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ask-joyce-byers · 5 years

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“Choose me.”

Fall of 1959 brought a lot of bad news, bad weather, and bad hair on the part of a certain seventeen-year-old Joyce, but something good was the dance that Hawkins High held at the end of the fall-winter semester, widely recognized to be the last hurrah that many of the seniors were going to have before the final months of testing to graduate, and for the boys, evading the draft. Everyone lobbied for the band to learn their favorite hits for the dance, and Joyce privately swore that if it wasn’t mostly the Everly Brothers and actual good music, she’d walk out then and there.

The band kids fancied themselves original, cutting-edge, and the only problem with that was all their own perceptions of cutting-edge was just imitating other group’s soul-rending ballads with a few new chord progressions and substituted lyrics. Copyrights weren’t an issue to a high school in rural Indiana, but at least Joyce wished they could just cover real music. Instead of fancying themselves artists and badly hashing together something that had already been done before, only worse.

It was fact that no one paid a wit of attention to Mr. Cooper’s lecture in the last period of the day, minds instead on the complicated time-table each student had worked for themselves of how much time they had to get home, get dolled up, and return that night to astonish their classmates with their dancing prowess or really thrill their crush with how well they looked in a new suit. By the time the bell rang, the class was nearly to the door already, and Joyce alone was left behind in the tumble of bodies, gathering her books with a quiet resolve, and turning to go. In her haste, she nearly collided with the tall figure of Chrissy Carpenter, leggy and blonde, with eyelashes like Bambi and lips like Joanne Woodward, full and voluptuous.

“Hi Joyce,” Chrissy began, and Joyce fought an inner sigh. Her voice was, as ever, a shocking contrast to the tone she used when talking to boys. About an octave different and no less than a full lung’s worth of air in each word. “I was wondering if you’d finished your essay for the composition final yet?”

“Yyesss, I have,” Joyce began, slow, eyes wary. “Why?”

“I wondered if you could look over mine for me. Check for errors, and I could do the same for yours.”

“Mine’s fine, thanks,” Joyce replied, a little too quick for decorum, but firm in her understanding of where this was going. Chrissy Carpenter was no academic, and she just wanted to get some ideas of how to overhaul hers from the only girl in their class who consistently got 99%. “I’ll look yours over, but I don’t wanna show mine to anyone until after they’ve all been handed back.”

“Joyce, please,” Chrissy began, switching to the more airy tone, and Joyce wondered mildly if she were being given the same wheedling treatment that undoubtedly worked on boys, and fought a smile at that thought. “I’m gonna fail this class if I don’t get some help, and I just can’t do a whole year over. I have plans and everything -”

“You’re failing?” Too late, Joyce hushed her tone, and looked about the empty classroom. Even Mr. Cooper had left, but Chrissy’s color rose nevertheless.

“I kept forgetting to turn in assignments. That debate club is really taking all my attention.

Debate club my ass. It was common knowledge that several of the couples in debate club were only couples because parents were under the impression it was a weekly club meeting, when it was, in fact, only called to meet when there was some kind of regional competition. Jim Hopper, for one, had used that cover the entire year to move through the ranks of high school beauties with an entire free period, ending with Chrissy Carpenter, who not only had lasted the longest, but seemed the most willing to actually, well, come to debate sometimes. Whether or not Estee Lauder and Elizabeth Arden were topics relevant to the debate team would remain to be seen.

“I’m really sorry, Chrissy,” Joyce managed at last, doing her best to sound sincere. “Maybe you should have told someone earlier. I’m not sure it’s even mathematically possible to save your grade with only one assignment.”

The blank look in Chrissy’s blue Bambi eyes was enough to bring Joyce’s own eyes falling shut.

“Chrissy, what’s your grade now?”

“A thirty-two,” Chrissy whispered, and Joyce’s eyes flew open. Was it even possible to have that low of a grade? That would mean – what, coming to class alone and not turning in a single assignment? Or turning in one, maybe two and having them completely flunked?

“This final is only worth twenty percent of our final marks. Even if you got a 99, you’re not passing.”

“What if I got a one hundred?”

“What?”

“I mean,” Chrissy blathered, “what if you helped me get a one hundred?”

“Then you’d add twenty to your thirty and that’s still not passing,” Joyce replied gently, permitting herself a kindly eyeroll. “And besides, nobody gets hundreds. Only god is perfect.”

“I’m so fucked,” Chrissy breathed, and Joyce met her gaze with steady resignation.

“Yeah. Sounds like it. Maybe you could talk to Mr. Cooper, get him to give you extra assignments or something to pass. Or – you know, maybe they don’t care about your grades in Hollywood. That is where you wanna go, right?”

Chrissy gave her a scathing once-over. “No. I want to model.”

“Isn’t that in Hollywood?”

“Hollywood is movies, Joyce. Modeling is NYC.”

“Ah.” She nodded, rebuked. “My mistake. Well, maybe it won’t make a difference.”

Her fuse lit, Chrissy seemed to have little further interest in parleying. Her final offer was so desperate that it even took Joyce by surprise.

“If you save this grade for me, I’ll let you dance with Jim tonight.”

Jim Hopper. The tower of charm, the king of bullshitting, the one that all the girls alternatively swooned over and cursed out, who had good enough grades that the teachers couldn’t hate him, but bad enough behaviour that they didn’t like him either. Jim Hopper, who had looked her way exactly three times the entire school year, once when she had come into class late, her hair especially untameable, once when they’d made awkward eye contact by accident in the cafeteria, and once when she had sneezed in the middle of French class, the look accompanied by a winning smile and a whispered, “You’ve got the accent perfect.” Gail, his beau that month, had been livid. Handsome guys like Jim didn’t talk to plain girls like Joyce. It just wasn’t done.

And here was the offer to dance.

Nevermind Joyce wasn’t all that confident in the fact that she even wanted to dance with him anyway, the offer was just too tantalizing. To have Chrissy this desperate. To be offered something that a mousy, bookish girl was never offered, and in their last dance before graduation, seemed an opportunity too good to pass up.

“Give me your essay,” Joyce murmured. “I’ll look it over and mark some places to adjust. But you have to talk to Mr. Cooper, tell him you’re getting some help, that you’ll work hard in the spring. All the things he wants to hear.” The sultry look that Chrissy shot at the imaginary Mr. Cooper was enough to have Joyce grimace and amend, “Not all the things. Just – try, okay?”

“Joyce, you’re a lifesaver.” Chrissy embraced her and imprinted red lipstick on her cheek. “I’ll tell Jim that I’m too tired to dance, and that he should ask you. You’re probably the only girl he hasn’t taken out this year, and he loves an enigma.”

“Enigma,” Joyce called after Chrissy, who was already on her way out of the classroom. “It’s a good word. Put it in your essay.”

The exchange had cut exactly seven minutes off Chrissy’s already-compressed dance preparation time, but luckily, Joyce herself had very little make-ready, and merely returned home, washed her face, applied a little tasteful mascara, and, as an afterthought, some of her mother’s lipstick. Brushing her hair and tying it with a dark ribbon, Joyce slipped into her dress and wondered, glancing in the mirror, if maybe black wasn’t the thing anymore. Nevermind the fact that her mother would probably still bemoan her neckline, something Joyce found a small amount of shy pride in. The sweetheart shape emphasized her one good feature, fair skin and full bosom, and with the waist cinched with a wide belt, the tea-length skirt full and inches below a safe mid-calf, she felt that perhaps, just perhaps she would look passable in a school assemblage that would undoubtedly resemble a flock of colorful birds.

She wasn’t wrong about the colorful birds, nor about the band as they struck up a particularly bad original song, and afterwards a slightly better rendition of There Goes My Baby, but it wasn’t until Ronnie was mid-chorus into Bobby Darin’s Dream Lover that Joyce even spotted him, head and shoulders above the rest, wearing shirt and suspenders, tie and trousers, jacket having already been lost somewhere in the hustle of dancing bodies and greeting classmates. He had Chrissy on his arm, her tall, lithe form encased in a yellow wonder that hugged her figure and flounced out at the waist into a full ruffled skirt, and when she twirled, Jim saying something that made her laugh as if she had never heard anything funnier, Joyce caught a glimpse of a purple petticoat. Never did she feel more like a raven among peacocks than in that moment, Ronnie’s voice carrying over the crowd.

“Someday, I don’t know how, I hope she’ll hear my plea,” Ronnie sang. He had a good voice despite the band, and Joyce focussed on that, eyes on her feet as she did her best to avoid catching Chrissy’s eye, or worse, Jim’s. She’d arrived a little late despite not having taken long to get ready, and the dance had already been in full swing by the time she’d slipped in to stand quietly along the wall. “Someway,” Ronnie sang, “I don’t know how, she’ll bring her love to me.” Chrissy had brought her love alright, her body pressed close and undulating against him, and Joyce turned away as the gag reflex rose strong in her throat.

“Wanna dance?” Gene asked, startling Joyce from the left, and she met his gaze with a round-eyed stare.

“Thanks, no,” she managed at last, forcing a smile, arms folding protectively around herself, suddenly regretting the low neckline. Gene was nice enough, but he eyed her wolfishly and said something jovial about him singing the next set, before ambling off. Joyce pressed her eyes shut, and wondered if this had even been half of a good idea. Think of just how much homework she could be getting done if she were home right now. Final touches on her own essay, and Chrissy’s too.

But the deal. It had been too tempting, and when she scanned the crowd again for Chrissy and Jim, they were nowhere to be seen. Everyone was there. Even Bob had a date, a plain girl called Susan, who Joyce often enjoyed. She worked hard in class as well, and it was rotten that girls who cared about their grades were stigmatized as lifeless prudes. From the looks of it, Bob was having the time of his life, and though she didn’t talk to him much, she was glad that Susan had ended with someone nice. Bob was as much a brainiac as anyone, and if there was anyone likely to make it far after high school, it was him, despite his ungainly social skills. If only he’d give up on his obsession with radios and gadgets that no one was going to care about and focus on something that could give him a real career. Joyce was one to talk, already feeling the pressures of what she was going to do when she graduated, and she had no real plans other than getting the best grades possible and then seeing what life held. She wasn’t going to move out of Hawkins, she wasn’t going to model in NYC, and with her current lack of social interaction, she had about as much future as Bob, and she indulged in a moment of mild despair over that fact before being startled once again, this time from the right, by a grinning voice.

“My date tells me she’s all worn out, and I oughtta ask you.” Jim Hopper stood above her, eyes smiling merrily, and Joyce cursed the pounding of her heart. He was a player, the whole school knew it. And suddenly she felt pity for the girls who had been left in his tumultuous wake, held captive by those snappy blue eyes. “My bet bet is it’s the punch, more than the dancing,” Jim added, lounging against the wall with a satisfied air.

“Definitely the punch,” Joyce managed, casting a glance toward the refreshment table, overseen with the vulture-like presence of the drafted parent chaperones. “I don’t think it would be a proper dance if Gene hadn’t managed to spike something. Cooper is gonna kill him.”

“Hopefully he kills him after this set. He’s got a voice.”

“Ronnie too. If only they’d do more radio stuff and less of their own drivel.”

“Drivel?” Jim’s eyebrows knit.

“Yeah. Crap. Shit.”

He laughed outright at that. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Joyce Horowitz say shit.”

The music chose that point to lull, and Joyce dropped her voice, couples dispersing. “I’ve heard Jim Hopper say worse.”

He laughed again, and Joyce could feel the worry coiling in the pit of her stomach, the artifice wearing off, the realization of the imminent revelation boiling up inside her like a hot spring.

“Chrissy’s not really tired,” she blurted at last. “She said she -”

The music striking up cut off the confession she’d been about to make, the lively strains of the Everly Brother’s top-ten intro filling the gym, and Joyce felt her heart ride up into her throat when he turned and looked at her, all merriment and charm vanished, just the round honest eyes of a very tall boy, looking into hers.

“Dance?” The single syllable was hardly a question. And she hardly answered, just let him lead her onto the floor where couples were already assembling, his hand finding her waist, large and warm, her hand resting on his palm where she could feel it tremble.

“Are you cold?”

She shook her head, eyes focussed on the flat plane of his tie, before working together excuse to look up.

“Jim, I gotta tell you someth-”

Ronnie’s voice, in perfect harmony with Gene’s, broke in over the light-hearted chords of the song. “Never felt like this until I kissed you. How did I exist until I kissed you? Never had you on my mind, now you’re there all the time. Never knew what I missed until I kissed you.”

Somehow, it seemed a travesty to tear her eyes away from his, the rest of the gym fading away, nothing but the words of the song, and the easy tug of Jim’s hand on her waist, encompassing a good portion of her back, and his fingers close around hers. She could feel his breath, not in the air on her cheeks, but in the steady rise and fall of his stomach against her chest, and she faltered, putting a chaste inch of room between them until the press of bodies forced them back together, and she let her eyes wilt shut.

“You okay?” Jim began, dropping his head, voice near her ear. “You’re shakin’ like a leaf.”

“I’m editing Chrissy’s essay for her,” Joyce murmured, more to his chest than to his face. “She said she’d let you dance with me if I did it.”

The pause was interminable, and only served to throw Ronnie and Gene’s singing into sharper contrast. “You don’t realize what you do to me, and I didn’t realize what a kiss could be…”

“Chrissy’s drunk.” Jim’s voice came at last, a rumble in his chest, and Joyce looked up to see him looking down at her, eyes searching her face as if he’d never truly seen her before that moment, had only ever seen the bangs and the frowsy hair, the oversized sweaters and heavy skirts, books and essay assignments and anything except boys and love. “She’s drunk off her ass, saying all kinds of shit and she told me she couldn’t dance anymore and to come find you.”

“Yeah, but that’s because of the deal we made,” Joyce insisted, voice lifting. “You’d never choose me on your own.”

“You don’t think?” He looked shocked, almost hurt. “I mean, what’s wrong with you? You’re cute. Pretty even -”

“Stop,” Joyce murmured, and she felt her heart hammer to a stop when his hand left her waist to brush her hair back from her cheek, lingering there, her eyes flying to his. “What’re you -”

“Sh. Listen to the words.”

