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modernpaw · 3 years

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It's a Beautiful Day for a Wedding (Part 1)

Charlie Barber x Female Reader

Summary: When your ex-husband shows up at your cousin's wedding, old wounds can't help but resurface. Lucky for you, a certain theater director is also in attendance.

CW: Divorce, painful breakup, implied past infidelity, AFAB reader,

Words: 1.3k

It's a beautiful day for a wedding, you think. The sky is a brilliant shade of blue, and the sun is just warm enough to be considered pleasant. You stare out of the window of your cousin's childhood bedroom, looking down at all the guests milling about in the sprawling green below.

Today is your cousin's wedding, and although there are seven years between you, she's chosen you to be her matron of honor.

"Okay, I'm ready!" she announces as she comes out of the bathroom. You turn around to look at her and immediately let out a gasp. She looks absolutely stunning.

"Oh my god," you whisper. "You look—"

"Hideous?" she volunteers with a grin.

You chuckle and nod your head. "Yes, very hideous. The poor groom is going to be so traumatized."

You two have always been close, likely on account of her having lost her mother at a young age and there being no other children in the family, but while most family ties eventually weaken, yours have only gotten stronger. In fact, even though you moved away to New York for work, you two have kept in touch.

The door opens and the rest of her bridesmaids stream in. As they fawn over the bride, you try not to remember that time in your life when you were in the same position.

How many years has it been since your own wedding?

Fortunately, the wedding coordinator clears her throat, interrupting your thoughts. She gently ushers everyone out the door, instructing them to take their places on the lawn. It's almost time for the ceremony to begin.

You go over to the bride to give her a hug. "I love you, babe" you whisper in her ear.

As you pull away, she takes your hand for a moment. "I'm sorry he's here," she says softly.

You swallow the lump in your throat. She's referring to your ex-husband, of course. The same man who divorced you two years ago and said he made a mistake marrying you, the same man who quickly jumped into a new relationship with a much younger woman at work (yes, at work, where up until a year ago, you also happened to be employed at).

Unfortunately, he's also the same man who's stayed great friends with your cousin's soon-to-be husband.

"Don't be silly," you say, putting a hand over hers. "Steve has every right to be here, and, you know, we're good."

Lie. You hate the fact that he's here. And while you two aren't on hostile terms, "good" doesn't really cover it either. In fact, his is the last face you want to see right now. But your cousin doesn't need to know that. Actually, nobody does, and you intend to keep it that way.

Everybody's always talking about how your divorce is still the smoothest sailing separation they've ever heard of, like you went on a cruise or something, and you can kind of understand why. After all, you went out of your way to make it as pain-free as possible for all parties, except maybe for yourself.

That's the beauty of working in public relations. You're so used to handling other people's image crises that when it was time for you to handle your own, putting a positive spin on the matter had been laughably easy.

Nobody knows, not even your cousin, how bad it had been for you. Nobody knows how difficult it had been to pretend to be cool about it all because—guess what—even after all the things that happened, you still didn't want anybody, most especially your loved ones, to think any less of him. Nobody knows how you wanted to turn in your resignation as soon as you heard about them dating, but waited at least a year after to make sure people wouldn't make a big deal out of it.

One entire year of smiling, still doing your best work, being pleasant to him and his new girlfriend.

It was worth the sacrifice though.

You moved on. Not only did you start your own company, you also relocated to a different neighborhood, one that seems to love you as much as you love it. You now have a favorite pizza place, a local theater group you support, a bakery you frequent. You've been slowly rediscovering yourself as a person.

But then, just three months after your divorce date eclipsed its one-year mark, he sprang it on you. Said that he still has feelings for you. Said that he's confused.

You fell for it, too.

For several months, you tried to make it work, gave the two of you another chance. Until you learned that he's actually still with her, that he still has feelings for her, that he's just as confused as ever. And that's when you realized that he was never going to give you the love you know you deserve.

Hell, it was like going through the breakup all over again.

Your cousin sighs in relief, and you smile back, squeezing her hand affectionately. This is her day, you tell yourself firmly. However awful it might be to see your ex-husband again, you know it's all worth it.

As the orchestra begins to play Pachelbel's Canon in D, members of the wedding party start making their way down the aisle. You try not to fidget as you wait your turn. As the matron of honor, you're the last to walk before the bride herself. You check to make sure that your smile is still plastered on your face. Playing happy has become almost second nature to you now.

At least, your gown looks amazing, you think. In fact, everyone's dresses do, and that's because your cousin, a brilliant fashion designer, made sure that each gown suits the style every woman in her party is comfortable with. God, your cousin is an amazing person. You're so glad she's marrying someone who adores her wholeheartedly.

The wedding coordinator calls your attention as your turn comes up. "Ready?" she asks with a smile.

You nod, smiling back, You know how this works.

Walk slowly. Smile pleasantly at everyone. Keep the bouquet up.

You spot your ex-husband almost immediately on the right.

Walk slowly. Smile pleasantly at everyone. Keep the bouquet up.

Somehow, you manage not to lock eyes with him, only recognizing his person by the color of his coat and the buckle on his belt. Even more miraculously, your smile stays put.

Walk slowly. Smile pleasantly at everyone. Keep the bouquet up.

You then turn your gaze to the left. The view there must be better.

Walk slowly. Smile pleasantly at everyone. Keep the bouquet up.

That's when you nearly trip. While you've accounted for nearly every possible scenario in this wedding, including the prospect of seeing your ex-husband's girlfriend, the one thing that you didn't expect, the one person you didn't expect, was Charlie Barber, director and owner of the local theater group in your neighborhood.

Also. The man you've been fantasizing about for the last month and a half.

To be fair, he looks just as surprised to see you. Pleasantly surprised, you hope. He gives you a small wave. Caught off guard, you break character and raise a hand to give him a small wave back.

You reach the end of the aisle and take your place by the other bridesmaids. At the opposite end stands your cousin, along with her father, waiting to make her entrance.

The orchestra plays the last few notes of Canon in D before transitioning to a song that, at first, you don't recognize. It's light and playful and feels perfectly like two people in love. That's when you realize that you've heard it before. It's from one of Charlie's plays!

Is that why he's here?

Your eyes land back on Charlie, and to your surprise, he's looking right back at you. You try not to make a big deal out of it, especially since he's not the only one looking at you right now. Even without turning your head, you can tell that your ex-husband is also staring at you.

It's a beautiful day for a wedding, you tell yourself again, almost like a mantra. You just hope you survive it long enough to appreciate it!

Read Part 2 here

Tagging: @cornmousequeen, @fizzywoohoo, @paper-n-ashes@morby

If you would like to be tagged in future adcu stories or only those for specific adcu characters (which I cannot promise will actually happen), let me know! :) Otherwise, thank you for reading!

#charlie barber #adcu #adcu fanfiction #charlie barber x reader #charlie barber x afab reader #charlie barber x female reader #cw: implied past infidelity #cw: painful breakup #cw: divorce

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janeofcakes · 3 years

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Soulmates: How John Met Sherlock...Again Chapter 8

Hello, my friends! In keeping my word, I am posting tonight to try and stay on schedule after the two-week wait for the last chapter. You may also be pleased to know that this one is more like the usual length.

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Sherlock has just picked up the dish of shepherd’s pie from off the oven shelf when his mobile sounds. He glances to his right pocket with a sharp look and a grumble. He can hear Olive in the loo just turning on the taps to wash up for dinner. Without ceremony, Sherlock lifts the dish quickly and all but throws it on the hot plates situated in the middle of the table. He has learned over time that shepherd’s pie should live on the table while they eat it rather than on the counter. Olive always wants seconds and sometimes thirds, so it is best to have it handy.

With the dish on the table, Sherlock turns back to the counter and tosses the oven mitts onto it while fishing for his mobile. It is a number he does not recognize so not Greg or Mycroft, thank god. That’s all he needs, another conversation with his brother. The birthday party only a few short days ago seems to have opened the floodgate and the meddling sod has phoned Sherlock every day since. An utterly pointless venture, except to annoy Sherlock as Mycroft repeats himself each time. He despises the exercise as much as Sherlock does, which is not completely lost on the detective. His brother obviously considers his words of the utmost importance. Of course, he always does, but this is different. His tone is all wrong and Sherlock cannot help wondering what Mycroft is so afraid of because it can be called nothing else. Pure, skillfully hidden fear. Anger stirs hot in Sherlock’s chest again. Does Mycroft honestly think he would do anything to endanger Olive or the life he has with her? Sherlock is happier than he has ever been and how on earth could having John Watson back in his life jeopardize that?

The mobile sounds once more, coupled with Olive’s voice shouting from the loo to see if he knows it is ringing.

“Yes. Thank you,” Sherlock calls and hastily hits accept before putting the device to his ear. The case had better not be tedious. “Sherlock Holmes.”

He hears a man clear his throat somewhat nervously on the other end and rolls his eyes. Missing spouse who is really having an affair, best friend won’t talk to him and he is worried the man has been kidnapped or… Sherlock’s grey-blue eyes pop open wide. He knows this man. It is there in the timbre of his voice. There is no mistaking it.

“Sherlock,” the voice is hesitant. “Hi.”

“John,” the detective breathes, dropping his left hand to the countertop for support. At that moment, Olive rushes into the room before he can say another word. She wooshes past him and plops down in her chair.

“Shepherd’s pie! I knew it,” she leans over the dish and takes a deep breath. “Oh, it smells so good!”

“Go ahead and start,” Sherlock tells her, covering the phone with his hand. “I’ll be done in a minute.”

“Ok,” Olive reaches for the serving spoon with a huge grin on her face. Sherlock’s lip curls up into a half smile as he pushes through the door into the sitting room and closes it behind.

“Are you having dinner?” John is saying. “I’m sorry. I should’ve picked a better time to call.”

“It’s fine,” Sherlock assures him, staring across the room to the skull on the mantle and the photograph of himself with John that sits next to it. “We were just getting started. It’s no trouble.”

“You’re sure?” John sounds uncertain, but relieved at the same time. “I could phone later.”

“John, it’s fine,” Sherlock repeats with an edge of tension in his voice he hopes John does not notice. He will only misinterpret it as irritation when that couldn’t be further from the truth. Sherlock is actually more concerned that John will talk himself out of the phone call and then never call again.

Guard your heart.

Mycroft’s words slam their way into Sherlock’s mind with all the power of a lorry. Clenching his teeth, he pushes them away in favor of listening to his friend.

“All right,” John replies, unaware of the detective’s inner struggle. “I ran into Greg and he gave me your new number. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Sherlock says easily. “I had to change it about a year ago.”

“Yeah, he mentioned that,” John sucks air in through his teeth with a cringe. “Nasty business.”

“It can be, yes,” Sherlock confirms, feeling a bit less edgy. “I should have given you the number myself since the girls are friends.”

“Right,” John agrees and Sherlock can tell he is wetting his lips, readying himself to say something momentous. Sherlock swallows, every synapsis in his brain firing as one thought fills his mind.

Please don’t say Olive and Gracie can be friends, but we should never see each other. I’ve just got you back. Don’t leave me again.

Sherlock slaps the thought down hurriedly, shoves it into an open door in his mind palace and locks it. What he feels right now is exactly what his ass of a brother was referring to when he cautioned him not to open his heart to John again. Sherlock lets out a mirthless huff. As if he ever closed his heart in the first place.

“I wanted to talk to you about that,” John begins. Sherlock can hear him shifting uncomfortably. “If you’re both free on Saturday and the offer to host a playdate still stands, I’d be happy to bring Gracie by. Or we can have it here if you want.”

Sherlock’s mouth drops open and he stares numbly at the mantle, not actually seeing any of the items resting upon it. That was certainly not what he expected John to say, but he’ll take it. Reach out and grab it with both hands, in fact.

“Sherlock?” John asks curiously and Sherlock snaps to attention, wondering how much time passed while he was in his stupor.

“Yes,” he says too quickly, too excitedly and eases back when he continues. “Yes, of course. We would love to have you over. Olive has an endless list of things she wants to show Gracie.”

“I think I’ve heard it,” John lets out a warm laugh.”More than once.”

“Would just after lunch work?” Sherlock asks, a smile slowly taking over his face. This is truly too good to be. “One o’clock?”

“Yeah, that’s perfect,” John answers pleasantly. “We’ll be there.”

“I look forward to it,” Sherlock tells him, “and I know Olive will be overjoyed.”

“Oh, yeah,” John chuckles. “If you hear a far away explosion in the next few minutes, don’t worry. It’ll just be Gracie finding out.”

Sherlock laughs heartily and so easily it nearly surprises him. It feels good to laugh with John again. Astonishingly good.

“We’ll see you in a couple of days then,” John says in what can only be described as fond. “Good night, Sherlock.”

“Good night, John,” Sherlock ends the call and stays where he is, just breathing in and out. His heart is full and its warmth is running through his entire body. He is glowing with the feel of it.

Guard your heart.

It is already too late and Sherlock cannot be bothered to care. Not in the slightest. With a skip in his step, he turns for the kitchen and strides in to tell Olive the new plans for Saturday.

***

John and Gracie had set off as soon as they finished washing up after lunch. The walk from their flat to Baker Street isn’t far at all, but the clouds and rain saw them away in a taxi. The ride was pleasant enough, Gracie telling John for the umpteenth time what she and Olive had planned. The girl didn’t stop once to take a breath and John couldn’t stop smiling. Unfortunately, things all changed as soon as he paid the cabbie and turned to face the old building that was once his home.

John stands agog as the cab pulls away. Everything is exactly the same. Speedy’s is as busy as ever, every window has the same curtains so far as John can tell, and the door is still dark and imposing over the short step up to it. An image of a younger Sherlock Holmes standing on it flashes before John’s eyes and he sees himself limp over to the detective to shake hands. John blinks and the memory is gone as quickly as it came.

Feeling a light tug on his hand, John looks down to Gracie as she fidgets and angles her head toward the door. John nods, squares his shoulders and marches up to the door. The name plates are just as he had left them. M. Hudson. S. Holmes. John stares at the names, frozen in time. A thousand memories come unbidden, but not the cases as one would expect. Moments in the flat when they were alone. Sherlock working on countless experiments, John finding body parts in the fridge, blogging, reading, eating breakfast together, that time Sherlock covered John’s hand with his own and John was sure he saw something in the detective’s eyes before he turned away. John sees every detail in his mind’s eye as each one drifts around him, stories from a past life coming back into focus.

“Dad,” Gracie’s voice whispers through the haze and John blinks himself back to the present, his face wet with raindrops. He turns his head away from the door to see his daughter watching him with a curious expression. “Aren’t you going to knock?”

“Erm, of course. Yes, I was just…” John trails off, thinking of all the times he had let himself in and trotted up the stairs after a shift at the surgery to find Sherlock playing his violin or bent over an experiment or good god, tolerating Mycroft and his patronizing smirks. John cocks his head in thought, a warm feeling spreading throughout his body. Sherlock really had refused his brother’s information for all these years. He could have known everything from day one, but chose to give John his privacy. No, that wasn’t the only reason. It was too painful. That’s what Sherlock had said in the park. John’s heart squeezes in his chest at the thought of causing his best friend’s pain.

“Dad,” Gracie repeats, her tone impatient and bordering on irritable. “Dad, it’s raining and I’m starting to get really wet.”

“Right. Yes,” John remarks, knocking on the door swiftly and efficiently.

They only wait a moment before the door swings open to reveal Martha Hudson in a light blue dress. Her hair has gone nearly entirely grey and a few more lines have found their way onto her face, but John would know her anywhere. Mrs. Hudson’s every feature brightens as soon as she lays eyes on John, a smile of genuine delight on her lips.

“Hello, John,” she greets warmly and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“Hello, Mrs. Hudson,” John replies thickly, realizing only at that moment how much he had missed her.

“It’s wonderful to see you,” Mrs. Hudson tells him and then looks down at his daughter. “And this must be Gracie. Olive’s told me so much about you.”

“She has?” Gracie asks, her excitement oozing from every pore.

“Oh, yes, definitely,” Mrs. Hudson declares, stepping aside. “Come in, come in. She’s been waiting for you all morning. Why don’t you go right on up?”

Gracie’s awed eyes follow the woman’s gesture all the way up the seventeen steps and they all three hear a clatter from the top. There is a muffled voice shouting ‘They’re here! They’re here!’ and Olive’s thumping footsteps scamper across the floor above. She throws open the door to 221B and jumps out onto the landing. Both girls squeal and start on the stairs, meeting halfway in a rib-crushing hug.

“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you’re finally here,” Olive gasps. “I’ve been waiting forever!”

“I know. I know!” Gracie’s voice is on the verge of a shout barely reigned in. The two girls separate and just look at each other, their bodies trembling with pure joy. Olive grabs Gracie’s hand and jumps up a step.

“Come on! You have to see our new experiment,” she darts up the stairs and Gracie follows right on her heels.

John and Mrs. Hudson watch them run and disappear into the flat above. John looks back at the older woman with an apologetic smile.

“I’d better get up after her,” he says with a quiet laugh. He turns and puts one foot on the first stair when a strong grip around his forearm stops him. He glances at her hand and then meets the kind, brown eyes of his former landlady. Mrs. Hudson’s expression is soft and wise as she silently studies the doctor. Enough time passes that John begins to wonder exactly what she sees, as well as what she’s looking for. After another long moment passes, the corners of her mouth turn up into a sweet smile and she gives his arm a squeeze.

“I’m glad you’re here, John,” she says tenderly. She glances up the stairs and nods. “He hasn’t stopped talking about this since you phoned. Cleaned the whole flat himself.”

“Himself?” John muses with raised browns. “Now that is something.”

They share a chuckle. Mrs. Hudson squeezes his arm again.

“He has changed so much, John,” she tells him in a motherly tone.

“So I’ve heard,” John replies with a touch of dismissiveness that she picks up on immediately.

“I’ll not have that tone, young man,” Mrs. Hudson chides sternly. “Not about my boy.”

“I’m hardly a young man,” John tries to reclaim the jovial mood, but gets nowhere.

“You went through so much before you left,” the older woman interrupts as if John said nothing. “No one could blame you, but he’s not the same man who did those things, who left you behind.”

“All right. Fine,” John mutters tersely, shifting his weight impatiently and glancing up the stairs before looking at her again. “What would you have me do? Just forget it all and pretend it never happened?”

“No,” Mrs. Hudson answers, her brow furrowed. “Just give him a chance. That’s all. You think you know him, but you don’t.”

John huffs a mirthless laugh and tilts his head back a fraction to look up at the ceiling, trying to hold his temper.

“You’ve seen him with Olive,” Mrs. Hudson continues on and John lowers his gaze to meet hers, already understanding. “Is that the man you knew?”

“No,” John concedes after a long pause. Sherlock hadn’t minded children and seemed to enjoy talking to them, but by his own admission it was only because they hadn’t learned enough to be as stupid as adults. What Sherlock has with Olive is genuine love and adoration, pure and simple. Even just that tells John his friend is very different these days.

John presses his lips together in a physical manifestation of tamping down his curiosity and all the questions rolling through his mind in a loop. Who is Jessie? Where did they meet? Are they married? John’s eyes widen, nerves on the rise and his heart in his throat. He fights not to look up the stairs as every muscle grows tense. He will surely meet Jessie today as soon as he enters his former flat. Suddenly those seventeen steps look like hundreds.

“Are you going to stay at all?” Mrs. Hudson’s gentle voice breaks the spell of his slight panic, bringing him back to where he stands at the bottom of the stairs.

“What? No,” John answers quickly, feeling flustered and trying not to show it. Judging by Mrs. Hudson’s empathetic smile, he has failed miserably. “I mean, I hadn’t planned on it. I have some errands.”

John had, in fact, thought he might stay for a bit and suggest tea if Sherlock did not. It seemed like the best way to assess the possibility of renewing their friendship. Now the idea of Jessie being there has John striking it from the schedule. He and Sherlock have so much history and not all of it is good. Surely Sherlock must have told Jessie enough that she will want to keep him as far from the detective as possible. Lestrade had said Sherlock was a shell of his former self until Jessie came into his life. Why would she let John hurt him again when she could protect him?

“Of course, dear. I understand,” Mrs. Hudson finally releases John’s arm, “but maybe just for tea? He’s honestly just as excited as Olive, though he’d never admit it.”

“Yeah,” John’s voice is light and he exhales a breath he had not realized he was holding. He can’t believe the words are passing through his lips even as he says, “Sure. It’ll be good to talk for a bit. I...have missed him.”

John surprises himself with the admission. He might have known Mrs. Hudson would get the truth out of him one way or another. The clever woman smiles, pats his arm and heads for her own flat.

“Stop by when you and Gracie are on your way out,” she disappears into the doorway and then peeks around the frame with only one hand and her head in John’s line of vision. “I have biscuits for you.”

John laughs quietly at her teasing voice and saucy grin.

“I could never refuse you anything, Mrs. Hudson. You know that,” he remarks with an answering grin.

“Oh, I know, dear,” comes Mrs. Hudson’s sly tone as she disappears again.

Left alone, John turns his attention to the stairs, his eyes following them all the way up to the landing. He exhales deeply, steeling himself for what lies beyond.

“Come on then, Watson,” he mumbles to himself, taking the first stair. “Once more into the breach.”

When John reaches the landing and walks through the open door to 221B, his normal pace slows abruptly.The flat is bright and cheerful in a way it certainly never was when he lived here. The skull is still on the mantle and Sherlock’s desk in the corner of the sitting room. There is a different telly, but it’s in the same place. All of the furniture and area rugs are new, except for Sherlock’s favorite leather chair and…

John stops. Everything stops. He doesn’t even hear Gracie and Olive’s giggles. Something in John’s chest that he had locked up tightly breaks open, spreading warmth and a comforting sort of tingle through his body. His lips part and he mutters quietly to himself in wonder.

“Oh, John,” Sherlock’s voice startles him out of his reverie and he turns to see the detective entering from the kitchen with the girls fast on his heels. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming up.”

The detective’s appearance and gait betray nothing, but his eyes sparkle like the night sky. It is dazzling. John closes his mouth and blinks. Wetting his lips, he shoots for casual.

