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dorminchu · 1 month

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The Gentle Hum of Anxiety, Chapter Two

Read Chapter One here!

Notes:

Surprise! Here's another chapter, because I had an Eureka moment with Madeleine's knowledge of the Safin family & Safin pilfering from Madeleine's candy-bowl.

Alone in her apartment, Madeleine cuts the lights and lays in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Five years under the pseudonym 'Swann' rendered moot, just like that. Pulling up roots is always a thankless process, but she'll have to disappear sooner than later. Dye her hair. Pop up in a different country inside of a month. Life will resume its fragile stability, with or without her father's intervention. That's the short-term solution. Its alternative only ever comes true in dreams.

Anyone on a first-name basis with the soon-to-be erased Madeleine Swann is in the crosshairs. Friends kept at arm's distance will speculate for a while on her abrupt disappearance. Emails and cards sent to her last known address have a habit of turning up fruitless. But they will have other people to fill the shallow mould left in her wake. A woman with her credentials and connections can find a job most anywhere.

She rolls onto her back, but doesn't close her eyes. The porcelain mask, safe its carved box, sits on the end-table next to the recorder. She's always been more comfortable away from home. Now she is taking work home with her, just like her father and his endless stacks of bound folders and locked cabinets.

This, of course, is an extreme case, and cannot be counted as a slip of judgement. She cannot stomach the comparison, nor the idea of Lyutsifer Safin invading her office twice, only to take back this icon.

Since she was born, and before that, her father has kept records. Men he'd slain personally or in his stead, crossed, worked for when SPECTRE was operating under the name QUANTUM. She's looked over the files, in between holidays and schooling, enough times to recall a handful of names.

A week after leaving Nittedal, while he was planning her mother's funeral, her father pulled her aside to explain.

The Safin family were chemists, working on Blofeld's payroll up until the fall of the Soviet Union. Sometime in the early 'aughts the family's contract was terminated. Lyutsifer, the sole survivor and inheritor of his father's syndicate, was rendered comatose, hospitalised. The doctors chalked the cause of death up to food poisoning and sealed the case.

Madeleine always has had the feeling there was more to it than that, but as a child, she contented herself in a perpetual state of faux-indifference.

There is no reason to start looking deeper now. She has survived on account of her carefully curated ignorance. It is the only way she can stomach her own reflection.

She sits up. Crosses the room, barefoot. Flicks a switch; the lights snap on. Squinting, she makes her way over to the end-table and opens the drawer. She keeps a notebook and recorder in her desk at the Hoffler Klinik, and one in her flat, for nights such as this. She reaches for the recorder. Clicks it on, listening.

Each time his ragged voice breaks through tinny speakers, she strains to discern his words: "...saving someone's life connects you to them forever, the same as taking it. They belong to you."

The hitman in the mask is a creature without humanity. The man beneath permits less room for a childhood monster's nomenclature, or aggrandisment.

Her thumb pushes the stop button. She takes the pen and writes:

Affected by loss. A chasm left in absence of a family he can never fill.

She resumes the recording. Hits the button before the clatter of the lid causes the audio to peak. To hear her own voice succumb to fear is something she cannot stomach. Not while the shock is fresh.

She writes: Finds amusement at others' expense. Favors control. Eager to instruct me. (foxgloves, memory bo—

Ink slashes across paper.

Madeleine's body shudders on the exhale.

Inhale, hesitance.

Exhale, dragging.

She turns the page. Writes:

Reserved but not passive. Deeply invested in father's work. Exhibits sense of entitlement/ownership exacerbated by personal loss. Pause, to look over what she's written, not because of her unsteady hand. She adds, Memory box — mine? His own?

A man who brought with him the relic of a botched hit. If he would pursue the family into Nittendal, why not track down her father afterwards?

She's never asked, point-blank, if her father had anything to do with what happened that day. Her parents were closer to Madeleine, individually, than they were to each other. Her mother stopped putting up that front after Madeleine was old enough to start walking to school unaccompanied.

It wouldn't be the first time her father put his occupation before the well-being of his progeny. Men like her father, like Lyutsifer, operate on the principle of an eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. Beneath all the pretty words and platitudes are brutes in well-tailored suit jackets. She is unfortunate enough to inherit the aftermath. Unlike her mother, she has no vices with which to control her aside from an empty heart.

It stands to reason, then, that Safin's love for his father could have blinded him to a similar truth. His father put business before family, and it simply caught up to him in the end. Just like maman. In lieu of self-reflection, he has fixated on the girl he spared for seventeen years.

She looks back at what she wrote: Displeased at the idea of returning for following appointment, or at my lack of reaction to the mask? She strikes it out, and writes below it:

Entrenched within his own designs of heroism. The line between vengeance and justice has become irresolute. To enable such a delusion would be to the detriment of his recovery. Unable to determine at this time whether his emotional responses are feigned or stem from cognitive dissonance. Will require further analysis.

Next morning, she gets to her office an hour after the building opens its doors. Most of the other clinicians are genteel to her face. But there's always bound to be speculation about Madeleine’s certifications and clincial, aloof disposition. Twenty four is awfully young to become an MD. In five years, she'll have enough time and money to settle down and less to fret about, or so goes the canned line.

She's done what she can to make her clients feel safe and respected within her office. She's on amiable terms with her coworkers. Shouldn't that be enough?

"You're up late," Sophia says from her desk. "Did you get some sleep?"

Madeleine hums. "Just enough."

"Your first client won't be here for another hour. If you don't take a break every so often you're going to kill yourself."

Hand poised on the knob, Madeleine forces herself to smile. It is not requited. "Idle hands, you know? I really need to get to—"

"—Safin, isn't it?" Madeleine turns the knob, but doesn't push the door open. "He dropped by earlier." Sophia gestures to the desk. "Left you these."

On the desk is a small boquet. White chrysanthemums. Madeleine hadn't noticed. She's passed by Sophia's desk so many times it has simply become part of the background. This is the last thing she intends to discuss, least of all with anyone at work.

If that's asking too much, perhaps it's time to look for a different secretary or hell, a new job. As if it would make a difference. He'll keep doing this until the only place she can run to is an early grave.

She looks at Sophia, busy with her mortage and children going off to university and issues befitting of an easy, uninteresting life. Madeleine has never taken the time to know her more intimately than small-talk. Sophia might sense something is amiss, but never grasp the heart of Doctor Swann's troubles beyond youthful ennui and poor taste in men.

"I see," says Madeleine tartly. "I'll set them in the vase."

Sophia peers at her from the top of the paper. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes. Thank you."

The door closes behind her. Madeleine pitches them in the rubbish bin.

When he steps through the door, his eyes wander to the framed icon. If he thinks anything of it, he doesn't elaborate. He takes a seat. “You look tired.”

Madeleine says, “I’ve had a long day of work.” His eyes fall on the vase, empty. "I'm afraid I am allergic." A verifiable lie. If he is as attentive as he's letting on, she'll soon find out.

Rather than call her bluff, he has the gall to look empathetic. "Do you realize why I have selected you, Dr Swann?"

Her carefully constructed veneer of professionalism falters. She cannot give him an inch. “I do not.”

You resent the very nature of my survival, and what it signifies. If you're seeking to redeem yourself, that is not possible.

"Your mother was buried in Döbling Cemetery, in Vienna. It's a beautiful cemetery." Two divides; anger and terror, freezing her in place. It is as if he has reached across the desk and slapped her. Her eyes well up. She sucks in a slow breath through her nose and exhales, quietly, as he continues: "You stopped sending flowers."

Her mother's resting place, a simple headstone, wedged between others. When her father's lease on the grave in ran out, Madeleine saw no reason to continue ordering flowers. She'd only done it for his sake, not that he had asked her to. He was too pride to admit such a mistake. It would be to acknowledge his own weakness in front of her, something beyond his capabilities.

“These games,” she says, repulsed by the slight catch in her voice, “the mask, these questions. It’s all a little rote, I think.”

Safin frowns. "The flowers I sent have a meaning." He meets her eyes. "A token of grief. Bereavement and comfort."

Perhaps the only way to get to the heart of his affliction is to let him talk. There is no harm in it, while she catches her bearings. She bites her tongue and holds his gaze.

"The first year, purple lilac — mourning — and white clover — think of me. White roses —" a knowing look that makes her want to throw something "— devotion, silence, reverence for the dead. Peonies and stargazer lilies — for sympathy. Blue delphinium for dignity. Statice for remembrance. Last year, blue hydrangeas — regret, a want of forgiveness."

"I was expecting something more drastic than flowers," Madeleine finds her voice. It is cold and carefully polite.

He inclines his head. "There is no need. We already understand one another." His gaze does not avert, the eyes not quite dead. Whatever humanity was once there has been snuffed out and leaves only the darker undercurrent of a sentiment best left unspoken.

"What makes you think I would understand you?"

His mouth curls. Bile in her throat. "Both of us, born into organised crime. Marred by tragedy."

"You're speculating."

"You asked me to explain myself." His eyes fall to the glass bowl, brimming with pink candies. A psychiatrist's inside joke. The average patient that crosses her door will only see the vessel, the candy, no further than the confines of his own mind. This room has been curated with care.

Wetting the pad of his forefinger, he reaches into the bowl. The candy is waxy, a little sweet. The kind of thing that's too boring to eat with any gusto.

A flicker of repulsion, on the cusp of something else she fails to conceal, shifts into rigid comprehension. When he smiles, her stomach twists upon itself.

"I want to ensure," he says, "there is no misunderstanding between us. Thank you for your time."

In his hands, the mask is little more than a tool to inspire fear. She hangs it on her wall as a declaration of war, with a proper frame. It looms over her office wall, the spiderweb cracks in the porcelain giving the right eye a hollowed visage. A constant reminder of what she is undertaking. What she must never become, nor indulge in. She is asked, Where did you get that? myriad times, and Madeleine smiles flatly and says, a gift from a client, and that's the end of it.

a/n: Third time I've rewatched NTtD, and the greater significance of the candy-bowl sailed over my head completely until a commentator (I think it was on youtube or tumblr) pointed out its Freudian shape and, uh, potential for symbolism. After a good deal of snickering (yes, I'm very mature) I stopped to consider. If the idea was to depict Safin's salacious, quietly unhinged fixation with Madeleine (well, more so the power he assumes he has over her), well, I think the screenwriters didn't let him get weird ENOUGH. The fic probably won't go above a heavy-T to light-M, but it certainly flirts on the borderline.

#nttd #no time to die #canon divergent au #lyutsifer safin #madeleine swann #I haven't seen enough brian depalma films to indicate his works as a frame of reference #but things are going to get psychosexual and fucked up! >:D

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riality-check · 1 year

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[carefully sticks a ⭐ on what's in a name, dots and dashes, and like one of the girls] [thinks for a moment] [sticks one more on smin] I am a cozy blanket bundle, please talk to me about your stuff! <3

omg i'm so excited to talk about all of these (and i'm sticking a read more on this post because it's going to be long as hell)

what's in a name, anyway?

Nancy meets his parents about six months in. The whole time, during that catered dinner, his parents call him "Steven." His father asks him about basketball - he never went to his games - and why he wasn't captain yet. His mother made vague references to staying out of trouble, Steven James.

She watches Steve shrink before her eyes. Watches him become something small, so unlike “The Hair” and “King” and the boyfriend she knows.

Nancy isn't sure what to do, and she hates uncertainty more than anything. When they're alone, she tries for a joke about how much she hates when her mother yells "Nancy Grace" across the house.

It's not the same. They both know it. Steve laughs anyway.

Months later, when they're at that Halloween party and Nancy is too drunk to see straight, she calls him "bullshit" but makes sure "Steven" never leaves her mouth.

(She’s angry and scared and a lot of other things, but she doesn’t ever want to see Steve that small again.)

I love writing Nancy's POV so much. Seeing Steve through her eyes was so much fun and such a challenge since I had to go back to who Nancy was during seasons 1 and 2. The "calls him 'bullshit' but makes sure 'Steven' never leaves her mouth" line is probably one of the best I've written.

dots and dashes

Steve yanks himself out of his thoughts and back to the present, where he’s standing at the front desk of Family Video on an exceptionally dead Monday.

Dead, except for one Dustin Henderson.

“I’ve told him no five times, but apparently he only listens to you,” Robin complains.

“Bold of you to assume I listen to Steve,” Dustin shoots back.

“He doesn’t,” Steve tells Robin. “He only listens to me when there’s a crisis, and even then, I have to fight him on it.”

Dustin looks too proud of himself.

“It’s not a compliment, shithead. What has she told you no about?”

This interaction was so spontaneous as I wrote it, and I got so many wonderful comments about how in character it is! So, I'm really proud of it, and I'm laughing as I reread it.

like one of the girls

“No one else is like me, Stevie.”

“I know. It’s why you’re the best I’ve ever had.”

And before Eddie can respond, Steve is out like a goddamn light.

That’s fine. Eddie reaches over and turns out the light before he snuggles right back up to Steve. He’s gonna have to do laundry tomorrow, and he has a long-ass shift at Thatcher, but that’s all fine. All of it can wait.

This moment, right now, head resting on Steve’s chest and arms wrapped around him, is all that matters.

This moment, and the certain knowledge that Eddie is it for Steve. Because for a long time, probably longer than he’s realized, Steve has been it for Eddie, too.

And Eddie falls asleep with the thought that none of those girls, however many there were, have ever had that from Steve.

It took me forever to figure out how to end this fic. It started out as a drabble in my notes app with a vague concept of Steve taking the reins, and it turned into a fic that made one of my friends ask "why is there bowling in the porn." I'm really proud of how soft and sweet this fic ends, and I love its placement in my series.

slay monsters, if needed

But it’s not like she wouldn’t do it. Nancy might be a bitch, has known that since she was eight and got called it to her face for the first time, but she’ll always help people, especially when she’s the only one who can do it.

Live, love, Nancy Wheeler. I love writing her so much, and everything about her in SMIN has just been such a fun thing to do.

I see so much of myself in her it's scary. The bitch line is actually from my own life (it didn't bother me then - I didn't tell anyone because I didn't care. My friend brought it to a teacher - and it certainly doesn't bother me now.)

ask me more questions about my fics!!

#thanks so much for asking!!#asked and answered #mira-jadeamethyst #fic director's cut #smin #like one of the girls #dots and dashes #what's in a name anyway?#steve harrington #eddie munson #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #dustin henderson

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kadhis-stuff · 3 years

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You can’t keep a secret forever

Summary: How is a woman supposed to tell her husband, who has been married to her for almost 7 years now, that she can read minds? That she has been able to since the first moment they met?

This is a gift for @nonokoko13! (AO3 link). I hope you enjoy it! Here’s my little contribution to the Damianya part of the fandom :)

Anya’s unstoppable right foot shook so hard that the dining table moved to her tune, causing a metallic sound from the table legs hitting the floor. Her hands joined forming a fist that was holding her chin. She was staring at the ceiling of her house, looking for some inspiration on what to do. As if the ceiling tiles were an almighty god with all the answers willing to share with mere mortals.

Anya was concerned. A concerned 26-year-old woman. A concern police officer in these peaceful times. She never told anyone about this. Not even her parents. It was an intrinsic part of herself. It grew to be normal on her. Part of what defines what Anya Forger-Desmond is.

How is a woman supposed to tell her husband, who has been married to her for almost 7 years now, that she can read minds? That she has been able to since the first moment they met?

What people has always said about her is that she is a very perceptive person. And as the years went by, she got better at hiding it. No one has been able to hide a secret from her for long. And that is something that, today, was making Damian miserable.

Damian decided that this year was going to be the year. He will blow her mind with the most astonishing surprise ever. He will prove to her that he still has it, after all these years of marriage. For her to remember the feeling of being on the lookout and not knowing what to expect. The knowledge of something coming her way without a clue of what might that be.

Two things were wrong with Damian’s assumptions. First, he has never, ever, surprised her. Not on purpose at least, not by planning something out. He shouldn’t need to prove that he still has anything in that regard. And secondly, she doesn’t know how it feels to be non-puzzled because people usually think about the surprises while they are being planned or revealed. She hasn’t figure it out a way to put a spoiler alert tag on people, so she just deals with it.

Why was Damian getting so frustrated about this lately?

The worst part is that his poker face is too good. There are times in which she knows what Damian is truly thinking just because she can read his mind. Instead, she is an open book.

Faking surprise? Yeah, that has never worked out for her before.

After faking a face, she is always hit by the thoughts “Oh, she saw it coming” “She knew about it” “Surely Becky told her” “Surely Damian told her” “Am I this bad at lying?”

His husband was feeling insecure and he did not tell her, she knows it because she is able to read. His. Mind.

What to do? What to do?

She growled at the ceiling tiles.

She truly thought she was going to be able to take this secret to her tomb. She never told Mama and Papa, and the only one that -probably- knew it, was Bond.

She took a sip of the hot chocolate she prepared to help herself think. Why did she decide to keep it a secret from them all these years?

Right. That night. When she was just an 8-year-old.

~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V

She had the popcorn’s bowl in her lap. Mama was on her right, watching the movie. Papa was on her left, reading a book. Bond was lying in front of her, eyes closed, unfazed by the fighting sounds coming from the TV. It was the latest Spy Wars movie. One of the bad guys had the ability to read minds with a machine.

Loid and Yor already knew about each other secret lives and after a bit dramatic fight, they accepted each other identities and decided to live together after all. Which made possible for Anya to live a real life with them. And she was pondering the possibility to tell them. To also come clean of secrets. For them to be the first people in her life to know. So, she gathered courage, her hands forming fists and asked with the most casual tone she could gathered “Isn’t that cool?”

“What, Anya?” Asked Yor cocking her head with closed eyes and her always gentle smile, who was paying attention to the movie.

“Being able to read minds”. No, she cannot do it. Oh shit, she was already doing it. Panic. She ate a handful of popcorn at once. Swallowed it quickly to continue. “What do you think about that?”

Loid was the first to reply, in his detached matter-of-fact way of speaking, so serious and yet so smooth “Well, even if it is certainly an advantage it might be dangerous. It seems that the machine could blow out at any minute now”

Not the answer she was hoping. Anya wanted to divert the attention from the movie. Was Papa even paying attention to it? He was supposed to be reading. “But think about it in real life” she took her mother’s hand. She wanted to ask ‘what if I was the one reading minds’ but she was too scared to hear the answer, so she said the next thing she thought about. “What if mama were able to read our minds all the time?”

“M-Me?” A soft pink colored her cheeks, and she gave it a thought. “It could be a little tiring I guess, not being able to focus on my own mind because everybody is thinking around me”

That was an accurate way to describe it. Although Anya was getting better at handling it.

“It will probably be weird for the people around her.” Her father got her attention in a second, now we were talking. “I wouldn’t be able to look Yor in the eyes the same way again.”

“Why?” And her voice was probably a pitch higher than before.

“If a person can read your mind, they will know you better than anyone else. They will know what you think even if it is not what you chose to say, so they will not only know the person you want to be or the one you are trying to become, but they will know the true you. And that is something terrifying somehow. Not all people will be able to handle that.”

“Will you get away from mama if she was able to read minds?”

“No, I don’t have secrets from Mama anyway”

But Anya could read minds. And she knew what Loid’s real answer was. She still tried one more time.

“And you Mama, will you stay with Papa even if he was able to read your mind?”

“Of course, sweetheart”

But the devasting truth was that both were terrified of the idea. And although they didn’t directly think “yes, I will leave”, they both imagined multiple situations in which they would rather die from shame than letting the counterpart know their deepest secrets.

“I see” was all that Anya was able to say, while shrinking more into the couch.

“Why are you making that face Anya?” Yor asked, hugging her shoulders with one hand. “Nobody is able to read minds, so you don’t need to worry about it”.

But she did worry about it. Because at the short age of eight, she swore to herself to never reveal her deepest secret to anyone. It was something bad. It was something to be ashamed of. Anya would rather die than letting anybody know about it and let them treat her differently because of it.

~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V

But here she was. Pondering her options. Because maybe the truth was what Damian needed right now. Maybe he could be the first. Maybe she could trust him to not destroy her feelings with utter rejection.

Two weeks ago, Becky invited her for lunch and, as usual, she was telling her about the latest sweetheart she was dating. The conversation ended up shifting to Damian and Anya’s long-term relationship. This year they were going to celebrate the 7 years anniversary.

“There’s a saying, you know?” said Becky casually, taking the dessert spoon when the waiter brought her ‘Golden Opulence’ sundae. “If a marriage remains together after seven years, they will be together forever.”

“Non-sense, there wouldn’t be divorces after 10 years then.”

“I mean it, Anya. It’s called The Seven Year Itch”

Anya rolled her eyes and started to eat her own dessert. “And what’s supposed to happen on the 7th year?”

“Monotony. Love ends. People get bored. They feel like the compatibility is no longer there. That the other person just ‘don’t get it’ anymore.”

The last part caught Anya’s attention. Why was that ringing a bell on her head?

And then she remembered all the times along the year that Damian tried to do different things for her, which all ended up in a frustrated husband.

Could Damian fear they were not compatible anymore?

Anya face twisted like an open book to Becky.

“How is it going with Damian, Anya?” She had concern in her eyes. And Anya knew it was real concern. Becky took her hand over the table “Everything ok at home?”

“Yeah,” she tried to dismiss it with a smile “everything is fine”

But hey, she was friends with Becky for over 20 years now. And Anya did not really know how to lie to save her life.

Becky insisted.

“Okay, well, there might be something” twirling her fingers in rounds, looking to the ground pouting, Anya mumbled indescribable words to Becky before finally saying it: “I think Damian is a bit concern about the fact that he can’t surprise me”

“Nobody can surprise you. You are too good at reading people. And a terrible liar.”

“And he has known about it for years now!” Yes Becky, agree with her. It was not her fault. It was not her fault. “It shouldn’t be that big of a deal, right?”

“Then why do you think he is concerned about that?” Becky was confused.

Because she knew.

A couple days back, Damian got up earlier to cook her favorite breakfast and took it to her bed. But Anya knew that it was going to happen before hand because he bought and hid the ingredients the day before, so she did her best sleepy surprised expression and started to eat.

Damian’s thoughts were loud in his head “Loser. I cannot even surprise her when she is half asleep. Nothing works”

But he did not tell her that, instead, he kissed her forehead and walk out of the room with the excuse of meeting his brother early that day. Lie. He just wanted to be out of there. Away from her.

Anya replied: “He told me he feels bad because he can’t surprise me, I just want him to know that it is not his fault”

“Well, there’s a limit on how perceptive a person can be. I had surprise you before. It’s hard, yes, but possible. It might be kind of his fault” Actually, Becky surprised her on a moonless night.

“It is not” Anya hit her head into the table with a defeated expression on her face “I need him to understand that”.

She can only get surprised on moonless days. But how to explain it without telling the truth?

And here she was.

Thinking.

Considering.

Pondering.

Did it worth the risk?

She was so deeply scared about how hard she wanted to tell him. How hard she wanted to trust him. To believe he will love her no matter what. She has known Damian since he was 6 years old. She knows how good or bad he can be. The deepest secrets of his heart. What makes him happy even if he has never openly said so. There is no human being that she knows better than him.

Damian was certainly going to panic.

But will he overcome it? Accept it?

She was so scared that she picked today, a moonless day, to do so. She wasn’t strong enough to hear the rejection coming from him. Her heart wouldn’t handle it. No matter if he later thinks twice about it and accept it. She couldn’t stand the idea of hearing him fear her.

She heard the doorknob opening and her mind went blank, her back ran cold and her hands got sweaty. Was it right? Would it help him to know? Would it make it worst? She doesn’t know.

“I’m home”

He immediately noticed the distressed on his wife. “Is everything alright?”

“No” elbows on the table, she just holds her forehead with her fists. Eyes closed “Can you please take a sit? We need to talk”.

Damian did as requested, showing a hint of concern in his face.

Although a part of Anya appreciated the silence for her to gather her thoughts in order, the other part wanted to peek into Damian’s head and see what he was thinking.

“I know you have been mad a lot lately”.

She looked at him right in the eyes. It seemed to take him aback.

“Me? Mad? About what?” He deviated his gaze quickly, as if looking for a better answer. He was also a terrible liar, somehow.

“About the fact that you can’t surprise me”

Damian’s eyes turned sad, avoiding her gaze he just stared at the table. “Am I that much of an open book to you?”

“No- Yes. Err, something like that”

Still avoiding her gaze, he moved his eyes to the window next to them. “I’m sorry for not being able to do the same for you”

She took his hand over the table; he was still refusing to look at her.

“Damian, please look at me”

She squeezed his hand. He finally did.

“There’s something important I need to tell you. It might sound crazy, but it is the truth. And I’m terrified of telling you. Nobody” and she repeated the word with all the emphasis she could gathered in her voice “Nobody, knows about this. It is my most guarded secret and I swore to myself that I will take it to my tomb”

That got Damian’s attention. Momentarily forgetting how shitty of a husband he was feeling lately.

“I love you, Damian. And I trust you” she was scared. So scared that Damian’s hand was wet with her sweat now. “And I will tell you”

This is it. She will say it. Her heart was beating faster than ever. She was going to reveal her deepest secret.

“The reason why neither you nor anyone can’t surprise me is because…”

Silence. She bits her lip. She cannot face him. She stops to stare at his eyes and lowers her gaze.

“Because…”

Damian squeezes her hand softly this time, encouraging her to talk.

She sighs. Shuts her eyes harder. Takes a big breath and hold it for a couple seconds, until finally releasing it, talking as fast as she could “BecauseICanReadMinds”

Damian asks her to repeat herself, slowly this time.

“Because I can… read minds”

Of course, Damian doesn’t believe it. He drops her hand and stand up from the table. So much mystery and expectation for a joke. He was truly feeling bad about it and Anya wanted to do one of the weird jokes in an honestly bad time.

Damian was feeling insecure. He heard about the Seven Year Itch at work early that year. And he realized that without space for doubts Anya was the person that knew the most about him. But did he know about her the same way? Did he pay enough attention? And what about the relationship? Was he getting monotonous? Will Anya look for other men that can provide her the excitement she so dearly appreciates in her life? How much can she stand his own inaptitude?

So yeah, Damian is pretty pissed off. He gives her his back and walks towards the bedroom for some cooling off time.

“I’m telling the truth!” he hears her say.

He stops on his track and looks at her sideways. “Yeah? What am I thinking right now?”

She feels like stabbed. She didn’t think he was going to assume it was a lie. She was worried about a bunch of other scenarios. “I don’t know! It doesn’t work on days without moon!”

“How convenient. Should I assume today is a New Moon day?”

Damian was already reaching the shared bedroom when Anya took his hand to stop him. Once he entered the room, he was going to shut the door and keep her out for a couple hours until to cool down. He always did it when he was truly pissed off. She knows it and doesn’t want to let him do it. Because once he cools off, she could get cold feet and now that she has resolved to tell him, she did not want to brush it off as a joke or something like that.

“Damian, look at my eyes”

He ignored her.

She took his head with one hand and made him face her. “Look at me”

He finally did.

“I’m telling you the truth. I am adopted. People did things to me when I was a kid, in a lab. I can read minds since I am 3 years old. I had read your mind since the first time I met you. Every day. Except on days when there’s no moon in the sky”

And Damian does know something about his wife. She cannot lie to him to save his life. That is why even if she has tried to act surprised for years, he has always known when she was faking it. He thought it was because she pitied him. He was bad at surprises, and because he couldn’t properly catch her off guard, she fakes it. What Anya was just saying…? Could it be true?

“Why are you telling me this on the day you can’t prove it?”

“Because I’m terrified on what you might be thinking about me.” After saying that, she broke the eye contact with him “I do not want to hear your rejection.” She lets his hand loose “I might still hear it tomorrow, because you can’t trick your own thoughts. I will know the truth. But I couldn’t do it today.”

Damian knows with certainty; he does love his wife. He has loved her for many years now and undoubted he will do it for many years to come. He could not stand watching her like this. It broke his heart. He holds her in a tight hug.

The moment he hugged her Anya started to cry. He spoke softly into her ear “What you are telling me right now is so nonsensical, absurd. Crazy. But I want you to know that no matter what, I love you. And I won’t reject you even if you were an alien from another planet”

Her shuddering sobs started to calm down “Even if I came from Pluto? It is not a planet.”

“Even then, Anya”

She holds him tight “I am sorry”

“About what”

“Being unable to fake my surprise face and making you sad about it”

He removed a tear from her cheek before placing a small kiss on her lips “I preferred it that way. That makes me enjoy more when I see you genuinely surprised. Maybe that’s why I try so hard.”

They stood there for a while, in a comfortable silent hug.

“So how does it work?” He asked.

“Well, I can hear what you think in front of me. If I concentrate enough, I can hear a specific person several feet away”

“Can you know something about a person that is not actively thinking it in that moment?”

“Like look into a person’s memories?”

“Yeah”

“No, I can’t. Just what they are thinking at that time.”

“I see”

Silence again.