“Yours, or the song,” Joyce breathed, and he hesitated, before stooping and kissing her soundly on the lips. It wasn’t long, but it was fervent, and when they broke away, Joyce was a little breathless, swaying in his arms, all thoughts of dancing forgotten, her primary interest in keeping her legs under her at all.

“Both, I guess,” was all Jim said, and the band lilted on the final chorus. “You got a way about you, now I can’t live without you, never knew what I missed until I kissed you…”

#jopper #fanfic #ask joyce byers #joyce byers #jim hopper #stranger things #fic

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walkingshcdow-a · 5 years

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A Girl and A Gun: Santiago & Anna Drabble

Wiggling out of her petticoats, Anna looked for a place to stash them during this next photo. From across the room, Emily lowered her camera with a sigh.

“I told you - these aren’t the actual book cover. Just inspiration shots.”

“That I get to use for my portfolio!” Anna chimed back. “I remember!”

“Then why did you bring extra costume pieces?”

“I thought the petticoats would give the trenchcoat some volume! Like, if you asked me to turn dramatically it would, like, flare out-”

“Whatever. I just need you to get them out of my shot, hop up on the desk, and pretend like you’re holding a gun.”

“Okie dokie.” Anna opened the bottom drawer of Santiago’s desk to hide the petticoats. Sitting in an open, velvet-lined case, an ornate, old-timey gun gleamed. Anna ghosted her fingers along the cool metal. “Um. hey, Em? Did Santiago ever text you back? About us using the place?”

“I thought you were gonna text him. He’s your boss.”

“I mean, I asked him in person and he said-” Don’t get me wrapped up in one of your get-famous-quick schemes. “- we could totally use anything in his office as long as we put it back. And you’ll never guess what I just found!”

Anna pulled out the gun. Emily took a step back, towards the door.

“Is it loaded?” she asked.

“Puh-leeze. Santiago is a professional. It’s not like he’d leave a loaded gun in an unlocked drawer,” Anna said.

She weighed the gun in her hands. She’d never held one before, but she guessed they were all this heavy. After all, she wasn’t lying: Santiago was so professional, it was almost tragic. He made it sound like working as a PI was about as interesting as being a plumber. He obviously followed the code of conduct for his profession or the law or common sense or whatever said ‘don’t put a loaded gun in an unlocked drawer’. Anna shoved the petticoats in the desk and carried the gun over to the front. She slid onto the desk, smiling.

“Do you want my right or left side?”

Emily squinted at the light coming in the window.

“Cross your legs,” she said. “And undo the top button of the trenchcoat.”

“Jeez, are y’all publishing Pulitzer winners now or what?” Anna asked. Still, she did as she obliged and had definitely prepped for this - her lacy black bra and a black garter peeked out as she got into position. “I’m ready for my close up.”

She lifted the gun and smoldered at the camera. After a few snaps, Emily made her shift position. Then again and again until she resumed the original stance.

“Last one,” Emily said. “Then we can do some silly ones for your portfolio.”

Anna plumped her lips and eyed the camera seductively. Before Emily could tell her to “say cheese”, the door opened.

Santiago stood, frozen at the door. He wanted to curse - loudly - but when his eyes rested on the gun in Anna’s hands, he knew that any sudden movements endangered his life. The gun she held was filled with silver bullets. Santiago had painstakingly filled it himself, wearing thick leather gloves. It was the only weapon he kept unlocked and he kept it in case Martzel showed up for revenge. Now, watching his clueless assistant hold it, Santiago had never felt stupider. His dark eyes took in the scene: Anna, propped up on his desk, vamping for a camera girl; a camera girl he vaguely recognized, as if they’d passed in a hallway a few times; the gun, gleaming in the dim light of an overcast day.

“Anna....” he said as levelly as he could. A fight or flight panic rose in his throat. “Put the gun down. Please.”

“It’s just for the photoshoot, I swear, I didn’t mean to invade your personal space, I just-”

“Anna. Put. The gun. Down. Please.”

“Mr. Ortiz, Anna said you knew about this, so I thought it was okay-”

Now the camera girl was speaking at the same time as Anna. Great.

“- I am so sorry, I swear, if there is anything you want me to blur out in edits for privacy’s sake, I will-”

“- and it’s just, like, I felt glamorous? And I like, know you take your job very seriously and, like, I respect you for that so much, but, like, are you even looking? I look like some film noir bombshell! How could I pass that up? And like, anyways, I’ll totally put it back-”

Anna’s gun-hand flailed around and suddenly her wrist went limp and she aimed vaguely for the wall -

“Anna-!”

BANG.

She shot a hole between their offices, the silver bullet landing somewhere under her desk. Santiago heard it roll around on the ground. He walked over to her, took the gun from her hand, and opened the drawer. White puffs of fabric spilled out. Santiago thrust them at Anna.

“Get your friend out of here. Get some real clothes on. Get back to work. And stay out of my office.”

“Santiago, I-” Anna said weakly. She didn’t finish her sentence. Instead she led an apologetic roommate - Santiago remembered her now, by the perfume she wore. Too expensive for an underling in publishing, he remembered thinking when he met Emily.

He looked over at them and met Anna’s gaze. He wondered if she knew now. That he was a werewolf, that he was a fugitive from his own pack. She inhaled deeply. She must’ve known. Instead she said -

“I’ll sign you up for a gun safety class when I get back.”

Santiago shut his eyes.

“You should sign yourself up, too, while you’re at it,” he said. “I’ll call the repairman.”

He listened to her high heels smack sullenly against the laminate floor and stowed the gun once more. For a long, quiet moment, Santiago sat on the floor, staring through the hole in the wall and listening to the sounds of traffic outside.

#;;thy tongue; thy story quickly.| {drabble}#drabble #;;throw me to the wolves and i'll return leading the pack | {santiago ortiz}#;;i may be small but i have giant plans | {anna garcia}#tw: guns

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mrswhozeewhatsis · 7 years

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Like Son, Like Father Timestamp

A/N: This is the first of three fics I’ll be writing for my 2000 followers celebration! I’m so sorry for how long these fics are taking. This one fought me. I wanted it to be a little funny, but the characters told me that there is nothing funny about this. Major thanks go to @littlegreenplasticsoldier and @manawhaat who both helped me fight with this monster, even though neither had read the original fic. (Seriously, so much fighting. They deserve so many medals.) I hope I managed to keep the reader at least somewhat in character!

Summary: This is a timestamp following the events of Like Son, Like Father, which is set primarily in the beginning of season 11. (”The present” is around episode 11.04 Baby.) You don’t have to have read LSLF to get this, but it would help. In LSLF, the reader is sent back to May, 1984 to protect John from the demon traveling back in time to kill him. While there, she has a fling with John, even though she’s in love with Dean, who has never indicated she’s anything more to him than a sister. When she comes back, angst ensues, and she and Dean finally get together. This timestamp is set in the beginning of season 12. Mary is back, and everything is just awkward.

Pairing: Past John x Reader, Dean x Reader

Warnings: ANGST. Some Dean fluff. Mostly angst, though.

Word count: 10,357

Disclaimer: Several scenes from the show are essentially relived here. I do not own those scenes nor have I written any part of them. The characters are not mine and those scenes are not mine, I’m just borrowing them.

When Mary first arrived on the scene, saving you and the brothers from Her Majesty’s She-Devil, Toni Bevell, you were nervous. The anxiety was partly due to the fact that you were meeting your boyfriend’s mother, your apprehension only amplified by the fact that she’d been dead for over thirty years.

Mostly, though, it was the whole “I slept with your husband” thing.

Your nerves frayed as you dealt with the Brits, hoping they didn’t know about you and John. They’d known so much, but hopefully your trip was long before the Winchesters were ever on their radar. After what seemed to be far longer than necessary, the Brits were gone and formal introductions were made. Hopefully, Mary would think your shaking was due to the torture. When it was time, Dean held you close, introduced you as his girl, and no mention was made of your little trip to 1984. After the house was cleaned thoroughly, you all piled into your vehicles and headed to the bunker.

The drive back to the bunker was more than a little nerve-wracking, since you spent it in the truck with Cas instead of in the Impala with the Winchesters. It took a toll on you, not knowing what was being said between Mary and her sons, but Dean and Sam reassured you they wouldn’t say a word about it. Mary didn’t need to know. And not only did she not need to know about your two-and-a-half-night stand with her husband, it was probably better if she didn’t.

Back at the bunker, everyone tried to pretend that everything was normal. A shower schedule was created, take-out menus were shuffled through and evaluated, dinner was eaten around a table (a glowing map table, but still a table), and Dean ate pie like a one year-old on their birthday (it got everywhere). If there had been a studio audience, they might have believed that everything was fine, but you didn’t think any of you did. There were too many landmines lying around and all of you were becoming experts at sidestepping the the triggers. To make matters worse, Mary continually disproved Dean’s preconceptions about his mother, while Sam spent the whole night staring at her like she would disappear if he blinked.

When everyone went to bed, you stayed up with Dean, trying to help him work through everything. You puttered around the room trying to be unobtrusive while he stared at old pictures and told you about crustless sandwiches and the best meatloaf he’d ever tasted. Soon, he was quiet again, and you settled down on the bed next to him.

“After Chuck and Amara wafted off to Disney World, or wherever gods go for a family vacation, I was trying to find my way out of the park when I ran into Mom. She laid me out so fast my head was spinning. And held me down with her foot on my neck!” Dean huffed a laugh. “I knew she was badass from when I met her during my trips back in time, but she still caught me by surprise.” He shook his head. “And then, after me and Cas get our asses handed to us, she just stabs this British bitch in the back with an angel blade.

“And all that, I could get. I could see it. Jody does the whole mom thing and the badass hunter chick thing, and you do it all, too, but I still thought she was different. She gave up hunting for a normal life. I thought she got out so she could make meatloaf and cut the crusts off my sandwiches. But she apparently didn’t make meatloaf, or bake pies, and now I’m wondering what else I got wrong.”

He put away the pictures and curled up in bed around you, his head on your shoulder so you could rub his back and stroke his hair. Just when you thought he was falling asleep, his voice rumbled through your chest.

“She’s so disappointed in us. She hates that we’re hunters. I think she even hates that we’re legacies. She hates everything she knows about our lives, and we haven’t even told her the bad stuff, yet.”

The breaking of Dean’s heart was almost audible in the quiet of the room. Your arms tightened around him while you worked to soothe him. “Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it. Together. We’ll make her understand, somehow. I’m not going anywhere, so I’ll be here to help you however I can.”

Dean leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips before settling back next to you and relaxing into sleep.

Things were good for about a week. Cas hung around while you and the boys helped him look for leads on Lucifer, and Mary slowly learned how to use a cell phone and a laptop, if only to make calls and use Google. It was sketchy, though. She mostly Googled references made in conversations, and Dean seemed intent on making her watch all the movies he loved, which you suspected might have been an avoidance tactic. If she was watching Hobbits and Han Solo, she wasn’t finding out about Heaven and Hell. Everything they talked about was idealized, all the dirty details and important truths left out. The boys were happy to tell her about Jody and Donna and Garth, even Bobby and the good times with their dad, but very little was said about the Apocalypse, Leviathans, or Purgatory.

Hiding so much of their past from Mary was wearing on you, and you finally had enough. You dragged out every alcoholic beverage you could find, lined up all the bottles on a library table, and called everyone out from their rooms. They converged in the entryway and stopped short, catching sight of the bottles you’d collected. After you set glasses at five places around the table, you stared them all down.

“We are gonna play a game I like to call Drunk History. Dean and Sam are familiar, but for you two,” you pointed at Cas and Mary, “the rules are simple. I’ll start by asking Dean a question. If he doesn’t want to answer it, he takes a drink. If he does answer it, I drink. Then it’s his turn to ask someone a question, and so on and so forth. For this game only, Mary is allowed to ask one follow-up question per turn, since she’s the newbie. Likewise, when it’s her turn to answer, one of us may ask one follow-up question. Cas, due to your angelic tolerance,” you pushed a large bottle of whiskey into his hand, “you drink this before we start, then drink for every question so we’re on a level playing field.”

Cas looked at the Winchesters, and when they all seemed to agree, he downed the bottle in one long go. Mary’s eyes widened with every swallow as she watched the bottle empty into the angel. He slammed the bottle onto the table, and looked at you with doubt in his narrowed eyes. “I really don’t think that will make much difference. It once took an entire liquor store to inebriate me.”

You shrugged your shoulders and smiled as Cas stepped toward the nearest chair, sitting down with an unusually heavy whump. The rest of you sat, each with a glass and a bottle, and the game began.

“Dean. I know your best subject in school was shop, but what was your second-best subject?” Even though you wanted to get serious later, you figured you’d start off easy.

Dean looked surprised at the question, then smirked. “Anatomy,” he said with a cocky wink and a smile at you.

Laughing, you smacked his arm. “I’m serious, Dean! I know you were a heart-breaker, but I’m talking real school subjects. What caught your interest?”

Dean shrugged while looking off into the distance. “Chemistry, I guess. I mean, I once had a hunt at a local community college and had to sit in on an engineering class that was pretty cool, but as far as classes I actually took, it was chemistry. Something about it just made sense. Atoms fit together to make molecules and stuff. I just got it.” Even though he’d answered the question, Dean took a drink with you, then turned to Cas with a twinkle in his eye. “Cas. I know your one friend did, but did you ever take a vessel that wasn’t a man?”

Cas nodded solemnly, and you noticed him blinking just a little more than usual, the alcohol affecting him more than he’d expected. “Back during the Lily Sunder mission, I took a vessel that was a woman.”

Dean’s eyes danced with mirth, and you interrupted whatever he was about to say by putting a hand on his arm and shaking your head. Dean’s face fell under your silent reprimand and he pouted into his next sip, making you giggle.

“Was there anything different about possessing a woman as opposed to a man?” Mary asked.

Cas looked thoughtful while he took his drink. “The clothing was far more restrictive. It’s very difficult to fight in a corset and petticoats.”