“No, sorry. I was having a word with Mrs. Hudson,” John says, knowing he isn’t quite pulling it off.

“Or she had a word with you,” Sherlock counters with a playful smirk and something in John’s chest pops. Ten years is a long time to wait for that face. John didn’t even know he had been waiting and hoping until the exact moment he saw it. His mind is awash with memories once again, of stolen glances and brushing fingers never spoken of, but always noticed.

“Dad! Dad, I just got the full tour!” Gracie hoots at her stunned father. “This place is great and there’s even a cool experiment in the kitchen.”

“I still need to show you my room,” Olive declares, her whole face the very pinnacle of happiness.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Gracie chants, jumping up and down. “I want to see it all!”

“Gracie,” John scolds, even as they run for the stairs to the second level, “be courteous, please.”

“Ok, Dad,” his daughter calls back in the voice she uses when she isn’t paying attention. John sighs and turns to see Sherlock’s amused smile.

“She’s fine,” the detective waves a hand dismissively and then sobers as a thought occurs. “I assure you that the flat is quite safe. The experiment we’re conducting contains no harmful materials.”

“I know,” John replies with a shrug. “You’d never allow anything that might be dangerous.”

Sherlock’s lips curve up, but he makes no other acknowledgement. John finds himself at a loss for words. He has so many questions that he should let Sherlock answer himself, but he can’t just start blurting them out with the girls up in his old room where they could burst in at any moment. Sherlock looks as though he is about to speak, but John beats him to it, suddenly compelled to break the silence.

“She’s beautiful, Sherlock, really. She looks just like you,” John almost whispers, not caring at all that he essentially just said the same about Sherlock.

“Thank you,” Sherlock murmurs, somewhat taken aback. He regroups swiftly and gestures toward the kitchen. John’s eyes follow, his mind convinced Jessie will be standing in the doorway awaiting an introduction, but he sees no one. “Do you have a moment to spare for tea?”

“Uh, I have some errands, but yeah,” John says as disappointment flashes through his mind only to be chased away just as quickly as it came. Sherlock offered him tea. John didn’t even have to hint around it as he had planned in the cab. Mrs. Hudson was right. The detective is willing to open the door again. “I’d like that.”

“Good. That’s good,” Sherlock perks up. “Have a seat and I’ll bring it out.”

“No need to be so formal,” John replies, walking in the direction of the detective and the kitchen door behind him. “Let’s just do it in the kitchen. I don’t mind.”

Sherlock’s lip curls and he steps aside, stretching his arm toward the door.

“Be my guest,” he says knowingly and follows as John walks by.

Ten minutes later and the two men are sitting at the small kitchen table, mugs of steaming tea in hand. John opted for mugs and Sherlock had even remembered that John takes it with a splash of milk. John lets a quick breath out through his nose in place of a short laugh as he considers the man in front of him. Of course he remembers. He could probably tell from the way John tied his shoes or something.

“You’ve redone the kitchen,” John begins once they are settled. His smile grows when muffled giggles drift down from the floor above. John’s eyes look fondly upward and then back to Sherlock, who nods as he takes the mug from his lips and swallows.

“Four years ago, yes,” Sherlock fills in the blanks. “Minor explosion. Olive was not home.”

He says the last four words sternly, his face deadly serious and expecting a lecture, but John just rests his chin in his own hand and watches Sherlock with a contented gaze.

“I like it,” the doctor says simply.

“Thank you,” Sherlock clears his throat, thrown off by the unexpected response and John smiles behind his hand. “I’ll be sure to tell Olive. She was instrumental in its design.”

“You two work well together,” John says, racking his brain for some way to include Jessie without sounding like he’s being nosy.

“So do you and Gracie,” Sherlock offers sincerely and suddenly John wants to change the subject. He can tell Sherlock is going to apologize again for not knowing about Rosie and John really doesn’t want to have that conversation. He shifts in his seat and raises his own mug to his lips.

“So Greg and Mycroft?” John inquires before taking a drink. “I wouldn’t have predicted that one.”

“The last ten years have brought a good many surprises,” Sherlock responds with a chuckle. “Even my brother hadn’t anticipated that.”

“How did they even meet?” John asks, his curiosity getting the better of him.”Mycroft usually avoided everyone, especially police.”

“Olive’s first birthday party,” Sherlock says rather smugly. “I knew neither would refuse.”

“Sherlock Holmes,” John declares with an incredulous grin that makes the detective smile inquisitively, “you set them up. You’re a matchmaker.”

Without hesitation, they both burst out laughing and don’t stop for a good minute. It feels so good to laugh with his best friend again. His best friend. John hasn’t thought of Sherlock that way for years and yet, somehow he never stopped. It’s true to this day. Even with the other friends he has made, no matter how close, Sherlock has always been the best and closest one. Now that John and Gracie are back in London, maybe Sherlock could be again.

“Not so much,” Sherlock comments, his laughter devolving into giggles. John is so taken aback by the way Sherlock seems to be responding to his thoughts that the smile he wears freezes on his face and his eyes begin to widen in panic as John tries to remember what they were talking about.

“I mostly wanted them to meet because I was tired of Greg asking me about my ‘invisible brother’,” Sherlock sets John’s mind at ease as he continues speaking, “and don’t get me started on Mycroft’s thinly veiled insinuations.”

“So you just wanted them to stop bothering you,” John sums up, “and they ended up together instead?”

“They took their time about it too,” Sherlock tells him with disgust. “Three years I had to endure incessant conversation. ‘Should I ask him out, Sherlock? Is he even interested in that? What does he think of me? We had a really good time at dinner.’ And that was just Greg.”

“Mycroft,” John begins slowly, his voice flat. “Asked you. About Greg?”

“Oh god, it was detestable,” Sherlock all but moans and John has a hard time hiding a smile. The detective catches sight of it anyway and grumbles a low sound from deep in his chest. “I don’t do feelings.”

“Don’t you?” John counters instantly, not believing the man’s snarl for a minute. Sherlock meets John’s steady gaze and his expression softens as unspoken understanding passes between them. Sherlock presses his lips together and suddenly looks younger, a touch vulnerable. John sees the man who looked at him the same way all those years ago on their first case when John said he didn’t have to use his imagination to know what he would say when about to die.

“I have limits,” Sherlock snarks, pulling John from the past. The detective schools his face to match the topic again and reaches for a biscuit. “My brother’s emotional awakening extends far beyond them, I assure you.”

“I believe it,” John smirks as he takes a drink.

“I fail to see the humor in this, John,” Sherlock glowers, but there is no heat in it and his lips turn up the longer he looks at John. Unable to stop himself from imagining Sherlock rolling his eyes and covering his ears as Mycroft waxes poetic about Greg, John descends into giggles. Sherlock gives him a withering look, but the corners of his mouth begin turning up of their own accord again and his own giggles soon join John’s. A minute later both men are laughing outright. John wipes at his eyes as the snorts begin to fade.

“I didn’t even realize Greg was gay,” he says absently.

Sherlock’s chuckles stop abruptly and John looks at him apprehensively, knowing his mistake immediately and kicking himself.

“He isn’t,” the detective tells him sharply. “He’s bisexual.”

“Right,” John swallows thickly, cursing himself for being such an idiot.

A moment of awkward silence passes while Sherlock sips from his mug and John looks down at his own, contemplating what to say. Coming up with nothing, he reaches for the biscuits with a silent inquiry on his face and Sherlock waves a hand in answer. John plucks one up and pops it in his mouth.

“Mm,” John hums with enthusiasm. “Mrs. Hudson is still an expert.”

“Actually, Olive and I made them,” Sherlock corrects and then says without thinking: “It’s Jessie’s recipe.”

He stops abruptly, mouth still open and fixes a penetrating but uneasy gaze on John. The doctor stares back. This is exactly the topic he is most curious about and the focus of nearly all his questions, but he suddenly doesn’t want to talk about it. He looks into those grey-blue eyes, deep and full of emotion, and he can’t. He can’t ask, can’t know. Not right now.

“John…” Sherlock starts in. John knows what he is going to say and he can’t bear it.

“Oh, god,” John interrupts, looking at his watch. “It’s been an hour. I really have to do those errands.”

He all but leaps out of his seat and bolts for the kitchen door, pausing only a moment to look back at his speechless friend. Sherlock has risen as well, but stands in place.

“Do you need any help?” John gestures to the table. “I can wash up.”

“No, it’s fine,” Sherlock’s voice is uncertain as though he has done something wrong and John’s chest squeezes painfully.

“All right. Ok,” John’s own voice is full of tension. He doesn’t even sound like himself. He fists his hands at his sides for lack of anything else to do with them. “I’ll be back at...four? Four thirty?”

“Four thirty is fine,” Sherlock replies, sounding more resigned now. “I’ll make sure they have a healthy snack in a bit.”

Feeling like a complete idiot, John mutters his thanks and rushes from the flat without another word.

***

When John returns, it is nearly five o’clock. Tesco had been a madhouse and at least one person in every aisle was intolerable. He had texted Sherlock around four fifteen to say he would be a little late and received a response of ‘no problem’ almost immediately. Marching up the stairs to the flat, he still feels a bit guilty. Mrs. Hudson let him in the building and then rushed back to her flat to check on a cake in the oven. Small mercies, not making the walk of shame back up to 221B under her watchful eyes.

John turns to the door to Sherlock’s flat when he reaches the landing and knocks with the hand carrying only one light-weight bag. He will give it to Gracie for the trip home so he has only the two heavier ones to contend with. He hears footsteps nearing the door soon enough and Sherlock looks at him a bit oddly after opening it. His grey-blue eyes clearly ask why John didn’t just walk in, but then shift in recognition as if reminding himself that John is a guest rather than a resident.

The detective steps aside and directs John to place his bags on a bench near the door. John smiles to himself when he sees the line of eight year old shoes next to three pairs of Sherlock’s posh shoes. He still wears it when he turns around to follow Sherlock into the sitting room. John stops next to the couch while Sherlock goes to the bottom of the stairs.

“Olive, Gracie,” Sherlock calls. “John is here.”

“Ok,” his daughter replies.

Sherlock turns back to John and begins approaching the couch.

“They’ll just be a minute. I asked them to clean up a bit once you got here,” Sherlock explains and then gestures to the furniture. “Please, have a seat.”

“Ta,” John says automatically and sits on the couch, leaving room for Sherlock. John’s stomach flips when the detective sits next to him. His palms are sweaty and his pulse steps up its pace, but John tries not to show it. He’s being ridiculous.

“I hope she behaved herself,” John comments with a quiet laugh, resisting the temptation to wipe his hands on his jeans.

“She was wonderful,” Sherlock answers with an expression that says John had nothing to worry. “They kept themselves busy all afternoon. I only saw them at snack time and then they were right back at it. They get along so well.”

“Good. That’s good,” John says a little stiffly. What is wrong with him? He is tense and apprehensive and has no reason to be. Just because he ran from his friend as fast as he could when he left a few hours earlier doesn’t mean he should be uncomfortable now. Sherlock probably thought nothing of it. John sighs internally, wanting to roll his eyes. That is the single stupidest thought to pass through his mind all day.

“John,” Sherlock’s silky voice draws John’s attention, as always.

“Hm?” he hums, looking at his friend and trying not to give away every thought in his head with just one glance.

“We have a lot to talk about,” Sherlock tells him softly. John’s brows arch toward his hairline and his lips part in mild surprise. He is not entirely sure what Sherlock is referring to, but it can’t be what John thinks he means, what John increasingly wants it to mean.

“The girls have grown quite close in only a short time,” the detective continues. “They’re already planning a sleepover.”

“Oh,” John releases the breath he had been holding. He had not anticipated that, but should have. He nods in understanding, feeling both relieved and disappointed in equal measure. “I should’ve known they’d make that leap right out the gate.”

“Indeed,” Sherlock wets his lips, drawing John’s eyes and damn it if he can’t drag the traitorous little bastards away from that cupid’s bow. John is sure Sherlock notices, but he spares John the embarrassment of saying anything. “John, are you free for dinner next Saturday evening?”

“What?” John stumbles over the word like an idiot. He can’t have heard that right. Dinner? With Sherlock? With him? Then it dawns on him. Sherlock wants to introduce him to Jessie over dinner where there won’t be interruptions significant enough to pull them away. “Yeah. I don’t have plans. It’ll be easy enough to have Candace watch Gracie for the night.”

“Good,” Sherlock’s lips quirk up. “I’m glad. I...I have a lot to tell you.”

Before John can reply or even put much thought into the implications of that sentence, Gracie and Olive clatter down the stairs and bound into the room. The young blonde is at John’s side in seconds, hugging him and bubbling over about all she has to tell him.

Surrounded by constant chatter, John and Sherlock rise and all four walk to the door where Gracie pulls on her coat and shoes. Both she and John thank Sherlock and Olive for everything and then make their way down to Mrs. Hudson. She meets them in the foyer with a tin of biscuits, which they put in Gracie’s grocery bag. Thanking her as they head out the door, Mrs. Hudson waves goodbye with promises to see them again as though there was never any doubt of their return.

Once the door to the building is closed and John and Gracie are on the pavement, a cab appears seemingly from nowhere. John eyes the driver suspiciously for a moment, wondering if he is really one of Mycroft’s lackeys before dismissing the notion. He opens the door with the hand holding the lighter of his two bags and piles in with his daughter. John gives their address to the man and sits back in his seat just in time to hear his mobile ping with a text.

7 o’clock?

John can’t help the smile that blooms on his face as he types an affirmative response.

“What does that mean?” Gracie asks, reading over his shoulder. John looks down at her curious face as he pockets the mobile.

“Olive’s dad and I are going to meet for dinner next Saturday,” John tells her. “So that means Candace will stay over and put you to bed.”

“Yay!” Gracie exclaims. “She promised to play Cluedo the next time she stays over.”

“Well, I hope the two of you discover it was the doctor in the lounge with the lead pipe before it’s too late,” John jokes, wrapping his arm around his little girl and pulling her close.

“Dad,” Gracie laughs with an eye roll and hugs him.

The cab ride home is not long at all and the Watsons joke with one another all the way to their doorstep.

---

A new chapter coming with promises of dinner, Jane, and you make us wait? Gah! I may not be torturing you with the angst of my other works, but I hope to still have to on the edge of your seats. Thank you, thank you one and all for your support and love. Love, Jane

@johnlock-rocks

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #sherlockholmes #sherlock loves john #sherlock fanfic #john watson #johnwatson #johnlock #Johnlock fanfic #John loves Sherlock #Mystrade

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lihikainanea · 3 years

Note

What if its Christmas and Tiger is insatiable. They are either at Tigers parents house or the Skarsgard retreat and she canNOT get enough. She wants it 24/7 and Bill is just looking at her exhausted like "Really? You don't care that everyone can hear you?" And Tigers like "Nope!". Lol!!

Okay, I officially hate Tumblr. There was an ask that came in a few days ago about cousin Leila and I saw it, I squee’d in delight, I archived it in my memory because I wanted to talk everyone’s ear off about it, and NOW IT IS GONE FROM MY INBOX. TUMBLE YOU HO.

But then I saw this ask, and I very, very much wanted to combined the two.

Looks guys, cousin Layla, right? God she’s a cunt. And after the whole attempted threesome ordeal, maybe tiger is still not allowed in the same room as her without Bill’s supervision. And it’s not because tiger’s in trouble, not by any means--but it’s because if Layla and her are in a room together, Layla doesn’t stand a chance. Tiger will maim her. Bill would rather not deal with that kind of family drama.

But you know, maybe that makes Christmas a little....tense. Maybe the Skarsgard Christmas was a bit early this year due to filming schedules, so Bill and tiger were back from Sweden by December 23rd which left plenty of time to do Christmas with her side of the family. And maybe tiger’s family went a little off the beaten path this year, rented themselves a little compound in the woods somewhere--a main house, a few guest houses sprawled on the large grounds. Tiger doesn’t have nearly as big a family as Bill’s, so her parents and aunts and uncles take the main house, a few cousins take a guest house, tiger and Bill take the other guest house....along with Layla. It’s a suggestion from both of their moms (Actually, does tiger have two dads? I like that concept). Either way, one of Layla’s parents teams up with one of tiger’s parents to get the two girls talking--god they used to be so close when they were kids, didn’t they?--and Bill just thinks this is like, a terrible idea. He wonders how well tiger’s parents actually know her and HOW they’re so convinced that she’s not capable of murder, because he doesn’t share that conviction.

“Tiger...” he stutters when the living arrangement is announced, “Maybe we should--”

But tiger is stoic, perfectly still, glaring daggers at Layla--who is glaring right back. Two bulls locked in a challenge, neither one of them backing down.

“Tiger,” he tries again, tugging on her sleeve, “We can--”

But tiger’s psychotic, wide smile stops him in his tracks. God it’s terrifying.

“How delightful,” she says and it’s sugary sweet, “It will be great to catch up, won’t it Layla?”

Tiger looks insane. Wide eyes, a psychotic smile. Bill shifts his eyes nervously between the two.

“Indeed cousin,” Layla purrs, the same fake smile on her face. Bill is terrified. But tiger grabs the key from the entrance way, and stalks off towards the guest house. Bill catches up with her after a few strides.

“Tiger--” he grabs her arm and spins her around, but she’s already laughing to herself.

“Stop kid, you’re creeping me out,” he mumbles, “Tiger, you can’t....I don’t want..”

“Spit it out, sunshine.”

Bill frowns.

“No murdering people,” he says sternly, “Or maiming, of any kind.”

“No promises.”

“Tiger,” he says harshly, “I mean it. I’m scared.”

“You’re not the one who should be scared big guy,” she pats his cheek, but she rolls her eyes at his glare, “Look, I promise. I won’t START anything, alright? I won’t start it. But that’s all I’m promising.”

“Fine,” he says, and he holds out his pinky finger, “Swear on it.”

She hooks her finger around his and pulls him down for a kiss.

But like...we all know where this is going, don’t we? Because tiger is just oh so sweet to Layla every waking moment. Really pouring it on thick--and Layla, herself, is a little taken aback by it. She’s not entirely unconvinced that tiger didn’t poison the drink she just offered her, and from across the room--neither is Bill. But the drink is fine, and tiger is just being so pleasant.

Until nightfall.

Because look, tiger? She’s got herself a plan. And Layla retreats first, goes back to the guest house early, and then sometime after midnight--tiger drags Bill back. Except just on the way there, tiger is all over him and Bill can’t keep up--she’s everywhere, launching herself into his arms and pulling him down for a heated kiss, her hands already working to get his scarf off. When they’re on the porch she jumps up into him and he catches her, trying to unlock the door while she bites his neck.

“Tiger,” he moans softly, “We can’t.”

“Oh yes we can.”

And it’s loud. Bill is trying to contain it, trying to bite back any noise he wants to make, but tiger’s going all in. Her moans are loud and guttural, she keeps begging for it harder, and when it’s not hard enough she slams him down and climbs on top. She grabs hold of the headboard for leverage--and to make sure she can whack it against the wall so that it hits the bedroom next door, which is...oh, Layla’s.

And listen, Bill wants to say something--wants to tell her to quiet down, but honestly Bill never had any hang ups with other people knowing he’s having sex. He’s always quiet for tiger’s sake, if other people are in the house. Also, he’s getting it so goddamn good that he can’t speak, and even if he could the only thing he’d likely be able to utter is more. If this is how tiger wants to throw down, then Bill is just holding on and enjoying the ride.

She’s raking her nails down his chest, and when he moans she’s digging them in deep.

“Louder,” she demands, grabs hold of his hair and gives it a solid tug. He obliges with enthusiasm.

The bed frame is thumping against the wall, Layla hears Bill’s deep, guttural moans and the squeaking of the mattress, hears tiger demanding more out of him and uttering the filthiest shit. And listen, the next morning? Tiger thinks a round two (or four) might just be an EXCELLENT way to start off the day, and Bill wakes up to her growling and pawing at him roughly, and before long he’s yelling out cusswords as she rides him into oblivion. And even better? She marks him. Tiger stakes claim to her territory, and when Bill gets up to shower he finally notices--the hickeys all over his neck, some dotted with teeth marks, the scratches on his chest. He smirks to himself just a little as he pulls a turtleneck out of his suitcase, gives tiger a firm swat on her ass as he gets dressed. And tiger thinks--oh, what an excellent idea for tonight.

Layla avoids eye contact with both of them. When they head to the main house for breakfast, tiger takes a seat right beside Layla and Layla promptly gets up and goes somewhere else. Bill is quiet, but tiger?

Tiger likes to play with her prey.

“Did you sleep well Layla?” she asks, but before Layla answers, tiger shoves a forkful of food into her mouth and she moans--loudly, salacisouly, a lot like she did last night.

Bill drops his fork immediately, caught off guard by the sound he’s only ever heard tiger make in the bedroom, and his cheeks go a bit red.

“These potatoes are just...” tiger takes another bite and lets out a loud moan again, “Heavenly.”

Poor Bill is just collateral damage.The two cousins glare at each other, and Bill is suddenly all flustered at having heard tiger’s sex noises in public. His cheeks go red, he’s starting to sweat because he’s getting turned on, and he clears his throat subtly.

When Layla looks away tiger smirks, but Bill squeezes her thigh in warning. He leans in close when the others go back to their own conversations.

“Do that again,” he threatens lowly, “And you’re going to be in real trouble kid.”

So she does it again.

And tigers just kind of revving him up too for later on that night. And sure enough maybe that night Bill and tiger head back early, and when Layla gets back they are already well into it. Bill is punishing tiger for being a brat that day, and the hefty spanks can be heard well through the thin walls.

And tiger is also embellishing a tad. Moaning louder than usual, begging for it harder.

“Daddy,” she groans loudly, “Please.”

“Again,” he commands.

“Daddy,” she moans even louder. Three hard whacks from the other side of the wall are heard. And listen, Bill is not a petty motherfucker. But Bill has younger siblings. Bill doesn’t think too highly of Layla. Bill is still pretty angry at her for all the shit she’s pulled with him, and all the shit she has tried to pull with tiger. And right now tiger is on all fours in front of him, begging him, she’s wet and uttering the filthiest shit and revving him up and Bill is just all in. So he gives her hair a soft tug, and tiger looks back.

