#( oop.

2-43

@vaniliight - Rigel  —  Sender  steps  between  Receiver  and  the  danger. // Fount c: A Study of Stars

The Fount's grip tightened around his staff. A group of cookies had come to the Spire, and while he saw their intent was for answers, he knew all too well how easily his revelations could trigger their ire. Waving Pure Vanilla away to hide for any needless explanations- or in the event this meeting soured. Even so, he'd opened the door to greet his quizzical cookies with a forced smile.

"Hel-"

"Fount of Knowledge! Blue Cheese Cookie is calling me a liar! I'm not one, right?"

The Virtue looked a little taken back, looking between the group as if wondering why an entire group would come for solely this one purpose given how they all looked to him expectantly. No... further explanation on why this is... He already knew their line of thought, but it made no difference to urge them otherwise.

"Alright alright everyone," he calmly replied. "Will someone explain the situation?"

One of the cookies rolled their eyes, before throwing their hands into the air. "Why? You know everything. We shouldn't have to explain it."

The Fount's smile stretched thin with a soft, inaudible sigh. "You shouldn't rely solely upon me to answer every little thing."

"You heard that right? The Fount really doesn't know everything!"

A star in his hair blinked out.

But rather than feeding into this absurdity, the Emissary raised his staff with the Soul Jam lighting aglow. Silence as he peered through and read what this was all about. And then a sharp inhale as he lifted his free hand over his mouth.

"....she is... not a liar," was all he said. Though it came out with a touch of pain. A touch of anger because he saw something. The Truth.

"See! I told you!"

"Big deal! So Fount of Knowledge, what IS going on with the Flour of Volition? Why isn't she answering our demands?"

Because they are demands?

He stood there, weighing the options of what to say. The truth, or... or a lie. They'd not accept either, but knowing why his friend was actively shutting herself away- just like he was doing... even if for a different reason. His jaw clenched as he shuffled with the answer- obviously hesitant even for someone that held all the answers. He was someone that didn't wish to harm others and yet... they were doing just the same that even the question begged why. The Virtues were once adored...

His starlight head inclined just so, an expression of intent lacking playfulness. This was the harsh truth: "Cookies are overburdening her with so many demands. She needs time to rest. She needs time to meditate. She-"

"UGH... Volition has had plenty of time to rest! It's been ages since she cocooned herself! My children are grown! How selfish is it to deny them their wishes when the Emissaries don't age? What of their childhood fantasies! Will we, too, age and crumble before Flour gets her nap out?"

"That's not-"

They all began talking and yelling at once. The mismastched eyes shifted between each and every one. Since when had they stopped listening. Since when did they turn their hearts away. He stood there as they called him names, scorned his Truth with Lies. Doing his best to maintain his temper, it was quickly getting out of hand. Before he could speak, he felt a rock striking him and the Fount opened his eyes in surprise.

"SEE! FOUNT OF KNOWLEDGE COULDN'T SEE THAT COMING!"

And they laughed him to scorn.

He was a Divine Emissary. A Virtue created by the Witches themselves. And THIS was how they treated him? When he did so much to HELP them? To guide and see reason! Corrupt is what they are. Misled. Worthless fools. Blind and ignorant.

Magic trickled around his staff, around his person. Retaliation for their actions even as they lifted more stones to cast- a reminder of the power he held that was far greater than theirs.

Oh but then there was footsteps, and a blur. And the Fount's magic ceased as mismatched eyes widened down at the smaller cookie who stepped between them even as his jam was drawn with those selfsame stones meant for the Virtue. Even as the Vanillain did, the mob did not stop. And his guest from the future did not wain, nor allow his arms to fall.

He... Idiot. He shouldn't have to endure this! Not for his sake. This wasn't his present to endure. This wasn't...

"ENOUGH!"

The keystaff was slammed into the Spire floor with rage. The world began falling away tile by tile within a shroud of magic. The shroud of his other dimension.

random thoughts about verses that've been haunting my brain.

// how horrible would i be if i made an au part of my alternate canon based off what jensen was saying in an interview that i've watched a few times. where sam was the one who passed away. martyred himself or whatnot. and dean was left picking his way through life after losing everybody? cause.. holy shit.

that version of dean kinda needs attention. i have it a bit with the divergence i have where he let sam move on with his life and let him think he was dead after the barn while he goes to find a way to get cas out of the empty. but the above outcome? ohhh. man. that'd be insane.

also. kinda wanna dabble in something where they die together at some point and both end up in heaven on a road trip to find everyone they knew there.

just ideas i had to get down after posting a headcanon over on sam.

okay back to the moose!

@eladead || this freaking inbox || holy shit, my dude.

and it really doesn't matter how we got here because explaining the premise is going to turn into a Wolfkiller soliloquy no one asked for. Because when the rockstar's burgundy belt comes loose and coils around Dean's pretty neck, it really doesn't matter what the great orator Lestat has to say. It's what he wants Dean to do. The belt tongue is looped through the buckle and promptly tightened with a sharp tug. Now, with a makeshift leash, Lestat tugs Dean along like a captured hound. He collapses backwards in the chair, ordering the hunter to get on his knees by pulling the belt-leash downward. Satisfied, Lestat twists the belt end once to bring Dean's head closer. Spreading his knees, the rockstar offers the nether of his lap to the dethroned hunter. "Good boy." Lestat murmurs with a grin. "Now do what a good boy is supposed to."