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warrioreowynofrohan · 1 year

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I’m making a third attempt at reading Dickens’ Great Expectations, after one previous incomplete attempt and one complete reading in which I nonetheless completely missed some key plot points and didn’t remember it very well afterwards.

I’m enjoying it a lot more this time. My main difficulty with the book - that the protagonist is thoroughly unlikeable and un-respect-able - remains, but that is pretty clearly intentional on the part if the author, and frequently acknowledged in the text. I always found Magwitch more interesting than Pip (and see interesting parallels between Pip’s reaction to him later in the book and Marius’ reaction to Valjean in Les Mis; I wonder if Victor Hugo had read this?), but on this read I realized just how great a character Estella is [1].

I expected her famous conversation with Miss Havisham to be near the end, but it’s not; it’s in the middle, incited by a small moment of Estella stepping away from physical affection from Miss Havisham, and her relationship with Miss Havisham continues uninterrupted after it. I expected Estella’s tone to be angry or bitter, but instead it is puzzled and analytical - as if someone prevented by their guardian from swimming and taught to hate the water was suddenly reproved by that same guardian for being unable to swim. And indeed, Estella uses a similar analogy:

“I begin to think," said Estella, in a musing way, after another moment of calm wonder, "that I almost understand how this comes about. If you had brought up your adopted daughter wholly in the dark confinement of these rooms, and had never let her know that there was such a thing as the daylight by which she had never once seen your face,—if you had done that, and then, for a purpose had wanted her to understand the daylight and know all about it, you would have been disappointed and angry?"

Miss Havisham, with her head in her hands, sat making a low moaning, and swaying herself on her chair, but gave no answer.

“Or," said Estella,—"which is a nearer case,—if you had taught her, from the dawn of her intelligence, with your utmost energy and might, that there was such a thing as daylight, but that it was made to be her enemy and destroyer, and she must always turn against it, for it had blighted you and would else blight her;—if you had done this, and then, for a purpose, had wanted her to take naturally to the daylight and she could not do it, you would have been disappointed and angry?”

Miss Havisham sat listening (or it seemed so, for I could not see her face), but still made no answer.

“So," said Estella, "I must be taken as I have been made. The success is not mine, the failure is not mine, but the two together make me.”

She does not reject Miss Havisham - she gives her loyalty to her ideals, and she states she owes her everything - but she cannot give her an affection that she does not know how to feel. (Interestingly, the ‘Frankenstein’s monster’ comparison that might be thought of is not used here, but is used later in reference to Pip: The imaginary student pursued by the misshapen creature he had impiously made, was not more wretched than I, pursued by the creature who had made me, and recoiling from him with a stronger repulsion, the more he admired me and the fonder he was of me.)

As a further complexity, even that loyalty to Miss Havisham’s project of vengeance against men has a few chinks in it, and one of those chinks is Pip. Pip sees Estella as his idol and tormentor - but looking at her words and actions rather than through Pip’s distorted glasses, she is remarkably open and frank with him. Given his infatuation, if she wanted to make him believe she was in love with him in order to later break his heart, she easily could. Instead, she continually warns him off, even when he doesn’t want her honesty and would prefer deceptive favours.

In her first meeting with him as an adult, she tells him that it is not in her to fall in love, even as Miss Havisham on the same visit urges him to love her:

“You must know," said Estella, condescending to me as a brilliant and beautiful woman might, "that I have no heart,—if that has anything to do with my memory.”

I got through some jargon to the effect that I took the liberty of doubting that. That I knew better. That there could be no such beauty without it.

“Oh! I have a heart to be stabbed in or shot in, I have no doubt," said Estella, "and of course if it ceased to beat I should cease to be. But you know what I mean. I have no softness there, no—sympathy—sentiment—nonsense.”…“I am serious," said Estella, not so much with a frown (for her brow was smooth) as with a darkening of her face; "if we are to be thrown much together, you had better believe it at once. No!" imperiously stopping me as I opened my lips. "I have not bestowed my tenderness anywhere. I have never had any such thing.”

Again, when she first comes to London as a breaker of men’s hearts in Miss Havisham’s project of revenge, she expresses weariness with her lot (in which she seeks commiseration from Pip in the repetition of ‘you and I’):

“We have no choice, you and I, but to obey our instructions. We are not free to follow our own devices, you and I.”…

“It is a part of Miss Havisham's plans for me, Pip," said Estella, with a sigh, as if she were tired; "I am to write to her constantly and see her regularly and report how I go on…”

And when Pip asks her why she favours other men (particularly one whom he despises) over him, she lays things out clearly:

“I have seen you give him looks and smiles this very night, such as you never give to—me."

"Do you want me then," said Estella, turning suddenly with a fixed and serious, if not angry, look, "to deceive and entrap you?"

"Do you deceive and entrap him, Estella?"

"Yes, and many others,—all of them but you.”

In short, Estella defies the intent of the guardian whom she obeys in everything else by warning Pip off rather than trying to decieve him. In this, we could reasonably say that she cares for Pip more truly than he cares for her - she is going against the guiding force of her life in trying to spare him, whereas Pip, while he wants her to be hers, wants her to love him, wants to be around her, never truly listens to what she is saying or thinks about what she wants or what would make her happy. He even digs up her past - even the constitutionally unemotional Mr. Jaggers breaks character for a moment to point out that this serves no purpose and would be deeply injurious to her, if it became known.

And in one pivotal moment, she extends her attitude beyond Pip, throwing herself away on a man she knows to be crass and brutal and stupid (and whom Pip and his lawyer companions speculate will abuse her) because being with any better man would, she thinks, be cruel, because a better man would feel more pain from her lack of love. This is not pride or caprice, this is near their opposite; this is self-immolation. She is sick of a life devoted to breaking hearts, and seems willing to destroy herself (or willfully unaware that she does so - she has always had men in her power rather than the reverse, and may not realize how possible the reverse is) rather than continue it. Despite her describing her “inability to love” in neutral terms, I think there must be some self-loathing in it, if this is what it drives her to:

“Your own act, Estella, to fling yourself away upon a brute?”

“On whom should I fling myself away?" she retorted, with a smile. "Should I fling myself away upon the man who would the soonest feel (if people do feel such things) that I took nothing to him? There! It is done. I shall do well enough, and so will my husband. As to leading me into what you call this fatal step, Miss Havisham would have had me wait, and not marry yet; but I am tired of the life I have led, which has very few charms for me, and I am willing enough to change it. Say no more. We shall never understand each other.”

When Estella says she does not love, then, I do not think it is correct to conclude that she does not care about people. If she did not, she would be less honest with Pip; she would have no scruples about marrying a good, kind, intelligent man who loved her and whom she could not love in return. Her ‘not loving’ means that she does not feel any particular affection to anyone or pleasure in their companionship (and, never having been shown love that did not seek to use or own her, she would be exceptional if she could), nor any need for another person. I think it is the latter, in part, that leads people to call her proud: the sense that she could easily do without them.

There’s a theme woven throughout the book about how the ‘respectable’ Victorian world pushes people to reject those who love them and are honest and sincere with them, and to pursue the esteem and respect of those who despise and do not care for them, and to entail the suppression of every genuine and good feeling (to the point where Mr. Wemmick deals with it by sequestering his home life and self from his work life and self in its entirety). But with Pip and Estella, I feel that this theme is (intentionally by Dickens or not) expressed not in her spurning him, but in him failing to understand or sympathize with her.

[1] As an aside, I have to see Estella as a model for Denna in The Name of the Wind, even though Kvothe is very unlike Pip. Men pursue her, and she uses this for her own purposes, but Kvothe, the man she does not treat in the same romantic way, is the one man she is honest with, and she sees not treating him the same as the others as an act of love. If he is in the ‘friend’ zone, it is in a very positive sense - he is a friend, not a meal ticket like the others, and she will not insult him by treating him like them.

#great expectations #charles dickens #pip pirrup #estella havisham

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jakestravels · 2 years

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Europe 2022: Day 1 - The Journey, Part 2

Whenever I travel, I attempt to do so on a budget. Otherwise, leaving the country for six weeks wouldn’t be possible. I have gotten pretty decent at this over the years, and there is a ton of logistics that go into it. I always try to visit several places on a trip, but make sure to stay there long enough to properly respect, absorb, and appreciate a culture. And I always have certain destinations that I plan to visit (in this case, Germany), but outside that, i always make sure to visit a new place, and then fill the in-betweens with wherever, and that usually involves looking for cheap flights and hostels, and then connect them all together. It requires a ton of logistics, and reads like a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure book. So I can fly from here to there, but how do I get out of there? If it doesn’t work, I go back a start from scratch. It’s putting a puzzle together, but sort of in reverse. Is that a good analogy? i don’t know.

So when planning for this trip, I knew I had to be in Stuttgart and the Black Forest, and then later outside the Dortmund area. Other than that, I was free to go where I pleased. The best flight for all of Europe from Portland is a direct flight from PDX to Frankfurt through Condor, which is Lufthansa’s baby sister airline. The last time I flew with them, but the flight was not direct. But now, in 10 hours i could be in Germany.

However, my hosts were not quite ready for me, so I had a week to kill. i could certainly stay in Germany, but a little bit of sleuthing showed me that for only an additional $20, I could take that same Frankfurt flight, but then make a connection to Zagreb in Croatia, a country I have never been to but heard a great many things about. And then after staying in Zagreb, I could take a $12 flight back to Baden-Baden airport, a tiny airport in Germany that mostly services low-buck airlines like RyanAir, but also just so happened to be the closest airport to my next destination. The layover in Frankfurt was only 70 minutes - the perfect amount of time to get there, get situated and get boarded on the next flight.

I boarded the Frankfurt flight. My seat letter was “K,” so i did the math in my head and figured the plane was in a 2-3-2 seat formation, and surely “K” is the furthest to one side.

Nope.

While the plane was in a 2-3-2 seat formation, I was on one side in the aisle. The seat numbering/lettering format is a mystery we never understand. I was seated next to a German man, but I noticed that the flight seemed to have empty seat. A mother and adult daughter in the seats in front of me noticed this as well, and as they closed the doors, I got muscled out for a section of three seats in the middle that were unoccupied. However, i took second place, and got their two old seats, and a little space to “stretch” out.

The flight was running an hour and a half late, but I have learned that on longer flights, they can make the time up in the air.

I did what you do on long flights: I got bored, watched a few movies I’d never seen before (The Secret Life of Walter Mitty was surprisingly apropos, and Lars and The Real Girl started weak but finished strong) some iPhone gaming, a little sleep here and there, etc. While we didn’t make up all the time in the air, we were only 45 minutes late.

Unfortunately, that only left me 25 minutes. I was in the center of the aircraft, and was beginning to worry. As soon as got out, I hustled up the gangplank and out into the terminal where it just so happened my new gate was right next door.

We boarded the Croatian Airlines plane and in two hours we were in Zagreb. I got some sleep, which really refreshed me by the time we landed.

While it was 5:30 PM, the airport was dead. We were the only flight at that time, and while I was the last off the plane and last in line at passport check, I was through in 5 minutes. I made my way to the luggage carousel.

And... I did not see my bag. But I waited. Until the carousel stopped. Me and a few others were confused, and two women from NYC asked a luggage handler if there was more. He answered brusquely in broken English:

“No. That’s all there is. It has stopped. Can’t you see that?”

I’d already heard enough, and was making my way to lost luggage claim. I’d been through this damn shit before. I was mystified as to why this kept happening to me. I began my file report, while talking to the agent.

“Do you know where the bag is?” I asked.

“No, but I’m sure it’s somewhere.”

No shit.

“So there’s no way to locate where it is? I thought you had that ability.”

“We do, but we just can’t seem to find it. What flight did you take?”

I told him the itinerary, and how my first flight only gave me half an hour to get to the next one.

“That’s what happened,” he claimed. “They didn’t put it on the flight because they didn’t have enough time.” I’m sure it will be on the next flight from Frankfurt.”

“And when is that?”

“10 PM tonight.”

“So I can stay here and wait for it.”

“You can...” he said, “...but we will be closed and it will be hard to get to town at that time. We can deliver it to you at your hostel, tomorrow morning.”

I felt slightly panicked. This was going wrong already. But what choice did I have?

“You’re sure they can deliver in the morning?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

I took the chance. I made my way through customs, or lack thereof. Jake’s fun travel tip: if you want to smuggle things into Europe, do it through Zagreb.

After stopping by the Zagreb visitor’s Center and getting a map (which was, and has been, a complete lifesaver), I was directed outside to where the shuttle bus would eventually show up. There is also a city bus, but I was told that took much longer. It was raining out; the first rain I’d seen in months. I missed it. However, it was also around 55 degrees, and I was wearing shorts and a T-shirt because I get insanely hot on flights. I was shivering, but somehow knew back on that Condor flight to snag the little blanket they give you. Again, another lifesaver.

The shuttle bus arrived around half an hour later, and I was told it was cash only. So I trudged back into the airport to use one of those European ATMs that overcharges the hell out of you. Except my card wouldn’t work, so I could not get any cash. Instead, I had to take the city bus. As a price comparison, the shuttle bus was 45 Kuna (known as HRK; they will be converting to the Euro in 2023), which amounts to about $6 USD, and the city bus is 12 HRK, or about $1.50.

While waiting for the bus, which is just outside the newly remodeled airport (in 2017, and by the way it’s very lovely), I was able to snag this shot.

I got into town while chatting with a Matese woman who was in Zagreb on business. It was a Saturday, but I didn’t have the clothing for going out, but the hostel had a lovely bar where I made friends with the bartender, as well some British fellows having a stag do (bachelor party) where they bought me several drinks. Not a bad night.

I hope to hell the bag shows up, though.

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forever-emo-phase · 3 years

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Mission Status: Sick!

Notes: Hello this is my first fic for Sanders Sides! It is inspired by @illogicallyinclined‘s hockey AU! If you haven’t ever gotten into it, do it! However, you can still read even if you don’t know anything about the AU! Characters: Virgil, Logan

Ship: The whole thing is pretty much just analogical pining Warnings: Panic attack is described Genre: Just guys being dudes being gay. Fluff maybe? It’s not sad and that’s all I can tell you. Summary: Which is how Virgil arrived at his current situation, Logan tensely sitting at his desk in the middle of the night with shoulders so tight he looked like he was seconds away from shattering.

'It's a good thing that my homosexuality is stronger than my pride', Virgil thought as he opened a capri sun and violently squeezed it onto his sheets.

Check it out on Ao3 here! https://archiveofourown.org/works/33804841

Anxiety sucks. Virgil’s nails are always bitten down to the quick, hands never still, and the insides of his cheeks chewed and raw. If Virgil had to find a bright side, it would have to be his ability to read people. With just a look, Virgil could tell by the slump of his shoulders when Roman needed a little bit of extra praise. He would notice the redness around Patton’s eyes and know that he would need more company than normal.

But the one person Virgil prided himself on seeing was Logan. It was almost second nature for him to sense the tension in Logan’s shoulders without even looking, he could almost feel it in the air. He could see when Logan needed to get out of his head and stop pushing himself before he broke.

Dealing with Logan’s emotions, however, was slightly harder. If his approach was too physical, like he would approach Patton, Logan would withdraw. If he tried to take the same approach he would with Roman, showering compliments tempered with a light bit of teasing, Logan would get uncomfortable and retreat.

Which is how Virgil arrived at his current situation, Logan tensely sitting at his desk in the middle of the night with shoulders so tight he looked like he was seconds away from shattering.

'It's a good thing that my homosexuality is stronger than my pride', Virgil thought as he opened a capri sun and violently squeezed it onto his sheets.

The thing with Logan is that he doesn’t care about himself. He will push himself to his limit and keep going, but, if someone else needs something? He will help as much as he can, even though sometimes it may not be overly obvious that he is helping.

“Hey Logan?” Virgil says from across the room, staring at his now soaked bedding.

“Yes, Virgil?” Logan doesn’t look up from his computer as he sharply replies. For a moment Virgil wonders if this scheme was the best idea, it could fail horribly and Logan could be angry and refuse. But, the wheels were already in motion, his sheets were already wet, and there was no turning back.

“I fucked up.” He said plainly, watching as Logan’s head turned so fast to look at him that he was surprised that he didn’t hear a crack. Realizing how ominous his statement was, Virgil raised his hands and quickly spat out a placating “No it’s okay i’m fine!”

Logan let out a sigh before replying “What did you manage to do that was so dramatic that it required that statement, while I was sitting in the same room, only a handful of feet away from you?”

“Well…” Virgil started, choosing his words very carefully to make sure his plan could not fail. “I was panicking a little bit while I was drinking my Capri Sun and I squeezed it a little bit too hard. It spilled on my sheets and my bed is soaked now.”

Logan’s eyes assessed Virgil, making him momentarily wonder if his lie was believable. Did his dishonesty show on his face? Was Logan about to get angry and yell at him? His hands began to shake slightly and his breathing picked up and, he thought wryly, at least now he wasn’t lying about being anxious. His fears were eased when he saw the slight softening of Logan’s face.

“Oh Virgil,” Logan huffed out, his face morphing into an expression of fond exasperation, “You need to stop having drinks in your bed, especially ones of the extremely spillable and sugary type.”

Virgil shrugged, “It is what it is, you know?”

“It does not have to be the way that it is?” Logan said with a hint of confusion sneaking into his voice. “You can very easily change the circumstance.”

A small chuckle escaped from Virgil as he watched his roommate struggle to wrap his head around the statement. Logan was extremely smart, that was obvious, but watching him puzzle out modern slang and sayings struck Virgil as endearing every time. “It’s too late to change it now, you know?”

“You are correct.” Logan intoned and Virgil could already see some of the tension leaving Logan’s shoulders as he began to relax during the conversation. “Do you have a plan for drying your bedding before it is time for you to sleep?”

“Not at all.” Virgil said as he absentmindedly brought his hand to his mouth to bite his nails, but stopped as Logan let out a soft click of his tongue as a reprimand. As he lowered his hand, he absent-mindedly wondered if Logan was even aware that he had made the sound. Either way, Virgil found it incredibly sweet. “I’ll probably just sleep on the floor. My pillow is dry.”

Virgil made a show of picking up his pillow and feeling around for a dry blanket so that he could make a temporary bed on the floor, however, he was quickly interrupted.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Logan scolded lightly, “You can sleep in my bed. I will be up for a significant while longer doing work, it is no problem at all.”

Everything was falling into place for Virgil and he had to resist the urge to steeple his fingers together like a Bond villain. But his work was not finished, there was still one more task- Get Logan In The Bed.

“Dude no!” He exclaimed, “I’m not taking your bed! You’ve gotta sleep at some point!”

“Virgil,” Logan sighed, “I have a lot of work to do that I need to get done soon. I was actually planning to get up and pour myself some more coffee.”

Shit. If Logan got caffeine into his system, it was game over. His plan would fail and he would just be in Logan’s bed, and while that wouldn’t be the worst thing, it was not the plan. Panicking, he blurted out a quick “No!”

“No?” Logan said with a raised eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

‘Now or never’ Virgil thought to himself, before delivering the line that had inspired the whole plot.

“I wouldn’t feel okay with taking your bed, just in case you decided to sleep. Could we just share for the night?”

Logan looked puzzled, “I suppose, but I have already told you that I am not necessarily planning on sleeping tonight.”

“I know but.. I would feel bad.” Virgil said, his anxiety rising now that he was this far into the plan and there was truly no turning back. “Could you just… Would you just lay down for a minute? It would make me feel better.”

Judging by Logan’s expression, Virgil was convinced that he had lost Logan. His plan had failed and he felt a burn of shame in his chest, clenching his eyes shut. God he was so stupid! He should have just refused the offer to take Logan’s bed and slept on the floor! He should have not even tried this stupid plan! Virgil had not noticed his breathing picking up and his fingernails burying themselves into his palms as his thoughts spiraled into a pit of anxiety. He had not noticed until Logan’s voice washed over him.

“Virgil?” He said, somehow both softly and with authority. “Name five things you can see.” Virgil pried his eyes open, not really remembering when he had closed them. “Bed. Computer. Shoes. Water bottle. Posters.”

Logan nodded his head, with a small smile. “You are doing very well. Now four things you can touch.”

“Uhhh…” Virgil hesitated, eyes darting to Logan, “Sheets. Pants. My hair. Wet blanket.”

“Good job. Three things that you can hear now.”

“Your voice. The air conditioner. Our obnoxious neighbors.” His breathing had started to slow and he could feel his body relaxing.

“Two things you can smell, you’re almost there.”

“Capri sun from my sheets and your disgusting coffee.”

“Last thing, one thing you can taste.”

“Toothpaste.” With his breathing regulated and feeling calmer, Virgil smiled wryly back at Logan. “I’m sorry. That was… sudden.”

“You are perfectly fine. I have reassured you multiple times that I do not mind helping you.” Logan said soothingly. “Why don’t we go lay down? You are typically quite tired after these events.”

“Yeah… that sounds good.” Virgil said as he stood to move to Logan’s bed, straightening his sleep pants and he went. “Do… are you going to lay down too?”

