#Thanks for your patience and also for the 300 more followers I got while I was gone | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ashayatreldai · 3 years

Text

His Face - Fic

Find this on AO3 or read it here.

Among Su She’s effects is found a bundle of sketches of Hanguang Jun, which inspires a lifetime of exchanges between Wei Wuxian and his husband.

***

Wei Wuxian yawned, barely remembering to cover his mouth with the back of his hand. It wasn’t as though Lan Wangji minded; he still marveled at his husband’s calm acceptance of his less than perfect behavior. And it wasn’t as if he were really tired. They’d been back in Cloud Recesses only a handful of days and most of that time Wei Wuxian had been able to rest, to wander the back hill, to play with the rabbits, to tease Sizhui and Jingyi, to play Chenqing to the birds and the rainbows the sun cast in the light mists of Gusu’s waterfalls. No, he supposed. He yawned because he was warm, well-fed, secure and safe, and in the best company a person could desire, let alone have all to himself.

Lan Wangji sat on the other side of the desk, and in spite of the hour was still working through the backlog of mail which had accumulated in his absence.

“What’s this?” A bundle of papers caught Wei Wuxian’s eye, and on impulse he reached and drew them out of the stack.

Lan Wangji looked up. “After the events at Gyanyin Temple, members of the Lan Clan disposed of the bodies, sealed the coffin in which Red Blade Master and Jin Guangyao are buried, and otherwise put the site in order. Among these activities, Su She’s body was searched and his personal effects catalogued. A quiankun pouch was found, containing an assortment of items. This bundle of papers was also in the pouch. I assume it was forwarded to me because I am the subject.”

Wei Wuxian leafed through the pages. It was a collection of sketches in a variety of media, all of Hanguang Jun’s face, mostly sketches of his eyes. They weren’t half bad: the artist had captured the micro-expressions which concealed everything but hid nothing of Hanguang Jun’s thoughts. But as he examined the pile, he experienced an increasing sensation of wrongness.

“I wonder what he was trying to capture. I mean, here’s ice, here’s anger. I think this one is arrogance or being haughty; and this one has to be indifference. And this,” he huffed out with a half smile, “has got to be ‘you are the scum beneath my shoe’.” That was a micro-expression Wei Wuxian had seen often on Lan Wangji’s face when they were young, as he kept poking and prodding until the carefully cultivated mask his friend wore finally slipped. He spread out the pictures, his eyes searching for the clues he knew he’d find. “Why would he want to draw these things and exclude others? I know a lot of people are afraid of you, Lan Zhan, because you look cold and imperturbable. But anyone who knows you and watches closely can see that there’s so much more to you than that.”

“Su She was cast out of the Lan Clan because he betrayed our secrets to Wen Xu. He was known for being desirous of imitating me – poorly. We can only speculate as to his motivations otherwise,” Lan Wangji commented quietly.

“Mmmm,” Wei Wuxian agreed. “He hated you, but he also idolized you. Who’s to say what came first? Whatever,” he said, shaking his head. “The fact he captured your eyes with these strong antagonistic expressions suggests he hated himself, and perhaps wanted to make you the one who hated him in his own mind. It’s easier to hate someone than to live with the pain of feeling rejected or not even noticed.”

“I never hated Su She.”

“No, I don’t think I’ve ever known you to hate anyone, Hanguang Jun.” Wei Wuxian felt a surge of protective affection for this dear man. “Not even those who deserve it. Su She unfairly judged you and didn’t know you at all. Still, when you think about what people say about me, the scary deranged Yiling Patriarch, anything’s possible in terms of what people do to themselves to justify hatred. Blargh!” He made claws with his hands and pulled a terrifying crazy Yiling Laozu face.

“Wei Ying.” There was amusement dancing in Lan Wangji’s eyes. “You do not scare me.”

Sometimes Lan Wangji could abruptly light a fuse in Wei Wuxian and leave him smoking. He laughed and crawled around to Lan Wangji’s side of the table, climbing into his lap to sit with one leg either side of Lan Wangji’s waist. His husband’s hands came up to support his lower back. He put both hands loosely around Lan Wangji’s neck.

Lan Wangi had removed his silver coronet and tendrils of hair that usually were wound up to hold the headpiece in place trailed either side of his face, making him look softer and younger and so much more vulnerable.

For some time they sat simply looking at each other. Wei Wuxian took in the flawless face, reaching one hand to trace Lan Wangi’s eyebrow, feeling the soft hairs brush beneath his fingerpads. He gently followed the line of an eyelash, delighting in the butterfly kiss as his husband blinked. Out over the swell of zygomatic bone, cupping around his perfectly shaped ear – he really was like exquisitely carved jade, warm, living, and here. He cupped Lan Wangji’s cheek, his thumb finding the hollow between nose and lip and the soft breath of life it held. And those lips, now quirked in a loving bow.

He pulled himself up to kiss the forehead ribbon, to plant gentle brushes of his lips over all the places he’d touched. When he came to Lan Wangji’s mouth, he finally let go, giving all his worship as they joined tongues, teeth, desire, losing themselves in each other.

They released the kiss, and held each other, Wei Wuxian’s head on Lan Wangji’s shoulder. Between them energy sizzled – it would be sated later, but it was sufficient for now to enjoy the beatitude of the moment, the closeness, words unnecessary to communicate the depth of heart each held for the other.

***

Wei Wuxian was traveling. His absence itched acutely just under Lan Wangji’s skin, a constant worry. He rued the duty which pinned him in his current dual roles: Chief Cultivator and Acting Sect Leader, keeping him grounded at Cloud Recesses instead of off night hunting with his husband.

It was necessary, he knew, for Wei Wuxian to move; the whole man was a study in movement, in ceaseless energy. He knew the staid and stable pattern of life at Cloud Recesses felt like a box to Wei Ying, and while he could endure for a season, he needed more than what life in Gusu offered, even with rabbits and a back hill to wander for hours.

But oh, he missed him. And he worried too: who would defend him when he had so little sense of self-preservation?

This journey, Wei Wuxian had set off to attempt to mend things with Jiang Cheng before making his way up to Lanling to see Jin Ling. One of the highest values for the Lan was family, and Lan Wangji understood the deep need his husband had for those connections – had encouraged it.

It was just as well Wei Wuxian had mastered the butterfly talisman (and enhanced it). Morning and night he would wait for the silvery wings to alight with Wei Wuxian’s messages of love and thought to whisper through his qi. Sometimes they were profound, poetry. Sometimes playful; sometimes just a kiss. Lan Wangji came to depend on those messages, and on being able to send some back himself: I love you, I miss you, come home soon.

He sighed. This morning had grown tedious. Today was the end of the accounting period for Clan matters, and while there was staff to manage the minutiae of bookkeeping, as Acting Clan Leader LanWangji was examining the records before tomorrow’s visit from the auditor. Not for the first time he lamented his brother’s seclusion, necessary though it was. Dealing with finances was the part of the role that least appealed to Lan Wangji; he felt a headache brewing and was contemplating taking a break when there was a knock on the door.

“Hanguang Jun, mail has arrived,” the disciple said, handing him a bundle.

“Thank you. Please ask the kitchen to send me some lunch,” he requested, taking the pile.

The disciple departed, and he began to sort the items: those about Clan matters, those for the Chief Cultivator. One letter stood out, a simple scroll tied with a red thread. Putting all the other mail aside he carefully opened the scroll and took a breath.

It was an ink painting of his eyes, creased ever so slightly in an expression of amusement. On his brow the forehead ribbon glinted silver, his hair loosely framing his cheeks. He instantly recognized the artist, tracing a finger over the brush strokes as if that touch could unite him with the hand that had made them.

“Wei Ying,” he said, infinite fondness filling him.

Throughout the rest of the day he kept the picture on his desk, glancing at it from time to time. And when it was time to turn his attention to other things, he gently placed the picture in his sleeve to take back to the jingshi.

Every couple of days another picture would arrive. This too became something Lan Wangji expected, an important and significant marker in his day, each picture a symbol that he was one day closer to seeing, holding, touching, tasting Wei Wuxian again.

***

300 years later

Clan Leader Lan Shuoxiao had come to the Forbidden Room in the Library Pavilion seeking a book she’d known had been here years earlier. Back then she’d been a mischievous girl seeking a way to prank Shufu, and she vividly remembered the green cover. Lan filing methods hadn’t changed in hundreds of years, so that wretched book had to be here somewhere.

She moved a pile of dusty scrolls, cursing under her breath when she knocked a stack of bamboo books which went tumbling over the floor. Patience, she told herself strictly. Breathe and control.

Feeling a little more composed, she bent to restore the mess to order. A red cover caught her eye on one of the lower shelves. She’d not seen that before, and she was sure she’d have recognized it if she had. It was quite distinct, a deep red, tied shut with of all things a Clan ribbon.

Intrigued, she opened the volume, carefully untying the ribbon and leafing through the pages. Page after page were pictures of a handsome man’s eyes: crinkled in delight, weeping with sorrow, dancing with affection, on and on they went. Sometimes the whole of the man’s lovely face was shown: in some he wore the elaborate silver coronet her ancestors had favored, in others his long tresses floated around his face, and the artist had clearly captured a treasured, private, and vulnerable moment.

Around half way through the volume the pictures changed: a spritely young man in black, his underrobe a vivid red (the same colour as the cover of the book, as it happened – and she wondered whether it was indeed cut from the same cloth), a red ribbon in his hair, holding a black dizi. This array of pictures had a different hand, a more understated eye which captured the young man’s energetic aura, as well as pensive moments – the youth had clearly been to hell and back, and Lan Shuoxiao could almost feel the immense love with which the person who’d drawn these pictures had made each stroke.

There were so many! Page sized varied: a compendium gathered together of odd scraps. The last page bore an inscription:

In loving memory of my parents, Lan Zhan, Lan Wangji, Hanguang Jun, and Wei Ying, Wei Wuxian, Yiling Laozu. The true faces of both, in their own hands. Love letters sent to dearest him who was, alas, away. Lan Yuan, Lan Sizhui, Chief Cultivator.

Clan Leader Lan Shuoxiao’s heart thumped wildly in her chest. Clan records declared Hanguang Jun’s partner’s name to have been Lan Ying, Lan Wuxian. How had they never made the connection before that “Lan Wuxian” was in fact the infamous Yiling Patriarch? Given that the two had Lan Yuan, Lan Sizhui’s name inscribed under theirs as offspring, Lan Shuoxiao and many others had assumed Lan Wuxian to be female.

She looked closely again at one of the pictures of the young man in black and red. He didn’t look like the evil dictator of legend. He looked mischievous and full of life, an impression caught in the laughing smile, and so… youthful.

Not that demonic cultivation was these days the issue it had been for her ancestors; these days cultivation was emphasized to be about harnessing the yin of negative energy and the yang of positive energy, holding them in balance and using each appropriately. She doubted the people who had so feared and hated the Yiling Patriarch would be able to recognize as righteous the way all cultivators now practiced as a matter of course.

As for Hanguang Jun… She flicked back to a picture in which his whole upper body had been captured as he played guqin, a study of someone completely caught up and focused on the music, almost in ecstasy. Another private moment revealing something about the essence of the man. He was so beautiful, captivating. And such a contrast from all the other images she’d ever seen of him. Hanguang Jun had a reputation even now, 150 years after he had Ascended, for being cold, somewhat forbidding, distant, just, merciful and benevolent, untouchable, unrivalled in almost all fields. That was how he appeared at the Gate of Gusu, carved of jade, opposite his brother, Zewu Jun, the famous Twin Jades of Gusu Lan now its guardians, their representations inscribed and infused with talismans and ward tethers. Rumor was that no evil could come to Cloud Recesses as long as the Twin Jades stood at the gates. How was anyone to reconcile that formidable image with this? This picture of a very human, vulnerable, gentle man, who was clearly so very much loved by the artist who drew him.

Lan Shuoxiao found herself on the edge of tears. It felt like an injustice, looking at these intimate sketches, that history had forgotten Wei Wuxian as little more than a footnote. And that the righteous Hanguang Jun had been immortalized as a stiff, cold and distant deity rather than someone’s beloved whose heart beat wildly in his chest in longing, and whose blood was warm and red and thrummed with reciprocated affection. She wondered how they had found one another, wondered about the history in which they must have been caught up: how did it affect them? What trials had they passed through before they finally found their way to each other’s arms?

She reverently closed the volume, her original mission in coming here put aside. Thoughtfully, she collected up the scrolls and bamboo books and reordered them, and then closed the Forbidden Room.

***

Several months later a new scene was depicted on the climbing path around the residences of Gusu: a beautiful, crowned Lan sat cross-legged in the back hill meadow, covered in a blanket of rabbits. His loving gaze was fixed on the figure opposite him under a peach tree in full bloom, who was standing and playing a dizi. The legend beneath read: Hanguang Jun and his cultivation partner Yiling Laozu, Lan Wuxian.

FIN

#the untamed #ao3 #mdzs #wangxian #lan wangji #wei wuxian #lan sizhui #myfic

38 notes · View notes

thefanfictionartist · 3 years

Text

Stress Relief

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou X Y/N

Summary: After a messy break up with another blonde peer, Y/N is left with pent up frustration, making it difficult to focus on third year exams. While studying with the Bakusquad, she notices a similar frustration in Bakugou. How are they going to relieve that stress?

Word Count: 3.8k

Rated M for Mature; intended for 18+ audiences.

A/N: Those of you with Wattpad may have seen this story from my one-shot book already.

Part Two

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Boys are dumb."

That was the first conclusion you had come up with while sitting with your best friend, Mina Ashido, at lunch. As you slump over in your seat and place your head in your heads, she wraps her arms around you in consolation.

"Well.. I can't exactly argue with you on that one." The pink-skinned girl manages a small glance to a few of the class 1-A boys.

One of which had managed to short circuit himself while charging five phones at once, the others nearly collapsing with their laughter at their friend. Mina manages a sigh before casting her gaze back onto you.

"Look, you know that he's just trying to get under your skin." She states before pulling away to take a sip of her soda.

You know exactly who she's talking about because she knows exactly why you're upset.

It was all because of a stupid dreamy blond in class 1-B. Neito Monoma. As of the current moment, you can't remember what you ever really saw in him. Why would anyone date such an egotistical ass? Risking it all, you take a chance with looking towards his usual seat in the cafeteria to find him looking right at you. And you know what he does when he sees you?

He winks.

Like you didn't catch him a few weeks ago with Yaoyorozu.

Huffing in slight embarrassment, you turn back to your own table, swearing to yourself that you won't ever look his way again. "Nei-" No. He doesn't deserve for his first name to be used by you anymore. "Mr. Copycat can go fuck himself. I don't fucking care."

You scowl, taking an aggressive bite of soba.

"Besides, the final exams are coming up. I don't have the energy to even think about him." You recollect, reverting to thinking about the study session the Bakusquad planned for this weekend. Mina gives you a blinding smile and a thumbs up.

"There's the spirit, Y/N!" Her enthusiasm is hard not to mirror as lunch goes on and it ends with soba noodles nearly spurting from your nose because you were laughing so hard.

- - - - -

Classes had just ended for the week and you're pretty sure that you have lost knowledge rather than attaining more. Thank god for this study session or you would be failing your third year at UA.

You rub your head, feeling a headache coming on as you try to recite important hero laws you've been taught earlier in the year. Feet dragging you into the dorms, you plop onto the couch of the common room without thinking about it. "Always be aware of your surroundings.. Do anything in your power to keep civilians safe.. Keep track of villains and whether or not you know their quirks.." Starting to mumble situational rules, you miss the extra presence in the room.

"Oh, hey Y/N!"

Kirishima's voice snaps you from your mantra, your head whipping around to look at him. "What's up, Kiri?"

"We're all meeting up in Bakugou's room to start cramming. Kaminari wanted to start a little earlier than planned and I thought you might want to join." Sheepishly scratching the back of his neck, he gives you a friendly sharp-toothed smile, which manages to raise your spirits a bit.

Nodding, you are already out of your seat. "Yeah, I'll be there I just have to grab my notes from my dorm first."

Memorizing these things would be much easier with other people helping you remember. It always was. But somehow, you still felt distracted from your studies. You knew exactly why but also refused to dwell on the subject any longer. It wasn't worth your time.

Just as promised, you showed up at Bakugou's door a few minutes later with your 'cram-sesh' bag.

It was really just a bag filled with all of your notes, bunches of blank index cards, and an incessant amount of snacks. Because chewing can help you study better? You are pretty sure you heard that somewhere.

Opening the door, you find Kaminari and Sero looking at Bakugou with the most dumbfounded expressions you've ever seen.

"Oi! It's not that fucking hard-" Said Pomeranian was already fuming at the pair. "Just divide 78 from x and do it to the other side! It's literally the easiest question in the study guide!"

A small chuckle causes the edges of your lips to curl up in amusement with Bakugou's fit of anger as you sit down beside Mina and Kirishima, ready to fill out flash cards like your life depended on it.

For the next few hours you had tuned the yelling out so you could focus on what concepts you were sure you didn't get. Working with Kirishima and Mina was a breeze, although you felt bad sticking Bakugou with two boys who seem to have negative brain cells around one another. Managing a glance to the trio proves that it's the worst thing for Bakugou, the one of the three that not only looks like he might explode from anger, but could possibly explode. Averting your eyes to the clock, you almost gasp at the time.

No wonder you were feeling drowsy.

It was almost one in the morning. "Hey, hedgehog!" You call to Bakugou after a hefty yawn. "You got any of those energy drinks left?" The plan was to stay up all night tonight for a cramming session, although another glance to the two you were studying with proves that only one person was left. Unsure of when Kirishima left you shrug off the thought. He must need his manly sleep or whatever he calls it.

Wordlessly, Bakugou leans back to open a mini fridge behind him and grab an energy drink to toss to you.

He appears to be long done with the two boys sat beside him like lost puppies. Or at least his patience with them is completely shredded. Not to mention they didn't look like they could handle understanding any more information. "Kaminari, Sero, why don't you guys head to bed for a few hours?"

"Brain need sleep." Kaminari mutters, getting up and walking out the door without blinking. Sero follows him in a similar state, but still manages to say goodnight to the remaining three in the room.

You can hear Bakugou sigh in relief from the other side of the room as you look to Mina, fully intent on continuing with the flash cards you were quizzing each other with. Although, you find her with her hand covering her mouth as she yawns. "I'm gonna catch a few z's I think. But I'll be back around 8 in the morning." Granting her a smile, you nod, letting her head off to bed, although you were disappointed since you felt like you were making progress.

"Yeah, I'll be here, studying. Goodnight, Mina." Bakugou merely grunts in acknowledgment as Mina leaves you two alone in the room.

This definitely wasn't the first time you had been in Bakugou's room alone while studying. But it was the first time that you noted Bakugou was so.. tense. "Were the boys really that bad?" One of your eyebrows quirks in curiosity to his enhanced sense of irritation. A quick flash of red tells you that Bakugou is glaring daggers at you from your simple question.

"Tch. They're always bad." You note the roll of his eyes before the crimson hues land on whatever study guide he has in front of him.

Scooting your work so that the papers are sprawled closer to your study buddy, you lean against his bed, still laser focused on how frustrated he seemed. "And? You're normally more patient with them.. It takes at least two hours before your screaming, typically."

"Whatever."

You click your tongue, deciding to leave the topic for the moment. "Can you quiz me on these really quick? I think I have them down by now." The stack of index cards you had filled out with Mina ends up on top of the paper that Bakugou is focused on.

The blond makes a small noise of irritation and for a moment, you swear he's about to blow up on you.

Instead, he neatly collects the index cards and sets them to the side of his own paper. "Yeah, I need a break first. Dunce face is exhausting."

You nod, cracking open the energy drink you were given not to long ago while Bakugou does the same. Sighing contently, you can already feel the 300 mg of caffeine beginning it's work. "Want any snacks?" Looking to Bakugou, you point at your bag as you refer to snacks, knowing that he'd probably steal all of your Takis.

It doesn't take long for him to find the sacred bag of spicy chips that he craved. "Thanks." He utters, settling down as he has himself a little midnight snack break.

Both of you sit in silence for a minute and surprisingly, you aren't the one to break that bubble.

Bakugou glances to you confusedly, something weighing on his mind. "What's the deal with you and that copycat bastard lately? I thought you two couldn't breathe without sucking faces every hour." He smirks, containing a chuckle. Really, he was relieved he didn't have to witness it for the past few weeks. The scene could make anyone uncomfortable.

Your face flushes red in frustration at the mention of He-Who-You-Swore-Not-To-Name. Not able to bring yourself to look at Bakugou, you fiddle with a stray pencil on the floor.

"We broke up."

Keeping your tone curt, you make it clear that this is not a subject you'd like to discuss. In fact, it was the one thing that actually messed with you at this point. You hated that He-Who-You-Swore-Not-To-Name had this kind of hold on you. A hold that distracted you and made you question whether or not you should go back to him.

"He cheated on me." You decide to give further explanation to a speechless Bakugou, pretending to write notes on a mostly blank paper.

"Shit- I-" He stumbles over his words, smirk falling.

Offering a small smile, you finally look back at him. "It's fine... I only miss him for the stress relief anyways." Adding a small remark seems to put Bakugou back into his normal, non-sympathetic state.

"Huh?"

"He's a shitty boyfriend, but a good fuck." You put it into terms Bakugou would be more likely to understand. "Now will you stop eating the damn chips and quiz me on the rest of the flash cards."

"Tch." A dusting of pink momentarily appears on Bakugou's cheeks, but he seems to ignore it as he picks up the index cards again. "Describe the Crime Control Theory."

"Pfft. That's easy." The remark leaves your lips before you really reach into the depths of your mind for the answer. "It's.." Oh no. Didn't you just go over that with Mina. "It's.." Trying to actually think about it makes you realize that your mind has been bombarded with the crummy memory of He-Who-You-Swore-Not-To-Name, so, you huff and bullshit your way through the answer.

"It's obviously the theory that.. theoretically.. describes how to control crime?"

A scowl from Bakugou tells you that you most definitely have the answer wrong. "Are you really that much of a dumbass?" He says it so patronizingly that you're almost personally offended.

"Hey! It's not like that. I've just had a rough few weeks, alright? Give me a break." You pout. "Maybe if I help you study something I'll pick up something? What are you working on?" Reaching towards the blonde male, you grab the paper he seemed to be writing on previously, much to his own shame.

"What the fuck is this?" You don't mean to sound rude when you ask the question you're just shocked.

Instead of finding a paper with neat answers to question and nice notes in the margins, you discover that whatever work was on the paper has been completely covered with angry scribbles. Looking at Bakugou, you can tell that even he's disappointed in himself. His head hangs low and he can't seem to bring himself to look you in the eyes. "I don't fucking know! I was fine with geometry a week ago and.." He lets out an exasperated noise, hitting the back of his head on his bed.

"Somethings wrong with me. All I can think about it that shitty written final test and how I can't fail it. I need to be a hero but that means I need to graduate."

All that you find yourself responding with is a resounding laugh, so powerful that you're clutching your stomach.

"Oh my- Bakugou, do you hear yourself right now?"

Boom Boom Boy sends a piercing glare to you. "Shut up! Just forget I said anything, idiot!"

"That not what I-" You take a deep breath to stop most of your laughing. "I meant it's ridiculous for you of all people to be worried about these finals. You've literally been studying for this shit since you were a first year."

Bakugou's expression softens with your words.

"I can't help it. I just-" His hands comb through his spiky blond locks for a moment before grabbing and pulling large sections of his hair. "Gah! What is this?!"

"It's called stress, Bakubro." You finalize the statement with a soft punch to his shoulder. "Welcome to the world of normal emotion."

"I don't want it!" Bakugou abruptly puts his hands on the ground, looking overall agitated, like a child who doesn't want to go down for naps.

"There are ways to make yourself less stressed you know? In fact there's one word I can fit stress relief into: Fun." Both of your hands open dramatically in front of you as you say fun, hoping to get Bakugou in a better mood. He is your tutor after all and if he's too stressed to help, you're screwed.

"Tch. Fun is something for kids, dumbass." He responds nonchalantly, rolling his eyes irritably as though you should've known that as fact.

You smirk, stifling a chuckle behind your hand as you retort, "So you're saying that only kids have sex?" A small giggle echoes momentarily through the room from you as you appreciate Bakugou's dumbfounded expression.

"You think I should have sex to relieve stress?"

"Well... yeah? It's always worked for me and I'm pretty sure most people would agree with me." There's a long moment of uncomfortable silence that you sit in with Bakugou as he mills over what you've just said.

"..." The blond hedgehog furrows his eyebrows as he thinks, finally gazing in your direction. "And who do you suggest I have sex with? It's not like I have time for a relationship when I'm gonna be the number one hero." This question throws you for a loop. And you consider the options that he has mentally before realizing there's a perfect option that you hadn't considered yet.

"Why not just get a friend with benefits? That way it's just sex when you need it without the additive of romance."

"You're still not answering the 'who the fuck would agree to that shit'?!"

"Me." You deadpan.

The explosive boy sitting next to you fumbles for his next wording in a stupefied manner. "S-S-Ser-iously?"

Shrugging, you nod, locking onto his eyes with your own. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be serious? It's not like I want a relationship now anyways after that dumbass Copycat. Plus it's not just you that's stressed out over shit, you know?"

Seemingly considering the option, Bakugou looks to his lap, biting his lip in deep thought.

"Fine." He looks to you annoyedly, even though his body was certainly excited by the idea. "But first we probably need some shitty ground rules or something."

"Agreed."

"Don't tell anyone about what we do or I'll blow your ass up." Irate at the thought of Raccoon Eyes finding out about this and telling everyone, Bakugou subconsciously leans towards you. Not that you noticed.

"Wasn't planning on it."

"Any special rules you got?" A smirk plays at the corners of Bakugou's lips as he leans towards you.

With Bakugou this close, you can feel your heart begin to beat a little faster with excitement. "Um-" In a couple spare second of clarity, you manage to choke out, "I might be on birth control but I still want you to use a condom."

"Done."

He responds coolly, leaning ever so much closer to you and letting his lips brush over yours before he shifts to whisper in your ear. "If we do this, I want the ability to fuck you whenever and wherever I like."

Your breath hitches and you boldly decide to wrap your arms around Bakugou's neck as your eyes meet his crimson hues. "Just stay within reason.. and don't fall in love with me." You add another rule with a sultry tone.

"You better not fall in love with me, dumbass." Bakugou hisses before connecting his lips with yours in a heated fervor. His hands attach to each side of your face, giving him most control over the kiss. You moan softly against him in response to his aggressiveness, your body already tingling.

Up until this moment, you hadn't realized how much your body was craving to be this close with someone. It was enough to make you almost painfully aroused within the minute.

Bakugou pushes you so that you're comfortably laying on the carpeted floor of his dorm room, with him directly between your legs. Your hands pull at his shirt, desperate to get it off right now. He catches on to the message quickly and pulls off his shirt in record time, still letting out a low growl of discontent when he had to pull away from the kiss. His lips meet back with yours, this time noting just how plush your lips feel against his.

Scratching lightly over Bakugou's chest seems to rile him up some because within seconds, he's already rutting himself against your clothed core, the bulge in his joggers becoming very apparent.

Gasping softly at the friction, you comb your fingers through his hair, pulling at a few tufts while Bakugou takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. You can feel the slippery muscle glide sensually above yours, completely dominating your mouth before you even have the chance to defend. Wrapping your legs around Bakugou's hips, you grind against him. He groans and you decide to tangle your tongue with his in the hopes of winning the small battle.

But before you can win, he pulls back, his pupils blown by so much lust that you can barely see the scarlet iris surrounding them. "Clothes off, now.." The husky tone of his voice sends waves of arousal straight to your core and you fumble to stand up while he digs through his draw for a condom.

In record time, you've completely stripped yourself of clothing and laid on Bakugou's bed, which was exceedingly more comfortable that the floor. You feel yourself ache for some kind of pleasure and unabashedly open your legs to display your dripping core to Bakugou. "Bakugou.. please fuck me." You whine lewdly, being mindful of the fact that the blond has neighbors.

He had expected for you to want more preparation but with the way you were strewn out on his bed, so deliciously begging for his cock... How could he deny your request?

In an instant, his remaining clothes are discarded and the condom is rolled safely on his erection. In the next moment he's on top of you, lining himself up with your hole.

Despite how much he wanted to shove himself inside of you immediately, he still took a moment to look into your eyes and ask, "Are you sure about this, (Y/N)?"

"Yes!"

You respond enthusiastically. "Please! I need your-" You are promptly interrupted by Bakugou thrusting into you unforgivingly, making you gasp with a loud moan. "Fuck!" Having him fully sheathed inside of you was unlike anything you've felt before. It was so pleasurable that you truly couldn't think of anything else.

"Shit-" Bakugou balances himself above you by placing his hand just above your shoulders. He takes a moment to let you adjust to his size. Although, it's hard to control himself with how tight and warm you feel. He grimaces, hands crackling slightly with his quirk as he tries to slowly pull himself out of you and thrust back in.

The next thrust pinpoints your g-spot, making you moan loudly beneath Bakugou. He smirks down to you, knowing exactly where he hit and intending to hit it again. Your hand grab at his back, stabilizing yourself as he drives himself against your g-spot again and again, finding a starting rhythm and gradually getting faster with his thrusts.

Each rut from Bakugou tears an angelic moan from your throat. And even though he loves the sound, he ends up covering your mouth and leaning towards your ear while he picks up the pace. "Be quiet, dumbass." He reprimands. "You're gonna wake everyone up if you keep crying like that." His eyes look to yours from a moment and you nod to confirm that you heard him, your moans muffled by his hand.

Soon Bakugou's hand is replaced with his lips as he kisses you roughly, his calloused hand tracing gently down your sides while he drills into you.

Each of your moans vibrates against his lips, although you try to conceal most of them, in fear of someone catching you. You can feel Bakugou's hips stutter slightly against you and he moves his fingers down to your clit, rubbing circles while he thrusts even harder. You whimper pathetically at the sensation, your walls clamping down on Bakugou's cock as you reach your climax with him soon chasing after his own.