Damian broke it, again. Flustered this time “So you have been able to read my mind all this time?”

“Yes”

“W-were you able to read it when I was thinking of kissing you for the first time?”

“Every time until you finally did it” She laughs.

Damian was full red-faced at this point “Did you also read it on Becky’s 18th birthday party?”

Anya’s cheeks dyed pink at the memory “Y-Yeah”

This time Damian covered his face with both of his hands. “Did you read it on our wedding?”

“No” That got him out of the ashamed-zone for a second.

“Why?”

“I ensure it was on a moonless day. I didn’t want to get myself overwhelmed by all the guest’s thoughts on such special day”

Silence.

“That makes sense”

“Yeah”

More silence.

“So, you can’t read them today even if you try hard?”

“Not a single word”

He nods with his head.

“I think I get it”

“Are you not like… feeling weird?”

“Yes, I am”

“… Would you have preferred for me to not tell you never about this?”

He denied with his head “Thank you for telling me, it must have been hard”

“Not even my parents know”

“Really?”

“Really”

Anya didn’t need to read his head to know that he was feeling pretty cocky about it. It was painted all over his face.

More silence.

Out of the blue, Damian started to laugh. He brushed his hair with his fingers and looked at her with sparkles in his eyes.

“I swear I will surprise you this Christmas”

She laughs.

“And how are you going to do that?”

“Now that I know how you do it, I will train myself from here to December. I will need your help, though”

“I will gladly help”

She smiled.

“I love you”

He smiled.

“I love you too”

She figured it out it was okay to tell him the other secret not even her parents knew. If we are coming clean, we are coming clean about everything.

“You know… I am also two years younger. I lied about my age for my papa to adopt me.”

Damian thought about it for several minutes. Face full red again once he talked.

“Y-You were sixteen on Becky’s party!?”

~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V

After that day back in August, they set up a calendar on the fridge door marking the moonless days. The day after “the talk”, Damian spent all morning having a talk to her. Or more like, keeping his mouth shut while she was keeping the conversation out loud with Damian playing with the fact that he can hold a conversation with her without pronouncing a single word.

It had been fun, somehow, watching Damian adapt to his new life over the months.

He soon realized Anya probably knew about all the people he had wanted to kill at some point. She also knew when he thinks about another woman being pretty. She totally knew when he lied to her about enjoying some new food she cooked. She knew when he was being mean with people in his head without reason.

He sometimes forgets and still lies to her. Then, he gets self-conscious about the fact she already knows the truth and apologize for lying.

He has also caught her off guard and surprised her already a couple times. The trick is to think about literally anything else near her and plan the surprises when she is not close by. A bit more difficult, but definitely more gratifying.

She knew all the good and all the bad that was in his mind, and after seeing everything she still loved him. She has always known, since he was a child, and after all this time she was not only still his friend but accept him as a partner to spend her life with.

How can he ever have doubts about her feelings again? How if she already knew everything about him and accepted him as he is?

Is it fair to be blessed in this life with the sincere and absolute love of a person that truly knows you?

For Anya, the feeling was mutual. The first weeks she cried of happiness almost every day. Damian didn’t leave her. He accepted it. Looked for ways to make it work. Embraced it as a challenge to surpass together. As a team.

~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V~V

On the Christmas day Anya woke up with an alarm’s sound coming from Damian’s side of the bed. She tried to move him to shut it off, but she just found an empty space next to her. A note left in his pillow. She opened her eyes and started to read it with a sleepy face, after shutting the damn thing off.

“Anya,

I’m sorry I was not there to kiss you a good morning today. I needed the alarm so you could eat your breakfast while it was still hot. Please get out of the bed and go to the kitchen. There’s a surprise waiting for you there”

Anya’s smile was big in her face. What? She was enjoying the fact that she had zero clues about this.

She didn’t put shoes on and went out of the bedroom in a second, to the kitchen. The first thing she noticed in the hallway was the strong smell of roses.

The image that welcomed her left her speechless. There were fresh flowers everywhere and in her seat of the dining table there was a full set of plates and another note.

“There is fruit, fresh baked croissants, fried eggs and bacon. Plenty of orange juice and a big peanut can. You can either finish the peanuts after breakfast or carry them with you along the day for a snack. And because I didn’t want you to eat in silence, please go to take the TV remote and turn it on.”

She took a bite of one of the croissants and did as commanded. A video of recaps of their wedding day played with Bryan Adams’ “I do it for you” acoustic version playing in the background. After certain pictures there was a message.

The first photo in the video was one of Anya entering the church. “The moment I saw you step into the hallway, I cried”. The next one, was a photo of Damian crying in his suit. “Because the only thing that was crossing my mind was that I was the luckiest man in the world. You looked like an angel. The most stunning woman was walking in my direction, to declare to myself and the world that she willingly will spend all her life next to me. You continuously make me the best version of myself, Anya”. A third photo: Anya signing the official documents. “Or that’s what I would probably have been thinking if my brain hasn’t done shortcut at that moment”. The next photo that flashes across the screen was one of both exiting the church holding each other hand. “I swear to you I couldn’t think of anything. My mind was a loop of ‘wow’ until the priest started talking and I then I was forced to focus to remember my vows”.

Anya was shaking. A couple tears were rolling down her cheeks. She got pretty emotional watching the video. Several pictures of the party followed without any more messages until the end of the video. She finished the breakfast and took the peanuts can. A message showed up on the TV: “I know the bed is tempting on a Christmas day without responsibilities. But please go and get yourself ready. It is a sunny beautiful day, what about a walk in the park? Make sure to wear comfortable shoes.”

She went back to the bedroom, took a quick shower and got a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt and her favorite sneakers. On top of them, another note.

“I knew you would pick these ones. They are old Anya, let me give you new ones with the same color and style. Your refusal is non-negotiable this time around.”

Anya laughed, no. She will keep them until they are torn, and her toes shows at the front. What is a little worn shoe sole and colorless sections? She loves those shoes. He gave them to her a few years back, when she broke a heel in a night outgoing and the only opened store only sold sneakers. The note continuous

“A boy selling newspapers will be waiting for you in the park. He’s wearing a red t-shirt”

So, to the park it is.

It was a sunny day indeed. A lot of people with the day off were having a blast with their families, kids playing with dogs, old people playing chest, fathers and mothers teaching her kids how to use a bicycle for the first time. She wanted to be reunited with her family too.

It was easy to find the boy. He was so nervous that his thoughts were louder than the people around him “Pink haired woman, give it only to a pink haired woman that uses old shoes. Pink haired woman.”

“Hello there, are you the newspaper boy I’m looking for?”

He took a quick glance at her shoes and then cleared his throat looking for a newspaper in his bag. “They told me the job-hunting section was filled with important information, agent Peanut.”

Anya smiled. So that is what this is about. “Thank you, have a good day.”

While she was getting away to search for a free bench to sit on, she heard the thoughts of the boy running in the opposite direction “I need to tell the man I already did it”

She opened the newspaper, there was a pen marking the start of the section the boy mentioned. She read over the lines carefully until she noticed the pattern. The same they used in episode 703 of “Spy Wars”. The secret code was easy to decipher. Each line had two dots marking each one a letter. The letter that was in the middle of the two marked ones was the one she needs to mark in a circle. And reading it from bottom to top, she will get the message.

“Train station. 53. Seat 9A.”

Anya closed the newspaper and run towards the train station. Laughing her heart out. Such a fun morning. What was Damian planning to do?! She opened the peanuts can that brought with her and eat a few “Crazy man.”

She found out the train she was supposed to take was going to the city borders. In the seat 9A there was an envelope. She opened it.

“Agent Peanut, we have captured your husband. We will torture him until he reveals your deepest secrets. Do not even try to come to the old peanut’s abandoned factory outside the city where we have our secret liar. Coordinates: 51.08342, 10.423447”

The envelope also had the ticket for the ride. Anya rolled her eyes. Damian loved to make fun of the fact that the villain always gave its secret liar address to the good guys as if screaming “go and get me if you dare”. It was never this painfully obvious in the show. Except on episode 113, the one about ‘Bad-Man and the pâtissier heist’.

The train was already in movement when she heard a voice. “Ticket, please?”

She stared at the man and could hear his thoughts “Pink hair, green eyes”. “Are you Miss Peanut?”

A light blushed enlighten her face. It was ok for the newspaper boy to say it but having a fellow adult calling her that was a bit shameful “Yes”

The man took a backpack from the compartments above her seat. “This is for you”

The man left after marking her ticket, leaving her alone to explore the inside of the backpack. She covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh my god”

There were a couple toy guns with 30 bullets each. A belt to hold them. A water bottle, a black t-shirt, cap and sunglasses. There was also another envelope.

“Hey, don’t you dare abandon me.”

A quick sketch of a Damian tied to a chair saying ‘help’ was on the upper right corner of the paper.

Anya bit her lower lip and whispered the answer to herself: “Never”

She was able to change her clothes before reaching the destination. From the station, it was just a 15 minutes’ walk.

Her heart was beating fast. This was exciting. Damian was giving her surprise after surprise and she was loving it. It wasn’t even a moonless day. How come he did not think about this the previous days? He (his mind) usually won’t shut up whenever there’s a big surprise coming. Now that he knows she can read minds; did he take extra precautions? He on purpose force himself to think about everything but this? He was literally thinking about the Christmas lunch and where to go. Planning dinner with her parents. Was it a trick? Or will they go after this? What is it? She took some things for granted today and thought about the surprise being a gift in a box that she’ll open in the family dinner. This was a thousand times better.

She finally reached her destination. A bunch of voices caught her attention.

“Mister Damian is too sweet” Was one of the female voices.

“At least I’m getting paid twice for working on Christmas” another voice.

“I hope Anya doesn’t get hurt” A third one.

“I should have gotten a bigger breakfast this morning” A fourth one.

How much people did Damian had there?

But suddenly, a voice shut out: “Enemy on sight, enemy on sight!”

An alarm started to ring, and Anya’s heart felt like to explode from the adrenaline.

“Don’t let her go to the second floor!”

So that is where she was supposed to go.

Anya entered through an open window and suddenly a lot of gas started to fill the warehouse. Anya saw that the people inside was armed with the same guns she had in the backpack. She took one from the belt and started to shoot. The people she was shooting started to fall and ‘die’. She ran across the people in the middle of the smoke to the stairs when a big guy was waiting for her like a wall.

Anya was a 26-year-old police officer. She was mildly offended that there was only one guy. She easily passed through him and reached the second floor.

Fifteen-armed (with toys) people were waiting for her. Damian was tied in a chair with a smirk in his beautiful face, thinking for her mind only: “Are you going to rescue me or what?”

But the biggest surprise of all was the villain.

“Uncle Yuri?”

“Oh! You have finally find my liar, Agent Peanut!” he ignored her question, getting full in character “But you are late, your husband refused to give us information, so he is useless now. I have decided that he is going to die in 5 minutes!” A bomb with a clock was chained to Damian’s chest.

“I won’t let you!” She was full on combat mode now. Following the game. “Leave my husband alone! This is between you and me!”

“Soldiers, kill her!”

But Anya was too good. She didn’t stop laughing while fighting with the people they hired for this. When she was finally done with the ‘guards’ she faced her uncle: “Now it is your turn!”

“You think you can take me down in 4 minutes and a half? Keep dreaming! You’ll face your end at the hands of – he sighed and though “I can believe I’m going to say this but agh, whatever” - Bad-Man!” She was 100% sure they stopped the clock for dramatic purposes. Also Uncle Yuri performance, top notch!

Anya run to her uncle and kick him with all her might. He easily blocked it with his hand.

A bunch of kicks and fist fighting followed. Yuri was enjoying it as much as Anya. They trained together many years ago, but after Anya grew up and become a member of the police department, they stopped to have the sessions. There was no particular reason for it, they just didn’t have the time anymore.

So being here fighting each other was like a jump back in time. And Yuri’s eyes get a little bit to shiny and his smile was a bit too big while defending up from her attacks.

Finally, Yuri fell with a dramatic scream when Anya shot him in the chest with the toy gun. (it probably hurt, though. She was mere inches away from him).

There is no way in hell that the fight took less than 10 minutes. But when she run towards Damian the clock has a minute left before the explosion.

She took the tape out of his mouth and dramatically kissed him. “Are you alright?”

“Hurry Anya! The bomb is going to explode any second now!”

“What is the key?”

There was a circular padlock holding the timer. Anya looked around her and run to Yuri’s pockets. Empty.

“Have you seen something that circular today?” Damian asked her.

She tried to read his mind, but all she found was “I won’t tell you. I won’t tell you. I won’t tell you” repeated as a mantra.

35 seconds.

Think Anya, think.

And then it hit her. She opened the backpack and took the peanut can. Could it be?

She pushed the can against the padlock and the timer stopped.

She beamed at Damian with a smile in her face “Take that!”

He was, however, staring at her with a loving gaze “You did it wonderfully”.

She then released him from the chains and hugged him. “I love you so much”

He replied to her with a thought in his head: “No more than how much I love you, Anya. Merry Christmas”

“You, big dork” was all she could say in a voice faltering with love.

“That hurts, Peanut” Yuri’s voice was behind her “No hugs for the boxing bag you just defeat and keep ignoring?”

She turned around and hugged her uncle without saying a word. She then removed a couple traitor tears that escape her eyes. “So, what’s next?”

“The helicopter is waiting for us behind the building.”

“Helicopter?”

“I just wanted you to live the full experience” was her husband reply.

She intertwined his fingers on hers “Thank you for today”

But there was a final surprise.

Damian’s sweet smile was not showing all the embarrassingly intense passionate thoughts he suddenly sent her way about the plans for the rest of the day and night. Anya’s face grew red in an instant. One of the downsides of the new discovered power was that Damian enjoyed making her blush on public. His smile shift to a cocky one once he saw his wife reaction.

“Did you really though my plans ended up after lunch? It is as if you don’t know me at all”

“Well… I do have the rest of my life to do that”

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

Hope you like it! Happy holidays!

#damianya #aged-up #spyxfamily #spy x family #sneaky santa exchange #anya forger #damian desmond #my writing

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castiel-kline · 3 years

Text

happy birthday @angelfishofthelord !!!

here’s Cas being Old and talking about dinosaurs to hopefully make you smile <3

---

“Hey, there you are!”

Castiel is tucked in a corner of the library when Dean’s voice startles him out of the book he’s reading. He stands up, a million things that could have gone wrong racing through his imagination at top speed.

“Dean. Is everything alright?”

He waves a hand in dismissal. “Yeah, no worries. Me, Sam and Jack are gonna watch Jurassic Park. You wanna join us?”

Castiel wrinkles his nose. He’s seen stills from that movie, and those plus the references Dean has made to it over the years make it sound like an inaccuracy-riddled insult to the beautiful creatures he once watched over.

But Cas has never been one to refuse time with his family, so he follows Dean through the bunker’s halls and takes a seat next to Jack on the sofa.

Sam passes him a bowl of popcorn.

“You made it!” he says, looking uncharacteristically relaxed. It’s… nice.

“Of course,” Castiel says, passing the popcorn to Jack’s eager hands and returning the boy’s smile. He’ll enjoy it more than Cas will. He cares much more about the people than the snacks or the film, anyway.

He takes in Sam’s easy smile again, and the calm in Dean’s posture where he stands preparing the DVD. Even Jack looks toward the blank television screen in excited anticipation, despite having learned by now not to trust Dean’s taste in cinema. Jack much preferred getting to explore films on his own, and Castiel was always thrilled to be included in his late night Netflix adventures.

He clears his throat, unsure why he’s so nervous. He does like dinosaurs, after all. “So… you like this movie, right?”

“Hell yeah we do,” Dean says. “Sam and I watched it in theaters when it first came out. He wouldn’t shut up about velociraptors for months.”

“I was ten,” Sam protests, pink creeping across his cheeks. “Besides, it wasn’t even velociraptors. It was... dilophosaurus.” He’d trailed off into a barely audible mumble in his embarrassment, but it was still loud enough for Dean to hear.

“Oh, that’s right!” he laughs, eyes alight with the delighted gleam of a sibling collecting ammunition to tease with. “He’d sit in the library for hours searching for any mention of the damn thing. I always said he’d be better off with a T. Rex obsession like a normal kid, but no-o.”

Castiel leans over, nodding in Sam’s direction. “Well, I think dilophosaurus is a very good choice of favorite dinosaur.”

Sam looks surprised, and Jack, who’d been watching the conversation like a tennis match, looks to Cas directly.

“You know about dinosaurs?”

Castiel frowns, confused. “Yeah, of course I do.”

They’re cut off by Dean, who keeps talking as he’s sitting down on Jack’s other side with the remote control.

“Could’ve sworn we watched this one with you before, Cas. When we found it at that movie rental place in Minnesota, after that ghoul hunt?”

“We would’ve,” says Sam, tone caked in playful bitterness. “But you wanted to get Mars Attacks instead, remember?”

Dean looks a bit sheepish. “Hey, sometimes you need a good B movie after a day of ganking monsters. Today, though, we gotta get the kid another check off the list of Spielberg must-sees, right? Cas, too. We’ve waited long enough as is.”

Castiel has just enough time to hope once more that this movie is of a better quality than many of Dean’s other favorites, and then his thoughts are swept away by the opening sequence lighting up the television.

---

Jack enjoyed the movie immensely. He liked the scares and the way it made his heart beat faster. He liked the way Dr. Grant was so protective of the kids. Most of all, of course, he liked the dinosaurs.

He’d found a book about them the other day when he was cleaning in the library with Sam, and when Dean overheard their conversation he immediately suggested this movie.

Jack thought Cas would be just as interested in dinosaurs as he was, but the angel spent the whole movie with a frown on his face and a furrow between his eyes.

As the brothers stand up, Dean to turn on the lights and Sam to collect the empty snack bowls, Jack nudges Cas’ arm with his elbow.

“Are you okay?”

Cas meets Jack’s gaze with gentle eyes.

“I’m fine. I- I thought that the ending was a bit sad.”

Jack frowns. “How was it sad? Almost everyone got off the island.”

“That’s not…” Cas shakes his head, and takes a moment to compose himself before giving Jack a small smile. “You don’t need to worry about me, Jack. It just made me remember when the dinosaurs died.”

Shocked silence falls upon the room like a fog. Jack knows he’s gaping in disbelief, and feels Sam and Dean doing the same.

Cas glances around, taking in everyone’s surprise. “What’s wrong?”

“Dude,” Dean says. “Did you… are you…”

“Were you really there when the dinosaurs died?” Sam manages, sounding strained.

Cas answers slowly, eyes narrowed. “Yes? It was very sad, but it was a long time ago. I’ve had time to mourn.”

“But you were there!” Dean repeats, dumbfounded. Cas continues staring.

“Yes, Dean, I was there.”

“I mean, what- what was it like?” Sam asks, wonder in his eyes.

“Well, um. It was hot. And fiery.”

“It was hot and fiery,” Dean says, broken record. “Wow.”

“I don’t understand. Why are you… why is this such a surprise? I thought the dinosaurs’ extinction was common knowledge.”

“Yeah, but talking to someone who saw it is… it’s amazing,” Sam says. If he wasn’t holding the butter-greased popcorn bowls, Jack is sure he would be gesturing every which way. “Why didn’t you tell us about it before?”

Cas blinks. “I didn’t know that you were interested. I thought if you wanted to know, you’d just ask me.”

“Dude. We didn’t know we could ask! I mean, we knew you were older than the pyramids, but the dinosaurs? That’s, what, fifty million years?”

“Sixty-five,” chime Sam and Jack, in unison.

“Wait a minute, how old do you think I am?”

That gives them pause. Jack exchanges hopeless glances with Sam and Dean, the three of them clambering for any exact number in the recesses of their minds. Jack draws a blank, both because Cas doesn’t really talk about his past and because time is a little twisted for him to begin with.

He knows he’s almost two, and that two years is not a long time, but to Jack it feels like forever.

He knows his mother was thirty-nine when she died, and he knows Sam and Dean are hovering somewhere near forty. Cas has lived millions of years, and though Jack can’t quite wrap his mind around that vast length of time, he knows that makes Cas near eternal. Like Jack’s supposed to grow up to be.

Oddly, it’s a comforting thought.

“How old are you?” He asks it to put an end to the silence, and because he’s realized he really wants to know the answer.

Cas hesitates, brow creasing in thought. “It’s hard to say. The first thing I really remember is the tiktaalik, so I suppose that makes me…”

“Holy shit,” Sam breathes. He must know what the tiktaalik is, Jack thinks. He’ll have to ask about it later.

“Three and a half billion. Approximately,” Castiel finishes.

Jack can almost hear Dean’s jaw hit the floor.

“That old, huh?” Dean asks. His voice is strained, and he sounds faint.

“I might be closer to four billion, actually,” Cas muses.

“Okay, whoa,” Sam interjects, before Dean’s brain melts entirely. “That’s… that’s really impressive, Cas.”

“I- really?”

“Yeah, man,” Dean manages. But Cas still doesn’t look convinced, so Jack speaks up.

“You’re prehistoric!” he says. “I think that’s really special.”

Cas takes a long moment to respond, inexplicably looking younger as he processes their praise. It’s like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders- like for the first time in eons he feels like the years behind him, drenched in blood and pain and regret as they are, can be a gift rather than a curse.

Sam and Dean clap Castiel on the shoulder and take their leave from the room, the elder brother murmuring something about “antique angels” as they go.

Jack steps closer to Cas, clearing his throat.

“I, um. I found a book about dinosaurs the other day. Dean said that this movie would be educational, but… I was wondering if you could tell me about them? I don’t think I learned very much.”

“I would be happy to.” Cas smiles, reaching out to squeeze Jack’s shoulder. “This film wasn’t very accurate, anyway.”

“Really? How?”

“Well, for one thing, most of those dinosaurs didn’t even live during the same millennium. And they weren’t nearly so lizard-like. They had feathers.”

Jack responds in kind, whispering conspiratorially: “Like birds?”

“Sort of. Come on, I’ll draw some for you.”

Jack follows his father out of the room, smiling from ear to ear. Though the full scope of Castiel’s age remains far beyond his comprehension, Jack thinks it’s incredible. With all those years behind him, it’s no wonder that Cas is such a good parent.

Time is a teacher, and Cas has had a long life in which to learn. He has so much wisdom to share- and it’s not all about the dinosaurs, not because of the things he’s seen or the battles he’s won.

No, Castiel shines brighter than the most beautiful of stars. It’s a brilliance that comes from the inside out, forged through fire and pain and a heart stronger than diamond no matter how many times it’s broken.

Castiel shines with four billion years of love.

#hope you like it!#castiel #team free will 2.0 #my fic #spn fanfic #kitkat writes

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laviefantasie · 3 years

Text

One Step at a Time

Warnings: School Shooting, death, PTSD

Summary: It was supposed to be just another normal day at school. Just 8 hours, 480 minutes, of learning before Julie and you went to the Molina’s studio and spend the day with the guys. It was supposed to be just another normal school day... but it wasn’t.

Pairings: Ghost!Luke Patterson x Alive!Reader

A/N I did as much research as I could about the subject, I won’t get it 100% right since thankfully I’ve never experienced this but I feel it is a subject that should be talked about more. Stay safe!

| MASTERLIST |

120 Hours After the Shooting

A gasp leaves your body as you sit up while holding back a scream. You feel the sweat dripping down your skin as your eyes take in your surroundings, it takes you a minute to fully recognize your room as your blurry vision finally settles.

You feel a hand on your shoulder and you jump out of your bed, scared. Looking towards the source you find the hazel eyes of the lead guitarist on Julie’s band.

He looks at you with worry as he slowly starts crawling towards you, his steps were wary as if afraid you’d run out of the room any second.

He opens and closes his mouth repeatedly, he is talking to you, yet you cannot hear. Your ears numb to the sounds around you.

As you feel breathing becoming a harder task your eyes fall to your hands, wondering to yourself when will this ever stop?

How could this be your life now?

2190 Hours Before the Shooting

You walked behind Carrie to the auditorium with your blue wig on and an excited smile on your face. All the Dirty Candy girls following their leader with the nerves filling their bodies.

After many days of long hours of rehearsals, you girls were finally showing what you had worked so hard to accomplish.

As you entered the auditorium a student member of the illuminating staff bumps into you nearly throwing you to the ground. Thankfully, he catches you.

“I’m so so sorry, Y/N”

You brush yourself trying to get rid of any possible dirt in your costume before giving him a kind smile.

“Everything good here, uh...”

You stop talking as soon as you realize that you don’t remember the name of the guy you had surely seen in at least two of your classes. He notices that and the smile that had appeared on his face soon falls.

As you’re about to apologize for your bad memory, Carrie screams for you to hurry up, so with one apologetic smile you leave.

It is through the performance of Wow that your eyes catch sight of Julie and three more guys by her side. You make sure to send her a smile when she catches your eyes, nostalgia over your lost friendship suddenly making an appearance.

730 Hours Before the Shooting

Your life had definitely changed for the better, as bizarre as it was now. Two months ago you had decided to fix your friendship with Julie -three ghosts being a much needed push- while also getting to know three kind -formerly mentioned- ghosts.

You and the guys were close, probably as close as you had become with Flynn and as you once were -and thankfully were again- with Julie.

Luke and you had bonded over songwriting. Both of you making the songs for Julie and the Phantoms, something Julie liked to tease you about a lot especially when she noticed that your usual roll of eyes had turned into a deep red blush.

Of course becoming friends with Julie had put a strain on your friendship with Carrie. The strawberry blonde snapping at you at every possible opportunity yet never truly hurting you as you were her best friend.

Either way, after the growth of Julie’s band, the realization that the boys had to cross over, them playing at the Orpheum to fulfill their unfinished business, them discovering playing at the Orpheum wasn’t their unfinished business, and then their love for one another saving them from ceasing to exist and somehow becoming tangible to both Julie and you while also gaining the new ability to be seen as far as they concentrated deeply. You had learned to appreciate the little gifts of the universe more and more.

You were accepting everything it was throwing at you because so far you had loved the unexpected things it had sent.

You were in a happy place. Julie was in a happy place. So were the boys and the Molina’s. And even if she didn’t voice it, you knew Carrie was too, the strawberry blonde too proud to admit she missed Julie and hoped she could soon get close to through you.

Things were good. Nothing could hurt you guys, everything was perfect.

336 Hours Before the Shooting

Julie and the Phantoms and Dirty Candy had a gig. More importantly, the same gig. A concert was being held at the Hollywood Bowl to showcase young artists and both bands had been accepted.

It was a huge opportunity.

So as expected, none of them so one another during the week they got the news as all were too invested in rehearsing to give out the best performance they could. This event could be life changing.

But you could only spend so much time apart from songwriting -especially if it was with a certain ghost-, so you and Luke had decided to meet every two days at your room at night to write new songs. None of you could use them for the presentation though as it wouldn’t be fair to the other.

After your third meeting, Luke had accidentally asleep on your bed with you -the need for sleep being a consequence of using the newly found powers too much- and soon it became a habit that whenever he came he would stay.

So your relationship grew. And you loved that as much you denied it, Julie’s knowing smirk always reminding you that no one believed it.

Even Carrie knew you had a crush, the strawberry blonde making sure to mention it on the next Dirty Candy rehearsal.

“I want everyone on their very best. We have to be the best performance there” she reminds them for the hundredth time “I want your concentration the following weeks on the performace. Understood, Y/N? No cute guitarists”

The blush and glare you sent your best friend’s way was enough to make a smirk appear on her face and her eyes to soften before ending the break and starting rehearsals once again.

168 Hours Before the Shooting

You smiled as Carrie laughed loudly, proud to have been the one who made the smile appear on her face. You were the only one -after Julie- that had ever been able to make her smile like that, though the smiles Julie got were always followed by a small blush.

The two of you were having your weekly sleepover. Both of you having stated since the start of high school that every week, no matter how busy they were, they would give one day to sleep at either house to catch up. It was a good way to keep the strong bond you two had while also letting go of the problems and stress you adquire during the week.

This time both of you found yourselves in Y/N’s empty house. It wasn’t uncommon knowledge that Y/N’s widowed mother was working -as she was a surgeon, her father being one too when he was alive- so she mostly spent the nights by herself.

Carrie, being Trevor Wilson’s daughter, had also spent months alone with his father going on tours or spending hours at the recording studio. You both had basically grown up with nannies, you had it better though since it was only after your father’s dead that the nannies appeared.

That’s why Rose Molina’s death had hit you both almost as hard as it had hit Julie. You had both loved her deeply, seeing her as a mother figure. The Molina’s always having their house opened for the both of you, something you’d both be forever thankful for.

The fight between Julie and Carrie had been nasty and big, both refusing to ever mentioning the details, which left you and Flynn to take side neither wanting to leave either alone. Of course, when the time came you went with Carrie as she trusted you the most -her and Flynn never seeing eye-to-eye as the strawberry blonde’s crush for the cute singer grew-.