“What do you think kid?” he juts his chin at the wall, quirks a brow.

“I think if that’s all you’ve got,” tiger shimmies her bottom at him and smirks, “Then that’s fucking pitiful.”

The next morning, both of them are covered in markings as they sit quietly, smirking to themselves, eating breakfast.

Both of them raise their heads and smile pleasantly when Layla stumbles in late to breakfast, dark puffy circles under her eyes.

“Coffee?” Bill asks Layla with a smile. Tiger just mimics his smirk, chewing slowly on her fruit as she stares her down.

#christmas #holiday #BFF!Bill #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble #family drama

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wordsablaze · 3 years

Text

6. a storm raging on the horizon

your beauty hides the pain Lost on the mountain, Jaskier accidentally angers a mage who decides to curse Yennefer with his company and for once, it might actually be a blessing in disguise…

A/N: sorry in advance for the mixed signals in this one :p @random-nerd-3 @surreal-static @10moonymhrivertam x

previous chapter

It’s a temple.

Of course it’s a temple.

Jaskier has been dead on his feet for a while by the time they get there but Yennefer’s makes a swift beeline to the small fountain in the centre that, unless he’s gone entirely mad, seems to be glowing, not that he has the strength to question it.

“I won’t be long, bard,” Yennefer tells him.

“If only you would be,” he mutters, half-heartedly smirking at her before she kneels by the fountain, doing who knows what.

He’s too tired to care about what she’s planning so he lets himself settle on the floor once more, leaning his head on his lute as he lets his eyes slip shut. He’s not sure if seriously debating his life choices counts as resting but that’s all he manages before the familiar tug of yennefer, get closer to yennefer, yennefer, you’re too far away from yennefer, yennefer returns to his bones.

Yennefer curses before he can even think about moving and the warmth of somebody sitting next to him fills his mind. “Jaskier?”

Humming, he opens his eyes to see Yennefer’s perfectly raised perfect eyebrow. He chuckles despite everything. “It can be considered impolite to stare, my lady.”

His stomach rumbles before she can reply and he winces, offering her a sheepish grin. She doesn’t seem amused though, and her expression morphs into confusion. “They didn’t bring you up any food yesterday, did they?”

“They were too busy trying to kill me,” Jaskier confirms.

“I thought-” Yennefer cuts herself off with a curse in a language he doesn’t recognise.

Well, at least that explains why she’d assumed he’d be perfectly fine with walking for miles. He can’t exactly blame her for misinformation, can he? Well, he could but he likes to think he’s just a little above that kind of behaviour and- ah who is he kidding, he just doesn’t want to hold a grudge against the very sexy but insane witch he’s literally stuck with until further notice.

“You could have told me!” Yennefer grumbles as if this is somehow his fault.

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Yes, darling, I’m sure that would have gone well, especially after you and your chaos nearly stole my voice. You know, the usual method of seduction is taking someone’s breath away, not their entire livelihood.”

Yennefer looks annoyed for a moment, elbowing him sharply, but then she frowns again. “You could still play the lute.”

“Yes, but nobody pays for a tune without words and so a bard isn’t really a bard if he can’t sing. Or flirt. Both of which require a voice.”

He hadn’t meant to say anything particularly thought-provoking but Yennefer is silent long enough for him to think he’s said something that at least doesn’t just irritate her, and he’s pleasantly surprised by how much he likes that realisation. He does not want to go into why he likes it but he’s content in acknowledging it’s nice to exchange more than barbed words here and there.

The sun rises before either of them do.

“Oh, how beautiful,” Jaskier breathes instinctively.

Yennefer scoffs at first but then follows his gaze to the horizon just past the fountain that seems to be glowing even more than it was before and maybe Jaskier is just imagining it but he thinks he hears her gasp. And he wouldn't blame her for the dawn is truly a thing of beauty that he firmly believes anyone can appreciate.

“I was hoping this place could break the spell,” Yennefer admits eventually.

Jaskier turns to her, finally taking his eyes off the sunrise. “I take it the spell is more complicated than that?”

With a small chuckle, Yennefer nods. “There’s not a lot I can do when I don’t know why it was cast in the first place.”

Guilt blooms in Jaskier’s chest as if trying to establish its own rotten garden. “I’m sorry. Really, I know the last thing you’d want is to be stuck with me but believe me when I tell you I simply cannot imagine her reasoning either.”

Yennefer hums, then elbows him again. “You could be worse, bard.”

It takes a moment for her words to register but as soon as they do, Jaskier half-turns and grins at her. “What was that, darling? First the apologies and now a compliment? Maybe I’ll have to thank that other witch!”

“I take it back,” Yennefer mutters darkly, standing up and brushing dirt off her dress, “and I’m afraid we’ll have to walk back again until I can portal us anywhere else.”

Jaskier sighs, reluctantly pulling himself to his feet. It can’t be that bad, he tells himself, and he’s definitely been on more tiring adventures with Geralt so he can totally do this, he can definitely do this without embarrassing himself in front of Yennefer.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Jaskier says, slinging his lute over his shoulders. Yennefer follows the movement with a clearly sceptical hum but says nothing, starting to walk at a thankfully reasonable pace.

He manages about a minute of silence before clearing his throat. “So, what was in the box?” he asks.

Yennefer sighs loudly. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

“And do you often sacrifice things to temples? Well, I suppose that’d be more of an offering actually so, uhm, do you often leave offerings of mysterious payments at temples or…?”

Another sigh, but Yennefer slows enough for them to Jaskier to only be half a step behind her. “Do you always ask this many questions? It’s enough to drive anyone mad, bard.”

And it has, when he thinks about it. Not just almost his entire family and various patrons who it turns out weren’t actually interested in his bardic talents but also his very best friend in the whole world. Maybe he should stop asking so many questions about witchers and witches and write more about the sunrise or nobles who won’t mind hearing his ballads for at least long enough for him to stock up on coin.

“How is it that even your thinking is irritatingly loud?” Yennefer asks, interrupting said thinking.

He huffs. “Well it’s hardly my fault you make a habit of spying into other people’s heads. What, is yours inadequately furnished despite all that power you’re meant to have?”

“I do have power,” Yennefer snaps, turning to him with ire in her eyes, “but you wouldn’t know the first thing about being powerful even if you were anything more than just another bard.”

Jaskier scowls at her. “I’m not the one who resorted to chasing dragons with my entitled fake boyfriend because I wanted to be more than just another witch.”

For a second, he thinks she’s going to kill him. And then the second passes and she just grits her teeth before continuing to walk, leaving him to groan and scramble to catch up so he doesn’t feel like he’s being ripped apart again. Gods is he getting tired of following around people who would rather he didn’t exist.

idk if anyone’s still reading but if you are, sorry it’s not v exciting, juggling wips is not exactly my forte. anyway, hope you’re having a good december <3

thanks for reading! | masterlist | witcher blog: @itsjaskier | next chapter

#i wish tumblr would automatically copy over formatting as well grr #yennskier #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #fanfiction #the witcher #fanfic #getting together #slow burn #insecure jaskier #hurt jaskier #yennefer x jaskier #i just love these two #my writing #ybhtp

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degrassi-fanatic · 3 years

Text

Happy Father’s Day

Yet-to-be-inflated balloons are strewn across the dining room table, only two or three streamers are hung up so far, and a banner that reads Happy Father’s Day is still inside the plastic packaging he bought it in. All the decorations have been readily ignored and abandoned in favor of a lovingly worn and torn photo album with a cracked spine; the result of being open and closed for many years.

Sitting at the head of the table, Bobby touches the cover of the album, gently tracing the words: The Nash Family.

Although it might seem a tad bit morbid and sad to be alone on Father’s Day looking at photographs of his late family, it’s become some sort of a tradition of his ever since they’ve died.

It used to be far worse, though. He would call in sick for work if he was scheduled that day and drink his body weight in alcohol as he flipped through the pages of the photo album with white knuckles, refusing to let himself forget what he lost.

Now, it's different. He turns the pages in the photo album with only a deep ache to replace what used to be a sharp sting in his chest. Memories used to only equate to suffering for him but now Bobby looks at all the pictures with a renewed sense of love.

Overtime, Bobby has learned that memory can be a beautiful thing sometimes.

Bobby was alone in the house today as earlier in the day, Michael had taken May and Denny back to his own apartment for their own private Father’s Day celebration before the joint party that was supposed to take place here in the evening. Michael had asked if he wanted to join but Bobby had only politely declined, only half-lying about having to decorate.

In all honesty, even after all of these years, Father’s Day was still a sensitive subject for him.

Suddenly, at the sound of a doorbell chiming throughout the house, all of his melancholy thoughts are put on pause.

Setting aside the photo album on the dining table, Bobby pushes himself out of the chair and walks over to the door. He pulls open the door to find Buck standing on the other side with his hands stuff awkwardly in his front pockets.

“Hey Buck.” he greets pleasantly surprised, “What are you doing here?”

“Bobby.” he says as he darts his eyes to the ground, “I was—um, I was wondering if I could spend the day with you.”

“You do realize what day it is, right?” Bobby asks as he wouldn’t put it past Buck to forget.

He watches as Buck avoids meeting his eyes, only scruffing the toe of his shoe against the ground.

“My—my dad’s in town and I really don’t want to be around him.” he begins to explain and suddenly Buck’s surprise appearance makes much more sense, “Everyone else is busy; my sister’s with Chimney and Joy, Eddie’s with Christopher, Karen and Hen are using today as a second Mother’s Day, and Michael has Denny and May at his until Athena comes back from her shift.

“So I was hoping I could spend the day with you?” Buck asks, scratching the back of his neck.

“With me?”

The small smile that was tugging on the corner of Buck’s lips disappears with his words, in its wake is a resigned look. Nodding his head, Buck lowers his gaze to Bobby’s shoulder.

“Y’know what, it’s fine.” Buck says, “I’ll just go to the mall or something. Sorry to bother you.”

He feels something sink deep inside of him as he watches Buck turn away, heading down towards where his Jeep is parked near the sidewalk.

Desperate to right whatever wrong thing he must’ve said or did just now, Bobby blurts out, “I could use an extra hand with setting up for the party today.”

In the middle of the concrete pathway, Buck stills. As he turns around to face him, Bobby pushes open the door fully and motions with his head for Buck to make his way inside. Practically skipping, he does so immediately.

Once he’s inside, he gestures for him to make his way down to the kitchen as Bobby closes and locks up the front door.

“Thanks for letting me do this.” Buck says as he picks up a string of reflective blue streamers.

“Helping me decorate?” he teases as he begins to tear open the plastic packaging of the banner.

“You know what I mean.” Buck responds with an eye roll.

As he does, he catches sight of the tattered photo album near the edge of the table. Suppressing the urge to hide it away where no one could find it, Bobby lets Buck pick it up and search through it. He decides to concentrate on rolling out the Party City banner in his hands.

“What’s this?” Buck asks.

“It’s just a photo album from my first marriage.”

Right away, Buck closes it before setting it back right where he got it from.

“Sorry,” he says with guilt laced in his voice, “You probably don’t want to talk about that.”

“It’s okay. I’ll always miss them but, it doesn’t hurt to remember them.” he explains.

At Buck’s hesitant, almost wary look, Bobby decides that maybe it’s time this old photo album finally gets some new attention. Picking it up, Bobby searches through the pages until he finally settles on one.

“Here, this is my son Junior and this is my daughter Brook.”

The picture was the two of them awkwardly linking their arms around each other's shoulders. It was taken at Junior’s middle school graduation ceremony. With a smile, Bobby remembers how much Brook whined when her parents forced her to take a picture with her brother, complaining that Junior didn’t shower enough and smelled like he just came back from hockey practice.

From his peripheral, he sees Buck shift around until he’s looking at the photograph from over Bobby’s shoulder.

“What were they like?” Buck asks.

“Brook loved reading. Her whole bedroom was lined up with bookshelves. Y’know she won this personal essay contest once...” Bobby says, still bragging about his daughter even after how many years have passed since she’s been gone

Old habits are hard to break, huh?

“Yeah, she won five hundred dollars for it.” he explains, “She was always doing stuff like that.”

“And Junior?”

A chuckle bubbles out of Bobby.

“Oh God, Junior, he was always getting himself into trouble. But, he was a good kid, he had a good heart.” he remembers.

Kind of like someone else I know.

Pulling his gaze away from where he was looking at Junior’s face, Bobby shifts his attention to Buck. For a second, he takes in just how light his irises are and how blond his hair looks in the light.

He likes to imagine that this is what Junior would have grown up to look like.

“Junior would’ve been a lot like you.” he mumbles, more to himself than Buck.

It takes a few seconds of gears grinding and cogs turning around in his brain before Buck fully processes the depth of his words but when he does, he tilts his head to face Bobby and gives him a shy smile before taking a step backwards.

“High praise.”

“Yeah well not that high.” Bobby jokes as he closes the photo album, “The kid got himself stuck in a tree that was only four feet above the ground once. And I was the one who was dispatched to get him out of there.”

At the story, Buck starts to double over laughing, clutching at his abdomen as he forces himself to take a breath between every wheeze and snort. Soon, Bobby is following suit; Buck’s laughter is infectious even on a bittersweet day like today.

For a brief moment as he studies the way Buck throws his head back chuckling, he cannot remember if Buck always sounded like Junior while he was laughing, or if Bobby’s still-grief-ridden mind is having some sort of auditory hallucination.

“Seriously?” Buck asks as the laughter begins to wane.

“I never let him live it down.” he answers as he wipes a tear from the corner of his eye.

Placing the photo album back on the table, Bobby decides that they’ve spent enough time on the subject and judging by the clock, they should really get back to decorating if they don’t want Athena to come back home to a complete mess.

“He must’ve been a lucky kid.” Buck says, as Bobby searches through the mess to find a roll of tape or some thumbtacks.

“Hmm?”

“To have you as a dad.” he explains as he hands Bobby a cello tape dispenser, “Junior, I mean.”

If Junior was lucky, he would’ve been alive right now.

“When I wasn’t drunk and or high out of my mind, I did alright.” Bobby responds with a hint of self deprecation.

“Yeah, well, I think you’re doing a great job right now.”

Before Bobby can open his mouth and ask Buck what exactly he’s referring to, he’s cut off by the blaring sound of Buck’s cellphone ringing in his pocket. He pulls it out with a huff and practically glares at the screen lighting up in front of his face.

He waits for Buck to pick up the call but all he does is mute his cellphone and shove it back into his back pocket.

At the way he clenches his jaw, Bobby can deduce who it is with little difficulty.

“Your dad again?” he asks.

His only response is a short nod as he begins to busy himself with preparing some pieces of tape for holding up the banner; harshly ripping them off from the dispenser before attaching them to the edge of the table.

Suppressing a sigh, Bobby knows he needs to push Buck into doing the right thing, even if it isn’t what either of them want to do.

As much as Bobby wants Buck around today, not only to ward off all the bad memories associated with today’s holiday but also simply because he enjoys the man’s company, he knows he shouldn’t monopolize his time.

Buck deserves a father. Though Bobby may downright despise Phillip Buckley, the man had the honour of holding the aforementioned title and that was something he could not compete with.

Buck already has a father. He may not be a good one, but he was trying.

Even if he is 29 years too late.

“Maybe you should go meet him?” Bobby suggests, “I mean, if I got a second chance to become a father, you deserve a second chance to have one.”

Buck stops ripping off pieces of tape. His hands travel down to the edge of the table and he grips so hard at the wood that Bobby’s afraid there’ll be claw indents once he’s finished.

Within a second, however, he pushes himself off of the table and he goes to reach into his pocket.

Bobby barely has enough to take a look at what Buck’s pulled out before it’s already shoved into his hands. Tilting his head down, he sees a semi-wrinkled piece of printer paper that has been folded in half to make a card. On the front, in big and bold handwriting that he recognizes to be Buck’s, he sees the words Happy Father’s Day and a couple of messy drawings of two firefighters scattered across the page.

“I already do.” he answers, “Do you—um, do you like it?”

“I love it.” Bobby whispers.

He opens up the card to find a long and what he presumes to be a heartfelt message on the inside. At the top, it says, To the best father and at the bottom, Love, Buck.

“Also, um, some of those random hearts and flames are courtesy of Christopher, who helped me make this, by the way.”

#9-1-1 #evan buckley #bobby nash #~fic~

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kpopfanfictrash · 4 years

Text

Drabble: the Holiday Party

Member: Mind in the Gutter!Jungkook (reusing this banner from the fic, made by the wonderful @underthejoon )

Prompt: Y/N and Jungkook trying to be inconspicuous about their relationship at the holiday party and ultimately, failing.

Rating: R (nothing explicit, but there is a lot of innuendo lol)

WC: 2,465

↳ part of my 30K milestone drabble game

“Now remember,” you say as you enter the party. “We’re not dating.”

“Right.” Jungkook gives a little salute, looking way handsomer in his suit than any human has a right to be. “We’re not dating. I did not bang you into the headboard last night.”

“Jungkook,” you whine, glancing around – luckily, no one seems to have heard. “I’m being serious.”

“I know, so am I.”

You smile, about to respond but before you can, Taehyung appears. “Jungkook!” he beams, pulling Jungkook into a hug. The two exchange a rather complicated high-five before Taehyung turns to you. “M’lady,” he bows.

You fight the urge to groan. “You’re ridiculous, did you know that?”

Taehyung pops back up, grinning. “I do, actually. Have you seen Rhea?” He squints, searching the sea of holiday dresses. “She borrowed my lip balm at work, and I need it back. Mistletoe,” he adds, by way of explanation.

“Oh, sure,” you say, fighting a grin. “But no – haven’t see her.”

“Alright.” Taehyung’s frown deepens as he returns to you and Jungkook. “Wait. So, am I just supposed to pretend I don’t know that you two are… you know…” Rising both brows, Taehyung mimes a lewd act with his hands.

“Taehyung.” Jungkook steps closer. “HR doesn’t know we’re dating. We’re keeping things under wraps, okay? Taking it slow.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Oh, please. You two are so obviously dating. You’re more obvious than – what’s the story where the two leads hide their relationship from their families, and it leads to inevitable disaster?”

Jungkook blinks. “Romeo and Juliet?”

“No.” Taehyung snaps his fingers. “The Notebook.”

Jungkook stares.

“I mean, he’s not wrong,” you add helpfully.

“Anyways.” Taehyung snags two glasses from the tray of a passing waiter. “Drink this. A whole night of not groping Y/N? You’re going to need it.”

Jungkook’s cheeks flush, grabbing the glass. “I don’t grope, Y/N,” he mutters, tipping it back.

“You do a little,” you say cheerfully, taking one as well. “It’s okay. I like it.”

Sputtering, Jungkook replaces his empty glass on the tray. Wiping his mouth with the back of one hand, he levels his gaze in your direction. The way he stares makes you shiver, heat in his expression you pointedly ignore.

“C’mon,” you say, reaching out for his hand – only to freeze, yanking this quickly away.

Jungkook breaks out in a grin. “Seems like this might be difficult for you, too,” he teases, following you into the crowd.

You grumble, failing to respond as you push through the party. Taehyung veers off at some point, spotting Jimin at the bar and yelling something about shots. Jungkook continues alongside you, speaking low enough that he cannot be overheard.

“So, you like it when I grope you?” he murmurs, beneath his breath. Reaching out, he grabs another drink from a passing waiter.

Your heart begins to pound in your chest. “That’s neither here, not there,” you say, scanning the room.

The hotel ballroom if beautifully decorated, you must admit. The décor is miles above anything your last company did to celebrate the holidays. All they had was a company party, held two days before Christmas, which was really just an excuse for parents to bring their kids to work and forgo a sitter for the day. Occasionally, people brought in cookies.

There was nothing like this, though. Nothing like the chandeliers dripping with icicles, evergreen trees standing tall in the corners and frosted snow draped in piles on each available surface. It is beautiful, simply put.

Glancing at Jungkook, you cannot help but think he outshines it all. With his hair parted to the side and his grey, form-fitting suit – it is small wonder people are staring. Which they are, you realize, sipping your drink. Subtly, you narrow your gaze at Betty from Accounting.

Noticing this, Jungkook chuckles beneath his breath. “C’mon, baby,” he purrs, low in his throat. “You know I don’t want her.”

“I know,” you say sulkily, swishing your drink in its glass.

Jungkook studies you for a moment. “We can tell people, you know,” he points out. “There’s not a rule which says employees can’t date. Only direct reports.”

“I know that, too,” you sigh, setting your glass on a table. Its long white fabric drapes down to the floor. “I just… don’t want people to look at us differently.”

Nodding, Jungkook finishes his glass. “It’s up to you,” he says squarely, setting this onto the table. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. You know I’d shout about this from the roof if you asked – just say the word.”

Cheeks heating, your lips part – and Lauren, from Marketing appears.

“Oh my god, Y/N!” she squeals, grabbing your arms. “I love your dress.”

“Thanks,” you say, fighting back a laugh. “Yours is beautiful, too.”

“This old thing.” She waves a hand. “I unfortunately blended into the wall during the Marketing team photo – but oh, well. Don’t wear white in the winter, I guess.”

You laugh, looking over and catching Jungkook’s gaze. He seems to be appreciating your dress as well, gaze dark where he lingers on the hem of your skirt. Pointedly, he looks up and swallows the rest of his drink. Slamming the glass down on the table, he forces Lauren to jump.

“Going to the bathroom,” he barks, turning around.

Fighting back laughter, you watch him push through the crowd.

Lauren stares at his back. “Weird guy,” she remarks. “Super-hot, though. Those pants.”

Gritting your teeth, you fight back irritation. “He’s the nicest guy,” you say pointedly. “We’re friends.”

“Oh, cool.” Lauren does not seem to care either way, not getting the hint as she rummages through her purse. “Anyways, have you seen Namjoon? I heard that he…”

Sipping on your drink, you nod and mingle for the better part of an hour. As you talk, you keep glancing around to see where Jungkook is. He is right – this is stupid, pretending not to be dating when you obviously are. It feels strange not having him by your side, as though you are missing a crucial piece of yourself.

