no feather left behind

Amis and co. as things customers at my (fast food) job have done

Bahorel: tipped me 10$ on a 9$ meal because I made “the best fucking fries in history”

Joly: ordered our largest size (which is enough food for two-three people) with extra gravy but then added peas on top because “I’m trying to eat healthy”

Feuilly: ordered, paid, and then just. Fell asleep. Right there at the till.

Enjolras: got legitimately angry when our card machine didn’t have a tip option and got even angrier when I said I was working through New Year’s eve until 5 am. Offered to call head office and complain about it.

Cosette: also on New Year’s eve, gave all of the staff chocolate bars and thanked us for working so hard and so late

Montparnasse: came in to the shop twice a week in the summer while we had a limited time meal called the Mac Daddy and only ever ordered that. Never came in again after we got rid of it.

Combeferre: lives in the flat above the shop, comes in every week with a ceramic bowl and asks me to make his meal in it (instead of our paper boxes) to reduce waste

Jehan: reads, considers, and takes a picture of every single quote I write on the blackboard. Always asks for extra pickles.

Gavroche: had an actual laughing fit when I squeezed the cheese sauce bottle and it made farting noises 

Courfeyrac: came in around 3 am on the weekend before Halloween dressed as David Bowie. Picked up a feather boa a customer had left behind, put it on and kept it

Éponine: started yelling at some idiot who was catcalling another customer. It got so heated they had to take it outside 

Musichetta: nice regular who just comes in to write Instagram handles on the board, chats with us for a few minutes and leaves

Marius: apologized like five times even though I was the one who messed up the order. Tried to pay with Euros (in Canada)??

Bossuet: came in slightly drunk at 2 am on a snowy day so the shop floor was wet, fell down literally more than ten times even after I mopped

Grantaire: stared at the menu of poutines for 10 minutes, gave up and asked me “which one’s the most dank”



You never had a reason to doubt, but maybe…you wanted to be able to call him when you wanted, when you needed. You wanted to be able to hear his voice when you pleased. But most of all, you wanted to know what he looked like, what his smile was like, what the color of his eyes were like. You knew it wouldn’t change anything about the way you felt, but….

Keep reading

Echoes in the night.

Whispers of ancient beings. You don’t understand a word.




You don’t know what you’re hearing, but you’re not sure if you like it.

They say the Witch likes to wander.

You wonder if it’s true.


A language you don’t understand is being carried by the wind.

Somewhere out there, there’s an abandoned lot in front of what used to be a convenience store. The ground is cracked. Weeds burst through the cement. Broken glass and empty wrappers.

The wind swirls and dances, picking up whatever it could and twirling it around. A shadow dances with the wind.

Abandoned lots have always been the nicest to dance in.

The shadow laughs and talks and the wind carries it away. Echoes of a language you can’t understand.

Somewhere out there, there’s an abandoned lot in front of what used to be a convenience store.

The wind dies and the shadow disappears.

All that’s left behind is plastic bags and black feathers.

Angelic Display

AN: You see stuff like this happens because I don’t think before I tag. @maidenpool@inkbleeder

This isn’t edited at all. I’m Megstiel trash once again. 

No real setting in this, AU, Nesting!Cas, confused Meg, grossed out Dean and Sam. Yeah. My finest work

Angelic Display

Castiel watched the demons go after Sam’s curt dismissal of them. He found it unsettling, the way the demon had looked at him so covertly, how her eyes had lingered, and he wasn’t sure what to do. Turning, he watched as they disappeared around the corner and the demon turned one last time. This time she was smiling, her dark hair tossed over her shoulder and her lips pulled into such a grin that it made his stomach lurch. What he saw underneath was confusing. A mass of grey and shadow, of scars and hate.

“She’s beautiful,” he muttered.

Dean turned, eyebrows raised. “Say again?”

“Oh, nothing,” Castiel said. He cleared his throat. “Demons are disgusting to angels, you know. We can see what they really are.”

“Sure,” Dean said but he didn’t sound wholly convinced.

But when she kissed him that night, when he crushed her lips to his to return the momentary intimacy, he had felt everything in him want to display his power and strength to her. He wanted to show her everything about him to see if it impressed her.

That was when he knew he was in trouble.

Keep reading

For @kanouchi

Hey! I hope you’re having a pleasant day. I don’t know how you feel about soulmate AUs but I absolutely adore them and I have a whole bag full of different variations of tlc soulmate AUs. Here’s one. Enjoy!

– your secret santa

TLC soulmate AU where everyone has a tattoo that represents something about their soulmate: The tattoos get warm when their counterpart is happy, ticklish if they’re laughing, cold if they’re sick or sad, and sting if their counterpart is physically hurt. The tattoos will get warm and glow softly if their soulmate is nearby.

Cinder has the tattoo of a crown on her ankle. It starts off as a small one that grows larger with more intricate designs as more responsibilities are rested on Kai.

Kai initially has a tiara. It’s near his collarbone. When the fire occurs that almost kills Cinder, the tattoo burns away and a scar that looks like a charred feather is left behind. Over time the scar starts to fade and the feather grows more prominent and starts to look healthier, with red and yellow strands and wires mixed in.