So, as you both laughed while the movie Five Feet Apart played in your room’s television was completely ignored by you both, you couldn’t help but be grateful for the girl sitting in front of you. Even though Carrie had this bad spoiled rich girl persona for the people around them to see, inside she was just an insecure kind-hearted girl who just wanted someone to care.

The laughter soon dies as you both look at each other with soft smiles, the strawberry blonde’s smile falling as she gazes at your door with a sad look in her face. The silence settling between the two.

“Do you think someone’d notice if we were gone?” She asks softly as if she was afraid of the answer.

“Of course” Your answer is quick, without hesitation.

Her brown sad eyes soon stare at you, “Would they notice if I was gone?”

The questions doesn’t catch you off guard as you often knew your best friend’s fear of being forgotten. She didn’t have a close group of friends. It had always been Carrie, Julie, and Y/N. Somewhere along the way Flynn joined, but otherwise it had always been the three of you. And then, it was you two. Nick soon joined you both but after the breakup he had been acting weird. So, Carrie only had you. She loved the girls from her group but other than Kayla she didn’t actually get along with them. So it was only Y/N.

“They would” Y/N answers without hesitation, “More importantly, I would”

That’s enough to bring the smile back to the face of the leader of Dirty Candy, her soon tackling you in a hug. Laughter filling the emptiness of your house once again.

48 Hours Before the Shooting

To say all of you were nervous was an understatement. That Saturday was the event at the Hollywood Bowl, so the two groups had been rehearsing nonstop and trying on outfits. Everything had to be perfect.

Dirty Candy was performing a new song called Sweet Melody at said event, featuring Y/N’s voice alongside Carrie’s. All the members had been surprised when their leader had given the idea, saying the chorus was better suited for your range, but neither had complained as they had loved your voice.

That’s why as you opened the door to your locker, your mouth was mouthing the lyrics in complete concentration. You were nervous of forgetting the words and freezing on stage, so you practice as much as you could.

Getting your Algebra II book out you head to your class, smiling once you see Julie and going to sit beside her. Soon both of you start talking, only stopping once the teacher walks in and starts her class.

You have a bored expression on your face as you copy what Mrs. Matthews writes on the board, only to have your attention caught by a boy entering the class completely out of breath.

“Mr. Rogers, glad you could join us” ironizes your teacher.

You look at the boy with pity, though you soon recognize it as the one you bumped into when you were on your way to perform at the school’s pep rally. Rogers, so that was his name.

“I don’t care whatever your excuses are” States Mrs. Matthews, “This is the fourth time you’re late, so please go to the principal’s office”

As soon as you see the angry look on his face you let your gaze wander to your songbook, not in the mood to watch him fight with the teacher. You keep your concentration on the song you were currently writing.

That is until the loud slam of the door makes your head snap up, your eyes finding Mrs. Matthews’ shocked face. Your eyes find Julie’s to find the girl as lost as you as she has been doodling on her notebook.

Class continues and the bell soon rings letting you know it is time for lunch, Julie and you walking side by side.

“I read the song your mom wrote, by the way,” You add seeing her eyes light up as you mention it “It is truly amazing, Jules, it is a very powerful song”

“I’m so glad you finally read it” She smiles, “I was thinking maybe we could duet it someday? It would definitely be cool, don’t you think?”

You smile softly before turning it into a smirk, “Julie and the Phantom’s leader with Y/N Y/L/N from Dirty Candy, sounds interesting”

She nudges you with an amused look before you both enter the cafeteria laughing. None of the students making noise in the cafeteria notice the angry looking kid sitting alone at one of the last tables.

How much would’ve things changed if someone had noticed?

10 Minutes Before the Shooting

Friday couldn’t have come sooner, both groups excited for the concert that was happening the next day. Though, that day seemed to be everlasting as you and Carrie walked to your last class of the day, the only class you both had with Julie and Flynn: Music.

As you make a quick stop to your locker to grab the music sheets for the song you were presenting today, Luke appears beside you making you let out a strangled scream.

“You need to stop that, Lu” You whisper while eyeing your surroundings, “Otherwise I’ll end up joining you on the other side soon”

The guitarist laughs at your joke before leaning on the locker beside your own, a soft smile on his face.

“Nervous about tomorrow?”

You close your locker before making your way to music class, Luke soon walking beside you.

“Totally” you breathe out, “We’re going to be in front of thousands of people, thousands, Luke. Thi-this is HUGE”

The boy smiles excitedly, “I cannot believe it is happening either but I can’t wait. I’m so excited to rehearse today one last time”

“Me too, Dirty Candy’s routine is going to make the crowd go wow”

Luke lets out an exaggerated groan as he hears your lame joke referring to one of your band’s songs, a smile soon adorning his features.

“You’re coming to reahearsal today, right? Songwriting session after?”

“Songwriting session after” You promise before entering your classroom, the ghost soon disappearing to go to the Molina’s studio.

You take your seat besides Carrie, not missing Julie’s teasing smirk sent your way as she caught Luke before he poofed out. You roll your eyes at her with a small smile before paying attention to Mrs. Harrison’s lesson.

Not even two minutes later, a loud bang sounds throughout the school. The loud noise echoing in each classroom making every student freeze in confusion.

Another loud noise soon follows before the screams start. Mrs. Harrison soon jumps to action going to lock the classroom door.

“Everybody down! Against the walls! Cover your heads!” She whispers loudly as she turns off the lights, “Boys, help me move the desks in front of the door”

Everyone soon moves to do as told. Carrie, Julie, Flynn, and Y/N soon snuggling in a corner together, the four of you staring wide-eyed at one another as you feel the fear of the unknown crawling through your bodies.

You listened to the hurried steps of students running through the hallways as more screams pierce through the halls. Gunshots echoing.

“Now, I know this is scary and I know you’re confused, kids,” whispers Mrs. Harrison, “but I need you all to start sending texts to anyone outside of school. We need to make sure the authorities know what is happening”

You feel tears start sliding down your cheeks as your confusion turns into panic, your heart beating fastly in your chest as you grab your phone with your shaky hands. Out of the corner of your eye you see your best friends soon doing the same.

Everyone too scared to say something, the only sound being the muffled sobs that everyone lets out. Your breathing stops once you hear Julie’s ringtone sound loudly, the girl soon quieting it down.

“Everyone keep your phones on silence, no one needs to know we are here” their music teacher reminds them, “Remember every drill we’ve had, you have to follow three simple steps: Run, Hide, and as a last resource Defend”

Your clean your tears with your shaking hand as you try to stop the blurriness of your vision only to have more tears appear, you feel Julie take your hand and interlocking your fingers with hers.

“I’m scared” She whispers.

You look at her with tears blurring your vision, your face saying what you can’t, as somehow you can’t seem to find your voice. Another gunshot, this one closer than before, tears through the halls making you all let out strangled screams. Carrie jumping to your side -the one not occupied by Julie- and Flynn jumping to Julie’s.

The four of you staying close as tears stream down all of your faces.

From where you’re hiding you cannot see your classmates nor Mrs. Harrison’s, the soft cries being the only thing that makes you know they are there.

Another piercing scream followed by a gunshot tear through the school, the four of you letting out silent sobs. You grab your phone with shaky hands before typing fastly a text to your mom.

If anything happens, mom, I love you. -Y/N

You close your eyes as you try to calm your breathing, the thumping of your heart echoing in your ears. Another gunshot. You jump in your place with your eyes still close and a strong hold on both of your best friends.

Another gunshot and soon the doorknob jiggles, letting everyone know someone is trying to open the door. Everyone in the music room holds their breath as fear crawls through their skins.

All the laughs, the smiles, the tears, the moments you spent by your dad’s bed at the hospital, the rehearsals with the band, the sleepovers with Carrie, the time spent with Julie and Flynn, the moments you spent at the Molina’s studio, the songwriting with Luke. Everything comes crashing down.

The door is hit with force, the person trying to get in trying to make the door budge. You bite your lip hard to stop the scream that wants to make its way out of your throat.

The door is pushed one more time before steps resonate letting you all know the person is leaving. You let out a shaky breath, tears flowing neverending down your cheeks.

“I’m so so sorry, Julie” Whispers Carrie, “I’m sorry about our fight, I’m sorry for not letting you apologize and for pushing you away, I’m sorry for making Y/N and Flynn take sides, I’m sorry for taking Nick, and I’m sorry for never telling you I loved you”

You stared at the strawberry blonde with red puffy wide eyes, Carrie looking scared to death as she says what she had been keeping herself from saying this last year. Tears stream down her pale face as silent sobs shake her small body.

Julie moves quietly to get closer to her to hug her, both girls shaking in fear as they reconcile. Flynn moves to the spot Julie once resided, taking Y/N’s hand. Everyone crying softly as they wait for someone to tell them it’s okay to come out.

None of you know how long you stay there until there is a knock on the door making you all freeze with fear.

“This is L.A. P.D., everything is okay now. Is anyone in there?”

You all let out a breath of relief. Y/N closing her eyes as she lets out a loud sob, soon everyone crying their hearts out as they are soon escorted out of the room.

You hear the police ask for everyone to raise their hands, soon everyone doing as told, and to not look at your surroundings. Soon all of you being escorted to the outside in a line, though you can’t stop your eyes from drifting through the hallway once catching sight of all the blood.

You take a shaky breath as you feel the tears still flowing down your face.

The four girls hug each other tightly as they walk out into the school ground. All of your eyes taking their time to adjust to the bright sun. Faintly, you hear the police tell you all to not look back and decide to obey them this time as the glimpses of the blood and the bodies you saw inside were enough to have you struggling to breathe.

“Dad!” You hear Julie screaming in relief before detaching from all of you and running to his father’s arms.

It is when you see them hugging that your blurry eyes catch sight of your heartbroken mother, who soon runs to get to you with relief washing over her. It is until you are in her arms that the world around you starts spinning again.

The sounds become clearer and so does your vision as the pressure of everything finally leaves your body, sobs shaking your body in the safety of your mother’s arms. Out of the corner of your eyes you see Flynn and Carrie reuniting with their own parents as well as many other students.

But as you see reunions, you soon see the heartbreaking faces of realization and the agonizing screams of the losses of their children. Your sobs becoming louder.

Your mother soon falling with you to the floor as your knees give in, the weight of your body becoming too much as you try to put yourself back together. This wasn’t supposed to happen. How could this have happened? Why did it happen? Why?

96 Hours After the Shooting

Carrie, Flynn, Julie, and Y/N were cuddling together on the studio’s couch, their parents inside the Molina’s home. After the incident, the four of them had been joined to the hip only untangling themselves from the other to go sleep at their own houses.

Julie and Carrie holding hands tightly as they all stare at the wall silently with soft music playing in the background. School was closed until further noticed and you had all bailed on the concert at the Hollywood Bowl. The members of Sunset Curve watched you all carefully with heavy hearts. They all felt guilty for not being there for either of you.

Luke feeling his heart break whenever he saw a tear make its way down your face without your knowledge. None of them could ever understand the fear that any of you had felt at that moment or how it had scarred all of you.

So they just stood beside the four of you in a protective way, making sure you all knew you weren’t alone. And everynight, as the fear of closing your eyes and hearing the echoing of the shots ring through your head, Luke would poof in and lay beside you, singing a sweet lullaby to help you sleep.

Though you always woke up in a terrified daze, the guitarist soon jumping to bring you back to reality.

120 Hours After the Shooting

You feel a hand on your shoulder and you jump out of your bed, scared. Looking towards the source you find the hazel eyes of the lead guitarist on Julie’s band.

He looks at you with worry as he slowly starts crawling towards you, his steps were wary as if afraid you’d run out of the room any second.

He opens and closes his mouth repeatedly, he is talking to you, yet you cannot hear. Your ears numb to the sounds around you.

As you feel breathing becoming a harder task your eyes fall to your hands, wondering to yourself when will this ever stop?

How could this be your life now?

Silently, you stand up and head out of your room and downstairs to grab a glass of water. The sun rising through the sky to signal a new day. You gaze at it intently as you drink the water slowly, your heart calming down as it sees the beauty of it.

You weren’t okay. Neither of you was.

It would probably take a long time before either of you were completely okay, and even then the memory would haunt you. All you could do is take it one step at a time, trusting that the people who loved you would be ready to catch you if you stumbled. You were willing to do the same for the girls.

All of you would soon have to start attending the funerals of your classmates, of the people whose face you had all grown used to seeing, of people you had grown up with. You would have to be in the presence of heartbroken parents who screamed their lungs out in agony for the child they lost.

Your grip on the glass of water tightens as you feel your chest become heavier. One step at a time, you repeat in your head, one step at a time.

You feel Luke appear behind you, his arms soon wrapping around your waist as his face hides in your neck. A small smile makes its way to your face, one of your hands letting go of the glass of water to hold his arm. One step at a time, you repeated.

One step at a time.

#julie and the phantoms #luke patterson #luke patterson x oc #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson x y/n #sunset curve

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nonagesimus · 3 years

Text

abominable (Sam/Paul ~1300 words)

(AO3 Link)

For all that Sam prayed, he didn’t like churches when they were filled with people.

He and Dean had stayed with Pastor Jim enough growing up that he’d spent a lot of time in church but a relatively small proportion when Mass was in service. Mostly when there were only a few people around, maybe praying in the pews, maybe lighting a candle. When it was quiet, and easy, and conversations had to be kept soft. Dean hated it, but Pastor Jim didn’t mind answering Sam’s questions, whether they were about monsters, the bible, or his homework, just as long as they didn’t interrupt the parishioners.

There was another priest at the church too, who Sam didn’t talk to much. Didn’t even know if the man knew about the true monsters in the world. He knew that his least favourite thing was Mass when the other man preached. They didn’t stay every time, if Jim wasn’t running the service sometimes he’d take them somewhere else, but when they did. Sat on hard wooden pews, unable to twist himself to sit comfortably, listening to a tirade against sinners.

Sam was thirteen and being bowled over by Bryce Turner during PE had set his heart pounding for reasons completely unrelated to the air being knocked out of him.

Three weeks later he was back in Minnesota listening to this absolute asshole quote Leviticus and- After, Jim seemed to realise something was off. He let Sam hole up in his office until the church was mostly empty again, the congregation finished with their conversations.

“Do you think it’s all true?” Sam asked. “God needs you to follow all those rules?” He couldn’t bring himself to specify.

The way Jim was looking at Sam made him think he might’ve guessed. “I think it’s doctrine,” he said. “And some people find doctrine helpful, but it was written by men. So it has all the same failures as men do.”

Sam let out a long, shaky breath. “Ok,” he said.

Gently, Jim said, “Is there a reason you’re asking?”

“No,” Sam said. Then, quieter, “I just worry. That there’s something wrong with me and-”

“Hey,” Jim says, gripping his shoulder, “Sam. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re the way God made you.”

Sam’s breath got shakier. Jim pulled him into a hug. Sam stayed there for a long time.

And it helped, that conversation. Became a touchstone. After, Jim always had something else to do on Sundays when the other priest was the one delivering the sermon. It wasn’t perfect. There was still plenty to give him that feeling like his skin was the wrong size. Like there was something fundamentally bad. Not just in church, plenty of other places too. But he breathed deep, thought about what Jim had told him. Kept moving. He tried, at Stanford. Plenty of places of worship around, but Sam never learned to like the services better.

Anyway. Turned out he’d had demon blood flowing through him ever since he was six months old, so maybe it wasn’t just the queer thing making him feel weird in churches.

By the time they were back in Blue Earth, Minnesota Sam was sure he had bigger sins to worry about. And it wasn’t like Pastor Jim was still around to comfort him.

“A wedding?” he asked, on edge from the fight, from dying a few scant days before, from kickstarting the damn apocalypse. “Seriously?” It was rude, for sure, luckily the only person who seemed to hear him was one of the soldiers - Paul.

“Yeah,” he said, a hint of a grimace like he agreed with Sam’s attitude. “We’ve had eight so far this week.”

It wasn’t Jim’s church. Still, Sam felt like he could breath easier once he was in the command centre in the basement, and then easier again once he was outside. It was Paul behind the bar - easy rapport with the rest of the soldiers, easy with Sam when he wandered over as well. In a different way.

“That round’s on me,” he said, with a wink and a half cocked smile.

It was warm, and it was recognisable, and it pulled at Sam’s gut. Worse as he turned back to Dean. It wasn’t- he hadn’t been hiding, but it wasn’t like he’d been picking up guys in every town, and they’d never had a conversation. Easy to miss. Idly, he wondered where coming out fell on the list of confessions he’d had to make to Dean over the years. Better or worse than being psychic, or sleeping with Ruby, or the demon blood.

He drank his beer in record time and watched where Paul was serving drinks at the other side of the bar.

It was Dean’s decision when to head back to the motel room, and Paul flipped him a salute when he looked back on his way.

They watched a kid die, and the mother spat the words, “This is your fault.” Dean looked stricken. Sam mentally added a tally to their list. The pluses and minuses. They’d save the town, they would, he had to believe they would, but how many would they lose along the way. Then the beginning of mourning got interrupted by a vision, because apparently angels were that kind of asshole too. A church full of desperate, scared people and they got a litany of rules. Drawing a line in a sand that was just a big circle keeping them penned in.

Sam wanted to tell them being chosen by angels usually wasn’t a good thing, but he held his tongue.

Besides, what was there to say? That he’d met angels, and most of them weren’t worth the effort of trying to impress? That, as far as they could tell, God was taking an extended sabbatical and didn’t care the apocalypse had started? Sam prayed for Dylan’s soul, but he couldn’t tell where faith ended and habit began.

Dean went back to the church, but Sam couldn’t deal with the people anymore so he slid into the tavern.

Paul leaned over the bar to meet him, and they talked, and it was all that warmth and recognition again. When Sam kissed him, Paul’s smile was slow and sweet as dripping honey and all he said was, “I should make sure everything’s cleaned up before curfew.”

Were the angels watching, he thought, as he flaunted the rules they’d laid down? And, sure, this particular set of rules from a soft-spoken midwestern preacher hadn’t said anything specific about ‘perverts’ but Sam had heard enough sermons in enough churches to read between the lines. Even if it mattered, it was far from the only thing damning him, and he won’t give this up, the warmth, the burn, Paul’s hand curled in his shirt as he tugged him behind the bar.

Dean asked where he’d been and he said, “Drinking,” with the taste of Paul still on his tongue.

Anyway, it wasn’t God, it wasn’t angels, it was just more demons, and it should have been obvious from the get go. Castiel was sitting beside him on the couch, still smelling strongly of whiskey, calling Sam an abomination like it was obvious, because it was. Dean’s eyes flickered to Sam like he was waiting for him to protest.

What could he say? The knees of his jeans were still damp because Paul had just finished mopping the floors when Sam sucked him off.

He still had demon blood in him.

He still dreamed about the devil.

Sitting sides pressed together on the bar floor, arms slung over each other - laughing and warm in the knowledge that there were still things that were good. They didn’t last forever, they didn’t even last long, but they were bright enough to dispel the darkness. Paul had turned his head and pressed his lips to the point of Sam’s jaw, then again an inch in, worked his way along to his mouth and kissed him properly.

It did not feel like sin. It did not feel like an act of rebellion. It felt like an act of reverence.

It felt divine.

#supernatural #sam winchester #supernatural fic #sam winchester fic #queer sam winchester #my fic

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clanoffetts · 3 years

Text

someday. | paz vizsla x fem!reader

chapter iv

masterlist

synopsis: Paz Vizsla finds himself stuck on Dantooine with a broken ship and no credits. Luckily, he finds you, a mechanic that will fix his ship for passage to Hosnian Prime. Over the course of your time together, a courtship blooms.

warnings/things to note: star wars swear words; reader has hints of PTSD that show up in this chapter, mentions of night terrors/nightmares and some alluding to depression; blatant lack of knowledge of ship mechanics; altering the canon timeline a little (my blog, my canon)

word count: 5.7k

note: i ended up moving a lot of Han and Leia stuff to the next chapter, so this one is a little shorter than I originally anticipated. still, I hope you enjoy!

Travels in hyperspace got very boring very quickly. The view out the windows was the same blue light, and there was no turning or swerving or other ships passing to break up the monotony. Sure, cuddling and holodramas were nice for a while but two days in, you were restless with boredom.

Paz, of course, was not restless. Occasionally he’d do some push-ups or pull-ups but you knew it was not the result of boredom.

“Kebiin’ika?” he asks, sitting down in the cockpit with you.

“Hmm?” You tear your eyes away from a book on your datapad to look at him.

“Wanna learn how to use one of these?” He pulls his vibroblade from his belt and holds it up. It looks very different from the one he gave you, there are no intricate markings on the one he holds.

“I think I’m going to be a slow learner,” you warn.

He laughs. “I’m patient.”

“I know,” you nod, remembering how he could just sit for a long time. “Alright. When am I learning?”

He gestures his arms out. “Right now. We can move the table and the couch.”

You agree, anxious to finally have something to do. You help him with the anchors on the round table and the booth-like seat around it, moving them up towards the cockpit. Paz carries the seat with ease, leaving you behind to grunt with the heavy metal table until he finally returns to help you, sliding it across the floor with one arm.

“Show off,” you huff, but he just chuckles.

“Go get your blade, mesh’la,” he commands. You turn and walk back towards your room, retrieving the blade from your bag where it was carefully wrapped in some fabric. You study it as you slowly walk back to the common area, taking note of the differences between yours and the one Paz had pulled from his belt earlier. The blade that was now yours had a beautiful handle made of some sort of dark stone, embellished with gold metal. The blade had intricate carvings on it as well, one you recognized from Paz’s armor as well as many you didn’t recognize. It seemed important, almost like an heirloom, why’d he give it to you?

You return back to the common area and find him just standing there, waiting. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” you reply.

He’s holding a wooden blade in his hand now, it’s dull and chipped in some places. “Don’t want to hurt you,” he explains. “You don’t have a body of beskar.”

“Right. But I don't want to hurt you either,” you say, though you didn’t think you could hurt him if he tried.

He knocks his knuckles on the chestplate. “Mesh’la, beskar is one of the strongest metals there is. Resistant even to the weapon of the Jedi.”

You were a little shocked, first at the mention of Jedi, and then that beskar could hold strong against the swords you’d heard of the Jedi carrying. You’d seen Luke Skywalker’s on his belt, but never seen it ignited. You knew Leia trained with him often and now had one of her own, but you never asked to see it. “Oh,” you say. “Then I guess I don’t have to worry about you.”

“Right,” he agreed. “Now, what do you know about fighting?”

You recalled your very brief ‘lessons’ back on the rebel base. “Shoot the guys in white.” He looked a little confused. “The stormtroopers,” you explain.

“Yeah, I picked up on that part,” he says. “That’s all they taught you?”

You nodded. “I was a mechanic, love, not a soldier.”

“Alright. Well, maybe that’s best,” he says. “No bad habits to unlearn.” You agreed with a nod. “Ok, first thing is your stance.”

He begins moving your body around, your arms and hips and feet, positioning you for the form he thought would be best for someone your size. He was murmuring things to himself but you had no clue what they meant. You also had no clue how you were supposed to get into this exact stance in the middle of a fight, but you let him do it anyway.

“And then you’d take the blade and jab me here,” he says, gesturing to his stomach. “Won’t work on a man in beskar, but most people won’t have beskar. Or any armor, for that matter.”

He continued showing you moves, small self defense ways to get out of bad situations. He made you run sequences with him, but they made you feel a little useless. Yeah, if he let you win you wouldn’t learn, but, Maker, a win was needed right about now. It’d been three hours, you were sweaty and defeated.

“I have a man in beskar,” you say, defeated yet again, laying on the floor. “So do I really need to be proficient with a blade? I’m obviously not doing well.”

He cocks his head at you, sitting down against the wall next to you. “Kebiin’ika, I won’t always be there. Besides, you are doing well.”

“I’m doing awful, Paz, don’t lie. I haven’t even gotten close to winning.”

“Because I’m a Mandalorian, mesh’la,” he tells you. “I’ve been training with a blade since I could hold one. You’ve been training with one for three hours, and I promise that you’re doing great.”

You hum out a thank you and then sit in silence for a moment. Your eyes wander back down to the blade vibrating in your hand, studying the markings. “Why’d you give me this one?” you ask. “The pretty one, I mean.”

“It was forged from some of my mother’s armor,” he says. “House Vizsla and Mandalore’s markings are on the blade. Armorer made it for me when I was fourteen, when I put my armor and helmet on for the first time.”

“Your mother’s armor?”

He nods. “They both died, my buire, when I was thirteen. Armor is passed down through families, this armor has been with us for as long as anyone can remember.” He doesn’t expand on his parents’ death, and you don’t pry. The wound still seems fresh, and you wouldn’t be surprised if that’s because he’s never had anyone to talk to. Mandos don’t seem like that type.

“And you trust me with it?”

“Of course I do,” he says. “Weapons are a part of my religion, mesh’la. A part of who I am, especially that blade. I wasn’t just giving you a blade.” You knew it had been a show of vulnerability, but not one so great, so full of trust.

You didn’t know what to say. What could you say? So you just leaned into him, ignoring the annoying press of his armor into your side, relieved at the coolness the metal provided.

You’re not sure how long you sat like that, lost in thought. Paz broke the silence, “We should probably eat and rest. We’ll be in the Hosnian system in ten hours.”

It set in as you watched Paz make soup for lunch that you’ll be seeing Leia soon. You hadn’t kept up with her life in the tabloids, that’s not what she would’ve wanted nor what you wanted. You wanted to know everything, to spend days in her house on Hosnian catching up. But you didn’t want to keep Paz from his home. And yet, you didn’t want to find out what would happen when you and Paz arrived back at his tribe, how they would react to you, an outsider.

As boring as it was, if you could stay in hyperspace forever you wouldn’t need to find out. But you wouldn’t be in hyperspace forever, and you will find out, but for now you push it out of your brain and focus on Paz as he brings soup over to the recently re-anchored table.

“Here you go, mesh’la,” he says, sitting the bowl down. “Mandalorian specialty.”

And it was special. Full of spices, ones you would’ve never put together, and vegetables, it was hearty. You slurped it up quickly, before excusing yourself to take a shower so Paz could eat as well.

The shower was nice after your sparring (if you could even call it that), the hot water felt great on your now sore muscles. You had a hunch that trying to move the table contributed to that just as much as the knife fighting.

“Paz?” You called as you exited the ‘fresher, now in pajamas. You weren’t too tired, but you knew it was important to make the transition from Yavin time to Hosnian time, and once you were cozy in bed, it wouldn’t be long before the tiredness set in.

“I’m coming!” He called back, and sure enough he appeared, holding something in his hand. “Made you this while I ate. Well, I altered it.”

He holds out a leather sheath that holds the vibroblade. It’s identical to the dark brown one that still sits on his belt, but this one has a shorter belt, and the leather fits the blade snugly. “Thank you, Paz,” your voice is breathy at the gesture.

“If you’re gonna fight someone with it, you’ve gotta have a way to carry it,” he says.

Before you realize it, you’re on tippy toes, placing a kiss to the cheek of his helmet. “It’s lovely, Paz, thank you.”

He slips past you into the ‘fresher for his turn in the shower as you admire the craftsmanship. Where he shortened the belt and tapered the sheath, the stitching got uneven, but you didn’t mind. The stitches were made with care, with kindness, with love.

As Paz stripped off his armor in the ‘fresher he felt heat rise up in his body. You’d kissed his helmet. He’d never seen anyone do that before. It was adorable and there was a small mark left on the cheek of his helmet by your lip balm. As the water heated in the shower, he stood and studied the mark of your lips.

You were settled on the bed when Paz emerged from the ‘fresher in his sleep clothes. He always looked strange with the helmet and none of his other armor on, but it was endearing. You had the sleep mask in hand, a precaution that Paz insisted you didn’t need, but one you took anyway. “You ready to sleep, mesh’la?”

“Yeah, I think so,” you say. “C’mon.” You pat the spot on the bed next to you. The cold of hyperspace is starting to create goosebumps on your skin, and Paz Vizsla is basically a furnace. He moves wordlessly to turn off the lights, watching as you slip the mask over your eyes. The click and hiss of the helmet sounded through the room, barely audible over the hum of the ship.

The bed dips down as he climbs in, sheets rustling as he settles himself. You lay on your side facing where he would be, but you weren’t sure how he was laying. Extending an arm, you tried to find him.

“Need something, kebiin’ika?” He asks as your hand lands on his stomach.

“Just looking for you,” you murmur. He gives you a little chuckle and places his hand over yours. His hand is large, and it engulfs your small one easily. “Night, Paz,” you whisper.

“Night, mesh’la.” His voice is a low rumble in your ears, and combined with the warmth he’s brought to the bed, sleep comes easily.

The chrono is cruel the next morning. You got enough sleep, sure, but it was cold when you got out of bed and stumbled into the cockpit where Paz sat. He swiveled around in his chair to look at you, still in your pajamas. “Good morning, mesh’la,” he greets. “We’ll be there in two hours. There’s some cereal in the kitchen, if you’d like it.”