He pants heavily, groaning as his hips still against you. Releasing into the condom, he rolls to the side to discard of the trash, tossing your clothes to you. He wiped himself off with a tissue and begins to dress himself before looking back to you with a smirk.

"I think this 'Friends who have fun' thing is really gonna work, (Y/N). I feel better already."

You smile, throwing on your shirt and underwear while still on the bed. "I told you sex was fun.." Hopping off the bed, you wobble ever-so-slightly before slipping back into your shorts. You nudge Bakugou playfully before settling on the ground. "Let's pick up where we left off, shall we?"

Your eyes scour the ground for the index cards that you had been quizzing with previously.

"Actually..." Bakugou begins speaking, making you look up to him. "We still have a few hours before the idiots come back." He gestures to the clock before looking at you mischievously. "And I think I should relieve a little more tension before dealing with them."

#bakugou x y/n #bakugou smut #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha katsuki #katsuki bakugou #stress relief #smut #bnha smut #y/n #mha x y/n #fanfic #fan fiction

76 notes · View notes

blitzturtles · 3 years

Text

Title: It Goes Like This (It Starts Like This Universe)

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Vento Aureo

Pairing(s): BruAbba

Summary: Abbacchio isn’t a morning person. Never has been. He prefers the comfort that comes with a blanket of darkness to the bright hours of the early morning. There’s less eyes. Less people. Less performance. Unfortunately, he’s gone and fallen in love with a man that believes that the day begins before the sun has even broken the horizon.

Notes: This is for the first place to my 300 Follower Giveaway! @bucciaratisfishmarket requested BruAbba set in my It Starts Like This verse with some disabled slice of life/morning routine. Ngl, I was super excited to get to do something in this verse, so thank you!

Thank you to everyone that followed and participated, and a special thanks to @bucciaratisfishmarket! I hope you like your fic!

Additional Notes: Also, the pill organizer described in the fic can be found on Etsy: https://www.etsy.com/listing/1022344896/boneyard-real-bones-weekly-7-day-pill It's cool and beautiful, and I probably don't do it justice. Definitely go check it out!

Abbacchio isn’t a morning person. Never has been. He prefers the comfort that comes with a blanket of darkness to the bright hours of the early morning. There’s less eyes. Less people. Less performance. Unfortunately, he’s gone and fallen in love with a man that believes that the day begins before the sun has even broken the horizon. It’s leftover from Bruno’s days helping his father with the boat, and, later, his days running Polpo’s errands. Chasing people down for money and answers. What comfort Abbacchio can find in the night, Bruno can find just fine in the light hours of the morning.

Fortunately for both of them, Abbacchio is more than capable of running on a schedule, of waking up at the same time everyday and forcing his mind and body into cooperation. He did it for years for school and then the academy. It’s nothing he isn’t used to, and he’s happiest when Bruno is happy, no matter what that entails, which is how he finds himself waking up to Bruno’s second alarm before the man can snooze it again.

The thing about Bruno’s new medication—a pill large in size and equally ridiculous in the length of its name—is that it makes it damn near impossible for him to get going in the morning the way he used to. Before, Bruno practically operated on his own internal clock. Waking up before his alarm had even gone off and fetching them both their first cup of caffeine; it used to be the thing that made greeting the day a bit more tolerable.

Now, Bruno snoozes. Alarm after alarm, until they run out. He’s tried music, absurd volumes, and even relocating the damned clock halfway across the room. None of it helps, so Leone compensates. He wakes up around the second or third alarm, turns the rest off, and kisses Bruno’s cheek before he rolls out of bed.

Sometimes there’s a quiet plea, “five more minutes”, that endears Abbacchio so completely that his mood settles, not nearly as bitchy as he could be upon reaching the kitchen and finding someone else already there.

“Why are you awake?” Okay, so. Still bitchy. But he doesn’t sneer his words quite as bad.

Narancia, for his part, looks completely startled by the prospect of someone else existing at such an ungodly hour, but he manages to avoid outright screaming. That’s a plus. Abbacchio isn’t sure his head could take it this early. “What are you doing?”

“I asked first.”

Narancia narrows his eyes, but he caves within seconds. “I got a test in like two hours, and Fugo’s gonna kill me if I don’t pass.”

Abbacchio snorts at the idea, “Yeah, he will.”

“Not helping!”

“Never said I planned to,” Abbacchio points out as he starts rummaging through the cabinets for two mugs. He sets them on the counter and gets to work brewing their coffee. Decaf these days, for Bruno’s sake. Abbacchio could keep drinking his usual, but he takes solace in the bitter taste of his coffee instead. It seems kinder that way, especially when he knows how much Bruno’s been struggling without caffeine.

“Why are you awake?”

“I’m always awake this early,” next is breakfast, which is easier said than done. It’s rare that Abbacchio wakes up with a stomach for anything. Too many years of skipping breakfast in favor of a bottle did a number on him, but it’s not optional anymore. Neither one of them will be able to keep their meds down without something to eat, so he picks through the refrigerator until he comes up with fruit and yogurt as his best solution.

“Really?” Narancia asks, wrinkling his nose, “Why?”

“Ask Bruno,” Abbacchio says, dismissive. He’s really not in the mood to talk to people that aren’t currently snoozing in his bed.

“You’re not much fun in the morning.”

“Am I ever?”

“Touché.”

Abbacchio snorts. He should be offended, but he knows the kid is being a smartass. It’s his own fault for setting himself up. “Why don’t you go bother Fugo? I’m sure he’ll be happy to help you study.”

“Have you ever tried waking Fugo up?”

“No, can’t say that I have.” That’s always been Bruno’s job, assuming that Fugo hadn’t already woken up on his own.

“It’s too early to get stabbed.”

“Touché.”

They go back and forth for a while longer. At least until Abbacchio’s patience runs out, and he’s finished putting breakfast together. He dismisses himself with little warning and doesn’t feel the least bit guilty when the kid looks a little startled by the abruptness of his departure. He has things to get done for the day, and those things don’t necessarily include being part of Narancia’s obvious effort to procrastinate.

“Bruno,” Abbacchio calls when he steps back into their room after Moody opens the door for him. “Your five minutes are up.”

“Five more?” Bruno asks, voice muffled. His head is barely visible with only a tuft of hair sticking out from a pile of blankets. It’s cute, and Abbacchio is a complete sucker for giving in.

“Last one, tesoro,” Abbacchio warns as he sets Bruno’s cup and food down on the bedside table.

There’s a muffled reply that might be a quiet thanks, though it’s almost impossible to tell with the way Bruno pulls the blankets even tighter around himself.

Abbacchio rummages through the drawer of his nightstand until he finds what he’s looking for before taking up a spot at the end of the bed with his food and drink in hand. He sips at the decaf slowly, wrinkling his nose at the first taste. God, he misses caffeine. As expected, he doesn’t feel much better about his first bite of homemade parfait (and he can almost hear Polnareff’s protest at his calling it that). The rest goes down about the same, but the motion is mechanical at that point. One bite after the other with the occasional sip from his mug to wash it all down until everything is gone.

Abbacchio sets the dishes on the floor and reaches for the pill organizer sitting on the bed beside him. He absently runs his fingers over the lid, where small bones have been set in resin. He can still remember the first time he saw it. The black shine had caught his eye first, but, on closer examination, the thing that had convinced him to buy the organizer had been the mouse bones, delicately placed and striking against the background.

What he hadn’t realized then is that the little organizer would a significant adjustment to his daily routine. Having a week’s worth of medication in one place, already sectioned in dosed amounts, had significantly increased his medication compliance. Oddly enough, it’s had a rather hefty impact on his overall mental health. Now, when anti-inflammatories and bronchodilators and steroids are part of his daily regiment as much as his SSRI’s, it’s even more vital for him to consistently get his meds in. Otherwise, the consequences tend to be pneumonia and an unwanted hospital trip with a round of antibiotics and even stronger steroids. And that’s to say nothing of what happens when he’s running low on serotonin.

He’s caught up in his own thoughts when Bruno hooks his chin over his shoulder and peers down at the little organizer.

“I never did ask you if those are real,” Bruno muses quietly.

“I thought you were taking five more.”

“‘m awake,” Bruno answers, clearly half-asleep.

Abbacchio huffs a soft, amused laugh. He turns his head to press a kiss to the side of Bruno’s nose. “Sure you are, amore.”

“I am.”

“M’hm,” Abbacchio smiles, reflecting the expression on Bruno’s face, though his is notably less sleep-depressed. Bruno looks a lot like a light gust of wind might knock him out, and it’s so damn endearing that Abbacchio can barely handle it. Instead, he looks back down at the pill organizer and answers Bruno’s earlier question, “They are. Real, I mean.”

“They’re lovely,” Bruno says, and he means it. Odd as some might find Abbacchio’s taste, Bruno has always found beauty in it. “Perhaps I should get one.”

“Might be a good idea.” It would be easier to see if Bruno ever missed a dose, and it would certainly be easier to avoid that disaster all together. “There are other options. You could go with something—oceanic, maybe?”

Bruno hums at the thought. “I think I’d like that.”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” by which Abbacchio means that he’ll actively go looking for one. Anything to make Bruno’s life a touch easier.

“Oh, you brought breakfast,” Bruno says, moving away from Abbacchio to peer curiously at the morning’s offerings. “You’re entirely too kind.”

Abbacchio huffs a laugh at that, “For all that you’ve done for us? Hardly.” He pops open the side hatch of his organizer and dumps the day’s pills into his hand. Abbacchio pulls a face at the number of them and looks down at his mug. Right, he had meant to save a sip.

“Here,” Bruno offers his own with a smile. “We’ll get more in a bit.”

“If you’re sure...” Abbacchio could always go get his own, but he has a feeling that doing so will result in more small talk, and he’s not quite up for that yet.

“I am,” Bruno reassures him before taking up the bowl of yogurt and fruit in absence of his coffee. “Just leave enough for me to take mine.”

#bruabba #abbabru #bruno buccellati #bruno bucciarati #leone abbacchio #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #vento aureo #golden wind #jjba part 5 #part 5 #blitzwrites #blitz #fic: islt #fic: iglt

28 notes · View notes

yourfinalbow · 3 years

Text

Ack anon I'm sorry. Tumblr ate your ask and I'm 🔪 But I saved your ask to put on the Google Doc so don't fret! I have it!

“Hi Ghastie Ghast, I wanted to share a prompt with you lol. I decided to go more holiday theme’d because it’s never too early to get into the holiday spirit.

“Your favorite winter drink was back on the menu, so I decided to surprise you with it.”

Please enjoy this prompt lmao”

The nickname made me -_- but hi Little Gray Circle Dude With Sunglasses! Thank you for sending me this! I had fun writing it. I'm assuming you wanted a Destiel fic, so that's what I wrote! (Also bonus points for Saileen as a background ship?) I sort of strayed a little from the prompt and the tone gets heavier as it goes on… 👀 I also accidentally wrote more than intended, so you can read it on Ao3 if that's easier. (And maybe give it a kudos because you’re the best?)

Title: Black Coffee Derangement Syndrome

Ship(s): Dean Winchester/Castiel, Sam Winchester/Eileen Leahy.

(Basic) Tags: Fluff, Slight Angst, Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker, Established Dean/Cas, Established Sam/Eileen, Using black coffee as a metaphor for hypermasculinity, With a whip cream style topping of internalized homophobia. *Finger guns.*

Warnings: Coffee gatekeeping and small sections of fluff that are as sweet as Cas’s Starbucks order. Also I’ve been to Starbucks once. Maybe twice? (Also a single mention of a drug that's commonly found as white powder, the non-descriptive comparison of Sam’s stupid health stuff with emesis, and use of the name that the figurehead for Germany in WW2 bore, just to be safe.)

Rating: T? Maybe? For language?

Word Count: 9k+

Quick thanks to my awesome beta @walksinstarllight! They are a poet and a writing sorcerer (wizard without a hat), and the only reason this fic even makes sense so please go shower them in kudos. (You can find their work here.)

Another thanks to @internetintroverts, who described a peppermint mocha to me in like 300 words because I drink black coffee and know nothing of anything ever. You can find their work here! (There's an Easter egg of one of their fics in this one hehe.)

The first thing Dean did when Cas got back from the Empty was give him coffee.

Okay no.

The first thing he did was fall into Cas’s arms and grip that stupid trenchcoat until his knuckles turned white. Shaking and laughing with hot tears streaming out of his eyes, he told him he was an asshole for leaving him like that. And to never, ever do it again. With blurry eyes and all other thoughts hazy, he told Cas he could have it, he could have what he wanted. Whatever he wanted. He told Cas he loved him too.

But then the next thing was coffee.

Caffeine is a hunter’s number one best friend, and since Cas was human again, Dean knew Sam was going to come at him with his stupid green health drinks and herbal tea. As Cas’s knight in shining armour, (a title used by Dean and Dean only), it was his duty to protect him from the disgustingly liquified rabbit food.

Now he expected Cas to like black coffee, you know, like a normal person.

But no, oh no. Apparently, he was dating a heathen.

Dean had to actually rub his eyes the first time he watched Cas fix his own coffee. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen, mouth agape.

Cas was leaning on the counter, humming some song that Dean could neither recognize, nor would he approve of, thank-you-very-much.

(Ok it was Champagne Problems by Taylor Swift and it's entirely possible he's listened to it once or twice but he still doesn't approve of it, thank-you-very-much.)

He held his yellow and black striped, bee-themed ceramic mug Eileen had bought him in one hand, and the entire five-pound bag of cane sugar in the other. And there he stood, happy as can be, pouring it directly into his mug.

Dean rubbed his eyes again.

And not even like, a normal amount either.

He just kept pouring, and pouring, and Oh my god he’s still pouring. Dean thought. It would honestly be more believable if it wasn’t sugar at all, and instead was in fact Cas’s secret stash of cocaine.

Dean might actually have to put sugar on the grocery list after he was finished.

His thoughts traveled back to Ishim doing the same thing with his coffee, in the tiny little diner Cas had set up as a meeting place. Dean had barged in that day, not thinking of his brother mocking him, or the possibility of danger inside. His vision was as tunneled as his thoughts focused only on Cas, not caring about anything else.

By that time the following day, Dean thought they were both going to die. The bloody and uneven sigil on the wall, Cas no more than ten feet away. Not quite within a comforting reach. The room was spinning from the blow to his head, and he could barely make out the words being spat from Ishim’s mouth.

“You blast me away, you’ll blast away every angel in the room. I’ll survive. Castiel, on the other hand, he’s hurt. He might live, or he might just end up a bloody smear on the wall.”

He almost lost Cas that day.

The blood rushed to his ears as his instincts sought out the mark on the wall. Ishim had told him to roll the dice, but in his head he couldn’t look past the chance of rolling a one. Watching the acrylic cube bounce until it decided Cas’s fate. There was no dilemma, there wasn’t even a decision to be made. He would always choose Cas over himself. Silent acts of care he could never vocalize.

An inability to speak formed from fear and cowardice. Like a lion in his stomach scratching at the words until they fell back down his throat.

And it was that inability to speak that led Cas to think he was nothing more than a tool for the Winchester’s to use.

He almost let Cas believe he meant nothing to him.

Dean cleared his throat. “Mornin’ Sunshine.”

Cas set down the bag of sugar and picked up the pot, the glass making a small clink as it hit the top of the coffee maker. “Goodmorning Dean. Would you like any coffee?” He greeted cheerfully, turning around like he hadn't just put enough sugar to make a pound cake in his coffee.

“Uh.” Dean was still caught off-guard by Willie Wonka over there. “Sure Cas.” He took the coffee pot from his hand and muttered a thank you.

“So,” Cas started while Dean reached into the cabinet for his own mug. “What ingredient do you suggest I put in my coffee this morning?”

“Uh...I don't know man. I drink my coffee black.”

“Yes I know you’re boring Dean, but you can still help me not be.”

“Black coffee isn't boring it's-”

“Dean, if you say ‘manly,’ I will sit you down and make you eat only spinach and kale for a week.” Sam said, walking into the kitchen, hair still spiked up from sleep. He used one hand to sign the words, his other one occupied by Eileen, who was sleepily shuffling closely behind.

Dean looked aghast. “I would starve.” He attempted to sign his indignant response, hands moving sloppily while holding both his mug and the coffee pot.

“I think that's the point.” Eileen said, laughing. She looked at Cas. “Is Dean gatekeeping your coffee aspirations again?”

“Yes.” He answered, ignoring Sam’s laugh and Dean’s huff of exaggerated outrage.

“Have you tried cinnamon?” Sam suggested. “You like Dean’s apple pie, and that has cinnamon in it.”

“I’m not so sure about that, Sam. Dean told me not to ever take cooking advice from you.“

“And I stand by that.” Dean interjected suddenly.

“I can cook!”

“Ehhh…” Eileen’s comment bought her a look of betrayal. “Though Sam may be right on this one, you might like it.” She shrugged.

“See.”

Cas pondered the thought for a moment. “Perhaps I will then.”

“Do we have nutmeg?” Eileen said, breaking away from Sam’s grip to check one of the cabinets. He walked to the other side of the kitchen, intending to look through the spice rack, knowing exactly what his girlfriend was getting at.

“You better not mess up my damn kitchen.” He said quickly. “Or you're organising them all next time.”

Sam rolled his eyes, knowing full well Dean would never let him organise the kitchen. Eileen looked through them, carefully turning the bottles around until the labels faced her. She pulled out the cinnamon and clove while she was looking for the nutmeg.

“Found it.” Sam called from the other side of the kitchen, walking over and putting a hand on Eileen’s shoulder.

“Thank you.” She said with a smile, grabbing the plastic spice jars.

She individually tossed each one to Cas. “Use these, it will taste like a pumpkin spice latte.”

“And don't forget the milk.” Sam added.

Cas scrambled to catch the spices, successfully grabbing two of them out of the air, the third one intercepted by Dean.

“What’s a pumpkin spice latte?” He looked at Eileen before snatching the bottle of cinnamon from Dean.

“It's a famous drink you can get at Starbucks.” Sam answered.

Cas tilted his head to the side and squinted at him. “What's a Starbucks?”

“You know, the coffee shop Alex and Patience drag Jody to all the time.” Dean said.

“I’m pretty sure Donna drags her there too.” Sam added. “Something about girl’s date night out.”

“The one Claire says is for ‘basic bitches’?” He lifted his hands, forming air quotes as he spoke.

“Yeah.” Dean answered, quietly laughing. “That's the one. She’s probably right, too.”

Cas carefully put the different spices in his coffee, eyeing the mug warily. His light brown coffee now had specs of...stuff in it.

(And unbeknownst to him, there was also a small pile of sugar at the bottom, the coffee so saturated it wouldn't dissolve any more.)

Eileen laughed at the look on his face. “It's good, I promise.”

Sam turned to look at her. “How would you know? Most of the time you get hot chocolate and spike it with bourbon.”

“You’re the one who gets a Pink Drink.”

Dean choked on his coffee. “What?”

“It's strawberry and coconut milk, and it's delicious.”

“Sure it is Sam.” Eileen jabbed.

“So what I'm getting here is that not only have you two been to Starbucks often enough to have a regular order, but Sam gets something called a ‘Pink Drink’?”

“No…” Sam started, trying to find a way to defend them. “Sometimes we…”

“...Make our own drinks.” Eileen snapped her fingers as she finished for him, attempting to save them from the endless stream of good-natured insults Dean would throw at them otherwise.

“Well you two are a real Martha Stewart, aren't you?”

“Yeah, except she's a convicted criminal.” Sam attempted to snark back.

“So are you!”

Before either of them could respond, Cas shoved his mug into Dean's face. “You have to try this, Dean. It tastes like pumpkin pie.”

Dean carefully grabbed the hot mug from Cas and took a sip. He was right, it did taste kinda like pumpkin pie. He took another sip, letting the pleasant flavor sit on his tongue. The different spices mixed perfectly together.

“I mean it's… okay.” He lied.

Dean contemplated his pumpkin themed food options. “Though I would rather just have pumpkin pie.”

Cas took his mug back. “Fine. More for me.” He said with a smirk, mimicking the look Dean gives him every time Cas says he doesn't want anymore bacon, before taking another sip of the makeshift pumpkin spice coffee.

Dean smiled at him, setting his own mug down and moving Cas’s out of the way to pull him into a kiss. He could smell the nutmeg almost as much as he could taste the cinnamon on his lips.

“Mmm we should bake pumpkin pie tonight.” He said, pulling away just enough so he could talk.

“I would like that.” Cas answered. “All four of us could make pie. According to the 'mom blogs', as you call them, it would be a good family bonding exercise.”

“That’s right. And if they want any pie, they gotta help make it. That means more for us if they refuse.” He grinned.

“A win-win situation, really.” Cas smiled before tugging Dean close so their lips met again.

“I love you.” Dean muttered.

“I love you too.” Cas said softly.

Behind their backs Sam and Eileen were fake-gagging at their sickly sweet interaction, but secretly just glad the two of them had finally gotten over their stubborn (and oblivious) selves.

Sam was honestly overjoyed to see his brother finally happy. He would even go as far as saying finally willing to be himself, too. (Not that he would ever say this outloud. Sam can practically see Dean’s eyes roll farther back into his head than should be possible at the words.) All four of them had gone through more shit in the last few months than any normal person would in their entire life. They were all just lucky to be alive, and with that, learning how to savour the little moments of overly sweet normalcy.

(And the pumpkin spice-life Dean had secretly been longing for since they were little kids.)

So of course they were going to help bake pie.

---

“I want to try Starbucks.” Cas said the next morning, both of them still in bed.

Dean groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Can I ask why, or is this one of those, 'I'll tell you later’ disasters like with the slime ingredients?”

“I want to try all the human things that I didn't get to try last time.” He said offhandedly.

Dean pictured Cas’s hurt face when he had told him he couldn’t stay, smile broken as Dean’s own heart shattered from the look the newly-human angel was giving him.

He wanted to tell him it was going to be okay, that Cas himself wasn’t the reason, but the lion in his stomach clawed the words down faster than even the thought of ruining Sam’s chances at survival could.

With a pang of guilt from the memory, Dean pulled himself closer to Cas and rested his head on the other man’s chest. He wrapped his arms around him, trying to preserve as much warmth and comfort as he could until they had to inevitably get out of bed. “Only if you let me sleep like this for thirty more minutes.”

Cas smiled. “Oh, are we making deals now?”

“I’d sell my soul for you.” Dean said cheekily, which earned a glare from Cas. “Believe me, I know.”

After a beat he went on. “Fine, you have a deal.” Before Dean could celebrate by tugging the covers over their bodies, Cas added another clause to their agreement. “But... in true Crowley fashion, you have to seal the deal with a kiss.”

Dean lazily threw his arms into the air. “Victory.”

He turned over, pulling himself upwards until he was just inches from Cas. Cradling the angel-turned-Winchester’s head in his hands, Dean placed his lips on Cas’s, melting into the touch as he felt the other man’s arms wrap around his torso.

When he broke away from the kiss, Dean found himself face to face with the most beautiful smile he had ever laid eyes on, one born from adoration and love. Cas’s eyebrows were slightly scrunched up, but for once it wasn’t a sign of confusion when met with some obscure eighties rock reference. It was a tiny expression of care, and it was one that was truly Cas. Not Jimmy’s, not even one Cas had picked up from him or Sam. It was completely and wholly Cas, and a completely and wholly human thing to do.

He realized Cas had been doing that long before the Empty stole his grace.

Dean smiled back at him, relaxed. Like taking in a deep breath after being under murky water for forty years. He brushed a loose strand of soft, brown hair into its place, before falling back into his spot and closing his eyes. “Crowley would be proud.” He whispered with a soft laugh, smile deepening as Cas joined him.

When their quiet laughter died out, there was a pause, air stagnant and in its own sleepy haze

“Oh and Dean?”

“Hm?” Dean turned his head to look at him, eyes not failing to glow with their unusually bright, green pigment. He took a deep breath, the lids of his eyes already started to slowly fall back down again.

“The slime wasn't a disaster. You enjoyed it.”

“I did.” He muttered sleepily, a loose smile forming on his lips as he drifted off to sleep. Cas laid there, running his fingers through the other man’s hair, contentment and admiration showing itself in every feature on his face.

This was more than he could have ever wanted.

---

“Dean. Dean wake up.” Cas was excitedly whisper-shouting in his ear like a kid on Christmas morning. It was exactly thirty minutes later, (he had counted), and Cas was ready to get moving.

“No.” He answered back, mimicking Cas’s tone.

“But you’re like a cat.” He teased. “You're on me and I can't get up.”

Dean sighed. “I can't believe I let you talk me into this.”

“It didn't take much convincing.”

Dean rolled over to give Cas a playful glare, but was met with the saddest puppy dog eyes he had ever seen, completely throwing him off his guard.

“I'm going to kill Sam for teaching you that.”

Cas just continued to give him that look.

“Fine.” Dean relented, sitting up with a yawn and thinking about how he will now never be able to win another argument.

“Get dressed.” Cas said excitedly. “We're going to Starbucks.”

“Hooray.” He gave a sarcastic laugh, but a smile creeped on his lips.

They walked out of their room together, heading towards the bunker’s library. Dean slid in one of the chairs, turning Sam’s still-open laptop around and waking it up.

Cas, meanwhile, turned to a random page of the lore book resting on the table and started reading in an attempt to pass the time.

The sound of Dean typing filled the air. “So, I just looked it up, and do we have to go to Starbucks?”

“Yes.” Cas said simply, not looking up from the book.

Dean groaned. “Cas there isn't one in the county, let alone Lebanon. That's probably why Sam and Eileen make their own.”

“Where's the closest one?” Cas asked, his blinding, blue eyes glaring at the back of Sam’s computer like he was trying to will the coffee shop to be near.

“I thought it was across state lines and in Nebraska at first, but it looks like there's a small one in a town called Washington. It's about 80 miles from here.”

“Let's go!” Cas excitedly straightened his trenchcoat and headed towards the door.

“Or, we could leave Starbucks to the fourteen year old girls.”

Cas turned back around and rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure their entire demographic is fourteen year old girls, staff included.”

Alright, smartass. Dean thought, struggling to hide a smile.

Cas walked out the door, expecting Dean to follow.

“It takes an hour to get there, our coffee’s going to be cold by the time we get home, and it's freezing outside.” Dean muttered under his breath, but he grabbed his keys off the table and stood up, willing to follow Cas to the ends of the earth if it meant he would stay with him.

Not that he was going to enjoy this trip. In fact, he was currently doing the opposite of enjoying, and they hadn’t even gotten into the car yet. Starbucks. Starbucks. Really, Cas? Of all the places he wanted to go, it had to be Starbucks. He couldn’t want to explore humanity through Target or something?

Even Claire wouldn’t be caught dead in that place, with all the frou-frou toppings, elaborate drink mixes, and colourful, drizzled syrup. The people who go to Starbucks are the kind of people who like coffee that doesn’t taste like coffee. Teenage girls who might as well just be drinking whip cream, and that was without considering the seasonal drinks they fawn over.

Seasonal drinks that shouldn’t legally be allowed to be referred to as coffee.

Dean couldn’t believe he ever agreed to this, but still, he begrudgingly followed.

---

Using the GPS on Cas’s phone, (Dean said his insane directional skills helped out too), they found the Starbucks relatively easily once they were in the little town.

They parked the Impala, and Dean looked at the modern building. The green lettering contrasted with the tan plaster walls, spelling “Starbucks.”

He heard Cas get out, his feet making a crunching noise as they hit the gravel, and watched from across the top of the car as he started towards the coffee shop. Dean looked at the building warily, reluctance painted on his face.

Cas was telling him some random fact about a bird he saw, but Dean could only think about his reputation that was about to shatter like a vase dropping on tile floor.

Reputation with who? He didn't know.

Well, he had a vague idea, but chose not to let his thoughts wander that far.

It was okay. This was fine. He could swallow his pride and-

“Ooh. The peppermint mocha looks good.” Cas was reading the limited edition drinks on the drive-thru menu as they traveled across the parking lot.

Dean was going to barf.

They walked into the building, immediately hit with the overwhelming smell of excessive amounts of flavoured syrup indoused coffee. Dean glanced around the well-lit building, taking note of the many different people there.

(He wasn’t about to have any black-eyed minions reporting his Starbucks order to a very judgmental Queen of Hell.)

Cas pushed Dean’s protesting body into the line, looking pleased with the many different options written on the menu overhead.

He enjoyed the small touch of Cas’s hands on his back, moving him forwards to the line, but was grateful Cas was careful not to let them linger there too long.

He was still wary about doing… this, in public.

He knew Cas was patiently waiting for him to be ready, so he didn't know how to tell him that he might never be.

The teenager working the cash register interrupted his train of thought. “What will it be for ya?”

“I would like a peppermint mocha please.”

“Alrighty. And you?”

“I'll take just a black coffee.”

The barista looked unimpressed. “And your names?”

Dean grinned. “John and John.”

“No relation.” Cas added.

The barista just sighed. “How do you want me to differentiate the two of ‘em then?”

“Oh you can put ‘John Bonham’ on mine.” Dean replied.

“Comin’ right up.” Their tone didn't change, still just full of apathy that could only be perfected by the work of a burnt-out teenager.

Dean and Cas walked down to the end of the counter and towards the pickup section. “Now tell me, Castiel.” He stressed his partner’s name. “Who’s John Bonham?”

Cas sighed, but the corner of his mouth upturned in a grin. “John Henry Bohnham, affectionately referred to as ‘Bonzo’, born in 1948 and was most well known for being the drummer of the rock band ‘Led Zeppelin’.”

“Mmm very close, but unfortunately you forgot the word ‘best’ in front of ‘rock band.’” Dean smirked before leaning in for a chaste kiss.

“You should have said I was ‘John Bon Jovi.’” Cas said, smiling.

“Why? Because you’re only good at this sometimes?” Dean closed the gap between them.

As soon as their lips met, Dean pulled away instinctively, realization hitting him like a hunter with a bat as his eyes widened in terror. “I-I'm sorry, I didn’t...” His words faltered as he looked around at the people sitting in the coffee shop, all of which were paying no mind to them.