Not that you need him to be happy, of course. You are fine attending parties alone – you have your own friends, your own life and hobbies, but still. The point is you are not alone here; Jungkook is here, too. Each time you think of something funny to say, you turn to tell him and realize he is not at your side. Each time you are cold, you reach for his jacket – only to stop, withdrawing your hand.

Each time you do this, your heart sinks a little – and for no good reason, because Jungkook is right there. He currently stands across the room, laughing with Yoongi and you could be with him if you wanted, but you were the one who said to keep quiet.

Finally, you give in and walk across the ballroom. Jungkook is laughing at something Yoongi said, another glass in his hand and as you approach the table, you realize he is tipsy. Cheeks flushed, hair mussed and telling everyone around him how great the delivery food in his neighborhood is.

Hiding a smile, you lean into Yoongi. “How long has he been like this?”

Yoongi swirls his champagne. “Oh, about an hour. Hoseok convinced him to do shots.”

“Hobi?” you ask, perking up. “He’s here?”

“Yeah, he’s Rhea’s date.”

“O-h,” you say knowingly. “That explains why I haven’t seen her all night.”

Yoongi shrugs, tipping back the rest of his drink.

Jungkook turns at the table. “Y/N!” he says, gaze brightening. Realizing you are not the only two here, his voice drops. “You look, uh, nice.”

“Thanks,” you allow, ducking your head.

Looking at your boyfriend for too long is all kinds of dangerous. It puts risky thoughts in your mind – like dragging him off to the bathroom, yanking his pants to his knees and having your way with him.

An unfamiliar guy next to Yoongi reaches out a hand. “Hey,” he grins, shaking yours. “I don’t think we’ve met yet. I’m Mark, I work in finance.”

“Y/N,” you respond, smiling pleasantly. “I’m new to the company.”

“Ah, that explains it,” he says, smile widening.

Arching a brow, Yoongi removes his drink and walks pointedly off. Now, it is just you, Jungkook and Mark who remain at the table. Jungkook glowers darkly at Mark, although Mark does not seem to notice.

“So, Y/N.” Clearing his throat, Jungkook sets his drink down. “Is the software I installed on your computer working well?”

“Uh, yeah.” Raising a brow, you look at your boyfriend. Jungkook has not installed anything recently. “Really well.”

“I’m in IT,” says Jungkook to Mark in explanation. “Y/N has had a lot of… needs lately which require my attention.”

Cheeks heating at the double entendre, you lift your glass to your lips. God, he is in so much trouble when you get home. He seems to know it, too, staring at you with a wolfish grin.

“IT, huh?” Mark says, turning to Jungkook. “Wow, what a relief. My email was going haywire the other day and I was wondering who to call.”

“Call me.” Jungkook’s lips curls, still looking at you. “I’ll help. That is, if I’m not busy fixing other… problems.”

“Oh, sure, sure.”

“What kind of problems?” you interrupt, meeting his gaze.

Jungkook’s eyes narrow. “All kinds. Vertical reviews. Horizontal reviews. Penetration testing.”

Coughing abruptly, you nearly spit out your drink.

Jungkook smile widens. “You’ve heard of it?”

“Oh, yeah,” Mark chimes in. “That’s where you try and hack into the company as a test, right? Try and find where there are exploitable holes?”

Nearly beside himself, Jungkook grins as Mark does his work for him. “Yeah, we find those holes, alright,” he agrees, utterly wicked. “Sometimes it takes all night to fill them up.”

“O-kay,” you choke, grabbing Jungkook by the elbow. As you drag him away, you wave apologetically at Mark. “Excuse us for a moment. What are you doing?” you hiss, whirling to face Jungkook once you are alone in a corner.

“What do you mean?” he asks innocently.

“You know what I mean,” you growl, poking him hard in the chest.

Jungkook easily catches your finger. “No touching,” he purrs.

Something dark and needy swoops in your stomach. “Jungkook,” you groan, gaze darting to his lips.

“Yeah?” Subtly, he licks his.

The desire to kiss him is nearly unbearable. God, you want to crush him dumb lips against yours, listen to him discuss IT innuendo while thrusting into your body, but no – this is a work function.

“Behave,” you caution, dropping your hand.

“Fine,” Jungkook exhales, disappointment clear on his face. “I’ll be on my best behavior from now on.”

“Good.” Giving him a severe look, you turn around and march across the floor.

Problem is, you can feel his gaze on your retreating backside and each step you take sounds like stupid, stupid, stupid. This entire thing is idiotic when he is so close. For the next hour though, you continue to hold out. As the clock nears midnight, you stare at Jungkook, now out on the dance floor. Surrounded by Jimin and Taehyung, he bravely shows off the sprinkler.

“Hey,” says Rhea, sidling up alongside you. “What’s up?”

Glancing her way, you notice the straw in her mouth. “Isn’t the city getting rid of straws?”

Removing this, Rhea sticks it into her drink. “Don’t even get me started. The whole straw debate is just a way of distracting the public away from the true conversation about climate change which needs to happen. Please.”

“Noted,” you grin, returning to your drink. Glancing at Jungkook, you feel yourself pining and when you tear yourself away, you realize Rhea is staring. “What?” you say, somewhat defensively.

“Nothing.” She shrugs. “It’s just – why the hell aren’t you sprinkler-ing with him? Nothing dirty intended.”

“Rhea!” you groan, then laugh. “I don’t know, it’s complicated.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

“O-kay,” she says, slurping her drink. “Because to me, it looks like you two are head over heels for each other.”

“Maybe.”

“So, then why aren’t you wish him?”

“Okay. So, here’s the thing,” you exhale, turning to face her.

Rhea’s grin broadens. “What’s the thing?”

“What if…” Swallowing hard, you trail off. “What if everyone knows about us?”

“That’s kind of the point.”

“No, but – what if everyone knows about us and then we break up?” Shaking your head, you sigh. “Not that I think we’ll break up, but… I mean, we could! And then I’d have to see him at work but at least like this, I could pretend to be fine. If everyone knew... I couldn’t.”

“Hm.” Rhea pauses for a second. “That sounds like an awful lot of work for a what-if scenario.”

“Let’s be real, though, most office romances don’t –”

“But most office romances aren’t you and Jungkook.” Rhea cuts you off. “I’m not trying to be annoying, but I want to point out the obvious. This sounds like an awful lot of pain you’re putting yourself through for something which might not happen.”

Knowing she is right about this, you turn towards the dance floor. Jungkook has entered the middle of a dance circle, pretending to twerk that flat ass of his. Trying not to laugh, you shake your head. Rhea is correct; this is dumb to not be with him right now.

“You’re right,” you decide, setting your drink on the table. Rhea whoops. “This is stupid. I want to go hang out with my boyfriend.”

“You go!” she cheers, scanning the ballroom. “You go break up that dance circle of his and I’m gonna drag Hobi under the mistletoe.”

“It’s a plan,” you laugh, already striding away.

As you cross towards the dance floor, your heart beats a mile a minute. Jungkook twists around beside Namjoon, both arms overhead and you cannot help but smile. He is such a dork. Your dork, though.

Reaching his side, you dance in between. “Hey, baby!” you call, flinging your arms around his neck.

Jungkook looks down in surprise. “Baby?” he says, gaze brightening. “Are we… are you…?”

Hands sliding into his hair, you nod. “Hey,” you grin, setting your chin on his chest.

Grin widening, Jungkook cups your face with both hands and lifts your lips to his. His kiss is soft, chaste but Taehyung hoots all the same.

“IT’S A PARTY NOW!” he yells, breaking out in a shimmy.

Ignoring this, Jungkook grabs your hand and begins to lead you off the dance floor. “Let’s go,” he demands, finger rubbing your palm. “Can’t wait any longer.”

Heat shoots to your core, knowing exactly what he means. Lacing your fingers together, you catch up to him quickly. “Alright,” you say, pushing open the door to the parking lot. “I’ve already thought of several horizontal reviews for you to conduct.”

“Oh?” Jungkook grins.

“Yeah, so let’s get back to my apartment. Detailed instructions forthcoming.”

#bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook fluff #bts fluff #jungkook drabble #bts drabble

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years

Text

A New Era of Gods and Monsters (Indruck)

Prompt for the 21st was: Monster Movie. Behold my old hollywood AU, featuring a title from the Bride of Frankenstein and a universe in which Transphobia doesn’t exist by the Hayes Code does. It is NSFW

February 20th, 1935.

Tinsel Town is abuzz with news that promising young director Joseph Stern is starting work on a new horror picture. The latest announcements from Kepler Studios state that it will rival the director's previous smash monster chiller “Nightmare Woods.” No news as of yet as to who will star, and who may be donning greasepaint and false fangs to play the creature. Only time will tell, but we look forward to whatever terrifying delights he has in store. Assuming, of course, that he does not run afoul of the censors.

“Homoeroticism!” Stern tosses the warning from the Hayes office onto his desk, “that's what they sent me a warning about Ned! There wasn't even any in the picture.”

“You know how these modesty police are, dear boy; they see depravity where there is none yet are so out of touch they do not recognize the very things they're afraid of when they are present. Now that you’ve been scolded, how do you wish to proceed?”

“In whatever way won’t get me fired. There's a fine line between the kind of censor uproar that drives publicity and the kind that the studio heads think is too risky.”

“As your producer, I support you entirely in whatever you choose. And I'm happy to apply my considerable eloquence to soothing the concerns of those who sign our paychecks.”

Stern flops down in his desk chair, staring at the almost complete script in a tidy stack.

“If we’re going to gamble, the more big names I can get the better. I think it’s time to call in my favor from Amnesty Pictures. After that, well; if they’re going to complain about homoeroticism, we may as well give them something to really complain about.”

----------------------------

A month later, Stern sits at a large table in the studio meeting room, the bulk of his cast already thumbing through their scripts and chatting quietly to one another. Some of them, such as Aubrey Little and Moira Redfeld, are contract players to Kepler, ones he snatched up for this picture before anyone could interfere. There are also two on loan from Amnesty, a trade off for the time he and Ned worked their Hollywood contacts to help Mama, the studio head, raise money to fund the film that put the studio on the map.

His own relationship with Mama’s right hand man, Barclay, who acted as their go-between in those early days, may have helped his case.

The first player on loan is Dani Coulice, who’ll play Aubrey's dear friend and confidant who accompanies her to the house of her mysterious uncle. Dani has an understated charm on screen and, judging by the eyes she’s making at Aubrey, the two women will be able to pull off the romantic subtext he needs them to with ease.

And then there’s Indrid Cold. His first appearance in The Smiling Man drew quick comparisons to Claude Raines, Bella Lugosi and, more importantly, to the great Lon Chaney. Not only does the actor design and apply his own character make-up, he embodies his monsters and murderers in a way that leaves the audience hiding beneath their covers for days.

Stern knew the moment he and Kirby began working on the script that no one but Indrid Cold could play the titular Dr. Nacht. Now all that's missing from the table is…

“Sorry I’m late Joe. We ran long shootin the sword fight.” A southern drawl and apologetic smile announce the entrance of his other leading man. A man who's trained for years under two mentors to follow in their footsteps as swashbucklers, knights, soldiers. The man who is often described as destined to save the day, regardless of the picture.

When you wanted a monster, you got Indrid Cold. When you wanted a hero, you hired Duck Newton.

Which is why Stern remains surprised that Duck took this role so readily. He wants him for it, thinks he’s just the man to balance Indrid's aloof, otherworldly demeanor. But this time, his character won’t emerge triumphant.

---------------------------------------

Duck cannot fuck this up. It’s a goddamn miracle Joe offered it to him at all, given that he’s never done horror before, the studio not wanting to waste him on something so strange. There was a time when Duck would have steered clear of it too, but he trusts Joe, and the rest of the cast is strong. And the leading men in these pictures are never the heroes Duck is used to; they’re scientists, good men in over their heads, soldiers carrying the mental wounds of the war. They’re something new.

The only thing that worries him is Indrid Cold. Amnesty Pictures is known for darker, more daring fare than most studios, and Indrid always seems to be in the mix. His reputation is one of eccentric artistry, something Duck has little patience for.

It’s been alright so far, the first weeks mainly getting costume tests and memorizing lines, and Indrid is polite but aloof. When Duck mentions this to Dani, she takes her eyes of Aubrey long enough to shrug, “He’s up in his own head a lot, he doesn’t mean anything by it.”

Today they’re shooting the arrival of his character, Henry Harper, at the lonely country estate of Dr. Edward Nacht. The doctor is Eliza’s (played by Aubrey) uncle, and she’s traveling to stay with him along with her dearest friend, Lucy (played by Dani). Henry and Eliza are ostensibly betrothed, but the script makes only the barest mention of it, putting Duck opposite Indrid and Aubrey opposite Dani in most scenes.

Joe’s instructions are to play Harper as a classic, bland, heroic lead for the first third of the film, and he gets himself into that headspace as they take their positions.

“Now remember, Aubrey, you’re the only one who’s even little used to your uncle's mannerisms, so you should be genuinely happy to see him. Right, here we go, action!”

The trio pretends to startle at the massive mansion door shutting on its own, turning in sync to look behind themselves.

“That’s the trouble with these old houses; they have a mind of their own.”

Indrid stands at the top of the staircase, eyes uncovered for the first time since they met. Head held high, dark suit contrasting with his pale hair and sharp features, he grins at them as he descends the steps. It’s commanding and unnerving, the actor managing to convey something odd lurking beneath his veneer of gentility.

Aubrey runs to greet him, saying her lines as Dani and Duck trail behind her. He only ends up at the right mark thanks to watching Dani from the corner of his eye; the rest of his attention is locked on Indrid.

“This is my dear friend, Lucy Price.”

“Wonderful to meet you, any friend of my niece is welcome in these halls.” Indrid takes Dani’s and, kissing it with a friendly smile.

“And this is Mr. Harper, my finance.”

The smile widens as Indrid offers his hand, Duck taking it as the blocking dictates. There’s a beat where Indrid guides it upwards, as if intending to kiss it. Then he stops, shaking it instead.

“A pleasure to have you here, Mr. Harper. It seems my niece shares her mother's fine taste in men.”

It takes him a moment to remember he’s not supposed to stand transfixed.

“I look forward to gettin to know you, doctor.”

Indrid steps back, still grinning, “if you three will follow me, I will show you to your rooms.”

“Cut!”

Christ, that was awful, he should have played that more confident, more in control-

“That was perfect Duck, just the right approach.”

“Oh, uh, thanks Joe.”

“I must admit I am pleasantly surprised.” Indrid adds.

“How so?” Duck looks up at him.

“Simply that quipping whilst swinging a sword about does not always result in someone who can convey complex emotions on screen.”

“Now wait just a fuckin second-”

“I, ah, I was trying to be complimentary.” Indrid almost sounds like he means it.

Duck crosses his arms, “Oh yeah? Then I guess I oughta say I’m impressed a fella who runs around covered in monster make-up most of the time can actually emote.”

“That was uncalled for.”

“You started it.”

“I did not mean to start anything!”

“Gentlemen, if we could continue with our shooting” Ned’s voice cuts in and Duck turns to see half the soundstage string to them.

“Uh, right, sorry. Always get little, uh, tense on the first day. Right, Indrid?”

Indrid rises n unimpressed eyebrow, “Where shall we take it from?”

----------------------------------------------

It doesn't get better after that first day.

Duck tries, he really does, and he can tell Indrid is doing the same. But the longer they work together, the more often they snap at one another in between scenes.

“What were you two arguing bout now?” Aubrey says as they walk to the parking lot one evening.

“We, uh, well he, uh, huh. I can't remember.”

She shakes her head, “Yep, that's what I thought.”

They’re third of the way through the shoot, and it's going on ten at night, Joe trying to get as much done as he can before another picture borrows the set for two days.

Duck and Indrid are the only actors remaining, working on the scene where Henry, having agreed to help the doctor in his work, confronts him over the nature of the experiments. Once they finish this scene, they’re done, but Indrid keeps tripping over the word “indomitable.”

When he fucks it up for the fourth time, Duck drops his head into his hands, “fuck’s sake, it ain’t that hard.”

“That’s rather rich coming from someone whose accent ought to have rendered him obsolete at the advent of talking pictures.” Indrid replies dryly.

“Fuck you.”

Indrid straightens up, ready with a retort, when Joe shouts for them to retake their places and try again.

“You are meddlin with forces you don’t understand, doctor. Forces that are a mystery for a reason.”

“Do not underestimate me, Mr. Harper. Man is far more powerful, far more capable than scholars or priests would have you believe.” Indrid steps towards him, voice cool and smile detached, “we are no better than beasts if we cower in the shadows of ignorance, never daring to dream of what may be within our reach. Man was meant to question, Mr. Harper, meant to search and create. Man is indomitable.” His grin brightens not only from correctly pronouncing the word, but as part of the scene; because Duck is hesitating, won over for an instant by his speech.

Duck shakes his head, “Dreams and questions are all well and good, but they all come to nothin if you barrel forward without a thought for the harm you might do. No, doctor, while we're here, I forbid you from such experiments. I won’t have Eliza in such danger, nor will I risk her losing her remaining family.”

Indrid cocks his head, amused, “You forbid it?”

Duck tilts his head up to meet his eyes, “I do.”

His back slams into the laboratory counter, Indrids hands gripping it on either side of him.

“Perhaps I have been unclear, Henry. I am the master here, not you.” Slender fingers grip Duck’s lapels, tugging him nose to nose with Indrid, “you would do well to remember that.”

“Cut! Perfect, thank the lord, so we can finally get out of here.” Joe’s voice snaps Duck back into the soundstage, but Indrid hasn’t let go, is instead eyeing Duck’s face, tongue coming out to wet his lips.

How long has Duck been breathing this hard?

Indrid release his hold, smoothing down the front of Ducks jacket. He frowns, “You’re shaking. Are you ill?”

“N-nope.”

Unconvinced, Indrid touches his forehead, “You feel rather warm. Please tell me you are going home rather than out to paint the town?”

Duck wants to tell him to mind his own damn business. All that comes out is, “Yeah, might just straight sleep through til Sunday. You rest up too, y’hear?”

Indrid smiles, “I will do my best.”

---------------------------------------

“Catching up on some correspondence?”

Duck sets down his pen as Indrid sits at the lunch table across from him, “My sister moved back out to West Virginia not that long ago, and I promised I’d keep her up to date on everythin goin on out here.”

“Is she younger or older than you?”

“Younger by four years. You, uh, you got any siblin’s?”

“No. I was raised by my aunt and uncle, so I have a cousin instead. Here, I think I might have a picture.” The taller man pulls out a notebook, flipping through it, “ah, there he is.”

“Christ, if I couldn’t see the smudge up there, I’d think that was a fuckin photo.”

“Thank you.” Indrid dips his head, tucking the notebook back into his jacket pocket, “I mostly keep that on me in case I am struck by a new creature design, but it has other uses.”

“Where’s your family from?”

“Germany, originally, then the Salinas valley.”

“Told it’s real beautiful up there.”

“It has its moments, fewer now that they’ve found oil.”

“What’s your favorite?”

Indrid tells him, talks about the nearby mountains and traveling down to the coast, about hitchhiking his way to Los Angeles because he felt foolish asking for the money for a bus ticket when most of the family thought his journey was pointless.

“Sure proved them wrong.” Duck nudges his ankle playfully under the table.

“I suppose.”

After that conversation, Duck likes his days on set even better. The chair reading “Indrid Cold'' is now next to his more often than not, the two of them running lines or talking about gardens and art between takes. They bring in a black cat--meant to be the doctor’s pet-- for several days of shooting, and Indrid laughs whenever Duck picks it up and coos over it, smile fading to a gentle, shy expression when he catches Duck looking.

And when Joe instructs them to brush hands, or let their gaze linger too long on each other during scenes, Duck hopes they’ll have to do take after take.

Today the set is full of excitement, as it’s the first time Indrid will appear in his full monster make-up; he’s shot two scenes in shadows, hinting at the horror of it as he takes innocent life on the moors. Now, Duck will enter the laboratory and see first hand the results of the doctor’s experiments.

“Action!”

Duck steps into the darkened room, equipment flashing and test-tubes billowing smoke.

“Doctor, there’s been another death in the village, and you’re the police are asking for your help. They say it’s like nothin they ever seen before.”

Heavy footfalls and the scrape of nails on metal signal Indrid’s approach, but he’s not to turn until the actor speaks.

“Doctor, can you hear me?” He looks around, worried, then calls hesitantly, “Edward?”

“Hello, Henry.”

He turns and yells in fright, hand flying to cover his mouth. Where there once was an elegant, odd figure, now a massive nightmare looms out of the darkness. Indrid’s mouth stretches wide, curve fangs protruding from either corner, face coated in bloodied, feathered scales, and claws reaching for Duck.

“Edward what” he staggers backward,s “what in god's name have you done?”

“What I set out to do, my dear Henry. Can you not see that?” Indrid giggles with the hysteria of a man consumed by bitter disappointment, “perhaps you should come closer.”

“Stay back, I’m warnin you-”

Indrid lunges, snarling, and Duck throws himself out of the way, hitting first the edge of something sharp and then the ground

“Fuck!”

“Cut!”

“Oh dear, are you hurt? Here, let me help-”

Duck holds up a hand, gritting his teeth, “You stay right where you are. Fuck, christ,” the hand gripping his leg comes away spotted with blood, “what the fuck, that wasn’t in the blockin!”

“Joseph said he trusted me to improvise my movements, to maximize the tension.”

“You gotta fuckin warn me about shit like that, all my movement is backwards, meanin I can’t see where I’m goin.”

“I assumed a man who made his living fighting knew how to use his peripheral vision.”

“How bad is it?” Dewey, one of the camera men, helps Duck up as Stern approaches them.

“Give there’s a bloodstain on our set, enough to send him over to the medical office. I'm calling it for the night . I’ll see you both tomorrow.” Joe runs a hand through his hair, levels them both with a warning look before turning back to dismiss the crew.

It’s not all that bad once he’s out of the torn pants and gets it cleaned off. When he gets back to the dressing room to retrieve his coat and hat, there’s a large black case, like fisherman's tackle box. It’s what Indrid calls his toolkit, full of the tools and tricks he uses to turn himself into a monster. He once called it his most prized possession.