Scarlet has the lupus constellation on her palm. Its white lines and dots at first and you can barely see it. Then the lines turn black like the sketch of a constellation. After she meets Wolf, it looks like a real constellation in the sky.

Wolf has the ursa minor constellation on the back of his hand. Same appearance changes as with Scarlet, except, while for her the warm/cold/ticklish feelings that the tattoo simulates according to Wolf’s emotions are felt in the whole constellation, the warm/cold/ticklish feelings in Wolf’s tattoo are restricted to one star—the Polaris.

Cress has a rampion bellflower stem on her sternum. It blooms and fades according to the seasons at first, then according to Thorne’s emotions.

Thorne’s tattoo is on his back. A moon between his shoulder blades. It waxes and wanes according to the lunar cycle first, then according to Cress’ emotions. At first it stays wan a lot, and eventually takes permanent shape as a crescent. After he meets Cress, the warmth and glow that comes with first proximity doesn’t disappear but shifts to tune into Cress’s mood.

Winter has a sun at the back of her neck in light yellow/white lines. Kinda like this. Sometimes she hallucinates that it talks to her. Compliments mostly. Often she hears it in Jacin’s voice.

Jacin’s tattoo is a snowflake. Bit like a watercolour tattoo, and it’s on his wrist, right against his pulse. When Winter is feeling unstable, the watercolour starts to spread, and the edges blacken. If she’s seeing blood on the walls, the edges of the snowflake turn red.

Iko, being an android, doesn’t have a tattoo, but her soulmate (whether you like Kinney for it, or Émilie) has a heart with a clockwork gear at the centre.



(I’m sorry this took a while to actually make!! @lindzpie )

It wasn’t like pain was a new fixture for him, it was just that it had been a while since he had actually felt any. And it was just his luck that when he had reserved himself within the cursed body of his host that they had to get themselves hurt. What a fool they were to think the man wouldn’t shoot.

Now crimson was practically the color of his shirt. Yet he persisted. And there was someone he believed could help him. She had left behind a feather or two during their last encounter, that was fortunate for him. He could practically feel his host fading, it was a matter of his will alone now, it seemed. The body they shared was beginning to shut down but she was near enough to call out now.

“Seek, I am in need of some… assistance if you would,” His voice was hoarse because it wasn’t entirely his. He had to rely on his host’s body, and that body was starting to get heavy.

The Maid part 3

The Tuesday morning alarm interrupts our sleep. You groan and tighten your grip around my waist, pulling me closer into your warmth. Cold mornings make saying goodbye to you almost impossible.

I scratch the back of your hand lightly. ‘Baby, I’m just going to the bathroom and then I’m going to work from home today’ I tell you, as I turn off the alarm. Your happiness is almost tangible. You know that your very ticklish body will monopolise my attention all day.

I swear I’m gone no more than a minute. Yet upon my return to our room, you are lying face up and have secured your own ankles hip distance apart into our under-the-bed restraints. You’re adorable, so eager for my nails.

I smile and kiss each wiggling foot, goosebumps protruding as I slowly journey my lips up your excited body until ours meet. Your lips are always sweet and soft. As I kiss you, my fingers interlock with yours enabling me to easily lift your arms above your head. You whimper in yearning. I secure your wrists in cuffs, tilt my face and smile into your grey eyes.

I’m laying naked directly on top of you, grazing your soles with my toes. I caress down your arms until the backs of my nails test the rims of your very ticklish hollows, like a shark circling its prey. The anticipation is driving you crazy. 'Oh no, oh no’ you squeal, with knowledge that once I pounce, my gentle assault will be merciless. Fluttering fingertips under your arms always send you immediately into beautiful hysteria. Baby, it’s only a matter of time.

I’m so utterly transfixed by your hidden smirk that neither of us notice that the maid is in our presence, until I feel her firm hands grip both of my ankles at once. I stop teasing under your arms and swiftly turn my head to see her cheeky grin, no trace of nerves in her newfound position of power. I shudder. The maid’s action is faster than my reflex as she cuffs my ankles to the bed right above to yours. Fuck.

No bribes or objections would persuade the maid from sparing me my fate. The memory of my nails on her soles as I made her tickle you, still too vivid. She finds a rope beside our bed and wraps it around our waists, binding us together. I rest my head on your chest. My hands are still free to find comfort under your arms. You tense and my toes curl.

The maid lifts her feather duster and strikes the soft plumes across my bottom. My checks clench. Her amusement radiates.

'I’ve been thinking about you both’ the maid teases in a sickly tone, as the feathers strike for a second time, a third, a fourth and then they linger. I’m giggling softly. 'Oh how I had hoped that you were this sensitive, too’ she tells me, bemused. Her wrist flicks in a small figure eight. The feathers encapsulate every inch of my insanely ticklish backside. I grimace and burry my face into you but there’s no where to hide. Light touches have always been my downfall.