He felt sick, guilt gnawing at him from a pit in his stomach.

“Hey, it's okay Dean. You know I'm perfectly fine with public displays of affection, and no one else even saw us. There's no need to apologize.”

“Yeah-h.” He said shakily. Before he could figure out who he was apologizing to, a voice from behind the counter called.

“I have an order for a mister ‘John’ and ‘John Bonham’.”

“That's us.” Dean spat the words out quickly, turning around to take them from the barista’s hand. He rushed out of the door, the small tinkling sound of the welcome bell and the blood rushing to his ears drowning out the sound of Cas’s call from behind.

He sat in the front seat of Baby, knowing he was being childish. Dean took a shaky breath and tried not to think about it.

About what the hell he was thinking, kissing Cas out in public like that. The judgemental eyes- black or not- that were watching. He thought about what his father would say, mind instantly going back to a moment in his childhood he has tried to forget since it happened, wondering where he went wrong.

About the time John had caught him and Lee, ignoring the weak excuses Dean was stuttering out. Skipping town faster than they had done in years.

About how the left side of his face had been a yellow-ish purple for weeks following, and the sore spot on his arm from where he caught the pavement as he flew towards it.

About how he had told Sam he just fell on a hunt. “Don't worry kid, you should have seen the vamp when I was done with him.” He swung his fist around in slow motion, pretending to punch an invisible enemy as his little brother giggled in childish bliss.

About how John never looked at him the same. The disgust in his eyes, harsh words on his lips.

About how he vowed to never disappoint his father like that again, and their joint hatred for that part of him. Sometimes it felt like the only thing they could agree on.

About how somewhere, somehow, he had decided Cas was different. That he somehow didn’t count, and that losing him hurt so much, was such an egregious pain, he wanted as much of Cas as he was allowed to have. And how that was something insurmountable stronger than the twisted, sick feeling John had placed in his gut.

He remembered something Cas had told him once: “Hatred isn’t a natural trait, Dean, it’s a learned one. A baby isn’t born with the ability to hate, it’s passed on from one broken soul to another. Love, love however. That’s something different altogether.”

Cas’s hand on his shoulder pulled Dean out of his thoughts. “Hey.” He said softly.

“Hey Cas.”

“I love you.” He got in the passenger's seat, taking his coffee from Dean’s still frozen hand.

“I love you too.” He whispered absentmindedly, staring straight ahead and seeing nothing but thoughts from the past. His mind fighting an internal battle, logic telling him that what he had with Cas wasn’t wrong, and even though everything from fate to God had tried to wedge itself between them, it was still the most right thing he had. And he knew that, but his dad’s drunken, booming voice echoed throughout his head, telling him that he was dirty. Telling him the Winchester men had no place for someone like him.

“You better stop that now, boy. Bad things happen to you when you’re weak.”

At the time he had taken that as a warning, rather than a threat. But now Dean wasn’t so sure.

It’s not even that his Dad was particularly religious. He wasn’t told that it was a sin, or that he was going to Hell. Though it’s not like that particular statement would have been wrong. He thought with a bitter laugh.

While the thoughts in his head were screaming mercilessly, the drive home was in a simple silence. The only noise being Cas’s occasional sip, and the sound of soft fabric rubbing against skin as Cas moved his hand in small, comforting motions against Dean's back.

When they got to the bunker, Cas, who was genuinely impressed that Dean managed to drive them home without crashing into a tree, pulled Dean out of the car and gently shook him out of his self-imposed stupor.

“Your coffee's cold.” Cas said with a laugh.

Dean blinked a couple times, clearing the fog from his mind, before laughing along with him. “And who’s fault is that? You were the one who insisted on traveling across the state to get it.”

“Do you want some of mine?” Cas asked. “There's a little bit left, and I held it next to the heater. It should still be lukewarm.”

“No thanks, Cas. I can go make some in the kitchen.”

“But what if I want you to try it?” Dean glared at him. “Don't make me do Sam’s ‘puppy dog eyes’ again.”

“Okay, okay. You win.” He put his hands up, mimicking a surrender. “I'll try some of your stupid, Christmas cookie, candy-cane flavoured coffee thing or whatever.” They started walking towards the entrance to the bunker.

“Peppermint mocha?”

“That's the one.”

Cas laughed at him.

“Oh just, give it here.” Dean said. He took a long sip from the disposable cup. He could taste a vague hint of whipped cream mixed in with the coffee, its light fluffy texture sticking to the last swallow of smooth liquid in the bottom of the cup. The chocolate and espresso rested on his tongue, and the peppermint was strong and refreshing. He took another sip.

“Does that face mean you like it?”

Dean looked at him guiltily. “No.” He opened the bunker’s door and started walking down the metal stairs.

“Yes you do.”

“No, I don't.”

“You took a second sip.”

Dean reached the bottom of the stairs first, and walked over to the War Room table to set both coffee cups and his keys down.

“So? I was trying to make sure I properly understood the flavour. Since when is that a crime?”

“You wanted to properly understand a flavour you didn't like?” Cas walked up to Dean and pulled the nearest chair out to sit down.

“What are you two arguing about this time?” Eileen asked from the library.

Cas clenched both of his hands into fists, putting the right one on top of the other. He made small, circular, stirring motions with his right hand. “Coffee.” He signed swiftly, movements fluid.

“Ah. That makes sense.” She spoke the words.

“What makes sense?” Sam asked, walking in from one of the hallways, making sure Eileen could see his lips before speaking.

“They're arguing over coffee again.”

Sam glanced at both of them, before his eyes reached the two cups on the War Room table.

“Wait a second… Dean?” He looked at his brother, before turning to face his best friend. “Cas?”

“Yes, Sam?” Cas answered.

“Did you two go to Starbucks?”

“I don't want to talk about it.” Dean grumbled.

“Yes, we did!” Cas sounded way too excited to be referring to coffee. “I got a peppermint mocha, and Dean tried some and liked it.”

“I did not.”

“I don't care what coffee you like, Dean. What I do care about is that you went all the way to Starbucks, and didn't bother to ask if we wanted to come.”

“Not cool Dean.” Eileen walked in, shaking her head and hiding a smile.

“I might have thought about buying you two drinks, but there was no way I was ordering yours with a straight face.” He looked at Sam. “And it's an hour away, they wouldn't have been hot or cold or whatever they're supposed to be by the time we got here.”

“Well then we'll just have to go back, all four of us.” Eileen put simply.

“It's an hour away.”

“We know.” Sam added.

“Let me say that again, in case you weren’t listening. It's an hour away. For coffee. That isn't even that good.”

“I beg to differ, Dean.” Cas said.

“Yeah I'm definitely with Cas on this one.” Eileen agreed while Sam nodded along.

“No. There's no way I'm getting back in Baby to drive all the way to Starbucks again.”

“Fine. We’ll go get our own.”

“With what car?” Dean said, very sure of himself.

Sam snatched Baby’s keys off the war room table, which in hindsight was probably something Dean should have expected.

“Let's hope Sam doesn't have too many shots of espresso.” Eileen said, faking concern. “I would hate for your baby to pay the price.”

“Fine. I'll drive you.” Dean grumbled while Eileen double fist-pumped her win.

Cas looked very pleased with the thought of getting to try more coffee.

---

They left shortly after, the drive over painful for everyone except Dean, who listened to the same four songs on repeat the entire hour.

(It’s their own fault, really.)

---

“Can we please listen to something other than Bob Seger on the trip home?” Sam complained as he slammed shut the door to Baby’s backseat.

“You’re just mad you didn’t get shotgun.” Dean said, closing his own door. “Besides, driver picks the music, everyone else shuts their cakehole.” Sam mouthed the words along with Dean, having heard the speech a million times before.

Eileen and Cas got out, neither one of them had any desire to input on their squabble, and were instead engaged in their own, quieter discussion.

Both brothers continued to argue until they walked into the Starbucks.

“Ah. There's the scent of overpriced coffee I missed.” Eileen joked as she took her first breath inside the building, using her hand to waft the smell towards her.

“What are you getting?” Cas asked Sam.

“I want my usual, and Eileen, what are you having?”

“Hot chocolate with espresso shots please. This place doesn't sell liquor.” She shook her head sadly and Sam laughed. “Good thing I brought my own.” She winked at them, opening her jacket just enough so they could see the inside pocket and showing off her flask.

“Oh, now that would be a Starbucks I would go to.” Dean said.

“You two wait in line.” Sam pointed to Cas and Dean. “We’ll save a table.”

Dean looked like he wanted to protest, but they walked away before he had the chance. Cas leaned over towards him. “Don't worry. I'll order Sam’s.” He very conspicuously winked.

Dean smiled at his attempts of regular human interaction, before over-the-top winking himself.

“Can you order for us? I need to talk to Sam about something.”

“Sure thing…” Cas had to think before finishing his sentence. “...buckaroo.”

Dean outwardly cringed. “Keep trying, you'll get there eventually.” He patted Cas on the back, which was slightly moving in a chuckle.

It was good to see Cas filled with so much simple joy. Face creased from laughter rather than stress, he seemed so much lighter. Happier. It was only a small sliver of what he deserved, but it was something. Maybe he could live with driving an hour to get what he assumed was half-decent coffee.

“What would you like?” Cas asked him, eyes still filled with a sparkle that only comes from gaining something you thought you lost.

“Uh.” He thought about it for a moment, almost considering branching out into the unexplored terrain that was the dark green menu with small, white text, before shuddering at the thought.

“I think I'll take that expensive black coffee I didn't get earlier.”

Dean was not going to turn into one of those people, if he had any say about it.

Cas walked into the line, leaving Dean to scan the room, furiously waving Sam over when his eyes found their booth.

“Sam.” He sounded like he was trying to whisper, but his volume raised far higher than that. The patron closest to Dean gave him a look before turning back to their work.

“Sam, come here, it's urgent.” His brother turned to look at him, rolling his eyes before getting out of the booth.

“What do you want?” He said once he reached Dean.

“Sam. Help. What do I do?”

“About what?”

“About what kind of coffee Cas is having.”

“Oh god, Dean let it go. He's not going to only ever drink black coffee. Contrary to popular belief, former angels do actually have souls.”

Dean ignored the implications that he didn't have a soul, too distracted by Cas. “But look.” He motioned his head towards where Cas was standing, next in line to order. “He’s eyeing the weird fruity drinks.”

“Dean. It's Cas. The man’s favorite food is PB&J. What did you expect him to have, taste?”

“Alright that's rich coming from mister Pinkity Drinkity or whatever the fuck.”

“You walked into a Starbucks and ordered black coffee, I don't think I'm the wrong one here.”

“Wait, wait. Shut up. Quiet.” He hit Sam on the shoulder in a childish attempt at getting him to stop talking so he could listen.

“Ow. That hurt.” Sam muttered, before turning to watch Cas, which Dean was already doing.

“I would like to try a…” Cas methodically scanned the menu again. “A ‘Passion Tango Iced Tea,’ please.” The barista took no mind to the excessive air quotes.

“It's not even coffee.” Dean said to Sam, clearly distraught. He turned to look back at Cas.

“And your name sir?”

“Lizzo.”

Dean threw his arms up into the air. “I can't believe this is the man I love.” His voice cracked like he was holding in tears of anguish from listening to Cas order.

Sam just rolled his eyes at the theatrics. Right, and he’s the dramatic one.

“Aw. You're in love.” Sam held his hands up, forming a heart and mocking his brother.

“Oh shut up. What are you, seven?”

“Is Cas your gay thing?”

“You shut your mo-”

“What are we gossiping about?” Eileen whispered, cutting Dean off and causing them both to jump.

“We're not gossiping.” Sam said indignantly.

“Sam started it.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“This is where I call you two ‘asshats’, right?”

“It's ‘assbutt.’” Cas said, walking up to them and catching the tail end of their conversation. “And that's my line.”

Cas handed them each their drinks, before excitedly trying his own. He put the plastic cup up to his mouth, almost missing the straw. When he swallowed the cranberry-colored liquid, his face relaxed in pleasure.

“I know this one isn't coffee, but it's really good.”

“We didn't get coffee either.” Eileen said. “So don't worry, Dean's the odd man out here.”

Dean glared at her before trying his own coffee, and well, it was coffee. The point of buying expensive caffeine still went straight over his head.

The four of them went over to their thankfully-still-available booth and sat down. Dean and Cas sat on one side, both instinctively choosing the side that faced the door, with Sam and Eileen sliding into the seats directly across from them. They sat there, talking about nothing in particular, and certainly nothing of importance, before falling into the natural art of storytelling.

Aside from killing monsters, that’s what hunters did best. Sitting around and sharing stories. As tiring and dangerous as their lives were, some hunts were worth sharing exaggerated and hyperbolic versions of, especially over drinks.

Sam’s favourite story to tell changed every time, and one would almost be inclined to believe that most of it wasn't real, but the wildest parts also caused the most merriment. (Dean pretended he hadn’t witnessed the whole thing, sparing Sam by not telling the other two how it actually went down.)

Eileen shared of her time in Ireland. “Foreign country, foreign monsters.” She said with a wink, telling of creatures neither Sam nor Dean had even read about.

Dean’s favourite story to tell, aside from the fact that he killed Hitler, was the time he got to solve a mystery with everyone’s favorite talking dog. And yeah, all three of the people that sat at the table had heard both many times before, but that didn't matter, it was still enrapturing to hear them again.

Cas had millenniums to choose from, but always found the most interesting hunts to be the ones with the Winchesters. He also had many hilarious stories about his adventures with Crowley, but he was less fond of those.

“I remember once, Dean went on a hunt with Dad.” Sam started. “Nasty vampire, it got a hit or two on Dean. I think you guys went with another hunter. Young. About your age, actually. Uh…”

He snapped his fingers, trying to recall the name. “Lee. That's it.” Dean looked up from the coffee right as Sam said it. “Do you remember him?”

Something flashed in Dean’s eyes, but his brother didn't seem to notice.

Cas, who was used to admiring every minute detail of Dean's expression and posture, didn't miss the ever so slight, yet sharp, inhale. Or the way he swallowed before speaking, trying to clear the small lump from his throat.

Dean noticed too, internally rolling his eyes at his own reaction.

“Yeah it's been a while, but I remember him.” Dean was blatantly ignoring Cas’s burning stare from beside him, and the fact that he had stabbed Lee through the chest just last year.

Cas made sure no one was watching before gently placing a hand on Dean’s thigh. Knowing it would comfort him from both intuition and experience. Dean stiffened under the touch, but after realizing no one could see where Cas’s hand was, he visibly relaxed.

“What happened to him?” Eileen asked innocently.

“Oh uh, a hunt I think. Most of us go that way, I assume he was no different.” Technically Dean dealt the final blow, but it was the entrancing call of the monster, greed, and the life Lee and Dean had both secretly wanted, that caused his former-friend’s downfall in the end.

“Yeah.” Sam said solemnly, suddenly lost in his own thoughts, most of which were riddled with grief.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, letting the weight of their many losses wash over them like a tidal wave.

One made of espresso and milk rather than the rough waters of the sea.

---

The ride back was more manageable, Dean allowing them one song choice each, complete with a warning to pick wisely.

(They all very cheekily chose the songs they knew would bother Dean the most.)

---

Full on coffee, cookies Dean bought for them at Starbucks, and brimming with contentment, (as well as the fact that they spent half the day in the car), Cas suggested to Dean that they “hit the hay” as they stepped back into the bunker.

They laid there in silence, breathing in scents of comfort, coffee, and each other, until Cas eventually drifted off to sleep.

Dean, however, continued to lay there. Thinking.

He remembered the first solo case John sent him on.

Something curled inside his gut.

They had been two nuns, their fate a product of hate crime. Put to death for simply being themselves.

Dean didn't blame them for coming back as ghosts.

He remembered the words - ones he would soon learn were slurs - that John would spit out like acid.

Or offhandedly toss like they didn't bear enough weight to shatter the window of a person's self-image.

It had taken him almost forty years to realize that very same window inside of him was in sharp, jagged pieces. Cutting anyone and everyone who came near.

It had taken Cas dying to start picking them up again.

He turned to look at the man next to him, relaxed and blissfully sleeping. His chest moved up and down rhythmically, and Dean slowed his breath to match until he fell into a surprisingly peaceful slumber.

---

When Dean woke up, the other side of his bed was cold.

He didn't panic, knowing full well that Cas probably ran to the bathroom, or was pouring another mountain of sugar in his coffee.

Losing Cas again to the Empty had ripped him apart, but months of spending every night with his partner left him with less nightmares and waking in cold sweats then he had since before Hell.

Dean also learned that his own presence was enough to fight off the demons of solid, black goo that plagued Cas’s head at night.

He was finally starting to understand why life seemed to lose all meaning when Cas was gone, and from there he could slowly start to rebuild both of them.

Dean heard soft padding noises as socked feet walked down the hall, and there was a knock on the bedroom door. "S'your room too, Cas. You don't have to knock." He laughed, words slightly slurred from just waking up

Cas walked in, wielding two mugs of coffee and a proud look shining in his eyes. “I made us coffee.” He said triumphantly, handing one of the mugs to Dean.

“I put chocolate and peppermint in your coffee.”

Dean fake-gasped. “You monster. Ruining the integrity of my drink like that.”

“I'm a human, you ass.” Cas responded, a smile tugging at his lips. “Besides, I know you liked mine yesterday.”

“I did not.” He said, discontentedly crossing his arms. “I only drink coffee that's as black as my soul. Darker than the night sky. Hotter than the bunker’s computer when it overheats. As manly as-”

“Oh, just drink your damn coffee.”

“Fine.” He groused. “But I'm not enjoying it.”

Cas raised an eyebrow at him, before setting his mug on the bedside table and sitting down behind Dean. The bed creaked underneath him as he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist. “Is this why you and Sam never use umbrellas?” He joked.

Dean laughed.

Cas rested his head on the crook of Dean’s neck and whispered. “You know you don't have to pretend.”

“Pretend what?” Dean asked softly.

“You know.”

“That I don’t like flavoured coffee?” He said with a snort.

“Sort of.” Cas hugged him tighter. “No one’s going to think any less of you Dean. You’re allowed to like the things you like.”

“I know.” He resigned.

“John isn't here anymore.”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“I know.” The words barely came out as a whisper, hot tears betraying Dean’s eyes as they silently leaked out and ran down his cheeks.

He tried to wipe the tears away, hearing his Dad’s voice in his head and knowing he was being stupid.

Dean couldn't help but think of himself as a small, living-room window, from an old, dilapidated house. Stained yellow with age. Cracking from wear.

He let the drumming of his Dad’s words in his head be drowned out by Cas’s voice.

He couldn't unwrap the fuzz from around him, so he didn't know what Cas was saying, ears seemingly filled with cotton. It was just the knowledge alone that he was there. That he was holding him and whispering comforting words into his ear. That even as a human he could heal Dean at his lowest points, and still see him as the brightest, strongest, soul.

You don't really know what a picture is going to be until it's done.

Maybe that window is a beautiful stained-glass portrait.

“Uh.” Dean cleared his throat. “What-what do you have?” He indicated Cas’s coffee by angling his head towards where it sat on the nightstand.

“I made iced coffee.”

Dean just looked at him, astounded, eyes widening. “You mean it’s not hot?”

“Yes, that's where the ‘iced’ in ‘iced coffee’ comes from.” He said very seriously.

They both sat in silence for the next hour, peacefully drinking their coffee and enjoying the presence of one another.

---

When they got out of bed and ventured into the rest of the bunker, they found Sam and Eileen in the library.

They were sitting in adjacent chairs, with Eileen laying her head on Sam’s shoulder and reaching for her water bottle on the table. They were reading a book together, but Eileen shook Sam indicating she had seen them walk in.

“Goodmorning.” She greeted cheerfully.

“Mornin’.” Dean pulled up a chair across from them, and watched as Cas did the same.

“What are you two reading?” Cas asked.

“The Men of Letters’s Bestiary.” Sam said.

Dean snorted. “Ah. Doing a little light reading are we?”

“We're thinking about filling in some of the pages.” Eileen added.

“Yeah, for all of the stuff they have here, it's surprisingly empty.” Sam continued flipping through some of the pages, most of which were blank.

“Heh. I should put you in that thing, Cas.”

Cas let out a laugh. “Right. Because I’m a good example of an angel.” The sarcasm was masking something else in his voice.

“If it makes you feel any better, you’ve always been my favourite angel.” Dean only realised how sappy he sounded after it came out of his mouth.

“Yeah, I’ve heard the rest of them are dicks.” Eileen added.

Cas smiled at that, seemingly back to normal.

“Right, well you three can do that, I'm off to the Dean Cave.”

“Or…” Sam started.

“We could go back to Starbucks.” Cas finished, nodding his head enthusiastically.

“Yeah... that's not where I was going with that, but I like where your head’s at, Cas. We should definitely go back.”

“Eileen?” He asked.

“Hell yeah.”

“Dean?”

Dean pressed his mouth into a thin line and glared at him. “Yes, sure, fine. But we're not making this a daily thing.”

“That's fair.” Cas agreed. “It's probably not very healthy.”

He went to grab his wallet and keys before Sam could start his speech on the nutritional value of green things, and Eileen snatched her water bottle off the library table as they all got up to leave.

---

Dean gave up on letting them choose the music after snickering and requesting “Friday” by Rebecca Black for the third time in a row.

(It wasn't even Friday?)

---

Dean stepped out and closed Baby’s door in the parking lot of Starbucks an hour later, kicking the loose pieces of gravel on the asphalt for the third time in two days.

“We might as well just live here.” He said, tone dripping with sarcasm.

“I wouldn't make that offer if I were you, Cas looks like he’d be totally on board.” Sam laughed.

Cas went and stood beside Dean as they started walking towards the building, smiling.

“What?” Dean asked, question genuine and free of all malice.

“Nothing.” Cas answered, smile not faltering.

His eyes revealed nothing but pure devotion for the man he was staring at. A silent promise, one without pressure, that he would be standing there, and Dean could take the leap anytime he wanted.

Dean was slowly inching towards the end of the diving board.

---

“I think I'll just drink my water.”

“Oh that's exciting.” Sam joked. “If I got you a lemon to go with it, would you be able to handle that?”

“Don't talk to me about my drink, when yours is a vivid green puke colour.”

“Hey, at least it actually has a colour. And a flavour at that.”

Dean couldn’t believe those words were coming from the same man who drinks exactly a hundred and one ounces of water a day. (Which, according to Sam, is the recommended amount for males, as stated by the Institute of Medicine.)

(Dean didn’t care.)

“Fine then.” She turned to look at Dean. “Get me the strongest thing on the menu.”

Dean laughed before turning to Cas. “Let's just go get in line before we suffer at the hands of the Leahy like Sam.”

Sam and Eileen went to look for a place where they could all sit again, playfully bickering the entire way.

While he was standing in line with Cas, Dean looked over at his brother, and found him and Eileen sitting at a small table in the corner.

Cas was still helping him learn ASL, so he caught parts of their conversation.

“If Jack is in every drop of rain, do you think he's in your water?” Sam signed, trying to contain his laughter.

Eileen pushed her water away with a look of disgust. “You’re lucky I love you.” She answered back.

“I know I am.”

He watched her silently laugh before turning back to look at Cas.

They really did have it good, didn't they?

“What are you ordering, Dean?”

Dean stood there silently, contemplating. He internally weighed his pros and cons, mind leaving the menu entirely. While there was still a lot of shit he had to work through, (shit he had been actively not working out his entire life), there wasn’t much of a decision to be made.

He would always choose Cas.

“You know what?” He reached out and grasped Cas’s hand firmly. “I was thinking about being less boring. What ingredients do you suggest I try?”

Cas smiled warmly, reaching the crinkled corners of his eyes. “They have a cinnamon flavoured one. That’ll be almost like apple pie.”

“Will it really?” Dean’s tone was dismissive, but there was a smile on his face.

“Yes, Sam told me.“

“Not that I trust Sam’s judgment, but okay, I think I’ll take one of those.”

“I'm going to have a real pumpkin spice latte this time.” Cas seemed very pleased with the aspect of buying something they could make it home, but Dean wasn't going to fault him for it.

The patron in front of them finished ordering, clearing the way for Cas and Dean. The barista from the first time they went caught sight of them and made a face. “Wait a minute. I think I know you two.”

“Yes, we came here yesterday.” Cas helped. “Well, we actually visited twice, but you weren't working the second time.”

“Right... John and John, how could I forget?”

“This time we're ordering for four though.”

“I would like a…” Dean squinted at the menu, looking for the cinnamon flavoured coffee. “‘Cinnamon Dolce Latte.’ And my devilishly handsome friend here will take the pumpkin spice version.”

“And what are the other two drinks and names?”

Dean whispered something in Cas’s ear. “I'll drink the coffee, but I won't budge on this one.”

“That's okay Dean, you’ll get there eventually.” He whispered back.

The barista looked unimpressed with them. Again.

Dean cleared his throat. “Ahem, sorry. The tall one with the stupidly long hair,” he pointed towards Sam, “is getting…” he trailed off before looking to Cas for help.

“I don't know, man. It was something sickly looking. Cold? Green? Possibly tea?”

“And Iced Green Tea Latte?” The barista suggested.

“That's the one. His name is Jimmy.”

“And the lovely lady sitting next to him would like the strongest drink you have. Her name is Robert.”

“Her name is Robert…?” He slowly pointed towards Eileen, sounding unsure of himself.

Or them.

“Yup.” Cas said.

Eileen gave a little wave from across the room.

He gritted his teeth in a very clearly fake smile. “Coming right up.”

They paid for their coffee and picked it up, taking the travel cups across the room and towards Sam and Eileen.

Cas took a sip from his pumpkin spice latte, gleefully smiling. “As much as I like trying different drinks, I think I might start just getting this one. It's my favourite.”

Sam leaned over to Dean, neither one taking their eyes off of Cas. “Should we tell him the drink is seasonal?” He glanced at Sam, before staring back at his partner, whose face was beaming like a literal ray of sunshine.

Dean’s face softened. “Nah. Let’s not ruin his moment.” He took a sip of his cinnamon coffee and damn, it was delicious.

Nothing at all like apple pie, but still delicious.

Cas walked over to him, making eye contact in a silent question. Dean nodded with a small smile, and Cas took his hand.

“I love you.” Cas whispered.

“I love you too.” He whispered back.

They didn’t whisper to hide, and it wasn't because he was ashamed. It was because that exchange was just for them.

Dean leaned in and softly kissed Cas.

Now that was to tell everyone in the shop that his devilishly handsome friend was spoken for.

Slowly, the sun would come out and shine through the stained-glass window, shadow portraying the picture of an angel.

And alright, fine, Dean could admit that he enjoyed the peppermint mocha.

He thought about it for a moment, before giving a light chuckle, realising something.

“What?” Cas asked, turning to look at him with a soft smile resting on his face.

“Nothing.” Dean whispered, squeezing Cas’s hand in his. He took a sip from his coffee, relishing in the warm and cozy flavour enrapturing his tongue.

He was only thinking that maybe, just maybe,

Cas had changed him too.

---

Bonus Epilogue:

Dean held the glass door open for the other three, and they all walked out onto the asphalt, laughing, and making their way towards Baby.

The street lamp overhead flickered, and all four of them froze.

“Did anyone happen to get the salted caramel macchiato?” Dean whispered.

---

-This fic on Ao3 (Kudos and comments would be greatly appreciated.)

-Writing Tag

-Ao3

-Request fics/drabbles/ficlets. (Please)

17 notes · View notes

bbykpoper · 3 years

Photo

𝕭𝖚𝖗𝖓𝖙 𝕮𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖘🕯️

Inspired by this post 🍂

Pairing: witch!changbin x witch!reader

Song recomendation: Cold Cold Cold by Cage The Elephant

Index: Jisung // Chan // Minho // Hyunjin // Jeongin // Felix // Seungmin

WARNING (18+): this chapter contains explicit sexual content up ahead, read at your own discretion!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭ 。.・

A soft flicker hung above Changbin as he walked back towards his home, both hands holding bags he and Chan had picked up from the grocery store. His friend walked beside him talking on end about some new music he just magically figured out (Changbin would never tell him that it wasn’t a coincidence he found this new inspiration), while the only thing he could focus on were the flickering street lights. Something wasn’t right about them, and it made the hairs on his neck stand straight.

“Are you okay?” Chan asked as he too now noticed the lights. “What’s up with the lights? They’re weird.”

“I don’t know.” Changbin said, looking around and noticing how the lights seemed to flicker worse than his altar candles. “But I don’t like it.”

“Interesting.” A voice echoed out. “You seem to bare no hate towards this human.” Chan shivered when he felt a slight touch on his neck. “Now why is that witchling?”

Changbin had to hold his breath in at the sight before him. Violet eyes, deep like that of an amethyst stone, observed Chan from a close proximity as long lucious locks of dark hair fell in waves down the slender body of black. That piercing gaze turned its attention to him then and Changbin couldn’t fully come to terms with the situations.

“You’re the one that’s flickering the street lights.” He announced.

“Intuitive.” The giggle seemed to be childish even though the woman standing in front of him was anything but a child. “I like that witchling. You show promise.”

“Stop calling me a witchling.” He seethed out.

“To me you are a witchling. You still haven’t crossed your hundreth year of practice.” The woman laughed. “I am still intrigued that you play with humans. Our kind tends to detest them.”

“Changbin...” Chan whispered in uncomfort as the woman didn’t back off.

“Do you mind backing off.” Changbin said harshly, earning a raised eyebrow from the woman.

“You have no maners do you witchling.” She sighed and took a step back. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to hurt your human.” Her eyes narrowed in mirth as she looked at him. “I don’t like to meddle in others practices.”

“Who the hell even are you?” He was loosing patience with this conversation. For fucks sake he didn’t even know this woman and she was all up in his business and plain out rude to his friend.

“Y/N.” She simply stated and went around him, going down the street in the opposite direction than them. “I’ll see you around witchling.”

“I AM NOT A WITCHLING!” He yelled out but it seemed to be yelled out into the wind, as no one was behind them.