Dean’s laughter burst out of him in spite of his attempts to contain it, and even Sam chuckled. You and Mary just nodded at each other, both of you knowing how difficult it was to fight in a modern skirt, much less a hoop skirt. Cas ignored the brothers and turned to Mary, who was taking a drink.

“What was your heaven like?”

Mary smiled, lost in her memory for a moment. “It was Sunday afternoon, and John was watching football on TV with Dean while I played with Sammy and puttered around the house. Sometimes, I was tending my garden while the boys played in the dirt and John worked on the car. It was just quiet normality with my husband and my boys.”

Both brothers had a half-smile on their faces as they tried to imagine what Mary was describing. After a quiet moment, Mary turned to Sam.

“Okay, Sam. I want to hear about the first girl you kissed.”

The game continued like that for a while, no one really having the guts to ask the hard questions. It got a little serious when you asked about Mary’s first hunt, then a little silly when it was interrupted by an impromptu game of Never Have I Ever. You thought the switch was a good one for a while, because it got the boys talking about their relationship with Crowley and the Mark of Cain. That ended quickly, though, when you drunkenly said you’d never been to Hell and all three boys drank, making Mary’s eyes widen then fall. Pete’s petunias, you were trying to get things out in the open, but that surely wasn’t the best way to do it! In an effort to make things better, you hastily added that they’d also been to Heaven and Purgatory, but that didn’t seem to brighten her expression. At that point, you decided shutting up was a good idea.

Dean tried to get things back on track by asking Sam about Eileen, which made Sam blush. His face was already pretty red from being drunk, but it managed to darken one more shade as Dean teased him. Sam then tried to take the attention off himself by asking Cas when Jimmy had gone to Heaven.

“Jimmy’s soul moved on when Raphael smote me in Chuck’s house while you were off killing Lilith and breaking the final seal to free Lucifer and start the Apocalypse.”

Mary’s eyes widened and you hid behind your glass, but Cas kept rambling on before anyone could comment.

“When I was put back together, Jimmy was gone and the vessel was mine.” Cas’ eyes wavered as he looked at a frowning Sam to see if his answer was satisfactory, and then he burped and hiccupped, surprising himself so much he almost slid out of his chair. “I believe I might be feeling something,” he declared, finishing his fourth bottle and pushing it to the side with his other empties.

The rest of you laughed, watching as the angel reached for his next bottle but the laughter stopped when Cas turned to you and asked, “Do you believe it is a genetic trait for Winchesters to be interested in you romantically?”

All laughter stopped as your muddled brain tried to think of a way to shut Cas up. Sam went rigid with panic and Dean’s wide eyes and gritted teeth made him look like he was trying to slam inaudible prayers at the angel. Cas just waved his hand in front of his face, probably trying to push away all the mental screaming telling him to SHUT UP.

Sam finally tried to save the day. “No, Cas, I know we told you that I was interested in Y/N when we first met her, but I just told Dean that so he’d be okay with her hunting with us. I was never actually interested in her that way, man.”

Cas seemed to take a moment to consider this new information before speaking again. “Oh. Well, then that’s very different.” You, Dean, and Sam all took an almost visible sigh of relief. However, Cas barreled on. “If it was only Dean and John, though, then that poses an interesting question about vessels for Michael. Do you think perhaps your brother, Adam, would have also been interested in Y/N romantically, since he was the Winchester Michael eventually took for the final battle with Lucifer?” All four of you were frozen, staring at Cas while his angelic mind tried to work out the math equation this seemed to pose. If two out of three Winchesters have romantic feelings for the same woman, how fast must the train carrying the fourth Winchester be going for him to not fall in love with her, too? “I suppose I could attempt to free him from the Cage, as well, then we could introduce you and find out, but that didn’t work out so well for Sam.”

Thank Chuck for Sam. Sam was the first to come to his senses and grab Cas, getting his attention and pulling the bottle of whiskey out of his hand. “I think you’ve had enough, Cas. Maybe I should take you into the kitchen and make you a sandwich to soak up some of that alcohol, hey buddy?”

Mary stood up and glared at Sam, pushing words out of her mouth through gritted teeth. “No, Sam. I think I’d like to hear more about this Adam, but especially about my husband’s interest in Y/N, since no one else seems inclined to tell me!” Somehow, Dean and Sam both managed to look like chastised children, and you were sure you didn’t look any better as Mary’s eyes passed over the room, only stopping when they rested once again on Cas. “Go on, Cas. How did Y/N even meet John? When was it? Was it on a hunt?”

Cas’s eyes were wide as he swallowed audibly, suddenly aware of what he’d done, but physically incapable of stopping his mouth due to the alcohol in his system. “It was when we had to send her to back in time to protect them and set them on their path as hunters.”

Mary’s expression was thunderous as she turned to you, making you slide down in your seat a little further. “You set them on their path as hunters?”

The look of disgust on Mary’s face was no worse than the disgust you’d felt yourself about what you’d done, but it still felt different coming from someone else... from the one person most justified to stand in judgement of you. Suddenly, you were back in the days after you’d returned, wanting only to hide in your room and mourn for the life you could have given your boys if you’d only ignored the fate of the rest of the world. You’d gotten through it only because everyone had agreed that you’d done the right thing and had forgiven you repeatedly. Now, someone outside of your own head was telling you the same awful things you had told yourself, and everything in your stomach threatened to come up.

“Let me get this straight. You went back in time, cheated on my son with his father, my husband, and then convinced John to raise my boys as hunters? You were the reason he taught them to kill things instead of how to play catch? You seduced him and convinced him this was what was best for my boys?”

Tears were running down your cheeks, now, as you wished you could break the hold Mary had on your gaze. If looks could kill, Mary would have had you buried five minutes ago.

Dean stood up and got between you and his mother, Sam and Cas not far behind. “Mom, that-that’s not how it was,” he said weakly, his eyes bouncing back and forth between you and Mary.

“You’re defending her?” Mary hissed in disbelief, her eyes still glued to you. “She cheated on you, destroyed your life, and you’re defending her?”

While you slid down further into a pit of self-loathing, Dean’s hackles were finally raised and he stood up straighter in front of her. “Now, wait a damn minute, Mom. She didn’t cheat on me because we weren’t together, yet. And as for talking Dad into making us hunters, she didn’t have a choice. She didn’t like it any better than you do, but it’s what she had to do.”

Mary’s unbelieving stare finally shifted to her older son. “You’re okay with this?!” she uttered breathlessly. “You’re okay with all of it?! With her ruining your life and…and…,” she took a shuddering breath and let it out shakily, “sleeping with your father?”

Dean sighed. “I wasn’t at first, but I’ve made my peace with it, Mom. She was free to be with whomever she wanted, and Dad treated her well, so I have no issue with it. As for ruining my life, there is a list as long as my arm of things I hate for ruining my life, but she’s not on it.�� Dean reached back and grabbed your hand, holding it tightly. “She’s only ever looked out for us and taken care of us, no matter how difficult that was.”

From the way her eyes bugged out and her mouth went slack, you thought Mary’s head might explode. She looked from Dean to Sam to Cas, seeing them all standing up for you while you cowered in your seat, then turned without a word and left the room. Slowly, the men relaxed and sat back down in their chairs, with both brothers grabbing a drink and tossing it back. You gulped down one of your own before pushing the empty glass away.

“Well, crap on a cracker. When I suggested the game, I wanted us all to talk some more about uncomfortable things; get things out in the open instead of pussyfootin’ around ‘em any longer. Since that was pretty much the most uncomfortable thing ever, I should have figured that would come up.” You sighed, almost shocked that you could produce words after the hellfire Mary’s eyes had scorched you with. “Thank you, guys, for sticking up for me, but you really shouldn’t have. She’s your mother... and she’s right.” Dean started to interrupt you but you stopped him with a wave of your hand. “She’s wrong about me cheating on you, and I didn’t set out to seduce your father, but she has every right to feel the way she does about the rest of it.” Running a hand through your hair, you fought the churning of guilt and alcohol in your gut and stood. “I’m going to go to bed, now. We can figure out how to try and fix this in the morning.”

Dean followed you to the bedroom you shared, and you went through your usual nightly routine together, with him standing just a bit closer than normal. His closeness filled your heart and made it ache all at the same time. He sided with you over his mother, and by sticking so closely to you, he was telling you that he didn’t regret it. Your elbows knocked together as you brushed your teeth, and the unassuming way he kept himself in your space, constantly reaffirming that he was there with you, brought the sting of tears to your eyes.

When you crawled into bed, he was right behind you again, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling your neck. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I will never let anyone separate us,” he whispered, tightening his arms around you, “not even my mother.”

A few tears streaked down your cheeks as you thanked Chuck for giving you Dean Winchester.

***

The next morning you woke up late, the bed cold and your head throbbing. There was a glass of water and a bottle of pain meds on the night stand and you smiled at Dean’s thoughtfulness, even though he probably felt as awful as you did. You took the pills and finished the water, then dozed a bit while they kicked in.

Once you were feeling more like a functioning human, you threw on some clothes and headed to the kitchen for breakfast. Heated conversation floated down the hallway as you approached, stopping abruptly when you appeared in the doorway.

Sam and Mary both looked up at you, Sam giving you a weak smile and Mary just giving you a death glare, her mouth almost disappearing as her lips pressed into a grimace. As you moved towards the coffee maker, Mary got up from the table with a huff.

“I’m going to my room,” she spat out, not even bothering to hide her feelings.

“Mom, c’mon….” Sam’s voice trailed off as his mother disappeared around the corner.

When you had your coffee, you sat down next to Sam and leaned your shoulder against his. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for how this is coming between you and your mother.”

Sam pressed back against you and sighed. “She doesn’t understand how it was, and isn’t giving me or Dean the time to try to explain it to her. Eventually, we’ll make her understand.”

The two of you drank your coffee in silence for a while, both of you lost in thought. When his cup was empty, Sam looked at you with a questioning squint.

“How did we get you to understand? I mean, you weren’t there with us when everything was happening, but you got it. What was it that made it real for you?”

You tried to play it cool, but your face flushed. “I read the books,” you muttered, knowing that Sam wouldn’t be happy to hear it.

Sam sat up straighter and shifted in his seat, his eyes glancing furtively around the room. “You read Chuck’s books?” His face morphed into Embarrassed Bitch Face #53, complete with Perturbed Dimples™. “Does Dean know?” Sam looked around furtively and dropped his voice to a whisper. “‘Cause he’s, like, full-frontal in those books.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, he knows. He got over it. I know it sounds absurd, but those books really are the Winchester Gospel. Reading them gave me a real feel for your relationship, how manipulated you both were, how circumstances shaped your relationship with each other, and how everything came together the exact way that it needed to in order to save the world. It was a house of cards, really, but it worked.”

Sam frowned. “Waiting for her to read all of the books will be torture, and I’m not sure Dean will be up for that idea. There’s got to be a better, and faster, way. This tension is going to tear Dean up if we can’t fix it.” With a kiss to your head, Sam got up from the table and left the room.

After dinner, you were in the garage, watching Dean fiddle with Baby, when Sam called out through the bunker for everyone to come to the library. Mary’s gaze was still murderous when she took you in, and you shrank back, almost turning around to leave, but Sam gently led you to a chair. Dean sat next to you, Cas across from you, Sam across from Dean, and Mary at the end of the table furthest from you.

“I was talking with Y/N earlier, and she gave me an idea how we can fix this. Cas and I will need all of you to be open and willing to participate, though, or it won’t work.”

Everyone but Mary nodded enthusiastically. When Sam looked at her steadily, she gave a slight nod and a sigh, apparently just as susceptible to his puppy eyes as the rest of the world.

“Good,” Sam said with a grim smile. “Now, everyone join hands and close your eyes.”

Suspicious squints and slightly tilted heads from all around the table met Sam’s determined gaze and, after a moment without anyone moving, his perturbed dimples appeared with an epic bitchface you didn’t think you’d ever seen before. Slowly, everyone joined hands and bowed their heads like they were in a prayer meeting.

At first, all you saw was the red of the library’s lights through your eyelids, but soon a room formed around you. It looked like the back of a restaurant, and in front of you, Dean was being hugged by a very large naked man.

“Help!” Dean choked out before gasping for breath.

“Oh, help is on the way. Yes, it is. Yes, it is!” The naked man dropped Dean and headed towards Cas, picking him up and hugging much like he’d done to Dean. “Hello, you!”

“This is Cupid?” Dean asked, his face twisted into a grimace.

“Yes,” Cas managed to squeeze out as the man dropped him.

Suddenly, the man was heading towards you and you felt a wash of alarm, fear, and disgust rush through you.

Oh! I’m Sam! That explains how short Dean and Cas look, I guess.

You turned to get away, only to find yourself face-to-face with the naked man, anyway. Before you could defend yourself, you were squeezed around the middle and lifted into the air.

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!” sang the happy naked man, still squeezing the breath out of you.

From behind you, Dean said, “Is this a fight? Are we in a fight?”

As the man finally put you down, Cas replied, “This is… their handshake.”

“I don’t like it,” said Dean.

“No one likes it,” replied Cas.

The scene continued, Dean and Cas confronting the Cupid about the deaths that had been happening, which you suddenly seemed to know all about. The Cupid began crying, Cas awkwardly tried to comfort him, which made the part of you sitting in the bunker library giggle, and then you all finally got down to the bottom of things.

“Wait, wait, you said--You said you were just following orders?” Dean asked. The Cupid nodded. “Whose orders?”

“Whose?” he responded with a giggle. “Heaven, silly! Heaven!”

You and Dean shared a quick glance filled with confusion before Dean said, “Why does Heaven care if Harry meets Sally?”

“Oh, mostly they don't. You know, certain bloodlines, certain destinies. Oh, like yours,” the Cupid replied with a matter-of-fact smile.

“What?” you asked, though your voice was clearly Sam’s.

The Cupid nodded. “Yeah, the union of John and Mary Winchester--Very big deal upstairs, top priority arrangement. Mm.” His head continued bobbing furiously.

Righteous anger flooded your system. Even though this was old news to you, you were feeling everything Sam had felt at the time.

Before you could say anything, Dean jumped in. “Are you saying that you fixed up our parents??”