'Oh my!’ The maid exclaims as my laughter perforates the room once the feather duster wanders between my thighs. The sensation is truly maddening, amplified as the bonds prevent me from clamping my legs closed. I scrunch my fingers under your arms in any attempt to distract myself. You howl. I can feel your excitement pressing into me, making me wet. My lust only serves to further increase my sensitivity. I can’t handle this.

The maid guides the feather duster down my inner left thigh and traces it behind my knee. I jerk. She merely giggles in response to my helpless protests, adamant to take it slow and enjoy my anguish. The duster flicks and flutters, dancing from one leg to the other and back again. I replicate every sensation from behind my knees with my fingers under your arms. Your laughter now almost silent.

Before I can acclimatise to the light assault, I feel a single nail deliberately drag from my left heel to the crease beneath my big toe. The maid is no novice. I thrash into your body, my laughter vibrating against your chest. Humoured by my violent reaction, she adds a second nail, then a third and before long she has dropped the feather duster and both of her nimble hands are torturing my small, sensitive sole. I’m out of breath, not even able to focus my attention on tickling under your arms.

Eventually, she relents. I’m still panting and exhausted, yet I’m instantly drunk on your piercing laughter, the maid must have remembered how ticklish the balls of your feet are. You squirm beneath me. I take this as a cue and my fingers resume their role. I look up to see your eyes clenched and your head shaking from side to side. The tickling radiates through your body. Oh how I wish I could reach to kiss you in this very moment.

The maid sporadically scatters her fingers overs my arches, only ever momentarily, before reoccupying her place on your soles. I look back to see her chipped red nails are trapped under your clenched toes. Her fingers wiggle with no real intention of finding their way out. No wonder you’re thrashing. My hands find your hips. You’re in paradise.

I recognise your desperate laugh as her nails glide up and down your arches. You never want this to end. She pauses her index finger on that particularly sensitive crevice below the ball of your foot. 'I remember this spot fondly’ the maid coos, almost moaning. You’re howling.

'I wonder if you’re ticklish there too, missy’ she asks me, attacking my arch with her second index finger. My reaction better than any response she could have anticipated. I hold you tightly for comfort. Our laughter now in harmony. The maid can’t get enough. Neither can I.

After what feels like a lifetime, she tweaks each of your feet with her nails one last time, then mine, and picks up her duster. We both squeal. 'I have to go to another job this morning, but I’ll come back tomorrow to clean your house’ she advises with a wink. Striking our feet only once with the feathery plumes.

I untie the rope from around our waist after she has left the room, then reach behind me and toy with your soles while I free my ankles. Your giggles are heavenly. Once I fulfil my desperate need to kiss you, my hands resume at the outskirts of your underarms. Your eyes widen. I’m conscious of your growing excitement.

'Now baby, where were we?’

Flume by Bon Iver..

Is one of the most beautiful songs ever written..
And I’ll tell you why.

Lyrics: I am my mother’s only one
 It’s enough.

Meaning: He’s saying this because he was abandoned/betrayed by people close to him.

Lyrics: I wear my garment so it show
Now you know.

Meaning: He’s naked and vulnerable, now you know what it looks like to see him without his masks.

Lyrics: Only love is all maroon

Meaning: Maroon is the color of dried blood. Not only does love hurt, but it doesn’t quite look as glorious after it’s done with you.

Lyrics: Gluey feathers on a flume

Meaning: Pieces of himself left behind as he parted ways…

Lyrics: Sky is womb and she’s the moon

Meaning: Womb is new birth, he’s journeying down the flume. Moon - could be guidance.
He’s still attached to whatever he left behind.

Lyrics: I am my mother on the wall, with us all.

Meaning: mother on the wall is a photograph of someone who passed away, she is not “with us all” neither is he.

Lyrics: I move in water, shore to shore;
 Nothing’s more.

Meaning: Again, he is wandering down the river/stream..

Lyrics: Lapping lakes like leary loons.

Meaning: Feeling so alone it’s driving him mad, same idea implied with the moon.

Lyrics: Leaving rope burns
 Reddish rouge.

Meaning: Rope burns don’t happen unless he tried to hold on… he did, it hurt. He had to let go, now he’s wounded reddish rouge.

! YES. he definitely deserved that Grammy folks.

anonymous asked:

could i get a fluffy imagine with ichimatsu please? :-)

((My writer’s block is gone, so, fluffy Ichi, coming right up~!))


Your boyfriend had just went home and you were still gushing over how cute his cat was. As you began cleaning up your living room, you saw that Ichimatsu had left behind ESP kitty’s little feather play toy. And, being the amazing girlfriend you were, you decided to go give it back to him. Who knows what he’d do when he knew he lost his precious kitty toy… Okay. In all honesty, he probably wouldn’t react much, but hey, whatever. It’s the thought that counts.

So, here you are, on your way to Ichimatsu’s house. You’re wearing a hoodie you stole from him, along with your sky blue skirt that had clouds on it, and a pair of sneakers you put on at the door. Of course, you had painted them, so they had a really cool design of (fandom) on them. But hey, you didn’t like to brag. At least not directly.