Duck switches off the light, has the door halfway shut before he stops. Groaning in frustration at his own decency, he turns and grabs the box from the floor.

-------------------------------

“This had better be important” Indrid calls through the apartment door, “I must go back out for something and do not have time to waste.”

“Wouldn’t happen to be goin out for your toolkit?” Duck says dryly.

The door flies open, revealing Indrid in a black dressing gown, face a bit pink, no doubt from scrubbing off all his monster make-up.

“Yes.” He snatches the box away by it’s handle, hurrying over to the table and leaving Duck in the doorway, “you didn’t touch anything did you? Or show it to anyone else?” His head whips over his shoulder, red glasses slipping down his nose to reveal a hard, suspicious glare.

“No, I didn’t touch a damn thing.” Duck steps over the threshold, shutting the door and tossing his hat onto the couch, “and you're welcome.”

Indrid inhales deeply, “I, I apologize. The tricks I developed, my techniques, my materials, practically all of it is in this box. If someone else were to get hold of it, replicate my effects, my career would be over.”

“What are you talkin about?”

The taller man sighs, turning his back and heading into his bedroom, “I do not expect you to understand.”

Duck is ready to tear his hair out, stalks into the bedroom after him, “Fuck’s sake Indrid, do you think you’re the only fella here with the brains to understand shit?”

“That is not what I meant and you know it.”

“No, I really don’t. What do you want from me, Indrid? Most days you’re palin’ round with me, then you act like you think I’m some sheltered idiot who’s had everything handed to him.”

“Because you have” Indrids hands could be conducting symphony for how much they move s he continues, “you had mentors, people who told you from a young age that you had a place in this business, who carved out roles for you and handed down their skills, their legacies. I had nothing, I had to make my way based on skill and luck alone.”

“Were the fuck do you get off assumin that sort thing bout me? At lest you got some fuckin say in the way your career went. Minerva had it all planned out for me, hell, at the start I fought hard to do somethin other than those hero parts.”

The anger on Indrid’s face flickers, “Why did you stop?”

“Because I didn’t wanna end up with nothin! As you keep pointin out” he steps towards Indrid, jabbing a finger into his chest, “my kind are a dime a dozen in this town.”

“Which means you can get any part you choose! You are the kind of man everyone loves. God help me if horror ever falls from favor, I will be back in dust of the farmland in an instant.”

Duck growls at the sorry ploy for sympathy, “Bullshit, you’re better on camera than anyone in this town.”

“That doesn’t matter! For goodness sake, Duck look at me!” He gestures wildly at his face, “without my monsters, without horror, I'm nothing. Amnesty might try to help me, but they’d soon find that unless they can be terrified of me, audiences have no use for Indrid Cold.” Resignation tinges his voice, and it kicks Duck’s anger out from under him.

“Indrid, that ain’t true-”

“-No, it is very true”

“-will you let me fuckin finish?” Duck reaches for him, not certain what he means to do.

“I have no desire to-” Indrid moves his arm to push Duck’s away, and puts too much force behind it, losing his footing on the hardwood floor and falling backwards onto the bed. In attempting to recover his balance, one leg kicks out, knocking Duck forward. He catches himself with one knee on the mattress and his hands on either side of Indrid, pulling abruptly down on the dressing gown. When it opens, they both go still.

“You, uh, why ain't you wearin anythin under this?”

“I was not aware I need to follow a dress code in my own blasted house.” Indrid manages through grit teeth, face turned resolutely away from Duck. He follows the angle of his jaw down the line of his neck, the noticeable points of collarbone, ribs, and hips beneath tan, sun-hungry skin making him think of fine china or rare plants, the kind you cultivate for years in hopes of seeing something no one else could ever dream of.

“Would you kindly stop staring?” Indrid murmurs.

“Why?” Duck drags his gaze away from his body just as Indrid levels him with an exhausted frown.

“Fine, go ahead and get your fill so you can--in excruciating detail--tell anyone who is interested that I look just as strange without clothes as I do in them.”

“Is that really what you think I’m doin?”

“I have a hard time believing there could be...another..” He trails off s Duck leans down, cupping his cheek and bringing his other leg up to straddle him.

“You sure about that belief?” He bumps their noses together.

“I'm starting to have my doubts.”

Duck snickers, carefully bringing their lips together. Indrid hums, wrapping his arms round Duck and running his hands along his back up into his hair. He’s kissed plenty of times, on and off screen, but Indrid is earnest and hesitant all at once, as if Duck is giving him a gift he’s not sure he deserves. He’s also wonderfully responsive, twitching and arching whenever Duck touches him, licking and nipping at his lips, begging to be let inside. Duck opens them, sighs when Indrid teases their tongues together.

When he sits up, Indrids hands draw across his bare chest, concerned.

“Don’t worry, darlin , I ain’t goin far.” He slides off the bed, sinking to his knees between Indrid’s legs s he pulls off his jacket, “Just seems to me you need someone to show just how fuckin handsome you are.”

“Are you oh-so-graciously volunteering?” Indrid’s smile is plain in his voice.

He pushes up his sleeves, “Yep.”

Indrid’s cock is soft when he wraps his fingers around it, stroking up gradually to rub the head with his thumb. Licking along the underside turns Indrid’s so “ohs” into a full-throated moan.

“That’s more like it, darlin.” Duck kisses up and down the shaft , slipping a hand lower to gently toy with his balls, “get hard for me.”

“Wh-what” Indrid gulps down a breath, “what makes you think you are in charge here?”

In lieu of an answer, he takes the head of is cock into his mouth, sucking hard, not letting up until pre-cum seeps along his tongue. Indrid’s hands cling to the edge of the bed, the room filling with high gasps and the odd squeak when Duck zig-zags his nails along his inner thigh.

He pulls off, wiping away the string of spit trailing from his lips. Laps intermittently at his slit as he speaks, hoping his voice is coming across husky rather than desperate, “Well, sugar, what do you say? Gonna let me call the shots?”

“I s-say” One hand wavers in the air, about to stroke his hair, and Duck dips to the side, bumping his head into his palm in tacit permission.

“I say a man on his, his knees giving orders is presumptuous.”

“Ah!Fuck” Duck groans as Indrid tugs his hair, forcing him to sit up straight.

“And I’d say his mouth could be put to an even better use.”

Duck scrambles onto the bed, kissing Indrid furiously as soon as he reaches him, the pale-haired man rolling them over and tangling them both in the top blanket with their feet still hanging off the bed.

“Did I say you could stop paying attention to my cock? OOhhnnnn, yes, yes” he hooks a leg over Ducks thigh, pumping into the shorter man’s fist, “perfect, god, everything about you is, is just right.”

“I ain’t the only one.” Duck aims for his lips, ends up kissing his cheek, when he buries his face into his neck with a whine.

“It’s true. You think I go to my knees for any old fella?”

“Mphhm” Indrid’s glasses dig into his shoulder.

“You think I’d be doin this” he speeds up his hand, “if that face of yours didn’t make me wanna do things in front of those cameras that’d make the devil blush.”

“Mmhpmm” Indrid clings to him like lichen yet refuses to look up.

Duck stills his hand, “I ain’t startin up again unless you answer me, sugar.”

Indrid raises his head halfway, five o’clock shadow pricking Duck’s cheek.

“Duck Newton, I do believe you are telling the truth. You think I am handsome.” Shyness lurks just beneath the teasing, so Duck tenderly brushes his fingers along Indrid’s face.

“That I do.”

He raises up enough to bring them nose to nose, “And I think you put all other matinee idols to shame with only your smile.”

“Indrid.” It’s his turn to blush, and he only grows redder when Indrid guides his hand off his cock and to his lips to kiss it.

“I have an idea. As much as these” he releases his hand to snap his suspenders, “flatter that broad chest of yours, they and your pants need to come off.”

As Duck exiles his clothes and shoes to the floor, Indrid lays with his head on a pillow, steadily stroking his cock. Staring at that sight adds a good minute to his undressing, but Duck doesn’t give a damn.

When he goes to straddle Indrid’s hips, the other man shakes his head, “Nono, up here.” He pats the pillow on either side of his head.

“Shit yeah, been wanting to fuck that stunnin face for weeks.”

Indrid’s face is beet-colored by the time Duck brackets it with his knees.

“S-so have eye”

“Aw, sugar, you gettin tongue tiIIIIedfuck.” His palms thwack into the wall as Indrid circles it along his folds.

“What was that about tongues?” His smirk is just visible between Duck’s thighs.

“That if you don’t keep usin yours like that, you’re gonna see a grown man cry with need.”

“We cannot have that.’

“FUuuuuck, fuck.” He wiggles his hips to help Indrid get the right angle, unsure if he can ask for more pressure.

“You, you can put more weight down if you need.”

He grinds down, moaning when Indrid’s lips part further to give his tongue more room to work. The moan is echoed below him, muffled though it may be, as one of Indrid’s hands disappears from view. A moment later, he bucks, gasping and laving his tongue along Duck’s dick.

“Shit, right there, keep goin right there.”

Indrid curves and flicks his tongue along the sensitive skin, hums of pleasure mingling with the messy sound of his hand flying up and down his cock. When he closes his lips around his dick Duck yelps, hunches forward to rest his head on the wall as he sucks him off, pressure spiking deliciously whenever he moans or strokes himself harder. Indrid cums with a whimper, sticky hands landing on Duck’s ass to urge him on as he ruts into his mouth.

“That’s it sugar, fuck, you’re amazin, feels so fuckin good oh fuck, fuck, Indrid, fuckin christ.” He rolls his hips harder and faster until the friction makes the orgasm burst through him. He just manages to lift himself off and collapse on the bed rather than Indrid's neck.

“Did, do you hear a, uh, a crack?”

Red glasses, a split across the right lens, appear in front of him.

“Aw fuck” he giggles, “didn’t know I was goin that hard. Lemme buy you a new pair?”

“I have several spares, on account of my own occasionally absent mindedness” Indrid is up on his side, grinning down at him, face still shiny with slick, “and I am taking that as a testament to my skill. Perhaps I should wear them with pride to the set tomorrow.”

“Please don’t” Duck laughs harder, “fuck, can you imagine the look on Joe’s face”

Indrid is laughing too now, “They are not part of my costume, it would not affect the shoot. Save the part where the reminder of how you looked just now, flushed and ecstatic above me, would make it rather hard to focus.”

Duck shifts onto his side, nestling up against him, “you’re a real sweet talker, you know that?”

“You have that effect on me.” He feels him inhale more deeply, fingers toying with Duck’s hair, “would, ah, would you like to spend the night? I believe you are not needed tomorrow, and I am only needed in the evening.”

“I’d love to” Duck nudges him onto his back to better cuddle across his chest, “got no interest in sleepin alone any time soon.”

“Do, ah, do you mean you wish to, ah, to-”

“Yeah, I do. I wanna see what it’s like to have the finest man in the city on my arm. Assumin he wants the same thing.”

“You do not think I am snobbish and strange?”

“Not anymore than you think I’m spoiled and had it easy.”

Indrid kisses the top of his head, “Then I think this could be the start of something wonderful.”

--------------------------------------

Stern looks up from the script as his two leading men walk onto the set, arms linked and whispering to one another, each smiling wider than Laurel Canyon. He turns back to his notes.

“About fucking time.”

#indrid cold/duck newton #indruck #promptober #movie star au #old hollywood au

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mnthpprt · 4 years

Text

Chapter 27: To Be A Mistake

[WARNING: Mentions of suicide, self harm, and disordered eating]

[Here’s a super angsty chapter that’s been on my mind for a while. It goes without saying that I do not condone any of the things mentioned above, and even though my MC engages in them, she is far from perfect, and definitely not an example to follow. As someone who has struggled with these things in the past, I think it is important to portray them realistically and without romanticizing.]

Our conversation is suddenly interrupted by Mozart barging into the room. The expression on his face is the most emotion I’ve ever seen him show, but I am not happy about it. I can tell that something is wrong.

“It’s Jean,” he says, and I feel the urgency in his tone. Le Comte stands up from his armchair and walks towards Mozart. I follow. “He’s starving himself again. Leonardo is trying to talk him out of it, but it’s taking longer than usual, and I don’t know what to do.”

He’s panicking. Well, as close as someone so stoic can come to it. I reach for his hand and squeeze it tightly to reassure him, and to my surprise, he does not flinch away from my touch like he usually would. This is bad.

“Is he in his bedroom?” I ask. Mozart nods. “Let’s go. Comte?”

“I think it is better for me to stay here,” he explains. “My presence might just make things worse. Jean isn’t exactly fond of me.”

I silently nod and usher Mozart out of the study. He lets go of my hand and begins running through the hallway, in the direction of Jean’s bedroom. Shit, this is really bad. I sprint to catch up to him, and we finally come to a stop in front of Jean’s closed door. I lean on the wall to catch my breath.

Through it, I can hear Leonardo’s voice, pleading for Jean to please drink some rouge before he gets worse. I have not seen what happens to a starving vampire, and I do not want to.

“Stay away from me, you monster!” I hear him yell. “You cannot force me to live like this, I refuse.”

And then, a glass breaks.

Leonardo comes out of the room, closing the door behind him. His eyes look darker than usual. Mozart looks at him for an answer, and he simply shakes his head. It didn’t work.

“I’m going in,” I announce, full of determination. “Wait here. Do not come in.”

Before Leonardo has time to stop me, I slip into the bedroom and lock the door from the inside. It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dark. The curtains are drawn, blocking what little evening sunlight is left in the sky outside. I spot the source of the noise on the floor: a broken bottle of rouge, shards of glass surrounded by a deep red puddle. Over it stands Jean. His hands are shaking, and his dark blue eye is wide open. Oh no.

“Jean?” I say softly, approaching him like I would a wild animal. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Please leave,” he mutters. His eye remains fixed on the puddle of blood seeping through the floorboards. “I am cursed, an abomination. I must repent for living a life gifted by the Devil.” He joins his hands and starts to pray, falling to his knees. There are tears on his cheeks. “Forgive me, my Lord, Heavenly Father, for I have sinned. For I have become sin itself-”

I kneel beside him and wrap my arms around his body in an attempt to calm him down. The rouge on the floor is staining my light blue dress, but I do not care. This is more important.

“Jean,” I whisper. “Jean, listen to me. You are not sin. You are not a sinner, okay?” He trails off halfway through his prayer, and his breathing slows almost to its normal pace. “That’s it. Focus on my voice. Good.”

I gently lower his hands and begin to stroke his hair. Though he is calmer now, he keeps shaking uncontrollably, and the way his eye darts around the room is almost feral, unhinged. Is this what hunger does to him?

“Jean, you need to feed. This can’t go well, for you, or anyone else,” I softly tell him. My right hand keeps running through his hair, which seems to soothe him slightly, while the left reaches for the puddle. I dip two fingers in the rouge and slowly bring them up to his mouth. “Here. Have a drop, at least. It will make you feel better.”

“No!” Jean yells, abruptly pushing me off of him. “This... this is sinful! You will not convince me otherwise,” he snarls at me.

I sigh and get up from the floor. Clearly, talking does not work. At all. I don’t know what else to do. I spot a dagger on his nightstand, and carefully reach for it. I have an idea. An incredibly stupid one, at that, but it is better than nothing. It is better than letting Jean starve himself into oblivion.

“Is this how you want to do it? Fine,” I declare, staring defiantly at him across the room. I push my hair back, baring my neck, and point the sharp blade at my own throat. The metal feels cold against my skin. “It’s either your fangs or the dagger. We both know which option is more likely to kill me. The choice is yours.”

“Anaïs, don’t!” Leonardo yells from outside the room. I hear the clattering of the door handle behind me as he uselessly tries to turn it.

Meanwhile, Jean looks at me, incredulous.

“You wouldn’t,” he says, his voice shaking. I flinch when I press the tip of the dagger into my flesh. I can feel a thin stream of warm blood run from the wound and pool onto my collarbone. Jean gasps.

“You would,” I say, “so what makes you think we’re so different? You have ten seconds. Ten, nine, eight...”

“Stop! This is madness!” He yells at me, unmoving.

I press harder, clenching my teeth. More blood begins pouring out.

“...Four, three, two...”

Finally, he lunges forward and runs towards me before forcing the blade away and sinking his fangs into my neck. My hand lets go of the dagger, which falls onto the wooden floor with a loud clatter, as waves of pleasure expand from the bite like an electric shock through my body. I somehow manage to stay conscious enough to hear Leonardo break down the door and barge in.

“Ahh...! Stay... back...!” I force the words out of my mouth with all the strength I can muster. Leonardo’s footsteps stop. My body goes limp, and I fall into Jean’s strong arms. He holds me upright as I let him drink from me, and my eyelids grow heavy. I slowly become swallowed by darkness, a cold ocean, the waves of which pull me in, dragging me deeper and deeper. I let it take me.

I wake up in my bed and attempt to sit up, but I am too lightheaded, and fall back onto the plush pillows beneath me, uttering a curse in Spanish.

“Cara mia.” Leonardo’s eyes shoot open and he abandons the chair he was sleeping on to sit on the edge of the bed, by my side.

“How long... was I out...?” I struggle to ask. I try to sit up once again, this time aided by Leonardo. My head is spinning.

“Shhh... Take it easy, cara mia,” he tells me. “You lost a lot of blood.” He tightly holds my hand in his, big and calloused and pleasantly warm. “What were you thinking? You could have died!”

His voice breaks when he says it. It pains me to make him worry like that. I run my thumb over his knuckles as I reassure him.

“I’m fine. See?” I smile. “Where is Jean?”

“Mozart is with him. He had to hold me back, you know? I could not bear the thought of anything happening to you.” He leans down to lay a tender kiss on my forehead.

“Don’t worry about me, Leonardo,” I say. “I knew exactly what I was doing.”

He looks at me with sadness in his eyes and shakes his head.

“Why?” he whispers. “Why did you have to risk your life like that?”

“I did it for Jean.” He does not seem satisfied with my answer. “It’s okay. It’s not my first time...”

“What do you mean, ‘your first time’? Do you want to die, cara mia?”

“For the longest time, I did... I tried to... But then I came here,” I smile. “When I met you, everything changed. Being with you... it makes everything else go away. Dying is no longer the only way to... make it stop.”

I lightly pull on his hand, motioning for him to come closer. When he does, I grab his collar and pull him into a kiss. He returns it gently, as if he is afraid that I will break under his touch. He pulls away, and I speak again.

“At the ball, Mozart and I talked. He said I sounded like Jean,” I recall. “Now I know what he meant. What I did... I would do it again if it meant I could help someone like that, even if it costs me my life. I’ve been there, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

“Cara mia,” Leonardo breathes out. “You are too kind for your own good. For the love of God, never scare me like that again, do you hear me?”

I nod and bring his hand to my lips. After I kiss his fingers, he cups my face, and I lean into it, closing my eyes.

“I’m sorry.” I kiss his palm. “I am so sorry for making you worry. I love you too much to make you feel this bad...” The words pour out of my mouth without me even noticing. I am so tired.

“You should rest, amore mio,” he whispers. I lazily nod and drift off to a dreamless slumber.

#ikemen vampire #ikevam #ikevamp #ikemen #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen vampire fanfiction #ikevam fanfic #ikevamp fanfiction #ikemen vampire leonardo #ikevamp leonardo #ikemen vampire jean #ikevamp jean #ikemen vampire mozart #ikevamp mozart #ikemen vampire comte #ikevamp comte

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fox-moblin · 5 years

Note

Hi!!! I love your writing!!! I recently found your works and they’re great!! I don’t know if you’re still accepting requests, but if you are, maybe something with bonding/fluff with Warrior and Wild? It’d be nice to see them interact without wanting to cry xD

Warriors finds him by the river, sitting on a large slab of stone; he’s quiet, but there’s a contented smile on his face that eases most of Warriors’ worries.

Wild’s ears prick as Warriors draws close, but he says nothing, only shifts to the right to give Warriors some space to sit down. Warriors obliges, casting Wild a sidelong glance that the other either doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore. Wild is still smiling, his eyes closed; he looks a bit like a cat, happy to be basking in the afternoon sun. Warriors watches him for a moment.

“You good?” he finally asks, quiet. Wild blinks his eyes open.

“Yeah,” he says and then laughs. “Sore.”

Warriors huffs in agreement. Last night had ended with a tough battle against a few bokoblins; nothing the group couldn’t handle, but after a long day of travel, it had taken far longer than it should have. No one had been seriously hurt, but Warriors still feels the burn in his muscles; as well as the bruise that’s started to form on his back. He stretches, wincing at the tender spot, and Wild makes a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat. He has a nasting bruise starting to form along his right arm and Warriors recalls a moblin with a large club.

He sighs and flops back onto the stone, wishing silently that they could spare a potion or two to ease the pain, but supplies in running low and they need to be prepared for the worst.

“This sucks,” he finally says and Wild chuckles.

“It does,” he agrees softly. He’s staring out at the water, to where Warriors can see a shrine sitting snugly in the shadows of the cliffs behind it. Wild hums and squints his eyes, his hand coming up to rub as his bruised arm. “Hey,” he says quietly and reaches back to tap Warriors’ shoulder.

“What?”

“Do you wanna come try something with me?”

“That sounds ominous.”

Wild shrugs, still looking at the distant cliffs.

“It’s nothing bad. If it doesn’t work, we’ll be no worse for wear…”

“If what doesn’t work?”

Wild leans back and gestures to the cliff.

“There’s a Fairy Fountain up that way - I figured we could see if they’ll heal our… ‘wounds,’ you know?”

Warriors sits up, suddenly intrigued.

“Shit - why didn’t you say so earlier? Let’s go!” He leaps off the rock and yelps when he hits the cold water below. Its shallow enough to stand, but his trousers are soaked through. Wild laughs, sliding off the rock to join him, unperturbed by the water.

“I don’t know if it’ll work though-”

“It’s a Fairy Fountain,” Warriors insists, pushing Wild forward to lead them to their destination. “Why wouldn’t work?”

Wild glances back at him.

“I’m just saying - Malanya’s weird. They’re not like other… Great Fairies.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

***

“What the fuck is that?”