“Well, not me, but... Yeah. Well, it wasn't easy, either. Ooh, they couldn't stand each other at first. But when we were done with them--Perfect couple.” The Cupid looked so damn pleased with himself about it, you wanted to break his nose.

“Perfect?” Dean exclaimed.

“Yeah!”

“They’re dead!” Dean spat out.

“I'm sorry, but... the orders were very clear. You and Sam needed to be born. Your parents were just, uh… meant to be.” And then he had the audacity to begin singing. “A match made in heaven- heaven!”

Dean punched him, and the scene went dark.

You opened your eyes and glanced around the table. Sam, Dean, and Cas were all watching Mary as she processed what she’d seen.

“Cas was there for that, so he was able to help with the details I’d forgotten. The rest would be a bit blurrier if he wasn’t there.” Sam glanced around the table. “Ready for more?”

You nodded, but Mary took a moment before she looked up and said, “Hit me.”

One side of Sam’s mouth tried to smile but failed. “What Azazel did to me, he did to countless other children, too. Rumor was he was trying to build an army of special children. I want you to see some of them, okay?”

Mary nodded, and you all closed your eyes.

A skinny, pale young man was sitting in front of you, crying. This was Max Miller, and he killed his father and his uncle. He was about to kill his stepmother, too, before Sam and Dean got there.

“Why didn’t you just leave?” Sam asked.

“It wasn’t about getting away. Just knowing they would still be out there. It was about not being afraid. When my Dad used to look at me, there was hate in his eyes. Do you know what that feels like?”

Your head shook while brief memories of John yelling flashed before your eyes. So much anger and disappointment, but never hate. “No.”

The memory fuzzed as it fast forwarded, and soon you were upstairs, bursting through a bedroom door, trying to stop Max from shooting Dean with a gun hanging in mid-air. Max had telekinesis. You tried to talk him down, and he suddenly relaxed, making you think he was going to be okay. Max turned around, then the gun swung around and shot Max in the head.

Without a pause, you were on a bridge, rescue and police everywhere. A man you somehow knew was Andy Gallagher was telling the police that his brother shot himself and they all saw it happen. Every police officer nodded their head as if in a trance. Andy and his brother had mind control. A memory of Andy having to shoot his brother in order to save Dean and Tracy flashed through your mind. Andy walked over to you with his shoulders slumped and his eyes on the ground. The words he said weren’t clear in the memory, but you could tell that he’d lost his chance with the girl.

Sam offered Andy his phone number. “If anything comes up, just call me.”

“What am I supposed to do now?”

Dean answered before Sam could come up with anything. “You be good, Andy. Or we’ll be back.” As the memory fuzzed away, you got a feeling that Andy was good. All the way to the end.

Next up was Ava Wilson. The memory started in a motel room with Ava looking frantic.

“Why can’t you just leave town? Please? Before you blow up?” Ava had dreams like Sam.

“Because there’s something going on here, Ava. With you, with me. I mean, there are others like us out there. And we’re all a part of something, and I’ve got to figure out what.”

Ava completely lost it. “Okay. You know what? Screw you, buddy. Okay? Because I’m a secretary from Peoria and I’m not part of anything, okay? Do you see this?” She jabbed her engagement ring in front of your face. “I am getting married in eight weeks. I am supposed to be at home addressing invitations, which I am way behind on, by the way. But instead, I drove out here to save your weirdo ass. But if you just want to stay here and die, fine. Me? I'm due back on Planet Earth.”

That memory faded quickly, and next you were in an abandoned town, four other people around you. You recognized Andy and Ava, but the memory gave you the names Jake and Lily for the other two. Almost dizzyingly so, the memory downloaded information as you looked at Jake and Lily’s faces. Lily had an electric touch that killed her girlfriend and Jake had super strength. The next thing you saw was Lily hanging from the water tower after trying to escape the town. Jake was pulled from Afghanistan to this place, and when he didn’t believe what Sam told him, he was almost killed by an Archeri demon.

You then saw a flash of Andy telling Sam that his mind control had increased so he could now put images into people’s heads. Andy giggled. “This one dick? Gay porn. All hours of the day.” Andy giggled, and you felt Sam stifle a chuckle, too. “You should have seen the look on his face!”

The moment of joy you got from Andy was ripped away as you stood over his dead body. You glared at Ava, a sickening feeling growing in your gut about her.

“What? You don’t think that I--” she stuttered

“I’ll tell you what I think: five months. You’re the only one with all that time you can’t account for. And that headache you got? Right when the demon got Lily. What happened to you?”

Ava tried to deny it, but she eventually dropped the act. The transformation from scared and helpless to sick and cunning was so fast you were almost nauseated. “Had you going though, didn’t I?” she said with a sneer. “Yeah, I’ve been here a long time. And not alone, either. People just keep showing up. Children, like us. Batches of three or four at a time.”

“You killed them all?” Shock and dismay rocked through Sam’s memory.

Ava looked proud of herself. “I’m the undefeated heavyweight champ.” She scoffed at Sam’s disbelief. “I had no choice. It’s me or them. After a while, it was easy. It was even kind of fun. I just stopped fighting it. Stopped fighting who we are. If you’d just quit your hand-wringing and open yourself up, you have no idea what you can do! The learning curve is so fast, it’s crazy! The switches that just flip in your brain!” She laughed, making Sam recoil. “I can’t believe I started out just having dreams. Do you know what I can do, now?”

“Control demons,” Sam replied, his heart sinking.

“Ah, you are quick on the draw.” As she put her hands to her head, calling another demon, Jake came at her from behind and snapped her neck, killing her.

The memory faded and you opened your eyes, a whirlwind of emotions going through you. You looked up at Sam. “Jake was the one who stabbed you in the back, wasn’t he?”

Sam nodded. “He was a good guy, but the demon told him that only one of us could live, and Jake believed him. He told me he was going to get out alive just so he could kill the bastard. Well, he got out, but never even tried to kill him. A few days later, he opened the Devil’s Gate for him.” Sam turned to his mother. “I wanted you to see that there were others like me, good people who were raised not knowing a thing about monsters or hunting, and they were either killed, or turned into monsters, themselves. Ava was sweet and kind and scared when I met her, and she was turned into what you saw. If it weren’t for how Dad raised us, I might not have survived as long as I did. Or I might have believed his lies, too, and become a monster like she was.”

Mary shook her head and grabbed Sam’s hand in both of hers. “No, Sam. You couldn’t!” she insisted quietly, her voice hoarse and broken.

Sam pulled his hand away and his head dropped in shame. “But I did, Mom. Jake killed me, and Dean brought me back. When Dean died, I went down a really dark road, but Dean never gave up on me. I made a lot of mistakes, but Dean was always there, trying to keep me on the straight and narrow, and helping me clean up everything I broke. If Dad hadn’t raised us the way he did, left us alone as often as he did, told Dean to watch out for me all the time, everything would have been different.”

Mary still shook her head, but Sam took her hand again, reinstating the circle, and started another memory.

You were in some kind of abandoned house, Crowley standing in front of you, looking smug, as usual.

“For the record, I’m against this. I begged Dean not to come back. We should be miles away from you. So, go ahead. Ruin our last, best hope. It’s only the end of the world.”

You moved into the next room where Dean had a man tied to a chair with a bloody bag over his head. “What’s going on, Dean?” Sam’s voice asked through your mouth.

“I’m doing this because I trust you. I need you to stay focused.”

The man in the hood looked up, even though he couldn’t see. “Sam? Is that you?”

Dean removed the hood, revealing Tyson Brady. Memories flashed past your eyes. Laughing with Brady, that awful semester when he went off the rails, helping him get back on track, group study sessions with Jess. Oh, God, Jess was beautiful! The rush of memories continued through your own thought.

“Brady hasn't been Brady in years. Not since, oh… middle of our sophomore year?”

“What?” More flashes of college classes and parties and studying flickered in the background.

“That's right. You had a devil on your shoulder even back then. All right, now, let it all sink in.”

There was a flash of Brady pointing out Jess from across the room and giving you a push towards her. “Her name’s Jess. Go get her, tiger,” echoing after you. Rage and pain filled every part of you and you felt a sting of tears that weren’t Sam’s.

You freaked out, screaming, trying to attack Brady, but Dean pulled you away. The memory fast forwarded, turning your stomach a little, but you got the general gist. For whatever they were doing, they needed Brady. Sam couldn’t kill him. The memory began to replay at normal speed again when Sam trapped Dean in the bathroom and went back to Brady.

“Sophomore year, huh?” Sam’s voice said from your mouth.

“Brady, here, he was a good kid --Straight arrow. I mean, your best friend, really. Perfect point of access. Remember when I came back from break all messed up -- Dropped out of pre-med, the drugs, the bitches? That was the new Brady. That was me. Remember how much time you spent trying to get me back on the right track? You really were a good friend. But ol' Yellow Eyes didn't send me back to be your friend. No, we could tell we were starting to lose you. You were becoming a mild-mannered, worthless sack of piss. Now, come on! We couldn't have that. You were our favorite! So, I hooked you up with a pure, sweet, innocent piece of tail. And then I toasted her on the ceiling. That's right -- Azazel might have put the hit out on Jessica, but, man, I got to have all the fun!”

Sam’s hand twitched around the demon knife, but nothing was said. Flashes of Jess burning on the ceiling burst through the image of Brady in front of you. More phantom tears streaked down your face.

Brady laughed. “You know, she thought we were friends, too. Let me right in. She was baking cookies. She was so surprised... so hurt when I started in on her.” Brady continued to goad Sam, but he didn’t fall for the bait. You left the room and everything went dark again.

You looked up, taking in Sam sitting on the other side of the table through the tears in your eyes. He opened his eyes and glanced quickly at you and his mother. Mary also had tears streaming down her face. Sam focused on Dean for a second before taking a deep breath and closing his eyes again. The next memory began, forcing you to close your own.

This memory wasn’t like the others, though. Suddenly, you felt crowded in your own skin, panic rising as you fought, but nothing changed. Sam’s voice seemed to come from somewhere else, even though the view was similar to the previous memories. Even more so than with the previous memories, though, you felt completely out of control. You soon figured out why.

Sam’s body stood in front of a mirror, but the posture, the facial expressions, and the tone of voice were all wrong. Knowing Sam’s history, you suspected who was in charge.

Lucifer.

“Sam. Come on. I can feel you... scratching away in there. Look... I'll take the gag off, okay? You got me all wrong, kiddo. I'm not the bad guy here.”

“I'm gonna rip you apart from the inside out. Do you understand me?” you yelled at Sam’s reflection, but the reflection didn’t move.

The memory fuzzed a bit, the words spoken fading in and out, but the vision of Lucifer’s smug smile on Sam’s normally gentle face remained. You got the feeling that Lucifer was offering the world to Sam, but Sam refused.

“Look closely. None of these little devils look familiar to you?” You were suddenly aware of the group of demons standing around you. Recognition flooded your system.

“That's Mr. Bensman...one of my grade-school teachers.”

Lucifer smiled. “And that's your friend Doug from that time in East Lansing. And Rachel... your prom date. Sam Winchester, this is your life. Azazel's gang – watching you since you were a rugrat, jerking you around like a dog on a leash. I know how you feel about them. Me, too. So, what do you say you and I blow off a little steam?”

Just as Sam’s hand moved towards the first demon, a flood of murderous intent washing over you, the memory shut down abruptly, leaving you feeling shaken and slightly nauseated. You opened your eyes and let go of Dean’s and Cas’ hands, not wanting to be thrust into another memory right away if that’s what Sam had in mind. You had known all of this from reading the books, but being in Sam’s memory gave it all a whole new depth of feeling.

“Oh, Sam!” Mary cried, almost leaping from her chair to take her younger son in her arms. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Sam. I’m so sorry.”

Sam melted into his mother, patting her back carefully, but soon pushing her back to her chair. “That’s not why I showed you this, Mom. I showed you all of that, so you could see what we were up against. Now, you need to see how we got through it.”

Mary sat back down, and everyone joined hands again.

Sam grabbed Mary’s and Cas’ hands again, reinstating the circle, and a new memory flickered behind your eyelids. From the feel of the memory, you figured out that Lucifer was in charge again. Looking up, you saw Dean driving the Impala through a field, towards you, radio blaring Def Leppard. Dean stepped out of the car and said, “Howdy boys! Sorry, am I interrupting something?”

Michael went up in flames, Cas exploded, Lucifer slammed Dean into the Impala, Bobby’s neck snapped, and Lucifer continued to beat Dean senseless. Dean didn’t give up, though.

“Sammy? Are you in there? It’s okay, Sammy. I’m here. I’m not gonna leave you.”

In front of Dean’s gory visage was a stream of memories with Dean. Dean making dinner when he still a kid, himself. Dean accepting the amulet Sam had meant for John. Dean threatening bullies that went after Sam. Dean telling Sam to do his homework. Teenage Dean pushing Sam out of the way during a hunt. Dean pushing a Zeppelin tape into Baby’s radio and saying, “Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole!” Dean pulling Sam out of the burning apartment with Jess on the ceiling. Dean looking pale and sick, saying, “You’re not gonna let me die in peace, are you?” while Sam replied, “I’m not gonna let you die, period.” Dean screaming Sam’s name as Sam stumbled towards him with paralyzing pain burning into his back, then holding him securely as Sam’s life slipped away. Dean looking at Sam with tears in his eyes and saying, “I couldn’t live with you dead. Couldn’t do it.” Dean dying a hundred times at the Broward County Mystery Spot. Dean singing along to the radio and drumming on the steering wheel. Dean teaching Sam how to fix the Impala. Dean getting his hand glued to his beer bottle. Dean helping Sam carve initials into the back of the Impala. Dean startled awake in the passenger seat when Sam honked the horn. Dean sitting next to him on the hood of the car looking up at the stars. Dean sitting in a laundromat, telling Sam about sitting in a laundromat reading about himself sitting in a laundromat. Dean driving fast, laughing at something Sam said.

All of these memories and more flashed past your eyes and coalesced into Sam’s hands holding a beaten Dean against the side of the car, his face swollen and nearly unrecognizable. The feeling of being crowded and out of control faded as you filled your own skin and pushed Lucifer behind you. You gained control over Sam’s limbs from Lucifer and dropped Dean, stepping back.