Logan hummed, walking to his laptop to shut the lid, as well as flipping the main lights in the room off. “Yes I suppose that I can for a moment. Just to assure you that I do not mind that you are in my bed.”

Virgil lifted the sheets of the bed and crawled under, scooting over so that he was next to the wall, leaving space for Logan to enter. “Alright. I promise I won’t keep you too long.”

“Well.” Logan said as he joined Virgil under the sheets, “I, in all honesty, could use the sleep.”

Virgil smiled at Logan with a soft “Good night then.”

“Good night Virgil.” Logan whispered, reaching up to turn off the light next to his bed, plunging them both into darkness.

The next time Virgil opened his eyes, the sun was shining through the window of the room and his head was resting on Logan’s shoulder. One of Logan’s strong arms was wrapped across Virgil and Virgil could hear Logan’s soft breathing against his ear.

Slowly reaching into his pocket so as to not disturb Logan, Virgil pulled out his cellphone, which was at 9%, and quickly snapped a picture before sending it to Remy with a simple caption.

“Mission accomplished.”

(And that is the end! Feedback is very appreciated!)

#Sanders Sides #sanders side fic #virgil/logan #sanders sides fanfiction #Sanders sides fanfic #ts virgil #ts logan #roman mentions #patton mentions #remy mentions #virgil sanders #logan sanders #Analogical #ts analogical #logan/virgil #hockey AU #tw panic attack #Larz does a write

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theimprobabledreamersworld · 2 years

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Talking To The Flowers

Here’s a fic I’ve written for Analogical Week, Day 2; Crush/Confession.

I just thought it was a cute, fluff idea... and for once, it is just fluff, no angst in sight haha!

Hope you like it!

@analogicalweek

Writing taglist (If you’d like to be added/removed, let me know!): @psychedelicships @lost-in-thought-20 @red-imeanblue @jwillowwolf @the-duke-of-nuts

Read on Ao3!

Talking To The Flowers

Word Count: 1,007

Pre-Romantic Analogical into Romantic Analogical

To say that Logan was gradually becoming increasingly worried about Virgil would be an understatement.

He used to be around constantly, and Logan had to admit that he enjoyed the company. Which was something he had to remind Virgil of frequently, but he didn’t mind doing that in the slightest. However, recently, Virgil would disappear for hours at a time, and no one would be able to find him. His room was remaining empty until late into the evening, and Logan had to confess, he missed hearing the loud My Chemical Romance tracks pounding through the walls into his room next door.

No… that wasn’t it. It wasn’t the music he missed.

It was Virgil.

Feelings were the bane of Logan’s existence, they always have been. With Virgil though, he felt more comfortable with embracing them, especially since Virgil was so readily open with his. He smiled fondly as he remembered how awkward they used to be around each other; Logan would knock on Virgil’s door just to check in, and he would watch as Virgil stuttered and stumbled around an answer. It was when he realised that there was no-one else he would rather be with, only him.

Thinking about how things have been recently, Logan couldn’t recall when their dynamic changed exactly. It started when Logan realised that he could tell when Virgil wasn’t okay without him having to say anything. They could communicate silently; be it something good, something bad, or something ugly… they didn’t need words, and Logan… loved… that.

He noticed that Virgil would come to Logan more and more frequently, they would talk for hours about Star Trek fanfiction and even wrote some together. He noticed that as their conversations continued to grow in length, they found themselves sitting closer together… a slither of a gap between them, and logic dictated to Logan that he should close the gap altogether, but he didn’t want to make Virgil uncomfortable.

Their nights of stargazing when one of them couldn’t sleep was what forced Logan to accept that everything had definitely changed between him and Virgil. They would sleepily walk into the Imagination, Logan would click his fingers and turn it into a galaxy around them. They laid down next to each other, shoulders touching as Logan would explain the constellations and the stories surrounding him. He tried to hide his pounding heartbeat and the faint blush on his face when he felt Virgil’s hand tentatively wrap around his own. After that first time, the hand-holding became a frequent occurrence in the Imagination and it caused a problem for Logan… mainly that he never wanted to let go.

Logan snapped himself out of his memories with the realisation that he irrefutably had feelings for Virgil, and he needed to find him. There was only one place he could think of, and Logan raced to the Imagination, hoping that he was accurate with his prediction. He opened the door and started searching frantically. He ran straight to the tree that they sit under to stargaze, but no success. Logan looked around puzzled, the Imagination was so vast and unending… Virgil could quite literally be anywhere. He continued to wander around searching every crevice and obscure hiding place, hoping Virgil would be there, but still no avail. Logan sighed, ready to give up and see if Virgil was lurking somewhere inside the Mind Palace… until he heard a faint voice in the distance.

“I just don’t know…” Logan’s head shot up immediately. He was here! He walked towards the voice cautiously, he didn’t want to scare Virgil, but he was intrigued… didn’t know what?

He stopped as he reached a beautiful garden. The plants and flowers were blooming wildly, a stream of blues and purples consumed his vision. Delphiniums, Forget Me Nots, Scabiosas, Anemones, Hyacinths, Cyclamens with Snowdrops scattered in blended together beautifully, forming the colours in the galaxy image that Logan creates while they were stargazing. Virgil was sat in the middle of the floral arrangement, gently tending to the plants, and talking to them softly. He smiled at the sight before listening silently to Virgil’s words.

“How can I admit it? I mean… He’s the smartest, most amazing, incredible, perfect and phenomenal guy I’ve ever known. I’m just… me, I guess. I’m nothing special compared to him. How can I admit… that I think about him all time? I miss him as soon as he leaves the room and I never want to let go of his hand. How can I admit that I care about him more than anyone… that I don’t know what I’d do if I lost him. I just don’t know how to tell Logan… all of this.” Virgil was smiling a sad smile as he talked. So it was mutual then? Logan felt his heart race as he stepped forward and took a deep breath before he spoke.

“Maybe… Maybe I know now, Stormcloud.” He grinned as Virgil looked over with a panic stricken look. He walked over slowly and plucked a ‘Love In Mist’ flower before handing it to Virgil.

“You heard all of that?” Virgil looked away, a blush colouring his cheeks and Logan lifted his chin tenderly. The light dancing in Virgil’s eyes made them more gorgeous than any nebulous cloud he could create.

“Every word. Just so it’s clear… I think all of this about you too. You are perfect for me, and I don’t want to spend a single second longer without you.” He wrapped his hand around Virgil’s and felt a jolt of happiness when Virgil squeezed his hand. He pulled him down to the soft grass, and pulled Virgil in close as Virgil giggled and rested his head on Logan’s chest.

“I… I was going to show you this place, and I was going to confess here. That’s why I’ve been here so often, I wanted to make sure it was perfect.” Logan rested his hand on Virgil’s head, playing with his hair softly.

“Anywhere with you is perfect; my wonderful Stormcloud.”

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #ts logan sanders #ts logan #ts virgil sanders #ts virgil #pre-romantic analogical #romantic analogical #analogical #fluff #so much fluff #pda cw #feelings confession #ts fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction

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ayuuria · 3 years

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Yashahime Translation: Animage October 2021 Issue

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The Beast King’s Daughter

“Hanyō no Yashahime” depicts the battle of three princesses who carry the blood of a demon king. In ‘The Second Chapter’ which broadcasts in October, the one who holds the key to the story is another princess who makes a new appearance.

With overwhelming strength, Sesshōmaru and Inuyasha’s father, the Dog General, was known as “The Beast King of the Western Lands”. The three (girls) Towa, Setsuna, and Moroha inherited the said beast king’s blood.

Despite being inexperienced, Towa and the others have constantly grown in battle. In episode 24 of ‘The First Chapter’, an evenly matched battle unfolds between Towa and Moroha, enraged by Setsuna’s death, and “The Beast King of the Eastern Lands”, Kirinmaru, who is equal to the Dog General. Though Kirinmaru was injured, he successfully landed a single stroke.

Starting from ‘The Second Chapter’, another daughter of a beast king appears before Towa and the others. Her name is Rion. Surprisingly, it is said that Kirinmaru also had a daughter. Rion is an existence who for 600 years has been sealed in Mt. Musubi, which is said to be where the Dream Butterfly is. Exactly who sealed her and for what purpose? Just like Towa and the others, within her is likely an inherited strength of a beast king but her powers are unknown.

There are still many mysteries surrounding Kirinmaru’s daughter, Rion. While it is not yet known whether she is an enemy or an ally to Towa and the others, if she is willing to lend her strength, she will likely become a reliable existence to them as they shoulder many difficulties.

Character Bios

Rion Kirinmaru’s daughter who has been sealed within the barrier of Mt. Musubi for 600 years. It seems her meeting with Towa, Setsuna, and Moroha will move destiny but… …?

The Dream Butterfly The butterfly of the dream world. A spirit. It is said that when they appear in the real world, they devour people’s dreams and those who have been devoured become unable to sleep or dream entirely.

Higurashi Towa Sesshōmaru and Rin’s daughter. She fights with Kikujyūmonji, a demon sword with a blade created from demonic power. The attack she unleashed when she became enraged from Setsuna’s death took on the shape of two blue dragons.

Setsuna Sesshōmaru and Rin’s daughter. In episode 24 of ‘The First Chapter’, despite wounding Kirinmaru during their battle, the tables turned on her and she lost her life.

Moroha Inuyasha and Kagome’s daughter. When she puts on rouge, she goes on a rampage that ends quickly but when Setsuna lost her life, she managed to fight without losing her composure.

Kirinmaru The Beast King of the Eastern Lands. It appears he spares some leeway with the Yashahimes such as naming Towa’s technique ‘Twin-Headed Azure Dragon Wave’, but?

The Parent Needs to Pull It Together More!

Kirinmaru has considerably complicated child rearing. In contrast to that, Rion is a girl with a straightforward upbringing. I can’t say the specifics yet but when I see parent and child, as a father of a daughter in her 10s myself, I think “The parent has to pull it together more” and I also get a sense of “I guess even if the parent complicates things, kids will grow up on their own.” By the way, Fujita Saki plays the role of Rion. She also took on the role of the mean heroine in my previous work “Fairy Ranmaru~ Anata no Kokoro Otasuke Shimasu~”. Just when I thought I finally defeated her in “F Ran” (Shortened name of said previous work), I meet her again in “Hanyō no Yashahime”… … I felt a mysterious fate (laughs).

- Director Hishida Masakazu

I Felt Destiny from the Lives of Towa and Co. Director Hishida Masakazu

Synchronizing With His Own Life?! Empathy Towards Towa’s Situation

— In the previous issue’s interview, Director Hishida, you said that you felt that “it was fate that I should accept” the offer for this current work which was memorable.

Hishida: I worked at Sunrise’s Studio #1 for a long time, but I started to do work for Tatsunoko Production in 2008. From there, I mostly worked at Tatsunoko but now Sunrise has called me back for the first time in 13 years. Just as I’m wondering what sort of work it’s going to be, they tell me it’s a work that carries on the world of “Inuyasha”, (the work) that taught me the foundation of production. Not to mention, the protagonist, Towa, is a girl who was flung from the feudal world where she was born and raised, to the modern era, and then returns to the feudal (era) again after 10 years. I felt Towa’s situation synchronized with mine and all I could think was that this was fate.

I’m about the same age as the director of ‘The First Chapter’, Teruo-san (Director Satō Teruo), and our careers are just about the same too. Teruo-san worked at Studio 1 for the longest time while I on the other hand, got thrown outside and came back… … I thought that aspect felt similar to Towa and Setsuna’s life (laughs). That’s why watching Towa and Setsuna’s relationship in “The First Chapter” was very tough. Like, they were such close sisters so why doesn’t she remember… …

— To change it to your position Director Hishida, it’s like “You returned to Sunrise for the first time in a while but the people you used to get along with have forgotten about you” kind of a situation.

Hishida: It’s exactly that! The current staff of Sunrise’s Studio 1 don’t know me, and they don’t thank me (laughs). You see, I was the one who revived the steppingstone for the “becoming a producer by being a production assistant” route that came to an end at Studio 1! There weren’t many before me but afterwards, there were a lot of people that took that route and flew the nest like Fujita Yōichi-kun, Watada Shinya-kun, and Kyōgoku Takahiko-kun! No one is really grateful so Fujita-kun and Kyōgoku-kun would always say to me “I should’ve crushed you back then!” (laughs). As I watched Setsuna not remembering Towa, I ended up remembering that.

— You seem to have an unusual attachment to Towa and Setsuna’s relationship (laughs). Well then, what sort of impression do you have of Moroha and Sesshōmaru?

Hishida: Moroha has a brilliance to her. It’s amusing that she inherited Inuyasha’s mischievous side, and she’s got a similar silhouette to Inuyasha as well, so I feel that she is a real eye-catching character. When Towa and Setsuna take center, the story becomes heavy no matter what, so it’s fun to watch Moroha soften the place up.

Then, regarding Sesshōmaru in this current work, I felt “He’s a father”. I bet in his own way, as a father, he wonders how to interact with his daughters. Even while carrying out a strict “trial of courage and cowardice”, he still concerns himself with his daughters which I feel is a little human like. I’m also a father of two girls so I can relate to him somewhat. In the last (scene) of “The First Chapter”, he purposefully hands over a broken Tenseiga to Towa but he wouldn’t do that if he didn’t care about them. He just gives a pass like “Do something about it with this” and I think that is also (a form of) training in a sense.

Also, drawing wise, the pattern of Sesshōmaru’s kimono is still brutal (laughs). “Inuyasha” was an analog cel anime back then so (drawing) that pattern was even more difficult. At the time, the suggestion “Let’s omit the pattern on Sesshōmaru’s kimono” was made but Director Ikeda Masashi opposed it. I didn’t understand why Director Ikeda was so fixated on that pattern back then but thinking about it now, I think it was the right call. Since it could be said that Sesshōmaru’s existence is one of two wheels in the work that is “Inuyasha”, he probably didn’t want to make him plain wherever possible.

The First Attempt At ‘The Second Chapter’ Storyboard Was Like A “Trial of Courage and Cowardice”

— Next, please tell us about Kirinmaru’s side. In ‘The First Chapter’, many of their actions were puzzling so by all means, any hints to their activity in ‘The Second Chapter’!

Hishida: At first, I couldn’t quite understand Kirinmaru, but once I heard he was a father with a daughter, I understood. While he is a person who’s thinking “I want to surpass the Dog General”, his feelings of admiration towards that man and wanting to show his strong side to his daughter are feelings that I completely understand now. Kirinmaru has had many mysterious aspects up until this point, but I’d like to depict his emotions in ‘The Second Chapter’.

Just like her younger brother, Kirinmaru, Zero has also become obsessed with the Dog General. In any case, she lives on her “love”. Zero’s womanly heart is a little complicated, but I also feel that seeing her persist with her earnest feelings for the Dog General is cool.

Also, I think the parts of Riku, who’s neutral towards Towa and the others, that were difficult to see up to this point will become clear in ‘The Second Chapter’. How he feels about Towa will be brought to the forefront, so I told Fukuyama Jun-kun who plays him, “In ‘The Second Chapter’ please go with a slightly handsome boy feeling route” (laughs). By the way, Fukuyama-kun was the one who played the main character in my director debut work “Onmyō Taisenki”. The name of the role (character) was ‘Riku’. ‘The Second Chapter’ is a story about the ‘fate’ that connects people together, and I also felt a mysterious fate from that.

— What did you think of production for episode 25 (episode 1 of ‘The Second Chapter’) which continues from the shocking last scene of Setsuna’s death in ‘The First Chapter’?

Hishida: It was such shocking last scene that I was overcome with the feeling of “Why are you passing the baton to me at such a difficult spot!?”! I truly thought this was a ‘trial of courage and cowardice’ (laughs). I did the storyboard for episode 25 myself, but coming into the work midway, it took me some time to understand the story, so I really struggled. Until now, the record holder for storyboard that took me the longest was episode 13 of “Gundam Reconguista in G” with 2 months. However, this time, it took me 3 months.

— To say that it easily overtook that “G Recon” (shortened form of “Gundam Reconguista in G”) that you struggled so much with (laughs).

Hishida: Yes. My worst record was brilliantly made new! However, on the reverse side, I thought with ‘The First Chapter’ ending like this, there’s no doubt you’d want to see the continuation. In that sense, they passed the baton in the best way so I should meet up to that (expectation). It was tough but I put my all into it!

— ‘The Second Chapter’ is loaded with things to be curious about aside from what will happen to Setsuna like Rin who’s sleeping within the Tree of Ages and Inuyasha and Kagome who’ve been trapped within the black pearl.

Hishida: I can’t talk in detail about that yet but I will say “There’s no way it would end like this!”. I would certainly like for everyone to look forward to October.

In the new key visual for ‘The Second Chapter’ that is overflowing with lively motion, the three princesses show gallant expressions with weapons in hand. What exactly is beyond Towa’s reaching hand… …? Also, when will we get to see ‘Sesshōmaru & Rin’ and ‘Inuyasha & Kagome’ standing side-by-side together as shown in this picture?

#Yashahime #Hanyou no Yashahime #Yashahime: Princess Half-Demon #translation

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whitexwingedxdoves · 3 years

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Kiss Me Once.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader Warnings/Rating: sexual nature, NSFW Time Frame: 2015 Summary: You and Steve give in to temptation after a party at Stark Towers. A/N: If you know me IRL and you’re reading this. No you don’t. You don’t see it. Move along. please excuse any grammar or spelling errors. I did not proof read.

As you stumbled into your bathroom clutching a hold of a Champaign bottle by its neck, you feel the warmth of hands steady you hips. A contagious giggle escapes your lungs and you reach the counter top, carefully placing down the half empty bottle and placing all your weight on you hands as you hunch over the sink. Your giggle was imitated behind you, shaking your head you look up into the mirror and see one of the straps on your dress as carelessly fallen down your shoulder, Immediately you fix it, along with any stray hairs. “Oh Steve!” you sighed pressing your lips into a thin line as you examine the mess you allowed yourself to get into. “Why did you let me drink so much” you giggled running your fingers through the curls in your hair. Steve propped himself against the now closed door, crossing his arms at his chest as he watched you managing to stumble while standing in one spot. “I tried to stop you but you barked at me” He reminisced, cocking his head down with a perfect smile etched on his lips. “You said you finally wanted to let go and have fun!” He mocked peering at you under his brow bone. You didn’t respond instead you continued to examine yourself in the mirror, even with blurred vision you could see the red stains across your cheek from where you must have smeared your lipstick.

“I should really get a shower” you thought out loud. “I look like I’ve just stepped out of an orgy” you exclaimed grimacing at the thought, you looked over at Steve who couldn’t help but laugh at your analogy. “Of course I haven’t” you added with a defeated sigh. “I’ve not even kissed a man in gosh... 74 years. Granted I spent most of that time frozen but still.. 74 years is a LONG time” As you seemed to go deep into the thought, you chewed on the side of your lip propping yourself up with one arm that was still planted on the counter top. You thought back to Bucky and the last time you saw him before you was taken by hydra. You could still feel the taste of his lips on yours if you thought hard enough. It wasn’t long until memories of your wedding day creeped up on you. The small chapel, the only one you could afford a the time, your white sundress you borrowed from your friend Betty because the cost of the chapel chewed up all the money you had saved, there was no way you could afford your own dress. How handsome Bucky looked in his suit and the tears in his eyes as he saw you walk down the isle. How small Steve looked in comparison to Bucky, hell how small Steve looked in comparison to you. Your eyes immediately snapped towards him as he looked up at you with a puzzled look on his face. “What you thinkin’ about” he asked, his voice was calm. “I was just thinking about my wedding day. God your so different” your words seemed soft as you admired Steve’s frame, walking over to him slowly. He just nodded in response taking a look at himself and brushing down his shirt. “I miss him Steve” you whispered as you got closer, your eyes filled with tears. Steve noticed how when the light hit them, they seemed to sparkle. “Me too” his words felt remorseful and full of regret, his eyes fluttered back down to his shoes not daring to look at you the way he always did when you spoke about Bucky. He knew how much you hated how he looked at you with pity but he couldn’t help it. His eyes flashed back up as he felt your hand on his chest, he couldn’t help but notice how soft your touch was, his eyes wandered the curve of your arm until he caught your gaze. Your eyes slightly puffy and glistening still. There was a slight tension there, you both felt it. You watched each other as you breathing seemed uneasy and short. Your eyes darting between his eyes and his lips and almost instantly guilt spread through your entire body. You pulled away from his chest and cleared your throat, turning your back on him as you walked back towards the sink.