Once you had gotten to his address, if you remembered correctly, you went up and knocked on the door. You waited for a minute, but nobody came. So you knocked again, louder, with more determination. That was when you heard a large thumping sound before the door opened.

“Ichimatsu?” You asked. You weren’t sure if it was actually your boyfriend or not. He looked the same, except his eyes were fully open, his hair was neater, and his hoodie was red.

“You’re here for Ichimatsu?” He asked.

“Yes?” You answered, confused.

“I’ll be right back.”

He shut the door, and as soon as he did, all you could hear from the other side was chaos. You could hear a multitude of voices yelling at eachother. They were all overlapping, so you couldn’t understand much besides the phrases: “Ichimatsu”, “Weirdo”, and “Girl.” You were about to knock for the third time when suddenly, a green Ichimatsu opened the door.

“Hello there.It um. Seems like our brother never told us about you. C-Come in.” Green Ichimatsu said while stepping to the side to allow you into their home.

“Thank you, so, you’re his brother? You look awfully alike.” You said, taking off your shoes.

“Yeah. Were sextuplets.” He said.

“Sextuplets? Isn’t that like twins. But six?”

“Yes. I’m Choromatsu.”

Okay, Choromastu, that was his name. You could stop calling him green Ichimatsu now.

“Come on, everyone’s in the main room.” He said, leading you to a room with Ichimatsu and four other Ichimatsus.

“Ichimatsu!” You said, running to him and throwing yourself into his arms. His face turned red from the sudden contact. “This isn’t some kind of glitch in the matrix is it?” You whispered to him.

“No.” He said wrapping his arms around you.

“Why him!?”

You turned around.


“Why did you choose him?” Pink Ichimatsu said with a hint of jealousy in his voice.

“Why not?” You said back.

“Because he’s Ichimatsu,” said red Ichimatsu. “Someone as cute as you could do way better.”

“Like me.” A blue Ichimatsu said, pushing his shades up.

Ichimatsu didn’t give you a chance to answer before he pulled you up onto your feet.

“Let’s go back to your apartment (Y/n)-chan.” He said before grabbing your hand and dragging you out the door.

“I didn’t even get to put on my shoes…” You pointed out after a bit of walking.


As the two of you walked, you were surrounded by an air of awkward silence. It lasted all the way up to your apartment. When you two got there, you just sat in the living room staring at eachother.

“He’s right.” Ichimatsu whispered, looking down.


“Osomatsu. The one in red. He was right. You could do way better than me. I’m garbage. Disgusting garbage who spends all day playing with cats and can’t afford to buy you any presents that you deserve because I’m broke. You’re amazing… And I’m just a NEET.” He said, not looking at you.


“Ichimatsu! How many times have I told you not to talk that way about yourself! You’re wonderful and amazing and I love you! Who cares what your brother says about your love life! You’re not the single one here, he is! You have experience in relationships and he doesn’t so don’t listen to him! If I picked you to be my boyfriend it means I don’t want “better” I want you!” You yelled. You had always hated how he put himself down, and you were glad to finally get the rage out of your system.

“I… I…” Ichimatsu couldn’t manage to get any words out as he looked at you while holding his now stinging cheek.

“I love you Ichimatsu…” You said, hugging him tightly.

“I… I love you too…” He said quietly.


The two of you were now lazing about on the couch. ESP kitty was on your stomach, and Ichimatsu was holding an ice pack to his now swollen face. Yes, you slappd him that hard. You didn’t mean too, you just lost control of your own strength.

“Hey. (Y/n).” Ichimatsu said.

“What is it?”

“If you ever get mad, don’t hesitate to hit me again. Just let out all your frustrations on me.” His face was red, and you couldn’t tell if it was from the previous slap, or if it was something else. Either way, you began to blush out of embarrassment.


October Fic Fest Day 1


Originally posted by castiels-brokenwings

“I don’t understand this damn map. It’s like some kid made it up and drew it with crayons,” groused Sam, turning the crumpled page around in his hands again.

The three of them stood at the mouth of a path snaking off through the north Georgia wilderness. Sam, a few yards ahead of his brother, had brought them to a much-needed “regular” job busting up a werewolf den to give their brains a rest from fighting The Darkness. Neither Dean nor Castiel gave his grousing much mind. He didn’t know they were working through problems of their own. All right, it wasn’t a problem to Dean. Not at all. He was … entranced….

With the Mark of Cain gone and The Darkness devouring the planet, Dean had somehow awoken from it all with the veil lifted from his eyes. He saw ghosts. He knew exactly where pods of mermaids swam in the ocean. Aliens, well, yes they were out there but they weren’t interested in the colossal fuck up of Earth. Vampires, werewolves, and every other creature known to hunters (and many unknown)–yes, he could sniff them out easily if he tried. The putrid odor so intrinsic to demons? It was horrifyingly strong if they got within a few blocks. He didn’t know why it happened or how, but it really was like having a veil lifted from his limited human sight.