You did like it, the sugary cereal didn’t seem like something Mandalorians would keep on hand, but you were glad they did. You excused yourself back to the bedroom, going through your things and picking out jeans and a t-shirt. For a brief moment you wondered if it was nice enough to meet with Leia, but you quickly dismissed the thought. Leia didn’t expect an ornate gown, you knew that.

You and Paz moved about the ship, preparing for the landing and preparing the ship to sit dormant in a hangar for at least a few days. Every so often, Paz’s gloved hand drifted to the side of his helmet, where your lips had pressed the night before. He watched as you folded your clothes in different ways so that they’d fit comfortably in your backpack. He watched as you bit your lip, studying the ship to make sure nothing you’d need had been left behind. The same lips that touched his helmet. The heat rose in him again, culminating in his face, making the helmet uncomfortable.

“Kebiin’ika,” Paz says to distract himself. “Where’s your vibroblade?”

“In the cockpit.”

“C’mon,” he says, gesturing you into the cockpit behind him. “Wanna see what it looks like on you.”

You shuffled into the cockpit behind him and he threaded the belt of the sheath through the belt loops of your jeans, fastening it around your waist. He takes a step back, looking at you with your new weapon.

“Very badass,” he says and you laugh, the both of you taking your seats.

Finally, the ship jolted out of hyperspace. The stars, the planet, and all the other ships in the system were a welcome change from the monotony of hyperspace. “Ready, kebiin’ika?”

“Born ready,” you reply, grinning at him. There’s a giddiness welling inside you, not only that you’d be seeing Leia but that you’d be in a huge city again, on a Core planet. The years spent in the Outer Rim were peaceful, but sometimes you just want to be surrounded by people.

You were cleared to land on a platform in the heart of the city, Korrie said Leia requested C-3PO be sent for you. Her way of making a joke, you figured. The workers of the hangar would take care of the ship once you’d landed, and you knew Paz was less than thrilled at handing his ship over into the hands of strangers.

“We’re guests of the princess,” you remind him before you disembark. “They won’t hurt your ship.”

“The princess doesn’t know you’ve brought a Mandalorian,” he retorts. If you could read minds you’d know he was terrified of ruining your trip to Hosnian Prime by simply being there.

But you couldn’t read minds. Instead, you weren’t really sure why that mattered, sure you’d heard of some bad feelings towards Mandos in the Outer Rim but you couldn’t see why that would carry over into the Core. But that didn’t matter at the moment, you needed to get off the ship and into the speeder with the droid.

You were the first to step out of the ship, the Mandalorian strangely meek behind you. Everyone in the hangar seemed to suck in a breath as the armored man stepped out behind you, all motion stopping momentarily as everyone took in the sight of a Mandalorian. It reminded you of when Paz first walked into town on Dantooine, the whole town halted for a moment.

“Miss! Miss!” A mechanical voice is calling across the hangar.

“We’re coming, Threepio, give us a second,” you say, pushing on through the oglers towards the golden droid at the mouth of the hangar. The speeder is state of the art, blue with no top, perfect for the kind weather of Hosnian Prime.

“I’m afraid I was only expecting one person,” C-3PO says as he ushers you two into the speeder. “Though I suppose it won’t affect anything.”

Paz looks at you, and you can only guess he’s rolling his eyes. “This is my Mandalorian friend, Threepio,” you say. “He brought me here.”

“Splendid.”

“How’s Artoo?”

The speeder pulled out of the hangar, exposing you to the breeze as you sped over the city. “Artoo is with Master Luke,” the droid began, continuing on in excruciating detail about how the astromech’s wiring is performing.

“That’s nice, Threepio,” you say finally, cutting him off halfway through his opinion on the best replacement for R2-D2’s outdated thrusters. “I think I’d like to enjoy the scenery for now. In silence.” You heard Paz exhale in relief next to you, the Mandalorian was close to losing his practiced patience with the droid. C-3PO had that effect on some people.

“Very well then. We will be arriving at the Organa estate in fifteen minutes.”

You looked out over what was now the less busy parts of the capital city, the further away from the new Senate building, the quieter things got. No wonder Leia liked to live so far out of the city. You found your mind drifting from the scenery to what Leia’s home may look like. Would it be in the typical, Alderaanian minimalism style? Or is she too much like you, pushing away reminders of home? But Alderaan was so much more to Leia than just home.

The speeder stopped on the steps of a fairly small place on the far outskirts of the city. It was a sleek white on the outside, boxy in shape like most of the homes you’d seen so far on the planet. Paz drew in a breath next to you as the two of you exited the speeder, C-3PO leading the way to the door.

Once inside, you knew Leia was not, in fact, like you. It was like you’d stepped back into a home on Alderaan. The art on the walls evoked Alderaanian style, the white furniture and gray accents were the tells of an Alderaanian decorator.

“Y/N!” Leia calls from a hallway at the back of the foyer. “And...another guest?” Leia’s hand went to her belt, you weren’t sure if she was searching for the safety of a blaster or her lightsaber, but neither was there.

You step forward, ahead of Paz. “This is my, uh, boyfriend, Leia.”

“Ma’am,” Paz said with a bow of his head, not sure if that was the right thing to say.

Apparently, it wasn’t, as C-3PO stepped forward. “It is ‘Your Highness’ upon the first address of the conversation. After that it can be ma’am, princess, or senator.”

“Oh,” Paz said. “Sorry, Your Highness.”

“No, no,” C-3PO started, but Leia cut him off.

“Hush, Threepio, it doesn’t matter,” she says, still eyeing Paz. “Leave us, Threepio.” The droid almost seemed like he would protest, but the look in Leia’s eyes told him not to, so he shuffled out of the foyer and deeper into the house.

Leia motioned for you to come to her, and you did, wrapping her into a hug. “I’ve missed you, you know.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” Leia said into your neck. “But why in the nine Corellian hells would you bring a bounty hunter into my home?”

You step back and look at her. “He’s not a bounty hunter-”

“Well,” Paz says from behind you. “Not right now, anyway. I only do it out of necessity for my people, ma’am.” You’re slightly taken aback, but take care not to show Leia. Not yet, anyway. It hit you that you’d never really inquired more about the work that had brought your Paz to Dantooine.

Leia looks torn. “You know what one of those Mandalorians did to Han. To me, to Luke.”

“Boba Fett?” Paz asks. He’d heard of the princess killing Jabba the Hutt. He’d known it was Fett’s work. Hell, there wasn’t anyone in the Outer Rim that didn’t know.

“You knew him?” Leia is growing hostile again and you aren’t sure what to do.

Paz shakes his head. “Fett had never even been to Mandalore. I can assure you my people are not like him.” Paz knew that was a bit of a lie, but he hated to screw up this reunion for you. “I’ll give you my weapons while I’m here, if that’s what you want.”

“No,” Leia says, her guard dropping. “I know you’re not a threat. Not to us anyway.” And then she looks at you, then back at Paz. “C’mon, I’ll show you to your room and you can put your stuff away.”

You follow her through the house, and you aren’t sure how to feel. It feels like Alderaan, the decor, the climate, even the smell somehow, and it’s welcoming for a moment until you remember that this isn’t Alderaan, and nothing will ever be Alderaan, no matter how well curated. But you trained your eyes on Leia, her hair wrapped in braids upon her head, a comfortable white sundress fluttering about her as she walked.

“Here you are,” she says, leading you into a brilliant room, furniture white, though some pieces tinted with blue. The bedspread is blue, the curtains are blue. All pale and deep shades, the room is calming. “Blue’s still your favorite right? Figured this would be right up your alley.”

“Yeah, blue’s still my favorite,” you smile. She’d remembered.

“I figured as much. Considering you chose a mountain of blue to be your boyfriend,” she quips, and you roll your eyes. Paz felt his face get hot under the helmet again. Boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend, he repeated in his head. “Oh, will you be needing a room, too?”

“No, ma’am, I don’t think so,” Paz tells her. “Unless kebiin’ika would like me too.”

You shook your head. “He’s with me,” you say as you toss your backpack onto the bed. “Paz, I’d bet you’d like some time without your helmet. Maybe Leia and I can go somewhere else to catch up?” Paz got the hint like you knew he would, and he nodded.

“Great,” Leia smiled, taking your hand and pulling you out of the room. “Through here,” she says, walking through what you assumed was the master bedroom into a study.

The study was cozy, full of actual paper books, and warm colored furniture as opposed to the stark white of the rest of the house. Han’s doing, you assumed. “Your home is gorgeous, Leia,” you tell her as you sit in one of the large chairs.

Leia drapes herself on one of the couches and her dress settles around her stomach, where her hands clasp atop it. She sees you staring at her belly and smiles. “I’m pregnant,” she says.

“Congratulations!” You exclaim, and she thanks you. “I swear that wasn’t there when I commed you a few days ago, though.”

She giggles. “My clothes are good at deception.”

“Taking notes from Amidala, I see,” you joke, and she laughs.

“I did actually ask for Rabé’s help. She was my Amidala’s wardrobe mistress,” Leia says. “But enough about me for now. Since when do you date Mandalorian bounty hunters? And why does he call you kebiin’ika? You don’t have a bounty on you-”

You laugh, cutting her off. “It’s a nickname, Leia, I promise I don’t have a bounty on my head. And, well, it’s a long story,” you say.

You’re not sure how long you sat there, telling Leia of your time on Dantooine, all the way up until the day that Paz came into town, and when you’d landed on Yavin, and when he’d given you the blade.

“You’re kidding! He gave you a vibroblade? Where is it?”

You pat your hip, and unsheath the blade. You move to sit next to Leia on the sofa, holding it out for her to see. “These markings on this part of the blade are his house markings,” you say, “And these are just Mandalorian, I think.”

“So, is it like an engagement ring?”

You shook your head. “No, no, I don’t think so. But from what I gather...Mandalorian courtships usually mean marriage.”

“You’re ready for that? You’ve known him, what? A week?”

You sighed. “No, I’m not ready. But I think I could be. Someday.”

“I hope so,” she says. “He makes you happy. A lot happier than the last time I saw you.”

“Leia...I just, I don’t think I can be involved anymore,” you say, the winds of the Naboo lake country gently whipping through your hair. “Now that we’re not fighting all the time, I’m thinking a lot more. About Alderaan, about everyone we’ve lost.”

Her hand was soft on your back. “I know it’s hard,” she said. “But if you take this position in the New Republic you can help so many people. And you can build a house that feels like home. Like Alderaan, just like Sabé made her home like Naboo.”

“I can’t Leia. I can’t make a fake Alderaan and pretend it’s ok. I won’t,” you say. “I have dreams of Alderaan that break me. Dreams of Yavin that break me. Dreams of kriffing Endor that break me. You’re asking me to break myself again for a kriffing committee.”

Leia’s cheek landed on your shoulder. The tears fell from your face now, and by the feeling of her cheek, she was crying, too. “No,” she whispers. “You can’t break. I need you, a lot of people do.”

“They’re going to have to learn to live without me for a while, I think.”

“But, whenever you’re ready, you’ll come find me, right?”

“It’s going to be a long time, Leia.”

“But you’ll still come find me. I don’t care if it’s four weeks or forty years, you could show up at my doorstep and I’ll hug you like I always have.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I am a lot happier. I worked through some things. Some things can’t be worked through, though.”

“Alderaan,” she murmurs, leaning into you. “I know. That’s why I love this room so much. It’s so Han, so Corellian, and so not Alderaan.”

“Didn’t take this as a smuggler’s style,” you joke.

She laughs a little, too. “He doesn’t have a style. I think this is Lando’s doing, Han just put his name on it.”

The room did seem to have Lando’s taste written all over it, though you could guess Lando would rather not have Corellian furniture in his house. Your eyes drifted back to Leia, her hand absent-mindedly stroking her stomach. “When’s the little one due?”

“Four months,” she said. “It’s a boy.”

“A boy with a name?”

“I’m thinking ‘Ben’,” she says. “After Ben Kenobi. Han was thinking ‘Bail’, but I don’t know. I like ‘Ben’.”

You smiled. “That’s a nice name,” you say. “Besides, a Skywalker needs a Jedi name.”

“Right,” she agrees.

She sits up to face you now. “Will you train him?”

“No,” she says. “I’ll let Luke do that, when he’s ready. And when little Ben is ready. It was never my destiny to become a true Jedi. That was always Luke.”

You smile at her. “You know Mandalorian armor is invincible against a lightsaber?”

“Beskar,” she says. “Yes. It’s very strong. I saw a staff made of beskar once, back on Alderaan when I was little. In a museum, I think.”

“That’s what Mando wears,” you catch yourself before you say his name, replacing it with the one-size-fits-all nickname.

She laughs. “Mando isn’t his name right? That’d be awfully unoriginal.”

“No,” you reply. “But Mandalorian religion, it’s...it’s interesting territory. I know his name, though.”

“What’s he look like?” She asks with girlish intrigue, the gossipy voice usually reserved for teenagers poking through.

“I don’t know. And even if I did, I couldn’t tell you.”

Her brow furrows. “You’ve basically agreed to marry him and you don’t know what he looks like?”

“Ok, first, I agreed to court him.”

“Same difference,” Leia interjects.

You roll your eyes playfully. “And, second, it’s against his creed to remove his helmet unless we’re married.”

“Oh, maker, I can’t believe you’re going to marry someone for just a kiss, not even dic-”

“Leia!” You cut her off. “Your son can hear you, you know. Through the Force or whatever.”

She lightly hits your arm. “Not how the Force works, dear. And you know I’m right.”

“You aren’t right, your highness,” the nickname annoys her to no end, and that’s exactly why you employed it. “He’s sweet to me, Leia. He even taught me how to fight with this thing yesterday.” You pat the vibroblade on your hip.

“Mandalorians must be patient. I remember when you tried to learn to shoot a blaster,” she smiled with nostalgia at the ‘lessons’ from Yavin IV. The marksmen gave up quickly on teaching the mechanics how to fight.

“Ok, I wasn’t that bad,” you tell her. “And my Mando says I’m doing very well with the knife, thank you very much.”

“Oh you’re in love,” Leia said. “I can see it in your eyes. Kriff, before long you might look like me!” She gestures to her pregnant belly. “Do the Mando babies pop out with the helmet on? That might be an issue.”

You let out an embarrassingly loud laugh at the thought. “Maker, Leia, you’re getting ahead of yourself.”

“Seriously, though,” she says, putting a hand on your knee. “I’m glad you’ve found him. I think he makes you glow.”

It was well past lunch time when the two of you ventured out of the study again. You’d barely scratched the surface with Leia, but the morning’s talking had already made you tired. “Threepio, we’re hungry,” Leia said as she led you into the kitchen. “Ah, Threepio, you sure you aren’t a mind reader?” The table was set for three, some kind of elegant sandwich and soup combo awaited you.

“Do we invite Mando? Since he can’t really eat with us?”

You nodded. “I’ll go get him, if that’s ok? Don't want him to get lonely or something.” You walked back out of the kitchen, picturing Paz sitting on the edge of the bed still as a statue.

You knocked on the door. “Paz? It’s me. Can I come in?” It was a moment before he answered, and then you let yourself through the door. He was lounging on the floor against the bed, your datapad in hand. Not at all what you pictured.

“Hope you don’t mind,” he says, holding up the datapad. “Wanted to catch up on that show. I’ve been a little confused.”

You giggled a little at the thought of a big bad Mandalorian itching to watch a holodrama. “It’s alright, love. Would you want to come sit with Leia and I while we eat? I think she’d like to get to know you as much as she can.”

Paz wanted to say no. He wasn’t a social man, especially not after the tension between him and Leia from earlier, but he knew it meant something to you. So, he climbed up off the floor and followed you into the kitchen.

“Master Mandalorian,” C-3PO greeted as Paz walked into the dining area. “Uh, su cuy’gar. Olarom at yaim Organa-Solo.”

“I can speak Basic, droid,” Paz says as he sits down.

“What’d he say?” You and Leia asked in unison.

“He said ‘welcome to the Organa-Solo home’ in Mando’a,” Paz translates.

Leia turns to the droid. “Where the kriff did you learn Mando’a?”

“I am fluent in over-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Leia said, and waved him off. “I don't know how I forget that.”

You took a bite of the soup, not as good as the Mandalorian dish Paz had made, but it was delicious nonetheless.

“Mando,” Leia says between bites. “I assume you’re from Mandalore. Do you still live there?”

Paz shakes his head. “No, ma’am.”

Leia looks at you, and then you look at Paz, silently trying to let him know that it’s ok to open up to Leia. It was ok for you, just not for him. Not yet, anyway.

“Do you have any siblings?”

“Used to.”

“Not much of a talker,” Leia murmurs to you. “You met my friend on a job?”

He nods. “More or less. I was coming home from one. Had to stop for supplies.”

“You have a family in your Tribe?”

Paz nods. “The Tribe is my family. All of them. We care for eachother.”

The lunch went on like this, and it was a bit tiring. Leia would ask a question, she would get an answer that did not satisfy, and then ask another. You wished Paz would open up, but you understood. Maybe, with time, he would, and Leia would approve of him. You didn’t need Leia’s approval, but you wanted it. You wanted her to like him, she was very important to you, just as he was.

Once the bowls of soup were scraped clean and sandwiches were gone from two of the three plates, C-3PO informed Leia that she was needed at the Senate building.

“I’ll be back soon,” she said as she tied an overdress around her. “Help yourselves to anything, alright?” She kissed you on the cheek and went out the door.

“I’m sorry I’m not good company,” Paz says as soon as Leia leaves. “It’s not in my nature.”

You shake your head. “Nonsense. She understands, even though it may not seem like it.”

“I am trying,” he insists. “I just can’t answer those questions.”

You take his gloved hand into yours. “I know,” you say, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand. “I’ll explain more about Mandalorians to her when she gets back. And who knows? Maybe someday you’ll be an open book with her. Best friends with Princess Leia of Alderaan.”

He laughs. “Yeah, maybe,” he says, voice dripping with uncertainty.

It had been a long time until Leia returned home. You’d wandered around the living room for awhile while Paz ate his late lunch, and then the two of you sat on the couch and watched a holo. Paz felt like he was intruding, and told you so many times, but C-3PO consistently reminded the both of you to make yourselves at home.

“I have prepared a dinner for the two of you, if you would like it.”

“Thank you, Threepio,” you say from your place on the couch. Paz had shed his cuirass so you could cuddle into his chest.

He released you from his arms and said, “You go eat first, mesh’la.”

“We can eat together. Take it to the room and sit back to back,” you say. “Would that be alright, Threepio?”

“You might spill it,” Threepio says. “But I suppose it would be alright. I will bring the trays to the Blue Room.”

You nodded your thanks, Paz standing behind you. He picked his cuirass up off the floor and followed you to the bedroom.

“Where we sitting, kebiin’ika?”

“Floor might be best,” you reply.

He nodded, lowering himself onto the floor and you followed suit. C-3PO appeared with the food on trays, handing them to the two of you and shutting the door on his way out.

The familiar click and hiss met your ears and you saw the helmet hit the floor in your peripheral. The food was a pasta with some vegetables. “Looks good,” you say.

“Indeed,” Paz agrees, and you hear his fork begin to twist on the plate.

As you are, your mind returned to your conversation with Leia. Her asking if you were ready for marriage. Paz told you Mandalorian courtships were short, it was a throwaway comment and you knew that, but it still hung over you.

“Paz?”

“Hmm?”

“Are...” you stop for a moment, wondering if you should continue. You decided to. “Are we going to get married?”

You couldn’t see Paz almost choke on his food, but you heard it. Once he recovered from his coughing he said, “why are you asking, mesh’la?”

“You remember when you told me Mandalorian courtships don’t last long? And that usually Mandos who court get married...”

He sighs. “That’s what it means for a lot of Mandalorians. But you, my love, are not a Mandalorian. Our courtship means what you want it to mean.”

“But we might get married?” You weren’t sure how shaky your voice sounded to him, but you hoped it wasn’t much.

“Yeah,” he replies. “Someday, I hope.”

You smile at your plate. Both of you felt the hot flame of love consuming your bodies, rising to your faces. “Someday.”

tags! @remmysbounty @ladyjenny19 @shadowsoundeffects13

#paz vizsla x reader #paz vizla x reader #paz vizsla #paz vizla

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soundsaboutrighttumblr · 3 years

Text

WBL meta ep 4.

On lucky ones and fools for love, of which there might be not one, but two, each, on broken means of communication and bridges, hierarchies and equal footings in relationships. Started out as typing along each scene, but then one scene stole all the paragraphs, so I cut it a bit short in the end. So yes, kinda my stream of consciousness again.

- We are reminded: Shi De’s mails have always been unanswered, his messages, after 1 year approximately, stay even unread. Communication and its multitude of possible errors will be touched on… good.

- We are told: Little baby Oscar is Shi De’s brother. Ashley probably his step sister that helped take care of Oscar while Shi De’s mom recovered. Shi De stayed, because of his mother’s health and problems in the company, to help out the people he loves, because they are his family, too. Besides Shu Yi. That made two months into two years.

The scene that stole all the paragraphs:

- Moving light on concrete walls, bowls and symbols of present and enduring care and nourishment, a fresh morning, fresh eyes, new awakenings. Man, that scene is everything, not only because it is the scene where Shu Yi will realize imo that this man before him did not cheat on him, without anyone explicitly having to address it. I love this scene already. Will there be fic? Possibly. First, watch me type through it like this, if you want:

- They turn towards each other, like really facing each other. At eye level. Do I make myself clear, lol? They are both sober and rested and calm and are looking right at each other, in a safe space, with morning fresh eyes, eyes open once more after their night TM, a period of darkness, that might have stretched longer than this actual night. Yeah, I am feeling dramatic alright.

Boy do I love that Shi De just starts to speak. Apologizes sincerely, and for the thing that shows that successful communication actually can happen between those two, when they are together, that Shi De actually has listened to Shu Yi and his side and considered it and is aware of where his fault lies, to a degree.

He admits that he realized he didn’t believe in Shu Yi’s forever.

I understand the following lines as carrying the sentiment: Shi De always loved Shu Yi, but as he said to Dad, he wanted to be with him forever the moment he got together with him. Before that was his one sided love, a vague concept of love, but the dream to be together with Shu Yi was just that, a dream. One that became concrete and true, and that was the moment Shi De actually felt and decided he wants this forever.

It became a decision to commit, and the process of it becoming real for Shi De, a decision that reaches into his reality, it took ten years. So he was reluctant to believe that for Shu yi that process of reaching certainty could have happened much quicker. He only had his own love as reference, and used to carrying it all by himself, that standard made him question, if Shu Yi COULD be as certain as Shi de was, after arriving at his decision after 10 years, versus Shu Yi’s rather recent-feeling awakening.

– maybe Shu Yi loved you for longer, even if his knowledge of it was asleep, Shi De, you know he comprehends things in his sleep, we know that about him, right? Sorry side tracked –

Shi De realizes, and TELLS Shu Yi, I mean that scene, he just tells and talks, the marvel… sorry, Shi De realized he DID not believe Shu Yi’s devotion to be the equal to his, thought that Shu Yi was just swept off his feet by the moment, and then he realizes, that the fault for that lies in his own insecurities. And he says that. To Shu Yi. InternalYesScreaming.

- Okay. The intricacies of miscommunication and manipulation. Dad’s arguments were received by Shi De with open ears, because they were thoughts and insecurities, he’d already had himself. The worry of being not good enough, of holding Shu Yi back. That’s why they work even if Shi De realizes he’s being manipulated by that entire put together scene.

- And then Dad presented that broken phone, the symbol of broken communication and broken bridges between them, on a silver platter almost, I mean do you remember the way Dad orchestrated that meeting with the food and the waiter handing him the device on silent cue? It must have felt like things were truly broken beyond an immediate chance of repair.

- BTW : Dad holding the cards, ahem, the phone, the means of communication between them in his hands? We will remember that later, right.

- So yeah, the only chance Shi De saw to salvage anything of it, was in the future. So he gave himself those 5 years, to be worthy to stand next to Shu Yi.

- I think that is about the time that Shu Yi realizes, finally allows himself to let it click, that this man never looked at anyone else but him. Like, that for Shi De, there is no one better on this planet than Shu Yi, there’s no arrogance that a cheating situation could have been born out of.

- �� Also? He sees that Shi De actually has always perceived himself as inferior to Shu Yi, deep down, and/or is afraid Shu Yi might see him as such, which is a reversal and touch on their theme of who is No 1 and Mr. Second, see conclusion waaay down below in highlighted on this monster of a meta.

- The power of it. For Shu Yi to be able to finally SEE Shi De and who he is enough again, that he can overcome his doubts. Without Shi De addressing the misunderstanding, but, and that is important, by Shi De TALKING. About himself, without pretense for strength. The misunderstanding is made nil by communication per se, not communication about it but by the essence of communication, of baring yourself to another, who listens, and understands.

- Gah.

- The way Shu Yi finally acts, when Shi De mentions someone better for Shu Yi. Like there would be someone. How he makes him face him again when Shi De starts to get lost in his own self-flagellating thoughts. Reminding him, this is not a monologue this is a dialogue, by making him face him again. So important, because that happens with them when they are in a room together. They can draw each other out of their heads and communicate.

- Btw, there are wet spots of tears on both their pillows.

- And yes, he puts it in words. That it is his call to choose Shi De, and decide to want to stay with him forever. Not Shi De’s for him, not Dad’s.

- Stupid Gao Shi De. And that affectionate slap on his head. Because they will always be physical like that.

- And there it is, the bracelet that was never gone, and what follows is a renewed wedding vows scene if I ever saw one, is humility and forgiveness and renewed promises on an equal footing. I think that scene deserves way more words, but I might put that in fic or another meta, this is getting ridiculously long. But I think the feels in this one are quite clear. But let me say this:

This episode poses the question who is the lucky one. Also, related to that, who is Mr. Second, and who is No 1? Is it who we thought it was? Or was it reversed, was Shi De the lucky one after all? OR was it the two of them from the start, two lucky ones, two fools for love? And finally: a sense of growth, away from the hierarchy and the illusion of No 1s and Mr. Seconds, of winners and losers in relationships:

You can be equal only through honesty and vulnerability and shared responsibility.

- Please let me know what you think the statue, the rabbit and the crystal ball symbolizes, knowing the show it might symbolize something, but I am lost here, lol. Is it a chinese character thing? Soundsalikes? Three syllables? Am i interpreting too much into it?

- I actually will skip some scenes now, because I just want to mention the ones that tie into the topics I started on above, communication and bridges, because else this will break all limits lengthwise.

- The scene where Bing Wei tells Shi De of the magnitude and depths of Shu Yi’s love. Once again solidifying, that it has always been Shi De’s love’s equal, devotion wise.That Shi De is the freaking lucky one, too.

- The matter of the phone as the symbol. Shu Yi crying alone with the phone, the broken symbol of the broken communication between them, and then Dad taking that out of his hands.

- How it ties into when they both realize at the same time, Dad’s involvement and interruption of their communication might have even started earlier, with blocking the emails from the start when they were apart. You lose sympathies in this ep again, dad, lol.

- The scene on the bridge. BRIDGE. Yeah, besides that it has history for them, look what they do in that scene. They reconnect further, mend bridges, by their shared history in highlights, but also by levelling the ground between them, each admitting and being told that they both have been idiots in this for their own parts, laughing about it even with tears in their eyes. Teasing each other with it, but pulling each other closer over it, the teasing, careful, long unused steps around each other, but on a bridge between them that they revisit, that has been mended, that is secure again under their feet.

It’s the ground they can stand on, the ground they can and WILL use to talk about all that stuff, the bridge between them, their equal love.

- Also, Shu Yi is eating in that scene, happily.

- Oh man, I will end it here, because there’s just too much to say, and I will, in fic and more meta, let me know what you wanna talk about if you made it this far.

#wbl #we best love: fighting mr. 2nd #episode 4 #meta #there will probably be more #but have this for now #@noona96n #@sfjessii

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flowesona · 4 years

Text

The Midnight Channel [2/2]

Yandere ??? x reader

Inspired by Persona 4 (2008)

The most valuable thing (Y/N) had was her friends. She adored the simple things, such as the way Jungkook’s smile when she offered to buy him food was simply infectious, or how Taehyung would call her late at night making plans for the next day.

They were especially precious to her the days after Taehyun’s murder, when she felt as if the entire town had turned against her. She didn’t even speak to her parents, relying instead on Jungkook’s phone calls to wish her a good night.

She didn’t express this sentiment to them until one Thursday afternoon, over a seemingly endless bowl of ramen that Taehyung insisted on buying for her, explaining that he’d gotten a pay rise at work.

“You know we’ll always be here for you.” Taehyung hummed in agreement to Jungkook’s statement, abandoning his food in favour of listening to the conversation.

“I’m so grateful for that, I just wish everything would go back to normal.” (Y/N) sighed, smiling when Jungkook gave her a light pat on the shoulder. She finally finished her bowl of ramen and pushed it in front of her, stretching with a happy smile.