“ I keep telling myself to move on. Telling myself I deserve to be happy with someone else” you spoke, breaking the obvious tension that still lingered. “But how could I ever love someone else the way I love him.” Your words cracked as you stood looking in the mirror again, seemingly sobered by the thought of you late husband. Steve picked himself off the door and started to make his way towards you, his hand landed on your shoulder, though his hands were big and rough his touch was very much the opposite. Your eyes darted towards his hand as you admired the way they made you feel at ease. “You do deserve to be happy” he whispered back at you. “Just because you move on doesn’t mean you stop loving them” he added his hand giving you a gentle squeeze. It was then you realised you had been wrapped up in your own sorrow you completely forgot that Steve lost the love of his life too and right on cue the look of pity you hated so much rinsed over your own face as you looked up to catch his gaze. “Steve” you didn’t mean for it to come out in a whisper but it did. Your own hand now meeting his on your shoulder. He waited to see if you would follow up with a question but you couldn’t, there’s nothing anyone can say to make the situation any less heart-breaking. You just shook your head as you took his hand in yours, pulling it away from your shoulder. Your finger tips ran across his palm, it felt like pure electricity running through his hands. Your eyes following every crack and line that made up his hand, you allowed him to pull his hand away but your head stayed hung until you felt him take you head in his hands. His thumbs wiping away the salty tears on your cheek.

Your eyes got lost in his, you admired how green specks meshed into the pool of blue in his eyes. There it was again, the tension. Its almost as if you couldn’t escape it, every time you touched one and other you body was sent into a hot flash, you had gotten pretty use to covering it up but as time went on, the harder it was to hide and this time it was damn near impossible. He felt it too but you didn’t know, not until now... not until you noticed his short breaths and the way his hands where clamming up at the feel of you skin, the way his cheek’s turned slightly pink as he stared into your eyes. “Just sex...” you spoke softly and quietly as your eyes bounced between his eyes and lips again, his face getting closer ever so slightly. He nodded in response, his eyes darting the same way yours did and just like that your lips crashed together in a lustful flurry.

It was almost like you couldn’t get enough, One of your hands placed on the back of his neck, pulling him in as close as you physically could. The other hand ran through his hair as you lightly took a handful. His hands fell from your face and started to explore the curves of your body, his hands slipping your strap from your shoulder, he pulled away from the kiss and started to tenderly press kissed up your shoulder and on your neck. You allowed a small gasp of air escape as you relished in the feeling of being touched but you couldn’t handle it any more, your hands grabbed his face and pulled him back up to your lips, your tongue gently caressing his bottom lip before he allowed to you gain access to his mouth. The moment of passionate kisses lead to him leading you back into the shower, you gasped as you back hit the tiles. His hands instantly unzipping your dress and allowing it to fall down at your ankles and you took it as your cue to start unbuttoning his shirt, your hunger becoming more and more insatiable for him with each button you popped free. Once your reached the last button you scrambled to pull the shirt away from his body as you felt his lips caress your neck again, your breathing became much more noticeable as you watched his shirt fall to the bottom of the shower. Steve wasted no time removing you undergarments, the feel of his hands on your bare skin caused Goosebumps all over your body, the realisation that you were now completely bare in front of him, you raced to his waist line, fumbling with his belt before he took control for you, undoing the buttons on his pants as he ripped the belt from the loops. You watched with hunger in your eyes pressed up against the back of the shower, biting down on your lip before his gaze met yours again once he was free of clothing.

“Are you sure about this?” he spoke, watching your reaction he waited until you nodded trying to catch your breath before he stepped in front of you again, his lips finding yours again. His arms wrapped around your entire body as he picked you up pushing you against the wall, your legs automatically wrapping around his waste as he kept you propped against the wall. His lips venturing out to explore the rest of your body, you pushed your arms against the wall, hitting the on button for the shower. The water came as a shock to both of you and you exchanged a light giggle before your lips met again. The water was cascading down on you both and you exchanged a deep and heated kiss before he pulled away. Keeping you propped perfectly on the wall he moved you down ever so slightly until he entered you, his eyes not leaving yours. Pinning one hand up against the wall and one hand on your bum as he thrust into you slowly and gently. You tried to leave his gaze, the passion feeling a little too much at the moment but he wanted to soak it all in. His hand left the wall though this didn’t slow down his thrust or disturb them in anyway, he pinched your chin between his fingers and turned your face so you were looking back into his eyes again. He watched as you fought with moans and he just shook his head, his face seemed almost animalistic as his thrusts gained pace and deepened. You could tell he wanted you to moan, he was doing everything in his power to make it difficult for you to keep it in. You sub come to his ways and let out a loud breathless moan, you watched as the corner of his mouth flicked up as he watched you hitting your climax but the look in his eyes told you he wasn’t about to stop there. You braced yourself as he pulled you away from the wall and wrapped his arms around you, moving your body for you so he didn’t break his rhythm. You grabbed a fist full on his hair and bit down on his shoulder as you where pressed against him, the feeling of climaxing twice was overwhelming but you could feel the smile on his lips as he kissed along your chest.

He left one hand go free before pressing the off button on the shower. Keeping you perfectly balanced on his hip, carrying you to your room attached to the bathroom. As he threw you down on the bed, you felt the fabric instantly grab onto the moisture of your back. You watched as Steve climbed on top of you, propping himself up with his elbow, leaning into your body, his free hand followed the curve of your face before he entered you again. You didn’t bother fighting the moans anymore, Your hands gripping onto the sheets underneath you as you moved with his body. You looked into his eyes as you could feel he was ready to finish, you smiled at the thought of his satisfaction until he slowed down, his eyes widening as he climaxed. You left out a breath of air as he flopped down next to you on the bed. You both laid in silence for a moment, smiling at the obvious satisfaction you both craved, now being completely fulfilled.

Neither of you saying a way as the smiles faded and the guilt crept in. Your thoughts instantly went to Bucky. His to Peggy. You avoid any eye contact with Steve as you scrabbled under the covers, a tear falling down your cheek. You listened as Steve picked himself up from the bed in search for something to wear, now his clothes were wet. He came back into the bedroom with one of your robes wrapped around him, snug. He looked down at the bed where you laid with your back to him, staring out the large glass window. A sigh left his lips as he hung his head in shame. “I’ll see you in the morning” he spoke, in hopes for a response. You let out a small hmm to confirm you had heard him. As he turned to leave the room, he heard you call out his name. Looking back he saw you now facing him with a look of guilt. “Thank you” you spoke, laying your head back down into the pillow. He nodded in your direction as he left your room. Once your door closed you swallowed the lump in your throat. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep that night.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #avengers x reader #steve rogers #avengers #steve rogers smut #bucky x you #*

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5-falsehoods-phonated · 3 years

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Soulmate September

Series Summary- a collection of one shots exploring different ships and au concepts. The list I created and am following can be found here.

Day Three: A Storm of Stars

Summary: Soul tattoos don’t fill in until the other person knows without a doubt that their partner is the one, when everything they are become so ingrained in each other’s lives that their souls become entwined. For Virgil and Logan, this doesn’t happen until well after they’ve been married. When the moments do arrive however, they both know they could never be happier.

Warnings: none, If there are any please let me know!

Ships: Analogical (Virgil x Logan)

Prompt: Tattoo that becomes colorful once you meet soulmate

WC: 2645

AO3

Logan’s eyes snapped open as a loud crack of thunder shook the house, rain pelting against the roof and making the tiles creak. His popping joints added to the symphony as he stretched his way into a sitting position. Reaching over to the bedside drawer he fumbled a bit before finding the small remote and clicking on the web of fairy lights strung in the far corner, immediately bathing the room in a pleasant blue glow. He flipped his pillow over to the cool side and took a second to fluff the other pillow a bit, moving it over to be closer to his and smoothing the bedsheets.

The motions were automatic after so many years of practice, going back to he and Virgil’s first sleepover when they were still guaranteed a juicebox and cookies after school. It had stormed then too, Logan waking up to find his bed crowded with a shaking Virgil and his trusty stuffed tiger, who though was quite courageous had realized she was no match for a storm and had convinced her charge to seek shelter with Logan instead. Smiling softly at the memory Logan settled down to wait. He knew as his husband had grown older he wasn’t afraid of storms anymore so much as his anxiety ran with endless possibilities of what they could do to them or the house- which Logan was often inclined to agree with but played his role of devil’s advocate for the sake of Virgil’s well-being.

Right as he was beginning to wonder if he should leave to go and collect Virgil, the floorboards in front of his door squeaked in protest. A moment later a figure bulky with sweatpants and a hoodie slouched into the room, quickly shutting the door behind him and practically diving into the bed and under the blankets. The bed springs creaked along with the roof tiles as they both fidgeted and fussed trying to get comfortable, Logan biting back a small laugh as Virgil nosed his way underneath his chin. His soft hair tickled Logan’s lips as he pressed a kiss to the top of his head and wrapped his arms around him. Finally they were still, Virgil’s breathing slowly matching his own as he made sure to take deep calming breaths.

The rain was already quieting, the storm moving on and leaving the two night owls to their bubble of peaceful warmth. Logan readjusted slightly as Virgil snuggled in further, hoodie sleeves riding up as he snaked his arms around his waist in an attempt to pull them closer. Logan did laugh at this, planting another kiss firmly on the other’s forehead.

“I think if you squeezed any tighter we’d fuse, stormcloud. How are we supposed to compose an email when our absence excuse would be cuddling too hard?”

“No such thing,’” Virgil mumbled. “I’ll cuddle you as hard as I want and they’re just gonna haftadealwibit.”

The last half of the sentence trailed off into near indecipherable gibberish but Logan understood well enough. “You are exceptionally adorable when you’re tired. As much as I hate that storms cause you anxiety, I'm glad that nothing else has changed.”

He grinned as the side of his neck where Virgil’s face was pressed against warmed and quietly congratulated himself through the disappointment that he couldn’t currently see Virgil’s crimson face. ‘Still got it’ he thought to himself as he wiggled a bit to try and find a comfortable spot where Virgil’s rather bony arms weren’t poking into his ribs, failing miserably until he managed a sigh. “I’m sorry stormcloud, I’m getting a bit of a cramp. Why don’t you lay on top of me instead; that’s comfortable for you as well isn’t it?”

Humming in confirmation, Virgil leaned back and let Logan flip onto his back. A moment later he let out a small groan of surprise as Virgil flopped solidly onto him, burrowing into his chest and holding Logan tight by his sides. Smiling, he brought the blankets up over them both and carefully tucked them in, bringing his arms out and resting them on Virgil’s shoulders to make sure it didn’t slide off.

“Thank you for always doing this.” Logan scrunched his brow at the frustrated tone in Virgil’s voice. “And don’t you dare say ‘why wouldn’t I’ because you always ask and I always say it’s because I’m too old to be afraid of storms and then you logic your way around me because I’m too tired to argue. This is just something I always thought I’d grow out of.”

“Sometimes we grow out of fears, sometimes not. The ones that linger aren’t something you can help or should blame yourself for.” Getting no response other than a frustrated huff, Logan continued, beginning to hum and rub soothing circles on his back. “Whether the fear is rational or not- and whether or not the threat is real- I will always be here to protect and support you however you need. Seeing as I’m not exactly in the best shape for fighting crime or fending off rabid dogs, comforting you through a storm is something that I love that I’m able to do. And I will continue to love doing it because I love you and would rather you be here with me seeking comfort than by yourself too stubborn to ask for help.”

“Logan?”

“Yes, Virgil?”

“You’re making it really hard to be edgy and self-deprecating right now.”

“Heaven forbid.”

Virgil snorted, knocking the top of his head gently into Logan’s chin until Logan sighed in mock exasperation, craning his neck to kiss him softly on the forehead so he’d settle back down. As he laid his head back down onto his chest a warm, tingling sensation spread from underneath Virgil’s cheek and covered his collar bone and part of his shoulder. Gasping he nudged the other up, poking more insistantly when the stubborn emo refused to disentangle himself. Ignoring Virgil’s confused look as he made to pull off his shirt he practically whipped it across the room and placed a hand to his soul mark, eyes shining as he took in the sight.

His mark had always looked so odd to him, big blobs of shapes over his right shoulder and collar bone with jagged black scars streaking from them and down his chest. He could never even begin to picture what it could be, though a friend suggested once that it might be a warped forest of some sort, doubtful as his tone had been. Instead, his warm fingers traced over jagged streaks of lightning, such a bright purple they nearly glowed in the dark. The blobs above them had filled in with every shade of gray he had ever seen, broken occasionally by shadows of purple and blue where the lightning was. It was unexpectedly beautiful, his vision blurring with tears as he realized what this meant.

“I always knew.” He looked up as Virgil spoke in a hushed whisper. “I always- but you just felt so safe and you never...you always make me feel better about it and so safe and I guess-”

Logan opened his arms and Virgil gratefully dove back into them, catching his cheek with a kiss on the way down. They resettled quickly, the rain nothing more than a gentle patter against the roof letting them rest easy. Cracking an eye open, Logan strained to look down as Virgil laughed and held him tighter.

“Of all the things that keep me up at night, I’m so glad I was right about this.”

Logan smiled and hugged him closer in turn. “I agree.”

----- -----

Virgil sat up slowly, blanket falling from his shoulders and pooling around his waist as he struggled to cross his legs in the tangle. After a minute of failing miserably he huffed and flopped back, kicking both legs up as far as they would go while catching the blanket on the bottom of his feet and then kicking forward violently to dislodge them. Unfortunately the trick failed, landing more fabric between his legs and scrunching his pants uncomfortably in the process. Scissoring his legs just twisted everything around more and by the time he was halfway through attempting bicycles the situation was hopeless enough he considered just going back to sleep and dealing with it when he woke up. He had closed his eyes to do just that when he heard a muffled snort from the doorway, picking his head up to peer at Logan through squinted eyelids.

“Would you like some assistance?” Logan asked while making a half-hearted attempt to school his features.

Huffing, Virgil flopped his head back onto the pillows. “Clearly I have everything under control.”

“Falsehood. Your wiggling was very impressive but the blankets quite obviously won in the end. Was falling back to sleep after a ten hour nap and a failed battle the plan from the start?”

“No one likes a smartass Lo.”

“And yet your love for me persists.” Smiling lightly, Logan made his way to the side of the bed and climbed on, swinging his legs up and over Virgil’s stomach and plopped down gently with his hands splayed over his chest. Grunting out pseudo complaints Virgil reached up and took both of the hands in his own, giving each a kiss in turn before settling them back just below his collarbones. The sight of Logan blushing- bright enough to be visible even in the dim room- was one he would never grow tired of.

“Illogical as it may be.” He agreed. “Is that why you love your darling husband? I’m your most difficult logic puzzle that’s guaranteed to last a lifetime?”

Logan rolled his eyes. “No, that’s absurd. I love my husband because a pain in the ass though he may be- he’s a constant I find myself unable to live without.”

Feeling his own face heating up Virgil longed for his hoodie to hide in, especially once Logan’s expression turned smug from rendering him speechless. “Logan, it’s much too early for you to be this smooth.”

“Virgil, my love, it’s seven in the evening.”

Virgil blinked. “Wow. you weren’t kidding when you said ten hour nap.”

“I never kid. It’s important to be one hundo percent, one hundo percent of the time.”

“Who gave you that one?”

“Patton.”

“Yeah, maybe don’t trust the dad-friend for flashcards, starlight.’

Flushing slightly, Logan disentangled their fingers and rolled off the bed. “Duly noted. Now please get up, we have plans.”

“We do- ah!” Virgil found himself face down in his pillow, having flipped around with Logan’s rather aggressive flourish of snapping the blankets out from around his legs. Remembering that they had, in fact, had plans for the night, Virgil rolled out of bed as quickly as he could with apologies already hot on his tongue. “Logan I’m so sorry I thought that was tomorrow and I had stayed up late for stupid reasons and I hope we aren’t running late do I have time to change-”

“Virgil, breathe.” Logan cupped a hand to his cheek and gently ran a thumb under his eye. “I assure you we have plenty of time and I’m very glad you got the sleep you did. I would have liked you up earlier only to see your lovely face and to make sure your sleep schedule wasn’t ruined. But if you slept that long you must have needed it, and I certainly am not going to fault you for that.”

Closing his eyes, Virgil took a breath and held it for a second before breathing out slowly. Logan’s hand left his cheek and he caught himself leaning forward to chase the warmth, his resulting blush filling that void for the time being.

“Do what you need and then come in the kitchen; I made fried noodles.”

More awake now than ever Virgil hurried to the bathroom. Logan’s cooking was the best he had ever had and he’d be damned if he was late for noodles.

-----

A cool breeze rustled through the thick grass and flipped over the corner of the blanket Logan and Virgil had set up an hour before. Sputtering, Virgil flipped it back from his face, spitting bits of dandelion fluff out of his mouth in the process while pointedly ignoring Logan’s snicker. He pushed his hoodie closer to the corner to prevent further mishap and snuggled closer to his husband for warmth, head resting comfortably on one arm with his other wrapped around Logan’s shoulders.

Logan lay on his side with his head on his shoulder, the bottom of his cheek pressed into the still black soulmark that traced a shapeless blob from the top of his elbow to the nape of his neck. Soulmarks filled in based on the other soulmates feelings- when they truly felt like they had found the one. Of course that was a romantic conspiracy for the most part and to Virgil it seemed to go against the entire idea of fate. If you could choose your own, then what was the point of the marks?

Choosing not to think about it for the time being, he continued staring up at the sky. The night was clear and this far out not much light pollution tainted their view of everything the night had to offer. Stars glittered for miles with barely there colorful space dust in between if you squinted. Logan had told him what it actually was once- something about it being high temperature nebula gas absorbing starlight- Logan had explained it much better in the past.

Logan always explained everything better.

“You’re quiet tonight.” Logan remarked.

“I’m sorry- just thinking.”

“Mm, don’t be sorry.”

They laid in silence for a few more minutes before Virgil decided to speak up. “They always make me feel really small- stars I mean- and I know I am small compared to everything but all that just leads to...existential dread I guess. Seeing everything laid out, it’s beautiful, but it’s also a bit daunting.”

“Virgil, if you’re uncomfortable-”

“Lemme finish first before you do the sweet thing you do where you overanalyze everything for the sake of everyone else’s comfort.” Seeing Logan smile and roll his eyes he continued. “I always feel small looking at them, but it never matters because you make me feel big. Like I could take on the entire world even when the anxiety’s being a bitch.”

He felt Logan smile against his arm...and then it started to tingle. Tiny pinpricks raced up and down his arms from his shoulder to his neck and he quickly disentangled himself and started blindly slapping at his mark to get whatever bugs off that had decided to ruin the moment. Noticing Logan had his mouth covered with his eyes wide in shock staring at his arm he quickly looked down and gasped with his own.

His unsightly black blob of a soulmark, which he had long ago stopped trying to guess at the shape of, was now a glittering galaxy. Striking blue and dark purple swirled in intricate patterns behind stars that shined so brightly on his skin he would swear they had been plucked from the night sky and flicked onto him. The tingling finally stopped, the whole field seeming to hold its breath along with the both of them before Logan finally broke the silence with a hoarse whisper.

“In an entire universe I found you.” Snapping his head up, Virgil saw tears gathering in his husband’s eyes. “I was sure I already knew but- I’m so happy I found you.”

Laughing wetly Virgil dove forward, knocking them both over and half in the grass but neither could bring themselves to care. Under the stars, with Virgil himself wrapped in a galaxy, he had never been so happy to have an impossibly small space in Logan’s arms to call his own.

If you like this, please consider reblogging. Sharing a creators work helps more people see it.

#false writes #sander sides #soulmate september #ts soulmate september #virgil sanders #logan sanders #analogical #my witing

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gureishi · 3 years

Note

I had spam and eggs for breakfast

XD though can I request 20 with zen, fluff please :D

Truly thank you for telling me, breakfast is everything

Yes, of course! What a sweet prompt for lovely Zen—I had a lot of fun writing this. I hope you enjoy it!! ♡

twenty: fall in love all over again

ZenXReader, T, words: 1988

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The big analog clock on the wall tells you it’s long past sunset. In the studio, there’s no indication of day or night—there are no windows, and the high-ceilinged room is lit for mid-morning. As far as you can tell, it’s been mid-morning for over ten hours.

You slip out of the soft, low-backed chair, and wander over to the craft services table, mostly for something to do. You pour yourself some decaf coffee (because you really want to sleep tonight) and hover near the obnoxiously large snack platter, stretching your stiff arms.

A youngish man with a beard appears beside you. You shoot him a sideways glance; his badge identifies him as a PA.

“So you’re his manager, huh?” he says. You follow his gaze across the expansive room; it falls, of course, on Zen, who is resplendent in a black mock neck sweater and blazer. He’s getting his makeup touched up, perched delicately on the edge of a stool. You smile at the sight of him: he sits perfectly still, his face tilted up obediently. His hair glitters under the studio lights, like it’s been adorned with ice crystals.

“Yes, I am,” you say politely, because you don’t know this man, and what are you supposed to say? Yes, and also we sleep in the same bed?

“Lucky you,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. You sigh. Like you, he’s just looking for a way to pass the time. “He’s crazy hot. Any good stories? Drama?”

You laugh. You seem to have fallen head-first into an impossible situation. You have plenty of drama, you suppose—that morning, Zen had accidentally put berries in his yogurt before remembering that their sugar content is too high for a filming day. You doubt this is the kind of drama the PA is looking for.

Before you can say anything, a script assistant who you vaguely know from another set drifts over to the table, croissant in hand.