“What the fuck?” Chan whispered out and looked at his friend.

“What the fuck indeed.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭ 。.・

“So what you’re saying is a weird woman showed up as if she knew Binnie?” Felix asked as he kept stuffing his face with food. “I mean how is that unusual? Have you met yourself Changbin?”

“She’s a witch. Like me.” He sighed. “The only other witches I know in this town are from the coven I’m part of.”

“Well have you asked JB who she is?” Minho spoke softly.

“Not yet. I was going to after tomorrow’s lectures.” He sighed. “It buggs me. I’ve never met someone who can flicker lights with their will. Electricity can’t be controlled. Even Jaebeom has a hard time with it.”

“There’s no point in pondering about this right now.” Felix sighed, taking a mouthfull of food once more. “We should worry about Chan’s stress cooking. I can’t keep eating more.”

The boys laughed and went in to the kitchen to calm the cooking frenzy down. Changbin on the other hand went up to his room and sat facing the window and the outside world. The darkness of the early autumn washed over the streets as the trees swayed in the night. It bugged him to no end. The whole situation from his little grocery run.

Who was this y/n? Why was she here? And how the hell did she know who he was? I mean technically she didn’t know him, but she knew he was a newbie. Far less experienced than most of his coven. The thoughts kept swimminin in his mind without end.

Im Jaebeom was a senior at the college Changbin attended and also the leader of the little coven on campus which held together so that the witches wouldn’t feel out of place among the humans. He waited for Changbin outside of his lecture hall, his phone in hand and eyes cast down on it.

“Please tell me I’m allowed to hex Professor Kim.” Changbin whined.

“As much as I want to, I can’t allow it.” Jaebeom laughed. “How you been Changbin?”

“Good. Until this random ass witch shows up and scares Chan half dead, flickers the street lights as if they were nothing and calls me a witchling.” He rambled on as they walked towards the coffee house next to campus. “I’m rambling aren’t I?”

“A little bit, but I do understand why.” They took a seat and ordered their drinks. “Did this witch tell you her name?”

“Y/N. She had these striking violet eyes and dark hair. She was also wearing a black lace dress.” He sighed. “I really don’t know who she is. But she pissed me off.”

“She has that effect on people.” Jaebeom laughed. “Y/N is an ancient witch. You could call her a crone, even though she is still young to enter that fraction. The last time she showed up here she was burned at the stake and vowed to curse the people who burned her.” He looked up at the boy across the table. “She didn’t mean anything bad by her words, she just doesn’t exactly know how to socialize these days.”

“How do you know all this?” Changbin furrowed his eyebrows.

“She’s my ancestor. On my mother’s side.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I basically lost sight of her last night and she wandered away. Sorry about that.”

“It’s... fine...” He said blinking rapidly. “Your ancestor? How old is she?”

“I stopped counting when I hit 300.” A voice sounded beside them and Changbin was met with those piercing violet eyes. “I think your mom still follows that.”

“Is that burnt fudge?” Jaebeom asked.

“Yeah, I like these. They remind of the time I was burned at the stake.”

“So you can make jokes now?” He raised an eyebrow.

“No.” She chewed on the candy. “It’s called sarcasm little crow.” Her gaze then went back to Changbin who was dumbstruck at her appearance and demanour. “How is your human doing?”

“He’s shaken up.” He answered, narrowing his gaze at her. “You scared him quite well.”

“Too bad, he looked quite cute to be honest.” She shrugged her shoulders with that comment, something stirring badly in Changbin’s gut. “Anyways, I was told to invite you and your human-”

“Friend.” Jaebeom stepped in and got a glare out of you.

“-friend.” She gritted out. “To dinner as an apology for last night. It was not my intention to scare you. I just couldn’t comprehend the fact that a witch was friends with a human.”

“JB is friends with humans.” Changbin’s eye twitched.

“That doesn’t mean I approve.” She said. “Dinner will be at 7 p.m.” And with that she left, her dress swaying in the wind.

“Sorry. As I said, her social skills are practically nonexistent...”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭ 。.・

“This is very tasty! I’ve never had roast beef like this!” Chan exclaimed excited as he sat at the table of Jaebeom’s home. “You’re an excellent cook y/n.”

“Thank you.” You answered as you quietly ate next to your little cousin, not really liking the fact that he was here.

“Ah, before I forget.” He mumbled and pulled out a container filled with candy. “These are for you. Changbin said you liked burnt fudge so I did burn them a little bit but not too much.” He placed them on the table before your wide eyes. “I hope you like them.”

“I appreciate it.” You softly said and took the sweets, watching the container silently.

The rest of the night went by nicely and you managed to have a civil conversation with Chan, but Changbin still didn’t like you. Generally just because you kept on calling him a witchling. You just didn’t wish to stop because his reactions amused you.

“It was nice talking with you y/n.” Chan smiled as he and Changbin were leaving. “Bye.” He waved and you slightly waved back.

“Why didn’t you tell the witchling I’m here to make his friend’s life miserable?” You looked over to the tall boy next to you.

“Chan is not a bad guy. Just because his great something grandfather burned you at the stake doesn’t mean you need to make innocents suffer.” He spoke.

“But they could make my sister and myself burn?” You asked. “I made a vow Jaebeomie, to raise hell in this town until it disappeared. I made a vow to curse the men that accused and burned us.”

“But you didn’t.” He smiled at you, poking your cheek. “You didn’t wreak havoc on this town and you didn’t curse Chan’s father. Because you know very well, that 150 years of making people die has worn you out.” He kept poking her cheek. “Just admit it, you got tired of hating humans and want to go seclude yourself in the forest like the rest of the crones.”

“You have a big mouth on you for our 300 year age difference little crow.” You gritted out, offended that he saw right through you.

“It’s actually 376, but who’s counting.” He chuckled and went back inside.

Your eyes followed the two receding silhouettes in the distance, noticing how every now and then Changbin looked back to make sure you weren’t following them. You giggled to yourself and decided to go back inside, sending a crow with a little gift towards him.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭ 。.・

Chan smiled and waved at you when he found you sitting at a table, drinking tea with Jaebeom. He came over to you two with Changbin in tow who rolled his eyes at you. The shift in your eyebrow was noticed by them all, but nothing was said.

“How are you guys?” Chan took a seat at your table, pulling his younger friend down with him.

“Enjoying some tea and going over some things.” Jaebeom smiled and then he remembered something. “Right, Changbin you can ask y/n to help you with that spell you were struggling with. Meanwhile Chan, wanna go get more drinks? I need a refill.”

Both boys stood up and went towards the counter, while you were left with a mean looking Changbin. You sipped on your tea, eyebrows raised, eyes fixed on the boy, waiting for him to speak.

“You won’t ask me for help will you?” You taunted him.

“No.” He said, crossing his arms.

“At least you’ve taken a liking to Shu.” You giggled as you noticed the small crow you sent after him the other day.

Changbin looked over to where your violet gaze was focused and turned back at you with shock when he figured out the crow was sent by you.

“You sent Shu?” He asked.

“Jaebeom told me you don’t have a familiar yet, so I offered up one.” You shrugged your shoulders. “He is a young one, just like you. You will learn a lot from each other.”

Changbin was shocked by this turn of events. He was extremely humbled by this gesture and his eyes and facial features softened, a sudden guilt taking over. You kept on silently drinking your tea, gazing at the baby crow in the trees.

“I can’t manifest enough energy to get this spell working.” He whispered out.

“What’s the spell about?”

“Self-love.” He averted his gaze.

“Do you have some say, props you use?” You kindly didn’t stop to tease him about the reason for the spell, not really seeing any reason to tease. “Also, where are you doing your spell?”

“Um, I have some stuff but it’s in my room. Basically in my room.” He said.

“You mind if I have a look?”

“So, do you think they’re hitting it off?” Chan asked, watching along with JB as they waited for their order.

“We’re not trying to set them up Chan.” He reminded him. “But yeah, I think they are.”

“I’m gonna have a 300 year old witch as his girlfriend, aren’t I?” Chan chuckled when he noticed how Changbin got more than comfortable with you.

“Probably.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭ 。.・

Felix and Minho had to hold back their awe when you walked into the shared home of the eight boys. They greeted you with a soft ‘hello’ and blinked at your presence. Changbin had to hold back his laughter at them but he understood where they came from. I mean even he took a few seconds to ogle at your short, yet elegant lacy black dress. Your hair was braided expertly and you stood awkwardly in the living room until Changbin hadn’t walked you over to his room.

Well his and Chan’s shared room.

You noticed how two beds were placed in the opposite sides of the room, the left side decorated with some band posters, herbs, jars and a tiny altar in the corner. The right side decorated with some recors, a laptop and a lot of tech you didn’t really understand.

“Ishtar?“ You raised your eyebrows. “No wonder you cant manifest enough energy for your spell.”

“What do you mean?” Changbin asked confused.

“Ishtar is a sex goddess. Which means the strongest energy you can manifest is through sex magic.” You plopped down on his bed, and he took a seat on one of the chairs near his bed.

“Sex magic?”

“As you masturbate, focus your intention in your mind’s eye.” You began with a simple explanation. “The key is to focus on your breath and connect that breath to your intention as you masturbate. Then, as you orgasm, imagine your intention as a beam of light shooting out the crown of your head and jetting into the cosmos. As you stay in the afterglow, continue connecting to this intention, sending it out into the universe by feeling it throughout your whole body. When you’re done, you're supposed to go ahead and thank yourself and the universe, and at that point, the ceremony is done and your intention has been set.”

“So sex magic works only alone?” He asked, glancing at you with a small pout which didn’t go unnoticed by you. “It can’t be practiced with a partner?”

“Well no, but that’s not typically how it’s practiced, since having someone else present can distract you. Instead of focusing on your intention and connecting to yourself or your personal deitie), you’ll likely find yourself connecting to your partner. This is great for building a relationship essentially but not really for spells. When you practice sex magic with a partner you are merging energy bodies, you are involving their will, and there’s a lot of potential to get messy.”

“But what if I want to involve a partner?” He now asked his eyes becoming bolder.

“If you really want to you’re allowed to.” You laughed. “Your own witchcraft is an open practice. No two withes will do a spell exactly the same.”

“But I’m part of a coven...”

“So? Jaebeom is not a scary leader.” You laughed. “Technically I am part of that coven too, but you guys never even met me. I do my own thing, and you are allowed to do your own thing as well.” You smiled and looked over at the altar where Ishtar’s candle grew it’s flame, satisfied with your little speech. “I think she agrees too.”

Changbin looked over at the altar and softly asked his question. “Is it okay if I do it with a partner?” The candle did a little dance meaning it was happy that Changbin wanted to work with another partner. “Is it okay if it’s y/n?” The flame suddenly became smaller and a few seconds passed before it grew almost catching the hanging herbs on fire.

You both looked at each other and you blinked back your confusion. When did this happen? You clearly noticed how he didn’t have hate or spite in his eyes but something much deeper ran behind them. Lust. Changbin was horny and he was horny for you.

Throwing caution to the wind, Changbin made a split-second decision to lock his room’s door, which you clearly heard as he stepped forward from his chair, both of his hands landing beside your uncovered thighs. You two were so close that you could make out the details of his face, his pupils dialating and his breath becoming uneven. He smashes his own lips against yours, his actions filled with need and passion. Changbin slightly bites on your bottom lip, looking into your eyes evoking a fire in your violet ones as you took in a deep breath of his scent.

“Are you sure about this?” You asked him as he literally sat on his knees before you.

“Yeah.” His swollen lips breathed out. “To be honest, I wanted to fuck you the first time I saw you.” He brought his face closer to you. “And it just grew with how much more annoying you became.”

“Good to know.” You smirked. “But I meant are you sure about me being the partner for your ritual?”

“Yes, please.” He grabbed onto your thighs quite harshly. “Just let me enjoy you already...” The whine he let out made you giggle and you kissed him on the mouth. “Fuck...”

He pushes you down on the bed and climbs on over you, his hands slowly going over any type of free flesh you have on display for him. His lips leave a trail of wet kisses down your neck as you writhe against him, hands clinging tightly to his white t-shirt. You whimper when his teeth nip at the tender spot right under your ear, and you can’t help the way your hips go up when Changbin’s tongue brushes against the reddened skin of your neck. You swiftly moved your body so he was now under you, his belt seeming to undo itself.

“That’s hot.” He breathed out as you took off his pants and boxers. “God, that’s really hot.”

You smirk, licking a stripe. He moans, grabbing onto the sheets, desperately trying to grab something as his eyes rolled back in pleasure. You begin to take him in, swirling your tongue around him. He grunts as you hollow your cheeks. The tip of his dick touches the back of your throat, making you gag. He moans this time as he grabs your hair. You hollow out your cheeks, slowly moving back and forth. You feel his member twitch in your mouth, and you knew he was close to finishing. You took this as a chance to move faster, bobbing your head as fast as you could. He groans, panting your name as he used your hair to guide how to move.

Changbin lets out a choked sound when your nose brushes against the skin of his abdomen, and he has to fight the urge to throw his head back in pleasure. He doesn’t want to look away, not even for a moment. Not when you’re looking up at him like that, like your going to eat him whole. It turned him on even more.

He quickly pulled you off him taking a few deep beaths to calm down his uncoming finish, not wanting to cum yet. You smirked at him knowing he was having a hard time calming himself down and he noticed how your eyes twinkled with mischief.

“You better get ready to have that smirk wipped off your face.” He growled out, that sheer sentence making your panties seep with arousal. “Open your mouth for me, beautiful." His gruff voice said, placing his hand on your chin and thumbing your lips apart. "Suck on my fingers and get them nice and wet for me." You did as he said as he slipped two finger into your mouth. "That should be good enough." He said while pulling the fingers out, saliva dripping from them. A second later, your skirt had been pulled up to your hips. A greedy smile graced his lips as he rubbed the fingers on your panties, the thin material hardly covering anything.

He slipped two of his fingers into your folds, starting to pump gently but speeding up with every thrust. You couldn't suppress moans, pressing your mouth onto his exposed collarbone and leaving a trail of love bites. He soon added another finger to the two he was already using.

"Mmm..." You swore as you could feel your climax already drawing near. He tutted, feeling your walls tighten around his fingers. Immediately, he pulled them out and brought them to his own mouth, staring at you straight with those dark eyes. You watched aroused by the way he swirled them in his mouth.

“Dirty little witch.” He teased, grabbing your hips and pulling you on top off him, swiftly disregarding your underwear. “I’m going to give you the ride of your life.”

“You’ll have to make it good, I do have a few hundred years on you.” You kissed him as he brought you down on his ever so eager member.

He kept on pounding into you, gripping your ass for dear lfie, causing you to moan which resulted in growls of pleasure leaking from him too. You were experiencing a type of pleasure you couldn’t exactly comprehend and you bit into his shoulder, trying to keep yourself quiet and controlled. Changbin let his head fall into your bouncing tits, teeth bared against the flesh as he brought his hands to your waist, pulling you up and down on top of his cock. The boy stood, picking you up with him. He had set you down on his bed, admiring your fucked out expression. He pushed your hands above your head, holding your wrists down with one hand as the other one held your waist as he pounded into you.

Changbin went over the edge, biting your thigh to keep his noise contained. As you felt him pulsate within you, you felt your body grow light, thighs shaking and back arching. You came just as he buried himself fully into you, an overloaded experience that lasted for minutes.

Changbin collapsed on top of you, your breaths mingling as you both came off your high. You looked over to the candle on his altar, little cinders burning in their reflection, signaling that Ishtar was satisfied and so was Changbin. You stroked his hair as you felt him shift, placing a soft kiss on your lips.

“I wouldn’t mind having this every day.” He said, placing more kisses along your neck.

“Then you better be prepared. I am aiming to become one of the crones.” You giggled letting him slowly pull out of you and bring a blanket over you both.

“Good. I can’t wait.” He said as a small knock came from the window, Shu motioning to the full moon. “Oh yeah, by the way.” Changbin turned towards you. “Were you the one that had that heated argument with the moon the other day?”

“No.” You blushed furiously in that moment that even your ears burned from embarrassment. He saw you arguing with a fucking glowing ball in the sky?!

“Funny.” He said. “It’s like I saw you, but oh well.”

“Shut up.” You playfully pushed his shoulder and he chuckled at your reaction.

You guys kept making out into the night, Ishtar’s candle ever so bright and happy in the background.

Chan stood in front of his room’s door, a sudden redness on his cheeks as he turned to face Felix who was passing by to go to his room. Both looked at each other and Chan just swallowed a lump in his throat.

“Can I crash in your room tonight?” He asked with an overly high pitched voice.

“Sure.” Felix nodded, understanding the hint of uncomfortableness in his tone. “At least she’s not trying to kill you anymore.”

“Yeah.” Chan said. “But they’re still fucking in there.”

Felix laughed as he and Chan went away from the door, soft muffled moans coming from the room. The older boy felt he’ll need to bleach his room after this night, maybe even sage it to keep it pure.

That’s what he gets for sharing a room with a witch.

#stray kids #stray kids imagine #stray kids reactions #stray kids scenarios #seo changbin #kpop #stray kids smut

59 notes · View notes

alice1290 · 4 years

Note

Congratulations on 300! If your still taking event prompts can I get NSFW Shanks with X? Thank you 💖

Hello, Anon, and thank you! Thanks also for your patience with me and I hope you enjoy!

Kind of sinful throughout, but the real Ns.fw is below the cut.

Mystery quote will be in bold!

Shanks - 300 Followers Event, NS.FW, X

Between the warm summer breeze, the buzz of the liquor, and small hands wandering his bicep and back, Shanks was having a hard time thinking straight as he led his lover back to the Red Force. She stumbled, falling into his side, and Shanks caught her as her giggles filled the air.

“I didn’t think you were such a lightweight, love?” Shanks teased.

“I’m not,” she pouted. “I tripped.”

Shanks hummed, giving a nod as he eyed her speculatively from the corner of his eye. When she tried to pull away, Shanks tugged her back to his side and dropped his head so that he could whisper in her ear. “If you’re going to be clumsy, that just means I’ll have to keep you close.”

Letting his lips brush the shell of her ear, Shanks trailed his mouth down the column of her throat before working his way back up to kiss her cheek. Giving her a devilish grin, Shanks straightened and then kept walking, keeping his arm around her waist to guide her along with him.

It was Shanks who stumbled as they reached the docks, almost sending them both to the ground. He caught her in his arm, before she could hit the ground, pulling her close to his chest where he was practically bent over. They were both laughing, but the mirth shifted to something else as they got caught in each other’s gaze. Shanks dipped his head, capturing her lips in a soft kiss as he righted himself to stand straight, keeping her pressed tightly to his chest.

Her hands snaked over his shoulders to wrap around his neck, drawing herself impossibly closer to him. A soft moan escaped her lips as Shanks deepened the kiss. Whistles and shouts reached his ears, but Shanks ignored them, for he could care less if they gave the dock workers a bit of a show. His lover however, broke away from the kiss and buried her head in his shoulder.

He thought she was embarrassed until he heard her quiet giggles. Shanks grinned, and with her still pressed to his chest, started walking toward the Red Force docked a few ships down. With the assistance of a little jump, his lover wrapped her legs around his hips, holding tightly to him and giving him a devilish grin before she dipped her head to tease his jaw with gentle kisses.

By the time they made it to the Red Force, Shanks wanted much more than wet kisses and teasing touches. They parted only long enough for Shanks to drop onto the deck from the plank, and then she was reaching for him again. Their lips molded together in a heated kiss, and Shanks let his hand wander her curves, squeezing and pulling at the soft flesh.

Shanks turned them toward the direction of his cabin and blindly walked. Her hands slid down his chest, nails biting into his abs before she curved her way over his hips. She tasted like whiskey and honey, and Shanks hummed in pleasure, even as his shoulder bumped into the mast.

She snorted softly, pulling away from his kiss to slide her lips across his cheek to pepper his jaw with nips and teasing licks. When she rolled her hips, grinding her warm center against him, Shanks almost stumbled.

“I can’t wait any longer,” she purred into his ear. “I want you now.”

Shanks’ steps did falter then, and all plans to make it to his cabin went out the window. He pressed her against the nearest wall, using his hips to keep her there so that his hand could explore her body. Fingers slipped under the hem of her shirt, and Shanks trailed them up to cup her breast firmly.

He didn’t bother with words, occupying his mouth with better things. Using lips, tongue, and teeth, Shanks lavished her neck while his hand left her breast to slip down to her thigh. Thankful for the loose skirt she wore, Shanks slid his hand up her thigh until he reached the junction of her hip and the band of her panties. He slipped a finger under the delicate garment, but instead of pulling them to the side, Shanks tore them.

A whimpered gasp left her lips, and Shanks chuckled against her skin. Trailing his lips back to her ear, Shanks nipped her earlobe before pulling back to ghost his lips across the shell of her ear. “You asked for it, love.”

Shanks teased her core with his fingers, sliding them through her slick folds before he pulled away. Smirking against her skin at her whine, Shanks slipped his hand to his own pants, undoing them just enough to free his hard cock. He shifted his stance, and then pressed the head of his cock against her entrance. Teasing her with his cock caused her to moan loudly and her nails bit into his shoulders where she clung to him.

“More,” she whimpered.

Shanks complied in an instant, thrusting forward to sheath himself inside her, her slick walls providing all the lubrication he needed to bury himself balls deep. Her head thumped back against the wall as she let out a deep, low moan of satisfaction. Setting a hard, fast pace, Shanks pulled his face away from her neck to watch her reactions to the pleasure he was giving her.

After a few moments he slowed, thrusting achingly slow until she was writhing against him, trying to grind her hips against his own in an attempt to speed up his pace.

“No, love, you’re at my mercy today. You’ll come when I say you will.”

She whimpered again. “Please… Shanks… so close.”

Another smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he slid his hand up to tangle in the hair at the base of her neck. He slammed his mouth against hers, deepening the kiss and invading her mouth with his tongue while he thrust into her harder, faster, until she was crying out.

A low groan tore from his throat as he felt her pussy contracting around his cock, squeezing him with each wave of her orgasm. The sensation was overwhelming, and as much as he tried to hold his own release back, he let go, coming deep inside her as he continued to ride out her own high.

When Shanks stilled, it took every bit of his remaining strength to hold her up and keep them from both collapsing onto the floor. He pulled away from her slightly, so that he could adjust their clothing and chuckled as he realized exactly how close to his cabin they had made it.

“Well, we were almost to the room,” Shanks chuckled, pointing to the door directly to his left. “Oh well, maybe next time.”

#one piece #shanks #Akagami no Shanks #ns.fw #lemons #300 followers event #shanks is still a tease #playful tease #but a tease

51 notes · View notes

cammiluna · 4 years

Photo

Sorry I’ve been mostly gone for the last few months. 2020 particularly has been a wild year for me personally.

My story actually started back in September when I applied for the JET program for the 4th consecutive year, as that in itself took up a significant amount of my time and attention.

I got rejected once again.

About two weeks prior to the rejection, I applied for a new job in Washington state. I got a referral from a close friend of mine. Got accepted for that job in less than 24 hours, but I was still waiting for the JET interview results (and the timeframe between acceptance and the first day of work was undoable to me as a broke New Yorker going to MAGFest on a shoestring budget

I had to take some mad commissions for that. To this day, some of those commissions are incomplete still

Two weeks after my 4th JET program rejection and the wave of depression and anger that followed, I got another call from the Washington job asking to come in 7 weeks later. I took the offer. Back at this time, people and governments were still slapfighting over whether to take a certain viral situation seriously or not.

Around the time I got that second call, I had a meltdown at work when the server died and more was expected of me handling it than I was able to do.

I had 7 weeks to find an apartment, downsize my belongings and find a way to get me, Kirby (my fish) and a tiny percentage of my belongings on a minimal budget. In doing so, I had to reach out to friends in private to avoid my former employer snooping around my social media.

I send in my 2-weeks notice and while I’m thankful I wasn’t fired right there for doing that, extra demanding work tasks were piled on me while I was preparing the move. Like having to teach computer-unsavvy people how to do my job and writing instructions on how to do these things; 99.99999% computer-related. I used up my vacation days to take days when i felt another meltdown coming and my former employer used that against me when they wanted me to make business cards with photographs for all staff members- something that would take several weeks when I only had four days left at work.

On top of everything, I’ve gotten a cold four times between November 2019 and March 2020 because the apartment’s heater broke down, the landlord would just keep smacking it to make it work temporarily, and my room wasn’t properly insulated so I froze all winter like I was sleeping out in the street.

So when I finally made it to Washington, I was a mess. Nasty cold, weakness, fatigue, everytime I tried to sleep, I had vertigo.

And $2700 in credit card debt from the move. My plane ticket was $150, but my [oversize/overweight] baggage fees were $400, delivery of my books and artist alley materials was another $150, setting up a new fish tank from scratch was almost $300 (not including parts that my friend had gifted him), and then some. I basically moved out here with my computers, 1/3rd of my video game collection (the rest were donated/sold), art supplies, Kirby, some rare/recent collecibles, and a week’s worth of clothing. Everything else had to be purchased after the move. Furniture, food, kitchenware, linens, etc.

A lot of items were donated from friends. I am beyond thankful to them!

And yes, Kirby came with me on a plane. You had to see the eyes bulging out of every TSA officer that saw me yoink a bag of live fish out of my carry-on, but I had a printout from the TSA website that indeed said that live fish are allowed through security checkpoint as long as they are in a sealed container.

yep.

Kirby also got sick. He had anxiety from the move and the new tank settings. We got him a cave to hide him, but it had a really rough surface and he injured himself bumping into it a few times. Cave was since removed.

So then I started my new job a week later. Four days into the new job, the office decided to close before corona could be a problem. I’ve been working from home ever since. The training was chill physical energy-wise, but very intense and full of information I had to retain. Also, this is my first customer service job, so I was super anxious the whole way. 2.5 months of training it was,

By the end of March, I had all the symptoms that Corona was known for. Nothing was severe, and I had no vehicle to go see a doctor (I made a dumb mistake and moved to a hilly suburb because the rent was cheap). It could have been corona, it could have been a venn diagram of my cold phasing out overlapping with anemia and anxiety, I guess we’ll never know. I found ways to get by while still working from home.

Kirby was also choking on his own air bubbles for March and April. I wasn’t able to get any info on why that would be. He is doing fine now.

Training is over now. I finally started seeking medical help last week because I’m still dealing with chest pain, fatigue, and shortness of breath which I was told could be anemia (worse than I’ve ever had it before). I’m still anxious because I’m on customer phone service full time now, but while it has a lot of challenges and I do get tired in the end (which could be anemic fatigue still), I’m a LOT less stressed out than I was at my old job. The pay isn’t much higher, but I’ve been able to live a much better life here. Got usable health benefits now and while the food is more expensive out here, you get a LOT more food for all those dollars spent. Also, since I’ve been too fatigued to cook much of the time (and I have a shitty electric stove that takes 45+ minutes to boil a pot of water), I can have healthy restaurant meals delivered via uber eats. Most of the restaurants in my service area serve REALLY TASTELESS FOOD, but some restaurants serve enough in one order to make for 2-3 meals.

but anyway. That’s what’s been going on now. Financial situation has improved greatly since I started getting paychecks out here. medical investigation is ongoing. I just need my energy back to start making regular art content again.

I have played Animal Crossing since the game came out. I will share the artwork I’ve managed to do soon, including some plague knight and mona/animal crossing crossover stuff such as the pic you see above.

Stay tuned and thanks for your patience.

#updates

11 notes · View notes

lorton77-blog · 4 years

Text

Microsoft Xbox One S review

The Good The Xbox One S is a slick looking game console that's 40 percent smaller than the original and ditches the infamously gigantic power brick. It can display 4K video from streaming services and Ultra HD Blu-rays, and supports HDR contrast on video and games. The updated controller works with other Bluetooth devices, too.

The Bad 4K, Ultra HD Blu-ray and HDR settings only work with newer TVs, and may require some trial and error. The updated controller feels cheaper than its predecessor. Project Scorpio, the more powerful Xbox One successor, arrives in late 2017.

The Bottom Line The Xbox One S is the console Microsoft should have delivered three years ago, but there's little reason to upgrade if you already own the original box.

The Xbox One S is the version of the console that Microsoft should've first released back in 2013 instead of the lumbering beast that we got. It's better in a number of ways, making it even more of a worthy alternative to Sony's PlayStation 4.

Xbox One S offers a far more attractive enclosure, options for a bigger hard drive, a slightly redesigned controller and some video perks for owners of 4K TVs. It starts at $300, £250 or AU$400 for the 500GB version; $350, £300 or AU$500 for a 1TB model; and $400, £350 or AU$549 for 2TB.

That last model is available to buy as of today in the US (and includes the vertical stand that otherwise costs $20 when purchased separately in the US), while those with the smaller hard drives will be available later in August, bundled with games such as Madden 17 and Halo. (Additional bundles will follow later in the year -- including a pricier 2TB Gears of War 4 version in October -- and may vary by region.)

Sounds like a slam dunk, right? Unfortunately, it's never that simple. The One S doesn't get an across-the-board "buy it now" recommendation for two reasons. First off, it doesn't deliver huge improvements for anyone who already owns an Xbox One. But more importantly, Microsoft has already promised that the next Xbox -- dubbed Project Scorpio -- will be arriving in late 2017 with with the seriously amped-up graphics and VR-ready hardware that audiences are clamoring for.

When it's all said and done, the Xbox One S should be primarily viewed as a slimmed-down version of the Xbox One that introduces a mildly updated controller and provisions for 4K display. It's not going to warp you into a state-of-the-art gaming experience. Pragmatically, you're probably better off nabbing an older Xbox One, which are now being sold at fire-sale prices. But if you are getting an Xbox One for the first time, have an interest in the bundled games and aren't saving your pennies for 2017's Project Scorpio, the One S is certainly a good all-round gaming and entertainment deal.

Note: I found a site where you can complete task and get free Xbox gift card Codes

What's new in the Xbox One S

There's a short but significant list of improvements and changes to the Xbox One S.