“It's okay, Dean. It's gonna be okay. I've got him.”

The memory faded to black and your eyes opened, but you still couldn’t see for the tears. You looked at Mary, only to see her face buried in her hands. Sam rested one of his hands on her arm.

“Mom, you need to understand. If Dad had done anything differently, we wouldn’t have been strong enough to do what we needed to do. We made a lot of mistakes, but we came out on top. And we continue to come out on top. If Y/N hadn’t convinced Dad to raise us the way he did, even though he hated every minute, we would all be in a much different place.”

Mary’s hands dropped from her face, showing her tear-streaked cheeks and despairing eyes. “I just never wanted any of this for either of you, much less what you actually went through.” She looked at you, but you couldn’t read her expression. “I see now why you did what you did. I don’t like it, but I understand it.”

You nodded. “I don’t like it, either, really.”

Mary stood up, wiping her hands on her jeans. “I’ve got a lot to process, so I’m going to bed. Good night, everyone.” With a quick flash of a smile, she was gone.

The rest of you stood up, and you walked over to Sam, wrapping your arms around him to give him the tightest hug you could manage. “I’m so sorry, Sam,” you mumbled into his shirt.

His arms tightened around you. “It’s okay, Y/N. It’s not your fault.”

“Then I’m just sorry I had to be a part of it.”

Sam dropped a kiss to your head and released you into Dean’s arms. Dean led you to the bedroom, helping you get ready for bed and dropping kisses on your head every now and then. You went to sleep once again wrapped up in Dean, wondering how you would get past this with Mary.

***

The next morning, Cas had a lead on Lucifer, leaving the rest of you to go on a hunt that Mary had found. You suspected Mary wanted to work the case alone, but she let it slide. The drive wasn’t too tense, as long as you stayed quiet in the back seat with Sam. Dean was a bit overprotective of Mary during your first sweep of the haunted house, and when she got hurt, you half expected him to bundle her up in blankets and bubble wrap while hyperventilating. He kept himself together, though, and you were proud of him.

Your pride ended when you got back to the motel. Mary tried to talk to the boys, but their fear of her getting hurt and belief that they knew better meant they didn’t hear a word she said. Yes, she was overwhelmed by how much legwork could be done with a laptop instead of knocking on doors, but you could see she had learned something during her attack and the boys just rolled right over her. You stayed out of the way, sidelined yourself when Dean suggested you stay back, and vowed to smack Dean upside the head later. When they left to go salt and burn the graves of the children, you waited until the door clicked shut before taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, along with your frustration.

Mary fidgeted as she sat on the end of the bed, her brow furrowed and her mouth nearly disappearing.

“Okay. Now that God’s gifts to hunting have decided that they’re right and have gone off to challenge each other in a grave-digging contest, how about the two of us follow up with your idea?”

The surprise on Mary’s face was almost comical. “I thought you agreed with them!”

Shrugging, you waved a hand at the door. “Meh. Sometimes it’s easier to let them do their thing. Besides, there’s a chance they could be right, and burning bones is never a bad idea when you’re dealing with ghosts.” You chanced a look at her and were encouraged by her almost smile. “I just think there’s a possibility that they’re wrong and you’re onto something. That monster Sam mentioned doesn’t exactly line up with the older deaths, just the most recent ones. It lures in adults, but only the recent deaths were adults, the rest were kids. So, you tell me what you want to do, and I’ll help you with the technical side of things.” You shifted in your seat, suddenly unsure of yourself again. “If that’s okay with you?”

Mary moved from the bed over to the table across from you. “Thank you,” she said, giving you a sincere smile.

For a couple of hours, you both talked to the parents of the kids that had been killed in the house previously. It was heart-breaking, but you did learn that no one had heard a child crying before the most recent deaths. It didn’t mean it didn’t happen, but it strengthened your resolve to prove that Mary was right. When you were both off the phone, you compared notes.

“I really think that whatever this is, it wants kids, not adults. I think the house has been empty so long that it just decided to get whatever it could, and that’s why it changed M.O.”

Mary nodded in agreement. “We have to go back to the house and search it again. The ghost that burned me was Lucas, the boy that died there in ‘04. He asked me to help him. Maybe if we go back he can give us another clue.”

You agreed and started to pack the weapons bag. As you reached for your jacket, you realized Mary was still sitting, just watching you with a half grimace on her face. “Do you want to wait until the boys get back or something?”

Mary frowned and shook her head, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the arm of the chair before taking a deep breath. “Tell me about your trip back to 1984. Before I go into a hunt with you, I need to understand. I need….”

All the blood left your face and you suddenly felt cold. “Fuzzy trucker,” you mumbled, your eyes dropping to the ground, then closing as you steeled your nerves. You shook the tremble from your hands and sat back down at the table. Unable to look at Mary, you kept your eyes trained on your fingers while you told her your story.

“It was about a year ago. Things were better than ever, even though we’d released the Darkness into the world and had no idea how to deal with her. Dean was doing so much better without the Mark on his arm. He and I had settled into a comfortable friendship and it just made all of us feel hopeful for the first time in a long time. The boys were taking care of a hunt while I stayed behind with Cas, helping him recover from a curse Rowena had put on him. Crowley showed up telling us that an angel and a demon had conspired to send the demon back in time to take out John. They figured that the Apocalypse was better than the Darkness, and taking out John would change everything. To be clear, the way Crowley and Cas put it was that if John didn’t raise them as hunters, then Sam would be a good king of Hell. Azazel’s gang would groom him, without interference, to lead the armies of Hell and be Lucifer’s vessel. Heaven would convince Dean to accept Michael. The world as we know it would end.

“So, I went back. I met John, I taught him the basics of salt and holy water, taught him devil’s traps and exorcisms, and got him armed and ready. I… I taught him about how hustling pool can be a good way to make cash, and he learned to not argue when I put on my tightest clothes to do it. I gave him tips on fighting monsters hand-to-hand, and watched the boys while he had his first uninterrupted shower since you’d died. After a couple of days, the demon came and I killed it. The spell was supposed to bring me back automatically when the timeline was restored, you know? So, the demon was dead, and there I was, still in 1984.”

You risked a peek at Mary’s face, but it was unreadable.

“We salted and burned the body, cleaned up everything, and I was still there. We searched for signs that another demon or some other threat was coming, but there was nothing. We did a salt and burn nearby, and celebrated Sam’s birthday, and I was still there. I checked with Missouri, and she said the spell was still active, so there was still something I needed to do, but we didn’t know what. I almost gave up on coming back. I figured I’d end up reliving those years, trying to avoid myself, trying to do right by Dean and Sam and John, somehow.”

“And that’s when you… got close to my husband,” Mary said, her voice flat and emotionless.

With tears in your eyes, you nodded. “He loved you so much, and I loved Dean, but you were dead, and Dean had done everything he could to push me away and make sure I knew he thought of me like a sister. And then we were just there, both of us wanting someone else, but stuck with each other. The spell only brought me back when I finally admitted that I was from the future and explained as best I could why he had to raise them the way he did. The second I finished telling him what their lives would be like, the spell kicked in and I was gone.”

You wiped tears from your face while Mary considered your words.

“Did John… care for you?” Mary’s face was pinched as she pushed the words from her mouth.

You nodded. “In a way. Nothing like how he loved you. I was the person who gave him a roadmap when he was lost, protected him and his sons when they were in danger, and then told him he had to do awful things to his own children in order to save the world. I’m the one who taught him how to load shotgun shells and convinced him to flirt with the motel manager so she’d babysit the kids for free, but I was also the one who told him his boys would be more than he could ever imagine. If there was any love there, it was matched with just as much hate.”

Both of you now had silent tears on your cheeks, neither of you able to look the other in the eye. Sniffles echoed in the room as you waited for Mary to process everything you’d told her. Lights from passing cars flickered over the walls as your tears dried and you hoped for the best. When Mary finally spoke, her voice seemed overly loud in the quiet, startling you.

“Thank you for telling me everything and not trying to sugarcoat it. I needed to hear it from you, not a watered-down version from Dean and Sam.” She sighed and looked around room idly. “It sounds like you and Dean got past whatever awkwardness you had when you came back.”

You chuckled. “Yeah. Sam still isn’t over the idea that I changed his diaper, though.”

Mary cracked a half smile at that and shook her head. “All right. Let’s go talk to Lucas’ ghost.”

***

Back at the bunker, you were all about to scatter for showers and dinner prep when Dean and Mary began talking about the case. Mary explained what Moriarty had been thinking when he’d possessed her, giving a shudder at his intensity.

“Mom, it’s okay. All right? You’re home, now,” Dean said.

Mary’s sad expression made your heart drop and gave you a sick feeling in your stomach.

“No,” she said quietly, “I’m not.” Mary looked at both Dean and you, almost pleading with you both to understand. “I miss John. I miss my boys.”

Sam moved closer to Mary and said, “We’re right here, Mom.” The strain in his voice almost broke your heart.

Mary’s eyes were wide, her brow furrowed. “I know. In my head. But I’m still mourning them as I knew them.” She looked back and forth between her grown sons, but obviously wasn’t making the connection. “My baby Sam. My little boy Dean. It just feels like yesterday, we were together in Heaven, and now… I’m here, and John is gone, and they’re gone, and you all have led lives and done things I can barely even imagine.” Her eyes landed on you, and you feared she was blaming you for something, but her words said otherwise. “You’ve explained everything as best you can, but it’s just so much, and every moment I spend with you, every new story I hear just reminds me of every moment I lost with them.”

Both Dean and Sam shifted uncomfortably where they stood, trying to deny what they knew what coming.

“I thought hunting, working, would clear my head-”

Sam interrupted, “Mom… w-what are you trying to say?”

Mary sighed. “I have to go.” She watched as everyone reacted, faces falling. “I’m sorry. I’m so… so sorry. I just need a little time.”

She moved towards Dean, but he backed away from her, taking a step closer to you. You grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly, hoping you could help to bandage the wound his mother was opening. Mary gave up on Dean, picked up John’s journal, and hugged Sam tightly.

“I love you,” she said to Sam, then turned back to Dean, though he couldn’t see her the way he was facing. “I love you both.”

She glanced at you and you gave her a quick nod, letting her know you’d do your best to take care of the boys after she left. Grabbing her bag, she headed up the stairs, the slamming of the door making Sam jump.

Dean tried to pull his hand from yours and walk away, but you wouldn’t let him. You pulled him into your arms, pulling him down to your level and wrapping yourself around his shoulders. Looking past Dean, you saw Sam looking lost, so you waved him into your hug, too. When they both let you go, you grabbed a hand from each of them and made them look at you.

“She just needs time. She needs to make that connection between her babies and the two overgrown men you are now, and that has nothing to do with who you are and what you do. At the same time, she has to learn that 8-tracks aren’t viable, you can’t buy leg warmers anywhere, and a magic brick that fits in your pocket can access information from around the world without you even having to push a button. It’s just more than she can handle at once. So, she’ll learn how to use a microwave, get into a routine that’s familiar to her while she learns about the world, and then she’ll be back for the two of you.”

Both Winchesters looked at you with the saddest puppy eyes you ever saw.

“You think?” asked Sam, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

“I think,” you replied with a nod and an encouraging smile.

Both of them squeezed your hand, and then Sam made a comment about heading to bed and left. As his heavy footfalls fell away, you wrapped your arms around Dean’s waist and pressed your cheek against him until his arms encased you again. He kissed your head and then led you towards your bedroom. This time, it was you giving him the passing touches and gentle kisses as you got ready for bed, reassuring him that you were there and always on his side. No matter what, you would do whatever needed to be done to make sure Dean knew he was loved.

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unpretty · 7 years

Text

Xostrine: Setting Guide

Some general setting notes for the fantasy realm of Xostrine, aka a name I chose out of a generator so I could stop calling it the dragondicks pornoverse, aka a universe designed entirely around writing monster porn that is not intended to withstand any amount of serious scrutiny whatsoever. Suitable for original fiction, AU fanfic, roleplays, or whatever else your heart desires. Probably not a tabletop game. Please don't inflict this porn setting on your players. That's awk.

Drakes:

There are Drakes and then there are Dragons--Dragons are the ones that lay eggs.

They live in the mountains and steal away hunks for their hunk collections, and lay big clutches of eggs that they hatch but don't raise (are the babies taken away by storks? who knows. maybe).

They're perfectly intelligent and everything, they're not animals, they're just rude.

If you were huge and could fly and breathe fire and stay home all day with a collection of pretty people to dote on you, you'd probably do the same.

WITH THAT OUT OF THE WAY Drakes have penises and are humanoid and pretty because dimorphism is a bitch.

Average about 7-8 feet tall and tend to have lean/hard figures but it's not like a six-foot chubby Drake would be completely unheard of.

A chubby Drake would probably either have to eat a whole whole lot, or their fire-breathing would be... broken?

Breathing fire literally burns a lot of calories is what I'm saying here, that's why they tend to be hardbodied.

Facially they kinda look like the lady Silurians from Doctor Who.

"kitty why do all your reptile people end up looking like madame vastra" BECAUSE I'M GAY FOR HER AND I'M NOT INTO SNOUTS, WHY ARE WE ACTING LIKE I'M THE WEIRD ONE HERE

They have as many different face shapes and features as any human, they don’t all look like pretty ladies, I’m just saying in terms of how their scales and whatnot all work.

Instead of the three... ridges? At the back of the head? I don't know what to call those but drakes have two horns.

They generally just stick straight back but I can never say no to ram's horns so live your truth.

Big fangy teeth.

Coloration is all over the place, they can be bright colors or pastel or chromatic or matte or literally whatever go nuts.

Eyes are one solid color, usually black.

Horns are the same color as their claws.

They have claws.

They don't usually trim them.

There is not a lot of fingerbanging happening with the Drakes of Xostrine.

There is a lot of horn-specific jewelry, usually things like rings or bracelets, but some Drakes get gemstones literally screwed into their horns like a piercing, or have their horns carved or set with gold or whatever.