“You idiot, they live together!” she interrupts, face alight, evidently thrilled to drop this particular bomb. The PA gawks; the assistant speaks in a low voice, filling him in on the more public details of your relationship.

You slip away as discretely as you can, stifling a yawn. Seeing people make the connection, put together the pieces of your relationship—this was thrilling, once. Nowadays, you feel like there’s no crazy, misconstrued version of your relationship that you haven’t already heard. Today, you really just want to go home, crawl into your warm bed, and sleep for as many hours as humanly possible.

You collapse back into your chair, pulling out your phone out of habit. It’s useless—there’s no service in the studio.

You watch idly as they do a few more takes. It’s not a very exciting shot: Zen turns a corner and walks toward the camera. Then he does it again. And again. It’s boring, but you don’t really mind—you love watching him work. He’s so serious when the cameras are on and so enthusiastic between shots, bouncing on the balls of his feet with anticipation. You’d never know, from looking at him, how many hours you’ve all spent in this chilly, windowless warehouse. He’s practically radiating zeal.

Finally, finally, they wrap for the day. The director whispers to her assistant and the call is repeated, echoing throughout the huge room. Suddenly, there’s a bustle of activity. You draft a quick text to Zen’s agent and another to his publicist; they’ll go through when you get out of this cellular data dead zone.

You linger as people start to disperse. It’s chaos as the crowd moves and shifts, packing up and yelling goodbyes across the room. The first day of filming is always this way: long, boisterous, draining.

You’re drafting a longer email when he finally approaches you, his tall figure casting a shadow over your phone screen.

“Ready to go home, babe?”

He’s in full anti-paparazzi gear, a baseball hat and a mask and a giant scarf. His eyes—the only part of him that’s visible—glimmer, and he winks at you.

“Please,” you sigh, tossing your phone into your bag.

He doesn’t take your hand, because his publicist has repeatedly asked him to please stop doing that while on location. He nudges you with his shoulder, though, offering you a little bit of his warmth.

He’s tired, too—you can tell, though you’re sure no one else could. You see it in the way he walks, his strides just a shade shorter than usual—and in the way his voice sounds, a little bit deep, a little bit muted.

You’re quiet as you walk to the car; he waves goodbye to everyone, calling them all by name—the actors, the assistants, the hair stylists and set dressers and boom operators. It’s just like him to have learned all of this already, you think.

You make your way down a bafflingly long hallway and—at last—into the parking lot. It’s fully night, the moon high in the sky. You take a deep breath, relishing in the feeling of fresh air in your nostrils.

Your phone buzzes repeatedly as a day’s worth of texts come in. You ignore them and shoot a quick text to the driver. Zen throws his arms up over his head and breathes deeply.

It’s routine, you think, as the car pulls up, as Zen tosses another goodbye over his shoulder at a departing electrician. All of it: waking up together, going to work together. Leaving work together, riding back home.

As soon as the door is closed, Zen slumps against you, his head on your shoulder. You lay a hand on his knee.

“How do you think today went?” you ask him. He can be tired, now that he’s alone with you. He’s always acting when he’s at work, even when he’s not on camera.

“Mmmm,” he mumbles into your neck. “I’m not sure. I didn’t even say any lines yet.”

You giggle. “Yeah. It was mostly you walking back and forth, huh.”

He laughs his sweet, breathy, sleepy laugh—the one that never fails to give you butterflies, even after all this time.

You fall into silence. You feel the tiredness in your bones: the hours of sitting have made your butt a little numb, and your eyes burn from the studio lights. You remember, vaguely, the way you felt the very first time you came to a shoot with him—like the world was unfurling before you. You wish you could rekindle just a little of that naïve enthusiasm.

You almost don’t notice the car pulling up in front of the apartment. Zen lifts his head off your shoulder and presses a feather-light kiss to your cheek.

“We’re home, my love.”

You thank the driver and follow Zen—out of the car, down the steps, through the door.

“Okay.” He turns to you, tossing off his hat, his mask hanging from one ear. He’s grinning like he has a secret. “Please wait in the living room, darling.”

“Why?” He shakes his head and kisses you swiftly on the lips, darting away before you have time to respond.

Puzzled, you hang your jacket and flop onto the couch, finally catching up on the messages you missed all day. Almost everyone is in the RFA chatroom; you check in, tell them about the filming. They are amused that Zen was just being filmed walking around all day; there’s more to his character than that! you want to yell at them.

Just then, you notice an unexpected flowery scent drifting into the room—roses and lavender. You sit up, sniffing the air. What on earth could he be doing right now?

As if on cue, Zen appears in the doorway in a cloud of perfumed air. His hair’s untied, splayed artfully over his shoulders. He holds out an arm for you and you scramble to your feet. He laughs gleefully—it’s a beautiful sight to behold; he’s all sparkles and unbridled joy.

“Where are we going?” you ask, laughing as he dramatically sweeps you down the short hallway. It’s not a big apartment—there isn’t really much of anywhere to go.

“Ta-da!” He opens the bathroom door with a flourish.

You inhale sharply.

The overhead light is off and he’s lit every candle in the house—they’re on the sink, on the floor, on the edges of the tub. Through the warm, flickering light, you see light, faintly colored steam rising—you peer down and see that he’s filled the tub with hot water and bubbles in numerous pastel colors. There are rose petals and tiny sprigs of lavender floating on the surface.

“Zen!”

He lifts your hand to his lips and kisses it ever-so-gently.

“You gave me nearly twelve hours of your precious time today,” he says, and his voice comes out a little too fast, the way it does when he gets excited and his mouth can’t keep up with his mind. “I know how exhausting it is sitting in the studio. I can’t bear thinking about you feeling cold and tired and sore, all for my sake.” He pauses; caresses your cheek with one long finger. “You’re my whole world. I just want you to feel warm.”

You throw your arms around his neck and kiss him enthusiastically; he stumbles a little, caught off guard, and then catches himself against the doorframe, kissing you back with surprising energy.

You pull away just slightly, your lips centimeters from his. His breath tickles your nose.

“You’re the sweetest, kindest man to ever live,” you say.

“And the most beautiful,” he reminds you, lips just grazing yours, making the bottoms of your feet tingle. “But in this case, all I’ve done is fill up the bathtub. I can do a lot more.”

Your breath catches in your throat. His large hand is at the small of your back.

“C-can I tell you something?” you stammer, before you’re completely swept off your feet.

“Anything, my love.”

“Do you ever feel…hmmm.” You pull back and he lets you, swiping a hand through his perfect silver hair. “Do you ever feel like we’ve sort of fallen into a routine? Like we live together and work together and…do you know what I mean?”

He tilts his head to the side, as if considering it for the first time.

“I suppose that’s true,” he says. “We are together a lot. Which is the only thing I’ve dreamed of since the day I met you, by the way.”

You laugh. “I didn’t mean anything bad by it. I was just thinking…our lives feel so normal nowadays. You know? But then you go and do something sweet for me like this and…”

“You fall in love with me again?” He winks at you, his red eyes glittering. “That’s exactly what I was just thinking. Sometimes when I’m feeling tired or out of it I look over at you and I just fall head over heels. So much I can’t even bear it.”

“You’re not already head over heels for me?”

He throws out an arm and catches himself on the doorframe just above you, pressing you body into his chest, leaning over you. You’re wrapped up in the intoxicating, fresh scent of him.

“I am crazy about you,” he says. “I am crazy about you today and I’ll be crazy about you tomorrow and I’ll be crazy about you in one hundred years.”

You breathe in deeply. He still makes your head spin.

“I love you,” you tell him.

“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you!” he sings, his voice high and sweet. “Now go take a bath while the water’s still warm, my darling. I’ll be waiting for you when you get out.”

So you do.

And of course he will be.

#mystic messenger #mysticmessenger #mysme #request #gureishi writes requests #thesirenwashere #zen #hyun ryu #zenxreader

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cassiecasyl · 3 years

Text

to be or not to be hugged

prompts: whumpay day 2: touch starved/touch repulsed + day 11: don’t touch me/don’t leave me

tw: panic attacks, nightmares

credit for the title goes to @official-wayward-fairchild <3

read on ao3!

Peter knew something was wrong. He was reminded of it everytime someone hugged him, hell, he was reminded every night. It was in the way his mouth filled with this ashen taste that’s just a little too close to the rusty dust of Titan whenever someone hugged him. The touch infected him with dread and panic, with screams and battle sounds, with memories. His spider senses yelled at him in precaution and Peter tensed everytime, even though he knew that there wasn’t anything to be scared of. He was just overreacting.

The first time it happened, he’d almost pushed May into a wall, had almost hurt her. He’d apologized profusely, his hands shaking, guilt rushing through his veins, but May had laughed it off. Yet, the worried glance she’d sent haunted him.

Worst of all were the flashes—when a simple touch brought him back to Titan, more powerful than Dr. Strange’s portals could ever be, and he’s fading into dust, again and again, and Tony looked so broken and as scared as he was (though they’d both tried and failed to hide it), and he’s begging for his life, for Mr. Stark to fix this like he always did—I don’t wanna go—while at the same time, he’s in the supposedly safe arms of a loved one. It was twisted torture in its on way, and Peter couldn’t help but be reminded of one of the stories Loki had told about the time he had been under Thanos’s regime.

They’d promised him might like he deserved, promised him everything he ever dreamed off, and then mixed it with obedience. Suspected him to pain and fire, sometimes ouf of fun—Loki said he got that—and sometimes framed as a test. His already shattered mind had been broken once more. There was a sense of belonging there, with the false love they gave him and the chaos they promised. The mind stone deconstructed and built him up again. Chaos was his element more than ever.

Maybe, he was being tested too, Peter mused. He died, after all, and now he wasn’t sure whether he still belonged into this world, with everybody finding someone new and moving on. May had Happy, Tony had Morgan and Harley, even Ned and MJ felt aeons away. No. Peter chided himself for ever taking this analogy. His misery was nowhere close to Loki’s agony.

Yet, Peter was living a paradox.

He stopped hugging. It hurt too much and had the tendency to rip him from reality, so he just stopped. There’s a few raised eyebrows and concerned looks at first, but they eventually succumbed to normalcy.

“Would you like to notify Boss or try any of the 173 tactics of falling asleep I've collected, Peter?” Friday asked for what must’ve been the upteenth time, shocking him out of his thoughts. He shook his head in a sigh.

“No, Friday. I’m fine,” he answered, lamenting his dismissive tone. She just wanted to help, there was no need to be so rude to her. “Sorry,” he mumbled. The word got half-caught up in a yawn, and he wanted to kick himself for it.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t tired. Peter knew it was late, and even his bones felt heavy with exhaustion, but he just couldn’t sleep. Not while he was at the Tower. He’d been successful in hiding his nightmares from May, but there was no way he’d be able to do so with Tony. Least of all when he had a perceptive AI on his side. Scratch that, two perceptive AIs. He’d almost forgotten about Karen, but he knew if he asked her for company, she’d eventually report him to Tony. Sleepy Spider Baby Protocol, or however it was called.