Smaller, cleaner design: To start, it's 40 percent smaller, which considering its power supply is now internal, is impressive. It's also stark white, with some slick plastic moldings flanking the entirety of the box. I think it's the best-looking Xbox Microsoft has ever designed.

The One S can also stand vertically, too. The 2TB model we received for review packs in a stand. If you buy one of the other models, you can get the stand separately for $20.

4K and HDR video: Xbox One S gets a fairly beefy upgrade on its video capabilities, with 4K resolution (3,840x2,160, or four times as sharp as standard 1080p HDTVs) and HDR (high dynamic range, which is basically enhanced contrast and color). Keep in mind: those features only work on compatible TVs and 4K functionality only works with a small but growing list of compatible video content. 4K can currently be accessed through streaming video services such as Amazon and Netflix (as long as you have the bandwidth to support it and pay for their premium tier) and those new 4K Ultra HD Blu-ray discs. Certain games, meanwhile, will eventually be able to take advantage of HDR visual improvements, but don't look for PC-like 4K graphics -- the games are merely upscaled to 4K.

So no, you're not getting native 4K gaming out of an Xbox One S. In fact, only a limited number of games will feature HDR and none of them are out yet. They are Gears of War 4, Forza Horizon 3 and 2017's Scalebound.

New controller design: The Xbox One controller has been updated for the S, too. It has a more streamlined top section, better range and textured grips. It can also use Bluetooth to connect, which opens the door for compatibility with other devices -- no more annoying dongles, at least on Bluetooth-compatible PCs.

Unfortunately, I'm not a fan of the new controller's design. It's not a drastic departure from the original, but there's just enough of a change to make it feel cheaper. The plastic textured grips don't feel good the way rubberized ones do, but thankfully the triggers seem unchanged. The D-pad also feels slightly less tactile -- I even noticed differences between two of the new controllers side by side.

IR blaster and receiver: Still present is the IR port for controlling the console with a remote, but the Xbox One S also features an integrated IR blaster to control or power on other devices in the room.

And it still does everything the old Xbox One does: The good news is that you're not losing anything with the Xbox One S compared with its predecessor. Around back the console offers a lot of the same ports as the original Xbox One, though noticeably absent is a dedicated Kinect port. You can still attach Kinect to the Xbox One S, you'll just need a special $40 (!) adapter. Either way, the omission of a Kinect port should give you an idea of how that peripheral is regarded at Microsoft HQ.

HDMI-in and -out ports are still there, so you can still make use of the Xbox One's live TV integration if that's something that appeals to you, but I never found it overly useful.

Suffice it to say, the One S plays all existing Xbox One games, and a growing list of Xbox 360 games. It also includes all of the encouraging software improvements Microsoft has made over the past few years, including the redesigned interface, support for the Cortana digital assistant (using a microphone headset), compatibility with the Windows Store and, soon, additional cross-play options with Windows PC gamers on certain titles.

4K and HDR scorecard

I want to personally thank the Xbox One S for introducing me to the hot mess that is the world of 4K and HDR formats. I considered myself fairly fluent in the language of home theater, but I was bewildered at the insane of amount of granularity and confusion that the format is currently plagued with.

Odds are you won't be able set up in 4K right out of the box. I needed to download two separate updates for the Xbox One S to finally realize it was attached to a 4K TV, at which point it offered to bump up the resolution output to 4K.

I hooked the console up to four different TVs and had mixed results with each, so I tapped CNET's David Katzmaier to help me test out the rest of the Xbox One S' 4K and HDR capabilities.

What we learned is that getting all of these finicky display technologies to work together in sync will require some trial and error -- and patience.

Our major issue was getting our TVs to recognize HDR. The problem (which isn't solely the Xbox One S' fault) is that some TVs with HDR require a specific "UHD" or "deep color" setting to be turned on in order for HDR to work. These modes usually turn a TV's brightness all the way up and activate automatically when HDR content is detected. But none of our TVs detected the Ultra HD Blu-ray HDR signal that was being output by our "Star Trek" Blu-ray.

It wasn't until we forced the Xbox One S to output a higher bit depth (10-bit up from the console's default setting of 8-bit) did we get a clean HDR signal. Furthermore, we had issues maintaining a video signal altogether when our TV was in that special "UHD/deep color" setting for HDR but the Xbox One S was outputting a signal lower than 10-bit.

Sound confusing? That's because it was. And this was with the help of one of the best TV reviewers on the planet. It's possible your setup goes smoother, but there are definitely a lot of variables and boxes to check when entering the world of 4K, Ultra HD and HDR to make sure it all works correctly.

There's a really helpful 4K detail screen in the system display settings that gives you a heads up of which requirements for 4K, HDR and so on are currently being met. Definitely check that out.

Tragically, all of this time-consuming troubleshooting to get HDR to switch on isn't always worth it. In fact, it's sometimes nearly impossible to tell just by looking at the image onscreen. We tried. The takeaway? 4K and HDR are nice novelties, but I'm not sure even the most discerning eyes can always tell the difference. And because only a fraction of games will even support HDR (the aforementioned trio of Gears of War 4, Forza Horizon 3 and Scalebound), it makes upgrading a tough sell. Not to mention the fact that all the games you'll ever play on Xbox One S won't be in true native 4K resolution -- they'll just be upscaled to fit.

That said, there are plenty of 4K Blu-rays out there, and Netflix can stream some content in 4K (as long as you pay for its Premium tier). If you are in the specific position of owning a 4K TV and are looking for an Xbox One, the S is what you should be buying.

It's worth noting that the Xbox One S doesn't handle the higher-end audio options out there such as Dolby Atmos. The most you'll get out of the console is a seven-channel surround signal.

Looking forward to Project Scorpio

Microsoft's messaging about its console offerings can get confusing. It's best to think of the Xbox One and One S as their own tier. In terms of graphical horsepower, they're equal. The next jump in visuals and performance will come along with Project Scorpio, which is being targeted for the 2017 holiday season.

Details on that machine are scant at best, but it's safe to say it will significantly outperform the Xbox One and One S, the PlayStation 4 and -- if we're going on rumored specs -- the PlayStation 4 step-up console, the PS4 Neo.

This will usher in a sizable upgrade in all aspects of gaming with native 4K resolution output and HDR support. And Microsoft has already pledged that Scorpio will be "VR ready," presumably for a forthcoming virtual-reality headset.

The current messaging as to how games will work across Xbox One platforms seems simple enough. Any Xbox One (be it a standard, S or Project Scorpio) will be able to play any Xbox One game, though the Scorpio will be able to take advantage of better graphics, performance, frame rate and resolution. This seems to mostly fall in line with the PS4 Neo plan as well.

If we're just comparing raw specs, Project Scorpio's rumored details still fall short of what an Nvidia GTX 1080 graphics card is capable of.

Decisions, decisions

Under most circumstances, no, you don't need to buy an Xbox One S. If you already own an Xbox One or even plan to wait for whatever Project Scorpio winds up being, it's tough to rationalize a purchase.

If you're looking to enter the Xbox One space and you don't feel like waiting a year or more for Project Scorpio, an Xbox One S might be the right purchase for you as long as you have or plan to get a 4K TV.

If a 4K TV isn't in your future, you may want to look at the original Xbox One. It's already as low as $250, £250 or AU$500 and it's entirely possible Microsoft will drive the price even lower if it's looking to sunset the model and clear out remaining inventory.

#Xbox xboxones xbox360

1 note · View note

queennicoleinboots · 5 years

Text

I Hate This Planet, part 1

(I started this story six months ago)

I was so pissed when I walked into Peter's house that day. Once again, Godiva was pissed off with the universe and got short with me over the phone as a result. I had my own issues that day. Jasper, my 69-year-old client with back issues, was mad at me because I wasn't supporting the government shutdown. Joebear, my husband, was mad at me because I wasn't at the latest government shutdown protest. I couldn't win for losing.

"What's up with you?!" Peter asked in a pissy tone.

I laughed. "Well, I made it to work to put up with your stupid bullshit. What's up with you?!"

"Ha ha ha. I had the strength to answer the door for your BITCH ASS!" Peter said as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

I poured my own. "So what the fuck is your problem?!" I asked him.

"Oh I don't know! My mom is in extreme pain, and my DAD is asking her to do 50,000 things. I I I have to HEAR about it, and you come in with a pissy attitude like you have been for the last two fucking weeks!" Peter started as he stared at me with glowing red eyes.

"Sorry, but it's not *my* fault she's in pain or that your dad suffers large. Also, I'm in a pissy attitude because every every every decision I've made in the last three fucking weeks has been the wrong one! The government had been shut down for a month. Jasper hates that I go to rallies, and Joebear is pissed that I'm not in the front lines for every single one of them!" I said as I took a sip of my coffee.

"Well, fuck, Xara, get it together! The fuck are you taking it out on me FOR?!" he asked as he sipped his coffee.

"Because you're a curly-haired JERK and the bane of my mere existence!" I yelled as I gulped mine and poured myself another cup.

"Ooooh! So you're mad at me for publishing one novel and trying to publish the other?!" Peter said with a guffaw sound as he drank more coffee. "Jesus. Get over it. God Forbid I accomplish something besides be in 1,200,895 porn videos, model for 15,000 clothing companies worldwide, paint 2,000 masterpieces, sketch 5,000 legitimate drawings, and make 30,000, THIRTY-THOUSAND original photoshop illustrations, all of which are AMAZING! And not to mention I've published and written 20 screenplays!"

I stared at him for a few seconds as I sipped my coffee. "You are a pretentious ass, Peter," I said. "Thank you, Peter. I was in two amateur porn videos, never modelled in my life because I'm not as attractive as you are, only painted 20 paintings, most of which are complete shit. Thank you, Peter. And only did about 567 sketches, but they weren't as good as yours are, PETER. Well, I have another reason to hate this planet now. You fucking ass."

"I'm sorry for being amazing. But I still hate my life. I tried so hard. I'm still broke. Thank you, Trump. Thank you, ever-failing healthcare system of America. Thank you, pretentious ass literary agents that would rather publish bullshit like Danielle Steele and James Patterson. Thank you, Republicans. YOU ASSHOLES have the greatest political party ever. Fuck you. I also hate this shit my parents are going through..." Peter started to say before his mother named Godiva walked out of her bedroom with her shoulders near her ears, a strained face, and her arms to her sides.

"Is there EVER A DAY IN MY LIFE WHEN I CAN JUST HAVE A CUP OF COFFEE TO MYSELF WITHOUT HEARING GODIVA THIS GODIVA THAT!!!!" she yelled.

We looked at her and said, "No."

"EXACTLY!!!!" she said with gritted teeth and poured herself a cup of coffee. She grunted and gritted her teeth some more. "Why is this the last cup of coffee left in the pot?! Why? I worked hard all my life... well, minus when I homeschooled Peter. That was awesome." She said that last sentence as she batted her eyes at Peter.

Peter grinned. "Sorry. I'm pissy today," he said as he got up. "I'll make you some more coffee because you're the only person I'm not angry with."

"Thank you," she said as she drank her coffee. "But seriously. My husband has driven me to the point of insanity. Has he lost his senses? I'm 80 years old. I don't HAVE the strength and patience like I used to to deal with his ever-sinking health. And everyone else in the world is incompetent!"

"Oh boy do I agree!" Peter said as he poured water into the machine and managed to spill half of it on the counter. "I'm incompetent as fuck!" He said as his eyes widened and as his smile became bigger. He added a stupid chuckle at the end of that sentence.

I laughed and managed to projectile spit coffee on the floor. Peter was cracking me up with his stupid bullshit. I went to use a napkin to clean up my coffee spill while I was still laughing.

Godiva stared at him like she wanted to kill him. "My Goodness. Everything's a joke to you two!" she said with red glowing circles around her blue eyes. She threw a paper towel roll at Peter.

Peter took some paper towels and cleaned the counter. "Like I MEANT TO DO THAT!" he said as he widened his eyes at her.

She poured some more water into the pot and handed it to him. "Don't spill it this time, huh!" she said as she glared at him.

"I don't plan to!" he said in a whiny, childish voice as he poured the water in the pot normally. He then turned the coffee pot and waited for it to brew.

"GODIVA! PETER!" Jamie, Peter's bedridden father, called from his bedroom.

"WHAT?!" Godiva and Peter yelled. Godiva stomped her right foot, and Peter slammed his right fist into the counter.

"I need you two to get me out of bed!!" he yelled. "My back is KILLING me!"

Godiva marched over to him. "Mine is, too, but nobody cares about that," she said quietly.

Peter just walked over with this "Fuck my life" look on his face. He stuck his tongue out in disgust.

I tried to get myself ready to clean house, but I laughed and cried the whole time. I hated my life as much as they did. I managed to get myself to work, but I was still frustrated with everything.

My phone buzzed. It was none other than an angry old man named Jasper. I sighed loudly and picked up the phone. "Hello?" I said in an agitated tone.

"Hi Xara," he said with a sigh.

"What happened to you?" I asked.

"I'm building a space ship to get off this planet. I'm fucking done with these people. I can't deal with society. I can't deal with my family full of primates. I can't deal with the banks. I'm done with it all. I'm taking Gabby and Murphee with me. You want to come?" he asked as he was banging on shit in the background. Gabby was his old cat, and Murphee was his middle-aged dog .

I sighed in relief. "Yes. I'd love to get off this planet! When is the space ship going to be done?" I asked.

"Two weeks unfortunately," he said. "Good thing I don't plan to sleep. I'm ready to fly away now."

"No kidding. Fuck today. Please get back to work," I said.

Peter walked out of the room and attempted to have some more coffee.

"Peter! I forgot! I need help with fixing my alarm clock. Your mother's in the bathroom!" Jamie called.

"Ugh!!!!" Peter said as he made an air gesture of choking someone. He had those angry red circles around his eyes.

"Sounds like you have work to do, too," Jasper said. "Peter sounds like he is in the mood to be an asshole."

"Well, that's typical for him," I said.

"My point exactly. I need to get some more horsepower on these jets. Talk to you later," Jasper said.

"Talk to you later," I said.

He hung up.

Peter walked over while he was beating the alarm clock against his head. "Did I hear something about you getting off this planet?" he asked as he still banged the clock against his head.

I chuckled. "Yes," I said as I began dusting his office. "You want to come?"

He bashed the alarm clock off his head and somehow managed to get it back to normal. "Dad, I fixed your alarm clock!" he called to his father. "Yes, please. My dad literally drives me crazy. Look at me. I just beat his alarm clock against my head. Ha ha. It fixed the damn thing. Teeheehee! I need to get the fuck out of my house! Please help me. Ha ha ha." He left the room.

I called Jasper.

"Hello? What do you want? I'm not done with my space ship yet?" Jasper growled over the phone.

"I knew that, asshole. I wanted to know how much room was on your space ship," I said.

"I can fit like 10 people on here. Why the fuck not? I'm sure we aren't the only ones sick of this shit. But anyone but you will have to pay," he said.

Tug, Peter's basenji, charged down the stairs. "Did you say 'space ship'?"

"Well, we'd have to put a gold backing on the currency if we go to another planet," I said to Jasper. "Can Tug come along?"

"Who the fuck is Tug?" Jasper asked.

"Peter's very intelligent basenji. The dog is smarter than Peter," I said.

"Well, yeah. Animals are free, but jackass Peter has to pay. I'll give him a discount if I can tie him up." Jasper said.

"Thank you, Xara. If I could, I'd provide the rope. I'd like to put that jackass on a leash once in a while," Tug said.

"No worries. I can provide rope," I said.

"Fuck you guys," Peter said as he went past us to go to his computer.

Tug followed him and sat on his feet. He looked up at Peter and said, "Because fuck you, too."

"You knew I was going to take you with me if I left the planet. Stop this bullshit," Peter said as he looked down at Tug.

Tug laid out and put more weight on Peter's dainty feet. "I would hope so, fuckface," he said as he bared his teeth at him.

"Peter owes me $300 for getting on my ship. It can be $200 if he lets us duct tape his mouth shut," Jasper said as he built his space ship.

"Oooh. Can it be $100 if he is naked?" I asked.

"Hmmmm... very tempting, but I don't think he'd go for it," Jasper said with a chuckle.

Peter flicked me off before going back to trying to publish his novel.

I giggled. "I think he'd like the idea," I said with a big smile.

Peter snorted angrily and had steam coming from his ears.

"Only if he agrees. Otherwise, it's $200 to have duct tape over his mouth," Jasper said.

"All right. I'll put duct tape over his mouth and pay you $200 to let him on the ship," I said.

Peter smirked.

"Sounds good!" Jasper said. "I need to go back to working on my ship."

"Okay," I said. "I am going to buy duct tape soon."

"Good idea! See you later today," Jasper said.

"See you, Jasp," I said.

We hung up.

"Duct tape? Jasp?" Peter asked with a smirk.

"Jasper will charge only $200 if you let me duct tape over your mouth. And Jasp is my nickname for Jasper. My nickname for you is Peetie. And BaeWhuhh is my nickname for Joebear," I said. I only called Peter Peetie in rare occasion.

"Peetie?" he asked with a grin.

"Mhm," I said as I walked over to him and ran my fingers through his curls. "Peetie seems to suit you."

He grinned. "That might be my new name when I leave this planet," he said.

Joebear called me.

"Hold on, Peetie," I said as I answered the phone. "Hello, BaeBaeWhuhhh?"

He growled over the phone in frustration. "Ughhhhh! Fuck this planet. Satanists are at full force trying to brainwash everyone again. SIGH!!!!" Joebear growled.

Peter was laughing in the background. He snorted.

"Jasper is building a space ship to get off this planet. You want to get on it?" I asked.

He growled in bear language. "Yes!!! For the love of humanity, I'm done with people and this fucking planet. Fuck society. Fuck everyone and their 401k. Fuck these self-centered assfucks! I'm done. Get me on first class on a plane THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!!!" Joebear screamed. "Garfield and Cupid are coming, too." Garfield and Cupid are our orange cats.

Peter belly-laughed.

"Oh. Apparently Peter's done, too. He's fucking laughing hysterically. He's hysterical. He's fucked up," Joebear said.

I laughed. "Yes, bae. You are technically an animal, so you can get on for free," I said.

"Fuck that logic. I'm a goddamn giraffe then. I'm fucking tall enough. Two hundred bucks. Of all the chances to get off this goddamn planet, it has to be with some old fuck who hates me," Peter muttered. "I'll take it. Fuck this planet."

I laughed at Peter's comment.

"I won't keep you, Little Bae. Peter sounds like he is having a mental breakdown," Joebear said.

"He is," I said. "I love you, Buh Buh Huhhhh!!!"

"Love you, too. See you tonight, bae," he said.

"See you tonight, BIG BAAAEEE WHUHHH," I sung.

He hung up.

"My mind is fucked," Peter said as he went back to his bullshit activity on the computer. "I can't figure out this damn website. How the fuck do you design your own website? This is bullshit."

"I don't know. Do you want me to call Bae back?" I asked.

"No. I want off this God-forsaken rock of planet. How long do I have to wait to get the hell out of here?" he asked.

"Two weeks," I said.

"Jesus fuck," he muttered. "I don't know if I am going to make it two weeks. I do know I'm putting in my two weeks' fuck you notice tomorrow." He was a disgruntled drywall installer who hated his job more than life itself.

"Good idea," I said. "I get to keep my job because I am going to convince Mr. Williamson to come with us. He's a nice guy."

"Oh God no. Then I have to deal with Ted the Alligator and Jack the Crocodile. Ugh. Those two give me lung cancer from a the screaming I do at them," he said. He sighed.

"Come on, Peter. I have to make a living, and I still have to put you through bullshit," I said. "At least you won't have to do drywall for the rest of your life in two weeks."

"Fine! I'd rather drill my own teeth than keep my drywall job!!!" Peter exclaimed.

Godiva came in the room. "Why are you ridiculous, Peter?" she asked as she folded her arms.

"Because I don't give a fuck anymore, Mother," he said with an emphasis on 'Mother.' "I'm leaving the planet."

"No you're not. At least not without me, douchebag," she said.

"Fine. You can come with. We can leave together and say fuck this world," he said.

She grinned. "When?!" she asked with bright eyes.

"Two. Agonizing. Painful. Drawn out. Weeks," Peter answered.

"How will we leave?" Godiva asked excitedly.

"My other client is building a space ship to get off the planet," I said.

"Really?! Awesome. How much is he charging?" she asked.

"Hold on. Let me call him," I said as I called Jasper. The phone rang a few times and went to voicemail. I hung up because leaving a voicemail is awkward.

My phone buzzed. I answered. "Hello," I said.

"What do you need? I'm still building my space ship. I'd like to get the hell out of here as soon as possible," Jasper said.

"I'm well aware. How much for a human to get on the space ship if she is not tied up or has duct tape over her mouth?" I asked.

"Oh man. $500. $400 if she gives me a blowjob," he said.

"$500, but $400 if you are willing to do an unspeakable act," I said to Godiva.

"Sure! I stimulate my husband's bowels, and I don't have a poop fetish," she said.

"You're probably one of the only humans in my fucked-up life who doesn't," Peter muttered.

I chuckled. "She'll give you a blowjob," I said to Jasper.

1 note · View note

veridium · 6 years

Text

Thank You 300 Followers - Here’s Some Heartache!

Thank you for enabling me, everyone

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is not a chronological part of my #Theiaphine romance arc. This story takes place a year after Inquisitor Theia Trevelyan disbands the Inquisition, marries, and moves her sights to the incoming conflict threatening all of Thedas and the world. It is also a very emotional and tumultuous moment in the lives of Theia and her wife, and as such I will warn you: it is some sad shit. Also, if you don’t want to spoil the chronology of their romance, maybe don’t read this...and I’m sorry (lol).

The Inquisition had been disbanded for a year now, and yet for Theia her work never truly ended. She still felt the pressure to perform, to represent something greater than her own identity. Even with all she had sacrificed to save Thedas, she felt spurred to give more – as if her body and spirit had finally resigned to her greater purpose. Still, the concerns of her life did not waver from her heart. She still stood at the side of the woman she loved in a time of war, and now a time of preparation. She still pushed herself to be a better Mage, even with the loss of her hand and forearm. And now, she was preparing for perhaps the most complicating eventuality of her life: becoming a Mother while one of the leaders of a covert operation to stop the destruction of the entire world at the hands of a former ally and friend.

The ocean air laced with salt, easygoing and in no hurry. It was a calm morning for the ports and for the halls of the apartments House Montilyet owned along Rialto Bay. Her healer had recommended remaining near the water for the first few months, in order to relax her nerves and keep her mind preoccupied with the business of the surrounding city life.

She gazed absent-mindedly in the floor-length mirroring metal that stood in their bedchamber, as a servant helped secure her tunic dress from behind. Her hair in wavy curls and tied up into a ponytail, a beautiful façade to a busy mind. Among her thoughts, reports from Leliana – though Thedas called her Divine Victoria – letters from the Seeker’s hideout in the mountains, and intel gathering from various agents scattered across the landscape. She did not need one for the Imperium, however; she had a direct voice from the heart in a dear friend whose voice echoed through a messenger crystal at every chance he got.

Once she was fully ready, she turned and departed her room, single-mindedly heading for her office. Well, their office. The thought of two important and busy women sharing one work space would puzzle some people, but once they were invited into the large room, it was understood why. In two corners were each of their workspaces: one corner, an illustrious library of tomes, papers, and scrolls, along with a fireplace and a bearskin run reminiscent of the décor of the Free Marches. On the other end of the rectangular room was another desk and chair, ornamentally designed, and matching the large window overlooking the sea ports. The window was rarely closed. Framing it were bookshelves, statuettes, and artwork.

Theia entered into the middle of the room, which was bordered by a long and thin balcony which overlooked the small garden courtyard. The sun was bearing down on the rustic stone of the architecture, facilitating a warm and dry atmosphere. That kind of weather did well for Theia’s pale skin, but she grew only slightly darker than she had been in their days at Skyhold; the phenotypes of her heritage were hard to shake off.

Her eyes went immediately to the leather-bound booklet of papers that rested in the middle of her desk. She grabbed it and unbound it from the leather string, opening and searching for the bottom line in all the jargon. It was from the Divine: more detected movements of elves departing their posts and homes and retreating somewhere rural, some place hard to pinpoint. Meanwhile, “special emissaries” – the Divine’s word for her spies – had been monitoring the Qunari advancement on the Imperium with grim conclusions. Her friend and now Magistrate Dorian Pavus was working under ever-increasing pressure, and his faction proved rigorous in the face of not only political opposition, but decreasing time.

With all this in mind, anyone who knew Theia during the early days of the Inquisition would say they felt a shift in her soul, as if she had aged ten years in the span of three. Perhaps it was the betrayal of her friend that hardened her heart and drew the line in the sand. Or, maybe, the loss of her arm that left her permanently jaded to a degree. The core of who she was managed to survive, if in more episodic expressions. The main thing that changed was that she was careful who witnessed it – who still got to see Theia for who she was, and not merely what she must do.

Her quiet time alone with the reports was interrupted by the sound of her partner entering with a courier, who was feverishly taking notes per dictation.

“Tell my brother to take count of all the masts we have left-over from the renovation, and see if we cannot find some use for the fabrics elsewhere. Particularly if we can experiment with designs for the several ships I need built,” Josephine ordered as she walked with determination to her desk.

“Yes, My Lady,” the courier nodded, before departing quickly back out the door.

From across the vast room, Josephine sensed her presence, and couldn’t help but grin smartly as she, too, got her eyes lost in some important documents.

“Mi amor, you brood with increased intensity these days,” she said out loud.

“Funny, and I thought the servants were merely joking when they got caught calling me Mistress Ice Dragon,” Theia mused, finishing up a sentence she was writing on the correspondence in front of her.

“You know they were drunk, do not take it personally. Besides, there is something…magnetic about such a title,” Josephine’s playfulness had an ultimate goal: avoid Theia’s now heightened temper at all costs, if it could be out-maneuvered. Such a task proved only possible for the most capable, such as herself.

“Yes, of course, I much prefer it to all the rest. In fact we should combine them all into an ultimate title: The Herald of the Ice Dragon Inquisition? It’s catchy,” her words were laced with a saltiness, as much as she tried to have a sense of humor, she could not help but have low patience these days.

With that, Josephine chuckled, and withdrew from her end of the room in order to arrive at her woman’s side. She came around to her side of the desk, sitting on the edge to her right, her eyes glimmering in the abundant daylight.

“What is the latest from the Divine? She sent me a letter a few days ago, but it was more personal in nature.”

“Nothing I didn’t already expect, unfortunately. More elves retreating to somewhere, the Qunari are not backing down from the Imperium’s borders. Solas was right, with their defeat in the Deep Roads, they are now striking at Tevinter with the vengeance of a wounded animal.”

“It was imperative that we defeat them. The Exalted Council’s destruction would have been more disastrous than the Conclave.”

“Yes, but now I fear we have won the battle only to lose the war.”

“Surely not. With the ships my brother is working on in the yard, we can have a sustainable fleet to support our forces if they need it.”

Theia pursed her lips. Josephine spoke of their months-long project they began shortly after she got the Montilyet trading fleet back on its feet. Using some of the smaller ships as conduits, they began transferring correspondences, agreements, and acquisitions in an underground, transactional process. Eventually, they even dispatched explorers to secure new raw materials for their eventual plans of a security fleet that could withstand evacuation, maritime battle, and even land-based natural disasters. A smaller, more maneuverable fleet to stand by should land become too dangerous to undergo operations.

“You still sound the way you did when we were in Skyhold. So full of hope and promise. I wonder how you did it,” Theia admitted with a vulnerability in her tone, now

“I watched the woman I thought would be lost to me forever, come back to me, from a most impossible battle. Now, she and I live the life I thought was foolish to daydream. I have an endless reservoir of foolish resolve,” Josephine played.

At that, Theia smirked. “I am sorry I’ve been so distant. Between the sickness and the affairs we have going on, there are times when I feel like I am more of the kind of person Varric said I’d be: this embodiment of intimidating ideas, and not a human being.”

“You have managed to be both for this long, mi amor, and will continue to. Just take care of yourself, please, for both your sakes,” Josephine referred to the child that was now growing inside of her, the child that would be their heir and their shining beacon of faith in a time of great duress.

“I will. I’m trying. It doesn’t help that no one else knows besides you and Dorian. I’m surprised Dorian has kept it to himself this long, it surely is a sign he has more vital matters to concern himself with. I will need to tell Cassandra and Lelia—Divine Victoria, before rumors or spies gets the information to them first. They would not be pleased with me,” she stood from her chair and took hold of the letter she had finished. Folding it up precisely, she reached for her small bottle of parchment wax, and began warming it over the one candle she had lit for such purposes.

It would only be a month or so before her abdomen would start swelling, and become noticeable even other the shapelessness of her tunic gowns. She had to devise the best and most covert way of letting her closest allies know of this recent development. Surely they would understand if she could just use the right words, or provide the most accurate context.

No matter what, though, she knew it would not be smooth sailing.

The Seeker was anxiously awaiting word from the former Inquisitor, seeing as how she had dispatched pages of updates and time-sensitive information for her feedback. The Seekers had been rebuilding and training intensively for months in the mountains, free from the momentum of politics and everyday debauchery of Orlais. She was personally overseeing the reformation, and with that came great power and great nerve. One of the few sources of solace, as well as connection to the outside world, was her frequent communications with Lady Trevelyan and the Divine.

She paced along the floor runner of the foyer, waiting for the courier to arrive with the morning letters. When he finally did so, breathing rather heavily from having ran up the flights of stairs to her wing of the fortress, her eyes sparked with impatience. He handed her a stack about an inch thick; surely one of them would be from Theia.

There were two. One that was more plain, probably of logistical reports and the status of the ship fleet. Then a second, with personal parchment, sealed with her own emblem.

Curious, Cassandra thought. Why the need for two? Has something happened?

Stepping into her private study, first she opened the plainer letter. It was official business, nothing out of the ordinary – a confirmation of support here, a comment in the margins there. So, why a need for a personal note? Typically, when Theia wished to say something personal, she snuck it in at the end of reports.