“Can we stop by the library on the way back? I need to return the book I took out or I’ll be fined.” There was no way she could say no to Jungkook’s puppy dog eyes. Thus, they ended up waiting by the desk as a woman with snail-pace speed tapped away the computer to find his library ID, as he’d lost his card.

“Jungkook! It’s great to see you again.” A hushed voice from besides them provided some company, as they saw a slightly older man with a soft smile.

“Hey Namjoon. These are my friends, (Y/N) and Taehyung.” Namjoon held out his hand, to which (Y/N) shook it. However, Taehyung was completely snubbed.

“Are you guys studying hard? You have entrance exams starting soon, right?” Namjoon said in a hushed voice, glancing at Jungkook who was still engaged in a quiet conversation with the front desk clerk, who seemed to be struggling with the computer as he pointed at the screen to direct her mouse.

“I haven’t really given it too much thought recently. I…” (Y/N) trailed off, feeling her words get caught in her throat. Sensing this, Taehyung reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“You’ve been caught up in a murder investigation, I know.” Namjoon’s voice was soothing, comforting as he leaned in closer to keep their conversation on the down low.

She felt Taehyung gently run his thumb across the back of her hand, and used that as a sign to breathe again.

“I think Jungkook’s almost done.” Taehyung whispered. He could read her like a book, and he knew more than anything she just wanted to get out of there and go home.

Jungkook finally, after a long battle with the librarian over the basic parts of her job, was done.

“I’ll see you soon, Namjoon.” He said, as they made their way out. Not even stopping to listen as he also wished them farewell.

───── ⋆⋅ ☂ ⋅⋆ ─────

As Jungkook and Taehyung made their own ways home, (Y/N) was left all alone to navigate the rapidly darkening streets. She started to speed up, scared of being caught out in the night. [Taehyun]’s killer was still out there, after all.

The roar of a motorbike almost scared her out of her skin, as she heard the engine get louder until it drew to a stop, the biker right beside her.

In that second she wanted nothing more than to bolt. But it was as if she was glued to the spot as she saw the biker take off his helmet to reveal a somewhat familiar face.

They stared at each other for a moment, before he reached into his pocket. Expecting the worse, (Y/N) began to inch away preparing to scream her lungs out. Only to see him pull out her umbrella.

Without a word, he pressed it into her hands.

“Thank you.” She felt herself go hot at the sound of his deep voice.

“No problem.”

There was an awkward pause.

“It’s not safe to be out this late.” He commented.

“My friends live on the other side of town.” (Y/N) replied. “I didn’t want to have them go out of their way walking me back.”

The biker sighed.

“I don’t feel right leaving you to walk home alone. Get on the back, I’ll give you a lift.”

“Oh no, it’s fine-” (Y/N) protested, face still flushed.

“I’m a lot safer than some of the other people in this town. Get on.”

Swallowing down the fear in her throat, she cautiously climbed onto the back seat.

However, he didn’t move yet. Suddenly, she realised that she wasn’t sitting properly and whilst regretting her every word, she placed her arms around his waist.

The stranger put on his helmet, revved up the bike, and they were off.

“Where do you live?” He asked as they sped down the road.

“Near the 7/11.” She answered, receiving a grunt in response.

The ride was almost refreshing, once (Y/N) had conquered her initial fear. The cool breeze whipped her face and hair, making her squeal and causing the biker to chuckle at her reaction.

Finally, he drew up outside her house.

“Thank you so much.” (Y/N) offered him a smile, climbing off the back of his bike and dusting herself down.

He didn’t respond until she was at her door.

“I’m Yoongi.”

“I’m (Y/N)” She replied. “Have a good night.”

───── ⋆⋅ ☂ ⋅⋆ ─────

The howling rainstorm outside made it impossible to sleep. Once again, her most uncomfortable days were accompanied by rain.

‘The Midnight Channel.’

Once the thought had entered her head, it was hard for it to leave. Would Taehyun still be there, his suffering captured forever to make (Y/N) suffer? Or would it simply be blank, (Y/N) having lost all her one and only soulmate.

No matter how much she tried to distract herself, (Y/N) couldn’t shake it. She just had to see what would be on there.

She watched the hand creep closer and closer until it was almost midnight. Suddenly, she couldn’t bear it anymore. She flung the bedsheet off her, and kneeled in front of the TV.

(Y/N) was ready to give up when nothing happened. But, just as she was about to climb back into bed and scrub all knowledge of the strange phenomenon from her mind, the screen flickered to life.

At first, the static was too strong to make out who it was. All she could see was a vague female silhouette. However, once she meant closer to squint, she could make out the face. Bone chillingly, the face belonging to the figure being shown on the TV was that of her own.

───── ⋆⋅ ☂ ⋅⋆ ─────

Needless to say, (Y/N) refused to leave her room after what she’d seen. No amount of bargaining or reasoning from her parents could convince her that she wasn’t about to die in the same mysterious manner as Taehyun.

She couldn’t even bring herself to let her friends in. All of her trust with outer society was destroyed by some stupid urban myth, and as much as (Y/N) wanted to convince herself it was all a hoax, memories of the corpse dangling from the telephone pole haunted her everytime she closed her eyes.

Eventually, she built up the courage to see someone. Her mother had knocked on her door ten minutes ago saying that Taehyung was still there, waiting for her.

And sure enough, when she poked her head out of the door he was sat outside, on his phone. The second he heard the door creep open his head shot up.

“(Y/N)! Thank god, I’ve been so worried.” He stood up, only for (Y/N) to back away.

“Maybe it isn’t best for you to see me. I look like an absolute mess.”

“Nonsense.” Taehyung insisted, prying open the door. “I said I wanted to see you. I don’t care how you look.”

He muttered something under his breath, but when (Y/N) asked he just shook his head.

They sat themselves on her bed, as he awkwardly tried to find the most non-invasive way to ask (Y/N) what was wrong.

“How have you been then?”

“Like shit. I’m scared to leave my room, Tae.” She sighed.

“Why?” Taehyung pressed, reaching out to hold her hand. She took it, relishing in the comfort of his soft hands.

“You know about the midnight channel, right?” She said, trying not to stumble over her words.

“That thing Jungkook was talking about? Yeah, why?”

“Well, when Taehyun was… you know… I saw him on the Midnight Channel. Twice in fact. So I thought he could be my soul mate. But then I checked again a few nights ago. And there was… me.”

Taehyung squeezed her hand tightly, letting her continue.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I feel like the Midnight Channel is calling card of some kind. And whoever killed Taehyun is going to kill me.”

“They won’t.” Taehyung said firmly. “I won’t let them. I swear (Y/N), to lose you would be to lose part of my soul.”

“Tae…?” (Y/N) felt her face go red at his passionate declaration. He’d always been so caring, so kind but this was a whole other feeling.

“(Y/N), I love you. I know that I do. And you might not love me back, and I will accept that. But I can’t live without you.”

“Tae… thank you. I… I need time, but I know that I like you. Just let me figure out my life before I rush into this, so I don’t hurt you.”

He nodded, standing up to leave but (Y/N) wouldn’t let go.

“Please… can you just stay a bit longer?”

───── ⋆⋅ ☂ ⋅⋆ ─────

As much as she wished to be wrapped up in Taehyung’s arms for the rest of time, it was getting late and she knew his parents would be worried about his whereabouts.

“I’ll walk you to school in the morning. No one’s going to hurt you under my watch.” Taehyung was reassuring both her and himself as he spoke.

“Take an umbrella. The rain is way too heavy right now.” (Y/N) replied, finding the black fold-up umbrella she’d discarded in the corner of the room and pressing it to his chest.

“(Y/N)?” She didn’t realise how tense she’d become until he called her name to snap her out of the trance. She met his eyes, and he smiled.

“I love you. Sleep well.” With a gentle kiss to her forehead he left the room, and she could hear him making polite small talk with her parents before leaving.

Meanwhile, (Y/N) busied herself by changing into her sleepwear and preparing herself for bed. She could only hope a good night’s sleep would ease her mind, and it felt like as soon as her head hit the pillow she was out cold.

The town itself was dropping off to sleep. Lights were being switched off, dishes left to dry, and restaurants were starting to wipe down the tables. It was the perfect setting for him to strike, hiding in the shadows as he made his way towards (Y/N)’s house. No one even spared him a glance.

Her house was perfectly silent. All it took was a simple lock pick to the door and he was let in. There was one safety hazard, however. The intruder almost tripped over the body of the (L/N)’s dog, who had laid himself at the doorstep as if he knew of the danger to come. But all it took was some quiet shushing and a hand running through the dog’s fur to calm it back down, as it laid its head on the ground with its tail still wagging, exciting to meet a new friend. Thankful that it hadn’t caused too much of a ruckus, he crept up the stairs, hoping not to stumble across a squeaky step. After all, (Y/N) was an only child and the slightest ruckus could leave him screwed.

Nonetheless, he was at (Y/N)’s bedroom without so much as a peep. Gently he opened the door, and his heart soared as he finally glimpsed her face again, after what felt like ages. She looked ethereal as she rested, even if there was a slight frown on her face.

What was she dreaming about? School, Books, her dog… maybe even him? EVen if the thought delighted him, it didn’t deter him. He was still shook from what he’d seen earlier, and it was his love for (Y/N) that was driving him to drastic action.

(Y/N) was rudely awoken from her sleep when she felt someone grabbing her head and slamming it into the wall. She was about to scream, only to have a hand harshly pressed over her mouth. She desperately struggled, trying her hardest to elbow her attacker in the stomach, or preferably the groin, to no avail.

The stranger easily overpowered her, pushing her to the ground. As if to taunt her, the attacker used their shoe to flip her onto her back before pressing it into her chest, to hold her in place.

It was only from this new angle she could start to make out the intruder’s face as she struggled to get up, aided only by the sliver of moonlight shining on them through the curtain. Even if she could barely recognise his face, the cool deep voice that spoke was unmistakable.

“It’s great to see you again, darling.”

“N-Namjoon? What are you…?” (Y/N) was breathless, both from shock and fear of what was to come. Was she going to die, right there completely helpless as her parents slept soundly in the next room?

“Don’t worry about what I’m going to do, darling. This is all about you.”

“Me?”

Namjoon sighed. He knelt down, moving the weight off her chest but pinning her hands down instead, pinning her beneath his body.

“You don’t realise just how mesmerizing you are, do you?”

See her blank expression, he continued.

“I love you, (Y/N). I have loved you, for so long. But I’m not the only one, am I?” (Y/N) let out a hiss of pain as his nails dug into her wrists. “Park Jimin, always snapping at your heels like some lovesick puppy. Or maybe that thug Min Yoongi, who was so insistent on accompanying you home? Even Kim Taehyung. Don’t think I didn’t notice the way he was looking at you. Right in front of me as well!”

Namjoon scoffed.

“And how could I forget that little brat Taehyun?”

(Y/N) was shaking in his grasp as she spoke.

“What did you do to him?”

“Why don’t I show you darling?” Noticing the look of fear that washed over her face, he simpered.

“I have every reason to. You’ve messed me around too long. I’ve always been there, trying to help you, vying for your attention yet you flounce around with every other boy in town! How is that meant to make me feel?”

“How was I meant to know you feel that way? I don’t owe you anything, you creep.” (Y/N) hissed, voice raising slightly. Namjoon simply covered her mouth with one of his hands once again, conscious of her sleeping parents.

“I suppose that’s true, you don’t owe me anything. But I’m going to get what I want anyway.”

He pulled her off the floor, still keeping her restricted so no matter how hard she struggled it was futile.

“How about I show you the true power of the Midnight Channel?” Hearing her squeak in fear Namjoon continued.

“You’re familiar with it, aren’t you darling? After all, once I told Jungkook I was almost certain he’d pass it onto you. And the more people who know about this, the more powerful it becomes.”

He was pushing her towards her TV, even as she dug her heels into the floor.

“My poor darling. Taehyun was just as scared. But I had to punish him for hurting your reputation so badly, not to mention how bold he was to stake his claim on you when you should belong to only me.”

She felt her shoulder hit the TV, but rather than colliding directly with it her body started to sink into it like quicksand.

“I hope this will teach you a thing or two. Being in the TV world killed Taehyun, but I won’t let it hurt you too much. Hopefully I’ll remember to rescue you in a day or two.”

The last sight (Y/N) saw before she was enveloped in the strange dimension was Namjoon’s smirk, knowing he finally had her full attention.

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plumoh · 3 years

Text

[SK8] at all times, at all sides

Rating: T

Word count: 7409

Summary: Kaoru is shaped by the choices he makes and the people surrounding him. And through the years, Kojirou was there in one way or another.

Note: AO3 link. This was posted a while after Kaoru’s birthday, as a character study of sorts, birthday by birthday. I make the assumption that in the present day, Kaoru and Kojirou are 27-28 years old.There is a brief mention of alcohol at age 20, and Kaoru is a bit drunk at age 26.

15.

Kaoru gets two additional piercings on his left ear on his fifteenth birthday.

The first one, at what is considered a normal place for an earring in the middle of the earlobe, was done as an impulsive act of brashness to show off to his friends at school at the beginning of the year. He likes the attention. The family name attached to him makes people gasp when they see him with holes in his ear, but he would be lying if he said it didn’t bring him some sort of satisfaction. It’s kind of ridiculous and entirely too stiff an attitude to be offended by some nails stuck into someone else’s skin, as if it changes who he fundamentally is. Besides, piercings are cool.

So Kaoru gets two additional piercings, a helix piercing and another one in the earlobe, and Kojirou whistles.

“You sure your parents won’t cut off your entire ear for that?” he asks, his gaze appraising Kaoru’s new look.

“I’ll live with only one ear, then,” Kaoru answers, shrugging. “What do you think? I look cool, right?”

Kaoru gestures to his ear, grinning and looking at Kojirou expectantly. He knows that he must be acting like a child who got permission to eat a second candy after dinner, but it’s his birthday and he feels he can be excited for what is, essentially, a new approach to his lifestyle. He paid for these piercings with his own pocket money (and money earned through foolish bets and challenges, and he’s thankful that most skaters are stupid).

Kojirou hums, his face pinched in intense concentration. Kaoru rolls his eyes.

“That’s a yes or no question, Kojirou.”

“Let me give you a complete review of your new fashion style, impatient bastard,” Kojirou says.

“I don’t need a complete review! They’re just piercings!”

Kojirou always takes forever when asked to give his opinion on any topic, be it about his younger brother’s latest baseball game or the best suited color for a piece of garment Kaoru’s mother has decided to wear for an important meeting. It’s utterly unnecessary and a waste of time—Kaoru isn’t asking Kojirou to write an essay about his piercings.

“Just answer the question,” Kaoru says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, if you like your piercings so much, maybe show them off more?” Kojirou sighs. “I don’t know, you have more hair than any human being is supposed to have. It hides the piercings.”

Kaoru snorts. “Complain to my mother about that.”

But Kaoru entertains the idea.

16.

Keeping his hair long is a simple matter of preference. There is no rule in his family stating that its members should have a specific length of hair, so why not? Very few boys and men have it this long, and Kojirou always asks him why he bothers taking care of such a useless physical feature when all it does is getting into his way when he skates. Kaoru admits he does have a point, but he likes his hair.

Kaoru is currently tying it into a ponytail, lazily skating on the sidewalk around their neighborhood. Kojirou is skating at his side eating an entire soda flavored Garigari-kun popsicle, shoving it into his mouth and crunching into the ice because he likes having brain freeze.

“Hey, it’s your birthday next week,” Kojirou announces, like it’s the most thrilling event of the week. “Did you plan something? Wanna go explore some new skating areas?”

Kaoru flips his hair over his shoulder and shrugs. Kojirou is looking at him curiously, almost intently, and that makes Kaoru raise an eyebrow.

“Nothing special, but it’s also on the same day as some renown calligrapher from Tokyo visiting our studio. So yeah.”

“All the way from Tokyo? That sounds important.”

“Maybe. I didn’t really pay attention.”

Simply thinking about all the formal procedures that will take place in his house and the fact he will have to be on his “best behavior, please, Kaoru” is pissing him off. He’s not interested in hearing about the works of this supposedly famous and talented calligrapher bestowing upon their modest family his knowledge and wise advice. Kaoru doesn’t even know why he still attends the calligraphy lessons when he’s pretty sure he’ll go into computer science or something. His parents are always on his case about maintaining his posture and improving his strokes every day, and at some point Kaoru started obeying to make their noisy demands stop. He doesn’t genuinely hate the art itself; he simply thinks that his time is better spent elsewhere. What does calligraphy have when computers can do much more fascinating stuff?

Kojirou is nibbling at the popsicle stick, eyeing him with that critical look he often gets when he considers throwing paper balls at Kaoru in class, or when he thinks that Kaoru needs a snack to calm down, like some fucking animal he’s trying to tame—Kaoru hates that somehow, food always works.

“You want to ditch?” Kojirou asks as neutrally as possible, but Kaoru hears the sympathy in his voice. Which is appreciated, but unnecessary.

“No, I was actually thinking of scandalizing my parents by cutting my hair and having it cropped short,” Kaoru says with a half-feral grin. “Like, strands of hair sticking everywhere and impossible to make it look presentable.”

Kojirou almost stumbles on his skateboard, even though it’s a straight line and he wasn’t even pushing with his feet on the concrete.

“What?! But you never shut up about your hair!”

“You fucking liar, I only ever say I like having it long!”

“Yeah, that still makes it stupid! Why would you cut your hair if you like it long?”

“Because hair grows again?”

“Not as fast as you’d think, if you even thought about it before blurting out you want to get a bowl cut.”

“Disheveled and rowdy haircut, not a bowl cut, you idiot!”

They make a turn at the corner of the street, expertly avoiding a kid walking her dog and dodging the woman carrying groceries behind her, not without getting scolded for skating in residential areas (or skating at all) but those are words that go in one ear and exit in the other. Kaoru smiles to himself and kicks into the ground to get more speed, jumps and flips his board in the air before landing on it again with minimal risk of smashing his face in the concrete. He lifts a fist in the air with a whooping cry.

“Oh hey, that was a good one!” he exclaims, giving Kojirou a radiant grin.

“You mastered this trick long ago, why are you so excited?” Kojirou grumbles.

“Because it felt nice, that’s all. Be happy about the small things in life, that’s what you keep saying.”

“Sometimes I feel you’re purposely throwing back my words at my face only when it’s convenient for you.”

“I always listen to you, even if it might come as a surprise.”

Kaoru laughs, spinning his board and continuing on a straight line, ahead of Kojirou. Today’s weather is pleasant and he can’t wait for the end of the school year at the end of the week to go skating all day. It will come with more calligraphy practice, but at least he will have time for his other hobbies too. And if he can’t focus on anything at home, he can still go to Kojirou’s place and bother him all day.

“Then don’t cut your hair!” Kojirou shouts, catching up to him.

The lines on Kojirou’s face are weird, all upset and a bit worried, and that’s not an expression Kaoru is used to see when they’re talking about haircuts, of all things. Maybe when they’re doing their geography homework or when they’ve spent one hour practicing tricks and got more bruises than actual results, but not hair.

“What’s up with you?” Kaoru asks, slowing down. “It’s just my hair. It’s a good prank.”

“You’re going to look like a bird’s nest for at least three months, you okay with that?” Kojirou retorts.

“That’s not the worst thing in existence. And if I recall, you told me last year I should show off my piercings more, so having short hair would effectively do that.”

Kojirou groans and drags a hand across his face, almost looking defeated.

“Just style it in a way that makes your piercings visible, then,” Kojirou adds. “You… have nice hair.”

Kaoru blinks. Kojirou looks straight ahead, his posture stiff, determined not to turn his head in Kaoru’s direction.

“I have nice hair,” Kaoru repeats.

“Yes.”

“You don’t want me to cut my hair because it looks nice?”

“Yes.”

“That might be the most honest compliment you’ve ever said to me.”

“Shut up, I’m never complimenting you ever again!”

Kojirou speeds up, but not before Kaoru catches a glimpse of his reddening ears. The situation is starting to make even less sense, but seeing Kojirou so flustered over nothing is piquing Kaoru’s interest and his lips stretch in a wide grin. Kaoru joins Kojirou in their less-than-recommended skating speed.

“Okay, but you’re being weird!” Kaoru shouts over the sound of their wheels scratching against the ground. “Was that an offer to style my hair?”

“I’m not talking to you,” Kojirou mutters.

“You’re the one who suggested it, you can’t drop the topic!”

It’s almost comical to see two teenagers loudly arguing about a pointless subject while skateboarding and avoiding any obstacles they come across, as if being on a board is the same as walking. Passersby shoot them quizzical looks and a lot of adults are clearly not approving their noise level.

They end up skating all the way to the playground near the elementary school of the neighborhood, where a few kids are playing while their parents are watching over them. There is a skating park farther away, but people are already using it and Kaoru doesn’t like skating with people not part of their crew unless he’s looking for a fight. So they keep skating around, at a lower speed because colliding with children won’t exactly look good on either of them.

“Fine, keep being stubborn, you asshole,” Kaoru grumbles. “I’ll get another piercing.”

Kojirou finally jerks his head towards Kaoru, his expression a lot less constipated and more curious. “On such a short notice?”

“I’ll find a way. And even if I can’t get it done before my birthday, it will still be infuriating for my parents.”

Kaoru taps at his lower lip, not missing the way Kojirou’s eyes follow the movement with rapt attention.

“I wanted to get a lip ring, anyway,” he says.

There is something simply enthralling in a lip ring—the light catches on it, and people are immediately in admiration when they see it. Not everyone has the guts to get one, after all.

Kojirou slowly nods, tearing his gaze away from Kaoru’s face.

“If you want,” he says. “I don’t see any problem with that.”

“You’re so weird today.” Kaoru rolls his eyes.

“You’re the weird one, obsessed with piercings.”

“You just wish you could be as cool as me. Race you to my home!”

“Damn it Kaoru, stop cheating!”

Kaoru ignores Kojirou and launches himself at full speed to make his skateboard pivot and turn around, going back from the way they came. Kojirou is still yelling at him.

Kaoru doesn’t manage to get his lip pierced before his birthday, but he does sweep the left side of his hair behind his head and keep it in place with a hair clamp, leaving his earrings in plain sight. To the calligrapher’s credit, upon seeing who the supposed Sakurayashiki heir is, he makes only the vaguest noise of shock before getting into business. Kaoru smiles all throughout the visit.

17.

Kaoru’s seventeenth birthday remains one of the most special days of his life.

He got gifts, snacks and high-fives from various people whom he cares more or less about (the crew bought a cake but Kaoru only got a thin slice of it because they are greedy bastards), while Kojirou bought him a book on AI that was way too expensive even if he has a part-time job salary (Kaoru wrestled him to the ground when he recognized the book).

Adam takes them skating in a place they’ve never explored before.

It’s beautiful. Exciting, captivating and alluring, making them use all their senses to turn at the right time, to ride down a hill without losing control, and to feel the full path reverberated through their bodies in shock waves. Skateboarding is fun, but this is on another level entirely—it’s like sliding on the edge of a cliff, giving heart palpitations but also an intoxicating feeling of a game that needs to be beaten, whose ending is all worth these efforts.

The three of them are skating as if wings sprouted on their back, uncaring of the world outside of their little bubble of thrills. Kaoru watches in fascination as Adam seems to fly across the track, smooth in his skating and unconcerned with the bumpy road. The wind seems to be an inconsequential factor in his descent in the slope, moving along with it and never straying far from the road. It’s subjugating, it’s beautiful, it’s freedom.

“Watch where you’re skating, idiot!” Kojirou yells right next to him, startling Kaoru out of his reverie.

Kaoru crouches low and makes a sharp turn, avoiding a rock that would have sent him sprawling. He straightens and keeps going at a controlled pace, glaring at Kojirou.

“I know what I’m doing!” he grunts.

“You almost smacked that wall with your face,” Kojirou points out with a glare of his own. “Stop getting distracted.”

“I’m not distracted,” Kaoru snaps back automatically.

But the look Kojirou is giving him is indescribable, so foreign on his face and even more so as it is directed at Kaoru. There is something brewing in the air and Kaoru doesn’t like it, doesn’t want a chasm opening between them because of a stupid argument, but he doesn’t even know what made Kojirou so irritable in the first place.

Adam is waiting for them at the end of the path, watching them arriving at a sullen pace with a raised eyebrow. Kaoru stops right in front of him and plasters a smile on his face, much more eager to talk about they’ve come here for.

“That’s an amazing place! Skating here is so fun, we can make a challenge out of a lot of things in this mountain.”

“Yes, the turns are different and there are many slopes that we need to be careful of,” Adam agrees, smiling. “I truly believe we can accomplish a lot, if we do it together. I want to create a special race here for skaters to push their limits.”

Adam looks at Kaoru, then at Kojirou—the glint of mischief and of confidence reflected in his eyes is the same as the one that pulls everyone in his orbit, making them give their all to become the best. It’s a look that Kaoru feels inextricably drawn to, enamored with the unbridled possibilities he imagines behind words that promise a paradise of freedom grander than anything they’ve ever known.

“You both have skills that will be useful to establish this race,” Adam continues. “People are following you and your skating is among the best. I said before that you guys were special, and I mean it.”

Kaoru does not preen, but the shivers that course through his body as Adam opens his heart are ones that feel pleasant, almost addictive. His grin splits his face in two.

“You can count on us, we’re going to create the best skating race in existence,” Kaoru assures. “Right, Kojirou?”

“Yeah, of course!”

Kojirou’s earnest tone is almost a relief—he’s clearly as excited about this race as them, and Kaoru would have been seriously worried if that wasn’t the case.

For the first time, the joyous expression on Adam’s face seems to be born out of sincerity plucked from the deepest corner of his heart. It suits him; it makes him look even more radiant than usual. Kaoru can’t look away.

“It’s decided, then,” Adam says. “The three of us, inaugurating the “S” race. Together.”

On that day, when Kaoru turned seventeen and his mind was filled with nothing but skateboarding, he thought that this is what belonging felt like.

18.

Sitting perfectly straight, legs tucked under him, Kaoru picks up a brush, dips it into ink he has carefully ground, presses it against the sheet of paper and splashes black trails all over it. The ink drips outside of the frame and stains the tatami floor of the study he hasn’t bothered to protect, littering everything in dark, angry marks that resemble the work of a child throwing a tantrum.

There is no word, no poem written on his paper. Half of the inkstick is grossly used up, its tip almost falling apart, like it wasn’t deemed worthy of being respected as one of the treasures of calligraphy. Kaoru is filling the paper with nothing but emptiness.

It’s not even rage moving his arm like a possessed demon. It would have been easier to deal with, if it was rage; handling it requires minimal effort, as he can mindlessly let his heart wreak havoc upon anything his hands come into contact with, or he can scream all the grievances he’s bottled up to clear the space occupied by unpleasant thoughts. Rage is physical, in and out, and Kaoru’s had years of practice getting rid of it.

But this is not rage that nudges him in the direction of destroying a perfectly good piece of paper with expensive ink and an even more expensive brush, tarnishing their quality and the noble use they are destined to. It’s cold and quiet resignation, trapping him in his own mind as he lets himself be selfish one last time and act out in childish anger.

Kaoru’s eighteenth birthday is spent alone, grieving his dream of ever cutting ties with family traditions. He hasn’t touched a skateboard in months and he hasn’t tinkered with his AI program in even longer. There was no point anyway—Kojirou has other things to focus on, and Adam left.

Kaoru was a fool to think he was strong and resolute enough to follow a path that is not written with the same deep ink as the one he’s used all his life.

20.

“You can legally drink now, congrats.”

“Great. I can sip my alcohol in the presence of guests and pretend I’m enjoying their company when all I want is getting drunk.”

“That’s not very professional, soon-to-be Sakurayashiki-sensei.”

“You’re one to talk, I bet you’re consuming way too many beers at those parties. Has gaining muscle mass made you lose brain cells?”

“Hey, you four-eyes, that was uncalled for!”

There is something moving behind Kojirou, a door opening and someone poking his head inside, and Kojirou turns his head to rattle off a few words in Italian before facing the camera again. Chin resting in his palm, Kaoru is watching with a raised eyebrow Kojirou’s roommate rummage through Kojirou’s dressing, before retreating back into the corridor.

“Does he make a habit to walk around your shared apartment half-naked?” Kaoru asks.

Kojirou laughs, waving his hand. “He was looking for a clean shirt, he forgot to do laundry yesterday. I told him he could borrow one of mine.”

“I’m surprised you still find shirts your size with the way your body’s taking the shape of a gorilla’s.”

“Just admit you’re jealous of my perfect muscles.”

Kojirou makes a show of flexing his bicep and Kaoru snorts.

“Yeah, I’m so jealous of that gorilla body that is unnecessarily big.” Kaoru deadpans.

“Believe it or not, it makes skating a lot more fun too,” Kojirou adds with a smile. “More power in the legs to do tricks.”