Peter sighed. He was so tired. He just wanted to feel safe.

~~~

Red sand tickled his throat, and the wind began nibbling at his feet as he stumbled forward. Soon, he’d join the sand, dust to dust, like it had happened countless times before. At this point, he was more scared than confused. He knew what would happen. He just didn’t know why.

Peter looked up, his eyes scanning the battle field for his mentor. He had to be here somewhere. He always was. In panic, he turned around, ignoring how his toes disintegrated with the movement. Had he died? It happened before. Thanos’s stab always seemed worse in his dreams. But he couldn’t even find a body on the ground. He was all alone. Did he leave him? Did the wind already take them away, leaving him to die alone? He choked on a sob.

“Peter?” A voice asked behind him, scared and tentative. Tony. The teen spun around, and more fell than ran towards him. The man was perched on the ground, holding his guts together. He was crying.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter whispered in a plea. Tony looked up at him, but he was looking right through him, as if he was already mourning. His features aged momentarily, his hair turning grey and wrinkles closing in on pained eyes. A quiet, hopeful and sad smile adorned his face, the same one with which he sometimes watched Morgan. Peter could feel himself fading.

The boy crumbled before Tony, reaching out to him in a desperate cry for comfort. “I’m sorry,” he said, right before his vocal cords left him. At the last moment, Tony’s fingers grazed his, and in horror Peter watched as the dusting didn’t stop with him, but extended to Tony, moved up his right arm and eventually his face.

Peter lost his eyes before it was over.

He woke up with a start, eyes wide but unseeing. They were still gone, dusted, he’d be dead again, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. The air escaped him between sobs and panic. “Hey, hey, it’s alright, breathe, Peter, I’m here, it’s alright.” Suddenly, there was comfort. Peter blinked, and instead of complete darkness, shadows started to emerge.

“Tony?” he asked, hope tearing through his throat.

“I’m here, kid,” he promised. It was all the invitation Peter needed, and he shot forward, latching onto the older man. He breathed in the scent of motor oil and iron that never quite left Tony, and he was home. His heart beat faster than normal, but it beat, sometimes stumbling in a familiar way, and that was all that mattered. Tony was here. For the first time in a long while, his spider senses remained quiet. They were safe.

“Shh, it’s okay, kid,” Tony shushed him, gently rocking them as they sat on Peter’s bed. “I’m here,”—Peter tightened his grip at the words—”I’m alive, we’re both alive. We’re in your room at the Tower and it’s 4:14 am on a Saturday morning. It’s raining lightly outside, can you hear that, Pete?”

The spider stilled, focusing his senses on the weather outside. He panicked slightly as Tony’s heartbeat quietened, but his hand fisted around the hem of Tony’s shirt, and Tony’s constant assurances of it’s alright grounded him. Soon, his ears picked up the light pitter-pattern of rain. Peter nodded.

“Good!” Tony praised as if he’d just done the most amazing thing in the world. Without him noticing, his breathing had calmed. The air wasn’t evading him as it was before. Tony’s arms around him were warm and safe and Peter sighed in content. He missed this. God, how he’d missed this.

Tony’s hand found his, the one that was hanging onto the neck of his shirt, and covered it. Peter’s eyes widened as he remembered a flash from his dream. No. He couldn’t infect Tony. He couldn’t let him die, not again. Never. Peter coiled away from the touch suddenly and violently, ragged breaths returning. There was already dust in his lungs. No.

Tony followed him, but Peter fell to the ground as he hastily retreated, leaving his mentor standing there with raised hands signaling that it was alright. It wasn’t though. He’d infect him, and the dust would find him again, travel up his arm, take him away. It was in his name after all, wasn’t it? He petered out, faded gradually until there was nothing left, until his existence came to an end. He couldn’t spread that to Tony.

“Peter?” The man crouched down before him, slowly as if he was a scared animal. Peter shook his head. “What’s wrong, buddy?” he asked, hands reaching out.

“Don’t,” Peter pleaded, recoiling from his mentor’s safe hands. Oh, how he craved their warm embrace. But he couldn’t. He’d kill him. “Please don’t,” he cried, “I’ll infect you.”

“Okay,” Tony breathed, “okay. Infect me with what?”

“Dust,” Peter answered with a hiccup. At Tony’s puzzled expression, he elaborated: “I’m dust, and it’s gonna spread to you. It’s in my name.”

“Oh, kid.” Peter could practically see how a part broke away from Tony’s heart and fell down. That’s how it started, he thought, reminding himself of videos he’d seen of mountains eroding under water. “You’re not dust, not anymore,” he said, searching the room for something, “I brought you back, remember? I wouldn’t bring you back half-baked, Peter. All or nothing, that’s the deal.”

The kid nodded, still watching him with big eyes. He mustered the veins of scar tissue raking up his right cheek, and suddenly his dream made sense in a different way. Still, he wouldn’t wanna test it. He couldn’t kill Tony too. He wasn’t worth two of his father figures dying, let alone three.

Tony stood up and fear gripped Peter. He had enough of him. He’d realized the threat he was and would get himself to safety now. Only, that meant he’d leave Peter behind. “I’m not leaving, Pete,” Tony promised against his anxiety spouting lies, “I’m just getting something. See? I’m not even leaving the room.” He held up the water bottle Peter always kept on his bedside table to show him.

He came back. Peter almost wanted to smile, but his dust-infected body was way too numb to do anything but watch. “Now, could you stretch your arm out for me?” Tony asked. Peter sucked in a panicked breath. “I’m not gonna touch you, I promise.” Slowly, Peter nodded.

Cold water touched his skin as soon as he did what Tony asked of him, shocking him back into reality. “See?” the genius asked, “You’re solid. No dust here.” Peter nodded, blinking and staring at his hand, wet and still in one place. He looked up at Tony, who was smiling assuringly.

“Solid,” Peter repeated, the remains of the nightmare slowly leaving his body. “I’m solid,” he laughed.

“That’s right, Pete,” Tony praised, his hands switching towards him. He still slightly shied away from the possibility of touch though. His mentor fixed him with that concerned gaze, the one with which he could read him like no other, that implied that he was trying to figure out what bothered Peter.

“Can I hug you?” he asked. Peter shook his head. It was tempting, but he wasn’t sure whether he was ready for that yet.

“Rather not. Sorry.” Tony nodded, quickly hiding the sadness.

“That’s alright. Thank you for telling me.” He stood up, mindlessly extending his arm to help Peter up, but then taking it back with a scolding shake of his head. Peter chuckled. “Sorry, didn’t think. So, anything else you wanna do? Catch some sleep, watch a movie?”—he glanced at the time—”Oh, what about a hot chocolate? Rhodey should be up by now ‘cause he has an early meeting or something, and he makes the best hot chocolate in the Tower.”

Peter stood up with a laugh. “Hot chocolate sounds great.”

“Hot chocolate it is then,” Tony confirmed with a warm smile. “Friday, warn Rhodey if he’s awake, we’ve got a spider baby to pamper.” He left the room before Peter could object, and Peter quickly followed him.

tag list: (let me know if you wanna be added/removed!)

@starrynightdeancas @spookyscarykittycat @sherlock-who-mentalist @lost-lunar-wolf @aixabi

#irondad #hurt/comfort #hurt peter parker #tony stark #tony stark acting as peter parkers parental figure #hugs #Whumpay2021

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carryonmywaywardwriters · 4 years

Text

Knot In Love - Alpha!Dean x Omega! Reader

A/N: Part twenty four is back. Again, where it’s a daily thing? I am not tagging anyone new. 3pm is the magical time. As always, feedback is incredible. And, I hope you all enjoy one of my favorites <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Series Masterlist

Series Warnings: Forced mating. Knotting. Alpha/Omega dynamics. Witchcraft (more based on real craft than Hollywood). Angst. Etc. Read at your own discretion.

Word Count: Roughly 6,800

“So...” Rowena managed to corner you in the kitchen. Proud as a peacock that she'd found yu seeking out tea. “How is it that a witch would come to be so...comfortable with the Winchesters?”

“I'm...a soft core witch,” You decided the term fit. She wasn't getting a full explanation. Despite your trust in the fact her motives were fear based, there was more enough craftiness bubbling beneath the surface to make you wary. “I haven't been alive for centuries. Gave me an edge.”

“You could be,” Her eyes twinkled all too bright as she pulled the herbs from your hands. A healthy sniff of the mix let he know what she was dealing with before she dropped it in. “I could teach you...if you'd like?”

“I don't want to live forever,” You brushed that off easily. Leaning against the marble counter. Away from her. “Appreciate the offer, though.”

“Then, what do you want to learn?” Rowena was nothing without allure. There were things she could teach. The trick she'd pulled earlier was a fine example.

“Why are ya so interested in handing out your tricks?” Your brow quirked, demanding an answer. “You don't even know me

“I tried to start my own coven before,” Another one of those overly emphasized sighs left her painted lips. “It didn't work out.” The confession wasn't much of a surprise. “I just wanted peers of my own. To teach up and coming witches what I know. As for that last bit, you have a...feel about you.” Her eyes narrowed, looking over you. Seeing far too deep for your comfort. “You're important, dearie.”

“Hardly.” Was your response. You'd helped Wendy and Donna. Aided in shaping Jack into the caring boy he'd become. While you were sure it was where you needed to be, you weren't nearly as vital as the two men you lived with. “I'm just a puzzle piece in a much bigger game.”

“Y/N,” She leaned in, “you're more than that. You're going to be the queen of the chess board.”

“Just what I wanted to see,” Dean's voice broke up the discussion. “Glinda being wooed by the Wicked Witch of the West.” He sagged against the doorway, jaw twitching under the lights. “Y/N, can I talk to you?”

“Oh, go ahead-”

“Alone,” The hunter cut off Rowena, earning an offended sniff. As soon as you were by his side, it began. “What's she pulling?” His hand was holding your bicep as he tugged you along behind him.

“Hell if I know,” You retorted with a snort. Throwing forward his own analogy, “Before I got anything worth value, the scarecrow interrupted.”

“So, you're a double agent, now?” He shoved open the door to your room, yanking you in behind him. Ensuring that you two were well and truly alone as he slammed the door shut.

“Can you please let me go?” As soon as you were secure, he did. Noting the way you flinched at his touch.

There was no angel to take away the aches and pains from the earlier fights- if you could call them that. At first, he'd assumed you were mad at him. Then, he saw the truth of it.

“You okay?” Suddenly, the alpha was worried. Taking in the stiffness in your movements as you sat down on your bed.

“Just sore,” The brush off wasn't good enough. He leaned down, lifting your shirt to see what the damage was. Bruising and scrapes lined it from his boots. You tried to pull away. To hide the evidence. “Dean, it's not a big deal-”

“It is,” His fingers traced over it, gently. Noting where it hurt the most based on the intake of your breath. “I'm sorry.”

“You were in love,” A shrug left you at that, pushing even harder to drop your shirt. That time, he let you. “It makes us all a little crazy. You're just a little...extra.” The teasing got you absolutely nowhere. His face remained pinched. Eyes zeroed in on your middle. As if he could see the damage.

“That...that wasn't love.” Dean's voice was soft, then. Almost nervous. Tilting your head in confusion, you silently prodded for him to go on. “It was something...but it wasn't love.”

Your heart fluttered at the words. Begging for it to be real that time. It took everything in you to ask what was on your mind.

“When you were...under...you didn't knock me out.” His head lowered, listening to you speak. Carefully choosing your words. “You didn't hurt me...not like you tried to Sam.”

“And you want to know why.” He finished the thought. Chewing at his bottom lip. His fingers tangled together as he anxiously started bouncing his knee. “I dunno...Probably the same reason why I wanted to rip that Marlon kid to shreds with my bare hands when he turned you.”

“Donna sped things up a bit,” Your lip twitched in pride. She was doing a little better. You kept in contact with her. Checked in with Jody to be sure. The hunter played a vital role in your humanity that night. It'd been the least you could do. “Probably for the best, that time.”

“Yeah, probably.” He agreed, nodding and pursing his lips. Then, he turned back to the matter at hand. “You...you, uh...you're kinda important around here.”

“For Jack-”

“Not just, Jack.” You hadn't even been able to finish. “I'm not very good at this.” His lips screwed to the side. “Hell, probably suck. But...it's not just Jack. Okay? Trust that.”

Stewing on his words, he turned his head away. Brows knocking together. So sure that he'd made a mistake.

“You're important, too.” The reply was soft, but he heard it. Your fingers moved up, tugging at the thin chain around his neck. “Guess this didn't work out so well, huh? We'll have to try something else.”

You went to lift it away, only to be stopped by a meaty grip, “No...No, I want to keep this one.” When you opened your mouth to protest, he shook his head. “It works just fine.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, holding there for a moment. “I'm going to find, Sam...Just...be careful with Rowena.” The answering nod was enough for him. He walked away, glancing back over his shoulder before he disappeared.

As he left, he thought back over everything he could remember from that morning. He saw your face softening when he talked about love. How you'd shifted instantly when you realized it was Jamie he was raving over.

The irrational urge to do whatever was necessary hadn't included trying to seriously harm you. In that moment, when he'd had you pinned? He'd almost come back. Nearly had shaken off the influence when he'd watched his hand wrap around your throat. The charm he carried had practically burned at his chest. Pulling him back to reality. His lips curled upwards a bit as he moved back to the library, whistling away...

–

“Welcome to Stillwater Oklahoma,” Sam announced as the Impala came to a halt.

“How depressingly midwestern,” Rowena grumbled, her wide rimmed sun glasses covering her eyes. The scenery was nothing to look at. The grass was dull from the chilled air. Even the sky was covered with grey rather than blue.

“Alright, Red, where to?” Dean turned around, looking at the witch in charge for the moment.

“The tracking spell isn't like GPS,” She pointed out, unhappily. You knew that pain. Location spells were only so helpful. “The book's not moving, and it's in the general area.” A sigh of resignation left her lips. “We'll need to talk to the yokles.”

“Okay,” He clearly wasn't thrilled with that news. “Well, small-town folks usually like to look out for themselves.” The older Winchester pointed out unwillingly.

“I can make them talk,” The arrogant answer curled up her lips. More than eager to speed up the process. You were positive it would be in a way you wouldn't dream of.

“Uh, your spells tend to boil people's brains,” Sam cut in, making your eyes widen a bit. She shrugged your way at that. Telling you it was no big deal in her mind. “So, maybe let us handle it?”

“Fine,” She gave in, that dramatic flare ever present. “Fine, we can do your very time consuming investi....” A snore left her lips as her head fell over. Rowena's way of saying that they were boring.

For all her trouble, you couldn't deny it. She was charming as hell. It'd be cute if she wasn't the literal mother of the past king of hell.

“Okay,” Dean spoke up to clarify. “See, 'we' aren't doing anything.” His hand pointed at the entire group. Making it clear she wasn't included.

“I'll keep an eye on her,” Sam volunteered. Just as a little safety net to ensure that you weren't overly tempted.

“Leave me with a babysitter if you must, but do start with the women.” She sighed out. Annoyed at the necessity of it. Then, she seemed to think for a moment. Tugged her glasses down to look at Dean, “Something tells me that they aren't popular with other ladies.” As you started to move, you were stopped. “Oh, but why can't Y/N stay with me?” Her arms wrapped around the one closest to her. Smiling brightly at you to try and schmooze her way into your heart. “You'll stay with me, won't you dear? These Winchesters are rather brutish, so it would be much better if-”

“Sam will take care of you,” You laughed, peeling her away. “We'll be back...you two...just talk.” The door was shut behind you, just in time to hear a dramatic huff.

“You act like you know a secret,” Dean leaned your way, bumping your shoulder with his as his hands tucked into his pocket. “Spill.”

“They both have some underlying trauma,” You shrugged out, knowing he'd know about that better than you. “I did a reading for Sam a while back.”

“I know,” Came the nod, surprising you. “Wasn't thrilled with the idea, but...”

“But, you didn't want to duke it out,” You finished for him. Moving towards the first building. “It wasn't anything bad. It was on what kind of healing still needs done. Everybody has something, and he wanted something personal.” A shrug followed that news. Blowing off what you'd offered to the younger brother. “Rowena isn't the only one hiding from what Lucifer did...maybe it'll do them both some good. To have someone who experienced...something to the same...intensity, to talk to.” At that, Dean paused, watching you move ahead.

He turned back to look at the car, frowning at the thought of Lucifer still haunting his little brother. Not that he was surprised. Sam had to keep reliving it every time the archangel came into play.

His lips tightened before he followed your movements. Wanting the angel to die, yet again. Maybe then the man he'd raised could feel some peace.

“It's a little freaky how you dig into people's minds, you know that?” He called out, extending his stride after you.

“I get that a lot,” You laughed, sending a grin his way as he caught up. “Keeps people on their toes.” A twist of his lips and a noise at the back of the throat was your only answer to that one.

“Hi there,” Dean called out towards a worker as you two entered the hardware store. Third time was the charm. The bell clanked over the top of the door as it shut. “Been to a few other places,” He stated, moving up to the counter. “Haven't had much luck. Was hoping you'd help me out.”

“Oh, happy to try,” The woman's smile was a little too bright. Earning a cough to hold back your laugh as she looked over Dean. You weren't even a blimp on her radar. Evidently her glasses were in full working order, as her eyes darted up and down. “What do you need?”

“I'm looking for these two girls in, uh, town.” He started out. Either too used to that kind of response or simply oblivious to what was happening. You elected to believe the first option. “Jennie and Jamie.”

Just the name made you want to curl your nose. Instead, you plastered a smile to your face as she glanced your way for the first time. Trying to understand what a woman would want to do with them.

“Oh,” The sour tone made your brows lift. Seems you'd run into a 'fan'. “The Plum sisters.”

“Right,” You spoke up. Noting the disappointment on her face. You understood the feeling a little too well. “Yeah, we're looking to track them down.”

“Hm...” Her brow lifted at that, letting you know that her mind had gone somewhere scandalous. Apparently their reputation held steady. “You and every other man west of the Ozarks.”

“Popular, huh?” Dean asked, prying out more information.

“That's one word for it,” The hostility was tangible in the air. You mentally reminded yourself to send this woman a little extra good will when all was said and done. “And a whole mess of trouble.”

The pointed look told Dean that he was better off avoiding them. Something you agreed with wholeheartedly. If you hadn't needed the book, there'd be no way in hell you'd have been in the small town.

“Well, they took something. And I need to get it back.” Was the hunter's way of trying to end that theory. It didn't work.

“Heard it before,” She cut off, rolling her eyes at the line. “They stole your heart, and you can't live without them.” The disgust was evident. She had no intentions of aiding that cause.

“They stole a book,” Your answer seemed to puzzle her. Her head tilted as she took you in for the first time.

“A book?” Dean hummed in confirmation.

She laughed, then, “Honey, now I know you're lying. I doubt they can even read.” Your own snicker landed with you getting your foot pressed on. Not hard enough to hurt, but the warning was there all the same.

“Well, that has been up for debate.” He acknowledged, looking your way. There wasn't an ounce of shame in the shrug you gave out. You'd made the same jab on the way over. “If it helps, I don't plan on being nice about it when we do find them.”

“And if he can't hold up to that, I will.” She looked into your eyes, taking in the hard edge you carried. Letting all of the anger you possessed show. That appeared to sell it. She seemed surprised, but she didn't argue. Pushing out some of the receipt paper so that she could write down the information.

“You gonna be really mean?” Women could carry an infinite amount of spite. This one was no different. Dean let out a small 'yeah' to give her a little extra satisfaction. “Cause it's about damn time someone was.” The note was passed over.

“Thank you,” The woman leaned against the counter, sending appreciative eyes back over Dean. Suddenly more attracted at the thought of him being out to get her enemies.

“You're welcome,” She murmured as he walked away. She placed her body over the counter to watch his ass. You followed her gaze, not blaming her in the slightest. “You hold onto that one,” She told you, letting out a little sigh of want.

“I'll keep that in mind,” You nodded her way, thanking her again before moving after him. Snickering all the way.

As you two approached the car, Rowena was getting out. Sam following behind, calling after her. “I'm not fleeing,” She told him, moving away. “Don't release the hounds!”

“Hey,” Dean asked, looking between the two. “What's going on?”

“Uh, she,” Sam motioned towards the witch, swallowing a bit as he talked. “Uh, she just needs a minute. She's alright.”

“Alright, well, I got the address.” He confirmed, nodding towards you. Giving credit where it was due. “With a little help.”

“Rowena was right,” You finished for him. Noting the way it seemed to perk her interest. She moved towards you all, then. Suddenly back in her usual spirits.

“These girls are not fan favorites,” Dean chuckled pulling out the paper. It was the biggest understatement of the day. Not that you could blame any of them.

“Right,” Came the excited Scottish agreement. “Time to get that book!”

“Oh, no.” The older Winchester cut her off. “No, you've done your bit, okay?” He motioned between the people he deemed fit for the job. “We'll take it from here.”

“Dean-”

Your protest was cut off, “No.”

“Y/N,” She cooed towards you, pleased as could be. “I appreciate what you're trying to do, but they aren't going to change their minds.” Another one of those long, loud sighs left her. “Be a dear and keep me company for a moment? While they plot and...well, whatever it is these two do.” That earned a glare. Before Dean could protest, you were pulled away. A bag was tugged from her pocket; dropped to the ground as she urged you forward, “Manete!”

“What did you-” You turned back to see the men staring in disbelief as they tried to move their feet. They didn't budge.

“It means 'remain' in Latin,” She stated proudly. Glancing back over her shoulder as Sam yelled out her name, flailing his arms a bit as he struggled. The bag out of reach. “They won't be going anywhere. Now...do you join them? Or do you help me make these girls pay?”

“Y/N!” Dean bellowed out, making your eyes meet his. The warning clear.

“This isn't going to fix the damage you've already done,” You began, noting the way her eyes widened a bit at that. She turned to the younger brother, having heard almost the same thing earlier. “But, fine. I'll go along with it.”

“Don't you go with her,” The older brother roared, leaning forward to try and grab at you. Nearly falling to his face in the process.

Sam braced himself on the car. Stretching towards the bag. Dean tried to jump, his feet glued to the cement. Both men even more bent on getting free as they realized what you were about to choose. You mouthed a sorry over your shoulder as you started after the witch. Listening to the alphas shout in fury all the while.

It wasn't a far walk. Six blocks at most. The witch hadn't even needed GPS.

“Are they arguing over tin foil?” You whispered towards Rowena at the door. Catching something about the aluminum being mentioned. She simply shrugged, before pushing open the wood silently. Not even creating a creak.

“Okay, so you don't think it said anything.” One of the sisters demanded, becoming more clear as you ghosted into the room. Shutting the door quietly behind you. It was Jamie. The 'lover' from earlier.

“I told you,” The other retaliated heatedly. “There's all kinds of weird writing. I was totally honest about that.”

It took everything in you not to snicker. The cashier had been right. They couldn't read the book.

“Maybe there's something wrong with his soul.” Someone had been sacrificed for whatever spell they'd been attempting. Rowena set down her bag as she started leading the way forward. “Maybe he was, like, a really bad guy or something.”

“Come on.” The one who couldn't read the book dismissed the idea. Jennie. “He was obviously a total boy scout.”

A loud sigh was released at that, “I don't think that even matters.” Rowena peaked in through the door, past the body that rested in the chair.

“We need to do something.”

“I'm looking!”

Pages flipped loudly. The black grimoire taking abuse at the hands of new age witches. Rowena motioned for you to wait, then, and be quiet.

“You were supposed to get the book and wait for me,” She sounded darkly, approaching the doorway.

At one point, you might have been surprised. However, by that stage, you weren't. She was too wily to be trusted completely. There'd been too many coincidences.

“I...uh...” One of the sisters stumbled over her words.

“Okay,” The other spoke up. “Like, the Winchesters were all over us, and-”

“And we didn't wanna call you.” The obstinate one finished. Jamie. She set down whatever she was holding. “Because we can take care of ourselves.”

For a woman, she sounded more like a teenager than you'd imagined possible. Another strike against the girl. A deep breath left you as you struggled to remain in place.

“I told you about the book,” Old witches were far more formidable than either sister expected, you were sure. “Where to look for the boys. We had a deal.” The anger in her tone couldn't be denied. “Now, I've had to use them to find you.”