Her fingers nervously opened the second letter, the wax snapping as it broke open. Her eyes went immediately to the first line:

“Dear friend,

I would have included this in the reports, but, I did not wish for something so private to be shuffled into affairs of business. I know you will react strongly to this, but, it is something I won’t be able to hide from you much longer. I am with child, due 7 months from now. I am well, and well-cared for. Rest assured, I will not shirk my duties or correspondences during the remainder of my pregnancy. I have sent a letter to the Divine relaying this news, so do not feel bound to secrecy with her. After all, who could dare keep a secret from our beloved friend?

Sending well wishes your way,

T”

The Seeker’s heart sank deeper into her ribs as she read the note. How could she do this? Now, of all times? Her body filled with fearful dread. It was not that a child wasn’t a blessing from the Maker, it was the timing of it. Surely, she had thought Theia would remain focused on the responsibilities she had to the forces under her control and advisement, not do something that would require so much of her energy. And what of the child of the Inquisitor? Would such an identity ever promise safety in the face of war?

Cassandra sat down at her chair, pondering how to react to this news in a way that would not alienate a friend she valued so highly. Throughout all the years they had worked together, she trusted Theia to have fair judgment, and to understand the brevity of her choices. Now, something had changed.

Just as she was about to put her hand to paper, and write her response, another courier staffer barged into her study. Her face, annoyed with such a gesture, looked up with tense eyes and posture.

“Yes?” she huffed.

The man stepped forward, holding another letter, one that looked eerily familiar. It was the same parchment that Theia had used, only with a purple seal. It was Ambassador Montilyet’s emblem.

“My Lady, this came expedited from Antiva. Lady Montilyet sent it with most urgent orders to get it to your hand as quick as possible. The rider looked as if he hadn’t slept in two days.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed; she was exasperated with the apparent bureaucracy of the situation. Just how many personal letters would she receive from the same location? Could the two women not collaborate their message into one letter? For Maker’s sake—

As she stared down at the open letter, her heart experienced whiplash.

“Lady Cassandra,

It is with urgency and pain that I write to you to inform of that my wife, and your friend, suffered a miscarriage this morning. She is recuperating, but is under acute distress and pain, as you can imagine. I write to you not as a colleague or ally, but as the partner to your closest friend, and woman: come to Antiva to see her. She needs all the motivation she can get to recover. It would mean the world to me.

Kindest and most astute regards,

Lady Josephine Montilyet”

“Maker,” Cassandra said out loud, to the dismay of the courier standing before her. Her voice was sad, emotional, feeling, a sound that her men did not witness often.

“Have my horse prepared, and get me two guards to accompany me. I must go to Antiva immediately,” she ordered, hardening her resolve for the sake of saving face. As the man departed, she gathered the two letters, folding them into one another.

She rose from her chair and made her way to her fireplace. Without so much as a word or a sentimental expression, she tossed the papers into the fire. No one would know of her friend’s tragedy, lest they be acquainted with her blade or her fist.

The heat of the Antivan sky bore down on the back of the Seeker’s neck – this temperate weather was not her choice, nor was it what she was used to after about half a year in the mountains. The roads were hills, and the cobblestone under her horse’s feet was hot to the touch. The two guards that flanked her eyed the scenery with awe: being out of the desolate area they had been in was a much-needed retreat of sorts.

Finally, the Seeker had found the entryway to the Montilyet home. It was a tall stone façade with a gate that gave way into a courtyard, with a large double-door entryway with Antivan rounded columns. Although, the place felt eerily quiet and still, as if something very devastating had engulfed it, making it feel dimmer than the surrounding buildings.

Coming out of the opened doors was Josephine herself, wearing a dark purple gown and silver strands of ornamentation in her hair. In Antiva, mourning was marked by conservative dress and retiring from public social life temporarily – a grim choice indeed in the opulent grandeur of Rialto bay. The Seeker dismounted and immediately approached Lady Montilyet.

“Seeker, it is so good to see you,” she greeted, her hands collected in front of her, a ring being toyed with nervously between an index finger and thumb.

“Lady Montilyet,” Cassandra bowed her head in respect, “I came as soon as I got word. Where is she? How is her health?”

“Come with me, I will take you to her at once,” Josephine reached out a hand, beckoning her forward. Soon, they were walking side by side down a spacious corridor, servants stopping to look at the honorable guest that had come to see one of the Mistresses of the household.

“She bled for two days, so much so she went unconscious for several hours. The Healers were able to stem the bleeding, but, there was no salvaging the…” Josephine’s breath ran out as she blinked, trying to hold herself together. “She is still weak, but her prognosis is good. They cannot tell yet whether or not the damage has been done permanently.”

Cassandra was quiet with reverence towards the loss. “I have been praying for you both, Lady Josephine. I hope you know just how apologetic I am for this travesty.”

“Thank you. It has been…most difficult. Her pain has made her expectantly tumultuous in demeanor. I have been trying everything the Healers suggest to distract her, but, she is very stubborn as you well know.”

“If I may ask, what…was she doing, when it happened?”

Lady Montilyet was quiet, the footfalls of their walking being the only sound to remind them of where they were. Her eyes glazed a bit as she put together her response in her mind.

“We are not exactly sure. She had been preoccupied for many days, but, earlier this week she woke up screaming from a nightmare. When I awoke to the sound, I saw her crying there, hunched over, her night dress doused in blood. All I can hear is her screaming, even still. She will not tell me what the nightmare was of, nor will she sleep for more than two hours at a time, mostly out of sheer exhaustion.”

The Seeker had to hold back her own pang of emotion now, as they made their way up a flight of stairs into a wing with bedchambers.

“I must warn you, Seeker Cassandra, she is not herself. She may say hurtful, ambivalent comments to you. She does not mean them,” Josephine’s words were laced with hurt; her warning came from personal experience, and that made Cassandra feel even more sympathetic to her.

“Lady Montilyet, I…I do not know what to say to make this any easier on you, only that you of all people – both of you – deserve so much happiness for all you have endured.”

“Yes, well,” Josephine looked away, her eyes shifting as she kept hold of composure, “I have heard that many a time, Seeker, so forgive me if I come off as…unaffected. Her recovery room is just down this hall, fourth door to the left. Please tell her that I love her and I will see her tonight,” Josephine nodded solemnly and retreated back down the stairs, leaving Cassandra to stare down the hallway and feel the nerves in her chest dance. It had been many months since she last saw her friend in person, when she came to visit the fortress. Now, as much as she would be happy to see her, she almost with she could fast-forward in time and be visiting several more months from now, perhaps when Theia would feel better.

Making her way into the fourth doorway, the air was thick with incense – what she could only assume was supposed to be a sedative effect, as she felt slightly drowsy the more she inhaled. The room was dark, only lit by the reflection of the sunlight on the tile and mosaic-lined stone. The tapestries lining the balcony lightly shifted in the breeze, but otherwise it felt as though time had frozen them in place here.

There was a large bed, sheets disheveled, but covered a thin-framed figure. She then saw her messy and long blonde waves of hair. It looked as if she was sleeping, no longer able to fight the exhaustion.

Cassandra’s boots made ample noise on the floor, and soon Theia’s figure moved slightly, her legs curling and bending as they stretched. The Seeker came to a stop, several feet from the side of the bed, her eyes overburdened with sadness seeing her friend, a woman she had seen stand so tall, so resolutely against forces of peril, now facing something so much more destructive to her spirit.

Her stare was broken when Theia’s face looked back at her, her eyes slowly blinking awake.

“…C-Cassandra?” she groaned, the depth in her voice lingering from the days of crying she endured. Her face looked pale, as did her lips. The deep, dark circles under her eyes only comparable to the ones she had when she was in the prison, all those years ago, waiting to be questioned for her part in the Conclave disaster. That forlorn memory made the Seeker’s chest ache.

“Yes, my friend, it is me. I have come to see you,” Cassandra stepped forward, pivoting on her hip as she sat on the foot of the bed, an arm stretching out over the Inquisitor’s legs. Theia rubbed her face softly with the back of her hand, her brow furrowing as the surprise sank in. She pulled herself up, her abdomen still sore as she did so, but she managed. She adjusted her pillow against her back as she lay in place once more, taking pressure off of her stomach.

“I…assume, someone in particular wrote to you. And it was either our blessed Divine, or my wife,” she muttered, a hand resting instinctively on her stomach, the other falling to rest at her side.

Cassandra grinned. “Yes, Josephine wrote that I must come as soon as possible. Surely, you must not think you have to fight every antagonist without me at your side.”

“It is not a battle I face this time, Seeker, unless you wish to disembowel me and remove my ability to bear children. And that, I fear, has been taken care of already.”

Cassandra held her breath, hearing the roughness in her voice as she discussed something so horrific.

“My friend, you do not have to discuss it if you do not wish to. I came here to be of solace to you, in whatever capacity you need.”

“I do not need solace, Seeker, I need my child. Since I have lost her, I am rather satiated with the disappointment of life,” her words stung with resentment, and suddenly Cassandra saw the demeanor that Josephine had undoubtedly been exposed to for several days.

“How did you know it was…” her thinking out loud would be the death of her, but she said it, and now she was at the mercy of Theia’s answer, whatever it was.

Theia paused and looked out at the balcony, her eyes narrowed as they reacted to the contrast in light. “I felt it, it was…just a hunch, I suppose, but. I just knew. They say mothers always know, that they feel things others cannot possibly fathom. I felt her.”

“My Lady, I am so—“

“Do not apologize. I am so tired of hearing the processionals of ‘I am sorry.’ If everyone is so sorry, why can’t they find some way to return to me what was mine?” she seethed, but was too tired to fully express it. The soreness of her abdominal region curbed her fury.

Cassandra felt like weeping, watching her friend be reduced to such carnal emotions of grief. Then, as she saw the absence of her friend’s left arm, she was reminded of just how much more risky it was for Theia to remain enveloped in herself.

“Friend, are you sure you are taking adequate care of yourself, considering your special circumstances?” she asked with careful intrepedation.

Theia picked up on the intent rather easily. She was considerably not herself, but she still had her intellect and intuition in spades.

“Oh, now you fear I’ll be consumed by a despair demon, Seeker? Is this what is supposed to comfort me, my own friend looking at me as a possible target for her blade?”

“I did not say that, but you know as well as I do what the reality is of your existence.”

“I am a mother with no child, Seeker, that is the reality of my existence.”

“I know, I just wish—“

“Get out.”

Cassandra stopped herself, caught off guard by the sharp order she had been given. She had come all this way, dropping everything in order to do so, and she was being sent off as if she were a menial servant. It riled her ego viscerally, but she battled within herself to have compassion for her friend.

“My Lady, with all due respect,”

“No. Get out of my sight. You wish to scold me like everyone else. I want to sit here in my silence and grieve like I deserve. I never asked for you to come here,” she growled. From the narrowness of her gaze, her purple irises began stirring with color.

“Theia, I am not leaving.” She used her first name now, a unique and alarming urgency.

“If you do not leave you will be tossed out on the top of an ice sheet, Cassandra, I am warning you one last time,” Theia hissed back, her hand collecting into a fist that gripped onto her bedsheets.

“No. I have never abandoned your side when you needed it, and I will not do it—“

“GET. OUT.” She yelled now, in the most animalistic tone Cassandra had ever heard come from a woman. The pain almost felt like daggers shooting at her. But, if it was one thing the Seeker was always trained to do, it was to stare down the roaring fire from a dragon’s throat and continue forward, to do what must be done.

“You do not scare me, my friend,” she said calmly, stepping forward and dragging a knee across the bed as she sat close to Theia, who was now lurching away from her.

“Theia! Theia, stop,” she said low, putting her arms out and trying to wrap around Theia’s shoulders. She felt several punches against her chestplate as she slowly pulled the violent embrace of the woman she trusted with her life into her.

“Get off! I do not need to be coddled!” Theia yelled.

Some more resistance, but then she relented, one last fruitless punch against her friend’s armor. From her chest, Cassandra could hear and feel her friend sobbing, the deep, guttural sound of her voice sending sorrow through her.

Stillness, even if in agony, is still stillness.

Protectively, Cassandra stroked the back of Theia’s head, feeling the slight friction between her hair and her riding glove.

“It is alright. I promise,” she muttered as her friend now held onto her for dear life. They stayed like this for a while, while Theia’s crying seemed to be bottomless, as if the sea itself wished to be the source of her tears.

The remainder of the day passed into a night of armistice, and it was not until the following morning that the Seeker saw some reason to hope. While sitting in the courtyard and eating a modest breakfast alone at one of the tables, out walked Theia, slowly, unescorted, but tall. She wore a black dress, a purple sash tied multiple loops around her waist to gather the light fabric into some shape. Her hair was not decorated, but it looked washed, which was more than what she could say yesterday. It was the fifth night she had slept alone, reclusive.

Cassandra flinched as she saw her friend, and her eyes shined with pleasant surprise.

“My Lady, you are walking! Come, sit with me, do not rush,” she said as she chewed through a mouthful of food, standing to beckon her over.

Theia’s face was stoic, but cordial. She nodded once, accepting the offer as she made her way, fingers lightly grasping on the skirt of her gown as she stepped down some shallow stairs. She sat beside her friend, grunting under her breath as she did so.

“Cassandra, I wish to—“

“There is no need,” Cassandra interrupted, sitting down once more and anchoring her elbows on the table. “I understand that you are in a most difficult moment of your life, and I know the woman you are, underneath it all.”

Theia sighed shallowly, her eyes staring off blankly into space.

“Cassandra, that is just the thing, though – this is the woman I am. I cannot reverse what has happened, as much as I wish I could. I can never be the woman I was in the days of the Inquisition again. I haven’t been her for some time now.”

“Everyone has foundations to who they are, no matter what life’s changes do to impact their outlook. You are still the brave, kind, and strong person I befriended in war. Even if you do not find humor in the things you used to, you hold true to those virtues.”

A silence fell over them as they both sat, straight-backed and contemplative.

“Did you ever have a moment in your life when something was before you. A chance, to make your life about something you could have for yourself. Something that did not have to abide by outside rules or customs, that you nourished, and protected?” Theia’s tone almost sounded like dutiful sobbing the way it as so melodic.

“Yes, I have.”

“What then?”

“I…when I fell in love with a Mage, when I was young. I felt as though all of the rules I had held myself to no longer applied. I loved him, and he loved me, and that was the most sacred truth of us. When he died, I mourned him in private, because I did not wish to share my pain with anyone. I felt as though no one was worthy of such vulnerability. As if, such raw power of emotion could level entire buildings.”

Theia’s eyes flickered to her friend’s face as she spoke; Cassandra never discussed the Mage she once had as a lover, except that once. It was years ago. Theia never pressed her about it since, knowing just how important of a pivot it was in her life.

“That is how I feel about this. I do not want anyone near me. I feel like I have lost myself, and I’m wandering alone in in this spiral of a pathway, one side of it being some form of stability, the other the heart of my devastation. I keep trying to move forward, but I find it’s just the same twisting path, in and out of my despair. I do not know where it leads, or when I hope to stop and rest, my feet just…keep going.”

“But each time you re-enter your grief, you do so having survived it time and time again. You will continue to do so, until it feels like you have more control over just how close it gets to your heart. Trust me, my friend, you are the kind of person who can survive this.”

“I have survived everything, I am getting quite bored of it.”

“The dead would disagree with such a sentiment.”

“Spoken like someone who would know, Nevarran.”

Cassandra couldn’t help but grin in surprise. In a flash of seconds, her friend’s wit had made an appearance. She looked at her, and nodded in concession.

“Theia, I know I cannot possibly relate to your loss. But, I do know what it is to lose someone you love when a piece of your happiness relies upon them staying alive. You are anything but alone.”

Theia sighed, coupling her hands in her lap. “I understand that, but you must also concede just how lonely it is to be recognized as a heroine, someone who has done impossible things, and yet fail at what is supposed to come natural to you. It all feels backwards. I can hardly keep track of the illogical nature of my life.”

“A great deal of things come naturally to a woman, my friend. We are capable of most anything we invest our will into.”

“Yes, but that does not mean it does not bite us back for trying. If I may ask, would you walk with me? The healers say I must get some air, and distract myself,” her voice was half breath as she hoisted herself up from her seat. Cassandra agreed readily.

The gardens were lush but reverent in their stillness for Lady Trevelyan’s sorrow. Cassandra couldn’t help but notice just how lively and beautiful the scene would have been if only the fountains were spouting water, and the birds would come to visit on the disbursed seeds and nuts the servants would dish out every morning. Even the walls and facades of the building felt as though it had humbled itself to the concerns of its fair-haired occupant.

“I have had one of my assistants tend to the letters and dispatch responsibilities. I trust her to do so competently, and I will return to the duties myself very soon. I do not have a real choice,” Theia remarked as they walked.

“Theia, no one is doubting your dedication or fitness for your role. Do not race an enemy horse that does not exist,” the Seeker advised, hands behind her back.

“I know. Still, I cannot sit by and know that Divine Victoria must make up for the work of another person whilst she does the job of several. And you, my friend, cannot make such excursions to Antiva lightly.”

“We all make sacrifices for the needs of our allies. You have done more than enough to deserve such measures.”

“We all have, that doesn’t mean the world stops hurling towards disaster with each passing night.”

They came to a balcony view, one of many that overlooked the ports. They could see some of the Montilyet ships at port, secured and ready for whatever they were tasked with transporting. Somewhere nearby, surely Josephine was working, keeping herself busy whilst her mind fought off worrying about her wife, and the desire to go to her at every other minute.

“They are beautiful ships,” Cassandra complimented as they both peered down.

“Yes, Josephine was always one to combine style with pragmatism. They are fast and durable. Just like the ones we’re building for our forces, but those will be better, and well-armed.”

“Tell me, how has it been between you and Lady Montilyet? She seemed quite careful when she greeted me the other day.”

Theia let a moment of silence pass as she overlooked the shore, her throat stiffening with nervous feelings.

“Josephine and I…don’t quite know what to make of each other because of this. I am afraid I have hurt her badly. In the days after the incident I was very angry, and even malicious. I wanted to fight everyone around me. When I looked at her, when I heard her speak, it was as if every bone in my body felt this mixture of shame and resentment. I still resist the feeling that I’ve failed her,” Theia’s candidness was hard to swallow, but it felt good to speak truth to the feelings that had permeated the air.

“I am sorry to hear that. When is the last time you spoke to her?”

“She comes and bids me goodnight every night before she goes to sleep, and comes to bid good morning with breakfast. She sleeps in our room while I have recovered in the guest wing. I feel so out of my element, not having the ego to be the protective one anymore,” Theia leaned over the stone rail, elbows holding her chest up as she walked the people walk up and down the port.

“I am sure she is just as unnerved to see you be so defenseless.”

“Agh, she knows what I look like when I am at the end of my rope. She’s always been the voice inside my head, and in front of my face, inspiring me to find one more foot of it to hold onto. But, I think she is torn between grieving her own loss and being strong for me. And I have made it very hard for her to want to be strong,” Theia could admit when she was wrong, but she hadn’t the time or energy to do so whilst recovering both physically and psychologically. Indeed, she couldn’t even promise that this moment of reflection would resonate with her; perhaps in an hour she would be back to being distraught and mean.

“I have always told you, honesty is the best way to protect what is important to you.”

Theia patted Cassandra on the shoulder as she took a step back from the railing. “This is true, if inconvenient,” she replied. “Come, I wish to show you the rest of the place. Maybe you’ll get some sunburn, if I keep exposing you to the daylight.”

“We can all hope, friend.”

The rest of their walk was slow and sentimental, keeping to Theia’s determined pace of exertion. When she needed a break, they would sit at a bench, or stand in front of a fountain. Soon, the midday brightness dimmed into early evening twilight, and Cassandra’s attention turned towards the expectations of dinner and socialization.

“The Antivan people are always ready to share food and drink and spur you out of your grief. They hardly rest for such trivial matters such as depression or sorrow. It is most invigorating up until you suffer a personal tragedy,” a smirk had managed to appear on Theia’s tired face as she described her experience.

“They sound like the opposite society to Nevarra. There, a party is not considered worth it unless several people cry, another brings the tokens of their dead relative to pass around the dinner table, and an hour-long toast to the departed has been recognized.”

“Perhaps I should get a summer home there, so I can stop eclipsing the jovial sun here with my sulking.”

They returned to Theia’s temporary room, which had been cleaned well in her absence. The servants had taken the opportunity to change linens, freshen the flowers, and pull the tapestries back to air out the room; clearly, her leaving the space for longer than an hour had been rare.

“I should go see Josephine. Maker knows she is already aware that I have arisen from my sickbed, and is trying to conjure up the right reaction, the right words, the right tone…” Theia sighed, playing with the pyrophite bracelet on her wrist.

“Is that such a bad thing? You do know what your temper is like, surely.”

“No, but I know once we do collide, it will be as it was when we were at Skyhold: a battle of wits, then of tempers, then of wills.”

“Ah, yes. Now, those are fond memories.”

“Some things change, others remain with their heels dug in, you could say.”

“Then I will go to dinner and then to bed. I can stay one more day, but after that I must return to the mountains. Thank you for spending this day with me, it is good to see you out and about once more.”

“Thank you, friend, for everything. I shall see you tomorrow. Perhaps we can walk by the pier, and I can show you the ships up close.” Theia smiled softly as her friend bid her goodnight, and withdrew from her room. Inhaling slow, she turned and around at the room she had been confined to for days. It was so cold, so desolate to feel it around her. She could feel the energy of her cries, her wailing, her groaning in pain, almost as if it had seeped into the walls. This would haunt her mind for a while.

Josephine stood at the foot of their bed, a chalice of wine in hand and held close to her face as she stared at the freshly made sheets. Only one side of the bed had been used for the last week, and even though she tried to sleep, she would jolt awake from the resonating anxiety at hearing her wife cry in alarm.

They had not slept apart unless separated by miles since Corypheus was slain. She had believed that sleeping alone would be impossible. Surely, even in all of her foresight, Josephine had not expected such trials to drive so deep of a wedge between them. They had always been shoulder-to-shoulder, at least, when it was not a battlefield in front of them.

It gnawed at her nerves, worrying that Theia felt so alone in her pain, that she must sequester herself.

So, when her wife stood in the entryway of their chambers, she had to do a double-take to be sure it was her. When it was confirmed, suddenly so many emotions took hold. Defensiveness, sadness, relief…and so much more that couldn’t be named, for it all bled into one another.

“Josephine.” Theia said, before walking towards her. The very sight of her walking, up on her feet, like she had been before…the color in her face now reappearing. It was enough to make her fall to her knees and start crying, if she had felt safe enough to.

“Theia, you are well, and walking?” she said, setting her wine down at the nearest end table, before meeting her halfway. As they stood in front of each other, the palpable awkwardness of being in the aftermath of so much trauma took hold.

“Uh, yes. I got up this morning, and Seeker Cassandra walked with me all day. I feel my strength is returning, which is…relieving.”

“Yes, to say the least. How are you doing besides…besides your energy?”

“Good. I wanted to…to thank you, for inviting Cassandra to be here. It has helped a lot. She…is a very wise and loyal friend.”

“I know, which is why when I thought of who to turn to, she came to mind first and foremost. Are you beginning to feel like yourself, even just slightly?”

“I…am trying my best. I…agh, Josephine, let’s stop this,” Theia took hold of one of her wife’s hands, holding it to her chest as she looked at her. “We are talking like strangers.”

“Forgive me, mi amor, if I prefer speaking like strangers after these days of you speaking to me like an enemy,” Josephine pulled away, turning around and walking further into the room. The act of turning away from her hurt her on the inside, but so did the lingering sting of her words that she yelled and growled at her.

“What do you wish me to say, Josephine? That I regret feeling the pain of losing our child? That I am sorry I could not better prepare myself for the devastation of it all?”

“Theia, we were both underprepared! You forget that this was a joint venture, we did this together, like we have done everything. You turned away from me. I had to grieve alone, away from your vitriol!” Josephine turned around to face her for this argument.

“I cannot control how this affects my body, Josephine. Every hour I feel a whole different emotion, I am not myself, and you know this,” Theia came closer, but only slightly, testing the waters of just how close she could get without Josephine retreating further into the room. This was the room, after all, where it happened, and the memory of it still consumed her senses, even as she tried so hard to remain present.

“I know that well enough! Why do you think I came to you even after all had been said and done. Every morning, every night, I’d come to see you, to be met with your shoulder and indignant words. I felt like my wife had been lost along with…” she stopped herself, still unable to speak it out loud. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand, turning away as tears began to form in her eyes.

“My Love, I know how you hurt from this. I want to be here for you, I want to be that protective person you married, the person who would put her body between you and anything coming for you. But I am so…” the tears were evolving for Theia now as she choked out her last words.

“I can’t, I can’t do this, not here. Not with this…this right in front of me..” she motioned towards the bed, the bed where she had woken up to the disaster.

Josephine turned around immediately, and realizing what she was referring to, suddenly the screams began in her head again. The memory of her, screaming as if she was dying, the fear in her voice.

“Neither can I…” she breathed, and she quickly found her way to Theia’s side. Wrapping an arm around the back of her waist, she escorted her out of the room, Theia leaning on her as they walked to somewhere, anywhere, but there.

Eventually they found their study, the room where they had always sought congress with each other for the most important of matters and discussions. Some of their most heated arguments, and some of their best reconciliations. Now, as they held each other on the floor, having pulled the ghastly bearskin rug into the middle of the expansive stone floor, the quiet comforted them as they comforted each other.

“I will arrange to have the bed replaced in the morning,” Josephine muttered as she let Theia lay her head in her lap, looking outward towards the balcony. Slowly, she started playing with her blonde strands of hair, another hand resting on her shoulder. Her face was soaked with tears, making her cheeks feel slightly sticky.

“Thank you,” Theia whispered, resting her hands underneath her cheek, feeling calmer now to be close to her wife, her partner, her ally in life.

Josephine’s night dress slipped off her shoulder as they remained there, graceless and fallen apart.

“You know what is going to haunt me forever? The fact that I will never get to meet her. The fact that I will never know what she sounds like, what her voice sounds like, what her hair feels like in my fingers…”

“Theia, darling…”

“No, let me get this out. It’s been resting on my chest like a boulder, I can’t breathe anymore. I…I listened every time they warned me how much it would hurt. How much…how much childbirth would hurt. But, feeling the pain and the agony of losing…all I could think was that I would endure three times whatever pain it was to have my child in my arms, and the pain of losing my arm, all in the same moment.”

A couple of tears streamed down Josephine’s face without notice as she listened to her wife mourn out loud.

“I just want to see her. Just once. Just to see what her eyes were like, if they were purple like mine. If her hair would be dark like yours. How beautiful she would be, the product of us.”

“Between your temper and my will, she would have been a force to be reckoned with. Dorian would have his work cut out for him,” Josephine said through her tears. This made Theia swallow hard, choking back the urge to break down.

“Yes, she would have driven him crazy. There would have been so much laughter….so much…” she closed her eyes harshly, letting the tears overflow and escape her eyelids.

“Shhh, mi amor, it is alright,” Josephine cooed, stroking her hair. She heard Theia inhale sharply, congestion in her nose.

“I am so sorry, my Love. I failed you. I failed us.”

“Theia Sofia, you did no such thing,” Josephine interrupted her, a hand guiding Theia’s gaze forefully up to make eye contact with hers. “Do not even begin to tell yourself you let anyone down. This is not your failure, this is not your fault.”

“You trusted me. I was entrusted with this life, and I lost it. I failed to protect the one thing that could only ever depend on me.”

“Theia, come here,” Josephine pushed her wife’s shoulders up so she would sit up, right in front of her, so their eyes made level eye-contact. Gently, she held Theia’s face between her hands, the glimmer off fresh tears under the moonlight.

“It will take time for us to recover from this loss, and I know each day will be different for you. Some will be harder than others, and I know you will need distance as much as closeness in the coming days. But, I never want you to feel as though you must shut yourself away to atone for something you need not be punished for.”

“Josephine, I have no idea what this will do to me before it’s all over. I cannot promise you I won’t be the wounded person I was these past few days. You deserve to have your wife be there for you through this.”

“I deserve nothing more than you do. We may not have the path written out for us, but we will move forward. When has the lack of precedent ever stopped us from doing so?”

Theia put her hand to Josephine’s, the end of her tears clearing her vision.

“Do you remember our vows? How we made up our own because I refused to have a fully Andrastian ceremony,” Theia chuckled under her breath.

Josephine smiled. “Yes, and everyone cried and cried,” she pulled her wife into her chest, wrapping her arms around her.

“You Mother almost fainted when we told her we would not swear only to the Maker. I thought surely she would pin me to one of the tapestries.”

“She still hasn’t forgiven you, you know. She swears you are provoking Andraste to take back more than just your hand.”

“Maybe I am. But she can try take this away from me all she wants, this…you, you are the one part I refuse to let go.”

Josephine put her lips to the top of Theia’s head. “I am not going anywhere, mi amor.”

#oc stuff #Theia Trevelyan #Non-Chronological Chapter #Post-Tresspasser #ARC SPOILERS #Inquisitor x Josephine

9 notes · View notes

stereksecretsanta · 6 years

Text

Merry Christmas, @caffeine-in-an-iv!

Happy Holidays and/or Seasons Greetings to my Secret Santa, caffeine-in-an-iv aka WitchWithWifi! I heard you liked Christmas fluff! Well, have I got some fluff for you! I really hope you enjoy it! Thanks so much for reading!

Read on AO3

*****

Follow the Jelly Beans

Derek can’t believe he’s the last one off the plane.

It’s partially his fault, he’d been working late and had to rush to the airport. The dirty looks he’d gotten when he ran down the aisle of the plane in a crumpled suit rivaled what he had gotten from his mother on Skype that morning when he said he’d be catching a later flight.

It isn’t Derek’s fault that his students had handed in work at the last minute that had to be graded before Christmas break. He knows he’s been too soft on them, but he’s always been a sucker for personal statements and reading about his students’ holiday traditions made him even more lenient than usual.