Kojirou looks...satisfied with the direction his life is taking. Kaoru is happy for him—studying abroad in culinary school and discovering a whole new culture seems to be the change of pace Kojirou needed. Sometimes Kaoru wishes he could also skate in the places full of pipes and curvy roads that Kojirou shows him, but he has to make do with the familiar tracks he’s skated on all his life.

“I upgraded Carla to calculate distances faster and to automatically record what she sees,” Kaoru says with a hint of smugness.

“Your AI having a girl’s name will never stop being weird,” Kojirou groans. “Why haven’t you chosen something normal like “Ghost Voice” or “Robotico”?”

“An AI is not a robot.” Kaoru pinches the bridge of his nose, already tired of having to repeat this for the umpteenth time. “Your Roomba is a robot. Carla recognizes many more things than the shape of your apartment.”

“Then program Carla to clean my apartment too.”

“Carla isn’t a vacuum cleaner, you dimwit!”

“That’s a big shame, maybe you should also create an AI cooking for you!”

Kaoru opens his mouth to reply something scathing, then snaps it shut. On the screen, Kojirou frowns.

“Don’t,” Kojirou warns.

“We have enough resources and data to program an AI that creates recipes from a list of ingredients,” Kaoru says anyway. “If we implement it into a robot, with the correct code and careful adjustments, then maybe it will be a decent cook.”

“If you start making a cook AI I don’t want to heart about it,” Kojirou mutters.

Kaoru rolls his eyes. “Do you think I have enough hours in a day to focus on another project? Carla already requires my full attention.”

There is no need for him to say that calligraphy practice is what he does most of the day, if he’s not attending courses on speech or on business. It’s his life now; he chose to become the next Sakurayashiki calligrapher and he can’t back down now. Not that he’s ever fully considered leaving calligraphy behind for one of his better, more interesting hobbies—and this was exactly the problem. He never untied his hands from the string tethering him to a brush.

“You always want to work on something, so I’m expecting anything from you when you’re bored,” Kojirou says with a smirk.

“Maybe my next project will make gorillas like you shut up.”

Kaoru is twenty years old, discovering every day new aspects of himself in a professional environment, but one thing that never changes is the comfort of simply existing as himself when he talks to Kojirou.

22.

Kaoru spends a couple of years simmering in feelings he doesn’t acknowledge.

He isn’t someone who takes the time to reflect on his own feelings, negative or positive. They simply happen and he decides on whether to act on them—which has been true since he was a child, throwing tantrums when he didn’t like the task he was asked to do, kicking someone he didn’t agree with as a teenager, and deflecting when answering journalists’ questions that would force him to look deep into his heart. He lives in the moment and tries very hard not to burden himself with useless thoughts and regrets he can’t act upon.

He doesn’t dwell more than necessary on his choice to inherit the family calligraphy studio, because it will lead to nothing productive. He has perhaps harbored ill feelings towards calligraphy in the past, but they’re not so visceral he can’t execute the job he’s been trained for since he could hold a brush. Sometimes he thinks he could have rejected everything he’s been taught and disappoint his family for the rest of his life, but he immediately chases the thought away and decides that suffering through a successful career of calligrapher appears to be a small sacrifice compared to the headaches that would have come with removing himself from the Sakurayashiki studio.

He’s a full grown adult, by society’s standards. He shed his sweaters for yukatas and took off his piercings with reluctance, feeling like he ripped off a part of himself that’s been with him forever to fit into a mold he’s accepted as his new normal. Those were remnants of his old, carefree life that he abandoned, and it’d be preposterous to wish for things to have gone differently.

At least he has his AI—a new spin to a traditional art that is resistant to change. Carla is efficient, impressive and shocks people into admiration; Kaoru has upgraded and improved the code as many times as it required, making her compatible with every device in his possession so that she could accompany him in all his tasks. Skating became a game of precision, detail and finesse, aiming for perfection beyond what the average mind would think of. Calligraphy is enhanced and magnified, the digital aspect adding beauty in an art that is almost exclusively done by hand. Incorporating technology in his otherwise boring job undoubtedly made his days easier and more fun.

Kaoru isn’t dissatisfied. He can do better, but he could have done worse. However, if there is one thing that makes him antsy it’s the realization that he’s seeing less of Kojirou with each passing day, and he would have never thought it would leave a growing ache in his chest every time he thinks about it.

They have their own lives to live. It’s part of growing up—and he hasn’t completely lost his best friend yet.

25.

They have been wandering the streets of Paris for exactly ten minutes and Kaoru is already starting to regret his decision.

“It’s not that hard to read a map,” he seethes, trying to grab Kojirou’s phone.

Kojirou lifts the device higher and turns his back on Kaoru, stubbornly keeping his eyes riveted on the screen.

“I’ve got this, stop distracting me,” Kojirou says.

“The metro station is right there, let’s just change itinerary, stupid gorilla!”

“You want to take the metro when we could explore the city on foot?”

“The probability of getting shitted on by pigeons is way too high for my liking.”

This gets an undignified snort from Kojirou, more amused than mocking though Kaoru knows not to assume when every one of his words can be thrown back at his face later on.

They do end up taking the metro. They can go anywhere in Paris by bus or metro, making it extremely convenient to find their way but it gets overwhelming really fast—the metro lines seem to be full of people at all hours of the day, according to Kaoru’s extensive research before their trip, and they are nothing like the monorail they have back in Okinawa. Most passengers are focused on their phones, while others are taking a quick nap, which is not that different from what they’re used to.

“It can’t be worse than the Tokyo rail lines,” Kaoru mutters as they’re being shaken by the train doing a particularly sharp and violent turn.

“You’ve never been to Tokyo,” Kojirou replies with a raised eyebrow.

“I did last year for a meeting.”

“And that single trip was enough for you to get the full experience of the infamous rush of Tokyo’s Yamanote line?”

“I wasn’t saying I used the Yamanote line, imbecile. All trains are crowded. I think you wouldn’t have been able to squeeze in with your gorilla body.”

“At least I’m not at risk of going blind when someone knocks off my glasses by pushing me around in a crowd!”

“I always carry a second pair of glasses with me to avoid this kind of incident!”

It’s probably a good thing that this line of metro makes the same level of noise as a tractor revved up at full power, because their arguing is by no means quiet and people are starting to stare at them. But as soon as Kaoru glances at them, they avert their eyes and pretend they weren’t gawking. Typical.

March weather is terrible. Their trip lasts one week, and there is an equal number of sunny days and of cloudy days, with high probability of rain. It shouldn’t be normal to have a changing weather so unpredictable that it makes planning for their day a real pain in the ass. Kojirou is already complaining about the sun beginning to leave space for clouds at merely eleven in the morning, and Kaoru silently agrees with the sentiment.

The food is good, at least.

“Reminds me a bit of what restaurants looked like in Italy,” Kojirou says around a mouthful of beef. “Maybe I can draw inspiration from those recipes.”

“It’s not Italian cuisine,” Kaoru points out. “Unless you intend to make a mixed menu.”

“Of course not, but the flavors can be useful.”

Kojirou is examining his piece of vegetable like a scientist observing an experiment under a microscope, as if it could give him the secrets of its cooking time or the spices used for it. Kaoru lightly kicks him under the table, and Kojirou hisses.

“Stop being weird and eat your food.”

“Do you really have to hit me every time you want to make a point?”

“I’m not hitting that hard.”

The other way around is more likely to happen; Kaoru won’t ever admit it but he doubts that Kojirou feels more pain than Kaoru does when he hits him. Those muscles are ridiculous and entirely unnecessary, honestly.

They take pictures at the landmarks and get mad at the long lines and narrow their eyes at the price of various food and drinks they stumble upon. They’re not short on money, but drinking a cup of café au lait at twice the price of what they can find in regular coffee shops doesn’t leave a good taste in their mouth. Kojirou uses the knowledge from his time in Italy to make educated guesses on whether they’re paying something at an unreasonable price or not—he looks a bit too smug doing so but Kaoru lets it slide for once and allows him to play the role of the brain for this specific aspect of their trip. Kaoru can at least trust Kojirou’s judgment when money is concerned (even if his intuition can be skewed sometimes).

“It’s only because it’s your birthday trip that I’m putting up with your need to visit museums,” Kojirou says, waving at the multiple pamphlets they gathered after three days of sightseeing.

“Having some culture ingrained in your mind is nothing but beneficial for you,” Kaoru retorts evenly.

Kojirou rolls his eyes, clearly not interested in that conversation, and gets up from his bed of their hotel room. It’s past midnight but they’re still wide awake. Sharing one room would be awkward or embarrassing for a lot of people, but Kaoru has known Kojirou half his life and it would be ridiculous to feel self-conscious now, when they’ve seen each other in various states of undress and wakefulness. Perhaps the only complaint Kaoru will voice that he didn’t have when he was thirteen is that the older Kojirou gets, the louder his snoring is (as if the noise level grows with the wideness of his body).

“Hey, Kaoru.”

Kaoru looks up from tomorrow’s schedule displayed on his phone to come face to face with a giant box of pastries and Kojirou’s bright grin. Kojirou is holding the box one-handed, slightly bent forward, like he would a tray to present his dish to his most loyal customers.

“Happy birthday, four-eyes,” Kojirou says on a light tone.

“Must you call me names when you’re wishing me happy birthday?” Kaoru scoffs, but he eyes the pastries with unconcealed interest.

They went to a bakery in the afternoon for a snack, buying a croissant, a pain au chocolat and a pain aux raisins because they apparently lack self control when it comes to cheap baked goods—but for some reason Kaoru missed the moment Kojirou acquired this box of pastries.

“It’s past midnight,” Kaoru reminds him.

Kojirou shrugs. “We’re grown adults and on holiday, I don’t think it’s much of a problem.”

“There are six different pastries in this box.”

“Nobody’s saying we should eat all of them right now, moron. Save some of them for tomorrow.”

They end up eating three pasties, one half each, while arguing about the pros and cons of buying smaller portions of different sweets over getting an entire cake for a birthday, as well as the point of starting celebrating said birthday at midnight instead of simply waiting for morning. They’ve had these conversations before, at Kaoru’s or Kojirou’s birthday over the years, but it seems they never grow sick of repeating the same arguments even when the topic is stupid.

It’s like a well-oiled machine; pushing on one button always leads to the same result. Kaoru and Kojirou argue because this is what they’re used to do, a response at their lips even before they hear the end of the other’s sentence. What comes out of their mouths takes the shape of banter but Kaoru, even though he usually ignores it, notices how at ease he is in these moments.

Kojirou invited him for this trip even if he didn’t have to, and bought pastries to share at midnight like they’re holding a small party. His face is illuminated by his generosity and his big heart that finds a way to carve itself in his eyes.

“Let’s go skating tomorrow afternoon, it will be fun,” Kojirou suggests, mischief and plain desire to have fun glimmering in his gaze.

And Kaoru can’t say no.

They brought their boards, like they did when they traveled to Los Angeles. It might sound like a waste of space in their luggage, but nobody has a say in what they consider fun. Kaoru had to change Carla’s battery for her to fall under airport regulation, which was a hassle on short notice (Kojirou dropped a plane ticket on Kaoru’s lap a week before departure, and Kaoru shoved back money at him but it somehow ended back in his hands after a few minutes of jostling) but definitely worth it, because there’s no way he will skate with a lower quality board.

On March 27th, when Kaoru turns twenty-five years old, he almost resorts to a more physical solution to win petty squabbles against skaters in another country, a behavior he was prone to display when he was seventeen. But he’s an adult who is traveling for leisure and isn’t foolish enough to ruin the trip by punching someone when he can skate away and show off with a few tricks involving exact calculations and perfect angles, so this is what he does—after Kojirou, admittedly, forced him to remain calm, as though he was his impulse control when Kojirou is just as quick to rise to a challenge.

Maybe the difference is that Kojirou isn’t a cocky bastard like Kaoru is. Debatable, but Kaoru won’t deny that he loves the feeling of achieving something flashy or impressive. Getting into trouble for it is always worth it, especially if Kojirou is there to live it with him. It’s never the same without Kojirou—they might bicker and have more arguments then actual conversations, but Kojirou’s a warm presence enveloping him in a tight hug he can never quite shake off.

The trip to Paris isn’t half-bad, and it’s full of memories with the person he trusts the most.

26.

Kojirou is very, very still when Kaoru finally stops fighting with himself and leans his head on his shoulder, completely wasted after drinking too much wine at this event gathering too many important people to talk to and drink with. The taxi is silent and all he can hear is the screech of the wheels on the asphalt.

“Rest until we reach your home,” Kojirou says, something akin to laughter in his voice.

“Hm.”

Kaoru registers the words coming out of Kojirou’s mouth, and judges them acceptable before closing his eyes and letting himself be rocked by the car drive. In his drunken haze, when he called Kojirou to be picked up, he forgot Kojirou lent his car to his little brother; remembering such an essential detail would have saved them a lot of trouble, but Kojirou called a taxi and is now sitting with Kaoru in the backseat instead of going back to his own home. What an idiot.

Kojirou helps him into his apartment, grumbling as his elbows hit the walls and his feet get caught in stray shoes in the genkan that Kaoru eventually wanted to sort out and put away. They manage to get to the couch, and Kaoru collapses on it without grace and lets out a long groan, draping an arm over his eyes.

“I’m not drinking at this sort of event again,” he complains.

“That’s your fault for not limiting yourself,” Kojirou sounds unimpressed. “You always say you’ll stop drinking but you keep doing it.”

“Half a glass with each guest is customary. Beyond that is called showing off.”

“So you’re showing off, stupid four-eyes.”

“Shut up, gorilla. I have something to prove.”

Kojirou’s sigh is filled with such apparent exasperation that Kaoru immediately realizes how petty and ridiculous he just sounded.

“On the day of your birthday, to top it all,” Kojirou says. “Do you need babysitting?”

“You are not going to babysit me,” Kaoru snaps. “I’ll just go to sleep.”

“Yeah, and you’ll start bitching tomorrow morning because you forgot to drink water and take a shower.”

“I’m not that incompetent, you giant brainless idiot.”

Kojirou doesn’t deign responding to his insult and slides behind the kitchen counter. Kaoru drops his arm and watches him rummaging through the cabinets with too much confidence for someone who doesn’t live there. Kojirou comes back with a glass of water and two slices of bread that Kaoru usually eats in the morning when he’s too lazy to make breakfast.

“You probably didn’t eat much, since your robophile brain was wired on ingesting wine.”

“I just said I don’t need your help,” Kaoru mutters.

Kojirou ignores him and deposits the items on the coffee table. He then sits down next to Kaoru, causing Kaoru to shift further on his side of the couch because of his needlessly big body.

“Do you have to sit so close to me?” Kaoru grumbles, leaning forward to snatch the water and the bread, pretending that his world didn’t start spinning as he did so. He takes a few sips of the water.

“Your couch isn’t large enough.”

“It’s your body that’s not average size, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“You’re suspiciously coherent for someone who says he’s drunk.”

Kaoru shrugs, foregoing manners as he speaks and munches on the bread at the same time. “My mind is clear, my thoughts aren’t confused in the least.”

“Right. What time is it?”

Kaoru looks at the time displayed on his TV box, sitting on the stand pushed against the opposite wall of where they’re sitting. He squints at the numbers, slightly blurry despite his glasses still resting on his nose. He has no idea what time it is.

“Eleven forty-seven,” Kaoru announces.

“No, it’s twelve forty-seven,” Kojirou snickers. “Finish that, take a shower and go to bed.”

“And you’re going to stay here and take up space in my apartment?”

“Well, if your event hadn’t run for so long, I would have spent some time with you anyway since it’s your birthday. So I might as well stay until you fall asleep.”

Several things get jumbled in his head at that moment, and Kaoru stares at Kojirou in disbelief. There’s something funny and warm happening in the pit of his stomach.

“You have nothing else to do,” Kaoru asks, or accuses—he doesn’t know how his voice comes across.

“Just go to sleep, Kaoru.”

Kojirou takes the empty glass from Kaoru’s hands and puts it on the table. He then tugs Kaoru upright, holding his wrists in a gentle and careful grip, as if Kaoru will break if he’s not handled in the most delicate manner. Half of the second slice of bread is lying abandoned in the plate, but Kaoru doesn’t particularly mind as he realizes, with strange clarity, that this isn’t unpleasant to be taken care of like this. Kojirou is smiling at him with his most genuine expression, and Kaoru has to look down to avoid his gaze, embarrassed and fulfilled and relieved all at once.

28.

It’s been a long time coming, Kaoru thinks as his fingers tangle in Kojirou’s hair and he brings him closer, always closer to him. The night is warm and too uncomfortable for a spring day, but the heat twisting his stomach is from something entirely separate. His lips meet Kojirou’s endlessly, like this act alone will make him absorb whatever Kojirou is willing to give to him for safekeeping. It’s the first time they’re kissing and yet it feels like they should have been doing this for years now, hiding under the shade of a tree or behind a rocky wall to share a private moment together, in a pocket of time that will burst only when they decide to drop all pretenses.

He knows it’s been a long time coming, because Kojirou is laughing against his lips, and when Kaoru cracks an eye open he sees how open and fond Kojirou’s face is. Kaoru immediately wants to close his eyes again and to stop noticing how luminous everything has become.

“We’re so dumb,” Kojirou says.

“You are stupid, for holding back all those years,” Kaoru retorts.

“Yeah, now it’s my fault for being considerate of your feelings towards me.”

“If you believed for one instant that I’d cut ties with you, then you’re more foolish than I thought you were.”

Kojirou still has hi arms wound around Kaoru’s back, and when he shrugs he presses Kaoru closer to himself. There is no anger and no regret in his eyes or his posture, as though nothing in the world would strip him of the bliss he’s currently being filled with. Kaoru finds himself drunk on the sight.

“I didn’t think that, no. I was just too scared of doing anything that will cause a shift in our relationship.”

The words sound strange, once Kaoru hears them spoken out loud. Kojirou is the one constant in his life that never changed, a shadow at his back and a light guiding him. They’ve both seen each other at their worst and their best, tending to bruises and squeezing a shoulder in comfort or riling each other up as part of their routine. Kojirou is an entity that exists at Karou’s side, full of familiarity and overflowing with kindness that doesn’t need to be voiced.

Kojirou is stupid for ever having hesitated or doubted the strength of their bond. But Kaoru is stupid, too, for simply taking what Kojirou was offering without ever giving back properly.

“We’re never having this conversation again,” Kaoru warns, tugging at Kojirou’s hair and pressing his forehead against his. “I trust you, Kojirou. I always have. This isn’t going to change.”

Kojirou is clinging to every one of his words, looking at Kaoru with the most enraptured expression he’s ever shown. Like this is a dream that cannot be real. Kaoru scowls.

“Don’t look so surprised, gorilla. That’s not a secret.”

“I’m not surprised, I’m simply enjoying that you’re saying it at all,” Kojirou laughs.

“You never say anything pleasant about me either.”

“You’re the one who barges into my restaurant and half the time demand dishes that aren’t even on the menu, and I still cook them! I’m being nice enough!”

“What else would you do in a restaurant, muscles for brain ape?”

“I don’t know, cook a dish I have the actual ingredients for?”

Kaoru’s lips are pulled upward despite everything, his heart as light as ever in Kojirou’s presence. The ease surrounding them remains the same, electric veil sealing them in their own brand of intimacy they wouldn’t trade for anything else.

It feels effortless, then, to switch to a less barbed attitude but still retaining playfulness. Kaoru brushes strands of hair out of Kojirou’s face, and Kojirou runs a thumb under Kaoru’s eye.

“It’s my birthday at the end of the week,” Kaoru whispers, locking eyes with Kojirou. “Take me somewhere nice.”

“Bossy as ever,” Kojirou sighs, though his voice sounds like contentment and bliss contained in a space called home.

Kaoru smiles.

#matchablossom #joecherry #matcha blossom #kaoru sakurayashiki #kojiro nanjo #sk8 #sk8 the infinity #kaoru is like 'i know i have feelings but i'm making the decision of not seeing them'#i'm fascinated by his change from punk high schooler to stoic adult #i also have more thoughts about kaoru+calligraphy relationship that i'll eventually write down #when i have the time o(-(

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selenitawars · 3 years

Text

Pressentimento

Never Be The Same - Part 7.

Pairing: Sam x Daughter!Reader, Dean x Niece!Reader, Castiel x Platonic!Reader.

Summary: To save Dean’s life, Sam changes a big part of his past, hoping that he’d only forget memories with his college girlfriend. But, not only he changes his life, he also creates a new one.

Word Count: 2332.

Warnings: None.

A/N: Yes, I’m back after over a year and a half. I know I’m a dumbass for making y’all wait for so long, but, honestly, I want this to be a fun writing, so I try not to pressure myself. Won’t make promises. Either way, always love to know your opinions. Hope you enjoy this comeback haha!

Pressentimento masculine noun 1. act of feeling in advance, more through emotion than reason, the occurrence of a future fact; suspicion. "I have a p. that this will not work" 2. knowledge of what will happen, obtained by intuition; forecast, hunch, omen.

You still hadn't explained everything to your father nor your uncle. Cas remembered one of the episodes that occurred with you when you were younger, around ten or so. It was hard for you. Every time you tried to explain yourself, things were hard to explain. All the time, something blocked you from exposing the fear inside you, the fear of letting things out.

The way their "new" memories came to them didn't help. It was so unpredictable. Cas remembered you praying first and then, mixed memories, tiny ones, which made him assume a lot about you already; and worry as well. Dean remembered more, like the time Sam was soulless and you lived with him for months, you concluded he was remembering things by the impact they had in his life. As for Sam, well, apparently things were coming more chronologically for him, but a little late, since he also had a lot of Camila to remember.

You tried to think how to talk to them about your crisis. The big ones. It was so complicated. When it started happening, you had your godmother to help with calming down and understanding how sensible you were; but even Vanessa had to talk with the Winchesters to fully understand what made you so much stronger and sensitive. Anyway, she wouldn't help you now that she was in the list of people to whom you never existed.

Oh, and your mother...

Looking at pictures of her nowadays became an addiction. You couldn't sleep before searching a little more about her, not that you've been having much sleep or any of this helped. You wish so bad you could talk to her. And now that Sam told ya you reminded him so much of Camila, you really studied her, trying to find the resemblance.

How would you tell them there's more? More of you to worry. You wanted to wait for a time when the memories hangovers weren't so heavy on them. They were all trying to act normal, but it was obvious - you've never been at home for this long, they were never so quiet. Dean wasn't even drinking, to make sure he wouldn't be more confused.

You were lying down on your bed, trying to ease the headache. It was normal to have a day just to be tired, but after the all day just resting you still got a headache by night. Went to get a pill to make it better and when you swallow it, you realize something.

"I don't exist." You whisper to yourself.

For the first time in that day, you felt useful. Even with the headache, you got in front of the computer and started to do your thing. For some reason you got happy when you confirmed your theory.

"I was never born."

"You gotta stop thinking about that." Dean warned you.

"No, I mean... I don't exist."

The three men stared at you with confusion, you repeated.

"I don't exist."

Still nothing. The room was filled with silence while you hoped for the clicking in their minds. It never came. You sighed.

"I never existed! Never did anything!"

Sam looked at you like he was starting to worry, while holding a bowl with cereal. Just like Dean, who chewed his, probably thinking you've gone crazy.

"I don't understand why you're so excited saying it." Cas finally said.

"Isn't it obvious?" They once more, didn't react. "There are no records of me, at all. Nobody knows about me. I only left the bunker once."

"What's your point?" Dean asked.

"We should keep it that way."

"What? Why?" The brothers said together.

"Well, if nobody knows I'm here, we're in advantage. It's always good to have a secret backup, right?"

"Like... as a surprise element?" Castiel suggested, you nodded. "Y/N, you don't truly expect us to treat you like a secret weapon..."

"Hell no." Dean agreed.

"It's not like it."

"Well, I don't see your point." You father stated. "I know this seems messed up, but, we can fix it. Don't worry."

"I'm not worried, I'm thinking!" You made them quiet. "C'mon, think with me: I barely left the bunker, how could anyone know about me?"

"We know about you." Dean answered.

"But you've seen me. And your memories, are just yours, this doesn't mean the world knows about me."

"Ok, but you'll need to use an ID sometime. Or will you live forever here, inside the bunker?"

"Dean, you should know it's easier to make a fake ID look real if there isn't a real one to prove the fake one as fake."

Sam took a deep breath.

"Ok, so we leave it as it is. How much long do you think it would last?"

"Not much, I know. But at least, for a while it could be useful."

"I don't see how, Y/N. I'm not using you as my secret-spy-soldier or whatever."

"Sam is right. It's not worth it."

"Castiel?" You looked at him, only to find the agreeing look. You looked down.

"Look, how can you be sure nobody else remembers you?" The angel tried to clear your mind.

"For most people I know, I never happened. And the others, will probably only remember me when they see me, if they do. Until then..."

"That's not right." Sam interrupted. "I had this feeling about you, before we arrived on that day; like I left something behind, but I couldn't remember why."

"So did I."

"I got one your prayers for not getting news from us." You stood there, silent.

"That's it? A feeling you forgot something?!" You left for your bedroom, a little ofended they didn't listen to you. Your idea was good, logical. You genuinely thought they would see it as a good thing out of all this.

Reflecting on it, you finally notice: you may not know your family as well as before. At first it sounds crazy, but this is all crazy, ain't it? And after doing their exercise for a couple hours, thinking about your childhood, the events that crossed it and when it all began, you got yourself some questions.

You fell asleep while still thinking, trying to find logic somewhere and always getting to the same point, a lost point. Somehow while sleeping, you had no dreams, didn't wake up once; not even the fact that you were with a jacket bothered you.

"Hey, man. You good?" Dean noticed Sam squeeze his eyes.

"Yep. Just those flashbacks. I hate to have them by day, but I can't sleep no longer."

"Like a constant hangover, thank God it's not a heavy one." Sam did not answer. "Sam?"

"Right..." Sam stared at the floor, seeing stuff in his mind. He blinked multiple times after a little.

"You all right? You seem shocked. What did you remember?"

"It's just... Y/N's suggestion."

"Dude, that was today."

"Very funny!" Dean smiled a little to ease his brother. "It got me thinking. Why would she want that?"

"Honestly," Castiel entered suddenly. "I think she is trying to get something good out of this."

"Good? I see her point, but..."

"Not good." Cas interrupted, correcting himself. "Useful, at least."

"It's not as useful as she thinks." Dean says as if it's obvious.

"It's the only thing she has to offer." Castiel putted it in a weird way, but made sense. They silented for an instant. "Still, how does that has to do with your flashback, Sam?"

"I thought that maybe I should listen to her. Maybe there was a point."

"You, Sammy, considered the possibility of being saved by her?"

"Obviously not. I wondered: what if her non-existence helped her get away from this craziness. Like, she could get to any school if we put some effort."

"You concluded it fast." Cas commented.

"Well, yeah. Then I... questioned." Sam felt the gazes at him. "How did she get dragged into hunting in the first place? Why did I not stop it? And one more thing popped up: why did I leave college?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Dean couldn't understand his brother.

"Dean, if it wasn't for my anger towards Jessica's death, who knows..." He explained. "So why I left Stanford, making Camila stay behind and after weeks drop out too?"

Castiel took a seat.

"Why did you?"

Sam opened the door, showly. You were in your bed, far from his atmosphere, enjoying a rest you needed. He passed the door carefully, took a look at your room and turned the lights off. Ever since that hunt days ago, when he saw you sleep at the motel bed while he was reading about the case, the day he woke up before you and as you slept in the car coming back home, Sam felt peace as he watched you.

It was the moment he could breath easily and a little relaxed. You were resting, next to him, nothing could hurt you in your sleep. There, you were safe and wasn't leaving soon. So he couldn't help watch you once more; just stood by the door for a couple seconds, smiled at the taught of you having a break from this madness for some hours. Grabbed the door and heard your move, turning to check if he had woken ya.

"Sorry."

"Don't be." Your voice sounded lazy. "I have a light sleep."

"So do I." You nodded. You knew it. He regrets commenting it.

"What is it?"

"Nothing. Go back to sleep."

"No, tell me." He understood you couldn't sleep anymore.

"You don't want to talk now."

"It's about earlier, I know." You said while rubbing your eyes. "Just spit it." He gave in and sat in your chair.

"Why do you wanna do it?"

"Why don't you?"

"Why would I?"

"You've always wanted this." He gulped.

"What? No!"

"You never wanted me to be in risk, you hated the fact I made you all vulnerable, now nobody knows I'm here. I know this isn't permanent and things can change, but for now, you could finally be at peace. Nobody knows me, none of you have to worry."

Samuel digested everything you said and got his answer prepared fastly enough.

"For a long time I asked myself if Jessica never died, would I be here? And you know, as things turned out to be, as I found out more and more throughout the years I got the answer." He paused. "I would. Because if it wasn't Jess, it would be Dean or dad, or a friend."

"What do you mean?"