But all the things Dean saw since it happened never held a candle to the creature walking beside him, blue eyes fixed straight ahead. He stared. He couldn’t help it. Shit, he’d never seen light so bright but so gentle, shimmering off the enormous black wings arching over his shoulders. Patches of liquid black light feathers were missing and left painfully scarred and burned flesh behind. The signs of periodic torture were everywhere but so were beautiful signs of a creature too powerful to be killed that easy.

Keep reading

Grave of “The church cat” outside of St Marys Redcliffe Church, Bristol.

“Tom, a tabby kitten, was found outside the priests’ entrance to the building, sometime in 1912. Maybe he liked the sound of the organ music that was being played at the time! Anyway, he decided it was a good place to stay and spent the next 15 years as ‘church cat’, becoming quite a local celebrity. For most of his life he was looked after by the verger, Eli Richards.

He would process with the choir on occasion, and also liked to sit by the organist’s side during rehearsals and for part of the services. The cat was recalled by blind organist Alfred Hollins, who mentioned in his 1936 reminiscences that Tom would sit beside him on the organ stool. He also often liked to sit on someone’s lap in the congregation! — but he wasn’t allowed in the chancel and would be removed if he went there. He was said to have attended many more church services than any one of the clergy.

Tom had an enviable reputation as a catcher of rats and mice, and also kept in check the large numbers of pigeons that would frequent the churchyard. He seems to have had a penchant for hiding the remains of his prey — or perhaps he had a favourite spot where he liked to take his victims to devour them. In any case, when the altar cross was removed in the early 1920s, a large zinc bathtub was filled three times with bones and feathers he had left behind!

This staunch church cat died in 1927, and in recognition of his many years of devoted service he was given a grand funeral; the small coffin was borne to its resting place by the verger, accompanied by the vicar and church wardens, while suitable music was played on the organ — which surely Tom would have appreciated.”

(St Mary’s leaflet about Tom, written by Stephen Richards, grandson of former verger Eli, Photo by Paul Townsend)


OK, I know bogleech posted the first part of this thing I saw on Tumblr, specifically this part:


It’s funny how science fiction universes so often treat humans as a boring, default everyman species or even the weakest and dumbest.

 I want to see a sci fi universe where we’re actually considered one of the more hideous and terrifying species.

 How do we know our saliva and skin oils wouldn’t be ultra-corrosive to most other sapient races? What if we actually have the strongest vocal chords and can paralyze or kill the inhabitants of other worlds just by screaming at them? What if most sentient life in the universe turns out to be vegetable-like and lives in fear of us rare “animal” races who can move so quickly and chew shit up with our teeth?

Like that old story “they’re made of meat,” only we’re scarier.


But the rest of the responses and tags that go with it were cut off in the screen cap of it that I found and I want to include the awesome contributors that made the post so awesome…does anyone recall who the other contributors were? I’ve sectioned them off…hopefully they’ll see it and chime in.






  • Humans are a proud warrior race with a pantheon of bloody gods: Ram-Bo, Schwarzenegger, etc.











More seriously, humans do have a number of advantages even among Terrestrial life.

Our endurance, shock resistance, and ability to recover from injury is absurdly high compared to almost any other animal. We often use the phrase “healthy as a horse” to denote heartiness - but compared to a human, a horse is as fragile as spun glass. There’s mounting evidence that our primitive ancestors would hunt large prey simply by following it at a walking pace, without sleep or rest, until it died of exhaustion; it’s called pursuit predation. Basically, we’re the Terminator.

(The only other animal that can sort of keep up with us? Dogs. That’s why we use them for hunting. And even then, it’s only “sort of”.)

Now extrapolate that to a galaxy in which most sapient life did not evolve from hyper-specialised pursuit predators:

  • Our strength and speed is nothing to write home about, but we don’t need to overpower or outrun you. We just need to outlast you - and by any other species’ standards, we just plain don’t get tired.
  • Where a simple broken leg will cause most species to go into shock and die, we can recover from virtually any injury that’s not immediately fatal. Even traumatic dismemberment isn’t necessarily a career-ending injury for a human.
  • We heal from injuries with extreme rapidity, recovering in weeks from wounds that would take others months or years to heal. The results aren’t pretty - humans have hyperactive scar tissue, among our other survival-oriented traits - but they’re highly functional.
  • Speaking of scarring, look at our medical science. We developed surgery centuries before developing even the most rudimentary anesthetics or life support. In extremis, humans have been known to perform surgery on themselves - and survive. Thanks to our extreme heartiness, we regard as routine medical procedures what most other species would regard as inventive forms of murder. We even perform radical surgery on ourselves for purely cosmetic reasons.

In essence, we’d be Space Orcs.


This is where I lost track of the contributors:


Our jaws have too many teeth in them so we developed a way to weld metal to our teeth to force the bones in our jaw to restructure over the course of years to fit them back into shape, and them some of us continue to wear metal in our mouths to hold those bones and teeth in place.

 We formed cohabitive relationships with smaller mammals and insects we keep at bay from bothering us to death often by using analogue traps.

 We will eat ANYTHING.