He’d shoved himself into the middle seat closest to the rear lavatory with a sheepish look on his face. It was a six-hour flight from New York to Sacramento and he clutched his worn copy of A Christmas Carol and settled in to read it like he did every winter.

By the time he deplanes and makes it to baggage claim, his suitcase is the only one left. The tag is torn off but he’s already missed 8 calls from Cora and just grabs it quickly before rushing outside.

“Get in, loser!” she calls from the window of her Jeep. “Everyone is waiting for you to decorate the tree!”

“Christmas is in like two days, and you still haven’t decorated?” Derek asks, throwing his ratty rollaway bag into the trunk.

“Mom wanted us to all be together. But someone had to go and move halfway across the world.”

“I like my job, Cora,” Derek says, buckling his seatbelt. “You don’t just turn down Columbia.”

“You sound like such an East Coast snob when you say stuff like that,” she says, weaving through the crazy holiday traffic.

“And you’re my least favorite sister.”

“Ha fucking ha,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “Your life is in my hands right now, don’t mess with me,” she adds, changing lanes just a hair too close for Derek’s comfort.

It takes a few hours but they make it back to the house in one piece and Derek can already hear the kids screaming as they pull into the drive. It makes him smile. He doesn’t get home as often as he should and hopes the small gifts he has packed are enough for him to keep his title as favorite uncle.

”Finally!” he hears from the front porch as he grabs his suitcase. “I thought you’d walked here.”

His mother is just as striking as ever, just a few streaks of grey in her dark hair betraying her age. “Sorry, Mom,” he says softly into her hair as he’s pulled into a hug.

“Uncle Derek!” someone screams as they tackle him around the knees. “It’s pajama time!”

“I can see that!” he says, stooping down to get a hug and a kiss from Laura’s youngest. “Give me a minute and I’ll go change.” He waves hello to everyone else who is gathered around a bare tree and hops up the stairs to his childhood bedroom to put on his soft flannel bottoms. Gracie had picked them out especially for him last Christmas and he made sure to pack them for the traditional pajama decorating party.

Only his pants aren’t in the bag. In fact, none of his belongings are in the bag. It’s not his bag at all.

“Oh no,” he mutters, sifting through the contents. “Who the fuck packed this?”

The suitcase is utter chaos. There’s an assortment of wrapped Christmas gifts and scrunched up clothes but there’s also a bunch of half knitted scarves, action figures, baby toys and… are those throwing stars in that carrying case? To cap it all off, every nook and cranny of the bag is full of loose jelly beans.

“Oh my God,” Laura snickers from the doorway. “Did you switch bags with a killer Easter Bunny?”

“I have no idea,” he says, pulling out a noise machine and a copy of Go the Fuck to Sleep .

“Is that a fishing rod?” she asks, stepping forward to grab an oblong shape out of a long pocket. “This thing is kind of cool,” she says, snapping the rod together to its full length. “It’s like stealth fishing.”

“I need to call the airline,” Derek says, reaching for his phone. “I had all the gifts in there. And I don’t think I can fit in any of these clothes,” he adds, pulling out a well-worn Batman tee shirt that’s at least two sizes too small for him.

He’s on hold for twenty minutes with Laura tapping her foot and looking at her watch before the helpline connects. They are no help at all. Does he know how many bags get lost during Christmas? It’s impossible for them to match up every bag with every person and there’s nothing matching his description left at the airport. Someone else must have taken his bag by mistake. So sorry, happens all the time, Merry Christmas.

“Fuck!” he groans, ending the call. “Someone else has my bag and I’ve got this… whatever this junk is.”

“We could just give the kids these and hope they’re not porn,” Laura says, chuckling as she reaches for one of the wrapped presents. It’s Star Wars wrapping paper. R2-D2 is wearing a Santa hat and everything.

“You can’t do that, Laura!” Derek says, snatching the present out of her hand. “You’re going to ruin someone’s Christmas.”

“You’re such a Tiny Tim,” Laura teases, dropping the present with a huff. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow. It’s getting close to bedtime for the kids and we still have to decorate and have hot chocolate. You know how Dad is about tradition.”

“I’m coming, just…” he trails off, opening a drawer and finding nothing but old clothes from high school “Can I borrow something from Adam? I don’t have any pajamas to wear.”

“Sure thing, bro,” she says, leading him out of the room.

It’s wonderfully chaotic as always, and the footie Minion pajamas Derek is forced into only add to the ridiculousness of it all. Thirteen people under one roof is always a bit crazy, but coming in late without any of his belongings has Derek feeling a bit more overwhelmed than usual.

“I don’t think you’re going to be getting your stuff back, sweetheart,” Talia says hours later as the adults share a much-needed glass of wine. “We can do some last minute shopping tomorrow if you really want, but the kids are just happy you’re here.”

“I had a 50th Anniversary copy of The Hobbit for West,” Derek groans, rubbing at his beard.

“And you didn’t carry it on?” Peter asks, swirling his wine with his feet up in his wife’s lap. “It’s like you were asking for it.”

“I’ll help you see if there are any clues in the bag,” Cora says, tossing a dirty look in Peter’s direction.

They go through everything in the bag piece by piece, sorting it into piles and collecting the jelly beans in a ziplock bag. Without opening the presents, there aren’t a lot of clues. The only identifying item is a ratty old Beacon Hills High Lacrosse tee shirt.

“This looks at least five years old, maybe ten,” Cora says, holding it up to her chest. “The underwear tells me it’s a dude, at least.”

“I don’t think I can go to the high school and ask, ‘hey I know this is a long shot but do you know whose boxers these are? They used to go here ten years ago,’” Derek says, rolling his eyes.

“Why don’t you just open a present,” she suggests, shaking a box. It doesn’t make any noise. “It’s not like the guy can’t re-wrap them.”

“I don’t know,” Derek says, flopping down on his back on his old full bed. “It feels weird and invasive.”

“Just imagine that he’s probably touching your underwear now, too. If that makes you feel any better,” she says, poking him in the side as she drops the box back in the suitcase.

“Somehow that’s not comforting,” Derek groans, kicking out at her.

“Why don’t you just start with one,” she says, holding up another small package. “If that doesn’t help you can try another one. That way you won’t ruin everything, you big baby.”

“Okay,” Derek says, not having any better ideas. He grabs the gift and reads the tag. “To Scott: Finally saw one of these come through the store and nabbed it for you.” Derek peels back the corner of the paper and finds a Funkopop box. Sliding through the tape and removing the paper he sees that it’s a glow in the dark White Walker.

“I have no idea,” Cora says, quickly becoming bored. “Try the comic book store in the morning. If they’re even open on Christmas Eve.”

Derek does exactly that. He checks online and is standing out front of Beacon Hills Comics with a cup of coffee exactly when it opens.

“Can I help you?” the clerk asks, eyebrows high. Derek must not look like their typical customer in his tweed jacket and slacks.

“I kind of found this,” he says, putting the box on the table. “And I was wondering if you could tell me about it.”

“Seriously?” he says, eyes brightening as he carefully lifts the box. “These are really rare. You just found it somewhere?”

“It’s a long story,” Derek says, sighing. “Do you know where someone might have gotten it?”

“Are you looking to sell? Because I’ll give you $200 for it.”

“Thank you, but no,” Derek says, shaking his head. He has no idea if that’s a fair price or not, but he’s sure as hell not selling someone else’s Christmas gift.

“Most of the time people buy and sell these on eBay or at stores like this. The super rare ones are only sold at like Comicon and stuff.”

“Okay…” Derek says, puzzling through the information. “So whoever bought this is a nerd?”

“We’re all nerds,” the man says with a huff. “This guy is a collector. Someone serious.”

“Okay,” Derek says, reaching for the doll. “Thanks for your help.”

“$300!” the guy calls as Derek leaves the store.

“No deal,” he says with a small smile on his face, more determined than ever.

He thinks it over while he plays Guess Who with the kids. The more he thinks about the collection or random stuff in the suitcase, the more he thinks he might like to meet whoever owns it.

Under the watchful eye of Laura and his mother, he helps Gracie, West, Charlotte, and Milo decorate Christmas cookies, which is more of a test of patience than anything. By the time they’re done, Derek is covered in frosting and has sprinkles stuck in his beard. He takes a second shower before choosing another present to open.

This one is much larger than the last, but a completely ridiculous shape. The tag reads: “To Allison: Your other gift got shipped, but I thought you’d enjoy this. Might be fun to scare the kids with.”

Derek slips the paper off to find a headband in his hand. There’s an arrow going through it. He cracks up. Who is this guy? A magician? An evil mastermind? An eccentric preschool teacher?

There’s no way the headband is going to help him get anywhere, so he digs another present out of a pile of jelly beans. This one is squishy and the tag reads: “To Melissa: No more putting it off. It’s time for your childhood dreams to come true. Eat your heart out, Tonya Harding.”

Inside is a pair of fur-lined mittens. Slipped inside one of them is an envelope containing a voucher for ice skating lessons… at the Beacon Hills rink. Smiling to himself, Derek rounds up the kids and loads them into Laura’s minivan for a fun surprise trip with Uncle Derek.

Gracie and West help the other two on with their skates while Derek speaks to the front office. Their website is down so they’re unable to trace orders that were placed online, but they tell him that he’s welcome to schedule his first ice skating lesson now if he likes. Derek politely declines, shaking his head. Another dead end.

Derek laces up his own skates and steps out onto the ice, smiling as the weightless easy feeling takes over him. He watches the kids race around the rink, screaming and laughing as they fall all over each other under the twinkling of the arena’s Christmas lights.

Not for the first time, Derek wonders if he’ll ever have something like this, a loving partner and a couple of kids to bring home to his parents’ for the holidays. Maybe it’s time to give online dating another try. If there’s anyone half as interesting as the suitcase man out there, he might want to ask them for a date.

After a few hours, Derek rounds the kids back up and treats them to hot chocolate. He sits with Milo on his lap and sings along to the Christmas carols being pumped through the tinny arena speakers with a smile on his face. Even a bit of scalding cocoa spilled on his pants does little to dampen the spirit of the season.

“What are you thinking about?” Gracie asks him on their way back to the car, already far too perceptive for her age.

“How things are going to be next Christmas,” he says, smiling sweetly down at her as they help the younger kids into their car seats. “You think you’ll get another sister or brother by then?” he teases.

“I hope not. I already heard Mom say Milo was an accident,” she stage whispers.

Derek laughs freely, making sure everyone is buckled in tight before heading back to the Hale house. As they sit beside the fire reading The Night Before Christmas later that evening, Derek thinks about the suitcase man and who he might be spending Christmas with.

Unable to sleep from all the chocolate he’s had in the last two days, Derek stares at the ceiling at 11 p.m. He’s no closer to finding out where his suitcase is and tomorrow is Christmas.

One more , he tells himself, getting up and flicking the light back on. He digs around in the suitcase until he finds the present Cora shook the night before.

Carefully slitting the tape, Derek reveals a plain white box. Inside, painstakingly wrapped in white tissue paper is a framed photograph. It’s old, the colors worn and tinted orange like so many other family photos he’s seen over the years.

A man stands next to a police cruiser, one hand leaning against the roof while the other holds tight to the leg of the young boy who’s sitting on his shoulders. It’s shot from behind, so Derek can’t see their faces, but he knows for sure this is a special photograph. He also knows that the little boy in the photos must be the one who went to Beacon Hills High ten years ago and filled his suitcase with jelly beans.

He stares at the photo for a long time, tracing the lines of the car with his finger until it clicks. This boy’s father was a local police officer. If he was twenty years ago, maybe he still is and if not, at least someone at the station would be able to identify the car.

Moving quickly, Derek makes sure everything is back in the suitcase before grabbing the photograph and rushing downstairs. “Hey Peter, can I borrow your car?” he asks quietly. Peter and his wife Savannah are curled up on the couch, Charlotte asleep between them.

“Keys are in the kitchen,” he says softly, brushing the hair out of Charlotte’s face as Savannah looks on. Her eyes are sleepy but bright with love, it’s obvious how happy they are together.

Derek’s heart aches as he stares for a second, caught up in the sight of something he’s not sure he’ll ever experience himself. Shaking his head slightly, he pushes on, retrieving Peter’s keys and shoving the suitcase in the trunk. It’s a short ride to the Sheriff’s station and Derek barely even has time to think about what he’s going to say before he’s heading inside.

“Can I help you?” the dispatcher says, barely looking up from the paperwork he’s shuffling through.

“I was wondering if you knew who was in this picture? I think they might work here,” Derek says, holding out the frame.

The dispatcher laughs. “That’s a good one,” he says, handing the photo back. “Hey Sheriff!” he calls behind him. “Someone here to see you!”

“How many times have I told you to use the intercom,” a man says, poking his head out of an office down the hall. He’s imposing in his uniform but looks kind, blonde and tan with a coffee mug in his hand.

“It’s a small office, Sheriff,” the man says, turning back to his paperwork.

“Don’t I know it,” the Sheriff says, sighing as he leans his hand on the doorframe. “That’s why we’re all working on Christmas Eve. What can I do for you, son?” he asks, turning to Derek.

“Uhh…” Derek says, stepping forward when the Sheriff waves him over. “I think…” he trails off again searching for the words. “Is this you?” he asks instead, holding out the photograph.

“Wow,” he says, taking it and sitting down heavily in his desk chair. “Where did you get this?”

“I got the wrong bag at the airport,” Derek says, watching the Sheriff’s face intently as he studies the photograph. It’s happy, but also wistful. It makes Derek think that while the suitcase man in the picture is probably still alive, maybe the person who took the photo isn’t. “It was full of all this completely insane stuff, but also a few presents. That was one of them.”

“So you’re the one who ended up with Stiles’ bag,” the Sheriff says, a smile spreading across his face as he starts to chuckle. “He’s an odd one, my son.”

“Do you want the bag?” Derek asks, a little put out. After all the work he put in to finding the suitcase man, he kind of wants to see it through to the end.

“I’m working the night shift tonight. Why don’t you go to my house and give it to him? Just don’t ring the bell or you’ll wake the baby. If that’s not too much trouble?”

“Sure. No problem,” Derek says, taking the photo back when it’s offered. Knowing there’s actually a baby involved at least makes sense of half of the items in the suitcase, the others, not so much. “Thanks, Sheriff.”

“Call me John,” the man says, holding out his hand. “It’s 129 Woodbine Lane,” he adds, walking Derek out. “And thanks for hunting him down. Especially on Christmas. It would have been a shame to lose that photo.”

“You’re welcome,” Derek says, turning toward the door. “I’m Derek, by the way.”

“I know who you are, son,” John says, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ve lived here for years. Your sister went to school with Stiles.”

“Oh,” Derek says softly. He’s kind of struck dumb by what a small world it is, that Stiles was on the same flight as him coming home to Beacon Hills for Christmas on the same day with a bag that exactly matched his. “I’ll get this to him.”

“Make sure he gives you a proper thank you,” John adds, waving before heading back to his office.

Derek gets back in the car and heads over to Woodbine. He must have run down this block a hundred times as a kid and never knew the Sheriff or his son. Retrieving the bag from the trunk, Derek walks slowly up the front steps. He’s thought of nothing else for the past 36 hours and yet now that he’s here he’s hesitant to knock.

Taking a deep breath, Derek raises his hand and gives the glass a light rap. A few seconds later the curtain flies open and a freckled face appears. Derek waves, mouthing “hi” like Stiles has any idea who he is. He points down at the suitcase and hopes Stiles will get the idea.

The door opens quietly and the suitcase man invites him inside. He takes the bag from Derek’s hand and immediately opens it on the coffee table. “I swear to God, if the Binky Bear isn’t in here, I’m going to lose my shit.”

“What?” Derek says, eyebrows flying up.

“Binky Bear. It’s this little stuffed bear with a nipple attached. Have you seen it?”

“Uhh…” Derek says, getting lost for a second when he looks down to see the waistband of the man’s underwear sticking up out of his pajama bottoms. “I think in the side pocket maybe?” he walks around the table to the other side of the suitcase and unzips a hidden pocket, revealing the bear.

“Thank fuck,” Stiles says, grabbing the bear and clutching it to his chest. “I thought I had it in the diaper bag and then it was nowhere and I just… it was touch and go there for a while, I’m not gonna lie. I thought she was going to eat me.”

“Your... daughter?” Derek asks, not wanting to assume anything further.

“Yeah, she’s two and when they say terrible, they mean terrible, holy fuck,” he says, flopping down on the couch, looking exhausted.

“Ah,” Derek says, not knowing what he’s supposed to do now. “Are you supposed to curse this much if you have a two-year-old?”

“She’s sleeping, Suitcase Man,” Stiles says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It doesn’t happen very often so when it does, you have to take full advantage. You don’t have kids, do you?”

“Uhh no,” Derek says, scratching at his beard awkwardly. “I have nieces and nephews.”

“Wait a second,” Stiles says, eyes narrowing in Derek’s direction. “You’re Derek Hale, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” he says, shrugging his shoulders.

“The beard threw me off for a minute but I never forget a face,” Stiles says. “I went to school with you. Same year as Cora.”

“She didn’t say…” Derek says, trying to string a coherent sentence together. “I mean we saw the lacrosse shirt in the bag but we didn’t really know who it was.”

“How did you find me then?” he asks, heading to the fridge and returning with two beers, handing one to Derek.

“This,” Derek says, pulling the framed photo from the inside pocket of his coat. “I went to the Sheriff’s station. Met your dad.”

“That’s A+ detective work, Mr. Hale,” Stiles jokes, tipping his beer toward Derek.

“I didn’t want to open the presents, but I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“It’s alright, I’d given it up as a lost cause. I must have your bag. Sorry about that, by the way. I may have rage dumped it looking for the Binky Bear.”

“That’s alright,” Derek says, mind reeling. Stiles is without a doubt one of the most peculiar people he’s ever met. “I have to ask though… what’s with the jelly beans?”

“Well, Derek,” Stiles says, propping his feet up on the suitcase. It slouches him down far enough that a strip of his stomach is showing between his underwear and his Green Arrow tee shirt. “When your ex-girlfriend shows up on your doorstep with a two-year-old and says she’d like to relinquish custody, you do just about whatever it takes to get that little baby girl potty trained. The only thing that seems to work is jelly beans. She inherited my penchant for junk food. The bag popped while I was packing but I just kind of went with it. I needed those jelly beans, Derek.”

“Huh,” Derek says, frowning. “I was thinking magician.”

“What?” Stiles crows, practically folding himself in half as he spasms with laughter. “What made you say magician?”

“I don’t know… the throwing stars and the scarves and the arrow headband thingy? It was either that or super villain,” Derek says in a huff.

“I own a comic book store in New York,” Stiles says, still laughing. “Although I might take up villainy on the side. Sounds like a sweet gig.”

“I teach English at Columbia,” Derek says. “Not as fun as a comic book store, I’m sure.”

“What’s your favorite book?” Stiles asks, narrowing his eyes. “Be warned that our fledgling relationship depends on your answer.”

“Don’t ask me that,” Derek says, groaning. “That’s not fair. I can’t pick one book.”

“Answer the question, Mr. Hale,” Stiles says, staring him down.

Derek downs the rest of his beer before saying, “ Don Quixote ,” with a grimace.

“No shit,” Stiles says. “I bet you’re bilingual too,” he adds rolling his eyes.

Derek doesn’t even bother answering. He is bilingual, but he knows Stiles is just trying to embarrass him.

“Try again. What’s your second favorite book?”

“ Welcome to the Monkey House ,” Derek says immediately.

“Better,” Stiles says, tossing his head back and forth like he’s considering it.

“What’s your favorite book then? If you’re going to be so judgmental about it,” Derek says, eyebrows raised.

“ Ender’s Game ,” Stiles says. Before Derek even has time to consider this, he shoots back, “Favorite author?”

“Neruda,” Derek says, flashing Stiles a grin.

“Poetry doesn’t count,” Stiles says. He’s shaking his head but he’s smiling.

“My PhD in literature begs to differ,” Derek says as Stiles hops off the couch for more beer. He’s already feeling loose and comfortable, all awkwardness of their meeting flown out the window.

“Fine,” Stiles says, flopping back on the couch. “Favorite band, then.”

He’s closer to Derek now, his feet practically in Derek’s lap. There’s an easy familiarity to the gesture that makes something in Derek relax even further.

“What is this? A job interview?” Derek asks, laughing as he watches Stiles’ beer foam over.

Stiles chases the spill with his tongue, licking his fingers as it drips down his hand. “I figured it was more like speed dating,” he says once his hand is clean. “People don’t just hunt you down over some jelly beans. You must be something special.”

“I was… curious,” Derek says, feeling his face heat under his beard. “Interested.”

“Well now I’m interested,” Stiles says easily, flashing him a smile.

They end up talking for hours. Derek asks question after question, eager to find out more about the mysterious man he’s been led to by some sort of twisted Christmas miracle. Stiles teases him mercilessly, making him laugh and blush harder than he has in years.

Eventually, a sharp cry rings out through the baby monitor on the end table and Derek startles. “She’s not going to go back down easy,” Stiles says, peeling himself away from Derek’s side where he’d settled the last time he’d come back from the bathroom.

“I can go,” Derek says, pointing to the door. He glances at his watch and sees that it’s nearly 3 a.m.

“Stay,” Stiles says, reaching for his hand. “I have your clothes anyway. We can talk more. You shouldn’t drive this late at night on Christmas Eve. Too many drunks on the road.”

Derek wants to argue, but all of that sounds perfectly reasonable to him. “Okay,” he says, following Stiles to a bedroom that’s currently serving double duty as an office and a nursery.

“Shh, Wonder Woman, it’s alright,” Stiles coos, reaching down into the crib for the baby girl who is standing up, clinging to the bars and screaming. “I heard you the first time.”

Derek stares. The girl is wearing Wonder Woman themed footie pajamas, her auburn hair curling around her tiny ears. She has Stiles’ little upturned nose and matching freckles on her round face.

“This is Claire,” he says, fitting the crying child against his hip like he’s been doing it for years and not just a few weeks. “Claire, this is my new friend Derek.”

She immediately hides her face in her father’s neck and quiets down. Stiles bounces her a few times, exiting the room and leading Derek down the hall to what must be his own childhood bedroom. There are posters on the walls of some of the bands Stiles had mentioned and superhero paraphernalia everywhere.

“I believe that is yours,” Stiles says, nodding to the corner where Derek’s suitcase stands. “Put on some PJs and join us,” he adds, sitting down on the edge of the bed and patting Claire’s butt to check for leaks.

“Thank you,” Derek says. All his clothes and gifts are inside, still wrapped and folded the way he left them. He pulls out his flannel pajama bottoms and ducks into the bathroom to change.

When he gets back, Stiles is lying down on the bed, Claire resting on his chest with the Binky Bear tucked into her mouth. She’s awake and babbling nonsense around the pacifier. Stiles speaks softly to her, “Really? That’s so interesting!” he replies, cupping the little girl’s head.

Derek picks up a picture book off the bedside table and looks at the cover.

“That’s her favorite, isn’t it Claire-bear?” Stiles coos, rocking her. “It’s cute. You should read it.”

So he does. Derek reads through The Pout-Pout Fish three times before Claire’s eyes fall closed and she starts dozing on Stiles’ chest.

“Hit the light,” Stiles says, yawning. “I’m not moving her again.”

“Okay,” Derek says, like staying right now isn’t a completely absurd thing to do. His entire family will be up in three hours ready to open presents, but right now, Derek doesn’t care. He lays down beside Stiles in the twin sized bed, close enough that he can feel Claire breathing beside him.

“Thanks for bringing the gifts back,” Stiles says, reaching his pinky out to snag Derek’s, linking them together.

“It was a really nice picture of you and your dad,” Derek says softly, turning in toward Stiles, placing his free hand on Claire’s back to feel her breathing. It’s just like when he first babysat Gracie except entirely different. Being here with Stiles is like nothing he’s ever experienced before.

“My mom took it,” Stiles mutters, eyes blinking slowly. “I found it in the attic last Christmas but it took me a while to be able to look at it.”

“She’s been gone a long time?” Derek asks, inching closer to Stiles.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, smiling sadly. “Thanks for bringing her back to me.”

“I’m glad I found you,” Derek says, answering his smile.

“I’m glad you did, too,” Stiles says, leaning in to press his lips against Derek’s. It’s dry and over too quick, but Derek doesn’t ask for anything more. They fall asleep like that, curled in toward each other, pinkies linked, with Claire a solid warmth between them.

It’s 8 a.m. when a soft knock on the door wakes Derek. When he peels his eyes open he sees the Sheriff standing in the doorway, eyes flicking between him and Claire. He gives a small nod and leaves them be.

As quietly as he can, Derek pulls himself out of bed and grabs the handle of his suitcase. His family is probably waiting on him to open presents. Just as he’s thinking about whether or not it would be creepy to kiss Stiles’ cheek goodbye, the man’s eyes flash open.

“Leaving already?” Stiles asks, lips curving into a warm smile. “I thought you might stay forever.”

Derek smiles back, reaching for Stiles’ hand. “I might,” he says softly, knowing Stiles needs the sleep and he’ll only get it as long as Claire is still quiet. “I know you guys probably have plans, but what would you say to dessert at my parents’ house tonight?”

“We’ll be there,” Stiles says, giving Derek a wink. “My dad knows where you live.”

“That’s not terrifying at all,” Derek says with a small laugh, leaning in to kiss Stiles once on the mouth before grabbing his suitcase and heading back downstairs.

“Must have been some thank you,” the Sheriff says from his seat on the couch when Derek passes him.

“Yeah,” Derek says with a sheepish smile. He knows he didn’t do anything wrong but he still feels like a teenager getting caught with his pants down. “I’ll see you all later for dessert,” he says, giving a quick wave and practically running from the house.

Driving quickly, Derek gets home in a matter of minutes and throws Peter’s car in park. He fetches his suitcase and goes around back in an attempt to sneak into the kitchen.

“Really Derek?” Laura asks, looking up from her cup of coffee when he pads into the kitchen. “You do a walk of shame on Christmas morning and you can’t even be bothered to come in wearing last night’s clothes like a normal person?”

“It’s not a walk of shame,” he says quickly, feeling the blush rise to his cheeks as he looks down at his flannel pajama pants.

“Because you’re not feeling ashamed, or because nothing happened?”

“Nothing happened!” he blurts out, burying his head in a cabinet to search for a coffee mug.

“Holy shit,” he hears, seeing Cora appear in the kitchen doorway when he looks up. “You fucked suitcase man!”

“I did not!” Derek shouts, turning his back on both his sisters as he busies himself with fixing his coffee. “And his name is Stiles.”

“Stiles Stilinski? That weird kid from high school who used to do bad magic tricks in the cafeteria?” Cora asks, eyebrows furrowing.

“I knew it! I knew he did magic!” Derek exclaims. “I’m going to kiss that smug look off his face when he gets here.”

“He’s coming for Christmas?” Laura says, eyes lighting up. “Ohh, Derek’s got it baaaaad,” she calls. “Do I hear the pitter-patter of little feet already? You want to have his babies?”

“Well, actually,” Derek says, a smile crossing his face as he thinks about Claire and her Binky Bear.

“No shit,” Cora says, deadpan. “I don’t believe it. You and Stiles and a baby makes three?”

“Her name is Claire and they’re coming over with the Sheriff after dinner,” Derek says, taking a sip of his coffee.

“What’s this I hear about more grandchildren?” his mother calls, her steps heavy on the stairs.

Derek groans while Laura and Cora laugh and throw mini marshmallows at him, but he can’t stop smiling.

Hours later, when dessert is long since gone and Stiles and Derek are kissing under the mistletoe as Claire plays pet hospital with Milo, Derek thinks that maybe following the jelly beans was the smartest dumb thing he’s ever done.

#caffeine-in-an-iv #stereksanta17 #*fic17 #*gifts17

42 notes · View notes

allbeendonebefore · 6 years

Note

What are your favourite head/canon things about Alberta

[cracks knuckles] [stretches fingers]

so i’ll just start with a disclaimer - i use sherry’s/iamp/whatever alberta and i realize ive been getting a lot of followers who are part of rp groups and whatever or people who might be interested in adding some depth to their own ocs so feel free to like… think about these things if you want if you’re thinking of doing an alberta oc?? I guess

so since that mysterious slash implies what are my fave canonical things about AB too I’ll say that there isn’t much- I go with what sherry says on canon rather than IAMP and PC because while there are a lot of things I had influence over in both projos there are a lot of things I would have done differently so we’ll start with the bio

Canon Stuff

literally all the things are accurate sooo its hard lol. Obviously the political situation has changed and the economic situation is its usual rollercoaster (WELL… but thats another time). I gotta say that the ‘alberta beef is the best thing that’s ever happened to me’ is really hitting home right now because i didnt realize how SPOILED i was by AAA beef until I got to Ontario ToT (ngl the pork here is super good and saves me money but the BEEF aAAA)

also my edmonton bias shines through at ‘he hates a part of himself called calgary’ thats by far my second fave B)))

Headcanon Stuff

ok where to start I will try to not make this an essay and i can elaborate more if you’re curious

- a lot of people will wonder about whether a province lives in the capital or the biggest city etc. and I have to say in Bertie’s case it is NEITHER. He’d never willingly live in (d)E(a)dmonton (sorry ed ilu) because Ed represents Government which he Hates and while he would spend a fair bit of time in Calgary he gets claustrophobic/exhausted - he still in my mind represents more of the rural bits of the province than the cities. I think he might move around a little, but he probably lives on a ranch between both cities but within sight of the mountains. I’m sure he has a place to stay in each city, but he’s a country boy at heart and appreciates his space, peace and quiet.

- Particularly space because Where else is he going to keep his 3 trucks + 2 ATVs + horses + 100000 cows + boat + canoe + kayak + all his camping junk + motorbikes + dirtbikes + tractor + other junk that people leave at his place

- that said his ‘birthplace’ is the southern ‘half’ of the province so he tends to kind of hover around there more- as i said he owns a ranch rather than a farm because the Quality Ranch Land is in the south and the Good Farm Land is in the north (and being eaten up by ugly houses ugh)

- still I think he spends a fair amount of time working up north in the Fort Mac area because Why Not make All the money. Even if you’re a rancher boy in the middle of nowhere, everyone in this province has ties to the oil industry one way or another. It wouldn’t make sense for him NOT to work in Oil and Gas because it’s literally the only job in the province lmao.