"I left college for revenge." You got surprised. "It wasn't Jess. Not anymore." That sounded weird. "I made a choice and I know now that somehow, at some point, no matter how many times... I would make that choice again. As soon as somebody I care about got in danger. So I left college. For you."

Sam got back from his first hunt after two years. Camila was waiting. They talked and she was serious when she told him to call Dean. Leave as soon as he could. She said she had a bad feeling, he had to find his father. Was something repentine, fast and clear - the fear in her voice stopped Sam from questioning.

"The way she talked to me... her eyes, getting sudden tears. At first I tried to calm her, jokes on me, I blamed her hormones. Camila proved me wrong. I knew she had that sometimes, like with tests or bad decisions, maybe something simple like knowing staying in was better than going to a party. She was always right. If not totally right, fast enough to avoid regret." He looked down as her voice came to his head and repeated her words. "'This is your family we're talking about, Samuel! Your child's grandfather.' She screamed. I was scared." You two laughed a little. "She begged. Aggressively. But, I didn't leave because she did."

"Why then?"

"I called Dean to get back there and pick me up because once we talked, I got that bad feeling too. And was suddenly afraid. Afraid something would happen to either of you." You stayed silent. "I hoped things would be more simple, soon I'd be back and things would go back to normal. You would be born and grow up, normal. We would be a family..."

"Please, don't say normal." He smiled.

"Your mother's bad feeling... I don't know what is was about exactly. She got scared too in that moment and it was the only time I saw her that scared. But I know that mine became true. Only, it was even worse. There was no blame. Of all things that happened in those months, how worried I was with my father, you, Camila and even Dean... The hunts, the confusion and overwhelming information all at once. The fear. Your mother's death was the most sudden and painful." You saw a tear run down his cheek, followed by a couple more. Sam had more to say but you spoke before, in the heat of the moment.

"She knew." He looked back at you, now with red eyes. "I think she knew something bad was going to happen."

"She knew we would be in danger." By we, he meant himself, his uncle and your grandpa.

"No. Not that. She knew that something terrible was happening already and would get worse. But she didn't tell you to go to stop it." His tears froze, lost in your words. "Like you said. Camila was always right about this bad feelings. She was certain." You were sure thanks to your own experience with it.

"About Dean needing me more than her?" You denied.

"About you needing the rest of your family once I was born."

#sam x daughter!reader #dean x niece!reader #castiel x platonic!reader #sam x daughter au #dean x niece au #castiel x platonic au #dad!sam winchester #uncle!dean winchester #uncle!castiel #winchester!reader #winchester!daughter #sam winchester x daughter!reader #dean winchester x niece!reader #supernatural imagine #supernatural au

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legolaslovely · 3 years

Text

Lucky

A/N: This turned into a whole story?? WHA?? But I’m super happy about it! This story is my version of this post. Please! I’d still love to know what YOUR version would be! Shoot me an ask or comment and let me know! I have been in a super lovey dovey sappy mood lately and would love to share in it with anyone who’s up for it. Either way, I hope you get some joy from reading this story and that post. Also, I fudged the ages of Castleroy’s kids a bit to fit this story. Though through season two, we’re never told their ages! Also, as you can see, I used a lovely picture of Deano in the photoset because in my mind, he fits the role perfectly. :)

Pairing: Lord Aloysius Castleroy (Reign) x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,135

Warnings: Talk of rough peasant life, reader has step-children, tw // food, FLUFF ALL THE FLUFFITY FLUFF

Summary: Check out this post!

You could have struggled through your entire life. You could have been sent to work for hours on end each day, only to perish from a single sparse harvest or plague. You could have been pushed on a man who only loved you for the sons you gave him. You could have been lonely.

But instead, you were quite lucky.

You met a man who didn’t care what others had to say about his life or his choices or his family. He didn’t listen to the whispers that followed him through the room when he asked you to dance and led you to the middle of the floor. Nor did he mind that even your presence at the gathering was a fortunate mistake or that you’d forgotten all the precise steps the moment he took your hand.

He only thought of the way your body relaxed against his, even with so few points of contact in the overly and cursedly appropriate dance. He fell for the stubborn lock of hair that always tickled your cheek no matter how you pinned it back, and he paid extra attention to your smile that only grew wider with each correct step. And when that light reached your eyes, he knew. He knew you were special.

And when he showed you his kindness, his generosity, his bravery, and soon, his love, you then gladly accepted his marriage proposal. Immediately.

Which is why you held no fear when he returned home from his business abroad and caught you teaching his children how to cook dinner for themselves. Anyone else would have shamed you- your own father would have beaten you- for attempting to teach the children of one of France’s most affluent men how to tend a fire or wash vegetables or set their own table. It was ludicrous.

To you, however, it was fun. And to the children- now your children- it was positively merry.

You asked the two boys to set the dining room table with whichever bowls caught their fancy from the cupboards. It only sent laughter bubbling through you when you saw them leave the kitchen with bits of cutlery and place ware from each of the home’s four dining and tea sets. But then again, you didn’t expect any less. You only hoped that you wouldn’t hear any crashing or shattering from the next rooms over.

Though you didn’t expect your oldest daughter to take any part in your little game, she begged you to show her how to knead and prepare the bread dough that had been left to rise in front of a sunny window. You divulged the secret tricks to tipping the delicate dough from the bowl and then beating everything but the yeast’s life out of it. She was an incredibly sharp girl and instantly took to what some may call the most difficult part of baking with quick skill. She even graced you with a genuine smile when she felt the dough transform into a ball of silk in her hands, and you didn’t hesitate to flick a finger full of flour onto her cheek as a reward.

Your youngest didn’t surprise you. While she was a bit different from her older siblings, she very much resembled you before you had found your place in life. Still, that knowledge did nothing to calm the swell of emotion that rose inside you when she clung to your apron skirts as soon as her brothers and sister scattered to their own work stations.

“Would you like to stay here and help me?” you asked her.

She nodded and slid up to the counter covered with raw vegetables. The center of her chest barely reached the wooden slab workspace, so you gave her a clean towel and asked her to dry the freshly washed carrots. As you peeled the potatoes, round, blue eyes like her father’s watched the knife swirl and slice in your calloused, well worked fingers.

While you worked together, you told her stories of what it had been like to be a child on a farm. And as you chopped vegetables and she piled them into the large pot you’d placed on the floor in her reach, the both of you sang the songs of France that any little one, rich or poor, would know by heart.

“Papa! Look!” was all she said before running to him and dragging him through the kitchen by the hand.

“I see! You’ve been busy,” he said, picking her up and kissing her.

“Yes,” she said. “And Gemma baked the bread and the boys set the table!”

“Very good!” With a look to you, he added, “And brave.”

You smiled at him, doing a horrid job of hiding the roll of your eyes.

He kissed your cheek before following his children to the dining room and listening to each of them share their individual roles for the night. Their proud voices rang through the lower floor of the house as you continued your work, humming to yourself and swiping the last of the diced onions into the pot still on the floor. You wiped your hands, preparing to lift the large vessel onto the counter when your husband appeared and did it for you.

“And where have all my helpers gone?” you asked.

“I’ve sent them to bathe and dress for the special meal you all have prepared.” He rolled up his sleeves. “Though I, my love, am ever at your service.”

You had him lift the jug of broth and pour the measured amount into the pot. Then, as you stirred the steaming soup, he stood behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “Our youngest was very excited to tell me of your history with potatoes. And I believe there’s even a chance she may eat her carrots now that she knows how much work goes into growing them.”

You leaned into his warmth. “I thought it right they know where I came from and what you’ve done for me.”

He kissed your skin. “You’re right. They should know how strong and brilliant their new mother is.”

You turned into his embrace, struggling to speak through the lump in your throat and the tightness in your chest, and held his face as you kissed him. “I’m very happy,” you said against his lips. He understood the many meanings behind the statement.

“As am I.”

“I’m glad you’re home.”

He held out his hand to you. “What do you say we bathe you and get you dressed for the delicious dinner you’ve prepared. And I can show you just how glad I am to be home.”

You took his arm and he led you upstairs to your shared chambers where he, as always, spoiled you rotten.

Yes, you were very lucky.

---

@emrfangirl @misslongcep @raindancer2004 @ladybugg1235 @xxbyimm @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @fire-flv @nerdbirdsworld @dashesofink @winchesterandpie @tumblinglringlring @specialagentsnark @karlthecat15722 @sagabriar @marymegger @aidan-kili-mitchell-forever @cassiabaggins @guardianofrivendell @lathalea @laurfilijames @moniamoure @justfollowtheroad @vem-vem-writes

#i definitely cried writing this #tw food #lord castleroy #reign #lord castleroy x reader

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mrvdocks · 3 years

Text

Plus One

Summary: Steve gets some closure. You and Nancy get a big surprise.

A/N: well, well, well, here we are. One chapter away from the finale. I hope you guys enjoy it. :)

Two weeks. You’d been gone for two weeks.

At first, he thought you just needed some time to cool off, so he waited. And waited.

And waited.

When you didn’t return after the third day, that’s when he started to panic. He’d called Robin, only to be met with an earful of how you were too good for him and that he needed to make a reassessment of his life. He knew that.

The days started to feel long and lonely. Mickey was there sure, but he was starting to miss your presence. Your loud and annoying laughter didn’t fill his ears when he would watch your favorite shows. He wished you’d come out of the room at times and yell at him for using your luxurious things.

He’d broken the foot tub. He didn’t know how, but he’d broken it and he wasn’t nearly as knowledgeable about fixing things as much as you were.

Just when he was cleaning up his mess for the day, there was a knock on the door. He froze.

His heartbeat suddenly started to shake and rattle against his rib cage. There was an uneasy feeling in his stomach. One where you know you’ve done something wrong and tried to put it off and now have to face it.

He exhales slowly, dropping what he’s doing and preparing himself for the worst. Maybe you’d push past him or call him names or take Mickey. He thinks taking Mickey would be worse. He didn’t like being alone with his thoughts and God knows he couldn’t charm anyone else to spend time with him lately.

He opens the door in a swift motion, ready to say the usual “I’m sorry” but is met with someone he did not ever expect to see in the area.

Don Harrington. And company.

He’s in a grey suit jacket and jeans and sensible shoes, all things Steve hadn’t seen in a long time. Next to Don are two kids, the same kids that he hadn’t seen since he’d left Hawkins.

“Stranger! Stranger!” They yell in unison, pointing at Steve.

“Guys! It’s okay, it’s just Steve, remember?” Don laughs charmingly, bringing his hands onto the boys’ shoulders and rubbing them to calm them down.

“Dad?” Steve asks, completely wide-eyed.

The kids push past Steve and begin their scream-a-thon again. Steve is too struck by his father standing in front of him to even care that they’re probably making a mess inside.

“Hey son,” Don shoves his hands into his suit jacket. “Got a minute?”

Steve sighs.

Steve reaches for the water basin to give his dad water and almost hides his opened bottle of alcohol but in a small thought, offers it to his dad. Don refuses it, saying he’s watching his figure. Steve scoffs to himself, just a few years earlier his dad would’ve loved a cup, or at least the whole thing.

“What are you doing here, Dad?” Steve asks, pouring the water.

Don’s fingers tapped against the wooden table in drum-like motions. “Can’t a father visit his son with his future step-brothers? I’m worried about you, kid, you haven’t responded to any of my calls.”

Steve stops pouring. “Let’s not do this, alright?”

Don’s brows furrow. “Do what?”

Steve shoves the basin to the side. “Don’t pretend like you want to be there for me now. You had all that time then, why now?”

Don shuts his eyes.

“Steve, I’m sorry. Really, I am. Listen, I know I wasn’t the greatest -”

“You were a grade-A asshole who ruined our family.”

Don doesn’t fight with his son. He knows his sins. But that’s what he’s here for, atonement.

“Did I make some harsh decisions for you to toughen up? Yes. Did I make your mother and you lose trust in me? Yes, but I’m here now Steve. I didn’t leave. I could’ve but I didn’t.”

“So all of this,” he gestures to Don and the kids, “suddenly just makes up for all the bullshit you’ve given me? Do you know how many times I heard mom crying in the middle of the night? All those times she pretended like those business trips you took were actually for business? Hell, do you even remember what happened when I left?”

“Yes, I do.” Don nods, closing his eyes again in uneasy remembrance.

It would be better if the past was just forgotten.

“I know you’re angry at me. You have every right to be, but I did say I wanted to bury the hatchet. Everything I did is in the past now, your mother and I - you know, we moved on. She found someone and I did too. I think it’s only fair that you do as well. And I see you have.”

Steve tenses up a little at the latter half of Don’s sentence. He did, didn’t he?

“Yeah. Maybe not, Dad.” Steve avoids his father’s eyes and fiddles with things on the counter.

Don catches on. “Why?”

Exasperated, Steve stops what he’s doing.

“What happened? You made this girl sound like she was your soulmate tenfold!”

“Maybe soulmates don’t exist, Dad. Maybe not for me anyway.” Steve plops himself down in front of his dad, clutching the mug of water to sober himself up more.

Don frowns. “What happened?”

Steve hesitates. He’s never bared his feelings to his dad since he left. And even then, it was all just dry replies and sarcasm and bitterness. But maybe it’s the alcohol talking or the fact that his dad really does seem like he’s changed.

“I screwed it up. I just let myself get in my head and I - I pushed her away.”

Don places a comforting hand atop his son’s own. Steve recoils at first but settles. His father had never been too affectionate, no, that was his mother’s job. It felt off.

But it also felt a little more comfortable, honest. Like there wasn’t a hint of being affectionate for the sake of hiding some grand affair.

“Steve, you’d tell me the truth if I asked you right?”

“I guess.”

“Do you hate Mary?”

“What? No. No.”

“Then why are you so mad about us?”

“I’m not mad, Dad. I just - when you and mom split, it messed me up. I didn’t want to be like you guys. I just wanted to find the one and hang onto her forever. And now I’m completely alone, so. And you’re just moving onto your next family.”

“Steve, I’m sorry that your mother and I splitting up hurt you so much. I’d be nothing if I hadn’t met her and I also wouldn’t have you. But kiddo, as long as your mother and I are alive, you’ll never be alone. Including your girlfriend. It's not too late to fix things."

“Thanks for letting me crash here, Nancy. I promise I’ll be out of your hair soon.” You say, fixing up your couch bed.

Nancy waves your concern away.

“Don’t even worry about it, it’s nice having company. Plus it gets kind of lonely at night.” She says, setting the white timer on and setting it down on the counter.

“You cooking something?”

“No….just trying to time something.” She says vaguely. You don’t read too much into it for now.

Nancy smiles warmly instead, passing you a thick fleece blanket from the other couch. Jonathan was off doing a piece on the Northern Lights somewhere in Alaska. When Nancy had first revealed to him that you were staying with her until things settled, he had a few choice words for Steve.

You felt odd, having turned Steve’s friends somewhat against him. Nancy reassured you that this was familiar territory. They knew how Steve was. This is how she had remembered him in Hawkins during that honeymoon period they were in.

“Do you miss him?” Nancy asks, settling into the blanket with you and putting the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. She was about to play the movie you two had debated on for a solid three minutes.

You shrugged as you fiddled with the chipped nail polish on your fingers. “I love him, Nance. But if I can’t convince him that nothing’s going on, then what’s the point?”

You sigh as you close your eyes and try to imagine when the last time you saw Steve happy was. You think the day in California was the best day of your life. He was like a little kid again, running around the boardwalk and trying to impress you with the “test your strength” games. The sunset perfectly illuminated him when you laid on the cooling sand, a single curl falling loose on his forehead from his quiffed hair.

“I don’t think you should let this deter you. Maybe Steve’s just scared. I mean why wouldn’t he? He’s had a fear of unfaithfulness forever. His parents, his friends, me and Jonathan. To him, there’s always been someone better.”

“I know.” You frown. “But, and excuse the cliche, when I’m with him - it’s like nobody else matters. If I was still with Danny the second I moved in with Steve and Robin, I think I would’ve been in trouble.”

Nancy’s brows perk up, intrigued. “How so?”

“I’ve been in love with Steve since the day I moved in. I promised myself I wouldn’t move on so fast after Danny but, I messed up that day.”

Nancy smiles at the sweet thought.

You shake your head in thought. “I don’t know. Maybe I wasn’t his type after all.”

“Oh please, you’re definitely his type. Smart, tough, independent AND you have the balls to call him out on his bull? You’re his dream girl!”

You blush at the compliment. “Thanks, Nance.”

“You’re very welcome. Now, let’s riff on this romcom and throw popcorn when things get too cheesy.”

The movie goes on for half an hour, the bottom of the tv set covered in popcorn bits and kernels. You and Nancy laugh hysterically and boo at the cheesy romantic scenes whenever they pop up. When the timer goes off Nancy glances over her shoulder and stands, giving you the half-empty bowl of popcorn.

“I’ll be back.” She says, going to the upstairs bathroom.

“Alright, but don’t take too long. I think Tom Hanks gets naked in the next scene.”

“I won’t.” She chuckles and disappears.

You take a handful of popcorn in your hand and dump it in the hood of your sweater, bobbing for it in an attempt to stay distracted.

Five minutes pass and Nancy hasn’t returned. You glance at the time on the tape player. It’s only so long that you can bear to stare at Tom Hanks’ eyes before he loses his charm.

“Nancy?” You call out, hearing shifting from upstairs. No response though.

You count to three, getting up and letting pieces of popcorn fall to the ground.

“Naaancy.” You step onto the stairs carefully, grabbing onto the wooden railing.

Still no answer. You huff and resolve to go up the stairs.

“Nancy if this is your idea of a prank, just know it’s not great! I don’t get scared easily!”

You make it all the way to the top and glance down both ends of the hallway. You see a light on at the end of the hallway on the left, the door left ajar just enough to see the shower. You approach with caution, hoping not to catch Nancy in an unflattering position.

“Nancy?” You call again, now at the front of the bathroom door. You can hear sniffles like someone’s crying. Your brows furrow.

“Nancy?” You swing the bathroom door open slowly, meeting a crying Nancy on the floor next to the toilet.

“Hey,” Your voice lowers an octave and becomes soft. “You okay?”

You kneel down to her level and put a hand on her back, rubbing in circles.

She shakes her head, revealing a white stick in her hand. Your eyes widen when you realize what it is.

“These aren’t real right? These are joke tests?”

Nancy looks up at you in teary puppy dog eyes.

“I don’t know,” she hiccups. “I don’t know what to do. I was hoping it was a false alarm.”

Trying to make her feel better, you grab one of the untouched sticks and sit on the top of the toilet. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll pee on one too, and then we can see if it’s a false positive okay?”

“Okay.” She murmurs softly, chin now resting on her knees as she cowers against the shower door.

“Have you and Jonathan talked about this kind of stuff?” You ask, shimmying your sweats down.

She shrugs and looks to the side. “It’s too early. He’s just so focused on his career and I just got this job….it’s in the plans...just - not right now.”

You cock your head to the side with a sympathetic look.

“Hey. It’s all going to work out fine alright? You don’t have to tell him yet. We can figure it out. I’ll help you.”

Nancy sniffles and dabs at her teary eyes. She nods.

You both wait for the test results after a few minutes. You try to make her feel better with some small talk but you can tell the results weigh heavily on her mind. You grab the stick when enough time has passed, eager to make her feel better until you take a look at it.

“See? Nothing to be worried about.” You reassure her, waving the stick a few inches away from her face.

Nancy does a double-take. Her mouth formed an “O”.

“What?” Your grin falls. “Two lines means not pregnant right?”

She stands quickly, balancing herself on the edge of the sink. “Two lines is….pregnant.”

Your heart drops.

“Please say you’re joking.”

“No, it says it right here, look.” She hands you the paper from the box and on it clear as day, two lines equal pregnant.

You drop the stick onto the sink and start to hyperventilate. Nancy abandons the paper and wraps an arm around you.

“Are you? Are you - pregnant too?”

“No! No, I can’t be. I - I haven’t had sex since like Halloween week!”

Nancy gives you a knowing look. Your face falls.

“I’m too young to be pregnant!” You exclaim.

“What?”

“Nothing, brain fart.”

You rush out the bathroom door and downstairs to the kitchen where she keeps the home phone. You dial Robin’s number as fast as you can and tap your feet impatiently as you hear the line trilling.

“Come on, pick up.” You whisper.

Nancy rushes downstairs to stand in the doorway, clutching the manual and listening.

“Hello?” Robin’s voice alleviates some of your panic.

“Hold on I’m putting you on speaker.” You say, letting Nancy get a better listen.

“What? What’s going on? Did Steve apologize yet?”

You exhale shakily. “No, no he didn’t, I - um, I have something to tell you.”

You can hear Robin set down whatever she was holding as you capture her full attention. “What is it? You’re scaring me.”

“There’s no easy way to say this….but…I think, I’m pregnant.”

“You’re what?! Shut up!” Robin screeches. “Kali! Get in here!”

“What happened?” You hear Kali’s voice a split second later.

“Say what you just said again!” Robin commands.

“Kali, I think I’m pregnant.”

“You’re what?!?!” She gasps.

“I know!” You clap your hands over your face in shame and silently scream into them.

“Oh my god, what have you done? To like - the world?!” Robin cuts in.

“Robin…” Kali scolds.

“I’m sorry!”

“Oh god, what do I do?” You question the speakerphone.

“That kid is going to come out with a full head of hair and try to flirt with the nurse the second it’s born.” Robin bursts into a fit of laughter.

“Not funny, Robin!” You glare at the phone, trying to remain calm.

“Well, now you have to tell him!” Kali says.

“No, I don’t! You saw how well things went over a coffee machine, imagine a kid!”

“You have to! What if this is what he needs to stop acting like a kid?” Robin tries to reason. “He was always good with kids in high school and part of the reason is that those were his only friends!”

You cringe, remembering those stories.

“If losing his best friend wasn’t enough for him to stop acting like an idiot, what makes you think throwing a kid into the mix would?”

“I dunno. But Kali’s right. You have to tell him. Otherwise what happens when you start showing and the worst thing he can think is you’re getting fat?”

You scoff.

“Maybe they’re right,” Nancy chimes in. “I mean, how long are you going to go without talking to him? You have to make up at some point.”

You groan in frustration, raking your hands through your hair.

“I really hate that I consider you guys my moral compass. I truly do.”

Having responsible friends really was a pain sometimes.

The phone line rings and blares red as another call was coming through.

“That must be Jonathan.” Nancy guesses.

“Robin hold on, Jonathan might be on the line.”

“Oh good, I want to know what he thinks of all this.”

Nancy puts Robin on hold and picks up the phone from the receiver.

“Hello? Hold on, hold on, what’s going on?”

You can hear whoever’s calling speaking fast.

“No, she’s not here.” She lies.

You take a break from your panic attack to try and listen to the frantic voice on the other end. It’s all too fast for you to understand.

“You’re where? Slow down!” Nancy asks, glancing at you now and pointing to the phone.

“It’s Steve.” She mouths.

You freeze.

“Okay! Okay! I’ll let her know if I see her.” She hangs up and presses the button to get Robin back.

“What’s the sitch?”

“He said something about a dog.”

“Mickey?” Your voice grows concerned.

“I guess? He just said that something was wrong and he went to take him to the animal hospital.”

Your stomach dropped to your ass. You rushed over to the front door and put on your shoes as fast as you could.

“Did he say which one?” You ask, borrowing one of Jonathan’s coats. There was no way you were going out there in just sweats and a henley.

“Ummm I don’t know, I think the one on West and 61st street.”

“That’s where I work!” You exclaim. “You don’t have a car?”

Nancy shakes her head. “Jonathan’s the one who drives.”

“What about you Robin?”

“No can do, me and Kali have a meeting but keep me posted! Good luck!”

“Screw it I’ll take a cab.” You say goodbye to Nancy and rush out the door and brave the cold.

You whistle down a cab and hop in. “Murray’s Animal Hospital, please. And step on it!”

“Wait, (Y/N)? Is that you?” A familiar voice asks you.

The driver turns around, revealing himself to be…..speak of the devil, Danny.

“Danny? Oh for fuck’s sake.” You sigh and rub at your temples.

“Hey!” He says in a lighthearted tone. “Long time no see.”

“Danny, I will literally pay you extra to shut up and drive like hell alright?”

Danny does as he’s told and hauls ass. You grab a hold of the bar on top of your head for each swerve and crazed turn he does that earns him a honk of the horn from other cars and nearly sends you flying out of your seat.

Two messy car ride minutes later and you rush out of the taxi as soon as he parks outside the entrance to the animal hospital.

“Hey!”

“Give me a minute!” You flip him off and ignore him as you try not to think of the worst-case scenario happening with Mickey.

You must look like a lunatic to the girl sitting at your desk with wild hair and an overall messy appearance. You try your best to fix yourself up.

“Where is he? Where’s Mickey?” You ask frantically.

“Who?” Your replacement sitting at your desk asks.

“A black dog! He came in with someone, big hair? Big head?”

She gets the gist and points to the right and down the hallway. You take deep breaths as you will yourself to put on a brave face.

Steve’s sitting on a chair with his face in his hands. He looks up when he hears the patterning of your footsteps against the sheet vinyl flooring. He gets up quickly, nearly knocking the chair over.

“H-Hey.” He says nervously, hand on his arm.

Come on, you can do this. You can do this.

“Hey.” You breathe.

He’s taking you in from top to bottom. It’s the first time he’s seen you since Halloween night.

“I missed you.”

“What happened?”

You both say in unison.

Your mouth falls agape as you take in his confession. Fortunately, he pretends like your question took more priority.

“I don’t know. One second my stepbrothers are playing with him, the next he’s choking on some toy they brought.”

“What was so important that you couldn’t keep an eye on him? I knew it. I knew I should’ve come back for him.”

You didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh but the situation was starting to make you realize something. Say you did have this kid, would it even survive for a month?

“My dad came to visit.” He stares down at the tips of his shoes, shoving his hands into his pockets. The same way he did last time you saw him.

“Oh.” You let out. Well, this changes things.

“What did he want?”

“He wanted to fix things.”

“Did it work?”

He shrugs. “Having that talk with him, it made me realize something.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. “What is it?”

“Hey, you coming or not? The meter’s running.” Danny’s voice comes to interrupt a peaceful conversation.

“Danny.” Steve acknowledges.

“Hey,” Danny replies, eyeing him. “Stan, right?”

“It’s actually Steve.” He corrects.

Danny laughs it off. “Okay man.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you know this situation just took a turn. You grab a handful of bills from your pocket and shove them into his chest.

“Fuck off.” You command.

Danny takes his wad of money and leaves.

Things fall silent again as Steve clears his throat.

“So….Danny huh?”

“Oh shut up, I needed a ride. I didn’t know he was the one driving the damn cab.”

“Does he know about me?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know. I figure the whole sleeping with my sister thing cancels out if he sees me with someone else.”

Steve nods, confused.

Beat.

“Can I...can I tell you something?” Steve asks, getting closer and closer to you. You feel butterflies when he does.

“Please don’t make a big speech.”

“It’s not a big speech. It’s a medium - medium speech.”

“Okay….”

“You were right. You were completely and totally right about me. I am an asshole. And you were right about these weddings. I didn’t know what I was looking for. I would get in my head about all these things that the perfect person should or shouldn’t be. And I’ve been thinking. A lot. Being alone in that apartment made me realize something.”

“That you’re lonely and afraid of commitment?”

He chuckles. “No. You’re not there to insult me or make fun of me when I come home from work. You’re not there to tell me how much of an idiot I look in the groomsmen photos or how my speech was shitty. You’re not even there with me and Mickey.”

He’s starting to tear up, his eyes get blurry and watery and he has to wipe discreetly at them. It was time to confront his demons and make it up to you. Being alone was just a taste of what would become of him if he didn’t swallow his pride.

“And I know the only reason you’re not there is because I hurt you. I hurt the one person who never deserved it. And I pushed you away because I’m stupid and I’m selfish and fuck me for being too late but I love you! I love you.”

You felt your lip quivering with each little detail he added about his epiphany. But the straw that broke the camel’s back was the declaration of love.

“Y-You love me?” Your voice cracks.

“Of course.” He breathes out, hands reaching for yours to take reassuringly.

“Steve...I really….I have to tell you something.”

“Please don’t say you and Danny are back together.”

“No...no it’s not that,” you try to work up the courage to tell him. “I’m....I think - I’m pregnant.”

Steve steps back for a moment. He feels the shock settle in. He lets out a surprised gasp as he takes both his hands and folds them behind his head.