  • We use borderline toxic peppers to season our food.
  • We expose ourselves to potentially lethal doses of radiation just to change our skin colour.
  • We will risk hearing loss to see our favourite musicians perform
  • We have a game where two people step into an enclosure and beat each other until time runs out/one of them is incapacitated
  • Some of us willingly jump out of planes with nothing but flimsy cloth to break our fall
  • Our natural response to a natural disaster is to rebuild exactly where the disaster occurred
  • We climb mountains and risk personal injury and death for bragging rights
  • We invented dogs.  We took a one time natural predator and completely domesticated them
  • On a planet full of things that can kill us we evolved faster than any other species


Can we talk about how pursuit predation is terrifying?

 It’s one thing to face down a cheetah that will hit you at 60mph and snap your neck on impact.

It’s quite another to run away from something as fast as you can only to have it just

show up

To have something be intelligent enough to figure out where you are not by smell, but by following fur or feather you’ve left behind, or your footprints, your piss, your shit, and then you think you’ve lost it and you bed down for the night but THERE IT IS



And you run, again, but it keeps following you, always in the corner of your eye until you die…


If that doesn’t make you think humans are scary, then I don’t know what will…

The End

Twelfth installment of the Castiel “At First Sight” series (“At First Sight” - “You’re Growing On Me” - “Under His Wing”- “Wandering Thoughts” - “Warrior Of Heaven”-“When You Wake” - “The Ultimatum” - “A First Glimpse” - “A Flared Soul” - “A Final Farewell” - “The Crosshairs”). Requested by so, so many of you after the cliffhanger, but no one supplied any real request so… requested by me: “There was no request so I’m kinda just goin’ for it here and I’m going to write whatever thoughts come to mind please don’t kill me.” Regardless of what happens in this installment, and we’re going in blind, you have the power to resurrect anything or anyone. I hope you like it.

(All past and future installments can be found on the “The Story Continues…” page)

The chill of metal seeped through the fabric at your stomach like melting ice, the tip of Ansiel’s angel blade pricking along your skin like a needle, the blade’s frigid temperature thrown into starker contrast by the heat washing over the rest of your terrified form. You felt the flush of your every heartbeat scorch against your cheeks, your temples throbbing as your body prepared for what would likely be an impossible fight for freedom. His hold on you was unbreakable, other-worldly in its strength; there was no escape unless your captor willingly released you… a feat you knew would never have crossed his mind. To Ansiel, you were no more than a vermin, a strange, hostile breed of venomous rat, slowly but surely infecting his home (and in doing so, infecting his brother), your very presence heralding doom. You weren’t a person, to him; you were something to be exterminated. Your ear was pressed into the crease of his elbow, his bicep flexing against your head, his hold on your neck tight enough to cause some minor difficulties in breathing, but weak enough to show that your death was not underway in this moment. His hold was not intended to strangulate, but one wrong move would easily result in a broken neck. Simple as snapping a toothpick, your life would end. There was no point in a struggle you would not survive. If it hadn’t been plain to you in Ansiel’s hold around your throat, or the blade he held at your stomach, it was clear in the mute horror present in Castiel’s eyes.

Castiel’s wings, so swathed in darkness, began to hiss, the angels on either side of him shifting their hands to better hold him steady, their muscles straining visibly as his wings threatened to lift his otherwise compliant body from the earth. His eyes never left the blade Ansiel held at your stomach, watching the tip as if averting his gaze would plunge it into your body. Ansiel’s foot slithered through your own two feet, guiding your step forward as he advanced, keeping you bent backwards against his chest, thieving any hopes of balance, your body twitching along in front of him as he drew nearer to your lover. His wings, unruly as they acted now at the sight of your immediate peril, had sense enough not to reach for you, their first desire to take flight overwhelmed by a new, necessary desire for your safe release. The ebony quills, darker than you could have ever imagines them, trembled as you drew closer, bristling feathers shifting between obsidian and a woolen grey, sparked through with veins of a thick, deeper-than-black color than could only embody the terror gripping your body. The tendrils of this unnamed hue were pulsing with the frantic beat of your own heart, rich colour polluting the crystalline beauty his wings once possessed. In places, the lights above clung to patches of scarlet where Castiel had clearly been injured; his wings had been battered by blade and fist alike, feathers missing in large clumps, blood pouring from the open wounds those feather left behind. He was in better shape than you had hoped while simultaneously being in worse shape than you could have tolerated. The blade flinched against your stomach when Ansiel stopped his march, a whelp striking the inside of Ansiel’s palm as it closed over your mouth, his skin swallowing your involuntary cry of pain, however minor. Dean thrashed against his captor’s hold, his eyes alight with fury, peridot irises blazing with a rage you had yet to witness within the man. He’d been hunting with you long enough to know the sounds you made when you’d been injured, and he was far from pleased to hear them now. Castiel’s eyes, however, remained locked on the weapon held against you, no matter how much you wished he would meet your stare. A tear fell from your eye, coaxed over your waterline by panic and fear, meeting the edge of Ansiel’s finger, water pooling along his skin to travel down the backside of his hand.