- His driving playlist consists of: Dean Brody, Corb Lund, Keith Urban, Ian Tyson, and the obligatory Nickelback which he listens to Un-ironically but also to piss off/drown out passengers when they’re annoying him

- He’s easily annoyed. By Everything. And Everyone. He’s the current national scapegoat and he takes it Extremely Personally depending on the context but also he has a relatively affectionate relationship with everyone and usually expresses his affection by pointed jabs.

- like he literally gets along with everyone on a personal level and not just because he buys them drinks- his worst relationships are probably with BC and Ontario and that’s just because he lives to irritate them and they respond with an appropriate amount of salt. He still doesnt mind hanging out with them and bc/ab/on/qc is an unstoppable team. He just gets extremely sensitive when anyone asks to borrow money from him and will give you an earful of ‘i work SO HARD for this money to put FOOD on YOUR TaBLe’

- generally really tight fisted with money………. only when other people are looking. he makes a big deal about how little he spends on essential services and you just look at him like ‘so you’re saying you have the money to get all this crap for this rodeo coming up but you dont have the money to take yourself to the hospital after’ and hes like [coughs up blood anime style] ‘im ok i have whiskey and benadryl at home’ [adjusts his diamond studded hat]

- really big on loyalty and straightforward conversations and has NO patience for any hypocrisy or doublespeak no matter how small. The slightest of things can send him reeling with Betrayal. Also this makes him either tight lipped or TMI, there is no in between.

- like literally reeling he’s very top heavy and you could blow him over with a sneeze, he’s all bark and only some bite. When he’s good he’s Real Good but when he’s bad he’s like a foot in the grave bad

- he’s the baby of the prairie bros but also the one with the brains- and i don’t mean in an academic sense i mean in the ‘so crazy it just might work’ sense.

- literally he’s an idiot he doesnt understand how equalization payments work no matter how many times you explain it to him. He doesn’t understand a lot of things re: the economy but he never shuts up about them.

- the easiest way to piss him off is to threaten his autonomy in any way, he will stop whatever he’s doing to put a boot up yer ass if you Dare suggest something like ‘why don’t you let ontario/canada take care of that for you’ even if he knows the way he’s doing something is garbage he will go out of his way to keep doing it because its ‘my way or the highway’.

- ‘why do you have all those guns’ ‘oh you know hunting deer and stuff’ [really its because he’s terrified a rat is going to sneak into his barn or something] [but he does actually hunt] [and he’s the type of guy to have the ‘trespassers will be shot’ signs]

- I haven’t figured out WHAT truck he drives yet but i am PROUD OF HIM for no longer putting truck nuts on it, THANK GOD that went out of fashion. (That said he does not have the stacks- his truck is lifted and Shiny and also has a handful of Alberta Strong decals/stickers.) Newf probably gave him a sticker of “The Rock” or a nfld flag and he Loves it. On a scale of most to least obnoxious trucks its Mac - Bert - Cal - Ed. It’s probably a white truck.

- i should think about things he loves more, this headcanon list is mostly things that make him angry oops xDD he loves animals a lot, and not just to eat i swear. The bigger and the more horns the better.

- he really loves driving a lot, it’s like a big part of his independence factor. I think sometimes he will just drive aimlessly late at night/early morning when it’s not busy and just go and find somewhere to look at the sky.

- he looooves digging up fossils in his spare time, or just interesting rocks in general. If you say the words animatronic dinosaur he is ALREADY THERE

- he watches a lot of sci fi and really loves star trek. So Much. he’s totally attempted mowing crop circles in his lawn/fields probably multiple times. he’s still waiting for the ufos to come land. Also has a thing for spooky places and cryptids and those weird inexplicable twilight-zone like events that only happen on road trips. did i mention the Giant Roadside Attractions.

- he has this persona of being a traditional/small-and-big-c conservative but he’s actually really into innovation and trying new things, meeting new people, etc. He interacts with so many different people lately that he’s trying to take the time to really re-evaluate himself and move away from the Klein-era “Severely Normal People” image because it doesn’t reflect him. The issue is he’s more likely to vote on economy rather than social issues so his actual progressiveness gets hidden by lack of political representation (and lets be honest he has Always hated politics). He’s got a lot of crap to sort through but he catches people who underestimate him off guard.

- was probably raised methodist/protestant/whatever but is mostly pretty secular, but he has some definite strong holdovers that make him uncomfortable about certain subjects and his first reaction to being uncomfortable is always anger.

- completely oblivious to being hit on or something or really gay situations around him but is that type of person who is like [cant walk too close to another dude because what if it looks gay bro].

- his fave cow is named buttercup

- he has definitely woken up after a night out with friends naked and alone duct taped to an air mattress and floating in the middle of a lake. true story.

- he will macgyver his way out of any situation. doesn’t mind getting down and dirty in the mud when it’s necessary. exactly the type of person to shove his hands in bitumen and squish it around or to pick up a rock and lick it or to shove a thermometer up a cow. When he gets squeamish he does his best to be bullheaded and pretend like Nothing is Wrong until he faints.

- his french is crap but he Tries- the french he knows is backwater northern AB french which he’s too shy to bring up so he feigns ignorance. His german is good and his ukrainian is passable, his spanish is fine, he’s trying to get the hang of some other languages but doesn’t tell anyone he’s practicing because he hates getting made fun of xD

- the hat and boots are Absolutely to make him look taller than he actually is. He doesn’t wear inserts but he does make sure the sole/heel on any boot he buys is Thick. Smol insecure man with a Big hat. Will spend 300 bucks on shoes, but he actually does ride/work so its an investment for him.

- heads to Arizona/Mexico in the winter when he’s not working, otherwise Banff/Jasper are his ‘budget’ vacations lol.

i love this stupid province pls ask if you have any more questions because i love to talk and i feel like i’ve said too much already lol

#pc: alberta #hapo rambles #projectcanada #iamp: alberta #iamp #iammatthewian #Anonymous #pc headcanon

11 notes · View notes

prettyway · 7 years

Text

Bookstore kid | Zach Herron |(PT.2)

A/N: you guys really seemed to like Bookstore kid, and really wanted a second part.. so here it is. I’m honestly surprised by the amount of good feedback, I thought it was just a shitty story but apparently not ahah! Thank you for reading, annnd here is pt.2 :)

Summary:

PT.1: The boys encourage Zach to get your number, and when Zach gains confidence to do so, he also thinks of an idea - that he thinks is rather cute - on how to get your number.

PT.2: You go about your life, return to Barnes and Noble on the next Thursday to read your book, only for it to lead to a series of semi-annonymous messages.

Word count: 898. (Longer)

Warning: you might swerve to Zachs lane???? not a whole lot of fluff but it’s coming (pt.3??)

Prompt: #172. “Can I borrow that book of yours?”

Just like usual, you returned to Barnes and Noble the following Thursday to read your favorite book. You went to the shelf it was placed on, picked it up and carried it to where you always sat.

You pulled out your bookmark from your bag and opened to the first page. Shock washed over you when you seen that there was an addition to the boys horrible way of getting your number.

There was the week old, “Hi, I’m Zach. You’re absolutely gorgeous. Call me? (XXX) XXX-XXXX.”

And there was the new one. “I will write on every page in this book until you finally call me.”

You giggled softly, knowing that this boy was something special. So, you wrote him a little letter back.

Zach went into Barnes and Noble the next day, curious to see if you had replied or even touched the book since he had last written in it. To his surprise, when he opened the book; a new piece of blue-lined paper was tucked inside, with neatly written reply.

“Luckily theres about four or five copies of these books around the store..” Zach knew you were going to be a tough one, but he was determined to get through to you.

He quickly scribbled down his note. “How - and why do you always find this one book in particular?” he really was curious, considering he searched high and low for the book, since it had been moved a few times since he last wrote in it.

From there it became a new thing that Zach looked forward to. He would write in it, then leave it where he found it - and just to make it more of a challenge and to see whether he is serious, you constantly move the book into a new place. When he told the boys, they laughed and said it was a whole new level of passing notes. But it didn’t discourage him, he was determined after all.

Six days after you had returned, expecting a reply in the book. You weren't at all surprised to see the messily printed reply. You chuckled softly, knowing this boy had not a single idea on books at all.

“The spine is bent a certain way, the way that makes it comfortable to read in any position. And on page forty seven, there’s a coffee mug ring stain - I still don’t know where that came from but I promise it wasn’t me, though you probably have zero interest in this book at all. Not only those few things, but now there’s this your conversation.”

Then you continued to read the book, you were just a hundred - give or take, pages away from finishing this book. Maybe that’ll be the end of the note passing.

Zach started to make up excuses when it came to the boys asking where he was going, in fear of being judged. Though Corbyn knew where he was at all times, but was nice enough to keep it to himself.

So when he had finally escaped Jonah’s interrogation, he was on his way to reply to you. Zach thought about the entire situation, unable to comprehend that it was real life, and that he was chasing a girl through semi-annonymous messages in a book.

He laughed as he finally read your reply before replying himself. “Understandable. Now, will you ever actually call me? We’re going to start running out of pages..” And, just like usual, he was off.

Anticipation killed the both of you, and you had begun going in more days than just Thursdays. You had both wanted to know what the other wrote. It became more and more exciting for you.

So there you sat, on a Saturday instead of Thursday, reading the note Zach had left. You rolled your eyes playfully, even though no one could see you, before replying and leaving the store to go about your normal Saturday schedule.

Just an hour later, Zach went into Barnes and Noble to seek your reply. “Patience is key. Eventually you will hear my voice again, but for now this type of communication is rather refreshing, and something I highly enjoy.” Zach sighed, still not willing to give up on you. He scribbled his reply and actually stayed in the store for a little while due to the good vibes. Zach left with a smile plastered on his face, knowing that there was a chance.

It was safe to say you were unimpressed when your mother told you that you couldn’t go to Barnes and Noble the following Thursday, due to having to babysit the neighbours children. But; you were earning a ton of money just for doing so, so you let it slide without complaining.

But first thing Friday morning, you were at Barnes and Noble. You grabbed the book that you had finished since the last reply, and read the message that was left. “You seem so sweet. I’d like to take you out on a coffee date, whenever you decide to call me.” You smiled knowing that this boy was determined, since nobody had ever been so keen on you before.

“Is that so, Zach?” you kept it short and simple, before collecting the new series of books that you had began reading a few days ago. And just like usual; you got lost in the new book.

Okayyyy so I have decided to make this a series, it won't be really long and I won’t make you wait forever for an update (I’m probably going to have all parts up by the end of the night HAHAH) but yeah. I cut it here because it adds a little excitement, (or so I think), and we have already passed the 600 mark, almost by 300 words.

I hope you are enjoying this series so far!! x

#zach herron #why don't we #why don't we music #jack avery #jonah marais #daniel seavey #corbyn besson #cute imagines #imagines #prompt list

37 notes · View notes

dancekickboxcardio · 4 years

Text

Weekend 🎊. I am back. I am tuned to New York Times while I write ✍🏾 my thoughts 💭 down on my iPhone 📱 X. I wonder what fun things 😍 I am going to do today. Yes, I am full of life, energy ⚡️ and excitement 🤩. It is a huge difference from the past few days and I can definitely tell I am better. I don’t need Advil. My nose 👃🏾 has a thick mucosal drainage and that’s ok. My immune system has been fighting whatever it is that compromised my bod. I have to shower 🚿. I haven’t in like days. Wawames just walked in. I have to pack 🧳 for the holiday 🎄 trip 🛣.

I was looking to starting slow on my first day back at the gym 🏃🏼‍♀️ 💪🏾. I am eager to see familiar faces and bid them the Merriest Christmas 🎁 as I take my leave for New Jersey and New York. If we stay in a hotel 🏨 which I have not asked, there is a gym 🏃🏼‍♀️ 💪🏾. Otherwise, I am stuck and can not get my system going in the next 5 days. I did say I have to pack 👗 right. I may not have new outfits with tags 🏷 but I have two unopened scarves 🧣. I have two new earrings 💎. That’s it. It’s ok. My priorities ⚠️ have somewhat shifted to my serious academic work at health club 🤦🏼‍♀️. It’s a personal me time and I work on issues such as coming up with the most inquisitive thoughts 💭 from efficiency 📊📈📉 to psychological underpinnings 🧠. I have made a schedule 🗓 of what I want to do today. Sadly,

I am a no go 🙅🏼‍♀️. My Mom is in early and she gave me the bad news. I have no time to prep and be dropped off 🚘 to work on my fitness 😕. It was a little bummer but I took it optimistically and know there are many things I can get busy ✍🏾🗒 with today. Allowance 💵 week 🎊🙏🏾. That’s my hands like an athlete 🎽 sliding together ready to perform my shopping 🛍 habit 😏. I was going to wear my new Zella’s 👖 today. Let it go 😏. What am I going to do today. Let’s brainstorm 🧐.

(1) Read a book 📚

(2) Twiddle 📲

(3) Shopping 🛍 plan, like what do I want to spend my little “paycheck.” Vie, it’s allowance 💵. Stop 🛑 dreaming like you have to earn what you need. Isn’t that what normal people do? Work for their living. I am like living ✨ and everything handed to me. This is so “frustrating.” I say this because I know my potential and value. I love 💕 where I am and I feel that I am doing important work. However, I entertain like a devil’s advocate what my life could be. It’s not crushing because I know where my heart ❤️ is and I concede. I am already a strong head as we know it. Funny 😆 how my temper is not met with masculine inability to handle what they do not understand with care and love 💕 and affection 🤗. It’s like I am coddled and engage in a communication of negotiation and explanation of what it feels 😦. My gawd, are you lucky 🍀.

(4) Watch TV 📺

(5) Pinterest 📍

(6) Study 📖

(7) Journal 📓

Yeah, it’s true I am the queen 👸🏼 of walking in delicate situations. That is like one of my gifts 🎁 . A great conciliator. It is also my weakness to understand and take so much. It is the worst of situation and I still have that tolerance and patience. What do you do? Be a royal 👑 mess.

You definitely can tell that I am in good health. I am joking 🙃, I am thinking 🤔 of the stuff that I want to do and must do and have that strength to actually do it.

I am still not sure what happened like how I got the strain of bacteria 🦠 or virus. That’s why I vigilantly clean 🧽 my mat and foam roller. I need to kill the microbes. Perhaps, it was already in me. I miscounted as usual when I do not think 💭 it through like I don’t pay attention and give a damn. Quick thoughtless spitfire. I was only sick 🤒 three days. Monday why didn’t I go? I only had 5 hours of sleep 💤 . Perhaps that late night 🌌 and lack of proper amounts of sleep 🛏 pushed the threshold of immune system defenses low. It still doesn’t point the vector. Where did I get it from? I went to the hospital 🏥 twice over the past seven days. I went Thursday to get a blood 🩸 draw and I went Monday to get the rest of my lab 🧪 completed. It was unsuccessful Monday and I only touched the door 🚪, the sign up stuff 🖊 and sat 🪑 on the waiting room. So how? Maybe it was already in your system. Yeah. I emailed📧 my doctor 🥼 and I have to check what she said esp who shall explain the results on my tests. I happily 😃 cooked 👩🏼‍🍳 even if most is perfectly burnt. I watched TV 📺. I was on my phone 📱 doing stuff and slept 🛏. I didn’t get to study 👓. Yes, you did. Right. I was pretty good in answering question raised by professor 👩🏻‍🏫. I am excited 😜 to continue today. I would like to plan next year. I have reminders on how I want to live 2020.

I love 💕 my seafood 🦞 casserole 🥘. I try not to eat 🍴 everyday. Thank God, breaded 🍞 fish 🐟. Yes, I have panko and regular bread 🥖 crumbs on my grocery list for next week 🛒. I shall be out of town.

When I woke up Tuesday I knew something is off. I can barely wake up for being weak. I had no fever 🤒 or headache 🤕 but I had no energy. I feel sick. I had muscleaches. I slept 🛏 and rested because it was imperative. I had chills. I drank tons of Advil 💊. I don’t believe I did anything but being stuck in bed 🛌 which is a surprise because I maybe ill 🤧 like almost every week after flu shot 💉 but I was functional and not totally unable to do a thing. Eating 🍽 was a chore. Yet I had to put nourishment in me. If not, I won’t have fuel ⛽️ to fight off the infection.

I feel like I finished Neruda Tuesday not Wednesday because I wanted to get over the Jerusalem book 📚 and I didn’t until Thursday. Right. I read Tuesday. I cannot tolerate being stuck in bed the entire day. I should change my sheets.

I had no caffeine ☕️ in my system for the past two days Wednesday and that’s ok. I don’t need that supercharge 🔌 because I wasn’t going to power 💥 through my day. I have no strength and energy. There is not way I am going to push the limits of my protective body mechanism. I noticed that I have an appetite. That’s good. But I am eating more than usual like I am craving and my diet was so uncontrolled. I had a sweet 😻 time with Jamesicle 🐈. Sparky is being a sweetheart today. He went up to me, leaned on my back and would like to be carried 😯. Hmmmmm.... love 💗 without having to dispense a treat 🍭. I wished I had finished the book 📚 but I was living life as I usually do. A cat 🐈 is talking. I love 💕 it. I am always distracted. I don’t know 🤷🏼‍♀️ about you but sometimes you want things exactly as you conceived it. I just pulled down my curtains. Lights in 🌞. But I was consciously telling myself to not be perfectionist and exactly how you want it. Life is not going ever to always be your way. But when it does, you see your ends. You adjust. I mean I wasn’t so frustrated that my new gym bags 💼 , the ones I like are all sold out 🏷. My gawd, the Roksanda was the perfect one. My second choice Betsey Johnson was gone the next day. Now what? Well, it wasn’t too hard of a choice if I should get a full price 💲💲💲💲💲💲Lululemon. Be honest with yourself. You only have three hundred dollars 💵 . Would it be less different if you get the carry on on sale? Right. It doesn’t define who I am. In fact it makes me respectable that I am not passing off what my little stipend can only afford. I don’t make these grandiose claims and when I do not have a show for it, I go around town making false claims to placate my juvenile tendencies 🙄. You are adulting. Ugh 😑, I know. Oh, there were $20 bottoms by Zella’s to Gottex so I am cool 😎. Spend $150 what’s supposed to be for coat 🧥 on them. Horrible in a sense. But who tells you precisely how to live your life. Those who are not happy 😃 and problematic or without in theirs.

I definitely was improving Thursday. I was greatly enthused 😃 when I completed ✔️ the Jerusalem book. I haven’t shared my musings 🖊 on passages that I highlighted by camera 📸 on the book. It checked off my 12 books for 12 months to complete the year 📆. I was feeling good and pat myself in the back because I did something good and I actually reached one of my annual goals🥅 , yay 😀 🎉. Oh, I shall put my impression plain. Wait a second.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Gal Glasses On (@book1234glitters) on Dec 19, 2019 at 3:17pm PST

instagram

It is a very heavy text considering that it wasn’t like a 300 pages literature. It was packed. I follow where my heart 💓 leans, the thread 🧵 which guides it and I stumbled into a perfect transition, Canterbury Tales. I was surprised 😮 to see myself delving into religion and realizing how my upbringing has some influence on how I see it. I wasn’t livid violent at each slights and insults. I was very calm and try to see what’s going on. You need to be less reactive and stand on what is right not on the tides of push buttons. It takes a certain strength to build yourself. It takes another to sustain peace ✌🏾.

I am not hungry 😋. It’s a Friday. I could expend my extra energy in thre treadmills and on the equipment floors . But I am cool 😌. I still have a lot of task 📝 to tackle. I am wearing my Apple Watch ⌚️ and esp yesterday to have like a monitor to tell if my heart beats are irregular. Like right not I am not at all uneasy 😬 and it’s not that my blood pumping organ was functioning erratically and strongly, I had some tightness in my chest. I may not have cellular function on it, but it shall alarm 🚨 when something is seriously 😒 not right and I can call emergency ⛑ medical 🏥 help in a jiffy. I can tell the huge calmed difference and on fit Americano ☕️ too. Shall I shower 🧼 with my new tech. What do I feel like doing? Decisions, decisions, decisions. Make it haphazard 🚧. There is literally like a book on it. Wait, let me pull it up.

I am like already living it. I am not alone 🔦.

0 notes

mepler · 5 years

Text

Learning and Training (Part 2)

Qurosuke, Gano, and Greysen then make their way into what seems like what one would call a karate dojo. The place itself has a 300 square ft spacious, smooth hardwood floor. The floor glistens from the sun that shined through the windows. The windows themselves show a large garden full of a diverse species of flowers that appear after a person would leave the dojo. Though the dojo itself was empty, a supply closet was present in one of the far corners of the room. They then make their selves to the middle of the dojo.

" Please wait here while I get some supplies from the supply closet. " And so, Qurosuke and Gano complied with Greysen's request. Qurosuke would then sit on the floor rather than stand on it, as he thinks it's better to do so. Gano would then sit at his master's lap and almost immediately, was being petted and scratched by him and, as a result, would give a low and deep purr from it.

After a few minutes of sitting and waiting, Greysen comes out of the supply closet with an 80" by 40" table with wheels on it in. The table had what seemed to be two kendo training sticks, a 72" flat screen tv, a technological bracelet and collar, a book that looks like its 300 pages long, a stack of multiple video games for the PS4, a PlayStation 4 including of all of its appropriate wire and cables, a PS4 controller, two bottles of water, and two king-sized pillows. Greysen would then set up the T.V and PS4 while ignoring the confused looked on Qurosuke and Gano's face. He would then casually throw the two king-sized pillows at Qurosuke for him to successfully catch while throwing the two bottles of water at Gano for him to also successfully catch with his long tail.

" Young master, there is a theory among the Mutant community. It is when a Mutant wants their powers to start to flourish, they should do the activities or habits that sturs their happiness. So, I decided to have you do the one thing that makes you happy, playing video games. Also..." Greysen then would grab the technological bracelet then put it on Qurosuke and Gano accordingly before continuing his talk. " This device is called Mutant H.E.L.P. It's an A.I tool for Mutants who have just started to use their powers or a helpful tool for children Mutants. Because let's be honest, you and Gano are like children Mutants who only began to tap into their powers. No offense, of course. It should work right about now-" Just as Greysen was about to finish his sentence, a voice then appeared and spoke through Qurosuke and Gano simultaneously.

" Hello, users named: Qurosuke and Gano. My name is H.E.L.P model 1904 version 10.0, or as per my current settings, Monoma. My primary function is to help bring your Mutant powers from seedlings to adult trees. Are you ready to start? I know i am. " Qurosuke and Gano almost jumped and screamed in surprise at the sudden voice but quickly composed themselves as they didn't want to be embarrassed. The sound itself seemed somewhat monotone, but it still had a resemblance of emotion in it. It also was recognized on having an adult woman's voice, probably in the early or late '20s.

" I'm ready as I'll ever be. " Qurosuke answers honestly. Even if it didn't exactly look like he was fit physically, but he was able mentally. " O-of course. What master said. " Gano also answers honestly. Unlike Qurosuke, Gano is fit physically but, wasn't exactly ready mentally. On an emotional standpoint, they were both similar and leveled. The training itself will see to that or rather, Greysen will see to that and Monoma will just comfort them when need be. " Wonderful then. As a start, Qurosuke, please start playing the video games in front of you until you complete them. While he does that, you Gano shall have physical training with Greysen by using one of the two kendo sticks. "

Gano was a bit hesitant at first but, he then used his long tail to grab one of the kendo sticks, evident to the fact that he can't grasp it with his paws. Greysen would also pick up the other kendo stick and make a gesture to for Gano to follow him. Without having any reason to dent him, Gano would follow Greysen until they were both at least halfway across the room. A considerable amount of distance between them and Qurosuke. Which made sense to Gano, since he didn't want to disturb Qurosuke while he and Greysen were beating each other with kendo sticks. Or rather, Greysen would be hitting Gano with the wooden club while he would desperately try to hit him back but to probably no avail.

After approximately 5 hours that have passed, Gano looked like as if he was about to pass out thanks to the hard physical training. Even with his big figure covered with thick fur, he was still dripping a puddle of sweat onto the hardwood floor. Much to his belief and surprise, due to his Mutant nature, Gano was very quick on his paws and highly responsive when it came to reacting to Greysen's attacks. He even got a few hits on Greysen but, it was quite clear that Greysen was intentionally holding back. Meanwhile, Qurosuke had been playing a game called Watch Dogs for the whole time without stopping. But, the most surprising thing was that he had completed the game, all 100 hours of it. Greysen would then check on Qurosuke's supposed achievement of the game by checking both the T.V. and PS4.

" Impossible. " Were the words that Greysen uttered when he finished examining. Qurosuke finished a 100-hour game in only a few hours. But how was that possible? Thankfully, Monoma was exactly programmed there to answer that question. " Ah, I see. The way you would play video games is different from how Qurosuke would do it. The moment Qurosuke started playing the game, there was very small and almost unnoticeable change within Qurosuke's DNA. Qurosuke unconsciously made the game accelerate in speed and progression at its very limit because that is what both he and body desired. To both finish the game as fast as possible and enjoy it at its fullest. " Although Qurosuke and Gano could barely understand what Monoma said, Greysen understood immediately.

" Interesting and acceptable. Besides, I need to reward you two due to how effort and progress you made in just a few hours, both mentally and physically. Just wait for a moment. " Immediately, Qurosuke put down his controller and Gano slumped down onto the floor, clearly exhausted. Qurosuke would then start to crack his knuckles, making rather loud cracks due to doing nothing but playing the game for hours without stop. He even had to get up and stretch his whole body. Oh, one of the cons of being a gamer but at least he was going to have breakfast finally.

After a few minutes have passed, Greysen comes out with a cart of food on top. Quickly, Qurosuke and Gano ran at the food because of the clear and delicious smell of their favorite food of all time, sushi. No matter what was the food, no matter what was made by the chef, Qurosuke and Gano would always eat sushi. How fitting, for a cat to like sushi and their best friend to like sushi too. Since it was breakfast time, Greysen served 8 servings of waffle sushi rolls. But, such an irrelevant number meant nothing to the sushi loving friends. Qurosuke and Gano were eating 4 sushi each but, the way they did was as if they haven't eaten in weeks. They stuffed their cheeks with the sushi and ate loudly but, you can bet that they haven't made a mess. They wanted to eat every single sushi and savor it. Then only within less than 30 seconds, Gano and Qurosuke ate their breakfast.

" Hmm. So that's the reason why 15% of my fish every day is gone but, it doesn't bother me...much. " Qurosuke and Gano could only laugh at Greysen's statement about their obsession/addiction to sushi based products. 15% of over three dozen different species of fish every day was at least a bit annoying bu, nothing Greysen could handle. Greysen would then reveal a large bowl of milk for Gano and a cup of apple juice for Qurosuke. As a cat, milk was unmistakably an all-time favorite thing to drink. As for Qurosuke, even as a kid, he just knew that apple juice was his favorite juice of all time, even after trying a large variety of them. Gano would then use his to tail to grab the bowl of milk and set it on the ground. Immediately, Gano starts lapping his milk in about a rate of 25 laps per second. That was way bigger than the average for normal cats. Qurosuke however, was taking his time to drink his apple juice. They were not in much of a particular hurry and they were smart enough to know that the moment they finish their breakfast, Greysen would resume training again. After a few minutes of prolonging the inevitable, Qurosuke and Gano finish their drinks. Almost immediately, Greysen took notice and acted upon it. He would then gather the empty plate that once had the sushi, Gano's bowl, and the empty cup. He would then walk away to the kitchen so that he would clean them, as such is a butler's duty. After a few minutes, Greysen came back with what almost looked like a sinister smile on his face, more directly towards Gano than Qurosuke.

" Now that we are done with breakfast, we can get back to training. " Gano flinched a little bit at Greysen words. If there was anything he didn't like, it was anything physically stressful but, he decided to continue to keep training for his reasons. Guess Gano's will was a bit troublesome to break. Gano and Greysen went back to physical training with their kendo sticks but, this time it was twice as difficult. While that would happen, Qurosuke would have to use all of his focus and patience to complete all of the games Greysen gave him.

After 6 hours have passed, Qurosuke and Gano collapsed from the stress of Greysen's training. Gano was sweating immensely in the floor through his paws, creating a small puddle as a result. Now he was truly exhausted and spent. This was an extremely stressful day, equally for Qurosuke and Gano. While Qurosuke wasn't exactly sweating, his mind was at its limit. He couldn't bring himself to play another game. He had just finished playing Watch Dogs 2 and 3, Grand Theft Auto 1-5 including San Andreas, Assassins Creed 1-3, Dark Souls 1-3, Bloodborne 1 and 2, Sekiro, Nioh, all the Hitman games, Under Night In-Birth, and all the King Of Fighters games. So many games with so many stories, characters, plots, etc. They were all somehow perfectly memorized. Every game perfectly memorized right down to every detail, even the tiniest one. So much information was being processed in both his brain and DNA and due to his mental stress, his body went with the solution that he needed rest immediately.

" Ah. Well, I guess that's enough for today. I'll carry you two to young master's room and make your dinner so you both can eat it in advance. Other than that, you both did decent today. Just get better with your stamina. " After saying that, Gano also passed out due to exhaustion. In a few minutes, Greysen cleaned up the dojo, made dinner and put Gano and Qurosuke in their bedroom alongside their dinner near them. What a way for the day to end. Exhausted, stressful both mentally and physically, and what's worse. They had to do it again tomorrow. While Qurosuke was sound asleep, his body was going into overdrive from the result of playing too many games at one time. Not that it was life-threatening or anything, it just made him brain drained. All the while, the A.I Monoma was keeping track and collecting helpful data from the changes in his body. No matter how big or small. Truly, Qurosuke was becoming different as time passes, day by day. For better or worse was the mystery.

#Main Plot/Story #LAT ARC

0 notes