“You brought them here?” Jamie hissed out, unaware that you rested behind the wood. Reaching around behind you to pick up the item even Rowena hadn't known you carried.

“When you nincompoops ran, I did what I had to do.” She replied heatedly. You weren't her only pupil, as it were. “But, I can still complete the spell. We can still complete our deal.”

“You'd still help us?” The sister asked: Jennie.

“As long as you give me the book when we're done.” Your mind wandered to the brothers. Curious to see how long it took them to break free. “You don't need it, anyway. Witches of your level would-”

“Witches of our level?” Considerable offense had been made at that statement.

“Yes.” Rowena didn't butcher her words.

“Are you saying what our mom taught us wasn't good enough?” The tension in the room rose. Thick enough that you almost made your move. But, it wasn't time. Not yet.

“Shit,” The mutter left you when the floor creaked by you. A figure approaching was enough to make you duck down.

She looked like a zombie. All rotted and stiff as she moved. Internally, you wished Jack was present. Knowing he'd love the walking dead scene in front of you.

“Jennie, I think what she's saying is that we're not good enough.”

“You think you're so smart, huh?” The voice was filled with annoyance. “Well, we already did the spell...mostly.”

“Mostly?” You heard when Rowena saw the woman appear. Small hissing leaving the cadavers' body. “What have you done?”

“It's like...step one of bringing her back.” You crept forward, slowly. Just as Dean had taught you. Careful to keep the pressure on your feet angled just right to ensure not a sound escaped.

“We'll figure out the rest when she kills you,” Jamie stated easily.

“Unfortunate,” Rowena sounded solid. “But, not my first zombie, love.” She jerked her hand through the air, “Abi!”

“Oh, the side effect of the spell?” Dean's former 'love' spoke eagerly when nothing happened. “She's, like, magic proof!” The hissing woman lunged, then.

“And she's totally gonna eat your brain!” Jennie called out as Rowena bolted.

She locked herself in the first room she found as the zombie beat on the door. Next to the sisters. You cocked back the hammer, preparing yourself for what was going to happen.

–

“Needed a minute, huh?” Dean looked down at Sam, nostrils flaring in unconstrained rage.

“You don't have to say it, Dean,” Sam grunted, stretching his arm out as far as he could. So close to the item they needed.

“Oh, I'm gonna say it.” He continued, standing tall and proud while his brother attempted some kinda of yoga looking grasp that fell short. “She played you.”

“She played us,” Small stones dug into the palms of his hands. Still attempting to end the hex placed on him. “And she's scared.”

“Yeah, well she better be.” Dean bit out. Narrowing his eyes. “Especially if Y/N gets hurt.” When Sam's hand fell short, again, he sighed. “Come on. You're like eight feet tall. You can't reach that?”

His fingers just brushed over the black bag with purple thread, “I almost got it.” His fingers extended until he was sure all of the joints were popping out of socket in his body. Finally, the edges managed to be gripped between two just enough to tug it closer. Another roll had it within grip. He grunted, standing up proudly as Dean opened up his lighter.

“Alright,” He took the offending bag with ease, and set it afire. Immediately, their feet were free to move. “Alright, let's go kill some witches.” As the flame burnt, he tossed the damaged bag at Sam's feet, who was still breathing as if he'd run a marathon, “You want that?”

A bitch face was his only answer. Without another word, they got into the Impala. Prepared to go save the day.

“It's just a magical zombie,” Rowena sang to herself. Bracing against the door. “You've dealt with worse than magical zombies before, Rowena.” The wood splintered as the hand came through. “Clearly you wanted your mom back in better shape,” She hissed out, searching through the objects at her disposal. “I can still do that.”

“Nah, you missed your chance to play nice.” One of the blonde ditzes stated easily.

“She never had it,” You grumbled, understanding your role, then, as another weak zombie crack was made. You were her back up plan. It was almost genius, really.

With a grunt, you rounded the corner. Taking aim and firing a single shot. All in the span of a second. The skull of the dead woman flung forward, slamming into the door along with pieces of coagulated blood and brain. You weren't the best shot. Too far left to place a perfect bulls-eye, but the damage was done deep enough to get the desired result.

“Mom!” The broken cries echoed as they rushed over to the cadaver. No signs of life. You cocked back the hammer, taking aim once again.

“Why you-”

“Uh, uh, uh, girls,” Rowena was back in charge, realizing that the danger had passed. The broken door pushed open. “That isn't in your...best interest.” As they moved to attack, her hands raised. Casting the spell that would end it all. “Impetus Bestiarum!”

“Y/N!” Dean's voice echoed through the house. “Rowena!”

“In here,” You yelled out. Calling them forward before the spell could take full effect.

“End it.” Rowena instructed the bound women.

Slowly, the sisters got to their feet. Blood began to ooze from their eyes. Slowly staining their cheeks.

They squared off. Before either men could say a word, knives were lifted and they attacked. Screams and grunts filled the air as they stabbed blindly at each other. Hitting any open area that they could. Feral jabs and high pitched wails escaping. It was over in seconds. The fight too brutal to be survived for long.

The guns were dropped as Dean turned your way, “You okay?”

“Been better.” With that, you rushed over to the trash can. Emptying your stomach. Retching without abandon.

“Ah, hell.” Dean's long stride had him over to you in seconds. Brushing his hand over your back as he waited for you to get through.

“What happened?” Sam demanded, turning to Rowena. Letting his brother give you the care you needed.

“She saved me,” The woman purred out, batting her eyes innocently. “We make a hell of a team.” She looked over your way as you wiped your mouth, stammering to your feet. “Or, we will once she gets over that. Does that happen with every kill, dear?”

“First kill,” You bit out, spitting away the taste in your mouth. Anger taking over. “I know why you did it,” Your gun lifted again, this time facing her. “I just want to ensure it doesn't happen again.”

“Did what?” The younger Winchester turned your way in confusion.

“I'll tell you later,” You glanced his way. Never taking your peripheral vision from Rowena. “In case this wasn't very clear, they're witch killing bullets. So, I'd agree pretty damn fast.”

“Agreed,” Her lips lifted a bit instead of retaliating. She didn't flinch, simply looked over you. Impressed. “I think I do like you. Even if you do act more like a hunter than a proper witch. It's the company you keep, I'm sure.”

“That isn't quite good enough,” The hammer cocked back. Staring stonily at her. “I want it spelled out.”

“Fine,” Rowena stretched the word out dramatically. “I won't pull anymore nasty tricks against the boys to get the book.” Her hand waved dismissively. “You saved my life. It's the least I can promise.” She had stressed the book bit, but it was the best you were going to get. The gun was dropped. “Now, then, back to what I came for.” She made her way over to the table, lifting her precious novel as if nothing had happened.

“As underhanded as she is, I still kinda like her,” You turned to Dean. Passing over the weapon. “Long story short? She double crossed you.” With that, you waltzed out of the room for some air. To clear your lungs of the smell of decay and fresh blood.

“What just happened?” Dean turned to Sam, tucking his weapon into the back of his waistband.

“I...I have no idea.” He answered seriously, looking at all of the carnage around him. “But, I'm pretty sure that they just saved us a fight.”

“We did.” Rowena confirmed. Pleased as could be. “And, I'm afraid she was wrong. I triple crossed you, actually. So, I ended up on your side. We defeated the villains. Just as I planned.” Sam's eyes squinted at the nonchalant confession.

“Yeah,” Sam leered over her. Using his much larger height to his advantage. “Not buying that.”

“And that book?” Dean spoke up as Sam tugged on the pages. Making Rowena yank it towards her. “You're going to give it to us, or we're can take it, either way.” Sam gripped it tighter, only to have her pull back more desperately.

“You know what I've seen,” She whispered fervently towards him. “You know what it's like. Lucifer may be locked away, but he'll be back.” Fear shined bright in her eyes. Begging for him to understand. “He always comes back...and when he does... I can't be helpless again. I need the spell.” Sam tugged the grimoire into his hands without a word. Giving her his answer. With that, she walked away, head down. “Your boys are cruel,” She huffed out, falling down on the porch step beside you.

“Must not be,” You breathed out. Lifting your head from your hands. “You're still alive.” Her lips tugged up for a moment before falling back down. “What you did...I get it. You're scared...But, I'm on their team, Rowena. That isn't gonna change.”

“You're loyal.” She nodded, sighing in defeat. “It's not a bad thing, ya know. For all of their blundering ways, they're good enough men.” The words held the bit of a grudge that kicked your own smile. “I'm still willing to teach you a thing or two.”

“I'm not gonna lie...I'm curious, but...I'm not on the same level,” Your reference to the earlier discussion made her chuckle.

Being a witch to you wasn't about power. It was about connection, over all. You were more than content to keep it that way.

“No? Perhaps next time, then.” She patted your knee before standing. Preparing to go on her way.

“Rowena,” Sam called out, making both of your heads turn. “Wait.” The ripped out page rested in his hand. “If he comes back...make it hurt.”

“This...” The witch took the page in disbelief. Reading over it once. Then a second time to be sure. “Thank you.” She smiled softly, hugging the spell to her chest. Leaving with her shot at safety.

“Dean know what you're doing?” You asked, looking up at the tall man.

“He thinks I'm checking on you.” Sam gazed down, raising a brow to silently ask if you were going to snitch. You simply nodded in approval before shrugging it off. It wasn't your secret to tell. “Gotta clean up in there.”

“Alright,” With a resigned sigh, you got to your feet. “Let's get this over with.”

It was somehow worse than the actual kill. Having to push the spilled innards back into the corpses. Wrapping them all up. Only to burn them all in the woods after bleaching everything in sight.

The bunker was a relief after all was said and done. The three of you naturally drawn to the kitchen. In dire need of a drink. Only, you took yours to your own room.

“Can't believe I fell for a love spell,” Dean grumbled, twisting the cap off of his beer and setting it beside him. “And that Y/N saved Rowena.”

“And killed the Zombie mom.” Sam pointed out, moving to sit on the metal island in the kitchen. “Those are details that sell the story.”

“Oh, yeah,” The cranky tone only made the younger brother laugh. “Yeah, getting out played by a bunch of girls. That's a story I wanna tell someone.”

“Girls beat us all the time,” The truth couldn't be denied. When you looked at a score card, the numbers did rack up.

“True,” Dean acknowledged after taking a healthy gulp. Sounding incredibly bitter, none the less. “Hey, you know that Rowena is not our friend, right?” The entire conversation switched in a moment.

“Yeah, I know that.” The older man wasn't impressed with that answer.

“Hm,” The beer slid away. Grimoire that rested in front of him was opened. A ripped page stood out like a beacon. His finger tapped against the torn edge. “Then, what's that?” Sam looked down in guilt. “You gave her the page. She got in your head man.”

“She didn't get in my head,” Sam protested.

“Look, what happened to Rowena was messed up, okay?” He agreed, lifting his hand as he talked. “But, you just let the deadliest witch in the world walk away with a page from this book.”

“Yeah,” The answer made Dean pause. “And, if Rowena breaks bad,” Sam slid down from his rest. Beer forgotten. “I will hunt her down, myself, and put a bullet in her.” The older brother didn't look like he bought it. “I will, Dean. But, if she's right, and if she does see Lucifer again? Then...I hope she makes him suffer.” Sam smiled at the thought. Hoped she'd be able to do what he wished he could.

It took a minute, but finally Dean came up with a response, “You gotta get out of this dark place. You know, whatever is going on in your head...”

“Dean-”

“What?” He wanted to understand. He really did. But, he couldn't if Sam wouldn't talk to him.

The little brother inhaled deeply, “You know what? Honestly?”

“Yeah, how about honestly?”

“I know what Rowena is dealing with. And she's not the only one who...feels helpless.”

In that moment, Dean did understand. You'd been right. They had talked about Lucifer. At least on some level.

“What do you mean?” His question was soft. Nudging for clarification so that he could comprehend exactly what he needed to.

“I mean,” Sam started, avoiding the green gaze. “I had a plan, you know? I, uh...” He stammered, trying to put what he was feeling into words. “Help Jack. Um, bring mom back. It wasn't much, but it was something. It...it kept me from spinning off the rails. A...and now...Jack is gone. Mom is still in hell, basically...a...and I...I...I just...”

“We'll figure it out,” Dean looked up at his brother. His tone gentle in a way that surprised Sam.

“Dean, we don't have a plan.” He countered, not understanding how the older sibling could seem so calm about everything. He'd been off the rails before, when they'd had more to go on. “We don't know what to do...So...So, how?”

The answer was brutally honest, “I don't know.” Sam turned up to the sky for a moment, before shifting away. Not believing it. “But, we will. You, me, and Y/N.”

“Yeah...” That wasn't quite good enough. “Night.” With that, Sam left. Beer in tow.

A sigh left Dean as he tapped the book closed. He rubbed over his head. Looked back at the way Sam had gone.

The beer was finished before he got to his feet. Book was returned back to the drawer it had belonged inside. As he stood tall, the sound of your footsteps caught his attention, “You holding up okay?”

“Better than I thought I'd be,” You answered honestly, holding your small blanket around your shoulders. “Just hunting down a new book.”

“It's there if you want it.” He pointed to the black grimoire's resting place. The bait fell short. “Earlier...you went off with Rowena...why?” He was done beating around the bush. Waiting for the answer he wanted to hear.

“Because it was the best shot of getting that book back here,” The reply settled in the air between you to. “Do you want an apology? 'Cause I'm not sorry.” Defensively, you stared into his eyes. “If I hadn't, you two could have been hurt, at the least. Rowena, for all of her difficulties, could be useful. So, I couldn't let her die. I'm just...I'm not sorry.”

“What'd ya think I felt, thinkin' you could've been hurt?” He snapped, then, making you step backwards. He didn't stop, stalking you like prey. “It sure as hell wasn't relief. I couldn't have saved you if it'd gone wrong.”

“It's not like you have to worry about being mated, anymore.” You shot back. Dean had managed to corner you. Your lower spine pressed against the table as you stared up at him. “If anything would've happened, you would've been fine.”

“Fine?” A step forward had his chest brushing against yours. Looking every bit the alpha that he was. “What part of you're important, don't you get?”

“Important doesn't mean that the world stops if something happens,” The answer was soft as you turned your head away. Airing out every thought you'd ever had on the matter. “You'd move on, Dean. The world relies on you. You have to find Jack and your mom. That's the important thing, right now.” As if that wasn't good enough, you kept going. “Besides, this is what you've been training me for. What's the big deal?”

“You're an idiot,” He bit out, reaching up to cup your neck. Forcing you to look up. “You're the only thing keepin' my head straight since we lost Jack... If I lost you? I'd be done.” His nostrils flared as his green eyes stared into yours. Realizing what you had made him admit.

With that, his hand dropped as if he'd been burned. The hunter stalked away. Shaking his head all the while. Muttering under his breath.

“Dean...” The blanket was forgotten when he disappeared towards his room. Falling to the table you were leaned against. Having needed that extra minute to process his words. With your shoulders set, you took off after him. “Dean, wait!”

“There's nothing else to say, Y/N.” He bit out without looking back. “Just let it go.”

Your fingers wrapped around his wrist, making him spin around. Before he could say another word, you grabbed onto his shirt to steady yourself. Slamming your lips into his.

It took him a moment to respond. His hands moved up, cradling your face gently as you softened against him. Mouth moving slowly against yours. Savoring the touch.

“So? Don't talk,” You whispered when you pulled back. Letting your forehead rest against his. “That's all I wanted.”

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon @supernaturalginger @lilulo-12 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @michaelneedssomemilk @lemondropirwin @fanfictionismydeath @neii3n @surmya1907

Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278 @screechingartisancashbailiff @woodworthti666 @coldmuffinbanditshoe

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max-is-tired · 4 years

Note

bad things happen request: A1 + roceit? -ren

Remember me (for centuries)

Pairing: the AU is queerplatonic Roceit and romantic Analogicality, but the ships are not very prominent in this installment

Characters: Roman Sanders, Janus Sanders, Remus Sanders, Patton Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Logan Sanders

Words: 3.835

Warnings: superhero AU, implied morally grey Janus, Remus and Roman, superpowers, swearing, a muzzle is used, fighting, there’s a character (OC) that has very black and white views and definitely goes too far because of it, if I need to add anything else please tell me

Notes: guess who’s back babey!!!!! After two months of writer block, I’ve managed to churn out this little monster in less than 3 days and I’m honestly lowkey real proud of it sjkcndjkscn it’s inspired by this idea I had the other day and after I remembered this specific prompt I just went full feral writer mode. I even have a few ideas for a sequel, so there’s that I guess!!

First fic for the @badthingshappenbingo!! The red squares are prompts that have already been requested, feel free to send more in though!! I don’t know how long it’ll take me to get to them but hopefully you won’t have to wait too long. Hope you guys like the fic!!!

Commission me!! Buy me a coffee!! Join my Discord server!! AO3!!

Once upon a time, there was a King.

He was as regal as he was mysterious, powers so strong he might as well have been able to make literal mountains kneel before him. Everyone knew of him, from the filthiest criminal to the richest man. He saw everything, heard everything, nothing and no one could escape his power. He was the judge and the executioner, protected the city in the way he saw most fit with the Puppeteer and the Duke standing at his sides.

The government called him dangerous. The people secretly called him a hero.

Once upon a time, there was a King. Until one day, he was no more -exactly how Roman had wanted it to be.

+++

Parting ways with Janus and Remus hadn't been easy. They'd been at his side since the very beginning, from the first appearance of his power to his decision to do whatever it took to protect those who couldn't.

"I'm always down to fight the government," Janus had said with a smirk, easily slipping into his Puppeteer alter ego as Remus simply swung his morning star around with a feral grin.

In the end, though, the King had had to go, and even then those two had supported his decision. What Roman had done to deserve his brother and his partner, he still had to understand. And besides, it wasn't as if he had had to cut them out of his life or anything! They still hung out lots during the day, either at the twin's apartment or at Janus' penthouse (being the only heir to a very rich family could have its perks, he supposed).

But at the end of the day, when the sun left the sky and the cover of the night fell over the city, it was the Puppeteer and the Duke who patrolled along the dirty rooftops, taking on those crimes Lady Justice seemed to overlook -Roman was nothing but a college student now and could only watch from afar, some part of him stubbornly longing for days that had since come to an end.

Or at least, that had been the plan. Then, well, Patton had happened.

They had met during a Psychology class they were both taking -for Patton, it was for his major, while Roman was just there for the credit. They had hit it off almost immediately, the both of them bonding over the pain that were morning classes and bemoaning how much money they were probably going to spend at the local coffee shop in order to survive the semester.

As much as he prided himself of being way smarter than people gave him credit for, Roman couldn't say he had figured his classmate's secret identity out immediately. It had taken him a few weeks and even then, he had needed Janus' help for his brain to click the dots into place.

Well, actually, it had been thanks to the recordings of one of the Puppeteer and the Duke's patrol sessions, during which the two had managed to stumble upon the new ragtag trio of superheroes, Storm, Heart and Logic, taking care of a small robbery downtown.

Janus and Roman had been analyzing the video, with Remus unhelpfully chucking pieces of popcorn at the back of their heads, when video-Heart had thrown his head back and laughed, grinning from ear to ear as Logic seemed to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration.

Roman had frozen, the laugh ringing clear as day in his head as the last piece of a puzzle he hadn't known had been there slid into place -he knew that laugh, heard it every Tuesday and Friday morning before class as he sipped at his coffee and watched Patton try to fit as many puns as he could into a single sentence.

Patton was Heart. His friend was a superhero. Well, shit.

So yeah, Roman had figured it out and immediately started panicking about the newfound information. Janus and Remus, of course, had found the entire thing hilarious, teasing him about having somehow managed to stumble upon and befriend a superhero without even knowing it.

In the end, though, what exactly could he do? Roman was only a college student, and it wasn't like Patton was doing this alone -he had Storm and Logic by his side, keeping him safe and watching his back. His friend would be fine.

Then, of course, in came Virgil and Logan, the infamous roommates Patton had wanted to introduce him to since day one. In less than an hour, Roman had managed to help Pat gently bully Virgil out of his binder for the night and start a debate with Logan about the scientific accuracy of Elsa's powers and just how theoretically powerful she could have become based on the abilities she had showed in the movies.

(Olaf's existence had sparked a whole other tangent about conscience and the existence of souls on a metaphysical level, but Roman was not going to think about it lest he ended up having another existential crisis).

The real plot twist had happened much later into the night, when Roman had woken up to frantic whispering and soft rustling coming from somewhere to his right. Still keeping his eyes shut, he'd managed to catch the words "robbery" and "be careful" before hearing one of the windows gently slide shut.

Making sure to not alert anyone about his eavesdropping, Roman had waited until all he could hear was steady, even breathing before quietly sitting up, eyes shining gold into the darkness for a second before spotting Logan and Patton's figures on the ground -as for Virgil, he seemed to be nowhere to be found, the apartment being completely silent beside the two sleeping soundly beside him.

Roman had a suspicion. A very nagging suspicion in the back of his mind that was probably going to bother him until he got to the bottom of his. So, in the morning, he'd said goodbye to his new friends and headed to Janus' place, pondering over alternative explanations on the way over. Not that it would have been of any use since Janus did confirm that a robbery had taken place the night before, and that it had been halted by no other than Storm himself.

So. Virgil was Storm. Which, by taking the most logical leap, meant Logan was no other than Logic. Cool cool cool. No doubt no doubt no doubt.

… There was no way Roman could sit back and watch, was it?

And so, Prince stepped into the light, flames dancing on his fingertips and on the blade of his katana -a gift from Janus, who had reacted to Roman's sheepish smile with an eyebrow raise- and a bright red sash crossing his chest.

Logan and the others had been rather welcoming to the new superhero amongst their group, if not a little skeptical about his motives -Roman could not quite tell them he was doing all of this to give them an additional layer of protection, since he knew from experience just how dangerous the superhero gig could be. They thought all he wanted was to protect the innocents like a knight in shining armor, and he just never bothered to correct them. It wasn't like that was a lie, anyway so he didn't really feel guilty about it.

… Okay, maybe he felt a little guilty about keeping his former identity a secret. So what? It wasn't like he could go to his new friends and say "Hey, remember that one dude that scared the shit out of everyone? Yeah, that was me, fun times am I right??". And besides, it wasn't like King was going to do a comeback anytime soon, if ever. Right?

Wrong. So very, very wrong.

+++

It had started as a normal night-time patrol around the outskirts of the city. Roman had been joking around with Virgil, jumping easily from rooftop to rooftop as they exchanged dry remarks and teasing nicknames with Logan and Patton watching on in amusement.

Then, suddenly, an explosion.

They'd all frozen, exchanging quick glances as a cloud of smoke started to rise into the distance. Without a word, the four had bolted, the easy atmosphere that had surrounded them up until that moment gone in an instant as they prepared themselves to deal with whatever was expecting them.

They reached the plaza in a few minutes, immediately setting out to assess the damage. Strangely enough, there didn't seem to be much out of order -there were no civilians around, the few that had been around at that time of the night having been probably startled away by the explosion -which had probably gone off at the center of the square, judging by the debris and fairly-sized hole. Though the cause of it didn't seem to be anywhere to be found.

At least, until an amused chuckle resounded from behind the four.

They turned around, ready for a fight, only to be met with a grinning Nautilus.

"Oh, how nice of you guys to drop in!" the hero chirped, his grin only widening even more -Roman did not like the crazy glint in the other's eyes, his hand moving to hover a little closer to the hilt of his sword as a bad feeling started to pool in the pit of his stomach.

"Hello, Nautilus!" Patton greeted, his smile now a little tense around the edges -Roman couldn't help but feel glad he wasn't alone in his distrust, not missing the way Logan and Virgil also seemed to be a little more on guard.