The giant horse-thing-god-fairy huffs indignantly and Warriors shuts his mouth, scooting back behind Wild. Wild rolls his eyes.

“Sorry about him,” he says and the thing whinnies - whinnies - and waves its hand, as if wafting away a bad smell.

“Hmph, sorry indeed,” it says in a deep, sing-song voice and sinks lower into its pool, resting its head on non-existant arms, annoyed . Warriors raises an eyebrow and nudges Wild on the shoulder.

“Hey,” he whispers harshly. “What in Hylia’s name is that? That’s not a Great Fairy… it’s not even a regular fairy!”

Wild leans away, clearly exasperated.

“Warriors, meet Malanya, the Horse God. Malanya, may I introduce you to my friend, Warriors.”

The thing - Malanya - leans in closer, and Warriors takes a step back. He can’t tell what Malanya’s thinking; their face is, quite literally, a blank mask. After a moment, they swivel their head to face Wild.

“Link…” it mutters and Wild blinks. “Why have you brought this… boy… to see me?”

Warriors scowls, irritation sparking in his chest like a bomb arrow. He stalks forward, puffing his chest out.

“Excuse me,” he growls and he can see Wild flinch out the corner of his eye. “But I happen to be a hero as well, and I’d appreciate it if you’d treat me with some resp-”

“I know what you are!” Malanya growls back, swinging their head around to him. Warriors deflates slightly, stumbling back. Wild appears at his side, looking equalling surprised.

“How-” he starts, Malanya cuts him off.

“Please,” they say and Warriors can imagine them rolling their eyes. “I knew what you were before you even set foot on my bridge, just as I knew when you, Link, came back to the world of the waking.” They pull back, drawing themselves up to their full height, their chin held high. “Heroes… such tragic things you are… and in times like these…”

They trail off and Warriors looks at Wild. He feels uncomfortable and Malanya’s words have sent chills running down his spine. He’s about to suggest they just go, when Malanya huffs and turns back to them.

“Why did you come here,” they say again, looking at Wild. “You have no horses that need bringing back, nor do I recall giving you a task to complete.”

Wild shuffles his feet for a moment and glances at Warriors.

“We were… uh… wondering if you could heal us…?”

Malanya stares at them, silent, and then suddenly the ground begins to rumble. Warriors almost grabs Wild and ducks for cover, but then he realizes that Malanya is laughing, deep and low in their chest. They bend over eyeing the two heroes as they continue to chuckle, before sighing and resting their cheek in their hand.

“Link,” they laugh. “I am a God to horses, not Hylians… and your ‘wounds’ are barely wounds at all. Surely you jest…?”

Wild gives a nervous laugh, rubbing his arm.

“Uhhh… no…?”

Malanya’s laughter dies down; they grow still, a hand coming to their face and hovering there.

“Oh… I see,” they murmur. They seem lost in thought, as if they’ve forgotten that Wild and Warriors are even there. Warriors shifts awkwardly. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Malanya moves again, bringing their hand down and drawing it idly through the water. They say nothing, looking at neither the heroes before them, nor the water itself; instead, their blank gaze seems miles away. Wild takes a step back, head low and taps Warriors on the arm.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “Guess it didn’t work.” He pauses, glancing briefly at Malanya. Warriors pats his shoulder.

“Worth a shot.” He shrugs. “The others will be wondering where we are - let’s get going.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Both heroes jump at the sound of Malanya’s voice; Warriors looks up just in time to see a giant hand over top of him and then he’s being picked up and drawn closer to the pool.

“Hey, hey!” He cries and he can hear Wild behind him, clutched in Malanya’s other hand. Warriors braces himself, but, instead of punishment, his feet touch the ground as he’s softly lowered back down. Wild ends up beside him and they stand, side by side, on a large flat rock at the edge of Malanya’s spring, Malanya themself bobbing softly in the water. They lift a hand, water cupped in their palm, and Warriors has no time to protest before it is being poured over him.

“Hylia!” He yells; it’s cold and it causes his clothes to cling to his frame uncomfortably. Wild stifles a laugh, which is soon drowned in his own cries of protest as he gets the same water treatment.

“There,” Malanya says, satisfied. Warriors opens his mouth, to complain or yell, he’s not quite sure, but stops; he feels… good. Slowly, he stretches and is pleasantly surprised to find out that his soreness has disappeared. Wild’s bruise is also gone; he stretches his arm, swinging it back and forth with ease and then grins at Warriors. Malanya huffs, drawing both their attentions back. They reach out a hand, palm up, in front of Warriors and Wild. Wild immediately bows, low and proper like a soldier, and Warriors follows suite.

“Thank you,” he says quietly as he straightens again. Malanya leans down, their face in front of his, as if inspecting him, before pulling back. The hum quietly.

“Yes…” The murmur and then, a little louder, say, “I usually reserve such magic for horses, all things considered, but…” They gaze down at the two heroes and Warriors swears he can see sadness in their face. They sigh and begin to sink slowly, backwards, into their spring. Wild takes a step forward.

“Malanya, wait-”

“No, I will go now.” They let out a long sigh. “Such ‘wounds’ are so trivial, but who am I to deny a hero in such times… but it is done. And so I will go.”

Any other time, Warriors might think it condescending, but Malanya’s words are soft. They stop their decent just as their face reaches the water and float, quietly watching Warriors and Wild as they stand awkwardly before them.

“You may also go now,” they say tiredly with a wave of their hand. “Go and be gone and save the world as you do. As you always will.”

They mumble something else as they sink fully into the spring, but Warriors cannot make it out. Instead, he and Wild are left standing and staring at the still water, their own reflections grimacing back.

“That was weird,” Wild mutters, turning and offering his hand to help Warriors down. He’s staring at the ground, his mouth twisted into something unpleasant. They climb down the rocks together, mindful of their wet surfaces. When they reach the ground, Warriors squeezes Wild’s hand before letting go and starting to walk back across the bridge.

“C’mon. The others will be starting to worry - especially when it’s us two.”

Wild cracks a smile at that.

“It’s because they still haven’t forgotten about the fire-tree incident.”

“That was your idea.”

“You definitely helped.”

“I certainly did not - you dragged me onto that tree trunk!”

“Only cuz you couldn’t get up yourself!” Wild cries, a smile stretched across his face. “And you were the one flinging fireballs left and right anyways! I just provided the ride!”

“You have bomb arrows!”

The two of them laugh the rest of the way down the path. By the time they reach the shrine and the small lake, the sun is almost set and Warriors can see Twilight pacing by the fire, and the others looking nervously out into the fields beyond the stable they’re group is staying at. He jabs a playful elbow at Wild who just rolls his eyes.

“Oh, take pity on them all,” Warriors says. “They care - and you’re the only one of us who can cook.”

Wild hums and falls quiet, his pace slowing until he’s come to stop. Warriors slows as well, falling back to stand beside him. Wild looks contemplative.

“What do you think they were talking about,” he says and Warriors knows he speaking of Malanya. He shrugs, shaking his head.

“Gods, fairies, spirits… they’re all fickle creatures.” He looks over to where their group is gathered around the fire. “They’re ancient. They’ve seen things we’ll never comprehend. I try not to dwell on the weird cryptic shit they say.”

Wild laughs at that.

“True,” he says. “Though I’ve never seen Malanya act so… solemn. It’s weird.”

“Eh,” Warriors says and starts to walk again, Wild close behind. “The world is weird. The worlds are weird. Nine heroes joining together across space and time to defeat an unknown evil?” He spins, walking backwards and throwing Wild an easy smile. “Whatever, you know. I think we’ve got bigger things to worry about that the concerns of a Horse God.”

Wild grins in return, jogging to catch up and shove Warriors’ shoulder.

“Hey, hey, watch it,” Warriors yells as Wild runs past him. Wild laughs, waving to the others. He looks back at Warriors, who’s now running as well.

“How about this for worry - if I beat you back to the others, you have to clean dishes!”

Warriors squawks, picking up his pace.

“You wouldn’t!”

“I would and you know it!”

Warriors wails; Wild reaches the fire and turns with a flourish, bowing to Warriors and ignoring the questions of their group on where they’ve been. Warriors skids to a stop next to him, cursing something fierce. Time raises an eyebrow, his arms crossed.

“I’m surprised you two can move like considering last night.” He wrinkles his nose.

Warriors shrugs, pulling Wild close and draping an arm over his shoulder, his previous grievance forgotten.

“It’s ‘cause we’re better than the rest of you,” he smirks and Wild chuckles as the others begin to protest. Wild leans in close, poking Warriors in the side.

“Don’t tell them,” he whispers, eyeing Twilight and Time. “They’d kill me if they found out I took you and not them to meet a horse god.”

Warriors nods, smug.

“Of course not.” He lets Wild go, winking at him. “Our secret. Besides, was it really worth it anyways?”

“To see the look on your face when they soaked you in the spring? Yeah.”

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #legend of zelda #loz #mobwrites #fic request

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annabethisterrified · 5 years

Text

Book Review: THE TYRANT’S TOMB by Rick Riordan (The Trials of Apollo #4)

“Today, one way or another, the fate of New Rome would be decided.”

THERE ARE NO SPOILERS UNTIL YOU GO BELOW THE CUT!

Reeling from the loss of Jason Grace and the mounting danger of his mission to stop the evil emperors ascendance, Apollo (aka Lester) and Meg arrive disheveled and devastated in New Rome...with a coffin in tow. Getting into Camp Jupiter is tricky enough, and once Apollo and Meg get caught up to speed on the chaos that’s been wreaked in the Bay Area, they realize that the impending battle will be the culmination of everything they’ve been fighting for. Reyna, Frank, and Hazel’s leadership roles put them to the ultimate test as they scramble to prepare for their final stand against Caligula and Commodus. Together, Apollo, Meg, and the inhabitants of New Rome must mourn who they’ve already lost while simultaneously gearing up for the inevitable confrontation that will seal the fate of their home once and for all.

The penultimate installment of The Trials of Apollo picks up on the heels of The Burning Maze’s tragic conclusion. Through Apollo’s perspective, the reality of what went down in the third book continues to weigh heavily upon the whole cast, but most of their focus is forced forward to an incredibly dangerous confrontation slated for the Blood Moon. Loose ends from the Heroes of Olympus series are tied neatly yet surprisingly, and the continued evolution of Apollo and Meg’s bond shines as the book’s true, gleaming heart. Apollo’s own recognition of his past failings, his father’s abusiveness, and the reality of what his humanity has taught him all come to a head, setting up what’s sure to be an impactful fifth and final book-- not just for Apollo’s journey, but as a capstone for what the whole saga’s implications about what it means to be a hero, and to be a human.

The Tyrant’s Tomb is consistently entertaining and heartfelt, but the final third of the story proves to be the most deftly-crafted and meaningful. Though not as heavy as its previous installment, this fourth book gives plenty of focus on some lovely development from our main protagonist, priming the series for its finale next fall.

If you click below, there will be spoilers.

Hello? Okay. You promise you’re good for spoilers...?

All right, just because of who I am as a person I guess, I’ve broken this down into like ten sections. Ooof. Generally, I will say that I was super pleased with how this story went. My only disappointment was that I’d hoped for more of a prolonged or “on-screen” unpacking of the effects of Jason’s death on the Camp Jupiter kids, specifically Reyna. However, I get that that’s kind of hard to do through Apollo’s perspective. I wasn’t totally sold on the idea that he sang a song haha, but I’m glad that Jason’s loss wasn’t just addressed at the beginning and then “moved on” from. It was threaded throughout, showing that grief is not something that you can check off a list. This is something that will always stay with these characters, and alter how they live and feel about things. It ebbs and flows. In addition, I think there could’ve been just a bit more action in the first half of the story, but it was never boring or aimless. And the concluding battle was expertly written and soooooo amazing omfg. Still reeling.

Anyway, let’s go.

FRANKLY, I HAVE NOTHING BUT LOVE

I’m so happy we got the chance to see Frank leading Camp Jupiter as praetor! He did such a good job, but also acknowledged that this is still a new role he’s transitioning into. I was so pleasantly surprised at how he managed to be both authoritative and gentle, and it was gut-wrenching to know that he intended to take Caligula down with him. When I imagined the fallout of Jason’s death, I always pictured Reyna being the one to tear down the emperors in revenge, which was why I was so affected by Frank’s commitment to honoring his friend. Not only did he order Jason’s designs to be built in like thirty hours, but he was so ready to avenge Jason that he was fully prepared to die.

What. An. Arc. I LOVE HIM. I’m glad he’s finally free of his burden, and that he gets to keep doing an epic job as praetor (though hopefully during more future peaceful times). Camp Jupiter’s lucky to have him.

SHINE ON HAZEL

Words can’t express how infatuated I was with Hazel in this book. She’s always been one of my favorites, but she really shone in this story. She was already so strong and developed at the end of Heroes of Olympus, but this book still brought her out better and smarter than she was before. She cannot be stopped. Hazel’s determination and grit make her formidable, and she definitely proved to be Rome’s greatest asset throughout the entire story.

I think it’s great that she gets to step up and take on Jason and Reyna’s former role of praetor...alongside Frank, too! I didn’t expect her to react with anger towards Jason once she found out about his death, but it hit me hard. She initially took Jason’s death to be a reflection of the Seven’s failings as a team. Hazel loved how powerful the bond between them all was, and when Jason took on the burden of TBM’s prophecy alone without confiding in anyone, I can totally see why she felt like that was a betrayal. UGH hit me hard.

REYNA REYNA REYNA!

Reyna is just objectively an amazing character. I’m so so so glad we got to revisit her in this story, and loved where she ended up going. Starting this book, I had literally no idea how she would be handled. She’s always been the quintessential strong leader, which is awesome, but I’m glad we got to unpack the implications behind her very...layered...existence. Leaving Puerto Rico in a traumatic situation, going straight to Circe’s Island, escaping as a pirate, carving out her path in New Rome, getting roped into the Titan then Giant War? Damn. She’s been through a lot, and none of it of her own free will.

Like I mentioned earlier, I wish we’d learned more of how she dealt with Jason’s death. They were obviously really close growing up, and though it was clear she was devastated and things were referenced “off-screen”, I still kind of wish we’d gotten a bit more. Regardless, I liked that the focus of her presence in this book was about HERSELF and nobody else.

And hello!!!!! She has a red truck!!!! and goes out hiking with her greyhounds??? makes me so glad.

And yeah-- that ending, huh? I know it got mixed reactions. Personally, it felt pretty natural to me. I’m so glad she stayed in touch with Thalia after the events of HoO, and knowing that they’ll be on eternal adventures with a bunch of other wonderful girls....happy sigh. Reyna’s right-- this is kind of a much-needed vacation by joining Artemis’s team. No matter how long or short she stays with them, it’s important that she’s able to reclaim her destiny and figure out what and who she’d like to be.

APOLLO & MEG

These two!!!!!!!!!!!! Holy shit. Their bond was so well handled and I loved seeing how it developed in this installment. They can communicate on an instinctual level-- they can call each other out, and recognize the abusive patterns both of their fathers have over them. They have so much in common, but also have so much to teach one another. I loved that they were both able to tell each other “I love you” and ughhhh yes the sibling dynamic is so epic. (Also, the whole Reyna and Meg ganging up on Apollo about Koronis bit was hysterical.) (And the “I thought you loved me?” “I’m multitasking.”)

WHERE TO NEXT?

Just because I haven’t said this yet, but HOLY MOLY I adored Lavinia. Oh my god. She was amazing-- hilarious, presumptuous, go-getter, kind...what a star!!! What a joy to read!

Anyway, now it’s onto the fifth and final installment...THE TOWER OF NERO. I’m so happy that we’re going back to where this story started (in both Hidden Oracle and The Lightning Thief)....New York! And it sounds like also a potential field trip to Delphi, Greece? I’m down!

I’m assuming we’ll be able to tag up with Annabeth, since she’s the only main-player we haven’t yet revisited in ToA. And probably also Percy, Nico, Will, Austin, Kayla, etc. at Camp Half Blood.

There’s a lot of ways this could all go down, but I think this book set up a heart-wrenching conclusion. I’m looking forward to Apollo and especially Meg standing up to their fathers and claiming their own lives. I’m not even sure if Apollo will want to be returned to godhood by the time his trials are up. We delved into some really interesting threads in this book-- he mentioned several times that he’d only ever felt comfortable and “at home” when he was human. What will that mean for his final trial?

In either case, this book was fabulous and I’m so glad we got a chance to learn more about Camp Jupiter and New Rome...and I feel like a lot got resolved, so it felt like a satisfying way to say goodbye to the California crew. I doubt they’ll be in the last book, so it was bittersweet but fitting to leave them as we did!

Now, we wait. One last time! Thanks for reading this if you made it all the way down, haha!

#review #tyrant's tomb #the trials of apollo #rick riordan #toa spoilers

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fairydust-stuff · 4 years

Text

Tape Banana Ash & Yut Lung fan fiction

Warning this is a hurt comfort fic with implied Non con and Major character death though no more then the actual show. It also has one of the most fluffy dark endings, i've written.

“ Ah Mr Lee what a pleasant surprise,might i ask the reason for this call”

Ash, Eiji, Ibe and Max are huddled around taking advantage of the fact Ash bugged Golzine’s private phone while he was in the manor so now they could hear all of his calls. They heard a couple about Banana Fish but this one was interesting to say the least.

“ You know exactly why I'm calling…..” Yut Lung sounds on the verge of a breakdown. Ash would be lying if he wasn’t enjoying hearing him squirm.

“ I see you received my video then” Golzine says casually.

“ There’s no need for this…. sneakiness between allies” Yut Lung argues.

“ This of it as a lesson an elder educating a youngster on proper respect,” Golzine replies.

“ I apologize if my pursuing Ash without your leave offended you in any way” Yut Lung was all charm.

“ All is forgiven as long as you’ve learned to be a little less arrogant” Golzine promises.

“ I’ll try it appears i have much to learn,” Yut Lung says with forced humbleness.

“ I want complete use of your men, you don’t get involved unless I call for you. Also i want more frequent meetings between us” Golzine demands.

“ Of course and i presume this mishap will go away?” Yut Lung presses

“ Yut Lung you shouldn’t presume anything” there’s a cruel glee in Golzine’s tone.

The group disengages at the dial tone.

“ So Golzine has some kind of black mail material on him now, that’s karma” Max laughs.

Eiji is wearing that cute devilish grin of his.

“ Maybe he got caught embezzling funds from the foundation. Either way it may reveal some weakness we can exploit” Ash says

“Can you hack him?” Ibe asks

Ash smiles darkly “ Oh i can do better” he dials a number on his phone

“ Hello Sing, you wouldn’t happen to know Yut Lung’s password for his private account?”

“ Try Cao Zhi, he’s one of Yut Lung’s favorite poets,” Sing suggested. Ash did, nothing “ Anything else?” he asked

“ Song of Everlasting Sorrow?” Sing said with a shrug

“ Still nothing” Ash responds.

“ Despair and Courage” said Sing after a moment.

“ Bingo, thanks Sing!” Ash said

“ After what he did to my guys, i want to see that shit fall” Sing said.

Ash hangs up taking note of some stuff to check out later he finds the video and clicks on it.

Golzine and what appears to be Yut Lung ranting around his own dining room clearly drunk.

“ That’s the blackmail” Ash feels very disappointed

“ Given how arrogant that guy is it does make sense” Eiji says.

“ Maybe we can get a few laughs out of it” says Max, trying to look on the bright side.

“ Or at least something to annoy him next time he kidnaps me” Eiji brings up.

“ Woah a drunk little cat” one of Dino’s men cackles

“ Not a cat, i’m a snake” Yut Lung hisses at Dino, the group laughs.

“ Do you always consume this much wine?” Golzine asks pleasantly

“ i feel sad a lot” Yut Lung replies “ wine make it better,” he adds with a bitter laugh.

“ Why are you sad?” Golzine asks in a concerned tone

“ I don’t like Eiji, stupid, Eiji” he pouts.

“ Oh” Golzine says.

“ You stare a lot, your old enough to be my grandpa. Dad old enough to be mom’s grandpa” Yut Lung laughs again bitterly.

“ Your mother was young then” Golzine says

“ Where’s Sing?” He asked quietly

“ He abandoned you for Ash” Golzine says with false sympathy.

“ I liked Sing” Yut Lung says “ Why Sing leave me for Ash” he whispers.

“ Ash is better then you”Golzine says patiently then goes on a rant about Ash as his wonderful creation that makes Ash want to break the screen.

“ hate him for it” Yut Lung admits “ i kinda like him” he adds.

“ You like Ash?” Golzine asks

“ He doesn’t like me” Yut Lung says somberly he stumbles and Golzine catches him.

“ Easy there lets sit down” he leads a wobbly Yut Lung to the large sofa.

Where Blanca?” Yut Lung asks him

“ You dismissed him you were angry, he only wanted to help Ash” Golzine says.

“ I want Blanca” Yut Lung tries to leave the parlor and one of Golzine’s goons locks the doors. “ Let me ou….” One of Dino’s men covers his mouth and drags him back to the couch

“ Now, we were having fun. Here you like wine right” Dino pours him another glass. Ash suddenly feels a pit in his stomach suddenly remembering that Yut Lung is younger than him by at least two years. Why the hell did that never occur to him till now.

“ I don’t like you” Yut Lung insists but he takes another glass, his hands shake slightly.

“ So your a pretty liar then” Golzine says, taking one of his hands and rubbing it against his face. Yut Lung yanks it out of his grip.

Golzine looks at him amused “ I prefer you like this, you're usually so cold and aloft ” he says.

“ I wanna go” Yut Lung tries to get up but Golzine pushes him down.

“ Shhhhh” he undoes Yut Lungs hair, the camera zooms in it hits Ash one of Dino’s creeps is filming, this was planned.

“ No brothers dead no more” Yut Lungs tries to shove him off.

“ Your not strong like Ash just a trembling, broken mess” Golzine smiles viciously “ I saw through your little mask from the beginning” he pauses “ I was going to let you keep it, as long as you played nice but you had to be a brat”

“ Here hold the camera” says a cold voice Ash feels a chill run down his spine at the sound of the man from the gay bar. He’s wearing a mask but Ash knows that voice anywhere.

