articles about how food is used on “Glee” to give insight into a character’s mental/emotional state or closeted bisexuality. Is that just because there’s nothing to write meta about for those shows, or is it because, even if there is something to write meta about for those shows, “Supernatural” lends itself to that analysis and criticism in a way those other television shows don’t?

On a related note, people have been publishing books and YouTube videos and even teaching college classes at least partially about “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” and its spin-off, “Angel”, for 20-odd years. Is all of the meta surrounding “Supernatural” the progression of that phenomenon, with SPN at least partially reaping the benefits of what BtVS helped establish? Does it have something to do with being a paranormal genre show?

Don’t get me wrong, I truly and wholeheartedly believe that SPN is a show worth writing meta about, and I’m always excited to see more of it. So it’s not whether or not the show is worth it that I’m questioning, but what specific qualities contribute to the show’s worthiness that so many other television shows don’t seem, to my knowledge, to have?

As a budding literary critic, meta is fascinating; as a creator, it’s kind of overwhelming, because that’s a lot of analysis of a work, a lot of studying with a magnifying glass. But, as someone who’s starting to see the willingness of people to write meta as a benchmark or grade of how good that work is (because people, I would assume, wouldn’t spend several hours writing an analysis of a show that sucked), it means that I want to do a good job of putting things in there for people to pick at, and I want to do what I can to make sure that what’s being analyzed is something good (as in, the messages are positive and/or useful, no harmful lessons or unfortunate implications).

I’ve been working on the backstory for my series for at least a year now, and I still feel like I’m less than halfway done. I don’t want to start writing without a clear plan of where I’m going, at least for a little while (my idea is to have a few “little endings”, thinking for if this is going to be a TV show one day, and if the show gets cancelled before the “Big Ending”, I still want there to be an ending that’s satisfying, even if it’s not the Big Ending that I hoped to get to, so I suppose I could plan to the first little ending). Sometimes, I feel like I’m behind, drastically behind, that I should have at least one book (or season) planned by now, but then I think about how I’m still in my early twenties, and how I want to write something worth writing meta about (and thus, the work needs to contain something to write meta about) and part of me wants to freeze and is grateful that the going has been slow so far.

But, with “Supernatural” ending, and given my love for the sandbox that it’s helped define and re-define, with episodes that push the bounds of storytelling in so many fascinating and delightful ways, given my appreciation for shows such as SPN, BtVS/Angel, and Wynonna Earp (and also Stranger Things and Lucifer), I’m inspired to write. Part of it is to honor SPN’s legacy by re-defining the sandbox even further, by taking what it’s done so wonderfully and, sort of like a relay race, doing my part to carry the baton a little farther--because that show has been so amazing that, since I truly love and appreciate it, how do I not pay it forward? Pay tribute? How could I just drop the baton? And part of it is because the general sandbox that those shows play in is just one that I love, one that I want to play in and expand on, and help continue to demonstrate that genre shows are (or can be) awesome, transformative pieces of art, not just some semi-obscure show about fighting monsters.

To do all that, however, I’d really appreciate your advice, and if you think of others who should weigh in, I’d be thrilled to hear from them as well.

Thanks!

@mittensmorgul @occamshipper @tinkdw @dimples-of-discontent @drsilverfish

P.S: I saw this GIF, or a picture of it, before I knew it was from SPN. When I saw it in an episode, I was just like, “?!”. (Oh, the things I’d seen from SPN before realizing it, or all the scenes I could recognize/quote that I’d maybe seen clips of at most, because I’d seen GIFs and screencaps so many times--that show took over my life before I ever started watching it). Anyway, as much as I truly love storytelling and I want to do it for my life because I love it and because I want to inspire hope in people through art, I’ll leave with this:

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catalinaroleplay · 4 years

Photo

Gender & Pronouns: Cis female, she/her

Date of Birth: July 10th, 1981 (38)

Place of Birth: Boston, Massachusetts

Neighborhood: Avalon

Length of Residency: Since December 2019

Occupation: Paralegal

Face Claim: January Jones

BIOGRAPHY

TRIGGERS: Substance Abuse, Stillbirth.

Marion’s birth is a mistake she’ll spend her entire life trying to correct. Her prissy and pedantic parents have always imagined their family unit to be a set of three: a near-perfect portrait of nuclear, and in its backdrop, a big Boston brownstone, handed from generation to generation. These plans are disrupted when she’s brought into this world, a patch of blonde hair and impossibly blue eyes, and for this sin she’s relegated to the shadows, bright and beautiful but invisible.

They’re more prepared when her brother arrives, not three years later, reshuffling plans and life trajectories as if they were documents to be fixed up and arranged. But the damage had been done. She’d disrupted the fabric of her parents’ existence, failure written in bones before she could even take her first steps.

And so Marion takes valiant efforts to convince them otherwise. It works, for a time. At school, she’s a tour-de-force, with an intellectual sinew parallel to her father’s and mother’s. But they’re a brief turn in the spotlight, not when her brothers are trained to be faster and stronger in every sense of the word. No one expects the little Stewart to dominate, so she doesn’t. She plays up the good girl act, small and subservient, and her rage reduced to quiet simmers. But she can only hold a real smile for so long; after that, it’s just stretched-out muscles and teeth.