It wasn't like Nautilus was a villain or anything, at least not for the public opinion. He meant well, Roman knew that, but the way he viewed the world -black and white, good vs evil with no space for anything else in-between those extremes- was something Roman just couldn't trust, knowing all too well how such a way of thinking could very easily skew someone's morals way too close to ruthlessness and self-justified cruelty.

So yeah, Nautilus might have been a hero, but Roman wouldn't trust him with the life of the most innocent of kittens.

"Nautilus, do you know the cause of that explosion?" Logan spoke up, his expression unreadable.

"Oh, that was me, nothing to worry your pretty brain about my dear Logic," Nautilus responded, waving the concern away with way too much nonchalance for Roman's liking. "I was just taking care of some little pests, nothing to worry about."

"By making the fucking square blow up?" Virgil asked, scoffing.

The other simply shrugged, once again dismissing the remark. "Sometimes you gotta do some harsh things to get rid of a problem, don't you agree?"

Oh, Roman did not like that smile one bit.

"What do you mean?" he asked, forcing himself to keep his voice neutral as his grip on his sword tightened.

Still smiling, Nautilus snapped his fingers, a water tendril appearing from behind him. And in its grasp, a familiar figure uselessly struggled for freedom, brown eyes glaring daggers at the hero's back. Faintly, Roman could easily picture the snarl currently adorning the Puppeteer's lips.

Lips he could not see, because Janus' mouth was currently being covered by a muzzle.

"Pretty cool right?" Nautilus grinned, stepping onto another tendril to let himself be carried at Janus' level. "A friend of mine made it, perfect to stop our local charmer from using his nifty powers."

Ignoring the way the other heroes were staring at him in various stages of horror, he grabbed Janus' chin, tugging his face forward until they were barely inches apart.

"Not so cocky without that silver tongue of yours, uh?" he purred, before pushing him back. "It's high time you face the consequences of your evil doings, you slimy snake."

But the Puppeteer's eyes were no longer glaring at Nautilus. No, they were trained on Roman's form, on his clenched fists and the way his eyes kept flashing a familiar golden color.

"Well, look who's gone and fucked up!" a voice chirped from above, attracting everyone's attention to the top of one of the surrounding buildings. The Duke gave the heroes a toothy grin and waved, legs swinging into the air with his signature morning star resting idly on his shoulder.

"Ah, the Duke," Nautilus hummed, crossing his arms with a cocky smirk, "I was wondering when you'd show up. Are you here to rescue your dear teammate? Please, do try, I'd love to bring down two villains in one day."

For the surprise of almost the entire square, the Duke let out a hearty laugh, throwing his head back as his whole body shook with the force of his cackles.

"Oh, please! As if I'll need to do literally anything," he said, amusement lacing every word. "This is your funeral, dude. You really angered the wrong royal."

Nautilus frowned, opening his mouth to reply -probably to ask what in the world the other was talking about- but all that left his lips was a startled yelp, fighting to keep himself steady as the earth started to rumble and shake beneath his feet. Because of the sudden distraction, all the tendrils of water broke off, included the one holding the Puppeteer. Without missing a beat, Remus jumped down and grabbed Janus before he could pummel the ground, holding him bridal style while sporting his best shit-eating grin.

"Told ya!" he sing-sang, sending Nautilus a mocking glare. Not that the hero was looking at him, mind you. He was more focused on his fellow "hero" standing just a few feet to the center of the square, his eyes blazing golden.

"Duke," called Roman, his voice clear and authoritative as it carried all around the plaza, "get him out of that damned muzzle, would you?"

"Aye aye sir!!" Remus chirped, easily ripping the piece of metal away. "Do you think you could leave a few bones intact for me to break? I wanna have some fun too!"

"Sorry, Duke-" the other chuckled, the sound sounding almost haunting to everyone else's ears- "but I don't know if I’ll have enough self-control left to do that."

A circle of golden light appeared at Roman's feet, rising up in the air and enveloping his body as it went. And then it was gone as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving behind a vision no one had ever thought they'd see again.

Bright, golden eyes. Hair as dark as the night. The uniform of a royal, a burgundy sash crossing his chest from shoulder to hip. In his hand, a familiar sword glinted under the artificial light of the street lamps, the hilt the same golden as its owner's irises.

The Prince was gone, lost in a circle of golden light. And at his place stood a very angry-looking King.

"That- that can't be!" Nautilus exclaimed, taking a step back. "You're gone, you can't be here!"

"Can't I?" The King -Roman, the King was Roman- asked, cocking his head to the side. "Who are you to tell me where I can and cannot be, Nautilus?"

"I'm a hero!!" the other snapped, his words laced with the desperation of a man who is standing face to face with his impending doom. "I'm a hero, you rotten king, and I after tonight I will be remembered as the one who wiped you and your villainous reign out of this city!"

Roman hummed, looking absolutely unimpressed as he calmly inspected his sword.

"You call yourself the hero… and yet, you are the one using downright torture-like methods to try and squash down those who don't fit your narrow view of good. All the Duke and I did was rescue our companion form your grasp. So tell me, Nautilus -are you really sure I'm the one you should call "villain" here?"

The hero growled at those words, eyes flashing in barely contained rage as tendrils after tendrils of water rose up behind him. "By the time I'm done with you, you'll be begging for forgiveness at my feet."

"Oh honey," the King drawled, lips stretching into a feral grin, "at the end of this, I won't be the one begging for their life."

And off they went, crashing into each other in a whirlwind of water and metal.

Taken as they were with each other, the two supers barely spared a glance to the huddle of five people looking on from the side of the square.

"What the fuck." Storm whispered, staring shell-shocked at the scene in front of him. "What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck-"

"I know, right?" the Duke exclaimed, completely ignoring the hero's obvious growing panic.

"Duke, play nice," the Puppeteer drawled, with the heat of someone who had had to deal with the other's antics for way too long to really care anymore.

"Storm, please take some deep breaths for me," Logic said, stepping into Virgil's line of sight. "Do you remember your breathing techniques, yes?"

Storm nodded, visibly trying to get his breathing under control to do just that. Heart, obviously worried, moved to sit beside him, resting one hand on his shoulder to tap a regular rhythm there.

Virgil looked up at him with a small, grateful smile, raising his own hand to cover Patton's before closing his eyes to focus on his breathing.

Once it was clear Storm's panic wasn't going to advance any further and risk affecting his powers, Janus let his eyes wander towards Logic's standing figure, the hero's gaze fixed on the ongoing fight.

"You don't seem too fazed with the revelation," the Puppeteer pointed out, arching an eyebrow. "I mean, it's not every day you find out your teammate is actually the very ex-vigilante that used to terrorize the city."

"If I remember correctly, the people targeted by the King's actions were almost all corrupt politicians and crooked cops," Logic pointed out, turning his head to look at the vigilante. "And besides, I already had my suspicions."

Janus couldn't help but let out an amused chuckle. "What was it that tipped you off?"

"Honestly, I started growing suspicious during the Prince's first day on the field," the hero shrugged, pushing his holographic glasses up his nose. "He looked way too familiar with fights involving supers to be a newbie. Add in the pseudo he chose, plus the somewhat similar outfit… once the doubts started creeping in, it was relatively easy to connect the dots."

"Roman," the Puppeteer piped up, "I know you guys know him outside of the mask, so we can use his name -all the royal pseudonyms can get real old real fast."

Logic gave the vigilante a long look before nodding, letting out a soft sigh. "I suppose that makes sense, since you all were allies prior to the King's disappearance. I suppose you won't be sharing the reason of that, by the way?"

Janus shook his head. "It isn't my story to tell -I'm a keeper of many secrets, Logic, and I'm not about to go divulge them without a valid reason to. If he wants to tell you, he will. In his own time."

"Normally, I would point out that we cannot be sure that Roman will even be able to tell us, since he's currently going against one of the heroes with most raw power," Logan pointed out, "but I have heard enough stories about the King's power to be fairly optimist about his odds in this fight."

Janus chuckled, nodding in agreement.

"Case in point-" he said, gesturing back towards the square- "it looks like the winner has just become clear."

Just as he finished speaking, Nautilus came skidding on the pavement towards them, bruises and cuts covering his whole body as he struggled to get up again.

"Told you I wouldn't be the one praying for mercy on my knees, hero," the King drawled, his uniform looking barely crumpled by the fight.

"I will never bow to you, villain," Nautilus growled, fighting to keep himself upright.

Roman arched an eyebrow, an infuriatingly amused smirk tugging at his lips. "Are you sure about that? because you look just about to fall over."

"You may have defeated me, but soon the entire world will know the truth!" the hero shot back. "Their beloved Prince, hiding such a rotten secret… how do you think they will react? Every hero will not rest until you and your companions are locked shut behind bars. Your time is coming to an end, King, and I'll make sure to save myself a front-row seat for the day you'll finally be kicked down from your throne of evil."

"A very poetic imagery, I'm sure," the Puppeteer drawled from behind them, gathering everyone's attention on himself, "though I'm afraid you won't be able to reveal jack shit, you pompous asshole."

Nautilus frowned in confusion until he felt a slight tugging at his hand. Eyes widening, he snapped his head down, eyes zeroing on the yellow string wrapped loosely around his wrist.

"Sleep now, and forget," Janus ordered, eyes flashing bright yellow, and down Nautilus went, knocked out cold.

Silence fell, only interrupted by the faint sounds of sirens approaching from afar. After a few seconds, Heart went to open his mouth, hand outstretched towards the King's back, only for the vigilante to suddenly bolt without a single word and disappear into the night.

Janus and Remus exchanged a look, obviously debating something between themselves without using any words.

"Go," Logic called, catching their attention. "We won't tell, we promise."

The two vigilantes looked at the trio, watching as both Storm and Heart nodded in agreement. Then they smiled, saluted, and took off.

"Do you think Ro will come back?" Heart asked worriedly, eyes traveling from the direction the three had taken to the quickly-approaching blue and red lights in the distance.

"He better, or I'll go and find him myself," Storm muttered darkly, biting at his thumb.

"Only time will tell, there is no use in worrying about that now," Logic sighed, just as the first police car drove into the square. "For now, we better come up with a believable story. They'll want to know what exactly caused the square to blow up in the first place."

"Why lie?" Heart asked, giving his friend a small smile, "after all, Nautilus was the one who did it, wasn't he?"

Logic smirked lightly, nodding. " I suppose that is true."

"You know, sometimes I forget just how much of a little shit you can be," Storm commented, tone laced with amusement. "Then you go and pull things like this, and I get reminded all over again."

"Kiddo, language!" Heart gave an exaggerated gasped, eyes twinkling in mischief. "I just don't like lying, you know that."

Logic watched as the two snickering heroes approached the police, shaking his head with a small smile. Tonight might have raised quite a few questions, but he had no doubt the answers would come, eventually.

All in due time, he supposed.

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#sanders sides #superhero au #roman sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #heroes of our time #hoot #anon asks #maxisanswering #bad things happen bingo #ts fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction #maxiswriting

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choco-glow · 3 years

Text

Birds of a Feather

Tifa had to smile a little as her frequent visitor shifted his weight on the bar stool, his contemplation of his whiskey glass interrupted by a gaggle of bachelorettes begging her for martinis and cosmos. This was part of her usual crowd on Monday nights, the last of the work crowd drifting off into Edge's shadowy streets, a remnant of the swell of people from just four hours before. Vincent had drifted in with the first swell, and after hiding in her smallest booth for the majority of the night, he'd slunk to the bar as usual, nursing a few glasses of whiskey along the way.

It was his way, and she was quite used to it; in fact, she preferred it, and more often than not, she found herself taking her breaks with him, happy for the quiet aura of his company. He eyed her as she deftly made the drinks, pouring them directly into the salted glasses, earning her a chorus of drunken cheers for the final flourishes. As the girls drifted away, congregating around one of the far corner booths, Vincent finally heaved a sigh of relief. Crimson eyes met her own claret when she chuckled, and a tiny smile quirked those thin lips.

"You are amused?"

"Oh Vincent, I shouldn't laugh, but you're so easy to read." He tipped the glass to her and took a sip, eyes closing to the burn down his throat, and he settled his elbows on the bar, propping his head up on long, slender hands, one encased in a black leather glove to protect both the eyes of strangers, and the fragile skin that covered his arm as he met her eyes again. He was dressed simpler than usual; a dark blue silk shirt (ever the vain bird, he had to have the best, and really, he could afford it) and black jeans, his holster still strapped around one thigh, knee-high boots and a discarded jacket topping the ensemble. He'd cut his hair, too, to what it had been in his Turk days, though it still was about as unruly as it had been long.

"Ah, so I am an open book?" She mimicked him, just a little ways down, crab-shuffling over to lean across from him.

"No, but you are a very interesting puzzle at times. So, are you going to the motel tonight, or will you finally spend the night here? The old place is a little empty without Denzel and Marlene." Vincent raised an eyebrow at her offer, but his expression softened. Tifa was not a woman who did well alone; she was like a songbird, and away from her flock, she didn't know what else to do. He could see how lonely she was...and ever since he'd returned from the hell that had hidden beneath Midgar, he'd made a point of visiting her more and more in the last two years. Five years since Meteor...

"Marlene is back home with Barret, of course...Denzel is with Cloud, yes?"

"Mmhmm. He's been Cloud's assistant for the last year or so anyway, and since Cloud's been working so much with Reeve these days, he's not alone in the warehouse anymore. It does help that Reno and Rude are helping him too..."

"I thought that Yuffie was moving in here a few months ago..." Tifa shrugged, absently noting that the bar was finally emptying out. She ran the bar from just after the dinner hours to around one or so, her second job out at one of the retail stores ending at five, but starting at nine in the morning, leaving her usually with very little time to herself. Vincent, and the others, of course, but mostly the tall gunman, had taught her to begin delegating her duties out so that she could take time off.

Usually, it was a little dinner, some drinking, and the occasional movie, but lately...it had only been Vincent coming around. And she had wondered, ever since Cloud had moved out, if perhaps the reason why Vincent had warmed to her so much after the Deepground affairs was because he had a vested interest in her. Now, wouldn't that be a pretty picture? She glanced over at him and fought to hold back a blush at his own gaze. Cid had always said that Vincent was a raven; harsh, imposing, dangerous and solitary...but ravens were quite the gentlemen, weren't they? And they mated for life...Resolutely, she shoved that idea out of her head.

"She was, but then she had to go back to Wutai. Godo wasn't doing too well, and her honor won't let her neglect her country." Vincent huffed out a laugh and took another swig, his tone musing.

"I never would have imagined that I'd be on a first name basis with the leaders of two continents..." Tifa laughed, and filled his glass again, sipping her own long-stemmed wine glass with ease.

"Me either, but oh, how far we've come. So, I'd like an answer, my dear nightbird; are you staying or are you going?" She replied glibly, sliding off the counter to begin collecting glasses and shut up for the night. He raised another eyebrow at that; 'nightbird', was he? Well, then, that did deserve a truthful answer, and as he watched her sweep up the glasses, he had to admit, part of his reason for returning so often wasn't entirely due to friendship.

Any fool could see that Tifa was attractive; he personally found her to be drop-dead gorgeous, and she looked no less beautiful in the dark jeans and swoop-necked blouse than she had in that white tank top and leather miniskirt. In fact, he rather liked what she was wearing tonight...the jeans flared from her knee down in a gentle angle out, curving up over those perfect hips...the blouse was loose and flowing, occasionally dipping down to reveal a perfect, pale shoulder, the soft swell of her breasts hidden, teasing just below that top hem.

Lucrecia had been pretty, but inside, she was as cold as the mako that encased her. Tifa was warmth and life and true beauty, alive in every sense of the word. He had cared for Aerith, but she'd been rather distant, in his opinion; not that he hadn't felt sorrow at her loss, but it was a sorrow for the planet and its people, as well as the girl. Tifa, though...he felt his chest tighten at the mere thought that she could be so easily harmed, and he knew, deep down, that should that ever happen...He rose, the alcohol making his senses just a touch sharper. He made his way carefully over to her, and picked up the first trayful, the larger one as she glanced up.

"Vincent, you're my guest!"

"Perhaps, but I can't in good conscience not help you." She sighed, but her rosy lips curved up in a smile and he felt his own face react in kind.

"...Alright then. It would be nice to rest early tonight, for a change..." The next hour went quick, to his surprise; she had two sinks behind her bar, and with both of them washing the glasses, (Vincent took off his glove to protect the leather) the workload disappeared with ease. He leaned back with a groan and stretched his shoulders, working out the kink that leaning over had caused. She laughed softly, her voice huskier than usual, and after drying her hands smartly on the towel between them, reached up to rub her strong hands along the taut muscles around his spine. Vincent's eyes closed in pleasure, and he let her massage out the knot, his hands clenching, just a little, at the lip of the sink.

"It's been a while since I've been a dishwasher..." His own voice had deepened, and a flash of a grin flitted across his face when her fingers stumbled. Ah, he still had his touch..."You need not do that, Tifa."

"Think of it as a thank you for helping me. I didn't expect to close up at ten tonight." Oh? Vincent licked his lips, and pulled away from her, just a little, curving his body back around to face her, leaning up against the counter's edge, his height diminished as he leaned over her. She was roughly a head shorter than he, and those warm red eyes met his own, pleasantly void of fear or distrust. She knew him, knew his body language, his actions...

"Tifa..." Was it just him, or did she color a little when he said her name?

"Yes, Vincent?" Gods, the way she said his...it was never 'Vin' or 'Vinnie', it was always, always Vincent. Gods, he could love the woman just for that. Fortunately, the feeling seemed to be mutual, and though he felt as though he was about to dive headlong off a cliff...the feeling had never been sweeter.

"Are you...seeing anyone?" Tifa flushed softly, but she shook her head, slowly, her heart in her throat. "Would you...like to?"

"Yes..." It was a whisper of sound that passed her lips, so quiet that even his sharp ears barely heard it, and he closed the distance between them, his human hand coming up to rest on her cheek, cupping her jaw. A thrill ran through his body as she leaned into his touch, her own hands coming up to close about his hand and wrist, and he drew her close, brushing his lips across her forehead. "How long...?"

"Since you and Cloud levered that coffin lid off, and woke me to the world I'd lost. Despite what our blonde friend might think, you were the first I laid eyes on in three decades...and my first thought was that I'd finally died, and my angel was there to take me away." He replied, his voice softer, gentler, as he tucked her head under his chin, snuggling her close. "And in the last five years, I've discovered that what I felt for Lucrecia was a kind of love, but not the sort that lasts. She never would have braved the wilds, fighting monsters, camping rough, for almost a year, and she never would have come to the aid of others. You...You thrive in adversity, like the little flowers that I remember clinging to the cliffs of the Nibel mountains. And you...are just as beautiful as they." She laughed into his chest, and he dipped his head down further, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"A flower, eh? I thought that was Aeris..." He chuckled as well.

"Perhaps the analogy is in need of alteration, then? A songbird, whose beauty is in her voice and her actions, as well as her plumage." She giggled at that, and pulled away, snickering a little at his quirked eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Cid always calls you a raven...so I suppose it really does fit. You know how the old saying goes, after all..." He smiled, and drew her in for another kiss, his lips hovering over hers.

"Oh, that I do...we flock together, don't we?"

#old fic #VinTi #tifa lockhart #vincent valentine #romance #bird metaphors #pulled it out of my ao3 archives #awildlokiappears on ao3

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k7l4d4 · 3 years

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Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Cross Fic Episode 4 Part 4

Hello, once again, another piece of Midnight Striga for your reading pleasure!! Everybody Clap Your Hands!!!

With a grunt of exhaustion, Boscha crashed to the floor. The spar had dragged on just long enough to make her and the demon long for rest without them actually needing it. While it may not have been the nightmare she had been dreading when she saw Luz’s smile, it was certainly its own kind of hell. ‘But,’ she mused, a small grin forming, ‘At least I’m starting to make real progress.’ She slowly traced a circle, free of the instability that seemed to plague every spell she formed lately, a small flame forming in front of her. She chuckled to herself at the irony.

Here she was, captain of the Grudgby team, Fire Magic Specialist and Potionist in Training, and she was reduced to the most basic spells she knew of. The fact that she could even get this little flame, no bigger than her thumbs pressed together, without worry was a vast improvement over where she started after that day. She sighed, hauling herself to her feet. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Luz pouring over that strange crystal thing she had brought in; it was sort of like a Scroll, apparently, not that Boscha understood how. Helping the so-called Demon King to his feet, they wandered back over to Luz.

“Ahem!” Boscha cleared her throat, prompting Luz to throw up her arms in shock, suddenly scrambling to secure her… Terminal, she called it? “So, how did we do?” She said calmly, raising a brow as Luz sheepishly chuckled.

“As much as it pains me to be in agreement with the interloper,” King began, prompting a tick-mark of annoyance from Boscha, “I too wish to know just how impressive I am, and how I can become even greater!!” It took a lot of effort for Boscha not to yell at the little menace for the ‘interloper’ comment, it’s not like she intended to come here!

“Now King,” Luz lightly admonished, “A ruler must be gracious to their guests, even unexpected ones. While you may not be comfortable with Boscha’s presence, and understandably irritated from your earlier encounter, that must not influence your behavior and judgement. A King looks after his Kingdom, and all who dwell within it.” Boscha honestly expected the pompous little demon to start screaming at that, so she was genuinely surprised that he only grumbled slightly and kicked at the ground. “If you apologize for being rude, and say it like you mean it, I’ll get you some snacks later.”

“Hmm… Deal!” King agreed. He turned to Boscha and visibly pulled himself up to his full height. “As the King of Demons, I offer my sincerest apologies for my conduct. Will you accept it?” Boscha had to admit, he certainly sounded sincere. She figured he wasn’t, but it was still impressive.

“I accept your apologies… your majesty.” Boscha said, only reluctantly tacking on the last bit at Luz’s expectant look. How was she so good at getting under Boscha’s skin?

“Well, now that that’s out of the way,” Luz drawled, a too-pleased look on her face. “Let’s take a look at what you can work on.” Boscha and King both made inquisitive noises as she turned the screen of the Terminal towards them, eyes widening as they saw their fight lay across the screen. It was something you could see on any Scroll, but this certainly cemented the fact that Humans had some analog to the communications device.

An image appeared, Boscha launching some rocks that had cracked off the ceiling in response to King’s first spell like Grudgby balls. She remembered the stinging sensation in her hands at that stunt, but the sight of King frantically dancing out of the way on screen brought a tiny smile to her face. “Boscha, you displayed some solid tactics, not instantly going for your magic and using your environment to attack with you. However,” She let the video play, showing Boscha rapidly spinning up Spells to launch… only for them to detonate and send her flying back, King sprawled on the floor in laughter at her expression. “Your muscle memories for Spell Casting, while ordinarily a useful trait for combat if you can avoid overly recognizable patterns, are hindering you while you’re recovering your skill.” Luz finished.