“ Get away from me! H…..” Yut Lung goes ballistic at the sight of him, Dino gags him.

“ Mr Golzine that makes it less fun” The man complains.

“His men are outside as long as he doesn’t call they won’t come.” Golzine says. “ Its the Lee way to only obey direct orders”

“ I’m afraid Mr Lee I'm the reason you're in this predicament, see Mr Golzine wanted to get back at you and as someone who’s observed his allies. I noticed your quite the alcoholic, I prompted him to take advantage of your vice” he purrs, touching the boys cheek. Yut Lung tries to bite him.

“ Incredible so much viciousness in something so delicate and soft to the touch” the man says.

“ He’s nothing compared to Ash Lynx” Golzine scoffs.

“ Still, I will enjoy him, why limit myself to one type of prey?” the man smiles savagely “ And after i’m done with him you’ll be aching for his tight little body”

“ True” Golzine laughs “ I love nothing more than a beautiful boy in distress”

Max slams his hand on the pause button looking furious. This knocks Ash out of horrified stupor enough to close the laptop completely.

No one says a dam word awkward silence fills the room. Ash should have suspected he knew Dino but Yut Lung had always seemed so icy and vicious, un touchable.

“ He’s like you” Cain and Sing had said. Maybe Ash had projected too much of his own unstoppable raging beast onto the other boy. Yut Lung had worn the mask well better then even Ash ever had. Everyone looked at each other waiting for someone to say something.

“ Its all my fault” Eiji gasps “ At the manor the night Shorter died, Dino had me and Yut Lung in his bed he was going to…….but then the phone rang” he tears up “ I was so confused he seemed so calm about it…..i didn’t understand”

“ Eiji its not your fault” Ibe insisted.

“ I didn’t want to understand!” Eiji says quietly.

“ Its mine, I knew he was like me,” Ash confessed. “ That’s why its so easy for me to hate him” the blond confesses.

“ No! It's no one's fault but the bastards who touched you! My god at least fifteen in Golzine’s bed. I don’t even want to think about how young he started doing that” Max exclaimed. Ash calls up Sing again “ Hey did you find anything” the boy asks

“ I want it gone, take your guys break into Golzine’s manor delete, smash every trace of that video” Ash orders.

“ Did that snake capture Eiji again?” Sing sighs.

“ No its just a really bad video Sing, one i would never use against an enemy” Ash insists.

“ That bad huh?” Sing replies. “ Ash did someone hurt Yut Lung?” he asked tightly

“ You sound almost concerned,” Ash says.

“ I know he hurt my guys but i just don’t like the thought of anyone harming him” Sing confessed. Ash flashed back to a drunken Yut Lung asking for Sing.

“ i think several people hurt him” Ash says after a moment

“ I think so too” Sing said sadly. “ I’ll get my guys on it” he added...

Ash cannot distract himself from waiting for the phone call confirming the mission was a success. He practically jumps to answer the phone when it rings “ Confirmed?” He asks quickly.

“ We ran into some trouble. Golzine increased his security since we last broke in, then Blanca showed up. He really saved our asses. Yut Lung sent him to do exactly what we were doing” Sing explained “ That guy is so cool!” the fourteen year old starts rambling about Blanca.

Of course Yut Lung wouldn’t just take his assault lying down like a good boy. He'd act sweet and submissive then use his resources to gain the upper hand. We really are quite similar.

“ Did you get everything?” Ash asks a bit impatiently

“ Yeah do you want the camera?” Sing asks seriously

“ Yes” Ash says after a moment. “ Sing do you know Yut Lung’s number?” he asked

Sing tells him and Ash dials.

“ Blanca is that you?” Yut Lung asks tentatively

“ Its Ash, I have your camera” Ash here’s a sharp exhale on the other end of the line.

“ At least your demands won’t be as heinous as Golzine’s” Yut Lung sounds more calm now. “ Banana fish? Me to leave Eiji alone? Use of my men? Helping you disappear?” he lists

“ A meeting” Ash says

“ Alright makes more sense to do it in person” Yut Lung responds casually. They set a time and a place…

“ Welcome Ash Lynx normally i’d greet you in the parlor but….” Yut Lung trails off.

“ You can't step foot in that room without flashbacks” Ash realizes as he stands in the dining room.

“ Please sit can i get you a drink or would you like to proceed?” Yut Lung asks

Ash hands him the camera Yut Lung gapes at him in silence. “ You’d give up your leverage for nothing” he says quietly.

“ When i was ten i had several of these videos. I’d have given anything for one person not to have put them up” Ash responds.

Yut Lung takes the camera and says “ Well at least this inconvenience is over with?” his tone is light.

“ What happened last night was not an inconvenience, it was rape and its happened to you and i multiple times” Ash states bluntly.

“ Stop ok, it was just something that happens in our world!” Yut Lung insists

“ That doesn’t make it right” Ash argues.

“ It was my fault, I shouldn't have gotten drunk around Papa Dino” Yut Lung says brokenly.

“ I ran away from home and accepted a ride from a stranger. We all make mistakes, sometimes those mistakes are costly. That doesn’t mean the bastards that hurt us aren’t the ones responsible” Ash argues.

“ I think this is the most we’ve said to each other” Yut Lung says thoughtfully.

Ash looks at him “ Want to smash the camera?” he asked

“ Together, for your ten year old self” Yut Lung responds.

“ Together, one, two three!” The two of them hurl the camera as hard as they can at the walls and proceed to stomp on it until the lens cracks and the frame breaks.

Then Ash’s phone rings “ Hello?” he asks

“ You little Lynx retrieving my camera like that” Golzine chuckles.

“ I’m not giving it to you bastard” Ash says calmly putting him on speaker.

“ No no hold on to your leverage just like I taught you. Do you want a piece of the action? I know how you like Asian boys” Dino continues.

“ Hello this is a piece of the action” Yut Lung says in his soft voice then he holds the phone up to the glass which he crushes under his foot.

“ You smashed up my camera you little whore!” Golzine growled

“ Considering your so hungry that you have to tie down young boys to get action. I’d say your the one who cannot go without” Ash taunts.

“ i hope you got something good out of it” Golzine grumbles.

“ I got nothing from it” Ash informs him.

“ But that’s not….”

“ Not what you’d do. You may have raised and fucked him up and i’ll admit some of your terrible teachings rubbed off on him, but Ash is not you. He’ll never be the kind of person who takes advantage of boys like me” Yut Lung said cooly.

Ash looked at him in surprise.

“ Looks like the kitten grew some claws” Golzine laughed “ You weren’t so gutsy last night, though you did make a lot of noise” he taunts.

“ So you molested me, so what? You and half of New York. I had claws long before then. If I didn't have claws I wouldn't have found a way to get through every abuse, you pathetic old perverts threw at me. I simply learned to sharpen the claws, i was born with” Yut Lung said boldly. Ash watched his face change into something darker

“ You have no claws, you're a sad old man chasing a teenage boy. He latched onto because, he was unable to deal with his own morality. You're not Ash’s greatest enemy, creator or father. You're just a pathetic little groupie obsessed with an idol. Since the Ash in your head doesn’t exist, the fact he chose to save me proves it”

“ I’ll kill you!” Golzine roars

“ Your not worthy of killing me” Yut Lung’s voice dripped with disdain, then he casually hung up on Golzine.

“ Did you just?” Ash was stunned

“ You’ve been feeding Dino’s ego this whole time with your campaign against him. I grew up with egoistic people , i’ve learned how their minds work” Yut Lung replied.

“ He still has to die” Ash pointed out.

“ I have an idea” Yut Lung said “ I need you to contact Blanca” he adds…

“ Rather rough Blanca” Yut Lung chides at the sight of a beaten Golzine hanging limply on the wall.

“ I failed to protect you just like i failed Ash” Blanca said remorsefully.

“ You helped me get the tape, you were there when it counted” Yut Lung put a hand on his arm.

“ Jeez Yue could you be more obvious!” Sing rolled his eyes

“ You're one to talk practically drooling in Ash’s wake” Yut Lung responded.

“ Sure you're not projecting?” Sing asks The two of them bicker until they're interrupted by Golzine’s groan.

“ Heeello!” Ash waves in a sarcastic cutesy way.

“ Ah so the creation destroys its creator and takes his place to build a great legacy” Golzine gloats.

“ Hi you piece of shit i’m Sing soo Ling” Sing says smacking his fists together

“ Doesn’t ring a bell” he said.

“ Shorter Wong was my cousin,” Sing said.

“ You mean that stupid street punk with the mowhawk” Golzine tastes his own blood. Sing gears up for another punch.

Yut Lung pulls Ash toward the door “ Come on Ash lets go get some ice cream” the blond looks at him as if he’s crazy but see’s the younger give him a trust me look. Then starts to follow him out.

“ What are you doing Ash? Your going to end me right?” Ash almost turns his head in Golzine's direction.

“ Keep walking” Yut Lung mutters Ash obeys him.

“ Ash isn’t going to be killing you, i am” Sing says, punching him again.

“ What i’m the great King Pin of New york, that’s all i get ended by some punk?” Golzine asks “ Ash, Ash?”

Ash continues to follow Yut Lung toward the door “ i overpowered you, i beat you down, i made you!” Golzine yells “ where are you going, you drunken slut?” he demands.

Yut Lung continues to lead Ash out “ You're not even going to watch, i’m your greatest enemy and you don’t even want to watch my demise?” Golzine asks

Yut Lung pauses“ Ash, i just remembered i have a hair appointment, we can do ice cream afterwards right?” he asked

“ Of course Yut Lung” Ash says then opens the door. “ Hair appointments, ice cream Ash Ash Ash Ash!” the blond slams the door shut.

“ I cann’t believe that worked” Ash says as a gunshot echoes from the other side of the door.

“ I told you, people with big ego’s hate being ignored” Yut Lung collapses against the door with relief, his face tight with tension, his body shaking.

“ You were really bothered by seeing him huh” Ash says.

“ I can still feel him all over” Yut Lung says “ I can even taste him” there’s a look of broken revulsion on his face. “ I couldn’t let him win through,” the younger boy insists.

“ You did good” Ash informs him.

“ He won’t be the last, there're so many bastards in our world and i’m trapped here with them. I tried to become like you, fierce, ruthless to never look back or hesitate. No matter what i still end up helpless at the mercy of some bigger beast” Yut Lung confesses.

“ Is that why you want me to kill you?” Ash asked him

“ You have a chance at freedom, that's why I hate you!” Yut Lung confesses tears drip down his cheek. “ You have the power to live freely, no matter what. My blood is always going to tie me to this Family. The only way i’m leaving this life is in a box”

Ash turns to him “ You can be the youngest mafia boss to retire in history. In exchange you stop tormenting Eiji and everyone” the blond stresses.

“ But how would i live? As much as i hate it, i’m codependent on my family’s wealth” Yut Lung admits.

" Leave that to me" Ash promises...

" i cann't believe i'm taking Yut Lung Lee to Japan?" Eiji sighs

" He'll blend in better then i would" Ash points out. " Lots of Chinese people live in Japan its not that unsual"

" He hates me and i'm not exactly fond of him either" Eiji points out.

" Too bad because i was thinking of adopting him" Ash says

Eiji stares at him in horror " don't even joke about that" he shutters.

" You get to boss him around big brother Eiji" Ash says.

" Since when did i agree to that?" Yut Lung scowls clutching his luggage a very small portion of the things he owned. He'd have to get used to the simple life, Eiji told him cheerfully.

" You go to Japan your under Eiji's care, so you have to obey him and Ibe" Ash says.

" What if they do something stupid like make friends with the Yakuza?" Yut Lung asks

" If that happens you are in change until i get there" Ash agrees after a long pause.

" Thank you Ash, for everything" Yut Lung tells him sincerely before stepping onto the train that will take them to the air port.

" I have to sort out some things here, then i'll join you two" Ash promises. He stands there and waves good bye to both of them.

" Don't be too long, i may start experimenting with putting certain herbs in Eiji Chan's tea" Yut Lung yells out the window!

" i heard that you little shit!" Eiji yells back

Ash laughs then turns and walks back to his concrete playground his phone rings " Hey honey just finishing up skinning a Foxx" the man says cheerfully.

" Good " Ash hisses.

" Need anything else while i'm in town?" Blanca asked him

" i need your help with persuading a certain Chinese crime organization to let the head of the Lee family retire early, without a bullet to the head, got any ideas?" Ash asks him

#Banana Fish #fanfiction #Yut Lung & Ash Lynx #implied noncon #Ash and Yut Lung team up #standing up to papa Dino #protective Blanca #very protective angry Sing #Foxx gets what's coming to him as well

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wordstrings · 5 years

Text

Soft Spots for a Fiend

written and submitted by goo!anon:

[[ A/N: Hello! I’m fairly new with writing these certain type of fics, but I sure did try my best! I’ve been inspired by @wordstrings for a while and the most current Good Omens piece urged me to be creative. I’ve decided to create something of my own, this little fic right here. Thank you <3 ─ goo!anon]]

Wordcount: 1,731

[Good Omens, Aziraphale/Crowley]

─

E♭ D D ─ E♭ D D ─ E♭ D D …

The very beginning of Mozart’s Symphony #40 in G Minor, K 550. Who could fail to recognize the tune? It was a rather ingenious piece, to say the least, especially for its time period; and yet, most people seem to recall The Magic Flute in a more fond manner.

T’was a pity that this particular work playing in the bookstore was being so rudely howled over by a certain bleach blonde angel. Completely under the mercy and overzealous expression of his best friend, Aziraphale’s panicked and forced grin spread painfully from cheek to cheek.

“My word angel, you’ve gone and flushed that little face of yours,” a voice purred out from above the angel. “You’ve got to admit, you did tempt me with how coy you can be. Don’t take me for a fool, love. I won’t turn down the chance to exploit a weakness.”

Crowley seemingly held nothing but pure schadenfreude in his heart for his opposite, as this was quite the predicament he had gotten himself into. Under the body of a full grown man with ridiculously powerful legs just to keep one little angel from slipping away. Still, one could say it was all in good fun; it was clear the angel was enjoying himself - otherwise, he would’ve demanded Crowley to stop. Not to say that he would stop, but that’s beside the point.

While the demon’s spiel allowed Aziraphale some reprieve from the torture he had briefly been exposed to, the hands latched tightly around his sides still reminded him of the situation at hand. He will be tickled and it will suck … That’s what his human senses told him anyways.

“Y-you cannot be serious, Crowley. You sincerely let my joke about your potential “goodness” push you over the edge like this? This is a personal attack - I just poked a bit of fun at you and in turn, you literally poked ME instead! I promise, you’re not a soft demon, and you’re not a good pers-”

The swift movement of pinching and prodding fingers traveling rapidly up and down his sides cut him off abruptly, leaving Aziraphale to shriek out his remaining breath. Twisting and contorting under the firm hold of the demon, his laughter had spiked in volume as devilish fingers worked their way up into the angel’s pitifully defended underarms.

“What a keen observation, Aziraphale. Perhaps you can file that memo of yours into a safe place and call upon it for moments like these. Now, tell me . . Would a good person ever do this?” Crowley punctuated by firmly drilling his trapped thumbs into the other’s armpits.

Tossing his head back against the carpet both of them had been “wrestling” on, Aziraphale’s wide open grin allowed full-bodied laughter to spill past his straining vocal cords. Arching backward to try and release himself from the unforgiving grip of Crowley’s legs, his boisterous laughter had gained a frantic edge to it.

“P-plehehease! C-Crowley I d-dohon’t knohow if I cahan take thiiIIIIIS ANYMORE!” Aziraphale cackled, which was a direct result of the demon picking up speed in the abuse of the weakened angel’s armpits. While time spent together had been fun after the impending Armageddon business was settled, Aziraphale would never have imagined that this would be included in the “get-together(s)” package.

“Oh puh-lease, angel. Spare me the utter drama and take it like the little soldier you’re supposed to be. Don’t tell me your undoing will be from a little tickling?”

“N-nohoHOHObodY CAHAHAAN Behe S-SUHUHURE,” The blonde sputtered out, clearly discombobulated by the devious and seemingly endless onslaught of his underarms and upper ribs. “WHAahaAhT if I doOHO COME unDOHONE?”

Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Crowley finally slipped his hands free from the angel’s pits, earning a relieved gasp for oxygen that he most likely didn’t need ─ Human-ish bodies are needy, you know?

“My goodness, “ Aziraphale huffed and reached up to wipe the sweat that had beaded over his forehead. “You didn’t have to torture me like that, nevermind violate such a susceptible and defenseless area!”

“Oi, quit your whinin’, angel. My kind isn’t supposed to lighten the blows of attacks - we go straight for the kill. If my ‘kindness’ eludes me, you’d better be grateful that I stopped.” Crowley playfully sneered, attempting to free the angel beneath him by slightly shuffling backward, but still careful to keep the blonde on the ground.

“Lighten the blows? Your kindness? That’s what you call kindness? Tickling a man half to tears? I’d surely teach you a real lesson in kindness before I believe a single word of that childish description of your blackened morality.”

As soon as Aziraphale finished the jab at his friend, Crowley’s sneer dropped into something initially distressing. He deadpanned. Almost frowned. His expression was near impossible to read completely with those damn glasses in the way. Aziraphale paused in his efforts to escape, afraid he might have actually damaged his best friend’s feelings.

Almost reaching a hesitant hand out to the demon, Aziraphale’s brows furrowed in compassion and concern. “Crowley, are you alright? I apologize if that was too harsh, but I thought you weren’t one for being g- “

In an instant, the red-headed demon quickly grasped Aziraphale’s hand and pulled him forward, enveloping the angel into a ridiculously tight bear hug. At first, he thought the action to be rather loving and sweet, but positivity soon drowned into impending fear when he felt Crowley’s hands ever-so-slightly twitch in the middle of his back where the mantle of his wings would be.

Letting out a genuine gasp of horror, the angel quickly realized the situation he was coaxed into. That sly bastard played with his emotions and now he was going to pay. Dearly.

“My dear little angel Zira,” Crowley practically hissed the nickname into Aziraphale’s ear, causing his face to burst into brilliant shades of red. “I’m afraid you’ve made a grave error in your decision here. My graciousness and mercy are so rare these days, don’t you think? How unfortunate of you to take that for granted.”

Aziraphale could perfectly hear his friend in the ear he sweetly mumbled into, but the pounding of his heart just seemed all too loud and booming to properly process what was going to happen to him.

“I-I didn’t mean to -” Aziraphale choked.

“Ooh, of course, you didn’t mean to slip past your last chance at freedom! Still, I must admit it’s pretty ballsy of you to accept your fate with ‘open arms’ so to speak, eh?”

Crowley pressed his grin against the blistering hot skin of the angel’s neck, causing Aziraphale to suppress a surprised chuckle at the unexpected cold sensation. The demon spoke up, seemingly for the last time before all hell broke loose.

“Little angel .. I’m afraid even God can’t help you here.”

Before Aziraphale could even get a word in edgewise, familiar demonic fingers vibrated and kneaded into the base of his wings in a way that shouldn’t have been cosmically legal. Shrieking, the angel laughed himself into self-induced hysteria. It was all too fast, too sudden, and too much. In a failed attempt to free himself, Aziraphale wrapped himself tighter into the hug he was trapped in out of sheer panic.

The attack on his wings seemed to go on for ages, especially when his physical wings managed to make a sudden appearance from the unexpected foreign touch. Nothing but prying fingers at the base of his wings, torturing the smaller, new feathers. Nothing but the scratching of his sensitive skin underneath the thick fluff of downy feathers.

Nothing but the seemingly eternal torment at the hands of his hellish comrade.

─

Surprisingly, it eventually did come to a stop; something that the angel was deeply grateful for. As soon as Aziraphale screamed into the throes of ongoing silent laughter and tears, Crowley took it upon himself to grant his friend official mercy.

Crowley had been holding onto Aziraphale for the remainder of his cool-down, unsure if he should even part with him so soon after what he put his friend through. Sitting in silence (albeit the sound of Aziraphale catching his breath and relaxing was evident), Crowley reluctantly pulled away from the pleasantly teary-eyed angel, leaning back on his palms properly drink in the sight of his incapacitated angel. Miraculously enough, both beings practically beamed at each other, aside from Crowley’s goofy smirk.

“Good Lord, you’ve proven your point. You’d put Lucifer and his awful deeds to shame if all of Heaven knew what you just did to me.” Aziraphale muttered dramatically, rolling his eyes and wiping away the tears of mirth that remained on his face.

“I’m glad we’ve come to a proper agreement now. I’m a damn good demon and rightfully so - one willing enough to tug on the wings of an angel.” Crowley stated, puffing his chest out in a show of victory and superiority.

A firm push was bestowed upon the redhead, followed by a raspy chuckle from the man that delivered it. “Very well then, Crowley. I will admit, you’re a . . damn good demon indeed, tormenting me like that. Perhaps you can use this victory over an angel as something to tell your Head Department after they come looking for you in a few centuries?” Aziraphale mocked, standing up straight to properly brush himself off and fix the lapels of his coat jacket.

“We both know how you tend to stretch the truth, so why not entertain them with your ventures.” The angel spoke in a smug manner, but not hesitating to hold out a hand to assist his partner. “Who knows? Maybe you can call them about it tonight to get a good word in for yourself too. We can discuss it over dinner, my treat.”

Crowley was about to get up from the floor, but hesitated at the sight of the angel’s outstretched palm. “ . . You’re too good to me, angel.” He reached out and firmly held on to his hand, lifting himself off of the carpeted flooring and guiding Aziraphale to the door once he was planted on his feet.

“Far too good for me.“ Crowley smiled warmly at the angel, taking him up on the offer for a free meal he probably wouldn’t even eat. "You’d think I was a fool to resist such temptation.”