Horn-related body mods for edgy Drakes: a thing.

They have big frilly ears and sometimes they get them pierced.

They have tails and there is a certain amount of tailbanging that happens to compensate for the claw situation.

Bracelets on tails!!

Not all Drakes wear a lot of jewelry all the time in the same way that not all humans wear a lot of jewelry all the time, personality-wise there are similar connotations.

No lizard titties ever.

No hair, but a bold Drake could probably pull off a wig.

They wear boots and don't just walk around with their lizard feet out all the time, I am sorry if you are into lizard feet for some reason but if they don't have boots to polish then what is even the point.

Every few years they molt, they get sore and achey and bloated and feel cold all the time and can't see so good and don't want to eat or be touched.

Drakes generally love hot springs but when they are molting the thought of touching hot water sounds horrible and unpleasant even though YOU NEED TO TAKE A BATH AND YOU'LL FEEL BETTER.

They'll molt on their own eventually but the hot water and some scrubbing helps enormously.

Some Drakes handle their molting with sense and dignity but others are huge whiny hissy babies about it.

They are not snakes, their tongues are not forked (though they are probably long).

There is... diversity of dicks? THERE'S PROBABLY A BETTER WAY TO PHRASE THIS

I go for a proportional-to-their-body phallus that has scales and is Ridged For Her Pleasure and has absurdly long orgasms with an equally absurd amount of bodily fluids but ymmv.

If you want your Drake to be hung like a barnacle that's your business.

Drakes of aquatic descent with tentadicks? Sure, why not.

Kobolds:

Basically Catgirls But With Lapdogs Instead Of Cats

We're talking classic Kobold mythology and not angry DnD lizards.

Generally around four feet tall and chubby - they have stockier builds, not a lot of waifish Kobolds.

They are weirdly strong.

Who will win this arm-wrestling match, the big Drake or the squishy l'il Kobold? IT IS LITERALLY IMPOSSIBLE TO SAY.

If a Kobold actually looks buff they can probably benchpress a car.

Kobolds capable of growing beards like to have dapper and neatly-trimmed beards.

Think hipsters, not Dwarves.

... some Kobolds probably look like Dwarves though. They're not culturally monolithic. Who knows what's stylish.

They have hands and feet and not paws.

On some Kobolds the tips of their noses are black, but not all.

Their fingernails are really thick and sturdy and tend to be either solid black or solid white.

The dog ears on top of their head are their only ears, they do not have a second set of human ears.

Most of them have tails, but not all.

Little fangy teeth rawr.

Fur is generally exclusive to their ears/tails/genitals, but sometimes they will have fur in places where heavy body hair is common on humans (legs, forearms, whatever).

I tend to use language around dog breeds when describing characters outside of stories, but within the fiction that's not really a thing.

Different families/houses are associated with different traits, which we outside the fiction would associate with certain dog breeds, but in universe it would be more like:

"Luna Lakecrest of the Rivervale Lakecrests was everything a Lakecrest should be, from the size of her ears to their silky black fur, her shining white hair to the curl of her tail. She was, to put it simply: perfect."

She's a fancy society papillon who will settle for nothing but the very best because she is a Lady Of Quality.

Most Kobolds... do not actually give a shit about any of this.

People who care about who is from what old-money family: fucking weird.

For purposes of character-building, most Kobolds who serve as attendants to Drakes are going to be from families who care about this kind of thing.

In general, regardless of the whole pet-play-centric premise, be careful about using language that implies that they are animals or less than people... some of those people are weird snobs but they have not literally been bred for superior conformity and they do not have breeds.

Lakecrests are one example of a papillon family and Cory is one example of a corgi family but, like... there are others. It's not a one family=one type of Kobold thing.

Xostrians

There are probably plenty of Humans and Elves and Dwarves and Werewolves and Catgirls and whatever else in this setting, I just don't care.

Don't ask about the Elves because they'll probably be my weird elves and we don't need to be getting into that right now.

Is it steampunk? Let's say it's steampunk. It's a goddamn semi-industrial clusterfuck, is what it is.

There are three moons and auroras everywhere so you know it's a magical fantasy land.

One of the moons is kind of small and dim and half-hidden behind another moon, that's the shitty moon. I don't think that's relevant to anything, I just thought you should know.

There are trains and steamships and magical glowing crystal lamps but not a lot of sparks-from-the-fingers magic.

Most magic is more like enchanted objects or alchemy or runes or weird math with powers, and it probably shouldn't come up a whole lot as these things go.

Tights and tunics and corsets and bustles and hoop skirts and loligoth magical girl dresses and just generally every anachronistic outfit you have ever seen anyone wear to a Ren Faire WELCOME TO MAGICAL FANTASY LAND WHERE CONSISTENCY IS FOR SQUARES.

There are probably plenty of articles of clothing that are not traditionally western, those are just what hop to mind because I like petticoats and think men in tights are hot.

Government is mostly localized a la city-states and it's Fantasy Capitalism, where supply and demand don't exist and you are free to make your living running around in fields and catching moths and selling their wings to that one alchemist who is always willing to buy moth wings no matter how often you bring him a big bag of moth wings.

You would think you'd run out of moths at some point but apparently they're magic moths spawned from moonbeams and thistle dew, who knows, who cares.

What is he doing with all those moth wings? My theory: boner potions. You can never make too many boner potions. No wonder he always has plenty of gold to buy your moth wings.

GUILDS EVERYWHERE mostly normal guilds like blacksmithing and tailors and shopworkers, but also adventuring and attendants.

Join the Adventuring Guild, get a card that lets people know it's okay for you to carry a sword around because if you stab a rando you'll be arrested and never allowed to be an adventurer again.

The Attendant's Guild is Kobolds-only.

There's no reason a Dwarf couldn't have an Elf as a live-in servant that they also bang, but that would be considered weird, unlike when a Drake has an attendant, which is culturally normalized.

Since babymaking for Drakes/Dragons involves offering yourself up as sacrifice to a mountain queen or whatever the fuck, sex is more a social bodily function, like eating.

Which is not to say that there isn't intimacy involved! You go out and get dinner with your bros, but if you're, like, feeding someone strawberries then that is clearly significantly more intimate.

Sharing an attendant: a thing friends do while hanging out. Having sex with each other: a significantly more intimate thing that you would probably not do during a casual hang sesh.

Most Kobolds work in shops or taverns or on farms or as adventurers, and it wouldn't even occur to them to try to be an attendant, because that is a fancy thing that fancy people do.

The Attendant's Guild is run by old-fashioned old-money Kobolds, and they are the ones responsible for deciding that someone like Luna Lakecrest is A Perfect Example Of A Rivervale Lakecrest, Tip To Toe, That Is A Lakecrest.

A Kobold who wants to be an Attendant goes to the Attendant's Guild, where they are sized up and scored and it is determined whether they can even join and then what they're worth.

Someone like Luna would have her name added to the roster of available attendants, alongside the kind of assets and income a Drake would need to have in order to qualify to have Luna in their household (they'd need to be making a lot of money and living in a really nice house).

THUS when a Drake has as their attendant a Kobold with great big butterfly-lookin' ears and long silky black fur and long white hair and a curly tail, it is a status symbol, not because Drakes inherently prize those traits but because Kobolds themselves have assigned those things a high value.

If you asked a Drake why Luna is such a prize they would not be able to explain any of the logic behind it, because the only people who know the logic are the board of the Attendant's Guild and they have weird rich old lady logic.

There are attendants, whose whole function is to welcome guests into the house and carry trays around and look pretty and have sex, and then there are servant attendants.

A less-fancy Kobold would probably end up as a servant attendant, if they still wanted to be an attendant.

Most servants in Drake households are other Drakes, or Humans, or... whatever. But extra fancy Drakes get servant attendants.

A very fancy Drake might have three ordinary attendants, but also a cook attendant, some maid attendants, garden attendants, etc. etc. etc.

They do their normal jobs but also look pretty and do sex work, while being compensated significantly more than non-Kobold servants.

A Kobold who is unhappy can leave at any time with severance determined by the Guild, and if the Drake in question really fucked up they could get blacklisted and possibly arrested.

Please do not ask me about the logistics of law enforcement in this pornoverse, they're probably law monks, or nuns married to the law, I am not planning to write about bad people doing bad things and getting arrested so I will never have to deal with this mess.

If a Drake wants an attendant they go to the Guild and they look at the rosters and there is vetting and there are interviews and they offer nice presents to the potential attendant and give them tours of the house and if the attendant is cool with it then all the appropriate paperwork gets stamped and BAM now it's a thing.

It may also happen that a Drake meets a Kobold that they want as an attendant who is not actually registered with the Attendant's Guild.

Having an unregistered attendant is absolutely frowned upon and can get a Drake blacklisted and possibly fined, but they can also both go to the guild to get everything in order.

In that case, they sort of skip a lot of the valuation and touring and whatnot; the guild makes sure the Drake has good standing and the Kobold understands what they're getting into and that's that.

Anyway while things can be very formal from the start it can also be the case that a Drake stops at a tavern and has a Kobold for a waiter and he's from a house of no consequence and he's got lopsided ears and his tail drags on the ground and he is so fucking cute this Drake is going to die, he is going to fucking die, and they talk and negotiate and then later they go to the Attendant's Guild to get everything in writing and now the Kobold is an attendant in a nice house that it otherwise never would have occurred to him would have him.

Attendants wear collars to signify who they belong to, but the exact details vary from Drake to Drake (some might just look like necklaces).

When out and about at Events with their Drakes, attendants wear leashes (which, again, can vary from recognizable leashes attached to collars to little chains on bracelets).

That's generally just fancy Drake dinner parties or something, if a Drake went to the market with their attendant on a leash they'd look like they were showing off to be an asshole. Day-to-day an attendant can just... walk around with them. Like normal.

can we just accept that in this magical world of dragons and wonder and two good moons and one shitty one, STDs are not a thing that anyone has to worry about

Kobolds can't get knocked up by Drakes.

Attendants can still have other relationships.

Sometimes couples become attendants together to the same Drake and it's cute.

I think that's everything?? Important??? go forth and write porn and try to be cool about it and not write anything that uses the different gender and power dynamics of this pornoverse as an excuse to ignore things that are hurtful to real-world people

if you wanna play with the setting tag it #xostrine and if you wanna see if people make things track the xostrine tag, i guess

#original #writeblogging #xostrine #this is so long and idk if anyone will even read it lmao

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myst-knight · 7 years

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Final Fantasy Tactics Fanfic: A Knight and His Lady (Ramza/Alma, implied Agrias/Ovelia)

WARNING: This story is rated T for Ideologically sensitive material (forbidden sibling romance), violence, and some sexuality. For OLDER TEEN AND UP. No offense intended by the controversial content (and as always, don’t try this at home!)

FF.Net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11740330/1/A-Knight-and-His-Lady

AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/6779044/chapters/15490972REVIEWS APPRECIATED! :)

REVIEWS APPRECIATED! :)

"Don't you think that sword's...oddly engraved for a knightess such as you, Agrias?"

"Ramza, it's a standard broadsword. A skull adornment means nothing to a true practitioner of the blade, whether Dark or Holy."

"I would've thought this rapier would be more to your liking. You picked it up at least twice."

"Perhaps one day, you'll appreciate the skill of the Holy Knight, rather than merely the weapon."

Alma harrumphed, turning away from the weapons stall with a swish of her skirt. Ramza and Agrias had been going at it since noon, engaged in pointless conflict about the nature of war and weapons. It was like seeing an old married couple bicker...if that old married couple were a pair of sword-fighters capable of slaying a Goddess. As it stood, however, the argument was going completely over the young woman's head, save for the odd reference to the origin of Excalibur, which she had studied about in history class.

Just as Alma was about to start pacing, Ramza and Agrias returned with their supplies, the latter sporting a sly smirk on her face. "Your brother feels my sword doesn't match my countenance," she tossed out offhandedly, propping her new blade on her shoulders. "My eternal squire, hard at work for his knight."

Ramza slumped his shoulders in a rare gesture of defeat. "I wish you wouldn't call me 'your' squire," he mumbled, the Chaos Blade on his back in stark contrast to his meek posture.

Despite her earlier ire. Alma could not help laughing at this. "Brother's a little slow with women today," she teased, halfheartedly trying to hide the smile on her face. It was a rare treat to see her brother with a case of wounded dignity. Usually, it was only Alma herself who could get past Ramza's defenses, but it seems Agrias Oaks had also learned the ins and outs of catching her brother off-guard.

Ramza coughed into his fist, as a means of redirecting the conversation. "And have you procured a weapon for yourself, Alma?" Ramza huffed, patting the hilt of his own sword.

She grinned, twirling around to flaunt the staff on her back. "It's a genuine wizard's staff," she said, pulling her ponytail back away from the weapon's long haft. "It can even hold up to a fourth level fire spell cast with it."

The young man choked a bit. "A-Alma, you're following the Black Mage's path now?" he gasped, his jaw dropped slightly. "Will you forget about all your training as a healer?"

"I'm just learning the basics, Ramza!" she protested, putting her fists on her hips in a disgruntled display. "Is a simple attack spell really so dark?"

"Only if my little sister uses it..." Ramza muttered, as Agrias chuckled at the both of them.

After going through their purchases one more time, the three travelers left the weapons stall and proceeded down the main street of the podunk town they were currently resting at. Soon, they would meet up with the rest of their unit at their lodgings, including Mustadio, Rafa, Malak, and the rest of the veterans of the Lion War. Conversation was abound everyday about their battles in Murond Death City, a conflict that saw Alma as a bargaining chip in ancient wars dating back to the Zodiac Braves themselves. It was all she could do to cast her best protection spell on Ramza, then hide behind him before the battle got underway; she knew that war had changed Ramza and his army in a much different way than it had changed her.

As Ramza blushed from a cutting comment courtesy of Agrias, Alma frowned down at her lap, her fingers gripping her dress absently. It was tough being the little sister of a war hero, especially one with as many strong allies as he. There was none she admired more than Ramza Beoulve, but these days it seemed like her beloved brother was like a mountain, larger and grander than she had ever known. And only the Valkyrie could stay amongst the mountains, warriors that had been through death and rebirth, only to soar the heavens higher than ever before.