“You’re what?”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #plus one #stranger things imagine #HERE YOU GO

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jazminebrightxx · 3 years

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SHOW: Teen wolf

CHAPTER TWO: “we are family”

EPISODE: 3x02 “chaos rising”

Sleep is a precious thing, you need sleep, without it you make mistakes, you mess up. You get delirious and screw up. Kaitlin always loved sleep, everyone knew that, not to wake her when she was tired, but dogs...dogs don't understand that. That leads us to now, The last things Kaitlin remembered was watching an episode of some trashy show before falling asleep, and now, Levi, her two year old Labrador cried at her feet

Kaitlin opened her eyes, seeing the big dog sat at her door, his head tilted and whines coming from him "seriously" she whispered, he tilted his head to the other side "can you not just...leave me alone" he whined again, walking over to her and sniffing her face. Kaitlin cringed "okay, okay, you win"

She slowly threw the nice and warm covers off of her, her feet hitting the cold ground, sending shivers up her back, she sits there for a second, contemplating her life. She looks to her dog again, who's now panting in excitement, she groans, getting up and making her way down the stairs, before she can make her way down fully, Levi comes booting it past her and down the stairs, stopping at the door and sitting, Sighing she descends the remainder of stairs grabbing her keys and unlocking the front door and opening it

The big dog speeds out the door and Kaitlin laughs as he jumps around the fenced off garden, when Levi was a little pup, back in Boston, he'd find any and every way he could to escape their home, Kaitlin had many memories of running after the fast dog. So when they moved home, they made sure to get a well fenced garden.

The brunette watches Levi for a few more seconds before deciding to check the time, she moves to the kitchen, it was light out so it had to be early, she switched on the light, making things slightly more seeable, her glasses and contacts were upstairs so it was a little hard, she glanced at the clock 5:40.

It was literally 20 minutes before her alarm went off and an hour before kodins, might aswell make breakfast. She gathered her ingredients, deciding on bacon and toast for breakfast, turning on the hub and grabbing a pan. Midway through her cooking, a shiver sends down her spine, a familiar feeling in her stomach. She whirls around quickly, unsurprisingly seeing the dark figure lurk in the shadow of the kitchen, she was expecting him, but that didn't stop her heart from racing.

Tensely, she glares, turning back to her food, in an attempt to ignore the dark man. "Nice little place you've gotten yourself here" his voice is low, lower than before, Kaitlin stays quiet, focusing on her food.

"You can't ignore me forever Katie" he slowly walks into the kitchen more, quietly pulling out a chair and sitting. Kaitlin's teeth grit together at the name.

"I've done a pretty good job for what? Three years now?" She doesn't turn to look at him, her tone is sarcastic. He laughs, the sound scares Kaitlin slightly.

"That's not entirely true now is it, you aren't surprised at all to see me. You were expecting me" The redhead stops what she's doing, quickly whipping around and glaring her most cold glare

"What do you want" she gets to the point, the man faking a frown.

"What? I can't come and visit my daughter?" Kaitlin laughs turning back to her bacon and taking it off the pan and putting on a plate.

"You only ever visit me when you want something, so either tell me or get the hell out of my house" she grabs the toast, putting it on the plate and sitting opposite him.

"Ah you got me" He jokes, Kaitlin rolls her eyes, and butters her toast

"Scott McCall" is all he needs to say for Kaitlin to freeze, she slowly looks up to make eye contact with her father.

"What about him?"

"He's quite the hero I hear. People tell me he's the man to beat" his tone is evil, as usual. Kaitlin doesn't let her guard down. Her glare as cold as ice. "I've no idea what you're talking about"

"Does he know about you?" He takes an apple nonchalantly from the fruit bowl, the question silencing Kaitlin

"You know, your past, what you are?" He pushes leaning over the table slightly, Kaitlin doesn't break eye contact, her heart hammering in her chest

"What you've done"

"I haven't done anything" she defends, she stopped eating now, her fork and knife still in her hands

"Oh but you did, don't you remember? When Tyler died" Kaitlin slams her hands down on the table, the plate clattering against the knife and fork

"You weren't there, you don't know anything, now what do you want because your testing my patience" her hands are now in fists as she glares at her father.

"Be careful of this boy, he's made enemies, more than he knows, and they are dangerous" he warns. He stands from the table, putting the chair back in its place

"Why are you telling me this?" Her blood was boiling

"You’re my daughter, whether you or I like it or not we are family" He darkly says before a dark cloud forms over him and he vanishes

Kaitlin relaxes, her food now cold she tosses a slice of bacon to Levi and throws away her toast

"What a waste" she mutters before heading upstairs to get ready for school

***

A little while later and Kaitlin was sat on her couch, she usually got up early for school but never this early so she didn't really know what to do with herself. She watched the screen as an episode of greys anatomy played.

Her phone chimed with a text, Lydia Martins name lighting her screen, the strawberry blonde offering to give Kaitlin a ride to school, saying she needed to talk to her. The redhead sent a quick reply, moving off the couch and walking into the kitchen where her mother and brother sat at the table

"I'm not giving you a ride today, Lydia's picking me up" Kodin looked at his sister, taking a drink of his orange juice as he swallows his toast "I'm taking your car then"

"Why can't you take your own?" Kaitlin shoves her phone into her pocket, glaring slightly at her brother, who shrugs "well, yours is cleaner" Kaitlin stares at the boy, contemplating. She gives in, grabbing her keys and throwing them at Kodin.

"Don't damage my car" she warns before leaving the room, soon hearing the honk of Lydia's car, bidding a quick goodbye to her mother she grabs her bag and is out the door. She smiles at Lydia before hopping in the car "hey"

"Morning, what was so..." she's cut off when Lydia hands her a cup of coffee, Kaitlin smiles, thanking her and taking a sip, Lydia starts the car and pulls out of the driveway.

"I know you know" Lydia cryptically states, Kaitlin looking at her curiously "about what?" The redhead placed the coffee in the cup holder.

"About the supernatural, about Scott" Kaitlin freezes, her eyes going wide and glancing at Lydia

"What?" Kaitlin questions, trying to play it cool. "Huh, supernatural that...that's funny" panic sets in Kaitlin's mind, trying to force a fake laugh which Lydia doesn't buy.

"Yeah, okay lets just skip that...I could tell" Lydia glances between Kaitlin and the road "you wanna know how I know? Because you're supernatural too"

Kaitlin's lost for words, her eyes never leaving Lydia as the panic starts to fade, she's not afraid of her friends knowing, it's just how they find out. She wanted to soften the blow, it scared her really, she cared about them and she didn't want them feel any different about her. She lets put a sigh, looking ahead at the road.

"Witch, I'm a witch" the words fell nonchalantly out of her mouth, Lydia does a double take. "A witch? Huh, that's...new" Kaitlin laughs lightly.

"Yeah, I guess they're uncommon nowadays" Kaitlin went on to explain her knowledge of the pack and how she gained it, listing the things her uncle deaton has updated her on before she came back

She knew everything that he did, the kanima being Jackson, Peter Hale biting Scott and Lydia, Alison being a hunter and her grandfather being a psychopath. All of it

It surprised her really, Lydia was so calm about it, she didn't freak out, didn't get mad that Kaitlin hadn't told her. The aura that surrounded the girl was unfamiliar to Kaitlin. She'd learned how to read auras since she learned of her magic. Different colors for different species. Werewolves depended on the color of their eyes. Witches were purple. Humans were green. So on. But Lydia radiated a pink aura, one Kaitlin hadn't seen before.

"Oh yeah, have you any idea what this could be?" Lydia holds out her arm, keeping her eyes on the road

On her arm is a fresh bruise, there's an odd shape to it. Kaitlin gently takes Lydia's arm

"Uh, a bruise?" She glances at the strawberry blonde who playfully rolls her eyes

"Yeah no shit, Alison has one the exact same shape, she thinks it's like some sort of symbol" she states, her eyes never leaving the road

"Huh, can I take a picture of it?" Lydia nods and Kaitlin pulls out her phone, quickly snapping a photo of the bruise

"I'll run it by my mom" she states

"When are you gonna tell the guys about that?" Lydia starts, Kaitlin turns to look out the window of Lydia's car as they pull into beacon hills high schools parking lot

"I don't know, soon"

***

Lydia and Kaitlin strolled together before class, chatting quietly about Kaitlin's antics during her time in Boston. Football games, school dances,swim meets and everything in between. While Lydia went into more detail of the packs antics and stories.

"Okay, but what would a pack of alphas want with Erica and boyd?" Kaitlin questions lydia, who was explaining to her their recent predicament

"I don't know, maybe their recruiting" unbeknownst to the pair Scott and Stiles walks past them, Scott stops in his tracks staring at Kaitlin as she walks past, seeing something he didn't before

"Scott?" Stiles takes him out of his daze

"You okay?" Stiles eyes him curiously, glancing at Kaitlin. Scott nods his head still slightly dazed "Yeah, sorry"

***

Lydia, Alison and Kaitlin sat in the library, Alison drawing the symbol that was bruised in her skin on a piece of paper, a laptop sat on the table, some research the huntress had done lifting up the screen.

Lydia stares ahead, Two identical twins stood at a bookshelf with another brunette, the strawberry blonde had her eye on one of the twins. "I want one"

The two friends follow Lydia's gaze.

"Which one?" Alison questions, an adorable smiles across her lips, Lydia's face drops

"The straight one obviously" Alison glances back at the twins, Ethan looking at Danny wistfully, Lydia drinks from her coffee cup.

Kaitlin's chuckles as she glances at the boys, the brunette sticking out to her, she shakes the feeling off, glancing at Alison's computer, a thought comes to mind. She checks around before pulling a book out of her bag

The book was given to her by her mother, it was enchanted to only open to her, she flips through it finding the thing she was looking for

"What if it's not a symbol?" She questions Alison, who turns her gaze to the brunette and the book in her hands

"What if it's actually a logo?" Alison eyes the book questionably, noticing a few of Kaitlin's spells

"Wait, is that?" Kaitlin smiles at the brunette "what are you?"

"Libra" Kaitlin looks up to digest her theory to Lydia but she's vanished

Kaitlin's and Alison turn to the twins only to see Lydia making a move on Aiden. The two girls look to each other, Kaitlin bursts laughing, Alison joining after a second.

***

Kaitlin Jones was originally from beacon hills, she grew up in the small town. Her family and friends were there, it was her home. A place she'd never forget for as long as she'd live, no matter where she'd end up.

One place and person she hadn't gotten the chance to visit since she'd been back was her uncle Deaton at the animal clinic. Deaton was the brother of her mother, it didn't seem like it, of course because her mother was adopted into Alan's family, his mother was a friend of Natalie's biological mother who passed when she was young.

So when deaton called her to ask if she could come to the clinic because he needed her help with Isaac, Kaitlin jumps into her car and makes her way to the clinic

Her stomach turned and twisted in knots, nerves filled her. She knew what she was walking into, Scott and Stiles would definitely be there, and she knew what Deaton needed her to do, it would be outing her powers to them. She had texted Kodin, giving him the heads up and warning him to talk to the boys later today, knowing they'd want answers from both twins.

Obviously she would have to have this conversation with the two boys sooner or later but she was nervous for their reactions. What if they hated her for not telling them? She knew she was over reacting but she couldn't help it.

Shaking off her anxiety she pulls into the parking lot of the animal clinic and stops the car. She takes a second to herself before jumping out of the car and heading into the clinic

Inside the animal clinic, Deaton, Derek, Scott and Stiles attempted to prep Isaac for the ice bath he'd soon be submerged in.

"How slow does his heart rate need to be?" Scott worryingly questions.

"Very slow"

"Okay, well, How slow is very slow?" Derek crouches beside the tub which was now filled to the brim with water and ice

"Nearly dead" deaton nonchalantly replies, issac touches the water, immediately retracting his hand, hissing

"It's safe though, right?" He nervously questions. Deaton hesitates, just as he's about to reply the bell from the door chimes, the veterinarian smiles

"Not necessarily, but that's why she's here" he leaves the room. The three werewolves and Stiles look to each other curiously.

When Kaitlin Jones walks into the room, Scott and Stiles stare at the girl in shock, Derek and Isaac grow confused, not knowing the girl. When she sees the four her smiles fades, a shy expression takes over her face

"Hey"

"So she's gonna help with what exactly?" Issac questions as he eyes the small girl

"Kaitlin was born from a long line of witches" Kaitlin looks to her shoes, not wanting to see her friends reactions

"Oh wow" Stiles mumbles, he looks to Kaitlin sadly, she looks up meeting his eyes but quickly looks away

Scott is left speechless, his gaze flickering back and forth between Kaitlin and Deaton, Kaitlin steps forward gently grabbing Scott wrist and tugging him away from the rest

"I promise after this is done I will explain everything, okay?" His eyes soften and he grabs the girls hand, nodding and giving it a light squeeze

"Okay"

Kaitlin smiles, moving back to stand beside the tub of ice, she gives issac a reassuring smile, he returns the gesture. She remembered Isaac vaguely from her childhood, she hadn't talked to him much, but she knew of him.

"If anything goes wrong, Kaitlin will be here to pull you out" Deaton reassures him. A rubber snapping sound is heard, all heads turn to Stiles who's wearing a grin as he looks at his arm length glove with a grin

The boy in plaid notices everyone looking at him "what?" Derek gives him a glare, Stiles sighing before he takes off the glove, Issac sighs before standing up

"Look, if it feels to risky, you don't have to do this." The alpha assures, straightening his arms on the rim of the tub, Scott nods in agreement

Issac looks to Kaitlin, who stood on the other side of the tub "you know what your doing?"

Kaitlin's smirks "you'll be fine, Issac, I've been doing it for years" Issac looks to the girl with weary eyes before taking off his shirt and exhaling. He steps into the tub, the group watching him closely, as he attempts to sit in the cold bathtub.

Scott and Derek glance at each other, placing their hands on Isaac's shoulders and pushing him under the water

For a few moments it was fine, but after not to long Issacs true form broke free, jolting up from the water, his eyes a bright yellow and his fangs beard.

"Get him back under" deaton instructed, Stiles was now attempting to keep the werewolf submerged.

But Isaac didn't want to co-operate, he trashed in the water, the two werewolves struggled to keep him in the water as he drenched them.

"Hold him" Kaitlin interjected, Rowling up the sleeves of her jumper

"Don't you think we're trying!" Derek snapped. Kaitlin rolls her eyes before she moves forward, slightly pushing Scott and Derek out of the way, there hands still holding Isaac

The brunette hovers her hand over issacs head, calming him. Not moments later he relaxed and slowly moved to the surface of the water with his eyes open.

"Remember, only Kaitlin talks, too many voices will confuse him and draw him out" deaton holds up a finger, his voice soft. After the three boys nod, he gestures for Kaitlin to start

"Issac? Can you hear me?" Her voice is kind and soft

"Yes, I can hear you" the beta replies after a moment of silence

"It's Kaitlin, I don't know if you remember me, but is it okay if I ask you a few questions?" Kaitlin continued, she was calm, like she'd done it before.

"Yes"

Kaitlin glances at deaton, the thunder outside getting worse "I want to ask you about the night you found Erica and Boyd "

"I want you to remember it for me in as vivid detail as possible, like your actually there" she tried her best to keep a steady voice, knowing one wrong word could send the beta into a panic

"I-I don't wanna do that" He was getting scared now, repeating "I don't wanna go that"

"Issac it's all right just relax" Kaitlin glances at Scott, his eyes are on her and he's worried "they're just memories, you can't be hurt by a memories, remember I told you you'll be fine"

"I don't wanna do that"

"Your okay"

"I don't wanna do that"

"Relax" Kaitlin moves her hand around Isaac's, calming him

"Great" Stiles keeps his eyes on the brunette, occasionally glancing at Isaac wearily, Derek takes a glance at Kaitlin, skepticism in his eyes

"Okay, lets go back to that night, to the place you found Erica and Boyd" Kaitlin's head starts to pound, she blinks in an attempt to rush the pain away, continuing her talk with Isaac.

"Can you tell me what you see? Is there some sort of building? A house?"

"It's not a house. It's stone" Isaac's voice is deep and has a cold edge to it, he takes a breath

"I think marble" Kaitlin smiles at the cold boy "that's perfect"

"Can you give me any other descriptors?" She questions, trying not to push him to hard

"It's dusty, so empty" he slowly explains

"Like an abandoned building?"

The lights begin to flicker, Kaitlin's headache worsening, the four men in the room glancing around them and then to Kaitlin

"Issac" Kaitlin's voice is forced and strained, Scott looking at her with worrying eyes

"Someone's here" Issac moves around slightly in the water, he reaches his hand out and grabs Scott's forearm

"Issac, it's okay, relax" Kaitlin tries to reassure the beta

"No, no, no, no. They see me, they see me" Issac screams, thrashing around in the water. Scott and Derek attempt at keeping Issac in the tub of water, him screaming. Stiles looks to Kaitlin, seeing the pain in her eyes

"There just memories, you can't be hurt by memories. Just relax" she reassures him, he keeps a firm grip on Scott's arm as he relaxes

"Good, that's great issac" Kaitlin's headache eases, but she shuts her eyes in pain, Stiles grabs her free wrist gently

She looks at him, he gives her a worried look. She forcefully smiles at him reassuringly

"Now, Isaac can you tell us what you see? Tell us everything" Isaac opens his eyes, his natural blue taking over. "I hear him"

"He's talking about the full moon, about being out of control when the moon rises"

"Is he talking to Erica?" Kaitlins headache is faint now.

"I think so, I can't...I can't see her. I can't see either of them" his lips trembled from the cold "Can you hear anything else?"

Issac has stopped resisting, but the lights flickered. Kaitlin's headache slightly returning

"They're worried, worried what they'll do during the moon, what they're gonna do to each other" The thunder rubbles from outside, Kaitlin's head feels like someone drilling into it now, the tension of the calming spell getting to her head.

"If they're locked in together on the full moon, they're gonna tear each other apart." Derek whispers to Scott who nods in agreement

"Isaac, we need to find them right now" Kaitlin restarts "can you see them?"

"No"

"Do you know what kind of room it is? Is there any kind of a marker? A number on a door?"

The beta jumps from the tub, sitting upright, Kaitlin's headache worsens, the lights flickering

"They're here" Isaac whispers, Stiles looks around the room confused and a tad bit scared

"They're here, They're here" he slowly moves lower into the tub, he starts to panic "No They're here"

"They see me. They found me. They're here!" Kaitlins head is throbbing, she moves her hand to her forehead, rubbing it roughly

"This isn't working, Isaac, where are you?" Derek intervenes, yelling at his beta.

Everyone looks to Derek, Deaton beginning to argue with him, Kaitlin's vision goes blurry

"Tell me where you are!"

"I can't see!"

"You're going to confuse him" deaton calmly states "tell me where you are"

"He could go into shock Derek" Kaitlin painfully states to the werewolf

"Derek let him go!"

"Isaac where are you what did you see!" Derek ignores Scott's protests, yelling at Isaac more

"It's a vault, it's a bank vault!"

One last clap of thunder is heard, Kaitlin gets light headed, falling backward as Issac jumps forward from the tub. Stiles moves to catch Kaitlin, the brunette coming in and out of consciousness

"I saw it, I saw the name" he moves to jump out of the tub, Scott takes his eyes off Kaitlin when Stiles reassures him and moves to help Isaac

"It's uh, beacon hills first national bank" he shivers as he's wrapped in a towel

Stiles lowers Kaitlin to the ground, gently holding her head beside him, she Sobers up a bit, looking at the boy drowsily

The others in the room watch Isaac as he explain the bank that Boyd and Erica were being held

"What?"

"You don't remember what you said do you?" Scott questions him "no"

Isaac looks at the pair that sat in the ground

"You said when they captured you that they dragged you into a room and that there was a body in it." Stiles explains to Isaac, keeping a firm grip on Kaitlin

"What body?"Isaac looks around curiously

"Erica" Kaitlin drowsily buts in, slowly moving her head to look at him

"You said it was Erica"

*****

#teen wolf #stiles stilinski #dylan obrien #scott mccall #stiles stilinski x reader #isaac lahey #stiles x reader #stiles stilinksi imagine #dylan o'brian gifs #alison argent #lydia martin #witchcraft #like magic #magic

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we-are-colleagues · 4 years

Text

Villanelle - Character Analysis: Power & Growth:

Villanelle doesn’t kill without reason.

This season has put a spotlight on her motivations, that can be traced back to S1. Villanelle kills for power and for Control. She’s not some Ted Bundy who kills to get her rocks off. It’s the power that she craves (and she gets off on). The changes we are seeing in Villanelle in the recent episodes are a product of this core drive and motivation being challenged.

In S3, we hear Villanelle vocalise this connection. A lot. She names the scent she confronts Eve in "Power". She purses her family because she believes the knowledge – the truth – will make her more powerful. She agrees to work for the Twelve again because she is promised power.

The key to changes we are seeing unfold in Villanelle is due to them unpicking the driving force behind her actions. In her mind killing and violence has always granted her power and control. It’s a link her upbringing cemented in her and that The Twelve have fostered ever since.

The Evolution of Her Kills

The first kill we ever see on screen is bone-chilling (The Hairpin). She absolutely delights in the kill. It’s like she drains the life force out of him as he falls to his knees before her. She feels powerful watching him die.

But even in S2, her glee is diminished. I think immediately of the pig kill. Konstantin is distracting her in Amsterdam with this job. She’s killing for a scorned wife, hardly the world-changing targets she’s used to. She’s bored the whole episode and missing Eve. She has to dress the kill up to intrigue herself and to get Eve’s attention. To Konstantin, afterwards, she remarks, ‘It didn’t feel like anything’. That thrill from S1 is absent. She didn’t feel powerful killing this man and the experience pales incomparison to what Eve makes her feel.

In general, as of S2 there is no more looking into people’s eyes as she kills them. The last time she really felt the power she chases was when she killed Aaron Peel and it turned out Carolyn was using her. Then, of course, when she watched Eve kill Raymond, where she was the one controlling Eve and seemingly, getting everything she wanted.

The kills in S3 ramp up this contrast to S1. Her spice kill lacks her usual flamboyance, she’s more interested in posing the body and challenging Dasha than the kill. She wants to prove she’s better, more powerful. Her garden kill is almost merciful. She takes more joy in playing with the woman than killing her.

Villanelle is motivated this season not so much by the power she feels from each kill, but the power promised to her by Dasha and The Twelve if she makes it to the rank of Keeper.

Her Relationship With Eve

This hardwired understanding is challenged when she attempting to kill Eve and their connection. Let’s dive into why she shot Eve, framed through this understanding of why Villanelle kills.

Villanelle’s perception of love is also skewered around control. Villanelle tries to narrow Eve’s world and her options to just running away with her to Alaska. When Eve realises she’s been manipulated, Eve acknowledges how they are alike by chooses to walk away anyway.

Villanelle has just borne her soul to Eve, made herself vulnerable by telling Eve that she loves her and she’s shut down. Completely. As soon as that happens Villanelle feels like she’s lost control of this situation, of Eve, of herself and she shots. It purely an attempt to regain some control and power, as killing and violence have always been for her.

Villanelle believes Eve is dead and six months later she is talking about her on her wedding day. When she finds out Eve is alive, she can’t pretend that she was in control of their connection or had gotten over Eve. That is why she makes such a show of her power to Eve as if to say “it doesn’t matter that you didn’t die, I’m more powerful than ever now”. She dresses in a men’s suit, wears the perfume Power and invades Eve’s life on her commute to work. Even physically she takes control of Eve. But it doesn’t mean anything in the end. Eve has just as much if not more power than Villanelle in that scene. She has the power to give Villanelle what she really wants.

(Look I was gonna put a quote here from Sandra Oh about Villanelle being physically stronger than Eve in the bus scene but she still never hurting her. And that it demonstrates how Eve’s power over Villanelle’s psyche continues to grow. I can’t find it anywhere so like let me know if you know what I’m talking about. I swear it exists.)

UPDATE (edit): I found it.

"Villanelle at all times can physically overpower Eve, but what grows is Eve's influence on Villanelle's psyche. Which is like [Villanelle] won't, even though she can" X

Villanelle entire relationship with Eve is a push and pull of power where Eve maintains her power without violence (aside from the stabbing in S1). In the bus scene, it is won through an act of affection, or omission that she feels similarly about Villanelle.

Her Mother

What trying to kill Eve started, killing her mother finished.

Villanelle thinks killing her mother will give her control, give her power over herself. Literally serve as a way to kill her demons. However, I think Jodie put it best in this interview:

“You can see the regret that she is already feeling but feels she has to go through with it — because I think she feels it’s the only way she feels she can fully kill her past and the woman that she was,” Comer says. “But actually in some ways, it’s like she kills Villanelle; it’s Oksana who is her true self and who she can’t get away from. So I think actually by doing what she has done, it has the complete opposite effect of what she was hoping for. For me now, at this point, I think Villanelle is her own worst enemy, and she’s coming to the realization that that may have been the case all along.” x

If we compare her killing Tatiana to say her first kill. The choice to not show her killing her mother cannot be ignored. It’s like even Villanelle doesn’t want to look at it:

“Villanelle has always looked into the eyes of those she’s killed, and in one draft the kill was actually [depicted], and I was like, ‘Maybe she can’t look at her; maybe she has to cover her mother’s face. This isn’t as easy as she thinks,'” Comer tells Variety. “I think Villanelle’s having a real identity crisis after the events of Episode 5.”

Villanelle doesn’t expect it to but killing her mother wounds her. Robs her of some of her power and makes her lose control.

S3 pulled off what could have been a disastrous dive into Villanelle’s past. You are encouraged to understand Villanelle was always like this. Probably would have always been. But we are also meant to see her mother’s influence, especially on her understanding of power and control and why she would be so fixation on obtaining it after being under her mother thumb.

We see Tatiana’s influence affecting her brothers lives as well. Pyotr stays there simply because he is told to. He has his own anger issues which he takes out on a couch. Pyotr attempts to control that side of himself, while Villanelle has always lent into it. She even suggests he just take it out on people instead, it will make him feel better. She doesn’t understand the need or benefit in controlling her own darkness.

In many of the scenes where Villanelle speaks to others about her mother, she mentions her mother’s covert and overt attempts to control all of them. Villanelle hopes that killing her mother might finally free her, give her back control. But in a echo of her advice to Pyotr taking it out on her mother doesn’t make her feel any better.

Dasha

My assessment of Dasha’s role in this season has change from 3x01. She was quite impressive in the first ep. She looked dangerous, which she is, but having spent more time with her and seen how Villanelle easily copied her signature kill, how she messed up killing Niko and how she lost at bowling to Eve. It’s clear she’s a washed up has-been assassin. I think in a way she is meant to make Villanelle consider the future available to her in this kind of life.

Dasha is one of the few assassins that makes it to old age. Villanelle is too confident to consider she would die doing this job. That said, I don’t think she’s given much thought to her future, especially not one without Eve.

Dasha is our glimpse at it. A woman, who when she should be retired, rich, and happy is still playing this game. She can’t even return home. Whatever power Dasha wield doesn’t grant her what she wants. Her legacy and her status have earnt her little. She is still taking orders from the same people. This must surely motivate Villanelle’s ascent through the ranks of The Twelve. Villanelle is after power and Dasha is dwarfed by the likes of Hélène

Keeper, but not a keeper

This brings us to 3x06. Villanelle is finally made a Keeper, the job description isn’t as lavish as she hoped. They offer her more money, more material possession but send her on the same old missions. Where is the power she was promised? It is here where she finally gets a whiff of how much The Twelve are truly controlling her.

I think this is why the Hairdresser kill goes so poorly. To kill this man is almost a forfeit of her power, to knowingly do it when she is being control. She knows she’s been fooled. It must be driving her crazy. Cause this is bullshit. For the first time she feels like a pawn working for The Twelve rather than powerful.

She’s just killed her mother. She’s head deep in her childhood trauma, that is all centred around being used and controlled. This insult from The Twelve hits different. Killing no longer offers what she always sought from it. The strings are pulling loose on what makes Villanelle, Villanelle. Talk about an identity crisis.

It’s all quite raw, she’s changing before our eyes, I doubt we will see this weepy emotional Villanelle forever. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think this unlinking of power and control with killing suddenly make Villanelle a saint. Not a single part of her felt bad for the man she killed, she just didn’t want to do it.

It might lead Villanelle to ask whether she has ever been in control of her own darkness. We talk so much about Eve letting go, perhaps, on the other side of that Villanelle needs to take control and realise she is her own worst enemy sometimes.

In the same episode, Villanelle falls apart we see Eve wield her own power and darkness without violence, even though we know she’s capable of it. We are watching Eve reach an equilibrium with her darkness while Villanelle is seesawing.

In summary, this season has reinforced and emphasised why Villanelle does what she does – for power and control - and then gone on to challenge her understanding of it completely. It’s given Villanelle room to grow and change.

I think it’s so interesting, if you can’t tell from reading this whole thing. I always thought the show would be too scared to change Villanelle so drastically, though some change is definitely necessary, especially for her and Eve to have anything stable. I thought the show relied too heavily on Villanelle pulling of a hit every episode to tamper with her drive to kill. But it’s delicious and opens up a world of possibility. This doesn’t mean we’ll get soft Villanelle anytime soon but maybe a more calculated Villanelle, whose interests better align with Eve’s.

#killing eve #ke character analysis #at least thats my take #killing eve spoilers #ke spoilers #im as shook as you an analysis on this blog? who knew

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