—

Publisher’s note: aaaaAAAAAAAA I love this so much! I’m always a sucker for hysteria-inducing wingpit tickles. ;)

#submission #tickling #author goo!anon #ticklish!Aziraphale #ler!Crowley #Good Omens #Ineffable Husbands #Crowley #Aziraphale #Soft Spots for a Fiend #tickle fic #wingfic

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insomnihan · 4 years

Text

han’s Entire Thoughts and Feelings on LOONA’s “So What”

youtube

OKAY WE UP IN HERE NOW

i have to reiterate again from gfriends crossroads afterthoughts that i was sick foR A REAL HOT MINUTE so this is WAY TOO LATE therefore i took out a section about talking about their visuals individually I REALLY WANNA DO IT BUT IM LATE ENOUGH-

ANYWAY IM VERY EXCITED FOR THIS ONE AND HAVE THINGS TO SAY

there are no read mores here so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

ALRIGHT SO-

THE SONG okay i will admit i was one of the boo boo the fools that had lowkey hope the teasers was the actual song 🤡 maybe i was the only one that did that fake ass orbit it wont happen again 😔 HOWEVER I WAS VERY PLEASANTLY SURPRISED WITH THIS SONG AND ITS SOUND for a little bit in the beginning i was like ‘????????? i dunno????????? if im into it?????????’ i found it certainly interesting THATS FOR SURE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! we MUST establish that mayhaps loona wont exactly have their own specific sound like most groups yknow??? like mayhaps their whole thing is to show us that THEY HAVE THE RANGE and could do many concepts and genres they would like to try!

HOWEVER NOW!!!!!!!!!!! I👏AM👏HERE👏LISTEN- SOMETHING ABOUT THAT INSTRUMENTAL IS MAKING ME A LOT LITTLE FERAL™ im still not really into that ‘im so bad’ thing that gets progressively louder to be honest but LIKE THAT SO WHAT GETS IN YOUR BRAIN MEAT- everyone is just................ lowkey a rapper?????? kinda????? am i weird to say that?????? i understand that its hard to distribute lines for a group as big as This (and one member isnt here) but it couldve been a little more fair okay ://///////////// did vivi and gowon get crumbs or sumn but i have to say heejin and jinsoul didnt have to do that in the second verse that sh it hurted me YVES AND KIM LIP AND CHUU oh god they really like Did That™ and hyunjin and just pls-

OH MY GOD THAT BRIDGE UNO MOMENTO POR FAVOR I WASNT READY- i dunno if anyone here knows this but i LOVE the bridge in songs like MOST OF THE TIME i find myself getting shook as all hell when that bridge started to pop off I FELT THAT IN MY SOUL literally did it have to do that??????? OOF-

THE DANCE HELLA FORMATIONS SO MANY CHANGES GOOD GOD- i dont remember how many there were but im dead as f kcu- i will be using this performance video to do this portion

ALRIGHT...................... so the chorus dance i............... dunno if i like it? i dunno something about it im just not feeling it maybe if i stare at it a little longer itll make more sense to me- these formation changes tho its impressive to watch and ive been staring at my phone to watch rather than actuALLY DO THIS GODDAMN POST and i must praise the bridge portion of this song and say that watching that damn near hypnotized my Dumb of Ass™ some individual moves i actually really liked was when they swing their arms in a circle and they separate which im noticing is a hella popular move right now is that just me? like that was Pleasing to My Eyes- and then that second verse with heejin that was really cool to watch BUT I MUST SAY watching them does make me a little lowkey tired im so amazed truly!!!

THE VISUALS OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO THEY NEVER DISAPPOINT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! GOD ALL OF THE SCENES ARE SO DIFFERENT FROM EACH OTHER AND PLAYS WITH COLORS AND YET THEY WORK WELL TOGETHER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! liKE its lots of BIG open spaces mostly but there are still smaller areas like the hallways and the train B A L A N C E BICTH and then like SO MUCH FIRE AND LIGHTING AND DARKNESS ITS A STUNNING VIDEO

SOME SCENES THAT I LIKED AND WANNA MENTION: (mayhap)

FIRST OF ALL THAT ROOF BICTH WHEN ITS ALL DARK AND RED COME👏THE👏H*LL👏ON!!!!!!!!!!

the scene with choerry and hyunjin with the purple blue and green lights........................ Pleasing to My Eyes 👁👄👁

the yellow hallway where chuu and gowon are running together i like yellow-

that big ass hallway where kim lip be walking through hold the fkcu on

where vivi be standing surrounded by red and graffiti my goodness-

THE TRAIN???????? HELLO????????????

i dunno if its like underground parking or whatever but wherever heejin kim lip olivia hye (and i think yeojin??) i hope it was those three with the car and the dancers UUUUUUUUUUM YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THE ENDING SCENE WITH THE FEATHER ARE YOU FKUCING SERIOUS IM-

T H E M

oooooooOOOOOOOOOOHHHH MYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SO FRICKING STUNNING ALL OF THEM!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MORE SPECIFICALLY HEEJIN, KIM LIP, HYUNJIN, YVES, JINSOUL, AND VIVI OH MY FKCUING GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HEEJIN IN THOSE RED PANTS AT THE START, KIM LIP IN ALL RED A BADDIE ON GOD, HYUNJIN IN THAT JOUTFIT™, YVES IN GENERAL, JINSOUL IN ALL BLACK, AND THEN VIVI HERSELF

THEYRE ALL SO PRETTY THO LIKE IM- MY FAVORITE HAS TO BE THE BLACK AND WHITE OUTFITS WHEN THEYRE DANCING ALTOGETHER DONT GET IT TWISTED THO I LOVE EVERYTHING OKAY I CANNOT-

LIKE LOONA DID THAT™ OKAY?!?!?!?!?!?!?! although the song is COMPLETELY different from butterfly PERSONALLY FOR ME it still feels like loona.......................... the Power- did i like it upon first listen??? to be honest not really dont hurt me i wasnt really vibing with it at first mayhaps bc it has a pretty interesting structure??? NOW here i am i could literally still hear that instrumental in my head and im not even listening to the song anymore as i type this section its got a catchy beat some catchy lyrics and its just......................... the F L A V O R

IN CONCLUSION: SAY IM SO BAD ALL YOU WANT BUT YKNOW WHATS NOT BAD? THIS SONG

#im cutting these real close to dcs comeback #thats so c*te of me to do truly #i dont think anyone really cares anymore lmao but this is more FOR ME #loona #not dc #han.txt #han's mv afterthoughts

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moveslikebuckywrites · 4 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Beelzebub & Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens) Characters: Beelzebub (Good Omens), Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Angst, The Fall (Good Omens), Gabriel and Raphael are also there slightly, implied Crowley was Raphael but not necessarily, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), I didn't want to come up with an angel name so their angel name is [Redacted]

Part two of the gift fics! This time for @tieflingbeelzebub (I'll tag that since that’s their Good Omens specific blog)! They wanted some Beelzebub set to Disquiet by Unreqvited, which is a really cool instrumental! So here’s my attempt at a character study on Beelzebub before and directly after the fall!

---

Buzzing.

Such a pleasant sound. The sound of their children.

[Redacted] loved her creations. From the smallest ant to the birdwing moths.

For some, it would be their job to help the plants, to spread the pollen that would let flora multiply and cover the new planet. To sustain the almighty’s new creation with things called ‘fruit’ and ‘vegetables’ and ‘grains’. And it would all be thanks to her children.

Others would be that sustenance, for other beings created by other angels. This made [Redacted] sad, but it was only the circle of life. Their purpose was to feed the smaller beings, which would feed larger beings, who would feed even larger beings, and so on. In this way, things would become balanced. And there at the start, their children.

[Redacted]’s favorite children shone like precious jewels, in all the colors of the universe. They spread bright shimmery wings and sparkled in the sunlight on the new world. They loved them so much, they shed their white feathers in favor of the brilliant oranges and deep blacks of the monarch butterfly. Six translucent amber wings catching the rays of sunlight and casting patterns around them. A tribute to their beautiful children to carry with them always.

Gabriel didn’t like them, but that was Gabriel’s problem. He also didn’t like any of the foods some of the others were creating. Said things were ‘gross’. That never stopped him from hanging around, though [Redacted] wasn’t quite sure why.

As with most days, [Redacted] was tending to the insects in the garden. Their beauties and their children. The sun was setting, and the fading light glimmered in their monarch wings, casting faint orange shadows on the grass around them.

They were singing. To the houseflies and the honeybees, to the hornets and wasps. To the butterflies, moths, and even the tiniest carpenter ants. [Redacted] loved nothing more than to sing to their children, to inspire them to motion, to work, to thrive.

As they were watching the bees learn to dance, marveling at their spins and turns and how the transformed that into a language only bees could speak, they sensed a presence sneaking up on them was not that of the nosy archangel.

“My dear brother, Lucifer,” [Redacted] stood and smiled at the newcomer, “You don’t often visit me in the garden, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Dear [Redacted] my most favorite of siblings,” Lucifer said, holding his arms out wide and welcoming, “Is it not enough to visit you? So rarely seen are you in Heaven anymore.”

“Well, there is much work to be done,” [Redacted] lifted their hand to a low hanging branch allowing a shimmery purple stag beetle to crawl onto their finger, “The Almighty says that my creations will outnumber even the stars in the sky. There will be more of them on Earth than anything else, and they will play one of, if not the most, pivotal roles in how the Earth works.”

“More insects than stars?” Lucifer chuckled, “Don’t let Raphael find out, he might get upset.”

“Oh, I doubt it, his heart is far too kind,” [Redacted] cooed at the little beetle before depositing it back where it came from, “And you are deflecting, what brings you to the garden today?”

Lucifer shifted nervously from foot to foot, “It’s happening tonight, I need to know where you stand.”

[Redacted] froze and turned to face their brother. The butterflies for which they modeled their wings flitted between them as a heavy silence fell in the air.

“Lucifer-“

“You know what I’ve told you, you know it’s true.” Lucifer stared them down, resolution evident in his eyes.

“We have to trust-“

“There is no more trust!” Lucifer exclaimed, grabbing [Redacted] by the shoulders.

“You don’t know that!” they replied, still steadfast. The flight of the butterflies changed, and they flocked to [Redacted], landing on their shoulders, arms, and hair, “You don’t know that.”

“[Redacted] I am begging you, I cannot bear to see you hurt,” he reached out and gingerly ran a finger along one of the butterfly’s wings, “These creations, these humans, the Almighty will favor them, and we will all be cast aside.”

“That is not for us to understand, brother! You know that as well as any!”

“She will not speak to us, won’t give us real answers!” He said, letting go of their shoulders and stalking a few feet away, “Just these continual tasks, one after the other, all for these…for these…creatures!”

“And then that is our purpose!” This path was a dangerous road, [Redacted] was sure. The Almighty had always had reasons, even if those reasons had not always been clear.

“It does not have to be!” Lucifer shouted before taking a few deep breaths and calming back down, “We only want answers, will you stand with us?”

[Redacted] considered this for a moment, noting the trembling in the butterflies perched upon them.

“And what says Raphael?” [Redacted] asked with trepidation.

“He is with me, as you should know,” Lucifer turned back to them, “All our lives it’s been the three of us. I cannot do this without you, [Redacted].”

[Redacted] took a deep breath, “And we are just seeking an audience? To have our questions answered?”

“That is all, my dear sibling,” Lucifer said, extending a hand warmly. Invitingly.

“I see,” [Redacted] said, turning to gaze out to the garden. The bees flitted from flower to flower, the butterflies floated in the air, a mosquito hummed pleasantly in their ear. They were filled with so much love for their children. So much that they thought this must be the way the Almighty felt for Her creations. Their questions would be answered, because God is love and thus loved them in turn, “well then, let us go speak to Her.”

[Redacted] took in the sight of the garden; the sounds and the smells. The sun dipped fully below the horizon, and their beautiful fireflies danced in the air. Tiny starlight flickers, fading in and out. Despite their trust in both Lucifer and Raphael, they could not shake a feeling of foreboding.

They did not know this would be their last day in the garden.

---

The next events happened so quickly, [Redacted] had barely been able to process.

Lucifer, Raphael, and themselves had approached the throne room of the Almighty, seeking audience. Gabriel, Uriel, and Michael had barred them from entry. Raphael had shouted something about just needing to ask questions, and Lucifer had drawn his sword.

The last thing that [Redacted] could remember before plummeting through the clouds was thinking they saw tears in an archangel’s purple eyes.

They had crashed into a pool, blinding heat searing through to their bones. They could feel their face bubble and blister with the burning heat. They could hear one of their brothers screaming nearby, but could not tell which. With a special kind of horror, they realized the creeping burning was working its way down their wings. They screamed in pain, in anguish, and in hatred.

Their Grace was pulled out, tossed aside by the archangels. On the Almighty’s own order, they had said.

[Redacted] fought through the pain and dragged themselves out of the scalding liquid, gasping for breath. They thrashed and spread their wings, screaming again. Their beautiful wings were no longer a brilliant and shimmering orange, but translucent. Almost opalescent, catching the light of the fire in muted purples and blues.

A familiar buzzing followed them. Opening their eyes, they saw the humble houseflies. Lowest of their children, but beloved all the same. It gave them some comfort. They grieved for the loss. The loss of their grace, the loss of their wings, the loss of the garden and their beautiful children.

[Redacted] did not know how long they stayed there, crying and burning, before they sensed another approaching.

“Rise, my dear sibling,” Lucifer, skin burning red like volcanic rock, stood beside them, “we have much work to do.”

“Why,” [Redacted] cried out, “why would She do thizzz!” They shook their head at the buzzing sound that left their throat, words catching on it and dragging it out unprompted, “And why can’t I remember my name?”

“I told you, we are replaceable,” Lucifer said, “We are the fallen now, we have been cast aside, for the simple want of being loved. Our grace is burned out, and our names have been ripped away as well.”

[Redacted] gave up all pretense, burying their face in their hands and crying.

“Shh, my dear sibling,” Lucifer said, “there will be time for grief later, for now, we must plan.”

“Plan for what?” [Redacted] asked, trying to wipe the tears from their eyes

“For our revenge,” Lucifer smiled, his teeth now yellowed and sharp. He extended a hand once again, “Rise, Lord Beelzebub, and take your rightful place by my side.”

As Beelzebub looked around, they saw other angels falling through the heavens. Those who undoubtably took Lucifer’s side after the initial casting. Anger welled inside of them at a God who could profess to love but be this vengeful.

Lord Beelzebub made their decision and took their brother’s hand and with it their place as Prince of Hell.

#good omens #beelzebub #my first time writing something centered on them I hope it's good!#also Lucifer is there #but whatevs #senshi I hope you like this #thank you for being an awesome person! <3

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nellie-elizabeth · 5 years

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Supernatural: Moriah (14x20)

Well then! Yeesh!

Cons:

I wish we could do a bit more to sort out this whole Cas vs. Dean thing. Now that we've got bigger fish to fry for next season, it seems like Dean and Cas' pretty intense disagreement will likely be pushed aside in favor of... you know... surviving the end-times. But maybe I'll be pleasantly surprised, and their relationship drama will continue to be a factor as we enter into the final season of this show.

I really, really like the direction this is going, but I can't help but wonder if there were re-writes once the decision was made that Season Fifteen would be the end. It seems to me that several elements of the story, especially the stuff with Lucifer coming back, wound up being scrapped in favor of the ridiculously awesome reveal that Chuck is our final Big Bad. So while this finale on its own kicked some major ass, there were definitely some elements that didn't add up for me in terms of the buildup from the rest of the season.

Pros:

What a smart episode this was, though. Honestly. Usually the finales of Supernatural have to escalate things to some new extreme height so that we know what's coming in the next season. Oh no, we've started the apocalypse! Oh no, all the angels have fallen from Heaven! Oh no, the Darkness has been released! This season is, in some ways, no exception to that. Apparently, God is the villain. And he's done playing nice. While this might seem like just another classic Supernatural power-creep escalation, it's actually something a little different. And I love it. This is an opportunity to pit early show vs. late show against each other, by bringing back old villains, but letting Sam, Dean, and Cas handle it in the way they've learned to do over their many years of being hunters. It's an opportunity for nostalgia while at the same time a chance to focus on the one and only true central theme of Supernatural: free will. Honestly, this show goes all over the place with its plots and messaging, but at the center of it all, from day one, has been the idea of free will, and I love that we're setting up the final season to be a direct reckoning of that theme.

This episode was also a lot more down-to-earth than some other finales we've got. It's very focused - Jack is out there. Dean wants to kill him. Sam admits that killing him is maybe their only option. Cas is not on board. Three different approaches to one big problem. Meanwhile, Jack is trying to do the right thing without a soul to guide his conscience. And then God is there, and we learn once and for all that he truly does view the Winchesters as a story. That they've been puppets all along, dancing for his amusement. The end. I love that a lot of this episode really was just sitting around talking things out, making plans. It felt real, and grounded, in a way that I really appreciate from this show.

Let's talk Dean and Sam for a minute - I loved the scene when Dean said he was going to take the shot at Jack, effectively killing both Jack and himself. They don't even need to have the full conversation, because they've been there so many times before. And Sam says no - he's not going to be okay with a plan that makes him lose Jack and Dean in one fell swoop. He's lost enough as it is. Dean, who has over the last few seasons grown into a person who actually respects his brother's right to make his own decisions, has been having a bit of a relapse on account of Mary's death. He takes the gun and leaves without telling Sam. It's predictable, and frustrating, and it was easy for me to feel Sam's pain.

I love how angry Dean is, how his tight grip on his control seems to be in constant danger of snapping. He loves Sam, he loves Cas, and he loved Jack, but he can't bring himself to process those emotions in a healthy way right now. He needs to be a man on a mission, otherwise he'll fall apart. Jensen is doing such a great job with this. There's the moment in his conversation with Sam where he talks about the fact that God told them that Jack needed to die, so that's the end of the discussion. It's just so Dean to be such a hypocrite about this. Billie tells him that locking himself in a box is the only way to save the world? Cool. He'll do it. God tells him to kill his foster son? Cool. He'll do it. Because Dean Winchester kind of hates himself. And he definitely hates himself for Mary's death. It's just that in this case, he can kill Jack, the person who he outwardly blames, and himself, the person who he blames for everything, in one fell swoop. Yeesh. Poor Dean.

The moment when Dean shows up to kill Jack, and Cas is there and tells Jack to run? I fucking lost my mind. I am so in love with the way they've positioned Dean and Cas on opposite sides of this debate. These are two men who would die for each other - who have died for each other in fact. And in this moment, they are as opposed as they've ever been. Not since Season Six have we seen Cas and Dean at such odds with one another. There's this delicious tension to knowing that Dean is going to kill Jack at any cost, and Cas is going to stop Dean from killing Jack at any cost, and yet the thought of either of these people doing anything to hurt the other is so ludicrous. This is the stuff good drama is made of.

Then there's Sam Winchester, who easily gets MVP from me for this episode. We've seen, from the very early stages of this show when angels were considered an unrealistic fairy-tale, that Sam has always had faith. Maybe he hasn't quite understood the specifics of his own belief, but he's believed in a higher power and he's believed in the essential goodness of that power. We saw the way he behaved with Chuck when they met the last time. He was worshipful. Dean didn't quite understand it, but Sam... even when Sam was annoyed or frustrated with Chuck, he actually believed in him. So the moment when Sam says "hey, Chuck," and shoots God in the shoulder is honestly just... exquisite.

Sam spends this episode trying to contextualize everything that's been happening to them recently - he blames himself for Mary's death, because he's the one who brought Jack back without a soul. He tries to understand why Chuck hasn't been showing up to help them before now. He tries to explain himself to Dean, to make his brother hear him. He tries to reconcile his love for Jack with what Jack has become. And then he picks up a gun and he shoots God, even knowing he'll hurt or even kill himself to do it. And it's not a brave sacrifice play, or a planned moment - it's done in anger, in desperation, in fear. The realization that Chuck doesn't care about them is the biggest betrayal Sam Winchester has ever faced, and that's saying something, given the life he's lead. It's so hugely important to me that Sam is the one to make this move, and not Dean. It represents a breaking point for his character that I cannot wait to see play out next season.

Obviously I figured that Dean wouldn't really kill Jack, but I admire how much tension they still managed to put into that scene, and how, as Cas says "writers lie." The magic gun doesn't kill Jack; Chuck does that directly once he realizes that Dean isn't going to play the little game he's devised. We get this final shot of Sam, Dean, and Cas all standing back to back, ready to fight against the hoard of returned villains that are closing in on them. Cas has the angel blade, but Sam and Dean are practically unarmed, and Sam is bleeding from a gunshot wound to the shoulder. It's bleak, and on top of it all there's Jack's corpse just sitting there, a reminder of their failure.

We see Jack awaken in the Empty, and Billie seems to have plans for him, so now we've got a Billie vs. Chuck situation, with Jack, Cas, and the Winchesters as potential pawns. I am beyond excited to see how this plays out, and where Team Free Will lands in this battle for their own agency.

Before I finish this review, I want to praise the episode for suggesting the apocalyptic scope of Jack's powers. This show has never managed to really convey the way the whole world is affected by the various apocalypse-y type things that have come up over the years. But here we see that Jack's order to "stop lying" actually throws the whole world into chaos. If Chuck had wanted to see that play out, he would have; it's only his ability to reset things that saves the world. We see how people's inability to lie leads to instant resentments and chaos. It's actually a pretty great trope to explore some inter-character drama, so at first I was a little surprised that Sam and Dean didn't accidentally drop any uncomfortable truth bombs on each other when they both lacked the ability to lie. But then I realized - while Sam and Dean are having a rough time because of Mary right now, they are firmly on each other's sides and fighting to preserve their family at all costs. They actually aren't hiding anything from each other, and they haven't been for quite some time.

As a plus, all of this stuff is actually pretty humorous too - I loved the Celine Dion bit, and Dean going on and on about internet gossip, and the guys fighting about yogurt, the newscaster confessing his love, and the not-so-subtle dig at Trump.

Okay. This review is long, but I think that's allowed, given that it's for a finale. I greatly enjoyed it. I thought the smaller scale and the more character-driven story worked in its favor, and I love that everything from the plot to the framing is placing Castiel on equal footing with Sam and Dean as a protagonist for the finale season. I can't wait to see what we get next year! This time in 2020, I'll be sobbing my eyes out as "Carry On Wayward Son" plays over one last montage... it's going to be a wild ride.

9/10

#review #supernatural #supernatural review #14x20 #spn 14x20 #moriah

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