(No wonder Ramza talks so much with Agrias these days,) she thought to herself, reluctantly acknowledging how the two young warriors had grown closer in those times of strife.

"So maybe Miss Alma should begin with a ranged weapon," Agrias was saying, and Alma brought her attention back to the conversation. "Mustadio could teach her to handle a pistol, if nothing else."

"A Holy Knight suggesting a pistol?" Ramza intoned with a touch of incredulity, though a smirk was already forming on his face. "You've never had a taste for firearms, Agrias."

"Mustadio warmed me to the idea," the woman admitted, rolling her eyes towards the looming clouds above. "Only he insists that I pick up his engineering books as well. I think he wants to convert me to a life of science rather than swordsmanship."

"You can find out new things about yourself by reading," Alma interjected, looking past Ramza to focus on Agrias. "That was how us girls passed time at Igros Academy."

"Though I doubt they gave you weapon schematics in grammar school," Ramza chuckled, smirking at the in-congruent imagery.

"Oh, Ramza!" Alma huffed, turning away from her brother in exasperation.

The afternoon winds was picking up now, and the trio were buffeted against a harsh gale as they soldiered on. A stiff breeze rose like a phoenix reborn, and Alma shrieked as her dress flew up, exposing her petticoats and bare legs. Regretting that she hadn't worn tights today, the girl struggled mightily with her skirt, her pace becoming rigid as she continued to press forward with Ramza and Agrias. For their part, the two warriors just stared at her, stymied by their companion's unique misfortune, a happenstance that definitely didn't affect armored knights.

As Alma locked eyes with Ramza, she blushed, and continued to hold down her skirt with both hands. "Ramza, don't look!" she cried, trying to avoid flashing her brother as her dress flapped all around her.

That same brother was about as flush-faced as Alma was, his eyes darting about in an attempt to look at her while respecting her modesty, though the cornucopia of pink skirt and white petticoats made that nigh impossible. Nevertheless, the elder Beoulve soon came to her rescue, and he quickly grabbed his sister's skirt to keep it under control. Alma gasped at Ramza's straightforward demeanor, but soon turned her attentions back to her predicament, thankful for the help. Together the two siblings held down her dress until the wind subsided, the hem of the skirt drifting to mid-calf like a receding shoreline.

Alma peered nervously through her tousled-bangs at Ramza, finding his face very close to hers. "I'm sorry about that, Brother," she apologized, straightened up and smoothing her dress out in a show of regaining decency.

Ramza straightened up as well, trying to bring some dignity to the compromising situation. "It's no problem, Alma," he replied, the telltale remnants of his blush alluding to a wavering resolve. "Only I wish there was someone else to help you sometimes. It's...er, these silly things are a bit uncomfortable for me."

"The eternal struggles of a lady and her modesty," Agrias waxed poetically, shaking her head at the two.

Alma resisted the childish urge to stick her tongue out at Agrias Oaks. The Holy Knight got to walk alongside Ramza as a warrior, and had probably never had to wear even formal attire. How would she know how to handle an uncooperative dress? Once again, the green-eyed Chocobo had grasped Alma within its talons, and was dragging her off to a forest of frustration.

Clearly sensing the younger girl's frustration, Agrias offered her a gentle smile. "It's a noble thing, Alma," she told her, her voice exuding a warmth that almost seemed foreign to the rugged knight. "What Ramza does for you."

"Lady Agrias?" Alma blinked a few times, tilting her head like a curious kitten.

"The devotion of a knight to his lady," Agrias explained, stopping at a small hill overlooking the inn their party was currently staying at. "It is the greatest duty a knight can undertake. To commit our bodies and souls to the one closest to us, to serve them before any other. We protect our princesses with our lives, and with our swords."

Alma's eyes widened as she caught the hidden meaning in her words. "You're talking about Ovelia, right?" she said, walking over to face the other woman.

And Agrias' expression became twinged with the sweet nectar of melancholy. "I would've done anything for my princess," she spoke into the air, looking past Alma to some distant memory off towards the horizon. "And one day, I must return as her knight once again."

Alma took in a deep breath, her heart fluttered up to meet the air rushing down her throat. "But brother, do you truly feel that way for me?" she asked, turning to Ramza with her hands clasped before her chest.

The young man hesitated for a brief moment, as if suddenly unsure of how to approach his own sister. "Well, of course, Alma," he finally said, settling for levity and mock-irritability. "You're the most important woman in my life, and always have been."

"He's no squire," Agrias said, reversing her earlier jest with a solemn nod. "The blood of the Heavenly Knight flow through his veins, and he has chosen you as his princess."

"Well, in a matter of speaking..." Ramza argued, grimacing off to the side.

Alma was not fooled by his stoic front, and burst out with an ear-to-ear smile. "Brother Ramza..." she sighed, crushing her body happily against his chest. Ramza flushed for a moment at the intimate contact, but soon responded in kind, pulling her close with an arm around her slender waist. In the gentle afternoon sun, the sibling melted together like Zeltennian confectionery delicacies, with Alma's dress wafting like a flag in the wind. Staring back at her skirt, she giggled, and smoothed it down once more, feeling every inch the lady in her brother's life.

And Agrias just stared off into the murky East, towards the borders of their former land of Ivalice. "Princess Ovelia..."

*****

The evening passed without incident, and as the sun rose over the sleepy frontier town, Ramza's party was preparing to leave for parts unknown. Alma's eyes wandered over to Rafa and Malak, who were arguing over a trivial matter, something about whether or not the Truth or Untruth spell was more unreliable than the other. Alma sighed wistfully, marveling at the bonds of brothers and sisters, holding fast amid a country gone wrong. And as for her own family bonds...

"Alma, hurry it up," Ramza chided her, bringing his bag over his shoulders and placing it upon his trusty steed, Boco. "We setting off for the Western lands, and we need to stay ahead of the weather."

"I'd packed up two hours ago, brother," she argued, though she did as he asked, and headed over to the waiting Chocobos. Searching for her own mount, she was surprised to find a vacancy in the monster ranks. "Ramza, where's Heppoko?" she asked, walking back to his side.

"Agrias is taking him," Ramza replied, readjusting the saddle upon Boco's back to make it more comfortable for the bipedal bird. "She's leaving us for a time to settle a few matters back in Ivalice."

Alma grew pensive, looking down at her feet as she recalled the conversation from yesterday. (Ovelia...)

"You'll be riding with me for now," he continued, walking back over to fetch the girl. Alma nodded without complaint; she and her brother had shared a bed the night before, and she wasn't too perturbed about any close contact.

At least, until Ramza brought up another facet of their relationship. "You can ride sidesaddle, and it'll be more modest for you with the afternoon winds," he suggested, his face curiously free of any shame. "We don't want a repeat of yesterday."

"Oh Ramza, don't talk about things like that!" Alma protested, shaking her head and sending her ponytail flopping back and forth. "It's embarrassing!"

"Alma, are you still upset over it?" he asked. looking genuinely surprised by the outburst. "It's just me, your brother."

"You're still a man, though..." she murmured, unable to fight the flush flooding her face. The mere idea of regarding her brother in such a fashion made Alma's skin prickle up, as did the idea that Ramza had seen her knickers that day she was fighting with her dress in the wind.

And it was evident that Ramza was thinking along those same lines as well, for soon his complexion matched Alma's. Somehow, though, he came to a resolution faster than her, and swallowed briefly before facing his sister once more. "But I'm your knight," he told her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "And you can trust me with all matters."

Alma gazed into the young man's eyes, so full of heart and passion, an entire lineage of chivalry in the guise of a twenty-year-old squire. And finally, she smiled at him. "I suppose...I'll just have to get used to that," she decided, her face glowing with unconditional love. "What we are now."

Ramza nodded, returning her smile wholeheartedly.

"Hey lovebirds, get a move on!" Mustadio shouted out from ahead of the group. "You can pick this up after we've gotten to the next town!"

Ramza and Alma blushed, shooting a furious look at the tactless engineer. Even after facing down the untold horrors of Hell, Mustadio was never at a loss for words.

Together, the two prepared to set out on their journey once more. From atop Boco, Ramza pulled his sister onto the saddle, making sure she was steady before tending to his steed. Alma readjusted her dress as it rode up from the quick motion. and wrapped her arms around the boy's torso, wiry and tight from his many battles. Boco let out a wark from the extra weight, but made no further protest as Ramza held the reins and gave a sharp tug.

With a furious cloud of dust, the Chobocos carried the party down the dirt road towards their next adventure in the Western lands. And with that, Alma faced the future alongside her brother, her knight, and whatever else he might become.

'Fin'

#final fantasy #final fantasy tactics #fft #final fantasy fanfic #ramza beoulve

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caitie-lou98 · 6 years

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Wedding Planning - Week Thirteen

Sunday, 18th March, 104 Days till ‘I Do’

Hello Everyone! Firstly, I should really apologise for the inconsistency with these blogs as of the last few months, I didn’t realise how on top of this whole planning a wedding thing I actually am and so that has resulted in a lot of weeks of nothing really being done, or nothing that I can write a substantial blog about anyway! So sozzzzzzzzz. I am so so bad at this “weekly” thing, technically this is week 22 of wedding planning, if you are counting from when I started this blog, but if you are counting from when we got engaged, it has been 29 weeks. Counting that has made me realise just how far we have come and how fast the weeks are flying by!

The fact we are literally three months and one week away from being married, 15 weeks from today we will be married and hopefully I will be writing a blog from our beautiful honeymoon cottage in Cornwall, all about the wedding and sharing some photos of the day. That is both exciting and absolutely terrifying all at the same time. There is so much to do, but I have been hesitant to start, not sure if I am nervous or just unsure as to where I should start. On the plus side, all the stuff that is left to do is the fun stuff, oh and of course paying for things.

So I think, from now on I am going to make my blogs a little less structured, as in I won't commit to once a week... because there really isn't a lot to blog about each week... but leaving it a month I feel like I have a fair bit to say. Theres obviously a few things I want to leave as surprises for the big day, like the dresses, suits, jewellery etc.. which can make it difficult to have things to write about. I will say this though, suits have been chosen, my dress is almost finished and the bridesmaids are about to be started.

This week has been the best week we have had in a while, and I am feeling super excited about the big day. This week, we both had our appointments with the councils to give notice of our plans to marry. Then we had a lovely long weekend together. We were meant to be going to a concert on Thursday evening, but unfortunately it got cancelled. We had both already been to the meeting, so needed something to do. Ended up in the Cherry Laurel, which is a pub in Bridgend with the entire menu being 241 - perfect for when saving for a wedding! We ended up having a lovely evening and it didn’t cost us a bomb, would highly recommend if you're in the Bridgend area.

Then on Friday we both had the day off of work, and I thought that I had arranged with the venue manager to go down and look around, work some stuff out regarding tables etc... except I had booked it in for Saturday! Luckily, the lady who manages the community centre is super friendly, and she gave us the keys and let us go down on our own to look around and do whatever we needed to do. When mum originally mentioned maybe needing to go down there to work out some logistical things, I thought pfft we don’t need to do that, this will be a waste of time. HAH was I wrong. We got down there, and the first thing to do was measure the lengths of the paths, the paths of course were not straight... luckily Kurtis has massive feet, and they are exactly twelve inches long.. so he walked the path and counted his steps. Lets just say, he looked ridiculous and had to do it multiple times because he kept losing count. Unfortunately I can't work out how to add videos to this blog, but if you're looking at this from a Facebook or instagram link you’ll see the video!

It was really fun to actually look and plan out what we want to do with the venue and visualise it all coming together, especially since the decorations we have been ordering have started arriving. Once we were inside, there was a lot of counting plug sockets, to be able to ensure there is enough space and sockets for the food prep on the day. Then we needed to work out how many tables they have available, how many chairs, and if we will need to hire them. We are going to have to hire tables, but might get away with not needing to hire chairs. If anyone has 8 fancy looking chairs, and fancies lending them to me for a day... please let me know! Thanks.

So it dawned on me, whilst we were discussing chairs and tables etc... that I didn’t know if the number of tables we need would fit in the room... so Kurtis to help out... did this ... (see insta/facebook videos mentioned earlier). Honestly it was so much fun working out where things would go, and how they would fit in etc... Table hire is surprisingly inexpensive, which I am certainly not complaining about.

All our invites have been handed out now, with the exception of one invite for Georgia, but she is a bridesmaid and so I am pretty sure she can make it. We have had so many RSVPS back already, but we have asked for them back by April 30th... after talking to a few people I feel I may have allowed maybe a little too much time to RSVP... but hopefully it will all be fine and 2 months will be enough time to sort the stuff that is dependant on who's coming. Our invites are absolutely beautiful and I couldn't be happier with them, we didn’t originally order enough, but the company were super understanding and sent us the extra 10 we needed within a week of Kurtis emailing them and paying for the extras. Would highly recommend them for all your invite needs, www.treeofhearts.co.uk is the website, super affordable and high quality.

We also finally got around to ordering me some shoes for the big day, and the hair accessories for myself and my bridesmaids. I was so pleasantly surprised that ASOS has a fantastic bridal range, I will update ya on the quality when they arrive. I decided that the three adult bridesmaids would have matching, then Lacey and Ellie would have something different to the adults but the same as each other. Then for Isabella something entirely different because she will only be a year old by the time we get married, so she needed something age appropriate. But those have now all been ordered, and mum is contacting the company for my petticoat tomorrow. I must say the petticoat is quite a daunting thing, because when I went to try wedding dresses on I really didn’t enjoy wearing the petticoats at all... So mum has said I'll just have to trust her that it will be fine and the dress will feel better with it on.

This weekend we finally got around to taking our “bottom drawer” up to the loft for storage, as requested by mum so she can start adding more stuff to it again... Didn’t realise quite how much stuff we had until trying to get it into the loft, it took a while and a lot of manoeuvring through the very small hole that is the entrance for our loft. However whilst we were up there we had a little look through a load of the boxes my mum has up there... we found so many things from when I was a kid and I got very nostalgic and suddenly broody wanting a child to pass all this onto. My mum loves keeping hold of things in the hopes she can pass them onto me for my kids, so if I end up with a little girl I probably won't need to buy her any clothes until she's like 6 years old. I also found some photo albums from family trips, Kurtis enjoyed those because I was bald as a baby till I was at least 2 so of course he laughed at that.