Luz turned to King, who straightened up with a gulp. She narrowed her eyes. “Now, on to King.” She turned back to the Terminal, tapping away rapidly before pulling up some new scenes from their spar, King nervously ringing his paws. Another video popped up, showing King launching his spell towards Boscha, thankfully without any sound coming through. The on-screen Boscha avoided the massive spell by the skin of her teeth, Boscha’s ears ringing in sympathy at her memory. She grinned at the sight of King panting after his spell ended, only to yelp and run as her on-screen double rushed him in anger. “King, I’m gonna be blunt, your magic is powerful, but it’s incredibly draining, and the fact you are totally still while using it means that when the spell ends, you are basically defenseless.” King sheepishly kicked his feet, glancing to the side, while Luz looked on.

Luz cracked again. “I got to say, I’m impressed.” She chuckled at the dumbfounded looks she received. “I’m serious, the two of you did way better than I thought you would.”

“Well, how did you think we’d do?” King tentatively asked.

“I expected you to exhaust yourself inside of a few minutes blasting away at Boscha,” Luz bluntly replied, steam-rolling past his squawk of outrage, “and I expected Boscha to lose focus and just keep trying to cast spells.” Boscha would’ve been offended, but that honestly sounded like something she would’ve done if she hadn’t gotten that demonstration of how powerful the demon’s spell was. Luz smirked. “There isn’t a whole lot I can do to help right now, but in the long run, I think I can sketch out some training regimes to cover your respective weak spots.”

Boscha and King exchanged glances, then nodded. It made sense to them. With that settled, the three decided to head back upstairs. Boscha idly wondered why Luz had the hesitant look in her eyes when she said there wasn’t much she could do, though.

Luz groaned internally, resisting the urge to slam her head against the nearest wall. She was absolutely certain that the debriefing she had gone through with Boscha and King had been a disaster. She had visually confirmed how haphazardly they had gone about things in their spar, even if they had been smarter about it than she thought they would be going in, and had basically admitted that she had thought they would’ve been brain-dead rookies only to be proven wrong! Why had she agreed to taking that job!? Oh, right, because it gave her a way to help people and covertly undermine an undoubtedly corrupt regime starting with the youth; curse her bleeding heart!

As she gathered up the assorted snacks and drinks, making care to remember to grab the treats she had promised King, she wandered out of the Kitchen. As she entered the backroom the group was using to discuss things while Eda got her rest, she was surprised to see Boscha and King laughing about something like old buddies. She spoke up, bemused. “Well, don’t you two look chummy.”

“Oh-hohoho My Titan! Luz! Boscha just told me the funniest story about a Slingshot, a Stink Potion, anda Coven Guard!” King cackled, pounding on the table as he laughed.

“Oh, really? Now this I got to hear.” Luz mused, setting the assorted drinks and snacks on the table. Half a minute later, she was pounding her fist on the table right beside King, tears of uncontrolled laughter gushing down her face. Boscha looked painfully smug at the reaction her story had gotten. “Pffff! W-W-With the Gu-guard! A-And the B-bom-b! And the Cheese!! How you did all that and didn’t get caught, I will never know!!”

“Yeah! I didn’t get caught! That’s what happened!” Boscha sheepishly chuckled, deciding against telling them she had to be bailed out by her parents for that stunt. At least it was funny, though.

As the group enjoyed the treats Luz had brought back, Luz let out a sigh of content. “This is nice.”

“Yeah.” Boscha mused, feeling relaxed after the… drama from before. “Not what I expected from the Owl Lady’s place.”

“Huh? What do you mean by that?” King queried. Luz was just as lost. Eda’s reputation wasn’t that bad, was it?

Boscha blinked, puzzled. “Wait, are you saying that you guys don’t know?” She said, something like shocked awe in her voice.

“Know what, Boscha.” Luz droned.

“Well…” Boscha drawled, still shocked at their lack of knowledge on the topic. “When it comes to the Owl Lady, rumors have always been flying around.”

King snorted. “Trust me, we know. We live with her, remember?”

“As I was saying.” Boscha enunciated tightly after being cut off. Her voice dropped into a deeper, more… mysterious sounding register. “Years ago, a Witch studied at Hexside who was gifted beyond compare. Considered a once in a lifetime prodigy, her skill at learning magic, using it, and her sheer power were without equal in her age group, even outclassing some adults. Her name was Edalyn Clawthorne.”

Luz and King paused, allowing themselves to sink into the story. They had to admit, some of what Boscha was saying lined up with Eda, ability wise at least.

“However, despite her incredible gifts, Eda was a maverick,” Boscha continued. “She openly held rules and order in contempt, and sneered at those who upheld them. Still, she was desired by the Covens, all vying for her incredible gifts, even those outside of her chosen track wanting to tap into her great power for their own agendas. Such attention made her arrogant, believing she was above the constraints of others.”

Luz and King deadpanned; while it was phrased more harshly than the reality, that was definitely Eda being described.

“One day, during tryouts for the Covens, particularly for a spot in the Emperor’s personal Coven, Edalyn boldly and publicly denounced the Coven System, proclaiming it beneath her. The crowd was shocked, unable to comprehend such a thing. As she walked away, smug in her superiority, she collapsed in pain.”

Luz and King leaned in, paying close attention to the details.

“Before the gaze of the crowd, Edalyn’s body twisted, growing in size. Feathers sprouted from her arms, her hands and feet twisting into sharp talons. Her body warped into an Avian form, sprouting wings large and powerful enough to hold her aloft. Her eyes became as dark as night, drinking in even the brightest of lights. Her jaw warped to accommodate a mountain of jagged fangs. She had become the Owl Beast.” Boscha paused, with Luz and King gasping in shock at the tale.

Clearing her throat and taking a drink, Boscha continued. “As the transformation ended, the monstrous beast was beheld by the crowd, and found to be repulsive, a monster. The crowd jeered, and chased the beast into the woods, it’s haunting cries echoing through the town. Eventually, Edalyn returned, and proclaimed herself a Wild Witch, and an enemy of the Covens. The Emperor’s Coven declared her transformation a punishment from the Titan for defying the system, making her to be an example. And thus, the Owl Lady was born.” Boscha finished, voice returning to normal. She leaned back, adding, “And ever since then, she’s basically been used as a scary story by parents to warn their kids about the dangers of pride and going against the system.”

Boscha shrugged. “I mean, I never really believed the story, not any more than any of the other kids, but it was still a big thing to learn about, and a lot of the more free-spirited kids growing up got less outspoken after hearing her story.” She paused, scratching her chin in thought. “It probably makes it more believable that she lives outside of town and regularly shows up and causes trouble. Seeing someone described as a once-in-a-lifetime prodigy reduced to a crazy old bat, no offense,” She quickly raised her hands placatingly at an angry King and Luz, “probably made a lot of kids treat the warning more seriously.”

Luz froze, not entirely sure how to process this. King was stock still, glancing at his pauses in confusion. Clearing her throat, Luz spoke up. “Well, that was certainly entertaining, I’ll admit, but how does anyone know she actually-”

“HOOOOOTTTTT!!”

Luz abruptly cut off at the sound of Hooty’s pained scream. The three glanced at each other, before quickly rushing out the door. As they crashed into the Living Room, they froze in horror. The place was ripped apart, the couch shredded, the assorted piles of random junk strewn about, Hooty’s door knocked off its hinges with Hooty himself out cold. Claw marks covered the walls.

The three scanned the room, stomachs filling with dread. As they wandered the room, Luz took stock of the damage; whatever had caused this either wasn’t very high on the intelligence level, or was insanely scared and angry. King crawled over to Hooty, sniffing at him, feeling a surprising degree of relief at the sound of his breathing. Boscha positioned herself in the center of the room, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice. Just as she was about to speak up, Boscha stilled, feeling hot, heavy breathing across the back of her neck.

With trepidation, Boscha slowly turned around, blanching at the sight behind her. A large, feathery body, twice as tall as she was. Long heavy wings pressed tight against its sides, but doubtless capable of spreading to full length in an instant. Deep pools of darkness where its eyes would be. A jaw filled with jagged fangs. Boscha screamed. The beast roared. Its claws slashed down towards the panicked witch.

#the owl house #fairy tail #owl house au #fairy tail au #owl house crossover #fairy tail crossover #luz noceda #boscha the owl house #king the owl house #hooty the owl house #eda clawthorne #magic

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whereismymonsterlover · 4 years

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Part 2

- Part 1

It was ridiculous how much impact that simple apology had. It felt like a comet made of solid iron had bashed into the Bard's fast beating chest.

Jaskier was puzzled on what to feel. He had felt angry for a very long time. He was still angry. But now that the Witcher was here in front of him, in the flesh, his emotions were colliding with each other. He wanted to punch the man across the face but also compress the Witcher into small matter with a deadly tremendous hug all at the same time.

None of it made sense.

Suddenly, memories began flashing in his brain. Jaskier noticed how much more the Witcher would say when around the sorceress. More that he'd hear from him in the span of a couple days. Not to mention how Geralt always joked about others being far better companions as if the duo hadn't been best friends for the past 2 decades.

Jaskier knew he never meant it but it still hurt him just as much. It wasn't fair on him. He already had his doubts about whether the Witcher actually cared for his existence and what he had said to him two years ago had confirmed it. Jaskier was sure that, in Geralt’s eyes, Jaskier was the same as the thin layer of drowner slime that collected on the Witcher's skin, he would try scrubbing at it thoroughly but it would never leave.

Of course, Geralt never actually thought of his companion like that though the analogy did hold some truth.

Jaskier found it hard to believe the Witcher was really there in front of him. The White Wolf was holding tightly to his shoulders with golden eyes screaming at him, shouting a desperate plea for forgiveness. The apology was genuine, he could tell.

Jaskier had, in the end, settled on a punch across the Witcher's face. It wasn't a very powerful punch but enough to make the older man stagger backwards and stroke his cheek gingerly. He felt a little proud of himself, really.

"What you said to me was unfair. You are not..." Jaskier took a breath and jabbed his finger into the middle of the Witcher's chest. "You are not allowed to project your pent-up anger an-and emotions onto me! It isn't fair, alright?"

"I know.." Geralt murmured, hanging his head low.

Jaskier pulled Geralt's hands off his shoulders and held them loosely down between them both. He would squeeze them every couple seconds just to make sure the Witcher was really there.

The only colour Jaskier could see through his watery vision were the two distorted glistening beams focusing on him with such admiration and sorrow. "Why didn't you c-come looking for me sooner? Why did you leave it s-... so long? It's not like you actually went out after your destiny."

Geralt cleared his throat, one side of his mouth quirking up ever so slightly. He looked behind him to the edge of the cliff face. There stood Roach grazing on the sparse grass that had managed to surface through the sand. Then, beside the elderly mare, was a small figure in a thick dark blue cloak, hood covering their features. Their small head poked wearily around the chalk formation.

Geralt beckoned them over with a small wag of his finger. The figure reached out for Roach's reins and lead her over to the two.

Jaskier gasped and wiped his eyes with the back of his rough sleeve. His heart rate got quicker and a smile spread across his face as he began to slap the top of Geralt's hand excitedly. It was ridiculous how proud he was of the White Wolf.

He had finally found Cirilla. When Geralt's gaze reconnected with the bard's he hauled the Witcher into a bone crushing hug.

"I'm still really upset but also so proud of you." Jaskier's smile shone almost as brightly as the sun's light reflecting off the sea.

Geralt felt his cheeks start to get warm. It had freaked him out. The only time he'd become flush in the face was after intense training or battle, never like this. He'd never been praised like that either. It made his stomach drop and his head go all fuzzy. It freaked him out a lot, actually. But what freaked him out the most was how much he liked it and how blissful it made him feel.

It was only after Geralt realised that he had closed his eyes, lent forward and bowed his head into the bard's chest with a sweet smile on his face did he remember to introduce the two. When he lifted his head he made sure to avoid eye contact and instead look down at the sand that began to warp from the moisture in his eyes. He gestured to Ciri who had a weary expression on her face, "Ciri, this is Jaskier, my... good friend."

"Best friend, actually. Until two years ago when he decided to be a sore bastard and be awfully unkind. Though I think we've made up now. But don't think you've been let off so easy, Witcher. There are still things that need to be said." Jaskier side eyed him, giving him a look that meant 'we'll talk later when we're alone'.

Geralt sunk shamefully into the bone dry sand. "Right... Uh, Jaskier this is Ciri, my Child Surprise." Ciri gave a shy wave and a small smile.

Jaskier gasped again, for the sake of it, and gave a more relaxed, warm smile. "It is lovely to finally meet you, my dear! Geralt, you have a daughter! Does this mean technically I have a daughter?"

"Why would it mean that?" Geralt asked genuinely confused but winced as it came out more mean spirited.

"Well, that is if you let me travel with you two. Are you even traveling still? I'd practically be raising her with you if that was the case. How old are you, Ciri dearest?"

Ciri was hesitant to reply. She looked at Geralt with a raised eyebrow and he smiled, his whole features relaxing. After confirmation that Jaskier wasn't a threat, Ciri replied sheepishly, "I'm 15 now. Geralt found me when I was 13."

Jaskier looked back at Geralt, smile fluctuating. Geralt knew it meant, 'ooh, deary me. You are dead'. It terrified him.

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Part 1 - Part 2

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Ok, here's the score. I was gonna continue this but I took such a long break from it I kind of went off in the new part and now I hate this. There may be a continuation from this (probs not). I'll link the bit I'm writing now as loosely based I guess. But yeah this was a disaster but I had fun writing it at the time so hey ho. Ciao <3

#the witcher #thewitchernetlfix #fanfiction #fanfic #geralt of rivia #geralt #jaskier #dandelion #cirilla #ciri #geralt x jaskier #geralt x yennefer #geralt x jaskier x yennefer

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chibisquirt · 4 years

Note

You don't have to answer, but if you wouldn't mind. What are some things you've learned about ADHD from Tumblr that are applicable to you, or others you may now? I've been reading more on it and how it manifests in girls/women and was curious when I read your rb on that post about Grammarly

I don’t mind at all! Fair warning: this is gonna be LONG.

I’m going to start by repeating something I mentioned in that post: I was diagnosed in third grade, which was over two decades ago. I had my diagnosis halfway through elementary school, much less high school and two rounds of college. So a lot of the old information about ADHD I learned as a young person, and those things are worth exploring, too.

Example: It’s not that I’m not listening, Mrs. Nock, it’s just that if I try to keep my hands still, then the only thing I will retain from the lesson will be keep your hands still and not the things you trying to teach, which are supposedly important!

(Mrs. Nock was the one who said to me, “I believe you believe you’re paying attention.” Yes, it’s been fifteen years. Yes, I’m still mad. If you can’t have basic respect for your students, don’t teach.)

I figured out half on my own, half because of the counselling that if I had a fidget tool that didn’t require words I would pay better attention than if I tried to sit still. (I still remember being mocked by my dad for fidgeting well after making that discovery, though. Apparently diagnoses should only inform compassion when they’re his.) On the same lines, I also figured out that music in the background wouldn’t work for me if it had words, and television is too distracting for me to use at all. (I have a friend, though, whose ADHD works the opposite way: he has difficulty focusing if there isn’t a television in the background. Yes, both are valid.)

So, the Classics:

I always had trouble with organization and cleaning, had trouble with schedules and calendars and managing my time. Those are the things they’ll warn you about, the things they’ll tell you in counselling are natural and normal things for people with ADHD to have trouble with. Trouble paying attention, sure. Trouble sitting still. Procrastination. Got it.

But if you turn those traits around and re-frame them, they become a new set of symptoms. Adaptations for these new symptoms are more personal and universally applicable in my life, and therefore, to my mind, more useful.

Take Procrastination. (No really: please take it.) That just means “putting it off until tomorrow,” and there are lots of reasons to do it: “don’t have the tool I need” is one of the biggies, “want to conserve steps” trips me up a lot, “I still have time to get to it” is HUGE for me... But a lot of times, these are just superficial reasons. The re-framed symptom is, Trouble making yourself do things you don’t want to do.

ADHD is an executive function disorder. That’s a phrase I first learned on Tumblr, by the way; it may have been mentioned by one of my earlier counsellors, but it definitely wasn’t taught.

This is why soooo many of us have struggled with the perception (including self-perception) that we’re lazy! But no one tells the kid in the wheelchair he’s just lazy for not playing basketball. (Okay, they totally do. People are terrible. Ignore that, stick to the point.) I reframe this the way I do because acknowledging this as a symptom, taking the blame out of it, makes it easier to find adaptation.

Now, this is a personal post. YMMV. But I have an easier time managing my conduct if, instead of calling myself lazy a procrastinator, I say, “I keep not doing that --> oh it’s because I Don’t Wanna --> how can I con myself into doing it?” (Strategies include bargaining, making it easier, powering through but then allowing yourself to stop afterwards, just acknowledging that I Don’t Wanna and allowing that to be valid...) Procrastination is an action, but “executive function disorder” is a disease and “I Don’t Wanna” is its trigger, just as much as an allergy and a clump of ragweed are. “Procrastination” is a powerful sphynx against which I’m helpless, but “I Don’t Wanna Disease” lets me start cultivating my metaphorical catnip and researching the answers to common riddles.

And while we’re talking about procrastination--and trouble with deadlines, and schedules in general--let’s talk about Time Insensitivity. Missed deadlines and perpetual lateness (perpetual) are external actions, just like procrastination, and they can have all sorts of explanations.

(Shoutout to Mrs. Pollack, who looked around a classroom containing thirteen-year-old me, and, knowing full well that I was chronically tardy, declared that “anybody who’s always running late, deep down, they just doesn’t care about anybody else’s time.” Great job with calling the thirteen-year-old a heartless bitch, Mrs. Pollack! As you can tell, I definitely forgot it very quickly, and didn’t at all have a self-critical breakdown about it, periodically revisiting the question of my own inherent selfishness for years!!!)

But ignoring the external actions, let’s take a compassionate look inside the head again. Executive function includes regulation of, and awareness of the passing of, time. Again: you can’t play the basketball with no legs. We literally do not realize what time is doing. Sometimes we do--if we devote enough of our attention to it, which may be a large amount for some, a small amount for others, or a variable amount for the same person. But our brains literally don’t process it the same way.

But hold on a minute--let’s go back to that analogy. Because actually, people with no legs can play basketball! It’s just that you have to use the adaptation of wheelchairs to do it--and that’s an adaptation for the game and for the players.

I use alarms. I’ve recently seen a post about audio memos as alarms. There are people who just slap clocks everywhere. When I was forced to work in a kitchen with no clocks, I used the multi-setting timer and set it for like four hours so I would know if I was keeping on schedule. I also chose a job environment where much of my shift is the same as itself, and rigid punctuality isn’t enforced--that’s adapting my environment, instead of myself. There’s all kinds of adaptations. But you have to know you have the condition before you can compensate for it.

Here’s a fun little story: when I was... oh, eleven? Twelve? My Quaker Meeting’s youth group (#7 whitest phrase I’ve ever written) went to the museum together. One of the stops was in the children’s section, there was a... a pegboard, I think? With some kind of problem on it. A puzzle. Me and a couple others sat down at it, and it took me a while, but eventually I solved it, and I looked up.

I blinked. “Where is everybody?” I said.

“They left,” said my mom. “Half an hour ago.”

I was stunned. “Half an hour ago?! But I couldn’t’ve spent more than ten minutes on this!”

“I promise you, it was half an hour.”

“Why didn’t you call me?? Why didn’t you say my name?”

“We did. Several times.”

To this day, I will swear myself blind that I never heard a thing.

Hyperfocusing. They’ll tell you about the problems focusing; oh yes. They’ll tell you allll about that one. But they won’t tell you about the flip side of it. They won’t tell you about the times when the rest of the world falls away, and the only two things in the world are you and whatever problem you’re trying to solve.

D’y’know what, I bet that’s the reason I test well. I just realized this now, phrasing it like that, but--I’ve always tested well, even when my actual practical applications of things are mediocre I do well with the classroom testing on it. I scored a 39 on the MCAT, back when it was out of 45 and not whatever it is now. (To those with the plain good sense not to want to be doctors: that’s pretty good.) And I just bet it’s because, once I get focused on solving the problems, the other problems--nerves, intrusive thoughts, anxiety--just don’t have room to get in. Hyperfocusing can be a superpower, if you can harness it.

But it can also blind you to everything else. And it works in smaller ways, too: once I think I understand something, it is very difficult for me to perceive information that contradicts that understanding. I still get the map of the Elflands backwards every time I read The Goblin Emperor, just because I pictured it one way, and every indication in the text that it was the other way just fell on deaf ears.

And this one leads right into the next, which is Rejection Sensitivity Disorder. RSD is hyperfocus, but it’s hyperfocus on how everyone must hate you. It’s delightful! I’ve been diagnosed with anxiety and depression, as well, and I do have both of those things, but for my money, I think that this one symptom of ADHD--which no doctor has ever even mentioned to me--has hurt me more than both of those conditions combined.

The last one I’m going to bring up is Auditory Processing Disorder. Now, I’ve gone and gotten re-diagnosed twice in my life, and the last time was just a few years ago, so they actually used this one in the test. The psychologist told me about it, she just didn’t use the phrase Auditory Processing Disorder, and she didn’t tell me that it was its own symptom--she just used it for the test.

What she did was, she gave me two hearing tests, one to test whether or not I could hear, and then the other a list of words that all sounded alike, and I had to mark which one I was hearing. The second part of that was very long, and very boring, and despite scoring perfectly on the first test, I got several wrong on the second. I was actually surprised by that; I at no point suspected I had heard any of them wrong. When she gave me the test, told me this was proof by contradiction, that we were ruling out hearing loss as an alternative explanation for my difficulties. It was only after the test was done that she explained that the pattern I showed was actually part of the diagnosis of ADHD; that we get bored, and stop really paying attention, and that we don’t even know we’re doing it.

...Okay, but you couldn’t have mentioned the part where I also do that every day in real life, lady?!?! It’s not just when we’re bored, it’s not just for long processes. I do this all the time. I actually tell people now that “I actually have a neurological condition that makes it hard for me to hear; I can tell that you’re speaking, but I can’t tell what you’re saying.”

This is 100% true. It is a neurological condition.

We label this a condition, but as a society, we don’t treat it that way. Society treats it as yet another excuse. It’s not. You’re not lazy, stupid or crazy. Neither am I.

I have a condition. Acknowledging that is the first step of treatment. Not five thousand sticky notes, not binders or filing systems or even taking all the doors off the cupboards (although I definitely plan to do that one as soon as I possibly can). Not counselling sessions with so many different people I can’t even name them all, for the love of god please understand that you can’t just fix it with pills.

(Although mad props to the people who thought Concerta would magically solve me at the age of nine! Spoiler alert: it did not do that! But it did mean that my parents felt comfortable blaming me for all my failures again, so it did at least some of what it was designed for, I guess. :) )

I have spent the last few years re-understanding my ADHD it as is: a neurological condition, a disability, and a simple fact of life. A starting place, instead of yet more proof of my own inherent insufficiency. And you know what? When you take the blame and self-hatred out of the diagnosis--when you stop cursing it as the cause of all your problems and start trying to work with it, instead--it gets a lot easier to manage.

#laexploradoraaa

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