You assessed the situation as quickly and efficiently as one can when one is held captive at knife-point. Your scattered thoughts of self-preservation and worry for the safety of those you loved organized, and for one fleeting moment, you were able to absorb your surroundings. Ansiel had moved your forward enough to allow for closer examination of, and by, Castiel. He was far enough away that, even if he ran, Ansiel would be able to harm you before you could be reached. The distance was strategic, organized. Sam and Dean were on either side of the angel on trial, forming points on a charted map. You’d all walked into place as if you knew your marks. You were pawns on Ansiel’s board, nervously awaiting checkmate. Ansiel tightened his grip on your throat then, wrenching your thoughts away from hopeless strategy back to the urgency of your current predicament.

“Castiel, look how she has mangled you.” Ansiel muttered, his voice slippery and vile, tainted by the bravery and courage of one who believes themselves to be in the right, his chin pressing your ear against the side of your head, his cheek at your temple. “See how this maggot has brought us to this! Brother, look at her, and see what she has caused!” Castiel’s eyes flitted to your face for the first time in too long, his composure breaking like the foaming crests of waves from behind his ocean irises. A million apologies flooded along his waterlines, though not a single tear dared to drop. When Ansiel spoke again, his eyes focused on the angel’s face. “We have fallen again because of her! Because of what you’ve allowed! We’ve been driven to the highest extremes fathomable, all because of this… this… temptress! We have slain our own kind, our sisters and our brothers, we have watched those we love perish on the ends of the own blades because of her actions, and because of yours.” His breath polluted what little air you managed to choke don your throat, smelling strongly of ginger and of earth and of dust. Castiel’s lips relaxed into a thin line, his features organizing some to form a broken facade of diplomacy, his hands raised in surrender still. The blade dragged upward along your stomach as Ansiel’s position altered, his arm dropping from your throat to bar across your chest once more, your skin pulsating where the sword grazed. How strange, that your skin had not yet been broken by the angel so fervent on killing you. “Surely you must see the treachery she brings in her wake, the treachery she brings out in you. All you need do is look around you, Castiel, and see the carnage she creates. Let. This. End.” Ansiel voice offered no options, his command bellowing from wall to concrete wall, Castiel’s wings shivering like broken leaves as the sound rattled his feathers, their impossible hue darkening still. His lips parted slowly, cautiously, his hands unmoving in their position of peaceful defeat.

“If, brother, by speaking of an end, you mean killing her… you know I won’t do it,” Castiel spoke, his voice surprisingly steady when compared to his trembling wings and his busted facade. His eyes remained locked on Ansiel’s, offering a level of respect he could not possibly believe to be deserved, refusing to meet your gaze. you chanced a glance in Dean’s direction, finding his eyes hardened in fear, his jaw tense, eyes boring into yours. What he could not say spoke volumes; if Dean Winchester was afraid for you, you had next to no chance of survival. “Ansiel, you and I both know I had no say in this. Neither she nor I chose for this to happen. I see no evidence other than the carnage you have created in pursuing her that would have lead to this mess, and we have never punished the innocent for crimes they unknowingly committed.” Ansiel’s hold tightened, your chest constricting under the weight of his arm. “Let us go and I promise you, it will end,” Castiel assured, his face a mask of kindness, of professionalism, as if by negotiating for your life he was discussing the disadvantages of laying-off an employee, singing praises of their talents to prevent the higher-status boss from snipping their thread. Behind his eyes, though, laid a true terror, a pleading, suffering fear that he fought tooth and nail to keep bottled up within him. Unfortunately, teeth and nails have a habit of tearing things apart, and his anxiety was made clear as his faltering show of calm failed him. “You cannot possibly blame her for her humanity. You can’t blame me for loving her when it wasn’t a choice that I made-” At this, Ansiel scoffed, his hand shifting to your mouth, the movement causing the blade to scratch through the first layer of your skin, the tip puncturing you like a tack. It was a shallow wound hardly deep enough to draw blood, but painful nonetheless, your eyes screwing shut as you cried out. Castiel jumped at your cry, his eyes widening, his mouth opening in silent protest. Ansiel’s moved the blade to a more comfortable (if a knife at one’s stomach can be classified as such) position, his hand relaxing, allowing for easy breathing. Ansiel jilted your body, holding you tighter to him, your hands gripping his arms as you scrambled for balance.

“Choice, Castiel? You think this is about choice?” The angel laughed aloud, one breathy, unbelieving gust of air to pierce the otherwise quiet atmosphere. “This is about you, and this is about her. This is about the extent of your relationship, about the dangers that can and will arise because of your inability to see the worthlessness of this race! To see the ruin you will cause with her at your side!” He shouted, his voice piercing your ears like a dagger, his hand clenching at your chin to display your face to his small audience, your lips pursing as his fingers dug into your jaw. “She is a vessel for destruction, Castiel! It has to end!” The fluctuating frequencies his voice achieved now bordered on insanity, tone crackling like a growing fire, his hold on you dropping to your throat, hand clenching around your neck tight enough to make you squirm for air, for comfort, your hands clawing mindlessly at his arm, your movement causing the blade to prick along your stomach. You went relatively limp, save for your hands, which continued in their attempts to peel the angel from your throat. “I gave you a choice, Castiel, and you failed to keep your distance. You know what I must do.” Castiel started forward, his arms restrained by his captors, his outstretched hand yanked back to his side, wings shrieking behind him.