We also found mums wedding box, which had her album dress and veil in it. Her dress was absolutely beautiful... if you like a four layer dress with pink bows and frills. In all seriousness her dress was handmade by her, and looked stunning on the day. It was weird seeing it in person, because of course I had seen photographs and mum had described it to me but it looked so much more intricate when I saw it in real life. Also, mum tried putting it on, 26 years later and realised how tiny she was on her wedding day! I decided, upon finding mums veil (which still had confetti in it from her big day) that provided mum didn’t mind me using it, and adding some sparkle I would use it for my wedding too. She agreed and now I am super excited, I have my something old and borrowed. It is a beautiful two tier veil, but that is all I will say. Its weird because there are people coming to my wedding who would have attended mums wedding, though I doubt they will remember what her veil looked like.

So yeah, thats everything thats been happening in the last month. I know this blog seems to be mostly about this weekend alone but this is just when a few things that have been being planned have come together. Next on the planning list is sorting out the surprises for the bridal party, and finding my perfume for the day. I've decided that I want to have a brand new perfume for the wedding. This was after watching a few makeup tutorials for wedding makeup, and in each and every one of them they said about having a special perfume so that after the big day, the scent will always take you back. And I love those kind of memories, tastes, sounds and smells that take you back to a special place really make me happy. If anyone has any recommendations for a nice perfume, which isn't going to break the bank please let me know. I want something light and floral I think.

This blog has taken me so long to write, literally been doing it since 6pm. Ever so sorry for how long of a read, but if you made it this far I admire your commitment and willingness to read through my babbling. Hopefully it won't be another month before I write again, writing this reminded me why I started this, I looooove writing and spending time with my own thoughts.

I’ll insert a couple of pictures now from the past few weeks... we have been going out a lot and it has been a lot of fun. In order we have, waiting for a Chinese (standard), then out with work the other week, then Kurtis on our anniversary meal, and finally a photo of my ring just in case you've forgotten what it looks like.

Thank you again for reading, with love always from the future Mrs C L Bryan.

xox

#wedding #wedding planning #bride #planning #diy

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takenews-blog1 · 6 years

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Japanese Subcultures You Won’t Believe Are Real!

New Post has been published on https://takenews.net/japanese-subcultures-you-wont-believe-are-real/

Japanese Subcultures You Won’t Believe Are Real!

Japan welcomes over 20 million international guests yearly, however for some motive, a lot of their tradition stays enigmatic to the Western world. There’s lots to find inside Japan’s superb tradition and also you’ll quickly see that concepts like cuddle cafes and sleeping on the job are thought-about completely regular in Japanese society. Some issues could shock you or have you ever scratching your head — like why a sure American meals chain is packed on the finish of the 12 months!

Any service you’ve acquired at a restaurant could be thought-about subpar when you’ve set foot into one in every of Japan’s meido kafes, or maid cafes. When you enter such institutions, waitresses wearing frilly anime-like maid costumes will serve you as if you’re their grasp (or mistress), slightly than an everyday cafe patron. Maid cafes originated in Akihabara, an space in Toyko residence to the otaku, or nerd, district. The idea has been so widespread that competitors has inspired cafes to ramp up their service by attempting to make clients’ experiences as enjoyable and thrilling as doable. However don’t be mistaken, these maid cafes will not be meant to be sexual in any means.

Maybe you’re feeling somewhat lonely and wish the heat of one other physique to cuddle up towards. Stroll round Akihabara somewhat extra and also you would possibly come throughout one in every of Japan’s cuddle cafes, the place you may pay to cuddle with a whole stranger (except you’re an everyday, which, there are at some cafes). It prices round $40 for a 30-minute session, however don’t get any concepts — these institutions supply nothing greater than cuddling. There are different perks you may pay for equivalent to hand holding, staring into one another’s eyes — even an ear cleansing — however these cuddle periods are purely harmless.

In case you want a fast, no frills place to remain for an evening or two, you could be within the utilitarianism of a Japanese capsule lodge. Inside you will discover a big room with dozens of particular person capsules meant for lodge patrons. The capsules are not any bigger than a single mattress and are generally geared up with a small tv set or a spot to retailer and cost your private gadgets. There’s a communal toilet, very similar to what you’d discover at a hostel. Salaried businessmen and inebriated people who couldn’t make it residence safely are frequent patrons of those institutions.

This might sound unusual, however not fairly as unusual as why Japanese folks love a sure American quick meals!

Much more curious than capsule lodges are the notorious Japanese love lodges. Providing two totally different room charges — a “relaxation” or an in a single day keep — these lodges are designed for amorous . Whereas the clientele ranges from metropolis bosses and their mistresses to a married couple attempting to boost their love life, a key element of those lodges is their discretion. Verify-in and lots of the opposite lodge processes are completed on a pc, permitting for as little human interplay as doable to take care of privateness. Whereas most rooms are fairly fundamental, lots of lodges supply theme rooms with facilities various from karaoke machines to rotating beds.

In case you’re in search of extra area of interest cafes to take a look at, look no additional than a bunny cafe, or usagi cafe. In case you’re conversant in the idea of cat cafes, then bunny cafes are not any totally different. Right here, you may play with all of the furry rabbits your coronary heart needs. You may nonetheless seize a snack or a drink, however some cafes could have the eating and bunny areas separate. The idea of bunny cafes has actually taken off, though they’re not fairly on each avenue nook just like the maid cafes appear to be. As a result of there are lots of restrictions on proudly owning private pets in Japan, lots of people go to pet cafes to get their furry repair.

Though solely about one % of Japan is Christian, lots of Japanese folks nonetheless stay up for Christmas — and it’s not even a nationwide vacation there. When Christmastime rolls round, Japan’s Kentucky Fried Hen eating places start dolling out particular Christmas Get together Barrels, which embody full-on dinners for the entire household to get pleasure from. The idea of Kurisumasu ni wa Kentakkii, or Kentucky for Christmas, took up within the mid-’70s when the supervisor of the primary Japan-based KFC considered offering a means for foreigners to have fun Christmas overseas. Now, having KFC at Christmastime is as conventional in Japan as having a Christmas tree in your front room.

KFC on Christmas won’t be unusual to most, however wait till you see the extreme Japanese vogue pattern that can make your jaw drop!

Whenever you’re strolling alongside the streets in Japan, you would possibly get somewhat thirsty and need to cease at a close-by merchandising machine for a refreshing soda. Fortunate for you, in Japan, you will get a soda after which some. Japan is residence to among the craziest merchandising machines on this planet. You may get something from beer, scorching soup, produce, eggs — even used underwear! Merchandising machines are distinguished in Japan and you’ll usually see lots of them lined up, versus simply seeing one or two on a avenue nook like in lots of different Western nations.

In Japanese arcades, you might be prone to come throughout their purikura machines, picture sticker cubicles which can be an entire lot of enjoyable. Whereas commonplace picture cubicles within the Western world are normally made to suit only one or two folks, purikura machines can accommodate an entire group of individuals, so that you and all of your finest pals can take part on the expertise. The actual enjoyable after your picture is taken. From there, you may customise your images in varied varieties of methods relying on what’s supplied by your machine. Your images may have customized backgrounds, drawings, stickers—you may even change the options in your face!

You’ve greater than seemingly heard of karaoke, however if you happen to haven’t — the place have you ever been?! The Japanese invention has gained worldwide recognition and has been round for many years. It entails you singing right into a microphone because the lyrics of your favourite track are displayed on the display, whereas the instrumental points of the track play within the background. In Japan, individuals who go to karaoke get their very own personal room to allow them to sing to their coronary heart’s content material with out having to be embarrassed. You may even order meals and drinks and have a full-on social gathering together with your closest pals!

Arising, you’ll see why this Japanese fashion will be seen as controversial!

Go away it to Japan to take the pinball idea up about ten notches! Pachinko is kind of just like the Japanese equal to fit machines, besides pachinko machines use tiny metal balls that decide the machine’s payout. Fashionable-day machines show colours and lights just like the joy of slot machines. There are a lot of Pachinko parlors all through Japan and they’re similar to casinos, nevertheless, playing for cash is against the law in Japan. At pachinko parlors, you will need to trade your payout for prizes or tokens. More often than not, the tokens will be delivered to a separate venue the place you may trade them for money.

By now, you may already see Japan’s affinity for making issues visually thrilling, partaking, and as a rule, extraordinarily cute! This has been prolonged into the realm of vogue as nicely and there’s no higher instance than Harajuku avenue fashion. The world across the Harajuku station in Tokyo has its personal eclectic and off-beat vibe and inside its streets run varied Harajuku fashion tribes — totally different subcultures inside Harajuku which can be differentiated by which types and developments an individual is carrying. Typically, teenagers are seen carrying shiny and outlandish clothes, usually with elaborate make-up and hairstyles.

Ganguro is among the subcultures of Harajuku street-style. The time period “ganguro” roughly interprets to “blackface” and entails women with deep synthetic tans and hair dyed anyplace from platinum blonde to orange. Ganguro women additionally make up their faces with heavy black eyeliner and white eyeshadow throughout their eyes. Though Ganguro might even see controversial from a Western viewpoint, proponents of the fashion argue that it was began by youth who rebelled towards conventional Japanese magnificence beliefs of white pores and skin and darkish hair. Ganguro will be taken to the acute with yamanba fashion, which originates from a witch of Japanese folklore.

Talking of folklore, see which Japanese superstition has made its means into on a regular basis society…

The recognition of Ganguro started to wane because the 2000s kicked in and by then, teenagers had been beginning to obsess with the Lolita fashion. Whereas the title Lolita could evoke inappropriate sexual connotations within the minds of Westerners, the Lolita vogue craze in Japan has a completely totally different which means. Women gown up in modest Victorian-era-style attire, which are sometimes frilly and very female. Women put on their hairs in pigtails with huge bows and even take it to the subsequent stage with petticoats and knee socks. Lolita fashion has even developed into one other substyle referred to as Gothic Lolita, which is identical concept however with a darkish twist.

In direction of the latter half of the 12 months, you could be round for Hadaka Matsuri, which is called Japan’s Bare Pageant. Sorry, girls — it is a boys solely retreat. 1000’s of males and boys (wearing a loincloth, so not fully bare) collect at Saidai-ji for a midnight celebration earlier than they take part in a race to win success for the next 12 months. The race entails two sacred sticks thrown right into a crowd by a Shinto priest. Whoever efficiently sticks each sticks right into a rice-filled field often called the masu, is the one who wins the 12 months of fine fortune.

One other custom in Japanese tradition is Coming of Age Day, a nationwide vacation normally celebrated on the second Monday of January. At the present time is held for people who turned 20 years previous on or earlier than that day over the previous 12 months, to congratulate their entrance into maturity and encourage their new anticipated obligations. Women gown for the event, in elaborate furisode, a method of kimono distinguished by lengthy sleeves. Guys used to decorate in conventional Japanese garb, however in recent times have veered towards carrying a swimsuit and tie. Nonetheless, the occasion is more and more shedding recognition amongst present Japanese younger adults.

Arising, this Japanese superstition has affected many points of every single day life.

For a rustic that places a lot emphasis on respecting elders, they positive do know methods to have fun their youth! One other conventional Japanese vacation is Kids’s Day. Generally known as Kodomo No Hello, the custom was initially often called Boy’s Day to have fun boys of the household and their fathers. Moreover, there was a Lady’s Day as nicely, however as of 1948 the Japanese authorities formally acknowledged an general Kids’s Day to have fun kids’s’ happiness and respect their particular person personalities. Households have fun by placing up koinobori, carp-shaped flags that appear like they’re swimming when the wind blows by way of.

In case you have a tendency to go to sleep at your desk and infrequently get slack for it, you would possibly need to transfer to Japan the place that’s completely acceptable. The Japanese idea of inemuri, which roughly interprets to “current whereas sleeping,” is the follow of napping in public — which features a work or class setting. Japanese bosses acknowledge that their staff work so laborious, they could be pushed to have interaction in inemuri, which is completely okay so long as you’re “sleeping” upright. Some Japanese even go to sleep on public transportation and have a tendency to go to sleep on a stranger’s shoulder, however don’t fear — that’s socially acceptable too.

One factor you’ll discover whenever you’re in Japan is how there buildings don’t have a labeled fourth ground. Elevator buttons will go from three to 5, however by no means 4. Why? The Japanese are superstitious concerning the quantity 4 as a result of the phrase for it in Japanese sounds similar to the Japanese phrase for loss of life. The quantity 4 is taken into account very unfortunate in Japanese tradition and this extends to different numbers that embody a quantity 4. Quantity 49, for instance, is dangerous as a result of in Japanese it sounds just like the phrase “ache till loss of life.” This phenomenon is called tetraphobia and is distinguished all through East and Southeast Asia.

In case you’re feeling significantly adventurous with Japanese delicacies, you may take part in Omakase, which interprets to “I’ll depart it to you.” This custom entails letting the chef of a restaurant select your order for you. In a rustic that has among the finest cooks and freshest elements, this wouldn’t be a foul concept. Nonetheless, there are some tips to get the perfect expertise doable. For instance, you would possibly need to strive Omakase at a sushi restaurant, the place recent fish and veggies are delivered every single day. However if you happen to have interaction a chef in Omakase you must decide to it, as a result of it will be very impolite if you happen to didn’t eat what was given to you.

In Japan, there are lots of households that undertake adults. Whereas most orphans in Western tradition will not be up for adoption as adults, Japan has made it fully regular to undertake non-related adults into the offspring roles of their households. Japanese households do that to increase their household title, property, and ancestry. The follow is particularly distinguished in Japan as a result of fewer individuals are getting married and having kids and in consequence, Japan is experiencing a reducing start price and regarding lower in inhabitants. Most Japanese undertake somebody of their twenties and these adoptees should comply with tackle their new household title if they need the inheritance.

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