It’s Jack who first draws genuine smiles out of her, and she chases it. Chases it all the way to sunny California, worn-out instruments and a marriage certificate in tow, a promising law career hastily thrown in the layovers. They’re dubbed promising young artists, then up-and-comers, then the next best thing — until at their relatively young ages of twenty-four, they finally become just that. And she feels alive for the first time, even if she didn’t quite come alive for herself, just feeding on his own radiance.

But all your cells are replaced within eight years, after all, and by the tenth year, Marion finally feels that harrowing newness of delicate skin, nerves and synapses finally alerted of poison nursed by her bloodstream all this time. The dust settles, the gravity begins to weigh in, and suddenly her life feels like a shadow of a shadow of his own. The divorce is inevitable, but no less painful. She’d ridden with his high in more ways than one, and stepping out of that comfort felt far too terrifying.

Back to being invisible, Marion finds and drags the limits of her own brutality and shameless lying. It’s a peculiar kind of recklessness, born from internalized fear and insecurity, and ossified by the scars left by other people and herself. Her flightiness is seen as a unique charm as opposed to a character defect, and she’s consequently reduced to an object to play with — arm-in-arm with some man or woman, until she inadvertently grips far too tight, gentle touch becoming a chokehold.

It’s a cycle she’s bound to perpetuate: to be the wished-for hand, only to be wished away the instant she reveals herself to be a bruise of a thing, and who bruises others all the same.

It’s a rudderless voyage perhaps fated to last forever until he pulls her out of that raging sea. And there’s something decidedly pleasant in having someone stay, in having a world all to yourself, with time that felt neither stolen nor borrowed. And she doesn’t feel invisible, not anymore. Together they come alive, in that apartment with the rickety old floor; and at the corner, a cheap upright piano that’s rarely ever perfectly tuned, sunlight streaming against the keys. They coax out smiles from each other as if it were their last, and Marion doesn’t think their days are numbered, not at all, until she breaks the news of her pregnancy and that smile of his is a smile no longer.

It isn’t until he leaves that she pauses to consider she may have pulled him into the water herself and let him drown with her, too. That, perhaps, he’d saved himself when he walked out the door, leaving her and their unborn child in his wake.

Seven months later and she finds herself holding another vigil, unattended save for a kindly nurse who holds her hand. Her next of kin are on the other side of the continent, she hears the medical staff whisper, though they didn’t answer the call. Strangely enough, she doesn’t cry. There is no one to grieve for, after all, when she has no sense of who Lily Stewart was supposed to be, no happy memories to sustain her. When all is said and done, she’s ultimately just grasping at someone permanently out of reach, and what exists simply is the before and after.

So she doesn’t attempt to grieve. There is no sense in grieving when there is no one to remember.

At its crux, Marion supposes, she misses people more than she remembers them. So she goes back home and relishes in that bitter nostalgia. There’s a comfort to be found in that humdrum life, even if it has already been marred by her parents’ distrustful eyes and her siblings’ respective successes. There are attempts to get better, of course. Sitting on some floral couch on some dimly lit office. Monoblocs arranged into a circle with other parents, even though the word itself tastes awfully like rust and sharp metal. But honesty feels foreign against her tongue, and any attempts to draw it out of her are almost immediately shut down. She spends five years in Boston but her secrets are safely tucked away, all that horridness sealed save for a select few.

True to form, Marion runs away again to the City of Angels, where her younger brother has now settled. She lands a job as a paralegal — at last, reaping the benefits of good, old-fashioned nepotism — and finishes a certificate not long after in the efforts to appear legitimate. The pay is shitty and the work hours are long and winding, but it’s a job all the same, offering a vestige of stability that’s so evaded her all these years.

But loneliness could not help but send vicious reminders, sometimes: in the songs she’d written with her ex-husband, played repeatedly to this day; in her friends who’d moved away from LA off to some suburb with white picket fences, their ring fingers clad with golden bands; and in the toothy smiles of her brothers’ children, which she can no longer have. It crawls its way back to the surface despite all attempts and protests, and she almost admires it, that tenacity that could rival her own.

Her pain has been reduced to stories she carries around, and it’s telling that even in her stories she’s reduced to a supporting role, each and every time. Peace is elusive, she finds, in a city brimming with bittersweet memories. So she makes a crucial decision to move to the quieter Catalina Island, with everything new: a new job, a new house, a new goal. A new leaf. But being so close to the ocean, she’s eerily aware of her wounds, barely bandaged as it is, and she’s not quite sure she can survive even a single grain of salt rubbing against it.

But the universe has rarely been anything but cruel. She should’ve been paying attention — all of that pain was just practice.

PERSONALITY

Positive: Dynamic | Assertive | Flirtatious

Negative: Tactless | Self-Destructive | Reticent

Marion Stewart is portrayed by Laine.

#all #female #avalon #substance abuse tw #stillbirth tw #january jones

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