"Brother, don’t do this. Don’t allow your… your fear to end an innocent life.” Castiel’s voice was no longer serene, but broken in fear, in desperation, his eyes wide on Ansiel’s. “If you are looking to punish an instigator, punish me. I pursued her, I fought against the urges at first, but I am the one who began this. Punish me. Let her go,” Castiel cried, while Sam attempted to negotiate alongside him, his steady voice a beacon of unrealistic hope, his words cut off by a swift blow to his stomach, dealt by one of the two angels holding him in place. Dean’s thrashing continued, outraged by your ill-treatment and his brother’s, his eyes shifting from your face to Sam’s buckled body, a long string of profanity spewing from between his livid lips. Castiel pleaded openly, his eyes glimmering wetly. “She’s done nothing, Ansiel. If you hurt her… it will only end poorly on your part. Believe me when I say that there is no limit to what I, or the Winchesters, will do when it comes to her. So… please, please… don’t do this,” his eyes now shone bright with sorrow, with fear.

“Without her, I doubt there will be enough of you left to make a difference,” he replied, his hand on your throat dropping to the blade, arms locking you in place as both hands twisted into a comfortable position around the hilt. Your own hands reached out to wrap around his, to push him away, horror congealing in your stomach, his otherworldly strength overpowering you easily. Castiel screamed in protest, calling your name as your hands slipped against Ansiel’s, your attempts to keep his attack at bay fruitless against the unyielding power of Heaven. The metal shaft dove into your stomach without resistance, accompanied by an acute slicing sensation. Your uncovered mouth produced a an agonized scream you couldn’t place with your body, the pulsing in your ears numbing your body to all other sound. The blade carved through your body, making its tedious way deeper and deeper into your stomach. It tore through you like butter, Ansiel’s hands steady beneath your shaking palms. You stared at the blade as it grew shorter, the visible metal disappearing into your stomach until the majority of the sword was buried within you, a warmth rising in your throat, burning like bile and soothing like milk, your pulse the only sound in your ears. Crimson dripped wetly to the earth, dropping audibly first as tears, then like rain. Blood spurted over the handle of the blade, covering both your hands and Ansiel’s in a violent scarlet, your fingers struggling against the slick of your blood for purchase on Ansiel’s arms, fighting now not to push him away, but to cling to him for support. Your lips, wet with the heat of your blood, separated in wordless shrieks. Your eyes wrenched themselves away from the blood spilling from your stomach to find Castiel, his sapphire eyes frozen in shock, his mouth open over silent screams… and feathers… feathers falling to the concrete around him. He threw the angels from him, their arms constricting him seconds after his freedom, halting his dash to your side, is body recoiling as they pulled. Dean was screaming, you could see, his face flushed as his feet left the ground, writhing against the angels holding him steady. Sam’s features were stuck in fear, his mouth open over one long, soundless no, his arms tensing as he too struggled forward to save you.

Ansiel twisted the blade, buried up to its hilt in your stomach, your body lurching forward, your weak hands tightening on his own as he furthered his injury. Crippled forward, he stepped back, drawing the blade from your stomach as he did so, one of your hands reaching to cover your wound, the other extending outwards for help. Ansiel clasped his hand around yours as you reached for assistance, your vision going blurry. Patiently, slowly, he laid you on the ground, prying your fingers from his without struggle, a palm cradling your head before gently setting it onto the concrete. Gazing into your eyes, he frowned, as if disgusted by the mess he’d made in killing you, but apologetic for having done so. These apologies only went so far; he still deemed it necessary. His face blurred around the edges, your vision hazing as you blinked the tears from your eyes, your hands fluttering weakly against your torn abdomen. "I am truly sorry, brother. Perhaps now you will be able to clear your head.“ With that, he walked off, leaving you to bloody your hands as you fought to stop the bleeding, your eyebrows knitting together in pain. You called out for Castiel, your voice numb in your ears, though the vibrations scratched in your throat. There was nothing but ringing, impossibly loud ringing, as you assumed each feather fell screaming to the floor. You called for him once more, blood choking off the ending of his name, heat and fluid pouring from the corners of your mouth. Something fluttered against your hand. Though you no longer possessed the strength necessary to lift your head and look, you knew exactly what it was. You lifted a finger, trapping the single feather between them, holding onto with little strength you still possessed to your last shred of comfort. Clearly, someone upstairs thought you deserved to die with a little peace on your mind. One last spark of warmth flooding through your fingertips, a final kiss from his fallen wings, before you could feel nothing but the pain. You felt your hands slide from the blood-slick puddle of your stomach to the floor. Every other sensation fell just short of reaching your nerves. Your vision failed and in you blindness, you heard the last of the ringing fade into nothingness.

All was silent.

Fur Feather or Fur Worse [Chapter 12/?]

Summary: Gavin freaks out and takes off.

Rating: Teen

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